The Salamanca Corpus: Yeoman Fleetwood (1900 ... - Gredos

The Salamanca Corpus: Yeoman Fleetwood (1900)
"I am afraid it must be very painful to you to show it to a stranger," cried Rachel
impulsively. "I did not know — I did not think"
She stopped, blushing, and added, after a pause, up-lifting her eyes, sweeter to him than
ever now that their brightness was dimmed by tears, "I am sure, I beg your pardon".
"I like you to be here," returned he simply. "I can never look on you as a stranger."
"Ah, you remember how often I used to come as a child," cried Rachel. "I loved this
room. I used to bring my little stool close to your mother's sofa, and she taught me all
sorts of things. See, here are rushes like those she set me to peel — we made such funny
little houses with the pith. And do you know, Mr. Simon, that I worked this sampler? I
am sure it was not worthy of being framed. But she taught me the stitch, and when it
was finished I gave it to her. You see my initials here, R, C.? One on each branch of this
very fine tree. Is
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it not a fine tree? There are quite seven leaves to it."
They were standing opposite the sampler now. Simon had not known it to be Rachel's
handiwork, as it had been presented during his absence from home, and he looked at it
with a pleased interest, which was presently succeeded by a vein of deeper emotion. It
seemed to him that this quaint relic of her childhood made, as it were, a link between
them.
"Do you mind my running on like this?” inquired Rachel shyly, for she marvelled at his
taciturnity.
"No, indeed; I like it,” he returned; adding, after a short pause, "No one ever speaks of
— of old times to me, and I find it sweet."
"I am so glad," exclaimed the girl, "for, do you know, of all things I like talking of old
times. Your mother taught me how to make shell-boxes, too — ah, here are the shells in
this drawer, just where she always kept them. She had such little dainty fingers, I
remember, fit for the work. I suppose she never made jam?" she added, looking at
Simon with a curious little pensive air.
"Oh, no," cried he, almost indignantly, "I cannot imagine her doing anything of the kind
— my father would never have allowed it."