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That night those two fair young creatures sat in one of the upper apartments
of the house, pouring over a pile of papers strewed over the table, consisting
of manuscripts and newspapers, some relating to the trial of Kate's unfortunate
relative, all the testimony of which, was there before them; and some of
royal proclamations, and paragraphs from the govermental and opposition
papers. The clock down stairs struck twelve, and one, and two, in the morning,
still they sat in those high-backed gothic chairs, the taper burning dimly
beneath the accumulating wick, charred to a black mass, and yet neither of
them flagged or faltered. Ellen particularly devoured with eagerness, even
the advertisements in the newspapers, which she read from corner to corner,
in hopes to find some faint clue upon which to fasten her hopes—for hopes
she still had. The only things they could find at all bearing upon the objects
of their search, was the newspaper account of General Elliot's execution, and
the attempted rescue by a party, supposed to be adherents of the Chevalier
St. George, followed by a proclamation offering a reward for the production,
dead or alive, of the young officer who had headed the onset. He was
described, and his name given in full as Mr. Francis Lee, but no allusion
whatever was made to the place of his nativity. He was supposed to have
served under the unfortunate officer, for the rescue of whose life he had
perilled his own. The accounts went on to say that the party attempting
the rescue had been cut to pieces or captured, that the young man was seen
to fall early in the affair, that no efforts had been successful in tracing his
whereabouts. Little doubt was entertained that he died from the desperats
wounds he was known to have received, yet there was nothing absolutely
certain, touching the matter. So desperate had been the state of mind of
Ellen, that even this afforded comfort. She threw the papers aside, leaned
back in her chair, and came at last to the settled conviction that poor Frank
yet lived. So strong is youthful hope, even against a powerful array of circumstantial
evidence.

From that moment a brighter light shone from her eyes—too bright, as her
friends feared, with those feverish fires which are only extinguished in the
grave. Kate was really astonished to see, instead of a sad and settled dejection
upon her friend, a sort of hopeful composure steal over her features. Her
own convictions were stronger than ever, that there was not a vestige of
hope for her. Yet she held on to that frail shadow of a shade—so constant,
so persevering is the female heart, to hope against all probability of hope.
They separated for the night, but not to sleep on the part of her who most
needed its balmy and restorative influence. That whole night she paced her
silent and solitary chamber, or sat and strained her imagination, vainly endeavoring
to penetrate the future. Towards morning she threw her feverish
limbs upon the bed, and caught a few hours of unsatisfactory sleep; mingled
with fitful dreams. She thought she saw her betrothed standing before her;
but that they were in a strange land, and surrounded with strange faces and
things; and that he was pale and emaciated, and grown quite grey with pain
and sorrow. Then a change came over the spirit of her dream, and the face
of the loved youth was gone, and a stranger stood in his place. She was
roused from these tantalizing shadows of a distempered imagination, by the
maid entering to assist at her morning toilet, where we will leave her, while
we glance at some other rooms in that building, and see what the inmates
are doing.

The mornings and evenings were now beginning to be a little cool, and

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heavy damp fogs rose from the surface of the bay, to correct which it is usual
to build a brisk blazing fire, to last only until the revivifying effects of the
morning sun are felt. Some of the early planters were in the habit of pursuing
this plan for three-fourths of the year.

Such a bright fire was blazing in the breakfast parlor, and there sat round
it, his Excellency, the two Doctors, Mr. Henry Lee, Bernard Moore, Carter,
Dandridge, and Harry Hall. Quite an interesting conversation was going
on; intensely so to some of the party. Mr. Lee finding what a universal
favorite the latter was becoming, not only with the Governor but with the
whole family, even down to Master Robert, perceptibly softened in his manner
towards the young stranger. He came down from his room determined to be
very amiable to this new favorite and pet of the eccentric man then at the
head of the colony. What his motives were, we leave our readers to imagine,
from the position of the various parties. Hall was quite surprised,
therefore, to hear himself addressed by the haughty young aristocrat, after the
demonstration of the previous day, and however justified he might have been
in returning that ill treatment, he took better council of his discretion, and
answered quite courteously.

“Mr. Hall,” said Lee, “I have some relations of your name, both in this
country and in England—on the mother's side, or rather I had in this country,
for the last of them recently died, a venerable old grand aunt.”

“And I have some in this country of your name, and when I was first presented
to you yesterday, it was my intention to have enquired of you about them.”

“Indeed! will you be so good as to mention what family you are off, and
their place of residence?”

The young man appeared not a little embarrassed, but proceeded to name
the place of his family residence in Scotland, as well as to describe his living
relations and their descent from the common stock of the Hall's of—shire.
Not only so, but he traced distinctly the collateral branch which had emigrated
to America, some fifty years before, until he arrived at the last remaining
female relation, whose death he had not heard of; the very person alluded
to by Mr. Lee.

“How very strange!” said Mr. Lee, “and your christian name is Henry?”

Hall nodded assent, but his face flushed a crimson hue.

“And had you received no letters from America, previous to your embarkation?”

“None concerning my relations whatever.”

“What a strange coincidence,” said Lee, “I have the pleasure of informing
you, that you are the heir to a very snug little property, left by our venerable
old friend.”

By this time the ladies had entered, and were also gathered round the fire,
and every one was listening with the deepest attention, to the singular conversation
going on, and every one seemed pleased too, at the unexpected good
fortune of the young man, who was supposed to stand in such need of it—all
but that young gentleman himself, he was very much embarrassed, so as to
attract the attention of every one in the room.

“Of course,” continued Mr. Lee, “it will be quite easy for you to establish
your identity; you have brought letters to some persons in this country?”

“No, sir, I did not; and, I tear, that I shall meet with more difficulty than
you seem to imagine, in the matter.” Becoming more and more embarrassed,
at every turn which the conversation seemed to take, or to be likely to take.

“Perhaps you have letters addressed to you, in England, from some of our
common relations?”

“None with me,” replied Hall, “I expect the remainder of my baggage by
the next vessel from England, by which time, I may be enabled to produce sufficient
testimony to claim the estate.”

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“Among those expected letters,” said Lee, pertinaciously, “there are
doubtless, some from our venerable relation, for I see among her papers
numerous letters from you?”

Hall was, by this time, almost speechless with vexation and embarrassment
and his face flushed to his ears. He merely nodded assent.

The Governor seeing the young man's painful position, and thinking in his
own mind, that he, perhaps, knew Hall's difficulty, determined to come to the
rescue. He had already had some suspicion that his protogee's expatriation
had not been altogether quite voluntary. “Let us adjourn this discussion,”
said he, “I think I can put Mr. Hall upon a plan of proving his identity,
without even waiting for his papers or returns from the other side of the
water.”

As he pronounced the last words of the sentence, he placed a peculiar emphasis
upon them, casting a sly and playful glance at Hall, only remarked by
the person for whom they were intended, and perhaps one other very quiet little
individual in the room.

“Agreed,” said Mr. Lee, “As I am the executor to my Aunt's will, it is, of
course, my duty to act in conformity to law; but I assure your Excellency,
and your friend, that no unnecessary difficulties shall be thrown in his way
by me; on the contrary, all possible facility shall be afforded him, and I will
immediately, upon my return to the capital, instruct my attorney, Mr. Clayton,
to draw out upon paper for his use, such steps as it will be necessary for
him to take. In the mean time, he can draw upon me for such sums as his
present necessities may call for, out of the proceeds of the property, which I
will advance upon my own responsibility.”

“Wonders will never cease,” said Dorothea to Ellen, as they moved round
to the breakfast table. “Mr. Henry Lee has been doing a generous thing,
but Mr. Hall should credit it to the account of Miss Ellen Evylin, and not to
Mr. Henry Lee.

“Fie! fie! Dorothea, do give Mr. Lee credit for his good actions such as
they are, surely he has done nothing but what the strictest justice would warrant;
true, he might have withheld Mr. Hall's rights, but they are his after all,
and he could soon establish them as such. If, indeed, he is not prevented by—.”
There she stopped suddenly, as if recollecting herself. “If he
is not prevented by what Ellen—.”

“Hush, Dorothea, not a word of this—another time I will explain it to
you—now, it may be a dangerous subject; and one in which more than mere
property is involved.