Virginia -- History -- Colonial period, ca. 1600-1775 -- Fiction
"Tell me not, sweet, I am unkind
That, from the nunnery
Of thy chaste breast and quiet mind,
To war and arms I flee....
"Yet this inconstancy is such
As you too shall adore.
I could not love thee, dear, so much,
Loved I not honor more."
The rich notes rang higher and higher, filling the languid air, and
drowning the trill of the mockingbirds. Patricia, filling her apron with
midsummer flowers, sang with a careless passion, her mind far away in
the midst of a Whitehall pageant, described to her the night before by
that silver-tongued courtier, Sir Charles Carew.
Still singing, she went up the steps of the porch and into the cool wide
hall. In her face there was a languorous beauty born of the sunshine
outside; a soft color glowed in her cheeks, her eyes were large and
dreamy, little damp tendrils of gold strayed about her temples. She
threw down her hat, and loosened the kerchief of delicate lawn from
about her warm young throat; then, with the flowers still in her arms,
she raised the latch of the door of a room held sacred to Colonel
Verney, and entered, to find herself face to face with the convict,
Godfrey Landless, who sat at a table covered with papers, busily
writing.
She started violently, and the mass of flowers fell to the floor,
shattering the petals from the roses and poppies. Landless came
forward, knelt down, and, picking them up, restored them to her without
a word.
"I thank you," she said coldly. "I thought my father was here."
"Colonel Verney is in the next room, madam."
She moved to the door leading into the great room with the gait of a
princess, and Landless went back to his work.
Colonel Verney, on his knees before the richly carven chest containing
his library, looked up from the two score volumes to behold a mass of
brilliant blooms transferred from two white arms to the ground outside
the open window.
"Well, sweetheart," he said. "What is it?"
"Papa," she said, coming to his side, and looking down upon him with a
vexed face: "you promised me that you would employ no more convicts in
the house."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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