Afloat and Ashore

by James Fenimore Cooper

  "Thank you, Mr. Drewett," said Lucy, in her sweetest manner. "Mr. Wallingford and I are very, very old friends,—you know he is Grace's brother, and you have been at Clawbonny"—Drewett bowed, civilly enough—"and I have a thousand things to say to him. So, Miles, take this seat, and let me hear all about your voyage."

  As half the audience went away as soon as the tragedy ended, the second seat of the box was vacated, and the other gentlemen getting on it, to stretch their limbs, I had abundance of room to sit at Lucy's side, half facing her, at the same time. As she insisted on hearing my story, before we proceeded to anything else, I was obliged to gratify her.

  "By the way, Major Merton," I cried, as the tale was closed, "an old friend of yours, Moses Marble by name, has come to life again, and is at this moment in New York."

  I then related the manner in which I had fallen in with my old mate. This was a most unfortunate self-interruption for me, giving the Major a fair opportunity for cutting into the conversation. The orchestra, moreover, giving notice that the curtain would soon rise for the after-piece, the old gentleman soon got me into the lobby to hear the particulars. I was supremely vexed, and I thought Lucy appeared sorry; but there was no help for it, and then we could not converse while the piece was going on.

  "I suppose you care little for this silly farce," observed the Major, looking in at one of the windows, after I had gone over Marble's affair in detail. "If not, we will continue our walk, and wait for the ladies to come out. Drewett and Hardinge will take good care of them."

  I assented, and we continued to walk the lobby till the end of the act. Major Merton was always gentleman-like; and he even behaved to me, as if he remembered the many obligations he was under. He now communicated several little facts connected with his own circumstances, alluding to the probability of his remaining in America a few years. Our chat continued some time, my looks frequently turning towards the door of the box, when my companion suddenly observed—

  "Your old acquaintances the Hardinges have had a lucky wind-fall—one, I fancy, they hardly expected, a few years Since."

  "Probably not; though the estate has fallen into excellent hands," I answered. "I am surprised, however, that Mrs. Bradfort did not leave the property to the old gentleman, as it once belonged to their common grandfather, and he properly stood next in succession."

  "I fancy she thought the good parson would not know what to do with it. Now, Rupert Hardinge is clever, and spirited, and in a way to make a figure in the world; and it is probably in better hands, than if it had been left first to the old gentleman."

  "The old gentleman has been a faithful steward to me, and I doubt not would have proved equally so to his own children. But, does Rupert get all Mrs. Bradfort's property?"

  "I believe not; there is some sort of a trust, I have heard him say; and I rather fancy that his sister has some direct or reversionary interest. Perhaps she is named as the heir, if he die without issue. There was a silly story, that Mrs. Bradfort had left everything to Lucy; but I have, it from the best authority, that that is not true—" The idea of Rupert Hardinge's being the "best authority" for any thing; a fellow who never knew what unadulterated truth was, from the time he was in petticoats, or could talk!—"As I know there is a trust, though one of no great moment; I presume Lucy has some contingent interest, subject, most probably, to her marrying with her brother's approbation, or some such provision. The old lady was sagacious, and no doubt did all that was necessary."

  It is wonderful how people daily deceive themselves on the subject of property; those who care the most about it, appearing to make the greatest blunders. In the way of bequests, in particular, the lies that are told are marvellous. It is now many years since I learned to take no heed of rumours on such subjects, and least of all, rumours that come from the class of the money-gripers. Such people refer everything to dollars, and seldom converse a minute without using the word. Here, however, was Major Merton evidently Rupert's dupe; though with what probable consequences, it was not in my power to foresee. It was clearly not my business to undeceive him; and the conversation, getting to be embarrassing, I was not sorry to hear the movement which announced the end of the act. At the box door, to my great regret, we met Mrs. Drewett retiring, the ladies finding the farce dull, and not worth the time lost in listening to it. Rupert gave me an uneasy glance, and he even dragged me aside to whisper—"Miles, what I told you this evening, is strictly a family secret, and was entrusted to a friend."

  "I have nothing to do with your private concerns, Rupert—" I answered,—"only, let me expect you to act honourably, especially when women are concerned."

  "Everything will come right, depend on it; the truth will set everything right, and all will come out, just as I predicted."

  I saw Lucy looking anxiously around, while Drewett had gone to order the carriages to advance, and I hoped it might be for me. In a moment I was by her side; at the next, Mr. Andrew Drewett offered his arm, saying, her carriage "stopped the way." We moved into the outer lobby, in a body, and then it was found that Mrs. Drewett's carriage was up first, while Lucy's was in the rear. Yes, Lucy's carriage!—the dear girl having come into immediate possession of her relative's houses, furniture, horses, carriages, and everything else, without reserve, just as they had been left behind by the last incumbent, when she departed from the scene of life, to lie down in the grave. Mrs. Bradfort's arms were still on the chariot, I observed, its owner refusing all Rupert's solicitations to supplant them by those of Hardinge. The latter took his revenge, however, by telling everybody how generous he was in keeping a carriage for his sister.

  The Major handed Mrs. Drewett in, and her son was compelled to say good night, to see his mother home. This gave me one blessed minute with Lucy, by herself. She spoke of Grace; said they had now been separated months, longer than they ever had been before in their lives, and that all her own persuasions could not induce my sister to rejoin her in town, while her own wish to visit Clawbonny had been constantly disappointed, Rupert insisting that her presence was necessary, for so many arrangements about business.

  "Grace is not as humble as I was, in old times, Miles," said the dear girl, looking me in the face, half sadly, half reproachfully, the light of the lamp falling full on her tearful, tender eyes, "and I hope you are not about to imitate her bad example. She wishes us to know she has Clawbonny for a home, but I never hesitated to admit how poor we were, while you alone were rich."

  "God bless you, Lucy!" I whispered, squeezing her hand with fervour—"It cannot be that—have you heard anything of Grace's health?"

  "Oh! she is well, I know—Rupert tells me that, and her letters are cheerful and kind as ever, without a word of complaint. But I must see her soon. Grace Wallingford and Lucy Hardinge were not born to live asunder. Here is the carriage; I shall see you in the morning, Miles—at breakfast, say—eight o'clock, precisely."

  "It will be impossible—I sail for Clawbonny with the first of the flood, and that will make at four. I shall sleep in the sloop."

  Major Merton put Lucy into the carriage; the good-nights were passed, and I was left standing on the lowest step of the building gazing after the carriage, Rupert walking swiftly away.

  Chapter XXVIII

  *

  "Hear me a little;

  For I have only been silent so long,

  And given way unto this course of fortune,

  By noting of the lady: I have mark'd

  A thousand blushing apparitions start

  Into her face; a thousand innocent shames

  In angel whiteness bear away those blushes—"

  SHAKESPEARE

  I reached the Wallingford before eleven, where I found Neb in attendance with my trunks and other effects. Being now on board my own craft, I gave orders to profit by a favourable turn in the wind, and to get under-way at once, instead of waiting for the flood. When I left the deck, the sloop was above the State Prison, a point towards which the town itself had made considerable prog
ress since the time I first introduced it to the reader. Notwithstanding this early start, we did not enter the creek until about eight in the morning of the second day.

  No sooner was the vessel near enough, than my foot was on the wharf, and I began to ascend the hill. From the summit of the latter I saw my late guardian hurrying along the road, it afterwards appearing that a stray paper from town had announced the arrival of the Dawn, and that I was expected to come up in the sloop. I was received with extended hands, was kissed just as if I had still been a boy, and heard the guileless old man murmuring his blessings on me, and a prayer of thankfulness. Nothing ever changed good Mr. Hardinge, who, now that he could command the whole income of his daughter, was just as well satisfied to live on the three or four hundreds he got from his glebe and his parish, as he ever had been in his life.

  "Welcome back, my dear boy, welcome back!" added Mr. Hardinge, his voice and manner still retaining their fervour. "I said you must—you would be on board, as soon as they reported the sloop in sight, for I judged your heart by my own. Ah! Miles, will the time ever come when Clawbonny will be good enough for you? You have already as much money as you can want, and more will scarce contribute to your happiness."

  "Speaking of money, my dear sir," I answered, "while I have to regret the loss of your respectable kinswoman, I may be permitted to congratulate you on the accession to an old family property—I understand you inherit, in your family, all of Mrs. Bradfort's estate-one valuable in amount, and highly acceptable, no doubt, as having belonged to your ancestors."

  "No doubt—no doubt—it is just as you say; and I hope these unexpected riches will leave us all as devout servants of God, as I humbly trust they found us. The property, however, is not mine, but Lucy's; I need not have any reserve with you, though Rupert has hinted it might be prudent not to let the precise state of the case be known, since it might bring a swarm of interested fortune-hunters about the dear girl, and has proposed that we rather favour the notion the estate is to be divided among us. This I cannot do directly, you will perceive, as it would be deception; but one may be silent. With you, however, it is a different matter, and so I tell you the truth at once. I am made executor, and act, of course; and this makes me the more glad to see you, for I find so much business with pounds, shillings and pence draws my mind off from the duties of my holy office, and that I am in danger of becoming selfish and mercenary. A selfish priest, Miles, is as odious a thing as a mercenary woman!"

  "Little danger of your ever becoming anything so worldly, my dear sir. But Grace-you have not mentioned my beloved sister?"

  I saw Mr. Hardinge's countenance suddenly change. The expression of joy instantly deserted it, and it wore an air of uncertainty and sadness. A less observant man than the good divine, in all the ordinary concerns of life, did not exist; but it was apparent that he now saw something to trouble him.

  "Yes, Grace," he answered, doubtingly; "the dear girl is here, and all alone, and not as blithe and amusing as formerly. I am glad of your return on her account, too, Miles. She is not well, I fear; I would have sent for a physician last week, or the moment I saw her; but she insists on it, there is no need of one. She is frightfully beautiful, Miles! You know how it is with Grace—her countenance always seemed more fitted for heaven than earth; and now it always reminds me of a seraph's that was grieving over the sins of men!"

  "I fear, sir, that Rupert's account, then, is true, and that Grace is seriously ill?"

  "I hope not, boy—I fervently pray not! She is not as usual—that is true; but her mind, her thoughts, all her inclinations, and, if I may so express it, her energies, seem turned to heaven. There has been an awakening in the spirit of Grace, that is truly wonderful. She reads devout books, meditates, and, I make no doubt, prays, from morn till night. This is the secret of her withdrawal from the world, and her refusing of all Lucy's invitations. You know how the girls love each other—but Grace declines going to Lucy, though she knows that Lucy cannot come to her."

  I now understood it all. A weight like that of a mountain fell upon my heart, and I walked on some distance without speaking. To me, the words of my excellent guardian sounded like the knell of a sister I almost worshipped.

  "And Grace—does she expect me, now?" I at length ventured to say, though the words were uttered in tones so tremulous, that even the usually unobservant divine perceived the change.

  "She does, and delighted she was to hear it. The only thing of a worldly nature that I have heard her express of late, was some anxious, sisterly wish for your speedy return. Grace loves you, Miles, next to her God!"

  Oh! how I wished this were true, but, alas! alas! I knew it was far otherwise!

  "I see you are disturbed, my dear boy, on account of what I have said," resumed Mr. Hardinge; "probably from serious apprehensions about your sister's health. She is not well, I allow; but it is the effect of mental ailments. The precious creature has had too vivid views of her own sinful nature, and has suffered deeply, I fear. I trust, my conversation and prayers have not been without their effect, through the divine aid, and that she is now more cheerful—nay, she has assured me within half an hour, if it turned out that you were in the sloop, she should be happy!"

  For my life, I could not have conversed longer on the painful subject; I made no reply. As we had still a considerable distance to walk, I was glad to turn the conversation to other subjects, lest I should become unmanned, and sit down to weep in the middle of the road.

  "Does Lucy intend to visit Clawbonny, this summer?" I asked, though it seemed strange to me to suppose that the farm was not actually Lucy's home. I am afraid I felt a jealous dislike to the idea that the dear creature should have houses and lands of her own; or any that was not to be derived through me.

  "I hope so," answered her father, "though her new duties do not leave Lucy as much her own mistress as I could wish. You saw her, and her brother, Miles, I take it for granted?"

  "I met Rupert in the street, sir, and had a short interview with the Mertons and Lucy at the theatre. Young Mr. and old Mrs. Drewett were of the party."

  The good divine turned short round to me, and looked as conscious and knowing as one of his singleness of mind and simplicity of habits could look. Had a knife penetrated my flesh, I could not have winced more than I did; still, I affected a manner that was very foreign to my feelings.

  "What do you think of this young Mr. Drewett, boy?" asked Mr. Hardinge, with an air of confidential interest, and an earnestness of manner, that, with him, was inseparable from all that concerned his daughter. "Do you approve?"

  "I believe I understand you, sir;—you mean me to infer that Mr. Drewett is a suitor for Miss Hardinge's hand."

  "It would be improper to say this much, even to you, Miles, did not Drewett take good care, himself, to let everybody know it."

  "Possibly with a view to keep off other pretenders"—I rejoined, with a bitterness I could not control.

  Now, Mr. Hardinge was one of the last men in the world to suspect evil. He looked surprised, therefore, at my remark, and I was probably not much out of the way, in fancying that he looked displeased.

  "That is not right, my dear boy," he said, gravely.

  "We should try to think the best and not the worst, of our fellow-creatures."—Excellent old man, how faithfully didst thou practise on thy precept!—"It is a wise rule, and a safe one; more particularly in connection with our own weaknesses. Then, it is but natural that Drewett should wish to secure Lucy; and if he adopt no means less manly than the frank avowal of his own attachment, surely there is no ground of complaint."

  I was rebuked; and what is more, I felt that the rebuke was merited. As some atonement for my error, I hastened to add—

  "Very truly, sir; I admit the unfairness of my remark, and can only atone for it by adding it is quite apparent Mr. Drewett is not influenced by interested motives, since he certainly was attentive to Miss Hardinge previously to Mrs. Bradfort's death, and when he could not possibly have anticip
ated the nature of her will."

  "Quite true, Miles, and very properly and justly remarked. Now, to you, who have known Lucy from childhood, and who regard her much as Rupert does, it may not seem so very natural that a young man can love her warmly and strongly, for herself, alone—such is apt to be the effect of brotherly feeling; but I can assure you, Lucy is really a charming, as we all know she is a most excellent, girl!"

  "To whom are you speaking thus, sir! I can assure you, nothing is easier than for me to conceive how possible it is for any man to love your daughter. As respects Grace, I confess there, is a difference—for I affirm she has always seemed to me too saintly, too much allied to Heaven already, to be subject herself, to the passions of earth."

  "That is what I have just been telling you, and we must endeavour to overcome and humanize—if I may so express it—Grace's propensity. There is nothing more dangerous to a healthful frame of mind, in a religious point of view, Miles, than excitement—it is disease, and not faith, nor charity, nor hope, nor humility, nor anything that is commanded; but our native weaknesses taking a wrong direction, under a physical impulse, rather than the fruits of repentance, and the succour afforded by the spirit of God. We nowhere read of any excitement, and howlings and waitings among the apostles."

  How could I enlighten the good old man on the subject of my sister's malady? That Grace, with her well-tempered mind, was the victim of religious exaggeration, I did not for a moment believe; but that she had had her heart blighted, her affections withered, her hopes deceived, by Rupert's levity and interestedness, his worldly-mindedness and vanity, I could foresee, and was prepared to learn; though these were facts not to be communicated to the father of the offender. I made no answer, but managed to turn the conversation towards the farm, and those interests about which I could affect an interest that I was very far from feeling, just at that moment. This induced the divine to inquire into the result of my late voyage, and enabled me to collect sufficient fortitude to meet Grace, with the semblance of firmness, at least.