YOUNG LOVE.
“So gaze met gaze,
And heart saw heart, translucid through the rays,
One same, harmonious, universal law,
Atom to atom, star to star can draw,
And heart to heart! Swift darts, as from the sun,
The strong attraction, and the charm is done.”
THE NEW TIMON.
It was such a beautiful morning, such a holiday seeming morning—the
green foliage all sparkling with dew in the rays of the early sun, the
air vocal, noisy with all sorts of merry sounds, cheerful household
sounds, gay woodland music, the crowing of roosters, the cackling of
hens, and above all, the merry, merry, merry bursts of melody from the
birds. Augustus Wilde and Sophie Churchill sat in the vine-clad porch of
Grove Cottage. (Emily was in the dining-room washing up her breakfast
things, and the minister was writing his sermon in his room.)
“Do you know, Miss Churchill, that I am perpetually in danger of
offending against the rules of etiquette, and calling you Sophie, as my
sister calls you. Whenever I turn to address you, ‘Sophie’ springs to my
lips. I warn you of it that you may not be offended when it comes—why,
‘Sophie’—it just suits you—such a little shy fawn as you are—in every
soft wave of your brown hair, in every floating beam of your tender
eyes, in every fold of your sober dress ‘Sophie’ is revealed. I must
call you Sophie.”
They were sitting on the bench with their backs against the open window
of Emily’s bedroom (the little chamber on the left front, that I have
described). He now felt his ears grasped from behind and his head well
shaken. Sophie raised her eyes and saw the white dress, black curls, and
merry face of his sister stooping from the window over him.
“Sophie, is it? Impudence! Well, Sophie, let him call you what he
will—but don’t you call him Augustus—there is nothing august about him,
call him ‘Gusty,’ or ‘Gusty Wilde,’ for look you!” said she, pulling
back his head, and kissing his brow, “there is so much latent strength
and fire in this young man’s veins that it is extremely apt to break out
in storms—just watch him in controversy with Mr. Withers—the sudden
anger will dart from his eyes like a spring lancet from its sheath!” She
shook him again, and let him go.
“Oh! the atrocious medical simile!—like ‘lightning from a mountain
cloud,’ you meant.”
“Like a pea from a pop-gun, more likely. Now, Miss Churchill, he said
your air and manner _revealed_ ‘Sophie’—very well—every glance, and
start, and spring, every interjection and exclamation in his looks,
gestures, and conversation _exposes_ ‘Gusty Wilde.’”
“_Now_, Miss Churchill, do you believe that?” inquired he, with mock
seriousness.
“No, I am sure—” began Sophie.
“You are sure of nothing—he is on his good behavior now; wait and see.
But that is not what I broke in upon you for, Mr. Wilde—I have come to
invite you and Miss Churchill to ride with me this morning. We will
borrow the parson’s gig, and come, I will be good. You shall drive
Sophie, and I will ride FireFly, my pony. Come, run, Sophie, smoothe
your hair, it is a little blown about by the breeze, and put on your
bonnet. And _you_, Master Lieutenant, be so kind as to don your undress
uniform at least—what is the good of having a brother in the Navy, if he
dress like an undertaker at a funeral? Come! I want to show you off; I
want to get half the girls in the neighborhood in love with you. Dear
me! Am I not rich just now? Two beaux—the best of beaux for a country
neighborhood—a preacher and an officer. Mercy! I shouldn’t wonder if my
house became the resort of all the merry maidens and manœuvring mammas
in —— county.”
They made many calls that day before returning to a late dinner. The
last house they called at was Mrs. Gardiner Green’s, where they were
received and entertained by that lady and her pretty daughter Rose.
The next day was Sunday, and they all went to church. Lieutenant Wilde
sat between his sister and Miss Churchill in the front pew; there was an
expression of serious joy upon the faces of the youth and maiden never
seen there before—the minister, perhaps, never was less happy in his
written sermon or its delivery, than upon this occasion. He had brought
Sophie to church in his gig; at the close of the service he took her
home to the Grove.
The afternoon and evening passed pleasantly. Early the next morning
Sophie returned to Heath Hall, to recommence her school duties. That day
passed as usual; in the evening after tea, Sophie sat by the open
window; it was a beautiful starlight night, and she delayed ordering
lights, preferring to enjoy the cool night air, and listen to the
pleasant night sounds by the open window. Presently a tall dark figure
passed before the window, and in another moment the minister had entered
and was by her side.
“Good evening, Miss Churchill.”
“Good evening, Mr. Withers.”
He took a seat by her side, and sat with his head bowed upon his hands
that rested upon the top of a stick held between his knees; he was
silent a long time; at last Sophie arose to order lights.
“Where are you going, Miss Churchill?”
“To have candles brought.”
“Sit still, Miss Churchill.”
Sophie resumed her seat.
“You have had a very pleasant visit to the Grove, Miss Churchill?”
“Very, sir.”
“Humph! you were very much pleased with Mr. Wilde?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ah! that is very candid. But do you think, Miss Churchill, that I can
altogether approve of the marked preference shown by a young lady in
your circumstances for a young gentleman?”
Sophie looked bewildered, dismayed. The poor girl, naturally timid, had
been made quite cowardly by the misconceptions, misconstructions, and
misrepresentations of others; she grew pale, and replied with a
faltering voice—
“I—I did not know—I knew—I know that my profession would seem to require
more steadiness, gravity, and circumspection than I possess—but I was
unconscious of any—”
Her voice faltered, broke down, and she stopped short, and burst into
tears. He answered sternly—
“You know very well, Miss Churchill, that it is not your ‘profession’ I
speak of. What can _that_ be thought to have to do with your
preferences? No, Miss Churchill, you know very well that I allude to the
relations subsisting between us.”
“The relations subsisting between us?” faltered Sophie.
“You certainly cannot successfully affect ignorance of a fact with which
the whole county is acquainted, though it may _now_ seem convenient for
you to attempt it.” He paused. “Well, Miss Churchill?”
“I do not understand you at all, sir.”
“Then all the county understands and have understood for two months
past, that we are to be married soon, Miss Churchill.”
“Oh, my God, no! You never dreamed—_I_ never dreamed of that! Oh, no! I
had rather _die_! Oh! God knows I had!” exclaimed Sophie, wildly,
clasping her hands and rising.
He caught her hand, and pressed her trembling into her seat again.
“Your aversion to me is certainly flattering—_very_ flattering, Miss
Churchill—but it is rather late _now_ to express it. You have received
my visits nightly for three months past—and now, to-night, for the first
time, you express a strong and utter aversion to me.”
“Oh, because _I couldn’t help it_! How could I help your coming here—how
can I help this aversion I feel—pardon me if I have expressed it
strongly. I have a high respect for you, and I ought to feel honored by
your preference—any woman in the parish would. You are too good—too wise
for me, believe me you are! I am a child—a fool! Oh! don’t think of it!
_pray_ don’t think of it! Consider how many ladies—ladies of family and
fortune—would be proud to wed the minister; who would throw himself away
upon a poor, lone girl, without connexions, and without influence!”
Sophie had risen in her earnestness, and stood before him with her
clasped hands.
He closed his eyes and smiled; he stretched forth his hand, and taking
hers, drew her again to her seat, and passed his arm around her waist
and whispered—
“My little Sophie, my little fawn, you shall be Mrs. Withers in three
weeks, just as sure as you live!”
She shrank from the clasp of his arm, as though it had been the clammy
coil of a serpent.
“I will not! cannot! durst not! Mr. Withers, why don’t you marry Rose
Green? She would have you; or Mrs. Somerville, or Mrs. Slye, or Mrs.
Joshua Eversham, or Miss Polly Mortimer—any of them would have, would be
proud to marry the minister of the parish.”
“I know that, Miss Churchill!”
“And any of these ladies would make you a good wife.”
“I do not doubt it, Miss Churchill.”
“Then why don’t you marry one of them?”
“Because they are each ready to fall into my arms.”
Sophie was wounded and became silent—she attempted to withdraw herself
from the embrace of his arm, but every attempt was punished by a tighter
fold.
“Miss Churchill, do you know that there is an instinct in human
nature—to speak more correctly, in _man’s_ nature, or in speaking _most_
correctly, perhaps I should say in _my own_ nature—to pursue that which
_flies_? Why, Sophie, when I was a lad, I always preferred to play with
kittens that were scarey and spiteful, that would kick, scratch, and
bite, that would resist to the death rather than with one that would
cosily and quietly nestle down in my lap—the latter I should have shaken
off.”
“But how,” said Sophie, “if the poor kitten neither resisted nor
caressed you—shrank and shivered and died in your hands?”
“I should not give the weak thing a chance, Sophie; when the shrinking
and shivering commenced, I should throw it heavily upon the ground, and
thereby kill it.”
Sophie shuddered.
Both were silent for some time; then he spoke—
“What day, Miss Churchill, between this and the first of next month will
it please you to bestow upon me the honor of your hand?”
“No day! no day! Don’t look at me so, Mr. Withers, pray don’t; it makes
me ill—_pray don’t_—I am a mere girl, a mere child; it frightens me,
this idea of marrying you—indeed, believe me, it does!”
“Come! Miss Churchill, come! This will not do—this fickleness and
unfaithfulness on your part will not answer; I cannot permit it. I
thought the footing we stood upon in relation to each other well
understood; you certainly could _not_ have misinterpreted the meaning of
my visits here; no one else has misconceived them. Mrs. Gardiner Green
inquired of me to-day when our marriage was to come off. I told her that
it would take place some time this month, that I would apprise her of
the exact day to-morrow. It is for the purpose of ascertaining your day
that I have called this evening. Come, Sophie, satisfy me upon this
point.”
“I cannot! I cannot! God _knows_ I cannot! Oh! _Why_ do you persist in
this? Why! why love a girl who is in no respect, of age, mind,
education, or wealth, your equal?”
“Fiddlestick! have I said I loved you? No, Sophie, thank God I have
never yet been, never, I trust, shall be, under the influence of that
most weak and puerile passion.”
“Then, in the name of reason and of mercy, why seek to marry a girl whom
you do not love, and who hates—no, does not _hate_, but who fears and
recoils from you?”
“Precisely because she _does_ fear and recoil from me!”
“I will not marry you, then! I will not marry you then! please God to
give me strength. Surely I am a free girl; no one has a right, or will
attempt, or could succeed in forcing my inclinations. Come, I will be
firm, and nothing can compel me!”
“But destiny. You are in a net of circumstances from whence there is no
escape, Sophie Churchill. Do not struggle, you will lacerate your limbs
and waste your strength only to entangle yourself the more.”
Again silence ensued. Sophie continued from time to time to try to
extricate herself from his grasp, each attempt but serving to rivet his
arm about her waist—at last he said—
“The embrace of my arm is an emblem of the surrounding of your fate; you
can as easily escape the one as the other.”
Sophie burst into tears, and wept long and freely. He did not attempt to
soothe or even to speak to her. At last her fit of grief and terror
exhausted itself, and she became calm. Then she said—
“Oh, I might have guessed all this sorrow from the first time I ever met
your eye!”
“Flattering again!”
The clock struck. Sophie struggled.
“Mr. Withers, it is ten o’clock.”
“Well, Miss Churchill, I only wait my answer to return home.”
“I have given you the only one I can give—take it again. I cannot give
myself to you.”
“Then I can take you, that’s all, Sophie. Mrs. Gardiner Green will call
upon you to-morrow,” and so saying, he arose and took his leave.
When left alone Sophie paced uneasily up and down the floor, saying, as
she clasped her temples—
“Am I mad or going mad? am I dreaming? Under a spell? Oh, _what_ is
this? What is this closing around me like irresistible destiny? Why
cannot I awake, arouse from this? I know I’m free; _why_ can’t I use my
freedom? What a spell, what a mystery, what a horror! Oh! my Heavenly
Father! If I could awake! I lose my free will! Oh, fate! fate! fate! thy
hand is on me, and there is no resisting it!”
Thus the pinions of her weak will fluttered in the iron grasp of a
strong and implacable one.