Page:Peterson Magazine 1869B.pdf/39

44 A HASTY MARRIAGE. widely, collecting curiosities of art and beauty, that would have delighted my father’s heart, but gave hardly a throb of pleasure to my own; for to what end should I gather treasures or riches? No one on earth sympathized with my success, or shared my happiness.

“Tired of drifting about the world, I came back at last to my native country, with the purpose of establishing for myself a place to which I might return from time to time, and, perhaps, rest wholly in ai last. My bankers sent me here; and I have found much occupation and healthful pleasure in arranging and founding it. Yet, now that it is finished, I am more than ever conscious of the want in it, and in myself— the void that money cannot fill, or art supply, and which alone can make it what it is not, but should be, yet what others, with far less pains and toil, have been s6 blest to win—a home.

“I have seen,” he went on, his hand trembling a little in its rest upon the marble, his dark eyes still lifted, “in Arabian deserts, tents of poorest structure, in western prairies rude huts of log and clay, that were happier houses than mine, for the voices of children, the laughter of women, the busy life of household cares and household joys and sorrows, filled them all day long. There were united affections, undivided interests, hearts that beat and brains that planned to the same good and cheerful end; there was poverty lightly borne for the sake of the love that sprung from it—and there would riches have given tenfold the pleasure they can ever give to me, because they would have gladdened many lives in blessing one.

“In my home,” he said, “which they ignorantly call ‘Paradise,’ birds sing and fountains rustle; but there is silence, for no voice I care to hear can speak to me. The flowers grow with none to pluck them; the rooms are empty and dull; the beauty and the luxury you so admire, to me are but fairy illusions, for my eyes see them as the worthless dross they are. Poor in the midst of riches, I want something better than they can offer, better than my life has hitherto known, without which it is useless, insensate, dead. I want to give my future an aim, my heart a new existence of hope and joy, my house a mistress. Sylvia, will you come?”

He moved nearer, and looked and spoke as if unconscious of any presence but my own.

“When first I saw you I admired, as all must do, but never thought of loving the sparkling ball-room beanty, with whom I, a dull, plain, middle-aged man, could have nothing in com- mon. Then, with others, I heard the story of your sad losses, your domestic trials; finally, of the crisis which left you as utterly homeless and forlorn as I had been at your age. Too well I remembered my own efforts and sufferings, yet I had been a vigorous boy, you were but a delicate and helpless girl. I resolved to be your defence against ill-fortune. How, I did not yet perceive, but I hoped to discover a way. Last night, all through the gay festivities, I watched your face, and read in it all the tortures of anxiety, regret, and fear you suffered. While I pondered, vexed and bewildered by my own helplessness, distressed by the sight of your repressed anguish, a sudden chance threw in my way an opportunity to accomplish all I had desired in your behalf, and more. Temptation took a form so fair and dazzling, that if I was selfish in yielding to its dictates, believe me, Sylvia, I did not know it till too late! I swear to you that, until I held your innocent hand in mine, until I heard your voice pronounce the words that pledged you, un scious, to so much, I never thought at what a cost to you my resolution of saving you must be fulfilled.

“Your hesitation, your half consent in the face of urgent warning; the look with which you seemed at once to doubt, and fear, and trust; your continued presence at my side, and the touch of your passive fingers, emboldened me to a step which all my life I must regret or bless. Forgive me if I knew, even as I challenged it, the fearful risk incurred. With the beating of your pulse on mine, I recognized the mysterious tie between us. I felt the tempest that shook your soul, and I realized more fully than you could do all that must follow, yet I was selfish enough to permit the ceremony to go on, for in that moment pity and admiration disappeared; a love was born in my heart, so deep and fond, that I fancied it could avert all, atone to you for all.

“And, Sylvia, I am selfish still, for I love you, and I wish for you still—I want you for my wife. I would bring your beauty to bless my ugliness, your brightness to cheer my gloom, your blooming youth to adorn my stern, middle-age. I can give you little in return for so much; but all I have and am is yours, and there shall be no bound to my affection or my care for you.

“On the other hand, if the sacrifice is too gréat, the thought of all it involves too painful and irksome; remember that my wealth, valueless but for this, shall break the nominal tie between us with a breath, while in its name I shall bestow on you what will keep the woman I love forever safe from poverty and dependence. Choose then freely, for in either case your future