“To abscond would not secure me, as most of my remaining property is vested in real estate; and even if it would, I could not consent to it. I could not consent to banish myself from my country, with the view to defraud my creditors. No: I have lived honestly, and honestly will I die. By fair application and industry my wealth has been obtained, and it shall never justly be said that the reputation of my latter days were sullied with acts of meanness. I have notified and procured a meeting of the creditors, and have laid the matter before them. Some appeared favourable to me, others insinuated that we were all connected in fraudulent designs to swindle our creditors. To this I replied with becoming spirit, and was in consequence threatened with immediate prosecution. Whatever may be the event, I had some hopes that your happiness, Theodore, might yet be secured. Hence I proposed your union with Alida before our misfortunes should be promulgated. Your parents are old, a little will serve the residue of their days. With your acquirements you may make your way in life. I shall now have no property to give you; but I would still wish you to ensure to yourself that which you prize far above, and without which, both honours and emoluments would be unimportant and worthless.”
At this moment a loud rap at the door interrupted the discourse, and three men were ushered in, which proved to be the sheriff and his attendants, sent by the more inexorable creditors of Theodore’s father and company, to levy on the property of the former, which orders they faithfully executed by seizing the lands, tenements, and furniture. We will not stop the reader to moralize on this disastrous event—the feelings of the family can better be conceived than described.
Hurled, in a moment, from the lofty summit of affluence to the low vale of indigence, Christian philosophy after a while came to the aid of the parents, but who can realize the feelings of the son? Thus suddenly cut short, not only of his prospects of future independence, but even present support, what would be the event of his suit to Alida, and stipulated marriage? Was it not probable that her father would now cancel the contract? Could she consent to become his in his present penurious situation? and could he himself be willing to make her miserable?
In this agitated frame of mind he received a letter from a friend in the neighbourhood of Alida, requesting him to come immediately to his house, whither he repaired the following day.
This person had ever been the unchanging friend of Theodore; he had heard of the misfortunes of his family, and he deeply sympathized in his distress. He had lately married and settled near the residence of Alida’s father. His name was Raymond. When Theodore arrived at the house of his friend, he was received with the same disinterested ardour he had ever been before, in the day of his most unbounded prosperity. After being seated, Raymond told him the occasion of his sending for him was to propose the adoption of certain measures which he doubted not might be considered highly beneficial, as it respected his future peace and happiness. “Your family misfortunes,” continued he, “have reached the ear of Alida’s father. I know old people, generally speaking, too well to believe he will now consent to receive you as his son-in-law under your present embarrassments. The case is difficult, but not insurmountable. You must first see Alida; she is now in the next room; I will introduce you in; converse with her, after which I will lay my plan before you.”
Theodore entered the room. Alida was sitting by a window which looked into a pleasant garden, and over verdant meadows where tall grass waved to the evening breeze; further on, low valleys spread their umbrageous thickets where the dusky shadows of night had began to assemble. On the high hills beyond, the tops of lofty forests, majestically moved by the billowy gales, caught the sun’s last ray. Fleecy summer clouds hovered around the verge of the western horizon, spangled with silvery tints or fringed with the gold of evening. A mournfully murmuring rivulet purled at a little distance from the garden, on the borders of a small grove, from whence the American wild dove wafted her sympathetic moaning to the ear of Alida. She was leaning on a small table as she sat by the window, which was thrown up. Her attention was fixed. She did not perceive Raymond and Theodore as they entered. They advanced towards her; she turned, started, and arose. With a melancholy smile she said she supposed it was Mrs. Raymond who was approaching, as she had just left the room. Her countenance was dejected, which, on seeing Theodore, lighted up into a languid sprightliness. It was evident she had been weeping. Raymond retired, and Theodore and Alida seated themselves.
“I have broken in upon your solitude, perhaps too unseasonably,” said Theodore. It is however the fault of Raymond; he invited me to walk into the room, but did not inform me that you were alone.
“Your presence was sudden and unexpected, but not unseasonable,” replied Alida. I hope that you did not consider any formality necessary in your visits, Theodore?
“I once did not think so,” answered Theodore; now I know not what to think—I know not how to act. You have heard of the misfortunes of my father’s family, Alida?
“Yes, I have heard the circumstances attending that event,” said she; an event in which no one could be more deeply interested, except the immediate sufferers, than myself.