“Every thing but love; every thing but the man who loves you,” whispered her friend.
“Even love—even him—I gave up all. Do you think that I have a dream of marrying him now? That I intend to surround myself with the vulgar eclat of a ‘runaway match?’ It was to save his life that I left my home. I will meet him on the way, warn him of my father’s hatred, and free him of all the engagements that have existed between us.”
“And where will you go then, dear friend?”
“I have relatives in the West Indies, as I have been told, and I had resolved to seek their protection before leaving home.”
“Then there will be no wedding after all, and we shall lose you altogether,” cried the young girl, half in tears at the thoughts of this abrupt separation.
“Not forever; I am sure we shall meet again,” answered Myra, casting an anxious glance through the window, for the conversation was arousing old feelings too keenly within her. “But it will soon be daylight.”
“I have just aroused father, and told him all; he will go with you to New Castle,” said the younger girl, who had been absent from the room. “The stage starts by daybreak.”
Daybreak! The gray of morning was in the sky even then. Instantly there was a bustle of preparation in that little bedroom. Myra’s garments, that had been drying by the fire, were hastily crowded into the trunk; a fathom or two was cut from the bed-cord, that her ill-secured luggage might have the best protection their means afforded, and at the appointed time all was ready for Myra’s departure. Amid tears and affectionate embraces Myra parted with her young friends, and before the deep blue of night had fairly left the sky, she was on her route to New Castle.
The stage had no passengers except Myra and her kind attendant, so in the stillness of the morning she had nothing to distract her thoughts from the mournful channel into which they naturally turned. The storm had swept over the earth, leaving only freshness and beauty behind. The trees that bent over the road were vivid with moisture, over which the rising sun fell with sparkling and genial warmth. Every spire of grass bent as if with the weight of a diamond at its point. The vines and creeping shrubs that grew along the fences seemed blossoming with gems, so thick were the water-drops among their leaves; so bright were the sunbeams that kindled them into beauty. The atmosphere was full of cool, rich fragrance, and every gush of air, as it swept through the ponderous vehicle that bore Myra from her home, was delicious to breathe.
Ever and anon, as the stage followed the windings of the highway, Myra could obtain a view of her former home; silent, stately, and refreshed, as it were, by the night storm, it rose before her tearful eyes. The proud old mansion, lifted on a terrace of hills above the level on which she traveled, could be seen for miles and miles around, and thus at every turn the noble features of all that she had given up were spread out before her gaze as if to mock her loneliness, or with their grandeur tempt her return.