| | 1 | Author: | Roe
Edward Payson
1838-1888 | Requires cookie* | | | Title: | What can she do?  | | | | Published: | 2003 | | | | Subjects: | University of Virginia Library, Text collection | UVA-LIB-Text | University of Virginia Library, Early American Fiction, 1789-1875 | UVA-LIB-EarlyAmFict1789-1875 | | | | Description: | IT was a very cold blustering day in early January,
and even brilliant thronged Broadway felt
the influence of winter's harshest frown. There
had been a heavy fall of snow which, though in
the main cleared from the sidewalks, lay in the
streets comparatively unsullied and unpacked.
Fitful gusts of the passing gale caught it up and
whirled it in every direction. From roof, ledges,
and window sills, miniature avalanches suddenly
descended on the startled pedestrians, and the air
was here and there loaded with falling flakes from
wild hurrying masses of clouds, the rear guard of
the storm that the biting northwest wind was
driving seaward. “In your request and reproaches, I see the influence
of another mind. Left to yourself you
would not doubt me. And yet such is my love for
you, I would comply with your request were it not
for what passed that fatal evening. My feelings
and honor as a man forbid my ever meeting your
sister again till she has apologized. She never
liked me, and always wronged me with doubts.
Elliot acted like a fool and a villain, and I have
nothing more to do with him. But your sister, in
her anger and excitement, classed me with him.
When you have been my loved and trusted wife
for some length of time, I hope your family will do
me justice. When you are here with me you will
soon see why our marriage must be private for the
present. You have known me since you were a
child. I will be true to my word and will do
exactly as I agreed. I will meet you any evening
you wish on the down boat. Awaiting your reply
with an anxiety which only the deepest love can
inspire, I remain “I am going, Edith, to meet Mr. Van Dam, as he
told me. I cannot—I will not believe that he will
prove false to me. I leave his letter, which I received
to-day. Perhaps you never will forgive me
at home; but whatever becomes of poor little Zell,
she will not cease to love you all. I would only be
a burden if I stayed. There will be one less to
provide for, and I may be able to help you far more
by going than staying. Don't follow me. I've
made my venture, and chosen my lot. “Mother, Edith, farewell! When you read these
sad words I shall be dead. I fear death—I cannot
tell you how I fear it, but I fear that dreadful gulf
which daily grows nearer more. I must die. There
is no other resource for a poor, weak woman like
16
me. If I were only strong—if I had only been
taught something—but I am helpless. Do not be
too hard upon poor little Zell. Her eyes were
blinded by a false love; she did not see the black
gulf as I see it. If God cares for what such poor
forlorn creatures as I do, may He forgive. I have
thought till my brain reels. I have tried to pray,
but hardly knew what I was praying to. I don't
understand God—He is far off. The world scorns
us. There is none to help. There is no other
remedy save the drug at my side, which will soon
bring sleep which I hope will be dreamless. Farewell! “Miss Edith Allen: You need not fear that I
shall offend again by either writing or speaking
such rash words as those which so deeply pained
you this morning. They would not have been
spoken then, perhaps never, had I not been startled
out of my self-control—had I not seen that you
suspected me of evil. I was very unwise, and I sincerely
ask your pardon. But I meant no wrong,
and as you referred to my sister, I can say, before
God, that I would shield you as I would shield
her. “Guilliam:—You cannot know where I am.
You cannot know what has happened. You could
not be such a fiend as to cast me off and send me
here to die—and die I shall. The edge of the grave
seems crumbling under me as I write. If you have
a spark of love for me, come and see me before I
die. Oh, Guilliam, Guilliam! what a heaven of a
home I would have made you, if you had only married
me. It would have been my whole life to make
you happy. I said bitter words to you—forgive
them. We both have sinned—can God forgive us?
I will not believe you know what has happened.
You are grieving for me—looking for me. They
took me away while you were gone. Come and see
me before I die. Good-bye. I'm writing in the dark
—I'm dying in the dark—my soul is in the dark—
I'm going away in the dark—where, O God, where? | | | Similar Items: | Find |
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