Christian life; Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- Fiction; Young women -- Conduct of life -- Fiction
Though I was no longer of a temper to reject the means of comfort which
still remained within my reach, or scornfully to repulse the mercies
both of God and man, I had accepted with reluctance the asylum offered
by the clergyman to whom Miss Mortimer had recommended me; for the
reserve which shrinks from obligation is one of the most unconquerable
forms of pride. Besides, though the Doctor's professional duties had
made me somewhat acquainted with him, his family were, even by
character, strangers to me. The state of Miss Mortimer's health had long
precluded us from paying or receiving visits; and my friend had none of
those habits of moral portrait-painting which seduce so many into
caricature. My reluctance to accept of the good man's hospitality had,
however, yielded partly to necessity, partly to the recollection that I
had once heard the 'Doctor's lady' called 'the cleverest woman in the
country.' For ability I had always entertained a high regard; which is
one of vanity's least bare-faced ways of claiming kindred with it. A
residence with persons of education and good manners was irresistible,
when the only alternative was an abode in a mean lodging, in which pride
or prudence would forbid me to receive even the few who still owned my
acquaintance. I had therefore consented to remain with Dr ---- till an
answer should arrive from the sister to whom he had written on my
behalf.
Though I knew that I was expected at the parsonage on the evening when
I left Miss Mortimer's, I lingered long by the way. The spirit which,
for a moment, had raised me above my fate, could not tarry; and earthly
woes and earthly passions soon resumed their power. A feeling of
loneliness and neglect returned to weigh upon my heart; and when I
reached the gate within which I was about to seek a shelter, I stopped;
leant my head against it; and wept, as if I had never committed myself
to a Father's protection,--never exulted in a Father's care. I felt it
unkind that no one came to save me the embarrassment of introducing
myself; and perhaps even my pride would not have stooped to the effort,
had I not at last been accosted by my host; who excused himself for not
having come to escort me, by saying that he had been unavoidably engaged
in professional duty. He now welcomed me cordially; expressing a hope
that I should soon feel myself at home,--'that is,' continued he, 'as
soon as the exertions of my good woman will allow you.'
To this odd proviso I could only answer, 'That I was afraid my visit
might put Mrs ---- to inconvenience.'
'I wish that were possible, Miss Percy,' returned he; 'for then she
would be quite in her element.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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