Clergy -- Fiction; Great Britain -- Fiction; Religious fiction
The difficulty of understanding why and wherefore she looked as she did,
was quite enough, with such a disposition as Rosalind's, to make her an
object of interest; and therefore, when Mrs. Mowbray made her the speech
that she was expressly brought to hear, expressive of hope that she
would have the great kindness to console that part of her family who
were to remain at home by affording them the pleasure of her company,
Rosalind relieved her from the immediate necessity of replying, by
saying gaily,
"She will and she must, Mrs. Mowbray, for we will take her prisoner; but
I will promise, as far as I am concerned, that her durance shall be as
gentle as possible."
It was now the vicar's turn to look astonished, which he certainly did
in no small degree, and ran some risk of destroying the favourable
impression which his daughter's look of misery had created, by saying,
in the sweet tone that Miss Torrington relished so little,
"Henrietta, my love--I trust you will be sensible of, and grateful for,
the amiable and condescending kindness of this young lady."
What the gloomy Henrietta answered, Rosalind did not stay to hear; for
by a movement of that impatience with which she always listened to all
that Mr. Cartwright spoke, she turned from him and walked out of the
window. She only stayed, however, long enough to gather a bunch of
geranium blossoms, which she put into the hand of Henrietta as she
placed herself beside her on re-entering.
"Are they not superb, Miss Cartwright?"
Miss Cartwright again answered by a look which once more set all
Rosalind's ingenuity at defiance. It now spoke awakened interest, and an
almost eager desire to look at and listen to her; but the heavy gloom
remained, while her almost total silence gave her an appearance of
reserve greatly at variance with the expression which, for a moment at
least, she had read in her eyes.
Helen was now, in full assembly, informed for the first time that she
was to attend her mother to town. Had this been told her, as every thing
was wont to be, in the dear seclusion of her mother's dressing-room, she
would have hailed the news with joy and gratitude, and believed that it
predicted a return of all the happiness she had lost: but now the effect
was wholly different; and though she mastered herself sufficiently to
send back the tears before they reached her eyes, and to declare, in the
gentle voice of genuine unaffected obedience, that she should be
delighted if she could be useful to her, the manner of the communication
sank deeply and painfully into her heart.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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