Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/243

10 I pity her! I doubt not the strength or fervor of her affection. My heart is unchanged toward her. She may, I trust, be happy—with another—for, though it racks my bein and wither my beart forever, I will not ask it to be mine’ Rosalie is dear to me—but Fame is dearer still! Love has been the epitome of the past; Anbition shall be the history of the future."

A light footstep sounded neat to him—a soft hand was gently laid upon his arm—and the sweet voice of her, whom he had once loved deeply and passionately, started him from his reverie.

“You here, Clement?—I know not why it was, but I hope not to find you at our testing place. Nay! chide me not,” she continued, half playfully and half in earnest, as she put her hand to his lips—a strange fear has seized me today. I have feared that our health was soon to be clouded for ever."

Rosalie has ceased to love me.”

“Oh, no!—her love ends only with her life!”

“She doubts me, then?”

“She cannot!— She sees you, and forgetting all, is happy.

Before those who love, there should be nothing to forget. You confide in me, or your heart is no longer  mine."He spoke harshly and bitterly.

“Unsay those words—in merey, unsay them! Pain me, not a denial. You wrong me much—indeed, you wrong me—I could never prove faithless to the one I love!”

“And yet your hand trembles in my own—your eye regards not mine—you shudder as I look upon you!

Speak harshly to me, Clement. If I shudder, it is only when you frown on me. I have not sought to give offense in look, word, or tone; I cherish no thought of fear for you. Tambat is a weak, timid girl; no wonder I should sometimes give way to the vague forebodings my imagination will, in spite of my better judgment, often conjure. They have all vanished now in the sunlight of your presence, and if you but smile on me, task no other joy—know no other hay piness! Rosalie loves not idly—she is all, aff your own f*—and the warm-hearted, high-souled maiden, in her unselfish abandonment to the love she hore for him who would have vexed and slighted her, threw herself into his arms, and sobbed long und loudly.

For one moment, Clement Lee was the lover. Large, hurning tears dimmed his eye; his bosom theobbed madly and wildly; ax he felt that warm, confiding heart, heating aguinst his own; and, while he pressed her fondly to his breast, he murmured in those accents she dearly loved to hear—Rosalie—I kwe thee!” That answering emotion was but evanescent. His whole soul was bent on one object, and he hesitated not to thrust aside everything that interfered with its attainment. His mind was wrought up to the determination of taking one decided step, and he fattered not in his resolve. A shadow passed over his countenanee—his lips were joined firmly “together—and ‘ke was again the cold, scheming, ambitious man, ready to venture alt on the high stake for which he played.

But for the tender one whe hung on his neck—she knew not that he had already changed toward her—she had only heard those glad words that spoke peace to her throbbing heart and those awe-inspiring tones of affection to which she bad listened with so much rapture in hours that were past; and with a brow of light and a check tinged with the rich vermil of her mantling blush, she raised those sofi, gazclle-like eyes, glistening with tears, all too folly trusting that the smile of joy would once more greet and bless her. That smile rewarded not her devotion; a withering frown fell darkly upon her and sent back the wart lifeblood chilled to her heart. Her check was blanched to a deadly whiteness; her frame trembled like a young aspen; and her voice was choked and hollow as she wildly uttered:

Clement, you are ill! You look strangely! Your hand is cold, and your low is hot and feverish! My heart tells me you are ill—forgivo mo that I spake unkindly—tet_mo bo your physician—I will, heaven knows E will, gladly minister to you."

“I know you would—but it is useless. My illness was only momentary, and I am calmer and firmer now! He took her hand in his as he conchided, with a strange and unwonted energy, and in a broken and burried tone, "Rosalic—dost thou love me?”

“And can you doubt it?” She spoke warmly and enthusiastically. "Have I not often told you fondly and sincerely that I love you? I have kept nothing lacking from you; I have given you my heart wholly and forever—over that heart yours’ is no divided empire'—I live and breathe but in your presence. With you, I am most happy—as from you, I mean miserable. My love is not of hasty growth—it has been foster care for years. It is a part of my nature, and I could not live without it! No vestal ever cherished with more unending devotion the fires that glowed in the temple of her worship than have 1, the flame that burns so brightly and sa intensely on the altar of my heart: the Hindoo maiden sony, it is trac, watch long, and well the laperlight of love and hope, as her incense-freighted bark is horned down the waters of the Ganges; but her Jove is clouded with the dark riles of superstition—inine bas a more sacred, a more hallowed origin! It springs from the purest and holiest impulses of a woman's character, and it brings her nearer to life, light, happiness, and heaven!

Tell me not to do this!” He passionately uttered, “I cannot hear it. There is madness in the thought that such love should ever be met with disappointment. Say only that.

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