University of Virginia Library

24. CHAPTER XXIV.
Conclusion.

TOWARDS the close of a lovely day in
the month of September, following the
events we have recorded, a single horseman
—to use the expression of a well-known
modern writer—might have been seen riding
slowly along the borders of a pleasant wood
but a few miles from Boston.

Were this history purely fictitious we
should beware of imitating the `cavalier'
style of the author alluded to above; but it
being an indisputable fact that there was a
horseman on the occasion and in the circumstances
mentioned, we record the truth boldly
and without hesitation.

So, there was a horseman; and he was
alone, and his horse paced leisurely the dry,
well-beaten wood; and the traveller cast a
delighted eye about him, like the true admirer
of Nature, who takes pleasure in
`holding communion with her visible forms.'
The September sun was declining in the
cloudless western sky, and the meadows,
woodlands, cottages and sloping hill-sides,
which surrounded the traveller, lay basking
like creatures of life and feeling, in the golden,
mellow sunlight.

And the traveller passed on, until he arrived
in the shadow of a large spreading oak
that stood on the road-side. Here, a little
retired from the highway, stood a beautiful
white cottage, in a romantic situation, half
hidden from the traveller's view by thick
shade trees by which it was surrounded.

The horseman dismounted, and tying his
animal to a staple driven in the oak by the
road, threw open the gate, and took the path
leading to the cottage door.

Having rung the bell, he stood contemplating
the objects presented to his view, as
he waited for the inmates to give him admittance.
The walks, he observed, were
laid out with the greatest neatness and taste

—flower-beds and vines were beneath and
about the windows; and in the panelling of
the door was set a silver plate, on which
was engraved, in fanciful characters, the
name—

`Dr. F. Farley.'

The house-keeper appeared. It was the
old acquaintance of the reader, — Mrs.
Barnes.

`Is Doctor Farley in?' enquired the visitor.

`He will be at home in an hour,' replied
Mrs. Barnes.

`Is his family at home?'

`There are none of them at home; but I
expect them shortly. Will you walk in and
wait?'

The visitor was shown into the sitting
room. Mrs. Barnes was about to retire,
when he checked her by a question.

`Mr. Farley is married, I believe?'

`Oh, yes; the doctor has been married
several months,' replied the housekeeper.

`I used to be acquainted with his wife, I
think. Did he marry a lady named Irving,
a sister of Mrs. Acton?'

`That's the lady; and a better matched
pair you never saw. They love each other
now, I believe, as well as on the day they
were married. He idolizes her, and she
thinks there is nobody like her husband.'

`Was there not a clergyman paying attention
to Miss Irving—or Mrs. Farley—about
three years ago?'

`Yes, sir—the Rev. Mr. Everett. It was
thought she would marry him at one time,
but she finally made choice of the doctor.
It was said there were some suspicions concerning
Mr. Everett's moral character, but
they were hushed up by his friends, because
he was the pastor of a congregation. He
left the place suddenly and rather mysteriously,
and nobody knows what has become
of him. There was a servant girl living
with us about that time, who, I believe
knew something of Mr. Everett that was not
altogether in his favor. She hinted as much
to me one day, and she was as honest a girl
as ever lived.'

`Her name—'

`Her name was Catherine Munson. She
was a dear good creature; she had the best
little heart that ever beat in any girl's bosom.
I was sorry to lose her, but she married
a young man named Jenks, and they
have both gone to the west. I had a letter
from her a few days ago, in which she writes
that she was never so happy in her life as
she is now. It is enough to make one fly to
read her description of her little cottage,
and the grove behind it, and the stream close
by, and the prairie beyond, which she says
blooms with the most beautiful flowers she
ever saw during the greater part of the year.
But I am telling about that which you can
have no interest in.'

`By no means. I love to hear of the
happiness of young people, especially if they
are in the humbler ranks of life. But with
regard to Mrs. Acton—'

`Oh! Mrs. Acton, since Edith's marriage,
has made it her home with Dr. Farley.
She is with us now, together with her
little boy, Robert.'

`Does she enjoy good health?' enquired
the stranger.

`I believe she does; but she looks paler
than she used to, and is more subject to
melancholy. There were some circumstances
connected with her husband's death
which has had a lasting effect upon her
mind.'

At that moment a carriage drove up before
the house, and Mrs. Acton and Robert,
together with Frederick's wife and mother,
descended with the assistance of Dr. Farley.
Mrs. Barnes hastened to meet them, and the
visitor was left alone when Frederick entered.

Ten minutes after, the young doctor
knocked at the door of Mrs. Acton's apartment.
Being admitted he said to her that

he had an old friend in the parlor to whom
he wished to give her an introduction.

She followed him, leaning on his arm.—
The visitor arose as they entered, and Frederick
pronounced his name—

`Mr. Gustavus Burnam!'

There was a wild confusion in Mrs. Acton's
brain at this moment. Her senses
reeled—her heart throbbed with emotions of
surprise and delight mingled with a sort of
indefinable dread; and she scarce knew
what she did.

When she recovered her presence of mind,
she found herself alone with Gustavus.

`This visit is so unexpected,' she murmured,
`that you will excuse me for betraying
such surprise. I am very glad to see
you. I was afraid you would never visit me
again.'

`It was the recollection of the past which
brought me here,' replied Gustavus. `When
we parted, I thought we should never meet
again; for to do so, I thought, would be
productive of unhappiness to us both. You
were married then, and, after what had passed,
I deemed it impossible for us to continue
on terms of simple friendship. If you
had loved me once, you had given your
hand to another since, and I felt that you
would gladly have me avoid you. Since that
time, however, I have never ceased to think
of you, and now, no longer unable to keep
away, I have returned—'

`Mr. Burnam,' interrupted Maria, `you
surprise me—I had thought that my unworthy
treatment of you would alienate you
from me forever!'

`I have returned to you,' pursued Gustavus,
without noticing the interruption, to
see if by doing so, I could not fill a void in
my heart—an aching void which time and
the incidents of life cannot make me forget;
a void which has been there since the
day on which I deemed you lost to me forever.
You are single now; the love you
once professed for me may still warm your
heart; and as for myself, I believe that I
can never be truly happy without you. Excuse
me for coming to the point thus abruptly,
for I am anxious to know your mind and
my destiny at once. I offer you my hand:
will you accept it?'

Maria was agitated and very pale; and
when she spoke there was a tremor in her
voice which betrayed the depths of her emotion.

`I will be candid—it is my duty to be
frank with you,' she said, without raising
her eyes from the carpet. `If you can forget
that I was once betrothed to you, and
suffered myself to believe an infamous lie;
that I deserted you when afflictions came
upon you, and shuddering at your supposed
crime, conscientiously avoided listening to
your explanations, which I thought no offset
against the evidence which was brought forward
to prove your guilt; if you can forget
that, after this, I gave my hand to the man
who did more than any other to work your
ruin; and if you can forgive all this in one
so weak and foolish as myself, and love me
still—I give you my hand, with the heart
which none ever truly possessed but yourself.'

And she extended her hand to Gustavus;
timidly, as if she felt that he must shudder
at the thought of accepting it; but he
pressed it to his lips with passionate eagerness,
thanking her with heartfelt gratitude
for the gift.

`You are too good—too ready to forgive!'
sobbed Maria, in the fullness of her heart.
`But I will endeavor to repay you with all
the strength of woman's love, and all the
fidelity of her devotion. Only, forget the
past!'

`All is forgotten and forgiven,' whispered
Gustavus, as he drew her gently to his
heart, and called his own forever.

That evening there was a happy circle in
Edith's parlor. She and her husband were

there, and Frederick's mother, and Maria,
and Gustavus Burnam, who was as fascinating
and brilliant in conversation as ever.—
And little Robert, too, was there, and he
talked of the time, that appeared to his
young heart so long ago, when he was restored
to his mother by Gustavus, after having
seen some strange adventures among
strange people, and in places equally
strange.

Late in the evening, Gustavus arose to
take his leave, In vain did his friends endeavor
to prevail on him to pass the night
with them; riding horseback was his favorite
exercise, and he loved to travel alone in
the still and solemn night; and besides, he
had business, he said, which required his
presence in Boston. He accordingly took
leave of them, and mounting his horse, spurred
at a rapid pace along the road by which
he came.

Arrived at his hotel, late in the night—or
rather early in the morning—he found the
faithful Louis, who had concluded to devote
his life to his service, in his apartments,
awaiting his return.

`I have news for you,' said he to the valet
de chambre.

`Merci, monsieur.

`I am to de married soon.'

`C'est bien,' replied Louis, without betraying
the least emotion. `But I hope you
will grant me one favor.'

Speak.'

`It is that when you have a wife to love and
cherish, you will not forget Louis, nor turn
him off like a useless animal, because you
have less need of him. I'd rather be the
servant of a man like you, than the possessor
of all your riches.'

`I'll not forget you!' exclaimed Gustavus,
grasping his hand.

How proud Louis felt of that honor!—
his master had deigned to touch his hand.

In the course of three months Mrs. Acton
had made preparations for her approaching
marriage, and at the end of that time there
was a splendid wedding party given in Dr.
Farley's house. Gustavus and Maria were
united, and the wrongs they had both endured
at the hands of others, were in a measure
recompensed by the happiness of their
union.

`Although we have been long separated,'
said Gustavus to his bride on the evening of
their marriage, `it was fated, dear Maria,
that we should be brought together again before
the prime of life was passed; and now,
with the assurance that we were created for
each other, let us be happy in each other's
love, and forgetting the past, make the present
and the future ours!'

`We will—we will!' murmured Maria,
while her eyes filled with tears of love and
happiness. `I am sure of it—for this is
the happiest moment of my life, and something
whispers me that ours is no transient
bliss.