The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 05Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 05
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century; Fiction
I stood not alone, however, in the sweetness of my disposition; for one
other of the family besides myself was free from any violence of
character. Before I had reached the age of sixteen, this cousin, John by
name, had conceived for me a sincere but silent passion; and although
the poor lad was too timid to hint at the nature of his feelings, I had
soon divined and begun to share them. For some days I pondered on the
odd situation created for me by the bashfulness of my admirer; and at
length, perceiving that he begun, in his distress, rather to avoid than
seek my company, I determined to take the matter into my own hands.
Finding him alone in a retired part of the rectory garden, I told him
that I had divined his amiable secret; that I knew with what disfavour
our union was sure to be regarded; and that, under the circumstances, I
was prepared to flee with him at once. Poor John was literally paralysed
with joy; such was the force of his emotions, that he could find no
words in which to thank me; and that I, seeing him thus helpless, was
obliged to arrange, myself, the details of our flight, and of the stolen
marriage which was immediately to crown it. John had been at that time
projecting a visit to the metropolis. In this I bade him persevere, and
promised on the following day to join him at the Tavistock Hotel.
True, on my side, to every detail of our arrangement, I arose, on the
day in question, before the servants, packed a few necessaries in a bag,
took with me the little money I possessed, and bade farewell for ever to
the rectory. I walked with good spirits to a town some thirty miles from
home; and was set down the next morning in this great city of London. As
I walked from the coach-office to the hotel, I could not help exulting
in the pleasant change that had befallen me; beholding, meanwhile, with
innocent delight, the traffic of the streets, and depicting, in all the
colours of fancy, the reception that awaited me from John. But alas!
when I inquired for Mr. Fanshawe, the porter assured me there was no
such gentleman among the guests. By what channel our secret had leaked
out, or what pressure had been brought to bear on the too facile John, I
could never fathom. Enough that my family had triumphed; that I found
myself alone in London, tender in years, smarting under the most
sensible mortification, and by every sentiment of pride and self-respect
debarred for ever from my father's house.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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