Gothic fiction; Guardian and ward -- Fiction; Man-woman relationships -- Fiction; Orphans -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
I had yet to learn, that those, clothed in a little brief authority, and
holding temporary sway over young minds and wills, are not always and
inevitably so far exalted, in intellect and in character, above those
they are supposed to govern, as were to be wished, and as they sincerely
desire to appear. Narrow-minded pedantry and injudicious ignorance often
rush in, to responsibilities and duties that angels might well tremble
to assume--the moulding for good or evil, the flexile souls of children
during the most vital years of their lives.
Be this as it may, I quailed for the first time before a superior, and
not without a stubborn feeling of resistance, owned myself in the
presence of one I feared. I suppose I must have looked very childish,
with my hair brushed down simply and knotted low on my neck, and a tiny
linen collar turned over my plain blue merino frock; the lava pin and
earrings having been unavoidably omitted in the hasty completion of my
toilette. These circumstances of dress, I comforted myself, might
account in part for the manner in which Mr. Rutledge continued to treat
me, and which was very galling to my pride, for being at the most
sensitive period of adolescence, nothing could have been more humbling
than to be regarded as childish and immature. Such considerations did
not add to my ease of manner, or grace of deportment, and all Mr.
Rutledge's well-selected topics of conversation fell to the ground for
want of a sustaining power on my side. At last relinquishing the
attempt, he turned to Mrs. Roberts, and gave her minute instructions in
regard to my medicine and diet, felt my pulse, and pronounced me very
much improved; but he judged it, he said, very much better for me to lie
on the sofa pretty quietly all day. Perhaps by to-morrow, I might be
well enough to come downstairs for a little while, he continued, looking
attentively at me, to see, I suppose, how I bore the intelligence of my
prolonged captivity. He did not see any expression of impatience in my
face, however, firstly, because I did not feel any, and secondly,
because, if I had, I would have concealed it to-day. He rose to go,
first turning toward the bay window, where he stood for some minutes
thoughtfully, attracted by the beauty of the landscape it overlooked.
"After all," he said at length, addressing Mrs. Roberts more than me,
and his own thoughts, perhaps, more than either, "the view of the lake
is finer from this window than from any other in the house. The slope of
the lawn is beautiful, and that opening in the pine grove on the left,
through which you see up to the head of the lake, is very fine. Mrs.
Roberts," abruptly, "do you remember when that opening was cut?"
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.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account