Page:Lippincotts Monthly Magazine-39.djvu/95

 JANUARY, 1887.

THE STORY OF ANGELA.

ELL you? Yes, I will try. I will try to do just as you wish,—lie still, speak quietly and slowly, search my memory and my conscience, forget nothing, tell all. That is what you said, isn't it? Well, I will try. The pain is gone now; and I feel warm and easy among these soft pillows, with the sun shining across my feet. Do you see how the sun shines in a broad golden band across my feet? And yet it is New-Year's Day,—midwinter. It seems more like a day in April; and to me it brings back all those strange, keen feelings that begin to stir in one's heart in the spring. It is a great change from last night. Last night there was a fierce wind, and it rained, and the sky was black, and—and the water,—how black and cold the water was, too!—There! My head is very light and far away. But if they will leave us two alone together, like this, and if you will keep that calm, kind, beautiful look in your eyes, and if only the cough will not come back, I think I shall be able to tell you all.

And yet, all,—that means so much. That means more than you think. This latest thing was caused by that earlier one; and that, by something earlier still: so that I cannot make you understand what I did last night, without going back, back, back, into the past,—back to the very first beginning,—and then starting and coming down step by step to now. That will be long and hard. I don't know whether I shall have strength enough to do that. But I will try.

What did you say? Begin by telling you my name and who and what I am? Ah, yes; that will be the best way to begin.

My name is Angela,—Angela Teresina,—and I am eighteen years