The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 05Stevenson, Robert Louis
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The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 05
Stevenson, Robert Louis
English literature -- 19th century; Fiction
I bowed and, passing by him, entered a vestibule or kitchen, lit by a
good fire and a shaded reading-lamp. It was furnished only with a
dresser, a rude table, and some wooden benches; and on one of these the
doctor motioned me to take a seat; and passing by another door into the
interior of the house, he left me to myself. Presently I heard the jar
of iron from the far end of the building; and this was followed by the
same throbbing noise that had startled me in the valley, but now so near
at hand as to be menacing by loudness, and even to shake the house with
every recurrence of the stroke. I had scarce time to master my alarm
when the doctor returned, and almost in the same moment my mother
appeared upon the threshold. But how am I to describe to you the peace
and ravishment of that face? Years seemed to have passed over her head
during that brief ride, and left her younger and fairer; her eyes shone,
her smile went to my heart; she seemed no more a woman, but the angel of
ecstatic tenderness. I ran to her in a kind of terror; but she shrank a
little back and laid her finger on her lips, with something arch and yet
unearthly. To the doctor, on the contrary, she reached out her hand as
to a friend and helper; and so strange was the scene that I forgot to be
offended.
"Lucy," said the doctor, "all is prepared. Will you go alone, or shall
your daughter follow us?"
"Let Asenath come," she answered, "dear Asenath! At this hour when I am
purified of fear and sorrow, and already survive myself and my
affections, it is for your sake, and not for mine, that I desire her
presence. Were she shut out, dear friend, it is to be feared she might
misjudge your kindness."
"Mother," I cried wildly, "mother, what is this?"
But my mother, with her radiant smile, said only "Hush!" as though I
were a child again, and tossing in some fever-fit; and the doctor bade
me be silent and trouble her no more. "You have made a choice," he
continued, addressing my mother, "that has often strangely tempted me.
The two extremes: all, or else nothing; never, or this very hour upon
the clock--these have been my incongruous desires. But to accept the
middle term, to be content with a half-gift, to flicker awhile and to
burn out--never for an hour, never since I was born, has satisfied the
appetite of my ambition." He looked upon my mother fixedly, much of
admiration and some touch of envy in his eyes; then, with a profound
sigh, he led the way into the inner room.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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