The deserted wifeSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The deserted wife
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
American fiction -- 19th century; Maryland -- Fiction
“I suppose so—well, if you do—I was about to say that we shall have the
company of Hagar and Raymond, as well as that of Rosalia, on our
journey. Raymond is appointed assistant professor at —— College, and
they leave here in ten days.”
“Oh!”
“Will not that be very agreeable?”
“I do not know, my dearest; I think I prefer your undivided company. So,
Hagar and Raymond are going North?”
“Yes.”
“And what is to be done with Heath Hall?”
“It _was_ to have been the residence of Rosalia and myself; now, I
suppose, it is to be shut up and left so. We do not like to sell it.
Indeed, it would bring but little; and some of us may like to come back
some time to live in it. However! you know it will depend entirely upon
the will of Raymond, for the property is now his, in right of his wife.”
They had arisen now from their seats, and were sauntering slowly towards
the house. The evening was beautiful, and the house was crowded, and
spilling its company all over the piazza and yards. They separated and
mingled with the guests. Once in her meandering about, Sophie felt
herself enfolded by a pair of gentle arms and pressed to a soft, warm
bosom. She was in Emily’s embrace—who stooped and murmured in her ear,
“My sister! my sweet sister at last!” and let her go. Next she met
Hagar’s wildly glancing eyes with a “Who’d have thought it?” sort of
smile on her crimson lip, and then her hand was raised by Raymond and
softly pressed to his lips, while his gentle eyes revealed the heartfelt
congratulations it was yet premature to speak. And at last she rejoined
Captain Wilde just as Hagar was giving him a pressing invitation to
breakfast and dine at Heath Hall the next day, and just as he smiled and
bowed acceptance.
CHAPTER XXII.
“She is all simplicity,
A creature meek and mild,
Though on the eve of womanhood
In heart a very child.
She dwells among us like a star,
That from its bower of bliss,
Looks down, yet gathers not a stain
From aught it sees in this.”
MRS. WELBY.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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