When Sarah Burns, after Hiram's departure, sat down, quietly to think
over the events of the past few days--for during the week he remained in
the house she had no opportunity for reflection--she was sensible of a
species of relief that she was no longer bound to him.
It was not permitted in nature nor in God's providence that this fellow
should have lasting power over one so true hearted. With such, his
influence was not to become absolute or controlling.
This was Sarah's first love affair, and she had no experience as to her
own emotions, and possessed, therefore, no test by which to judge of
their intensity. Now she could look back and see that her heart had not
been satisfied.
'_Not satisfied!_' How many a young girl has been forced bitterly to
take up this burden--when too late. '_Disappointed!_' How many, when it
is past help, whisper the terrible word in secret to their souls! How
many are now dragging out a despairing existence, chained to some Hiram
Meeker, with heart-wants never to be filled; with sympathies never to be
responded to; with rich capacities for loving, which find in return
neither tenderness nor appreciation; with affections, and no lawful
object;--glowing, earnest natures companioned with calculation and
selfishness and a remorseless subtlety; full, fresh, joyous vitality,
yoked to a living corpse.
Thank God! for Sarah Burns it was not too late.
It is true, she persuaded herself she loved Hiram, and that she enjoyed
every delight which flows from affections mutually pledged. But, really,
it was entirely on one side. He, as we know, utterly selfish, had no
genuine affection to impart; so all was made up by her. Out of her full
imagination she brought rich treasures, and bestowed them on her lover,
and then, valued him for possessing them.
Still, for Sarah Burns it was not too late.
That afternoon, when she came and threw her arms around her father's
neck, and pleaded to come back again to his confidence, she was fully
convinced of Hiram's real character. From that moment everything was
settled. She permitted no explanations; for Hiram, when he saw how
summarily he was to be disposed of, felt not only piqued, but roused, I
may say, to a certain degree of appreciation of the object he was to
lose so unexpectedly. He believed Sarah was so strongly attached to him
that she would become reconciled to his going to New York, and then he
could permit the affair to drag along to suit his convenience, to be
revived or die out at his pleasure. So all his attempts at a private
interview, his injured looks, and woful countenance went for nothing.
Sarah treated him precisely as she would treat an ordinary acquaintance,
while Mr. Burns was careful to make no allusion to the subject, or
permit the slightest difference in his conduct toward his confidential
clerk. Hiram, therefore, was the one to feel uncomfortable; but the week
was soon brought to a close, and he departed.
He went first to Hampton to visit his home. When the wagon drove to Mr.
Burns's house to receive his luggage, Sarah was entertaining two or
three young ladies who were paying her a morning visit. I dare say there
was an object in the call not altogether amiable: namely, to see how
Sarah would 'appear' in respect to Hiram's departure, and to find out,
if possible, by the way she bore it, whether or not there was anything
in the rumor of an engagement between them. Hiram had already taken a
most affectionate leave of each of these young ladies the day before,
and they thought he was to depart early in the morning. Much to their
disappointment, Sarah Burns never appeared more natural or more at ease.
She spoke of Hiram's going to New York as a settled plan, determined on
even before he came to Burnsville; and (the trunks were now all in the
carriage) at length exclaimed, 'Come, girls; I think Hiram must be
waiting to bid us good-by.'
Thereupon, all went on the piazza, and thus frustrated a design of
Hiram of taking a brief but most pathetic and impressive and
never-to-be-forgotten farewell of his cruel betrothed. He had prepared a
short speech for the occasion, which he believed would plant a dagger in
her heart. He intended, just as soon as everything was ready, to find
Sarah, deliver his speech, then rush to the carriage, and be almost
instantly lost sight of.
As it was, he saw with intense mortification a bevy of girls come
running out, each with something to say, and all at once--for, to
conceal any little private feeling of her own, each one was as gay as
possible. At last Hiram was forced to mount the wagon (the trunks filled
all the vacant space, and, besides, were provokingly placed so that his
seat was a most awkward one) and to drive away very unromantically, amid
the adieus and railleries of the commingled voices.