After a little explanation, I discovered who my new friends were. The lady and my mother were remotely related; but they had been educated together, and separated only when they married. My mother’s death had prevented my knowing that such a relation existed; far less that she took the warmest interest in the son of her earliest friend. Mrs. Rivers had been the poorer of the two, and for a long time considered that her childhood’s companion was moving in an elevated sphere of life, while she had married a lieutenant in the navy; and while he was away attending the duties of his profession, she lived in retirement and economy, in the rustic, low-roofed, yet picturesque and secluded cottage, whose leaf-shrouded casements and flowery lawn, even now, are before me, and speak of peace. I never call to mind that abode of tranquillity without associating it with the poet’s wish:
‘Mine be a cot beside the hill —
A beehive’s hum shall soothe my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
With many a fall shall linger near.’
To any one who fully understands and appreciates the peculiar beauties of England — who knows how much elegance, content, and knowledge can be sheltered under such a roof, these lines must ever, I think, as to me, have a music of their own, and, unpretending as they are, breathe the very soul of happiness. In this embowered cot, near which a clear stream murmured — which was clustered over by a thousand odoriferous parasites — which stood in the seclusion of a beech wood — there dwelt something more endearing even than all this — and one glance at the only daughter of Mrs. Rivers, served to disclose that an angel dwelt in the paradise.
“Alithea Rivers — there is music, and smiles, and tears — a whole life of happiness — and moments of intensest transport, in the sound. Her beauty was radiant; her dark eastern eye, shaded by the veined and darkly fringed lid, beamed with a soft, but penetrating fire; her face of a perfect oval; and lips, which were wreathed into a thousand smiles, or, softly and silently parted, seemed the home of every tender and poetic expression which one longed to hear them breathe forth; her brow clear as day; her swan throat, and symmetrical and fairy-like form, disclosed a perfection of loveliness, that the youngest and least susceptible must have felt, even if they did not acknowledge.
“She had two qualities which I have never seen equalled separately, but which, united in her, formed a spell no one could resist — the most acute sensitiveness to joy or grief in her own person, and the most lively sympathy with these feelings in others. I have seen her so enter heart and soul into the sentiments of one in whom she was interested, that her whole being took the colour of their mood; and her very features and complexion appeared to alter in unison with theirs. Her temper was never ruffled; she could not be angry; she grieved too deeply for those who did wrong: but she could be glad; and never have I seen joy, the very sunshine of the soul, so cloudlessly expressed as in her countenance. She could subdue the stoniest heart by a look — a word; and were she ever wrong herself, a sincere acknowledgment, an ingenuous shame — grief to have offended, and eagerness to make reparation, turned her very error into a virtue. Her spirits were high, even to wildness; but, at their height, tempered by such thought for others, such inbred feminine softness, that her most exuberant gaiety resembled heart-cheering music, and made each bosom respond. All, every thing loved her; her mother idolized her; each bird of the grove knew her; and I felt sure that the very flowers she tended were conscious of, and rejoiced in, her presence.
“Since my birth — or at least since I had lost my mother in early infancy, my path had been cast upon thorns and brambles — blows and stripes, cold neglect, reprehension, and debasing slavery; to such was I doomed. I had longed for something to love — and in the desire to possess something whose affections were my own, I had secreted at school a little nest of field mice on which I tended; but human being there was none who marked me, except to revile, and my proud heart rose in indignation against them. Mrs. Rivers had heard a sad story of my obduracy, my indolence, my violence; she had expected to see a savage, but my likeness to my mother won her heart at once, and the affection I met transformed me at once into something worthy of her. I had been told I was a reprobate till I half believed. I felt that there was war between me and my tyrants, and I was desirous to make them suffer even as they made me. I read in books of the charities of life — and the very words seemed only a portion of that vast system of imposture with which the strong oppressed the weak. I did not believe in love or beauty; or if ever my heart opened to it — it was to view it in external nature, and to wonder how all of perceptive and sentient in this wondrous fabric of the universe was instinct with injury and wrong.
“Mrs. Rivers was a woman of feeling and sense. She drew me out — she dived into the secrets of my heart; for my mother’s sake she loved me, and she saw that to implant sentiments of affection was to redeem a character not ungenerous, and far, far from cold — whose evil passions had been fostered as in a hot-bed, and whose better propensities were nipped in the bud. She strove to awaken my susceptibility to kindness, by lavishing a thousand marks of favour. She called me her son — her friend; she taught me to look upon her regard as a possession of which nothing could deprive me — and to consider herself and her daughter as near and dear ties that could not be rent away. She imparted happiness, she awoke gratitude, and made me in my innermost heart swear to deserve her favour.
“I now entered on a new state of being, and one of which I had formed no previous idea. I believed that the wish to please one who was dear to me, would render every task easy; that I did wrong merely from caprice and revenge, and that if I chose, I could with my finger stem and direct the tide of my passions. I was astonished to find that I could not even bend my mind to attention — and I was angry with myself, when I felt my breast boiling with tumultuous rage, when I promised myself to be meek, enduring and gentle. My endeavours to conquer these evil habits were indeed arduous. I forced myself by fits and starts to study sedulously — I yielded obedience to our school laws; I taxed myself to bear with patience the injustice and impertinence of the ushers, and the undisguised tyranny of the master. But I could not for ever string myself to this pitch. Meanness and falsehood, and injustice, again and again awoke the tiger in me. I am not going to narrate my boyhood’s wrongs; I was doomed. Sent to school with a bad character which at first I had taken pains to deserve; and afterwards doing right in my own way, and still holding myself aloof from all, scorning their praise, and untouched by their censure, I gained no approbation, and was deemed a dangerous savage — whose nails must be kept close pared — and whose limbs were still to be fettered, lest he should rend his keepers.
“From such a scene I turned, each Sunday morning, my willing steps to the cottage of Mrs. Rivers. There was something fascinating to me in the very peculiarities of her appearance. Ill health had brought premature age upon her person — but her mind was as active and young — her feelings as warm as ever. She could only stand for a few minutes, and could not unassisted walk across the room — she took hardly any nourishment, and looked as I have said more like a spirit than a woman. Thus deprived of every outward resource, her mind acquired, from habits of reflection and resignation, aided by judicious reading, a penetration and delicacy quite unequalled. There was a philosophical truth in all her remarks, adorned by a feminine tact and extreme warmth of heart, that rendered her as admirable as she was endearing. Sometimes she suffered great pain, but for the most part her malady, which was connected with the spine, had only the effect ofextreme weakness, and at the same time of rendering her sensations acute and delicate. The odour of flowers, the balmy air of morning, the evening breeze almost intoxicated her with delight; any dissonant sound appeared to shatter her — peace was within and she coveted peace around; and it was her dearest pleasure when we — I and her lovely daughter — were at her feet, she playing with the sunny ringlets of Alithea’s hair, and I listening, with a thirst for knowledge — and ardour to be taught; while she with eloquence mild and cheering, full of love and wisdom, charmed our attentive ears, and caused us to hang on all she said as on the oracles of a divinity.
“At times we left her, and Alithea and I wandered through the woods and over the hills; our talk was inexhaustible, now canvassing some observation of her mother, now pouring out our own youthful bright ideas, and enjoying the breezes and the waterfalls, and every sight of nature, with a rapture unspeakable. When we came to rugged uplands, or some swollen brook, I carried my young companion over in my arms; I sheltered her with my body from the storms that sometimes overtook us. I was her protector and her stay; and the very office filled me with pride and joy. When fatigued by our rambles, we returned home, bringing garlands of wild-flowers for the invalid, whose wisdom we revered, whose maternal tenderness was our joy; and yet, whose weakness made her, in some degree, dependent on us, and gave the form of a voluntary tribute to the attentions we delighted to pay her.
“Oh, had I never returned to school, this life had been a foretaste of heaven! but there I returned, and there again I found rebuke, injustice, my evil passions, and the fiends who tormented me. How my heart revolted from the contrast! with what inconceivable struggles I tried to subdue my hatred, to be as charitable and forgiving as Mrs. Rivers implored me to be; but my tormentors had the art of rousing the savage again, and despite good resolves, despite my very pride, which urged me merely to despise, I was again violent and rebellious; again punished, again vowing revenge, and longing to obtain it. I cannot imagine — even the wild passions of my after life do not disclose — more violent struggles than those I went through. I returned from my friends, my heart stored with affectionate sentiments and good intentions; my brow was smooth, my mind unruffled; my whole soul set upon at once commanding myself, and proving to my tyrants that they could not disturb the sort of heavenly calm with which I was penetrated.
“On such a day, and feeling thus, I came back one evening from the cottage. I was met by one of the ushers, who, in a furious voice, demanded the key of my room, threatening me with punishment if I ever dared lock it again. This was a sore point; my little family of mice had their warm nest in my room, and I knew that they would be torn from me if the animal before me penetrated into my sanctuary before I could get in to hide them; but the fellow had learnt from the maids that I had some pets, and was resolute to discover them. I cannot dwell on the puerile, yet hideous, minutia of such a scene; the loud voice, the blow, the key torn from me, the roar of malice with which my pets were hailed, the call for the cat. My blood ran cold; some slave — among boys even there are slaves — threw into the room the tiger animal; the usher showed her her prey, but before she could spring, I caught her up, and whirled her out of window. The usher gave me a blow with a stick; I was a well-grown boy, and a match for him unarmed; he struck me on the head, and then drew out a knife, that he might himself commence the butcher’s work on my favourites: stunned by the blow, but casting aside all the cherished calm I had hitherto maintained, my blood boiling, my whole frame convulsed with passion, I sprung on him. We both fell on the ground, his knife was in hand, open; in our struggle I seized the weapon, and the fellow got cut in the head — of course I inflicted the wound; but had, neither before or at the time, the intention; our struggle was furious, we were both in a state of frenzy, and an open knife at such a moment can hardly fail to do injury; I saw the blood pouring from his temple, and his efforts slacken. I jumped up, called furiously for help, and when the servants and boys rushed into the room, I made my escape. I leaped from the window, high as it was, and alighting, almost by a miracle, unhurt on the turf below, I made my way with all speed across the fields. Methought the guilt of murder was on my soul, and yet I felt exultation that at last I, a boy, had brought upon the head of my foe some of the tortures he had so often inflicted upon me. By this desperate act, I believed that I had severed the cords that bound me to the vilest servitude. I knew not but that houseless want would be my reward, but I felt light as air, and free as a bird.
“Instinctively my steps took the direction of my beloved cottage; yet I dared not enter it. A few hours ago I had left it in a pure and generous frame of mind. I called to mind the conversation of the evening before, the gentle eloquence of Mrs. Rivers, inculcating those lessons of mild forbearance and lofty self-command, which had filled me with generous resolve; and how was I to return? — my hands dyed in blood.
“I hid myself in the thicket near her house, sometimes I stole near it; then, as I heard voices, I retreated further into the wild part of the wood. Night came on at last, and that night I slept under a tree, but at a short distance from the cottage.
“The cool morning air woke me; and I began seriously to consider my situation; destitute of friends and money, whither should I direct my steps? I was resolved never to return to my school. I was nearly sixteen; I was tall and athletic in my frame, though still a mere boy in my thoughts and pursuits; still, I told myself that, such as I, many a stripling was cast upon the world, and that I ought to summon courage, and to show my tyrants that I could exist independent of them. My determination was to enlist as a soldier; I believed that I should so distinguish myself by my valour, as speedily to become a great man. I saw myself singled out by the generals, applauded, honoured, and rewarded. I fancied my return, and how proudly I should present myself before Alithea, having carved out my own fortune, and become all that her sweet mother entreated me to be — brave, generous, and true. But could I put my scheme in execution without seeing my young companion again? Oh, no! my heart, my whole soul led me to her side, to demand her sympathy, to ask her prayers, to bid her never forget me; at the same time that I dreaded seeing her mother, for I feared her lessons of wisdom. I felt sure, I knew not why, that she would wholly disapprove of my design.
“I tore a leaf from my pocket-book, and, with the pencil, implored Alithea to meet me in the wood, whence I resolved not to stir till I should see her. But how was I to convey my paper without the knowledge of her mother? or being seen by the servants? I hovered about all day; it was not till nightfall that I ventured near, and, knowing well the casement of her room, I wrapped my letter round a stone, and threw it in. Then I retreated speedily.
“It was night again; I had not eaten for twenty-four hours; I knew not when Alithea could come to me, but I resolved not to move from the spot I had designated, till she came. I hunted for a few berries, and a turnip that had fallen from a cart was as the manna of the desert. For a short half hour it stilled the gnawings of my appetite, and then I lay down unable to sleep. Eyeing the stars through the leafy boughs above, thinking alternately of a prisoner deserted by his gaoler, and starved to death, while at each moment he fancied the far step approaching, and the key turning in the lock; and then, again, of feasts, of a paradise of fruits, of the simple, cheerful repasts at the cottage, which, for many a long year, I was destined never again to partake of.
“It was midnight; the air was still, not a leaf moved; sometimes I believed I dozed; but I had a sense of being awake, always present to my mind; the hours seemed changed to eternity. I began suddenly to think I was dying; I thought I never should see the morrow’s sun. Alithea would come, but her friend would not answer to her call; he would never speak to her more. At this moment, I heard a rustling; was there some animal about? it drew near, it was steps; a white figure appeared between the trunks of the trees; again, I thought it was a dream, till the dearest of all voices spoke my name, the loveliest and kindest face in the world bent over me; my cold, clammy hand was taken in hers, so soft and warm. I started up, I threw my arms around her, I pressed her to my bosom. She had found my note on retiring for the night; fearful of disobeying my injunctions of secresy, she had waited till all was at rest, before she stole out to me; and now, with all the thoughtfulness that characterized her, when another’s wants and sufferings were in question, she brought food with her, and a large cloak to wrap my shivering limbs. She sat beside me as I ate, smiling through her tears; no reproach fell from her lips, it was only joy to see me, and expressions of kind encouragement.
“I dwell too much on these days; my tale grows long, and I must abridge the dear recollections of those moments of innocence and happiness. Alithea easily persuaded me to see her mother, and Mrs. Rivers received me as a mother would a son, who has been in danger of death, and is recovering. I saw only smiles, I heard only congratulations. I wondered where the misery and despair which gathered so thickly round me had flown — no vestige remained; the sun shone unclouded on my soul.
“I asked no questions, I remained passive; I felt that something was being done for me, but I did not inquire what. Each day I spent several hours in study, so to reward the kindness of my indulgent friend. Each day I listened to her gentle converse, and wandered with Alithea over hill and dale, and poured into her ear my resolutions to become great and good. Surely in this world there are no aspirations so noble, pure, and godlike as those breathed by an enthusiastic boy, who dreams of love and virtue, and who is still guarded by childlike innocence.
“Mrs. Rivers, meanwhile, was in correspondence with my uncle, and, by a fortunate coincidence, a cadetship long sought by him was presented at this moment, and I was removed to the East Indian military college. Before I went, my maternal friend spoke with all the fervour of affection of my errors, my duties, the expectation she had that I should show myself worthy of the hopes she entertained of me. I promised to her and to her Alithea — I vowed to become all they wished; my bosom swelled with generous ambition and ardent gratitude; the drama of life, methought, was unrolling before me, the scene on which I was to act appeared resplendent in fairy and gorgeous colours; neither vanity, nor pride, swelled me up; but a desire to prove myself worthy of those adored beings who were all the world to me, who had saved me from myself, to restore me to the pure and happy shelter of their hearts. Can it be wondered that, from that day to the present hour, they have seemed to me portions of heaven incarnate upon earth; that I have prized the thought of them as a rich inheritance? And how did I repay? cold wan figure of the dead! reproach me not thus with your closed eyes, and the dank strings of your wet clinging hair. Give me space to breathe, that I may record your vindication, and my crime.
“I was placed at the military college. Had I gone there at once, it had been well; but first I spent a month at my uncle’s, where I was treated like a reprobate and a criminal. I tried to consider this but as a trial of my promises and good resolution to be gentle — to turn one cheek when the other was smitten. It is not for me to accuse others or defend myself; but yet I think that I had imbibed so much of the celestial virtues of my instructress, that, had I been treated with any kindness, my heart must have warmed towards my relatives; as it was, I left my uncle’s, having made a vow never to sleep beneath his roof again.
“I reached the military college, and here I might fairly begin a new career. I exerted myself to study — to obey — to conciliate. The applause that followed my endeavours gave me a little pleasure; but when I wrote to Alithea and her mother, and felt no weight on my conscience, no drawback to my hope, that I was rendering myself worthy of them, then indeed my felicity was without alloy; and when my fiery temper kindled, when injustice and meanness caused my blood to boil, I thought of the mild appealing look of Mrs. Rivers, and the dearer smiles of her daughter, and I suppressed every outward sign of anger and scorn.
“For two whole years I did not see these dear, dear friends, while I lived upon the thought of them — alas! when have I ceased to do that? — I wrote constantly and received letters. Those dictated by Mrs. Rivers — traced by her sweet daughter’s hand — were full of all that generous benevolence, and enlightened sensibility, which rendered her the very being to instruct and rule me; while the playful phrases of Alithea — her mention of the spots we had visited together, and history of all the slight events of her innocent life, breathed so truly of the abode of peace from which they emanated, that they carried the charm of a soft repose even to my restless spirit. A year passed, and then tidings of misery came. Mrs. Rivers was dying. Alithea wrote in despair — she was alone — her father distant. She implored my assistance — my presence. I did not hesitate. Her appeal came during the period that preceded an examination; I believed that it would be useless to ask leave to absent myself, and I resolved at once to go without permission. I wrote a letter to the master, mentioning that the sickness of a friend forced me to this step; and then, almost moneyless and on foot, I set out to cross the country. I do not record trivialties — I will not mention the physical sufferings of that journey, they were so much less than the agony of suspense I suffered, the fear that I should not find my maternal friend alive. Life burnt low indeed — when I, at last, stepped within the threshold of her sick chamber; yet she smiled when she saw me, and tried to hold out her hand — one already clasped that of Alithea. For hours we thus watched her, exchanging looks, not speech. Alithea, naturally impetuous, and even vehement, now controlled all sign of grief, except the expression of woe, that took all colour from her face, and clouded her brow with anguish. She knelt beside her mother — her lips glued to her hand, as if to the last to feel her pulse of life, and assure herself that she still existed. The room was darkened; a broken ray tinged the head of the mourner, while her mother lay in shadow — a shadow that seemed to deepen as the hue of death crept over her face, now and then she opened her eyes — now and then murmured inarticuately, and then she seemed to sleep. We neither moved — sometimes Alithea raised her head and looked on her mother’s countenance, and then seeing the change already operated, it drooped over the wan hand she held. Suddenly there was a slight sound — a slight convulsion in the fingers. I saw a shade darken over the face — something seemed to pass over, and then away — and all was marble still — and the lips, wreathed into a smile, became fixed and breathless. Alithea started up, uttered a shriek, and threw herself on her mother’s body — such name I give — the blameless soul was gone for ever.
“It was my task to console the miserable daughter; and such was the angelic softness of Alithea’s disposition, that when the first burst of grief was over, she yielded to be consoled. There was no hardness in her regrets. She collected every relic, surrounded herself with every object, that might keep alive the memory of her parent. She talked of her continually; and together we spoke of her virtues — her wisdom, her ardent affection — and felt a thrilling, trembling pleasure in recalling every act and word that most displayed her excellence. As we were thus employed, I could contemplate and remark the change the interval of my absence had operated in the beautiful girl — she had sprung into womanhood, her figure was surrounded by a thousand graces; a tender charm was diffused over each lineament and motion that intoxicated me with delight. Before I loved — now I revered her — her mother’s angelic essence seemed united to hers, forming two in one. The sentiments these beings had divided, were now concentrated in her; and added to this, a breathless adoration, a heart’s devotion — which still even now dwells beside her grave, and hallows every memory that remains.
“The cold tomb held the gentle form of Mrs. Rivers: each day we visited it, and each day we collected fresh memorials, and exhausted ourselves in talk concerning the lost one. Immediately on my arrival I had written to my uncle, and the cause of my rash act pleading my excuse, it was visited less severely than I expected; I was told that it was well that I displayed affection and gratitude towards a too indulgent friend, though my depravity betrayed itself in the manner even in which I fulfilled a duty. I was bid at once return to the college — after a fortnight had passed I obeyed; and now I lived on Alithea’s letters, which breathed only her eloquent regrets — already my own dream of life was formed to be for ever her protector, her friend, her servant, her all that she could deign to make me; to devote myself day after day, year after year, through all my life to her only. While with her, oppressed by grief as we both were, I did not understand my own sensations, and the burning of my heart, which opened as a volcano when I heard her only speak my name, or felt the touch of her soft hand. But, returned to college, a veil fell from my eyes. I knew that I loved her, I hailed the discovery with transport; I hugged to my bosom the idea that she was the first and last being to awaken the tumultuous sensations that took away my breath, dimmed my eyes, and dissolved me into tenderness.
“Soon after her mother’s death she was placed as a parlour boarder at a school — I saw her once there, but I did not see her alone — I could not speak, I could only gaze on her unexampled loveliness; nor, strange to say, did I wish to disclose the passion that agitated me; she was so young, so confiding, so innocent, I wished to be but as a brother to her, for I had a sort of restless presentiment, that distance and reserve would ensue on my disclosing my other feeling. In fact, I was a mere boy; I knew myself to be a friendless one, and I desired time and consideration, and the fortunate moment to occur, before I exchanged our present guileless, but warm and tender attachment, for the hopes and throes of a passion which demands a future, and is therefore full of peril. True, when I left her I reproached myself for my cowardice; but I would not write, and deferred, till I saw her, all explanation of my feelings.
“Some months after, the time arrived when I was to embark for India. Captain Rivers had returned, and inhabited the beloved cottage, and Alithea dwelt with him; I went to see her previous to my departure. My soul was in tumults; I desired to take her with me; but that was impossible, and yet to leave her thus, and go into a far and long exile away from her, was too frightful; I could not believe that I could exist without the near hope and expectation of seeing her, without that constant mingling of hearts which made her life-blood but as a portion of my own. My resolution was easily made to claim her as mine, my betrothed, my future bride; and I had a vague notion that, if I were accepted, Captain Rivers would form some plan to prevent my going to India, or to bring me back speedily. I arrived at the cottage, and the first sight of her father was painful to me — he was rough and uncouth; and though proud of his daughter, yet treated her with little of that deference to which she had a right even from him — the more reason, I thought, to make her mine; and that very evening I expressed my desire to Captain Rivers: a horse-laugh was the reply — he treated me partly as a mad boy, partly as an impertinent beggar. My passions were roused, my indignation burst all the fetters I sought to throw over it — I answered haughtily — insolently — our words were loud and rude; I laughed at his menaces, and scoffed at his authority. I retorted scorn with scorn, till the fiery old sailor was provoked to knock me down. In all this I thought not of him in the sacred character of Alithea’s father — I knew but one parent for her, she had as it were joined us by making us companions, and friends — both children of her heart; she was gone, and the rude tyrant who usurped her place excited only detestation and loathing, from the insolence of his pretensions. Still, when he struck me, his age, and his infirmities — for he was lame — prevented my returning the blow. I rose, and folding my arms, and looking at him with a smile of ineffable contempt, I said, “Poor miserable man! do you think to degrade me by a blow? but for pity, I could return it so that you would never lift up your head again from that floor — I spare you — farewell. You have taught me one lesson — I will die rather than leave Alithea in the hands of a ruffian, such as you.” With these words I turned on my heel, and walked out of the house.
“I repaired to a neighbouring public-house, and wrote to Alithea, asking, demanding an interview; I claimed it in her mother’s name. Her answer came, it was wetted with her tears — dear gentle being! — so alien was her nature from all strife, that the very idea of contention shook her delicate frame, and seemed almost to unhinge her reason. She respected her father, and she loved me with an affection nourished by long companionship, and sacred associations. She promised to meet me, if I would abstain from again seeing her father.
“In the same wood, and at the same midnight hour, as when before she came to bring assistance and consolation to the outcast boy three years before, I saw her again; and for the last time, before I quitted England. Alithea had one fault, if such name may be given to a delicacy of structure that rendered every clash of human passion, terrifying. In physical danger, she could show herself a heroine; but awaken her terror of moral evil, and she was hurried away beyond all self-command by spasms of fear. Thus, as she came now clandestinely, under the cover of night, her father’s denunciations still sounding in her ears — the friend of her youth banished — going away for ever; and that departure disturbed by strife, her reason almost forsook her — she was bewildered — clinging to me with tears — yet fearful at every minute of discovery. It was a parting of anguish. She did not feel the passion that ruled my bosom. Hers was a gentler, sisterly feeling; yet not the less entwined with the principles of her being, and necessary to her existence. She lavished caresses and words of endearment on me: she could not tear herself away; yet she rejected firmly every idea of disobedience to her father; and the burning expressions of my love found no echo in her bosom.
“Thus we parted; and a few days afterwards I was on the wide sea, sailing for my distant bourn. At first I had felt disappointed and angry; but soon imagination shed radiance over what had seemed chilly and dim. I felt her dear head repose on my heart; I saw her bright eyes overbrimming with tears; and heard her sweet voice repeat again and again her vow never to forget her brother, her more than brother, her only friend; the only being left her to love. No wonder that, during the various changes of a long voyage — during reveries indulged endlessly through calm nights, and the mightier emotions awakened by storm and danger, that the memory of this affection grew into a conviction that I was loved, and a belief that she was mine forever.
“I am not writing my life; and, but for the wish to appear less criminal in my dear child’s eyes, I had not written a word of the foregone pages, but leaped at once to the mere facts that justify poor Alithea, and tell the tragic story of her death. Years have past, and oblivion has swept away all memory of the events of which I speak. Who recollects the wise, white lady of the secluded cot, and her houri daughter? This heart alone, there they live enshrined. My dreams call up their forms. I visit them in my solitary reveries. I try to forget the ensuing years, and to become the heedless, half-savage boy, who listened with wonder, yet conviction, to lessons of virtue; and to call back the melting of the heart which the wise lady’s words produced, and the bounding, wild joy I felt beside her child. If there is a hell, it need no other torment but memory to call back such scenes as these, and bid me remember the destruction that ensued.
“I remained ten years in India, an officer in a regiment of the Company’s cavalry. I saw a good deal of service; went through much suffering; and doing my duty on the field of battle, or at the hour of attack, I gained that approbation in the field, which I lost when in quarters by a sort of systematized insubordination, which was a part of my untameable nature. In action even, I went beyond my orders — however that was forgiven; but when in quarters, I took part with the weak, and showed contempt for the powerful. I was looked upon as dangerous; and the more so, that the violence of my temper often made my manner in a high degree reprehensible. I attached myself to several natives; that was a misdemeanor. I strove to inculcate European tastes and spirit, enlightened views, and liberal policy, to one or two native princes, whom, from some ill-luck, the English governors wished to keep in ignorance and darkness. I was for ever entangled in the intimacy, and driven to try to serve the oppressed; while the affection I excited was considered disaffection on my part to the rulers. Sometimes also I met with ingratitude and treachery; my actions were misrepresented, either by prejudice or malice; and my situation, of a subordinate officer, without fortune, gave to the influence I acquired, through learning the language and respecting the habits and feelings of the natives, an air of something so inexplicable, as might, in the dark ages, have been attributed to witchcraft, and in these enlightened times was considered a tendency to the most dangerous intrigues. Having saved an old rajah’s life, and having taken great pains to extricate him from a difficulty in which the Europeans had purposely entangled him, it became rumoured that I aspired to succeed to a native principality, and I was peremptorily ordered off to another station. My views were in diametrical opposition to the then Indian government. My conversation was heedless — my youthful imagination exalted by native magnificence; I own I often dreamt of the practicability of driving the merchant sovereigns from Hindostan. There was, as is the essence of my character, much boyish folly joined to dangerous passion; all of which took the guise in my own heart of that high heroic adventure with which I longed to adorn my life. A subaltern in the Company’s service, I could never gain my Alithea, or do her the honour with which I longed to crown her. The acquisition of power, of influence, of station, would exalt me in her father’s eyes — so much of what was selfish mingled in my conduct — but I was too young and impetuous to succeed. Those in power watched me narrowly. The elevation of a day was always followed by a quick transfer to an unknown and distant province.
“In all my wildest schemes the thought of Alithea reigned paramount. My only object was to prove myself worthy of her; and my only dream for the future was to make her mine for ever.
“A constancy of ten years, strung perpetually up to the height of passion, may appear improbable; yet it was so. It was my nature to hold an object with tenacious grasp — to show a proud contempt of obstacles — to resolve on ultimate triumph. Besides this, the idea of Alithea was so kneaded up and incorporate with my being, that my living heart must have been searched and anatomized to its core, before the portion belonging to her could have been divided from the rest. I disdained the thought of every other woman. It was my pride to look coldly on every charm, and to shut my heart against all but Alithea. During the first years of my residence in India, I often wrote to her, and pouring out my soul on paper, I conjured her to preserve herself for me. I told her how each solitary jungle or mountain ravine spoke to me of a secluded home with her; how every palace and gorgeous hall seemed yet a shrine too humble for her. The very soul of passion breathed along the lines I traced — they were such as an affianced lover would have written, pure in their tenderness; but heart-felt, penetrating, and eloquent; they were my dearest comfort. After long, wearisome marches — after the dangers of an assault or a skirmish — after a day spent among the sick or dying — in the midst of many disappointments and harassing cares; during the storms of pride and the languor of despair, it was my consolation to fly to her image and to recall the tender happiness of reunion — to endeavour to convey to her how she was my hope and aim — my fountain in the desert, the shadowy tree to shelter me from the burning sun — the soft breeze to refresh me — the angelic visitor to the unfortunate martyr. Not one of these letters ever reached her — her father destroyed them all: on his head be the crime and the remorse of his daughter’s death! Fool and coward! would I shift to other shoulders the heavy weight? No! no! crime and remorse still link me to her. Let them eat into my frame with fiery torture; they are better than forgetfulness!
“I had two hopes in India: one was, to raise myself to such a station as would render me worthy of Alithea in the eyes of Captain Rivers; the other, to return to England — to find change there — to find love in her heart — and to move her to quit all for me. By turns these two dreams reigned over me; I indulged in them with complacency — I returned to them with ardour — I nourished them with perseverance. I never saw a young Indian mother with her infant but my soul dissolved in tender fancies of domestic union and bliss with Alithea. There was something in her soft, dark eye, and in the turn of her countenance, purely eastern; and many a lovely, half-veiled face I could have taken for hers; many a slight, symmetrical figure, round, elegant and delicate, seemed her own, as, with elastic undulating motion, they passed on their way to temple or feast. I cultivated all these fancies; they nourished my fidelity, and made the thought of her the absolute law of my life.
“Ten years passed, and then news came that altered my whole situation. My uncle and his only son died; the family estate devolved on me. I was rich and free. Rich in my own eyes, and in the eyes of all to whom competency is wealth. I felt sure that, with this inheritance, Captain Rivers would not disdain me for his child. I gave up my commission immediately, and returned to England.
“England and Alithea! How balmy, how ineffably sweet was the idea of once more beholding the rural spot where she resided; of treading the woodland paths with her — of visiting her dear mother’s grave — of renewing our old associations, and knitting our destinies inextricably in one. It was a voyage of bliss. I longed for its conclusion; but feeling that a pathway was stretched across the ocean, leading even into her very presence, I blessed each wave or tract of azure sea we passed over. The limitless Atlantic was my road to her, and became glorified as the vision of the Hebrew shepherd boy; and yet loved, with the same home-felt sweetness as that with which I used to regard the lime-tree walk that led to her garden-gate. I forgot the years that had elapsed since we met; it was with difficulty that I forced my imagination to remember that I should not find her pale mother beside her to sanctify our union.