But Miss Dodan had been
observant. Her developing affections became daily more tender and
delicate, and her solicitude evinced itself in many charming, thoughtful
ways that added only a more poignant sadness to my sufferings.
I was, indeed, tortured by the conflicting aims life seemed to furnish
me. On the one hand was the necessity of continuing, if I could, my
communications with my father; on the other, the duty I owed myself to
abandon all for the woman I truly loved, and to renovate and establish
my health so that I might woo and win, and marry her.
It was, in a sense, an ethical question, but it was quite as hard to
determine by ordinary arguments whether I could have any permission to
violate my promise to my father, as it was to estimate the exact measure
of my obligations to myself and Miss Dodan. An incident occurred that
dissipated this dilemma, sent Miss Dodan to England, and left me at
Christ Church to receive the last message from my father before the
sickness had fully developed that now has laid its searching and
remorseless veto upon any further life or happiness for me in this
world.
Miss Dodan and myself were seated together upon a bench drawn up in the
sunshine at the foot of the Observatory, watching with delight the
distinct changing sea, the plumes of smoke from diminished steamers, and
the white glory of full-rigged ships. It was the autumn of the southern
country, and the dreamy spell of the declining days fell softly upon the
material tissues of nature, as well as on the acquiescent spirit of man.
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