Read Online The Absentee by Maria Edgeworth - Free Book Online Page A

tenderness, the indefatigable patience,
the strong attachment she showed for her aunt, actually raised Lady
Clonbrony in her son's opinion. He was persuaded she must surely have
some good or great qualities, or she could not have excited such strong
affection. A few foibles out of the question, such as her love of fine
people, her affectation of being English, and other affectations too
tedious to mention, Lady Clonbrony was really a good woman, had good
principles, moral and religious, and, selfishness not immediately
interfering, she was good-natured; and though her soul and attention
were so completely absorbed in the duties of acquaintanceship that she
did not know it, she really had affections—they were concentrated upon
a few near relations. She was extremely fond and extremely proud of
her son. Next to her son, she was fonder of her niece than of any other
creature. She had received Grace Nugent into her family when she was
left an orphan, and deserted by some of her other relations. She had
bred her up, and had treated her with constant kindness. This kindness
and these obligations had raised the warmest gratitude in Miss Nugent's
heart; and it was the strong principle of gratitude which rendered her
capable of endurance and exertions seemingly far above her strength.
This young lady was not of a robust appearance, though she now underwent
extraordinary fatigue. Her aunt could scarcely bear that she should
leave her for a moment: she could not close her eyes unless Grace sat
up with her many hours every night. Night after night she bore this
fatigue; and yet, with little sleep or rest, she preserved her health,
at least supported her spirits; and every morning, when Lord Colambre
came into his mother's room, he saw Miss Nugent look as blooming as
if she had enjoyed the most refreshing sleep. The bloom was, as he
observed, not permanent; it came and went, with every emotion of her
feeling heart; and he soon learned to fancy her almost as handsome when
she was pale as when she had a colour. He had thought her beautiful when
he beheld her in all the radiance of light, and with all the advantages
of dress at the gala, but he found her infinitely more lovely and
interesting now, when he saw her in a sick-room—a half-darkened
chamber—where often he could but just discern her form, or distinguish
her, except by her graceful motion as she passed, or when, but for a
moment, a window-curtain drawn aside let the sun shine upon her face, or
on the unadorned ringlets of her hair.
    Much must be allowed for an inflammation in the eyes, and something for
a rheumatic fever; yet it may seem strange that Lady Clonbrony should be
so blind and deaf as neither to see nor hear all this time; that, having
lived so long in the world, it should never occur to her that it was
rather imprudent to have a young lady, not eighteen, nursing her—and
such a young lady!—when her son, not one-and-twenty—and such a
son!—came to visit her daily. But, so it was. Lady Clonbrony knew
nothing of love—she had read of it, indeed, in novels, which sometimes
for fashion's sake she had looked at, and over which she had been
obliged to doze; but this was only love in books—love in real life she
had never met with—in the life she led, how should she? She had heard
of its making young people, and old people even, do foolish things; but
those were foolish people; and if they were worse than foolish, why it
was shocking, and nobody visited them. But Lady Clonbrony had not, for
her own part, the slightest, notion how people could be brought to this
pass, nor how anybody out of Bedlam could prefer to a good house, a
decent equipage, and a proper establishment, what is called love in
a cottage. As to Colambre, she had too good an opinion of his
understanding—to say nothing of his duty to his family, his pride, his
rank, and his being her son—to let such an idea cross her imagination.
As to her niece; in the first place, she was her niece, and