CHAPTER XXXI.

May he again return, and with him bring A soft serenity on pleasure's wing; While anxious fears, and doubt, shall disappear, The heavy mists of gloomy thought to clear.

The scenes of solitude were now more pleasing to Alida than ever. She loved to wander through the shady grove and lonely valley, and adapt their retirement to her own particular situation. She would often stray as far as the cottage or the farmhouse, at a little distance, and would sometimes take the winding path through a beautiful piece of wood which led to Raymond's, where the thick foliage formed a grateful shade.

There she would indulge herself in solitary thought. "How changeable are all things terrestrial," said she, "the varied year has its seasons, and winter and summer are constantly in pursuit of each other. The elements are frequently disturbed by storms and tempests, so, in like manner, is the human breast at intervals troubled and discomposed, and often remains overshadowed with pensive sadness and cheerless reverie; and these desponding ideas must continue to have influence over the mind, till the sunshine of reason and religion kindly dispels the gloom, and awakens anew the feelings of the heart to the rays of hope and more enlivening sensations." She had just returned home one afternoon from Raymond's, when her brother, who had been absent on business to the city, drove up the avenue, accompanied by Mr. More.

Albert informed his sister of the arrival of Theodore. She almost fainted at the intelligence, so unexpected: and although she wished of all things, to learn all the circumstances attending his absence, yet she dreaded the event, to behold him again, fearing the truth of Bonville's suggestions.

In the midst of these thoughts and fears, Theodore alighted at the house, and was shown by the servant into the drawing-room.

Theodore, regardless of all around him, as soon as he beheld Alida, he grasped her hand, exclaiming with rapture, "Has the period at length arrived, and am I indeed once more so happy as to meet again my much-esteemed and long-lost friend."

Alida gazed on him in silence. He saw her extreme agitation, and after they were seated, he observed more particularly her altered appearance. What surprise and grief was manifest in his countenance, when he saw the paleness of her cheek, and the roses that once spread their healthy hue over them, now seemed fled for ever. In a length of time, she became somewhat more composed; but in what light to consider Theodore, she yet did not know, and former ideas still clouded her imagination.

At length she assumed sufficient courage, to ask him, why he had not thought proper to inform any of his friends of the circumstances attending his absence.

Theodore could scarcely remain silent while Alida was speaking; he was surprised beyond all description at what he heard. "Can it be possible," said he, "that you have missed of information concerning me, when I delayed not to inform you of all my movements, every opportunity I had to convey intelligence." He then informed her that the letters had been sent to Raymond, and those for herself were enclosed, and committed to his care; and through this channel, he had related minutely all the various trials and circumstances attending his unexpected journey, and the cause of his protracted stay. Alida was evidently convinced, and appeared again assured of the truth of her lover. The energy with which he spoke, his agitated feelings, joined to the distress visible in his countenance, convinced her of his sincerity, at least caused her to doubt, what a few moments before appeared so incontestible: and her present happiness fully compensated for the lengthy period of distress and anxiety she had experienced.

Albert was delighted at the return of Theodore, and highly gratified in his hopes, to find in his early friend, still the man of honour he had ever considered him. He had never once mentioned his name to Alida during their separation; although his thoughts often revolved on the unhappy result of their acquaintance, and the future welfare of his sister.

Mr. More was a silent spectator of this joyful meeting. He now beheld the person who had been so happy as to win the esteem and affections of Alida, a person that he had heard spoken of, though it had appeared that he never expected to see.

He witnessed the happy meeting. Sighs and tears from this time were his only companions, while his aspect pourtrayed nought but anguish and utter despair. He looked upon this happy pair as already united. He shed tears of evident anguish, when he took leave of Alida, and his looks told her it must now be forever.

The evening was not far advanced, when Bonville, who was altogether ignorant of Theodore's arrival, unexpectedly made his appearance. Struck with the utmost consternation at seeing him, he involuntarily receded a few paces, then suddenly advancing, as if recollecting himself, he gave him his hand with seeming cordiality.

The natural politeness and civility of the other supplied the place of a more cordial reception.

Ten thousand fears at once agitated the bosom of Bonville, while he appeared half frantic with grief and apprehension. Dismay threw a sudden cloud over his understanding; he was confused in the extreme. He had intercepted all the letters of Theodore; he secretly reproached himself for his treacherous conduct.

He now saw the termination of all his hopes. Disappointment he could not brook, his pride could never submit to it with any degree of resignation, and the bitterness that pervaded his mind, almost bordered on phrenzy.

His conscience reproved him for reiterated misrepresentations and calumnies of Theodore, with which he had harrassed the mind of Alida. He knew that a discovery must now be made of his perfidy, and on his return home to the village, he was confined to his room with a sudden illness, succeeded by a dangerous fever.