large/7245/short_story_053_1212_librivox_64kb_mp3/shortstory053_04_titbottomsspectacles_lja_64kb_35
large/7245/short_story_053_1212_librivox_64kb_mp3/shortstory053_04_titbottomsspectacles_lja_64kb
English
7245
"These things were matters of long, long ago, and I came to this country soon after. I brought with me, premature age, a past of melancholy memories, and the magic spectacles. I had become their slave. I had nothing more to fear. THESE THINGS WERE MATTERS OF LONG LONG AGO AND I CAME TO THIS COUNTRY SOON AFTER I BROUGHT WITH ME PREMATURE AGE A PAST OF MELANCHOLY MEMORIES AND THE MAGIC SPECTACLES I HAD BECOME THEIR SLAVE I HAD NOTHING MORE TO FEAR
 moment that I placed the glasses before my eyes, and beheld--_myself_, reflected in the mirror, before which she had been standing. "Dear madam," cried Titbottom, to my wife, springing up and falling back again in his chair, pale and trembling, while Prue ran to him and took his hand, and I poured out a glass of water--"I saw myself." There was silence for many minutes. Prue laid her hand gently upon the head of our guest, whose eyes were closed, and who breathed softly like an infant in sleeping. Perhaps, in all the long years of anguish since that hour, no tender hand had touched his brow, nor wiped away the damps of a bitter sorrow. Perhaps the tender, maternal fingers of my wife soothed his weary head with the conviction that he felt the hand of his mother playing with the long hair of her boy in the soft West India morning. Perhaps it was only the natural relief of expressing a pent-up sorrow. When he spoke again, it was with the old subdued tone, and the air of quaint solemnity. NTING UPON THE FLOOR AT THE VERY MOMENT THAT I PLACED THE GLASSES BEFORE MY EYES AND BEHELD MYSELF REFLECTED IN THE MIRROR BEFORE WHICH SHE HAD BEEN STANDING DEAR MADAM CRIED TIT BOTTOM TO MY WIFE SPRINGING UP AND FALLING BACK AGAIN IN HIS CHAIR PALE AND TREMBLING WHILE PRUE RAN TO HIM AND TOOK HIS HAND AND I POURED OUT A GLASS OF WATER I SAW MYSELF THERE WAS SILENCE FOR MANY MINUTES PRUE LAID HER HAND GENTLY UPON THE HEAD OF OUR GUEST WHOSE EYES WERE CLOSED AND WHO BREATHED SOFTLY LIKE AN INFANT IN SLEEPING PERHAPS IN ALL THE LONG YEARS OF ANGUISH SINCE THAT HOUR NO TENDER HAND HAD TOUCHED HIS BROW NOR WIPED AWAY THE DAMPS OF A BITTER SORROW PERHAPS THE TENDER MATERNAL FINGERS OF MY WIFE SOOTHED HIS WEARY HEAD WITH THE CONVICTION THAT HE FELT THE HAND OF HIS MOTHER PLAYING WITH THE LONG HAIR OF HER BOY IN THE SOFT WEST INDIA MORNING PERHAPS IT WAS ONLY THE NATURAL RELIEF OF EXPRESSING A PENT UP SORROW WHEN HE SPOKE AGAIN IT WAS WITH THE OLD SUBDUED TONE AND THE AIR OF QUAINT SOLEMNITY
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