Confession; Or, The Blind Heart. A Domestic StorySimms, William Gilmore
General
Confession; Or, The Blind Heart. A Domestic Story
Simms, William Gilmore
Domestic fiction
This earnestness struck me with surprise. I remembered the expression
in my wife's face the day before when I told her the letter had been
received, I now recalled to mind the fact, that, on no occasion, had she
ever shown me any of her mother's letters; though nothing surely would
have seemed more natural, as she knew how keen was my anxiety to hear at
all times from the old maternal city.
My suspicions began to warm, and I resolved upon another act of baseness
in obedience to the counsel of my evil spirit. I pretended to look
awhile for the letter, but finally dismissed the girl, saying that I had
mislaid it, but would bring it home with me when I came to dinner. The
moment she had gone I examined this precious document. It was sealed
with one of those gum wafers which are stuck on the outside of the
envelope. In turning it over, as if everything was prepared to gratify
my wish, I discovered that one section of the wafer had nearly parted
from the paper. To the upper section of the fold it adhered closely. To
the lower it was scarcely attached at all, and seemed never to have been
as well fastened as the upper.
The temptation was irresistible. A very slight effort enabled me to
complete the separation without soiling the paper or fracturing the
seal. This was all done within my desk, the leaf of the desk being
raised and resting upon my head. In this position I could easily close
the desk, in the event of any intrusion, without suffering the intruder
to see in what I had been engaged. Thus guarded I proceeded to read the
precious epistle, which I found very much what I should have expected
from such a woman. It said a great deal about her neighbors and
her neighbors' dresses; and how her dear Delaney was sometimes
“obstropolous,” though in the end a mighty good man; and much more over
which I hurried with all the rapidity of disgust. But there was matter
that made me linger. One or two sentences thrown into the postscript
contained a volume. I read, with lifted hair and a convulsed bosom, the
following passage:--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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