"My step-mother refused to be present. She had sufficient regard to the world's opinion to plead indisposition as an excuse; but it was a false one. She never forgave me for winning the love of the man whom she had herself resolved to charm, and from the hour of our introduction to the day of my marriage, my life was clouded by the gloom of her ill temper.
"We immediately departed for New York, where St. James resided, and our bridal home was adorned with all the elegancies which classic taste could select, and prodigal love lavish upon its idol. I was happy then, beyond the dream of imagination. St. James was the fondest, the kindest, the tenderest—O my God! must I add—the falsest of human beings? I did not love him then—I worshipped, I adored him. I have told you that my childish imagination was fed by wild, impassioned romances, and I had made to myself an ideal image, round which, like the maid of France, I hung the garlands of fancy, and knelt before its shrine.
"Whatever has been my after fate, I have known the felicity of loving in all its length and breadth and strength. And he, too, loved me passionately, devotedly. Strong indeed must have been the love that triumphed over principle, honor, and truth, that broke the most sacred of human ties, and dared the vengeance of retributive Heaven.
"St. James was an artist. He was not dependent entirely on his genius for his subsistence, though his fortune was not large enough to enable him to live in splendid indolence. He had been in Europe for the last few years, wandering amid the ruins of Italy, studying the grand old masters, summering in the valleys of Switzerland, beneath the shadow of its mountain heights, and polishing his bold, masterly sketches among the elegant artists of Paris.
"With what rapture I listened to his glowing descriptions of foreign lands, and what beautiful castles we built where we were to dwell together in the golden clime of Italy or the sunny bowers of France!
"At length, my Gabriella, you were given to my arms, and the deep, pure fountain of a mother's love welled in my youthful bosom. But my life was wellnigh a sacrifice to yours. For weeks it hung trembling on a thread slender and weak as the gossamer's web. St. James watched over me, as none but guardian angels could watch, and I had another faithful and devoted nurse, our good and matchless Peggy. To her unsleeping vigilance, her strong heart and untiring arm, I owe in a great measure the restoration of my health, or rather the preservation of my life; my health was never entirely renovated.
"When you were about five or six months old, St. James came to me with a troubled countenance. He was summoned away, very unexpectedly. He would probably be obliged to go as far as Texas before his return; he might be absent a month. Business of a perplexing nature, which it was impossible to explain then, called him from me, but he would shorten as much as possible the days of absence which would be dreary and joyless to him. I was overwhelmed with grief at the thought of his leaving me; my nerves were still weak, and I wept in all the abandonment of sorrow. I feared for him the dangers that beset the path of the traveller—sickness, death; but I feared not for his honor or truth. I relied upon his integrity, as I did upon the promises of the Holy Scriptures. I did hot urge him to explain the motives of his departure, satisfied that they were just and honorable.
"Oh! little did I think,—when he clasped me in a parting embrace when he committed us both so tenderly and solemnly to the guardianship of our Heavenly Father,—little did I think I should so soon seek to rend him from my heart as a vile, accursed monster; that I should shrink from the memory of his embraces as from the coils of the serpent, the fangs of the wolf. God in his mercy veils the future, or who could bear the burden of coming woe!
"A few days after his departure, as I was seated in the nursery, watching your innocent witcheries as you lay cradled in the lap of Peggy, I was told a lady wished to see me. It was too early an hour for fashionable calls, and I went into the parlor expecting to meet one of those ministering spirits, who go about on errands of mercy, seeking the aid of the rich for the wants of the poor.
"A lady was standing with her back to the door, seemingly occupied in gazing at a picture over the mantel-piece, an exquisite painting of St. James. Her figure was slight and graceful, and she struck me at once as having a foreign air. She turned round at my entrance, exhibiting a pale and agitated countenance; a countenance which though not beautiful, was painfully interesting. She had a soft olive complexion, and a full melancholy black eye, surcharged with tears.