CHAPTER VII.
[figure description] Page 251.[end figure description]
Men are most anxious to appear what they are not.
We care little for what we have; but we are covetous of
all else. Thus, we learn to affect that which we are most
desirous of being: and affectation soon becomes habit.
But when the trick is discovered, ashamed of our own
folly, we affect to be unaffected, and live and die in a
state of perpetual vascillation, between what we are, and
what we would be.
Thus a man of sound judgment, without one grain of
imagination, shall dabble in poetry, to the neglect of all
useful science. And the man of imagination, without
one ounce of practical good sense, will be breaking his
neck after the mathematicks. A chicken-spirited, mild,
amiable man, will sometimes affect to be very implacable
and bloodthirsty; while he who really hath a devil, will
affect kindness and benignity. An impudent dog will
remember, and dwell with emphasis, upon the proof of
his modesty and backwardness; while he who is really
bashful, is forever telling you how fearless and saucy he
has been, on this and that occasion. Thus, our whole
lives are spent; and it is a good rule of judgment to set
-- 252 --
[figure description] Page 252.[end figure description]
that man down for not being, at heart, that which he appears
most desirous of being thought.
So with our hero—While he was wild, as the unharnessed
colt of the desert, he was perpetually struggling with himself,
and concealing it. But now, as his disposition softened,
and newer, milder and more beautiful visions passed
before him; his chief occupation lay, in persuading himself,
(and others indirectly,) that he was the same unbroken,
irresistible and triumphant savage that he had once
been. Nay, he succeeded in vindicating himself, to himself,
from the alleged degeneracy that his conscience
sometimes charged him with.
“I have come,” said Mr. Hammond, entering the room
one morning briskly, “to inform you that you can now
write directly to M. De Vandreuil, at Paris—he is
there!”
Harold turned pale—“A French nobleman, the lover of
the lady whom you so gallantly protected the other day
(alluding to the robbery) is going to France immediately
and will undertake to deliver any thing you please, into
the hands of the Count himself.”
“God bless him for it!”—said Harold, shivering from
head to foot—“It is so long—Gracious Heaven—I
know not what to think or say—yes—I will write.—”
His eyes filled—he embraced Mr. Hammond—he
wrung his hand—he appeared for a moment delirious—
to the utter astonishment of the good man—with the effect
of this intelligence.
He ran to his chamber—fell upon his knees—softened
with recent calamity—the tenderness of the past rose like
a fountain in his heart, and bubbled through all his veins.
He saw the green leaves dancing again over his head—
and the transparent water rushing away, beneath his feet,
and the beautiful dark, shady wilderness all about him.
“Oh, Loena! Loena!” he cried—“thou unspeakably
dear one!—I shall—I shall!—I shall be near thee
again!—hear the wild musick of thy voice—and then—
Oh lay me in my grave! I shall have lived long enough!”
-- 253 --
[figure description] Page 253.[end figure description]
After pacing his chamber till his agitation had, in a
great measure, subsided, he began a letter to De Vaudreuil,
in the following words:
My Benefactor!
I have this moment heard that you are in Paris;
and am all in a trepidation with the thought. What
shall I say to you, you who were my first and best friend?
Shall I come and throw myself into your arms, at
once, and there tell you, my father! for so you have
commanded me to call you, all that has happened to
me? But I cannot—there is a reason—or at least, I
hope that there is, and believe that there is—if I did not,
I should go distracted—which forbids my visiting you,
before I hear from you. You have, undoubtedly,
heard of my capture; and you have had the charity, I
am sure, to believe that I have written you a hundred
letters since. But they could not reach you—they
have all gone to Quebec, as they could, by cartels, &c.
&c.
But that you may know all that I have experienced,
and who I am, and what, I am about to repeat the
whole story again.'
(Here he recapitulated all his adventures—and then
continued as follows:)
`Are you not gratified, my dear count, my father!
Yes, you are. I see your eyes glisten as you read it.
If—there is a dreadful subject for me to approach—
can you not imagine all that I would say—? If—oh,
no, I cannot suppose such a thing—she is alive, she
is!—I am sure of it—Give her the enclosed—do, my
dear count.
`Can she write yet?—poor Loe—no, I cannot write
her name. Remember me, affectionately, to my lady—
and the whole family—tell them that a son and a brother,
who is not entirely unworthy of their love, will
never forget them. Let them use their influence that
she may write me. I so long to look upon some of her
thought, traced with a beating heart—but I cannot go
on—
`If she cannot write yet—why then, I hardly know
what to say about the enclosed. I would not have any
-- 254 --
[figure description] Page 254.[end figure description]
mortal eye see it except hers—no, not even yours. So—
whether she can read it or not, now, give it to her,
and let her keep it until she can. In that case, you
will not forget to inform me of every thing. Heaven
bless you! I would write more, but I cannot, for I
remember that the sooner this is on its way, the sooner
I shall receive an answer.'
The enclosure was expressed in this manner:
`Dear Loena—(but these words were badly erased,
and the letter began again)—`I would not again intrude
upon your presence, dearest of women, if I did
not feel that, with all my faults, I am not so utterly
unworthy of you, as you have believed. Loena, dear
Loena, have you forgotten me? If you have—there is
only one course left for both of us—it is for you to tell
me so, and for me to tear your image from my heart.
I have loved you, Loena, God knows how passionately,
how truly; and I love you yet—Yea, I shall love you
forever and ever. Can you return my love? I ask you
a plain question. This is no matter for circumlocution.
Will you, can you, forgive and bless me? If yes—
behold me at your side, ready to prove, by a life of
sincerity and devotion, how unspeakably dear you are
to me. If you cannot, I pray you, do not conceal it,
do not deceive yourself, or me. It is the last favour
that I may ever ask of you, and I ask it by the memory
of our former love—by our agony and tears, that you
would deal plainly with me. Loena, I am entitled to
that, at least. I know not what new laws of etiquette
or decorum you may have learned, since we last parted—
but, be they what they may, yours was a heart that
needed them not; and I do trust that you will, whatever
they may say, inform me in so many words—that I
have nothing to hope—or, that I am forgiven.
`In the meantime, farewell! Do not rashly resolve.
I am better, and wiser, than when we parted, and, I
do believe, am capable of making you happy. My prayer
is that you may believe it. If you do, we shall be
happy; but if you do not, it will be your duty to say
that you do not, plainly and directly, for by your silence,
I shall infer that you have forgiven me. If your
-- 255 --
[figure description] Page 255.[end figure description]
letter be no, I shall never trouble you more. Once
more farewell! I tremble in writing the word; it
may be that I shall never write it again; I hope so,
and yet, I cannot lay down my pen. Yet it must be,
and I entreat you to remember that this decision of
yours will be final.
Farewell! farewell!'
This letter completed, Harold descended to the
parlour, where he found the young nobleman himself;
his features were uncommonly expressive and handsome,
and Harold could not forbear disclosing the
ground of his anxiety. The Frenchman embraced
him, and, with tears of thankfulness, poured out his
gratitude to Harold, for having saved the life of his
dear, dear miss Anna. It was some minutes before
Harold was able to comprehend the meaning of these
transports; but, at length, with the assistance of Mr.
Hammond, he discovered that he had, in the late affair
with the highwaymen, probably, saved the life of a
very beautiful and intelligent girl, whose friends were
ready to die for him in return. This young Frenchman,
with that readiness, so characteristick of his age
and country, seemed instantly to comprehend the subject
of Harold's distress; and after half an hour's conversation,
privately with him, departed.
That day three weeks he returned. And the sum of
his information was this—that De Vaudreuil was dead—
his family scattered—some dead, some married,
some in Quebec, he having encountered the displeasure
of his sovereign, and fallen in a duel at the same time.
Of Loena he could only learn that, a young, and singularly
beautiful Spanish girl, or Italian as she was
thought that had been educated in the count's family,
had run off with a young officer named —
`Lightning blast him!' cried Harold, when he heard
his name, `by the living God, I will never rest till I
find him! I will hunt him to the ends of the earth!—
See if he escape me again! Why did I spare him before?
Why not pursue him, and rend his heart out?
This comes of my clemency. And she—she the faithless!
the wanton! O, Loena, Loena—farewell! farewell
-- 256 --
[figure description] Page 256.[end figure description]
forever. I could have borne all but this—to find thee
worthless—thee!—where I had given up my heart—
but farewell! farewell!—I am blinded, and sick with
the thought—thee!—'
The young Frenchman respected his transports, and
left him. And Harold, poor Harold, was desolate,
heartbroken indeed. This was a calamity, so unforeseen,
so unintelligible, that she should have been seduced
by one so utterly worthless; one too who had
wrestled with her, even at noon day, for her innocence.
Could it be! could it! that she could be won, or violated
by him! Enough; there was only one route now
for Harold—through the storm and darkness forever.
Neal, John, 1793-1876 [1822], Logan: a family history, volume 2 (H. C. Carey & I. Lea, Philadelphia) [word count] [eaf291v2].
