The Ordeal of Richard Feverel — CompleteMeredith, George
General
The Ordeal of Richard Feverel — Complete
Meredith, George
Domestic fiction; England -- Fiction; English fiction -- 19th century; Fathers and sons -- Fiction
The cloud cleared off Richard’s face as he asked. At least, if he
missed his love that night he would be near her, breathing the same
air, marking what star was above her bedchamber, hearing the hushed
night-talk of the trees about her dwelling: looking on the distances
that were like hope half fulfilled and a bodily presence bright as
Hesper, since he knew her. There were two swallows under the eaves
shadowing Lucy’s chamber-windows: two swallows, mates in one nest,
blissful birds, who twittered and cheep-cheeped to the sole-lying
beauty in her bed. Around these birds the lover’s heart revolved, he
knew not why. He associated them with all his close-veiled dreams of
happiness. Seldom a morning passed when he did not watch them leave the
nest on their breakfast-flight, busy in the happy stillness of dawn. It
seemed to him now that if he could be at Raynham to see them in
to-morrow’s dawn he would be compensated for his incalculable loss of
to-night: he would forgive and love his father, London, the life, the
world. Just to see those purple backs and white breasts flash out into
the quiet morning air! He wanted no more.
The baronet’s trifling had placed this enormous boon within the young
man’s visionary grasp.
He still went on trying the boy’s temper.
“You know there would be nobody ready for you at Raynham. It is unfair
to disturb the maids.”
Richard overrode every objection.
“Well, then, my son,” said the baronet, preserving his half-jocular
air, “I must tell you that it is my wish to have you in town.”
“Then you have not been ill at all, sir!” cried Richard, as in his
despair he seized the whole plot.
“I have been as well as you could have desired me to be,” said his
father.
“Why did they lie to me?” the young man wrathfully exclaimed.
“I think, Richard, you can best answer that,” rejoined Sir Austin,
kindly severe.
Dread of being signalized as the Foolish Young Fellow prevented Richard
from expostulating further. Sir Austin saw him grinding his passion
into powder for future explosion, and thought it best to leave him for
awhile.
CHAPTER XXII
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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