England -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction
I know at least that sitting thus by Cornelius, my hand in his, my eyes
like his watching that broad, tranquil sun slowly going down to rest, I
had never felt more deeply religious, more conscious of God in my heart.
As the bright disk dipped in the long line of the cool looking sea, then
sank rapidly, and at length vanished beneath the deep wave; as dark
clouds advanced across the sky, and the beautiful vision was lost in the
purple shadows of coming night, I felt that the earthly sun might set,
but that within me dwelt the peace and loveliness of an eternal dawn.
When the chill sea breeze began to sweep down the coast, Cornelius made
me rise. Through the green garden we walked back to the house. He stopped
before the stone steps and said:
"It was here I found you lying eight years ago: do you remember, Daisy?"
"Yes, Cornelius, I was very wretched, very lonely when you came and sat
down by me, took me in your arms, kissed me and consoled me."
"God bless you for having remembered it so long!"
"As if it were likely I should forget it! Cornelius, I do not think we
have ever sat on those stone steps since that day; let us do so now, and
talk of all that has happened since then."
We did so. It was the pure twilight hour, when earth and all she bears
lie dark and sleeping beneath a vast clear sky, to which light seems to
have retreated. For awhile we talked, but of its own accord speech soon
sunk into silence. What we said I do not remember now; but I still
remember how solemnly beautiful was that eve; how the calm moon rose
behind the house and looked down at us from her lonely place above; how,
as the sky darkened, it grew thick with stars; how the pine-trees bowed
to the sea-breeze at the end of the garden; how the waves broke at the
foot of the cliff with a low dash, pleasant to the ears, and how as I sat
by Cornelius I felt I was no longer a poor orphan child, but a happy and
loved woman; no longer an object of pity and sorrow, but the proud
companion of his life, and the chosen wife of his heart.
Home, realm of woman, pleasant shelter of her youth, gentle dominion
granted to her life, I can say that thou hast yielded me some of the
purest and deepest joys.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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