203 THE ELOPEMENT. 47 "I had scarcely reached the street, half suffocated with rage and mortification, when I paused to consider whether I should not return and demand an explanation of his conduct. The dastardly manner in which he had nearly murdered my father-the service I had so recently rendered him-were thoughts that rushed upon my mind. I became almost frantic; but he is the father of Lucy, said I to myself! Can I do any thing that would grieve her? Moreover, I remembered that Normand had done nothing that would justify an explanation; for, though repulsive hauteur be more goading than a direct insult, yet, according to the worldly code, silent resentment is the only atonement to the wounded feelings. I returned to my hotel to ponder over the incidents of the night. Early the next morning I received a letter from Normand, the purport of which was as follows: "SIR: I extorted from my daughter, last evening, a reluctant acknowledgment of your declaration of love, and of the pleasure it gave her. By virtue of a father's right, I dissolve the engagement, and require of you never again to renew the acquaintance with Lucy Normand. Such ungenerous use, sir, of the claims you have upon my gratitude, will ever be held in abhorrence by me, should you persist in an affair so repugnant to my wishes. My objections, sir, to your becoming allied to my family, I deem it useless to state. I remain, yours, &c. OSCAR NORMAND. "I was not much surprised when I read the letter, aware of his hatred to my father. I determined, however, to see Miss Normand as soon as possible, and know if it was her wish that our engagement should be dissolved. An opportunity of so doing occurred a few evenings after: while walking the avenue that led from Washington College, I met her. Our meeting at first was rather embarrassing from so unexpected an interview. I desired her to take a seat with me, on one of the many benches that were scattered on the lawn. She directed her servant to remain where she was, while she did so. 'Miss Normand,' said I, gently taking her hand, ' in a letter I received from your father, a short time ago, he informed me my attentions to you met with his highest displeasure; and that he deemed the bestowal of them an ungenerous use of the claims I had upon his gratitude. I have sought you ever since, to learn from your own lips if our plighted love and sacred vows should forever pass into oblivion?' "Would you have me disobey him?' said she, as the tears glistened in her eyes. "Would you rather obey the stern commands of a proud father, than follow the inclination of your own heart? Alas, I am fearful your love is not strong enough for the emergency.' "You wrong me, Mr. Carlton,' said she, bursting into tears. "I was mortified that I had doubted her attachment, and softly breathed in her ear, 'Oh weep not thus, my gentle girl, No smile of thine has lost its spell; "Miss Normand,' continued I, 'there is but one alternative, and that is an elopement. If fifteen years have not obliterated your father's prejudices, (for I see no other cause of objection than the rupture he once had with my father,) it will be in vain for us to wait for farther time to efface them. Never can I subject myself to his repulsive scorn, which I know would follow, were I to ask his consent. Under circumstances like these, when it is folly to expect paternal consent, and where the parent has no reasonable cause for objection, and where the happiness of the child depends upon his acquiescence, I can see no reason why you should not follow the teachings of your own heart. We had better decide now; perhaps it will be our last interview.' "She finally consented, after considerable importunity, to an elopement; but se vere was the conflict between love and filial duty. "I now come to a part of my history which fills me with grief and remorse, even at this distant period. She left Lexington a few days after our interview, on her return home, and I soon after set out for my father's. "About a fortnight after my arrival, I wrote to her, and proposed that on the night of the 3d of September, she should meet me at the bottom of her father's garden, where I would be with a boat to take her over the river to Mrs. Jenkins's cottage, and there a coach would be in readiness. A few days, however, before I wrote, I had visited Normand's neighborhood, and there discovered this Mrs. Jenkins, whom I recognized at once as a former tenant of my father's. I immediately put her in possession of my secret, and the cause of my being in the neighborhood. She informed me she was apprehensive an interview would be impossible, for she had understood, since Normand's return, that his conduct to his daughter was much altered; that he would not permit her to ride out without an escort, nor walk farther than the bottom of the garden. This induced me to designate that spot for our meeting. "From that time to the 3d of September, days lengthened into weeks. A gloominess took possession of my mind. I was continually filled with dark presentiments, which I found it impossible to dispel. I however started in unusually good spirits, on the appointed day. After getting within fifteen miles of the cottage, I directed the servants to take the river road, until they came to a small ordinary, and there inquire for Mrs. Jenkins, while I would take a nearer one, through the forest, but not so good. I reached the cottage a little after sunset. The time for the arrival of my servants came. I waited an hour longer, but nothing could be seen or heard of them. I became almost frantic with impatience, for it was impossible to cross the river without them. Ten o'clock, the appointed hour came, just as the coach made its appearance; the delay having been occasioned by their taking a wrong road. "In a few minutes we were pulling with all our strength, against an adverse wind and current. A dense bank of clouds, which had ominously threatened, for some time, from the Northwest, muttering a continued roar of thunder, gave alarming symptoms of an approaching storm. This, with the certainty of my being half an hour later than the appointed time, made my impatience almost insupportable. As soon as we reached the shore, the solitary form of Miss Normand made its appearance from behind a large weeping-willow, that overhung the stream. I urged her to delay not a second, for the storm was then setting in with terrific violence. We instantly shoved off; and every nerve was strained to the utmost. "On looking around, I discovered that we had not proceeded twenty paces in as many minutes. Never did I witness such an awful scene. The thunder roared with unparalleled fury, and the forked lightning seemed to play upon the waves, which emulated each other in height. “I soon found, that it would be madness to persist any longer with such inexperienced hands, and therefore ordered them to return to the shore with all speed. In doing so, the boat troughed ;—a second more, and all was over. As we went down, I seized Miss Normand by the arm. We were, however, soon thrown up by the waves, and were about to sink again—perhaps to rise no more-when I indistinctly heard the sound of voices on the shore, and shouted at the top of my voice for aid. A boat was instantly sent out for us by Normand's servants. They informed me, that their master having missed his daughter about an hour before, had been in search of her ever since. As soon as we were taken into the boat, I discovered, by a vivid flash of lightning, that my worst apprehensions were too true. That life which I had once preserved, was then soaring far above the storm." My narrator could say nothing more; his voice became stifled with sighs. I pressed his hand in silence, and mingled with the crowd that was then leaving the church. THE LADY'S PEARL. MARCH, 1843. Original. MAN IS WRONG. BY W. B. TAPPAN, ESQ. MAN is wrong in his pursuits; Wrong in childhood, how perverse, Wrong in youth, a frequent curse, Wrong in manhood; just the course Wisdom warreth from, he takes; Original. THE RESOLUTION. BY MRS. C. ORNE. Ir was a fine moonlight evening in January, that George Endicott proceeded to the lodgings of his friend, Lorenzo Hastings, on his way to a party given by Mrs. Apple ton. He found him in an elegant dressing-gown, reclining on a sofa, which was wheeled round in such a manner as to enable him to enjoy the genial warmth of a bright coal fire, burning in a highly-polished grate. Every thing in the room indicated wealth and refinement, though the absence of a few of those delicate decorations, which more exclusively owe their origin to female taste, might have suggested, what was indeed true, that he was a bachelor. He welcomed his friend with an air of languor approaching to melancholy. "You surely mean to attend Mrs. Appleton's party this evening," said Endicott, finding that Hastings made no allusion to it, and still preserved his lounging attitude upon the sofa. |