England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Wives -- Fiction
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
[Illustration: THERE WAS SOMETHING IMPOSING AND SUMPTUOUS ABOUT HER
BEAUTY.]
LOUIE'S MARRIED LIFE
BY
SARAH DOUDNEY
AUTHOR OF "WHEN WE TWO PARTED," "WHERE THE DEW FALLS IN LONDON,"
"A ROMANCE OF LINCOLN'S INN," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY W. RAINEY, R. I.
LONDON
S. W. PARTRIDGE & CO.
8 & 9 PATERNOSTER ROW.
[Illustration]
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER
I. BEGINNING
II. LOOKING BACK
III. INEZ
IV. RONALD
V. RECOVERY
VI. THE GUITAR
VII. JARS
VIII. MARIAN
IX. GOING OUT
X. SHADOWS DEEPEN
XI. POISONED WORDS
XII. JEALOUSY
XIII. ANGUISH
XIV. STRICKEN
XV. FLIGHT
XVI. A FEVERISH DREAM
XVII. AWAKING
XVIII. HEART TO HEART
XIX. THE OLD ALBUM
XX. THE JEWELS
XXI. CLOSING WORDS
[Illustration]
[Illustration]
LOUIE'S MARRIED LIFE
CHAPTER I.
BEGINNING.
"Sweetheart, sweetheart," I hear the two clear notes,
And see the sunlight shining through the shower;
"Sweetheart," how faintly from the meadow floats
The early fragrance of the cuckoo-flower!
The wind is keen, and April skies are grey;
But love can wait till rain-clouds break apart;
And still the bird sings through the longest day;
"Sweetheart, sweetheart."
When lives are true, the springtide never dies,
When souls are one, the love-notes never cease;
Our bird sings on beneath the cloudy skies,
Our little world is full of light and peace;
Fresh as the breath of violets new-born
Comes the sweet thought to hearts that cannot part,
"After the night of weeping breaks the morn,
"Sweetheart, sweetheart."
SURELY no one would ever believe that this song was written by a
Londoner, and yet I, who wrote it, am a Londoner in heart and soul.
But I was born far away in the country, and all the familiar sights
and sounds of old days lend themselves to my rhymes, so that I oftener
sing of fields, and birds, and flowers, than of those things which are
always before my eyes. Moreover, as all authors know, it is sometimes
easier to write of the unseen than of the seen, and these home fields
of mine have borrowed much of their beauty from the glamour of distance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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