A slight knock at the door interrupted her reading, and a young man of polished manners and handsome exterior presented himself. The new comer was about five-and-twenty, in a military undress, and bearing in his manner and looks a good deal of the martial profession. Notwithstanding the great change which the lapse from youth to manhood makes in his sex, it would not have been difficult for any who had known him in the former period, to trace in the countenance of the visiter the lineaments of his boyhood. There was the same brow, surmounted by its chestnut curls—the latter, it may be, a shade darker and a fold thicker; there was the same hazel eye, with its peculiarly thoughtful expression, and a lip which had preserved the native frankness of its smile. In short, the person entering was—but, reader, we will not anticipate Jessy Ellet in calling him by name.
She seemed slightly startled on recognizing him, but rose with a blush and extended her hand. No hue of rising or setting day was ever so lovely in the eyes of the young man as that blush was in his recollection, nor ever did enthusiastic visionary or poetic dreamer discover so many fanciful forms in the clouds.
He advanced and took her offered hand with more of tenderness than courtesy in his manner, for he held it a moment ere he resigned it.
Some little time had elapsed in a few commonplace remarks, when the gentleman drew his chair close to Jessy’s side. “Miss Ellett,” said he, “I have come this evening emboldened to pour into your ear the story of a long and devoted attachment.”
“Mr. Stanley,” interrupted the lady, blushing deeply, while the small hand which lay upon the edge of the table might have been seen slightly to tremble, “I cannot allow you to place yourself at the disadvantage of uttering any thing you might regret when you become acquainted with what I must have to reply in regard to any declaration of this kind.”
“Do not, I beseech you, Miss Ellet, say aught to dash my dearest earthly hopes. I had flattered myself —”
“I know what you would say,” rejoined the young lady, again interrupting him. “You mean that you had hoped—” and she hesitated an instant, “that you were not altogether indifferent to me. But what avails it whether or no this be the case, when I have that to reveal to you which may make you instantly withdraw your proffered affection?”
“No revelation that you could make would have the power to effect a change in the feelings of one who has known you so well.”
“Nay, wait until you hear what I have to tell. Know, then, that I am not what I appear.”
“Your language is enigmatical,” said her lover, looking at her bewildered; “but if it were possible for any human being to surpass in internal graces the loveliest outside, in that way I can believe that there is truth in your words.”