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The shadow on the pillow

page: 0 (TitlePage) [View Page 0 (TitlePage) ]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 0 (TitlePage) THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW: AND OTHER STORIES. BY SARAH ALLEN NOWELL BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY A. TOMPKINS, 38 & 40 CORNHLL. 1860. page: 0 (Table of Contents) [View Page 0 (Table of Contents) ]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 0 (Table of Contents) Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by SARAH ALLEN NOWELL, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. CONTENTS. THE SHADOW ON THE PIMLOW,. ....................... ........ 9 CARLOTTA'S AWAKENING, .................................... 34 THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT JOHN, ............... ......... ...... 46 CATHERINE PETROFF, ................. ......*....... ... 58 THE REGALIA OF SCOTLAND, .......... ......*.. 81 THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE, ................................. 93 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN,.... .................. 103 THE SPIRIT BRIDE, ......................................... 116 THE BLUE CHAMBER, ........................................ 129 THE MAID OF BRE(ENZ,..................................... 147 THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA, ............................... 158 ROBERT HARIMON'S SPIRIT, .................. .............. 168 CASA DELLA SIRENA ........................................ 183 MAUD, OR THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE, ....................... 193 THE CORONACH, ... ...................................... 207 THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS, ........ ........ ..... .... 217 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP ........................... 234 THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES ........6. ..O......... .... 249 page: viii (Table of Contents) -ix[View Page viii (Table of Contents) -ix]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page viii (Table of Contents) -ix Viii CONTENTS. HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER, ............................... 261 THE IN SURRECTION, .......................................... 2" TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON,................... 290 THE PASS OF PLUMES, ............. ......................... 313 THE WIDOW'S CURSE, ....................................... 319 A LEGEND OF NANTUCKET, ....... ........... 329 THE PRISONER OF STATE . ...... .. .......................... 339 THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE, ................ .... . ..... 348 A LEGEND OF MEILAND. .................................... 358 THE INFANTA OF SPAIN, ................. ..................... 370 THE FATE OF A QUEEN ..................................... 384 THE VICTIM OF THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE, .............. 396 THE sun was just rising over the green hills above the town of Kirkcudbright, in Scotland, and shedding his rays over the silver water of the Sol- way. It rose on a mourning group, assembled at a low, picturesque house at the upper end of the town, for Donald Murray, the only son of the fami- ly inhabiting it, was to set off on that morning to join the army. The elder Murray was a fine specimen of the true Scottish peasantry. Shrewd, calculating, and somewhat cold, in matters that did not come very near the heart, he yet preserved a corner in that heart where the tenderest and kindliest emotions still dwelt. On that morning, these emotions were all called forth. The father triumphed over the man; for his pride and affection for this son was one of the strongest bonds that he recognized. Murray's wife had been dead for several years, and her place was supplied in the family by the 1 page: 10-11[View Page 10-11]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 10-11 10 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. s eldest daughter, Catharine. Two younger sisters, with Donald, completed the family. Donald had ever been distinguished for his daring and adven- turous spirit; and, added to this, he possessed what few knew of him -a strong poetical taste, and a heart alive to every keen sense of the true and beautiful, Bred a peasant, dependent on the occupation of a gardener, he had lived in almost complete seclu- sion, keeping within his heart the beautiful fancies which so enchained his being, yet finding constant food for them in that very occupation. The light- est flower that opened under his fostering hand was a revelation of beauty to the lowly Scottish gardener. The tiniest bird that built in the over- hanging trees, was to him a wonder and a delight; and already he had filled numberless sheets with his rude but correct drawings of birds, flowers and insects, which, with slender materials, he had col- ored to the life. But all these things he had kept to himself. Only his twin-sister, Rose, knew of her brother's gentle nature, and of these quiet pur- suits. Outside of his own family, he had another repu- tation - that of bravery and courage. Donald Murray had never looked on another's wrongs without trying to prevent or avenge them. His heart, while it was gentle as a woman's, was yet bold as a lion's; and, in his own neighborhood, he THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. " had been known from a boy as the champion of the oppressed. Among this class, was the orphan child of a man with whom his father had been on terms of intimacy for years. Robert Ashton died and left his only idaughter to the care of a man by the name of Nevis, who already held most of Ashton's hard earnings, and who, he thought, would certainly protect his fatherless child, and look after the little fortune he should leave her. Nevis, a whining, snuffling churchman, untrue to his religion, grasping in his pecuniary matters, and hard and selfish in his exactions from others, grew positively dishonest, when entrusted with little Flora's small fortune, and treated the child with real cruelty, from the hope that she would die under his treatment, or become a household drudge in his family, thereby saving the expense of a ser- vant to his sickly and complaining wife. It roused Donald's indignation, when little Flora Ashton would pass the gate of the garden where he was employed, bare-footed, and with a heavy basket poised on her head, such as only a strong boy should have carried. When he passed the house of Nevis, he had frequently seen the delicate child of fourteen years, laying out large webs of cloth upon the bleaching ground, washing heavy clothesat the spring, and even carrying large burdens of wood, Once, too, he had heard passionate words, and the sound of a blow, from within the house, and he was page: 12-13[View Page 12-13]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 12-13 12 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. # certain that the voice was that of Mrs. Nevis, whose temper was a well-known theme in the neighborhood. At the same time, Flora came out of the house with her cheeks red and swollen, and the purple mark of a Lroad hand on her white neck, which even hardship had not spoiled. Don- ald longed to go in and strike the heartless woman for her cruelty to such a being as Flora, Ashton; but he wisely considered that he might do the child more injury than benefit, and he contented himself with following her down to the spring, to which she was carrying a basket of clothes for the bleach- ing ground. , He came up with her as soon as she arrived at a distance from which Mrs. Nevis's prying eyes could no longer discern her. She had done weeping, but there was an expression of settled grief, almost of despair, on the poor child's face, which touched the noble and pitying heart of Donald Murray. He took the basket from her hand, and went with her to the spring, wet the cloth and spread it upon the heather, and then talked with her, calmly and seri. ously, about her present condition in the family of Nevis. Encouraged by his sympathy, she weepingly told him of the hardships and privations to which she was subjected, and Donald's manly heart bled afresh at her recital. She had no idea that she had any right to leave Nevis, or to resist the cruelty to which she was exposed. THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 13 "You know I must bear it, Donald," she inno- cently answered to his execrations upon Nevis and his wife; "I must bear it, and I do, as patiently as I can, though sometimes I feel that I must have done wrong, when Mr. Nevis prays at night, and sets forth all my faults in his prayer." "Canting, lying hypocrite!" exclaimed Donald. '"Don't tell me any more, Flora, or I shall want to go and strangle him and his abominable ,wife." "Ah!" sighed Flora, " it is bad enough for him -a man--to be so savage, but when she gives way to her temper, it seems a great deal more ter' rible to me. Besides, Mr. Nevis, himself never strikes me; he only encourages her to strike." "Say no more, Flora," he said. "I shall go mad if I hear anything more. Come with me instantly; nay, you must come to my father and sisters, and see if nothing can be done to relieve you from this bondage." He led the weeping girl home to his father's roof, interested them all in her case, and represent- ed to Mr. Murray how the child of his friend had been treated. Measures were taken that very day to free the child from her tyrants, and she entered their house no more. Nevis and his wife raged and stormed in vain. The powerful arm of the law made him account for every farthing of her father's property, and enough was obtained of him to send Flora -to a respectable *1 T! page: 14-15[View Page 14-15]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 14-15 " THE SHADAW ON THE PILLOW. school in the southern parish of Kircudbright, over s which two English ladies had long presided. From this school she had come at the regular vacations for three years, to spend a few weeks in the family of her deliverer, for so she considered Donald Murray. On his part, Donald, whose pity had been so thoroughly awakened, began, as Flora grew older, to experience a tenderer sensation. Of the beauti- ful ideals which had filled the imagination of the young gardener, Flora Ashton was the perfect re- alization; and, as she grew fairer and lovelier eve- ry year, under the fostering care of the two amia- ble women who instructed her, she was beginning to assume a height in his fancy to which he hardly dared to look up. She, a beautiful, accomplished, and educated girl, and he, a simple gardener! Had he known that the youths of many noble families, who came to visit their sisters at the school, from Glasgow and Edinburgh, were not half so noble, in the eyes of Flora, as the gardener of Kircudbright, he would have marvelled how it could be so; but such was the fact; and even when the young Lord Rothwell condescended to notice the beauty of her figure, and praise her splendid hair, compliments which his sister repeat. ed to Flora, she turned away from the flattery, with a silent wish thht the words had come from Donald Murray. THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 15 The vacation season, falling as it did in the month of roses, was the jubilee of the year to Don. ald. For her coming he preserved the rarest and most beautiful of his floral offerings. For this he labored to build and ornament the finest boat that was launched on the Solway. And it was his de- light, on moonlight evenings, to take her out on the river, with his father and sisters, and to watch her undisguised pleasure on the little voyage. It was then that she would sing the beautiful English songs, that came so sweetly in her Scottish accent. now tempered a;.d mellowed from the tone she had imperceptibly caught from her instructresses. Even the elder Murray, who had little of poetic or musical inspiration, acknowledged that the "puir orphan lassie had an unco pleasant voice ;" and Rose would sit with her arm round Flora's waist, trying to catch and imitate the sweet Southron sound, while Catharine and Mysie would listen to her songs, pleased without knowing why, at the strain which sounded so oddly in their Scottish ears. After these happy weeks, Flora would go back to school, with something like a shadow on her girlish brow, and a weight on her heart, that she had not experienced since the days when the brawny Nevis and his hysterical wife had held rule and sway over her. And Donald would go back to the garden, where the flowers seemed to have lost page: 16-17[View Page 16-17]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 16-17 16 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. their beauty, and the voices of the birds their mel- ody; for he could not help acknowledging to him- self, that Flora Ashton, with her singular beauty, her talents and cultivation, might, and would look higher than the poor gardener. At such times h would passionately exclaim: "Why does she then allow me to think that she likes me? Why does she permit me to press her hand, and look for hours into those soft eyes, which perhaps are only lighting me to my ruin? O, Flora! you are either very cruel to me, or kinder than I can believe!" To none, not even to his darling sister Rose, did Donald murmur these fancies. Like a true poet, he kept all his own sorrows closely locked within his breast, and only sung of imaginary griefs. But the true spirit of poetry was now actually develop- ed, and already he had written much that was very sweet and touching. Some of these effusions he had given to Flora, who valued them above all price, and kept them as hidden treasures. Anoth- er memorial which she cherished, was a roughly executed but remarkably correct likeness of him- self, which Donald had drawn in the leisure hours of the preceding winter. It was a noble head, and did more justice to his genius than credit to his materials, which were of the rudest kind. But Flora looked only at the perfect resemblance, and after many ineffectual attempts, on her part, to carry it off, she succeeded, on her last visit, in ob. taining it. THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 17 She hung the drawing in her chamber at school, where she could see it, the moment she waked in the morning. It was admired by all as a fancy head, and Flora never breathed to any one that it had an original. With this before her, she became more contented than she had usually been on her first return to the southern parish, after a vacation. And yet she hardly knew why it was that this pic- ture afforded her such perfect satisfaction. She thought that perhaps it was because Donald rescu- ed her from the hands of Nevis ; but as the elder Murray had taken a large part in the matter, she ought to have felt quite as much pleased with the portrait which Donald had executed, with a still greater portion of artistic skill, of his father, and which also graced the opposite wall of her cham- ber. Many were the jeers which her volatile com panions bestowed upon her, for the care with which she cherished this treasure; and they more than half suspected that it was a true resemblance to some one whom Flora knew. She had given it a beautiful frame, placed a glass over its sur- face, and hung a wreath of bright immortelles around it. The school at Kirkcudbright boasted of one pupil, at least, of noble blood. This was the sister of the young Lord Rothwell, Lady Alice Keith, a sweet, gentle girl, who had attached page: 18-19[View Page 18-19]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 18-19 18 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. herself to- Flora from the moment she entered the school. By her own request, Flora shared her chamber, and henceforth the two girls, equal in everything but rank, were inseparable. One day, Flora was surprised to hear that some one was asking for her, in the parlor. She went down with some trepidation, and was struck by the apparition of Donald Murray. She did not know that two of the young girls had looked from the window and instantly recognized the original of her favorite drawing, in the noble head of the person who had vaulted so lightly from his horse, at the gateway. Flora approached him with a beating heart. His look was grave, and she feared that he had some unpleasant news to communicate of the family. - He did not keep her long in suspense. He told her that he had enlisted in the army, and would join the troops going to the Crimea on the following day. Her emotion satisfied him that he had, at least, some interest in her heart; for she burst into a flood of tears, and hid her face upon his shoulder. It almost unmanned him. "Why do you go, Donald?" she at length found voice to ask. "Shall I tell you, Flora'?" he said. "I go to win a name, and I will do it, or die on the field." Flora shuddered, THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 19 "Nay, I go, Flora, that I may one day be worthy of you-of your love. You will not think me beneath you, when I have won that name, dearest, will you?" "O, Donald, you are cruel, now? When did Flora Ashton ever think herself above the noble friend who rescued her from drudgery and oppres- sion. "Well, I was wrong, perhaps. But say, Flora, may I hope that, if I serve the queen faithfully and well, my other and dearer. queen will smile upon my return?" The half hour was up which the Misses Maccle- field allowed to visitors; and Flora was obliged to send Donald away; but before he went, they were plighted for life or death, for good or evil, for earth or heaven. The troops passed through the southern parish of Kirkcudbright, on their way to jbin the Eng. lish regiment. The pupils had a respite from study, in order that they might see them; and such was the excitement, that no one missed Flora, until Agnes Dean cried out: "Look, Lucy: there is the man who came to see Flora Ashton, yesterday I Flora, here is the original of your favorite drawing! Flora was not there. She was sobbing in her chamber, with her head buried hi the pillow, to shut out the sound of the drum. That was indeed page: 20-21[View Page 20-21]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 20-21 20 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. an hour of agony, and the" prelude to many more for she watched the lightest tidings from the Crimea with an interest which took from her all power to think of aught else. June arrived--but Flora could not bear to go home to Mr. Murray's. She could not bear the sympathy of Rose, to whom she knew that Donald would confide their engagement, and she gladly accepted the cordial invitation of Lady Alice Keith, to pass the vacation with her at her father's, in Edinburgh. Gentle, modest and well bred, graceful and lady-like in her manners, simple and yet elegant in her mourning dress, which she still wore, there was nothing in her station, as the daughter of a solicitor at Kirkcudbright, which would appear strange or incongruous, as the guest of the good and simple Earl of Rothwell, and his sweet daughter, Alice. So far from this, they felt a positive honor, as well as satisfaction, in receiving a young lady who had distinguished herself above all others, at Misses Macclefield's celebrated school; and they introduced her, with conscious pride, to their numerous other guests. Had it not been for the thought of the absent soldier, Flora's visit would have been delightful. As it was, it proved' exceedingly gratifying, and she carried away- with her many pleasant m emo rials to write to Donald. . , THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 21 Alas! every breeze from the Crimea wafted evil tidings from the gallant troops. The sounds of suffering, of privation, almost of despair, came with every blast that swept over the expanse of waters. How could it be with Flora's gallant soldier? One letter she received from him, by which she knew that he well deserved to be called by that name. It was after one of those heavily fought, but ineffectual battles, before Sevastopol, when so many " gallant soldiers " lay, "with their feet to the foe," in the trenches. Donald had deserved and received the thanks of his commander, for the brave and fearless con- duct, by which he had more than once signalized himself. Flora read this letter with an exulting pride, which, for a short time, dispelled, or rather over powered her fears. Now, she went gladly to the little home among the hills of Kirkcudbright, and carried news that made the father's heart glad, for he, too, had pride, as well as love; for his son. And Rosa's gentle eyes overflowed with tears for the brother who seemed a part of herself; and from whom this was her first separation, since the day when their mother's angel spirit had blessed their birth, and then departed, to watch their future from a higher world. And Catharine and Mysie, intent on household cares, were mak- ing up clothes for that dear brother, which they 2 page: 22-23[View Page 22-23]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 22-23 2'2 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. hoped would reach him with the first supplies from England. It was a new phase in the lives of the hitherto quiet and home-loving family; but they met it hopefully and courageously, as Donald had exhorted them to do, at parting. Another and another letter came, and with it, with pardonable pride, Donald sent the printed report of " the bravery and courage of private Murray;" and again and again did Flora's heart beat high with exultation. Again was heard, in the little parlor at Kirkcudbright, the voice of thanksgiving and prayer, from the lips of the aged and venerable father, now almost past the active labor of life, and looking forward to his son as to the pillar and support of his declining years, and the protector of his daughters. Then came sad news indeed. The Scottish troops had suffered severely, and great anxiety was felt for the absent Donald. Uncertainty was stamped on every face, and the next tidings were anticipated with dread and apprehension. At last, a letter came for Flora, directed in an unknown hand. She trembled as she held it in ' her grasp, unable to break the seal. Her head i grew dizzy, and she would have fallen to the floor, had not Alice Keith caught her in her arms. . . To Alice she had, at last, confessed that the original of her beloved portrait was her lover, ; THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW 23 and to her she had communicated, from time to time, the hopes and fears which his letters had awakened. The sympathizing girl led her to the bed, from whence she could see Donald's picture; and breaking the seal from the-letterJ she besought Flora to lie down and read it. "He is dead!" said Flora. "He would have written me himself, had he been living." "Not so, dear Flora. Sick he may be, but surely alive. Do not give way to apprehension in this matter. Nay, dear," she continued, reso- lutely putting her arms around her, and placing the open letter before her eyes, " nay, dear, you shall read it." "I cannot read the words," gasped Flora. "Read it, Alice. I will try to bear it. She covered her eyes with her hands and lis- tened: "A friend of Donald Murray, is requested by him to inform Miss Ashton that, in the terrible battle of yesterday, he was wounded severely in the right arm. The surgeon has pro- nounced amputation necessary; and it will be performed this evening. The friends of Ensign Murray have reason to be proud of his gallant conduct in yesterday's conflict. The papers, one of which is all I can procure to send you, are teeming with his bravery. In fact, the queen has no betier men in her regiment than the Scottish troops. "Later.-Miss Nightingale is at this moment with your friend, earnestly begging the surgeons to defer the amputation until morning, which they have promised her to do. She page: 24-25[View Page 24-25]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 24-25 24 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. thinks it may not be needed, if inflammation does not super. vene during the night. Your friend looks the thanks which he is too weak to speak; yet he whispers to me in broken words, ' Tell Flora to hope!' "Morning.--Miss Nightingale is again by his bedside, having gone the entire rounds of the hospital since I wrote last night. The arm, she says, is doing well. She bends over him like an angel of mercy; and he looks at her with a reverential gaze, that tells how deep is his thankfulness. "Thursday.-Murray's arm is out of danger of being ampu- tated. He is very weak from loss of blood, but has talkedg with me at intervals to-day, and told me of you, and of the g deep anxiety which you would feel. He says, "Tell Flora I owe it all to one whom, in gentleness and courage, she most nearly resembles--Florence Nightingale.' 'After a while, he M raised his feeble head, and said: 'Tell her that Ilkissedthe shadow of that angel form every time it has fallen on my pillow!' !I Friday Morning.-The despatches are ready to be sent off, and I can only say that Murray is gaining slowly. I trust he will soon be able to write you himself, or at least, dictate. I With many kind wishes, I am yours with great sympathy and respect, WARRINGTON LINCOLN." Flora was sobbing with both grief and joy, on her pillow, and uttering blessings on the noble woman whose courage and presence of mind had thus saved Donald from becoming a cripple. "He will be sent home!" she said, " and then, dearest Alice, I can be all to him that she is now." But weeks and months went by. A few lines painfully pencilled by Murray's left hand, were !7i: THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 25 received from time to time; but the news came slowly and scantily. Hunger and thirst, cold and fatigue, were doing what the battle had only begun, and Flora's hopes were darkening into dread with each succeeding day. Unable to bear the sight of a book, or to hear the sound of the music lessons -unable to attend to her own duties in school - she asked leave of absence, and went to the house among the hills, to see if she could cheer or be cheered by the companionship of those who also loved the absent Donald. Still, her heart was unsatisfied. The rich, full stream of sympathy was wanting even here. The father was rendered almost imbecile by a paralytic attack, and Catharine and Mysie had their whole time occupied by attendance on him, while Rose took their place in the domestic department. Flora attempted to assist her, but her strength was visibly failing, and her sick heart would not enter into the details of household drudgery, when it was dying for the presence that would not come to her. Thus passed the dreary winter, and the spring was shining vainly upon the garden where Donald had plied his peaceful labor the year before; Where was he now? she asked herself for the hundredth time, as she walked about the deserted paths, and attempted, with trembling hands, to 2* page: 26-27[View Page 26-27]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 26-27 26 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. tie up the vines which Donald had so carefully tended. Finding that she could not accomplish it, she opened the gate, and wandered to a little distance, out of sight of the lonely house. All the courage seemed gone out of her heart, all *the light crushed from her spirit, and rebellious thoughts against God and man and nature, arose within her. She, an orphan, with neither father nor brother to protect her, was now to give up the only being who cared for her in the wide world. She could not see the justice of the decree which was to leave her thus alone and unprotected. She did not weep, but she seemed to shrink away from these misfortunes, just as she was then shrinking from ithe pitiless chill of the spring wind, that seemed pinching her to the very bone. She drew her shawl closer around her, shuddering all over with the breeze which would have been grateful to one in health and spirits, but which came to her like the cold breath -of death. As she went on, in her aimless, object- less walk, she met young Hector Callum, an old friend of Donald Murray. "Did you know the troops were on their way home, Flora?" he asked, with a'pitying look at her wasted figure. Flora pressed her hand to her side, and tried vainly to say, "no," but the word would not come. . , -THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 27 "I have a paper here," said Hector. "I have not yet read it, but I saw the announcement of their return, or, at least, a force sufficient to pro tect the large number of the wounded. Donald will soon be here. Come, cheer up, Flora, or you will never do for a soldier's wife." He took the paper from her trembling fingers, for he saw that she could not open it. He found the place which contained the news from the Crimea, and the sailing of the troops. He read to her, but he might as well have read to the stones. Her eye was fixed, in a long, agonizing gaze, upon the list of the" dead, where "Murray" was conspicuous from- being on the officers' list. As she looked, the letters seemed to assume a larger, and still larger size, and, as they grew they were surrounded by large black lines, which spread until they almost covered the paper. Hec- tor snatched it from before her eyes; but in vain. The word was inscribed on the stones, on the vast trunks of the trees, even on the empty air. This fit passed away, after a while.- Hector sprinkled her waxen face with water from a little spring that bubbled up almost at their feet, by the wayside, and urged her to sit down and rest. No; she would go home and rest. Home! where his loving eye and gentle footstep could v page: 28-29[View Page 28-29]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 28-29 28 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. never come! Home I where the father sat in darkness, and the sisters were, like herself, alone and unprotected I Slowly--slowly-and only borne up by Hec. tor's kindly grasp, she turned to go back. The sun, which had hidden itself in the clouds during the afternoon, was now shining out warm and bright, as if to mock Flora's vanished hopes. The sky was serene and blue overhead, as if no weep- ing eyes or bleeding hearts lay beneath its canopy. Only at the edges of the eastern sky hung a few fleecy clouds, with their foamy edges touched by a golden light, like the rim of a crystal goblet; while, shining through the tender green of the leaf buds, the sun itself was going down in the pomp and splendor of its purple and saffron drapery. Flora did not heed it, or if she did, it was only to think how unsympathizing nature is to the unhappy. She might have said with another, c; You go out among the woods and fields, when you are happy, and the quivering lights and dancing shadows- the blue sky fretted with bars of silver cloud - the low symphony of bees and waters, bearing up, as it were, the exulting vocal chorus of birds-all these things delight you, and tell you that the earth is rejoicing with you. Go out when you are sorrowful, and not a light shall be quenched, not a cloud deepened, THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 29 not a bird silenced. You are neither missed nor welcomed; there is neither scorn nor sympathy; there is quiet, changeless indifference to you and all your troubles; and you may die, if you please, and of a broken heart, too (if people ever do die of such a disease), and this mo ther Nature, as she is satirically called, cares nothing for it. She is just the same; and perhaps while your coffin is being let down beneath her green sward, she renews the very same magic. effect of light and shade- the same transparent gleam of perishable beauty, which caught and chained your eye the last time you visited her in life." All this Flora felt, but she had not strength to give it speech. As the crimson light fell athwart her swollen and burning eyes, she made a convul- sive movement, as if she would shut it out forever, and clasping her hands tightly over them, she went on, weak and stumbling, upheld only by Hector's strong arm. He, poor fellow, could give her no comfort. Not a word came to his mind, except the cold, stereotyped sentences which he had so often heard doled out to mourners, and from which his good taste and sensibilities revolted. -So he only held the drooping girl with a firmer and tenderer grasp, and led her gently along, with her eyes still closed, blind to everything but the one terrible conscious- ness of that one word--Murray's name on the dead list, page: 30-31[View Page 30-31]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 30-31 30 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. At the turn in the road, they met the Kirkcud- bright stage. Hector looked up, and met the eye of the driver. There was a pleased expression shining all over his good-humored face, which at any other time, Hector would have accepted as an omen of good. Now, he saw no good in anything. His friend, whom he had loved from childhood, had lain down his young, brave heart in a soldier's grave, and this pale flower on his arm would soon follow him. And Rose, too, his own beloved Rose, to whom Donald was joined as a second self, how would she bear this separation from the brother so tenderly remembered? Hector's stout, minly spirit, was fairly giving way to the feelings which pressed upon him, and he wept like a child. Nor was he ashamed of this tribute to his friend's memory, nor the sympathy he felt with those who would mourn him with a lasting sorrow. Flora felt his arm loosen from her support, but she walked on. She knew that he had been weeping, and she knew, too, that he had suddenly stopped; but she had not yet come out from that terrible dream, and she had no curiosity to know what had stemmed the tide of Hector's tears. "Flora, Floral" said a voice from the little avenue, between the maple trees, leading to the house, for they were now at the gate. Her first thought was that she had died in her THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 31 grief, and that the voice was calling to her in the grave, from the skies beyond it. For it was Don. ald's voice, soft, tender, and musical, with a sort of hushed sweetness about it, like the voice of one who has come out of great tribulation, and has kept some of the murmuring sadness in which it has been so long accustomed to speak. She drew her clasped hands from her face, but she could see nothing yet. She was standing at the gate, where the sunset was like a flood of crimson light on her :pale face and wasted figure, and he who spoke to her was far up the narrow avenue, where the shadow of the trees was falling upon him. But Hector drew her on, his own heart beating high with joyful surprise; and, under that deep shadow, he left her on the faithful heart of Donald Murray. On his heart, and encircled by one arm-the other yet too feeble to bear the weight of even that slight form. But he was alive *- was at home once more-was faithful to his love - and that was enough. Never, until he welcomes Flora to the gates of the Eternal City, can she experience another meeting like that I Within the house, in the darkening twilight, sat the father and sisters, unconscious either of the despair which Flora had felt that afternoon, or the joy that had succeeded it. Hector undertook the task of revealing Donald's arrival. The old man who, since his attack, had relapsed into his Gaelic v t hi Gaeli page: 32-33[View Page 32-33]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 32-33 82 THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. accent, forgetting the Southron words he had ac- quired from his border neighbors, murmured some inarticulate sentences, that sounded strangely enough to Hector's ears, and Rose sprang to his side, speechless and almost breathless. Grave and staid, Catharine and- ysie received the news with a murmur of deep thanksgiving, but with small outward emotion. Their father's illness had taxed them so hardly that their natures had become less sensitive to pain and pleasure than in their earlier youth. But when he came in, leaving Flora to follow when she could command the tears which \ now flowed so freely, they all crowded around him with words of deep and heartfelt affection, and the old father, restored to momentary consciousness by the sight of his son's face, exclaimed: "Hech, bairn I wha's come ower ye, that ye husk yer arm in tha' fashion?" Rose glanced at the arm, still worn in a sling and burst into a passion of tears. Hector drew her away into the hall, where Flora sat, perfectly calm and quiet. She had taxed her nerves to the utmost, and the re-action had left her exhausted and weary. The dimness of the hall was operat- ing like an anodyne upon her senses. Two hours after, the house was still, and every eye was closed in slumber except the lovers. They sat alone, in the quiet, moon-lighted room, with clasped hands, and eyes that often ran over with THE SHADOW ON THE PILLOW. 33 excess of emotion; and Flora made him repeat, over and over again, his description of the noble woman who tended his sick bed -the angel to whose shadow on his pillow he had pressed his hot and feverish lips. They live in a little home of their own, on the banks of the Solway; and Donald has renewed his peaceful occupation of gardening. Figuratively speaking, le has turned his sword into a plough. share, and his spear into a pruning-hook. A stout Htighlander, who, in the late war, stood six feet two inches high, in her maajesty's regiment, per. forms the part of assistant gardener, for Donald's arm is yet too weak for heavy labor, and can only perform the lighter task of tying up the vines, and trimming the rare and odorous plants which are his care and delight. From his garden- the most celebrated in the country--are daily sent the most perfect speci- mens of flowers, and rich, flowering shrubs; and it was but last week, that two magnificent bout quets, formed entirely of the rarest and most beau. tiful flowers, were sent to England, in boxes, her. etically sealed. One of these delicate gifts was for the queen, God bless her! and one for that other queen, God bless her, tool whose regal shadow on the pillow of the wounded soldier met such impassioned kisses. 3klss page: 34-35[View Page 34-35]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 34-35 tafXlea's Vl^ahmlg. THE long Italian day had just reached the hour of sunset, and the flood of golden light was bath. ing steeple, and tower, and cottage roof, alike, giv- ing to each the splendor and beauty of the rarest old paintings. The pretty Tuscan villages grew lovelier be. neath this roseate hue, and, in many of them, the whole population seemed to be out of doors, strag- gling about in vine-covered arbors, or under groves of olive trees, where green leaves had a dash of gold across their shining surface. In one of these villages, however, no one seemed to take any notice of the beautiful spectacle. Troops of young girls were walking the streets, with downcast eyes, from which the tears were streaming. Some were sobbing at the windows, and old men and women sat at the doors with arms folded across their laps, and a mournful ex- pression of countenance. From a few cottages, music was heard, but it was of a melancholy char- CARLOTTA'S AWAKENING. 35 acter, and often broke in its wild melody, as if the grief of the performer would not suffer him to proceed. Into this village a stranger was just entering, as the sunset radiance was at its highest splendor. He was a young and eminently handsome man, though dressed in the unbecoming garb of a priest. Underneath that habit beat a heart fraught with the highest and holiest sentiments of humanity; and yet that heart had sometimes revolted from the life-long isolation to which it was vowed. Loving God and man and virtue--holding a spirit incapable of wrong or injustice - a spirit devoted to religion and to all that could dignify the sacred office he held, there were yet times when Fra Antonio paused and wondered why his .order should be shut out from the. sweetest emotions of the human soul; why the dear names of husband and father could not have been also counted out to the faith- ful exponents of all other duties. More than ever, upon this lonely journey, had he thought of this, although he tried to banish the thought as a sin. But when, at the approach of sunset, he had watched the happy villagers, with their wives and children by their sides, their whole souls apparently bound up in these ties, a feeling of intense loneliness came over him, and, half-re. pentant, half-ashamed, he muttered a few prayers to be kept from temptations which he judged must have come from the adversary of souls. page: 36-37[View Page 36-37]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 36-37 86 CARLOTTA^S AWAKENING. As he walked into the mourning village, his own tears were dropping- partly because of his sin of evil thoughts, partly because those thoughts would not banish themselves. The appearance of all whom he met startled him. Could they all be weeping for sin? Could those beautiful creatures who passed him, with sunny cheeks and brilliant eyes, whose radiance shone through their tears- could these all have suffered from the enemy's evil promptings? From these, after a brief struggle, he turned away his eyes, and accosted a group of men who lay listlessly under the. shade of some olive trees. He questioned them of the general grief that per- vaded their whole town, and expressed his wonder that so many souls should be brought at once to experience sorrow for sin. They answered by leading him to an elevated couch in an arbor not far off, on which lay the most beautiful maiden that had ever been beheld by Fra Antonio. Life and motion had indeed de- parted from this lovely being, but, after the Italian custom, the face had been made to assume the roseate tints of life. A soft, delicate blush pervaded the cheeks, a hue like the faintest trace of the sun. set clouds. "Saw you ever anything half so lovely, holy father?" asked a young man whose face bore the traces of long continued weeping. "This was the CARLOTTA'S AWAKENING. 37 loveliest of our village maidens. We all adored her, yet our love did not avail to keep her upon the earth. God took her from us at the midnight hour, and since that moment there has been noth- ing but the weeping and lamentation which you must have noticed in your progress through the village. Oh, father I you cannot, indeed, you can. not know the loss we have met with. Every one in the village is completely worn down by the grief which has come upon us, all from the death of this beloved Carlotta." And, in good sooth, the young priest knew, from the general aspect of woe, that she who had excit- ed it by dying, could not have been any common being. "When will she be buried?" he asked. "To-morrow morning, father, at the foot of yon- der clump of olives. There is not so beautiful a spot in our whole churchyard." Fra Antonio gazed upon the corpse for a long time--so long, indeed, that the peasants- be. thought themselves that he must stand in need of the rites of hospitality. Of these he would only accept a bath and a little bread and water. "Take me to the parents of this child," he said after this refreshment had been dispensed to him, and he had somewhat recovered from the foot-sore weariness that oppressed him. He was conducted to a cottage close beside the 3* page: 38-39[View Page 38-39]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 38-39 38 CARLOTTA'S AWAKENING. arbor, so small that it seemed as if no family could reside there in comfort. There were but two small rooms, except a closet containing a little fur- nace for cooking. One of these rooms held the bed of the old people, and in the other was the snow- white draperied couch on which had rested' the limbs of her who now lay in her own favorite ar- bor, adorned for the grave. The visit of the priest was a comfort to the mourners. They detailed the manner of her sud- den death-a slight fever which promised no evil consequences - and they dwelt long upon her many virtues, and her surpassing beauty, which death itself could not yet hide. To his offer of keeping solitary vigil beside her couch, they gladly assented, feeling that the fervor and piety of his prayers would be just what their beloved daughter would have asked, and believing that they would ensure the repose of her soul. The peasants, who had not left the remains for an instant alone, were relieved by this offer, and retired to their homes. The old people were per. suaded to go to their rest, and to feel satisfied that the body of their child, as well as her soul, were in holy keeping; and when the last gleam of twi- light had shut in the landscape, and the sacred stars alone looked down upon the scene, Antonio displaced the last weary watcher by the dead, and took his place.' CARLOTTA'S AWAKENING. 39 Softly he repeated the prayers for the occasion, and untiringly he watched, until the'moon rose bright and clear in the heavens. It illuminated the face of the girl as with a sacred radiance, while its pure, unclouded rays, revealed the color of the roses that lay in heavy wreaths around her couch. By that light, she seemed only sleeping, and, to the excited imagination of Antonio, now left for the first time alone with the dead, the fragrance of the roses seemed but her own breath. He was rivetted to the spot. For hours he looked upon her, until the wild wish came upon him, that he had never spoken the vow that had kept him from loving woman with a human love. At first, he re- polled the thought as sinful, criminal. But it came' back to him in the watches of the night with such power and fervor-that it wore the aspect of a holy inspiration. Why was it that he, with all this wealth of warm and genial love in his bosom, was condemned by his vow, to pass his life without giving vent to a single expression of affection for any human being. While the meanest peasant that tended the vines surrounding the arbor, might rev. el in the kisses of his children, and the pure affec. tion shining from the face of his wife, he must look upon woman only as he looked upon the soulless images of white marble, that he had that day seen in a noble villa beyond this little village. "Could I not love her, were she living?" was page: 40-41[View Page 40-41]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 40-41 40 CARLOTTA'S AWAKENING. the question constantly pressing upon his heart, and it met there a quick response. Still, to think such a thought was madness - and that such mad- ness had been awakened by the dead, was thrice terrible. And yet, in that hour, there grew up in the young priest's heart a desire to throw off all the shackles of his position, to proclaim himself a man with all holy, sacred human affections gather- ing about his heart, to abjure the doctrine of shut- ting out such affections - to seek for some being like that before him, and fly with her to a distant land, where his former state would be unknown, and where God and Nature and Human Love would alike plead for him. This thought, mourned over, struggled against, in that hour of more than mortal agony - burned stronger, fiercer, with the effort to cast it down. In the deep anguish of conscience which it brought, there was still hope that he had not sinned irrecoverably, since it was wakened, not by the sight of living beauty in woman, but by the soul's sympathy for one who had already, perhaps, become a saint, interceding for him at the Great White Throne. Such, indeed, she might be, if all were true that had been told him of her virtues. Why, then, was that intercession not answered? Why was he suffered to struggle in vain against such emotions, if they were absolutely sinful? ! CARLOTTA^S AWAKENING. 41 He looked up' to the heavens where the clear, silver moon, undimmed by a single cloud, was sailing through the pure blue sky. "Give me one sign to show that I am commit- ting crime by longing, yearning as I do, for human affection!" he cried. But high and bright, the majestic queen passed on, shedding down her sweetest rays upon that face that now looked diviner far than any image of the Virgin that he had ever bowed before in his youthful worship. Suddenly, overpowered by despair, he knelt down beside the dead; drew the beautiful head close to his throbbing heart, and pressed upon the lips the first kiss he ever gave to woman. Merci- ful Heaven! could the dead give back the caress? For surely as he gave that long, lingering ago- nized kiss, a spirit seemed to breathe upon his lips, and a warmth like that of life to pass from those of the dead girl. Closer-closer, he clasped the form. It did not have the rigidity-the awful hardness of death to his touch. His own frame seemed dis- solving in dews- so strange, so unaccountable was this impression. Was it a miracle? and was this pure, sinless girl permitted to come back from the shadows of the unseen world to rebuke his wild wanderings? Ah, no! it could not be, for instead of chiding, the lips were giving back the sinful kiss, if, sinful it were. page: 42-43[View Page 42-43]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 42-43 42 CAOLOTTA S AWAKENING. And soon, as if the ardent caress had indeed brought the dead to life, a thrill like that of an electric shock passed over her; a warm and genial glow was upon her hands; her face grew hot and burning beneath his touch, and the sleeping statue was trsnsformed to a living, breathing woman! All Antonio's fears, griefs, scruples, doubts and self reproaches passed away with that warm breath upon his cheek. There was no more sorrow for sin in his heart, for it was all banished by the sweet, strange emotion, so new and all- pervading, that attended this transit from death unto life; and during the hours that followed,; while he was bathing her hands and face in water, from a little stream that ran almost at his feet, and making her swallow a few drops of a power- ful stimulant which he always carried about him, he was pouring out the tale of his newly-awakened longing for human love. What could Carlotta do but promise to return her lover's passion? She comprehended it almost before she could think why and wherefore she was here, surrounded by fiowers, in the stillness of night, and away from her own little room. She saw him by the bright moon, young, beau- tiful as an angel, tender and impassioned as she who loved St. Kevin; and, above all, her saviour from a fate so terrible as being buried alive I And she must have been more or less than woman had ;i CARLOTTA'S AWAKENING. 43 she not dared to love him, despite the holy vest- ments he wore. It was enough. Henceforth he braved all the horrors of fate, for Carlotta had vowed to be his wife. Tenderly as the mother lays down her sleeping babe, Antonio placed her upon the couch- no longer her bier-while he went to apprise the almost heart-broken parents of her restoration to life. Had he been indeed the celestial visitant from another world, sent to bring back their lost child from the grave, they could not have given him more heartfelt gratitude. It amounted to adoration. In that little Tuscan village it was soon known that the beloved Carlotta had waked from that trance of death; but when the peasants flocked to see her preserver, he was gone. Carlotta's parents told them that he departed at daybreak, without saying which way his path would lie. From that time they never heard of Antonio again. Some of the more superstitious among them persisted in the belief that he was an angel, sent to bring the maiden to life, and, having accomplished his mission, had been taken to Heaven again. Carlotta only smiled when this idea was ad- vanced, and many thought she believed it, too. Whether she did or not, she grew handsomer and page: 44-45[View Page 44-45]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 44-45 44 CARLOTTAiS AWAKENING. sweeter-looking than ever. The young peasants looked upon her, however, not by the light of an earthly love, but as one would look upon a saint. Before, each had been earnest for some return of an affection which she inspired in them all; but who could think of asking one who had been on the borders of another world, if not actually in it, to become a wife? But, in a few weeks, they were destined to a fresh surprise. Carlotta was gone-absolutely gone -and no one knew whither. The serenity of her parents strangely contrasted with the anx- iety of the villagers, and the latter began to believe that an evil spirit had indeed full control of the unfortunate maiden, and had again con- ducted her to the abodes of some other world, from which he might return with her at any time or in any manner. Such, however, was, as may be supposed, an erroneous view of the case. Carlotta had depart- ed for Leghorn, where she was met by Antonio, who, divested of the sacred garb, conducted her to the cathedral, where they were married before the high altar by a priest who had never seen nor heard of Antonio, and who imagined he was doing perfectly right. From the church they went instantly on board a ship bound to America, and already out in the stream, waiting for them. No more tarrying did the boatman make than they CARLOTTA S AWAKENING. 45 who carried Lord Ullin's daughter; and the fugi- tives were soon out of the reach of detection. Few years have elapsed since this event, and only one or two persons know of its circum. stances; but perhaps if any one were to make a pilgrimage to a certain little thriving village in western New York, he might chance to behold a sweet, cosy, Italian cottage, built exactly after the pattern of the one we have .spoken of in Tus. cany, except that it is larger, with a pleasant yard, filled with vines that mantle over the roof, and a pretty arbor, in which is a marble statue of a woman reclining upon a couch, and bearing a wonderful likeness to the beautiful, stately lady, who sits within the fairy house. Listen there at-evening, and you will hear such delicious music-low, beautiful chants, such as are usually heard nowhere save in the grand old cathedrals of Europe, or in convent choirs. Yet the dwellers in this delightful spot bear no foreign names, and the sweet boy and girl that sit at their feet-twin-children-are called simply Anthony and Charlotte. 4 page: 46-47[View Page 46-47]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 46-47 iKe mnigats of Saint beta. THE soft hush of early morning was upon the green island of Malta, as it lay like a precious emerald on the blue bosom of the water. Over the whole island a [silvery mist was curling up- ward in the warm blaze of the sun, and a few white,fleecy clouds were passing away, leaving the sky clear and untroubled. The little town of La Valette slept tranquilly in this morning calm. Only the smoke that curled up in soft wreaths from the chimneys of the long row of buildings belonging to the Hospital of the Knights of St. John, showed that there was life in that beautiful abode; and this came only from the refectory and its adjacent apartments. Above each window of the main building the golden crosses caught the morning radiance, and the long spire of the antique tower, surmounted by an immense cross, seemed to kiss the blue sky itself. Down at the water's edge a small boat lay, fastened by a rope in the rude stone cross that was THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT JOHN. 47 secured to its sandy base by large rocks piled around it, and a little brisk-looking sailor stood beside it, while justapart from this spot sat a young girl, apparently of no mean rank, near whom was standing a little page, perhaps a year or two younger than his mistress. The bearing and words of the boy denoted the deepest affection towards her, tempered with profound respect; and the lady spoke to him in a gentle, almost caressing tone, such as one like her might use to a favorite brother. "See you any signs, Carlos, that those lazy knights are ever going to rise?" asked the lady, somewhat impatiently, as the sun rose higher in the heavens, and she was obliged to take her seat in the shadow of the cross. "We shall be dis- covered if the grand master does not leave his bed soon, so that you can obtain an audience." "Nay, lady, you are too severe upon the good Count of Fouxmaigne and his knightly followers. They have, doubtless, long since arisen, and are paying their orisons in the little chapel, which you may see peeping out from yonder thicket of arbor- vine. If it please you, Lady Isabella, to attempt the walk, it will be much safer for you to approach quite near the chapel than to remain here while I am absent." "' On second thought, I will do so, my wise little page. It will save both yourself and some gallant page: 48-49[View Page 48-49]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 48-49 48 THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT JOHN. knight a long walk. That is," she added, more thoughtfully, " if the grand master chooses to take a poor little damsel under his protection." She rose as she spoke, and smoothed down the bands of her long, shining hair, and shook out the ample folds of her habit of dark-green cloth, which seemed too heavy and cumbrous for the warmth of the day. A hat of the same color, with ,a long, white, drooping feather, fastened by an emerald button, had lain by her side. She now set it coquettishy on one side of her superb head, while the long braids .shaded but did not conceal the beauty and youthfulness of a sweet face, that at times wore a bright, sunny look, as if joy and hope were all that passed' over it; and soon was sub- dued into a half-molrnful, half-anxious expression, that told of some inward struggle, or of an inde- finable dread. The little page's slender and lithe figure was en. cased in a suit of plain gray, very rich in material, but without tinsel or gauds of any description. A ' cap of the same material, with a band of silver lace, completed his dress; but at his side he car. ried a small, silver-hilted dirk, probably assumed for the occasion to protect his lady during their journey. As they approached the chapel of St. John, the knights were seen marching out from under its arches, in double file," following the lead of the THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 49 grand master. The Count Fouxmaigne was a tall, noble-looking man, apparently about thirty-five years of age. In his countenance, dignity and ur- banity were blended, and a certain kindness and softness of tone mingled with the accents of authority with which he seemed to be addressing the knights. He wore the dress adopted in time of peace by the order, namely, a long' black main- tle, and a gold cross of eight points, enamelled white. The other knights were similarly apparel- led. All the knights who resided with the grand master, claimed to be cavalieri di giustizia, (knights by right, who could prove themselves of noble an- cestry.) As the Lady Isabella beheld this procession, she almost shrank from her purpose. Nothing but the sweetness and nobility of the grand master's face could have induced her to allow Carlos to go and plead for her. But every moment increased the necessity of protection; and before the last knight 'had disappeared within the quadrangle which was hiding them from her view, as she stood concealed among the branches of the arbor-vine, she suffered the boy to depart. How he told his tale she did not know; but its result proved its eloquence. In less time than she could have thought it possible for him to make it plain to the perception of his hearer, the grand master came towards her with an air that bespoke 4* page: 50-51[View Page 50-51]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 50-51 50 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. both deference and respect to the sex, and interest in her circumstances individually. "Lady Isabella Kaunitz," he said, in the low, sweet tones peculiar to himself, "the protection you ask, is that to which every woman has an un- doubted right from our order. While I regret the necessity which has occasioned you to seek it, I rejoice that we are able to extend it to one so young and lovely as yourself." Lady Isabella murmured her thanks. Nay, lady; no thanks are needed for a simple performance of duty. But let us hasten, for you look faint and weary." She was indeed so, and longed for quiet and re- pose. He led her through a private entrance to a spacious chamber, where taste, splendor and con- venience were blended. The windows were shaded by rich green curtains, with gold trim. mings: and tassels; a rich perfume was diffused through the apartment, and a magnificent couch in- vited her to repose. An odorous bath sent up its vapor, and a costly toilet was arranged with every conceivable luxury. The grand master saw her look of innocent surprise. "We live very simply ourselves, lady," he said, "but do not lay down the rules of our order for any chance guests that we may receive under ou roof. For myself, I am glad that we can make your present refuge comfortable, at least, if not al. together agreeable." THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. 51 He said this with such an air as would make the guest perfectly at 'her ease, and then left her. Breakfast was brought in on silver dishes, and then Lady Isabella, dismissing Carlos, slept soundly for several hours. Beneath her cloth habit she had taken the pre- caution of wearing a robe of less heavy material, and when the grand master again entered the room, after signifying, through Carlos, that he would like to converse with her, she appeared in a dress suitable to her rank and becoming her style of beauty. With him came another knight, Gabri- el Roselli, whom he presented as one whom she could most deeply trust with her confidence, as he was his own chosen friend and brother. Gabriel Roselli was, apparently, about five years younger than the grand master. The softest hue of brown hair lay in thick, heavy masses upon a forehead whose white breadth betokened strength and vigor of intellect; but Roselli's chief charm lay in the beautiful mouth, whose crimson lips dis- closed teeth like pearls. But the outward was but the reflex of a noble soul. "How well was his name bestowed - Gabriel I " Thus Carlos spoke of him, and the Lady Isabella's heart responded to his words. At the Austrian court she had seen thousands of distinguished men, but never had she beheld the peer of Gabriel Roselli, the single-hearted, page: 52-53[View Page 52-53]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 52-53 52 THE KNIGHTS OF ST. JOHN. compassionate, self-denying brother of that order which seeks not its own, but ministers to the poor and suffering everywhere. "Lady," he said, "the grand master has told me of the singular persecution and wrong which you have undergone from those who should be your best friends. Believe me, there is not a heart in our order that will not rejoice to restore you to the possession of your lawful rights. I know the Count Adrian Neisse, to whom your step-father wishes to sacrifice you, and, on the faith of a knight of St. John, I believe him to be most unworthy." A week passed away, in which the visits of the grand master and his adopted brother continued, Lady Isabella felt their delicacy in visiting her in company; but she almost wished that Roselli would absent himself. She felt that every inter. view was binding her in stronger chains than her heart had ever owned before. Her heart told her that she loved him. At the end of the week the grand master had taken measures by law to regain Isabella's prop. erty, which had been unjustly seized and kept back by her step-father. Her mother being dead, she no longer claimed him as a guardian, and was indignant at the thought of his disposing of her hand to Count Adrian without her consent. In the darkness of night she had left his house- THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT JOHN. 53 where she had remained during the time since her mother's death, in compliance with her re- quest in dying-had waited in concealment until the moon, rose, got safely on board a ship bound to the Miediterranean, and, when off Malta, had induced the captain to send her and the page in a boat to the island. A single seaman rowed them hither, whom Isabella richly rewarded- the man only waiting on shore until he knew from Carlos that she was safe. Both the captain and the seamen had bound themselves solemnly to secrecy as to her destination. Once, however, under the protection of the knights, Isabella felt that she could defy her per- secutors. She therefore remained content in her new abode, except that the new sentiments which she felt for Roselli made her feel almost guilty. She had imagined that these knights were all vowed to perpetual celibacy. She did not know that they who had renounced the Catholic relig- ion were absolved from this vow; nor did she know that Roselli had long since joined the Greek Church, although he submitted to the outward form of prayers at the Chapel of St. Johnm Igno- rant of this, she struggled with what seemed her sinful love for Roselli; and the paleness of her cheek, and her evident lowness of spirits, dis. turbed and alarmed the grand master for her health, page: 54-55[View Page 54-55]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 54-55 54 THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT JOHN. Isabella's step-father made a feint of demanding his ward, as he called her; but finding that he could not legally claim her, it was now feared that he would attempt to take her by stratagem. A double watch was therefore kept upon her safety, and the deep interest which Gabriel Roselli mani. fested in so doing, only increased the deep love which she already bore him. When the knights assembled for martial exer- cise, Isabella, who could witness the evolutions from her window, saw with exultation, the superi- ority of Roselli, even to those who seemed almost perfect; and then often sank down in an agony of shame and grief, at loving him unasked, and, as she thought, sinfully. She sang no more to the music of the page's lute, and, to his great grief, she ceased to take delight in the ballads which he used to recite to her, of brave knights and fair ladies. The morning of the eighth of June, 1798, arriv- ed - a day as cloudless and beautiful as though hu' man hearts were not to bleed before its close. It was the day on which Napoleon Bonaparte, in pur- suance of his design to make France mistress of the Mediterranean, unexpectedly attacked the island of Malta; and before the immense force -which he brought to bear upon it, resistance would have been fool-hardy. Before an expedition, with a fleet of more than thirty thousand chosen troops, Malta quietly succumbed, and the knights of St. THE KNIGHTS OF ABINT JOHN. 5 John were driven from their home and scattered abroad. The grand master separated from them all, except Gabriel Roselli. The two were bound to conduct the Lady Isabella to some place of safe- ty; and Napoleon, with a gallantry which he did not always practise, allowed them to depart with , her to Venice. From Venice, the Count Fouxmaigne, no longer grand master, intended to depart for a distant clime, never probably, to return. 1oselli seemed a prey to melancholy, which Isabella attributed to his parting with his friend and brother. It was the evening before the count's departure, and Isabella exerted herself to dispel the mournful sadness which had wrapped them all in gloom. "We will not part so sorrowfully," she said, after a long silence. "Let our last evening be one upon which we can look back without the painful sense of suffering. We shall meet again, and you will both, I trust, be glad to see me once more, even though I may be seen only through the bars of a convent gate." Roselli started and turned his mournful eyes upon her. Count Fouxmaigne approached her, and taking her passive hand, he placed it in that of Gabriel. "My children," he said, and his sad, sweet voice was tremulous from emotion, "my children--for such I call you, though scarcely older than Gabriel page: 56-57[View Page 56-57]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 56-57 O0 THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT JOHN. -- I know not which of you is dearest to my heart. Had we met in earlier years, Isabella, I would have periled my life for your love, so dearly do I hold you; but, though now released from a vow which I once held sacred, still I know that woman's love will never be mine. But I can read the hearts of others. Do not think that friends so beloved could keep a heart-secret from me. Gabriell Isabella my parting gift will be to give you to each other, and may God bless the gift to each I " Better than they had themselves done, had the good count read their secret; and now-that all was known, he would hear of no delay. The pang of parting with him was softened by the new joy of their union, which took place the same hour in which he departed. Afar from the land where she had suffered perse- cution, Isabella and her husband enjoyed a happi- ness rarely attained. They adopted Carlos as their son, Isabella being unwilling to part from one who had proved himself so true to her; and although he would often smile at the idea of a mother scarce older than himself, still he paid her all the loving reverence of a devoted son. Some months after their marriage, the scattered knights of St. John rallied under the protection of the Emperor Paul I., of Russia, whom they chose as their grand master. Gabriel and Isabella wit- nessed the reunion, which brought back the memo. i THE KNIGHTS OF SAINT JOHN. 57 ry of that beloved friend so vividly, that their tears flowed as the brave men, who were his companions, passed before them in the long procession. Gabriel never regretted his renunciation of'the order, although deeply attached to its interests and anxious for its welfare. He brought into the world its highest and noblest principles; and wher- ever were the sick or suffering known, he fully proved his title to the name of a Knight of Saint John. Fifty, nay, sixty years, and how many of that band now remain? Perhaps a few, a very few, whose locks are bleached like the almond blossom, may be calmly awaiting the call of the true Grand Master, to put on the white garments, and his own golden cross inwrought thereon. The rest have all passed on, and soon not one of that noble band will remain; but until the summons chmes their memory will be of those beloved brethren who dwelt with them on that fair isle, in the blue waters: of the Mediterranean. "'T is from the Past we shadow forth the land Where smiles long lost, again shall light our way, And the soul's friends be wreathed in one bright band.'" 5 page: 58-59[View Page 58-59]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 58-59 ;a^tmu 3$rtx flQ ON the evening of the twenty-fourth of August, 1847, one of the many booths in the market of St. Petersburg was lighted splendidly, displaying to the eyes of the passers-by a showy, if not particu- larly rich, assortment of light goods, a collection of trinkets, not costly indeed, but sparkling in the flashing light, like veritable gems, to the unpractis- ed beholders, and a small stock of books. Under the heavy chandelier which lighted up this attractive looking salesroom, stood the pretty shop-woman, Catherine Petroff, a young and pecu. liarly interesting girl, whose charming vivacity of manners, perfect modesty, beauty and good sense, made her room the favorite resort of all the elite of St. Petersburg. Catherine had attained the age oftwenty-five, but her cheerfulness and innocent gaiety made her appear much younger. Many were the suitors she had attracted, but her heart seemed ever to remain free. The yonng Russian officers who idled away an hour or two every eve- CATHERINE PETROFF. 59 ning in her room, paid her many attentions, which she accepted with a winning grace, until they ap- proached the subject of love. Then she constant- ly repulsed them by assuming a serious and dis- pleased air, which made them glad to resort only to their posts as the friends and protectors of the charming Catherine. And friends and protectors they were proud to be. for Catherine Petroff's father had been as high in rank and as beloved and as respected in society as they could ever hope to be; and if the daughter was too independent to owe her subsistence to anything but her own exer- tions, it did not lessen, but positively enhanced her value in their eyes, as indeed it should have done. General Petroff was a highly esteemed officer, under Alexander I., a man somewhat stern perhaps, but dignified and polite; in the family circle, one of the kindest, gentlest, most playful of human be- ings. Catherine's mother was worthy of her hus- band. She was a very lovely woman, capable at times of great firmness, yet always loving, tender and affectionate. Upon this, their only child, they both lavished the fondest care for the few brief jyears they were permitted to watch over her; but awhen Catherine was only sixteen, they were both removed, and for a while the agonized mourner wept above their graves with a grief which they only know who stand alone and comfortless in the world. page: 60-61[View Page 60-61]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 60-61 60 CATHERINE PETROFF. The favorite officer of Alexander I., General Petroff, had never loved nor honored his successor, and when, in 1825, Nicholas I. ascended the throne of all the Russias, and watched with an eagle eye any disapproving glance, or heard any bitter word inadvertently dropped and reported to him by his fawning myrmidons, General Petroff threw up his commission and retired to private life. But the old soldier's heart was sore within him. The profession of arms was his delight, as well as his necessity, and he could inot tamely sit down and behold others wearing the laurels which should have adorned his own brow. His nature grew ir- ritable, unsocial, cheerless, and when his wife fell a victim to disease, and he realized the loss of the companionship which alone had cheered him under his self-banishment from society, he soon drooped. For his beloved and noble, self-sacrificing Cathe- rine, he would have been willing to endure life; but the iron had entered into his soul, and he who had never been conquered on the field of battle, fell before a foe which none are mighty to resist. ' Distant relatives, for Catherine had no others coldly asked her to their homes; but the girl, though scarcely more than a child in years, had her father's independent spirit, and she preferred to rely wholly on herself. Without consulting any one, she converted her small house, which alone remained to her, and which fortunately stood CATHtERINE PETROFF. 61 close to the market-place, -into rooms for the sale of her light haberdashery, reserving only the cham- bers for her household use; and henceforth she was known as the pretty shop-woman. A few still called her the daughter of General Petroff; but, the grandeur of the past, as it regards family dignities, soon passes away, and Catherine was too proud to recall it to the memories of those who were some- ltimes cold and proud to the orphan. Sometimes only, for few could long withstand the fascinations of that hopeful and cheery aspect which beamed from her sparkling eyes, and illumined her whole, face as with a flood of sunshine, her very occupa- tion seeming to borrow a new dignity and beauty from her graceful manner of performing its duties. There was one person on whom Catherine be- stowed the full depths of affection--not as a lover, however, but as a brother. Alexis Romanoff, al- though he could have boasted royal blood, was yet poor and friendless. His father was once acknowl- edged as the chosen leader of St. Petersburg aris- tocracy. But public favor is fluctuating in Russia as elsewhere, and the claim to royal blood is no plea when the popularity of the individual is wan- ing. The descendant of kings, therefore, filled only the humble office of a solicitor in St. Petersburg; and, drawn together by the similarity of their for- tunes, the two orphans had thought more of each other perhaps, than under other circumstances they 5 page: 62-63[View Page 62-63]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 62-63 62 CATHERINE PETROFF. might have done. They were as brother and sis. ter, and Catherine would as soon have thought of marrying her brother, had she possessed such a protector, as of uniting herself by any different tie than the one which bound her to Alexis Romanoff. Indeed, tender as their relations stood, it would not "have seemed at all right to Catherine to marry any one. She had chosen her path, had bound herself to gain a support Tor herself, and it is doubtful whether she would not have deemed it an en- croachment on her independence to have any one, even a husband, deprive her of the right to earn her own bread daily. She would have thought it no honor to be allied to the noble blood that flowed in the veins of her adopted brother. No royal stream could ever rival that which came to her through the noble father, who was higher than kings to his daughter's mind. The name of Romanoff she never thought of believing could be more distinguished than that of Petroff; but she was glad and proud to be the sister of Alexis, because she trusted im- plicitly, as well she might, in his goodness. On his part, Alexis entertained the same sort of protecting regard for Catherine that he had done for his deceased sister'- a love that must expend itself on some dear object, when those who have once awakened it are seen no more forever. No day, therefore, passed away, that did not see the two together, unless Alexis was called away, as X CATHERINE PETROFFo 63 he sometimes was, to attend some professional business in the suburbs of St. Petersburg, His evening meal, which he took late, was always at the house of Catherine, after her cheerful day of employment had come to an end; for Catherine was a true philosopher, and came to her task with an air that never whispered of martyrdom; that did not even try to look like resignation, but came forth out of the very joyfulness of her heart, that she had been permitted to use her own faculties. Close to the pretty establishment of Catherine, was the more homely but not less useful one of Peter Hunz, the vegetable and fruit merchant. Peter was a rough old fellow, it is true, unpolished and rude in speech, but with a heart as large as the sun, and like the sun, constantly showering down light and blessing upon all around. He, too, had estab- lished himself, in some sort, as Catherine's protect- or; at any rate, he shared that office with Alexis. Whenhe knew the young man was absent,he watch- ed all her customers, who generally flocked in at the very time when his own were about going away; and not a hat or coat, especially if it belonged to a Russian officer,-went inside her door, that did not attract Peter's watchful attention, and subject itself to his close inspection, together with the actions of its wearer. If the hat and coat staid a moment too long, Peter was sure to want some cord or buttons, or a new cravat, over which he would ponder and page: 64-65[View Page 64-65]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 64-65 " CATHERINE PETROFF, deliberate and ask Catherine's advice, until the offi- cer would be impatient to kick the "meddling old fool," as they sometimes called him, out of doors. It was no matter; Peter would hold his invaria- ble gravity of manner, asking Catherine all sorts of ignorant sounding questions, respecting the manu. facture of her goods, and trying in various ways to prolong his stay as far as possible. Catherine blessed the old man often in her heart, for saving her the trouble of speaking her mind freely to those who did not sufficiently appreciate the innate dignity of her manners. There were some who did not recognize her exaltation of spir. it, her true heroism, which braved the world, not to obtain applause, but to maintain what is right for a woman, however tender or highly bred, to attempt whenever circumstances render it a- matter of duty. Peter Hunz, with an intuitive perception of all this, although he couched it in homely words and awkward actions, was far more truly the gentleman than young Constantine Orloff, who frequently an. noyed Catherine by his long visits and too evident admiration, which he exhibited by the tone of ex. aggerated flattery and persiflage so trying to a sensitive and delicate woman. Added to this, young Orloff had become habitually intemperate; and, as if to show himself at- his worst to Cathe- rine's eyes, he invariably took her rooms in his tI CAiHERINE PBTROFF. 65 way to his hotel, and disturbed her by his loud and incoherent way of talking. It was of no use to at- tempt to frown him down. He was insensible to her anger or contempt; and the only thing it ef- fected was to make him more inclined to be noisy. No one dared offend or remove him, as he had pow- erful friends, against whom not even the courage of Peter Hunz was- proof, It was observable that when Constantine Orloff was in liquor, he seldom failed of doing some strange or absurd thing or other. Hunz was on the look-out for something of this kind, and unfor- tunately, had an opportunity too soon for his own good or that of others. Orloff saw some beautiful handkerchiefs of a very peculiar and costly kind at Catherine's rooms, and for several successive even- ings Hunz saw him appropriate one of these, until Catherine's stock became so sensibly diminished, that she began to suspect that they were dishon- estly taken. She mentioned the fact to Hunz, and he frankly told her who was the purloiner, and that she would be obliged to make it known. She shrunk from this painfully, but Hunz kept in sisting. "Look now, neighbor," he would say, " if this were a poor man, or one of no note, you would have him arrested at once. Will you be less just and wise now, because the thief happens to be a nobleman?" page: 66-67[View Page 66-67]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 66-67 " CATHERINE PETROFF. Catherine hesitated. Hunz hdi only stated the truth, and by a temporary confinement in prison, Orloffmight be induced to forego the vile habit which he had of drinking to excess. Alexis was gone away for some weeks, and there was no one to whom she could apply for advice and counsel in the matter, Hunz declared that he alone should make the complaint, for he it was who witnessed it. Catherine should not even be called as a wit- ness, except to state that the stolen goods were her property. She did not consent, but she had no more objections to raise, and Hunz triumphed as he thought, over his enemy. He little knew the character of Nicholas I. He did not know that justice and honor and all the nobler qualities 4were then unknown in Russia; that the specious tyrant would not scruple to sacrifice a hundred like Peter Hunz and Catherine Petroff, before he would suffer a nobleman to come under reproof, however se- verely merited. From the night that, followed the day on which the complaint was made, Peter Hunz was never seen again, while Constantine Orloffwalked abroad in noon-day, his character unimpeached, save by the tongue that was now cold and silent, in all probabil- ity, in the grave which utters no secrets. The pretty show-rooms were shut up, and no one knew whither Catherine Petroff was gone, nor why she was absent. Conjecture followed conjecture, the CATHERINE PETROFF. 67 most reasonable o which was as absurd as possi- ble. The fact that she was in some way spirited away, was all that could be elicited. The frequent- ers of the gay little saloon where Catherine had dispensed her smiles like beams of sunlight, were in despair, until a new one was opened, the fair owner of which consoled them for Catherine's ab- sence. So much for popularity. Sic transit! Peter Hunz had been designed for the mines, but before many hours after his secret arrest, he was seized with brain fever, the result of his anxiety about his neighbor Catherine, and the result also of his well-intentioned efforts to free her from her annoyer; and before the third day of delirium he was beyond the reach of his tormentors. It was, as I have said, the twenty-fourth af Au- gust, 1847. To all appearance Catherine was as busy and cheerful as ever, but a little anxiety was really weighing at her heart. Alexis had not yet come, and Peter Hunz, who had gone up late in the afternoon, to make complaint to the proper au- thorities, had stayed away most unaccountably. Catherine felt a sinking and oppression of spirits for which she was unable to account except by these two reasons. Her neighbor had hitherto made a point of re- maining in the vicinity of her rooms until she was ready to close the door, to bar the heavy shutters and see that all was safe. The omission to-night page: 68-69[View Page 68-69]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 68-69 68 CAT'i'tINE PETROFF. brought all these things especially to her mind, and the attitude of her soul was prayer and suppli- cation. She went from her show-room to her chamber, took the lonely meal that had been so often made cheerful by the presence of him whom she loved to call her brother, and tried to sit down to read. The words were faint and indistinct be- 'fore her eyes, and she became so dizzy that she could not see, and she threw herself upon the sofa and closed her lids in the vain attempt to shut out the anxiety that came upon her, she knew not why. Catherine's rooms were as neat as hands could make them. A small kitchen, in which everything shone bright from funder the hands of her little servant girl, Christine; a bed-room for Catherine, and one adjoining for Christine, and still another i for Alexis, whenever he chose to stay there, which he usually did when in town, taking his supper al- ways with Catherine, and other meals at a hotel; a cosy little parlor, where the porcelain stove showed a bright fire all the year round, were all the apart- ments that belonged to the house. They were all- sufficient for Catherin e's purpose, and as many as little Christine could manage, unless she had rubbed and polished less. The sun shone brightly into the little parlor all day, and with the aid of the neat stove, kept a fine stand of plants perpetu- ally blooming. The portraits of General Petroff and his wife looked down benignantly from the CATHERINE PETROFF. 69 walls, and the pretty, warm-looking carpet, and the chairs and sofa of foreign manufacture, kept brightly rubbed, made this room the very pic- ture of comfort. Christine's kitten lay snugly coiled upon the hearth-rug, and near her a large dog was watching her with a very benevolent eye. All looked very cheerful, and the little waiting-n^aid, with her dress of bright crimson woolen, relieved by a white apron, her red morocco boots, fancifully wrought with gold and silver flowers, and her gay hair rib- bons, formed a contrast to Catherine, who, since her parents' death, had worn only black. This evening Catherine was very pale, and her eyes, which usually sparkled so brightly, were drooping under a sense of unknown danger, too painfully impressed upon her mind, and yet most shadowy and uncertain. While she lay upon the sofa a loud knock was heard at the door. She started up, thinking that Peter Hunz, having been delayed at the court, had come to tell her how his complaint of tthe Chevalier Orloff had been received. She opened the door, and preitently two or three men entered the apartment. They were evidently surprised to see one so lady-like and prepossessing in ap- pearance as Catherine, for the one who seemed the principal, asked if she had a servant called Catherine Petroff. . 6 t .^* page: 70-71[View Page 70-71]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 70-71 70 CATHERINE PETROFFo "What is your business with her? I am Cathe- rine Petroff." The man stepped back a pace or two. "Impossible!" said he. "There is some mis- I take here." "Why do you think so?" "Because I was sent to arrest a young girl of that name - a servant, I was told." "For what offence, and by what authority?" "For unjustly charging crime upon the Cheva- lier Orloff, and by the authority of the Emperor Nicholas." "I am the person you seek, but your statement is not correct. I made no complaint--have I sanctioned none. I will myself go to the emperor. If he is the father of his people, as he should be, he will not suffer me to be treated thus." "It is in vain, lady," said the man, evidently soft- ened by the beauty and spirit of Catherine. "Once decreed, there is no appeal from the emperor's decision." "And what is the decree for me?" "Alas, lady! I dare not tell you. I have my orders, and must execute them. Prepare your- self to go with me."i "And when, and under what circumstances, may I return hither?" The man seemed evidently pained to the heart. He was too new to his dreadful office, to be un- i CATHERINE PETROFF. 71 moved at the idea that this young and lovely woman was to bid farewell to the charming abode which her taste had adorned. He looked around the apartment, and then his eyes rested again on its lovely occupant with a pitying look. "Once again, I ask you, what is my sentence?" "Siberia for life?" gasped the man, whose mind was at that moment full of his own young daughter at home, and thinking how he might leave her by his death to some such fate. Suddenly his eyes rested a second time upon the wall, where hung the portrait of General Petroff. "Tell me, madam, whose is that picture?" "My father's- General Petroff's" answered Catherine, absently, for she was revolving her probable fate, and mingling with it the thought of Alexis. "Good heavens! General Petroff, my best friend; and you his daughter!" The man seemed overcome with emotion; but hastily glancing at the person who accompanied him, and who had not yet spoken, he directed him to affix the seal of the police upon the contents of the room. During the process, the principal found an opportunity to whisper to Catherine, "Do not' fear. I will protect you at the risk of my life!" Then with an expressive gesture, he left her, and appeared wholly wrapt up in assisting and directing his companion. page: 72-73[View Page 72-73]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 72-73 72 CATHERINE PETROFF. P "Do you wish your maid to accompany you?" he asked, when it was over. Catherine hesitated. Of course, Christine's com- panionship would be desirable, and the little ten- der-hearted soul was crying her eyes out at her mistress's trouble; but who would tell Alexis? However. she resolved to take her, and trust to chance for telling him where she might be; and how indeed could he assist her? "Ah, did I not warn Peter Hunz not to make this complaint, Christine?" "Peter Hunz?" said the man. "He, too, has his sentence passed and carried into effect." "Where is he?" asked Catherine, tremblingly. "In the mines, or on his way to them,". whis- pered the man. "He will never see the light of day again." Catherine wept for the first time. She had not wept for herself; but her good neighbor's fate awakened her deepest sympathy, and even her terrors; for if this thing was done, so full of in- justice to an innocent man, what did innocence avail in Russia? But the moment arrived for her to depart with her strange companions; and tak- ing only a small package with her, in which was the miniature of Alexis Romanoff, she descended the stairs, casting a look of inexpressible grief upon her little home and the objects it con- tained. CATHERINE PECROFF. 73' "O, my father!" she exclaimed, " hadst thou lived, I should have been protected even from royal enemies." This allusion to General Petroff seemed to rouse her captor once more. He pressed close to her side, and said: "You are safe, for your father's sake. I swear it to you, young lady." A few hours' ride brought them to a house by the roadside,'where the man, who seemed to be the principal, dismissed the other for a fresh pair of horses. "Now is your time to escape," said he quickly. "This house which our companion thought that we were to enter, is an inn. Yonder, where you see the light glancing through the trees, is my home. I shall be very zealous in searching for you," he added " and therefore no one will think that you are in my house. Tell them to put you 'in the secret closet until I come. Meantime, do not be alarmed if you hear me loudly exclaiming to Jan, when he returns with the horses, that the prisoner has fled. It will take you but a moment; here is the path, and as soon as you are in the house tell them to put out the light." a But Christine - where shall she go?" "We have no warrant to detain her. Jan is stupid, and will never think of her again; so take her, too, for company." 6* page: 74-75[View Page 74-75]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 74-75 74 CATHEKIINE PETROFF. Even now they heard Jan approaching, whist- ling loudly, and the sound of that, with the horses' feet, deadened all others. The two girls glided swiftly towards the light; and as soon as the old soldier of General Petroff saw the light extin- guished, and knew by that token that the daugh- ter of his revered commander was safe, he raised the cry of escape. Jan heard it, and slightly quickened his pace. As he came up with Stormsky, who ran hither and thither, as if distressed by the occurrence, Jan said, very coolly: "Let them go, captain. That bloody old em. peror has had victims enough. I resigned my station on the police to-day, and only came here in lieu of my friend Liewitch, who is going to be married this very evening." Stormsky listened almost incredulously. This man, whom he had all the evening thought so stupid, seemed full of activity now. But what could have effected the change? He tried himI by asking if he would help him pursue the pris- oners. "No, neither shall you, if I kill you on the spot," said Jan, resolutely. "Let us work to- gether, Stormsky. You are: as glad as I am that your old commander's daughter has escaped; and for me, if I can find that little Christine again on the face of God's earth, I will ask her to marry ' stupid Jan.' " l CATHERINE PETROFF. 75 It was love, then, love at first sight, that had animated the ex-police officer. Stormsky took hiin to the inn, plied him with questions until he was sure of his man, and then assuring him that he should have a chance to try his fate with Christine if he could find her, he dismissed him to tell the bridegroom that the prisoner, Catherine Petroff, had deserted the house before they entered it, and it was supposed that she had thrown herself into the sea. The bridegroom, on whose shoulders the matter would fall, reported accordingly, and no more notice was taken of the matter, Catherine's possessions were confiscated, and her pretty home converted into a storehouse. One of Stormsky's sons, a little fellow of ten years old, whom his father brought to the city for that purpose, begged the two portraits of the commissary, who willingly gave them away to get rid of the trouble of them, sagely remarking that family portraits never brought anything. The lad carried them home in triumph, his father packing them securely with other matters which he had bought for the two girls, to replace those which they had been deprived of. "The emperor is dead l" read Christine from the newspaper, which had been handed round the little village until it was creased so badly that she could not make out the particulars. page: 76-77[View Page 76-77]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 76-77 76 CATHERINE PETROFF., All these years had she and Catherine lived with the Stormsky family, unsuspected. Never daring to make known her retreat to Alexis, lest his indignation should get the better of his judg- ment, Catherine had devoted herself to the family of her preserver. She and Christine, so far from burdens, had been positive blessings in the houses hold, teaching the children, nursing them when sick, and earning more than four times their maintenance. "The emperor is dead!" read Christine again from the crumbled paper, on seeing the wonder- ing countenances around her. Stormsky himself who had just entered, threw up his hat, and caught the youngest boy in his arms. "Thank God, my boy, that you at least will not serve under the tyrant Nicholas!" "We can go home now,- Christine," said Jan, whose time for the last few years had been half spent in looking at the blooming maiden, whom he could not persuade to be his wife. "Wait till Catherine Petroff is free and happy," she would say, " and then I will marry you." The time had now'come, then --for the new emperor was already healing the wounds which Nicholas had inflicted. Long before this they had heard of Constantine OrlofPs death, and Cathe. rine knew of no other enemy that she possessed on earth. CATHERINE PETROFF. " While the great heart of Russia was beating with joy at the tyrant's death, there were those in Stormsky's humble home that trembled with their own burden of happiness, and one of these was Catherine's. As she unfastened the box with her own hands, and brought the portraits of her beloved parents to the light of day, which for years she had not dared to do, and as Christine and the rest of them crowded around her, and addressed her by her own name instead of that by which she had been known in her concealment, she burst forth into joyful tears, such as had not bedewed her eyes for a long, long time. "Must we lose you now?" asked Stormsky's wife, as the remembrance of Catherine's patient, unmurmuring life came up to her, together with Christine's active industry and attention to her children. Catherine did not know; the new emperor might not forgive her. A thought came to her now, and clouded her brow. Peter Hunz, who had sacrificed himself for her! She gave utter. ance to the thought, and then Stormsky told her what he had forborne for months to tell her, that her poor friend had met his death before he entered the mines. "It is not all sunshine then," said Catherine, sadly. "I would have so liked to see poor Hunz established again in the little stall which he used page: 78-79[View Page 78-79]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 78-79 78 "CATHERINE PETROFF. tolove so well to decorate. Poor soul I it was for me, too, that he died." There was a great flitting from Stormsky's house before many weeks had elapsed. There had been pardons extended, and cruel acts rescinded, and the new emperor was gaining the hearts that Nicholas, in his stern and uncpmpro- mising rule, had recklessly thrown away. Time, which had wrought so many changes to Catherine and her friends, had brought wealth , and popularity to Alexis Romanoff. Everything outward had prospered with the young and talented solicitor. Business poured in upon him until, had it not been for his benevolent habits, his coffers would have been overflowing. Alone he had passed the years which had rolled on since the strange and unaccountable disappearance of i Catherine Petroff--his adopted sister, whose ab- sence had nearly robbed life -of all its enjoyments. Never for a moment had he ceased to think of I her -never had he ceased to seek for some trace of her. Of a hopeful nature, he had hoped beyond hope for some tidings of his lost friend; and some faint whispering of comfort came to him in the thought that she might have fled from the obtru- sive attentions of Orloff, and that she would yet reappear. ^But the chevalier was dead, and no Catherine came; and sick at heart, Alexis gave up all his interests in St. Petersburg, and went CATHERINE PETROFF. 79 to the Crimea; not to join the unholy war,which his soul detested, nor to serve under a king whom he hated, but as a looker-on, and whenever he could be, a helper to those who suffered from its terrible effects. Life only seemed precious to him, because he could relieve pain and distress; and while he wiped the death damps from many a suffering brow, he was stilling the misery at his own heart by softening the pangs of death to another. Many were the widows and orphans towhom he carried consolation by relating the last tender words of the husband and father, and told of their place of hallowed burial by his hands; gave them the lock of hair or the ring from the finger, and calmed them with words of heavenly peace, from the source of all peace. He returned to do this when the war was over, and the poor shattered remnants of mortality were seeking their homes once more; and as he gazed upon them, he felt that even these men werF happier, in one sense, than himself, for they had kind and loving hearts to receive' them, while he stood alone-alone with his wealth, alone with his greater wealth of intellect, alone with a heart that yearned wildly for some living being who should be its own forever. No idle love dreamer was Alexis Romanoff, but a true, warm-hearted, generous man, burning with noble ardor to do good to humanity, and only asking the devotion of one heart in return. page: 80-81[View Page 80-81]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 80-81 80 CATHERINE PETROFF. And as if Heaven had ordained that his self-sac. rificing spirit should reap its own reward in its own way, almost the first sight which he beheld was a carriage in which sat what at first seemed the vision of Catherine Petroff, watching the returning troops. He was too far off to speak, but he marked the shades of tender pity on her face as the maimed and feeble figures passed on; and as she threw a disappointed look over the crowd, he felt that she was looking for her absent brother; and pressing through the dense mass, he stood before her and spoke her name. His voice thrilled through her very soul; -her speechless delight was more eloquent than words, and the eagerness with which she sprang from the carriage into his arms, proved how joyful was the recognition. Paler than he was wont to be- hold her face, yet with an air of matured and chastened dignity, succeeding her former spark- ling gaiety, and which added years had brought to him the feeling to admire and appreciate, he i dwelt upon her countenance with a rapturous joy that he had never before experienced. "Never more to be parted!" were the first words that he could bring himself to utter; and as Catherine heard the blessings that greeted him from the pallid lips of hundreds of the returned troops, and the shout that went up from their hearts as he bowed his last good-bye to them all, she whispered fondly, "Never more I' IT was a damp, lowery morning in the year 1650. The mists had settled dank and heavy upon the Scottish hills; and from the numerous lochs- still floated upward a wet, murky fog-bank, which was as distressing to the eye as it was 'disagreeable to the skin. From an overhanging rock, almost in. accessible by the deep and ragged ravine that ran through it, the castle of Dunottar was scarcely visible; but as the morning advanced, the sun lighted the highest towers, and gradually clearing off the mists, it showed the whole of the rude for- tress, standing in its naked roughness above the sea. This strong and impregnable castle was the pride of Kincardineshire, being the hereditary fortress of the Earls Marischal, and having proved its capabilities of defence under John Ogilvy, of Barras, who still held his post as governor. On the morning of which we speak, had the thick fog cleared sooner, Ogilvy might have been seen cautiously looking out from the door that opened 7 page: 82-83[View Page 82-83]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 82-83 82 THE REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. on the landward side, as if eagerly expecting some one. The anxious expression on the governor's face gave way to that of cheerfulness, as he beheld a horse slowly winding around the base of the rock. He hastily descended the hill, and on arriv. ing at the bottom, he eagerly greeted a lady, whom he helped to dismount, and accompanied her to the castle. An hour elapsed before they again reap- peared. In fact, so warm and friendly was the re. ception which: the governor and Mrs. Ogilvy gave the lady, that she lingered longer than she intended. A table had been already spread with the beautiful remains of a real Scotch breakfast, in which fish, game and fowl were conspicuous, and of which the guest was urged to partake with more of hospitality perhaps than was actually needed, and which, in these days of ultra refinement, would hardly have been deemed polite. John Ogilvy, governor of Dunottar, was a tall, broad-shouldered, middle-aged man, with strongly i marked features, high cheek bones, and a mass of light-colored hair, which his wife called auburn, but which he persisted in calling red. His wife was a pretty little woman, with laughing blue eyes, a bright Scottish complexion, and a mouth that seemed made for smiles. The visitor, whom they X addressed as Mrs. Granger, was a noble lady, tall and finely formed, and with an intellectual expres. I sion on her really handsome face, that interested ' THE REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. 83 the beholder at first sight, and which a further ac- quaintance did not disappoint. Her tartan riding- dress fitting close to her form, and the hat formed of the same material as the habit, with long plumes worn gracefully at the side, and long ends of plaid ribbon floating on her shoulder, was a garb in which she looked especially well; and the morning ride had brought a fresh color into her cheeks, notwithstanding the fog that encumbered the at- mosphere. Mrs. Granger was the wife of the minister of Kinneff, a man whose large heart and brave spirit bespoke him one of the noble works of the Creator. Three years before, he had wooed and won the daughter of a Scottish laird; and his union with sweet Alice Glenburn, had been one of almost perfect happiness. Not a step in the green lanes or shady woods of Kinneff but had been trodden together; not a poor family that had not experi- enced their benevolence, and blessed their presence when they came like sunshine into their dwellings. Born to wealth and honors, Alice Glenburn had gladly shared the lowly parsonage which was so sweet a home when blest with Fergus Granger's love. Latterly their acquaintance with the family at Dunottar Castle had been a source of unfeigned pleasure to the minister and his wife; nor was it less so to the governor and his lady. Not even the blockade with which the English page: 84-85[View Page 84-85]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 84-85 84 THE REGATTA OF SCOTLAND. had attempted to get the castle into their hands, nor the state of close scrutiny in which every one was held during the siege, had prevented the minister or Mrs. Granger from making their almost dally visit to the castle; and frequently the latter would take over large bundles of work and stay with her friends until the sewing was completed* Once or twice, the English general caused the lady's pretty covered work-basket to be inspected, laugh- ingly declaring that he only did it for the pleasure of assisting her to mount again upon her steed--a shaggy Shetland pony, not remarkable for his beauty, but strong and sure-footed. After this, she fearlessly carried her basket, which was a large one, and innumerable packages besides, of all shapes and sizes; and no search was made and no questions asked. This day the lady had stopped as usual at the English encampment, and the general himself had assisted her to dismount for a few moments, and then to remount. General Monk was a thorough- - bred Englishman, polite and courtly in his manner, and particularly gentle to the ladies. The minis : ter's wife had made quite an impression upon the general, from her uniform cheerfulness, her fine horsemanship, even with such an unpromising sub- ject as the Shetland pony, and her ladylike demean. or. On this morning the general had asked her where her usual bundle of work was, and received ^' THE REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. 85 for an answer that she had left it the day before, and was now coming to the castle after it. When an hour or two after, he saw her return with a large bundle, he smiled and pointed to it as she passed' by him. She also smiled, and touching the point of her riding-stick to her pony's back, she galloped off, inwardly rejoicing at her escape. "There goes a pretty woman," said the English- man to an officer who stood near. "Is that the reason then that you did not search that large package which she carried! Methinks I have seen a peasant woman undergo closer scrutiny from General Monk's men, than this fair. lady was submitted to." "Doubtless. You know, Maywood, that I can- not resist the syrens. I believe that I should absolutely abandon this enterprise, did a pretty woman ask me to do so." "I do not doubt it--and if the minister's wife was aware of this, she would probably ask you." The lady by this time was far off among the hills, and as she re-appeared after being invisible for a while, they could see her looking back towards the encampment, and then urging her horse into a quicker pace, she was lost from their sight. "The minister of Kinneff must be a happy man," sighed Col. Wilmer. "That countenance must shed a bright light over a dreary Scottish 7p page: 86-87[View Page 86-87]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 86-87 86 THE REGALTA OF SCOTLAND. manse among these wild hills. But, general, when do you raise this siege? Are you not tired of holding watch over these dogged Scotch Presby. terians with their sour faces and long, lank bod- ies?" "Not a bit of it, colonel. I rather enjoy their vexation; and you see that as it is not a siege that necessarily involves suffering, and that I am only seeking to make that stout old governor deliver up his castle, with perfect liberty to take himself out of the way the moment he capitulates; why, even your soft heart, Wilmer, cannot see any great amount of cruelty in the operation. We make no war against women or children; but if MacConnuill Dhu should get into our hands, it would be something to boast of. i Yes, but this old castle- what is the special idea of conquering this?" ("For the treasure which is doubtless concealed beneath its arches. Then, too, the regalia, which these Scotchman value as they do their passport to heaven I and which we must obtain, peaceably if they will, but forcibly if we must; it would be a feather in our English caps, if we could but secure it." The siege continued. The venerable castle was surrounded on every side. All along the foot of the huge rock that overhung the ocean, the Eng- lish vessels lay at anchor, so near that not the *A i i THE REGALTA OF SCOTLAND. 87 smallest boat could pass between; and on the land side, the minister's wife was, after some days, for- bidden to visit the castle without submitting to a strict search, so that no food should be carried, even in such quantities as might be concealed in her work-basket. The fact was that Mrs. Granger had already carried such provisions to her friends as could be condensed into small quantities. Her capacious pockets, unobservable in the heavy folds of her tartan dress, had held bottles ot wine, pack-- ages of portable soup,and bagsof hard-boiled eggs, every time she had passed the English camp. But now she was compelled to leave off visiting them, or run the risk of a search, which she was not in- clined to submit to. Day by day the defence grew weaker, for now the provisions were rapidly decreasing. Each day John Ogilvy walked opt upon the battlements, with the feeling that he must surrender the castle; and as often as he glanced over the preparations of the English, he would turn back, with a fresh resolve to hold out until death. But other lives were in- volved in his. His wife, grown pale and delicate, was already suffering for the nourishing things with which Alice Granger had so long supplied her wants; and little Flora Ogilvy, a fair, tender flower, was fading away under the same privations. There was a- desperate struggle in the brave heart of John Ogilvy. Had it been for himself page: 88-89[View Page 88-89]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 88-89 88 THE REGATTA OF SCOTTLAND. alone, the strong man would not have murmured ; but those precious lives!-those lives for which he would have willingly died, if, by so doing, he could avert from them a single pang-for these he must do what his brave spirit revolted from; and smothering a terrible sensation at his heart, he wrote the articles of capitulation, and they were accepted. Accepted, but never fulfilled by the treacherous Southron-for no treasure, none of that preciousY and coveted regalia were found; and forthis, Ogilvy and his wife were imprisoned, and even tortured, to make them discover where it was concealed. Nor did the minister of Kinneff and his wife escape their indignities. The pack- ages were remembered; and furious at the idea of being outwitted by a woman, Mrs. Granger was subjected to a series of persecutions which no spirit less courageous than her own could have en- dured. "The minister's wife rather foiled you, general," said Colonel Wilmer. "It is well said that there is no mischief in which a woman is not at the bot- tom of it." "Foiled me! By St. George, I think, Wilmer, that she rather fooled me I I have a great mind to swear that a woman's handsome face shall hence- forth be the signal for me to commit some terrible severity. Who would have thought that free and courteous bearing could have covered so much de- THE REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. '89 ception? But they are all alike. I am glad that not one of their deceitful crew ever drew my neck into the matrimonial noose." "Ah, general, I say not so. My own little Eng. lish Mary is innocence and truth itself; and, in truth, so did this lofty-looking parsoness of Kinneff appear to be." "Yes, the deceitful wretch! With that wicked eye of hers, looking straight into your soul, how could a man help believing her? But she shall be punished in proportion." And so she was, and her friends with her. 'It was agony to Alice to see her husband dealt with by the fierce soldiery, but her courageous spirit was cheered by the way in which he bore it. Re- leased from their temporary imprisonment, the friends gladly clustered once more about the ample chimney of the manse. Here the tidings still con- tinued to reach their ears, of cruelties practised upon the Moss troopers, whenever these desperate men threw themselves into their hands. i As yet, the regalia had not been discovered, al- though numerous persons pretended to know where it was concealed. Some persons believed it to have been carried abroad by Sir John Keith, a younger son of the Earl Marischal, ancestor of the family of Kintore. Others, perhaps, that they were yet in the cellars of the castle, in some un- known concealment to which the hidden spring page: 90-91[View Page 90-91]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 90-91 90 THE REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. could not be found; but no one knew the true sanctuary where these precious relics of a by-gone and downtrodden royalty were sheltered, except they whose hands had placed them in safety. The minister's family had assembled around the broad kitchen hearth one dull afternoon in Novem- ber, and, with them the ex-governor of Dunottar, his wife, with a glow of returning health upon her fair cheek, and little Floira, now rounded to child- hood's fullest plumpness, since she had left the damp old castle. Mrs. Granger was wiling away away the dreary autumn afternoon, by the recital of her numerous conversations with the English general, and Flora was listening, open-mouthed, to the conversation. "What was it that you were so earnest to guard, Mrs. Granger?" asked the child. Mr. Granger got up and looked out of the win- dow. No one was in sight, and a drizzly rain had commenced. "We shall have no visitors to-day, Alice. What if we all go together, and show Flora what you brought so cunningly from the castle? It has been a damp autumn, and new wrappings will doubtless be necessary at this time." There was a general bustle for cloaks and hats, and Flora wonderingly and almost fearfully follow- ed Mr. Granger. They proceeded to the kirk, only a few rods distant, and the dim, sounding THE REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. 91 aisles gave back to their footsteps a hollow sound, that terrified the little girl, and made her cling to her father. He took her in his arms, carried her into the pulpit, and followed the minister down through a trap-door, ingeniously covered by the carpet, on which was set a heavy oaken footstool, difficult to lift. Flora's blue eyes opened wide, as the minister and her father, each with a torch in one hand, lift- ed the iron tablet by a large ring, and unrolling the soft leather wrappings, displayed to her won- dering eyes the shining crown, sceptre and sword, the symbols of that venerated sovereignty so earnestly coveted by the English, who had set, perhaps, an inordinate value upon its possession. The 18th of May, 1660, saw the restoration of the Stuarts, in the person of Charles II. Flora Ogilvy was no longera child. She had grown into a lovely woman, and was already betrothed to one who was destined to a high place at court. Her father, the brave governor of. Dunottar, had been created a baronet, on the accession of Charles, and the king often bestowed upon him strong marks of royal favor. Sir John Keith, whose name was only used in the transaction, without any personal share in preserving a treas- ure so sacred in the eyes of a people like those of Scotland, was created Earl of Kintore. I page: 92-93[View Page 92-93]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 92-93 92 THE REGATIA OF SCOTLAND. Historians have sometimes written as though the minister of Kinneff did not receive the meed which lie and his heroic wife deserved; but in all probability the empty honors of court, and the dignities of rank and title would have proved of little satisfaction to the humble preacher of the gospel. A pension was granted them, which re- moved all anxiety of living comfortably in old age; and, added to this, was the memory of hav- ing preserved, in troublesome times, the REGALIA OF SCOTLAND. H Ibd of t# Qrlea. THE inn of Saint Leonard, in a Swiss village, was one cold and stormy night in mid winter the scene of confusion quite unusual to a place of its quiet and humdrum ways. The wife of Theodore Hofer, the ever-cheerful and smiling host of Saint Leonard, presented her husband, after a marriage of twelve years, with a fine son; and as the storm brought a larger accession of company to the inn that night than was usual, the occasion was responded to, and the child's health drank, in a manner that threatened to empty Hofer's wine- cellar at his own expense, since in his joy he refused payment for a single glass. One old soldier, who had been an officer in a bloodless war and one of the principals in as bloodless a duel, insisted upon seeing the new heir of Saint Leonard, and baptizing him with wine into the service of his country; and Hofer, whom ecstasy at becoming a father overcame his judgment, actually produced the wee'creature 8 4 page: 94-95[View Page 94-95]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 94-95 " THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. in the large front room, and smiled as the old lieutenant passed his sword over the face in the form of a cross, touched the infant's red brow with redder wine, and proclaimed, in a half drunken voice, that here was a born soldier; and giving him at the same, subject however to the decision of the mother, his own name of Andreas. Madame Hofer made no objection to the name, but she did object strongly to the noise and con- fusion, and being too drunk to resist her com- mands, the parties slunk away to' bed, each hold- ing to a servant on one hand and the balustrade on the other. This little episode in the quiet monotony of the life at Saint Leonard, sometimes called " the inn on the sand," occurred in 1767. The little Andreas showed no disposition to ratify the promise of the old lieutenant at his birth, of be- coming a soldier, evincing no great emotion at the sound of martial music, and disdaining to fight with his companions upon any occasion. 'As he grew up a young man, his business consisted chiefly of trading to Italy with wine and horses, and in these branches of trade be continued until 1796. rj Andreas was now twenty-nine years of age, and as the war approached Tyrol, his dormant enthusiasm seemed to awaken, and he appeared all at one, the inspired leader of a rifle company THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. 95 from his own country, against the French on Lake Guarda. As they marched away, his eye wandered a moment to a window behind which a pale, delicate face appeared, wet with tears. The sight made him falter and change color, but it was only for a single instant. He resumed his firm step and erect carriage, and passed on. That face haunted his visions throughout the cam- paign. It was that of Octavia Shefler, to whom but a few days before he had proffered his heart and was accepted. The events of the campaign brought Andreas tHofer into a position where all acknowledged his superiority; and when, in 1808, the rupture be. tween the cabinets of St. Cloud and Vienna ap- peared inevitable, and the people of the Tyrol became excited, he was one of the band of pri- vate messengers se-ht to the Archduke John, who was then in command of the Austrian army. This was the initiatory step to the insurrection which resulted in the most triumphant success for the mountaineers, who conquered nearly the whole country, and took eight thousand Bavarians pris- oners. The bravery and courage of Andreas Hofer made him perfectly adored by the Tyrolese. A brief and hurried visit to Octavia, made in the stillness of night, through danger and peril, was the only intercourse permitted to the lovers for page: 96-97[View Page 96-97]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 96-97 96 THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. many months. On the 12th of April, 1809, An- dreas forced a battalion of Bavarians in the plains of Stertzing to surrender, thus earning new and lasting laurels. Sitting at home, "meek-eyed, with her golden hair," Octavia poured over the brief details of that day, and wearied herself in imagining how looked her hero amidst the bands of excited peasantry, with their impromptu cannon of wood with iron hoops. She fancied to herself how the women and children, who actually fought, and loaded rifles for the men to fire, must have worshipped such a lead- er; and hard as it was to be separated, and to feel that his path was through perils sufficient to appal the bravest, still the triumphant thought came ever uppermost, crowding down the fear and pain, "And this man-this hero, is mine." Meanwhile the Tyrol was again invaded, and a close blockade succeeded. Andreas hastened to join the regular troops, in order to restore its freedom of communication with the interior, when the armis-- tice of July 12, succeeding the battle of Wagram, was announced. The terms of the armistice pene. trated his soul with horror. It was demanded that the Tyrol should be given up to the fury of the en- emy. The Tyrol!--and Octavia and her family in peril Vain indeed had been the blows which he had struck for freedom, if this was to be the gloomy ending of all the bright and glorious hopes which they two had held so long I THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. 97 Disabled from performing any available service where he now was, Andreas lingered only to bid the discomfitted peasantry adieu, and then attempt- ed to reach the Tyrol, which he hoped by some stratagem to succeed in entering. He was cut off on every side, and with the horror of Octavia's sit. uation perpetually before his eyes, he was at length driven to find concealment in a cave in the valley of the Passeyr. Those days were days of unmiti- gated anguish, in which the strength of the soldier almost gave way under the emotions of the man. He was almost at the turning point between hope and utter despair, when one morning he was roused to new emotions by hearing the voices of human beings. The mouth of the cave was effectually screened by thick brushwood, which did not, how- ever, drown the voices. They were talking of the armistice, and Bavarians though they were, they candidly admitted that the people of the Tyrol had bravely retaliated upon their besiegers, and had risen, armed and conquering, to avenge their wrongs. The speakers' voices died away and An- dreas darted from his concealment, and succeeded in reaching the lines unmolested. Under cover of the night, possessing himself first of the watchword, he gained access to the Austrian ranks, and, ani- mated by the welcome sight of their beloved lead-. er, the Tyrolese fought with such energy as to set cure the victory. 8* page: 98-99[View Page 98-99]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 98-99 98 THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. The morning sun shone brightly upon a wedding group in the little hillside sanctuary at Passeyr. Amidst doubt and danger, with the enemy lurking in detached parties about the mountains, and the dread of new terrors that might momently be ex- pected, the bridal ceremony went on. It was yet so early that the sun had not drank the dews that had wept profusely on their pathway to the church. No marriage parade, no pageantry were there; but the two, with each a single attendant, walked forth pilently amid the springing flower, to pledge their faith as each other's, now and forever. Pale as a lily, the bride glided up the aisle beside the bronzed soldier who seemed as if born for her protection. The wearing horrors of the siege had stolen her bloom, while his wild life had added new strength and vigor to his frame; but still there was a shade of melancholy on the fine countenance that would seem to say how painfully these troublesome times were overshadowing the bridal hour. "To leave you again, my wife," he uttered, soft- ly, as they retraced their steps on the green sward; "to leave you now would unman me wholly. I am weary of this strife. O, that we could but re. tire to some unknown wilderness, where we could leave these scenes of commotion far behind, and where not even the distant hum of war could ever reach us again." Soon after his marriage, he was called out to re- THE IDOL OF TlE TYROLESE. 99 sist once more. The enemy had already entered the Tyrolese mountains, and the people were pre- pared for fresh battles. Won by specious promises, Andreas at length submitted to the terms of a new amnesty, which submission he was led by false re- ports to recall. Now, then, he was open to the se- verest punishment of war. He was accused of breaking the amnesty, and a, price was even set upon his head. One long, lingering farewell to Octavia, one light kiss upon the brow of his infant, and he was gone. In the lonely shelter of an Alpine hut, amidst the snow and ice of winter, Andreas lay concealed, scarcely daring to communicate with his beloved one at home. A few who knew of his retreat, took turns in conveying food to his desolate abode, and the letters of Octavia, by which she strove to con- sole and cheer him in his imprisonment. Bara- guay d'Hilliers, the commander, in vain promised golden rewards to the mountaineers, to reveal his abode, but no inducement was sufficient to make them discover it, so great was their affection for their beloved leader. At length Octavia left her infant. under the care of a friend, and joined him in his exile, thus making life supportable. Her pre' sence awoke new hopes, and he dreamed of free- dom and happiness once more. page: 100-101[View Page 100-101]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 100-101 100 THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. In an apartment lighted by a profusion of wax candles, which were magnified and re-produced by beautiful and costly mirrors, sat the great general, Baraguay d'Hilliers. He was at his desk, carefully looking over despatches, when a servant entered and requested, in the name of Eugene Douay, a confidential audience. Hastily folding away the papers, the general gave orders that he should be admitted, and while awaiting his visitor, he drew his chair nearer to the cheerful blaze that flamed in the little porcelain stove. The servant ushered in a dark, low-browed man, in the dress of a priest, who came forward with an abject and craven air, as if conscious that his errand was not one to glory in. "Be seated, reverend sir," said the courteous general. "You have commands for my private ear?" "Yes, my son. They relate to one from whom you wish to hear-Andreas Hofer." The general started. "Indeed I Has his hiding. place been discovered?" ' I have succeeded in finding the man who car- ries food to him, and have watched him long enough to make myself perfectly sure that I can find him. I await your advice as to the mode of surprising him?" "Pardon me if I ask your motive in doing this?' "Certainly. Hofer once made me his confidant. THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. 101 I was privy to all his schemes, and, to say truth, he was my best friend. But he has offended me in a certain point, and I cannot-excuse me, my lord general; it is a painful subject." Douay did not see the look of inexpressible dis gust which Baraguay d'Hilliers cast upon him. In a moment the general had recovered his polite, suave manner, and desired him to finish his state- ment. It was brief. A few soldiers, the priest said, were all that were necessary; Hofer and his wife lived alone3 and there would be no counter force. When would the general wish the prisoner to be taken? "' I will issue orders, and when I am ready I will send for you as a guide to the place of his conceal- ment," said the general, bowing him out. "By heavens!--but I feel mean to enter into conspiracy with such a contemptible traitor. To betray his friend and benefactor! I loathe him; yet still I must, perforce, take advantage of the reptile's in- formation." And he sat down again and wrote. Silence was around the rocky mountain pass where stood the Alpine hut. Within, there sat the two who were all the world to each other, and whose love burned as brightly amid the glaciers as it would have done amidst the gayest scenes. They were talking of the little Theodore, who was named for his grandfather, the host of Saint Leon page: 102-103[View Page 102-103]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 102-103 102 THE IDOL OF THE TYROLESE. ard's inn, who was long before this gathered to his fathers. Suddenly a crackling sound was heard by both, as if some heavy animal had pressed the snow too heavily and broken its crisp and glittering crust. They started to their feet, and the slight door gave way before a heavy stroke, and the little room was filled with armed men, who claimed Andreas as their prisoner. Bravely did Octavia bear up under the heavy burden. It was well that she did not realize the full penalty of that law under which Andreas was to suffer. She accompanied hirn unshrinkingly to Mantua, whither he was taken to undergo the ordeal of a court-martial. The decision was final, and then came the terrible parting. The brave heart of Andreas Hofer was pierced with the bullets of the soldiery. Before the sun had set, Octavia had heard of her child's death. In the splendid cathedral of Innspeck, Andreas Hofer lies buried, for so willed the universal voices of his countrymen; and beside him lies the poor broken flower, whose tender heart was reached through his, by those fearful messengers of death. "They had one grave-one lonely bridal bed; No friend-no kinsman there a tear to shed; His name had ceased-her heart outlived each tie, Once more to look on that dear face-and die." From the hills of home forthlooking, far beneath the tent like span Of the sky, I see the white gleam of the headland of Cape Ann; Well I know its coves and beaches, to the ebb-tide glimmering down, And the white-walled hamlet children of its ancient fishing-town. WHTTIER. "THE sea rolls heavily, to-night, Maurice," said Silas Grant to his comrade, as they passed the ground before the garrison houser They say the devil comes abroad on such nights as this, and marches fore and aft the beach below. Faith, I should think his majesty would seek a warmer climate, for this is only fit for bears and wolves." And the stout yeoman, who had only recently beat his pruning hook into a sword, reversing the Bib. lical prophecy, stood suddenly still, and thrashed his long arms to keep the blood in circulation. "Hush, Silas!" returned Maurice Howland; "do n't speak in that way of bad and unknown things. What if they should come suddenly upon page: 104-105[View Page 104-105]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 104-105 104 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. you? Would n't it make your stout heart give way?" "Why, man, you would not have me speak rev- erently of the devil, would you?" "Speak not at all of them," answered Maurice, in a tone so unlike his own voice that Silas start- ed aside from the path, as if to avoid some one who might be crossing it. Maurice smiled. l'The wicked flee, when no man pursueth," he said, as Silas grasped his shoul- der, and he felt the strong hand tremble. "Not so, Maurice," said the other, recovering himself when he found that the voice proceeded from his companion, and not from an evil power. "Not so. I own to being a careless and silly fel- low in many things, but to sheer wickedness-- such as would make me flee from human or Divine wrath, I cannot plead guilty. You have known me from a boy, Silas, and I leave it to you, if I ever did a wicked or even dishonorable action." "You never did, Maurice! Forgive me, my old friend, for jesting with you. I wish to heaven all our comrades were as free from offence as you are." "Nay, do n't praise me, either, Maurice. God knows we are none of us too good. And now we will go in, for these night winds come wild and bleak against my cheek, and the blazing fire in the garrison house is too cheerful to resist." THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. 105 And the two were soon seated side by side, as was their constant fashion, before the wide chimney, on whose ample hearth, the great hicko- ry logs were sputtering and crackling, and a huge torch of pitch pine threw its glare upon the faces of at least twenty stalwart men, whose guns were stacked in the centre of the room, ready for the first alarm of danger. A strange and motley group, they formed, sit- ting around that blaze. There were men whose heads the almond blossoms had already begun to whiten; there were those who had just begun the battle of life -striplings, who had never before left the home nest in which they were reared; and there were those 'midway between, who had left wives and little children at the call of a suffer.' ing country, and who had pledged " their lives - their fortunes -and their sacred honor," to her rescue. Among the most conspicuous, was a tall, lank, raw-boned personage, whose straight, sandy locks were cut perfectly round upon his head, as if a wooden bowl had been used for measurement. He answered to the name of Comfort Harding. Another was a mere stripling youth, about six- teen years of age. He was a bright, intelligent boy, brave as any old and experienced soldier, and with a judgment and enterprise far beyond his years. He was very beautiful, with his wavy 9 page: 106-107[View Page 106-107]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 106-107 106 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. curls, which Comfort Iarding in vain had entreat. ed him to cut off. They were his mother's pride, those fair, light curls, and while young Hamilton remembered the touch of her fingers upon them, he would not suffer his head to be shorn of its chief beauty. Still another youthful face shone out amid the cheerful gleam of the fire. It was that of James Bertenshaw, a friend and companion of Arthur Hamilton, and the pet and favorite of the soldiers. When not on duty, James Bertenshaw was a mere boy - a plaything for the rest; not manly and dig- nified like Arthur, but following his natural bent of fun and humor. On the field, he was quite anoth- er being, cool, quiet and determined, yet obedient to the word of command, desiring only to distin- guish himself by his merits and not his rashness. Two finer youths than these, never did battle in any field; and it was once asked by a distinguished foreigner, " if these are the boys of America, what must be the men?" Comfort Harding assumed the chief management of the lads, and it was wonderful to see how. the hard, stern nature of such a man, was softened, by coming into contact with their fresh, young hearts; and how they, in turn, were growing more grave and thoughtful under his good and wise influence, which was not even lessened by the perception they had of his oddities of charac- THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. 107 ter and appearance. But if they liked the rough yeoman, and respected others not exactly of his stamp, they kept the full measure of their love for Maurice Howland and Silas Grant. These two men had never lost sight of the lads, although Comfort Harding's jealous affection for them, had somewhat prevented them from showing it before him. On this night, the boys were more than usually demonstrative in their reception of the two young men, and as they entered from the wild and stormy air without, they were greeted with affec. tionate and tender words from the lips of Hamil- ton and Bertenshaw. "Come, Mr. Howland, and you, too, Mr. Grant, just join the circle, and tell us what you think about ghosts. Macpherson here, declares his be- lief in them, and Saunders is equally strong in say- ing that he has seen his satanic majesty himself." "Let such things alone, my dear boy," said Maurice, laying his hand caressingly on the boy's silky curls. "We have enough to do to find good influences; and for them, we know not when they are near us, save by their instigating us to good deeds. Besides this, comrades, we ought to know that good spirits would never seek to return to this earth, and we may be equally sure that bad ones will not be permitted to do so. Let us talk of something else, Arthur. There are strange and mysterious things enough round us, in nature." page: 108-109[View Page 108-109]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 108-109 108 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. "Yes, I know that," said the boy, softly; 's the little valley or swamp, a mile off, which yearly gleams up with flowers that grew. not elsewhere, save in warmer regions, but are here in their greatest beauty, in the very heart of Cape Ann woods, is an instance, you would say, Mr. How- land; but, at the same time, one cannot help thinking of the spectre ship of Salem as a mystery that cannot be explained. and of many other things which have been probably brought home in some sense, to the experiences of all among us, under different circumstances, yet tending to the same belief." "I do not think it so difficult of belief, either," said Comfort Harding; "especially as our faith teaches us to rely on many things which our im- perfect vision can, by no means, measure. For one, I own, at the risk of being laughed at, that I believe in mysterious agencies - in ghosts, if you will; in the actual return of the dead to earth, and in visible demons." "Sartin, sartin," said Faithful Pearson, the old- est of this little band, and a man, who, notwith- standing his rough and uncultivated ways, was universally liked and honored; "no doubt the Lord, for some good purpose, allows us to behold sich things, though I could n't just say that I have ever seed one myself." "Nor I," said his next neighbor; " but Erastus THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. 109 Lovejoy, here, has seen scores. Just tell them, Erastus, will ye, how the ghost pursued you through Kettle Lane, one night." "O, hush your nonsense, Jake!" said Erastus, blushing up to the tips of his long ears, " tell your , fraid' story, and don't be bothering me." "' What story was that?" they all asked, in a breath. Jake Harding was now fairly besieged, and finally, after two or three sly looks at Comfort, he began "When our Comfort was about ten year old, or thereabout, father let him out to Captain Haskell, to drive his cows and do odd chores. He used to play with the boys on the church-green, and in Tommy Low's lane, sometimes, till after dark, before he would bring the cows home to be milked; the captain used to scold and swear at him, but Comfort didn't mind, and. still played out till quite dusk. "One day the old man asked him if he weren't afraid to stay out so. "'Fraid!" says Comfort, what's that? I never saw one.' "'Well, you will see one some of these nights, if you don't mind; so take care that you come in earlier.' "Well, Comfort didn't mind, and one night, when he was gone later than ever, the Captain 9* page: 110-111[View Page 110-111]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 110-111 "O THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. took a sheet, wrapped it all over him, and went and sat down on the eend of a log, just where the boy was coming by. When he did this, a monkey, that they, kept to please the children, takes a table cloth and follows after him, and sits down on the eend of the same log, so softly that the captain did not see him. "By and by, along comes Comfort with his cows, with his hands in his pockets, whistling a tune. When he came in sight of the log, he says: "' Hillo I what's that? O, I guess that's a fraidl I never see one, but I guess it is.' Then he caught sight of the monkey, and called out - "'By Gosh, there's two on them I big fraid and little fraid 1" "The Captain turned round and got a view of Jacko, and half frightened to death, he started on the full run, the monkey following, and making headway upon his master." "How can you tell such ridiculous stories, Jake?" asked Comfort, smoothing down his hair, "this is no time to make these boys laugh. I hope you will not meet with anything seriously alarming, to pay you for your foolish words." Jake was abashed. He honored his brother, and disliked to offend him. One glance at Com- Aort, showed, however, that he was struggling to repress a smile at the old reminiscence. THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN; 1" "It was hard for me to pass the magnolia swamp," he said, " when a boy, without stopping to gather some of the marvellous flowers. There was something exciting to me in the thought of that. summer beauty flung down there, as if by magic, amidst wild rocks and hardy trees that can only bear our rude east winds. "Many a time while I was in the service of your grandfather," turning to the captain of the band, "of your grandfather, Captain Haskell, I have sat down on the very edge of that wonderful swamp, and fancied that I saw the entrance to some far- off clime beneath the tropic sky, of which I had heard old sailors talk. Oh, it was hard to be bound down to ploughing Ad ditching, with my mind fixed upon scenes of beauty, of which the only type visible to my natural eyes, was the little magnolia valley, hidden in the depths of woods, where, from many a silver pond, the water lily greeted me; and from many a green tree, the pink and laurel was winding its long stems." Comfort paused, as if half ashamed of his en. thusiasm, and resumed his. wonted grave and thoughtful look. There was a silence in the room that spoke better than words, however; the burst of poetic eloquence had touched the hearts of the- rude men and the two boy-soldiers. And in that pause, there came the sound of clashing arms and of tramping feet, and in a mo- page: 112-113[View Page 112-113]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 112-113 "2 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. ment each one rose and grasped his musket. From the high parapet that surrounded the garrison house, every gun was discharged--but as the smoke cleared away, not a rank was thinned in the still moving mass which had met their view but a moment before, coming from the nearest wood, and within aim of their shots. How had they missed so unaccountably? Three times they returned-these grim warriors-and each time, the brave soldiers met them with a similar welcome! In the dim, shadowy light which the returning stars showered down upon the quiv- ering branches of the white birches, after the brief storm of the evening, they watched for the spectral army, until midnight e No sound was heard except the restless moaning of the sea, and the shiver of the pine-tops, until a laugh, long, loud and scornful, rose above them all. No lead had touched the mystic band then! There were no comrades to snatch from the cold, wet earth, or surely that laugh had not issued from mortal lips I Bravely did the young boys endure that mid- night watch, pressed closely to the side of Comfort Harding, and near enough to Grant and Howlandl to exchange a hurried word, now and then, of en. couragement and approval. Ha! what comes again, moving slowly, to some mysterious battle music, with nodding plumes and spectral faces, gleaming up cold and white under the starlight? t 113 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. 113 Quick as thought, Captain Haskell wrenched a silver button from his coat, forcing it into his mus- ket, and every man firing at the same moment. Again was that dreadful mocking laugh heard by the staunch and still unterrified soldiers, and noth- ing was to be seen but the smoke of their guns, as the north wind drove it down towards the ocean. "Lay aside your muskets, my men," said Captain Haskell; " these are no earthly powers arrayed against us, whom steel or lead can vanquish." Obedient to his word, every musket stood newly stacked in the centre of the room; and the group crowded around the cheerful blaze, which seemed more grateful than before to the benumbed limbs -i that had so long been chilled on the outer wall. Captain Haskell took out his silver-clasped pock- et Bible, and read with a firm voice: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High, shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. "I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge, and my fortress, my God; in Him will I trust. "Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor the arrow that flieth by day. "There shall no evil befall thee. "' For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways." He closed the book and said, "let us pray." page: 114-115[View Page 114-115]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 114-115 "4 THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. With bowed heads and bended knees, every man dropped on the rude stone floor, while upward rose the fervent, solemn prayer, to which every heart responded. As they rose from their knees, a sound, terrible and unearthly, a howl of mingled pain and rage, filled the air, and ran echoing through the forest. The wild tramp which had not ceased since mid- night, was suddenly hushed, and as they looked fearlessly out into the night, now calm and still as if only good and holy spirits were abroad, the stars looked lovingly down on the little band, and under their serene influence, there sprang up in each heart a true and trusting faith in Him who keepeth us as in the hollow of His hand. Nevermore, since that fearful night, hath the spectral army been seen or heard of. Whether they hold their mystic trampings on other shores or not, we cannot say. But while the Banshee still moans out its fearful warning to Irish homes, and the friendly Brownie still does the housewife's work in merry Scotland, the spectre-warrior of Cape Ann has seemed to be effectually vanquished by the simple prayer of an earnest and sincere heart, responded to by other hearts, not less earnest or sincere. The time is long past; and the youths and maid- ens of the quaint old town, linger fearlessly around the very spot where the ghostly army was seen. THE GARRISON OF CAPE ANN. 115 Still bloom the white water lilies; and the wood laurel and the stately magnolia are as beautiful as ever in that wondrous valley, while the descendents of the brave " twenty," of whom "all the sons are brave, and all the daughters virtuous,' still in- habit the ancient rock-bound coast. page: 116-117[View Page 116-117]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 116-117 E blue sky of Florence had never shone le ar. THE blue sky of Florence had never shone clear- er nor brighter; the summer air had never been sweeter, and nature had never seemed to repose in greater tranquility and beauty. The breath of roses was in the atmosphere, and mingled with a thousand lesser sweets, rising upon the senses like rich perfume from the earth's full censer. But all the wealth of beauty and odor could not heal the two breaking hearts that, at this sweet hour of morning, were pouring out the sad and wild farewell of those who are parting from the dearest and best beloved. There was no violent sobbing, there were no theatrical gestures, no loud demonstrations of grief. The tearless eyes refused to weep, and the stillness of death was in the agony that looked forth from their two young faces. "It is all in vain, Antonio I I have wept and THE SPBIT BRDE. 1 17 prayed to my father to spare me this marriage, even if he does separate me from you. I would live single for your sake, or trust to time to soften his heart; but he insists on giving my hand to Francisco Angolanti, because he is .of a noble fam. ily. Heaven knows I have no ambition to share his honors. Why, O why did he ever look at a poor maiden like me? Why did he not marry Ro. salia Ferrara, who has been dying for his love? You are silent, Antonio. Do you not feel like me? Ought not he to marry in his own rank?" "If I am silent, Genevra, it is not from lack of feeling. I have been thinking, for the last half hour, of a little home among the Appenines, a aim-. ple cottage where we might be happy. The goat- herds marry the mountain maidens, and live a joy- ous, cheerful life. Is not love more to us than riches? What care we for the gay world, if we have but each other? Love would sweeten the labor, and smooth our pathway as well there as in halls of wealth." "Hope it not, Antonio. I will never desert my father. My mother's death-bed rises before me, and I remember the solemn promise which I gave her when the shadows of death had settled upon her face. If it kills me-as I almost think this sad parting will-I will be true to my promise." "Then why prolong these agonizing moments? Genevra, we part forever I When I hear fromn you 10 page: 118-119[View Page 118-119]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 118-119 "8 THE SPIRIT BRIDE. . again, it will, doubtless, be as the wife of Ango- lanti. If sickness or sorrow come to you, think of Antonio Rondinelli. He will be near you then; but otherwise, we shall not meet." He stooped his lips to her hot cheek, and then the bitter tears rained fast from their eyes. Wo. man weeps-it is her privilege of pain and pleasure, also; but when man sheds tears, it is like draining water from the rock. Genevra could not bear to see him weep, while her own heart was made calmer by the kindly flow. They parted then and there. It was a gay wedding, when Genevra Arneri was married to the patrician, Angolanti. Her fa- ther, duly appreciating the rank of his new son-in- law, spared no expense to make the occasion of more pomp and splendor than many noble families would have observed at the marriage of one of their children. He was a pompous, fussy man, and- he walked nervously round the apartments, afraid that everything was not quite right, and wonder- ing if Signor Angolanti felt the same pleasure in uniting his son to Genevra that he did in bestow. ing her upon him. He could not conceal from the numerous company which he had invited how de- lighted he felt at seeing his daughter in the fair way to aristocracy. Poor man I it oozed from ev. ery pore the satisfaction and pleasure it gave him THE SPIRIT BRIDE. 119 to receive such distinguished guests, and to know he was envied by all the fathers in his own rank of life. The door opened, and Genevra appeared, sup- ported on each side by her bridesmaids. Her face was deathly pale, save where a hectic flush had risen to the very top of her cheek. Her father's pride had decked her in rich satin and jewels, but her mournful eyes saw them not, Passively she had submitted to have her maidens deck her for the bridal. Admiringly they had bound up her shining hair, and placed the costly veil and the wreath of orange blossoms upon her head, twined the pearls around her graceful neck and arms, and led her an unwilling victim, to -be wedded to a pa- trician bridegroom. The rite was performea in the church, and then the pale lily was taken, more dead than alive, from the carriage, and this was her first entra'nce into the aristocratic mansion of the Angolanti. As she passed the threshold, the thought of the Appenine cottage rose to her mind, and she felt that it would be far more desirable than the lordly home in which she henceforth would dwell. The proud sisters of Angolanti deigned to touch her hand with an icy pressure, from which she instinctively recoiled; and the stately lady- mother did not even rise from her seat to greet her. She did not even care for all this. While page: 120-121[View Page 120-121]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 120-121 120 THE SPIRIT BRIDE. i her father saw it only in the light of patrician manner and etiquette, as he ignorantly supposed, Genevra attributed it to the right source-that of I pique and mortification at the plebeian bride which Francisco had brought to their home; and know- ing this, she was still indifferent. ! As time went on, this mournful indifference to all around her was mistaken by the family for a superb stateliness, which they were amazed to dis- cover in one of inferior birth; but it suited them well, and they began to respect her more. Love was not their forte-it was a plebeian .sentiment which they could not be supposed for a moment to indulge. Towards Francisco, she preserved a quiet esteem which his devotion to her seemed to demand. His attentions to her were marked by a fervent manner, which she could rot mistake for less than love, and which she silently accepted, but never returned. Had she been a pillar of ice,-she could not well have diffused an air of more cold- ness over their life. h At the end of four years of this freezing indiffer- ence, Genevra grew absolutely ill. She had been fading in health and strength from the time of her marriage, but her beauty was as perfect as ever; it was the beauty however of a marble statue--not the glowing, brilliant beauty of a living woman. She had been seized suddenly with an alarming swoon while at a brilliant fete, given by a foreign \ THE SPIRIT BRIDE. 121 prince at his temporary residence in Florence. Never had she looked more beautiful, not even on her wedding-day. There was even a faint shade of rose-color on her cheek, so long unvisited by its natural bloom, and the crowd of ambassadors and attaches who thronged the apartments of the prince \ were dying to be introduced to the beautiful Flor. entine. Though usually unapproachable, she had shown more cordiality in her manner that evening, and her husband began almost to hope that the dark cloud was passing off from her life. Of late, she had been accustomed to faint frequently; and although this swoon was of longer continuance, he was unwilling to believe that any disastrous event would follow. But hour after hour passed, and no signs of life returned. The pulse was still, and the heart had ceased to beat. The physicians, of whom Francisco gathered every one of note around her bedside, pronounced her dead, and he was at last forced to believe the afflicting tale. Again was Genevra robed in her bridal garments, by the hands of her four bridesmaids. As lovely as on her bridal night, and not more pale, they gathered up again her still shining hair, and deck- ed it with the wreath or orange blossoms; for was she not still a bride-the bride of death? Everything which pride or affection could sug- gest to the bereaved husband, was done to make the funeral ceremony imposing; and even his 10* page: 122-123[View Page 122-123]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 122-123 122 THE SPIRIT BRIDE. mother and sisters did not refuse to mourn for her, whose quiet and subdued life never clashed with their family pride, and who had never, as they once feared, brought her low-born relatives to disgrace their lordly halls. The poor, who loved her, fol. lowed the funeral train at a distance, weeping for their benefactress; and, concealed by a pillar in the church, heavily draped with black, stood Antonio Rondinelli, determined to look once more upon the face of his early and unforgotten love. He had come out from his almost hermit solitude, to drop a tear upon that pale cheek, on .which, four years ago, he deemed that he had shed his last. When the crowd turned away, and the sexton was left alone with the body, Antonio went up to the aisle where she lay, and looked upon the image, lovely even in death. As he gazed, a fierce joy seemed to seize at once upon his soul. She was no longer Angolanti'sl In the world to which she had gone, would not her spirit be united to her early love? Was she not, even now, his own? While the man turned to- wards the chancel to gather up his hat and gloves, before he should bear the body to the vault,. Antonio pressed his lips fervently to hers, and in that kiss he felt that the dead and the living were bound together. It was the true marriage kiss which had only been delayed until now by an irre. vocable destiny, but which was as binding as if it THE SPIRIT BRIDE. 128 had been given before. With a solemn peace, such as he had not known for years, he saw the remains of the beloved committed to the tomb, and went home to his solitary house a happier man than he had left it. The spirit of Genevra seemed hovering around him. He retired to his sleeping- room, but it was still there. In a transport of min- gled joy and triumphant love, he called her by her name, and bestowed upon her every fond epi- thet which, in days gone by, had been so sweet to her. He gat down by the low window, and the moon came stealing through the branches of the thick vine, which mantled the whole front of the pictur esque Italian cottage which he had once built for Genevra, and which he had never left for a single night. Across the garden which surrounded it, he had a glance of Francisco Angolanti's stately abode, and beyond that, he could see the street of the Misericordia, through which Genevra had been carried from the -house to the church of the Duomo. All was still in the streets of Florence. It was long past midnight, and there was no light in any of the houses in that neighborhood. The moon shone out fitfully, and then veiled itself in large white clouds, revealing dimly the scene which lay out-spread before him. Suddenly, in the direction of Angolanti's house, he heard something like a page: 124-125[View Page 124-125]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 124-125 124 THE SPIRIT BRIDE. soft footstep. His jealousy was roused, for he thought that it might be Francisco himself, going to weep at the tomb where Genevra was lying. Why had not he anticipated him? was his first thought. His second was joy at having the better presence of the beloved in his own room. The shadow that-had comforted him had not gone to the nobler mansion, and if there, in his lowly room, it could not greet Francisco beside the tomb. He sat still, and watched the garden and1vine- yard beyond. The moon veiled itself, but he heard indistinct sounds from the Angolanti man. sion, and again from the houses of Alberto and Bernardo Arneri, the father and uncle of Genevra. Perhaps Francisco Angolanti, frantic with grief for the loss of Genevra, had gone distracted, and the father and uncle of his wife had been called up to attend him. Perhaps -he had no time to pursue his conjectures, for there, in the dim moonlight, came a gliding shadow, white as the fleecy clouds overhead, and, stealing softly along the leaf-strewn path, it advanced straight towards him. There was a low moan issuing from the lips of the figure, and Antonio was certain that it breathed his own name. He trembled, but not with fear, for he had been talking all night with the spirit of Genevra, and why should he fear this gliding shadow? He put out his arms, as if to clasp it, as he had done twenty times that night ED' THE SPIRIT BRIDE. 125 when he had felt her presence so sensibly; and lo! this time, it uttered his name aloud, and sprang towards him. Somehow, it failed of reach. ing him, and Antonio, all at once, seemed as if something had eluded him--the sensation we so often experience in dreams, 'when we seem so near the object of our pursuit,--and he closed his eyes, as if to shut out some illusion. When he opened them, the white figure was lying on the ground, almost beneath his window. To pass out of the low window, to turn the pale face upward in the moonbeams that shone out with a sudden brightness, to bestow passionate caresses upon the inanimate form, and to carry it into the house, locking and double locking every egress, and then to bend all his energies towards its restoration, was the work of the first few moments. He bore it in his arms to an upper room, laid it on the bed in its shining gar- ments, and, taking a powerful restorative from a closet near, he administered a single drop, and soon after, another. His reward was a' slight pulsation at the heart, and a quivering of the eyelids. He continued his exertions, and at last heard his name pronounced by the lips which he had kissed in the silver casket, at the church, the afternoon before. He trembled lest one should have tracked her hither, and proceeded to curtain the windows heavily, wso that his light should not be seen. page: 126-127[View Page 126-127]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 126-127 126 THE SPIRIT BRIDE. In a shorter time than he expected, Genevra was able to speak. She told him that she awoke in the tomb, and, to her horror, found herself bound firmly in the casket. She exerted all her strength to break the cords, and creeping towards the door, through a crevice of which the moon was peeping, she pushed it open, and the cool night air restored her to a better consciousness of what had happened. Taking the way which led through the street ot' the Misericordia, she had gained her husband's house, and claimed admittance. He had hastily refused it, thinking her a ghost, as she supposed, and not daring to rise. She had heard him in a frightened voice bid her begone. At the houses of her father and uncle, she had met with the same reception, they only awaking, as had Francisco, to experi- ence terror and dismay. From these ineffectual trials, she had turned to bethink herself of that remembered lover so dear to her returning consciousness, and who she believed would receive her as one risen from the dead. To one person alone did Antonio confide his secret. This was Father Clementi, his own con- fessor, and the faithful friend of both himself and Genevra, from their childhood. He brought res- toratives for the invalid, and garments from Genoa, and at length he yielded to the united THE SPIRIT BRIDE. 127 solicitations of the lovers to perform the mar- riage ceremony, which should make them indeed one. The rose again visited the cheek of Genevra, and happiness was restored to those who had so long been miserable. Subsequently, the family vault of the Angolanti was opened, and the silver casket was found without an occupant. The news was communi- cated to Francisco, and also the description of Rondinelli's behavior at the church of the Duomo on the afternoon of the burial. Search was made at Antonio's house, and Genevra, radiant with health and beauty, appeared before the eyes of her former husband and the magistrates. "I am not the wife of Signor Angolanti," she said, calmly, when arraigned before a legal assem- bly at the Florentine court of justice. "When I rose from the dead, he refused to acknowledge me. No power on earth shall force me to quit the noble man who received me, on that fearful night, to his home and heart. I am either his bride or the bride of death." Struck by her beauty, her resolution, and the justice of her sentiments, the court unanimously declared in her favor, as she had been rejected by all her family, they having refused to acknowl edge her existence, even when her living voice had demanded admittance. Even after this strange circumstance, the street of the Misericordia was called the Via del Morte (the Street of the Dead.) page: 128-129[View Page 128-129]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 128-129 128 THE SPIRIT BRIDE. Rising rapidly in wealth and prosperity, grow, ing out of the distinction which his story brought him, Antonio Rondinelli took his place among the most distinguished Florentines. He would not, however, remove from his house, nor suffer it to be altered, still keeping, unobstructed, the view of the pathway by which the beloved shadow came to his arms, on the night in which he talked with Genevra's spirit. A TALE OF THE OLD PROVINCE HOUSE. ON a cold, stormy evening in the winter of 18-, a traveller, booted and spurred, arrived in Boston, from the neighboring town of Salem. He was a fine, cheerful-looking young fellow, to whom the storm and chill of such a night would awake only a passing thought of discomfort. He had set out from Salem, on horseback, about two hours and a half before; and, although his business was of no particular nature, yet he did not suffer the gather- ing tempest to turn him from his purpose. As he made his way through the crowd of peo- ple who were seeking their homes, after the day's labor or business was over, he looked somewhat longingly up to the windows from which bright lights were streaming. Now and then he caught sight, through a half-drawn window-curtain, of a family group-the father just entering, and the " , page: 130-131[View Page 130-131]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 130-131 130 THE BLUE CHAMBER. children gathering around him with caresses which must Ihave been sweet indeed to a tired man; and again, some young wife would be watching the crowd from the window, eager to welcomae the beloved form of her husband from the storm. "Heigh-ho!" sighed Adrian Vinton to himself, as one after another of these home-pictures pre- sented itself with the shifting changes of a pano- rama, "no one waits for me. I have no home, no one interested for me." A shade of sadness ' clouded the fine face for a moment, but it instant- I ly disappeared, and he resumed the old, careless look as he said aloud, "Never mind! Tom Waitt will make me a welcome at the Province House, to-night. A prince of good fellows, is Tom. Yes, I know what it is to find my ' warmest welcome in an inn;' but if the inns always come up to the old Mansion House in my own town, and the good old Province House in Boston, I may shake my finger at care, and give sorrow to the winds." As he uttered the last word, he turned into the Province House yard. The very man he had been eulogising, Tom Waitt, himself, appeared at the *door, gave him a hearty shake of the hand, and invited him cordially to come in from the storm. "Not till I see Black Prince disposed of in the stable. He is too precious to be trusted with your knaves here." THE BLUE CHAMBER. 131 "Bless you, Mr. Vinton, I have a groom here above all price for taking care of horses. Prince shall have a lodging and supper worthy his illus- trious birth, so make yourself easy on that score. 'Warner!' he continued, calling to a man just issuing from the yard; 'take this gentleman's horse, and do your best by him. Mind, I say your best.'" "Yes, sir," answered the man; and then speak- ing to himself, he said, "I 've groomed Black Prince many a time before this night." "Ah, Will, my good fellow! is that you? Why, I last saw you in New York. Well, I can trust Prince with you. Mr. Waitt, I congratulate you on having so good a hostler as Will." The man led off the horse, and Vinton, shaking off the snow from his coat, entered the cheerful room that awaited him. It was a small room, warmed by a bright sea-coal fire, and lighted by a large astral lamp. A tempting supper of tea, toast and a beef-steak that might have served a king, was placed upon a small, round table which was drawn close up to the blazing fire; while a 4 tray containing glasses, hot water and sugar, with a tall green bottle, stood upon a side-board, near. "Superb Jamaica in this bottle, sir. Just fit to keep you from getting cold, Mr. Vinton," said Waitt, lingering by the sideboard. page: 132-133[View Page 132-133]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 132-133 182 THE BLUE CHAMBER. "No, thank you;, landlord; I do not feel as if anything would do me so much good as a cup of hot tea. Besides, perhaps, you know that I have given up drinking." "I heard something of your becoming a Methoe dist, Mr. Vinton. Is that true?" I Adrian smiled. "Not exactly, sir; but I have forsworn drink, not only because my constitution will not bear it, but because I feel it is altogether bad and wrong for me to use anything as a daily beverage that will mislead my senses or give an example to an- other, to follow a depraved appetite." Waitt returned the bottle to a large wicker case from which he had taken it. "Perhaps you are right, Mr. Vinton." he said, with the air of one who has a conviction of the truth, but who cannot yield to it, because swayed by self-interest; "I suppose it does not do much good; but, bless you, what should 1 do, if every one came to that opinion?" "I cannot tell,; but I think that he who gives up an appetite for conscience sake, will never have cause to repent having done so." "Well, I must say, sir, that this is a different way of talking to what some persons have; but I declare, I do n't feel at all offended with you, while I well know that I should instantly fire up at an- other-" THE BLUE CHAMBER. 133 "I suppose my old chamber is ready for me, Mr. Waitt?" "Indeed, Mr. Vinton, I have been thinking how I should approach that subject. I know how par- ticular you are about that room; and, had I known you were coming, I 'would have kept it empty a fortnight for you; but, not expecting you, I gave it to a gentleman and his wife, who wished it expressly. To-night, on account of the storm, probably, we are full to overflowing, ex- cept that the chamber which they call the haunted one, is not occupied. Could you submit to that, for one night, sir? To-morrow night they will be gone, and you shall then have your room again." Vinton gazed at the glowing fire a moment, as if loth to leave its genial neighborhood; but, on raising his eyes, he saw a lurking smile upon the face of the landlord, that warned him of the inter- pretation which would be given to his refusal to occupy the chamber in question. His courage must not be doubted; and he decided to try to sleep in the cold north-eastern room, intending, if it should prove uncomfortable, to find his way back to the little warm parlor, and pass the re- mainder of the night. ' He took the bed-room candle from the table, de. cining the landlord's offer of accompanying him on the plea of knowing the room so perfectly, and proceeded to find his way along dark, cold passag- " page: 134-135[View Page 134-135]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 134-135 184 THE BLUE CHAMBER. es, to which the glimmering flame of his candle af- forded but a dim and uncertain light. He reached the chamber, shut the door--an operation which nearly extinguished his light-- and, from necessity, on account of the chill, went immediately to bed. The landlord had assured him that the bedding had been kept thoroughly aired, else he would have supposed the damp of years had settled upon them. Previous to his climbing the tall four-poster, he had carefully ex. amined every nook and corner, and locked the door. He was fatigued, and soon went to sleep, but was awakened by the striking of the great clock on the stairs, as it gave out the hour of midnight. Mingling with its tones was an indescribable noise which fretted and annoyed the newly-awak- ened sleeper. At any other time he would have called it, perhaps, the rustle of dry leaves upon a tree in an autumn wind; or, had he been other- wise than alone, he would have supposed it the noise produced by a silk dress, the wearer appar- ently quite near his bed. The storm was over, and, the full moon was ahining into the small diamond-paned windows, of which there were but two. His candle, which, he had left burning, was rapidly quenching its flame in the tallow that had streamed from its sides; but THE BLUE CHAMBER. 185 it still, at times, shot upwards with a fitful radi. ance that made every object ghasther than did the pale moonlight. The rustling sound continued; and now in the dim, shadowy light, he saw a figure approach the foot of his bed where the curtains had been drawn aside. A heavy sigh broke on his ear. He tried to speak, but the words'seem u ed to his lips. The figure passed round in front of his bed, to- wards a high chest of drawers; which stood be- tween the windows. One after another he heard the drawers open, and saw the motion of the thin hands that opened them. It was not the sensation of fear but of intense curiosity that possessed him now. The shadowy figure moved about the room, gliding with soit footsteps, but with the perpetual rustling sound that accompanied all its move. ments. It lingered by the window, as if looking out upon the fair moonlight, and then turning to- wards the door, seemed as if about to depart; but instead of that, it returned to the centre of the room, and throwing itself upon the floor, it utter- ed a deep moan. In another moment, Vincent's compassionate nature would have prompted him to speak to the sufferer, whoever it might be, but before he could frame a suitable form of speech to address so strange a being, it was vanishing through the side of the room opposite the door. page: 136-137[View Page 136-137]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 136-137 1836 THE BLUE CHAMBER. "Woman or ghost, I will see the place it passed through," said Vinton, as he sprang from his bed, and examined the spot as well as he could by the bright moon, which now shone directly upon that part of the room. As he passed his hands over the wainscoting, one panel seemed to quiver beneath his touch; and he searched long for a hidden spring by which he might detect the opening. But although perfectly satisfied that one was there, it eluded his ingenuity in discovering it; and he was about to return to bed, when his attention was called to a dark spot in the floor, just where the figure had cast itself a few moments before. He touched it-it was dry, and seemed stained into the wood. A small bit of carpet lay near it, which he judged had been recent- ly thrust aside, for he had noticed' no such spot when he retired, and this small mat or carpet had then lain exactly in the middle of the room. He could conjecture nothing, and resolved to examine it more fully in the morning. He design, ed to lie awake and watch; but ideep overcame him after awhile, and he lay in a sound slumber until roused by the breakfast-bell. He sprang from his bed, dressed hastily, and was tempted to think his last night's experience only a dream; but on removing the mat, he saw that the dark stain was actually there. He stooped and examined it. It was indisputa- bly a blood stain, although there were evident THE BLUE CHAMBER. 187 marks of an attempt to efface it. Vinton replaced the carpet and went slowly down to the little parlor where his breakfast awaited him. After breakfast he went out and transacted the business which brought him to Boston. Returning to the Province House, two hours before dinner, he was met by the landlord, who followed him into the room, curious to hear the result of his last night's waking hours. Vinton calmly described his experience, evinc- ing none of the emotion which the landlord ex- pected; and in return he demanded the' story of the chamber, having hitherto heard only garbled and imperfect narrations. The landlord rose and locked the door, to secure against intrusion, and then related what he had heard from reliable sources, of a tragedy once enacted in that chamber. At the time when the colonies were under the jurisdiction of one of the English Governors, the latter brought a beautiful and accomplished daugh. ter to preside over his princely establishment at the Province House-then the well-appointed and even magnificent residence of the colonial govern- Ors. He was a stern, proud man; aristocratic in all his tendencies, and, although polite to his in- feriors, there was a mingling of conscious conde. scension in his manner toward them, that often de. stroyed the effect of his real kindness. !f page: 138-139[View Page 138-139]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 138-139 138 THE BLUE CHAMBER. Seldom has such a vision of beauty dawned upon the earth as Violet . Hers was the strange and rich beauty so rare in England, and which seems to belong only to countries---nearer the sun. No one doubted that there was Spanish blood in her veins; although the fact was never alluded to by her father or herself. Her name which seemed only fit for a fair English blonde, was perhaps chosen purposely, instead of one more suited to her apparent oligin. At all events, it did not comport with the character of her lofty and imperial loveliness, Her complexion was even dazzling in its smooth, olive tint, which was never increased by any color, except in moments of great emotion. Her superb hair fell far below her waist, in curls that were in- debted to no artistic aid. But nothing could ex- ceed the magnificent eyes-so large, full and lus- trous-so expressive, too, of every feeling that animated her. With all this, she had an expres- sion, at times, of deep thoughtfulness and gravity which, though mingled with great sweetness, seem- ed scarcely to belong to a young maiden whose advantages of person, wealth and social position were so great as hers. The society into which she was necessarily thrown by her father's station as Governor, was mostly composed of gentlemen-many of them officers of the army. To these the Governor was THE BLUE CHAMBER. 139 in the habit of giving frequent dinners. On these occasions, although obliged as hostess to remain at table for awhile, it was observed that she shrank from the evident admiration bestowed on her, and seemed, though perfectly well bred, to check the slightest attempt at the language of compliment and flattery. Among her admirers was young Edward For- tesque, a brave and handsome youth, who often complained to his brother officer, Reginald Hast- ings, of the coldness and indifference of Violet. It was observed that, on these occasions, Hastings would change the subject as quickly as possible, and that he never voluntarily alluded to herhim- self. Fortesque, who was sincere in his preference, of her, was chagrined to find that his friend had no sympathy for him, and he began to suspect that Hastings might be entangled in the same snare. He wished to discover if this were the case, and changed his tone in reference to her-call- ing her " the vestal," and using other expressions to make Hastings suppose that he had changed his mind. The terms he used in regard to her, roused Hastings to a defence of her which could only come from a lover; and Fortesque, although al- most maddened by the thought that he must re- sign one so lovely, was yet generous enough not o . . page: 140-141[View Page 140-141]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 140-141 "O THE BLUE CHAMBER. to attempt standing in his friend's way. He ex hibited such a profound melancholy, however, that Hastings felt a deep and sincere pity for him, and strove to interest him in another lady who was Violet's friend. Fortesque was not thus to be forgetful of his first passion. He brooded over it in silence; and from that moment he forbore all mention of Vio. let's name. It was in March 17--that the Governor gave a great dinner to a select party of officers. Hast- ings and Fortesque were both present. Two or three gentlemen, intimate friends of the CGov- ernor's family, were speaking together, in a low voice, of the probability of a marriage between Lord William Sedley and the beautiful Violet- his lordship's formal offer being announced to each of them. It was supposed to be almost a settled matter; and that he would come over be- fore long, to claim his bride. Violet looked that day more thoughtful than ever; while her father seemed unusually animated and happy. Just be- fore it became time for her and her friend, Miss Leslie, to retire, they being the only ladies pres- mnt, 9pne of these gentlemen gallantly invited ;hem to take wine with him, and proposed " the lealth of Lord William Sedley." Strange to say, the Governor did not seem to )erceive the indiscretion of which the gentleman THE BLUE CHAMBER. 141 was guilty, and was rapidly filling his own glass, probably to join in the toast, when he heard some one near him remark how pale Miss had grown. He looked up suddenly and saw a look pass between his daughter and Captain Hastings which revealed to him at once a tale of affection which he had never dreamed of before. He instantly suspected that Violet was favor ing Hastings, and that this was the cause of her cold reception of the offer of her more noble lover. Determined to repel any thought of what he would consider a degradation to his family pride or his official position, to marry the son of a commoner, he contrived, upon the spur of the moment, to fix an insult upon Captain Hastings. The latter, who had been an interested bearer of what had gone forward, and who saw through the Governor's meaning at once, namely, to fasten a quarrel upon him, replied in such terms as the nature of the case seemed to demand. Violet heard his answer and exclaimed, involuntarily, "Reginald For Heaven's sake, don't exaspe- rate him!" The calling him thus by name, and the loving, beseeching tone in which she spoke, irritated the Governor still more. The tumult increased, and a gentleman who stood near the door, bore Violet away insensible. Hastings rushed after, and in- sisted on his resigning her to him. 12 page: 142-143[View Page 142-143]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 142-143 "2 THE BLUE CHAMBER. "Nay, Captain Hastings I here comes her father. I give her up to him as having the best right." ' By Heavens, no!" exclaimed Hastings, thrown wholly off his guard. "SHE IS MY WIFE!" A blow on the face from the enraged Governor, was the response; and in an agony of madness at the renewed and aggravated insults he was receiv. ing, Hastings challenged him to fight. Violet was carried to her chamber, and Miss Leslie went to take charge of her. The two combatants met in an upper chamber -the chamber. They fought madly with swords, but after a few moments the Governor took a pistol from his breast, declar- ing that he would shoot his opponent. Hastings drew forth another, and both fired at the same moment, standing scarce three paces apart. Both i pistols missed fire, and each was preparing to fire again, when the door opened, and Violet rushed between them. The Governor was in the very act of discharging his weapon, but Hastings dropped his and caught Violet in his arms. It was too late. The shot had already reached her, and he believed her dead. "My wife! my wife!" murmured the heart-brok- en man, as, he laid her upon the floor, while the blood flowed from a deep wound in the beautiful shoulder. Maddened by the sight, the Governor thrust him hastily aside and knelt by his daughter's apparent- THE BLUE CRAMPBER. 143 ly lifeless form. The surgeon was instantly in at- tendance, having been providentially near, some prudent friend having called him at the moment the sound of the pistol was heard. The father had become so frantic that it was deemed proper to , carry him forcibly from the room; and the surgeon, who was Hastings' friend, excluded all others who were not needed. Violet opened her eyes upon her husband with a look of deep and mournful love. "I am leaving you, Reginald." "Oh, no! no!" he uttered, passionately; " you must not, shall not die!" "Love, you must bear it, but I will watch over you. Do not hold anger to my father." And with these words on her lips, she closed her eyes in that eternal slumber that knows no more waking upon earth. When the Governor arose from the bed where, for six weeks, his constitution had been grappling with disease, over which it had at length triumph- ed, his hair was white as snow. , Before, it had been jet-black, like that of his daughter. He never spoke of her, not even to ask if she lived; but on the first morning upon which he could be taken out in the carriage, he ordered the coachman to drive to the King's Chapel burial-ground. Here he allighted, and after a great struggle page: 144-145[View Page 144-145]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 144-145 "4 THE. BLUE CRHABER. with his weakness, he tottered away to a part of the ground where he seemed to know, by instinct, that his child was sleeping. How he discovered it, no one knew; but he went directly to the grave, over which some kind hand had scattered wreaths of the delicate spring flowers which were just then bursting into life. It was his first and last visit. He soon after resigned his position as Go- vernor, and returned home to the mother country I an aged, broken-down, miserable man. Captain Hastings lingered. in America four years-another victim to unhappiness. Knowing the Governor's passion to have her ' wedded to a noble family, his daughter had con- isented to the urgent entreaty of Hastings, whom she fondly loved, to have a secret marriage per- formed. This was not to be known by any person excepting the witnesses of the marriage, unless something should intervene to make it imperatives The offer of Lord William Sedley seemed to i bring matters to this point; and it had been ar- ranged between the married lovers, to avow their union directly upon the breaking up of the dinner party. Such, in substance, was the narrative which the landlord of the Province House related to Adrian Vinton, and which, although it will not take you, reader, a single quarter of an hour to read, was THE BLUE CHAMpER. 145 yet extended over the whole two hours which re- mained to dinner time; being garnished with sun. dry expletives and interpolations quite irrelevant to the subject-matter of the narration. "Then it is Violet Hastings, whose purturbed ghost haunts the north-eastern chamber?" asked Vinton. "None other." "And how does she usually manifest herself?" X Mostly by opening and shutting drawers, and by kneeling beside the blood-stains that still disfig- ure the floor, and can by no process be effaced." :J "Yes," said Vinton, "that is the very experi- ence of last night." And he related what we already know. "You will not sleep there again to night, then'?" ' Assuredly I will. Poor Violet I she shall re- visit the glimpses of the moon, as often as she likes; I will not molest her. But do you really believe all this?" The landlord shut his eyes in a very peculiar manner. "Hark ye, Mr. Vinton; you are a sensible man,. and will believe me if I speak the truth. It is for the benefit of the Province House to have this ghost a fixture. You understand?" Vinton did understand-but why was the neces sity of imposing the ghost upon him? No I the youth could not understand how, in the order of things, so futile a scheme could avail anything. 12* page: 146-147[View Page 146-147]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 146-147 "6 THE BTIUE CHAMBER. Waitt laughed. "Do try to understand, that a young man in your style, who could do wonders in the way of narrative, could so interest a whole army of people in your adventures, as to make them all wish to visit the Province House, although few, perhaps. would have the hardihood you have shown." Vinton was satisfied with the explanation. He saw no more of the ghost; but soon after his visit to Boston, he manifested so great a penchant for such " eerie" sort of people, that he married-no I a ghost-but a veritable Salem witch. Many of her descendants are alive at the present day; and l once in their lives, if no more, they practice upon men the arts which prove by their results that they have certainly bewitched their victims. "Awake but one-and lo, what myriads rise l" Onward rolls the ever changing panorama, disclos. ing to the view the forms of long ago. We see the stern, proud father-the young and passionate I lover-husband-and then we behold the sweet face of Violet. Up from the past come trooping phan- toms, of which she is the fairest of all. And O, romantic reader I forgive us if we see, too, a vision of later times; forgive us if we call j up the memory of Tom Waitt's bright little servant t girl, who, for twelve years, enacted the part of I Violet's ghost, and faithfully renewed the mysteri- ous stain upon the floor. 6kr gsl of trg; OR, THE STATUE OF THREE CENTURIES; WHERE the "'blue heart" of Lake Constance sleeps calm and serene in its azure depths, there came, three hundred years ago, to- the little Swiss village on its banks, a young and interesting girl from Bregenz, on the Austrian frontier. She was evidently poor, for she sought work in a farmer's employ, and stated her willingness to perform any kind of labor which her strength would permit her to engage in. She became an inmate of the house of Paul Hentzner, a farmer and goatherd; and made herself so eminently useful in every way, that the family would not hear of her ever leaving them. Alter- nately she carded and spun, tended goats, or sung sweet and tender ballads to the children of the household, who loved the sweet Bertha dearer than even their own mother. Not alone did she attend to the domestic con. page: 148-149[View Page 148-149]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 148-149 "8 -THE MAID OF BREGENZ. cerns. She had other occupations, dearer and far more pleasant. She tended the little garden, car- ried the children to school, to the house of an old woman, more than half a mile distant, and in the twilight she sang sweet ballads to them by the fireside. No one was so good to the little people as Bertha. She it was who walked with them, in the first dewy light of early morning, by the lake side, or drew them on the little sledge, upon its I frozen edge, in the wintry noons. Outwardly, the young girl seemed content with this; and her life and mission was apparently ful- filled in the serene round of duties that presented itself to her performance. But inwardly a fire : was burning in her heart, almost as intensely as in that of the heroic maiden of Orleans; and in the hush of her little bed-room, where she lay watch- ing the stars that beamed over Lake Constance, I and thought of the dear home she had left lying just beyond it, all soft and sweet and holy emo- tions became mingled with a burning desire to do something for that home, which should make it grand and glorious. High dreams and wild were these for the hum- ble little maiden of the Tyrol; but they were born 1 of the enthusiasm of her own soul, and of the record, even then of a hundred years old, of the I heroic young standard-bearer at Rheims; and who shall say that those visions were not prophetic of the future? I THE MAID OF BREGENZ. 149 Year lapsed away after year, and the girl grew in strength and beauty. The dwellers on the banks of Lake Constance - simple, quiet, straight- forward people--most of them pdasants-saw this beauty in the young goat-tender, but could not tell whence came its mystic influence upon their hearts. Other eyes--young, gay and laugh- ing eyes--were as bright, as deeply blue, and shadowed by lashes as long and dark as hers; but none wore that mysterious beauty that beamed in those of Bertha. But this soul-light in hers I in that lay the mystic meaning which they could not fathom. Bertha had sung little Fergus and Louise to sleep one evening, with a more warlike ballad than was her wont. She was even startled when she thought of the strange words she was carol- ing over the soft white eye-lids and bright red cheeks of the innocent babes, and changed her tune suddenly into a low, sweet lullaby, that seem- ed far more appropriate to the occasion; but ever and anon, when they stirred in their light slum- bers, she would involuntarily break out anew with "Brave Leopold led on the ranks, And Victory claimed him as her own." The apartment was adjoining that of the family, and'she could distinctly hear every noise that was page: 150-151[View Page 150-151]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 150-151 150 THE MAID OF BREGENZ. made in the latter. Dame Hentzner had gone out to have a bit of gossip with a neighbor, and there had been no one in the cottage for half an hour, Cave Bertha and the children. She had just suc. ceeded in lulling them into that " peaceful sleep which only childhood knows," when she heard Paul enter with a subdued step, the outer apart- ment, followed by two or three men whose voices she knew. There was no egress for her save through this outer room, and she concluded to I stay there by the window and watch the soft star- light through a chink in the folds of the curtain which effectually darkened the room. Paul open. ed the door, but she knew she was not visible, and did not speak; and he closed it again, unconscious that any one was there. For a long time she gazed upward upon the I starry fields. Their stillness and beauty penetrat- ed deep into her mind, and she forgot for awhile i that any human being was near her. The stars i alone seemed to bend towards her, and she almost 1 fancied that she heard mysterious hymnings from I their sparkling depths. High and lofty imagin.- ings had place in the simple maiden's guileless heart, and it would almost seem that the angels themselves talked with her that night, in the dim, low room, with the two children--"God's possi- - ble angels " -lying near her. Such exaltation of spirit, however, cannot last THE MAID OF BREGENZ. 151 long, and Bertha was startled back into human feeling again, by hearing the word Bregenz. This is the little frontier town lying at the eastern ex- tremity of Lake Constance, between the Swiss and Bavarian territories. It is a romantic little place, although stripped of some of its ancient romance by the introduction of cotton manufactures, and that of the frames of wooden houses for the Al- pine districts of Switzerland; besides vast quanti- ties of vine poles, for the vineyards on the lakes. But nothing can exceed its local situation for beauty and picturesqueness, as it hangs over Lake Constance, as if it were gazing into its fair and peaceful depths, as human eyes love to gaze there. She did not realize where the word was uttered. It seemed spoken to her soul, more than to her ear. She had opened the window, for the little room seemed close and warm, and the girl panted for air, long before the bright influences of the stars had taken possession of her., Just as she heard the word, a soft touch upon the arm that lay outside the window, startled her almost into a cry. She hushed down the half-ut' tered scream, into a low, sobbing, suppressed breathing, like that which comes to our ear from a heavy sleeper. Something white stood beside the window, and for a moment she believed that some spirit was near her. It was but for an instant. She saw immediately that the object was only the page: 152-153[View Page 152-153]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 152-153 152 THE MAID OF BREGENZ o pretty white horse which Paul- Hentzner valued most of all his possessions, scarcely excepting either wife or children; leastwise, he bestowed upon him far more care and thought. None of the Swiss in that region could exhibit an animal comparable with White Olgerd. He had been sent as a present to Paul, from the choicest of the Ukraine breed- a remembrancer of a time long ago, when the goatherd had taken home a wound- ed huntsman, and restored him to life and health. White Olgerd was swift of limb as the wild steed that carried Mazeppa, but as gentle as swift. He would pace around the little paddock all day, nibbling the sweet, though scanty grass, or feed daintily from the hands of Bertha and the children i as quietly as did their goats; yet, if but a bird stooped to drink at the lake, and flapped its broad wings as it rose upward, White Olgerd's silky ears wefe strained back, and he would gallop off as if a hundred whips were held above him. Bertha patted the head that now rested on the window-sill, and drew a few crumbs from her apron pocket, to feed him with; almost forgetting ,the dream in which she thought she had been rev- elling, of her native Bregenz, when the same word came again to her ear. This time she was awak. I ened sufficiently to distinguish that it came straight from the room beyond, and that .it was now min- gled with indistinct murmurs of some great deed THE MAID OF BREGENZ. 153 that was to bea accomplished. It filled her with strange fears. She recalled words and detached sentences that she had heard for -several days among the peasants, but which she had only con- sidered mere pass words of jesting import, and had paid no attention to them; and she now remem- bered, too, that under pretence of amusement, Paul and one or two of his neighbors had spent several hours a day in practising at the sword ex- ercise. All these things rushed into her mind at once, forming a distinct picture, to which the finishing touch was given by the impression made on her at the sound of a low, cautious voice, saying a few words, in which she distinguished - "Bregenz- midnight - surprise." She crept to the door that separated the two rooms. Paul and two or three of his associates were within the range of her vision, but she felt, rather than saw, that the room was nearly full. The faces she saw wore a determined fierceness, and the hands of the confederates seemed to be grasping each other, as if in token of a league. "Bregenz - midnight - surprise! Bregenz shall be ours!" was the hushed yet audible sound that reached her now. A prayer,- fervent, but unspoken, save in the depths of that brave, heroic heart, rose to heaven at that mnoment. " O, God I save Bregenz!"An- 13 ^ page: 154-155[View Page 154-155]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 154-155 151, THE MAID OF BREGENZ. other voice that seemed to come from the shining stars uttered audibly to her soul, "Go forth and save Bregenz!" She sprang to the ground, from the low window, and White Olgerd came to her side. She led him noiselessly to the little shed where his simple trappings hung, and saddled and bridled him hasti- ly. He walked as gently as a child over the turf that lay behind the house, until Bertha stopped him at a rock that had answered the purpose of a horse-block. There she mounted him, and touch- ing him lightly on the neck, he bounded off at the signal at his utmost speed. UMile after mile, over stone, morass and brier-on the very edge of precipices from which, not the rider's eye, but the animal's instinct, kept them, past rushing streams and dark ravines and gloomy dells, with the wild prayer lingering on her lips, "O, God, bring me to Bregenz!" the maiden guided the spirited steed. Bravely did White Olgerd do her bidding. She paused a moment to let the gallant steed take breath, and then in that pause, she heard the loud rushing of the Rhine. The horse drew in a long --long breath, and gave out a grateful neigh. She dared not let him kiss the silver brook that ran coldly beside the road, although White Olgerd heard it and paused; but his dripping sides for- bade her to allow the dangerous luxury, and sho spurred on the obedient creature to new speed. ^ THE MAID OF BREGENZ. 155 Eleven chimes from the tower of the old cathe- dral. Press on, gallant steed I The heights of Bregenz rise in the distance. Nay, plunge into the stream Thou carriest a brave and noble heart as ever beat in woman! No longer the sim- ple maiden, who but yesterday tended goats and sung lullabies to children -but a gallant, heroic, dauntless woman, bent on the noblest errand. No war-like chief that rides triumphant over the bat- tle-field, ever deserved better of his country than the simple Maid of the Tyrol. ("O, God I bring me to Bregenz!" And with that heartfelt aspiration on her lips, the brave white steed winds up the pathway. The moon has risen now, and Bregenz lies bathed in her light, the roofs catching and reflecting her beams. The sentinel at the old stone gateway calls out, and Bertha, panting and almost breathless, bids him ring out the chimes from the tower on the hill. Even while its deep, clanging sound falls on the sleeper's ear, White Olgerd is bearing her rider on through the streets of Bregenz, while she calls upon all to arouse and prepare for defence. Twelve o'clock I midnight and Bregenz is safe I Saved by the maid and her charger. White 01. gerd lies that night in state; his tired limbs bath. ed with costly oil, aud rubbed by the hands of one that never condescended before to any but a princely service page: 156-157[View Page 156-157]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 156-157 156 THE MAID OF BREGENZ. And Bertha puts off the travel-stained robes-- the peasant suit -and puts on fine linen fit for royal forms, and sleeps on eider down, instead of last night's couch of rushes. And so indeed she ought! I The Bregenz women sit spinning in the warm sunshine that rests lovingly on the peaceful heights. Over Lake Constance there hangs a sil- very mist-like a robe of dazzling tissue, through which the sun is pouring his softened and subdued radiance. Night comes on, and they leave off their work, but sit and gaze upon the old stone gateway in the west, where, in full relief against the lingering clouds of sunset, stands the monu- ment of a grateful people--the MAID AND THE CHARGER, in enduring stone. Every time the warder passes by, he cries the passing hour. At eleven, he calls out the name of BERTHA. Three hundred years ago this deed was done, and they still keep the memory of the heroic maid green. They who are given to the mystic speculations of the age, affirm that Joan of Arc finds her spirit- ual partner in the world beyond the stars, in the spirit of him whom she died to benefit. All that can be said of the union is, that if such a mean. spirited, ungrateful being as Charles VII. could THE MAID OF BREGENZ. 157 win such a bride on earth or in heaven, the maid must be no less forgiving than she was heroic. Bertha waited not for death to bring her a brid- al day. Nor did she wed with plebeian blood. An Austrian prince acknowledged her nobility-- that nobility of which nature had stamped the pa- tent-and the fair children to whom she gave birth, were descended from a long line of unblem- ished ancestry -a line in which all the men are brave and all the women beautiful. Yet when questioned of their highest boast, it would ever be-not of their princely descent, but of the high. er rank of the descendants of the immortal Maid of Bregenz. 13' page: 158-159[View Page 158-159]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 158-159 E;Q Ltiter of Emxe g(^it. ABOUT ten miles from Piombing, in Tuscany, is the tower of Torre Mozza, which, in common with other towers along the coast, it was thought necessary at one time to keep in a state of de. fence. This was after the principality had been conferred on the Princess Elise Bonaparte and her husband, Prince Felix Bacchiochi, in 1805. The regulation, however, simply demanded the residence of a castellano, or lieutenant, who was not confined wholly to the tower, but had other duties to perform which occasionally drew him from his wonted post. The castellano of Torre Mozza, Giovanni Bardi, was summoned away to Follonica one day in the last week of May, 1805; and having occasion for the services of his gunner, he took him along with him. On this day, therefore, Torre Mozza re- mained unguarded. Within the lonely tower were the lieutenant's mother, Madame Bardi, and her children, most of whom were of tender years. 4(-* THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA. 159 Two of them, however, were girls of sixteen and upwards; and these two, with their mother, were the only ones capable of understanding the posi- tion of Giovanni, should any danger occur during his absence. While preparing for his departure in the morning, the mother had spoke of the circumstance of being left without any means of defence, at a time when the English might be hovering about the coast-but the young castel lano laughed at her fears. "At all events, mother," he answered, "you will -be well guarded by Gaetano and Odorata, whom I have instructed so faithfully in discharg- ing yonder old guns. But do not fear; I shall return, I hope, by noon, and no very formidable danger will, I imagine, happen in so brief an ab- sence." His assurance quieted the mother; and in the numerous household duties which her young family created, she soon lost sight of any impending danger. A large, square, well-lighted room in the tower was at once the sitting and dining-room of the family. From the windows could be seen the long line of coast scenery, and the Island of Elbe lay serenely upon the waters, directly in front ot the tower. They were seated at dinner, and talking of the loneliness which the absence of Giovanni always created, when Madame Bardi, who was sitting page: 160-161[View Page 160-161]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 160-161 160 THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA. opposite the windows, suddenly turned pale. Gaotano, the eldest daughter, followed the direc- tion of her mother's eye, and saw, to her- alarm and surprise, a vessel under full sail, making for the shore. As she watched, she saw several boats launched and filled, and had no doubt from the dress and appearance of those on board that they were English, and therefore to be dreaded as en. emies. It was indeed an English brigantine, with armed troops on board, and their apparent object was to attack Torre Mozza, which they had been closely reconnoitering. Madame Bardi was not a coward, but the thought of her helpless family exposed to the mercy of the foe - of her son's absence, and the too probable censure and disgrace which would fall upon him for not being at his post at a period of danger, completely overcame her, and she wept and wrung her hands in helpless grief. Gaetano and Odorata roused her from this state, by pro- posing that she should instantly depart with the little ones, and try to walk to Vignale, the nearest inhabited point, where she could procure some aid for the defenceless town. "You know, mamma,': said one of them, " what -Giovanni told you this morning, that we could fire if we were attacked -and so we can. Only take away the children, and send some one to re- lieve us, and depend upon it we will brave them off until aid comes." THE TOWER OP TORRE MOZZA. 161 Madame Bardi looked at the two girls, and thought that indeed their courage was no idle jest. They were as brave and undaunted as old soldiers in the prospect of a battle. Gmeteno's tall, slender figure was drawn up to its full height, her brilliant black eyes sparkled, and her whole appearance was changed from the tender, timid, shrinking girl, to the firm, collected and resolute woman. Odorata was equally brave and deter- mined looking. Madame Bardi recollected how often they had amused themselves, and won praises from their brother, by firing off the heavy pieces of artillery, and she gathered courage from the thought. She dressed her children for their walk, without alarming them, and kissing the fair girls tenderly, she departed across the' fields to Vignale. As the last fold of her dress disappeared, the girls ran to the loop-holes in the tower, and in a moment the first gun from the brigantine came booming across the water. It was promptly an- swered from the tower. Again and again it was repeated, and each time the guns pealed forth from the tower, with the occasional thunder of some heavy pieces which the enthusiasm of the hour gave them strength to load and discharge. At this powerful defence, the English seemed at a lo0ss whether to continue the attack; but at length {they sent fifteen men and an officer on page: 162-163[View Page 162-163]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 162-163 162 THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA. shore. The quick eye of Gsetano took in the sight, and a roar of cannon followed quickly. She seemed to gather strength and courage from every appearance of assault from the enemy. Odorata's thoughts were upon a different sub. ject. She had distinctly seen the face of the English officer in charge of the boat. A few nights before she had dreamed of such a scene and of such a man. He came to her, she thought, and threw a cluster of orange blossoms into her lap. She had told her dream to Gsetano, and she now called her to look at him. "It is the very man of my dream, sister I What do you think?-am I likely to be so unfortunate as to marry a foe of my country?"And with that scene before her eyes, the wild, careless girl laughed at her own credulity hn believing that there is any power in those unconscious visions that visit our sleeping hours. "Hush, sister! you are mad to let them hear a girl's laughing voice. See I they are close upon us I Let us bring this great monster of a piece to bear straight upon them." "O no, no!" whispered Odorata hoarsely. "De- fend ourselves we may, Gaetano, but to strike a man like him who approaches the tower-nay, do not fire!" It was too late to entreat. The ball had already speeded to its destination; and when Odorata THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA. 163 again looked, the hero of her dream was lying upon the ground, and his leaderless party were closing around him, or flying off to the fields to find some kind stream, for water to revive him if still living. It was four in the afternoon, and no one had ar. rived from Vianale. The tired mother and her children had arrived at that village in a state of ex- haustion. There was a religious festival in celebra- tion there, the noise and confusion of which had prevented the inhabitants from hearing the heavy artillery, which, at any other time, would have at- tracted them to the spot whence it proceeded; and as she found at their homes only the sick or infirm who could not attend the festival, she was obliged to go to the church herself to carry the news. The sexton at the church of Vignale was an old man, deaf and half blind. Madame Bardi could not make him understand, and some minutes elapsed ere she could effect an entrance. But as she open- ed the door, she caught sight of a familiar face. The old gunner, who had accompanied her son to Follonica that morning, had returned by the way of Vignale, and seeing the procession, had joined the crowd, from which it seemed impossible to ex- tricate himself. He came at her beckoning hand; and the few broken words she was able to speak, filled him with horror and dismay. Although thankful that the page: 164-165[View Page 164-165]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 164-165 164 THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA. mother and children were safe, he trembled to think that his own delay might have proved fatal to the two poor girls. Happily the services were over, and he gave the alarm as briefly as possible, seized the bridle of a horse near the church, mounted and galloped over the intervening five miles as quick as the half starved animal could be made to exert himself, and arrived at Torre Mozzajust as Odorata had sunk down in a sudden fit of despair and grief, not at her own perilous situation, but with a strange and inexplainable sympathy with him whom her sister had, in all probability, despatched to the "Iand of the hereafter." The arrival of a strong force from Vignale, and also from other villages beyond, placed the town in perfect security, and the brigantine now evident- ly awaited the return of the officers and men to abandon the coast. This return was not destined to be accomplished. On the arrival of the young castellano, who had been unexpectedly detained at Follonica, he instantly collected a force sufficient to surround the men from the brigantine and take them prisoners, while the wounded man was con- veyed, with all the tenderness due to a vanquished foe, to the tower. Before midnight all was quiet in the tower. Madame Bardi and the children were brought back, all the volunteers had returned home, save a few for a necessary guard, and the two exhausted girls THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA. i65 had fallen asleep. Giovanni himelf still waked to watch over his wounded prisoner. The injury was to a single limb; and the agony of. the wound seemed as nothing to the proud and sensitive Eng- lishman, compared with the mortification of defeat and imprisonment. His illness would probably confine him to the bed for thirty or forty days, and the beloved brigantine, which he worshipped as a lover worships his mistress, was sailing far away without him. Happily for him, the Italian ladies have not the strict reserve which would prevent one of his own countrywomen from entering a stranger's sick room. The generous castellano not only bestowed a brother's care upon his prisoner, but brought his sisters to enlivbe his situation. It was then that Giovanni, proud of his sisters' courage and bravery, related their share of the ex. ploit which had brought the officer to the tower against his will, and in a different way to that which he contemplated. Humiliating as it was to be conquered by a woman's hand, he could not but express admiration for their coolness and spirit; and when Geetano wept at the wreck she had made and Odorata blushed deeply at his frank avowal of admiration, the young soldier could not determine which was the loveliest of the two. Weeks passed--the fifteen prisoners had been honorably exchanged for three or four Tuscan " page: 166-167[View Page 166-167]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 166-167 166 THE TOWER OF TORRE MGZZA. soldiers who had fallen into the hands of the Eng- lish, and only the mere semblance ot imprison- ment remained to the young Arthur Warwick. Only his heart was captive. Odorata's beauty- her strong, quick sympathy- her evident sorrow for the misfortune which had left him perhaps a cripple for life, had brought him to her feet; and the mutual love was all the stronger because it was necessary to keep it a secret from all. Not even Gaetano was entrusted with it. Peace with the nations was the only condition upon which it was to be revealed. Meantime Gaetano, and Madame Bardi herself, was with the prisoner as much as was Odorata. With the latter it was the all-absorbing passion which her southern blood can feel so deeply, yet it was tempered with the necessity of secrecy. Giovanni, generous foe that he was, would still have disowned his sister had he known she had given her heart to an Englishman; and when the prince sent the sisters his cordial thanks for their brave defence of Torre Mozza, and Gsetano received a large grant of land, and Odorata as equally valuable dower in money for their services, he could not forbear boasting of it before Arthur Warwick, to the manifest disconcerting of the two. How the tide of time flows on! He wlho was a prisoner at Torre Mozza - after a few years of THE TOWER OF TORRE MOZZA. 167 fond remembrance of her who had sweetened that captivity--, attained, by the death of three inter- vening claimants, the inheritance of an E-arl-ship. The dignity involved no forgetfulness of past affec- tion. The beautiful defender of Torre Mozza was still the bride of his heart, and became the wife of Lord Shirley--the hero of her youthful vision -the Arthur Warwick of the old tower on the coast of Tuscany. page: 168-169[View Page 168-169]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 168-169 lbrft )Can's jinit THE postoffice at a little town in England, called Mavis-Wood, was thronged on one fine morning in October, 1855, by delegations from almost every family within its limits. The footman just come down from his perch behind the carriage belong- ing to " the Castle," the little servant girl from the Rectory, the landlord of the "Queen's Arms," the surgeon and apothecary, and the scores of laborers and artisans, of serving-men and serving-women from the houses of the gentry, filled up the narrow passages, and covered the broad wooden steps out- side the door. Yet, crowded as it was, not a murmur escaped the throng. No one complained of the press, al- though it must have been almost intolerable. The day was warm and sunny, and the post-office in- convenient and unventilated, yet all bore the crush with a fortitude or indifference that showed that there were deeper things filling their hearts than mere personal discomfort; and they who, at any other time,- would have shrunk from contact with ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. 169 the soiled garments of the laborers, now rested their arms upon the shoulders covered with a dirty jacket, or lifted up ragged little girls and boys who were waiting for letters. For the telegraph at London had brought the news that a mail had arrived at Marseilles from the Crimea, and the newspaper had spread the fact to Mavis-Wood; and hearts had sickened with appre- hension, or fluttered with hope, until the moment when the leathern-bag which was to confirm one or the other, was thrown down from the mail- coach, and the post-master had actually begun to sort and distribute its contents. Within the slight screen that separated the offi. cial from the anxious crowd, stood his own wife and two pretty young daughters, with looks of intense earnestness upon the operation. It seem ed such a long time since the old man's trembling hands had commenced to lay out, in piles, the odd- looking packets! And, surely, never before was the mail, at Mavis-Wood so full. There were few that day that did not receive something in the shape of a letter. One young girl, a milliner, whose parents had died a few months ago, and for whom she wore the deepest mourning, held out her hand for one, as she hoped, from her brother, who was now her only hope. With a pitying look the old man passed one through the little wooden gate. It was in a strange hand. ,She turned it "* rim page: 170-171[View Page 170-171]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 170-171 170 ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. over. It was sealed with a broad, black seal. She dropped it from her shaking fingers, and fell, as if struck down by the shell which she now knew had taken from her the only prop in life on which she could lean. "Poor girl t " poor thing I ' " poor child!" were the exclamations around her. All sympathy seemed to centre upon the unhappy creature who had such actual proofs of a sorrow which, as yet, they only dreaded; and the rough but kind people sought, by a hundred inefficient though well-meant ways, to awaken her from that merciful uncon. sciousness from which she would, alas I too soon rally. The ladies in the carriage saw her condition, for she was near the door, and beckoning to the foot. man, they ordered him to take her up and place her beside them; and while one of them put the fatal letter out of sight, the other drew her head to her shoulder, and bade the coachman drive to the Castle. When she was fairly gone, the interest in the letters was renewed. A suppressed cry of joy burst from the postmaster's wife, echoed by the young girls. A letter from Harry, in his own handwriting. Then, delicately hiding their delight from those who might have other tidings, they re. tired to the parlor, behind the office,sto read and cry over it, and to echo the words of Harry's father as he had put it in his wife's hand ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. 171 "Thank God! thank God!" One after another the crowd dispersed, bearing away sad or joyful news; and now there were left -only a few women, whose haggard countenances betokened the state of suspense and anxiety that had been their portion ever since the first an- nouncement of the mail's arrival. One man stood just outside the door, however, reading his own letter to an old lady, who listened with intense interest. Among other sentences was this: "This morning the Russians attacked us in full force; the fight was a most bloody one, and lasted seven hours and a half without inter mission." All the letters are given out but one. This the postmaster holds up to the light and hesitates to deliver it. They who are waiting for this very letter are a poor widow, whose only son was in the army of the East, and a young girl to whom he was betrothed. He sees that it is in the hand- writing that has come so often-that of one of the hospital chaplains-and with a heartfelt sigh of sympathy, he passes it out of his little enclosure, and the two women, each seeing at a glance that it is not Robby's writing, stagger out of the place, speechless and pale. They have but little way to walk, for Susan Har- mon, the pale widow, lives in the little unpainted cottage that stands in a green lane not a stone's page: 172-173[View Page 172-173]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 172-173 172 ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. throw from the street; and Bessie Leigh has lived with her ever since Robby went away, as he earnestly desired her to do. How strangely we sometimes delay to do that which we have long been impatiently waiting to do!. That letter was laid down upon the table, the bonnets and shawls taken off, and even carried away into the little bedroom, and was still unopen- ed. Then the two sat down, one on each side of the table, neither looking at nor touching it; but just then Robbie's pet canary sang out such a glad and happy thrill of melody, that both burst into tears, and wept long and violently. Thus they were found by gentle Annie Somers, the young wife of the rector, who, hearing of the letter, from her little serving-maid, had run hastily across the garden, to give such comfort and help as she might, in her husband's absence. Ah I leave them now, gentle lady. There are no words of thine, though borrowed from that Book *wherein are recorded the consolatibns from the lips of our beloved Elder Brother, can touch their hearts in this first 'moment of unutterable agony. Slowly wore away the day to the desolate mourners - still slower waned the long night broken only by the wild sobs of the younger, and the more subdued sighs of the elder woman. The letter had been opened and read through blinding tears. It was from the chaplain of the hospital, ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. 173 written by the bed-side of the poor, wounded sol- dier, and bearing messages of love to his mother, and to her who would have been his wife, save for this cruel war. The letter ran thus: - is I am commissioned by private Robert Harmon, who is ap- parently near death, to inform his mother and friends of the fact of his having been desperately wounded in the battle of September thirtieth. He is very calm and resigned, trusting in a Power which doeth all things well, yet very sad that such ti- dings must be conveyed to those who will feel them deeply. When you hear again, it will doubtless find you prepared for the worst, as we do not expect that he will survive until morn- ing. He wishes me to send two locks of his hair. That you may be comforted under this great affliction, is the sincere prayer of S. G. OSBORNE, Chaplain to Her Majesty's Regiment." The hair was enclosed in an envelope, contain- ing two packages - one addressed to ' Mother," the other to "Bessie." The latter unrolled both, and there came down a spiral ring of hair over her fingers, long, and bright and silken as a lady's - of the soft brown hair which she would have recognized anywhere as that of Robby Harmon. Looking upon it, she dried up the streaming tears which had flowed until her pale face had flushed to fever heat. She let it coil round in her open palm, and kissing it softly, she tendered the other curl, to the poor heart-stricken widow. "Oh, Robby, darling," sobbed the mother, " why did I ever let you go from me?" page: 174-175[View Page 174-175]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 174-175 174 ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. The young girl looke'd up with her face all flush- ed with mournful pride. "Mother," she said, earnestly, "would you take away my Robert's fame? Is it not far better that we should sit and moan thus because he is not. with us, than that he should come home to us as that miserable Ralph Enfield came back to his wife and mother, with the curse of drunkenness upon him? Oh, never, never mourn for him who has finished his course in the path of duty." The widow groaned. "Ah, Bessie, you little know what a mother's feelings are! You may have other friends to make up your loss- but who, oh, who can be to me like my son?" "Oh, mother, dear, forgive me. I hardly know what I am saying to you. God help me, I believe Robby's death has crazed me! I did not mean to grieve, but to comfort you, as the thought com- forts me, that when my Robert's name is mention- ed, it will be with honor and praise." "Bless you, my dear girl, for all your love to him and to me! Well I know you have sorrow enough. I will try not to be selfish in my grief." "No, you are not selfish, nor will I be. Mother, I will stay with you always, just as if I were Rob- by's " She paused. She could not say Robby's widow, that was such a dreary word to use. * ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. 175 There was a long period in which no other mails arrived-- longer than usual, in reality - and seeming much longer still to the mourners, who longed, yet dreaded to have the mournful record of that hour which they felt had passed long ere they had heard of its approach. "'There, Bessie," said the widow, one dark, rainy morning, when all and everything seemed shrouded in mist and dimness, " it is of no use. I will fold my hands and dwell upon my grief no more. I cannot restore my child if I weep as long and as much as the sky does, and I will take my work, as he, poor fellow, would like to have me do; and do you, my dear, sit down to your sew- ing. We will not make darkness upon the earth because of God's doings, although they may be both marvellous and terrible in our eyes." From that time they both maintained a serene look. Bessie did not put away the linen she was stitching at for Robby, but continued at her hope- less task as if no letter had been received. It was a sad sight, too, to behold the two deso- late women - each trying bravely to hide her own sorrow, so that the other might not catch its in- fection. There were two windows in the little keeping- room at Widow Harmon's. In one of these hung the cage of Robert's bird, in the other stood the rose-bush which he had planted for Bessie, on the page: 176-177[View Page 176-177]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 176-177 176 ROBERT HARMONDS SPIRIT. last morning of his stay at the old home. Here in these little recesses, they sat all day, knitting or sewing, except the short time in which they took their simple meals, or made the house beautifully clean. Everything was as neat and comfortable as though no sorrow had ever swept the shadow of its wing above the dwelling. The autumn leaves had all fallen, and the wintry winds were whirling around in eddies, the dry, brown relics-of a vanished beauty. The seats by the window had been exchanged for those by the fireside, and the rose-tree was sheltered from the chill air from without, by a thick window-screen. Then, indeed, when the long evenings came, and they drew round the small centre-table, they felt .a desolation unknown before. There had been no news from the army, save brief and general reports of suffering on one side, and of exalted, disinterested, heaven-born human- ity relieving it as far as scanty means and inclem- ent weather would permit; of the waste of human life-so awful, indeed, that the French would not allow the number of their dead to be recorded; of the horrors of that hospital which not all the care and watchfulness of the Angel of Scutari-- Florence Nightingale--could prevent or over- come. Still they were only brief and meagre de- tails that reached Mavis-Wood, and it seemed destined that Robert Harmon should have passed ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. 1" away from earth without any record of his last hours. Struggling long against her grief, and trying to put on a brave and cheerful countenance, the widow set an example to her daughter, as she al- ways called Bessie. The poor girl often, however, failed to follow it.. She would sit for hours, look- ing straight into the fire, with her work lying upon her knee, and her heart far away in the East. In what spot of ground had they buried that heart's darling? She shuddered to think what and how must have been that burial-place, and thought how sweet it would have been to have decked a grave in Mavis-Wood churchyard, where daisies and violets might spring up, and where she could have planted Robert's own rose-tree. Full of these mournful fancies, the girl grew thin and pale; rejecting the delicate food which Mrs. Harmon prepared for her so nicely, and re- fusing any drink save water. They were not poor -for the widow had a little property and Bessie's father had left her something to live on-and unit- ing both their means in one family, they knew no want. If they had, there was not a person in Mavis-Wood that would not cheerfully have given them ; so well known, so beloved and respected were they. "We will go to church next Sabbath, Bessie,' said the widow, quite early in the week. "I do 15 page: 178-179[View Page 178-179]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 178-179 178 ROBERT HARMONES SPIRIT. not think it right to stay away as we do." She made this last remark interrogatively, for she ex- pected some opposition; Bessie having frequently said that she could not go until they had -heard more definitely of Robert's last hours. But she did not object; and she heard her an hour after, giving Peggy Ramsay, a neighbor, in. structions to go to the best store in Mavis-Wood, and buy good, plain mourning for two widows. By Saturday evening, the clothes were com- pleted, and they went to church in their mourn- ing garments. The rector spoke feelingly of those to whom the " horrors of war " had brought sadness and bereavement; and there was not a heart in the congregation that did not turn kindly to the bereaved. Bessie looked paler than ever in her weeds. Her small, thin hands seemed almost transparent, and the blue veins were painfully visible. She grew so weak that even the walk to the church tired her excessively, and she was obliged, from sheer weariness, to lie down as soon as she re- turned, for several successive Sabbaths. She would not own that anything was the matter, only that ehe was lazy and wanted to be quiet. Before she was known to be engaged to Robert Harmon, she had been annoyed by the unwelcome attentions of a young farmer, living just out of Mavis-Wood, and whose assurance and self-esteem ROBERT HARMON S SPIRIT. 179- so predominated, that it was with difficulty that Bessie could make him understand that she could not accept him. When, however, he was convinced that she was beyond his reach, he had seen her no more, until now that he came to Mrs. Harmaon's with the avowed purpose of calling on her. Surprised, but not dreaming of anything be yond the usual custom of visiting mourners, and unwilling to give the widow the trouble of wait- ing on visitors inquiring only for herself, Bessie dragged herself unwillingly from the bed to re- ceive him. He had not talked With her half an hour, before he made her a distinct offer of mar- riage. Bessie's large, blue eyes turned upon the speaker with such a glance of unutterable scorn, that, had he been less obtuse in his perceptions, would have prevented any farther demonstration of love. But he continued to urge her to accept him, until Bessie rose and left the room, without trusting herself to speak to him. It would take something more than silent scorn, however, to abash young Cowdeh, and he con- tinued for some months to persecute her with his calls, until she utterly refused to see him at all. Still he boasted to others that she would yet come round, and he could afford to wait for her; and was surprised when others represented to page: 180-181[View Page 180-181]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 180-181 180 ROBERT HARMONIS SPIRIT. him the indelicacy of intruding upon a grief so recent. News from the East, at last, told that some of the sick and wounded soldiers were to be sent home. Pestilence had destroyed even more than the sword had done; and the poor, shattered remnants that had survived both, were to be transported to England, to breathe out their last sighs under the sky of home. Then came the tidings of their actual arrival, in a ship called the "London," and the news- papers teemed with accounts of the poor fellows who had returned with mutilated limbs and ruined constitutions, yet hailing with delight the sight of Old England once more. The rector kindly sent a newspaper to Mrs. Harmon; and for a week or more, they did noth- ing but read it, over and over again, and cry over its affecting details. And at the week's end, on the evening of Sat- urday, even the usual Bible reading, never before omitted, was forgotten, as Bessie read again the meeting of the maimed soldiers with their friends. Tears, that would seem never to forget to flow, were streaming from their eyes, and in wiping them away, Bessie chanced to glance at the win. dow. Beneath the cage where the canary, now still and motionless, hung, a human face was pressed to the panes. She could not be mistaken, ROBERT HARMON'S SPIRIT. 181 for it moved while she looked. Mrs. Hamon saw it, too ; but neither of them spoke. i Again it came, and Bessie felt sure that it was Robert's spirit. The face looked pale and wan, but the resemblance was perfect. It was strange that she did not faint under the sight; but instead of alarming her, it seemed to give her comfort that she could behold him. Meanwhile the form vanished, as indeed she expected it to do. The widow sat as one in a dream, half conscious that she had seen her boy; and looking to Bessie for a solution of the mystery. A soft, low knock, which Bessie- who had heard strange things of the spirit-rappers--be- lieved to be the token of that Invisible Presence which they claim, was now heard three successive times upon the outer door. How the two women got there, they knew not. They could never re- member crossing the floor or opening the door: but ia all probability they did both- for a few moments afterwards, a living voice was in their ears, and a warm, living arm was around each neck--a warm lip pressed to each cheek. No spirit, but Robby himself-pale and thin and shattered in limb, poor fellow! but alive and whole in heart and soul, and blessing God who had heard his fervent prayer for home. He had expected to die on the voyage, and in. deed no one thought he could ever reach England 15' page: 182-183[View Page 182-183]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 182-183 182 ROBERT HARMON'S. SPIRIT. alive. He had therefore begged Mr. Osborne not to write the second time. He knew that the first letter had already done its work of grief, and he would not raise hopes of reaching his destination, lest they should again be blasted. But the sea-voyage had revived him, and the thought of going home was a cordial that was just what he needed. He came home a wreck, it was true; but enough was left of his frame to contain his noble and courageous soul, God blesu him! (ba sdb p Jia ire OR, THE PALACE OF THE SIRENS. NAPLES, beautiful Naples! How lovely on the traveller's sight rise mountain, lake, river, island and bay-the lovely features of thy enchanting scenery I Thy unclouded sky rests like a canopy over the islands of Nisida, Procida and Ischia, a little to the left of the promontory of Posilipo. Rising, as it were, from the deep sea, and bathed by its waves, stands a castellated building, upon a firm, rocky foundation. Though' desolate now, and without a roof, enough remains of its former greatness to show what it once was. On the upper stories the stone-work is carved in delicate tracery, and everywhere are broad and lofty windows, alternated with small and ornamented ones, and niches for statues. The waters- flow through two or three heavy gates to a large cover- ed court, to stairs whence you can go out as to page: 184-185[View Page 184-185]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 184-185 184 CASA DELLA SIRENA. o the Venetian gondolas, and where you can drive directly into the first story of the building. Latter- ly, one side of this time-honored palace-the in- heritance of princes and the admiration of the world--was degraded to a place of traffic in fish and fruit, and where the degenerate Neapolitans meet to "laugh, talk and eat maccaroni." And later still, the main building was used for glass works, an extensive manufactory being established there. But the chief interest, in the eyes of poets and romancers, is the dark and unfortunate fate which seems to have pursued each successive inheritor of Casa della Sirena. It has been said that its very name betokens mischief; and, as usual in all cases of mischief, a woman's name is associated with every phase of its history. Ask the people in the vicinity what the desolate-look- ing castle is called, and they will tell you either " Regina Giovanni,"-which may mean the first or second Joanna of Naples, for it has belonged to both--or perhaps they will call it " Donn' Ana." The latter name is after Anna Carafa, Princess of Stigliano; and in her is invested all the deepest interest that still hangs round Casa della Sirena. Robert Bonifacio, Marquis [of Oria, who once owned the palace, was outlawed by fierce Philibert of Orange. It was purchased by the Ravascheiri -a family whose misfortunes began with the pur- chase-and sold to Luigi Carafa of Maddaloni. CASA DELLA SIRENA. 185 Luigi's great-grandson was Ludovigo, Knight of the Golden Fleece, Prince of the Holy Roman Empire, and Duke of Sabrionetta. This last title came by his wife, Isabella Gonzaga, daughter of Vespasian Gonzaga. Their son Antonio married Elena Aldobrandini, niece of Clement VIII., by whom he had three children, two of whom were sons, and both died young. The third and only remaining child was ANNA CARAFA. Almost distracted by the loss of his wife Elena, and the two fair sons to whom he had hoped to leave the vast possessions which he held as Prince of Stigliano, Antonio retired to the monastery of the Jesuits, leaving his child to be educated by others. The nineteenth of January, 1630, saw the death of the last prince of Stigliano. He was buried with all the insignia of his rank and the pomp of the king- his ducal dress of crimson silk, the ducal coronet, ermine collar, sceptre and gilt spurs, making a distinction only accorded to royal blood. All his possessions descended to his only child, Anna Carafa, about whom the Italian poets raved, as the fairest, loveliest and most dis- tinguished woman that ever graced that " land of the sun." But what poet could ever do justice to the charms of Anna Carafa? Tradition brings her be- fore us as one whose lofty brow and majestic page: 186-187[View Page 186-187]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 186-187 186 CASA DELLA SIRENA. demeanor awed, while the rare beauty of her golden hair- rare indeed in that clime -the soft- ness of her eyes, the exquisite clearness and fair- hess of her complexion, and still more, the change- ful witchery of her expression, enchanted every beholder. The youths of Naples eagerly contend- ed for the prize of her hand, and among them came Diomed Carafa, the young Duke of Maddaloni, her own cousin. Loving him best of all, there was yet a shudder. ing thought came over the mind of Anna Carafa at a marriage thus prohibited by the religion of her family. True, the great-niece of the pope need not wait long for a dispensation; but one of Anna's cultivated and intelligent mind might well pause before accepting a license which could not be accorded a meaner pair. The lovers met and parted a thousand times, with the determination trembling on their lips to break through all this, and bindtogether two lives that would be so miserable apart; but as often, the ghost of wrong would come between them, and the tender conscience of the princess would shrink from venturing upon such a measure. A' sadness gloomed above the beautiful orphan, thus tried severly in her first ardent love ; and at length she herself ended the long struggle, and accepted the hand of one of her numerous suitors. Indifferent as to whom she accepted, as far as any affection CASA DETLA SIRENA. 187 existed, she yet consulted a point of rank and position that would not lower her own; and Ramiso Felipe de Guzman, Duke of Medina de las Torres, who was Lord High Chancellor of India, and Treasurer of the Crown of Arragon, received the hand of the illustrious princess; and by this act the hopes of Diomed Carafa were dashed to the ground forever. Henceforth he could be only a brother to her to whom he had sought to be bound by a nearer tie. Anna-now the envied Duchess de Medina- implored her cousin to marry. She was too generous to enjoy any triumph in knowing that her lover would live a desolate and lonely life for her sake; and she prevailed on him to wed the widowed daughter of the Prince of Avellino. After the marriage of Anna Carafa, the Duke of Medina conceived the idea of rebuilding the palace at the Posilipo. He employed four hundred work- men, and expended a hundred and fifty thousand scudi; and not satisfied with his own resources and those of the duchess, he actually robbed churches of pictures to embellish its walls. The finest production of Raffaelle, and indeed of all the great masters, were made tributary to his rapacious- ness. So successful were his thefts, and on so grand a scale, that Casa della Sirena was soon filled with the spoils of art; and wherever there was a panel or a niche, it was occupied by a page: 188-189[View Page 188-189]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 188-189 188 CASA DELLA SIRENA. picture or a statue of rare value and beauty. Pro- tected by the Duke of Maddaloni, for the sake of Anna Carafa, to whom Diomed's heart still turned with passionate fondness, Medina was not annoyed by any reproof for his sacrilegious robberies; but the penance for those deeds may be found in the unhappy life which the pair had endured ever since they were married. Incapable of love as he was of honesty 6* generosity, the Duke of Medina had married Anna Carafa for the distinction of outvying the crowd of illustrious youths who had contended for her hand. And she - We will not lay bare the workings of a heart like hers, but she had not forgotten her first love; and the evil star, forever shining over the palace of the Sirens, abated none of its baleful fires now. What availed the beauty and splendor that looked forth from every wall of that fatal dwelling! The highest efforts of genius that adorned it, the triumphs of art, the peculiar grandeur of its iso- lated situation, and all that nature had bestowed upon the scene of its wild and romantic beauty, could not bring peace nor happiness within. Two hearts were there, whose bitter struggles turned all the beauty to deformity, and rendered it-even as it is-now that the hand of desolation has been laid heavily upon it--an accursed place, compared with which, the Alpine hut of the meanest shep- herd is a haven of rest. - CASA DELLA SIRENA. 189 One of those rare days in which it seems happi- ness enough to merely exist, if the heart bears no heavy load of guilt or misery, shone brightly over the palace of the sea. Every wave sparkled as with the joy of its own existence, as bright eyes sparkle with the consciousness of their own beauty; and as they dashed against the walls of Casa della Sirena, they seemed to feel that they were laving no mean abode, and that their dancing crests, as they spent themselves in the marble court, were offering libations to the beautiful princess who reigned there. It was only .the day preceding Christmas, yet bland and serene as summer. On that day Medina was absent, but at noon came the gondola of Diomed Carafa. The morning had been one of bitterness and recrimination between the princess and her husband, and, for the first time, she had shed tears under his galling words. She saw him depart without emotion, and shut herself up in her own room, while her three little sons amused them- selves in the long picture gallery, unconscious of the struggle that was going on in the heart of their mother. All that afternoon she traversed the apartment, with her hand clasped in Diomed's, pouring out her misery, and the fond regrets that had followed the refusal of his hand. The moon came up, large and shining, like a ship of pearl in the blue ocean of heaven, and stilf the lovers walk. 16 * page: 190-191[View Page 190-191]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 190-191 190 CAS . DELLA SIRENA. ed and wept out their mutual sorrows. Night came on, but they took no note of time. The nurses had taken away the smiling boys, and only their gentle tap on the door, and their sweet " good night, dear mother," had roused the unhappy woman from her sorrowful communion with Diomed. Startled by the sound, she wiped away her tears. "Francesco, come to me, sweet love, and you too, my Antonio." "You are weeping, dear mother," said the younger of the two. "Do not; father will soon be at home." The unconscious words of the boy stung her to the heart. Alas I how little of comfort or happi- ness would that coming bring to her. She kissed both, and then receiving little Clement from the nurse, she insisted upon undressing him and putting on his white night robes with her own hands. That done, she clasped the sweet child in her arms and sung him to sleep with a wild, sweet lullaby, that almost broke the heart of him who sat by and heard the thrilling melody. "It is the last time, Diomed I My life is almost over. Never again shall I clasp these dear chil- dren to my stricken heart." And with a sigh that seemed to come up from the very depths of that heart, she resigned them to their attendants. The two lover--for they were still lovers--sat CASA DELLA SIRENA. 191 long by the broad window, from which they could see the fires of Vesuvius. "' When Idie, Diomed, I would fain lie where that type of my life shall throw its sparks Upon my grave. Methinks my heart would feel, even in death, the warmth of their pitying glow." The palace clock struck the midnight hour. "It is the birthday of Him who came to comfort the wretched," she uttered, softly' and reverently. And as she spoke, her hand fell from the warm clasp of Diomed. He raised her to his breast and called loudly for her attendants, but in vain. The beautiful image of death was all that remained of Anna Carafa. Three years after her death, Casa della Sirena was half destroyed by an earthquake. The Duke of Medina was forced to relinquish his ill-gotten treasures and restore them to the churches; and the palace fell into the hands of the Mirelli, princes of Teora, a family once prosperous, but suddenly becoming the victims to a sad destiny--as if noth- ing could avert the fate that must inevitably cling to the possession of Cassa della Sirena. She as hose beauty and intelligence seemed to ask a kinder fortune, was buried privately, in the Church of the Barefooted Augustinians, at Resina, at the very foot of Vesuvius. "She had her wish in dying." Amidst the enchanting scenery that greets the page: 192-193[View Page 192-193]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 192-193 192 CASA DELLA SIRENA. eye on every side, the beautiful islands, the "'rare combination of land and water, rocky isle and beetling cliff, busy city and solitary shore, culti. vated field and wooded slope, and, to crown all, the ever-smoking cone of Vesuvius," the palace of desolation seems a place only fit for the dwelling of owls and bats-emphatically, as it has often been called, an " accursed place." & Uy1b: oR laze triy1 of 31fcibW . TWELVE miles from Dublin, on a creek of the Irish Sea, stands the village of Malahide, with its safe and commodious bay, now affording a fine settlement for the colony of hardy sailors who are engaged in deep-sea fishing, and for those who follow the less perilous employment of oyster dredging. The little cove promises such pro- tection to vessels, even of large tonnage, and the waters are so smooth and calm, even when the sea is most furiously agitated, that at one time Malahide promised to become the principal sea- port of Ireland. The corporation of Dublin was awakened to jealousy by the preference shown to this snug and beautiful cove, sheltered as it is from the storms by the two islands of Lamabay and Ireland's Eye, and a fine was straightway imposed upon the owner of the majestic castle which still rises in towering grandeur above the sea. 16* ^- page: 194-195[View Page 194-195]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 194-195 194 MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE. Sir Peter Talbot,the lord of the domain, had suffered vessels to shelter here, and even to dis- charge their cargoes; but as the king's grants for that purpose were made to the city of Dublin alone, a stop was made to all intercourse with the harbor of AMalahide, which could conduce to any interest to its inhabitants from that source. The lordship of Malahide was granted by Henry II. to the son of Sir Geoffrey Talbot, who held Hereford Castle against King Stephen for the Empress Maud. The first Talbot, however, granted away a part of the estate, called Mallagh- hide-beg, to the Abbey of St. Mary's in Dublin. In 1372, the Talbot then living was in Parliament under the title of Lord Talbot de Mallaghhide; and in 1475, Edward IV. created the existing Lord Malahide high admiral of the seas. In the Irish rebellion, Thomas Talbot, the proprietor of the estate, was called an outlaw for participating in the events of that period-and later a lease was granted for seven years, to Myles Corbet, the regicide, who resided in the castle for some time. Malahide Castle is, therefore, full of ancient associations. Its situation and appearance are grand and imposing; its arrangements spacious and comfortable, combining the advantages of much beauty of inside decoration, and of a noble prospect without. Near the castle there is a thick grove of chestnuts, and within their dark shade ' MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE. 195 are the solitary ruins of an ancient church. It has long been perfectly roofless, and the sound of prayer has not arisen within its walls for long, long years. But in that silent and lonely temple, there stands above a tomb an altar bearing the effigy of a beautiful woman, whose costume is that of four centuries ago. Years-- ages even, lapse and wane, and their events are lost in forgetful- ness; but there, stands the monument, and above it in bold relief is the image of her who once bore a great sorrow within her heart--the long' ago bride of Malahide. The young Lord of Galtrim was one of the most gallant men of his time. History records his many virtues, his unflinching courage, his obedience to duty however painful, his valor and skill in deeds of arms. His father was Baron of Galtrim, and the castle belonging to his -family was in the near neighborhood of that of the Lords of Malahide, and- commanded a view of the same picturesque scenery, terminated by the , romantic island of Lambay with the fine old for- tress, the ruins of which are now converted into a sporting lodge. The extent of this island is thirteen hundred and seventy-one acres. Almost from his boyhood, the youthful Lord of Galtrim had wooed amidst this delightful scenery the beautiful maid of Killeen. Maud, the daughter of the Baron Plunkett of Killeen, was well page: 196-197[View Page 196-197]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 196-197 196 MAUD,: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE. worthy of the homage she excited in young and brave hearts. 'With a step from which the heather scarcely bent, a figure light as a fairy, a sweet, yet intellectual face, on which smiles and tears came in quick succession, as the sounds of sorrow or gladness were heard, and eyes so soft and melt- ing, yet so brilliant in their liquid liglit, that like the maid of Erin's smile, they might " light up the green isle," where she and her lover so often strayed, it was no wonder that she was sought by many. Soon, however, her marked preference for the young Lord of Galtrim effectually dis- tanced all other competitors for her heart. And the youthful pair, blest by the approbation of their parents, and rich in their own love, aban- doned themselves to that calm and peaceful love, whose course yet ran smooth, and over which no cloud seemed ever likely to hover. Beautiful summer days were those in which Miaud and her lover sailed in his little boat across the picturesque bay of Malahide. It was the day before that appointed for their marriage, which was to take place in the venera- ble chapel adjoining the castle. Across the calm waters the little boat glided like a bird, its snowy sails glittering in the sun, almost motionless, and their use supplied by the oars, whose cool drip was like the sound of music. They approached the island, when the 'sun rose higher, and landed MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE. 197 upon the soft, green moss that grew cown even to the water's edge on one side, while on the other there was a shelving beach. Lightly sprang the maiden on the velvet carpet that awaited her, and as Brian Galtrim stepped as - lightly after, the little boat, its sails now furled, lay quietly on the waters that rippled softly about its gaily painted sides. To a sheltered spot where the sun's rays- could not penetrate, but where they could, still see the ocean, the lovers directed their steps. Here, on a rude seat which Brian had -placed within the leafy shade, they sat and talked of the bright future of which to-morrow was the begin- ning. All seemed as bright before them as the blue sky of that summer day. Never had Maud looked so lovely. Her flowing green silk robe might have proved sadly trying to any complexion less fair and beautiful than her own-but like everything else she wore, it became her well. Long sat the lovers, weaving bright dreams of happiness, and watching the scene around them. Before them lay the. waters of the Irish Sea, studded with green islets. Above them the calm blue sky, and in mid-air the broad, white wings of thersea-fowl, now floating downward to drink daintily from that broad basin, and then up and away in the blue fields of ether, like spirits in their flight to the upper world. Over their souls drooped the sweet influences of nature, and the page: 198-199[View Page 198-199]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 198-199 198 MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE. youth and maiden could not tear themselves away from a scene so sweet until the dim haze of twilight gathered around it. Then the pale, sil- very stars were eclipsed by the broad full moon, and beneath the soft beams they were once more seated in the fairy bark and gliding homeward. Maud's hands were full of the bright rich wreaths which they had been twining for the bridal- the long, pendant green boughs, mingled with blush- ing rose-buds, that to-morrow were to trail from the altar, and the tiny blossoms of the lily bells that were to adorn the bosom and hair of the young bride. O, who shall say what fond dreams may not visit the youthful hearts when they are so nearly joined in one 1 If there are ever hours when all fear of coming trouble and sorrow lies extinguished, it is when two souls are thus preparing to blend wholly together--when two lives are beginning to unite deeply and lovingly, never to be separated until the pale shadow come to part them. No chilling thought of that shadow, no dream of wrong, or blight, or sadness, troubled the calm current of sweet Maud's eve before the bridal. The morning rose fair and lovely as a poet's dream. The old chapel was literally covered with flowers from floor to ceiling; and as the bridal party came through the sheltered avenue they crushed roses all along the fragrant path. Once MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALA HDE. 199 Maud started and pressed closer to her lover's side. He looked surprised. "What-trembling at the last, darling?" he whispered, with a voice so tender that the tears sprang into Maud's eyes. "Nay, Brian, it was from a sound that came on the air. It disturbed my nerves for a moment." ( What was it, Maud?" "I dare not tell you, lest you chide me for fool. ish fancies." "No reserves between us now you know. So Father Francis told you yesterday," answered Brian, smiling to re-assure her. "Well, then, I was startled by the sound of a child's cry, and--. Indeed I cannot tell you, Brian," continued the girl, still trembling in every limb. "You thought it was the Banshee--is not that the truth, sweet love?" Maud bowed the assent her pale lips refused. "Believe me, it was a child's cry. Look round, Maud. You will see that there are crowds of women with infants in their arms, come to witness our entrance to the chapel. Think you all these little ones are quiet and amused, and that no cry escapes them?" His tone re-assured her, and her complexion re. gained its roses, as she saw on every hand the demonstrations of rejoicing for the coming bridal. The bells were ringing joyfully. The clear, fresh page: 200-201[View Page 200-201]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 200-201 200 MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MATAHIDE. breeze sang pleasantly along the sea-side, and ever and anon from the sheltered bowers, some old min. strels were striking their harp strings to a glad marriage song. The girl dried her tears, and clasp. ing Brian's arm still closer, she entered the portal of the chapel. The solemn ceremony was over- the last word still echoing in the vaulted chapel, when a hurried step, so loud as to seem irreverent in that place, approached the altar. A man whom Brian recognized as one of his fol. lowers, came forward with a flushed spot upon his forehead, and spoke to him aside. .A momentary paleness overspread the face of the young baron, as he in his turn whispered to Father Francis, who drew the wondering bride into the chancel, and hastily dismissed the spectators of the cere- mony. Foiled in their curiosity to see the bride as she walked forth, they still lingered; but the tones of the priest, partly in authority, and partly by a sad, expostulatory appeal to their generosity, succeeded in clearing the church of all but himself and the wedded pair. Then, in a few brief words, which Brian could not bring himself to utter, the holy father explained to the poor, trembling Maud, that her husband was called away from the altar steps to suppress an insurrection. His followers had already banded during his brief absence from Galtrim, and were awaiting his command. One long, lingering kiss on forehead, cheek and lips- MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHTDE. 201 one clasp of his bride to his bursting heart, and Brian was gone. The day wore slowly away to the anxious bride. They who gathered around her told her tales of Brian's courage and bravery, and assured her that wherever he went there was victory in his path- way. She listened as the maidens twined green wreaths for her hair, and sang songs of brave and conquering chiefs - but in her eyes there was no light--in her heart no hope. And as the slow twilight came on, and a train approached with muffled drums and lances reversed, bearing a shield upon their shoulders, it needed no voice to tell her what form lay there. Reverently the rude soldiers set down the precious burden of their- lord before her who had that day become their lady -and with eyes that shed not a single tear, where all others were weeping, Maud knelt by the silent image of her beloved. Tearless and speech- less she watched beside him until the shadows of mortality had darkened the beauty of that face. Then, and not till then, did she suffer -herself to be torn from him. Through the very pathway where the bridal train had passed on the preceding morn- ing, the burial train came slowly on. As she passed under the same tree beside which she had heard the low cry that startled her, she shuddered visibly. The rites were over that followed so closely 17 page: 202-203[View Page 202-203]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 202-203 202 MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE. upon the marriage. Back to the home she had so lately left, the baron carried his heart-stricken child- she who was afterwards the burden of many a song, as "maid, wife and widow, in one brief day." All that sympathy and affection could suggest, was done to soothe the weary and sorrowful child, but the burden of grief lay too heavily. Two young sisters, laughing, blue-eyed fairies, sprang up into womanhood, while Maud was a mourner for her dead hero. She was only seven- teen when she wedded the Lord of Galtrim, and now she was twenty-seven. No fairer or purer 'tint visited her sisters' faces than that which still dwelt on her own -but hers was growing more and more spiritual. She had never left Killeen since the day she had come back a widow; but now when her sisters would return from Mala- hide, full of its glories of scenery, and would .re. count their sails to the dear island of Lambay, where her last day was spent with him - she was filled with an irrepressible desire to re-visit that spot--to sit once more in that green bower, and look out upon the sea. Would not Brian's spirit meet her in that solitude, and give her some visi- ble sign of recognition? And on a bright, glori- ous morning, when the sky wore its bluest tint, and the sea lay in its majestic repose, Maud was there again. She had expected to give way to un- MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OP MALAFTDE. 203 controllable anguish in this scene; but to her own surprise--almost to her dismay, she sat calmly looking on the same objects that arrested their at- tention on that day. It was as if Brian was again by her side to love, comfort and protect. Were we writing a tale of romance, instead of sober truth, we should portray Maud as thus clinging wholly to the memory of her dead hero, and wearing out life in the unavailing regrets in- duced by her loss of him. We are glad that it was not so, however it may destroy the pathos of the story--glad that there was consolation in store for a heart early stricken and long mourning. In one of these excursions which she made to Malahide,.now no longer alone, but in company with her gay young sisters, the two light-hearted maidens insisted upon exploring the old castle. They had heard that the Lord Talbot was away on a foreign tour, and not thinking of meeting any one but the servants, they prevailed on Maud to accompany them. They were readily permitted to enter, and leave given them to visit all the rooms, save one, which was pointed out, and then they were left to ramble at their own sweet will over the spacious halls and winding galleries. They had gone as they supposed into every room, and were about to descend by a spiral staircase, when an open door showed them a larger and grander page: 204-205[View Page 204-205]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 204-205 204 MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHTIE. apartment than they had yet seen. It was the famous oak parlor of Malahide, into which no other material enters, save the wood that its name describes. Floor, walls and ceiling, are all of the most beautiful polished oak, and the two latter are divided into small compartments, each panel being filled with a painting. A bust of some knight of Malahide stands upon a pedestal, and the statue of a warrior looks forth grim and terrible from the central wall.. Stiff, high-backed chairs are arranged at regular distances, and at the further end a harpsichord gives evidence of musical taste and skill in the Talbot household. The young sisters flew to the instrument and performed a gay duet upon its chords, while Maud threw herself into a large chair, opposite the casqued and helmeted knight, and drew a weary sigh. It was repeated at the open door near which she sat, and just then a shadow darkened the doorway. It was that of a noble-looking man, somewhere on the verge of forty years, tall, pale and dignified. He wore his own long hair and pointed beard, which fell over a collar of exquisite workmanship. The black velvet tunic was fastened by a rich cord, and its slashed sleeves revealed others of the finest linen, closed at the wrist by diamond studs. Ashamed and confused, Maud sprang up to call her sisters away, but the stranger would not permit her. He announced himself as Richard Talbot, MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHDE. 205 Lord of Malahide, and welcomed her to the castle. She blushingly explained their mistake, and her sisters' thoughtless gaiety, and entreated him to pardon and let them depart. ' Not surely until I know who are my guests," he answered, in a voice that thrilled through the very heart of the Lady Maud ; for, whether it was fancy or not, it reminded her of the beloved now silent for years, but whose echo still lived in her memory. She told him in a few words, who they were and why they came, and Richard Talbot, with a courtesy that put her directly at her ease, begged permission to make an early call on the baron, her father, at Killeeri. The next week was one of gaiety and delight to the two young sisters-each pretending to appro- priate to herself the handsome Lord of Malahide. The succeeding one was that of his first visit, and from that time he came without restraint, and was ever welcomed by the baron and his family. That Richard Talbot loved one of his daughters, the bluff old baron was not long in discovering- which of them was not easily solved. The spright- ly Eileen assured him that it was herself, and Eva gravely asserted that she had reasons for thinking her sister mistaken. The expected offer came at last in the dim hush of a twilight hour. But Eileen and Eva were both absent- and it was in the ear of the still beauti- ful widow that the tale of love was poured. 17* page: 206-207[View Page 206-207]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 206-207 206 MAUD: OR, THE BRIDAL OF MALAHRIDE. Standing again at the very altar where her prospects had been so cruelly blasted, Maud read in Richard Talbot's face the full assurance of his future love and protection, and, while she honored the memory of the dead no less, she planted anew her hopes in the living. Again she trod the rose. strewn path from the chapel, but this time she was upheld by a strong arm, close to a loving heart that cherished her through life, and perpetuated her living looks in the beautiful statue still lying, after four centuries, unharmed and perfect in the chapel of Malahide. * THE winter of 1306 set in with more than usual violence and severity in Scotland. Snow and frost reigned triumphant, and it seemed as if none but the strongest and bravest could endure the rigor of the season. The champion of Scotland was dead--the im- mortal William Wallace, whose mind, as well as body, towered far above all other men, and before whom even Robert Bruce shrank into the stature of a common mortal-he whose smile was sunshine, and whose frown scathed like the lightning- whose glorious form had been condemned to the scaffold, but whose breath departed before the rope of the tyrant had touched his neck. Through stormy and troublous times, midst danger and privation and the dreadful scenes of horror that desecrated his home, and left his hearth desolate, the hero had preserved the Regalia of Scotland. The usurper of the rights of Bruce, the Red Comyn who had assumed the title of Re- gent of Scotland, had been desperately wounded A- page: 208-209[View Page 208-209]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 208-209 208 THE CORONACH. by Bruce; and Kirkpatrick, whose zeal for the service of him whom he called his rightful sove- reign had finished the work of death, with those memorable words upon his lips which, to this day, are the motto of the Kirkpatrick crest-"I mak siccar!" (I make certain.) Edward, the old and sickly, but still tyrannical and revengeful king of England, had sworn to ex. terminate Bruce and his adherents; but already the ceremony was performed that made Bruce king of Scotland; and Edward's warfare was not against rebels and outlaws, as he had termed Wallace and his brave soldiers, but against a crowned monarch. Still the chances of war were against the gallant King Robert,: and treachery and meanness con- spired to defeat him. His horse was killed under him, and he himself taken prisoner. For the honor of Scotland, be it said, that the Scottish knight into whose hands he fell, scorned to take advantage of the power thus given him, and permitted Bruce to escape, although the fugi- tive was cut to the heart by the knowledge that his brave followers would meet with a cruel and merciless death. Douglas-the "Good Lord James"-and a few others, retired to the mountains, where they were sometimes hunted like deer, and where they were joined by the queen and her ladies. These fair and delicate women experienced dangers and difficulties I THE CORONACH. 209 in the highlands, that would have appalled the hearts of brave and strong men. Sustained by love and loyalty, the followers of the gallant Bruce bore on through hardships and horrors, until, driven from one place to another, the king attempted to enter Lorn; but here the relatives of the Red Comyn opposed him. At a place called Dalny, he was again defeated by John of Lorn ; but here, amidst his misfortunes, the strength and valor of Bruce was displayed more than ever. Here the M'Androssers, father and two sons, seeing Bruce place himself in front of his men, in a narrow pass, made a vow that they would kill or take him prisoner. They rushed upon him in a body, but Bruce killed the three, as he sat on horseback, although they were strong and powerful men. The father, in dying, grasped at the king's scarf, and he was obliged to undo the brooch, in order to free himself from the dead body. The brooch is still preserved in the family of M'Dougal of Lorn, as a memorial of the escape of Robert Bruce from their ancestor-not of his being taken by him I As we- said, the dismal Scottish winter was comrn. ing on, and Bruce felt that it would be impossible for the queen and her ladies to sustain the hard- ships of the severe season, and determined to separate himself from them. The old castle of page: 210-211[View Page 210-211]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 210-211 210 THE CORONACH. Kildrummie, in Aberdeenshire, was now the only one that remained to him. Here the queen and Bruce's sister, Isabella, Countess of Buchan, with several others, took up their abode, amidst the cheerless rigors of the season, and with the anx- ious uncertainty hanging upon them, of the fate of the king and his followers. On the coast of Ireland is an island called Rach. rin, where Bruce spent the winter-cheered only by the thought that his treasure was guarded and watched by his beloved young brother, Nigel. His eldest brother, Edward, was with him. The fire was blazing brightly in the wide chim- ney of the old hall at Kildrummie, on the evening of the twentieth of March, 1306. All day, a cloud had rested upon the brow of the lovely wife of Bruce; and even now, the cheerful light of the fire could not quite dispel it. At her feet, on a low stool, sat Agnes Kirkpatrick, the daughter of the old hero who had killed the Red Comyn. The queen's hand rested affectionately upon the maid- en's auburn locks, while the sweet young face was turned upwards, with a loving look, at her mistress. Near them sat the Countess Isabella, of Buchan, her sunny countenance lighted up with a hope which she hardly dared to cherish-the hope of her beloved brother being again restored to his right- ful throne. Close to Agnes, and hovering around her like THE CORONACH. 2" her shadow, stood Nigel Bruce, the youngest of the three brave brothers. If Nigel did not possess the vigor and strength of Robert, he had more than Robert's share of beauty. Since the death of Wallace, there was no rival in. Scotland to the manly beauty of Nigel Bruce. His long hair, darker than the golden locks of Wallace, hung over his shoulders in bright, chestnut curls; his forehead, white as the snow lying on'the sear banks of the Don, which lay frozen beneath the towers of Kildrummie, contrasted with the brown cheek that had not shunned the summer sun nor winter wind; while his tall form, less majestic, per- haps, than Robert's, was still more than equal in its perfect grace and symmetry. No word of love had yet passed between the boy-soldier and Agnes Kirkpatrick; but the queen felt assured that her two favorites only awaited the end of these troublous times to adopt, in their love, the motto of the Kirkpatrick crest-"I make certain"-and she looked, with an indulgent glance upon all the proofs "which none, save lovers, understand" of their affection. That affection, born amidst the trials, the dangers and hardships of that dreary winter, would, she trusted, bloom brighter and happier, in other scenes, beneath the loving sway of her brave Robert. : She exchanged a glance with her sister-in-law, who returned it with a glad smile; for although page: 212-213[View Page 212-213]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 212-213 212 THE CORONACH. Edward Bruce had sometimes talked to her of the fair Agnes, she could not help leaning towards the beloved Nigel-the youngest born, and dearest of her ancient house. If she was prouder of Robert, and exulted more in the bravery and spirit of Edward, her woman's heart turned with more fond- ness to Nigel. Except for the dim, shadowy uneasiness of the queen, there had not been a happier evening in Kildrummie since the exiles entered its walls; and when the postern gate-bell was rung, and a wander- ing minstrel, poor. and old, entered and brought them tidings of the king, from Rachrin, the shadow passed from the queen's brow, and she appeared as serene as the others. Long the harper played, after the refreshing meal which the ladies had ordered for him; and as the pealing notes rang through the wide hall, every eye flashed, and every cheek burned with emotion. Dropping these stirring strains, the harper sank his voice to the sad coronach that was composed for the death of Wallace; but this was more than his excited audience could bear, and the queen commanded him to cease. It touched too nearly the springs of grief that she sought so earnestly to hide. She remembered that her own nuptials were performed beside the chieftain's dead body. She remembered, too, the cruel death of his wife, the beautiful Marion--the loss of her own THE CORONACH. 213 father and of her angel sister-losses so mingled with the remembrance of Wallace, as almost to break her heart at the recollection. At the first wild note of the coronach, Agnes turned her dewy eyes upon her lover and saw that his own were moistened with tears. He, too, had witnessed the funeral scene at Cambus-Kennet, and shared in the strong emotions that shook the soul of his brave and royal brother at the opening of the iron casket which held Scotland's regalia- the treasure that had cost the lives of so many brave Scots, and of him the bravest and most glorious of all that band of heroes-and as the memory of all this flashed upon Nigel, who could wonder that the tears of sorrow bedewed his cheeks? As the queen spoke, the last note of the coro- nach trembled upon the string; and ere they had ceased to vibrate, another sound-a din as of trampling feet and mailed armor and clashing steel -struck the ear. "Again-again, the pealing drum, And clanging horn-they come-they come! O'er rocky pass and wooded steep, Through long and glittering files they creep! I see them on their winding way! Above their ranks the moonbeams play." Onward came the English troops along the banks of the Don. In vain Nigel summoned the 17 page: 214-215[View Page 214-215]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 214-215 214 THE CORONACH. guards belonging to the castle; in vain he im. plored the queen to fly, with her ladies, to a fish. erman's hut near the river, and embark in his boat to find shelter and safety elsewhere. "I am the wife of King Robert; and never shall it be said that I forsook the noble men whom he stationed here to guard and protect me!", Was her heroic answer, "And Agnes?" asked Nigel; " where is Agnes?" "Slhe shall not leave me. And see where your sister Isabella comes, with a face as serene as when her hands crowned my royal husband! She too, will remain here. God bless you, my brother Nigel, and give you the victory, this night, over the foes of Scotland!" Retiring to the highest turret of the castle, the queen watched the progress of the enemy towards Kildrummie, rejoicing that the guards whom Nigel had summoned to' convey her away, re- mained to strengthen his force. Pale as a lily, and trembling with the excitement of the scene, Agnes Kirkpatrick sat, clasping the hands of her beloved mistress. Her frame shuddered, when- ever a louder noise rose from below; and her fears for Nigel almost overpowered her reason. She tried to pray, but her lips refused to move; and soon she sank into a state of merciful insen- sibility, from which she started, at intervals, to murmur of Nigel and the coronach which she seemed still to hear. THE CORONACH. 215 A wild note of triumph came sounding from the court-yard below. Footsteps were heard on the stairs, but they awoke not the still insensible maiden. The door was burst open, and a party of English soldiers came trooping into the wide turret-chamber, and claimed its inmates as their prisoners. As their captors bore them, unre- sistingly--because all resistance was vain--to the ]lall below, the first object that met the eyes of the queen, was the body of Nigel. She sprang suddenly from the arms of the soldier who held her, and threw herself beside him. Her deep cry of anguish, as she lifted the be- loved face, and saw that life was crushed from that noble heart, was echoed by the Countess of Buchan, and had even roused the inanimate ener- gies of Agnes, who leaned forward in the direc- tion of the sound. In her dreamy state, she fancied it again the wild notes of the coronach, and that they were sounding for Nigel. "I come my love --I come!" she murmured, as with the strength of the death struggle, she sprang from her captor to prostrate herself on the ground beside her lover. When the rude soldier at- tempted to lift her from thence, her arms were firmly entwined around Nigel. It was the death clasp. The maiden had ceased to breathe. In a miserable dwelling at Rachrin, the royal Bruce learned of the sudden storming of Kil- page: 216-217[View Page 216-217]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 216-217 216 THE CORONACH. drummie, the capture of its beloved inmates, and the terrible fate of his young and beautiful brother and the maiden he loved so well. He stayed not to mourn. The tidings wrought other work in his heroic soul. He felt that one more effort was worthy of the descendant of William the Lion, and of the friend of William Wallace; and calling to his aid the bands which still breathed his name as their king, he went forth to gain the victory once more, and to give freedom to the wife and sister so tenderly beloved. Then, and not until then, did he pour out his weeping soul in memory of Nigel. Ee arft orf 0te Glti Qrost. IT was on a bright morning, when the clear, bracing air of Russia sent the blood in full, health- ful flow through the veins, and flushed the cheeks to a color which the denizens of a more southern climate might have envied. A long row of boys, the eldest not more than twelve years of age, stood on a level plat of ground that lay before a large building, on the front of which was inscribed on a marble tablet, inserted into the wall, "FOUND' "NG HOSPITAL." The boys were standing, or rather trying to stand very upright; but here and there, one was leaning somewhat from the perpendicu- lar; a bent knee or shoulder destroying the perfection of the required position. A tall, military-looking man, dressed in the most imposing costume of his profession, assisted by two stiff, unbending figures, also in uniform, was reviewing the little army, and drilling them in va. rious evolutions, at the word of harsh and severe command. There was an expression of fear upon 17' page: 218-219[View Page 218-219]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 218-219 218 THE SCAR OF THE WHtTE CROSS. the countenances of most of the boys, but here and there a brave, courageous look was observa. ble, especially upon that of one little fellow, obvi- ously not more than nine or ten years old, who, after the miniature parade was over, was address- ed as Ivan Olgerd, by his boy associates. This boy was distinguished for his aptness at learning and performing the different evolutions in which the officer had been most severely punctili- ous; and it was quite rare that he failed in going through with any of them after a single lesson. Altogether he had a native air of grace and digni- ty, that arrested the eye of' a stranger at once, and distinguished him from his companions. On this morning, however, a mischievous boy who was standing near him, and who had long envied his superior performances, and the exemption he had enjoyed from the severe punishment which the rest frequently underwent, determined that Ivan should also come under the displeasure of the drill officer. Armed with a long needle, such as is used in sewing the heavy Russian duck, he took several opportunities of inserting the point into Ivan's arm, causing him almost to bound from the ranks, and to twist convulsively at each puncture. The officer observed the contortions, and the movement of the body, without perceiving the cause; and fancying that Ivan was sporting with the grave ceremony they were going through, he THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. 219 administered a very severe blow across the face of - the child, with the fiat of his sword. Ivan's cheeks flushed a deep scarlet, while the blood ran in streams from his nose, which was bruised and swollen. The two inferior officers were ordered to lead him from the ground, and it was some time before the lowering looks and stern words of the elder officer could restore order in the miniature army. The boys, with the exception of the one who had led to Ivan's disgrace, were very fond of the fearless and manly little fellow, because he never affected any superiority over them, or laugh- ed at their awkwardness at drill hours. The man whose duty it was to inspect the daily health of the boys, found, on going to Ivan's bed, where the officers had laid him down in a sort of fainting fit, that he was seriously injured, and call- ed the person who acted as doctor to the establish- ment. He decided that there was danger of in- flammation, and exclaimed bitterly against the con. duct of the officer who had so recklessly and cruel. ly injured the little child. The officer himself, however, coolly mounted his horse and rode off after the drill was over, as if nothing had happen- ed, while Ivan was disturbed and even delirous from the moment he recovered from fainting. The hospital of which we speak, was in the small town, of Gotchina, about fifty versts from St. Pe- page: 220-221[View Page 220-221]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 220-221 220 THE SCAR OF THE WH'ITE CROSS. tersburgh. In the same town the Grand Duke Paul had a fine residence, to which he was fond of retiring. He had also taken a great interest in the orphans, and as the boys grew large enough he determined to subject them to a rigid military discipline, as the best thing that could be devised for their future welfare and the benefit of the country. The grand duke had applied to General Melissi. no to superintend the military organization of the orphans; and Melissing recommended Alexis Araktchieff, one of the artillery cadets at St. Peters- burgh, who he considered would be a superior drill officer, and who would be glad to accept the appointment. Catherine 1I. was on the throne of Russia, when Alexis Araktchieff was sent to St. Petersburgh as a cadet. His father was Andrew Araktchieff, who had been a major in her majesty's army, and who at the time of the birth of Alexis, resided in a small village in the government of No- gorod. Major Araktchieff, remembering his own military ardor, was bent upon educating his only son in that profession, and although the attempt was attended with many sacrifices on the part of the father, in a pecuniary light at least, the plan succeeded and Alexis went to St. Petersburgh.* It was soon discovered that he possessed no mean talent, and that a thorough education would * Secret History of Russia. THE SCAR OF THE WHirT CEOSS. 221 develop him as something far above mediocrity. A certain severity in his manner was oddly con- trasted with a servile, fawning appearance towards his superiors, which showed a considerable talent for diplomacy, and a determination to build up his own fortunes, even at the expense of parting with his self-respect; while to others from whom he could gain nothing, he consoled his pride by keep- ing up an appearance of superiority not unmingled with insolence. Towards General Melissing, he had assumed so quiet and respectful a manner, that when applied to by the grand duke, the general's thoughts fixed at once upon the young cadet, as one who would unite the most thorough military training with the kindest and most considerate feelings towards the orphans. While the cadet was yet in the first blush of his new vocation, the empress died, and Paul, who had become his firm friend and patron, so fully ap- proved his course at the hospital, that no one dared to make a complaint against the severity, which, on the part of so young a disciplinarian, was as cruel as it was unlooked for, by those who had the care of the orphan children. The reign of Paul was suddenly terminated by death; but the, diplomatic powers of the youthful aspirant were still unchecked, and he contrived to ingratiate himself with Alexander, who, on his ac- cession to the throne, became deeply interested in page: 222-223[View Page 222-223]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 222-223 222 THE SCAR OF THE WHtPi CROSS. the project which his predecessor had so happily begun. Of course, the officer who was so highly esteemed by the former emperor, could hardly fail of winning the approval of Alexander; and he congratulated himself that the services of so effi- cient an officer had been secured in training the youths who might one day become the flower of the Russian army. Little Ivan Olgerd lay on his couch in the dor- mitory of the hospital. The delirium had passed away, but in its place arose a feeling of intense and vengeful rage towards the cadet, which seemed to fill his whole soul. His wounds, still smarting and painful, increased his ire, and the state of his mind and body alike precluded him from rising from his bed. In a single hour, the boy had grown into a man, in the depth of his emotions, the injury had struck so deeply into his soul. On that couch his infant heart formed a high resolve, and through long years he watched and waited for the opportu- nity to carry it into effect. How well the wily cadet played his card with the emperor, may be inferred by the fact that Al. exander created him colonel; military governor of St. Petersburgh; major general of the grand army; and bestowed on him the order of the Grand Cross of St. Anne. The emperor still continued to visit occasionally THE STAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. 223 the residence that had been so beloved by Paul; and sometimes occupied for a few days the grand chateau, from which he could distinctly see the hospital; the nursery which Paul had established, from which to draw recruits for the Russian army. Like the grand duke, Alexander soon felt a growing interest in the scheme which might one day (who knew?) be the salvation of Russia. No- ble hearts, with what was doubtless noble blood in them, beat in the forms of these miniature soldiers. Who shall say that among them were not some hearts as high and brave as that which was thrown by Douglas into the battle-field against the Moors of Spain? * At all events, Alexander saw and marked the bearing of Ivan Olgerd; and his noble face and figure impressed the emperor, and made him ask the name of a boy so young, and yet with so gal- lant a demeanor. It was the one bitter drop amid the sweets, that the emperor had prepared for Alexis Araktchieff. Little Ivan was the Mordecai from whom he shrunk even as Haman did; because, while the boy yielded implicitly to the discipline enforced, he still preserved an expres. sion of countenance which showed that he had not forgotten the blow, nor forgiven the author of it. With a dignity that might have distinguished one * The heart of Bruce. page: 224-225[View Page 224-225]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 224-225 224 THE STAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. many years older, and which seemed all at once to have heightened his stature, Ivan Olgerd, at twelve years of age, still regarded his teacher with the same cold, impenetrable look, as he had done three years before, when the sword of the cadet had come into too intimate contact with his cheek; and of which contact there still remained a slight mark. When the boy was excited, and the pure, healthful blood was heightened by exercise- or emotion, the scar alone was left untouched by an added color, and remained pale and white. Em- browned as the cheek, the brow, or the throat might be, the scar remained cold, white and ghast- ly in its appearance; contrasting strangely with the darker hue of the rest of the face. Whether the scar had originally held that form or had grown gradually into it, by the slight eleva- tion of the surrounding parts, it had actually as- sumed the semblance of a cross, a little deepened or depressed from the rest of the cheek, and this had obtained for the boy the soubriquet Ivan of the White Cross. Years rolled on, and the Russian empire was. frequently - nay, almost always embroiled in war with some nation or other. The boy army had grown to manhood, and some of them had found a rest from warfare " with back to the field, and few to the foe.' A few had won honors that elder THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. 225 soldiers might have envied. A few had risen to high rank in the army, and were thought fit to enter into the counsels of heroes who had "passed to the peril's front, where the banner spear gleams, and the battle's red wine is streaming ;" and fewer still had disgraced themselves and their country, by weakly yielding to the temptation of the bowl. Fewer still, I say, for " the cold in clime are cold in blood;" and perhaps Russian soldiers, whatev- er else may be charged against them, are as free from stain from the wine-cup as any other nation under heaven. And one - the soldier with the white cross, had pressed forward until he had attained an eminence equal to that of him who had stamped him with that undesirable order. He now wore the Grand Cross of the Order of St. Anne, as well as his rival; had a high post of honor assigned him in the army, leading a division as distinguished as that led by Araktchieff himself, and holding as important a sta- tion at the council table. Yet ever as the two crossed each other's paths, whether in the pres- ence of the emperor at noon-day, or in the twilight of a Russian afternoon, dim, cold and dreary; whether in the battle-field, where both were op posed in deadly combat to the same enemy, or meeting on some festive evening at the emperor's gay winter palace; still the cross looked pale as the surrounding skin flushed to angry redness 19 page: 226-227[View Page 226-227]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 226-227 226 THE SCAR OF' THE WHTE CROSS, and still Araktchieff chafed at the cold and brief acknowledgments of his presence, or often, indeed, at the utter absence of all recognition by Ivan 01- gerd. Added to this, all attempts to depreciate Ivan in the opinion of the emperor, only resulted in the mortification of the' slanderer, as Alexander had already heard the story of the white cross. Daria Kronstadt, the wife of a sailor, a woman of low repute, had clung to the fortunes of Arakt- chieff with a pertinacity that her decaying beauty began to render somewhat troublesome to the fas- tidious general. Since his elevation, he had rath- er thrust Daria aside, and always shunned her in the streets of St. Petersburgh, where the young and lovely Russian ladies thought it an houor to receive a bow in passing, from the distinguished soldier. Still he visited her occasionally, because her grandfather had once rendered the father of Alexis, Andrew Araktchieff, some service, for which the old man had charged his son to pay back in friendship, to any of the family whom he might ever happen to meet. He did meet Daria Kronstadt when it was too late. She had married a man far beneath her in station and talents, as he was inferior to her in cun- ning and treachery. She hated him because he could not bring her up to a certain station which she coveted. She never had any affection for him, THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. 227 complained that she was deceived in his circum- stances and duped by his representations; and, disgusted and disheartened, Peter Kronstadt be. came a common sailor, and left his wife to her own reflecti ons. She met Araktchieff in an office where she was disposing of some business which her husband had left unsettled, and, in order to do it properly, she was obliged to give her maiden name. It struck familiarly on the ear of the general; and having nothing to engage his attention, for it was a rare breathing time of peace in Russia, he followed her out, traced her to her home, and entering like an old acquaintance, the retired house almost at the outskirts of St. Patersburgh, where she lived, he ascertained that she did indeed belong to the same family, to which his father expressed so strong a sense of obligation. Pleased to be the object of attention to so dis- tinguished a soldier, and one so high with the emperor, Daria's vanity and insolence knew no bounds. She boasted everywhere, that she was connected by blood to the family of Araktchieff, and in fact became so overbearing and insolent, that all decent and well behaved females withdrew from her society, and ceased to recognize her when they met her. Through the munificence of Araktchieff the elder, who heard, through his son, that the grand- page: 228-229[View Page 228-229]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 228-229 228 THE SCAR OF THE WHTE' CROSS. daughter of his friend Lonnoff had been found, Daria Kronstadt was enabled to live in a superior style to that she had ever known before; and which excited the envy and jealousy of her former companions, and induced them to utter words against her reputation, which were really un- deserved; but which clung to her like the famous poisoned garment of old Nessus. Growing more presumptuous and insolent on the strength of being related to General Araktchieff, or Alexis as she familiarly called him, it became almost im- possible for her servants to bear with her new airs. One of her attendants, a pretty young creature, an orphan, named Elizabeth Fedor, offend- ed her by smiling at her calling so stern and savage-looking a man by his baptismal name. En- raged at the beautiful girl for presuming to notice it, she gave her repeated blows; and the affair ended by the young girl going away and reporting the cruel and savage temper of Daria. Elizabeth's only brother was a young architect, a calm, cool and collected person usually, but driven to desperation by his sister's unmerited punishment. Determined to redress her wrongs, he visited Daria's house, set her conduct before her in its severest light; and then deliberately pro- ceeded to administer castigation to the lady, by means of a small knotted rope, which he applied THE SCAR OF THE WHiTE CROSS. 229 vigorously, until her wrathful cries brought Araktchieff, who happened to be coming in, to her aid. Elizabeth knew Ivan Olgerd, and fearing for her brother's safety after she found that he had gone to Daria9s house, she went to him and implored him to go and find her brother. Ivan who was interested in the girl's orphan state, remembering his own but too vividly, complied with her request, and sought young Fedor at the place she designated. He arrived almost at the same moment with Araktchieff, and in a voice of authority, Ivan bade the young man go immediately to his sister, which, having satisfied his revenge, he was quite willing to do. Scowling vengefully at Ivan, Araktchieff de- manded what right he had to send away one who ought instantly to be arrested. With a perfectly composed and dignified air, General Olgerd bowed to the enraged man and left the house. Trans. ported out of his self-command, by the coolness of Ivan, he followed him down the street, demanding satisfaction. Ivan walked on over the slippery ground, unmoved, until Araktchieff planted himself immediately before him, obstructing his passage. He did this repeatedly, until they came to a steep place, where the street suddenly sloped for several yards, and the sharp declivity was completely 19* page: 230-231[View Page 230-231]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 230-231 230 THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. covered with shining ice. At the top of this, Araktchieff stood directly in front of him, with insolent and threatening words. Ivan could bear it no longer, and with a strength born of despera- tion, he seized him and flung him violently aside. Araktchieff staggered with the shock, rolled down the slippery hill, nor stopped until he lay at the bottom, with his scarf unbound, his sword ungirt and his face bruised and bloody. "Lie there!" shouted Ivan, "and remember the WHTE CROSS." There was a private meeting of a few of Alexander's favorite courtiers, and the doors of the reception-room were locked and bolted. One or two witnesses appeared, who gave a detailed account of the curious rencontre between General Araktchieff and General Olgerd. The whole evi- dence was in favor of the latter; while the former was burning with rage and impatience. At the close of the evidence, and before the emperor had declared for either, a venerable man arose, and de- tailed the circumstances which took place at the Foundling Hospital years ago. It was the revered chaplain of that hospital, and it was he who had tended the young Ivan on what he supposed would be his death bed. It was enough. Each one in the room turned and looked earnestly at the scar of the cross, and each one entreated the emperor to set the present offence against the former. THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. 231 Nor was he indisposed to overlook any offence from one whom he so much valued as Ivan Olgerd; while at the same time he did not wish to punish Araktchieff. A compromise between two officers so necessary to him, was desirable to Alexander; and he interposed his authority that they should henceforth keep the peace. There was little need of any authority as far as it regarded Ivan. His mind was soon fully oc- cupied with a different matter. Chance threw him into the society of a Polish lady of high rank, while he was travelling for his health, which recent events had somewhat impaired. At the chateau where he stopped to see a friend, he was detained by a storm, and was introduced to a very beauti- ful woman whom they called Madame Felix. She was still youthful looking, although she was nearly sixty years of age. A pensive expression per- vaded her countenance, and sometimes an absence of mind was perceptible, in the midst of the most interesting conversation. His friend explained this. Her husband was no longer living, and her only child, when an infant of tender years, was stolen from her, and carried, she knew not whither. From reasons of state policy, her marriage was necessarily kept a secret for some time, and the child was, as she supposed, safe with its nurse. After the lapse of two years, the incentive for secrecy was removed, page: 232-233[View Page 232-233]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 232-233 282 THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. and she went impatiently to reclaim her child. It had been taken away six weeks beforel and for nearly thirty years she had bewailed it with many tears. The story interested IvaD; and subsequently she related it to him herself, and 'described certain marks by which she thought she could identify her child. One was a strawherry on the back of the head, and she described it minutely. Ivan started, and the rich color mounted to his cheek, making the white cross intensely visible. An exclamation sprang to his lips, but he checked it, lest he might produce an effect upon the lady, which he could not afterwards remove. She mentioned several other things, and at last, falling on his knees before her, he parted the thick dark locks upon the back of his head, leaned towards her, and displayed a large red straw- berry. Over a meeting like that, no pen should dare to linger. He had found the mother whom he had sometimes feared was unworthy-or else why was he deserted? She had found the child she had mourned; and knew that she could lean -upon him for the rest of her pilgrimage. He was repaid for all that he had suffered - she had found all she had ever hoped. In Poland then, Ivan decided to spend his future life; and he gave up his commission, lest THE SCAR OF THE WHTE CROSS. 233 Russia should again molest the country of his mother. He did more; he took young Fedor with llim, from the probabilities of being perse- cuted by the enmity of Araktchieff, and Elizabeth went with him to be the companion of Madame Felix. In a few years, when Fedor was mar. ried to a Polish lady of good connections and great personal accomplishments and beauty, Elizabeth was earnestly entreated to make her brother's house her home, and she accepted the offer. Ivan, who had been absent a few days, came home and found his mother weeping bitterly for Elizabeth's anticipated departure. "She shall never leave you, mother," he an- swered; ("I will go this moment and make a con- tract with her to stay with us always." "A contract, my son?" asked his mother. ' A marriage contract, my' dear mother! Noth- ing else will bind women l" And when he returned to her again, Elizabeth was hanging upon his arm, her soft cheek bathed in happy tears, while his own was flushed with delight; and white and pale showed again the scar of the cross. "I owe this cross and my wife to Russia," said the happy Ivan; "my mother and my home I owe to Poland." page: 234-235[View Page 234-235]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 234-235 th letk of ^ girate ^i?. "HARK, Abel I is not that a sound of distress?" asked Miriam Hinckley, of her young husband, as the gust swept fearfully around the corner of their little sea-side home, the very next evening after their wedding. "I hope not, dear; I would not wish to leave you so soon, to see such dismal sights as I have witnessed on this shore sometimes. I will just go to the door and listen." He opened the door which led directly from the room to the little front yard, and Miriam hastily followed. "Stand back, Miriam; the cold wind will freeze you. It is snowing so thick that I can see noth- ing, but I think I can hear a sound at the beach. I must run down, and see what it is." "Not in this storm, Abel. O, don't go alone I Let me go with you, please?" "You go Why Miriam, I would not let you THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. 235 step across the yard. Go in to the fire, and mind and keep up a good blaze, for I shall be wet when I come home." The terrified little woman clutng tightly to her husband's arm, entreating him not to go: but he turned upon her almost a look of rebuke, as he said: "'Then if I should be driven ashore, and in danger, you would not wish any one to go out of a comfortable room to help me?" "O, what have I said, dear Abel? Yes, go, dear, and do all the good you can to the poor souls. I did not think." "Well, it is not strange that you should not think. This is a ,new life to my little country, bred wife. There, hand me my sou'wester, and don't cry; I'll be back soon." Miriam did as he told her, and went back to the blazing fire; but her knitting-work, although it was for Abel, was not touched, and every two minutes she opened the door to see if he was coming. At last, she sat perfectly still, but look- ing into the fire with a troubled gaze. Then her eyes wandered to the shelf above the fire-place- so high that she could not reach 'up to it - and the bright, beautiful shells that adorned it, the great shark's jaw that hung beneath the shelf, and the model of a fishing boat on the chest of drawers, all told of the sea. Then she thought page: 236-237[View Page 236-237]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 236-237 236 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. of what had hardly been realized in her mind before, that on that very sea--treacherous, destroying, cruel as it was, her Abel would soon -nay, often, be sailing; and how dreary all these things would look then -how should she watch every storm, which in her country home had scarcely occupied her thoughts at all. O, how dismal she thought it would be thus living ever by the stormy waters. She wished that Abel and herself might be in the loneliest village in New Hampshire, where Ahe- was born and bred, rather than living here. It was very sad for the young girl, not yet twenty-four hours a bride, to have all these thoughts of wreck, and danger, and death; and moreover, as she turned her hour-glass for the second time since Abel went out, she began to tremble and weep. At one time she sprang to the door, resolved to brave the storm, and follow him; but the snow blew in so heavily that she was nearly covered, and she went back shivering to the fireside. It was full three hours when Abel came in, and his face was ghastly pale. Miriam met him at the door, but when she saw that look, she fell lifeless to the floor, overcome by her previous terror. When she revived, he had changed his wet suit for another, afraid to touch her while he was yet dripping with the melted snow, and had laid her THE WRECK OP THE PIRATE SHP. 237 upon the bed in the little bed-room adjoining their only other room. She now crept to his side near the fire, and he sheltered her with his arm, while he told her what had happened. A large ship had been wrecked so close to the shore, that already the dead were ly. ing almost in heaps upon the beach. Two men only were saved, and these had been taken, per- fectly exhausted, to the homes of the oldest fisher- men. Abel, and indeed all the men who were out, comprising all who lived near the shore, could only stand upon the beach, and hear the " cry of some strong swimmer in his agony," as he made unavailing attempts to reach the shore, in the darkness to which the lanterns held by the men could hardly impart a gleam of light while the snow fell so heavily. As they plunged into the boiling waves from the side of the fast-breaking ship, they could hear the heavy plash, which in most cases was followed by a silence, deep and profound, save for the rolling and surging water, as if they had dropped at once into the lowest depths of their fearfill grave. Then one or two would struggle up to the surface, hold a brief strife with the waves, and they, too, would sink. The young wife shuddered at the narration, and wept afresh at the thought of some night watching for Abel, and his dead body thrown upon the beach. 20 page: 238-239[View Page 238-239]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 238-239 238 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. "Now, I am going to test the courage of a sea- man's wife. I am sorry to try it so soon; but you will have to get used to it. We take turns and watch when such a thing as this occurs, and I join the next watch. I must be back to the beach, in half an hour, and you must lie down until I come back. See, I shall put on a stouter jacket than be. fore, and this log will burn until I come back. No one will harm you, and it shall never be said that Abel Hinckley's wife had not courage to stay alone, even in a storm." Poor Miriam tried to be very brave, as she took down the heavy jacket, but she broke down before Abel had opened -the door. He found her up, with a fresh fire, and a bowl of hot milk porridge when he returned, which was just before dawn. He had no more news to tell, except that the bod- ies were still being cast upon the shore. The sun shone brightly upon the snow the next morning, and the beach at Wellfleet was covered with people who thronged to see the spectacle of death. A hundred dead bodies lay there with ghastly, upturned faces. Goods of every descrip- tion were being constantly thrown up; boxes, bales and cases of all kinds and sizes. Even the women came down to look-all, excepting Miri- am and two or three others, who could not bear to see the terrible sight. Some reckless beings were carrying off the goods, without offering to assist THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. 239 those who were endeavoring to prepare the bodies for as decent a burial as could be obtained. Abel's father, an old and experienced Cape fish- erman, remarked to his son the singularly fero- cious and terrible look of every face that was pre- sented to their view as they passed across the beach: "I have often seen men thrown. on the shore thus," said the old man, " but I never saw any that looked like these. Most of them that I have seen had a quiet kind of resigned look on their faces, as if they had struggled hard at first, and then all at once given up the battle, and laid down peace- fully." One of the dead was a very large, powerful man. His hands were clenched tightly together, and the mouth was compressed until the teeth had pierced the lip deeply. Something glittered in the sun, and Abel stooped down to examine it. It was a large gold breast-pin, in the form of a dagger, and. was marked "Bellamy," on the reverse. Abel put it back again quickly, and asked his father if it could be the pirate, who had been Cruising about the west India islands so long. "Why not?" asked the old man. "Surely these faces look like such a crew as might have belonged to him." "Here is his name at any rate," answered Abel. "What, on that pin? Then take it out, before page: 240-241[View Page 240-241]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 240-241 240 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. those thieves steal it. You must give it to Squire Preston. It may prove a good deal when they come to look into this matter. Now, Abel, look out for some other mark or proof." But there was nothing but the pin that bore any name; and their attention ere long was turned towards a fishing smack which was rapidly making Wellfleet harbor. "To think of that craft living out such a storm, and this ship unable to stand off I Abel, if my old eyes don't deceive me, that is the Lady Bird, Captain Pond, who went out last month." "Your eyes are right this time, father. It is the Lady Bird." The little craft came in with not a sail torn. She had found a safe cove for the night. Captain Pond, a capable, intelligent man, had been so in. tent upon arriving, that he had hardly cast a look towards shore, until the vessel was secured. Then, with even more of horror in his countenance than had rested on the others. he surveyed the scene before him. A crowd gathered around him, for some anxiety had been felt for his safety. As he looked narrowly at the faces remaining on the beach-for some of them were already removed- he exclaimed to his mate: "Good God, Barton-here is Bellamy's whole fleet!" "What do you mean?" asked a dozen voices at once. THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. 241 "I mean that probably the whole piratical fleet commanded by Bellamy, was near the Cape yester- day. He captured my vessel last Friday; but offered me the prize back again, if I would pilot him into Cape Cod harbor, so that he might clear his ship at Provincetown. I knew, or suspected at least, who was my captor; and just at dusk I brought him so near the land, knowing that his in. tention was to plunder, that I fancy he must have struck the outer bar while I was trying to get safely on shore. It was dark when I got sheltered, and the storm rising suddently, the snow prevent- ed me from seeing any of the vessels again." Abel showed him the gold dagger, and the cap- tain identified it as the one he had noticed upon the pirate's breast. The pirates had met their fate, then, but in a most terrible manner, without warn- ing or preparation. As might be expected, it was long before the excitement subsided in Wellfleet. With Miriam, the images suggested by that night were long a source of unmitigated disturbance. With many others it was a matter of deep interest. It was believed that some of the smaller vessels of the fleet were not wrecked ;and of course, there was deep anxiety lest they were still cruising near the eastern shore, or at least not far from the course pursued by the vessels bound to the west- ern islands. Meanwhile, quantities of copper coins-William 20* page: 242-243[View Page 242-243]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 242-243 242 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. and Mary coppers, and pieces of silver, called cob- money, were thrown by every troubled wave upon shore, for the remainder of that year (1717.) On the outer bar, the violence of the sea moves the sand; and long after the shipwreck, an iron ca- boose was seen when the tide was lowest. Grad- ually the fears that had been awakened, were lull- ed, and the hardy fishermen, and those who traded at the West India ports, made their voyages un- terrified by the' vision of pirates. Good old Abraham Hinckly had passed away, and slept with his fathers, and his son Abel had succeeded to the possession of the family home- stead, which promised to be a more convenient dwelling for Miriam and her fast-increasing army of little ones, than the small cottage by the seaside, with its two contracted apartments. Their present abode was roomy and comfortable; having any number of queer nooks and irregular hiding-places. Abel had given up the sea for Miriam's sake, had hired land in addition to his own, and was now quite a flourishing farmer. Miriam, country-bred as she was, was perfectly at home on a farm, and her advice upon outdoor matters proved as valua- ble as her indoor work. All her little nervous ways evaporated in the broad sunshine df her hus- band's continual presence, and their home exhibit- ed a degree of comfort and hospitality that was truly pleasant to see. The poor, and often waste- THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. 243 ful- and improvident fishers' wives never lacked a helping hand when their resources ran low. Miri- am's heart and larder were alike open, and a little timely help from her often saved many a despair- ing mother the grief of seeing her children starve before her eyes when the "bread-winner" was taken away. Miriam was a fine specimen of a good, capable, industrious, New England wife. Handsome she was not, except through her, rosy; healthful color, which never grew paler. Her hair which could not, by any stretch of imagination, be called any- thing but unmitigated red in color, was still soft and abundant, and her short, stout figure, although not exactly modelled on the line of beauty, was yet indicative of health and strength, and so far, was preferable to that of the delicate beauty of those willowy forms, that make no shadow on the ground when they walk. Abel and herself were, for a wonder, sitting alone one spring evening, by the kitchen fire, which was heaped with great logs as in mid-winter, to meet the wants of the immense kettle hanging over it, as well as to obviate the chilliness that pervades the sea-shore towns, some- times even in the summer nights. The children had had their supper, and the weary little limbs were all lain down to rest. The bright flames danced out upon the broad hearth, and threw great shadows on the ceiling, while Miriam's eyes were page: 244-245[View Page 244-245]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 244-245 244 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. fixed upon a huge underbed of coals that lay be- neath the burning brands. "What do you see there?" asked Abel, laughing at her earnest look. "Churches and steeples, and great ships of war, and wrecks. O, I cannot tell you half I see." Abel turned his loving, good-humored counte- nance full upon her, and laying his hand caressing- ly upon her shoulder, he said: "Speaking of wrecks, reminds me that we have not spoken of the great shipwreck for a long time. I have been so busy--so happy too, with you and the children, that I have not thought of anything unpleasant. How quiet and happy we live, Miri- am-so happy that time does not change you a bit." "Ah! Abel, turning flatterer?" "Indeed I am not. I should be sorry if I could not praise you openly, when my heart is so full of you." There was a tender silence between them for some moments. Then they spoke of the old story of the wreck, and of how pleasant it was to be at home, and never to go to sea any more. It was pleasant too, to have an evening to themselves' Always there were hired people around, or the children absorbed their attention, or something oc- curred-a neighbor's visit, or a meeting of some sort-to keep them from being alone. Now, it THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. 245 was agreed upon between them that this hour should be their own, and that nothing but sickness should keep them from being together, either sit. ting or walking. A slight knock at the door dis- turbed their conversation; and on Abel's calling to "come in,' a tall, stout man entered. There was only firelight; but that showed a face, dark, weather-beaten and deeply scarred. Abel proffered the stranger a chair near the fire, but he seemed to prefer a darker corner, and sat down in the shadow. "Have you travelled far, friend?" asked the farmer. "I have been on the Cape a few days only," said the man, in a deep, harsh voice, that made Miriam rise quickly and light a candle. Thinking the un- known guest might not have eaten supper, she set out the table, and transferred some of the contents of the kettle to a large dish, inviting him to par- take of them. He sat down at the table, ate' heartily, and drank a mug of cider. Then, turning to Abel, he asked him if he could accommodate him with a bed. "I have money to pay for it," he said, " and I wish to remain here several days, perhaps a week or two." Abel conferred with his wife, and then told his visitor he could have a room if he would be wil- ling to step across the yard to get to it. It was page: 246-247[View Page 246-247]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 246-247 246 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. a room adjoining the corn chamber, that had been built for one of their hired men, and at certain times of the year was occupied by an extra hand, but was now empty. If that would suit him, be was welcome to use it as long as he pleased. "Nay, I am not without means to pay," said the man, showing a belt around his waist, which he said was full of gold pieces. "Well, well, put up your money to night, my friend," said Abel. "Time enough to pay, when I present my bill." By the time this conversation had ceased, the farm and kitchen hands assembled in the long kitchen for prayers. Abel laid the great Bible on the table, and prepared to read. The moment he took his seat, the stranger started up and asked if he could be shown to his room, and a boy was despatched to guide him. He stayed there the next morning until he was called to breakfast, and after that he wandered off by himself. He was at the farm-house several weeks, and when he went away offered to pay, which Abel positively refused. The man seemed to accede, but two or three broad gold pieces were found in little Robert's pocket, which he said the sailor had put there. Towards autumn he came again, ex. hibited the same reluctance to stay in the room while the Bible was read, and wandered still longer away by himself. It was still warm weather, and THE WRECK OP THE PIRATE SHP. 247 the windows were open all night. The first night was one of horror to the family. The most awful shrieks came from the room across the yard, and Abel, supposing the guest to be ill, went up to his door, awoke him, and asked him if such was the case. Sternfeldt, as he called himself, apologized for disturbing him, and begged him to believe that it was only an attack of nightmare. But as long as he stayed with them this time the shrieks were nightly repeated, accompanied by profane, blasphemous, and quarrelsome words, which were heard by every one in the neighborhood. "That lodger of yourn seems to have a hull legion of divils, squire," said one of the old fisher- men to Abel, who had now arrived at the dignity of a justice of the peace. "Poor man, yes I He has the nightmare badly," returned Abel. "Nightmare!" said old Ben, contemptuously. "Come down in the Stevens pasture with me, will ye, squire?" Abel went, and the old man led him to a spot where he had seen Sternfeldt digging the day be- fore, and at the same time putting something care- fully in the leather belt which he wore round his waist, and which he never attempted to conceal at any time. "Now, look here, squire," said Ben, "this ere man is beyond all doubt, one of that Bellamy's page: 248-249[View Page 248-249]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 248-249 248 THE WRECK OF THE PIRATE SHP. crew, and he is hunting up the gold that they used to bury hereabouts." Abel started. There was indeed, some reason to think so; but his unsuspecting nature had never dreamed of this. He had fancied him a heart-broken, disappointed man-an infidel, per- haps, but not so bad as he might be. His feeling and Miriam's towards him had been one of sincere pity. While he was thinking what to do or say, Sternfeldt sent for him and his wife, to step across the yard to his room. He was in great distress- dying apparently. He uttered but a few words, but they were sufficient to show that the dying man was what the old fisherman had conjectured- one of the crew perhaps of a small vessel belong- ing to Bellamy's fleet, that had escaped the fate of the larger ship. Indisputably he had known that treasure had been concealed in various places on the Cape, and hence his wish to remain. His terrible night sufferings were from dreams, in which, probably, were repeated the scenes through which he had passed. Byron says: "The mind that broods o'er guilty woes Is like the Scorpia girt by fire." AH! that little secluded Scotch manse How brightly bloomed the purple heather on the hill- gides and over the moor I and how sweetly came the dim, distant chimes from the bells of Edinburgh towers, across the blue stream that separated the village from the " grand auld toun." Bird and bee and blossom! In this sweet and quiet spot, nothing disturbed either. The squirrel came forth fearlessly, to gather nuts at the very doorstep, where the trees overhung the roof; and the brown robin perched on the window-sill, to pick the crumbs laid there for itself, by the hands of fair Jeannie Cameron. There, in that arm-chair, sat the minister, good old Archie Cameron; and quietly in another corner, knitting-work in hand, was old Aunt Alice, the sister of the venerable man, whose wife lay yonder where the setting sun. beam slants across the narrow green mound. And in the fork of the oak tree that spreads its hundred arms wide over the smooth sward, sits sweet Jean. 21 page: 250-251[View Page 250-251]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 250-251 250 THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. nie Cameron, her soft blue eyes bent over a book, and her light curls floating over her fair white shoulders. What a loving look the old man casts upwards to that sweet face I while Aunt Alice in- wardly frets to see the lassie spending so much idle time that might be so much better taken for knit- ting the minister's winter hose. A light laugh from the tree, and a responsive fond, word from Mr. Cameron, complete the old lady's ire. "You'll hae trouble enow wi' yon lassie, if ye lea' her to sic idle do naethin' ways, I'm thinkin'," burst from her lips. "Nay, Ailee, she's but a child yet. Dinna be too harsh wi' her. She is an unco guid lassie to her puir old father ; and we must treat her gently." Aunt Ailee was somewhat silenced by this, but she could not help recurring to it again when, after a long half-hour, Jeannie still sat, immoveable, in the tree. How beautiful she looked in her tartan of shaded greens, contrasting with her pure complexion, on which the sun and wind had no power save to deepen a rosy flush I "Dinna fash wi' the wark, Ailee," said the minis. ter again. "Jeannie is no for wark, I ken weel; but I remember it was a' the same with a young Ailee Cameron, years agone. And there is sma' reason to doubt that the little lassie may come round into her ways of smartness and cleverness as our Southron neighbors ca' it." * THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. 251 The aged spinster was partly mollified by this remark, and said, "Ah, weel, gin ye are satisfied, it's no for me to fin' faut." She stopped short, for over the greensward, there came a tall figure, with long, unequal strides, long fair hair escaping from a Scottish bonnet, and a scarf of very peculiarly blended tartan, hanging carelessly from one shoulder. A bright, roguish glance at the tree, from the blue eyes of the stranger, and a reverent look at the venerable old man, made two friends at once for the tired traveller. "Wha's that?" asked Aunt Ailee, in a fretful, peevish tone. "A'- the vagrants come to the minister's. Remimber that there is only a sma' wee drap o' ale i' the barrel; so dinna ask yon stragglin' body to take ale." The traveller approached, and as he stood on the door-step, a sudden thought seemed to glance across the old man. He rose, and went to the door, and beckoned the stranger into the room, which the spinster had hastily left, knowing that if she allowed her brother's interference with the pantry Arrangements, he would insist upon a fine roasted moor fowl which she had saved for his own supper, and various other delicacies which she thought quite too good for wandering beggars. Jeannie still sat in the tree, uncertain whether she would be wanted or not; but the minister page: 252-253[View Page 252-253]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 252-253 252 THE SCARF OF PRBINCE CHARLES. * called her away; and blushing like a rose, she heard her father's whispered introduction of his daughter to " one whom we love and hopor maist under heaven!" Jeannie started in glad surprise. Her little hand trembled in the grasp of the stranger, and she would fain have dropped on oine knee before him, had he not restrianed her. "No, no, lassie! time enough for that," drop- ping his voice, and pressing a gallant kiss upon the cheek whichno man, save her father, had ever kissed before. "Time enough for that, when the prince comes to his own!" "Ay, Jeannie I " said the minister, " we maun be prudent. The very wa's may hae lugs to hear news like this. But, gang and help Ailee, and just whisper wha she'll hae to entertain." Half an hour of the united efforts of Ailee and her neice served to place a noble feast upon the table; fornotwithstanding Miss Cameron's previ- ous asseverations to the contrary, the ale foamed and sparkled in profusion, and not only the hand- somest moor-fowl, but a goodly array of Scotch dainties crowned the board. Many indeed, were the hampers of game and other rarities from Edin- burgh, that reached the minister; the gift of grate- ful pupils who had never forgotten their kind, old tutor; so that Glenburne was never without the means to furnish forth a generous repast. THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. 253 Miss Ailee Cameron came courtseying and' fidg- etting into the room, with as near an approach to blushing, as her withered cheek could summon. The stranger bowed over her hand, and pressed it to his lips. How many days passed, ere the spin- ster allowed water to touch the exact spot upon her hand, which had been touched by royalty I Twilight came and went, and the night was fast deepening, when the stranger was consigned to a chamber where everything was cool and sweet, and smelling of the fragrant heather. And, O, Jeannie, darlin', to think of his comin' aneath our humble roof!" said the minister to his child, as he bade her good night. "Surely a blessing will be upon these walls forevermore, since his footstep has trodden these floors!" Jeannie could not answer, for her own heart was full of the strange and unexpected visit. She retired to bed, but not to sleep; and Miss Came- ron's prolonged talklfrom the adjoining room, as she chattered through the open door, about the distinguished stranger whom she had mistaken for a beggar, rang upon her nerves like the clashing of steel. At length the clatter ceased, and the maiden, just before morning, sank into a doze, from which she sprang up to see the dawn far ad- vanced. Already her father and the stranger were walking in the garden; the prince with his arm thrown affectionately over the old man's shoulder. 21* - page: 254-255[View Page 254-255]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 254-255 254 THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. Jeannie was about to join them, when she was stopped by Miss Cameron, who called her to help her with the breakfast, and she turned towards the kitchen with a half petulant air, which fortunately escaped the lady's observation, and she only said to her disappointed neice, "We maun set a gran' ta. ble for the p-." Jeannie's hand was placed on her mouth. "Dinna say it, Aunt Ailee! Somebody may hear it, and do mischief:' "Lord save us!" retorted the wrathful woman, "what's come over the lassie to order her betters not to speak?" Jeannie apologized humbly; for she both loved and feared Miss Cameron, who indeed was the only mother she had ever known. A month passed, and still the wanderer lingered. What evening and morning rambles by rocky 'cairn, by bubbling burn, through deep forest and over tracks of moor, all a-bloom with purple heath- er I What softly whispered words had Jeannie heard, what love ballads had she sung in the depths of the woods, and how often had the rosy cheek flushed rosier, as the lips that had imprinted the first kiss repeated it again and again! Yet Jeannie was conscious of no wrong, for had not her father smiled upon that first kiss? Ah, Jean- nie I Jeannie Cameron! "Going I Going to-morrow!" burst from Jean. X THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. 255 nie's lips, as the prince announced his intention, with his arm about her neck. She did not repulse it, for the same arm had been about her father's neck that very morning, nay, every morning, as they walked in the garden, for the last month. The old man sat within doors, fearlessly trusting his child with him whom he had taught her to love and .reverence next to God. Miss Cameron par. took of this feeling, without giving vent to a single dissenting tone, which was contrary to her usual custom; but Miss Cameron was one who "put her trust in princes." Had not Miss Cameron slept so soundly that night she might have heard half-stifled sobs from her neice's chamber; and had she not been so oc- cupied with getting up a grand farewell breakfast, she might have seen the almost frantic look which the unhappy girl cast upon the face that was turn- ing away from the door. But it was all lost upon her. Jeannie's red eyes were thought to be a very natural consequence of her parting from her sove- reign prince, uncertain whether he would ever oc- cupy the throne ; and as for Mr. Cameron, he was too much absorbed in his guest's departure, to no- tice any one. The prince himself seemed full of sorrowful thoughts. He parted from them all without a word, and turned sadly down the path to the high road. page: 256-257[View Page 256-257]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 256-257 256 THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. "Jeanie, love," said her father, "I am too feeble this morning to walk; but tak' your plaid, and gang as far as the Lady's Well, with our guest. We will not let him depart alone." At the mention of the Lady's Well, Jeanie shud- dered. She knew the dreary legend that belonged to it, A sad, sad tale it was, of woman's love and man's treachery-a tale that told of a haunting spirit, still wandering there at evening, and breath. ing wild words of deep and bitter woe. When she returned from that walk, she went to her own room, where, for hours, she wept over the scarf which her royal lover had bound around her white shoulders-the scarf of many colored tartan which had fallen from his neck, on the day of his arrival. She remembered bitterly how her father had spoken of the prince leaving a blessing in the old manse, that very night! Every day and hour those words recurred to her mind. Every day and hour, the girl's cheek grew paler and paler, her eyes more dim and her step slower. And yet nei- ther her father nor Miss Cameron remarked it, nor noticed scarcely at all that her appetite failed. But soon they saw plainly enough that her intel- lect was not as clear as usual. She gave incohe' rent answers to their questions, and avoided speak- ing if possible. Roused to this fact, the unhappy old man remembered that insanity had been in her mother's family for generations. THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. 257 He rose one morning to the terrible knowledge that his child was gone. All that the strictest search could do, was done, but in vain. Nothing was heard of her, and the minister settled down to a dreary sense of desolation, that was only borne at all because Christian submission was given him. Years afterwards, an aged man, with long, sil. very hair, dressed in mourning, yet with a faded scarf about his waist, sat down by a garden railing, where some children were at play. One of these children was a little girl, who afterwards when grown up, traced with a powerful pen,* the roe mance of history lingering about two of the " im- mortal names that were not born to die," William Wallace, and that other hero, whose brave heart, the Douglas threw into the battle-field, to animate the flagging courage of the troops-Robert Bruce. The evident weakness of the poor gentleman touched the heart of the little girl, who tenderly enticed him into her mother's house. The lady was a widow-made so by the war of 1745. Once-within the house, his whole attention was absorbed in a military sketch of the position of the two armies at Minden, over which hung the sword of the lady's dead husband. Mournfully * Jane Porter, author of "The Scottish Chiefs," page: 258-259[View Page 258-259]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 258-259 258 THE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. he remarked, that he, too, had been a soldier in his youth. "I, too, fought and fell In the year forty- five, I received a wound worse than death; I shall never recover from it! Kind lady, I told your children I was unfit for any shelter but the wide heavens; yet my wound harms no one but myself." On urging him to come back, he said, "I can- not -I ought never to have come back anywhere. Sin should always be an outcast!" "Nay, sir," said the lady, "the followers of Prince Charles were unfortunate- might be mis- taken; but their fidelity could never be a sin!" He became paler and more wild-looking while she spoke, and hastily left the house, leaving the lady and her children in tears at his evident distress. A few evenings afterwards, the same person, in crossing the Canongate towards Holyrood -House, slipped on a stone and fell. A cart passed over him at the same moment, and he was taken up insensible and carried to the infirmary. An old jacobite sergeant present, recognized Prince Charles' colors in the faded scarf- colors worn only by himself, and distinct from the common royal tartan. The sufferer was consigned to surgical care, the broken limbs were set, and the discovery TIE SCARF OF PRINCE CHARLES. 259 made that it was a woman who claimed the pity and respectful sympathy of the attendants. Death seemed very near to the frail, suffering being, and she was told so. She would give no name, but told them to send to Glenburne manse for those who would give her a Christian burial. The next day they came - the venerable min. ister of Glenburne, and his sister - both tottering with the weight of years and sorrow. No ques- tions were asked them- no explanations made; but the poor creature whose sufferings were over, was dressed in a white shroud by the hands of the aged woman, and the scarf of Prince Charles, which she had worn ever since he folded it around her, was wrapped about the still beautiful clay. In the language of the writer above named, " it had been the cherished covering of her too faith- ful, though penitent, and; often distracted heart. Knowing this, the Christian hand which spread it there in death, felt, that He who said, I will have mercy and not sacrifice,' and whose redeem- ing goodness had sealed the pardon of so true a Magdalen, would not count as a sin this last act of sympathy with the melancholy tenderness of a fond woman's heart." So let womanly charity hallow the lonely grave beneath the oak tree at Glenburne, where the fair, young maiden used to sit, with golden locks page: 260-261[View Page 260-261]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 260-261 260 THE SCARE OF PRINCE CHARLES. falling upon the pages before her. And let womanly charity, too, blot out the memory of her one fault, and cling only to the remembrance of her temptation and sufferings. Thus let us think of Jeannie Cameron. AN HISTORICAL TALE. THE morning sun had not yet risen. The mists still lay upon the three hills, and the fog rested upon the waters of Boston harbor, hiding all its beautiful islands from view. As it gently began to clear away, the white sails of a ship were seen quite near the land; and just as the sun began to gild the hill-tops, she lay at anchor, her sails down and her deck thronged with busy sailors, who were getting out boats, in order that the eager passen- gers might come on shore. It was the 11th of June, 1655; The ship proved to be the Swallow, from England, but last from Barbadoes. She was a Boston vessel, and comu- manded by Captain Simon Kempthorn, of Charles. town. There were English passengers on beard, and some of them were impatient to be the first in the boats. There were glad and joyful meetings on the wharf; parents and children, husbands and 22 page: 262-263[View Page 262-263]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 262-263 262 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. wives, brothers and sisters. Amid the happy tears and animated exclamations of delight, two of the passengers, who had lingered on board until the boat returned for the last time, were unno. ticed. No one awaited their arrival; and no dem- onstration was made when they took their quiet station on the wharf. They were two young girls, their pure and un- sullied complexions denoting, even after a sea voy- age from a West Indian clime, the remarkable qualities of a beauty that the sun and wind could not spoil. They were dressed in the Quaker garb; and their garments were of a delicacy and purity that denied all contact with the sea stains so plen. tiful in the dresses of the other passengers. The pale drab silks were spotless and ifnmaculate, the white lawn handkerchiefs were folded smoothly over the bosom, and the quaint, flat bonnets deep. ly shaded the beautiful faces. There they stood--no one asking them if they needed help or protection, until the captain's son, a bright handsome youth, who had stepped ashore to see his mother and little brother, as they came down to the wharf in a carriage, returned to see what had become of the two unattended Quaker girls. All the voyage, they had been a wonder and an admiration to the young sailor. Never had he before encountered such beauty and such sim. plicity combined; and Abel Kempthorn tho6ght HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. 263 he should never be able to stand the sight of gay and flaunting colors in a lady's garments again. All his attentions on the voyage had been devot ed to the two, in preference to other passengers; and in the quiet evening watches, he delighted in finding them on deck-gazing at the stars, or watching the white track left by the ship beneath the moonlight. Shy and timid as they were, they seemed perfectly at ease with Abel, while they shrunk painfully from being noticed by others. And during the long voyage from England, and the tedious stayr at Barbadoes, none but the cap- tain and his son had been addressed by the soft voices which made " thee" and "thou" seem the most delightful words in the language. But notwithstanding that the young sailor made no difference in his manner towards them, there was still a decided preference of one over the other. While he reverenced Mary Fisher, he positively loved Hope Clifton. From the moment when he saw the two delicate Quaker girls step into his father's vessel (of which, by the way, he was chief mate,) his heart went out to the younger with a love as ardent as it was hopeless. For that she-a crea- ture so etherealized, so free from the taint of com- mon mortals, so apparently fit for the society only of angels--should ever return the love of a blunt sailor like himself, was almost beyond belief. Such small service, therefore, as he could render to this page: 264-265[View Page 264-265]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 264-265 264 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. angelic being, he would be proud and most happy to show. But, in her presence, he felt that lie must utter no word of that spontaneous affection that would have flowed out into words to an ordi- nary mortal. Partly, the young man had divined the mission of Mary Fisher to the shores of America. He had no doubt that it was to spread the tenets of her peculiar faith. No other object could have brought an unprotected girl to an unknown coun- try presenting no inducement to travellers of her sex, and boasting, as yet, of no beauty save that of grand natural scenery. Of Hope Clifton's object, he was not quite so sure. She evidently loved and reverenced Mary Fisher, and he sometimes thought that Hope might be under some great obligation to her, that she clung so closely to her. Beautiful, indeed, was the love which the two girls manifested for each other. Without an iota of expressed affection-- without the fond clinging of twining arms and ca- ressing lips - one might see that the love was as beautiful, as sincere and as tender, as that which breaks out into words and kisses. As they stood there together, Abel Kempthorn hastened back, fresh from his mother's welcome. With a perception born of his love, he had been all along convinced that the Quakers had no friends awaiting them - no place to go to in the strange HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. 265 town they were entering; and he had whispered in his mother's ears an earnest request that she would allow him to take them home. The glad wife and mother, with all her happiness flowing in upon her soul at the return of her be- loved ones, could not refuse her son's first request -although, if truth must be told, she would rath- er have granted any favor than to admit strangers, while overflowing with joy at the presence of her husband and son. But Abel had always been a privileged child, and she would not contradict him now; and she alighted from the carriage and fol- lowed her son, enforcing his invitation and urging them to ride home with her. Captain Kempthorn had already invited them,'so it was decided at once. Mrs. Kempthorn was a kind and motherly wo- man, and the friendless girls at first attracted her strongest sympathy. She soon found, however, that Mary Fisher had a spirit that. could sustain it- self alone. She had come as a missionary, and her missionary spirit feared neither hardships, priva- tions, nor enemies. She brought out the books of her faith, and distributed them broadcast in the town of Boston, to which her steps were every morning directed. Mary resolutely refused to stay with the Kemp- thorns, without remunerating them for the home they had provided her and her friend. Abel's eyes 22* page: 266-267[View Page 266-267]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 266-267 266 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. told how much he wished them to stay, and by this time Hope Clifton knew that the youth was more to her than any other being had ever been. Mary complained to Hope that she was remiss in many of the duties; but Mary did not read the solution of Hope's carelessness for a long time. When she did, it was with an outhreak of distress that, from one so habitually calm as Mary Fisher, seemed like drawing water from the rock. "Thee knows not what thee is doing," she said, when her emotion would let her speak. "Thee is preparing a- great gulf between thee and thy friends. The youth is well enough and hath treat- ed us kindly; but thee must remember, Hope, what my father said to thee' about strange gods. And truly, now I think of it, thee has a way lately of pushing thy bonnet off thy face, which is un- seemly." "Nay, Mary, thee seest that which is not. The air is warm, and I am constrained to let my cheeks cool, if possible. They are burning even now." And Hope looked the personification of her words-for close to the open window, Abel stood in the little flower-garden and heard all they had said. Turning to hide her blushes, Hope caught sight of him. True, his name had not been men- tioned; but enough had dropped to tell him who was meant, and from this moment, the young sailor knew that thenceforth his soul and that of Hope Clifton would be one and indivisible. HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. 267 A thrill of joy ran through him at the thought; but it was checked by the reflection that his family would be grieved, and public opinion offended, at his choosing a wife from a people proscribed by the Puritan prejudices of the day. He walked more slowly down the gravel path, and his heart bounded less lightly. And yet what had he to do with public opinion? His father and mother had sheltered and loved the unprotected girls; and although no questions were asked, and no motive or object explained by Mary Fisher, still Abel knew they must be aware of the work she was perform- ing in Boston. He leaned over the gate in a reflective mood, unheeding any one who passed, until he was struck lightly on the shoulder, and his name spoken by a familiar voice. "Asleep, Abel?" said the cheery tones of a neighbor. Are you thinking how to dispose of your contraband goods, in the house yonder, that you look so sober?" "Contraband goods, Mr. Stillman? What do you mean, sir?" asked Abel, fiercely. "O, don't flare up so, Abel I don't mean coffee or sugar, but the pieces of drab satin which your father has smuggled from England, and on which, it seems he has got heavy duties to pay--or, rather, to forfeit them altogether to the king's custom house officers." page: 268-269[View Page 268-269]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 268-269 268 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. ' Still in the dark," said Abel, now beginning to think that Mr. Stillman was forcing a joke at his expense. "We brought no goods from Eng. land whatever. Our cargo twas altogether from Barbadoes, and you may be sure, sir," he added, a little proudly, "that every pound of it was entered. My father scorns the mean ways many of the captains take of evading the duties." "Bless the boy-can't you understand? The silks I am talking of had live people in them. I mean the pretty Quakers. Your father ran some risk there, Abel." "How, sir?" asked the young sailor, his face crimsoning as he spoke. "Don't you know that a penalty has been laid of a hundred pounds on every person who brings a Quaker to the colonies, and forty shillings an hour on any one harboring them?" "How long has this been?" "(0, not long I I guess the captain will get clear of the first - the order not having passed when he sailed; but he is amenable to the second. So I advise you to look out." Mr. Stillman passed on, leaving Abel in a whirl of confusion at what he had heard. He knew that his father was a great stickler for obedience to the laws; but whether he would, in his devo- tion to them, abandon two helpless girls to the enmity which evidently awaited them, he could not tell. HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. 269 He had no time to solve the problem; for, as he turned back to the house, he met Mary Fisher just going out on her missionary tour to the neighboring town. Before he had time to greet her, he heard footsteps at the gate; and two or three men approached, one of whom laid his large, coarse hand on Mary's shoulder, and said: "Young woman, you are my prisoner." The delicate shoulder shrank from the rude contact, and the mild eyes almost flashed. The young sailor gave the man a blow that prostrated him at once to the ground. "Touch her, if you dare!" said Abel, as the man scrambled up and followed Mary, who had gone towards the house, with the mark of a soiled hand visible on the otherwise spotless white handkerchief. "Touch her, if you dare! Who are you, that come hither to insult women?" The man exhibited his credentials. -'I don't blame you much, Mr. Kempthorn,'" he said, quite humbly, ' for I should have done as much myself to defend a woman. I did wrong not to show you this paper first. You see that she must go with me, and the other one, too." Abel started back, as if a knife had been thrust at his heart. She, too! It was too bitter, but there was no evading it; and while one of the men guarded Mary, the other accompanied Abel to the house to find Hope Clifton. page: 270-271[View Page 270-271]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 270-271 270 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. His heart failed him, when he saw her sitting so quietly in the shaded room, reading one of the books such as Mary had been distributing. There was no one else in the house. Captain Kemp. thorn and his wife had gone out to ride, and the men would admit of no delay. Hope was startled and frightened; and as the man stretched out his hand to her shoulder, she forgot her maidenly reserve, and clung closely to Abel, with pale cheeks, and lips from which the roses had fled. "Touch her not I she is fainting," said Abel. "Nay, do not! I will be answerable, my friend," he continued, condescending even to plead with the man, to spare her from such contact. She did faint, and it was sometime before she revived. When she did so, the men declared they could lose no more time, and they suffered their two prisoners to follow them down to the gate without laying hands upon them. Near the gate, two square-topped chaises were awaiting them. Abel sprang in after Hope, as soon as he bad lifted her to the seat. "Stop! Mr. Kempthorn, that will not do," said the man who was to drive. "Get in, sir!" answered Abel. "I shall not leave this fainting woman. I will account for it to your employers." And placing himself next the man, he held Hope firmly on the other side, during the whole ride to Boston. HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. 271 There was a trial--a burning of Quaker books in the market-place -and then the two delicate women were put in prison. It is unnecessary to say that Abel Kempthorn and his father kept alternate guard, night and day, at the prison door. A few interviews had been obtained, by bribing the jailor, and Abel had, in one of them, received Hope Clifton's promise to be his own. Eleven weeks passed in this way, before a sen. tence was pronounced upon the young Quakers. Men had talked of dreadful things that were to be enacted. Some said that nothing less than a public execution, on the Common, would prevent further efforts of the English Quakers to gain ground in the colonies. Abel sometimes heard these whispers; but the heart of the generous young sailor refused to believe it. Where could a man be found that would lay hands on the two fair young girls, to drag them to such a death? He had more faith and trust in human nature, than to credit it; and if, indeed, human nature might deceive his faith, he felt sure that God would not permit such an outrage. In those eleven weeks, the alteration in Abel's appearance was most frightful. Constant watch. ing -save when relieved by his father, whom he would not permit to stay long-want of food, and anxiety, had all wrought their work upon his strong and youthful frame, and open, manly page: 272-273[View Page 272-273]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 272-273 272 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. countenance. He was thin and pale as a shadow, and ax the time approached for the final sentence, his %health was nearly giving way beneath his anxiety. The day came. The youth and beauty of the prisoners indisputably softened their judges; and the sentence was only banishment, instead of a more fearful one. They were to be carried away in the first vessel that should sail from the port of Boston-should not be allowed to speak to any one on the voyage--and should be delivered up to the proper authorities on their landing. From this moment, Abel began to form plans for rescuing Hope, many of which were rejected, be. cause of their hopelessness. It was no use for him to plan for Mary. Her schemes were-already formed, and, from the strength of: her character, he did not doubt their fulfilment. Disappointed of her object in America, she resolved, immediately on reaching England, to embark for Constantinople, and carry her principles into the domains of the Grand Vizier. A poor orphan girl, whom Mrs. Kempthorn had rescued from want, had been the attendant on the young Quakers since they had been domesticated in her house, and had become greatly attached to them. All the time they had lain in prison, this girl, Reb ecca, had been -mourning sadly. In one of her weeping moments, Abel, who had come HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. 273 home for a short time, while his father watched for him, said suddenly, after surveying her earnestly. "Rebecca, how would you like to go to England with Mary Fisher?" The girl dried her tears. "Only for leaving your mother, Abel, I would be very glad to go." "Then, if you wish, I will see that you have the opportunity. But do not name it to a single per- son, or you will injure Mary." This was enough to seal the girl's lips. Mrs. Kempthorn was very busy for a week or two, after this, in fitting Rebecca with new clothes. All was done in a private room, so as not to excite remark from curious neighbors. The crowning feat was to make several quiet-looking suits of drab, in the Quaker mode. When all was done, she was dress- ed completely, and Abel and his father called in to see the effect. "Capital?" exclaimed the captain. "Even that prying jailor would never discover the difference. Exactly Hope Clifton's height! and so covered up, that she might well pass for her." i Abel's eyes were not so well deceived. He feared a discovery; for, lover-like, he could not believe that any one could perfectly resemble Hope Clifton. To any other, Rebecca, in her simple garb with her quiet motions and statuesque figure, might have well passed for the beautiful Quaker. The time came. All night, Mary Fisher had 23 page: 274-275[View Page 274-275]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 274-275 274 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. been setting forth to Hope the fatal error into which she deemed she was falling. She had mourned over her, even with tears. Hope's only answer was a confession that she loved Abel Kempthorn. "And for this love, thee is willing to separate from our people forever?" Hope paused, before she answered. Her lips were pale, but after a moment, in which she seem, ed to concentrate all her powers, she said, in a low but firm voice: "Yea, I am willing to give up all for him. Will thee hinder it, Mary Fisher? Will thee betray me to these men and take me away with thee, when I have no heart to help thee in the work thee loves so well?" I' Nay, Hope, if it is in thy heart to do wrong, thee cannot be more guilty than thou art already." Hope knelt at her feet. The constraint of an education, like hers, forbade her to utter all the passionate words that rose to her lips; but she overran the bounds of the permitted language, enough for Mary to know that further expostula- tion was vain. She turned away from her more in sorrow than in anger, and the tears flowed without restraint from eyes in which such emotion had long been quenched, 1 The jailor entered to say that Captain Kemp- thorn's family had arrived, and wished to take HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. 275 leave of them. They were admitted at once; for early as it was, Mary and Hope were up, and had dressed long before dawn. It was still in the early light of morning. The interview lasted but a short time. There was the sound of, weeping, and they all came forth with bended heads, and handker- chiefs pressed to their eyes. A glance into the room showed the jailor that both of his prisoners were there, although the youngest had her face turned away from him. A moment more, and the carriage was on its way to Charlestown. And Hope Clifton, dressed in the garments worn that morning by Rebecca, was weeping out her glad and joyous yet half repent. ant tears, upon the faithful heart to which she was closely held. Hope never resumed her Quaker garb again; but although her garments were cut in the world's fashion, they were as beautifully neat and modest as ever. It was harder to drop the "yea" and "nay;" but after a while, they were forgotten. When she became Abel's wife, it was with the promise that she should accompany him in all his voyages, for he was now to be commander in place of his father, who was going to retire. On one of their voyages to Smyrna, they heard of Mary Fisher. She had, on her return to Eng- land, embarked, as soon as possible, for Constanti- nople. The Grand Vizier lay encamped, with a page: 276-277[View Page 276-277]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 276-277 276 HOPE CLIFTON, THE QUAKER. great army, near Adrianople. She had been to Smyrna first, and the English Ambassador had sent her. back to Venice. Undismayed by difficulties, she had proceeded by land, by the coast of the Morea, six hundred miles, and arrived at Adriano- ple. Here she was allowed an audience with the Grand Vizier, to whom she sent a message, and was treated with great respect. She wrote to Hope that she went back " without hurt-or scoff" from a people who, though Mahometans, had treat- ed her better than she had been treated in Ameri- ca-gratefully excepting the Kempthorns. She still mourned Hope's falling away from faith; but it was evident, from the tone of her letter, that she still loved her with a sister's love. i "RUN, Miriam, run, they are coming for you I Why, child, are you mad? They will be upon you in a moment 1" "But where shall I run, aunty? There is not a door that I can get out from the back part of the house, and if I go in front they will be sure to see me." "O, run, for heaven's sake I Here, here,e," as a sudden thought struck the speaker, "open the oven door and I will push you in. There, thank God, the girl is safe at last!"And the woman placed her large spinning-wheel before the oven, and began taking up her rolls of white, shining wool, and placing them on the spindle. Another frightened-looking woman appeared at the door, and uttered an exclamation of thankful- ness'when she saw how the other was employed. "Miriam is safe, I know," said she, smiling. "What an awful judgment it would have been, if 23* page: 278-279[View Page 278-279]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 278-279 278 THE INSURRECTION. that poor child had suffered for my folly and yours, Lucy!" "Awful, indeed! I tremble so that I can hardly hold my bobbin. Do you suppose it is true' that the negroes have risen?" "I s'pose 'tis true that the niggers has riz, Miss Cotton," said a little, thin, cracked voice at the door. Lucy Cotton started and turned pale. "What have you heard about it, Israel?" The person to whom the squeaking voice belong- ed now came forward and stood within the broad kitchen. He was a man whose age no one knew; and no one, by looking at him, could rightly guess. It might range anywhere from forty to sixty, or even upwards. His face was wrinkled and puck- ered, so that not an inch of the skin remained smooth. One solitary tooth was standing sentinel over the thin and withered lips. He was of low stature, with arms of a most disproportionate length; and hands, long and thin, hung motionless by his side, and were working convulsively all the time. The only evidence of youth about him was his black and shining hair, the curls of which hung down over his shoulders. "I hearn tell that every nigger on Cape Ann had riz and was armed. Colonel Low's brother rid by here half an hour ago, and said as how there was a resurrection of 'em. Granny Millett reads in her THE INSURRECTION, 279 Bible about the resurrection. Do you think it's the same, Miss Cotton?" "No, Israel, but it terrifies me more, because it is a present evil. Do, pray, go down to Colonel Low's and see what he thinks; or, stay, ask Nehe- miah-he will tell you all about it." "Me, Miss Cotton? I wouldn't go down where the colonel's niggers are for all his money. Why, they'd pull me to tatters. I can't stand up agin them strong creatures, you know I can't." Mrs. Cotton replied kindly to the i poor fellbw and said she would be sorry to have harm happen to him, and that he need not go. "But where's Miriam, Miss Cotton? I haint seen her to-day." "O, she will be here soon," said Lucy. ' She is safe enough." "Yes, yes, she shall allus be safe. She is a beauty, she is." "Will you have some bread and milk, Israel?" asked Lucy, anxious to turn the conversation from Miriam. "Yes, and thank ye, too," answered the man; whereupon a large bowl of the same was set before him on the table, and his remembrance of the girl seemed presently lost in the perfect enjoyment of eating. The above scene took place in the north village of Gloucester, on the 17th of June, 1775. Every page: 280-281[View Page 280-281]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 280-281 280 THE- INSURRECTION. man capable of doing duty as a soldier had been ordered down to the southern village, to be in readiness to march for Charlestown in a moment's warning. Women, children, and the few slaves who were still retained in families, were the only occupants of the village. A rumor had spread that morning that there was an insurrection of the negroes in all the neighboring towns, and that a party of them had landed at Squam, a few miles off, in order to rescue their brethren and sisters of Gloucester. While some believed the report, others ridiculed the idea as improbable if not impossible. Among the latter was Lucy Cotton, the wife of one of the minute men who had been called out to await the order for active service. She had called in her most intimate friend and neighbor, Ruth Blynman, whose husband was in the same platoon as Lucy's; and notwithstanding the deep anxiety which every one experienced, the two married children - for they were scarcely more than that -had laid their heads together to frighten some of their weaker neighbors. Miriam Cotton was the niece of Lucy's husband - an orphan with no other home than that which the young couple had kindly given her. Israel had said only the truth when he called her a beau- ty. She was just turned of fifteen, and few were the hearts that had not owned the attractions of THE INSURRECTION, 281 her person and manners. It is no use to describe Miriam, for hers was that rare and changeful beau. ty, which puts on so many different aspects that a, bird on the wing could as easily be described as she. Gay and thoughtless, she had eagerly fallen in with the scheme of her youthful aunt and Mrs. Blynman, and suffered them to blacken her beauti- ful face, and dress her in a suit of boy's clothes, which had belonged to Lucy's brother, now ab- sent. In this guise they had sent the girl out, to give the story of the insurrection a color, and to induce the Somen to muster on the green before the meeting-house, to defend themselves in their fancied danger. The first woman who had caught sight of her had flown down with. the speed of a deer, from the summit of Fox Hill, frolm whence she had descried her; and never doubting for a moment that the re- port was true, she had soon collected a crowd of female soldiers, bearing any implement of defence which they could lay hold of easily. A motley crew they were. Most of them were dressed in woolen petticoats of dark blue or red cloth, then known as durant, and resembling the moreen now worn. A short gown, something like the basquine of the present day, and a long blue checked apron completed the costume. Not a few of them carried brooms in their hands, and this, with the parti-colored dress, and their hair stream. page: 282-283[View Page 282-283]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 282-283 282 THE INSURRECTION. ing loosely to the breeze, guiltless of comb or bodkin, made them look like veritable witches. All this Lucy Cotton could plainly see from her window, and she and Ruth were in perfect ecsta- sies at the sight. But Miriam, whom they had ex- pressly charged to run immediately home again, was nowhere to be seen, and Lucy began to grow anxious. Her anxiety rose almost to distraction when Nehemiah Low rode by on his horse, with a huge pitchfork in his hand, declaring that he would pin the first negro whom he met to the ground with it. Lucy trembled, for in spite of Miriam's surpassing beauty, any person would have mistaken her for a colored boy. She knew that her husband would never forgive her, if, through her means, any harm should happen to his niece; and, indeed, the girl was as dear to herself as a younger sister could have been. How she deplor- ed her folly in exposing that precious life for a silly frolic, and how fervently did she resolve never again to indulge in a practical joke upon any person. How witless it all seemed to her now; how heartless, too, when how did she know that poor James had not already begun his march to the battle-field; for although no one expected that the men would be called thither, still there was a possibility; and from that possibility, what fearful probabilities, what dreadful realities might result, even to her, the bride of only a few short THE INSURRECTION. 283 months I Lucy covered her face and wept. But the women of that day had strong and brave hearts, and it was only for a few brief moments that she thus indulged in her womanish weakness. She put on her large calash, drew it by the bridle close around her face, and went to seek Miriam, while Ruth Blynman took another path. Crouching behind a large rock, to hide from the din and confusion going on in the village, she saw Miriam, with her large, wild eyes looking upward from her blackened face with an expression of fear and anxiety. She soothed and caressed the fright. ened girl, and having brought her to some degree of calmness, she succeeded in covering the boy's attire, with some others more adapted to her sex, which she had brought in a bundle under her arm; and enclosing the tearful face in the deep calash then worn so much, she led her trembling steps homeward, dreading to meet any one on their way. Passing over the hill, where there was only a narrow bridle-path, they heard, to their dismay, the sound of a horse's feet. On it came, nearer and nearer, and their hearts beat still louder, as they saw the tall figure of Nehemiah Low, mount- ed on a stout cart-horse, still holding the pitchfork, and uttering fearful imprecations, mixed with texts of Scripture, which, although not exactly bearing upon the case, he poured forth indiscriminately, as they occurred to his mind. Lucy tried to avoid page: 284-285[View Page 284-285]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 284-285 284 THE IN'SURRECTION. him, but it was of no use. She therefore planted herself directly before Miriam, and stood aside to let him pass. "Who have you -got there, Mrs. Cotton?" he asked, in excited tones. "My little niece, Mr. Low. We are in great haste -let us pass, if you please." Miriam pulled the deep calash over her throb- bing brow, and the man still excited and talking, rode on. A few steps brought them to the house, and when they entered the door, a shout, long and loud reached their ears, and Lucy, half distracted now, besought Miriam to run from the house, under the apprehension that Nehemiah had return- ed, with others who had seen her and suspected that she had one of the slaves disguised as Miriam. Her trembling limbs could scarcely support her as she stood at her wheel; and she longed to have Israel finish his bread and milk and go away, that she might speak to the poor girl. She was thank ful when Ruth Blynman's re-appearance sent Israel off-for the unfortunate man had very strong lik- ings and dislikings, and Mrs. Blvnman was not on his list of likings, while he perfectly adored Mrs. Cotton and Miriam. Israel Gage was a poor, bhalf-demented creature, who lived with an old woman whom he called "' Granny Millett," in a lone house, almost out of THE INSURRECTION, 285 sight of all others. Apparently, he had no other relative; but he was generally happy and content- ed with her, and seemed glad to return to her when his wild wanderings had taxed his strength too hardly. Harmless enough in his partial insan- ity, he was allowed to enter every house in the village, and no one refused him the meal which he seemed naturally to expect from their hands. Keenly alive to ridicule, however, some of the vil-. lagers had offended him deeply by laughing at his queer ways of talking; and Mrs. Blynman, who was full of innocent and unthinking frolic, had thus offended him. Israel was constant in his attend- ance at church, where his grotesque appearance in the gallery, sometimes proved too much for the risibles of a set of rude boys who occupied the free seats. On one of these occasions, the minister stopped short in his' preaching, and rebuked the boys severely for laughing. Israel rose in the gal. lery, and in a familiar tone, as if they were equally concerned in chiding the offenders, called out, to the surprise and consternation of all the congrega- tion, "You mind your sarmint, Parson Forbes - I 'll keep the boys still I " Surprise kept the good old minister quiet for a moment, when Israel began to take handfulls of green apples from his pocket, which he threw, right and left, at the boys, hitting one upon the head and another in the throat, and the apples 24 page: 286-287[View Page 286-287]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 286-287 286 THE INSURRECTION. rolling along the sounding galleries. In the midst of the excitement, Israel caught sight of Ruth Blynman's face, perfectly convulsed with laughter, and he never forgot to resent it as a deep insult. Thenceforth he treated her with a dignified con. tempt which was rare to see. Never was his nasal draw] more conspicuous than when in her presence; and his sayings before her were absolutely caustic --" sarching," Israel said. Somehow, Israel seemed to divine, on this after- noon, that his company was not desired; and with an obstinacy peculiar to himself, he seemed deter- mined to stay. Lucy was in agonies. She hardly dared to trust him with the secret of Miriam's im- prisonment, for he was very apt to let out all secrets to any one who questioned him while in his fits of abstraction; and she did not wish the little damsel to be annoyed by remarks. But as the day wore on, she became sensible that with all the air she could let into the oven, there must be a stifling sensation very hard to bear. Trembling lest some other person should come in, she at last confided in Israel, and"told him the whole story. His queer, puckered face assumned a still queerer expression, mixed with real anxiety, when he learned where his favorite was concealed. Rush. ing to the chimney, he exclaimed, in piteous tones, "Come forth, Miriam I No one shall hurt you, beauty!" THE INSURRECTION. 287 The poor girl, who had lain down upon the brick floor of the oven, now put out her hand im- ploringly, and when at length her blackened face appeared, Israel stamped, wept and laughed by turns. Mrs. Cotton hastily poured some vinegar, with which she washed the little maiden's face and hands, and then sat her down to some refreshment. Israel watched her, sat close to her side, kept a look-out lest somebody should approach before she was completely renovated; and displaying his skinny lips, and their sentinel tooth, in the broad cavern of his capacious mouth, he kept peering into her half-sad, half-laughing eyes. They had sat there for an hour--Miriam recounting her fears in going into the village, and the terror of the in. habitants as they looked out of their doors and saw the " strange nigger," who they thought be- longed to the party just landed at Squam. The day wore on, and the broad June sun light ed up the whole town, at setting, like a blaze of glory. The thick orchard blooms came upon the air like a stream of " rich distilled perfume ;" while every green lane and sheltered corpse sent forth its violet scents, to give a grateful fragrance to the hour. Nehemiah Low was pacing the meeting-house green, with his pitchfork still in his hand, and still quoting scripture, with an occasional lapse from the sacred words into something like a profane and page: 288-289[View Page 288-289]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 288-289 288 THE INSURRECTION. worldly meaning. The women, recovered from their false alarm about the inegroes, were gathered in small groups over the green, awaiting the news from their husbands, fathers and brothers. Far up on the rocky summit of Fox' Hill, the reputed witch, Tammy Cornish, was uttering loud invec- tives upon the young urchins who were disturbing her flock of geese in the little pond below, when forth came the withered figure of poor Israel, and, forgetting his promise of secrecy--forgetting all but the main fact resting upon his disturbed mind, he told of Miriam's strange disguise of that morning. The news spread like wild fire; and be. fore an hour had elapsed, every negro in the whole town knew that Miriam Cotton had personated one of their despised color. The next day was the Sabbath; and as Miriam, who never missed the services, took her seat by one of the pillars of the gallery, one after another of those who thought themselves aggrieved by her personation, amused themselves and gratified their malice by throwing bits of orange peel and flower leaves--not exactly in the way a new prima donna is now greeted, but spitefully, and accompanied by sundry demonstrations through their closed teeth, not very ornamental to Miriam's pretty straw bonnet and pink ribbons. The next day and the next went by, and before the news arrived from Bunker's Hill, the body of THE INSURRECTION. 289 Israel Gage was borne on the shoulders of men, and deposited in the gray old burying-place. Some said that the unfortunate man died from love of Miriam Cotton; and it was currently reported that a lock of Israel's shining hair was bequeathed to the fair girl. Be that as it may, she was often seen at his grave, and the violets of spring were planted there by her hand. Granny Millett continued to read aloud of the resurrection, in which she hoped to meet the ob- ject of her tenderest care on earth. Requiescat in pace I 24* page: 290-291[View Page 290-291]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 290-291 Ch ntU tears a t %o1r of bain. THE soft light of an August moon shed beauty and splendor over the grounds belonging to a picturesque little farm in the suburbs of Edinburgh. The tall trees went whispering together, as the breeze stirred their tops, and caught the silvery radiance on their shining leaves. By the door of the farm-house sat its owner, Alexander Adamson; and his wife, a fine, hand- some woman, past middle age, but retaining much of her youthful beauty, occupied a seat upon the steps. I have said that Mr. Adamson was the owner of the little farm. I do not mean that he was a farmer by occupation. His work was performed by a sub- stitute-for himself, he was a learned man, and had occupied a professor's chair in the college of Perth, and, subsequently, of that of Edinburgh. Sometimes he received into his family a few boys, or young men, who were unwilling to herd with TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 291 the common people; but, for the last two or three years, only the sons of the murdered William Ruthven, Earl of Gowrie; the countess, their mother, making it a special request that her sons should have no other associates out of the college hours. William and Patrick Ruthven were now respec tively seventeen and fifteen years old; the oldest, a bold, manly youth, full of animal life and spirits, and leading his more timid and sedate brother into all sorts of awkward scrapes. Wild and untamed as the eagle, he would scarcely bend to the au-. thority of his mother, and certainly not to that of his two elder brothers, John and Alexander, the former of whom was the future Lord Gowrie. Still, to Mr. Adamson he showed a decent respect, and towards Mrs. Adamson and the little Lilias, their only child, who was just Patrick's age, he manifested a strong affection. Patrick Ruthven was born on the same day with Lilias--the day succeeding that on which Lord Gowrie perished on the block. Perhaps this circumstance might have tinged the boy's charac. ter with that shade of melancholy which seemed to belong to it. He was gentle and tender as a woman, and his large, mournful eyes seemed ever to be asking for. love and f'orbearance. For Lilias his affection, though quiet and timid, was well understood by one of her womanly tact page: 292-293[View Page 292-293]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 292-293 292 TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. and quick perception. She was stronger, as a woman, than he would ever be as a man; but this did not hinder the full, free out-springing of her affection for him. She did not expect to be thought fit to become the wife of a Ruthven, but, child-like, she would not see the danger of loving him. And, amid this moonlight scene, in the old re. cessed window of' the farm-house, she was at that moment sitting with Patrick Ruthven's small and delicate hand, white and soft as a lady's, twining in her brown curls the long pendants of purple jas- mine that grew about the windows at Evandale. True their talk was mostly of their studies-for Mr. Adamson -was as strict in requiring Lilias to learn, as if she were at the college, and, in many studies, she already surpassed both the youths-- but there was a tenderness in the manner of both that betrayed that they were loving each other with the first sweet breath of that passion which, deride it as we may, comes once to every heart. But even the presence of the beloved little Lilias could not prevent Patrick from worrying about William. The gentle boy loved his brother with an almost adoring love, and was never happy un- less he knew precisely where he was. William had gone away early after dinner, with his gun, and Patrick, always afraid of fire-arms, was anxious for his return. So, after many ineffectual attempts to TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 293 bear his absence quietly, he set off to find him in the wood, whither he knew he had gone. Lilias watched his retreating footsteps, her white arms leaning on the window-sil, and when he was no longer in sight, she fell asleep in the moon. light. When she awoke, the doors and windows were shut, her father and mother had disappeared, and she was sitting, face to face, with William Ruth- ven. "Where is Patrick?" she asked, with a troubled voice. "Patrick? Oh, I have not seen him." "Not seen him I What time is it?" "Past eleven." "Oh, William, William! come with me to the wood. Patrick has met with some accident, I know, or he would have been here long ago." "Why, Lily, what makes you think so?" "Because he went for you two hours since. Let us go." "Ah, you think much more of Patrick than of me, Lily; foolish Lily." "If we were not in such haste. I should ask you why you thought so." "But, Lilias, I am serious. I do not like to have you prefer to me a youth like Patrick-so stupid, so absent-minded and dull." "I For shame, William I! Say tender and gentle, instead of that, and you will do justice to Patrick." page: 294-295[View Page 294-295]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 294-295 294 TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. "No. I do not fancy such epithets for men. They should be courageous, brave, strong." By the time they had reached the wood, Lilias was obliged to sit down; and there, on a grassy bank the boy of Ruthven Castle laid his heart at the feet of the dominie's daughter, before she could stop the mighty flow of his words. "Now I must say again, William, that I am ashamed of you. You, an Earl's son, nay, an Earl's brother,--between whom and the peerage only two lives intervene, as I heard my father say the other day, to think of poor little Lilias Adamson for a wife!" "'What do you mean by two lives, Lilias?' said the boy, for a moment forgetting his earnest suit. "I asked father what it meant, and he said your eldest brother was now Earl of Gowrie, and that if he and your brother Alexander should die, you would be Earl." A shade came over the boy's face, and Lilias felt that she had been cruel to speak of his broth- ers' deaths, and tried to change the subject, but she had unconsciously wrought an ambition in William's heart that blossomed for a few brief hours, to be withered again by the very calamity half-prophesied by the innocent Lillias. She turned toward him with a look that told her sorrow, and besought him to call Patrick's TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 295 name. The call was instantly answered. Pat- rick, forgetful of the hour, had wandered far, and was just returning; and as they went back together, the moon went down behind the hill. No word was spoken save the usual good-night by William, but Patrick lingered to say a few low sentences that touched and thrilled through the loving heart of Lilias, like the echo of some far off music. The next morning was that of the sixth of Au. gust, 1600. The dominie's family were at break. fast, where Lilias sat beside her father, half nes- tled beneath his arm, in her vain attempts to shun the dark eyes of William Ruthven, and the soft, shadowy orbs of Patrick. A horseman rode furiously up to the door, and called for Mr. Adamson. There was a con- fused murmur of sounds, as if the speaker were nearly breathless, but "Gowrie " and "Ruthven " were the only words distinguishable. Mr. Adamson came back with a solemn look. Passing an arm around each of the boys, he told them, as tenderly as possible, what had taken place the day before, at Gowrie House, in Perth, and the tragic end of that ill fated conspiracy, so fatal to its projectors. The two lives between William Ruthven and the Earldom of Gowrie were already removed! John and Alexander Ruthven were slain in the page: 296-297[View Page 296-297]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 296-297 296 TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. presence of King James, while seeking to imprison him in Gowrie House. Struck dumb by the intelligence, the boys moved toward the door where the horseman was just dismounting, to enter the house. "Itis all true, my poor youths!" said the gen. tleman, "your mother's friend, Mr. Kennedy, who is now at court, desired me to come here and prepare you for instant flight. Already the Mas ter of Orkney and Sir James Sandilands are out with a party of horse, on their way hither." Meanwhile, Mr. Adamson was hastily collecting a few clothes for himself and the two boys, re. solving to accompany them in their flight. He exhorted his wife and Lilias to close up the house immediately after his departure with the Ruth- vens, and remove every appearance of its having recently been inhabited. From a neighboring house Mrs. Adamson and Lilias soon beheld the party approaching, and dis- tinctly heard the oaths which accompanied the first knowledge that the king's messengers had been foiled of their prey. "Motherl mother! do you believe they are safe?" asked Lilias, in a trembling voice. "Lilias, dear, be calm," said the mother; " trust your father for concealing the precious boys where the canniest of King James' followers could never detect them. No doubt, they are in safety." TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 297 Reassured by her mother's undoubting faith, Lilias watched for the departure of the horsemen. It was long before they had any tidings of tilhe fugitives; but a wandering beggar, to whom they one day gave food and drink, drew a paper from his ragged vestments, on which was written, in the dominie's own hand-"Berwick, England." A private chamber, communicating with the apartments of Anne of Denmark, was dimly lighted by a small wood fire, on the evening of the first of January, 1603. Here, in a whispered conversa. tion, the queen held communion with Beatrix Ruthven, the sister of the murdered Earl. The subject of their conversation was the propable fate of the two young brothers. William had borne the title of the Earl of Gowrie-for three months, at whichtime it was formally taken from him and the title declared extinct; and it was of him that the queen was speaking when she talked of " the young philosopher who was going abroad." For, in the two or three years that had passed since the fatal conspiracy, the two young men had studied at Cambridge, under concealed names. Their mother, the unfortunate Countess Ruthven, had not dared to visit them, for although her sons were unknown, she would have been only too easily recognized; but on this night, a faithful at. tendant had promised to. bring the brothers to see and bid farewell to. Beatrix. page: 298-299[View Page 298-299]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 298-299 298 TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. The sister was the well beloved attendant of the queen, and kept by her privately, in disregard of his Majesty's express command. It was past mid. night, when the brothers were admitted by a se. cret staircase to the chamber where Beatrix await. ed them. The queen delicately left them alone to take that lingering, tender farewell, which was only too likely to be the last. A thousand messages to the dear mother whom they now had no hope of seeing again on earth, a mingling of tears and ca. resses, the grief of the sister, William's forced calm. ness, and the long-continued and passionate emo- tion of Patrick, bore witness to the suffering em. bodied in that interview. The queen found her favorite in a dead faint after their noiseless depar. ture, and mingled her tears with those of the unhap. py sister when she had roused her. There had been whispers of a romantic fondness for Alexander Ruthven, on the part of Anne of Denmark. It was even supposed that the queel was privy to the conspiracy-that the king was to be kept prisoner, until he should abdicate in favor of Prince Henry, and appoint Anne to the regency. The only grounds of this belief in the queen's at- tachment, seemed to be the mere giving the youth a ribbon which the king had presented to Anne. Wandering in the garden at Falkland, James had discovered Alexander Ruthven asleep upon the TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 299 grass. On the breast of the youth, lay the end of a rich ribbon, which the king instantly recognized as his own gift, and, in a moment of rage, he ran off to the queen's dressing-room. Beatrix Ruthven was by, and saw and comprehended the whole. She snatched the offending ribbon from her brother's vest, and flew up the private staircase, reaching the queen's presence before James had begun to ascend the front one. With a frantic gesture, she threw the ribbon into a drawer, and charging the queen to be composed and to show it to the king calmly, and naturally, if he asked to see it, she dis. appeared. When the king passed the oriel win- dow, in the middle of the long gallery leading to Anne's apartments, he glanced out of the window to see if young Ruthven was still there. He had not moved, and near him walked the fleet-footed Beatrix, apparently as calm, and unmoved, as if she had not just made such an effort to save the honor of her brother and her queen, both of whom she knew were innocent of any wrong. When James entered his wife's apartment, with a wrathful and clouded face, he asked to see the ribbon which he had last given her. Anne's hands did not tremble when she presented it, carefully rolled on a block, as she had contrived to arrange it, in the moment before his entrance. The king looked at it with the greatest surprise, but returned it to her without speaking a word. page: 300-301[View Page 300-301]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 300-301 800 TWENTY YEARS IN TME TOWER OF LONDON. As he stumbled out of the room, however, Anne heard him say--"Deil take me, but like is an ill mark." It was no wonder that the queen loved Beatrix Ruthven; for whether her romantic attachment to Alexander were real or not, she was indebted to his sister for this fortunate escape from the terrible suspicions of James and his consequent wrath. To go back, however, to the two young brothers. That night William Ruthven was in the act of entering a boat which was to take him off to a foreign ship, in which he had secured a passage for himself and brother. They were intending to leave England forever. William had pained the gentle heart of Patrick, by avowing to him his own love for Lilias-for her, who through all his wanderings, concealments and trials, had shone upon his memory-the only serene star' that mis' 'fortune had not blotted out. And Patrick had been writing a letter to Lilias, in which every word was a heart-ache, resigning her love, if she wished to bestow it upon his brother; or, if she still held her fidelity to him, to correspond with him at some place which he named, on the Continent. He had given the letter to be transmitted to Lilias by a faithful friend, and was preparing to follow William into the boat, when a strong hand TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OP LONDON. 301 was laid upon him, and he found himself a prison. er. William, who had seen the whole without being recognized, escaped, but Patrick was taken immediately to the Tower. In this gloomy place, long years went on, and on, and still rolled over the blighted heart and fading youth of Patrick Ruthven. His gentleness and quiet demeanor-his acceptance of what was done for him, without complaint or a single ex- pression of a wish for more attention-the large, soft, mournful eyes that met the jailor's glance, when he entered the cell, all awoke his pity and interest. He spoke of him to his wife and children, and it was their delight to send him little presents of food of a better quality than was allowed the prisoner. One generation had grown up in the jailer's house, and had gone away, excepting the oldest son, who remained to succeed to his father's ofice, in the event of his death. Grand-children gather- ed around the table of the old couple, and still the now well-beloved prisoner remained. His gentle mood was unaltered, save for a dreamy, absent state, which the jailer sometimes feared would end in a disordered intellect. One day, in early spring, there came to the Tower, a woman, no longer young, but with a soft, delicate look, and a sweet, resigned expression, that spoke more of inward struggle than of a hard 25* page: 302-303[View Page 302-303]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 302-303 802 TWENTY YEA9I IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. or laborious life. She was dressed in a suit of plain grey, with a close muslin cap partly conceal ing hair that must once have been a soft brown, but which now seemed to have caught the hue of her clothes. It was streaked with the silvery gleam of premature old age. She came to apply for a situation to take charge of little children, having heard that such a person as herself was wanted in the family of the keeper. Her gentle manners and kindly face went far to recommend her, and they instantly engaged her. She came prepared to stay, and was instantly in. stalled in her office, as nursery maid and governess to little Charlie and Eva Callender. In less than a week, "Cousin Lily," as she had begged them all to call her, was too greatly be. loved to think of being parted with. She proved herself a blessing and a treasure to every one in the house, to the old as well as the young. Out of school hours, it seemed her delight to gather the children around the old grand-parents' knees, and, seating herself on a, low stool beside them, with her gentle face bent above her work, to listen to the old keeper's stories of the prisoners. Most of all, and as if the subject were especially dear to his heart, he talked of Patrick Ruthven, now the sole survivor, he said, of the attainted family of Ruthven, the younger brother of the last Earl of Gowrie. The quiet governess never A TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 303 raised her head during these recitals; but it was sometimes observed by the children, that her tears were falling upon the garments she was making for them. She had noticed that little Charlie and Eva were frequently sent with a tiny basket of fruit to one of the prisoners; but the children appeared to know where they must leave it, and there was no name mentioned in her presence. One day, however, Mr. Callender asked the governess if she would not like to have an opportunity of seeing the prisoner of whom she had heard so much, and whose story had seemed to interest her. A faint blush passed over the clear, white cheek, like the pale, wintry sunlight upon snow, as she accepted the basket of fruit and the key of the cell with its number attached. "Don't go, if you do not wish to," said the old keeper, kindly, as he saw how the thin hands trembled. "I would like to go," she faltered, as she tried to steady her trembling hands; and she went out quickly, as if to get away from observation. With faltering footsteps she crossed the yard and walked along the range. of cells. There was no such number, but she ascended a round of steps leading above, and soon found it. She paused a moment at the door before she turned the key in the great lock, and a softly murmured page: 304-305[View Page 304-305]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 304-305 304 TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. prayer went up from her pale lips. The next moment she was standing in the cell, vainly trying to pierce the shadowy gloom that filled it. Beside the iron tablet or slab that was inserted in the wall, sat a man, apparently fifty years of age. The long, thin hair, floating carelessly over tile shoulders, and slightly tinged with silver, the bent form and thin hands that had a tremulous motion unceasingly, were all indicative of pre- mature decay. The pale governess went softly up to him, and set the basket before him on the table. "Eva, little darling, is it you?" he said, in a low, sweet voice that fell on her ear like the fall of some remembered music, and rolling back to her the tide of " long ago." She moved round so that he could see her. He seemed to know that it was none of the family, and looked at her with a timid air, as if her presence disturbed him. "Eva could not come," she said, her tears be- 'ginning to fall, " so I brought you the fruit. I hope you will like it." Perhaps her voice stirred the long silent depths of his soul; for he looked up with a more kindly air. He gazed at her wistfully, as if her looks brought back some remembrance; but it was soon gone, and he shook his head sorrowfully, as if some pleasant vision had suddenly disappeared. Sadly the visitor departed. There was no re. TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 380 cognition, then, of her in his mind. As she cross- ed the yard back to the house, she thought of that great and hallowed meeting in Heaven, when souls, however long they might be parted by death, would know each other, and she tried to console herself with that remembrance. Again and again she carried the pleasant offer- ing to the prisoner-sometimes accompanied by little Eva or Charlie, and sometimes alone. One day when the only gleam of sunshine that daily entered that gloomy chamber chanced to fall di- rectly across her head, bringing out the soft, deli- cate profile, with its exquisitely shaped chin and the graceful neck, a cry issued from the prisoner's lips, and the thin hands stretched themselves to' wards her. She sank upon one knee before him. "Who are you, dear?" he asked in a voice so inexpressibly sweet and tender, that the flood gates of her tears were again opened. "I am Lilias, dear Patrick, surely you must know me. Lilias who sat with you in the old par- lor at Evandale."' The name of Evandale, even more than that of Lilias, seemed to rouse him, for he repeated it as a child does a word that gives it pleasure. "Yes, Evandale. - And surely if you remember that, you must think of Father Adamson, as you called him, and William and Lilias." Again he looked earnestly in her face. page: 306-307[View Page 306-307]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 306-307 806 TWENTY YEARS IN THB TOWER OF LONDON. "I think I know you. Didn't I have a sister Lilias?" Oh, the agony of being forgotten I Nothing in the whole bitter lesson we have to learn, is more painful than that. The eyes that once gazed lov. ingly upon our faces, look upon them without brightening-and the lips that uttered loving words are only saying-"I do not remember you!" Lilias was on her knees beside him, and looked up into his face. She watched him as he returned her gaze, and slowly, very slowly, she saw some- thing like a gleam of memory lighting up his dark, melancholy eyes. "Forgive me," he said, plaintively, " you spoke a name but now, that I heard in my childhood. Ah I that was long ago I But what was the name?" Never taking her tearful eyes from his face, she answered, "Lilias!" once more. A deep flush came rapidly over his cheek and showed her the Patrick of her early dream. "I know you now, dear," he whispered, "you were mine in the world I once lived in. I did not think you would follow me here, but I am so glad!" He uttered the last words with such a sweet, pa- thetic lingering upon every sound, that they went to the very core of the heart that beat so loudly beside his own. He went on- TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 807 "And William? . Did you say he had come, too? I remember now, we were both going away too gether. Was I ill? Something happened that I did not go." He put his hand to his forehead, as if trying to think how it could be, and then resumed. Lilias did not interrupt him, for she desired to see how far the tide of memory would roll back. "Dear, I think now that William wanted me to give you to him. We had words about you, and he told me I was only Patrick Ruthven, but that he should be Lord of ---. Oh why cannot I think?" "Well, don't try. Wait till I come to-morrow." He held her hand fast, as if unwilling she should leave him; but just then little Eva ran in for her to come home and sing her a song, and Lilias was almost glad to end a scene which she feared would be too exciting to Patrick Ruthven's enfeebled mind and spirits. When the children were in bed that night, Lil- las related the story of her life. She told the Cal. lenders how long she had battled with life, since her father and mother died - how she had strug- gled against the desire to see Patrick Ruthven once more, and how, in a moment of despair, she had conceived the idea of trying to find a home where she might hear his name, or catch his shad- ow as he paced his dungeon. If human sympathy ever woke in the hearts of page: 308-309[View Page 308-309]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 308-309 308 TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. man or woman, it was in those of the group that had assembled to hear the brave girl who had dared so much for the lover of her childhood. All that could be said to soothe or encourage her, was said. They told her of Patrick's gradual sinking of the soul - the decay of a mind never very ac. tive, and long subjected to a systematic confine. ment that would have driven any man of more pas- sionate temperament mad. They told her of his sweet, unfailing patience--his beautiful serenity of face, and the tenderness which he had ever shown to children; and, when the story was con- cluded, the tears that fell betokened that their sympathy was as sincere as it was ardent. Lilias went up to the old keeper and laid her hand upon his shoulder, as if she were his daugh. ter. She strove to speak, but her lips refused to frame the words. "Call me father, my child. It will give you strength to speak. Nay, do not weep so, but tell me what you wish." She whispered a few sobbing words- in his ear. She could not speak them aloud to the assembled group. 'I My child, I believe you are right, but we will have the opinion of all present. Here are two woman-hearts that ought to judge you charitably, and here is that of my son, who ever takes the side of humanity. May I state your wish?" Lilias bowed. TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 809 "Our ' Cousin Lily' believes that if she were suffered to be with our poor friend yonder, con- stantly, she could gradually awake in his mind a perfect remembrance. This, of course, she cannot do under present circumstances; but she'was once to have been Patrick Ruthven's wife, and, had he not been cruelly taken away from her, would long ago have become so. Pitiful as is his present state, she is still willing to enterrupon that sacred relation with him, and only hopes that the union may be fully sanctified to both their sorrowing souls." "Poor ' Cousin Lily I '" responded the earnest listeners, while one and all declared that it was only right and proper that she should become the wife which she ought, long ago, to have been. Every hour spent with Patrick brought a new revelation to his mind. He became--not strong nor well -but far better. A chord had been touched in his mind that wakened many others; and one dim twilight, when Lilias was preparing to leave him, he folded her to his heart, and said: "Love, do not leave me - stay with me now al. ways." "Always, Patrick?" "Always, darling. We will never part any more. ' Then, as if thinking suddenly how cruel it would be to chain her to a prison, he released her 26 page: 310-311[View Page 310-311]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 310-311 310 TWENTY YEARIS IN THE TOWEB OF LONDON. softly from his grasp, and said, in a subdued tone - "No, not here, Lilias; but, in another world, you will be my wife, as yo u told me you would at Evandale." "I will be your wife now, Patrick. Take me now and here, and I will be content." And then and there, in the dim prison twilight, but with loving hearts and children bearing flow- ers to grace the mournful bridal, the chaplain read the deeply-solemn service that gave Patrick Ruthven to the brave woman who had waited so long and worn the cross so patiently; and who now came with a true heart to receive the bridal crown of which Pity was the brighest gem. How sweetly was that deep love and pity re. warded, when, daily, she saw some measure of improvement in her beloved I And when, after long years of confinement, the prison doors were opened and Patrick Ruthven set free, Lilias almost sorrowed that they were to return to a world where she had suffered so much. They removed to a small country town not far from London. Some unimportant possessions came to them from abroad, where William Ruth- ven, the philosopher and chemist--the Lord Gowrie for three brief months - had died, leaving his inventions, his books, and his philosophical Apparatus, together with a sum of money. The TWENTY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. 3" next of kin was sought for, by advertisement, and Lilias, who saved every trial and embarrassment to her husband, went over to France, produced her credentials, and received the little property that made the future maintenance of the last of the Ruthvens. With part of this Lilias bought a pretty cot- tage, embowered in trees, to which she brought her husband; and here, amidst the pure and sim- ple pleasures of nature, the broken spirit of Pat. rick Ruthven recovered its youthful tone to a degree which the wildest hopes of Lilias had never anticipated. He even studied medicine; and now drew from nature's exhaustless stores the best and sweetest powers of the art of healing. Among the poor and sick he was a faithful friend, ever gentle, kind and compassionate. His misfortunes never made him sour nor morose, and, wherever he was seen, little children were his companions. At last, a new joy took possession of his soul. A child was born to him; the sweetest little fairy that ever gladdened the hearts of parents. They lived to see her grow up, beautiful and virtuous. Maria Ruthven was in the suite of Queen Hen. rietta, and was given in marriage by Charles the First, to Vandyck, the illustrious painter. A por. trait of her, by her husband, still hangs at RHgley Park, the seat of Lord Littleton. Their last de. scendant died as late as 825. This was Sir a, page: 312-313[View Page 312-313]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 312-313 812 TWI'lY YEARS IN THE TOWER OF LONDON. Thomas Stepney, of Pendergast, in Pembroke- shire, whose widow was the authoress of "The Three Peers," and other fictitious works. Ruthven Castle yet stands; and a yawning gulf, over which leaped one of the sisters of Pat- rick Ruthven, who used to meet a lover forbidden by her parents, at the top of a high tower, has preserved the name of "The Maiden's Leap." This was probably Isabel, the wife of Robert Gor- don, of Lochinvar. IN the year 1587, Queen Elizabeth bestowed an honor upon one of the sons of Erin as unusual as it was unappreciated by the brave men whom, just at that period, she sought to conciliate; This was the act of creating Hugh O'Neill-the represents tive and chief of the powerful family of that name - Earl of Tir-owen, or Tyrone. In itself a royal name, the O'Neill needed no new dignity; and the acceptance of the patent was, in the eyes of his kindred, a tacit acknowledgment of the queen's authority, and therefore of positive de- gradation. Seven years after this event, he suddenly called an assembly of his chiefs, renounced the title he had accepted, and resumed his own kingly appella- tion-- The O'Neill. Among the superstitious the report was then current, and tradition has preserved it, that in the castle of Dungannon, where the Earl of Tyrone re- 26* page: 314-315[View Page 314-315]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 314-315 814 THE PASS OF PLUMES. sided, the Banshee had appeared and roused him to the defence of Ireland. Be this as it might, something had occurred to make the brave prince of Tyrone tear the Saxon star from a breast which it had never honored. From this time he was call- ed Red Hand, or Hugh of the Bloody Hand, and was solemnly invested with the honors and digni- ties of the Prince of Ulster, in the sacred stone chair so celebrated in the annals of the O'Neills. Close to his side had pressed Hugh O'Donnell, the very flower of Irish chivalry, who was distinguish. ed throughout the length and breadth of the green isle, for his beauty, courage and intelligence. Perhaps the sad story of Hugh O'Donnell's death, brought on by treachery, had something to do with O'Neill's resignation of his patent of earl- dom. This young chief known as Red Hugh O'Donnell. was basely decoyed on board a ship which was fitted up as a Spanish merchantman, and laden with wines. Under the walls of O'Don- nell'p castle, the ship anchored, and was hailed by the generous chieftain with an invitation to come on shore and partake of his hospitality. The answer came quickly, that they could not stay, but entreated him to come on board with his friends, and taste the rich Spanish wines they had brought. Unsuspecting and frank, the young prince, accompanied by two of the O'Neills, ac- cepted the invitation. They descended to the THE PASS OF PLUMES. 8,5 cabin, and in a moment the hatches were closed. They were then put in irons, and brought to Dub- lin Castle. This was done through means of Sir John Perrot, Lord Chief Justice of Ireland, under the sanction of Queen Elizabeth. From the prison where they bore their confine. ment for three weary years, they were fortunate enough, on one stormy winter's night, to escape. In making their way to the Wicklow mountains one of the O'Neills, exhausted by fatigue and the blinding snow, laid down and died. Chilled and frost-bitten, O'Donnell and the bereaved brother watched all night by the dead, and were found thus by kind men, the O'Brynes of Olenmalure, in the morning, and conveyed to the castle of Dungannon, the residence of the Earl of Tyrone. It was then that the chiefs formed a league of deadly hatred against the English. The King of Spain had promised an army to aid them, and O'Donnell set out to see the king at Valladolid. He had reached Simanca, but could go no further. He died of a broken heart, on the 21st of Sep. tember, 1602 -a victim to Saxon treachery. After the accession of James I, the northern chiefs, Tyrone and Tyrconnel, were accused of a conspiracy to overthrow the government. The accusation was contained in a letter directed to Sir William Usher, clerk of the council, which was dropped in the council chamber. Tmmedi- page: 316-317[View Page 316-317]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 316-317 816 THE PASS OF PLUMES. ate flight was their only alternative from impris. onment and the death awarded to traitors; and they accomplished it by means of two or three staunch friends, who sailed in a ship to Ireland and took the princes and their kindred on board. Several of the Ulster nobles accompanied them, and many of the intimate friends of the two chief. tains. The O'Neill took with him his wife, Catherina Magennis, and her three sons, Hugh, John and Brian O'DonneIl, his motherless child, scarcely a year old, and was accompanied by his brother and sister. It was a bright sunny morning in autumn - the festival of the Holy Cross - when the party embarked for the coast of Normandy; a morning, it would seem, too bright and beauti. ful for human hearts to be so pained. Still they knew whom they were following. In this, his dark hour, he was to them, "Tir-owen's pride and Ulster's flower, A prince, a hero, the O'Neill!" As the chief stood on the deck of that vessel which was to bear him away from the beloved land of his birth, all the emotions of his kingly heart were aroused. He dwelt on the one act of his life which had degraded him; the moment when he bent the knee to Elizabeth of England, and thereby gave a suspicion to his faith. No THE PASS OF PLUMES. 317 -more should the war cry of "The Red Hand for- ever!" thrill through that mighty heart from the lips of his followers. No more that cry should echo through the Pass of Plumes-the field where the pompous Earl of Essex left his plumed thousands upon the ground, vanquished by the prowess of the O'Moore, the McHugh and O'Neill; and last, but not least, was the thought that the name of O'Neill would thenceforth be written on the page whereon those of traitors were alone inscribed.* Hours after Catherina and her sons were sleeping, would he give up the moments to passionate grief. Hours would he watch the long line of foamy light which the ship left in the rmoon's cold rays, and resolve to cast himself be- neath the waves. "If it were not for my Kathleen 1" he would ex- claim, " how easy would be the plunge; but how -0, how can I leave her to the fate that would await Tir-owen's hapless widow lV' Thus, sad and despondent, the lion-hearted chief arrived at the port of his destination. This was at Normandy; and from thence the party proceed. ed through France to Brussels. There the news, not unexpected, of the confiscation of six Ulster counties, by James I., reached them. *Posterity has done more justice to the erring' but still noble chief, than those of his own times seemed disposed co render. It is now generally disbelieved that the northern chiefs had originated the plot ascribed to them. page: 318-319[View Page 318-319]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 318-319 318 THE PASS OF PLUMES. The warning of the Banshee was not in vain. The chief went from Brussels to Rome, to die I The same grave held him and Tyrconnel. They were buried on Saint Peter's hill, the mount where the martyr saint was crucified,.and the shadow of the mighty pile rests on the earth where sleeps "Hugh, high prince and lord of Aileach's lands." "High race of O'Neill! thy splendor has faded,. And the star of thy line sits all altered and shaded ; From Dungannon no more thy proud chieftains sally, And burst on the plain from each mountain and valley, The horn of thy hunters have no lip to sound it, And the hearth of thy halls hath no joy twined around it. The Saxons have conquered--thy glories are over- And darkness descends on the house of Ceancover! Yet, yet, though the Fate-Stonet be loosed on Shane tower, It totters, 'twill fall soon-O wo for the hour! Some chief may arise with a soul to inherit The fame of his sires, with their freedom and spirit. What though the old tree may be worn out and drooping, And each time-honored branch all leafless and stooping, There are saplings abroad, by mountain and river, And Tir-owen shall yet shout-The Red Hand forever!" tThe Fate-Stone-a head carved in stone on the wall of Shane's Castle. There is a tradition that when it ells the O'Neil's will be extinct. At the time when the wild 'outlaw, McAlister More, was committing his depredations in the low- lands of Scotland, there lived a widow called Jean Scott, and her two sons scarcely grown to man's estate, but still strong and active boys, and the pride of their mother's heart. They were supported wholly by the keeping of black cattle; the little glen where they lived and where their cattle was kept, seemingly inaccessible to the Highland marauders, its situation at the foot of a rugged crag, making it difficult to attempt a descent by the rude ravine, and presenting obsta. cles which might be supposed to deter the most reckless. The cottage of the Scotts was at the foot of a steep slope whence the mountain torrent was sent down into the loch below; and here Jean was often left alone, when business called her sons and their serving-men to the "toun" for supplies or the pur chase of new stock. page: 320-321[View Page 320-321]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 320-321 ouV T'U WIVUW-' V'URS. It was on one of these absences that the widow, feeling an unusual degree of loneliness, accompa- nied by an undefinable feeling of dread, endeavor- ed to busy herself about her household work, in order to get rid, if possible, of her strange and un- accountable depression. Every spot of her dairy was carefully explored and cleaned. Her few apartments then underwent the same process, un- til floors, benches, shelves and wooden pails assum- ed the whiteness of snow. The family wardrobe was subjected to a course of unwonted brushing and airing, and the yard was duly swept. Jean understood the art of driving away low spirits bet. ter than our fashionable ladies who mope away a whole day in dulness because somebody wears a more becoming hat than themselves. But even household work, almost inexhaustible as it is, must sometimes come to stand still; and the widow, at last, sat down in a flag-seated chair by the door, and took her pet kitten on her lap, for company. The sound of voices and a crashing of under- brush above the glen, roused her. "What an innocents I was," she said to herself, "to flash mysel' about Robbie and Hugh. I might ha' known the callants wad come hame by this time. Weel," she continued, looking through the door at the bountiful display of oat-cakes, porridge and cold mutton that loaded the table within the THE WIDOW'S CURSE. 321 broad kitchen, and which was flanked by an enor- mous flagon of ale, " wcel, a' is reddy, and they are sure to be fastin." The crashing continued, and Jean uttered vari. ous exclamations of surprise at the noise Robbie was making in getting the cattle, which she sup- posed him to have purchased; down the glen; his usual practice being to tie the animal by its four legs and lower it down with but few struggles. "I He has forgot the rope," said Jean, aloud. Then in a moment she exclaimed--"Gude Lord sauf us a'! It's no Robbie after a'!" just as a fierce Highlander cleared the bushes at the lower side of the glen. Jean looked upward. It seemed to the terrified woman that there was a whole army preparing to follow him. There were certainly a dozen or more; and spite of all her alternate threats and en. treaties, they succeeded in forcing a path in an up. ward direction, and driving the affrighted animals to an eminence which they had not the slightest ambition to attain. One or two of the men lingered behind. The table, with its snowy cloth, bleached among the heather, and covered with inviting edibles and drinkables, caught their eyes; and the food and ale were speedily consumed; the men tearing the mut- ton in pieces with their fingers, and mocking the evident distress and indignation of Jean, who scorned to give vent to her feelings by words. 27 page: 322-323[View Page 322-323]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 322-323 322 THE WIDOW'S CURSE. The mauraders had scarcely departed on the western road before the Scotts returned to their home. The trampled ground, the silence of the glen, unbroken by breath or step of their beloved animals, struck terror and dismay to their hearts. They hastened down, doubting if they should even find the old mother alive. Indeed, the widow lying on her bed, pale and faint, 'suggested the idea that she was dead, and Robbie, for a moment, turned away heart-stricken and sick. Hugh was braver, always, under circumstances of illness, than Robbie. He approached her with caresses, lifted her up and begged her to say what was the matter. "Oh! bairns, bairns, the poor kye are all gone. McAlister More's men ha' been here, and carried all awa' wi' them." Mither I did he daur?" "What for no he suld care?" said Jean, almost fiercely, as she recovered her speech. "Ye suld no hae' left an auld hizzie like mysel' alane." Then as the remembrance of her uneasy presen- timents of the morning came back to her, she cried - "I kenned it - I kenned it this morning, when a' things came ower me, shadow-like. Weel I it is na death anyhow, as I dridded it to be." "Mither! you will stay here if we get Geordie THE WIDOWS' CURSE. .323 Graeme and Maggie to be wi' you, till we gang up yonder?" "What's the use? You canna get back the creatures if you gae." "Perhaps we may," said Rob. "Hugh, send the boys all round and ask the nebbers to help us get back the puir things. " And HTugh ordered them to scour the glen, and bring every one that was willing to join them, to the rescue.- In half an hour a strong party had assembled for all in the neighborhood liked the frank and ge- nial young Scotts, and every woman in the glen en- vied Jean the possession of two such sons, and were quite willing to spare their husbands and brothers to aid them. After an anxious time, that seemed almost eter- nal to the poor mother, from fear of her sons hav- ing fallen into the power of the enemy, the partv returned with shouts of triumph. They had over- taken the Highlanders, beaten them and recovered the cattle. This triumph was of short duration. Scarcely had Jean prepared a hasty meal for the famished men, ere one of the glen people came rushing in with the news that McAlister More was at hand with a large number of men and his own body guard of twenty-four picked Highlanders. Enraged at the defeat of his men, the chief had page: 324-325[View Page 324-325]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 324-325 824 THE WIDOW'S CURSE. come in person to avenge the insult. Without de- lay, for the day was far spent, the men, by his di. rection, erected a sort of gibbet directly before the door of the cottage, and his fierce and determined looks told too plainly for what use he intended it, although the actual victims could not be pointed out. What then was poor Jean's agony when her two young sons were seized and hung up at her very door? Her abject entreaties on her knees did not soften the monster. He kept his men close around the gibbet, so as to prevent her access to her sons, and when they turned away, there was neither life nor breath in what, a few moments before, were bright, beautiful living creatures, just stepping over the threshold of manhood. The setting sun gilded the top of the mountain, and turned the little torrent to molten gold, as it ran down to the loch. The blossoms, for it was the merry month of May, caught its radiance, and threw chequered lights and shadows in soft net- work upon the eastern slope. One bright, rosy beam glanced across Robbie's face, as it trembled through the leaves, and lighted it up with a hue- like life, then streamed across the golden locks of Hugh. The poor mother staggered up to the instru- ment of death like one in a dream, and mounted the stump which the monsters had pushed from THE WIDOW'S CURSE, 325 beneath her darlings' feet. She laid her hand upon the still warm cheeks, and kissed the pale lips. The petrified spectators, her friends and neighbors, thought she would drop senseless at the foot of that horrid death-dealer. The next moment she turned round, still stand. ing on the stump, her ghastly face catching a blood red radiance from the mass of bright clouds and thus addressed McAlister More:- "One hour ago," she said, in tones that rang like a trumpet, loud and clear, as if every emotion of her soul were concentrated in her voice, " one hour ago I was the mother of two brave and handsome boys as ever trod the heather. You have destroyed them before my eyes; taken away my children and desolated my hearth. Take one thing more with you- my deep heart-felt, abid- ing curse I suffer now, but you shall suffer always. Never," she continued, lifting her arm towards Heaven, and still speaking in the lofty Southron language which she had unconsciously adopted -the language of her early youth, ex- changed for broad Scottish at her 'marriage with Donald Scott - " never shall the face of a son smile upon a McAlister. Broad lands, and stolen, ay, stolen possessions may be theirs, and daughters whose lives will bring new curses every day- but no son; and when all of the hateful name that are now on earth shall have died out and 27* page: 326-327[View Page 326-327]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 326-327 826 THE WIDOW'S CURSE. gone to their place, the name shall be a buried sound, or, if heard, it will only be echoed by a curse, long, deep, and full of hate as that I now fling at you." "Oh, Jean, Jean," said one of her neighbors, a kindly man who was weeping-at sight of the two dead forms which he had cut down and had stretched on the green sward, "Dinna provoke McAlister. He looks as if he could kill you on the spot."' But Jamie Anderson was mistaken. It was re- morse that darkened the chief's face, instead of anger. That had died out when the poor boys ceased to struggle; and McAlister, though too proud to say so, would have given worlds to re- store the lifeless beings before him to health and strength. He drew off his men and departed, and the widow, now that her prophetic inspiration was over, sat down to weep, and, in her accustomed Scotch dialect, to mourn over her brave and beautiful boys. She lived long enough to outlive all memory of her curse-but it prevailed as powerfully as if she who predicted it had the right and might to en- force it, as far as the long possession of a son to any of the clan of McAlister was concerned. It was true that, in the reign of Queen Anne, the then laird had a son born, who lived to be a young mlan. THE WIDOW'S CURSE. 327 He was betrothed to the daughter of. a mighty northern chieftain, McCormick, of Cormick. The youth was sent to France to finish his education, as was the custom of the Scotch chieftains who had sufficient means. It was shortly before the first rebellion in '15. Young McAlister, young and enthusiastic, was invited to Court, and there met the exiled sovereign, to whom he pledged heart and hand, although the old laird, his father, had given his firm support to the House of Han over. The son came home from France, married, and shortly left his beautiful young wife, to join the army of the Pretender. Soon there came the re- port of a great battle in which Hector McAlister was said to have turned. the fortunes of the day, and, further, that Argyle was slain and Lord Mar victorious. James was to be crowned at Scone, and all Scotland was his own. It was on a cold and dreary November evening that these tidings were brought by a Brae-Marr man to the town. The chieftain doubted--dis- puted it, and entreated the young bride not to believe it. She persisted in thinking it true, and retired to her room in the turret th watch the first waving of her conquerer's plume, when morning should bring him, victorious, to her side. In a state of trembling excitement, she sat up all night, by the light of the fire that threw huge page: 328-329[View Page 328-329]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 328-329 828 THE WIDOW'S CURSE. shadows on the walls. The wind blew furiously, and the mountain streams brought a sound like deep thunder to her ear; yet, in the pauses of the wind, she distinctly heard the tramp of a horse's feet. Then came the sound of footsteps-human foot. steps--the heavy spurs striking the oaken stairs. Up, up they came, and the bride recognized the step of her hero, but she could not move; she was transfixed, as by an invisible power, to her seat. The door opened, and a figure advanced that seemed to be shorn of its fair proportions-a head. less trunk alone met her eyes. She shrieked aloud. The figure approached nearer, threw down an eagle's plume, wet with blood, at her feet, and then all the scene vanished, and the young bride knew no more until the terrified laird awoke her the next morning from a fearful swoon to tell her that a messenger had arrived at midnight with the tidings that the battle was lost, that the Mar and the Chevalier St. George had fled; that some had gone to France, and a few were taken in arms and executed, of which number Hector was one. 3 ^gge of jbatzrcet IN reviewing the history of the Puritans, nothing strikes us as so incongruous, in a people who fled from religious persecution themselves, as their harsh and cruel treatment of the Quakers. Cover it up as we will with the dead ashes of that fire of zeal which in after years burned out and left the great-hearted Quaker in quiet possession of his faith; pour upon it the waters of the generous and liberal fountain which gives to every man and woman in America the right to draw his or her supply with an earthen bowl or a golden goblet, a full tierce or a gill measure, as they choose, we cannot ignore the hard, cold fact, that, in their way, our Puritan ancestors were obstinate, cold- hearted and tyrannical in their conduct towards the harmless men of peace, and that sometimes their zeal arose not so much from a holy horror of the principles of the sect, as from personal hatred to the followers, or a violent temper. page: 330-331[View Page 330-331]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 330-331 330 A LEGEND OF NANTUCKET. On a sultry afternoon in July, 1660, a farmer in one of the little towns recently settled near Bos. ton, was sitting at the door of his cottage, watch. ing, with great complacence, the long line of hay cocks which he had just been tossing up, in antici- pation of a thunder sh6wer. His young wife sat beside him, busy with knitting a stocking, some five fingers long, for her husband's Sunday wear, on which she was bestowing unusual pains, seam- iDg it all the way to the foot in regular " two-and- two." This did not prevent her, however, from looking abroad over the beautiful open country, on which the afternoon sunshine still lay, although in the west there was a cloud that betokened an elemental din by and-by. As she sat there in her new happiness-for she was a bride of only a few weeks--she sang, at intervals, the. good old tunes of Dundee and Martyrs, or boldly dashed out into Greenfield's noisy fugue. Thomas Macey looked approving on the busy fingers, and admiringly at the rosy lips that thrilled his honest heart with their melody. But the cloud increased in size and in darkness, and the solemn hush that prevailed in the atmo. sphere deepened to gloom. Soon a wild peal of thunder broke the silence, and a rushing in the tree-tops told that the wind and rain were coming. Out of that deep cloud, too, there came sharp flashes of lightning, preceding the sound of A LEGEND OF NANTUCKET. 331 heaven's artillery. The young wife, who had just come from the home nest, where a band of brothers and sisters had always clustered around her, as the youngest darling, missed the sheltering arms that had always held her through the thunder-showers, and was now too timid to cling to her husband's side. Hen, on the other hand, had beenrbrought up in a family of self-reliant, stern and unterrified persons, who shrunk no more from the lightning than from the sunshine. He therefore failed to perceive, in his own eagerness about his hay, the terror and paleness of poor Hannah. But the at- tention of both was drawn from themselves by the sudden appearance of a weary-looking old man, who stopped before the door just as the cloud dropped it first large, heavy tear. It was a human being that asked shelter; beyond that, the two young and generous creatures saw nothing, knew nothing why they should not take him in; and they eagerly drew him under the low, rude- porch where they had been sitting, and motioned him to a seat on the wooden bench that run around it. The stranger looked sadly at the two eager faces, and then they saw that, although his garb was quaintly fashioned, his face bore a meek and saintly look, such as they had seen in the old prints of the English martyrs. At length he spoke. "Dare thee to give me shelter," he said, " when page: 332-333[View Page 332-333]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 332-333 382 A LEGEND OF NANTUCKET. I am of a proscribed and hunted race? It may bring thee to peril, friend, yet I am hungry and weary, and the traces of the whip hurt me still. I can go no further. Hide me, if thee art afraid of them that hunt the oppressed Quaker." The face of Hannah Macey lost its look of terror in that of deep pity. "Come in, old man," she said, "whoever and whatever you are." "Right, Hannah," said her husband. "We won't begin our married life by turning a poor, desolate old creature like this from our door."' And he took the stranger's hand, led him within the clean, well-sanded room, and sat him down in the flag-bottomed, three-cornered chair by the fire side; for, notwithstanding the sultriness of the day, the drops of rain had chilled the old man's weakened form. Within, it was almost perfect darkness, save when a lightning-flash played around the stranger's silvery hair and pallid face. Mingling with the hoarse roar of the thunder, came the tramp of horses' feet striking upon the wet gravel. It ap- proached nearer, nearer, until the riders" voices could be distinctly heard above the sound of the elements. Through the pouring rain they had come fast and far, and now only drew bridle at Thomas Macey's door to utter words that filled them all with alarm and dismay. A LEGEND OP NANTUOCKET. 833 "What, ho, goodman Macey!" called out, the foremost one, "open thy door, if thou wouldst not have us batter it down about thy ears. Thou art sorely transgressing the law, inasmuch as thou art harboring one of that wicked sect whom the law hath banished from among us. Open thy door, quickly!" Macey peeped out from the narrow crevice, and saw, to his astonishment and fear, his own minister, the Reverend Gershom Broadbent, his large white wig dripping with rain, and his three-cornered hat sadly flapped and bent down over the mighty nose, that looked forth from- his face like the tower of Lebanon. His words were re-echoed by the nasal twang of Elder Jedediah Hawkins, whose hair, so far from emulating the abundance of that of his pastor, had been evidently cut round an inverted punch-bowl, placed on the top of a head of very unpromising shape. The Reverend Gershom took up the strain anew: "Open thy door, or thou shalt be beaten with many stripes. Dost thou resist the authority of the saints?" "O, Thomas, Thomas!" whispered a soft voice within, "for the love of God, for the love of our own old fathers, who might be brought into a strait like this, do not give him up 1" "Give him up? No, Hannah, though every whip they carry were a fiery serpent. Miaister 28 page: 334-335[View Page 334-335]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 334-335 834 A LEGEND OF NANTUCKET. Broadbent," he added, speaking aloud, ," I will not deny the truth: there is a man, old, weary, desolate and ill, beneath my roof. He is already worn with stripes. Let him abide here until the storm passes." A thundering blow at the door answered him, and the minister's voice again broke the silence which succeeded it. "Thou wilt repent this, Thomas Macey. De- pend on it, thou shalt be scourged with many stripes for this." If the Reverend Gershom intended to intimidate the young farmer by threats, he had, in vulgar parlance, "waked up the wrong customer." Maddened by them, Thomas Macey sprang to the fireplace, over which hung the musket which his father had borne at the battles of Preston-Pans and Marston Moor, when Roundhead and Cavalier contended, and was rushing forth to meet the un- equal conflict with a dozen armed men. The old man held his arm. "Nay, friend, thee shalt not come to this harm for a stranger. Thee art young, and this poor trembling thing needeth thy protection. I will go to these vile men as a lamb goeth to the slaughter. Friends, peace be with this house!" Before Macey could stop him, he had opened the door, and stood revealed to his pursuers with a look upon his aged face that haunted Thomas and A LEGEND OF NANTUCKE'T. 835 Hannah Macey for years afterwards, so calm, holy and peaceful was its expression. "Yes, come along, old Graybeard l" shouted the lawless band. "Thou shalt say thy yea and nay in Boston jail this night," said one, as they pinioned the feeble arms to a saddle bow; while the Reverend Gershom shouted to the sheriff to seize Macey also, for that stripes or a heavy fine should be his punishment for this grievous sin. Both minister and sheriff already had stepped within the little porch.- Fortunately, they were both fat and burly men, while Macey was slender and lithe; and fortunately, too, there was another' door to the house. Still holding his musket in one hand, he grasped Hannah's slender waist with the other, and the two were "a off and away over bush, brake and scaur," before the aston- ished pastor had inserted his pussy form within the little kitchen. Never was sound so musical as that of the rain-swollen river, above which hung a gray rock, where the birch hung its wavy tassels. At the foot, a little wherry lay fastened, but some careful hand had turned it upside down, from the rain and into this sprang the two young fugitives, each seizing an oar, which had been lashed to its side. They had scarcely dipped their oars before down came the sheriff, breaking down the thick undergrowth as his great, ungainly feet sought a page: 336-337[View Page 336-337]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 336-337 386 A LEGEND OF NANTUCK'ET, pathway. He was quite purple with his unwonted exercise. And down, too, after him, came the reverend pastor, his white wig gone, and his bald head dripping with perspiration, and the drops of rain that still lingered upon the high bushes) where his head gear hung, having caught upon as thorny a subject as himself. In a voice hoarse with rage as with running, the sheriff called out to Macey to yield in the king's name. The light-hearted yoeman laughed, made a gesture of scorn, and plied his oar the faster. a Away with thy hangman's face," he cried, from the boat. "Keep your strength to whip poor women on Boston Common, but don't meddle with men." The priest gasped for breath as he tried to pour out an anathema upon Macey. "Come back, or I will curse thee in behalf of the church 1" was his half-stifled cry. "Do anything thou pleasest," answered Macey, as the bright, shining oar gleamed up from the blue waters,; "only keep thy blessing for them that need it more than we; and as to curses, man, they always go home to roost." "Thou shalt yet come to the gallows, scoffer!" screamed Gershom. "Who is born to- be hanged will never be drowned," were the last words that floated to the A LEGEND OF NANTUCKET. 33 7 shore, as the little wherry rocked gaily over the water. The rain was over. Tree and shrub and gray rock glistened like diamonds in the warm sunshine) that, brighter than ever, lay gloriously upon them all., And lo! in the east the bow of promise hung like a brilliant arch in the sky, giving to the voyagers assurance that there should be no more storm that day. On, on they went, down the silent river - past Pentucket and Salisbury- past Deer Island, NeWbury and Ipswich--past the rock-bound coast, on a shore of which nature is said to have emptied a spare apron-full of rocks on the sixth evening of creation week, and from whence the cheering light of the old garrison shone like a star out into the broad bosom of the bay. And when morning came, the boat was yet there, on the blue waters, the bright waves dash- ing upon her sides, and her rowers still fresh and unwearied. They have rounded the cape, against which the breakers are dashing, their white foam churned upward by the storm, and playing with every pointed rock. Every sea-bird that stoops its gray wing to the wave, looks almost as large as the tiny boat itself. And lo I as the wild shore of the sea-girt island appears, they row quickly to its edge, and with a thrill of gratitude and delight they spring to the soil of 28* , page: 338-339[View Page 338-339]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 338-339 338 A LEGEND OF NANTUCBET Nantucket - the first white man and woman that ever touched that lovely isle I "And how, in log-built cabin, They braved the rough sea-weather, And there, in peace and quietness, Went down life's vale together; How others drew around them, And how their fishing sped, Until to every wind of heaven, Nantucket's sails were spread; How pale Want alternated With Plenty's golden smile;- Behold, is it not written In the annals of the isle P" , , ^ Crisffer of jtrb. EVERY one remembers the incarceration of the noble and unfortunate Silvio Pellico, who so long inhabited the gloomy prison at Milan. The story of his wrongs has drawn tears from fair eyes, and swelling sighs from manly breasts, and yet who that never experienced imprisonment can truly un- derstand the terrible loneliness and weariness ot such a life? A life in which a fragment scratched upon the wall-a rude etching with a rusty nail- a name, is an event, a sensation,- when the longing to see-a human face, or hear a human voice is un- controllable, and when the desire to know who last occupied the dreary cell is equally strong. Then the climbing up to the little grated window-the sound of a bird flitting by, the clatter of a horse's foot as be gallops, riderless past, the distant moan- ing of the sea, or the winds in the tall pines-not one of these things escape the eye or ear of a cap- tive. page: 340-341[View Page 340-341]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 340-341 340 THE PRISONER OF STATE. It was in the month of February, 1820. The slant sun shed a single beam into the cell of Pel- lico. It was the first day the sun had shone there, and its shining now was but for a moment, and then it disappeared. But its brief stay had waken- ed a new thought in the captive. On the wall, brightened by that glance, he had seen inscribed "Le due de Normandie." The name was sugges. tive of many fancies. Who could it be? "Who occupied this room before I did, Jaques?" asked Pellico, of the turnkey, who was a French- man, the next morning, as he came in to replenish the water pitcher for the prisoner. The fellow, who had been especially charged not to answer questions, merely pointed to the next cell. "Was it he who is now at number eighteen?" persisted the captive. The man bowed his head in assent. Before noon, Pellico had opened a conversation with his neighbor, which now consisted only of a few commonplace words. But when the afternoon sun shot down a more lingering ray than before, he discovered that besides the name there were some very beautiful verses in the same writing, and remembered the strong French accent of his fellow-prisoner, the finely modulated voice, and the well chosen words that had conveyed his answers to the few questions he had addressed him, he THE PRISONER OF STATE. 841 grew more and more anxious to know something of the man who had claimed so distinguished a name. Day after day the conversation was renewed and prolonged. The polished tone, the cultivated and noble sentiment, all pleased and charmed Pellico. Even his prison seemed less dark than before. One morning, after an earnest colloquy between the two, Pellico approached a question which had long trembled on his lips: "May I ask the name of my new friend?" And the answer came-"The Duke of Norman- dy!" "Even so. I hear your surprised tone, and fancy you are even now looking at the lines which I wrote on the wall." "I am indeed, lighted as they are by my one stray sunbeam." "Ay, by that stray sunbeam one year ago I wrote them there." And Pellico read them aloud. s It makes one think better of one's own verses when they are read like that," said his friend. Mutual histories were afterwards exchanged. "I am the brother of Louis XVII.-the dauphin who was said to have died in the temple. My uncle, called Louis XVll.., is the usurper of my throne." "But why, my friend, did you not assert your rights on the restoration of the Bourbons?" page: 342-343[View Page 342-343]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 342-343 842 THE PRISONER OF STATE. "I was ill in France at the time. No one sym- pathized with me except the good Prince of Conde, and my sister, the Duchess of Angouleme-and they had no power to help to restore my rights." So rational and connected were the assertions of the prisoner, and his account of being arrested and thrown into prison, that Pellico was impressed with the truth of his statements, and settled firmly to the belief that he was the much-injured dauphin. Some time previous to this, a gentleman attended one evening at the theatre at Modena. While he was there, it commenced raining violently. A Frenchman near him politely offered him his umbrel- la, while entering the carriage of the governor Count di --, telling him where he might return it. This led to an acquaintance which resulted in mutual satisfaction to each. -Both were men of cultiva- tion, learning and intelligence -both were of re- fined taste, and loved the fine arts with enthusias- tic appreciation, and in all these they harmonized perfectly; or if a shade of difference arose, it did but give zest to their intercourse. The stranger was called De Bourlon, and was said to have come from Corsica. The two gentlemen often walked out together, and it was particularly noticed that whenever the Corsican met the Grand Duke of Modena, the latter saluted him with such recogni. tion as he would show only to those of high rank. All at once the Corsican was missing, and the THE PRISONER OF STATE. 343 stranger was informed that he had been arrested, which news surprised and distressed him much, as he had taken a tender interest in him on account of his superior manners and highly cultivated mind. As a State prisoner, arrested in private, and tried with the deepest secrecy, he had been carried to Milan, and the good Silvio Pellico had become not only interested in, but tenderly attached to one, whose fine qualities and noble bearing would seem to demand a better fate. "I am going away, Signor Pellico," said the soft, yet clear voice of his fellow-prisoner, after months of intercourse that seemed binding them together, as with a flexible chain of pure gold-- months that had made them necessary to each other, and in which they had enjoyed a compan ionship so full of sympathy and tenderness, that it seemed absolutely cruel to break it--for one and not for the other to arrive at the freedom so desir. ed by both. And the next morning Silvio Pellico heard only the echoes of his own voice, as he called aloud to his friend. He was gone -liberated, the turnkey said, and escorted by gens d'armes, out of Lomrn bardy and the Austrian dominions. It was June - soft, warm and delightful. How much so to him who has breathed no air save that of a prison, for years, none but he could tell. Every bird that waved its wing above his head-. page: 344-345[View Page 344-345]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 344-345 844 THE PRISONER OF STATE. every flower that sprang up in his path, must have been a source of happiness to the liberated. A little Alpine [cottage, high up in the moun- tains, and looking almost as inaccessible as an eagle's nest, was inhabited by an honest and intel- ligent peasant and his family. Phillipo Sangradi was a nobleman in peasant's garb. His wife was a good, kind, motherly woman, worthy to be the wife of such a man; and the daughter, Bianca, was the loveliest flower that bloomed in that Alpine solitude. Of any other home than this she had never dreamed, or wished for. Hardship and pri- vation she had never known, for her parents' hearts were bound up in her, and they sought to keep the sordid cares of life from their darling as far as possible. But she had learned from the nuns} at a convent where Phillipo's industry had enabled him to place her for a year, to embroider beautifully -and a part of every day was set aside for this purpose. Her father carried the work to the ladies of a villa below the cottage, and readily disposed of that which was so superior to the embroidery of the shops in the neighboring cities. This employment did not prevent Bianca from sharing with her father the stirring exercise which he deemed so needful for her health. Every day she attended him to the mountain path that wound downward to the scene of his labor - THE PRISONER OF STATE. 845 and evening saw her watching half way down the steep cliff, for his return. On one of these occasions, she was startled at hearing a groan issuing from behind the rock against which she was leaning.. It was repeated, and Bianca's benevolence getting the better of her fears, she crept around the rock, and saw in the dim twilight, a sight that stirred up every tender and pitying emotion. Beside the rock, lay a man, in the garb of a noble, pale, and bleeding profusely from a wound in the side, which he had in vain en- deavored, as it seemed, to staunch with the long grass that grew within his reach, in the fissures of the rock. To tear off the white linen apron that protected the blue dress from injury, to scrape a portion of it into lint for the wound, and to hasten to a spring not far off for water, which she brought in a gourd left always beside it, for stran- gers to drink from, occupied but a few moments, and by the time she had done, Phillipo himself came up the mountain. Fortunately they were- near the cottage, and, by summoning a young man who had just turned into another path, and a boy who was taking care of some goats, Phillipo was able, after constructing a litter of some dry branches, and covering it thick- ly with the soft, long grass, to convey the wound- ed man home. No surgical aid was within reach, but Phillipo had some skill, and he bound up the 29 page: 346-347[View Page 346-347]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 346-347 346 THE PRISONER OF STATE. wound with both judgment and tenderness; and as no conventional scruples prevented his daugh- ter from assisting her mother to nurse the stran- ger, he was soon well enough to tell the story of his misfortune. Without revealing who he was, he satisfied them that he was of noble blood, but that reasons of state policy prevented him from de- claring himself. He related how the very escort which had been provided for his safety, and had accompanied him with the greatest care and re. spect during the route across Lake Como and the Alps, had committed the outrage upon him, and left him for dead. That the design was private treachery and not for mercenary ends, the fact that his money and jewels were untouched, suffi- ciently proved. He called himself the Count de Bourlon, and not until the truth burst upon him that the little Alpine maiden, Bianca, was loving him with all the ardent susceptibilities of a heart which had hitherto resisted all suitors for her love, did he unfold to her the strange secret of his birth, and the stranger destiny which had made him a wanderer. Alas, what were these distinctions to a loving soul that had poured out its richest treas- ures upon one whom Bianca would have loved as well had he been the poorest goat-tender of the Alps. The poor girl pined and withered in her grief, until Phillipo begged him to depart, that ab- sence might do the work of healing. THE PRISONER OF STATE. 347 Again the noble stranger seems to have expos- ed himself to the reckless fury that had always hovered near him. In all probability he was re- cognized by some one whose interest it was to de- spatch him, for not long after he left Phillipo's cot- tage, he was found dead in one of the Swiss val- leys. Bianca mourned long and bitterly the fate of one who had made such deep impression on her heart; but time brought a serene twilight to her sorrowing day. "At eventide there was light." The faithful daughter found solace for her grief in tending the declining years of her parents, and when they had departed, God raised up another friend, in the curate of the little Alpine church, who had watched her unceasing attentions to them and had rightly judged that so good a daughter could not be otherwise than a good wife. He be- came ' lover, brother, husband," all in one, nor did he chide her when she sometimes wept over the sad fate of the stranger. # page: 348-349[View Page 348-349]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 348-349 ON the farm of Mr. Strauss, a worthy yeoman, in Pennsylvania, is still exhibited as a curiosity, a building some twelve feet square, eight logs high, and with a slated roof. It now answers the peace- ful and innocent purpose of a corn-crib; but was originally built by William Patterson, a Scotchman, for a blockhouse, at the time of Braddock's war in 1755. Patterson was a man of strong will, and one of whom the Indians stood in great awe, al- though his manners towards them were not by any means harsh or abusive. He had a grave, authori- tative way, that somehow affected them with a sense of his superiority, and he could control them with a nod. Silent as their own warriors, he won upon them by qualities that most resembled their own, and the few words he condescended to utter were received as oracles by the dusky chil. dren of the wilderness. After the famous treaty with the Indians in 1764, he was regarded by them as the best specimen of their white brothers. THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. 349 One of their young braves, Waukanoc, had been at various times to bring corn to Patterson's mill, the latter having built the first mill ever known here. In one of his excursions, after gazing in de. lighted surprise at an invention which he owned was "better than pounding," he saw with still greater delight the handsome daughter of Patter- son; and thenceforth the susceptible heart of the savage uttered itself in the most touching language which his vocabulary afforded, to express his ad- miration of the white girl. Flora Patterson was indeed a being who might have won a grander conquest than that of the un- tutored Indian. With the blonde hair and eyes of her country, she possessed a clear, pure white skin that the winds could not roughen nor the sun freckle; a pale, Greek face, and a slight and deli- cate figure. Had she possessed only half ot these charms, she would -have seemed perfect to the bereaved old man, who had laid down his wife and eight children beneath the forest shadows, and to whom this one alone remained. A few apartments in the mill contained his small family; his maiden sister acting as housekeeper, and superintending the simple details of Flora's education in reading, writing, spinning and knitting. But these were only occasional lessons; for Flora delighted chiefly to be in the mill with her father, and he was pleased only when she was in his sight. 29* page: 350-351[View Page 350-351]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 350-351 350 THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. His peculiar bereavements had made him cling strongly to this child, as the last flower that bloomed in his household; and daily and hourly did thanksgivings ascend from his heart, that she at least was spared to his declining age. Sitting side by side, the golden locks of the girl mingling with the almond blossoms of the father) they talked calmly yet tearfully of the dead, who they knew were awaiting them on that shore of better promise, where, " when the long fever of the soul had passed," they should meet again. Thus did Waukanoc behold the beautiful Scottish maiden; and eagerly did he question Job Higgins, the mill-tender, in all the English words he could command, to know if the "Sunny Hair" had a lover. "Guess so 1" said Job, in the broad, nasal accent that proved him a native of " the Massachusetts." "Think of her myself when she is old enough; so neow don't yeou be thinkin' on her V" Waukanoc's vocabulary did not extend to this long speech, and he could not take in the full mean. ing of Job's drawl. "Waukanoc be Sunny-Hairs brave. He hunt; bring plenty deer; white squaw cook." And he threw his hand over his shoulder to designate to Job who it was that should have the honor of dressing his venison. Job told it to Aunt Margery by the firelight in THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. 351 the kitchen, and received a reproof for the way in which he speculated on the chances of Flora's, marrying one of the savages, "But neow look here, Aunt Margery; spos'n Flory wanted to be married, who'd she have, I'm beound t' know? There's nob'dy reound here but jest Josh Sassfield and me. Yeou don't think she'd have 'ither of us, dew ye?" "Hush, Job I It is quite disrespectful to speak in sic' a way o' yer master's bairn." "Master!-master, indeed I D'ye know, aunty, I am a free-born Massachusetts boy? Don't know as the king hisself has any rule over Job Higgins. I held a bagonet in the ranks last year, and arter that I calk'late I'm free-born anyheow. Don't turn up that 'ere word master to me agin, Aunt Margery, or I shall be obleeged to notice it, if yer should." Aunt Margery, a humble soul, apologized to Job Higgins, which appeased his wrath so much that he offered, of his own accord, to bring in the wood from the pile that night, a labor which he was apt to shirk, if possible, when the master's eye was not upon him. Flora and her father came in to. gether and sat down by the kitchen fire, which blazed up merrily as Job threw on log after log, lighting up the bright pewter platters that shone like silver on the dresser opposite, and the glitter- ing copper skillet and brass warming-pan that hung upon the wall. ( Sunny-Hair's" tresses caught the page: 352-353[View Page 352-353]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 352-353 352 THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. radiance and gleamed up like coils of twisted gold; while Aunt Margery, who had been alone all the afternoon, bestowed a welcoming glance upon the girl, and went to fetch the customary mug of cider and plate of apples. The good spinster loved her motherless neice; and well had she loved the good, kind brother, who had never failed in his duty towards her, and had always sweetened that duty by tenderness and affection. Her clean stuff dress, a green plaid of her own weaving, a plain white linen cap from which the flaxen locks came " streeling" down, a checked apron, and a small shawl, were all as neat as hands could make them. The gentle Scottish woman had " come o' gude bluid," and she retain. ed in the western wilderness the same orderly habits which she had brought from the heath-cov. ered hills of Scotland, It was a fine night, with a thick, crispy fall of snow upon the ground, and the sound of falling footsteps came through the shutterless windows. Soon the door opened, and Waukanoc and an old Indian stood before them, the snow from the moc- casons melting upon the nicely sanded floor which Aunt Margery's hemlock broom had swept in curi- ous figures. Patterson gave them a grave wel- come, and made room for them upon the hearth. Waukanoo then exclaimed to him that he had brought his father, who had discovered a silver THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. 853 mine at Mifflin, and wanted to tell the white people where to dig, but that they had laughed at him. He came now to the father of " Sunny-Hair," to tell him where it lay, and give him a chance to dig. Waukanoc did not want to be paid for the in- formation; but the old Indian, not being in love with Patterson's daughter, stipulated for many val- uable articles in return. Patterson believed his tale quite probable, and gave him what he wanted, and then the old brave undertook to plead for his son's bride. It was well that Aunt Margery and Flora could not understand all that was said, or they would have disconcerted the gravity of their visitors by laughing; but Job Higgins hovered about Flora, scowling at the Indians, and putting on heroics that were quite terrific to look upon, though harmless in their actions. With eyes and cheeks distended to their utmost capacity, and mouth wide open, he heard the proposal to buy Flora for Waukanoc's bride, and to take her immediately to his wigwam. Not that Job thought for a moment it could be done, but the enormity of the presumption was what he felt amazed at. To him, Flora was an angel, fit for only one man in the world; and, though Job sometimes talked largely to others re- specting "Miss Flory's" kindness to him, people only had to mention the name of Harvey Ballan. tyne, to make him lay aside his pretentious talk. page: 354-355[View Page 354-355]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 354-355 354 THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. Harvey Ballantyne was the countryman of Wil. liam Patterson's, but a feud between the latter and Harvey's father had been long cherished in great bitterness. Harvey remembered the beautiful golden-haired child whom he had carried in his arms over the burns of Scotland; and as soon as he knew where the emigrants had settled, he came over the sea just to take a look at sweet Flora Patterson. To Job Higgins, in whose good faith and honesty he placed great confidence, he deput- ed the task of watching over his treasure; and the vouth, under cover of his half-assumed simplicity, reported regularly every change in the household, every event that stirred its quiet, to the lover who was toiling to gain a home for Flora, whenever her father should repent of his enmity to his own. Job had duly reported Waukanoc's first appear- ance of love towards her; and had whispered in her ear that very evening, that Harvey was not far off, and might be with her that night. Accord- ingly, when the Indians had gone away, after Mr. Patterson's refusal to part with his daughter, Flora pleaded some special work she and Aunt Margery had to finish, and begged her father, as he was tired, to go to bed. He complied, asking them not to sit up long; and then Flora entreated her aunt to propitiate her father in favor of Harvey Ballan- tyne, and to expedite her marriage in order that she might be free from all further persecution from Waukanoc. THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. 355 Margery Patterson had once been betrothed to Robert Ballantyne, the father of Harvey, and the feud between him and her brother had broken it off. He had married a friend of her own, who had died early, leaving one child; and Margery's heart had never ceased to go out to him in tenderest sympathy, and with a deep yearning for the love that was once her own-perhaps her own still They were talking of this, and the eyes of both were suffused with tears, when the sound of foot. steps was again heard on the crashing snow. "Tere is Harvey!" exclaimed Flora, as she sprang from her low stool at Margery's knee. She opened the door at the gentle knock, and admitted-not Harvey, but the Indian, Waukanoc. In a moment he was bearing her from the house, stifling the scream which was rising to her lips, and stopped not until he reached the edge of the wood. Margery had fainted, and was therefore in- capable of arousing her brother. As Waukanoc saw no signs of pursuit, he slackened his pace, the dead weight becoming in- supportable. Fearing perhaps that she was dead, he laid her upon the snow and strove to revive her by rubbing her face with the icy lumps. He stood up for a moment to look back towards the mill, -when a ball from a rifle passed through his shoulder, and he fell beside the insensible girl. Even in his agony, he grasped her with the other page: 356-357[View Page 356-357]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 356-357 256 THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. hand until his senses fled, and he lay bleeding and prostrate. Over the two forms stood Harvey Ballantyne, and by his side, Job Higgins, the invincible. Job had gone out to confer with Harvey, when they saw Waukanoc in the act of laying down his help. less burden. The acute vision of Job detected in a moment the nature of that burden, and without waiting to ascertain if it were indeed Flora, he whispered to Harvey to fire. Waukanoc's head had just risen as the bullet sped. "Wait a minute," said Job, compassionately, as Harvey drew Flora away from the side of this bleeding Indian. "It wont do to leave this var. -mint here. Savage or not, we must see to him." Harvey, who had now succeeded in restoring Flora to perfect consciousness, consented to re- turn after he had seen. her safe, and help him to dispose of the savage. But Aunt Margery had come to herself and alarmed the house, and her brother now sent down two or three strong men -to take the Indian to a place of safety and see that his wound was bandaged. All restraint towards the preserver of his child passed away, and in a few weeks both father and son were domiciled in -the old mill, and Aunt Margery and Flora were preparing for a double wedding. Robert Ballan- tyne's love for Margery was as warm and sincere as amid the scenes of their youth; and when THE OLD BLOCK HOUSE. 357 sanctioned by her brother's now hearty approval, it was dearer than ever to the gentle heart that had pined in secret so long. Job Higgins had his reward. He accompanied the family to a fine location upon the banks of the Juniata, and was ever considered one of their truest friends. Waukanoc recovered after the de- parture of Flora, whose absence cured him of love, and he took a pretty Indian girl for his wife, who had tended him in his sickness. His father still continued to extort articles of value from those to whom he offered to show the uilver mines but their existence was thought to be quite apochryphal. The old blockhouse stands as a memorial of William Patterson, and his descendants still love to visit it. Even its present use as a corn crib is most appropriate to the memory of the stern but honest old miller. So let it be I 30 page: 358-359[View Page 358-359]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 358-359 % Xtgen of 3Nlcilan. THAT part of the Duchy of Milan, called the Austrian Lombardo-Venetian Kingdom, forms one of the finest regions in all Europe. Rich plains and fertile valleys abound upon its surface, while, at the north, the Rhetian Alps raise it thirteen thousand feet above the level of the Adriatic, and their tops are lost in the mist and snow that are perpetually about them.. Below lie Lakes Maggiore, Lugano, Como, Iseo and Gardo. From these and the intermediate valleys, the rivers Ticing, Olona, Lambro, Adda, and six others fall into the Po, descending in nearly parallel lines. On the river Olona is situated the large and beautiful city of Milan, or Milano, called by the Germans, Meiland. Surrounded by a canal, its situation, in a beautiful plain between the Ticino and the Adda, hemmed in by a double avenue of fine trees, is one of the most delightful that can be imagined. Its shape is almost entirely circu. A LEGEND OF MEITLAND. 359 lar. Beautiful gardens and orchards add to its attractiveness. Here are the Casa Visconti, the Casa Durini, and several other fine mansions; although in these points Milan cannot be com- pared with Rome, Genoa or Florence. But it ex- ceeds almost all these in the grandeur of its cathedral, while several of its churches, especially that of Santa-Maria-Della-Grazie, where De Vinci's splendid fresco of the Last Supper belongs, are worthy of admiration. And this beautiful city 'f stands " in the language of Von Raumer, " in a sea of green trees, as Venice in a sea of green water." The creation of the dynasty known as the Duchy of Milan, commenced about 'the close of the fourteenth century. When the Lombard cities attempted to free themselves from the power of Germany, they resigned their liberties into the hands of individuals. Among these were the Visconti, the Carrara, and the Gonzaghi, who ruled their different territories with the iron rule. Of these the Visconti became most conspicuous. Their possessions were vested in Gian-Galeazzo Visconti, in 1387, after his murder of his uncle, Bernarbo, whose daughter Catarina was his wife. Crimes of the deepest dye stained his course. He strove to possess himself of the estates of other noble families, and succeeded in ruining the family of the Scala, and obtaining possession page: 360-361[View Page 360-361]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 360-361 360 A LEGEND OF XMEILAND. of Verona and Vicenza. He was called Duke of Milan and Count of Pavia. The plague ended his career in 1402. To his son, Gian-Maria, he gave the Duchy of Milan; to the second son, Filippo-Maria, the es- tates of Pavia, while Pisa, Sarzana and Crema fell to his illegitimate, but favorite son, Gabriello Vis- conti. The heir to the Duchy was only fourteen when his father died. Visconti had therefore left him under the care of the Duches Catarina and of Francesco Gonzaga, who had married Agnese Visconti, Catarina's sister. Added to these, he had recommended the boy to the care and pro. tection of the principal commanders of his Mi- lanese forces. The latter sought their own inter- ests, and soon disorder, anarchy and civil war prevailed. Domestic strife ensued. Catarina and her young son quarrelled, and when the tumults and dissensions reached Pavia, the Count Filippo was thrown into a dungeon. Pisa and Sarzana revolted under the rule of Gabriello, and alto- gether the possessions left by the murderer Gian. Galeazza, seemed to bear only bitter fruit, which turned to ashes on the lips of the inheritors. Catarina, in her prison, had abundant reason to brood moodily over her unmotherly resentment. She knew the fierce, rash temper of her eldest son, and should have thrown oil upon the waves of his madness. In -that dreary prison she heard A LEGEND OP MEILAND. 361 like one in a dream, the miserable ways in which the young duke exercised his cruelty upon those who displeased or offended him; of the blood- hounds trained to wound and lacerate their limbs. and all the horrible barbarities that grew out of his relentless malice and fury. She was sitting in her solitary cell one morn- ing trying vainly to count the beads of her rosary. The memories of the past crowded too thickly upon the unhappy mother to allow her even the consolations of religion. She heard loud talking in the passage, and the duke's name mentioned in the various tones of astonishment, horror and disgust. When the jailor entered soon after, with her poor meal of bread and water, she looked up through the dim light which struggled into her little dusty window crossed so thickly with iron bars, and asked if there was anything new about her son. The man gazed at her as he had never done before. Perhaps her wasted figure and deeply-lined brow had never so strongly impressed him. There was compassion in his glance -even tenderness, as one shows to a being utterly bowed down with sorrow and distress. Her dry, parched lips were already the gate. ways to a stream of blood, yet she cried still, "Tell me, O, tell me!" Too frightened to disobey, the man laid her gently on her bed, saturated a cloth in the water 30* page: 362-363[View Page 362-363]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 362-363 862 A LEGEND OF MEILAND. and applied it to her lips, and then told her :s gently as possible, that the duke had been assas- sinated in the church of St. Gothard, and that Filippo was declared his successor to the Duchy of Milan. "Dead--deadl and neither has forgiven the other " cried the wretched woman. Then,as if the love of liberty prevailed over every other feeling, she added: "But Filippo will take me away from this place- Filippo will liberate his mother!" Ere the words were fairly out of her mouth, they were followed by a second stream of blood, and in that ensanguined flow, the spirit of Catarina Visconti departed. New trials awaited the young Duke Filippo, al- most as soon as he exchanged imprisonment for sovereignty; and for a while his territories wavered in his hands, just ready to fall before the iron grasp of one who claimed to be the son of the murdered Bernarbo. To this man, Astorre Vis. conti, had been awarded the title of the soldier "sans penur," and he now strove to make good his claim to the appellation, by supplanting the right. ful heir of Milan. But while defending the citadel of Monza, a stone was hurled which shattered his leg, and he died almost immediately of the wound, leaving Filippo without a rival to the possession of his estates. These, indeed, were but a poor A LEGEND OF MEILAND. 363 remnant of the former dukedom. Already had it lost from its crown the jewels Siena, Cremonia, Parma and Reggio, ,followed by Breschia and Novara-in short, it was stripped of its depen. dencies, and the city of Milan seemed to stand alone as the representative of ducal power. With him ended the last remnant of the power of the Visconti. His government was alternately bright. ened and stained by a Disposition to generosity or cruelty. Kind to his prisoners, wise and brave, yet unfeeling and tyrannical to his wife, whose innocence he aspersed, and whose life he sacrificed, his reign was one of tumultuous disorder and capricious goodness. Still standing upon the spacious esplanade, by which is the principal entrance to the city of Milan, is the ancient Gothic castle of the Visconti. This esplanade is called the Piazza-di-Castello and during the vice-royalty of Prince Eugene Beau- harnois, was adorned with plantations and beauti. ful walks. - PFrom its association with a family so conspicuous, there are few buildings in Milan that attract more attention from the traveller, after the cathedral, than the Casa Visconti. In the year 1887, the steward of the Visconti property had a beautiful young girl, his niece, residing with him in a small house adjoining the Mansion. This girl was the idol of the old man's page: 364-365[View Page 364-365]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 364-365 864 A LEGEND OF MEJLAND. heart. Of all his daughters, not' one had survived, and his only son had gone away when a mere youth, and had never returned. His wife was in- firm, and Gian's sole dependence was upon this beautiful Bianca, whose society he prized as a doting father might'do. Nor did Bianca love her kind uncle less. She had known, indeed, no other father and mother than the old steward and his wife; and now that the o1q woman was deprived of health and strength of body and mind, the affectionate girl bestowed all her cares upon her. One only recreation did Bianca steal from her duties. When her charge slept, which was usual- ly even till mid-day, she stole into the picture. gallery of the castle and copied the paintings with which it- abounde}. To this task she came not without some previous knowledge of the art. The old steward, Maspini, had taken her from the house of an Italian painter, to whom she was indebted for a careful study of his art and no small cultiva- tion of its details. Day after day, while Catharine Maspini slept, the girl was seated at her easel in the dim light of the old gallery, surrounded by the creations of the grand old masters, and imitating with no unskil. ful hand their many and various beauties. Maspini did not grudge the costly materials she used, and already the small dwelling had its pictured rivals to the collection at. the castle. A LEGEND OF MEILAND. 365 One afternoon Maspini urged her to go back to a picture which she had been quite earnest to com- plete, saying that he would take her place by his wife's easy chair as long as. she wished to remain. Bianca gladly accepted his offer, and taking the keys, she made her way up stairs to the gallery, and was soon absorbed in painting. She touched and retouched the picture, until it grew so lovely beneath her eyes, that she fairly wept with delight. Nothing that she had yet executed, had worn such a finished beauty. As she worked on, the sun sunk down upon his couch in the west, and drew his gorgeous drapery of purple and gold above it. Twilight succeeded. If she looked around the room, all seemed dark, but upon her picture there came down a soft light as if a star were shining upon it from its serene depths. She leaned back in her chair, and gazed lovingly into the tender eyes of the sweet portrait. It was a lady, ap. parently of that beautiful transition age between childhood and womanhood, with deep, dark, spiritual-looking eyes, that seemed to look into futurity, and ask what it would bring to her. What had it brought? Maspini had told her that this was the pictured semblance of the fair Beatrice, the wife of Philip Visconti, whose melancholy fate had so often excited her to tears. She had lingered over this picture until the spirit that once animated the form it represented seemed [ page: 366-367[View Page 366-367]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 366-367 to come to her like a guardian angel. A slight rustling as of garments, while it awed, did not alarm her. She thought she could have borne to see Beatrice Visconti before her eyes and talk with her face to face. She felt that there was some one beside her, yet she did not look up. She waited perhaps to hear a voice which should awaken her, fqr she felt that she was half dream. ing in that dim twilight. The voice came low and silvery as a spirit might be supposed to speak; yet with a deep and tender pathos, as of a suppliant. Moreover, it was not a woman's voice, and Bianca began to tremble under its strange influence. " Lady," it said, " be not alarmed. Believe me, I have often watched you here, and would not harm or frighten you for worlds. To-night, un- able longer to bear the insupportable loneliness of the castle, I have ventured to accost you; and the sight of your completed picture, which in its pro- gress I have so much admired, has made it im- possible to resist congratulating you upon its per- fection." Do not think, reader, that Bianca's eyes remain- ed downcast through this long speech from the unknown visitant. She had raised them, and saw distinctly the outline of a handsome face and of a fine figure. It was too dark to discern the complexion, but she was quite satisfied that it was not at all ghost-like; while the voice had a clear a Jtui OuF MEMLAND. . 867 and pleasant ring that could never belong to one who had lain in the deep ground, or five fathoms in the sea. But maidenly delicacy prompted her to murmur something about the lateness of the hour, and her surprise at not being called by her uncle, and then she rose to go. The strange being attended her down the stairs and across the little arched pathway that led into the house of her uncle. She lingered a moment on the step, but when she turned, she found he was still following. To her surprise, her uncle addressed him as if he knew of him before. " Signor," said Maspini, " you are imprudent to leave the tower. Do you not know that already you may be watched." "I cannot help it, good Maspini. I can stay cooped no longer in that horrid place. I am dying of ennui. Better to be taken than to live thus-- knowing that an angel is near me, yet that I may not speak or hear her voice." "Ah, it was my little Bianca that tempted you out? Faith, I did not dare tell her that you were there, lest she should delay to finish the pic. ture I like so well 1" "Nay, it is completed, and I have had the first benefit of the sight." "Well, signor, I cannot be inhospitable enough to bid you go back to your eyrie; but if you must stay here this evening, we will stay above stairs, page: 368-369[View Page 368-369]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 368-369 368 A LEGEND OF MTLAND. where no prying eye can look, through a crevice in the shutters." He led the way to an upper room, whither Bianca had already retired to conceal her emotion. Evi. dently some peril was connected with the hand- some and noble stranger, which her uncle had con. cealed from her, and which she longed, yet dread. ed to know. Never had a presence so moved and affected her. Nor was the impression weakened after passing the entire evening in hearing and seeing him. When the clock struck ten, the stranger rose, and taking her hand, said, simply, "'I must go now back to my lonely tower. I leave my char- acter in my uncle's hands, satisfied that he will not do me injustice." Bidding them good night, he cautiously stepped across to the castle, and the soft shutting of a door told them he was in safety. More than a month before--so Maspini now told Bianca-this stranger had come quietly into the castle one afternoon while he was there alone, and requested shelter. He had been accused of con- spiracy against the life of the Austrian emperor; but trusting to the officers being ignorant of his person, and strong in his own innocence of the plot, he had merely desired to lie secreted for awhile, until the storm should blow over. Maspini had become intensely interested in him, but dared A LEGEND OP MRITAND. 369 not acquaint his niece with the circumstance, lest it should cause her embarrassment if any inquiry should be made of her when he was absent. More, over, he knew that nothing would tempt her to the gallery, if she knew that a stranger was near. Therefore he kept the secret until the young signor betrayed himself. Four years from that night, in a fine old family mansion, once occupied by one of the Scala, Eu- genie Dorati and his young wife Bianca, were re. calling this very remembrance. They had been two years married. Catarina Maspini had paid the debt of nature, but her husband, released from the cares of his stewardship, had found a welcome to the home of his niece and her grateful partner. A fair babe lay in the cradle, whose eyes wore the reflected hue of the mother's. Around the room hung the evidences of Bianca's talent, and con. spicuous among the rest, hung the portrait of the beautiful Beatrice. And in the cosiest corner, half sitting, half re- clining, was Maspini, with his calm face shining brightly upon the rest of the group, and moving his lips as if in prayer or thanksgiving. For his niece had become the happy wife of one of the nost distinguished of the Milanese nobles, once njustly suspected of a conspiracy-and not more Distinguished for greatness, than goodness was the toble and handsome Dorati. 31 page: 370-371[View Page 370-371]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 370-371 Tne gnfanta of si. THE glowing sun of France was doing its benefi- cent work upon the mantling vineyards of that fa- vored country. All over the land there was the cheerful shout of the merry vintagers; and in wit- nessing their mirth, the worn and hackneyed no- blesse might well have envied the happy peasantry of sunny France. Approaching Paris, through this beautiful coun- try, on one of the finest days of the vintage, were '"two travellers on horseback," (a la G. P. R. James.) They were evidently foreigners - their dress, their manner of sitting on their horses, and their healthful, English countenances, betokening as much. "Shall we preserve our incognito at Paris, as well as at Madrid?" asked the younger of the travellers; "Surely, John and Tom Smith will answer at Paris-a convenient name enough; for who ever sought to find the pedigree of a Smith?" THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. 371 "Well," answered the first, with a little conceal- ed mortification in his voice, "'perhaps it will be as safe; and indeed we shall see no one at Paris." "t out, tout I " said the other, "I mean to intro duce you to the delectable society of that most virtuous and quiet city; and there are a thousand advantages to be reaped in Parisian life, under a borrowed name, that one would never claim under his own. But, hillo:! here comes Graham." A stout English horse, on which was a tall, powerful rider, advanced rapidly in the rear, and soon over- took the two. The man took off his plumed hat and made a low \ obeisance. "My lord duke -" he began to say; but he who had answered before to the name of Tom Smith, laid his whip lightly across his lips, before he could finish the sentence. '"Hush I not a word of that. We are plain Eng- lish gentlemen-brothers, you know. Keep as dark as you can about us -but preserve your own name an' welcome. We cannot afford to find extra names for the whole party. Where are Cottington and Porter?" ' They will join you at- Paris, my --, Mr. Smith, I mean; and it is their wish, if the Prince --, if Mr. John Smith will consent to proceed di. rectly to Madrid." "To be sure-to be sure-plain Mr. Smith will have no objection to follow the lead of Sir page: 372-373[View Page 372-373]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 372-373 372 THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. Francis Cottington, British Envoy at Madrid, and the celebrated Endymion Porter, who is almost a Spanish noble. But see, we are arrived at the gates." They pushed forward, and were soon in the most fashionable quarter of the streets of Paris, and a few minutes saw them seated in the parlor of the best hotel in that quarter, and their names registered in the album, as Sir Richard Grahlam, John and, Thomas Smith, Derbyshire, England, Five hours later, found them at a splendid masked ball, at which Royalty itself deigned to be present. No one knew the three tall strangers, who were closely masked, but whom every one knew were not Frenchmen, from the stiffness of their atti- tudes, their failure to converse, and their keeping constantly together, apart from the merry revel- lers. Among the pret 'iest and most graceful of the masquers, was the 3young Princess Henrietta. It was soon circulated all over the room who this el. egant figure might be. She was dressed so as to represent night, while another of the royal family personated morning. The Princess Henrietta wore a robe of black velvet, studded all over with diamond stars. A magnificent diamond crescent rose above her brow, and a single gem of inesti- ble value, encircled the small finger, and suited well with the aristocratic loveliness of the snowy hand. ?TE INFANTA OP SPAIN. 373 John Smith followed this fascinating being everywhere, like her shadow. In ainhis elder brother shook his head, and whispered mysterious words in his ear, of which, "Madrid ' alone, con. vevyed any meaning to the listening maiden. No remonstrance could take him from the spell of her presence; and he lingered under the magical in. tuence, until the real night was replaced in the natural sky, by the sapphire hues of a morning that shone over the dingy and disordered dresses, of which few could bear the test of daylight. Watching the royal carriage as it rolled away, the Englishman slowly entered his own, and was driven back to his hotel. A hasty breakfast and a short nap, and then he with his companions, were on the road to Madrid. A fortnight's journey, in which they ere joined by the two other members of their party, brought them to the Spanish cap. tal; and after a thorough renovation of their per- sons, they were driven to the hotel of the British ambassador, the Earl of Bristol. They found the earl in his library . He looked up surprised they entered, and were announced as Mr. Smith and brother. Instantly the earl knew the prince, and rose to pay homage to his royal visitor. "And you, too, my lord duke To what happy chance do I owe this unexpected visit?" Listen, Bristol," said Prince Charles "I have come to see the Infants Donna Maria without be- page: 374-375[View Page 374-375]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 374-375 374 THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. ing known. Make me known to King Phillip, as soon as you please; but on no account, let the lady herself know that I am in Madrid." "Or any other lady," said Buckingham, with a coarse laugh, and something very like an oath, as he finished the sentence. "Let a woman into a secret, and the four corners of the earth will be soon ringing with it." The Earl of Bristol was too manly to reply to any speech of Buckingham's where women were concerned. He was a husband and father in his own person, and the delicacy of the sex was safe in his hands. He rose, and offered to lead the way to the king's apartments, which he did by a back en- trance. Phillip IV. sat in his sumptuously decked room, dressed as magnificently as upon court occa- sions. He was superb in all his tastes, and never allowed himself to be seen except in grand cos- tume. Charles, who was about his own age, ap- proached him with a youthful dignity, tempering his usually too light and frivolous manner, while Bristol informed Phillip who were his visitors. The king soon warmed towards Charles, and ar. ranged a plan by which the latter could see his in. tended bride. Philip laid aside his Spanish grav- ity for the occasion, and, with Bristol for an inter- preter, became quite intimate with his future bro- ther-in-law, for so he considered him. His plan. was that Charles, in riding on the Prado, the next THE INFANTA OP SPAIN. 375 morning, should meet the king, queen and the in. fanta. EHowel, in his letters, says of this princess, "she is a very comely lady, rather of a Flemish than of a Spanish complexion,and carrying a most pure mixture of red and white in her face. She is full an b ag. lhpped, which is held rather a beauty than a blemish.", Thrice the royal party met, passed and re-passed the prince on the Prado. The infanta wore a blue ribbon on her arm, by which Charles was to dis. tinguish her. Etiquette forbade the king from ap- pearing to recognize the prince, but he raised his cap as if to salute Bristol. The princ e expressed himself highly pleased with the appearance of the infanta; and late at night he met Philip on the Prado, entered his coach and talked freely upon the subject of a union between the royal person. ages. The few succeeding days were marked by hawk-. ing, hunting and pleasure parties to the Casso del Campo, a royal residence near Madrid; but this 'was only a prelude to the grand ceremonial in which the infant a should be presented personally to her future husband. As this approached, Charles was conducted'to the royal convent of St. Jerome, by four memb ers of state, who attended according to Spanish custom, at a magnificent re- past.* *.Dauop' Xezaorir r page: 376-377[View Page 376-377]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 376-377 876 THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. Philip on his arrival was met by the prince, who went down to greet him. They then mounted two richly caparisoned horses, Charles on the right hand of Philip; and the Castilian grandees joined the procession to the royal castle. There Charles was first introduced to the infanta. Four chairs were placed, and side by side sat the king and queen, Charles and Philip's fair sister. Still, the heart of the prince went back to the night of the masked ball in Paris, and the young and lovely Henrietta disputed her place with the infanta of Spain. But his manner was devoted, and as lover- like as one could reasonably expect on so short an acquaintance, and no one would have deemed his . heart wavering or divided. After a short conversation, the prince retired to rest. After he reached the magnificent chamber allotted to him, he received a present from the queen, of an ewer of massive gold, a night-gown curiously embroidered, a desk full of drawers in which were precious rarities, and two large chests, secured by bands and nails of gold, filled with fine linen and rich perfumes t Howel says that " the prince fixed his eyes on the infanta for half an hour together," which the quaint old historian seemed to interpret into true and sin.- cere love. As the time sped, Philip, whose taste was of the t Frankland'B Aunals. THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. I," most elaborate nature, instituted a succession of banquets and magnificent spectacles; which fully justified his claim to be called the most super5 monarch in the world. At all events, none have exceeded him since his time; and he well merits the title of Philip the Magnificent. It was the first of May, 1624. In Spain the first of May is consecrated to St. James, the tutelar saint of Spain and Castile. Beyond the gate of Toledo, there is a spot sailed El Sotillo, to which it is the custom to resort on that day, for pleasure. To this spot the Prince repaired; and hither Buck- ingham accompanied him. They joined in the hi- larity of the scene, ate and drank in public, and talked and laughed with the dark-eyed donnas who had congregated in this delightful place. Trees gave their cool shade, and rustic bowers were everywhere erected; and the Englishmen looked back to their own stiff, formal England, and thought it the most stupid place in the world. So much for thie Castilian pri'de, reserve and haughti. ness of which they had heard so long 1 Six months ha-ve passed away in Madrid. Charles keeps the appearance of a ]over, although one can see that his heart is not in it. Still, Philip encourages it, although the infants evidently dis. page: 378-379[View Page 378-379]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 378-379 378 THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. likes the idea of a Protestant lover. Everything is done which could further the conversion of the prince to the Catholic religion; but in vain. Had he loved Donna Maria, perhaps he would not have held out against the solicitations of the priests ; but she was not the choice of his heart; and his professions were the height of deception and fraud. Buckingham was detested by the whole court. The Spaniards had wisdom enough to see through the web of corruption and vulgarity that enveloped him ; and they despised him accord- ingly. And now the prince began to talk of a return. Philip pleaded with him, but in vain. Charles told him that he should leave his engagement to be set- tled by proxy; and should place it in the hands of the Earl of Bristol. The document which referred to this matter was indeed placed in the hands of the earl, and all was supposed to be fair and right. The prince took leave of the infanta, like a lover; and Philip loaded the departing guest with gifts of a costly and splendid description. Spanish and Barbary horses, twenty colts, a diamond hilted sword and dagger, and a superb painting of the Virgin by Corregio, were among the things be- stowed. Rubens, who had attended upon Charles during his visit, had been employed by Philip to copy some of Titian's paintings. The Europa, Venus THE INFANTA OP SPAIN. 879 and the Bath of Diana. were among these, and they were also presented to the prince. Others sent in gifts, also, of paintings and costly rarities Philip and Charles were alike in their appreciation of the fine arts, and these gifts pleased alike the bestower and the receiver. Buckingham set out first, on the pretence of pre. paring for the final departure of the prince. The English fleet in which Charles was to embark, lay at St. Anden, and Philip insisted on escorting the prince as far as the palace of the Escurial. They set out at day-break, and before they had proceeded far into the forest, a stag was roused, and the king's hounds and huntsmen appeared in fine order and soon brought him down. As they rode on, they entered a cool, embower. ed shade, in the midst of which arose as if by magic, a splendid repast, of which Charles was in. vited to partake; and they dismounted for that purpose. The parting between Philip and Charles was tender and affectionate ;and the latter sent as a parting present to the infanta, a string of crown pearls, one hundred and fifty in number, and a diamond anchor-the emblem, as he desired Philip to say, of his constancy I If the image of Henrietta of France flitted across the mind of Charles at that moment, the spirit of constancy must have blushed deep at the thought of one whom he was so bitterl y deceiving. page: 380-381[View Page 380-381]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 380-381 880 THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. It was the second week in December. Philip was to give audience on a certain day to the Eng- lish ambassador, the Earl of Bristol. He came, and they were closeted together, and express orders were given to admit no one else. Philip had wished to speak to the earl respecting the document left by Charles. "I have it here, your majesty," said Bristol, blushing at the meanness and hypocrisy he was about to expose in his own prince. He handed it to the king, who read it with an air of unaffected astonishment. "Only till Christmas! What does this mean, my lord ambassador? Did you know of this be. fore?' "I did, your majesty, but shame for my prince kept me silent. Believe me, I am pained to the very soul. I hoped-yet I confess to your majesty that it was against hope--that the prince would have sent me authority, long ere this, to have ap- pointed a proxy." "The document reads, if I understand it, in this way-that until Christmas the negotiation for the marriage shall be kept open, and that ourself, or the infant Carlos, shall be chosen as proxy for Prince Charles. This is it-is it not, my lord am- bassador?"' "I understand it to read thus, your majesty; TTHE INFANTA OP SPAIN. 881 and moreover, that after that time, the engagement between the prince and the infanta is void." It was a painful interview to Bristol; and Philip shortened it as much as possible. His generous heart pitied the embarrassment which the conduct of the prince had caused the ambassador; and he could not bear to witness the deep shame which he exhibited. Christmas passed; and the negotiation was of course broken off. The infanta, however her feminine pride might have shrunk from being re. jected, was yet heartily glad of the decision. Even the thought of the engagement had been dis- tasteful to her; and there came a happy thought of freedom, such as she had not experienced be. fore, since Philip had got this wild scheme of the English marriage into his royal head. Again Bristol was called to an audience. Philip had conceived the most thorough respect and ad- miration for the ambassador, and he had now sent for him to attempt inducing him to fix his residence permanently in Spain. Bristol, while he felt the compliment implied, refused at once. "England is my country, your majesty; do not tempt me to desert her." "At least, you will allow me to give you a proof 32 page: 382-383[View Page 382-383]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 382-383 $82 THE INFANTA OF 8PAIN. of my respect for you, by accepting twenty thousand crowns?" - "' No. Your majesty must neither tempt nor bribe me." 'c But the king of England need never know of this, mylord ambassador. This is a private matter between you and me." "There is one person who will be sure to know it, and that is the Earl of Bristol," answered the am- bassador, proudly; " and he will not'fail to tell the- king of England i" Philip was silenced. "Have I subjects as in- corruptible as this man?" he asked himself. And he sighed to think that such men were rare in courts, if not everywhere. It was not long before rumor brought the news of Charles's marriage with Henrietta of France. It reached the ears of the infanta, upon whom it made not even a passing impression. She was busily preparing for a more auspicious union with the young king of Hungary, who afterwards be- came emperor of Austria, under the title of Ferdinand III. Long before this, she had sent back the string of pearls and the diamond anchor, the emblem of the prince's constancy; and she inwardly hoped that Henrietta might prize it more, and find in it a pledge of more enduring attachment than it had proved to herself. THE INFANTA OF SPAIN. 883 "How often," says Dunlop, " she must have re membered that anchor, when seated on the throne at Vienna!" How many times did the outpour- ings of her grateful heart arise to Heaven, that she had escaped this- dreaded marriage I t page: 384-385[View Page 384-385]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 384-385 cie Jfte of a Quoen IT was an apartment in the palace of Charles II., king of Spain. The magnificence of the seven- teenth century was visible throughout all its arrangements, and the gorgeous taste, distinguish- ing the Spanish ladies of that period, was con- spicuous in almost a ludicrous degree, in the person occupying the apartment. Arrayed in costly robes,'such as a queen might wear on pre. sentation days, sat a woman, old, wrinkled and savage looking, her lips contracted into a pinched, malicious expression, her little black eyes spark- ling with hate, and her long, thin, bony fingers eagerly held out to receive something from the hands of one of the royal household. "Indeed, indeed, my lady duchess," pleaded the manll who stood at the door of the room, as if loth to come farther; "I cannot leave them here without orders from the queen. You know what a special charge she gave me on the very morn- THE FATE OF A QUEEN. 885 ing she left the palace, and it is as much as my place is worth to have them out of my sight, at all," "Bring them here, fellow 1" said the lady, en. raged to find her authority questioned. "Bring them here, and I will let you find that I have something to order. Nay," she continued, spring- ing across the room as nimbly as her age permit- ted, closing the door and locking it, "you shall obey me. Take the creatures out of the basket, instantly." The man reluctantly opened the basket, care- fully releasing from it two beautiful parrots of a very rare plumage. They perched on his hand and shoulder, apparently delighted at their escape from the basket, and began chattering in French. Reaching out her hands, the old woman caught them, and, in a moment, she had wrung the necks of both with her lank, skinny fingers, and thrust them hastily back. A Spot of blood fell to the floor; for so violently had she twisted the deli. cate throat of the smallest, that the skin was wholly ruptured. She started, and blenched for an instant, as she saw it staining the pure white of' the finely plas- tered floor, pure and smooth as marble; but recovering herself, she turned to the man and told him to take them away. He stood, clasping his hands together, and exclaiming in a confused 32* page: 386-387[View Page 386-387]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 386-387 386 THE FATE OF A QUEEHN. jumble of French and Spanish, over the poor dead birds. Unlocking the door, she applied her satin slip per to the basket, and would probably have done the same to the man, had he not hastened out of the room to remove the birds to a place where they could be immediately stuffed and mounted, 60 ad to resemble life as much as possible, before the queen should return. This idea getting possession of his head, he went away, forbearing to give utterance to the bitter oaths which had nearly escaped his lips. Closing the door, the panting old woman threw herself down upon a pile of cushions covered with gold brocade, sprinkling her hands, as she lay, with some odorous perfume from a richly cut bottle. "No more French chattering from them. I would I could rid the palace of her as easily I I would like to do it myself, if it were only that I should hear no more of the queen's sweet temper and amiability. Faugh I I hate her r" It did not keep her awake, however, for in a short time she slept as soundly as if she had taken a draught from Lethe, instead of the richly spiced cordial which accompanied her noon meal, and which none but a head as strong as the Duchess of Terraneuva, could have withstood the effects. For the lady who had just executed this THE FATE OF A QUEEN. 387 piece of spiteful malice, was none other than the first lady of honor (Camarera Mayor) to Louise d'0rleans, the Queen of Spain and consort of Charles II. Descended by her father, from the royal house of Aragon, and by her mother from Fernando Cortez, who left her mines of gold, and a principality, the duchess was haughty, proud and arrogant, even more than her Spanish blood entitled her to be. Unscrupulous she certainly was in regard to the means of destroying anything that offended her; as in the case of her cousin, Don Carlos of Arragon, whom she actually hired bravos to despatch, because he aspired to Ter- ranueva, which she inherited in her own right. From her husband, she held the title also, of Duchess of Monteleone. Previous to her being called to the queen's household, she had resided in magnificence with her daughter-in-law, the second duchess of Mon- teleone; but wherever she was, she claimed rule, as a right which her rank and talents gave her. When Charles-himself a mere boy, bashful, inexperienced and ignorant, brought to his throne the young and lovely Louisa d'0Orleans, and sum. moned the duchess to his household as lady of honor to the queen, a fierce hatred seemed to possess the soul of one who could not bear to witness youth and beauty in another, now that her own was gone forever. Confident of her superiority to the " married babies," as she con- page: 388-389[View Page 388-389]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 388-389 388 THE FATE OF A QUEEN. temptuously termed them, she claimed and exerted a sway, which, at any other court, would have utterly ruined her. But Charles was careless and inconsiderate, and the queen was all sweetness; and so both tacitly acknowledged her influence. * * * *** *X. Louisa d'Orleans, daughter of the Duke of Orleans, brother to the French king by Henrietta of England, was about eighteen years of age when proposals were made to her from the youthful king of Spain. She shrunk with horror from the formality and gloom of the Spanish court, so different as she apprehended from the light and joyous character of that of her uncle, the French king. And, indeed, had Charles welcomed her to a fairy bower, with sunshine smiling down upon it all the year through, it would not have tempted her; for, alas, the noble maiden's heart was no longer her's to bestow. Long since, even from her childhood, it had clung tenderly to that of her cousin, the Dauphin of France. When, therefore, her kingly uncle accepted the offer of Charles for Louisa, and she remonstrated against it, Louis told her that he could have asked no better for his own daughter. "Ah, sire," she replied, " but you could, if you pleased, have done so much better for your niece!" But the laws of courts over hearts is despotic, said the fair and noble Louisa, stifling the emotions THE FATE OF A QUEEN. 389 she dared not- discover, hid her bleeding heart under the bridal flowers, and became the queen of Spain. From the moment of the bridal, she had hidden from every eye the sight of her sufferings; and so sweetly and amiably had she performed every duty of her blameless and innocent life, in a court where pride, craftiness and intrigue abounded, that Charles, ignorant, bashful, and a woman-hater generally, gave her the admiration and considera. tion which she truly deserved. To the last of her brief existence, he greeted her as when he met her on the bridge leading to the Isle of Pheasants, he received her from the hand of the Marques of Astorga, exclaiming, " my queen! my queen 1"Not all the dreary disconm- forts of that tedious and stormy travel by which she arrived at, Madrid, could disturb the sweetness and equanimity of that temper which won every heart, save that of the vindictive Duchess of Terranueva; nor, although mortified by the ignorance of the king, who did not even know the names of several important towns in his own do- minion, did she ever show, by a single look or ex- pression, that she was not perfectly satisfied with his wisdom and attainments. Still, had she truly loved him, his indifferent manner at times, would have caused her the most excruciating grief; as, for instance, when she wished to repeat a summer page: 390-391[View Page 390-391]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 390-391 190 THE PFATE OF A QUEEN. excursion which had once given her great plea- sure, she was coolly denied on the plea of ex. pense; yet, almost immediately, he set off for the Escurial, attended by two or three of his courtiers. Still amiable, Louisa sent thither an affectionate letter, accompanied by the gift of a splendid diamond ring. In return, the king sent her a casket of gold fillagree, containing some beads of precious wood, set with diamonds. A little note was theremn, which she eagerly opened. It con- tained these words- " Madam, there is a great storm of wind here. I have killed six wolves." Probably this was the only letter which he ever wrote her. Whatever was developed in Charles, of a high or manly nature, was indisputably owing to Louisa. -For his sake, she learned, privately, the Spanish dances; and received for this his delighted excla- mation of ," My rena 1" The sway of the Duchess of Terranueva now became insupportable. Not a day passed that did not witness some demonstration of her intolerable pride and haughtiness of demeanor, not only to the whole court which she kept in incessant broils, but towards the king and queen. These repeated instances called forth the fiery temper of the king, whose wide mouth, and thick Austrian lips, sometimes gave the lie to his fair hair, delicate complexion and the remarkable sweet- ness of his eyes:-shbowing that he could, on provocation, become terrible. He swore big oaths that she should be displaced, and was already on the watch for a suitable person to fill her situation. The Duchess d' Albuquerque, the Duchess d' In fantado, and the Marchioness de Los Velez were the principal aspirants. Don Pedro, of Arragon, asked an audience of her, one morning, and gave her the unexpected advice to remove herself from court, as quietly as possible, lest a public dismissal might ensue. Stung with rage, she refused to believe that he had any authority for thus advising her. Rushing unannounced into the king's presence, she related the insult, and his majesty's permission to leave a situation in which she was allowed to meet with such affronts. "Certainly!" answered Charles, ayou are at perfect liberty to leave the palace whenever you choose." She was petrified with rage and amazement. Not even royalty had ever dared to speak thus to the duchess. She sprang from his presence, and as the queen was not yet risen, she entered her chamber without the usual ceremonies. With her usual sweetness, Louisa said, "I re. gret, madam, that anything so unpleasant should have occurred--." page: 392-393[View Page 392-393]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 392-393 392 THE FATE OF A QUEEN. Before she could speak further, the duchess struck her hand violently upon a small table, and caught up a splendid Chinese fan, much valued by her majesty, breaking it in pieces, and throwing the glittering fragments around the chamber. "It is quite beneath the dignity of a consort of Spain to lament the dismission of her Camarera Mayor," she said haughtily. Her departure occasioned the most lively satis. faction, and her situation was soon filled more ac. ceptably by the Duchess of Albuquerque, who adopted an entirely different policy, being as good, gentle and obliging, as her predecessor had been the reverse. As if the fate of Henrietta of England descend- ed to her fair and beautiful daughter, consigning her, after a few brief years of life, to an early grave, Louisa began to exhibit the same symptoms as her mother had done. Returning from riding horseback, an exercise which was admirably adapt- ed to her figure, and in which she excelled, she complained of violent and distressing pain. More than at any other time, the king had been struck with the wondrous beauty of "My rena," on this occasion. She rode a spirited jennet of his own choosing, and was attired magnificently. in a riding dress of black cloth, with rich gold buttons fasten- ing the habit and sleeves. A Spanish hat and THE FATE OF A QUEEN. 393 feathers adorned her head, and her little fairy:like gloves were closed by diamond buttons. As she took these buttons from the splendid casket, which no hands save her own ever opened, the superb pearl, called Peregrina, as large as a small pear, hanging to a diamond clasp, which formed her present from Cha'rles, when they first met, caught her eye. She held it up playfully, as if to remind him of that meeting, and caught his admiring gaze. It brought forth her blushes like a girl's. Perhaps there was another remembrance mingled with his, that she blushed to recall. That, too, was the hour in which she felt imperatively called upon to shut out from her loving heart the image of her cousin. A momentary faintness, in which the blush was supplanted by deathly paleness, alarmed the king. He sprang towards her, but already she had recov- ered,' and almost shrunk from his clasping arms. She attributed it to the close perfume of the orange and jasmine trees which were standing in silver cases, about the room; and with this first prevarication on her lips (a rare instance in a French woman 1) she buttoned on the diminutive gloves, and went slowly down the grand stair-case, to the court of the palace, where grooms were walking the superb animals up and down, while awaiting the royal pair. As the groom held out his hand for the little foot which the queen was 38 page: 394-395[View Page 394-395]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 394-395 394 THE FATE OF A QUEEN. about to place in it, Charles, impelled by a sudden gallantry, which, it must be confessed, did not often possess him, sprang forward, and received it in his own. "Quite recovered, my rena?" he asked, ten- derly. "Quite," she answered, but even as she spoke, a sudden pang shot through her frame. She press- ed her hand upon her heart, as if absolutely to crush out the pain, and the paleness returned to her cheek; but this time Charles was mounting his horse and did not perceive it. She rode superbly that day--her gay jennet distancing the other animals--and then, when car. ried almost out of sight, she would return with a bright smile on her cheek, and an apparent elas- ticity'of spirits that did not seem approachable by sickness or sorrow. It was after this ride that she began entirely to droop; and in February, 1689, the flower of Span- ish queens closed the beautiful eyes that never beamed but in sweetness upon all. Whether the fatal poison of which she was supposed to be the victim, was introduced into her food, or into the flowers she so loved to inhale, is one of the myste- ries that cannot be divulged until the earth gives up its dead. The dull, heavy formalities of the, Spanish court, which the light and airy graces of Louisa d'Orleans had softened into something more THE FATE OF A QUEEN. 395 elastic, resumed their sway after her death, never, perhaps, to be again touched into beauty by so sweet a spirit as here. All tender and delicate memories cluster around her name, and even the proud and haughty Spaniards cherish the records of her gentle and unstained life with tenderness and respect, as the best and most beloved by her subjects, of all the queens of Spain. page: 396-397[View Page 396-397]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 396-397 te Xtm d {f Exit Lube Stto tafnat. AMONG the many champions of Polish liberty, was Adam Konarski, a brave and noble officer whose heart bled at the miserable wrongs that every day wrung out the tears of blood from her frieads. Yes--Bleeding Poland I Who can sep- arate the name of that unhappy country from the word that so fully expressed her state. At the sound of that name, how we recoil with horror at the remembrance of the horrible atrocities that have been' comnmitted upon her sons noth- ing in the whole rnnge of sad history, presents a spectacle of worse torture, not only to the en- slaved body, but to the finest feeling of the human soul, than has been endured by the refined and sensitive Poles. We have called Adam Konarski a champion of liberty. He was more. A man whose private character was so true, so noble, so far above his tormenters as to make them seem beneath the soil on which his footsteps trod-a husband VICTIM OF THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. 397 whose wife worshipped him for his goodness and worth - an officer, endeared to all his soldiers be- cause he remembered that they, too, were men- there was not in all Poland a man more univer- sally respected, or more deeply loved. ' For nobly advocating the cause of his country, he was expatriated; his possessions seized by the government, and he, with his tender and delicate wife, just on the verge of confinement, obliged to flee. At a small cabin by the roadside, her child first saw the light; and unmindful of the agony of the young mother, dying to clasp her first-born to her heart, the agents of the government bore it from her sight, alleging that it belonged to Russia as much as did the confiscated lands and household goods of its father. The child was given to a man who had one son of his own. Perhaps the feelings of paternity induced those of generosity toward the little Julian. At all events he treated him kindly enough, during his infancy; and when his own child sickened and died, touched it may be with the realization of what a parent feels at the loss of a child, he restored him to Konarski, and re- 'ported Julian dead instead of his own. Julian Konarski was the worthy son of a wor. thy father. As a boy, his most fervent aspira- tions were that he might be permitted to help the cause of his down-trodden country; and 338 page: 398-399[View Page 398-399]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 398-399 898 VICTIM OF THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. when Adam Konarski died, the son swore on his father's grave to devote his own life to the cause of liberty. After the establishment of the Duchy of War- saw, the youth entered the service of Napoleon Bonaparte. Here he was distinguished for his courage and bravery ; but was unfortunately made a prisoner in 1812, and, for three years, he lan- guished in a Russian prison. When he was re- leased, he stood alone with his own brave heart - alone in the world. During his imprisonment, his mother, worn out by the repeated shocks she had received, had died; his own health had suf- fered from the privations and indignities he had suffered; and only the faint hope of one day see. ing Poland free, and taking the stand which she deserved among the nations of the earth, had power to prevent him from sinking into utter' despondency. But he was still a soldier -not as of old, when he followed the command of Napo- leon -but under the Russian sway, and forced to do duty where his soul most truly revolted. In vain he petitioned to be allowed to retire from military life, and pleaded his enfeebled sys. tem to which his present position was so detri- mental. Fourteen times, he received a peremp. tory refusal to so reasonable a request; and when at length, it was granted, the permission to retire was given, it was with a marked ungraciousness that embittered its reception. VICTIM OF THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. 399 One gleam of joy shone over this period of his life. At a concert, at which he had been forced in against his will, by an acquaintance, he saw.-- Clementina Saint-Cyr; and her beauty, and some. thing in her countenance far better and dearer than beauty, reconciled the melancholy man to life. There was a tender mournfulness in her eyes, like one who had looked upon wrong and slavery and oppression- of soft and gentle pity, as if for the band of heroic but powerless men who were struggling under the yoke of tyranny, or mournfully submitting to a fate from which it seemed no human power could save them. It spoke to the very soul of Julian Konarski--this mute eloquence of nature in the heart and on the face of one so beautiful. He inquired her name, of his companion. "I know not by what name the angels call her," was the enthusiastic reply, "for they alone have a right to name her; but her earthly name is Clementina SaintCyr. You must not think to win her love, for her heart is Poland's, and no mortal passion beside can influence her. But I know her well, and if you dare to trust your heart within her sphere, I will introduce you." Her words but deepened the impression made by her looks. Their acquaintance progressed, and ere many weeks, both had divided Poland in their hearts with an earnest love for each other. page: 400-401[View Page 400-401]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 400-401 400. VICTIM OF THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. They had neither any relatives to consult. Clem- entina's parents had faded away under the slow- wasting blight of oppression, and, like Julian him- self, she stood, the last tree in the forest, while those around her had fallen. They were married; and if Jul'an could have forgotten the wrongs of Poland, he would have been happy with the angel he had chosen for his household spirit. They had selected a retired spot, far from the tumults of a city, surrounded it with simple comforts, and, with his small piece of land to cultivate and adorn, Julian hoped to pass tranquilly, a few years, at least; perhaps, until the trumpet should call him from his peace- ful abode to take up arms for Poland. Not so was he to be roused from his temporary tranquility. His long continued pertinacity in tendering his resignation, awakened suspicions i:r the Grand Duke Constantine and his adherents, and thenceforth, he was a marked man. If it be true that tyrants fear those whom they have injur. ed, Julian was feared. His long confinement in Russian prisons, was known to have called out in- dignant expressions, and he was considered a dan- gerous subject. The evening of a very lovely day found the married lovers celebrating Clementina's birth night. She was just nineteen. Almost her mournful eyes had assumed a glad and joyous expression. One VICTIM OP THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. 401 dream had been accomplished, that of having some strong arm upon which to lean, and which should take the place of her father's. Julian was in the very act of lifting his glass to his lips, to drink to the many happy returns of the birth-night, when a, trampling of horses, and confu- sion of voices-outside their little dwelling arrested his hand. Clementina turned as pale as death and clung to his arm. "Fear not, dearest!" he would have said, but his words were unspoken. Ere he could utter them, a rude hand was laid upon his shoulder, a rough voice was in his ear, and his wife lay senseless upon the floor. Without allow- ing him a moment to effect her restoration, his captors dragged him away. A temporary uncon- sciousness succeeded to his arrest; and when he recovered, he found himself in utter darkness. He rose and felt for the wall. It was notfar off! for in a small dungeon of scarcely eight feet in length and even less in breath, and perfectly dark, he found himself incarcerated. It was madness to recall the scene which he last remembered. Clem- entina I where, and how was she? In vain, when the jailor brought his mean fare, did he implore him to give him tidings of his wife. No sound greeted his ear in answer to his half-distracted questions; and when the man had departed, Julian fell fainting to the floor, overcome with the inten- sity of his grief and despair. page: 402-403[View Page 402-403]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 402-403 402 VICTIM OF THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. Still the same terrible darkness when he awoke to life again. No ray of light, no sight of human face ever lighted that dreary dungeon. All was night -impenetrable night. For eleven long, lingering months, he bore this; when one morning he was taken out into the schorching, bewildering sun light, so terrible to come suddenly to the eye after such depths of darkness--chained to another man and with several other prisoners, driven like ani- mals over the road that leads to St. Petersburg. Here he served out four years more of unmitigat ed suffering. During all this time he never heard of his wife. A thousand conjectures were daily indulged in as to her fate. Perhaps she died upon the hearthstone from which he had not been per- mitted to raise her; or she might have perishedi with the child to, whom she had expected to give birth. . But no tidings came to tell him if he were yet a husband or a father; and only the bravest spirit, the most heroic soul, could have borne the dread- ful ordeal to which he was constantly subjected. It was a morning in July; but the prisoner knew it only by the oppre ssive closeness of his dungeon. There was no warmth of summer there--only a dull, faint dampness that was like the clammy touch of death. A sound came on the air, that re- verberated like thunder. The second peal came; and this time, his sharpened sense told him that it VICTIM OP THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. 4083 was the firing of cannon. For a moment, his heart beat quicker; but hope had waned so long, that it could only revive by starts, and he sat like one petrified. The sound of trampling feet and the clash of swords are in his ear, although dulled by the thick intervening walls, and the fact of an in- surrection must be upon his senses. One after another, he hears the prison doors give way, and the sound of the shuffling, staggering footsteps of his fellow-prisoners, out in the stone passage way; and then the dull, lumbering noise of some heavy instrument at the door of his own cell; while, as it gave way to the touch, a ray of light, yellow and sickly, coming through dusty and stain ed windows, glared across his eyes. A faint sick. ness like that of death comes over him, and he knows no more, until the fresh air is lifting the damp, matted hair from his forehead, and he. wakes to find himself borne off in a carriage with twelve others, as thin, gaunt and squalid as himself. The insurrection, although unsuccessful in its first purpose, was at least successful in the release of the prisoners. Julian, at least, was never re. manded. Hardly waiting for the benevolence that 'would clothe him in fitting garb to re-enter the world, he hastened to find his wife, and succeeded in tracing her to a little frontier town, where her own hands had toiled, to support herself and the child on whose sweet face no father's eye had ever looked. page: 404-405[View Page 404-405]Switch to Image ModeCLOSE Page 404-405 404 VICTIM OF THE GRAND DUKE CONSTANTINE. But the joy of seeing her husband could not arrest the disease which anxiety and grief had in- duced, and which was wearing her to the grave. In two months, she died, and Julian who had lin. gered, fondly hoping that she would revive to ac. company him, found, with his child, a home on English ground. A few years ago, he was in London; looking for- ward, perhaps, with hope to the moment when he should rejoin the angel whom he had loved, on a shore where tyranny and oppression are not known.