"Sincerity!
Thou first of virtues, let no mortal leave
Thy onward path, although the earth should gape,
And from the gulf of hell destruction cry
To take dissimulation's winding way."--DOUGLAS.
"Well, colonel," said Oscar, "I fancy I was not mistaken in thinking the
general wanted to speak with you concerning me; I am convinced you will
not conceal any particulars of a conversation it may be so essential to
my honor to hear." "Why, faith," cried the colonel, delighted to
commence his operations, "he was making a kind of complaint about you;
he acknowledges you a brave lad, yet, hang him, he has not generosity
enough to reward that bravery with his daughter, or any of his
treasure." "Heaven is my witness!" exclaimed the unsuspicious Oscar, "I
never aspired to either; I always knew my passion for his daughter as
hopeless as fervent, and my esteem for him as disinterested as sincere;
I would have sooner died than abused the confidence he reposed in me, by
revealing my attachment; I see, however, in future, I must be an exile
to Woodlawn." "Not so, neither," replied the colonel; "only avoid such
particularity to the girl; I believe in my soul she has more pride than
susceptibility in her nature; in your next visit, therefore, which, for
that purpose, I would have you soon make, declare, in a cavalier manner,
your affections being engaged previous to your coming to Ireland; this
declaration will set all to rights with the general; he will no longer
dread you on his daughter's account; you will be as welcome as ever to
Woodlawn, and enjoy, during your continuance in the country, the society
you have hitherto been accustomed to." "No," said Oscar, "I cannot
assert so great a falsehood." "How ridiculous!" replied the colonel;
"for heaven's sake, my dear boy, drop such romantic notions; I should be
the last man in the world to desire you to invent a falsehood which
could injure any one; but no priest in Christendom would blame you for
this." "And suppose I venture it, what will it do but bind faster round
my heart chains already too galling, and destroy in the end all remains
of peace."
"Faith, Fitzalan," said the colonel, "by the time you have had a few
more love affairs with some of the pretty girls of this kingdom, you
will talk no more in this way; consider, and be not too scrupulous, how
disagreeable it will be to resign the general's friendship, and the
pleasing society you enjoyed at Woodlawn; besides, it will appear
strange to those who knew your former intimacy: in honor, too, you are
bound to do as I desire you, for should the girl have been imprudent
enough to conceive an attachment for you, this will certainly remove it;
for pride would not allow its continuance after hearing of a favorite
rival; and the general will be essentially served." "My dear colonel,"
said Oscar, his eyes suddenly sparkling, "do you think she has been
imprudent enough to conceive a partiality for me?" "I am sure," said the
colonel, "that is a question I cannot possibly answer; but, to give my
opinion, I think, from her gay, unembarrassed manner, she has not." "I
suppose not, indeed," cried Oscar, mournfully sighing; "why then should
I be guilty of a falsehood for a person who is already indifferent to
me?" "I have told you my reason," replied the colonel, coldly; "do as
you please." They were now both silent, but the conversation was soon
renewed, and many arguments passed on both sides. Oscar's heart secretly
favored the colonel's plan, as it promised the indulgence of Adela's
society; to be an exile from Woodlawn was insupportable to his thoughts;
reason yielded to the vehemence of passion, and he at last fell into the
snare the perfidious Belgrave had spread, thus, by a deviation from
truth, forfeiting the blessings a bounteous Providence had prepared for
him.
Oh! never let the child of integrity be seduced from the plain and
undeviating path of sincerity: oh! never let him hope by illicit means
to attain a real pleasure; the hope of obtaining any good through such
means will, like a meteor of the night, allure but to deceive.
Soon after his fatal promise to the colonel, a self-devoted victim, he
accompanied him to Woodlawn; on their arrival, Miss Honeywood was in the
garden, and Oscar, trembling, went to seek her; he found her sitting in
a flower-woven arbor--
"Herself the fairest flower."
Never had she looked more lovely; the natural bloom of her cheeks was
heightened by the heat, and glowed beneath the careless curls that fell
over them; and her eyes, the moment she beheld Oscar, beamed with the
softest tenderness, the most bewitching sensibility. "My dear, dear
Fitzalan!" cried she, throwing aside the book she had been reading, and
extending her hand, "I am glad to see you; I hope you are come to take
up your residence for some time at Woodlawn." "You hope!" repeated
Oscar, mournfully. "I do, indeed! but, bless me, what is the matter? You
look so pale and thin, you look but the shadow of yourself, or rather
like a despairing shepherd, ready to hang himself on the first willow
tree he meets." "I am indeed unhappy!" cried Oscar; "nor will you wonder
at my being so when I acknowledge I at this present time feel a passion
which I must believe hopeless." "Hopeless! well, now, I insist on being
your confidant, and then," smiling somewhat archly, "I shall see what
reason you have to despair," "Agreed," exclaimed Oscar; "and now to my
story:" then pausing a minute, he started up. "No," continued he, "I
find it impossible to tell it----; let this dear, this estimable
object," drawing a miniature of his sister from his bosom, "speak for
me, and declare whether he who loves such a being can ever lose that
love, or help being wretched at knowing it is without hope."
Adela snatched if hastily from him, and by a sudden start betrayed her
surprise; words indeed are inadequate to express her heart-rending
emotions as she contemplated the beautiful countenance of her imaginary
rival: and was Oscar, then--that Oscar whom she adored--whose happiness
she had hoped to constitute--whose fortune she delighted to think she
should advance--really attached to another; alas! too true, he was--of
the attachment she held a convincing proof in her hand; she examined it
again and again, and in its mild beauties thought she beheld a striking
proof of the superiority over the charms she herself possessed; the
roses forsook her cheeks, a mist overspread her eyes, and with a
shivering horror she dropped it from her hand. Oscar had quitted the
arbor to conceal his agonies. "Well," said he, now returning with forced
calmness, "is it not worthy of inspiring the passion I feel?" Unable to
answer him, she could only point to the place where it lay, and hastened
to the house. "Sweet image!" cried Oscar, taking it from the ground,
"what an unworthy purpose have I made you answer!--alas! all is now
over--Adela--my Adela!--is lost forever!--lost--ah, heavens! had I ever
hopes of possessing her?--oh, no! to such happiness never did I dare to
look forward."
Adela, on reaching the parlor which opened into the garden, found her
father there. "Ah! you little baggage, do I not deserve a kiss for not
disturbing your _tete-à-tete_? Where is that young rogue, Fitzalan?" "I
beg, I entreat, sir," said Adela, whose tears could no longer be
restrained, "you will never mention him again to me; too much has
already been said about him." "Nay, pr'ythee, my little girl," exclaimed
the general, regarding her with surprise, "cease thy sighs and tears,
and tell me what's the matter." "I am hurt," replied she, in a voice
scarcely articulate, "that so much has been said about Mr. Fitzalan,
whom I can never regard in any other light than that of a common
acquaintance." The colonel, who had purposely lingered about the wood,
now entered. Adela started, and precipitately retreated through another
door. "Faith, my dear colonel," said the general, "I am glad you are
come; the boy and girl have had a little skirmish; but, like other love
quarrels, I suppose it will soon be made up--so let me know how the lad
bore the announcement of his good fortune." "It fills a rational mind
with regret," exclaimed the colonel, seating himself gravely, and
inwardly rejoicing at the success of his stratagem, "to find such a
fatality prevalent among mankind as makes them reject a proffered good,
and sigh for that which is unattainable; like wayward children,
neglecting their sports to pursue a rainbow, and weeping as the airy
pageant mocks their grasp." "Very true, indeed," said the general; "very
excellent, upon my word; I doubt if the chaplain of a regiment ever
delivered such a pretty piece of morality; but, dear colonel," laying
his hand on his knee, "what did the boy say?" "I am sorry, sir," he
replied, "that what I have just said is so applicable to him. He
acknowledged the lady's merit, extolled her generosity--but pleaded a
prior attachment against accepting your offer, which even one more
exalted would not tempt him to forego, though he knows not whether he
will ever succeed in it." "The devil he did!" exclaimed the general, as
soon as rage and surprise would allow him to speak. "The little
impertinent puppy! the ungrateful young dog! a prior attachment!--reject
my girl--my Adela--who has had such suitors already; so, I suppose I
shall have the whole affair blazed about the country; I shall hear from
every quarter how my daughter was refused; and by whom?--why, by a
little ensign, whose whole fortune lies in his sword-knot. A fine game I
have played, truly; but if the jackanapes opens his lips about the
matter, may powder be my poison if I do not trim his jacket for him!"
"Dear general," said the colonel, "you may depend on his honor; but even
supposing he did mention the affair, surely you should know it would not
be in his power to injure Miss Honeywood--amiable--accomplished--in
short, possessed, as she is, of every perfection. I know men, at least
one man of consequence, both from birth and fortune, who has long sighed
for her, and who would, if he received the least encouragement, openly
avow his sentiments." "Well," cried the general, still panting for
breath, "we will talk about him at some future time; for I am resolved
on soon having my little girl married, and to her own liking, too."
Oscar and Adela did not appear till dinner time; both had been
endeavoring to regain composure; but poor Oscar had been far less
successful than Adela in the attempt; not that she loved less, for
indeed her passion for him was of the tenderest nature, and she
flattered herself with having inspired one equally ardent in his breast.
Sanctioned by her father, she thought it would constitute the felicity
of their lives, and looked forward with a generous delight to the period
when she should render her beloved Fitzalan prosperous and independent.
The disappointment she experienced, as the first she had ever met, sat
heavy on her heart, and the gay visions of youth were in one moment
clouded by melancholy; but her pride was as great as sensibility, and as
its powerful impulse, pervaded her mind. She resolved to afford Oscar
no triumph by letting him witness her dejection; she therefore wiped
away all traces of tears from her eyes, checked the vain sigh that
struggled at her heart, and dressed herself with as much attention as
ever. Her heavy eyes, her colorless cheeks, however, denoted her
feelings; she tried, as she sat at table, to appear cheerful, but in
vain; and, on the removal of the cloth, immediately retired, as no
ladies were present.
The general was a stranger to dissimulation, and as he no longer felt,
he no longer treated Oscar with his usual kindness. When pale,
trembling, and disordered, he appeared before him, he received him with
a stern frown, and an air scarcely complaisant. This increased the
agitation of Oscar: every feeling of his soul was in commotion; he was
no longer the life of their company; their happiness and mirth formed a
striking contrast to his misery and dejection; he felt a forlorn
wretch--a mere child of sorrow and dependence; scalding tears dropped
from him as he bent over his plate; he could have cursed himself for
such weakness: fortunately it was unnoticed. In losing the general's
attention, he seemed to lose that of his guests; his situation grew too
irksome to be borne; he rose, unregarded, and a secret impulse led him
to the drawing-room. Here Adela, oppressed by the dejection of her
spirits, had flung! herself upon a couch, and gradually sunk into a
slumber: Oscar stepped lightly forward, and gazed on her with a
tenderness as exquisite as a mother would have felt in viewing her
sleeping babe; her cheek, which rested on her fair hand, was tinged with
a blush, by the reflection of a crimson curtain through which the sun
darted, and the traces of a tear were yet discernible upon it. "Never!"
cried Oscar, with folded hands; as he hung over the interesting figure,
"never may any tear, except that of soft sensibility for the woes of
others, bedew the cheek of Adela--perfect as her goodness be her
felicity--may every blessing she now enjoys be rendered permanent by
that Power who smiles benignly upon innocence like hers! Oh! Adela, he
who now prays for your felicity never will lose your idea, he will
cherish it in his heart, to ameliorate his sorrows, and, from the dreary
path which may be appointed for him to tread, sometimes look back to
happier scenes!" Adela began to stir; she murmured out some inarticulate
words, and, suddenly rising from the couch, beheld the motionless form
of Fitzalan: haughtily regarding him, she asked the meaning of such an
intrusion. "I did not mean indeed to intrude," said he; "but when I came
and found you, can you wonder at my being fascinated to the spot?" The
plaintive tone of his voice sunk deep into Adela's heart; she sighed
heavily, and turning away seated herself in a window. Oscar followed; he
forgot the character he had assumed in the morning, and gently seizing
her hand, pressed it to his bosom: at this critical minute, when mutual
sympathy appeared on the point of triumphing over duplicity, the door
opened, and Colonel Belgrave appeared; from the instant of Oscar's
departure, he had been on thorns to follow him, fearful of the
consequences of a _tete-à-tete_, which was attended by the rest of the
gentlemen.
Oscar was determined on not staying another night at Woodlawn, and
declared his intention by asking Colonel Belgrave if he had any commands
for Enniskillen, whither he meant to return immediately. "Why, hang it,
boy," cried the general, in a rough grumbling voice, "since you have
stayed so long, you may as well stay the night; the clouds look heavy
over the lake, and threaten a storm." "No, sir," said Oscar, coloring,
and speaking in the agitation of his heart, "the raging of a tempest
would not make me stay." Adela sighed, but pride prevented her speaking.
Fitzalan approached her: "Miss Honeywood," said he--he stopped--his
voice was quite stifled. Adela, equally unable to speak, could only
encourage him to proceed by a cold glance. "Lest I should not," resumed
he, "have the happiness of again visiting Woodlawn, I cannot neglect
this opportunity of assuring you that the attention, the obligations I
have received in it, never can be forgotten by me; and that the severest
pang my heart could possibly experience would result from thinking I
lost any part of the friendship you and the general honored me with."
Adela bent her head, and Oscar, seeing that she either would not, or
could not speak, bowed to the general, and hurried from the room; the
tears he had painfully suppressed gushed forth, and at the bottom of the
stairs he leaned against the banisters for support; while he cast his
eyes around, as if bidding a melancholy farewell to the scene of former
happiness, a hasty footstep advanced, he started, and was precipitately
retreating, when the voice of the butler stopped him; this was an old
veteran, much attached to Oscar, and his usual attendant in all his
fowling and fishing parties. As he waited at tea, he heard Oscar's
declaration of departing with surprise, and followed him for the purpose
of expressing that and his concern. "Why, Lord now, Mr. Fitzalan," cried
he, "what do you mean by leaving us so oddly? But if you are so positive
about going to Enniskillen to-night, let me order Standard to be
prepared for you." Oscar for some time had had the command of the
stables; but knowing as he did that he had lost the general's favor, he
could no longer think of taking those liberties which kindness had once
invited him to: he wrung the hand of his humble friend, and snatching
his hat from the hall table, darted out of the house: he ran till he
came to the mountain path, on the margin of the lake. "Never," cried he,
distractedly striking his breast, "shall I see her here again! oh,
never, never, my beloved Adela! shall your unfortunate Fitzalan wander
with you through those enchanting scenes: oh, how transient was this
gleam of felicity!"
Exhausted by the violence of his feelings, he fell into a kind of torpid
state against the side of the mountain; the shadows of night were
thickened by a coming storm; a cool blast howled amongst the hills, and
agitated the gloomy waters of the lake; the rain, accompanied by sleet,
began to fall, but the tempest raged unregarded around the child of
sorrow, the wanderer of the night. Adela alone,
"Heard, felt, or seen,"
pervaded every thought. Some fishermen approaching to secure their
boats, drove him from this situation, and he flew to the woods which
screened one side of the house: by the time he reached it the storm had
abated, and the moon, with a watery lustre, breaking through the clouds,
rendered, by her feeble rays, the surrounding and beloved scenes just
visible.
Adela's chamber looked into the wood, and the light from it riveted
Oscar to a spot exactly opposite the window. "My Adela," he exclaimed,
extending his arms as if she could have heard and flown into them; then
dejectedly dropping them, "she thinks not on such a forlorn wretch as
me; oh, what comfort to lay my poor distracted head for one moment on
her soft bosom, and hear her sweet voice speak pity to my tortured
heart!" Sinking with weakness from the conflicts of his mind, he sought
an old roofless root-house in the centre of the wood, where he and Adela
had often sat. "Well," said he, as he flung himself upon the damp
ground, "many a brave fellow has had a worse bed; but God particularly
protects the unsheltered head of the soldier and the afflicted." The
twittering of the birds roused him from an uneasy slumber, or rather
lethargy, into which he had fallen; and starting up he hastened to the
road, fearful, as day was beginning to dawn, of being seen by any of
General Honeywood's workmen. It was late ere he arrived at Enniskillen,
and before he gained his room he was met by some of the officers, who
viewed him with evident astonishment; his regimentals were quite
spoiled; his fine hair, from which the rain had washed all the powder,
hung dishevelled about his shoulders; the feather of his hat was broken,
and the disorder of his countenance was not less suspicious than that of
his dress; to their inquiries he stammered out something of a fall, and
extricated himself with difficulty from them.
In an obscure village, fifteen miles from Enniskillen, a detachment of
the regiment lay; the officer who commanded it disliked his situation
extremely; but company being irksome to Oscar, it was just such a one as
he desired, and he obtained leave to relieve him: the agitation of his
mind, aided by the effects of the storm he had been exposed to, was too
much for his constitution: immediately on arriving at his new quarters
he was seized with a violent fever; an officer was obliged to be sent to
do duty in his place, and it was long ere any symptoms appeared which
could flatter those who attended him with hopes of his recovery; when
able to sit up he was ordered to return to Enniskillen, where he could
be immediately under the care of the regimental surgeon.
Oscar's servant accompanied him in the carriage, and as it drove slowly
along he was agreeably surprised by a view of Mrs. Marlowe's orchard; he
could not resist the wish of seeing her, and making inquiries relative
to the inhabitants of Woodlawn; for with Mrs. Marlowe, I should
previously say, he had not only formed an intimacy, but a sincere
friendship. She was a woman of the most pleasing manners, and to her
superintending care Adela was indebted for many of the graces she
possessed, and at her cottage passed many delightful hours with Oscar.
The evening was far advanced when Oscar reached the orchard, and leaning
on his servant, slowly walked up the hill: had a spectre appeared before
the old lady, she could not have seemed more shocked than she now did,
at the unexpected and emaciated appearance of her young friend. With all
the tenderness of a fond mother, she pressed his cold hands between her
own, and seated him by the cheerful fire which blazed on her hearth,
then procured him refreshments that, joined to her conversation, a
little revived his spirits; yet, at this moment the recollection of the
first interview he ever had with her, recurred with pain to his heart.
"Our friends at Woodlawn, I hope," cried he--he paused--but his eye
expressed the inquiry his tongue was unable to make. "They are well and
happy," replied Mrs. Marlowe; "and you know, I suppose, of all that has
lately happened there?" "No, I know nothing; I am as one awoke from the
slumbers of the grave." "Ere I inform you, then," cried Mrs. Marlowe,
"let me, my noble Oscar, express my approbation, my admiration of your
conduct, of that disinterested nature which preferred the preservation
of constancy to the splendid independency offered to your acceptance."
"What splendid independency did I refuse?" asked Oscar, wildly staring
at her. "That which the general offered." "The general!" "Yes, and
appointed Colonel Belgrave to declare his intentions." "Oh Heavens!"
exclaimed Oscar, starting from his chair; "did the general indeed form
such intentions, and has Belgrave then deceived me? He told me my
attentions to Miss Honeywood were noticed and disliked! he filled my
soul with unutterable anguish, and persuaded me to a false-hood which
has plunged me into despair!" "He is a monster!" cried Mrs. Marlowe,
"and you are a victim to his treachery." "Oh no! I will fly to the
general, and open my whole soul to him; at his feet I will declare the
false ideas of honor which misled me; I shall obtain his forgiveness,
and Adela will yet be mine." "Alas! my child," cried Mrs. Marlowe,
stopping him as he was hurrying from the room, "it is now too late;
Adela can never be yours; she is married, and married unto Belgrave."
Oscar staggered back a few paces, uttered a deep groan, and fell
senseless at her feet. Mrs. Marlowe's cries brought in his servant, as
well as her own, to his assistance; he was laid upon a bed, but it was
long ere he showed any signs of recovery; at length, opening his heavy
eyes, he sighed deeply, and exclaimed, "she is lost to me forever!"
The servants were dismissed, and the tender-hearted Mrs. Marlowe knelt
beside him. "Oh! my friend," said she, "my heart sympathizes in your
sorrow; but it is from your own fortitude, more than my sympathy, you
must now derive resources of support." "Oh, horrible! to know the cup of
happiness was at my lips, and that it was my own hand dashed it from
me." "Such, alas!" said Mrs. Marlowe, sighing, as if touched at the
moment with a similar pang of self-regret, "is the way-wardness of
mortals; too often do they deprive themselves of the blessings of a
bounteous Providence by their own folly and imprudence--oh! my friend,
born as you were with a noble ingenuity of soul, never let that soul
again be sullied by the smallest deviation from sincerity." "Do not
aggravate my sufferings," said Oscar, "by dwelling on my error." "No, I
would sooner die than be guilty of such barbarity; but admonition never
sinks so deeply on the heart as in the hour of trial. Young, amiable as
you are, life teems, I doubt not, with various blessings to
you--blessings which you will know how to value properly, for early
disappointment is the nurse of wisdom." "Alas!" exclaimed he, "what
blessings?" "These, at least," cried Mrs. Marlowe, "are in your own
power--the peace, the happiness, which ever proceeds from a mind
conscious of having discharged the incumbent duties of life, and
patiently submitted to its trials." "But do you think I will calmly
submit to his baseness?" said Oscar, interrupting her. "No; Belgrave
shall never triumph over me with impunity!" He started from the bed,
and, rushing into the outer room, snatched his sword from the table on
which he had flung it at his entrance. Mrs. Marlowe caught his arm.
"Rash young man!" exclaimed she, "whither would you go--is it to scatter
ruin and desolation around you? Suppose your vengeance was gratified,
would that restore your happiness? Think you that Adela, the child of
virtue and propriety, would ever notice the murderer of her husband, how
unworthy, soever, that husband might be? Or that the old general, who so
fondly planned your felicity, would forgive, if he could survive, the
evils of his house, occasioned by you?" The sword dropped from the hand
of the trembling Oscar. "I have been blameable," cried he, "in allowing
myself to be transported to such an effort of revenge; I forgot
everything but that; and as to my own life, deprived of Adela, it
appears so gloomy as to be scarcely worth preserving."
Mrs. Marlowe seized this moment of yielding softness to advise and
reason with him; her tears mingled with his, as she listened to his
relation of Belgrave's perfidy; tears augmented by reflecting that
Adela, the darling of her care and affections, was also a victim to it.
She convinced Oscar, however, that it would be prudent to confine the
fatal secret to their own breasts; the agitation of his mind was too
much for the weak state of his health; the fever returned, and he felt
unable to quit the cottage; Mrs. Marlowe prepared a bed for him,
trusting he would soon be able to remove, but she was disappointed; it
was long ere Oscar could quit the bed of sickness; she watched over him
with maternal tenderness, while he, like a blasted flower, seemed
hastening to decay.
The general was stung to the soul by the rejection of his offer, which
he thought would have inspired the soul of Oscar with rapture and
gratitude; never had his pride been so severely wounded--never before
had he felt humbled in his own eyes: his mortifying reflections the
colonel soon found means to remove, by the most delicate flattery, and
the most assiduous attention, assuring the general that his conduct
merited not the censure, but the applause of the world. The sophistry
which can reconcile us to ourselves is truly pleasing; the colonel
gradually became a favorite, and when he insinuated his attachment for
Adela, was assured he should have all the general's interest with her.
He was now more anxious than ever to have her advantageously settled;
there was something so humiliating in the idea of her being rejected,
that it drove him at times almost to madness: the colonel possessed all
the advantages of fortune; but these weighed little in his favor with
the general (whose notions we have already proved very disinterested),
and much less with his daughter; on the first overture about him she
requested the subject might be entirely dropped; the mention of love was
extremely painful to her. Wounded by her disappointment in the severest
manner, her heart required time to heal it; her feelings delicacy
confined to her own bosom; but her languid eyes, and faded cheeks,
denoted their poignancy. She avoided company, and was perpetually
wandering through the romantic and solitary paths which she and Oscar
had trod together; here more than ever she thought of him, and feared
she had treated her poor companion unkindly; she saw him oppressed with
sadness, and yet she had driven him from her by the repulsive coldness
of her manner--a manner, too, which, from its being so suddenly assumed,
could not fail of conveying an idea of her disappointment; this hurt her
delicacy as much as her tenderness, and she would have given worlds, had
she possessed them, to recall the time when she could have afforded
consolation to Oscar, and convinced him that solely as a friend she
regarded him. The colonel was not discouraged by her coldness; he was in
the habit of conquering difficulties, and doubted not that he should
overcome any she threw in his way; he sometimes, as if by chance,
contrived to meet her in her rambles; his conversation was always
amusing, and confined within the limits she had prescribed; but his
eyes, by the tenderest expression, declared the pain he suffered from
this proscription, and secretly pleased Adela, as it convinced her of
the implicit deference he paid to her will.
Some weeks had elapsed since Oscar's voluntary exile from Woodlawn, and
sanguine as were the colonel's hopes, he found without a stratagem they
would not be realized, at least as soon as he expected: fertile in
invention, he was not long in concerting one. He followed Adela one
morning into the garden, and found her reading in the arbor; she laid
aside the book at his entrance, and they chatted for some time on
indifferent subjects. The colonel's servant at last appeared with a
large packet of letters, which he presented to his master, who, with a
hesitating air, was about putting them into his pocket, when Adela
prevented him:--"Make no ceremony, colonel," said she, "with me; I shall
resume my book till you have perused your letters." The colonel bowed
for her permission and began; her attention was soon drawn from her book
by the sudden emotion he betrayed; he started, and exclaimed, "Oh
heavens! what a wretch!" then, as if suddenly recollecting his
situation, looked at Adela, appeared confused, stammered out a few
inarticulate words, and resumed his letter; when finished, he seemed to
put it into his pocket, but in reality dropped it at his feet for the
basest purpose. He ran over the remainder of the letters, and rising,
entreated Adela to excuse his leaving her so abruptly, to answer some of
them. Soon after his departure, Adela perceived an open letter lying at
her feet; she immediately took it up with an intention of returning to
the house with it, when the sight of her own name, in capital letters,
and in the well-known hand of Fitzalan, struck her sight; she threw the
letter on the table; an universal tremor seized her; she would have
given any consideration to know why she was mentioned in a
correspondence between Belgrave and Fitzalan: her eye involuntarily
glanced at the letter; she saw some words in it which excited still more
strongly her curiosity; it could no longer be repressed; she snatched it
up, and read as follows:--
TO COLONEL BELGRAVE.
You accuse me of insensibility to, what you call the matchless
charms of Adela, an accusation I acknowledge I merit; but why,
because I have been too susceptible to those of another, which
in the fond estimation of a lover (at least), appear infinitely
superior. The general's offer was certainly a most generous and
flattering one, and has gratified every feeling of my soul, by
giving me an opportunity of sacrificing, at the shrine of love,
ambition and self-interest; my disinterested conduct has
confirmed me in the affections of my dear girl, whose vanity I
cannot help thinking a little elevated by the triumph I have
told her she obtained over Adela; but this is excusable indeed
when we consider the object I relinquished for her. Would to
heaven the general was propitious to your wishes; it would yield
me much happiness to see you, my first and best friend, in
possession of a treasure you have long sighed for. I shall, no
doubt, receive a long lecture from you for letting the affair
relative to Adela be made known, but faith, I could not resist
telling my charmer. Heaven grant discretion may seal her lips;
if not, I suppose I shall be summoned to formidable combat with
the old general. Adieu! and believe me,
Dear colonel, ever yours,
OSCAR FITZALAN.
"Wretch!" cried the agitated Adela, dropping the letter (which it is
scarcely necessary to say was an infamous forgery) in an agony of grief
and indignation, "is this the base return we meet for our wishes to
raise you to prosperity? Oh! cruel Fitzalan, is it Adela--who thought
you so amiable, and who never thoroughly valued wealth, till she
believed it had given her the power of conducing to your felicity--whom
you hold up as an object of ridicule for unfeeling vanity to triumph
over?" Wounded pride and tenderness raised a whirl of contending
passions in her breast; she sunk upon the bench, her head rested on her
hand, and sighs and tears burst from her. She now resolved to inform
Fitzalan she knew the baseness of his conduct, and sting his heart with
keen reproaches: now resolved to pass it over in silent contempt. While
thus fluctuating, the colonel softly advanced and stood before her: in
the tumult of her mind she had quite forgot the probability of his
returning, and involuntarily screamed and started at his appearance. By
her confusion, she doubted not but he would suspect her of having
perused the fatal letter. Oppressed by the idea, her head sunk on her
bosom, and her face was covered with blushes. "What a careless fellow I
am!" said the colonel, taking up the letter, which he then pretended to
perceive; he glanced at Adela. "Curse it!" continued he, "I would rather
have had all the letters read than this one." He suspects me, thought
Adela; her blushes faded, and she fell back on her seat, unable to
support the oppressive idea of having acted against the rules of
propriety. Belgrave flew to support her: "Loveliest of women!" he
exclaimed, and with all the softness he could assume, "what means this
agitation?" "I have been suddenly affected," answered Adela, a little
recovering, and, rising, she motioned to return to the house. "Thus,"
answered the colonel, "you always fly me; but go, Miss Honeywood; I have
no right, no attraction, indeed, to detain you: yet, be assured," and he
summoned a tear to his aid, while he pressed her hand to his bosom, "a
heart more truly devoted to you than mine you can never meet; but I see
the subject is painful, and again I resume the rigid silence you have
imposed on me; go, then, most lovely and beloved, and since I dare not
aspire to a higher, allow me, at least, the title of your friend."
"Most willingly," said Adela, penetrated by his gentleness. She was now
tolerably recovered, and he prevailed on her to walk instead of
returning to the house; she felt soothed by his attention; his insidious
tongue dropped manna; he gradually stole her thoughts from painful
recollections; the implicit respect he paid her will flattered her
wounded pride, and her gratitude was excited by knowing he resented the
disrespectful mention of her name in Fitzalan's letter; in short, she
felt esteem and respect for him--contempt and resentment for Oscar. The
colonel was too penetrating not to discover her sentiments, and too
artful not to take advantage of them. Had Adela, indeed, obeyed the real
feelings of her heart, she would have declared against marrying; but
pride urged her to a step which would prove to Fitzalan his conduct had
not affected her. The general rejoiced at obtaining her consent, and
received a promise that for some time she should not be separated from
him. The most splendid preparations were made for the nuptials; but
though Adela's resentment remained unabated, she soon began to wish she
had not been so precipitate in obeying it; an involuntary repugnance
rose in her mind against the connection she was about forming, and honor
alone kept her from declining it forever: her beloved friend, Mrs.
Marlowe, supported her throughout the trying occasion, and, in an
inauspicious hour, Adela gave her hand to the perfidious Belgrave.
About a fortnight after her nuptials, she heard from some of the
officers of Oscar's illness; she blushed at his name. "Faith," cried one
of them, "Mrs. Marlowe is a charming woman; it is well he got into such
snug quarters: I really believe elsewhere he would have given up the
ghost." "Poor fellow," said Adela, sighing heavily, yet without being
sensible of it. Belgrave rose, he caught her eye, a dark frown lowered
on his brow, and he looked as if he would pierce into the recesses of
her heart: she shuddered, and for the first time, felt the tyranny she
had imposed upon herself. As Mrs. Marlowe chose to be silent on the
subject, she resolved not to mention it to her; but she sent every day
to invite her to Woodlawn, expecting by this to hear something of Oscar;
but she was disappointed. At the end of a fortnight, Mrs. Marlowe made
her appearance; she looked pale and thin. Adela gently reproved her for
her long absence, trusting this would oblige her to allege the reason of
it; but no such thing. Mrs. Marlowe began to converse on indifferent
subjects; Adela suddenly grew peevish, and sullenly sat at her work.
In a few days after Mrs. Marlowe's visit, Adela, one evening immediately
after dinner, ordered the carriage to the cottage; by this time she
supposed Oscar had left it, and flattered herself, in the course of
conversation, she should learn whether he was perfectly recovered ere he
departed. Proposing to surprise her friend, she stole by a winding path
to the cottage, and softly opened the parlor door; but what were her
feelings, when she perceived Oscar sitting at the fireside with Mrs.
Marlowe, engaged in a deep conversation! She stopped, unable to advance.
Mrs. Marlowe embraced and led her forward. The emotions of Oscar were
not inferior to Adela's. He attempted to rise, but could not. A glance
from the expressive eyes of Mrs. Marlowe, which seemed to conjure him
not to yield to a weakness which would betray his real sentiments to
Adela, somewhat reanimated him. He rose, and tremblingly approached her.
"Allow me, madam," cried he, "to----" The sentence died unfinished on
his lips; he had not power to offer congratulations on an event which
had probably destroyed the happiness of Adela, as well as his own. "Oh!
a truce with compliments," said Mrs. Marlowe, forcing herself to assume
a cheerful air; "prithee, good folks, let us be seated, and enjoy, this
cold evening, the comforts of a good fire." She forced the trembling,
the almost fainting, Adela to take some wine, and by degrees the flutter
of her spirits and Oscar's abated, but the sadness of their
countenances, the anguish of their souls, increased. The cold formality,
the distant reserve they both assumed, filled each with sorrow and
regret. So pale, so emaciated, so woe-begone did Fitzalan appear, so
much the son of sorrow and despair, that had he half murdered Adela, she
could not at that moment have felt for him any other sentiments than
those of pity and compassion. Mrs. Marlowe, in a laughing way, told her
of the troubles she had had with him: "for which, I assure you," said
she, "he rewards me badly; for the moment he was enlarged from the
nursery, he either forgot or neglected all the rules I had laid down for
him. Pray do join your commands to mine, and charge him to take more
care of himself." "I would, most willingly," cried Adela, "if I thought
they would influence him to do so." "Influence!" repeated Oscar,
emphatically; "oh, heavens!" then starting up, he hurried to the window,
as if to hide and to indulge his melancholy. The scene he viewed from it
was dreary and desolate. It was now the latter end of autumn; the
evening was cold, a savage blast howled from the hills, and the sky was
darkened by a coming storm. Mrs. Marlowe roused him from his deep
reverie. "I am sure," said she, "the prospect you view from the window
can have no great attractions at present." "And yet," cried he, "there
is something sadly pleasing in it: the leafless trees, the fading
flowers of autumn, excite in my bosom a kind of mournful sympathy; they
are emblems to me of him whose tenderest hopes have been disappointed;
but, unlike him, they, after a short period, shall again flourish with
primeval beauty." "Nonsense," exclaimed Mrs. Marlowe; "your illness has
affected your spirits; but this gloom will vanish long before my orchard
reassumes its smiling appearance, and haply attracts another smart
redcoat to visit an old woman." "Oh! with what an enthusiasm of
tenderness," cried Oscar, "shall I ever remember the dear, though
dangerous, moment I first entered this cottage!" "Now, no flattery,
Oscar," said Mrs. Marlowe; "I know your fickle sex too well to believe I
have made a lasting impression; why, the very first fine old woman you
meet at your ensuing quarters, will, I dare say, have similar praise
bestowed on her." "No," replied he, with a languid smile; "I can assure
you, solemnly, the impression which has been made on my heart will never
be effaced." He stole a look at Adela; her head sunk upon her bosom, and
her heart began to beat violently. Mrs. Marlowe wished to change the
subject entirely; she felt the truest compassion for the unhappy young
couple, and had fervently desired their union; but since irrevocably
separated, she wished to check any intimation of a mutual attachment,
which now could answer no purpose but that of increasing their misery.
She rung for tea, and endeavored by her conversation to enliven the
tea-table; the effort however, was not seconded. "You have often," cried
she, addressing Adela, as they again drew their chairs round the fire,
"desired to hear the exact particulars of my life; unconquerable
feelings of regret hitherto prevented my acquiescing in your desire;
but, as nothing better now offers for passing away the hours, I will, if
you please, relate them." "You will oblige me by so doing," cried Adela;
"my curiosity, you know, has been long excited."