Part 5 (1/2)
”Three o'clock; but wake up, Mary; I have something to tell you, which must not be heard by sleepy ears.”
”How fresh you look!” exclaimed Mary, sitting up in bed and looking at her cousin admiringly. ”Who would believe you had been dancing all night!”
”I have not been dancing all night, nor half the night.”
”Why--what have you been doing then?”
”Listening to Philip Oswald. Oh Mary! I am certainly the most fortunate woman in the world. He is mine at last--he, the most elegant, the most brilliant man in New-York, and with such a splendid fortune. I was so happy, so excited, that I could not sleep, and therefore I awoke you to talk.”
”I am glad you did, for I am almost as much pleased as you can be--such joy is better than sleep;--but all the bells in the city seem to be ringing--did you see any thing of the fire?”
”Oh yes! the whole sky at the southeast is glowing from the flames--the largest fire, they say, that has ever been known in the city--but it is far enough from us--down in Wall-street--and who can think of fires with such joy before them? Only think, Mary, with Philip's fortune and Philip's taste, what an establishment I shall have.”
”And what a mother in dear, good Mrs. Oswald!”
”Yes--but I hope she will not wish to live with us--mother-in-laws, you know, always want to manage every thing in their sons' houses.”
Thus the cousins sat talking till the fire-bells ceased their monotonous and ominous clang, and the late dawn of a winter morning reddened the eastern sky. It was half-past nine o'clock when they met again at their breakfast; yet late as it was, Mr. Danby, usually a very early riser, was not quite ready for it. He had spent most of the night at the scene of the fire, and had with great difficulty and labor saved his valuable stock of French goods from the destroyer. When he joined his daughter and niece, his mind was still under the influence of last night's excitement, and he could talk of nothing but the fire.
”Rather expensive fireworks, I am afraid,” said Caroline flippantly, as her father described the lurid grandeur of the scene.
”Do not speak lightly, my daughter, of that which must reduce many from affluence to beggary. Millions of property were lost last night. The 16th of December, 1835, will long be remembered in the annals of New-York, I fear.”
”It will long be remembered in my annals,” whispered Caroline to her cousin, with a bright smile, despite her father's chiding.
”Not at home to any but Mr. Philip Oswald,” had been Caroline Danby's order to the servant this morning; and thus when she was told, at twelve o'clock, that that gentleman awaited her in the drawing-room, she had heard nothing more of the fire than her father and the morning paper had communicated. As she entered, Philip arose to greet her, but though he strove to smile as his eyes met hers, the effort was vain; and throwing himself back on the sofa, he covered his face with his hand, as though to hide his pallor and the convulsive quivering of his lips from her whom he was reluctant to grieve. Emboldened by her fears, Caroline advanced, and laying her hand on his, exclaimed, ”What is the matter?--Are you ill?--your mother?--pray do not keep me in suspense, but tell me what has happened.”
He seemed to have mastered his emotion, from whatever cause it had proceeded; for removing his hand, he looked earnestly upon her, and drawing her to a seat beside him, said in firm, though sad tones, ”That has happened, Caroline, which would not move me thus, but for your dear sake--I asked you last night to share my fortune--to-day I have none to offer you.”
”Gracious heaven!” exclaimed Caroline, turning as pale as he, ”what do you mean?”
”That in the fire last night, or the failures which the most sanguine a.s.sure me it must produce, my whole fortune is involved. If I can recover from the wreck what will secure to my poor mother the continuance of her accustomed comforts, it will be beyond my hopes; for me--the luxuries, the comforts, the very necessaries of life must be the produce of my own exertion. I do not ask you to share my poverty, Caroline; I cannot be so selfish; had I not spoken of my love last night, you should never have heard it--though it had been like a burning fire, I would have shut it up within my heart--but it is too late for this; you have heard it, and I have heard--the remembrance brings with it a wild delirious joy, even in this hour of darkness ”--and the pale face of Philip Oswald flushed, and his dimmed eye beamed brightly again as he spoke: ”I have heard your sweet confession of reciprocal regard.
Months, perhaps years may pa.s.s before I attain the goal at which I last night thought myself to have already arrived--before I can dare to call you mine--but in our land, manly determination and perseverance ever command success, and I fear not to promise you, dearest, one day a happy home--though not a splendid one--if you will promise me to share it.
Look on me, Caroline--give me one smile to light me on my way--with such a hope before me, I cannot say my _dreary_ way.”
He ceased, yet Caroline neither looked upon him, nor spoke. Her cheek had grown pale at his words, and she sat down with downcast eyes, cold, still, statue-like at his side. Yet did not Philip Oswald doubt her love. Had not her eye kindled and her cheek flushed at his whispered vows--had not her hand rested lovingly in his, and her lip been yielded to the first kiss of love--how, then, could he dare to doubt her? She was grieved for his sake--he had been selfishly abrupt in his first communication of his sorrow, and now he--the stronger--must struggle to bear and to speak cheerfully for her sake. And with this feeling he had been able to conclude far more cheerfully than he commenced. As she still continued silent, he bent forward, and would have pressed his lip to her cheek, saying, ”Not one word for me, dear one,”--but, drawing hastily back, Caroline said with great effort,
”I think, Mr. Oswald--it seems to me that--that--an engagement must be a heavy burden to one who has to make his own way in life--I--I should be sorry to be a disadvantage to you.”
It was a crus.h.i.+ng blow, and for an instant he sat stunned into almost death-like stillness by it:--but he rallied;--he would leave no loop on which hope or fancy might hereafter hang a doubt. ”Caroline,” he said, in a voice whose change spoke the intensity of his feelings, ”do not speak of disadvantage to me--your love was the one star left in my sky--but that matters not--what I would know is, whether you desire that the record of last evening should be blotted from the history of our lives?”
”I--I think it had better be--I am sure I wish you well, Mr. Oswald.”
It was well for her, perhaps, that she did not venture to meet his eye--that look of withering scorn could hardly ever have vanished from her memory--it was enough to hear his bitter laugh, and the accents in which he said, ”Thank you, Miss Danby--your wishes are fully reciprocated--may you never know a love less prudent than your own.”
The door closed on him, and she was alone--left to the companions.h.i.+p of her own heart--evil companions.h.i.+p in such an hour! She hastened to relate all that had pa.s.sed to Mary, but Mary had no a.s.surances for her--she had only sympathy for Philip--”dear Philip”--as she called him over and over again. ”I think it would better become one so young as you are, to say, Mr. Oswald, Mary,” said Caroline, pettishly.
”I have called him Philip from my childhood, Caroline--I shall not begin to say Mr. Oswald _now_.” Mary did not mean a reproach, but to Caroline's accusing conscience it sounded like one, and she turned away indignantly. She soon, however, sought her cousin again with a note in her hand.
”I have been writing to Mrs. Oswald, Mary,” she said; ”you are perhaps too young, and Mr. Oswald too much absorbed in his own disappointment, to estimate the propriety of my conduct; but she will, I am sure, agree with me, that one expensively reared as I have been, accustomed to every luxury, and perfectly ignorant of economy, would make the worst possible wife to a poor man; and she has so much influence over Mr. Oswald, that, should she accord with me in opinion on this point, she can easily convince him of its justice. Will you take my note to her? I do not like to send it by a servant--it might fall into Philip's hands.”