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
She knew she could not go to sleep, and she determined not to go to bed
again that night. She took up a book, but her spirits had been too much
disordered by the past scenes to permit her to read. She looked out of
the window. The moon had arisen and cast a pale lustre over the
landscape. She recollected the opening and shutting of the door--perhaps
they were still open. The thought was alarming--She opened her chamber
door, and with the candle in her hand, cautiously descended the stairs,
casting an inquisitive eye in every direction, and stopping frequently
to listen.--She advanced to the door; it was locked. She examined the
others; they were in the same situation. She turned to go up stairs,
when a loud whisper echoed through the hall expressing "_away! away!_"
She flew like lightning to her chamber, relocked the door and flung
herself, almost breathless, into a chair.
As soon as her scattered senses collected, she concluded that whatever
had been in the house was there still. She resolved to go out no more
until day, which soon began to discolour the east with a fainter blue,
then purple streaks, intermingled with a dusky whiteness, ascended in
pyramidical columns to the zenith; these fading slowly away, the eastern
horizon became fringed with the golden spangles of early morn. A spot of
ineffable brightness succeeded, and immediately the sun burst over the
verge of creation, deluging the world in a flood of unbounded light and
glory.
As soon as the morning had a little advanced, Melissa ventured out. She
proceeded with hesitating steps, carefully scrutinizing every object
which met her sight. She examined every door; they were all fast. She
critically searched every room, closet, &c. above and below. She then
took a light and descended into the cellar--here her inquisition was the
same. Thus did she thoroughly and strictly examine and search every part
of the house from the garret to the cellar, but could find nothing
altered, changed, or removed; no outlet, no signs of there having been
any being in the house the evening before, except herself.
She then unlocked the outer door and proceeded to the gate, which she
found locked as usual. She next examined the yard, the garden, and all
the out houses.
Nothing could be discovered of any person having been recently there.
She next walked around by the wall, the whole circle of the enclosure.
She was convinced that the unusual height of the wall rendered it
impossible for any one to get over it. It was constructed of several
tier of hewed timbers, and both sides of it were as smooth as glass.
On the top, long spikes were thickly driven in, sharpened at both ends.
It was surrounded on the outside by a deep wide moat, which was nearly
filled with water. Over this moat was a draw-bridge, on the road leading
to the gate, which was drawn up, and John had the key.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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