Joseph Wilmot, or, The Memoirs of a Man-Servant — page 187: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

ee a a ee 174 him, I had succeeded in transferring my affections from yourself to him,—should you not be rejoiced, as my friend and as my brother—for as such you wish me to regard you b “ Rejoiced ?” I echoed bitterly—and it was with a sort of rage that I stamped my foot: for at this moment Calanthe looked so transcendingly beauti- ful, with the glow upon her cheeks—the light beaming in her eyes—her glossy raven hair, deeper in its dark hue than even the black mourning bonnet that she wore—and the sable raiment set- ting off the symmetry of her charming shape to the utmost advantage,—that I felt half mad at the thought of her becoming another’s. “To be sure,” she went on to observe, as if my emotions were totally unperceived by her: “as a friend and as a brother, you will be rejoiced to think that I may obtain for myself a better posi- tion than that which I now occupy. Besides, after all that has passed between you and me, if were better that we should separate as soon as possi- ble “You did not seem to think so a month back, Calanthe,” I interrupted her in the thrilling yet tremulous accents of reproach,—‘ when we stood upon this very spot, and our kisses and our tears were mingled !” “You are speaking to me strangely, Joseph,” answered Lady Calanthe, with an air of extreme surprise. “What am I to think? what am I to imagine P” “Oh! can you not understand me?” I ex- elaimed,. reckless of what I was saying, and in a mood of desperation. “Do you not see, Calanthe, that I cannot endure the idea of your becoming another’s P” “Joseph,” she said, “do not yow love another? did you not tell me so upon this very spot P” “Yes, yes—it is true But I know not my own mind! My God! I am half distracted. Calanthe, answer me with the fullest candour! Do you indeed love Richard Franklin ?’— and seizing both of her hands, [ held each in a vice- like grasp, while gazing with the anguish of sus- pense into the dark depth of her eyes. “What response would you have me give?” she murmured, trembling visibly. “If I say yes—that T do love him ‘a “Then you will drive me frantic!’ I ejaculated vehemently. “And if I say no—I do not love him?” she inquired, in a still more tremulously murmuring voice. “Then I shall be happy >” “ But do you love me, Joseph “Yes—it must be love! I cannot part with you !” “OQ joy!” she cried. “I do not love Richard Franklin! he is nothing tome! I love only you —vyou, as tenderly and fervidly as ever !”’ She sank into my arms: I strained her to my breast—our kisses and our tears were again mingled: but this time they were tears of joy which gushed forth from our eyes. Alas, alas ! Annabel was forgotten no, pot altogether for- | gotten: but her vanishing image grew dim to my mental view, as it seemed to look mournfully upon me from the mist into which it was subsiding, as the guardian angel of a man fades away in deepést | melancholy when he commits the crime from which | JOSEPH WILMOT; 2?) . re <meta CL LL LLL LAL LLL LLL OR, THE MEMOIRS OF A MAN-SERVANT. that good genius would fain have saved him. There was for an instant a pang of remorse in my heart : but I clasped Calanthe still closer and closer to my breast—and all my thoughts, all my feelings, all my senses, were soon absorbed in the ecstatic pleasure of this embrace. “Tell me, Calanthe,” I murmuringly said, as we walked along the lane together, my arm thrown round her waist,—“ you have encouraged Richard Franklin somewhat, in order to make me jealous —was itnotso? Ah! by that tell-tale blush upon your cheeks, I see that I have not erred in my conjecture !” “Dearest Joseph, hear me,” responded the young lady, in the most melting cadences of her rich musical voice. “I have loved you—and IL love you still—with a passion, a fervour, and a de- votion which would not permit me to abandon all hope. I felt assured or at least, I buoyed myself up with the idea, that such a love as mine must ten thousand times outweigh that which any other could possibly experience for you; and I said to myself that so much love—such a love as no human heart had ever known before—could not possibly fail sooner or later to engender a recipro- cal affection. Ah, Joseph! I could read your own feelings better than you yourself comprehenued them. When we parted here a month back, it was not without a hope that I left you. Those kisses that you bestowed upon me—those tears which you shed upon my cheeks—were the same as pro- phetic whispers breathing in my ear and infusing comfort into my soul. Yes, Joseph—I love you as never woman loved before. I am thine: and I reck not for all the world, now that I can look upon you as mine!” I was profoundly moved by Calanthe’s melting language: how was it possible that I could be otherwise? Man has his own vanity and his own weakness, as well as woman: and was it not a flattering thing for me to contemplate the spec- tacle of this brilliant patrician lady, who by her beauty and her rank might have aspired to the proudest peer’s espousal, cheerfully and gladly making the most tremendous sacrifices for my sake ? I could not be indifferent to such reflections as these: and, alas! they were potent enough to stifle the remorse which my soul felt when I thought of the absent Annabel. “Dearest Joseph,” continued Calanthe, “you shall not again have occasion to feel angry at the mention of Mr. Franklin’s name. Every proof which I can give you of my devoted love shall be afforded !” : Again we embraced—and then separated, with the mutual understanding that we were to compose our feelings as well as we could, and that our eon- duct at Oval Villa should continue as guarded as it had hitherto been. Calanthe hurried away, pausing however for a moment where the lane joined the road, to wave her white kerchief to-me; and for the second time did I now linger in that narrow path to reflect upon what had oceurred. If was like 2 man who, regaining his senses after @ fit of intoxication, becomes alive to some stupen- dous folly or misdeed which he has committed ; and for an’ instant I could have cried out aloud in the anguish of my heart as I thought of Annabel Annabel, pure, confiding, and affectionate, who at that very moment was perhaps thinking of me, a a Comicooolks Cc (0)