"Yes; and Philip tried to have an explanation with me then; but he could not, for there were so many people about. He was determined, he said, this time not to see my father until he had spoken to me, and he asked me when he could see me alone for a little while. I told him we had been talking of visiting Nannie and Bettie for some time, and he said he would accompany us, as they were cousins of his, too—Virginia cousins, that is, not very near ones."
"What can be your father's objection to Mr. Marshall?" asked I.
"None at all to him; it is to his profession. He wants me settled near him. He says I am not strong enough to bear the wandering life and hardships I shall have to encounter as an officer's wife. I hope, though, that he will give his consent, now that he sees by our constancy how much we really do like each other. Just think, dear, until to-day, I have hardly had five minutes' uninterrupted conversation with Philip since I was eleven, and our engagement was never alluded to; and yet I never thought of liking any one else, and I was sure his feelings were unchanged; though, of course, until he told me so, I could not speak of it even to my dearest friend."
Before Virginia had finished her little romance, my feelings of annoyance were all lost in sympathy, and we passed the greater part of the night discussing the manner in which Mr. Percy would receive Mr. Marshall's third communication. Virginia seemed to have but little doubt of her father's consent, and neither had I; for I had not yet met a Southern father who had seemed able to refuse any child of his whatever she had fixed her heart upon.
But in this case we were both disappointed. Mr. Percy, usually calm and indulgent, seemed irritated and displeased to an uncommon degree when Mr. Marshall urged his request. He reminded the young officer that he was entirely dependent on his pay, which Mr. Percy said he considered barely enough for one person; told him that, owing to an unfortunate speculation in buying a plantation in Arkansas, which had turned out badly, and to the failure of his cotton crop for the last two years, he had become very much embarrassed, so that he should not be able to assist his daughter, if she married, for some time. He ended by repeating his former decision that, accustomed as Virginia had been to the ease and indulgences of a settled home, he was sure she could never endure the discomforts of a roving life. When she was twenty-one, she might judge for herself; until that time, he wished never to hear the subject mentioned again.
Mr. Marshall was very indignant, and tried to persuade Virginia to renew her engagement with him without her father's knowledge; but to this she would not consent, and he was soon afterwards obliged to return to his post.
Virginia was almost heartbroken at this sudden rupture of a tie that had been formed in her earliest childhood, and strengthened with every subsequent year. I tried to persuade her that the three years which were to intervene before she could make her own decision would pass very quickly; but, hardly heeding my reasonings, she gave herself up to hopeless despair. She was sure, she said, her father never would consent to her union with Philip, and she would never marry without it. Besides, she did not expect to live to be twenty-one. Long before that time she should be in her grave.
At first, I paid no attention to these dismal forebodings, thinking them only the natural expressions of an affectionate heart suffering under such a great disappointment. But gradually I began to fear that they should be realized. She would not eat, and grew pale and pined, and her countenance began to wear an unearthly look of patient sorrow and resignation that I never observed without a pang. I knew that her parents had noticed the alteration in Virginia's health and spirits, for hardly a week passed that some pleasant little excursion or journey was not proposed to her. And thus the long warm summer wore away.
One afternoon, late in September, I received a note from her, saying that she had just returned from a visit to the Mammoth Cave, and would like to see me, to tell me about it. As I had not seen her for three weeks, I hastened to Mr. Percy's immediately, and running up to her room, entered without knocking at the half-open door.
Virginia was sitting in the full light of an afternoon sun, whose rays were streaming in unobstructed by shutters or curtain, seemingly as if the occupant of the room had lost all thought of bodily comfort. Her eyes were fixed on a white cloud floating in the distant sky, and as the wind lifted the heavy bands of hair from her pallid temples, she looked so spiritualized and incorporeal, that I should hardly have been surprised if she had floated out to mingle with the clouds on which she was gazing.