Eveline Mandeville | Page 8

his
breast?
There lay his precious child before him, prostrated by his own act,
hovering on the very brink of the grave, life trembling on a breath--and
he, oh, he might never whisper a word of comfort in her ear! Poor man!
For all this there was no repentance in his soul; it was only regret and
remorse--but oh, remorse how bitter! Not that his belief was changed as
to the guilt and innocence of the parties, for he still had confidence in
Duffel, and was fully persuaded of Hadley's evil intentions. He was
glad that the designs of the latter had been frustrated, but blamed
himself for the manner in which it had been done.
But the reflections of the unhappy man, whether of reproach, sorrow, or
regret, were ended for the time by another phase in the ever-changing
condition of the invalid. In tones expressive of the deepest
wretchedness, the daughter, once more arousing from the stupor of
exhaustion, would piteously exclaim, in low, sad accents, whose
inexpressible woe pierced the afflicted watcher's heart as with scorpion
daggers:
"Gone! gone!--gone without a parting word or look! Gone, and my
aching eyes shall behold him no more! Gone, and the darkness comes
over me! Oh, this horrid gloom!--this load on my heart! Father! Charles!
why do you both leave me in this dreadful place?"
"Eveline, Eveline, my dear; your father is here; he has not left you; see,
I am by you; give me your hand."
"Did somebody call me? Who is there?"
"It is I, my child, your father. Come with me; let me lead you from this

place."
"Ah, it's a strange voice! I hoped it was dear father or Charles; but, no,
no, Charles was driven away; he is gone forever! Oh, my poor
heart!--and father, he has left me too: they are gone, and I shall die here.
Oh, what will father say when he finds me dead? Well, it is best that he
is away, for now he will not know that he has killed me. Poor, dear,
kind father! I would so much like to say farewell before I go. It might
be some consolation for him to know when I am gone that I love him
still!"
Every word of these last sentences went to the father's heart. How
strong must be that affection which could still cling to him so tenderly,
though he had committed such an outrage upon her feelings with regard
to another! The distressed sire bowed his head and smote his breast.
Then he knelt down by the bedside and prayed. It was the first prayer
he had offered up for years; but, oh! how earnestly he suplicated that
his child might be spared to him. In his agonized pleading, so great was
the commotion in his spirit and the emotions of his heart, that tears, the
first that had bedewed his eyes since the death of his wife, streamed
down his face. May we not hope that his prayer was heard? But the
horrors of the sick room were not yet over. Eveline kept sleeping and
waking, or rather, she lay in a state of stupor or raved in a delirium of
fever, with occasional intervals of quiet, which sometimes lasted for
hours, and excited delusive hopes in the heart of the father, that she was
better, only to plunge him again into doubt and fear when the fever fit
returned. He arose from his knees, and bending over his child,
imprinted kiss after kiss, "with all a mother's tenderness," upon her
brow and lips. O, how rejoiced would he have been could those kisses
have conveyed to her an understanding of his feelings at that moment!
How a knowledge of his affection would have gladdened her heart! But,
no; for all the return manifested, he might as well have pressed his lips
to cold marble. After a time, the fever returned in violence, and she
resumed her distempered and broken discourse:
"Never! never! I will stay with you, if you wish me to; but marry
Duffel, I never will! Force me to? No, father, you cannot! You may

drive me from your house; you may turn me off and disown me, but
you cannot make me perjure myself before God at the altar. No, father,
I will obey you in all else; in this I cannot, and will not. If I were to go
and forswear my soul in the solemn rites of marriage, my adored
mother would weep over me in sorrow, if angels can weep in heaven.
No, never, never!"
"My child, my dear Eveline," said the father, tenderly endeavoring to
quiet her, "you need not fear that your father will be so cruel"--and he
laid his hand gently upon her, to assure her of his