Mary - A Fiction by Mary Wollstonecraft
page 77 of 86 (89%)
page 77 of 86 (89%)
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"I did not," said he, "expect to see thee this evening, my dearest Mary; but I was thinking of thee. Heaven has endowed thee with an uncommon portion of fortitude, to support one of the most affectionate hearts in the world. This is not a time for disguise; I know I am dear to thee--and my affection for thee is twisted with every fibre of my heart.--I loved thee ever since I have been acquainted with thine: thou art the being my fancy has delighted to form; but which I imagined existed only there! In a little while the shades of death will encompass me--ill-fated love perhaps added strength to my disease, and smoothed the rugged path. Try, my love, to fulfil thy destined course--try to add to thy other virtues patience. I could have wished, for thy sake, that we could have died together--or that I could live to shield thee from the assaults of an unfeeling world! Could I but offer thee an asylum in these arms--a faithful bosom, in which thou couldst repose all thy griefs--" He pressed her to it, and she returned the pressure--he felt her throbbing heart. A mournful silence ensued! when he resumed the conversation. "I wished to prepare thee for the blow--too surely do I feel that it will not be long delayed! The passion I have nursed is so pure, that death cannot extinguish it--or tear away the impression thy virtues have made on my soul. I would fain comfort thee--" "Talk not of comfort," interrupted Mary, "it will be in heaven with thee and Ann--while I shall remain on earth the veriest wretch!"--She grasped his hand. "There we shall meet, my love, my Mary, in our Father's--" His voice faultered; he could not finish the sentence; he was almost suffocated--they both wept, their tears relieved them; they walked slowly to the garden-gate (Mary would not go into the house); they could |
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