Eugenie had been received by Mrs. Washington,
after the death of the unfortunate Caroline, with
benevolent sympathy. She took her to her arms
rather like a recovered daughter than a stranger
whose strongest claims to her kindness were only
her gentle beauty and misfortunes. In return, she
made her the confidant of her young heart's affections,
and expressed her determination to forget one

[figure description] Page 220.[end figure description]

who had proved so unworthy of her. The ensuing
morning, which was the day preceding the disastrous
battle we have briefly sketched, she took leave
of Arden, who, by the indulgence of Mrs. Washington,
was allowed to see her for this purpose, and
whose noble character she had taken opportunity
to paint to Eugenie in attractive colours. With
her affections so rudely torn from the heart around
which they had so fondly entwined themselves
for many months, Eugenie yearned for sympathy.
The heart of Mrs. Washington was indeed a refuge.
But the kind tones of Arden, his softened
looks and devoted manner, struck a deeper chord
in her bosom than any female sympathy could awaken;
and it was with much tenderness and sorrow
that she parted, perhaps for ever, from one who had
already awakened an interest in her heart. When,
after lingering long with her hand clasped in his, he
suddenly pressed it with a hurried farewell and left
the apartment, Eugenie hastened to her room and
gave way to a shower of tears.

During the day she became calmer, and able to
reflect upon her false lover's conduct with suitable
resentment; while, turning from time to time from
the unpleasing picture, she loved to dwell upon the
noble person, respectful tenderness, and tried virtues
of Arden. As she compared them, her admiration
of the latter increased with her contempt for
the former; till at length, when she had whispered
to herself, “Does Arden love me?” and her heart
had answered in the affirmative, she had nearly
banished the image of the unworthy Burton from
her mind, if not torn it from her heart; and Arden,
if she had not placed his own there instead, became
at least the theme of her thoughts, the sole
subject of her hopes, fears, and anxieties.

It may appear like temerity in the romancer to

[figure description] Page 221.[end figure description]

permit his heroine to substitute one lover for another
in so brief a space. It seems, indeed, pretty
generally admitted, that heroes and heroines can
love but once. Nevertheless, there have been exceptions;
and, as we have Nature for our model in
this instance, we must be guided by the facts with
which she has furnished us. It would, no doubt,
have been very fine for Eugenie to have stabbed
herself with her dagger, like a true heroine of romance,
when she became convinced of her lover's
perjury; and it would, doubtless, have been a very
pretty dénouement. But, considerate reader! there
existed one or two obstacles to this. The first and
foremost was, that we are drawing Eugenie from
life, and, the truth is, she did not come to the tragic
end aforesaid. The second, and, perhaps, equally
forcible, is, that we should give you only a volume
and a half of matter, whereas we are bound to our
publishers to produce two respectable duodecimos,
of neither less than two hundred and sixteen pages
each nor more than two hundred and eighty-eight.
Having promised so much, our tale will proceed,
we trust, without further interruption or digression.

That night, before Eugenie sought her pillow,
the name of Arden was mingled with her prayers.
When, towards the dawn, the roar of cannon roused
her, with a thousand others, from sleep, she sprung
to a casement which overlooked the intervening
roofs. Distant flashes, which for an instant, like
heat lightning, illuminated the gloom to the southeast,
followed, after the lapse of a few seconds, by
the dull sound of cannon, assured her the battle had
already begun; and then she felt how deep an interest
she took in the fate of Arden. Kneeling at
the open window and shuddering at every report,
she clasped her hands and gazed upward in silent
but eloquent prayer, forgetting, in the energy of the

[figure description] Page 222.[end figure description]

time, the Roman auxiliaries to her worship, her
crucifix and rosary, and looking directly to the
source of life for aid in her lover's extremity. But
she prayed not alone for Arden. Without breathing
his name, after a moment's trembling hesitation,
she sought mercy for him who, from time to time,
like the returning recollection of an unpleasant
dream, intruded upon her thoughts, and made to
bleed afresh the heart he had wounded.

Although her earlier affections were crushed,
they were not wholly destroyed. Eugenie's affections,
notwithstanding their growing interest in Arden,
would still, perhaps, have turned into their former
channel if Burton could at once have been
proved innocent of all of which she knew him to be
guilty. In that case she would have thrown herself
upon his bosom with the undiminished strength
of her first love.

Her lips moved as she prayed, but they could not
articulate his name. “Oh, have mercy on him,
and shield him from the storm of battle! Let him
not die in his guilt! Oh, protect, protect him!”

The entrance of Mrs. Washington at this moment
alarmed her, and, blushing, she hid her face in her
bosom.

“Be not ashamed, my dear Eugenie!” she said,
affectionately; “the prayers of youth and innocence
will aid our cause. I feel for you. We have both
deep interest in this battle. Heaven protect our
country, and let not the breasts of her sons be in
vain exposed to the fury of war! Come with me,
dear child! You shrink at every flash and report,
as if the cannon were aimed at your own breast!
Alas, they may reach both our hearts through those
that are dear to us! But I am a sad comforter.
Come with me to my room; 'tis remoter from
the sound, and your nerves will not be tried so
sorely.”

[figure description] Page 223.[end figure description]

Eugenie accompanied her maternal friend in silence.
With the alarmed household they were for
hours listening and trembling at every report, and
flying, at the slightest sound heard in the street, to
learn tidings from the field. The day dawned, and
with it came louder and more confused the sounds
of battle; and hour after hour, occasionally relieved
by reports from the field, was passed in anxiety
and increasing terror. Towards noon the report
came that the Americans had been defeated with
great slaughter, and the remnant of the army driven
within their intrenchments at Brooklyn; but there
came no tidings of the killed and wounded of rank.
At length an officer, with an arm in a sling, advancing
from the river, was seen by a party of ladies,
who, having husbands, brothers, or lovers on the
field, had flown to the headquarters of the commander-in-chief
for tidings, and were now standing
in the door of the mansion. Some of them hastened
to meet him, and others uttered exclamations of
mingled hope and fear, without the power to move.
Mrs. Washington awaited the approach of the messenger
with a colourless cheek, but with firmness.

General Washington, early in the morning, finding
that the enemy had concentrated all his forces
on Long Island, and evinced no immediate intention
of landing at New-York, as the battle grew warm,
had left his post in the city and crossed the river
to the field. It was with no little anxiety, therefore,
however she might conceal her emotion, that
she watched the approach of one who was about
to remove or confirm her worst apprehensions.
Eugenie, unable to encounter the moment that
should also confirm her worst fears, fled into the
library, and, throwing herself into a chair, buried
her face in her hands. In a few moments Mrs
Washington entered, and approaching her, said,

[figure description] Page 224.[end figure description]

“Eugenie, my love, the general is well; but,
alas! the battle has been disastrous. We must
not despair, however, but endeavour to bear nobly
up under these reverses.”

“Madam, my dear madam,” said Eugenie, grasping
her hand and suddenly addressing her with energy,
“if you have aught to say, speak out. I see
there is sympathy for me mingled with your regret
for the fortune of your country's arms. Tell
me, is he—”

“Slightly wounded, my dear Eugenie. Nay,
do not turn pale! He rode into camp afterward
unsupported. You shall be his nurse, and I dare
prophecy he will yet thank his wound.”

Eugenie received these tidings with a suppressed
cry, and then, clasping her hands, looked heavenward
with a grateful countenance. Her mind,
by long anxiety prepared for the worst, was able
to bear the tidings of a lesser danger with greater
equanimity than she would have shown if she had
looked only on the sunny side of the picture.
The concluding words of Mrs. Washington brought
the colour, long a stranger to them, to her cheeks;
and blushingly returning the kiss placed upon her
forehead by her affectionate friend, she suppressed
tears of mingled joy and sorrow, which came unbidden
to her eyes, and with some degree of calmness
asked,

“Where is he now?”

“On his way in a boat, with some other officers,
crossing the East River. You will assist me, Eugenie,
to prepare the room for the invalid's reception,
and you must be his nurse. I am told nuns
are the best nurses in the world. I think he will
soon recover under your tender hands, Eugenie.”

Eugenie blushed and smiled, but made no reply.

[figure description] Page 225.[end figure description]

“See” she continued, “that you do not inflict a
deeper wound than the English swords! Forgive
me, Eugenie, this is no time for raillery! but you
must keep up your flow of spirits. Arden will need
all your sympathy. The general, who is unhurt,
has sent word that he is to send two or three other
officers here also; so, with nursing and other duties,
Eugenie, we shall have little time to think of
our own griefs.”

About an hour after this conversation Arden
awoke from a sleep into which he had fallen in the
boat after his wound was dressed, and, to his surprise,
found himself in a neat chamber, the windows,
tables, bed, and furniture of which were furnished
with delicate chints and snowy muslin, and
all wearing that air of comfort and repose peculiarly
grateful to the feelings of an invalid. The room
had been partially darkened, but the rays of the
setting sun pierced the interstices of the blinds,
and diffused throughout the chamber a subdued but
cheerful light. A second glance around assured
him that he was in his own apartment, but suddenly
converted from a bachelor's dormitory to a comfortable
sickroom. Everything had such an air of
quiet, that he was about to yield his senses to the
pleasing influence, and sink once more to sleep,
when, through a half-closed door at the foot of the
bed opening into the hall, he spied the tip of one
of the prettiest feet in the world protruding just
far enough to intercept the range of his vision.
His heart bounded with the force of a trip-hammer,
and it would seem that the owner of the tiny foot
had heard it, for it instantly disappeared; it was,
however, the next moment substituted by a fair
hand laid negligently upon the balusters, the fingers
holding an open book, as if the reader was occupied
in thinking. The appearance of the hand

[figure description] Page 226.[end figure description]

gave additional velocity to the throbbing heart of
the lover; and, at the risk of destroying the vision,
he was about to speak, when a deep sigh from the
hall was echoed involuntarily from his own heart,
and the sounds which were trembling on his lips
escaped with it, in the tremulous, scarcely-audible
word “Eugenie!”

The hand disappeared. Now aware of his imprudence,
he closed his eyes and feigned sleep as Eugenie
herself, with a hesitating step and crimson
cheek, appeared at the door, and first looking in, as
if to be satisfied that he was asleep, softly approached
the bedside and gazed on him for a moment with
sympathy and tenderness. A smile gradually mantled
the lip of the conscious lover; and slowly opening
his eyes, he fixed them, beaming with love,
gratitude, and admiration, upon the face of the surprised
maiden. Her temples were suffused with a
deep blush of pleased embarrassment; and half retreating,
half lingering, she placed her finger on
her lip to impress silence upon him, saying, with
an arch smile,

“Hush, Colonel Arden; the doctor has left express
orders that you do not speak.”

“Eugenie!”

“Not a word.”

“Kind Eugenie!”

“Not—”

“Cruel Eugenie!”

“Then I shall send the doctor to you.”

“Oh, no, not for the world! Stay here, and I
am dumb.”

“On that condition I will remain,” she replied,
playfully. The next moment, with a face of anxiety,
she asked,

“Is your wound better, Arden? Are you in any
pain?”

[figure description] Page 227.[end figure description]

“Here, very great!” he replied, laying his hand
upon his heart, with a look of mingled seriousness
and gayety.

“I will, then, call Mrs. Washington,” said she,
warningly, and with an arch smile; “she bade me
call her if my patient woke up in pain.”

“No! oh no! by no means,” he said, attempting
to take her hand; but Eugenie perversely flew
out of the room, and soon returned with her benevolent
friend.

The swoon into which Arden had fallen after his
wounds were dressed continued, as we have shown,
until after he was conveyed to his chamber. His
wound, however, was not deep, although attended
with great loss of blood. When he awoke from
the sleep into which he had passed, he felt free
from pain and in good spirits, which were not in any
way diminished by the presence of his nurse; yet
he was still very weak. He nevertheless, after a
spirited and playful altercation with his kind nurses,
in which he was supported by General Washington,
who then entered the room, having just arrived
from Brooklyn, where he had remained to secure
the safety of the army, was at length permitted
to remove into the drawing-room, and substitute a
sofa for his bed.

About eight o'clock the same evening he was
lying by the open window, towards which the sofa
had been wheeled at his request, that he might,
half shrouded by the drapery, enjoy the pleasant
summer breeze. The night was clear, and the air
soft and grateful to the senses of the fevered invalid.
The surgeon had just left, assuring him of a
speedy recovery with care and attention, saying, as
he took his leave, glancing at Eugenie, who entered
with a cooling drink,

“You are in good hands, but beware of bright

[figure description] Page 228.[end figure description]

eyes, bright eyes! they are worse than bullets,
colonel, worse than bullets! Bah! all tongue and
eye, tongue and eye! these women are a walking
battery! do immense execution, colonel; mischief,
great mischief! kill and cure, kill and cure! Better
in a day or two; take care of yourself; good-by,
good-by!” and so the man of instruments and
lint bustled from the room.

Eugenie, taking a seat by him in the window, relieved
a slave of the gorgeous feather fan which,
for the last hour, she had been waving to and fro
over the head of the invalid, and involuntarily assumed
her duties.

We have said that the softened intercourse of
young watchers in a sickroom insensibly leads to
love. But when a youth and a maiden are thrown
into each other's presence, the one an invalid, the
other a nurse, an interchange of hearts must inevitably
be the result. The soft hand laid upon the
temple; gentle fingers stealing among the hair
about the forehead; the soft voice attuned to pity,
which is akin to love; the tender assiduity; the
dependant state; the thousand open doors for kindness
and affectionate words; all are feathers to
love's shaft, each one contributing to direct more
fatally the barbed arrow. The hour passed by Eugenie
near the couch of Arden did the work of
years of ordinary intercourse towards the progress
of their loves. The slave had fallen to sleep on
the carpet, the house was silent, and, save an occasional
horseman passing across the square, or riding
up to the door and leaving a note with the
sentinel, ordering him, in brief tones, to give it to
General Washington, all was still. Insensibly their
hands had stolen into each other's, and they had
abandoned their hearts to the full tide of feeling
with which they were filled. They had neither

[figure description] Page 229.[end figure description]

asked nor pledged their love. Instinctively they
understood the state of one another's affections, and
were happy in a love which, although it needed no
words to express its existence, was, perhaps, the
more genuine.

It is seldom that love, which operates like an
instinct in young hearts, seeks assurance of its mutual
presence from language. Innumerable marriages
are formed, the candidates for which have
never known, otherwise than by intuition, that their
affections were reciprocal, by whom the word love
has neither been sought for nor spoken. The
eye, and not the tongue, is herein the medium of
expression. The eyes of Eugenie and Arden casually
met as her hand was putting aside the hair
from his pale temples, which her fan had blown
over them; and by that mysterious communication,
whose power is acknowledged, but the operations
of which are incomprehensible, their souls mingled,
united, and became one. Silently he drew her to
his heart as she bent over him, and, touching his
lips to her forehead, sealed there their unspoken
loves.

Eugenie rose blushingly, and, looking from the
window to hide her confusion, her attention was attracted
by a confused noise of voices at the extremity
of the square; the next moment a party of men,
dimly seen through the darkness, advanced with the
heavy, measured tramp of soldiers. As they continued
to approach, she could discern that they were
a party of soldiers. Arden raised himself upon his
elbow to look out, and then said faintly, as if the
effort had been beyond his strength, sinking back
on his pillow,

“Merely the relief guard; but a somewhat noisy
one, it would appear.”

As they came closer to the headquarters their

[figure description] Page 230.[end figure description]

voices gradually ceased, and, when they halted before
the gate, only one voice could be heard, lifted
alternately in the tones of complaint and threat.

“Injure me not, men, I am your fellow-soldier!
Oh, I'm no spy. Don't hang me—don't—oh, oh!
By my beard! I'll tell the great general. Help,
oh help! I am a true Canadian.” Then, in Canadian
French, he continued, “A habitan of Chaudiere,
and a true man; and, by my beard! I'll fight
him that denies it! Oh, good, brave, valiant warriors!
draw not the cord so tight. I tell you I'm a
true man.”

“Arden, what can they mean to do with the poor
fellow?” asked Eugenie, as she heard his exclamations.
But, when the patois of her native land fell
on her ears, an interest in his fate was at once
awakened in her breast, and suddenly addressing
Arden, she said, with warmth,

“Oh, Colonel Arden, let him not be injured! He
is from my own country! He can be no spy. Do
permit me, before the guard is relieved, to see him
and ask him a few questions! 'Tis so grateful to
hear, even from a poor peasant like this, one's native
language. You can then ascertain if he is really
a spy, and prevent injustice from being done
him, should he be innocent, by these rude men into
whose hands he has fallen, with their passions, too,
so exasperated by the evil fortunes of the day.”

While she was speaking they advanced to relieve
the guard at the door, when Arden spoke:

“Sergeant, bring that man in and let me question
him.”

The soldier obeyed, and the next moment came
into the drawing-room conducting, securely guarded
between two soldiers, that unfortunate warrior
Jacques Cloots. Arden glanced at his face, and,
studying its expression a while, said, with a smile,

[figure description] Page 231.[end figure description]

“Sergeant, you may take off your guard, but
leave a soldier at the door. I will answer for the
appearance of your formidable prisoner.”

The soldiers, save one who kept guard without
the hall, departed, and, rejoining their comrades in
the square, the whole party, with a heavy tramp,
disappeared around the corner of the street.