The Missing BrideSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The Missing Bride
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Fiction
The next day being Holy Thursday, there was, by order of the trustees, a
holiday at Miss Mayfield's school. And so Marian arose with the prospect
of spending the day with Jacquelina. When she descended to the
breakfast-room, what was her surprise to find Thurston Willcoxen, at
that early hour, the sole occupant of the room. He wore a green shooting
jacket, belted around his waist. He stood upon the hearth with his back
to the fire, his gun leaned against the corner of the mantle-piece, and
his game-bag dropped at his feet. Marian's heart bounded, and her cheek
and eye kindled when she saw him, and, for the instant, all her doubts
vanished--she could not believe that guilt lurked behind a countenance
so frank, noble and calm as his. He stepped forward to meet her,
extending his hand. She placed her own in it, saying:
"I am very glad to see you this morning, dear Thurston, for I have
something to say to you which I hope you will take kindly from your
Marian, who has no dearer interest in the world than your welfare."
"Marian, if it is anything relating to our old subject of dispute--Miss
Le Roy--let me warn you that I will hear nothing about it."
"Thurston, the subjects of a neighborhood's gossip are always the very
last to hear it! You do not, perhaps, know that it is commonly reported
that you and Miss Le Roy are engaged to be married!"
"And you give a ready ear and ready belief to such injurious slanders!"
"No! Heaven knows that I do not! I will not say that my heart has not
been tortured--fully as much as your own would have been, dear
Thurston, had the case been reversed, and had I stooped to receive from
another such attentions as you have bestowed upon Miss Le Roy. But, upon
calm reflection, I fully believe that you could never give that young
lady my place in your heart, that having known and loved me--"
Marian paused, but the soul rose like a day-star behind her beautiful
face, lighting serenely under her white eyelids, glowing softly on the
parted lips and blooming cheeks.
"Ay! 'having known and loved me!' There again spoke the very enthusiasm
of self-worship! But how know you, Marian, that I do not find such
regnant superiority wearisome?--that I do not find it refreshing to sit
down quietly beside a lower, humbler nature, whose greatest faculty is
to love, whose greatest need to be loved!"
"How do I know it? By knowing that higher nature of yours, which you now
ignore. Yet it is not of myself that I wish to speak, but of her.
Thurston, you pursue that girl for mere pastime, I am sure--with no
ulterior evil purpose, I am certain; yet, Thurston!" she said,
involuntarily pressing her hand tightly upon her own bosom, "I know how
a woman may love you, and that may be death or madness to Angelica,
which is only whim and amusement to you. And, Thurston, you must go no
further with this culpable trifling--you must promise me to see her no
more!"
"'Must!' Upon my soul! you take state upon yourself, fair queen!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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