Afloat and Ashore: A Sea Tale

by James Fenimore Cooper

  CHAPTER XXVII.

  "With look like patient Job's, eschewing evil; With motions graceful as a bird's in air; Thou art, in sober truth, the veriest devil That ere clinched fingers in a captive's hair." HALLECK.

  There was about an hour of daylight, when I left the compting-house ofthe consignees, and pursued my way up Wall Street to Broadway. I wason my way to the City Hotel, then, as now, one of the best inns ofthe town. On Trinity Church walk, just as I quitted the Wall Streetcrossing, whom should I come plump upon in turning, but Rupert Hardinge?He was walking down the street in some little haste, and wasevidently much surprised, perhaps I might say startled, at seeing me.Nevertheless, Rupert was not easily disconcerted, and his manner at oncebecame warm, if not entirely free from embarrassment. He was in deepmourning; though otherwise dressed in the height of the fashion.

  "Wallingford!" he exclaimed--it was the first time he did not callme "Miles,"--"Wallingford! my fine fellow, what cloud did you dropfrom?--We have had so many reports concerning you, that your appearanceis as much a matter of surprise, as would be that of Bonaparte, himself.Of course, your ship is in?"

  "Of course," I answered, taking his offered hand; "you know I am weddedto her, for better, for worse, until death or shipwreck doth us part."

  "Ay, so I've always told the ladies--'there is no other matrimony inWallingford,' I've said often, 'than that which will make him a ship'shusband.' But you look confoundedly well--the sea agrees with you,famously."

  "I make no complaint of my health--but tell me of that of our friendsand families? Your father--"

  "Is up at Clawbonny, just now--you know how it is with him. No change ofcircumstances will ever make him regard his little smoke-house lookingchurch, as anything but a cathedral, and his parish as a diocese. Sincethe great change in our circumstances, all this is useless, and I often_think_--you know one wouldn't like to _say_ as much to _him_--but Ioften _think_, he might just as well give up preaching, altogether."

  "Well, this is good, so far--now for the rest of you, all. You meet myimpatience too coldly."

  "Yes, you _were_ always an impatient fellow. Why, I suppose you needhardly be told that I have been admitted to the bar."

  "That I can very well imagine--you must have found your sea-training ofgreat service on the examination."

  "Ah! my dear Wallingford--what a simpleton I was! But one is so apt totake up strange conceits in boyhood, that he is compelled to lookback at them in wonder, in after life. But, which way are youwalking?"--slipping an arm in mine--"if up, I'll take a short turnwith you. There's scarce a soul in town, at this season; but you'llsee prodigiously fine girls in Broadway, at this hour,notwithstanding--those that belong to the other sets, you know; thosethat belong to families that can't get into the country among theleaves. Yes, as I was saying, one scarce knows himself, after twenty.Now, I can hardly recall a taste, or an inclination, that I cherishedin my teens, that has not flown to the winds. Nothing is permanent inboyhood--we grow in our persons, and our minds, sentiments, affections,views, hopes, wishes, and ambition; all take new directions."

  "This is not very flattering, Rupert, to one whose acquaintance with youmay be said to be altogether boyish."

  "Oh! of course I don't mean _that._ Habit keeps all right in suchmatters; and I dare say I shall always be as much attached to you, as Iwas in childhood. Still, we are on diverging lines, now, and cannot forever remain boys."

  "You have told me nothing of the rest," I said, half choked, in myeagerness to hear of the girls, and yet unaccountably afraid to ask.I believe I dreaded to hear that Lucy was married. "How, and where isGrace?"

  "Oh! Grace!--yes, I forgot her, to my shame, as you would naturally wishto inquire. Why, my dear _Captain,_ to be as frank as one ought with soold an acquaintance, your sister is not in a good way, I'm much afraid;though I've not seen her in an age. She was down among us in the autumn,but left town for the holidays, for them she insisted on keeping atClawbonny, where she said the family had always kept them, and away shewent. Since then, she has not returned, but I fear she is far from well.You know what a fragile creature Grace ever has been--so American!--Ah!Wallingford! our females have no constitutions--charming as angels,delicate as fairies, and all that; but not to be compared to the Englishwomen in constitutions."

  I felt a torrent of fire rushing through my blood, and it was withdifficulty I refrained from hurling the heartless scoundrel who leanedon my arm, into the ditch. A moment of reflection, however, warned meof the precipice on which I stood. He was Mr. Hardinge's son, Lucy'sbrother; and I had no proofs that he had ever induced Grace to think heloved her. It was so easy for those who had been educated as we fourhad been, to be deceived on such a point, that I felt it unsafe to doanything precipitately. Friendship, _habit_, as Rupert expressed it,might so easily be mistaken for the fruits of passion, that one mightwell be deceived. Then it was all-important to Grace's self-respect, toher feelings, in some measure to her character, to be careful, that Isuppressed my wrath, though it nearly choked me.

  "I am sorry to hear this," I answered, after a long pause, thedeep regret I felt at having such an account of my sister's healthcontributing to make my manner seem natural; "very, _very_ sorry to hearit. Grace is one that requires the tenderest care and watching; and Ihave been making passage after passage in pursuit of money, when I amafraid I should have been at Clawbonny, discharging the duties of abrother. I can never forgive myself!"

  "Money is a very good thing, Captain," answered Rupert, with a smilethat appeared to mean more than the tongue expressed--"a surprisinglygood thing is money! But you must not exaggerate Grace's illness, whichI dare say is merely constitutional, and will lead to nothing. I hopeyour many voyages have produced their fruits?"

  "And Lucy?" I resumed, disregarding his question concerning my ownsuccess as an owner. "Where and how is she?"

  "Miss Hardinge is in town--in her own--that is, in _our_ house--in WallStreet, though she goes to _the place_ in the morning. No one whocan, likes to remain among these hot bricks, that has a pleasantcountry-house to fly to, and open to receive him. But I forgot--I havesupposed you to know what it is very likely you have never heard?"

  "I learned the death of Mrs. Bradfort while in Italy, and, seeing you inblack, at once supposed it was for her."

  "Yes, that's just it. An excellent woman has been taken from us, and,had she been my own mother, I could not have received greater kindnessesfrom her. Her end, my dear Wallingford, was admitted by all the clergyto be one of the most edifying known in the place for years."

  "And Mrs. Bradfort has left you her heir? It is now time to congratulateyou on your good fortune. As I un-understand her estate came throughfemales to her, and from a common ancestor of hers and yours, there isnot the slightest reason why you should not be gratified by the bequest.But Lucy--I hope she was not _altogether_ forgotten?"

  Rupert fidgeted, and I could see that he was on tenter-hooks. As Iafterwards discovered, he wished to conceal the real facts from theworld; and yet he could not but foresee that I would probably learn themfrom his father. Under all the circumstances, therefore, he fanciedit best to make me a confidant. We were strolling between Trinity andPaul's church walks, then the most fashionable promenade in town; and,before he would lay open his secret, my companion led me over by theOswego Market, and down Maiden Lane, lest he might betray himself to themore fashionable stocks and stones. He did not open his lips until clearof the market, when he laid bare his budget of griefs in something thatmore resembled his old confidential manner, than he had seen fit toexhibit in the earlier part of our interview.

  "You must know, Miles," he commenced, "that Mrs. Bradfort was a verypeculiar woman--a very peculiar sort of a person, indeed. An, excellentlady, I am ready to allow, and one that made a remarkably edifying and;but one whose peculiarities, I have understood, she inherited with herfortune. Women _do_ get the oddest conceits into their heads, you know,and American women before all others; a republic being anything butfavourable
to the continuation of property in the same line. MissMerton, who is a girl of excellent sense, as you well know yourself,Miles, says, now, in England I should have succeeded, quite as a matterof course, to _all_ Mrs. Bradfort's real estate."

  "You, as a lawyer--a common law lawyer-can scarcely require the opinionof an Englishwoman to tell you what the English laws would do in aquestion of descent."

  "Oh! they've a plaguey sight of statutes in that country, as well asourselves. Between the two, the common law is getting to be a veryuncommon sort of a law. But, to cut the matter short, Mrs. Bradfort madea _will_."

  "Dividing her property equally between you and Lucy, I dare say, to MissMerton's great dissatisfaction."

  "Why, not just so, Miles--not exactly so; a very capricious, peculiarwoman was Mrs. Bradfort--"

  I have often remarked, when a person has succeeded in throwing dust intoanother's eyes, but is discarded on being found out, that therejected of principle is very apt to accuse his former dupe of being_capricious_; when, in fact, he has only been _deceived_. As I saidnothing, however, leaving Rupert to flounder on in the best manner hecould, the latter, after a pause, proceeded--

  "But her end was very admirable" he said, "and to the last degreeedifying. You must know, she made a will, and in that will she lefteverything, even to the town and country houses, to--my sister."

  I was thunder-struck! Here were all my hopes blown again to the winds.After a long pause, I resumed the discourse.

  "And whom did she leave as executor?" I asked, instantly foreseeing theconsequences should that office be devolved on Rupert, himself.

  "My father. The old gentleman has had his hands full, between yourfather and mother, and Mrs. Bradfort. Fortunately, the estate of thelast is in a good condition, and is easily managed. Almost entirelyin stores and houses in the best part of the town, well insured, a fewthousands in stocks, and as much in bonds and mortgages, the savingsfrom the income, and something like a year's rents in bank. A good seventhousand a year, with enough surplus to pay for repairs, collection andother charges."

  "And all this, then, is Lucy's!" I exclaimed, feeling something like thebitterness of knowing that such an heiress was not for me.

  "Temporarily; though, of course, I consider Lucy as only my trustee forhalf of it. You know how it is with the women; they fancy all us youngmen spendthrifts, and, so, between the two, they have reasoned in thisway--'Rupert is a good fellow at bottom; but Rupert is young, and hewill make the money fly--now, I'll give it all to you, Lucy, in my will,but, of course, you'll take care of your brother, and let him have half,or perhaps two-thirds, being a male, at the proper time, which will be,as soon as you come of age, and _can_ convey. You understand Lucy is butnineteen, and _cannot_ convey these two years."

  "And Lucy admits this to be true?--You have proof of all this?"

  "Proof! I'd take my own affidavit of it. You see it is reasonable, andwhat I had a right to expect. Everything tends to confirm it. Betweenourselves, I had quite $2000 of debt; and yet, you see, the goodlady did not leave me a dollar to pay even my honest creditors; acircumstance that so pious a woman, and one who made so edifying an end,would never think of doing, without ulterior views. Considering Lucy asmy trustee, explains the whole thing."

  "I thought Mrs. Bradfort made you an allowance, Rupert; some $600 ayear, besides keeping you in her own house?"

  "A thousand-but, what is $1000 a year to a fashionable man, in a townlike this. First and last, the excellent old lady, gave me about $5000,all of which confirms the idea, that, at the bottom, she intended mefor her heir. What woman in her senses, would think of giving $5000 toa relative to whom she did not contemplate giving _more_? The thing isclear on its face, and I should certainly go into chancery, with anybodybut Lucy."

  "And Lucy?--what says she to your views on the subject of Mrs.Bradfort's intentions?"

  "Why, you have some acquaintance with Lucy--used to be intimatewith her, as one might say, when children, and know something of hercharacter"--This to me, who fairly worshipped the earth on which thedear girl trod!--"She never indulges in professions, and likes to takepeople by surprise, when she contemplates doing them a service--" thiswas just as far from Lucy's natural and honest mode of dealing, as itwas possible to be--"and, so, she has been as mum as one who has lostthe faculty of speech. However, she never speaks of her affairs toothers; _that_ is a good sign, and indicates an intention to considerherself as my trustee; and, what is better still, and more plainlydenotes what her conscience dictates in the premises, she has empoweredher father to pay all my debts; the current income and loose cash, beingat her disposal, at once. It would have been better had she given me themoney, to satisfy these creditors with it, for I knew which had waitedthe longest, and were best entitled to receive the dollars at once; but,it's something to have all their receipts in my pocket, and to startfair again. Thank Heaven, that much is already done. To do Lucy justice,moreover, she allows me $1500 a year, _ad interim_. Now, Miles, I'veconversed with you, as with an old friend, and because I knew my fatherwould tell you the whole, when you get up to Clawbonny; but you willtake it all in strict confidence. It gives a fashionable young fellow sosilly an air, to be thought dependent on a sister; and she three yearsyounger than himself! So I have hinted the actual state of the case,round among my friends; but, it is generally believed that I am inpossession already, and that Lucy is dependent on me, instead of mybeing dependent on her. The idea, moreover, is capital for keeping offfortune-hunters, as you will see at a glance."

  "And will the report satisfy a certain Mr. Andrew Drewett?" I asked,struggling to assume a composure I was far from feeling. "He was allattention when I sailed, and I almost expected to hear there was nolonger a Lucy Hardinge."

  "To tell you the truth, Miles, I thought so, too, until the death ofMrs. Bradfort. The mourning, however, most opportunely came to put astop to anything of the sort, were it even contemplated. It would be soawkward, you will understand, to have a brother-in-law before everythingis settled, and the trust is accounted for. _Au reste_--I am very wellsatisfied with Andrew, and let him know I am his friend; he is wellconnected; fashionable; has a pretty little fortune; and, as I sometimestell Lucy, that he is intended for her, as Mrs. Bradfort, no doubt,foresaw, inasmuch as his estate, added to just one-third of that ofour dear departed cousin, would just make up the present income. On myhonour, now, I do not think the difference would be $500 per annum."

  "And how does your sister receive your hints?"

  "Oh! famously--just as all girls do, you know. She blushes, andsometimes she looks vexed; then she smiles, and puts up her lip, andsays 'Nonsense!' and 'What folly!' 'Rupert, I'm surprised at you!' andall that sort of stuff, which deceives nobody, you'll understand, noteven her poor, simple, silly brother. But, Miles, I must quit you now,for I have an engagement to accompany a party to the theatre, and was onmy way to join them when we met. Cooper plays, and you know what a lion_he_ is; one would not wish to lose a syllable of his Othello."

  "Stop, Rupert--one word more before we part. From your conversation, Igather that the Mertons are still here?"

  "The Mertons! Why, certainly; established in the land, and among itstip-top people. The Colonel finds his health benefited by the climate,and he has managed to get some appointment which keeps him among us. Hehas Boston relatives, moreover, and I believe is fishing up some claimsto property in that quarter. The Mertons here, indeed! what would NewYork be without the Mertons!"

  "And my old friend the Major is promoted, too--you called him Colonel, Ithink?"

  "Did I? I believe he is oftener called _General_ Merton, than anythingelse. You must be mistaken about his being only a Major, Miles;everybody here calls him either Colonel, or General."

  "Never mind; I hope it is as you say. Good-bye, Rupert; I'll not betrayyou, and--"

  "Well-you were about to say--"

  "Why, mention me to Lucy; you know we were acquainted when children.Tell her I wish her all happiness in her new position, to which I do
not doubt she will do full credit; and that I shall endeavour to see herbefore I sail again."

  "You'll not be at the theatre this evening? Cooper is well worthseeing--a most famous fellow in Othello!"

  "I think not. Do not forget to mention me to your sister; and so, oncemore, adieu!"

  We parted--Rupert to go towards Broadway, at a great pace, and I tolounge along, uncertain whither to proceed. I had sent Neb to inquire ifthe Wallingford were down, and understood she would leave the basin atsunrise. It was now my intention to go up in her; for, though I attachedno great importance to any of Rupert's facts, his report concerning mysister's health rendered me exceedingly uneasy. Insensibly I continuedmy course down Maiden Lane, and soon found myself near the ship. I wenton board, had an explanation with Marble, gave some orders to Neb, andwent ashore again, all in the course of the next half-hour. By a sort ofsecret attraction, I was led towards the Park, and soon found myself atthe door of the theatre. Mrs. Bradfort had now been dead long enough toput Lucy in second mourning, and I fancied I might get a view of her inthe party that Rupert was to accompany. Buying a ticket, I entered andmade my way up into the Shakspeare box. Had I been better acquaintedwith the place, with the object in view I should have gone into the pit.

  Notwithstanding the lateness of the season, it was a very full house.Cooper's, in that day, was a name that filled every mouth, and he seldomfailed to fill every theatre in which he appeared. With many first-ratequalifications for his art, and a very respectable conception of hischaracters, he threw everything like competition behind him; thoughthere were a few, as there ever will be among the superlativelyintellectual, who affected to see excellencies in Fennel, and others,to which this great actor could not aspire. The public decided againstthese select few, and, as is invariably the case when the appeal is madeto human feelings, the public decided right. Puffery will force intonotice and sustain a false judgment, in such matters, for a brief space;but nature soon asserts her sway, and it is by natural decisions thatsuch points are ever the most justly determined. Whatever appeals tohuman sympathies, will be answered by human sympathies. Popularity toooften gains its ascendency behind the hypocrite's mask in religion;it is usually a magnificent mystification in politics; it frequentlybecomes the patriot's stalking-horse, on which he rides to power; insocial life, it is the reward of empty smiles, unmeaning bows, andhollow squeezes of the hand; but with the player, the poet, and allwhose pursuits bring them directly in contact with the passions, theimagination and the heart, it is the unerring test of merit, withcertain qualifications connected with the mind and the higher finish ofpure art. It may be questioned if Cooper were not the greatest actor ofhis day, in a certain range of his own characters.

  I have said that the house was full. I got a good place, however; thoughit was not in the front row. Of course I could only see the side boxesbeneath, and not even quite all of them. My eyes ran eagerly over them,and I soon caught a glimpse of the fine, curling hair of Rupert. Hesat by the side of Emily Merton, the Major--I knew he was a colonel orgeneral, only by means of a regular Manhattan promotion, which is so aptto make hundreds of counts, copper captains, and travelling prodigies ofthose who are very small folk at home--the Major sat next, and, at hisside, I saw a lady, whom I at once supposed to be Lucy. Every nerve inmy system thrilled, as I caught even this indistinct view of thedear creature. I could just see the upper part of her face, as it wasoccasionally turned towards the Major; and once I caught that honestsmile of hers, which I knew had never intentionally deceived.

  The front seat of the box had two vacant places. The bench would holdsix, while it had yet only four. The audience, however, was stillassembling, and, presently, a stir in Lucy's box denoted the arrivalof company. The whole party moved, and Andrew Drewett handed an elderlylady in, his mother, as I afterwards ascertained, and took the otherplace himself. I watched the salutations that were exchanged, andunderstood that the new comers had been expected. The places had beenreserved for them, and old Mrs. Drewett was doubtless the _chaperone;_though, one having a brother and the other a father with her, the twoyoung ladies had not hesitated about preceding the elderly lady. Theyhad come from different quarters of the town, and had agreed to meet atthe theatre. Old Mrs. Drewett was very particular in shaking hands withLucy, though I had not the misery of seeing her son go through the sameceremony. Still he was sufficiently pointed in his salutations; and,during the movements, I perceived he managed to get next to Lucy,leaving the Major to entertain his mother. All this was natural, andwhat might have been expected; yet, it gave me a pang that I cannotdescribe.

  I sat, for half an hour, perfectly inattentive to the play, meditatingon the nature of my real position towards Lucy. I recalled the days ofchildhood and early youth; the night of my first departure from home; myreturn, and the incidents accompanying my second departure; the affairof the locket, and all I had truly felt myself, and all that I hadsupposed Lucy herself to feel, on those several occasions. Could it bepossible I had so much deceived myself, and that the interest the deargirl had certainly manifested in me had been nothing but the fruitsof her naturally warm and honest heart--her strong disposition tofrankness-habit, as Rupert had so gently hinted in reference toourselves? Then I could not conceal from myself the bitter fact that Iwas, now, no equal match for Lucy, in the eyes of the world. While shewas poor, and I comparatively rich, the inequality in social stationmight have been overlooked; it existed, certainly, but was not so verymarked that it might not, even in that day, be readily forgotten; butnow, Lucy was an heiress, had much more than double my own fortune--hada fortune indeed; while I was barely in easy circumstances, as personsof the higher classes regarded wealth. The whole matter seemed reversed.It was clear that a sailor like myself, with no peculiar advantages,those of a tolerable education excepted, and who was necessarily so muchabsent, had not the same chances of preferring his suit, as one ofyour town idlers; a nominal lawyer, for instance, who dropped in at hisoffice for an hour or two, just after breakfast, and promenaded Broadwaythe rest of the time, until dinner; or a man of entire leisure, likeAndrew Drewett, who belonged to the City Library set, and had no otherconnection with business than to see that his rents were collected andhis dividends paid. The more I reflected, the more humble I became, heless my chances seemed and I determined to quit the theatre, at once.The reader will remember that I was New York born and bred, a stateof society in which few natives acted on the principle that "therewas nothing too high to be aspired to, nothing too low to be done."I admitted I had superiors, and was willing to defer to the facts andopinions of the world as I knew it.

  In the lobby of the building, I experienced a pang at the idea ofquitting the place without getting one look at the face of Lucy. I wasin an humble mood, it is true, but that did not necessarily infer atotal self-denial. I determined, therefore, to pass into the pit, withmy box-check, feast my eyes by one long gaze at the dear creature'singenuous countenance, and carry away the impression, as a lastingmemorial of her whom I so well loved, and whom I felt persuaded I shouldever continue to love. After this indulgence, I would studiously avoidher, in order to release my thoughts as much as possible from theperfect thraldom in which they had existed, ever since I had heardof Mrs. Bradfort's death. Previously to that time, I am afraid Ihad counted a little more than was becoming on the ease of my owncircumstances, and Lucy's comparative poverty. Not that I had eversupposed her to be in the least mercenary--this I knew to be utterly,totally false--but because the good town of Manhattan, even in 1803,was _tant soit peu_ addicted to dollars, and Lucy's charms would notbe likely to attract so many suitors, in the modest setting of a poorcountry clergyman's means, as in the golden frame by which they had beensurrounded by Mrs. Bradfort's testamentary devise, even supposing Rupertto come in for quite one half.

  I had no difficulty in finding a convenient place in the pit; one, fromwhich I got a front and near view of the whole six, as they sat rangedside by side. Of the Major and old Mrs. Drewett it is unnecessary to saymuch. T
he latter looked as all dowager-like widows of that day used toappear, respectable, staid, and richly attired. The good lady had comeon the stage during the revolution, and had a slightly military air--a_parade_ in her graces, that was not altogether unknown to the _eleves_of that school. I dare say she could use such words as "martinets,""mowhairs," "brigadiers," and other terms familiar to her class. Alas!how completely all these little traces of the past are disappearing fromour habits and manners!

  As for the Major, he appeared much better in health, and altogetheraltered in mien. I could readily detect the influence of the world onhim; He was evidently a so much greater man in New York than he hadbeen whew I found him in London, that it is not wonderful he felt thedifference. Between the acts, I remarked that all the principal personsin the front rows were desirous of exchanging nods with the "Britishofficer," a proof that he was circulating freely in the best set, andhad reached a point, when "not to know him, argues yourself unknown."{*]

  {Footnote *: The miserable moral dependence of this country on GreatBritain, forty years since, cannot well be brought home to the presentgeneration. It is still too great, but has not a tithe of its formerforce. The writer has himself known an Italian Prince, a man of familyand of high personal merit, pass unnoticed before a society that waseager to make the acquaintance of most of the "agents" of the Birminghambutton dealers; and this simply because one came from Italy and theother from England. The following anecdote, which is quite as true asany other fact in this work, furnishes a good example of what is meant.It is now a quarter of a century since the writer's first book appeared.Two or three months after the publication, he was walking down Broadwaywith a friend, when a man of much distinction in the New York circleswas passing up, on the other side-walk. The gentleman in question caughtthe writer's eye, bowed, and _crossed the street_, to shake hands andinquire after the author's health. The difference in years made thisattention marked. "You are in high favour," observed the friend, as thetwo walked away, to "have ---- pay you such a compliment--your book musthave done this." "Now mark my words--I have been puffed in some Englishmagazine, and ---- knows it." The two were on their way to the author'spublishers, and, on entering the door, honest Charles Wiley put a puffon the book in question into the writer's hand! What rendered the wholemore striking, was the fact that the paragraph was as flagrant a puffas was ever written, and had probably been paid for, by the Englishpublisher. The gentleman in question was a man of talents and merit,but he had been born half a century too soon, to enjoy entire mentalindependence in a country that had so recently been a colony.]

  Emily certainly looked well and happy. I could see that she wasdelighted with Rupert's flattery, and I confess I cared very littlefor his change of sentiment, or his success. That both Major and EmilyMerton were different persons in the midst of the world and in thesolitudes of the Pacific, was as evident as it was that I was adifferent personage in command of the Crisis, and in the pit of the Parktheatre. I dare say, at that moment. Miss Merton had nearly forgottenthat such a man as Miles Wallingford existed, though I think shesometimes recalled the string of magnificent pearls that were toornament the neck of his wife, should he ever find any one to have him.

  But, Lucy, dear, upright, warm-hearted, truth-telling, beloved Lucy! allthis time, I forget to speak of her. There she sat in maiden loveliness,her beauty still more developed, her eye as beaming, lustrous, feeling,as ever, her blush as sensitive, her smile as sweet, and her movementsas natural and graceful. The simplicity of her half-mourning, too, addedto her beauty, which was of a character to require no further aid fromdress, than such as was dependent purely on taste. As I gazed at her,enthralled, I fancied nothing was wanting to complete the appearance,but my own necklace. Powerful, robust man as I was, with my framehardened by exposure and trials, I could have sat down and wept, aftergazing some time at the precious creature, under the feeling producedby the conviction that I was never to renew my intercourse with her, onterms of intimacy at least. The thought that from day to day we were tobecome more and more strangers, was almost too much to be borne. As itwas, scalding tears forced themselves to my eyes, though I succeededin concealing the weakness from those around me. At length the tragedyterminated, the curtain dropped, and the audience began to move about.The pit which had, just before, been crowded, was now nearly empty, andI was afraid of being seen. Still, I could not tear myself away, butremained after nine-tenths of those around me had gone into the lobbies.

  It was easy, now, to see the change which had come over Lucy's position,in the attentions she received. All the ladies in the principal boxeshad nods and smiles for her and half the fashionable-looking young menin the house crowded round her box, or actually entered it to pay theircompliments. I fancied Andrew Drewett had a self-satisfied air thatseemed to say, "you are paying your homage indirectly to myself, inpaying it to this young lady." As for Lucy, my jealous watchfulnesscould not detect the smallest alteration in her deportment, so far assimplicity and nature were concerned. She appeared in a trifling degreemore womanly, perhaps, than when I saw her last, being now in hertwentieth year; but the attentions she received made no visible changein her manners. I had become lost in the scene, and was standing in amusing attitude, my side face towards the box, when I heard a suppressedexclamation, in Lucy's voice. I was too near her to be mistaken, and itcaused the blood to rush to my heart in a torrent. Turning, I saw thedear girl, with her hand extended over the front of the box, her facesuffused with blushes, and her eyes riveted on myself. I was recognised,and the surprise had produced a display of all that old friendship,certainly, that had once existed between us, in the simplicity and truthof childhood.

  "Miles Wallingford!" she said, as I advanced to shake the offeredhand, and as soon as I was near enough to permit her to speak withoutattracting too much attention--"_you_ arrived, and _we_ knew nothing ofit!"

  It was plain Rupert had said nothing of having seen me, or of ourinterview in the street. He seemed a little ashamed, and leaned forwardto say--

  "I declare I forgot to mention, Lucy, that I met Captain Wallingford asI was going to join the Colonel and Miss Merton. Oh! we have had a longtalk together, and it will save you a history of past events."

  "I may, nevertheless, say," I rejoined, "how happy I am to see MissHardinge looking so well, and to be able to pay my compliments to my oldpassengers."

  Of course I shook hands with the Major and Emily, bowed to Drewett, wasnamed to his mother, and was invited to enter the box, as it was notquite in rule to be conversing between the pit and the front rows. Iforgot my prudent resolutions, and was behind Lucy in three minutes.Andrew Drewett had the civility to offer me his place, though it waswith an air that said plain enough "what do _I_ care for _him_--he isa ship-master, and I am a man of fashion and fortune, and can resume myseat at any moment, while the poor fellow can only catch his chances, ashe occasionally _comes into port_." At least, I fancied his manner saidsomething like this.

  "Thank you, Mr. Drewett," said Lucy, in her sweetest manner. "Mr.Wallingford and I are very, _very_ old friends,--you know he is Grace'sbrother, and you have been at Clawbonny"--Drewett bowed, civillyenough--"and I have a thousand things to say to him. So, Miles, takethis seat, and let me hear all about your voyage."

  As half the audience went away as soon as the tragedy ended, the secondseat of the box was vacated, and the other gentlemen getting on it, tostretch 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 oldfriend of yours, Moses Marble by name, has come to life again, and is atthis 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 Majora fair opportunity for cutting into the conversation. The orchestra,moreover, giving notice that the curtain would soon rise for theafte
r-piece, the old gentleman soon got me into the lobby to hear theparticulars. I was supremely vexed, and I thought Lucy appeared sorry;but there was no help for it, and then we could not converse while thepiece 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 affairin detail. "If not, we will continue our walk, and wait for the ladiesto 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, asif he remembered the many obligations he was under. He now communicatedseveral little facts connected with his own circumstances, alludingto the probability of his remaining in America a few years. Our chatcontinued some time, my looks frequently turning towards the door of thebox, when my companion suddenly observed--

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

  "Probably not; though the estate has fallen into excellent hands," Ianswered. "I am surprised, however, that Mrs. Bradfort did not leavethe property to the old gentleman, as it once belonged to their commongrandfather, 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 afigure in the world; and it is probably in better hands, than if it hadbeen left first to the old gentleman."

  "The old gentleman has been a faithful steward to me, and I doubt notwould 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; andI 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_ asilly story, that Mrs. Bradfort had left everything to Lucy; but Ihave, it from the best authority, that _that_ is not true--" The idea ofRupert Hardinge's being the "best authority" for any thing; a fellowwho never knew what unadulterated truth was, from the time he was inpetticoats, or could talk!--"As I _know_ there is a trust, though one ofno great moment; I presume Lucy has some contingent interest, subject,most probably, to her marrying with her brother's approbation, or somesuch provision. The old lady was sagacious, and no doubt did all thatwas necessary."

  It is wonderful how people daily deceive themselves on the subjectof property; those who care the most about it, appearing to make thegreatest blunders. In the way of bequests, in particular, the lies thatare told are marvellous. It is now many years since I learned to takeno heed of rumours on such subjects, and least of all, rumours that comefrom the class of the money-gripers. Such people refer everything todollars, and seldom converse a minute without using the word. Here,however, was Major Merton evidently Rupert's dupe; though with whatprobable consequences, it was not in my power to foresee. It was clearlynot my business to undeceive him; and the conversation, getting to beembarrassing, I was not sorry to hear the movement which announced theend of the act. At the box door, to my great regret, we met Mrs. Drewettretiring, the ladies finding the farce dull, and not worth the time lostin listening to it. Rupert gave me an uneasy glance, and he even draggedme aside to whisper--"Miles, what I told you this evening, is strictly afamily secret, and was entrusted to a friend."

  "I have nothing to do with your private concerns, Rupert--" Ianswered,--"only, let me expect you to act honourably, especially whenwomen are concerned."

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

  I saw Lucy looking anxiously around, while Drewett had gone to order thecarriages to advance, and I hoped it might be for me. In a moment I wasby her side; at the next, Mr. Andrew Drewett offered his arm, saying,her carriage "stopped the way." We moved into the outer lobby, in abody, 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 girlhaving come into immediate possession of her relative's houses,furniture, horses, carriages, and everything else, without reserve, justas they had been left behind by the last incumbent, when she departedfrom the scene of life, to lie down in the grave. Mrs. Bradfort's armswere still on the chariot, I observed, its owner refusing all Rupert'ssolicitations to supplant them by those of Hardinge. The latter took hisrevenge, however, by telling everybody how generous he was in keeping acarriage for his sister.

  The Major handed Mrs. Drewett in, and her son was compelled to say goodnight, to see his mother home. This gave me one blessed minute withLucy, by herself. She spoke of Grace; said they had now been separatedmonths, longer than they ever had been before in their lives, and thatall her own persuasions could not induce my sister to rejoin herin town, while her own wish to visit Clawbonny had been constantlydisappointed, Rupert insisting that her presence was necessary, for somany arrangements about business.

  "Grace is not as humble as I was, in old times, Miles," said the deargirl, looking me in the face, half sadly, half reproachfully, the lightof the lamp falling full on her tearful, tender eyes, "and I hope youare not about to imitate her bad example. She wishes us to know she hasClawbonny 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--"Itcannot be _that_--have you heard anything of Grace's health?"

  "Oh! she is well, I know--Rupert tells me _that_, and her letters arecheerful and kind as ever, without a word of complaint. But I _must_see her soon. Grace Wallingford and Lucy Hardinge were not born to liveasunder. Here is the carriage; I shall see you in the morning, Miles--atbreakfast, say--eight o'clock, precisely."

  "It will be impossible--I sail for Clawbonny with the first of theflood, 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 afterthe carriage, Rupert walking swiftly away.