Chapter 9.8 - Shirley

It is agony to her, often to have these ideas trampled on and repressed. She has never rebelled yet, but if hard driven, she will rebel one day, and then it will be once for all. Rose loves her father. Her father does not rule her with a rod of iron, he is good to her. He sometimes fears she will not live, so bright are the sparks of intelligence, which at moments flash from her glance and gleam in her language. This idea makes him often sadly tender to her. He has no idea that little Jessie will die young. She is so gay and chattering, arch, original even now, passionate when provoked, but most affectionate if caressed, by turns gentle and rattling, exacting yet generous, fearless of her mother, for instance, whose irrationality, hard and strict rule she has often defied, yet reliant on anyone who will help her. Jessie, with a little piquant face, engaging prattle and winning ways, is to be made a pet, and her father's pet she accordingly is. It is odd that the doll should resemble her mother feature by feature, as Rose resembles her father, and yet the physiognomy, how different! Mr. York, if a magic mirror were now held before you, and if therein were shown you, your two daughters as they will be, twenty years from this night, what would you think? The magic mirror is here. You shall learn their destinies. And first, that of your little life, Jessie. Do you know this place? No. You never saw it. But you recognize the nature of these trees, this foliage, the cypress, the willow, the yew. Stone crosses like these are not unfamiliar to you, nor are these dim garlands of everlasting flowers. Here is the place. Green sod, and a grey marble headstone. Jessie sleeps below.