Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth CenturyFullerton, Georgiana
History
Constance Sherwood: An Autobiography of the Sixteenth Century
Fullerton, Georgiana
Great Britain -- History -- Elizabeth, 1558-1603 -- Fiction
So, kissing us both somewhat hurriedly, she took up her basket on her
arm, and said she should send a messenger on the morrow for her
clothes; at which Muriel, for the first time, shed some tears, which
was an instance of what I have often noticed, that grief, howsoever
heavy, doth not always overflow in the eyes unless some familiar words
or homely circumstance doth substantiate the verity of a sorrow known
indeed, but not wholly apparent till its common effects be seen. Then
we two sat awhile alone in that empty chamber--empty of her which for
so long years had tenanted it to our no small comfort and benefit.
When the light waned, Muriel lit a candle, and said she must go for to
attend on her mother, for that duty did now devolve chiefly on her;
and I could see in her sad but composed face the conquering peace
which doth exceed all human consolation.
For mine own part, I was so unhinged by doubtful suspense that I
lacked ability to employ my mind in reading or my fingers in
stitch-work; and so descended for relief into the garden, where I
wandered to and fro like an uneasy ghost, seeking rest but finding
none. The dried shaking leaves made a light noise in falling, which
caused me each time to think I heard a footstep behind me. And despite
the increasing darkness, after I had paced up and down for near unto
an hour, some one verily did come walking along the alley where I was,
seeking to overtake me. Turning round I perceived it to be mine own
dear aged friend, Mr. Roper. Oh, what great comfort I experienced in
the sight of this good man! How eager was my greeting of him! How full
my heart as I poured into his ear the narrative of the passages which
had befallen me since we had met! Of the most weighty he knew
somewhat; but nothing of the last haunting fear I had lest my dear
Basil should be in London, and this very night engaged in the perilous
attempt to carry off Mr. Watson. When I told him of it, he started and
exclaimed:
"God defend it!" but quickly corrected himself and cried, "God's
mercy, that my first feeling should have led me to think rather of
Basil's safety than of the fine spirit he showed in all instances
where a good action had to be done, or a service rendered to those in
affliction."
"Indeed, Mr. Roper," I said, as he led me back to the house and into
the solitary parlor (where my uncle now seldom came, but remained
sitting alone in his library, chiefly engaged in praying and reading),
"I do condemn mine own weakness in this, and pray God to give me
strength for what may come upon us; but I do promise you 'tis no easy
matter to carry always so high a heart that it shall not sink with
human fears and griefs in such passages as these."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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