“Good-by,” returned Clara, gazing after her retiring form, and almost envying her the happy spirit with which she was animated.
At the time the above conversation occurred, Oliver Barton was meditating on his encouraging success in the late trial, alone in the office where twice before we have seen him. There was a more than usual melancholy in the expression of his countenance. His head rested on his hand, and at intervals he would heave an involuntary sigh, as though his thoughts were of no agreeable nature. One would have concluded that some great misfortune, rather than triumphant success, had befallen him. At length he was roused from his reverie by the sound of rapid footsteps in the entry, and in another moment James Ashly had entered.
“Well, Oliver,” said he, “so you exerted your eloquence to some purpose. I knew when I saw your eye that you intended carrying all before you. But,” continued he, observing the dejected mood of his friend, “what is the matter—have you heard of the death of any near relative?”
“No,” answered Oliver, “I ought, I know, to be very happy.”
“You have cause to be so, certainly; then what has made you look like a man contemplating suicide.”
“Sit down, James,” said Oliver, in a calm tone, and composing himself as with an effort, “and I will tell you the cause; I confide in your friendship, because I know its sincerity. The truth is, my sentiments toward Miss Medford are not those of mere admiration, they are warmer; I feel that I love her,” and starting from his chair, he strode rapidly across the room.
“And, Oliver,” urged James, when the first surprise of so unexpected an announcement was over, “is it cause of grief to love a girl so amiable and beautiful as Miss Medford? You are already esteemed by her, and time may incline her heart to a more tender sentiment. There is but one short step between friendship and love. This suit is now so happily terminated—”
“You have named the most embittering reflection of all,” said Oliver, stopping before him and speaking earnestly; “by that decision the validity of a will is established, which deprives her of the right to dispose of her hand. By its mandate she must resign all; and what could I offer to compensate her for the sacrifice? The homage of my heart, and the devotion of my life, are worthless trifles. I knew, while striving to establish her rights, that if successful I sealed my own unhappiness, and forever cut off all hope of calling her mine. I even debated with myself whether I might not lose the case by mismanagement, and then win the heart of the trusting, beautiful Clara. It was a great conflict for a single moment, but the temptation yielded to a sense of honor and justice. Her cause triumphed; and at least I have the melancholy satisfaction left of knowing that I served the one I love.”
Oliver spoke with the eloquence of despair, and his friend listened, engrossed in astonishment and admiration.