Alonzo and Melissa; Or, The Unfeeling Father: An American TaleMitchell, I. (Isaac)
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Alonzo and Melissa; Or, The Unfeeling Father: An American Tale
Mitchell, I. (Isaac)
Gothic fiction; Love stories; United States -- History -- Revolution, 1775-1783 -- Fiction
The night was exceedingly dark, and illuminated only by the feeble
glimmering of the twinkling stars. When he came within sight of the
house, and as he drew near no lights were visible--all was still and
silent. He entered the yard, walked up the avenue, and approached the
door. The familiar watch-dog, which lay near the threshold, fawned upon
him, joyfully whining and wagging his tail. "Thou still knowest me,
Curlow, said Alonzo; thou hast known me in better days; I am now poor
and wretched, but thy friendship is the same." A solemn stillness
prevailed all around, interrupted only by the discordance of the nightly
insects, and the hooting of the moping owl from the neighbouring
forest.--The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Melissa's room no
gleam of light appeared. "They are all buried in sleep, said Alonzo,
deeply sighing, and I have only to return in disappointment."
He turned and walked towards the street; casting his eyes back, the
blaze of a candle caught his sight. It passed rapidly along through the
lower rooms, now gleaming, now intercepted, as the walls or the windows
intervened, and suddenly disappeared. Alonzo gazed earnestly a few
moments, and hastily returned back. No noise was to be heard, no new
objects were discernible.--He clambered over the garden wall, and went
around to the back side of the house. Here all was solemn and silent as
in front. Immediately a faint light appeared through one of the chamber
windows; it grew brighter; a candle entered the chamber; the sash was
flung up, and Melissa seated herself at the window.
The weather was sultry, she held a fan in her hand; her countenance,
though stamped with deep dejection, was marked with serenity, but pale
as the drooping lily of the valley. Alonzo placed himself directly under
the window, and in a low voice called her by name. She started wildly,
looked out, and faintly cried, "Who's there?" He answered, "Alonzo."
"Good heavens, she exclaimed, is it you, Alonzo? I was disappointed in
meeting you at Vincent's this evening; my father will not suffer me to
go out without attendants. I am now constantly watched and guarded."
"Watched and guarded! replied Alonzo: At the risque of my life I will
deliver you from the tyranny with which you are oppressed."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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