LOUISA’S LETTERS.
My husband:—Once again I write to you from the depths of a weary heart,
without hope, without a belief that you will ever see my letter, but I
must speak to you before I die! for it seems to me impossible to live
and face that woman. I wrote to you again and again, Louis. I told you
of the terrible strait to which I was driven. I appealed to you from the
depths of my humiliation. I besought you to give back my secret and send
the proofs of our marriage before it was too late—before disgrace fell
upon me, and the shelter of a respectable roof was taken from over my
head.
“You did not answer. Day after day I waited, day after day I stole like
a thief to the post-office, and read over, name by name, the list of
advertised letters, hoping against convictions that yours had been
overlooked in the delivery. None came. Oh! if you could think how
desolate I grew; all alone, so young, so full of dark foreboding—I
feared the proud woman to whose guardianship my brother had left me. Her
black eyes seemed to follow me everywhere. I trembled at the sound of
her footsteps. In my dreams, her presence overshadowed me till my brain
ached with the oppression.
“One night she came to me in my chamber. I was in bed weeping, but she
did not seem to hear it. The light was dim, and my face turned to the
wall. Possibly she did not know how wretched I was.
“‘You seem sad and depressed,’ she said; ‘is it because you have no
companion in the house? or are you pining over the absence of your
brother and friend?’
“I tried my best to answer steadily, but the tears would come; for her
manner was strangely kind, and, for the first time in my life, I longed
to throw my arms around her neck and ask her to pity me.
“I am not quite well,’ I said; ‘the study is hard, and I cannot bear so
much as some girls.’
“‘How would you like to go into the country a while?’ she asked.
“‘To the country,—some farm-house where I might have a chance to be
alone. Oh, if I could! If I could!’—
“‘Not quite so rural as that,’ she said, ‘but if you like it, we will go
to Saratoga.’
“My heart sunk within me. Saratoga! and with her! I answered faintly,
that I would much rather stay at home and rest. At first she opposed
this, but I pleaded so hard for quiet and solitude, that she at last
consented and left me at home, only extracting a promise that I should
receive no company, nor go out alone. The next morning, she started on
her journey. I watched her from the window as she got into the carriage.
It was a relief to see her go, but my heart was heavy as death. In her
way she had been kind to me and I was deceiving her.
“She is gone; and the great solitary house is mine to roam in as I
please. I go down to the arbor twenty times a day. The clematis vine is
white with blossoms, as it was the day you told me how dear I would ever
be to you. I sit down under the shadows that twinkle around me with
every stir of the leaves, and think of you, your looks, your words, the
expression of your face when we parted, till my heart swells with the
joy and pain of memories that are my glory, and yet kill me. Oh, if you
were only here—if I could but see you a single moment! But God help me,
an ocean divides us! I may never see you again. Sometimes I think it
will be so, and that makes the thought of death terrible.
“The loneliness here would be pleasant, but for the dread of what is to
come. I think of her return with terror. If I hear a carriage in the
street, my heart stands motionless till it has passed the house. I dare
not meet her again. What can I do? Where shall I go? Louis, Louis, my
heart will break if I do not hear from you....
“A friend of Mrs. Judson’s called here this morning; she says that my
guardian may come back any day. She wishes the house to be in readiness.
I must go; but where? Father of mercies, tell me where!
“When the lady was gone, I went up to my room, and throwing myself on
the bed, almost prayed to die. It was wicked, I know; but I am afraid!
Oh, if you were only here, my husband—if you were only here! I have been
lying still as death, thinking and planning until thought tortured me. A
thousand wild prospects of concealment till you came, presented
themselves; but they were all vague and impracticable. About midnight I
arose softly, and finding a lamp, searched through my drawers for money
and trinkets. A few dollars, and a more costly supply of jewelry than
most girls of my age are allowed to possess, was all that I could depend
upon. These, with a few valuable laces, I tied up and locked in my
wardrobe; for I must go—I must go! Once more I will steal to the
post-office. God may have mercy upon me and send the letter I have asked
for so often—oh, so often. I have been—I have been—nothing there. Over
and over again I read the printed list through my blinding tears. My
name was not there. Nothing for me—nothing for me! Then my last hope
went out, and I wandered off anywhere in search of a hiding-place, where
death might find me undisgraced. In a narrow, uncleanly street, I saw a
sign on which ‘Boarding’ was written in great yellow letters. I knocked
timidly at the door, shuddering at the sound my own hands made. I will
not describe the interior of this house. It would make you wretched; for
you have not intended to be cruel.
“The woman who received me was kind enough, but uncouth and slatternly.
She asked no questions, and I was too tired and wretched for any
question about her prices. They seemed reasonable for a small chamber in
the back of the house, with decent food,—a garret almost, and very
gloomy. So much the better; it was the more removed from notice.
“The next day I told the servants that I had received a letter from Mrs.
Judson and must go away at once. I took the precaution to send for a
carriage, and in all things leave the house as I should have done had
Mrs. Judson really expected me.
“I let the man drive me to a railroad depot, then discharged him and
took another carriage which left me and my trunk at the house which was
to be my home. Just at night I stole away to this desolate shelter, and
here, Louis, I remain utterly alone, never going out, even for a breath
of air....
“At last, everything is gone, money, trinkets, clothing, piece by piece.
I have given them to the woman who supplied me with food and shelter,
and now my destitution is complete.