The Maiden CHAPTER 18.
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During the time that James Hartley was visiting Anna, Mr. Lee had made very close inquiries into his character and habits of life. All that he heard was favorable. At first, even with those favorable testimonials in regard to the young man, Mr. Lee did not feel satisfied altogether, with his attentions to Anna. As the reader has seen, with all his good sense, the father had his weaknesses. He was proud of his lovely child, and could not help wishing to see her the chosen bride, when chosen at all, of one who stood forth from the mass,distinguished in some way; either as a man of wealth and rank, or with a brilliant reputation in some profession.
But the lesson he had received in the case of Gardiner was a beneficial one — it rebuked his fond pride, and made him willing to consent for Anna to wed even obscurely, just so that in the man of her choice, both the heart and the head were right.
When, therefore, Hartley made a formal proposal for the hand of Anna, Mr. Lee gave his free consent, although he could not help a feeling of reluctance in doing so. To Hartley he could find no valid objection; only, that he was an ordinary man, in the common walks of life.
From the time of the engagement until the wedding-day, nothing of interest to the reader transpired. The more frequently Anna saw, and the better she knew her betrothed — the more thankful did she feel that her young heart had been won by a man of such pure and high principles — by one who could not only see what was true, but who had the strength of mind to act ever according to its dictates. Mr. Lee also esteemed the young man more and more, the oftener he met him, and the more closely he scrutinized his character; and long before the wedding-day arrived, his heart consented to the union, as freely as did his head — his will approved, as well as his understanding.
After the exciting occurrence which took place at the house of Mr. Armitage, Florence was a very different being from what she was before. She had stood, frightened, on the brink of a terrible precipice, just ready to plunge into the awful abyss below, and had been saved at the moment when hope was pluming her wings to depart. She went abroad but rarely, and when in company, was modest and retiring. A large portion of her time was spent with Anna, from whose precepts and example she learned to think and feel more as one just entering upon the untried and unknown scenes of life should think and feel. She learned to think of marriage more justly; to esteem it the most important act of a woman's life, and as involving the most important results.
Like Anna's father, Florence did not at first feel reconciled to the choice she had made. But the oftener she met Hartley, and the more closely she compared him with the newer and truer standards that were forming in her mind — the more fully did she become satisfied that Anna had chosen with a wise discrimination.
To the unfortunate being who had, in the wild anguish of a wounded and crushed spirit, stepped forward from her guilty obscurity, and saved her from the ruin of all life's best hopes — Florence felt deeply grateful. After the over-excited feelings of Grace Leary had suddenly subsided in unconsciousness, she was removed to another chamber, placed in bed, and every effort made to restore her to animation. It was sad to look upon the white, sunken face of the death-like sleeper, and to think of all she had suffered — of the vine-wreathed bower of virtue that she had forsaken — for the vile haunts of sin and deep pollution. Towards her betrayer, there was but one feeling — that of the deepest execration. Many hours passed before the girl awoke from the deep swoon into which she had fallen, during which time Anna Lee, who had known her and loved her in earlier days, sat anxiously watching by her side. Perhaps those few hours were the saddest of Anna's whole life. She had never seen such a wreck before — the wreck of youth, beauty, andinnocence. She had heard of such things, and had shuddered at the bare imagination; but here lay, pale, and insensible before her, one whom she had loved — one by whose side she had often sat, and whose slender arms had often been entwined about her neck — one who had left the flowery path of honor and virtue — and been a wanderer in the dark valley of sin.
She was alone by the bed upon which Grace lay, with her head bent partly from her, when a low sigh aroused her to consciousness. She turned quickly. The eyes of Grace were fixed intently upon her. But they soon closed with a languid motion, and the whole face of the wretched girl became marked by strong lines of anguish. Anna arose and leaned over her, and in a tender voice called her name. But there was no answer. Her lips did, indeed, move convulsively, as if she were about to speak; but in an instant they were firmly compressed, and her head turned away.
No words of kindness from Anna, nor from any who approached her, could induce the girl to make a reply. She seemed to be in great mental suffering, for her lips remained strongly shut together, and her brows corrugated; and once, when Anna went to take her hand, she found the fingers tightly clenched.
Finding all efforts to get her to speak unavailing, she was left alone, in the hope that sleep would tranquilize her mind, and soften her feelings. But when her chamber was entered on the morning, it was found vacant. The unhappy girl had fled from virtue's rebuking presence!
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