before their husbands. As these ladies entered the room, escorted by the "aides-de-camp" of the Governor who had given the ball, Emily Musgrave suddenly rose, and Mrs. Elving as suddenly ran to meet her. Their greeting was friendly and affectionate, and they only appeared to regret, that the place was too public to allow them to indulge the fulness of their feeling. I noticed, with pain, the contrast between Fanny Elving and her earliest and dearest friend (for Emily had been her schoolfellow). They were about the same age: the one displayed, in melancholy and mournful sadness, the ravages which the fatal experience of bitter disappointments had made in her constitution; and in her remaining beauty seemed the likeness of a being gradually approaching the grave: the other, who as yet had felt none of life's bitterness, was bright and beautiful, lovely and lively, married to the man she loved, and enjoying, with him, all the happiness she could well desire. After conversing for some time, and telling each other the various adventures and accidents which had occurred to them since they last met, Mrs. Elving got up, and saying, "I have not yet, my dear Emily, introduced you to my good lord and mas"ter," turned round, and called the captain to her. As he came forward, and saw Emily, his kness tottered, he turned suddenly pale, and would have fallen, had not two of his fellow officers approached, and led him out of the room. Emily fainted on the spot, and was also borne away: she had seen in the person of captain Elving her own inconstant Edward, and the beloved husband of her dearest friend. The scene was over; Mr. and Mrs. Musgrave had taken Emily home; Captain and Mrs. Elving had retired; the party broke up, and I left the room, deeply impressed with what I had seen. About a week afterwards, as I was one evening strolling with my friend among the tombstones in the burying-ground of the island, we approached a grave newly dug, and my friend emphatically said, "In that grave, in less than half an hour, will be deposited the mortal remains of the once beautiful, 'lovely, gay, fair, and accomplished Emily Musgrave; and she, who, at the early age of nineteen, “has fallen a victim to human misery and human "woe, will leave this world to join the inhabitants "of that heaven she so well deserves." He had scarcely said this when her funeral approached; and we staid to see her consigned to her mother earth. Captain and Mrs. Elving were among the mourners; the latter wept bitterly and sincerely; the former could not weep. The service of the dead began. The worthy rector pronounced it in a solemn and emphatic tone: he seemed as one inspired; the mourners were silent and attentive; the words were said; the melancholy words, 'dust to dust;' and the tears flowed fast, and the sobs burst loud from the parents and friends of the deceased. The service was over. Edward Elving approached the grave— he looked in-he saw the great clods of earth fall on the injured one whom he had once loved; his wife, whom he now loved, stood near him: his feeling was intense; he looked at her, and tried to speak, but could not again he eyed the grave; his eyeballs rolled in fearful wildness; he made an effort to ejaculate "Farewell, Fanny!" and fell-to rise no more! He fell, a lifeless corpse on the coffin of the Deserted, whom his own inconstancy had driven there. The tragedy was over; the scene had closed. It was a melancholy scene that! Another funeral service was performed; and the once joyous, but now altered, Fanny Elving, departed a lone and hapless widow from the grave of her earliest and dearest friend. |