Women -- Social conditions -- 19th century -- Fiction
Even when any distant excursion forced him to absent himself, her idea
followed him to light him cheerily on his way. He knew that he should
find her on his return busied in little preparations for his welcome. In
summer time, the bower in the garden would be adorned; in the inclement
season of winter the logs would blaze on the hearth, his chair be drawn
towards the fire, the stool for Ethel at his feet, with nothing to
remind him of the past, save her dear presence, which drew its greatest
charm, not from that, but from the present. Fitzhenry forgot the
thousand delights of civilization, for which formerly his heart had
painfully yearned. He forgot ambition, and the enticements of gay
vanity; peace and security appeared the greatest blessings of life, and
he had them here.
Ethel herself was happy beyond the knowledge of her own happiness. She
regretted nothing in the old country. She grew up among the grandest
objects of nature, and they were the sweet influences to excite her to
love and to a sense of pleasure. She had come to the Illinois attended
by a black woman and her daughter, whom her father had engaged to attend
her at New York, and had been sedulously kept away from communication
with the settlers--an arrangement which it would have been difficult to
bring about elsewhere, but in this secluded and almost deserted spot the
usual characteristics of the Americans were scarcely to be found. Most
of the inhabitants were emigrants from Scotland, a peaceable,
hard-working population.
Ethel lived alone in their lonely dwelling. Had she been of a more
advanced age when taken from England, her curiosity might have been
excited by the singularity of her position; but we rarely reason about
that which has remained unchanged since infancy; taking it as a part of
the immutable order of things, we yield without a question to its
controul. Ethel did not know that she was alone. Her attendants she was
attached to, and she idolized her father; his image filled all her
little heart. Playmate she had none, save a fawn and a kid, a dog grown
old in her service, and a succession of minor favourites of the animal
species.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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