I should takeleave of Mr H--'s family; and return to Melbourne.
I did not do so; and I give the reason. Jessie H--was so enchantinglylovely, and her conversation so interesting, that I could not make up mymind to separate from her.
Several times I had mentally resolved to bid adieu to my newacquaintances; but my resolutions remained unfulfilled. I stayed at thestation, under the fascinations of the charmer.
Our diversions were of different kinds. One day we would visit a tribeof native blacks living up the river, where we would be treated toastonishing spectacles of their manners, and customs, especially theirexploits with the boomerang and spear.
Our mornings would be spent in kangaroo hunting; and our evenings in thesociety of the beautiful Jessie.
One day we made an excursion--all going well mounted--to a grazingstation about fifteen miles from that of Mr H--. Our object was toassist the proprietor in running a large drove of his young cattle intoa pen--for the purpose of having them branded.
The animals were almost wild; and we had an exciting day's sport, ingetting them inside the inclosure. Several feats of horsemanship wereexhibited by the different graziers, who assisted at the ceremony. Theaffair reminded me of what I had seen in California, upon the largegrazing estates--"ganaderias" of that country. We were home againbefore dinner time; and in the evening I was again thrown into thecompany of Jessie.
I could not help reading her thoughts. They were easily interpreted:for she made no attempt to conceal what others might have desired tokeep secret. Before I had been a week in her company, I was flatteredwith full evidence, that the warmest love of a warm-hearted girl was, ormight be, mine.
There are few that do not sometimes stray from the path of rectitude--even knowingly and willingly. By staying longer at the station of MrH--when convinced that the happiness of another depended on my leavingit--I was, perhaps, acting as most others would have done; but I knew Iwas doing wrong. It brought its own punishment, as wickedness everwill.
Jessie loved me. I was now sure of it. Several circumstances hadcombined to bring this misfortune upon her. Grateful for the service Ihad done in saving their child, her father and mother acted, as if theycould not treat me with sufficient consideration. Little Rosa herselfthought me the most remarkable man in the world; and was always talkingof me to her sister.
It was natural for a girl like Jessie to love some one; and she had metbut few, from whom she could make a choice. There was nothing strangein her young affections becoming centred on me; and they had done so.Conscience told me that I should at once take myself from her presence;but the fascination of that presence proved stronger than my sense ofduty; and I remained--each day, becoming more enthralled by the spell ofher beauty.
Why was it wrong in me to stay by the side of Jessie H--? Lenore Hylandhad forsaken me; and why should I not love another? Where could I hopeto find a woman more beautiful, more truthful, more worthy of beingloved, or more capable of loving than Jessie. The task of learning tolove her seemed every day to grow less difficult; and why should I bringthe process to an abrupt termination?
These considerations required my most profound reflection. Theyobtained it--at least I thought so;--but the reflections of a man, underthe fascinating influence of female beauty, are seldom guided by wisdom.Certainly mine were not, else I would not have allowed the hopes andhappiness of my life to have been wrested from me by the loss of Lenore.
Volume Two, Chapter XXVII.
"LOVE BUT ONE!"
"What should I do?" This was the question that presented itself to mymind, almost every hour of the day. It called energetically for ananswer.
I loved Lenore Hyland--I felt that I ever should, as long as life wasleft me. Such being the case, was it right for me to endeavour to gainthe affections of an unsophisticated girl like Jessie H--? Would it behonourable of me to take advantage of that incident--which had no doubtfavoured her first inclination towards me? To win her heart, and thenforsake her, would be to inflict upon her the same sorrow I was myselfsuffering for the loss of Lenore.
Lenore was still more dear to me than life; and I had only lived sincelosing her, because I believed it a crime to die, until some SupremePower should call me to come. And yet should I ever return toLiverpool, and find Lenore a widow--even though she should wish it--Icould never marry her!
"She can never be mine," thought I. "She never loved me; or she wouldhave waited for my return. Why, then, should I not love Jessie, andmake her my wife?"
There are many who would have adopted this alternative; and withoutthinking there was any wrong in it.
I did, however. I knew that I could never love Jessie, as I had lovedLenore--to whose memory I could not help proving true, notwithstandingthat she had abandoned me for another. This feeling on my part may havebeen folly--to a degree scarce surpassed by my mother's infatuation forMr Leary; but to know that a certain course of action is foolish, doesnot always prevent one from pursuing it.
"Shall I marry Jessie, and become contented--perhaps happy? Or shall Iremain single--true to the memory of the lost Lenore--and continue theaimless, wandering, wretched existence I have lately experienced?"
Long and violent was the struggle within my soul, before I coulddetermine upon the answers to these self-asked questions. I knew that Icould love Jessie; but never as I should. "Would it be right, then, forme to marry her?" I answered the last question by putting another."Should I myself wish to have a wife, who loved another man, and yetpretended for me an affection she did not feel?"
I need scarcely say, that this interrogatory received an instantaneousresponse in the negative. It determined me to separate from Jessie H--,and at once. To remain any longer in her society--to stay even anotherday under the roof of her father's house, would be a crime for which Icould never forgive myself. To-morrow I should start for Melbourne.
I had been walking on the bank of the river, when these reflections, andthe final resolve, passed through my mind. I was turning to go back tothe house, when I saw Jessie straying near. She approached me, as if byaccident.
"Miss H--," said I, "I am going to take leave of you."
"Going to leave me!" she exclaimed, her voice quivering as she spoke.
"Yes; I must start for Melbourne to-morrow morning."
She remained silent for some seconds; and I could see that the colourhad forsaken her checks.
"I am very sorry," she said at length, "very sorry to hear it."
"Sorry!" I repeated, hardly knowing what I said, "why should thatgrieve you?"
I should not have asked such a question; and, as soon as I had done so,I perceived the mistake I had made.
She offered no reply to it; but sate down upon the bank; and rested herhead upon her hands. An expression had come over her countenance,unmistakeably of a painful character; and I could see that her eyes werefast filling with tears.
"Surely this girl loves me? And surely I could love her?"
I know not how these two mental interrogatories were answered. I onlyknow that, instead of rejoicing in the knowledge that I had gained herlove, I was made miserable by the thought.
I raised her to her feet; and allowed her head to rest upon my shoulder.
"Miss H--," said I, "can it be that you show so much emotion, merely atparting with a friend?"
"Ah!" she replied, "I have thought of you as a friend; but such a one asI never knew before. My life has been lonely. We are here, as youknow, shut out from all intercourse with the world. We can form but fewfriendships. Yours has been to me like some unknown joy of life. Youhave been my only thought, since I first saw you."
"You must try to forget me--to forget that we have ever met; and I willtry to forget you. _I should_ only think of you as a friend!"
For a second she stood gazing upon me in silence. Then tremblingly putthe question:
"You love another?"
"I do, although I love without hope. It is one who can never be mine--one I may, pe
rhaps, never see again. She and I were playmates whenyoung. I fancied she loved me; but she did not: she has marriedanother."
"How very strange! To me it seems impossible!"
The artless innocence of these observations, proved the purity of themind from which they could emanate.
"And yet," continued she, "for one who has acted in that manner, you canstill feel love?"
"Alas! such is my unfortunate fate."
"Oh! sir, if you but knew the heart you are casting away from you!--itstruth--its devotion and constancy--you would never leave me; but stayhere and be happy. You would learn to love me. You could not hate one,who loves you as I can; and will to the end of my life!"
I could make no reply to this speech. Sweet as it might have been tothe ears of some, I listened to it only with pain. I scarce knew eitherwhat to say, or do; and I was only