Dora Sigerson Shorter

“ He felt shy of her, as though he did not know her.
"You are a stranger," he said, dropping her hands.
The girl was wounded. "Father!" she said, and could say no more. She could have told his every movement—every wrinkle that the years had added, every new tress of white that came among his brown hair. She knew his step along the road before she saw him. She could almost tell how he looked at every hour of the day, what his rare smile was like, and what the habitual frown that sorrow had laid upon his forehead. ”

“ Hugh continued, not heeding her look at her old father, who was talking with his brother, "a rose must be sweetly wooed and tenderly taken possession of."
Ernest heard him and smiled.
"Ask the rose, Hugh," he said. "And in spite of the angry little thorns, it would prefer to be strongly taken by the hot hand of power and burnt in a heart of passion and fire."
"No," Hugh said coldly; "for fear it might break and die, reverence should gather the rose, and love be its slave."
Ernest fixed his eyes upon the face of the girl.
"Better burn than decay. Ask the rose, Hugh; ask the rose." ”

“ Oh, a woman's home is her castle if she holds her husband's heart, and he stand by her; let the world storm her gates with jeers and insults, she is safe and happy. But if her husband turn against her and shut her from his heart, though all the world protect her, she is alone indeed; though all the world offer her shelter, she is without a home. So my nights pass with such thoughts. Sometimes I sleep and dream, and my dreams are terrible. I always dream that I am dead and watching my child from another state. I see him thrust aside by his stronger brethren, as the weak are always crushed ”

“ But oh," she added enthusiastically, "it is fine to me always—a young man come to manhood, the long apprenticeship to youth past, the world before him. Look at your boy with his mission to fulfil, the grand old name to carry on, to keep proud and stainless as it has ever been, to die with the knowledge that he has handed it on to his sons unsullied in his turn, and to rest at last with those great and brave men who gave it to him to pass on. Sometimes I almost wish my dear girl had been a boy—since I was to have but one, that it should have been a man-child." ”

“ He gave another movement forward—and the wire broke. A moment of nothingness, and then they found themselves hanging in the air a few feet from the rushing waters. The man clung fast to the wire, but the woman’s hands only held a minute and then let go. They swung like a pendulum over the face of death. The man screamed in his agony. The rope noosed around his chest, and, laden with the unconscious woman’s weight, cut into him and seemed to pinch his heart out. He uttered cry after cry, and then—he went mad. He was no longer a reasoning human being, but an insane animal fighting for life. ”

“ Malachy leant forward, "I feel as if you had been lost and I had just found you," he whispered; then saw upon her brow—almost across her eyes—the vivid wound of a knotted whip lash. "My God!" he cried, his face changing. "Has he done that? Where is he?"
Nora started to her feet. She had never seen him so angry. She put her hand upon his arm to keep him. "Let him be," she said; "it is no use worrying. I am all right—it does not hurt. He was very angry because I would not go at once for my performance."
"Nora!" He grasped her hands in his. "Nora, leave it all, leave it all! ”

“ She thrust them down from their cramped position in a spasm of fear. For a moment there was stillness, then again the soft pressure was repeated, and she lay like one dead, bereft of movement. She felt the weight move upward, now on her knees, now along her side. Her benumbed intelligence guessed it was a hand—of what?—of whom?—stealing upward till it felt her head. "Then," she thought, "it will pull back the clothes, and I shall see—what?—whom?" She tried to move, but could not stir a finger. She tried to scream, but her voice would only whisper, "James, help! For God's sake, help!" ”

“ She will tell sweet dreams to my king, for I see she whispers to him already: his eyes open once, and then shut in deep, happy slumber.
Who in the night has not woke with an exceedingly bitter cry for something that they have not got? but who has cried as I have, breaking the silence? Oh, little child of hate, sleeping beside me, why have I borne you? Why have I cursed you with the heritage that must be yours? Little bond of love that keeps together two hearts that else would spring asunder, you must pay in sorrow for our sins! ”

“ Nora whispered, as though afraid of being heard, "the eyes always watching for me to fall—they are not there, nor the ears always astrain to hear my dying cry."
The man shuddered. He drew nearer and, laying his hand upon her arm, gazed intently into her eyes.
"Wherever you go, eyes are watching you," he said, "ears are listening to you, tongues are ready to be busy with your misfortunes in this great city. But at home there are no eyes to watch you save of those who love you. There are no ears to listen save of those to whom your voice is music. ”

“ I feel the air move as though fanned by invisible wings. Angels wait to bear my child to heaven; but for me dread ghosts are lurking in the darkness, and I am afraid. I feel what I cannot see; their blazing eyes burn into my soul. If I were sure that when among the damned I should remember that my child was safe in heaven, I could find the sacrifice of my eternal life more easy to bear; but perhaps I may not remember. I do not think I shall, for then it would not be hell. What if they torture me with false dreams, making me see him in misery and misfortune? ”

“ There had been a last letter from that dear dream-mother, and in it she had written, "I shall be always with you, though you will not see me." "Always with her," Angela thought; she who had been so far away: she who had been invisible for years—nearer, though invisible still. Then in the letter she had also read, "Comfort your father; be good to him: his is a deep and terrible trouble."
Yes! that was the sentence that thrilled her. Here was responsibility! All the motherhood that lies in the breast of the woman-child was awakened. ”

“ The lion-tamer, astride a lion, was riding round the ring.
"I hate the life"—the woman spoke after a pause—"I hate the men's eyes. I am not one to smile when my soul is full of bitterness, or to dance lightly when my heart is heavy; neither can I uplift my face for the admiration of men, nor do I care to twist and distort my body for their amusement. ”

“ If it were Hugh who walked with her by the river, telling her wonderful tales of his dreamworld, and reading her poems he had written to her loveliness and his devotion, she would feel it better to love this brother, who was so tender and gentle, not daring to touch her hand or speak out his love for fear of frightening her. She would in pity half turn towards him, opening her lips to say she loved him. But her inconstant heart at the movement would pine for the stronger lover, who she felt would have her, even if both were broken in the struggle. ”

“ What amusement is it to me to plan meals each day without the hope of an approving word? to turn and re-turn old gowns, or oversee servants? My friends I left far away when I came to him, and with his I have little in sympathy; yet I am glad to see them come to our house, since for a time, at least, they dispel the gloom of our domestic life; for a time the skeleton is put into its cupboard, our small cellar is robbed of its best wine, our wits are called upon to produce our most brilliant conversation. We smile, we are merry; then the guests depart, the skeleton stalks forth, the door slams. ”

“ The old woman was still happy in her ignorance, babbling of fairies and red poppies. My hands were the fairies that had laid those terrible flowers on her babe's fair head, the sleep-giving poppies on her eyes.
The paper-boys were shouting in my ears as I passed, but I paid no attention to them. Their "terrible tragedies" could not equal mine; their cries of "Murder!" woke no horror in my heart; they only cried aloud the word that echoed there. I dare not think of the imprisoned soul that lay as dead in my room—the only one who sought me out in my hour of death's despair. ”

“ Had a devil entered into the body of Gilbert Graham during the time my spirit was passing from my own to it—a devil who, making me work its will, thus laughed in its hideous triumph. Surely devils were many round my bed when I lay dying. Its power had left me now, and I went, in bitter remorse, to the little child.
"She slipped from my arms," I whispered. "She slipped, mother."
She answered me nothing; but, as I raised the senseless babe, the servant sobbed, "Oh, Master Gilbert, we thought the shock had sent you mad!"
I laid the child upon the sofa, while the girl ran for a doctor. ”

“ Sometimes one would face him for a moment, and the two would look into each other's eyes, till the brave beast would turn tail, subdued by the superior courage in the man's gaze. Often it was but the weight of a straw in the balance who would have the victory. But the man always came from the conquest with a smile upon his lips, while the women in the audience would give little cries of fear, and lean fainting upon their male companions, envying the woman the while who might call such a man her master. ”

“ When Priscilla died there turned up from somewhere a far-removed cousin—a stern, middle-aged woman, who looked at the world through smoked glasses; and no doubt the world looked grey to her. She had no tears, no smiles, no sentiments, only the hardness of middle life, which has left the softness of youth behind and not yet reached the softness of age. She was a business-like person, and ordered everything and everybody as if she had lived all her life in Priscilla’s house. The people wondered if she would get Priscilla’s box of treasure ”

“ The girl appeared to share her father's dislike, or whatever it was, and Edward could now never meet or speak with her alone—never could prevail on her to walk with him, or get her to converse.
"She does not care for me," he thought; but the memory of certain looks and words of hers came to him. "She has grown tired, or loves another." His hands clenched at the possibility. The shadow of his friends' unkindness fell darkly upon him in his weakness. His strength had not come back to him since his adventure in the snow, and the short, severe fever that followed. ”

“ Lady Osborne said; "dirty, thieving, ungrateful creatures. Let them wallow in their own mud!"
"It is the fault of circumstances if they have such faults. Oh, mother! we must save them, I want to do so, when I see the men shuffling from beershop to beershop; when I see the women dirty, neglected, loud-voiced—hardly women; when I see the little children shrinking from blows, shouted at, cursed at, taught to see everything wrong, sitting with poverty, playing with sin, cheek to cheek with crime. What can they do, mother? what can they do to become men and women?" ”

“ Angela remembered how she and the little boy, being told to run away and play, sat beneath a bush watching the house afraid to move till the mystery was cleared up. How she imagined the man-servant must have killed the boy's father; how the boy paled when she told him so, yet showed the glimmer of an excitement at the possession of a tragedy. How cruel they thought those grown-up people, whose world was so much calmer than their own. ”

“ Lady Geraldine looked with surprise into her friend's white face.
"I suppose there is one thing you could not forgive"—Lady Osborne spoke slowly—"if your girl married with my knowledge a servant's child?"
Lady Geraldine, shocked and astonished, gazed at her friend for a minute in silence, then she said,—
"Why do you ask me such questions? My daughter is going to marry into a family as good, as pure, as proud as her own. She is going to marry your son." ”

“ Her love was like that of a mother for a crippled child. Yet, after all, it was the greater love; for love of the weak and failing is true love, while love of the strong and successful is selfish in a degree when he who loves lives in the shadow of that strength.
"One evening the man, sitting in the doorway with his beloved violin at his shoulder, beheld the woman coming towards him in great haste, her pretty curls behind her in the wind, her cloak blown back, her little feet twinkling in their speed. ”

“ Ernest opened the door and stood for the moment dumb upon the threshold. Only his wife was before him, but in a flash he realized she was not alone. Hugh was there. The spirit of his dead brother had taken his wife from his living arms. He closed the door, and staggered forward.
"Where is he?" He looked around the room. His wife, white as snow, started to her feet.
"Who? There is no one here except ourselves."
"Where is the robber? Where is Hugh?" her husband gasped. He felt as if he were choking. He thought his brother was somewhere laughing at his helplessness. ”

“ She smoothed the child's hair and looked into her face. "What a pity you are not like your mother, darling; it would have drawn him to you. But, being like himself, he shuts you too away from happiness along with his own heart."
The child dried her tears to listen to her nurse. Was she saying something against her father?
"I will ask him to let you go to your aunt's," the woman continued. "It's not right for a child to be in this sad house."
The child flung herself away. What! leave her father! Never! She was going to live with him always—always—to mind him and comfort him. ”

“ Paler each night grew the young face, shabbier the clothes, thinner the hands that grasped the cards so eagerly. Now he spoke no word of greeting to me; only his eyes revealed his thoughts: therein I could see the light of hope gleam faintly each night, fading, fading to give place to despair, returning again as the closing hours approached and the waiter's voice warned us it was time to stop.
One night Varen came hastily in, staggering as though he were drunk. Flinging himself down in a chair, he took his cards. ”

“ The light of the passing moon moves like a benediction over the land. The scented breeze is warm, and the cottage doors stand open. There is no enemy here to bar them against, and the night is not yet begun. In one cottage alone there is mourning, an old woman sitting in solitude by a hearth where the turf lies grey, the fire in its heart."
Nora passed her hand across her eyes, as if to see clearer. ”