Mary meant to keep her word, but the fates were too strong for her.
Among her relatives there was a young man—a second cousin, I believe—whose society she greatly enjoyed; for he was well-read, naturally bright, and a capital talker. He had studied law, and, in fact, been admitted to the bar; but he was not strong enough for that laborious profession, and, being an ardent student, soon broke down. During Mary’s stay at Elmington he had had an alarming hemorrhage. This visitation (it had occurred on Christmas Day, too) he looked upon as a call to the ministry, to use the language of the period. And so the man whom she had left, two months before, a bright ambitious young lawyer, she found, on her return, an exceedingly serious theological student.
In Virginia, the relations existing between cousins of opposite sex are pleasanter, I believe, than in most other parts of the world. At any rate, these two were almost like brother and sister.
What kind of man was this Don? and, most important of all, in his eyes, how did he stand as to the question of questions? It was some time before he got the whole truth out of Mary; partly because she was loath to tell it, partly because, as a Virginian of the period, it was difficult for him to take it in. But it dawned on him by degrees, and gave him all the greater concern, knowing Mary, as he did, so thoroughly. Mary had, in fact, made an exception of him in her sceptical days, and told him everything. And now again (when once the ice was broken) she was as unreserved. She felt that her heart would burst if she could not pour forth her troubles into some sympathetic ear. She had Alice, it is true; but there are many things which a woman would sooner say to a man than to one of her own sex.
And especially, during these conferences, was she never tired of sketching the Don. But, as line after line of his character came out in bolder and bolder relief, more and more convinced became her cousin that it would be a fatal blunder on Mary’s part to unite her destiny with that of this man, whose convictions were as firm as they were objectionable. It was easy to see who would lead and who follow in such partnership.
And at first he had joined the crusade against the erroneous tenets of the Don: lending books and suggesting arguments to Mary; but he soon gave up even the slender hopes he at first had of success, and from that day, to Alice’s great indignation, left no stone unturned to induce Mary to break with her lover.
And his words had great weight with Mary. His strength was rapidly failing. The hectic flush on his wan cheeks and the unnatural lustre of his eyes showed but too plainly that he was not long for this world; and his hollow voice seemed to Mary, at times, almost a warning from the next. Between him and Alice it was an even battle; victory inclining first to one standard and then to the other. Just at the present juncture she is perched on Alice’s banner. For Mary has promised to let Hume and Voltaire take care of themselves for the future; and, since logic had failed, to trust to love.
She slept well that night, and awoke next morning blithe and gay. Awoke singing rather than sighing. Her song was short.
That evening her cousin came. She told him of her resolution. He seemed unusually ill that day; and whether from that cause (he coughed a good deal) or because he deemed it useless to remonstrate, he said little, and soon took his leave, giving her, as he bade her good-night, a look full of affectionate compassion.
Two or three days after this, on Sunday, Mary took her seat in her mother’s pew, nestling in her accustomed corner. I hardly think she heard much of the service; and when the pastor gave out chapter and verse (of his sermon), his voice fell upon her outward ear merely. Her thoughts were far away.