The Soldier's Wife — page 102: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

THE SOLDIER'S WIFE. angel can teach me to endure these wrongs with patience. And now listen to me seriously, Lucy. After I received that frightful punish- ment, my mind became morbid, and I chenished the darkest thoughts of vengeance. Do not interrupt me, dearest, but listen. Yes—ven- geance against the author of all our sorrows, that, miscreant Bates! But gradually, under the influence of your love—your smiles—your bright and beautiful example of Christian re- siznation—my soul recovered its wonted health- fulness) and I was saved from those dark thoights. You remember what I said to you on tie night of Christmas Day, when we parted ? I then feit like a man cured of a passing mad- ness, or iather a gloomy mania. All went well until that incident with Gerald Redburn: but thenceforth my mind lost its healthy tone again—and it has been with difficulty that I have at times escaped from the strange and terrible thoughts that have risen like spirits of evil in my soul. I am now being driven by slow but sure degrees to frenzy. Redburn is bent upon my destruction. And what is worst of all, | have no redress! denly meeting, when each was stealing a glance at the other, they read what was passing iden- | tically and simultaneously within their souls. “You are very unhappy, Lucy #” said Frede- rick, in a mournful voice. “And you, my beloved husband, are still more so,” she replied: then she endeavored to smile in order to cheer him—but it was a siekly attempt; and feeling that it was so, she burst into tears. “Do not weep, dearest,” he said: “I cannot endure to see those eyes dimmed with teara Every drop that falls thus upon your cheeks, dear Lucy, seems to be molten lead poured upon my own heart.” “But what must we do, Frederick?” she asked, with a shudder of anguish: “for it is impossible that you .can exist longer thas, Tyranny is killing you by inches!” “Ah! that is indeed the fatal truth!” he eja- culated, with a vehement outburst of excite- ment. [ have gone through more within the last few months than any man living would have put There is nothing injup with. “By heaven, I can endure it no longer! Were I unmarried, and did not his conduct towards me that I can actually) your image and that of our beloved child con- complain of. And if I did complain, to whom would it be? To the Colonel, who is his friend, and who would take his part! Besides, the idea of a private soldier complaining against an officer, is ridiculous, absurd, preposterous !” —aind Frederick spoke with an exceeding bit- terness. The reader may conjecture with what feel- ings of anguish poor Lucy heard her husband’s explanation, every detail of which was but too well corroborated by that increasing mood- ness on his part which she had lately noticed. What could she do? what could she say ¢? what eould she suggest? Her only resource was to soothe him with the gentlest ministrations of that kindness which a loving woman knows so well how to pour forth, but which, alas! have not always the effect of healing the bruised spirit. His excitement was calmed down; but atill the sense of his goading wrongs remained— and the unfortunate husband and wife were eompelled to look once mvre with apprehension ard dismay into the future. Several weeks glided by, and day after day did Lonsdale’s position in his regiment become more intolerable. Desperate was the struggle Which the unhappy man maintained within himself to keep his sorrows veiled as much as possible from the knowledge of Lucy: but the penetrating eyes of a fond and loving wife were not to'be thus baffled—and our afflicted heroine saw that matters were approaching some dan- gerous crisis, Which she trembled to think of. And now again, as was the case at Carlisle after the appearance of Bates in that town, Frede- stantly rise up before me, I should long ago have struck that fiend-like tyrant Redburn. and what I tremble at, dear Lucy—what I shudder to think of—and yet what I foresee to be inevitable—is that some day, when goaded to desperation, I shall strike that man; and you know what the punishment is for striking an officer—it is death !” Lucy gave a quick start, shocked to the uttermost confines of her being by this terrifie announcement; and pale as a statue, she gazed upon her husband in a half wild, half vacant dismay. ‘Then in a sudden paroxysm of ineffa- ble anguish, she threw herself upon his breast, weeping bitterly. For a few moments all her power of self-command vanished; and she mure mured, amidst rending sobs, “Oh, your enemies ~ will kill you! they will murder you! they are bent upon your destruction! What is to be done, dearest Frederick? what is to be done? Something quickly! It is impossible that you could incur this frightful risk any longer.” . Lonsdale looked hard at his wife for near] a minute, evidently having something in his mind that he wished to say, but to which he scarcely dared give utterance: then with @& sudden mustering up of all his courage, he responded in a deep hollow voice, “Lucy, to avoid striking a blow the penalty of which ls death, we must flee—I must desert!” : Lucy started not—neither did she shudder: for she was prepared for this announcement. She herself saw indeed that it was the only alternative. The crisis was involved in the two words, death or desertion. And, Oh! to nck aud Lucy began to observe that a marked|behold her husband withdrawn from the cer- change was taking place in each other,—he growing haggard and care-worn—she becoming his soul sinking into frequent fits of despondency, her spirits kept up by At length they mu- tually felt that they could no longer keep si- — upon the subject, although they had en- pate and sickly, efforts painfully visible. tainty of committing himself in a manner that should hurry him to the grave, even though he must become a deserter a second time, was fraught with hope and happiness! “Yes, Frederick,” she murmured: “I am. afraid that this indeed is now necessary !” “And you, my sweet wife,” he whispered, eavored to do so; and one day their eyes sud-|glancing with apprehezsion around, as if the ‘e (EO) 0)(6)(0) AMC cS (C(O)