Hillsdale Whig standard. (Hillsdale, Mich.) 1846-1851, 1851-06-03

/ July opened ire study door. anu the mex
minute stood in my uncle's presence. II,
received me with courtesy which | dreaded
as arguing a favorable anticipation respect
ing the answer which was TO give; and al.
ter some slight delay he began by saying
at will be relief to both Of us,l believe, tC
bring this conversation as soon as possible
to an issue. You will excuse me, then, my
dear niece, for speaking with a buntness
under other circumstances, would be unpar-
donabe. You have. am certain, given the
subject OF our last interview fair and serious
consideration; and trust that you are now
prepared with candorto lay your answer be-
fore me. A lew words will suffice; we per-
fectly understand one another"
He paused; and |, though feeling that
stood upon a mine which might in an insan,
explode, nevertheless answered with perfect
eomposure: III must now, sir, make the same
reply which did upou the last occasion,
and ieiterate the declaration which | then
had made, that | never can nor will, while
life and reason remain, consent to a union
with my cousin Edward
This announcement wrought no appar-
ent change in Sir Arthur, except that he be-
came deadly, almost lividly pale, He seemed
a.
with slight effort said. "You have answer
ed me honestly and directly: and you say
your resolution is unchangeable; well, would
il have been rwse--but be j: as il is;
am satisfied"
He gave me his hand--it was cold and
damp as death; under an assumed calmness,
it was evident that he was learfully agitated.
He continued to hold my hand with an al.
most painful pressure, while as if unco n
| scionsly. seeming 10 forget my presence, he
muttered, "Strange, strange, strange, in
Decd latuity, helpless iatuity!" there was
here long pause. Madness indeed 20
strain a cable that is rotten to the very heart:
il must break-and then-al goes" There
was again pause Of some minutes, after
which, suddenly changing his voice and
manner TO one OF wakeful alacrity, he ex-
! claimed
"Margret, my son Edward shall plague
you no more. He leaves this country to-
morrow for France; he shall speak no more
upon this sublect-never, never more; what
ever events depended upon your answer
must now take their own course; but as for
this fruitless proposal, it has been tried c.
nough; it can be repeated no more"
At these words he coldly suffered my
hand to drop, as il to express his total abau-
donment of all his projected schemes of alll-
ance; and certainly the action, with the ac-
comparing words, produced upon my mind
amore solemn aud depressing effect than |
believed possible TO have been caused; by the
course with which had determined to pur-
sue it struck upon my heart with an awe
and heviness which ,uiW accompany the ac-
complishment of an important and irrevoca-
BILE act. even though no doubt or scrupe re-
mains to make it possible that the agent
should wish il urdoue.
"Well," said my uncle, after alittle time,
we now cease to speak upon this topic,
never to resume it again. Remember, you
shall have no father uneasiness from Edward;
Re leaves Ireland for France Tomorrow
this will be relief to you; may depend
upon your honor that no word touching the
subject of this interview shall ever escape
your gave him the desired assurance; he
said, at is well; | am satisfied; we have moth.
ing more, believe, to say upon either side,
and my presence must be a restraint upon
you, | shall therefore bid you farewell"
left the apartment, scarcely knowing what
to think OF the strange interview which had
just taken place.
On the next day my uncle took occasion
to tell me that Edward had actually sailed,
il his intention had not been prevented by
adverse winds or weather; and two days al-
ter he actually produced a letter from his
son, written, as it said, on board, and dis
patched while the ship was getting under
weigh. This was great satisfaction to me-
and as being likely to prove so. il was no
doubt communicated TO me by Sir Arthur.
During all this trying period had found
infinite consolation in the society and sym
pathy Of my dear cousin Emily. never, in
after life. found friendship SO close, so fer
vent and upon which, in all its progress,
could look back with feeling of such unal-
loyed pleasure. upon whose termination
must ever dwell with so deep, yet so unem-
bitered sorrow. In cheerful converse with
her soon recovered my spirits considerably,
and passed my time agreeably enough, al
though still in the utmost secIusion. Mat
ters went on smoothly enough, although
could not help sometimes feelings moment
ary. but horrible uncertainty respecting my
unoles chaiacter which was not altogether
unwarranted by the two trying interviews, |
the particulars Of which have just detailed.
The unpleasant impression which these con-
ferences were calculated TO leave upon my
mind was fast wearing away, when thor oc-
cured a circumstanc, slight indeed IN itself, |
but calculated irrepressihly to awaken all my
suspicious, and TO overwhelm me again with
anxiety and terror.
had one day left the house with my
cousin Emily, in order to take ramble of
considerable length. for the purpose of
skelchng some fayotite views, and we had
walked about half a mile when | perceived |
that wo had forgotten our drawing materials,
the absence of which would have defeated
the object Of our walk. Laughing at OIL,
own thoughllcssness, we retrned TO the house,
and leaving Emily outside, ran up stairs to
procure the drawing book and pensls which
lay in my bedroom. AS ran up the stairs,
| was met by the tall, Unlocking Frenchwo
man, evidently good deal ilunicd; Que
vent, Madamel" said she, with more deci
ded effort to be polite, than had ever known
her make before. mo, no-no natter"
said I hastily running by her in the dIrsc