Gothic fiction; Ireland -- History -- Rebellion of 1798 -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Romans à clef
“The flowers bloom around your garden, my good aunt; the sun shines
ever on these walls; it is summer here when it is winter in every other
place. I think God’s blessing is with you.” The abbess turned aside
to conceal her tears; then rising, asked wherefore her privacy was
intruded upon in so unaccustomed a manner. “I am come,” said Elinor,
“to ask a favour at your hands, and if you deny me, at least add not
unnecessary harshness to your refusal. I have a father’s curse on
me, and it weighs me to the earth. When they tell you I am no more,
say, will you pray for my soul? The God of Heaven dares not refuse
the prayer of a saint like you.”
“This is strange language, Miss St. Clare; but if indeed my prayers
have the efficacy you think for, they shall be made now, even now that
your heart may be turned from its wickedness to repentance.”—“The
favour I have to ask is of great moment: there will be a child left
at your doors; and ere long it will crave your protection; for it
is an orphan boy, and the hand that now protects it will soon be no
more. Look not thus at me: it is not mine. The boy has noble blood
in his veins; but he is the pledge of misfortune and crime.”
The abbess raised herself to take a nearer view of the person with
whom she was conversing. The plumed hat and dark flowing mantle, the
emerald clasp and chain, had little attraction for one of her age
and character; but the sunny ringlets which fell in profusion over
a skin of alabaster, the soft smile of enchantment blended with the
assumed fierceness of a military air, the deep expressive glance
of passion and sensibility, the youthful air of boyish playfulness,
and that blush which years of crime had not entirely banished, all,
all awakened the affection of age; and, with more of warmth, more of
interest than she had wished to shew to one so depraved, she pressed
the unhappy wanderer to her heart. “What treacherous fiends have
decoyed, and brought thee to this, my child? What dæmons have had
the barbarous cruelty to impose upon one so young, so fair?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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