“When I was a boy of nineteen or twenty, I loved a beautiful girl. Her name was Jessie Almyr. I need not describe her; my days of rhapsodies are passed. Sufficient that I loved her with all the fire of my heart. It had grown with the growth of years, for we had been intimate from childhood, and I had almost begun to consider her as rightfully belonging to me.
“I had never told her of my love; I was poor then, and would not offer her an empty hand. I had written to an uncle in the city for a situation, and was waiting for an answer, which, if favorable, I felt would then place me in a position that would warrant my telling Jessie how dear she was to me.
“While waiting for the much-wished for answer, a young man two or three years older than myself came to our village. He was rich, talented and handsome. He was introduced to Jessie, and, of course, loved her, too. Who could help it that knew her? But I will not anticipate. The long-looked for letter at last arrived, telling me that I could have the situation, and offering me an ample salary, more than I had expected, and I felt that now I could support my bride in comfort. Wild with joy, I sought her and poured out the whole story of my love, not dreaming but that her reply would be all I could wish. She listened with downcast eyes and beating heart; I could see it throb beneath the folds of her dress. Her cheek was flushed, and I felt that I was almost sure of my prize, when—oh, my God! I can never forget it——”
The squire stopped and covered his face with his hands, while tears gathered in his eyes and rolled down his withered cheeks, as the memory of his blighted hopes rushed over him. It was some minutes before he could proceed, and there was utter silence in the room. Finally he raised his head; a stern, hard look had taken the place of the softened expression, and he continued:
“We were standing before a window that looked out on the western sky; the sun was just setting, and its yellow rays streamed in a golden glory all around my love, making her look like some bright-robed divinity. When I had finished telling her my hopes and plans, her lips moved as if she was about to speak, and I bent my ear to catch the blessed words. She raised her eyes, and I could have sworn that the love-light was in their bright depths; but—the sound of a horse’s footsteps outside drew them from me to rest on the handsome face and figure of Robert Ellerton as he rode by on horseback.
“He saw us, bowed gracefully, and waved one daintily gloved hand to her.
“The look of love fled from my darling’s eyes, as his form passed from sight, and with an absent-minded air she said she was afraid she did not love me well enough to be my wife—that she could not give me as much in return as I could wish.
“I protested that if she would only be mine, I would never complain of a lack of affection. She replied that she would think of my offer for a day or two before she gave me her answer. I gazed at her for a moment in astonishment—I was so sure she loved me! I could hardly believe it was the same Jessie whom I had always worshiped—her manner was so changed.
“Half-mad with jealousy, and the fear that I might lose her after all, I seized her in my arms and kissed her passionately. She gently released herself, and I went away—and—I never spoke to her again!
“A few days after, she sent me a note, telling me she could not be my wife—that she did not love me well enough, and she would not wrong me by giving me her hand without her heart.