The next morning I started for Mr Somerville's, where I was of course received with open arms; and the party, a few days after, having been increased by the arrival of my father with Clara and Talbot, I was as happy as a human being could be. Six weeks was the period assigned by my fair one as the very shortest in which she could get rigged, bend new sails, and prepare for the long and sometimes tedious voyage of matrimony. I remonstrated at the unconscionable delay.
"Long as it may appear," she said, "it is much less time than you took to fit out your fine frigate for North America."
"That frigate was not got ready even then by any hurry of mine," said I; "and if ever I come to be first lord of the Admiralty, I shall have a bright eye on the young lieutenants and their sweethearts at Blackheath, particularly when a ship is fitting in a hurry at Woolwich."
Much of this kind of sparring went on, to the great amusement of all parties; meanwhile, the ladies employed themselves in running up milliner's bills, and their papas employed themselves in discharging them. My father was particularly liberal to Emily in the articles of plate and jewellery, and Mr Somerville equally kind to Clara. Emily received a trinket box, so beautifully fitted and so well filled, that it required a cheque of no trifling magnitude to cry quits with the jeweller; indeed my father's kindness was so great, that I was forced to beg he would set some bounds to his liberality.
I was so busy and so happy, that I had let three weeks pass over my head without seeing Eugenia. I dreamed of her at last, and thought she upbraided me; and the next day, full of my dream, as soon as breakfast was over, I recommended the young ladies to the care of Talbot, and, mounting my horse, rode over to see Eugenia. She received me kindly, but she had suffered in her health, and was much out of spirits. I inquired the reason, and she burst into tears. "I shall be better, Frank," said she, "when all is over, but I must suffer now; and I suffer the more acutely from a conviction that I am only paying the penalty of my own crime. Perhaps," continued she, "had I never departed from virtue, I might at this moment have held in your heart the envied place of Miss Somerville; but as the righteous decrees of Providence having provided punishment to tread fast in the footsteps of guilt, I am now expiating my faults, and I have a presentiment that although the struggle is bitter, it will soon be over. God's will be done; and may you, my dear Frank, have many, many happy years in the society of one you are bound to love before the unhappy Eugenia."
Here she sank on a sofa, and again wept bitterly.
"I feel," said she, "now, but it is too late—I feel that I have acted wrongly in quitting Bordeaux. There I was loved and respected; and if not happy, at least I was composed. Too much dependence on my resolution, and the vanity of supposing myself superior in magnanimity to the rest of my sex, induced me to trust myself in your society. Dearly, alas! have I paid for it. My only chance of victory over myself was flight from you, after I had given the irrevocable sentence; by not doing so, the poison has again found its way to my heart. I feel that I love you; that I cannot have you; and that death, very shortly, must terminate my intolerable sufferings."
This affecting address pierced me to the soul; and now the consequences of my guilt and duplicity rushed upon me like a torrent through a bursting flood-gate. I would have resigned Emily, I would have fled with Eugenia to some distant country, and buried our sorrows in each other's bosoms; and, in a state of irrepressible emotion, I proposed this step to her.
"What do I hear, my beloved?" said she (starting up with horror from the couch on which she was sitting, with her face between her knees), "what! is it you that would resign home, friends, character, the possession of a virtuous woman, all, for the polluted smiles of an ——"
"Hold! hold! my Eugenia," said I; "do not, I beseech you, shock my ears with an epithet which you do not deserve! Mine, mine, is all the guilt; forget me, and you will still be happy."