Miss Morris and the Stranger

Little Novels, by Wilkie Collins

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Showing of 31 reviews. Top Reviews Most recent Top Reviews. There was a problem filtering reviews right now. Please try again later. Kindle Edition Verified Purchase. This is an interesting psychological adventure, centered on the title character whose passion leads him to reckless disregard for wealth and connections, even as he obeys the restraints of an ingrained personal code of honor. Some of the characters appear stereotypical at first, but are developed with more interesting and subtle touches as the story unfolds. Wilkie Collins excels at drawing back the curtain of a society where outward manners and social position are not always what they appear to be.

As this novel demonstrates, the underbelly of evil and corruption can be exposed in discreet and subtle ways. Basil has plenty of spice I have read many novels by Wilkie Collins including: Most of these works involve some mystery surrounding a woman. This novel is no exception. The novel begins years after a tragic event has changed the life of a young man named Basil. The readers learn that the doors of his home are forever closed to him.

He will never see his father again. And he will never see his beloved sister, Clara, again. Basil begins to recount the events that lead to a life changing event, which caused him to lose all that he once held dear. These events were set in motion the minute he met Margaret Sherwin. Basil's enchantment with the dark and beautiful Margaret happened when they met by chance on an omnibus.

Basil was so stricken by her beauty that he followed the beautiful stranger home and with the help of a family servant managed to coax his way into Margaret's life. The Sherwin family were simple shop keepers. Mr Sherwin owned a linen draper's shop. When he learned that the son of a gentlemen with a family name dating back to Norman times expressed interest in his daughter, he was more than happy to encourage the union.

Basil's father, however, was extremely proud of his family lineage and expected his sons to follow and respect their family history. Margaret's beauty won over Basil's family obligations. Without the consent of his father he marries Margaret in secret. After marrying Margaret, Basil realizes that something is not quite right in the Sherwin household. Margaret's moods change with the wind. Each and every person in the home seem to be keeping a secret.

I found the novel extraordinary! The readers are immediately aware that Basil's marriage to Margaret was his undoing, but the events unfold slowly and tragically. I don't think I will ever hear the names Basil and Margaret and not think of his novel. It was absolutely haunting! An exiting story about social pride and prejudice, revenge and deceipt and blind love. The story paints a perfect picture of the Victorian society which was dominated by classes and the influence of the different socalled social 'stations in life'.

A very enjoyable read. All was quite entertaining but not quite all was believable. What can one say? Collins doesn't miss, and this is a good book. It's a little more strange than his others in his characterizations, but, like the others, I couldn't put it down until I finished it.

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The air of mystery in all his books keeps you reading - because you just have to know!! No resemblance to the book, and I thought poorly done. Perhaps if I hadn't read the book, I would have enjoyed the movie more. There is one woman who is above the common weakness of vanity — and she holds the present pen. So I gave my lost stranger a lesson in politeness. The lesson took the form of a trap. I asked him if he would like me to show him the way to the inn. He was still annoyed at losing himself. As I had anticipated, he bluntly answered: This curious apology increased my belief in his redeeming qualities.

I led the way to the inn. He followed me in silence. No woman who respects herself can endure silence when she is in the company of a man. I made him talk. He only nodded his head. And their first Mayor was only elected the other day! This point of view seemed to be new to him.

He made no attempt to dispute it; he only looked around him, and said: As a citizen of Sandwich, I may say that we take it as a compliment when we are told that our town is a melancholy place. Melancholy is connected with dignity. And dignity is associated with age. And we are old. I teach my pupils logic, among other things — there is a specimen. Whatever may be said to the contrary, women can reason. They can also wander; and I must admit that I am wandering. Did I mention, at starting, that I was a governess? Let me make my excuses, and return to my lost stranger.

My tone seemed to astonish him. I quite respected him; this was such an intelligent remark to make. We do enjoy our decay: Progress and prosperity everywhere else; decay and dissolution here. As a necessary consequence, we produce our own impression, and we like to be original. The sea deserted us long ago: But one house in the town is daring enough to anticipate the arrival of resident visitors, and announces furnished apartments to let.

What a becoming contrast to our modern neighbor, Ramsgate! Our noble market-place exhibits the laws made by the corporation; and every week there are fewer and fewer people to obey the laws. Look at our one warehouse by the river side — with the crane generally idle, and the windows mostly boarded up; and perhaps one man at the door, looking out for the job which his better sense tells him cannot possibly come.

What a wholesome protest against the devastating hurry and over-work elsewhere, which has shattered the nerves of the nation! I am wandering again. Bear with the unpremeditated enthusiasm of a citizen who only attained years of discretion at her last birthday. We shall soon have done with Sandwich; we are close to the door of the inn. He looked down at me from under his beautiful eyelashes have I mentioned that I am a little woman?

Any other man would have offended me. This man blushed like a boy, and looked at the pavement instead of looking at me. By this time I had made up my mind about him. He was not only a gentleman beyond all doubt, but a shy gentleman as well. His bluntness and his odd remarks were, as I thought, partly efforts to disguise his shyness, and partly refuges in which he tried to forget his own sense of it.

I answered his audacious proposal amiably and pleasantly. This was a little too much. He half put out his hand. When we have most properly administered a reproof to a man, what is the perversity which makes us weakly pity him the minute afterward? I was fool enough to shake hands with this perfect stranger. And, having done it, I completed the total loss of my dignity by running away.

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Our dear crooked little streets hid me from him directly. BEFORE many more days passed I had troubles of my own to contend with, which put the eccentric stranger out of my head for the time. Unfortunately, my troubles are part of my story; and my early life mixes itself up with them. In consideration of what is to follow, may I say two words relating to the period before I was a governess?

I am the orphan daughter of a shopkeeper of Sandwich. My father died, leaving to his widow and child an honest name and a little income of L80 a year. We kept on the shop — neither gaining nor losing by it. The truth is nobody would buy our poor little business. I was thirteen years old at the time; and I was able to help my mother, whose health was then beginning to fail.

He was an elderly gentleman; and he seemed surprised to find so young a girl as myself in charge of the business, and, what is more, competent to support the charge. I answered his questions in a manner which seemed to please him. He soon discovered that my education excepting my knowledge of the business had been sadly neglected; and he inquired if he could see my mother. She was resting on the sofa in the back parlor — and she received him there. When he came out, he patted me on the cheek. My mother had referred him to the rector for our characters in the town, and he had heard what our clergyman could say for us.

Our only relations had emigrated to Australia, and were not doing well there.

The old gentleman said: He gave me his card as I opened the shop-door for him. Our kind-hearted customer was no less a person than Sir Gervase Damian, of Garrum Park, Sussex — with landed property in our county as well! In four months from the memorable day when the great man had taken tea with us, my time had come to be alone in the world. I have no courage to dwell on it; my spirits sink, even at this distance of time, when I think of myself in those days. The good rector helped me with his advice — I wrote to Sir Gervase Damian.

Sir Gervase had married for the second time — and, what was more foolish still, perhaps, at his age, had married a young woman. She was said to be consumptive, and of a jealous temper as well. Any written communications in the future are to pass, if you please, through the hands of the rector of Sandwich. The delicate health of the new Lady Damian makes it only too likely that the lives of her husband and herself will be passed, for the most part, in a milder climate than the climate of England.

I left a sincerely grateful letter to be forwarded to Sir Gervase; and, escorted by the steward, I went to school — being then just fourteen years old. I know I am a fool. My new life had its trials — my pride held me up. For the four years during which I remained at the school, my poor welfare might be a subject of inquiry to the rector, and sometimes even the steward — never to Sir Gervase himself. His winters were no doubt passed abroad; but in the summer time he and Lady Damian were at home again.

Not even for a day or two in the holiday time was there pity enough felt for my lonely position to ask me to be the guest of the housekeeper I expected nothing more at Garrum Park. But for my pride, I might have felt it bitterly. No answer was received. No change varied the monotony of my life — except when one of my schoolgirl friends sometimes took me home with her for a few days at vacation time.

My pride held me up. As the last half-year of my time at school approached, I began to consider the serious question of my future life. Of course, I could have lived on my eighty pounds a year; but what a lonely, barren existence it promised to be! My education had thoroughly fitted me to be a governess.

Why not try my fortune, and see a little of the world in that way? Even if I fell among ill-conditioned people, I could be independent of them, and retire on my income. The rector, visiting London, came to see me. He not only approved of my idea — he offered me a means of carrying it out. A worthy family, recently settled at Sandwich, were in want of a governess. The idea of returning to my native place pleased me — dull as the place was to others. I accepted the situation. It was not ingratitude toward my benefactor; it was only my little private triumph over Lady Damian.

Oh, my sisters of the sex, can you not understand and forgive me? So to Sandwich I returned; and there, for three years, I remained with the kindest people who ever breathed the breath of life.

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Under their roof I was still living when I met with my lost gentleman in the street. The speculation had turned out to be a losing one; and all his savings had been embarked in it. He could no longer remain at Sandwich, or afford to keep a governess. His wife broke the sad news to me. I was so fond of the children, I proposed to her to give up my salary. Her husband refused even to consider the proposal. It was the old story of poor humanity over again. We cried, we kissed, we parted. I had already written, soon after my return to Sandwich; breaking through the regulations by directly addressing Sir Gervase.

I expressed my grateful sense of his generosity to a poor girl who had no family claim on him; and I promised to make the one return in my power by trying to be worthy of the interest he had taken in me. The letter was written without any alloy of mental reserve. My new life as a governess was such a happy one that I had forgotten my paltry bitterness of feeling against Lady Damian. It was a relief to think of this change for the better, when the secretary at Garrum Park informed me that he had forwarded my letter to Sir Gervase, then at Madeira with his sick wife.

She was slowly and steadily wasting away in a decline. Before another year had passed, Sir Gervase was left a widower for the second time, with no child to console him under his loss. No answer came to my grateful letter. I should have been unreasonable indeed if I had expected the bereaved husband to remember me in his grief and loneliness.

Could I write to him again, in my own trumpery little interests, under these circumstances? I thought and still think that the commonest feeling of delicacy forbade it. The only other alternative was to appeal to the ever-ready friends of the obscure and helpless public. I advertised in the newspapers.

The tone of one of the answers which I received impressed me so favorably, that I forwarded my references. The next post brought my written engagement, and the offer of a salary which doubled my income. The story of the past is told; and now we may travel on again, with no more stoppages by the way. THE residence of my present employer was in the north of England. Having to pass through London, I arranged to stay in town for a few days to make some necessary additions to my wardrobe.

An old servant of the rector, who kept a lodging-house in the suburbs, received me kindly, and guided my choice in the serious matter of a dressmaker. On the second morning after my arrival an event happened. The post brought me a letter forwarded from the rectory. Imagine my astonishment when my correspondent proved to be Sir Gervase Damian himself! The letter was dated from his house in London. It briefly invited me to call and see him, for a reason which I should hear from his own lips. He naturally supposed that I was still at Sandwich, and requested me, in a postscript, to consider my journey as made at his expense.

I went to the house the same day. While I was giving my name, a gentleman came out into the hall. He spoke to me without ceremony.

He may live for another year or more, if his friends will only persuade him to be hopeful about himself. The change in my benefactor, since I had seen him last, startled and distressed me. He lay back in a large arm-chair, wearing a grim black dressing-gown, and looking pitiably thin and pinched and worn. I do not think I should have known him again, if we had met by accident. He signed to me to be seated on a little chair by his side.

You must have thought me neglectful and unkind, with good reason. My child, you have not been forgotten. A pained expression passed over his poor worn face; he was evidently thinking of the young wife whom he had lost. I repeated — fervently and sincerely repeated — what I had already said to him in writing. I took his wan white hand, hanging over the arm of the chair, and respectfully put it to my lips. He gently drew his hand away from me, and sighed as he did it. Perhaps she had sometimes kissed his hand. But you must let me do something more for you — some little service to remember me by when the end has come.

What shall it be? He drew me to him gently, and kissed my forehead.

It was too much for me. Once more he stopped; once more he was thinking of the lost wife. I pulled down my veil, and ran out of the room. THE next day I was on my way to the north. My narrative brightens again — but let us not forget Sir Gervase Damian. I ask permission to introduce some persons of distinction: Fosdyke, of Carsham Hall, widow of General Fosdyke; also Master Frederick, Miss Ellen, and Miss Eva, the pupils of the new governess; also two ladies and three gentlemen, guests staying in the house.

Discreet and dignified; handsome and well-bred — such was my impression of Mrs. Fosdyke, while she harangued me on the subject of her children, and communicated her views on education. Having heard the views before from others, I assumed a listening position, and privately formed my opinion of the schoolroom. It was large, lofty, perfectly furnished for the purpose; it had a big window and a balcony looking out over the garden terrace and the park beyond — a wonderful schoolroom, in my limited experience.

One of the two doors which it possessed was left open, and showed me a sweet little bedroom, with amber draperies and maplewood furniture, devoted to myself. Here were wealth and liberality, in the harmonious combination so seldom discovered by the spectator of small means. I controlled my first feeling of bewilderment just in time to answer Mrs. Fosdyke on the subject of reading and recitation — viewed as minor accomplishments which a good governess might be expected to teach.

Trained in this way, they will produce a favorable impression on others, even in ordinary conversation, when they grow up. Poetry, committed to memory and recited, is a valuable means toward this end. May I hope that your studies have enabled you to carry out my views? Formal enough in language, but courteous and kind in manner. Fosdyke from anxiety by informing her that we had a professor of elocution at school. And then I was left to improve my acquaintance with my three pupils. They were fairly intelligent children; the boy, as usual, being slower than the girls.

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I did my best — with many a sad remembrance of the far dearer pupils whom I had left — to make them like me and trust me; and I succeeded in winning their confidence. In a week from the time of my arrival at Carsham Hall, we began to understand each other. The first day in the week was one of our days for reciting poetry, in obedience to the instructions with which I had been favored by Mrs. The morning was warm. We had our big window open; the delicious perfume of flowers in the garden beneath filled the room. I recited the first eight lines, and stopped there feeling that I must not exact too much from the boy at first.

Who was this insolent person? A man unquestionably — and, strange to say, there was something not entirely unfamiliar to me in his voice. The girls began to giggle. Their brother was more explicit. The one becoming course to pursue was to take no notice of the interruption. Freddy recited the lines, like a dear good boy, with as near an imitation of my style of elocution as could be expected from him.

I imposed silence on the girls by a look — and then, without stirring from my chair, expressed my sense of the insolence of Mr. Sax in clear and commanding tones. Silence was the only apology. It was enough for me that I had produced the right impression. I went on with my recitation. Dignity is a valuable quality, especially in a governess. But there are limits to the most highly trained endurance. I bounced out into the balcony — and there, on the terrace, smoking a cigar, was my lost stranger in the streets of Sandwich!

He recognized me, on his side, the instant I appeared. By this time it is, I fear, useless for me to set myself up as a discreet person in emergencies. Another woman might have controlled herself. I burst into fits of laughter. Freddy and the girls joined me. For the time, it was plainly useless to pursue the business of education. I shut up Shakespeare, and allowed — no, let me tell the truth, encouraged — the children to talk about Mr.

They only seemed to know what Mr. Sax himself had told them. His father and mother and brothers and sisters had all died in course of time. And which of his Christian names does he use? Not the romantic sort of name that one likes, when one is a woman. But I have no right to be particular. My own name is it possible that I have not mentioned it in these pages yet?

Do not despise me — and let us return to Mr. The eldest girl thought not. He often comes here. We think him jolly. Will you accept my written excuses? Upon my honor, nobody told me when I got here yesterday that you were in the house. I heard the recitation, and — can you excuse my stupidity? May I accompany you when you go out with the young ones for your daily walk? One word will do. Penitently yours — S. In my position, there was but one possible answer to this.

Governesses must not make appointments with strange gentlemen — even when the children are present in the capacity of witnesses. Am I claiming too much for my readiness to forgive injuries, when I add that I should have preferred saying Yes? We had our early dinner, and then got ready to go out walking as usual.

These pages contain a true confession. Let me own that I hoped Mr. Sax would understand my refusal, and ask Mrs. Lingering a little as we went downstairs, I heard him in the hall — actually speaking to Mrs. What was he saying? That darling boy, Freddy, got into a difficulty with one of his boot-laces exactly at the right moment. I could help him, and listen — and be sadly disappointed by the result. Sax was offended with me.

I beg you will not speak of me to Miss Morris. Fosdyke could say a word in reply, Master Freddy changed suddenly from a darling boy to a detestable imp.

The answer to this was the sudden closing of a door. Sax had taken refuge from me in one of the ground-floor rooms. I was so mortified, I could almost have cried. Getting down into the hall, we found Mrs. Fosdyke with her garden hat on, and one of the two ladies who were staying in the house the unmarried one whispering to her at the door of the morning-room. The lady — Miss Melbury — looked at me with a certain appearance of curiosity which I was quite at a loss to understand, and suddenly turned away toward the further end of the hall.

Fosdyke said to me. You may take your skipping-ropes. She had evidently something special to say to me; and she had adopted the necessary measures for keeping the children in front of us, well out of hearing.

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