Frederic Westbury was an only child. He never enjoyed the advantages of maternal instruction, impressed on the heart by maternal tenderness—for his mother died before he was three years old, and all recollection of her had faded from his memory. Judge Westbury was one of the most amiable, one of the best of men; but with regard to the management of his son, he was too much like the venerable Israelitish priest. His son, like other sons, often did that which was wrong, ‘and he restrained him not.’ He was neither negligent in teaching, nor in warning; but instruction and discipline did not, as they ever should do, go hand-in-hand; and for want of this discipline, Frederic grew up with passions uncontrolled—with a will unsubdued. He received a finished education, and his mind, which was of a high order, was richly stored with knowledge. His pride of character was great, and he looked down with contempt on all that was dishonorable or vicious. He had a chivalrous generosity, and a frankness of disposition that led him to detest concealment or deceit. He loved or hated with his whole soul. In person he was elegant; his countenance was marked with high intellect and strong feeling; and he had the bearing of a prince. Such was Frederic Westbury at the age of four-and-twenty.
About a year before his marriage, Frederic became acquainted with Maria Eldon, a young lady of great beauty of person, and fascination of manner, who at once enslaved his affections. But against Miss Eldon, Judge Westbury had conceived a prejudice, and for once in his life was obstinate in refusing to indulge his son in the wish of his heart. He foresaw, or thought he did so, the utter ruin of that son's happiness, should he so ally himself. He had selected a wife for his son, a daughter-in-law for himself, more to his own taste. Julia Horton was possessed of all that he thought valuable or fascinating in woman. Possibly Frederic might have thought so too, had he known her, ere his heart was in possession of another; but being pointed out to him as the one to whom he must transfer his affections, he looked on her with aversion as the chief obstacle to the realization of his wishes. Julia was born, and had been educated, in a place remote from Judge Westbury's residence; but from her infancy he had seen her from time to time, as business led him into that part of the country in which her parents resided. In her childhood she entwined herself around the heart of the Judge; and from that period he had looked on her as the future wife of his son. His views and wishes, however, were strictly confined to his own breast, until, to his dismay, he found that his son's affections were entangled. This discovery was no sooner made than he wrote a pressing letter to Julia, who was now an orphan, to come and make him a visit of a few weeks. The reason he gave for inviting her was, that his health was rapidly declining, (which was indeed too true,) and he felt that her society would be a solace to his heart. Julia came; she saw Frederic; heard his enlightened conversation; observed his polished manners; remarked the lofty tone of his feelings; and giving the reins to her fancy, without consulting reason or prudence, she loved him. Too late for her security, but too soon for her peace, she learned that he loved another. Dreading lest she should betray her folly to the object of her unsought affection, she wished immediately to return to her native place. But to this Judge Westbury would not listen. He soon discovered the state of her feelings, and it gave him unmingled satisfaction. It augured well for the success of his dearest earthly hope; and as his strength was rapidly declining, consumption having fastened her deadly fangs upon him, to hasten him to the grave, he gave his whole mind to the accomplishment of his design. At first his son listened to the subject with undisguised impatience; but his feelings softened as he saw his father sinking to the tomb; and, in an unguarded hour, he promised him that he would make Julia his wife. Judge Westbury next exerted himself to obtain a promise from Julia that she would accept the hand of his son; and he rested not until they had mutually plighted their faith at his bed-side. To Frederic this was a moment of unmingled misery. He saw that his father was dying, and felt himself constrained to promise his hand to one woman, while his heart was in possession of another.
Julia's emotions were of the most conflicting character. To be the plighted bride of the man she loved, made her heart throb with joy, and her faith in his father's assurance that she would win his affections, sustained her hope, that his prediction would be verified. Yet when she marked the countenance of her future husband, her heart sank within her. She could not flatter herself into the belief, that its unmingled gloom arose solely from grief at the approaching death of his father. She felt that he was making a sacrifice of his fondest wishes at the shrine of filial duty.
Judge Westbury died; and with almost his parting breath, he pronounced a blessing upon Julia as his daughter—the wife of his son—most solemnly repeating his conviction that she would soon secure the heart of her husband!
Immediately on the decease of her friend and father, Julia returned home, and in three months Frederic followed her to fulfil his promise. He was wretched, and would have given a world, had he possessed it, to be free from his engagement. But that could never be. His word had been given to his father, and must be religiously redeemed. “I will make her my wife,” thought he; “I promised my father that I would. Thank heaven, I never promised him that I would love her!” Repugnant as such an union was to his feelings, he was really impatient to have it completed; for as his idea of his duty and obligation went not beyond the bare act of making her his wife, he felt that, that once done, he should be comparatively a free man.
“I am come,” said he to Julia, “to fulfil my engagement. Will you name a day for the ceremony?”
His countenance was so gloomy, his manners so cold—so utterly destitute of tenderness or kindly feeling, that something like terror seized Julia's heart; and without making any reply, she burst into tears.
“Why these tears, Miss Horton?” said he. “Our mutual promise was given to my father; it is fit we redeem it.”
“No particular time was specified,” said Julia timidly, and with a faltering voice. “Is so much haste necessary?”
“My father wished that no unnecessary delay should be made,” said Frederic, “and I can see no reason why we should not as well be married now, as at any future period. If you consult my wishes, you will name an early day.”