"OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, AND ON WITH THE NEW."
"Holy St. Francis! what a change is here!
Is Rosalind, whom thou didst love so dear,
So soon forsaken? Young men's love, then, lies
Not truly in their hearts, but in their eyes."--ROMEO AND JULIET.
The following night passed without disturbance, either earthly or
ghostly, at Campbell's Lodge.
Early in the morning, Captain Campbell went over to the mainland on
business. And Sibyl, accompanied by Drummond, went down to the
cottage, to visit Mrs. Tom. There was an inward feeling of pleasure
at Sibyl's heart, when she learned Christie was away to the mainland
on a visit. Not that she doubted Willard; but she remembered
Christie as a very pretty child, grown by this time, doubtless, into
a lovely girl, and it might not be altogether safe, to throw the gay
man of the world into dangerous society.
Toward noon, as they were sauntering along the sun-shiny beach, she
hanging on his arm, while he softly whispered the words "ladies love
to hear," they espied a boat advancing toward them. Sibyl raised her
telescope to survey the new-comers.
"Rev. Mr. Mark Brantwell and wife," she exclaimed, in tones of
surprise and pleasure. "Guy has doubtless called upon them, and told
them I was here."
"Friends of yours?" asked Willard.
"Yes, the Episcopal clergyman of N----, whom I have known since my
earliest childhood. But here they are."
The boat at this moment touched the shore, and Sibyl, disengaging her
arm, ran down to meet them. Willard more leisurely followed, just in
time to see his lady-love folded in the arms of a gentleman who
sprang from the boat.
The stranger was of middle age, married, and a clergyman; yet, in
spite of all, Mr. Drummond felt a sudden twinge of jealousy and anger
at beholding the embrace. But the next moment jealousy, anger, every
feeling was swallowed up in intense astonishment, not unmingled with
superstitious horror. For as the clergyman turned round, and Willard
obtained a full view of his face, he recognized the countenance of
him he had seen years before in that mystic vision at the Egyptian's.
For a moment he stood regarding him, pale with wonder; and he only
awoke from his trance of surprise, when he heard the clear, ringing
voice of Captain Campbell, as he approached him, saying, with a
hearty slap on the shoulder:
"Why, Drummond, man alive, what ails you? You are as pale as a
ghost!"
"Are you ill?" said Sibyl, anxiously, as she approached, leaning on
the arm of Mrs. Brantwell.
"A slight headache--nothing more," said Willard, recovering himself
by an effort; "nothing worth being alarmed about," he added, seeing
Sibyl's still anxious eyes.
"Why, Sibyl, have you grown nervous and cowardly?" exclaimed Mr.
Brantwell--"you, who used to be as bold and daring as a mountain
eaglet. But perhaps," he added, glancing meaningly at Willard, "it
is only where some very particular friend is concerned that your
fears are thus easily aroused."
Willard smiled slightly, while Sibyl's dark face grew crimson as she
hurried on with increased rapidity, drawing her companion with her,
and leaving the gentlemen behind.
When they reached the lodge Sibyl left her brother to entertain their
guests, while she set about preparing luncheon. When the meal was
over Mrs. Brantwell said:
"And now, Miss Sibyl, I have come to carry you off. It is three
years since I have had the pleasure of seeing you, and I shall
certainly take you with me now. Come, no excuses--I will not hear
one of them."
"But, my dear Mrs. Brantwell----" began Sibyl.
"But, my dear Miss Campbell, you _must_ come--do you hear that? Your
brother can certainly do without you for a week."
"Yes, and glad to be rid of her, too," said the gallant Captain
Campbell.
Sibyl stole a glance toward Drummond from under her long eyelashes.
He was sitting, looking out of the window with an exceedingly
dissatisfied frown on his brow. Mrs. Brantwell perceived the glance,
and broke out again with her usual bluntness:
"And as for that other gentleman you are looking at, Sibyl, I am sure
he will be generous enough to spare you for a few days, as he will,
in all probability, have enough of you before long."
Again Sibyl crimsoned and glanced reproachfully at her plain-spoken
friend, and again Mr. Drummond was forced to smile, in spite of his
ill-humor, at the good lady's brusque bluntness.
"You will have to come, you see, Miss Sibyl," said Mr. Brantwell,
laughing.
"Of course, she will," added his frank spouse; "and upon my word I
think I am doing her a favor in taking her from this lonesome island,
and letting her see a little of civilized life at our hands; though,
from Sibyl's looks, I should say she doesn't feel at all grateful for
it."
"Indeed, Mrs. Brantwell, I do, but--"
"There, there! I won't listen to another word." And Mrs. Brantwell,
a tall, good-humored looking lady, clapped her hands over her ears.
"Guy, make this ungrateful sister of yours hold her tongue, and do as
she is told."
"Come, Sibyl, there is no help for it, you see," said Guy. "Drummond
and I will get along swimmingly during your absence. He can keep his
hand in, in making love to Aunt Moll, while I try my powers of
persuasion over Mrs. Tom."
Sibyl laughed, and paused for a moment in thought. She would
infinitely have preferred remaining on the island with Willard, but
it would never do to allow them to think that was her reason; and
after all, a week would soon pass. Had Christie been home, no
persuasions could have induced her to go; but in her absence there
was nothing to fear. Then, too, Willard, so long accustomed to her
presence, would miss her so much when she was gone that doubtless his
love would be increased rather than diminished.
Involuntarily, while thinking of him, her eyes wandered to where he
stood. Again the sharp-sighted Mrs. Brantwell observed it, and again
she broke out impatiently:
"Lord bless me! Mr. Drummond, just turn round, will you, and tell
Sibyl she may go. Nothing earthly will induce her to come till you
give permission. I'm sure if you were her father she couldn't be
more afraid of displeasing your lordship."
"Miss Campbell needs no permission of mine. I am only too happy to
think she will have an opportunity of enjoying herself so well," said
Willard, with a grave bow.
"Well, I'm sure that's a mercy to be thankful for. Now, perhaps, you
will come, Sibyl," said the plain-spoken old lady; "and as for you,
sir, I shall expect to see you at the parsonage every day with Master
Guy."
"I shall be most happy," said Willard, his face brightening a little,
while Sibyl's eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"Well, now, run and get ready," said Mrs. Brantwell, turning to Sibyl.
Sibyl soon reappeared, dressed for her journey. And then, as the
afternoon was far advanced, the whole party descended to the beach.
The adieus were spoken, the boat pushed off, leaving the two young
men alone on the sands.
"I must go over to Westbrook dock-yard this afternoon," said Guy,
"where the Evening Star is now lying. What do you say to coming with
me?"
"I prefer remaining here," said Willard, who had not yet recovered
his good humor, after what he was pleased to call Sibyl's desertion.
"Well, then, I'll remain with you," said Guy, who was the soul of
frankness and good temper.
"By no means!" said Drummond, hastily. "Do not stay on my account.
I have a slight headache still, and will retire to my room."
"But it seems hardly courteous to leave you altogether alone."
"Nonsense, my dear fellow. I insist upon it. I hope you do not
think of standing on ceremony with me?"
"So be it, then," said Captain Campbell, gayly, as he sprang into his
boat, pushed off, and shot like an arrow out into the water.
Drawing a cigar from his pocket, Willard Drummond lit it and
proceeded to stroll up and down the beach, in no very amiable frame
of mind. He felt angry, in spite of all, at Sibyl's leaving him; and
with this feeling would now and then mingle another--profound
amazement at the exact resemblance this Mr. Brantwell bore to the
face he had seen in that singular vision. Was the fell prediction
about to be verified?
Lost in such thoughts as these, he was suddenly startled by a voice
singing a wild, sweet song of the sea, in the clearest and most
delightful tones he had ever heard. Surprised at the unexpected
sound, he sprang up the rocks in the direction whence it came, and
beheld a sight that transfixed him with amazement.
A young girl, beautiful as an angel, stood on an overhanging crag,
with one round, white arm resting lightly on the rocks, singing to
herself as she gazed on the sparkling waters. Her hair, of the
palest golden hue, rose and fell in the breeze, and flashed in the
sunlight that rested like a glory on her bright young head. Her
complexion was dazzlingly fair, with rose-tinted cheeks and full, red
lips--like wet coral--and eyes large and bright, and blue as the
summer sky above her. Her figure was slight, but round and
voluptuous; and there was passion, and fervor, and wild enthusiasm in
her look, as she stood like a stray seraph, dropped from some stray
cloud, on that lonely island.
Willard Drummond stood immovable, drinking in, to intoxication, the
bewildering draught of her beauty. She was in every respect so very
different from Sibyl, that she seemed to him the more charming from
force of contrast. Transfixed he stood--everything forgotten but
this lovely creature before him--when suddenly, like an inspiration,
came the remembrance of his singular dream, and of the fatal siren
with the golden hair. Strange that it should have come back to him
so vividly and painfully then!
The young girl's song ceased, and turning, she leaped lightly as a
young deer from her fairy perch, without perceiving him who stood so
intently regarding her. Leaping from rock to rock with a fleetness
that awoke the surprise of Willard, she reached the road and
disappeared within she cottage of Mrs. Tom.
Everything was forgotten now but the one intense desire of knowing
who this radiant sea-nymph was. Turning, therefore, into the path
she had just taken, he approached the cottage and encountered Carl at
the door.
"Well, Master Henley, how are you?" said Willard, carelessly.
"Sticking together," was Master Henly's concise and descriptive
answer.
"Glad to hear it," said Willard, repressing a strong inclination to
laugh. "Is Mrs. Tom within?"
"She was when I left the house," said Carl, who seemed determined not
to commit himself.
"Any one with her?" again inquired the young gentleman, looking as
indifferent as possible.
"No, nobody," was the unexpected answer.
"What!" exclaimed Willard, surprised. "I thought I saw a young lady
enter a moment ago!"
"Oh, Christie--she's nobody," said the gallant Mr. Henly.
"Christie--Mrs. Tom's niece--I thought she was away!" exclaimed
Willard.
"So she was, but I went for her this morning; couldn't be bothered
doing her work and my own both any longer," said Carl.
"I suppose I may go in?" said Willard, feeling a sudden thrill of
pleasure at the knowledge that this radiant girl was an inhabitant of
the island.
"Yes, I suppose you may, if you like," said Carl, in a tone of the
utmost unconcern.
Thus kindly permitted, Willard advanced and rapped at the door. It
was opened by Mrs. Tom, whose surprise was only equaled by her
delight at being honored by this unexpected visit.
Near the window that overlooked the lodge, stood the golden-haired
vision of the beach. She turned round with a quick, shy glance, and
blushed most enchantingly beneath the deep, dark eyes of the stranger.
"My niece, Christie, Mr. Drummond," said Mrs. Tom, directing his
attention to her with a wave of her hand. "She got back this
mornin'. I allers find it powerful lonesome here without Christie."
"I have no doubt of it," said Mr. Drummond, seating himself. "But I
have had the pleasure of seeing Miss Christie before."
"Where?" asked Christie, opening her blue eyes in wonder.
"Down on the beach, a few moments ago."
"Oh, yes."
And again Christie blushed vividly, as she recollected how she had
been caught singing.
"Where's Miss Sibyl and Master Guy?" inquired Mrs. Tom.
"Miss Sibyl has gone to N---- with the clergyman's family, and will
not return for a week; and Captain Campbell has gone to Westbrook,
where his vessel is undergoing repairs. So I am left all alone, and
came to pay my respects to you."
"Then you'll stay and spend the evenin'?" said Mrs. Tom, smiling
complacently.
Mr. Drummond professed his willingness; and the little widow,
delighted at the condescension, set about preparing tea instantly,
assisted by Christie, whose wild, shy glances were bent on his face
whenever she fancied herself unobserved. Half pleased, half afraid
of him at first, she was reserved and timid; but as this wore off, he
drew her into conversation, and, to his surprise, found her
intelligent and well-educated. This Mrs. Tom accounted for, by
saying she had gone to school for the last five years at Westbrook,
residing there with the friend she had now been visiting.
The evening passed away with the rapidity of magic. Christie, after
much solicitation, consented to sing for him; and if anything was
needed to fairly enchant him, that sweet, clear voice would have done
it. Then, too, Carl added to the general hilarity, by drawing out a
rusty Jew's-harp, and playing a favorite tune of his own composition.
Not once during the evening did he think of Sibyl; her dark,
resplendant face, and wild fierce, black eyes, were forgotten for the
golden locks and sweet, fair face of blue-eyed Christie--this dainty
island Peri.
The hour for leaving came all too soon. As he reluctantly rose to
go, he pressed the hand Christie extended, to his lips, with such
passionate ardor that the blood flushed to her very temples, but not
with pleasure. Ere he left, Mrs. Tom cordially invited him to visit
her house while he remained on the island--an invitation he was not
loth in accepting.
Christie stood at the window, watching his tall, elegant form as he
walked toward the castle in the bright, clear moonlight.
"I like him, Cousin Christie; don't you?" said Carl, when he had gone.
But Cousin Christie turned away without reply, longing to lay her
burning cheek on the pillow, and muse over the new and delicious joy
that was thrilling her whole heart, and in her slumber to lie
dreaming "Love's young dream."
And Willard Drummond, forgetting his vows, forgetting Sibyl,
forgetting honor, forgetting all but this lovely island-maiden,
sought his couch with but one name on his heart and lips--
"Christie, Christie!"