Serapis
SERAPIS By Georg Ebers Volume 5. CHAPTER XX. Gorgo, when she had left her grandmother, could not rest. Her lofty calmness of demeanor had given way to a restless mood such as she had always contemned severely in others, since she had ceased to be a vehement child and grown to be a woman. She tried to beguile the alarm that made her pulses beat so quickly, and the heart-sickness that ached like a wound, by music and singing; but this only added to her torment. The means by which she could usually recover her equanimity of mind had lost their efficacy, and Sappho's longing hymn, which she began to sing, had only served to bring the fervid longing of her own heart to light-- to set it, as it were, in the full glare of the sun. She had become aware that every fibre, every nerve of her being yearned for the man she
"He'll have hard work to do it by that time, father," remonstrated
Thames; "you'd better let me help him."
"On no account," rejoined Wood peremptorily. "A little extra exertion
will teach him the advantage of diligence at the proper season. Lost
ground must be regained. I need scarcely ask whether you've executed
your appointed task, my dear? You're never behindhand."
Thames turned away at the question, which he felt might be construed
into a reproach. But Sheppard answered for him.
"Darrell's job was done early this morning," he said; "and if I'd
attended to his advice, the packing-case would have been finished at the
same time."
"You trusted too much to your own skill, Jack," rejoined Thames. "If I
could work as fast as you, I might afford to be as idle. See how he gets
on, father," he added, appealing to Wood: "the box seems to grow under
his hands."
"You're a noble-hearted little fellow, Thames," rejoined Wood, casting a
look of pride and affection at his adopted son, whose head he gently
patted; "and give promise of a glorious manhood."
Thames Darrell was, indeed, a youth of whom a person of far greater
worldly consequence than the worthy carpenter might have been justly
SERAPIS By Georg Ebers Volume 5. CHAPTER XX. Gorgo, when she had left her grandmother, could not rest. Her lofty calmness of demeanor had given way to a restless mood such as she had always contemned severely in others, since she had ceased to be a vehement child and grown to be a woman. She tried to beguile the alarm that made her pulses beat so quickly, and the heart-sickness that ached like a wound, by music and singing; but this only added to her torment. The means by which she could usually recover her equanimity of mind had lost their efficacy, and Sappho's longing hymn, which she began to sing, had only served to bring the fervid longing of her own heart to light-- to set it, as it were, in the full glare of the sun. She had become aware that every fibre, every nerve of her being yearned for the man she