“How I love you for this, my child!” cried her father, fondly embracing her. “This is exactly what I wished, though I did not dare to say so till I was sure of your sentiments. Mr. Hervey charged me to leave you entirely to yourself; he thought that your new situation might perhaps produce some change in your sentiments: I see he was mistaken; and I am heartily glad of it. But you are going to say something, my dear; do not let me interrupt you.”
“I was only going to beg that you would give this letter, my dear father, to Mr. Hervey. It is an answer to one which he wrote to me when I was poor”—and deserted, she was near saying, but she stopped herself.
“I wish,” continued she, “Mr. Hervey should know that my sentiments are precisely the same now that they have always been. Tell him,” added she, proudly, “that he did me injustice by imagining that my sentiments could alter with my situation. He little knows Virginia.” Clarence at this moment entered the room, and Mr. Hartley eagerly led his daughter to meet him.
“Take her hand,” cried he; “you have her heart—you deserve it; and she has just been very angry with me for doubting. But read her letter,—that will speak better for her, and more to your satisfaction, no doubt, than I can.”
Virginia hastily put the letter into Mr. Hervey’s hand, and, breaking from her father, retired to her own apartment.
With all the trepidation of a person who feels that the happiness of his life is to be decided in a few moments, Clarence tore open Virginia’s letter, and, conscious that he was not able to command his emotion, he withdrew from her father’s inquiring eyes. Mr. Hartley, however, saw nothing in this agitation but what he thought natural to a lover, and he was delighted to perceive that his daughter had inspired so strong a passion.
Virginia’s letter contained but these few lines:
“Most happy shall I be if the whole of my future life can prove to you how deeply I feel your goodness.
“VIRGINIA ST. PIERRE.”
[End of C. Hervey’s packet.]