ABSTRACT
While in the delightful and calm pleasures of a society where confidence and mutual affection presided, the days of Delmont passed on, and while every one, as it passed, increased his ardent love for Medora, his admiration of her mother, and his friendship and esteem for Mr. Armitage, who was very frequently with them, spring gradually approached; and would have been greeted by Delmont with more than usual pleasure, had he not feared as much as he loved. The early notices of vernal delight, the copses, where a tender and pale yellow already preceded the opening leaves, from the tasseled katkins of the sallow, the willow, and the hazle; the bright tufts of the spurge, and the hollow folds of the arum,84 the white violets, and half blown primroses lurking under the southern hedges, reminded him that April would soon arrive, and in April the future destiny of his life might be decided, for then letters from Glenmorris would probably arrive. – His courage to look forward often failed when he represented to himself how many difficulties might arise to prevent his union with Medora. ‘How often,’ said he, as he considered this matter with himself, ‘how often have I had occasion to observe, that men are frequently quite unlike the representation made of them. The world agrees to call Glenmorris a very singular character; but frequently are traits obliterated by time and change of circumstances, which the world has called singular. Traits of disinterestedness and high-minded generosity are those that to the greater part of mankind appear the strangest, because such they are incapable of imitating or comprehending – But whatever of these noble qualities Glenmorris might, in the earlier part of his life, possess, who shall say that in more mature age, when the character so often changes, he will be exempt from feeling the influence of other considerations, and as he has contended himself with many of the evils of a narrow fortune, how am I secure, that if his daughter is found to be heiress to a considerable property, he may be willing to give her to so poor a man as I may then appear to him? – Is it possible then, nay, 189even probable, that I may lose her? What will then become of me? Of what value will my life be without her? and where is the philosophy of having suffered myself thus to depend for the happiness of that life on the events of so many contingencies, and on the will of a man I do not know?’
