University of Virginia Library

2. CHAPTER II.
PROPOSALS OF MARRIAGE.

How delightfully fell the impress of all he saw upon the cold nature of
Harry Lee? How his intense selfishness warmed itself by the cosy fire blazing
in the hearth? The pictures that hung round the walls, too, delighted
him, because they were many of them painted by a hand that he hoped to
call his own. He stood before them in succession, and pleased himself to
think, how the same gentle hand would sketch the glorious landscapes presented,
in many aspects upon his own thousand acres. The sweet flowers,
too, snugly stowed away from the rude September blasts, in a little glass conservatory,
separated from the room in which he was, but by a single step.
He walked out into the green artificial summer, the lights of the parlor windows
threw their bright rays over and around, revealing a little aviary, high
up among the green shrubbery. Henry Lee knew every nook and corner
about the charming little dove's nest which he intended to rob. He was like
a boy climbing a tree in search of such an object—his head grew dizzy, as the
prospect of clutching the prize seemed just within his grasp. He walked

back—the nest was still warm, but he had frightened the pretty songster away
A score of music was lying open upon the table, which she had evidently just
left, in her precipitate retreat, for some of her female parapharnalia was lying
beside it. He walked up and read the title of the song—it was in his brother's
own hand writing. Hurriedly he closed the book, and wheeled upon his heel
to another part of the room. He picked up a book, lying open in a rocking
chair, the face turned down, as if it had likewise received a share of the lady's
recent attention. He picked it up, and seated himself; the leaves fell over
of themselves, as even they acquire habits sometime, and there again was his
brother's name as the donor. It seemed as if his ghost was haunting him at
every turn. He threw down the book hastily, and strode through the room
with his head down, determined to see nothing more which might recall painful
memories. At this moment, the old Doctor entered, cloaked up to the
neck, a shawl tied over his cocked hat and under his chin, and his thin legs
cased in warm cloth spatterdashes, buttoned up close to his knee buckles.

“Ah, good Doctor!” said Lee, advancing to meet him, “still administering
to the sufferings of the sick and the afflicted? What a noble calling is yours?”

“Yes,” said the Doctor, rather gruffly, as he took the proffered hand, before
he seated himself over the blazing pine knots in the hearth. “Yes, it is indeed
a noble profession, and all those should earn the crown of martyrdom
who practise it.”

“You surprise me, sir—I thought, if there was a man in the world satisfied
with the lot which had fallen to him, it was Dr. Evylin!”

“And so I am; but that makes the remark I made none the less true. I
am content to be a martyr. It is true, that I am sometimes a little chafed,
that men look upon our paths as if they were strewed with flowers.”

“Well, Doctor, I confess that I am one who looked upon your profession
as affording the highest gratification to its followers. You are always relieving
the pains and sufferings of others.”

“No, not always; we stand by a dying patient powerless, and feeling as
nothing before the great Ruler, who holds the destinies of man in his hands.
But that is not all; we are forever shouldering the troubles of other people—
always looking upon the black shadows of the picture of human life—it is
impossible for one of my profession to be uniformly cheerful. Then, its dreadful
responsibilities weigh down all those who have any sensibility, and only
such are fit to enter a family when the hearts of all its members are laid bare;
when the lacerated affections require to be ministered to as well as the physical
suffering. One advantage we have over other men: we see less of the
hypocrisy of our race than they do; suffering stamps a solemn sincerity upon
every countenance around a sick couch. I was called, the other night, to
visit one of the comedians of our little Theatre—he was very sick, and his
bedside surrounded by his brethren of the sock and buskin in the same dresses
which they had just worn upon the stage. Farce and Comedy sunk
abashed before the Tragedy of real life. The sufferer himself, though the
principal comedian, was one of the most captious and fretful men I ever attended.
The scene impressed me powerfully—yet, somewhat of the same
thing is presented to me daily. The sick couch disrobes every man of his
masquerading dress.”

“Yes,” said Lee, musing, “you have fine opportunities to study human nature.
You see it in its undress.”

“Aye,” replied the Physician, “we do see it in a state of nudity truly, and
the disrobing adds nothing to the beauty and symmetry. One half of our race,
at least, is presented in entirely different aspects from what it appears to other
men. The male portion appear in new and untried lights on the sick couch.”

“Ah! is there then so much difference in the sexes?”

“Aye, truly—women, in civilized countries, are constant inhabitants of the

house, and often even of a single room, and sickness makes no such great
change in this respect to them, but there are characteristic differences besides
those produced by habit and occupation—and all telling in favor of the weaker
sex. They are much purer in heart than we are, Mr. Lee, much more elevated
in sentiment, more patient and hopeful in suffering, with a much livelier
and realizing faith in the power and presence of an overruling Providence.
Seeing these thing, it almost looks wrong, to one of my profession, to see
them excluded from active participation in more than half of all the concerns
of life. They have not yet, with all our boasted refinement and civilization,
their due influence.”

“That is made up. Sir, by their sway over the hearts of men.”

“Ah, that may do very well for a very young man to say, at such an age, it
is boasted of and paraded as an excuse for our wrongs, but old men know how
long it lasts, especially old Physicians—it lasts a much shorter time than the
honey money.”

Ellen entered at this moment, and returned Lee's salutation with a cold and
formal inclination of the head. Her lips were compressed in a way quite unnatural
to them, and giving a rather harsh expression to her usually pensive
and mild countenance. Her health seemed still on the mend; she walked
firmly and actively to the seat which her father had just vacated. She threw
a beseeching glance at the older gentleman as he left the room, as much as to
beg him to remain and supper her through the interview; but he seemed to
have a sly suspicion of the subject about to be brought upon the tapis, and he
retired—a quizzical, and half humorous smile playing about his mouth as he
shut the door, and gave one glance back at his daughter.

The two, thus left alone, sat for some moments without exchanging a word
the gentleman, for once in his life, very much embarrassed, and the lady
more at her ease. The former, at length, broke the silence. “Your father,
Miss Ellen, has just been complimenting your sex in a way, which was quite
new to me; he was giving me, as you entered, his professional testimony in
their behalf.”

“The best men are the best witnesses in such a cause.”

“True, but your father was giving me much higher testimony than ordinary
men could give. He need not go far, Miss Evylin, for his sources of
inspiration on that subject.”

“No,” said Ellen, quite unmoved, “only to the bed side of his nearest
patient.”

“You are invulnerable, Miss Evylin, to those weapons of our sex, usually
considered so potent.”

“That, now, I consider a real compliment, while your general staple article
of the other sort, seems to me to belong to any body that will appropriate
them—they are like the wind, or the atmospheric air we breathe, or the water
we drink.”

“Mine shall not be so wide of the mark, I assure you—the purpose of my
visit to night was to renew the highest compliment which a gentleman can
pay to a lady. I went to the Governor's country seat for the same purpose,
but my object was there frustrated by some unfortunate occurrences, which
it is nedless now to allude to more particularly. I hope I shall find you more
inclined to listen to me, than I have found you hitherto. Always some unfortunate
interruption, either designed or accidental, has prevented me from
laying open my whole heart to you. Is this to be the lucky time?”

“I will not profess to misunderstand you in any particular, Mr. Lee, either
with regard to the object of your late and present visit, or the occurrences at
Temple Farm. I am, indeed, now ready and willing to listen to you.”

Lee was immediately on his knees before her, and made an effort to seize
her hand, but she rose up on the instant, and said, “But not in that posture,

Mr. Lee, it does not become the relations which henceforth we must bear to
each other. I professed myself willing to hear you, and I expect to have
something to say myself; and that you will be equally courteous to me; more
than that we can never be to each other.”

“You shock me Miss Evylin, inexpressibly, both by the manner and matter
of your discourse. I see now that there is displeasure in your eye, but let me
hope that I shall by a frank and full explanation of every thing be enabled to
remove it.” He had again seated himself, as had the lady.

“Every thing Mr. Lee!” exclaimed she, putting particular emphasis upon
the words.

“Yes, Miss Evylin, every thing, why do you question me so pointedly?”

“Because I doubted, and still doubt, whether you will be explicit upon every
thing which you have said and written concerning this matter.”

“The very object of my visit is, to have just such an unreserved conversation
with you. I have long seen that it was necessary to rip up those old matters
which at first I avoided out of delicacy to you; I have seen that it was necessary,
before we could properly understand each other.”

“I am all attention, Sir, proceed.”

“Since my late visit to the Temple Farm, I am more than ever convinced
of it, excuse me therefore, if I touch upon subjects, which I once understood
were forbidden in this house.”

“If you allude to my engagement to your brother, you are free to speak.

“Lee seemed surprised for a moment, at the prompt and unembarrassed
manner in which she spoke of the long forbidden subject, but proceeded: “I
will not pretend to conceal from you Miss Evylin, that I rather more than suspected
the fact, which you have just acknowledged, at the time of its occurrence.
I mean your engagement to my brother, and as long as he lived, you
know that I never openly interfered or expressed those feelings which animated
me as well as him. (Ellen's eye flashed and she could scarcely restrain
an indignant exclamation.) Even had he lived, I cannot even yet see why my
claims would not have been equal to his own, unless indeed I were to attribute
those mercenary motives to you, from which I know too well, no human
being is more free. My attachment was at least coeval with his own, and
though he possessed greater powers of address, you know enough of human
nature, to be aware that the strongest passions like the deepest rivers, run the
most smoothly and silently. I was always firmly persuaded that his love was
far less deeply rooted than my own, indeed I might have given way altogether,
had I not been so firmly persuaded of the evanescent nature of his. Had you
not some evidence of this even before his death?”

“Such as I had, or rather have, you shall see, before we conclude this interview;”
replied Ellen, with compressed lips, and struggling to appear calm
and unmoved.

“I am sure that such was the fact, I could exhibit evidence of it myself,
were it necessary, but we will take it for granted for the present. After the
sad affair which deprived me of an only brother, all those impediments which
had so long restrained me, were removed. You cannot deny that up to that
time, I was governed by a scrupulous delicacy towards you both.”

Ellen again became restive, she could no longer restrain herself, and she
exclaimed pointedly: “Mr. Lee, recollect yourself! before that time, had
you not spoken to my father on the subject?”

“True, true, I had,” replied he somewhat embarrassed, “but my offence
proceeded no farther; nor was my suit prosecuted afterwards until I supposed
your lacerated feelings had entirely recovered from the blow. From the time
of my first unsuccessful proposal to you up to the time of my late visit to
Temple Farm, I have lived but with a view to prosecute it. I have studied
nothing but your pleasure. I have devoted myself to you and followed you like

your own shadow; nothwithstanding the oft repeated partial reduffs with which
my devotion has been rewarded, I have still persevered, in hopes that when the
recollection of your first attachment had softened away by time, it would naturally
glide into that strange store-house of childish things which every memory
contains, and at last give place to the more matured and rational feelings of the
woman.”

“And your letters to your brother, was there nothing in any of them inconsistent,
with what you have just said?”

“Nothing, so help me heaven, so far as I can recollect.”

“Mr. Lee,” said Ellen with a severe expression of countenance which he
had never before witnessed, “I must refresh your memory: I would not
question your veracity, but I cannot suffer you to go farther without convincing
you that I am far better informed on this subject than you suppose me to be.
You may have forgotten what you wrote then—I hope you have, but you will
never forget it again, as long as you live, when you have read that letter.”
Here she handed him Frank's last letter, and continued. “I hope and pray that
it may soften your heart towards your brother, (she hastily corrected herself)
towards his memory I mean. You will find there that not a few of his troubles
were produced by the very interference, which you have just so emphatically
denied. Read it, and reflect upon it. I am sure it will move every generous
and feeling impulse within you.”

He took the letter with a trembling hand, and drawing the light towards him,
commenced its perusal. His eye dilated as he did so, while the cold perspiration
gathered upon his brow and lip, and his whole frame shook with ill concealed
excitement. Before he had half finished, he turned it over and examined
the superscription carefully—he seemed reassured by it, and became
rather more composed as he finished the remaining portion.

“Whence did you obtain this letter, and through what conveyance. I see
it has no post mark.”

“It matters not, Mr. Lee, how I obtained it, it is sufficient for me, and for
you too, I suppose, that it is genuine. You will not deny that it is poor
Frank's hand writing?”

“I will not deny that it is admirably imitated, but I must know from whom
you obtained it, before I grant that it is genuine.”

“Well then, I obtained it from one who had suffered alike with him—from
one who received it from his own hands—from one whom you have treated in
a manner very poorly calculated to recompense your brother's last and dearest
friend.”

“From the arch impostor Hall.”

“I did receive it from Mr. Hall, but he is no impostor, Mr. Lee.”

“He is the veriest impostor and swindler that breathes. He has assumed
another man's name, has swindled me, if not others, out of money—and he
has forged every word of that letter. There is not one word of truth in it, as
I verily believe.”

“Mr. Lee, I will not quarrel with you; it would neither become my sex
nor inclination to do so; but I as firmly believe in the genuineness of that letter
as in the truth and honor of its bearer, as I believe in my own existence.
Indeed I would rather surrender my life than doubt either.”

“Very well, Miss Evylin, very well; the time will speedily come when
you will repent this hasty decision. I pledge my word, before many weeks
have elapsed to produce such evidence of the falsity of this man at least, that
none can doubt. I will not only confront him with the real person whose
name he has assumed for the most diabolical purposes, but I will put the
matter beyond all question, by the testimony of a disinterested witness who
knew the real Hall and all his family in Scotland.”

“It will be time enough for me to believe it, when you do so, in the mean

time, let me at once and forever close the main subject between us. I have
already said that I would no longer profess to misunderstand the motives with
which you pursue me so constantly. Now, let me undeceive you: If you
can establish all that you say, if you can fortify your own honor, so that it
will be entirely free, even from suspicion, if you can make out Mr. Hall the
swindler that you say you believe him to be, it can make no alteration in my
feelings towards yourself. We can never be more towards each other than
we are at this moment!”

“Time may work wonders, Miss Evylin, as it has done before; are you
willing to allow me the poor contingencies which it may produce.”

“I am not; because you have already satisfied me that you could not
calmly wait its developements, even if there was a possibility of any such
contingencies as you suppose—there is none. I tell you frankly, Mr. Lee,
that I would not marry you, if there was not another man in her Majesty's
Colony. Will you believe, now, that my purpose is fixed?”

“I am answered,”—taking his hat, and standing in the doorway—“I have
only to bid you now a long farewell. I trust, indeed, that you may fare well
in the hands into which you seem, by some strange and wayward destiny, to
have fallen. Should you see me, or hear of me prosecuting, virgorously to
punish the man whom you are so unwilling to give up, do me the justice,
at least, to believe that I am actuated by no motives of petty revenge against
yourself. Farewell—farewell!” Exit Mr. Lee.

“No, no, said Ellen, musingly, but bitterly, as she heard him slam the door,
no one could suspect the gentle, amiable, forgiving Mr. Lee, of harboring revenge
against any one. Thank God! my father is no way in his power!”
The old gentleman entered as his name passed her lips, having exchanged his
spatterdashes for black silk stockings and gold buckles, and all the other corresponding
articles of dress befitting his presence at the Levee, late as it was.
There was a mischevious smile upon his mouth, as his daughter threw her
arms about his neck, and burst into tears; her bitter and sarcastic mood already
gone. The father looked down upon her with untold stores of affection
beaming in his eye, but still that playful smile lingered, as he said, “So you
have given that proud boy his quietus at last! I am glad of it, my Ellen, glad
of it—indeed I am!”

“How did you know what happened, dear father?”

“Oh, I knew it from the way he slammed the door, if I had had no other
evidence, but your expression about his power over me, as I entered, would
have been enough without that.”

“Well then, go, dear father, and leave me to myself, while you pay your
respects to your friend the Governor.”

“And Ellen,” he called out, as she left the room, what report shall I make
to your young friends, they have doubtless missed Mr. Lee, from the saloon
and will know full well his whereabouts.”

She came back again, threw her arms round his neck, as she said, beseechingly,
“Make no report at all dear father, however much you might be amused
at Mr. Lee's pompous absurdities, you cannot exhibit him in a riduculous light
without involving me too—and I would like every thing connected with the
affair which has terminated to night, forgotten forever. Let Harry Lee be to
us, as if he had never been. I do not like to think of him, because I cannot
think well of him; and, for the sake of one, whose memory is dear to me, the
next thing is, not to think of him at all. Do impress this upon the dear, mischevious
girls at the Palace. I see the smile upon your face has already given
place to a tear, but let me kiss it away, and then a long adien to Mr. Harry
Lee. Good night, dear father, good night.”

“God bless you, my child!—God bless you!”—said the old man, as he drew
down his broad cocked hat over his eyes, and took his long ivory headed cane,
to trudge his way to the Palace.