Law and the Lady , livre ebook

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247 pages

English

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pubOne.info thank you for your continued support and wish to present you this new edition. FOR after this manner in the old time the holy women also who trusted in God adorned themselves, being in subjection unto their own husbands; even as Sarah obeyed Abraham, calling him lord; whose daughters ye are as long as ye do well, and are not afraid with any amazement.

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Publié par	Pub One Info
Date de parution	23 octobre 2010
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9782819911609
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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PART I.
PARADISE LOST.
CHAPTER I.
THE BRIDE'S MISTAKE.
"FOR after this manner in the old time the holywomen also who trusted in God adorned themselves, being insubjection unto their own husbands; even as Sarah obeyed Abraham,calling him lord; whose daughters ye are as long as ye do well, andare not afraid with any amazement."
Concluding the Marriage Service of the Church ofEngland in those well-known words, my uncle Starkweather shut uphis book, and looked at me across the altar rails with a heartyexpression of interest on his broad, red face. At the same time myaunt, Mrs. Starkweather, standing by my side, tapped me smartly onthe shoulder, and said,
"Valeria, you are married!"
Where were my thoughts? What had become of myattention? I was too bewildered to know. I started and looked at mynew husband. He seemed to be almost as much bewildered as I was.The same thought had, as I believe, occurred to us both at the samemoment. Was it really possible - in spite of his mother'sopposition to our marriage - that we were Man and Wife? My auntStarkweather settled the question by a second tap on myshoulder.
"Take his arm!" she whispered, in the tone of awoman who had lost all patience with me.
I took his arm.
"Follow your uncle."
Holding fast by my husband's arm, I followed myuncle and the curate who had assisted him at the marriage.
The two clergymen led us into the vestry. The churchwas in one of the dreary quarters of London, situated between theCity and the West End; the day was dull; the atmosphere was heavyand damp. We were a melancholy little wedding party, worthy of thedreary neighborhood and the dull day. No relatives or friends of myhusband's were present; his family, as I have already hinted,disapproved of his marriage. Except my uncle and my aunt, no otherrelations appeared on my side. I had lost both my parents, and Ihad but few friends. My dear father's faithful old clerk, Benjamin,attended the wedding to "give me away," as the phrase is. He hadknown me from a child, and, in my forlorn position, he was as goodas a father to me.
The last ceremony left to be performed was, asusual, the signing of the marriage register. In the confusion ofthe moment (and in the absence of any information to guide me) Icommitted a mistake - ominous, in my aunt Starkweather's opinion,of evil to come. I signed my married instead of my maiden name.
"What!" cried my uncle, in his loudest and cheeriesttones, "you have forgotten your own name already? Well, well! letus hope you will never repent parting with it so readily. Tryagain, Valeria - try again."
With trembling fingers I struck the pen through myfirst effort, and wrote my maiden name, very badly indeed, asfollows:
Valeria Brinton
When it came to my husband's turn I noticed, withsurprise, that his hand trembled too, and that he produced a verypoor specimen of his customary signature:
Eustace Woodville
My aunt, on being requested to sign, complied underprotest. "A bad beginning!" she said, pointing to my firstunfortunate signature with the feather end of her pen. "I hope, mydear, you may not live to regret it."
Even then, in the days of my ignorance and myinnocence, that curious outbreak of my aunt's superstition produceda certain uneasy sensation in my mind. It was a consolation to meto feel the reassuring pressure of my husband's hand. It was anindescribable relief to hear my uncle's hearty voice wishing me ahappy life at parting. The good man had left his north-countryVicarage (my home since the death of my parents) expressly to readthe service at my marriage; and he and my aunt had arranged toreturn by the mid-day train. He folded me in his great strong arms,and he gave me a kiss which must certainly have been heard by theidlers waiting for the bride and bridegroom outside the churchdoor.
"I wish you health and happiness, my love, with allmy heart. You are old enough to choose for yourself, and - nooffense, Mr. Woodville, you and I are new friends - and I pray God,Valeria, it may turn out that you have chosen well. Our house willbe dreary enough without you; but I don't complain, my dear. On thecontrary, if this change in your life makes you happier, I rejoice.Come, come! don't cry, or you will set your aunt off - and it's nojoke at her time of life. Besides, crying will spoil your beauty.Dry your eyes and look in the glass there, and you will see that Iam right. Good-by, child - and God bless you!"
He tucked my aunt under his arm, and hurried out. Myheart sank a little, dearly as I loved my husband, when I had seenthe last of the true friend and protector of my maiden days.
The parting with old Benjamin came next. "I wish youwell, my dear; don't forget me," was all he said. But the old daysat home came back on me at those few words. Benjamin always dinedwith us on Sundays in my father's time, and always brought somelittle present with him for his master's child. I was very near to"spoiling my beauty" (as my uncle had put it) when I offered theold man my cheek to kiss, and heard him sigh to himself, as if hetoo were not quite hopeful about my future life.
My husband's voice roused me, and turned my mind tohappier thoughts.
"Shall we go, Valeria?" he asked.
I stopped him on our way out to take advantage of myuncle's advice; in other words, to see how I looked in the glassover the vestry fireplace.
What does the glass show me?
The glass shows a tall and slender young woman ofthree-and-twenty years of age. She is not at all the sort of personwho attracts attention in the street, seeing that she fails toexhibit the popular yellow hair and the popular painted cheeks. Herhair is black; dressed, in these later days (as it was dressedyears since to please her father), in broad ripples drawn back fromthe forehead, and gathered into a simple knot behind (like the hairof the Venus de Medicis), so as to show the neck beneath. Hercomplexion is pale: except in moments of violent agitation there isno color to be seen in her face. Her eyes are of so dark a bluethat they are generally mistaken for black. Her eyebrows are wellenough in form, but they are too dark and too strongly marked. Hernose just inclines toward the aquiline bend, and is considered alittle too large by persons difficult to please in the matter ofnoses. The mouth, her best feature, is very delicately shaped, andis capable of presenting great varieties of expression. As to theface in general, it is too narrow and too long at the lower part,too broad and too low in the higher regions of the eyes and thehead. The whole picture, as reflected in the glass, represents awoman of some elegance, rather too pale, and rather too sedate andserious in her moments of silence and repose - in short, a personwho fails to strike the ordinary observer at first sight, but whogains in general estimation on a second, and sometimes on a thirdview. As for her dress, it studiously conceals, instead ofproclaiming, that she has been married that morning. She wears agray cashmere tunic trimmed with gray silk, and having a skirt ofthe same material and color beneath it. On her head is a bonnet tomatch, relieved by a quilling of white muslin with one deep redrose, as a morsel of positive color, to complete the effect of thewhole dress.
Have I succeeded or failed in describing the pictureof myself which I see in the glass? It is not for me to say. I havedone my best to keep clear of the two vanities - the vanity ofdepreciating and the vanity of praising my own personal appearance.For the rest, well written or badly written, thank Heaven it isdone!
And whom do I see in the glass standing by myside?
I see a man who is not quite so tall as I am, andwho has the misfortune of looking older than his years. Hisforehead is prematurely bald. His big chestnut-colored beard andhis long overhanging mustache are prematurely streaked with gray.He has the color in the face which my face wants, and the firmnessin his figure which my figure wants. He looks at me with thetenderest and gentlest eyes (of a light brown) that I ever saw inthe countenance of a man. His smile is rare and sweet; his manner,perfectly quiet and retiring, has yet a latent persuasiveness in itwhich is (to women) irresistibly winning. He just halts a little inhis walk, from the effect of an injury received in past years, whenhe was a soldier serving in India, and he carries a thick bamboocane, with a curious crutch handle (an old favorite), to helphimself along whenever he gets on his feet, in doors or out. Withthis one little drawback (if it is a drawback), there is nothinginfirm or old or awkward about him; his slight limp when he walkshas (perhaps to my partial eyes) a certain quaint grace of its own,which is pleasanter to see than the unrestrained activity of othermen. And last and best of all, I love him! I love him! I love him!And there is an end of my portrait of my husband on ourwedding-day.
The glass has told me all I want to know. We leavethe vestry at last.
The sky, cloudy since the morning, has darkenedwhile we have been in the church, and the rain is beginning to fallheavily. The idlers outside stare at us grimly under theirumbrellas as we pass through their ranks and hasten into ourcarriage. No cheering; no sunshine; no flowers strewn in our path;no grand breakfast; no genial speeches; no bridesmaids; no fathersor mother's blessing. A dreary wedding - there is no denying it -and (if Aunt Starkweather is right) a bad beginning as well!
A coup has been reserved for us at therailway station. The attentive porter, on the look-out for his feepulls down the blinds over the side windows of the carriage, andshuts out all prying eyes in that way. After what seems to be aninterminable delay the train starts. My husband winds his arm roundme. "At last!" he whispers, with love in his eyes that no words canutter, and presses me to him gently. My arm steals round his neck;my eyes answer his eyes. Our lips meet in the first long, li