Page:Peterson's Magazine 1842, Volume I.pdf/430

. "Circumstances have led me unwillingly to believe that Miss Sterling may be impatient of the restraints which the fact of her betrothal imposes upon her actions, and would not, perhaps, regret if such were removed. The liberty to make another and a better choice, at this moment, I doubt not, would also be peculiarly grateful to her, and might soon be improved. I have merely to remark, that if such be her wish, the love which I have ever cherished for her is not of the selfish nature as to withhold that which she so much desires; and she is therefore at liberty to consider herself free from all exclusive restraint on the part of myself; while still my best wishes shall extend to her happier prospects. I remain her very obedient servant,

FREDERICK MOULTON."

This he despatched at an early hour toward its destination, and then began to speculate upon the mortification and alarm which it would, of course, occasion in the breast of Florence. Being still confident, notwithstanding his affected jealousy, that she loved him deeply and devotedly, he looked upon his course of procedure merely as a punishment for her improper spirit, and he also confidently supposed that she would submissively receive it as such. He even anticipated that his revenge would be doubly gratified by her usual course of conciliation and self-sacrifice ; but he had forgotten the adage that there is a certain point where forgiveness ceases to be a virtue.

Florence received the note and read it, while her breast swelled with indignant emotions. Her lips curled with scorn, and her eyes flashed with excitement at this climax to his indignities; while she crushed the ungrateful and insulting message in her hand, and threw it from her with contempt. Her patience was exhausted, and could endure the trials imposed upon it no longer; and she now resolved to banish from her heart every remaining vestige of love for him which still clung feebly around its tendrils. She very naturally wept for a time; but when her feelings became once more calm, she reflected that there was quite as little reason of regret at this abrupt termination of their engagement as she had given cause for it; though her pride was naturally mortified at being thus cast off when hers alone was the grievance. But as the dismissal came from Moulton it would save her from the reproach of inconstancy which she had so long and so much feared.

To her extreme surprise, however, not long after she received a visit from the author in person, who came humble and penitent to crave her pardon, and repair, if possible, the error he had committed. He had himself been struck with alarm and remorse while reflecting upon the consequences of his rash act, and the fear very properly came across his mind that Florence might possibly see fit to accept of his generous releasement. He could not deny but that the act of itself gave her sufficient reason for so doing, even setting aside the probability of her still remaining offended at his behavior on the previous evening, and he now began to reflect upon his conduct with deep regret. He, therefore, acknowledged his unkindness and injustice with abject sorrow; and implored her by every passionate entreaty to forgive and forget his past actions, and receive him once more into favor—pledging himself by the most solemn vows never to give her in his life another cause of regret or sorrow.

Florence listened without interrupting him, while her bosom heaved with sympathy for his grief. She pitied his pangs of regret; but she felt that she could not in justice to herself give them relief. She had striven with the last remnant of passion once cherished for him, and subdued it ; and when he had finished and waited in doubt and fear for her decision, she calmly informed him that all his errors were forgiven, and she would likewise strive to forget them. But she could do nothing further. "Their long continuance," she said, "had weakened and subdued the whole strength of the love she once cherished for him; and it was now chastened down to a feeling more akin to that of friendship, which she might ever feel for him; but nothing more."

"You are well aware, Frederick," she continued in a sad voice, while tears gushed involuntarily from her downcast eye-lids, "that when I gave you my consent to become your wife, I loved you with a deep and burning passion. You cannot doubt it even now, changed as that feeling is. But you, Frederick, are far more changed; at least, your conduct has been from what it appeared previous to that event. You were then-but I will forbear reproach, for your own heart, I doubt not, is fully sensible of all I would say."

"It is, Florence!" replied Moulton, with tremulous emotion, "deeply, painfully sensible of the wrongs which I have inflicted upon you, and bitterly repents. But believe me, that, notwithstanding my faults, I love you still most fervently; even though such would hardly seem to evince it. Why I have acted thus unkindly toward you I cannot tell, excepting that an evil spirit possessed me at the time and subverted my better reason . But that is past; and never, oh! never again shall you have cause to doubt my affection, while the endeavor of my future life shall be to atone for my injustice toward you. Give me back that hateful letter—forget the past, and be mine once more, dear Florence, and I will prove to you henceforth as true and affectionate as I have been unkind."

"It may not be, Frederick," replied Florence calmly and frankly; "my heart has lost that interest in you which is necessary to render our union happy. You gave of your own free will and accord, and because of your own fault, a release which I did not ever expect; and though the unkindness of the action is atoned for by your repentance, I feel constrained in the