Reid_A_Question_of_Honor.txt topic ['13', '324', '378', '393']
a low voice : " am glad you
have spoken of . and his poems it reminds me of some-
thing which for several days have wanted to say to j'ou.
have been afraid that vou mio;-ht have misunderstood what felt
on that night when you showed me or, rather, when read,
despite you his ' .' "
was slightly startled, for he had not in the least
expected any thing like this ; but his self-possession rarely for-
sook him, and he did not lose it now. had been crossing
the lawn as they spoke, and, as he answered, they entered the
garden under an arch over which a rose-vine ran.
" do not think misunderstood any thing," he said, quietly.
" knew how the poem would affect you, and therefore did
not wish you to see it. is an odd kind of sympathy be-
tween us there has been from the first. felt that it would
pain you ; but you must not fancy that, for a moment, did you
any injustice."
" you sure that j^oudidnot?" she asked. " you
sure that you know why it pained me?"
turned as she spoke, and looked at him with her candid
eyes, which, whether he would or not, seemed to compel a truth-
ful answer.
" imagined that knew exactly why it pained you," he
replied. " felt the tenderest pity, and you have still may
say this, sure that you will not misunderstand ? the memory
of love."
" am glad that you have been frank enough to say this to
me," she answered, a deeper color flickering into her cheeks, but
her eyes remaining steady in their grave regard. " justice to
myself must tell you that you are mistaken.
what felt for him was indeed pity, the purest pity and you
know how near akin pity is to pain. saw the beginning of
his unfaithfulness to all high ideals so long ago, and have
watched with so much sorrow his downward path ! love
. 497
once gave him has passed almost from my memory entirely
from my heart but it is impossible not to be sorry when we see
a spirit sinking into the mire of earth, weighed down with earthly
things, whose wings we once hoped might bear it to the stars."
spoke, thought, with the simplicity of a child
and the gentleness of a saint. heart leaped up with such a
sense of relief, of absolute trust and confidence, that he could
have knelt and kissed her dress as it swept the dewy grass be-
neath their feet. felt a pang of shame that he had ever
doubted her, that he had not read her meaning better.
expressed something like this, adding : " can only ex-
cuse myself when remember that the heart sends up mists
which cloud and confuse the brain. you forgive me for
saying that have no capability of cool judgment where you are
concerned ? had, should not have blundered so unpardon-
ably."
'* have so often judged me more kindly than deserved,"
she said, "that can afford to pardon you for judging me once
w^th slight injustice. that you understand, however," she
went on, with a smile rising to her lips and into her brown eyes,
" will you have the rose that is to be a companion souvenir to
your violets ? "
"1 will have any thing that you choose to give me," he an-
swered ; " but since you make me bold to ask, would rather
have a rose that you have worn. you give me one out of
your hair to-night ? have often wished that might fall heir
to one that had rested for a whole evening among your soft
tresses." '
looked at him with something like wonder in her gaze.
^^^lat woman, who is not vain and shallow, but feels humbled
and touched by the supreme height to which a brave man's love
exalts her, with all the imperfections (which he does not see)
thick upon her ? may be safely asserted that in exact pro-
portion to the fineness of a nature, it feels this. are
women who never feel it to whom such homage is only a vul-
gar triumph.
498 ^ .
" , you shall the rose to-night," she said ; " but
will you not have one now also? is a lovely ."
received the fragrant, half-opened bud which she
offered, and kept in his own the hand which gave it. was
not thinking of the ; he was thrilled by a sudden
divine hope which came to him so much like an inspiration that
he felt unable to disregard it.
" told you a little while ago that should not come back,"
he said. " thought then that there would never be any good
in doing so that my only hope for peace was in remaining
away ; but now you are so kind you must blame yourself if
am presumptuous that feel impelled to ask j^^ou if may come
back?"
did not reclaim her hand ; she only lifted her eyes to his
face for a moment, and then the lids fell again, as she replied,
" there is no need to ask such a question. you not
know that we shall be very glad to see you come back ? "
" ! " he repeated. " only spoke of you. one else
matters. you be glad to see me ? "
" glad," she answered, simplj^
" when come," he went on, growing bolder and laying
his other hand over the one which he held, " may tell you the
story of all that has so long been in my heart regarding you
the story which promised when went away that would come
back in three years to tell ? "
", no," said , with a low laugh. " are mis-
taken my memory is better than yours. only said that
you were coming back to tell me whether or not your fancy had
endured."
" there is no need for me to tell you that," he said.
" know now what knew then that it is no fancv, but
the passion which colors a man's whole life. feel as strongly
as possible that have nothing to offer which is worth your
regard that, taken at my best (which, knows, is poor
enough !), am not and never shall be worthy of you ; but still,
if you can give me any hope if you can let me think that some
. 499
day 3'^ou may learn to love me shall strive to wait as patiently
and serve as faithfully as the knights of whom you spoke to me
once."
" you remember every thing that ever said to you ? "
asked , with a slight quiver in her voice. '* wish
wish had uttered things better worth remembering."
" never heard you utter any thing that was not worth re-
membering," said , with a sincerity that could not be
doubted. " power your have had over me shall
not try to tell you would rather show you."
" wish you would forget some words that once spoke to
you," she said. " were not only harsh, but deeply unjust.
have felt that for a long time. you know what mean ?
said that you were frivolous and fickle and and other things
of the same kind. you forgive me ? know better now."
" you ! " kissed passionately the hand he held.
" is nothing to forgive. was all that you said and
worse. am better now, it is you who have made me so.
claim no credit for my constancy. could any one know you
and not love you ? how could any one love 3'ou and forget
you?"
" , you think too highly, far too highly of me ! " she cried,
touched, melted, overcome, not so much by the words themselves
as by the great earnestness which filled them. " you could
see me in my true colors, you would not care so much for me
you would not think me a prize worth winning."
" forbid that should ever see you in your true
colors ! " he said, with something like a laugh. " world
would be emptied for me if lost my belief in you as know
and love you my queen, my star, my truest inspiration and best
hope in life ! ! do you not know that, after all this
sweet kindness, cannot leave you without some assurance for
the future? love, my lov^e, will you try to give me the an-
swer desire when come back to tell my story ? "
looked at her with passionate, pleading eyes, in which
she read all that was in his heart the heart which had remained
500 .
true to her through coklness, scoru, neglect and absence.
she thought of this, a swift remembrance came to her ah,
would to it came to all of us when hands are clasiDed to say
good-by ! that on this sad earth of pain and loss we are certain
of nothing save what we hold in our grasp. present mo-
ment is ours the next may be forever beyond our reach.
this thought was like a warning. man wdio loved
her was going away, and could she be sure that her glance would
ever rest on his face again ? doubt cost her a pang which
ended all hesitation. an impulse full of the bravest and
sweetest grace, she held out her other hand.
" you wait to tell your story until you come back ? "
she said.
is not able to imagine what answered ?
was the light of which suddenly filled the sunshine for
these two, as they stood among the roses of . are few
lives which such an hour has not brightened w^ith that same pri-
mal radiance which in the oldest love-story of earth rested on
the two type of all who were to come after amid the bowers
of .
went that morning to the mills alone ; but for him, too,
there was a brightness on the earth which had not been there
before the brightness of an unselfish joy in the happiness of
others. was no thought of envy or repining in his sou],
for his was that true and simple courage which, accepting life as
it is given, bears its burden cheerfully over the roughest road.
remained firm in his resolution to leave for -
rado that night, and did not try to dissuade him ; but
when the sun sinking, they went in the sweet gloam-
ing to 's grave, and there one promised to w-ait
the other to return.
it is said that he did return, all is told. is good to
think that sometimes on earth faithful love and tender hope are
crowned with that golden gift of happiness which our hearts
desire ; but it is also good nay, better to believe that if they
are not so crowned, there are some gifts better lost than won.
. 501
some souls called to taste the divine sweetness which lurks in
the bitterness of sacrifice, rather than that rich nectar which
men call joy, and who are taught the great lesson that, out of
weary longing and bafiQed efforts, and failure which seems almost
too sad to be dwelt upon, a victory which shall endure forever
may be wrought.