THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER
OR
The Children of the Isle
BY
MRS. E. D. E. N. SOUTHWORTH
Author of “Ishmael,” “The Hidden Hand,” “The Bride’s Fate,” “The Changed
Brides,” etc.
[Illustration]
GROSSET & DUNLAP
PUBLISHERS: NEW YORK
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
INTRODUCTORY—ST. CLARA’S ISLE, v
I. MOUNT CALM, 1
II. THE NEW SUITOR, 3
III. THE FATHER’S TYRANNY, 7
IV. THE SUBJECTION OF ALICE, 12
V. THE HUSBAND’S AUTHORITY, 14
VI. COUNTRY NEIGHBORS, 16
VII. HUTTON OF THE ISLES, 20
VIII. THE BRIDE OF THE ISLES, 24
IX. HUTTON LODGE, 28
X. THE PATIENCE OF ALICE, 33
XI. ALICE’S VISIT TO HUTTON ISLE, 41
XII. CHILD OF THE WRECK, 45
XIII. THE DESOLATE HOUSE, 51
XIV. VANISHING OF AGNES, 55
XV. THE ELFIN GIRL, 59
XVI. ELSIE, 66
XVII. THE BALL—THE UNEXPECTED GUEST, 75
XVIII. THE NEW-FOUND HEIR, 83
XIX. THE DEVOTION OF LOVE, 86
XX. ELSIE IN THE ATTIC, 97
XXI. CRUELTY—A CHAMBER SCENE, 103
XXII. MARRIAGE, 108
XXIII. THE HEART OVERTASKED, 118
XXIV. THE WIFE’S TRUST, 128
XXV. LIFE’S STORM AND SOUL’S SHELTER, 133
XXVI. DAY AFTER THE WEDDING, 143
XXVII. DEEP DELL—COUNTRY TAVERN, 150
XXVIII. THE VAULT, 155
XXIX. THE CHILDREN OF THE ISLE, 168
XXX. THE NIGHT VISIT, 172
XXXI. NETTIE IN THE MANSION, 180
XXXII. THE INTERVIEW, 187
XXXIII. ELSIE IN THE LOG CABIN, 198
XXXIV. WHAT CAME NEXT, 207
XXXV. THE FLIGHT OF TIME, 217
XXXVI. LIGHT ON THE ISLAND, 227
XXXVII. THE BEEHIVE, 242
XXXVIII. HUGH AND GARNET, 256
XXXIX. THE STRUGGLE OF LOVE AND AMBITION, 267
XL. ELSIE’S FORTUNES, 282
XLI. THE SECRET REVEALED, 291
INTRODUCTORY.
ST. CLARA’S ISLE.
The Island lies nine leagues away.
Along its solitary shore
Of craggy rock and sandy bay,
No sound but ocean’s roar,
Save where the bold, wild sea-bird makes her home,
Her shrill cry coming through the sparkling foam.
_—R. H. Dana._
The scenes of our story lie along the Western shore of Maryland, near
the mouth of the Potomac River, and among the islets of the Chesapeake
Bay.
Nothing can be more beautiful, grand, and inspiring than the scenery of
this region.
The great Potomac, a mighty and invincible monarch of rivers, even from
her first stormy conquest, in which she rent apart the everlasting
mountains, and forced herself a passage to the sea—widens and broadens
her channel, extending the area of her empire continually as she goes on
her irresistible way in a vast, calm, majestic flow of waters to the
ocean.
At the mouth of the river on the north, or Maryland side, is Point
Lookout; on the south, or Virginia side, is Smith’s Point, with an
expanse of water twenty miles in width between them.
The shore on the Maryland side is broken by the most beautiful creeks
and inlets, and dotted by the most beautiful islets that imagination can
depict—creeks whose crystal-clear waters reflect every undulating hill
and vale, every shadowy tree and bright flower lying upon their banks,
and every soft and dark, or sun-gilded and glorious cloud floating in
the skies above their bosoms; islets whose dewy, fresh and green
luxuriance of vegetation, darksome trees and profound solitude, tempt
one into poetic dreams of an ideal hermitage. The beauty and interest of
this shore is enhanced by the occasional glimpses of rural
homes—magnificent, or simply picturesque—seen indistinctly through the
trees, at the head of some creek, on the summit of some distant hill, or
in the shades of some thick grove.
Nothing can surpass the pleasure of the opposite but delightfully
blended emotions inspired by this scene.
On the one hand the near shore, with its inlets and islands, its sunny
hills and shadowy dells, its old forests, its cornfields, and its sweet,
sequestered homes, yields that dear sense of safety and repose which the
most adventurous never like to lose entirely.
On the other hand, looking out to the sea, the broad expanse of waters,
the free and unobstructed pathway to all parts of the world, fills and
dilates the heart with an exultant sense of boundless freedom!
I said that the islets of the Potomac were fertile, verdant, and
luxurious in vegetation. This is because their sandy soil is mixed
freely with clay and marl; because it is enriched with the deposits of
the vast flocks of water-fowl that hover upon them for safe repose; and
finally, because, unlike the worn-out lands of the peninsula, the soil
is a virgin one, where for ages vegetation has budded, bloomed, and
decayed, and returned to the earth to fertilize it. (And here let me be
pardoned for saying that it is a matter of surprise to me that the
attention of enterprising men has never been turned to these islands as
a source of agricultural wealth; for, besides the rich fertility of the
soil, the salubrity of the air, and the beauty and grandeur of the land
and water scenery, these islands are rich in shoals of fish, crabs, and
oysters, and in vast flocks of water-fowl. But we ever overlook and
leave the near to seek the far-off goal.)
Beyond the mouth of the river, however, and up the coast of the bay, the
islands are sandy and poor—nearly unproductive, or entirely barren.
Anyone who will turn to the map of Maryland will see that the Chesapeake
Bay is interspersed with numerous islands of all sizes, from the
largest—Kent Island—to the smallest, nameless sand bank; that the
eastern and western shores of Maryland are beautifully diversified with
every modification of land and water scenery; that the inlets and
islands of the coast form the most charming features of the landscape.
* * * * *
Some distance above Point Lookout, at the mouth of the Potomac River, up
the western shore of Maryland, there is a beautiful inlet, or small bay,
making up about three miles into the land, called St. Clara’s Bay by one
of the early Roman Catholic settlers. At the headwaters of this inlet is
a small, very old hamlet, the site of one of the first settlements of
the State, intended once, no doubt, for a great colonial seaport, and
christened by the same sponsor St. Clarasville. With its fine harbor and
great commercial facilities, whatever could have arrested its growth and
withered it in its prime I do not know—possibly the very abundance of
other good harbors on the coast—probably the frequent and violent
dissensions between the pre-emption freebooters of the Bay Isles and the
legal proprietors and settlers of the mainland. Lying two miles off the
mouth of this inlet, and stretching across in front of it, is an oblong,
sandy, and nearly barren island—rich, however, in fish, crabs, oysters,
and water-fowl, and upon this account a great resort in early colonial
times, and baptized by the same devout claimant of the bay and town St.
Clara’s Isle, in honor of his patron saint.
But there was another claimant of the island, inlet, and township; a
freebooter, who, believing in and acknowledging no greater personage
than himself, had named the isle, the bay, and town also, when it was
laid out, after himself. So they were first and most frequently called
Hutton’s Island, Bay, and Town.
THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER
CHAPTER I.
MOUNT CALM.
A proud, aristocratic hall it seems,
Not courting, but discouraging approach.
_—Moultrie._
Let me introduce you to Mount Calm, the seat of General Aaron Garnet.
Even from the bay you can see the mansion house, with its broad white
front, as it crowns the highest of a distant range of hills. After
passing through the village of Hutton, and going up and down the grassy
hills that rise one above the other beyond it, you enter a deep hollow,
thickly grown with woods, and passing through it, begin to ascend by a
heavily shaded forest road, the last and highest hill of the range—Mount
Calm. When about halfway up this hill you come to the brick walls
inclosing the private grounds, and passing through the porter’s gate you
enter a heavily-shaded carriage drive, that, sweeping around in an
ascending half-circle, brings you up before the mansion house.
Behind the house was a green slope and a thick grove that concealed from
view the extensive outbuildings connected with the establishment.
Extensive fields of corn, wheat, rye, oats, tobacco, etc., spread all
over the undulatory land. The estate itself comprised several thousands
of the best acres in old St. Mary’s County, and there were several
hundred of them under the best cultivation and in the richest state of
productiveness.
This princely estate had remained in the possession of the Chesters
since the first settlement of the county, and unlike the usual fate of
old Maryland plantations, the property had not only been carefully
preserved, but had steadily increased in value up to the time of the
Revolution, when it had reached its highest importance.
The estate was then in the hands of Charles Chester, Esq., Justice of
the Peace and Associate Judge of the Provincial Court. His family
consisted of a wife, two sons, and a daughter.
At the breaking out of the Revolution Judge Chester and his two stalwart
boys took the field among the first, and at the triumphant close of the
war Colonel Chester set out on his return home with a pair of
epaulettes, minus his pair of goodly sons, who were left not only dead
upon the field of glory, but buried with all the honors of victorious
war upon the immortal plains of Yorktown. And thus it happened that the
heirship of the heavy estate, with all its burden of onerous
responsibilities, fell upon the frail shoulders of young Alice Chester—a
fair-skinned, golden-haired, blue-eyed girl of seventeen, the fairest,
gentlest, and most fragile being that ever owed life to a stern and
warlike sire. Alice, living at home with her simple-hearted, domestic
mother, had been very little noticed by her father, or even by anyone
else, until, by the death of his sons, she became the sole heiress of
the vast estate, which was to prove the greatest misfortune of her life.
The long, long bleak winters were passed in almost inviolable seclusion,
cheered only by an occasional letter from the army, and an occasional
ride to church, if the road happened to be passable, which was seldom
the case.
This life lasted until Alice was fifteen years of age, when an event
occurred such as would make no stir at all in a city, but which will
throw a quiet country neighborhood into convulsions, namely, a change of
ministry—not national, but parochial! The old parson, compelled by
declining health, had departed to take charge of a congregation farther
south, and a young parson had come in his stead. The Rev. Milton
Sinclair was handsome, graceful, and accomplished.
By the invitation of Mrs. Chester the young minister became the
temporary inmate of Mount Calm, and very much he entertained and
instructed, cheered and sustained the secluded mother and daughter. He
became the almoner of the lady to the poor around. He directed and
superintended the reading of Alice; introducing gradually, as her
opening mind could bear, all the beauties and glories of science,
history, philosophy, and poetry.
As the days fled, Alice and Milton Sinclair grew to love each other, and
one day the minister told his great love and was made happy by Alice
confessing that she returned his affection. Mrs. Chester, too, approved
of the match, and she set her maids to work carding, spinning, knitting,
weaving, and sewing, that Alice might have a full supply of every
description of household cloth and linen. The bride’s trousseau was the
last thing thought of, and there was time enough, she thought, for that
when her father should arrive. She did not know when that would be, but
it was well to have everything that took a great deal of time and labor,
such as the house and furniture and the household stuff, ready—as for
the wedding dresses and other minor preparations, of course they must be
deferred until Colonel Chester’s arrival, and then they could be
speedily got up.
It was in the midst of this domestic happiness, this great tense joy and
hope, that the thunderbolt fell!