Theresa Marchmont, or, the Maid of Honour: A TaleGore, Mrs. (Catherine Grace Frances)
General
Theresa Marchmont, or, the Maid of Honour: A Tale
Gore, Mrs. (Catherine Grace Frances)
Fiction
For several hours succeeding the perusal of the forgoing history, Lady
Greville remained chained as it were to her seat by the bewildering
perplexities of her mind. The blow, in itself so sudden, so fraught
with mischiefs, involving a thousand interests, and affording no hope
to lessen its infliction, appeared to stupify her faculties. Lost in the
contemplation of evils from which no worldly resource availed to save
herself or her child, indignation, compassion, and despair, by turns
obtained possession of her bosom. Her first impulse, worthy of her
gentle nature, was to rush to the bed-side of her sleeping boy, and
there, on her knees, to implore divine aid to shelter his unoffending
innocence, and grace to enlighten her mind in the choice of her future
destiny. And He, who in dealing the wound of affliction, refuseth not,
to those who seek it, the balm that softens its endurance, imparted to
her soul a fortitude to bear, and a wisdom to extricate herself from the
perils by which she was assailed. The following letter acquainted Lord
Greville with her final determination:
“Greville,--I was about, in the inadvertence of my bewildered mind, to
address you once more by the title of husband; but that holy name must
hereafter perish on my lips, and be banished like a withering curse from
my heart. Yet it was that alone which, holding a sacred charter over my
bosom, bound me to the cheerful endurance of many a bitter hour, ere I
knew that through him who bore it, a descendant of the house of
Percy would be banded as an adulteress; and her child as the nameless
offspring of shame. Rich as I was in worldly gifts, my birth, my
character, the fair fortunes which you have blighted, and the parental
care from which you have withdrawn me, alike appeared to shelter me
from the evils which have befallen me--but wo is me! Even these were an
insufficient protection against the craftiness of mine enemy!
“But reproaches avail me not. Henceforth I will shut up my sorrow and my
complaining within the solitude of my own wounded heart--and thou, 'my
companion, my counsellor, mine own familiar friend,' the beloved of
my early youth, the father of my child, must be from this hour be as
nothing unto me!
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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