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Page 27
They frequently went down the river in a boat; Henry would take his
violin, and Mary would sometimes sing, or read, to them. She pleased his
mother; she inchanted him. It was an advantage to Mary that friendship
first possessed her heart; it opened it to all the softer sentiments of
humanity:--and when this first affection was torn away, a similar one
sprung up, with a still tenderer sentiment added to it.
The last evening they were on the water, the clouds grew suddenly black,
and broke in violent showers, which interrupted the solemn stillness
that had prevailed previous to it. The thunder roared; and the oars
plying quickly, in order to reach the shore, occasioned a not
unpleasing sound. Mary drew still nearer Henry; she wished to have
sought with him a watry grave; to have escaped the horror of surviving
him.--She spoke not, but Henry saw the workings of her mind--he felt
them; threw his arm round her waist--and they enjoyed the luxury of
wretchedness.--As they touched the shore, Mary perceived that Henry was
wet; with eager anxiety she cried, What shall I do!--this day will kill
thee, and I shall not die with thee!
This accident put a stop to their pleasurable excursions; it had injured
him, and brought on the spitting of blood he was subject to--perhaps it
was not the cold that he caught, that occasioned it. In vain did Mary
try to shut her eyes; her fate pursued her! Henry every day grew worse
and worse.
CHAP. XXVII.
Oppressed by her foreboding fears, her sore mind was hurt by new
instances of ingratitude: disgusted with the family, whose misfortunes
had often disturbed her repose, and lost in anticipated sorrow, she
rambled she knew not where; when turning down a shady walk, she
discovered her feet had taken the path they delighted to tread. She saw
Henry sitting in his garden alone; he quickly opened the garden-gate,
and she sat down by him.
"I did not," said he, "expect to see thee this evening, my dearest Mary;
but I was thinking of thee. Heaven has endowed thee with an uncommon
portion of fortitude, to support one of the most affectionate hearts in
the world. This is not a time for disguise; I know I am dear to
thee--and my affection for thee is twisted with every fibre of my
heart.--I loved thee ever since I have been acquainted with thine: thou
art the being my fancy has delighted to form; but which I imagined
existed only there! In a little while the shades of death will encompass
me--ill-fated love perhaps added strength to my disease, and smoothed
the rugged path. Try, my love, to fulfil thy destined course--try to add
to thy other virtues patience. I could have wished, for thy sake, that
we could have died together--or that I could live to shield thee from
the assaults of an unfeeling world! Could I but offer thee an asylum in
these arms--a faithful bosom, in which thou couldst repose all thy
griefs--" He pressed her to it, and she returned the pressure--he felt her
throbbing heart. A mournful silence ensued! when he resumed the
conversation. "I wished to prepare thee for the blow--too surely do I
feel that it will not be long delayed! The passion I have nursed is so
pure, that death cannot extinguish it--or tear away the impression thy
virtues have made on my soul. I would fain comfort thee--"
"Talk not of comfort," interrupted Mary, "it will be in heaven with thee
and Ann--while I shall remain on earth the veriest wretch!"--She grasped
his hand.
"There we shall meet, my love, my Mary, in our Father's--" His voice
faultered; he could not finish the sentence; he was almost
suffocated--they both wept, their tears relieved them; they walked
slowly to the garden-gate (Mary would not go into the house); they could
not say farewel when they reached it--and Mary hurried down the lane; to
spare Henry the pain of witnessing her emotions.
When she lost sight of the house she sat down on the ground, till it
grew late, thinking of all that had passed. Full of these thoughts, she
crept along, regardless of the descending rain; when lifting up her eyes
to heaven, and then turning them wildly on the prospects around, without
marking them; she only felt that the scene accorded with her present
state of mind. It was the last glimmering of twilight, with a full moon,
over which clouds continually flitted. Where am I wandering, God of
Mercy! she thought; she alluded to the wanderings of her mind. In what a
labyrinth am I lost! What miseries have I already encountered--and what
a number lie still before me.
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