Children of clergy -- Fiction; Christian fiction; Fathers and daughters -- Fiction; Scotland -- Fiction
The cares more than the duties of life had been filling my mind. If it
brought me nearer to God, I must then say it had been good for me to be
afflicted; but while my soul was thus oppressed, how could my feelings have
any scope? Let come what would, however, I must try and bear it,--even
disgrace, if it was _his_ will. Better people than I had been thus
disgraced, and it might be my turn next. Meantime, it had not come to that,
and I must not let the cares of to-morrow burden to-day.
Every day, almost, as it seems in looking back, a train of thought
something like this would pass through my mind. But things went on,
and grew no better. With gathering rapidity, we went sliding, to all
appearance, down the inclined plane of disgrace.
Percivale at length asked Roger if he had any money by him to lend him a
little; and he gave him at once all he had, amounting to six pounds,--a
wonderful amount for Roger to have accumulated; with the help of which we
got on to the end of Jemima's month. The next step I had in view was to
take my little valuables to the pawnbroker's,--amongst them a watch, whose
face was encircled with a row of good-sized diamonds. It had belonged to my
great-grandmother, and my mother had given it me when I was married.
We had had a piece of boiled neck of mutton for dinner, of which we, that
is my husband and I, had partaken sparingly, in order that there might
be enough for the servants. Percivale had gone out; and I was sitting in
the drawing-room, lost in any thing but a blessed reverie, with all the
children chattering amongst themselves beside me, when Jemima entered,
looking subdued.
"If you please, ma'am, this is my day," she said.
"Have you got a place, then, Jemima?" I asked; for I had been so much
occupied with my own affairs that I had thought little of the future of the
poor girl to whom I could have given but a lukewarm recommendation for any
thing prized amongst housekeepers.
"No, ma'am. Please, ma'am, mayn't I stop?"
"No, Jemima. I am very sorry, but I can't afford to keep you. I shall have
to do all the work myself when you are gone."
I thought to pay her wages out of the proceeds of my jewels, but was
willing to delay the step as long as possible; rather, I believe, from
repugnance to enter the pawn-shop, than from disinclination to part with
the trinkets. But, as soon as I had spoken, Jemima burst into an Irish
wail, mingled with sobs and tears, crying between the convulsions of all
three,--
I thought there was something wrong, mis'ess. You and master looked so
scared-like. Please, mis'ess, don't send me away."
"I never wanted to send you away, Jemima. You wanted to go yourself."
"No, ma'am; _that_ I didn't. I only wanted you to ask me to stop. Wirra!
wirra! It's myself is sorry I was so rude. It's not me; it's my temper,
mis'ess. I do believe I was born with a devil inside me."
I could not help laughing, partly from amusement, partly from relief.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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