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Harte, Bret, 1836-1902

"Maruja"

"This letter,
then, is my authority to recover them?"
"Partly, though it refers to other matters. This Mr. Prince, whom
you Americans call Aladdin, was a friend of Dr. West; they were
associated in business, and he will probably have access to his
papers. The rest we must leave to you."
"I think you may," said Carroll, simply.
Maruja stretched out her hand. The young man bent over it
respectfully and moved towards the door.
She had expected him to make some protestation--perhaps even to
claim some reward. But the instinct which made him forbear even in
thought to take advantage of the duty laid upon him, which
dominated even his miserable passion for her, and made it
subservient to his exaltation of honor; this epaulet of the
officer, and blood of the gentleman, this simple possession of
knighthood not laid on by perfunctory steel, but springing from
within--all this, I grieve to say, was partly unintelligible to
Maruja, and not entirely satisfactory. Since he had entered the
room they seemed to have changed their situations; he was no longer
the pleading lover that trembled at her feet. For one base moment
she thought it was the result of his knowledge of her mother's
weakness; but the next instant, meeting his clear glance, she
colored with shame. Yet she detained him vaguely a moment before
the grated door in the secure shadow of the arch. He might have
kissed her there! He did not.
In the gloomy stagnation of the great house, it was natural that he
should escape from it for a while, and the saddling of his horse
for a solitary ride attracted no attention.


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