"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!