The Wilmingtonian, And Delaware Register

In Brittany, province of France, lived two young ladies, sisters, coheiresses of a competent fortune; equally esteemed for their perfections of body and mind, and their uncommon love for each other. An officer of a regiment quartered in town, not more nobly born than they, but possessed of a fortune quite above their pretensions, courted the elder to the equal satisfaction of the younger, who hoped to see her sister's happiness permanently secured, in being thus splendidly provided for.

All his visits and addresses were upon honorable terms. In short they appeared in all public places together, and were generally looked upon as husband and wife.

The regiment by an order from court decamped to new quarters in the extremity of Languedoc. The officer soon after ordered his equipage to be got ready in a private manner, and departed. This news being brought to the younger sister, she was doubly startled at his not taking leave of them, and at his clandestine elopement. She flew to her sister's apartment, whom she found feeding her sickly thoughts with the dear image of her absent lover, and thus, as recovering from a sweet reverie, she spoke—

"Sister is it not strange he has not been with me these two days to consult about our marriage, before he departed for his regiment?"—Her generous heart knew no deceit.—"Ah sister!"—replied the younger, bursting into tears, "you are deceived;"— "Why these tears, cried the other in amaze, speak whatever thou knowest."—"Then know, replied the younger, that last night, your lover left the town without taking leave." The thunder-struck lady made no answer, but fainted away, and was scarce out of one fit but into another. At length recovered by her distracted sister's care, she cried, "I am ruined, I am undone. In consequence of the most solemn and sacred oaths, I yielded up my honor, and now carry the growing proof of my shame. His putting off our marriage whenever I pressed him to it, joined to his midnight escape, show my ruin but too plainly."

Here grief broke in, and interrupted her discourse. Her sympathising sister equally felt the contagious sorrow. Sighs echoed sighs, and tears obscured the charms of each beauteous face. The younger sister comforted the forlorn, as well as circumstances would permit, and prevailed on her to retire to their country seat, for a few days, that nothing might transpire: observing that she had a scheme in her head to make the gentleman fulfil his engagements. It was agreed upon, and executed. The afflicted lady went to the country. The other sent a trusty servant to the post house to hire a chaise, and the best horses, at the same time bidding her waiting-maid bring her travelling dress, and immediately prepare to go with her.—Her orders were punctually obeyed, and in the middle of the third day's most vigorous pursuit, she overtook him in a town where the regiment halted. Being informed where he was at dinner, and perhaps boasting of his late dishonourable exploit, she gave orders to drive thither, and sent in for him. Being an officer and a Frenchman, he was too polite to let a lady wait, but came running out from the table to the post chaise.—He no sooner perceived the sister of her he had abandoned, but instead of being struck with any concern, a thorough good opinion of himself whispered him, that love had made her undertake that tedious pursuit, and therefore accosted her with an air of complete triumph, and several compliments of gallantry, desiring her company to dinner. She lit out of the chaise,— but as she got under the gateway of the inn, stopped him short by the sleeve, and said, "Sir, I am come all this way, and in haste, to know if you will do justice to my sister, which is to return with me immediately, and marry her." To which he cavalierly replied—"That if he had any distant thoughts of marriage, it should be herself and not her sister;" at the same time offering her his hand to lead her into the house.—Enraged at the insulting answer, she assured him she would not go a step forward, nor let go her hold, until she had his last, his positive promise, on that head.—"Why then, cried he, madam, that you may found your hopes of having me to yourself; and be no longer jealous of an insipid sister, she is the last woman in the world I should think of marrying."

At this final declaration, she with a pistol shot him through the head, as he was proceeding with protestations. Down he dropped at her feet, a victim, sacrificed to the manes of her sister's honor. The people of the inn and neighbourhood, alarmed at the deed, flocked round her. She cheerfully surrendered herself to justice. An exact detail of the affair was sent to court, and by the returning post she received the king's pardon.

At her return she informed her disconsolate friend of what had passed, but received no answer from the statue of grief, save sighs, tears and looks toward heaven; she refused all kind of nourishment, and died in a few days, through the double anguish of her lost reputation, and the hasty death of her still dear destroyer. The generous sister, widowed by the afflicting loss, and rendered averse to the opposite sex, by the execrable specimen she had punished, retired to a convent from the slander's noise, and calumniating bustle of the world.