How beautiful was Mildred as she sprung to meet the embrace of her old
grandfather; and how fondly did the old man gaze upon his recovered
treasure, almost incredulous that this lovely girl could be the same
little pet, whose infantine gambols and artless caresses time had not
been able to efface from his mind.
The style of Mildred's beauty was, indeed, most captivating and
piquant. To a form of perfect symmetry and airy grace was added a
countenance beaming with intellect and vivacity. Her complexion was of
the same dazzling fairness as her mother's, but her eyes were of a
deep-gray, sparkling beneath the most delicately penciled brows, and
her hair of that dark, glossy chestnut, flecked as it were with
sunbeams, whose peculiar tint painters so much love to catch. A small,
rosy mouth, and white, regular teeth, which in her innocent vivacity
were often displayed, completes the picture of Mildred's charms.
After spending a few days at Mount Dundass she took leave of her
grandfather, and under the escort of Mr. Donaldson, who had hastened
thither for the purpose, departed for the Cascade, impatient to behold
her mother, in whose love she trusted to find a recompense for the
pain which parting with her dear friends at Norcross Hall had caused.
And for a few weeks all went happily. The sight of her innocent,
beautiful child banished for a time from the heart of Mrs. Donaldson
that unnatural jealousy her husband had awakened. Mr. Donaldson, for
his own selfish purposes, strove by every attention and kindness to
win her esteem and confidence, while Mildred on her part delighted
with and reciprocating her mother's affection, gratified by the
interest her step-father expressed for her, and perfectly enchanted
with the novel and beautiful scenery, threw off all her
sadness--linking the past with the present, not regretful or
sorrowful, but as one continued scene of love and happiness, for which
her heart rose in gratitude to her Maker that he had conferred upon
her so many rich blessings.
How often did she wish that Rupert and Helen could share with her this
West India paradise. The climate so bland and delicious--soft, balmy
airs by day, and nights of unclouded loveliness; the beautiful
undulating scenery of hill and valley stretching far away into the dim
haze of ocean--hills from whose summits towered the magnificent
cabbage-palm, its immense plume-like leaves waving like the crest of
some gigantic warrior above the band of palms crowding around, bending
their graceful heads to this their chief; valleys of luxuriant beauty,
studded with groves of the aromatic pimento, whose pure white blossoms
seem like snow-flakes just fallen amid their dark, glossy foliage,
while at intervals clumps of magnolia, resting on a carpet of bright
verdure sprinkled with flowers, and their trunks garlanded with the
gay passa-flora, arrested the eye. From those beautiful hill-sides
silvery cascades came leaping and dancing down into the rich valleys,
then twining their lovely arms through this charming landscape, as if
they would fain bear off its beauties to the broad ocean, whither they
are gliding.
In the meantime, you may be sure, Perozzi made his appearance at the
Cascade, where, under some slight pretext, he soon became almost
domesticated, merely riding over to the Pen at intervals of two or
three days. To Mildred there was something extremely repulsive in his
appearance, and she could not but feel amazed at the influence he
seemed to exercise over her parents, and the deference with which they
treated him. She little dreamed of the power he would soon exert
against her happiness--just as over those luxuriant valleys, whose
smiling beauty I have but imperfectly sketched, the whirl-wind comes
rushing in terrible might, scattering ruin and devastation around, did
the tempest burst over the head of Mildred, changing all the
brightness of her young life to darkness. Perozzi needed no other
impetus than the sight of Mildred's beauty to render him as eager to
push forward the plot in agitation as Mr. Donaldson, and in accordance
his attentions to her assumed a direct and positive form. She,
however, had not the most remote suspicion of his intentions. How
great, then, was her surprise when one day Perozzi made her a formal
offer of his hand, assuring her at the same time that he did so with
the consent and approbation of her parents and her grandfather.
Mildred could hardly credit her senses, that Perozzi, a man as old as
her step-father, should think of a mere child like herself for a wife,
seemed very strange, but that her friends should also approve of such
a match, stranger still.
"My dearest Mildred, what have you done!" cried Mrs. Donaldson,
meeting her daughter a few hours after. "Can it be possible you have
refused Signor Perozzi?"
"Dear mamma, you surely do not think I could do otherwise than refuse
him!" replied Mildred, surprised at her mother's manner.
"And why not, Mildred? Would it not be a most eligible match for
you--why he is not only very rich, but will probably soon succeed to a
title."
"Riches and titles can never make happiness, mamma."
"But they conduce greatly to its maintainance, Mildred."
"O, no, mamma, not if attached to such a disagreeable person as the
signor."
"Disagreeable! Mildred, you surprise me--pray what can be your
objections?"
"Indeed, they are so numerous, that the repetition would only be
tiresome," replied Mildred, smiling. "But you are surely laughing at
me; you did not really suppose, now did you, that I could love such a
man?"
"I did suppose you had more sense, Mildred, than to refuse him,"
replied Mrs. Donaldson. "I can only say your decision has deeply
grieved both Mr. Donaldson and myself; yet we regret it more for the
disappointment it will cause your grandfather, for to see you the wife
of Perozzi has long been his most cherished wish."
"Can it be!" cried Mildred. "Can it be that my grandfather, my kind
grandfather, would have me marry Perozzi--is it so, mamma?"
"It is, Mildred."
"Now, indeed, am I most unhappy," cried Mildred, bursting into tears,
"for it can never, never be!"
"My sweet child, I am sorry to see you so grieved!" said Mrs.
Donaldson. "It must be painful, I know, for you to distress your
excellent old grandfather, who loves you so truly, and has ever
treated you with such generosity; but perhaps your decision has been
too hasty--it is not too late; reconsider the subject, Mildred, and
perhaps you will conclude differently."
"No, mamma, my resolution is unalterable!"
"Let me at least soften your refusal to poor Perozzi--indeed, he is
quite overwhelmed with despair; let me bid him hope that in time you
may be brought to listen more favorably to his suit."
"O, not for worlds, mamma--not for worlds!"
"Well, well, my dear, you are strangely agitated. There, go--retire to
your chamber, and compose yourself, my love;" and affectionately
kissing her daughter, Mrs. Donaldson repaired to the library, where
her husband and Perozzi were awaiting the result of this interview.
Had Mrs. Donaldson forgotten her own youth?
From that day Mildred was the object of ceaseless persecution. Go
where she would, there was Perozzi ever at her side, to annoy her with
his odious attentions; walking or riding, he intruded himself upon
her; no room in the house seemed sacred from his approach; and even
when she retired to her own apartment, he either stationed himself
beneath her window, or stood at her door, ready to greet her with his
hateful smile as she issued forth. Constantly, too, was he urging his
suit, while her repeated refusals, her cold words, and still colder
looks, might as well have been spent upon a rock--for a rock could not
be more impressionless to their meaning. The persecution she underwent
from the odious Perozzi, had, perhaps, revealed to her the true nature
of her regard for Rupert, and in so doing, brought also the pleasing
consciousness that she was beloved even as she loved him. How
aggravating, then, her situation. Daily her life grew more wretched,
nor had she even the consolation of sympathy. With a yearning heart
did she now recall the happy days at Norcross Hall, rendered by
contrast still more dear. "O!" she cried, in her anguish, "could I but
once more rest in their loving arms, what power could tear me thence!
Dearest Helen! Dearest Rupert, come to me! O, hasten thither and
rescue me from this horrible thraldom!"
But months passed in sorrow; there came no letters from
England--nothing to cheer up her fainting heart, and finally, Mildred,
the once gay, happy Mildred, sunk into a state of utter despondency.