“And yet she bade me not doubt her even in the darkest hours, she was so true, so loving, so constant; is there not some ray of hope; some little ground for faith”—and in very despair he read again the fatal letter—“by Lady Mabel’s request,” met his eye, and once more he flung it from him.
“Ah, Mabel, could you not have spared me this pang. You feared lest I should intrude upon your happiness, lest I should scare away the golden visions that are lulling your conscience to sleep; fear not, I shall never come to reproach you; life shall henceforth be a vain yet constant struggle to forget thee.
“And can it be, oh God, my king, that thou requirest of me a broken heart—is this, indeed, thy chosen sacrifice? Then be it so—‘thy will be done.’
“But ah, not here let me live, not amid these scenes let my future years be spent. Here every thing speaks of her; each sound in nature seems to thrill my heart with that dear name; the little birds call Mabel in the joyous tones she used to warble, and the river sighs forth her name as it flows along to the ocean.
“I shall never conquer myself here, never be a useful, calm, devoted servant of Him to whose cause I am pledged. Far from all these happy memories, let me seek a new and wider sphere of action. I will go forth into the life and freshness, the hardy vigor and stern independence of the pilgrim settlements; and may God grant me strength and power to carry forward his work, though it lead me even among the wild savages of a western wilderness.”
Such were the thoughts that daily passed through his tortured mind; and ere many months passed Walter Lee stood on the deck of a vessel that was bearing him to his new home. He had joined a brother clergyman who, with his young sister, a fair and lovely girl, were, like him, seeking new scenes and associations. They were the last of their family; and on them, too, the insidious hand of disease had impressed its symptoms, though to the girl it only added a richer glow to the transparent cheek, and a more sparkling lustre to the radiant eye; but Charles Wentworth, for that was the name of the young clergyman, was already, to all eyes but his own and his idolized sister’s, the marked victim of that fatal disease, by which nearly all his family had suffered.