# Phosphor/Chapter 2

CHAPTER II.
Can I describe her? Is it possible for me to describe such bewitching loveliness?
My darling, could my pen do you justice? No! a thousand times, no!
Whatever I should say could give but a feeble idea of you. It was not only your face, or your form, there was an indescribable something about you essentially your own.
You were yourself, that was enough for me. None other in my eyes could be like you.
When you cried you looked prettier than another woman when she smiles. When you smiled I seemed to be nearer God—my brain whirled with excess of joy.
How I blessed that picnic party! The wood for attracting her from her friends, the nuts for causing her to desire them, and most of all, the stick for spraining her ankle! I was thoroughly selfish.
I always have been. I thought nothing of her pain, but merely saw in it a means for me to win her for my wife.
Yes! Already, in three quarters of an hour I was madly in love, as an hour before, I should not have dreamed it possible for me to be.
I looked at her lying in my arms.
​What a lovely picture she made! Her closed eyes caused her dark lashes to sweep her cheeks.
Her lips apart disclosed to my enraptured gaze two rows of small pearly teeth; her dead golden coloured hair had become unfastened, and partly hid one of her pink cheeks; beneath her muslin and lace dress I could see the gentle motion of her bosom.
Her contracted forehead, and the corners of her mouth occasionally twitching, showed me she was still in pain; the whole made a picture, the like of which very few men have the good luck to see. How I wished I had five miles to carry her instead of one!
She opened her eyes. "I have not told you my name yet." I smiled to myself. What difference could her name make to me?
My God! what was she saying?
"It is Edith Garren."
The words seemed to burn into my brain.
I felt giddy and stumbled.
She uttered a cry of pain, and then continuing, said, "I am the only daughter of Major Garren."
I pulled myself together with an effort, and controlled my emotion.
"Edith Garren! Major Garren!"
"I am staying with Mrs. Mavis now, as my father has gone to America."
​O Heavens; to think it should come to this. I, David Morton, to be in love with, to have in my arms, to have sworn in my soul to win the daughter of the man who had ruined my father.
How I accomplished the rest of the mile I do not know. But at last I found myself at the gate of Mrs. Mavis's house.
The party had returned, and seeing us coming hastened to the gate. Missing her in the wood they had concluded she had gone back to the house.
But when they returned they were much alarmed by not finding her and were just on the point of setting out again for the woods.
However, our return of course put an end to their anxiety, as far as that was concerned.
I carried her in, properly bandaged her foot, and received the thanks of her hostess, and an invitation to stay to dinner, which I declined. I left, promising to call in the morning and see how the foot was progressing.
On returning home I found I had just time to dress for dinner; so I put off telling my mother until afterwards.
During the meal I tried to argue with and convince myself that I did not care for Edith.
But the more I thought about it, the more certain I was that I should never again care for a woman. ​Then, reasoning that it was no use informing my mother about it unless I told her everything, and knowing the effect my information would have on her, I determined to keep it to myself.
I never slept for a moment during the night, and before daylight arose, dressed myself and went outside.
My steps seemed drawn towards the scene of yesterday's adventure, and lighting a cigar, I strolled in that direction.
Entering the wood, I continued walking, not knowing exactly in what direction I was going. As the first rays of the sun appeared in the east I found myself near the brook where I had gone to wet my handkerchief the evening before, and knowing that I could not be far from the spot where I had discovered Edith (I already surprised myself calling her by her christian name), I proceeded to look for it.
Following the stream, I came to the place where I had wet the handkerchief, and tracing my footsteps had no difficulty in finding the exact spot.
The first thing that attracted my attention was the little boot I had cut off her foot; near it was a piece of paper. I picked it up, opened it and found it was a letter from Major Garren to Edith, commencing—"My dear Child."
From the number of terms of endearment used ​I could plainly see that he was passionately fond of his daughter.
It ended by telling her he expected to be in England again in some months. It also contained a postscript, running—"Have you come across a Dr. Morton, I hear there is one in Kent?"
I sat down on the bank and was soon lost in thought; suddenly an idea struck me: "What greater revenge could I have than to rob this man of his only child ?"
I returned home.
After breakfast I proceeded to visit my patient. On my arrival I was warmly greeted by Mrs, Mavis and shown into the drawing-room, where Edith was lying on the sofa.
She seemed pleased to see me, and blushed very much whilst thanking me for my exertions on her behalf, little knowing how much pleasure my services had given me.
Her ankle was very much swollen, and to my satisfaction I saw in it means of visiting her for some time.
During our conversion Edith remarked:—
"I think papa must have known your father, Dr. Morton, for in his last letter he asks me if I had met you." "It is very probable," I replied. "I have an indistinct recollection of his occasionally visiting us when we were at Peckham."
​They asked me to stay to lunch. I did so, and made myself as agreeable as possible.
Day after day I continued my visits until I could find no reasonable pretext for coming so constantly—Edith's ankle having been well some time.
At the end of about two months I proposed to her, and she accepted me.
My mother, who knew nothing about Edith, had to be told.
She was astonished, and at first would not believe that I had engaged myself to the daughter of my father's murderer, as she persisted in calling him.
But after meeting Edith, and I having explained to her that it would be a great punishment to Garren for his only daughter to marry the son of the man he had killed by his treachery, she at last looked at it from the same point of view as myself.
Edith wrote to her father, informing him of our engagement.
But, resolving that nothing should thwart me in my object, I bribed one of the servants to get me the letter, for I knew if he heard we were engaged he would be over by the next boat, and I should lose her.
This I determined should not happen if it was in my power to stop it.
​The marriage was hurried on, and four months after our engagement we were married quietly. We went to London for our honeymoon and stayed there three weeks.
Those three weeks remain the one bright oasis in a life of misery.
We returned to Kent and lived in the same house as my mother.
Edith wrote to America, telling her father of our marriage, and trusting soon to see him. I did not think he would come, and I was right.
We waited impatiently for a reply, but none came.
Some time after we received a communication from Major Garren's solicitor, informing us of his death, and that in consequence of his daughter marrying me he had left all his money to charities.
For eight months I was happy, then misfortune came.
My wife died in giving birth to a son.
Three days later the baby died.
I was distracted.
I had brain fever, and was ill six months.
At the end of that time I was again able to move about, the shadow of my former self, thin and weakened by my illness.
My mother took me to the seaside, where we ​stayed six months. Then I returned to my practice.
But my misfortunes had not yet ceased—sixteen months after my return, my mother (who had always been delicate,) died of consumption.
So that in a little more than two years I lost all I cared for in the world.
By my mother's death, I came into five hundred a year, irrespective of my practice.
I could not bear to live amongst the scenes of my great happiness and greater losses, so I determined to travel, and try if fresh places and new faces could not assuage a little of my misery.