Of Miss Carrover I thought but little. I had heard from Charleston, whither she had gone soon after the duel, that she was the gayest belle of its society. This disregard of what was due the memory of her betrothed, coupled with the gradually acquired conviction that my suit was hopeless, and a conscientious desire to do well in my studies, had somewhat impaired the romantic fervor of my admiration for her, and I heard with remarkable composure the statement that she would spend a week or two in Chapel Hill on her way to New York. I resolved at first not to see her at all; but, feeling that this was too great a confession of weakness, even to myself, and having, besides, in my possession the valuables DeVare had requested me to deliver to her, I determined to call just once, that I might mark her deportment before making up my final judgment on her character. Of one thing I was fully resolved, that whether she was gay or sad, whether kind and cordial or cold and distant towards me, no word or glance of mine should betray the faintest trace of the old love, or depart from the consistent seriousness of real bereavement.
When I entered the parlor at Professor Z——’s I found her surrounded by a throng of admirers. As she came forward to meet me, the same superbly beautiful woman I had once adored, her usual queenly air softened into one of kindest greeting, and gave me both hands in her warm welcome, my heart bounded wildly, and for a moment I had forgotten Ramie, resolves, and everything save the rapture of being near her again—of hearing her soft, rich voice, and gazing into her dreamy eyes. The presence of other gentlemen restrained me, or I believe I should have knelt at her feet.
Taking my seat in the circle, and dropping into a commonplace conversation, I gradually regained my senses and my self-control. And as I became composed, and marked the levity of her conduct—the jest, the sarcasm and the repartee—and then thought of the cold form in the cemetery at home, my admiration of her beauty was tinged with contempt for her frivolity.
Her visitors began to depart, and I was about to say good night without having accomplished my mission, when she handed me a slip of paper, on which she had scribbled the words “Don’t leave.”
Of course I waited, and we were soon in the parlor alone.
As the last one closed the door she moved on the sofa and said:
“Come, sit by me. Oh, how tiresome those fellows are! and I wanted to be alone with you so much. Now tell me all about yourself, for it has been a dreary, long time since I have seen you.”
“I thought you were aware, Miss Carrover, that I was connected with a most unfortunate affair at the close of the session,” I replied, nervously twisting my watch chain, for I hardly knew what reply to make, and felt embarrassed and awkward.
“Oh! do not speak of that,” she exclaimed, burying her face in her handkerchief, and trembling with very inaudible sobs. “I was trying to avoid that subject. My heart has been almost broken in its agony. Only in the past few days have I been able to compose my thoughts and feelings. Oh, the terrible shock of the announcement!” Her voice was so muffled by the handkerchief over her face that her words were almost indistinguishable. Far better could they have been lost in the cambric folds than to have vibrated into eternal existence!