Free Hearts Afire by J. D Rawden, Patrick Griffith Page A

watching and listening to
her.
    Mistress Gordon had removed Charlotte's veil and cloak, and considerately
withdrawn to a mirror at the extremity of the room, where she appeared to be
altogether occupied with her own ringlets. But, indeed, it was with Charlotte
and Harleigh one of those supreme hours when love
conquers every other feeling. Before the whole world they would have avowed
their affection, their pity, and their truth.
    Harleigh could speak little, but there was no need
of speech. Had he not nearly died for her? Was not his very helplessness a plea
beyond the power of words? She had only to look at the white shadow of humanity
holding her hand, and remember the gay, gallant, handsome young man who had
wooed her under the blue skies to feel that all the love of her life was too
little to repay his devotion. And so quickly, so quickly, went the happy
moments! Ere Charlotte had half said, “I love thee,” Mistress Gordon reminded
her that it was near the noon; “and I have an excellent plan,” she continued;
“you can leave my veil and cloak in the coach, and I will leave you at the
first convenient place near your home. At the turn of the road, one sees nobody
but your excellent father, or perhaps Elder Van Heemskirk ,
all of whom we may avoid, if you will but consider the time.”
    “Then we must part, my Charlotte , for a little. When will you come
again?”
    This was a painful question, because Charlotte felt, that, however she might
excuse herself for the unforeseen stress of pity that all unaware had hurried
her into this interview, she knew she could not find the same apology for one
deliberate and prearranged.
    “Only once more,” Harleigh pleaded. “I have, my
Charlotte, so many things to say to you. In my joy, I forgot all. Come but once
more.”
    “Two days hence I will come again. Then no more.”
    He smiled at her, and put out his hands; and she
knelt again by his side, and kissed her “farewell” on his lips. And, as she put
on again her cloak and veil, he drew a small volume towards him, and with
trembling hands tore out of it a scrap of paper, and gave it to her.
    Under the lilac hedge that night she read it, read it over and over,—the bit
of paper made almost warm and sentient by his tender petition to his beloved,—
    “ When you are in company with that other man, behave as if you were
absent; but continue to love me by day and by night; want me, dream of me,
expect me, think of me, wish for me, delight in me, be wholly with me; in
short, be my very soul, as I am yours.”

 
      “ Let determined things to destiny
Hold unbewailed their way. ”

FOR THE SHAME.
    If Charlotte had lived at this day, she would probably have spent her time
between her promise and its fulfillment in self-analysis and introspective
reasoning with her own conscience. But the women of a century ago were not
tossed about with winds of various opinions, or made foolishly subtle by
arguments about principles which ought never to be associated with dissent. A
few strong, plain dictates had been set before Charlotte as the law of her
daily life; and she knew, beyond all controversy, when she disobeyed them.
    In her own heart, she called the sin she had determined to commit by its
most unequivocal name. “I shall make happy Harleigh ;
but my father I shall deceive and disobey, and against my own soul there will
be the lie.” This was the position she admitted, but every woman is Eve in some
hours of her life. The law of truth and wisdom may be in her ears, but the
apple of delight hangs within her reach, and, with a full understanding of the
consequences of disobedience, she takes the forbidden pleasure. And if the
vocal, positive command of Divinity was unheeded by the first woman, mere
mortal parents surely ought not to wonder that their commands, though dictated
by truest love and clearest wisdom, are often lightly held, or even impotent
against the voice of some charmer, pleading personal pleasure against