Why was Theodore speechless through the whole of this discourse? What reply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but misery and wo? Where, indeed, were the means by which Alida was to be shielded from indigence, if connected with his fortunes?
The idea was not new, but it came upon him at this time with redoubled anguish. He arose and looked around for Alida, but she was not to be seen. He left the house and walked slowly towards Raymond’s. At a little distance he met Alida who had been strolling in an adjoining avenue. He informed her of all that had passed; it was no more than they both expected, yet it was a shock their fortitude could scarcely sustain. Disappointment seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.
Alida told Theodore that she knew her father’s determinations were altogether unchangeable at present. Her brother, she said, would be at home in a few days; how he would act on this occasion, she was unable to say; but were he ever so far their friend, he would have but feeble influence with her father. “What is to be the end of these troubles,” continued she, it is impossible to foresee. Let us trust in the mercy of Heaven, and submit to its dispensations.
Theodore and Alida, in their happier days, had, when absent from each other, corresponded. This method it was now thought best to resume. It was agreed, besides, that Theodore should frequently visit Raymond’s, and Alida would resort there also, as she should find opportunity. Having concluded on this, Alida returned home, and Theodore to the house of his friend.
The next morning Theodore repaired to the dwelling where his aged parents now resided. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish when he arrived there: his own fate unconnected with that of Alida. His father was absent when he first reached home, but returned soon after. A beam of joy gleamed upon his countenance as he entered the house. “Were it not, Theodore, for your unhappy situation,” said he, “we should once more be restored to peace and happiness. A few persons who were indebted to me, finding that I was to be sacrificed by my unfeeling creditors, reserved those debts in their hands, and have now paid me, amounting to something more than five thousand pounds. With this I can live as well and conveniently as I could wish, and can spare some for your present exigencies, Theodore.”
Theodore thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his former liberality, he had yet sufficient for all his wants. “But your affair with Alida,” asked his father, “how is that likely to terminate?” “Favourably, I hope, sir,” answered Theodore.
He could not consent to disturb the happy tranquillity of his parents by reciting his own wretchedness. He passed a week with them. He saw them once more comfortably seated at a calm retreat in the country; he saw them serenely blest in the pleasures of returning peace, and a ray of joy illumined his troubled bosom.
“Again the youth his wonted life regain’d,
A transient sparkle in his eye obtain’d,
A bright, impassion’d, cheering glow express’d