"If thou be'st rated by thy estimation,
Thou dost deserve enough; and yet enough
May not extend so far as to the lady."
_Merchant of Venice_.
Next morning, I was early afoot, and I found Grace as much alive to
the charms of home, as I was myself. She put on a gypsy, and
accompanied me into the garden, where to my surprise, I found Lucy. It
looked like old times to be in that spot, again, with those two dear
girls. Rupert alone was wanting to complete the picture; but, I had
an intimate conviction that Rupert, as he had been at least, could
never come within the setting of the family group again. I was
rejoiced, however, to see Lucy, and more so, just where I found her,
and I believe told her as much with my eyes. The charming girl looked
happier than she had appeared the day before, or for many previous
days indeed, and I felt less apprehension than of late, concerning her
having met with any agreeable youth of a more _genteel_
profession than that of a merchant-captain.
"I did not expect to find you here, Miss Lucy," cried Grace, "eating
half-ripe currants, too, or my eyes deceive me, at this early hour in
the morning. It is not twenty minutes since you were in your own room,
quite unadorned."
"The green fruit of dear Clawbonny is better than the ripe fruit of
those vile New York markets!" exclaimed Lucy, with a fervour so
natural as to forbid any suspicion of acting. "I should prefer a
Clawbonny potatoe, to a New York peach!"
Grace smiled, and, as soon as Lucy's animation had a little subsided,
_she_ blushed.
"How much better would it be, Miles," my sister resumed, "could you be
induced to think and feel with us, and quit the seas, to come and live
for the rest of your days on the spot where your fathers have so long
lived before you. Would it not, Lucy?"
"Miles will never do _that_," Lucy answered, with emphasis. "Men
are not like us females who love everything we love at all, with our
whole hearts. Men prefer wandering about, and being shipwrecked, and
left on desert islands, to remaining quietly at home, on their own
farms. No, no; you'll never persuade Miles to do _that_."
"I am not astonished my brother thinks desert islands such pleasant
abodes, when he can find companions like Miss Merton on them."
"You will remember, sister of mine, in the first place, that Marble
Land is very far from being a desert island at all; and, in the next,
that I first found Miss Merton in Hyde Park, London; almost in the
canal, for that matter."
"I think it a little odd that Miles never told us all about this, in
his letters, at the time, Lucy. When young gentlemen drag young ladies
out of canals, their friends at home have a right to know something of
the matter."
How much unnecessary misery is inflicted by unmeaning expressions like
this. Grace spoke lightly, and probably without a second thought about
the matter; but the little she said, not only made me thoughtful and
uneasy, but it drove everything like a smile from the usually radiant
countenance of her friend. The conversation dragged; and soon after,
we returned together to the house.
I was much occupied that morning, in riding about the place with
Mr. Hardinge, and in listening to his account of his stewardship, With
the main results I was already acquainted--nay, possessed them in the
Dawn,--but the details had all to be gone over, with the most minute
accuracy. A more simple-minded being there was not on earth than
Mr. Hardinge; and, that my affairs turned out so well was the result
of the prosperous condition of the country at that day, the system my
father had adopted in his life-time, and the good qualities of the
different agents he had chosen, every one of whom remained in the
situation in which he was at the sad moment of the fatal accident at
the mill. Had matters really depended on the knowledge and management
of the most excellent divine, they would soon have been at sixes and
sevens.
"I am no believer in miracles, my dear Miles," observed my guardian,
with amusing self-complacency; "but I do think a change has been
wrought in me, to meet the emergencies of a situation, in which the
interests of two orphans have been so suddenly intrusted to my
guidance and care. God be thanked! everything prospers; your affairs,
as well as those of my dear Grace. It is wonderful, boy, how a man of
my habits has been directed in his purchases of wheat, for instance;
I, who never bought a bushel until the whole responsibility of your
mills fell upon my shoulders I take no credit to myself for it--no
credit to myself!"
"I hope the miller has not been backward, my dear sir, in giving you
all the assistance in his power."
"Morgan?--yes; he is always ready, and you know I never forget to send
him into the market to both buy and sell. Really, his advice has been
so excellent, that to me it has the appearance of being almost
miraculous--prophetic, I should say, were it not improper. We should
avoid all exaggeration in our gratitude, boy."
"Very truly, sir. And in what manner have you managed to get along so
well with the crops, on the place, itself?"
"Favoured by the same great adviser, Miles. It is really wonderful,
the crops we have had; and the judgment that has been so
providentially shown in the management of the fields, as well as of
the mills!"
"Of course, sir, old Hiram (Neb's uncle) has always been ready to give
you his aid?--Hiram has a great deal of judgment, in his way."
"No doubt--no doubt--Hiram and I have done it all, led by a
Providential counsel. Well, my boy, you ought to be satisfied with
your earthly lot; for every thing seems to prosper that belongs to
you. Of course, you will marry, one of these days, and transmit this
place to your son, as it has been received from your fathers?"
"I keep that hope in perspective, sir; or, as we sailors say, for a
sheet-anchor."
"Your hope of salvation, boy, is your sheet-anchor, I trust.
Nevertheless, we are not to be too hard on young men, and must let
them have a little romance in their compositions. Yes, yes; I trust
you will not become so much wedded to your ship, as not to think of
taking a wife, one of these days. It will be a happy hour to me, when
I can see another Mrs. Miles Wallingford at Clawbonny. She will be the
third; for I can remember your grandmother."
"Can you recommend to me a proper person to fill that honourable
station, sir?" said I, smiling to myself, and exceedingly curious to
hear the answer.
"What do you think of this Miss Merton, boy? She is handsome, and that
pleases young men; clever, and that pleases old ones; well-educated,
and that will last, when the beauty is gone; and, so far as I can
judge, amiable; and that is as necessary to a wife, as fidelity.
_Marry no woman, Miles, that is not amiable!_"
"May I ask _what_ you call amiable, sir?--And, when that question
is answered, I may venture to go so far as to inquire _whom_ you
call amiable?"
"Very sensible distinctions, and such as are entitled to fair answers;
at least the first. I do not call levity, amiability; nor mere
constitutional gaiety. Some of the seemingly most light-hearted women
I have ever known, have been anything but amiable. There must be an
unusual absence of selfishness,--a person must live less for herself,
than others--or rather, must find her own happiness in the happiness
of those she loves, to make a truly amiable woman. Heart and
principle are at the bottom of what is truly amiable; though
temperament and disposition undoubtedly contribute. As for the whom,
your own sister Grace is a truly amiable young woman. I never knew her
do anything to hurt another's feelings in my life."
"I suppose you will admit, sir, I cannot very well marry Grace?"
"I wish you could, with all my heart--yes, with all my heart! Were not
you and Grace brother and sister, I should consider myself well quit
of the responsibility of my guardianship, in seeing you man and wife."
"As that is out of the question, I am not without hopes you can
mention another who will do just as well, so far as I am concerned."
"Well, there is this Miss Merton--though I do not know her well enough
to venture absolutely on a recommendation. Now, I told Lucy, no later
than yesterday, while we were on the river, and as you were pointing
out to Miss Merton the forts in the Highlands, that I thought you
would make one of the handsomest couples in the state--and, moreover,
I told her--bless me, how this corn grows! The plants will be in
tassel in a few days, and the crop must turn out most beneficent--truly,
truly--there is a providence in all things; for, at first, I was for
putting the corn on yonder hill-side, and the potatoes here; but old
Hiram was led by some invisible agency to insist on this field for the
corn, and the hill-side for the potatoes--and, now, look, and see what
crops are in promise! Think of a nigger's blundering on such a thing?"
In 1802, even well-educated and well-intentioned clergymen had no
scruples in saying "nigger."
"But, sir, you have quite forgotten to add what else you told Lucy?"
"True--true--it is very natural that you should prefer hearing me talk
about Miss Merton, to hearing me talk about potatoes--I'll tell
_that_ to Lucy, too, you may depend on it."
"I sincerely hope you will do no such thing, my dear sir," I cried, in
no little alarm.
"Ah! that betrays guilt--consciousness, I should say; for what guilt
can there be in a virtuous love?--and rely on it, both the girls shall
know all about it. Lucy and I often talk over your matters, Miles; for
she loves you as well as your own sister. Ah! my fine fellow, you
blush at it, like a girl of sixteen! But, there is nothing to be
ashamed of, and there is no occasion for blushes."
"Well, sir, letting my blushes--the blushes of a shipmaster!--but
setting aside my blushes, for mercy's sake _what more_ did you
tell Lucy?"
"What more? Why I told her how you had been on a desert island, quite
alone as one might say, with Miss Merton, and how you had been at sea,
living in the same cabin as it were, for nine months; and it would be
wonderful--wonderful, indeed, if two so handsome young persons should
not feel an attachment for each other. Country might make some
difference, to be sure--"
"And station, sir?--What do you think would be the influence of the
difference of station, also?"
"Station!--Bless me, Miles; what difference in station is there
between you and Miss Merton; that it should cause any obstacle to your
union?"
"You know what it is, sir, as well as I do myself. She is the daughter
of an officer in the British army, and I am the master of a ship. You
will admit, I presume, Mr. Hardinge, that there is such, a thing as a
difference in station?"
"Beyond all question. It is exceedingly useful to remember it; and I
greatly fear the loose appointments of magistrates and other
functionaries, that are making round the country, will bring all our
notions on such subjects into great confusion. I can understand that
one man is as good as another in _rights_, Miles; but I cannot
understand he is any _better_, because he happens to be
uneducated, ignorant, or a blackguard."
Mr. Hardinge was a sensible man in all such distinctions, though so
simple in connection with other matters.
"You can have no difficulty, however, in understanding that, in New
York, for instance, I should not be considered the equal of Major
Merton--I mean socially, altogether, and not in personal merit, or the
claims which years give--and of course, not the equal of his
daughter?"
"Why--yes--I know what you mean, now. There may be some little
inequality in that sense, perhaps; but Clawbonny, and the ship, and
the money at use, would be very apt to strike a balance."
"I am afraid not, sir. I should have studied law, sir, had I wished to
make myself a gentleman."
"There are lots of vulgar fellows getting into the law, Miles--men who
have not half your claims to be considered gentlemen. I hope you do
not think I wished you and Rupert to study law in order to make
gentlemen of you?"
"No, sir; it was unnecessary to take that step as regards Rupert, who
was fully born in the station. Clergymen have a decided position all
over the world, I believe; and then you are extremely well connected
otherwise, Mr. Hardinge. Rupert has no occasion for such an
assistance--with me it was a little different."
"Miles--Miles--this is a strange fancy to come over a young man in
your situation--and who, I am afraid, has been the subject of envy,
only too often, to Rupert!"
"If the truth were known, Mr. Hardinge, I dare say both Rupert and
Lucy, in their secret hearts, think they possess advantages, in the
way of social station, that do not belong to Grace and myself."
Mr. Hardinge looked hurt, and I was soon sorry that I had made this
speech. Nor would I have the reader imagine that what I had said,
proceeded in the least from that narrow selfish feeling, which, under
the blustering pretension of equality, presumes to deny the existence
of a very potent social fact; but simply from the sensitiveness of
feelings, which, on this subject, were somewhat in danger of becoming
morbid, through the agency of the most powerful passion of the human
heart--or, that which has well been called the master-passion.
Nevertheless, Mr. Hardinge was much too honest a man to deny a truth,
and much too sincere to wish even to prevaricate about it, however
unpleasant it might be to acknowledge it, in all its unpleasant
bearings.
"I now understand you, Miles; and it would be idle to pretend that
there is not some justice in what you say, though I attach very little
importance to it, myself. Rupert is not exactly what I could wish him
to be in all things, and possibly _he_ may be coxcomb enough, at
times, to fancy he has this slight advantage over you,--but, as for
Lucy, I'll engage she never thinks of you but as a second brother--
and that she loves you exactly as she loves Rupert."
Mr. Hardinge's simplicity was of proof, and it was idle to think of
making any impression on it. I changed the subject, therefore, and
this was easily enough done, by beginning again to talk about the
potatoes. I was far from being easy, nevertheless; for I could not
avoid seeing that the good divine's restlessness might readily widen
the little breach which had opened between his daughter and myself.
That day, at dinner, I discovered that Grace's winter in town had led
to a sensible melioration of the domestic economy; most especially as
related to the table. My father and mother had introduced some
changes, which rendered the Clawbonny household affairs a little
different from those of most other of the Ulster county families near
our own class; but their innovations, or improvements, or whatever
they might be called, were far from being as decided as those
introduced by their daughter. Nothing, perhaps, sooner denotes the
condition of people, than the habits connected with the table. If
eating and drinking be not done in a certain way, and a way founded in
reason, too, as indeed are nearly all the customs of polished life,
whatever may be the cant of the ultras of reason--but, if eating and
drinking be not done in a certain way, your people of the world
perceive it sooner than almost anything else. There is, also, more of
common sense and innate fitness, in the usages of the table, so long
as they are not dependent on mere caprice, than in almost any other
part of our deportment; for everybody must eat, and most persons
choose to eat decently. I had been a little nervous on the subject of
the Mertons, in connection with the Clawbonny table, I will confess;
and great was my delight when I found the breakfast going off so
well. As for the Major, himself by no means familiar with the higher
classes of his own country, he had that great stamp of a gentleman,
simplicity; and he was altogether above the cockney distinctions of
eating and drinking; those about cheese and malt liquors, and such
vulgar niceties; nor was he a man to care about the silver-forkisms;
but he understood that portion of the finesse of the table which
depended on reason and taste, and was accustomed to observe it. This I
knew from near a twelve month's intercourse, and I had feared we might
turn out to be a little too rustic.
Grace had made provisions against all this, with a tact and judgment
for which I could have worshipped her. I knew the viands, the
vegetables, and the wines would all be good of their kind, for in
these we seldom failed; nor did I distrust the cookery, the
_English_-descended families of the Middle States, of my class,
understanding that to perfection; but I feared we should fail in those
little incidents of style and arrangement, and in the order of the
service, that denote a well-regulated table. This is just what Grace
had seen to; and I found that a great revolution had been quietly
effected in this branch of our domestic economy during my absence;
thanks to Grace's observations while at Mrs. Bradfort's.
Emily seemed pleased at dinner, and Lucy could again laugh and
smile. After the cloth was removed, the Major and Mr. Hardinge
discussed a bottle of Madeira, and that too of a quality of which I
had no reason to be ashamed; while we young people withdrew together
to a little piazza, that was in the shade at that hour, and took
seats, for a chat. Rupert was permitted to smoke, on condition that he
would not approach within fifteen feet of the party. No sooner was
this little group thus arranged, the three girls in a crescent, than I
disappeared.
"Grace, I have not yet spoken to you of a necklace of pearls possessed
by your humble servant," I cried, as my foot again touched the
piazza.--"I would not say a word about it--"
"Yet, Lucy and I heard all about it--" answered Grace with provoking
calmness, "but would not ask to see it, lest you should accuse us of
girlish curiosity. We waited your high pleasure, in the matter."
"You and Lucy heard I had such a necklace!"
"Most unquestionably; I, Grace Wallingford, and she, Lucy Hardinge. I
hope it is no infringement on the rights of Mr. Miles Clawbonny"--so
the girls often called me, when they affected to think I was on my
high-ropes--"I hope it is no infringement on the rights of Mr. Miles
Clawbonny to say as much."
"And pray how _could_ you and Lucy know anything about it?"
"That is altogether another question; perhaps we may accord an answer,
after we have seen the necklace."
"Miss Merton told us, Miles," said Lucy, looking at me with
gentleness, for she saw I really wished an answer; and what could Lucy
Hardinge ever refuse me, that was right in itself when she saw my
feelings were really interested?
"Miss Merton? Then I have been betrayed, and the surprise I
anticipated is lost."
I was vexed, and my manner must have shown it in a slight
degree. Emily coloured, bit her lip, and said nothing; but Grace made
her excuses with more spirit than it was usual for _her_ to show.
"You are rightly punished, Master Miles," she cried; "for you had no
business to anticipate surprises. They are vulgar things at best, and
they are worse than that when they come from a distance of fifteen
thousand miles--from a brother to a sister. Besides, you have
surprised us sufficiently once, already, in connection with Miss
Merton."
"I!" I exclaimed.
"Me!" added Emily.
"Yes, I and me; did you tell us one word about her, in your letters?
and have you not now both surprised and delighted us, by making us
acquainted with so charming a person? I can pardon such a surprise, on
account of its consequences; but nothing so vulgar as a surprise about
pearls."
Emily blushed now; and in her it was possible to tell the difference
between a blush and the suffusion that arose from a different feeling;
but she looked immensely superior to anything like explanations.
"Captain Wallingford"--how I disliked that _Captain_--"Captain
Wallingford can have but little knowledge of young ladies," she said,
coldly, "if he supposes such pearls as he possesses would not form the
subject of their conversation."
I was coxcomb enough to fancy Emily was vexed that I had neglected to
be more particular about her being on the island, and her connection
with the ship. This might have been a mistake; however.
"Let us see the pearls, Miles; and that will plead your apology," said
Lucy.
"There, then--your charming eyes, young ladies, never looked on pearls
like those, before."
Female nature could not suppress the exclamations of belight that
succeeded. Even Rupert, who had a besetting weakness on the subject of
all personal ornaments, laid aside his segar, and came within the
prescribed distance, the better to admire. It was admitted all round,
New York had nothing to compare with them. I then mentioned that they
had been fished up by myself from the depths of the sea.
"How much that adds to their value!" said Lucy, in a low voice, but in
her warm, sincere manner.
"That was getting them _cheap_, was it not, Miss Wallingford?"
inquired Emily, with an emphasis I disliked.
"Very; though I agree with Lucy, it makes them so much the more
valuable."
"If Miss Merton will forget my charge of treason, and condescend to
put on the necklace, you will all see it to much greater advantage
than at present. If a fine necklace embellishes a fine woman, the
advantage is quite reciprocal. I have seen my pearls once already on
her neck, and know the effect."
A wish of Grace's aided my application, and Emily placed the ornaments
around her throat. The dazzling whiteness of her skin gave a lustre to
the pearls that they certainly did not previously possess. One
scarcely knew which to admire the most--the ornaments, or their
setting.
"How very, very beautiful they are _now!_" cried Lucy, in
generous admiration. "Oh! Miss Merton, pearls should ever be your
ornaments."
"_Those_ pearls, you mean, Lucy," put in Rupert, who was always
extremely liberal with other people's means; "the necklace ought never
to be removed."
"Miss Merton knows their destination," I said, gallantly, "and the
terms of ownership."
Emily slowly undid the clasp, placed the string before her eyes, and
looked at it long and silently.
"And what is this destination, Miles? What these terms of ownership?"
my sister asked.
"Of course he means them for you, dear," Lucy remarked in haste. "For
whom else can he intend such an ornament?"
"You are mistaken, Miss Hardinge. Grace must excuse me for being a
little selfish this time, at least. I do not intend those pearls for
Miss Wallingford, but for Mrs. Wallingford, should there ever be such
a person."
"Upon my word, such a double temptation, my boy, I Wonder Miss Merton
ever had the fortitude to remove them from the enviable position they
so lately occupied," cried Rupert, glancing meaningly towards Emily,
who returned the look with a slight smile.
"Of course, Miss Merton understood that my remark was ventured in
pleasantry," I said stiffly, "and not in presumption. It was decided,
however, when in the Pacific, that these pearls ought to have that
destination. It is true, Clawbonny is not the Pacific, and one may be
pardoned for seeing things a little differently _here_, from what
they appeared _there_. I have a few more pearls, however, very
inferior in quality I confess, to those of the necklace; but, such as
they are, I should esteem it a favour, ladies, if you would consent to
divide them equally among you. They would make three very pretty
rings, and as many breast-pins."
I put into Grace's hands a little box containing all the pearls that
had not been placed on the string. There were many fine ones among
them, and some of very respectable size, though most were of the sort
called seed. In the whole, there were several hundreds.
"We will not balk his generosity," said Grace, smiling--"so, Miss
Merton, we will separate the pearls into three parcels, and draw lots
for them. Here are handsome ornaments among them!"
"They will have one value with you, at least, Grace, and quite likely
with Lucy, while they might possibly possess another with Miss
Merton. I fished up every one of those pearls with my own hands."
"Certainly, that will give them value with both Lucy and me, dearest
Miles, as would the simple fact that they are your gift--but what is
to give them their especial value with Miss Merton?"
"They may serve to remind Miss Merton of some of her hair-breadth
escapes, of the weeks passed on the island, and of scenes that, a few
years hence, will probably possess the colours of a dream, in her
recollection."
"_One_ pearl I will take, with this particular object"--said
Emily, with more feeling than I had seen her manifest since she had
got back into the world, "if Miss Wallingford will do me the favour to
select it."
"Let it be enough for a ring, at least," Grace returned, in her own
sweetest manner. "Half a dozen of the finest of these pearls, of which
one shall be on Miles' account, and five on mine."
"On those conditions, let it then be six. I have no occasion for
pearls to remind me how much my father and my self owe to Captain
Wallingford."
"Come, Rupert," added Grace; "you have a taste in these things, let us
have your aid in the selection." Rupert was by no means backward in
complying, for he loved to be meddling in such matters.
"In the first place," he said, "I shall at once direct that the number
be increased to seven; this fine one in the centre, and three on each
side, gradually diminishing in size. We must look to quality, and not
to weight, for the six puisne judges, as we should call them in the
courts. The Chief Justice will be a noble-looking fellow, and the
associates ought to be of good quality to keep his honour's company."
"Why do you not call your judges 'my lords,' as we do in England,
Mr. Hardinge?" inquired Emily, in her prettiest manner.
"_Why,_ sure enough! I wish with all my heart we did, and then a
man would have something worth living for."
"Rupert!" exclaimed Lucy, colouring--"you know it is because our
government is republican, and that we have no nobles among us. Nor do
you say exactly what you think; you would not be 'my lord,' if you
could."
"As I never shall be a 'my lord,' and I am afraid never a 'your
honour'--There, Miss Merton--there are numbers two and three--observe
how beautifully they are graduated as to size."
"Well, 'your honour,'" added Grace, who began to be a little uneasy at
the manner Rupert and Emily exhibited towards each other--"well, 'your
honour,' what is to come next?"
"Numbers four and five, of course--and here they are, Miss Merton; as
accurately diminished, as if done by hand. A beautiful ring it will
make--I envy those who will be recalled to mind, by so charming an
object."
"You will now be one of those yourself, Mr. Hardinge"--observed
Emily, with great tact--"for you are fully entitled to it, by the
trouble you are giving yourself, and the taste and judgment you
possess."
Lucy looked petrified. She had so long accustomed herself to think of
Grace as her future sister, that the open admiration expressed in
Rupert's countenance, which was too manifest to escape any of us,
first threw a glimmering of light on suspicions of the most painful
nature. I had long seen that Lucy understood her brother's character
better than any of us--much better, indeed, than his simple-minded
father; and, as for myself, I was prepared to expect anything but
consistency and principle in his conduct. Dearly as I prized Lucy, and
by this time the slight competition that Emily Merton had presented to
my fancy, had entirely given way to the dear creature's heart, and
nature,--but, dearly as I prized Lucy, I would greatly have preferred
that my sister should not marry her brother; and, so far from feeling
resentment on account of his want of fidelity, I was rather disposed
to rejoice at it. I could appreciate his want of merit, and his
unfitness to be the husband of such a woman as Grace, even at my early
age; but, alas! I could not appreciate the effects of his inconstancy
on a heart like that of my sister. Could I have felt as easy on the
subject of Mr. Andrew Drewett, and of my own precise position in
society, I should have cared very little, just then, about Rupert, and
his caprices.
The pearls for the ring were soon selected by Rupert, and approved of
by Grace, after which I assumed the office of dividing the remainder
myself. I drew a chair, took the box from Rupert, and set about the
task.
"I shall make a faithful umpire, girls," I observed, as pearl after
pearl was laid, first on one spot, then on another--"for I feel no
preference between you--Grace is as Lucy; Lucy is as Grace, with me."
"That may be fortunate, Miss Hardinge, since it indicates no
preference of a particular sort, that might require repressing," said
Emily, smiling significantly at Lucy. "When gentlemen treat young
ladies as sisters, it is a subject of rejoicing. These sailors need
severe lessons, to keep them within the rules of the land."
Why this was said, I did not understand; but Rupert laughed at it, as
if it were a capital thing. To mend the matter, he added, a little
boisterously for him--
"You see, Miles, you had better have taken to the law--the ladies
cannot appreciate the merits of you tars."
"So it would seem," I returned, a little drily, "after all Miss Merton
has experienced and seen of the trade."
Emily made no reply, but she regarded her pearls with a steadiness
that showed she was thinking more of their effect than that of either
her own speech or mine. I continued to divide the pearls, and soon had
the work complete.
"What am I to do, now?"--I asked--"Will you draw lots, girls, or will
you trust to my impartiality?"
"We will certainly confide in the last," answered Grace. "The
division is so very equitable that I do not well see how you can
defraud either."
"That being the case, this parcel is for you, Lucy; and, Grace, that
is your's."
Grace rose, put her arms affectionately around my neck, and gave me
one of the hundred kisses that I had received, first and last, for
presents of one sort and another. The deep attachment that beamed in
her saint-like eyes, would of itself have repaid me for fifty such
gifts. At the moment, I was almost on the point of throwing her the
necklace in the bargain; but some faint fancies about Mrs. Miles
Wallingford prevented me from so doing. As for Lucy, not a little to
my surprise, she received the pearls, muttered a few unintelligible
words, but did not even rise from her chair. Emily seemed to tire of
this, so she caught up her gypsy, said the evening was getting to be
delightful, and proposed a walk. Rupert and Grace cheerfully
acquiesced, and the three soon left the place, Lucy preparing to
follow, as soon as a maid could bring her hat, and I excusing myself
on the score of business in my own room.
"Miles"--said Lucy, as I was about to enter the house, she herself
standing on the edge of the piazza on the point of following the
party, but holding towards me the little paper box in which I had
placed her portion of the pearls.
"Do you wish me to put them away for you, Lucy?"
"No, Miles--not for _me_--but for _yourself_--for Grace--
for _Mrs. Miles Wallingford_, if you prefer that."
This was said without the slightest appearance of any other feeling
than a gentle request. I was surprised, and scarce knew what to make
of it; at first, I refused to take the box.
"I hope I have done nothing to merit this, Lucy?" I said,
half-affronted, half-grieved.
"Remember, Miles," the dear girl answered--"we are no longer children,
but have reached an age when it is incumbent on us to respect
appearances a little. These pearls must be worth a good deal of money,
and I feel certain my father, when he came to think of it, would
scarce approve of my receiving them."
"And this from _you_, dear Lucy!"
"This from me, dear Miles," returned the precious girl, tears
glistening in her eyes, though she endeavoured to smile. "Now, take
the box, and we will be just as good friends as ever."
"Will you answer me one question, as frankly and as honestly as you
used to answer all my questions?"
Lucy turned pale and she stood reflecting an instant before she spoke.
"I can answer no question before it is asked," was at length her
answer.
"Have you thought so little of my presents as to have thrown away the
locket I gave you, before I sailed for the North-West coast?"
"No, Miles; I have kept the locket, and shall keep it as long as I
live. It was a memorial of our childish regard for each other; and, in
that sense, is very dear to me. You will let me keep the locket, I am
sure!"
"If it were not you, Lucy Hardinge, whom I know to be truth itself, I
might be disposed to doubt you, so many strange things exist, and so
much caprice, especially in attachments, is manifested here, ashore!"
"You need doubt nothing I tell you, Miles--on no account would I
deceive you."
"That I believe--nay, I see, it is your present object to
_undeceive_ me. I do not doubt anything you tell me, Lucy. I
wish I could see that locket, however; show it to me, if you have it
on your person."
Lucy made an eager movement, as if about to produce the locket; then
she arrested the impetuous indication, while her cheeks fairly burned
with the blushes that suffused them.
"I see how it is, Lucy--the thing is not to be found. It is mislaid,
the Lord knows where, and you do not like to avow it."
The locket, at that moment, lay as near the blessed creature's heart
as it could be placed; and her confusion proceeded from the shame of
letting that fact be known. This I could not see, and consequently did
not know. A very small and further indication of feeling on my part,
might have betrayed the circumstance; but pride prevented it, and I
took the still extended box, I dare say in a somewhat dramatic
manner. Lucy looked at me earnestly; I saw it was with difficulty that
she kept from bursting into tears.
"You are not hurt, Miles?" she said.
"I should not be frank if I denied it. Even Emily Merton, you saw,
consented to accept enough pearls for a ring."
"I did perceive it; and yet, you remember, she felt the impropriety of
receiving such large gifts from gentlemen. Miss Merton has gone
through so much, so much in your company, Miles, that no wonder she is
willing to retain some little memorial of it all, until--"
She hesitated; but Lucy chose not to finish the sentence. She had
been pale; but her cheeks were now like the rose, again.
"When Rupert and I first went to sea, Lucy, you gave me your little
treasure in gold--every farthing you had on earth, I fancy."
"I am glad I did, Miles; for we were very young, then, and you had
been so kind to me, I rejoice I had a little gratitude. But, we are
now in situations," she added, smiling so sweetly, as to render it
difficult for me to refrain from catching her in my arms, and folding
her to my heart; "that place both of us above the necessity of
receiving aid of this sort."
"I am glad to hear this--though _I_ shall never part with the
dear recollection of the half-joes."
"Or I with that of the locket. We will retain these, then, as
keepsakes. My dear Mrs. Bradfort, too, is very particular about Rupert
or myself receiving favours of this sort, from any but herself. She
has adopted us, in a manner; and I owe to her liberality, the means
of making the figure I do. Apart from that, Miles, we are all as poor
as we have ever been."
I wished Rupert had half his sister's self-respect and pride of
character. But he had not; for in spite of his kinswoman's
prohibitions, he had not scrupled to spend nearly three years of the
wages that accrued to me as third-mate of the Crisis. For the money I
cared not a stiver; it was a very different thing as to the feeling.
As for Lucy, she hastened away, as soon as she had induced me to
accept the box; and I had no choice but to place all the pearls
together, and put them in Grace's room, as my sister had desired me to
do with her own property before proceeding on her walk.
I determined I would converse confidentially with Grace, that very
evening, about the state of affairs in general, and if possible, learn
the worst concerning Mr. Andrew Drewett's pretensions. Shall I frankly
own the truth? I was sorry that Mrs. Bradfort had made Lucy so
independent; as it seemed to increase the chasm that I fancied was
opening between us.