Alida Part 3

But perhaps he was preferred. His opportunities: his prior acquaintance with the lady. Distance was no barrier to his addresses. His visits became more and more frequent. Was it not then highly probable that he had gained her affections?

Thus reasoned Theodore, but the reasoning tended not to allay the tempest that was gathering in his bosom. He ordered his carriage, and was in a short time at the seat of Alida's father. It was summer, and towards evening when he arrived. Alida was sitting by the window when he entered the hall. She arose and received him with a smile. I have just been thinking of an evening's walk, said she, but had no one to attend me, and you have come just in time to perform that office. I will order tea immediately, while you rest from the fatigues of your journey.

When tea was served up, a servant entered the room with a letter which he had found in the yard. Alida received it. "'Tis a letter," said she, which I sent by Bonville to a lady in the village, and the careless man has lost it. Turning to Theodore, I forgot to tell you, that your friend Bonville has been with us a few days; he left us this morning. "My friend," replied Theodore, hastily. "Is he not your friend?" inquired Alida. "I beg pardon, madam," said he "my mind was absent." "He requested us to present his respects to his friend Theodore," said she.

Theodore bowed and turned the conversation.

They now walked out, and took a winding path which led through pleasant fields until they reached the water, and continued to pursue their way along the sh.o.r.e till they came to a beautiful and shady grove, where the thick foliage afforded a delightful retreat from the warm rays of the sun, and at the extremity of which was a sloping eminence, which commanded an extensive prospect of the surrounding country, part of Long-Island sound and the junction of the bay with the eastern river.

A soft and silent shower had descended. A thousand transitory gems trembled upon the leafy foliage, glittering in the western ray. A bright rainbow sat upon a southern cloud; the light gales whispered among the branches, agitated the young harvest to billowy motion, and moved the tops of the deep green forest with majestic grandeur; while flocks, herds, and cottages were scattered over the resplendent landscape.

"This is a most delightful scene," said Alida. "It is, truly," replied Theodore, "do you think that New-York can boast of so charming a prospect?" "Yes, one," answered she, it is the walk on the battery, the water prospect is similar to this, but the landscape is not so variegated.

See that ship, Theodore, coming down the sound, how she ploughs through the white foam, while the breezes flutter in the sails, varying with the vivid rays of the sun. "Yes," said Theodore, it bounds with rapid motions over the waves, and ere the day has departed it will probably safely reach the wharf of the city.

They walked leisurely around the hill, and then moved slowly towards home. The sun was sinking gradually behind the western horizon. Twilight arose dimly in the east, and floated along the air. Darkness began to hover around the woodlands and valleys. The beauties of the landscape slowly receded; the breezes had gone down with the sun, and a perfect calm succeeded.

"I shall never forget this charming promenade," said Theodore, as he approached the threshold of the door, with a deep drawn sigh, "and the remembrance of the sweet pensive scenery of this delightful spot, will ever continue to haunt my memory."

CHAPTER VIII.

To lull affection's sigh, And dry the tear of sensibility; I'll think of thee, in all my lonely hours, Though thou, perhaps, may ne'er remember me.

The next day Theodore returned to his studies; but different from his former visits to Alida, instead of exhilarating his spirits, this had tended to depress them. He doubted whether she was not already engaged to Bonville. His hopes would persuade him this was not the case; but his fears declared otherwise.

It was some time before he renewed his visits again. In the interim he received a letter from a friend in the neighbourhood of Alida's father; an extract from which follows: "We are soon to have a wedding here; you are acquainted with the parties--Alida M. and Bonville. Such at least is our opinion from appearances, as this gentleman is now there more than half his time. You will undoubtedly be invited. We had expected that you would have put in your claims, from your particular attention to the lady. She is a fine girl, Theodore." I shall never be a guest at Alida's wedding, said Theodore, as he hastily paced the room; but I must again see her before that event takes place, when I shall lose her forever.

The ensuing day he repaired to her father's. He inquired for Alida; she was gone with a party to the sh.o.r.es of the sound, attended by Bonville.

At evening they returned. Bonville and Theodore addressed each other with much seeming cordiality. "You have deserted us, Theodore," said Alida, "we concluded you had forgotten the road to this place." "Was not that a hasty conclusion?" said Theodore. "I think not," she answered, "if your long absence should be construed into neglect. But we will hear your excuse," said she, smiling, "by and by, and perhaps pardon you."

He thanked her for her condescension.

The next morning Bonville set out to go to New-York. Theodore observed that he took particular leave of Alida, telling her, in a low voice, that he should have the happiness of seeing her again, within two or three weeks certainly.

After he was gone, as Alida and Theodore were sitting in the room alone, "Well," said she, "am I to hear your excuses, Theodore?" "For what, madam?" "For neglecting your friends." "I hope it is not so considered, madam." "Seriously, then, why have you stayed away so long? Has this place no charms in the absence of my brother?"

"Would my presence have added to your felicity, Alida?" "You never came an unwelcome visiter here." "Perhaps I might be sometimes intrusive when Bonville is your guest." "I have supposed you were on friendly terms,"

said she. "We are, but there are seasons when friendship must yield its pretensions to a superior claim."

"Will you answer me one question, Alida, are you engaged to Bonville?"

"He has asked me the same question concerning you," replied she, (blushing.)

"Do you," continued Theodore, "prefer him to any other?" Alida, (blushing deeply.) "He has made the same inquiries respecting you."

"I beg, madam, you will deal with me candidly," said Theodore, (taking her hand with anxiety.) "I am ent.i.tled to no claims, but you know what my heart would ask. I will bow to your decision. Bonville or Theodore must relinquish their pretensions. We cannot share the blessing."

The cheeks of Alida were suffused with a varying glow, her lips were pale, her voice tremulous, and her eyes cast down. "My father has informed me," she said, "that it is improper to receive the particular addresses of more than one. I am conscious of my inadvertency, and that the reproof is just. One, therefore, must be dismissed." But, (she blushed deeper,) and a considerable pause ensued.

At length Theodore arose. "I will not press you further," said he.

"I know the delicacy of your feelings; I know your sincerity; I will not therefore insist on your performing the painful task of deciding against me. Your conduct in every point of view has been discreet. I would have no just claims, or if I had, your heart must sanction them, or they would be unhallowed, and unjustifiable. I shall ever pray for your felicity. Our affections are not under our direction; our happiness depends on our obedience to their mandates. Whatever, then, may be my sufferings, you are unblameable, and irreproachable."

He took his hat in extreme agitation, and prepared himself to take leave. Alida had recovered in some degree from her embarra.s.sment, and collected her scattered spirits.

"Your conduct, Theodore," said she, "is generous and n.o.ble. Will you give yourself the trouble, and do me the honour to see me once more?"

"I will," said he, "at any time you shall appoint."

"Four weeks, then," said she, "from this day, honour me with a visit, and you shall have my decision, and receive my final answer." "I will be punctual to the day," he replied, and bade her adieu.

Theodore's hours from this time winged heavily away. His wonted cheerfulness fled; he wooed the silent and solitary haunts of musing, moping melancholy. He loved to wander through lonely fields, when dewy twilight robed the evening mild, or to trace the forest glen, through which the moon darted her silvery intercepted rays. His agitated thoughts preyed upon his peace incessantly, and deeply disturbed his repose.

He looked anxiously to the hour when Alida was to make the decision. He wished, yet dreaded the event. In that he foresaw, or thought he foresaw, a withering blight to all his hopes, and a final consummation to his foreboding fears. He had pressed Alida, perhaps too urgently, to a declaration. Had her predilection been in his favour, would she have hesitated to avow it? Her father had advised her to relinquish one, and to retain the other, nor had he attempted to influence or direct her choice. Was it not evident, then, from her confused hesitation and embarra.s.sment, when solicited to discriminate upon the subject, that her ultimate decision would be in favour of Bonville?

While Theodore's mind was thus in agitation, he received a second letter from his friend in the neighbourhood of Alida. He read the following clause therein with emotions more easily to be conceived than expressed: "Alida's wedding-day is appointed. I need not tell you that Bonville is to be the happy deity of the hymenial sacrifice. I had it from his own declaration. He did not name the positive day, but it is certainly to be soon. You will undoubtedly, however, have timely notice, and receive an invitation."

"We must pour out a liberal libation upon the mystic altar, Theodore, and twine the nuptial garland with wreaths of joy. Bonville should devote a rich offering to so valuable a prize. He has been here for a week, and departed for New-York yesterday, but is shortly to return."

And why have I ever doubted this event? said Theodore. What infatuation hath then led me on in the pursuit of fantastic and unreal bliss? I have had, it is true, no positive a.s.surances that Alida would be disposed to favour my addresses. But why did she ever receive them? Why did she enchantingly smile upon me? Why fascinate the soft powers of my heart by that winning mildness, and the favourable display of those complicated and superior attractions which she must have known were irresistible?

And now she would have me dance attendance to her decision in favour of another--insulting; let Bonville and herself make it, as they have formed this farcical decision. I absolutely will never attend it. Why did she not spurn me from her confidence, and plainly tell me that my attentions were untimely and improper?

But, I have engaged to see her at an appointed time; my honour is therefore pledged for an interview; it must take place. I shall endeavour to support it with becoming dignity, and I will convince Alida and Bonville, that I am not the dupe of their caprices. But, let me consider--What has Alida done to deserve censure or reproach? Her brother was my early friend; she has treated me as a friend to that brother. She was unconscious of the affection which her charms and mental graces had kindled in my bosom. Her evident embarra.s.sment, on receiving my declaration, witnessed her surprise and prior attachment.

What could she do to save herself the pain of a direct denial? She has appointed a day when her refusal may come in a more delicate and formal manner--and I must therefore meet it.

CHAPTER IX.

The time draws near when I shall meet those eyes, that may perchance look cold on me--"but doubt is called the beacon of the wise, the test that reaches to the bottom of the worst."

On the appointed day, Theodore proceeded to the house of Alida's father, where he arrived late in the afternoon. Alida had retired to a little summer-house at the end of the garden. A servant conducted him thither.

She was dressed in a flowing robe of white muslin, richly embroidered.

Her hair was in dishevelled curls; she was contemplating a bouquet of flowers which she held in her hand. Theodore fancied she never appeared so lovely. She arose to receive him.

We have been expecting you for some time, said she; we were anxious to inform you that we have just received a letter from my brother, in which he desires us to present you his most friendly respects, and complains of your not visiting him lately so frequently as usual. Theodore thanked her for the information; said that business had prevented him; he esteemed him as his most valuable friend, and would be more particular in future.

"We have been thronged with company several days," said Alida. The last of them took their departure yesterday. And I have only to regret, that I have nearly a week been prevented from taking my favourite walk to the grove, to which place you attended me when you were last here. "We will walk there, then, if you have no objections, as no doubt it is much improved since that time," said Theodore. They resorted thither towards evening, and seated themselves in the arbour where they sat some time contemplating the scenery.

It was the beginning of autumn, and a yellow hue was spread over the natural beauties of creation. The withering forest began to shed its decaying foliage, which the light gales pursued along the russet fields;--the low sun extended its lengthening shadows;--curling smoke ascended from the neighbouring village and the surrounding cottages;--a thick fog crept along the valleys;--a grey mist hovered over the tops of the distant hills;--the gla.s.sy surface of the water glittering to the sun's departing ray;--the solemn herds lowed in monotonous symphony;--the autumnal insects, in sympathetic wafting, plaintively predicted their approaching fate.

The scene is changed since we last visited this place, said Alida; "the gay charms of summer are beginning to decay, and must soon yield their splendours to the rude despoiling hand of winter."

"That will be the case," said Theodore, "before I shall have the pleasure of your company here again." "That may probably be, though it is nearly two months yet to winter," said Alida.