Psyche's Wanderings, Chapters VI-IX [pp. 617-630]

Psyclie's HWanderilng-s.
We went out upon the porch to watch
the moon rise; and as we had to wait
a little, we took seats and talked upon
Bet's favorite topic -history.
While we were upon this subject Bet
did most of the talking. Her conversation flowed along smoothly and gently;
and she imparted information to me
with the readiness of a schoolma'am instructing a class. The sweet, low voice
of the girl, as she sat there talking so
contentedly, the glint of her face reflected in the pale light of the rising
moon,- the innocent, satisfied smile,the remembrance I had of seeing her
hair straying out from under Psyche's
veil,- all this tempted me. I was near
her- was almost touching her- and I
yielded to the impulse of the moment,
which was to clasp in mine the little
hand that lay in her lap by my side.
She was talking about the conquest
of Mexico. As she felt my hand close
upon hers, her voice faltered a little;
there was a momentary stammer,-a
tremble,- then she went bravely on.
"Montezuma sent messengers to Cortez, and among them men skilled in the
picture-writinrg peculiar to the Aztecs."
" Where was Cortez at the time?" I
asked.
"On the seacoast, where now stands
the city of Vera Cruz," she replied.
"He and his men had landed there and
were making acquaintance with the
natives in the neighborhood. Montezuma's messengers arrived; and the
painters sketched Cortez and his followers in their armor, also the ships
and the horses."
The tones had sunk lower, the smile
had departed, and a flush appeared upon the childlike face.
I helped her out with another question. "What was Montezuma's policy?
Did he mean peace or war?"
"Montezuma was undecided as to
his policy." she answered. "He-hedid not know whether the new comers
were-were gods or men. If they were
gods he would not resist them-he was
ready to worship them; but-if-" she
could not go on.
With a sudden sense of shame, I realized that I was a man of thirty-three,
making advances to a child of fifteen,a girl with warm blood, a quick, tender
heart, a romantic imagination, and no
doubt totally without an experience of
lovers. If she were Psyche I was justified, it was all right. I was almost sure
she was Psyche, but so long as there
was a particle of doubt on the point I
had no right, in honor, to woo so young
a girl.
I attempted to withdraw my hand;
the girl gave it a sudden, retaining pressure and cast upon me a quick, timid
look of encouragement.
"Psyche," I whispered, "Psyche."
She started, and I drew away my hand
as her grasp relaxed.
"Bet, was it not you that I met at the
end of the lane, Monday night?" I asked.
"Oh, don't ask me," she replied. "I
must not, will not tell you."
"Ah, but I recognize your voice now;
it is the same; you are Psyche."
"Oh no, no; don't think it, don't believe it; I must not stay here with you.
You must go away, or -come in where
the others are."
"Very well; I don't want to appear
too impatient; but what does it all
mean?"
At this moment Camiola stepped out
upon the porch. I saw at once that she
was ill-pleased. She had been watching us from a window, no doubt. She
could not have heard what we said; but
she had seen the hand-clasping, the
close, earnest attention with which we
talked, and at the last Bet's agitation.
This was only the second time I had
met the girl; and I was old enough to
be her father. I could imagine the
effect on Camiola.
"Bet, go into the house," were her
first words.
Bet obeyed silently.
618
[Dec.