The handsome young man, with clouded brow, grieved and goaded spirit, turned away as he spoke, and, folding his arms, gazed moodily on the waves as they unrolled at his feet, tossing liquid diamonds upon the sand. Each word he uttered only served as weapons against him. Suspicion and jealousy will never turn back the current of woman's love if it has once flowed a contrary way. Gentleness will govern it and guide it; but violence opposed to it will, like a dam, convert it into an ungovernable cataract. The attachment between Kate Bellamont and Fitzroy was properly, so far as impassioned love was concerned, only on one side. Fitzroy, or Mark Meredith, had held her from youth in his eye as the star both of his ambition and his love; and when, by a fortuitous circumstance, five years after his departure as an humble lad from the fisherman's hut at Castle Cor, he found himself commander of the vessel destined to convey her to the New World, he, unrecognised by her, and under the name he had assumed, wooed her with diffidence, yet with the perseverance of a love that had strengthened with his strength and grown with his growth. She, in the mean while, was pleased by his attentions, flattered by his devotion, and not insensible to his love. She knew him only as Captain Fitzroy, who had been knighted for his gallantry on the sea, and whose youth only prevented him from attaining the highest rank in the navy. The earl (for the lovely Countess of Bellamont had deceased the year before) seconded the young hero's addresses, anticipating for the youthful knight the highest name and rank.
At length, on the day they arrived in New-York Bay she gave him the promise of her hand, though her heart went not with it. It was her father's wish that she should marry, and she herself believed Lester no longer lived. Fitzroy was therefore accepted; and though she did not regard him with the devotion of love, she esteemed him as a friend; while the gratitude she felt for his attachment he mistook for love. Although such second attachments are not altogether consistent with the character of a true heroine, yet they are not inconsistent with the character of a true woman!
The betrothed lady looked upon her lover with surprise as he concluded, and said mildly,
"This is strange! You are not wont to yield to moods of jealousy, Fitzroy!"
"Jaundiced and jealous I confess I am, until you answer me!" he said, with nervous impatience.
"Thou art ill, I fear," she said, laying her hand upon his shoulder tenderly; "and what at other times I might take deep offence at, having given no cause, I'll now regard as the workings of disease tinging your speech, which else were fair and worthy of you."
"I am not sick unless at heart," he said, burying his face in his hands. "She loves me not," he uttered to himself; "she loves me not! I have been blinded by my own deep passion! She loves me not! The hopes, the dreams of years are dissipated! She loves me not!"
All at once he turned to her and said,
"Once more forgive me, dearest lady! I was not myself just now; I knew not—I knew not what I said! 'Tis over now; forget it!"
"I knew thou wert not thyself, and felt not thy words," she said, with sweet dignity. "Nay, shrink not from my embrace, Rupert."