University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.
IN WHICH THE HERO SHOWS HIS HEROISM.

“And what do you expect from my interference in
this business, madam?” said Sidney, with an air of petulant
haughtiness.

Zemira uncovered her face; and, turning her dark
eyes, bathed in tears, upon him,—

“O!” said she, “I hoped—I hardly dare tell you—I
hoped you would be my friend, and conceal all from my
father, and make him believe you did not wish to marry
me; and”— she grew paler.

“And what more?” said Sidney, trembling with suppressed
emotion. “What more do you require of me?”

“Only—to receive Mr. Stuart's letters and convey
them to me. My father will not suspect you, and I must
hear from my husband, or my heart will break. Will
you—will you do it? O, say you will!” and clasping
her hands, she leaned towards him in the attitude of
entreaty.

Sidney might, with old Norval, have complained,
“Alas, I am sore beset.” He professed himself her
devoted lover, and yet shrunk from bearing the name
of friend. “I must resign her,” thought he. He looked
at her, and his feelings overcame his resolution.

“O, Zemira!” exclaimed he, seizing her clasped hands
in his, “why, why did you marry him? You say you
esteem me—you wish me for a friend. Ah! had I seen
you before this fatal connection, and could I have obtained
a dearer title, my whole life should have been

devoted to your happiness. Zemira, say, at least, if
you were not the wife of Stuart, you might have preferred
me.”

“Mr. Romilly,” she replied, with such an air of modest
dignity as compelled him instantly to release her struggling
hands, “I never thought of preferring any man to
my husband. I said you were generous; but you are
not like him. If you were acquainted with him, you
would not wonder at my partiality. O, he is my pride,
my preceptor, my friend! But I can convince you of
his worth, nobleness, and superiority,” she continued,
her face glowing with animation: “I will show you his
letters, and then you can judge whether he is not worthy
of my confidence—my heart.”

As she ended, she left Sidney, but soon returned with
a small ivory box in her hand, and opening it, took out
a bundle of letters, and holding them towards the discarded
lover, said, with a sweet smile,—“Here, if you
will only peruse these, you cannot, I am sure you cannot,
blame my choice. But do return them; they are
dear to me as my life.”

Sidney took the letters, although he would willingly
have been excused from seeing them; but he could not
refuse such an urgent request, especially when made by
such a persuasive voice. He took them, and without
speaking, bowed, left the house, and, hurrying home,
shut himself up in his own chamber, to deliberate what
course to pursue. But his mind was all anarchy; and at
last, as a refuge from his own thoughts, he took up the
letters. They were all neatly folded, and each labeled
with the date of its reception.

Although Sidney had no intention of analyzing the
mind of his rival by a minute examination of the contents
of the several epistles, yet he naturally opened the first
in order, intending merely to glance over its contents,
without expecting to be much edified by the morality or
consistency of a love-letter. However, he made no pause
till it was finished, and then laid it down but to take up

another; nor did he once change his posture till the reading
of the whole was accomplished.

The hand-writing was beautiful and very plain, which
much facilitated the reading and comprehending too; for
who can understand the connection of a sentence when
obliged to pause and hammer and spell one half the
words composing it. But Sidney thought not of the
penmanship; it was the sentiments of the writer, so
noble, so wise, so just, yet expressed with such simplicity,
and illustrated and applied with such anxious, yet delicate
tenderness to direct the mind and conduct of his
pupil and bride. There were directions for the regulation
of her time and temper; hints on the selection of
books and the choice of company; on the advantages of
a taste for literature, when kept in subordination to her
duties, to the happiness and usefulness of a woman; and
a recommendation of the heaven breathing spirit of piety,
as the beautifier which added loveliness to the lovely.
These were the topics introduced and discussed with all
the knowledge of the philosopher, yet with all the suavity,
feeling and delicacy that friendship and love could inspire.

“He is worthy of her!” exclaimed Sidney, starting
from his seat and pacing the apartment with rapid steps.
“She was right in saying I was not like him. I have
worshiped her for her beauty and to gratify my passion;
Stuart loved her for the excellences his intimate acquaintance
showed him she possessed, and he is employing his
influence over her mind to render her worthy of forever
retaining his confidence and affection. He sought her not
as a toy for the moment, but to make her his friend, his
companion through life. For this she loves him as I shall
never be loved. I may obtain a wife or mistress; wealth
would gain either, though a man were deformed as
æsop; but a friend, a true love, who will “love on
through each change and love on till we die,” such a one
must be deserved, and must be cherished. I am not
worthy of Zemira, for I could not guide aright her gentle
spirit, that would so entirely commit itself to mine to be
directed. Yet why?” continued he, sitting down and

leaning his head on his hand with a mournful expression
of countenance, as if lamenting over the loss of long
cherished hopes, “why am I thus inferior to Stuart? I
was, in childhood, extolled as possessing uncommon
genius, and flattered with the expectations of becoming a
great man, and now I am—a gay one. Strange, that the
expectation of being able to bestow a fortune on a child
should lead those who have the care of his instruction to
educate him only to spend it! As if they thought riches
possessed the quality of imparting knowledge without the
necessity of study or exertion. Had I remained in the
old granite state and won my way from the plow to the
honors of a college, as our greatest statesmen have done,
I should not now be envying the superior acquirements
of even Stuart. I know I could have equaled him. But
luxury has undone me. Wealth all covet; yes, my good,
sensible, and contented parents were dazzled by its lustre,
and thought, by placing me in a situation to inherit it, I
should of course possess the advantages which it is supposed
to convey. But they erred, or I have wretchedly
misimproved my opportunities. And is there then no
privilege attached to the possession of riches? Yes, the
power of conferring benefits on those less favored by fortune's
smiles. It is there I can excel Stuart; and I will
—yes—I will make him, learned and noble, and dignified
as he is, confess himself indebted to me. I will go to
New York, find out Stuart, and offer him such inducements
as shall make him forego his intended voyage. I
will restore him to Zemira, and by the influence of my
uncle, reconcile Mr. Atkinson to their marriage. Then
Zemira will be happy, and she will bless me, and acknowledge
I have a soul capable of estimating worth; and I
shall perhaps feel deserving of her gratitude.”

Sidney was an enthusiast in whatever he heartily
engaged, and he had no sooner taken this resolution than
he hastened to put it in immediate execution. He communicated
to no one whither he was going; but simply
informed his uncle he wished to be absent a few days on

an expedition from which he promised himself much
pleasure.

His uncle consented, though not without endeavoring
to ascertain whether his business had any reference to his
nuptials, which Mr. Atkinson was anxious should be
celebrated without delay.

“Mr. Atkinson,” said his uncle, “told me Zemira had
received your addresses. You will be a happy man if
she loves you.”

How often the face speaks a language foreign to the
heart. Sidney suppressed a sigh and forced a smile, and
Mr. Brainard thought he was happy.

Early the next morning Sidney took his seat in the
New York stage.

Steam and telegraph have made a revolution in affairs
of the heart as well as in business affairs. Space and
time being annihilated, novel writers can no longer keep
lovers in the purgatory of suspense. There is no possibility
of delaying the meeting or the letter, as lightning
can be used if steam is too slow, unless the author raises
a tornado to break the wires, or blows up the steamboat,
or runs the rail-car over a precipice. And these horrible
accidents must be sparingly used, or the interest of the
work will prove too painful for readers of amusing
fiction.

But in the good old times of which we treat—say
thirty years ago—neither steam nor lightning connected
the South with the North. From South Carolina to New
York, was a weary pilgrimage of nearly eight hundred
miles, and many long days—more than now suffice to
make the voyage to Europe—were required for the journey
by land. It required, also, some heroism to undertake
it solely for the benefit of others. Our hero, however
pursued his way without interruption, and arrived
in due time at the end of his journey safely, and in good
health. No sooner was he set down at the hotel, than,
directed by Stuart's letters to Zemira, he proceeded to
his lodgings, and inquired if he were within. The waiter
answered in the affirmative. Sidney then sent up his

name, and requested an immediate interview on business
of importance.

The waiter soon returned, saying, “Mr. Stuart is
engaged, sir, but says he will attend to your business
now, if it does not require long attention.” Then motioning
Sidney to follow him, he began to ascend the
stairs.

This was a trying moment for the rejected lover. In
the hurry and bustle of the journey, he had thought
but of reaching the city in time to find Stuart before he
embarked, without considering the consequences which
might result from an interview with him. But now,
when so near the completion of his wishes, embarrassments
he had not anticipated, began to appear. What
should he say to Stuart? and how introduce the particular
business that brought him to the city? Should
he tell the husband he had made love, serious, ardent
love, to his wife? and how would he relish the intelligence?

Sidney ran over in his mind every dilemma to which
unfortunate lovers had been reduced, but found no parallel
for his case, and no precedent to guide his behavior.
Once he paused, almost resolved to return back and
leave the affair unexplained; but he was within three
steps of the apartment, the waiter had already reached
the door; “I must proceed now,” thought he, “and my
communication shall be regulated by the appearance of
Stuart. Perhaps he is not so formidable as I imagine.”

The servant opened the door, and Sidney entered.

“Mr. Stuart,” said the waiter, motioning towards a
gentleman who was seated before a table at the upper
end of the room, then instantly retreating, he closed the
door.

Stuart raised his head as the waiter pronounced his
name, and fixed a scrutinizing gaze on the stranger;
Sidney Romilly felt his heart beat, and his cheek flush,
beneath the penetrating regards of the Yankee school-master.
He stood exactly fronting Stuart and a large

mirror, and the view of his own face as compared with
that of his rival, did not afford him much pleasure.

Sidney had often been told he was a handsome fellow;
and it is not strange if he sometimes indulged a little
self-complacency on his good appearance—but he now
saw of how small account, especially for a man, is a “set
of features or complexion” to the perfection of the human
countenance.

Charles Stuart's features, examined by the rules of art,
were irregular, and his complexion, though clear and
healthy, had nothing of the delicacy or freshness that
usually distinguishes students from men of business (the
freshness can only be claimed by those who burn no
midnight oil; remember that and be careful, ye dandy
students.) His was the beauty of deep thought, the
lofty expression of superior intelligence, giving to his
countenance an irresistible fascination, while a gravity
almost approaching sadness told the struggles he had to
maintain with the world, which had always seemed adverse
to his happiness. But the animation of his eye
at once evinced he did not shrink from the contest; his
eyes literally flashed forth the feelings and meaning of
his soul, and seemed to read the thoughts and hearts of
those who approached him, and few could meet their
keen, searching, expressive glance, without feeling a
sense of inferiority.

Oh! the eye is the index of the mind, and let Gall
and Spurzheim examine the bumps of the cranium, one
glance of the eye tells more than all.

“Your name is Romilly, I believe,” said Stuart, examining
his card. Sidney bowed. “You have business
of importance, the waiter told me.”

“Yes, yes,” stammered out Sidney, and all was
silence. “Would to Heaven,” thought he, “some trapdoor
would kindly open beneath my feet; I should care
little where I landed if once freed from this awkward
dilemma.”

“I am in haste,” observed Stuart, “and shall be

obliged to urge the despatch of your affairs with all
convenient speed.”

“Yes, sir, yes,” said Sidney, and drew towards the
table, then suddenly stopping. “I came here, sir, without
considering the awkwardness of introducing myself
or my intentions to a stranger; yet I came as a friend,
to serve you, to make you happy.”

“And really for a stranger you were very benevolent,”
replied Stuart, smiling; “but can you not explain the
reasons which induced you thus to interest yourself in
my fate?”

“Your wife!” exclaimed Sidney, resolutely raising his
voice while pronouncing wife, as if determined to convey
his whole meaning at once.

“My wife!” repeated Stuart, starting from his seat,
while his face was crimson and his eyes seemed to emit
fire; “my wife! what do you know of my wife?”

Sidney was now the calmest of the two, and certainly
was relieved from a part of the feeling of inferiority
which had so sensibly depressed him in the presence of
the scholar and philosopher, when he found Stuart was
also a lover. Nothing affords more self-complacency
than seeing those whom we imagine exempt from human
weaknesses, exhibit the like passions as other men.

“We will sit down, if you please,” said Sidney, “and
I will tell you a tale that might well grace a romance,
were it not over-true for such a place. I hope you will
listen with patience, and judge with candor.”

They sat down, and Sidney began and related minutely
the particulars of his meeting with Zemira, and told the
tale of his love; but then he did not dilate, for the
changing color and compressed lip of Stuart warned him
to be brief, and he hastened to his last interview; and
when he mentioned the delicate and noble conduct of
Zemira on the occasion, her husband's eyes beamed with
tenderness, while he unconsciously ejaculated, “What
an angel!”

Then Sidney made his own generous offer of assisting
the lovers, urging Stuart to accompany him back to

Charleston, and pledging himself, with his uncle's assistance,
to remove every obstacle to his happiness.

“We will,” said he, “either conciliate the old gentleman's
prejudices, and he shall receive you as a son, which
he may well be proud to do, or we will place you in a
situation to support yourself and Zemira independently
of his favor. Do not deny me the pleasure of thus deserving
your friendship, for the man worthy of Zemira's
love must be estimable as a friend.”

He sighed, and Stuart pitied him; yes, pitied the man
who was offering him assistance.

There is riches in reciprocal affection—there is wealth
in superior intellect—which cannot be estimated or transferred,
and the possessor of either has a jewel the man
of gold can never purchase with gold.

Stuart held out his hand.

“I accept your offer, Mr. Romilly, with the same
frankness it is made. Although I have oftener found
deceit than kindness in the world, yet my heart is not
chilled into suspicion; and if your countenance be an
index to your soul, I have now no cause to fear being betrayed.”

Sidney pressed the offered hand, and felt, at the moment,
almost as gratified as if he were pressing Zemira's.
Almost—self still held a sway, which reason and generosity
were striving to extinguish. His love could not at
his bidding retire, but by continued exertion he hoped
it might be overcome.

There were circumstances which gave to the offers of
Sidney the appearance of the design of fate, or rather,
Providence—the term is more appropriate in a Christian
country—to reunite the husband and wife. The agent
employed by Mr. Lee to procure the cargo, had failed,
and in consequence of his bankruptcy the vessel could
not proceed on her voyage.

Mr. Stuart, therefore, was destitute of employment,
and at the arrival of Sidney was anxiously meditating
some plan to enter on business. Several had been proposed,
considered, and rejected and he was then actually

employed in speculations on a voyage to China, the only
one offering which afforded him a chance for pecuniary
profit, and that demanded a length of time that almost
rendered such a recompense valueless.

But now he might stay in his own country, with his
beloved Zemira, and while he thanked Heaven in a
transport of gratitude, he fully appreciated the noble
sacrifice and disinterestedness of him who so largely
contributed to his happiness. Everything was soon
arranged, and the two friends, without any feeling of
rivalry, commenced the journey which was to terminate
the suspense of all parties.

If Sidney sometimes breathed a sigh that his fairy
visions were thus dissolved, he never failed, on listening
to the conversation of Stuart, to acknowledge that he
who had robbed him of his love was worthy of the
prize. There was a satisfaction in the thought—not that
we like to be eclipsed—but the heart involuntarily pays
a tribute to merit, and we are consoled with the hope of
obtaining a like reward, when, like the favored one, we
shall deserve it.