CHAPTER I.
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`Our camp-fires blaze deep in the wood
By Susquehannah's tide;
Our cleaving axes sharply ring
Fur o'er the waters wide:
Ring, ring, our axes ring,
As our tireless arms we swing.'
Towards the close of a warm and genial
spring day, early in the month of March,
182—, a boat containing a single person
might have been seen gliding up a darkly
flowing river, that would through the bosom
of a majestic forest. The banks of the river
were full with the melted snow-water of
the mountains, and carried down upon the
turbid tide, swam vast cakes of ice, which
the ascending boatman had to exert no little
skill and activity to avoid.
The scenery around him was very good;
and its sublimity was not a little enhanced
by the wild march of the swollen river with
its acres of crushing ice-fields, which coming
in collision one with another, made the
dark woods echo and re-echo again, as if
scores of forest trees were falling at once.
The shores, which were a third of a mile
apart, rose perpendicularly from the water
on his left, towering skyward six hundred
feet, a wall of smooth rock crested with
oaks, and the beach, while on his right
stretched away to distant uplands a league
off, a forest of unbroken continuity, and at
this season leafless; but here and there
were visible in its wide extent, a group of
pines, whose deep, almost black green, contrasted
strangely with the naked limbs of
the surrounding wood, and with the carpet
of spotless snow that still lay upon the
ground. The absence of foliage, enabled
the voyager to penetrate, with his eye,
far into the vistas of the wood, which in
summer would have been concealed by its
foliage; and as his his gaze listlessly traversed
them, he could disern deer browsing on
the lichens and moss, covering the fallen
logs and growing upon trunks of the upright
trees, and here and there track the
prowling path of the black bear and gray
wolf as they passed to and fro through the
forest in search of prey. The distant uplands,
in which the wood lost itself, were
glowing in the golden sun-light, while the
level plain itself lay in the shadows of
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twilight. Behind the boatman, the river was
visible for more than three miles, when it
was shut out from view by closing cliffs,
that seemed to bound it and enclose it as if
it were a lake; but shooting away sharply
to the left, it swept through the gorge, and
emerged by and by into the bosom of a
luxuriant valley.
The view up the stream directly ahead of
the voyager in the canoe,was very limited, as
a conical mountain of firs, its top white
with new fallen snow, rose directly in the
river's course. To all appearance the sheet
of water terminated at its base, so completely
was it land-looked; but the practised eye
of the person in the boat, was able to detect
an opening in the seemingly impassable barrier,
imperceptible to less experienced eyes.
The sunbeams were reflected from the
snowy top of keplin, as the conical hill was
termed, in the rosiest tints, while the deep
blue sky, which it seemed to sustain upon its
summit,rivalled an amethyst in its clear transparency.
The river caught upon its bosom
the rose-tints of the snow, the azure of the
sky and the green of the pines and mingling
them like colors in a crucible, lent a new
and unexpected beauty to the scene.
The gaze of the boatman rested upon
these beautiful features of earth and sky for
an instant, and he ceased involuntary in his
toil with the paddle to enjoy them. His
fine eyes became animated with pleasure as
one aspect of beauty after another opened
upon them, and his countenance, though
sun-burned and swart, betrayed eloquently
the emotion of a mind that loved to contemplate
nature, and of a heart that felt its holier
and deeper influences.
The boat in which he was ascending the
river, was one of the frailest character ever
launched upon water. It was known as a
`flyer,' and used chiefly for fishing upon the
river. In lightness and frailty it surpassed
the fragile birchen canoe of the Indian, of
which it was an imitation. But instead of
being a frame of hoops covered with sheets
of birch bark firmly sewed together with
strong grass, it was a shell hollowed from a
tree, made sharp and curving at both ends,
and shaven so thin that it would yield and
spring in any portion of it to the pressure of
the palm of the hand. The tree out of
which it was carved was cedar, as being the
lightest as well as the most elastic of woods.
The `flyer' in which the person was
ascending the river, was made, if possible,
thinner than others of its class, for light
almost came through the side towards the
sun, and its shape was more elegant, it being
curved gracefully upward at the stern, which,
as he sat near the bow, remained raised full
four feet above the water, like the head of a
swan.
Unlike other boats, the seat of the boatman
in the flyer was forward within four
feet of the bow. Here upon a small thwart,
unattached, laid across from side to side, he
placed himself with his paddle in his
hand, taking care to balance his weight with
the utmost exactness; for any inequality in
the equilibrium of his body would overset the
delicate shell. The whole weight being in
the forward part of the boat, the stern of
course was greatly elevated, being full threefifths
of its length out of the water, while
the bow was depressed and almost level with
the surface. In the stern was fixed a long
paddle or rudder, that entered the water two
or more feet, and being kept rigidly in its
place, it served to keep the stem of the boat
in a right line, otherwise acted upon by the
current or wind, it would have had a tendency
to revolve around the occupant who would
be at its pivot.
Such was the character of the skiff in
which was embarked the person who has
attracted our attention, moving along amid
the solitary scenery we have described.
We will now devote a few lines to a description
of his appearance and costume.
It was quite a young man, not being over
three-and-twenty years old, and dressed in a
coarse woollen hunting frock of grey and
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brown mixed, the common attire of the hardy
woodsman and raftsman of the Susquehannah.
The frock descended to his knees,
covering a pair of equally coarse jean trowsers,
over which were drawn as high as the
knee, leather leggins. His shirt was wollen,
with a blue and red stripe, and a black
handkerchief, was loosely knotted about his
neck, the long ends carelessly thrust into the
breast of his hunting frock, which at the
waist was bound by a red knitted sash. Over
his shoulder was passed a leathern strap,
well-worn, to which hung at his left hip, a
powder horn, neatly carved with many woodland
devices, and notched with `the deaths
of deer' fallen by his rifle. This weapon
lay in the bottom of the flyer, carefully
wrapped across the lock to keep it dry, in
an old deer-skin case; and by its side was a
fox-skin pouch with the hairy side out, which
contained ball, flints, and various other matters
usually to be found in a woodsman's
bag, and some strong waters! There was
by its side, also, a sort of square knapsack;
but what it contained did not appear, as it
was closely tied up.
The form and stature of the young man
were manly, his air free and fearless, his
face very handsome, yet dark, the mouth
and chin being singularly well shaped. He
wore upon his head a winter cap of bear's
skin, which was pushed back from his forehead,
displaying the noble and intellectual
outline of his temples and brow.
The sun, as we have said, was near its
setting, and hidden by the towering cliffs on
the western bank, cast half the river in
dark shadows. Along the shore in this
overhanging shadow, the boat of the young
man glided like the spirit of the waters.
The silence around him was broken away
by the crashing grating sound of the cakes
of ice as they ruboed together their thick
blue edges, crushing them into ridges of
snow.
With extraordinary skill the young man
plied his gracefully shaped paddle, now dart
ing his skiff like a swallow on the wing, to
the right, now flying to the left to escape
and pass between the rushing masses that
each instant threatened to overwhelm him
and his frail bark. Being seated so far forward
in the bows, he was able entirely to
command the movements of his boat, at one
time dexteriously curving his paddle quite
around the bow, at another making a rapid
half circle with it to the right, and now as
quickly crossing it again to the left; or presenting
the blade of his paddle full in front
to the current, he would instantly check,
when necessary, his upward progress.
While, for a moment, forgetting his ceaseless
vigilance, he suffered his attention to be
drawn to the gorgeous and extraordinary
beauty of the sunlight upon the hills and
on the river, he was startled at beholding
directly before him a vast field of ice which
was to close at hand for him to hope, by any
activity that he might exert, in redeeming
his momentary negligence, to be enabled
safely to pass it. A glance showed to his
keen observation, that he must either retract
and fly before it, or strike it and spring
upon it. The latter course he at once resolved
to take, and ceasing to paddle, he rose
up and waited till the cake reached him,
when at a single bound he launched upon
its hard surface. It was firm and massive,
and he quickly drew his flyer after him out
of the water, ere it should be overrun.
As he cast his eye over the field of ice, he
saw that it was several acres in extent, covering
nearly the whole width of the river,
and moving majestically upon its current.
(See Engraving.)
Without delaying, or showing any indecision,
he immediately unfastened the red
sash at his waist, attached it to the bow of
his boat, and began to move rapidly up the
stream on the ice. The flyer was so light
and the surface over which it was drawn
so smooth, that he went forward with it at
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great speed, thus making faster progress
past the receding shores, than he had hitherto
achieved while in his boat; and this too,
although the ice was drifting downward with
the current at the rate of four miles an hour.
As he bounded over the crystaline surface,
his fine figure and athletic grace were admirably
displayed in action. He soon came
to a crevice in the solid field, which he
cleared at a bound, though it was twelve
feet across, and drawing his boat through
the black wild looking vortex, he again went
forward. Before him about a hundred yards,
he saw that the ice had piled itself at one
place many feet in height, presenting so rugged
a wall that he hesitated to proceed, and
glanced to the right and then to the left to
see if it could not be flanked; but perceiving
that it extended the whole breadth of
the huge fragment he was floating upon, he
pressed forward to surmount it, trusting to
find a level space beyond. He reached the
spot where the ice broken in vast masses, by
some obstruction in the river, had overleaped
itself, and was piled up to a great height,
some of the pieces as broad as a churchroof,
standing on edge in nearly upwright positions,
majestic walls of a dull blue color,
menacing destruction to whosoever should
be so daring as to approach them.
There was no time for the young man to
falter and delay as the whole weighty mass
over which he was moving, bore him swiftly
along down the stream, thus rendering abortive
the exertions he had previously been
making to ascend it so far. He therefore
pressed rapidly forward, hoping to find some
opening between the barrier of fragments,
by which to pass through. But as he came
close to it, he was about to despair of making
any further progress, as he beheld the
whole wild and savage pile all at once shaken
as the lower stratum upon which it was
sustained, grounded upon some shallow part
of the river. For an instant it heaved and
toppled this way and that, like a vast ruin
uplifted by an earthquake's throe, and one
mass forty feet square, glittering like glass,
was forced out and fairly shot upwards beyond
the rest, till nearly its whole bulk was
visible. It then reeled and pitched forward
upon the level space where the young man
had been arrested by this superb and yet
terrible sight, and was broken into two
huge pieces; the shock and weight shivering
at the same time the ice upon which it
came thundering down for the space of
twenty rods around. The boatman found
himself left upon a detached portion; while
the waves rushing up between the interstices
threatened to engulf him. With great
presence of mind he availed himself of advantages
his quick eye instantly took cognizance
of, and succeeded in reaching with
his boat dragging after him, the more solid
portion. He then advanced swiftly onward,
as if the danger he had just escaped, was
not of importance enough to give a thought to,
in order to pass the barrier by the gap which
the fallen fragment had left exposed, ere it
should be reclosed.
But he had hardly well got through it, the
ice as he walked heaving and murmuring
beneath his feet as it slowly subsided to its
former repose, ere he stood as still as if he
had suddenly become a statue, and transfixed
his gaze upon a niche in the wall of
ice on his left, where was crouched a huge
iron-colored wolf. The animal showed his
teeth with a savage snarl and shot from
his eyes a fierce light. He lay so near the
path which the young man had to take, unless
he would turn aside and climb over an
inclined and dangerous fragment with his
boat, which he looked as if he did not care
to do, in order to avoid a wolf, that it seemed
absolutely necessary for him to give him battle,
before he could proceed.
For an instant the two remained in the
very attitudes in which they had first discovered
the presence of each other; the wolf
couching and ready to spring at the least
sign of timidity! the man with his body
thrown a little forward, his right hand
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grasping his paddle in the attitude of levelling a
blow, and his eyes bent upon the brute
sternly and boldly, and not without an expression
of that fearless contempt with which
the true American woodsman regards the
cowardly and blood-thirsty wolf.
Slowly, and almost imperceptibly, the
young man moved his feet backward along
the ice to gain his rifle which lay in the bottom
of his flyer, at the same time slowly
and steadily drawing the boat towards him.
All the while he never took his eye from the
fiery red gaze of his monstrous antagonist.
`From the appearance of this fellow, he
is half famished!' muttered the young man
within his teeth, `and no doubt he will do
his best to make a meal off of me, and I
must do my best to defeat his benevolent intentions.
If I can only get my hand on
my rifle, the business is settled. He looks
impatient, and is whetting his fangs for a
spring! I must spring too!'
The huge animal uttered a sudden growl,
snarled like a demon, and opening his jaws
clamped them together once or twice with
the most wicked voraciousness; and then
slowly raised his fore-shoulders, preparatory
to a leap, while the light in his eyes became
concentrated into a bright fiery point.
The young man by a backward bound,
grasped his rifle, at the same time to embarrass
the wolf in his spring, flinging the
paddle at his head. It struck him on the
shoulder, and passed off without any effect
other than hasting the crisis, for the next
instant the brute was in the air, but instead
of lighting upon the breast of his proposed
victim, he met the muzzle of the rifle,
and receiving its contents in his heart, fell
dead at the feet of his conqueror.
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CHAPTER II. THE WELCOME MESSENGER.
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The young man no sooner saw the wolf
fall headlong upon the ice, which he deluged
with his purple blood, than with that habitual
precaution, which marks the woodman,
he proceeded to re-charge his rifle.
This act he performed in less than a minute's
time, driving down the well wrapped
ball with skill and strength. He then severed
one of the ears of the monster from his
head as a trophy, and was about to proceed
forward on the level ice, when the sharp report
of a rifle at a distance, far up on the opposite
shore of the river startled his ear.
With an exclamation of surprise, he looked
keenly in the direction, and discovered curling
above the forest trees, a wreath of blue
smoke.
`It is the camp. I am nearer them than I
believed,' he said with animation. `If I am
expeditious I shall reach them ere it is quite
dark. This wolf, by drawing the fire of my
rifle, has done me good service, should this
ensuing shot prove to proceed from my
friends!'
Thus speaking he bounded forward along
the level field of ice, which stretched full a
quarter of a mile beyond him, and lightly his
`flyer' flew after him, its weight scarcely
felt by him, so smoothly did it glide over the
polished surface.
In a few moments he reached the upper
verge of the float, and checked his speed,
that he might advance with caution to the
edge. He found it solid to the line of the
deep water, and launching his boat once
more upon the tide, he resumed his seat in
the bows, and plied his paddle vigorously.
As far as the eye could reach, the river was
open, save here and there a cake of small dimensions
floating along at great distances
apart.
Upon getting once more into his boat, he
found himself but little farther up the stream,
after all his rapid progress across the icy intervale,
for his delay with the wolf and at the
barrier, had been sufficient to neutralize his
previous advance, and as the ice had borne
him constantly southward, he found himself
on embarking again, after crossing its field
of half mile in extent, but about three hundred
yards above the spot where he had
landed upon it.
Night was fast gathering upon the valley
and forest, though the top of Mount Keplin
still looked redly bright in the glow of the
western sky, which the sun had left. The
river save where it caught the reflected glow
of the sky was dark, and its western shore
was wrapped in the gloom of deep twilight.
The young man plied his paddle vigorously,
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and caused his light boat literally to fly, like
a bird skimming the surface, proving how
truly it deserved its appellation.
But the current was strong, and there
were isolated cakes of ice which he had to
turn aside for, so that his direct progress
was slow; and even the top of the mountain
grew grey in the shadows of evening, before
he came up opposite the place where he believed
the report of the rifle he had heard
had come. He then struck for the eastern
bank in order to land at the spot. The
shores were, however, so dark that he could
distinguish no object upon them, scarcely
being able to discern the line of the junction
of water and land. No signs of any fire, for
which he looked, were visible. Suddenly he
placed his hand to his mouth, and shouted
aloud,
`Hillihoh! ho! Hilloh!'
He listened, and in a moment was gladdened
by hearing a reply from the opposite
side of a projecting point, a reply not of one
or two voices, but of at least half a score in
every rude key of hilarious shouting.
`They are there!' he cried, and this projecting
wooded rock has hid them and their
fire from me, for I can now discern the flickering
glare of a light upon the profile of those
trees ahead of me! Hoh, ho! Hillihoh! he
responded in a clear cheery tone, and after
a couple of minutes rapid paddling he shot
round the intervening rock, and a scene that
wildly and strongly contrasted the solitude
and gloom he had left a moment before, burst
upon him.
In a sort of amphitheatre made by a cove
in the bank of the river, and upon a sloping
green sward dotted with majestic trees,
monarchs of the forest, there was discovered
about a score of men variously grouped
about two large fires, that sent their red
blaze high into the air, amid the leafless
trees that nearly met above their heads.
This cove was nearly enclosed by a cliff of
rock which overhung it, and by an eminence
that rose far above it, topped with a dark
fringe of larches. In the rear of the nook
where they were seen was a vista that led
deep into the forest, from whose gloomy
depths the white glare of scathed trees caught
the eye.
A projecting rock above the cove turned
off the strength of the current towards the
middle of the river, and left a basin about
fifty yards across, and twenty rods wide,
wherein the water was perfectly still, and
now reflected the fine light like a crimson
died mirror.
The young man paused a moment, as this
cove and its fires and groups opened upon
him, to contemplate it. At one of the fires,
about four or five men in red, blue and
striped shirts, were busy at work cooking,
one cutting up a deer, a second filling a huge
kettle hung on forked sticks, with water, a
third frying bacon, and a fourth pealing potatoes,
which he cast into a huge pot that
stood upon bricks in the fire. Four more
men seated a few feet off upon a bear's skin,
were playing cards by the fire-light; and
two were drinking together beneath a tree.
One man was walking near them with his
arms folded, and apparently thinking of other
scenes, perhaps of his own cabin and its treasures.
Here and there among them lay huge
dogs, watching either the card-players with
curious eyes, or with more wistful looks,
scrutinizing every movement made by the
men who were engaged in the culinary department.
About twelve yards from the lower fire
was the other one, made like it, of huge
glowing logs, sending its light and heat in
a wide circle around it. About it was also
gathered a group of men; but these seemed
to have a more diligent cooking club, or
they had commenced their operations earlier;
for they were all engaged in partaking
of their supper, cooks as well as the rest;
for there was perfect equality among these
men, each in turn performing his duty as
cook, and when through with his work joining
his fellows in their meal. This party
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consisted of eleven men, who were seated
about the fire in a circle, upon skins or pieces
of wood—a wooden kit and tin dipper
being placed between every two men. They
were eating like persons who had earned an
appetite by hard toil, and seemed to enjoy
with great zest every mouthful they voraciously
devoured.
Armed only with jack-knives, they cut or
tore the meat apart, sometimes using an axe
to crush a bone. They soaked their hard
biscuit in their pots of black coffee, of which
they drank enormous quantities, some of
them furtively increasing its strength with a
dash of whiskey, a jug of which stood temptingly
at hand. The fire-light shining upon
their dark, swarthy faces, over which the
razor had not passed for weeks, gave to their
features a wild and savage aspect, and lent
to the whole group a singularly picturesque
appearance. Yet the countenances were
not those of men whose lives were passed in
crime, and whose hearts were savage; but
of men strong and hardy, laborious and uncultured!
The fierce eye, the guilty brow,
the nervous hand, familiar with the dagger's
grasp, were wanting here, wild and rude as
these people appeared. Nevertheless there
were stern and strong featured men, bold and
daring men, and careless and reckless men
among them.
In the rear of the fires, and protected by
the overhanging height, was a large log-cabin,
capable of containing all the party at
night. Around the door stood at least a
score of axes, the gleam of which as the
bright steel caught the light, had a fine effected
shining, as it did out of the gloom in
which the cabin stood. Farther in the rear
of the cabin was a long shed enclosed by a
rough &longs;ence of timber, over the top of which
could be seen by the fine light, the white
curving horns of many oxen. Near this enclosure
were carts and heavily-wheeled cars,
with glittering chains hanging upon them,
shining like silver as the flickering light of
the fires, glowed upon them. The tall col
umns of the dark trees, each receding beyond
the other, till lost in obscurity, and the midnight
gloom of the impenetrable wood, made
up the background of the picture. Overhead
the stars began to appear in the shadowy
sky, and shine tremulously down at times,
completely concealed by the clouds of smoke
that rolled upward from the fires, when fresh
logs were cast upon them by the busy firetenders.
All this scene of mingled light and shade,
of wildness and beauty, was embraced with
its details by the eye of the young man in
much less time than we have taken to describe
it.
His boat did not long remain undiscovered,
for both it and its occupant were distinctly
seen in relief, against the red reflection
in the water, and a shout, and then another
followed the discovery, till every eye
was directed towards him.
He then gave a few strokes with his paddle
towards the shore, and running his flyer
between two canoes, that with several other
boats were fastened to the rocks, he sprung
to the land. There were two men who
came forward and met him, one of them
warmly grasping both his hands, while the
other placing his hand on his shoulder said,
`You are welcome, boy We have been
looking for you this two days past!'
`I heard your rifle, Griffitt, and should
have known it was yours among a thousand,'
said the other with a look of pleasure at the
meeting. `What did you fire at?'
`A wolf. There is one of his ears, so
that you see my shot was not thrown away!'
added the young man with a smile.
`A huge and old fellow, boy, and you did
well,' answered gruffly, the old man who
first spoke, `I see you are good for something
yet—though you would be second to
no man in the valley of Wyoming, if you
would give over your folly for picturing.
But come, the news.'
`Aye, aye, the news, old man, you are
right. Let us hear what is going on below,
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Griffitt?' cried several of the men leaving
their suppers, or rather bringing them in
their hands, and gathering about the new
comer. `What do you bring for us?'
`No ill news for any one of you, my
friends`' answered Griffitt. `Here is a parcel
of letters for some of you boys, from your
sweet-hearts and wives; and for those who
have no such tokens, I have brought fair
words and kind!'
`Fair words and kind for me,' responded
the young man who had first spoken to Griffitt,
and had seemed so pleased to see him.
`Fair words and kind, warm from the lips,
and fresh from the heart, are better than all
your paper fixins!'
`Derick says that, boys, because he can't
read nosetin, nor write it nuther,' said one
of the men whose face was as black with
hair as a bears.
`A good reason enough, boys,' said another
with a laugh.
`Here are your letters, men, some dozen
or so,' said Griffitt, opening his knapsack,
and taking out a small package which he
untied, and cast upon one of the bear skins,
scattering the letters over it. `Let every
man find his own!'
There were half a score of these rough
men of the woods, instantly tumbling upon
their knees and bellies, about the bear-skin,
each scrambling to get possession of a letter,
which after an amusing rough and scrabble
scene, that lasted for about three minutes,
was successfully achieved. But although
each one obtained a letter, not one among
them all had got his own proper one. Then
came exchanges by the fire-light, those who
held a comrade's epistle, reading out his
name aloud. The distribution was at length
completed, and these rough and rude deni
zens of the forests, fathers, brothers, sons
and lovers, squatted about the fires, forgetful
of their supper, to read over, or spell
over the sheets of affection they had received.
Three months absence in the wilderness,
near the sources of the Susquehannah,
had not rendered them indifferent to or
forgetful of the homes and friends they had
left.
The men who had not received letters by
the young man Griffitt, crowded round him
plying him with questions of their families.
With great patience and kindness he gave
them the several messages he had been entrusted
with; and as he had happily brought
none but good news, his coming diffused joy
and mirth throughout the camp of sturdy
raftsmen. The letters being all decyphered,
and read aloud for the benefit of all, they
again bethought themselves of their suppers;
and inviting, or rather almost dragging Griffitt
along to eat with them, the two messes
assembled around the lower fire, and again
fell to work with fresh appetites, while in
consideration of the arrival of the new-comer,
the whiskey can circulated with great activity,
and was often replenished. `Sweethearts
and wives,' were drank half a score of
times, and Griffitt's health was by no means
forgotten, for though the old man who had
first met him had spoken roughly to him, he
seemed to be a favorite. Songs were sung,
and the woods echoed their voices, as if
joining in the revels of the happy and uproarious
woodsmen. Altogether it was a
scene as striking as it was novel, and was
fully enjoyed by Griffitt, who though in dress
and appearance was of them and one of
them, by his air and bearing seemed far
above them.
-- 016 --
CHAPTER III. THE RAFTMAN'S SONG.
[figure description] Page 016.[end figure description]
The moon rose upon this scene of woodland
revelry, which we have briefly described
at the close of the foregoing chapter, and
gradually the fire-light gave place to its mild
beams. The supper was ended and the men
sat about the lower fire, reclining upon their
bear-skins, listening to the songs which their
companions sang, and there were among
them fine voices and good singers, worth the
listening to.
`Come,boys, let us have our raftman's song,
and then turn in for the night,' said one of
the men who sat nighest the fire, at which he
had a few moments before lighted an Indian
pipe.
`Aye, aye: let us have that song, Whitlock,
' added several voices, taking up the
call upon their comrade. The person addressed
was the same young man who had so
warmly received Griffitt, and who had said
he preferred words to letters, any day. He
was shorter than Griffitt by half the head;
well built, and inclined to be fleshy, but
sinewy and active. His face was round and
cheerful and lighted up good humoredly by a
clear sparkling blue eye. Resolution and
kindness were equally blended in its expres
sion. His dress was a shaggy blanket coat,
a fox-skin cap, deer-skin leggins drawn over
thick moccasins. At his belt, which was of
broad leather, he wore a knife, in a sheath,
and a pouch. In his hand he held a short
rifle, or yager, a piece of deer's hide covering
the lock and pan.
`Why, boys, I am not in voice, to-night,'
answered Whitlock. `I lost it whistling up
hill at a mark.'
`Here's a prescription o' `nongahela 'll
cure it, Ned,' said the man with the pipe, as
he handed him his flask.
`No, no: don't tempt me,' answered the
young man, laughing. `You know I've
made a vow.'
`The next thing you'll make a vow not to
sing,' said one of the men in a tone of reproach.
`It would take a confounded handsome
woman to make me give up liquor.'
`Well, if it is handsome you want, then
Kate Boyd is handsome enough to have made
Adam eat the apple,' said the woodsman,
taking the pipe from his mouth, and knocking
the ashes carefully into the fire. `If
such a fine girl should tell me I must quit
her or quit tobacco, I'd be in a complex
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[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]
sure; but in the end if she stuck to it cruel,
I'd give 'backer the go by!'
`And so your Kate has made you swear
not to shoot the sun, has she boy?' said a
tall, two-fisted raftsman, who stood leaning
upon an oar in the full fire light, which showed
to advantage his gigantic form and athletic
power of frame.
`She has so, Kirk,' answered Whitlock,
pleasantly, `and I would do this and more
for her, or I would not deserve her!'
`Well, I never saw a woman yet that
would make me turn out o' my path to please
em,' responded the giant gruffly. `She don't
want you to drink because she is jealous.
Women don't want the fools that love 'em to
love any thing else. They are selfish little
animals. I've seed one as would not let a
man keep a dog for fear he'd like it, give me
the woods and freedom, say I!'
`The man who can't love and honor and
try to please a beautiful girl who trusts in
him, and mocks their true love and calls it
selfishness, is not worthy to associate even
with men, and the woods is the fit place for
him,' responded Whitlock, with some emotion,
while his face was flushed.
`Peace, friends, peace,' said Griffitt.—
`You and Kirk, Ned, can never think alike,
so there is no use in grumbling. Come, let
us have the song you was called on to sing.'
`Aye, aye, the song, Ned, the song,' repeated
a dozen voices as if by their union
and noise they would drown the growling of
Kirk, who seemed not much pleased with
the spirited reply of the young man, and stood
frowning and mouthing like a chained bear,
looking as if he would, if he dared, spring
upon him and by blows answer the brave and
gallant speech he had not wit nor grace to
reply to in words.
`Well, my lads, I will sing, but it shall be
the last one to-night. I have not even had
time to say five words to Griffitt.'
`Well, sing us the Raftsman, and you
shall then talk with him about your pretty
Kate as much as you choose,' said two or
three of the younger men, as they drew themselves
along their bear-skins nearer to him,
so that no words of the song should escape
them and that they might the more readily
chime in with his chorus.
`Silence, men. Keep quiet, Kirk: we
don't want your bass,' were the various admonitions
dropped from those around; and
with the moon shining down upon them, the
expiring fires flitting across their figures and
lighting up their rough visages, the river
flashing past, bearing shoreward the hoarse
sounds of the rubbing ice, and the tall trees
standing about like silent sentries, the young
boatman thus began his song. In the chorus
all the voices joined till old Keplin answered
back.
`Our camp fires blaze deep in the wood
By Susquehannah's tide;
Our cleaving axes sharply ring
Far o'er the waters wide.
Chorus—Ring, ring, our axes ring,
As our tireless arms we swing.
With song and shout we raftsmen stout,
With many a stroke and strong,
Send toppling down the pine's tall crown
The echoing shores along.
Ring, ring, our axes ring,
As our tireless arms we swing.
Like the knight's good steel our axe we wheel,
The oak is our foeman, tall:
Like a king o'erthrown to the green earth
borne,
Behold our foeman fall.
Ring, ring, our axes ring,
As our tireless arms we swing.
No tree 's so high as to defy
Our shining blade and keen;
The cedars vast all yield at last,
And strew the woodland scene.
Ring, ring, our axes ring,
As our tireless arms we swing.
On the swollen stream, by the moon's clear
beam,
We fearless launch them in;
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Binding fast each tall white mast,
With withe and oaken pin.
Ring, ring, our axes ring,
As our tireless arms we swing.
Lo! on the tide doth swiftly glide
Our thousand trees as one,
With dance, with song, we float along,
Careful each rock to shun.
Ring, ring, our axes ring,
As our raft to port we bring.
Now for gold our tall masts sold,
Our homeward steps we plie;
But when again snow fills the plain,
To the forests, ho 's our cry!
And again our axes ring,
As our tireless arms we swing.'
Loud and long did these rough raftsmen
repeat the last chorus till their camp echoed
again. Whitlock had sung with great spirit,
and when the chorus ceased he was warmly
applauded.
That is the song for we woodsmen, boys,'
said the man with the pipe; and I hope that
we shall soon be floating down stream, as it
says, to change our masts for gold!'
`You an't alone, Ben,' answered another.
It was the happiest morning I ever saw when
I woke up three days ago, and saw the ice
breaking! I want to see a meetin-house
again, and a barber's shop, just to feel there
is such things in the world.
`You need preachin' to Paul, as much as
you do shavin', for you ha'nt got your beat
in the camp for swearin',' said Ben. I believe
you could stand here and swear at that
oak there till you would split it right through
the heart! It takes you to swear some.'
`I don't swear only when I'm up, boys,
and then it's agin natur to speak like a parson.
'
`If I was your sweetheart,' said Whitlock,
`I would make you take an oath, Ben, not
to swear!'
`Make me swear not to swear!' replied
Ben, with a stare of surprise. `But she aint
one of your milk and water gals, not she!
She'd kick me out of the house if I should
stop swearin.' To tell you the truth, boys,
she beats me at it like Joppa!'
At this undisguised confession, all laughed,
and then by a simultaneous movement, the
whole party rose and separated. Some went
to the cabin to turn in, while others first proceeded
to look after their cattle, and see that
all was secure against wolves and bears,
which occasionally paid the camp daring
night visits.
`Whose watch is it to-night?' asked Kirk
the giant, as he turned away from the fire.
`It is mine and Ben's,' answered Whitlock.
`Well, just don't keep a man awake with
any of your singing, as you have done.
Sleep is sleep, and I don't want to be broke
o' mine for any man's fancy.'
`You are a great bear, Kirk, always
growling,' said Ben. `Why don't you play
the amiable sometimes, just for variety?'
`If you don't want to fight, Myers, you had
best keep a quiet jaw,' growled Kirk, as he
slowly walked away towards the cabin.
`That fellow is a giant in body, and a
pigmy in soul,' said Whitlock to Griffitt,
with whom he was left alone near the expiring
embers of the fire, to replenish, which
Ben, who was to stand camp guard had gone
to gather up wood.
`Yes, and it is well he is a coward; or
with his great strength he would be mischievous,
quarrelsome as he is.'
`He is not so much a coward as he is
cautious and cunning. He loves to bully,
and be saucy, because he thinks men fear
him. But let him go, for he don't trouble
me enough for me to do anything else but
laugh at him. Now, Griffitt, come and sit
down here, and let me hear what Kate said,
every word, for you said you had a message
from her.'
None from her other than that I gave you
when I arrived, that she still loved you, and
that you must hasten homeward as soon as
you can.'
`That I will do, be assured,' answered
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[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]
Whitlock, as they seated themselves together
upon a rocky knoll, over which he had cast
his bears-skin, within a few feet of the fire,
which as the night was growing cold, proved
very agreeable. `Is she as handsome as
ever?'
`More so, if it were possible, Ned,' answered
Griffitt. `She is certainly a very
noble girl, and a treasure you have in her!'
`I know it, I know it, Ringold,' responded
the young lover with a rich color mantling
his cheeks, and the light of pride in his clear,
pleasant eyes. `I wonder that she ever
loved me! and such a poor ignorant dog as I
am—a scape-grace of a school-boy that I
was, that would never take to my book so
long as there was a nest to be robbed, a pond
to paddle in, or ice to slide on. I have seen
the evil of it now, Ringold, and cursed my
folly, that when it was in my power, I would
not study, even so much as to learn to read
or write. I have good reason to say that I
love a letter from the lips rather than the
pen. A poor excuse, that cuts me to the
heart, and brings the blush of shame to my
cheek!'
`I sympathise with you, Ned. But as
Kate knows all this, you need not make
yourself so unhappy about it. I dare say
she loves you the better for it, if the truth
were known; for there is a novelty in it
that a spirited, clever, independent girl, like
Catharine Boyd, would be likely to be
charmed with. She knows so well, too, that
you are intelligent, sensible, generous, and
naturally a gentleman, without books.'
`I can't but feel my inferiority. Then
what would I not have given to have had a
letter from her by you! I would have kissed
her signature, while I devoured her words
like honey. The villains with their rough
beards, and coarse hands, reading their letters
with so much satisfaction, and— By
the beard of my grandfather, I am vexed
and mortified!'
`Speaking of beards. where is Red
Beard?'
`He is with the upper gang in the forest,
at the North Fork. We are looking for
him to-morrow, as we are ready to lay raft in
the cove here.'
`Yes, I see you have begun to lay the
courses, and am glad to find you are so far
advanced.'
`We have sprung to it for the last three
days.'
`How much timber have you got out this
winter?'
`In the three gangs, altogether, not less
than twelve thousand logs, the shortest thirtyfive
feet.'
`You have done well. You were about
to speak, and now hesitate, what is it?'
`There is something come over the captain
of late: we see very little of him. What
the matter is, I can't even guess. But he is
silent, and always seems thinking of something
else; and no body hardly does speak
to him, except old Derick, whom he has left
to oversee. I am glad, for my part, he keeps
away.'
`Perhaps he is not well, or has heard of
something that troubles him.'
`I don't know what it is. As to bad news,
he has no family you know; and so far as
we are concerned, our forest work goes on as
well as any body could wish. But Red
Beard has always been a peculiar man.'
`Yes, taciturn, and loving to live alone in
his cabin. But he makes a good overseer of
wood-cutters, or the Land Company would
not employ him.'
`He is as firm and cool a man as ever I
saw; and I know that he fears no living
being. There is something I like in him
with all his apparent ferocity. The men in
the gangs fear him as they do the devil.
Even I would rather not sing a song when he
is in camp. So it is a relief to have him
away. We can breathe freer, and the men
say they can work better, when he is not by.'
`I wish he were here to-night, or at least be
here to-morrow, for I have a parcel for him.'
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`Do you want to attach yourself to the
gang again?'
`Yes, for the rafting down.'
`I am glad of that, and so will all the boys
be; for you are a great favorite among us,
Ringold. Derick says that if you could
give up your notion of painting pictures, and
sketching trees, you'd make a man. But he
is very much afraid you'll be spoiled with
your citified genius, as he calls your talent.
He is positive it 'll bring you to no good.'
`Derick is'nt a prophet, that I much fear,
I don't know what he would say if he knew I
had done scarcely any thing but paint this
last winter, answered Griffitt, smiling at his
friend's look of surprise.
The young artist, as he confessed himself
to be, was interrupted in his conversation
with Whitlock, by the sudden appearance at
his side of a stout-built man, in a fox-skin
cap, with the bushy tail hanging over his
left shoulder, and clad in a white blanketcoat,
belted with a red woollen sash.
`Red Beard!' exclaimed Whitlock, with
surprise, and instantly rising to his feet.
`The captain!' ejaculated Griffitt, who
also rose and extended his hand to receive
the grasp of the others which was silently
stretched forth to welcome him.
The moonlight fell broadly upon the
stranger's countenance, and showed the
features of a man about forty-two or three
years of age, handsome but strongly marked
with the lines of decision and strength of
character. They were haughty, if not stern
in their outline, but his mouth and the lower
part of his face being concealed by a thick
bushy beard of light auburn hue, the whole
expression of his countenance could not be
made out. His eye was very finely shaped,
and full deep set beneath a thick but well
formed brow, and of that light grey color,
which bespeaks courage and power. His
form was erect and his bearing reserved and
cold, and might have been mistaken for
pride, but for the coarse apparel which indicated
humble life, and his station as a
woodman; for though he held the rank of
captain or overseer of a hundred and thirty
men, divided into three or four gangs, yet
his position in society was not above theirs,
that is, if position is to be marked by the
mode of life, the dress and the habits of the
man. His severity of character, and strength,
as well as courage, with his thorough knowledge
of the duties of a woodsman and a raftsman,
recommended him to the rich proprietors
of the forest lands near the sources of
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[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]
the Susquehannah, as a fit person to control
the gangs of rude men, and act as agent
and paymaster. He had held this position
now for more than eight years, and by his
integrity and faithfulness as well as his untiring
industry with the axe, and the oar, in
which he set an example to his men, he had
secured the confidence of the proprietors,
and also won the good opinion of the rude
spirits which he controlled. The duties of
the winter over, and the woodsman turned
into the raftsman, and their forest fleets safely
moored in the distant mart, their chief
would betake himself for the summer to his
solitary cabin near the banks of the river, on
the borders of the valley of Northumberland,
and remain there cultivating his small
farm, shuning all intercourse but that which
was most necessary, with his neighbors,
who both feared and respected him. His
name of Robert Burnside had become almost
obsolete through the almost universal
adoption of the soubriquet bestowed upon
him by his raftsmen of `Red Beard;' and at
other times of `the Captain.'
`I am glad to see you, master Ringold!'
he said in a gruff, abrupt tone, but by no
means unkindly, `I did not know you were
here! When did you get up?'
`At dark!' answered Griffitt, speaking like
one who instead of fearing or disliking the
person he addressed, felt a degree of pleasure
in his company. Indeed there seemed to
exist between them the best state of feeling.
`I find your men have finished cutting
and are ready to raft!'
`Yes; and I am not sorry to see the ice
breaking and going down. Did it trouble
you to get through it?'
`Yes; but I came in my `Flyer;' and
what cakes I could not pass, I travelled
over!'
`Do you bring me any letters?'
`Here is one, given me by the Factor
Bixby! And here is a parcel containing
the money, twenty-two hundred dollars, for
the men!'
`It is in good time,' answered Red Beard,
and taking the letter he placed it in a pocket
in the breast of his coat, while he tore rather
than broke the seal of the letter from the
Factor. He tried to read it by the moonlight,
but unable to do so, he strongly commanded
Myers the whatchman, to feed the
fire!'
A bright blaze leaped into the air, and by
its light be rapidly perused the letter, not
with the slow and careful perusal of a man
imperfectly educated, but with the quick
and cognizant glance of one to whom such
things were familiar.
`Very well! It is all right!' he said half
aloud, as he slowly folded up the letter;
but Griffitt saw that there was an expression
upon his brow and a light in his eye that
were not there when he opened the letter.
He knew that there was, therefore, more in
the letter than related merely to the money
which he had brought up to the camp. He
tried to penetrate his disquiet, but suddenly
catching his quick glance, turned upon
him, he dropped his own and said:
`No ill news, sir, I trust!'
`Nothing! walk with me to my cabin,
master Griffitt; let us count this money that
we may both see that it is all right!'
`That look you saw him have on as he
read that letter,' whispered Whitlock, is the
same he has worn this ten days past, ever
since that day a sleigh and two men drove
up to the camp on the frozen river! He
has not been himself since! But go, or
he'll be coming back after you! When you
are done with him, come and let us talk together
about a plan I have!'
`I will rejoin you soon,' answered Griffitt,
as he hastened after Red Beard into the cabin.
The hut into which he followed him, was
detached from the main building being situated
some yards to the south of it with its
back against a high rock, and too or three
tall pines before the door. The door was
locked, but he let himself in by means of a
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[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]
key; and striking a light he kindled a fragment
of pine, and stuck it in a crevice of
the wall. The light it gave, enabled Griffitt
to see two large chests, bundles of axes,
packs of skins, and a bale of blankets, with
many other articles needful for the supply
of men in a winter's camp; for this was the
storehouse, as well as the particular lodging
room of `the captain.'
`Set down, master Griffitt,' he said, as he
closed the door. `We will count this money
over together.'
Griffitt seated himself on one end of a
chest, while Red Beard placed himself vis-avis
upon the other, and placed the package
of money between them.
`All one hundred dollar notes it seems!'
he said as he fluttered his finger across the
edges. `Twenty two of them in all! The
count is right, master Griffitt!'
`I am glad to find it so. I should have
been mortified if it had come short!'
`No man could have doubted your honesty,
young man!' answered Red Beard, as he
replaced the notes in the pocket-book, and
restored it to his bosom. `Now when do
you return?'
`I shall not go down till the first raft is
ready!' I wish to remain a few days and
give you my aid!'
`Young man, you can aid me better than
by your assistance in rafting,' said Red
Beard with an impressive manner. `But—
'
Griffitt saw that he hesitated to proceed in
the confident way in which he had begun,
and that he looked embarrassed, and eyed
him with doubt.
`But what, Captain Burnside? If I can
serve you, command me!'
`If I can trust any one, I can trust you,'
responded the captain after a moment's silence,
during which he paced three times
backwards and forwards thoughtfully across
the hut.
`You may trust me, sir! You did my
widowed mother a service when there was
no one to save her poor homestead from
wreck, when neighbors could not, or would
not extend a hand, and when no one could
look to you in your lonely cabin, or supposed
you felt for the sufferings of those about
you! I shall never forget your goodness,
sir. It smoothed the pillow of death to
my mother's spirit; and when two years ago
she died, she bade me with her last words,
never to forget your benevolence towards her!'
`It was nothing, boy! just nothing! I
heard by accident that her cottage and five
acres of land about it, were to be sold to
fore-close a mortgage that had cumbered it
since her husband's death, and that it could
be bought for three hundred dollars, though
worth a thousand—and — but it is nothing.
'
`And you, sir, instead of letting the day
of sale come, and taking advantage of her
misfortune, to make a bargain, brought her
the money in your hand, and told her to take
it and release her property. This sir, was a
noble act, and when I forget it, may my
right hand forget its cunning.'
`And if men say true, it hath no small
cunning in the skill of painting. You
should go to a city and develope your talent,
young man.'
`I am, I fear, destined always to be a
farmer and raftsman, sir,' answered Ringold
Griffitt with a sigh; though the fire in
his eyes betrayed the ambition of his soul.
`Not always. Men of genius will one
day or other work out their destiny; and
you must yours. But let us speak of other
things now. I want your aid, and the grateful
recollection you seem to have of the
slight service I did for your widowed mother,
during your absence at sea, secures my
confidence in you.'
`What I have it in my power to do, command
me in it.'
`I will! I have made up my mind to do
so; but this must be secret between us, the
conversation we now hold, and that which it
may lead to.'
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[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]
This was said in a very solemn manner,
Read Beard laying his hand firmly upon the
arm of the young man as he was speaking.
`You can trust to my honor, Captain
Robert!'
`Then you shall hear all—or rather shall
know as much as is expedient just now; for
I cannot at present clear up every thing.
But we must be alone!'
He then looked out of the door and listened.
No sounds but the gurgle of the
waters of the river, or the sharp cracking of
the icy masses that rushed by, were heard.
The figures of the two watchmen, Whitlock
and Myers, were seen between the door and
the fire, as if they were idly talking with
each other. All the rest of the camp was
buried in silence, if not in sleep.
`We are all still,' said Red Beard re-closing
the door. `Now master Ringold I want
your ears. What I am about to communicate
to you is deeply interesting to me, and
indeed touches my happiness and peace of
mind.'
But before we listen to the communication
of Red Beard to the young painter of
the forest, we shall give a few pages to the
previous history of this young man.
Eighty miles below the woodland camp
where we have brought our readers, the river
flowed through a charming valley, enclosed
by a circle of hills, in the bosom of which
slept this rich valley. Its length following
the meanderings of the Susquehannah, was
about twenty miles, and its breadth a little
more than eight. It was a spot that combined
all the charms of natural scenery, as well
as excellency of soil. Pebbly brooks warbled
through its fields, and noisy cascades
awoke the solitude of its groves. The valley
was not a perfect plain, save a border of
half a mile of green intervale on the river,
but gently waved towards the encircling
hills, which were of a dark blue color and
rose grand in their skyey outline.
This beautiful vale was the favorite resort
of the ancient children of the wilderness,
and dispersed here and there in the most
picturesque spots by hill-sides and springs,
were still to be found their green altarmounds
and cemeteries. But the European
came and crowded them from their pleasant
homes, and compelled to part from their
lands, they sold them to their invaders. A
noble Englishman, a near relative of one
of the governors of provincial New York,
purchased the valley, and thus became its
proprietor.
His heir sold portions of it to settlers, and
realized therefrom great wealth, while the
representative of the latter increased his
American possessions, by purchasing nearly
a hundred miles up the river a vast tract of
forest land.
At the period of our story, he with two
others, constituted a company of proprietors,
although the English nobleman had yet never
set foot upon the western world. The
woodsmen and raftsmen employed in these
forests, were engaged principally from settlers
in the beautiful valley of the Susquehannah,
a hardy race of men and well fitted
by nature and pursuits for this labor, even
as we have seen. From time to time the
American proprietors who resided in Baltimore,
visited the valley for the purpose of
looking after their estates therein, as well as
employing and keeping up the number of
their lumbermen. On one of these visits, the
third year after they had opened the timber
forests, they met with Robert Burnside.
The attention of the proprietors was drawn
to him from witnessing the courageous and
skillful manner in which he had saved the
lives of seven men, who accidently cast loose
in a boat, were driving to certain death over
the falls of the river; and subsequently in
seeing him save a child from a cake of ice,
venturing out in a flyer and snatching it at
the peril of his own life from the brink of
the same falls.
Enquiring who he was, they could only
learn that he cultivated a few acres of land
near the river, lived alone in a rough log
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[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]
cabin, and sought no man's acquaintance.
It chanced that at this time they were looking
out for some suitable person to control
their timber-parties, and they called at his
cabin, resolved if he should show himself to
be a proper man, to offer the position to him.
The result was, that they offered to him and
he accepted the charge, and proved himself
up to the time of our story, one of the most
efficient captains they could have obtained.
His honesty and faithfulness had been fully
tested, and he now shared their confidence.
Not far from the humble and unpretend
ing abode of Robert Burnside, about a mile
across a deep brook, dwelt the widow of a
small land-holder. He had once been esteemed
rich, but at his death his estate, save
a small cottage and a few acres of land, on
which was a mortgage, passed into the hands
of creditors. He left a widow and one
child, Ringold Griffitt, who at his father's
death was a fine looking spirited youth of
eighteen, with a good education, agreeable
manners, and one of the most industrious
young men in the thickly settled valley of
his nativity.
Ringold Griffitt, finding that his mother
was left with a small pittance at his father's
decease, and not wishing to become a burden
to her, young as he was, resolved to give
himself to labor in order to support her, and
if possible release the cottage from the mortgage
which burdened it. For this purpose,
while he worked hard on the little farm in
summer, he hired himself in the winter as a
woodsman and raftsman; a hardy employment
for which his manly and athletic person
well fitted him; though he instinctively felt
that in mind, taste and education he was the
superior of the rough men who constituted
his companions in the wild and reckless
camp of the forest. But as he was of a
cheerful spirit, and agreeble manners, and
assumed nothing like a sense of superiority
in his intercouse with them—as he was a
skilful wielder of the axe and an unerring
shot with the rifle—as he was ready to oblige
all around him by good offices, and had
shown that courage in many an encounter
with bears and wolves which commands the
respect of the backwoodsman, as well as displayed
his fearlessness and love of justice in
punishing the braggert and bully, his popularity
among them became unbounded; and
not one of the hardy men would have hesitated
to risk his life to serve him or gratify
his slightest wish.
But after three winters in the woods, Ringold
began to feel an ambition to try his fortune
on the sea. He had seen at Baltimore,
where he had been with one of the vast rafts
that he had aided in guiding down the Susquehannah
into the Chesapeake, the ships of
foreign countries, and the sight of them and
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[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]
of the seamen in their red caps and blue
jackets inspired him with a restless desire to
become a sailor. The seamen whom he
talked with fanned this flame of curiosity by
representing to him the beauty and grandeur
of European cities, and the wealth of the Indies
and Peru.
At length fired by their stories of far lands,
he resolved that he would ship on board a
vessel that was bound to the Mediterranean
and thence to England. He believed that he
should be able to return with wealth enough
to relieve the cottage from its mortgage and
make his mother independent. Under the
influence of these filial motives, he shipped,
after first sending home, by Whitlock, to his
mother, not only the wages he had received
as raftsman, but the advance which
had been paid to him by the captain of the
ship.
The fortunes of our young adventurer we
shall not at present follow, but merely inform
the reader that after two years absence he
once more made his appearance in his native
valley, gladdening his mother's heart by his
return, and receiving a warm and enthusiastic
welcome from the raftsmen, his old companions
in camp, who were now at home tilling
their lands; for it was the month of June when
Ringold, grown to the full height and noble
proportions of manhood, returned among his
friends. He brought back with him some money,
but not so much as he had hoped to present
to his mother; for he had found by experience
that the world was pretty much the same every
where, and that wealth every where must be
labored for, if it would be attained. He
however was rich enough to raise the mortgage
of four hundred dollars upon the cottage;
but when he laid this sum in his mother's
lap, his surprise can be imagined, at
hearing from her Robert Burnside's generous
conduct towards her!
He at once sought out the raftsman, and
after thanking him for his noble generosity,
he would have forced him to take back the
amount he had advanced with the year's in
terest; but this the raftsman firmly refused
to do; saying, with a smile,
`It isn't often a man has an opportunity of
doing good in this world, and I am not going
to be cheated out of this one; so keep your
money, young man, for you will need it!'
Ringold, seeing that it would be useless to
try and induce him to change his opinion, left
him, with his heart overflowing with kindness
and gratitude towards him. This was two years
preceding the opening of our story, during
which time Ringold had been living at the
cottage in the summer and in camp in the
winter, beloved and esteemed by all his companions.
But during the present winter he had
been but once in the camp, the agent of the
company, Mr. Bixby, having employed him
in drawing some plans for mills, which it
was the intention of the company to erect
upon a waterfall that emptied itself into a
lake on the east side of the valley. This
preference had been given to the young raftsman,
from a knowledge of his well-known
talents at drawing, which, in speaking of his
qualities, we ought before to have said, were
the wonder of the neighborhood. There
was scarcely a cottage, or waterfall, or hill
in the valley that he had not transferred to
paper or canvass, which adorned the humble
parlor of his mother, or the sitting-rooms of
his neighbors. There was not a venerable,
silvery-headed old man, or beautiful girl, or
promising infant, whose feature he had not
copied to the life with his magic pencil.—
His room at his mother's house was a picturegallery,
and the good people used to come in
for miles to look at his `sights,' as they
termed them. His mother was justly proud
of her son's genius; and many of his friends
advised him to quit rafting and farming, and
go to `the city,' and make his fortune.
But Ringold shook his head! He knew
that out of every ten who sought distinction
in that way, nine perished broken-hearted.—
Moreover, although his performances were
masterly, he had no confidence in himself.
`They will do very well to please the good
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people of the valley,' he would say to his
friend and great admirer, Whitlock, `but
they would prove insignificant compared with
the works of distinguished artists. I will
paint to please myself and my neighbors, but
if I wish to keep my happiness in my own
hands, I shall remain a woodsman. Old
Derick shall see that I shall make no less a
forester for once in a while painting. But he
has never forgiven me for having taken his
portrait so faithfully like his own ugly
phiz!'
These were Ringold's feelings before he
went to sea. But since his return he had
applied himself with even more assiduity to
his pencil than ever; than even when in his
early boyhood he first made the proud and
happy discovery of the talent which had
slumbered within him! Still he did not
neglect his other pursuits, either on the farm
or in the forest; but he was now never idle.
Every leisure hour was passed by him in his
chamber, which he had converted into a neat
studio; and here he devoted himself to the
study of his art, having, as the greatest prizes
which he could find abroad, brought
home in his chest, from England, several
valuable works upon `Art and Design.'—
These he pored over, night and day, with his
pencil in his hand and his canvass or drawing-board
before him.
`What makes you paint so much now, and
pore over them books so hard, Ringold?'
asked Ned Whitlock, as he one day lounged
into his studio. `You never hunt nor fish,
but are always at work, either with a hoe or
plough, or that infernal paint-brush! I
thought before you went to sea you said you
never would paint for pastime; and here you
have been working this four months at it, till
you are as pale as a young minister. There's
poison in them paints and they'll kill you
yet, Ringold!'
The young painter smiled; and then said,
gravely and impressively,
`I saw pictures in Europe, Ned!'
`One wouldn't think you saw anything
else, the way you've come back and gone to
making 'em! For my part, —'
`I saw divine works of Art, while I was
absent, Whitlock; paintings that my most
daring conceptions, my most romantic
dreams never presented to me! I never realized
till then, the greatness, the majesty,
the glory of genius! My soul was kindled
with enthusiasm! I felt like adoring what I
felt I could not approach! I wandered
though the Royal Academy—the National
Galleries of Art, bewildered, and half the
time blinded with tears! I wept like a child
because I saw how ignorant, how weak, how
impotent I was beside the Kings and Emperors
of Art, before the mightiness of whose
works I humbled my spirit in the humiliation
of despair! But —'
`But what, Griffitt?' cried Whitlock, who
had listened to his impassioned words with
amazement and a sympathy he could not
rightly direct, `what happened to you? I
hope you didn't go mad!'
`Not quite! But I was attracting general
attention, unwittingly; for I forgot that there
were others present; and some one addressed
a word or two to me. I can't tell you how,—
but these kind words were followed by
others, and—and—how shall I explain or tell
you. I was raised from despair to hope!
It is hope that now inspires me, my friend:
It is hope that leads me to apply myself, as
you daily see me doing. And yet it is hope
that hath shot up out of despair, and deep
humiliation, and which never would have
budded, but for the nourishing words of the
stranger, that fell like dew upon my spirit.'
`You ought to give up this painting, at
least for a while, Griffitt!' said Whitlock
sadly. `As I said, it is affecting your health:
I never knew you to talk so—so wildly:
come, we go up to the camp next week: you
must go with us.'
`Willingly. I shall be invigorated by the
hardy labor of the woods. I will, however,
work all I can before I start.'
`What is it you intend to do by all this
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[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]
study and painting? You must mean something:
you don't take pictures out of doors,
nor portraits now days! What is the end
of it?'
`Immortality — fame — glory!' answered
Griffitt, with a kindling eye, like the warrior,
who hears afar off the thunder of the battle.
`Before the glorious works of the great
masters, I humbled myself to the dust; but
hope, hope hath bid me look up, and stand
upon my feet, and remember that what man
hath done, man may do again. Therefore,
I work and study as you see me, Whitlock,
the love and glory of my art, the spirit that
breathes into my soul, and nerve my purpose.
But I will leave all to go with you to the
woods; for I must toil for gold, as well as
for fame.'
Griffitt joined the party of foresters, and in
two or three days recovered his health and
spirits, and became the life of the wild border-camp.
But he had been there only four
weeks, when Bixby, the agent, wrote to Robert
Burnside, to send him down to the valley,
as he wished the aid of his pencil. So,
two months before the opening of our story,
he returned down the river, and was immediately
intrusted with the draughting of the
plans of the company, the agent being fully
informed by inspection of drawings in his
room, of his ability. In this agreeable,
though somewhat mechanical occupation, for
a young man of genius, he was occupied until
the warm sun of spring foretold the breaking
up of the ice. He was then despatched
by the agent to the camp, to which he had
previously sent word, with money to pay the
gangs of cutters for their winter's work, an
important trust which we have seen was executed
by him with fidelity. At the same
time he brought letters and tokens to the
men from their families; for it was no sooner
known that Ringold Griffitt was going to
`the camp,' than he was besieged with mes
sages and letters. The old man, and aged
matron, had a word to send to their grand
son, the mother a letter or kind word to
her son, the maiden a love-token to her
sweet-heart, or a letter sealed with half a
dozen wafers, to be well secure against
peeping.
All these he consented most cheerfully to
deliver as directed to do, a pledge which we
have beheld him redeem in the most honorable
manner; not forgetting even the softly
whispered communication entrusted to him
by Kate Boyd, for the ears of her illiterate
but gallant lover, the handsome Ned Whitlock.
Although Kate could write, as Ned said,
like a yankee schoolmistress, she was too
good natured to trifle with his love for her,
by writing him a note in order to shew her
superiority to her sweetheart; a little act of coquettish
self-love, which a good many girls in
Kate's place would have been surely tempted
to be guilty of. But she knew it would
deeply mortify and annoy her brave lover,
who had no fault in the world but his frankly
confessed ignorance of his a b c's, and was
loved by her with all her noble heart.
`No matter,' said she, when one of her
companions twitted her for having a lover
who could not write his name, nor read hers
when written; `I can write well enough for
both Ned and I, and when we get married I
shall have the pleasure of teaching him. He
shall be such a docile pupil. If he don't
study I shall—I—shall—'
`Beat him!' said the other with emphasis.
`No, that wont do. I will not let him kiss
me for a whole day. That'll punish him,
and make him study hard.'
Such was Kate Boyd, one of the best and
handsomest creatures in the world, with
laughing red lips, and mirthful black eyes, a
neat, buxom figure, and a small foot, and
hand dimpled like a baby's.
-- --
CHAPTER VI. THE COURTIER AND THE LADY.
[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]
We will now return to Red Beard's cabin
in the foresters' camp, where we left Robert
Burnside, about to make a private communication
to Ringold, of some importance, if we
may judge from the cautious manner in
which he prepared to enter upon it. As we
have seen the rough hut of logs was illumined
by a pine torch stuck in a crevice, and cast
its light strongly upon the two figures of the
men. Red Beard paced slowly up and down
the hard floor, with his hands behind his
back, and his brows knitted, while Ringold
seated upon the end of the chest, watched
the stern aspect of his countenance, and
waited for him to begin. At length Robert
Burnside drew near, and sat down by him.
He laid his hand upon his wrist, and said impressingly,
`I am going to entrust you with the secret
of my life! Can I trust you? or shall I find
you, young and generous as you are, or
seem to be, false like other men. There
are few men to be trusted, boy. One friend
is worth a man's life time to win, and then
he may loose him and be betrayed. I have
tried them and know them.'
`I will not betray your confidence, Captain
Burnside, though I do not ask it. If you
feel that you ought to make this communication
to me I will keep sacredly the trust; and
serve you if in my power. You know I owe
you gratitude; and besides, your language
shows me that you are an educated man—
that you have not always been a raftsman—
and this interests me in you.'
`Curiosity! Well let it be so. Men
can't be expected to be more than human nature,
even the young and honorable, so I
must take them as they are.' This was
spoken in a half-audible tone, being rather
his own aloud uttered reflections, than words
intended to be addressed to another's ear.
Ringold regarded him with surprise and sympathy.
He felt a desire to know his case,
that he might aid in alleviating it. He was
about to repeat that he would be faithful,
when Burnside said in an impressive manner,
`Listen to me now. I will talk. You
see in me, young man, one whom the world
has hardly used. The world said I—no, no!
It was not the world, it was my own house—
my own blood. The world would have been
more charitable, more kind and pitiful, for
there is no uncharitableness, no malignity
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[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]
like a brother's. But you shall hear me, and
then I will see if you can serve me. I am an
Englishman, a nobleman! I was born to
rank, and title, and honors, and estates. My
ancestors have worn coronets, and sat with
kings at table. You look suprised! Do
you begin to doubt me in the onset?'
`No, I believe you fully:' answered Griffitt.
`I would be believed, for truth is in all I
utter. My father—his name and rank I will
not now give—married a beautiful woman,
of a noble Scotch family, an Earl's daughter.
I have seen her picture, and know that she
was surpassing lovely, though she had sunred
hair. But there was a glory in her eyes,
a splendor in her complexion, and a grace
and charm unspeakable in the classic symmetry
of her amiable and intelligent countenance.
She brought to my father not much
wealth in gold or lands, for the scotch are
richer in worth than piastres; but she
brought him, besides the opulent dowry of
her proud beauty, a loving heart, a sweet
temper, virtue unsullied as the snow, and affections
that scarce knew any other god than
him. He loved her, and if it were possible to
return all her devoted attachment, he returned
it Her charms had first won his admiration,
and her virtues enchained his esteem.
So they were wedded, and he took
her to England, and presented her to court,
where her queenlike dignity blent with bride-like
modesty, drew down upon her the admiration
of the whole court, and awakened the
envy of the ladies.
My father held a high position near the
King, and his Countess was at once placed
very near the person of her majesty. One,
not even a queen, could not be long in the
society of my mother, without loving her; and
so she won the queen's heart, and became
her most intimate companion and friend.
This was a preference that was not easily
overlooked or forgiven by the proud English
dames of the court; for the Scotch ladies are
not held with that estimation by the English,
with which they hold each other. A favorite
of any other land could have been forgiven
easier than one from Scotland.
The jealousy to which the queen's preference
of my mother gave rise to at first showing
itself in glances of the eye, movements of
the lip and head, and an insulting bearing, at
length came to a head, in a systematic conspiracy
to destroy her influence with her
majesty, an influence pending upon love and
goodness only, by destroying her reputation.'
`What wickedness!' exclaimed Ringold
with a burst of indignant surprise.
`You are listening, I perceive! Yes,
wickedness most black and monstrous.'
`I trust that they did not succeed.'
`You shall hear, though I do not know
how I can proceed with composure! but I
will command my emotions. These noble
English dames, unable by the grace of virtue
to rival my mother in the queen's favor,
planned her ruin. This was about four
months after her marriage. There were four
conspirators, three ladies, or rather three
hecates, and one nobleman.'
`A man! a nobleman engage in this.'
`Yes, a nobleman, for so he bore the title.
He was one of the officers near the king's
person, and in daily intercourse with my
father, to whom he professed the most devoted
friendship; but it was the base, fawning,
designing friendship of the libertine, who
wearing the mask of honor would dishonor
him to whom he professes his devotion.
This nobleman was notorious for his profligacy,
a man of splendid person, of various
accomplishments, and gifted with that blandishment
of voice and manner, which characterises
the finished voluptuary. This man
had no sooner placed his adulterous eye upon
the fair beauty of my pure mother, than he
conceived the idea of endeavoring to accomplish
her ruin; for beauty and grace, and
even virtue, long resisting, had fallen before
his power, and he looked upon himself as a
conqueror, who had only to plan to achieve,
only to wish in order to win.'
`What a detestable character.'
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[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]
`Thou hast seen but little of the world,
Master Griffitt. Thy quick, indignant
speech, at the portrait I have painted you, for
these are pictures without brushes, shows that
you are ignorant of the turpitude that is in the
world: and the more of it there is the higher
one soars in rank and grandeur. If thou
would'st be happy and pure, remain here, or
in thy native valley. The farther thou goest
away from it the deeper thou wilt sin. Yet
I would not curb thy honest ambition to distinguish
thyself; for young men must fight
the battle of life. But to my tale.'
`It deeply interests me, sir.'
`This base noble, as a first step, for these
seducers are like a serpents, he sought to ingratiate
himself with my father, to cause him
to believe that he was his truest friend; and
he succeeded, for my father was one of those
frank, honest, unsuspecting men, who meaning
no evil, think none; and as it could
never have entered into his upright mind, the
idea of seeking a man's friendship in order
to ruin him, or those dearer to him than life
or honor, he entertained no suspicion of the
motives of this gay noble, in paying such
court to him, and the titled libertine being
a person of wit and mirth, was welcomed
cordially at my father's house and table.'
`But the world, more familiar with vice,
and the snares which it sets for its victims,
and the meannesses, and debasements, and
falsehoods, to which it resorts to accomplish
its ends, saw through the conduct of the nobleman;
for the courtiers knew he never
acted without a motive.
Unsuspecting, my father gave himself up
unreservedly to the pleasing society of this
dangerous man, who carefully avoided all
particular attention to my mother; and even
many times, was careful to decline invitations,
and forego opportunities where my
father's confidence in him would have left
him in her society. But this forbearance
and withdrawal, was only acting a part, that
he might effectually forestall all suspicion on
the part of either, by the outward seeming of
total indifference to her society. But gradually,
when he felt that he had fully secured
the confidence of both, he intended to make
his insinuating and fatal approaches.
`But virtue is Heaven—protected! Woman's
instinct is the shield and defence God
has provided her against danger, and if she is
pure, it is her safe-guard; but if not so, if by
irregular thoughts she has tarnished the
bright shield, it will no longer aid her;
for it defends, by reflecting as in a mirror,
the dangers that lie before and around
her.'
`That is a beautiful thought, and a true
one.'
`The instinctive purity of my mother, had
taken alarm, the first time the nobleman had
been presented to her, when she met his eye
resting upon her form, with a glance that
made her shrink, she hardly knew why, nor
could she have explained what there was in
the look that she did not like. It was the
instinctive fear of the bird, when it catches
the eye of the basilesk. The impression
nothing could efface from her mind, not even
his intimacy with my father, and the latter's
frequently spoken words in his commendation.
`At length having, as he believed, prevented
any danger from suspicion on my
father's part, this man proceeded by the most
artful attentions to ingratiate himself into my
mother's favor. But he found himself met at
the very onset by a barrier that he did not
anticipate, not only the virtue and elevated
purity of her character which he had feared
most from, but an instinctive comprehension,
of his duplicity and hypocrisy. In a word,
he saw in the first five minutes, that she penetrated
his guilty views with the calm and
searching eye of an angel, and he quitted
her presence feeling that he himself, not she,
had been lowered by their brief interview.
He felt that he had been conquered by virtue,
as well as rendered ridiculous by her keen
penetration. Baffled ere he had scarcely began
to put in action his nicely conceived
-- 031 --
[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]
plans, baffled by being made transparent, he
resolved that he would subdue by force her
whom he could not sue by love.
`It was at this crisis that he became the
willing tool of the ladies, who had become
my mother's enemies. One of these, herself
beautiful and high born, had been degraded
by this very nobleman; and no doubt that
her hatred for my mother was more owing to
her purity, than to her having displaced her
in the friendship of the queen; for a female
fallen, seeks to drag all others to her own
condition of humiliation.'
`What a picture of courts you give me,
sir!'
`Courts, young man, are the hot beds of
vice. Sin matures quicker and more luxuriantly
there than any otherwhere. This fallen
and degraded lady had watched with a jealous
eye the insiduous advances of the nobleman,
and while she hated him for seeking another,
she wished him success that this other might
fall. Such is woman!'
`It is a painful picture. Yet there are
lovely, and true, and good women, who redeem
the bad. The virtue and beauty of
character of the countess, your mother, fully
redeems the baseness of the other.'
`I thank you for the compliment to my
mother. You will see that she needs friends,
ere I am done. The court lady did not long
remain ignorant of the failure of the nobleman,
at the very outset of his attempt to compass
the ruin of the countess; for she had
closely watched them, and had her spies well
paid. Now was the time for her own revenge
to begin. That very day she and two other
noble ladies, who had felt themselves aggrieved
by the royal favor shown my mother,
were secretly conversing upon the subject,
and endeavoring to form some plan for poisoning
the queen's mind against her.
`Let be, till we see how Lord — succeeds,
' answered the former favorite. `His
success will achieve our purposes.'
`She is too proud and pure,' replied one
of the other two; `he will be defeated.'
`If he is, then we must devise some plan
of our own,' was the response.
The next day the three met together
again, and the reception of the false nobleman
by the countess was reported by the exfavorite.
`How did you hear it?' demanded one
eagerly.
`I heard it from her maid, first, and then
since from his own lips. He is burning with
rage. He says that her confiding husband
had left them together to wait upon the king
who had sent for him, when he approached
her and began in his fascinating way to flatter
her; but he says she fixed her eye as full
and clear upon him as a dove's, and asked
him pointedly, if he had honored her lord in
order to dishonor him; adding that she knew
well his motives, and the character of his
thoughts towards her, saying that she felt it
became her as a virtuous wife and honorable
woman, to let him know ere he proceeded to
insult her, as she well knew he meant to do
in his heart, to unmask him. With this she
rose up from the chair, as he was kneeling
in amazement at her feet, and pointed to the
door. He says he obeyed, for he had not
power to speak a word in his defence, he was
so utterly confounded. But, ladies, it is an
ill wind blows no-body good. I have secured
him to aid our own purposes. He says he
will lend himself to a plan I have proposed to
him, for accomplishing her ruin.'
`But,' added Robert Burnside, `I must be
more brief, with what I have to say, for the
night advances.'
-- 032 --
CHAPTER VII. THE CONSPIRACY.
[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]
As Red Beard was about to resume his
narrative, the deep growl of a black bear
was heard close without the hut. Griffitt
quickly unsheathed his hunting-knife, and
was rushing out when the captain laid his
hand firmly upon his arm.
`You are not armed for such an attack.
You young men are always too headlong.
There is my rifle! but I believe the charge
is drawn.'
`Then I will try the knife alone,' cried
Ringold, as he broke from him and leaped
out of the cabin.
The moon was shining like a silvery shield,
filling the camp with light, by the aid of
which a large bear was seen trotting off
across the level show in the direction of the
forest, and dragging something in his mouth.
Griffitt was in the act of pursuit, when
Whitlock from the fire called out to him to
stop; and at the same instant the sharp
crack of his rifle awoke the sleepers in the
camp. The bear leaped several feet from
the ground and then rolled over howling terrifically.
Griffitt hastened up to him, but
before he reached him, the animal got to
his feet and went galloping off on three legs,
with what was discovered to be Ringold's
knapsack of sketches which he had placed
by the side of the door as he went in with
Red Beard.
Indignant at discovering what bruin had
stolen, the young artist bounded after him
with long strides and came up with him on
the verge of the wood.
`Let him go Ringold; he will hurt you,'
cried Whitlock.
`Aye, aye,' shouted Ben the pipe-smoker,
`don't trouble him; for a wounded bear is
ugly.'
`Come back, master Griffitt!' commanded
Red Beard in an authoritative tone.
But Ringold was not disposed to hear;
and the next moment he was grappling
with the monster, who turning round upon
him, raised himself upon his hind legs, struck
at and grasped him with his well fore-leg by
the shoulder, blowing his hot breath in his
face. The knapsack was already lying upon
the ground. It was a momentary struggle
between the man and brute. The knife of
the young artist, sunk deeply into the shaggy
chest of the bear, who sunk heavily to the
ground, and after one or two throes lay quiet
in death.
Griffitt now caught up his knapsack, in
which he found a portion of his dinner wrapped
up with his drawings, which had tempted
the animal's appetite, and led to the
theft. Rejoiced at the recovery, he returned
to the cabin, passing on the way, Whitlock
and two or three of the men who had been
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[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]
aroused from sleep by the report of the rifle.
`Well done, and safely too,' said Whitlock,
`just as you always do. I am going
to take the skin for you.'
`For yourself! I don't want it, Ned!'
`Well, young man you have performed a
bold exploit,' said Red Beard. I am glad
you are not hurt; but you ran a gaeat risk.'
`I have in my wallet, sir, drawings; one in
particular, that I highly value; indeed I
would risk my life for one of them.'
`As you have done in attacking a wounded
bear alone, with only a knife in your
hand, let us go in again, unless you are
weary of my tame story.'
`Weary? oh no, sir. I am deeply interested
in all you have told me. I beg you will
go on with it, and withhold nothing that it
may relieve you to tell me.'
`You say rightly; it does relieve me to
tell you. So I will resume. Come in, and
let us close the door again.'
Ringold brought his knapsack in and laid
it down by his side as he resumed his seat
upon the chest, and placed himself once
more in an attitude to listen to his narrative.
`The defeated libertine, as I have said,
consented, in order to avenge himself upon
the virtuous and noble lady, who had so put
him to shame and confusion, to engage with
these three noble females of the court, in
a base plan to bring about the ruin of the
countess, my mother. You can concieve,
if possible, the baseness of a man who could
lend himself to such a purpose, and the degraded
moral principle of the females who
could unblushingly take part in so infamous
a project.'
`Is it credible that they could combine
for such a purpose?'
`It is credible. What I am relating to
you is truth, word for word. A hundred
times I have heard it from my mother's lips
and those of others, and a hundred times
read it from a manuscrpt in her own hand,
which records the whole particulars which I
have given.
`The plan of these monsters was at length
matured and ready to be carried into effect.
You will observe that the nobleman and the
women had the same end to bring about;
viz: my mother's ruin; though led to compass
it from different motives; the latter desiring
to put a rival out of the way who
threw them into the shade, and the former
wishing to avenge himself upon a virtuous
woman who had seen through his devices
and scorned him.'
`I am surprised that such iniquity should
exist in a palace, and among nobles,' said
Griffitt with a serious air.
`Unless nobles are virtuous, they become
the most vicious of mankind—next to princes.
'
`You give me strange lessons, sir, in human
society.'
`You will find them verified if you are so
unfortunate as to see much of the world,
Master Griffitt. But let me tell my sad tale.
The residence of my father was in a palace
adjoining that of the king, and communicating
with it by a covered gallery or close corridor.
My father used to attend the king
every morning between nine and eleven, and
usually an hour after dining. At the same
hours etiquette rendered it necessary for my
mother, the countess, to be with the queen,
but she was with her sometimes all day, and
to a late hour.
One evening, the confidence and outward
friendship between the nobleman and my father
being unimpaired, for my mother did not
see fit to speak to my father touching the lesson
the had given the false friend, my mother was
passing from the queen's apartments to her
own, attended by her page. It was the hour
when my father was with the king in his
audience chamber. Upon reaching the door
of her private apartments she dismissed her
page, and calling her dressing maids, prepared
her toilet for the night. Her sleeping
apartment was a small and elegant chamber
between her own rooms and her husband's
library and dressing room, accessible on both
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[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]
sides. She soon fell asleep, for a heavy
sleeping portion had been mingled in her
cup of tea by one of the queen's servants
who had been bribed by the conspirators.
It was its influence upon her senses that hastened
her toilet ere her husband's return,
who usually come in and chatted with her
while her maids were busy putting up her
hair. But this night her head was quickly
upon her pillow, and sleep sealed her eyes in
a few moments afterwards. Noble innocent
lady. Your last hour of happiness had been
struck. From that hour began your woe.'
`Poor lady!' sighed Ringold involuntarily.
`She had hardly slept and her maids retired,
when from behind the arras stole forth the
serpent who had planned her ruin. You
will mark how subtlety it was done, and how
hell triumphed over innocence.'
For two or three moments Red Beard
walked to and fro the cabin floor with a
quick and nervous tread, as if his soul were
deeply agitated. At length he resumed:
`This fiend, this base nobleman who planned,
and lent himself to the ruin of a noble
lady, as I said, stole forth from his hiding
place and stood bending over the couch of
innocence and beauty. He gazed and listened,
and then gazed upon her angel face,
and then would bend his ear to harken, as if
he waited for some coming tread. At length
he heard the outer door open and a quick
stern step hastened to the bridal chamber.
Instantly the fiend with malice darker than
hell's, reclined by the side of the unconscious
sleeper, and laid his cheek to hers.
The door opened and my father entered and
saw him there. This was enough, and the
end and consummation of the foul plot begotten
for my mother's ruin. The nobleman
leaped to the floor, and fled whence he had
come, behind the arras, and so escaped.
But my father pursued not. He stood transfixed
with shame, and woe and wonder that
locked his tongue, and chained his limbs to
the ground. Then gazing upon his wife,
who alarmed and startled from her sleep,
rose upright and wildly returned his looks
with inquiring terror. This terror, he interpreted,
as well he might, for guilt; and
after regarding her closely and sternly for
a minute's space, with strong eyes and marbled
face, and almost bursting bosom, he
gave vent to a fearful cry, and fell headlong.'
`Oh, what base villany! I think I can
now see through all their iniquitous planning.'
`It is easy, but my father saw not through
it, for how could he. You must know that
when the chief of these conspirators had
placed the noble behind the arras, by letting
him pass through her own chamber, she
hastened along the corridor towards the
queen's apartments and waited unseen till
she saw my mother pass by and enter her
room, when the trap to ruin her was set.
She then, this vile woman, watched till she
knew that she had retired to her couch,
when quickly she despatched a page to my
father with an urgent errand to see him on
the instant! My father left the presence,
fearing his beloved wife was ill, so well counterfeited
for alarm was the pages errand, and
in the corridor he met the chief conspiratress
who was lying in wait for him. Don't thou
see it all now?'
`I see it clearly, sir, such baseness of
crime never was before conceived.'
`Thou art ignorant of the atmosphere of
courts. There crime hath free license, and
has been perfected to an art, a subtile system,
a high accomplishment in which not to
be skilled, shows unfitness to wait on kings.
`What hath happened? cried my father,
as he met the arch traitress in the carridor,
who with a countenance of well feigned honor
and virtuous indignation in every lineament
of her false face, encountered him.
`Nay, my lord! But it is a shame to tell
thee!' and the woman dropped her eyes and
feigned modest confusion.
`Speak! Is lady Alice ill? for only her
illness, can be bad news to me!'
`This shows how much he loved her to have
her so in his instant thought!' said Griffitt.
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[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]
“`Lady Alice is not ill, though it is ill she
hath done thee!” answered the woman. “If
thou would'st know why I have sent for thee,
hasten to her sleeping chamber, where taking
advantage of thy presence with the king,
she hath retired earlier than is her wont.
But if thou will hasten, thou wilt see why
she seeks her pillow so early, nor waiteth for
thy coming.”
`My father scarcely waited for her to finish
her ironical and bitter speech, in which he
saw both the irony and triumph, and wondered.
Without waiting to question more,
but impressed with the thought of some
great evil, what he knew not, (for suspicion
of her honor never crossed his mind) he
rushed forward as he had been bidden, to
solve the mystery and relieve the uncertainty
with which her words had impressed him.
`Already I have told you how he entered
his bridal chamber and what sight he beheld,
a sight that made his brain swim and his
eyes grow blind, and his heart cease to beat.'
`I can scarcely listen with patience to such
crimes as these,' cried Griffitt with excitement.
`What deep depravity was it all! I
see now the subtlety of the scheme of ruin,
which so planned, if your father might but
be brought to see this nobleman in the attitude
he had assumed, the triumph of the
conspirators would be complete. I see it
clearly, and it seems to be the quintessence
of iniquity. And your father, what became
of him, and of thy poor injured mother?
Heaven grant he did not believe her guilty!
Yet I tremble for her, the proofs were so
damning.'
`My father came to himself, and found
my mother bending over him in tears, and
embracing him with affection. His first act
of consciousness was to spurn her, his first
words of recollection to brand her with a
term of infamy.'
`Now does my heart bleed for her!'
`And so must angels have wept too at this
triumph of guilt over virtue. My father
spurned her, and bade her leave him. My
poor mother! She was all ignorant of what
had taken place. She had been suddenly
waked from her sleep at his wild cry of despair
and woe, and springing towards him,
had cast herself upon him, wondering at his
cry, amazed at his fall. She thus hung over
him, now asking her maids the cause, but
none could answer, and now bathing his face
with tears. And when at length her kisses
and loving words aroused him and he spurned
her, and called her by an epithet that
spoke her supposed guilt, she, sweet injured
lady, she thought he was delirious and raved
and knew not what he said.'
-- --
CHAPTER VIII. THE RETURN.
[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]
Griffitt had listened to the narrative of
Robert Burnside with the deepest interest.
It awakened all his sympathies, while it kindled
all the generous indignation of his spirit.
His face expressed his feelings like an open
volume. Red Beard read in its looks that
he felt with him as a friend and brother;
that he had poured the tale of heavy crime
into an ear that could truly and fully appreciate
it.
`It is a heavy and painful task,' said Red
Beard, as he prepared once more to command
the attention of his listener, `to bring
up again from the past, events like these I
have been unfolding to you; but I have not
yet ended.'
`I trust not, sir, for I am so deeply interested,
' said Ringold, `that I would fain learn
the result and consequences of what these
wicked people wrought. I trust that her
husband did not finally believe her guilty;
but had more faith in her purity, than in the
circumstances which he witnessed.'
`You shall hear how it went with my poor
mother. Alas, I wish I could say that he
trusted in her honor and truth; but his opinion
was formed upon the spot and at the time,
and nothing could move him. In vain my
mother, when her appalled brain was at
length able to comprehend that his epithets
of degradation, that his loathing of her presence
were not the hallucinations of delirium.'
“`Tell me, tell me, what have I done?
What do you charge me with?” she cried in
agony as she cast herself at his feet.
“`Do you mock me? Did I not see?
Have you the effrontery to deny your guilt?
Leave my presence! Go to your paramour!”
“`Who? what? of whom do you speak?”
she cried in the wildest distress, and clinging
to him, though he in vain tried to release
her grasp.
“`Lord—. Did I not see him by thy
side? His cheek touching thine? Go too.
Do not mock me, woman; it was this sight
that made my brain reel and cast me to the
floor.”
`She released her hold upon his robe; She
clasped her hands to her temples, and stood
like the statue of despair. She gazed in his
face with a look so dreadful, that he could
not meet it. She gasped forth at length the
broken cry—
“`Tell me, tell me, saw you this? Saw
you this man with his head upon my pillow
while I slept?”
“`I have told thee; do not add to thy
guilt, woman, by pretending innocence. Others
saw him as well as I; for others, shame
to me and thee, called my eye to the sight.
By the mass! you slept sweetly for an adulteress.
At seeing me, he fled.”
`My mother stood like one turned to marble.
All the color fled from her face. She
seemed ready to sink.
“`Who, who, saw this? Who directed
thee to-to this sight?” she gasped, as if each
word was choking her.
“`Lady—.”
“`It is enough. I see, I see it all. Heaven
be my support in this hour.”
`With these words she fainted away, falling
as one dead upon the cold marble, which
was warm and yielding compared with my
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[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]
father's heart. He extended towards her
not a finger to break her fall, cast not a
glance upon her after she fell, but left her
to die or live, as might be, for he had cast
her forth from his heart.'
`I scarcely know which to pity, your father
or your mother; for his agony was terrible,
and to him she was as if guilty. But I
trust that she was suffered to explain.'
`No; she lay upon her bed, her soul
hovering between earth and Heaven for
many weeks. He came not near her, nay,
fled and went to the continent, hoping, doubtless,
by change of scene to find relief, and try
by the tumult of travel to forget temporarily
his dishonor! for in order that there might
be no room for reconciliation, which her
enemies began to fear inasmuch as the queen
who watched by her for hours at the time,
believed her perfectly innocent, and resolved
to convince my father of it, these demons
forged a correspondence between the nobleman
and my mother, he writing his own part
of it, and the others accurately imitating my
mother's hand. These letters were conveyed
privately to my father, and the next morning
he left for the continent!'
`And without seeking revenge of the man
whom he believed had dishonored him?' asked
Griffitt, earnestly.
`Without obtaining it, but not without
having sought it! But the nobleman kept
himself concealed, not only to escape my
father's vengeance, but the indignation of the
king and queen, who, whether he was as
guilty as my father believed, or not, but
brought scandal upon the royal household,
so he hid himself!'
`Your account has so moved me, sir, that
if I could meet that man to-morrow I would
make a quarrel with him!' answered Griffitt,
warmly.
`Your spirit gratifies me! But let me hasten
to the end of my sad tale. My mother
slowly recovered, but happiness, and even
hope had fled forever. But for the friendship
and sympathy of the queen, she would have
sunk beneath her load of grief. The queen,
herself, pure and good, was convinced of my
mother's purity. She believed her assertion,
and saw that the nobleman had done what he
had done in heartless bravado; for the suspicion
of a conspiracy never entered her mind!'
`I hope that she did not take that arch-traitoress
into favor again.'
`No,she had in her triumph at the supposed
fall of my mother, let fall some words of gratification,
which were conveyed to the queen's
ears; and this countess, her light character
being whispered about, was sent from the palace
in disgrace. Thus was she punished,
though unsuspected in being concerned in a
conspiracy; and thus does Providence always
reward the iniquitous and designing.
They are always sure to fall into the net which
they set for the fall of others.
`My mother, at length recovered so far as
to ride out, and by the good queen's advise,
she went down into the country to Scotland
and the house of her father, protected and
recommended to the paternal roof by a kind
letter from the queen, expressing her full conviction
of the innocence of my mother!'
`And how did her father receive her?'
`Alas, coldly, yet with the outward show
of civility, but she saw that in his heart he
believed her to be guilty; and when, taking
opportunity she sought, pale and tearful, to assert
her innocence, he turned from her haughtily,
saying, that
“`No woman was ever suspected without
having given some just ground for suspicion!”
`So she found no comforter or friend in
the heart and home which should have been
to her, however she were fallen and guilty,
a sacred asylum. The father's house is the
type of Heaven; and if Heaven is not shut
to the guilty sinner an earthly home should
not be closed to the guilty returning child!
The father who shuts his doors against a penitent
and returning child, however lost and
fallen, cannot but look for the mansion of
our Heavenly Father to be closed against him,
who in the sight of God is a guilty wanderer!
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[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]
My mother's cup of bitterness was now full;
and what added to her woe, if ought could,
she found that she was about to become a
mother! The queen, in the mean while,
had addressed a long and touching letter to
my father who was in Rome. When he had
read it, and reflected upon its contents, the
conviction suddenly seized him that she was
blameless, and had been an innocent victim
of the nobleman's vain and daring bravado,
for so reasoned the queen.'
`Thank Heaven for this!' exclaimed Griffitt.
`Do not raise your hopes, Master Griffitt!
He at once hastened from Rome with the noble
resolution of seeking her and from her own
lips hear her innocence proclaimed. But
on the road the carriage was attacked by
banditti, and in the defence of it he was
wounded by a shot in the thigh. For four
months he was compelled to remain at an inn
unable to travel; but in the interval he had
written to the queen, informing her of his
conviction of his wife's innocence, and his
intention to hasten to her so soon as he should
recover. The queen in her great joy, not
willing that any one else should make known
this news to Lady Alice, but herself, at once
wrote to her and sent a messenger to the castle
in Scotland, with the letter, which was in
these words:
“`Dear, much inquired Lady Alice,
The sun is rising and hope is
beginning to put on her beauteous garments
for the festival of joy that awaits thee. In a
word your husband has written to me, saying
that he is fully convinced of your innocence,
and that he is hastening to embrace
you once more; but having met with an accident
on the way, must necessarily be delayed
some weeks. But his heart is with you,
and you will once more smile and be happy
You will ask how he come to write? I answer
that I addressed him a long letter, unfolding
to him certain suspicions that forced
themselves upon my mind after you informed
me of the interviewd Lord — had with
you, and the manner in which he quitted
you! These suspicions I mentioned to your
noble husband, for whom my heart bleeds as
well as it does for you, and he is convinced that
Lord — sacrificed your reputation to his vengeance
and that countess who called him from
his audience with the king, was a party to it.
I told him also, that the conviction was upon
your mind that you had been made to drink
a sleeping potion, as you fell asleep two or
three times while your maids were with you.
Now I want you to leave Scotland and come
to the palace, and remain with me till your
husband reaches England; for he will meet
you the sooner, and I wish to see your happy
meeting.”
`Such,' continued Robert Burnside, `were
the kind words of the letter which the queen
sent to my mother, and which I have often
read. My mother at once complied, oh,
with what a joyful heart! with her majesty's
command, and hasten to London. But now
comes a cloud over the scene. The queen
had not been made aware of my mother's
situation; and when she beheld her condition
she so thought my mother betrayed surprise
by her looks, but she only said to her that
it would be gratifying to her husband to know
it. At length after long delay my father
reached England, but not until my mother
had been confined, and I was seven days
old. Obeying the impulse of his affection
he hastened to the palace to learn of the
queen where he should find his countess.
The queen met him with looks in which joy
was tempered by some secret fear or misgiving.
“`What embarrasses your majesty?” he
asked, at once detecting the mixed expression
upon her face. “How is Lady Alice?”
“`Well as can be expected, my Lord,” answered
the queen, heartily praying that the
thought which oppressed her own mind
might never flit across his.
“`Well as can be expected. Is she in the
palace?” he asked.
“`Yes,” answered the queen; “and you
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[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]
will not only have her restored to you but
she brings to you upon her bosom a son!”
“`A son!”
“`Yes, my lord,” she answered falteringly,
seeing him turn pale.
“`When was it born?” he demanded, catching
at a chair to support himself.
“`It is a week old yesterday,” answered
the queen whom it had not escaped, though
she had tried days before to banish the dark
thought, that the interval which had elapsed
from the time when the conspirators planned
the ruin of the countess to the present time
would lend color to the original opinions of
my father; while it will not surprise you to
know, Master Griffitt, it began to move suspicion
of my mother's innocence!'
`It was a remarkable coincidence, and I
fear, alas! a fatal one, for I foresee that your
father was once more confirmed in his suspicions.
'
`They were no longer suspicions but convictions.
He had no sooner heard the age
of the infant than his brow became black as
night, the foam stood on his lips, he laughed
like a maniac, rushed from the palace without
seeing his wife or heeding the queen, and
mounting his horse, rode away like a madman.
From that time no one has seen or
heard of him; but without doubt he perished,
for his proud spirit could not have lived
on under the weight of misery which over-whelmed
it!'
`What misery indeed!' ejaculated Ringold,
`and the poor Lady Alice!'
`The queen would have concealed from
her the arrival of her husband; but she had
heard his voice. So as her own suspicions
were now almost made certainty, she told my
mother that her husband having heard of the
birth of the intant disowned it with horror,
“which,” added the queen, to her, “he had good
reason to do so under the circumstances.”
“`Under what circumstances?” asked my
poor unsuspecting mother, shrinking as if
from some fearful peril above her head.
“`The interval between the birth of this
infant and that fearful, fatal hour when Count—
was found —”
“`Enough! ENOUGH!” hoarsely whispered
my mother; and bowing her head as if a
thunder-bolt had fallen upon it, she swooned
away at the feet of the queen.'
The emotion which the recital of the
wrongs of his mother had produced in the
bosom of Red Beard, as well as in that of
Griffitt, at length subsiding into comparative
composure, the former then resumed his narrative,
as follows:
`This last blow, the loss of the queen's
confidence, was the finishing stroke of my
mother's wretchedness. As soon as she could
bear the removal she quitted the palace and
once more sought her home in the north.'
`I trust she was kindly received, unhappy
Lady!' said Griffitt, with his generous sympathies
all alive in her fate.
`The intelligence that the queen believed
her guilty, and the second flight of my father
had reached her father in his retirement, and so
affected his spirit and health, that my mother
found him lying dangerously ill. Indeed he
was too low to heed whether she had come
or not; but she soon by her kindness and
care won his heart; and he at length died
-- 040 --
[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]
blessing her, and assuring her of his confidence
in her innocence.'
`I am glad of that,' cried Ringold warmly,
his eyes sparkling with joy. Her grief must
have been greatly lightened at this.'
`It was, but her heart had sunk beneath so
heavy a weight that nothing was able even
to raise her spirits again. The smile had
forever fled her face. There in solitude
and with prayer, and trusting Heaven would
one day make manifest her innocence, she
devoted her hours to me. I can recollect
that the earliest impressions of my childhood
were of a sweet, pale, beauteous face bending
over me in tearful tenderness. This face
was my mother's. When I was of the age of
seven years a person called on my mother,
saying that he was a solicitor; and showed
her a Gazette in which the present incumbent
of the title and estate of Lord * * * *
was called upon to make his appearance in
person or by representation before the Lord
Chancellor, within three years, otherwise
they would revert to the crown, being without
legal heir or occupant.'
`Now for the first time did my mother have
her thoughts directed towards my inheritance,
and towards my father. Since his departure
from the palace, nothing had been heard of
him; and his estates had remained in the
hands of his stewards till the attention of the
Chancellor was drawn to them. My mother,
absorbed in her grief, had never given a
thought to her husband's possessions, content
to remain quiet and peaceful with her child
in the recesses of her highland estate, which
in itself was a handsome competence. But
now the notice in the Gazette and the presence
of the solicitor brought painfully back
all the past.
“`My Lady,” said the man, “You will of
course claim in right of your son.”
“`Nothing! nothing! I wish not to hear
of the subject,” she said with distrust.
“`But there is no doubt of the death of
Lord * * * *, who has not been heard
from in seven years,” added the persevering
stranger, “and your son is the rightful heir,
although it would appear the Lord Chancellor
does not recognize him!”
“`Do not trouble me, sir,” cried my mother.
“If my husband has relatives, let them
take possession; I only wish to be left here in
peace.”'
“`But, my Lady,” continued the man, “if
you do not present a claim in behalf of your
son, it will be, I beg your ladyship's pardon,
a virtual acknowledgment of his illegitimacy.
If he is Lord * * * *'s son,”
continued the man, heedless of my mother's
anguish mingled with indignant surprise,
“you do him great injury by withholding
him from his birth-right.”'
`And the solicitor said truly so,' remarked
Griffitt with animation. `I was half inclined
to get angry with him for his persevering impertinence
in opening again all the avenues
of her sorrow; but he was right. But what
a painful situation she was placed in.'
`A most trying one. She had hoped to
be suffered to remain in her retirement and
die in peace, after she had performed her duty
to me in perfecting my education, but she
saw that duty to me, as well as a faint hope
that she might establish her innocence and
restore her husband's wounded honor to his
name, led her to resolve to present her claim
to the Earldom.'
`She acted rightly, sir; it became her innocence
and dignity to come forth from her
seclusion at their call.'
`She felt it to be so, and engaged the solicitor
to undertake her cause for her, inasmuch
as she knew him, by his reputation, to
be worthy of her confidence. So she addressed
a letter to the Lord Chancellor, setting
forth the claims of her son, provided that
her husband was no longer living, pronouncing
and declaring me to be the legal representative
inasmuch as I was the lawful son
and heir of the Earl of * * * *. The
letter was characterized by firmness and modesty;
and when reading, the Lord Chancellor
is said to have exclaimed,
-- 041 --
[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]
“`This is not a guilty woman. It is the
language and tone of innocence and honor.
I do not believe her guilty.”'
`I rejoice that she found a friend and advocate
in this nobleman,' said Ringold.
`But he could do her no good. He found that
public opinion was set strongly against her,
and that the queen was fully convinced of
her guilt. But he did not on this account, any
more believed her guilty; for he knew that
kings had pronounced guilty and crucified
the only innocent person the earth ever saw.
So great names had no influence upon his lordship;
but he wrote to my mother, and while
he assured that her letter had impressed him
with the full belief of her innocence, yet that
he could not forward her claim in my behalf
unless she would consent to prove her innocence
and my legitimacy by a trial according
to the laws of the land; “for,” added he, “if
you pursue this claim you will be compelled
to prove your innocence before your son can
rightfully enter upon what I believe to be his
inheritance.”'
`And what did Lady Alice, your mother,
reply?' asked Griffitt.
`She shrunk from this publicity and underwent
for many days a fearful struggle between
duty and modesty. At length, just
as she had made up her mind to throw herself
upon the laws of the country, the Lord
Chancellor again addressed her, saying that
sufficient information had been communicated
to him touching her husband's living, that
led him to withhold for the present, steps in
reference to the estates and titles. “The information
which I have received,” said his
lordship, “is not so direct as to afford proof
of his existence, yet is of weight enough to
render it necessary that all further proceedings
should be suspended till all vague intelligence
is confirmed.”
`I do not know whether my mother was
sorry that such hopeful news should render
it no longer necessary for her to come forward,
to prove her innocence in the face of
her country. The idea of my father's be
ing alive she could not entertain, and had
long, as became a loving wife, worn weeds
for him, while my own apparel was always
black till my fifteenth year. When I reached
this age, my mother's health began seriously
to fail. For eight years she had heard
nothing more from the Lord Chancellor, and
had nearly buried in oblivion all the painful
past. At length one day as I was out hunting
I met a Laird's son about my own age, who
was rudely treating a pretty little peasant girl
who was driving homeward her mother's
few sheep. I took her part, and protected her
from his insults, when he turned upon me, calling
me by a term that made my ears tingle. I
leaped upon him and seizing him by the throat,
was about to force him to unsay the words,
when I was hailed by some one who sternly
cried out.
“`Ho, bastard, release him.”
`I looked round, and beheld a young man,
his kindsman, who coming up would have
given me battle. But I was so shocked, so
confounded by being twice called by this degrading
epithet, that I stood passive. I began
to think, and coupling it in quick memory
with some mysterous words I had heard
in former years, how or when I knew not,
the fearful idea flashed upon my mind that
there might be some reason unknown to me
for this epithet. I therefore stood looking
them full in the face.
“`Why do you apply this term to me? You
cannot insult one well-born with so idle a
word.”
“`No, and therefore we insult you with it,”
answered the youngest with a sneer.
“`If you don't know the truth, it is time you
did, my lord,” continued the elder haughtily.
With these words they turned away and
walked off enjoying my perplexity and shame.
I remained transfixed to the spot. Numerous
incidents, trifles light as air, that had no
meaning to my ear once, now were pregnant
with damning infamy. I groaned aloud.
The peasant girl came near, and said kindly:
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[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]
“`You should not mind it, bonnie laird.”
“`What should I not mind?” I asked sternly.
“Have you heard this term before coupled
with my name?”
“`Oh, yes, laird, often; it is na' new, and
sae you should ne'er heed it.”
`I made no reply. I started upon a swift
flight homeward. I found myself in my
mother's chamber and at her feet. I briefly
and hastily told her what had passed, and
asked her what it meant. I thought I had
killed her, for as I have said, she was in feeble
health. She became as white as marble,
and appeared to be suffocating! I know well
that the shock my words gave her hastened
her end! at length she answered me, and told
me if I would sit by her she would tell me
all; and I listened to it all—all!
`I will not dwell upon emotions with which
I heard the story of her wrongs. I embraced
her again and again; kissed her tears
from her cheek and comforted her with words
of hope and peace. I told her that I would
go forth and challenge the world but I would
prove her innocence.'
“`It is too late for me, Robert,” she said,
sadly, “but for thyself, when I am dead, you
may go, and may Heaven smile upon you. I
know not for what sin I have been thus
chastened; but I trust I have borne it with
meekness and patience. Your confidence in
me has gladdened my spirit and I shall die
happier. One day my innocence will be
made manifest. In order that nothing may
be wanting when you establish your claim,
my son,” she added, “I have written a full
account of every thing that transpired from
my departure out of Scotland to the Court of
England, a happy bride, alas! to the seventh
year of your life. All letters and papers
bearing upon that period are folded up with it.”
`Having made this declaration, she daily
grew worse, but not too ill to converse a good
deal with me upon a subject, which, as you
may suppose, was constantly in my thoughts.
I commenced reading the manuscript history,
and passed a whole night as well as a day in
carefully going over it. I marked such por
tions as I wished to be more particularly informed
upon, and then afterwards consulted
my mother touching them. In this way I became
fully possessed with all the details and
facts; for as my mother lingered several
months, I was enabled to receive the fullest
information on every point.
`At length this hapless lady's end drew
nigh. She took a tender farewell of me, and
said, that she felt impressed with the conviction
that I should yet be the instrument of
establishing her innocence.'
`And yet many years have passed sicne
then,' said Griffitt; `but perhaps you have
succeeded in doing it?'
`Many years have passed but I have not
yet succeeded,' answered Red Beard with
emphasis, and emotion. `But the time I
believe is not far distant, when, if Providence
favors me, and those I put confidence
in fail me not, I may prove her dying words
prophetic. I know and feel that you will
lend me your aid in this thing, should I have
occasion to ask it.'
`My life if you ask it,' answered Griffitt
with warmth. `But if there is any hope of
this lady's innocence being established, what
a pity that she lives not to know it, and that
such time has elapsed.'
`We cannot control time nor direct events
as we would, Master Ringold. As my mother
died conscious of her purity, and firmly
convinced it would be one day established,
so far as she herself and her happiness were
concerned, it was the same whether the fact
were made known to her or not; for the good
look upon the life beyond as a part of this,
and if things trouble them and go ill with
them here, they feel that they will be regulated
there, and so in anticipation are happy.
So it was, at least with my sainted mother.'
`And have you recently heard any thing
which tends to develope any new facts bearing
upon the subject and which will be evidence
to the world of your mother's spotless
innocence?' asked Griffitt.
`You shall hear,' answered Red Beard, as he
walked to the door to see if all was still abroad.
-- --
CHAPTER X. THE WANDERER AND THE GREEK BRIDE.
[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]
The raftsman and his young friend had
been talking together in the cabin full three
hours, so interesting had been the subject of
Red Beard's communication, and still he
had not finished the story which he had
begun.
`Perhaps,' said he, `as he observed by the
moon's height, that it was near midnight;
`perhaps I had best defer the further recital
of my history, master Ringold, until to-morrow.
I must have wearied you.'
`By no means. I am deeply interested,
sir, and unless you wish to withhold further
communication for the present, I would rather
listen now.'
`Then I will proceed; for in truth I am
desirous that you should know all, and at
this time; for I shall want you to act for
me, when you have done lending me your
ears.'
`If it is within my power to serve you,
sir, I will do it,' answered Griffitt, repeating
as before his willingness to assist him in any
way which would not involve his honor.
`You have asked me a moment or two
since, whether any recent events have recalled
my attention to my mother's painful history.
You shall hear. After her death, I
was left alone, a youth of seventeen, with a
small estate, though large and rich for a Scotch
lord, who you are aware are poor men compared
with the opulent southern nobles; but what
they lack in wealth, they make up in hones
ty and intelligence. I was alone, as I have
said, my mother being the last of the family,
save some half score of my remote relations,
whom I had never seen. After I had gotten
over the sharpness of grief which afflicted
me at the loss of my mother, I set myself
resolutely about carrying out the great idea
of my soul and thought, the vindication of
her honor. I was, as I have said, young,
ignorant of the world, and without a friend,
save the old steward of the estate, who had
served both my father and grandfather, a
faithful sensible man, who was greatly attached
to me. He knew my mother's story of
wrongs, and believed her innocent, if for no
other reason, because, as he said I was too
much like “my lord,” not to be his honest
son.
`I now made him my confidant, and told
him he must get me as much ready money
together, as he could, for I intended to leave
home, putting the patrimony in his charge,
and going up to London for the purpose of
asserting my claim to my father's name, title
and estates, which step I felt was the only
proper one for me to take in order to bring
to light my mother's innocence; for the test
of the legality of my claim would involve all
the testimony bearing upon her honor.'
`It was a just course, especially as you
knew your mother to be guiltless,' said Griffitt.
`Every thing was in your favor.'
`It seemed to be so; but one cannot
-- 044 --
[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]
fore-see results. I reached London, and my first
act was to present myself before the Lord
Chancellor, informing him who I was, and
what my intentions were. He recieved me
at first with surprise, but afterwards became
more cordial; and asked me if I had certain
intelligence of Lord * * * * (my father's)
death. I replied that I had not, but
presumed that he was deceased.
“`This is not so certain, young man,” answered
his lordship. “Before you can take
any steps in this matter it is necessary for
you to establish first, proofs that Lord
* * * * is dead. Then you can, if
you see fit, present your claim, and if possible,
which I trust may be so, prove the integrity
and purity of your mother. But I
fear you will hardly be able to prove the latter
(you must pardon me,” he added, “but I
speak as a lawyer) if you do the former,
for public sentiment has pronounced her
guilty of the intrigue with the profligate
noble, whose son you are declared to be.
Still you resemble Lord * * * *,
strongly, and bear no likeness to the Earl of
* * * * * *, your reputed father.”
`I then,' proceeded Robert Burnside,
`I then explained to his lordship, how that
my mother believed herself to be the victim
of the base Earl's revenge. But the chancellor
shook his head and muttered something
about facts and my father's declared opinion
of her guilt.'
`Then you did not positively know, nor
had your mother known of the actual conspiracy
of the three women, in which they
engaged the base earl to take part, and be
their instrument?' asked Griffitt.
`Not then, nor till some years afterwards,
did I know all these facts; and then by the
confession of one of the women, the chief
traitoress.'
`On her death bed?'
`Yes. She confessed it, for she was a
Catholic, to a priest; who enclosed to me her
confession. But not of this now. I left the
presence of the chancellor not knowing
whether I should go, or what course to take.
A vague notion possessed my mind, that if I
could find the abode of the Earl of * *
* * * *, I might at the sword's
point bring him to a confession, which would
at once established my mother's purity and
my own claim to my father's rank and honors.
But I knew not where he was, or whether he
were alive, seventeen years having elapsed
since he was heard of.
`Then again I fancied that if I could find
my father, if he still lived, I could so convince
him of my mother's innocence, that
he would publicly acknowledge it by acknowledging
me as his son.
`But how should I proceed! What steps
should I take first. I was in a dilemma and
for two or three days could resolve upon
nothing. At length it occurred to me that
I would make inquiries at the palace after
the Earl of * * * * * *. I bent
my steps thither, and as I came in sight of
it, my heart throbbed as I thought of my
mother's and father's former abode there;
and how in it had transpired those painful
scenes which had produced so much unhappiness,
and which had rendered me a wanderer
with a name dishonored. It was some
moments before I summoned resolution
enough to my aid, to ask the captain of the
guard at the gate for permission to pass in.
“`Not without permission from the proper
authority,” he answered.
`I then asked him if he could tell me if
the Earl of * * * * * * were in
England.
“`I don't know such a nobleman,” he answered.
“`The Earl of * * * * * * did
you ask for young man?” demanded a gentleman
who was riding through the gate attended
by two servants in gorgeous liveries.
I replied in the affirmative, bowing with respect
to his grey hairs and noble appearance.
He regarded me an instant with a steady
look and then said,
“`That is a name and title that has not
-- 045 --
[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]
been mentioned here for some years; but
once it was well known at court. The Earl
of * * * * * *, has been for some
years a resident abroad, I think in the south
of Italy; for he so largely involved his estates
by his extravagance in his court-day
that he will have to live and die out of England.”
“`Can you inform me, sir?” I asked of
him with agitation, “what town in Italy he
resides in?”
“`No; but it is easy to ascertain at Rome,
where a book is kept of all the foreigners
who dwell in Italy.” He then rode on, leaving
me greatly excited. Providence seemed
to smile upon my filial enterprise in the outset.
'
`It was very surprising that your inquiry
should have been overheard and thus favorably
answered,' said Ringold.
`I took courage from the omen, and resolved
without delay to hasten to Italy. But
I determined I would make one effort more,
and that to ascertain if my father had been
heard from by any one; but after spending
two days making fruitless inquiries, not only
at the palace of every nobleman, but watching
every one I saw enter or go out, till I began
to attract the attention of every one, I
left London for Rome.
`But I will not dwell upon my wanderings.
Suffice it to say that not finding the Earl
* * * * * * in Italy, I resolved
to traverse Europe, visiting every town till
I found him, for in an European town an
Englishman is very easily found out. Weary
and long were my wanderings. I suffered
with sicknesses; I was captured by robbers;
I was twice imprisoned as a spy in
Austria; I was pressed into the Russian service;
I was made a prisoner by the Turk,
and for two years was a slave in Constantinople.
Effecting my escape by the aid of a
Greek, I lent them my service in their revolution,
and was severely wounded, whereby
I was an invalid for nearly a year. During
this time, I was nursed by the daughter of a
Greek general in whose house I lay, whose
aide I had been in battle, and whose life I
had twice saved. She was very beautiful,
her sympathy for the wounded stranger softened
into love, while also my gratitude grew
to love. When at length I recovered my
health, the maiden who had won my heart,
refused not my hand, and we were married.'
`Then you are married!' exclaimed Griffitt
with surprise, as he gazed upon the noble
features and manly form of the individual
who possessed such a varied and extraordinary
history.
`I was married, but death spares neither
the lovely nor the young,' answered Robert
Burnside, sadly. `After the revolution, and
the freedom of Greece, I felt that strong desire
towards my native land, that will possess
the wanderer's heart; and so I embarked for
England. I had been absent seven years
when I reached Scotland with my Greek
bride, and once more stood upon the thresh-old
of my maternal home. But the climate
of Scotland did not treat kindly the southern
flower, and after a year's abode in the cold
north, she departed to a happier world.'
`I sympathize deeply with you, sir,' said
Griffitt seeing his emotion.
`It is passed now. But she left me a
fair daughter, her mother's lovely image.
That sweet child bound me to my Scottish
home, or I should again have been a wanderer
seeking those with whom I felt my destinies
were linked.'
`You mean your father and the false Earl
of * * * * * *?'
`Yes. I had not forgotten them, though
my wife for the time rendered me comparatively
indifferent to the pursuit. But as my
fair young child grew up under my eye, and
I saw in her sweet countenance, the features
of my mother and my wife softly blent, I let
my heart go out to her with all its love and
affection. For her sake until her eighth
year I remained at home, forgetting the world
and all my cares; but at length as I watched
her beauty I was seized with the desire
-- 046 --
[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]
to obtain for her what I scarcely longer cared
for myself, the lordly name and rank of her
grandfather and my father. This idea haunted
me day by day until at length I resolved to
visit London once more. I was then thirty
years of age and my father in that time had
not been seen nor certainly heard from; and
I knew that the law would pronounce him
dead. I left my child under the charge of a
faithful governess, and both under the protection
of the trusty steward who still lived.
`Upon reaching London, I went as before
to the palace of the lord chancellor. There
was a new incumbent in office, from whom
I learned that the law had pronounced Lord
* * * * dead and the estate without
an heir had been taken for the present in
charge by the court of chancery till its final
disposition was made.
`I then made myself known to his lordship,
and told him of my determination to
assert my rights in behalf of my daughter.
His lordship was surprised, and I placed in
his hands the manuscript history my mother
had bequeathed to me with all the correspondence
relative to the subject. Two days afterwards
I called and he said that he had
carefully perused the evidence and he fully
believed in my mother's innocence. Still,
he added, there is no proof, and you will
not be able to prove your legal title. I,
however, peremptorily told him I had decided
to advance my claim, and should at once
take the necessary legal steps.
`Three days afterwards, besides taking
suitable counsel, I caused to be published in
the Gazette, a proclamation, calling on all
persons to show cause, if any, why I (naming
myself as Lord * * * *'s son)
should not rightfully take the name and title,
and enter upon the estates of Lord * *
* *, to which I laid, claim as sole and
rightful heir.
The captain of the woodsmen was about
proceeding with his narrative, when a loud,
shrill, and prolonged cry, not unmusical, announced
to the morning watch, that their
turn had come to stand guard. This call
proceeded from Ben, the pipe-smoker, and in
its peculiar note was not unlike the seaman's
watch-cry over the fore-castle.
`It is past twelve o'clock,' said Red Beard,
as the deep keyed voice died away in the
forest; `it is time you were upon your bed;
but I will not detain you much longer.'
`I care not if I am held here listening un
til dawn,' answered Griffitt. `I am becoming
deeply interested in your wonderful history.
I am desirous of learning the success
of your demand of your lawful right. Was
your proclamation responded to?'
`Two weeks after its publication, as I was
seated in my chamber, writing a little note
to my daughter, who though but eight years
old, could write prettily, when a Roman
priest was announced. I received him at
once in my room, and he placed in my hand
a paper, saying that he had been desired to
do this by one who had died three days
-- 047 --
[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]
before in a neighboring town. He then left
me without ceremony; and I opened the
parcel which was sealed. It was addressed,
under the cover to me as “Lord Robert, Earl
&c. of * * * *.”'
`Your proper designation.'
`Yes, and be assured I prepared to read a
missive so addressed, with no little impatience.
I first glanced at the signature, and
my heart bounded, when I recognized a
name that had been for years imprinted upon
my brain, with those of her three accomplices.
'
`The name of the chief lady—the countess
who conspired against your mother;'
asked Griffitt with interest.
`Yes. It was written tremblingly and
faintly, but I recognized it. The confession
itself was penned by another, and stronger
hand, doubtless that of the priest. You can,
perhaps, form some faint conception, Master
Griffitt, of the emotions with which I persued
a full confession of her part in the plot,
which I have already made known to you,
for ruining my mother's name and fame. It
was a full and unreserved confession, relating
each circumstance as it occurred. It
was a complete vindication of my mother,
bearing the highest testimony to her virtue,
and wound up with asking my forgiveness;
and praying that I and mine might yet enjoy
our rights. She stated that she had seen my
proclamation, which so smote her with remorse
at her guilt, that she had taken to her
bed, and now hastened ere she should be
called to her final account, to relieve her
mind by a full confession of her crime.'
`How extraordinary this was.'
`It was so indeed. I had to read the document
over half a dozen times, before I
could fully realize that it was real, and I then
hastened with it to the lord chancellor at
once, quite overlooking my counsel, whom I
feared might not move so rapidly as I could
wish. His lordship read it and said, “this
seems to be genuine, and it confirms me in
my opinion, that your mother, the Lady Al
ice was a much injured woman; but —”
“`But what, my lord?” I cried with a
sinking of the heart.
“`Since you were here there have been
found very remote collateral heirs to the
title and estates of Lord * * * * *,
who I learn have filed a bill yesterday against
your pretensions. They will be sure to pronounce
this a forgery, and especially as it
bears no witness's signature.”'
`And it was not witnessed!' exclaimed
Griffitt.
`No, no! I saw at once it would not
avail me, in law; though it was a most blessed
paper to my own satisfaction; for it unfolded
completely the whole mystery which
had enveloped the presence of the nobleman,
in my mother's apartment. All was made
clear as light to my mind, and I felt that I
would rather have lost my lordship and lands
forever, than not had that precious paper.'
`I can conceive the satisfaction it must
have given you.'
`It was so great that its uselessness towards
forwarding my views, made but little
impression upon me. Nevertheless, I resolved
to make use of it; and the event
proved the sagacity of his lordship. It was
pronounced to be a forgery; and as I could
not produce the priest who had received the
confession, I found that so far as evidence
towards advancing my claim, it was of no
sort of value; but as clearing up to my mind
all the mysteries connected with the attempt
to ruin my mother, it was of inestimable
value.
`Perceiving that my presence in London
was not longer necessary, I left the business
of my claim with my counsel, and returned
to Scotland. I had been three months absent,
and as four weeks had elapsed since I
had heard from my dear child, I felt not a
little anxiety as I approached my abode.
Upon reaching the summit of an eminence
which commanded a prospect of the little
glen in which my patrimony lay, I strained
my eyes to catch a glimpse of the root that
-- 048 --
[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]
held my treasure. But the sight that met
my eyes so amazed and filled me with dreadful
doubt, that I believed I had mistaken the
glen, rather than that which I beheld should
be real.'
`And what did you discover of so painful
a character?' asked Griffitt, as the narrator
paused, and crossed the cabin twice or thrice
with a quick, agitated tread, while tears
trembled in his manly eyes.
`A black, smoking ruin,' responded Red
Beard, hoarsely. `All that I beheld of my
once happy home, was a single wall towering
skyward alone, amid the ruins of the rest. I
spurred forward, pale and trembling, and
soon overtook one of my tenants. I rapidly
demanded of him where my child was—if
she were safe?
`He stared upon me with a look of woe,
and shaking his head said,
“`She is burned up, and the old stewart
and mistress, and all gone, my lord. It happened
two days ago.”
`I heard him, and frantic with the news,
rode madly forward, and reached the smoking
pile. All was desolation and horror. A
few peasants were assisting the servants in
searching the ruins for the body of my child.
The charred remains of the faithful governess
had been found, but those of my old
steward and my child, my poor child! were
not to be discovered, for the house which
was large had fallen in, covering the whole
space on which it stood, which was smoking
like a crater.
`The fatal news was repeated by each one,
till my ears ached, and my heart was nigh
bursting. I galloped round and round the
funeral pyre of my child, madly calling on
her name. But why should I dwell on this
painful theme. I saw my child no more.
An arm of the old man was found, the rest
of his body being doubtless burned to ashes.
After three weeks' assiduous search for something
that I might guess to be the ashes of
my child, I enclosed the whole in a wall, and
inscribed upon it my child's name, as follows:
“`The Tomb—
OF—
WINFRED.”'
`I do not know how to find words, sir, to
express my sympathy for you,' said Ringold,
as Red Beard paused and dashed a tear from
his cheek.
`Your sympathy is grateful to me But
let me hasten to the conclusion of my sad
tale. As you may suppose, the dreadful affliction
which had befallen me made me a
stricken man. I ceased to smile, and
shunned men; and the valley of my childhood,
and the home of my mother, where lay
the ashes of my child, became hateful to my
soul. I therefore resolved to leave it never
to return more, and once more became a
wanderer. I sold my land, and with the
small sum in gold, I left Scotland, and took
ship from an English port, I cared not whither,
so I left behind the scenes wherein I had
passed through so much woe. We had been
two days at sea before I asked whither the
vessel was bound, and then learned that it
was steering for the New World.'
`When was this, sir?' asked Ringold.
`Nine years ago.'
`Did you learn how — but I will not
allude again to the painful event!'
`Speak freely.'
`Was it told you how your castle was
burned?'
`Yes. It had taken fire in the night, and
the servants awaked by the flames, had barely
time to escape; while my child and the governess,
sleeping in a wing, were cut off from
escape, by the fire filling the hall, perished;
and the steward lost his life in trying to reach
them, to warn them and save them. The
ship in which I crossed the Atlantic put into
Baltimore. I there landed a stranger, and a
broken-hearted man. All my fortune consisted
of a small bag of gold, less than three
hundred pounds.'
`Pardon me,' said Griffitt, `but had you
given up all hopes touching your claim in
England?'
-- 049 --
[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]
`All. I had left with my counsel a certain
amount of fee-money; but before I left
Scotland they wrote me that they had taken
certain preliminary steps, and had hopes of
effecting a diversion in my favor; but they
could not proceed farther without more money.
As my child was no more, and I had
but little gold left, I felt no disposition to
pursue the matter further, and wrote to them
that unless they were willing to run some
risks, and act without means, they had best
drop it.'
`And doubtless they did so.'
`Yes, of that I subsequently heard. Upon
my arrival in Baltimore I assumed a name,
which still I bear.'
`Then Robert Burnside is not your real
name!' said Griffitt with surprise.
`The christian name only is mine; the
rest belongs to my mother's family. For
several weeks I remained in Baltimore at an
Inn, melancholy and desponding. I had no
purpose in view to inspire me to exertion,
nothing to render life worth the purchase by
labor. But I felt at length that my gold
would not last forever, and that I must, if I
would live, invest it in some manner. By
accident, I heard that wild lands were to be
sold in a valley of the Susquehannah. I had
heard the name of the river before to remember
it, having in one of my rambles on the
wharves, encountered three or four men who
taking me for a purchaser, accosted me, saying
they had a raft of mast timber from the
Susquehannah. One of these men was Derick,
my head raftsman now. I was struck
with the hardy, independent bearing of these
men, and became interested in them, and
put many inquiries to them touching their
country, and mode of life. I saw it was an
adventurous one, and as my life had been
one of adventures, I resolved, if I were driven
to my last crown, that I would attach myself
to the party of these men. So when a few
days afterwards I heard of the sale of forest
lands at a bargain, I resolved to become a
purchaser, so far as my means would allow.
You know the rest. I bought the one hundred
acres where I now live in the valley,
built a cabin there, and devoted myself to an
agricultural and woodland life, forgetting, or
rather trying to forget that I had not been
born a peasant.'
`While you have been relating your past
history,' said Griffitt, `I have been wondering
not a little how you chanced to be an inhabitant
of our valley; but I see it now very
plainly. But a man of your experience and
character, could not be suffered to remain in
retirement, among an active people like
ours.'
`No, and I had not been a dweller on my
new purchase long, before the proprietors of
these forest lands proposed to me,as you know,
to take the camp and oversee their gangs.
I found I wanted excitement and action, and
at once accepted the office, and become both
raftsman and woodman.
`Few men suspect that the bold and skilful
raftsman “Red Beard,” (pardon the appellation,
sir) is a high-born British noble.
You have deeply interested me, sir. I always
was well convinced that you were superior
to your condition; and there has always
existed a sort of mystery about you,
which no body could solve. Many looked
upon you to be more than you seemed, while
others said that a man who could shoot a
raft of a thousand logs so skilfully over the
falls, was never more nor less than a woodsman
all his days.'
`Yet I do not know why there should have
been any mystery about me. You alone, of
all men, have known the particulars of my
history.'
`It is because they did know it, you were
a mystery to us inquisitive Americans,' said
Griffitt with a smile.
-- --
CHAPTER XII. THE SLEIGH.
[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]
The captain of the raftsmen having
brought his narrative up to the point which
explained how he come to be a dweller upon
the banks of the Susquehannah, now drew
nearer Griffitt, for hitherto he had been pacing
up and down the cabin as he talked, and
said,
`The use which I wish to make of my
story, young master Griffitt, with reference
to your aid, you shall now know. I have
been somewhat longer in relating my history
than I intended, but once commenced,
and seeing that you were pleased to be interested,
I was led into details. In a word
I have wished that you might perfectly understand
the post in all particulars, in order
that you may proceed in what you are to undertake
with understanding and without embarrassment;
for you will see that I have
fixed upon you to further my views in reference
to the earldom.'
`To the earldom!' repeated Ringold with
surprise. `I thought—at least I supposed
that you had given it all up; but I rejoice to
find that you have not!'
`I had given it up and for some years I
have not let it enter my thoughts that I was
rightly heir to one of the noblest titles that
grace the British peerage. I had lost my
mother and then my wife, and then last of
all my dearly beloved child, and as for these
alone I would have regained my honors, so
when they perished all my desire for them
died also. But circumstances within the
last fortnight that have revived all the past
and re-awakened my desire to make a final
effort to assert and possess myself of my
rights. I am advancing in life and have had
too much experience of the folly and vanity
of all things in this life to care for it merely
that I may take rank among men. But I
wish to defeat the claims of the unjust, remote
relatives who pronounced my papers
forgeries, and for the sake, though late, of
establishing for the honor of her memory my
mother's innocence.'
`And have you any hope of this?' asked
Griffitt with animation, his firm face glowing
with joyful surprise.
`Yes,' answered Red Beard in an impressive
manner. `Yes, I have. You shall hear
all!' and he sat himself down upon the chest
by the side of the young artist and said in a
low and almost stern tone,
`Two weeks ago yesterday, I was standing
upon the bank not far from this cabin
overlooking the men who were chaining together
two trees in order to drag them to the
river side, when I heard in the distance the
faint music of sleigh-bells. I looked in the
direction and saw advancing at a fast trot on
the river from the south a swan-shaped sleigh
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[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]
drawn by a pair of fleet greys. As the equipage
swiftly approached the camp across the
polished ice I could see, amid the gaily fringed
lynx and buffalo robes, that it contained
two men in fur caps. As they came near
the camp I advanced to receive them, supposing
to be some of the land proprietors, as
Mr. Bixby had written me that possibly I
might see them during the winter. The one
who drove stepped out as he drew up by the
path leading to my cabin and said, somewhat
authoritively,
“`Is Captain Burnside, or Red Beard as he
is called, about the camp?”'
“`I am the person,” I replied in a quiet
tone, and asked them both to alight and share
the poor hospitality of my camp. A servant
who rode behind took charge of their horses
and they followed me into the cabin and seated
themselves by the fire, which I had heaped
with wood for the day was sharp.
`As they unrobed themselves of their outer
garments I closely observed them to see if I
had ever known them. One of them was a
man of about forty years of age, short, but
well built, with a keen eye, an active look,
and altogether the appearance of a bustling
speculator. It was he who had driven the
sleigh. His companion was a man who was
not under sixty, and might have been six or
seven years older, though he was well kept
and hale, with florid cheeks and a full, bright
eye, though his head was as white as the
snow that whitened the branches of the trees
about us. He was tall and erect with the air
and appearance of a polished gentleman,
whose associations had been with the best
society. The expression of his face was
grave and unquiet, and betrayed a spirit ill
at ease with the bosom in which it dwelt.—
His companion, however, seemed all superfices,
without a thought beyond dollars and
land, of which, he at once commenced talking,
asking me numerous questions relating
to recent purchases made in the vicinity, and
then coming to the more particular inquiry
of the location and character of the tract on
which the gang No. 3 have been chopping,
twenty miles above this!'
`Is it for sale by the company?' asked
Griffitt.
`I did not know so until this speculator,
for such he proved to be, told me so.
I gave him all the information he desired for
which he seemed to be very thankful to me,
became more civil and condescended to invite
me to ride with him up to the tract.—
But this I declined doing, having my own duties
to bind me here. While he talked, the
tall stranger with the white head sat silently
watching him and listening; but once or
twice I perceived that he started when I
spoke, while at length I perceived his eyes
rivetted on me with an earnest, examining
look, which led me to suspect that he had
seen me, perhaps in England or otherwheres;
and I was confirmed in this belief when the
speculator said, after he had put all the questions
to me he wished, that his companion
was an English gentleman who had some idea
of purchasing the domain of forest lands I
had been describing.'
`A noble domain,' said Griffitt. `It must
embrace at least six square leagues.'
`It is ten miles square, and one of the
richest portions of the valley,' answered Red
Beard. `At length having taken dinner with
me and thanked me for my courtesy they
took leave, but not without desiring me to
send one of my men with them as a guide. I
let them have Derick who, knew the place
better than any other man; and they got into
their sleigh and were about starting off,
when as I bade them good day, I caught the
eye of the tall man, bent upon me with a singular
expression of painful inquiry and alarm
as if I had in some way awakend both fear
and wonder in his bosom.
“`That old foreign looking man has seen you
before,” said Whitlock, as they dashed away,
leaving us standing together. “Did you see
how he looked at you?”
“`Yes,” was my reply, as I slowly walked
away, wondering where he had met me, for I,
-- 052 --
[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]
on my part, have no recollection of ever having
seen his features.'
`You have been so great a wanderer that
doubtless he has met you, and surprised to
see a familiar face in the wilderness, he
stared at you, trying to locate you in the
memory of the past.'
`No: he never saw me before,' answered
Robert Burnside, with marked emphasis.—
`You will perhaps smile at what I am about
to relate, and pity my superstition; but I
have had reason more than once in my life
to put faith in dreams. The very night on
which my home was burned and my child
perished, I dreamed that I saw her being
carried off, as it seemed to me, by some persons
on horseback, and shrieking to me for
help and rescue. I was awoke by her shrieks.
`This was extraordinary, though the dream
was not exactly like the reality.'
`Well, the inquiring looks of the stranger
in the sleigh so haunted me, while I tried
to recollect the place where we might have
met, that I lay in bed that night restlessly,
thinking about him. I fell asleep at length,
and in a dream I saw my mother, once more
relating to me the incidents which had transpired
in the palace so fatally involving her
honor; and when she came to that part
where the nobleman stealing into her chamber,
laid his head upon her pillow, my imagination
created a form or face for him, (for
we cannot think of any thing sleeping or waking,
unless we give it some kind of shape
and air,) and the form and face represented
to me in my dream, was the form and face of
the tall white-haired Englishman, who had
been in my lodge.'
`It is very strange. Yet this man being
old and the false nobleman young—'
`Age had only matured not changed the
features and expression of the eye of the
youthful noble, whose face appeared in my
dream. It was the same man—hoary with
forty or more winters. I recognized the
likeness in my dream, at a glance, and was
so moved by it that I sprang from my bed,
crying, aloud—“It is he! I have found him
at last!”'
`It will surpass all that I have ever heard,
should he prove to be the same!' said Griffitt.
`I have not a doubt. I cannot be deceived.
I have at this moment,' and he held up
the palms of both hands, `the two faces, the
old and the young, both as plain before me
as my two hands and can compare them, one
with the other, as two miniatures, tracing in
each the lineaments in the other. Master
Ringold,' he added, warmly, `the eloquence
of an angel could not convince me that I
have not seen and talked with, in this very
man, the base noble, to whom so many near
and dear to me owe their ruin. God, sir,
hath given him into my hand.'
Griffitt regarded him for a moment with
awe, as he beheld the almost sublime expression
of his countenance, sublime in the majesty
of angry justice. There was a brief
silence, during which Griffitt regarded him
with emotions of the most lively interest.
Suddenly, Red Beard turned towards him
and said, calmly yet impressively:
`You may believe me a very fool, Master
Ringold, to give heed to a dream. But
dreams like that I have related to thee, are
not sent to a man to mock him. As true as
I stand here, I have discovered the destroyer
of my name and honor.'
`I believe with you!' cried Griffitt.
`Do you?' exclaimed Red Beard grasping
him by the hand. `Then am I strong again.
I know I shall have your co-operation.'
`You shall have it? Where is the man?'
`They returned down the river road, the
day before yesterday, but I knew it not till
too late; for the day after my dream I followed
up the stream after them; but I could
not find them; as when they had visited the
tract, they continued on as far as Wilker-bome,
and so on to another tract beyond, and
foiled me. But I knew they would return
this way, and waited for them; but they pas
sed down in the night.'
`Who saw them?'
-- 053 --
[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]
`No one; nor even heard their bells; but
I saw the marks of the steel-shod runners
upon the snow, and the foot prints of their
horses.'
`This was night before last?'
`Yes, while I was at the upper camp, lying
in wait for them. As soon as I found they
had gone down again, I hastened hither, only
delaying long enough to give such orders
to my men as were necessary; for though I
shall track this man's path like a blood-hound,
master Griffitt, I shall not forget the duty
I owe to those whose confidence has placed
me in charge of their work here. Your arrival
here to-night has been most opportune,
both as enabling me to pay off the men for
their winter's chopping before rafting their
timber. It will render a change in the overseership
less objectionable just now.'
`Then do you mean to resign at once?'
`At once; I am going to leave early in the
morning as soon as I have paid the men, and
place Derick in charge, in pursuit of this nobleman.
On my way, I shall call on Bixby
the agent, and bid him send some other one
in my place. I have now but one motive,
one object, one idea. But I shall need some
one to aid me, if subtlety or concealment
should be necessary in order to effect my
views. From what Derick told me, for you
will remember I sent him with them as a
guide, they have gone down to Baltimore,
or near there; forhe overheard the speculators
talk about their returning to that place. But
Bixby will be able to tell me where they are.
But lest if this nobleman seeing me so soon
after him, should suspect and avoid me, I
want your aid.'
`I offer you all the assistance in my power,'
answered Griffitt.
`I know that you may be trusted. I will
see that you suffer not from the time you bestow
upon my affairs, for I have gold.'
`I will take no gold, sir; what I do, I do
for your sake and that of the innocent Lady
Alice. What will be your first step?'
`To meet this man face to face. But then
I must do it cautiously. If I am too hasty,
he may deny his being the Earl of * *
* *. If he sees me he may be put on his
guard at once; for do you know that I believe
it was the blended resemblance of my
father and mother in my features, and in my
voice, which caused him to regard me with
such perplexity and earnestness mixed with,
undefined alarm. He saw in me, features
that irresistibly recalled his guilt, without
knowing wherefore, and so he trembled as
he met my eye.'
`I begin to have the firmest faith in his
identity. You have accounted for his conduct.
There is no doubt that he is the man
who has been the evil destiny of your house.
Let me know what step first to take, and I
will at once put myself upon the path.'
`By nine in the morning, I shall be ready
to take a boat and descend the river with you
as my companion. As we progress on our
way, we will bring our plan to a head. Now
you had better retire and get some sleep; I
will also try to obtain rest, for my mind is
easier and freer since I have unfolded all its
burden to you,'
-- --
CHAPTER XIII. THE ICE BARRIER.
[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]
About nine o'clock the ensuing morning,
Red Beard and Griffitt, embarked together in
a large freighting barge that belonged to the
camp, the flyer being attached to the stern.
The morning was bright, and the air clear
and bracing. The ice was still freely running,
but there were many open spaces in
the river in which the boat could be steered
without much peril. There was a mast to
the boat, and sail, but as there was no wind,
it lay in the bottom of the barge.
Several of the men came round them as
they shoved off, to see them depart, and Whitlock
urged the captain very hard to suffer
him to accompany his friend Ringold, and
at length, at the last moment, was told to detatch
the flyer and embark and pull after them.
All the forenoon they floated down the river,
now rowing where the water was open
and free from ice, and now skillfully steering
between the huge fragments that they would
pass. At a little passed noon, after having
been wafted down for four hours between majestic
forest coverd banks, without seeing a
habitation or any signs of civilization, starting
the deer and the wolf as they shot past
their leafy haunts, they came in sight of a
log cabin. It stood upon a cleared spot on a
green knoll, and was overshadowed by sycamore
trees. Here they stopped, and fastening
their boats, went up to the house, at
the door of which, a tall, rough-looking man
met them, extending his hand to Red Beard.
`So captain, you take the first break to
come down, I see,' he said in a frank hearty
voice. `I am glad to see you looking
so well and stout, and you master Griffitt, and
Ned! Glad to shake hands with you both,
walk in, and I'll have something to eat for
you, and give you a dram of genuine 'gahely.
It never was no nearer water than it is now,
and it is strong enough, if there was only
enough, to bear an Indian. Come in gentlemen,
what is the news up? and how has chopping
been?'
`We can stop only for a few moments,'
answered Red Beard as he entered the hut.
`We will drink your health all round, Gibb's,
and then to boat. We have meat and bread
in our locker.'
`Well, you know your own business best,
and whether you can spare time to talk with
an old woodsman. I don't see much company
this way, except tis you and your men going
and coming; but I did have two men
with me yesterday morning, that took breakfast
with me, such as I had, whiskey and
shoat, with a cold cut from a bear's fore shoulder.
'
`Who were they?' demanded Red Beard
quickly. `The very two men I dare say
that I have stopped here to question you
about. Were they in a sleigh with a team
of greys.'
-- 055 --
[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]
`The same. One on 'em was a short
lively man full of talk and bustle, and could
not keep still a minute; and the other an oldish
gentleman with hair as white as a rabbit's
in January.'
`The very men! How long did they remain
with you?' asked Red Beard with
visible agitation.
`Why you seem to know 'em. They
wan't rogues nor nothing.' said the woodsman,
regarding him with surprise.
`No, no! One was a speculator the other
a purchaser. When did they leave you?'
`They staid about one hour and a half,
and then started again on the river, though
I told them that it was a little ticklish so late
in the season to trust the ice, and advised
'em to strike for the land as soon as they
came to the bull ferry.'
`And did they say they would?'
`Yes, the little man said he knew where
the road struck from the river into the valley,
and hoped he should reach it safely.'
`What did they talk about?' asked
Red Beard who was deeply interested to
know all that could be gained, touching the
men of whom he was in pursuit.
`Wall, about land, the white head had
bought up to the forks o' the river and about,
about getting back to Baltimore; and I
heard 'em say when they got to Havre de
Grace at the mouth, they'd find a vessel to
take 'em down the bay.'
`To the city?'
`That I didn't hear,' answered the woodsman;
`but you seem to question right
short about 'em. If they've been to any
mischief, cheatin' or sich like, I am sorry I
did not know of it, so I might have stopped
'em.'
`No, I have only a desire to see them,
and if possible, overtake them before they
reached Baltimore. Come, master Ringold, it
is time we were a' boat.'
Once more embarked, they floated down
upon the surface of the wild stream, until near
the close of day, when, as the boat round
ed a rugged point closely followed by the flyer
they came in sight of the blue range of
hills, far distant to the south, in the bosom
of which reposed the valley of Griffitt's nativity,
and the abode of the little party in
the boats.
`It will be midnight before we reach home,'
said Whitlock, `for the hills are full twenty
miles south of us, and the river has so many
crooked windings through the gorges bofore
it comes out into the valley, it will be a long
drift to reach it.
`With the current running as it does, and
with no ice to obstruct us at the Devil's Gap,
we shall get to the Hamlet Ferry Rock by
two in the morning,' remarked Griffitt.
`I am afraid we shall find the ice blocked
in the gap,' said Red Beard. `It has gone
down in such large fields it will be sure to
jam in that narrow gorge. I am in no mood
to bear such a dely as this will cause.'
`We can leave the boats, and strike across
the mountain, and by morning descend into
the valley,' said Ringold,
`That may be done. But let us hope for
the best.'
`If we foot it across the hills,' said Whitlock,
whose light bark was gliding along
abreast of the larger boat, and both borne
swiftly on the current, past dark woods and
frowning rocks, `if we foot it across the hills
we shall have a chance of seeing the hermit
of blue mountain; for the way we shall have
to take will pass near his cave.'
`I shall heed little of hermits, Master Whitlock,
' answered Red Beard, in a quick tone,
as if he could reprove him for thinking about
gratifying curiosity at such a time.
Night at length fell over the scene, and the
boats shot through the darkness, guided by
the skilful hand and eye of Griffitt; though
the dark shores were scarcely discernable from
the black waters that flowed past them. For
three or four hours they continued to be
borne onward in perilous companionship, with
the cakes of ice thickly swimming around
them. The hills grew nigher, and rose darker
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[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]
and loftier into the sky, and they knew they
were approaching the gorge or Devil's Gap.
`In a few minutes we shall know whether
the river is open through,' said Red Beard,
in a voice that betrayed his anxiety. `Listen!
Is that not the roar and crash of ice
piling on ice?'
`Yes,' answered both the young men instantly.
`The ice has stopped below us without
doubt!'
They continued to drive on! Louder and
wilder came the sounds of the grinding masses
as they came in contact with the vast barrier
which had blocked up the passage of the
river. In a few minutes they found themselves
borne among the heaving masses, lifted
up on a huge block, and launched quite
out of water upon the solid field that spanned
the river from cliff to cliff.
`It is as I feared,' said Red Beard, in a
tone of disappointment, as he sprang from
the boat. Let us leave the boats and make
for the shore, and try to find the path over
the mountain. It is but eight miles to the
valley.'
`I know the path well, sir,' said Ringold,
having frequently been over the mountain,
hunting.
`Then we will at once start. No doubt
the jam is a mile or two thick. The boats
will come down with ice, and some one must
be on the lookout for them as they pass.
Forward!'
Having collected together a few articles
of value and use, Griffitt closely followed after
Red Beard who did not wait to take any
thing save an oar to aid him in crossing open
places in the ice, and in ascending the steep
side of the mountain. Whitlock followed,
drawing the flyer after him.
The night was dark, but not so unillumined
that the black mass of the mountains on
either shore were not visible, almost meeting
in the sky, so closely at the gorge did they
approach each other. The mountain which
they contemplated crossing was a vast niche
dense with forest, and towering at its highest
point full eleven hundred feet. Beyond it,
at its southern base, lay the beautiful valley
we have heretofore particularily described.
There was no path along the river, as the
cliffs were perpendicular; and had there
been, the windings of the river were so great
that twenty miles travel would hardly have
brought them to the valley, if they had followed
its meanderings. As, therefore, the
ice barred further progress by boat, it was
necessary that they should take the way
over the hills. There was no proper path,
other than old Indian trails, and the beaten
foot-ways made by deer as they descended
from the hill sides, to drink and bathe in the
river.
It was with some peril the banks of the
river was gained in the darkness, and over
the unsteady ice; but they at length stood upon
the firm land. Whitlock, whose friendship
for Griffitt, led him to drag his flyer to the
shore in order to ensure its safety, now called
upon him to assist him in lifting it into a
tree where they securely bound it to a strong
branch far above any possible rise of the
flooded river.
`At least this is safe, and though the barge
goes,' said Whitlock. `I would rather have
had a passage all the way by water, but travellers
mustn't be choosers. What can be the
captain's hurry, that he wont stop for anything.
There he is a hundred yards on his
way already crackling the underbrush beneath
his feet like an enraged bear. Something
uncommon is in the wind. What have
the two men been at?'
`You must ask me no questions, Ned,'
answered Griffitt, to whom he addressed himself.
`It is some private affair of his own
I believe.'
`You believe. You know all about it;
or why have you made me keep my boat a
gun-shot astern so often to day, while you
have had your heads together. But it is none
of my matter, Ringold. Only if there is
danger and you are like to be in it, I want
to be by your side. I saw something was in
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[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]
the wind when you started which made me
so urgent to go with you. It is nothing to
me if the captain don't want to let me into
the secret; only, if there is fighting to be
done he must just let Ned Whitlock have a
hand in it. Promise me that, Ringold.'
`I promise it, Ned,' answered his friend
as he walked by his side and endeavored to
come up with Red Beard, whom they could
hear marching ahead of them, making his
way as Whitlock had said `like a wild beast
through the dark woods.'
`He is going wrong,' said Ned, `he should
strike more up the mountain to the left.'
`Yes, halloo, Captain Burnside,' shouted
Griffitt, and hastening on as he called to him.
`Well, ho, then,' answered Red Beard as
if annoyed by being delayed.
`The path lies more to the left. If you
will let me, I will be guide.'
`Very well, go in advance. Do not, I beg
of you, delay me master Griffitt, nor loose
me the way, for you know what is upon my
mind demanding all haste.'
`I know it well, sir,' answered Griffitt, as
he took his place in advance, and at once
turning to the left and he commenced mounting
the precipitous side.
`I wish I knew it as well,' muttered Ned
Whitlock, as he took his place in the rear of
Red Beard; and the three thus moving in
Indian file pressed rapidly onward; now ascending
the shelvy sides of a pine covered
cliff, now crossing a soft moss covered pla
teau, and then entering a thick wood which
was passed only to mount some high ragged
rock at which it terminated. Steadily in
this manner with the quick hardy step of
trained woodsmen, and with a skill and patience
only to be found in foresters, they
achieved their way, and after three hours' toil
they reached the level of the summit of the
Blue Mountain. As they gained its top they
discovered that dawn was breaking in the
east, where was visible a faint, grey light, if
it were not too faint to be termed light.'
`We had best rest here for an hour, my
friend,' said Red Beard. `It has been a fatiguing
climb for you; and we must sleep
at some time if we would act with energy.—
When the sun rises we will move again, and
it being all descent, and as we shall have
daylight to do it by we shall not be long in
reaching the valley, which but for the darkness
we could now see lying at our feet.'
But Griffitt and Whitlock heard the proposition
to lie down and rest with unfeigned
pleasure. Their ascent up the mountain had
been attended with great toil and fatigue,
and neither of them had got much sleep the
night previous, one having been the camp
watch, while the other had past the night
in listening to the strange history of Red
Beard.
The place where they paused was under a
group of firs with thick moss beneath, on
which they cast themselves with wearied
limbs.
-- --
CHAPTER XIV. THE RECLUSE OF THE ROCK.
[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]
The three foresters had thrown themselves
down to sleep, close to a path which led obliquely
across the summit, towards a romantic
pile of rocks, that seemed to have fallen
upon the top of the ridge, or else heaved
above its surface by some subterranean force.
There was one in particular, which rose to
the height of eighty feet above the summit
level, and being visible for miles around, was
called from its appearance, `the Beacon'
This singular elevation was about a hundred
yards broad at its base, was darkened here
and there with pines that grew out of its
crevices, and upon its summit was a clump
of birch trees. About the base of the Beacon
grew a forest of fir trees, intermingled
with huge boulders, or loose fragments of
rock, some of them many tons in weight.
They lay about in the wildest confusion,
some standing upon a sharp corner, and only
prevented from falling by the support of another
that inclined against it: while one of
them could be moved with the hand, it was
so nicely balanced. The manner in which
these rocks were thrown together, formed
numerous crevices or caverns, of considerable
size, which from time immemorial, had
been the well known haunt of the wolf and
the bear, the wild cat and American lynx.
There was one cave in particular, formed by
the falling of a large flat rock, against the
perpendicular wall of `the Beacon,' against
which it inclined like a roof, completely enclosing
a habitation within, full twenty feet
square. Its entrance was protected by larch
and other trees, which grew before it, and
nearly overshadowed it.
The day was just breaking, a few minutes
after Red Beard and his companions had
laid down upon the moss-beds beneath the
fir trees, to get an hour's sleep, after their
fatiguing climb up the mountain, when the
ever-green boughs of a stout larch, which
grew at the entrance of the natural cavern,
we have described, were put aside by a human
hand from within. The next moment,
an old and venerable, but haggered looking
man stepped forth, and looked carefully about
him, with a restless scorching gaze.
His age was not less than seventy. His
form was bent with years, and perhaps more
with grief and care, for the lines of suffering
were graven deep and strong in the stern liniaments
of his countenance. The fore part
of his head, which was finely shaped, was
bald, but from the back part flowed down
upon his shoulders, a mass of silvery locks,
wild and uncared for. A heard of shining
grey descended as low as his breast. His
eye was dark and rigidly embedded beneath
a brow which suspicion and fear, as well as
grief had contracted. He had been a man
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of noble stature, tall and no doubt in his
youth handsome; but as we have said, although
his eye had lost none of its fire, he
bent down as he stood, and looked like a
man who had in his life warred with misery,
and been overthrown and conquered. No
one could gaze upon him without sympathy,
without pity and respect.
He was clad in a very old and much worn
cloak of brown cloth, which doubtless had
once been black, and perhaps a garment that
had wrapped his form in better days. It
was fastened at his waist by a thong of leather,
and seemed scarcely sufficient protection
from the cold mountain air of the morning.
His feet were bare, and thrust into a pair of
old Indian moccasins; while his head was
covered by an ancient looking beaver hat, the
flaps about his face, evidently the remains of
what had once been a courtly chapeau. He
leaned upon a staff, which was the branch of
a tree, with the bark still upon it, and one of
its extremities being fire-hardened, and
sharpened like a spear, he probably used as
well to protect himself against wild beasts,
as to support his noble yet bent form.
`I certainly heard human voices!' he said
as he stood in a listening attitude, a step
or two in advance of the entrance, while his
eagle eye, which was habitually almost wild,
and fierce in its expression, glanced piercingly
around. `They were not sounds of
the brutes that prowl about at night, and
men would hardly be here at this hour. Yet
I could not be mistaken. Already my retreat
has been thrice invaded by the hunter,
and I shall have to escape from the world
itself, to escape from man. I will see if any
one has passed near.'
He walked onward until he came to an
open space, where no trees grew, and upon
which the snow lay three or four inches in
depth He had scarcely glanced his eyes
upon the white carpet of the mountain top,
when he started at beholding the tracks of
feet across it, leading in the direction of the
larch wood, twenty yards beyond.
`It is as I suspected. Men have been
here. Is not the world wide enough below,
that they should intrude upon the mountain
tops, where the miserable fly to get nearer
heaven. There is more than one man!' he
added as he advanced and examined the
tracks. `Three men have passed here, and
the shape of the prints shows me that they
are dwellers in towns—not Indians. I will
follow, and see if they have continued on
down the mountain, as I trust they have.'
Thus he murmured with himself, as he
again closely examined, by the grey light of
dawn, the imprints of the feet of the intruders
upon his solitude, and slowly pursued
their course. He had no sooner entered the
copse of larch trees, than he beheld on the
soft moss, which the matted ever-green foliage
guarded from the snow, the forms of
the three men.
He saw that they were asleep, or seemed
to be so, for in truth Griffitt was awake, for
his mind after he lay down, was too busily
dwelling upon the singular history of Red
Beard, to enable him to sleep. He had
therefore seen the hermit, as he entered the
copse, and at once supposing him to be the
recluse of whom he, as well as all dwellers in
the valley had heard, he lay quietly observing
him, and not a little awed by the commingling
of the venerable, with the wild in his
air and appearance.
For two or three moments, the recluse
stood gazing upon them, leaning upon his
staff. The looks of stern surprise with which
he made the discovery of their presence,
were slowly changed into one of curiosity
and observation.
`They are men, and therefore I should
hate them. But let them sleep on in peace.
It will be but to wake by and by again, to
the toils, sins, treacheries, and woes of the
world. Life is but a battle, and a sleep at
the best. They look like the raftsmen of the
river; woodsmen doubtless, returning from
their winter's camp. There is one youthful,
and noble looking enough to be of better
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degree. How quietly he reposes, heedless of
ambition, of love, of rival or of friend. The
next one lays carelessly, and sleeps as if he
dreamed not. The third is of more age;
and a man who has seen hardships, for his
brow is rugged, and his face marked with
strong lines. His red beard looks as if it
had not seen the razor for years. Let me
look closer at that face!' added the hermit
quickly, as a light like that of recognition,
sparkled in his eye, and he drew silently,
yet eagerly nigher. He bent down, and for
a moment steadily regarded the features of
Red Beard, who slept unconscious. Griffitt
regarded him from his half-shut eyes, and
saw him turn his head now this way, and
now that, with the earnest manner of one
trying to make out a likeness.
`He has doubtless seen Red Beard before,
and knows the far-famed raftsman of the
Susquehannah,' said Griffitt. `But who can
he be? He has an extraordinary appearance.
It is plain that he is the hermit of the Blue
Mountain, who has dwelt here so many
years, even from my boy-hood; but he has
not always been a hermit certainly. He
must at some former period have lived in the
world among men. Doubtless he has either
been a great criminal, or a great sufferer by
others crimes, that he thus flies from civilization,
and the haunts of men, to bury himself
in this mountain solitude. But see! He
gazes upon Red Beard with intense scrutiny.
Perhaps he has seen him in the valley;
though I do not know that the hermit was
ever in the valley. No one has seen him
off the mountain, and but few here. They
say he lives upon herbs, and cultivates a
garden.'
While Griffitt was thus communing with
himself upon the hermit's appearance and
conduct, the latter after having attentively regarded
the face of Robert Burnside, in every
possible light, slowly shook his venerable
head, and sighed heavily.
`If I were forty years younger!' he murmured;
`but it is a delusion. Yet so he
looked then! Wonderful that I should see
those features on another man!'
At this moment Burnside opened his eyes,
as sleeping persons will do, when long and
steadily regarded, and looked up in the face
of the hermit with surprise, at seeing such a
figure bending over him. Instantly he
sprung to his feet, and regarding him fixedly,
he said not without involuntary respect,
`Art thou not the hermit men speak of?'
Instead of replying, the old recluse bent
his eyes more intensely and eagerly than
ever, upon his countenance, and seemed to
be trembling with strange emotion. He put
back his white hair from his forehead, and
seemed to be reading the very soul of the
raftsman; who uncovering his head stood
reverently before him; while Griffitt rising
to his feet unobserved, stood silently, and
gazed upon the pair with strange and almost
overwhelming thoughts, passing like lightning
through his mind, for he saw the form,
height, and features of the hermit repeated,
with only the difference age would naturally
make, in those of the raftsman. Almost
trembling with expectation, he gazed from
one to the other, and waited the result of the
hermit's keen and painful scrutiny, of the
lineaments of Red Beard's face.
`Why dost thou not speak, father! Hast thou seen me before, that you watch me so
closely?'
The hermit passed his hand twice or thrice
across his stately, but care-worn forehead, as
if recalling some recollection.
`No, no! I cannot have seen thee before.
Thou art too young—too young!
Yet it is strange! Wilt thou tell me who
thou art?'
`A poor raftsman, father. I and my companions
you see here, are on our way from
the head of the river to the valley. The ice
obstructed our passage by boat, and we have
taken to the mountain. I am glad to have
seen you, for I have heard men talk of you;
for I doubt not you are the recluse of the
beacon rock.'
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`The voice too! The air and looks, and
voice the same!' murmured the old man as if
he were thinking of something besides the
words that fell on his ear; as if the tone of
the voice revived another day.
`What is it you see in me that causes your
surprise, father?' asked Red Beard, who
could not but take notice of his extraordinary
manner.
`I don't know: I cannot tell you: It is my
poor delusion. Yet I think I see in you a
man whom I stood face to face forty two
years ago, and asked him for his daughter.
But he would have been ninety now! No,
no! It is only a mocking likeness sent by
the tempter, to recall the past in my soul,
that he makes me mad, and gnash my teeth,
and cut myself with the sharp rocks. But I
will forget it.'
`Griffitt, what means this?' asked Red
Beard of the young man. `His words give
me pain, and there is something about me
that troubles him. I fear his brain is
crazed; see how he looks upon me.'
`Master Burnside,' cried Griffitt with agitation,
`do you suspect nothing? do you
guess nothing? I have already, I believe,
divined the whole truth. Look at him and
see if —. But I forget! You can never
have seen him! But does not your heart
tell you who he is, as his resemblance to
you, white as his head and beard are, tell me
who he is.'
`Who then is he? you speak enigmas,
Master Ringold. `The poor man's mind is
unthroned, and you are moved to believe you
see in him something supernatural. The
day of prophets has passed.'
`You do not understand me. Yet I am
convinced!' said Ringold with singular
warmth and energy.
`Convinced of what?' asked Red Beard,
regarding him with a perplexed look; for
Griffitt was singularly agitated, his face
flushed, and his whole person trembling like
a leaf.
`I will not be too precipitate. Listen to
me while I address him a word or two.
Venerable recluse, I believe I can understand
the meaning of your intent scrutiny, of
the face of this person. It resembles, does
it not, the face of the Scottish Earl, of whom
you asked the lovely and innocent Lady Al-ice
in marriage?'
`Who has spoken that name? Who art
thou?' almost shrieked the recluse, as he
grasped Ringold by the arm with both hands,
while his features lighted up with strange excitement
and supernatural fear. `Dost thou
know me then? Thou must be from Heaven,
not of earth.'
`Art thou not the Marquis of * * * * *?'
asked Ringold with as much firmness as he
could command, at such a terrible moment,
to Robert Burnside, who was fearfully overcome
at this extraordinary crisis.
For a moment, a moment of the most
painful suspense to Robert Burnside, who
had started at Ringold's question as if a thunderbolt
had fallen at his feet, for a brief moment
the recluse suspended his reply as if
hesitating, even where he saw he was dis
covered, to confess an identity that for twoscore
years had been locked up in his breast
sacred from human cognizance. Griffitt
waited for his reply, not with doubt, but
with a look of certain confidence in the
coming response which showed the fullest
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[figure description] Page 062.[end figure description]
conviction of his belief in the truth of his
suspicions.
Amazed, and rivited to the ground, looking
from one to the other with an indescribable
expression of countenance, Red Beard
stood shaking in every limb; his eyes rigidly
bent on the recluse, were expanded with
mingled awe and fear, while his lips parted
with the wildest aspect, that hope and surprise
can wear, moved without language.
`I am the Marquis of * * * * *,'
at length answered the recluse in trembling
accents. `I am that hapless man. But who
art thou noble youth who has —'
`My father! Can it be my father?' cried
Robert Burnside in a hoarse whisper, while
he seemed ready to fall to the earth with
fearful emotion.'
`It is, and ere he answered my question I
knew the truth. I saw your likeness to
him,' rapidly responded Ringold.
`Let me kneel at his feet to have his blessing
if he be my father?' said Red Beard,
his voice agitated, till almost inaudible, and
his eyes filling with tears; while clasping his
hands, he would have cast himself forward
at the feet of the recluse overwhelmed with
the first outbreak of the ocean of filial love,
which in forty years time had not been unsealed.
But Ringold, who fully commanded
his feelings, even at a time so interesting,
even an indifferent person, caught him by
the hand and said:
`Not this minute! Wait! I would not
have you repulsed. You know that —
that —'
`Yes, yes. You are right. It is my
curse, and may now separate me from his
embrace and love. Oh, that this discovery
had not been made, or that I could assure
him of — of —'
Robert Burnside could say no more, for his
bitterness of heart and deep grief. He suffered
Ringold to lead him unresisting some yards
away to the extremity of the copse; but every
step he took he looked lingeringly back over
his shoulder yearning to embrace, if only
with his eyes, the venerable form of his father;
for he did not doubt that he had discovered
in the hermit, his long lost parent. Yet,
agitated as he was, between joy and fear, he
saw and approved of the policy suggested
by his young friend.
`Remain here and be calm for a few
minutes,' said Ringold. `I will soon be
with you, and be assured I shall bring you
words of peace and happiness. See! He
gazes after me with wonder. He has not
half comprehended, if he heard your words,
and is looking at me for an explanation of your
extraordinary emotion. Be composed and
expect from me pleasant intelligence. But
I do not anticipate that I shall have to use
many words to convince him of the innocence
of Lady Alice, and that you are his
son.'
`I pray for your success,' responded Robert
Burnside, with a haggard look of despair,
through which, however, faintly glimmered
the light of fond hope.
Griffitt approached the hermit, who had
been watching them both with surprise and
curiosity. He had heard indistinctly, and
without comprehending their purport, the
exclamations of Red Beard; but without
regarding them he turned his attention to
Ringold who, from having recognized and
called him by name, he continued to regard
as some beings more than man. As Ringold
now drew near him, after leaving Red
Beard a few yards distant, the hermit advanced
with an excited expression upon his features,
and said:
`Young man, unfold this mystery to me.
Explain how it is that after forty years seclusion
from the world, you, a youth, who
can never before have seen me, have called
me by name. If thou honorest my grey
hairs, answer my inquiry.'
`Thou shalt hear, my lord, fully and freely,
' answered Ringold.
`My lord! my lord! How strangely
sound to my ears those familiar words so
long unheard,' he murmured. `But heed
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me not, for in my solitude I am used to talk
with myself. Tell me who thou art, and
how I am known to thee?'
`Sit upon this mossy rock, father, and I will
explain,' responded Griffitt, as he respectfully
conducted him a few steps to a natural seat
beneath one of the pines, and placed himself
near him. `I am but a humble wood-craftsman,
my lord, and dwell in the valley. I
have discovered thee, therefore, not by any
supernatural art or divinations; but I know
the from thy resemblance to —'
`To whom? why do you pause?'
`To thy son, my lord!'
`My son,' repeated the hermit with singular
emotion. `What do you say—what is this?'
`My lord, I am sent here to tell thee that
thy loved and lovely wife, the Lady Alice,
is innocent of the guilt charged upon, and
the belief of what doubtless drove thee into
this western solitude.'
`Lady Alice! my loved and lovely wife.
Thou sayest truly, she was loved and lovely.
Prove her innocent, young man, and I will
kiss thy feet and bathe them with my tears.'
`The whole, my lord, was a conspiracy.
It has been proven and shown, by the dying
confession of the Countess of * *, who
out of rivalry and hatred towards Lady Alice,
for enjoying the queen's favor, combined with
the profligate Earl of * * * *, to accomplish
her ruin. The earl had sought your
friendship, that winning your confidence, he
might dishonor you; but Lady Alice with
the piercing glance of innocence, saw at
once his motives, and kept aware of him;
but one day he approached her hoping she
would, like many others, fall an easy prey,
but meeting a rebuff and a reproof, that
showed she saw through him, he left her
presence vowing revenge. The Countess
* *, who had been inventing some devise,
by which she could destroy Lady Alice's
favor with the queen, chanced to meet the
earl (whose victim she had been) —'
`How knowest thou so well these things?
Who art thou?'
`One sent to restore peace and happiness
to thee and thine. Hear me, my lord, further.'
`I am listening with my heart still.'
`The countess met the earl, and seeing his
looks of angry confusion, asked him the
cause; when he told her, at the same time
repeating to her his determination to be
avenged for his defeat. The countess then
made known to him her own hatred of Lady
Alice, and together they planned, aided by
others equally vile, the scheme which was
alas! for Lady Alice's peace, too successful.'
`Go on! Light breaks upon me —'
`The countess let the earl into the apartment
of Lady Alice by means of her own
boudoir door, and seeing him placed behind
the arras, she went off to wait till Lady Alice
should go to her chamber. In the meanwhile
one of the other conspirators, the Lady
Sarah — had drugged a cup of tea which
your wife took in the queen's anti-room,
tempering the potion so nicely that it should
not begin to produce its effect till she should
reach her room. It was, therefore, the over-powering
effects of the drug that caused her
to retire so early; and ignorant of the presence
of the serpent in her bower, she placed
her innocent head upon her pillow and in a
moment was buried in profound sleep —
The object of the conspirators in giving
her a sleeping portion, was that by her so
early retiring, her depravity might appear
to you more base, inasmuch as you would
suppose she had taken advantage of your
absence to give herself up to love's guilty
dalliance, ere you should come to her from
the king. The countess had no sooner seen
her fall asleep, than she hastened and despatched
a messenger for you, while the
false earl creeping from his covert, laid his
head by her pure cheek just as you entered,
that you might behold him there, for this
sight he was aware would fully compass his
fiendish revenge, so far as the honor of Lady
Alice was concerned. The rest, my lord,
I need not recapitulate. The years of misery
to the innocent lady that followed that
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hour of crime, I will not refer to, know that
the Countess of * *, upon her death-bed
some years after, confessed the whole crime
in writing, affixing her name to the paper.'
`Enough! enough! I am a guilty and
sinful man, oh Lord!' cried the hermit sinking
upon his knees, while the tears rolled
down his cheeks. `I have sinned, in that
I have condemned the innocent.' And the
venerable old noble bowed his head to the
earth and deep moans escaped him. Robert
Burnside, to whom hope and fear had given
quick ears, had heard all; and now with his
arms extended, his face full of eagerness,
his foot and body advanced, he looked as if
he would rush forward. But Ringold lifted
a finger as a sign for him to restrain his emotions,
and then said:
`Do not afflict yourself, father. The past
may not be recalled; but the future may
atone for it in some measure.'
`Speak, young man, angel, or whatever
thou art,' cried the recluse lifting himself
from the earth, and gazing with helpless despair
in his face. `Tell me what may the
future do! for I know now that she was innocent.
Why did I not see through it then?
But all seemed so clear against her, alas!
There were letters.'
`Yes, there were letters! Those were
forged.'
`Oh, baseness and hellish plot. Tell me
more. Does Lady Alice live?'
`She is dead, my lord, thirty years ago,
but died peacefully knowing and foretelling
that her innocence would one day be made
clear.'
`I could not hope she lived. And you
say in peace she departed.'
`Yes —'
`Did she forgive me. Canst thou tell me
this.'
`With her last breath she blessed thee,
father,' cried Robert Brunside, no longer
able to refrain himself, and so rushing forward
he cast himself upon his knees before
him, gazing into his face with clasped hands
and tearful eyes. `With her last breath she
forgave thee, my father.'
`Who art thou? speak, young man. Who
is he? Is it he?' cried the old man wildly.
`It is thy son?' answered Griffitt, with
emotion.
`It is! It is! I see now! I behold
Alice in her child. It is thy grandsire I
see in thee. My son! my son! forgive me
my wrong to thy mother.'
`I have nothing to forgive, my father!
Let me embrace thee.'
Ringold as he saw them cast themselves
in each others arms, turned away to hide
his emotion. It was the happiest moment
of his existence. He beheld Whitlock just
aroused from sleep, standing up gazing upon
the scene with amazement.
`What is this?' he inquired with awe
`Who is the old man? Explain this; Ringold.
'
`Hist! Red Beard in the recluse has
found his father.'
`He has? This —'
`Silence now! You shall know all at
some other time.'
`It is all a mystery to me. See, whispered
Whitlock, how the old man hangs upon
him, and how affectionately Red Beard
upholds him while he kisses his cheeks and
forehead. I never saw such a sight before.
Tears come into my own eyes, too.'
`My father!'
`My son!'
`My long lost, noble father!'
`Let me look at thee. I see thee again,
sweet Alice, in the eyes of thy child.'
`And I saw thee in him also, my lord, and
thereby knew him to be thy son,' said Ringold.
`Sit down, my dear father. Let us sit
here upon this bank,' said Robert with a
manly tenderness of affection that was singularly
touching. `The scene will overcome
thee. Be composed and let us talk
together.'
`Dost thou forgive me, my child?
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[figure description] Page 065.[end figure description]
`Freely, father!'
`Let me hear how and why thou camest
here. Who told thee I was here?'
`I knew it not. We were crossing the
mountain and stopped here to rest when this
discovery so haply took place; and through
the sagacity of my youthful friend, who
knows the whole history of my life, and saw
in you the resemblance to me that led him
to suspect he had discovered the long disappeared
and forgotten husband of Lady Alice.'
`It is wonderful!'
`Dost thou doubt, father, that I am thy
son?'
`Doubt! Have I doubted?' asked the
recluse in a tone of sorrowful reproach. `I
have of late believed in Lady Alice's innocence;
oh that I could have learned to believe
it sooner. Now, let me atone in acknowledging
thee something for the past.
Let me hear the story of thy life, and of thy
mother's death. Alas! alas! my soul is
heavy, and sadly will my spirit go all the
days I have to live; for I have sinned in
that I have condemned the innocent blood.
But go with me to my abode, and there after
becoming a little more composed, my son,
we will discourse of the sad past. Let me
lean on thee, my son. My heart tells me
thou art my flesh and blood. Oh, happiness
too pure. Heaven, in giving me to see this
hour, surely hath forgiven me my sin.'
Upon reaching the cavern to which the
old noble led them, they seated themselves
upon a large flat stone wound with branches
of the hemlock, which had evidently served
the occupant as a couch. Whitlock had
asked Griffitt, with some hesitation, if he
could accompany them, and Red Beard bade
him do so, saying, that as he had witnessed
his meeting with his father he should also
hear the history of his life.
Griffitt now gazed around the cavern
with curiosity. He discovered it to be
a large vaulted room well protected from the
winds and rains and made comfortable by
branches of evergreens strewing the floor
and filling up the interstices between the
over-arching rocks. Furniture it did not
contain; and all that was visible besides the
rocky walls and evergreens, were a broken
earthen cup and two or three skins of the
wolf and deer which had been made up into
rough garments. There was also an old cap
of furs lying upon the floor.
The old noble having seen his guests seated,
and still clinging to the arm of Red Beard,
he sat down by him upon a log, over which
was thrown a well-worn bear's skin. After
gazing up into his son's face with deep affection,
in which painful memories were blent,
as he recognized the features of Lady Alice,
he said,
`Now, my son, let me hear the story of
thy life and the particulars of my sainted and
innocent wife's death! Then I will unfold
to thee my own, and afterwards we will talk
of the future; for I would fain redeem it to
thee! Alas, what evil have I not done thee;
for thou art now, a woodsman of these forests
when thou shouldst take thy place among
the peers of thy native land! Come, I will
listen; and when thou speakest of thy mother
leave no detail unsaid!'
`I promise you I will not, my noble and
honored father,' answered Red Beard.
`But thou hast not told me how thou wert
christened?'
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[figure description] Page 066.[end figure description]
`Robert—thine own name, father!'
`Noble and truthful Alice! Not even my
desertion of thee in thy sorrow and shame
caused thee to forget me. May thy pure
spirit be now bending down from the skies
to witness my deep penitence and remorse.
I should have believed thee, thee the tried
wife of my bosom, and not listened to thine
enemies. But I have been punished. I have
been punished, by years of exile and woe.'
`Father, I will now proceed to explain to
thee the events of my life, and how I came
hither at a moment so propitious,' said Red
Beard, who felt pain at seeing the old noble's
grief and contrition expressed so touchingly.
`Proceed,' answered the recluse, bending
his head and resting it upon the top of his
staff.
Robert Burnside then began to unfold
to him all the circumstances of his mother's
innocence and how she had fallen a victim to
a base conspiracy; and when he came to
speak of the confession of the wicked countess
of * * * *, he drew forth a leathern
case and taking from a large parcel of
papers one much soiled, he opened it and
read it, showing his father her signature at
the close. The old man groaned aloud; but
made no reply. Red Beard then went on
with his own history, re-counting also the
death of his grandfather, the Scotch earl, and
of his mother. At this point when he spoke
of her peace, of her calm confidence that her
innocence would one day be made manifest,
of her noble forgiveness of her husband for
his suspicions, he sobbed like a child. It
was fearful to see that old man of seventy so
overcome with emotion. Whitlock dashed
a tear from his brown cheek and rose and
paced once or twice across the cave. Griffitt
looked on with deep interest watching
the effect of the recital of his son upon his
countenance which want of society for so
many years had rendered till now stony and
without expression.
When Red Beard proceeded to relate his
efforts to recover his inheritance and his failures,
he shook with the greatness of his agitation,
muttering,
`And all this from my conduct! all because
I believed my enemies! Oh, my son,
what shame have you not been exposed to
through my sin.'
`Do not condemn yourself, my dear father.
I do not blame you, sir. Let the past
be buried with the past!'
Robert Burnside then narrated briefly his
wanderings and sufferings and adventures in
Europe, his capture by the Turks, and his
marriage with the fair Greek maiden.
`What, my son, art thou married?' cried
the nobleman with animation.
`Alas, my dear father, wedded and widowered.
My fair wife died in Scotland, at Ben-Lochel,
not long after my return home.'
`And left thee no issue!' said the recluse,
in a tone of disappointment.
`A daughter, but—'
`You need not say it. She is dead. I
read it in thy looks.'
`She is dead, father,” answered Red
Beard, with a quivering lip. `She met
with a horrible fate. While I was absent in
London making one more effort, in behalf of
my child, to gain the title and estates which
I felt, thou being dead, were rightfully mine;
while I was gone the mansion took fire and
she was consumed in the flames. Her ashes
were not found with those of others who perished
with her, and walling in the vast mound
of ruin and death as her tomb I fled forever
from a spot so drear. After various wanderings
I came to the valley of the Susquehannah,
where as a woodsman I have for eight
years dwelt. I am the captain of three parties
of foresters, who have been in camp all
winter cutting timber for rafting; and was
now on my way into the valley south of this
mountain, where I and these two dwell, when
this happy meeting, never to know a parting,
took place.'
`Thou hast ended thy narrative, my son,
with true words. Never more shall we
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separate, till by my return to England I reinstate
myself in my long since despised honors and
wealth for your sake. Oh! that your fair
child had lived. But it is just. She would
have grown up bearing a dishonored name.
Now she is at peace. But as for thee,
thou art yet in the prime and strength of
manhood. Thou shalt enjoy the honors so
long withheld from thee. Dost thou dwell
in the valley, didst thou tell me?'
`Come hither, father, and I think I can
show thee my humble roof from this height;
for as I can see the Beaver rock distinctly
from my door, I must be able to point it
out to you.'
They rose and walked out of the cavern
into the entrance of which the morning sun
was pouring his rich light, for the morning
was an hour old, so long had Red Beard
been telling his tale.'
`If thou wouldst command a full view of
the valley let us step to that rock,' said the
hermit, pointing to a flat stone a few yards
in front of the mouth of the cave.
From it Red Beard obtained a wide and
noble prospect of the beautiful vale spread out
beneath the mountain, like a picture. The
sun cast its forests and brown hill-sides and
pleasant fields, with patches of snow in their
corners, half into light and shadow, revealing
every undulation of the surface and
reflecting its bright beams from every
half-hidden roof. The valley was full
seventeen miles across, and so pure was the
atmosphere that the base of the opposite hills
which bounded it was distinctly seen. Here
and there towered the humble spire of a yillage
church springing sky ward from a cluster
of roofs. Hundreds of farm-houses were
seen dotting the broad bosom of the valley,
and Griffitt fancied he could discern the sheep
and cattle in the enclosures. There was a
dark band of leafless wood to the left about
two leagues from the foot of the mountain.
Through it meandered a stream which,
catching the sun-beams as it broke in cascades
over rocks, flashed back the light to
the eye. On the verge of this romantic
streamlet, near its junction with the Susquehannah
which was seen far to the left winding
its majestic length southward, were visible
four or five roofs.
`There, is my dwelling, father,' said Red
Beard, pointing to them. `Are your eyes
keen enough to see that cluster of houses?'
`All of them, my son.'
`You see one stands alone on the north
bank of the rivulet close to the belt of wood.'
`I see it plainly.'
`In that house I have dwelt for eight years
past. The one opposite to it, about a mile
from it, is the residence of my friend and
companion here, Ringold Griffitt. Now, my
dear father, if you can bear the walk, you
must leave this lonely mountain and go
down with us into the valley. My home shall
be yours; or thine shall be mine! If you
refuse to leave thy mountain cave I shall remain
here and share it with thee and serve
thee.'
`Nay, I am in thy hand, my son. Do with
me as thy love prompts. Only delay me not
long in thy house; for I am an old man and
England is far, and I must see thee righted in
thine own, and thy mother's honor proclaimed,
alas! though late.'
`We will then break our fast,' answered
Red Beard, `and then go down into the valley.
We have here with us provisions for
all, is it not so, Master Whitlock?'
`Enough there for us four, for as many
days,' he answered, pointing to his knapsack.
`For thy sake I am glad it is so; for save
dried fruits and vegetables, I have nothing to
offer you,' said the nobleman.
`Now, my father, while Whitlock is preparing
our meal let me hear thy own history,
if thou art not too fatigued.'
`Thou shalt hear it; though it is not varied
by many events like thine,' answered the
recluse. `We will set here the while. I
will begin with my second flight from the
palace; for you know all the particulars, I
perceived by your narrative, up to that time.'
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`I have heard them, father,' answered Red
Beard, `yet I would hear thine own account.
`No, there is nothing of interest. After
my return a second time to England, being
drawn thither by the queen's letter which
convinced me of my dear wife's purity, I
found that she had given birth to a son; and
some demon brought to my mind the time
which had elapsed since I beheld the Earl of
* * * * in my private apartment, I at
once was confirmed in my opinion that the
infant was not my own. The manner of the
queen herself strengthened this opinion and
in the rage and shame with which the conviction
overwhelmed my brain I fled from
London on the same horse that brought me
from the sea-board.
`For several hours I rode blindly and madly
on caring not whither I went so that each
bound of my horse's feet carried me farther
from the scene of my dishonor. I reached
the coast of the channel and finding a vessel
just about to sail for France, I embarked in
her. Too restless to remain in Paris, I travelled
southward, and finally reached Switzerland
and Italy. The sight of my species became
more and more distasteful to me, and
at length hiring a desolate ruin on a wild
lake I dwelt there six years. At length I
heard, by means of an English newspaper
that I found where some travellers had been
pic-nicking on a rock in the lake, that my
wife had made a claim in behalf of her son
to my title and estates on the plea of my death.
I at once wrote to the Lord Chancellor, in a
feigned hand, that the nobleman, naming myself,
supposed dead was alive and dwelling in
the south of Europe. At length I was seized
with a desire of change and travelled by
sea and land into the east; and after twelve
years absence once more came into Italy.—
By this time I had got to despise mankind.
The remembrance of my supposed wrongs
preyed upon my soul; and one day as I was
walking on the quay at Genoa in this mood
I saw a vessel near the shore which was receiving
freight by means of a boat plying to
and fro from the land. Learning that the
ship was bound for the Americas, I at once
was seized with a desire to fly for refuge to
the new world, to leave behind me the old
world where I had been made so miserable,
and see if in that fresh, young land of the
setting sun, I might not be born anew, as it
were. So I embarked and after a stormy
voyage reached the port of Philadelphia. I
believe it is called. But I soon found that
man wherever he goes on the round world he
carries his griefs with him as he does his
body, and that he finds every where his fellow-man
the same selfish being. I did not
remain in the city but two days before I
yearned for that solitude which I had learned
to love in Italy, and which best harmonized
with the ceaseless grief of my wounded spirit.
I had with me a few jewels, the last of
those I took with me in my first departure
from England twenty years before. By converting
one into money I obtained food as I
travelled westward through the forests. At
length I came in sight of this mountain, and
here took up my abode, at first, in a rude
cabin which I constructed of boughs, but afterwards
in this cavern. Here I have dwelt
nearly twenty years cultivating a small patch
of ground, and snaring birds and deer for my
sustenance, and here expected to die. But
your presence, my son, has made me resolve
once more to go forth into the world that I
may extend to you that justice from which
you have so long been deprived.'
-- --
CHAPTER XVII. THE GUEST AT THE INN.
[figure description] Page 069.[end figure description]
It was about an hour after noon on the
eventful day of the happy meeting of Red
Beard with his father, that the party of four
men reached the abode of the former. It
was a rude but compactly built log cabin,
whitened with cement, and enclosed by a
paling. Behind it was a large field of several
acres, bordered by a forest. In front of
the house flowed a rapid stream, the ceaseless
brawling of which over the large rocks
that filled its bed, was heard night and day.
The recluse bore the fatigue of the long
walk from the mountain with a vigor and endurance
that surprised the younger men.
He refused the offered support of Griffitt, and
only leaned from time to time upon his son
more in affection than from weariness. He
seemed buoyed up and sustained by the resolute
desire and resolve to spend his best
strength in promoting the interests of his
son.
The next day, Red Beard seeing that he
was rested and was impatient to go forward
to embark for England, took Griffitt aside
and said to him,
`What shall be done, master Ringold?
Think you, you can pursue this false Earl of
* * * *, for me, and bring him to confession
of his crime? I know that my honored
father believes in my mother's innocence;
still I would have it confirmed so that the
devil of jealousy shall not have a needle's
point on which to rest an after doubt. This
man shall be found, if I have to delay my
father's and my departure for England.'
`And then you go to England, sir?' said
Ringold. `I am glad you have such good reason
to go, yet sorry; for I have learned to
love thee, master Burnside, and I shall be
grieved to part from thee, as I must, forever.'
`Nay, that need not be. You shall be my
companion. You have been a partner of my
confidence, you have witnessed, nay, been
the instrument of my discovering and meeting
with my father, for if you had not seen
the likeness between us, I should never have
known him to be my father. You must go
with us to England, most certainly. Then,
doubtless, I shall have wealth and power,
and may be able to aid you in the advancement
of your art. Your eyes sparkle! I
see I have touched the right chord; it is settled
then that you go with me,' added Red
Beard, as he grasped the hand of the grateful
and happy young man.
`I should be insincere to say that I do not
wish to go. I accept your offer as I have
means enough to get there without burdening
you. Otherwise I should refuse to go.'
`Very well, you can do as you please. By
and by, when we get to England, we will
talk together. Now about the villainous
earl.'
`Since the extraordinary recognition of
-- 070 --
[figure description] Page 070.[end figure description]
your father,' said Griffit, `I should not be
surprised if he were indeed the man you
think, or rather dreamed he is.'
`I have not questioned the fact. But when
we catch him, my father can satisfy us on
the point. Is it not time for Whitlock to return?
'
`Yes, nearly so. I told him, when he left
last night, to keep on as far as the Elk fork,
where the three roads diverged from the
northern one, till he could ascertain which
they took, which he will be able to do at the
inn, there. He is coming already. I hear
the galloping of his horse up the road.'
While he was speaking, Ned Whitlock,
who had taken Red Beard's horse and, at
his request, ridden across the valley to follow
and inquire about the direction taken
by the sleigh with the greys, made his appearance
before the cabin.
`Well, the news,' demanded Red Beard,
with impatience. `I see by your looks you
have news.'
`Yes,' answered Whitlock with animation,
`I reached the Elk fork inn at twelve o'clock
last night, and instead of finding it buried in
darkness I found lights in the house and
the people up. On going in I learned that
a sleigh and pair of grey horses in attempting
to cross the Elk on the ice, yesterday morning,
had broken through and the horses and
one of the men were drowned, while the
other—'
`Heaven grant it be not the earl who was
lost,' cried Red Beard with an excited manner.
`The one who was lost was a short fat
man, while the other, an elderly man with
white hair, was saved, but insensible from the
cold.'
`It is he! Water could not drown him
till he hath confessed the innocence of the
wronged,' exclaimed Robert Burnside with a
voice which his feelings had made almost
furious. `Tell me he was restored and
lives.'
`He does live. He was taken to the inn,
but for several hours did not come to life;
but at length they brought him to himself.'
`Yes, yes. It could not be otherwise.—
His time had not come. Did you see him?'
`I found in the inn tap-room several of the
neighbors talking about the accident, and
speculating whether the man who was drowned
had not sunk on account of the weight of
gold they supposed he had about him. From
them I learned that the one who was saved
was in bed up stairs and asleep, under the
influence of a draught the landlady had given
him.'
`And was he doing well, said they of whom
you asked?'
`Yes: the landlord told me “he was not
bruised much by the ice, and would, without
doubt, get well, though he thought he would
be apt to lay there some weeks;” a result
which seemed to please him very much, for
he had satisfied himself, in the way landlords
have, that his guest had gold.'
`When did you leave the inn?'
`At four this morning, only delaying to
bait my horse and myself; and I have come
the twenty-eight miles from there in good
time.'
`Did you see the invalid?
`No.'
`Did you let the landlord know you come
on purpose to inquire after the sleigh and
grey horses?'
`Not a word.'
`It is well. Master Griffit, Providence
seems to favor me. Let us be, in another
hour, on the road to this inn. Let us embrace
the good fortune while it is in our
grasp. This earl may awake well and take
wing and escape us wholly.'
`We cannot be too diligent, sir,' continued
Ringold. `It does seem that he has been
thrown into our hands. How shall we proceed
thither?'
`We have but one horse among us, we
poor dwellers in the valley,' said Whitlock,
who had been made sufficiently acquainted
with the outlines of Red Beard's singular
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[figure description] Page 071.[end figure description]
history as to cause him to enter with great
interest and spirit into his wishes. `This
horse will be as good as ever after two hours'
rest and feeding.'
`We want the horse, for my father must go
with us,' said Red Beard, with decision.—
`He must go with us, Master Ringold, that
if this should prove to be the nobleman, he
may hear also from his own lips the confirmation
of his wife's purity.'
`It is then necessary that he should be
with us. You can mount him upon the
horse, while we walk by his side.'
`That is my plan. Five hours' walk will
bring us to the inn. Let us at once prepare
to start in two hours.'
`I shall be ready in an hour. I have only
to go to my home for a few minutes and bid
my mother good bye, in case we should be
absent long.'
`You never forget your filial duties. Happy
are you who have always had a parent. I
begin mine full late, but the affection of the
son, Master Griffitt, gushes from my heart
as fresh as from a newly opened spring.'
`Shall I go also with you?' asked Whitlock,
with some hesitation, fearing he might be
left behind; for he was anxious to ascertain
the result of the visit to the Inn, being almost
as deeply interested in the fortunes of
Red Beard, as Griffitt himself.
`Yes, Master Whitlock, if you please, we
should like your company,' answered Red
Beard, as he turned and went into the cabin
to prepare his father for the intended journey.
`I thought you would rather go to see
Kate Boyd than go with us a second time
to the Elk fork,' remarked Ringold, with a
smile, as they left the door and walked
towards his house, which was on the opposite
side of a creek, and accessible by a rude
bridge of logs thrown across from bank to
bank, in the most picturesque form. `You
have been two days in the valley and she
has not seen you.'
`I can just go and report myself while you
are at your mother's,' answered Whitlock,
laughing. `Really, I have been so much
taken up with Red Beard, his father the
hermit, and all these strange things that have
happened in the last two days, that I have
had no time to think of Kate: and then you
know I rode off last night in search of this
earl. I wonder if he is an earl?'
`I do not question it at all, since this discovery
of Red Beard's father in the recluse.
I am prepared for any wonders.'
`Then it is true that the hermit is an old
English nobleman?'
`Without question.'
`And Red Beard then is a lord?'
`He will be at the death of his father.'
`Well, it is odd enough. Strange sort of
people bring up in America. We have had
kings and princes, and French dukes and
counts among us, and every thing but an emperor,
and if Napolean had succeeded in escaping
here, as he wished to, after the battle
of Waterloo, we would have had an emperor.'
`The old world seems to be a theatre in
which the four first acts of the great play of
life are acted, and this new world the scene
of the fifth. But here I am at my door.—
Make my respects to the fair Kate, and if
she is disposed to blame you for indifference,
send her to me and I will excuse you to her
in the most satisfactory manner. But if you
are going with us to the inn you must be
here to meet me and return to Red Beard's
cabin within two hours!'
`I shall not fail. It is but three miles to
Kate's, and love has wings, they say.'
The two young men now parted, and Ringold
entered the plain cottage home where
he was born. His mother hearing his step
and voice, already was at the door. She was
a fair and gentle looking lady, with a mild and
affectionate expression in her face, the youthful
charms of which forty years had not
wholly obliterated.
`You did not come home, last night, Ringold.
'
`No, mother: I was with Red Beard.'
`And how is the old hermit, his father,
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[figure description] Page 072.[end figure description]
whom you told me he brought home with
him from the mountain?'
`He is well. Food and rest have given
him new energies, as well, also, the joy at
seeing his son, and the hope of reinstating
him in his rights, of which I told you yesterday.
'
`I rejoice for Master Burnside's happiness.
He is now rewarded for his benevolence
and kindness to the widow. Have you
breakfasted?'
`Yes, mother,' answered Ringold: I have
only come over to relieive your anxiety, and
to tell you I am going down the valley for a
day or two; perhaps longer.'
`I can see but very little of you.'
`When I return I shall stay with you altogether,
if—'
Here the young man colored and hesitated.
His mother regarded him with attention, and
said,
`If what? No more absences, my dear
son.'
`You know I told you the history of Red
Beard, yesterday, confidentially?'
`Yes: and never did I know so interesting
a one.'
`Well, he wishes me to go with him to
England, and to be a witness of his happi
ness. Besides he says he should be of service
to me in enabling me to advance the interests
so dear to my heart, my ambition to
excel in the noble art which has embraced in
its followers the first geniuses of the age and
race. You look sad and sorrowful, my dear
mother. But you would not have me remain
forever drudging in the valley or in the winter-camp,
when with my pencil I can not only
follow a pursuit congenial with my tastes
and feelings, but also enrich you with the
proceeds. Filial duty, as well as fame and
glory in perspective, invite me to accept of
Red Beard's invitation. Say your consent,
dear mother. I shall not be more than a year
absent before I return to visit you. I shall
leave you comfortable, and I will send you
money from England. Do not say no, nor
give your consent with such heavy sorrow in
your face.'
`You may go, Ringold. I will sacrifice
my own happiness to yours. But—'
Here he observed a slight smile, a very
slight smile, amid the sadness of her countenance.
`But what, dear mother? You smile.'
`I suspect you ought so add love to the
`fame and glory,' of which you talk.'
The countenance of Ringold Griffitt was
so quickley mantled with a blush of consciousness
at the few words his mother uttered,
that it would have been clear to a by-stander,
that she spoke with a suspicion, if not a
knowledge of some secret passion of his
heart. He smiled and replied, but not without
confusion.
`Perhaps I ought to add love, my dear
mother, to `the fame and glory' which tempt
me to go to England.' High born as the
maiden evidently is, I shall never forget her,
never cease to feel towards her gratitude,
perhaps it may be called love.'
`If she resembles the picture that you so
value of her, and which you always carry
-- 073 --
[figure description] Page 073.[end figure description]
with you, Ringold, she is not only beautiful,
but good. There is no deception in her
clear, sunny eye. You seem to read in it
the volume of a pure heart and guileless
spirit.'
`I know that she is all that her face would
bespeak her, dear mother. Her heart is in
her face, and may be read. Look, my dear
mother,' he added, his manner kindled with
enthusiasm, as he drew from his knapsack,
the very knapsack he had so courageously
rescued from the bear he had slain, a small
canvass portrait, and after gazing upon it
with prideful pleasure, turning it towards his
mother: `see what angelic beauty, love, and
affection, and goodness, and truth, are all
dwellers in the heart to which such a face
is a mirror.'
`She is very lovely, Ringold, very. Did
I not know you are ignorant of falsehood,
I should be inclined to believe that this is
some fairy head of womanly beauty—the
embodiment of some fair vision of your imagination;
for it appears too lovely to be one
of earth.'
`I am sure she is of earth, though she is
my guardian angel. I have made her such,
mother. But for her, I should have been
wrapped now in gloom and despondency,
and utterly despairing of attaining to advancement
or excellency in my art. But
her voice, her smile, her few words of hope,
bade me live again. For her sake, I will
yet write my name side by side with those of
Raphael, of Guido, of West. She shall yet
see that the friendly stranger, in the garb of
a seaman, whom she encouraged when she
saw him in despair, was not all unworthy of
her interest.'
`I trust you do not love her, Ringold,' said
his mother, `for, as you say, she may be high
born, and good and kind, as she may be, she
will not stoop to return thy love.'
`Stoop, mother. Europe has stamped genius
with nobility. Painters have sat at the
tables of kings, and walked equals with princes.
Yet you say truly, mother. I am a
poor, unknown artist. My name is not identified
with that genius which has fellowship
with nobility, and ere I attain eminence
and fame, I may be grey-headed, and she,
she may be the wife of another. You advise
me well, mother, not to love her, yet I
may cherish gratitude, and I can gaze upon
her sweet picture without reproof.'
This was said with an air of sadness, and
his affectionate, sensible mother, gazed sympathizingly
upon his fine face, on which genius
had laid the impress of true nobility. Her
heart swelled with pride as she admired his
manly beauty, but she sighed as she reflected
how few youths realized in the future
the early dreams of their ambitions. She
knew that he possessed genius and talents
of a high order, not that she was a judge,
but every body in the valley said it, and maternal
pride bore its testimony; but she feared
for the future to which he looked with
such a kindling eye, and in the depth of her
heart regretted that the spirit of ambition
had been enkindled in his soul; for the chances
were that after battling with life for the
crown of fame, he would find it woven with
thorns. And though she gazed with pleased
wonder upon the angelic head of the maiden
who had bid him hope for fame, she could
not but regard her rather as her and his enemy,
by leading him to wander from the maternal
roof, and by alluring him to the height
which so many brave spirits had fallen short
of, or reached with broken hearts.
`Better,' she said, as in the silence of her
bosom she dwelt upon her son's happiness,
with all of a mother's anxiety, `better that
he should remain in the valley, and be content
to follow the quiet and harmless
pursuits of agriculture, than fling himself into
the arena of the world in pursuit of the
bubble fame. This unknown maiden, whom
he seems almost to worship, I fear will prove
instead of his guardian angel, his evil angel,
not that she may not be pure and good, and
as innocent as she looks in the fair picture
he has painted of her, but he by fixing his
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eye and heart on her as he does, she being so
far above him, as he says she is, will only
sow for himself disappointment and sorrow,
It was a fatal enterprize his going to sea, I
fear, for otherwise, he would have been content
to remain in the valley, and some day
married a maiden of his love and degree;
and I should have had him ever with me.
But, now, alas, he departs, invited by the
witching voice of the high-born maiden,
whom he fondly and foolishly calls the star
of his destiny. Heaven grant that it may
not prove an evil one, as my heart fears.'
Such were the reflections of the mother of
Ringold Griffitt, as she sat by herself and
meditated upon her son's happiness, while he
sat down in the room before her, to write to
Mr. Bixby, the agent, informing him of his
having safely delivered the letters and money
into the hands of Red Beard.
While he is writing, and waiting for the
return of Whitlock, from his visit to his sweet-heart,
to accompany him to the abode of Red
Beard, preparatory to their expedition to the
inn, we will refer more particularly to the
circumstances already alluded to, under which
Ringold met the original of the lovely portrait,
which he carried with such devotion in
his portfolio.
The reader is already informed of his expedition
at sea, in seach of adventure, and
partly to extend some portion of that restlessness,
and love of change, which seems
to characterize genius.
After he had sailed up the Mediterranean,
and visited several of the ports of Southern
Europe, his ship proceeded to St. Petersburg,
in Russia, conveying to that port a cargo of
the luxuries of Italy. There the vessel was
ladened with the productions of that northern
country, and set sail for England, and aimed
at the port of London, intending there to
purchase, with the proceeds of her Russian
cargo, English manufactured goods for the
American market. While the ship lay at
London, our hero, who had seen enough to
awaken his desire to see and know more, in
the scriptural pieces of inferior masters that
adorn the churches in Italy, having heard of
the royal academy of art, resolved to visit it.
For this purpose he dressed himself in neat
apparel, a blue jacket, white full trowsers, a
black knotted handkerchief and shining tarpaulin,
and putting two guineas into his pocket
he started on his enterprize. He found at
first some difficulty in gaining admission after
reaching the noble building, but applying
well his gold he at length found himself
in the interrior of the most magnificient pile
he had ever penetrated.
There were numerous visiters lounging
through the long galleries and noble saloons,
which were lined with works of art from the
floor to the ceiling. For the first quarter of an
hour Ringold wandered along, bewildered.
He could fix his gaze upon none of the pictures
long, so many, each seemingly more meritorious
than the last, ceaselessly challenging
his admiration. At length he became a little
used to the splendor of the place and the
glory of the world of art, and the presence
of the richly dressed people about him, and
put himself to studying some of the pictures
with care.
One picture at length drew his eye and arrested
it. It was a landscape by Claude.
He had painted landscapes of scenes in his
own valley of the Susquehannah, and therefore
this piece attracted his attention, as he
felt he could judge it. But his eye had not
more than flown over the canvass as a bird
would have darted across the natural scene,
before he saw that it transcended all that he
had ever conceived of the art he loved. The
transparent clearness and infinite depth of
the sky was real. It seemed to him that if
the room in which he stood were darkened,
the stars must appear in it. The clouds
seemed to be in motion, sailing on the breeze,
and the very woods beneath to rustle their
foliage.
He set down before it and gazed upon it,
marked its pleasant fields, its glimming or
darkly-shadowed streams, its cattle and the
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peasants at their tasks, and the soft summery
atmosphere, through which all was seen, and
his soul died within him. He felt that he
was a child in the art, and that the picture
before him would forever remain unapproachable,
unless as he said half aloud `an angel
from heaven should guide his pencil.'
As he uttered this, he looked up and caught
the eye of a man gazing upon him fixedly.
He was about to turn away lest his emotion
should be marked, when a second glance
showed him that the eyes were those of a
portrait. It was a Rembrant. He apporched
it and stood gazing upon it for a moment!
It wanted only this to fill the cup which was
already to the overflow!
`It is in vain! Art is divine and I am
mortal! I will never take pencil in hand
again, for I see that my strength is weakness—
my excellence infirmity. I have been a
fool to let my ignorant neighbors in the valley
delude me into the belief that I was an
artist! Farewell, sweet art!' he added with
emotion, `farewell, proud, happy dream of
my soul! I deserve this bitter lesson, this
toppling fall, for attempting to take flight
with eagles!'
`And why not with eagles if thou art kindred
with eagles?' said a voice near him, a
voice that thrilled to the depths of his being.
It was a female voice, low, half-undertoned,
as if the speaker would be heard by herself
alone. It breathed sympathy, while it kindled
courage and hope, and caused his startled
spirit to hear echoing from the future the
trumpet charge of fame!
He raised his face, over which unconsciously
he had suffered the tears of disappointment
and despair to roll, and his eyes
met the face of a beautiful blue-eyed girl of
nineteen, who was regarding him with looks
of friendship and kindness. He stood before
her with awe and admiration, confused at
her presence and at the consciousness that
he had been overheard in his language of
hopeless depression, and that his emotion
had been unwittingly exhibited to strangers;
for, in truth, he had forgotten as he gave
way to his lament that he was not alone in
the gallery. He made an effort to speak and
acknowledge the kindness of the words of
hope that had so graciously fullen from her
lips, but was too much embarrassed and surprised
to articulate a syllable.
She smiled at witnessing his confusion,
and said, with a certain air of superiority and
benevolent condescension, which perhaps
would have been restrained or more embarrassed,
had he been in other than a seaman's
garb,
`Do not confuse yourself, sir, to make me
any thanks. I overheard your words and
know that, humble as you appear to be, you
are yet an artist and a true lover of the art.
I have watched unintentionally your kindling
eye and the lofty expression of genius in
your face, as you have been gazing on this
Claude, and read the painter in the light of
your brow and in every lineament of your
speaking features. And while I was wondering
that a painter should be found in a
youthful seaman, I was surprised to see a
cloud cross your brow, the tears gush to
your eyes; and then I knew hope was
dying at your heart. I beheld you sink
upon the chair, and, burying your face in
your hands, speak so bitterly and so hopelessly,
I could not but forget the woman in
the friend and sympathizer, and whisper to
you a word of of hope!'
`It is like herself, young man,' said a
stout, middle-aged gentleman on whose arm
she was lightly leaning her hand. `She
speaks as she feels, especially about art; for
if she loves any thing it is pictures, hey,
Winny?'
`Yes, Uncle,' she answered, `next to you.
Do not despair, sir, if you are a lover of the
pencil,' she added, as she was passing on;
`true genius need never despond—ought
never to doubt! These great masters of art
were once pupils. If you paint and love the
pencil, persevere! Never despair.'
`I will not despair,' answered Ringold,
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[figure description] Page 076.[end figure description]
inspired by her words as well as by her beauty
and the graceful manner in which she spoke;
which was not with the air of one who fears
either to compromise her modesty or her dignity
by addressing a stranger, but with the
beautiful friendliness of a noble and free
heart that sympathized with sinking hopes
wheresoever met with, and that recognised
the claims of genius under every garb.
The maiden then bowed, smiled encouragingly
and passed on with the good-natured
looking gentleman, who supported her.—
Ringold stood like a statue and followed her
with his gaze till she was lost to it by the interposition
of the figures of other persons who
filled the rooms.
The young seaman remained standing
where the beautiful stranger had left him,
transfixed with surprise and delight. He had
never before beheld such grace, such beauty
and fascination. It seemed to him for a
moment that he must have seen a vision;
but her voice still echoed in his heart like
the memories of pleasant music.
`Young man!' said a person near him,
who carried a baton and wore a badge.
`Sir!' answered Ringold with a start.
`You do not see that they are leaving this
gallery. The hour of closing the doors has
struck.
`I beg your pardon,' answered Ringold,
following the distant crowd, and hastening his
steps that he might once more get sight of
that heavenly face. Eagerly he thrust his
way among the people, to reach the street in
advance, hoping to catch a glimpse of her
as she passed out. He was rewarded by
seeing her in the act of entering an elegant
carriage. As he continued to gaze upon her,
her eyes met his through the glass, when
again she repeated the smile which had before
so entranced his soul. The next moment
the splendid equipage, with its livered
coachman and footman, rolled off and disappeared
round the next corner.
Every day while his ship remained in London,
when he could be relieved from duty,
did the ardent young man visit the Royal
Academy, in the hope of seeing again the
lovely stranger who had enkindled in his bosom
the hope of fame. But he saw her no
more; yet his visits were not without benefit
to himself; for instead of gazing in mute
despair upon the Claudes and Rembrants,
the Rahaels and the Wests, he began to study
them, and try to discover what their beauties
were, and wherein their superior merit
lay, that he might copy their excellencies
when he returned to America, which he now
resolved to do in order to devote himself
sacredly to an art to eminence, in which the
fair stranger had promised he might one day
attain.
At length the ship left London, and Ringold
departed in her, leaving behind him in
London his heart. Who the maiden was,
who had so sweetly and boldly bidden him
take heart and hope, he had not the remotest
idea. He had made inquiries of the keepers
and ushers at the doors of the Royal Gallery,
and described the carriage; but no one
could tell him who they were. So he left England
ignorant even of the name of her whom
he felt he should look upon as the star of his
destiny, so long as he lived. On the voyage,
stealing time, when the sea was smooth,
he transferred to canvass from memory, the
features of the beautiful stranger, and with
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[figure description] Page 077.[end figure description]
such devotion did he regard it, that he was
asked by an Italian sailor on board, if it
were the Madonna he so often worshipped.
Arrived once more in his native valley, he
resolved to devote all his leisure, as we have
seen, to perfecting himself in his art; and
he applied his pencil with an assiduity that
only the inspiration of love could achieve.
We now return to Ringold in his mother's
cottage, waiting for the appearance of Whitlock,
who had been longer on his visit to
Kate Boyd, than he had promised to be.
But Kate was too attractive, and Ned to susceptible
to her fascinations; to get easily
away.
`Now, master Edward Whitlock,' said the
rural beauty, `you seem to be in a very great
hurry to leave me. Here you have been
three long winter months absent, and by
your own confession got into the valley yesterday
noon, and here you have come at last
to spend a poor one hour with me, and want
to shorten that. Well, go sir, and good bye
and stay bye;' and Kate pouted and looked,
or tried to look vexed.
`Dear Kate,' began Whitlock turning
back to the door,' you know I love you better
than I do myself —'
`Dear me! I should hope you did. I
wonder what there is about you, pray, sir
vanity, that it worth loving! as well as you
do yourself.'
`I mean better. Don't let us part so,
Kate,' he added deprecatingly.
`How?' she asked archly and mischievously.
`Kind o' out o' sorts. You used to be
sweet tempered.'
`Till I knew you. You've spoiled it,
Ned.'
`Dear, bless us! well I am glad you can
call me “Ned.” This shows me you an't
angry. Now let's say good bye.'
`When are you coming back?'
`To-morrow, certainly.'
`Now if you don't, I won't speak to you
again.'
`I'll be sure to be back. I've got a compliment
for you, Kate.'
`Have you? Oh, of all things, Ned. Let
me hear it. Who is it from?'
`Ringold!'
`He is so handsome!'
`Do you think so?'
`He has the finest eyes!'
`Then I won't tell the compliment; for if
you begin this way I don't know what 'll
come of it, when you hear how he said you
were the handsomest girl in all the valley,
and had the whitest-teeth; (Kate smiled and
displayed her pearly teeth,) had the prettiest
foot, (Kate glanced at her foot) and were
the best tempered person in the world.'
`I knew Ringold was a young gentleman
of taste.'
`You did, hey!'
`Yes, he always smiles when he sees me!'
`He does, hey?'
`Yes, sir jealousy!'
`I am not jealous, Kate. But you would
make me so if you could.'
`Would I? how charitable you are. Bless
me, I think there is nothing so disagreeable
looking, as a jealous lover.'
`Well, I won't look disagreeable, Kate;
but to tell you the truth —'
`Well what is it? Don't stammer and
look for all the world as if you were going
to tell a lie.'
`I believe you have a sort of —'
`Now you are going to say something foolish,
and you had best think better of it, Ned.'
`No, I was only going to say that I think
you like Ringold; and to tell you the truth
I am not surprised at it. He has a good
education and can write. Yes, he can write
you love-letters, which I, poor devil, can't do,
and —'
`Ned, what is the matter?' she asked him
with a look of comical surprise.
`I—I—I—'
`There now! Tears in your eyes Why
my dear Edward, what has got into you?'
she said at once abandoning her tantalizing
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[figure description] Page 078.[end figure description]
manner, and taking him by the hand, while
she looked into his tearful eyes with deep
womanly affection and sympathy.
`I am a fool!'
`No one else would dare to call you so.'
`I ought to know better than to expect to
keep the love of such a beautiful, intelligent,
sensible girl, as you are. You deserve a better
fate. I despise myself, when I sometimes
think how ignorant I am.'
`Well, I don't despise you, Ned. I
wouldn't have a husband that knew one jot
more than I did.'
`But I don't know any thing you do.'
`But I am going to teach you, just as soon
as you get married and the honey moon is
over. You shall read all I have read, and
know just all I know. I have my plan all
made out on my fingers' ends. The morning
before breakfast, I'll teach you to read,
and when you can read, we'll have the morning
for geography, which you know is a description
of the earth.'
`No, I didn't know any such thing.'
`Well, it is. Dear me how ignorant he
is to be sure!' she said sotto voce. `At
noon I'll give you a lesson in grammar,
which is the art of reading and writing
with — no, not reading and writing, reading
and speaking with propriety. That you
must learn because you don't always speak
the best grammar, Ned.'
`I'll try to talk as near like you do, as I
can, and I know I'll be as right as I want to
be.'
`At noon, grammar, and in the evening!
let me see, what shall we have for the evening?
Oh, writing!'
`Yes, writing of all things!'
`Of all things!'
`Then when you go away I can write to
you!'
`And I can write to you!'
`How charming.'
`Wont it?'
`Well, there is reading, writing and grammar.
'
`That's all!'
`No, there's one more!'
`Oh, dear!'
`There is a long sigh, now. Just as it
used to be when your father sent you to
school. You sighed and played marbles and
tossed coppers, Ned, when you ought to have
been at your book. Dear me! It ain't every
maiden would love you and take you in
hand as I have done; and if you —'
`Don't say another word! Bless my soul!
what a little rattle your tongue is, Kate!
But then it is as musical as sleigh-bells. I'll
agree to learn 'Rithmetic! That 'll be the
three R's!'
`What 'll be the three R's?'
`Readin', Ritin', and Rithmetic!'
`Oh, oh! Was ever! Really Edward
you are so —'
`Ignorant!'
`Yes, that is the very word!'
`Well, I know it, Kate!'
`Now don't go to looking black again.
I'll have you as learned as I am in a year after
we are married. I'll show the school-master
that a wife can do what he couldn't!'
`I shall be the happiest dog in the world,
dear Kate, in having such a teacher. But—
'
`But what?'
`When —'
`When what? —'
`You look at me so innocent like, that—
'
`I hope I am innocent, Ned! What did
you hesitate at? What were you going to
ask?'
`That important question!'
`How you blush. You make me blush
to see you blush so. What, what question?'
she added in a faltering voice, looking as if
she very well knew what he asked to know.
`The day—we—are—to—be—hap—happy,
Kate.'
`Well, upon my word, one would think
you were trying to swallow a camel. Aint
you happy enough now?'
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[figure description] Page 079.[end figure description]
`No, Kate! How you do perplex one!'
`You said not ten minutes ago that you
were the happiest man on earth in being my
lover!'
`So I did—so I am—but—'
`You want to be happier do you?'
`Yes, dearest Kate!'
`That is to be less happy than you are
now!'
`Why is it so?'
`This question shows how you want grammar,
Ned. Happy is happy ain't it?'
`Yes!'
`Happier, is happier!'
`Yes!'
`And happiest, is more than happier!'
`True as the grammar itself!'
`Now then you see if you are the happiest
man on earth, and want to be happier, it is
going back one step, for happier is under happiest.
This comes of learning grammar, Ned!'
`Well, then!' answered Ned rubbing his
ruddy cheek! `I don't exactly see how that
tree falls, but I suppose it is all right, as you
say it is. Then I don't want to be made any
happier, I mean grammar happier.'
`Then you are content to be as we are!'
`No, no' I want to—to—to be ha—
not happier, but —
`Married! out with it at once, Ned.'
`You've said it, Kate. When shall we set
the happy day?'
`The first of next month!'
`Why that is April fool's day.'
`Then if you are afraid you 'll be made
a fool of,' said the vexatious little beauty
with a pout, `I'll —'
Let it be April fool's day then, Kate!'
`You take it so good-naturedly, Ned, I'll
name an honest good day. It shall be the
tenth of April, which is my birth day. I
shall be just twenty three.'
`The tenth of April then it is, dearest
Kate,' answered Whitlock with a joyful air.
`Now Kate, a kiss.'
`What for?' asked she demurely.
`To seal it!'
`Oh, no. Nobody 'll get at the secret, if
you don't tell it.'
`You are enough to tempt and vex a
saint. But I must not stay another moment.
Ringold will be impatient.'
`Tell him I think he is the handsomest
young fellow in the valley.'
`No I wont.'
`Oh, you are so afraid of Ringold. Be
sure he thinks there is no body like that
beautiful English lady whose picture he has.
Wouldn't you like to have him paint my
portrait, Ned.'
`No!'
`Oh, what a jealous pate you are. Well,
I'll make you believe yourself when we get
married and I get to teaching you the three
R's, as you call them.'
`And what are they, Kate?'
`I'll teach you one of these days. Good
bye if you must go; and be sure and be here
to-morrow night. I wonder what Ringold
Griffitt can want with you to go with to the
Elk?'
`I'll tell you when I return, all about it,'
answered Whitlock; so now dear Kate, good
bye.' And like a bold lover, and true as he
was, in spite of grammar and the three R's,
he caught her in his arms, left a kiss on
either cheek, and a third upon her lips, and
bounded away like a victor.
In another hour, he and the party, composed
of Red Beard, Ringold and the recluse,
were wending their way through the valley
in the direction of the Elk Fork Inn.
-- --
CHAPTER XX. THE DENIAL.
[figure description] Page 080.[end figure description]
The sun was about an hour high, as the
landlord of the Elk Inn, standing in the door
of his hospice, and looking up the road beheld
approaching from the north, a horseman,
and three men on foot.
`Who have we here, eh?' he said, rubbing
his hands. `These are stirring times for we
inn-holders! Methinks the whole world is
taking a journey. What are these, wife?'
he asked, as the good dame was drawn to
look out of the door of the humble house
of entertainment.
`I see an old man with a white beard, a
stout man with a red beard, and two younger
men without beards.'
`You are always knowing men by their
beards. Now I always mark a man by the
color o' the horse he rides, or the cut o' his
coat. But it is as you say, one man with a
white beard—
`On a horse!'
`Yes, on a sorrel mare;—and a stout man
with a red beard, and two others with no
beards. Correct!'
`That is Red Beard the raftsman, sir;'
said the man-of-all-work at the Inn, who
came and stood near, looking to see the
party as it slowly approached.
`By the rood, I believe it is, and the other
is Master Griffitt, the genius, and his shadow,
the scape-graceling, Ned Whitlock back
again. But I don't know the old man! Do
you wife?'
`Never saw him in these parts afore,' answered
the dame. `He is a stranger, sure.'
`Wall, they'll stop here and get supper
and lodging no doubt, and that'll be two silver
dollars more gain for us. Go and see
that the gentleman up stairs wants any thing.'
`I just came down! He was writing his
letter yet.'
`That shows how good a doctor you are,
wife for drowned folks. Your hot yarb tea
he drank last night made a well man of him
a-most to day. He's most too well, between
you and I, for I was in hopes to keep him at
least two weeks, wife.'
`Wall, I can put something in his tea
as'll keep him back, you know, as much one
day as he gains another.'
`That wouldn't be hardly honest. But as
he can't walk away, with his sprained ancle,
I can keep him here by tellin' him the horses
is spavin'd, or broken-winded, and cant go,
which is true enough of em for that matter.
It aint every day a gold-fish comes to our net,
wife.'
`That it aint. Did you count full a hundred
gold pieces in his purse?'
`Yes, one hundred lacking two, all told.
That is too much money for him to take
away him from the Elk Head. But if he
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[figure description] Page 081.[end figure description]
goes soon I'll charge him extra, for making
a fuss generally, twenty dollars. But hush!
here are our new guests.'
The party now came to the inn door, and
Griffitt being known to the landlord, advanced
and said,
`Ah, good master Tapp, how do you do?
Can you give us accommodations to-night?'
`Wall, p'raps so. I've got a sort o' surreign
old gentleman, as was half-drownded,
takin' up my front best, but I can 'commodate
you I reckon. Who is the old man,
Master Ringold?'
`The father of Captain Burnside.'
`You are welcome, friends,' said Boniface,
`captain, you are most welcome. Let me
help you get your father down from the
horse. Your foot on the horse-block, sir.
That is well. Sam, take the horse round to
the barn, and rub him down and feed him
well, and do you hear, let him eat all you
put in! no stealing half back, for these are
my friends!' The last two lines were uttered
in an under tone. `So Master Whitlock,
you are returned soon. Glad to see
you! Gentlemen walk in.'
The party were shown by Mister Tapp,
into a side receiving room, rudely but comfortably
furnished, and asking whether they
would have supper served, then he went out
to order it. Red Beard followed him to the
tap-room, and touching him on the shoulder,
in a familiar way said,
`So, master Tapp you have a foreigner
here!'
`Yes, and a man of money, I guess. Did
Whitlock, for I see he came with you, tell
you how near he came being drowned?'
`Yes!'
`It was a narrow escape for him. It
seems that he and a Mr. Chartland, who had
been up the river in a sleigh and pair, in returning,
tried to cross the elk, a mile above
my house, on the ice, without trying it.
You might have known they were city people
by this. The consequence was, when
they got half way across, the ice gave way
under them, and the whole went under, as
was seen by two or three persons who were
near on the bank. The horses, sleigh, and
one man never rose again; but this gentleman
up stairs, re-appaered on the surface,
wedged between two cakes of ice, his body
half out, half in. There he stuck fast, till
they got axes and cut him out more dead
than alive, and badly bruised. They fetched
him to my house insensible, but rubbing and
dozing, and hot baths, brought him to, and
to-day he is almost himself again. But the
sleigh, and horses, and poor Mr. Chartland are
still under the ice; and they do say that there
is money in the sleigh, and about his body!'
`Does the gentleman who was rescued sit
up?' asked Red Beard, interrupting the talkative
inn-keeper.
`Dear sus, yes! He ate his dinner in his
room, sitting up, and had a good appetite;
and he is now writing letters, though he
groans once in a while with his right leg,
which is badly bruised.
`I am glad to hear he is doing so well,' answered
Red Beard with joy he could hardly
restrain. `Does he see visitors?'
`Yesterday a great many of the neighbors
went in to see him, but to-day he says he
wishes to be alone. He is very commanding
like, and between you and I, Captain
Red-B—, I mean Captain Burnside, I believe
he is a great man at home.'
`Do you? I should like to see him.'
`He don't wish folks to interrupt him!
He asked for a bell, and said he would ring
it when he wanted us; and as he would
have a bell, I took off the cow-bell and gave
it to him. Bless me! There it is! What
a racket and dinging! Run, wife and see
what he wants.'
`No, you must go, for he said when he
rung again he wanted you to come and get
the letter he was writin', and give it to the
man that was to take it to Baltimore.'
`Does his letter go to Baltimore?' asked
Red Beard quickly, while his grey eye lighted
up with a strange and peculiar expression.
-- 082 --
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`Yes,' he said at dinner he wanted me
to find a safe man who would take a letter to
the city for him, and he would give him two
guineas to go and two on his return.'
`And who is going?'
`My man, Sam!'
`Let me go up and get the letter Master
Tapp, as an excuse to see him!'
`That you may do and welcome; responded
Tapp. `Go quick, for there is the cow-bell
again ringing, enough to frighten the
old cow herself.'
Robert Burnside at once left the tap-room,
and directed by the landlord, went up to the
room and tapped at the door. His heart
throbbed tumultuously at the thought that he
was about to see and hear the voice of the
man who, as he had not a doubt, had been
the author of his mother's unhappiness, of
his father's misery, and his own years of
wandering and sorrow.
`Come in!' said a deep, well bred voice,
in a tone something impatient.
Robert Burnside entered, and recognized
seated at a table, the tall white-headed stranger
he had seen in the sleigh at his camp.
No sooner did the latter behold him than he
started, and uttered an exclamation of surprise,
while a troubled look passed over his
pale features.
`He has not forgotten me,' thought Red
Beard, and looks at me again with that same
fearful inquiring expression which I before
remarked. I can now account for it! He
saw in me both a likeness to my father and
to my mother, yet he cannot tell who it is I
remind him of. I will speak to him. You
have a letter, sir, to be taken to the city.'
`You are not of the inn! Did I not see
you at—at a camp! Why do you come
here?'
`For the letter, being sent by the landlord!
' answered Red Beard quietly.
`Who, who are you?' demanded the stranger
with increasing agitation. `I adjure you
tell me who you are, and what you intrude
upon me for.'
`Do you not know me my lord! Can you
not guess who I am, my lord?'
`Who are you, I demand that thou callest
me by my title? How should I know you.'
`My lord, who I am I shall not at present
make known to you,' answered Red Beard.
`I am here to have a few moments' conversation
with you!' and Red Beard took a chair.
`What means this?'
`Keep cool, my lord!'
`Do you mean to in—'
`I mean to interrogate you! Touch not
that bell, my lord! There, it is out of your
reach. I wish to ask you a few questions.'
`Well!' faintly ejaculated the stranger,
who felt that he was in the presence of one
his conscience strongly whispered to him to
fear.
`Are you not Lord * * * *?' asked Robert
Burnside, bending his eye full upon him.
`Lord * * * *, has been dead this thirty
years, or more!' answered the nobleman
with deadly pallor. `I am Lord Berelston.'
`'Tis false! you may be lord Berelston,
but you are also the Earl of * * * *! Do
not degrade your grey head by lying, my
lord.'
`Sir, do you dare —'
`Dare? I dare any thing, my lord:' answered
Red Beard, in a voice of thunder.
`But I must be calm.'
`In Heaven's name, tell me who you are?
Your features, your eye, your voice—'
`No matter these! I know they remind
you of —'
`Of whom? Tell me what dim figures of
the past I see revive in you.'
`In me, Lord * * * *, you see the avenger
of the innocent Lady Alice.'
`I see now! I see! It is her and her
husband. I know now whose likeness it is I
see in thee. But who art thou?' he asked
shaking like a leaf.
`The avenger of the innocent. I am here
Lord * * * *, base caitiff, to make thee on
thy knees, and with a pen dipped in thy own
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blood, write out thine own infamy, and the
innocence of Lady Alice.'
`I am not whom you think. I know no
Lady Alice. I don't know thee. Leave me!'
he cried with thrilling accents of fear and
rage. `The devil hath sent thee hither to
mock me! I know not what thou sayest.'
`Very well. We will have a witness here
that shall confront thee and thou him,' and
Robert Burnside rung the bell. His countenance
as he waited looked as if moulded
in iron. There was a resolute expression
in his eyes that told he would have gone on
in this affair before him if the very trump of
doom were waking the echoes of the mountains
around.
`Master Tapp, send Ringold Griffitt here.'
`Anything particular—'
`Obey me.' The publican without another
word went down and Ringold appeard.
`I have proved him to be the man to my
own satisfaction; but he denies,' whispered
Red Beard. `Send my father up, but say
nothing. He is ignorant of whom he is to
meet. I did tell him it was some person
whom it was important he should take this
long ride to see for my sake. Send him up.'
`What means this whispering and this
mystery, sir?' asked the nobleman with alarm
and suspicion. `Do you intend me harm?
am I in a den of robbers?'
`We will shortly see who are the robbers,'
answered Red Beard. `My father, come in
this way, he said, leading him into the room
closely followed by Ringold and Whitlock.
`Here, my lord, is one who has reason to
know thee. Look at that man, sir, and tell
if thou has—'
But Red Beard did not complete his sentence;
for no sooner did the recluse put his
eyes upon the occupant of the room than he
started and exclaimed in deep tones of rage
and amazement,
`Lord * * * *!'
The nobleman at the same instant recognized,
beneath the mantle of time, the injured
husband, and as he heard his own name
pronounced by him, he sank upon the chair
from which he had half risen in his surprise,
and with a fall like one dead, cried,
`This is a fearful time! I am judged at
length by Divine wrath.'
`Dost thou now deny that thou art Lord
* * * *?' demanded Red Beard.
`No, I confess! I confess!'
`What dost thou confess?' interrogated the
recluse who seemed restored to vigor and
strength and youthful fire, by the sight of
one who had done him such heavy wrong.
`Speak, man! demon! What dost thou confess?
'
`My guilt!' he faintly responded as he
shrank away from the flashing eye of the
avenging husband.
Red Beard now approached the nobleman,
and said with menacing severity,
`See, base earl, that you make full and
truthful confession! If you dare to deviate
in the least I shall make you suffer for it.'
`Who are you?' In the name of heaven
who are you?' demanded the nobleman,
whose fear for the moment seemed to be
overcome by the most intense and painful curiosity.
`I am the son of Lady Alice * * * *,'
answered Robert Burnside in a tone that
made the nobleman cower, while the intelligence
evidently amazed him.
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[figure description] Page 084.[end figure description]
`I have no hope then! I am adjudged,' he
muttered. `I am glad,' he added, rallying
himself, `that I can confess before thee and
thy father, since I must confess, for I am too
old and too near the end of life to care longer
to keep secret my infamy; and I trust my
full and free confession will in some degree
atone for a crime that has been on my
soul for the last half of my life.'
`No more idle words, earl,' cried the marquis,
who was greatly agitated; `speak in
few words and tell me what hellish plot thou
didst devise and carry out against my innocent
wife.'
`Thou sayest truly, my lord marquis; she
was innocent and guitless. I alone was
guilty, I and her enemies. If thou wilt listen
I will make known her innocence to thee to
my own confusion. The beauty of the Lady
Alice inspired me with thoughts of evil towards
her, and in order to gain her confidence
I first strove to gain yours.'
`Villain!' murmured the marquis, who had
seated himself in a chair, and with his chin
resting upon his hand on the top of his staff
he fixed his stern eye steadily upon the speaker
as he unfolded his infamy. He paid no
attention to the epithet applied by the marquis
but went on to say,
`Having won your confidence I believed
I should now be regarded with friendship by
the Lady Alice as your friend, and I prepared
to avial myself of the privilege of my position
as your guest to seek her favor by flattery
and attention. But with the keen eye
of purity she saw through my base motives
and ere I had betrayed my purpose by word
she had read my treachery to thee in my
eyes; and with the indignation of virtue and
the boldness of innocence, she charged me
with being false in heart and will to thee,
her husband, and banished me from her presence
with contempt. My lord, I had not
spoken two words to her, not a word to give
her alarm, not even taken her hand, yet I was
treated by her immaculate purity as if I had
made her openly the basest proposals! So
true it is that innocence can never be approached,
for it takes quick alarm at a look
too free. Never did I imagine innocence to
be so spotless and holy as that of Lady Alice.'
`Poor, injured wife,' groaned the marquis.
`Oh villain, what hast thou not to answer
for? But go on! go on. Leave unspoken
no word that shall add glory to her virtue.'
`I will not, my lord marquis. I assure
you all present, that, though a few moments
since I was overwhelmed at finding in what
company I was, and quaking with just apprehension,
yet, so bitterly has my conscience
goaded me in past years, that I rejoice and
thank Heaven for this opportunity of proclaiming
to the husband the innocence of his
injured wife, to the son too, the purity of his
insulted mother.'
`Finding that Lady Alice had penetrated
my base views ere I had given them words,
and feeling degraded by the proud manner in
which she had bidden me never again to
cross her path or dare to lift my eyes to her
face, smarting with my defeat and boiling
over with rage at being lowered by her purity
in my own eyes, I swore to be avenged upon
her.'
`Oh vile, vile earl.'
`Father, be patient,' said Robert, in an
under tone; `we will hear him in all he has
to say. Let us not check him. There will
be time enough by and by.'
`There chanced to be two or three ladies
in the palace attendants upon the queen who
had taken offence at Lady Alice from envy
because the queen held her in such high regard.
One of these ladies, the Countess of—,
had been for some days previous to my
discomfiture, planning the ruin of her rival.
She chanced to meet me as I left the presence
of Lady Alice, and seeing the cloud upon
my brow, and having had intimation of
my designs, she suspected my defeat and I
frankly acknowledged my discomfiture, vowing
vengeance. She then proposed to me to
join her in effecting the ruin and disgrace of
one, who by her beauty and purity brought
-- 085 --
[figure description] Page 085.[end figure description]
out into too high relief the deficiencies of her
own character. Two other ladies joined in
the conspiracy and it was planned that I
should, by their means, be secreted in the
apartment of Lady Alice, and a sleeping potion
administered to her in order that, in order
to render her guilt in your eyes perfect,
she might retire earlier than was her custom.
As soon as she fell asleep, the signal was
given to me and I advanced from my hiding-place
and laid my head upon her pillow.—
You had, in the meanwhile, been notified by
the wily woman, and coming in beheld me
there. I had just time enough to make my
escape behind the arras, and— my lord
you know the rest. Lady Alice was innocent.
She knew nothing of my presence. I—'
`No more! enough, enough!' cried the
marquis, rising to his feet with deep emotion,
while tears trickled down his cheeks.
`Oh, my pure and spotless innocent. My
injured and hapless wife,' he cried, clasping
his hands and looking heavenward,' `forgive,
forgive me. I have sinned in the great wrong
I have done thee in believing thy guilt. But
I will try and make atonement to thy child!
I will proclaim thy innocence to the world.
But as for thee,' he added, turning to the
earl, who sat watching his foes with fear and
craven pallor, `I know not how to serve thee.
Death were too good for thee. Thou shouldst
live and suffer.'
`Suffer? I have surffered, my noble marquis.
This confession I have made has
lighted my breast of a load it has heavily
borne for years. Though I should perish by
thy hand or that of thy son, I should die happier,
knowing that I have, in some measure,
atoned for my crime.'
`This penitence, wicked and base noble,
this penitence becomes thee,' said Robert
Burnside, as he regarded the trembling criminal
with a stern and dark brow. `It is not
for us to take the just vengeance of Heaven
in our weak hands. We leave thee to God
and his mercy, if it can reach such as thee!'
`I implore thy forgiveness, thine also, no
ble marquis. I have deeply wronged thee
and am willing to make such atonement as is
left me. But I have, as you shall hear, done
something—'
`We mean you shall render full atonement,
false earl,' said Robert Burnside, sternly;
`and as here are pen and paper, what prevents
that you should write out and sign a complete
and ample acknowledgement of the innocence
of Lady Alice and of your own infamous
guilt?'
`That I am willing to do; but that you
need not condemn me, wholly, my lords,' added
the wretched man, looking from father to
son, as he applied this title in plurality to
both, `I wish to make a confession of a contemplated
good, which I performed, but
which I did evil to bring about. What I am
going to say will fill the bosoms of both of
you with joy, especially yours, my lord,' he
said, looking at Robert Burnside.
`Speak, then, for I would extract some
good, if it were a thing possible, out of thy
wicked life!'
`Thou once had a fair daughter, who—'
`What of my child? Art thou about to
confer that she perished by thy means?'
`Nay: hear me, my lord.'
`I will hear thee,' answered Robert, trembling
with emotion.
`This daughter, at the age of eight, was
supposed by thee to have perished in the conflagration
of thy house.
`Supposed? She did perish!'
`She did not, my lord!'
`She did not!' repeated Robert with wild
amazement, amid which sat hope like a fluttering
bird. `Speak, quickly! What is it
thou knowest? Short words and few, to the
truth of it.'
`She did not suffer the fate of her governess.
She was taken from the house, even
before the building was fired. Thou wilt
shudder at my crimes, but I meant not to destroy
life. I believed that all would escape.
The building, after your child was taken
away, was set on fire, by my order, with the
-- 086 --
[figure description] Page 086.[end figure description]
purpose of concealing her abduction and
leading you to suppose that she fell a victim
to the conflagration that destroyed the edifice!'
`Explain yourself, base earl! I know not
to what your words tend. Thou speakest
riddles!'
`I will to the point, then, my lord. After
the guilt of Lady Alice was believed by her
husband, I left England in order to avoid the
vengeance of the marquis. I subsequently
returned, and as I had rendered my title and
name somewhat infamous by my dissoluteness—
the evil of which I now bitterly see—
I adopted another title which belonged to me
but which I had never borne. Under this
title I remained at one of my seats in England
until the king sent me to India on an
embassy. I was absent twenty-eight years,
being made governor of —, and returned
once more to England. But I brought back
with me a heavy conscience. The recollection
of my guilt in the destruction of Lady
Alice had never, in my long absence, left my
mind. After my return I inquired her out,
and learned that she had been several years
dead, leaving a son who had gone, no one
knew whither. But at length I heard of this
son's return with a foreign bride, who, not
long afterwards died, leaving a daughter. I
now became interested in the father and
child, and, by means of spies, I kept advised
of their mode of life. I began to be daily
more and more importuned by my conscience
to do both justice by proclaiming to the
world the innocence of Lady Alice, that they
might inherit the name and rank which was
rightfully theirs; for it was believed that you,
noble marquis, were no more. But the proclamation
of the innocence of Lady Alice
would involve my own public name and be
the proclamation of my own infamy. Therefore,
I resolved to delay it and leave the confession
until my decease. But, my lords, I
am rejoiced that I have this opportunity of
making known to you, in person, what it is
so important to your happiness and honor
should be declared.
`Thus I suffered six or seven years to pass
away, from time to time having intelligence
of you, my lord, and of the promising beauty
of your fair daughter. At length I heard
that you had gone to London and made proclamation
calling on all persons who could
show cause why you should not come into
the possession of the title and estates, to
come forward and do so.'
`And, sir, did not this move you to do
justice to the wronged?' demanded the marquis,
sternly.
`I was moved to do it, but, as I have said,
I had not the courage to be just. I could
not make up my mind to bear the finger of
scorn, and especially for my son's sake; for,
my lords, I married a daughter of the earl of
Annapolis, whose large possessions in this
country you are aware of. My son was then
a youth of twelve years, and I shrunk from
bequeathing to him a dishonored name.—
Therefore I withheld justice in one form,
but resolved to do it in another.'
`We listen,' said Robert Burnside. `You
see I wait you patiently till you come again
to my child, who you say perished not in that
fire! What was her fate?'
`I now am ready to tell you, my lord. I
have said to you I shrunk from coming forward
and proclaiming my shame, therefore I
conceived the idea of doing justice to the
child, the grandchild of Lady Alice, though
I would not do it to her son. I conceived
a plan of uniting in wedlock my son and
your daughter, when they should get to mature
age, previously proving by my proposed
confession at my death, her title to her grandfather's
rank and domain, which descends in
the female line.'
`And so enriching your son with her honors
and wealth!' observed the old marquis,
with contempt. `Well planned, like your
other schemes, my lord. And what come
it it?'
`Your lordships must see that her title to
these depended wholly on my voluntary confession;
and I conceived that I could not for
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[figure description] Page 087.[end figure description]
her own happiness do better than secure her
hand to my son, who was an amiable youth.'
`I dare say, I dare say! What did come
of this plan?' asked Robert, with the bitterest
irony.
`I perceive that my motives are misinterpreted.
Be it so. I, however, did what I
conceived to be for her good I knew that
her father was far from rich and that her position
in society, if she remained with him
would be humble. In order, therefore, to
the high position to which I destined her,
when she should come to her high rank and
name, and hoping by my attention to her
future happiness to atone for the misery I had
caused her grandmother, and that I might
not be interrupted in my purpose and intention,
I caused her to be taken by night,
while she slept, secretly from her home, and
the house to be fired, to convey the impression
to her father that she had perished in
the flames.'
The confession of the earl had been listened
to thus far with amazement; and when
he acknowledged that he had fired the house
of Robert of Burnside and thus caused the
death of two of its inmates, there were heard
exclamations of horror and loathing from
Griffitt and Red Beard.
`Thou only needest this to cap thy crimes,'
said Red Beard, `but I must hear thee out.
Tell me, then, how my daughter died?—
Speak all the truth as you hope to live!'
`She is not dead.'
`Not dead?' cried Robert, with a loud
cry between joy and incredulity.
`No, my lord; at least she was alive and
well two months ago.'
`Art thou lying to me, earl?' asked Red
Beard, greatly agitated.
`No. I have no motive in doing so. Your
daughter, after being taken from your house,
was brought to me. I adopted her as my
own, and her beauty and talents won from
me an affection more than parental.'
`And what become of her? Where is
she?'
`She grew up under my eye and received
the best education England could bestow.—
My niece, for my wife has long been dead,
took her under her charge as if she had been
her own child. Between them grew an attachment
which still exists. Your daughter,
when two months ago I left England, was at
my seat in Northumberland, in charge of
this niece, a maiden lady of forty, and of her
brother, a country baronet, who are in charge
of my household till I return. I assure you
of her happiness and peace!'
`My lord, may I credit this?' demanded
Robert Burnside, in a voice scarcely audible
with emotion. `Tell me if my child really
lives, and I will forgive thee thy great crime
in robbing me of her.'
`I swear it to you, my lord.'
`Is she fair and good?'
`She has no equal in beauty or virtues.'
`And her age is now nineteen! Oh, that
I could once more see my child! But I fear
that there is some mistake. It is impossible
that she lives!'
`The story seems probable, sir,' said Griffitt.
`Encourage the hope. I believe the
earl has told the truth. The setting fire to
your castle and robbing you of your child are
so in keeping with his base character, that I
-- 088 --
[figure description] Page 088.[end figure description]
should do him injustice to question the truth
of his confession.'
`One word. Is my child married to thy
son?'
`Alas, that son is no more. He was
thrown from his horse and killed the day he
reached his twenty-first year. He was my
only child, and his death not only threw me
into profound grief, but entirely changed my
plans with reference to your child.'
`Let me hear in what way? I trust not
to her honor.'
`Inasmuch as my son had died and I had
no heir to my title and estate, which were
greatly encumbered by debts, I determined
to invest money in American lands, and, in
my will, bequeath them to your daughter, as
my property in England would at once pass
to my creditors on my death. I desired,
therefore, to leave her some token of my regard;
and, therefore, as some property in
Baltimore, which belonged to me in right of
my wife's father, Lord Annapolis, required
looking after if I would retain it, I resolved
to embark for this country; and while I settled
the estate of Lord Annapolis, I intended
to look out for lands for investing what ready
money I intended to appropriate to the advantage
ofyour child, which I considered as my
own; for I had understood you, my lord, believing
your daughter to have perished, had
left the country and died abroad.'
`How hardily you speak of your crimes
and their results upon others,' said the marquis;
`but doubtless thou hast a seared conscience.
Did not your conscience smite you
for inflicting such sorrow upon a father's
heart as to drive him into exile, and, as you
supposed, to death? Had you no pity on my
son, if you had none on me nor my wife?—
Was there penitence or contrition in thus
robbing him of his child, his only child, and
piercing his soul with such sharp arrows of
grief?'
`I can say nothing in my defenee, my lord;
I wished to atone to the grandchild by—'
`By enriching your son with her honors
and wealth! For this end alone, not for
conscience sake, did you propose to restore
her to them by proclaiming her mother's innocence
in your will. But,' added Red
Beard in the same fierce tone, `have you,
now that your son is dead, have you proclaimed
her title to her grandfather's rank?'
`Not yet. I intended on my return to
England, after having secured to her the
American property, which I have met with
this accident in going to examine previous to
purchasing, I intended, I repeat, on my return
to England, to make out a full vindication
of the innocence of Lady Alice, and
confess my guilty conspiracy, feeling that I
should be compensated for the ignominy that
would be attached to my name, by the glory
that would be added to hers!'
`It is a proper sentiment and well spoken,
earl,' said Red Beard, `but I doubt if you
speak the truth with reference to your intentions.
It is my belief only the presence of
the noble marqnis here and myself have led
thee, by taking thee by surprise, in thy fear
and amazement, to confess ought of thy
crimes. I do not see what my child, if re-instated
in the rich domains of her grandfather
here, could want of wild lands in the
New World.'
`My lord, I was childless. I had a little
money and I felt that I had wronged the
maiden, and could not do too much to show
my contrition. It was, therefore, as a token
to her of my regard that I intended this bequest.
'
`It may be as you say. This time will
show. Does my child know the relation in
which she stands to you—or to me?'
`No; she believes me, for I have so taught
her, to be her uncle.'
`And has she no recollection of her childhood?
' asked Griffitt; for Red Beard was
too indignant and grieved to speak.
`But slight; she was young when I took
her from her father's, and I took pains to—'
`To make her forget me and her home,'
shouted Red Beard, almost with frenzy.—
-- 089 --
[figure description] Page 089.[end figure description]
`Old man, I am tempted to tear thee in pieces,
as a lion would rend a fox? But I spare
thee, for thou hast not yet written thy confession
and testimony to the immaculate innocence
of the Lady Alice. Take thy pen
and write to my dictation! come, begin, and
I will sit opposite thee here and see thee do
it!'
`Is this my return, my lord, for telling
thee thy daughter lives?' asked the caitif,
looking up with a begging, deprecating look.
`My heart hath hardly given thy tale full
credit, yet I live in hope 'twill prove true.—
Yet I will not the less loathe thee, should it
be thou hast spoken truth. I shall rejoice
as one who receives his dead back again to
life, to behold and embrace my child, even
though she may not know me. But write,
writs! Take the pen! Now, my noble father,
' he added, turning to the marquis, as
the earl tremblingly took the pen, `dictate
such words as thou mayest deem the sweet
innocent Lady Alice needeth for the vindication
of her memory.'
The scene that took place for the next
quarter of an hour was one of the most extraordinary
character and absorbing interest.
The Earl, pale and craven in looks, his snow
white head rendering him the more infamous
and inglorious, sat by a small pine table by
the bed-side, his back to the bed, his face to
the door of the room. In his right hand he
held a pen which the tremor of the hand
caused to rattle audibly upon the paper to
which he tried to apply it for the purpose of
dating his confession, at the dictation of the
marquis. Directly opposite to him the marquis
sat, three feet distant from the table, a
venerable figure, to whose noble head his
grey hairs were a crown of glory. He leaned
upon his staff and bent his eyes upon the
earl, as he gave him words to write. On
the left of his father, with one hand on the
table, stood the athletic and manly figure of
Robert Burnside, his brow contracted and
stern, and his whole bearing such as impressed
the guilty Earl with mortal fear whenever
he chanced to glance up at him. On the
right of the marquis stood Griffitt, his face
betraying his intense interest in all that passed,
while a little to his right was Whitlock,
with a countenance indicative of the greatest
curiosity and amazement at all he saw and
heard; and it was not without a dash of awe
at finding himself in the presence of such
noble company as were by chance assembled
there. In the back ground, at the door at
which he had softly opened and held ajar for
the purpose was visible, one eye and an ear
of the landlord, Master Tapp, who aware that
something out of the common way was going
on in his house, had crept up stairs and stationed
himself where he could see and hear
fractions of what transpired.
It is not our purpose, here, to copy the
document which the base earl wrote out at
the joint dictation of the marquis and Robert
Burnside, as the facts embraced in it are
already known fully to the reader. It embraced
a brief but succinct history of the
conspiracy: its origin and object bore full
testimony to the innocence of its lovely victim,
and to the total depravity and wickedness
of the conspirators. It also bore testimony
to the identity of the youthful maiden,
Lady —, his neice, (so called,) with the
daughter of Lord Robert Burnside, whom he
acknowledged having stolen from her father's
roof when she was in her eighth year.—
For the purpose of educating her to the rank
to which she was born and into which he intended
to have installed her, the earl would
have written, but the marquis and Lord Robert
compelled him to word it `for the purpose
of marrying her to his son and enriching
him by her estates, to be restored to her
only for this end.'
When the confession, which was in the
form of an address to the king, was fully
written out and signed in the presence of
Griffitt and Whitlock, whose attesting signatures
were appended, it was read aloud by
Lord Robert, and pronounced by him and
his father sufficient for the purpose it was
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designed to accomplish. The earl was also
compelled to fix his family seal against his
name.
`Now, my lords,' said the wearied nobleman
as he laid down his pen, `I trust you are
satisfied, by this humiliating confession in
writing that I have made, that it is my wish
to atone, so far as it is in my power, for the
guilt and wrong-doing of my former life.'
`It is full late, full late; when the innocent
lady, this should benefit, has long been
dead—her end hastened by her sorrows,' said
the marquis, sadly and severely.
`To do evil seems to have been thy chief
virtue, earl!' said Robert Burnside, with a
gloomy brow. `Why did you not let me
know my child lived?'
`I should then have had to confessed my
guilt. I hoped to do justice to her and
let the secret of my crime go down to the
grave with me. It was the desire to preserve
my position in the world that made me take
these windings that I have followed, and
which added, I now see, crime to crime.'
`What do you propose doing?' asked Red
Beard, after talking aside a moment or two
with Griffitt.
`My lords, I am at your service. Sincerely
hostile as you look upon me—evil as you
think me—sincerely do I desire to see you
in the enjoyment of the position in the world
to which you are entitled, and from which
you have so long been deprived. Above all,
wish to insure the happiness of my neice,—
I mean thy child, Lord Robert. Therefore,
I am ready to return to England, when you
desire.'
`Then let it be at once,' said Robert, with
quickness. `There is no time for delay. A
carriage shall be at once obtained to convey
you to Philadelphia—the nighest port, and
where a vessel will be most likely to be found
going at once to England.'
`We must not loose sight of this bad man,'
said the marquis.
`No, my father. We go also with him.'
`Not in the same coach; not in the same.
I cannot ride with him.'
`You shall not be thus insulted, my noble
father. At the town, six miles from hence,
we can obtain suitable conveyances. He
shall go in one with Griffitt and Whitlock,
and I and you will ride in another.'
Ringold and Robert Burnside, the latter
having escorted the marquis below stairs
again, consulted aside together. Whitlock
received instructions, and at once, late as it
was, for the sun had set, took horse to the
next town, eight miles off, in order to engage
coaches to convey the party to Philadelphia,
which was a distance of fifty-four miles.
`Now, Master Griffitt, if you are ready to
take a trip to England with me, go and bid
thy mother good bye, and be back by noon
to-morrow, if thou canst,' said Robert.'
`I left her prepared to hear of my departure,
or see me return. I shall write and send
my good bye by Whitlock.'
`Then there will be no delay. We will
start as soon as the vehicles arrive. You
must go to keep this false craven earl under
your eye. I commit him to you as your
prisoner; for it may be his personal examination
before the king or lord chancellor may
be needful. Keep him safe.'
`He shall not escape me. How wonderfully
every thing has transpired! It seems
like a dream!'
`Said I not my dream was a true one?' exclaimed
Robert with triumph. `I felt I
could not be deceived.'
`It is all most amazing! The chances
were a myriad to one that you three persons
should encounter each other, and such a result
should take place! Fear not for this
earl, for I will keep careful watch over him.'
-- --
CHAPTER XXIII. THE LADY WINFRED.
[figure description] Page 091.[end figure description]
The scenery of our tale, with the principal
characters therein, is now transferred
from the valley of the Susquehannah to the
halls of `merry England.' We will not follow
the voyage of Red Beard and his party
in its details of calm and storm, but merely
inform the reader who wishes to know all
that transpires in novels, that after a long but
rather agreeable passage of eight and thirty
days from Philadelphia they reached London.
The earl had willingly accompanied them,
and, indeed seemed so desirous of making,
so far as lay in his power, atonement for his
crimes, that the unbending hostility of Robbert
Burnside yielded a little, so far even as
to pass an occasional word of kindness with
him on the voyage; but the marquis neither
spoke to him nor noticed him, save with a
stern and loathing look.
Whitlock did not accompany them, though
he was half inclined to do so; even forgetting
Kate in his regard for Ringold and his desire
as he said, `to see the affair through,'
But Griffitt dismissed him from going and
advised him to return home, take the beautiful
Kate to wife, if she was still of the same
mind, till the rich soil of his farm, study his
lessons, and be happy and content with his
condition.
Whitlock therefore went homeward, the
bearer of a letter from Ringold to his mother,
and not a little gratified that he had
Griffitt's permission to tell the whole of the
romantic story to which he had been in
some sort a party, to Kate, and as many
others as choose to listen to it. It was not,
therefore long, as the reader may guess,
before it was pretty generally known in
the valley that Red Beard the raftsman
had turned out to be an English lord, that
the recluse of the beacon had proved to be
his father and a great marquis, and they had
gone to England to take possession of their
titles and estates.
But leaving the good people of Perfect
Valley as the vale was termed, to enjoy the
telling and the hearing of the marvellous
story, which grew into an hundred shapes
ere it got to the ears of the last listener, we
will resume our narrative in a green valley
in the bosom of the British isle.
This vale was a fair scene of upland
swells, level meadows, noble parks and castles,
with here and there a village overtopped
by a gothic tower or slender spire.
In the midst of this noble scene, for it was
truly noble on every side where the eye rested,
stood a stately edifice of stone and marble,
having the air and grand outline of a
palace. It was situated facing a beautiful
lake, in the centre of which was a lovely
island crowned by an exquisite temple. There
were pleasant groves and lawnss on the borders
of the lake, and deer were grazing on
the sward or quenching their thirst by the
pebbly shores. The palace was half encircled
on the western side by a magnicent park
of old English oaks, through which wound a
broad carriage road, meandering in countless
shady curves for a full league ere it found its
way into the high road, entering it beneath an
elegant gateway, the lofty columns of which
were surmounted by couching lions.
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The palace had a very princely front, and
was beautified by a spacious terrace adorned
with statues, and West Indian plants, growing
in large marble vases. The ascent to the
surperb portico of the palace was by a flight
of marble steps which led to a vestibule enclosed
by lofty corinthian columns of spotless
marble.
This stately and beautiful structure consisted
of a centre and wings united by a piazza
of the most elegant architectural proportions.
Taste, wealth, and skill seemed to have combined
to create an an abode that should rival
every other; while nature in the beauty of
the surrounding scenery lent her aid to complete
the noble effect.
It was about six in the afternoon of a lovely
summer's day when a young lady stepped
forth from one of the tall Venetian windows
of the south wing of the palace upon the
piazza. She was alone, save a very handsome
Italian greyhound that bounded before
and around her as she walked up and down
the corridor with her eyes eagerly directed
down the avenue that ran through the park,
losing its windings in its deep glades. The
sun was yet an hour high, and shining only
upon the outlines of every elevated object in
the landscape, left the masses in shadow producing
a variety the eye of taste could not
behold without admiration; and notwithstanding
the fair girl appeared to be anxiously expecting
some one, she could not prevent exclaiming
with pleased surprise, at a cloud of
foliage on the opposite side of the lake, the
crest of which catching the sunbeams, shone
like a hill of emeralds, while the base of it
lay almost in the shadows of night.
`How lovely all this is,' she said with a
sigh of mingled happiness and regret, `yet it
never fills my heart. I always find something
wanting in every scene I behold! There is
ever lingering in my memory one fair scene,
homely, mountainous and secluded, that
pleases me more than all this glorious landscape.
Whether it be the memory of dreamland
or the scenes of early childhood that I
thus love to cherish in my heart's recollection
I know not; but happier far should I be in
such a scene than in this, for it seems to me
I have been happy in it.'
`You are dispirited this evening, Lady
Winfred,' said a female in neat attire, and in
the gay cap of a femme de chambre, who
came and drew near her with a sort of half
confidential manner, like one who was as
much a friend and companion as a servant.
`No, Beatrice; I was thinking of my
childhood, as I believe it must be, though my
uncle says that I was too young to remember
anything about any other childhood than that
I have passed here.'
`Yet, my lady, you was born in the north,
I've heard your aunt say.'
`Yes; my uncle the Earl had a brother
who was a poor laird, whose child I am he
says, and that he went to London and died,
and so he took me.'
`Do you remember your father, the laird,
Lady Winfred?'
`I shall never forget his face, and noble,
clear, expressive eyes. I remember him well,
and the affectionate tones of his voice. These
I remember, though my uncle would laugh,
and try to make me think I had dreamed
about him. Hark! don't you hear the sound
of wheels down the avenue?'
`No, my lady; it is the wind. It sometimes
moans so among the old trees as night
is coming on. Did your letter say that your
uncle would be here positively to-night?'
asked the pretty attendant, with an emphasis
on the adverb.
`He did not write me, Beatrice, but Lady
Francis and Sir John.'
`That's all the same.'
`No, it is not, for hitherto he has always
written to me. I can't perceive why he
should have written over my head in this
way. Not a word, not a line to me, no more
than as if I was not in existence. He is
going to bring company with him he says.
`I wonder who it can be. Perhaps it is
some red savage Americans caught in the
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[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]
forest of the new world where he's been, with
painted faces and bows and arrows for guns.
I would like to see one for all the world,
though I should be afraid too, for they say
they scalp and tomahawk little children
and ladies.'
`I do not imagine that the earl brings any
such gentlemen with him, especially as he
directed Sir John to have the state bed-room
prepared and other famous doings. So dear
Sir John is in a great bustle, and what with
preparing all the morning, and going down
to the turnpike to wait for the Earl, he has
had enough to do.'
`I shouldn't wonder if it was an Indian
prince, all decked in gold and precious jewels
from Peru that's coming, and the earl means
you shall marry him and be a princess.'
`What a fancy you've got, Beatrice. There
is no danger of my marrying prince or
peasant.'
`No, I am afraid not, Lady Winfred, for to
tell you my mind, I believe you've fell in love
with somebody when you was in London;
fore there have been three noble young gentlemen
to offer themselves to you, and you
sent them off where they come from, and then
you have been thoughtful and different from
what you used to be. I know just as well as
I stand here you are thinking of somebody
or other, and that is what makes you so altered.
'
The maiden blushed and dropped her large
blue eyes to the marble pavement of the portico,
then smiling and tossing her beautiful
head with an air of pride, she said:
`No, Beatrice, no, no! I am not in love.
But you have guessed one half. There is
some person I think a great deal of at times,
but—'
`Look! there is the coach, Lady Winfred.
I see the wheels glistening among the trees.'
`I hear and see it also. It must be the
earl,' exclaimed the maiden, gazing earnestly
in the direction of the park, through which
was seen moving two carriages at an easy
pace.
As she bent forward to observe them closely,
endeavoring to recognize those in them,
her attitude was unconsciously most graceful.
She looked the pers onification of the statue
of hope. We have already said that she had
blue eyes, and beautiful eyes they were, sparkling
with good humor, an expression of intelligence
and good sense. Her face was
exceeding lovely, the feaures being without
blemish, and moulded in their just proportions
which harmonized with the shape and
size of her head. Never did a fairer brow
reflect the light, never were mouth and chin
so beantiful. Her figure was slight, yet full
enough for grace and beauty, and there was
a certain air of independence mingled with
maidenly reserve about her that was unusually
attractive. She had a proud high born
look, moreover, that showed itself in her
step and the carriage of her head. One could
not look upon her without admiration, and
without being sure that she was as amaiable,
spirited and good as she was lovely.
`It is the coach, and Sir John's head I
can see looking out of the window,' she said,
after a moment's close regard of the approaching
vehicles. `I am beginning to feel some
emotion at the thought of so soon beholding
my uncle after his long absence. So if
he should bring any of these Indian princes
you talk of, it won't do for them to see me
in tears, Beatrice, even if they are tears of
welcome.'
`No, Lady Winfred, it might spoil your
eyes.'
`You are very particular about my eyes.
But I will go in and wait in the drawing-room
to receive uncle.'
The maiden retired from the piazza as
the carraiges rolled over the lawn and drove
near the steps of the portico. Beatrice lingered,
and saw Sir John alight from the first
carriage, whose face wore a very troubled
expression. Griffitt next alighted and assisted
the earl from the carriage, and Sir
John at once conducting him into the palace
through the lines of liveried footman who
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[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]
had assembled to receive their master. But
the earl passed by them with a sad expression
upon his face which was directed towards
the ground, save only when he slighty nodded
to his chief steward, who loudly hailed his
return again.
The second carriage came up, and the
steps being let down, the marquis and Robert
Burnside, the latter without his beard,
and dressed as became his rank, descended
from it and ascended the portico. The face
of Lord Robert was flushed and pale by
turns, as if he were much agitated at the
prospect of soon beholding his long lost
daughter; for the reader need not be informed
that the noble seat at which the carriages
have arrived, is that of the Earl of
* * * *.
Lady Winfred had witnessed, herself unseen,
the two parties alight, and as she gazed
on the earl's face, she could not but see that
he not only looked in feeble health, but that
his countenance wore an expression of care
and suffering. The form of Ringold was
only presented to her gaze, his features being
turned from her. But she was struck with
the venerable appearance of the marquis,
and the noble air and manly carriage of
Robert Burnside.
`Why, my lady,' cried Beatrice, running
into her presence, `there are three besides
the earl, who looks sick, and scarcely noticed
any of the household. I wonder who they
are? Something I am sure is the matter and
is going wrong, they all looked so serious.'
`I cannot divest my own mind of some
vague apprehension,' answered Lady Winfred,
`but it seems to be as much of joy as
fear. But where is my uncle that he did not
come in this way? I will go ahd meet him
in the hall, even though strangers are present.'
`My lady,' said the steward, coming in
and bowing very formally, yet wearing a
troubled look upon his usually cheerful face,
`the earl, your uncle, desires to have you
wait upon him in the library.'
`There, I said something was wrong,' cried
Beatrice. `He wouldn't have sent for you
in such a solemn way, if there hadn't been.'
`Don't fear, Beatrice; my heart tells me
that there is more joy than bitterness in its
fountains,' answered the beautiful girl, as
with a light step she followed the steward to
the library.
When Lady Winfred entered the library
which was in the opposite wing of the palace,
she found the earl, seated with his back towards
her, by a table, his heard resting upon
the palm of his hand. He was alone, and
his attitude was one of such dejection and
sorrow, that she stopped as the steward
closed the door behind her, and regarded
him, for a moment, with surprise and
alarm.
At length seeing that he took no notice of
her presence, she advanced towards him with
a step and voice of joyful welcome, saying:
`My dear, dear uncle, I am rejoiced once
more to see you return;' and she caught his
hand and stooping with affectionate respect,
kissed his cheek. He looked up, and as his
face met her gaze, she involuntarily shrieked,
it was so haggard and marked with
wretchedness of spirit. He tried to smile
and slightly returned the pressure of her
hand, and after regarding her a few seconds
with an expression of sadness and remorse,
he let his face fall again into his hand in the
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[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]
same attitude of grief as before, while a deep
groan escaped his bosom.
`Not a word—not a look of kindness,
uncle! What is it that has befallen you?
How is it I see you returned thus?' she
cried with accents and looks of deep distress.
`Have I done ought that causes you
to meet me so coldly?'
`Nothing, my child—nothing Lady Winfred!
'
`Lady Winfred! This is not the way
you used to address me. You have been ill
and your sufferings have affected your spirits.
Now that you have returned, I will soon
have you well. I will read to you, sing to
you, walk and ride with you, play chess and—
'
`No more, no more. Every word you utter
pierces me to the soul.'
The maiden gazed on him through her
tearful eyes, and fondly laying her hand upon
his brow and gazing into his face with deep
affection, said:
`You are unhappy. Some deep grief has
befallen you. Confide in me uncle. It is a
heavy blow for me, when I have been so
long and joyfully looking for your return, to
have you come back thus. What hath transpired?
Who are these persons whom you
have brought back with you. Methinks you
are too ill to have invited guests to accompany
you.
`They are self-invited, Lady Winfred.'
`Call me Winfred! Call me Winny as
you used to do, uncle. Your words chill
me. Self-invited. They do not look like—
officers of the law.'
`They are not. It is time you should
know who they are and who you are?'
`Your words are so mysterious that they
appal me. What is the meaning of all this?
Speak if you would not distress me. You
refuse my caresses, call me Lady Winfred
and act towards me with the coldness of a
stranger.'
`And it becomes me to do so,' answered
the earl in a tone of anguish. `But set here
and listen to what I am about to reveal to
you; and when you have heard all, hate and
loathe me.'
`Hate you! Oh, uncle. You must be
sorely affected. Explain, reveal nothing to
me now. I wont to hear nothing that will
make me hate you. Oh, dreadful idea.'
`Yet dreadful as it is, you must bear what
I have to reveal. It is for your happiness
and honor, though to my dishonor. Do not
speak, but listen; for there are guests that
must be attended to, and who are waiting in
the ante-room, the result of this interview
with you.'
The marquis and Lord Robert were, indeed,
in the ante-chamber, whither by the
earl's orders they had been conducted as he
himself passed into the library, into which
Griffitt entered with him. Having seated
himself, overcome with fatigue and the
weight of the talk he was to undergo, he desired
to be left alone. Griffitt, who from the
first, though kindly, had firmly acted the
part of his guard, at once obeyed, and joined
his two friends, while the earl ringing for
the steward, despatched him, as we have
seen, for Lady Winfred. By the express
and urgent desire of the earl, they had given
their permission for him, on reaching the
palace, to break to Lady Winfred the history
of her birth and his own guilt.
The reader may imagine with what impatience,
with what trembling emotions of fear
and joy, Robert Burnside waited to behold
his long lost child, whom he was now, without
doubt, assured lived and was within the
walls of the mansion. He could scarcely
restrain his impatience as after hearing the
door of the library close, the accents of a
female tongue faintly touched his ear. He
walked to the door of the ante-room amd listened,
that his heart might in anticipation,
drink in a portion of the happiness in store
for him. The marques set calm and silent,
not without feeling, however, something of
the pleasure that agitated the bosom of Lord
Robert, in the prospect of folding to his
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[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]
heart a grandchild. Ringold walked up and
down the room, occupying himself in gazing
on the noble pictures with which in was
adorned, yet entering with the fullest sympathy
into the feelings of his two companions,
with whose happiness and interests his own
had so long been united. He was not, moreover,
without curiosity to see the lovely
daughter of Lord Robert, of whose beauty
and virtue the earl, in those quieter moments
of almost friendly conversation, that
a long voyage furnished, spoke of with words
of the highest commendation. Suddenly as
Ringold was moving round the room from
picture to picture, glancing at each with the
eye of an artist, suddenly he burst forth into
an exclamation of amazement and joy, so
eager and animated, that both Lord Robert
and the marques were moved with surprise;
and the former seeing him gazing upon a
portrait in an attitude of almost mad rapture,
hastened across the large apartment towards
him.
`What have you discovered? What is it
that has moved you thus?' he cried.
`See! It is the very face! It is she!
`Who?'
`The lady I saw in the Royal Academy.
The angel of my destiny!' answered Ringold
with features illuminated with happiness.
`How wonderful that I should discover
her portrait here!'
But if Ringold was moved at this delightful
discovery of the picture of a face that
was engraven upon his heart of hearts, and
the original of which he had never hoped to
find more, he was now amazed and startled
beyond measure at the expression on the
features of Lord Robert, and the sudden
and extraordinary change that took place in
him after looking upon the portrait. With
a cheek that lost all color, and hands clasped
and trembling, his lips parted and his
whole frame convulsed with agitation, he
sunk upon his knees before it. Tears gushed
to his eyes and he murmured:
`My mother!' My beautiful and innocent
mother!'
The words thrilled the soul of Griffitt, and
the marques came hurriedly to the spot,
which he had no sooner reached and caught
sight of the picture, than he exclaimed:
`Lady Alice! It is my wife, my injured
wife.'
At this moment the sterward appeared at
the door bringing in the marques' cane
which had been left in the carriage.
`Whose portrait is this?' demanded Griffitt
in whose mind this scene gave rise to
strange, wild, tumultuous thoughts.
`The picture of the Lady Winfred, my
lords, the earl's neice!'
`My daughter? Oh, my child, I see thee
now thy mother and thee both blent in thy
lovely image!' cried Lord Robert, rising as
if he would embrace the portrait, on which
he continued to gaze like one in a happy
dream.
Griffitt had no sooner heard the name of
the original, than he turned suddenly towards
a window to conceal his feelings. It
was not with joy, but with sorrow he found
that the maiden whom he loved with such
remantic passions, was a noble's daughter.
`It is all past!' he said mournfully; `the
dream is over. She is too high for the aim
of a poor painter. She is Robert Burnsides
daughter, at which I rejoice for his sake,
but will he not soon take his rank among the
nobles of this proud land, and she will wear
a caronet, and have princes at her feet.
Alas, this discovery, who it is that I have
loved, instead of filling my bosom with joy,
depresses my soul with despondency. What
has a poor artist to do with flxing his love
upon a noble's daughter? Even the friendship
of Lord Robert, the gratitude of the
marques will not over pass the stern carons
of lordly usage. They may reward my services
with gold or lands, would I deign to
accept either, or with patronage in my art,
but not with the hand of their queenly
daughter. But why do I talk thus madly.
The maiden knows nothing of me. She has
never a second time recalled the poor
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[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]
seaman she spoke so kindly to in the gallery of
art. Doubtless when she beholds me, it will
be without the consciousness of ever having
beheld me before. Be it so. I will try and
overcome a passion that unrequited will consume
me. Hitherto I have had hope to kindle
and keep alive the fire of my love and
adoration; but now it must go out in darkness.
Now I can explain what it was in the
face of this sir John, as he was called, who
came to the Park Lodge and met us. It puzzles
me no longer to tell, as it was on his
arm the Lady Winfred leaned when she
spoke to me. But I will banish my own
griefs, and not selfishly be absorbed in them
while Lord Robert is on the eve of such joy
as awaits him.'
Thus resolving, this noble young man who
possessed every qualification but parchment
nobility, for the hand of Lady Winfred, approached
the imarqus and Lord Robert, who
still remained hefore the portrait, interchanging
with each other, remards upon its resemblance
to Lady Alice. Yet Robert Burnside
was not so absorbed in the contemplation
of the picture of his daughter, not to
be sensitively on the alert to catch every
sound that might herald the approach of the
original, whom his heart bounded to embrace.
`But, perhaps she will meet me as a stranger,
coldly and unrecognizing and wanting
sympathy with my joy,' he said sadly as his
eyes rested on the face of Griffitt who seemed
to be reading his thoughts.
`Hope for the best, my Lord Robert.
There is no doubt but she will recollect you;
and when the earl unfolds to her your tender
relation to her, you may be assured the fountains
of filial love which have so long been
sealed up, will open and flow into your heart.'
`I trust so. But why so sad at such a
moment of joy, my young friend.'
`Have I not reason to be sad, Lord Robert?
' answered Ringold, coloring and hesitating.
`I have found who my unknown angel
is, only to love her forever.'
`Love her? Why need you lose her?
`I am but a poor artist, and she is a noble's
daughter. It shall be my task and duty
to forget her. And if you will excuse me,
I would rather at once return to London. I
cannot bear to behold her again to revive all
the past in my soul, and then see her borne
from me forever.'
`This speech proceeds from the modesty
of thy character, master Ringold. You
shall see her and she shall see you; and if
she remembers you, if she ever has forgotten
you, and you can teach her to love you, by
the hopes of her love and affection, you have
my pledge that she shall be thine. I know
thy worth and excellence, and I know if she
had every lord in England at her feet, and
she knew thee, she would extend her hand
past all these to thine. Take courage and
remember that Robert Burnside does not
know how to be ungrateful.'
Ringold listened with a bounding pulse,
and when he had ended, he grasped his hand
while tears filled his eyes.
`You have made me the happiest of men.
I will no longer despair; though you may
smile at my presumption, in ever daring to
suppose that she could even be brought to
recollect ever having spoken with such an
one as I at the Royal Gallery. But hope
whispers in my heart that she does remember
me.'
`I have no doubt of it, Ringold. Hers is
a face, judging from her portrait, that is honest
and true, and she looks like one who
would not voluntarily address herself to a
young man of your face and air, and forget
you. But methinks the earl is long. If she
regards him with affection, it will be a heavy
blow to her, though she gain a father.'
`It is possible she may love him,' said the
marquis. `Doubtless he has bestowed upon
her all his affection, and exhibited to her the
best parts of his character, while he has studiously
concealed the worst features of it.
There are none so evil, that there are not
found those who love them.'
`My lords, the earl would be pleased to
see you in the library,' said Sir John Bendler,
his rippened and manager of his household
and estate, coming in, his face wearing
an expression of amazed grief.
-- --
CHAPTER XXV. CONCLUSION.
[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]
The marquis, upon hearing the announcement
made by Sir John, laid his hand upon
Lord Robert's arm and said, in a tone of gentle
caution,
`Not too abruptly, my son! The shock
may be too much for thy child! Meet her
calmly that you may not cause her to be
overcome!'
`I will be calm, my father,' answered he,
his voice shaking with agitation.
`This is a painful affair enough, sir,' said
Sir John to Ringold, as he stood back after
opening the library door for the two to pass
in; `it has come so unexpected, I can't
realize it!'
`Then the earl has made known to you all
the particulars, sir?'
`I only known that there has been some
wickedness in years gone by, and that Lady
Winfred, bless her heart! is not his niece
but the grand daughter of the Marquis of
* * * *, who was supposed to be dead long
ago, and now appears with her father to
claim her! But pass in, sir; let us witness
their meeting. Poor Lady Winfred; as I
came out, she was trembling both with joy
and fear!'
But before we enter the library, where this
interesting meeting is about to take place we
will record what passed between the earl and
the maiden, at the interview he had called
her to, in order that he might prepare to recieve
her parent.
`Lady Winfred,' said the earl, as soon as
he could sufficiently command his emotion,
which was occasioned as much by his grief
at parting with her as by the necessity he
was under of exposing himself to her detestation,
`I am about to remove from your
mind a deception, to which you have long
been a victim. You are no relation to me—
wholly unconnected with me or my house by
ties of blood or marriage!'
`This is dreadful, uncle! you jest!' she
cried, pale as death.
`No. I speak the truth!'
`Then you are to cast me off. Yet I shall
still love thee, though I should prove to be
a peasant's daughter! But explain this fearful
mystery!'
`You are not a peasant's daughter, Lady
Winfred, but the representative of a family,
older and more noble than mine!'
`Were I an emperor's daughter, I shoud
still love you and cherish the memory of
your kindness to me.'
`Noble daughter! Would that I were not
forced to part with you. But I have been a
guilty man. I have done much wrong in my
years. The best I can do is to make restitution.
Hear me briefly, for I cannot dwell to
the ears of your affection upon my crimes.
`Crimes!'
`You start with surprise! You will next
fly from me with horror!'
`Uncle, what appalling language! I can
not believe you know what you say!'
`I speak with full knowledge of my words,'
he answered bitterly.
`I cannot believe you guilty of wrong!'
`You shall judge. When I was a young
man, I was very dissolute. I sought only
pleasure. I became enamored of a lovely
woman—the youthful wife of a noble marquis.
She scorned my addresses, and I was
so wicked as to place her character in such
a light, that her husband, believing her fallen,
left her and fled the country.'
`Oh, uncle, this cannot be true of you!'
she cried with horror, and regarding him
with looks of involuntary fear if not of
aversion.
`She was dismissed from court by the
queen and returned to her father's estate,
disgraced; yet, as I now assert to you, as if
I were a I dying man, as pure and innocent as
an angel; for it was her virtue that inflamed
my vengeance against her!'
Lady Wintred had laid her hand affectionately
upon his arm at the beginning of his
confession, but gradually it withdrew itself,
and now she moved a little. Her features
were rigid with fear and amazement, mingled
with that instinctive pity with which
-- 099 --
[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]
innocence looks upon guilt, a pity blent with abhorrence.
`This injured lady, the victim of my revenge,
at length gave birth to a son, which
the crown refused to acknowledge as the just
heir to the marquis' title and estates. At
length years passed away and the son arrived
at the age of manhood—married and had a
daughter. I heard of this daughter, and my
conscience smote me, for the part I had acted
in keeping her out of her just rights; for her
father was a poor man—made so by my guilt.
But I did not desire to expose my crime to
the world, by acknowledging the innocence
of her grandmother, and so I resolved that I
would get possession of her—educate her to
the rank to which she was justly born, and at
my death have a written confession, which,
fully criminating me, would establish to the
world the innocence of her grandmother, and
place her in the possesion of the honors of
her grandfather, the marquis, who was supposed
to have died in exile.'
`Oh, what fearful revelations are these,
my lord!'
`The child, I obtained possession of, and
it is now into her startled ears, I am pouring
the tale of my wrongs to her father and
grandmother! I cannot ask forgiveness, for
I have to deeply wronged you. And —'
`What, what became of my mother—of
my father—of —?' almost gasped Lady
Winfred, with a face, through which curiosity
struggled with horror and fear.
`Your father lives! You were always
right, Lady Winfred, in saying you recollected
him, and remembered the scenes of
your youth! In America, by a combination
of circumstances that I cannot reflect upon
without amazement and awe, in America, in
the depths of its forests, I met with the man
I had so injured in my youth, the Marquis of
* * * *, who had been for four-score years
an exile; and also I met his son, your father.
They are now both in the palace, and waiting
to embrace you. Nay, do not bound
away thus with looks of such wild joy, ere
you say you forgive me! I have wronged
them, Winfred, I have been kind and good
to thee!'
`Thou hast, my lord, thou hast. But I
cannot forgive thee! Thou hast done a
grevious injury to my father and my grandmother!
'
`I know it—I know it—I am truly penitent—
I tried to atone to thee for it—pardon
me—forgive—see, I kneel to thee! Des
pise me not; for you are the only one that
ever loved me—that I ever loved. Hate me,
Winfred, and I can no longer live. How
can I upbear the world's scorn, and the hatred
of my child!'
`My lord, I forgive you! But my heart
bleeds for them thou hast done so much evil
to. I will remember thee with kindness and
with gratitude; but thou shouldst have let
me know that my father lived—that his
daughter lived, that we might be happy in
each other's love. Thou canst never restore
to him the years of my childhood and girlhood,
which have passed unenjoyed by him;
you can never restore to me the years of my
father's affection which should have been
mine.'
`How bitter are thy words!' he cried, falling
with his face to the ground.
`May Heaven forgive thee—I do!' she
said with sudden emotion. `Rise up, my
lord, and lead me to my father. My heart
yearns to embrace him. I see his face as I
beheld it in my childhood.'
`You shall see him,' said the earl, rising,
with a gloomy brow, and going to the door,
where he spoke to Sir John, who, as we have
seen, passed through into the ante-ronm.—
The earl had secretly hoped that the affection
of Lady Winfred would outlive the humiliating
confession of his guilt; but when he
saw that her generous spirit was roused to
indignant surprise as he began to unfold his
infamy, he began to tremble for his hold upon
her heart. She was, he perceived, too high
spirited, had too lofty a sense of justice to
pass lightly such crimes, or listen to them
without horror and detestation; for though
the veil of time had, as it were, obscured
them to his own mind, upon her own they
fell as fresh as his words.
As the door opened and the venerable marquis
entered, leaning upon the arm of Lord
Robert, Lady Winfred unconsciously impelled
by her eager affection which was momently
unfolding its wings to fly to the paternal
embrace, had no sooner beheld the countenance
of the latter beaming on her with the
quick glance of joyful recognition, (for he
beheld the living portrait in her,) than uttering
the wild glad cry, `My father!' she
sprang into his arms and sank upon his
bosom.
`My child! oh, my child!' sobbed Lord
Robert, as he drew her closer to his heart.
`For this moment of bliss I thank thee, oh
God!'
-- 100 --
[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]
For a moment, there prevailed a deep and
thrilling silence—a silence sacred to joy unspeakable.
At length Robert raised his
daughter's face to his and gazed fondly into
the glistening blue eyes he had so loved to
look into when she was a child, and he saw
them the same loving soul of his daughter
that had met his own then; and again tolding
her to his heart he cried,
`Thou art indeed my daughter! Lost but
found! My own beloved Winney: my child
so long mourned as dead!'
`Let me also embrace thee, my daughter,'
said the marquis whose face shone like a
seraph's, as he received the happy girl upon
his bosom and blessed her.
`It is thy grandfather, my child, the Marquis
of * * * *,' said Robert, as the
tears ran down his bronzed cheeks.
The earl stood regarding the scene with a
face that would have excited the pity of Vengeance,
armed! The happy Winfred turning
round once more to receive her father's
caress, caught sight of its expression of sorrow
and shame, and conscious degradation.
`My dear father—my noble grandfather,'
she said with generous feeling, `let not this
moment of joy be clouded by any bitter remembrances.
For my sake forgive the Earl
of * * * *, who seems so sincerely to
repent what he has done to your injury.'
`I forgive him, if thou wilt, my daughter,'
said Lord Robert.
`I freely forgive him.'
`Then he has my forgiveness, also,' answered
the marquis, though with something
like reluctance. `I am willing, my lord, to
leave thy punishment with God.'
The earl bowed, laying his hand upon his
heart, and then said:
`So far as I have had it in my power, my
lords, I have attoned for the past. I am
ready to do what lays in my power towards
establishing before the world the innocence
of—'
`Hist! let not her pure name fall from thy
lips, earl,' said the marquis, sternly. `If
thou art wanted, thou wilt be called upon.—
I will now take leave of thee; for though I
forgive thee thy crimes, I do not wish to
share thy hospitality.'
This was spoken with such firmness and
feeling, that the earl saw that he could not
prevail on him to stay. Lord Robert also
said that he must depart at once, and told
his daughter as he again and again folded
her to his bosom, to hasten her preparations
to go with him to the halls of her fathers.
Lady Winfred with a smile turned to leave
him, when her eyes fell on the face of Ringold,
who had been standing aloof gazing
upon the scenes passing before him with the
deepest interest; his eyes all the while following
every movement of the beautiful girl,
and his ears hanging on every sound that tell
from her lips.
His eyes were so fixedly bent upon her as
she turned round and for the first time beheld
him, that they met hers full. Instantly,
a deep blush of surprise mantled her cheek
and brow, and he saw with a joy he could
scarcely control, that she had not forgotten
him. The emotion which she manifested
was not unnoticed by Lord Robert, who smiled
upon Ringold as if he were well pleased
to witness such a proof of her having
borne him in her memory, if not in her
heart.
`Who, who is that young gentleman, sir?'
she asked in a low voice, sweetly tremulous,
of her father.
`It is Ringold Griffitt, an artist and a generous
gentleman, my friend and your grandfather's,
and who, I trust, you will yet one
day know better,' answered Lord Robert,
smiling. `I see you have met before! But
go and get ready, my child, and tell me afterwards
what you have to say.'
The blushing girl hastened from the room,
and Ringold was grasped by the hand by
Robert Burnside, who said:
`I see that you did not hope in vain. She
is yours, if maiden's eye ever betrayed her
heart.'
In another hour the whole party had quitted
the palace and its solitary, wretched occupant,
and, by the light of a bright moon,
at the end of four hours reached the castle of
the marquis.
Ringold did not go to London to become
an artist, but in a few months became the
happy husband of the high-born Lady Winfred.
Ned Whitlock had anticipated him
four months, in taking to wife Kate Boyd,
who, at the end of a year, made a good scholar
of him, and gave him perfectly to understand
the difference between Reading, Writing,
Arithmetic and the' R's.
THE END.
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Ingraham, J. H. (Joseph Holt), 1809-1860 [1847], Ringold Griffitt, or, The raftsman of the Susquehannah: a tale of Pennsylvania (F. Gleason, Boston) [word count] [eaf208].
