Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone

On that morning, Lenore had promised to be mine; and an early day had been appointed for our marriage.

In procuring her consent to our speedy union, I was aided by Captain Nowell, who wished to be present at the ceremony, and could not postpone the departure of his ship.

When Lenore and I came to compare notes, and make mutual confession, she expressed surprise that I should ever have thought her capable of marrying another!

“Did you not tell me, Rowland,” said she, “to wait for your return, and you would then talk to me of love? I knew your motive for going away; and admired you for it. I firmly confided in what you told me. All the time of your absence, I believed you would come back to me; and I should have waited for many years longer. Ah! Rowland, I could never have loved another.”

My journey to Liverpool – to ascertain the name and address of the man Lenore had not married – I had hitherto kept a secret, but a letter had arrived the evening before, which frustrated my designs. Mrs Lanson had written to her old friend, Mrs Nowell – giving a full account of my visit that had ended so abruptly. I was compelled to listen to a little pleasant raillery from Captain Nowell, who did not fail to banter me about the trouble I had taken, to learn what I might have discovered much sooner and easier – by simply keeping faith with him, in the promise I had made to call upon him.

“I told you aboard the ship,” said he, “that I had something to show you worth looking at; and that you couldn’t do better than visit me, before throwing yourself away elsewhere. See what it has cost you, neglecting to listen to my request. Now, is it not wonderful, that the plan I had arranged for your happiness, when we were seven thousand miles from this place, should be the very one that fate herself had in store for you?”

I agreed with Captain Nowell, that there was something very strange in the whole thing; and something more agreeable than strange.

I returned home highly elated with the prospect of my future happiness. I informed my brother and his wife of a change in my intentions – merely telling them that I had given up the design of returning to Australia. They were much gratified at this bit of news, for they had both used every argument to dissuade me from going back to the colonies.

“What has caused this sudden, and I must say sensible, abandonment of your former plans?” asked my brother.

“I have at last found one,” I answered, “that I intend making my wife.”

“Ah!” exclaimed William, “the one that you had lost?”

“Yes, the one that I had lost; but what makes you think there was such an one?”

“Oh! that was easily seen. Ever since meeting you on the Victoria diggings, I noticed about you the appearance of a man who had lost something – the mother of his children, for instance. I have never asked many particulars of your past life; but, until within the last few days, you looked very like a man who had no other hope, than that of being able to die sometime. Why, Rowland, you look at this minute, ten years younger, than you did three days ago!”

I could believe this: for the change that had taken place in my soul was like passing from night to day.

I was, indeed, happy, supremely happy: since Lenore had promised to be mine.

That day I did not think of poor Jessie, until after my return home, when Mrs Nagger, while setting my tea before me, put the question:

“Please, sir, how is the poor young lady who was here this morning? She was such a nice creetur, I’m anxious to hear if she be well again.”

This was the most reasonable remark I had heard the old housekeeper make, during all my acquaintance with her. She had given utterance to a long speech, without once using her favourite expression. The fact was something wonderful; and that is probably the reason why I have recorded it.

In answer to her interrogatory, I told her, that I had neither seen nor heard of the young lady since the morning.

“Then more’s the pity!” rejoined Mrs Nagger. “If men have no regard for such a lovely creetur as her, it’s no wonder I have never found a husband. More’s the pity, sir! That’s all I can say.”

Mrs Nagger was a good servant; but my sister-in-law and her mother were often displeased with her; on account of a disposition she often displayed for meddling too much with what did not, or should not have concerned her. She seemed to consider herself one of the family; and entitled to know the affairs of every member of it, although I believe she was prompted to this, by a feeling of friendship and good will.

“Nagger,” I once heard my brother’s wife say to her, “I think you give yourself much more trouble, than is required from you.”

“More’s the pity, ma’am!” answered Nagger.

“You must not interfere with what does not concern you,” continued Mrs Stone. “If you do, I shall have to dispense with your services.”

“If you do, ma’am, more’s the pity! That’s all I can say.”

“I wish it was all you could say. Then, perhaps, we should agree very well.”

“The more I don’t trouble about your business,” rejoined Mrs Nagger, “the more’s the pity for us all!”

I believe that my sister-in-law knew this; or if not, she probably thought that a better servant would be difficult to obtain; and Nagger continued to keep her place.

I had promised to call again at Captain Nowell’s, that same evening, and take my brother, his wife, and her mother, along with me.

The Captain wished to see them before setting sail; and had urged me to bring them to his house – a request with which I was but too ready to comply: as I was desirous to show Lenore to my relations. I communicated my intention to them; and asked if they had made any engagement for the evening.

“No, I think not. Have you, William?” asked Mrs Stone.

“Not that I know of,” answered my brother, “unless it be to make ourselves happy at our own fireside.”

“I am to be married in six days,” said I, “and there is no time to lose in getting you acquainted with my intended. I have promised to take you all to see her this evening – if I can induce you to go. What say you? Will you accompany me?”

They looked at each other.

“I cannot tell,” said Mrs Stone. “What do you say, mother? What do you think William. I am impatient to see Rowland’s choice; but would it be etiquette for us to go to-night?”

“What do we care for etiquette?” said William. “I, for one, am above it. Let us go!”

An hour afterwards, we were all on the way to the residence of Captain Nowell.

On being ushered into the drawing-room, my relatives were surprised to meet an old acquaintance – the captain of the ship, on which they had voyaged some thousands of miles.

The Captain first introduced them to his wife; and then to his step-daughter. I had before mentioned her name to my brother – while giving him a brief history of the life I had led, after parting from him in Dublin.

On hearing the name, he gazed upon Lenore for a moment with evident admiration. Then turning to me, he inquired, “Is this the lost one, Rowland?”

I answered in the affirmative.

“I am reading a romance of real life,” said William, as he grasped Lenore’s hand, with a grasp no other but a true sailor could give.

Need I add that we passed that evening in the enjoyment of such happiness, as is only allowed to hearts that throb with innocence and honesty?

Volume Three – Chapter Thirty Three.

A Letter of Sad Significance

Next morning, as I was on my way to Lenore, I thought of Jessie. I was reminded of her by the ringing of bells. It might not have been for her wedding; but no doubt at that same hour the bells of some church were tolling the announcement of the ceremony, that was to make her a wife.

Poor Jessie! I could not help feeling sorrow for her. That peal, that should have produced joy both to her and myself, fell upon my ear in tones of sadness! I fancied – nay, I knew it – that whatever might be her future fate, she was at that moment unhappy!

Engrossed as I was in my own happiness, it was not natural I should long dwell upon the misery of another; and I soon ceased to think of her.

“Jessie is not related to me, nor my family,” thought I, by way of stifling my regrets, “she will soon forget her present griefs; and perhaps be as happy as myself.”

I offered up a silent prayer, that such should be the event.

I saw Lenore; passed with her a pleasant hour or two; and then learnt that my company was on that day no longer required.

Great preparations were being made for the marriage. Every one in the house appeared to be busy – Lenore included – and as she could devote but little time to entertaining me, I took leave of her, and returned home.

On entering my room, I found a letter awaiting me. It lay upon the table; and, drawing near, I cast my eye over the superscription.

I saw that the writing was in a female hand, though not one familiar to me. From whom could the letter be? Something seemed to whisper in my ear the word “Jessie.”

She could not have written to me – least of all at that hour – unless to communicate something of importance; and I hastily tore open the envelope.

I lay before my readers a copy of that ominous epistle:

“Rowland,

“The hour has arrived! The bells are ringing for the ceremony, yet I am sitting here in my chamber – alone – alone in my anguish! I hear hurried movements below, and the sounds of joyful voices – the voices of those who come to celebrate my wedding-day; and yet I move not!

“I know that my sorrows will soon be at an end! Before another hour has passed away, my soul will be wafted to another world! Yes, Rowland! start not – but when those eyes, which have long haunted me in my dreams shall be gazing on these lines, the poor, lone girl who loved you, and sought your love in return, will have ceased to exist. Her soul will be at rest from the agonies of this cruel world!

“Rowland! something tells me that I must not marry, that I must not enter yonder sacred edifice, and pledge myself to one when I love another. My conscience rebels against it. I will never do it! I will die!

“You told me you had found the long-lost one you love. May she know all the happiness that is denied to me! May every blessing from Heaven fall upon her head; and make her life one blissful dream – such as I once hoped might be mine!

“I know that when you read this, the first impulse of your manly heart will be to try to save me. But it will be too late! Before you could reach me, I shall have closed my eyes in the sleep of death! My last prayer shall be, that you may receive every earthly blessing; and that you may long live in happiness to love her you have chosen as your wife!

“Perhaps in your reveries, in solitude, or when your heart is sad – God grant that may never be! you may bestow a thought on her whose heart you won in a foreign land; and who, in her dying hour, breathed only prayers for your welfare. In such a time, and when such thoughts may wander through your mind, I would, that you may think my only sin in life was in loving you too truly!

“Farewell, Rowland! Farewell for ever!

“Jessie.”

I rushed out into the street; and hailed a cab.

“Put your horse to his greatest speed,” cried I to the driver, “Reach the house, as soon as ever you can!”

“What house?” asked the cabby.

I gave the address; and sprang into the vehicle.

The driver and horse both seemed to sympathise with my impatience: for each appeared to exert himself to the utmost.

I reached the street; but, before arriving at the house, I could see a crowd of people collected about the door.

Their movements betokened great agitation. Something very unusual had certainly happened. It was not like the excitement caused by a wedding: for —

“Then and there was hurrying to and fro,And gathering tears, and tremblings of distress;And cheeks all pale, which but an hour agoBlushed at the praise of their own loveliness.”

My arrival was not noticed by any member of the family. They were up-stairs, and I saw none of them; but from one of their guests, I obtained the details of the sad story. I was indeed, as Jessie had said in her letter, too late!

A few minutes before my arrival, she had been found dead in her dressing-room – with a bottle of prussic acid by her side!

I rushed back into the cab; and ordered the driver to take me home again. I was too much unmanned, to remain a minute longer in that house of woe.

I had suffered great mental agony on many previous occasions. When alone, with the body of my companion Hiram – whom I had neglected when on the “prospecting” expedition in California – my thoughts had been far from pleasant. They were not agreeable when I saw my friend, Richard Guinane, by his own act fall a corpse before my face. Great was the pain I felt, when standing by the side of poor Stormy Jack, and looking upon his last agonies. So was it, when my mother left me; but all these – even the grief I felt when told that Lenore was married, were nothing to the anguish I experienced, while riding home through the crowded streets of London, and trying to realise the awful reality that Jessie H – had committed suicide. A heart that but an hour ago had been throbbing with warm love – and that love for me – was now cold and still. A pure spirit, altogether devoted to me, had passed suddenly away – passed into eternity with a prayer upon her righteous lips; and that prayer for myself!

My anguish at her untimely end, was mingled with the fires of regret. I submitted my conscience to a strict self-examination. Had I ever deceived her, by pretending a love I did not feel? Was I, in any way, to blame for the sin she had committed? Did I, in any way, lead her to that act of self-destruction? Could her parents, in the agony of their grief, reproach me for anything?

These questions haunted me all that night; and I slept not. I even endeavoured to remember something in my conduct, which had been wrong. But I could not: for I had never talked to her of love. In all, that had passed between us, I had been true to Lenore.

In the voyage of her life, her hopes, as well as her existence, had been wrecked upon me; but I was no more to blame than the rock, unmarked on map or chart, against which some noble ship has been dashed to pieces.

In that sad letter, Jessie had expressed a hope that I would think of her, and believe her only guilty of the crime of having loved me too well.

That wish died with her; but obedience to it, still lives with me.

When I returned home, on the day of her death, I locked myself in my chamber; and read that letter over and over again. No thoughts – not even of Lenore – could keep the rain of sorrow from dimming my eyes, and drowning my cheeks.

My life may be long; faith, hope, and even love for Lenore, may become weak within me; but never shall be effaced from my heart, the deep feeling of sorrow for the sad fate of Jessie H – .

May her spirit be ever blessed of God!

Her last act was not that of self-murder. It was simply that of dying; and if in the manner she acted wrong, it was a wrong of which we may all be guilty. Let her not be condemned then, among those whose souls are tainted and distorted by the vanities and hypocrisies of so-called civilised society!

To her family and friends, there was a mystery about the cause of her death, that they could not unravel. Her letter to me would have explained all; but that letter I did not produce. It would only have added fuel to the fire of their grief – causing it to burn with greater fierceness, and perhaps to endure longer. I did not wish to add to their unhappiness. I had too much respect for her memory to exhibit that epistle to any one, and see it printed, with the usual vulgar commentary, in the papers of the day.

The unfortunate ending of her life is now an event of the past; and her parents have gone to rejoin her in another and happier world, else that letter would still have remained in the secret drawer – from which it has now been taken.

Volume Three – Chapter Thirty Four.

The Rolling Stone at Rest

One bright May morning, from the turrets of two London churches pealed forth the sound of bells. Sadly discordant were they in tone, yet less so, than the causes for which they were being tolled. One was solemnly announcing the funeral of one, who had lived too long, or died too soon. Its mournful monotone proclaimed, that a spirit had departed from this world of woe, while the merry peals of the other betokened a ceremony of a far different character: that in which two souls were being united – to enjoy the supremest happiness upon earth.

It seemed a strange coincidence, that the very day chosen for my marriage with Lenore should be the one appointed for the funeral of Jessie H – . And yet such chanced to be the case.

I knew it; and the knowledge made me sad.

There was a time, when I would not have believed, that a cloud of sorrow could have cast its shadow over my soul, on the day I should be wedded to Lenore. But I did not then understand myself; or the circumstances in which Fate was capable of placing me.

Ten years have elapsed, since that day of mingled joy and sadness – ten years of, I may almost say, unalloyed happiness, in the companionship of a fond affectionate wife. During this time, I have made a few intimate friends; and there is not one of them would believe – from the quiet, contented manner in which I now pass my time that I had ever been a “Rolling Stone.” Since becoming a “Benedict,” I have not been altogether idle. Believing that no man can enjoy life, so well as he who takes a part in its affairs, I was not long settled in London, before entering into an occupation.

I am now in partnership with Captain Nowell, who has long since professionally forsaken the sea; and we are making a fair fortune, as ship agents and owners.

The only misunderstanding that has ever arisen between my brother William and myself, has been an occasional dispute: as to which of us is the happier.

We often hear from “the Elephant” and our sister Martha. The last letter received from them, informed us that we might soon expect to see them on a visit to the “old country.”

After the melancholy event that deprived them of their daughter, Mr H – and his family could no longer endure a residence in England; but returned to their colonial home. They lived to see little Rosa married, and happy – some compensation, perhaps, for the sorrow caused by her sister’s sad fate.

Cannon and Vane I only knew afterwards as occasional acquaintances. I have just heard of their meeting in Paris, where a quarrel occurred between them – resulting in a duel, in which the latter was killed. I have also heard, that, since the affair, Cannon has been seen at Baden-Baden – earning his livelihood as the croupier of a gaming table!

Mrs Nagger and my brother’s wife did not continue many months under the same roof; and the old housekeeper is now a member of my household – a circumstance of which I am sometimes inclined to say in her own words, “More’s the pity;” but this reflection is subdued, every time it arises, by respect for her many good qualities, and a regard for the welfare of my children.

Her days will probably be ended in my house; and, when that time comes, I shall perhaps feel inclined to erect over her grave a stone, bearing the inscription:

“Jane Nagger,

Died

And more’s the pity!”

Yet, I hope that many years may pass, ere I shall be called upon to incur any such expense on her account.

There was a time when roaming through the world, and toiling for Lenore, I thought I was happy. When riding over the broad plateaux of Mexico, amidst the scenes of lonely grandeur that there surrounded me – as also when toiling amidst the scenes of busier life in California – I believed my existence to be one of perfect happiness. I was travelling, and toiling, for Lenore.

But now that years have passed, and Lenore is mine – I find that what I then deemed happiness was but a prophetic dream. It is while seated by my own tranquil hearth, with my children around me, and she by my side – that true happiness finds its home in my heart.

When I allow my thoughts to dwell solemnly on the gifts that God has bestowed upon me, I feel grateful to that Providence that has watched over my fortunes, and ruled my heart to love only one —only “Lost Lenore.”

The End