Contraband; Or, A Losing HazardWhyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
General
Contraband; Or, A Losing Hazard
Whyte-Melville, G. J. (George John)
England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Her voice was still fresh, clear, and more powerful than ever; she need
not surely seek long for an engagement, and under a false name, in those
great southern towns, how was she to be traced or identified? She might
defy Picard, she might even baffle the inquiries of Frank Vanguard, if,
indeed, he loved her well enough to try and seek her out. The tears
would come thick to her eyes while she pictured his sorrow and anxiety
on her behalf, but she never wavered in her determination of keeping up
an eternal barrier between them, and of devoting her whole existence
henceforth to her child. Had she known how Frank accepted her loss with
an uncomplaining resignation, very far short of despair, waking up, as
it were, from a dream, with a feeling that, after all, things might have
been worse, it is possible she would have shown less resolution; but
believing _him_ to be inconsolable, she felt herself impracticable and
pitiless as adamant. Who shall say how far such dreams helped her to
bear the nursing, the watching, the fatigue, the heavy anxious days, the
long, weary hours of those sultry, sleepless nights?
Except to go for medicine, for arrowroot, or to summon the doctor on
some fresh alarm, Jin never stirred across the threshold, nor drew a
breath of fresher air than could be obtained at the window of the
sick-chamber.
Amongst other womanly trinkets and trifles, she had a large fan left, of
small money value, but admirably adapted to its purpose. Under the
judicious application of this instrument, the child gradually became
cooler and less feverish. At length, with a few drowsy murmurs, in which
"Mamma" and "Moley" were mixed up unintelligibly, the empty phial that
had served him for a toy dropped from his poor little wasted fingers,
and he went to sleep. Then Jin, bethinking her that the phial must be
refilled according to medical directions, sought out the prescription,
caught up her bonnet and parasol, drew on her last pair of gloves, and
stole down-stairs, leaving the door ajar, while impressing on the
maid-of-all-work that she must peep in every five minutes to see if the
little invalid were still asleep; she herself would not be gone a
quarter of an hour.
I don't care how hard a woman is worked, I never knew one yet but could
make time to look after a child. From the little girl of three, who
carries a doll as big as herself, to the aged dame of threescore, who
has been dandling children and children's children all her life, not one
of the sex but handles an infant with instinctive dexterity, such as no
amount of mere practice could insure. Even the sourest old maid may be
intrusted with a baby; nor is there the slightest fear that she will
crease it, drop it, or carry it upside down. The poor drudge who
answered Jin's summons with grimy hands and unwashed face, would have
liked nothing better than to tend Gustave morning, noon, and night. She
only hoped Miss Ross would stay out the whole afternoon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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