A cloud of darkest gloom has wrapt
The remnant of my brief career.
Margaret Davidson.
It would be equally needless and painful to linger over the sufferings
of the sick maiden. The fever, which the terrible and agitating scenes
she had passed through had excited, was so long in being subdued that
those who watched her trembled lest the loss of either life or reason
should ensue. When this was overcome it seemed as if she must sink under
the exhaustion which followed. Her constitution, however, though
delicate was good, and after weeks of unconscious agony, she did indeed
appear sensible of the fond cares of the young, high-bred lady who was
continually by her side.
Georgiana Lincoln was exactly opposite in appearance to the Puritan
girl. A high polish and elegance of tone and manner marked her at once
as the English lady of rank. Her style of beauty was one uncommon in
America. A bright, sunny brunette, the soft brown of her skin was warmed
with a rich crimson--the dewy coral has its freshness but not its
brightness. Her tall figure was almost concealed by a white robe which
still revealed the most exquisite proportions of her figure.
Grace Bartlett gazed on her with admiration, and endeavored to prove her
gratitude by some expressions of thankfulness; but the touching
mournfulness of her sweet face too painfully revealed that the causes
she had for sorrow were not forgotten with her returning consciousness.
A settled melancholy followed her recovery. Every thing was done to
arouse her from this. Among other resources that were adopted, she was
taken to the boudoir of her hostess and companion, where birds and
flowers formed the ornaments. But not the singing of the one, nor the
odor of the other brought delight to her heart. What were music and
perfume to her but agony?
To all Georgiana Lincoln’s attempts at consolation she listened with a
calm look of hopeless misery which plainly told how incapable she was of
receiving condolence. But despite all her causes for grief, and the deep
melancholy that consumed her, Grace could not but be touched with the
kindness lavished on her by the wealthy lady. Insensibly the poor girl
wound her feelings around her, and bestowed on her all that she had of
affection that was left from the grave of her parents, and the memory of
her lover.
One evening, when the unhappy maiden was unusually depressed, she was
seated in the boudoir of her new acquaintance.
“Thou art sadder than thy wont, sweet one,” said the latter, kissing the
brow of the young Puritan. “But if naught in thy own situation can add
to thy happiness, gladly as any change should be made in it at thy
slightest bidding, I feel sure at least that one shadow will pass from
thy sympathetic nature at hearing of thy friend’s prospect of happiness.
Rejoice with me, Grace, my brother is expected home.”
“It doth, indeed, please me that thou art about to have any contribution
to thy fullness of joy,” replied the poor girl, with a faint smile, and
a pressure of her companion’s hand.
“We will have a series of festivities in honor of his arrival,” resumed
the other; “and if you will not participate, dear Grace, in the dancing
and merriment, you can at any rate be present to observe the company,
and listen to the music. No wonder that thou weariest without other
society than that of thy tedious friend.”
Our heroine smiled again, but more faintly than before, as if the
tidings of the expected fêtes had little or no interest for her.
At that moment Gen. Lincoln appeared on the balcony upon which the
window opened, exclaiming, “Georgiana, my love, I have brought you a
visitor--a truant; yet one you will be glad to see. Come in, my
son--what do you remain there for?” he added, turning to his companion.
But the latter hesitated. His glance rested on the figure of Grace, so
graceful and almost spiritual, as it was brought forward in the shadowy
moonlight.
“My brother, my own dear brother! What joy!” cried Georgiana, springing
out eagerly to meet him; while Grace, startled and terrified at the idea
of a stranger, hastily withdrew. General Lincoln at the same instant
received a summons from below.
“Dearest Georgiana,” said the young man, “I am glad to see you again;
looking, too, as lovely as ever, or else this evening hour deceives me.
I fear me, though, you will deem yourself but little fortunate in my
return, for I come back in no agreeable mood, I assure you.” So saying
he entered, and threw himself listlessly on a lounge in the room.
“But I do rejoice to see you, dear Charles,” replied his sister, seating
herself by his side, and gently stroking back the dark hair from his
brow. “You will remain with us for a time, and we will be so happy.”
“Happy!” he exclaimed, with bitterness, “I see little prospect of my
ever being happy in this life; or at least whilst our father continues
this unjust persecution of the unpretending and religious settlers on
the borders.”
He then proceeded to pour out to Georgiana the miserable intrigues in
which Gen. Lincoln was engaged, and the embassy on which he had himself
been absent. “But, my sister,” he continued, “I have resolved to take no
further part in this accursed policy toward a defenseless and religious
people. I have long enough worked out the will of others--a mere machine
in the hands of my ambitious parent, who is striving by the course of
heartless persecution I have described, to please a jealous monarch and
a scheming court. The instigating of the Indians to massacre the
Puritans, and exterminate their settlements, will cry aloud for
vengeance.”
“Yes,” continued Charles, in an excited tone, “their death-shrieks are
ever in my ears--in the dark night their massacre is ever before my
eyes, in the day, heavy and dark upon my spirits--never away from me can
it be in the future, but will haunt me throughout my desolate life, and
seem to be calling on me to take vengeance against my father.”
“You talk wildly, dearest brother,” said Georgiana, looking at him in
some alarm. “How canst thou be desolate with thy sister to love thee.
And speak not of taking vengeance against our father, for that is God’s,
even toward the humblest adversary, and not to be named by a son against
his father.”
“Nay,” he answered, “hear me. I have just come from one of their
exterminated villages, where, in the character of a spy, I resided among
them some months ago, unsuspected by their guileless simplicity, and
receiving their humble hospitalities. On my return thither recently, to
visit one to whom I had become dearly attached, I found the place in
ruins, and the hapless villagers destroyed by the firebrands of Gen.
Lincoln’s emissaries.” He seemed overcome with his emotions, and rested
his head on his hand for some moments in deep reflection.
His sister appeared not less affected with sadness, and held his hand
silently.
By an effort, at length, arousing himself, he asked suddenly, “Who was
that graceful figure that I saw sitting at your side, when papa would
have hurried me so unceremoniously through the window. She could not
have thrown herself into a more becoming attitude for effect as the
moonlight streamed upon her.”
“Effect! poor maiden!” was the reply. “It was the last thing in her mind
at that moment. She is a prisoner, brought hither by the Indians, for
what purpose, originally, I know not. But whatever were his first
intentions with regard to her, our father has abandoned them, and
permitted me to treat her with the consideration due to her loveliness
and her unhappy situation.” The announcement of company in the
drawing-room here interrupted the conversation between the brother and
sister.