so assimilated, that I always think of the one in connection with the other. She excited my soul to ambition,-you warm my heart into love. I can esteem and regard her as a cherished friend. I love you with that deep and passionate fervor, which no other has ever excited. It is in your power to make me happy or miserable." "I wish for your happiness," replied the agitated girl; "but give me time to consider this is so unexpected." "I can ask for no more," said Howard, as he raised the hand he held to his lips. CHAPTER XIII. DISCOVERIES AND DISAPPOINTMENTS. "SURELY you are not going to leave us," said Col. Stanbrook to Donald Clarkson, after the return of the party, and all had been explained. "I will not hear to it. A bed has been prepared for you, my dear sir, and you must consider yourself a prisoner of circumstances at least for a time. Inez, my dear child, Mr. Howard looks really ill. Bring some wine from the sideboard-it may do him good. I shall insist on your both being patients, for tonight at least. Dr. P— says you must have quiet. This you cannot have at your boardinghouses; but here, where we are so much indebted to you, you may command every comfort. Indeed, you must consider this your home," continued he, again addressing Clark son. "I owe you a debt that it will be difficult to repay. My dearest niece, and my sweet wayward child here, owe their lives to you, and I hope they both feel sensible of the deep obligations they are under. Inez, my girl, you seem to forget that Mr. Howard's arm needs attention. Ring the bell, and let a servant be sent for the plasters and bandages. Inez flew from the room at these words, and soon returned with all that was required. The bandages were placed as directed, but Howard insisted upon retaining the scarf which had at first been wrapped around the wound. A few low whispered words secured him this privilege, especially as he assured her he should recover more rapidly if it was suffered to remain. "Are you sure of this?" asked Col. Stanbrook, in answer to some communication from Miss Legard on the following morning. "I feel a deep interest in both these young men ; Clarkson has saved the life of Laura, and there is no knowing how far gratitude may go toward gaining her affections. You must be aware, from what I have told you, my dear Miss Clara, of the circumstances of my nieces, and their future prospects, and that it is absolutely necessary they should form proper connections for life. I think it will be best for me to forbid all intercourse between Laura and this young poet, at least for the present. If he is in embarrassed circumstances, I will endeavor to assist him in some way, without wounding his pride, of which I perceive he has abundant share." แ "I fear that you will be pursuing a wrong course by thus doing," replied Clara. 'An entire separation, especially at this time, will but fix their thoughts more upon each other. I would rather advise that you do not appear to notice anything particular in his attentions; but as Laura is gentle and tractable, to reason with her mildly upon the subject, and perhaps, after the first warm feelings of gratitude toward him have subsided, you will have nothing more to fear. But, my dear sir, it is in behalf of another person that I wished to speak to you this morning." "Cornelia and this Count somebody, I supReally, my duties as guardian are somewhat troublesome." pose. "No, sir. Between Miss Cornelia Stanbrook and myself there is, unfortunately, neither friendship nor sympathy. I am not, nor ever have been, in her confidence. It is for one dear to me as a sister,-my lovely pupil, and your ward." Inez, what of her?" asked the old gentleman eagerly. "Having neither mother nor sister to consult with and advise her, she has been in the habit of reposing perfect confidence in me. An offer of marriage was made her yesterday, which I think quite eligible. You may not consider it so, and at her request, I came to inform you of it." "She shall not marry that Edward Hofland, I am resolved," said the Colonel, striking his cane upon the floor with unusual vehemence. "It was not of Mr. Hofland I was about to speak." returned Clara, smiling a little at his settled animosity to this gay suitor. "The person I refer to—" words of Miss Legard, and then turned upon the lady herself, who met it with calm and silent dignity. "Cornelia, your manners are neither ladylike nor respectful," said her uncle, sharply. "If you cannot conduct yourself better, I must request you to leave the room." Cornelia had the grace to blush at this rebuke, and turned to the window, biting her lip. "Perhaps," thought she, "my sage old bachelor uncle is about to present us with an Aunt, at last! there seems to be a perfect understanding between him and the governess" The half smile which passed over her face at this thought, was in an instant changed to an angry flush, as she beheld her sister and Mr. Clarkson in earnest conversation on the balcony below. แ "Pray, sir," she exclaimed, turning quickly around, "how long is it to be your pleasure to encourage an intimacy between Laura and that mad poet?" "I have seen nothing like a flirtation as yet, nor have you, Cornelia. The young gentleman's manners are distant and respectful." 66 Do you think so, sir? Then pray look there, where they have stolen away alone. And she in her delicate state of health, standing in the cold air, to listen, I suppose, to the worn-out story of escape from a rail-car." Clara, seeing an expression of uneasiness upon the countenance of Col. Stanbrook, at these words and anxious for some excuse to leave the uncle and niece together, offered to go and persuade the imprudent girl to return to the house-and the offer being received with grateful thanks on his part, and a cold bow from Cornelia, she left the library. "I have obeyed your summons, sir," said the proud girl. "If you have nothing of importance to communicate, I should like to return to the company I have left in the parlor." Col. Stanbrook looked pained and deeply affected at this cold, heartless speech. He looked at her a moment in silence, and then 'said, "So, Cornelia, you are determined to throw yourself away upon this foreign clown, contrary to my advice and wishes with regard to you. Remember, I warn you that you will sorely repent this obstinacy, and will yet be brought to acknowledge that I was in the right. Pray what do you know of him, except from his own story? He may be a swindler, a murderer, a married man, for aught you know to the contrary. Has he any money?" "I never inquired," replied Cornelia in a 66 They were drawn from a foolish, fond old man, who now sees to what little advantage they have been applied," said her uncle, in a bitter tone. "What do you mean, sir ?" "I mean, Cornelia Stanbrook, that you have not one cent except what I have allowed you. That I took you from a dissipated father, and a weak, indolent mother, and adopted you as my own child. Seeing your natural abilities, (which I have sedulously cultivated—and which it is your own fault have not been turned to better account.) I fondly thought, that with the education you should receive through my means, you might make a brilliant marriage, and repay me for my care, by becoming an ornament to society. I imagined that your own unchecked pride would prevent you from forming an unsuitable connection. I do not allude to poverty, with talent and merit to ennoble it, but to throwing yourself away upon flashy adventurers. I see, too late, that I have pursued the wrong course. You have been petted and indulged, and allowed to have your own way too much. You have always resisted control, and even now are determined to let the most important act of your life be influ enced by selfish considerations-rushing blindly to your own ruin. Yes, ruin--for I assure you, if I should die to-morrow, you would be left with the bare means of subsistence." "Good heavens! is it possible?" exclaimed the affrighted girl, burying her face in her hands. 'It is true,” replied her uncle; "and if you wish to be better convinced, come with me to my study, and I will show you the will of your uncle, which has so much misled you." Cornelia followed him in silence. A parchment was produced, upon which her eyes rested, as if by fascination, for several moments. She was so completely amazed at the contents, that it deprived her of all power of speech. "Does Laura know all this?" she at length asked. "No, Cornelia. She has never loved money for its own sake, and therefore will not miss it as much as yourself. Her wishes have never wandered beyond her present situation." "And Inez Laurence, have you told her?" asked Cornelia, the proud curl of her lip becoming more significant as she asked the question. 'Inez-no. She is in happy ignorance of everything, but the knowledge that she has been educated to make herself a useful, not a glittering and ornamental member of society. Inez, through the influence of that inestimable woman, Clara Legard, joined to her own good sense, is prepared to make her own way through the world—even if threatened with poverty. Should her merits win her the affection of some clever young man, who will love her as she ought to be loved, so much the better. She deserves every blessing that Heaven can bestow, for she has been a real blessing to me; cheering my solitary hours, and supplying that place in my affections which my more favored nieces have considered too much of a task. Inez, may the smiles of happiness ever dwell upon thy bright, cheerful countenance! To her I look for comfort in my declining years. I have spent everything upon you and your sister, Cornelia, and may yet come to actual want. If I have done wrong, it was with the best motives." Correlia Stanbrook was too proud, too cold hearted, to be moved one iota by the affecting language of the poor old man, who had lavished his all upon her. Her only thought was the loss of the property she had always considered her own. Joined to this, was an inveterate hatred to the sweet girl to whom her uncle seemed so much attached. "Your favorite, sir, is not so trustworthy as you suppose," said she. "For, without your advice or consent, she is about to bestow her hand upon a certain poor lawyer, named Fred erick Howard." "I know nothing except that she risked his life in the sleighing excursion, and then promised her hand and heart as a recompense for injuries received. And then, there is that mad poet-more mad than ever about Laura. Surely, sir, you will not allow this nonsense to go farther. Why, the girl might really think of marrying him at last." "And if she did-and I found him worthy of her, I should make no objection," said the Colonel. Cornelia, too indignant to reply, left the room. Cornelia Stanbrook withdrew from her uncle's presence with feelings not to be envied. She had lived in the gay world, and for the gay world. Her imagination was filled with visions of future aggrandizement, to which wealth and power were to contribute. She was to be the queen of fashion; and, secure from censure, by a splendid marriage with some foreign scion of nobility, like Christina of Sweden, to form her court after her own pleasure. On a sudden, these visions had faded into air. The means to effect the enterprise were gone, and with that died the proud spirit of the goddess of fashion. There was but one resource left, and that was, instead of conferring favor and distinction as an heiress, to secure in her chains a wealthy heir. Her love for the elegant Count Puffer must now be set aside. He had only assured her of his right to a title, and not to the wealth necessary to support that title; and now that all her own fond hopes had in a moment been destroyed, it were folly, she thought, to encourage the attentions of the beloved foreigner. And yet the fertile brain of the young lady suggested that some expedient must be resorted to, to avert the consequences likely to result from the public announcement of this mysterious will. Cornelia sat pondering in her mind some means to avoid the "slurs and scorns, and whips of the time," when a voice was heard in the hall, inquiring if she was at home. "Admit Mr. Beaumont," said she, in answer to the servant, who always took his clew from his mistress as to the visitors to be favored with her condescending notice, and those to be turned away. Cunning servants may often be of great service to ladies of fashion. Beaumont entered with his most obsequious bow to the supposed heiress, and, to his utter "Howard! the son of my old friend?" ejac- surprise, was greeted with a welcome much warmer than he had dared to hope for. The hand he had taken on his entrance was not withdrawn, as usual, with supercilious scorn, but remained in his long enough to allow of a slight pressure on the part of the gentlemannot resented by the lady. The few moments intervening between the announcement of his name, and his entrance, had been of great service in forwarding the suit so long hopelessly carried on. Miss Stanbrook had time to reflect. He had sought and wooed her as an heiress. There was no love in the case; and she now determined to turn the tables on himself, and encourage a suit, the result of which was likely to terminate all her difficulties. Beaumont was considered rich, and the game was in her own hands. She despised him, but he had it in his power, as she thought, to avert the doom which hung over her, and obscured her brilliant prospects. She smiled upon him, while golden visions floated before his mental vision, and before hers, equipages and diamonds. There mingled with them no ideas of domestic felicity-of love-of home-of happiness! What have these to do with the establishment of a fashionable belle? The offer of his hand and heart was made, and accepted with equal indifference. Both considered the prize for which they contended secure; and with a reference to her uncle on the part of the lady, and protestations of eternal devotion on that of the gentleman, an engagement for life was made, and the conversation turned upon other subjects. "So that fool, Fred Howard, is really engaged to Inez Laurence," said Beaumont, after a long pause, for want of something to say. "Do you see him often?" "Almost every day." "As he is your friend, you ought to guard him against imposition." "That's what I mean to do. I can't bear that girl." "I can conceive of that," said Cornelia, with a curl of her lip. "Fred has an important case on hand. Should he gain it, his fortune is made, and he will become a prize worth striving for." "Whose is it?" asked Cornelia, bending her head over her work. "Lindsay's gone by the board-all to smash —that is if he don't recover, which is doubtful.” "Has he failed?" "No; but other heirs come in for the property, and the case is now in Chancery. Fred is employed on the Lindsay side, but against a powerful party on the other." "So Mrs. Lindsay's jam will not come off?" "Strange if it does." "But to return to Inez and this engagement. Have you sufficient proof of what you assert to venture upon a disclosure to Howard?" "I have, and mean to do so this very day." Cornelia said no more either for or against the proposal, but again averting her head, inquired if he had seen Mr. Graham lately. "Not since the night at the theatre. Some say the widower is about to play the married man again." "Who is the fortunate lady?" "That Miss Legard." Cornelia twisted her worsted into a knot, and her brow into a frown. "What a gay winter we shall have!" cried Miss Stanbrook's face became crimson for Augustus Beaumont, clapping his hands in more than one reason. "I could tell him what would shake his confidence in the young lady, but it is perhaps best to let him run into the snare." "Could you ?" exclaimed Cornelia. "What is it? Pray tell me; I would give anything to mortify that girl." "Why, Ed. Hofland told me that she was desperately in love with him, and he had only to pop the question, and she was his to a certainty." "Is this true, or are you only joking?" "True, 'pon honor." "Does Howard know it?" ecstasy. "So many marriages on the 'tapis,' and so many balls to follow them. But we will eclipse them all-will we not? My brilliant Cornelia always has outshone, and always will outshine, every one else, married or single. By the way, what colors do you choose for our carriage equipments-for, of course, I must order one immediately." "Whatever you choose," replied the young lady, with mock humility. "How very yielding! and what a charming wife I shall have," thought her betrothed, as he kissed her hand at parting. "What a cruel fate!" exclaimed the affianced "I guess not, or he would not be so in- bride, as she leaned back upon the sofa with a fatuated." yawn after he had left her. CHAPTER XIV. "Per post, sir, send your MS.,-looked it through,— And though Statesmen may glory in being unbought, "SENT back my manuscript !" exclaimed poor Donald Clarkson, throwing himself back in his chair in a despairing mood. “What, then, is to become of me? I have not a cent in the world, and a month's board is due. To whom can I apply for relief? Alas! no one. Of what use are the talents Heaven has bestowed upon us mortals, if they cannot save us from perishing with want! Yet there is one who has offered to assist me-who insists that he is indebted to me--and for what? for saving a life for which I would have sacrificed my own! My proud heart rejects the thought of applying for pecuniary aid to her uncle. He will offer me, as a beggar, the means of subsistence, but he would spurn me as the lover of his niece. And yet he knows not how I could toil, slave for her. I would perish ere she should want for anything. Dreams! dreams! unsubstantial visions! Away, I will indulge in you no more!" "With Mr. Stanbrook's compliments," exclaimed a young friend of Clarkson, as he entered his gloomy apartment, and presented a packet. The poet grasped it eagerly. He opened it with a trembling hand. "One-two -three-four-five hundred dollars! He has saved me from despair! But have you no word, no message from her ?" "She has sent you this chain and locket," said the youth, the tears starting in his eyes at the anguished look of his friend. "She bids you wear it for her sake, but at the same time to give up all hope of ever being more to her than a friend." Clarkson seized the precious gift, and pressed it to his lips. "Tell her," said he, "that I will wear it next my heart, until that heart ceases to beat. I am, then, the cause of the severity used towards her! I, who would lay down my life for her sake. The thought of her sorrow at our separation, destroys all the pleasure I might feel at receiving her gift. I feel in my inmost soul the sacrifice she would make in becoming mine. Oh, my friend! You are allowed to be near her to enjoy the heavenly light of her countenance. Watch it closely. Tell me if she appears unhappy. It needs not an assur ance of her sorrow to nerve my soul to desperation. I would tear her from her cold, heartless relatives, even if my life became the forfeit. Go, leave me now, my dear friend. I shall be ever grateful for your kindness. But leave me alone now. I must pay these demands against me, with the generous donation of Col. Stanbrook, and then take my accustomed walk. Come to me to-morrow.” An hour after, and a solitary figure enveloped in a cloak was sauntering up Broadway. It stopped. "All is quiet in the house-ah! I hear footsteps, perhaps hers. Blessed is the spot where she treads. She is like a star in the midnight gloom. Yet why can she not understand me? Are not our souls united? Oh, could I tell her my elevated hopes! Could I share with her my own restless imaginings! In vain. She is surrounded by a set of heartless beings, who will persuade her that I am a mere pretender-that I am a fortune-hunterthat I love her not for herself, but for her wealth. Gold! gold! gold! what jargon! I in love with sordid lucre! I, who care not for it, save as a means of subsistence! Shall such heavenly beauty be resigned to such a fate as they would doom her to? Never! never! My love is wholly disinterested. It is seated in the heart. It is as pure as yon cloudless heaven. Idesire nothing but to see her to be near her -to gaze into the liquid depths of her soft blue eyes, and see my own image reflected there. To have her all my own-my idolmy own angel wife." And was Laura insensible to the love she had kindled in the heart of the young poet? Almost every day receiving new proofs of his devoted affection, she shrunk from the passionate glance of those dark dreamy eyes, so full of eloquent feeling. Though meeting with opposition on all sides, she was not proof against the enchantment thrown around her. She became melancholy and unhappy. Narrowly watched, she dared not acknowledge by word or look the preference she felt. If she sat at the window, the first object she saw was her adorer watching for her appearance there. Did she take up a book, there were the blank pages filled with his restless thoughts, every word having reference to herself. If she walked out for air and exercise, she was sure to meet him wrapped in his scanty cloak, moving listlessly among the crowd, cold, calm, and unconcerned, until she appeared. Then the stoic features would unbend, and the eloquent eyes sparkle with joy. A look or slight bow of re. |