The Prodigal Daughter CHAPTER 3.
Back to The Prodigal Daughter
"Dear Alice!" exclaimed William Anderson, taking her hand, and pressing it hard within his, at the same time kissing her cheek, "I was sure you would come. Oh, it has seemed like a year since I saw you. And you are not afraid to meet me at this solitary spot and lonely hour?"
"Afraid, William! oh no!" And she leaned trustingly upon him, and looked up affectionately into his face.
"You may fear others, Alice, but not me. I would rather die than harm a hair of your head, or give your innocent heart a moment's pain. But now that you are here, and as the minutes are precious, I must open to you the principal object I have in asking this interview."
Alice listened with eager attention, and in the pause that Anderson made, he could perceive that her breathing was labored.
"Your father, I fear," he resumed, "will never consent to our marriage. Have you any hope that he will?"
"None at all," replied the maiden.
"Then, Alice, what is to be done?"
There was no answer.
"Do you love me above everything else?"
Her arm, tightening within his, was the only response.
"And above everything else in the world, do I love you, Alice."
The maiden's arm again clasped his tighter to her side.
"Will you not leave all for me, Alice?" he now ventured to ask.
"You ask of me, William, a fearful sacrifice," she said, trembling all over. "I cannot answer the question now."
"You do not then love me truly."
The poor girl burst into tears, and leaning her head upon his shoulder, sobbed aloud.
"Dear Alice," he now said, tenderly. "Dear Alice! forgive me! I spoke hastily. You shall choose your own course, and I will still love you, even if we part this evening, never to meet again."
"It is a hard thing, William," she at length said, looking up, "to forsake father and mother, dearly loved, and, more than all, bear up against their anger. I shrink from such a trial."
"But this trial cannot be of long duration; they will speedily relent, and you will then be happy in the love of a husband as well as of father and mother."
"I fear not, William. My father is a stern man, and rarely changes. He solemnly declares that if I marry without his consent — that he will cut me off forever!"
"That is only to frighten you, Alice. It is not in human nature thus to shut up the heart."
"You do not know my father, William."
"I do not fear the result. Your affection for him and your mother makes you fearful. Trust me, there is no danger of the result you dread."
"I cannot William, indeed I cannot."
"Then we part this night, and forever! Why should we meet again? You are convinced that your father will never agree to our union, and yet will not wed without his consent. Let us then, part now, and forget each other!"
Anderson made a movement as if he were about to leave her, but she clung to his side.
"Then you will forsake all for me?"
"I will, I will," murmured Alice, again leaning her head upon his shoulder, and again bursting into tears.
"Will you be ready to meet me here in a week, at this very hour?"
"I will," replied the maiden, mechanically.
"Then I shall be here at the moment. Good night! good night, dearest!" And kissing her cheek fervently, he left her, and glided out of sight in a moment.
With senses shocked and bewildered, Alice stole softly back, and, entering the house silently, went up to her chamber. She scarcely retained a distinct consciousness of what she had done, so sudden and unexpected had been the result of her interview with her lover. Sleep visited not her pillow for many hours, and when she did fall into a troubled slumber, she was soon awakened in alarm by the very dream, so strange and fearful, that had before come, like a warning of evil! Again she slept — and again dreamed the same horrible dream!
So vividly did the impression of this dream remain upon her mind, that many times, through the next day, she was on the point of going to her father and confessing all. But something prevented so wise a course; and as the remembrance of the night-vision grew less and less palpable, she began to think with less of acute mental suffering of the rash act she had pledged herself to take.
The time passed swiftly, and the appointed hour came. True to her promise, Alice met her lover, and they were married.
Back to The Prodigal Daughter