Domestic fiction; Education -- Fiction; England -- Fiction; Political fiction; Social problems -- Fiction; Utilitarianism -- Fiction
‘I hope not, for I have always loved you, and have always wished that you
should know it. But you changed to me a little, shortly before you left
home. Not that I wondered at it. You knew so much, and I knew so
little, and it was so natural in many ways, going as you were among other
friends, that I had nothing to complain of, and was not at all hurt.’
Her colour rose as she said it modestly and hurriedly. Louisa understood
the loving pretence, and her heart smote her.
‘May I try?’ said Sissy, emboldened to raise her hand to the neck that
was insensibly drooping towards her.
Louisa, taking down the hand that would have embraced her in another
moment, held it in one of hers, and answered:
‘First, Sissy, do you know what I am? I am so proud and so hardened, so
confused and troubled, so resentful and unjust to every one and to
myself, that everything is stormy, dark, and wicked to me. Does not that
repel you?’
‘No!’
‘I am so unhappy, and all that should have made me otherwise is so laid
waste, that if I had been bereft of sense to this hour, and instead of
being as learned as you think me, had to begin to acquire the simplest
truths, I could not want a guide to peace, contentment, honour, all the
good of which I am quite devoid, more abjectly than I do. Does not that
repel you?’
‘No!’
In the innocence of her brave affection, and the brimming up of her old
devoted spirit, the once deserted girl shone like a beautiful light upon
the darkness of the other.
Louisa raised the hand that it might clasp her neck and join its fellow
there. She fell upon her knees, and clinging to this stroller’s child
looked up at her almost with veneration.
‘Forgive me, pity me, help me! Have compassion on my great need, and let
me lay this head of mine upon a loving heart!’
‘O lay it here!’ cried Sissy. ‘Lay it here, my dear.’
CHAPTER II
VERY RIDICULOUS
MR. JAMES HARTHOUSE passed a whole night and a day in a state of so much
hurry, that the World, with its best glass in his eye, would scarcely
have recognized him during that insane interval, as the brother Jem of
the honourable and jocular member. He was positively agitated. He
several times spoke with an emphasis, similar to the vulgar manner. He
went in and went out in an unaccountable way, like a man without an
object. He rode like a highwayman. In a word, he was so horribly bored
by existing circumstances, that he forgot to go in for boredom in the
manner prescribed by the authorities.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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