She was caught in the snares of love. And
the more she struggled to get free, she was only the more limed and
entangled. The recollection of the hopelessness of her love by no means
sufficed to destroy it. The recollection of her former carelessness and
gaiety was not able to restore her to present ease. In vain she summoned
pride and maiden dignity to support her. In vain she formed resolutions,
which were broken as soon as made. Every where she was haunted by the
image of her dear unknown. Her nights were sleepless and uneasy. The fire
and brightness of her eyes were tarnished. _She pined in green and
yellow melancholy._
The more dear were the ideal image that accompanied her, the more did she
execrate and detest her persecutor. "No," cried she, "I will never be his.
Never shall the sacred tie, which should only unite congenial spirits, be
violated by two souls, distant as the poles, jarring as contending
elements. My father may kill me. Alas, of what value is life to me! It is
a long scene of unvaried misfortune. It is a dreary vista of despair. He
may kill me, but never, never shall he force me to a deed my soul abhors."
CHAPTER VII.
_Containing that with which the reader will be acquainted when he has
read it_.
The cup of misfortune, by which it was decreed that the virtue and the
constancy of our heroine should be tried, was not yet ended.
Pages:
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50