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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Maruja"

I saw
you, Maruja. From that moment I have thought of nothing--dreamed
of nothing else."
"That is--three, four, five days and one afternoon ago! You see, I
remember. And now you want--what?"
"To let me love you, and you only. To let me be with you. To let
me win you in time, as you should be won. I am not mad, though I
am desperate. I know what is due to your station and mine--even
while I dare to say I love you. Let me hope, Maruja, I only ask to
hope."
She looked at him until she had absorbed all the burning fever of
his eyes, until her ears tingled with his passionate voice, and
then--she shook her head.
"It can not be, Carroll--no! never!"
He drew himself up under the blow with such simple and manly
dignity that her eyes dropped for the moment. "There is another,
then?" he said, sadly.
"There is no one I care for better than you. No! Do not be
foolish. Let me go. I tell you that because you can be nothing to
me--you understand, to ME. To my sister Amita, yes."
The young soldier raised his head coldly. "I have pressed you
hard, Miss Saltonstall--too hard, I know, for a man who has already
had his answer; but I did not deserve this. Good-by."
"Stop," she said, gently. "I meant not to hurt you, Captain
Carroll. If I had, it is not thus I would have done. I need not
have met you here. Would you have loved me the less if I had
avoided this meeting?"
He could not reply. In the depths of his miserable heart, he knew
that he would have loved her the same.


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