The deserted wifeSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The deserted wife
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
American fiction -- 19th century; Maryland -- Fiction
“No—he shan’t hurt Sophie; if he tries, the next time I’ll get my claws
in his eyes and scratch them out—_right_ out! and _then_ see who he can
hurt!”
“But you are talking of my father, Hagar,” said the young man,
reproachfully.
“Oh! so I am; _that_ is the worst of it.”
“Now, Hagar, promise me to stay here till I come and fetch you, will
you?”
“Yes—I will do anything in the world _you_ want me to do, Raymond, just
see if I don’t!”
“Well, then, I am going to look after Sophie, and I will be back as soon
as I can.”
He found Sophie extended in a swoon upon the floor. Withers was gone. He
raised her and bathed her face—she revived—he set her in the deep
arm-chair.
“Hagar?” inquired she, as soon as she could speak.
“Is not hurt—has neither scratch nor bruise; she is in my chamber; I
thought it best that she should keep out of sight of my father for the
present.”
“What is to be done—where is Mr. Withers?”
“I do not know where he is gone, but _you_ must seek a place of safety.”
“No—no—no—I will stay here; I think I understand now why his lunacy
takes this malignant character towards you; you remind him of—but no
matter—but _you_, poor bereft boy, you must return immediately to your
college—I can deal with him better alone, I am sure.”
“But, Sophie, you are nervous, _unfit_ for this; the spirit indeed is
willing, but the flesh, the _flesh_ is weak; you swooned just now—you
have not even the firmness and courage of little Hagar.”
“No, not the firmness, or the _fierceness_; but I have the courage. It
must be as I say; you must leave here; you are too much like—poor boy, I
did not mean to wound you, indeed I did not—you must return to your
college, and by the time you have finished your course there, the
absence of exciting causes, tranquillity, and sympathy will have
restored your unfortunate father to health; then you will return and we
shall all be happy together—courage, Raymond! God is at the helm! we
must not forget that. He will yet guide us safely through this rough sea
and starless night; now, Raymond, go and seek him, watch him, but keep
out of his sight.” He left her to do her bidding.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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