Kitabı oku: «The Mother's Recompense, Volume 1», sayfa 8
Mr. Hamilton had given his sanction to the addresses of Lord St. Eval to his daughter; but he knew not when, the young man intended to place the seal upon his fate. Great then was his astonishment, the morning following the evening we have mentioned, when St. Eval called to bid him farewell, as he intended, he said, leaving London that afternoon for his father's seat, where he should remain perhaps a week, and then quit England for the Continent. He spoke calmly, but there was a paleness of the cheek, a dimness of the eye, that told a tale of inward wretchedness, which the regard of Mr. Hamilton could not fail instantly to discover. Deeply had he become interested in the young man, and the quick instinct combined with the fears of a father, told him that the conduct of Caroline had caused this change. He looked at the expressive countenance of the young Earl for a few minutes, then placing his hand on his shoulder, said kindly, but impressively—
"St. Eval, you are changed, as well as your plans. You are unhappy. What has happened? Have your too sensitive feelings caused you to fancy Caroline unkind?"
"Would to heaven it were only fancy!" replied St. Eval, with unwonted emotion, and almost convulsively clenching both hands as if for calmness, added more composedly, "I have been too presumptuous in my hopes; I fancied myself beloved by your beautiful daughter, but I have found myself painfully mistaken."
Sternness gathered on the brow of the father as he heard, and he answered, with painful emphasis—
"St. Eval, deceive me not, I charge you. In what position do you now stand with Caroline?"
"Briefly, then, if I must speak, in the humble character of a rejected, scornfully rejected lover." His feelings carried him beyond control. The triumph he had seen glittering so brightly in the eyes of Caroline had for the time turned every emotion into gall. He shrunk from the agony it was to find he was deceived in one whom he had believed so perfect.
"Scorn! has a daughter of mine acted thus? Encourage, and then scorn. St. Eval, for pity's sake, tell me! you are jesting; it is not of Caroline you speak." So spoke the now agonized father, for every hope of his child's singleness of mind and purity of intention appeared at once blighted. He grasped St. Eval's hand, and looked on him with eyes from which, in the deep disappointment of his heart, all sternness had fled.
"I grieve to cause you pain, my dear friend," replied the young Earl, entering at once into the father's feelings, "but it is even so. Your daughter has only acted as many, nay, as the majority of her sex are fond of doing. It appears that you, too, have marked what might be termed the encouragement she gave me. My self-love is soothed, for I might otherwise have deemed my hopes were built on the unstable foundation of folly and presumption."
"And condemnation of my child is the fruit of your self-acquittal, St. Eval, is it not? You despise her now as much as you have loved her," and Mr. Hamilton paced the room with agitation.
"Would almost that I could!" exclaimed St. Eval; the young Earl then added, despondingly, "no, I deny not that your child has sunk in my estimation; I believed her exalted far above the majority of her sex; that she, apparently all softness and truth, was incapable of playing with the most sacred feelings of a fellow-creature. I looked on her as faultless; and though the veil has fallen from my eyes, it tells me that if in Caroline Hamilton I am deceived, it is useless to look for perfection upon earth. Yet I cannot tear her image from my heart. She has planted misery there which I cannot at present overcome; but if that triumph yields her pleasure, and tends to her happiness, be it so; my farther attention shall no longer annoy her."
Much disturbed, Mr. Hamilton continued to pace the room, then hastily approaching the young Earl, he said, hurriedly—
"Forget her, St. Eval, forget her; rest not till you have regained your peace. My disappointment, that of her mother—our long-cherished hopes, but it is useless to speak of them, to bring them forward, bitter as they are, in comparison with yours. Forget her, St. Eval; she is unworthy of you," and he wrung his hand again and again, as if in that pressure he could conquer and conceal his feelings. At that instant Emmeline bounded joyfully into the room, unconscious that any one was with her father, and only longing to tell him the delightful news that she had received a long, long letter from Mary, telling her of their safe arrival at Geneva, at which place Mrs. Greville intended to remain for a few weeks, before she proceeded more southward.
"Look, dear papa, is not this worth receiving?" she exclaimed, holding up the well-filled letter, and looking the personification of innocent and radiant happiness, her fair luxuriant hair pushed in disorder from her open forehead and flushed cheek, her blue eyes sparkling with irresistible glee, which was greatly heightened by her glowing smiles. It was impossible to look on Emmeline without feeling every ruffled emotion suddenly calmed; she was so bright, so innocent, so fair a thing, that if peace and kindness had wished to take up their abode on earth, they could not have found a fairer form wherein to dwell. As St. Eval gazed upon the animated girl, he could not help contrasting her innocent and light-hearted pleasure with his own unmitigated sorrow.
"Your presence and your joy are mistimed, my dear Emmeline; your father appears engaged," said Mrs. Hamilton, entering almost directly after her child, and perceiving by one glance at her husband's face that something had chanced to disturb him. "Control these wild spirits for a time till he is able to listen to you."
"Do not check her, my dear Emmeline, I am not particularly engaged. If St. Eval will forgive me, I would gladly hear some news of our dear Mary."
"And pray let me hear it also. You know how interested I am in this dear friend of yours, Emmeline," replied St. Eval, struggling with himself, and succeeding sufficiently to speak playfully; for he and Emmeline had contrived to become such great allies and intimate friends, that by some sympathy titles of ceremony were seldom used between them, and they were Eugene and Emmeline to each other, as if they were indeed brother and sister.
Laughingly and delightedly Emmeline imparted the contents of her letter, which afforded real pleasure both to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, by the more cheerful, even happier style in which she had written.
"Now do you not think I ought to be proud of my friend, Master Eugene? is she not one worth having?" demanded Emmeline, sportively appealing to the young Earl, as she read to her father some of Mary's affectionate expressions and wishes in the conclusion.
"So much so, that I am seized with an uncontrollable desire to know her, and if you will only give me a letter of introduction, I will set off for Geneva next week."
Emmeline raised her laughing eyes to his face, with an expression of unfeigned amazement.
"A most probable circumstance," she said, laughing; "no, Lord St. Eval, you will not impose thus on my credulity. Eugene St. Eval, the most courted, flattered, and distinguished, leave London before the season is over—impossible."
"I thank you for the pretty compliments you are showering on me, my little fairy friend, but it is nevertheless true. I leave England for the Continent next week, and I may as well bend my wandering steps to Geneva as elsewhere."
"But what can you possibly be going on the Continent again for? I am sure, by all the anecdotes you have told me, you must have seen all that is worth seeing, and so why should poor England again be deserted by one of the ablest of her sons?"
"Emmeline!" exclaimed her mother, in an accent of warning and reproach, which brought a deep crimson flush to her cheek, and caused her eyes to glisten, for Mrs. Hamilton had marked that all was not serene on the countenance of the Earl, and her heart beat with anxious alarm; for she knew his intentions with regard to Caroline, and all she beheld and heard, startled, almost terrified her. Lord St. Eval certainly looked a little disturbed at Emmeline's continued questions, and perceiving it, she hesitatingly but frankly said—
"I really beg your pardon, my lord, for my unjustifiable curiosity; mamma is always reproving me for it, and certainly I deserve her lecture now. But will you really find out Mary, and be the bearer of a small parcel for me?"
"With the greatest pleasure; for it will give me an object, which I had not before, and a most pleasing one, if I may hope your friend will not object to my intrusion."
"A friend of mine will ever be warmly welcomed by Mary," said Emmeline, with eagerness, but checking herself.
"Then may I hope you will continue to regard me as your friend, and still speak of me as Eugene, though perhaps a year or more may pass before you see me again?" demanded the young Earl, somewhat sadly, glancing towards Mrs. Hamilton, as if for her approval.
"As my brother Eugene—yes," answered Emmeline, quickly, and perhaps archly. A shadow passed over his brow.
"As your friend" he repeated, laying an emphasis on the word, which to any one less innocent of the world than Emmeline, would at once have excited their suspicion, and which single word at once told Mrs. Hamilton that all her cherished hopes were blighted. She read confirmation in her husband's countenance, and for a few minutes stood bewildered.
"I leave town in a few hours for my father's seat," added St. Eval, turning to Mrs. Hamilton. "I may amuse myself by taking Devonshire in my way, or rather going out of my way for that purpose. Have you any commands at Oakwood that I can perform?"
Mrs. Hamilton answered thankfully in the negative, but Emmeline exclaimed—
"I have a good mind to make you bearer of a letter and a gage d'amour to my good old nurse; she will be so delighted to hear of me, and her postman a nobleman. Poor nurse will have food for conversation and pleasurable reflection till we return."
"Anything you like, only make me of use; and let me have it in an hour's time, or perhaps I can give you two."
"One will be all-sufficient; but what a wonderful desire to be useful has seized you all in a minute," replied Emmeline, whose high spirits appeared on that day utterly uncontrollable, and she ran on unmindful of her mother's glance. "But if I really do this, I must bid you farewell at once, or I shall have no time. Think of me, if anything extraordinary meets your eye, or occurs to you, and treasure it up for my information, as you know my taste for the marvellous. My letter to Mary shall be forwarded to you, for I really depend on your seeking her, and telling her all about us; and now, then, with every wish for your pleasant journey, I must wish you good-bye."
"Good-bye, dear, happy Emmeline," he said, with earnestness. "May you be as light-hearted and joyous, and as kind, when we meet again as now; may I commission you with my warmest remembrances and kind adieus to your cousin, whom I am sorry I have not chanced to see this morning?"
"They shall be duly delivered," answered Emmeline, and kissing her hand gaily in adieu, she tripped lightly out of the room, and St. Eval instantly turned towards Mrs. Hamilton.
"In this intention of leaving England for a few months, or perhaps a year," he said, striving for calmness, but speaking in a tone of sadness, "you will at once perceive that my cherished hopes for the future are blighted. I will not linger on the subject, for I cannot yet bear disappointment such as this with composure. Were I of different mould, I might, spite of coldness and pride, continue my addresses; and were you as other parents are, Caroline—Miss Hamilton might still be mine; a fashionable marriage it would still be, but, thank God, such will not be; even to bestow your child on one you might value more than me, you would not trample on her affections, you would not consent that she should be an unwilling bride, and I—oh! I could not—could not wed with one who loved me not. My dream of happiness has ended—been painfully dispelled; the blow was unexpected, and has found me unprepared. I leave England, lest my ungoverned feelings should lead me wrong. Mrs. Hamilton," he continued, more vehemently, "you understand my peculiar feelings, and can well guess the tortures I am now enduring. You know why I am reserved, because I dread the outbreak of emotion even in the most trifling circumstances. Oh, to have been your son—" he paused abruptly, and hurriedly paced the room. "Forgive me," he said, more calmly. "Only say you approve of my resolution to seek change for a short time, till I obtain self-government, and can behold her without pain; say that I am doing right for myself. I cannot think."
"You are right, quite right," replied Mrs. Hamilton instantly, and her husband confirmed her words. "I do approve your resolution, though deeply, most deeply, I regret its cause, St. Eval. Your disappointment is most bitter, but you grieve not alone. To have given Caroline to you, to behold her your wife, would have fulfilled every fervent wish of which she is the object. Not you alone have been deceived; her conduct has been such as to mislead those who have known her from childhood. St. Eval, she is not worthy of you."
Disappointed, not only at the blighting of every secret hope, not those alone in which St. Eval was concerned, but every fond thought she had indulged in the purity and integrity of her child, in which, though her confidence had been given to another, she had still implicitly trusted, the most bitter disappointment and natural displeasure filled that mother's heart, and almost for the first time since their union Mr. Hamilton could read this unwonted emotion, in one usually so gentle, in her kindling eyes and agitated voice.
"Child of my heart, my hopes, my care, as she is, I must yet speak it, forget her, Eugene; let not the thought of a deceiver, a coquette, debar you from the possession of that peace which should ever be the portion of one so truly honourable, so wholly estimable as yourself. You are disappointed, pained; but you know not—cannot guess the agony it is to find the integrity in which I so fondly trusted is as naught; that my child, my own child, whom I had hoped to lead through life without a stain, is capable of such conduct."
Emotion choked her voice. She had been carried on by the violence of her feelings, and perhaps said more in that moment of excitement than she either wished or intended.
St. Eval gazed on the noble woman before him with unfeigned admiration. He saw the indignation, the displeasure which she felt; it heightened the dignity of her character in his estimation; but he now began to tremble for its effects upon her child.
"Do not, my dear Mrs. Hamilton," he said, with some hesitation, "permit Miss Hamilton's rejection of me to excite your displeasure towards her. If with me she could not be happy, she was right to refuse my hand. Let me not have the misery of feeling I have caused dissension in a family whose beautiful unity has ever bound me to it. Surely you would not urge the affections of your child."
"Never," replied Mrs. Hamilton, earnestly. "I understand your fears, but let them pass away. I shall urge nothing, but my duty I must do. Much as I admire the exalted sentiments you express, I must equally deplore the mistaken conduct of my child. She has wilfully sported with the most sacred of human feelings. Once more I say, she is not worthy to be yours."
The indignation and strong emotion still lingering in her voice convinced St. Eval that he might urge no more. Respectfully he took his leave.
CHAPTER V
Mrs. Hamilton sat silently revolving in her mind all Caroline's late conduct, but vainly endeavouring to discover one single good reason to justify her rejection of St. Eval. In vain striving to believe all must have been mistaken, she had not given him encouragement. That her affections could have become secretly engaged was a thing so unlikely, that even when Mrs. Hamilton suggested it, both she and her husband banished the idea as impossible; for St. Eval alone had she evinced any marked preference.
"You must speak to her, Emmeline, I dare not; for I feel too angry and disappointed to argue calmly. She has deceived us; all your cares appear to have been of no avail; all the watchful tenderness with which she had been treated thus returned! I could have forgiven it, I would not have said another word, if she had conducted herself towards him with propriety; but to give him encouragement, such as all who have seen them together must have remarked; to attract him by every winning art, to chain him to her side, and then reject him with scorn. What could have caused her conduct, but the wish to display her power, her triumph over one so superior? Well might he say she had sunk in his estimation. Why did we not question her, instead of thus fondly trusting in her integrity? Emmeline, we have trusted our child too confidently, and thus our reliance is rewarded."
Seldom, if ever, had Mrs. Hamilton seen her husband so disturbed; for some little time she remained with him, and succeeded partly in soothing his natural displeasure. She then left him to compose her own troubled and disappointed feelings ere she desired the presence of her child. Meanwhile, as the happy Emmeline went to prepare her little packet for her dear old nurse, the thought suddenly arose that St. Eval had sent his remembrances and adieus to Ellen only, he had not mentioned Caroline; and unsophisticated as she was, this struck her as something very strange, and she was not long in connecting this circumstance with his sudden departure. Wild, sportive, and innocent as Emmeline was, she yet possessed a depth of reflection and clearness of perception, which those who only knew her casually might not have expected. She had marked with extreme pleasure that which she believed the mutual attachment of St. Eval and her sister; and with her ready fancy ever at work, had indulged very often in airy visions, in which she beheld Caroline Countess St. Eval, and mistress of that beautiful estate in Cornwall, which she had heard Mrs. Hamilton say had been presented by the Marquis of Malvern to his son on his twenty-first birthday. Emmeline had indulged these fancies, and noticed the conduct of Caroline and St. Eval till she really believed their union would take place. She had been so delighted at the receipt of Mary's letter, that she had no time to remember the young Earl's departure; but when she was alone, that truth suddenly flashed across her mind, and another strange incident, though at the time she had not remarked it, when she had said as her brother she would remember him, he had repeated, with startling emphasis, "as her friend." "What could it all mean?" she thought. "Caroline cannot have rejected him? No, that is quite impossible. My sister would surely not be such a practised coquette. I must seek her and have the mystery solved. Surely she will be sorry St. Eval leaves us so soon."
Emmeline hastened first to Ellen, begging her to pack up the little packet for Mrs. Langford, for she knew such an opportunity would be as acceptable to her cousin as to herself; for Ellen never forgot the humble kindness and prompt attention she had received from the widow during her long and tedious illness; and by little offerings, and what the good woman still more valued, by a few kind and playful lines, which ever accompanied them, she endeavoured to prove her sense of Widow Langford's conduct.
In five minutes more Emmeline was in her sister's room. Caroline was partly dressed as if for a morning drive, and her attendant leaving just as her sister entered. She looked pale and more fatigued than usual, from the gaiety of the preceding night. Happy she certainly did not look, and forgetting in that sight the indignation which the very supposition of coquetry in her sister had excited, Emmeline gently approached her, and kissing her cheek, said fondly—
"What is the matter, dear Caroline? You look ill, wearied, and even melancholy. Did you dance more than usual last night?"
"No," replied Caroline; "I believe not. I do not think I am more tired than usual. But what do you come for, Emmeline? Some reason must bring you here, for you are generally hard at work at this time of the day."
"My wits have been so disturbed by Mary's letter, that I have been unable to settle to anything," replied her sister, laughing; "and to add to their disturbance, I have just heard something so strange, that I could not resist coming to tell you."
"Of what nature?"
"St. Eval leaves London to-day for Castle Malvern, and next week quits England. Now is not that extraordinary?"
Caroline became suddenly flushed with crimson, which quickly receding, left her even paler than before.
"She is innocent," thought Emmeline. "She loves him. St. Eval must have behaved ill to her; and yet he certainly looked more sinned against than sinning."
"To-day: does he leave to-day?" Caroline said, at length, speaking, it appeared, with effort, and turning to avoid her sister's glance.
"In little more than an hour's time; but I am sorry I told you, dear Caroline, if the news has pained you."
"Pained me," repeated her sister, with returning haughtiness; "what can you mean, Emmeline? Lord St. Eval is nothing to me."
"Nothing!" repeated the astonished girl. "Caroline, you are incomprehensible. Why did you treat him with such marked attention if you cared nothing for him?"
"For a very simple reason; because it gave me pleasure to prove that it was in my power to do that for which other girls have tried in vain—compel the proud lordly St. Eval to bow to a woman's will." Pride had returned again. She felt the pleasure of triumphant power, and her eyes sparkled and her cheek again flushed, but with a different emotion to that she had felt before.
"Do you mean, then, that you have never loved him, and merely sported with his feelings, for your own amusement? Caroline, I will not believe it. You could not have acted with such cruelty; you do love him, but you reject my confidence. I do not ask you to confide in me, though I did hope I should have been your chosen friend; but I beseech, I implore you, Caroline, only to say that you are jesting. You do love him."
"You are mistaken, Emmeline, never more so in your life. I have refused his offered hand; if you wish my confidence on this subject, I give it you. As he is a favourite of yours, I do not doubt your preserving his secret inviolate. I might have been Countess of St. Eval, but my end was accomplished, and I dismissed my devoted cavalier."
"And can you, dare you jest on such a subject?" exclaimed Emmeline, indignantly. "Is it possible you can have wilfully acted thus? sported with the feelings of such a man as St. Eval, laughed at his pain, called forth his love to gratify your desire of power? Caroline, shame on you!"
"I am not in the habit of being schooled as to right and wrong by a younger sister, nor will I put up with it now, Emmeline. I never interfere with your conduct, and therefore you will, if you please, do the same with me. I am not responsible to you for my actions, nor shall I ever be," replied Caroline, with cold yet angry pride.
"But I will speak, when I know you have acted contrary to those principles mamma has ever endeavoured to instill into us both," replied Emmeline, still indignantly; "and you are and have been ever welcome to remonstrate with me. I am not so weak as I once was, fearful to speak my sentiments even when I knew them to be right. You have acted shamefully, cruelly, Caroline, and I will tell you what I think, angry as it may make you."
A haughty and contemptuous answer rose to Caroline's lips, but she was prevented giving it utterance by the entrance of Martyn, her mother's maid, with her lady's commands that Miss Hamilton should attend her in the boudoir.
"How provoking!" she exclaimed. "I expect Annie to call for me every minute, and mamma will perhaps detain me half an hour;" and most unwillingly she obeyed the summons.
"Annie," repeated Emmeline, when her sister had left the room, "Annie—this is her work; if my sister had not been thus intimate with her she never would have acted in this manner." And so disturbed was the gentle girl at this confirmation of her fears, that it was some little time before she could recover sufficient serenity to rejoin Ellen in arranging the widow's packet.
Mrs. Langford had the charge of Oakwood during the absence of the family, and Mrs. Hamilton, recollecting some affairs concerning the village schools she wished the widow to attend to, was writing her directions as Caroline entered, much to the latter's increased annoyance, as her mother's business with her would thus be retarded, and every minute drew the time of Annie's appointment nearer. She could scarcely conceal her impatience, and did venture to beg her mother to tell her what she required.
"Your attention, Caroline, for a time," she replied, so coldly, that her daughter felt instantly something was wrong, though what she guessed not, for she knew not that St. Eval had obtained the sanction of her parents for his addresses; and she little imagined he could have anything to do with the displeasure she saw so clearly marked.
"You will wait, if you please, till I have finished writing, as this cannot be delayed. Lord St. Eval leaves town in a very short time, and I send this by him."
"Lord St. Eval," thought Caroline, suddenly becoming alarmed, "surely mamma and papa know nothing of his offer."
A few minutes passed in silence, which was broken by the sound of carriage-wheels stopping at the door, and Robert almost instantly after entered with Miss Grahame's love, saying she could not wait a minute, and hoped Miss Hamilton was ready.
"Miss Grahame!" repeated Mrs. Hamilton, in an accent of surprise, before Caroline had time to make any answer; "Caroline, why have you not mentioned this engagement? You do not generally make appointments without at least consulting me, if you no longer think it necessary to request my permission. Where are you going with Annie?"
"To Oxford Street, I believe," she answered carelessly, to conceal her rising indignation at this interference of her mother.
"If you require anything there, you can go with me by and bye. Robert, give my compliments to Miss Grahame, and say from me, Miss Hamilton is particularly engaged with me at present, and therefore cannot keep her engagement to-day. Return here as soon as you have delivered my message."
"Mother!" burst from Caroline's lips, in an accent of uncontrollable anger, as soon as the servant had left the room; but with a strong effort she checked herself, and hastily walked to the window.
An expression of extreme pain passed across her mother's features as she looked towards her, but she took no notice till Robert had returned, and had been dismissed with her note to be given to Emmeline to transmit with hers.
"Caroline," she then said, with dignity, yet perhaps less coldly than before, "if you will give me your attention for a short time, you will learn the cause of my displeasure, which is perhaps at present incomprehensible, unless, indeed, your own conscience has already reproached you; but before I commence on any other subject, I must request that you will make no more appointments with Miss Grahame without my permission. This is not the first time you have done so; I have not noticed it previously, because I thought your own good sense would have told you that you were acting wrong, and contrary to those principles of candour I believed you to possess."
"You were always prejudiced against Annie," answered Caroline, with rising anger, for she had quite determined not to sit silent while her mother spoke, cost what it might.
"I am not speaking of Annie, Caroline, but to you. The change in your conduct since you have become thus intimate with her, might indeed justify my prejudice, but on that I am not now dwelling. I do not consider Miss Malison a fit chaperon for my daughter, and therefore I desire you will not again join her in her drives."
"Every other girl of my station has the privilege of at least choosing her own companions without animadversion," replied Caroline, indignantly, "and in the simple thing of making appointments without interference it is hard that I alone am to be an exception."
"If you look around the circle in which I visit intimately, Caroline, you will find that did you act according to your own wishes, you would stand more alone than were you to regard mine. I have done wrong in ever allowing you to be as intimate with Miss Grahame as you are. You looked surprised and angry when I mentioned the change that had taken place in your conduct."
"I had sufficient reason for surprise," replied Caroline, impatiently, "I was not aware that my character was so weak, as to turn and change with every new acquaintance."
"Are you then the same girl you were at Oakwood?" demanded Mrs. Hamilton, gravely yet sadly.
A sudden pang of conscience smote the heart of the mistaken girl at these words, a sob rose choking in her throat, and she longed to have given vent to the tears which pride, anger, and remorse were summoning, but she would not, and answered according to those evil whisperings, which before she had only indulged in secret.
"If I am changed," she answered passionately, "it is because neither you nor papa are the same. At Oakwood I was free, I had full liberty to act, speak, think as I pleased, while here a chain is thrown around my simplest action; my very words are turned into weapons against me; my friendship disapproved of, and in that at least surely I may have liberty to choose for myself."
"You have," replied Mrs. Hamilton mildly. "I complain not, Caroline, of the pain you have inflicted upon me, in so completely withdrawing your confidence and friendship, to bestow them upon a young girl. I control not your affection, but it is my duty, and I will obey it, to warn you when I see your favourite companion likely to lead you wrong. Had your every thought and feeling been open to my inspection as at Oakwood, would you have trifled as you have with the most sacred feelings of a fellow-creature? would you have called forth love by every winning art, by marked preference to reject it, when acknowledged, with scorn, with triumph ill concealed? would you have sported thus with a heart whose affections would do honour to the favoured one on whom they were bestowed? would you have cast aside in this manner all that integrity and honour I hoped and believed were your own? Caroline, you have disappointed and deceived your parents; you have blighted their fondest hopes, and destroyed, sinfully destroyed, the peace of a noble, virtuous, excellent young man, who loved you with all the deep fervour of an enthusiastic soul. To have beheld him your husband would have fulfilled every wish, every hope entertained by your father and myself. I would have intrusted your happiness to his care without one doubt arising within me; and you have spurned his offer, rejected him without reason, without regret, without sympathy for his wounded and disappointed feelings, without giving him one hope that in time his affection might be returned. Caroline, why have you thus decidedly rejected him? what is there in the young man you see to bid you tremble for your future happiness?"
