Effie Ogilvie: the story of a young life; vol. 2Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
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Effie Ogilvie: the story of a young life; vol. 2
Oliphant, Mrs. (Margaret)
Scotland -- Fiction
After that first visit in which he had hoped that Miss Effie would be
very happy, and said everything that was proper, Effie knew almost as
well as if she had been informed from the first, all that had passed:
his eyes conveyed to her an amount of information which he was little
aware of. She recognized with many tremors and a strange force of
divination, not only that there had been things said and steps taken
before his departure of which she had never been told, but also, as well
as if it had been put into words, that he had come home, happy in the
thought of the fortune which now would make him more acceptable in the
eyes of the father and stepmother, building all manner of castles in the
air; and that all these fairy fabrics had fallen with a crash, and he
had awakened painfully from his dream to hear of her engagement, and
that a few weeks more would see her Fred Dirom’s wife.
The looks he cast at her, the looks which he averted, the thrill
imperceptible to the others which went over him when he took her hand at
coming and going, were all eloquent to Effie. All that she had felt for
Fred Dirom at the moment when the genuine emotion in him had touched her
to the warmest sympathy, was nothing like that which penetrated her
heart at Ronald’s hasty, self-restrained, and, as far as he was aware,
self-concealing glance.
In a moment the girl perceived, with a mingled thrill of painful
pleasure and anguish, what might have been. It was one of those sudden
perceptions which light up the whole moral landscape in a moment, as a
sudden flash of lightning reveals the hidden expanse of storm and sea.
Such intimations are most often given when they are ineffectual--not
when they might guide the mind to a choice which would secure its
happiness, but after all such possibilities are over and that happy
choice can never be made. When he had gone away Effie slid out of sight
too, and sought the shelter of her room, that little sanctuary which had
hid so many agitations within the last few weeks, but none so tremendous
as this. The discovery seemed to stun her. She could only sit still and
look at it, her bosom heaving, her heart beating loudly, painfully like
a funeral toll against her breast.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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