CHAPTER XI.FIRST LOVE
COLONEL REGINALD MELVILLE TO EVELYN TRAVERS.
COLONEL REGINALD MELVILLE TO EVELYN TRAVERS.
COLONEL REGINALD MELVILLE TO EVELYN TRAVERS.
London, February 28th.
Beforeyou receive this, Evelyn, I shall be far away; it may, perhaps, cost you one pang in the midst of your triumphs, to know that we are at last parted; it may be for years—it may beforever.
My regiment is under immediate orders for India, and we sail in a week. We are required to quell the Sepoy rebellion, and to avenge the horrible brutalities perpetrated by those savages on our innocent countrywomen and their helpless babes. I will not, at this supreme moment, reproach you—your naturally good heart will teach you how far you have erred—but I will simply mention how deeply I felt your inconsiderate conduct at the last ball, when you knew that, in two days, one who loved you as his own soul must leave; and how still more bitterly was I disappointed at having beenprevented by the prince’s presence from bidding you a last adieu.
You are very beautiful and talented. It is natural you should command attention wherever you go. But, oh! Evelyn, does this satisfy your heart? Ask yourself, are you not sometimes unhappy, even amid the most brilliant scenes? Do not imagine that every fop who approaches you, is capable of sincere attachment, even to a creature as fascinating as yourself. You are, to the majority of men, but as the pastime of an idle hour—or worse, the coquette whose smiles flatter their selfish vanity, and of whose favors they boast at the public promenades or thecafés. But of this I cannot bear to speak—even the thought is madness.
It is true, alas! that I dare not hope that one so gifted and so adored, will await the uncertainties of war, and mourn, in some retired corner of the earth, the absence of a future husband. No, Evelyn—I deeply feel the vanity of entertaining such a hope, even for a moment. I know, too well, you will meet those who will hang on each word, and watch every look, as I have done. You willneverforget me; but I shall share your heart with others. It is for this, therefore, that I am resolved, cost what it will, and at the risk of breaking my heart, to utter this fatal word—Farewell, then, beloved ofmy soul—my first, my only love—you are free. Think of me, henceforth, as a tender brother. I will ever cherish you as a sister. For your own sake, and that of your dear Ella, be prudent; remember that a woman’s name should never even be breathed upon.
One more effort—one more bitter pang, and my self-imposed duty is done. If ever my sweet sister should find one who loves her as I do—but who, unlike poor Melville, approaches near to the standard of perfection she has erected in her own imagination—then, dearest, do not hesitate to become his wife. My prayers shall ever be offered up for your happiness; and you, my ever-beloved Evelyn, will not, even in the midst of that bliss, refuse—if I fall—to drop a tear for one who would die to save you even one moment’s uneasiness. Farewell—farewell!
R. M.
EVELYN TRAVERS TO REGINALD MELVILLE.
EVELYN TRAVERS TO REGINALD MELVILLE.
EVELYN TRAVERS TO REGINALD MELVILLE.
Castellamare, Villa des Alberi, 5th May.
I have been seriously ill, dear Reginald, or you would have heard from me ere this. I left Florence a week after I received your letter; and the fatigues of the journey, added to the violent shock consequent on the receipt of such sad news, quiteovercame me. I was taken with a nervous trembling, which ended in fever. For two months I have been confined to my room, and strictly forbidden to write, read, or even to think. I have, however, succeeded in persuading my doctor, that to remain alone with my regrets for the past is retarding indefinitely my recovery. He has, therefore, permitted me to write these few lines to you.
And are we, then, really to be partedforever? Oh! my once kind Reginald, why condemn me to live without your love! I see at last the folly and madness of sacrificing a true attachment for the heartless and aimless admiration of the passing hour. Oh! how lonely do I feel now in the world—how its hollowness wearies me! Sweet Ella even seems to reproach my frivolity with her calm angel eyes; nor can I endure Mary’s face of grave and sad reproof.
Reginald, if you ever loved me, write and say that I am forgiven—tell me that I have not ruined your happiness. Do not speak of my poor attractions. Would that I were plain, since my beauty has caused our separation.
You say you are not my “beau ideal.†If it be true, that my foolish romantic fancy has portrayed an impossible hero—at least, your rare devotion toone worthless as myself is the very “beau ideal†of all that mortals term love. For this, accept my undying gratitude.
One last request—for your Evelyn’s sake, be prudent. Do not expose yourself to danger unnecessarily; and she will nightly kneel before the throne of grace, and pray that her numerous faults and follies may rather he visited on her own head, and that every blessing, temporal and eternal, may fall to the lot of him who, though absent, is forever present with his repentant
Evelyn.
P. S.—Remember, I shall count the days, the hours, the moments, until I hear from you. Do not keep me in suspense. Mary desires kindest regards, and little Ella her best love.
After the preceding letter was dispatched to Colonel Melville’s agents for transmission to India, I endeavored as much as possible to divert Evelyn’s mind from dwelling on painful subjects. The state of her health was far from satisfactory. I therefore used all my influence to persuade her to enter a little into society, as we calculated no reply could possibly come under three months from the seat of war, and till that time had elapsed anxiety would be but needless self-torment. Wewere acquainted with an English family, whose pretty schooner—the “Turquoiseâ€â€”was lying in the bay of Sorrento. Captain and Mrs. Blake had frequently invited us to make excursions with them to the various objects of interest which abound on the classic shores of the ancient Parthenope. We had hitherto refused—myself because I detested the sea; Evelyn, because she was utterly out of spirits. One evening, however, our kind friends came and would take no denial. They were accompanied by a young Sicilian nobleman, a great friend of Ella’s, for he never called without a box of bonbons, a basket of fruit, or a bouquet for the young lady, whom he had namedSorcietto, or “little Mousey.†The Duc di Balzano was a fine-looking man of from twenty-eight to thirty years of age. Dark as the very darkest of his race, he possessed an open countenance, and an expression beaming with goodness. Unlike the generality of his rather effeminate countrymen, Balzano was cast in the mould of a Hercules, and even in England, (that land of splendidly formed men), he would have been remarked for the perfection of his figure and the grace of his movements. I remember later seeing him execute the Tarantella, or national dance of Naples, in a manner that might have shamed many a Terpsichorean star of the opera.
Yielding to Ella’s entreaties, Evelyn consented to make one of the party, and arranged on the following morning to drive to Sorento and there embark in our friend’s yacht. I was excused, as all were aware that a marine excursion was anything but a pleasure to me. It was proposed first to visit the purple cave of Capri, which can only be entered in calm weather and at low tide. Even then the visitor must almost recline in the boat, so low is the entrance to the cave. When this difficulty is passed you are amply repaid by the sight of a lofty dome of rock, spanning a body of water actually of the color of indigo. Great care is necessary in making the visit that no storm is in prospect, for when the waves are high, the imprudent traveler has been unable to return, sometimes for days, in consequence of the exit to the cave having been entirely submerged by the raging element which surrounds it.
Our party entered under favorable auspices, for the sea was calm, though there was at the same time a ground swell, which had made poor Ella very sea-sick, and obliged her to be left on a sofa in the yacht. Ella’s indisposition gave rise to a rather amusing adventure which I shall now relate:
On her return on board, Evelyn found the child very ill, so much so as to alarm her mother whowent to Captain Blake and begged him to put them instantly ashore.
“My dear lady,†replied he, “it is all very well for you to talk, but I know no landing place within some hours’ sail.â€
“Then,†besought Evelyn, “let us put back to Sorento.â€
“Impossible,†exclaimed the captain, “the little wind there is, is contrary. It would take us twelve hours to get there.â€
Just then di Balzano made his appearance, and the poor mother, in despair, began in Italian to explain the circumstances to him. The duke in the kindest manner reassured Captain Blake as to the nature of the coast, and informed Evelyn that although he knew of nogoodlanding place near, he would gladly escort her and little Ella in safety home to Castellamare. “But,†he added, looking at Evelyn, “the signorina must have a little patience, for we cannot make even the nearest landing place till nightfall.â€
Gratefully thanking him, Evelyn returned to her daughter, who soon became pacified under the hope of once more being on terra firma.
At eight o’clock, true to his promise, the Captain stopped the schooner, a boat was lowered, and the party entered. Balzano held the sick child in hisarms like a tender nurse. The landing was indeed far rougher than even he had expected—it was a regular mountain scramble in the dark. Arrived at the summit, Ella and her mother were glad to repose on the floor of the miserable hut appropriated to the coast guard. On inquiry, they learned they were eight miles from Sorento, the road thither lying over a mountain ridge, which must be passed on donkeys. None of these animals, they were told, were to be had under a two-hours’ ride from thence. Balzano at once started in search of asses, pressing a boy into the service. For nearly three hours did the poor tired travellers wait in the smoky atmosphere of the guard-house, the return of their kind escort. At last the welcome patter of donkeys’ feet was heard, and three sorry beasts made their appearance. No time was lost in mounting. Balzano, who was dressed in summer costume, wrapped his plaid around Evelyn, who had placed her own shawl about the little girl.
The cold on the mountains was excessive, the path difficult, and there was no moon. At about two A. M. the party arrived at Sorento; but though they knocked loudly at the doors of the principal hotels, no one would rise to admit them. A testy Englishman only, in a red night-cap, looked out from a third floor window, and abused them in verybad Italian for disturbing his slumbers. Evelyn getting angry herself, replied in the same language, which her excitement rendered less melodiously correct than usual. The colloquy greatly amused her cavalier, who laughed heartily at the expense of thedui Inglesedisputing in bad Italian.
To make a long story short, our friends dismounted, and passed the night in an empty carriage, for the poor donkeys could not, or would not go a step further—and soon after sunrise they persuaded its owner to put horses to the vehicle, thus arriving at our Villa, to my infinite surprise, at about six in the morning.
The suite of this otherwise laughable adventure had well nigh proved fatal to poor Balzano. His kindness and politeness in giving up his plaid when so thinly clothed, caused a severe chill, which ended in a most dangerous attack of fever, in which he nearly lost his life. A strong constitution, and a calm, well-regulated mind, to our infinite relief, enabled our excellent friend eventually and perfectly to recover his health.