Part 9

_A._ No, upon my word and honour, I never did; I appeal to the Most High to bear me out in this matter. Send for Malos, and ask him.

_F._ Send for Malos, aye! Malos you wish to see; I thought so. I knew you could not keep his name concealed. Amelia, sweet Amelia, take heed, take heed of perjury; you are on the stage of death, to suffer for _your sins_.

_A._ What, not to die I hope, my Farcillo, my ever beloved?

_F._ Yes, madam, to die a traitor’s death. Shortly your spirit shall take its exit; therefore confess freely thy sins, for to deny tends only to make me groan under the bitter cup thou hast made for me. Thou art to die with the name of traitor on thy brow!

_A._ Then, O Lord, have mercy upon me; give me courage, give me grace and fortitude to stand this hour of trial!

_F._ Amen, I say, with all my heart.

_A._ And, oh, Farcillo, will you have mercy, too? I never intentionally offended you in all my life; never _loved_ Malos, never gave him cause to think so, as the high court of Justice will acquit me before its tribunal.

_F._ Oh, false, perjured woman, thou dost chill my blood, and makest me a demon like thyself. I saw the ring.

_A._ He found it, then, or got it clandestinely; send for him, and let him confess the truth; let his confession be sifted.

_F._ And you still wish to see him! I tell you, madam, he hath already confessed, and thou knowest the darkness of thy heart.

_A._ What, my deceived Farcillo, that I gave him the ring, in which all my affections were concentrated? Oh, surely not.

_F._ Aye, he did. Ask thy conscience, and it will speak with a voice of thunder to thy soul.

_A._ He will not say so, he dare not, he cannot.

_F._ No, he will not say so now, because his mouth, I trust, is hushed in death, and his body stretched to the four winds of heaven, to be torn to pieces by carnivorous birds.

_A._ What, is he dead, and gone to the world of spirits with that declaration in his mouth? Oh, unhappy man! Oh, insupportable hour!

_F._ Yes, and had all his sighs and looks and tears been lives, my great revenge could have slain them all, without the least condemnation.

_A._ Alas! he is ushered into eternity without testing the matter for which I am abused and sentenced and condemned to die.

_F._ Cursed, infernal woman! Weepest thou for him to my face? He that hath robbed me of my peace, my energy, the whole love of my life? Could I call the fabled Hydra, I would have him live and perish, survive and die, until the sun itself would grow dim with age. I would make him have the thirst of a Tantalus, and roll the wheel of an Ixion, until the stars of heaven should quit their brilliant stations.

_A._ Oh, invincible God, save me! Oh, unsupportable moment! Oh, heavy hour! Banish me, Farcillo—send me where no eye can ever see me, where no sound shall ever greet my ear; but, oh, slay me not, Farcillo; vent thy rage and thy spite upon this emaciated frame of mine, only spare my life!

_F._ Your petitions avail nothing, cruel Amelia.

_A._ Oh, Farcillo, perpetrate the dark deed to-morrow; let me live till then, for my past kindness to you, and it may be some kind angel will show to you that I am not only the object of innocence, but one who never loved another but your noble self.

_F._ Amelia, the decree has gone forth, it is to be done, and that quickly; thou art to die, madam.

_A._ But half an hour allow me, to see my father and my only child, to tell her the treachery and vanity of this world.

_F._ There is no alternative, there is no pause; my daughter shall not see its deceptive mother die; your father shall not know that his daughter fell disgraced, despised by all but her enchanting Malos.

_A._ Oh, Farcillo, put up thy threatening dagger into its scabbard; let it rest and be still, just while I say one prayer for thee and for my child.

_F._ It is too late, thy doom is fixed, thou hast not confessed to Heaven or to me, my child’s protector—thou art to die. Ye powers of earth and heaven, protect and defend me in this alone. (_Stabs her, while imploring for mercy._)

_A._ Oh, Farcillo, Farcillo, a guiltless death I die.

_F._ Die! die! die!

(_Gracia enters running, falls to her knees weeping, and kisses Amelia._)

_G._ Oh, Farcillo, Farcillo! oh, Farcillo!

_F._ I am here, the genius of the age, and the avenger of my wrongs.

_G._ Oh, lady, speak once more; sweet Amelia, oh, speak again! Gone, gone—yes, for ever gone! Farcillo, oh, cold-hearted Farcillo, some evil fiend hath urged you to do this, Farcillo.

_F._ Say you not so again, or you shall receive the same fate. I did the glorious deed, madam—beware, then, how you talk.

_G._ I fear not your implements of war; I will let you know you have not the power to do me harm. If you have a heart of triple brass, it shall be reached and melted, and thy blood shall chill thy veins and grow stiff in thy arteries. Here is the ring of the virtuous and innocent murdered Amelia; I obtained it from Malos, who yet lives, in hopes that he will survive the wound given him, and says he got it clandestinely—declares Amelia to be the princess of truth and virtue, invulnerable to anything like forgetting her first devotion to thee. The world has heard of your conduct and your jealousy, and with one universal voice declares her to be the best of all in piety; that she is the star of this great universe, and a more virtuous woman never lived since the wheels of time began. Oh, had you waited till to-morrow, or until I had returned, some kind window would have been opened to her relief. But, alas! she is gone—yes, for ever gone, to try the realities of an unknown world!

(_Farcillo leaning over the body of Amelia._)

_F._ Malos not dead, and here is my ring! Oh, Amelia! falsely, falsely murdered! Oh, bloody deed! Oh, wretch that I am! Oh, angels, forgive me! Oh, God, withhold Thy vengeance! Oh, Amelia, if Heaven would make a thousand worlds like this, set with diamonds, and all of one perfect chrysolite, I would not have done this for them all, I would not have frowned and cursed as I did. Oh, she was heavenly true, nursed in the very lap of bright angels! Cursed slave that I am! Jealousy, oh! thou infernal demon! Lost, lost to every sense of honour! Oh! Amelia—heaven-born Amelia—dead, dead! Oh! oh! oh!—then let me die with thee. Farewell! farewell! ye world that deceived me! (_Stabs himself._)

Soon after the excitement of this tragical scene was over, and the enlisted feeling for Amelia had grown more buoyant with Elfonzo and Ambulinia, he determined to visit his retired home, and make the necessary improvements to enjoy a better day; consequently he conveyed the following lines to Ambulinia:

Go tell the world that hope is glowing, Go bid the rocks their silence break, Go tell the stars that love is glowing, Then bid the hero his lover take.

In the region where scarcely the foot of man hath ever trod, where the woodman hath not found his way, lies a blooming grove, seen only by the sun when he mounts his lofty throne, visited only by the light of the stars, to whom are entrusted the guardianship of earth, before the sun sinks to rest in his rosy bed. High cliffs of rock surround the romantic place, and in the small cavity of the rocky wall grows the daffodil clear and pure; and as the wind blows along the enchanting little mountain which surrounds the lonely spot, it nourishes the flowers with the dewdrops of heaven. Here is the seat of Elfonzo; Darkness claims but little victory over this dominion, and in vain does she spread out her gloomy wings. Here the waters flow perpetually, and the trees lash their tops together to bid the welcome visitor a happy muse. Elfonzo, during his short stay in the country, had fully persuaded himself that it was his duty to bring this solemn matter to an issue. A duty that he individually owed, as a gentleman, to the parents of Ambulinia, a duty in itself involving not only his own happiness and his own standing in society, but one that called aloud the act of the parties to make it perfect and complete. How he should communicate his intentions to get a favourable reply, he was at a loss to know; he knew not whether to address Squire Valeer in prose or in poetry, in a jocular or an argumentative manner, or whether he should use moral suasion, legal injunction, or seize and take by reprisal; if it was to do the latter, he would have no difficulty in deciding in his own mind, but his gentlemanly honour was at stake; so he concluded to address the following letter to the father and mother of Ambulinia, as his address in person he knew would only aggravate the old gentleman, and perhaps his lady.

‘Cumming, Ga., January 22, 1844.

‘MR. AND MRS. VALEER,—

‘Again I resume the pleasing task of addressing you, and once more beg an immediate answer to my many salutations. From every circumstance that has taken place, I feel in duty bound to comply with my obligations; to forfeit my word would be more than I dare do: to break my pledge, and my vows that have been witnessed, sealed, and delivered in the presence of an unseen Deity, would be disgraceful on my part, as well as ruinous to Ambulinia. I wish no longer to be kept in suspense about this matter. I wish to act gentlemanly in every particular. It is true the promises I have made are unknown to any but Ambulinia, and I think it unnecessary to here enumerate them, as they who promise the most generally perform the least. Can you for a moment doubt my sincerity or my character? My only wish is, sir, that you may calmly and dispassionately look at the situation of the case, and if your better judgment should dictate otherwise, my obligations may induce me to pluck the flower that you so diametrically opposed. We have sworn by the saints—by the gods of battle, and by that faith whereby just men are made perfect, to be united. I hope, my dear sir, you will find it convenient as well as agreeable to give me a favourable answer, with the signature of Mrs. Valeer as well as yourself.

‘With very great esteem, Your humble servant, J. I. ELFONZO.’

The moon and stars had grown pale when Ambulinia had retired to rest. A crowd of unpleasant thoughts passed through her bosom. Solitude dwelt in her chamber—no sound from the neighbouring world penetrated its stillness; it appeared a temple of silence, of repose, and of mystery. At that moment she heard a still voice calling her father. In an instant, like a flash of lightning, a thought ran through her mind, that it must be the bearer of Elfonzo’s communication. ‘It is not a dream!’ she said, ‘no, I cannot read dreams. Oh! I would to Heaven I was near that glowing eloquence—that poetical language,—it charms the mind in an inexpressible manner, and warms the coldest heart.’ While consoling herself with this strain, her father rushed into her room almost frantic with rage, exclaiming: ‘O, Ambulinia! Ambulinia!! undutiful, ungrateful daughter! What does this mean? Why does this letter bear such heartrending intelligence? Will you quit a father’s house with this debased wretch, without a place to lay his distracted head; going up and down the country, with every novel object that may chance to wander through this region? He is a pretty man to make love known to his superiors, and you, Ambulinia, have done but little credit to yourself by honouring his visits. O wretchedness! can it be that my hopes of happiness are for ever blasted? Will you not listen to a father’s entreaties, and pay some regard to a mother’s tears? I know, and I do pray that God will give me fortitude to bear with this sea of troubles, and rescue my daughter, my Ambulinia, as a brand from the eternal burning.’ ‘Forgive me, father. Oh! forgive thy child,’ replied Ambulinia. ‘My heart is ready to break, when I see you in this grieved state of agitation. Oh! think not so meanly of me, as that I mourn for my own danger. Father, I am only woman. Mother, I am only the templement of thy youthful years; but will suffer courageously whatever punishment you think proper to inflict upon me, if you will but allow me to comply with my most sacred promises—if you will but give me my personal right, and my personal liberty. Oh, father! if your generosity will but give me these, I ask nothing more. When Elfonzo offered me his heart, I gave him my hand, never to forsake him; and now may the mighty God banish me before I leave him in adversity! What a heart must I have to rejoice in prosperity with him whose offers I have accepted, and then, when poverty comes, haggard as it may be,—for me to trifle with the oracles of Heaven, and change with every fluctuation that may interrupt our happiness,—like the politician who runs the political gauntlet for office one day, and the next day, because the horizon is darkened a little, he is seen running for his life, for fear he might perish in its ruins. Where is the philosophy; where is the consistency; where is the charity; in conduct like this? Be happy, then, my beloved father, and forget me; let the sorrow of parting break down the wall of separation and make us equal in our feeling; let me now say how ardently I love you; let me kiss that age-worn cheek, and should my tears bedew thy face, I will wipe them away. Oh, I never can forget you; no, never, never!’

‘Weep not,’ said the father, ‘Ambulinia. I will forbid Elfonzo my house, and desire that you may keep retired a few days. I will let him know that my friendship for my family is not linked together by cankered chains; and if he ever enters upon my premises again, I will send him to his long home.’ ‘Oh, father! let me entreat you to be calm upon this occasion; and though Elfonzo may be the sport of the clouds and winds, yet I feel assured that no fate will send him to the silent tomb until the God of the Universe calls him hence with a triumphant voice.’

Here the father turned away, exclaiming: ‘I will answer his letter in a very few words, and you, madam, will have the goodness to stay at home with your mother: and remember, I am determined to protect you from the consuming fire that looks so fair to your view.’

‘Cumming: January 22, 1844.

‘SIR,—In regard to your request, I am as I ever have been, utterly opposed to your marrying into my family; and if you have any regard for yourself, or any gentlemanly feeling, I hope you will mention it to me no more; but seek some other one who is not so far superior to you in standing.

‘W. W. VALEER.’

When Elfonzo read the above letter, he became so much depressed in spirits, that many of his friends thought it advisable to use other means to bring about the happy union. ‘Strange,’ said he, ‘that the contents of this diminutive letter should cause me to have such depressed feelings; but there is a nobler theme than this. I know not why my _military title_ is not as great as that of _Squire Valeer_. For my life I cannot see that my ancestors are inferior to those who are so bitterly opposed to my marriage with Ambulinia. I know I have seen huge mountains before me; yet, when I think that I know gentlemen will insult me upon this delicate matter, should I become angry at fools and babblers who pride themselves in their impudence and ignorance? No. My equals! I know not where to find them. My inferiors! I think it beneath me: and my superiors! I think it presumption: therefore, if this youthful heart is protected by any of the divine rights, I never will betray my trust.’

He was aware that Ambulinia had a confidence that was, indeed, as firm and as resolute as she was beautiful and interesting. He hastened to the cottage of Louisa, who received him in her usual mode of pleasantness, and informed him that Ambulinia had just that moment left. ‘Is it possible?’ said Elfonzo. ‘Oh, murdered hour! Why did she not remain and be the guardian of my secrets? But hasten and tell me how she has stood this trying scene, and what are her future determinations.’ ‘You know,’ said Louisa, ‘Major Elfonzo, that you have Ambulinia’s first love, which is of no small consequence. She came here about twilight, and shed many precious tears in consequence of her own fate with yours. We walked silently in yon little valley, you see, where we spent a momentary repose. She seemed to be quite as determined as ever, and before we left that beautiful spot she offered up a prayer to Heaven for thee.’ ‘I will see her, then,’ replied Elfonzo, ‘though legions of enemies may oppose. She is mine by foreordination—she is mine by prophecy—she is mine by her own free will, and I will rescue her from the hands of her oppressors. Will you not, Miss Louisa, assist me in my capture?’ ‘I will certainly, by the aid of Divine Providence,’ answered Louisa, ‘endeavour to break those slavish chains that bind the richest of prizes; though allow me, Major, to entreat you to use no harsh means on this important occasion; take a decided stand, and write freely to Ambulinia upon this subject, and I will see that no intervening cause hinders its passage to her. God alone will save a mourning people. Now is the day, and now is the hour to obey a command of such valuable worth.’ The Major felt himself grow stronger after this short interview with Louisa. He felt as if he could whip his weight in wild-cats—he knew he was master of his own feelings, and could now write a letter that would bring this litigation to _an issue_.

‘Cumming, January 24, 1844.

‘DEAR AMBULINIA,—

‘We have now reached the most trying moment of our lives; we are pledged not to forsake our trust; we have waited for a favourable hour to come, thinking your friends would settle the matter agreeably among themselves, and finally be reconciled to our marriage; but as I have waited in vain, and looked in vain, I have determined in my own mind to make a proposition to you, though you may think it not in accordance with your station, or compatible with your rank; yet, “sub hoc signo vinces.” You know I cannot resume my visits, in consequence of the utter hostility that your father has to me; therefore the consummation of our union will have to be sought for in a more sublime sphere, at the residence of a respectable friend of this village. You cannot have any scruples upon this mode of proceeding, if you will but remember it emanates from one who loves you better than his own life—who is more than anxious to bid you welcome to a new and a happy home. Your warmest associates say, come; the talented, the learned, the wise and the experienced say, come;—all these with their friends say, come. Viewing these, with many other inducements, I flatter myself that you will come to the embraces of your Elfonzo; for now is the time of your acceptance and the day of your liberation. You cannot be ignorant, Ambulinia, that thou art the desire of my heart; its thoughts are too noble, and too pure, to conceal themselves from you. I shall wait for your answer to this impatiently, expecting that you will set the time to make your departure, and to be in readiness at a moment’s warning to share the joys of a more preferable life. This will be handed you by Louisa, who will take a pleasure in communicating anything to you that may relieve your dejected spirits, and will assure you that I now stand ready, willing and waiting to make good my vows.

‘I am, dear Ambulinia, ‘Yours truly and for ever, ‘J. I. ELFONZO.’

Louisa made it convenient to visit Mr. Valeer’s, though they did not suspect her in the least the bearer of love epistles: consequently, she was invited in the room to console Ambulinia, where they were left alone. Ambulinia was seated by a small table—her head resting on her hand—her brilliant eyes were bathed in tears. Louisa handed her the letter of Elfonzo, when another spirit animated her features—the spirit of renewed confidence that never fails to strengthen the female character in an hour of grief and sorrow like this; and as she pronounced the last accent of his name, she exclaimed, ‘And does he love me yet? I never will forget your generosity, Louisa. Oh, unhappy and yet blessed Louisa! may you never feel what I have felt—may you never know the pangs of love! Had I never loved, I never would have been unhappy; but I turn to Him who can save, and if His wisdom does not will my expected union, I know He will give me strength to bear my lot. Amuse yourself with this little book, and take it as an apology for my silence,’ said Ambulinia, ‘while I attempt to answer this volume of consolation.’ ‘Thank you,’ said Louisa, ‘you are excusable upon this occasion; but I pray you, Ambulinia, to be expert upon this momentous subject, that there may be nothing mistrustful upon my part.’ ‘I will,’ said Ambulinia, and immediately resumed her seat and addressed the following to Elfonzo:—

‘Cumming, Ga., January 28,1844.

‘DEVOTED ELFONZO,—

‘I hail your letter as a welcome messenger of faith, and can now say truly and firmly, that my feelings correspond with yours. Nothing shall be wanting on my part to make my obedience your fidelity. Courage and perseverance will accomplish success. Receive this as my oath, that while I grasp your hand in my own imagination, we stand united before a higher tribunal than any on earth. All the powers of my life, soul, and body, I devote to thee. Whatever dangers may threaten me, I fear not to encounter them. Perhaps I have determined upon my own destruction, by leaving the house of the best of parents; be it so, I flee to you, I share your destiny, faithful to the end. The day that I have concluded upon for this task is _Sabbath_ next, when the family with the citizens are generally at church. For Heaven’s sake let not that day pass unimproved: trust not till to-morrow, it is the cheat of life—the future that never comes—the grave of many noble births—the cavern of ruined enterprise: which like the lightning’s flash is born, and dies, and perishes, ere the voice of him who sees can cry, _Behold! behold!!_ You may trust to what I say; no power shall tempt me to betray confidence. Suffer me to add one word more.

I will soothe thee, in all thy grief, Beside the gloomy river: And though thy love may yet be brief, Mine is fixed for ever.

Receive the deepest emotions of my heart for thy constant love, and may the power of inspiration be thy guide, thy portion, and thy all. In great haste,

‘Yours faithfully, ‘AMBULINIA.’