Dynevor Terrace; Or, The Clue of Life — Volume 2Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Dynevor Terrace; Or, The Clue of Life — Volume 2
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Cousins -- Fiction; Domestic fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Upper class -- England -- Fiction
'She gave up the hope of seeing it,' said Clara, 'but she looked to it
all the same. She said meekly one day that it might be her penalty to
see them at variance in her own lifetime, but over her grave perhaps
they would be reconciled, and her prayers be answered. How she did love
Uncle Oliver! Do you know, Louis, what she was to him showed me what
the mother's love must be, which we never missed, because--because we
had her!'
'Don't talk of it, Clara,' said Louis, hastily; 'we cannot dwell on
ourselves, and bear it patiently!'
It was truly the loss of a most tender mother to them both; bringing
for the first time the sense of orphanhood on the girl, left between
the uncongenial though doting uncle, and the irritable though
affectionate brother; and Louis, though his home was not broken up,
suffered scarcely less. His aunt's playful sweetness had peculiarly
accorded with his disposition, and the affection and confidence of his
fond, clinging nature had fastened themselves upon her, all the more in
the absence of his own Mary. Each loss seemed to make the other more
painful. Aunt Kitty's correspondence was another link cut away between
him and Peru, and he had never known such a sense of dreariness in his
whole life. Clara was going patiently and quietly through those trying
days, with womanly considerateness; believing herself supported by her
brother, and being so in fact by the mere sisterly gratification of his
presence, though she was far more really sustained and assisted by
Fitzjocelyn. How much happier was the sorrow of Louis and Clara than
that of James or Oliver! Tempers such as those in which the uncle and
nephew but too closely resembled each other were soured, not softened
by grief, and every arrangement raised discussions which did not tend
to bring them nearer together.
Oliver designed a stately funeral. Nothing was too much for him to
lavish on his mother, and he was profuse in orders for hangings,
velvet, blazonry, mutes, and hired mourners, greedy of offers of the
dreary state of empty carriages, demanding that of Lord Ormersfield,
and wanting James to write to Lady Conway for the same purpose.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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