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THE BRIDAL EVE.

BY HARRIET BOWLES.

CHAPTER I.

"WHAT a magnificent nuptial present !" exclaimed Mrs. Benton to her daughter, as, on entering the chamber of the latter, at Saratoga, they discovered a costly diamond necklace, with a perfumed note accompanying it, "Mr. Wallingford is indeed all that is generous and noble !" The daughter's cheek became tinged with crimson, though a smile rose to her lip as she contemplated her lover's costly gift. At that moment her heart was torn by contending emotions ; but alas ! she knew that she could find no sympathy in her distress from her parent. Mrs. Benton was a widow, with no child but her beautiful daughter. Aspiring, vain, and mercenary, she resolved that Isabel should make a brilliant match, and for this purpose the mother had brought her daughter to the springs, where her loveliness soon rendered Miss Benton the belle of the season. Her charms had conquered among others the millionaire of the year, a middle aged retired merchant ; and, in obedience to her mother's explicit commands, was, on the ensuing day, to become the bride of Mr. Wallingford. But Isabel, though feeling it to be her duty to obey her parent, could not submit to this doom without many and painful struggles. A year before she had met and -loved a young painter, when on a visit to a friend in the country ; and though they had not met for many months, his memory was still fresh in her heart, and she felt that though she might wed the wealthy Mr. Wallingford, she could never give him the affection she had already bestowed on the poor artist. As the day appointed for her union approached, her feelings became more and more acute, until now she could have flung herself at her mother's feet and begged to be released from her engagement, only that she knew her parent would prove inexorable. "Alas !" thought Isabel, as her mother left the apartment, "there is no escape for me from this hateful alliance. And yet Mr. Wallingford is all that is noble and generous-yet-yet I cannot love him. Oh ! Henry," she exclaimed, apostrophizing her absent lover, " would that you were here. But what do I say ? For months he has not written to me, and alas ! I cannot conceal from myself that I am forgotten. No, it is sinful in me thus to think of one who has deserted me. Oh ! that ever he could forget those dear, dear moments when we walked together under the old avenue, while the moon simmered down through the leaves, and our hearts beat in unison with the music of all nature around us. Oh ! Henry, dear Henry," and she clasped her hands, "that ever you should forget those hours."

"Nor have I forgotten them, dear Isabel !" exclaimed a voice beside her, that thrilled every nerve with ecstacy, and looking around she perceived her lover, who had entered the little parlor unperceived. We will not describe the thousand things that were said at this meeting. Suffice it to say, they were like all lovers' protestations. But the explanation of Henry must be laid before our readers, though a in more suc│cinct, and less broken manner, than he gave it. His tale, however, even as told by himself, was short. He had written, according to promise, to Isabel, but received no answer. Again and again he had written, but always with the like success, until at length his pride forbade him to write again. But his love had survived notwithstanding the apparent coldness of Isabel, and having incidentally heard that she was at the Springs, he had resolved to see her, and learn the worst. " Then it was your mother that intercepted your letters," said Henry, when Isabel had, in turn, narrated her story " and this marriage-oh ! Isabel, dear Isabel, can you sacrifice yourself?" What need to tell the result. Love ever triumphs, and it was arranged that, that night, Isabel should elope with her lover. CHAPTER II.

IT was between the hours of two and three o'clock on the same night, that Isabel, who could not think of sleeping, stole into the little private parlor, that was adjoining to the chamber of her mother, and not far from the apartment occupied by Mr. Wallingford. The position of this parlor rendered it one from which a nocturnal flight was not only possible, but easy, for in this parlor there was a window out of which you could with ease step into the garden, and at the end of that garden was one of the leading streets of the town. Isabel was seated at a table on which there was a small lamp and a tiny watch. The hands of that tiny watch seemed to her to be almost fixed, or to move as if nothing could induce them to go on to the hour of appointment. At first Isabel awaited the hour of rendezvous without hesitation, and without trembling ; but when it was approaching to the hour for the given signal with her lover, her duty to her parent recurred to her, and she hesitated.. Affection for her mother- for Mrs. Benton was still her mother-struggled long with her promise to her lover. At length she said, 66 No, I cannot fly. My mother ! harsh though you may be, I cannot cost you a tear. I will write a note for Henry, telling him I cannot keep my promise with him, and to-morrow I will throw myself at my mother's feet and confess all. She will, she must relent." Accordingly she took up a pen, and hastily wrote a few lines to her lover, at every word blotting the paper with her tears. At length exhausted by her emotions