"Great changes may take place within that time," said Theodore. Yes, changes must take place, she answered, but nothing, I hope to embitter present prospects.
As it respects yourself, I trust not, madam. "And I sincerely hope not, as it respects you, Theodore." That wish, said he, I believe is vain.
Your feelings accord with the season, Theodore; you are melancholy.
Shall we return?
"I ask your pardon, madam; I know I am unsociable. You speak of returning; you know the occasion of my being here. You cannot have forgotten your own appointment and consequent engagement?" She made no answer.
I know, Alida, that you are incapable of duplicity or evasion. I have promised and now repeat the declaration, that I will silently submit to your decision. This you have engaged to make, and this is the time you have appointed. The pain of present suspense can scarcely be surpa.s.sed by the pang of disappointment. On your part you have nothing to fear.
I trust you have candidly determined, and will decide explicitly.
"I am placed in an exceedingly delicate situation," answered Alida, (sighing.) "I know you are, madam," said Theodore, "but your own honour, your own peace, require that you should extricate yourself from the perplexing embarra.s.sment."
"That I am convinced of," replied she. "I know that I have been inadvertently indiscreet. I have admitted the addresses of Bonville and yourself, without calculating or expecting the consequences. You have both treated me honourably and with respect. You are both on equal grounds as to standing in life. With Bonville I became first acquainted.
As it relates to him, some new arrangements have taken place since you came here."
Theodore interrupted her with emotion. "Of those arrangements I am acquainted, I received the intelligence from a friend in your neighbourhood. I am prepared for the event."
Alida remained silent. "I have mentioned before," resumed Theodore, "that whatever may be your decision, no impropriety can attach to you.
I might add, indeed, from various circ.u.mstances, and from the information I possess, I perhaps should not have given you further trouble on the occasion, had it not been from your own direction. And I am now willing to retire without further explanation, without giving you the pain of an express decision, if you think the measure expedient.
Your declaration can only be a matter of form, the consequence of which I know, and my proposition may save your feelings."
"No, Theodore," replied she, "my reputation depends on my adherence to my first determination; justice to yourself and to Bonville also demand it. After what has pa.s.sed, I should be considered as acting capriciously, and inconsistently, should I depart from it. Bonville will be here to-morrow, and you must consent to stay with us until that time; the matter shall then be decided." "Yes," said Theodore, "it shall be as you say, madam. Make your arrangements as you please."
Evening came on, and spread around her sombre shades;--the breeze"s rustling wing was in the tree:--the sound of the low, murmuring brooks, and the far-off waterfall, were faintly heard;--the frequent lights in the village darted their pale l.u.s.tre through the gloom:--the solitary whip-poor-wills stationed themselves along the woody glens, the groves and rocky pastures, and sung a requiem to departed summer;--a dark cloud was rising in the west, across whose gloomy front the vivid lightning bent its forky spires.
Theodore and Alida moved slowly towards home; she appeared enraptured with the melancholy splendours of the evening, but another subject engaged the mental attention of Theodore.
Bonville arrived the next day. He gave his hand to Theodore with seeming warmth of friendship. If it was reciprocated, it must have been affected. There was no alteration in the manners and conversation of Alida; her discourse, as usual, was sprightly and interesting. After dinner she retired, and her father requested Theodore and Bonville to withdraw with him to a private room. After they were seated, the old gentleman thus addressed them:
"I have called you here, gentlemen, to perform my duty as a parent to my daughter, and as a friend to you. You have both addressed Alida; while your addresses were merely formal, they were innocent; but when they became serious, they were dangerous. Your pretensions I consider equal, and between honourable pretenders, who are worthy of my daughter, I shall not attempt to influence her choice. That choice, however, can rest only on one; she has engaged to decide between you. I am come, to make in her name this decision. The following are my terms: no difficulty shall arise between you, gentlemen, in consequence of her determination; nothing shall go abroad respecting the affair; it shall be settled under my roof. As soon as I have p.r.o.nounced Alida"s declaration, you shall both depart, and absent my house for at least two weeks, as it would be improper for my daughter to see either of you at present; after that period I shall be happy to receive your visits."
Theodore and Bonville pledged their honour to abide implicitly by these injunctions.
He then further observed: "This, gentlemen, is all I require. I have said that I considered your pretensions equal; so has my daughter treated them. You have both made professions to her; she has appointed a time to answer you. That time has now arrived, and I now inform you--that she has decided in favour of Theodore."
These words from Alida"s father, burst upon the mental powers of Bonville like sudden and tremendous thunder on the deep and sullen silence of night. Unaccustomed to disappointment, he had calculated on a.s.sured success. His addresses to the ladies generally had been honourably received. Alida was the first whose charms were capable of rendering them sincere. He was not ignorant of Theodore"s attentions to her; it gave him, however, but little uneasiness. He believed that his superior acquired graces would eclipse the pretensions of his rival. He considered himself a connoisseur in character, especially in that of the ladies. He conformed to their taste; he flattered their foibles, and obsequiously bowed to the minutia of female volatility. He considered himself skilled in the language of the heart; and he trusted that from his pre-eminent powers in the science of affection, he had only to see, to make use of, and to conquer.
He had frankly offered his hand to Alida, and pressed her for a decisive answer. This from time to time she suspended, and finally named a day in which to give him and Theodore a determinate one, though neither knew the arrangements made with the other. Alida finding, however, the dilemma in which she was placed, and she had previously consulted her father. He had no objections to her choosing between two persons of equal claims to affluence and respectability. This choice she had made, and her father was considered the most proper person to p.r.o.nounce it.
When Bonville had urged Alida to answer him decidedly, he supposed that her hesitation, delay and suspensions, were only the effect of diffidence. He had no suspicion of her ultimate conclusion, and when she finally named the day to decide, he was confident her voice would be in his favour. These sentiments he had communicated to the person who had written to Theodore, intimating that Alida had fixed a time which was to crown his sanguine wishes. He had listened, therefore, attentively to the words of her father, momentarily expecting to hear himself declared the favourite choice of the fair. What then must have been his disappointment when the name of Theodore was p.r.o.nounced instead of his own! The highly-finished scene of pleasure and future happy prospects which his ardent imagination had depicted, now vanished in a moment. The bright sun of his early hopes was veiled in darkness at this unexpected decision.
Very different were the sensations which inspired the bosom of Theodore.
He had not even calculated on a decision in his favour; he believed that Bonville would be the choice of Alida. She had told him, that the form of deciding was necessary to save appearances; with this form he complied, because she desired it, not because he expected the result would be in his favour. He had not, therefore, attended to the words of Alida"s father with that eagerness which favourable antic.i.p.ations commonly produce.
But when his name was mentioned; when he found that he was the choice, the happy favourite of Alida"s affection, every ardent feeling of his soul became interested, and was suddenly aroused to the refinements of sensibility. Like an electric shock it re-animated his existence, and the bright morning of joy quickly dissipated the gloom which hung over his mind.
CHAPTER X.
"Dark gathering clouds involve the threat"ning skies, The billows heave with the impending gloom; Deep hollow murmurs from the cliffs arise, Ride on the blast, and urge the howling storm."
Several weeks pa.s.sed away, and Theodore felt all that anxiety and impatience which a separation from a beloved object can produce. He framed a thousand excuses to visit Alida, yet he feared a visit might be premature. He was, however, necessitated to make a journey to a distant part of the country, after which he resolved to see her.
He performed the business he went on, and was returning. It was toward evening, and the day had been uncommonly sultry for the autumnal season.
A rising shower blackened the western hemisphere; the dark vapours ascended in folding ridges, and the thunder rolled at a distance.
Theodore saw he should be overtaken by the rain. He discovered an elegant seat about a hundred yards distant from the road; thither he hastened to gain shelter from the approaching storm.
The owner of the mansion met him at the door, and politely invited him in, while a servant stood ready to take his horse.
He was ushered into a large apartment, genteelly furnished, where the family and several young ladies were sitting. As he glanced his eye hastily around the room, he thought he recognized a familiar countenance. A hurried succession of confused ideas for a moment crossed his recollection. In a moment he discovered that it was Alida.
By this unexpected meeting they were both completely embarra.s.sed. Alida, however, arose, and, in rather a confused manner, introduced Theodore to the company as the friend of her brother.
The rain continued most part of the afternoon. Theodore was urged by the family, and consented to stay the night. A moonlight evening succeeded the shower, which invited the young people to walk in an adjoining garden. Alida informed Theodore that the owner of the mansion was a distant relative of her father, who had two amiable daughters, not far from her own age. She had been invited there to pa.s.s a week, and expected to return within two days. "And," she added, smiling, "perhaps, Theodore, we may have an opportunity once more to visit our favourite grove, before winter entirely destroys the remaining beauties of the summer."
Theodore felt all the force of the remark. He recollected the conversation when they were last at the place she mentioned; and he well remembered his feelings on that occasion.
"Great changes, indeed," he replied, "have taken place since we were last there;--that they are productive of unexpected and unexampled happiness to me, is due, Alida, to yourself alone."
Theodore departed next morning, appointing the next week to visit Alida at her father"s house. Thus were the obstacles removed which had presented a barrier to their united wishes. They had not, it is true, been separated by wide seas, unfeeling parents, nor, as yet, by the rigorous laws of war; but vexations, doubts, and difficulties had thus far attended them, which had now happily disappeared, and they calculated on no unpropitious event which might thwart their future happiness.
All the hours that Theodore could spare from his studies were devoted to Alida; and their parents began to calculate on joining their hands as soon as his professional term of study was completed.
Hostilities that had previously commenced with England had been followed by several battles. "The panic and general bustle which prevailed at this time, will yet be remembered by many." These circ.u.mstances were not calculated to impress the mind of Alida with the most pleasant sensations. She foresaw that the burden of the war must rest on the American youth, and she trembled in antic.i.p.ation for the fate of Theodore. He, with others, should it continue, must take the field in defence of his country. The effects of such a separation were dubious and gloomy. Theodore and herself frequently discoursed on the subject, and they agreed to form the mystic union previous to any wide separation. One event tended to hasten this resolution: The attorney in whose office Theodore was engaged received a commission in the new-raised American army, and marched to the lines near Boston. His business was therefore suspended, and Theodore returned to the house of his father. He considered that he could not remain long a mere spectator of the contest, and that it might soon become his duty to take the field, therefore concluded to hasten his marriage with Alida. She consented to the proposition, and their parents made the necessary arrangements for the event. The place was fixed upon which was to be their future residence. It was a pleasantly situated eminence, commanding an extensive prospect. On the west, forests unevenly lifted their rude heads, with here and there a solitary field, newly cleared, and thinly scattered with cottages. To the east, the eye extended over a soil at one time swelling into woody elevations, and at another spreading itself into vales of the most enchanting verdure. To the north it extended to the palisades, wooded to their summits, and throwing their shadows over intervals of equal wilderness, till at length the eye, wandering far beyond, was arrested in its excursions by the blue mist which hovered over the distant mountains, more grand, majestic, and lofty. The inhabitants around were mild, sociable, moral, and diligent.
The produce of their own fields gave them the most of what was necessary, and they were happily free from all dissipation and luxury.
Such was the site marked out for the residence of Theodore and Alida.
They visited the spot, and were enraptured with its pensive, romantic beauties.
"Here," said Theodore, "we will one day pa.s.s our time in all the felicity of mind which the chequered scenes of life will admit. In the spring, we will roam among the flowers; in summer, we will gather strawberries in yonder fields, or raspberries from the adjacent shrubbery. The breezes of fragrant morning and the sighs of the evening gale will be mingled with the songs of the various birds which frequent the surrounding groves. We will gather the bending fruits of autumn, and will listen with pleasure to the hoa.r.s.e, murmuring voice of winter--its whistling winds, its driving snow and rattling hail--with delight."
The bright gems of joy glistened in the eyes of Alida as Theodore described this pleasing scene of antic.i.p.ation.
Winter came on; it rapidly pa.s.sed away. Spring advanced, and the marriage day was appointed. Preparations for the hymenial ceremony were making, and invitations had already gone abroad. Albert was particularly sent for, and all was approaching to readiness for this happy event.
Theodore and Alida again promenaded to the spot which had been chosen for their habitation; they projected the structure of the buildings, planned the gardens, the artificial groves, the walks, and the green retreat of the summer-house; and already they realized in imagination the various domestic blessings and felicities with which they were to be surrounded.
Nature was adorned with the bridal ornaments of spring; the radiant sun was sinking behind the groves, casting his sable shades over the valley, while the retiring beams of day adorned the distant eastern eminences with yellow l.u.s.tre; the birds sung melodiously in the grove; the air was freshened by light western breezes, bearing upon their wings all the entrancing odours of the season; while around the horizon clouds raised their brazen summits, based in the black vapour of approaching night; and as its darkening shades were advancing, Theodore and Alida returned home. They seated themselves awhile on the piazza, to contemplate the splendours of the evening, and to witness the beauties of one of the most picturesque draperies painted in the landscape of nature.
CHAPTER XI.
The dreadful din of war is heard Wide spreading o"er the land and sea; The battle"s shout and cannon"s roar Proclaim the nation shall be free.