Vashti; Or, Until Death Us Do PartEvans, Augusta J. (Augusta Jane)
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Vashti; Or, Until Death Us Do Part
Evans, Augusta J. (Augusta Jane)
American fiction -- 19th century
entered the institution after I became one of its inmates. I had no
one to love but Elsie, who never left me, and consequently, I gave
to Edith Dexter, the young teacher, all the affection that I would
have lavished on parents, brothers, and sisters, had they been granted
to me. She was several years my senior, and the loveliest woman I ever
saw. Reared in affluence, her family had become impoverished, and
Edith was thrown upon her own resources for a support. My father's
fortune was very large, and the property left me by Mr. Evelyn swelled
my estate to very unusual proportions. Mr. Wright had carefully
attended to the investment of the income, and I was regarded as the
heiress of enormous wealth. Tenderly attached to Edith, whose
beauty, intelligence, and varied accomplishments rendered her
peculiarly attractive, I loaded her with presents, and determined
that as soon as my educational career ended, I would establish
myself in an elegant residence on Fifth Avenue, take Edith to live
under my roof, treat her always as my sister, and share my ample
fortune with her. Dr. Grey, you can form no adequate conception of
the depth of the love I entertained for her. Day and night my busy
brain devised schemes for lightening her labors, for promoting her
happiness; and I spared no exertion to shield her from the petty
vexations and humiliating annoyances incident to her situation.
Waking, I prayed for her; sleeping in her arms, I dreamed of the
future we should spend together. At the close of the session, she
went into Vermont to visit her invalid mother, and I to Mr. Wright's
quiet home, to remain until the end of vacation. The minister was a
kind-hearted but weak old man, who treated me tenderly, and humored
every caprice that attacked my brain. I had never before been his
guest, and here, at his house, on the second day of my sojourn, I
met his favorite nephew, Maurice Carlyle."
Mrs. Gerome uttered the name through firmly set teeth, and the blue
cords on her forehead tangled terribly.
Clenching her fingers, she drew a long breath, and continued,--
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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