Adoptees -- Fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction
Yet he fondly hoped to derive happiness from it. Traversing long tracts
of country with vast speed, cut off from intercourse with every one but
her, and she endearing herself more, daily, by extreme sweetness of
disposition, he began almost to forget the worm gnawing at his bosom;
and, feeling himself free, to fancy himself happy. Unfortunately, it was
not so: he had passed the fatal Rubicon, placed by conscience between
innocence and crime; and however much he might for a time deaden the
stings of feeling or baffle the inevitable punishment hereafter to arise
from the consequences of his guilt, still there was a burden on his soul
that took all real zest from life, and made his attempts at enjoyment
more like the experiments of a physician to dissipate sickness, than the
buoyant sensations of one in health.
But then he thought not of himself--he did not live in himself, but in
the joyous being at his side. Her happiness was exuberant. She might be
compared to an exotic, lately pinched, and drooping from the effects of
the wintry air, transported back, in the first opening of a balmy
southern spring, to its native clime. The young and tender green leaves
unfolded themselves in the pleasant air; blossoms appeared among the
foliage, and sweet fruit might be anticipated. Nor was it only the
kindness of her protector that endeared him to her: much of the warm
sentiment of affection arose from their singular modes of life. Had they
continued at a fixed residence, in town or country, in a civilized land,
Elizabeth had seen her guardian at stated periods; have now and then
taken a walk with him, or gambolled in the garden at his side; while,
for the chief part, their occupation and pursuits being different, they
had been little together. As it was, they were never apart: side by side
in a travelling carriage--now arriving, now departing; now visiting the
objects worthy of observation in various cities. They shared in all the
pleasures and pains of travel, and each incident called forth her sense
of dependance, and his desire to protect; or, changing places, even at
that early age, she soothed his impatience, while he was beguiled of his
irritability by her cheerful voice and smiling face. In all this,
Elizabeth felt most strongly the tie that bound them. Sometimes
benighted; sometimes delayed by swollen rivers; reduced to bear together
the miseries of a bad inn, or, at times, of no inn at all; sometimes in
danger--often worn by fatigue--Elizabeth found in her adopted parent a
shelter, a support, and a preserver. Creeping close to him, her little
hand clasped in his, or carried in his arms, she feared nothing, because
he was there. During storms at sea, he had placed his own person between
her and the bitter violence of the wind, and had often exposed himself
to the inclemency of the weather to cover her, and save her from wet and
cold. At all times he was on the alert to assist, and his assistance was
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