Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/240

. he felt it to be his duty to speak to her frankly on the consequences of such conduct. Kate heard him out in silence ; but the color faded and deepened constantly on her cheek as he spoke, although, by leaning back in a corner of the carriage, she concealed her countenance. At length she answered him, and her tone was cold and haughty, for her pride was aroused.

"Indeed, Mr. Townsend, you take a liberty which I shall allow to no gentleman, however acceptable he may think," and she emphasised the word in bitter scorn, "he may have made himself to me. For my conduct I am accountable to myself only-those who do not like it, need not seek my acquaintance."

A sigh from her companion was her only answer, and the next instant the carriage stopped. Without a word her lover handed her out. Already Kate began to repent what she had said, but pride checked her from retracting it. Coldly Alfred bowed to her, and coldly Kate curtsied in reply ; and then she passed into the house determined angrily never again to behold her lover. But, in a minute afterward she hurried to her room, where she burst into tears. They were tears of mingled regret and passion.

When Kate awoke the next morning her first thought was of her conduct toward her lover the night before. She felt that she was wrong. Her pride had passed away, and she determined, when her lover called, to shew her penitence by her conduct, and if he alluded to it, frankly to own her error.

But Alfred had received a shock such as he could not speedily forget. He had borne with Kate long, but her bitter scorn of his advice, on the preceding evening, had finally convinced him that her errors were incurable. He resolved never again to enter the presence of one who had spurned every well meant effort for her reformation. He had flattered himself that what he said would be listened to kindly-alas ! how had he been deceived.

All that day, and all the ensuing day Kate watched for his coming, until at length her anxiety became nearly insupportable, and her heart fluttered whenever the bell was rung. Still Alfred came not. And when, on the third day, Kate heard that he had left the city for the south, where he expected to remain several months, she felt that it was to avoid her presence that he had gone. Never, before that hour, was she fully aware of the depth of her love for Alfred. So long as he had been her worshipper, and ever, as it were, in her presence, she had been unconscious of his worth, slighting his delicate attentions, and wringing his noble heart with her thoughtless coquetry. But now he was gone, and forever ! This conviction was insupportable to the penitent girl, and she fell into a violent illness, which led her to the very brink of the grave. Her pride was now wholly gone. Oh ! what would she not have given | to have been able to ask forgiveness of him she had so deeply wronged.

Kate rose from her sick couch an altered being. She was still beautiful ; many thought more beautiful than ever ; for her countenance now wore a sad, sweet expression, such as it never had in her happier days- an expression which irresistibly interested the beholder in her. Few knew the cause of her illness, and she soon had as many admirers as ever. But no one now charged Kate with coquetry. Firmly but kindly she declined every offer that was made to her ; while the time which she once devoted to pleasure was now surrendered to the poor, or to the improvement of her mind.

Two years had passed ere Alfred Townsend found himself once more in his native city. One of the first persons he met was an old friend.

"A hearty welcome to you, Townsend," said his friend, fervently grasping his hand, " why, you've been absent so long that, I'm afraid, you've almost forgotten us. There have been some changes among us since you went away, as you may suppose ; but we'll be none the less glad to welcome you back. There's Harry Smith, and Norton, and Beaufort all married, and I myself am about to become a Benedict. I am very glad you've returned, for I was wishing to-day that I had you here to wait on me."

Alfred bowed and expressed the happiness he should have in being of any service to his friend, who continued,

"But you little dream who is to be my bride. You recollect Emma Glendroy ?"

" Is she your affianced ? Then let me congratulate you on having won the sweetest and most amiable of all our old acquaintance."

"Emma will thank you for the compliment," said his friend, " but she will be sure to demur to it. Nor can I say but what she will have some truth on her side, although certainly I can't be expected to admit that there is any one more amiable than my sweet girl."

" But surely there is no rival to Emma-why we used to call her, by general consent, the loveliest of the set in which we moved. I know of no one even approaching to her. "

"But I do."

Surely you jest, or my memory betrays me. Who do you mean ?"

"Why, who but Kate Bentley, the most amiable and best of girls."

Alfred had nearly betrayed himself, but checking his emotions, he said, as calmly as he could,

"Kate Bentley ! -she was, when I went away, a spoiled coquette. Witty, beautiful, and flattered, she was the very antithesis to lovely and amiable."

" It may have been-she certainly was very different when she was young, but now-as you will say on seeing her-she is the sweetest of girls. By the bye she