Bressant

He must, then--and there was yet time--resign his fortune, and accept

Sophie and a clear conscience, poverty and a country parish. But persons

who have wealth absolutely in their power, to take or to leave, sec

clearly how much poetical extravagance, hypocrisy, and cant exist in the

arguments of those who advocate the beauties and advantages of being

poor. Deliberately and voluntarily to forego the opportunities, the

influence, the ease, the refinement, which money alone can command--let

not the sacrifice be underrated! Few, perhaps, have had the choice

fairly offered them: of those, how many have chosen poverty? In

Bressant's case, the fact that the money was not legally his, was,

abstractly, enough to settle the matter; but in real life, where every

one is expected to do battle for his claims, it would only be an

argument for holding on the harder. If he could but manage to be happily

married and wealthy both! He would not confess it impossible; at all

events, he would delay the confession till the very latest hour, and

then trust to the impulse of the moment for his final decision and

action. He had given up, it seemed, that promising idea of trusting to

the generosity of the rightful owner; yet, considering their mutual

relation, and one or two minor circumstances, he might certainly do so

without misgiving, embarrassment, or dishonor.

"It's that infernal letter!" muttered the young man between his teeth,

staring gloomily out at the cheerless snow-storm. "I wish it had never

been written. No! that I could feel sure there was no truth in it."

Turning from the window, he stepped over to the table, and dropped

himself into his chair. He took from his pocket a well-worn envelope,

hardly capable of holding on to the inclosed letter, which peeped forth

at the corners, and through various rents in the front and back. He did

not open it, for he had long known by heart every word and italic in it;

but, placing it in front of him, he leaned upon his elbows, with his

forehead resting between his hands, and gazed fixedly down upon it. It

is an assistance to the vividness of thought to have some object in

sight connected with the matter under consideration.

"Ought I to have answered it?" ran his soliloquy: for though he had

frequently taken counsel with himself concerning this letter before, he

recurred again and again to the subject, pleasing himself with the hope

that still, in some way, a fortunate ray of light might be struck out;

"but, if I had, what should I have gained by it? It's as well not to

have risked putting any thing on paper; and if she really has the proofs

she talks about, I shall hear from her again, and soon, for she knows

which is my wedding-day; and it must all be decided, one way or another,

before then. But she couldn't have made the assertion if she hadn't

known some good grounds for it; and yet I can't understand it--I

cannot." He pressed his temples strongly between his hands, and chewed

his brown mustache. "As to my having 'no legal claim to a cent,' I knew

that before. What puzzles me is, 'There is no consideration--not a

shadow of relationship, or affection, or generosity--nothing to give

you the least prospect of receiving any thing.' How can that be? And

yet what she says at the end--it sounds more like a threat she knows she

can fulfil than an attempt to humbug." Bressant took his right hand from

his forehead, and tapped with his finger on the envelope as he repeated

the words: "If this is enough--convinces you without your requiring

proof--it would be much pleasanter for you, and a great relief to me.

Oh! beyond words! But if not--if you will go on entangling yourself

with this foolish girl, Sophie, and this boarding-house keeper, and

all--I shall be obliged--I shall hate to do it, but there will be no

alternative--to give you the explanation of what I tell you now."