Christian Reid

A Comedy of Elopement Christian Reid

The short December day was drawing to its close; but, though the month was December, the temperature was not that which is usually associated with the season. Instead of gray skies, leaden waters, and brown or snowy earth, there was a sky of glowing beauty, a glittering sea, and a land covered with the evergreen foliage of the South-for it was December in Florida. At noon the sun had shone with uncomfortable power on the broad plaza and old Spanish houses of St. Augustine; but now that his last rays were gilding the ancient fort and the Moorish belfry of the cathedral, the air was full of that delicious softness-a caressing warmth without heat-which in such latitudes makes the mere fact of existence a delight. On the gray sea wall there were several loiterers; but, as the sun finally sank, and the purple veil of twilight fell over land and sea, most of these departed, leaving only two girls, who still paced the narrow promenade, talking earnestly. At least one was talking earnestly-the other only listened. But the mere fact of listening can be eloquent sometimes, and this girl's face seemed made to express all things eloquently. It was a delicately molded face, with a pale complexion and the most gentle and lustrous eyes possible to imagine. As yet she was altogether immature in appearance and manner, being not more than fifteen years of age, but her slender figure gave indications of more than ordinary grace when time should have transformed its angles into curves, just as her face promised to prove even more than beautiful when a woman's soul should shine out of those eyes, now soft as a fawn's and innocent as a child's.