His career was glorious; and after an absence
of three years, he was recalled by the death of his father. Isabel
welcomed him with rapturous joy; he embraced her with a brother's
fondness, and gazed with delight on her improved beauty. He suspected
not that she loved him with more than a sisterly affection, and
thought not of the wound he was about to inflict on this tender,
enthusiastic being. He told her of his attachment to a fair girl,
who had consented to become his bride at the expiration of the term
of mourning for his father. She heard him with death-like silence,
checked the groan that was bursting from her agonized heart, and
strove to assume a look of cheerfulness. Retired to the solitude
of her apartment, she wept in bitter anguish--her young soul was
blighted; she had nothing left to live for; hope, happiness, and
love were at an end; for love would now be guilt. At length she grew
calm, but it was the fearful calmness of despair; she complained
not--reproached not; for she felt that she had been self-deceived; she
could not, however, conceal the devastation which sorrow was making in
her graceful form. Albert beheld her with concern, but ascribed the
alteration to her grief for his father's loss, for Isabel had tenderly
loved her uncle. She rejoiced at his mistake, and attempted not to
undeceive him: one only wish possessed her--it was, to see the chosen
of her Albert; and, with a feverish impatience, she urged him to
accelerate his nuptials.
Pages:
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33