Autobiographical fiction; England -- Fiction; Feminist fiction; Governesses -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
I cannot say that I implicitly obeyed my own injunctions: but such
reasoning as this became more and more effective as time wore on, and
nothing was seen or heard of Mr. Weston; until, at last, I gave up
hoping, for even my heart acknowledged it was all in vain. But still, I
would think of him: I would cherish his image in my mind; and treasure
every word, look, and gesture that my memory could retain; and brood
over his excellences and his peculiarities, and, in fact, all I had
seen, heard, or imagined respecting him.
“Agnes, this sea air and change of scene do you no good, I think: I
never saw you look so wretched. It must be that you sit too much, and
allow the cares of the schoolroom to worry you. You must learn to take
things easy, and to be more active and cheerful; you must take exercise
whenever you can get it, and leave the most tiresome duties to me: they
will only serve to exercise my patience, and, perhaps, try my temper a
little.”
So said my mother, as we sat at work one morning during the Easter
holidays. I assured her that my employments were not at all oppressive;
that I was well; or, if there was anything amiss, it would be gone as
soon as the trying months of spring were over: when summer came I
should be as strong and hearty as she could wish to see me: but
inwardly her observation startled me. I knew my strength was declining,
my appetite had failed, and I was grown listless and desponding;—and
if, indeed, he could never care for me, and I could never see him
more—if I was forbidden to minister to his happiness—forbidden, for
ever, to taste the joys of love, to bless, and to be blessed—then, life
must be a burden, and if my heavenly Father would call me away, I
should be glad to rest. But it would not do to die and leave my mother.
Selfish, unworthy daughter, to forget her for a moment! Was not her
happiness committed in a great measure to my charge?—and the welfare of
our young pupils too? Should I shrink from the work that God had set
before me, because it was not fitted to my taste? Did not He know best
what I should do, and where I ought to labour?—and should I long to
quit His service before I had finished my task, and expect to enter
into His rest without having laboured to earn it? “No; by His help I
will arise and address myself diligently to my appointed duty. If
happiness in this world is not for me, I will endeavour to promote the
welfare of those around me, and my reward shall be hereafter.” So said
I in my heart; and from that hour I only permitted my thoughts to
wander to Edward Weston—or at least to dwell upon him now and then—as a
treat for rare occasions: and, whether it was really the approach of
summer or the effect of these good resolutions, or the lapse of time,
or all together, tranquillity of mind was soon restored; and bodily
health and vigour began likewise, slowly, but surely, to return.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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