DR. CLAYTON.
Rapidly, and to me very happily, did the winter pass away, for it was
enlivened by the presence of Mr. Delafield, who was with us so often,
that it became at last a serious debate among the blacks as to whether
Cedar Grove or Sunny Bank were really his home. More than once, too, was
it whispered in the village, that little _Rosa Lee_, plain and
unassuming as she was, had stirred in the heart of the “stern old
bachelor” a far deeper feeling than Ada Montrose had ever been capable
of awakening. And sometimes _she_, foolish child that she was, thought
so too, not from anything he said, neither from anything which he did;
indeed, it would have been hard for her to tell _why_ her heart
sometimes beat so fast when he was near, for though his manner was
always kind and considerate, he never spoke to her of _love_—never
appeared as he had once done in the summer-house, when she gave him such
silly answers!
And still, occasionally, Rosa dared to hope that her love was returned,
else why did each day find him at her side where he lingered so long,
saying to her but little, but watching her movements, and listening to
her words, as he would not have done had she been to him an object of
indifference. Not naturally quick to read human nature, Mrs. Lansing was
wholly deceived by her brother’s cold exterior, and never dreaming how
in secret he worshiped the humble girl she called her governess, she
left them much together. Why then did he never speak to her of the
passion which had become a part of his being? Simply because he, too,
was deceived. Once, indeed, he had essayed to tell her of his love, and
dreading lest his affection should not be returned, he was the more
ready to construe her evasive replies into a belief that it was indeed
as he feared. Then, too, her shy, reserved manner, while it made him
prize her all the more, disheartened him; for not thus was he accustomed
to being treated, and with that jealousy which seems to be the twin
sister of love, he ofttimes thought he read aversion and distrust, when
there was, on Rosa’s part, naught save a fear lest he should discover
her secret, and despise her for it. Added to this was the remembrance of
what Ada had said concerning her former engagement with Dr. Clayton.
True, Rosa had denied the engagement, but when charged with having loved
him she had remained silent; thus proving the story correct. And if she
loved him when a child, was it not probable that she loved him still,
married man though he was. He had heard of such things, or, at least, he
had read of them in books, and for many days Mr. Delafield’s brow was
literally tied up in knots, while he tried to solve the question as to
“whether, having loved once and been deceived, Rosa Lee could love
again.”
At last he decided that possibly she could, and his mind was fully made
up to talk with her upon the subject, when an unexpected arrival blasted
his hopes at once, and darkened the glimmering sunlight which was
dawning upon his horizon. It was a dark, rainy night, toward the last of
April, that I sat with the family in the pleasant little sitting-room.
As usual, Mr. Delafield was with us, and this evening he was reading
aloud from Longfellow’s wonderful poem. He was just in the midst of
Hiawatha’s wooing, and I fancied there was in the tones of his voice a
softer cadence as he read,
“Hand in hand they went together,
Through the woodland and the meadow,
Left the old man standing lonely
At the doorway of his wigwam,
Heard the falls of Minnehaha
Calling to them from the distance,
Crying to them from afar off,
Fare thee well, oh, Laughing Water.”
Scarcely had the last words left his lips when a heavy tread upon the
piazza and a loud ringing of the bell startled us, for it was not often
that we were favored with visitors on such a night as this. Zillah, the
colored girl, hastened to the door where she found a stranger, who,
stepping into the hall, asked, “if Miss Rosa Lee lived there.”
Starting from my chair, I turned very white, for I recognized the voice
of _Dr. Clayton_, who the next moment stood before me! I forgot the
past—forgot that he had been my lover—forgot that Richard Delafield’s
eyes were upon me—forgot every thing except that he had come from dear
New England—had breathed the air of my native hills—had heard the sound
of my mother’s voice—and had brought me undoubtedly tidings of that
mother’s welfare. Springing forward with a cry of joy I took his
extended hand, nor shrank away when, with unwonted tenderness, he
stooped to kiss my lips, low whispering as he did so, “_Dear Rosa_.”
Then, indeed, I blushed, for I knew he had no right to call me thus, but
the next moment it was forgotten, and with something of pride in my
manner, I presented him to Mrs. Lansing and Mr. Delafield, the latter of
whom greeted him rather coldly, and after a few words of common
courtesy, bade us good night, but not until he had learned what, until
that moment, was news to me, viz. that Dell Clayton had been dead nearly
six months! As he passed me on his way out, he said so low that no one
else could hear him, “Fare thee well, oh, Laughing Water,” referring to
the line he had last read. There was a deep scowl upon his dark face,
and as I gazed upon him, I could not help wondering if it were thus the
old man looked, when from his lonely wigwam door he watched the
departing footsteps of his daughter.
“Come again to-morrow, uncle Dick,” said little Jessie, following him
into the hall; but he made her no answer, save his accustomed good-bye
kiss, and I soon heard his heavy tread as he strode down the winding
walk and out into the open field, muttering to himself, as I afterwards
learned:
“And she will follow where he leads her,
Leaving all things for the stranger.”
Yes, Mr. Delafield was jealous—terribly jealous of Dr. Clayton, the
nature of whose business he readily divined, though I did not, and
nothing was further from my mind than the thought that he intended
honoring me with a chance of becoming Mrs. Clayton 2d. And yet it was
this alone which had brought him to Georgia, he taking the precaution to
send on in advance a letter, in which he had made known his wishes, and
asked for a return of the affection which, for five long years, he said,
had never known one moment of abatement, even though another had slept
upon his bosom as his wife. But _she_ was gone, and in her place, he
would see blooming, he said, the _Rose_ he had loved so long. Owing to
some detention, this letter had failed to reach me, hence I was wholly
unprepared for the scene which followed when, at last we were left
alone. Well skilled in the _signs_, Mrs. Lansing had purposely retired,
not long after her brother’s departure, while I, suspecting nothing,
made no objection when Dr. Clayton took his seat upon the sofa at my
side. I was talking to him of Anna, and from speaking of her, and poor
Herbert’s death, it was an easy transition to Dell, of whom he spoke
kindly, nay, even affectionately, as he told me of her last days; how
much she suffered, and how gentle she became, never chiding him, in the
least, for a thing unskillfully done, but seeming satisfied with
everything, and loving him at last with a love which, had it been
earlier born, would have shed happiness over his comparatively cheerless
life. Then he told me of the little child, not yet three years old, whom
he had called “Rosa Lee,” and gently pushing back my curls, and gazing
down into my face, he said, “It is a fancy of mine, perhaps, but I love
to think she looks like you, who should have been her mother.”
With all my stupidity, I understood him then, and blushing crimson, I
moved away to the end of the sofa, while he continued, “What did you
think of my letter? You received it, I suppose?”
I had received no letter, and so I said; whereupon he proceeded to tell
me its contents, a part of which the reader already knows. Utterly
confounded and powerless to move, I sat motionless, while, with his arm
around me, he went over with the past, recalling to my mind, with a
vividness which made it seem real again, the time when first he had
found me weeping in the sombre old schoolroom, away to the northward;
the night when, with the soft moon-beams falling around us, we sat
together beneath the tall oak tree, while I laid before him my childish
griefs; and, lastly, the many pleasant hours we had whiled away
together, listening to the sound of the running brook, which ran past
the twining grape-vine, whose broad leaves had rustled above our heads.
“On these occasions, Rose,” said he, “did nothing ever tell you how much
you were beloved?”
“Yes,” I answered bitterly, my woman’s nature rousing up as I remembered
the times to which he referred. “Yes, and what did it avail me, even
though I was beloved? Ambition proved the stronger attraction of the
two, and you wedded another. You, who, now that other has gone, would
talk again to me of love; but Rosa Lee is no longer a child to be
deceived, and you mistake her strangely, if you fancy you can cast her
off and take her up again at will.”
Here, overcome with emotion, I burst into tears. My words and manner
misled him, for in them he saw only resentment for his former treatment;
and this inspired him with hope that the feeling I once cherished for
him could again be nourished into life. Very tenderly, then, he talked
to me, and, as I listened, a numbness crept over my heart, for I knew he
was in earnest now, and I felt that it was not the Dr. Clayton of
old—the fickle, selfish man of the world—with whom I had to deal, but
Dr. Clayton purified, and made better by the trials through which he had
passed—a noble, true-hearted, and upright man—who now laid at my feet
the love which I knew had always been mine. Very earnestly he implored
forgiveness for the wrong he once had done me, saying that for it he had
been terribly punished, inasmuch as he had suffered far more than I. And
still he breathed no word of censure against his erring wife, who, he
said, was perhaps more sinned against than sinning, and who, when the
last great agony was upon her, had whispered in his ear, as her white,
clammy hand rested on the flowing curls of little Rose, “Her mother, I
know, will be she whose name she bears, and I am willing it should be
so.”
“And was she not right?” he continued, drawing me closer to his side.
“Will you not be the angel of my home, the mother of my child?”
And then again he told me how much I had been loved; how he had striven
in vain to cast me from his heart, when it was madness and sin to keep
me there; and how, when his horizon had been darkest with want and care,
there was still in the distance a ray of sunlight, the remembrance of
me, which had kept his soul from fainting. And now that it was right for
him to speak to me of love, would I not listen and give him an
opportunity to atone for the wrong he had once done me? He paused for my
reply. There was silence in the room, and I counted each pulse of my
beating heart as it throbbed with the intensity of my excitement.
“Will not my darling answer me?” he said, and I felt his breath upon my
cheek, his lips upon my brow.
Not thus could I sit and tell him what duty bade me say. So I moved
away, and standing up before him, I said, slowly, and distinctly, “Dr.
Clayton, I loved you once, but the time has gone by, the love has died
out, and I would not awaken it if I could.”
There was a firmness in my manner, a decision in the tones of my voice,
which startled him more than what I said, and with a faint cry he too
arose, and coming to my side, said, “God forgive you, Rose, for the
cruel words you have uttered, but you cannot be in earnest.”
And then, with the firelight flickering over his pale face, he plead
with me “to think again, to revoke what I had said, and not to send him
away utterly hopeless and wretched. The love I had felt for him once,
though chilled and dormant now, _would bloom_ again, for _he_ could
bring it back to life, and I must be his; he could not live without me.
I need not decide then, that night,” he said, “he would give me time,”
and again he pressed for my answer, which was the same as before; for,
much as I pitied him, there was between us a _dark shadow_, and the
substance of that shadow bore the form and features of _Richard
Delafield_!
Sinking into a chair, he laid his head upon the table, while, burying my
face in the cushions of the sofa, I wept bitterly, stealing occasional
glances towards the bowed form which, in its despair, gave no sign of
life. There was no acting there, for it was the grief of a strong man
which I saw. Without, the storm had ceased; the wind had died away, and
the rain no longer beat against the casement; but within, there raged a
wilder storm of human passions, and as it swept over me in its full
force, I cried, mentally, “Ought I thus to deal with him? I loved him
once, perhaps I could do so again. I would at least try.” And, rising
up, I glided noiselessly to his side. He did not hear me, and, for a
time, I stood gazing down upon him, while I thought of all he had
suffered, and of his love for me, which I could not doubt. The shadow no
longer stood between us; it was gone, and, strengthened by its absence,
I laid my hand upon his shoulder. He shuddered as if it had been a
serpent’s touch, but when I whispered in his ear, “Look up, I have
something to tell you,” he raised his head, disclosing to my view a face
over which years seemed to have passed since last I had looked upon it.
“I will try,” I said, “but give me one day for reflection, and to-morrow
night you shall have your answer.”
As the clouds are dispersed by the soft rays of the sun, so the shadows
passed from his brow at my words, and clasping me in his arms he wept
over me, as Heaven grant I may never see man weep again.
The fire on the hearth had long since gone out. The lamp was burning
dimly, and the moon-beams came faintly in through an eastern window ere
I bade him good night, and sought the solitude of my room, where my
resolution almost instantly gave way, for the _shadow_ was there, and in
its presence I felt I would rather die than wed a man I did not love.
“Oh, for a female friend with whom to counsel in my need,” I said, as I
nervously paced the room.
I thought of Mrs. Lansing. She was a woman—she had been kind to me of
late, and after a few moments’ reflection I determined to ask her
advice. This being settled, I fell into a disturbed sleep, from which I
did not wake until the bell was ringing for breakfast. I met him at the
table, and my heart beat fast when I saw how anxiously he scanned my
haggard face.
“You are sick this morning,” he said, when at last we were alone.
Taking my hand he felt my quickened pulse, and continued, “This must not
be. Calm yourself down, for I would not wish you to answer me under all
this excitement.”
Soon after this he left me, going down to the hotel where he had first
stopped on his arrival at W——. As soon as he was gone I sought an
interview with Mrs. Lansing, to whom I confided the whole story of my
former love for Dr. Clayton, and of my feelings now, asking her to tell
me as a friend what I should do. I did not dare look her in the face
while I was talking, and when I had finished I waited with downcast eyes
for her answer, which was characteristic of a woman who had never known
what love was, save as she felt it for her children.
“Do! Why, marry him of course. I should not hesitate a moment, for ’tis
not every girl in your circumstances who has an offer like that. He
seems to be a perfect gentleman,—is certainly very fine looking—is
refined, polished, highly educated, and has a good profession. What more
can you desire?”
“_Love_ for him,” I replied; and she continued, “Pshaw! _That_ will come
soon enough, depend upon it. There are many happy marriages where one of
the parties had at first no particular affection for the other, as I
myself can testify. I _respected_ Mr. Lansing, when I married him, but I
did not _love_ him, and our union was, I am confident, far happier than
three-fourths of those where _love_ is the ruling motive, for in nine
cases out of ten they grow sick of each other as faults and
peculiarities are brought to light, of whose existence they had never
dreamed. Take your own case for an example. Suppose you had married Dr.
Clayton when you fancied him so much, you would undoubtedly have been
disgusted with him by this time, whereas, now that you know he is
fallible, you can safely link your destiny with his, feeling sure that
in good time the love you once had for him will return.”
I knew there was some truth in this argument, but it failed to convince
me, and I remained silent until Mrs. Lansing startled me with, “You do
not of course love another?”
I was taken by surprise, and without a thought of the result, I answered
“I do.”
“And that other?” she continued, fixing her eyes upon me.
I know not what possessed me, but a power I could not resist impelled me
to answer, “Is your brother.”
She did not send me from her presence with scorn and loathing as I
thought she would. Nay, she did not even speak, but for a time stood
mute with astonishment. As I now recall that scene, I understand her
better, and I know that the _truth_, just as it was, dawned upon her
mind, and suggested the falsehood which she uttered.
Coming closely to me, she said, “I cannot see why it is that all my
governesses have fallen in love with my brother, yet such is the case. I
_did_ think, Miss Lee, that you were an exception, but I find I am
mistaken, which surprises me greatly, inasmuch as he has never paid you
the slightest attention, and even if he had, I do not understand how you
could think him in earnest. For years the world has looked upon his
union with Ada as sure, and though for certain reasons I have sometimes
opposed it, I am anxious for it now, and it is well that I am, for I
suppose it is a settled thing.”
I held my breath for fear I should lose a single word of what she should
say next. Perhaps she was unused to falsehoods. Be that as it may, her
voice trembled slightly and she spoke hurriedly as she said, “They are
engaged, and have been ever since she went to Mobile, and they will
probably be married next autumn; hence, you see that the love you have
presumed to feel for him would be useless, even were you his equal.”
She started to leave me, but turned back while she said, “I trust that
what I have told you will be kept a secret, for Richard does not wish to
have the matter discussed.”
I nodded assent, and the next moment I was alone with my sorrow, which
was far easier to bear now that uncertainty was made sure. So long as
there remained a lingering hope that my love for Mr. Delafield might
possibly be reciprocated, I shrunk in horror from marrying another. But
now that hope was swept away, for I never thought of doubting Mrs.
Lansing’s word, and a kind of torpor crept over me, suspending for a
time both my judgment and my will.
“I will marry Dr. Clayton,” I said, and with that decision came a
feeling of gratified pride as I thought I should thus prove to Richard
how little I cared for him!
Ah, I knew not then that the heart I coveted enshrined no image save
that of “Rosa Lee,” for whom Richard Delafield would almost have lain
down his life, so great was the love he bore her. He had readily divined
the object of the stranger’s visit, and the thought that it might be
successful was terrible. All the night long he, too, had been sleepless,
pacing the length and breadth of his spacious halls and murmuring
occasionally as, peering out into the darkness, he saw the glimmering
light from the windows of Cedar Grove, “Oh, Rose, Rose, how can I give
you up!”
Perhaps I am superstitious, but I cannot help fancying that as often as
these words rang out on the midnight air, the _shadow_ was over and
around me. But alas! it faded and I was left to do the rash act I
meditated. With the coming of morn Mr. Delafield grew calm, for he had
resolved upon an interview with Rosa Lee, who, if it were not too late,
should know how much he loved her, and perhaps (his heart thrilled with
joy as he thought it), perhaps she might yet be won from that fancy of
her childhood. But first he would if possible, learn from his sister how
far matters had progressed. He had seldom imparted to her his secrets,
but he would speak to her now, for he could not keep silent.
She was seated at her work in her own room, when he entered, and with a
feeling of alarm at his pale, haggard face, she started up, asking if he
were ill. Motioning her aside, he said, abruptly, “It’s of no use,
Angeline, to deceive you longer. I love Rosa Lee, and if it were not for
this accursed doctor, I should tell her so at once. Do you know aught of
his attentions? Has he come to seek her for his wife?”
Mrs. Lansing had now a double part to perform. The falsehood she had
told to Rosa, made it necessary that she should tell another to her
brother, which she did more readily, for her proud nature revolted at
the thoughts of receiving her governess as her sister-in-law. So,
thinking any means excusable which would prevent so disgraceful a
catastrophe, she answered with well feigned surprise, “I am astonished
at you, brother—astonished that a Delafield should stoop so low as to
think of wedding a girl like Rosa Lee. You cannot, I think, be in
earnest; but if you are, I am rejoiced that I have it in my power to
tell you there is no hope. I have just left Miss Lee, who has made me
her confident, asking if I thought it would be contrary to all rules of
propriety for her to marry Dr. Clayton so soon after the death of his
wife. It seems he has always preferred her, and could you have heard her
tell how much she loved him, I am sure you would have no hope of winning
her, even were she your equal.”
The wicked woman paused, trembling at her own wickedness; while her
brother, burying his face in his hands, groaned aloud. It was an hour of
bitter trial, for Rosa Lee alone had touched his heart, and could he
give her up just as he had found how dear she was to him? For a time the
selfish nature of the man prevailed, and then there came a moment of
calmer reflection: if Rose loved another, would it be right for him to
mar her happiness by intruding upon her his affection? Should he not
rather rejoice in knowing that _she_ was happy with the man she had
chosen, and if, henceforth, the world to him was dark and cheerless,
might he not occasionally gather a gleam of comfort from knowing that no
shadow was across _her_ pathway! Thus he reasoned, and when his sister
ventured at last to say, “You will not be foolish enough to talk with
her,” he answered, “No—no—of coarse not;” then, with no visible sign of
the fierce storm which had swept over him, save the extreme pallor of
his face, he arose, and with a firm tread went back to his home,
unconscious of the tear-wet eyes which followed his retreating
footsteps, as from her window Rosa Lee watched him with a despairing
heart and benumbed faculties.
Not again that day was Cedar Grove gladdened by his presence, and when
next morning he came as was his wont, I was the betrothed of Dr.
Clayton, who, with joy beaming in every look, sat by my side, talking to
me of the pleasure we should experience in our projected European tour,
for we were to visit the Old World, and he wished our marriage to be
consummated at once, so we could sail the last of June. In a measure I
had dealt candidly with him, frankly acknowledging that the love I had
felt for him in childhood was gone, but saying, as was true, that I
respected him—yes, _liked_ him, and if he was satisfied with that, I
would be unto him a faithful wife, hoping that the affection of former
years might ere long awake again in my heart. And he was content to take
me thus, blessing me for the utterance of words which had made him so
happy.
Involuntarily I shrank from him, for I knew I was undeserving of such
devotion, and my conscience smote me for withholding from him the
knowledge of my love for Richard Delafield. But that was a secret I
could not reveal, so I kept it to myself, and with a kind of apathetic
indifference listened while he depicted in glowing colors the joyous
future which he saw before him when I should be indeed his _wife_. He
was going to New Orleans on business, which would detain him for three
or four weeks, and on his return he asked that the ceremony might be
performed, and I go with him to Meadow Brook as his bride.
“No, not so soon,” I exclaimed. “Leave me my freedom a little longer;”
but he only smiled as he waived aside every objection and won from me a
promise that if Mrs. Lansing were willing, we would be married there as
soon as he should return from New Orleans, whither he would start the
next night.
Either by design or accident, Mrs. Lansing herself at that moment
entered the room, apologizing for the intrusion by saying she wanted a
book which lay upon the piano. Having secured the volume, she was about
leaving, when, glancing at the doctor, she playfully remarked upon the
happy expression of his face, saying, she should judge his suit was
progressing, and adding that he had her good wishes for his success.
Emboldened by her familiarity, Dr. Clayton at once preferred to her his
wish that we might be made one under the shadow of her roof; we would
make no trouble, he said, as we wished for no display, simply a quiet
ceremony at which no one should be present save herself, her children,
and her _brother_!
At the mention of _him_ I started as if smitten by a heavy blow, for I
thought, “I cannot in _his_ presence give myself to another;” and I used
all the arguments of which I was mistress to induce Dr. Clayton to defer
our marriage until we reached Meadow Brook. But to this neither he nor
Mrs. Lansing would listen. Glad, that I was thus out of her way, the
latter seemed unusually kind, offering to give me a bridal party as a
“testimony of her respect.” Thus was I silenced, while they arranged the
matter as they pleased, it being finally decided that the wedding was to
take place immediately after the doctor’s return, as he had first
proposed. So overcome and bewildered was I with the exciting scenes
through which I had passed, that, strange as it may seem, I slept
soundly that night, dreaming towards day-break that I stood on the deck
of a noble vessel, gazing upon a most glorious sunset, which, however,
had less charms for me than did the man at my side, whom I called my
husband, and whom I loved again as I had done long ago, when with my
face buried in the grass beneath the old grape-vine I had wept over his
inconstancy.
With the remembrance of that dream still haunting me, it was quite
natural that I should in the morning meet Dr. Clayton with more
cordiality of manner than I had yet evinced towards him. Quickly
perceiving the change, he said, as he kissed my brow, “My Rose is
learning to love me, I see.”
And for a brief moment _I_, too, fancied that he was right—that I
_should_ love him—nay, that I was beginning to love him, when suddenly
in the doorway appeared the form of one, the very sight of whom curdled
my blood for an instant and then sent it bounding through my veins! It
was Mr. Delafield. He had nerved himself to see me, to stand face to
face with his rival, and bravely did he meet the trial, bowing
courteously to Dr. Clayton and smiling kindly down upon me as he bade me
good morning. I glanced at him once and saw that his eyes were riveted
upon the plain band of gold, which encircled my fourth finger,
confirming the truth of what he had just heard from his sister. At last,
as if he would test his strength to the utmost, he took my hand and
said, as he slowly twirled the ring, which was rather large, “And so you
are going from us?”
I could not answer, nor was it needful that I should, for without
waiting a reply he placed my hand in that of Dr. Clayton, and continued,
“As a brother commits a dear sister to the care of another, so commit I
to your care my Northern Rose, charging you to watch tenderly over her,
for ’tis not every one who winneth such a treasure.”
This was all he said; the next moment he was gone, and when, Dr.
Clayton, drawing me to his side, told me how he would treasure up the
words of _my friend_; I involuntarily shrank away, for the _shadow_ was
again around me, and turn which way I would, it whispered to me of
another _love_—another _heart_, which I fain would have called my own.
That night Dr. Clayton left us, and the very morning after his departure
we were surprised by the appearance of Ada, who came unexpectedly to us
all. “She was tired of living with that old fidgety Mrs. Johnson,” she
said, “and would rather come home.” Much as Mrs. Lansing liked Ada, she
would rather she had stayed away until I was gone, for she was in
constant dread lest the falsehood she had told me concerning her
brother’s engagement should in some way be betrayed. But there was no
help for it, and as one _sin_ always calls for another, so she must now
conjure up something with which to meet the emergency. Accordingly, Ada
was told that “somehow or other I had received the impression that she
was engaged to Mr. Delafield, and that it was as well to let me think
so; for though I probably liked Dr. Clayton well enough, she (Mrs.
Lansing) fancied that I liked her brother better, and that if I supposed
there was the slightest chance of winning him, I would not hesitate to
discard the doctor.”
Very readily Ada fell in with the views of Mrs. Lansing, who proposed
further that they should continually ring in my ears the praises of my
affianced husband, of whose virtues Ada was supposed to have heard from
Mrs. Lansing; while at the same time, I was to be interested as much as
possible in the preparations for my wedding, which was to be quite a
grand affair, and to which many of the village people were to be
invited. And so the days wore on, during which I could hardly be said to
exist, so little did I realize what was passing around me. I dared not
think, for if I did, the tumult of thought which crowded upon me seemed
turning my brain to fire, and when each morning I awoke from an
unrefreshing slumber, it was always with the thought, “What is it? This
load which oppresses me so?”—then, as the stern reality came up before
me, I would bury my face in the pillow and ask that I might die, and
thus escape the living death which awaited me, and which was now but a
week or two in the distance.