Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at BeechcroftYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
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Scenes and Characters, or, Eighteen Months at Beechcroft
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Domestic fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
Now Emily knew that Jane was very ill, and Lily’s pale cheeks, heavy
eyes, and failing voice, might have reminded her that two sick persons
were a heavy charge upon a girl of seventeen, without the addition of her
caprices and fretfulness. And how was it that the kind-hearted,
affectionate Emily never thought of all this? It was because she had
been giving way to selfishness for nineteen years; and now the
contemplation of her own sufferings was quite enough to hide from her
that others had much to bear; and illness, instead of teaching her
patience and consideration, only made her more exacting and querulous.
To Lily’s unspeakable relief, Miss Weston accompanied Mr. Mohun from
church, and offered to share her attendance. No one knew what it cost
Alethea to come into the midst of a scene which constantly reminded her
of the sisters she had lost, but she did not shrink from it, and was glad
that her parents saw no objection to her offering to share Lily’s toils.
Her experience was most valuable, and relieved Lilias of the fear that
was continually haunting her, lest her ignorance might lead to some fatal
mistake. The next day brought Rachel, and both patients began to mend.
Jane’s recovery was quicker than Emily’s, for her constitution was not so
languid, and having no pleasure in the importance of being an invalid,
she was willing to exert herself, and make the best of everything, while
Emily did not much like to be told that she was better, and thought it
cruel to hint that exertion would benefit her. Both were convalescent
before the fever attacked Lily, who was severely ill, but not alarmingly
so, and her gentleness and patience made Alethea delight in having the
care of her. Lily was full of gratitude to her kind friend, and felt
quite happy when Alethea chanced one day to call her by the name of Emma;
she almost hoped she was taking the place of that sister, and the thought
cheered her through many languid hours, and gave double value to all
Alethea’s kindness. She did not feel disposed to repine at an illness
which brought out such affection from her friend, and still more from her
father, who, when he came to see her, would say things which gave her a
thrill of pleasure whenever she thought of them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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