As soon as I reached my chamber, I threw myself on my bed, which seemed
to roll beneath me with a billowy motion. Never had I felt so strangely,
so wildly. Confused images crowded through my brain. I moved on an
undulating surface. Now, it was the swelling and sinking of the blue
gray waves of ocean,--then, the heaving green of the churchyard, billows
of death, over which the wind blew damp and chill. I had left the lamp
unextinguished, where its light reflected the rosy red of the curtains,
and that became a fiery meteor shooting through crimson clouds, and
leaving a lurid track behind it.
I sat up in bed; frightened at the wild confusion of my brain, I passed
my hands over my eyes to remove the illusion, but in vain. The massy
wardrobe changed to the rocky walls of the Rip Raps, and above it I saw
the tall form of the white-locked chief. The carpet, with its clusters
of mimic flowers, on a pale gray ground, was a waste of waters, covered
with roses, among which St. James was swimming and trying to grasp them.
"What is the matter?" I cried, clasping my burning hands. "Am I asleep,
and are these images but the visions of a feverish imagination?"
"You dream, my love," answered the low, deep voice of Ernest; "but my
mother is coming to awaken you with a cold and icy hand. I have
scattered roses over you while you slept, but her blighting touch has
withered them."
Thus vision after vision succeeded each other, hurrying along like
clouds in a tempestuous sky. I suppose I must have slept at last, but
the morning found me in a state of utter exhaustion. Nervous excitement,
sitting so long on the damp grass, and lingering out in the dewy evening
air, brought on an illness which confined me to my bed many days. Dr.
Harlowe threatened to put me in a strait-jacket and send me to a lunatic
asylum, if I did not behave better in future.
"I must take you home with me," he said; "our quiet, humdrum mode of
life is better for you, after all. Your little rocking chair stands
exactly where you used to sit in it. I do not like to see any one else
occupy it. I get in disgrace with my wife every day, now you are not by
me to hang up my hat and remind me by a glance to shake the dust from my
feet. Such a quick pulse as this will never do, my child."
For a week I was kept in a darkened room, and perfect quietude was
commanded. The doctor came every day, and sometimes several times a day,
with his smiling, sunny countenance, and anxious, affectionate heart.
Mrs. Linwood and Edith stole gently in and out, with steps soft as
falling snowflakes, and Margaret Melville was not permitted to enter at
all. Every morning fresh flowers were laid upon my pillow, which I knew
were gathered by the hand of Ernest, and they whispered to me of such
sweet things my languid senses _ached_ to hear them.
One day, while in this passive, languishing, dreamy condition, having
fallen into tranquil slumbers, I was left a few moments alone. I was
awakened by a stronger touch than that of Edith's fairy hand.
"Why, how do you do, darling? How do you do?" cried a hearty, gay voice,
that echoed like a bugle in the stillness of the room. "The doctor said
you were getting well, and I determined I would not be kept out any
longer. What in the world do they banish _me_ for? I am the best nurse
in the universe, strong as a lion, and wakeful as an owl. What do they
shut you up in this dark room for?--just to give you the blues!--It is
all nonsense. I am going to put back these curtains, and let in some
light,--you will become etiolated. I want to see how you look."
Dashing at the curtains, she tossed two of them back as high as she
could throw them, letting in a flood of sunshine to my weak and dazzled
eyes.
"Don't! don't!" I entreated, getting dreadfully nervous and agitated; "I
cannot bear it,--indeed I cannot."
"Yes you can; you will be better in a moment,--it is only coming out of
darkness into marvellous light,--a sudden change, that is all. You do
look white,--white, delicate, and sweet as a water-lily. I have a great
mind to invite Ernest up to see you, you look so interesting. He has
been like a distracted man, a wandering Jew, an unlaid ghost, ever since
you have been ill. And poor Richard Clyde comes every night to inquire
after you, with such a woebegone countenance. And that great, ugly,
magnificent creature of a teacher, he has been too,--you certainly are a
consequential little lady."
Thus she rattled on, without dreaming of the martyrdom she was
inflicting on my weakened nerves.
"I have no doubt you mean to be kind," said I, ready to cry from
weakness and irritation; "but if you will only drop the curtains and
leave me, I will be so very grateful."
"There--the curtains are down. I am not going to speak another word--I
am a perfect lamb--I will bathe your head with cologne, and put you to
sleep nicely."
Stepping across the room, as she thought, very softly, but making more
noise than Edith would in a week, she seized a bottle of cologne, and
coming close to the bedside, bent over me, so that her great, black eyes
almost touched mine. Had they been a pair of pistols, I could not have
recoiled with greater terror.
"Don't!" again I murmured,--"I am very weak."
"Hush! I am going to put you to sleep."
Pouring the cologne in her hand, till it dripped all over the
counterpane and pillow, she deluged my hair, and patted my forehead as
she would a colt's that she wanted to stand still. In mute despair I
submitted to her _tender mercies_, certain I should die, if some one did
not come to my relief, when the door softly opened, and Mrs. Linwood
entered.
"Heaven be praised," thought I,--I had not strength to say it. Tears of
weariness and vexation were mingling with the drops with which she had
saturated my hair.
"Margaret," said Mrs. Linwood, in a tone of serious displeasure, "what
have you been doing? I left her in a sweet sleep, and now I find her
wan, tearful, and agitated. You will worry her into a relapse."
"All she needs now is cheerful company, I am sure," she answered
demurely; "you all make her so tender and baby-like, she never will have
any strength again. I've been as soft as a cooing dove. Dr. Harlowe
would have been delighted with me."
"You _must_ go, Margaret, indeed you must. _You_ may think yourself a
dove, but others have a different opinion."
"Going, going, gone!" she cried, giving me a vehement kiss and
vanishing.
The consequence of this energetic visit was a relapse; and Dr. Harlowe
was as angry as his nature admitted when he learned the cause.
"That wild-cat must not remain here," said he, shaking his head. "She
will kill my gentle patient. Where did you find her, Mrs. Linwood? From
what menagerie has she broken loose?"
"She is the daughter of an early and very dear friend of mine," replied
Mrs. Linwood, smiling; "a very original and independent young lady, I
grant she is."
"What in the world did you bring her here for?" asked the doctor
bluntly; "I intend to chain her, while my child is sick."
"She wished to make a visit in the country, and I thought her wild
good-humor would be a counterpoise to the poetry and romance of
Grandison Place."
"You have other more attractive and tractable guests. You will not
object to my depriving you for a short time of her. May I invite her
home with me?"
"Certainly,--but she will not accept the invitation. She is not
acquainted with Mrs. Harlowe."
"That makes no difference,--she will go with me, I am positive."
They conversed in a low tone in one of the window recesses, but I heard
what they said; and when Mrs. Linwood afterwards told me that Meg the
Dauntless had gone off with the doctor in high glee, I was inexpressibly
relieved, for I had conceived an unconquerable terror of her. There was
other company in the house, as Edith had prophesied, but in a mansion so
large and so admirably arranged, an invalid might be kept perfectly
quiet without interfering with the social enjoyment of others.
I was slowly but surely recovering. At night Edith had her harp placed
in the upper piazza, and sang and played some of her sweetest and most
soothing strains. Another voice, too, mingled at times with the
breeze-like swelling of the thrilling chords, and a hand whose
master-touch my spirit recognized, swept the trembling strings.
How long it seemed since I had stood with _him_ under the shade of the
broad elm-tree! With what fluctuating emotions I looked forward to
meeting him again!
At length the doctor pronounced me able to go down stairs.
"I am going to keep the wild-cat till you are a little stronger," he
said. "She has made herself acquainted with the whole neighborhood, and
keeps us in a state of perpetual mirth and excitement. What do you think
she has done? She has actually made Mr. Regulus escort her on horseback
into the country, and says she is resolved to captivate him."
I could not help laughing at the idea of my tall, awkward master, a
knight-errant to this queen of the amazons.
"How would you like to be supplanted by her?" he mischievously asked.
"As an assistant teacher?"
"As an assistant for life. Poor Regulus! he was quite sick during your
absence; and when I accused him of being in love, the simple-hearted
creature confessed the fact and owned the soft impeachment. I really
feel very sorry for him. He has a stupendous heart, and a magnificent
brain. You ought to have treated him better. He would be to you a tower
of strength in the day of trouble. Little girl, you ought to be proud of
such a conquest."
"It filled me with sorrow and shame," I answered, "and had he not
himself betrayed the secret, it never would have been known. It seemed
too deep a humiliation for one whom I so much respected and revered, to
bow a supplicant to me. You do not know how unhappy it made me."
"You must get hardened to these things, Gabriella. As you seem to be
quite a dangerous young lady, destined to do great havoc in the world,
it will not do to be too sensitive on the subject. But remember, you
must not dispose of your heart without consulting me. And at any rate,
wait three years longer for your judgment to mature."
The conscious color rose to my cheek. He took my hand, and placed his
fingers on my throbbing pulse.
"Too quick, too quick," said he, looking gravely in my face. "This will
never do. When I bring the wild-cat back, I mean to carry you off. It
will do you good to stay a while with my good, methodical, unromantic
wife. I can take you round to visit my patients with me. I have a new
buggy, larger than the one in which we had such a famous ride together."
The associations connected with that ride were so sad, I wished he had
not mentioned it; yet the conversation had done me good. It kept me from
dwelling too exclusively on one engrossing subject.
"Now give me your arm," said the doctor, "and let me have the privilege
of escorting you down stairs."
As we descended, he put his arm round me, for I was weaker than he
thought I was, and my knees bent under me.
"We doctors ought not to have jealous wives, my dear, ought we? My dear,
good woman has not one particle of jealousy in her composition. She
never looks after my heart; but keeps a wonderfully sharp eye on my head
and feet. A very sensible person, Mrs. Harlowe is."
There was intentional kindness in this apparent levity. He saw I was
agitated, and wished to divert my thoughts. Perhaps he read more deeply
than I imagined, for those who seem to glance lightly on the surface of
feeling only, often penetrate to its depths.
The drawing-room was divided by folding doors, which were seldom closed,
and in the four corners of each division were crimson lounges, of
luxurious and graceful form. Company generally gathered in the front
part, but the backroom was equally pleasant, as it opened into the
flower-garden through a balcony shaded by vines.
"Come in here, and rest awhile," said the doctor, leading me into the
back parlor; "it will be a pleasant surprise to Mrs. Linwood. I did not
tell her I was going to bring you down."
As we entered, I saw Ernest Linwood half reclining on a lounge with a
book in his hand, which hung listlessly at his side. As he looked up,
his pale face lighted suddenly and brilliantly as burning gas. He rose,
threw down his book, came hastily forward, took my hand, and drawing it
from the doctor's arm, twined it round his own.
"How well you look!" he exclaimed. "Dr. Harlowe, we owe you ten thousand
thanks."
"This is a strange way of showing it," said the doctor, looking round
him with a comical expression, "to deprive me of my companion, and leave
me as lonely as Simon Stylites on the top of his pillar."
Mrs. Linwood and Edith, who had seen our entrance, came forward and
congratulated me on my convalescence. It was the first time I had ever
been ill, and the pleasure of being released from durance was like that
of a weary child let loose from school. I was grateful and happy. The
assurance I received from the first glance of Ernest, that what his
mother had promised to reveal had made no change in his feelings; that
the love, which I had almost begun to think an illusion of my own brain,
was a real existing passion, filled me with unspeakable joy. The
warnings of Mrs. Linwood had no power to weaken my faith and hope. Had
she not told me that _her_ love had died? I felt that mine was immortal.
The impression made by my mother's sad history was still too fresh and
deep, and too much of the languor of indisposition still clung to me to
admit of my being gay; but it was pleasant to hear the cheerful laugh
and lively conversation, showing that the tide of social life ran clear
and high. Several new guests had arrived, whom I had not seen before, to
whom I was introduced; but as Dr. Harlowe commanded me to be a good girl
and remain quietly in a corner, a passing introduction limited the
intercourse of the evening.
Just as the doctor was taking leave, a loud, merry ha, ha! came leaping
up the steps, followed by the amazonian form of Madge Wildfire, leaning
on the arm of Mr. Regulus.
"Angels and ministers of grace defend us!" exclaimed Ernest.
"Shade of Esculapius!" cried the doctor, recoiling from the threshold.
"Glad to see me? I know you are. Taken you all by storm. Found this
gentleman wandering like a troubled spirit by the way-side, and pressed
him into service. I shall make a gallant knight of him yet, My dear
soul!" she cried, spying me out and rushing towards me, "I am so glad to
see you here, escaped from the ruthless hands of the doctor. I never saw
such a despot in my life, except _one_;" here she looked laughingly and
defiantly at Ernest,--"he would out-Nero Nero himself, if he had the
opportunity."
"If I were the autocrat of Russia I would certainly exercise the right
of banishment," he answered quietly.
During this sportive encounter, Mr. Regulus came up to greet me. I had
not seen him since our memorable interview in the academy, and his
sallow face glowed with embarrassment. I rose to meet him, anxious to
show him every mark of respect and esteem. I asked him to take a seat on
the sofa by me, and ventured to congratulate him on the exceedingly
entertaining acquaintance he had made.
"A very extraordinary young lady," he cried, "amazingly merry, and
somewhat bold. I had not the most remote idea of coming here, when I
left home; but suddenly I found her arm linked in mine, and was told
that I must escort her _nolens volens_."
"Indeed! I thought you came to inquire after my health, and was feeling
_so_ grateful!"
"I did not know I should have the pleasure of seeing _you_, and I did
not hope you would welcome me with so much cordiality. I have made many
inquiries after you; indeed, I have scarcely thought of any thing else
since you were ill. You look pale, Gabriella. Are you sure you are quite
well, my child?"
The old endearing epithet! It touched me.
"I do not feel strong enough to move Mount Atlas, but well enough to
enjoy the society of my friends. I never appreciated it so highly
before."
"You have no idea how I miss you," he said, taking my fan and drawing
his thumb over it, as if he were feeling the edge of his ferula. "The
season of summer lingers, but the flowers no longer bloom for me. The
birds sing, but their notes have lost their melody. My perception of the
beautiful has grown dim, but the remembrance of it can never fade. I
never knew before what the pleasures of memory truly were."
"I recollect a copy you once set me, Mr. Regulus,--'Sweet is the memory
of absent friends,'--I thought it such a charming one!"
"Do you remember that?" he asked, with a delighted countenance.
"Yes! I remember all the copies you ever set me. Teachers should be very
careful what sentiments they write, for they are never forgotten. Don't
you recollect how all the pupils once laughed at a mistake in
punctuation of mine? The copy was, 'Hate not, but pity the wicked, as
well as the poor.' As the line was not quite filled, you added
_Gabriella_, after making a full period. I forgot the stop and wrote,
'Hate not, but pity the wicked, as well as the poor Gabriella.' The
ridicule of the scholars taught me the importance of punctuation. Our
mistakes are our best lessons, after all."
"And do you remember these trifles?" he repeated. "How strange! It shows
you have the heart of a child still. I love to hear you recall them."
"I could fill a volume with these reminiscences. I believe I will write
one, one of these days, and you shall be the hero."
A merry altercation at the door attracted our attention. Dr. Harlowe was
endeavoring to persuade Madge to go back with him, but she strenuously
refused.
"I never could stay more than ten days at a time in one place in my
life. Besides, I have worn out my welcome, I know I have. Your house is
not new. It jars too much when I walk. I saw Mrs. Harlowe looking
ruefully at some cracked glass and china, and then at me, as much as to
say, 'It is all your doings, you young romp.'"
"Very likely," cried the doctor, laughing heartily, "but it only makes
me more anxious to secure you. You are a safety-valve in the house. All
my misdemeanors escape unreproved in the presence of your superior
recklessness."
I never saw any one enjoy a jest more than Dr. Harlowe. He really liked
the dashing and untamable Madge. He was fond of young companions; and
though his wife was such a _superior woman_, and such an incomparable
housekeeper, there was nothing very exhilarating about her.
"I can't go," said Madge; "I must stay and take care of Gabriella."
"If you play any of your wild pranks on her again," said the doctor, "it
were better for you that you had never been born."
With this threat he departed; and it seemed as if a dozen people had
been added to the household in the person of the dauntless Meg. I never
saw any one with such a flow of animal spirits, with so much oxygen in
their composition. I should think the vital principle in such a
constitution would burn out sooner than in others, like a flame fed by
alcohol. She was older than myself, and yet had no more apparent
reflection than a child of five years old. It was impossible to make her
angry. The gravest rebuke, the most cutting sarcasm, were received with
a merry twinkle of the eye or a rich swell of laughter. She was bold,
masculine, wild, and free, and I feared her as much as I would the
wild-cat, after whom the doctor had christened her,--yet there was
something about her that I liked. It was probably the interest she
professed in me, which must have been genuine. It was impossible for her
to affect any thing.
Who would dream of any one sporting with such a man as Mr. Regulus? Yet
she treated him exactly as if he were a great boy. He had paid us his
parting salutations, and was half-way down the steps before she was
aware of his intended departure.
"You are not going so soon, indeed you are not," she exclaimed, running
after him, seizing his hat, and setting it jauntily on her own head. Her
abundant hair prevented it from falling over her face. "I brought you
here to stay all the evening; and stay you must and shall. What do you
want to go back to your musty old bachelor's room for, when there is
such delightful company here?"
Taking hold of his arm and whirling him briskly round, she led him back
into the parlor, laughing and triumphant.
She looked so saucy, so jaunty, so full of nerve and adventure, with the
large hat pitched on one side of her head, I could not help saying,--
"What a pity she were not a man!"
Mr. Regulus did not appear as awkward as might be supposed. There was a
latent spark of fun and frolic in his large brain, to which her wild
hand applied the match; and though I know he felt the disappointment of
his affections sorely, deeply, he yielded himself to her assault with
tolerable grace and readiness.
Supper was always an unceremonious meal, sent round on waiters, from a
round table in the back parlor, at which Mrs. Linwood presided.
Gentlemen took their cups standing or walking, just as it happened; and
ladies, too, though they were generally seated. Ernest drew a light
table to the lounge where I sat; and sitting by me, said, as I was an
invalid, I should be peculiarly favored.
"Methinks she is not the only favored one," said the sweet voice of
Edith, as she floated near.
"There is room for you, dear Edith," said I, moving closer to the arm of
the sofa, and leaving a space for her between us.
"Room on the sofa, Edith," added he, moving towards me, and making a
space for her on his right, "and tenfold room in my heart."
He took her hand and drew her down to his side.
"This is as it should be," he said, looking from one to the other with a
radiant countenance. "Thus would I ever bind to my heart the two
loveliest, dearest, best."
Edith bent her head, and kissed the hand which held hers. As she looked
up I saw that her eyes were glistening.
"What would mamma say?" she asked, trying to conceal her emotion.
"Surely there can be none dearer and better than she is."
"Nay, Edith," said he, passing his arm tenderly round her waist; "you
might as well say, if I singled out two bright, especial stars from the
firmament, that I did not think the moon fair or excellent. The love I
bear my mother is so exalted by reverence, it stands apart by itself
like the queen of night, serene and holy, moving in a distinct and lofty
sphere. There is one glory of the sun, Edith, and another glory of the
moon, and one star differeth from another in glory. Yet they are all
glorious in themselves, and all proclaim the goodness and glory of the
Creator."
"I have heard it said," observed Edith, in a low, tremulous tone, "that
when love takes possession of the heart, the natural affections have
comparatively little strength; that it is to them as is the ocean to its
tributaries. I know nothing of it by experience, nor do I wish to, if it
has power to diminish the filial and sisterly tenderness which
constitutes my chief joy."
"My dear Edith, it is not so. Every pure and generous affection expands
the heart, and gives it new capacities for loving. Have you not heard of
heaven,--'the more angels the more room?' So it is with the human heart.
It is elastic, and enlarges with every lawful claimant to be admitted
into its sanctuary. It is true there is a love which admits of no
rivalry;" here his eye turned involuntarily to me, "which enshrines but
one object, which dwells in the inner temple, the angel of angels. But
other affections do not become weaker in consequence of its strength. We
may not see the fire-flame burn as brightly when the sun shines upon it,
but the flame is burning still."
"Gabriella does not speak," said Edith, with an incredulous wave of her
golden locks. "Tell me, Gabriella, are his words true?"
"I am not a very good metaphysician," I answered, "but I should think
the heart very narrow, that could accommodate only those whom Nature
placed in it. It seems to me but a refined species of selfishness."
The color crimsoned on Edith's fair cheek. I had forgotten what she had
said to me of her own exclusive affection. I sympathized so entirely in
his sentiments, expressed with such beautiful enthusiasm, I forgot every
thing else. The moment I had spoken, memory rebuked my transient
oblivion. She must believe it an intentional sarcasm. How could I be so
careless of the feelings of one so gentle and so kind?
"I know _I_ am selfish," she said. "I have told you my weakness,--sin it
may be,--and I deserve the reproach."
"You cannot think I meant it as such. You know I could not. I had
forgotten what I have heard you previously utter. I was thinking only of
the present. Forgive me, Edith, for being so thoughtless and impulsive;
for being so selfish myself."
"I am wrong," said Edith, ingenuously. "I suppose conscience applied the
words. Brother, you, who are the cause of the offence, must make my
peace."
"It is already made," answered I, holding out my hand to meet hers; "if
you acquit me of intentional wrong, I ask no more."
As our hands united before him, he clasped them both in one of his own.
"A triune band," said he, earnestly, "that never must be broken. Edith,
Gabriella, remember this. Love each other now, love each other forever,
even as I love ye both."
I was sensitive and childish from recent indisposition, or I should have
had more self-control. I could not prevent the tears from rushing to my
eyes and stealing down my cheeks. As we were sitting by ourselves, in a
part of the room less brilliantly lighted than the rest, and as we all
conversed in a low voice, this little scene was not conspicuous, though
it might have possibly been observed.
Those in the front room seemed exceedingly merry. Madge had placed a
table before herself and Mr. Regulus, in imitation of Ernest, and had
piled his plate with quantities of cake, as high as a pyramid. A gay
group surrounded the table, that seemed floating on a tide of laughter;
or rather making an eddy, in 'which their spirits were whirling.'
As soon as supper was over, she told Mr. Regulus to lead her to the
piano, as she was literally dying to play. There was no instrument at
Dr. Harlowe's but a jew's-harp, and the tongue of that was broken. As
she seated herself at the piano, Mr. Regulus reached forward and took up
a violin which was lying upon it.
"Do you play?" she asked eagerly.
"I used to play a good deal when a boy, but that was a long time ago,"
he answered, drawing the bow across the strings with no unskilful hand.
"Delightful, charming!" she exclaimed. "Can you play '_Come, haste to
the wedding_?'"
He replied by giving the inspiring air, which she accompanied in her
wild, exciting manner, laughing and shaking her head with irrepressible
glee. I was astonished to see my dignified tutor thus lending himself
for the amusement of the evening. I should have thought as soon of
Jupiter playing a dancing tune, as Mr. Regulus. But he not only played
well, he seemed to enjoy it. I was prepared now, to see him on the floor
dancing with Madge, though I sincerely hoped he would not permit himself
to be exhibited in that manner. Madge was resolved upon this triumph,
and called loudly to Edith to come and take her place at the instrument,
and play the liveliest waltz in the universe for her and Mr. Regulus.
"Thank you, Miss Melville," said he, laying down his violin and resuming
his usual grave and dignified manner, "I am no dancing bear."
"Come, Mr. Regulus, I have no doubt you dance as charmingly as you play.
Besides, you would not be so ungallant as to refuse a lady's request."
"Not a _lady-like_ request," he answered, with a shrewd cast of the eye
under his beetling brows.
This sarcasm was received with acclamation; but Meg lifted her brow as
dauntless as ever and laughed as loudly.
I began to feel weary of mirth in which I could not sympathize. Mrs.
Linwood came to me, and saying I looked pale and wan, insisted upon my
retiring. To this I gladly assented. The little misunderstanding between
Edith and myself weighed heavily on my spirits, and I longed to be
alone.
Just as we were crossing the hall of entrance, Richard Clyde came in. He
greeted me with so much feeling, such earnest, unaffected pleasure, yet
a pleasure so chastened by sensibility, I realized, perhaps for the
first time, the value of the heart I had rejected.
"You have been ill, Gabriella," said he, retaining for a moment the hand
he had taken. "You look pale and languid. You do not know how much your
friends have suffered on your account, or how grateful they feel for
your convalesence."
"I did not think I was of so much consequence," I replied. "It is well
to be sick now and then, so as to be able to appreciate the kindness of
friends."
"You must suffer us to go now, Richard," said Mrs. Linwood moving
towards the staircase; "you will find merry company in the parlor ready
to entertain you. As Gabriella is no longer a prisoner, you will have
future opportunities of seeing her."
"I must embrace them soon," said he, sadly. "I expect to leave this
place before long,--my friends, and my country."
"You, Richard?" I exclaimed. Then I remembered the remarks I had heard
on commencement day, of his being sent to Europe to complete his
education. I regretted to lose the champion of my childhood, the friend
of my youth, and my countenance expressed my emotion.
"I have a great deal to say to you, Gabriella," said he, in a low tone.
"May I see you to-morrow?"
"Certainly,--that is, I think, I hope so." A glance that flashed on me
from the doorway arrested my stammering tongue. Ernest was standing
there, observing the interview, and the dark passion of which his mother
had warned me clouded his brow. Snatching my hand from Richard, I bade
him a hasty good-night, and ascended the stairs, with a prophetic heart.
Yet, while I felt the shadow on his brow stealing darkly over me, I
repeated to myself,--
"The keenest pangs the wretched find,
Are rapture to the dreary void,
The leafless desert of the mind,
The waste of feelings unemployed."