by Mayne Reid
know the affairs of every member of it, although I believeshe was prompted to this, by a feeling of friendship and good will.
"Nagger," I once heard my brother's wife say to her, "I think you giveyourself much more trouble, than is required from you."
"More's the pity, ma'am!" answered Nagger.
"You must not interfere with what does not concern you," continued MrsStone. "If you do, I shall have to dispense with your services."
"If you do, ma'am, more's the pity! That's all I can say."
"I wish it _was_ all you could say. Then, perhaps, we should agree verywell."
"The more I don't trouble about your business," rejoined Mrs Nagger,"the more's the pity for us all!"
I believe that my sister-in-law knew this; or if not, she probablythought that a better servant would be difficult to obtain; and Naggercontinued to keep her place.
I had promised to call again at Captain Nowell's, that same evening, andtake my brother, his wife, and her mother, along with me.
The Captain wished to see them before setting sail; and had urged me tobring them to his house--a request with which I was but too ready tocomply: as I was desirous to show Lenore to my relations. Icommunicated my intention to them; and asked if they had made anyengagement for the evening.
"No, I think not. Have you, William?" asked Mrs Stone.
"Not that I know of," answered my brother, "unless it be to makeourselves happy at our own fireside."
"I am to be married in six days," said I, "and there is no time to losein getting you acquainted with my intended. I have promised to take youall to see her this evening--if I can induce you to go. What say you?Will you accompany me?"
They looked at each other.
"I cannot tell," said Mrs Stone. "What do you say, mother? What doyou think William. I am impatient to see Rowland's choice; but would itbe etiquette for us to go to-night?"
"What do we care for etiquette?" said William. "I, for one, am aboveit. Let us go!"
An hour afterwards, we were all on the way to the residence of CaptainNowell.
On being ushered into the drawing-room, my relatives were surprised tomeet an old acquaintance--the captain of the ship, on which they hadvoyaged some thousands of miles.
The Captain first introduced them to his wife; and then to hisstep-daughter. I had before mentioned her name to my brother--whilegiving him a brief history of the life I had led, after parting from himin Dublin.
On hearing the name, he gazed upon Lenore for a moment with evidentadmiration. Then turning to me, he inquired, "Is this the lost one,Rowland?"
I answered in the affirmative.
"I am reading a romance of real life," said William, as he graspedLenore's hand, with a grasp no other but a true sailor could give.
Need I add that we passed that evening in the enjoyment of suchhappiness, as is only allowed to hearts that throb with innocence andhonesty?
Volume Three, Chapter XXXIII.
A LETTER OF SAD SIGNIFICANCE.
Next morning, as I was on my way to Lenore, I thought of Jessie. I wasreminded of her by the ringing of bells. It might not have been for herwedding; but no doubt at that same hour the bells of some church weretolling the announcement of the ceremony, that was to make her a wife.
Poor Jessie! I could not help feeling sorrow for her. That peal, thatshould have produced joy both to her and myself, fell upon my ear intones of sadness! I fancied--nay, I knew it--that whatever might be herfuture fate, she was at that moment unhappy!
Engrossed as I was in my own happiness, it was not natural I should longdwell upon the misery of another; and I soon ceased to think of her.
"Jessie is not related to me, nor my family," thought I, by way ofstifling my regrets, "she will soon forget her present griefs; andperhaps be as happy as myself."
I offered up a silent prayer, that such should be the event.
I saw Lenore; passed with her a pleasant hour or two; and then learntthat my company was on that day no longer required.
Great preparations were being made for the marriage. Every one in thehouse appeared to be busy--Lenore included--and as she could devote butlittle time to entertaining me, I took leave of her, and returned home.
On entering my room, I found a letter awaiting me. It lay upon thetable; and, drawing near, I cast my eye over the superscription.
I saw that the writing was in a female hand, though not one familiar tome. From whom could the letter be? Something seemed to whisper in myear the word "Jessie."
She could not have written to me--least of all at that hour--unless tocommunicate something of importance; and I hastily tore open theenvelope.
I lay before my readers a copy of that ominous epistle:
"Rowland,
"The hour has arrived! The bells are ringing for the ceremony, yet I am sitting here in my chamber--alone--alone in my anguish! I hear hurried movements below, and the sounds of joyful voices--the voices of those who come to celebrate my wedding-day; and yet I move not!
"I know that my sorrows will soon be at an end! Before another hour has passed away, my soul will be wafted to another world! Yes, Rowland! start not--but when those eyes, which have long haunted me in my dreams shall be gazing on these lines, the poor, lone girl who loved you, and sought your love in return, will have ceased to exist. Her soul will be at rest from the agonies of this cruel world!
"Rowland! something tells me that I must not marry, that I must not enter yonder sacred edifice, and pledge myself to one when I love another. My conscience rebels against it. I will never do it! I will die!
"You told me you had found the long-lost one you love. May _she_ know all the happiness that is denied to me! May every blessing from Heaven fall upon her head; and make her life one blissful dream--such as I once hoped might be mine!
"I know that when you read this, the first impulse of your manly heart will be to try to save me. But it will be too late! _Before you could reach me, I shall have closed my eyes in the sleep of death_! My last prayer shall be, that you may receive every earthly blessing; and that you may long live in happiness to love her you have chosen as your wife!
"Perhaps in your reveries, in solitude, or when your heart is sad--God grant that may never be! you may bestow a thought on her whose heart you won in a foreign land; and who, in her dying hour, breathed only prayers for your welfare. In such a time, and when such thoughts may wander through your mind, I would, that you may think my only sin in life was in loving you too truly!
"Farewell, Rowland! Farewell for ever!
"Jessie."
I rushed out into the street; and hailed a cab.
"Put your horse to his greatest speed," cried I to the driver, "Reachthe house, as soon as ever you can!"
"What house?" asked the cabby.
I gave the address; and sprang into the vehicle.
The driver and horse both seemed to sympathise with my impatience: foreach appeared to exert himself to the utmost.
I reached the street; but, before arriving at the house, I could see acrowd of people collected about the door.
Their movements betokened great agitation. Something very unusual hadcertainly happened. It was not like the excitement caused by a wedding:for--
"Then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress; And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness."
My arrival was not noticed by any member of the family. They wereup-stairs, and I saw none of them; but from one of their guests, Iobtained the details of the sad story. I was indeed, as Jessie had saidin her letter, _too late_!
A few minutes before my arrival, she had been found dead in herdressing-room--with a bottle of prussic acid by her side!
I rushed back into the cab; and ordered the driver to take me homeagain. I was too much unmanned, to remain a minute longer in that houseof woe.
I had suffered great menta
l agony on many previous occasions. Whenalone, with the body of my companion Hiram--whom I had neglected when onthe "prospecting" expedition in California--my thoughts had been farfrom pleasant. They were not agreeable when I saw my friend, RichardGuinane, by his own act fall a corpse before my face. Great was thepain I felt, when standing by the side of poor Stormy Jack, and lookingupon his last agonies. So was it, when my mother left me; but allthese--even the grief I felt when told that Lenore was married, werenothing to the anguish I experienced, while riding home through thecrowded streets of London, and trying to realise the awful reality thatJessie H--had committed suicide. A heart that but an hour ago had beenthrobbing with warm love--and that love for me--was now cold and still.A pure spirit, altogether devoted to me, had passed suddenly away--passed into eternity with a prayer upon her righteous lips; and thatprayer for
