The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 85, November, 1864: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and PoliticsVarious
History
The Atlantic Monthly, Volume 14, No. 85, November, 1864: A Magazine of Literature, Art, and Politics
Various
American periodicals
"Lina paused a moment. 'I yielded,' she said. 'I could have followed him
blindly then anywhere! So that evening, in the drawing-room, with Mr.
and Mrs. Baxter and Marmaduke as witnesses, we were married by a Scotch
clergyman (there was no clergyman of our own Church within twenty
miles). The ceremony was very simple. As the last words were being
pronounced, some one entered the room hastily, and there was whispering
and confusion for a moment or two, and when I rose from my knees the
first words that greeted me were the intelligence that my aunt was
dangerously ill, and had sent a special messenger for me. Late as it
was, I prepared instantly to accompany the man back to H----. I was
stung with self-reproaches at the thought of my aunt lying, as I
fancied, dying without me near her, and peremptorily refused to allow
Arthur to accompany me on my long drive.
"'That was the last time I saw him. The next day he was called away on
important business, which admitted of no delay. I remained with my poor
aunt till her death, which took place at the end of that week, three
days after my marriage. Then my parents came for me. My father's manner
was unusually kind; my poor mother's expressions of love went to my
heart. Frank was not at home, they said, but had gone up to London to
prepare for his journey to the East. They had determined to reside for a
while in France, and they promised that he should not be informed of my
being with them, if I would consent to accompany them. I yielded to
their solicitations, parted with my true friend Mrs. Baxter, and crossed
the Channel with them. At the end of three weeks I discovered that my
father had broken his word and informed Frank by letter of my being with
them. Then I fled to you, having heard of the position vacant in your
_pension_. I have tried to do my duty here, and to merit in some degree
your kindness. With you I am happier than I could be with any one but
Arthur. Arthur has learned to love you too: will you read this letter
speaking of you?' drawing a letter from her pocket.
"This is it," said Madame, taking one from the pile, and pointing out
the passage.
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