“Yours, as ever,
“Rufus Albertson.”
Hurriedly folding the letter, after she had read it, Eunice arose and went quickly from the room. In her own chamber she felt more free to think and feel. For a while every thing but her true-hearted lover was forgotten. Sweet to her spirit, wearied and well-nigh overburdened, were the words he had written, and the faith he still held sacred. Since the stern interference of her father, she had met him but very few times, and then under circumstances that prevented any free interchange of sentiments. After the death of her brother, and the subsequent fall of her family from affluence, she had lived so secluded a life that no opportunity for a meeting had occurred. Except at church, on the Sabbath, where she regularly attended, he never saw her, after the change in her father’s circumstances had excluded her from fashionable circles.
Patiently had the young man waited for the work of time—patiently and hopefully. The insult received from Mr. Townsend, on applying for the hand of Eunice, stung him to the quick, and rankled long after. But he loved Eunice tenderly and truly, and while he felt that she obeyed, too implicitly, the arbitrary command of her father, he could not but respect the filial deference with which she regarded an unjust requirement. To him, it was a trial that proved the character of his affection, and the result showed that it was of the right quality.
Long before a suspicion of misfortune had come shadowing the hearts of Mr. Townsend’s family, Albertson saw the cloud approaching, and knew that reverses of the most serious character had visited the proud, uncompromising merchant. Anxiously did he look on and watch the result. The fact of his investment of nearly all he was worth in United States Bank stock, he knew immediately after the failure of the Bank. He also knew, that he did not sell until the stock fell to almost nothing.
With a deep interest in the result, he saw Mr. Townsend again enter business, with the small remnant of a large fortune as the basis of his efforts, and struggle vigorously to recover himself. At this point he would have come forward and renewed his application for the hand of Eunice; but the manner of her father, whom he met occasionally in business, was so cold, reserved, and haughty, that he deemed it wisest to wait a little longer.
At last, the final misfortune came. It happened that Jones, Claire, & Co. were creditors of the failing house, the large sales to which Mr. Townsend had guarantied, and Albertson represented his firm in the meeting of creditors. At the last meeting, when it was clearly apparent that the loss was well-nigh total, and that no dividend would be made for a long time, he carefully noted the effect of the transpirance of this fact upon the father of Eunice; and from what he saw, and his knowledge of his affairs, he was satisfied that this failure would totally ruin him, and that even the means of a moderate support for his family would pass from his hands.
It was now full time, he felt, for him to step forward, and, for the sake of Eunice, renew his attentions and claim her hand. He therefore sat down immediately, and wrote and dispatched the letter which Eunice so unexpectedly received. Anxiously did he await a reply. Two days passed, yet none came. On the third day, this brief answer was received:
“Dear Albert—Through all the trials and changes that I have been called to meet, I have remained the same; and to know that your heart is still true, fills me with inexpressible delight. Time is doing its work, but all is not yet finished. I have still a sacred duty to perform, that no considerations, personal to myself, can make me forego. Still, Albert, dear Albert! let me repeat—Have faith in time. I cannot say more at present. Write to me again. Write to me often. Soon, very soon, I trust we shall meet and speak face to face as of old.
“Eunice”