The White Rose of MemphisFalkner, William C. (Clark)
General
The White Rose of Memphis
Falkner, William C. (Clark)
Memphis (Tenn.) -- Fiction
“‘Lottie, I loved that pretty little tramp devotedly then, and time has
increased that holy passion, until it has filled my heart, my mind, my
soul, my brain, my body, my thoughts, my dreams and my blood! Fortune
has not lavished her favors on me, but that is not my fault. I know I am
ignorant, green, poor and uneducated, doomed to occupy an humble sphere
in life, while the blind goddess has been more liberal in the bestowal
of her favors on you. Your beauty and your talent alone would have
placed you on a plane far above my lowly valley; but when it is known
that you are to be a great heiress, I feel as if it would be too
presumptuous on my part to ask you to be mine. I know that I have a
rough, ugly and awkward appearance--that I am not such a person as fine
ladies love to look on; but I possess a large, fond heart, that holds an
ocean of pure love for you. Lottie, why do you not say something; why do
you turn your face away from me? Have I offended you by my presumption?
If I have dared to talk of love to you, it does not necessarily follow
that you are bound to give a favorable answer; in fact, I have no right
to expect you to make such a one. If you cannot love me, say so, and I
promise never to annoy you any more with my suit, but will endeavor to
promote your happiness in every way I can. I profess to be a man of
honor, and believe I possess a remarkable amount of pride--too much to
annoy any lady about my love who cannot return my honorable passion.’
“Her body now began to tremble more violently than ever, shaking like a
leaf stirred by the storm, but she still remained silent, and kept her
face averted.
“‘Why do you not speak to me, Lottie? Am I to understand that the
refusal is caused by the scorn you feel for my presumption, or is it
because you hate to pronounce the doom which you know will consign me to
a life of misery? In the name of those happy days of old--in the name of
our dear, dead mother--in the name of the great ocean of love which this
poor heart holds for you, I implore you to speak to me now!’
“A tear then fell from my eyes, and dropped on her hand, which I still
held against my heart; that caused her to start up suddenly, and snatch
her hand away. Then she gazed down at the tear which still glistened on
her hand, and I saw another tear start from her left eye and roll slowly
down her cheek--it trembled on her chin a second, and then fell right on
the one that still sparkled on her hand. The two tears mingled into one,
and as they did so her head suddenly fell against my heart, and then I
knew that the great prize was mine. Looking up into my face with a gaze
of unutterable sweetness, while tears were streaming from her beautiful
eyes, she whispered:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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