Oh, is it not a noble thing to die
As dies the Christian, with his armor on!—
What is the hero’s clarion, though its blast
Ring with the mastery of a world, to this?
What are the searching victories of mind—
The lore of vanished ages?—What are all
The trumpetings of proud humanity,
To the short history of him who made
His sepulchre beside the King of kings?
WILLIS.
Henry Elmore and his wife had suddenly been called to New Haven, in
consequence of the receipt of a brief letter. By the same messenger, a
letter had also come to Jessy Ellet, from her lover, informing her of
his arrival in Connecticut, and giving some account of the capture of
the vessel in which he had sailed, and of the shipwreck, with the
details of his escape from which the reader is already acquainted. He
also hinted at some tidings which would make her heart leap for joy, but
added, that as he expected to have the bliss of meeting her before
twenty-four hours from the time of his writing, he would defer his
intelligence until then.
As Jessy sat alone, after having seen her sister and brother depart for
New Haven, counting the hours until their return and her lover’s
arrival, (for she supposed they would come in company,) her thoughts and
feelings were of that agitated kind natural to her situation in
expecting to meet so soon the object to whom her affections were
plighted, after his absence for months in a distant land.
That part of the letter she had just received, which spoke of joyful
intelligence awaiting her, increased the pleasurable disturbance of her
mind. To what could it refer if not to the subject upon which she had
opened her heart on the night when he had declared his love for her?
Some clue, she deemed, he must have obtained to the truth of her
surmises, and to the continued existence of that sadly beautiful lady,
for whom she had so strangely felt the instinctive yearnings of a
daughter’s affection. Filled with all that expectancy to which this
conviction gave rise, in addition to that which the announced arrival of
her lover was calculated to produce, she had drawn her chair into the
corridor at the back of the house, to enjoy the spring-breeze, and muse
at her pleasure.
As she sat thus, she was startled by the sound of a deep groan issuing
from the door opening upon the wing of the house to which the corridor
led. Much surprised, and inclined to think that her imagination had
deceived her, and that in the occupation of her mind she had mistaken
some ordinary sound, and fancied it that manifestation of distress which
she deemed she had heard, she aroused herself completely from her
reflections, and listened breathlessly to hear whether or not it should
be repeated. In a few minutes it was audible again. This time it was
impossible that she could be mistaken. It was a groan of human agony
which she had heard. She rose instantly and approached the door from
whence it came. She had never before sought entrance here, having always
supposed the place sacred to her sister’s devotions, and containing no
possible attractions which should lead her to visit it.
Hastily she glanced her eye along the door in quest of a handle or latch
to assist her in opening it. But it contained none. She then pushed it,
in hopes that it might give way to her pressure. It was firmly secured,
however, and resisted all her attempts. At length she was about to
desist in despair, when another groan, deeper and more heart-rending
than those she had heard previously, caused her to make one more effort.
She exerted her utmost strength, and in doing so, her hand accidentally
touched upon a secret spring, and the door suddenly gave way. She found
herself at the foot of a low flight of steps, up which she quickly
ascended.
Jessy Ellet here encountered another door which stood ajar. She heard
within the sound of a heavy tread, and, filled with astonishment,
hesitated whether to advance or retreat. Again a moan of distress fell
upon her ear. Stimulated by feelings of kindness and compassion no less
than of intense curiosity, she proceeded, and stood within a neat though
humble apartment. It was carpeted, and otherwise comfortably furnished.
A table, strewn with prints and newspapers, was placed in the centre of
the room. A low fire burned in the hearth, notwithstanding the lateness
of the season, and a couch was drawn near it, beside which was placed a
stand covered with phials, and a bowl containing nourishment for an
invalid.
Upon this couch lay the form of a person covered with a cloak. Jessy’s
quick glance rested here, and, at that moment, another of the sounds of
pain, such as she had heard, issued from beneath the folds of the
mantle. Instantly approaching, she turned down the cloak, and beheld the
face of the dying person lying beneath it. It was that of an aged man,
whose features were wan and worn. His eyes were closed, and through the
midst of the traces of pain which rested upon his countenance, might
have been discerned the calm beauty of holiness, and the placid smile of
one whose hopes were placed in heaven.
As Jessy stood, she became conscious, by a slight movement behind her,
that there was still another inmate of the apartment. Turning, she
beheld standing near, a form of manly grace and dignity. As she did so
the countenance of the person whom she viewed underwent an entire
change, and he regarded her with a fixed and painful earnestness, while
a flush that over-spread his fine features evinced no little emotion.
“Excuse my intrusion,” said Jessy, addressing him modestly, and with
embarrassment. “I heard a sound of distress, and came hither to learn
whence it proceeded.”
At the tones of her voice, the invalid, with another groan, stirred, as
if about to awake. It seemed as though there had been some magic in her
notes to arouse him, for his sleep had been deep, and she had spoken but
in a low key.
“I heard the voice of my Alice, did I not?” said he, faintly.
Opening his eyes, he beheld Jessy standing by his side. “The Lord’s
blessing be upon thee, Alice,” he murmured, endeavoring to stretch out
his withered and feeble hand toward her. “I knew thou hadst not utterly
forsaken us. See, William, she has returned; the Lord is still merciful
to us. Mine eyes have beheld her once more, and I have now no other wish
than to close them again and die.”
Jessy, supposing his words caused by the delirium of illness, gently
took the faded hand he tried to offer, and he continued. “Years have
passed over thee, my daughter. Thou lookest scarce older or less fair
than when thou wert wont to trip about thy father’s halls, ere trouble
visited us. Time has not dealt so lightly with thy husband and myself.
See how thine absence has wasted me until I am dying to-day. Alice, thou
must have been happier than we have been during thy separation.”
Surprised at these words, Jessy turned toward the other stranger.
“He mistakes me for another,” said she.
“Well might I too believe that thou art she,” replied the person
addressed, regarding her fixedly in an absent manner, and speaking as if
to himself. “Maiden,” said he, suddenly, shaking off for a moment his
waking dream, and advancing a step nearer to her, “by what name do they
call thee?”
“I am known as Jessy Ellet, sir,” she replied, modestly. “Whom do I so
much resemble?”
The person spoken to did not apparently hear the query. His whole senses
seemed absorbed in the one sense of sight; and he continued to gaze upon
her until, in spite of all his efforts at self-control, he seemed almost
completely overcome by some feelings of extraordinary emotion.
Jessy looked in surprise at his working features for a moment, and she
felt her nature melt in a flow of generous sympathy toward him, as she
tremulously and apprehensively repeated her question.
“Whom dost thou resemble?” he said at length. “Thine own mother, my
daughter—my wife and the child of that dying man. Behold your father
and grandfather in the unhappy beings before you. Come, my child, to
this long-forsaken bosom.” And he stretched out his arms to receive her.
There was a moment’s doubt on the part of Jessy; but a mysterious
instinct convinced her of the truth of the words she had heard; and the
next moment her arms were about the neck of the stranger, and her voice
was uttering through sobs and tears the endearing name of father.
After a while, gently disengaging herself from his embrace, she knelt
down by the side of the aged sufferer, and bathed his feeble hands with
her tears. The old man seemed to have no part in the recognition which
had taken place. His imagination mistook the gentle creature before him
for the lost child of his memory.
He appeared now to be sinking rapidly, and as the father and daughter
sat with full hearts in the consciousness of being thus united, and
listened to his labored respirations, the sound of approaching
carriage-wheels slightly shook the house. It ceased, and a vehicle
stopped at the door. A few moments more, and a creaking was heard upon
the stairs. Presently after, a step fell upon the floor of the room, and
a female figure softly advanced. The father and daughter started
simultaneously, and rushed toward her. In a moment the arms of both were
around her, and the heroic Alice Heath was at length restored to her
husband and child.
We should attempt in vain to describe the scene that followed. From the
state of torpor produced by approaching death, the old man was suddenly
awakened to all the pleasure of an actual reunion with her most dear to
him on earth. Imagination itself will find difficulty in supplying the
effect upon all, when, with hands upraised, and on her bended knees
beside his couch of death, Alice thanked God in all the fervor of true
piety, that she had returned in time to shed a ray of comfort upon the
departing spirit of her aged father. Neither can any conception paint
her feelings of bliss as she arose to be clasped again in the arms of
him to whom she had pledged her virgin faith, and was bound by the
holiest of earthly ties, or to meet the embrace of the daughter toward
whom her soul had yearned so long in absence with all a mother’s
tenderness. Suffice it to say, that love and affection, the first
elements of her nature, and her great sustaining principles throughout
all her trials here, found ample exercise in the full fruition of joy.
We will not linger on the scene with minute detail, since no power of
language we possess can convey the transcript as it should be. Pass we
on then to the conclusion of our story.