Holmes The Cameron Pride, or, Purified by Suffering

1. Auflage 2023
ISBN: 978-3-98826-288-2
Verlag: OTB eBook publishing
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 446 Seiten

Reihe: Classics To Go

The Cameron Pride, or, Purified by Suffering is a novel written by Mary Jane Holmes and published in 1872. The story is set in a small New England town and follows the lives of the Cameron family, a proud and wealthy family with a long and storied history in the community. The central character of the novel is Marian Cameron, a beautiful and intelligent young woman who is forced to confront the limitations and expectations placed upon her by her family and society. Despite her natural talents and abilities, Marian is forced to live a sheltered and restricted life, unable to pursue her own interests and ambitions. As the novel progresses, Marian begins to question the values and beliefs of her family and community, and begins to seek a more fulfilling and meaningful life. She meets and falls in love with a young man named Douglas Campbell, who shares her passion for literature and learning, and together they embark on a journey of self-discovery and personal growth. Throughout the novel, Holmes explores a range of themes, including the role of women in society, the power of family and tradition, and the importance of personal integrity and moral courage. She also offers a vivid and highly detailed portrait of life in small-town America during the mid-19th century, with all its joys, sorrows, and complexities. The Cameron Pride, or, Purified by Suffering is a classic work of American literature that has been widely praised for its engaging characters, vivid descriptions, and powerful themes. It is a moving and thought-provoking story of love, loss, and the struggle for personal freedom and fulfillment, and remains a beloved classic of the genre.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Holmes, Mary Jane

Leseproben

CHAPTER II.
LINWOOD.
Morris had returned from Spencer, and in his dressing-gown and slippers was sitting by the window of his library, looking out upon the purple sunshine flooding the western sky, and thinking of the little girl coming so rapidly up the grassy lane in the rear of the house. He was going over to see her by and by, he said, and he pictured to himself how she must look by this time, hoping that he should not find her greatly changed, for Morris Grant’s memories were very precious of the play-child who used to tease and worry him so much with her lessons poorly learned, and the never-ending jokes played off upon her teacher. He had thought of her so often when across the sea, and, knowing her love of the beautiful, he had never looked upon a painting or scene of rare beauty that he did not wish her by his side sharing in the pleasure. He had brought her from that far-off land many little trophies which he thought she would prize, and which he was going to take with him when he went to the farm-house. He never dreamed of her coming there to-night. She would, of course, wait for him, to call upon her first. How then was he amazed when, just as the sun was going down and he was watching its last rays lingering on the brow of the hill across the pond, the library door was opened wide and the room suddenly filled with life and joy, as a graceful figure, with reddish golden hair, bounded across the floor, and winding its arms around his neck gave him the hearty kiss which Katy had in her mind when she declined Aunt Betsy’s favorite vegetable. Morris Grant was not averse to being kissed, and yet the fact that Katy Lennox had kissed him in such a way awoke a chill of disappointment, for it said that to her he was the teacher still, the elder brother, whom, as a child, she had loaded with caresses. “Oh, Cousin Morris!” she exclaimed, “why didn’t you come over at noon, you naughty boy! But what a splendid-looking man you’ve got to be, though! and what do you think of me?” she added, blushing for the first time, as he held her off from him and looked into the sunny face. “I think you wholly unchanged,” he answered, so gravely that Katy began to pout as she said, “And you are sorry, I know. Pray what did you expect of me, and what would you have me be?” “Nothing but what you are—the same Kitty as of old,” he answered, his own bright smile breaking all over his sober face. He saw that his manner repelled her, and he tried to be natural, succeeding so well that Katy forgot her first disappointment, and making him sit by her on the sofa, where she could see him distinctly, she poured forth a volley of talk, telling him, among other things, how much afraid of him some of his letters made her—they were so serious and so like a sermon. “You wrote me once that you thought of being a minister,” she added. “Why did you change your mind? It must be splendid, I think, to be a young clergyman—invited to so many tea-drinkings, and having all the girls in the parish after you, as they always are after unmarried ministers.” Into Morris Grant’s eyes there stole a troubled light as he thought how little Katy realized what it was to be a minister of God—to point the people heavenward and teach them the right way. There was a moment’s pause, and then he tried to explain to her that he hoped he had not been influenced either by thoughts of tea-drinkings or having the parish girls after him, but rather by an honest desire to choose the sphere in which he could accomplish the most good. “I did not decide rashly,” he said, “but after weeks of anxious thought and prayer for guidance I came to the conclusion that in the practice of medicine I could find perhaps as broad a field for good as in the church, and so I decided to go on with my profession—to be a physician of the poor and suffering, speaking to them of Him who came to save, and in this way I shall not labor in vain. Many would seek another place than Silverton and its vicinity, but something told me that my work was here, and so I am content to stay, feeling thankful that my means admit of my waiting for patients, if need be, and at the same time ministering to the wants of those who are needy.” Gradually, as he talked, there came into his face a light born only from the peace which passeth understanding, and the awe-struck Katy crept closer to his side and grasping his hand in hers, said softly, “Dear cousin, what a good man you are, and how silly I must seem to you, thinking you cared for tea-drinkings, or even girls, when, of course, you do not.” “Perhaps I do,” the doctor replied, slightly pressing the warm, fat hand holding his so fast. “A minister’s or a doctor’s life would be dreary indeed if there was no one to share it, and I have had my dreams of the girls, or girl, who was some day to brighten my home.” He looked fully at Katy now, but she was thinking of something else, and her next remark was to ask him rather abruptly “how old he was?” “Twenty-six last May,” he answered, while Katy continued, “You are not old enough to be married yet. Wilford Cameron is thirty.” “Where did you meet Wilford Cameron?” Morris asked, in some surprise, and then the story which Katy had not told, even to her sister, came out in full, and Morris tried to listen patiently while Katy explained how, on the very first day of the examination, Mrs. Woodhull had come in, and with her the grandest, proudest-looking man, who the girls said was Mr. Wilford Cameron, from New York, a fastidious bachelor, whose family were noted for their wealth and exclusiveness, keeping six servants, and living in the finest style; that Mrs. Woodhull, who all through the year had been very kind to Katy, came to her after school and invited her home to tea; that she had gone and met Mr. Cameron; that she was very much afraid of him at first, and was not sure that she was quite over it now, although he was so polite to her all through the journey, taking so much pains to have her see the finest sights, and laughing at her enthusiasm. “Wilford Cameron with you in your trip?” Morris asked, a new idea dawning on his mind. “Yes, let me tell you,” and Katy spoke rapidly. “I saw him that night, and then Mrs. Woodhull took me to ride with him in the carriage, and then—well, I rode alone with him once down by the lake, and he talked to me just as if he was not a grand man and I a little school-girl. And when the term closed I stayed at Mrs. Woodhull’s and he was there. He liked my playing and liked my singing, and I guess he liked me—that is, you know—yes, he liked me some” and Katy twisted the fringe of her shawl, while Morris, in spite of the pain tugging at his heart strings, laughed aloud as he rejoined, “I have no doubt he did; but go on—what next?” “He said more about my joining that party than anybody, and I am very sure he paid the bills.” “Oh, Katy,” and Morris started as if he had been stung. “I would rather have given Linwood than have you thus indebted to Wilford Cameron, or any other man.” “I could not well help it. I did not mean any harm,” Katy said timidly, explaining how she had shrunk from the proposition which Mrs. Woodhull thought was right, urging it until she had consented, and telling how kind Mr. Cameron was, and how careful not to remind her of her indebtedness to him, attending to and anticipating every want as if she had been his sister. “You would like Mr. Cameron, Cousin Morris. He made me think of you a little, only he is prouder,” and Katy’s hand moved up Morris’s coat sleeve till it rested on his shoulder. “Perhaps so,” Morris answered, feeling a growing resentment towards one who it seemed to him had done him some great wrong. But Wilford was not to blame, he reflected. He could not help admiring the bright little Katy—and so conquering all ungenerous feelings, he turned to her at last, and said, “Did my little Cousin Kitty like Wilford Cameron?” Something in Morris’s voice startled Katy strangely; her hand came down from his shoulder, and for an instant there swept over her an emotion similar to what she had felt when with Wilford Cameron she rambled along the shores of Lake George, or sat alone with him on the deck of the steamer which carried them down Lake Champlain. But Morris had always been her brother, and she did not guess that she was more to him than a sister, so she answered frankly at last, “I guess I did like him a little. I couldn’t help it, Morris. You could not either, or any one. I believe Mrs. Woodhull was more than half in love with him herself, and she talked so much of his family; they must be very grand.” “Yes, I know those Camerons,” was Morris’s quiet remark. “What! You don’t know Wilford?” Katy almost screamed, and Morris replied, “Not Wilford, no; but the mother and the sisters were in Paris, and I met them many times.” “What were they doing in Paris?” Katy asked, and Morris replied that he believed the immediate object of their being there was to obtain the best medical advice for a little orphan grand-child, a bright, beautiful boy, to whom some terrible accident had happened in infancy, preventing his walking entirely, and making him nearly helpless. His name was Jamie, Morris said, and as he saw that Katy was interested, he told her how sweet-tempered the little fellow was, how patient under suffering, and how eagerly he listened when Morris, who at one time attended him, told him of the Saviour and his love for little...