The deepening twilight hung over us, wrapping all things in its sombre mantle, and its solemn stillness fell with soft, subduing power upon our hearts, as we sat, for many moments, each lost in reverie, ere I spoke again.
"Aunt Mary, why were you never married?"
"Rather an abrupt question that, my love. What if I say, in the words of the old song, because 'nobody ever came wooing me?'"
"Nay, nay, Aunt Mary, I know you have never passed through life unloved, and I have sometimes fancied not unloving either. But pardon me, I fear my obtrusive curiosity has given you pain," I added quickly, as in the dim light I saw that her pale cheek was growing still paler, and that deep, though subdued, anguish was stamped in legible characters upon her brow.
"I have nought to pardon, my child, for our long familiarity has given you a right to ask the question; and I wonder that you have never made the inquiry before, rather than that you make it now. The history of my early life is a sad one, but you shall hear it, and know why I am now such a lone and isolated being.
"Upon the early part of my life it will be necessary for me to dwell but slightly. My childhood passed dreamily away, marked by no event of sufficient importance to leave a very deep impression upon my mind. An only child, I was my father's idol, and he loved me none the less tenderly, because the destroying angel had snatched his young wife from his bosom, and I was all that was left to him of her. I was very young when my mother died—too young to appreciate the magnitude of my loss, or to feel that I was motherless. Yet I have an indistinct recollection of a sweet, girlish face, that used to bend over my couch, and of a melodious voice that was wont to lull me to my baby slumbers. The remembrance is a very faint one, but I have never thought of angels in my dreams, or in my waking hours, when the vision did not wear the semblance of my mother's face, nor of angel voices without in fancy hearing again my mother's low, soft tones.
"As I grew older, the best instructors in the country were procured for me, and I was taught all the accomplishments of the day, while, at the same time, I was not allowed to neglect any of the plainer, but equally important branches of female education. At last my education was completed, and 'I came out' under auspices as flattering as those under which any young girl ever made her debut upon the stage of life. The harsh fingers of Time have wrought such changes upon my face and form, that you may find it difficult to believe that in my youth I was called beautiful. Yet so it was, and this, together with my father's station in society and reputation for wealth, drew a crowd of admirers around me. One of my father's chief sources of delight, was the exercise of an almost prodigal hospitality, and he dearly loved to see me, attired with all the elegance that his ample means could afford, presiding at his table, or moving among our guests, in his fond eyes 'the star of the goodly companie.'
"It was by the bedside of his dying sister, that I first met Walter Elmore. Effie had been a schoolmate of mine, and an intimate friendship had sprung up between us. Sisterless as I was, I had learned to cherish for her almost a sister's love. Soon after we left school, her father removed his residence from a distant part of the country to the city near which mine resided, and our girlish attachment was cemented and strengthened, as we entered, hand in hand, upon the duties and pleasures of early womanhood.
"Effie's constitution was naturally weak, and she had been subject from her childhood to a slight cough; but her friends gave little heed to it, as the buoyancy of her spirits and her unchanged demeanour seemed to preclude the idea of any seated complaint. But the destroyer came, and disease had made fearful havoc before we awoke to a sense of her danger. I was with her day and night for a few weeks, and then Effie Elmore, in her youth and loveliness, slept the 'sleep that knows no waking.'
"Her brother, of whom I had often heard her speak in terms of enthusiastic fondness, had been abroad, completing his studies, and I never met him until we stood, side by side, gazing upon the calm, still face of the beautiful being whom we both so tenderly loved.