Helena: A Wife's Story [pp. 462-472]

He7ena: A Wife's Story.
sive gesture, gave her permission, or
rather ordered her, to sit. She sank at
once into a chair. My father looked at
me earnestly and critically from beneath
his black, bushy eyebrows. Then turn ing to Miss Mac Nab, he said tersely,
"Lady Susan-psha —Helena grows,"
(they were both my names, and Susan
came first: but he hated it.)
Miss Mac Nab received the remark as
a personal compliment; she was conscien tiously anxious about me, and considered
herself responsible even for my stature.
- cI hope she is steady and studious,
Miss Mac Nab?"
,'Pretty well, my Lord."
"No cursed imagination, I hope? Is
not too fond of poetry and music?"
"'She is very fond of music, my Lord,
and really has a voice of great sweetness
and power."
At this point my father had just turned
in his weary promenade, and was r eceding from us; but he suddenly stood
still, looked round upon us, and said, in
a coarse, angry tone, "Voice! why, good
Heaven, ma'am, you don't teach her to
sing?"
"0 no, my Lord," replied startled Miss
Mac Nab; "I have too much regard for
her future voice to let her commence
solfeggio so young. But she sings to
herself as children sing."
"Begin to teach her to-morrow. Let
her practise solfeggio some hours daily:
do it regularly."
"My Lord "
My father waved one long white hand,
with an air that effectually prevented the
conclusion of my governess' speech.
"Go," he said, tersely; and then, as if
suddenly recollecting that Miss Mac
Nab was a free woman, and not a bond
slave, "go, if you please; I am weary
and occupied."
Such was my father's reception of me
after a six month's absence. Almost my
only recreation was to walk in the beautiful but neglected grounds. Deansdale
was a great place, and required four
times the staff my father maintained
there; but its very rankness of luxuriance had an attraction for me. My pursuits were so clipped and shorn into
shape, that the si ght o f anythin g grow ing as it liste ad had a charm. I envied
the ivy, that wound, unrebuked, its lov ing green arms ab out the olden house corner s, maki ng pic tu resqu e d ecay more
beautiful. To be sur e, my wa lks wer e
regulated b y my jailer-for such Miss
Mac Nab seemed to me. I had to go at
her side, and to keep her pace. I had a
sufficient idea of the stain that was upon
me to feel that the most devoted obedi ence and submission to my elders was
the only course which c ould palliat e its
blackness. Therefore, while I envied the
embracing ivy and the tho usand caressing rin gs of the sprin g cre e pers, I never
presumed to throw my arms around Miss
Mac Nab's neck, for I knew she would not
like it. Though I envied the free life of
the birds, and coveted their wings, I
walked demurely and resignedly at her
side. My life was rigorously appor tioned: so many hours to language, to
grammar, to music, and to work. Lan guages I did not like, grammar I detes ted, work I tolerated because its interval
was the only time when my vagrant
child's fancy had its full play. O, not
the only time! For I passionately loved
music, and would have played half the
day had not Miss Mac Nab kept me
strictly to the allotted time of practice.
A beautiful melody seemed to let my imagination loose among all the glories of
the universe. My ear clung to a fine air
as a bee to a honey-flower. My voice,
which echoed every sweet sound I heard,
was almost my only plaything. I sang
because I could not help it. Every beautiful sensation resolved itself into music,
Every melancholy feeling, and these were
more numerous, asked a sad song to interpret it. Once Miss Mac Nab used to
forbid my singing, but I really could not
help it, and she began to tolerate it. I
think she really liked it. We were never
out of each other's presence, and I sometimes think, now, that her life must have
been almost as weary as mine. But she
was a severe, conscientious woman, and
had no idea of enjoyment beyond the fulfilment of duty. Week after week passed
in the same monotonous style. Only
now and then my father carne down upon
1856.]
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