Emmeline, the Orphan of the CastleSmith, Charlotte
General
Emmeline, the Orphan of the Castle
Smith, Charlotte
Gothic fiction; Great Britain -- Social life and customs -- 18th century -- Fiction; Marriage -- Fiction; Single women -- Fiction
To the probability of this observation, the two friends assented; and
the young lady naming the next morning to gratify their curiosity, they
left her, Mrs. Stafford first offering her any thing her house afforded.
To which she replied, that at present she was tolerably well supplied,
and only conjured them to observe the strictest secresy, without which,
she said, she was undone.
At the appointed time they returned; equally eager to hear, and, if
possible, to relieve, the sorrows of this young person, for whom they
could not help being interested, tho' they yet knew not how far she
deserved their pity.
She had prepared her own little room as well as it would admit of to
receive them, and sat waiting their arrival with some degree of
composure. They contemplated with concern the ruins of eminent beauty
even in early youth, and saw an expression of helpless sorrow and
incurable unhappiness, which had greatly injured the original lustre and
beauty of her eyes and countenance. A heavy languor hung on her whole
frame. She tried to smile; but it was a smile of anguish; and their
looks seemed to distress and pain her. Mrs. Stafford and Emmeline, to
relieve her, took out their work; and when they were seated at it, she
hesitated--then sighed and hesitated again--and at length seemed to
enter on her story with desperate and painful resolution, as if to get
quickly and at once thro' a task which, however necessary, was extremely
distressing. She began in a low and plaintive voice; and frequently
stopped to summon courage to continue, while she wiped away the tears
that slowly fell from her eyes.
* * * * *
'I cannot believe I shall ever repent the confidence I am about to place
in you. My heart assures me I shall not. Perhaps I may find that pity I
dare no longer solicit from my own family; perhaps--but I must hasten to
tell you my melancholy story, before its recollection again overwhelms
me. Yet my fate has nothing in it very singular; numbers have been
victims of the same calamity, but some have been more easily forgiven
than I shall be.--Some are better able to bear infamy, and be reconciled
to disgrace.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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