Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Mothers and sons -- Fiction; Religious fiction; Unmarried mothers -- Fiction
The night, the sleepless night, was so crowded and haunted by
miserable images, that she longed for day; and when day came, with
its stinging realities, she wearied and grew sick for the solitude of
night. For the next week, she seemed to see and hear nothing but what
confirmed the idea of Mr Farquhar's decided attachment to Ruth. Even
her mother spoke of it as a thing which was impending, and which she
wondered how Mr Bradshaw would like; for his approval or disapproval
was the standard by which she measured all things.
"Oh! merciful God," prayed Jemima, in the dead silence of the night,
"the strain is too great--I cannot bear it longer--my life--my
love--the very essence of me, which is myself through time and
eternity; and on the other side there is all-pitying Charity. If she
had not been what she is--if she had shown any sign of triumph--any
knowledge of her prize--if she had made any effort to gain his dear
heart, I must have given way long ago, and taunted her, even if I did
not tell others--taunted her, even though I sank down to the pit the
next moment.
"The temptation is too strong for me. Oh Lord! where is Thy peace
that I believed in, in my childhood?--that I hear people speaking
of now, as if it hushed up the troubles of life, and had not to be
sought for--sought for, as with tears of blood!"
There was no sound nor sight in answer to this wild imploring cry,
which Jemima half thought must force out a sign from Heaven. But
there was a dawn stealing on through the darkness of her night.
It was glorious weather for the end of August. The nights were as
full of light as the days--everywhere, save in the low dusky meadows
by the river-side, where the mists rose and blended the pale sky with
the lands below. Unknowing of the care and trouble around them, Mary
and Elizabeth exulted in the weather, and saw some new glory in every
touch of the year's decay. They were clamorous for an expedition
to the hills, before the calm stillness of the autumn should be
disturbed by storms. They gained permission to go on the next
Wednesday--the next half-holiday. They had won their mother over to
consent to a full holiday, but their father would not hear of it. Mrs
Bradshaw had proposed an early dinner, but the idea was scouted at by
the girls. What would the expedition be worth if they did not carry
their dinners with them in baskets? Anything out of a basket, and
eaten in the open air, was worth twenty times as much as the most
sumptuous meal in the house. So the baskets were packed up, while
Mrs Bradshaw wailed over probable colds to be caught from sitting on
the damp ground. Ruth and Leonard were to go; they four. Jemima had
refused all invitations to make one of the party; and yet she had a
half-sympathy with her sisters' joy--a sort of longing, lingering
look back to the time when she too would have revelled in the
prospect that lay before them. They, too, would grow up, and suffer;
though now they played, regardless of their doom.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account