Lost Lenore Part 72

The Captain first introduced them to his wife; and then to his step-daughter. I had before mentioned her name to my brother--while giving him a brief history of the life I had led, after parting from him in Dublin.

On hearing the name, he gazed upon Lenore for a moment with evident admiration. Then turning to me, he inquired, "Is this the lost one, Rowland?"

I answered in the affirmative.

"I am reading a romance of real life," said William, as he grasped Lenore's hand, with a grasp no other but a true sailor could give.

Need I add that we pa.s.sed that evening in the enjoyment of such happiness, as is only allowed to hearts that throb with innocence and honesty?

Volume Three, Chapter x.x.xIII.

A LETTER OF SAD SIGNIFICANCE.

Next morning, as I was on my way to Lenore, I thought of Jessie. I was reminded of her by the ringing of bells. It might not have been for her wedding; but no doubt at that same hour the bells of some church were tolling the announcement of the ceremony, that was to make her a wife.

Poor Jessie! I could not help feeling sorrow for her. That peal, that should have produced joy both to her and myself, fell upon my ear in tones of sadness! I fancied--nay, I knew it--that whatever might be her future fate, she was at that moment unhappy!

Engrossed as I was in my own happiness, it was not natural I should long dwell upon the misery of another; and I soon ceased to think of her.

"Jessie is not related to me, nor my family," thought I, by way of stifling my regrets, "she will soon forget her present griefs; and perhaps be as happy as myself."

I offered up a silent prayer, that such should be the event.

I saw Lenore; pa.s.sed with her a pleasant hour or two; and then learnt that my company was on that day no longer required.

Great preparations were being made for the marriage. Every one in the house appeared to be busy--Lenore included--and as she could devote but little time to entertaining me, I took leave of her, and returned home.

On entering my room, I found a letter awaiting me. It lay upon the table; and, drawing near, I cast my eye over the superscription.

I saw that the writing was in a female hand, though not one familiar to me. From whom could the letter be? Something seemed to whisper in my ear the word "Jessie."

She could not have written to me--least of all at that hour--unless to communicate something of importance; and I hastily tore open the envelope.

I lay before my readers a copy of that ominous epistle:

"Rowland,

"The hour has arrived! The bells are ringing for the ceremony, yet I am sitting here in my chamber--alone--alone in my anguish! I hear hurried movements below, and the sounds of joyful voices--the voices of those who come to celebrate my wedding-day; and yet I move not!

"I know that my sorrows will soon be at an end! Before another hour has pa.s.sed away, my soul will be wafted to another world! Yes, Rowland! start not--but when those eyes, which have long haunted me in my dreams shall be gazing on these lines, the poor, lone girl who loved you, and sought your love in return, will have ceased to exist.

Her soul will be at rest from the agonies of this cruel world!

"Rowland! something tells me that I must not marry, that I must not enter yonder sacred edifice, and pledge myself to one when I love another. My conscience rebels against it. I will never do it! I will die!

"You told me you had found the long-lost one you love. May _she_ know all the happiness that is denied to me! May every blessing from Heaven fall upon her head; and make her life one blissful dream--such as I once hoped might be mine!

"I know that when you read this, the first impulse of your manly heart will be to try to save me. But it will be too late! _Before you could reach me, I shall have closed my eyes in the sleep of death_!

My last prayer shall be, that you may receive every earthly blessing; and that you may long live in happiness to love her you have chosen as your wife!

"Perhaps in your reveries, in solitude, or when your heart is sad--G.o.d grant that may never be! you may bestow a thought on her whose heart you won in a foreign land; and who, in her dying hour, breathed only prayers for your welfare. In such a time, and when such thoughts may wander through your mind, I would, that you may think my only sin in life was in loving you too truly!

"Farewell, Rowland! Farewell for ever!

"Jessie."

I rushed out into the street; and hailed a cab.

"Put your horse to his greatest speed," cried I to the driver, "Reach the house, as soon as ever you can!"

"What house?" asked the cabby.

I gave the address; and sprang into the vehicle.

The driver and horse both seemed to sympathise with my impatience: for each appeared to exert himself to the utmost.

I reached the street; but, before arriving at the house, I could see a crowd of people collected about the door.

Their movements betokened great agitation. Something very unusual had certainly happened. It was not like the excitement caused by a wedding: for--

"Then and there was hurrying to and fro, And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress; And cheeks all pale, which but an hour ago Blushed at the praise of their own loveliness."

My arrival was not noticed by any member of the family. They were up-stairs, and I saw none of them; but from one of their guests, I obtained the details of the sad story. I was indeed, as Jessie had said in her letter, _too late_!

A few minutes before my arrival, she had been found dead in her dressing-room--with a bottle of prussic acid by her side!

I rushed back into the cab; and ordered the driver to take me home again. I was too much unmanned, to remain a minute longer in that house of woe.

I had suffered great mental agony on many previous occasions. When alone, with the body of my companion Hiram--whom I had neglected when on the "prospecting" expedition in California--my thoughts had been far from pleasant. They were not agreeable when I saw my friend, Richard Guinane, by his own act fall a corpse before my face. Great was the pain I felt, when standing by the side of poor Stormy Jack, and looking upon his last agonies. So was it, when my mother left me; but all these--even the grief I felt when told that Lenore was married, were nothing to the anguish I experienced, while riding home through the crowded streets of London, and trying to realise the awful reality that Jessie H--had committed suicide. A heart that but an hour ago had been throbbing with warm love--and that love for me--was now cold and still.

A pure spirit, altogether devoted to me, had pa.s.sed suddenly away-- pa.s.sed into eternity with a prayer upon her righteous lips; and that prayer for myself!

My anguish at her untimely end, was mingled with the fires of regret. I submitted my conscience to a strict self-examination. Had I ever deceived her, by pretending a love I did not feel? Was I, in any way, to blame for the sin she had committed? Did I, in any way, lead her to that act of self-destruction? Could her parents, in the agony of their grief, reproach me for anything?

These questions haunted me all that night; and I slept not. I even endeavoured to remember something in my conduct, which had been wrong.

But I could not: for I had never talked to _her_ of love. In all, that had pa.s.sed between us, I had been true to Lenore.

In the voyage of her life, her hopes, as well as her existence, had been wrecked upon me; but I was no more to blame than the rock, unmarked on map or chart, against which some n.o.ble ship has been dashed to pieces.

In that sad letter, Jessie had expressed a hope that I would think of her, and believe her only guilty of the crime of having loved me too well.

That wish died with her; but obedience to it, still lives with me.

When I returned home, on the day of her death, I locked myself in my chamber; and read that letter over and over again. No thoughts--not even of Lenore--could keep the rain of sorrow from dimming my eyes, and drowning my cheeks.

My life may be long; faith, hope, and even love for Lenore, may become weak within me; but never shall be effaced from my heart, the deep feeling of sorrow for the sad fate of Jessie H--.

May her spirit be ever blessed of G.o.d!

Her last act was not that of self-murder. It was simply that of dying; and if in the manner she acted wrong, it was a wrong of which we may all be guilty. Let her not be condemned then, among those whose souls are tainted and distorted by the vanities and hypocrisies of so-called civilised society!