The Ordeal of Richard Feverel: A History of a Father and Son — John Shaqi
The Ordeal of Richard Feverel: A History of a Father and SonMeredith, George
General
The Ordeal of Richard Feverel: A History of a Father and Son
Meredith, George
Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; Fathers and sons -- Fiction
In the presence of that world, so different to him now, he preserved
his wonted demeanour, and made his features a flexible mask. Mrs.
Doria Forey, his widowed sister, said that Austin might have retired
from his Parliamentary career for a time, and given up gaieties and
that kind of thing; her opinion, founded on observation of him in
public and private, was, that the light thing who had taken flight
was but a feather on her brother's Feverel-heart, and his ordinary
course of life would be resumed. There are times when common men
cannot bear the weight of just so much. Hippias Feverel, one of his
brothers, thought him immensely improved by his misfortune, if the
loss of such a person could be so designated; and seeing that
Hippias received in consequence free quarters at Raynham, and
possession of the wing of the Abbey she had inhabited, it is
profitable to know his thoughts. If the baronet had given two or
three blazing dinners in the great hall he would have deceived
people generally, as he did his relatives and intimates. He was too
sick for that: fit only for passive acting.
The nurse-maid waking in the night beheld a solitary figure
darkening a lamp above her little sleeping charge, and became so
used to the sight as never to wake with a start. One night she was
strangely aroused by a sound of sobbing. The baronet stood beside
the cot in his long black cloak and travelling cap. His fingers
shaded a lamp, and reddened against the fitful darkness that ever
and anon went leaping up the wall. She could hardly believe her
senses to see the austere gentleman, dead silent, dropping tear upon
tear before her eyes. She lay stone-still in a trance of terror and
mournfulness, mechanically counting the tears as they fell, one by
one. The hidden face, the fall and flash of those heavy drops in the
light of the lamp he held, the upright, awful figure, agitated at
regular intervals like a piece of clockwork by the low murderous
catch of his breath: it was so piteous to her poor human nature that
her heart began wildly palpitating. Involuntarily the poor girl
cried out to him, "Oh, sir!" and fell a-weeping. Sir Austin turned
the lamp on her pillow, and harshly bade her go to sleep, striding
from the room forthwith. He dismissed her with a purse the next day.
Once, when he was seven years old, the little fellow woke up at
night to see a lady bending over him. He talked of this the next
day, but it was treated as a dream; until in the course of the day
his uncle Algernon was driven home from Lobourne cricket-ground with
a broken leg. Then it was recollected that there was a family ghost;
and, though no member of the family believed in the ghost, none
would have given up a circumstance that testified to its existence;
for to possess a ghost is a distinction above titles.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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