“No, no, Norham,” she would answer; “my heart reproaches me bitterly enough for walking with you here, and I should not do it, perhaps, only I feel that if I did not see you sometimes I should go mad with loneliness. But, Norham, I will not farther wrong my mother. Wait until I am of age, and have the right to dispose of my hand; then, Norham, I will place it in yours.”
And no arguments, entreaties, or prayers on the part of her lover availed anything against the conscientious resolution of Alma. And even when at length his leave of absence expired, and he was ordered to join his regiment, which was stationed in Scotland, he took advantage of this fortuitous combination of circumstances to urge upon his beloved Alma the consideration of the deep pain of separation, and the facilities for their union offered by the locality of his service, she remained true to her convictions of duty, and had the firmness to bid him adieu and see him depart.
To young creatures surrounded by sisters, brothers, and cousins, relatives, friends, and neighbors, the self-denial of this lonely girl will scarcely be appreciated.
From the time of her lover’s departure for Scotland she saw no more of him until the day of the double funeral at Allworth Abbey.
We have already said that it was only in the times of their affliction that the Honorable Mrs. Elverton ever visited her neighbors. Thus recluse as she was, she had ordered her mourning coach, and with Alma seated by her side, had attended the funeral solemnities at Allworth Abbey.
In the course of that day Alma had exchanged a glance and a bow with Norham. And the next afternoon, instinct rather than understanding led her out to take a walk in the woods behind Edenlawn.
It was a lovely summer’s afternoon, and the low descending sun was striking his level yellow rays through the interlacings of the forest-trees, edging each leaf and twig, with a golden flame.
Alma wandered on, and in that mental struggle between duty and inclination, or rather between conscience and necessity, that occupies one half of our inner lives.
She was happy in the hope of seeing Norham, and miserable in the fear of doing wrong. This is a paradox of daily occurrence.
While she walked on in the dulcemarah, the bitter sweet of this forbidden hope, she heard the fallen leaves and twigs break beneath a firm footstep behind her.