---------------------"All this is well;
For this will pass away, and be succeeded
By an auspicious hope, which shall look up
With calm assurance to that blessed place
Which all who seek may win, whatever be
Their earthly errors, so they be atoned;
And the commencement of atonement is
The sense of its necessity."
Baby No. 2, had appeared at the home of Mrs. Salsify Mumbles, and the
delighted grandmother held the tiny little creature this way and that
way, gazing on its features with the most doting fondness, and nearly
smothering it with affectionate kisses.
And baby No. 2 did not squeal like its lusty-lunged predecessor. O, no!
it had the softest little feminine quackle, for all the world like a
downy young gosling; and Mrs. Salsify said she would have it called
Goslina, it quackled so sweetly. So Goslina Shaw was the euphonious
sobriquet of baby No. 2, and the joyful grandame returned it to the bed
beside the pale face of its mother, where 'twas quackling off to sleep,
when Mr. Salsify came in from the store, his features glowing, as if he
had some startling intelligence to convey.
"My sakes! what is it, Mr. Mumbles?" asked the fond wife quickly marking
her husband's excited manner.
"I guess folks will have something to talk about besides my getting
gagged at the Woman's Convention," said Mr. Salsify, rather maliciously,
drawing a chair before the grate and placing his feet on the fender.
"Why, what has happened?" inquired his wife, eagerly.
"Enough has happened," returned he, "if all Martha Pinkerton has just
been telling me is true."
"Where did you see her?" asked Mrs. Salsify.
"She came into the store to-night to buy a chunk of cheese; so I asked
her what was the news? when she told me of the awfulest tragedy that
occurred at Col. Malcome's the night they undertook to get Florence
Howard married to the colonel's son."
"O, mercy, who was killed?" exclaimed Mrs. S., with uplifted hands.
"Nobody as I know of," returned Mr. Mumbles, whose ideas of a tragedy
were different from those of his good wife; "but then the whole company
might have been, for they had a murderer amongst them."
"Mercy to me, how awful!" said Mrs. Salsify. "What was his name and how
did he get there?"
"His name was Col. Malcome, and he got there by his own wickedness."
"You don't mean to tell me that handsome Col. Malcome is a murderer!"
exclaimed Mrs. Salsify, with terror depicted on her features.
"Yes I do, and worse than that; he burned Major Howard's house, and
tried to get his pretty daughter married to her own brother."
"How can Rufus Malcome be a brother to Florence Howard?" asked Mrs.
Mumbles, in amaze. "You are talking nonsense to me, I fear."
"O, no," returned her husband. "I tell you this Colonel Malcome has
turned out the strangest. He is Major Howard's mother, and Dilly
Danforth's aunt, and that old hermit's sister, and the Lord knows who
and what else; but they have carried him off to jail, so there'll be no
chance for him to burn any more houses."
Here Mr. Mumbles drew a long breath and rested a while.
"I am glad I didn't marry him," said a feeble voice from the bed.
"So am I, my daughter," said the father quickly; "and you may thank me
for having saved you from a fate so deplorable. Your mother was mightily
taken with this colonel when he came fawning round us, and she was
pretty cross when I told her it would not do to let him marry you. I
knew that great black head was full of wickedness, and so it has
proved."
Mrs. Salsify sat rather uneasily while her husband vaunted his superior
knowledge of human nature, but the gentle Goslina began to quackle from
the bed, and she soon forgot all else in care for the dear little
creature.
While this conversation was passing at the home of the Mumbles, the
Hermit of the Cedars sat before the glowing fire which brightened the
rough walls of Dilly Danforth's humble abode. He had acknowledged
himself as her long-absent brother, and great was her joy at beholding
him again, though she grieved to know how one deep sorrow had blasted
his early promise and made him a wretched, solitary recluse.
"I fear," said she, at length, "you must still feel bitterly toward me
for the low connection I was so unfortunate as to form, which biased the
mind of your fair lady's brother against your suit."
"No, my sister," returned the hermit, in a tone of tender sadness; "I
deeply regret the harshness and wrong I visited upon you in the wild
fury of that early disappointment, for I have learned no act of yours
influenced Major Howard against my suit. It was the wily artfulness of
my rival, who breathed specious tales of my unworthiness in the ear of
the brother, and caused her, the fair, unsuspecting girl, to turn from
me and give her hand to Mervale."
The hermit's voice trembled as he pronounced these latter words, and he
bowed his head in silence. The sister pitied the sorrow which she knew
not how to soothe.
At length Willie entered, his face all bright with smiles.
"What makes you look so glad?" asked his mother, gazing with fond
admiration on the tall, handsome boy; for she still regarded him as a
child, though he was nearly grown to man's estate.
"I have got something for Uncle Ralph," said he, looking cunningly in
the hermit's face.
"What is it, William?" inquired he, with a solemn smile.
The youth drew a letter from his pocket and placed it in his uncle's
hand.
"It is from Edgar," said he, eagerly breaking the seal.
All were silent while he was occupied in the perusal.
"Edgar has received the disclosures in regard to the pretended Col.
Malcome with unaffected astonishment," remarked the hermit, as he
refolded the letter and placed it in his bosom. "He appears delighted to
learn that Willie Danforth, of whom he has heard me speak so
regardfully, is his cousin, and sends much love to him and also to his
new-found aunt."
Mrs. Danforth looked gratified at these words, as did also Willie.
"I am sure I want to see him very much," said the latter. "When is he
coming home, uncle?"
"In summer, when the woods are green, he says," returned the hermit; "he
is now taking sketches in the vicinity of Richmond, Va."
"Was his father an artist?" asked Mrs. D.
"Yes," answered the recluse. "I well remember where sister Fanny first
met him, and how quick a wild, deep love grew out of the romantic
adventure. It was a few months after we left this country--I to forget
in travel my cankering sorrows, she to companion my wanderings. How it
affects me now to think that we left you in suffering poverty without
even a kind good-by! Our shares in the estate of our deceased parents
furnished us with funds for travel, while yours had been squandered by a
dissolute man. But we should have given you of ours to alleviate your
wants and distresses. Fanny often told me so; but my worst passions were
roused by the misfortune I conceived you had helped to bring upon me,
and I would not hear her pleadings in your behalf. What a hard-hearted
wretch I have been!"
The hermit paused and covered his face.
Willie looked from his uncle to his mother, and at length approached
him. "Do not fall into one of your gloomy reveries," said he; "tell us
more of Edgar's mother."
"Ay, yes," said the hermit, rousing himself; "I was speaking of her
first meeting with her future husband. It was among the ruins of the
Eternal City. She had wandered forth by herself one day, and,
intoxicated by the scenes that met her eye on every hand, roamed so far
that when the shades of night began to fall, she discovered herself in
the midst of gloomy, crumbling walls and tottering columns, without
knowing whither to direct her steps. While she stood indeterminate, a
gentleman approached, and kindly inquired if she had lost her way. She
answered in the affirmative, and he offered to escort her home. I
remember how glowing bright was her face that night, as she came
bounding up the steps of our habitation, and presented the 'young artist
she had found beneath the walls of Rome,' as she termed her companion,
and laughingly recounted her adventure. I believe our family are
predisposed to strong feelings, for I never witnessed a love more
engrossing than was hers for the young Lindenwood; nor was his devotion
to her less remarkable. They were married, and I left them to pursue my
wanderings alone.
"When, after a lapse of several years, I returned, it was to stand over
their death-beds, and receive their boy under my protection. His father
was rich, and a large fortune was left to his only child. A few more
years I roamed, and then with the young Edgar sought my native shores.
"You know the rest. It is a long yarn I have spun you," said he, rising,
"and I marvel you are not both asleep."
"Are you going back to the forest to-night?" asked Mrs. Danforth, as he
wrapped the long coat about his thin form, and placed the broad-brimmed
hat over his gray locks.
"Yes, Delia," answered he. "I sleep best with the roar of the cedars in
my ears."
"I will go with you," said Willie, springing for his cap.
The twain set forth together, while the lonely woman sought her couch
and thought mournfully of long-past days and years.