| | 1 | Author: | Mitchell
Donald Grant
1822-1908 | Add | | | Title: | Doctor Johns  | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | AUTUMN and winter passed by, and the summer
of 1838 opened upon the old quiet life of Ashfield.
The stiff Miss Johns, busy with her household
duties, or with her stately visitings. The Doctor's hat
and cane in their usual place upon the little table within
the door, and of a Sunday his voice is lifted up
under the old meeting-house roof in earnest expostulation.
The birds pipe their old songs, and the orchard
has shown once more its wondrous glory of bloom.
But all these things have lost their novelty for Adèle.
Would it be strange, if the tranquil life of the little
town had lost something of its early charm? That
swift French blood of hers has been stirred by contact
with the outside world. She has, perhaps, not been
wholly insensible to those admiring glances which so
quickened the pride of the father. Do not such things
leave a hunger in the heart of a girl of seventeen
which the sleepy streets of a country town can but
poorly gratify? “My dear Johns, — I shall again greet you, God
willing, in your own home, some forty days hence, and
I shall come as a repentant Benedick; for I now wear
the dignities of a married man. Your kind letter
counted for a great deal toward my determination; but
I will not affect to conceal from you, that my tender
interest in the future of Adèle counted for a great deal
more. As I had supposed, the communication to Julie
(which I effected through her brother) that her child
was still living, and living motherless, woke all the tenderness
of her nature. I cannot say that the sudden
change in her inclinations was any way flattering to
me; but knowing her recent religious austerities, I was
prepared for this. I shall not undertake to describe
to you our first interview, which I can never forget. It
belongs to those heart-secrets which cannot be spoken
of; but this much I may tell you, — that, if there was
no kindling of the old and wayward love, there grew
out of it a respect for her present severity and elevation
of character that I had never anticipated. At our
age, indeed, (though, when I think of it, I must be
many years your junior,) a respect for womanly character
most legitimately takes the place of that disorderly
sentiment which twenty years ago blazed out in
passion. “Mon cher Monsieur,” — in this way she begins; for
her religious severities, if not her years, have curbed
any disposition to explosive tenderness, — “I have received
the letter of our child, which was addressed to
you. I cannot tell you the feelings with which I have
read it. I long to clasp her to my heart. And she appeals
to you, for me, — the dear child! Yes, you have
well done in telling her that I was unworthy (méchante).
It is true, — unworthy in forgetting duty, — unworthy
in loving too well. O Monsieur! if I could live over
again that life, — that dear young life among the olive
orchards! But the good Christ (thank Him!) leads
back the repentant wanderers into the fold of His
Church. | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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