“You behold me, Theodore,” said he, “on the verge of eternity. I have but a short time to continue in this world.” He evidently appeared to have suffered much from the remembrance of his ungenerous conduct towards Theodore.
“I have caused much unhappiness between you and your Alida,” said Bonville, “to which you will scarcely think it possible that I was designedly accessory.” He then confessed to Theodore that he had intercepted his letters, and begged his forgiveness. “I could say much more on the subject would my strength admit,” said he, “but it is needless.” Here Bonville ceased. Theodore found he wanted rest; medical aid had been applied, but without effect. Theodore then left him, promising to call again next morning.
He was startled at the confession of Bonville; he felt at first indignant, and meditated what course to pursue. After due reflection, he at length made the decision.
His devotions to Alida he did not wonder at. The pride of parental attachment and nature had graced her with every charm and accomplishment. He at length determined to cast a veil of pity over the actions of Bonville, and not to upbraid him, but to treat his past conduct with silent contempt, and endeavour as far as possible, to bury the remembrance of his errors in oblivion. He called to see him next morning; he perceived an alarming alteration in his appearance. He was cold—a chilling sweat stood upon his face, his respiration was short and interrupted, his pulse weak and intermitting. He took the hand of Theodore and feebly pressed it. He soon fell into a stupor; sensation became suspended. Sometimes a partial revival would take place, when he would fall into incoherent muttering, calling on the names of his deceased father, mother, and Alida. Towards night he lay silent, and only continued to breathe with difficulty, when a slight convulsion gave his freed spirit to the unknown regions of existence. Theodore attended his funeral, and then journeyed on to the dwelling of Albert. He informed Alida of the death of Bonville, and of his confession.
At the mention of Bonville’s fate, she sighed deeply. “It is true,” said she, “he has perplexed me with many vain fears, by misrepresentation, but could he have lived, I would freely have forgiven him.”
He evidently fell a victim to disappointed pride and remorse at the remembrance of his own baseness.
[CHAPTER XXXIV.]
In the Almighty Power he placed his trust,
Through all the changing scenes of deep distress;
His fortune now is better than before;