Never, never shall I forget the look with which she received me. Her color was more brilliant than I had ever seen it, but her eyes were dull and fixed, and a ghastly smile played round her mouth, as she bade me enter; but the expression of her forehead, if I may use such a term, shocked me more than all else. It seemed to have grown old—twenty years in advance of the rest of her face. It was wrinkled, and literally old, with the agony of thought she endured.
“Ellen,” said she, in the same hollow tone with which she had addressed me at the door, “Ellen, I have sent for you, to ask you where is now all my boasted firmness; where my pride, my dignity? Ah, Ellen! I was never tried before. You think me calm—despair makes me so. I did not arrive at despair even without a hard struggle; and now, my heart, full freighted as it was with the fondest hopes girl ever cherished, lies crushed and dying beneath the waves of that gloom which will henceforth be my portion in life.” She ceased, and for a moment stood silent; then suddenly looking up, she said in a calmer voice, “I am very silly to talk in this way to you. Do not weep, dear Ellen; you see I can bear my sorrow without weeping. Read my answer, and tell me how you like it.” Mechanically I took the paper she handed me. Through my tears I read the following concise letter: —
“Miss Grahame presents her compliments to Mr. Noel, and is extremely happy that she has it in her power to gratify him. Mr. Noel might have spared himself any anxiety on the occasion, as, had he known Miss Grahame better, he would have felt sure that she would never have laid a serious claim to a midshipman’s promise, made to a thoughtless school-girl. He will, therefore, accept Miss Grahame’s congratulations on the prospect of felicity before him; and believe that no better wishes will follow him and his bride to the altar than will be offered by her.
“Lily Grove, June 2d.”
And this was the letter. Not one word of the breaking-heart; not a word of the anguish that had so wrung her gentle spirit that day. Ah, Evelyn! I did not mistake you, noble girl. I have since entertained a different opinion of that letter. It was sent, and for a day or two Evelyn was as cheerful, apparently, as usual; but I saw the effort with which she concealed her grief, and anxiously watched her. Gradually, however, her calmness left her, and she would sometimes give way to bursts of grief, fearful to behold. This continued until she received letters from home, urging her return, as Sarah and Arthur were soon to be married. There was no scorn on her lips as she read Sarah’s account of her approaching nuptials; but the words were perused again and again, and she seemed to drink in every syllable as if it were her last draught of happiness.
I must now hasten to the close of my sad tale. A friend of Mr. Grahame called on us a few days after Evelyn had received the letters urging her return, and informed her that he was about starting for Mobile, and would be pleased to act as her escort home. To my surprise, she excused herself by saying she still hoped her father would come on, and she would prefer waiting for him. When the gentleman left, she said to me, “Ellen, I do not wish to go until all is over, I can then meet them calmly, but now it would be impossible.”
Sarah was married without her, for Arthur had his own reasons for urging the matter. It will be remembered that no one but myself knew of Eva’s unfortunate attachment, and therefore there was no restraint in the letters she afterward received, giving a description of the wedding, and the happiness of the newly married pair. Alas! could one of them have seen the change that had come over Evelyn, happiness must have fled. A few weeks of misery had made sad havoc among the roses of her cheeks. She was now pale and drooping, her step had lost its lightness, and she seldom smiled.
As soon as the news of the marriage reached her, she made preparations for her return, and an opportunity offering shortly afterward, she left me, promising to write as soon as she reached home. I remember looking after her as she walked down the lawn, and wondering if I should ever see her again. Little did I then think how and where I should see her. I never received the promised letter from her, but one from her mother informed me of what I am about to relate. Arthur Noel had expected to leave for New Orleans a few days after his marriage; but an unexpected summons to attend as witness on a court-martial, then in progress in Mobile, detained him; and he and his wife were still at Mrs. Grahame’s when Eva arrived. She had not been expected until the next day. The family were all assembled in the drawing-room, when the door was thrown open, and the old negro porter exultingly announced, “Miss Evelyn.” All sprung forward, except Arthur, and he stood spell-bound. Evelyn advanced hastily into the room, but as soon as her eye fell upon him, her early, her only loved—a shriek, so wild, so shrill, burst from her lips, that none present ever forgot it. With one bound she was at his side, and looking into his face with an expression of wo impossible to describe, she faltered out his name, and sunk senseless on the floor, for Arthur had no power to move. It was no time now for Mrs. Grahame and Sarah to inquire into the meaning of this. Arthur was aroused to lend his aid in placing the prostrate girl on a sofa. A physician was sent for, but she lay insensible for many hours; and when she did awake, it was only to make those who loved her so fondly, more wretched. Reason, which for weeks had been tottering on her throne, had fled forever—and Evelyn Grahame, the lovely, the idolized daughter, was a raving maniac!
It was in the Spring of ——, two years after the events related above, that, with a party of friends, I visited the city of ——. The morning after my arrival, the servant brought me up a card, and said a gentleman was waiting in the drawing-room to see me. I read the name—it was “Arthur Noel, U. S. Navy.” I started, and almost fainted. That name! how vividly it recalled the past. Eva, my never-forgotten friend, stood again before me in all her pride of beauty, and then—I shuddered, and dared not end my reflection. A hope, however, soon rose in my breast that Arthur might bring me cheering news; and with a lighter heart I descended the stairs. I had never seen Mr. Noel, but Evelyn had often described him to me; and I expected to see a very handsome man. What was my astonishment, therefore, when I entered the room, to behold a tall, pale, haggard-looking man, with a countenance so sad, that I almost trembled as I looked at him.