Love stories; New York (N.Y.) -- History -- 1775-1865 -- Fiction
And there was such kind intent, such a divining sympathy in the simple
words, that Cornelia's heart grew warm with pleasure; and she felt that
her mother understood, and did not much blame her. At the same time she
was glad to escape all questioning, and with the violets pressed to her
heart, and her shining eyes dropped to them, she went with some haste
to her room. There she kissed the flowers, one by one, as she put them
in the refreshing water; and then, forgetting all else, sat down and
permitted herself to enter the delicious land of Reverie. She let the
thought of Hyde repossess her; and present again and again to her
imagination his form, his face, his voice, and those long caressing
looks she had seen and felt, without seeming to be aware of them.
A short time after Cornelia came home, Doctor Moran returned from his
professional visits. As he entered the room, his wife looked at him
with a curious interest. In the first place, the tenor of her thoughts
led her to this observation. She wished to assure herself again that
the man for whom she had given up everything previously dear to her was
worthy of such sacrifice. A momentary glance satisfied her. Nature had
left the impress of her nobility on his finely-formed forehead; nothing
but truth and kindness looked from his candid eyes; and his manner, if
a little dogmatic, had also an unmistakable air of that distinction
which comes from long and honourable ancestry and a recognized
position. He had also this morning an air of unusual solemnity, and on
entering the room, he drew his wife close to his heart and kissed her
affectionately, a token of love he was not apt to give without thought,
or under every circumstance.
"You are a little earlier to day," she said. "I am glad of it."
"I have had a morning full of feeling. There is no familiarity with
Death, however often you meet him."
"And you have met Death this morning, I see that, John?"
"As soon as I went out, I heard of the death of Franklin. We have truly
been expecting the news, but who can prepare for the final 'He is
gone.' Congress will wear mourning for two months, I hear, and all good
citizens who can possibly do so will follow their example. The flags
are at half-mast, and there is sorrow everywhere."
"And yet, John, why?" asked Mrs. Moran. "Franklin has quite finished
his work; and has also seen the fruit of all his labours. Not many men
are so happy. I, for one, shall rejoice with him, and not weep for him."
"You are right, Ava. I must now tell you that Elder Semple died this
morning. He has been long sick, but the end came suddenly at last."
"The dear old man! He has been sick and sorrowful, ever since his wife
died. Were any of his sons present?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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