‘Very much: it vexes me even. People say you are miserly; and yet you are not, for you give liberally to the poor and to religious societies, though your gifts are conveyed so secretly and quietly that they are known to few except the receivers. But I will be your maid myself; when I get a little stronger I will set to work, and you must be good, mamma, and do as I bid you.’

And Caroline, sitting near her mother, re-arranged her muslin handkerchief, and re-smoothed her hair.

‘My own mamma,’ then she went on, as if pleasing herself with the thought of their relationship, ‘who belongs to me, and to whom I belong! I am a rich girl now: I have something I can love well, and not be afraid of loving. Mamma, who gave you this little brooch? Let me unpin it and look at it.’

Mrs. Pryor, who usually shrank from meddling fingers and near approach, allowed the license complacently.

‘Did papa give you this, mamma?’

‘My sister gave it me—my only sister, Cary. Would that your aunt Caroline had lived to see her niece!’

‘Have you nothing of papa’s?—no trinket, no gift of his?’

‘I have one thing.’

‘That you prize?’

‘That I prize.’

‘Valuable and pretty?’

‘Invaluable and sweet to me.’

‘Show it, mamma. Is it here or at Fieldhead?’

‘It is talking to me now, leaning on me; its arms are round me.’

‘Ah, mamma! you mean your teasing daughter, who will never let you alone; who, when you go into your room, cannot help running to seek for you; who follows you upstairs and down, like a dog.’

‘Whose features still give me such a strange thrill sometimes. I half fear your fair looks yet, child.’

‘You don’t; you can’t. Mamma, I am sorry papa was not good; I do so wish he had been. Wickedness spoils and poisons all pleasant things: it kills love. If you and I thought each other wicked, we could not love each other, could we?’

‘And if we could not trust each other, Cary?’

‘How miserable we should be! Mother, before I knew you I had an apprehension that you were not good, that I could not esteem you; that dread damped my wish to see you; and now my heart is elate because I find you perfect—almost; kind, clever, nice. Your sole fault is that you are old-fashioned, and of that I shall cure you. Mamma, put your work down; read to me. I like your southern accent; it is so pure, so soft. It has no rugged burr, no nasal twang, such as almost everyone’s voice here in the North has. My uncle and Mr. Hall say that you are a fine reader, mamma. Mr. Hall said he never heard any lady read with such propriety of expression or purity of accent.’

‘I wish I could reciprocate the compliment, Cary; but really, the first time I heard your truly excellent friend read and preach, I could not understand his broad northern tongue.’

‘Could you understand me, mamma? Did I seem to speak roughly?’


  By PanEris using Melati.

Previous chapter/page Back Home Email this Search Discuss Bookmark Next chapter/page
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd, and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission. See our FAQ for more details.