Alida; or, Miscellaneous Sketches of Incidents During the Late American War.

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER XII.

  "O, happiness, deceitful in thy dream," Though wreaths all blooming hang upon thy brow, And quick dissolves the visionary gleam, Succeeded soon by various scenes of wo.

  When Theodore returned to the house of his friend, he unfolded the planhe had projected.

  "No sooner," said Raymond, "was I informed of your misfortunes, than Iwas convinced that Alida's father (whom I have known for many years)would endeavour to dissolve your intended union with his daughter. Andhowever he may doat on his children, or value their happiness, he willnot hesitate to sacrifice his better feelings to the accomplishment ofhis wishes to see them independent. It appears that you have but oneresource left. You and Alida are now engaged by the most solemn ties, byevery rite except those which are ceremonial; these I would advise youto enter into, and trust to the consequences. Mrs. Raymond has proposedthe scheme to Alida, but implicitly accustomed to filial obedience, sheshudders at the idea of a clandestine marriage; but when her father willproceed to rigorous measures, she will, I think, consent to thealternative. The world is before you, Theodore," continued he; "you havefriends, you have acquirements which will not fail you. In a countrylike this you can scarcely help obtaining a competency, which, with theother requisites you have in your power, will not fail to insure yourindependence and felicity."

  "But the times have changed," said Theodore, since the commencement ofthe war, and probably I may yet have to join the army. After I have mademy visit on the morrow to Alida's father, we will discourse further onthe subject.

  In the meantime, Theodore proceeded on the morrow, to make his intendedvisit. As he approached the house, he saw Alida sitting in a shadyrecess at one end of the garden, near which the road passed. She wasleaning with her head upon her hand in a pensive posture; a deepdejection was depicted upon her features, which enlivened into atransient glow as soon as she saw Theodore. She arose, met him, andinvited him into the house.

  Theodore was received with a cool reserve by all except Alida. Herfather saluted him with a distant retiring bow, as he passed with her tothe parlour. As soon as they were seated, a lady who had lately come toreside some time in the family, (who was a relative of her father's,)entered the room and seated herself by the window, alternately humming atune and staring at Theodore, without speaking a word.

  This interruption was not of long continuance. Alida's father entered,and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done; hethen addressed Theodore as follows:

  "When I gave consent for your union with my daughter, it was on theconviction that your future resources would be adequate to support herhonourably and independently. Circumstances have since taken place whichrender this point extremely doubtful." He paused for a reply, butTheodore was silent. He continued, "You, perhaps, may say that youracquirements, your prudence, and your industry, will procure you ahandsome income; but to depend on these altogether for your futureexigencies is hazarding peace, honour, and reputation, at a single gameof chance. If, therefore, you have no resources or expectations but suchas these, your own judgment will teach you the necessity of immediatelyrelinquishing all pretensions to the hand of Alida, and from this timeto break off all communication with my daughter." He then immediatelyleft the room.

  Why was Theodore speechless through the whole of this discourse? Whatreply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but miseryand wo? Where, indeed, were the means by which Alida was to be shieldedfrom indigence, if connected with his fortunes?

  The idea was not new, but it came upon him at this time with redoubledanguish. He arose and looked around for Alida, but she was not to beseen. He left the house and walked slowly towards Raymond's. At a littledistance he met Alida who had been strolling in an adjoining avenue. Heinformed her of all that had passed; it was no more than they bothexpected, yet it was a shock their fortitude could scarcely sustain.Disappointment seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.

  Alida told Theodore that she knew her father's determinations werealtogether unchangeable at present. Her brother, she said, would be athome in a few days; how he would act on this occasion, she was unable tosay; but were he ever so far their friend, he would have but feebleinfluence with her father. "What is to be the end of these troubles,"continued she, it is impossible to foresee. Let us trust in the mercy ofHeaven, and submit to its dispensations.

  Theodore and Alida, in their happier days, had, when absent from eachother, corresponded. This method it was now thought best to resume. Itwas agreed, besides, that Theodore should frequently visit Raymond's,and Alida would resort there also, as she should find opportunity.Having concluded on this, Alida returned home, and Theodore to the houseof his friend.

  The next morning Theodore repaired to the dwelling where his agedparents now resided. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish when hearrived there: his own fate unconnected with that of Alida. His fatherwas absent when he first reached home, but returned soon after. A beamof joy gleamed upon his countenance as he entered the house. "Were itnot, Theodore, for your unhappy situation," said he, "we should oncemore be restored to peace and happiness. A few persons who were indebtedto me, finding that I was to be sacrificed by my unfeeling creditors,reserved those debts in their hands, and have now paid me, amounting tosomething more than five thousand pounds. With this I can live as welland conveniently as I could wish, and can spare some for your presentexigencies, Theodore."

  Theodore thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from hisformer liberality, he had yet sufficient for all his wants. "But youraffair with Alida," asked his father, "how is that likely to terminate?""Favourably, I hope, sir," answered Theodore.

  He could not consent to disturb the happy tranquillity of his parents byreciting his own wretchedness. He passed a week with them. He saw themonce more comfortably seated at a calm retreat in he country; he sawthem serenely blest in the pleasures of returning peace, and a ray ofjoy illumined his troubled bosom.

  "Again the youth his wonted life regain'd, A transient sparkle in his eye obtain'd, A bright, impassion'd, cheering glow express'd The pleas'd sensation of his tender breast: But soon dark gloom the feeble smiles o'erspread; Like morn's gay hues, the fading splendours fled; Returning anguish froze his feeling soul; Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll!"

  His memory dwelt on Alida, from whom he had heard nothing since he hadlast seen her. He thought of the difficulties with which he wassurrounded. He thought of the barriers which were now opposed to theirhappiness; and he immediately set out for the house of Raymond. Hearrived at his residence near the close of the day. Raymond and his ladywere at tea, with several young ladies that had passed the afternoonthere. Theodore cast an active glance at the company, in hopes to seeAlida among them, but she was not there. He was invited, and took a seatat table.

  After tea was over, Raymond led Theodore into an adjoining room. "Youhave come in good time," said he. "Something speedily must be done, oryou lose Alida forever. The day after you were here, her father receiveda letter from Bonville, in which, after mentioning the circumstances ofyour father's insolvency, he hinted that the consequence would probablybe a failure of her proposed marriage with you, which might essentiallyinjure the reputation of a lady of her standing in life; to preventwhich, and to place her beyond the reach of calumny, he offered to marryher at any appointed day, provided he had her free consent. As Bonville,by the recent death of his father, had been put in possession of asplendid fortune, the proposition might possibly allure the father ofAlida, to use his endeavour to bring his daughter to yield implicitobedience to his wishes. Were he to command her to live single, it mightbe endured; but if he should endeavour to persuade her to discard youfrom her thoughts entirely, and to give her hand to a person she couldhave no esteem for, would be to perjure those principles of truth andjustice, which he himself had ever taught her to hold most inviolable.To add to Alida's distress, Bonville arrived there yesterday, and,I hope in some measure to alleviate it,
Albert, her brother, came thismorning. Mrs. Raymond has despatched a message to inform Alida of yourarrival, and to desire her to come here immediately. She willundoubtedly comply with the invitation, if not prevented by somethingextraordinary."

  Mrs. Raymond now came to the door of the room, and beckoned to herhusband, who went out, but soon returned, leading in Alida, after whichhe retired. "Oh, Theodore," was all she could say, her further utterancewas interrupted by her tears. Theodore led her to a seat, and overcomeby sadness was unable to speak. Recovering at length, he begged her tomoderate her grief.

  "Where," said he, "is your fortitude, and your firmness, Alida, which Ihave so often seen triumphing over affliction?" Her extreme anguishprevented a reply. Theodore endeavoured to console her, thoughconsolation was a stranger to his own breast.

  "Let us not," said he, "increase our flood of affliction by a tide ofuseless sorrow. Perhaps more prosperous days are yet in reserve for us;happiness may yet be ours. Heaven cannot desert Alida," said Theodore;"as well might it desert its angels. This thorny path may lead to fairfields of light and verdure. Tempests are succeeded by calms; wars endin peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise on the wings ofblackest midnight. Troubles will not always last."

  The grief which had almost overwhelmed Alida, now began to subside, asthe waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commotion afterthe turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep and long drawn sighssucceeded. The irritation of her feelings had caused a more than usualglow upon her cheek which faded away as she became composed, until alivid paleness spread itself over her features.

  Raymond and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged thepropriety and necessity for Theodore and Alida to enter into the bandsof matrimony.

  "The measure would be hazardous," remarked Alida. "My circumstances,"said Theodore. "Not on that account," interrupted Alida, "but thedispleasure of my father."

  "Come here, Alida, to-morrow evening," said Mrs. Raymond. "In the meantime you will consider the matter and then determine." To this Alidaassented and prepared to return home.

  Theodore attended her as far as the gate which opened into the yardsurrounding the dwelling. It was dangerous for him to go further, lesthe should be discovered even by a domestic of the family. He stood hereawhile looking anxiously after Alida as she walked up the avenue, herwhite robes now invisible, now dimly seen, until they were totallyobscured, mingling with the gloom and darkness of the night, ere shereached the door of her father's mansion.

  "Thus," said Theodore, "fades the angel of peace from the visionary eyesof the war-worn soldier, when it ascends in the dusky clouds of earlymorning, while he slumbers on the field of recent battle." With mournfulforebodings he returned to the house of his friend. After passing asleepless night, he arose and walked out into an adjoining field; hestood for some time, leaning, in deep contemplation, against a tree,when he heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned around, and sawAlbert approaching. In a moment they were in each other's arms, andmingled tears. They soon returned to Raymond's where they conversedlargely on present affairs.

  "I have discoursed with my father on the subject," said Albert; "I haveurged him with every possible argument, to relinquish his determinationto keep you and Alida separate. I fear, however, he is inflexible."

  "To endeavour to assuage the grief which rent Alida's bosom was my nextobject, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will seeher this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You,Theodore, must exert your fortitude. The ways of Heaven are inscrutable,but they are right. We must acquiesce in its dealings; we cannot alterits decrees. Resignation to its will, whether merciful or afflictive, isone of those eminent virtues which adorn the good man's character, andwill ever find a brilliant reward in the regions of unsulliedhappiness."

  Albert told Theodore that circumstances compelled him that day to returnto the city. "I would advise you," said he, "to remain here until youraffair comes to some final issue. It must, I think, ere long, beterminated. Perhaps you and my sister may yet be happy."

  Theodore feelingly expressed his gratitude to Albert. He found in himthat disinterested friendship which his early youth had experienced.Albert the same day departed for New-York.

  The shades of night came on almost insensibly, as Theodore was anxiouslyexpecting Alida. He anticipated the consolation her presence wouldbestow. Albert had told him she was more composed. The evening passedon, but she came not.

  Raymond assured him she would soon be there. He paced the room, and thenwalked out on the way whither she was expected to come. He hesitatedsome time whether to advance or return. It was possible, though notprobable, that she might have come some other way. He hastened back tothe house of his friend; she had not arrived.

  "Something extraordinary," said Mrs. Raymond, "has undoubtedly preventedher coming. Perhaps she is ill." Theodore shuddered at the suggestion.He looked at his watch: it was past twelve o'clock. Again he hastilysallied out and took the road to her father's. The night was exceedinglydark, being illuminated only by the feeble glimmering of the twinklingstars. When he came within sight of the house, and as he drew near, nolights were visible, all was still and silent. He entered the yard,walked up the avenue, and approached the door. A solemn stillnessprevailed around, interrupted only by the discordance of nightlyinsects. The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Alida's room no gleamof light appeared.

  "They are all buried in sleep," said Theodore, deeply sighing, and Ihave only to return in disappointment.

  Theodore now withdrew slowly from the place, and repassed the way hecame. As he went back through the garden, he found a person standing atthe foot of it, near the road. After a moment's scrutiny, he perceivedit to be Bonville.

  "What, my chevalier, why are you here?" said he to Theodore. "Hast thou,then, eluded the watchful eyes of Argus, and the vigilance of thedragon?"

  "Unfeeling and impertinent intruder!" retorted Theodore, "dost thou addimpudence to thy interference? Go," said he, "you are unworthy of myanger. Pursue thy grovelling schemes. Strive to win to your arms a ladywho must ever continue to despise you."

  "Theodore," replied Bonville, "You and I were rivals in the pursuit forthe hand of Alida. Whether from freak or fortune the preference wasgiven to you, I know not; and I retired in silence. From coincidence ofcircumstances, I think she will now be induced to give the preference tome, especially after her prospects of connecting with you are cut off bythe events which ruined your fortune. You, Theodore, have yet, I find,to learn the character of woman. It has been my particular study. Alida,now ardently impassioned by first impressions, irritated by recentdisappointment, her feelings delicate and vivid, her affectionsanimated, it would be strange if she could suddenly relinquish prematureattachments founded on such premises. But remove her from your presenceone year, with only distant and uncertain prospects of seeing you again,admit me as the substitute in your absence, and she accepts my hand asfreely as she would now receive yours. I had no design. It never was mywish to marry her without her free consent;--that I believe I shall yetobtain. Under existing circumstances it is impossible but that you mustbe separated. Then, when cool deliberation succeeds to the wild vagariesof fancy, she will discover the dangerous precipice to which her presentinclinations lead. She will prefer indifference and splendour to loveand a cottage. At present I relinquish all further pursuit; to-morrow Ishall return home. When Alida, from calm deliberation, and the advice offriends, shall freely consent to yield me her hand, I shall return toreceive it. I came from my lodgings this evening to declare theseintentions to her father; but it being later than I was aware of, thefamily had gone to rest. I was about to return, but, looking back againat the house, to see if I could descry a light, I stood a moment by thegarden gate, when you approached and discovered me." So saying, he badeTheodore good night, and walked hastily away.

  "I find he knows not the character of Alida," said Theodore, as hepursued his way to Raymond's. When he arrived at the hous
e of hisfriend, he related all that had passed between himself and Bonville; andfrom what he related, the Raymonds concluded that Alida must be watchedand guarded.