The heart of Lavinia bled over every line of that impassioned note.
She saw her brother changed from what he once had been--her mother's
cheek pallid--and the fond friend and instructress of her youth
sharing the sorrows of all.
Four years rolling round, brought to her many admirers--but to her
they talked of love in vain. William had married a lovely, wealthy
girl--but was bowing her happy spirit by his folly and extravagance.
Her mother was gradually sinking; and but for the stay of religion,
_she_ too would have sunk under the pressure of her sorrows--but he
whose promises she trusted, never forsook those who lean on his
almighty arm. Renowned for piety and benevolence, beloved, admired,
she moved around the circle of her acquaintance like a spirit of light
and peace. But her youthful attachment haunted her riper years--of
James no tidings had been heard--vain had proved her numerous
endeavors to learn his fate. She was one day alone, when a young man
of fine appearance knocked at the door. She arose and admitted him,
when he asked if she had ever known a Mr. Drayton. To her reply in the
affirmative, he arose and presented her the following letter, which
she no sooner took, than bowing, he wished her a happy evening, and
withdrew. Hastily she broke the seal, and read as follows:
"Will Lavinia now remember him whom once she knew, and who gave to her
the only sincere portion of his nature which he possessed? Does she
remember him whose follies and vices removed him from her and
happiness? Yes, she cannot have forgotten the once wretched, but now
comparatively happy Drayton. But you shall know what I owe you, and
though I may be disregarded, you will joy that you have saved a being
from misery and disgrace. But to my narrative.
"The day I left you, I resolved to join some lawless band, and strike
your heart with sorrow by your hearing of my crimes. But the thought
of your piety and virtue, were like a mountain between me and crime. I
went from place to place, but found no peace. Home I dreaded to
approach; but after three months of wandering, determined again to
behold my parents, and fix on some course of conduct. I went--my
father was on his death-bed. His illness was augmented by anxiety for
my return, as he had not heard from me since I left Roseville. I
received his dying blessing; and in less than two months my mother lay
beside him. Watching and grief had been too much, and perhaps the
folly of her son added another mortal wound. I was now left sole
master of about fifty thousand dollars, and with it a heart almost
lost to virtue. I sold out my lands, &c., vested nearly all the amount
in stock, and embarked for the Indies, determined to see my native
land no more. Tossed on the wide ocean, I was surrounded by ten
thousand dangers, more lawless in feeling than the billows around,
beneath, above me. I cared for nothing--regarded nothing--and often
hoped to find a watery grave. A storm arose--we were shipwrecked--and
the near approach of death brought with it the instinctive love of
life. A vessel bound to England spied out the wreck; a few only had
clung to its ruins. I was taken on board, and after a voyage of a few
days was landed at Liverpool. I was then an altered man; five days of
hunger, cold and suffering had brought me to reason. I had thought of
what had caused all the woes I then endured. I thought of Roseville,
and of you--of my native land, and all it once contained; _they_ were,
I felt, lost to me, and I sunk into despair. On board the English
vessel I had found a pious Quaker and his family. I now longed again
to behold them. Having sought them in vain in Liverpool, I advertised
for tidings of them; and hearing they were in London, I went thither
and found them. They received me like a child, and to them I related
my history and my misery. They pointed out to me the only means of
present and future happiness. I thought of you, Lavinia, and of your
frequent, modest and affectionate exhortations to your brother and
myself, to seek the pearl of matchless price. I resolved to strive to
win the smile of heaven, and to give up all on earth.
"America I never expected again to behold, but the joys of religion to
seek till life was o'er. Yes, often in the anguish of despair, I
recollected some passage you had marked in the Bible I took as I left
the house at Roseville for the last time. It lay on your work-table; I
knew you loved it--I took it to give you a pang. I read it to
cavil--to disbelieve. I was tempted to burn it; but it had been yours,
and I could not give it up. In the horrors of the storm, I kept it
near my heart. It raised my hopes--for I felt that though I had
despised its truths, _they_ were still immutable. Even now I have
it--dear, precious volume. But I have wandered from my narrative.
"After many months of struggling--sometimes for truth, then to forget
it--I at length gave up all as lost, and in anguish sought my friend.
He bade me look to him who alone could save. I looked with faith--I
seized the promises--I was blessed. Yes, Lavinia, I felt what was
worth a world. I immediately resolved to engage in business, and not
return to America, till I had tested the truth of my present feelings.
I entered into a life of activity. I read and grew in knowledge, and I
trust in grace. I thought of you, but feared to trust my heart. You
had been, and might be again its idol. I resolved to tear it from the
throne I had vowed to give to God. But I could not forget. Three years
had at length rolled round since we had parted. You were, I doubted
not, another's. But for me, I could not love again. I consulted my
friend, who had returned to America, as to what course I should take.
He advised me to return. Of my fortune I had not heard; but I was able
to defray the expenses of my voyage. I left London; four months ago I
landed in New York. From thence I went to Philadelphia--remained a
month with the Quakers--thence to South Carolina, and was joyfully
received by all except the 'nearest of kin.' Of you I could hear
nothing. William I heard was married, and wild enough. I sent my
friend Mr. Alston to Virginia. He heard you were single--saw you at
church--heard the whole history of your family. He wrote me; I came to
----. He is the bearer of this. I there await an answer, saying
whether or not you will again behold your ever faithful