Originally published in Harper's New Monthly Magazine (Harper and Brothers) vol.18 #104 (Jan 1859).
I.
In the fall of 1848 I was traveling on horseback in Kentucky.
One evening, just as the sun was sinking beyond the finely tinted woodlands, I observed, at some distance before me, a traveler of tall and distinguished appearance pursuing the same road with myself. He was clad in black, a wide hat drooped above his forehead, and his shoulders were nearly covered with long, dark locks of hair. I was looking at him with some attention, when all at once my gaze became riveted to his figure. He had paused upon a little hillock, removed his drooping hat, and bowed low and gravely to the vacant field extending to the right of the road! Ten steps further I became aware, however, that in this I was mistaken—his grave and ceremonious salutation seemed to have been directed to a fine old mansion which rose above the woods at the distance of half a league.
Having accomplished his bow, which was full of grace and dignity, the stranger replaced his hat upon his head, and slowly disappeared at a turn of the road which led into a little wooded dell. I followed, vainly puzzling my brain for the solution of this singular adventure, when, having reached the bottom of the hollow, I all at once perceived the horse of the strange traveler tied to the bough of an oak-tree near the road. A moment afterward I caught sight of the unknown. He was kneeling beside a tombstone within a small brick inclosure overgrown with moss and creeping plants.
I have had too much grief myself not to respect the exhibition of it in others; and, despite my curiosity and surprise, was about to ride on in silence, when, suddenly rising from his knees, the stranger turned toward me, and in a moment we had recognized each other. It was my old friend and school-fellow, Henry Hastings.
Our greeting was warm and cordial. To my surprise I discovered in him not the least indication of mental alienation, and a quarter of an hour after our meeting I had accepted his invitation to spend the night with him, and had reached his abode. It was a species of hunting lodge, buried in the wildest depths of the hills; and here—forgetting for the time the entire outer world, listening to no sound but the subdued growl of some noble deer-hounds, or the low, sad murmur of the great oaks and pines—here, I spent an entire week, which I shall always look back upon with a strange interest.
At first Hastings preserved a complete silence upon the events of his life since our former acquaintance, and I respected his calm sadness too much to directly question him. He doubtless divined my curiosity, however; and one dreamy afternoon, while we were sitting upon a peak of the neighboring mountain, he gave me the relation which I was so anxious to hear. Drawing from his bosom a locket which was attached to a slight steel chain, he opened it and showed me a tress of golden hair.
"In this curl is clasped the history of my life, friend," he said, with calm sorrow. "'Tis only a woman's hair,' as poor Swift wrote once; yet it is this which has made me what I am. God rules us all. He makes us very weak, that, in our weakness, He may make His own strength perfect. To one comes joy and laughter; to another tears. I accept my part, and bow to Him who is Lord of all."
After a moment's silence, which nothing interrupted but the patter of the golden leaves as they tinkled away, my friend proceeded with his narrative.
II.
"I came of what is called in England 'a good family gone to decay.' My pockets were quite empty, that is to say, but I was a gentleman. Do not let us deride it; it is something.
"At twenty-one I found myself an orphan without connections; the small resources which had given me my education expired with my father. I looked around for the means of daily bread. Through the kindness of some friendly people, who, no doubt, pitied the poor orphan boy, I obtained the situation of teacher in the family of Colonel Singleton, of Singleton Hall, the old mansion which you saw me bow to some days since.
"I was received on my arrival with great cordiality by Mrs. Singleton and the younger members of the family, Colonel Singleton and his eldest daughter being temporarily absent. The Hall, as you saw, was a spacious old mansion, with numerous dependencies; and the estate upon which it stood was of great extent and value, though burdened, as I afterward heard, by a large debt. Mrs. Singleton exerted herself to make me feel perfectly at home, like the excellent and tender-hearted lady which she was, and I awaited tranquilly the appearance of the lord of the manor and Miss Singleton.
"They returned in three or four days, riding in a fine chariot and four, then still in fashion. Colonel Singleton was a stately, pompous old gentleman, and his greeting to me was scrupulously ceremonious and courteous; but there was something, I know not what, of a disagreeable character in his manner. But I did not look at him; a vision which appeared behind him absorbed my whole attention. It was the figure of a young lady half reclining upon a pillow, and framed, as it were, in the wide door-way of the chariot. I have seen much beauty in my life, but never any human creature half so lovely. The girl was apparently about seventeen; her figure slender, but exquisitely graceful. Her hair, curling in profuse ringlets of a pale gold color, brushed against cheeks almost as white as snow, and just tinted with a faint red. My gaze was riveted above all, however, to the eyes of the young lady—large, melting, violet eyes—filled with the rarest nobility and sweetness. Indeed, every feature of this face expressed something beautiful and noble; an unspeakable truth and innocence glowed in eye and lip. As I think of her now my poor, cold pulses leap; then my heart sinks—for she is gone.
"But to my narrative. From that moment I loved Phœbe Singleton with my whole heart and soul, as the knights of the Middle Ages loved. Do you think it strange? There are those who discredit love at first sight, who deny its reality. To such my experience has been denied. I loved this woman from that instant with unspeakable earnestness; out of her presence I scarce lived. I loved her with my whole heart and soul and being; from that autumn evening when she passed before me like a beautiful dream the young girl was my fate.
"And what was I? The question came to me often like a bitter fiend, and touched my shoulder, and laughed and jeered at me. I was a poor, homeless orphan, without friends or 'social position' of any possible description. I loved with a deep, unchangeable devotion—whom? The daughter of the rich and influential gentleman who paid me for work done for him! But then my pride rose up, and the sneering fiend retreated. Was I not as good a gentleman as Colonel Singleton; and did he not know as much? Was I poor? It certainly was unfortunate; but there the matter ended.
"The world laughs at pride, friend, and laments the fate of its possessors. But it is the shield of many a homeless chevalier!
III.
"Two days after Colonel Singleton's return a new actor in the drama appeared at the Hall. This was a gentleman of the neighborhood, named Fitzhugh, who drove up in a splendid equipage drawn by a magnificent pair of bays, and from the first moment I discerned in him a dangerous and determined rival.
"He was certainly not to be despised. Of elegant person, possessed of greater wealth than any other gentleman in the county, and bearing a worthy name, he was a suitor of whom any young lady might have been proud; and, if rumor spoke the truth, more than one damsel had been anxious to become Mrs. Fitzhugh. Scheming dames had paid court to him—scheming mademoiselles lavished on him their most seductive smiles—but Mr. Fitzhugh had nearly reached his fortieth year, and was still unmarried. No damsel had possessed sufficient skill to entrap him, and induce him to relinquish his splendid bachelor existence for the more sober delights of matrimony. He still hunted the fox, and drank deep, and drove fast horses, and laughed at the elderly ladies and the young damsels. He would speak of the former to his cronies in a manner which they would scarcely have relished; the latter would have liked his allusions to them even less.
"Just before my arrival, however, the fortunate and persecuted gentleman had found his feelings all at once strangely interested and moved. He saw Phœbe Singleton, and for the first time encountered a young lady who did not care to attract his attention, and exhibited no desire even to make his acquaintance. I think his love grew from pique in the first instance—he desired to reduce this sole rebellious fortress—but finally his feelings became seriously engaged. To know her intimately, and find out all the rare and exquisite delicacy of her organization, was to wonder at and love her deeply, and this love now possessed Mr. Fitzhugh.
"I soon found—as Fitzhugh paid visit after visit at brief intervals—that in Colonel Singleton he had a powerful friend. That gentleman was strongly in favor of the match, and at times exhibited his approbation in a way which must have made the cynical Fitzhugh, on his return home, more than once shrug his shoulders and sneer. As to Mrs. Singleton, this serene lady preserved toward the suitor of her daughter a calm politeness simply; the keenest observer could not have declared whether she approved or objected to his attentions. I fancied I heard more than once in the drawing-room, after his departure, the voice of Colonel Singleton raised in stately and irate remonstrance with his wife, but the lady was perfectly tranquil and immovable. She continued to treat Mr. Fitzhugh with something very much like a polite indifference.
"Such were the feelings of Colonel and Mrs. Singleton, and now you will probably be curious to know in what light the attentions of Mr. Fitzhugh were regarded by the young lady herself. Did she encourage or discourage him?—did she love him, or was he indifferent to her?—and what was the result of that private interview which Mr. Fitzhugh one morning solicited and obtained in the great drawing-room? All these questions, friend, are answered by three simple words: Phœbe loved me! Yes, yes, she loved me! Yes, this supreme joy has been my portion—this, at least, has been my treasure!—and though fate wrest from me my brain, my memory, my life, yet this will still remain the crowning glory, lighting up the 'deepest deep' of misery and despair! I break out into rhapsody, but bear with me. This is the sole oasis in a life arid as the deserts of the East. How such a gift as this pure woman's love was mine I know not; doubtless a kind Heaven sent it me. Perhaps this tender heart was filled with pity for the poor orphan without kindred blood, alone in the wide, wide world; and doubtless from this pity and sympathy ripened to flower and fruit her faithful love. I know not, however; but this I do know: at the end of three months the heart of this true woman was my own. I had never uttered a single word of love; we rarely met, and then for an instant only; but in the fresher color of her cheek, the light of her eyes, the buoyancy of every movement, I discerned with inexpressible delight the secret of my happiness.
"With this change in Phœbe's appearance, with her increasing beauty and freshness, so to speak, Mr. Fitzhugh's passion more than kept pace. His visits grew rapidly more frequent, and at last scarcely a day passed in which he did not make his appearance. I think he believed his suit prosperous, such was the high estimation in which a long series of victories had induced him to hold himself.
"The decision soon came. One morning he requested a private interview in the drawing-room: an hour afterward he came out and rode away. Phœbe did not appear at dinner, alleging a violent headache, and I read the result in Colonel Singleton's frowning face.
"Mr. Fitzhugh had been discarded!
IV.
For some days Colonel Singleton's ill-humor amounted almost to ferocity. Every trait of his overbearing character had been enlisted in favor of Phœbe's match with Fitzhugh—his pride, ambition, love of wealth, and doubtless, also, the encumbered state of his own property, had magnified in his eyes the value of the suitor's.
"His treatment of Mrs. Singleton was almost rude. Nothing but self-pride and shame prevented him from treating the lady, who seemed to regard the result indifferently, with actual want of common courtesy. As to Phœbe, he would not so much as look at her; and this alienation of father and daughter, caused, I was firmly convinced, by myself, plunged me into the most cruel suffering and indecision.
"What ought I to do? For a week, during which Mr. Fitzhugh did not renew his visits, I debated daily, hourly, the proper course for me to pursue. Should I stay at Singleton Hall? Was it honorable for me to remain thus in a false position, tacitly practicing a deceit upon my patron; regarded by him as a simple employé, but really loving and beloved by Miss Singleton? I was not long in coming to the conclusion that to remain longer would be wholly inconsistent with sincerity and uprightness, with that honor which my father had taught me; and I sternly resolved to tear myself away from this great temptation. I made this resolution, I think, at least a score of times. But, alas! the weak heart, the trembling nerve recoiled. You will never know, unless you are placed in a similar position, the whole weakness of the human heart—the inability of aught whatsoever to oppose the strength of a deep, all-absorbing love. The bare thought of going away forever, and never looking again upon the woman I loved, made my cowardly heart die within my breast. At an earlier period I might have conquered by a tremendous effort, and sternly performed my duty; but now, when the presence of this young girl had become a necessity, as it were, of my existence—when her smile, her greeting, the chance touch of her hand as she leaned upon my arm in entering or issuing from the chariot, were the life-blood of the passing days for me, now I had no longer any strength. I could not leave her! With clenched teeth and heaving bosom I acknowledged my cowardly weakness, and revolved some other scheme for reconciling my conscience and my love.
"I saw but one. It was to acquaint the young lady with my feelings; to formally demand her hand from Colonel Singleton, and then—I dared not think of the result. But, at least, I should place myself in my true position; in either event Phœbe would be bound by nothing that I would refuse to hear of, and fate might determine the rest. This was the course I would pursue. Two weeks afterward I was in the same state of sullen excitement. I had not had courage to carry out my plan. Had it not been for one of those accidents, as they are called, which so often decide human affairs, I might have gone on in the same way for a lifetime.
"One evening I was walking in a wild part of the forest stretching around the Hall—indeed it was not far from this place, friend—when suddenly raising my eyes from the ground, upon which they had been moodily fixed, I saw Phœbe a few yards from me. She had strolled away, like myself, without any definite object, and that fate—call it what you will—had brought us to the same spot. Even now, after the lapse of so many years, I recall every detail of her dress perfectly. A light hood drooped over her forehead, framed, as it were, in sunny curls, and the blue dress she wore defined clearly her exquisitely graceful figure. When she became aware of my presence a quick blush invaded her cheek, and the unconscious movement of her hand, held out toward me, showed that the encounter was not displeasing. Thus commenced this interview, which determined the complexion of my entire after-life; and thus, far from the outer world, alone by ourselves, we wandered for hours through the dim pine forest—this forest here, which even now seems haunted ground to me, for I hear in every whisper of the mountain trees a voice that is gone.
"Of the details of that interview I shall not speak—I could not. There are treasures of the memory too sacred to be revealed to the dearest friend—secrets which should never be unvailed. The sighing wind bore away into the depths of the forest the whispered words which told me that I had long been dear to one of the purest hearts that ever beat in human bosom; and I knew then that it was my homeless and lonely life which had touched the true woman's heart.
"She was weeping on my shoulder when a furious exclamation startled me, and, raising my head, I saw Fitzhugh standing before me. He had evidently been hunting, for his gun was in his hand, and some hounds followed him. Chance had thus directed his steps, too, to the spot.
"What followed his exclamation occurred, it seemed to me, in a single instant. I was only conscious of a wrathful shout, of my reply in a tone far more haughty than his own, for the devil of rage was aroused in me, and then we closed in a mortal struggle. As we grappled a loud explosion shook the forest, a burning iron seemed to pass through my shoulder, and a scream so piercing that it rings still in my ears followed like a terrible echo. I fell at full length on my face, losing all consciousness; but as my senses left me I thought I saw Phœbe fall covered with blood, Fitzhugh attempting, without success, to catch her fainting form in his arms.
"Two days afterward I became conscious for the first time. I woke from my stupor in a darkened room of the Hall. I awoke, but it was only to toss and turn, burned up by a horrible fever. This fever lasted nearly a month; then slowly I returned to life, as weak as a child, but with my senses about me. From good Mrs. Singleton, who nursed me with grave care, I learned what had followed the accidental or intentional discharge of Fitzhugh's gun. The charge had passed through my shoulder, a chance shot slightly drawing blood from Phœbe's neck. Some laborers in an adjoining field had borne me to the Hall. Phœbe was unhurt. I drew a long breath of relief at this intelligence; and soon after the departure of the good lady the young girl herself appeared at my bedside.
"In a moment she had caught my thin pale hand, pressed it to her lips, and covered it with tears and kisses. Falling upon her knees at the bedside, she buried her face in the counterpane, and a long, deep sob forced its trembling way from the bottom of her heart.
"I was about to speak, and beg her not to be disturbed upon my account, when suddenly the door again opened, and Colonel Singleton, motionless, flushed with passion, and with lips tightly compressed, stood upon the threshold. The next moment he had entered the chamber.
V.
"Suppressing every exhibition of anger, and assuming an air of cold ceremony, he approached, and bade me good-morning. Phœbe rose hurriedly to her feet, and threw upon her father a glance of the most tender entreaty. I knew that her look was an appeal to him in favor of myself.
"'I desire to have a few moments' conversation with Mr. Hastings, my daughter,' was his sole reply, 'and must beg you to retire.'
"'He is very weak—his fever has not yet—pray do not excite him, father—' were her broken words, as she slowly retired. And I was left alone with my visitor.
"'So you are recovering, are you, Sir?' he said, between his teeth; 'you are recovering?'
"'I believe so, Sir,' I replied, looking calmly at him.
"'Don't you think it would have been better if you had died, Sir?' he continued, in a tone of bitter sarcasm; 'then, perhaps, the grave might have hidden your dishonor.'
"'I have been guilty of no dishonor,' I said, coldly; for his tone began to arouse in me a scorn and passion which was more than a match for his own.
"'Not guilty!' he cried. 'Do you presume to say, Sir, that you have not taken advantage of your position in my family to practice upon the innocent and unsuspecting nature of a child? Do you deny that you have held clandestine meetings with my daughter? Do you think to trick me into the belief that you have not, for your own sordid ends—'
"'Colonel Singleton!' I said, haughtily, 'do you realize our respective positions? Have you forgotten whom you are addressing; and where you are?'
"'Don't bandy words with me, Sir!' he cried, wrathfully; 'and do not presume to think that I am the dupe of your acting! You've a long story ready, I have no doubt—your "feelings were beyond your control"—you "are not responsible!" I tell you, Sir, that your deception is useless! You have dishonored an honorable name; your father, if he was alive, would spurn you from his presence! Sooner would I let my daughter look upon a felon than ever see your face again!'
"He paused in his passionate outburst; with purple cheeks, flashing eyes, and lips writhing feverishly. My own passion was growing with his own. I felt my pale cheeks suffused with blood; my nerves seemed to stretch, and tingle, and grow strong; the blind rage which I felt, thus lying powerless before insult and unmanly outrage, for a time deprived me of the power of utterance. At last this anger yielded to scorn; a haughty coldness succeeded; and, raising my finger, I said: 'Colonel Singleton, you have addressed me as gentlemen do not usually speak to sick men, lying powerless before them in their own houses. You have charged me with sordid motives, with dishonor. I scorn to bandy insults with you, Sir; I make a simple statement. I entered your house as an honest gentleman, agreeing to perform an honest employment for my daily bread. I saw your daughter, and loved her before I was aware of it; was there crime in that, Sir? As soon as I discovered this feeling I determined to leave your house, fearing the appearance even of deception more than misery or death. I was weak—young men have been weak before, Sir, in this world—I staid; but never did the slightest indication of my feelings pass my lips. The meeting with Miss Singleton in the woods was wholly accidental—a statement you may or may not believe, as seems proper to you. I told her what I had always concealed—that I loved her. It was the result of sudden feeling, not of sordid calculation, Sir; an hour later I should have asked her hand of her parents. You would have refused. I should have left your house. That is all, Sir; I foresee your reply, an insult. Well, Sir! insult me! strike me! Take advantage of my weakness, and of the fact that you are her father! I shall not resist, Sir; but woe to this would-be-murderer, my rival!'
"His reply was a passionate outburst. 'False! every word false! No, Sir, you can not trick me! Don't lie there frowning at me, Sir! I say I am not to be wheedled by your falsehoods—the forged explanation of a designing adventurer! And, pray, what do you mean to do now, Sir? Perhaps to inflict chastisement upon me?'
'These abrupt words were caused by a movement on my part. Sick with scorn and anger, I left the bed, feeling a supernatural strength, and began to dress myself.
"'And pray what does your lordship design now?' repeated the enraged old man; 'so your sickness was all a sham?"
"'I design leaving your house, Sir,' I replied, faintly, but with inexpressible disdain. 'Were I to stay, your roof would fall and crush me!'
"'And where are you going?' he said, gruffly, but less violently; for I think my miserable weakness shamed the little manhood in him.
"'That is my own affair—any where, so it be out of your house.'
"'Your money shall be sent—'
"'Send nothing, Sir. The bread it bought would choke me!'
"And I went on dressing—feebly, but moving with a strange strength. In fifteen minutes I had completed my toilet, taken my hat, and left the chamber. As I passed Colonel Singleton I saw in his eyes a sullen anger, shame and pity mingled; but he did not arrest me with a word of opposition or apology. At the foot of the great stair-case I staggered from weakness, and, striking against the wall, made my wounded shoulder bleed afresh. By an immense effort I still stood erect, however, and tottered onward, smiling bitterly.
"Then commenced a sort of dream-life. I walked in my sleep, as it were, and saw strange visions. Faint and staggering, I was about to issue from the front door when I was aware of figures crowding around me. One of these figures was that of a young girl, who hastened quickly to my side with a wild, terror-stricken look, unutterably anxious and miserable. In an instant I felt her soft arms around my waist, and my head drooped, like a wounded bird's, on her bare white shoulder. Then, through the mist which enveloped every object, I saw the flushed and angry face of an old man, and the sad, unhappy face of a lady. The man and the woman seemed to carry on a violent altercation for some moments, in the midst of which the bosom upon which my pale forehead leaned was shaken by wild and passionate weeping. Next some servants hastened to me—the young girl fainted in the arms of the elderly lady—and then I was placed in a chariot and driven some miles. Suddenly, in passing a tall gate-way, I recognized the residence of Fitzhugh, and before I knew it I was standing in the fine drawing-room. The master of the mansion entered as though prepared to greet some stranger, but when he saw me started and trembled.
"'What do you wish, Sir?' he said.
"I pointed to two old Revolutionary broadswords, arranged in the form of a trophy on the wall, and muttered hoarsely:
"'I wish to return this wound in my bleeding shoulder, which you treacherously gave me.'
"'Treacherously, Sir!'
"'Yes, treacherously! The swords!'
"And I staggered toward him.
"'Impossible!' he muttered.
"'Coward!' was my answer.
"'I will not fight with you,' the figure seemed to say, retreating as I advanced. 'You look like a ghost, Sir, if you are not one in reality.'
"'The swords! the swords!' was all I could articulate.
"'Sir, I have naught against you,' was the coldly ceremonious reply; 'naught but your greater success with a lady. You have naught against me. The discharge of my gun was wholly accidental, as you may understand from the fact that it wounded Miss Singleton. With that young lady, or her affairs, I have nothing to do. We are no longer enemies, Sir. Go—I will not fight with you. Or, as you are plainly laboring under fever, stay here in my house as long as it may suit your pleasure. I'll not fight with an invalid.'
"My reply to these haughty and ceremonious words was a vague grasp at the swords, which threw me from my balance, and I would have fallen had not the figure caught me. At the same moment the coachman came in hurriedly, and I heard him say that I had ordered him to stop for a moment at Mr. Fitzhugh's. He was anxious about me. His master had bade him convey me to the country tavern near by.
"And thither I was conveyed.
"I lay tossing for a month with a horrible return of my fever, and I had many visions. More than once these visions took the shape of her whom I loved more than my life; and at such times an inexpressible calm diffused itself through my agitated pulses—I lived.
"One day I rose, pale and weak, but grew rapidly stronger. I found my trunk in my apartment, and the landlord delivered me a sum of money from Colonel Singleton, which I sealed up and directed to the parson of the parish—marked 'Charity.' Three days afterward I entered a stage which passed, gave my last piece of money to a servant-maid who had nursed me, and left the place.
"My only treasure was a piece of paper which I had one day found in my clenched hand when I awoke. On this paper was written, in Phœbe's hand, the word 'Forever.'
VI.
"So ended this portion of my life.
"From that moment I became a wanderer in many lands, following many employments such as my education fitted me for. All I desired was daily bread. 'Tis enough, friend, when it is honestly earned.
"My life had settled down into a tranquil sadness; once only had I reopened my bleeding wounds. It was when I wrote upon a sheet of paper, 'Forever,' inclosed the slip containing the same word in Phœbe's handwriting, and directed it to her at Singleton Hall. Thus I was bound to her, but she was free.
"Then one day, after four long years had passed, I came to this part of the country again. As I passed the old Hall looked forlorn and deserted. I stopped at the tavern where I had lain in my illness. The landlord had quite forgotten me. While I was talking to him a fine equipage drove up, and Fitzhugh descended. He was much stouter; indeed he seemed bloated by over-indulgence in wine. He did not recognize me, and soon departed with his letters, which he had stopped to procure at the wayside post-office.
"In reply to my careless questions in reference to him, the landlord informed me that he was the richest man in all the country, and was going to be married soon to Miss Singleton. 'Miss Singleton?' I asked; 'who was she?' 'Well, she was Colonel Singleton's daughter; he lived at the big house I had passed on the right of the road. He had spent the winter with his daughter in Cuba for her health, and they were coming back in two or three months, when the young lady was going to marry Squire Fitzhugh.' I thanked the landlord for his information, and retired to my apartment.
"Once alone, I gave myself up to the most cruel despair. It may seem strange to you, but as long as I was convinced that Phœbe would never marry I was calm, even happy. But now she was about to become the wife of my rival. When I saw her again, if I ever saw her, she would be Mrs. Fitzhugh. The thought goaded me to despair, and, taking a desperate resolution, I determined to go straight to Cuba, demand her hand, and then if I was refused—but I did not resolve further. This, at least, I would do. And now you will ask, why had not I taken this step before? Alas! I know not. True, my whole proceeding was irrational, contradictory, senseless. But when has man acted with consistency? Shakspeare is criticised for the indecision and inconsequence of Hamlet's career. It is inexplicable, we are told. Friend, if it were explicable it would be false to nature. For man is not a rock; he is the foam on the wave, tossed hither and thither by every wind.
"My indecision was conquered by the intelligence I had received. Not for an instant did I imagine that Phœbe had forgotten or proved false to me; and on this conviction I would act. I would go to her father, tell him that I loved her and that she loved me, and ask her hand in marriage. In the far-away land whither they had gone perhaps the prejudices of the home neighborhood would not act so strongly. The love of a faithful heart might move even the callous breast of age and worldliness. At least I would go, and leave the result to Heaven.
"I had means sufficient for my purpose, and, obtaining from the landlord the address of Colonel Singleton in the island, hastened to the sea-board.
"Fortune favored me. On the day after my arrival at the port a quick-sailing bark set out for Cuba, and I stood upon her deck. A full breeze bore the vessel onward like a sea-gull, and we were soon out of sight of land.
VII.
"I come now to a portion of my life—to an event—which I never look back to without a nervous tremor. If my voice trembles, bear with me.
"'God is great!' say the Orientals, summing up their fatalistic doctrine in three words. May He who reads all hearts preserve me from this terrible and awful refuge of despair! But once I was a fatalist.
"To finish with my narrative, however. The bark sped on her voyage, and with every passing hour I discerned more and more the balmy softness of the south, the languid and dreamy influences which hover over the tropics. Stretched upon the matting of the deck I would gaze at the grand sunsets, trace out the brilliant constellations—the Archer, the Great Bear, the Pointers, indicating the eternal guide of mariners—or, lost in dreamy reverie, let my thoughts wander far away to the sunny land where a maiden of the north was roaming amidst orange-blossoms, and musing, it might be, of one who loved her better than his life. Many days thus passed, and we neared the tropics with favoring winds and a clear sky. One morning, however, when I rose, the captain informed me that we would probably have a storm in the course of the day, and advised the passengers to carefully secure their loose effects to prevent injury from the ship's rolling. An old sailor standing near declared, after an examination of the heavens, that the storm would be nearer a 'harricane,' and as the day passed on his prediction seemed about to be realized. The storm grew gradually from a cloud no larger than a man's hand to an immense murky canopy torn by furious winds, and laced with dazzling flashes of lightning. When night came on, the ship was scudding under bare poles before the tempest which every moment increased in fury.
"The greater number of the passengers went below, terrified by the vivid lightnings and the awful crashes of thunder; but a few hung about the hatches with fearful curiosity. I alone remained beside the captain; for in this wild disorder of the elements I experienced a strange pleasure. I followed the rapid and skillful evolutions of the sailors with deep interest; but ere long this interest was directed toward another object with painful intensity. This was a disabled bark, which bore toward us with frightful rapidity, and which every flash of lightning revealed rushing closer and closer—tossed into the air like a leaf, or wallowing like a wounded animal in the trough of the sea; but ever nearer, nearer!
"I gazed at the unfortunate vessel, which the fury of the tempest had thus left almost a perfect wreck, with gloomy curiosity. One of the masts had been cut away, or had gone by the board; and this huge piece of timber, which hung by a mass of the rigging, beat like an immense battering-ram against the half-submerged gunwale, threatening every instant to stave in the side of the vessel. The deck was filled with sailors and passengers, some of whom had climbed the prow, and clung there in spite of the fury of the waves; and I could almost see the pallor of death upon their features. That pallor was not greater than my own. A strange, wild thought came to me. It seemed to me that more than mortal vision was given me. My heart sank, and then throbbed like an engine. Nearly fainting, I clung to the shrouds, and dashed my hand across my forehead to clear away the horrible imagination which racked me with torture.
"Suddenly I heard the stentorian voice of the captain shouting a quick order to the sailors.
"'What will you do?' I cried, as the disabled bark darted toward us like lightning.
"'Down with the helm! If she strikes us, both are gone!'
"It was too late. Before the helm would obey the wheel a tremendous roar was heard—one of our masts crashed by the board—and then, in the twinkling of an eye it seemed, our cut-water struck the laboring bark midships.
"I was hurled into the tangled rigging of the broken mast; and then, by a blinding flash of lightning, I saw—may Heaven preserve me from another such spectacle!—I saw the ill-fated bark, with its swarm of awe-struck faces, go down; and among those faces—the realization of my wild and horrible fancy—among those faces I saw those of Phœbe, her father, and her mother!
"I can scarcely tell you what passed thereafter. The sight of that delicate form standing upon the deck of the doomed vessel, then the bursting asunder of the bark beneath her feet—this almost deprived me of my senses. One thing I discerned, however, clearly: it was in my power to die with her.
"As the vessels struck I threw myself toward the woman I loved better than my life. I caught a portion of her dress and drew her into my arms. Then the hurricane, with its mighty surges, its thunder, lightning, and wild revel of death, passed over me—a crash, a roar as if the foundations of the earth were rent asunder—and clasping the inanimate form to my heart, an immense wave rolled over me, and I lost consciousness.
"In ten minutes, which seemed as many centuries, I opened my eyes. I was lying on the deck of the bark. Some of the sailors had drawn me on board by a portion of the rigging, which had become twisted around my body—and, with me, they had drawn what my grasp, vice-like as fate, inexorable as death, had clung to and strained to my bosom—the body of a woman!—the form which—
"There, friend—don't mind me. But at times comes this swelling in my throat—I seem to see her again—I—I—you see, friend, a spar had struck her bosom—it was all dabbled with blood—her dress and pure white bosom—and she nestled to me even in death, smiling. I had in my grasp a tress of her hair—that beautiful golden hair—"
As he uttered these broken words the voice of my poor friend faltered and shook, his bosom heaved, and, turning away, he covered his eyes with his hand, from beneath which rolled two large tears. I preserved the silence of sympathy and respect, and in a few moments the anguish of the narrator had spent itself, and he was calm again. He concluded his relation in the following terms:
"You have all now, friend. A few words will fitly terminate this history, in relating which I have experienced a bitter pleasure. With that stormy night ended my life on earth—the only life which is life indeed—the life of the heart. The tempest abated, the ship held her course, and we arrived at our destined port, from which I immediately took ship back to my native land. Ere long I reached this spot; but on the way, as here, I saw nothing but that one image—only that dead woman lying by my side—only the pale sweet face close to my own, with its smile—as it smiled when we committed her to the wandering deep.
"From that southern voyage I brought back but one recollection—this smile; but one memento—the tress of hair which had remained in my hand when I fainted. I stopped before the tavern yonder, and the first face I saw was that of Mr. Fitzhugh.
"'Good-morning, Sir,' I said, calmly. 'I see you do not recollect me.'
"A sudden flash of his eye showed me that my voice had recalled every thing.
"'Perfectly, Sir,' he said, with great hauteur—'Mr. Hastings.'
"'Have you heard lately from Miss Singleton?' I said, inclining.
"'I have not, Sir,' was his reply, in a tone of greater hauteur than before.
"'No wonder,' I added; 'poor thing! she was lost, with all the crew of the vessel in which she sailed, including Mr. and Mrs. Singleton. See, Sir, this is a lock of her hair. I tried to save her.'
"'I held the tress up before him: the bright golden ringlet shone in the sunshine. He almost staggered.
"'Sir, are you sane?' he cried, turning as pale as death.
"'Yes,' was my reply. And I related all that had occurred. He left me in silence, and I think he loved her too. A year afterward he died of the saddest intemperance.
"And now, friend, you have my life, such as it is. I thought I would relate it, for it is an experience unusually sorrowful. Yet I do not mourn—I think I am even content. I came hither and bought this little lodge—I salute, every day, the house in which she lived, remembering happier hours—I kneel by the grave-stone which I have erected yonder in the little family burying-ground, with its simple inscription, 'Phœbe—Forever.' She is with me still.
"I do not complain. All the bitterness of my grief has passed—the sad and soothing recollection of a true woman's love remains. I live here with my hounds and my books—I try to be useful when I can—to be innocent. I know not: I do my best. I wait for the moment when the Master shall call me, and hope to see in heaven her who should have been my wife—who nestled to my bosom in that perilous hour of shipwreck, and died in my arms, resting upon my heart."
Such was the narrative of Henry Hastings. Strange human life!—and sad as strange!