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Page 10
"On first coming to reside here, I was much pleased with Miss
Fortescue, and I felt that with her, I could be happy, but her
reserve made me fancy her indifferent to me, and I judged she could
not return my love; and while her conduct increased my esteem, I
resolved that I would not forfeit her friendship by persevering in
attentions, I feared, she cared not for. You came: your beauty
struck me; your fascinating manners made an impression I could not
resist; your seeming pleasure in my attentions misled me, and my
heart was enslaved ere my judgment could act. But no more! you have
yourself, undrawn the veil, and humbly do I thank the merciful
Providence that has thus over-ruled things, and interfered to save
me from--, I hardly know what. You can scarcely wonder that I
avoided you, after what I heard; and it was not till to-day I could
sufficiently command my feelings, to stay at Mrs. Fortescue's, and
see you; it is not that I still love you, for I cannot love the
woman I no longer respect. I do not hate you; but I do sincerely
pity you, and humbly, and fervently do I pray that you may, ere too
late, see the errors of your conduct. You, by your own confession,
deem coquetry a venial error; can that be such, from which come
such cruel and mischievous results. But no more. I forgive you most
freely, and shall ever fervently pray that you may see and feel how
inimical to peace _here_, as well as _hereafter_, is such conduct
as you have shown.
"Ever your sincere friend, F.B."
No words can do justice to the agony of Beatrice's feelings, as she
read the foregoing letter. She was thunderstruck; here was a blow to
her happiness, how completely was she caught in her own toils; she
could but feel the retribution just. Of all men, she knew, George
Graham to be one of the most fastidious, and that of all things he
held the most despicable, she well knew, was a coquette. She loved him
with passionate devotion, but knew, if the effort cost him his life,
he would cast her from his affections. She was almost maddened with
the thought. She did indeed feel that Mr. Barclay was amply revenged,
and in feeling every hope of happiness was lost, she could judge to
what she had nearly brought him; though she perhaps forgot that he had
a support in the hour of trial to which she could not look, for she
had wilfully erred. It had always been her practice to go daily to the
village post office, consequently, no suspicions could arise on the
part of Ethelind, as they would have done, had she seen the frequency
of her friend's receiving letters. She rose early, and went the
morning she was to leave. She started, as the well known writing met
her eye on the address: her limbs trembled, and she feared to open the
packet put into her hands. Her own letters were returned with the
accompanying note:--
"FAITHLESS, BUT STILL DEAR BEATRICE,
"Farewell, and for ever! May you never know the bitter pangs you
have inflicted! I may be too fastidious, but I could never unite my
fate with yours; the woman I marry I must respect, or I can never
be happy; and miserable as I shall be without you, I feel that I
should be still more wretched did I unite my fate with yours. My
whole heart was, and is yours only, and had your feelings been what
they ought, you would have spurned the paltry gratification of
winning the affection you could not return, I sail for India
to-morrow; to have seen you would be worse than useless; as we can
never now, be anything, to each other.--Once more, adieu!
"Your once devoted,
"GEORGE GRAHAM."
Beatrice's eyes were red with weeping when she returned from the
village. She hesitated whether or not to show Ethelind the letters;
but she well knew her disposition and that although she highly
disapproved her conduct, still she would feel for her, and she needed
consolation; accordingly, calling her into her bed room, she put both
epistles into the hand of her friend, begging her to try and read them
through before the carriage came that was to take her away. Ethelind
was little less astonished than Beatrice had been, and truly did she
feel for her mortification. Many and bitter were the tears she shed on
reading Mr. Barclay's letter, for she well knew how strongly he must
have felt. Most thankful, too, was she that, by striving to overcome
her own attachment she had spared herself from having it even
suspected. Without a remark she returned the letters to Beatrice, who
could only beg to hear from her, and she promised to write, when the
post chaise drove up, and after affectionately embracing Mrs.
Fortescue and Ethelind, she was soon out of sight.
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