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expand2003 (1)
1Author:  Bennett Emerson 1822-1905Add
 Title:  Viola, or, Adventures in the far South-west  
 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: “Away! away! away! three cheers for freedom! and ho for the sunny South!” “Dear Morton—We meet strangely —we have from the first—and since I saw you on the boat at New Orleans, I have thought there may be such a thing as a special Providence. Oh, Morton, if you love me—if you ever loved me— forsake me not now! Till I saw you last, despair had for months sat like an incubus upon my heart. Hope had fled me, and in vain I labored to lure her back. She came with you; and since then has fluttered in sight, but ready to take wing and leave me forever. You, Morton, and hope, are so united, that neither can come alone. Oh, misery! misery! how well I know the meaning of the term! What shall I say of the past? I could pour out my soul to you in words, were we together; but I can say nothing on paper. Yet something I must say. My mother is dead. My father—oh! that he better deserved the name!—what shall I say of him? Morton, to be brief, my father has sold me to a man I detest, and is now on his way to deliver me to my purchaser. In other words, and to speak without enigma, my father having failed in business, is resolved to retrieve his fortune by disposing of my hand to a French count, who boasts of a distant connection with Louis Philippe. He is rich, and owns a country seat somewhere near the Brazos; but I cannot direct you to it, nor do I even know the vicinity. I only know it is called D'Estang Ville. You may perhaps find it from the name —that is, should you care to trouble yourself about it. Thither I am to be transported; and once there my father has solemnly sworn I shall become the wife of D'Estang, or take the alternative of ending my days in a convent, in the interior of Mexico. Of the two, my choice is already made. I will never wed this count. Morton, my hope is in you, or death. If you fail me, the latter may not. I would not die now— but can I live a life of misery? I have knelt and prayed to my father to forego his terrible resolve. In vain. He is inexorable. Oh! how he has changed of late! He is another being. Mother and wealth were his idols. One is dead—the other lost; and now he would rebuild his fortunes on the crushed hopes and broken heart of his only child. He cannot love me, Morton, and I have learned to fear him. Could he have loved my mother? If so, why am I treated thus? Of M. D'Estang—he once visited my father in the city of Mexico. I was then a child—but it seems he conceived a passion for me even then, which years have strengthened rather than weakened. I say passion; for had he ever loved, he would not buy me like a slave now. How he and my father met within a year, and how one bought and the other sold me, I cannot tell you now—perhaps I may when we meet, should God permit us to meet again on earth. My hand trembles, and tears dim my eyes. Morton, dear Morton, I cannot write more. I have stolen away to do this. Will it ever reach you? and can you assist me if it does? Oh, Morton, by the sweet past! by our then happy hopes of the future! I conjure you to come to my aid! But you must come disguised. If seen and recognised, I verily believe your life will be taken. It is fearful to think so, Morton—it is terrible! No more. “I am a prisoner in the tower; secure the bearers of this; let no one leave the Ville, on pain of death, and come instantly to my release. “Let the bearers of this, my particular friends, be provided with four good horses, and be permitted to leave the Ville without question or hindrance.
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