DOI article:
Crackanthorpe, Hubert: A study in sentimentality
DOI Page / Citation link:https://doi.org/10.11588/diglit.27812#0203
By Hubert Crackanthorpe 199
world had separated them, the best that was in him belonged to
her. When at length they met, there would be no need for
insistence on common points of feeling, for repeated handling of
past threads, as was customary with ordinary friendships. Since
each could read the other's heart, that sure intuition born of
chastened, spiritual love would be theirs. If trouble came to her,
he would be there to sacrifice all at a moment's bidding, after the
fashion of the knights of old. Because she knew him, she would
have faith in him. To do her service would be his greatest
j°y-
At first the immobile, isolated hours of his convalescence made
all these things appear simple and inevitable, like the events of a
great dream. As time went on, however, he grew to chafe
against his long confinement, to weary of his weakness, and of the
familiar sight of every object in the room ; and-in the mornings,
when Mrs. Parkin brought him his breakfast, he found himself
longing for a letter from her—some brief word of joy that he was
recovering. He yearned for some material object, the touch of
which would recall her to him, as if a particle of her personality
had impregnated the atoms.
Sometimes, he would force himself into believing that she would
appear again, drive out to learn the progress of his recovery . . .
After luncheon she would leave home . . . about half-past one,
probably . . . soon after three, he would see her . . . Now,
she was nearing the cross-roads . . . now climbing the hill past
Longrigg's farm . . . she would have to walk the horse there . . .
now, crossing the old bridge. He would lie watching the clock ;
and when the suspense grew intolerable, to cheat it, he would bury
his head in the pillow to count up to a thousand, before glancing at
the hands again. So would slip by the hour of her arrival; still,
he would struggle to delude himself with all manner of excuses
fbr
world had separated them, the best that was in him belonged to
her. When at length they met, there would be no need for
insistence on common points of feeling, for repeated handling of
past threads, as was customary with ordinary friendships. Since
each could read the other's heart, that sure intuition born of
chastened, spiritual love would be theirs. If trouble came to her,
he would be there to sacrifice all at a moment's bidding, after the
fashion of the knights of old. Because she knew him, she would
have faith in him. To do her service would be his greatest
j°y-
At first the immobile, isolated hours of his convalescence made
all these things appear simple and inevitable, like the events of a
great dream. As time went on, however, he grew to chafe
against his long confinement, to weary of his weakness, and of the
familiar sight of every object in the room ; and-in the mornings,
when Mrs. Parkin brought him his breakfast, he found himself
longing for a letter from her—some brief word of joy that he was
recovering. He yearned for some material object, the touch of
which would recall her to him, as if a particle of her personality
had impregnated the atoms.
Sometimes, he would force himself into believing that she would
appear again, drive out to learn the progress of his recovery . . .
After luncheon she would leave home . . . about half-past one,
probably . . . soon after three, he would see her . . . Now,
she was nearing the cross-roads . . . now climbing the hill past
Longrigg's farm . . . she would have to walk the horse there . . .
now, crossing the old bridge. He would lie watching the clock ;
and when the suspense grew intolerable, to cheat it, he would bury
his head in the pillow to count up to a thousand, before glancing at
the hands again. So would slip by the hour of her arrival; still,
he would struggle to delude himself with all manner of excuses
fbr