Morning broke at length. How different was the appearance of the ocean
to that it had presented the previous day! The dark-green foam-topped
waves danced up wildly, the sky was of a murky hue, the wind roared and
whistled as loudly as before, and the ship, instead of gliding on with
calm dignity, tumbled and tossed as if she was a mere cock-boat.
Sophie begged to come on deck. I assisted her up. Scarcely had she
appeared, when there came a break in the clouds to the eastward, and the
sun shone forth. "A good omen!" she exclaimed.
"We may take it as such," I answered; "and I trust that before long the
hurricane will cease, and He who holds the waters in His hands will save
us from further danger."
The wind ceased almost as suddenly as it had arisen, the sea went down,
and in a few hours we were able to clear the yards and bend fresh sails.
Once more the ship was standing for the land.
My first mate had frequently been at Saint Lucia, and he acting as
pilot, soon after daylight the next morning we entered the harbour.
The ship of necessity must I found be detained some days, as the
main-topmast was badly sprung, while she had received other damages in
the gale. As these could be repaired under the superintendence of my
first mate, I escorted my passengers on shore.
Monsieur de Villereine had begged me to come to his house, which was
situated about a mile from the town, but I felt compelled to accept
Henri's invitation to accompany him and his sister to his father's
house, a short distance farther off on the side of the mountain; and
more so, as from his weak state, he required my assistance in getting in
and out of the carriage. Poor fellow! my heart grieved for him, as it
seemed to me, though he had no apprehension of danger, that he was only
returning home to die.
I had asked Sophie whether she had mentioned our engagement to her
father and mother.
"I will do so immediately we get home," she answered; "it would be
better than saying anything at present."
Monsieur de Villereine's house stood on elevated ground, with extensive
sugar plantations below it. It was of a considerable size, surrounded
by a broad verandah. The handsome appearance of the interior, and the
numerous domestic slaves, gave me an idea of the wealth of the owners.
I could not help asking myself, "Will Sophie be content to exchange all
this luxury for the limited income and small house which I should alone
have the power of offering her?" I had but one moment to speak to her
alone. She seemed to divine my thoughts.
"I do not value all these things," she said, pressing my hand; "and I
trust that my brothers will live to occupy this house."
She had already told me of her two brothers, who were away on the other
side of the island.
After resting some time, we continued our journey to the house of
Henri's father and mother. A messenger had been sent on to warn them of
our coming.
I was much pleased with the elder Monsieur de Villereine and his wife.
They received me in the most kind and cordial way, but I saw how deeply
they were grieved at the altered appearance of poor Henri, and that they
were evidently far more alarmed than Emilie had been, who had constantly
watched him. Their house was even handsomer than that of Sophie's
father, though built in the same style. It commanded a beautiful view
of the town and harbour and the blue sea beyond it, while on every side
below stretched out the numerous sugar plantations; while here and there
were seen the whitewashed houses of the inhabitants, with their
gaily-painted verandahs and window blinds.
Though her manner was gentle and kind in the extreme, Madame de
Villereine's countenance wore an expression of sadness which seemed
habitual to it. I concluded, however, that this arose very much from
her anxiety about the health of her only son. Emilie tried to cheer up
her parents by assuring them that Henri was better than he had been, and
she hoped that before long they should be able to carry out their
project of visiting England.
"Though not our native air, it is yours, you know, mamma, and I am sure
it will effectually restore his health."
Madame de Villereine shook her head.
"I had thought so," she observed; "but I see a great change in him for
the worse, and I fear he is sinking under the same complaint which
carried off my dear sister."
In the course of conversation she happened to mention that the sister of
whom she spoke was a Mrs Raglan. I was struck by the name, and
inquired who she had married.
"An officer in the navy," she answered; "but he was ordered to the East
Indies, and soon afterwards she died, leaving a little girl. We
received notice of her death, but the island being at the time in the
possession of France, and war raging, we were never able to ascertain
what became of the child."
Emilie I saw seemed anxious when her mother began to speak on this
subject, and endeavoured, without appearing to do so, to change the
conversation. Soon afterwards her mother seemed much affected, and left
the room.
"I must ask you," said Emilie, "not again to allude to the subject, as
it recalls many painful associations."
"I will do as you wish," I answered, "but I feel sure that I am well
acquainted with the niece she spoke of;" and I then told her all I knew
of Kitty Raglan, my meeting with her father, and her marriage with my
old friend Captain Falconer.
She expressed her pleasure at what I had told her, adding, "It will, I
am sure, give great joy to mother, for she has always grieved at having
lost all traces of my cousin, though she has still greater grief of her
own."
Just then Madame de Villereine returned, and Emilie cautiously prepared
her for the interesting information I had to give.
"This is indeed joyful news," she exclaimed, when I had told her of her
niece's happy marriage with Captain Falconer; when suddenly she stopped
and sighed, and the sad expression which her countenance usually wore
stole over it.
"Monsieur de Villereine will to-day drive you over to see his brother
and his wife and daughter, and you must give them the account you have
given me. They will be greatly interested; and oh, how I wish we could
persuade Captain Falconer to come over and pay us a visit!"
A carriage shortly afterwards came to the door, and I accompanied my new
friend--Emilie wishing to remain with Henri. Monsieur de Villereine,
who had observed our approach, received as at the door. He welcomed me
with marked politeness, but it struck me that his manner was much more
stiff and formal than it had before been. He conducted us to the
drawing-room, where I hoped to see Sophie, but her mother alone was
there. I was struck also by the change of manner of the old lady,
though she was as studiously polite and courteous as her husband.
Having begged me to be seated, and made various common-place inquiries,
he led his brother out of the room, while the old lady continued the
conversation in the same formal strain. When I inquired for Sophie,
expressing my hope that she had recovered from the fatigues of the
voyage, she answered that her daughter was in her room, and that she did
not think she would be able to leave it that morning.
After some time, when it seemed to me that we had exhausted all subjects
of conversation, and my tongue had begun in a most uncomfortable way to
cling to my mouth, for I somehow or other had forgotten all about Mrs
Falconer, and that I had undertaken to narrate her history to her uncle
and aunt, I was in truth thinking only of Sophie and myself, the two
brothers returned and the old lady retired. They then sat down opposite
to me, and I could not help feeling, by the expression of their
countenances and their manner, that something not over agreeable was
coming. Monsieur de Villereine looked at his brother and then at me,
and hummed and hawed several times, as if he did not like to begin what
he had to say. At last he mustered courage.
"My dear Captain Laurel," he began, "I am sure that as a sailor you like
open and frank dealing. Now, I need not tell you how much we esteem
you, and how grateful we are for the inestimable service you have
rendered us, and for your kindness and attention while we were on board
your ship; but you must acknowledge that I ought not as a father to
allow these considerations to bias me when my daughter's future
prospects are concerned. Now you will understand, my brother and I had
agreed that she should marry her cousin Henri, although she herself is
not aware of this arrangement. My astonishment was nevertheless very
great when she told me that you had offered her your hand, and that she,
young and inexperienced as she is, had, without consulting me, ventured
to accept you. Such a thing, my dear sir, is against all precedent.
The whole of society would be subverted, and all parental authority
destroyed, were I as a father to allow what you do me the honour of
proposing to take place. I am, I repeat, deeply grateful to you for the
inestimable service you have rendered me, but I must ask you to be
generous, and not insist on my giving you the reward you demand."
"My dear sir," I exclaimed, "I do not ask for your daughter's hand as a
reward for anything I have done, though I esteem it the highest prize I
could win. The service you are pleased to say I have rendered you, I
should equally have given to any fellow-creature, and I therefore ask
your daughter's hand as a free gift. I love her devotedly, and she has
consented, with your permission, to be mine."
"My permission I cannot give, Captain Laurel," exclaimed the old
gentleman, growing more and more agitated. "I desire to reward you to
the utmost of my power, and you have my sincere and hearty gratitude;
but more I cannot and will not offer. I regret deeply to say this, and
I am grieved--greatly grieved. My brother knows my determination, and I
am sure that you will agree that it is better I should express it at
once."
In vain I attempted to plead my cause. I entreated to see Sophie, but
her father replied that that would only be painful and useless; and at
length the elder Monsieur de Villereine observing that his carriage was
ready, I took the hint, and, feeling as if I was walking in a dream, I
got into it. I felt dreadfully cast down. It seemed to me that Sophie
was lost to me for ever, and I might not again have an opportunity of
seeing her.
"I have some few commissions to perform in the town," said my friend,
"and we will drive there. But notwithstanding what has occurred, I must
insist on your coming back with me to see Henri: he and his sister will
afford you all the consolation they can. But my brother is very
determined, and I know him so well that I cannot tell you to keep up
your hopes. It would be wiser for you to abandon them altogether."
We reached the town, and when we got there I was much inclined to go on
board the ship and remain: but Monsieur de Villereine pressed me so
earnestly to return, that, for the sake of Henri, I agreed to do so.
As, however, I wished to go on board for a short time, he undertook to
wait for me. Taking a boat from the shore, I pulled out to the _Ellen_.
I had not been long on board before Dick asked me to step into the
cabin, as he had something of interest to communicate to me.
"Well, Captain Laurel," he said, as soon as we were seated, "I went on
shore yesterday evening and walked up the town, and I am as sure as I am
alive that this is the very place where you came from. As I walked up
the street, I came to the very spot where the black woman handed you to
me when you were a little chap scarcely higher than my knee--I could
swear to it in any court of justice, if it were necessary--and, as I
think I have told you, I have always carried about me the very coral you
had on at the time; and now I would advise you to lose no time in making
inquiries about the matter among your friends."
So wretched did I feel, that I was very little disposed to do this, and
had I not promised to rejoin Monsieur de Villereine, I think that I
should have remained on board, to get ready for sailing as fast as
possible. I however told Dick that I would do as he recommended.
I found Monsieur de Villereine waiting on the quay for me. As soon as
we had got clear of the town, I began to speak to him on the subject.
As I went on, I was surprised at the extraordinary agitation he
exhibited.
"Do I understand from you, my dear sir, that you yourself were carried
away from this island when about four years of age?" he asked, pulling
up his horse, as if he felt unable to guide the animal, and gazing at me
earnestly.
"One of my mates, who has acted the part of a father to me, has assured
me so," I answered, "though I myself have a very indistinct recollection
even of events which occurred much after that."
"The ways of heaven are indeed mysterious," exclaimed Monsieur de
Villereine. "At the time you mention, my second son, two years younger
than Henri, while in charge of a black nurse, was lost to us. The poor
woman was wounded by a chance shot during an attack from an English
squadron, and she died shortly afterwards without being able to give any
account of what had become of the child, though we had hopes that he had
been carried on board one of the men-of-war. As, however, two of them
were afterwards lost, we abandoned all expectation of ever again seeing
our son. I must not raise your hopes too high, nor my own, and yet when
I look at your features, and think of what my son might have been, I
cannot but believe that you are indeed my lost boy. His name, too, was
Charles, which may be a remarkable coincidence. You tell me that that
name was given you on board the ship."
As may be supposed, my heart beat violently as Monsieur de Villereine
said this; yet I could not help trusting that he was indeed my father.
That he might himself make inquiries of Dick, I offered to send on board
at once for my mate. We accordingly drove back into the town. Dick
soon arrived at the hotel, where we remained for him. Monsieur de
Villereine cross-questioned him narrowly, and on his producing the coral
I spoke of, any doubts he might have entertained vanished.
"My dear boy," he exclaimed, embracing me, "you are indeed my long-lost
son. Your recovery will, I trust, be the means of preserving your poor
mother's life, for she has, I fear, a great grief in store for her; for,
although she hoped for the best, I cannot but see that your poor brother
Henri's days are numbered."
I need not repeat what more my father said. Taking Dick in the
carriage, we drove rapidly home. My father hurried in first to prepare
my mother, and in a few minutes I had the happiness of being clasped in
her arms, and receiving the affectionate kisses of my sister Emilie and
the warm congratulations of poor Henri.
"I always loved you as a brother," he exclaimed; "and now I am indeed
delighted to find that you are so in reality."
I was scarcely aware how quickly the time had gone by, when carriage
wheels were heard approaching the house.
"I sent off a note to your uncle and aunt," said Emilie to me, "as I was
sure they would be glad to hear the news, and here they are."
They entered the room directly afterwards, followed by Sophie. The
formal manner my uncle had assumed had vanished. After he and my aunt
had cordially welcomed me, the whole party disappeared from the room
with the exception of Sophie.
"Papa has withdrawn his objection," she whispered; "and I told him I
would never marry any one but you."