me, until one day, when I was about twelve or thirteen, it flew to a young girl who was visiting me, and refused to come back when I called it. When it did come, at last, I killed it in my hand.
I remember my nurse very well, and a pretty French maid who attended me afterward; but I do n't think I cared much about either.
I do n't think that I loved any thing much except the bird that I crushed in my hand; at least, until I got to be eighteen. I was, of course, as is the case generally in New-York, taken into society quite young—at sixteen, I think—and I saw a good deal of it. I was rich, and I may say it now, beautiful, so that I did not lack suitors who professed the profoundest devotion for me. Some of them were pleasant, one or two handsome and fascinating men, and I often wondered at the existence of my utter indifference for them all. By-and-by I won the reputation of a cold, unaffectionate girl, and those who were really worthy began to leave me to myself, and none remained but those who thought only of my fortune. Cold and unaffectionate! Ah! if they could have seen the ceaseless agonies of tears into which I burst in my own room; if they could have seen my arms trying to wind themselves round my own body, or felt the thrills and yearnings of the unknown passion that convulsed me with its power, that was consuming my heart!
There was a large party given on my eighteenth birth-day, and it took its usual course. I have forgotten all about it until, about the middle of it, I saw a young man standing in a corner looking at me. As I met his look an indescribable thrill passed through me, and I felt faint for a moment. My impulse was to rise and clasp him in my arms. He haunted me and frightened me, yet I felt a strange desire to get near him. When he came, at last, introduced by my guardian as Mr. Mark Winston, I had scarcely strength or self-possession to bow. He asked me to dance and I refused, I know not why; I never cared for that amusement, yet I had never refused any one before. Then he sat down and talked to me a little while, but the shrinking still remained, and I answered I know not how or what. But he dropped a glove beside me, and when he had gone, I picked it up, and put it into my bosom; and when I was alone, I knew that I loved him, and that that love was my life.
