Alice Wilde: The Raftsman's Daughter. A Forest Romance

								

for the market?"
"Don't provoke me, Philip." The black eyes were fixed upon him
haughtily.
"Forgive me, Virginia. I am half-mad just now, you know. You can not
say that you have not encouraged me."
"Perhaps I have--shown you the affection of a cousin. I have felt
as if you were one of the family. I might even have felt a still
closer interest, had I allowed myself. But I am, what you never will
be--prudent. I may yet see some one whom I can really respect and love,
who has also the fortune you lack; if not, I shall accept some one
for glory's sake, and let the love go! Don't look so scornful, Phil.
I have beauty, fashion, pride of place, family, every thing but the
means wherewith to set these off magnificently; and this has made me
ambitious. Dear Philip, much as I like you, I could never be contented
to wait your slow promotion."
"Prudence is very commendable, Virginia. Its maxims fall with double
force from lips as beautiful as yours. I will try to learn it. I, a
man, upon whom such cold duties are supposed most naturally to devolve,
will be taught by you, a soft, tender woman, who looks as if made for
the better purpose of loving and teaching love. Farewell! when you see
me again, perhaps I shall rival you in prudence."
"You are not going away, cousin Philip?" He was already opening the
door into the hall, as she followed him, and caught his hand.
"Oh, yes, I am. Since only rich men can possess the happiness such
gentle creatures have it in their power to bestow, I must make haste
after wealth," and he looked down bitterly at the proud girl over whose
face was coming a faint expression of remorse and relenting.
"Shall I not hear from you?" she asked, quite humbly.
"No; not until I am in a fair way to achieve that which will recommend
me to your disinterested affection!"
He withdrew his hand from her clasp, and went out with a quick,
resounding step which told of the firmness of his resolution. The girl
who had rejected him sank down in the nearest seat. She had never
seen him look more--as a woman is proud to have a man look--handsome,
self-reliant, determined, than in the hour of his disappointment. Two
or three tears trickled through her jeweled fingers; she shook them off
impatiently.
"He is a man who would never have shamed my choice," she whispered.
"But I have decided for the best. I know my own disposition; I should
fret at the chains which limited my power. And I am used to every
indulgence. I am selfish. Poor Phil! if somebody would present you with
a check for half-a-million, I'd marry you to-morrow."
In the mean time Philip Moore, all the dregs stirred up from the bottom
of the fountain in his usually transparent soul, hurried to the office
which he had just set up in Wall-street. There, as if in answer to
the wish which had been aroused, he found a letter from a friend who
had emigrated westward three years previously, forsaking the law for