I.

Among the pleasantest memories of my earlier days is one of an old

gabled farmhouse overlooking the sea. It is a July afternoon, calm and

hot. The sea is pale blue and its surface glassy smooth; but the passage

of a storm somewhere to the eastward causes long slumberous undulations

to lapse shorewards. They break upon the Devil's Ribs--that low black

reef about half a mile out--and the sound is borne to our ears some

seconds after the white-foam line has marked itself against the blue and

vanished. There is a fine throb of sun-loving insects in the air, which

we may hear if we listen for it; but more immediately audible is the

guttural drawing of old Jack Poyntz's meerschaum pipe, and the delicate

clicking of his sweet daughter Agatha's polished knitting-needles. From

within doors comes the fillip of water and the clink of chinaware--good

Mrs. Poyntz washing up the dinner-things. For we have just dined, and

the blessing of a good digestion is upon all of us.

Yes; there we three sit, in my memory, side by side upon the stone

bench outside the farmhouse door. The projecting eaves throw a quiet,

transparent shadow over us. Two or three venerable hens are scratching

and nestling in the hot sandy soil near yonder corner, and conversing

together in long-drawn comfortable croakings. The fragrant smoke from

Poyntz's pipe-bowl circles upwards on the air, until it takes the

sunlight high over head. Truly a pleasant time, whose peacefulness is

still present with me after so many years. I am old, who then was young;

but that July sunshine is warm in my heart to-day.

Poyntz was an ancient mariner--not lean and uncanny, however; but burly,

jovial, and brown; with a huge grizzled beard spreading over his mighty

chest, a voice as deep and mellow as a sea-lion's, and eyes as blue and

clear as the ocean upon which they had looked for more than sixty years.

He had been a successful sailor, had visited many lands and brought home

many cargoes, and was, in a rough simple way, a thorough cosmopolitan.

After his last voyage he had settled down in the ancestral farmhouse,

and applied himself to agriculture. He was as prosperous, contented, and

respected a man as any in the neighbourhood; and during the fortnight

or so that I had lodged beneath his roof, I had grown into a hearty

liking for him. While as to Agatha--ah, it was not liking that I felt

for her! Strange that that fair, finely-moulded, queenly creature was

only a sailor's daughter! Much as I honoured Poyntz, I could not help

sometimes feeling surprised at it. At all events, she was as perfect

a lady as ever stepped on high-arched feet; and I fancied that the

old mariner and his wife treated her in a manner more befitting a

distinguished visitor than a child of their own. There was sturdy little

Peter, now--he whose brown legs were visible beneath the low spreading

bough of a scrub-oak beside the mill-stream yonder--there could be no

doubt as to _him_. But what a brother for Agatha!

How well I recall her aspect, though it is more than twenty years since

that day. Her shapely head was bound about with a turban of her bright

yellow hair, but her eyes and eyebrows were dark. Her neck was round

and slender, and supported its burden in unconscious poses of maidenly

dignity. The contours of her figure were full, yet refined; her wrists

were small, and her hand was shaped like that which lies on the bosom

of Canova's Venus. Her manners breathed simplicity and sweet composure,

yet were reserved and serious withal, and sometimes they were tinged

with a shadow of melancholy. At such moments her hands would fall into

her lap, her head would droop a little forward, and her dark eyes

gravely fix themselves upon some sunlit sail that flecked the pale

horizon. So would she remain until, perhaps, the sail sank below the

verge, or became invisible in shadow; then, with a sigh, the soft

fetters of her preoccupation would seem to fall away from her. What

were her thoughts during those reveries? and why should they be sad

ones? I had never ventured to question her much as yet; her mystery was

itself a fascination.

One thing about her had attracted my particular notice from the

first--the curious pearl-shell necklace that she always wore clasped

round her smooth throat. It was composed of very small shells of a

peculiar species, not found in that part of the world. These were woven

into a singular pattern of involved curves, and were fastened with a

broad gold clasp, in the centre of which was set a large pearl. Handsome

as the ornament was, however, and becoming to its wearer, it would not

have so riveted my attention but for a circumstance to which I must here

make a passing allusion.

Among my most precious possessions at that time was a fine oil portrait

of my great-grandmother, who was a famous beauty in her day. My

family, I should have said, is of Danish extraction, though the

name--Feuerberg--was, after the emigration of the elder branch to

America, translated to the present Firemount. In my great-grandmother's

days there had been a bitter family quarrel; the younger brother had

attempted to cast doubts upon the legitimacy of the firstborn, and when

he failed to make good his claim, he had fraudulently seized upon a

large portion of the inheritance and made his escape--whither was not

known, for no effort was made to pursue him. It was believed that he

went to Germany and married there; and that afterwards he or his son

had made another remove, since which even conjecture had been silent

concerning them. But to return to the portrait. It was a half-length,

and had the quaint headdress and costume of the period, one detail only

being out of the fashion; but this it was that had always possessed most

interest for me. It was the curious pearl-shell necklace, woven in a

strange pattern, and fastened with a golden clasp, which was represented

upon my great-grandmother's statuesque bosom. This necklace had for

centuries been a family heirloom, and many quaint traditions were

connected with it. It was said to have been given to the founder of

our race by a water-witch, or some such mythologic being; and sundry

mysterious virtues were supposed to belong to it. Precisely what

these virtues were I cannot tell, nor does it happen to be of much

consequence. One saying only I remember--that the wearing of it would

ensure us happiness and prosperity so long as no member of the family

brought dishonour on the name; but thereafter it would bring ruin.

Now the necklace had been handed on from one prosperous generation to

another, until the date of the quarrel above alluded to; and then, all

at once, it had disappeared; and my great-grandmother was the last

person known to have worn it. She mentioned it on her deathbed, and

foretold that no good fortune was to be expected for the Feuerbergs

until the sacred heirloom was recovered, and made a symbol of the

healing of the family feud.

The negative part of the prophecy had certainly been verified. The

elder branch of the Feuerbergs never got over the effects of the blow

inflicted upon it by the younger brother. They gradually subsided from

their original high estate; and were at last compelled to abandon the

ancestral homestead, and try their luck in the New World. At the time of

my birth we were in decently comfortable circumstances, which improved

upon the whole as I grew towards manhood. I passed through college,

and was afterwards admitted to the Bar, which by-and-by afforded me a

tolerable income. But one spring I fancied myself ailing, and resolved

to try the sea air; and so it happened that I became acquainted with

Jack Poyntz, and with Agatha, and with her pearl-shell necklace.

Of course, all idea of recovering the original necklace had long ago

been abandoned. It had been conjectured that the seceding brother of

old times had appropriated it along with many other things that did

not belong to him; but there was no proof of this, other than that its

disappearance had been simultaneous with his own. Moreover, if the fact

must be told, I had outgrown the easy credulity of boyhood, and rather

inclined to suspect that the whole picturesque old tradition was three

parts imagination to one of truth. It might soothe my family pride to

ascribe our decadence to the loss of a trinket, or I might excuse my

indolence by declaring that fortune was attainable only on condition of

its being found again; but if I descended to hard matter-of-fact, as a

lawyer should do, I must admit there was nothing cross-questionable in

such an old-wives' tale.

Cross-questionable or not, it will readily be conceived that the sight

of Agatha's pearl-shells gave me a thrill of surprise, and deepened my

interest in one who needed no such accidental attraction to render her

irresistible. The necklace so closely resembled the one in the portrait,

that the latter might have been painted from it. It was possible, no

doubt, that my great-grandmother's necklace was not unique; that a

duplicate--nay, many duplicates--existed. But it was not upon the face

of it probable, nor was I disposed to accept any such commonplace

solution of the problem. I loved Agatha, and I loved to think (for have

I not hinted that I was romantic, though a lawyer?)--I say it suited me

to believe that the necklace linked her, however unaccountably, with

me. It was evident that she herself looked upon it as a most precious

possession. She wore it continually, as she might have worn a talisman,

and touched it often, twisting the golden clasp about, or following the

woven pattern with meditative finger-tips. Once, when suddenly alarmed,

I saw her grasp it quickly in her hand, as if either seeking protection

from it, or instinctively yielding it protection; and another time,

during a storm, when a vessel was labouring in the offing, and seemed in

danger of being carried upon the Devil's Ribs, I came upon her just as

she kissed the great pearl in the clasp, as a Catholic would have kissed

the crucifix to avert misfortune.

"Water-witch! water-witch! be thy spells wholesome?" I said in Danish,

for a knowledge of the ancestral tongue has always been kept alive in

the family.

She turned round, started, and to my no small surprise, answered in the

same language: "Doubt not the spell, if the danger be daunted!"

And then, seeming to recollect herself, she blushed, and said in

English: "It was a song my old nurse taught me. I should like to be a

witch, if I might save people from being shipwrecked."

I made no reply, and we stood silently watching the struggle of the

vessel with the storm for perhaps ten minutes. At length it succeeded in

tacking at the very moment when all seemed lost, and bore safely away.

Agatha's eyes met mine for an instant; there were both smiles and tears

in them. She kissed her pearl again and moved away. But my digression

has already gone farther than I intended. Let us return to the stone

bench beneath the eaves, and the hot July sunshine.