Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest RomanceVictor, Metta Victoria Fuller
General
Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance
Victor, Metta Victoria Fuller
Logging -- Fiction; Love stories; Sawmills -- Michigan -- Fiction; Young men -- New York (State) -- New York -- Fiction
Then it was that Mr. Wilde found where the heart of his little girl
had gone astray; and cursed himself for his folly in exposing her
to a danger so probable. Yet, as he looked at her sweet face, worn
with watching and trouble, he could not but believe that the hand of
the proudest aristocrat on earth was none too good for her, and that
Philip would recognize her beauty and worth. If she _must_ love, and be
married, he would more willingly resign her to Philip Moore than to any
other man. Alice lacked experience as a nurse, but she followed every
motion of the good old colored woman, and stood ready to interfere
where she could be of any use.
Sitting hour after hour by Philip's bedside, changing the wet cloths
constantly to keep them cool, she heard words from his delirious
lips which added still more to her despair--fond, passionate words,
addressed not to her, but to some beloved woman, some beautiful
"Virginia," now far away, unconscious of her lover's danger, while to
her fell the sad pleasure of attending upon him.
"Oh, that he may live, and not die by the hand of an assassin, so
innocent a victim to a needless jealousy. Oh, that he may live to save
this Virginia, whoever she may be, from the fate of a hopeless mourner.
It will be joy enough for _me_ to save his life," she cried to herself.
The crisis passed; the flush of fever was succeeded by the languor and
pallor of extreme prostration; but the young man's constitution was
excellent, and he recovered rapidly. Then how it pleased Pallas to cook
him tempting dishes; and how it pleased Alice to see the appetite with
which he disposed of them. Women love to serve those who are dear to
them; no service can be so homely or so small that their enthusiasm
does not exalt it.
Yet the stronger Philip grew, the more heavily pressed a cold horror
upon the soul of Alice. Ben Perkins had not been to the house since
the wounded man was brought into it; and when Alice would have asked
her father of his whereabouts, her lips refused to form his name. She
hoped that he had fled; but then she knew that if he had disappeared,
her father would have mentioned it, and that the act would have fixed
suspicion upon him. She felt that he was hovering about, that he often
beheld her, when she was unaware of the secret gaze; she could not
endure to step to the door after dark, and she closed the curtains of
the windows with extremest care, especially in Philip's room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account