CHAPTER XV
Trifles, light as air, Are to the jealous confirmations strong As proofs of holy writ.
--_Othello_.
The weather, which had been mild and clear since the storm, now changedwith the suddenness of the American climate. Towards evening the coldblasts poured down from the mountains, and flurries of snow plainlyindicated that the month of November had arrived; a season whosetemperature varies from the heats of summer to the cold of winter.Frances had stood at the window of her own apartment, watching the slowprogress of the funeral procession, with a melancholy that was too deepto be excited by the spectacle. There was something in the sad officethat was in unison with her feelings. As she gazed around, she saw thetrees bending to the force of the wind, that swept through the valleywith an impetuosity that shook even the buildings; and the forest, thathad so lately glittered in the sun with its variegated hues, was fastlosing its loveliness, as the leaves were torn from the branches, andwere driving irregularly before the eddies of the blast. A few of theSouthern dragoons, who were patrolling the passes which led to theencampment of the corps, could be distinguished at a distance on theheights, bending to their pommels as they faced the keen air which hadso lately traversed the great fresh-water lakes, and drawing their watchcoats about them in tighter folds.
Frances witnessed the disappearance of the wooden tenement of thedeceased, as it was slowly lowered from the light of day; and the sightadded to the chilling dreariness of the view. Captain Singleton wassleeping under the care of his own man, while his sister had beenpersuaded to take possession of her room, for the purpose of obtainingthe repose of which her last night's journeying had robbed her. Theapartment of Miss Singleton communicated with the room occupied by thesisters, through a private door, as well as through the ordinary passageof the house; this door was partly open, and Frances moved towards it,with the benevolent intention of ascertaining the situation of herguest, when the surprised girl saw her whom she had thought to besleeping, not only awake, but employed in a manner that banished allprobability of present repose. The black tresses, that during the dinnerhad been drawn in close folds over the crown of the head, were nowloosened, and fell in profusion over her shoulders and bosom, impartinga slight degree of wildness to her countenance; the chilling white ofher complexion was strongly contrasted with eyes of the deepest black,that were fixed in rooted attention on a picture she held in her hand.Frances hardly breathed, as she was enabled, by a movement of Isabella,to see that it was the figure of a man in the well-known dress of theSouthern horse; but she gasped for breath, and instinctively laid herhand on her heart to quell its throbbings, as she thought she recognizedthe lineaments that were so deeply seated in her own imagination.Frances felt she was improperly prying into the sacred privacy ofanother; but her emotions were too powerful to permit her to speak, andshe drew back to a chair, where she still retained a view of thestranger, from whose countenance she felt it to be impossible towithdraw her eyes. Isabella was too much engrossed by her own feelingsto discover the trembling figure of the witness to her actions, and shepressed the inanimate image to her lips, with an enthusiasm that denotedthe most intense passion. The expression of the countenance of the fairstranger was so changeable, and the transitions were so rapid, thatFrances had scarcely time to distinguish the character of the emotion,before it was succeeded by another, equally powerful and equallyattractive. Admiration and sorrow were however the preponderatingpassions; the latter was indicated by large drops that fell from hereyes on the picture, and which followed each other over her cheek atsuch intervals, as seemed to pronounce the grief too heavy to admit ofthe ordinary demonstrations of sorrow. Every movement of Isabella wasmarked by an enthusiasm that was peculiar to her nature, and everypassion in its turn triumphed in her breast. The fury of the wind, as itwhistled round the angles of the building, was in consonance with thosefeelings, and she rose and moved to a window of her apartment. Herfigure was now hid from the view of Frances, who was about to rise andapproach her guest, when tones of a thrilling melody chained her inbreathless silence to the spot. The notes were wild, and the voice notpowerful, but the execution exceeded anything that Frances had everheard; and she stood, endeavoring to stifle the sounds of her own gentlebreathing, until the following song was concluded:--
Cold blow the blasts o'er the tops of the mountain, And bare is the oak on the hill; Slowly the vapors exhale from the fountain, And bright gleams the ice-bordered rill; All nature is seeking its annual rest, But the slumbers of peace have deserted my breast.
Long has the storm poured its weight on my nation, And long have her braves stood the shock; Long has her chieftain ennobled his station, A bulwark on liberty's rock; Unlicensed ambition relaxes its toil, Yet blighted affection represses my smile.
Abroad the wild fury of winter is lowering, And leafless and drear is the tree; But the vertical sun of the south appears pouring Its fierce, killing heats upon me: Without, all the season's chill symptoms begin-- But the fire of passion is raging within.
Frances abandoned her whole soul to the suppressed melody of the music,though the language of the song expressed a meaning, which, united withcertain events of that and the preceding day, left a sensation ofuneasiness in the bosom of the warm-hearted girl, to which she hadhitherto been a stranger. Isabella moved from the window as her lasttones melted on the ear of her admiring listener, and, for the firsttime, her eye rested on the pallid face of the intruder. A glow of firelighted the countenance of both at the same instant, and the blue eye ofFrances met the brilliant black one of her guest for a single moment,and both fell in abashed confusion on the carpet; they advanced,however, until they met, and had taken each other's hand, before eitherventured again to look her companion in the face.
"This sudden change in the weather, and perhaps the situation of mybrother, have united to make me melancholy, Miss Wharton," saidIsabella, in a low tone, and in a voice that trembled as she spoke.
"'Tis thought you have little to apprehend for your brother," saidFrances, in the same embarrassed manner. "Had you seen him when he wasbrought in by Major Dunwoodie--"
Frances paused, with a feeling of conscious shame, for which she couldnot account; and, in raising her eyes, she saw Isabella studying hercountenance with an earnestness that again drove the blood tumultuouslyto her temples.
"You were speaking of Major Dunwoodie," said Isabella, faintly.
"He was with Captain Singleton."
"Do you know Dunwoodie? Have you seen him often?"
Once more Frances ventured to look her guest in the face, and again shemet the piercing eyes bent on her, as if to search her inmost heart."Speak, Miss Wharton; is Major Dunwoodie known to you?"
"He is my relative," said Frances, appalled at the manner of the other.
"A relative!" echoed Miss Singleton; "in what degree?--speak, MissWharton, I conjure you to speak."
"Our parents were cousins," faintly replied Frances.
"And he is to be your husband?" said the stranger, impetuously.
Frances felt shocked, and all her pride awakened, by this direct attackupon her feelings, and she raised her eyes from the floor to herinterrogator a little proudly, when the pale cheek and quivering lip ofIsabella removed her resentment in a moment.
"It is true! My conjecture is true! Speak to me, Miss Wharton; I conjureyou, in mercy to my feelings, to tell me--do you love Dunwoodie?" Therewas a plaintive earnestness in the voice of Miss Singleton that disarmedFrances of all resentment, and the only answer she could make was tohide her burning face between her hands, as she sank back in a chair toconceal her confusion.
Isabella paced the floor in silence for several minutes, until she hadsucceeded in conquering the violence of her feelings, when sheapproached the place where Frances yet sat, endeavoring to exclude theeyes of her companion from reading the shame expressed in hercountenance,
and, taking the hand of the other, she spoke with anevident effort at composure.
"Pardon me, Miss Wharton, if my ungovernable feelings have led me intoimpropriety; the powerful motive--the cruel reason"--she hesitated.Frances now raised her face, and their eyes once more met; they fell ineach other's arms, and laid their burning cheeks together. The embracewas long--was ardent and sincere--but neither spoke; and on separating,Frances retired to her own room without further explanation.
While this extraordinary scene was acting in the room of Miss Singleton,matters of great importance were agitated in the drawing-room. Thedisposition of the fragments of such a dinner as the one we haverecorded was a task that required no little exertion and calculation.Notwithstanding several of the small game had nestled in the pocket ofCaptain Lawton's man, and even the assistant of Dr. Sitgreaves hadcalculated the uncertainty of his remaining long in such good quarters,still there was more left unconsumed than the prudent Miss Peyton knewhow to dispose of to advantage. Caesar and his mistress had, therefore,a long and confidential communication on this important business; andthe consequence was, that Colonel Wellmere was left to the hospitalityof Sarah Wharton. All the ordinary topics of conversation wereexhausted, when the colonel, with a little of the uneasiness that is insome degree inseparable from conscious error, touched lightly on thetransactions of the preceding day.
"We little thought, Miss Wharton, when I first saw this Mr. Dunwoodie inyour house in Queen Street, that he was to be the renowned warrior hehas proved himself," said Wellmere, endeavoring to smile awayhis chagrin.
"Renowned, when we consider the enemy he overcame," said Sarah, withconsideration for her companion's feelings. "'Twas unfortunate, indeed,in every respect, that you met with the accident, or doubtless the royalarms would have triumphed in their usual manner."
"And yet the pleasure of such society as this accident has introduced meto, would more than repay the pain of a mortified spirit and woundedbody," added the colonel, in a manner of peculiar softness.
"I hope the latter is but trifling," said Sarah, stooping to hide herblushes under the pretext of biting a thread from the work on her knee.
"Trifling, indeed, compared to the former," returned the colonel, in thesame manner. "Ah! Miss Wharton, it is in such moments that we feel thefull value of friendship and sympathy."
Those who have never tried it cannot easily imagine what a rapidprogress a warm-hearted female can make in love, in the short space ofhalf an hour, particularly where there is a predisposition to thedistemper. Sarah found the conversation, when it began to touch onfriendship and sympathy, too interesting to venture her voice with areply. She, however, turned her eyes on the colonel, and saw him gazingat her fine face with an admiration that was quite as manifest, and muchmore soothing, than any words could make it.
Their tete-a-tete was uninterrupted for an hour; and although nothingthat would be called decided, by an experienced matron, was said by thegentleman, he uttered a thousand things that delighted his companion,who retired to her rest with a lighter heart than she had felt since thearrest of her brother by the Americans.
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