The Story of Bessie Costrell by Mrs. Humphry Ward
page 84 of 93 (90%)
page 84 of 93 (90%)
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her from herself. John was not coming back for a long, long time. She
would replace the money--of course she would! And she would not take any more--or only a very little. Meanwhile the hours floated by, dressed in a colour and variety they had never yet possessed for her--charged with all the delights of wealth, as such a human being under such conditions is able to conceive them. Her nature, indeed, had never gauged its own capacities for pleasure till within the last few months. Excitement, amusement, society--she had grown to them; they had evoked in her a richer and fuller life, expanded and quickened all the currents of her blood. As she sat shivering in the darkness and solitude, she thought with a sick longing of the hours in the public-house--the lights, the talk, the warmth within and without. The drink-thirst was upon her at this moment. It had driven her down to the village that afternoon at the moment of John's arrival. But she had no money. She had not dared to unlock the cupboard again, and she could only wander up and down the bit of dark road beyond the 'Spotted Deer,' suffering and craving. Well, it was all done--all done! She had come up without her candle, and the only light in the room was a cold glimmer from the snow outside. But she must find a light, for she must write a letter. By much groping she found some matches, and then lit one after another while she searched in her untidy drawers for an ink-bottle and a pen she knew must be there. She found them, and with infinite difficulty--holding match after match in her left hand--she scrawled a few blotted lines on a torn piece of paper. She was a poor scholar, and the toil was great. When it was done, |
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