The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 5, January, 1835Various
History
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. I., No. 5, January, 1835
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
"'Oh, I received your note telling me that you would accompany another
lady, and not wishing to go abegging for an escort, resolved to stay at
home.'
"'What a pity!' said I, 'if you had been there I should have had
nothing to wish for; as it was, the evening passed delightfully--I
scarce left my little cousin's side. Yesterday she carried me shopping
with her all the morning, and the day before I went with her to see the
Ariadne. She is very much like the picture, and has the same beautiful
fair complexion, the same blue eyes and yellow hair, which I admire so
much, you know.'
"I looked up at Miss ----; she was gazing fixedly at me. I noticed a
tear in her eye, as she turned away and rested her cheek on her dear
little hand. I began to think matters were becoming too serious.
"'Sweet ----,' I began, in an altered and earnest tone.--She raised her
head suddenly and I trembled at her glance.
"'_Sweet_ ----,' she repeated, with scornful emphasis--'George, I owe
you my life, and for that I shall always feel gratitude. I have loved
you for yourself--for I thought you generous, sensible and sincere.
Your present conduct shews how much I have been deceived in you, and
the love I have been proud to feel is lost in contempt.' She rose from
her seat as she spoke.--Heaven and Earth! The figure seen in my almost
forgotten vision stood before me. I was motionless with horror--a
dagger of ice seemed slowly to pierce my breast--I covered my eyes with
my hand and groaned:--Too fearfully were the words of doom fulfilled.
"I rose slowly from my chair, bowed low to ---- and leaving the house,
hurried to my room and threw myself on my bed. There I writhed in
convulsive agony, and in the frenzy of unutterable despair cursed the
hour in which I was born. The criminal who, in the confident hope of
pardon, and indulging in dreams of long life and happiness, is suddenly
dragged forth to the gallows, feels not a tythe of the utter desolation
I then felt. By degrees my frenzy subsided, and a dull stupor was
coming over me,--when the word '_Revenge_' was muttered in my ear. I
remembered the promise. '_Revenge_ is mine, and I will wreak it to the
uttermost.' I became perfectly calm--it was the calm of despair. I had
nothings to hope for but revenge, and then, come what might, I would be
ready to meet it! 'Yes,' said I aloud, 'I will twine myself round her
heartstrings--she shall love me devotedly, fatally, and I will requite
her with a contempt colder than the snows on Cotapaxi, and a hate more
intense than its fires.'
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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