University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.

Before time enough had elapsed for me to receive
an answer to my letter, Mr. Sandford suddenly
made his appearance at the school, with the
startling and alarming news that my father had
been taken suddenly ill, and it being thought probable
by his physicians that he would not recover,
he was very desirous to see me before he died. I
was almost heartbroken at this intelligence, and
when I arrived next morning at my father's door,
after riding post-haste nearly all night, I was ready
to sink with fear and confusion, and a rush of
thought connected with my various misfortunes,
which seemed to be accumulating so fast upon me.
I found my father frightfully altered, and too evidently
near the close of his career; he grasped
my hand convulsively, as he drew me towards him
to receive a melancholy embrace. “Oh, Fanny!”
said he, “your letter was near killing me.”

“My dear father! did my letter make you ill?”

“No; I was seized before I received it; but it
was enough to kill me.”

“Do not say so, dear father; I will do as you
desire; indeed, indeed, I will,—after you have
heard all the circumstances.”

He motioned with his hand for my mother, Mr.
Sandford, and the nurse, to leave the room.

We were now alone, and he made a sign that I
should be seated. His countenance, now that I
had a good view of it, was indeed terribly altered.
A stroke of the palsy had afflicted half his body,
and one side of his face; one eye was bright and
excited with the pleasure of seeing me, while the
other was dim; the corner of his mouth drawn
down, and all the features on that side relaxed and
cadaverous; it was horrible to look upon! As if
a person, in an awful moment, was making faces
with one half of the countenance, and talking to
you with the other,—or playing comedy with one
side and tragedy with the other.

“Fanny,” said he, “I know all the circumstances
far better than you do; Mr. Sandford has satisfactorily
explained the meeting in the garden to me;
besides, my dear child, I know Mr. Sandford's
whole history, and that of his family before him.”

“But, my dear papa, I do not love him!”

“When, my dear Fanny, did you make that discovery?”

“Very lately, sir.”

“Did you make it alone, or had you some friend
or some book to assist you?”

“I had indeed a dear friend; but her advice was
sought, not offered.”

“Ah, I thought so! I knew it. Trust me, my
dear child, that I understand what is good for you
better than yourself. I have studied your disposition

and that of Mr. Sandford long and closely,
and have deliberately come to the conclusion, that
he is exactly such a prudent, cautious, judicious
young man as I should like to leave my family
with when I am gone; besides, there are other
powerful reasons, which I cannot mention just
now.”

“But, my dear father, may he not be too cautious
and prudent?”

“There it is now, exactly as I expected; you
have got your head full of some romantic nonsense
from reading novels in the last year.”

“Indeed, sir, you wrong me; I have not read a
novel since I left home; they are not permitted to
be brought into the school.”

“No matter, no matter where you caught the
disease, you have certainly been infected; but time
presses,—I feel that I have but a short time to
live,—I wish you to decide whether you will marry
the man whom you have chosen, of your own free
will, for your husband; if not, I must go to work
again, and rearrange all my complicated affairs;
but first tell me whether you have seen any other
young gentleman whom you like better?”

“I have seen no young gentleman whom I particularly
regard.”

“Then decide the question with regard to Mr.
Sandford, and I may say with regard to me, too;
for I identify my happiness with his in this case,
and perhaps it is the last which I may enjoy in this
world.”

I threw myself on my knees before him, seized
his hand, and bathed it with tears, for I could
scarcely speak: “Oh! my dear father, do not say
so! indeed I cannot marry Mr. Sandford; I will
do any thing else you ask me! I will live single
all my days; I will give up all hopes of fortune;
I will live poor and secluded if you will.”

“I have none of these to ask,” said he, solemnly;
“I have made my last and only request, and you
have rejected it; you may leave me.”

“Oh, my dear father, do not drive me from you
in displeasure, under such dreadful circumstances;
my will is not my own in this case.”

“Did you not tell me but now, that you had seen
no other young man whom you liked better?”

“I did, and it is true; and yet I cannot control
my affections.”

“Enough! you may leave me!”

“Dear father, do not drive me from you while
under your displeasure; I will be all you desire
me to be in every thing but this.”

“I have nothing more to say,” replied he. “Your
whims have thwarted the exertions and designs of
more than one life-time. It is enough; we will
henceforth number it among the things that have
passed away.”

“Dearest father, do not break my heart by this
cold and settled displeasure. I have never been
voluntarily undutiful till now, and God knows I
would obey you if I could.”

“Yes, yes; you will obey me in those things

in which it is your pleasure, as well as your duty,
to obey! But you misunderstand me in this case;
I put no commands upon you, nor was it ever my
intention to do so; all I have ever done was for
your good, not mine; now let the subject drop for
ever!”

With this he rang the bell, and when the nurse
appeared, he desired the rest of the family to
enter.

From this moment he grew evidently worse; so
that when the physician called again, he was
startled by the change, and again bled him. My
dutiful attentions were offered on every occasion,
but he always appeared scarcely to notice them,
and often, as if by accident, accepted those of Mr.
Sandford; who, to tell the truth, acted upon this
occasion with great tenderness and delicacy, both
towards me and my poor father. This settled and
cold displeasure towards myself, under such circumstances,
was maddening; the next morning,
after watching most of the night at his bedside unnoticed,
I fell upon my knees, and entreated him
to hear me; he turned his disfigured and wretched
face slowly towards me, and said, “Say on; I am
all attention.”

“Oh, my father! I will marry Mr. Sandford!”

“Not by my orders,” said he, solemnly.

“No, my dear father; of my own free will and
choice!”

“And this is your settled determination; to be
firmly adhered to, whether I live or die?”

“Yes; I have before Heaven solemnly promised,
of my own free will, to marry Mr. Sandford
at any time my dear father may choose to appoint;
whether he lives or dies.”

“Then you are still my consistent and devoted
child; my dear Fanny, come to my arms.” All
my struggles to arrive at this conclusion were forgotten
in the ecstacy of that embrace; melancholy
it undoubtedly was, but it was necessary, and
dear to my affections. The truth was, I saw, before
this time, that my father's mind had suffered
much from the peculiar disease with which he was
afflicted, and believing, from what I saw, that his
whole soul had been set upon this union during the
days of his strength, I felt it to be my duty to
make some sacrifice to his happiness in this time
of his weakness; and, to speak the truth fully and
freely, Mr. Sandford's truly delicate conduct
(whether proceeding from cunning or good taste I
will not undertake to say), rather led me to doubt
my observations and consequent suspicions of his
character.

Every face now wore a new aspect; even my
own must have been more cheerful, for I was before
wretched and miserable; now I had the joy
proceeding from conscious rectitude in my duty to
my poor father. My mother truly sympathized
with all my feelings, and approved my conduct,
though she deplored the necessity.

In a few days my father was able to sit up in
his bed, and in less than two weeks to be rolled

about in a chair with wheels. Though I saw
some of the causes thus removed which had united
to coerce me into the dreaded marriage, yet I was
firm and resolved in my purpose, for I saw that
my father was a mere wreck of his former self, and
that he might, and in all probability would, live
many years in this feeble state of body and mind,
depending upon the fulfilment of my voluntary
promise for all the little consolation and comfort
of which he was capable in this life. It seems to
me to be a law of our nature, that when a powerful
and vigorous mind is suddenly cut down to imbecility
by disease or mental suffering, it almost
always dwells with great pertinacity upon the
ruling ideas and motives at the time of the attack.
In consideration of this, I knew that the principal
stimulus of his mind consisted in ruminating upon
this marriage, and that to cut it suddenly away
would be to cause his immediate dissolution.