CHAPTER IV. Hope is a lover's staff; walk hence with that, Two Gentlemen of Verona. I LOVED; and if there be truth in woman's words, I was beloved again. Yet not with the consciousness of reciprocal affection ceases a lover's fear. Seldom calm and unruffled are the waters of his spirit. There is a tide of dread and apprehension, which is continually ebbing and flowing in his soul. Even in the very excess of my good fortune, there was something which had a tendency to excite fear. Could I look on the Lady Melicent— all that nature-all that rank and fortune had made her and at once undoubtingly believe that, being all I saw and knew her to be, she was-she could be mine? Yes, often I did so believe, and then indeed I was happy. Yet how many obstacles to our union still remained. Could I hope for the consent of Lord Amersham? What had I to offer, which could serve as a counterpoise to the high rank and immense fortune of Lord Lyndhurst, who had already declared himself her suitor? How small, how utterly insignificant, were my worldly claims, when put in competition with his? If I excelled him in personal qualities-and, without vanity, I felt I might assume such a superiority-what was this in the calm and calculating eye of a father, compared with the splendid settlements, the influence, and the distinction, which belonged to an union with my rival? Under the circumstances, indeed, it seemed as if there was something even ridiculous, in my venturing to make proposals to Lord Amersham for an alliance with his daughter. What could I expect, but that they would instantly be rejected with scorn and contempt? I was too proud to encounter such a rejection. A mortification so humiliating, was one to which I felt that all my philosophy could not enable me to submit with patience. The interviews of Lady Melicent and myself were rare, for the circumstances in which we were placed, rendered it necessary that they should be arranged with the greatest prudence and caution. Our intercourse was secret, and on that account perhaps more sweet. It was seldom that we met alone, and then it was with beating hearts. Oh! these blessed but fleeting moments, within whose narrow limits the delight of centuries was concentrated and compressed, it is with a throbbing pulse that I even now recall them to my memory! But at other times, I at least enjoyed the privilege of beholding her, and though my lips were silent, my eyes were free. Her presence was, indeed, become as the life-blood to my heart. Sometimes I would sit with a volume in my hand, one line of which I never read, secretly watching her motions, and drinking in even the most trifling word her lips might syllable. Then at night, when I retired to my chamber, not calmly was my head laid upon my pillow; not gently and serenely, did sleep descend upon my eyelids; for there was fever in my blood, and a burning in my limbs, and I could not rest. Often did I rise from my sleepless couch, and throwing open my window, sit for hours in the moonshine, and gaze on the light that twinkled from the lattice of her chamber window. And if a shadow fell but for a moment on the curtain which shaded it, I knelt as in the presence of a superior being, till it had passed away. Neither waking nor in sleep was she absent from my thoughts. By day I gazed on her, and by night she visited my dreams. In our interviews, I told her of all my hopes and fears, and of the obstacles that presented themselves to our union. Our hopes, indeed, were in unison, but she partook not of my fears. In her glowing imagination, difficulties vanished, and the horizon of our future destiny, contained no cloud to darken its beauty and serenity. She told me, indeed, that the heart of her father was bent on her union with Lord Lyndhurst, and that the latter had already made an offer of his hand, which he was urgent she should accept. In the present situation of affairs, therefore, it was too evident that any proposals to Lord Amersham would have the effect of putting a complete and final stop to our correspondence, or at least of rendering its continuance a matter of great and almost insurmountable difficulty. For the present, our engagement was to be secret. It was better, she thought, that in rejecting the addresses of Lord Lyndhurst, her father should not imagine her to be influenced by any previous attachment. But this done, on my return to England, which would certainly be in the course of the following year, we would go to Lord Amersham, and lay before him the secret of our attachment. We would tell him that the happiness of both depended on our union, that our troth was already plighted, and in such circumstances, she, who knew him well, assured me, he could not-he would not refuse his consent. But even if we should be deceived in these fond hopes, still, still she would be mine. She loved her father, she had always loved him. She was an only child, and in her had centred all his hopes and his affection. But there are holier ties than even those which link together the hearts of parents and their offspring. By these she was bound to me; and she declared that no exercise of paternal authority should induce her to violate those vows of faithful and unswerving love, which, in the presence of God, we had sworn to each other. Thus assured, in those blessed and happy hours, doubt was banished from my bosom. What doubt, |