: Flora Adair; or Love Works Wonders. Vol. 1 (of 2) by Donelan A M - Fiction

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FLORA ADAIR; OR, Love works Wonders.

LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1867.

FLORA ADAIR.

In Rome, on a bright sunny morning in the month of March, 186-, two ladies were seated in a drawing-room, the windows of which looked upon the Corso. Mother and daughter they evidently were; and, as they play a prominent part in this story, we may be permitted to devote a short time to describing them.

As a mark of respect to age, we shall give the elder lady precedence. Although she was dressed in black, and seated at a table working, one could judge that her figure was tall and elegant. In her youth she had been a great beauty; yet it could not be said that strong traces of that beauty still lingered over those thin, worn features, for "sorrows, nor few, nor light," had set their mark upon them. But neither time nor grief had destroyed the calm, gentle expression of that countenance, ever ready to light up with a cheerful smile and look happy in the happiness of others. Her character may be expressed in a single word--devotedness. As daughter, sister, wife, and mother, her whole life had been one almost unbroken act of self-sacrifice. Most of those whom she loved had been taken from her while she was still in the bloom of life; her children alone remained. The two elder--a son and a daughter--were married, and therefore, in some degree, lost to her, so that Flora, her second daughter, was the only one really left; and in this, her youngest child, was centred Mrs. Adair's every hope and thought. Their affection was mutual: Flora Adair believed herself to be blessed indeed in her mother.

And now let us turn to the young lady. We are obliged to confess that, although she is considered to be like her mother, it is a resemblance not boasting of much physical beauty. A sad drawback this, doubtless, to a heroine; but, according to the old saying, "what can't be cured must be endured." Her figure, however, was really good; she was about the middle height, with tiny hands and feet, a broad forehead, blue eyes--fairly large and dark--a small but well-formed nose, round cheeks, a large mouth, with a tolerably good, but an over-crowded, range of teeth; a complexion far from bright or clear, and a profusion of dark brown hair brushed off her forehead, and twisted round the back of her head in thick plaits. Such is our heroine's picture--not a very attractive one, it may be said, and of this no one was more fully conscious than Flora Adair herself.

As to her character, she was generally looked upon as cold, and somewhat haughty, yet she was really rather indifferent than haughty; but how often is indifference of manner called haughtiness in the world! Her seeming coldness in a great measure came from a shrinking dread of forcing herself upon others. It is true she cared but little for society, and found a young lady's life weary and objectless; her constant thought was how to make the hours go faster. Had any one asked her why she found them so long, she would probably have borrowed her answer from Shakespeare, and have said--

"Not having that, which, having, makes them short."

Something of all this could be seen in her listless air, as she sat there near the window, not reading, but with a book in her hand, gazing out vacantly, as if to ask, "How shall I get through to-day? Will it be anything more interesting than usual?" Better, perhaps, had it not been so, some would say--better had the blank been left unfilled, as she was now but negatively unhappy, the unhappiness arising from her own disposition, ever yearning for something more, something deeper, than she had yet known; and also because she had not yet learned that "the first principle of wisdom is to be satisfied with that which is;" or "in the state in which she was therewith to be content."

Which is the better lot:--a short spell of deep happiness and after misery, or an even life, unmarked by great joy or great sorrow? Flora Adair would answer, "Give me, were it only for a short time, intense happiness, at any cost; no price is too great for it, or it would be worth nothing!" So that had the choice been offered to her she would have taken the very lot which was destined for her.

There was another member of their little circle, a young lady of about Flora's age, named Lucy Martin, who was travelling with the Adairs, and who was absent for a few days on a visit to some friends at Albano: as she shortly afterwards returned home, it is needless to describe her more fully.

Mrs. Adair looked at her watch, and said, "Half-past ten, Flora; and the Eltons are to call for us at eleven. We had better get ready."

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