Love After Marriage; and Other Stories of the HeartHentz, Caroline Lee
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Love After Marriage; and Other Stories of the Heart
Hentz, Caroline Lee
Fiction; Short stories, American
Never shall I forget that moment, when the first ray of light
penetrated the long midnight that had shrouded my vision. It was in a
darkened apartment. My father, one female friend, and Clinton, the
beloved physician--these were around me. Faint, dim, and uncertain, as
the first gray of the dawn, was that ray, but it was the herald of
coming light, and hailed as a day-spring from on high. A bandage was
immediately drawn over my brow, but during the weeks in which I was
condemned to remain in darkness, the memory of that dim radiance was
ever glimmering round me. There was a figure kneeling, with clasped
hands and upraised head, pale and venerable--I knew it was my
father's--for the same figure folded me to his heart the next moment,
and wept like an infant. There was one with soft flowing outline, and
loose robes, by my side,--and bending over me, with eyes gazing down
into the mysteries of my being, shadowy but glorious, was he, who
received the first glance of the being he had awakened to a new
creation. Slowly, gradually was I allowed to emerge from my eclipse,
but when I was at last led from my darkened chamber, when I looked
abroad on the face of nature, clothed as she was in the magnificent
garniture of summer, when I saw the heavens unrolled in their majesty,
the sun travelling in the greatness of his strength, the flowers
glowing in the beams that enamelled them, I closed my eyes, almost
fainting from the excessive glory. I will not attempt to describe my
sensations when I first distinctly saw the lineaments of my lover.
Creation contained nothing so lovely to my sight. To see the soul, the
thinking, feeling, immortal soul, flashing with enthusiasm, or
darkening with tenderness, looking forth from his eyes, and feel my
own mingling with his! No one but those who have once been blind, and
now see, can imagine the intensity of my emotions. Next to my Creator,
I felt my homage was due to him, and surely it is not impious to apply
to him the sublime language of Scripture--"He said, let there be
light, and there was light."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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