Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century CostumeYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Love and Life: An Old Story in Eighteenth Century Costume
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
English fiction -- 19th century
“Hush! listen to me,” said Mr. Belamour, in a voice that added to her
undefined alarm by what seemed to her imperious displeasure as uncalled
for as it was unusual; but the usual fatherly gentleness immediately
prevailed, “My child, I should never have entertained the thought for a
moment but for--but for Lady Belamour. This sounds like no compliment,”
he added, catching himself up, and manifesting a certain embarrassment
and confusion very unlike his usual calm dignity of demeanour, and thus
adding to the strange fright that was growing upon Aurelia. “But you
must understand that I would not--even in semblance--have dreamt of
your being apparently linked to age, sorrow, and infirmity, save
that--strange as it may seem--Lady Belamour has herself put into
my hands the best means of protecting you, and finally, as I trust,
securing your happiness.”
“You are very good, sir,” she continued to breathe out, amid the
flutterings of her heart, and the reply produced a wonderful outburst of
ardour in a low but fervent voice. “You will! You will! You sweetest of
angels, you will be mine!”
There was something so irresistibly winning in the sound, that it drew
forth an answer from the maiden’s very heart. “Oh! yes, indeed--” and
before she could utter another word she was snatched into a sudden,
warm, vehement embrace, from which she was only partly released,
as--near, but still not so near as she would have expected--this
extraordinary suitor seemed to remonstrate with his ardent self, saying,
“Now! now! that will do! So be it then, my child,” he continued. “Great
will be the need of faith, patience, trust, ay, and of self-restraint,
but let these be practised for a little space, and all will be well.”
She scarcely heard the latter words. The sense of something irrevocable
and unfathomable was overpowering her. The mystery of these sudden
alterations of voice, now near, now far off, was intolerable. Here were
hands claiming her, fervent, eager breathings close upon her, and
that serious, pensive voice going on all that time. The darkness grew
dreadful to her, dizziness came over her; she dashed aside the hands,
started up with a scream, and amid the strange noises and flashes of a
swoon, knew no more till she heard Mrs. Aylward’s voice over her, found
the horrid smell of burnt feathers under her nose, and water trickling
down her face, dim candlelight was round her, and she perceived that she
was on a low settee in the lobby.
“There, she is coming round. You may tell your master, Jumbo, ‘twas
nothing but the mince pies.”
“Oh, no--” began Aurelia, but her own voice seemed to come from
somewhere else, and being inexperienced in fainting, she was frightened.
“That is right, you are better. Now, a drop of strong waters.”
Aurelia choked, and put them aside, but was made to swallow the draught,
and revived enough to ask, “How came I here?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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