Sometimes in the evening, I would walk up and down the street in front of the residence of Mrs Hyland—with the hope of seeing Lenore, or with the knowledge of being near her, whether she might be seen or not. I found pleasure even in this.
I did not like to call on her again—until I had given her mother some proof of my innocence.
Sometimes it occurred to me to ask myself the question, why should I see her more, even after I had cleared myself? She was beautiful, dangerously beautiful; and I was friendless, homeless, and without fortune. Why should I endanger my future peace of mind, by becoming more and more infatuated with one whose heart I could scarce hope ever to possess?
Duty as well as reason told me to pursue the search for my relatives, and see Lenore Hyland no more. But where is the heart love-stricken that will listen to the call, either of reason, or duty?
Mine did not, and could not. It was deaf to such an appeal. I could think only of Lenore, yearn to see her again—to speak with her—to listen to her—to love her!
Volume One—Chapter Twelve.
An Encounter with a Coward.
About a week after my interview with Mrs Hyland and her daughter, I saw what I had been daily looking for—a notice in one of the Liverpool papers, under the head of “Shipping Intelligence,” announcing the arrival of the ship “Lenore,” Captain Adkins, from New Orleans.