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Maria, or the Wrongs of Woman-Part5_Mary Wollstonecraft(1759-1797)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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Jemima entering, he reflected on his diffidence with poignant



regret, and, she once more taking alarm, he ventured, as Maria

stood near his chair, to approach her lips with a declaration of



love. She drew back with solemnity, he hung down his head abashed;

but lifting his eyes timidly, they met her's; she had determined,



during that instant, and suffered their rays to mingle. He took,

with more ardour, reassured, a half-consenting, half-reluctant



kiss, reluctant only from modesty; and there was a sacredness in

her dignified manner of reclining her glowing face on his shoulder,



that powerfully impressed him. Desire was lost in more ineffable

emotions, and to protect her from insult and sorrow--to make her



happy, seemed not only the first wish of his heart, but the most

noble duty of his life. Such angelic confidence demanded the



fidelity of honour; but could he, feeling her in every pulsation,

could he ever change, could he be a villain? The emotion with which



she, for a moment, allowed herself to be pressed to his bosom, the

tear of rapturous sympathy, mingled with a soft melancholy sentiment



of recollected disappointment, said--more of truth and faithfulness,

than the tongue could have given utterance to in hours! They were



silent--yet discoursed, how eloquently? till, after a moment's

reflection, Maria drew her chair by the side of his, and, with a



composed sweetness of voice, and supernatural benignity of

countenance, said, "I must open my whole heart to you; you must be



told who I am, why I am here, and why, telling you I am a wife,

I blush not to"--the blush spoke the rest.



Jemima was again at her elbow, and the restraint of her presence

did not prevent an animated conversation, in which love, sly urchin,



was ever at bo-peep.

So much of heaven did they enjoy, that paradise bloomed around



them; or they, by a powerful spell, had been transported into

Armida's garden. Love, the grand enchanter, "lapt them in Elysium,"



and every sense was harmonized to joy and social extacy.

So animated, indeed, were their accents of tenderness, in discussing



what, in other circumstances, would have been commonplace subjects,

that Jemima felt, with surprise, a tear of pleasure trickling down



her rugged cheeks. She wiped it away, half ashamed; and when Maria

kindly enquired the cause, with all the eager solicitude of a happy



being wishing to impart to all nature its overflowing felicity,

Jemima owned that it was the first tear that social enjoyment had



ever drawn from her. She seemed indeed to breathe more freely;

the cloud of suspicion cleared away from her brow; she felt herself,



for once in her life, treated like a fellow-creature.

Imagination! who can paint thy power; or reflect the evanescent



tints of hope fostered by thee? A despondent gloom had long obscured

Maria's horizon--now the sun broke forth, the rainbow appeared,



and every prospect was fair. Horror still reigned in the darkened

cells, suspicion lurked in the passages, and whispered along the



walls. The yells of men possessed, sometimes, made them pause,

and wonder that they felt so happy, in a tomb of living death.



They even chid themselves for such apparent insensibility; still

the world contained not three happier beings. And Jemima, after



again patrolling the passage, was so softened by the air of confidence

which breathed around her, that she voluntarily began an account



of herself.

CHAPTER 5






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