+SHADOWS+
ELLA TO PHILIP D’ARCY.
The Retreat, September —, 18—.
FORGIVE me for what I am about to write. Indeed, I feel that I
am performing a duty, even though my dear mother is ignorant of
this step. I must, however, add, that I have the full
approbation of one who never fails to judge rightly—I mean our
good, sensible friend, Mary Mildmay. Dear Mr. D’Arcy, esteeming
and respecting you above all men living, as I do, you will think
it strange, when I tell you that I have come to the conclusion,
seriously and advisedly, that I can _never_ be your wife; and,
believe me, this resolution is _irrevocable_. As a favor, I
implore you not to attempt to change my determination. It would
be utterly fruitless. Would you know my reasons? They are many.
When you honored me, by asking my hand, I was a mere child. I am
now a woman, and must exert the prerogative of my sex—that of
choice—in a matter which concerns my own happiness, and your
future welfare. Know, then, that I am inspired to say to you,
that, in marrying me, you will _pass by your destiny_. The
impression is so strong that I cannot, if I would, shake it off;
but must obey, as if a voice from heaven had spoken. Do you not
know, too, that I have sworn never to forsake my beloved mother
in her sorrow and her loneliness? And can I falsify my oath? In
order to remove all further doubt from your mind, know,
likewise, that it is not to _me_ that you owe your life. Poor
little Ella nursed you tenderly, it is true, through your
convalescence; but it was her dear mother who recalled you, by
the magnetism of her health-producing touch, from the trance of
death; and, in so doing, she herself nearly perished. If I have
yet another reason for thus writing—_that_ I must ever preserve
profoundly secret.
One parting favor I request: let this make no difference. Come
to us as before. Be still a friend—prove thus to me that I have
your pardon—for—give—forget. Yes, forget all, except that I
shall never cease to pray for your happiness, and that
I am, as ever,
Your affectionate friend,
ELLA.
My readers may readily imagine how highly I approved my young friend’s
dignified and womanly letter. I had never thought them suited either in
years or in tastes. Ella, lovely, sweet, innocent, intelligent, was yet
scarcely the companion required by a man of D’Arcy’s intellect and
superior mind. Their temperaments, too, were similar, each being
outwardly cold, reserved, calm, unimpulsive. Now I have invariably found
that the happiest unions proceed from similarity of taste, but diversity
of temperament. I was therefore satisfied as to the wisdom of my Ella’s
decision. We had now been staying about a fortnight in this lovely
place, where D’Arcy, on the plea of very pressing business at
Washington, had excused himself from escorting us. He had, however, sent
his confidential servant with us, as courier, having telegraphed to his
housekeeper to have all in readiness on our arrival at “The Retreat.”
And in truth the house was furnished with a luxury only to be attained
by the union of refined taste with great wealth in its owner. We
discerned the ever-presiding hand of affection in the recently-arrived
harp and piano, and in the works of modern literature, and late numbers
of periodicals which filled the shelves, and encumbered the tables of
the sitting-rooms. Some men never remember anything—D’Arcy had that
double memory of heart and head which never forgets the most minute
arrangement or least matured intention. Poor Evelyn, humiliated,
heart-broken at the wicked deception which had been practiced upon her,
loathing her position of reputed wife to such a villain, was glad to
hide her burning sense of shame in complete solitude, happy even, that
D’Arcy, in respectful sympathy, delicately kept aloof for a time. The
latter had not yet replied to Ella’s letter, but in about ten days he
wrote to Evelyn a few lines, expressing the fear that business might
detain him another month at Washington, but that the moment he could
hope for a few days’ recreation, he would visit his friends at “The
Retreat.” He hinted a fear that he had alarmed herself and her sweet
Ella, and asked pardon if his uncontrollable indignation had caused him
to forget for the first time what is due to the presence of ladies. This
slight allusion was the only one he made to having received Ella’s
letter of dismissal. Strange Being, and unlike all others, I thought!—
And the days passed onward, and Evelyn was made acquainted by her
daughter that her engagement with D’Arcy was at an end, and the sad
mother carefully scrutinized each look and movement of her child—for
with the exaggeration of love, she could ill believe that one who had
been chosen by Philip D’Arcy as his bride, could live without him, and
be happy. So she tenderly watched lest the delicate rose should fade
from that young cheek, lest the soft blue eyes should look dim, and lack
their wonted lustre. It did strike me that the young girl’s step was
less elastic, and that she more frequently than was her wont, sought the
solitude of her chamber. But I persuaded Evelyn that the shock
experienced by poor Ella, on the discovery of Sir Percy’s perfidious
conduct, and her sympathy for her mother’s now blighted life,
sufficiently accounted for this apparent change in her.
And now the glorious Indian Summer pervades the atmosphere with a
glowing and intense heat, the heavens wear a deeper tint of azure, the
forests clothed in their Autumn foliage, varying from the palest shade
of gold, and the softest green, to the richest and most brilliant
scarlet, and the deepest crimson, remind you of the trees in the fabled
garden of Aladdin, whose branches were pendant with the weight of
rubies, emeralds, topaz and other precious stones, so wonderfully
gorgeous are the November tints of the North American forests, so unlike
anything ever beheld in the Old World. It seems almost as if nature,
prophetic of coming decay, would array herself for the last time in her
gayest and richest attire, and like Cleopatra of old queen it even on
her couch of death.
And as one fine evening we sat in the verandah, enjoying the fresh
breezes, and looking on the deep and rapid Hudson, we observed the
splendid large steamer stop opposite the landing, and a few passengers
enter the small boat which rowed towards shore. Listlessly we watched,
soothed by the quiet beauty of the scene. A quarter of an hour may
possibly have elapsed, when hearing the door open, we turned gladly to
perceive and joyfully welcome Philip D’Arcy.
[Illustration]
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