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Title: A True StoryAuthor: Benjamin Disraeli* A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook *eBook No.: 0605481h.htmlLanguage: EnglishDate first posted: August 2006Date most recently updated: August 2006This eBook was produced by: Richard ScottProject Gutenberg of Australia eBooks are created from printed editionswhich are in the public domain in Australia, unless a copyright noticeis included. We do NOT keep any eBooks in compliance with a particularpaper edition.Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check thecopyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing thisfile.This eBook is made available at no cost and with almost no restrictionswhatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the termsof the Project Gutenberg of Australia License which may be viewed online athttp://gutenberg.net.au/licence.htmlTo contact Project Gutenberg of Australia go to http://gutenberg.net.au

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A True Story

by

Benjamin Disraeli

SIR,--When I was a young boy, I had delicate health, and wassomewhat of a pensive and contemplative turn of mind; it was mydelight in the long summer evenings to slip away from my noisy andmore robust companions, that I might walk in the shade of a venerablewood, my favourite haunt, and listen to the cawing of the old rooks,who seemed as fond of this retreat as I was.

One evening I sat later than usual, though the distant sound ofthe cathedral clock had more than once warned me to my home. Therewas a stillness in all nature that I was unwilling to disturb by theleast motion. From this reverie I was suddenly startled by the sightof a tall, slender female who was standing by me, looking sorrowfullyand steadily in my face. She was dressed in white, from head to foot,in a fashion I had never seen before; her garments were unusuallylong and flowing, and resulted as she glided through the low shrubsnear me as if they were made of the richest silk. My heart beat as ifI were dying, and I knew not that I could have stirred from the spot;but she seemed so very mild and beautiful, I did not attempt it. Herpale brown hair was braided round her head, but there were some locksthat strayed upon her neck; and altogether she looked like a lovelypicture, but not like a living woman. I closed my eyes forcibly withmy hands, and when I looked again she had vanished.

I cannot exactly say why I did not on my return speak of thisbeautiful appearance, nor why, with a strange mixture of hope andfear, I went again and again to the same spot that I might see her.She always came, and often in the storm and plashing rain, that neverseemed to touch or to annoy her, and looked sweetly at me, andsilently passed on; and though she was so near to me, that once thewind lifted these light straying locks, and I felt them against mycheek, yet I never could move or speak to her. I fell ill, and when Irecovered, my mother closely questioned me of the tall lady, of whom,in the height of my fever, I had so often spoken.

I cannot tell you what a weight was taken from my boyish spiritswhen I learned that this was no apparition, but a most lovely woman;not young, though she had kept her young looks, for the grief whichhad broken her heart seemed to have spared her beauty.

When the rebel troops were retreating after their total defeat, inthat very wood I was so fond of, a young officer, unable any longerto endure the anguish of his wounds, sunk from his horse, and laidhimself down to die. he was found there by the daughter of Sir HenryR--, and conveyed by a trusty domestic to her father's mansion. SirHenry was a loyalist; but the officer's desperate condition excitedhis compassion, and his many wounds spoke a language a brave mancould not misunderstand. Sir Henry's daughter, with many tears,pleaded for him and pronounced that he should be carefully andsecretly attended. And well she kept that promise, for she waitedupon him (her mother being long dead) for many weeks, and anxiouslywatched for the first opening of eyes, that, languid as he was,looked brightly and gratefully upon his nurse.

You may fancy better than I can tell you, as he slowly recovered,all the moments that were spent in reading, and low-voiced singing,and gentle playing on the lute, and how many fresh flowers werebrought to one whose wounded limbs would not bear him to gather themfor himself, and how calmly the days glided on in blessedness ofreturning health, and in that sweet silence so carefully enjoinedhim. I will pass by this to speak of one day, which brighter andpleasanter than others, did not seem more bright or more lovely thanthe looks of the young maiden, as she gaily spoke of "a littlefestival which (though it must bear an unworthier name) she meantreally to give in honour of her guest's recovery." "And it is time,lady," said he, "for that guest so tended and honoured, to tell youhis whole story, and speak to you of one who will help him to thankyou; may I ask you, fair lady, to write a little billet for me, whicheven in these times of danger I may find some means to forward?" Tohis mother, no doubt, she thought, as with light steps and a lighterheart she seated herself by his couch, and smilingly bade himdictate; but when he said "My dear wife," and lifted up his eyes tobe asked for more, he saw before him a pale statue, that gave him onelook of utter despair, and fell--for he had no power to helpher--heavily at his feet. Those eyes never truly reflected the puresoul again, or answered by answering looks the found enquiries of herpoor old father. She lived to be as I saw her,--sweet and gentle, anddelicate always; but reason returned no more. She visited till theday of her death the spot where she first saw that young soldier, anddressed herself in the very clothes that he said so well becameher.

F I N I S

THE END

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