The Maiden CHAPTER 14.
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It must not be supposed that Anna Lee could take the virtuous stand she did in regard to young Archer, without feeling some disturbance of mind. She was not perfect — far from it — she was only in the effort to become so. She was only striving to act from what she saw to be true principles. In this case, she believed that to receive the visits of a man like William Archer — a man who had been guilty of inflicting upon more than one of her gender, the deepest possible wrong — a wrong irreparable in this world, would be nothing more than approving and encouraging that wrong. And this she could not in conscience do. She, therefore, firmly repulsed him.
Oh, that every virtuous maiden would thus turn from the man who has been the wronger of her gender, let him approach her when and where he will — in the social circle, in the crowded drawing-room, or in the public street! She need not do this with a parade that attracts attention — but only shrink from him as the sensitive plant shrinks from an approaching hand. She is neither true to herself nor her gender, if she does not do so. For one, the writer of this always suspects the purity of heart of that woman who countenances or receives the attentions of a man who is known as a violator of her gender!
"Have I not done right, father?" Anna said, looking up earnestly into her father's face, as soon as the street door had been heard to close heavily behind the disappointed and mortified young man.
"Yes, dear, perfectly right," replied Mr. Lee.
Anna's eyes fell again upon the page of the book she held in her hand. Neither her father nor mother made any further remark; and she, after sitting silent for some time, resumed her pleasant task of reading aloud to them. But her voice was neither so clear nor calm as it had been. It was slightly tremulous and husky. She read on, for half an hour, and then shut the book, and left the room. Ascending to her own chamber, and closing the door after her, she sunk upon her knees at the bedside, and lifted up her heart in earnest prayerto be guided aright in all the relations of life; and to be endowed with firmness to act truly her part as a woman.
The incident that had just transpired, and the position she had felt it to be her duty to take, had disturbed her feelings. But now she felt calmer, and more clearly conscious that she had acted right.
The fact that Anna had refused to see, even in her own house, the young man who had called upon her — soon became known and talked about. A few silently approved her conduct; but many openly censured her, and some even permitted themselves to draw inferences from the fact, which reflected upon the purity of her character. Of all this, however, she was ignorant. She appeared, as usual, in company, but there was a change in the conduct of young men towards her — that is, of a certain class of young men. Those who led an evil life — kept to some extent aloof. They feared to approach her with familiarity, lest they, too, should be made to feel that they were unworthy.
From this reason, although she was still the center of attraction of every eye, many a mirthful flutterer, who had before flitted around her, kept at a distance, lest his wings should be melted by a too near approach. All this favored our friend Hartley. Anna was more accessible to him in company, for she was not so frequently, as before, the partner of some mirthful friend.
The more intimately Anna knew Hartley, the more she thought about him. There was something, to her eye, beautiful in the honest simplicity of his mind, and attractive in themoral strength of his character. At first he had seemed but a common man. She had responded to his attentions, whenever she was thrown into his company, because she was kind to all who were worthy of kindness; but as she met him oftener, knew him better, and marked the orderly character of his mind, and the healthy tone of his sentiments, she could not but admire him. And when he ventured to call to see her at her father's house, she received his visit with pleasure, although she had not the most distant suspicion that his call was anything more than a friendly visit.
After he had gone away, Anna sunk down upon the sofa, in the parlor, alone, and fell into a dreamy, musing state of mind. Many images, dim and but half defined, floated before her; and mingled with them was the form of young Hartley. She heard the sound of his voice, and remembered many sentiments he had uttered. And all this was pleasing to her.
The young man trod the pavement, as he walked homeward, with light footsteps, and a lighter heart. Anna had not refused to see him. And more than that — she had sung and played for him — the music sounding sweeter to his ears than anything he had ever heard — and seemed interested in all the conversation that passed between them.
In a week Hartley called again. But this visit was far from being as pleasant as the first. Anna seemed reserved. What could it mean? Had she suspected his feelings? And did she mean to repulse him? The thought embarrassed him, and made their interaction, during the hour that he stayed, unsatisfactory to both.
The young man did not venture upon a third visit. He was afraid. The coldness of Anna, it was evident to his mind, arose from a dislike towards him, and he shrunk from the direct outcome of an open repulse.
Two months passed, and not once during that time had Hartley ventured to call upon the maiden who was in all his waking and dreaming thoughts. Two or three times he had met her upon the street, and, although she had spoken to him, there was something shy about her — something altogether unusual in her manner. He interpreted it to mean a dislike for him; but he was a young man, and little acquainted with the language of a woman's heart.
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