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 636 the reflection that the Fitz ArdensFitz-Ardens [sic] were one of the oldest untitled families in England, and Mr. Fitz-Arden bottled his indignation on the approach of reconciliation. It was arranged that the young couple were to remain on a visit at the Castle whilst their house was being prepared for their reception. I did not see their meeting at Castle Fitz-Arden, but I observed afterwards that his manner towards her was uniformly kind, though frequently absent and constrained. An infant daughter formed a new bond of union, and seemed to be the herald of happier days. The young man watched over the little object with the most intense delight, and Electra’s half-subdued character seemed softened into womanhood in the doating fondness of a mother and the calm resignation of a wife. Loving, “but not beloved,” none would have recognised the proud, ambitious, learned, and sarcastic Electra Fitz-Arden.

I must not dwell minutely on particulars which I observed closely at the time, and which afterwards sunk deeply into my memory. The young husband departed once more to take possession of his estate, and prepare it for the reception of his wife and child.

His farewell was affectionate, and his frequent letters seemed to restore my imprudent friend to something of her former buoyancy of soul. The idea of separation from her father was now her principal source of unhappiness, but that trial was spared her. His late illness had left him so prostrated in strength that a relapse was fatal, and a few days before his daughter’s intended departure death relieved him from the expected loneliness, and deprived her of an affectionate father.

The young husband came as he had promised; but his manner was colder and his looks more stern than formerly, though none could charge him with neglect of his duty. Electra never spoke of any change: her manner towards him was obedient and affectionate, but never fond. Her romantic visions of human perfection, her proud confidence in her own strength were gone, and no doubt she wept bitterly over their mutual rashness, knowing, as she did, that she was a burden to him and an unpopular wife to his family. It is not wonderful her very smile had a mingled look of bitter pride and resignation. Their regrets were, however, kept carefully concealed: whatever might have been their feelings, both seemed resolved on a system of silent endurance. There was something in this course a thousand times more affecting than the most pathetic complaints. I shall never forget the anguish I felt when I saw Electra bid farewell to Castle Fitz-Arden, the home of her childhood, where she had ever been an idol and an oracle. The lingering preparation for departure, the heart-broken expression, the reluctant step, the drooping head, and the desperate resolution with which she at last seized the arm of a husband who loved her not, and who was about to convey her among strangers—they are all present to me now.

The steps were rolled up, the door banged to, and the old lumbering family travelling carriage-and-four of the Fitz-Ardens rattled in mournful tones down the centre avenue. The old family servants of twenty and fifty years’ standing, with breaking hearts watched the departure of the last of that old race whom their fathers and grandfathers and great-grandfathers again had served and reverenced—the lords of Fitz-Arden. Electra’s letters soon spoke of declining health, and before three years had elapsed she implored me to come to her, if ever I wished to look upon her again in this world of shadows. I immediately obeyed the summons. Matters were worse than I expected. She was evidently very weak; and though she had everything that wealth and luxury could supply, the balm of kindness never refreshed her weary and sinking spirit. Loring never spoke harshly—indeed, he seldom spoke at all the little he was at home, but the attentions he paid were so obviously from a sense of duty, that they fell like ice-drops on the heart of his wounded wife. I heard no reproaches on either side; but a day seldom passed without some occurrence more or less painful to my friend. Once little Louie jumped into her father’s arms as he entered, and eagerly exclaimed:

“Do you love me, papa?”

He kissed her with much fondness, and replied:

“Yes, I do, my sweet one.”

“And mamma, too?” inquired the little creature, with a sort of half-entreating look, so graceful in childhood. He put her away from him, and answered coldly:

“Certainly, my child.”

I saw a slight convulsion in Electra’s face and in the motion of her hands; but it quickly passed. At another time, when we were searching in the library for a book we wanted, we discovered on a small open cabinet a likeness of the fair young Greek, and near it a newspaper, giving an account of her marriage with an Austrian nobleman. The surprise was so sudden that Electra lost the balance of feelings she had hitherto so well preserved. She rushed out of the room, and it was several hours before I was admitted to her bedside.

Fortunately for my friend this mental struggle was too fierce to be of long continuance. Neglected, forsaken, the closing scene of her life drew near; and to her it seemed welcome as sleep to the weary. Sometimes the movements of reluctant nature were visible in the intense look of love she cast upon her child, and the convulsive energy with which she would clasp the little one to her bosom. But otherwise all was stillness and heavenly hope.

Loring had been for some time past still less at home, and seldom returned till night was waking into morning, One day, when she had been unusually ill, and we all supposed she was about to die, she pressed my hand feebly, and whispered: “Will you ask Charles to see me once more?”

He had just come in from the club. I immediately repaired to the library, and told him the dying request of his wife. At first he made a motion towards the door, then suddenly checking himself, he sat down.

“I had better not. It will be painful to both. I will wait the event here.”

He spoke in a tone of such determination mingled with bitterness that I saw it would be useless to urge him. I returned to Electra, but I