CHAPTER VIII.
To lull affection's sigh, And dry the tear of sensibility; I'll think of thee, in all my lonely hours, Though thou, perhaps, may ne'er remember me.
The next day Theodore returned to his studies; but different from hisformer visits to Alida, instead of exhilarating his spirits, this hadtended to depress them. He doubted whether she was not already engagedto Bonville. His hopes would persuade him this was not the case; but hisfears declared otherwise.
It was some time before he renewed his visits again. In the interim hereceived a letter from a friend in the neighbourhood of Alida's father;an extract from which follows: "We are soon to have a wedding here; youare acquainted with the parties--Alida M. and Bonville. Such at least isour opinion from appearances, as this gentleman is now there more thanhalf his time. You will undoubtedly be invited. We had expected that youwould have put in your claims, from your particular attention to thelady. She is a fine girl, Theodore." I shall never be a guest at Alida'swedding, said Theodore, as he hastily paced the room; but I must againsee her before that event takes place, when I shall lose her forever.
The ensuing day he repaired to her father's. He inquired for Alida; shewas gone with a party to the shores of the sound, attended by Bonville.At evening they returned. Bonville and Theodore addressed each otherwith much seeming cordiality. "You have deserted us, Theodore," saidAlida, "we concluded you had forgotten the road to this place." "Was notthat a hasty conclusion?" said Theodore. "I think not," she answered,"if your long absence should be construed into neglect. But we will hearyour excuse," said she, smiling, "by and by, and perhaps pardon you."
He thanked her for her condescension.
The next morning Bonville set out to go to New-York. Theodore observedthat he took particular leave of Alida, telling her, in a low voice,that he should have the happiness of seeing her again, within two orthree weeks certainly.
After he was gone, as Alida and Theodore were sitting in the room alone,"Well," said she, "am I to hear your excuses, Theodore?" "For what,madam?" "For neglecting your friends." "I hope it is not so considered,madam." "Seriously, then, why have you stayed away so long? Has thisplace no charms in the absence of my brother?"
"Would my presence have added to your felicity, Alida?" "You never camean unwelcome visiter here." "Perhaps I might be sometimes intrusive whenBonville is your guest." "I have supposed you were on friendly terms,"said she. "We are, but there are seasons when friendship must yield itspretensions to a superior claim."
"Will you answer me one question, Alida, are you engaged to Bonville?""He has asked me the same question concerning you," replied she,(blushing.)
"Do you," continued Theodore, "prefer him to any other?" Alida,(blushing deeply.) "He has made the same inquiries respecting you."
"I beg, madam, you will deal with me candidly," said Theodore, (takingher hand with anxiety.) "I am entitled to no claims, but you know whatmy heart would ask. I will bow to your decision. Bonville or Theodoremust relinquish their pretensions. We cannot share the blessing."
The cheeks of Alida were suffused with a varying glow, her lips werepale, her voice tremulous, and her eyes cast down. "My father hasinformed me," she said, "that it is improper to receive the particularaddresses of more than one. I am conscious of my inadvertency, and thatthe reproof is just. One, therefore, must be dismissed." But, (sheblushed deeper,) and a considerable pause ensued.
At length Theodore arose. "I will not press you further," said he."I know the delicacy of your feelings; I know your sincerity; I will nottherefore insist on your performing the painful task of deciding againstme. Your conduct in every point of view has been discreet. I would haveno just claims, or if I had, your heart must sanction them, or theywould be unhallowed, and unjustifiable. I shall ever pray for yourfelicity. Our affections are not under our direction; our happinessdepends on our obedience to their mandates. Whatever, then, may be mysufferings, you are unblameable, and irreproachable."
He took his hat in extreme agitation, and prepared himself to takeleave. Alida had recovered in some degree from her embarrassment, andcollected her scattered spirits.
"Your conduct, Theodore," said she, "is generous and noble. Will yougive yourself the trouble, and do me the honour to see me once more?""I will," said he, "at any time you shall appoint."
"Four weeks, then," said she, "from this day, honour me with a visit,and you shall have my decision, and receive my final answer." "I will bepunctual to the day," he replied, and bade her adieu.
Theodore's hours from this time winged heavily away. His wontedcheerfulness fled; he wooed the silent and solitary haunts of musing,moping melancholy. He loved to wander through lonely fields, when dewytwilight robed the evening mild, or to trace the forest glen, throughwhich the moon darted her silvery intercepted rays. His agitatedthoughts preyed upon his peace incessantly, and deeply disturbed hisrepose.
He looked anxiously to the hour when Alida was to make the decision. Hewished, yet dreaded the event. In that he foresaw, or thought heforesaw, a withering blight to all his hopes, and a final consummationto his foreboding fears. He had pressed Alida, perhaps too urgently, toa declaration. Had her predilection been in his favour, would she havehesitated to avow it? Her father had advised her to relinquish one, andto retain the other, nor had he attempted to influence or direct herchoice. Was it not evident, then, from her confused hesitation andembarrassment, when solicited to discriminate upon the subject, that herultimate decision would be in favour of Bonville?
While Theodore's mind was thus in agitation, he received a second letterfrom his friend in the neighbourhood of Alida. He read the followingclause therein with emotions more easily to be conceived than expressed:"Alida's wedding-day is appointed. I need not tell you that Bonville isto be the happy deity of the hymenial sacrifice. I had it from his owndeclaration. He did not name the positive day, but it is certainly to besoon. You will undoubtedly, however, have timely notice, and receive aninvitation."
"We must pour out a liberal libation upon the mystic altar, Theodore,and twine the nuptial garland with wreaths of joy. Bonville shoulddevote a rich offering to so valuable a prize. He has been here for aweek, and departed for New-York yesterday, but is shortly to return."
And why have I ever doubted this event? said Theodore. What infatuationhath then led me on in the pursuit of fantastic and unreal bliss? I havehad, it is true, no positive assurances that Alida would be disposed tofavour my addresses. But why did she ever receive them? Why did sheenchantingly smile upon me? Why fascinate the soft powers of my heart bythat winning mildness, and the favourable display of those complicatedand superior attractions which she must have known were irresistible?And now she would have me dance attendance to her decision in favour ofanother--insulting; let Bonville and herself make it, as they haveformed this farcical decision. I absolutely will never attend it. Whydid she not spurn me from her confidence, and plainly tell me that myattentions were untimely and improper?
But, I have engaged to see her at an appointed time; my honour istherefore pledged for an interview; it must take place. I shallendeavour to support it with becoming dignity, and I will convince Alidaand Bonville, that I am not the dupe of their caprices. But, let meconsider--What has Alida done to deserve censure or reproach? Herbrother was my early friend; she has treated me as a friend to thatbrother. She was unconscious of the affection which her charms andmental graces had kindled in my bosom. Her evident embarrassment, onreceiving my declaration, witnessed her surprise and prior attachment.What could she do to save herself the pain of a direct denial? She hasappointed a day when her refusal may come in a more delicate and formalmanner--and I must therefore meet it.
Alida; or, Miscellaneous Sketches of Incidents During the Late American War. Page 11