Late in the afternoon of the day succeeding the one designated in the
last chapter, towards the southwestern extremity of the beach and
outside of the palisade, a young and gentle creature, of most surpassing
loveliness, moved thoughtfully along the sandy shore, every now and then
casting a wistful glance over the water, and as often heaving a gentle
sigh, as a shade of girlish disappointment settled upon her blooming
face. Her dress was simple, tasteful, and exquisitely appropriate to her
style of beauty. She had apparently scarce passed her sixteenth
birthday; and of course her figure was not yet rounded out to its full
perfection of female loveliness. So much of her neck as was visible
above a rather high and close cut dress, was of that pure, chaste and
lovely white which gives such an air of heavenly innocence to the
budding girl of that delightful age. The face although exceeding the
neck in the height, variety and richness of its colouring, was not
disfigured by a single freckle, scar or blemish. The features were
generally well proportioned and suited to each other, the lips full and
gently pouting, with a margin of as luxurious tinting as that with which
nature ever adorned the first budding rose of spring, and when parted,
as they often were, by the most gentle and _naive_ laughter, displayed
a set of teeth beautifully white and regular. Yet one could scarcely
fasten the eye upon them for the admiration excited by the exquisite
expression of the dimpled mouth, ever varying, and as it seemed, more
lovely with each succeeding change. The motion of her eyes was so rapid
that it was difficult to ascertain their colour; but certain it is they
were soft and brilliant, the latter effect produced in no small degree
by long fair dewy lashes which rose and fell over the picture, as lights
and shadows fall from the pencil of an inspired painter.
The fair flaxen ringlets fell beneath the small gipsey hat in short
thick curls, and were clustered around her brow, so as to form the most
natural and appropriate shade imaginable to a forehead of polished
ivory. She was about the medium height, symmetrically proportioned, with
an exquisitely turned ankle and little foot, which _now_ bounded over
the beach with an impatience only surpassed by her own impetuous
thoughts, as her eyes became intently riveted upon a moving speck upon
the distant waters. The wild and startled expression, excited in the
first moment of surprise, might now be seen merging into one of perfect
satisfaction, as the distant object began to grow into distinct outlines
at every plunge of the buoyant waves; her heart heaving its own little
current to her face in perfect unison with their boisterous movements.
A beautifully painted canoe soon ran its curled and fantastic head right
under the bank upon which she stood, and in the next moment a gallant
and manly youth leaped upon the shore by her side, and taking her
unresisting hand, gently removed the gipsey hat so as to bring into view
a certain crimsoning of the neck and half averted face. Nathaniel Bacon,
the youth just landed, was about twenty-one, and altogether presented an
appearance of the most attractive and commanding character. He wore a
green hunting jerken, buttoned close up to his throat so as to show off
to the best advantage a broad and manly chest. Upon his head was a broad
brimmed unstiffened castor, falling over his shoulders behind, and
looped up in front by a curiously wrought broach.
A small brass hunting horn swung beneath one shoulder, while to the
other was suspended a short cut and thrust sword. In his hand he bore a
fishing rod and tackle.
Few as evidently were his years, much painful thought had already
shadowed his handsome and commanding features with a somewhat precocious
maturity. It was obviously, however, not the natural temperament of the
man which now shone out in his features, after the subsiding of the
first glow of delighted feeling visible for an instant as he watched the
heightened bloom on the countenance of the maiden.
"You were not irreconcilably offended then at my rash and disrespectful
behaviour to your father at our last meeting?"
"Certainly not irreconcilably so, Nathaniel, if offended at all; but I
will confess to you candidly, that I was hurt and mortified, as much on
your own, as on my father's account."
"You are always kind, considerate and forgiving, Virginia, and it
behooves me in presence of so much gentleness, to ease my conscience in
some measure by a confession. You have sometimes, but I have never,
forgotten that I was thrown upon your father's hospitality an orphan and
an outcast. This fact constantly dwells upon my mind, and sometimes
harrows up my feelings to such a degree that I am scarcely conscious of
my words or actions. It was so on the occasion alluded to. I forgot your
presence, the respect due to your father and my benefactor, as well as
what was due to myself. I had been endeavouring to revive some of the
drunken reminiscences of that eccentric fellow who sits in the canoe
there, but they tended only to inflame my ardent desire to know
something more of myself. Certainly some allowances must be made for me,
Virginia, under the mortifying circumstances in which I am placed. I
thought your father could and ought to relieve this cruel suspense!"
"He will if he can, Nathaniel; and that he does not do so immediately,
is the best evidence to my mind either that he knows nothing on the
subject, or that some powerful reason exists why he should not disclose
his knowledge at present. Come, then, return with me to our house; my
father will take no notice of your absence or its cause, unless to jest
with you upon your want of success in your fishing expedition, which it
seems was the ostensible motive of your absence."
"It was my purpose to return, but I had not so amiably settled the how
and the when; indeed the objects I had in view were so urgent that I
determined to brave even your father's continued anger in order to
obtain an interview with you."
"With me, Nathaniel!"
"Ay, with you, Virginia! You know that there are on the island some
restless and turbulent spirits--late soldiers of the Protector. They
have some dangerous project brewing I am well satisfied, from
circumstances which accidentally fell under my own observation. You know
too that the Recluse is said to have unbounded influence with these
desperate men, and to be familiar with all their designs and movements.
And notwithstanding your childish dread of him, you know that he loves
you more than any living creature."
"I know all the things you speak of, except the last, and for that I
suspect I am indebted to your imagination; but to what does all this
lead?"
"I have just returned from a visit to that strange and mysterious old
man, and as I have already hinted, hastened hither for the purpose of
seeking an interview with you, which fortune has so opportunely thrown
in my way."
"But I am yet in the dark. Why did you hasten from the Recluse to me,
after discovering the things you speak of?"
"I will tell you; but you must be cool, calm and considerate while I do
so, because I have that to tell and that to propose which will astound
you!"
"Oh do tell it at once then, and not play upon my feelings thus."
"Your father's and your uncle's life is in danger, Virginia! Heaven,
what have I done?" he continued, as he saw his companion turn deadly
pale and lean against the palisade for support. But instantly recovering
herself she asked--
"Whence does this danger come?"
"That I do not know exactly; but the Recluse knows, and I have been
vainly endeavouring to learn it from him; and this brings me to the
proposition which I have to make. You must visit him this night! 'Ay,
Virginia! start not, you must do it for your father's and your uncle's
sake!"
"Visit the Recluse, and at night! What will my parents say to it, think
you?"
"They must not know one word of it."
"Then it is absolutely out of the question."
"Do not say so, Virginia, till you hear me out. As I have already said,
the Recluse loves you better than he does any creature in the colony. He
knows all the plots and counterplots that are going on, and if you will
surprise him with a visit to-night, he will divulge the whole affair to
you."
"Why must it be to-night?"
"Because there is no time to be lost. To-morrow is the anniversary of
the Restoration. There is to be a grand celebration during the day, and
a ball at night; this opportunity is to be taken advantage of in some
way or other by the desperate men alluded to. If we wait till to-morrow,
and make our visit publicly, these men will all know of it, and its very
object be counteracted by that circumstance."
"Your reasons are plausible I confess, Nathaniel, and secret enemies are
at all times dreadful, but your alternative is scarcely less so."
"I will pledge my life for your safety. You have the keys of your
father's house at command, you can go and return through the servants'
hall when they are all asleep. No sentinels are placed on the walls
since the general peace with the confederated tribes of Indians. My
canoe lies under the first abutment of the bridge. I will watch you from
your father's door till you arrive there. We can then cross the creek in
the canoe, so that no one will see us at the bridge. Brian O'Reily shall
wait on the opposite shore with my horse and pillion for you, and
another for himself. What then is there so much to be dreaded in this
simple nocturnal excursion to a retired old man, who, to say the worst
of him, is nothing more than fanatical on religious subjects, and
certainly he is very wise and learned upon all others."
"It is the clandestine nature of the expedition that I object to,
Nathaniel; it is so hurried--at such a strange hour too. At all events I
must have a little time to consider of the propriety of the step."
"Certainly, you shall have as much time as the nature of the case will
admit of. But see, the long shadows of the trees are already extending
across the river and the birds are seeking their resting places for the
night."
"Oh, happy little songsters! would to Heaven that my rest could be as
sweet and tranquil as theirs this night? But Nathaniel, at what hour
shall I meet you at the bridge, provided I determine upon the step you
propose?"
"As the clock from the tower of the church strikes eleven I will be at
my post." And as he stepped into his canoe, he continued, "Remember,
Virginia, that it is your own peace and your father's safety that I am
endeavouring to secure in the course I urge you to adopt."
As the little vessel rose and sunk over the swelling waves in its
passage round the town, Virginia stood on the brink of the river and
gazed upon the scene in a deeply meditative mood, very new to her young
and hitherto careless heart. At length when her late companion had long
disappeared from her sight, and the sombre shadows of evening were fast
closing around the ancient city, she slowly passed into the gates of the
palisade and sought her father's dwelling.