The tears fell upon his paper; but they did not blot out
a few bitter words addressed to his brother, which severed for ever in
this world two noble hearts; cast, indeed, in different moulds, but
which kindred blood had cemented, in the close bonds of fraternal love,
for more than forty years.
This was my _first_ revenge. But was I satisfied? No!
It was only a few months afterwards, that chance threw in my way a
daughter of my uncle's. I met her at the house of a common friend, who
knew and deplored the unhappy schism which prevailed between the two
brothers. He was equally attached to both, and I believe pleased himself
with the idea, that an occasional intercourse between the younger
branches of the families, might, some day or other, bring about a
reconciliation between the heads. My cousin Harriet was a year older
than myself. She was in her nineteenth, I in my eighteenth year. I loved
her. Yes; the _first_ feeling that glowed within my bosom was that
of love. She was beautiful--fascinating--accomplished--amiable--and
I loved her. It was not long before I was satisfied. I had kindled a
reciprocal passion in her breast. The mute eloquence of her look and
manner was only the harbinger of that same thrilling eloquence, which
fell from her tongue when I won the declaration of her affection.
Her father knew we met at this friend's house; but whether he was told,
or whether he penetrated, the secret of our attachment, I never learned.
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