Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/338

. impossible longer to endure the increasing presumption of her dependant cousin, had been restrained only by pity from turning her off, when a distant relative happening to die and leave Edith a few thousand dollars, Kate had at once spoken her mind. The truth was that Miss Bellanger, after the unfeeling remark of her cousin, had resolved to leave Mr. Eldrington's, and was already, though much against his wishes, seeking the place of a governess, when an uncle of her mother died and left her a competent, though not large estate. She instantly left for her new possessions, leaving behind her regret in every heart but that of Kate, who, with the malignity of the injurer, entertained feelings of the bitterest hatred for her cousin.

CHAPTER III.

ALONE, in his chamber, sat the midnight student. The apartment was comfortably but not richly furnished. The most prominent article in the room was a book-case which stood in a solid mass of shadow in one corner. A tall, shaded lamp, flinging its glare only across that portion of the chamber where sat the student, and mingling its light with the pale moonbeams that struggled in at the window, enabled him to pursue his laborious task; for he sat before a desk at which he had been writing. There was a deep, awful quiet in the apartment at that hour, and as the student at his solitary vigils, surrounded by his papers and the huge folios which he ever and anon consulted, he would have reminded the spectator of those mighty sages of old who watched, long after the stars had set, at their lonely studies, imbibing knowledge with which to rule the destinies of worlds. Never indeed did Howell-for he was the student- wear a more lofty air than now, when engaged in his midnight labor. As the clock chimed the hour of twelve, he finished a glowing sentence, and leaning back in his chair, with that triumph which none but an author feels, carelessly pushed back the thick hair from his broad, ample brow. At that moment there was something almost godlike in his looks. The proud flashing eye-the free gesture of the hand—and the firmly compressed lip told that the mind within was revelling in the full consciousness of its powers ; and that Edward Howell felt, at that moment, the wild, deep, seductive excitement of a master intellect triumphing in its divinity.

Again he bent to his task. He was writing a work which was to determine his reputation. Political excitement, at that period, ran unusually high, and the two mighty parties which then divided the country were engaged in their last, deadly struggle for the mastery. All the talent of the nation was enlisted on either side, and pamphlets daily poured from the press. Into this trou-bled vortex Edward Howell had fearlessly plunged. He was young indeed ; but with a fine education, no common talents, and the desire to win renown and be avenged on his false mistress, he leaped into the contest as fearlessly as Curtius of old sprang into the abyss which threatened to engulph Rome.

"I will try," said he mentally, "if I fail-well. If I win-why then for glory and revenge!" and he sat down to his work.

It was long past midnight. The deserted streets without were silent; for the hush of death hung on the mighty city, yet that solitary student still sat at his lonely task. His lamp burned dimmer, but he saw it not. The pale moonlight coldly crossed his brow, but he felt, he recked it not. His whole soul was wrapt in the work before him. As he proceeded, his brow knit, and his dark eye shot fire with the excitement of his theme. He took down a volume of Burke and turned hastily over its pages. Long and deeply he pondered on the philosophy of that greatest of political sages, and when he closed the volume, and returned it to his library his dark eye dilated with the consciousness of triumph, and thrusting his papers into his port-folio he folded his arms and strode proudly up and down his room. He was fevered with the excitement of long composition. His brain seemed beating madly in his forehead, and yet the tempest of his feelings, wild, deep, and rushing as they were, he would not have given up for worlds. Oh! there is nothing like a student's life. Pain and sorrow and unrequited toil may indeed be his lot- he may watch at his lonely vigils when all mankind is at rest he may struggle amid poverty and sickness for a scanty livelihood; but there are moments of intellectual triumph which amply repay him for all he has suffered, by firing him with the consciousness of a more exalted existence than belongs to others, and stirring to its lowest depths the divinity within him. Oh! there are minutes in a student's life which are worth an eternity of toil. And one of these minutes had now come for Howell.

"This is glorious," he said, pausing at the window, with folded arms, " I feel now that my revenge is certain my destiny about to be fulfilled. My day is coming fast, false Kate,” he continued, as if apostrophizing her, "and you, who affected to despise the needy, bankrupt suitor will hear men talk of him as the triumphant orator. Ah! it seems but yesterday, instead of four long years, since you sneeringly called me a boy-am I a boy now? They tell me that you have married a wealthy southerner, a haughty, purse-proud man. Are you happy? I credit it not. There was that in your eyes-in every tone of your voice, that moonlit night by the river side, which assures me that you loved me then as much as your nature was capable of loving. You affected to despise me afterward-and your train of fawning worshippers echoed your pretended contempt—well, I can bear it like a man. The despised Howell in has— thank God!—some of his forefathers pride in him