“Only in telling me the truth, and in writing a few lines for me to one who is far away—not dreaming of the blow that is about to fall on him. Poor Arthur! My grief is now more for him than for myself. You are a friend of Mr. Mervin’s, Doctor. Write to him, and inform him of my marriage; and tell him that my last promise was inviolate. I was his, so long as a hope in life remained. You may tell him that there was no escape from this loveless marriage, and the sacrifice of life itself will test the truth of my affection for him. Now will you order me to Italy? that I may die amid the bland airs and lovely scenes which surround him. The consciousness that I am in the same land, will gild the remnant of my waning life.”
The physician was deeply touched. He saw that in her face which spoke to his heart of her rapidly approaching fate, and his voice faltered as he replied,
“You shall go to Italy—and I will fulfill your request. Mervin shall be apprised in the gentlest manner of all you desire. Would that I could serve or save you, but the wound lies too deep for my skill to reach.”
She smiled faintly. “It is a consolation to know that by the sacrifice of the frail remnant of my existence, I can secure to my young sister—to my parents, the enjoyment of a competence at least. Mr. Herbert has promised me that the wealth bequeathed to me by his father, on the condition that I became his bride, shall be secured to my sister, encumbered with an annuity to my parents. You probably know that the affairs of my father are inextricably involved, and this will be their only dependence; but, doctor, I have made one proviso, to screen my sweet Ellen from the misery that has been my portion. She is to enjoy the absolute right of choosing her partner for life herself.”
“These,” she continued, taking the parcel from the table, “are his letters. They are few—but very—very precious. Take them—destroy them—I cannot do it—and I would not have them returned to him. It would be too bitter to have the memorials of wasted affection thrown back on the heart from which they emanated.”
A few more weeks rolled by, and the sacrifice had been completed—the victim had been offered up at the shrine of selfishness and false pride.
The arrangements of Herbert were so liberal as to free Mr. Selwyn from all apprehensions for the future. He was not avaricious; and in his anxiety to please the fading bride his money had literally purchased, he was willing to lavish his fortune with a profuse hand. He loved Julia as much as his calm heart was capable of loving any thing; and in the sunny clime to which they were bound, he confidently looked forward to her recovery from the effects of what he called her slight cold. Her parents had never for an instant allowed him to suspect that, on her part, there was the least repugnance to the union; and she had coquetted with him so long, that she shrank from laying before his cold gaze, the history of her secret affection for his rival.
They embarked for Europe, and Julia bade a last farewell to the land of her birth. As its shores faded in the distance, she felt the sad conviction that her eyes had rested on them for the last time.
So far from renovating her exhausted frame, the sea-voyage had a contrary effect; and when they at last entered the bay of Naples, the young bride was carried on deck to breathe her last sigh in sight of the land which contained the unconscious Mervin.