A House Divided Against Itself (Complete)Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
A House Divided Against Itself (Complete)
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction
She ought to have been subdued into silence by his first objection; but,
on the contrary, she met his angry eyes with a look which was
deprecating, but not abject, holding her little own. It was a long time
since Waring had encountered anything which he could not subdue and put
aside out of his path. But, he said to himself--all that long restrained
and silent temper which had once reigned and raged within him, springing
up again unsubdued--he might have known! The moment long deferred, yet
inevitable, which brought him in contact once more with his wife, could
bring nothing with it but pain. Strife breathed from her wherever she
appeared. He had never been a match for her and her boy, even at his
best; and now that he had forgotten the ways of battle--now that his
strength was broken with long quiet, and the sword had fallen from his
hand--she had a pull over him now which she had not possessed before. He
could have done without both the children a dozen years ago. He was
conscious that it was more from self-assertion than from love that he
had carried off the little one, who was rather an embarrassment than a
pleasure in those days--because he would not let her have everything her
own way. But now, Frances was no longer a creature without identity, not
a thing to be handed from one to another. He could not free himself of
interest in her, of responsibility for her, of feeling his honour and
credit implicated in all that concerned her. Ah! that woman knew. She
had a hold upon him that she never had before; and the first use she
made of it was to insult him--to send her son, whom he hated, for his
daughter, to force him into unwilling intercourse with her family once
more.
Frances took the opportunity to steal away while her father gloomily
pursued these thoughts. What a change from the tranquillity which
nothing disturbed! now one day after another, there was some new thing
that stirred up once more the original pain. There was no end to it. The
mother’s letters at one moment, the brother’s arrival at another, and no
more quiet whatever could be done, no more peace.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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