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“Do not," she said, “ do not tell me that I have added to your misery!" She looked piteously in his face, and then bent down her head, and her tears fell upon his shoulder.
He was completely thrown off his guard. The sensation, almost approaching to awe, with which her true dignity of heart had inspired him, and which he never could throw off, even in their most familiar moments, was, for the first time, lost in more violent emotions. For the first time in his life, he pressed his lips to hers, and she suffered him to clasp her to his heart with the confidence of a loving and beloved sister.
“ Do not," she repeated, “ do not tell me that I have added to your misery."
Alas for A'maut! his feelings hurried him on he knew not whither. He not only deprecated her marriage, but betrayed the secret of his own wretched passion, let out the whole history of his agony from first to last, and in short, as he told me himself, behaved like a maniac. Mary at first listened as though she did not understand him; as he proceeded, her tears stopped ; she
grew pale and trembled violentlý; and at the conclusion, flung herself from his arms, and rushed into her bed-room, which was adjoining, with a scream of anguish which restored his senses like an electric shock, and was never afterwards out of his ears.
For some moments he stood as though he had just heard sentence of death pronounced against him. He approached the chramber door. A
THE STORY OF ARNAUT.
“Leave me," she
tremulous and indistinct murmur was all he could lear. His terror as to what might be the consequence of his conduct, and his altogether agonized state, bad given him courage to brave any thing. He knocked, but there was no reply, and he opened the door. Mary was lying on the bed ;- her face bid in the pillow, and her arms spread out in the distracted attitude in which she had cast herself down. Her whole frame was shuddering, and, when he fung himself upon his knees beside ber, she seemed totally unconscious of his intrusion. It was long before he ventured to speak, and not till then did be discover that she was still sensible, said, in a faint but piercing accent. Arnaut was immoveable, and she repeated in a stifled shriek, “' for God's sake leave me!”
To have disobeyed might have been death to her.
He rang the bell for her maid-serrant, and dashed out of the house like an evil spirit.
When he returned home, his cheeks were bloodless, and his whole demeanour, wild and extravagant. I besought him for the cause, and he groaned out the foregoing history. My knowledge of Mary's character was quite sufficient to assure me that his offence was such as to place an insuperable bar to their ever being upon former footing. But I used my best endeavours to calu him. Her great affection would make every possible
Ier gentle temper could not choose but for give; and I volunteered to be the mediator. He tried to appear pacified, thanked me fervently, and gave me a
thousand confused, unintelligible, and passionate instruc-
It so happened, that the friends with whom Mary was
. When I thought they had set off, I rang at the
- was not well. I,
Tell him,” she said, " I shall always feel deeply sensi-
thousand confused, unintelligible, and passionate instructions, as to what I was to say, and how I was to conduct myself.
It so happened, that the friends with whom Mary was staying, were engaged out to a party that evening, and I took it for granted, that after what had occurred, she would excuse herself from accompanying them. I was right. When I thought they had set off, I rang at the gate, and was told that Miss was not well. I, however, insisted on sending up my name, and the answer was, that she would be happy to see me. sitting on a sofa, very pale and very mournful, but at the same time, very calm and collected. She anticipated the object of my visit, and told me that if I had not come, she had purposed sending for me. As an advocate for my friend, she said, I had no necessity to speak. He was freely forgiven, and it was chiefly her own conduct that pierced her to the heart, for she was sensible, that, had it not been open to misconception, he never had offended. “Tell him,” she said, “ I shall always feel deeply sensible of my obligation to him. Assure him that I never shall be base enough to suspect that the part he has taken to prevent my unhappy marriage, originated from un. worthy motives. I am confident of his sincerity; of his heartfelt anxiety for my welfare. But-I can never see him again.” I told her that his mind was wrought to such a pitch, that if she persisted in this determination, she would probably have fatal cause to repent it. That
I was, even now, fearful of what might occur during my absence, and relied upon her humanity to dismiss me with some more comfortable intelligence. cried, and her firmness seemed shaken by my last words. “What can I say? A declaration of love from a married man! From him toom-from him whom I considered my most trust-worthy-my most-merciful heaven, where is my peace secure if he destroys it!" She wept and wrung her hands almost as Arnaut described her to have done in the morning, and it was long ere I could draw any thing from her but mere ejaculations and sobs that went to my heart. I need not go through the whole of this painful scene. It is enough to say that my entreaties could obtain nothing more than she had already said. Her concluding words were these.
“ Tell him, that his kind and generous arguments had determined me, at all hazard, to resist my impending marriage, but that the discovery of his unfortunate sentiments, renders it a duty to us both.
He will then, probably, cease to think of me, and I shall feel that I have done my utmost to restore him to himself. Nay, the change is necessary for me likewise ; why should I conceal it? Never, alas, did I think of examining into the mystery of my own feelings
till this day, and I will own to you, that before I become
ating, for the man who is content to make me so. And
She reseated herself upon the
sofa, put her handkerchief to her eyes, and I returned with an aching hosom to my friend.
It may easily be imagined how he took my intelligence. He was frantic; and my words of comfort passed by him as idly as the wind. For the greater part of the night, he paced up and down the room with folded arms and cheeks, red as blood with fever; and when I insisted upon his taking a few hours rest, he suffered himself to be led like a drunken man. Never in my life had I seen such effects of mental pertubation. But Arnaut was not like other men.
He could not bear the buffeting of sorrow. Every particle of his mind was sensitive. I had seen the most trifing mortifications harass him for days, and I could not much wonder now to find him laid prostrate. He did not sleep til long after daylight, and then (for in my anxiety I had listened at the door all the time) he began to mutter about the occurrences of the preceding day, for the bonds of sleep were not strong enough to hold him. He leaped out of bed, opened the window, and then flung himself upon the bare boards to enjoy the chill. He was long before his usual time at breakfast, yet took nothing but a glass of brandy, after which he seemed evidently struggling to become more collected. His resolution was soon tried. The servant brought him a small sealed packet. It was the oue he had dropped the day before, and contained the ringlet. Mary was gone.
Arnaut did not shew much emotion, for his feelings