The Twins: A Domestic NovelTupper, Martin Farquhar
General
The Twins: A Domestic Novel
Tupper, Martin Farquhar
Fiction
VERY slowly did Emily recover, for the blow had been more than she could
bear: nothing but religion gave her any chance at all: and the phials,
blisterings, bleedings, would have been in vain, in vain--she must have
died long ago--had it not been for the remembrance of God's love,
resignation to His will, and trust in the wisdom of his Providence. But
these specific remedies gradually brought her round, while the kind-eyed
doctors praised their own prescriptions: and after many rallyings and
relapses, delirious ramblings, and intervals of hallowed Christian
peace, the eye of Love's meek martyr brightened up once more, and health
flushed again upon her cheek.
She recovered, God be praised! for her death would have been poor
Charles's too; and the same grave that yawned for her and him would have
closed upon their father also. Even as it was, when she arose from off
the weary bed of sickness, it was to be a nurse herself, and watch
beside that patient, weak old man. He could not bear her out of his
sight all the fever through; but eagerly would listen to her hymns and
prayers, joining in them faintly like a dying saint. With the saddening
secret, which had so long pressed upon his mind, he seemed to have
thrown off his old nature, as a cast skin: and now he was all frankness
for reserve, all piety for profaneness, all peacefulness for blusterings
and wrath.
He remembered then poor Julian and his mother: taking blame to himself,
justly, deeply, for neglected duties, chilling lack of sympathy, and
that dull domestic sin, that still continued evil of unnatural
omissions--stern reserve. And he would gladly have seen Julian by his
bedside, to have freely forgiven the lad, and welcomed him home again,
and begun once more, in openness and charity, all things fair and new:
but Julian was not to be found, though rewards were offered, and
placards posted up, and emissaries from the Detective Police-force
sought him far and wide. Alas! the bold bad man had heard with scorn of
his father's penitence, and knew that he would gladly have received
him;--but what cared he for kindnesses or pardons? He only lived to
waylay Emily.
As for Mrs. Tracy, she was seldom in a state to appear; but one day she
managed to refrain a little, and came to see her husband, almost sober.
I was, authorially speaking, behind the door, and saw and heard as
follows:
The old man, worn and emaciate, was weakly sitting up in bed, and Emma
by his side, with the Bible in her lap: she casually shut it as the
mother entered.
"Well, Miss Warren, there's a time for all things; but this is neither
morning, noon, nor night: nor Sunday either, nor holiday, that I know
of; it's eleven o'clock on Tuesday, Miss--and I think you might as well
leave the general at peace, without troubling him for ever with your
prayer-books and your Bibles."
"Jane, my dear, I requested it of Emily; come and sit by me, and take my
hand, wife."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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