by Mayne Reid
myself!
My anguish at her untimely end, was mingled with the fires of regret. Isubmitted my conscience to a strict self-examination. Had I everdeceived her, by pretending a love I did not feel? Was I, in any way,to blame for the sin she had committed? Did I, in any way, lead her tothat act of self-destruction? Could her parents, in the agony of theirgrief, reproach me for anything?
These questions haunted me all that night; and I slept not. I evenendeavoured to remember something in my conduct, which had been wrong.But I could not: for I had never talked to _her_ of love. In all, thathad passed between us, I had been true to Lenore.
In the voyage of her life, her hopes, as well as her existence, had beenwrecked upon me; but I was no more to blame than the rock, unmarked onmap or chart, against which some noble ship has been dashed to pieces.
In that sad letter, Jessie had expressed a hope that I would think ofher, and believe her only guilty of the crime of having loved me toowell.
That wish died with her; but obedience to it, still lives with me.
When I returned home, on the day of her death, I locked myself in mychamber; and read that letter over and over again. No thoughts--noteven of Lenore--could keep the rain of sorrow from dimming my eyes, anddrowning my cheeks.
My life may be long; faith, hope, and even love for Lenore, may becomeweak within me; but never shall be effaced from my heart, the deepfeeling of sorrow for the sad fate of Jessie H--.
May her spirit be ever blessed of God!
Her last act was not that of self-murder. It was simply that of dying;and if in the manner she acted wrong, it was a wrong of which we may allbe guilty. Let her not be condemned then, among those whose souls aretainted and distorted by the vanities and hypocrisies of so-calledcivilised society!
To her family and friends, there was a mystery about the cause of herdeath, that they could not unravel. Her letter to me would haveexplained all; but that letter I did not produce. It would only haveadded fuel to the fire of their grief--causing it to burn with greaterfierceness, and perhaps to endure longer. I did not wish to add totheir unhappiness. I had too much respect for her memory to exhibitthat epistle to any one, and see it printed, with the usual vulgarcommentary, in the papers of the day.
The unfortunate ending of her life is now an event of the past; and herparents have gone to rejoin her in another and happier world, else thatletter would still have remained in the secret drawer--from which it hasnow been taken.
Volume Three, Chapter XXXIV.
THE ROLLING STONE AT REST.
One bright May morning, from the turrets of two London churches pealedforth the sound of bells. Sadly discordant were they in tone, yet lessso, than the causes for which they were being tolled. One was solemnlyannouncing the funeral of one, who had lived too long, or died too soon.Its mournful monotone proclaimed, that a spirit had departed from thisworld of woe, while the merry peals of the other betokened a ceremony ofa far different character: that in which two souls were being united--toenjoy the supremest happiness upon earth.
It seemed a strange coincidence, that the very day chosen for mymarriage with Lenore should be the one appointed for the funeral ofJessie H--. And yet such chanced to be the case.
I knew it; and the knowledge made me sad.
There was a time, when I would not have believed, that a cloud of sorrowcould have cast its shadow over my soul, on the day I should be weddedto Lenore. But I did not then understand myself; or the circumstancesin which Fate was capable of placing me.
Ten years have elapsed, since that day of mingled joy and sadness--tenyears of, I may almost say, unalloyed happiness, in the companionship ofa fond affectionate wife. During this time, I have made a few intimatefriends; and there is not one of them would believe--from the quiet,contented manner in which I now pass my time that I had ever been a"Rolling Stone." Since becoming a "Benedict," I have not beenaltogether idle. Believing that no man can enjoy life, so well as hewho takes a part in its affairs, I was not long settled in London,before entering into an occupation.
I am now in partnership with Captain Nowell, who has long sinceprofessionally forsaken the sea; and we are making a fair fortune, asship agents and owners.
The only misunderstanding that has ever arisen between my brotherWilliam and myself, has been an occasional dispute: as to which of us isthe happier.
We often hear from "the Elephant" and our sister Martha. The lastletter received from them, informed us that we might soon expect to seethem on a visit to the "old country."
After the melancholy event that deprived them of their daughter, Mr H--and his family could no longer endure a residence in England; butreturned to their colonial home. They lived to see little Rosa married,and happy--some compensation, perhaps, for the sorrow caused by hersister's sad fate.
Cannon and Vane I only knew afterwards as occasional acquaintances. Ihave just heard of their meeting in Paris, where a quarrel occurredbetween them--resulting in a duel, in which the latter was killed. Ihave also heard, that, since the affair, Cannon has been seen atBaden-Baden--earning his livelihood as the croupier of a gaming table!
Mrs Nagger and my brother's wife did not continue many months under thesame roof; and the old housekeeper is now a member of my household--acircumstance of which I am sometimes inclined to say in her own words,"More's the pity;" but this reflection is subdued, every time it arises,by respect for her many good qualities, and a regard for the welfare ofmy children.
Her days will probably be ended in my house; and, when that time comes,I shall perhaps feel inclined to erect over her grave a stone, bearingthe inscription:
"Jane Nagger, Died And more's the pity!"
Yet, I hope that many years may pass, ere I shall be called upon toincur any such expense on her account.
There was a time when roaming through the world, and toiling for Lenore,I thought I was happy. When riding over the broad plateaux of Mexico,amidst the scenes of lonely grandeur that there surrounded me--as alsowhen toiling amidst the scenes of busier life in California--I believedmy existence to be one of perfect happiness. I was travelling, andtoiling, for Lenore.
But now that years have passed, and Lenore is mine--I find that what Ithen deemed happiness was but a prophetic dream. It is while seated bymy own tranquil hearth, with my children around me, and she by my side--that true happiness finds its home in my heart.
When I allow my thoughts to dwell solemnly on the gifts that God hasbestowed upon me, I feel grateful to that Providence that has watchedover my fortunes, and ruled my heart to love only one--_only_ "LostLenore."
THE END.
