Wives and Widows; or, The Broken LifeStephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
General
Wives and Widows; or, The Broken Life
Stephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
Fiction
"A vase of moss-roses stood upon the little table near my bed. He had
gathered them for me just as the sun was setting, while the first dew
bathed them. I took some of these flowers together in my hands, and
kissed away their perfume, with a delightful consciousness that he had
given it to me. Out of all the wilderness of flowers, now fresh from
the dew, these were the gems, for he had brought them to me.
"When daylight came, I arose and went down to the veranda, not weary
from sleeplessness, but with a gentle languor upon me which was better
than rest. For the first time since Lawrence had been with us, I opened
the book he had written, and read passages from it at random. How
beautiful they were! and I not discover this before. The truth is, their
very excellence carried with it exaltation.
"I read them with a new sense and a keener relish. Their very intensity
had, at the first reading, disturbed me almost painfully, now each
sentence brought thrills of appreciation. In all respects it was a new
book to me.
"I felt that this second reading was dangerous, but the thoughts
fascinated me, and I read on, while orioles and mocking-birds held a
carnival of music in the thickets around me, and a bright sun drove all
the rose-tints from the sky. All at once I looked up, a shadow had
fallen across the page I was reading; I closed the book at once,
blushing like a guilty creature.
"'Confess,' said Lawrence, with a gleam of laughing triumph in his eyes,
'that you have in some degree changed your opinion.'
"'I have no opinion to change,' was my answer; 'for until now I never
really understood your book.'
"'And you understand it now?'
"'Yes.'
"'And feel it?'
"'Too much.'
"I felt the blood rush into my face with very shame at this hasty
admission. When I ventured to look up, a faint wave of color was dying
out from his face, leaving it grave and pale. Was he condemning me
already? That moment Mr. Dennison came through the front door, looking
cool and tranquil in his dress of pure linen, which was scarcely whiter
than his hair.
"'Come,' he said, in jovial good humor, 'throw by your books, and let us
have breakfast.'
"I was glad to see him,--grateful that he had released me from the
thraldom of those eyes.
"We rode out that day. A waterfall some eight miles off was almost the
only point of interest that I had not visited, and there our ride
terminated. A colored groom always rode after us, but his presence was
no check upon conversation, and sometimes he loitered behind so far that
we lost sight of him altogether. In fact, our whole excursion was one
long _tête-à-tête_.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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