The Soldier's Wife — page 96: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SOLDIER'S WIFE CHAPTER XX, THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. SEVENTEEN rionths had elapsed since Lucy last saw her fither: and during this mterva] he had become much altered. It was not the ordinary effect of the lapse of time upon him: but care and vexation had evidently helped to do the work. He entered the room with a slow puce and with a severe aspect,—so that as Lucy sprang from her seat and was ad- vancing to meet him, she shrank back chilled by his looks. She did not immediately speak, for she scarcely knew what to say 5 and Mr. Davis, closing the door, approached a chair in which he seated himself. ‘Then glancing round the room with a look that seemed to bid Lucy observe into what a comparatively mean con- dition she had brought herself, he fixed his eyes attentively upon her—but in such a man- ner that plainly indicated he did not choose to take any notice of the child which she held in her arms. This cold cruelty on his part was not lost upon her: her feelings as a mother were wounded in their most sensitive point— and wretched as she already was with the sense of her unfortunate husband’s martyrdom, it required but this incident to draw forth her tears afresh. “And thus we meet again, Lucy?” said her father in a deep voice. “To what have you brought yourself?” “Am I not sufficiently unhappy without this taunt from your lips?” she asked, suddenly Wiping away her tears; for she felt that her father’s words conveyed a sort of slur thrown out upon the marriage which she had contract- ed—and her indignation was excited. “I care nothing for poverty; and as for privation, that, thank heaven, I have not yet known—and shal] not know, as long as I have hands to work and any remnant of health to enable me to work.’ “Your husband has this da fs “Father,” interrupted Lucy, with hysterical quickness, “speak not of it. No one must allude in my hearing to that circumstance, unless in the tone of sympathy; and as you feel none, I beseech you to spare my heart any additional tortures.” “ Now, Lucy, do you know wherefore I have sought you out?” resumed Davis. “I heard of vour busband’s arrest and that he had been brought back to Portsmouth. I thought to myself that you had perhaps experienced enough of the consequences of your disobe- 70 “Surely your dream of happiness must bave become dispelled by this time?” continued Mr. Davis: “and if you persist in clinging to that man ,who is unable to support you, you will assuredly sink down into misery—perhaps into something worse.” “Father, you dare not insult me thus!” ex claimed Lucy, her eyes flashing with indigna tion, “Oh! do not destroy the feeling of affection which I yet entertain toward you!”— and there was something exquisitely pathetie in the young woman’s appeal. “ Affection?” echoed Davis. with a sneer “do not talk to me of affection! Have I not suffered from your disobedience! might you not have formed a brilliant alliance? and had you followed my advice, would you not now at this moment be the wife of a gentleman and an oficer—the heir to an immense fortune? Yes, you would now be the companion of ladies and | gentlemen, living in comfort and splendor “But, father,” interrupted Lucy, “all that would not have constituted my happiness: for I could be happier in the meanest garret with him whom I sincerely love, than I could be in gilded saloons with one whom I loved not.” “All this sounds very fine in the page of a romance,” observed Davis, sneeringly again: “but the stern realities of life cannot be colored by the roseate hues of love. I scarcely fancied, Lucey, to find you in this perverse frame of mind. I thought that you would cheerfuliy and gratefully accept my proposal to returr home. You have left your father in solitude and loneliness, to follow the fortunes of an individual whom you know he never liked - He now comes to ofler you his forgiveness, and to entreat, if you will, that you return to the place of your birth, to render the rest of his days as happy as you ¢an. Now, Lucy, is this asking too much ¢” “It is, father—because it 1s asking me to abandon one whom I have sworn at the altar to love and cling to, and towards whom my own heart prompts me most faithfully to kecp those pledges.” “Then lsten well and patiently, Lucy, to what I have to say,” resumed Davis, in a voire that was bitterly implacable. “I give you this last chance. You have dashed to the ground all my fondly cherished hopes—you have annihilated the brightest dream of my existence. Nevertheless, 1 proffer you my par- don, on condition that you leave this man Ah! make not a gesture of impatience and that you return home. But I repeat, this is the last chance. If you refuse and disobey me now, I throw you off for ever. I have already dience and your marriage; and I have under-|made my will, leaving all I possess away irom taken this long journey to offer you a home|you. again, if you choose to accept it.” Come home—and the instant you cross the threshold, that will shall be burnt before “My home, father, is wheresoever I can live|your eyes: but refuse, and it shall remain in nearest to my husband; and therefore, while|existence that its provisions may be carried out _ thanking you tor your offer, [ cannot accept it.”|at my death. And now observe well, Luey— “You love your husband, then, better than|the time will come when, if you disobey me, your father?” ‘ou will be exposed wo the direst: privations— Lucy made no reply: but she bent her Jooks|when you will sink down into the bitterest upon the child, from whose sweet countenance|penury: and then you will seek that home her parent had studiously kept away his|which you uow refuse! regards. But the door will be closed against you: your letters, suppl.euting CORMIE AOC) <SziGO