Her Season in Bath: A Story of Bygone DaysMarshall, Emma
General
Her Season in Bath: A Story of Bygone Days
Marshall, Emma
Bath (England) -- Fiction
"I have done my best to persuade the lady," Sam said; "but it is
useless--it is in vain;" and, with a sigh, he began to gather together
the cosmetics and the little pots and bottles, and prepared for
departure.
Mr. Perkyns turned from the contemplation of the top-knots to give a
passing glance at Mistress Mainwaring. He shrugged his shoulders, and
murmured:
"A pity that what is so fair should not be made still fairer! But do not
stand wasting precious time, Samuel; proceed to Sydney Place, and
announce my speedy arrival. You can leave me what is needful, and I will
follow and bring the smaller bag. Be quick, Samuel; and do not go to
sleep--on a day like this, of all days!"
Samuel obeyed, and took leave; while Griselda, after a passing glance at
her head and shoulders in the mirror, retired to her own room on the
upper story, and, taking a violin from a case, began to draw the bow
over the strings.
"If only I could make you sing to me as their fiddles sang last night!
If only I had a voice like that sister of Mr. Herschel's! Ah! that song
from the 'Messiah'--if only I could play it!" And then, after several
attempts, Griselda did bring out the air of the song which, perhaps of
all others, fastens on ear and heart alike in that sublime oratorio:
"He shall feed His flock like a shepherd."
"So poor it sounds!" Griselda said; "so poor! I _will_ get to Mr.
Herschel's, and ask if he will teach me to play and sing. I will. Why
not? Ah, it is the money! She dresses me, and keeps me; and that is all.
She would do nothing else. But I have bought you, you dear violin!"
Griselda said, pressing her lips to the silent instrument, where the
music, unattainable for her, lay hidden. "I have bought you, and I will
keep you; and, who knows? I may one day make you tell me all that is in
your heart. Oh that I were not at her beck and call to do her bidding;
speak to those she chooses; and have nothing to say to those she thinks
beneath her! Ah me! Alack! alack!"
Griselda's meditations were interrupted by a sharp knock at the door;
and Graves came in with a bouquet in her hand, tied with pale primrose
ribbon.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account