Afloat and Ashore (70 page)

"I hope so," answered her father, "though her new duties do not leave
Lucy as much her own mistress as I could wish. You saw her, and her
brother, Miles, I take it for granted?"

"I met Rupert in the street, sir, and had a short interview with the
Mertons and Lucy at the theatre. Young Mr. and old Mrs. Drewett were
of the party."

The good divine turned short round to me, and looked as conscious and
knowing as one of his singleness of mind and simplicity of habits
could look. Had a knife penetrated my flesh, I could not have winced
more than I did; still, I affected a manner that was very foreign to
my feelings.

"What do you think of this young Mr. Drewett, boy?" asked
Mr. Hardinge, with an air of confidential interest, and an earnestness
of manner, that, with him, was inseparable from all that concerned his
daughter. "Do you approve?"

"I believe I understand you, sir;—you mean me to infer that
Mr. Drewett is a suitor for Miss Hardinge's hand."

"It would be improper to say this much, even to you, Miles, did not
Drewett take good care, himself, to let everybody know it."

"Possibly with a view to keep off other pretenders"—I rejoined, with
a bitterness I could not control.

Now, Mr. Hardinge was one of the last men in the world to suspect
evil. He looked surprised, therefore, at my remark, and I was probably
not much out of the way, in fancying that he looked displeased.

"That is not right, my dear boy," he said, gravely.

"We should try to think the best and not the worst, of our
fellow-creatures."—Excellent old man, how faithfully didst thou
practise on thy precept!—"It is a wise rule, and a safe one; more
particularly in connection with our own weaknesses. Then, it is but
natural that Drewett should wish to secure Lucy; and if he adopt no
means less manly than the frank avowal of his own attachment, surely
there is no ground of complaint."

I was rebuked; and what is more, I felt that the rebuke was
merited. As some atonement for my error, I hastened to add—

"Very truly, sir; I admit the unfairness of my remark, and can only
atone for it by adding it is quite apparent Mr. Drewett is not
influenced by interested motives, since he certainly was attentive to
Miss Hardinge previously to Mrs. Bradfort's death, and when he could
not possibly have anticipated the nature of her will."

"Quite true, Miles, and very properly and justly remarked. Now, to
you, who have known Lucy from childhood, and who regard her much as
Rupert does, it may not seem so very natural that a young man can love
her warmly and strongly, for herself, alone—such is apt to be the
effect of brotherly feeling; but I can assure you, Lucy is really a
charming, as we all know she is a most excellent, girl!"

"To whom are you speaking thus, sir! I can assure you, nothing is
easier than for me to conceive how possible it is for any man to love
your daughter. As respects Grace, I confess there, is a
difference—for I affirm she has always seemed to me too saintly, too
much allied to Heaven already, to be subject herself, to the passions
of earth."

"That is what I have just been telling you, and we must endeavour to
overcome and humanize—if I may so express it—Grace's propensity.
There is nothing more dangerous to a healthful frame of mind, in a
religious point of view, Miles, than excitement—it is disease, and
not faith, nor charity, nor hope, nor humility, nor anything that is
commanded; but our native weaknesses taking a wrong direction, under a
physical impulse, rather than the fruits of repentance, and the
succour afforded by the spirit of God. We nowhere read of any
excitement, and howlings and waitings among the apostles."

How could I enlighten the good old man on the subject of my sister's
malady? That Grace, with her well-tempered mind, was the victim of
religious exaggeration, I did not for a moment believe; but that she
had had her heart blighted, her affections withered, her hopes
deceived, by Rupert's levity and interestedness, his worldly-mindedness
and vanity, I could foresee, and was prepared to learn; though these
were facts not to be communicated to the father of the offender. I
made no answer, but managed to turn the conversation towards the farm,
and those interests about which I could affect an interest that I was
very far from feeling, just at that moment. This induced the divine to
inquire into the result of my late voyage, and enabled me to collect
sufficient fortitude to meet Grace, with the semblance of firmness, at
least.

Mr. Hardinge made a preconcerted signal, as soon as he came in view of
the house, that apprised its inmates of my arrival; and we knew, while
still half a mile from the buildings, that the news had produced a
great commotion. All the blacks met us on the little lawn—for the
girls, since reaching womanhood, had made this change in the old
door-yard—and I had to go through the process of shaking hands with
every one of them. This was done amid hearty bursts of laughter, the
mode in which the negroes of that day almost always betrayed their
joy, and many a "welcome home, Masser Mile!" and "where a Neb got to,
dis time, Masser Mile?" was asked by more than one; and great was the
satisfaction, when I told his generation and race that the faithful
fellow would be up with the cart that was to convey my luggage. But,
Grace awaited me. I broke through the throng, and entered the
house. In the door I was met by Chloe, a girl about my own sister's
age, and a sort of cousin of Neb's by the half-blood, who had been
preferred of late years to functions somewhat resembling those of a
lady's maid. I say of the half-blood; for, to own the truth, few of
the New York blacks, in that day, could have taken from their brothers
and sisters, under the old
dictum
of the common law, which
declared that none but heirs of the whole blood should inherit. Chloe
met me in the door-way, and greeted me with one of her sweetest
smiles, as she curtsied, and really looked as pleased as all my slaves
did, at seeing their
young
master again. How they touched my
heart, at times, by their manner of talking about "
ole
Masser,
and
ole
Missus," always subjects of regret among negroes who
had been well treated by them. Metaphysicians may reason as subtly as
they can about the races and colours, and on the aptitude of the black
to acquire, but no one can ever persuade me out of the belief of their
extraordinary aptitude to love. As between themselves and their
masters, their own children and those of the race to which they were
subject, I have often seen instances which have partaken of the
attachment of the dog to the human family; and cases in which the
children of their masters have been preferred to those of their own
flesh and blood, were of constant occurrence.

"I hope you been werry well, sah, Masser Mile," said Chloe, who had
some extra refinement, as the growth of her position.

"Perfectly, my good girl, and I am glad to see you looking so
well—you really are growing handsome, Chloe."

"Oh! Masser Mile—you so droll!—now you stay home, sah, long time?"

"I am afraid not, Chloe, but one never knows. Where shall I find my
sister?"

"Miss Grace tell me come here, Masser Mile, and say she wish to see
you in de family-room. She wait dere, now, some time."

"Thank you, Chloe; and do you see that no one interrupts us. I have
not seen my sister for near a year."

"Sartain, sah; all as you say." Then the girl, whose face shone like a
black bottle that had just been dipped in water, showed her brilliant
teeth, from ear to ear, laughed outright, looked foolish, after which
she looked earnest, when the secret burst out of her heart, in the
melodious voice of a young negress, that did not know whether to laugh
or to cry—"Where Neb, Masser Mile? what he do now; de
fel
-ler!"

"He will kiss you in ten minutes, Chloe; so put the best face on the
matter you are able."

"
Dat
he wont—de sauce-box—Miss Grace teach me better dan
dat
."

I waited to hear no more, but proceeded towards the triangular little
room, with steps so hurried and yet so nervous, that I do not
remember, ever before to have laid my hand on a lock in a manner so
tremulous—I found myself obliged to pause, ere I could muster
resolution to open the door, a hope coming over me that the impatience
of Grace would save me the trouble, and that I should find her in my
arms before I should be called on to exercise any more fortitude. All
was still as death, however, within the room, and I opened the door,
as if I expected to find one of the bodies I had formerly seen in its
coffin, in this last abiding place above ground, of one dead. My
sister was on the
causeuse
, literally unable to rise from
debility and agitation. I shall not attempt to describe the shock her
appearance gave me. I was prepared for a change, but not one that
placed her, as my heart instantly announced, so near the grave!

Grace extended both arms, and I threw myself at her side, drew her
within my embrace, and folded her to my heart, with the tenderness
with which one would have embraced an infant. In this situation we
both wept violently, and I am not ashamed to say that I sobbed like a
child. I dare say five minutes passed in this way, without either of
us speaking a word.

"A merciful and all gracious God be praised! You are restored to me in
time, Miles!" murmured my sister, at length. "I was afraid it might be
too late."

"Grace!—Grace!—What means this, love?—my precious, my only, my most
dearly beloved sister, why do I find you thus?"

"Is it necessary to speak, Miles?—cannot you see?—
do
you not
see, and understand it all?"

The fervent pressure I gave my sister, announced how plainly I
comprehended the whole history. That Grace could ever love, and
forget, I did not believe; but, that her tenderness for Rupert—one
whom I knew for so frivolous and selfish a being, should reduce her to
this terrible state, I had not indeed foreseen as a thing
possible. Little did I then understand how confidingly a woman loves,
and how apt she is to endow the being of her choice with all the
qualities se could wish him to possess. In the anguish of my soul I
muttered, loud enough to be heard, "the heartless villain!"

Grace instantly rose from my arms. At that moment, she looked more
like a creature of heaven, than one that was still connected with this
wicked world. Her beauty could scarcely be called impaired, though I
dreaded that she would be snatched away from me in the course of the
interview; so frail and weak did it appear was her hold of life. In
some respects I never saw her more lovely than she seemed on this very
occasion. This was when the hectic of disease imparted to the sweetest
and most saint-like eyes that were ever set in the human countenance,
a species of holy illumination. Her countenance, now, was pale and
colourless; however, and her look sorrowful and filled with reproach.

"Brother," she said, solemnly, "this
must
not be. It is not
what God commands—it is not what I expected from you—what I have a
right to expect from one whom I am assured loves me, though none other
of earth can be said to do so."

"It is not easy, my sister, for a man to forget or forgive the wretch
who has so long misled you—misled us all, and then turned to another,
under the impulse of mere vanity."

"Miles, my kind and manly brother, listen to me," Grace rejoined,
fervently pressing one of my hands in both of hers, and scarcely able
to command herself, through alarm. "All thoughts of anger, of
resentment, of pride even, must be forgotten. You owe it to my sex,
to the dreadful imputations that might otherwise rest on my name—had
I anything to reproach myself with as a woman. I could submit to
any
punishment; but surely, surely, it is not a sin so
unpardonable to be unable to command the affections, that I deserve to
have my name, after I shall be dead, mixed up with rumours connected
with such a quarrel. You have lived as brothers, too—then there is
good, excellent, truthful, pious Mr. Hardinge; who is yet
my
guardian, you know; and Lucy, dear, true-hearted, faithful Lucy—"

"Why is not dear, true-hearted, faithful Lucy, here, watching over
you, Grace, at this very moment?" I demanded, huskily.

"She knows nothing of my situation—it is a secret, as well as its
cause, from all but God, myself, and you. Ah! I knew it would be
impossible to deceive your love, Miles! which has ever been to me,
all that a sister could desire."

"And Lucy! how has
her
affection been deceived?—Has she too,
eyes only for those she has recently learned to admire?"

"You do her injustice, brother. Lucy has not seen me, since the great
change that I can myself see has come over me. Another time, I will
tell you all. At present I can only say, that as soon as I had certain
explanations with Rupert, I left town, and have studiously concealed
from dear Lucy the state of my declining health. I write to her
weekly, and get answers; everything passing between us as cheerfully,
and apparently, as happily as ever. No, do not blame Lucy; who, I am
certain, would quit everything and everybody to come to me, had she
the smallest notion of the truth. On the contrary, I believe she
thinks I would rather not have her at Clawbonny, just at this moment,
much as she knows I love her; for, one of Lucy's observation and
opportunities cannot but suspect the truth. Let me lie on your breast,
brother; it wearies me to talk so much."

I sat holding this beloved sister in my arms, fully an hour, neither
of us speaking. I was afraid of injuring her, by further excitement,
and she was glad to take refuge in silence, from the feelings of
maiden shame that could not be otherwise than mingled with such a
dialogue. As my cheek leaned on her silken hair, I could see large
tears rolling down the pallid cheeks; but the occasional pressure of
the hands, told me how much she was gladdened by my presence. After
some ten or fifteen minutes, the exhausted girl dropped into feverish
and disturbed slumbers, that I would have remained motionless
throughout the night to maintain. I am persuaded it was quite an hour
before this scene terminated. Grace then arose, and said, with one of
her most angelic smiles—