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Page 15
The disorder made the most rapid advances--there was no hope!--Bereft of
it, Mary again was tranquil; but it was a very different kind of
tranquillity. She stood to brave the approaching storm, conscious she
only could be overwhelmed by it.
She did not think of Henry, or if her thoughts glanced towards him, it
was only to find fault with herself for suffering a thought to have
strayed from Ann.--Ann!--this dear friend was soon torn from her--she
died suddenly as Mary was assisting her to walk across the room.--The
first string was severed from her heart--and this "slow, sudden-death"
disturbed her reasoning faculties; she seemed stunned by it; unable to
reflect, or even to feel her misery.
The body was stolen out of the house the second night, and Mary refused
to see her former companions. She desired her maid to conclude her
marriage, and request her intended husband to inform her when the first
merchantman was to leave the port, as the packet had just sailed, and
she determined not to stay in that hated place any longer than was
absolutely necessary.
She then sent to request the ladies to visit her; she wished to avoid a
parade of grief--her sorrows were her own, and appeared to her not to
admit of increase or softening. She was right; the sight of them did not
affect her, or turn the stream of her sullen sorrow; the black wave
rolled along in the same course, it was equal to her where she cast her
eyes; all was impenetrable gloom.
CHAP. XVI.
Soon after the ladies left her, she received a message from Henry,
requesting, as she saw company, to be permitted to visit her: she
consented, and he entered immediately, with an unassured pace. She ran
eagerly up to him--saw the tear trembling in his eye, and his
countenance softened by the tenderest compassion; the hand which pressed
hers seemed that of a fellow-creature. She burst into tears; and, unable
to restrain them, she hid her face with both her hands; these tears
relieved her, (she had before had a difficulty in breathing,) and she
sat down by him more composed than she had appeared since Ann's death;
but her conversation was incoherent.
She called herself "a poor disconsolate creature!"--"Mine is a selfish
grief," she exclaimed--"Yet; Heaven is my witness, I do not wish her
back now she has reached those peaceful mansions, where the weary rest.
Her pure spirit is happy; but what a wretch am I!"
Henry forgot his cautious reserve. "Would you allow me to call you
friend?" said he in a hesitating voice. "I feel, dear girl, the tendered
interest in whatever concerns thee." His eyes spoke the rest. They were
both silent a few moments; then Henry resumed the conversation. "I have
also been acquainted with grief! I mourn the loss of a woman who was not
worthy of my regard. Let me give thee some account of the man who now
solicits thy friendship; and who, from motives of the purest
benevolence, wishes to give comfort to thy wounded heart."
"I have myself," said he, mournfully, "shaken hands with happiness, and
am dead to the world; I wait patiently for my dissolution; but, for
thee, Mary, there may be many bright days in store."
"Impossible," replied she, in a peevish tone, as if he had insulted her
by the supposition; her feelings were so much in unison with his, that
she was in love with misery.
He smiled at her impatience, and went on. "My father died before I knew
him, and my mother was so attached to my eldest brother, that she took
very little pains to fit me for the profession to which I was destined:
and, may I tell thee, I left my family, and, in many different stations,
rambled about the world; saw mankind in every rank of life; and, in
order to be independent, exerted those talents Nature has given me:
these exertions improved my understanding; and the miseries I was
witness to, gave a keener edge to my sensibility. My constitution is
naturally weak; and, perhaps, two or three lingering disorders in my
youth, first gave me a habit of reflecting, and enabled me to obtain
some dominion over my passions. At least," added he, stifling a sigh,
"over the violent ones, though I fear, refinement and reflection only
renders the tender ones more tyrannic.
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