_A Love Scene._
In such conversation the moments passed till they reached the habitation
of Mr. Hartley. Miss Fletcher now took her leave. And after a supper as
dull, and much more tedious to Delia, than the dinner, she retired to her
chamber.
She retired indeed, but not to rest. Her brain was filled with a croud of
uneasy thoughts. "Alas," said she, "how short has been the illusion!--But
yesterday, I was flushed with all the pride of conquest, and busily framed
a thousand schemes of ideal happiness--Where are they now?--The lovely
youth, the only man I ever saw in whose favour my heart was prepossessed,
and with whom I should have felt no repugnance to have engaged in the
tenderest ties, is nothing to me--He loves another. He too complains of
slighted passion, and ill-fated love. Ah, had he made his happiness depend
on me, what would not I have done to reward him! Carefully I would have
soothed every anguish, and taught his heart to bound with joy. But what am
I saying?--Where am I going?--Am I that Delia that bad defiance to the art
of men,--that saw with indifference the havock that my charms had made!
With every opening morn I smiled. Each hour was sped with joy, and my
heart was light and frolic. And shall I dwindle into a pensive, melancholy
maid, the sacrifice of one that heeds me not, whose sighs no answering
sighs encounter!--let it not be said. I have hitherto asserted the
independence of my sex, I will continue to do so. Too amiable unknown, I
give thee to the winds! Propitious fate, I thank thee that thou hast so
soon discovered how much my partiality was misplaced. I will abjure it
before it be too late. I will tear the little intruder from my heart
before the mischief is become irretrievable."
The following evening Delia repaired again by a kind of irresistible
impulse to the grove. She asked not the company of her friend. She dared
alone hazard the encounter of that object, at which she had trembled so
much the preceding day. Unknown to herself she still imaged a kind of
uncertainty in her fate which would not permit her to lay aside all
thought of Damon. She determined at all events, to have her doubts
resolved. "When there is no longer," said she to herself, "any room for
mistake, I shall then know what to do."
As she drew near the alcove, she perceived the same figure stretched along
the bank, and with his eyes immoveably fixed upon a little fountain that
rose in a corner of the scene. He seemed lost in thought. Delia approached
doubtfully, but he heard her not. Advanced near to her object, she
reclined forward in a posture of wonder and attention. At this moment a
sigh burst from the heart of Damon, and he raised himself upon the seat.
His eyes caught the figure of Delia.------"Ah," said he, starting from his
trance, "what do I see? Art thou, lovely intruder, a mere vision, an
aerial being that shuns the touch?" "I beg ten thousand pardons. I meaned
not, sir, to interrupt you. I will be gone." "No, go not." Answered he.
"Thou art welcome to my troubled thoughts. I could gaze for ever."
Saying this he rose and advancing towards her, seized her hand. "Be not
afraid," said he, "gentle fair one, my breast is a stranger to violence
and rudeness. I have felt the dart of love. Unhappy myself, I learn to
feel for others. But you are happy." As he said this, a tear unbidden
stole into the eye of Delia, and she wiped it away with the hand which was
disengaged from his. "And dost thou pity me," said he. "And does such
softness dwell within thy breast? If you knew the story of my woes, you
would have reason to pity me. I am in love to destraction, but I dare not
disclose my passion. I am banished from the presence of her I love. Ah,
cruel fate, I am entangled, inextricably entangled." "And how, sir," said
Delia, "can I serve you?" "Alas," said he, in no way. My case is hopeless
and irretrievable. And what am I doing? Why do I talk, when the season
calls for action? Oh, I am lost."
"Dear Sir," answered Delia, "you terrify me to death." "Oh, no. I would
not for the world give you an uneasy moment. Let me be unhappy--but may
misfortune never disturb your tranquility. I return to seek her whose fate
is surely destined to mix with mine. Pardon, loveliest of thy sex, the
distraction in which I have appeared. I would ask you to forget me--I
would ask you to remember me--I know not what I am, or what to think."
With these words he took the hand which he still held in one of his, and
raising it to his lips, kissed it with the utmost fervour. Immediately he
caught up his hat, which lay beside him on the ground, and began to
advance along the path that led out of the grove on the side furthest from
the town. But his eyes were still fixed upon Delia. He heeded not the path
by which he went; and scarcely had he gone twenty paces, ere he changed
his mind and returned. Delia was seated on the bank and seemed lost in
reverie. Damon threw himself upon his knees before her.
"Ah, why," said he, "am I constrained to depart!--Why must I talk in
riddles! Perhaps we may never see each other more. Perhaps the time will
come when I shall be able to clear up the obscurity that at present I am
obliged to preserve. But no, it cannot be. I never was happy but for two
poor hours that I enjoyed your smiles, and, drinking in the poison of your
charms, I forgot myself. The time too soon arrived for bitter
recollection. My mistress calls, the mistress of my fate. I must be
gone--Farewel--for ever."
Saying this, he heaved a sigh that seemed almost to tear his breast
asunder, and with the utmost apparent violence he tore himself away, and
rushed along the path with incredible velocity.
Delia was now alone. But instead, as she had flattered herself of having
her doubts resolved, she was more uncertain, more perplexed than ever.
"What" cried she, "can all this mean? How strange, and how inexplicable!
Is it a real person that I have seen, or is it a vision that mocks my
fancy? Am I loved, or am I hated? Oh, foolish question! Oh, fond illusion!
Are we not parted for ever! Is he not gone to seek the mistress of his
soul! Alas, he views me not, but with that general complacency, which
youth, and the small pretensions I have to beauty are calculated to
excite! He had nothing to relate that concerned myself, he merely intended
to make me the confidante of his passion for another. Too surely he is
unhappy. His heart seemed ready to burst with sorrow. Probably in this
situation there is no greater or more immediate relief, than to disclose
the subject of our distress, and to receive into our bosom the sympathetic
tear of a simple and a generous heart. His behaviour today corresponds but
too well with the suspicions that yesterday excited. Oh, Delia! then,"
added she, "be firm. Thou shalt see the conqueror no more. Think of him no
more."
In spite however of all the resolution she could muster, Delia repaired
day after day, sometimes alone, and sometimes in company with her friend,
to that spot which, by the umbrage of melancholy it wore, was become more
interesting than ever. Miss Fletcher, could scarcely at first be persuaded
to direct her course that way, lest she should again see the ghost. But
she need not have terrified herself. No ghost appeared.
Disappointed and baffled on this side, Delia by the strictest enquiries
endeavoured to find out who the unknown person was, in whose fate she had
become so greatly interested. The result of these enquiries, however
diligent, was not entirely satisfactory. She learned that he had been for
a few days upon a visit to a Mr. Moreland, a gentleman who lived about
three miles from Southampton.
Mr. Moreland was a person of a very singular character. He had the
reputation in the neighbourhood of being a cynic, a misanthrope, and a
madman. He kept very little company, and was even seldom seen but by
night. He had a garden sufficiently spacious, which was carefully rendered
impervious to every human eye. And to this and his house he entirely
confined himself in the day-time. The persons he saw were not the
gentlemen of the neighbourhood. He had no toleration for characters that
did not interest him. When he first came down to his present residence, he
was visited by Mr. Hartley, Mr. Prattle, squire Savage, lord Martin, and
all the most admired personages in the country. But their visits had never
been returned. Mr. Prattle pronounced him a scoundrel; squire Savage said
he was a nincompoop; and lord Martin was near sending him a challenge. But
the censures of the former, and the threats of the latter, had never
reached his ears. His domestics were numerous, but they were hired from a
distance, and were permitted as little communication as possible with the
powdered lacquies of Southampton. Of consequence, however much the
unaccommodating conduct of Mr. Moreland disposed his neighbours to
calumniate him, scandal was deprived of that daily food which is requisite
for her subsistence, and the name of that gentleman was scarcely ever
heard.