state of suspense, tike Mahomet’s coffin, midway between hope and fear, and he will then be ever a true and devoted worshipper at their shrine.
It was but a short period after the acceptance by Florence of Moulton’s suit, that a change unheeded at first, seemed gradually coming over his conduct; until it at length became so remarkable as to contrast somewhat strangely with the previous ardent and devoted fondness of his manner toward her. Still he remained the lover—attentive and constant; but, oh! how altered in tone and appearance! From the anxious watcher of her smiles—the humble suppliant after favors at her adored hand—the willing and devoted slave of her most extravagant pleasure; he became, as it were, suddenly transformed into the arbiter of her wishes and desires; and, under covert pretences and measures, sought to influence and govern the hitherto artless frankness of her actions. He wished to control the most true and enchanting of her qualities—the very ingenuousness of manner which aided to the sweetness and amiability of her disposition, but from the first led him on to his success. He was also avaricious of her every smile and blandishment, but miser-like, wished them hoarded; while he seemed to have forgotten the lively relish that he once felt for her society and fascinations. Like the “dog in the manger,” though indifferent himself, he grudged their enjoyment by others, and would fain have wished her to become, in a degree, even an unsocial being to all save himself alone.
Florence could hardly believe the reality of this strange metamorphose at first; but, gradually assuming a more decided character, it became too mortifying and convincingly apparent. She was deeply grieved—not so much, however, at its vexatious aspect, as by the inferences plainly deducible therefrom in regard to future prospects. Yet woman-like, she ever strove to balance the better attributes of his nature against his faults, that thus they might appear to lose much of their real deformity; and even when the latter predominated in the scales, she endeavored to supply the deficit through the resources of much enduring charity, and by imagining those virtues which he might hereafter evince, when the charms and enjoyments of the domestic circle had thrown their enchantments over his heart.
Still these things could not but sink deep into her heart, and what wonder if they served to weaken and wean from him the fervor of her affections. She felt the sad reality of this change, although she evinced it not. Her joys were clouded and interrupted, and ber fond, bright hopes began to hesitate and tremble for their safety. The devotedness with which she loved him only caused her to feel the unkindness of his cold and imperious manner the more keenly; even while she strove to excuse it, and weigh such with the love she knew he really cherished for her, in despite of the fault of his actions—of which she fondly hoped he would ere long become sensible and repentant.
And thus was passed an interval which should have been a season of perfect happiness—the green spring of requited affections. Sorrow lowered upon the sensitive heart of the hitherto gladsome maiden, and chilled all its most joyous aspirations. If such was the spring, what a sad promise did it hold forth of coming seasons! If such was Moulton’s conduct as a lover, what might it be as a husband, when she should remain irrevocably in his power—the unresisting and bonded slave of his caprice! She needed but little assistance to resolve this question, for marriage is ever more intolerable than Moorish slavery, where the husband is disposed to enact the tyrant. And truly she had reason to congratulate herself that such was not yet her situation—that she still possessed the power to withdraw from so unpromising an alliance; or, at least, to exercise prudence and discretion with regard to future movements.
With all her grievances, however, she could not overcome the dread she felt of being thought fickle in ber character. The reproach of inconstancy and faithlessness is held up to timid women to frighten them into submission, and, however they may have been deceived in their first choice, few have the hardihood to venture an exchange, even where there appears sufficient evidence that such might revert to their unbounded profit.
"Man to man so oft unjust is always so to woman!” and even in affairs of the heart, where she is worshipped as the sole and presiding deity, her wishes are scorned and contemned, her feelings trifled with and injured, and her rights and privileges basely trampled upon, while every means of redress are withheld from her power, and she is of necessity compelled to submission.
True, loving, and devoted woman! Would that man might fully appreciate thee as thou art! He would then learn to estimate his own poor worth by the favor found in thy approving eyes, and consider such as the standard of praiseworthy ambition. But it is written that the fool worketh his own evil, and Moulton at length began to realize the truth of the proverb.
It is the last drop which causes the full cap to run over, and it is the last act of oppression which arouses resistance, and incites rebellion against long and submissively endured grievances. At least, it seems thus to the thoughtless and superficial observer, for that which went before is less prominently revealed until the crisis is decided. Therefore we describe more minutely the event which induced Florence to throw off the chain that bound her, or rather to improve the freedom tauntingly given her by the circumstance of Moulton’s breaking the tie himself, in the haughty supposition that like a long imprisoned bird she would return again to its bondage.
They attended an assembly a few evenings before
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