What Will He Do with It? — Volume 09Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
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What Will He Do with It? — Volume 09
Lytton, Edward Bulwer Lytton, Baron
English fiction -- 19th century
"But--you have the triumph; see, I am still alone! I sought the world of
the young--the marriage mart of the Beautiful once more. Alas! if my
eye was captured for a moment, it was by something that reminded me of
you. I saw a faultless face, radiant with its virgin blush; moved to it,
I drew near-sighing, turned away; it was not you! I heard the silvery
laugh of a life fresh as an April morn. 'Hark!' I said, 'is not that the
sweet mirth-note at which all my cares were dispelled? Listening, I
forgot my weight of years. Why? because listening, I remembered you.
'Heed not the treacherous blush and the beguiling laugh,' whispered
Prudence. 'Seek in congenial mind a calm companion to thine own.' Mind!
O frigid pedantry! Mind!--had not yours been a volume open to my eyes;
in every page, methought, some lovely poet-truth never revealed to human
sense before! No; you had killed to me all womanhood! Woo another!--wed
another! 'Hush,' I said, 'it shall be. Eighteen years since we parted--
seeing her not, she remains eternally the same! Seeing her again, the
very change that time must have brought will cure. I saw you--all the
past rushed back in that stolen moment. I fled--never more to dream that
I can shake off the curse of memory--blent with each drop of my blood--
woven with each tissue-throbbing in each nerve-bone of my bone, and flesh
of my flesh--poison-root from which every thought buds to wither--the
curse to have loved and to have trusted you!"
"Merciful Heaven! can I bear this?" cried Caroline, clasping her hands
to her bosom." And is my sin so great--is it so unpardonable? Oh, if in
a heart so noble, in a nature so great, mine was the unspeakable honour
to inspire an affection thus enduring, must it be only--only--as a curse!
Why can I not repair the past? You have not ceased to love me. Call it
hate--it is love still! And now, no barrier between our lives, can I
never, never again--never, now that I know I am less unworthy of you by
the very anguish I feel to have so stung you--can I never again be the
Caroline of old?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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