THE PARK
I came a little eight, next morning, as I by the of a clock. There was no of breakfast. I waited above an hour it came, still for to the library; and, after that was concluded, I waited again about an hour and a in great and discomfort, what to do. At length Lady Ashby came to me good-morning. She me she had only just breakfasted, and now wanted me to take an early walk with her in the park. She asked how long I had been up, and on my answer, the regret, and again promised to me the library. I she had do so at once, and then there would be no trouble either with or forgetting. She complied, on condition that I would not think of reading, or with the books now; for she wanted to me the gardens, and take a walk in the park with me, it too for enjoyment; which, indeed, was nearly the case already. Of I assented; and we took our walk accordingly.
As we were in the park, talking of what my had and her experience, a on up and passed us. As he turned, in passing, and me full in the face, I had a good opportunity of what he was like. He was tall, thin, and wasted, with a in the shoulders, a face, but blotchy, and red about the eyelids, plain features, and a of and flatness, by a in the mouth and the dull, eyes.
"I that man!" Lady Ashby, with emphasis, as he slowly by.
"Who is it?" I asked, to that she should so speak of her husband.
"Sir Thomas Ashby," she replied, with composure.
"And do you him, Miss Murray?" said I, for I was too much to her name at the moment.
"Yes, I do, Miss Grey, and him too; and if you him you would not me."
"But you what he was you married him."
"No; I only so: I did not know him really. I know you me against it, and I wish I had to you: but it's too late to that now. And besides, ought to have than either of us, and she said anything against it—quite the contrary. And then I he me, and would let me have my own way: he did to do so at first, but now he not a about me. Yet I should not for that: he might do as he pleased, if I might only be free to myself and to in London, or have a friends here: but he will do as he pleases, and I must be a and a slave. The moment he saw I myself without him, and that others my value than himself, the selfish to me of and extravagance; and to Harry Meltham, shoes he was not to clean. And then he must needs have me in the country, to lead the life of a nun, I should him or him to ruin; as if he had not been ten times every way, with his betting-book, and his gaming-table, and his opera-girls, and his Lady This and Mrs. That—yes, and his bottles of wine, and of brandy-and-water too! Oh, I would give ten thousand worlds to be Miss Murray again! It is too to life, health, and away, and unenjoyed, for such a as that!" she, into in the of her vexation.
Of course, I her exceedingly; as well for her false idea of and of duty, as for the partner with her was linked. I said what I to her, and offered such as I she most required: her, first, by reasoning, by kindness, example, and persuasion, to try to her husband; and then, when she had done all she could, if she still him incorrigible, to to herself from him—to herself up in her own integrity, and trouble herself as little about him as possible. I her to in doing her to God and man, to put her trust in Heaven, and herself with the and of her little daughter; assuring her she would be by its progress in and wisdom, and its affection.
"But I can't myself to a child," said she; "it may die—which is not at all improbable."
"But, with care, many a has a man or woman."
"But it may so like its father that I shall it."
"That is not likely; it is a little girl, and its mother."
"No matter; I should like it if it were a boy—only that its father will it no that he can possibly away. What can I have in a girl up to me, and those that I am for from? But I be so as to take in this, still it is only a child; and I can't centre all my in a child: that is only one than to a dog. And as for all the and you have been trying to into me—that is all very right and proper, I daresay, and if I were some twenty years older, I might by it: but people must themselves when they are young; and if others won't let them—why, they must them for it!"
"The best way to is to do what is right and nobody. The end of Religion is not to teach us how to die, but how to live; and the you wise and good, the more of you secure. And now, Lady Ashby, I have one more piece of to offer you, which is, that you will not make an enemy of your mother-in-law. Don't into the way of her at arms' length, and her with distrust. I saw her, but I have good as well as her; and I that, though cold and in her demeanour, and in her requirements, she has for those who can them; and, though so to her son, she is not without good principles, or of reason. If you would but her a little, and a friendly, open manner—and your to her—real grievances, such as you have a right to complain of—it is my that she would, in time, your friend, and a and support to you, of the you her." But I my had little upon the lady; and, I myself so little serviceable, my at Ashby Park painful. But still, I must out that day and the one, as I had promised to do so: though, all and to my visit further, I upon the next morning; that my mother would be without me, and that she my return. Nevertheless, it was with a that I to Lady Ashby, and left her in her home. It was no additional proof of her unhappiness, that she should so to the of my presence, and the company of one tastes and ideas were so little to her own—whom she had in her hour of prosperity, and presence would be a than a pleasure, if she but have her heart's desire.
