Broken to Harness: A Story of English Domestic LifeYates, Edmund
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Broken to Harness: A Story of English Domestic Life
Yates, Edmund
England -- Fiction
She said nothing at first, though her heart was full. With the tears
rolling down her cheeks, she rose from her chair, and, taking up her
position by her son, fell to smoothing his hair and passing her hand
lightly over his brow, as she had done--oh, how many thousand
times!--when he was a child; muttering softly, "My poor boy! oh, my
poor boy!" The gentler spirit which had taken possession of Frank just
before his mother's entrance grew and expanded under her softening
touch. He felt like some swimmer who, after a prolonged buffet with
the angry waves, feels his feet, and knows that a few more strokes
will bring him rest and home. There was a chance of nipping this
wretched scandal in its bud, which was much; there was a chance of
bringing his beloved to his side once more, which was all in all.
After a time he broke the silence, cautiously sounding the depths.
"Do you think there's any chance of this horrible business being put
straight, mother?" he asked.
"We are in the hands of God, my boy," replied the old lady, fervently.
"Time is the great anodyne. HE may think fit to have it all set right
in the course of time."
"Yes; but--I mean--you don't think it could be settled at
once--to-night, I mean?"
"If she were to come back to-night, which she will not, and confess
that her miserable pride and jealousy had driven her forth in a mad
fit, and were to ask pardon, and be as she ought to be--God
knows--humble and contrite, I would say let there be an end of it;
forget it all, and strive to live happier for the future. But if she
remains away to-night--well, I don't know what to say;" and the old
lady heaved a very intelligible sigh--a sigh which meant that in such
an event the worst had arrived.
"Yes," said Frank; his mind still dwelling on the little course he had
proposed to himself;--"yes, of course, you don't think it would be
right, then, to go to her--"
"Go to her!" echoed the old lady.
"Yes, go to her, and tell her how utterly wrong she had been--that
there was not the slightest foundation for her suspicions; and that
she had acted most unjustifiably in quitting her husband's house in
the manner she has done; and--"
Old Mrs. Churchill had been sitting as if petrified, with her lips
wide apart, during the delivery of this sentence; at this point she
thawed into speech.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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