"Her father, who, though not rich, had some money, wished her to be sent to some good boarding-school, where she could acquire a good education. He was going off on some voyage, in which he expected to make his fortune; and when he came back, he said Bertha should be a great lady.
"Accordingly, three weeks after she came, she was sent away to a boarding-school, and I do not think there was one sorrier to bid her good-by then than I was. Her father the next day went away in his ship, destined to some far-off place, which he was never doomed to reach, for a month after news came that the vessel was wrecked, and all hands cast away; so that Bertha had now no living relatives in this country except us.
"As her father before he went had made abundant provision for her schooling, in case anything should happen, Bertha remained five years at school. We saw very little of her all this time, for she mostly spent her vacations with her friends, the school girls; but when the period of her stay had elapsed, she came back to the old homestead. We had parted from her a beautiful child, but she returned a woman—peerless, superb—a perfect vision of beauty. Everybody was raving about her. All the young men, far and near, were in love with her; but Bertha never seemed to care for any of them, and used to spend her time embroidering, or reading, or playing on the guitar, and singing Spanish songs about 'beautiful Grenada.' I was a young man then, about seven-and-twenty years of age; and I, too, like the rest fell in love with my beautiful, dark-eyed cousin. It was a hopeless love, and I knew it. I felt that she was as far above me as heaven is above the earth, and I locked my secret in my own bosom, and resolved I would never give her a moment's pain by telling her of it.
"I was, however, her favorite; there were two more brothers, but she liked me best—but only with a sisterly love. To me alone she used to speak of the vine-clad hills of Spain; of her beautiful dead mother, and of her longings for sunny Grenada once more. And I used to sit and listen, and sympathize with her, and keep down the yearning desire that used to fill my heart to kneel at her feet and ask her to give me the right to take her there.
"Ah, little Christie, thee may wonder how such a rough, uncouth man as I am could ever feel love like this; but I could have died then for my beautiful cousin, though she, nor no one else, ever dreamed I cherished for her other than a cousinly affection. When I used to see her smile on other young men, and lean on their arms, and listen, and look pleased when they talked, and blush when she would meet their eyes, I used to feel the demon of jealousy rising within me; and then I would be forced to tear myself away from them all, lest my looks or actions might betray me. It was very hard then to bear my lot patiently; but, when, after a while, Bertha would come back to me, and tell me how tiresome they all were, and that I was the dearest, best cousin in the world, and worth all the other young men she knew put together, I used to feel recompensed for it all, and I could have knelt down at her very feet in gratitude for the words.
"These were the happiest days of my life, little friend; and though I knew Bertha could never love me, yet I felt if I might only be near her, and know she was happy, and see her smile on me sometimes, I could even bear to see her married to some man more worthy of her than I was. I do not say there were not times when I was tempted to murmur and wish Heaven had gifted me with a less ungainly form, for Bertha's sake; yet, I think, I may say, I strove to subdue all such ungrateful murmurs, and think of my many blessings; and, on the whole, I was happy.
"My father, who was growing old and infirm, loved Bertha, with a passionate fondness, and often spoke of his cherished wish of seeing her united to one of his sons. I was the oldest, and his favorite, and I knew his ardent desire was to see us married; but as this could never be, I always strove to evade giving a direct answer to his questions concerning my feelings toward my cousin. To her he had never spoken on the subject; but on his deathbed he called us to him, and putting her hand in mine, charged us to love one another, and become husband and wife. Ah! there was little need to tell me to love one I almost worshiped already. Bertha's hand lay passively in mine. She was weeping convulsively, and neither of us would render his last moments unhappy by saying his dearest wish could not be fulfilled. I thought then that she had merely acquiesced to soothe his dying moments, and resolved, much as I loved her, not to bind her by any such promise. But in the bustle and confusion of the next three day, there was no time for explanation, and the funeral was over before I could even speak a word to her in private.
"The day after the funeral I found her sitting alone in a sort of arbor, at the foot of the garden; and going up to her I said, with abrupt haste, for every word seemed to stick in my throat:
"'Bertha, I knew thee did not like to refuse my father's dying request to marry me; but as the promise was given against thy will, I have taken the first opportunity of telling thee I do not consider it binding, and so far as I am concerned, thou may consider thyself quite free from all engagement to me.'
"I did not dare to gaze at her, as she sat there, looking so sweet and beautiful, lest my resolution should falter; and I turned away, and was about to leave, when her voice recalled me.