Hewlett, Maurice, 1861-1923 / 2008-06-18 00:00:00
He was, as usual, out of breath and angry. He was also, I judged,
embarrassed and fretted by the ministrations of Aurelia.
"My curse," I heard him say, "my undying curse upon the man who built
this house. Twice a day am I to scale a mountain? Wife, wife, you
strangle me!"
"Oh, dear friend! Oh, dear friend!" 'Twas the voice of Aurelia. "Are you
come back to your poor girl?"
"Hey," cried he testily, "do I seem to be absent? I wish you would talk
sense. These infernal stairs rob us all of our wits, it seems."
"I am very foolish," said Aurelia, and I heard her trouble in her tones.
"I have been waiting so long--so very long."
"There, my child, there," said he, and kissed her. "Now be pleased to
let me into my house." With a sigh, which I heard, she released him, and
he came stamping into the room. I trembled in my shameful retreat.
The reflections of a young man of sensibility, ear-witness against his
will of the chaste and sanctioned familiarities of a man and wife, must
always be mingled of sweet and bitter; but when to the natural force of
these is added horror of a crime and the shame arising from discovery of
utter delusion, the reader may imagine the stormy sea of torment in
which I laboured. In a word, I was to discover a new Aurelia--Aurelia
the affectionate wife, the careful minister; not the adored mistress of
a feverish boy, the heroine of a Vita Nuova, the Beatrice of a, I fear
me, profane comedy, the beloved of Aminta and the Pastor Fido.
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