I did call the next day, and had no particular reason to be dissatisfied
with my reception.
Mrs Hyland did not meet me in the same motherly manner, she once used
to exhibit; but I did not expect it; and I could not feel displeased at
being admitted on any terms, into the presence of a being so beautiful
as Lenore.
Neither did _she_ receive me in the same manner she used to do in the
past; but neither was I annoyed by that circumstance. It was necessary
that the child-like innocence and familiarity, once existing between us,
should cease; and it was no chagrin to me to perceive that it had done
so.
I confessed to Mrs Hyland, that I had acted wrong in not returning to
Liverpool after her husband's death; but I also explained to her how, on
being discharged from the ship, I had felt myself sorely aggrieved; and,
having no longer a home, I had to wander about as circumstances
dictated. I added, of course, that could I have had the least suspicion
that my absence would have been construed into any evidence of crime or
ingratitude, I would have returned long before to refute the calumny.
Lenore did not try to conceal her pleasure, at seeing her mother and
myself conversing once more as friends.
"You must not leave us again, Rowland," said she, "for we have not many
friends, and can ill-afford to lose one. See how near we have been to
losing you--all through your being absent."
"Yes, Rowland," said Mrs Hyland. "My house was once your home; and you
are welcome to make it so again. I shall only be fulfilling the wishes
of my husband, by renewing the intimate friendship that once existed
between us."
Her invitation to make her house once more my home, I reluctantly
declined. Lenore seemed no longer my sister; and with some sorrow the
conviction forced itself on my mind--that my fate was to love--to love,
yet wander far from the one I loved.
Lenore was now a young lady. I thought myself a man. As children, we
could no longer live together--no longer dwell under the same roof.
Lenore was too beautiful; and I was too much afflicted with poverty.
Any further acquaintance between us might not contribute to my future
happiness but the contrary.
I left the house with mingled feelings of pleasure and despair, pleased
to find myself once more restored to the good opinion of Mrs Hyland--
despairing of being able to resist the fascinations of her daughter's
beauty.
Every time I gazed upon her fair face, could only add to my misery. I
was young; and as I had been told, good-looking. Lenore and I had been
old friends and playmates. It was possible for me to win her love; but
would it be honourable?
Would it be a proper return for the kindness of Captain Hyland and his
widow, for me, a penniless "rolling stone," to try to win the affections
of their only child, and subject her to the misery of my own unfortunate
lot? No! I could love Lenore; but I could not act in such an unworthy
manner.
Then followed the reflection, that Mrs Hyland had some property. Her
home would be mine. She needed a son-in-law to look after the ship; and
I was a seaman.
These thoughts only stirred within me a feeling of pride, that would not
allow me to receive any advantage of fortune from one I could choose for
a wife. I knew that with all the exertions a man may make--and however
correct his habits may be--he cannot live happily with a wife who brings
into the firm of husband and wife more money than himself.
Another unpleasant consideration came before me. Why should I be
seeking for reasons against marrying Lenore, when perhaps she might not
consent to marry _me_? Because we were old friends, was no reason why
she should ever think of me as a husband. By trying to make her love
me, I might, as she had said of Mr Adkins, cause her only to hate me.
The day after my visit to Mrs Hyland and Lenore, I went to see Mason,
the steward, in order that I might thank him for the good word he had
spoken for me--as well as for much kindness he had shown towards me,
when we were shipmates in the `Lenore.' He received me in a cordial
manner, that caused me to think better of mankind, than I had lately
done. In a long conversation I held with him, he told me of many acts
of dishonesty, in the committal of which he had detected Adkins, who, he
said, had been robbing Mrs Hyland in every way he could.
"Captain Hyland took much trouble in giving you some education," said
he; "why don't you marry the daughter, and take command of the ship?"
"I am a poor penniless adventurer," I replied, "and dare not aspire to
so much happiness as would be mine, were I to become the husband, as
well as captain, of `Lenore.' I am neither so vain nor ambitious."
"That's a fact," said Mason. "You have not enough of either. No man
ever did any thing for himself, or any one else, without thinking
something of himself, and making such a trial as you decline to
undertake. He is a lucky man who wins without trying."
There was truth in what the steward said; but the Hylands had been my
friends, and were so again; and I could not bring myself to abuse the
confidence they had placed in me. I could not speak of love to Lenore,
and so I told the steward.
In this interview with Mason, I learnt from him that Adkins had
disappeared, and could no more be found!
"His flight," said Mason, "will be positive proof to Mrs Hyland that he
was unworthy of the confidence she had placed in him. She cannot be too
thankful, that your return has been the means of her discovering his
true character. I would have exposed him long ago, but I did not think
that I could succeed; and that I would only be doing myself an injury--
in short, ruining my poor family, without the consolation of knowing
that I had also ruined a scoundrel. Thank the Lord for all his mercies!
The villain has been uncloaked at last."
With this pious thanksgiving ended the interview, between the honest
steward and myself.
Volume One, Chapter XV.