"Where is Pauline?" I asked.
"She is in her room, mamma." I went to her door, but found it locked.
This must not go on so. I am glad we are to leave here Monday morning.
_Paris, Monday, March 31st._
The Doctor, Joseph and Eugene are planning excursions enough to last for a month. Adele, who resides with her uncle in this city, has promised to accompany the young people to all its places of interest. Indeed she has already begun to do so. Her uncle, who is also her guardian, is one of the firm where Joseph is a partner; and it is thus she has become acquainted with him. I have noticed that since Pauline saw Adele weeping in the school-room with Joseph, she has avoided her cousin more a.s.siduously than ever. I am intending to renew some of my former acquaintances, while the others are sight-seeing.
_Evening._
Pauline"s bouquets have followed her to Paris. This evening she received a magnificent one. She said, "I am now fully convinced father procured them for me." I looked quickly at Frank, who only smiled.
"Oh! papa," said Pauline, throwing her arms about his neck with a natural burst of feeling, "I thank you so much. How very, _very_ kind,"
and she kissed him affectionately. But the next moment with a convulsive sob she sank back into her chair and wept bitterly.
Joseph flew to her side, and leaning forward said, "Dear Pauline, how can I comfort you?"
Her father sent the children from the room, and took her tenderly on his knee, where, drawing her head to his breast, he whispered, "Pauline, my own dear child, cannot you tell your father the cause of your grief?"
I sat by her side while Joseph walked the room, stopping ever and anon as if about to speak, and then checking himself with difficulty. After a short time Pauline became more composed, so that she could speak, and she raised her eyes mournfully to her father"s face as she said, "I forgot you were not my father, and I was so happy."
We were all much affected at the deep sadness of her tone, and Frank said, "Let us all forget it, my daughter. Your father loves you truly and tenderly;" and he pressed her in his arms as she lay like a child, hiding her face in his bosom.
Joseph could restrain himself no longer, but rushed forward and stooping down, took her unresisting hand. "Pauline, dearest Pauline, _I_ cannot forget it, for the hour I learned that Eugene was your brother, was the happiest of my life. Won"t you look at me, dearest, to show you forgive me?"
But the weeping girl clung to her father, while she absolutely shook with emotion.
Just at this moment, Adele burst into the room with very evident marks of excitement. Her eyes were much inflamed, and bore signs of excessive weeping. She walked quickly up to Joseph, and requested to see him alone.
Though evidently much annoyed, he led her into the next apartment, where we heard their voices in earnest conversation for a short time; then she wept aloud, and I could hear Joseph try to soothe her, and beg her to compose herself. Soon after, he left with her in the carriage which brought her to our hotel.
Frank looked much perplexed, and almost stern. Pauline wept so violently he feared the effect upon her. She sobbed out, "Oh, papa!" and pressed her hand to her heart. It was nearly an hour before we succeeded in getting the poor child to her chamber, and when I left her she promised to try to sleep. The Doctor is determined to wait for Joseph, and demand an explanation of his conduct, and as I am too excited to sleep, I have employed myself in writing.
_Tuesday, April 1st._
After sitting up to receive Joseph, who occupies rooms at our hotel, until after two this morning, Frank retired to bed. I have rarely seen him more displeased. He says Joseph has trifled with Pauline"s affections. I did not know what to think. I never saw anything in his conduct which led me to suppose he loved her.
We were dressing for breakfast when a servant brought the Doctor a note.
It was from cousin, begging to see him as soon as possible. Frank followed the servant, instead of sending an answer; and you can easily imagine I awaited his return with no little impatience.
At length I went to see if Pauline were awake, and to my astonishment found her up and dressed. Her countenance was pensive; but she tried to smile as she came forward for her morning kiss.
We were hardly seated before her father knocked and begged me to accompany Pauline to the parlor. He appeared so pleased, I could easily see that Joseph had been able to explain his conduct satisfactorily.
When we entered the parlor, Joseph came quickly forward to meet us.
Pauline shrank back as if she wished to avoid the meeting; but Joseph spoke a few words in her ear. What they were, I have not been able to find out; but there must have been some kind of a charm about them, for the dear girl started and gazed earnestly at him, when she seemed to feel satisfied, and artlessly put her hand in his. After pressing the dear little treasure again and again to his lips, he led her forward to where I sat looking on with astonishment. "Cousin Cora," said he to me, "fifteen years ago I asked the hand of your daughter. Your husband has just now made me very happy by giving his consent. Will you give me yours?"
"You are making a very bold request," I replied, as I drew the blushing girl nearer to me. "What say you, my daughter, shall we encourage such a suit?" "Just as you please, mamma."
"No, my love, not just as _I_ please. You must speak for yourself."
Joseph had thrown himself on one knee before us, and having made a prisoner of her little hand, he poured out all the story of his love--the agony he had experienced when he visited Nice and found her affianced to Eugene, and the many, _many_ doubts and fears he had felt on account of her cold manner toward him.
The poor girl trembled excessively, and when he ceased, seemed absolutely unable to reply. He started to his feet and said, "O!
Pauline, beloved of my soul, can you, will you accept my love?"
Making a great effort, she said in a very low voice, "I do love you, dear Joseph." I could hardly distinguish the words; but I suppose the old saying is true, "for lovers" eyes are sharp to see and lovers" ears to hear," for the loving Joseph appeared fully to hear and appreciate her meaning, and was by no means sparing of his thanks on the occasion.
I took the first opportunity to leave the room, though Pauline was almost frightened at the ardor of her lover, and clung to my dress, as I attempted to pa.s.s her.
The Doctor has explained to me what appeared strange in the conduct of our cousin, especially as connected with Adele. Her history I will give you in a few words. She was left when a child to the guardianship of her uncle. Being quite an heiress, he wished her to make what he called a great match. But Mademoiselle, whose wishes had never been crossed--whose slightest whim had been law to the whole household, had fallen in love with a young man whose only inheritance was a heart full of warm and generous impulses, united to a strength of determined purpose, which would in the end surmount all obstacles in his path, to riches and honor. All the wealth of his affections he had lavished upon the charming Adele, and she fully reciprocated the attachment. But Monsieur Vinet, her guardian, was very much enraged when the young and ardent lover asked the hand of his niece, and positively refused his consent. It was this which had caused him to send her for a time to his brother near Nice, in the hope that absence would dissolve their foolish fondness. Joseph had been made a confidant by each of the parties; and it was a letter addressed to him by Monsieur Couvier that had so distressed Adele while at Nice. It was a short postscript in relation to this subject which had so much disturbed cousin, when Franky commenced reading the letter aloud.
The crisis of her troubles which had occurred at a time so unfortunate for poor Pauline, was caused in the following manner. Adele, driven almost to despair by the inflexibility of her guardian, determined to make an appeal to him in her own behalf. She had thrown herself at his feet, and with all the enthusiasm of her impulsive nature, had begged his consent to her union with the one she loved. She offered to give up to him all her property, and in everything else, to be all that he could desire. Monsieur Vinet really loved his niece after his own fashion, and could not be made to understand why she should prefer a man so poorly endowed by fortune, to one who, though of doubtful morals, and questionable virtue, yet was of n.o.ble birth and princely estate.
Having sued in vain for his consent, and being in her violent grief wholly unmindful of appearances, she had driven to our hotel to beg Joseph to intercede for her. I need not stop to detail all that followed. Suffice it to say that his influence, added to the distressing agony of Adele which she took no pains to control or to conceal, at length prevailed, and Joseph had the pleasure before he left them of feeling that he had been the means of securing happiness to two otherwise distracted hearts.
_Wednesday, April 2d._
This morning the mystery connected with the bouquets has been revealed.
After receiving her morning gift from the hands of the servant, Pauline gracefully went to her father, and thanked him for giving her so much pleasure.
Frank looked archly at Joseph, who quickly dropped his eyes, to conceal the look of merriment which begins to show itself. "Thank you, my daughter," Frank said, returning the kiss, "but I rather think you"ve bestowed it on the wrong person."
Pauline started, while a beautiful rosy hue spread all over her face, and gave one eager glance at her lover.
I saw it was with great difficulty that Joseph restrained himself from pressing her to his heart; but he bent lovingly over her little hand, and said something in a low, yet impa.s.sioned voice. If he intended to drive away her blushes, he was unfortunate in his choice of words, for they only deepened.
My husband and I have been talking over the whole of this novel courtship from beginning to end, and I feel quite humbled as I am obliged to come to the conclusion that, while Joseph for fifteen years has never wavered in his affection for Pauline, who, he says, first awakened him to a sense of his responsibility as a man and a Christian, I, who have always prided myself upon my shrewdness in matters of the heart, have been blind as a bat. We expect to be with you on the twenty-second instant.
CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.
"And lo! at last relieved from every toil, They come! the wanderers view their native soil!
Then the bright raptures words can never speak, Flash in their eyes, and mantle in their cheek!
Then Love and Friendship, whose unceasing prayer, Implored for them each guardian spirit"s care; In that blest moment all the past forget,-- Hours of suspense, and vigils of regret!" MRS. HEMANS.
_Crawford, Monday, August 4th._
DEAR MOTHER,--Since the hasty letter I wrote you, announcing our safe arrival at home, my time has been so fully occupied that I have been altogether unable to resume my journal. Our dear, lovely Pauline is to leave us the first of October. It is fortunate for me that cares and duties demand every moment of my time, else I fear, I should spend much of it in the unprofitable employment of weeping. Indeed, there is a sad weight at my heart, and sometimes when my darling child sits down before me, and lays her head in my lap, I am completely overcome. How fully, dear mother, I can enter into your sorrow, when I remember the convulsive embrace with which you held me to your heart on the event of my leaving home. I can again see the tears which flowed like rain down your pale cheeks, and hear your broken voice saying, "May G.o.d bless you, my own dear Cora, and comfort your mother in her loss."
I must relate to you one little circ.u.mstance in connection with Pauline, as showing the length of her attachment to Joseph. Eugene was trying to unlock a small work-box, (as I had always taken it to be,) with a key of his own, his sister having playfully refused to allow him to see the contents. She sat by laughing, perfectly secure that he had no key which would fit the lock, when all at once the cover flew open. I had just entered the room, when she said merrily, "There, Eugene, give it to me.
It"s useless to try;" when, as she perceived his success, her tone changed to one of such deep distress, as she eagerly tried to take it from him. "Oh! my dear, _dear_ brother, do give it to me." I looked in surprise. Eugene held the box behind him while she stood with anxious, tearful distress, begging him to restore it. I stepped quietly behind, and took the box with its precious contents from his hand.
"Eugene," said I, shaking my head at him, "you are a naughty boy to tease your sister." He called Nelly, his inseparable companion and adviser, and went into the garden. I still held the box, and when we were alone, I presented it to her with a smile, saying, "It would be safer, my dear, to put this out of Eugene"s way, since he is so curious to know the contents."