Lo! they muster--lord and lady--
Brow of pride and cheek of bloom,
Pointed beard and tresses shady--
Velvet robe and waving plume.
Henry William Herbert.
Weeks passed on, and a round of festive entertainments took place in the
mansion of Gen. Lincoln. In all these Charles Lincoln mingled with a
discontented and gloomy air of abstraction.
Georgiana’s natural gayety seemed somewhat dimmed by this change in her
brother. Their society consisted of the officers of the fort, but it was
nevertheless of a kind to be grateful and pleasing to one of her
temperament; and her predilections had furthermore been awakened in
favor of a gallant young general in the service--so that there was still
a source of interest to her unconnected with the brother, whose strange
moodiness still gave her pain.
The fair colonist continued to decline mingling with the family, though
with a gentle steadfastness that her friend might not at any time have
found it difficult to disarm; but she did not insist, lest she should
give pain to the sensitive nature of the timid and heart-sick stranger.
It was on a pleasant evening in June that, by the open window of
Georgiana Lincoln’s apartment, Grace Bartlett was sitting languidly. Her
thoughts were evidently of the past--for at intervals the faint color
would fade from her cheeks, and an expression of deep mental pain pass
over her countenance--her soft eyes assuming a fixed look, as if her
remembrances were fraught with agony. As she sat in the dim twilight in
that state, her thoughts broke forth into pensive song, and she almost
unconsciously chanted the words,
Oh, the home of my childhood! my desolate heart!
Its merciless loss bids the warm tears to start.
Her voice gradually died away, and by degrees she closed her eyes and
slumbered. And now naught was heard save the gentle breeze waving the
branches outside the window near which she reclined. But ere her tones
ceased, they had reached other ears.
Charles Lincoln had stretched his lazy length on one of the couches in
the balcony below; and those musical tones came to him laden with
associations of other days--of a brief but transient period of bliss.
With a magic power they arrested his attention, and he continued to
ponder on them long after they had ceased, until he was filled with an
ardent curiosity to behold once more the young stranger of whom he had
caught a glimpse on the evening of his return, and whose position in his
father’s house had afterward been described to him by his sister.
Whilst his curiosity was thus at work, his sister approached him,
accompanied by the young officer above referred to, with whom she had
been enjoying an evening stroll.
“Georgiana,” said her brother, starting up to meet her, and drawing her
aside, “can you not prevail on your fair colonial guest to appear at the
masquerade this evening? I am dying to see her, for the melody of her
voice, just now wafted to my ears on the air, has reminded me of one who
was dear to me, and is lost forever. I would fain hear its tones in
conversation.”
“I have heretofore refrained from urging it on poor Grace to appear in
the drawing-room,” replied the young lady; “she seemed so averse to the
mention of such a thing. But I have do doubt that I could bring her
yielding nature to comply, if I were to put the effort in the light of a
favor toward me, whom she loves as a sister. It might do her good, too,
poor thing, if she could only be induced to make the exertion. It shall
be as you wish, dear brother; you may depend upon me.”
A few hours afterward more than ordinary excitement was passing in the
mansion. A masquerade was given to the officers--and the scene was gay
and picturesque. The main wing was lighted up, and gay with the
festivities. The sounds of merriment and laughter were heard.
Grace Bartlett had at length yielded to the request of her hostess that
she would be present, and had quietly submitted to be attired in a
graceful robe of India Muslin, so transparent in its texture as to look
like gauze. Her beautiful hair received a new grace from the single
white camellia with its drooping bud, which gleamed like a star amid
those golden tresses, so purely, so freshly beautiful, that it seemed a
fit emblem of her it adorned.
Georgiana Lincoln appeared a fairy vision of beauty and brightness; the
diamonds sparkling among her shining braids, and the graceful folds of
her lace robe falling around her like drapery around a Grecian statue.
The masqueraders were intent on their amusement as the two females
entered. Then, for a few moments, all merriment ceased, and murmurs of
undisguised admiration went round. The Puritan was seated at once by her
friend in a recess upon a couch raised a little above the floor, and
immediately after Miss Lincoln proceeded to mix among the company. In a
moment, a gentleman of elegant figure and handsome face pressed forward,
and saluted her with marked _empressement_. “My dear Miss Lincoln,
to-night carries me back to London refinement and fashion--dress--
scenery--company--beauty--fascination. This evening will be impressed on
our English hearts indelibly, to the utter forgetfulness of our
rusticated state in these American forests.”
“Do be grateful, then,” the lady answered, “to me for giving you some
taste of London and its fashion. Papa is much too solemn for any thing
but those great, pompous dinners, which I detest.”
“But tell me,” rejoined her companion, “how did you induce that lovely
flower” (and he turned his masked visage toward Grace Bartlett) “to shed
its perfume on our scentless hearts?”
“By exhausting all that irresistible eloquence of which you speak so
highly,” she replied; “for I recognize my complimentary acquaintance,
Lieut. R----.”
“Indeed! Well, she is perfectly lovely, and with a touch of sadness so
interesting,” said the gentleman. “I’ll exert myself to flirt with her.”
“I am not quite sure you will find that task so easy as you imagine,”
was the laughing rejoinder.
“Very likely,” responded Lieut. R. “But in a good cause I am prepared to
go great lengths, and as she is very pretty I’ll take my chance at any
rate.”
At that moment, another individual approached, and after the ordinary
civilities of the evening, said to her gently, “Miss Lincoln, will you
not walk on the gallery by moonlight?”
The words, as they were pronounced in a somewhat tremulous tone, sounded
musically in her ear, and taking the arm of the speaker she proceeded
with him to the place alluded to.
For one or two turns they promenaded in silence. The gentleman seemed
strangely agitated. He tried to say something indifferent, but it would
not do, and he plunged at once into the subject near his heart.
“I thought,” he said, hurriedly and timidly, “that I could have waited
calmly the answer which I requested in the early part of this evening;
but I overrated my own powers of endurance, and I come now to hear my
doom from your lips. Speak to me, Georgiana; I have dared to hope that
the regard I feel for you is not wholly unreturned, and that you prefer
me above some others around you. Is this so, dear girl, or must I teach
my heart to forego all its hopes of happiness, all those blissful
feelings of which, until I knew you, I was ignorant. Oh! do not condemn
me to disappointment,” he exclaimed, passionately. “Give me at least
hope. Georgiana, dearest Georgiana, am I too presumptuous?”
He spoke with strong emotion, and his was a voice, when in deep
persuasion, difficult to resist: his arm was still encircling his
companion, and she had not removed it, as she heard that the happiness
or misery of a life depended on her decision.
“Speak, dearest, but one little word,” urged her lover, in a whispered
voice of intense suspense.
Georgiana did not speak that word, little as it was, but she lifted up
her truthful face, and fixed her clear, dark orbs for one brief moment
fully upon his, and the next instant that lovely head was bent down, and
the rich, mantling blushes hidden on his bosom.
“It is enough, my own one,” murmured the enraptured suitor, in all the
ecstasy of that instant of first accepted love.
At length, remembering that they had deserted the drawing-room very
unceremoniously, they returned to find the company in some surprise at
their absence, but their excuses soon proved satisfactory, and they at
once mingled separately amongst the various guests.
Shortly after, Charles Lincoln sauntered languidly into the apartment,
closely masked. On first entering, he had for a moment fixed an almost
startled gaze of admiration upon the Puritan. To a close observer, deep
emotion would have been discernible beneath that mask. But a powerful
will struggled against the display of it, as, half concealed behind a
pillar, he retreated to look more intently, and without being observed.
He wished to discover whether or no his sense of vision had deceived
him. But no--it must be she whom he beheld--the same grace in the
drooping form, but how fragile did it appear; how painfully changed in
the character of its loveliness were the faultless features of that
face--when the hair, combed carelessly back from her brow, displayed
their delicate outlines. Her countenance spoke with truth of the ravages
sorrow had occasioned.
Lincoln gazed until he had convinced himself, rushed forward and reached
the astonished girl: then tearing off his mask, he exclaimed, “Grace!
dearest Grace, you live yet, and I find you in my father’s halls!”
The astonished and bewildered girl gave one cry, and fell fainting at
his feet.