"Frank I love you! Many beautiful women have I seen, but there is that in your gaze, your voice, your very presence, which is Heaven itself to me. I cannot live without you! and cannot, cannot think of losing you without madness. Frank, be mine, be my wife! Be mine, and the home which shines yonder in the sunlight shall be ours! Frank, for God's sake say you love me!"
He sank at my feet and clasped my knees with his trembling hands. O the joy, the rapture of that moment! As I saw his face upraised to mine, I felt that I loved him with all my soul, that I could die for him. Reaching forth my hands I drew him gently to his feet, and fell upon his breast and called him, "Husband!" Would I had died there, on his bosom, even as his lips met mine, and the words "my wife!" trembled on my ear! Would I had at that moment fallen dead upon his breast!
Even as he gathered me to his bosom the air all at once grew dark; looking overhead, we saw a vast cloud rolling up the heavens, dark as midnight, yet fringed with sunlight. On and on it rolled, the air grew darker, darker, an ominous thunder-peal broke over our heads, and rolled away among the gorges of the hills. Then the clouds grew dark as night. We could not see each other's faces. For a moment our distant home shone in sunlight, and then the eastern sky was wrapt in clouds, the river hidden by driving rain. Trembling with fright I clung to Ernest's neck—he bore me to the beech in the shadow of the rock—another thunder peal and a flash of lightning that blinded me. I buried my face in his bosom, to hide my eyes from that awful glare. The tempest which had arisen so suddenly—even as we exchanged our first vows—was now upon us and in power. The trees rocked to the blast. The distant river was now dark and now one mass of sheeted flame. Peal on peal the thunder burst over our heads, and as one peal died away in distant echoes, another more awful seemed hurled upon us, from the very zenith. And amid the darkness and glare of that awful storm, I clung to Ernest's neck, my bosom beating against his heart, and we repeated our vows, and talked of our marriage, and laid plans for our future.
"Frank, my heart is filled with an awful foreboding," he said, and his voice was so changed and husky, that I raised my head from his bosom, and even in the darkness sought to gaze upon his face. A lightning flash came and was gone, but by that momentary glare, I saw his countenance agitated in every lineament.
"What mean you Ernest?"
"You will leave our home to-morrow and never return, never! The sunshine which was upon us, as we exchanged our vows, was in a moment succeeded by the blackness of the awful tempest. A bad omen, Frank, a dark prophecy of our future. There is only one way to turn the omen of evil, into a prophecy of good."
He drew me close in his arms, and bent his lips to my ear—"Be mine, and now! be mine! Let the thunder-peal be our marriage music, this forest glade our marriage couch!"
I was faint, trembling, but I sprang from his arms, and stood erect in the center of the glade. My dark hair fell to my shoulders; a flash of lightning lit up my form, clad in snow-white. As wildly, as completely as I loved him, I felt my eyes flash with indignation.
"Words like these to a girl who has been reared under your father's roof!"
He fell at my feet, besought my forgiveness in frantic tones, and bathed my hands with his tears.
I fainted in his arms.
When I unclosed my eyes again, I found myself pure and virgin in the arms of my plighted husband. The clouds were parting, the tempest was over, and the sun shone out once more. Every leaf glittered with diamond drops. The last blast of the storm was passing over the distant river, and through the driving clouds, I saw the sunlight shining once more upon our cottage home.
"Forgive me, Frank, forgive me," he cried, bending passionately over me. "See! Your bad omen has been turned into good!" I cried joyfully—"First the sunshine, then the storm, but now the sun shines clear again;" and I pointed to the diamond drops glittering in the sun.
"And you will be true to me, Frank?"
"Before heaven I promise it, in life, in death, forever!"
CHAPTER VIII.
HOME, ADIEU!
It was toward the close of the afternoon that we took our way from the glade through the forest to the river shore. We crossed the river, and passed through the village. Together we ascended the road that led to our home, and at the wicket-gate, found a splendid carriage with liveried servants.
The good clergyman stood at the gate, his bared forehead and white hairs bathed in the sunshine; beside him, darkly dressed, diamonds upon her rich attire, my mother. Old Alice stood weeping in the background.
"Come, Frank, your things are packed and we must be away," she said, abruptly, as though we had seen each other only the day before; "I wish to reach our home in New York, before night. Go in the house dear," she kissed me, "and get your bonnet and shawl. Quick my love!"
Not daring to trust myself to speak—for my heart was full to bursting—I hurried through the gate, and along the garden walk.
"How beautiful she has grown!" I heard my mother exclaim. One look into the old familiar library room, one moment in prayer by the bed, in which I had slept since childhood!
Placing the bonnet on my curls, and dropping my shawl around me, I hurried from my cottage home. There were a few moments of agony, of blessings, of partings and tears. Old Alice pressed me in her arms, and bid me good-by. The good old clergyman laid his hands upon my head, and lifting his beaming eyes to heaven, invoked the blessing of God upon my head.
"I give your child to you again!" he said, placing me in my mother's arms—"May she be a blessing to you, as for years past she has been the blessing and peace of my home!"
I looked around for Ernest; he had disappeared.
I entered the carriage, and sank sobbing on the seat.
"But I am not taking the dear child away from you forever," said my mother, bending from the carriage window. "She will come and see you often, my dear Mr. Walworth, and you will come and see her. You have the number of our town residence on that card. And bring your son, and good Alice with you, and——"
The carriage rolled away.
So strange and unexpected had been the circumstances of this departure from my home, that I could scarce believe myself awake.
I did not raise my head, until we had descended the hill, passed the village and gained a mile or more on our way.
We were ascending a long slope, which led to the summit of a hill, from which, I knew, I might take a last view of my childhood's home.
As we reached the summit of the hill, my mother was looking out of one window toward the river, and I looked out of the other, and saw, beyond the church spire and over the hills, the white walls of my home.
"Frank!" whispered a low voice.
Ernest was by the carriage. There was a look exchanged, a word, and he was gone. Gone into the trees by the? roadside.
He left a flower in my hand. I placed it silently in my bosom.
"Frank! How beautiful you have grown!" said my mother, turning from the window, and fixing upon me an ardent and admiring gaze. And the next moment she was wrapt in thought and the wrinkle grew deeper between her brows.
CHAPTER IX.
ERNEST AND HIS SINGULAR ADVENTURE.
Before I resume my own history, I must