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| http://thatwritererinoriordan.tumblr.com/post/101168344200/isagrimorie-fath-ali-shah-qajar-aahoo |
Sameen now found the difference between
the expectation of an unpleasant event, however certain the mind may
be told to consider it, and certainty itself. She now found, that in
spite of herself, she had always admitted a hope, while
Root remained
single, that something would occur to prevent her marrying
Leon; that
some resolution of her own, some mediation of friends, or some more
eligible opportunity of establishment for the gentleman, would arise
to assist the happiness of all. But Root was now married; and Sameen
condemned her heart for the lurking flattery, which so much
heightened the pain of the intelligence.
That Root should be married soon,
before (as Sameen imagined) she could be in orders, and consequently
before she could be in possession of the living, surprised her a
little at first. But she soon saw how likely it was that Leon, in his
self-provident care, in his haste to secure Root, should overlook
everything but the risk of delay. They were married, married in town,
and now hastening down to her uncle's. What had Root felt on being
within four miles from the subway station, on seeing Mr. Finch’s
servant, on hearing Leon's message!
They would soon, she supposed, be
settled at Long Island.—Long Island,—that place in which so much
conspired to give her an interest; which she wished to be acquainted
with, and yet desired to avoid. She saw them in an instant in their
parsonage-house; saw in Leon, the active, contriving manager, uniting
at once a desire of smart appearance with the utmost frugality, and
ashamed to be suspected of half his economical practices;—pursuing
his own interest in every thought, courting the favour of
Colonel Reese, of The Machine, and of every wealthy friend. In Root—Sameen
knew not what she saw, nor what she wished to see;—happy or
unhappy,—nothing pleased her; she turned away her head from every
sketch of her.
Sameen flattered herself that some one
of their connections in Brooklyn would write to them to announce the
event, and give farther particulars,—but day after day passed off,
and brought no text, no e-mail. Though uncertain that any one were to
blame, she found fault with every absent friend. They were all
thoughtless or indolent.
"When do you write to Colonel
Reese, Mr. Finch?" was an inquiry which sprung from the
impatience of her mind to have something going on.
"I wrote to him, Miss Shaw, last
week, and rather expect to see, than to hear from him again. I
earnestly pressed his coming to us, and should not be surprised to
see him walk in today or tomorrow, or any day."
This was gaining something, something
to look forward to. Colonel Reese must have some information to give.
Scarcely had she so determined it, when
the figure of a person on horseback drew her eyes to the window. He
or she stopt at their gate. It was a gentleman, it was Colonel Reese
himself. Now she could hear more; and she trembled in expectation of
it. But—it was NOT Colonel Reese—neither his air—nor his
height. Were it possible, she must say it must be Root. She looked
again. She had just dismounted;—Sameen could not be mistaken,—it
WAS Root. Sameen moved away and sat down. "She comes from Mr.
Elias's purposely to see us. I WILL be calm; I WILL be mistress of
myself."
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| http://thatwritererinoriordan.tumblr.com/post/125640232200 |
In a moment she perceived that the
others were likewise aware of the mistake. She saw Mr. Finch and
Fusco change colour; saw them look at herself, and whisper a few
sentences to each other. She would have given the world to be able to
speak—and to make them understand that she hoped no coolness, no
slight, would appear in their behaviour to Root;—but she had no
utterance, and was obliged to leave all to their own discretion.
Not a syllable passed aloud. They all
waited in silence for the appearance of their visitor. Her footsteps
were heard along the gravel path; in a moment she was in the passage,
and in another she was before them.
Her countenance, as she entered the
room, was not too happy, even for Sameen. Her complexion was white
with agitation, and she looked as if fearful of her reception, and
conscious that she merited no kind one. Mr. Finch, however,
conforming, as he trusted, to the wishes of that asset, by whom he
then meant in the warmth of his heart to be guided in everything, met
with a look of forced complacency, gave Root his hand, and wished her
joy.
Root coloured, and stammered out an
unintelligible reply. Sameen's lips had moved with Mr. Finch's, and,
when the moment of action was over, she wished that she had shaken
hands with Root too. But it was then too late, and with a countenance
meaning to be open, she sat down again and talked of the weather.
Fusco had retreated as much as possible
out of sight, to conceal his distress; and Bear, understanding some
part, but not the whole of the case, thought it incumbent on him to
be dignified, and therefore took a seat as far from Root as he could,
and maintained a strict silence.
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| http://www.akc.org/dog-breeds/belgian-malinois/ |
When Sameen had ceased to rejoice in
the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place. It was put
an end to by Mr. Finch, who felt obliged to hope that Root had left
Mr. Groves very well. In a hurried manner, Root replied in the
affirmative.
Another pause.
Sameen resolving to exert herself,
though fearing the sound of her own voice, now said,
"Is Mr. Groves at the safe house?"
"At the safe house!" Root
replied, with an air of surprise.— "No, my father is in
Texas."
"I meant," said Sameen,
taking up some work from the table, "to inquire for Mr. SAMANTHA
Groves."
She dared not look up;—but Finch and
Fusco both turned their eyes on Root. Root coloured, seemed
perplexed, looked doubtingly, and, after some hesitation, said,—
"Perhaps you mean—my brother—you
mean Mr.—Mr. Samuel Groves."
"Mr. Samuel Groves!"—was
repeated by Fusco and Mr. Finch in an accent of the utmost
amazement;—and though Sameen could not speak, even HER eyes were
fixed on Root with the same impatient wonder. Root rose from her
seat, and walked to the window, apparently from not knowing what to
do; took up a pair of scissors that lay there, and while spoiling
both them and their sheath by cutting the latter to pieces as she
spoke, said, in a hurried voice,
"Perhaps you do not know—you may
not have heard that my brother is lately married to—to the
youngest—to Mr. Leon Tao."
Her words were echoed with unspeakable
astonishment by all but Sameen, who sat with her head leaning over
her work, in a state of such agitation as made her hardly know where
she was.
"Yes," said Root, "they
were married last week, and are now at Dallas."
Sameen could sit it no longer. She
almost ran out of the room, and as soon as the door was closed, burst
into tears of joy, which at first she thought would never cease.
Root, who had till then looked anywhere, rather than at her, saw her
hurry away, and perhaps saw—or even heard, her emotion; for
immediately afterwards she fell into a reverie, which no remarks, no
inquiries, no affectionate address of Mr. Finch could penetrate, and
at last, without saying a word, quitted the room, and walked out
towards the village—leaving the others in the greatest astonishment
and perplexity on a change in Root’s situation, so wonderful and so
sudden;—a perplexity which they had no means of lessening but by
their own conjectures.
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***
I just needed some fluffy "Shoot" fan fiction because...well, you know.
