|
Main
- books.jibble.org
My Books
- IRC Hacks
Misc. Articles
- Meaning of Jibble
- M4 Su Doku
- Computer Scrapbooking
- Setting up Java
- Bootable Java
- Cookies in Java
- Dynamic Graphs
- Social Shakespeare
External Links
- Paul Mutton
- Jibble Photo Gallery
- Jibble Forums
- Google Landmarks
- Jibble Shop
- Free Books
- Intershot Ltd
|
books.jibble.org
Previous Page
| Next Page
Page 26
The scene--for there are "scenes" wherever human passion runs
wild--ended by Mrs. Myles working herself into the belief that she
was the most ill-used old lady in the British dominions. She commanded
Edward from her presence; and though Rose wept and knelt at her feet,
she refused to be pacified, declaring that if it had not been for the
rheumatism, she would herself act as nurse to Helen, and not suffer so
low-minded a creature as Rose Dillon to look on the splendour of her
cousin's house. What she thought of that splendour, an extract from
a letter--not the first or second--which replied to those she had
received from Edward, will best tell:
"I have seen a great deal to astonish--every thing seems wonderful in
London--only I wish the people seemed more really happy. I have been
thinking that happiness is not a sudden thing like joy; it is more
quiet--_it takes time to be happy_--and the people here have no time.
In the midst of the gayest party, they do not suffer themselves
to enjoy it, but keep hurrying on to the next. I remember when we
were children, Helen and I, we have sat an hour over a bunch of
wildflowers, yet not discovered half their beauties; surely excitement
and happiness are not twin-born. Since Helen has been better, numbers
of ladies have called, so beautifully dressed, and so gentle-mannered
and reserved, one so very like the other, that they might have all
been brought up at the same school. They never appear to confide in
each other, but make a talk, after their own calm fashion, about small
things. Still, when they talk, _they do not say much_, considering how
highly bred they are. I have listened throughout an entire morning (a
fashionable morning, Edward, does not begin until three o'clock in the
afternoon), and really could not remember a single observation made
by a drawing-room full of ladies. _We_ could not talk ten minutes
with dear Mr. Stokes, without hearing something that we could not help
remembering all the days of our lives. It is wonderful how superior
Helen is (I am not afraid to tell you so) to every one around her;
there is a natural loftiness of mind and manner visible in her every
movement, that carries off her want of those pretty accomplishments
which the ladies value so highly. And then she is _so_ beautiful, and
her husband is so proud of having the handsomest woman in London for
his wife; and one artist begs to model her ear, another her hand--you
cannot think how fair and soft and 'do-nothing' it looks,--and as
to her portraits, they are in all those pretty painted books which
Mr. Stokes calls 'vanities.' There is a queer, quirky, little old
gentleman who visits here, who said that Helen owed her great success
in society to her 'tact.' Oh! Edward, she owes her sorrow to her
_ambition_. Would you believe it possible that she, the beauty
of Abbeyweld, who for so long a time seemed to us satisfied with
that distinction, is not satisfied now. Why, there is not such an
establishment, no, not at Mrs. Howard's, as that which she commands.
Oh! Edward, to have once loved Helen, is to be interested for her
always; there is something great in her very faults; there is nothing
poor or low about her. That little cranky old gentleman said the other
evening while looking at her, 'Miss Rose, a woman, to be happy, should
either have no ambition, or an ambition beyond this world.' Do ask Dr.
Stokes if that is true."
CHAPTER VI.
After she had been a little longer in town, Rose saw more clearly the
workings of that ambition which had undermined her cousin's happiness.
She saw where the canker ate and withered, but she did not know how it
could be eradicated. Something which women understand, prevented her
laying open the secrets of the house to Edward; and yet she desired
counsel. Possessing much observation as to the workings of the human
heart, she had but little knowledge as to how those feelings might be
moulded for the best; and she naturally turned for advice, and with
the faith of a Christian spirit, to the pastor who had instructed
her youth. He had loved them both, and she longed for his counsel, in
the--alas! vain--hope that she, a right-minded but simple girl--simple
as regards the ambition of life's drama--might be able to turn her
cousin from the unsatisfied, unsatisfying longings after place and
station. The difference in their opinions was simply this--Rose
thought that Helen possessed everything that Helen could desire, while
Helen thought that Helen wanted all things.
It was morning--not the morning that Rose had described to her lover,
but not more than seven o'clock--when Rose, who had been up late the
previous night, was awoke by her cousin's maid. On entering Helen's
dressing-room she found her already dressed, but so pale and
distressed in her appearance, that she could hardly recognise the
brilliant lawgiver of the evening's festivities in the pale, languid,
feverish beauty that was seated at her desk.
Previous Page
| Next Page
|
|