"No Moorish maid might hope to vie
With Laila's cheek, or Laila's eye;
No maiden loved with purer truth,
Or ever loved a lovelier youth."
Southey.
"Miles," said Moses, suddenly, after riding a short distance in silence,
"I must quit the old lady, this very night, and go down with you to town.
We must have that money up at the place of sale, in readiness for the
vagabond; for, as to letting him have the smallest chance at Willow Grove,
that is out of the question."
"As you please, Marble; but, now, get yourself in trim to meet another
relation; the second you have laid eyes on in this world."
"Think of that, Miles! Think of my having _two_ relations! A mother and a
niece! Well, it is a true saying that it never rains but it pours."
"You probably have many more, uncles, aunts, and cousins in scores. The
Dutch are famous for counting cousins; and no doubt you'll have calls on
you from half the county."
I saw that Marble was perplexed, and did not know, at first, but he was
getting to be embarrassed by this affluence of kindred. The mate, however,
was not the man long to conceal his thoughts from me; and in the strength
of his feelings he soon let his trouble be known.
"I say, Miles," he rejoined, "a fellow may be bothered with felicity, I
find. Now, here, in ten minutes perhaps, I shall have to meet my sister's
darter--my own, born, blood niece; a full-grown, and I dare say, a comely
young woman; and, hang me if I know exactly what a man ought to say in
such a state of the facts. Generalizing wont do with these near relations;
and I suppose a sister's darter is pretty much the same to a chap as his
own darter would be, provided he had one."
"Exactly; had you reasoned a month, you could not have hit upon a better
solution of the difficulty than this. Treat this Kitty Huguenin just as
you would treat Kitty Marble."
"Ay, ay; all this is easy enough aforehand, and to such scholars as you;
but it comes hard on a fellow like myself to heave his idees out of him,
as it might be, with a windlass. I managed the old woman right well, and
could get along with a dozen mothers, better than with one sister's
darter. Suppose she should turn out a girl with black eyes, and red
cheeks, and all that sort of thing; I dare say she would expect me to
kiss her?"
"Certainly; she will expect that, should her eyes even be white, and her
cheeks black. Natural affection expects this much even among the least
enlightened of the human race."
"I am disposed to do everything according to usage," returned Marble,
quite innocently, and more discomposed by the situation in which he so
unexpectedly found himself, than he might have been willing to own;
"while, at the same time, I do not wish to do anything that is not
expected from a son and an uncle. If these relations had only come one
at a time."
"Poh, poh, Moses--do not be quarrelling with your good luck, just as it's
at its height. Here is the house, and I'll engage one of those four girls
is your niece--that with the bonnet, for a dollar; she being ready to go
home, and the whole having come to the door, in consequence of seeing the
chaise driving down the road. They are puzzled at finding us in it,
however, instead of the usual driver."
Marble hemmed, attempted to clear his throat, pulled down both sleeves of
his jacket, settled his black handkerchief to his mind, slily got rid of
his quid, and otherwise "cleared ship for action," as he would have been
very apt to describe his own preparations. After all, his heart failed
him, at the pinch; and just as I was pulling up the horse, he said to me,
in a voice so small and delicate, that it sounded odd to one who had heard
the man's thunder, as he hailed yards and tops in gales of wind--
"Miles, my dear boy, I do not half like this business; suppose you get
out, and open the matter to the ladies. There's four of them, you see, and
that's three too many. Go, now, Miles, that's a good fellow, and I'll do
the same for you another time. I can't have _four_ nieces here, you'll own
yourself."
"And while I am telling your story to your niece, your own sister's
daughter, what will you be doing here, pray?"
"Doing?--Why anything, my dear Miles, that can be useful--I say, boy, do
you think she looks anything like me? When you get nearer, if you should
think so, just hold up a hand as a signal, that I may not be taken by
surprise. Yes, yes; you go first, and I'll follow; and as for 'doing,'
why, you know, I can hold this bloody horse."
I laughed, threw the reins to Marble, who seized them with both hands, as
if the beast required holding, while I alighted, and walked to the cluster
of girls, who awaited my movements in surprise and silence. Since that
day; I have seen more of the world than might have been expected in one of
my early career; and often have I had occasion to remark the tendency
there exists to extremes in most things; in manners as well as in every
other matter connected with human feelings. As we become sophisticated,
acting takes the place of nature, and men and women often affect the
greatest indifference in cases in which they feel the liveliest interest.
This is the source of the ultra _sang froid_ of what is termed high
breeding, which would have caused the four young women, who then stood in
the door-yard of the respectable farm-house at which I had alighted, to
assume an air as cold, and as marble-like, at the sudden appearance of
Mrs. Wetmore's chaise, containing two strange faces, as if they had been
long expecting our arrival, and were a little displeased it had not
occurred an hour sooner. Such, however, was not my reception. Though the
four girls were all youthful, blooming, pretty, delicate in appearance,
according to the fashion of American women, and tolerably well attired,
they had none of the calm exterior of conventional manner. One would speak
quick to another; looks of surprise were often exchanged; there were not a
few downright giggles, and then each put on as dignified an air to meet
the stranger as, under the circumstances, she could assume.
"I presume Miss Kitty Huguenin is among you, young ladies," I commenced,
bowing as civilly as was necessary; "for this appears to be the house to
which we were directed."
A girl of about sixteen, of decidedly pleasing appearance, and one who
bore a sufficient resemblance to old Mrs. Wetmore to be recognised,
advanced a step out of the group, a little eagerly, and then as suddenly
checked herself, with the timidity of her years and sex, as if afraid of
going too far.
"I am Kitty," she said, changing colour once or twice; now flushing and
now growing pale--"Is any thing the matter, sir--has grandmother sent
for me?"
"Nothing is the matter, unless you can call _good news_ something the
matter. We have just left your grandmother's on business, having been up
to 'Squire Van Tassel's on her affairs; rather than let us go on foot, she
lent us her chaise, on condition that we should stop on our return and
bring you home with us. The chaise is the evidence that we act
under orders."
In most countries, such a proposition would have excited distrust; in
America, and in that day, more especially among girls of the class of
Kitty Huguenin, it produced none. Then, I flatter myself, I was not a very
frightful object to a girl of that age, and that my countenance was not of
such a cast as absolutely to alarm her. Kitty, accordingly, wished her
companions hasty adieus, and in a minute she was placed between Marble and
myself, the old vehicle being sufficiently spacious to accommodate three.
I made my bows and away we trotted, or _ambled_ would be a better word.
For a brief space there was silence in the chaise, though I could detect
Marble stealing side-long glances at his pretty little niece. His eyes
were moist, and he hemmed violently once, and actually blew his nose,
taking occasion, at the same time, to pass his handkerchief over his
forehead, no less than three times in as many minutes. The furtive manner
in which he indulged in these feelings, provoked me to say--
"You appear to have a bad cold this evening, Mr. Wetmore," for I thought
the opportunity might also be improved, in the way of breaking ground with
our secret.
"Ay, you know how it is in these matters, Miles--somehow, I scarce know
why myself, but somehow I feel bloody womanish this evening."
I felt little Kitty pressing closer to my side, as if she had certain
misgivings touching her other neighbour.
"I suppose you are surprised, Miss Kitty," I resumed, "at finding two
strangers in your grandmother's chaise?"
"I did not expect it--but--you said you had been to Mr. Van Tassel's, and
that there was good news for me--does 'Squire Van Tassel allow that
grandfather paid him the money?"
"Not that exactly, but you have friends who will see that no wrong shall
be done you. I suppose you have been afraid your grandmother and yourself
might be turned away from the old place?"
"'Squire Van Tassel's daughters have boasted as much,"--answered Kitty, in
a very subdued tone--a voice, indeed, that grew lower and more tremulous
as she proceeded--"but I don't much mind _them_, for they think their
father is to own the whole country one of these days." This was uttered
with spirit. "But the old house was built by grandmother's grandfather,
they say, and grandmother was born in it, and mother was born in it, and
so was I. It is hard to leave a place like that, sir, and for a debt, too,
that grandmother says she is sure has once been paid."
"Ay, bloody hard!" growled Marble.
Kitty again pressed nearer to me, or, to speak more properly, farther from
the mate, whose countenance was particularity grim just at that moment.
"All that you say is very true, Kitty," I replied; "but Providence has
sent you friends to take care that no wrong shall be done your
grandmother, or yourself."
"You're right enough in that, Miles," put in the mate. "God bless the old
lady; she shall never sleep out of the house, with my consent, unless it
is when she sails down the river to go to the theatre, and the museum, the
ten or fifteen Dutch churches there are in town, and all them 'ere sort o'
thingumerees."
Kitty gazed at her left-hand neighbour with surprise, but I could feel
that maiden bashfulness induced her to press less closely to my side than
she had done the minute before.
"I don't understand you," Kitty answered, after a short pause, during
which she was doubtless endeavouring to comprehend what she had heard.
"Grandmother has no wish to go to town; she only wants to pass the rest of
her days, quietly, at the old place, and one church is enough
for anybody."
Had the little girl lived a few years later, she would have ascertained
that some persons require half-a-dozen.
"And you, Kitty, do you suppose your grandmother has no thought for you,
when she shall be called away herself?
"Oh! yes--I know she thinks a good deal of _that_, but I try to set her
heart at ease, poor, dear, old grandmother, for it's of no use to be
distressing herself about _me_! I can take care of myself well enough, and
have plenty of friends who will never see me want. Father's sisters say
they'll take care of _me_."
"You have one friend, Kitty, of whom you little think, just now, and he
will provide for you."
"I don't know whom you mean, sir--unless--and yet you can't suppose I
never think of God, sir?"
"I mean a friend on earth--have you no friend on earth, whom you have not
mentioned yet?"
"I am not sure--perhaps--you do not mean Horace Bright, do you, sir?"
This was said with a bright blush, and a look in which the dawning
consciousness of maiden shame was so singuarly blended with almost
childish innocence, as both to delight me, and yet cause me to smile.
"And who is Horace Bright?" I asked, assuming as grave an air as possible.
"Oh! Horace is nobody--only the son of one of our neighbours. There, don't
you see the old stone house that stands among the apple and cherry trees,
on the banks of the river, just here in a line with this barn?"
"Quite plainly; and a very pretty place it is. We were admiring it as we
drove up the road."
"Well, that is Horace Bright's father's; and one of the best farms in the
neighbourhood. But you mustn't mind what _he_ says, grandmother always
tells me; boys love to talk grandly, and all the folks about here feel for
us, though most of them are afraid of 'Squire Van Tassel, too."
"I place no reliance at all on Horace's talk--not I. It is just as your
grandmother tells you; boys are fond of making a parade, and often utter
things they don't mean."
"Well, I don't think that is Horace's way, in the least; though I wouldn't
have you suppose I ever think, the least in the world, about what Horace
says concerning my never being left to want. My own aunts will take care
of _that_."
"And should they fail you, my dear," cried Marble, with strong feeling,
"your own _uncle_ would step into their places, without waiting to have
his memory jogged."
Again Kitty looked surprised, a very little startled, and again she
pressed to my side.
"I have no uncle," she answered, timidly. "Father never had a brother, and
grandmother's son is dead."
"No, Kitty," I said, giving a look at Marble to keep him quiet; "in the
last you are mistaken. This is the good news of which we spoke. Your
grandmother's son is not dead, but living, and in good health. He is
found, acknowledged, has passed the afternoon with your grandmother, has
money more than enough to satisfy even the unjust demand of the miserly
Van Tassel, and will be a father to _you_."
"Oh! dear me--can this be true!" exclaimed Kitty, pressing still closer
than ever to my side. "And are _you_ uncle after all, and will it all come
out as you say? Poor, poor grandmother, and I not at home to hear it all,
and to help her under such a great trial!"
"Your grandmother was a little distressed of course, at first, but she
bore it all remarkably well, and is as happy at this moment, as you
yourself could wish her to be. You are under a mistake, however, in
supposing I am your uncle--do I look old enough to be your
mother's brother?
"Dear me, no--I might have seen that, hadn't I been so silly--can it be
this other gentleman?"
Here Marble took his hint from nature, and clasping the pretty young
creature in his arms, he kissed her with an affection and warmth that were
truly paternal. Poor Kitty was frightened at first, and I dare say, like
her grandmother in a slight degree disappointed; but there was so much
heartiness in the mate's manner, that it reassured her in degree.
"I'm a bloody poor uncle, I know, Kitty, for a young woman like you to
own," Marble got out, though sorely tempted to blubber; "but there's worse
in the world, as you'll discover, no doubt, in time. Such as I am, you
must take me, and, from this time henceforth, do not care a strap for old
Van Tassel, or any other griping vagabond like him in York state."
"Uncle is a sailor!" Kitty answered, after being fairly released from the
mate's rough embrace. "Grandmother heard once that he was a soldier."
"Ay, that comes of lying. I don't think they could have made a soldier of
me, had two wicked nurses run away with me, and had they placed me on
fifty tombstones, by way of commencing life. My natur' would revolt at
carrying a musket, for sartain, while the seas have always been a sort of
home to me."
Kitty made no answer to this, being a little in doubt, I believe, as to
the manner in which she was to regard this new acquisition of an uncle.
"Your grand-parents did suppose your uncle a soldier," I remarked, "but,
after the man was seen the mistake was discovered, and now the truth has
come out in a way that will admit of no dispute."
"How is uncle named?" demanded the niece, in a low voice, and a hesitating
manner. "Mother's brother was christened Oloff, I have heard
grandmother say."
"Very true, dear; we've been all over that, the old lady and I. They tell
me, too, I was christened by the name of Moses--I suppose you know who
Moses was, child?"
"To be sure, uncle!" said Kitty, with a little laugh of surprise. "He was
the great law-maker of the Jews."
"Ha, Miles, is that so?"
I nodded assent.
"And do you know about his being found in the bulrushes, and the story of
the king of Ethiopia's daughter?"
"The king of Egypt, you mean, do you not, uncle Oloff?" cried Kitty, with
another little laugh.
"Well, Ethiopia or Egypt; it's all pretty much the same--this girl has
been wonderfully edicated, Miles, and will turn out famous company for me,
in the long winter evenings, some twenty years hence, or when I've worked
my way up into the latitude of the dear, good, old soul under the
hill yonder."
A slight exclamation from Kitty was followed by a blush, and a change of
expression, that showed she was thinking, just at that moment, of anything
but uncle Oloff. I asked an explanation.
"It's _only_ Horace Bright, out yonder in the orchard, looking at us. He
will be puzzled to know who is with me, here, in the old chaise. Horace
thinks he can drive a horse better than any one about here, so you must be
careful how you hold the reins, or use the whip.--Horace!"
This boded no good to Marble's plans for passing the evenings of his old
age with Kitty to amuse him; but, as we were now on the brow of the hill,
with the cottage in sight, Horace Bright was soon lost to view. To do the
girl justice, she appeared now to think only of her grandmother, and of
the effects the recent discovery of her son would be likely to produce on
one of her years and infirmities. As for myself, I was surprised to see
Mr. Hardinge in earnest conversation with old Mrs. Wetmore, both seated on
the stoop of the cottage, in the mild summer's evening, and Lucy walking,
to and fro, on the short grass of the willow bottom, with an impatience
and restlessness of manner it was very unusual for her to exhibit. No
sooner was Kitty alighted, than she ran to her grandmother, Marble
following, while I hastened to the point where was to be found the great
object of my interest. Lucy's face was full of feeling and concern, and
she received me with an extended hand that, gracious as was the act
itself, and most grateful as it would have proved to me under other
circumstances, I now feared boded no good.
"Miles, you have been absent an age!" Lucy commenced. "I should be
disposed to reproach you, had not the extraordinary story of this good old
woman explained it all. I feel the want of air and exercise; give me your
arm, and we will walk a short distance up the road. My dear father will
not be inclined to quit that happy family, so long as any light is left."
I gave Lucy my arm, and we did walk up the road together, actually
ascending the hill I had just descended; but all this did not induce me to
overlook the fact that Lucy's manner was hurried and excited. The whole
seemed so inexplicable, that I thought I would wait her own pleasure in
the matter.
"Your friend, Marble," she continued--"I do not know why I ought not to
say _our_ friend, Marble, must be a very happy man at having, at length,
discovered who his parents are, and to have discovered them to be so
respectable and worthy of his affection."
"As yet, he seems to be more bewildered than happy, as, indeed, does the
whole family. The thing has come on them so unexpectedly, that there has
not been time to bring their feelings in harmony with the facts."
"Family affection is a blessed thing, Miles," Lucy resumed, after a short
pause, speaking in her thoughtful manner; "there is little in this world
that can compensate for its loss. It must have been sad, sad, to the poor
fellow to have lived so long without father, mother, sister, brother or
any other known relative."
"I believe Marble found it so; yet, I think, he felt the supposed disgrace
of his birth more than his solitary condition. The man has warm
affections at the bottom, though he has a most uncouth manner of making
it known."
"I am surprised one so circumstanced never thought of marrying; he might,
at least, have lived in the bosom of his own family, though he never knew
that of a father."
"These are the suggestions of a tender and devoted female heart, dear
Lucy; but, what has a sailor to do with a wife? I have heard it said Sir
John Jervis--the present Lord St. Vincent--always declared a married
seaman, a seaman spoiled; and I believe Marble loves a ship so well he
would hardly know how to love a woman."
Lucy made no answer to this indiscreet and foolish speech. Why it was
made, I scarce knew myself; but the heart has its bitter moods, when it
prompts sentiments and declarations that are very little in accordance
with its real impulses. I was so much ashamed of what I had just said,
and, in truth, so much frightened, that, instead of attempting to laugh it
off, as a silly, unmeaning opinion, or endeavouring to explain that this
was not my own way of thinking, I walked on some distance in silence,
myself, and suffered my companion to imitate me in this particular. I have
since had reason to think that Lucy was not pleased at my manner of
treating the subject, though, blessed creature! she had another matter to
communicate, that lay too heavy on her heart, to allow one of her
generous, disinterested nature to think much of anything else.
"Miles," Lucy, at length, broke the silence, by saying--"I wish, I _do_
wish we had not met that other sloop this morning."
I stopped short in the highway, dropped my beautiful companion's arm, and
stood gazing intently in her face, as if I would read her most inmost
thoughts through those windows of the soul, her serene, mild, tender, blue
eyes. I saw that the face was colourless, and that the beautiful lips, out
of which the words that had alarmed me more by their accents than their
direct signification, were quivering in a way that their lovely mistress
could not control. Tears, as large as heavy drops of rain, too, were
trembling on the long silken eye-lashes, while the very attitude of the
precious girl denoted hopelessness and grief!
"This relates to Grace!" I exclaimed, though my throat was so parched, as
almost to choke my utterance.
"Whom, or what else, can now occupy our minds, Miles; I can scarce think
of anything but Grace; when I do, it is to remember that my own brother
has killed her!"
What answer could I have made to such a speech, had my mind been
sufficiently at ease as respects my sister to think of anything else? As
it was, I did not even attempt the vain office of saying anything in the
way of alleviating my companion's keen sense of the misconduct of Rupert.
"Grace is then worse in consequence of this unhappy rencontre?" I
observed, rather than asked.
"Oh! Miles; what a conversation I have had with her, this afternoon! She
speaks, already, more like a being that belongs to the regions of the
blessed, than like one of earth! There is no longer any secret between us.
She would gladly have avoided telling me her precise situation with
Rupert, but we had already gone so far, I would know more. I thought it
might relieve her mind; and there was the chance, however slight, of its
enabling us to suggest some expedient to produce still further good. I
think it has had some of the first effect, for she is now sleeping."
"Did Grace say anything of your communicating the miserable tale to me?"
"It is, indeed, a miserable tale! Miles, they were engaged from the time
Grace was fifteen! Engaged distinctly, and in terms, I mean; not by any of
the implied understandings, by which those who were so intimate,
generally, might believe themselves bound to each other."
"And in what manner did so early and long-continued an engagement cease?"
"It came from Rupert, who should have died first, before he was so untrue
to himself, to my poor father, to me, to all of us, Miles, as well as to
his own manhood. It has been as we supposed; he has been deluded by the
éclât that attaches to these Mertons in our provincial society; and Emily
is rather a showy girl, you know,--at least for those who are accustomed
only to our simple habits."
Alas! little did Lucy _then_ know--she has learned better since--that
"showy" girls belong much more to our "simple" state of society, than to
the state of those which are commonly conceived to be more advanced. But
Emily Merton was, in a slight degree, more artificial in manner, than it
was usual for a Manhattanese female of that day, to be, and this was what
Lucy meant; Lucy, who always thought so humbly of herself, and was ever so
ready to concede to her rivals all that could plausibly be asked in
their behalf.
"I am well aware how much importance the leading set among ourselves
attaches to English connection, and English rank," I answered; "but, it
does not strike me Emily Merton is of a class so elevated, that Rupert
Hardinge need break his faith, in order to reap the advantage of belonging
to her, or her family."
"It cannot be altogether that, Miles," Lucy added, in an appealing, but
touchingly confidential manner, "you and I have known each other from
children, and, whatever may be the weaknesses of one who is so dear to me,
and who, I hope, has not altogether lost his hold on your own affections,
_we_ can still rely on each other. I shall speak to you with the utmost
dependence on your friendship, and a reliance on your heart that is not
second to that which I place on my dear father's; for this is a subject on
which there ought to be no concealment between _us_. It is impossible that
one as manly, as upright, as honest I will say, as yourself, can have
lived so long in close intimacy with Rupert, and not be aware that he has
marked defects of character."
"I have long known that he is capricious," I answered, unwilling to be
severe on the faults of Lucy's brother, to Lucy's own ear; "perhaps I
might add, that I have known he pays too much attention to fashion, and
the opinions of fashionable people."
"Nay, as _we_ cannot deceive ourselves, let us not attempt the ungrateful
task of endeavouring to deceive each other," that true-hearted girl
replied, though she said this with so great an effort, that I was
compelled to listen attentively to catch all she uttered. "Rupert has
failings worse than these. He is mercenary; nor is he always a man of
truth. Heaven knows, how I have wept over these defects of character, and
the pain they have given me from childhood! But, my dear, dear father
overlooks them all--or, rather, seeing them, he hopes all things; it is
hard for a parent to believe a child irreclaimable."
I was unwilling to let Lucy say any more on this subject, for her voice,
her countenance, I might almost say her whole figure showed how much it
cost her to say even this much of Rupert. I had long known that Lucy did
not respect her brother as much as she could wish; but this was never
before betrayed to me in words, nor in any other manner, indeed, that
would not have eluded the observation of one who knew the parties less
thoroughly than myself. I could perceive that she felt the awful
consequences she foresaw from her brother's conduct gave me a claim on her
sincerity, and that she was suffering martyrdom, in order to do all that
lay in her own power to lessen the force of the blow that unworthy
relative had inflicted. It would have been ungenerous in me to suffer such
a sacrifice to continue a moment longer than was necessary.
"Spare yourself, and me, dearest Lucy," I eagerly said, "all explanations
but those which are necessary to let me know the exact state of my
sister's case. I confess, I could wish to understand, however, the manner
in which Rupert has contrived to explain away an engagement that has
lasted four years, and which must have been the source of so much innocent
confidence between Grace and himself."
"I was coming to that, Miles; and when you know it, you will know all.
Grace has felt his attentions to Emily Merton, for a long time; but there
never was a verbal explanation between them until just before she left
town. Then she felt it due to herself to know the truth; and, after a
conversation which was not very particular, your sister offered to release
Rupert from his engagement, did he in the least desire it."
"And what answer did he make to a proposal that was as generous as it was
frank?"
"I must do Grace the justice to say, Miles, that, in all she said, she
used the utmost tenderness towards my brother. Still, I could not but
gather the substance of what passed. Rupert, at first, affected to believe
that Grace, herself, wished to break the engagement; but, in this, you
well know, her ingenuous simplicity would not permit him to succeed. She
did not attempt to conceal how deeply she should feel the change in her
situation, and how much it might influence her future happiness."
"Ay, that was like both of them--like Rupert, and like Grace," I muttered,
huskily.
Lucy continued silent an instant, apparently to allow me to regain my
self-command; then she continued--
"When Rupert found that the responsibility of the rupture must rest on
him, he spoke more sincerely. He owned to Grace that his views had
changed; said they were both too young to contract themselves when they
did, and that he had made an engagement to marry, at a time when he was
unfit to bind himself to so solemn a contract--said something about
minors, and concluded by speaking of his poverty and total inability to
support a wife, now that Mrs. Bradfort had left me the whole of her
property."
"And this is the man who wishes to make the world believe that he is the
true heir!--nay, who told me, himself, that he considers you as only a
sort of trustee, to hold half, or two-thirds of the estate, until he has
had leisure to sow his wild oats!"
"I know he has encouraged such notions, Miles," Lucy answered, in a low
voice; "how gladly would I realize his hopes, if things could be placed
where we once thought they were! Every dollar of Mrs. Bradfort's fortune
would I relinquish with joy, to see Grace happy, or Rupert honest."
"I am afraid we shall never see the first, Lucy, in this evil world at
least."
"I have never wished for this engagement, since I have been old enough to
judge of my brother's true character. He would ever have been too fickle,
and of principles too light, to satisfy Grace's heart, or her judgment.
There may have been some truth in his plea that the engagement was too
early and inconsiderately made. Persons so young can hardly know what
will, or what will not be necessary to their own characters, a few years
later. As it is, even Grace would now refuse to marry Rupert. She owned to
me, that the heaviest part of the blow was being undeceived in relation to
his character. I spoke to her with greater freedom than a sister ought to
have used, perhaps, but I wished to arouse her pride, as the means of
saving her. Alas! Grace is all affections, and those once withered, I
fear, Miles, the rest of her being will go with them."
I made no answer to this prophetic remark, Lucy's visit to the shore, her
manner, and all that she had said, convincing me that she had, in a great
degree, taken leave of hope. We conversed some time longer, returning
toward the cottage; but there was nothing further to communicate, that it
is necessary to record. Neither of us thought of self, and I would as soon
have attempted to desecrate a church, as attempt to obtain any influence
over Lucy, in my own behalf, at such a moment. All my feelings reverted to
my poor sister again, and I was dying with impatience to return to the
sloop, whither, indeed, it was time to repair, the sun having some time
before disappeared, while even the twilight was drawing to a close.