The Two Sides of the ShieldYonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
General
The Two Sides of the Shield
Yonge, Charlotte M. (Charlotte Mary)
Domestic fiction; England -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
She was more awake now, and knew that they were driving through lighted
streets, and then, after an interval, turned into darkness, upon gravel,
and stopped at last before a door full of light, with figures standing
up dark in it. She heard a ‘Well, William!’ ‘Well Lily, here we are at
last!’ Then there were arms embracing her, and a kiss on each cheek, as
a soft voice said, ‘My poor little girl! They wanted to sit up for you,
but it was too late, and I dare say you had rather be quiet.’
She was led into a lamp-lit room, which dazzled her. It was spread with
food, but she was too much tired to eat, and her aunt saw how it was,
and telling Harry to take care of his uncle, she took the hand--though
it did not close on hers--and, climbing up what seemed to Dolores an
endless number of stairs, she said--
‘You are up high, my dear; but I thought you would like a room to
yourself.’
‘Poked away in an attic,’ was Dolores’s dreamy thought; while her aunt
added, to a tall, thin woman, who came out with a lamp in her hand--
‘She is so tired that she had better go to bed directly, Mrs. Halfpenny.
You will make her comfortable, and don’t let her be disturbed in the
morning till she has had her sleep out.’
Dolly found herself undressed, without many words, till it came
to--‘Your prayers, Miss Dora. I am sure you’ve need not to miss them.’
She did not like to be told, besides, poor child, prayers were not much
more than a form to her. She did not contest the point, but knelt down
and muttered something, then laid her weary head on the pillow, was
tucked up by Mrs. Halfpenny, and left in the dark. It was a dreary half
sleep into which she fell. The noise of the train seemed to be still in
her ears, and at the same time she was always being driven up--up--up
endless stairs, by tall, cruel aunts; or they were shutting her up to do
all their children’s work, and keeping away father’s letters from her.
Then she awoke and told herself it was a dream, but she missed the
noises of the street, and the patch of light on the wall from the gas
lamps, and recollected that father was gone, and she was really in the
power of one of these cruel aunts; and she felt like screaming, only
then she might have been heard; and a great horrid clock went on making
a noise like a church bell, and striking so many odd quarters that there
was no guessing when morning was coming. And after all, why should she
wish it to come? Oh, if she could but sleep the three years while father
was away!
At last, however, she fell into a really calm sleep, and when she awoke,
the room was full of light, but her watch had stopped; she had been too
much tired to remember to wind it; and she lay a little while hearing
sounds that made it clear that the world was astir, and she could see
that preparations had been made for her getting up.
‘They shan’t begin by scolding me for being late,’ she thought, and she
began her toilette.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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