Inez | Page 4

unfortunate in his speculations, obliged to sell our plantation and negroes, and now, he says, 'a few paltry thousands only remain;' but, oh! that is not the worst; I wish it were, he has sold out everything, broken every tie, and will be here this evening on his way to Texas. He writes that I must be ready to accompany him to-morrow night."
She paused, as if unwilling to add something which must be told, and looked sadly at her cousin.
Mary understood the glance.
"Florry, there is something in the letter relating to myself, which you withhold for fear of giving me pain: the sooner I learn it the better."
"Mary, here is a letter inclosed for you; but first hear what my father says," and hurriedly she read as follows: ... "With regard to Mary, it cannot be expected that she should wish to accompany us on our rugged path, and bitterly, bitterly do I regret our separation. Her paternal uncle, now in affluence, has often expressed a desire to have her with him, and, since my misfortunes, has written me, offering her a home in his family. Every luxury and advantage afforded by wealth can still be hers. Did I not feel that she would be benefited by this separation, nothing could induce me to part with her, but, under existing circumstances, I can consent to give her up."
Florence flung the letter from her as she concluded, and approaching her cousin, clasped her arms fondly about her. Mary had covered her face with her hands, and the tears glistened on her slender fingers.
"Oh, Florry, you don't know how pained and hurt I am, that uncle should think I could be so ungrateful as to forget, in the moment of adversity, his unvaried kindness for six long years. Oh! it is cruel in him to judge me so harshly," and she sobbed aloud.
"I will not be left, I will go with him, that is if--if--Florry, tell me candidly, do you think he has any other reason for not taking me, except my fancied dislike to leaving this place--tell me?"
"No, dear Mary; if he thought you preferred going with us, no power on earth could induce him to leave you."
Mary placed her hand in her cousin's, and murmured,
"Florry, I will go with you; your home shall be my home, and your sorrows my sorrows."
A flash of joy irradiated Florence's pale face as she returned her cousin's warm embrace.
"With you, Mary, to comfort and assist me, I fear nothing; but you have not yet read your uncle's letter, perhaps its contents may influence your decision."
Mary perused it in silence, and then put it in her cousin's hand, while the tears rolled over her cheeks.
"Mary, think well ere you reject this kind offer. Remember how earnestly he entreats that you will come and share his love, his home, and his fortune. Many privations will be ours, in the land to which we go, and numberless trials assail the poverty-stricken. All these you can avoid, by accepting this very affectionate invitation. Think well, Mary, lest in after-years you repent your hasty decision."
There came a long pause, and hurriedly Florence paced to and fro. Mary lifted her bowed head, and pushing back her clustering hair, calmly replied, "My heart swells with gratitude toward my noble, generous uncle. Oh, how fervently I can thank him for his proffered home! yet, separated from you, dear Florry, I could not be happy; my heart would ache for you, and your warm, trusting love. I fear neither poverty nor hardships. Oh, let me go with you, and cheer and assist my dear uncle!"
"You shall go with us, my pure-hearted cousin. When I thought a moment since, of parting with you, my future seemed gloomy indeed, but now I know that you will be near, I am content."
A short silence ensued, broken by a mournful exclamation from Florence.
"Ah! Mary, it is not for myself that I regret this change of fortune, but for my proud, haughty father, who will suffer so keenly. Oh, my heart aches when I think of him!"
"Florry, we must cheer him by those thousand little attentions, which will lead him to forget his pecuniary troubles."
Florence shook her head.
"You do not know my father as I do. He will have no comforters, broods over difficulties in secret, and shrinks from sympathy as from a 'scorching brand.'"
"Still, I think we can do much to lighten his cares, and I pray God I may not be mistaken," replied Mary.
Florence lifted her head from her palm and gazed vacantly at her cousin, then started from her seat.
"Mary, we must not sit here idly, when there is so much to do, Madame ---- should know we leave to-morrow, and it will take us all day to prepare for our journey."
"Do let me go