But the worst of all—the hardest stroke of fate for Hepzibah to endure,
and perhaps for Clifford, too was his invincible distaste for her
appearance. Her features, never the most agreeable, and now harsh with
age and grief, and resentment against the world for his sake; her
dress, and especially her turban; the queer and quaint manners, which
had unconsciously grown upon her in solitude,—such being the poor
gentlewoman’s outward characteristics, it is no great marvel, although
the mournfullest of pities, that the instinctive lover of the Beautiful
was fain to turn away his eyes. There was no help for it. It would be
the latest impulse to die within him. In his last extremity, the
expiring breath stealing faintly through Clifford’s lips, he would
doubtless press Hepzibah’s hand, in fervent recognition of all her
lavished love, and close his eyes,—but not so much to die, as to be
constrained to look no longer on her face! Poor Hepzibah! She took
counsel with herself what might be done, and thought of putting ribbons
on her turban; but, by the instant rush of several guardian angels, was
withheld from an experiment that could hardly have proved less than
fatal to the beloved object of her anxiety.
To be brief, besides Hepzibah’s disadvantages of person, there was an
uncouthness pervading all her deeds; a clumsy something, that could but
ill adapt itself for use, and not at all for ornament. She was a grief
to Clifford, and she knew it. In this extremity, the antiquated virgin
turned to Phœbe. No grovelling jealousy was in her heart. Had it
pleased Heaven to crown the heroic fidelity of her life by making her
personally the medium of Clifford’s happiness, it would have rewarded
her for all the past, by a joy with no bright tints, indeed, but deep
and true, and worth a thousand gayer ecstasies. This could not be. She
therefore turned to Phœbe, and resigned the task into the young girl’s
hands. The latter took it up cheerfully, as she did everything, but
with no sense of a mission to perform, and succeeding all the better
for that same simplicity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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