University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
THE REVELATION.

Three weeks have elapsed since the events related in the last and the
preceding chapters. James Daily, after a days' confinement to the house,
had resumed his duties in the counting-room; and by questioning him, Mr.
Weldon had learned from his lips the gallantry and courage he had shown
in his attempt to arrest the burglar. He being quite restored to health
again, Grace once more recovered her cheerfulness. But, often as they saw
each other — and it was almost every evening — she never spoke to him a
word of the lovely bonnet-girl's visit to her; nor did he allude to it. Both
seemed tacitly to avoid, from some reason or other, which, perhaps, those
who are read in lovers' hearts can divine; any mention of her. Yet, between
ourselves, dear readers, Grace was `dying,' as the expressive phrase is, to
speak of her to him, and to ascertain if really she could have any ground of
jealousy; not that she believed James loved Frederica, but that she loved
him! But the instinctive feeling we have just spoken of, aided, perhaps, by
a little pride, withheld her. His silence we will proceed to explain, by letting
the reader witness the interview that took place between James and
Frederica on her return from her visit to Grace with the hat.

`Is not Frederica returned, dear mother?' he had asked, after she had
been absent full an hour.

`Yes, James. She has been below in the shop full half an hour.'

`She has! It is strange she did not come up. Ask her to come up and
see me. Is the crowd still as great over at that poor murdered woman's
house?'

`Yes; it seems to increase. The street is thronged with people.'

`It is very strange we did not hear of that murder last night, and so near
us! But, I suppose, we were all sleeping heavily. Ask Frederica to come
and see me.'

In about five minutes, the lovely orphan entered the little back sitting-room
up stairs, where James was impatiently wondering why she still delayed
to come. She was pale, and a look of sorrow was upon her gentle face.

`You have been back so long, dear sister, and I did not know it,' he said,
affectionately. `I have been listening this half hour for your step. You
took the note and hat?'

`Yes, James.'

`Why are you so sad and silent; and stand so, with your pretty fingers
rolling up your apron string. One would think, sis, that you had lost a
lover!'

Tears came into her eyes, she colored deeply, and seemed all at once
greatly distressed. With affectionate solicitude, and not without surprise, he
rose, took her by the hand, and led her to a chair by the side of his own.
He then looked into her face with curiosity and painful interest. She still
wept, though making efforts to appear calm. At length she succeeded, for
his hand smoothing the hair soothingly upon her brow was more than she
could bear; for it was, she felt, with fraternal love only, that he thus sympathised
with her; and it seemed to her as if she had rather he would hate
her, than love her thus! So she made a great effort, and became calm—at
least outwardly calm.

`What has happened, Frederica?'

`Nothing — oh, it is nothing!' she answered with difficulty.

`Are you ill?'

`No, not now!'

`Did you deliver the note?'

`Yes.'

`Then Mr. Weldon will know that I cannot come down, and get one of
the other clerks to attend to my duties. Why do you tremble so? You are
very pale.'

`I am quite well.'

`Why do you withdraw your hand?'

`I did not mean to, James. I do n't know what I do!'

`You must be ill,' he said, with affectionate solicitude.

`No—I am not ill. It is not that I am ill, James.'

`Was Miss Weldon pleased with the hat?' he asked, as if desirous of
diverting her thoughts.

She made no answer. Her young bosom was singularly agitated.
James became alarmed, and would have called to his mother.

`No—I am better! I am foolish, James,' she said, with a faint smile.

`You are very strange! Has any one hurt your feelings? Has any one
insulted you in the street?'

`No—oh, no! I saw Miss Weldon, and she said the hat was very
pretty.'

`Did she try it on?'

`Yes.'

`And it became her?' he asked, with animation, as he imagined, with all
a lover's ardor, how beautiful she must have appeared in it.

`She looked very lovely in it, James.'

`She is very lovely, Grace.'

`Frederica is my name, James,' she said, with a sadness of reproof that
was singularly touching.

`I meant to say Frederica,' he answered, coloring. `I was thinking of
Grace.'

Frederica sighed, for she knew that well. Her interview with Grace,
brief as it was, had confirmed her suspicions that she was attached to him
whom she herself loved with all her soul's idolatry; and that this attachment
was reciprocated, she had every reason to believe. Poor Frederica! she
had cause for sighing over her shattered hopes. She now resolved to ascertain
certainly, ere she left him, the truth of her suspicions; for, though gentle
and lovely beyond compare, the young bonnet-girl had firmness of character,
and was by no means wanting it decision. It was grief—deep sorrow of
the heart, and not weakness, that now governed her, and caused her to weep
so freely.

`She is very lovely, James,' she responded, with emphasis.

`Scarce lovelier than thyself, dear Frederica! Indeed, I know not, if in
a contest for the prize of beauty, thou would'st not carry it off! Yet she is
very beautiful and generous; good and intelligent as she is beautiful! She
possesses every charm that adorns her sex, and is rich in every quality of
the mind and heart that gives excellence to character! I wish you knew
her, dear Frederica. It would be only to love her.'

`I do not wish to know her, James. I am but a poor orphan, and in
humble condition. She is rich, admired, and perhaps loved by one to whom
she has surrendered all the priceless treasures of her heart!'

`You say truly, Frederica,' answered James, with emotion, his cheeks
glowing with the bright hopes of the future. `She is loved by one who has
poured into her heart all the wealth of his own, and who knows that he is
loved in return, with a devotion pure, sincere, and lasting as her own
nature!'

`And this one who thus loves her?'

`Frederica, I have never breathed to you the secret of my soul! But, as
a sister, I can confide in you; for I know I shall have your sympathy and
joy. Do you not remember when, in my boyhood's destitution, I was relieved
from great wretchedness, nay, from starvation, I and my dear mother, by the
bounty of a young girl of ten?'

James had no need to remind her. Frederica knew this too well.

`By that sweet child's act of charity, and through her influence with her
father, I by-and-bye became a younger clerk in his counting-room. I am
now the head clerk, and you know that I have the prospect of becoming a
partner in the house. Now, all this that is past, and all the present, and all
the future, under Providence, I owe to her! This young girl became the
idol of my boyish gratitude, she has become the shrine of my heart's manly
devotion! From boyhood I have loved my benefactress next to you;
and it is my happiness to say, dear Frederica, that I have the sweet assurance
that her affections as a woman are wholly my own! Yes, dearest
sister, I look forward to a happy union with Miss Weldon, ere many months
are passed by. I am the envied one to whom she has, to use your own
words, “surrendered all the priceless treasures of her heart!” '

Frederica heard this fatal confession like a statue, pale and immoveable.
All her fears were confirmed, all her sweet hopes wrecked! She had nerved
herself to bear this revelation; but the confirmation of her fears fell heavily
upon her young and loving heart.

`You look sorrowful, Frederica,' he said, regarding her with surprise.

`I do not mean to look sorrowful,' she said, with an effort to smile. `If
you are happy in loving that noble maiden, I am happy because you are. I
did not mean to be sad, James.'

He gazed upon her with surprise. Her manner — her voice — her looks,
all were singular and unwonted. Unsuspicious of her love for him, beyond
that of a sister for a brother, he expected joyful congratulations. It was for
these that he wished her to see Grace — to behold her beauty — her graces of
person and mind; and then he intended to surprise her with joyful intelligence
that they were lovers! But so different from his anticipations was
her reception of this information that he regarded her with fixed surprise,
and began to reflect upon the probable cause. But he was baffled. Never
suspecting that she entertained towards him any other, or a different affection
than that which he entertained towards her, a purely fraternal one, he

was without any key to enable him to solve the mystery. He sat looking
attentively upon her, as she sat, with eyes cast down, the lids trembling with
the vain effort to shut in the tears, her cheek without color, her bosom agitated,
and her hands clasped upon it, as if she would stop the wild beating
of her bursting heart within it.

Gradually, slowly, thought by thought, the truth of the matter came
clearly to his mind. It was impossible for a person of his judgment and intelligence,
as well as his own little experience in affairs of the heart, to be
longer ignorant of the true cause of her sorrow. The truth each moment
pressed itself more forcibly upon him, and the conviction filled him with the
profoundest grief. He now saw that she loved him with more than a sister's
love! A hundred circumstances rushed all together upon his mind to confirm
it! He wondered that he had not suspected it before! He condemned
himself for his want of penetration; for he felt that if had been earlier aware
of the character her affections were taking, he might have spared her much
unhappiness that he now saw she must necessarily endure since the discovery
she had made that he loved another!

`Yes,' he reflected, `had I known this, or even suspected it, I would have
been more guarded! Believing, doubtless, that I loved as she loved, she
has given all my fraternal affection a meaning I never intended! Poor
Frederica! Silent, sad, and broken-hearted she seems. I must do something
to repair this unintentional disappointment! But how? What shall
I say? How can I soothe? What consolation have I to offer? A painful
position I am all at once placed in! As a brother she cannot receive my
love — yet as a brother I still love her! But I fear I must love her no
longer as such! It must be that we separate. I can no longer justify
myself with dwelling in the same house with her. It would be a restraint
upon me, and unhappiness to her! To-morrow I will seek out another
boarding-house. This is why she did not come up when she first came in!
This is the secret of her wild grief when I was hurt last night! It is the
key to unlock much that is past; and I see, as I take a retroscpect, that I
have, all ignorantly, been strengthening this unhappy attachment!'

`Frederica,' he at length said, after several minutes' silence.

`James,' she answered, deeply coloring, and speaking with trembling lips.
for she instinctively discovered the train of his thoughts, and knew that he
had detected the true state of her heart. This knowledge was a source of
pain to her.

`I fear I have been imprudent,' he said, tenderly, yet with embarrassment.
`I have been very blind not to see that you have honored me with
a deeper interest in your heart than that which a brother holds in a sister's.
I have been wrong to forget that we are not brother and sister! Forgive
me, Frederica! I blame myself greatly.'

`Oh, no!—oh, no!' she answered, lifting her blue eyes to his face with
generous warmth, but instantly dropping them before his; `you have done
nothing — nothing, James, but what is right. I have been to blame! Let
me bear the disappointment. I should have known that you would love that
beautiful maiden! I should never have forgotten that I was a friendless
orphan — a dependent on your bounty, and too humble even to be your
sister! Forgive me, James.'

`Frederica, do not talk thus. You grieve me with such words. I know
you speak them from the lowliness of your gentle spirit; but they grieve me.
I have loved you, with all my heart, as a brother. As a sister you are still

very dear to me. I know not whose death would cause me most sorrow,
yours or Miss Weldon's. You are as dear to me, as a sister, as she will be
to me as a wife! Forget your error, dear Frederica! Love me as a
brother; and that generous heart, of which I am all unworthy, even were
my affections free, bestow upon some noble young man who will cherish you
and love you!'

`No—no! Do not cut me to the heart, James!'

`Forgive me! But there are young men whom you can render happy
with your heart's riches! For some favored youth keep your pure love,
which has been bestowed so unworthily upon me!'

`James, I have but one heart — it knows but one shrine, and though it be
forbidden to kneel upon the altar of its devotion, where another more favored
worships, it will ever love and adore afar off! Do not ask me to forget! I
will offend you no more! I will speak of it no more! God bless you, and
God bless her! For me —'

Tears and emotion prevented her proceeding. She rose, and hurried
from the apartment, leaving him overwhelmed with surprise and grief.