"One opinion of hers, however, had very much alarmed me. You will

find it expressed in the letter marked No. 8, in this collection.

When I complained to her of the approaches of Mr. Edgerton, and

declared my purpose of appealing to you if they were continued, she

earnestly and expressly exhorted me against any such proceeding.

She assured me that such a step would only lend to violence and

bloodshed--reminded me of your sudden anger--your previous duel--and

insisted that nothing more was necessary to check the impertinence

than my own firmness and dignity. Perhaps this would have been

enough, were it always practicable to maintain the reserve and

coldness which was proper to effect this object, and, indeed, I

could not but perceive that the effect was produced in considerable

degree by this course. Mr. Edgerton visited the house less frequently;

grew less impressive in his manner, and much more humble, until

that painful and humiliating night of my mother's marriage. That

night he asked me to dance with him. I declined; but afterward he

came to me accompanied by my mother. She whispered in my ears that

I was harsh in my refusal, and called my attention to his wretched

appearance. Had I reflected upon it then, as I did afterward, this

very allusion would have been sufficient to have determined me not

to consent;--but I was led away by her suggestions of pity, and

stood up with him for a cotillion. But the music changed, the set

was altered, and the Spanish dance was substituted in its place.

In the course of this dance, I could not deceive myself as to the

degree of presumption which my partner displayed; and, but for the

appearance of the thing, and because I did not wish to throw the

room into disorder, I would have stopped and taken my seat long

before it was over. When I did take my seat, I found myself still

attended by him, and it was with difficulty that I succeeded finally

in defeating his perseverance, by throwing myself into the midst

of a set of elderly ladies, where he could no longer distinguish

me with his attentions. In the meantime you had left the room. You

had deserted me. Ah! Clifford, to what annoyance did your absence

expose me that night! To that absence, do we owe that I lost the

only dear pledge of love that God had ever vouchsafed us--and you

know how greatly my own life was perilled. Think not, dearest,

that I speak this to reproach you; and yet--could you have

remained!--could you have loved, and longed to be and remain with

me, as most surely did I long for your presence only and always--ah!

how much sweeter had been our joys--how more pure our happiness--our

faith--with now--perhaps, even now--the dear angel whom we then

lost, living and smiling beneath our eyes, and linking our mutual

hearts more and more firmly together than before!




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