Our Nig - Harriet E. Wilson (small books to read txt) 📗
- Author: Harriet E. Wilson
Book online «Our Nig - Harriet E. Wilson (small books to read txt) 📗». Author Harriet E. Wilson
But to return. James married a Baltimorean lady of wealthy parentage, an indispensable requisite, his mother had always taught him. He did not marry her wealth, though; he loved her, sincerely. She was not unlike his sister Jane, who had a social, gentle, loving nature, rather too yielding, her brother thought. His Susan had a firmness which Jane needed to complete her character, but which her ill health may in a measure have failed to produce. Although an invalid, she was not excluded from society. Was it strange she should seem a desirable companion, a treasure as a wife?
Two young men seemed desirous of possessing her. One was a neighbor, Henry Reed, a tall, spare young man, with sandy hair, and blue, sinister eyes. He seemed to appreciate her wants, and watch with interest her improvement or decay. His kindness she received, and by it was almost won. Her mother wished her to encourage his attentions. She had counted the acres which were to be transmitted to an only son; she knew there was silver in the purse; she would not have Jane too sentimental.
The eagerness with which he amassed wealth, was repulsive to Jane; he did not spare his person or beasts in its pursuit. She felt that to such a man she should be considered an incumbrance; she doubted if he would desire her, if he did not know she would bring a handsome patrimony. Her mother, full in favor with the parents of Henry, commanded her to accept him. She engaged herself, yielding to her mother’s wishes, because she had not strength to oppose them; and sometimes, when witness of her mother’s and Mary’s tyranny, she felt any change would be preferable, even such a one as this. She knew her husband should be the man of her own selecting, one she was conscious of preferring before all others. She could not say this of Henry.
In this dilemma, a visitor came to Aunt Abby’s; one of her boy-favorites, George Means, from an adjoining State. Sensible, plain looking, agreeable, talented, he could not long be a stranger to anyone who wished to know him. Jane was accustomed to sit much with Aunt Abby always; her presence now seemed necessary to assist in entertaining this youthful friend. Jane was more pleased with him each day, and silently wished Henry possessed more refinement, and the polished manners of George. She felt dissatisfied with her relation to him. His calls while George was there, brought their opposing qualities vividly before her, and she found it disagreeable to force herself into those attentions belonging to him. She received him apparently only as a neighbor.
George returned home, and Jane endeavored to stifle the risings of dissatisfaction, and had nearly succeeded, when a letter came which needed but one glance to assure her of its birthplace; and she retired for its perusal. Well was it for her that her mother’s suspicion was not aroused, or her curiosity startled to inquire who it came from. After reading it, she glided into Aunt Abby’s, and placed it in her hands, who was no stranger to Jane’s trials.
George could not rest after his return, he wrote, until he had communicated to Jane the emotions her presence awakened, and his desire to love and possess her as his own. He begged to know if his affections were reciprocated, or could be; if she would permit him to write to her; if she was free from all obligation to another.
“What would mother say?” queried Jane, as she received the letter from her aunt.
“Not much to comfort you.”
“Now, aunt, George is just such a man as I could really love, I think, from all I have seen of him; you know I never could say that of Henry”—
“Then don’t marry him,” interrupted Aunt Abby.
“Mother will make me.”
“Your father won’t.”
“Well, aunt, what can I
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