A Widow's Tale, and Other StoriesOliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
General
A Widow's Tale, and Other Stories
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Fiction; Short stories
elastic when youth is over and the reign of the sober everyday has come
in. There is no such union, and yet there is no union that sits so
lightly. People who are each other's only confidants, and cannot live
without each other, yet feel a half-relief and sense of emancipation
when accidentally and temporarily they are free of each other. A woman
says to her daughter, "We will do so-and-so and so-and-so when your
father is away," meaning no abatement of loyalty or love, but yet an
unconscious, unaccustomed, not unenjoyable freedom. And the man no doubt
feels it perhaps more warmly on his side. So it was not felt that there
was anything to be uncomfortable about, or even to regret. The letters
were not so frequent as the wife could have wished. She sent a detailed
history of the family, and of everything that was going on, every second
day; but her husband's replies were short, and there were much longer
intervals between. Sometimes a week would elapse without any news; but
so much was going on at home, and all minds were so fully occupied, that
no particular notice was taken. Mrs Lycett-Landon asked, "How is it that
you are so lazy about writing?" and there was an end of it. So long as
he was perfectly well, as he said he was, what other danger could there
be to fear?
There are times when the smallest matter awakens family anxiety, and
there are other times when people are unaccountably, inconceivably easy
in their minds, and will not take alarm whatever indications of peril
may arise. When real calamity is impending how often is this the case!
Ears that are usually on the alert are deafened; eyes that look out the
most eagerly, lose their power of vision. Little Julian had a whitlow on
his finger, and his mother was quite unhappy about it; but as for her
husband, she was at rest and feared nothing. When he wrote, after a long
silence, that he felt one of his colds coming on and was going to nurse
himself, then indeed she felt a momentary uneasiness. But his colds were
never of a dangerous kind; they were colds that yielded at once to
treatment. She wrote immediately, and bade him be sure and stay indoors
for a day or two, and sent him Dr Moller's prescription, which always
did him good. "If you want me, of course you know I will come directly,"
she wrote. To this letter he replied much more quickly than usual,
begging her on no account to disturb herself, as he was getting rapidly
well again. But after this there was a longer pause in the
correspondence than had ever happened before.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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