Part 4 (2/2)
”I'm telling you that I love you because you're the most adorable girl I've ever known.”
His boyish, conventional words broke the spell.
”I appreciate the tribute which you so gallantly pay me, Sir Knight. But I happen to know that the moonlight, the music of a dance, the song of birds this morning and the beauty of the landscape move you, as they should. You're young. You're too good looking. You're fine and unspoiled and I like you, Jeb. But you don't know yet what love means.”
”I do, Miss Mary, I do.”
”You don't and neither do I. You're in love with love. And so am I. It's the morning of life and why shouldn't we be like this?”
”There's no hope?” he asked dolefully.
”Of course, there's hope. There's something fine in you, and you'll find yourself in the world when you ride forth to play your part. And I'll follow you with tender pride.”
”But not with love,” he sighed.
”Maybe--who knows?” she smiled.
”Is that all the hope you can give me?”
”Isn't it enough?”
He gazed into her serious eyes a moment and laughed with boyish enthusiasm.
”Yes, it is, Miss Mary! You're glorious. You're wonderful. You make me ashamed of my foolishness. You inspire me to do things. And I'm going to do them for your sake.”
”For your own sake, because G.o.d has put the spark in your soul. Your declaration of love has made me very happy. We're too young yet to take it seriously. We must both live our life in its morning before we settle down to the final things. They'll come too soon.”
”I'm going to love you always, Miss Mary,” he protested.
”I want you to. But you'll probably marry another girl.”
”Never!”
”And I know you'll be her loyal knight, her devoted slave. It's a way our Southern boys have. And it's beautiful.”
Stuart studied the finely chiseled face with a new reverence.
”Miss Mary, you've let me down so gently. I don't feel hurt at all.”
A sweet silence fell between them. A breeze blew the ringlets of the girl's hair across the pink of her cheek. A breeze from the garden laden with the mingled perfume of roses. A flock of wild ducks swung across the lawn high in the clear sky and dipped toward the river. Across the fields came a song of slaves at work in the cornfield, harvesting the first crop of peas planted between the rows.
Stuart caught her hand, pressed it tenderly and kissed it.
”You're an angel, Miss Mary. And I'm going to wors.h.i.+p you, if you won't let me love you.”
The girl returned his earnest look with a smile and slowly answered:
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