During all his
boyhood he had been cut off from the amusements common to the youth of
that day; now he launched out into the most extravagant pleasures his
money could procure. Money was nothing, for he had it in plenty;
character was nothing, for he had none to lose; only love remained to
him of all the good things he might have held, and love lay bleeding
while he was denied access to Hannah. Love lay bleeding, and he turned
for comfort to the wine-cup, and raised Bacchus to the place Cupid
should have occupied. Alas for Jason Fletcher!
Weeks rolled on and passed into months, and still he was refused speech
with, or right of, Hannah. And he chafed at the denial. Had she not
risked everything to save his life? And he could not even thank her!
At length, being unable to find further excuse wherewith to put him off,
they one day told him he could see his love. They endeavored to prepare
him by hints and suggestions as to the probable consequences of the
trial she had passed through, but all that they could say or he imagine
had not prepared him for the fearful sight.
Poor Hannah Lee! This scarred, deformed and helpless body, without
proper hands--oh! white hands, how well he remembered them!--without
comeliness of form or feature, was all that was left of the once
glorious creature, whose heaven-given beauty had ensnared his fresh and
untutored heart! Poor Hannah Lee!
The rough youth, loving her yet, but repelled by the horrible aspect she
presented, fell sobbing upon his knees and buried his face in the
bed-clothing.
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