Chapter 3

Your marriage day is appointed; it was
appointed under the fairest prospects; by the failure of Alonzo's
father, those prospects have become deeply darkened, if not totally
obliterated.

"To commit your fortune through life, to a person unable to support you,
would be hazardous in the extreme. The marriage day can at least be
suspended; perhaps something more favourable may appear.--At any rate,
I have too much confidence in your discretion, to suppose that you will,
by any rash act, bring either poverty or reproach upon yourself or your
connexions." Thus spake my father, and immediately withdrew.

"In our present dilemma, said Alonzo, what is proper to be done?"

"It is difficult to determine, replied Melissa. Should my father
expressly forbid our union, he will go all lengths to carry his commands
into effect. Although a tender parent, he is violent in his prejudices,
and resolute in his purposes. I would advise you to call at my father's
house tomorrow, with your usual freedom. Whatever may be the event,
I shall deal sincerely with you. Mr. and Mrs. Vincent are now my only
confidants. From them you will be enabled to obtain information, should
I be debarred from seeing you. I am frequently here; they told me they
expected you, but at what day was not known. Mrs. Vincent has been my
friend and associate from my earliest years. Vincent you know. In them
we can place the utmost confidence. My reliance on Providence, I trust,
will never be shaken; but my future prospects, at present, are dark and
gloomy."

"Let us not despair, answered Alonzo; perhaps those gloomy clouds which
now hover around us, will yet be dissipated by the bright beams of joy.
Innocence and virtue are the cares of Heaven. There lies my hope.
To-morrow, as you propose, I will call at your father's."

Melissa now prepared to return home; a whippoorwill tuned its nightly
song at a little distance; but the sound, late so cheerful and
sprightly, now passed heavily over their hearts.

When Alonzo returned, Vincent unfolded the plan he had projected.
"No sooner, said he, was I informed of your misfortunes, than I was
convinced that Melissa's father would endeavour to dissolve your
intended union with his daughter. I have known him many years, and
however he may dote on his children, or value their happiness, he will
not hesitate to sacrifice his other feelings to the acquirement of
riches. It appeared that you had but one resource left. You and Melissa
are now united by the most solemn ties--by every rite except those which
are merely ceremonial. These I would advise you to enter into, and trust
to the consequences. Mrs. Vincent has proposed the scheme to Melissa;
but implicitly accustomed to filial obedience, she shudders at the idea
of a clandestine marriage. But when her father shall proceed to rigorous
measures, she will, I think, consent to the alternative. And this
measure, once adopted, her father must consent also; or, if not, you
secure your own happiness, and, what you esteem more, that of Melissa."

"But you must be sensible of my inability to support her as she
deserves, replied Alonzo, even should she consent to it."

"The world is before you, answered Vincent; you have friends, you have
acquirements which will not fail you. In a country like this, you can
hardly fail of obtaining a competency, which, with the other requisites,
will ensure your independence and felicity."

Alonzo informed Vincent what had been agreed upon between Melissa and
himself, respecting his visiting her on the morrow; "after which, he
said, we will discourse further on the subject."

The next day Alonzo repaired to the house of Melissa's father. As he
approached he saw Melissa sitting in a shady recess at one end of the
garden near which the road passed. She was leaning with her head upon
her hand, in a pensive posture; a deep dejection was depicted upon her
features, which enlivened into a transient glow as soon as she saw
Alonzo. She arose, met him, and invited him into the house.

Alonzo was received with a cool reserve by all except Melissa. Her
father saluted him with a distant and retiring bow, as he passed with
Melissa to her room. As soon as they were seated, a maiden aunt, who had
doubled her teens, outlived many of her suiters, and who had lately come
to reside with the family, entered, and seated herself by the window,
alternately humming a tune, and impudently staring at Alonzo, without
speaking a word, except snappishly, to contradict Melissa in any thing
she advanced, which the latter passed off with only a faint smile.

This interruption was not of long continuance. Melissa's father entered,
and requested the two ladies to withdraw, which was instantly done. He
then addressed Alonzo as follows:----"When I gave consent for you to
marry my daughter, it was on the conviction that your future resources
would be adequate to support her honourably and independently.
Circumstances have since taken place, which render this point extremely
doubtful. Parental duty and affection demand that I should know your
means and prospects before I sanction a proceeding which may reduce my
child to penury and to want."

He paused for a reply, but Alonzo was silent. He continued--"You
yourself must acknowledge, that to burthen yourself with the expense of
a family; to transfer a woman from affluence to poverty, without even an
object in view to provide for either, would be the height of folly and
extravagance." Again he paused, but Alonzo was still silent. He
proceeded--"Could you, Alonzo, suffer life, when you see the wife of
your bosom, probably your infant children, pining in misery for want of
bread? And what else have you to expect if you marry in your present
situation? You have friends and well wishers; but which of them will
advance you four or five thousand pounds, as a gratuity? My daughter
must be supported according to her rank and standing in life. Are you
enabled to do this? If not, you cannot reasonably suppose that I shall
consent to your marrying her. You may say that your acquirements, your
prudence, and your industry, will procure you a handsome support. This
well may do in single life; but to depend on these for the future
exigencies of a family, is hazarding peace, honour and reputation, at a
single game of chance. If, therefore, you have no resources or
expectation but such as these, your own judgment will teach you the
necessity of immediately relinquishing all pretensions to the hand of
Melissa"--and immediately left the room.

Why was Alonzo speechless through the whole of this discourse?--What
reply could he have made? What were the prospects before him but penury,
want, misery, and woe! Where, indeed, were the means by which Melissa
was to be shielded from poverty, if connected with his fortunes. The
idea was not new, but it came upon him with redoubled anguish. He arose
and looked around for Melissa, but she was not to be seen. He left the
house, and walked slowly towards Vincent's. At a little distance he met
Melissa, who had been strolling in an adjoining avenue. He informed her
of all that had passed; it was no more than they both expected, yet it
was a shock their fortitude could scarcely sustain. Disappointment
seldom finds her votaries prepared to receive her.

Melissa told Alonzo, that her father's determinations were unchangeable;
that his sister (the before mentioned maiden lady) held a considerable
influence over him, and dictated the concerns of the family; and that
from her, there was nothing to hope in their favour. Her mother, she
said, was her friend, but could not contradict the will of her father.
Her brother would be at home in a few days; how he would act on this
occasion she was unable to say: but were he even their friend he would
have but feeble influence with her father and aunt. "What is to be the
end of these troubles, continued Melissa, it is impossible to foresee.
Let us trust in the mercy of heaven and submit to its dispensations."

Alonzo and Melissa, in their happier days, had, when absent,
corresponded by letters. This method it was now thought best to
relinquish. It was agreed that Alonzo should come frequently to
Vincent's, where Melissa would meet him as she could find opportunities.
Having concluded on this, Melissa returned home, and Alonzo to the house
of his friend.

Vincent, after Alonzo had related the manner of his reception at
Melissa's father's, urged the plan he had projected of a private
marriage. Alonzo replied, that even should Melissa consent to it, which
he much doubted, it must be a measure of the last resort, and adopted
only when all others became fruitless.

The next morning Alonzo returned to the hut where his aged parents now
dwelt. His bosom throbbed with keen anguish. His own fate, unconnected
with that of Melissa, he considered of little consequence. But their
united situation tortured his soul.--What was to become of Melissa, what
of himself, what of his parents!--"Alas, said Alonzo, I now perceive
what it is to want the good things of this life."

Alonzo's father was absent when he arrived, but returned soon after.
A beam of joy gleamed upon his withered countenance as he entered the
house. "Were it not, Alonzo, for your unhappy situation, said he, we
should once more be restored to peace and comfort. A few persons who
were indebted to me, finding that I was to be sacrificed by my unfeeling
creditors, reserved those debts in their hands, and have now paid me,
amounting to something more than five hundred pounds. With this I have
purchased a small, but well cultivated farm, with convenient tenements.
I have enough left to purchase what stock and other materials I need;
and to spare some for your present exigencies, Alonzo."

Alonzo thanked his father for his kindness, but told him that from his
former liberality he had yet sufficient for his wants, and that he
should soon find business which would amply support him. "But your
affair with Melissa, asked his father, how is that likely to terminate?"
"Favourably, I hope, sir," answered Alonzo. He could not consent to
disturb the tranquillity of his parents by reciting his own
wretchedness.

A week passed away. Alonzo saw his parents removed to their little farm,
which was to be managed by his father and a hired man. He saw them
comfortably seated; he saw them serenely blest in the calm pleasures of
returning peace, and a ray of joy illuminated his troubled bosom.

"Again the youth his wonted life regain'd,
A transient sparkle in his eye obtain'd,
A bright, impassion'd cheering glow, express'd
The pleas'd sensation of his tender breast:
But soon dark glooms the feeble smiles o'erspread;
Like morn's gay hues, the fading splendours fled;
Returning anguish froze his feeling soul,
Deep sighs burst forth, and tears began to roll."

He thought of Melissa, from whom he had heard nothing since he last saw
her.--He thought of the difficulties which surrounded him. He thought of
the barriers which were opposed to his happiness and the felicity of
Melissa, and he set out for the house of Vincent.

* * * * *

Alonzo arrived at the residence of Vincent near the close of the day.
Vincent and his lady were at tea with several young ladies who had
passed the afternoon with Mrs. Vincent. Alonzo cast an active glance
around the company, in hopes to find Melissa, but she was not there. He
was invited and accepted a seat at table. After tea Vincent led him into
an adjoining room. "You have come in good time, said he. Something must
speedily be done, or you lose Melissa forever. The day after you were
here, her father received a letter from Beauman, in which, after
mentioning the circumstance of your father's insolvency, he hinted that
the consequence would probably be a failure of her proposed marriage
with you, which might essentially injure the reputation of a lady of her
standing in life; to prevent which, and to place her beyond the reach of
calumny, he offered to marry her at any appointed day, provided he had
her free consent.

"As Beauman, by the recent death of his father, had been put in
possession of a splendid fortune, the proposition allured her father,
who wrote him a complaisant answer, with an invitation to his house.--He
then strove to extort a promise from Melissa, that she would break off
all connexion with you, see you no more, and admit the addresses of
Beauman.

"To this she could not consent. She urged, that by the consent of her
parents she was engaged to you by the most sacred ties. That to her
father's will she had hitherto yielded implicit obedience, but that
hastily to break the most solemn obligation, formed and sanctioned by
his approbation and direction, was what her conscience would not permit
her to do. Were he to command her to live single, life might be endured;
but to give her hand to any except you, would be to perjure those
principles of truth and justice which he himself had ever taught her to
hold most inviolable.--Her father grew outrageous; charged her with
disobedience, with a blind inconsiderate perverseness, by which she
would bring ruin upon herself, and indelible disgrace upon her family.
She answered only with her tears. Her mother interposed, and endeavoured
to appease his anger; but he spurned her from him, and rushed out of the
room, uttering a threat that force should succeed persuasion, if his
commands were not obeyed. To add to Melissa's distress, Beauman arrived
at her father's yesterday; and I hope, in some measure to alleviate it.
Edgar, her brother, came this morning.--Mrs. Vincent has dispatched a
message to inform Melissa of your arrival, and to desire her to come
here immediately. She will undoubtedly comply with the invitation, if
not prevented by something extraordinary. I should have written you had
I not hourly expected you."

Mrs. Vincent now came to the door of the room and beckoned to her
husband, who went out, but immediately returned, leading in Melissa
after which he retired. "Oh, Alonzo!" was all she could say, and burst
into tears. Alonzo led her to a seat, gently pressed her hand, and
mingled his tears with hers, but was unable to speak.--Recovering at
length, he begged her to moderate her grief. "Where, said he, is your
fortitude and your firmness, Melissa, which I have so often seen
triumphing over affliction?" Her extreme anguish prevented a reply.
Deeply affected and alarmed at the storm of distress which raged in her
bosom, he endeavoured to console her, though consolation was a stranger
to his own breast. "Let us not, Melissa, said he, increase our flood of
affliction by a tide of useless sorrow. Perhaps more prosperous days are
yet in reserve for us;--happiness may yet be ours." "Never, never! she
exclaimed. Oh, what will become of me!" "Heaven cannot desert you, said
Alonzo; as well might it desert its angels. This thorny and gloomy path
may lead to fair fields of light and verdure. Tempests are succeeded by
calms; wars end in peace; the splendours of the brightest morning arise
on the wings of blackest midnight.----Troubles will not always last.
Life at most is short. Death comes to the relief of the virtuous
wretched, and transports them to another and better world, where sighing
and sorrows cease, and the tempestuous passions of life are known no
more."

The rage of grief which had overwhelmed Melissa began now to subside, as
the waves of the ocean gradually cease their tumultuous commotion, after
the turbulent winds are laid asleep. Deep sobs and long drawn sighs
succeeded to a suffocation of tears. The irritation of her feelings had
caused a more than usual glow upon her cheek, which faded away as she
became composed, until a livid paleness spread itself over her features.
Alonzo feared that the delicacy of her constitution would fall a
sacrifice to the sorrow which preyed upon her heart, if not speedily
alleviated;--but alas! where were the means of alleviation?

She informed him that her father had that evening ordered her to become
the wife of Beauman. He told her that her disobedience was no longer to
be borne.--"No longer, said he, will I tamper with your perverseness:
you are determined to be poor, wretched and contemptible. I will compel
you to be rich, happy, and respected. You suffer the _Jack-a-lantern_
fancy to lead you into swamps and quagmires, when, did you but follow
the fair light of reason, it would conduct you to honour and real
felicity. There are happiness and misery at your choice.

"Marry Beauman, and you will roll in your coach, flaunt in your silks;
your furniture and your equipage are splendid, your associates are of
the first character, and your father rejoices in your prosperity.

"Marry Alonzo, you sink into obscurity, are condemned to drudgery,
poorly fed, worse clothed, and your relations and acquaintances shun and
despise you. The comparison I have here drawn between Beauman and Alonzo
is a correct one; for even the wardrobe of the former is of more value
than the whole fortune of the latter.

"I give you now two days to consider the matter; at the end of that time
I shall expect your decision, and hope you will decide discretely. But
remember that you become the wife of Beauman, or you are no longer
acknowledged as my daughter."

"Thus, said Melissa, did my father pronounce his determination, which
shook my frame, and chilled with horror every nerve of my heart, and
immediately left me.

"My aunt added her taunts to his severities, and Beauman interfered with
his ill-timed consolation. My mother and Edgar ardently strove to allay
the fever of my soul, and mitigate my distress. But the stroke was
almost too severe for my nature. Habituated only to the smiles of my
father, how could I support his frowns?--Accustomed to receive his
blessings alone, how could I endure his sudden malediction."

Description would fail in painting the sensations of Alonzo's bosom, at
this recital of woe. But he endeavoured to mitigate her sorrows by the
consolation of more cheering prospects and happier hours.

Vincent and his lady now came into the room. They strenuously urged the
propriety and the necessity of Alonzo and Melissa's entering into the
bands of wedlock immediately. "The measure would be hazardous," remarked
Melissa. "My circumstances"--said Alonzo. "Not on that account,
interrupted Melissa, but my father's displeasure----" "Will be the same,
whether you marry Alonzo, or refuse to marry Beauman," replied Vincent.
Her resolution appeared to be staggered.

"Come here, Melissa, to-morrow evening, said Mrs. Vincent; mean time you
will consider the matter, and then determine." To this Melissa assented,
and prepared to return home.

Alonzo walked with her to the gate which opened into the yard
surrounding her father's house. It was dangerous for him to go farther.
Should he be discovered with Melissa, even by a domestic of the family,
it must increase the persecutions against her. They parted. Alonzo stood
at the gate, gazing anxiously after Melissa as she walked up the long
winding avenue, bordered with the odour-flowing lilac, and lofty elm,
her white robes now invisible, now dimly seen as she turned the angles
of the walk, until they were totally obscured, mingling with the gloom
and darkness of the night. "Thus, said Alonzo, thus fades the angel of
peace from the visionary eyes of the war-worn soldier, when it ascends
in the dusky clouds of early morning, while he slumbers on the field of
recent battle."--With mournful forebodings he returned to the house of
Vincent. He arose after a sleepless night and walked into an adjoining
field. He stood leaning in deep contemplation against a tree, when he
heard quick footsteps behind him. He turned, and saw Edgar approaching:
in a moment they were in each other's arms, and mingled tears. They
returned to Vincent's and conversed largely on present affairs. "I have
discoursed with my father on the subject, said Edgar. I have urged him
with every possible argument to relinquish his determination: I fear,
however, he is inflexible.

"To assuage the tempest of grief which rent Melissa's bosom was my next
object, and in this I trust I have not been unsuccessful. You will see
her this evening, and will find her more calm and resigned. You, Alonzo,
must exert your fortitude. The ways of Heaven are inscrutable, but they
are right.

"We must acquiesce in its dealings. We cannot alter its decrees.
Resignation to its will, whether merciful or afflictive, is one of those
eminent virtues which adorn the good man's character, and ever find a
brilliant reward in the regions of unsullied splendour, far beyond
trouble and the tomb."

Edgar told Alonzo that circumstances compelled him that day to depart
for the army. "I would advise you, said he, to remain here until your
affair comes to some final issue. It must, I think, ere long, be
terminated. Perhaps you and my sister may yet be happy."

Alonzo feelingly expressed his gratitude to Edgar. He found in him that
disinterested friendship, which his early youth had experienced. Edgar
the same day departed for the army.

In the afternoon Alonzo received a note from Melissa's father,
requesting his immediate attendance. Surprised at the incident, he
repaired there immediately. The servant introduced him into a room where
Melissa's father and aunt were sitting.----"Hearing you were in the
neighbourhood, said her father, I have sent for you, to make a
proposition, which after what has taken place, I think you cannot
hesitate to comply with. The occurrence of previous circumstances may
lead you to suppose that my daughter is under obligations to you, which
may render it improper for her to form marriage connections with any
other. Whatever embarrassments your addresses to her may have produced,
it is in your power to remove them; and if you are a man of honour you
will remove them. You cannot wish to involve Melissa in your present
penurious condition, unless you wish to make her wretched. It therefore
only remains for you to give me a writing, voluntarily resigning all
pretensions to the hand of my daughter; and if you wish her to be happy,
honourable, and respected in this life, this I say you will not hesitate
to do."

A considerable pause ensued. Alonzo at length replied, "I cannot
perceive any particular advantage that can accrue from such a measure.
It will neither add nor diminish the power you possess to command
obedience to your will, if you are determined to command it, either from
your daughter, or your servant."----

"There, brother," bawled the old maid, half squeaking through her nose,
which was well charged with rappee, "did'nt I tell you so? I knew the
fellow would not come to terms no more than will your refractory
daughter. This love fairly bewitches such foolish, crack-brained
youngsters. But say Mr. ----, what's your name, addressing herself to
Alonzo, will love heat the oven? will love boil the pot? will love
clothe the back? will love----"

"You will not, interrupted Melissa's father, speaking to Alonzo, it
seems, consent to my proposition? I have then, one demand to make, which
of right you cannot deny. Promise me that you will never see my daughter
again, unless by my permission."

"At the present moment I shall promise you nothing," replied Alonzo,
with some warmth.

"There again, said the old maid, just so Melissa told you this morning,
when you requested her to see him no more. The fellow has fairly
betwattled her. I wish I had him to deal with. Things wasn't so when I
was a girl; I kept the rogues at a distance, I'll warrant you. I always
told you, brother, what would come of your indulgence to your daughter.
And I should not wonder if you should soon find the girl had eloped, and
your desk robbed in the bargain."

Alonzo hastily arose: "I suppose, said he, my presence can be dispensed
with."

"Well, young man, said Melissa's father, since you will not comply with
any overtures I make; since you will not accede to any terms I propose,
remember, sir, I now warn you to break off all communication and
correspondence with my daughter, and to relinquish all expectations
concerning her. I shall never consent to marry my daughter to a beggar."

"Beggar!" involuntarily exclaimed Alonzo, and his eyes flashed in
resentment.--But he recollected that it was the father of Melissa who
had thus insulted him, and he suppressed his anger. He rushed out of the
house, and returned to Vincent's. He had neither heard nor seen any
thing of Melissa or Beauman.

Night came on, and he ardently and impatiently expected Melissa. He
anticipated the consolation her presence would bestow. Edgar had told
him she was more composed. He doubted whether it were proper to excite
anew her distress by relating his interview with her father, unless she
was appraised of it. The evening passed on, but Melissa came not. Alonzo
grew restless and uneasy. He looked out, then at his watch. Vincent and
his lady assured him that she would soon be there. He paced the room.
Still he became more impatient. He walked out on the way where she was
expected to come. Sometimes he advanced hastily; at others he moved
slowly; then stood motionless, listening in breathless silence,
momentarily expecting to discover her white form approaching through the
gloom, or to hear the sound of her footsteps advancing amidst the
darkness. Shapeless objects, either real or imaginary, frequently
crossed his sight, but, like the unreal phantoms of night, they suddenly
passed away, and were seen no more. At length he perceived a dusky white
form advancing in the distant dim obscurity. It drew near; his heart
beat in quick succession; his fond hopes told him it was Melissa. The
object came up, and hastily passed him, with a "good night, sir."

It was a stranger in a white surtout. Alonzo hesitated whether to
advance or to return. It was possible, though not probable, that Melissa
might have come some other way. He hastened back to Vincent's--she had
not arrived. "Something extraordinary, said Mrs. Vincent, has prevented
her coming. Perhaps she is ill."--Alonzo shuddered at the suggestion. He
looked at his watch; it was half past eleven o'clock. Again he hastily
sallied out, and took the road to her father's.

* * * * *

The night was exceedingly dark, and illuminated only by the feeble
glimmering of the twinkling stars. When he came within sight of the
house, and as he drew near no lights were visible--all was still and
silent. He entered the yard, walked up the avenue, and approached the
door. The familiar watch-dog, which lay near the threshold, fawned upon
him, joyfully whining and wagging his tail. "Thou still knowest me,
Curlow, said Alonzo; thou hast known me in better days; I am now poor
and wretched, but thy friendship is the same." A solemn stillness
prevailed all around, interrupted only by the discordance of the nightly
insects, and the hooting of the moping owl from the neighbouring
forest.--The dwelling was shrouded in darkness. In Melissa's room no
gleam of light appeared. "They are all buried in sleep, said Alonzo,
deeply sighing, and I have only to return in disappointment."

He turned and walked towards the street; casting his eyes back, the
blaze of a candle caught his sight. It passed rapidly along through the
lower rooms, now gleaming, now intercepted, as the walls or the windows
intervened, and suddenly disappeared. Alonzo gazed earnestly a few
moments, and hastily returned back. No noise was to be heard, no new
objects were discernible.--He clambered over the garden wall, and went
around to the back side of the house. Here all was solemn and silent as
in front. Immediately a faint light appeared through one of the chamber
windows; it grew brighter; a candle entered the chamber; the sash was
flung up, and Melissa seated herself at the window.

The weather was sultry, she held a fan in her hand; her countenance,
though stamped with deep dejection, was marked with serenity, but pale
as the drooping lily of the valley. Alonzo placed himself directly under
the window, and in a low voice called her by name. She started wildly,
looked out, and faintly cried, "Who's there?" He answered, "Alonzo."
"Good heavens, she exclaimed, is it you, Alonzo? I was disappointed in
meeting you at Vincent's this evening; my father will not suffer me to
go out without attendants. I am now constantly watched and guarded."

"Watched and guarded! replied Alonzo: At the risque of my life I will
deliver you from the tyranny with which you are oppressed."

"Be calm, Alonzo, said she, I think it will not last long. Beauman will
soon depart, after which there will undoubtedly be some alteration.
Desire Mrs. Vincent to come here to-morrow; I believe they will let me
see her. I can, from time to time, inform you of passing events, so that
you may know what changes take place. I am placed under the care of my
aunt, who suffers me not to step out of her sight. We pass the night in
an adjoining chamber--from whence, after she had fallen asleep, I stole
out, and went down with a design of walking in the garden, but found the
doors all locked and the keys taken out. I returned and raised this
window for fresh air. Hark! said she; my aunt calls me. She has waked
and misses me.