presence can be dispensed with.”

“Well, young man, said Melissa’s father, 71 since you will not comply with any overtures I make; since you will not accede to any terms I propose, remember, sir, I now warn you to break off all communication and correspondence with my daughter, and to relinquish all expectations concerning her. I shall never consent to marry my daughter to a beggar.”

71

“Beggar!” involuntarily exclaimed Alonzo, and his eyes flashed in resentment.—But he recollected that it was the father of Melissa who had thus insulted him, and he suppressed his anger. He rushed out of the house, and returned to Vincent’s. He had neither heard nor seen any thing of Melissa or Beauman.

Night came on, and he ardently and impatiently expected Melissa. He anticipated the consolation her presence would bestow. Edgar had told him she was more composed. He doubted whether it were proper to excite anew her distress by relating his interview with her father, unless she was already appraised of it. The evening passed on, but Melissa came not. Alonzo grew restless and uneasy. He looked out, then at his watch. Vincent and his lady assured him that she would soon be there. He paced the room. Still he became more impatient. He walked out on the way where she was expected to come. Sometimes he 72 advanced hastily; at others he moved slowly; then stood motionless, listening in breathless silence, momentarily expecting to discover her white form approaching through the gloom, or to hear the sound of her footsteps advancing amidst the darkness. Shapeless objects, either real or imaginary, frequently crossed his sight, but, like the unreal phantoms of night, they suddenly passed away, and were seen no more. At length he perceived a dusky white form advancing in the distant dim obscurity. It drew near; his heart beat in quick succession; his fond hopes told him it was Melissa. The object came up, and hastily passed him, with a “good night, sir.”

72

It was a stranger in a white surtout. Alonzo hesitated whether to advance or to return. It was possible, though not probable, that Melissa might have come some other way. He hastened back to Vincent’s—she had not arrived. “Something extraordinary, said Mrs. Vincent, has prevented her coming. Perhaps she is ill.”—Alonzo shuddered at the suggestion. He looked at his watch; it was half past eleven o’clock. Again he hastily sallied out, and took the road to her father’s.

The night was exceedingly 

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