“After those occurrences, my mind was too perturbed to allow me to attend to the duties of my function, I surrendered my living, left that part of the country, and retired to this spot, where unknown and unmolested, I may brood over my losses, and where I frequently picture to myself the terminating scene.”
Exquisite were the sensations of grief and horror, which this little tale excited in our breasts; to my feelings was added a painful degree of surprise from the name of Mordaunt, I enquired, though in accents of dread and hesitation, and learned he was the destroyer of Hume’s happiness.
Our visits were frequently repeated to the cottage of the unfortunate old man, to me they were inexpressibly soothing, from kindred grief there was derived a congenial sympathy.
Two years had rolled away since my retirement in Harley’s cottage, when I was called down one morning to a gentleman in the parlour, my heart trembled at the summons, and my tottering limbs could scarcely support me to the spot. A stranger in deep mourning met my view, I gazed attentively on him, and recollected the features of my brother, grief had so altered my form, so worn away all traces of my former self, that he knew me not, till my weak voice pronounced his name.
“Ah my sister,” cried he, “think not your brother could ever forget your gentle worth, could ever think you deserving of censure, or like the world be biassed by misfortune to forget you, a father’s interdiction prevented me ere this, visiting your retreat, that father no longer exists to oppose my intentions, he died convinced of your innocence, and breathing wishes for your felicity. Harland, the penitent Harland is no more, sensible of the injustice he had done you, he acknowledged his cruelty, and has by his death, restored you to fame, to fortune, and to your child.”
I wept as my brother spoke—my heart was opprest by a variety of emotions, and my gloomy soul turned to the untimely grave of Harland—my brother conjectured my feelings—“I see” cried he, “from what a mingled source your tears flow, but ah my sister, in this life happiness must ever receive some alloy.”
His consolations strengthened my reason in combating grief—I reflected that even if Harland lived, to me he must have been lost, since after the unfortunate rencontre between him and my husband, a connection with him would have confirmed an invidious world in every idea they had formed prejudicial to me.
He was soon struck by the charms and innocent simplicity of Louisa, her heart returned his partiality, and I had the happiness of witnessing their union.
Their happiness, the education of my child, and self-exertion, roused me from the lethargy of grief, and diffused a calm over my mind I never hoped to have experienced.