“Why this reluctance, this alarm, Cecil?” said
Lionel, approaching, and leading her gently
to a seat. “You know the peril of the times—
you have condescended to own your sentiments—
consider; the winter is breaking, and the first thaw
can lead to events which may entirely alter our
situation.”

“All these may have weight in your eyes,
Major Lincoln,” interrupted Mrs. Lechmere, in
a voice whose marked solemnity drew the attention
of her hearers; “but I have other and deeper
motives. Have I not already proved the dangers
and the evils of delay! Ye are young, and ye are
virtuous; why should ye not be happy? Cecil,
if you love and revere me, as I think you do,
you will become his wife this day.”

“Let me have time to think, dearest grandmother.
The tie is so new and so solemn! Major
Lincoln—dear Lionel, you are not wont to be
ungenerous; I throw myself on your kindness!”

Lionel did not speak, and Mrs. Lechmere
calmly answered—

“'Tis not at his, but at my request that you
will comply.”

Miss Dynevor rose from her seat by the side of
Lionel, with an air of offended delicacy, and said,
with a mournful smile, to her lover—

“Illness has rendered my good mother timid
and weak—will you excuse my desire to be alone
with her.”

“I leave you, Cecil,” he said, “but if you asscribe
my silence to any other motive than tenderness
to your feelings, you are unjust both to yourself
and me.”

She expressed her gratitude only in her looks,
and he immediately withdrew, to await the result
of their conversation in his own apartment. The
half-hour that Lionel passed in his chamber

[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]

seemed half a year, but at the expiration of
that short period of time, Meriton came to announce
that Mrs. Lechmere desired his presence
again in her room.

The first glance of her eye assured Major Lincoln
that his cause had triumphed. His aunt
had sunk back on her pillows, with her countenance
set in a calculating and rigid expression,
which indicated a satisfaction so selfish that it
almost induced the young man to regret she
had not failed. But when his eyes met the
tearful and timid glances of the blushing Cecil,
he felt, that provided she could be his without
violence to her feelings, he cared but little at
whose instigation she had consented.

“If I am to read my fate by your goodness, I
know I may hope,” he said, advancing to her
side—“if in my own deserts, I am left to despair.”

“Perhaps 'twas foolish, Lincoln,” she said,
smiling through her tears, and frankly placing
her hand in his, “to hesitate about a few days,
when I feel ready to devote my life to your happiness.
It is the wish of my grandmother that I
place myself under your protection.”

“Then this evening unites us for ever?”

“There is no obligation on your gallantry that
it should positively take place this very evening, if
any, or the least difficulties present.”

“But none do nor can,” interrupted Lionel.
“Happily the marriage forms of the colony are
simple, and we enjoy the consent of all who have
any right to interfere.”

“Go, then, my children, and complete your
brief arrangements,” said Mrs. Lechmere; “'tis
a solemn knot that ye tie! it must, it will be
happy!”

Lionel pressed the hand of his intended bride,
and withdrew, and Cecil throwing herself into the

[figure description] Page 063.[end figure description]

arms of her grandmother, gave vent to her
feelings in a burst of tears. Mrs. Lechmere did
not repulse her child; on the contrary, she pressed
her once or twice to her heart, but still an observant
spectator might have seen that her looks
betrayed more of worldly pride, than of those natural
emotions which such a scene ought to have
excited.

CHAPTER V.

[figure description] Page 064.[end figure description]

Major Lincoln had justly said, the laws regulating
marriages in the Massachusetts, which were
adapted to the infant state of the country, threw
but few impediments in the way of the indissoluble
connexion. Cecil had, however, been educated in
the bosom of the English church, and she clung
to its forms and ceremonies with an affection that
may easily be accounted for in their solemnity
and beauty. Notwithstanding the colonists often
chose the weekly festival for their bridals, the
rage of reform had excluded the altar from most
of their temples, and it was not usual with them
to celebrate their nuptials in the places of public
worship. But there appeared so much of unreasonable
haste, and so little of due preparation
in her own case, that Miss Dynevor, anxious to
give all solemnity to an act to whose importance
she was sensibly alive, expressed her desire to
pronounce her vows at that altar where she had
so long been used to worship, and under that
roof where she had already, since the rising of
the sun, poured out the thanksgivings of her pure

[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]

spirit in behalf of the man who was so soon to become
her husband.

As Mrs. Lechmere had declared that the agitation
of the day, and her feeble condition must unavoidably
prevent her witnessing the ceremony,
there existed no sufficient reason for not indulging
the request of her grandchild, notwithstanding it
was not in strict accordance with the customs of
the place. But being married at the altar, and
being married in public, were not similar duties,
and in order to effect the one and avoid the
other, it was necessary to postpone the ceremony
until a late hour, and to clothe the whole in
a cloak of mystery, that the otherwise unembarrassed
state of the parties would not have required.

Miss Dynevor made no other confidant than
her cousin. Her feelings being altogether elevated
above the ordinarily idle considerations
which are induced by time and preparations on
such an occasion, her brief arrangements were
soon ended, and she awaited the appointed moment
without alarm, if not without emotion.

Lionel had much more to perform. He
knew that the least intimation of such a scene
would collect a curious and a disagreeable
crowd around and in the church, and he therefore
determined that his plans should be arranged in
silence, and managed secretly. In order to prevent
a surprise, Meriton was sent to the clergyman,
requesting him to appoint an hour in the
evening when he could give an interview to Major
Lincoln. He was answered, that at any moment
after nine o'clock Dr. Liturgy would be released
from the duties of the day, and in readiness to
receive him. There was no alternative; and ten
was the time mentioned to Cecil when she was requested
to meet him before the altar. Major Lincoln
distrusted a little the discretion of Polwarth,

[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]

and he contented himself with merely telling his
friend that he was to be married that evening, and
that he must be careful to repair to Tremont-street
in order to give away the bride; appointing
an hour sufficiently early for all the subsequent
movements. His groom and his valet had their
respective and separate orders, and long before
the important moment he had every thing arranged,
as he believed, beyond the possibility of a disappointment.

Perhaps there was something a little romantic,
if not diseased in the mind of Lionel, that
caused him to derive a secret pleasure from
the hidden movements he contemplated. He
was certainly not entirely free from a touch of
that melancholy and morbid humour which has
been mentioned as the characteristic of his race,
nor did he always feel the less happy because he
was a little miserable. However, either by his
activity of intellect, or that excellent training in
life he had undergone, by being required to act
early for himself, he had so far succeeded in quelling
the evil spirit within him, as to render its influence
quite imperceptible to others, and nearly
so to himself. It had, in fine, left him what we
have endeavoured to represent him in these pages,
not a man without faults, but certainly one of
many high and generous virtues.

As the day drew to a close, the small family
party in Tremont-street collected in their usual
manner to partake of the evening repast, which
was common throughout the colonies at that period.
Cecil was pale, and at times a slight tremor
was perceptible in the little hand which
did the offices of the table; but there was a
forced calmness seated in her humid eyes
that betokened the resolution she had summoned
to her assistance, in order to comply with
the wishes of her grandmother. Agnes

[figure description] Page 067.[end figure description]

Danforth was silent and observant, though an occasional
look, of more than usual meaning, betrayed
what she thought of the mystery and
suddenness of the approaching nuptials. It would
seem, however, that the importance of the step
she was about to take, had served to raise the
bride above the little affectations of her sex; for
she spoke of the preparations like one who owned
her interest in their completion, and who even
dreaded that something might yet occur to mar
them.

“If I were superstitious, and had faith in
omens, Lincoln,” she said, “the hour and the
weather might well intimidate me from taking
this step. See, the wind already blows across
the endless wastes of the ocean, and the snow is
driving through the streets in whirlwinds!”

“It is not yet too late to countermand my orders,
Cecil,” he said, regarding her anxiously; “I
have made all my movements so like a great
commander, that it is as easy to retrograde as to
advance.”

“Would you then retreat before one so little
formidable as I?” she returned, smiling.

“You surely understand me as wishing only to
change the place of our marriage. I dread exposing
you and our kind cousin to the tempest, which, as
you say, after sweeping over the ocean so long, appears
rejoiced to find land on which to expend its
fury.”

“I have not misconstrued your meaning, Lionel,
nor must you be mistaken in mine. I will
become your wife to-night, and cheerfully too;
for what reason can I have to doubt you now,
more than formerly! But my vows must be offered
at the altar.”

Agnes perceiving that her cousin spoke with a
suppressed emotion that made utterance difficult,
gaily interrupted her—

[figure description] Page 068.[end figure description]

“And as for the snow, you know little of Boston
girls, if you think an icicle has any terrors for
them. I vow, Cecil, I do think you and I have
been guilty, when children, of coasting in a handsled,
down the side of Beacon, in a worse flurry
than this.”

“We were guilty of many mad and silly things
at ten, that might not grace twenty, Agnes.”

“Lord, how like a matron she speaks already!”
interrupted the other, throwing up her eyes and
clasping her hands in affected admiration; “nothing
short of the church will satisfy so discreet a
dame, Major Lincoln! so dismiss your cares on her
account, and begin to enumerate the cloaks and
over-coats necessary to your own preservation.”

Lionel made a lively reply, when a dialogue of
some spirit ensued between him and Agnes, to
which even Cecil listened with a beguiled ear.
When the evening had advanced, Polwarth made
his appearance, suitably attired, and with a face
that was sufficiently knowing and important for
the occasion. The presence of the captain reminded
Lionel of the lateness of the hour, and,
without delay, he hastened to communicate his
plans to his friend.

At a few minutes before ten, Polwarth was to
accompany the ladies in a covered sleigh to the
chapel, which was not a stone's throw from their
residence, where the bridegroom was to be in readiness
to receive them, with the divine. Referring
the captain to Meriton for further instructions,
and without waiting to hear the other express his
amazement at the singularity of the plan, Major
Lincoln said a few words of tender encouragement
to Cecil, looked at his watch, and throwing his
cloak around him, took his hat, and departed.

We shall leave Polwarth endeavouring to extract
the meaning of all these mysterious movements,
from the wilful and amused Agnes, (Cecil

[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]

having retired also,) and accompany the bridegroom
in his progress towards the residence of the
divine.

Major Lincoln found the streets entirely deserted.
The night was not dark, for a full moon was
wading among the volumes of clouds, which drove
before the tempest in dark and threatening masses
that contrasted singularly and wildly to the light
covering of the hills and buildings of the town.
Occasionally the gusts of the wind would lift
eddying wreaths of fine snow from some roof,
and whole squares were wrapped in mist as the
frozen vapour whistled by. At times, the gale
howled among the chimneys and turrets, in a steady,
sullen roaring, and there were again moments
when the element appeared hushed, as if its fury
were expended, and winter, having worked its
might, was yielding to the steady, but insensible
advances of spring. There was something in the
season and the hour peculiarly in consonance with
the excited temperament of the young bridegroom.
Even the solitude of the streets, and the hollow
rushing of the winds, the fleeting and dim light of
the moon, which afforded passing glimpses of sunrounding
objects and then was hid behind a dark
veil of shifting vapour, contributed to his pleasure.
He made his way through the snow, with
that species of stern joy, to which all are indebted,
at times, for moments of wild and pleasing
self-abandonment. His thoughts vacillated between
the purpose of the hour, and the unlooked
for coincidence of circumstances that had clothed
it in a dress of such romantic mystery. Once or
twice a painful and dark thought, connected with
the secret of Mrs. Lechmere's life, found its way
among his more pleasing visions, but it was
quickly chased from his mind by the image of her
who awaited his movements in such confiding

[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]

faith, and with such secure and dependent affection.

As the residence of Dr. Liturgy was on the
North-end, which was then one of the fashionable
quarters of the town, the distance required that
Lionel should be diligent, in order to be punctual
to his appointment. Young, active, and full of
hope, he passed along the unequal pavements with
great rapidity, and had the satisfaction of penceiving
by his watch, when admitted to the presence
of the clergyman, that his speed had even
outstripped the proverbial fleetness of time itself.

The reverend gentleman was in his study, consoling
himself for the arduous duties of the day,
with the comforts of a large easy-chair, a warm fire,
and a pitcher filled with a mixture of cider and ginger,
together with other articles that would have
done credit to the knowledge of Polwarth in spices.
His full and decorous wig was replaced by a
velvet cap, his shoes were unbuckled, and his
heels released from confinement. In short, all his
arrangements were those of a man who, having
endured a day of labour, was resolved to prove
the enjoyments of an evening of rest. His pipe,
though filled, and on the little table by his side,
was not lighted, in compliment to the guest he
expected at that hour As he was slightly acquainted
with Major Lincoln, no introduction
was necessary, and the two gentlemen were soon
seated; the one endeavouring to overcome the embarrassment
he felt on revealing his singular errand,
and the other waiting, in no little curiosity,
to learn the reason why a member of parliament,
and the heir of ten thousand a year, should
come abroad on such an unpropitious night.

At length Lionel succeeded in making the
astonished priest understand his wishes, and

[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]

paused to hear the expected approbation of his proposal.

Dr. Liturgy had listened with the most profound
attention, as if to catch some clue to explain
the mystery of the extraordinary proceeding,
and when the young man concluded, he
unconsciously lighted his pipe, and began to
throw out large clouds of smoke, like a man
who felt there was a design to abridge his pleasures,
and who was consequently determined to
make the most of his time.

“Married! To be married in church! and
after the night lecture!” he muttered in a low
voice between his long drawn puffs—“'tis my
duty—certainly—Major Lincoln—to marry my
parishioners”—

“In the present instance, as I know my request
to be irregular, sir,” interrupted the impatient
Lionel, “I will make it your interest also.”
While speaking he took a well-filled purse from
his pocket, and with an air of much delicacy
laid a small pile of gold by the side of the silver
spectacle-case of the divine, as if to show
him the difference in the value of the two metals.

Dr. Liturgy bowed his acknowledgments, and
insensibly changed the stream of smoke to the
opposite corner of his month, so as to leave the
view of the glittering boon unobstructed. At the
same time he raised the heel of one shoe, and
threw an anxious glance at the curtained window,
to inquire into the state of the weather.

“Could not the ceremony be performed at the
house of Mrs. Lechmere?” he asked; “Miss
Dynevor is a tender child, and I fear the cold air
of the chapel might do her no service!”

“It is her wish to go to the altar, and you are
sensible it is not my part to question her decision
in such a matter.”

[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]

“'Tis a pious inclination; though I trust she
knows the distinction between the spiritual and
the temporal church. The laws of the colonies
are too loose on the subject of marriages, Major
Lincoln; culpably and dangerously loose!”

“But, as it is not in our power to alter, my
good sir, will you permit me to profit by them;
imperfect as they are?”

“Undeniably—it is part of my office to christen,
to marry, and to bury; a duty which I
often say, covers the beginning, the middle, and
the end of existence—but permit me to help you
to a little of my beverage, Major Lincoln—we
call it `Samson,' in Boston; you will find the
`Danite' a warm companion for a February night
in this climate.”

“The mixture is not inaptly named, sir,” said
Lionel, after wetting his lips, “if strength be the
quality most considered!”

“Ah! you have him from the lap of a Delilah;
but it is unbecoming in one of my cloth to meddle
with aught of the harlot.”

He laughed at his own wit, and made a more
spirituous than spiritual addition to his own glass,
while he continued—

“We divide it into `Samson with his hair off,'
and `Samson with his hair on;' and I believe
myself the most orthodox in preferring the man
of strength, in his native comeliness. I pledge
you, Major Lincoln; may the middle of your
days be as happy as the charming young lady
you are about to espouse may well render them;
and your end, sir, that of a good churchman, and
a faithful subject.”

Lionel, who considered this compliment as an
indication of his success, now rose, and said a few
words on the subject of their meeting in the chapel.
The divine, who manifestly possessed no great

[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]

relish for the duty, made sundry slight objections
to the whole proceeding, which were,
however, soon overcome by the arguments of
the bridegroom. At length every difficulty was
happily adjusted, save one, and that the epicurean
doctor stoutly declared to be a serious objection
to acting in the matter. The church fires were
suffered to go down, and his sexton had been
taken from the chapel that very evening, with
every symptom on him of the terrible pestilence
which then raged in the place, adding, by its danger,
to the horrors and the privations of the siege.

“A clear case of the small pox, I do assure you,
Major Lincoln,” he continued, “and contracted,
without doubt, from some emissaries sent into the
town for that purpose, by the wicked devices of the
rebels.”

“I have heard that each party accuses the
other of resorting to these unjustifiable means of
annoyance,” returned Lionel; “but as I know
our own leader to be above such baseness, I will
not suspect any other man of it without proof.”

“Too charitable by half, sir—much too charitable!
But let the disease come whence it will,
I fear my sexton will prove its victim.”

“I will take the charge on myself of having
the fires renewed,” said Lionel; “the embers
must yet be in the stoves, and we have still an
hour of time before us.”

As the clergyman was much too conscientious
to retain possession of the gold without fully entitling
himself to the ownership, he had long before
determined to comply, notwithstanding the secret
yearnings of his flesh. Their plans were now soon
arranged, and Lionel, after receiving the key of
the chapel, took his leave for a time.

When Major Lincoln found himself in the street
again, he walked for some distance in the

[figure description] Page 074.[end figure description]

direction of the chapel, anxiously looking along the
deserted way, in order to discover an unemployed
soldier, who might serve to perform the
menial offices of the absent sexton. He proceeded
for some distance without success, for
every thing human seemed housed, even the
number of lights in the windows beginning to
decrease in a manner which denoted that the
usual hour of rest had arrived. He had paused in
the entrance of the dock-square, uncertain where
to apply for an assistant, when he caught a
glimpse of the figure of a man, crouching under
the walls of the old turreted ware-house, so often
mentioned. Without hesitating an instant,
he approached the spot, from which the figure
neither moved, nor did it indeed betray any other
evidence of a consciousness of his proximity.
Notwithstanding the dimness of the moon, there
was light enough to detect the extreme misery
of the object before him. His tattered and thin
attire sufficiently bespoke the motive of the stranger
for seeking a shelter from the cutting winds
behind an angle of the wall, while his physical
wants were betrayed by the eager manner in
which he gnawed at a bone that might well
have been rejected from the mess of the meanest
private, notwithstanding the extreme scarcity
that prevailed in the garrison. Lionel forgot
for a moment his present object, at this exhibition
of human suffering, and with a kind voice
he addressed the wretched being.

“You have a cold spot to eat your supper in,
my friend,” he said; “and it would seem, too, but
a scanty meal?”

Without ceasing to masticate his miserable nutriment,
or even raising his eyes, the other said,
in a growling voice—

“The king could shut up the harbor, and keep
out the ships; but he hasn't the might to drive

[figure description] Page 075.[end figure description]

cold weather from Boston, in the month of
March!”

“As I live, Job Pray! Come with me, boy, and
I will give you a better meal, and a warmer place
to enjoy it in—but first tell me; can you procure
a lantern and a light from your mother?”

“You can't go in the ware'us' to-night,” returned
the lad, positively.

“Is there no place at hand, then, where such
things might be purchased?”

“They keep them there,” said Job, pointing
sullenly to a low building on the opposite side of
the square, through one of the windows of which
a faint light was glimmering.

“Then take this money and go buy them for
me, without delay.”

Job hesitated with ill-concealed reluctance.

“Go, fellow, I have instant need of them, and
you can keep the change for your reward.”

The young man no longer betrayed any indisposition
to go, but answered, with great promptitude
for one of his imbecile mind—

“Job will go, if you will let him buy Nab some
meat with the change?”

“Certainly, buy what you will with it; and furthermore,
I promise you that neither your mother
nor yourself shall want again for food or clothing.”

“Job's a-hungry,” said the simpleton; “but
they say hunger don't come as craving upon a
young stomach as upon an old one. Do you
think the king knows what it is to be a-cold and
hungry?”

“I know not, boy—but I know full well that
if one suffering like you were before him, his
heart would yearn to relieve him. Go, go, and
buy yourself food too, if they have it?”

In a very few minutes Lionel saw the

[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]

simpleton issuing from the house to which he had run
at his bidding, with the desired lantern.

“Did you get any food,” said Lionel, motioning
to Job to precede him with the light—“I trust
you did not entirely forget yourself in your haste
to serve me?”

“Job hopes he didn't catch the pestilence,” returned
the lad, eating at the same time voraciously
of a small roll of bread.

“Catch what? what is it you hope you did not
catch?”

“The pestilence—they are full of the foul disorder
in that house.”

“Do you mean the small-pox, boy?”

“Yes; some call it small-pox, and some call it
the foul disorder, and other some the pestilence.
The king can keep out the trade, but
he can't keep out the cold and the pestilence
from Boston—but when the people get the town
back, they'll know what to do with it—they'll
send it all to the pest-housen!”

“I hope I have not exposed you unwittingly to
danger, Job—it would have been better had I
gone myself, for I was innoculated for the terrible
disease in my infancy.”

Job, who, in expressing his sense of the danger,
had exhausted the stores of his feeble mind on the
subject, made no reply, but continued walking
through the square, until they reached its termination,
when he turned, and inquired which way
he was to go.

“To the church,” said Lionel, “and swiftly, lad.”

As they entered Corn-hill, they encountered
the fury of the wind, when Major Lincoln bowing
his head, and gathering his cloak about him, followed
the light which flitted along the pavement
in his front. Shut out in a manner from the world
by this covering, his thoughts returned to their
former channel, and in a few moments he forgot

[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]

where he was, or who he was following. He
was soon awakened from his abstraction by perceiving
that it was necessary for him to ascend
a few steps, when supposing he had reached the
place of destination, he raised his head, and unthinkingly
followed his conductor into the tower
of a large edifice. Immediately perceiving his
mistake, by the difference of the architecture
from that of the King's chapel, he reproved the
lad for his folly, and demanded why he had
brought him thither.

“This is what you call a church,” said Job,
“though I call it a meetin'us'—It's no wonder you
don't know it—for what the people built for
a temple, the king has turned into a stable!”

“A stable!” exclaimed Lionel. Perceiving a
strong smell of horses in the place, he advanced
and threw open the inner door, when,
to his amazement, he perceived that he stood
in an area fitted for the exercises of the cavalry.
There was no mistaking the place, nor its
uses. The naked galleries, and many of the original
ornaments were standing, but the accommodations
below were destroyed, and in their
places the floor had been covered with earth, for
horses and their riders to practise in the cavesson.
The abominations of the place even now offended
his senses as he stood on that spot where he
remembered so often to have seen the grave and
pious colonists assemble, in crowds, to worship.
Seizing the lantern from Job, he hurried out of
the building with a disgust that even the unobservant
simpleton had no difficulty in discovering.
On reaching the street his eyes fell upon the lights,
and on the silent dignity of Province-house, and he
was compelled to recollect, that this wanton violation
of the feelings of the colonists, had been

[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]

practised directly under the windows of the royal governor.

“Fools, fools!” he muttered bitterly; “when
ye should have struck like men, ye have trifled
as children; and ye have forgotten your
manhood, and even your God, to indulge your
besotted spleen!”

“And now these very horses are starving
for want of hay, as a judgment upon them!”
said Job, who shuffled his way industriously at
the other's side.—“They had better have gone
to meetin' themselves, and heard the expounding,
than to set dumb beasts a rioting in a place
that the Lord used to visit so often!”

“Tell me, boy, of what other act of folly and
madness has the army been guilty?”

“What! hav'n't you heard of the old North!
They've made oven-wood of the grandest temple
in the Bay! If they dared, they'd lay their
ungodly hands on old Funnel itself!”

Lionel made no reply. He had heard
that the distresses of the garrison, heightened
as they were by the ceaseless activity of the
Americans, had compelled them to convert many
houses, as well as the church in question, into
fuel. But he saw in the act nothing more than the
usual recourse of a common military exigency. It
was free from that reckless contempt of a people's
feelings, which was exhibited in the prostitution
of the ancient walls of the sister edifice,
which was known throughout New-England,
with a species of veneration, as the “old South.”
He continued his way gloomily along the silent
streets, until he reached the more favoured
temple, in which the ritual of the English
church was observed, and whose roof was rendered
doubly sacred, in the eyes of the garrison,
by the accidental circumstance of bearing the
title of their earthly monarch.

CHAPTER VI.

[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]

Major Lincoln found the King's Chapel differing
in every particular from the venerable, but
prostituted building he had just quitted. As he
entered, the light of his lantern played over the
rich scarlet covering of many a pew, and glanced
upon the glittering ornaments of the polished organ,
which now slumbered in as chilled a silence,
as the dead which lay in such multitudes within
and without the massive walls. The laboured columns,
with their slender shafts and fretted capitals,
threw shapeless shadows across the dim background,
peopling the galleries and ceiling with
imaginary phantoms of thin air. As this slight
delusion passed away, he became sensible of the
change in the temperature. The warmth was
not yet dissipated which had been maintained during
the different services of the day; for notwithstanding
the wants of the town and garrison,
the favoured temple, where the representative
of the sovereign was wont to worship, knew
not the ordinary privations of the place. Job
was directed to supply the dying embers of the
stoves with fresh fuel, and as the simpleton well
knew where to find the stores of the church, his

[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]

office was performed with an alacrity that was not
a little increased by his own sufferings.

When the bustle of preparation had subsided,
Lionel drew a chair from the chancel, while Job
crouched by the side of the quivering iron he had
heated, in that attitude he was wont to assume,
and which so touchingly expressed the secret consciousness
he felt of his own inferiority. As the
grateful warmth diffused itself over the halfnaked
frame of the simpleton, his head sunk
upon his bosom, and he was fast falling into
a slumber, like a worried hound that had at
length found ease and shelter. A more active
mind would have wished to learn the reasons
that could induce his companion to seek such
an asylum at that unseasonable hour. But
Job was a stranger to curiosity; nor did the
occasional glimmerings of his mind often extend
beyond those holy precepts which had
been taught him with such care, before disease
had sapped his faculties, or those popular
principles of the time, that formed so essential
a portion of the thoughts of every New-Englandman.

Not so with Major Lincoln. His watch told
him that many weary minutes must elapse before
he could expect to receive his bride, and
he disposed himself to wait with as much patience
as comported with five-and-twenty, and
the circumstances. In a short time the stillness
of the chapel was restored, interrupted only by the
passing gusts of the wind without, and the dull
roaring of the furnace by whose side Job slumbered
in a state of happy oblivion.

Lionel endeavoured to still his truant thoughts,
and bring them in training for the solemn ceremony
in which he was soon to be an actor. Finding
the task too difficult, he arose, and

[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]

approaching a window, looked outupon the solitude, and the
whirlwinds of snow that drifted through the streets,
eagerly listening for those sounds of approach
which his reason told him he ought not yet to
expect. Again he seated himself, and turned
his eyes inquiringly about him, with a sort of inward
apprehension that some one lay concealed,
in the surrounding gloom, with a secret design
to mar his approaching happiness. There
was so much of wild and feverish romance in the
incidents of the day, that he found it difficult, at
moments, to credit their reality, and had recourse
to hasty glances at the altar, his attire, and even
his insensible companion, to remove the delusion
from his mind. Again he looked upward at the
unsteady and huge shadows which wavered along
the ceiling and the walls, and his former apprehensions
of some hidden evil were revived
with a vividness that amounted nearly to a presentiment.
So uneasy did he become at length,
under this impression, that he walked along the
more distant aisles, scrupulously looking into the
dark pews, and throwing a scrutinizing glance
behind each column, and was rewarded for
his trouble, by hearing the hollow echoes of
his own footsteps.

In returning from this round he approached
the stove, and yielded to a strong desire of listening
to the voice of even Job, in a moment of such
morbid excitement. Touching the simpleton
lightly with his foot, the other awoke with that
readiness which denoted the sudden and disturbed
nature of his ordinary rest.

“You are unusually dull to-night, Job,” said
Lionel, endeavouring to hush his uneasiness in
affected pleasantry, “or you would inquire the
reason why I pay my visit to the chruch at this
extraordinary hour?”

[figure description] Page 082.[end figure description]

“Boston folks love their meetin'us's,” returned
the obtuse simpleton.

“Ay! but they love their beds, too, fellow;
and one-half of them are now enjoying what you
seem to covet so much.”

“Job loves to eat, and to be warm!”

“And to sleep too, if one may judge by your
drowsiness.”

“Yes, sleep is sweet; Job don't feel a-hungered
when he's sleeping.”

Lionel remained silent, for several moments,
under a keen perception of the suffering exhibited
in the touching helplessness, which marked
the manner of the other, before he continued—

“But I expect to be joined, soon, by the
clergyman, and some ladies, and captain Polwarth.”

“Job likes captain Polwarth—he keeps a
grand sight of provisions!”

“Enough of this! can you think of nothing
but your stomach, boy?”

“God made hunger,” said Job, gloomily,
“and he made food, too; but the king keeps
it all for his rake-hellies!”

“Well, listen, and be attentive to what I tell
you.—One of the ladies who will come here, is
Miss Dynevor; you know Miss Dynevor, Job?
the beautiful Miss Dynevor!”

The charms of Cecil had not, however, made
their wonted impression on the dull eye of the
idiot, who still regarded the speaker with his
customary air of apathy.

“Surely, Job, you know Miss Dynevor!” repeated
Lionel, with an irritability that, at any
other time, he would have been the first to
smile at—“she has often given you money and
clothes.”

[figure description] Page 083.[end figure description]

“Yes; Ma'am Lechmere is her grandam!”

This was certainly one of the least recommendations
his mistress possessed, in the eyes
of Lionel, who paused a moment, with inward
vexation, before he added—

“Let who will be her relatives, she is this night
to become my wife. You will remain and witness
the ceremony, and then you will extinguish the
lights, and return the key of the church to Dr.
Liturgy. In the morning come to me for your
reward.”

The changeling arose, with an air of singular
importance, and answered—

“To be sure. Major Lincoln is to be married,
and he asks Job to the wedding! Now,
Nab may preach her sarmons about pride and
flaunty feelings as much as she will; but blood
is blood, and flesh is flesh, for all her sayings!”

Struck by the expression of wild meaning that
gleamed in the eyes of the simpleton, Major Lincoln
demanded an explanation of his ambiguous
language. But ere Job had leisure to reply,
though his vacant look again denoted that his
thoughts were already contracting themselves
within their usually narrow limits, a sudden noise
drew the attention of both to the entrance
of the chapel. The door opened in the next
instant, and the figure of the divine, powdered
with drifted snow, and encased in various defences
against the cold, was seen, moving with
a becoming gravity, through the principal aisle.
Lionel hastened to receive him, and to conduct
him to the seat he had just occupied himself.

When Dr. Liturgy had uncloaked, and appeared
in his robes of office, the benevolence of his
smile, and the whole expression of his countenance,
denoted that he was satisfied with the condition
in which he found the preparations.

[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]

“There is no reason why a church should not
be as comfortable as a man's library, Major Lincoln,”
he said, hitching his seat a little nearer to
the stove. “It is a puritanical and a dissenting
idea, that religion has any thing forbidding
or gloomy in its nature; and wherefore should
we assemble amid pains and inconvenience to
discharge its sacred offices.”

“Quite true, sir,” returned Lionel, looking
anxiously through one of the windows—“I have
not yet heard the hour of ten strike, though
my watch tells me it is time!”

“The weather renders the public clocks very
irregular. There are so many unavoidable evils
to which flesh is heir, that we should endeavour
to be happy on all occasions—indeed it is a
duty—”

“It's not in the natur of sin to make fallen
man happy,” said a low, growling voice from
behind the stove.

“Ha! what! did you speak, Major Lincoln—
a very singular sentiment for a bridegroom!”
muttered the divine.

“'Tis that weak young man, whom I have
brought hither to assist with the fires, repeating
some of the lore of his mother; nothing else,
sir.”

By this time Dr. Liturgy had caught a glimpse
of the crouching Job, and comprehending the interruption,
he fell back in his chair, smiling superciliously,
as he continued—

“I know the lad, sir; I should know him.
He is learned in the texts, and somewhat given
to disputation in matters of religion. 'Tis a pity
the little intellect he has, had not been better
managed in his infancy; but they have helped
to crush his feeble mind with their subtleties,

[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]

We—I mean we of the established church—often
style him the Boston Calvin—ha, ha, ha!—
Old Cotton was not his equal in subtilty! but
speaking of the establishment, do you not fancy
that one of the consequences of this rebellion
will be to extend its benefits to the colonies,
and that we may look forward to the period
when the true church shall possess its inheritance
in these religious provinces?”

“Oh, most certainly,” said Lionel, again walking
anxiously to the window; “would to God
they had come!”

The divine, with whom weddings were matters
of too frequent occurrence to awaken his sympathies,
understood the impatient bridegroom
literally, and replied accordingly.

“I am glad to hear you say it, Major Lincoln,
and I hope when the act of amnesty shall be passed,
to find your vote on the side of such a condition.”

At this instant Lionel caught a glimpse of the
well-known sleigh, moving slowly along the deserted
street, and uttering a cry of pleasure, he
rushed to the door to receive his bride. Dr.
Liturgy finished his sentence to himself, and
rising from his comfortable position, he took
the light and entered the chancel. The disposition
of the candles having been previously made,
when they were lighted, his book opened, his
robes adjusted, and his features settled into a suitable
degree of solemnity, he stood, waiting with
becoming dignity the approach of those over
whom he was to pronounce the nuptial benediction.
Job placed himself within the shadows
of the building, and stood regarding the attitude
and imposing aspect of the priest, with
a species of childish awe.

[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]

Then came a group, emerging from the obscurity
of the distant part of the church, and moving
slowly toward the altar. Cecil was in front, leaning
on that arm which Lionel had given her, as much
for support, as through courtesy. She had removed
her outer and warmer garments in the vestibule
of the sacred edifice, and now appeared, attired
in a manner as well suited to the suddenness
and privacy, as to the importance of the
ceremony. A mantle of satin, trimmed with delicate
furs, fell carelessly from her shoulders, partly
concealing by its folds the exquisite proportions
of her slender form. Beneath was a vestment
of the same rich material, cut, after the
fashions of that period, in a manner to give the
exact outlines of the bust. Across the stomacher
were deep rows of fine lace, and wide borders of
the same valuable texture followed the retiring
edges of her robe, leaving the costly dress within
partly exposed to the eye. But the beauty and
simplicity of her attire (it was simple for that
day) was lost, or, rather, it served to adorn, unnoticed,
the melancholy beauty of her countenance.

As they approached the expecting priest, Cecil
threw, by a gentle movement, her mantle on
the rails of the chancel, and accompanied Lionel,
with a firmer tread than before, to the foot of the
altar. Her cheeks were pale; but it was rather
with a compelled resolution than dread, while her
eyes were full of tenderness and thought: Of the
two devotees of Hymen, she exhibited, if not the
most composure, certainly the most singleness of
purpose and intentness on the duty before them;
for while the looks of Lionel were stealing uneasily
about the building, as if he expected some
hidden object to start up out of the darkness,
her's were riveted on the priest in sweet and earnest
attention.

[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]

They paused in their alloted places; and after
a moment was allowed for Agnes and Polwarth,
who alone followed, to enter the chancel, the low
but deep tones of the minister were heard in the
solemn stillness of the place.

Dr. Liturgy had borrowed a suitable degree of
inspiration from the dreariness of the hour, and
the solitude of the building where he was required
to discharge his sacred functions. As he
delivered the opening exhortation of the service,
he made long and frequent pauses between the
members of the sentences, giving to each injunction
a distinct and impressive emphasis. But when
he came to those closing words—

“If any man can show just cause why they may
not be lawfully joined together let him now speak,
or else, hereafter, for ever hold his peace.”

He lifted his voice, and raised his eyes to the
more distant parts of the chapel, as though he
addressed a multitude in the gloom. The faces
of all present involuntarily followed the direction
of his gaze, and a moment of deep expectation,
which can only be explained by the
singularly wild character of the scene, succeeded
the reverberation of his tones. At that moment,
when each had taken breath, and all were again
turning to the altar, a huge shadow rose upon
the gallery, and extended itself along the ceiling,
until its gigantic proportions were seen hovering,
like an evil spectre, nearly above them.

The clergyman suspended the half-uttered sentence.
Cecil grasped the arm of Lionel convulsively,
while a shudder passed through her frame,
that seemed about to shake it to dissolution.

The shadowy image then slowly withdrew,
not without, however, throwing out a fantastic
gesture, with an arm which stretched itself across
the vaulted roof, and down the walls as if about
to clutch its victims beneath.

[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]

“If any man can show just cause why they may
not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak,
or else, hereafter, for ever hold his peace,” repeated
the priest aloud, as if he would summon the universe
at the challenge.

Again the shadow rose, presenting this time
the strong and huge lineaments of a human
face, which it was not difficult, at such a moment,
to fancy possessed even expression and
life. Its strongly marked features seemed to
work with powerful emotion, and the lips moved
as if the airy being was speaking to unearthly
ears. Next came two arms, raised above
the gazing group, with clasped hands, as in the
act of benediction, after which the whole vanished,
leaving the ceiling in its own dull white,
and the building still as the graves which surrounded
it.

Once more the excited minister uttered the
summons; and again every eye was drawn, by
a secret impulse, to a spot which seemed to
possess the form without the substance of a human
being. But the shadow was seen no more.
After waiting several moments in vain, Dr. Liturgy
proceeded, with a voice in which a growing tremor
was very perceptible, but no further interruption
was experienced to the end of the service.

Cecil pronounced her vows, and plighted her
troth in tones of holy emotion, while Lionel,
who was prepared for some strange calamity,
went through the service to the end with a
forced calmness. They were married; and when
the blessing was uttered, not a sound nor a whisper
was heard in the party. Silently they all
turned away from the spot, and prepared to leave
the place. Cecil stood passively, and permitted
Lionel to wrap her form in the folds of her mantle
with tender care, and when she would have
smiled her thanks for the attention, she merely

[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]

raised her anxious eyes to the ceiling, with an
expression that could not be mistaken. Even
Polwarth was mute; and Agnes forgot to offer
those congratulations and good-wishes with which
her heart had so recently been swelling.

The clergyman muttered a few words of caution
to Job concerning the candles and the fire,
and hurried after the retiring party with a quickness
of step that he was willing to ascribe to the
lateness of the hour, and with a total disregard
to the safety of the edifice; leaving the chapel
to the possession of the ill-gifted, but undisturbed
son of Abigail Pray.

CHAPTER VII.

[figure description] Page 090.[end figure description]

The bridal party entered their little vehicle,
silent and thoughtful; the voice of Polwarth
being alone audible as he gave a few low and
hurried orders to the groom who was in waiting.
Dr. Liturgy approached for a moment, and made
his compliments, when the sleigh darted away
from before the building, as swiftly as if the horse
that drew it partook of the secret uneasiness of
those it held. The movements of the divine,
though less rapid, were equally diligent, and in
less than a minute the winds whistled, and clouds
of snow were driven through a street, which
every thing possessing life appeared once more
to have abandoned.

The instant Polwarth had discharged his load,
at the door of Mrs. Lechmere, he muttered
something of “happiness and to-morrow,” which
his friend did not understand, and dashed through
the gate of the court-yard, at the same mad rate
that he had driven from the church. On entering
the house, Agnes repaired to the room
of her aunt, to report that the marriage knot

[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]

was tied, while Lionel led his silent bride into
the empty parlour.

Cecil stood, fixed and motionless as a statue,
while her husband removed her cloak and
mantle; her cheeks pale, her eyes riveted on the
floor, and her whole attitude and manner exhibiting
the intensity of thought which had been
created by the scene in which she had just been
an actor. When he had relieved her light form
from the load of garments in which it had been
enveloped by his care, he impelled her gently
to a seat by his side, on the settee, and for the
first time since she had uttered the final vow at
the altar, she spoke—

“Was it a fearful omen!” she whispered, as
he folded her to his heart, “or was it no more
than a horrid fancy!”

“'Twas nothing, love—'twas a shadow—that
of Job Pray, who was with me to light the fires.”

“No—no—no,” said Cecil, speaking with the
rapidity of high excitement, and in tones that
gathered strength as she proceeded—“Those
were never the unmeaning features of the miserable
simpleton! Know, you, Lincoln, that in the
haughty, the terrific outlines of those dreadful
lineaments on the wall, I fancied a resemblance
to the profile of our great uncle, your
father's predecessor in the title—Dark Sir Lionel,
as he was called!”

“It was easy to fancy any thing, at such a time,
and under such circumstances. Do not cloud
the happiness of our bridal by these gloomy
fancies?”

“Am I gloomy or superstitious by habit, Lionel?”
she asked, with a deprecating tenderness
in her voice, that touched his inmost heart—
“but it came at such a moment, and in such a

[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

shape, that I should be more than woman not to
tremble at its terrible import!”

“What is it you dread, Cecil? Are we not
married; lawfully, solemnly united?” the bride
shuddered; but perceiving her unwilling, or unable
to answer, he continued—“beyond the power
of man to sever; and with the consent, nay, by
the earnest wish, the command of the only being
who can have a right to express a wish, or have
an opinion on the subject?”

“I believe—that is I think, it is all as you say,
Lionel,” returned Cecil, still looking about her
with a vacant and distressed air that curdled
his blood; “yes—yes, we are certainly married;
and Oh! how ardently do I implore Him who
sees and governs all things, that our union may
be blessed! but”—

“But what, Cecil? will you let a thing of
naught—a shadow affect you in this manner?”

“'Twas a shadow, as you say, Lincoln; but
where was the substance!”

“Cecil, my sensible, my good, my pious Cecil,
why do your faculties slumber in this unaccountable
apathy! Ask your own excellent reason:
can there be a shade where nothing obstructs
the light?”

“I know not. I cannot reason—I have not
reason. All things are possible to Him whose
will is law, and whose slightest wish shakes the
universe. There was a shadow, a dark, a speaking,
and a terrible shadow; but who can say
where was the reality?”

“I had almost answered, with the phantom,
only in your own sensitive imagination, love.
But arouse your slumbering powers, Cecil, and
reflect how possible it was for some curious
idler of the garrison to have watched my movements,
and to have secreted himself in the chapel;

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

perhaps from wanton mischief—perhaps without
motive of any kind.”

“He then chose an awful moment in which to
act his gambols!”

“It may have been one whose knowledge was
just equal to giving a theatrical effect to his silly
deception. But are we to be cheated of our
happiness by such weak devices; or to be miserable
because Boston contains a fool!”

“I may be weak, and silly, and even impious
in this terror, Lincoln,” she said, turning
her softened looks upon his anxious face, and
attempting to smile; “but it is assailing a woman
in a point where she is most sensitive.—
You know that I have no reserve with you,
now. Marriage with us is the tie that `binds all
charities in one,' and at the moment when the
heart is full of its own security, is it not dreadful
to have such mysterious presages, be they
true, or be they false, answering to the awful
appeal of the church!”

“Nor is the tie less binding, less important, or
less dear, my own Cecil, to us. Believe me,
whatever the pride of manhood may say, of
high destinies, and glorious deeds, the same
affections are deeply seated in our nature, and
must be soothed by those we love, and not by
those who contribute to our vanity. Why,
then, permit this chill to blight your best affections
in their budding?”

There was so much that was soothing to the
anxiety of a bride, in his sentiments, and so much
of tender interest in his manner, that he at length
succeeded, in a great degree, in luring Cecil
from her feverish apprehensions. As he spoke,
a mantling bloom diffused itself over her cold
and pallid cheeks, and when he had done, her
eyes lighted with the glow of a woman's

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

confidence, and were turned on his own in bright, but
blushing pleasure. She repeated his word `chill,'
with an emphasis and a smile that could not be
misconstrued, and in a few minutes he entirely succeeded
in quelling the uneasy presentiments that
had gained a momentary ascendency over her
clear and excellent faculties.

But notwithstanding Major Lincoln reasoned
so well, and with so much success, against the
infirmity of his bride, he was by no means
equal to maintain as just an argument with
himself. The morbid sensibility of his mind
had been awakened in a most alarming manner
by the occurrences of the evening, though
his warm interest in the happiness of Cecil had
enabled him to smother them, so long as he
witnessed the extent and nature of her apprehensions.
But, exactly in the proportion as he
persuaded her into forgetfulness of the past, his
recollections became more vivid and keen;
and, notwithstanding his art, he might not have
been able to conceal the workings of his troubled
thoughts from his companion, had not Agnes
appeared, and announced the desire of Mrs.
Lechmere to receive the bride and bridegroom
in her sick chamber.

“Come, Lincoln,” said his lovely companion,
rising at the summons, “we have been selfish
in forgetting how strongly my grandmother sympathizes
in our good or evil fortunes. We should
have discharged this duty without waiting to be
reminded of it.”

Without making any other reply than a fond
pressure of the hand he held, Lionel drew her
arm through his own, and followed Agnes into
the little hall which conducted to the upper part
of the dwelling.

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

“You know the way, Major Lincoln,” said
Miss Danforth; “and should you not, my lady
bride can show you. I must go and cast
a worldly eye on the little banquet I have ordered,
but which I fear will be labour thrown
away, since captain Polwarth has disdained to
exhibit his prowess at the board. Truly, Major
Lincoln, I marvel that a man of so much substance
as your friend, should be frightened from
his stomach by a shadow!”

Cecil even laughed, and in those sweet feminine
tones that are infectious, at the humour
of her cousin; but the dark and anxious expression
that gathered round the brow of her husband
as suddenly checked her mirth.

“Let us ascend, Lincoln,” she said, instantly,
“and leave mad Agnes to her household cares,
and her folly.”

“Ay, go,” cried the other, turning away towards
the supper-room—“eating and drinking is
not etherial enough for your elevated happiness;
would I had a repast worthy of such sentimental
enjoyment! Let me see—dew drops and lovers
tears, in equal quantities, sweetened by Cupid's
smiles, with a dish of sighs, drawn by moon-light,
for piquancy, as Polwarth would say,
would flavour a bowl to their tastes. The dewdrops
might be difficult to procure, at this inclement
season, and in such a night; but if sighs
and tears would serve alone, poor Boston is just
now rich enough in materials!”

Lionel, and his half-blushing, half-smiling companion,
heard the dying sounds of her voice, as
she entered the distant apartment, expressing, by
its tones, the mingled pleasantry and spleen
of its mistress, and in the next instant they
forgot both Agnes and her humour, as they

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

found themselves in the presence of Mrs. Lechmere.

The first glance of his eye at their expecting
relative, brought a painful throb to the
heart of Major Lincoln. Mrs. Lechmere had
caused herself to be raised in her bed, in which
she was seated nearly upright, supported by
pillows. Her wrinkled and emaciated cheeks
were flushed with an unnatural colour, that contrasted
too violently with the marks which age
and strong passions had impressed, with their
indelible fingers, on the surrounding wreck of
those haughty features, which had once been distinguished
for great, if not attractive beauty. Her
hard eyes had lost their ordinary expression of
worldly care, in a brightness which caused them
rather to glare than beam, with flashes of unbridled
satisfaction that could no longer be repressed.
In short, her whole appearance brought a startling
conviction to the mind of the young man,
that whatever might have been the ardour of his
own feelings in espousing her grand-child, he
had at length realized the fondest desires of a
being so worldly, so designing, and, as he was
now made keenly to remember, of one, also, who
he had much reason to apprehend, was so guilty.
The invalid did not seem to think a concealment
of her exultation any longer necessary, for
stretching out her arms, she called to her child,
in a voice raised above its natural tones, and
which was dissonant and harsh from a sort of
unholy triumph—

“Come to my arms, my pride, my hope, my
dutiful, my deserving daughter! Come and receive
a parent's blessing; that blessing which
you so much deserve!”

Even Cecil, warm and consoling as was the
language of her grand-mother, hesitated an

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

instant at the unnatural voice in which the summons
was uttered, and advanced to meet her
embrace with a manner less warm than was
usual to her own ardent and unsuspecting nature.
This secret restraint existed, however, but for a
moment; for when she felt the encircling arms
of Mrs. Lechmere pressing her warmly to her
aged bosom, she looked up into the face of her
grandmother, as if to thank her for so much affection,
by her own guileless smiles and tears.

“Here, then, Major Lincoln, you possess
my greatest, I had almost said my only treasure!”
added Mrs. Lechmere—“she is a good,
a gentle, and dutiful child; and heaven will
bless her for it, as I do.” Leaning forward, she
continued, in a less excited voice—“Kiss me, my
Cecil, my bride, my Lady Lincoln! for by that
loved title I may now call you, as yours, in
the course of nature, it soon will be.”

Cecil, greatly shocked at the unguarded exultation
of her grandmother, gently withdrew
herself from her arms, and with eyes bent to
the floor in shame, and burning cheeks, she
willingly moved aside to allow Lionel to approach,
and receive his share of the congratulations.
He stooped to bestow the cold and reluctant
kiss, which the offered cheek of Mrs.
Lechmere invited, and muttered a few incoherent
words concerning his present happiness, and
the obligation she had conferred. Notwithstanding
the high and disgusting triumph which had
broken through the usually cold and cautious
manner of the invalid, a powerful and unbidden
touch of nature mingled in her address to the
bridegroom. The fiery and unnatural glow of
her eyes even softened with a tear, as she spoke—

“Lionel, my nephew, my son,” she said—
“I have endeavoured to receive you in a

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

manner worthy of the head of an ancient and honourable
name; but were you a sovereign prince,
I have now done my last and best in your favour!—
Cherish her—love her—be more than
husband—be all of kin to the precious child,
for she merits all! Now is my latest wish fulfilled!—
Now may I prepare myself for the last
great change, in the quiet of a long and tranquil
evening to the weary and troublesome day
of life!”

“Woman!” said a tremendous voice in the
back ground—“thou deceivest thyself!”

“Who,” exclaimed Mrs. Lechmere, raising
her body with a convulsive start, as if about to
leap from the bed—“who is it speaks!”

“'Tis I”—returned the well remembered tones
of Ralph, as he advanced from the door to the
foot of her couch—“'Tis I, Priscilla Lechmere;
one who knows thy merits and thy doom!”

The appalled woman fell back on her pillows,
gasping for breath, the flush of her cheeks
giving place to their former signs of age and
disease, and her eye losing its high exultation
in the glazed look of sudden terror. It would
seem, however, that a single moment of reflection
was sufficient to restore her spirit, and with it, all
her deep resentments. She motioned the intruder
away, by a violent gesture of the hand,
and after an effort to command her utterance,
she said, in a voice rendered doubly strong by
overwhelming passion—

“Why am I braved, at such a moment, in
the privacy of my sick chamber! Have that
madman, or impostor, whichever he may be, removed
from my presence!”

She uttered her request to deadened ears. Lionel
neither moved nor answered. His whole
attention was given to Ralph, across whose

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hollow features a smile of calm indifference passed,
which denoted how little he regarded the
threatened violence. Even Cecil, who clung to
the arm of Lionel, with all a woman's dependance
on him she loved, was unnoticed by the
latter, in the absorbing interest he took in the sudden
reappearance of one whose singular and mysterious
character had, long since, raised such hopes
and fears in his own bosom.

“Your doors will shortly be open to all who
may choose to visit here,” the old man coldly answered;
“why should I be driven from a dwelling
where heartless crowds shall so soon enter and depart
at will! Am I not old enough; or do I not
bear enough of the aspect of the grave to become
your companion? Priscilla Lechmere, you have
lived till the bloom of your cheeks has given
place to the colour of the dead; your dimples
have become furrowed and wrinkled lines; and
the beams of your once bright eye, have altered
to the dull look of care—but you have not yet
lived for repentance!”

“What manner of language is this!” cried his
wondering listener, inwardly shrinking before his
steady, but glowing look. “Why am I singled
from the world for this persecution? are my sins
past bearing; or am I alone to be reminded that
sooner or later, age and death will come!—I
have long known the infirmities of life, and may
truly say that I am prepared for their final consequences.”

“'Tis well,” returned the unmoved and apparently
immoevable intruder—“take, then, and
read the solemn decree of thy God; and may
He grant thee firmness to justify so much confidence.”

As he spoke, he extended, in his withered
hand, an open letter towards Mrs. Lechmere,

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which the quick glance of Lionel told him bore
his own name in the superscription. Notwithstanding
the gross invasion of his rights, the young
man was passive under the detection of this second
and gross interference of the other in his
most secret matters, watching with eager interest
the effect the strange communication would produce
on his aunt.

Mrs. Lechmere took the letter from the stranger
with a sort of charmed submission, which denoted
how completely his solemn manner had
bent her to his will. The instant her look
fell on the contents, it became fixed and wild.
The note was, however, short, and the scrutiny
was soon ended. Still she grasped it with
an extended arm, though the vacant expression
of her countenance betrayed that it was held before
an insensible eye. A moment of silent and
breathless wonder followed. It was succeeded by
a shudder which passed through the whole frame
of the invalid, her limbs shaking violently, until
the rattling of the folds of the paper was
audible in the most distant corner of the apartment.

“This bears my name,” cried Lionel, shocked
at her emotions, and taking the paper from
her unresisting hand, “and should first have met
my eye.”

“Aloud—aloud, dear Lionel,” said a faint but
earnest whisper at his elbow; “aloud, I implore
you, aloud!”

It was not, perhaps, so much in compliance with
this affecting appeal, in which the whole soul of
Cecil seemed wrapped, as by yielding to the
overwhelming flow of that excitement to which
he had been aroused, that Major Lincoln was
led to conform to her request. In a voice

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rendered desperately calm by his emotions, he uttered
the fatal contents of the note, in tones so
distinct, that they sounded to his wife, in the stillness
of the place, like the prophetic warnings of
one from the dead:

“The state of the town has prevented that
close attention to the case of Mrs. Lechmere,
which her injuries rendered necessary. An inward
mortification has taken place, and her
present ease is only the forerunner of her death.
I feel it my duty to say, that though she may
live many hours, it is not improbable that she will
die to-night.”

To this short, but terrible annunciation, was
placed the well-known signature of the attending
physician. Here was a sudden change, indeed!
All had thought that the disease had given way,
when it seemed it had been preying insidiously
on the vitals of the sick. Dropping the note,
Lionel exclaimed aloud, in the suddenness of his
surprise—

“Die to night! This is an unexpected summons,
indeed!”

The miserable woman, after the first nerveless
moment of her dismay, turned her looks anxiously
from face to face, and listened intently to
the words of the note, as they fell from the lips
of Lionel, like one eager to detect the glimmerings
of hope in the alarmed expression of their
countenances. But the language of her physician
was too plain, direct, and positive to
be misunderstood or perverted. Its very coldness
gave it a terrific character of truth.

“Do you then credit it?” she asked in a voice
whose husky tones betrayed but too plainly her
abject unwillingness to be assured. “You! Lionel
Lincoln, whom I had thought my friend!”

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Lionel turned away silently from the sad
spectacle of her misery; but Cecil dropped on
her knees at the bed-side, and clasping her
hands, she elevated them, looking like a beautiful
picture of pious hope, as she murmured—

“He is no friend, dearest grandmother, who
would lay flattery to a parting soul! But there
is a better and a safer dependence than all this
world can offer!”

“And you, too!” cried the devoted woman,
rousing herself with a strength and energy that
would seem to put the professional knowledge
of her medical attendant at defiance—“do you
also abandon me! You whom I have watched
in infancy, nursed in suffering, fondled in happiness,
ay! and reared in virtue—yes, that I can say
boldly in the face of the universe! You, whom
I have brought to this honourable marriage;
would you repay me for all, by black ingratitude!”

“My grandmother! my grandmother! talk
not thus cruelly to your child! But lean on
the rock of ages for support, even as I have
leaned on thee!”

“Away—away—weak, foolish child! Excess
of happiness has maddened thee! Come
hither, my son; let us speak of Ravenscliffe,
the proud seat of our ancestors; and of those
days we are yet to pass under its hospitable roofs.
The silly girl thou hast wived would wish to
frighten me!”

Lionel shuddered with inward horror while he
listened to the forced and broken intonations of
her voice, as she thus uttered the lingering wishes
of her nature. He turned again from the view,
and, for a moment, buried his face in his hands,
as if to exclude the world and its wickedness,
together, from his sight.

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“My grandmother, look not so wildly at us!”
continued the gasping Cecil—“yon may have
yet hours, nay, days before you.” She paused
an instant to follow the unsettled and hopeless
gaze of an eye that gleamed despairingly
on the objects of the room, and then, with a
meek dependence on her own purity, dropping
her face between her hands, she cried aloud in
her agony—

“My mother's mother! Would that I could
die for thee!”

“Die!” echoed the same dissonant voice as
before, from a throat that already began to rattle
with the hastened approaches of death—
“who would die amid the festivities of a bridal!—
Away—leave me.—To thy closet, and thy
knees, if thou wilt—but leave me.”

She watched, with bitter resentment, the retiring
form of Cecil, who obeyed with the charitable
and pious intention of complying literally with
her grandmother's order, before she added—

“The girl is not equal to the task I had set
her! All of my race have been weak, but I—
my daughter—my husband's niece”—

“What of that niece!” said the startling voice
of Ralph, interrupting the diseased wanderings
of her mind—“that wife of thy nephew—the
mother of this youth? Speak, woman, while
time and reason are granted thee.”

Lionel now advanced to her bed-side, under
an impulse that he could no longer subdue, and
addressed her solemnly—

“If thou knowest aught of the dreadful calamity
that has befallen my family,” he said,
“or in any manner hast been accessary to its
cause, disburthen thy soul, and die in peace.
Sister of my grandfather! nay, more, mother of

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my wife! I conjure thee, speak—what of my
injured mother?”

“Sister of thy grandfather—mother of thy
wife,” repeated Mrs. Lechmere, slowly, and in
a manner that sufficiently indicated the unsettled
state of her thoughts—“Yes, both are true!”

“Speak to me, then, of my mother, if you
acknowledge the ties of blood—tell me of her
dark fate?”

“She is in her grave—dead—rotten—yes—
yes—her boasted beauty has been fed upon
by beastly worms! What more would ye have,
mad boy? Would'st wish to see her bones in
their winding-sheet?”

“The truth!” cried Ralph; “declare the truth,
and thy own wicked agency in the deed.”

“Who speaks?” repeated Mrs. Lechmere,
dropping her voice from its notes of high excitement
again, to the tremulous cadency of debility
and age, and looking about her at the same time,
as if a sudden remembrance had crossed her
brain; “surely I heard sounds I should know!”

“Here; look on me—fix thy wandering
eye, if it yet has power to see, on me,”
cried Ralph, aloud, as though he would command
her attention at every hazard—“'tis I
that speaks to thee, Priscilla Lechmere.”

“What wouldst thou have? My daughter?
she is in her grave! Her child? She is wedded
to another—Thou art too late! Thou
art too late! Would to God thou hadst asked
her of me in season”—

“The truth—the truth—the truth!” continued
the old man, in a voice that rung through the
apartment in wild and startling echoes—“the
holy and undefiled truth! Give us that, and
naught else.”

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This singular and solemn appeal awakened
the latest energies of the despairing woman,
whose inmost soul appeared to recoil before
his cries. She made an effort to raise herself
once more, and exclaimed—

“Who says that I am dying? I am but
seventy! and 'tis only yesterday I was a child—
a pure, an uncontaminated child! He lies—he
lies! I have no mortification—I am strong, and
have years to live and repent in.”

In the pauses of her utterance, the voice of
the old man was still heard shouting—

“The truth—the truth—the holy, undefiled
truth!”

“Let me rise and look upon the sun,” continued
the dying woman. “Where are ye all? Cecil,
Lionel—my children, do ye desert me now?
Why do ye darken the room? Give me light—
more light!—more light! for the sake of all in
heaven and earth, abandon me not to this black
and terrific darkness!”

Her aspect had become so hideously despairing,
that the voice of even Ralph was stilled, and she
continued uninterruptedly to shriek out the ravings
of her soul.

“Why talk to such as I of death!—My time
has been too short!—Give me days—give me
hours—give me moments! Cecil, Agnes—Abigail;
where are ye—help me, or I fall!”

She raised herself, by a desperate effort, from
the pillows, and clutched wildly at the empty
air. Meeting the extended hand of Lionel, she
caught it with a dying grasp, gave a ghastly
smile, under the false security it imparted, and
falling backward again, her mortal part settled,
with an universal shudder, into a state of eternal
rest.

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As the horrid exclamations of the deceased
ended, so deep a stillness succeeded in the apartment,
that the passing gusts of the gale were heard
sighing among the roofs of the town, and might
easily be mistaken, at such a moment, for the
moanings of unembodied spirits over so accursed
an end.

CHAPTER VIII.

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Cecil had left the room of her grandmother,
with the consciousness of sustaining a load of
anguish to which her young experience had hitherto
left her a stranger. On her knees, and in
the privacy of her closet, she poured out the
aspirations of her pure spirit, in fervent petitions
to that power, which she who most needed
its support, had so long braved by the
mockery of respect, and the seemliness of devotion.
With her soul elevated by its recent communion
with her God, and her feelings soothed
even to calmness by the sacred glow that was
shed around them, the youthful bride at length
prepared to resume her post at the bed-side of
her aged relative.

In passing from her own room to that of
Mrs. Lechmere, she heard the busy voice of
Agnes below, together with the sounds of the
preparations that were making to grace her
own hasty bridal, and for a moment she paused
to assure herself that all which had so recently
passed was more than the workings of a disturbed
fancy. She gazed at the unusual, though

[figure description] Page 108.[end figure description]

modest ornaments of her attire; shuddered as
she remembered the awful omen of the shadow,
and then came to the dreadful reality with an
overwhelming conviction of its truth. After
laying her hand on the door, she paused with
secret terror, to catch the sounds that might
issue from the chamber of the sick. After listening
a moment, the bustle below was hushed,
and she, too, heard the whistling of the wind
as its echoes died away among the chimneys and
angles of the building. Encouraged by the deathlike
stillness of those within her grandmother's
room. Cecil now opened the door, under the
pleasing impression that she should find the
resignation of a Christian, where she had so
lately witnessed the incipient ravings of despair.
Her entrance was timid, for she dreaded
to meet the hollow, but glaring eye of the
nameless being who had borne the message of
the physician and of whose mien and language
she retained a confused but fearful recollection.
Her hesitation and her fears, were, however,
alike vain; for the room was silent and tenantless.
Casting one wondering look around, in
quest of the form most dear to her, Cecil advanced
with a light step to the bed, and raising
the coverlid, discovered the fatal truth at a
glance.

The lineaments of Mrs. Lechmere had already
stiffened, and assumed that cadaverous and
ghastly expression which marks the touch of death.
The parting soul had left the impression of its
agony on her features, exhibiting the wreck
of those passions which caused her, even in
death, to look backward on that world she was
leaving for ever, instead of forward to the unknown
existence, towards which she was hurried.
Perhaps the suddenness and the very

[figure description] Page 109.[end figure description]

weight of the shock, sustained the cheerless
bride in that moment of trial. She neither
spoke nor moved for more than a minute; but
remained with her eyes riveted on the desolation
of that countenance she had revered from her infancy,
with a species of holy awe that was not entirely
free from horror. Then came the recollection
of the portentous omens of her wedding,
and with it a dread that the heaviest of her
misfortunes were yet in reserve. She dropped
the covering on the pallid features of the dead,
and quitted the apartment with a hurried step.
The room of Lionel was on the same floor with
that which she had just left, and before she
had time for reflection, her hand was on its
lock. Her brain was bewildered with the rush
of circumstances. For a single instant she
paused with maiden bashfulness, even recoiling
in sensitive shame from the act she was about
to commit, when all her fears, mingled with
glimmerings of the truth, flashed again across
her mind, and she burst into the room, uttering
the name of him she sought, aloud.

The brands of a fallen fire had been carefully
raked together, and were burning with a
feeble and wavering flame. The room seemed
filled with a cold air, which, as she encountered
it, chilled the delicate person of Cecil; and flickering
shadows were playing on the walls,
with the uncertain movements imparted by the
unsteady light. But, like the apartment of the
dead, the room was still and empty. Perceiving
that the door of the little dressing-room was
open, she rushed to its threshold, and the mystery
of the cold air and the wavering fire was
explained, when she felt the gusts of wind rush
by her from the open door at the foot of the
narrow stairs. If Cecil had ever been required to

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explain the feelings which induced her to descend,
or the manner in which it was effected,
she would have been unable to comply, for
quick as thought she stood on the threshold of the
outer-door, nearly unconscious of her situation.

The moon was still wading among the driving
clouds, shedding just light enough to make the
spectator sensible of the stillness of the camp and
town. The easterly wind yet howled along the
streets, occasionally lifting whirlwinds of snow,
and wrapping whole squares in its dim wreaths.
But neither man nor beast was visible amid the
dreariness.

The bewildered bride shrunk from the dismal
view, with a keen perception of its wild consonance
with the death of her grandmother.
In another moment she was again in the room
above, each part of which was examined with
maddening anxiety for the person of her husband.
But her powers, excited and unnatural
as they had become, could support her no
longer. She was forced to yield to the impression
that Lionel had deserted her in the most trying
moment, and it was not strange that she
coupled the sinister omens of the night with
his mysterious absence. The heart-stricken girl
clasped her hands in anguish, and shrieking the
name of her cousin, sunk on the floor in total insensibility.

Agnes was busily and happily employed with
her domestics, in preparing such a display of
the wealth of the Lechmeres as should not
disgrace her cousin in the eyes of her more
wealthy lord and master. The piercing cry,
however, notwithstanding the bustle of hurrying
servants, and the clatter of knives and plates,
penetrated to the supper-room, stilling each movement,
and blanching every cheek.

[figure description] Page 111.[end figure description]

“ 'Tis my name!” said Agnes; “who is it
calls?”

“If it was possible,” returned Meriton, with
a suitable emphasis, “that Master Lionel's bride
could scream so, I should say it was my Lady's
voice!”

“ 'Tis Cecil—'tis Cecil!” cried Agnes, darting
from the room; “O, I feared—I feared these
hasty nuptials!”

There was a general rush of the menials
into the chambers, when the fatal truth became
immediately known to the whole family. The
lifeless clay of Mrs. Lechmere was discovered in
its ghastly deformity, and, to all but Agnes, it
afforded a sufficient solution of the situation of
the bride.

More than an hour passed before the utmost
care of her attendants succeeded in restoring
Cecil to a state in which questions might
avail any thing. Then her cousin took advantage
of the temporary absence of her women,
to mention the name of her husband. Cecil
heard her with sudden joy; but looking about
the room wildly, as if seeking him with her eyes,
she pressed her hands upon her heart, and fell
backward in that state of insensibility from which
she had just been roused. No part of this
expressive evidence of her grief was lost on the
other, who left the room the instant her care had
succeeded in bringing the sufferer once more to
her recollection.

Agnes Danforth had never regarded her aunt
with that confiding veneration and love which
purified the affections of the granddaughter of
the deceased. She had always possessed her more
immediate relatives, from whom she derived her
feelings and opinions, nor was she wanting in
sufficient discernment to distinguish the cold and

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selfish traits that had so particularly marked
the character of Mrs. Lechmere. She had therefore,
consented to mortify her own spirit, and submit
to the privations and dangers of the siege,
entirely from a disinterested attachment to her
cousin, who, without her presence, would have
found her solitude and situation irksome.

In consequence of this disposition of her mind,
Agnes was more shocked than distressed by the unexpected
death that had occurred. Perhaps, if her
anxiety had been less roused in behalf of Cecil,
she might have retired to weep over the departure
of one she had known so long, and of one,
also, that, in the sincerity of her heart, she
believed so little prepared for the mighty change.
As it was, however, she took her way calmly to
to the parlour, where she summoned Meriton to
her presence.

When the valet made his entrance, she assumed
the appearance of a composure that was far
from her feelings, and desired him to seek his master,
with a request he would give Miss Danforth
a short interview, without delay. During the
time Meriton was absent on this errand, Agnes
endeavoured to collect her thoughts for any
emergency.

Minute passed after minute, however, and the
valet did not return. She arose, and stepping
lightly to the door, listened, and thought she
heard his footsteps moving about in the more distant
parts of the building, with a quickness
that proved he conducted the search in good
faith. At length she heard them nigher, and it
was soon certain he was on his return. Agnes
seated herself as before, and with an air that
seemed as if she expected to receive the master
instead of the man. Meriton, however, returned
alone.

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