The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21 — John Shaqi
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21Stevenson, Robert Louis
General
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 21
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century
A month later Dick and Esther met at the stile beside the cross roads;
had there been any one to see them but the birds and summer insects, it
would have been remarked that they met after a different fashion from
the day before. Dick took her in his arms, and their lips were set
together for a long while. Then he held her at arm's length, and they
looked straight into each other's eyes.
"Esther!" he said,--you should have heard his voice!
"Dick!" said she.
"My darling!"
It was some time before they started for their walk; he kept an arm
about her, and their sides were close together as they walked; the sun,
the birds, the west wind running among the trees, a pressure, a look,
the grasp tightening round a single finger, these things stood them in
lieu of thought and filled their hearts with joy. The path they were
following led them through a wood of pine trees carpeted with heather
and blueberry, and upon this pleasant carpet, Dick, not without some
seriousness, made her sit down.
"Esther!" he began, "there is something you ought to know. You know my
father is a rich man, and you would think, now that we love each other,
we might marry when we pleased. But I fear, darling, we may have long to
wait, and shall want all our courage."
"I have courage for anything," she said, "I have all I want; with you
and my father, I am so well off, and waiting is made so happy, that I
could wait a lifetime and not weary."
He had a sharp pang at the mention of the Admiral. "Hear me out," he
continued. "I ought to have told you this before; but it is a thought I
shrink from; if it were possible, I should not tell you even now. My
poor father and I are scarce on speaking terms."
"Your father," she repeated, turning pale.
"It must sound strange to you; but yet I cannot think I am to blame," he
said. "I will tell you how it happened."
"O Dick!" she said, when she had heard him to an end, "how brave you
are, and how proud! Yet I would not be proud with a father. I would tell
him all."
"What!" cried Dick, "go in months after, and brag that I meant to thrash
the man, and then didn't? And why? Because my father had made a bigger
ass of himself than I supposed. My dear, that's nonsense."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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