The reigning belle : $b A society novelStephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
General
The reigning belle : $b A society novel
Stephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
New York (N.Y.) -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
“At last she took off her shawl, and, kneeling over the little creature,
wrapped the garment around it. She did not look at it after this, but
arose from her knees, and went staggering away from the river, through a
patch of moonlight, and into the shadows, looking toward the rock,
continuously, as if she had left her heart behind, and longed to pluck
it back to her bosom again.
“After she was gone, I went down to the rock which was now bathed in the
beautiful moonlight, and seemed as peaceful as a cradle, for the waters
as they swept around it murmured a soft lullaby, and a poisonous vine,
which had turned scarlet in the hot sunshine, seemed in its duskiness
and dew like an imperial drapery cast around the little creature where
it lay.
“A bramble studded with green acrid fruit, which bent it down like the
plume from a helmet, drooped its shadow over the infant where it lay
muffled in the shawl.
“I put the bramble away and was startled when two great, wide-open eyes
looked up at me, through the moonlight, as if wondering at the rough
features that met them, instead of the beautiful woman’s face which had
drifted away from it through the shadows.
“I took the child in my arms, and laid its little cheek to mine. The
touch filled my soul with tenderness; having seen that woman’s face I
could not give that child to the almshouse. No, I resolved that she
should be my own—the sister of my little Ruth.
“I carried the pretty waif home, and gave her to my wife. She was taken
by surprise, and resented the adoption, at first; but it was impossible
to resist those pretty, infantile ways, and at last this child became
dear to her as our little Ruth. Yes; dear as the boy that was afterwards
born to us.
“We kept the fact, that this child was not our own, a secret from every
one. Even our children are ignorant that she is not in fact their
sister. I never sought to identify the young mother. Remembering how
near she had been to murdering her own child, I dared not place it again
in her power. Besides, we loved the foundling, and that love grew strong
as nature in our hearts.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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