September 19.--Three months of anxious care--till at length I have taken
the extreme step of writing to him. Our chief distress has been caused
by the state of poor Caroline, who, after sinking by degrees into such
extreme weakness as to make it doubtful if she can ever recover full
vigour, has to-day been taken much worse. Her position is very critical.
The doctor says plainly that she is dying of a broken heart--and that
even the removal of the cause may not now restore her. Ought I to have
written to Charles sooner? But how could I when she forbade me? It was
her pride only which instigated her, and I should not have obeyed.
Sept. 26.--Charles has arrived and has seen her. He is shocked,
conscience-stricken, remorseful. I have told him that he can do no good
beyond cheering her by his presence. I do not know what he thinks of
proposing to her if she gets better, but he says little to her at
present: indeed he dares not: his words agitate her dangerously.
Sept. 28.--After a struggle between duty and selfishness, such as I pray
to Heaven I may never have to undergo again, I have asked him for pity's
sake to make her his wife, here and now, as she lies. I said to him that
the poor child would not trouble him long; and such a solemnization would
soothe her last hours as nothing else could do. He said that he would
willingly do so, and had thought of it himself; but for one forbidding
reason: in the event of her death as his wife he can never marry me, her
sister, according to our laws. I started at his words. He went on: 'On
the other hand, if I were sure that immediate marriage with me would save
her life, I would not refuse, for possibly I might after a while, and out
of sight of you, make myself fairly content with one of so sweet a
disposition as hers; but if, as is probable, neither my marrying her nor
any other act can avail to save her life, by so doing I lose both her and
you.' I could not answer him.
Sept. 29.--He continued firm in his reasons for refusal till this
morning, and then I became possessed with an idea, which I at once
propounded to him. It was that he should at least consent to a form of
marriage with Caroline, in consideration of her love; a form which need
not be a legal union, but one which would satisfy her sick and enfeebled
soul. Such things have been done, and the sentiment of feeling herself
his would inexpressibly comfort her mind, I am sure. Then, if she is
taken from us, I should not have lost the power of becoming his lawful
wife at some future day, if it indeed should be deemed expedient; if, on
the other hand, she lives, he can on her recovery inform her of the
incompleteness of their marriage contract, the ceremony can be repeated,
and I can, and I am sure willingly would, avoid troubling them with my
presence till grey hairs and wrinkles make his unfortunate passion for me
a thing of the past. I put all this before him; but he demurred.
Sept. 30.--I have urged him again. He says he will consider. It is no
time to mince matters, and as a further inducement I have offered to
enter into a solemn engagement to marry him myself a year after her
death.
Sept. 30. Later.--An agitating interview. He says he will agree to
whatever I propose, the three possibilities and our contingent acts being
recorded as follows: First, in the event of dear Caroline being taken
from us, I marry him on the expiration of a year: Second, in the forlorn
chance of her recovery I take upon myself the responsibility of
explaining to Caroline the true nature of the ceremony he has gone
through with her, that it was done at my suggestion to make her happy at
once, before a special licence could be obtained, and that a public
ceremony at church is awaiting her: Third, in the unlikely event of her
cooling, and refusing to repeat the ceremony with him, I leave England,
join him abroad, and there wed him, agreeing not to live in England again
till Caroline has either married another or regards her attachment to
Charles as a bygone matter. I have thought over these conditions, and
have agreed to them all as they stand.
11 p.m.--I do not much like this scheme, after all. For one thing, I
have just sounded my father on it before parting with him for the night,
my impression having been that he would see no objection. But he says he
could on no account countenance any such unreal proceeding; however good
our intentions, and even though the poor girl were dying, it would not be
right. So I sadly seek my pillow.
October 1.--I am sure my father is wrong in his view. Why is it not
right, if it would be balm to Caroline's wounded soul, and if a real
ceremony is absolutely refused by Charles--moreover is hardly practicable
in the difficulty of getting a special licence, if he were agreed? My
father does not know, or will not believe, that Caroline's attachment has
been the cause of her hopeless condition. But that it is so, and that
the form of words would give her inexpressible happiness, I know well;
for I whispered tentatively in her ear on such marriages, and the effect
was great. Henceforth my father cannot be taken into confidence on the
subject of Caroline. He does not understand her.
12 o'clock noon.--I have taken advantage of my father's absence to-day to
confide my secret notion to a thoughtful young man, who called here this
morning to speak to my father. He is the Mr. Theophilus Higham, of whom
I have already had occasion to speak--a Scripture reader in the next
town, and is soon going to be ordained. I told him the pitiable case,
and my remedy. He says ardently that he will assist me--would do
anything for me (he is, in truth, an admirer of mine); he sees no wrong
in such an act of charity. He is coming again to the house this
afternoon before my father returns, to carry out the idea. I have spoken
to Charles, who promises to be ready. I must now break the news to
Caroline.
11 o'clock p.m.--I have been in too much excitement till now to set down
the result. We have accomplished our plan; and though I feel like a
guilty sinner, I am glad. My father, of course, is not to be informed as
yet. Caroline has had a seraphic expression upon her wasted, transparent
face ever since. I should hardly be surprised if it really saved her
life even now, and rendered a legitimate union necessary between them. In
that case my father can be informed of the whole proceeding, and in the
face of such wonderful success cannot disapprove. Meanwhile poor Charles
has not lost the possibility of taking unworthy me to fill her place
should she--. But I cannot contemplate that alternative unmoved, and
will not write it. Charles left for the South of Europe immediately
after the ceremony. He was in a high-strung, throbbing, almost wild
state of mind at first, but grew calmer under my exhortations. I had to
pay the penalty of receiving a farewell kiss from him, which I much
regret, considering its meaning; but he took me so unexpectedly, and in a
moment was gone.
Oct. 6.--She certainly is better, and even when she found that Charles
had been suddenly obliged to leave, she received the news quite
cheerfully. The doctor says that her apparent improvement may be
delusive; but I think our impressing upon her the necessity of keeping
what has occurred a secret from papa, and everybody, helps to give her a
zest for life.
Oct. 8.--She is still mending. I am glad to have saved her--my only
sister--if I have done so; though I shall now never become Charles's
wife.