I was about twelve years old when she died. As I had by that time
read with great interest a large number of juvenile story-books of
the exaggerated sentimental and goody kind, I was thoroughly well
up in the behaviour to be expected from any girl-heroine on the
occurrence of such an event. I knew that her father would at once
become the great object of her life, and that she would devote
herself utterly to the task of comforting him and endeavouring to
replace Her (with a capital H) who was gone. Though the girl would
of course be herself well-nigh crushed with grief, and indulge in
paroxysms of sobs and tears whenever she was alone, yet she would
heroically repress any public manifestation of distress, lest the
knowledge and sight of it should increase that of her surviving
parent. Her zeal on his behalf would know no bounds, and lead her
to neglect the most ordinary precautions against illness for
herself. This would appear in some absurd and wholly uncalled for
act of self-devotion--such as sitting motionless for hours in a
thorough draught and wet through, lest the sound of her moving
might awake him as he slept in the next room, or something equally
ridiculous; and by a few insane performances of the same kind the way
would easily be paved for the invariably thrilling climax. A pillow
bedewed nightly with tears; knife-like stabs of pain returning with
increasing frequency; blood-spitting neglected and kept secret; pangs
mental and bodily, concealed under a cheerful exterior; there could
be but one conclusion to such symptoms as these. The overtaxed
strength would collapse suddenly; consumption, decline, heart
disease, or some other alarming illness, would ensue; and then there
would be either a few harrowing deathbed scenes, or else a miraculous
recovery and happy marriage of the heroine; in this last case her
spouse would of course be some paragon young man, who should be in
every respect ideally perfect, and thoroughly able to appreciate and
do justice to the treasure whom he had been so fortunate as to win
for a wife.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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