England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century
For several days he scarcely left the house. To wrath and dread had
succeeded a wretched torpor, during which his mind kept revolving the
thoughts prompted by his situation, turbidly and to no issue. He tasted
all the bitterness of the solitude to which he had condemned himself;
there was not a living soul with whom he could commune. At moments he
was possessed with the desire of going straightway to London, and
making Earwaker the confidant of all his folly. But that demanded an
exertion of which he was physically incapable. He thought of the old
home at Twybridge, and was tempted also in that direction. His mother
would welcome him with human kindness; beneath her roof he could lie
dormant until fate should again point his course. He even wrote a
letter saying that in all probability he should pay a visit to
Twybridge before long. But the impulse was only of an hour's duration,
for he remembered that to talk with his mother would necessitate all
manner of new falsehoods, a thickening of the atmosphere of lies which
already oppressed him. No; if he quitted Exeter, it must be on a longer
journey. He must resume his purpose of seeking some distant country,
where new conditions of life would allow him to try his fortune at
least as an honest adventurer. In many parts of colonial England his
technical knowledge would have a value, and were there not women to be
won beneath other skies--women perhaps of subtler charm than the old
hidebound civilisation produced? Reminiscences of scenes and figures in
novels he had read nourished the illusion. He pictured some thriving
little town at the ends of the earth, where a young Englishman of good
manners and unusual culture would easily be admitted to the intimacy of
the richest families; he saw the ideal colonist (a man of good birth,
but a sower of wild oats in his youth) with two or three daughters
about him--beautiful girls, wondrously self-instructed--living amid
romantic dreams of the old world, and of the lover who would some day
carry them off (with a substantial share of papa's wealth) to Europe
and the scenes of their imagination.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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