I essayed to do it,--but my glance fell before his, so ardent, so
tender. Spite of myself, my cheeks burned with blushes. Quietly I
withdrew my hand and said, "I am to be married to John in December."
Ah, but there was a change then! The flush and the triumph died out of
his face, as when a lamp is suddenly extinguished. Yet there was as
much indignation as grief in his voice when he said,--
"Heaven forgive you, Juanita! You have wilfully, cruelly deceived me!"
"Deceived you!" I replied, rising with dignity. "Make no accusation. If
deceived you were, you have simply your own vanity, your own folly, to
blame for whatever you may suffer."
"You have listened to my love, and encouraged me to hope"----
"Silence! I did love you once,--your cold heart can never guess how
well, how warmly. I would have loved on through trial and suffering
forever; no one could have made me believe anything against you;
nothing could have shaken my fidelity, or my faith in yours. It was
reserved for yourself to work my cure,--for your own lips to pronounce
the words that changed my love to cool contempt."
"Oh, Juanita," he cried, passionately, "will you always be so
vindictive? Will you forever remind me of that piece of insane folly?
Let it go,--it was a boy's whim, too silly to remember.
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