DOI article:
Crackanthorpe, Hubert: A study in sentimentality
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27812#0200
196 A Study in Sentimentality
been able to help doing that. There was no harm in it;
she had made him happier—he had said so himself ... But
Jim wouldn't understand: he would be angry with her for
having gone, perhaps. He wouldn't see that she couldn't have
done anything else. No, she couldn't bear to tell him : besides,
it seemed somehow like treachery to Alec . . . Oh ! it must be
awful to Ante like that! ... The doctor should never
have told him. It was horrible, cruel ... In the past how she
had been to blame—she saw that now : thoughtless, selfish, alto-
gether beneath him.
It was like a chapter in a novel. His loving her silently all
these years, and telling her about it on his deathbed. At the
thought of it she thrilled with subtle pride : it illuminated the
whole ordinariness of her life. The next moment the train of
her own thoughts shamed her. Poor, poor Alec. . . . And to
reinforce her pity, she recalled the tragic, setting of the scene.
That woman—his landlady—could she have heard anything, she
wondered with a twinge of dread ? No, the door was shut, and
his voice had been very low.
The horse turned on to the main road, and pricking his ears,
quickened his pace.
She would remember him always. Every day, she would think
of him, as he had asked her to do—she would never forget to do
that. And, if she were in trouble, or difficulty, she would turn
her thoughts towards him, just as he had told her he used to do.
She would try to become better—more religious—for his sake.
She would read her Bible each morning, as she knew had been his
habit. These little things were all she could do now. Her
attitude in the future she would make worthy of his in the
past . . . He would become the secret guiding-star of her life : A
would be her hidden chapter of romance. . . .
The
been able to help doing that. There was no harm in it;
she had made him happier—he had said so himself ... But
Jim wouldn't understand: he would be angry with her for
having gone, perhaps. He wouldn't see that she couldn't have
done anything else. No, she couldn't bear to tell him : besides,
it seemed somehow like treachery to Alec . . . Oh ! it must be
awful to Ante like that! ... The doctor should never
have told him. It was horrible, cruel ... In the past how she
had been to blame—she saw that now : thoughtless, selfish, alto-
gether beneath him.
It was like a chapter in a novel. His loving her silently all
these years, and telling her about it on his deathbed. At the
thought of it she thrilled with subtle pride : it illuminated the
whole ordinariness of her life. The next moment the train of
her own thoughts shamed her. Poor, poor Alec. . . . And to
reinforce her pity, she recalled the tragic, setting of the scene.
That woman—his landlady—could she have heard anything, she
wondered with a twinge of dread ? No, the door was shut, and
his voice had been very low.
The horse turned on to the main road, and pricking his ears,
quickened his pace.
She would remember him always. Every day, she would think
of him, as he had asked her to do—she would never forget to do
that. And, if she were in trouble, or difficulty, she would turn
her thoughts towards him, just as he had told her he used to do.
She would try to become better—more religious—for his sake.
She would read her Bible each morning, as she knew had been his
habit. These little things were all she could do now. Her
attitude in the future she would make worthy of his in the
past . . . He would become the secret guiding-star of her life : A
would be her hidden chapter of romance. . . .
The