CHAPTER I.

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It was during a violent storm in the spring of 1708, that a French
brig of war, seriously crippled, was discovered in the bay of New
York, showing signals of distress, and approaching, with indirect
course, to the harbor. There was, of course, not wanting a race of
panic-makers in those days—progenitors, doubtless, of a similar class
in our own—who at once saw in the unfortunate vessel an estray
from a belligerent fleet, hovering close at hand, and ready to
descend, with fatal swoop, upon the long-threatened city. Rumors,
indeed, of such an armada had long been rife, and had, perhaps,
accomplished their intended effect, in restraining the English colony
from any vigorous efforts at the conquest of Canada—an enterprise
on which more words than wadding had been wasted, but which, of
course, was not to be undertaken while any peril impended over its
own capital. France might thus be compared to some good dame,
who watches from a distance the quarrels between her neighbors'
children and her own, and contents herself with shaking a stick at

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the former, while in reality too indolent, or too much occupied in
more important business, to fulfil any of her pantomimic threats.
Certain it was, that at this period she meditated no invasion of that
embryo metropolis, which reposed, in doubtful security, betwixt two
rivers and a picket fence; the latter being denominated by courtesy,
a wall, and stretching transversely across the town. The good ship
St. Cloud, on the contrary, if aught could be judged from her zigzag
movements, was approaching the city with anything but alacrity,
despite the nautical adage, old, doubtless, as her day, “any port in
a storm.” Driven from her course, dismasted, and a-leak, she had
been tossed for weeks, cork-like, upon the waves, the very plaything
of the elements, until all hope of attaining a friendly port was abandoned,
and every minor consideration became merged in the
instinctive desire for the preservation of life. Foremost to secure
their own safety, a reckless portion of the crew had deserted by night
in the only boat which had escaped destruction; and it was with no
other means of safety for the lives intrusted to his care, that Captain
Sill, on discovering himself near the Bay of Manhattan, resolved to
seek the harbor of New York. That he anticipated no mitigated
fate from his country's enemies, by reason of his disaster, was quite
apparent from the anxiety depicted upon his countenance, as he
paced the quarter-deck of his vessel, and looked mournfully towards
the land. What unusual reason he had to deprecate the approaching
calamity will appear more fully, if we descend with him into the
cabin, and survey the few, but not unimportant personages, who
were under his charge as passengers, and who had vainly anticipated,
on leaving home, a safe and speedy voyage to the French colonial
capital, Quebec.

“Something must be done by way of disguise,” he muttered to
himself as he descended the gangway, “it will never do for the
baron to enter the city in his proper character. The resident agent
of the French monarch among the fastnesses of the northern forests,
the friend and ally of the savage Hurons, would have little clemency

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to hope for from the incensed colonists of New York: I would not
answer even for his life.”

A start and surprised look of the speaker terminated this soliloquy,
as, entering the cabin, his eyes fell upon a tall, portly man, clad in
the habiliments of a sailor, who was pacing the floor with an air of
dignity quite at variance with his assumed character.

“It was well thought of, my lord baron,” exclaimed the captain,
after a moment's gaze at his companion; “none but Boswain Bill
could have fitted you with these garments, and with a little less—
excuse me—a little more—you understand me, I presume—you will
pass muster as a sailor very well.”

“I confess I do not understand what it is that I want a little less
and a little more of, Captain Sill,” replied the baron, “and if you
have any advice to give, speak out and at once, for there is but little
time to be wasted.”

“Very true, my lord, very true; if you will excuse me, then,
common sailors do not walk with that lofty air; they do not stand
quite as erect; their chests are less prominent, and—and—they do
not speak quite as boldly, or as correctly, as the Baron Montaigne.”

“Your honor is quite right,” returned the other, changing his
whole deportment with a facility that surprised, and forced a smile
from the captain; “Jack Beans can reef a sail, or splice a rope,
equal to any man on the St. Cloud, and no man can say anything
against him, unless it be that he loves his grog and tobacco on a
suitable occasion.”

“No—no—no`a suitable occasion' would be the death of you,”
said Captain Sill, laughing, “all very well but that, though a little
too stiff; I have no doubt you will do very well, but mind and use
no such three-deckers in conversation.”

“I will, your honor,” replied the baron, touching his cap with an
air of mock humility, that forced another smile from the commander,
and displaying at the same time a hand, which, although of no
delicate mould, was scrupulously clean.

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“Another thing,” rejoined Sill, “you seem to have overlooked;
you surely cannot be mad enough to think such hands will not excite
suspicion. Remember the fate of the Scottish Queen. But do not
look so puzzled; you must, in short, consent to be literally, as well
as figuratively, under a cloud for the present. A little obscuration
by mother Earth is all that is necessary: Boswain Bill will do it,
and tell him to see that it is well rubbed in, particularly about the
finger ends; I think a quarter of an inch is about the fashionable
breadth for the nail line.”

“I cannot believe it necessary to descend to these indignities,”
said the baron, haughtily.

“If this is an indignity, my lord, remember that the halter is a
greater—and that even the facing a file of musketeers in your shroud
is an honor not to be coveted: your escape is now the paramount
consideration, for on that depends not only your own safety, but
probably that of your daughter and niece, to say nothing of Father
Ledra, who would, perhaps, scarcely come to harm in any event.”

“It is very true,” said the baron, “and I will follow your directions:
but a word now on the subject of these children. Deeply as
I regret that I encumbered myself with them on this journey, something
must be done, if possible, for their safety and resetle. I had
my views in transplanting Blanche to my western home, but of
these it is unnecessary now to speak; with her illness on the voyage,
her frequent sadness, and her singular sentiments, she has thus far
been only a source of trouble to me—and now —”

A look of surprise and scorn had gradually stolen over the face of
the commander, who, at length, suddenly interrupted the other:

“Speak you of your daughter, my lord?” he said.

“I speak of my daughter, Captain Sill; and if time permitted I
might, perhaps, tell you why it is that she has so little of the spirit
of a Montaigne, and possesses feelings so little congenial with
mine.”

“Let us change this subject, my lord; I see in your daughter

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only a being of unequalled beauty and grace, modest, reserved, and
melancholy; if she has demerits, let me not hear them, and least of
all from you.”

“As you please, Captain Sill: I am somewhat old to be reproved,
either by word or look, in a matter of which I must necessarily be
the most competent judge. But Blanche's present safety is probably
sufficiently insured: ladies are not made prisoners of war, or if
nominally so, are subject to no rigor; and Father Ledra, who has
both her and Emily in charge, will doubtless be able to provide a
home for them, without disclosing their names or rank, until such
time as I can provide for their rescue.”

Montaigne turned away, and the commander gazed after him a
moment in silence.

“Safety indeed!” he exclaimed, “and in the profligate court of
Lord Cornbury; it is the safety of the dove in the eagle's eyrie.”

So saying, he proceeded to knock at the door of an inner cabin,
and, in response to the bidding from within, opened it, and stood in
the presence of the object of his solicitude.

Of Blanche Montaigne, a few words of description must for the
present suffice. A little above the medium height of her sex, she
was still of that delicate and graceful mould which gives somewhat
of a petite appearance to the person. Although her features were
singularly symmetrical and striking, her face and neck of an infantile
delicacy of texture and hue, her hair redundant in rich glossy curls,
and her eyes of the purest blue, her beauty consisted even less in
these than in the sweet expression, which, while it illumined her
whole countenance, might be said to dwell with more enduring permanence
upon her lips. It is to these flexile features, indeed, ever
silently depicting the emotions within, that the human face is chiefly
indebted for its character as an index of the heart. Ever legible,
whether for good or evil, they speak while the voice is silent, and
while even the eye is in comparative repose. In Blanche, they
told of all pure and gentle affections, of mirthfulness, modesty,

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timidity, truth—yet of mingling sadness and disquiet now, which
still seemed but a lingering cloud, bright itself with the effulgence it
concealed.

The companion of Miss Montaigne was a lady of about thirty
years, possessing little claim even to the remembrance of beauty, yet
dressed with an elaborate care which manifested a disposition to eke
out her slender stock of charms by adventitious aid. Her countenance
was by no means repulsively homely; its parts, indeed, were
separately good, yet they seemed, so to speak, ill-assorted, and lacking
that harmony of proportion which appeals so powerfully to the
eye, and compels the meed of admiration. Yet Emily Roselle,
favored by that compensating principle which everywhere prevails,
was in part remunerated for the want of a pleasing face by a fine
figure, and a natural ease and grace of manner; and but for a slight
deficiency of good sense and good nature, would have been not a
little attractive.

A third person who was seated in the cabin when Captain Sill
entered, and who had apparently been reading to the young ladies
from a volume which lay open before him, was the individual
spoken of by Montaigne as Father Ledra. He was a man of about
sixty years, with an aspect singularly benign and pleasing; there
was, indeed, no mistaking the genuine goodness which shone in
every lineament of his face, and gleamed, like the light of truth,
from his large grey eyes. Father Ledra was a Christian in the
strongest sense of that significant word. His saintly reputation was
well known to Captain Sill, who, after saluting him with marked
deference, addressed himself to the younger lady, and briefly
informed her of the means that were being taken for her father's
safety.

“A few hours,” he continued, “and we shall at least be relieved
from the perils of famine and shipwreck, and as to everything
beyond, we must hope for the best.”

“Say, rather, we must trust to that same guiding hand which has

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thus far preserved us,” interposed the priest; “three days since we
little dreamed of even this relief from the dangers which threatened
us.”

The commander bowed and continued, still addressing Miss Montaigne:

“Your father, deeply impressed with a sense of the importance to
his sovereign of his personal safety, is engrossed with preparations
for escape: he has, I believe, communicated to Father Ledra his
plans in your behalf, or—or is about so to do.”

It was an embarrassing position to stand as the apologist of a cold
and selfish parent before a neglected child, and the mounting color
on the cheek of Blanche told the mortification which she experienced
at such a necessity.

“I do not know,” she replied, hesitatingly; “everything, I believe,
is left to the discretion of Father Ledra, and we are commended to
his counsel and guidance.”

“Uncle, in short, confides us to Providence and the priest,” said
Miss Roselle, “but seems to think something more is requisite for
himself and the interests of France.”

A look of reproach from Miss Montaigne interrupted her cousin,
and if aught could be judged from the countenance of the latter,
prevented a still severer invective. The commander hastened to
take up the conversation, and having bestowed such advice and
encouragement as seemed appropriate, withdrew to his more legitimate
duties. The vessel, meanwhile, by the aid of such expedients
as her dismantled state still afforded, was progressing on her sinuous
route towards the city, which her thinned crew, wearied with unremitting
labor, gazed gladly upon in the distance, heedless of its
hostile character, and even of the prison homes which they had
reason to expect.

CHAPTER II.

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The Baron Montaigne had long been a resident of French America.
An impaired fortune had originally induced him to serve his
sovereign in the New World, and long habit had rendered pleasing
what his increased wealth no longer made necessary. About a
year preceding his first arrival in Canada, and nearly sixteen years
prior to the time now spoken of, he had been bereaved of his wife,
an English lady of great merit, which, however, had failed of its
appreciation at the hands of her haughty lord. His infant daughter,
then scarcely three years of age, had been confided to the charge of
a kind maternal aunt in England, with whom she had resided until
the death of the latter, which occurred when Blanche had attained
the age of eighteen. A peculiarity of disposition and a desire to
shun society, which in his impoverished state imposed many mortifications
upon his proud spirit, had tempted him into the very depths
of the wilderness, where, by the liberality of his sovereign, he was
enabled to erect a castle of no mean pretensions both to elegance
and strength. The Indian warriors saw with surprise its turreted
walls and frowning battlements arising amidst their forest solitudes,
and marvelled deeply at the magnificence of their great father across
the water, who could bestow such state and wealth even on his inferior
nobles. The section of country thus selected for a residence by Montaigne
was about a hundred and fifty miles southwest of Quebec, on
the border of a stream which constitutes the outlet of Lake Champlain,

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and in a vast and unsubdued wilderness, which rather divided the
French and English territories than formed a distinct part of either,
Boundary lines, indeed, were drawn with no accuracy in those early
days, on a continent which was settled only on its edges, but at a
later period they became the subject of much controversy. Wars,
when waged, were rather for the sovereignty of the settlements and
the nominal conquest of vast inland regions, of which little was
known by either of the belligerent powers, excepting that they
stretched over a given number of degrees of latitude and longitude.
The Huron and Algonquin Indians had long been allies of the
French, as the Five Nations were of the English; and so important
did Louis consider their continued friendship to the welfare of his
American dominions, that no pains were spared to cement the
alliance. It was this purpose, and the additional hope of winning
over the Iroquois to his allegiance, and thus paving the way for a
complete conquest of New York, that had actuated the monarch in
the endowment of Castle Montaigne, and the liberal support of its
secluded lord. The baron, on his part, left no means untried to gain
the full confidence and respect of the savages,—an object of no difficult
attainment to a hardy soldier, who was capable of setting examples
both of bravery and fortitude even to their veteran warriors.

The Hurons, who resided in the vicinity of Quebec, and on the
banks of the Sorelle, were colonies of the principal nation of that
name, whose home and hunting grounds were much further west;
they had been transplanted early in the preceding century by the
influence of their European allies, and had themselves grown into a
considerable tribe, having one village near the French capital, and
another in the immediate vicinity of Castle Montaigne, where their
territorial possessions were extensive. The parent tribe were also in
league with France, and paid willing fealty to King Louis, in the
person of his valiant agent, who had spent many months among
them, had given them many valued lessons in the art of war, and
had led them to several victorious fields against their oppressive

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neighbors of the west. So completely had he won the hearts of the
bold savages, that they had formally elected him the principal chief
of their nation, denominating him, in imitation of his own sovereign's
title, a king, and enjoining upon their brethren nearer the seaboard
also to recognise him as such,—a mandate which the junior tribe,
equally impressed with his prowess, and proud of his alliance, zealously
obeyed.

But it was not by martial prowess alone that the hearts of the
Indians were always most effectually won: King Louis, at least, had
reason to acknowledge the efficacy of a very different warfare in
gaining their allegiance. The heralds of the Gospel were already
scattered everywhere through the French settlements, and had penetrated
in some instances to the most remote corners of the land.
The cross had glistened at intervals along that whole vast circuit of
waters which stretches from Quebec to the gulf of the Mississippi,
and not one of its golden links of lake and river but had furnished
the baptismal element for some dusky neophyte of the wilderness.
Self-denying men, bound by holy vows, but more by untiring love
and unfaltering faith, dared, aye, courted martyrdom in every shape,
that they might gain souls to Christ. Of these, one or more were
always stationed at the castle, where their time was devoted not
only directly to their calling, but, accessary to the same general end,
to the secular education of such of the Indian youth as could be
induced to submit to the restraints of study. It was to join this
spiritual cohort, as a resident missionary at the castle, that Father
Ledra had crossed the ocean, patiently enduring privation, and
softening by his unobtrusive piety the prejudices against his church,
with which a Protestant education had imbued both Blanche and
Emily.

Seventeen long years the baron had sojourned in his new home;
long at least they seemed to the gentle girl, who had been taught
her daily lesson of affection for an absent parent, and had spent a
thousand hours of childish wonder and expectation, in view of that

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great event, to which, from the first days of her remembered life,
she had been taught to look forward—her father's return.

Montaigne had, meanwhile, contented himself with receiving annual
letters from his sister-in-law, giving information of Blanche's welfare;
his answers to which, always cold and formal, seldom contained any
direct message to his daughter, even after she had attained years of
discretion. The remembrance of some unforgiven wrong on the
part of the mother seemed to hang for ever like a cloud between the
baron and his child. It was not, indeed, without a degree of pleasure
that he read in all Mrs. Roselle's letters accounts of Blanche's
extraordinary beauty and grace, of her mild and gentle disposition,
and of her well cultivated and well stored mind; but if, at times, he
felt a longing to reclaim his child, the consciousness of circumstances
which must humble himself in her estimation continually intervened,
to chill and deaden all his better resolutions. Pride was his
master passion, and its baleful glare fell with a withering effect
upon all the gentler emotions of his nature. Beneath its congealing
blight, a young and innocent wife had passed speedily from
the altar to the tomb; and well had it been for Blanche that the
unfolding wealth of her young affections had not been chilled and
repressed by its cold commands or its still colder caresses.

The event to which allusion has been made, as one for which Montaigne
dreaded his daughter's scorn, as he had long endured his
own, related to his existing domestic establishment. A powerful
Huron warrior had early sought his alliance, and a dowry of measureless
acres had purchased the simulated affections of the baron
for the trembling daughter of the chief. They were married after
the savage mode, while the wily groom smiled at the simplicity of
his allies, and recked lightly of the fetters which bound him to the
Indian maid. She was not his wife, so thought the haughty noble,
for no sacramental tie existed between them, no priest had sanctioned
their union, no permission of Holy Church had made it
valid. Little did these things weigh with the trusting wife, who

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became to him a faithful and affectionate partner, watching and
obeying in all things the faintest token of his will, and submitting to
all the tramplings of his imperious temper without a murmur.
One gentle word, one kind smile, repaid her for every wrong, and
formed a treasure for memory to resort to, during all the long intervals
of coldness and neglect and scorn. Hers was, indeed, that
perfect love of woman, which exists alike in every clime. The
baron, conscious that rumors of his strange alliance must reach
Quebec, and thence pass to France, took every occasion to deny its
truth, and to censure the detractors who cast such obloquy upon his
ancient family; but circumstances soon occurred which made it a
more serious affair than he had anticipated. It became necessary
to obtain the royal confirmation to the grant which had been made
by the chief to his perfidious son-in-law, and Louis, who had
received tidings of the whole affair, refused to confirm the deed until
the marriage had been celebrated according to the rites of the
church. He went, indeed, further than this, and threatened his
distinguished subject with his displeasure and punishment if he
refused to ratify the contract with his Indian sponse. No words can
describe the anger and mortification of Montaigne at this unexpected
result; and, in the privacy of his retirement, he denounced
the aged king as a drivelling dotard, fit only to govern women and
priests. But rage and remonstrance were alike unavailing to nullify
the decree, and with the most galling sense of degradation he at
length submitted to its requirements. In a chapel adjacent to the
castle, the wedding was publicly solemnized, and an infant daughter
of the bride, who shared with her mother the contempt of the
baron, was at the same time admitted to the rite of baptism. The
baroness, for such had now become her legitimate title, became
thenceforth a personage of additional importance in the eyes of her
dusky relations, and, it need scarcely be said, an object of renewed
hatred to her husband. Nothing could atone to him for the
wounded vanity of which she had been the guiltless cause; and all

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her unobtrusive affection, all her silent watchings for tokens of
returning kindness, were repaid with increased coldness and scorn.
She was a cloud upon his heart, a blight upon his hopes, a barrier
betwixt himself and that bright world from which he had long been
immured, and to which he now felt that he never could return.

But many changes had taken place between that period and the
point of time at which the present narrative opens. The little
Myrtle, for such had been the baptismal name bestowed rather by
the priest than the parent, had grown to be a miracle of forest
beauty; and as the tendrils of the vine cling to the rock, so had her
infantile graces gained a foothold in the crevices of the baron's stony
heart. Despite his pride, his imagined wrongs, his tarnished name,
he had loved his daughter; and the neglected mother, who had long
despaired of any returning tenderness for herself, was still delighted
to enjoy the reflected beams of kindness which fell upon her child.
She exulted in Myrtle's beauty and grace, and watched every word
and look of love bestowed upon her, with an avarice of affection that
none but a mother's heart can parallel.

Years rolled by; and the baron, who had long been fully reinstated
in his sovereign's confidence, had become so engrossed in the
duties of his station, and in his growing wealth and power, that he
scarcely remembered the existence of Blanche, excepting when perusing
the letters from her aunt, or remitting the annual stipend for
her support. Myrtle attained her sixteenth year, a slight, straight
girl, with eyes and hair of unrelieved blackness, with long silken
lashes, and cheeks in which the rose of Europe triumphed over the
olive hue of the forest. She was, in short, a beautiful brunette,
sportive as the fawn, and scarcely less agile.

It was at this period that events occurred which marked an epoch
in the life of Montaigne, and which were productive of important
results to all with whom he was immediately connected. Political
movements relating to the colony required his presence in France,
and the same arrival which brought his sovereign's summons for his

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return, conveyed to him the intelligence of Mrs. Roselle's death, and
of the homeless situation of Blanche. He repaired to Quebec, and
while awaiting the sailing of the ship which was to convey him to
Havre, sojourned with his friend, the aged Marquis Vaudreuil, who
was then viceroy of New France, and to whose exalted post, when it
should become vacant, the baron expected promotion. Here he
became acquainted with a nephew of the governor, one Count Carlton,
a young man of prepossessing person and manners, of whom
the marquis spoke in terms of the warmest eulogy. Rank, wealth,
wit, valor, and every accomplishment, if the governor's word was to
be taken, belonged to this extraordinary man, who had fled from the
gaieties of Parisian life to seek excitement and adventure in the new
world. Himself deceived, Vaudreuil little dreamed how erroneous a
portraiture he had drawn of his nephew, who was, in fact, a mere
adventurer, bankrupt in purse and reputation, and totally devoid of
principle. He had recently arrived in the colony, and by the profoundest
dissimulation had gained the good graces of his uncle,
which he hoped by some means to transmute into the current coin
of the realm. Montaigne's great wealth and political importance of
course made him also a desirable acquaintance for the scheming
youth; and, long fasting from the adulation and deference which
his exorbitant vanity craved, he became a ready dupe to the
specious flatteries of the count. If he had up to this period hesitated
about bringing home Blanche on his return from France, he
no longer did so. Here, he argued to himself, was a ready way of
disposing of her in marriage, and at once relieving his mind of its
responsibility in her behalf. So strongly did this idea take possession
of his mind, that, on parting with his friends, he repeated an invitation
which he had already extended to Carlton, to visit Castle Montaigne
after his own return from Europe; and added, in a jocular
way, that he had a marriageable daughter, and if the young people
should chance to fancy each other, he would not object to the alliance.
The marquis bowed coldly at this remark, which he

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suspected to be more than jest, for, knowing nothing of Blanche, he
supposed it to allude to Myrtle, and he thought it a poor compliment
to a gallant for whom half the belles of Paris were pining, to be
offered the hand of a half Huron maid, and who was even legitimate
only by the royal grace. But it was in the moment of departure,
and Montaigne did not dream of the erroneous construction which
was put upon his language. If, however, the Marquis Vaudreuil
derided the proposal of his friend, it was not so with Carlton, who,
while seeming to outdo his uncle in making sport of the affair,
secretly resolved to visit Castle Montaigne during the absence of its
lord, and acquaint himself with the Indian heiress.

The baron reached Paris in safety, and thence, while awaiting the
tardy action of the French cabinet, despatched a letter to England,
whither he could not safely proceed in person, summoning his
daughter to meet him, by an appointed day, at the neutral port of
Ostend, and notifying her of his intentions in regard to her change
of abode. Although the stiff and frigid sentences in which this
intelligence was conveyed were almost sufficient to repress the filial
promptings of her heart, Blanche was still delighted at the news; for
her home, since the death of her aunt, had been of the most comfortless
description, and she was prepared to welcome any change which
gave promise of relief. She was authorized to procure a maid, or
companion, if practicable; and this privilege resulted in the selection
of her cousin Emily, less from any congeniality of feeling between
them, than from a sense of duty to the nearly destitute daughter of
her deceased aunt. Miss Roselle gladly accepted the proposal, for
she possessed the most romantic views of life, despite the dull realities
to which her experience had been confined, and the new world
seemed to her only a field for the exploits of chivalry, and the
triumphs of distressed beauty. She was of good family, and her
lineal claim to gentility was a subject on which her friends were
seldom left unenlightened. That these advantages would be of vast
importance in her new home she did not allow herself to doubt, and

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as all the family finery had devolved upon her, she was able, notwithstanding
her poverty, to fortify her pretensions by a display of
dress and ornament often more gaudy than becoming.

A week sufficed for the needful preparations, and when everything
was in readiness the ladies proceeded to a neighboring seaport, and
took passage for Ostend, where they arrived prior to the appointed
day, and awaited the coming of their distinguished relative. He
did not prove unpunctual; and although his arrival was with that
ceremony of equipage and attendants which might be supposed
gratifying to a young lady, Blanche's mind was engrossed by emotions
which left little room for vanity. The interview was singularly
awkward and embarrassing; and the frightened daughter, after
several ineffectual attempts to break through the air of stateliness
and reserve which encompassed her parent, submitted at length
silently to its influence. Time, she thought, would work a change,
and nature yet re-assert its power in her father's breast. Visions of
artless devices, by which she would win his attention and regard,
passed rapidly through her mind, and she looked forward with joy
to the anticipated light of affection which was yet to beam upon her
long desolate heart. But, as there had been no pretence of consulting
her wishes in relation to the proposed change in her life, the
timid girl scarcely felt at liberty to give expression to her feelings,
and the father saw in her silence only signs of moroseness and dissatisfaction.

The party set out at once for Paris, where they arrived in a few
days, and where Miss Roselle fully expected to be snatched up by
some ardent admirer before the baron was ready to resume his
journey. This event not occurring, they proceeded, after about a
month's delay, to Havre, and, in company with the missionary priest,
Father Ledra, embarked in the doomed St. Cloud, for Quebec. Of
the wreck and suffering which forced that ill-fated vessel to seek
shelter in an enemy's port, the reader is already aware.

CHAPTER III.

[figure description] Page 017.[end figure description]

It was quite too bad to leave the crippled brig tossing upon the
tempestuous waves of the bay of New York during so long a retrospective
chapter; but it all comes of beginning a story at the wrong
end, or rather, of beginning it in the middle,—a plan which, although
it has classic precept and example for its authority, remains of doubtful
utility. As the vessel had approached the harbor, the fears of
Miss Montaigne had rapidly increased. She knew enough of the
peculiar attitude in which her father stood in relation to the English
colonies, as the ally of the northern Indians, and the supposed instigator
of many of their atrocities, to understand that his life was now
in extreme peril; and notwithstanding his unreserved selfishness, she
felt the utmost solicitude for his escape. Captain Sill assembled his
officers and crew, and imposed upon them the strictest secresy in
relation to the distinguished passenger who now stood among them
as one of their number, and the baron strengthened the appeal by a
handsome gratuity to the men. The young ladies were to pass as
sisters, bearing the name of Roselle, who were travelling in charge
of Father Ledra to their friends in Canada, a fiction diverging at so
slight an angle from the truth, that the priest, although he would
by no means consent to assert, agreed not to contradict it.

The piers of the city, meanwhile, had become populous with an
eager crowd, watching the approach of the vessel, and speculating
with every variety of opinion upon the extraordinary event. Not a

[figure description] Page 018.[end figure description]

few were peering eagerly down the bay in search of the remainder
of the fleet, which they fully believed was about to make its appearance
in a hostile attitude; and a classic old Dutchman, who had not
been at the university of Gottingen for nothing, talked mysteriously
about the Grecian horse, fatal to trusting Troy, and doubted, between
some most ominous whiffs of his pipe, whether the St. Cloud were a
wrecked vessel at all. It was an easy matter, he said, to cut down
masts and break away bulkheads, and come rolling sideways into
port in a storm, and yet have a thousand armed soldiers stowed
away in the hold, after all. Not that he cared much whether Louis
or Queen Anne held a city to which neither of them had any right,
but the destruction of life and property, he said, glancing at a six-sided
store-house of his own upon the wharf, was a thing not to be
disregarded. A number of listeners turned pale at these remarks,
and some suggested calling out the militia and the fire-engines for
the defence of the city; while others thought the guns of the fort
ought to be fired into the wreck, without delay, by way of ascertaining
the truth of the suspicions. But, as the troops from the fort
at this moment made their appearance, having been ordered out to
keep the peace and prevent the escape of the prisoners, it was considered
safe to quietly await the dénouement, the more prudent
retiring a little into the back-ground.

Governor Cornbury, in the meantime, with several members of
his council, prepared to pay an official visit to the strangers. He
exulted at the accident, because the vessel and its stores would
prove a valuable acquisition to the colony and to his private purse;
but he had no intention of detracting from these advantages, by
burdening the government with the expense of maintaining a large
number of prisoners of war. The unfortunate captain, having dropped
anchor at a little distance from shore, received his visitors upon his
quarter-deck with great urbanity, and tendering his sword to the
governor, formally surrendered his ship; while Cornbury, equalling
the Frenchman in politeness, courteously declined accepting his

[figure description] Page 019.[end figure description]

weapon, and at once admitted the officers to their parole. He next
requested that the crew should be assembled amidships, and having
expressed his sympathy for the hardships they had already undergone,
signified that they were to be unconditionally released, a
seeming magnanimity which was responded to with hearty cheers.
He had addressed the men in French, but with the commander, who
spoke English fluently, he conversed in that language, and turning
to him now, inquired if he had any passengers.

“We have a few non-combatants in the cabin,” responded Sill,
smiling, “a priest, and two young ladies who are travelling in his
charge; it will be hardly necessary to invoke your excellency's
clemency in their behalf.”

“Our laws,” returned the governor, more gravely, “impose the
penalty of death upon any Romish priest who shall voluntarily enter
the province, and the most that we can do in your friend's behalf
will be to allow him thirty days to depart. As to the ladies, they
are allowed the largest liberty under all circumstances. I had almost
hoped,” he continued, “that your accident might afford me the
pleasure of an introduction to some of the officers of His Majesty's
colonial government; there are pending differences between us which
such an interview might go far to arrange: have I your word of
honor that there is no such individual in your ship?”

“My lord,” replied Sill, slightly coloring, and glancing at the
crew, who remained amidships watching the interview, while the
baron's figure towered conspicuously among them, “my lord, the
individuals now before you, and the three passengers below, are the
only persons on board my ship—for this you have my word of honor;
if you still doubt —”

“I doubt nothing that Captain Sill asserts,” answered the
governor, whose suspicions were aroused by the embarrassed air of
the other; “but there is something that looks like mystery here;
let me see this priest of whom you speak; I much fear his ordination
has not been strictly canonical. Clerical robes have been used as

[figure description] Page 020.[end figure description]

disguises before now, and if your friend does not belong to the true
succession, Mother Church will, doubtless, thank me for unmasking
him.”

“You will scarcely doubt Father Ledra after you have seen him,”
said Sill, motioning to an officer to call up the passengers; “I wish
the church had no representatives whose sanctity is more questionable.”

A few moments' pause ensued, during which the eyes of the
governor wandered among the crew, and seemed to fix inquiringly
upon the prominent figure of the baron; but a rustling in the cabin
gangway, and the appearance of the priest, accompanied by the
ladies, at once recalled his attention. Miss Montaigne was closely
veiled, and hung tremblingly upon the arm of Father Ledra; while
Emily, unalarmed and unveiled, walked boldly at her cousin's side,
and seemed bent on setting her friend a pattern of courage, if not of
modesty. The evident interest excited by the approach of the ladies
justified the sagacity of the commandant, who had summoned them
to accompany the priest on deck with a view to a diversion of Lord
Cornbury's somewhat dangerous attack.

“Captain Sill has much misconceived my meaning,” said the
governor, politely removing his hat, “if he understood me as requiring
the attendance of the ladies on deck; let them return if they
choose, or let them at least be seated.”

“My sister is much frightened,” answered Miss Roselle, hastily,
and glancing at Blanche, “and is afraid to quit the side of her protector;
we must be excused, therefore, for coming into your presence
unbidden.”

“I am much beholden to Miss Roselle's fears since they procure
me the honor of this interview,” returned Lord Cornbury, bowing
formally to the speaker, but scarcely removing his eyes from the
slight and graceful figure of her companion; “and yet,” he continued,
smiling, “it devolves a somewhat unpleasant duty upon me:
the commissions of his Most Christian Majesty rest at times upon

[figure description] Page 021.[end figure description]

very diminutive shoulders, and a veil, excuse me, might possibly
hide a moustache. Your sister, if such she be, will doubtless favor
us with a view of her face.”

“Which will at least be primâ facie evidence in her behalf,”
interposed a punning notary, who was in attendance in his official
capacity.

Emily whispered a moment to Blanche, who, sinking into a seat
which had been placed for her, drew aside her veil with trembling
hand, revealing, by the act, charms which seemed like a gleam of
sunlight to the beholders. Miss Montaigne's beauty was of that
perfect order which admits of no cavil, even from the lips of envy or
rivalry; it impressed the eye with a whelming sense of loveliness,
both in feature and expression, and seemed, as it was, the reflection
of a gentle and unsullied heart. Pale with agitation, her eyes
rested upon the deck, and it was not until some moments that
Cornbury, startled at the pleasing vision, recovered his self-possession.

“Here is no soldier, certainly,” he said, gaily, “unless it may be
a field officer of Cupid; my inquisition is at an end in this quarter,
and I can only beg pardon of Miss Roselle for having given her
such evident pain. The ladies will consider themselves entirely at
liberty.”

The governor had been surprised at the facility with which Emily
conversed in the English language, and on seeking an explanation
from that lady, was informed that both she and her sister were
educated in England, and were, on the maternal side, of English
descent. The captain's familiarity with the same tongue was less a
matter of marvel, his profession being one which rendered such an
acquirement almost indispensable. But Father Ledra, though
learned in the ancient tongues, conversed only in French, and Cornbury
was compelled to address him in that dialect; but a very
brief conversation convinced the governor that his suspicions were
groundless, and he even declined the proffered inspection of the

[figure description] Page 022.[end figure description]

luggage of the ecclesiastic, an inventory of which would have revealed
little else than books of devotion and instruments of penance.

“I am indeed a soldier,” he said, when the governor's suspicions
were explained to him, raising his mild eyes upwards, while his
white locks fell like snow upon his shoulders; “I am indeed a soldier,
but it is of the cross of Christ; my warfare is with spiritual
evil, and my coat of mail,” pressing his hands upon his breast, “is
one that inflicts wounds, but does not ward them.”

Lord Cornbury was satisfied with his inquiries, and would have been
contented to withdraw at this stage of the affair, leaving the vessel in
charge of the proper governmental officer; but another and more dangerous
inquisition had unfortunately been going on for some minutes
previous, in a different part of the vessel. Mr. Attorney Nabb,
the notary, of whom mention has been made, was one of those little,
restless, waspish men, who are never content to act in a subordinate
capacity; and after chafing for some time under his forced restraint,
he had slipped out of the shadow of his superiors, for the purpose of
acting the little great man in another quarter. His field of operation
was amidships, where he blustered around among the crew for
some time, with no well defined aim beyond that of impressing the
sailors with a sense of his importance; but after much peering about,
and many wise looks, he came suddenly to a stand in front of Montaigne,
and remained looking up at the portly figure before him
with a singular air of admiration and contempt. The disproportion
of physical power between the two, which was ludicrously great, perhaps
suggested to the pigmy the idea of displaying a little official
authority, by way of balancing accounts.

“Who are you?” he said, addressing the supposed sailor in
French.

“Jack Beans, if it please your honor,” said the baron, twirling his
cap, with an admirable appearance of embarrassment.

Nabb pulled out a pencil from his pocket, and noted down the
answer with great gravity; an action which, of course, attracted the

[figure description] Page 023.[end figure description]

general attention of the crew, as the attorney well knew it would,
and when he next threw back his head for the purpose of putting
another question, he had the satisfaction of seeing that Mr. Jack
Beans seemed a little alarmed. Several interrogatories succeeded in
regard to the age, residence, and occupation of the supposed sailor,
all of which were carefully written down, and the practised eye of the
attorney could not fail to perceive at each additional inquiry renewed
tokens of apprehension. Satisfied, however, at length, with having
frightened the giant and displayed his own importance, he was
about turning away, when his eye was arrested by the edge of a fine
linen wristband protruding from beneath the coarse flannel sleeve of
the sailor's shirt. Startled at the sight, suspicion at once took possession
of his mind, and several minute circumstances to which he
had before paid little heed, gave it confirmation. Stepping a few
paces backward, to gain a better view of the Frenchman's head, he
noticed the soft and silky appearance of the hair, and the fine face
and neck, which gave no evidence of exposure to the sun; while
Montaigne, in the effort to avoid quailing, had inadvertently resumed
his usual air of authority, and met the gaze of the other with the
look of a chained eagle. Convinced that he had stumbled upon a
prize of some kind, the attorney's delight knew no bounds; he continued
complacently gazing upon his victim for some moments,
running over in his mind the probable magnitude of the service
which he was about to render to government, and the extent of his
reward. He must be, thought Nabb, an officer of the army at
least, and possibly a nobleman; it might even be the Marquis Vaudreuil,
or one of the royal family, or, for soaring fancy seldom stops
midway in her flight, the very majesty of France himself. Gloating
over his discovery, he reached upwards, and tapping Montaigne upon
the shoulder, said:

“Lord Cornbury has released the crew of the St. Cloud, but not
any officer or gentleman who sees fit to assume a seaman's dress:
Monsieur will please to consider himself under arrest.”

[figure description] Page 024.[end figure description]

So saying, he turned away to inform the governor of his discovery,
but had scarcely communicated his information, before a slight
commotion was perceived amidships, and three figures bounded over
the gunwale, and descended the vessel's side. The boat by which
the governor and his suite had approached the ship was waiting at
the foot of the man-ropes, the waterman in whose charge it had
been left having been attracted by curiosity on board the vessel.
A moment of consternation prevailed, and the attorney, furious with
the fear of losing his prize, seemed altogether demented: shouting,
“an escape! stop him! stop him!” he flew rather than ran towards
the place where the baron had disappeared, and calling loudly for
the “posse comitatus” to follow, he leaped upon the gunwale. The
last of the fugitives was at that moment entering the skiff, and Nabb,
gliding down the ropes like a squirrel, pitched into the boat, just as
they had succeeded in casting her loose. Recovering his feet, he
darted to the side of the stalwart baron, and grasping him by the
arm, exclaimed, “I arrest you in the Queen's name!” but Montaigne,
seating himself without reply, drew the little man forcibly to his lap,
and shouted,

“Pull now for your lives! a thousand pounds if we escape!”

The whole scene up to this point had occupied scarcely thirty
seconds, and the tumult and excitement on deck were still too great
to admit of any deliberate action. Blanche had swooned, Miss
Roselle was in hysteries, and Captain Sill, fearful of an outbreak
among his crew, was calling loudly to them to remain quiet. Lord
Cornbury himself was far from being self-possessed, and, gesticulating
with his sword, he called to the commander of the troops on the
adjacent wharf, and ordered him to fire a volley into the boat—a
command which was about being executed, when a shriek of agony
from the skiff arrested general attention.

“For Heaven's sake don't let them fire, my lord,” exclaimed one
of Cornbury's companions, “it will be certain death to Mr. Nabb.”

All eyes were turned towards the skiff, where the prominent

[figure description] Page 025.[end figure description]

figure of Montaigne, seated, facing the shore, and holding the struggling
attorney before him, like a shield, was plainly visible. He was
near the stern of the vessel, thus at the same time protecting the
two sailors, who were bending meanwhile lustily to their oars, while
the little bark was making such headway as the heavy billows would
allow. It was a critical moment; the troops had taken aim, and
the order to fire was trembling on the lips of their officer, when a
reluctant countermand from the governor brought down their guns.
Boats were next in requisition for the chase, but the advantage of
the start, and the desperate vigor of the fugitives, left little to fear
from the pursuit of oars alone, and before a sail-boat could be procured
and got under weigh they were well out from the land.
Sagaciously taking a route nearly in the wind's eye, they had the
satisfaction of seeing the last-named vessel compelled to describe an
are of an immense circle, before she could even begin to bear down
upon them. The baron, in the meantime, took his turn at the
oars, and even compelled the notary to duty in the same line, under
penalty of being left behind. Frequent changes at this labor, with
stout hearts and strong arms, worked wonders, and in less than
twenty minutes, notwithstanding the roughness of the water, they
reached the Jersey shore, while their pursuers were yet more than a
mile distant. Nabb had grown much terrified in contemplating the
probable disposition which was to be made of himself after he had
ceased to be serviceable; and his alarm was not abated on landing,
by hearing some cool inquiries made by the sailors of their principal,
as to the manner in which he should be dispatched. But Montaigne
entertained no such design, and reminding the notary that he was a
prisoner of war, released him on his parole of honor not to aid or
assist, by information or otherwise, in the pursuit. Impressed with
the importance of retaining his skiff, the baron caused it to be skilfully
concealed in a ravine in the woods, and then, with the sailors,
plunged into the thicknesses of the forest to await the approach of

[figure description] Page 026.[end figure description]

night. The pursuing party came up some thirty minutes subsequently,
only to find the half-exhausted attorney alone upon the
beach. Still impetuous in the chase, they plied him with a dozen
questions at once, as to the course of the fugitives and the disposition
made of the boat; but Nabb rigidly preserved his parole. If ridiculous
and conceited at times, he was not wanting in honor as he had
proved himself not deficient in courage. The pursuers, therefore,
after much ineffectual search, returned to the city, contenting themselves
with the belief that the Frenchmen would be starved in the
wilderness, or be murdered by the Indians.

Lord Cornbury was much chagrined at the affair, and the more
so when he had succeeded in extorting from the fears of some of the
crew the name and rank of the fugitive. That he had had so
coveted a prize within his very grasp, and yet had suffered him to
escape, was a most galling reflection. Rage for a while became
dominant in his breast, and he had nearly resolved on a revocation
of his clemency towards the remaining prisoners; but reflection
induced him to follow out the line of policy which he had before
adopted. They were all set at liberty on the terms which have
already been named, and Father Ledra was allowed ample time to
quit the province. The governor, for a while, lost sight of the
minor incidents connected with the affair in the attempt at regaining
the baron, an object for the accomplishment of which, by proclamation
and pursuit, he left no means untried. Troops were sent up the river,
and Indians through the forest; and extra posts and runners were
flying in every direction, proclaiming the escape and the princely
reward of re-capture. That the lion was in the jungle somewhere
between New York and Albany, there could be little doubt; and so
confident were the anticipations of his being taken, that the council
in New York several times debated the subject of his doom. But
the vigilance and valor which had planned so extraordinary an
escape were not easily to be circumvented. A protracted journey,

[figure description] Page 027.[end figure description]

prolific in incidents of peril and suffering, was terminated by his safe
arrival at Castle Montaigne, an event to which others of great
moment were subsequently linked, as the diligent reader of the following
pages will discover.

CHAPTER IV.

[figure description] Page 028.[end figure description]

Jacobus Waldron was a Dutchman ingrain. He was born
somewhere near the centre of Holland proper, out of the range of
all foreign atmospheric influences, and of parents, whose lineage,
traceable for centuries, was of unadulterated Dutch. He spoke,
wrote, read, thought, and dreamed in Dutch, wore Dutch garments
with a Dutch air, and ate, and drank, and smoked, and slept after
the most approved fashion of his race. It had been with many
misgivings that he had migrated, when yet a young man, to New
York, which at that time was a colony of Holland, but which, by
some strange diplomatic process that he did not understand, was
soon afterwards passed over to the sovereignty of England. Like
some huge flapjack, tossed by the skilful housewife into the air, and
ever coming down in a reversed position, such, to Jacobus's seeming,
had been the political tumblings of the infant state, which had
already belonged twice to both Holland and England, had been
now taken on the sly and now by force, and had finally been transferred
with the dash of a pen to the last named government, in
company with some ignominious islands in the West Indies and the
South Seas. It was a galling reflection to Mynheer Waldron that
his native land had thus expatriated, as it were, thousands of her
loving sons, who had thought, even at this distance, to nestle safely

[figure description] Page 029.[end figure description]

down under her maternal wings. But he had brought with him all
his worldly means, one half of which consisted of small yellow
bricks, with shingles, shutters, and weathercocks, which were destined
to grow into a house in the new world, and which had taken
a thousand fantastic shapes in his imagination, as he smoked, and
pondered, and dreamed through a three months' voyage from Amsterdam.
He had brought with him, too, a plump little wife and
a still plumper baby, crowing as yet, although of a sex which might
more appropriately have cackled. And thus it was that Jacobus
continued a denizen of New York, notwithstanding its excision from
Holland, the news of which cruel act reached him just as he had
completed his house, a building of many angles, which looked as
old on the day when it was finished as it did a century subsequent,
and on the very steep and smooth roof of which no bird, not remarkably
sure-footed, would have dared to alight. He shut himself up
for a while in his castle in great consternation, not knowing what
amount of personal calamity to apprehend; but finding himself
unmolested, he gradually took heart, and commenced timidly cultivating
his land, of which he had several acres; and, finally, growing
more and more daring, ventured to smoke his pipe on his front
stoop, in the face of the whole city. As time rolled by, Jacobus
was delighted to find that he remained undisturbed, and that his
little farm, stocked with some genuine Dutch cattle, and a few negro
slaves, who were then a cheap commodity in the province, afforded
him a very comfortable subsistence. If there was no lack, however
so neither was there any overplus; for his negroes, unfortunately,
were all provided with mouths, and even his children, as they came
successively to light, proved to be similarly equipped; so that, in
one way and another, his yearly products vanished as fast as they
came. He had many schemes for growing rich, none of which,
however, ever came to sufficient maturity in his mind to be acted
upon; but he kept hoping for better times, and fully believing that
something or other would turn up, by and by, greatly to his

[figure description] Page 030.[end figure description]

advantage. That indefinite something was doubtless the very same thing
which has been about to happen to thousands ever since, who have
lacked energy to overcome the natural vis inertiæ of both mind and
body, and who, practising neither self-denial nor industry, look confidently
for the rewards of both. Whatever it was, it did not come
to Jacobus. The course of nature was not subverted for his benefit.
He did not grow rich, though he grew fat; for as years increased
upon him, he worked less, and schemed more. Eighteen summers
rolled by, and he was startled, one fine afternoon, on rubbing the
smoke out of his eyes, and calling his little Hetty to his side, to
find that she had really grown to be a young woman, and not a
little handsome withal. It was strange that he had never noticed
this transformation before; for whatever his daughter might have
seemed to others, to him she had always been the same little toddler,
who used to dance among the cabbages at the age of three,
beguiling him by the hour from his little relished labor, and even
knocking down, at times, the underpinning of those airy structures
which he so much delighted to build. But now she herself became
the subject of a scheme, suddenly conceived, but long revolved, as
she stood at his side, the patient recipient of many puffs, not such
as beauty covets most. Jacobus gazed into her pretty face, and
smoothed her glossy hair, and eyed her neat round figure and her
dimpled little hand, and thought of the rich young Vanderknipper
in the neighborhood, who, everybody said, was in search of a wife.
True, he was a booby, and as surly as a mastiff, but he owned half
the street in which he resided, and many a fine block besides, his
father having recently abdicated in his favor, and gone to a world
where real estate is unknown. It was with much embarrassment
that Mynheer Waldron succeeded in broaching the delicate subject,
for the idea of matrimony, he doubted not, would overwhelm the
poor child with alarm. He proved to be somewhat abroad in his
calculations, as usual: matrimony, in the abstract, was not an object
of aversion to Hetty; but she would by no means consent to become

[figure description] Page 031.[end figure description]

Mrs. Vanderknipper. She cared little for blocks, and less for block-heads,
and, besides that, she had other views; not that she said to
her papa what she thus saucily thought, with the demurest and seemingly
most submissive of faces. Argument and reason were unavailing,
and Jacobus, pondering deeply, began to wonder whether the
weekly visits of a young English merchant, who brought over his
newspaper regularly for the father to read, while he chatted by the
hour with Hetty, had anything at all to do with the matter. It could
not be; for Mr. Huntington, although an enterprising, active young
man, was as poor as himself; and as neither party could make any
money by the operation, it did not seem at all probable that the
merchant should seek an alliance with his daughter. Once more,
Mynheer Waldron was in error; Huntington loved Hetty, and married
her, before the father well knew whether he had given his
consent or not; and Time, whom no events can retard, passed on
with all its myriad dramas, for another period of twenty years, at
which epoch his great kaleidoscope, being thoroughly shaken up,
presented objects in a very different aspect. Jacobus was still alive,
verging on eighty, as poor as ever, and still looking confidently for
some favorable change in his affairs. Huntington's business had
prospered famously for a while, for he was a dealer in furs, a magical
sort of trade, at which all parties were gainers, except the producers
of the raw material, who were cheated quite out of their skins. He
grew rich, indeed, till even the lout of a Vanderknipper took off his
hat to him; and then something jogged the rolling world, and a
heavy cargo of peltry, bound to China, sank, uninsured, in the
Pacific. Huntington took to his bed, and passed thence to the
churchyard; and Hetty pined but a year, before she slept at his
side, showing that life and wealth are only other names for bubbles
and shadows. But they had not lived in vain. A son, of manly
beauty, of graceful but athletic figure, of open and engaging countenance,
perpetuated his father's worth and his mother's gentleness
At the age of nineteen, he had been called home from a foreign

[figure description] Page 032.[end figure description]

university by intelligence of his first calamity, only in time to receive
the coveted caresses of his remaining parent, and to follow her,
destitute, and an orphan, to the grave. Some hearts are schooled,
gradually, to grief, and grow familiar with its returning visage; but
Henrich's first draught of sorrow was from the lees. He mourned
as none but the ingenuous and noble-hearted can mourn; and when
to others' seeming least mindful of his bereavement, his whole heart
was often flooded with the gushing tenderness inspired by some
sudden recollection of his loss. Mementoes were all around him,
hourly touching some mystic thread of memory, and summoning,
from her haunted caverns, the apparitions of departed bliss. Ah!
little do they think, whose experience of adversity has been confined
to the common buffetings of fortune, of that greater calamity, which,
taking one treasure, leaves all others valueless! To lose a friend,
and feel that there can be no return, not even for one short hour,
through all the coming months, and seasons, and years of life, no
word, no glance, no token of forgiven wrong, of continued love, of
hoped re-union; to know this dreadful truth, to feel it pressing
heavily upon a heart yet unused to its vacancy, this is misery
indeed, and it was that of Henrich.

But Heaven has graciously implanted in the mind, as in the body,
those recuperative energies, which enable it to rise at length, buoyant,
from the severest lacerations. The young Huntington became
one of his grandfather's household, although, fortunately for both,
not without a remnant of means which saved him from dependence.
He possessed a taste for study and added largely, in private, to
that broad superstructure of learning which had been already founded
in his mind; and when a few summers had passed away, there
were but slight traces of his affliction discernible in his deportment.
He had become happy and hopeful; his laughter was again heard
by welcoming ears; his step was light and agile; and his whole
frame animated with the returning elasticity of youth. Still determining
and still hesitating to enter in some way upon the active

[figure description] Page 033.[end figure description]

duties of life, he yet clung to his books and his amusements with an
indecision that he resolved should soon terminate. He would
attempt something; he would not be an idler in the busy world
around him; disconnected with its sympathies and hopeless of its
rewards. Yet his were not the common illusions of youth, presenting
the personal aggrandizement resulting from wealth or fame as
the ultimate end of life. Taught in the school of affliction, he felt
that there was something nobler and less selfish in existence than
this; and that the glorious universe, of which he was a conscious
part, was something more than a theatre for mere personal display,
however brilliant might be the ephemeral gifts of man. The silent
exemplars of ancient virtue, visible in colossal though indistinct proportions
upon the classic page, and the more direct teachings of that
high and holy philosophy, before which the light of mere human
learning “pales its ineffectual ray,” had given to his character that
moral prominence which alone truly exalts humanity; and which,
when wedded to intellect, becomes, like the blended light and heat
of day, both brilliant and benign.

It was at this period of his life that an event occurred, which,
though singular in itself, deserves chronicling, only by reason of its
sequences, at an after day. Fond of hardy sports, and skilful as a
marksman, the forests were his frequent resort when oppressed with
the weariness of study; and on a fine June afternoon, he had sauntered,
gun in hand, to the woods, uncompanioned save by the bright
memories and brighter hopes that spring spontaneous in the breast
of youth. There was a point, a little north of the wall, where a high
sandy embankment overlooked the city, the confluent rivers, the bay
and its islands, and the opposing shores, which stretched away in the
distance, and converged in a hazy line around the shining waters, till
but a narrow vista hinted of the unrevealed beauties beyond. It
was a spectacle of rare beauty, and Henrich lingered long to gaze
upon it, and to watch the shifting shadows that played upon the
bay and beach, as the gauzy clouds sailed lazily across the bright

[figure description] Page 034.[end figure description]

blue sky. The town reposed quietly before him, sending up no busy
hum to his ear. The shouts of children in the streets, driving the
bounding ball, or watching the diving kite; the sound of the woodman's
axe and its quick echo; the rattling of an occasional wagon;
the laughter of trafficking men; the song of the light-hearted negro;—
these were the city's blended voices. The gleam of the sentinel's
bayonet came from the distant fort as he paced his idle round; the
unlifted flag was seen drooping from its staff; and, frowning from
their embrasures, the threatening cannon looked out towards the
sea.

Beyond this hill, over which the “ploughshare of ruin” has long
since been driven, was a thicket or dense portion of the forest,
remarkable for its profuse foliage and the unrelieved depth of its
shade. It was of considerable extent, and included a ravine, at the
bottom of which a sullen streamlet proved an attraction to the game,
and consequently to the sportsman also. He had not proceeded far
in this direction, when he perceived signs of what seemed at first
a mortal contest between two athletic men; but a nearer advance
and a closer scrutiny showed him that one only of the combatants
was a human being, who was wrestling at vastly unequal odds with
a huge gaunt wolf. Unusual as was this circumstance, it being well
known that these animals seldom singly attack a man, unless
impelled by the fiercest goadings of famine, the combat was of the
most violent kind, and gave promise of a speedy termination.
Appalled at the imminent peril which threatened a fellow-being,
Henrich hastened to the spot, and for some time strove in vain to
make himself a party to the conflict. So closely was the man locked
in the fearful embrace of the beast, and so rapid were their gyrations,
that any attempt to dispatch the latter with his weapon, might
have proved equally fatal to the other. For a few seconds he
darted around the parties, from side to side, seeking vainly for a
safe opportunity to discharge his rifle with effect; and then, impelled
by the increasing peril of the stranger, he threw his gun on the

[figure description] Page 035.[end figure description]

ground, and with open arms rushed into the mêlée. The fierce
flashing eyes of the wolf, his ensanguined jaws and teeth, as he
turned snarlingly for a moment towards the new comer, were not
calculated to inspire courage in his breast; but determined not to
abandon a fellow mortal in such extremity, Henrich grasped the
infuriated beast by the neck, and throwing himself heavily upon him
succeeded in disengaging him from the wounded man. The latter,
staggering backwards for a moment, rallied, and raising a club was
about to renew the war, when the animal, alarmed at the reinforcement
of his foe, commenced a growling retreat. It proved, however,
a less masterly and less successful performance than some feats of
this class which are on record; for Huntington, coolly recovering his
weapon, called upon the rescued man to stand aside, who was still
menacingly brandishing his club, and making a feint of pursuit. A
quick aim and a detonation that was mingled with a short, fierce
yell of the wolf, as he rolled on the ground, ended the affair; and
for the first time Henrich had an opportunity to gratify his curiosity
by looking at his companion. He was a rough, sun-burnt man of
about forty years, clad in a sailor's dress, and with a countenance
which must have been singularly forbidding in any aspect, but which
at the present moment was almost flendish in its expression. Seamed
with scratches, stained with blood, lighted with eyes that still flashed
rage, his face scarcely needed the coarse, disordered hair, and matted
moustache which environed it, to seem altogether diabolical; and
when Henrich, suppressing his emotions of horror, sympathizingly
inquired the extent of his injuries, the harsh, grating reply of the
other was in singular unison with his looks.

“The foul fiend seize him!” he said, glancing at the insensate
carcase; “I was asleep upon the ground, or he never would have
dared to attack me; and as for you, young man, I suppose you
think you have saved my life!”

Henrich smiled, and was about to reply, when the other continued:

[figure description] Page 036.[end figure description]

“But in that you are quite mistaken; if you had let us alone, I
should have done well enough; I don't need help against one
wolf, and not much against a whole pack; however, you meant well
enough, Henrich Huntington, and for such a milk-soppish looking fellow,
did well enough, too; only, next time, I'll thank you not to
interfere—that's all!” and so saying, the man picked up his crushed
cap, shook the dust from it, and thrusting it on his head, marched
off without further comment.

The young man gazed after him with an air of utter surprise, nor
did he withdraw his eyes until the other had entirely disappeared in
the depths of the forest. Then smiling, as he proceeded to reload
his gun, he said:

“I killed the wrong wolf that time, certainly, and should have
received more thanks if I had helped the other side. Who can the
savage be? and how does he know my name?”

Thus soliloquizing, Henrich, after loading and priming his piece,
proceeded to examine the body of the slain animal, which was of a
size and species unusual in that region, and one from a personal
encounter with which the bravest might well have shrunk. His
bold attack, however, was very remarkable, and rendered probable
the truth of the stranger's assertion, that it had been made while he
was asleep, and, doubtless, in the opinion of his assailant, already
defunet.

The young man, after examining the body a few minutes, was
about to turn away, when he heard a light bounding step breaking
through the underbrush, and a young Indian hunter stood at his
side. Uttering a quick guttural sound, that would hardly have been
recognised as a laugh, excepting by one familiar with Indian modes
of expression, the savage looked deferentially at Huntington, and
then pointing at the game, said:

“Old long-ears; me shoot him twice last year; no use—see!”
and turning the carcase over, he pointed out two scars upon the
animal's chest, which were evidently the traces of severe wounds.

[figure description] Page 037.[end figure description]

Continuing his examination, he again uttered a chuckle of delight,
and taking his knife from his belt, moved it dexterously for a few
moments about the shoulder of the beast, and produced a leaden
bullet, which he held up exultingly to Henrich.

“Mine!” he said; “my wolf! What does my brother say?”

“Say?” replied Henrich; “why, I say that you have proved title
very clearly; and if you want the head—there it is; help yourself,
Winny! The bounty will find you in powder for a month.”

Nodding good-naturedly to the young man, the Indian quickly
severed the head, and seizing it by the ears, started on a run
towards the city, to claim the small bounty which was then paid for
slaughtering beasts of prey. Henrich, meanwhile, abandoning his
proposed sport, returned slowly homeward, musing upon the singular
events of the day.

CHAPTER V.

[figure description] Page 038.[end figure description]

Mrs. Sniff was a slender little widow, of active tongue, whose
dear departed had grown enamored of the grave, by hearing it
described as a place of silence, and was strongly suspected of having
taken a voluntary leave of life. If his relict had not mourned
deeply for her bereavement, then there was no virtue in crape; for
hers was of the finest quality, and was selected, with the discriminating
eye of grief, from the most recent importations. Mrs. Sniff
was frequently astonished to find herself on the very verge of forty,—
a circumstance singular in itself, and well worthy of surprise, inasmuch
as she had been christened somewhat over half a century;
but she possessed a knack at aping girlhood which might almost
cheat Father Time himself, and which, in the apprehensions of some
neighboring spinsters, bade fair to prevent her being harvested in
due season.

A snug little house and garden, and a very shadowy income, were
the widow's, who, with a single servant, lived alone in a retired
quarter of the city; and it was not without delight that she received
propositions from a fine-looking foreigner to admit two young ladies
into her household, not exactly as boarders, of course, but as companions
and friends, who would pay a very liberal stipend for the
favor, and ask no questions. But if Mrs. Sniff was delighted, she
was careful not to appear so; she really did not know, she was
entirely unused to anything of the kind; but she certainly had some

[figure description] Page 039.[end figure description]

spare room, and if Captain Sill could assure her that the ladies were
quite respectable, and would reflect no dishonor upon the roof of
her dear departed Sniff, she thought she might bring herself to consent,—
the pay, of course, to be in advance. The captain, who had
kindly undertaken this commission, by reason of Father Ledra's ignorance
of the English language, succeeded in satisfying the expected
hostess of the entire worthiness of her guests, and in baffling her
curious endeavors to ascertain any particulars of their history. The
situation seemed to him in every way desirable. Seclusion was a
primary object with Miss Montaigne, who was enjoined to hold herself
in readiness to depart, whenever her father should be able to
send an escort for her safety; and, in the meantime, to live as retired
as possible, and, above all things, to conceal her real name. The
preliminaries of a treaty were therefore arranged, not to be ratified,
however, until after a personal inspection of the premises by Miss
Emily; an inquisition, at the mention of which Mrs. Sniff exhibited
much uneasiness, and begged it might be deferred until the following
day. If the ladies were to be allowed to choose for themselves, it
was manifestly quite a different affair. Fathers, and uncles, and
guardians are easily gammoned, thought the widow, but when it
comes to these meddling girls, flying about the house, peering into
every corner, and turning up their noses at all the shifts and artifices
of genteel poverty, that is another thing. And so it was. But
forewarned is forearmed, thought Mrs. Sniff; and no sooner had the
captain withdrawn, than the house was turned forthwith out of the
windows, and thoroughly renovated, by the aid of two borrowed
slaves, who, belonging to a Dutchman, had been taught that cleanliness
was a cardinal virtue, and quite essential to salvation. Having
thus made sure that no unbecoming sights or odors would greet the
sensitive organs of her visitors, everything was carefully replaced,
the scanty finery being skilfully divided between the two rooms
designed for their use, and some very bountiful bouquets adorning
the respective mantels. The little parlor below was made to do its

[figure description] Page 040.[end figure description]

best, which was little more than to exhibit through an open window
a fine view of the East river, and of the opposite shore of Long
Island; the garden was put in hasty trim, and the widow herself,
particularly prim, received Miss Roselle with many regrets that her
house and premises were unusually out of order, by reason of a long
catalogue of disturbing influences which she proceeded to relate.
Emily had been cautioned not to be over particular, as the retirement
would counterbalance many defects; and she tripped daintily
about the house for some time, preceded by her chattering hostess,
who herself decried everything with such an amazing humility that
she quite disarmed criticism. But Miss Roselle was in truth surprised
at the general air of neatness which she encountered; and
contenting herself, therefore, with much indistinct murmuring, she
dictated a few unimportant alterations, by way of a salvo to her
authority, and at length condescendingly expressed her satisfaction.

“This will be your own room, I presume,” said Mrs. Sniff, re-entering
the better chamber; “it is the largest and most airy, and the
view from the window is so charming.”

“I think I shall prefer the other,” Emily replied, slightly coloring,
for she perceived that she was taken for the principal of the two
strangers; “I do not fancy large rooms, and this love of a morning
glory under the window will be so delightful.”

And so the bargain was concluded, and on the same day Blanche
and Emily were quietly settled in their new quarters. It was with
a singular feeling of desolation that Miss Montaigne contemplated
her new position. Separated from her father for an indefinite period,
and anticipating a speedy parting with both of her remaining protectors,
she might well look forward with misgivings to the future.
Father Ledra was to sail in a few days in a Dutch vessel bound to
Holland, and was thus to regain his home; and Captain Sill, who
by some private diplomacy with the governor had obtained permission
to depart, took advantage of the same opportunity. They
called together on the day of embarkation to take a final leave of

[figure description] Page 041.[end figure description]

their young friends, and to commend them to the especial kindness
of their hostess, who being, as she protested, but a girl herself,
feared that she could not do much for them; but promised to watch
over them with a sisterly care.

“We are three young things together, Captain Sill,” she said,
delighted that she had so distinguished a personage under her roof,
“and my little dove-cot here, as I call it, is quite without a protector,
since the loss of my poor dear —;” she did not say Sniff, but
substituted the action for the word, which answered the purpose
quite as well.

Blanche was deeply affected at parting with Father Ledra, for
whom she had the sincerest regard; nor did she fail to reciprocate
the kindness of the worthy captain, who seemed to take almost a
paternal interest in her welfare. Nothing, indeed, but the imperative
claims of a beloved family at home would have induced him to leave
New York, until he had seen Miss Montaigne re-united to her
friends, and at times he felt disposed to urge her return with him to
Paris, but the injunctions of the baron were, of course, a law which
they had no right to disregard.

The departure of the visitors left Mrs. Sniff in a sad state of perplexity.
There had been something of deference in their deportment
towards the young ladies, which induced her to suspect that the
latter must be persons of considerable distinction; and the airs of
Miss Emily and the reserve of the beautiful Blanche, both strengthened
her suspicions. Here, then, was a rare turn in Fortune's
wheel; to have disguised countesses and marchionesses, or duchesses,
perhaps, under her roof, and selecting her out from all
the city for their friend and protectress. She always knew she had
never been appreciated—Mrs. Sniff did; and thought her time would
come, and now at last it had. Her own excessive gentility had
done it all,—she could see that clearly enough; and it would never
have happened if her poor dear Sniff had been in the way, who had
always been a clog upon her, and prevented her from rising to she

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

knew not what heights of distinction. But it was still with no little
trepidation that she looked forward to the duties imposed upon her
by so delicate a station. She would, doubtless, she thought, be
called upon to act as a sort of usher for the young ladies in good
society, where they would of course be emulous to shine; and she
began to think over the list of her visiting acquaintances to see who
among them was of sufficient rank to serve her in such an emergency.
There was young Shiel, a very distant cousin of her own,
who was a fashionable man about town, and was said to be on
intimate terms with Lord Cornbury. True, he was a scamping
fellow, dissolute and worthless; but then he was genteel, and the
very man whom it was her duty, as a friend and protectress of the
young ladies, to introduce to them. But Shiel, unfortunately, could
scarcely be reckoned as an acquaintance; for although there had
long been a tradition in the family of her having once refused his
hand at a dance in favor of her newly-betrothed Sniff; and although
his apparition had frequently been raised in family altercations, to
the great terror of that meek gentleman, as one of the “might have
hads” of his much injured spouse; notwithstanding all this, Shiel
had coolly put up his eye-glass on meeting her for the last twenty
years, and never succeeded in discovering who she was. But then
Shiel was getting to be an elderly young man, and might be contemplating
matrimony; and with such rare attractions as the dove-cot
now possessed, he could of course be brought around. Well,
then, there was Shiel to begin with. But Mrs. Sniff pondered a long
time before she could think of any one else. There was the Dutch
alderman at the corner, whose purse was supposed to be altogether
bottomless, it was so very deep; but he was a crotchety old fellow
who cared nothing for countesses; and his buxom daughter Sally,
whose face was always blazing with the unexpired tints of the
kitchen fire, could scarcely be shown off to much advantage. But
then there was—strange that she had not thought of him sooner—
young Henrich Huntington, so handsome, so aristocratic-looking, so

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

graceful and unpretending withal; and who had been educated in
an English University, and for whom many a rich Dutch belle would
have given her very ears, with their great golden drops in the
bargain. True he was poor, but the countesses need never know
that if he only kept his own counsel, which she had no doubt he
would. And then, he had a love of a little sail-boat, and could give
them such delightful excursions up the rivers and down the bays,
and away off to Hedge-hog Point and Gibbet Island; which latter
place, although not exactly a place of amusement, possessed the
attraction of several capital swings, of such an enchaining character
that those who once entered them could never tear themselves away.
The widow Sniff, indeed, possessed a vivid imagination, and saw
everything of the color of the rose, excepting her weeds, which she
resolved to discard; and having emerged from her cloud of sables
she could easily, she thought, fall back to thirty-five, by the aid of
rings, ringlets, and a blonde veil. If her lodgers had thought her
genteel before, what would they think then; and as to Mr. Shiel,
why there was such a thing as reviving the embers of a decayed
passion, and there was no telling what might happen; so the
duchesses, after all, must take their chance.

Thus, long and sagely, did Mrs. Sniff plot and ponder; but all
her schemes, like many originating in wiser heads, were destined to
avail but little. Some of her aims remained unaccomplished, and
others, as will be seen, attained a fulfilment which owed but little to
her agency.

CHAPTER VI.

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

Solitude and seclusion, doubtless, have their charms, but these
were not found sufficient at all times to keep Blanche and Emily
within the purlieus of the dove-cot. It was on a bright afternoon
in June, not many days after they had become domiciled in their
new home, that they ventured together upon a stroll, seeking to gain
a glimpse of the world around them. Their hostess, who dealt
largely in the marvellous, had held out, from time to time, divers
intimations of impending dangers with which every other place was
beset excepting the ground sheltered by her sacred roof; and Emily's
excitable imagination became populous with buccaneers, banditti,
ghosts, goblins, and witches, until almost every spot seemed to
harbor one or another of these unwelcome neighbors. There was,
indeed, an air of wildness and novelty pervading the new world into
which she had been introduced, which favored the most colossal
growth of credulity. Its many wonderful realities formed, of course,
the basis of still more wonderful fables, and rendered the boundary
line of rational belief not always easily discernible, even by more
sagacious minds than that of Miss Roselle. Sleepless, however, as
were her apprehensions, they did not extend to the anticipation of

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

danger on the present occasion, and the cousins, yearning for the
freedom of the green fields and the open air, of which they had been
so long restrained, went joyously upon their way. They passed
through the central gate of the city, and following up the windings
of a small creek, which led past some quiet farm-houses, they reached
the base of the sandy embankment of which mention has been made,
and toiled, panting, up its grassy sides, exhilarated by the deep
inhalations of fresh air which they were forced to imbibe, and
charmed with the widening circuit of view which each upward stage
extended before them. Properly speaking, they could not be said
before to have seen the magnificent spectacle of the bay of New
York, which now, with its fairy islands, its romantic shores, and the
entrance of its broad tributaries, the Hudson and East rivers, were
comprised in a single picture, dwelling upon the eye with a most
pleasing effect. They gazed long and delightedly, pointing out to
each other the objects of attraction which successively fell under
their notice, and for a while scarcely conscious that they were suffering
from the sun of June, which, although far past the meridian, was
pouring its slant rays through the air with an oppressive intensity.
When at length, sated with the prospect, they turned their
gaze northward, the adjacent forest, with its cool dense shades,
presented an aspect too inviting to be resisted. There certainly
could be no danger, they imagined, while keeping only in its
border; and with some trepidation, arising from the mysterious
warnings of their hostess, they ventured to avail themselves of the
retreat. It was, indeed, a temptation difficult to resist. The voice
of birds alone disturbed the tranquil repose of Nature, as, flitting
from bough to bough, their tiny plumes flashed momentarily upon
the eye; and the dreamy hum of the bee, as on gauzy wing suspended
he now hung buzzing above some tempting flower, and now
buried himself in its fragrant depths. A brook, most diminutive of
its race, gurgled at their feet; and, as it rattled down the declivity
towards a still thicker shade, seemed hastening with fear from the

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

scorching sunbeams which threatened its very existence. Strange
odors were in the air, grateful to the sense, and hinting of forest
flowers, hidden in a thousand lonely nooks, peeping from beneath
piled leaves, crouching beside decayed logs, clinging to crevices of
rocks, or bending above the glassy brook, and resting their warm
petals on its wave.

Blanche possessed a spirit happily attuned to the harmonies of
nature, and in unison with all its charms. Sorrow and fear, and a
sense of loneliness, had clouded for a while her sunny heart, but it
answered now with elastic impulse to the witcheries around her. She
had recently recovered from the illness of her voyage, and the gradual
re-action of her spirits had been suddenly accelerated until joy and
hope and gratitude seemed to have filled her heart. The sunbeam
was not brighter, the flowers were not purer, nor the singing birds
more blithesome than was Blanche. Miss Roselle, although widely
uncongenial to her cousin in the points most essential to friendship,
was in the main a good-natured girl, and the possessor of some
cleverness much obscured by conceit. Her romantic views of life,
also, were continually conflicting with its common-place events, and
not infrequently drawing upon herself a ridicule, which she was fortunate
enough never to perceive. Such as she was, however, she
was the only friend of Blanche, for whom she entertained a profound
respect, not untinctured with envy, and founded on qualities which
were lightly prized by their possessor—her beauty and rank. The
latter was too painfully connected with the idea of an unfeeling
parent to be the subject of much self-gratulation; and mere personal
charms, in a mind constituted like Blanche's, are little valued until
they have proved an attraction to some beloved object. Then,
indeed, does beauty vindicate its power, and the heart, however
innocent and artless, learns to prize every minute charm and grace
which can help to rivet the rosy chains of love.

Half an hour had glided past, while Blanche and Emily had
tarried just within the edge of the woods, at times roaming idly

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

about, and at times seated conversing upon a fallen tree: they were
in the latter position, absorbed in the examination of a rare and
beautiful wild-flower, when a quick sudden tramp was heard at their
side, and they sprang in terror to the ground. The appearance of the
intruder was one that might reasonably have excited some alarm in
the minds of the ladies, even had they not been, as they were, highly
predisposed to that emotion; for an armed man, with marks of
blood not only upon his garments, but upon his face, stood at their
side. Emily uttered a succession of piercing shrieks, and fled towards
the city; while Blanche, with a contagious terror, fell fainting to the
earth. The stranger, who was none other than the young Huntington
returning from the singular adventure which has been related in
a preceding chapter, and who had not perceived the ladies until they
sprang from their seat, stood paralysed for a moment with contending
emotions. He was indeed scarcely less startled than those to whom
he had proved such an object of dread, and before he could recover
sufficient self-possession either to recall Miss Roselle or to conjecture
the probable cause of her fright, she had disappeared over the brow
of the hill. His attention was immediately given to Blanche, whose
extraordinary beauty, as she lay seemingly lifeless before him, was
scarcely less a matter of surprise than everything else connected with
the adventure. He sprang to the neighboring brook, and bringing
water in his cap, dashed it freely and not without effect, in the face
of the patient, who slowly revived, but on the sight of Henrich
standing near had well nigh swooned a second time. The young
man hastened to allay her fears by such explanations and assurances
of safety as the excited state of his own feelings would permit him
to make, and he had the happiness of seeing her in a short time
restored to a comparative degree of composure.

“I fear we have been very foolish,” she said, smiling faintly, as
Huntington assisted her to rise, “but we are strangers in the country,
and have been taught, perhaps, some unnecessary apprehensions.”

So saying, she turned to depart, when Huntington begged that

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

he might be allowed to accompany and protect her from further
danger, a proposal which, in her still weak and trembling state, she
could scarcely refuse. She was yet far from certain that the stranger
was not an outlaw of some kind, but his courteous manner partly
assuaged her alarm, and she did not feel disposed to risk giving
offence by refusing his civilities. The blood-stains were still upon
him, and her own blood ran cold as she saw them, yet she dared not
appear to observe such a seeming token of crime in her companion.
They walked slowly together, but the brook which they were compelled
to cross, fortunately recalled to Henrich an intention which he
had formed before his recent adventure, of making his ablutions in
its waters. With this remembrance came of course a sudden consciousness
of his appearance, and coloring to the temples, he quickly
explained everything to his fair companion, and then hastened to
the cleansing wave. It was no small relief to Miss Montaigne to
feel convinced, as she now did, that all her suspicions were unfounded;
and when Henrich re-appeared, with freshened features and smiling
face, the last vestige of her fears had departed.

“Let us hasten and find poor Emily,” she said, “who may have
fainted upon the road, for her fright, I believe, was greater, if possible,
than mine.”

Miss Roselle, however, had reached home nearly senseless, and
scarcely able to articulate; but she had succeeded in informing her
frightened hostess that Blanche had been carried forcibly off by a
horrid-looking bandit, armed to the teeth, and that she herself
had narrowly escaped the same fate. Her arrival, however, had fortunately
been retarded by the indirect route which she had taken,
and before any alarm could be communicated to the neighbors,
Blanche and Henrich were distinctly seen at a distance, descending
the hill side, and approaching towards home.

“She's rescued—she's rescued,” shouted Emily, and darting from
the house, she hastened to meet her friend with every token of
delight. Visions of chivalrous knights of the silver cross or the

[figure description] Page 049.[end figure description]

golden plume, began to pass through her mind, and she only
regretted that she did not see her swooning cousin, hanging, with
dishevelled hair, across the pommel of the saddle, held by one gauntleted
hand of her rescuer, while another guided his fiery steed.
Reluctantly pardoning the approaching hero for the absence of the
horse and its accessaries, she was conning fit phrases to commend
his bravery, when the merry smiles of Blanche and something in
the appearance of her companion began to impress her with a mortifying
presentiment of the true state of the case. As this was at
once verified by her cousin's explanation, Miss Roselle was not a
little discomfited, but inasmuch as Henrich politely took his leave
after consigning his charge to her care, she still entertained the hope
that he might be a bandit after all, who had indulged in a sudden
fit of magnanimity. Convinced that this was not probable, her
hopes successively fell to a smuggler and a housebreaker, and she was
sure he bore a resemblance to some pictures she had seen of such
characters, who were quite apt, she said, to be handsome, with small
white necks, and waving hair. That he did not dare to accompany
them quite home, that he departed in the direction of the woods on
pretence of having forgotten his gun, that he did not mention his
name or inquire Blanche's, or ask permission to call and learn if she
had quite recovered, were so many arguments for her opinion; and
Miss Montaigne, much amused, did not care to controvert a position
which, however convinced of its incorrectness, she had no means
of disproving. On reaching home they found Mrs. Sniff fully
inclined to adopt the views of Emily, but when the cousins had with
much difficulty agreed upon a tolerably correct description of the
stranger, she could not fail to recognise the picture as that of Mr.
Huntington, on whom she had previously bestowed a glowing panegyric
in their presence. Emily was therefore driven from the last
foothold of her romantic theory, and abandoning it with little
grace she contrived to throw the burden of her blunder on the
widow to whose unnecessary warnings all their alarm was

[figure description] Page 050.[end figure description]

attributable. Mrs. Sniff was a lady of meek manners, when policy dictated
humility, and she shouldered the reproach manfully, only hoping
that the dear young ladies might never find occasion to credit her
assertions more fully.

To Henrich the adventure was fraught with interest; the impression
made by the charms of Blanche, and especially by her artless
and graceful deportment, hung around him like a spell. Her swoon
and recovery, her succeeding alarm, and her final relief from apprehension,
had presented with rapid transition, so many phases of a
beauty, which dazzled alike in each, and seemed an epitome of every
variety of loveliness. Mingled with this admiration, a strong curiosity
pervaded his mind. Who was this fascinating stranger, and
from what region, benighted by her absence, had she come, to
irradiate the New World with her charms? Such were the questions
which, in a moment of enthusiasm, Henrich mentally propounded,
and which, smiling at his own ardor, he determined
speedily to solve. Not that it could avail him aught to know. If
the bright picture would bear a close and continued inspection, if
there was no dark reverse to its first dazzling surface, his fears at
once suggested some other barrier, high and insuperable, which
would intervene between himself and so attractive an object. Hope,
like the hooded falcon, refused to soar, and gained with difficulty
even an upward glance of aspiration. How strange a feature of
the human heart is that which adjusts its doubts to the magnitude
of its desires, and sees, by the light which streams from some
coveted goal, only the obstacles which crowd the path of attainment!

But Henrich reflected with pleasure that politeness demanded of
him a visit to the strangers after their singular meeting; and he did
not hesitate to call upon them on the same evening. He was
received with evident pleasure by both the ladies, and the event of
the day formed the theme of no little merriment.

“It was really very ridiculous of us, Mr. Huntington,” said

[figure description] Page 051.[end figure description]

Blanche, “and you must be generous enough not to tell the story
greatly to our disadvantage: please to throw in a few additional
marks of blood, for our excuse and, if possible, the wolf's head and
ears.”

“It is quite unnecessary, Miss Roselle,” replied Henrich; “the
rivulet in which I washed told me that your fears were fully justifiable.
I little thought that my encounter with the beast would be
the cause of so much suffering.”

“Do not speak of it,” Blanche rejoined; “the joke is well worth
its cost—but pray, tell us, what were your own sensations at so
strange an interruption to your reverie?”

“You will laugh,” answered Henrich, “when I tell you, that at
first I fully believed I had startled a covey of partridges; the fluttering
of dresses was not unlike the noise of their wings, and the fallen
tree, which is the frequent resort of these birds, doubtless confirmed
the illusion.”

“This is really quite too bad!” exclaimed Miss Montaigne; “I
had fully hoped to make you own to a little fright or trepidation,
or something that might make an offset to our fears; but instead of
that, it seems we have all the ridicule to ourselves, and have narrowly
escaped being shot, as birds, besides.”

“You are truly unfortunate,” said Henrich. “I do not see that
your misery admits of any palliation.”

“Well, well,” continued Blanche, laughing; “we may at least
be thankful that Mr. Huntington did not mistake us for owls
instead of partridges, which our stupidity would have rendered quite
excusable.”

The interview was prolonged somewhat beyond the limits of a
formal call, and when Henrich rose to depart, it was with a reluctance
that surprised himself. Mrs. Sniff politely asked him to
repeat his visit, and, unconsciously, his eye turned to Miss Montaigne,
with the hope of hearing the invitation seconded from the
only quarter which could give it value; but Blanche, with

[figure description] Page 052.[end figure description]

instinetive delicacy, remained silent, and Emily, to whom, in her character
as an elder sister, such a duty more properly pertained, saw fit to
follow her cousin's example. After a moment's hesitation, the visiter
replied ceremoniously, and withdrew. With admiration undiminished,
hope unaugmented, curiosity unsated, he returned slowly and
thoughtfully to his home. If Miss Montaigne had given the simplest
form of assent to the widow's polite request—a bow, a smile,
or even a marked look, there would have been a little loop on which
to hang a little hope of favor; now there was none, and he might
not again seek their presence. The rumors of their rank, which
Mrs. Sniff sedulously diffused, doubtless by way of aiding their
design of seclusion, did not fail soon afterwards to reach his ears,
and confirmed him in the mortifying belief that the omission of the
much coveted invitation was by no means accidental.

CHAPTER VII.

[figure description] Page 053.[end figure description]

Major St. George Grover was a man who had made some
converts to the doctrine of total depravity; yet he was far from
being a polemic, and might have found it difficult to tell what were
his own views on that much mooted point. Of an aristocratic and
wealthy family in England, he had long pursued an unremitting
career of profligacy in that country, whence he had but recently
transplanted his vices into the New World, where, it need scarcely be
said, they took deep root, and produced an abundant harvest; not
dissimilar, indeed, to some indigenous crops in the same soil, for
earth, unfortunately, has no clime in which sin is an exotic.

Major Grover was one of the individuals who had accompanied
Lord Cornbury on board the St. Cloud, where he had been a silent
observer of events, had been struck with Miss Montaigne's beauty,
had stared at her with relentless effrontery, and, scarcely aside, had
laughed merrily with Ensign Midge over some jeering remarks upon
her charms. He had at once resolved on becoming acquainted
with so attractive a person; and he saw with delight that her companion
was a simpleton, and her protector a priest of the proscribed
school. For many days he had lost trace of the strangers, but he
discovered their retreat at length, and learned, by singular assiduity,
the history and situation of their hostess, with the prominent traits
of her character. He learned, too, that beau Shiel was a distant
relative of the widow, rather beyond speaking distance, it is true,

[figure description] Page 054.[end figure description]

but privileged, of course, at any time to resume the claims of kin.
Shiel on his request did not hesitate to call on Mrs. Sniff, much to
her delight, and to express his regrets that the cares of business had
prevented him for some little time preceding from keeping bright the
chain of friendship between himself and his respected cousin. But
the widow said it was not to be spoken of, and she was sure she was
much obliged to Mr. Shiel for remembering her at all; and so a
footing was very soon established for that gentleman in the dove-cot;
and he knew, as he expressed himself to Major Grover, exactly
where he stood. He did not know where the ladies stood, however,
for, equally to his own chagrin and that of Mrs. Sniff, they did
not descend to the drawing-room, and the widow was compelled to
manufacture two extemporaneous headaches in their behalf. She
took the opportunity, however, to hint at the scrupulosity of rank,
and informed Mr. Shiel that she would try to prevent a recurrence
of his disappointment, if he would do her the honor to dine with
her on the ensuing day, an invitation at which he secretly exulted,
and which, after a very studious perusal of some blank tablets, to
make sure that he had no other engagements, he graciously
accepted.

But now came Mrs. Sniff's turn to be delighted, aye, to be
thrown into a very paroxysm of silent ecstasies; for Mr. Shiel
craved the very particular favor of being allowed to bring with him
his friend, the Honorable Major Grover, a gentleman of ancient
family, who could trace his lineage back to the days of the Conquest,
and was even suspected of having had ancestors before that
period; but that was mere conjecture. The favor was of course
readily accorded, and the visitor took his leave, with a profusion of
courteous words and gestures, in which line, however, he scarcely
transcended the remarkable exploits of the widow, who seemed to
respond with a sort of mesmeric motion to all the grimaces and
genuflections of her visitor.

It had been a rash and unconsidered thing, Mrs. Sniff's invitation

[figure description] Page 055.[end figure description]

had, and the subject lay all that night upon her mind with peculiar
heaviness. Strange visions haunted her sleep. Her lodgers had
again proved refractory, and would not leave their rooms, and her
illustrious visiters and herself were vainly trying to dine upon a pair
of boiled epaulettes, which defied all her attempts at carving, and
were quite deficient in gravy besides. If she tried to propitiate
Blanche, she was pelted with glass slippers for her pains; and
Emily, taught by her friend's example, proved equally intractable.
The dews of anxious thought were upon the widow's brow when
she awoke in the morning, which was necessarily at an early hour;
for, to secure such a result, she had compelled a bantam rooster,
famed for his vociferous greetings of the dawn, to take lodgings in
her room. She set earnestly about the labors of the day, and
engaged in the preparations for dinner with such enthusiasm, as to
quite overlook the minor matter of breakfast, a meal which, by the
customs of that age, was clearly entitled to precedence. She was
fortunately, however, reminded of this slight blunder by a voracious
serving girl, whose seldom-sated appetite proved a faithful monitor
on the occasion.

Fearful that Blanche and Emily would in some way slip
through her fingers, after all, it was not until the latest allowable
minute that she informed them of her expected guests; they
were only some of her particular friends, she said, who would
take things quite as they found them, and were not to be treated
with ceremony. Major Grover was so fond of his beloved England,
that he longed to see any one who had recently trod its blessed
shores, so Mr. Shiel had said, and she thought it was a very pretty
sentiment, and one which did equal honor to his heart and his
gizzard—which last word was a lapsus linguœ of the widow, occasioned
by a sudden remembrance of a contemplated chicken fricasee,
in which those parts of the dissected fowl were to figure.

Miss Montaigne did not absent herself from the great dinner, for
she had not the heart to disappoint her anxious hostess, and,

[figure description] Page 056.[end figure description]

doubtless, was not quite devoid of curiosity to see one of the lions of
New York society; while Emily was delighted beyond bounds at
an event so full of promise. The visiters came in due season, and
were introduced in due form. The widow and Miss Roselle, who
were both elaborately dressed, seemed equally to captivate the
obliging Shiel, who quite gave up the beautiful Blanche to the
attentions of his friend. That these were anything but pleasing to
her would have been quite apparent to an indifferent observer; but
Grover, being quite fascinated by his companion, fell into the common
error of believing that she was equally pleased. It will not be
necessary to record more minutely the events of a day, memorable
only for laying the foundation of an acquaintance, which the major
strove sedulously to improve, and which led to some striking results.
For a while he persecuted Blanche with attentions seemingly
respectful, but which took no form sufficiently definite to admit of
effectual repulse. She avoided him when she could, and when she
could not, was coldly civil, and ceremoniously polite. Thus affairs
stood for a few weeks, when an event occurred which wrought a
marked change in the designs of the suitor. He chanced one evening
at a restaurateur's to hear the name of Roselle pronounced in a
foreign accent, and upon observation he discovered two Frenchmen
of the lower class, conversing together in their own language, and
in a low tone of voice. A little attention enabled him to perceive
that the colloquists were sailors who had formed part of the crew of
the St. Cloud, and that they were discussing some events connected
with its capture. Seemingly engrossed in some other matter, he
contrived to pay the closest attention to their discourse, which was
the less guarded, because they supposed their dialect to be unintelligible
to the other individuals present.

From this conversation Grover learned the important fact that the
younger of the two ladies passing under the name of Roselle was, in
reality, a daughter of the celebrated Baron Montaigne, who, on arriving
at New York, had assumed the obscurer name which she now bore,

[figure description] Page 057.[end figure description]

and that she only awaited some expected opportunity to be provided
by her father, for leaving the city. This information was full of
interest to the listener, and for a while he could not decide how best
to avail himself of its advantages. Despite his self-flattery, he was
conscious that he had as yet made no advances in Blanche's affections
adequate to his exertions; and it was now a solace to his pride
to believe that if he was baffled it was by one, conscious of rank
temporarily obscured, which might claim an equality with his own.
What then if he should abandon his irrational prejudices against
matrimony, and seek this peerless beauty with an honest love? The
hymeneal fetters could not be as onerous as they had been represented,
especially if one were disposed to wear them loosely, as he
certainly should do. Blanche would adorn any circle; her dowry,
if not immediate, would, doubtless, be princely at some future day;
and he would carry her back to England to eclipse the crowds of
Lady Janes and Lady Annes, whose virtuous mamas had denounced
him as an irreclaimable roué, and had shown as much perturbation
at his appearance in their guarded circles, as the cluttering hen when
the hawk hovers in the air. He would, besides, have the credit of
great generosity and disinterestedness; for he would woo and wed
the stranger in her assumed name, seemingly ignorant of her true
rank and expected patrimony. Thus would he also pay the higher
compliment to her attractions, and make more sure of her regard.
But on the last point he indulged no fears; the thought of a refusal
did not enter into his mind, and would have been scouted as
the very ravings of delirium. Having thus resolved, he kept his
own counsel and lost no time in inaction. There was, at once, a
marked change in the character of his addresses to Blanche, who,
finding no coolness sufficient to discourage him, rejoiced at the
prospect of being soon able to give him a peremptory dismissal.
She was not kept long awaiting such an opportunity, but found it a
difficult thing to convince her astonished suitor that she really
rejected his offer. It was again and again renewed, and the haughty

[figure description] Page 058.[end figure description]

major found himself under the mortifying necessity of crying up his
value, and explaining the magnanimity of his proposal. His wealth,
his rank, his family, were all dilated upon as creating a disparity of
advantages in his favor, which might well entitle him to look for a
different answer. But no different answer came. Blanche was
obliged to him for his good opinion; she had endeavored, since the
first suspicion of his sentiments, to discourage him, and she begged
that her decision might be considered final and conclusive.

Grover retired from this interview,—not a lover,—but a madman.
Opposition had inflamed his passion, wounded his vanity, awakened
his pride, and called into intense action every evil part of his nature.
He was capable of making a mock of every moral obligation, when
his mind was undisturbed; what he could do in its present dangerous
ebullition, remains to be seen.

CHAPTER VIII.

[figure description] Page 059.[end figure description]

The movements of Major Grover for the few days succeeding the
events last related were of a singular character. He was much
alone, was often wrapt in contemplation, and occasionally gave way
to unusual expressions of feeling. At times he was closeted with a
rough sailor-like man, to whom, in the presence of third parties, he
talked loudly of cargoes and consignments, but for whose private ear
he had other themes. Captain Snell had just arrived in the city,
and his ship, anchored off Staten Island, had not yet been able to
get into port, notwithstanding the most favorable winds that ever
wafted keel. He had, indeed, a rich cargo of goods, which he had
procured with much labor and peril on the high seas, and he wanted
a market and protection while he disposed of his property: he
wanted, as he significantly said, “to be winked at” by the government.
He needed in short exactly what Grover could procure for
him, which the latter very well knew, and he played his card
accordingly.

“It's only a wedding trip, Captain Snell,” he said, summing up
the substance of many previous remarks to his acquiescent auditor;
“a few weeks' absence, a little assistance, perhaps, in conveying my

[figure description] Page 060.[end figure description]

bride to the vessel, and your evidence if necessary afterwards, that
it was all fair and voluntary—that's all.”

“That's all easy enough, major,” replied the sailor,—“I did
something such a job once for a count in Lisbon, and she was quiet
enough when we got back; they won't prosecute their husbands, of
course, and have to make the best of it.”

“That's it, exactly,” said Grover, who next proceeded to explain
the details of his proposed plan, to all of which the other listened
attentively, and pronounced it easily practicable.

“It is n't anything at all,” he said; “I thought it must be a life
and death affair, at least, from the way you tacked and shifted
around the subject before you came to it; but it aint anything, that
aint, and she lives where she is so easily to be got at, too; just let
me know when you are ready—that's all.”

Grover, who was quite in earnest in his infernal scheme, proceeded
to make the necessary arrangements, yet without taking any one
fully into his confidence. The temporary absence of the widow and
Emily was to be procured; and Shiel was considered the fitting
agent for this part of the enterprise. On the day selected he invited
the ladies to take a drive with him on Long Island; and easily
accepting Blanche's excuse, which had been anticipated, he found
little difficulty in persuading the other two to accompany him.
That there was mischief on foot of some kind, he very well knew,
but of what particular variety, he was ignorant. It would have been
easy to lure the servant girl from home, who was a colored slave
about twenty years old; but as such a measure might excite
Blanche's suspicions, it was resolved rather to kidnap and dispose of
her at some southern market. Unwilling, however, to resort to
these extreme measures, while there remained the slightest hopes of
success by milder means, and still flattering himself that Miss Montaigne
might already have repented her decision, Grover resolved to
make first a final effort at persuasion. He had, indeed, exhausted
every variety of blandishment; he had practised all those pleasing

[figure description] Page 061.[end figure description]

arts which a life of gallantry had taught him; but he would make
one additional effort, and fortify it, if necessary, by disclosing to
Blanche the mesh with which she was surrounded, and from which
she could indulge no hope of escape.

It was a calm afternoon in June that had been selected for this
daring and atrocious exploit, and Miss Montaigne, seated alone in the
little parlor which has been described, was reflecting upon the
marked events which had recently diversified her life, and changed
it from one of singular monotony to one of unusual and varied
action. What fortune was in store for her in that mysterious future
which seemed thickly shrouded from her view, it was impossible to
conjecture. Separated since infancy from every near relation, she
was about to join a parent who manifested no affection for her, and
one whose Huron wife and half Huron daughter would occupy
towards her the legal relation of mother and sister. With such
companions she was to pass her time, buried in the forest, and even
of less consequence than her Indian sister, who doubtless at least
possessed the affection and regard of her savage relations. Of Myrtle
and her mother she could only think as of tawny and blanketed
women, like those of their race whom she had seen during her
abode in New York. It was a dismal prospect to contemplate
closely: but Blanche would not yield to despondency; there was,
after all, something of wildness and romance in the picture, and her
playful imagination gave to it tints and hues which belonged less to
the subject than to the joyous and innocent heart from which they
emanated. She resolved, too, to find happiness in duty; she would
soften her father's heart by unremitting kindness; she would educate
her Indian sister, and surprise her with the thousand novelties of
civilized life; she would even make a friend of the dreaded baroness,
if the latter were not altogether a cannibal, and past the hope of
reclamation. What pets, too, she would have! A pair of gentle
fawns should feed daily from her hands, and race with her through
the fields; the rabbits should burrow in the garden; the birds

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

should build beside her windows; and the clambering flowers,
exhaling an atmosphere of fragrance, should tempt the bee, and the
tiny hummer, and the gorgeous butterfly; and all these would be
her friends and playmates.

As Blanche gazed from time to time out of the window while
engaged in these reflections, her eye was attracted by several rough
looking individuals in the garb of sailors, who were idly sauntering
in the vicinity. One leaned indolently against a post at a
little distance from the house, trolling some nautical chorus;
another lay stretched upon the grass on the common; and a party
of three, further towards the river, were chatting and smoking
beneath a tree, but not giving way, as might be expected from
sailors on furlough, to any noisy mirth. She felt some alarm at
first, remembering the isolated situation of the house, but inasmuch
as the men remained quiet, and made no nearer approach, her
apprehensions soon subsided. She remembered the ludicrous results
of her fears in the forest a few weeks preceding, and resolved not
again to play so childish a part. She had, indeed, withdrawn her
eyes from the landscape and was again wrapt in contemplation,
when she became suddenly conscious that she was no longer alone,
and on looking up she discovered the detested Grover at her side.
He had entered the room with a silent and cat-like motion, and
there was something in the bland expression of his face and in the
soft, purring tone of his voice as he addressed her, equally feline in
its character.

“I have again come unbidden,” he said; “may I hope not
entirely unwelcome? One of my vessels, long due, has arrived
since I left your presence, and I have hastened to lay some of its
treasures at your feet.”

An attendant at his signal entered the room, and depositing a
large package upon a table, immediately withdrew: Grover followed
him to the door, which he carefully closed, and returning, proceeded
to open the parcel, while Blanche, who had before made several
ineffectual efforts to speak, rose suddenly to her feet.

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

“Do not open it,” she said, speaking with some vehemence, yet
in a low, trembling voice, “do not leave it, Major Grover. I can
accept no favors which I have neither the power nor the wish to
requite; if I have not, heretofore, spoken plainly—”

“But too plainly, my dear Miss Roselle; but ladies are proverbially
changeful, even as the shifting colors of this beautiful silk,” unfolding
and displaying a piece of the most gorgeous fabric, and piling upon
it a profusion of rich laces—“these might make bridal robes for a
princess; and here,” he continued, unclasping a box of costly jewelry,
“are ornaments which would adorn all other beauty, but which will
receive new lustre from Miss Blanche Roselle.”

Miss Montaigne looked on with scorn, and cast frequent glances
towards the door, as if with a presentiment that an attempt at egress
might be opposed; there was something strange and threatening in
the eye and manner of her suitor, which impressed her with vague
forebodings; and, seemingly without design, she slightly changed
her position to one more favorable for flight. The movement was
not unnoticed by Grover, who also, with apparent inadvertence,
placed himself between her and the door, and somewhat changing
the tone of his voice, continued:

“I have made all allowances for the modesty, which, Cæsar-like,
has thrice refused what it intended from the first to accept. My
rank and wealth have, I know, rendered you incredulous as to the
honesty of my intentions; you have, perhaps, even heard some
old-wives' tales of deserted flower-girls or heart-broken milk-maids,
whose cause you may be chivalrous enough to wish to avenge—but
to you, beautiful Blanche, I swear perpetual fealty; for your sake, I
will bear the chains of Hymen, and as you so much mistrust me, I
will ask not even the favor of a smile until we are wedded.”

A passing color and a quick breathing alone told of the suppressed
indignation of the listener; she did not dare to reply; the words of
her companion were those of entreaty, but his voice was in a tone
of command, and there was a menacing expression in his face, which

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

overpowered her with fear. She cast a hurried glance from the
window in the anxious hope of seeing Emily and Mrs. Sniff returning,
or of seeing some visiter approaching the house; but there was
nothing that gave prospect of relief. She did not dare to attempt to
pass out lest she should learn that she was really a prisoner, and should
precipitate whatever of evil she had to fear. She resolved, therefore,
to gain time by parley, but even in this design she seemed to be
anticipated by her persecutor. He continued to urge his suit as yet
in respectful language, but the uneasiness of his air, and his frequent
outward glances, seemed to indicate the expected approach of some
other party. He was, in fact, awaiting the promised arrival of a
legal functionary, who was authorized to tie the matrimonial knot,
and on whose perfect subserviency to his interests he could depend;
on his approach, if persuasion continued fruitless, he had determined
at once to disclose to Blanche her peril, and make the alternative proposition
of instantaneous marriage or abduction. The suddenness of the
demand, the imminency of the danger, the few minutes which she
would be allowed to decide, combined with the force of prior
arguments, he did not doubt would overcome every obstacle and
produce a complete acquiescence. But while he waited, he grew
momentarily impatient; delays were dangerous; there was indeed
no fear of the return of Shiel and his companions, and one of the
sentinels was even prepared to prevent the casual approach of
strangers to the house, by the alarm of an infectious disease which
was to be sedulously shunned. But still he felt that haste was
desirable; and although it was not yet the appointed time for his
coadjutor's arrival, he resolved to go personally and expedite his
movements. Blanche, he thought, was yet unalarmed, and although,
perhaps, angry at his pertinacity, she did not, he believed, entertain
the least suspicion of his design. She would not, therefore, think
of flight, and if she attempted could not accomplish it, for the
pirates had orders to prevent her departure, and if she persisted in
going or in making an outcry, they were to carry her forcibly to

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

the vessel. He departed, therefore, without giving her any intimation
of his intended return, and only paused near the door to
give directions to one of the banditti for additional vigilance during
the few minutes of his expected absence. But Miss Montaigne, as
has been already seen, was by no means unalarmed; her first fears
had been allayed, but the strange deportment of Grover and the
continued presence of the sailors who still lounged listlessly about
the premises, now combined to excite her worst apprehensions.

It has been said that there was in the house besides Miss
Montaigne, one individual, too insignificant to be dreaded, even as
an informant, yet whom Grover intended to include, if convenient,
in his kidnapping enterprise. Jule, for such was the slave's name,
had belonged to the Sniffs from childhood, and her faculties had
been somewhat sharpened by the necessity of inventing expedients
to evade some of her mistress's inordinate exactions of labor. She
was a good-natured girl, warm in her attachments, and, since the
arrival of Miss Montaigne, had manifested the greatest pleasure in
serving her. Unused to words of kindness and consideration from
those above her, Jule had seen the beautiful stranger manifesting an
occasional interest in her welfare, which had astonished and delighted
her; and the heart of the negress had closed with avidity upon
this rare object of affection. Nothing could be too good, nothing
too nice for Miss Blanche: and the least smile of approval from her
was more than a reward for every exertion of the humble servitor.

Powerless as such an ally might seem, Miss Montaigne hastened
to seek her counsel and aid; but Jule, already alarmed, and flying
from what seemed the post of more imminent danger, met her with
intelligence that confirmed all her fears, and added tenfold to their
intensity. She had herself watched the strange movements of the
men, had noticed their sailor-like garb, and had overheard Grover's
instructions, on departing, for a vigilant watch, and forbidding any
egress from the house. There was little time for reflection; and
Blanche implored the negress to make an attempt to escape and

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

seek assistance. That Miss Montaigne was the principal object of
pursuit, and that whatever danger impended over herself would not
be enhanced by flight, even if unsuccessful, Jule readily saw; but
even if it had been otherwise, she would have refused nothing to
Blanche. With ready wit, too, she reflected that if she went out,
apparently unalarmed, and as if bound on some ordinary errand,
she might perhaps be allowed to pass unmolested. Her absence
might even be considered an advantage, inasmuch as the abduction
of one individual could of course be accomplished more
safely and quietly than that of two. Hanging a basket, therefore,
upon her arm, and hastily informing Blanche of her design, she
sauntered lazily from the door, singing, with half-choked voice, a
negro refrain, and carefully dissembling her fears. Her exit was
from the rear door, and her course through the garden towards a
lane in its rear, led directly past two of the guards. They had
been instructed to prevent any attempt at flight; but they had also
been ordered not to excite any premature alarm or suspicion on the
part of the inmates of the house, and for a moment they hesitated
on their proper course. Here was evidently no flight; the slave
would soon return, and if not, her absence would rather do good
than harm; and with this view of the matter, they had well nigh
permitted her to pass, when one, still undecided, suddenly accosted
her.

“Avast—there, avast, Nan! You sing merrily for a blackbird—
just drop alongside here, and tell us where you are bound to; 't aint
every one that dares to sail openly under such dark colors—is it,
Jack?”

“You mind yer own business, and git out of our garden, afore
Mrs. Sniff sees you, or you'll ketch it,” answered Jule. “I'm going
to pick peas over in dat field; `Massa eat de sugar, Sambo git de
cane;”' and she passed tremblingly on towards the fence.

“Blast the blackamoor!” exclaimed the sailor, following as he
spoke; “can't you answer a civil hail better than that? bring to, I

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

say, and show your papers, or we'll blow you out of water—but if
as how,” he continued, as Jule slackened her pace, and looked back,
“if as how you are really under sailing orders for that field, over
there—”

“I didn't say any such thing,” replied Jule, “and I haint got any
papers, nor notting elst but dis ere pail.”

“Let her go, Bill, or elst don't let her go, one or t' other,” said
the other sailor; “what's the use of jabbering to the wench? I
says, let her go, and very good riddance it is.”

“And I says, mebbe not, Mr. Jack,” said the first speaker, who
seemed to imbibe the spirit of contradiction from the interference of
his companion; “you just bring her to a minute, while I run around
and ask Bluff about it, kase, you see, it's a kind of a nice question,
after all.”

So poor Jule was brought to, and compelled to await the decision
of higher authority.

“It's a high time of day,” she said, with affected wrath,—“if
people can't come for to go in their own mistress's garden, which
they've lived with twenty years—in broad daylight, it is—you let
go my arm, you scaramouch, you!”

“Steady, lass, steady,” replied Jack, “least said, soonest mended;
I aint no scarrymouse, neither, and it's well for you you aint aboard,
or you might get a dozen or two for your impudence.”

With emotions that cannot be portrayed, Blanche beheld from a
window the scene which has been described; she saw Jule unaccosted,
nearly pass the guard, and, after a temporary detention,
resume her progress, only to be a second time stopped and questioned,
and held rudely by the arm. While she waited with fearful misgivings
for the result, the bandit, who has been called Bill, returned
from his embassy, and, speaking in a voice that reached the ears of
Miss Montaigne, said, “Mr. Bluff says there aint so much as a cat
to go out of the house, 'cause she mout be a kind of carrier-pigeon,
like, you see, which this ere thing don't look much like, of course;

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

but then she must trot back notwithstanding, and no words about it
either.”

Jule hesitated for a moment; but there was nothing to do but
submit, and with a heavy heart she returned to the house, where
Blanche was already giving way to all the anguish of despair.

CHAPTER IX.

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

If consternation had paralysed the faculties of Miss Montaigne, it
gave new energies to the slave. With the celerity and nearly the
fierceness of an imprisoned wild-cat, she flew from window to window,
seeking to catch sight of some casual passer, to whom she might
shriek for help; but no one was visible, and every hope of succor
from without was abandoned. Yet her resources did not seem to
be exhausted. Pausing a moment for thought, she suddenly darted
up the kitchen stairway, and before Blanche could conjecture her
designs, she re-appeared with various articles of apparel, both of her
own and Miss Montaigne, including the bonnet and veil of the latter
and an ample hood of her own.

“Be quick,” she said, signifying her meaning more by motions
than words, “let us change clothes—dey will chase Jule, Miss
Blanche will run away.”

Miss Montaigne startled at the strange proposition, having no
confidence in its success, and unwilling to subject the slave to the
increased peril which success would involve, hesitated to assent; but
Jule, disposing summarily of her objections, proceeded to partly
disrobe her young mistress and to substitute her own coarse and
clumsy garments for the elegant apparel of the other. The dimensions
of the negress were, fortunately, not materially different from
those of Miss Montaigne, but there were some awkward discrepancies
of shape, which it required ingenious expedients to overcome. An

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

ample frock of the fabric usually called linsey-woolsey easily concealed
the graceful outline of Blanche's form, but at the same time threw
into more apparent disproportion the tiny feet and ancles which it
left revealed. This, however, did not escape the eye of Jule, who
chuckled as she produced three pairs of coarse hose, with which she
proceeded to indue the dangerous members; and when a pair of
thick, heavy shoes, tied with leathern strings, was added to the equipment,
she declared that the effect was grand, and that the feet were
exactly like her own. The wide, dark hood was next thrown over
Blanche's head and neck, and drawn close in front, care being taken
that no stray ringlet should peep from beneath its edges.

The work of disguising thus far had proceeded rapidly, although
with but little diminution of terror on the part of Miss Montaigne,
who expected momentarily that the return of Grover would terminate
her hopes of flight. They had but a few minutes at the furthest to
complete their task, and yet the most difficult part of the labor
remained to be done. It was, indeed, no easy matter to array the
coarse and crooked frame of the negress in a lady's dress; yet,
inasmuch as the fortunate correspondence in height obviated what
might have proved the most insuperable difficulty, much was hoped
from the trial. No ingenuity, indeed, could diminish the ample
shoulders of Jule, or close the wide-gaping dress of silk around her
waist; yet a light shawl, judiciously arranged, partly concealed the
defect. The feet and ancles, of dimensions hopelessly large, defied
every attempt at compression, and when viewed in connexion with
the backward extension of the heel, threatened a quick betrayal of
the deceit. Although clad in stockings of fine texture, and in shoes
slitted at heel and toe to increase their width, little could be hoped
in regard to them, excepting that in the confusion of flight they
might escape observation. Not that Jule herself perceived the difficulty;
however sagacious on other points she saw no ground for
apprehension here, and eyed the arrangement with much complacency.

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

“'Em looks berry well, Missa Blanche,” she said; “daze a little
larger dan yours, a berry leetle, but nuffin to signify.”

Miss Montaigne's bonnet and veil were next carefully adjusted
upon the girl; and to perfect as far as possible the disguise, Blanche
quickly severed a few of her glossy ringlets, and securing them to
the crisped hair of the negress, suffered the ends to fall a little
below the edge of the bonnet upon every side. The sable throat
was carefully concealed by a collar, the veil drawn closely over the
face, and the hands enclosed in gloves of black, which, although
bursting in every part, revealed no contrasting color from within,
and still seemed whole. The adjustment of the curls was a happy
thought, and did more to complete the illusion than almost everything
beside; for, hanging around the poor slave's neck with a
graceful and tremulous motion, nothing could be less suggestive of
the woolly treasures to which they were appended; they hinted
rather of the snowy cheeks and neck of their true proprietress, which,
with many other charms, might well be supposed to lie hidden
beneath the flowing veil.

Such as they were, the disguises were at length completed, and
Blanche began to indulge a faint hope of success. Imitating, as
best she could, the attitude and gait of the slave, she hastily tutored
the latter to mimic her own; and enjoining short steps, and as
economic a display of feet as was practicable, the parties prepared
for flight. The building fronted the river, at the distance of about
thirty rods from the shore, and the intermediate space was an ope
field, sparsely studded with trees, which on the side nearest to the
settled part of the city drew more closely together, and screened the
landscape from any distant observation. The garden which has
been named was situated behind the house, and extended back to
an unfrequented lane, which, at the distance of some twenty rods
southward, communicated with one of the suburban streets of the
city.

It was arranged that the negress in her assumed character should

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

make a sudden exit from the rear of the dwelling, and having thus
attracted the attention of the two men who had before challenged
her, should dart around the house, and run towards the river, while
Blanche, as soon as the sailors had started in pursuit, was to make
her escape through the garden and the lane. The approach of the
critical moment at first unnerved Miss Montaigne, and seemed to
paralyse her powers; but sinking for a moment to her knees to
implore the Divine protection, she rose with renewed courage, and
followed her companion to the door.

Jule set out with good courage, and at a nimble pace; and,
turning the corner of the house, was at once followed, as had been
anticipated, by the two bandits from the garden. Scarcely, however,
had she proceeded a dozen yards across the common, when she
found herself running into the very arms of a third pursuer, who
was proceeding to meet her, and whom her blinding veil had
prevented her from discovering at a distance. There was no
evading the contact, and the negress, raising her bronzed and
mallet-like fist, fairly knocked her expecting captor to the ground,
and again darted off in a lateral direction. A shout of derision
arose from the other conspirators at the discomfiture of their
colleague, and, with a single exception, they all joined in the pursuit.
Bluff, the leader of the band, was a huge fierce man, who,
foreseeing as he thought the inevitable capture of the fugitive, and
remembering that there was a slave in the house, who was also to
be secured, hastened to execute this part of his fiendish errand.

Blanche, in the meantime, had attempted to escape, but her
extreme terror, her awkward dress, and especially her heavy, loose
shoes, had been so many impediments to rapid flight. She reached
the rear of the garden, but lost some seconds, which seemed like
hours, in finding the gate that opened into the lane; and when it
was found, the simple latch became intricate to her confused faculties,
and she again lost time in finding her way out, which she had
only succeeded in doing, when a ferocious shout from the house told

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

her that she was perceived and pursued. The sound fell like a
thunder peal upon her excited nerves: for a moment she moved
slowly, and seemed, like the victim of a nightmare, to struggle
against invisible fetters, but at the next, she darted forward, not
towards the thoroughfare, as she had intended, but, unconscious of
her course, in an opposite direction.

The lane extended northward to a field, in which, at a considerable
distance west, a farm-house was visible, and towards this refuge
Blanche now directed her steps. Despair gave her energy, and
when once fairly in progress, she fled almost with the fleetness of the
deer; but Bluff had reached the lane at a few bounds, and she
heard his clattering feet behind her, and the hoarse imprecations
and threats with which he called upon her to stop, seemed uttered
almost in her ear. Every instant she expected to feel his grasp
upon her shoulder, yet still her fate was suspended. The farm-house
was no longer distant, but she felt her strength departing, and
her senses failing; fences and trees were flying indistinctly past her,
the sky grew dark, the earth was in motion on every side, and now
it rose up before her like a wall, and smote her hot forehead, and
she lay stretched at length upon its surface, with mingled voices
ringing in her ear. How long she thus lay she could not tell; she
had not fainted, but was in that half swooning state in which the
senses receive but imperfect impressions from the outer world, and
give to realities all the wildness of a dream. She did not forget
her peculiar peril, but still expected momentarily to feel the clutching
hand of her pursuer upon her person, and to be dragged
forcibly away.

But a better fate was in reserve. The house towards which she
had thus inadvertently fled, proved to be the dwelling of Jacobus
Waldron. Huntington, from the window of his study, had perceived
the chase, and suspecting something wrong, had snatched his
gun, and hastened out to meet the fugitive. A glance at the foremost
figure told him it was Jule, the slave of his neighbor Sniff, and

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

another view informed him that the pursuer was none other than
the rude sailor whom he had encountered in the forest. The
recognition was mutual; and the pirate, uttering a triple volley of
oaths, abandoned the chase, and proceeded to retrace his steps.
Though baffled, he thought, in obtaining the negress, the main
object of his expedition was secured; and although Grover would be
sorely disappointed at a mischance which might reveal his outrage
to the public, the slave could not be a witness against him in any
criminal prosecution, nor did she personally know anything that
connected him with the transaction. Thus consoling himself for his
defeat, he hastened to rejoin his companions.

Huntington had seen Mrs. Sniff and Emily driving out of town a
few hours before in company with Shiel, and had not doubted that
Blanche was also with them; his first decided impression, therefore,
was that some piratical fellow had seized so favorable an opportunity
to kidnap the slave for the purpose of transporting her on his next
cruise, to some neighboring market. Such an event would not be
without precedent in those early days of the commonwealth when
crime stalked abroad in every shape, and by reason of its frequency
and familiarity to the view seemed shorn of half its hideous
proportions. Anxious, however, to solve the mystery, although
unalarmed about Blanche, Henrich turned quickly to the prostrate
figure before him, and touching it not lightly with his gun, bade the
slave arise and tell him what had happened.

“Get up, Jule, get up!” he said, “you are safe enough now;
stand up quickly, and tell me what is the matter; the poor thing!”
he continued, stooping and shaking her roughly by the arm, “thinks
she is half way to Virginia by this; stand up, I say, you simpleton,
I don't think your delicate nerves are quite shattered yet—stand up!”

Blanche still bewildered, rose with difficulty, half conscious that
she was saved, yet ignorant of her preserver, and vainly trying to
comprehend the singular language in which she was addressed.

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

“There, don't show off any more airs now—you are more
frightened than hurt, I assure you,” said Henrich, somewhat
harshly.

“Why do you speak to me thus?” exclaimed Blanche imploringly
and with tears—at the same time throwing back her hood: “do
you not see that I am in distress?”

It was an exceedingly fortunate thing for Henrich that he was
not standing at that moment upon some precipice, or beside some
terrestrial chasm, into which he could have leaped and buried the
burning shame and grief which overwhelmed him, as he saw to
whom his coarse reproachful language had been directed.

“Is it indeed you, Miss Roselle?” he said at length, speaking
with difficulty; “how,—why do I find you in this disguise? You
cannot believe I would have spoken thus to you; tell me what has
happened, and let me first secure you a refuge, and then avenge
your wrongs.”

Blanche, now fully restored to memory, glanced at her servile
dress, and smiled faintly as she replied: “I understand it all now;
but poor Jule is in danger; she has risked her life for me, and is
doubtless at this moment in the hands of the pirates; you look
surprised, but I cannot explain now; Heaven has preserved my life
by her means—and yours; and something must be done to save
her.”

Huntington promised to make every effort to accomplish this
object, and hastened to conduct Blanche to his own home for
safety, while he should proceed to alarm the authorities, little hoping,
however, that so slight an offence as stealing a slave would arouse
them to any very vigorous action.

“Do not think me ungrateful to you,” Blanche continued, as they
walked hastily along; “my thoughts are still in a tumult of excitement,
and if you knew from what a fate the poor African has saved
me, you would not wonder that I am anxious for her safety.”

“You give me the best proof that you are incapable of ingratitude,

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

Miss Roselle,” replied Henrich, “when you manifest so great an
interest in an humble slave; but do not be alarmed for the girl—
they can scarcely meditate any harm against her, and I hope it will
be an easy matter to procure her release.”

Blanche was soon under the steep roof of old Jacobus, and in the
especial charge of that worthy, who welcomed her very heartily, and
made some violent efforts to comprehend the affair, but without any
corresponding success. That the stranger was really the serving girl
of his neighbor Sniff, turned white with excessive fear, was among
the most prominent of his conjectures, but one that seemed open to
doubt. Henrich departed on his errand, but not without being
reminded by Blanche, with the slightest perceptible change of color,
that she was not unreasonable enough to expect him to incur any
personal peril in his mission: indeed, that she considered it her duty
to protest against his doing so.

CHAPTER X.

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

When Jule, after her remarkable pugilistic feat, started anew
upon her race, it was, at first, with confused and ill-directed efforts.
She found herself “headed off,” to use an expressive phrase, in every
attempt to approach any settled quarter of the city; and the nearest
dwelling in the direction which she was compelled to take was so
remote, as to afford but little hope that she could reach it before
being overtaken. She resolved, however, to try; for she was strong
and active, and notwithstanding the restraints of her novel dress,
made no inconsiderable progress. Her tight, cramping shoes were
the principal impediment to speed, and these she resolved to discard;
an operation which resulted in a decided expansion of the released
members, and enabled them to get, what in the vocabulary of the
fancy would be called a better bite of the ground. Her speed now
visibly increased, and her panting pursuers beheld with astonishment
her prodigious exploits both of strength and agility. Nothing
seemed to impede her flight; hill and valley were alike easily overcome;
if a ditch interposed, Jule went over at a flying leap, and the
fences were either passed, in quadrupedal mode, through chinks and
gaps, or else were surmounted and bestridden in a manner less elegant
than energetic; retaining, withal, many torn trophies-from her dress,
and holding them up fluttering to the wind.

For a while everything promised success, and her chagrined pursuers,
lagging in the chase, strove by loud threats to terrify her into

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

submission. Little would Jule have heeded threats, but her violent
efforts had caused a rapid expenditure of strength; and while her
anticipated refuge was yet at a long distance, her speed began
visibly to decrease. She could not rally; the pirates gained rapidly
upon her, and her capture became inevitable. With ready sagacity,
therefore, she readjusted her dress in order to prolong the deception
in regard to her person; for she did not, of course, know whether
Blanche's safety was yet secured, or whether she had even gained
courage to leave the house. She had barely time for this precaution
before she found herself in the rude grasp of her captors, who vented
many an oath upon her stubbornness, and placing her between two
of their number, proceeded to retrace their steps.

Jule did not struggle or speak; all her thoughts were for the
safety of Blanche, and her only efforts were to avoid discovery. The
party proceeded rapidly to their boats, and in ten minutes were
gliding across the water in the direction of a ship, which lay anchored
near the opposite side of the river; in a still shorter time, subsequently,
the veiled slave was sitting alone and undisturbed in its cabin.

Mr. Boatswain Bluff, meanwhile, had sought out Major Grover,
and informed him of the flight of Miss Montaigne, of her capture,
and of the escape of the slave; and the major, both mortified and
angry at Blanche's continued resistance to his suit, rejoiced at an
extremity which would no longer admit of compromise or retraction.
He at once accompanied Bluff on board the vessel, listening, meanwhile,
with much astonishment to the narrative of Blanche's
wonderful exploits, both in pugilism and locomotion.

“She's a Tartar, sir, she is,” said Bluff, “begging your honor's
pardon; Bill Sweeps' eye, sir, is as good as out, and he aint any
baby to handle either; your honor would do well to be careful how
you speak her.”

“The most timid of animals will show courage and strength when
driven to extremities,” replied Grover; “and yet it seems wonderful
that even desperation could give power to one so very delicate.”

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

“Not so delicate, your honor,” returned Bluff, bending to his oars—
“she's got a fist, sir—”

“A fist, Bluff?”

“Like a sledge-hammer!” said the boatswain.

“You are a fool,” replied Grover, “her hand is like a child's, small,
white, and dimpled—it could not stagger a kitten—Bill Sweeps must
have fallen from mere fright.”

“Well, sir, it aint for me to dispute your honor, but seein' is
believin', and mayhap your honor 'll see and believe by and by—but
I say she has a fist—and feet too, that aint no trifles!”

“Her feet are like a doll's—like a fairy's, like a Chinese princess's,
small, and of the most exquisite symmetry, and her ancles are like—
like—”

“Like a cricket-club, I swear,” said Bluff, laughing, “and she made
a very liberal display of them, too, in scampering across fields, jumping
ditches, and tumbling over fences.”

Grover, now thoroughly incensed, was about to reply angrily,
but remembering the importance of keeping on good terms with the
outlaw, he suppressed his wrath as he best could. Since he had
stooped to converse familiarly with his companion, he could scarcely
complain that the latter took some license, and even perpetrated a
few jokes at his expense. The sailor's propensity for fun, together
with a desire to magnify the difficulties of a very simple achievement,
was, he was convinced, at the bottom of all his marvellous stories.

“Well, well,” he said, “a joke's a joke, and you are welcome to
yours; I only wish, since you had your eyes so wide open, that you
had managed to capture the wench—it don't speak very well
for five strong men that one woman has baffled them altogether,
and another almost.”

“Fact, sir, fact,” replied the boatswain, “that's a disgrace to our
flag, that is; Joe Bluff feels it to his fingers' ends, he does, and if
your honor wants a wench to wait on the lady, I'll go and pick one
up yet, somewhere.”

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

Grover, of course, declined this offer, and as they had now reached
the vessel, their colloquy came to a close. Everything was ready
for instantaneous departure, the wind was fair, and the major was
not disposed to create any delay. He conversed for a few moments
with the captain, and while the ship was brought around, he
descended into the cabin, and found himself alone with the prisoner.
Jule had seen his approach to the ship, she felt assured of Miss
Montaigne's safety, and there was no longer any necessity for continuing
her deception, yet she trembled for the result of a disclosure,
and uncertain how best to accomplish it, sat hesitating, and nearly
stupefied with terror, when Grover made his appearance. Her hands,
from which, for convenience, she had removed the gloves, were concealed
beneath her veil, which was of ample dimensions, and of a
favoring hue, and although there was everything in the outline of
her figure, and in its general air, to confirm suspicion, when once
fairly aroused, there was nothing of itself sufficient to unsettle an
existing prepossession. Fatigue, flight, and distress, accounted for
everything unusual or awkward, and the well-known curls, fluttering
like aspen leaves, with the emotion that shook every part of the poor
girl's frame, seemed a proof of identity, equal to a notary's certificate,
sealed and stamped.

Grover hastened to address her in a tone of apology and condolence.
Her own rash action, he said, had precipitated an event which
really need not have occurred, and which he had not anticipated;
he was most sorry for any alarm or trouble which it had occasioned
her, and hoped everything would be imputed only to the excess of
his passion.

“And now,” he said, “dear Blanche, let this farce come to an
end; only pledge me solemnly your faith, and we will return at
once to land, and our wedding shall be celebrated with princely
magnificence; I need not urge that you are in my power; that
you have no possible escape; that we are bound on a three weeks'
cruise, and that when we return, you will no longer have the power

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

of choice—see, we are even now dropping down the stream!” A
sob, and the sound of hurried respiration, were the only reply:
an increased tremor shook the frame of the captive, and the little
glossy ringlets danced like electrified feathers.

“You do not speak harshly to me,” continued Grover—“you will
relent—you will not withstand the ardor of a devotion, which has so
nearly driven me to madness.”

The chattering of teeth beneath the veil, and a choked and indistinct
articulation at length manifested an attempt to reply.

“Speak but one word of encouragement!” exclaimed Grover, in
an excitement of suspense.

“Boo-ooh-ooh!” exclaimed Jule, crying hysterically, like a child,
and with no musical intonation.

“Rage has no tears,” said Grover, “and these are auspicious
signs—calm yourself, dear Blanche!” Thus saying, he touched with
gentlest motion the lace-encircled wrist which lay nearest to him,
and sought to draw the appendant hand from beneath the veil.

It came! Was it a serpent with protruded fangs? Was it a
Leyden battery, triply charged? or why has the suitor sprung backward
from the contact, with a face in which every lineament is
wrought to madness,—with ashen lips, that quiver but do not speak,
with eyes riveted, as by some horrid fascination, upon the object
which he has revealed? Ungloved, the broad, black, bony member
lay before him, with its huge knuckles, and the club-like termini of
its fingers, proclaiming the whole story of his discomfiture and disgrace.
It was no dream, no diablerie, no freak of a frightened
imagination,—but an awful, evident, insurmountable reality, destined
to whelm him with ridicule unprecedented and unending. Breath,
speech, and the power of motion returned at length, and the roar of
an unbridled rage ascending to the deck, drew the leading ruffians
wondering to the cabin door; the discovery flew from mouth to
mouth, until the boisterous merriment of the crew outsounded the
tumult below, and for a while defied every attempt at control. The

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

cabin was at once filled with wide-grinning faces, and the slave,
expecting death, yet plucking up spirit, had retreated to the wall,
and assumed an attitude of defiance, as with glaring eyes she
watched the movements of her captors. Grover, with clenched fists,
stood at her side, trampling unconsciously upon his tasselled cap,
and incoherently questioning both the prisoner and the crest-fallen
Bluff, who, as the leader of the kidnapping expedition, was chiefly
chargeable with its failure.

“What devil prompted you to this deceit?” he said fiercely to
the former.

“I did it mysef,” said Jule, boldly, “if you kill me for it; Missa
Blanche was good to Jule—nobody was ever good to Jule before—
and now—and now, I have saved her life, and I'm glad of it.”

“You're an idiot!” retorted Grover, stamping with passion, “and
you shall be drowned like a rat for your pains—overboard with the
chattering baboon!” he continued, turning to the men.

The pirates looked at each other, at Bluff, and at their captain,
who, smiling under a hideous mustache, had been, from the back-ground,
a silent observer of events. The boatswain, willing to do
something towards wiping out his own disgrace, but unused to
receiving orders excepting from his leader, stepped forward, and
looked to the latter for approval.

“Come, dispatch!” shouted Grover; “we'll show her how to
walk a plank with a spring to it—drag her along!”

No one stirred; and Grover, glancing fiercely around the room,
caught the eye of the captain, who, coming forward at the same
moment, said:

“Major Grover, this ere job wasn't in the agreement at all; and
though I aint very squeamish about sich matters, yet it's rather
dangerous here in port, and my boys shan't have nothing to do with
it—howsomever, major, ef you want to drownd the wench—why
there she is, and there's the water—nobody shan't interfere!”

“Let him try it!” said Jule, with defiance.

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Grover foamed with rage: “Give me a pistol, then!” he
exclaimed, turning to Bluff, who handed him one of a pair, which
was stuck in his belt; “Stand back there, boys,; we'll try the
toughness of her hide—stand back!”

But at this moment a shout of “fair play!” rang from one side of
the cabin, and a large negro, one of the crew, crowding himself
forward, rushed up to Jule, and placed one of his own pistols in her
hand;—“fair play!” he said,—“don't shoot the child down like a
wolf—if pistols is the word, let 'em both have 'em!”

The movement appealed strongly to the sympathies of the
pirates, as well as to their rude sense of justice, and the novelty of
the idea was irresistibly attractive. The captain, solicitous for Grover's
safety, attempted to interfere, and ordered the slave to be
disarmed; but the clamor outsounded his authority, and no one
offered to obey, which might indeed have proved a dangerous
undertaking. The men fell back to clear a space for the combat,
but Grover, declining so extraordinary a duel, had mingled with the
retreating phalanx, and quite disappeared from the view of his
antagonist.

Still frantic with wrath, he yet had sense to perceive his ludicrous
position, and would have needed but little additional goading to
cause him to turn his weapon upon himself. He went upon deck,
and sought the fresh air, postponing for a few minutes his still
determined revenge; but delay brought reflection, and a change
of views. He was a bad man, but not bad enough, excepting in
the very boiling of passion, to murder one whose only fault had
been fidelity to a friend. Perhaps he might still have accomplished
such an object if he had persisted in it; but he was heartily sickened
of the whole transaction, and asked for nothing but to be
quietly put on shore. He made no terms about the negress, never
doubting that she would be carried away and sold, inasmuch as the
business of slave-snatching was quite profitable, and frequently
formed an interlude to the more legitimate pursuits of the pirates.

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Captain Snell did not dare, after so bungling a piece of business, as
he called it, to return to port, and was compelled to seek some
other market for his cargo; he parted with his guest with many
apologies, and, mindful that he might yet find the services of the
major highly valuable in so growing an emporium as New York,
made him heartily welcome to the specimens of silks, laces, etc.,
which the latter had received, and which, having been left on the
premises of Mrs. Sniff, became a windfall of the first magnitude to
that lady.

But the worst of men have some human sympathies unseared.
The ruffians had been struck with admiration at Jule's whole conduct;
her craft and courage especially eliciting their praise. Her
fellow African interceded earnestly for her release, and the popular
voice deciding it, she was set ashore the same afternoon on the
Long Island side of the bay, a few miles south of the city.

CHAPTER XI.

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When Henrich returned from his fruitless quest after the slave,
he found Miss Montaigne still trembling with unsubdued excitement,
and fearful that even her present refuge might afford no sufficient
protection against her lawless persecutor. She had started at every
sound during his absence, and felt as if she were again exposed to
all the perils which had so recently impended over her; her fears
had been augmented, too, by the remembrance of Henrich's instinctive
offer to avenge her wrongs, and she did not hesitate, on his
return, to exact from him a promise that he would not seek personally
to visit retribution upon the offender: “I have, indeed, a right,”
she said, “to require this at your hands; for if gratitude did not
prompt a regard for your interest, I cannot but remember that my
own security may continue to depend upon yours.”

Huntington replied with suppressed emotion: he was too happy
to have been her preserver; her lightest word should be to him a
law, and he would leave no vigilance unexercised to secure her
continued safety. Such were his words; yet, fearful of seeming to
presume on the benefits he had conferred, they were delivered
rather with an air of distant respect, than of cordial regard.

The fate of Jule continued to excite commiseration, and Blanche
was already engaged in planning schemes to discover her future

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place of bondage, and to procure her freedom, when the delighted
slave entered the house, bringing the first intelligence of her escape.
Emily and Mrs. Sniff were also soon added to the company, panic-stricken
by the tidings of the recent atrocity, to which they had so
unwittingly been rendered accessaries. Jule, of course, became the
lion of the hour, and related her adventures with much minuteness,
awakening the deepest interest, and not a little merriment beside;
yet poor Blanche, to whom the recital only imparted a more vivid
sense of the danger she had escaped, was in no mood for laughter.
Indignation succeeded alarm in her breast; and she felt her wrongs
the more keenly, when she reflected with what impunity they had
been committed. To seek legal redress would be utterly futile: the
slave being inadmissible as a witness, there was no evidence to connect
Grover personally with the transaction; and even had proof
been attainable to set in operation the unwieldy machinery of the
law, the offender's rank would shield him from any adequate punishment.
Miss Roselle declared she would never again set foot in the
dove-cot, and freely accepted, in behalf of herself and Blanche, the
tender of a refuge in Mynheer Waldron's hospitable house until a
new home could be found. The engrossing subject was discussed
until a late hour of the night; and Blanche again and again reiterated
her thanks to the gratified slave, and exacted from her a
promise to call on the ensuing day for some more substantial token
of her regard.

“Sumfin to remember you by, Missa Blanche;—notting else,”
said Jule, who was unwilling to be thought mercenary.

“It shall, indeed, be something to remember me by, poor child!”
replied Miss Montaigne,—“if the priceless boon of freedom is
worthy of remembrance.”

“Freedom, Missa Blanche!” exclaimed Jule, with starting tears—
“Oh no—dat cannot be; Harry Bolt loves Jule—would marry
Jule, if she free; but dat can't be—dat cost two hundred dollars!”

The negress emphasised the last words in a manner that implied

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an overpowering sense of the magnitude of the sum named, and a
conviction that she had quite put at rest Miss Montaigne's benevolent
intentions in her behalf.

“Well, well,” replied Blanche, scarcely refraining from tears,—
“come and see me, Jule, and bring Harry Bolt along with you.”

To this invitation the negress, after consulting her mistress's eye,
and seeing no indications of disapproval, promised compliance. The
widow was mortified and vexed by the conduct of her distinguished
friends, almost into a state of speechlessness, which, in her case,
might be considered the very collapse of grief. She was, however,
but little alarmed for her own safety; and being mindful of certain
valuables which would be exposed by her absence, she returned to
her house, taking with her the reluctant negress and a borrowed
farm-dog for her protection.

When Henrich Huntington arose on the ensuing morning he was
quite unable to discover his grandfather's old-fashioned rickety
house, with its high, precipitous roof, its clumsy chimneys, its loose
clanging window-blinds, and its scarecrow weathercocks, which he
had long been accustomed to laugh at and ridicule. In its place he
saw a venerable edifice, time-stained it is true, but also time-honored,
possessing in all its parts an air of the utmost cheerfulness, and
challenging his profoundest respect. The declivity of the rafters
exactly suited his taste; the chimneys had grown into favor; the
iron roosters, if a little scrawny were still graceful and life-like; and,
if here and there a shutter, deprived of a hinge, hung obliquely at
its post, he was not sure that it did not improve the general air of
the building. The very garden, large and shapeless, had a new,
fresh, pleasing aspect; and if its only flowers were the coarse, gaudy
hollyhock and the unfragrant poppy, both had a certain peculiar
beauty, and the odor of the latter could hardly be called disagreeable.

Whether the presence of Miss Montaigne had anything to do with
this transformation, can of course be only a matter of conjecture

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Certain it was that she continued to engross a large share of Henrich's
thoughts; and if, with an effort, he banished the beautiful
vision as something dangerous to dwell upon, it still recurred in
each unguarded moment, to his mind. So the calm lake, broken
by some disturbing pebble, loses for a while its image of the sky,
but still resumes the picture, with its own returning placidity.

But let him not be blamed, if at times he yielded to this pleasing
thraldom, for the charms of Miss Montaigne were calculated to
fascinate even a less susceptible mind than that of Henrich.
There are no words to paint the singular sweetness of her smile,
which seemed like a gleam of sunlight from some inner world of
purity and love. Rich in its golden treasures of thought and feeling
must have been the heart which emitted rays like these; and
Henrich was but too happy to catch their casual radiance, to treasure
them in his memory, to recall them in dreams, and to wonder what
there was of human suffering or achievement that could win from
relenting Heaven a treasure so transcendent. Never before had his
own poverty or obscurity been to him a source of serious regret;
but now he felt that he could make any effort to open the gates of
wealth or scale the cliffs of Fame.

Willing to diminish the distance between them, he had tried to
discredit the rumor of her rank and wealth, as one which might
well have originated in Mrs. Sniff's desire to create a temporary
éclat for herself; but there was something in the deportment of
Blanche which gave confirmation to the story. An air of unstudied
gentility pervaded her movements, with a tasteful avoidance of show
and affectation, and an entire freedom from that obtrusive dignity
which, ever guarded against aggression, betrays its uncertain footing
by its very efforts to stand. The mystery that enveloped her,
the singular mode of her arrival, the uncertain duration of her stay,
and her voluntary seclusion from society, all added to the interest
which she excited in the mind of Henrich; nor had he failed to
observe, in estimating her position, that independent action, even in

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

matters of moment, which almost precluded the idea of her elder
companion being in reality her sister. Her offer to enfranchise the
slave was made without consultation with Emily, nor did it seem to
excite any surprise in the latter. Henrich did not, indeed, yield a
moment's credence to the exaggerated views of his voluble neighbor,
yet he was compelled to believe it probable that Blanche belonged
to that aristocratic division of English society, between which, and
everything below it, so strong a line of demarcation exists.

The accident which had made him her benefactor, while it tended
to augment his growing attachment, and to impart an air of romance
to its character, seemed, in reality, rather to widen than diminish
the distance between them. A chivalric sense of honor forbade the
exhibition of a sentiment which might seem to found its claims for
reciprocity upon such an obligation, or which might impose any
restraint upon Blanche in seeking, in her still dependent state,
his fullest assistance and counsel. The proud consciousness that
she looked to him for protection was itself a pleasure which he
would not lightly jeopard; and he resolved, while sedulously watching
her interests, to guard with equal assiduity his own demeanor.

The negress, Jule, did not forget her appointment with Miss
Montaigne; and while the latter was discussing with Henrich a
subject connected with her welfare, made her appearance, accompanied,
according to promise, by her beau. Harry Bolt was a rare
specimen of colored humanity. His skin was of that exceeding
blackness aud coarseness of texture, which, to use a horticultural
simile, may be compared to a black turnip; and his coarse woolly
hair, from some unknown cause, perhaps by reason of a monopoly
of the coloring matter by other parts of the system, had turned
white at an unusually early age, and had given him an appearance
not very common even among the oldest negroes, and exceedingly
rare at the age of twenty-four. He was also very tall and awkward,
yet, despite so many disadvantages, could not be called ill-looking,
for he had a pleasing countenance, with fine eyes, and a perfect

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

treasury of teeth. He reached the house in company with Jule, but
his courage gave out at the door, and after much shuffling and
whispering on the outside, his companion entered alone.

“Harra 'fraid to come in, Missa Blanche,” she said; “he say he
don't know how to act.”

“Never mind, Jule,” replied Miss Montaigne: “tell him he need
not act at all—bring him in.”

Harry accordingly shuffled into the room, looking very sheepish,
and with his head hanging down, but he soon became composed
enough to listen to the questions of the young lady; and although
lost in conjecture as to her design, succeeded in giving very coherent
answers. He even confessed to the “soft impeachment” of loving
Jule, without any change of color, which, being rather deeply set,
would have required a pretty strong emotion to disturb.

“'Taint no use, though,” he said, twirling his cap; “'taint no
use, unless Missa Sniff die. Missa Sniff haint got any relations, and
she promise to give up Jule when she die.”

“That is liberal, certainly,” replied Blanche.

“Yes, dat berry liberal, sartain,” said the negro, quite gravely;
“but dat long time fust—last winter she berry sick with fever, and
we had some hope, but she come out of it, and now she better an
ever; got strong constooshun, Missa Sniff has.”

Jule listened on the broad grin to this narrative of disappointed
hope; but checking herself, as she thought of her perpetual bondage,
she added, sadly, “I told you it could not be, Missa Blanche; Jule
can't be free.”

“But Harry can work, lay up money, and buy you, Jule?”

“Yes, Missa, he got ten dollars laid up now —”

“Eleven!” said Harry, triumphantly.

—“But he ony can save three dollar a month, and so it will
take six years amost—and dat long time to work for me; I tell him
guv me up, and get a free wife somewhere,” said Jule, putting the
corner of a check apron to her eye; “but he says he wont —”

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

“And so I wont!” exclaimed Harry; “what for should I do such
a ting as dat; de time will come round byme by; it's ony six more
Pinksters, and Pausses, and Christmasses; and I shall be ony forty
when de time is up.”

“Forty, Harry?” said Henrich; “why how old are you now?”

“I'm twenty-four, Massa Huntington; I speak de trut; not a day
older: I shall be twenty-four a fortnight ago to-morrow.”

“And in six years you will be forty; will you?”

Harry hesitated and looked at Jule, who seemed also in some
doubt, and said she believed it was forty or thirty; but Massa
Henrich was a scholar and could reckon it up himself.

“But tell me,” said Blanche, “how did you yourself become free,
Harry?”

“I tell you dat,” answered the negro, excitedly; “my Massa
good man, he belong to de church—deacon Bolt, a berry good man—
he own me and a plenty more. I tended dat church, swept it,
washed it, ring de bell, and dig de graves—dig poor Massa's grave
at last, and when he die he guv me to de church in his will—kase
he berry good man.”

“He was, indeed,” said Blanche, smiling; “then you belonged to
the church, did you?”

“Yes, Missa Blanche,” said the negro, grinning; “dat what I tell
um—I b'longed to de church—de best white man among 'em didn't
b'long to de church as much as I did; but de church folks talked it
over and had a meetin' all about it, and frighten me berry much—
I didn't know what dey were going to do to me!”

“Well, what did they to you, Harry?”

“Golly gosh!” said the negro—“dey said dey wouldn't hab me!—
dey turn me out o' de church, and guv me free papers, and paid
me ten dollars a year for ringing de bell eber since!”

It need hardly be said that Miss Montaigne was fully prepared
to carry out her generous purposes. Although parsimony was not
among the faults of the Baron Montaigne, his daughter would

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scarcely have felt at liberty, without his permission, to make such an
application of the funds with which he had supplied her; but she
had, fortunately, a private purse equal to the emergency, which she
had saved out of her allowance for pocket-money during the last few
years of her abode in England; and over this, at least, her control
was complete.

Slaves were not at that day of nearly as great value in the
province as they subsequently became; and the price which Jule
had named for herself proved to be correct. Mrs. Sniff had long
been desirous to sell the girl, and break up her lonely establishment,
and no difficulty was encountered in the arrangement, which had
already been effected through the agency of Henrich, who had,
indeed, but just returned and placed the deed of manumission in the
hands of the delighted Blanche, when Jule and Harry arrived.
There was a little pause in the conversation, during which Miss
Montaigne hesitated how to bestow her boon; and Jule, glancing at
Henrich, seemed to suspect that she and Harry might be trespassing
by too long a stay.

“Shall we go, now, Missa Blanche?” she said.

“Not yet,” replied the young lady, with emotion, handing, at the
same time, the papers to Henrich; “please to explain it to them, Mr.
Huntington,” she said in a low voice, turning away her face, and
affecting to look for something in her reticule.

“Jule has told you, I suppose, Harry,” he said, “what took place
yesterday, and how she saved Miss Roselle from being carried off by
the pirates?”

“She tell a-me-all,” said Harry; “sma'at gal, Jule is, and run like
an ostridge.”

“Miss Roselle is very thankful to her—she will never forget the
favor that Jule has conferred upon her; and in order to do what she
can in return, she is going to make Jule a great present, and one
that will last for a life-time.”

“Golly!” exclaimed the negro, in whose mind, as in the slave's,

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visions of some new and gaudy dress were floating; “golly! but it
must be made of good strong stuff, if it last so long as dat!”

“It is made of paper!” replied Henrich; “in other words, Miss
Roselle has bought Jule, and made her free—here is the deed; take
it, she is no longer a slave.”

“Free?—free?—free, Missa Blanche?” shouted Jule, flinging up
her arms as if she were throwing off some imaginary shackles; “oh,
dat is too much, too much! oh Missa Blanche, Jule nebber earn dat—
oh Missa Blanche, Jule will pray for you, night and mornin', all
her life—all her life;” and the poor girl fairly sobbed with emotion.

Harry manifested no less delight, but in a far different way. He
did not trust himself to speak in the presence of Miss Montaigne;
but thrusting the paper into his hat, with a sort of hysterical chuckle,
he rushed from the house, and uttering a succession of shouts, threw
himself upon the grass in the lawn, where he continued to roll for
many minutes.

“And am I really free, like a white woman?” said Jule, examining
her arms and chest, and looking up and down her figure, as if
she expected to see some physical transformation in her person;
“no more b'long to Missa Sniff, no more work for her—wash, iron,
cook, chop wood, make garden, do ebbery ting—no more scold,
scold, scold, and call me lazy beast, when I do my best—oh! Missa
Blanche, it is too much—too much!”

“You have fully deserved your freedom, Jule,” said Miss Montaigne,
“and I am delighted that it makes you so happy; go, now,
Harry is waiting for you; some other time you shall thank me, if
you wish.”

Jule accordingly departed, still ejaculating “Oh, Missa Blanche!
Missa Blanche! it is too much! too much!”

CHAPTER XII.

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For a few days succeeding his short sea voyage, Major Grover
kept quietly within his own doors, perfectly contented that he did
not hear the outer air ringing with derisive shouts at his discomfiture.
He denied himself to all visiters, not excepting Shiel and
Midge, until the persevering calls of the latter, whose sycophancy
was his passport, obtained his admission. Grover did not know
to what extent his recent exploit had become public, and notwithstanding
his vigilant watch of the words and manner of his visiter,
for the purpose of gaining some intimation on the subject, the
ensign was careful that he should not be enlightened by any means
of his.

Mr. Midge “was sorry that the major had been ill, was a little off
the hooks himself, hoped it was nothing serious—but this cursed
climate was enough to—to—”

“Yes, certainly, of course,” replied Grover, with an absent look;
“'tis a bad climate, particularly for the gout—but my attack is
nearly over now—and—and—any news stirring, Midge?”

“Not an item,” replied the other, zealously; “there is a perfect
stagnation of gossip—the people have positively nothing at all to
talk about.”

This might be considered stretching a point, considering that the

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town was actually ringing with the kidnapping affair—though, as
usual on similar occasions, without a single correct version of the
story being afloat, among the dozens that were current; but it
greatly relieved Grover, who being quite ignorant of Jule's escape,
now supposed that Miss Montaigne must have kept secret his agency
in the transaction. But Midge had gone a step too far; for in his
anxiety to disclaim any knowledge of his friend's disaster, he had
quite forgotten that he really had important intelligence to communicate.

“I am mistaken, after all,” he continued, “in saying there is no
news. Cornbury has unpleasant tidings from the north; Seabury
and his command have been surprised by the Hurons, and George is
now in the hands of Montaigne.”

“Lieutenant Seabury a prisoner of Montaigne! this is sad news
indeed,” exclaimed the major, his countenance lighting up with a
gleam of satisfaction, which contrasted strangely with his language—
“how have you these tidings?”

“By an Indian express from Albany; the runner came through
in two days and reports that the garrison at that place were in
hourly apprehension of an attack.”

“They need not fear it,” replied Grover; “Indians do not often
attack forts, and Montaigne dare not venture so far south; this has
been done by some outlying band of savages—but how does Cornbury
bear the capture of his nephew?”

“As a lioness the loss of a whelp,” replied the other; “he raves
with wrath—rails at the home government for not keeping him
better supplied with troops, but vents his fury chiefly on the French
baron.”

“Good again!” exclaimed Grover, heedlessly; “but what does
he say—what does he say?”

“He says that the Queen's ministers—”

“No—no—no—what does he say of the Baron Montaigne?”

“He says he is a treacherous, crafty, cold-blooded villain; that if

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

the whim takes him, he will give poor George to the savages to be
tortured, and that he would not that any harm should happen to
the lad for all New France!”

“Said he so, Midge, said he so?—he is right—Seabury is a
noble fellow, and must be protected at all hazards;” and Grover,
rising to his feet, traversed the room with an excited air for some
minutes, when, turning abruptly to his companion, he continued:
“Mr. Midge, will you do me the great favor to carry an immediate
message for me to Lord Cornbury, confidential and important?”

“Oh, with the greatest possible—”

“Exactly. I anticipated such kindness; I have had occasion
before to acknowledge your valuable services, and shall not forget
my obligations—nay, do not speak now, if you please, but listen:
go to Cornbury, tell him that I can place in his power, within the
next twenty-four hours, such a hostage for his nephew as shall bind
the Baron Montaigne by his very heart-strings! Ask him to send
me immediate authority for the arrest and safe-keeping of any
member of the baron's family who may now be in the province of
New York; and tell him I ask no other reward for my services than
to be made the custodian of the prisoner. I have reasons for not
going personally to Cornbury on this business, and I know that I
can place the fullest reliance on your discretion and fidelity.”

“You shall not regret your confidence in me, Major Grover,”
replied the ensign.

“One word more,” added the major; “you will understand that I
do not desire an interview with the governor, nor to make any
explanations; tell him despatch is required, and if he proposes to
come and see me, I rely upon you to prevent it; tell him, if you
choose, that I am absent from home, arranging the preliminaries of
my project. Go now, if you please, and bring me a speedy answer.”

The ensign promised everything, and departed, not a little
delighted at his embassy, and at being the depository of a state
secret.

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