Frederica and her Guardians; Or, The Perils of OrphanhoodRobertson, Margaret M. (Margaret Murray)
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Frederica and her Guardians; Or, The Perils of Orphanhood
Robertson, Margaret M. (Margaret Murray)
Orphans -- Fiction
And so Selina saw her old home, as Edgar had foretold. It was she who,
through the lifting morning mists, first caught sight of the city roofs
and the cathedral towers, and the mountain beyond, beautiful with the
level light of the sunrise on them. She saw her old home, and the two
graves, and the faces of some people who had only been as names to her
in the old days. She saw her home, and for a time she wished she had
not seen it, but that she had allowed it still to stand in her memory as
the sweetest and loveliest spot on earth, made beautiful in her thought
by the remembrance of her mother and of all they had been to each other
there.
For the old home was changed. The great warehouses pressed closer and
closer upon it. The garden had been encroached upon, and the shadows of
great chimneys and workshops darkened the lawn. It was very little like
the home she had been remembering so lovely all these years. It was
little like home to many of them now.
There were few people that they remembered well. They saw Miss Robina
again, but her mother was dead, and so was Mistress Campbell. Madame
Precoe was very friendly with them, in her unpleasant way. She smiled,
and was polite, and spoke softly to them, but she never allowed them to
forget that she believed them to have wandered far from the truth, and
that days of darkness awaited them.
Father Jerome did not come to see them, but one day Frederica met him in
the street. He had grown very old and bowed, and walked wearily, with
his eyes fixed upon the ground, so that he did not see her when she
passed. For the moment she was glad, but afterwards she could not
forget his face, nor the look it wore,--a look not peaceful, but
silent--blank--unresponsive.
Mr St. Cyr was home by this time, and they saw him often. But he would
not speak much about his brother.
"He is not happy," said he; "but that is a small matter. I pray God to
give him His peace."
And these young people, who had only just escaped great suffering and
sorrow at his hand, remembering all the way by which they had been led
and guided since then, could only join heartily in the prayer that God's
peace might indeed come upon him, and God's light as well.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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