ETOILE L’ORIENT.
“She was all lightness, life and glee!
One of the shapes we seem
To meet in visions of the night;
But should they greet our waking sight,
Imagine that we dream.”—_George Hill._
It was the afternoon of a warm, refulgent day in October that Julius
Luxmore came in sight of the loveliest of Isles. It lay like some jewel
of rich mosaic on the heaving bosom of the bay. The girdle of woods,
that skirted its shores were just beginning to turn, and on the northern
and western side were tinged with a ruddy, crimson color; the low,
descending sun, striking full upon this hue kindled it up into a
flame-like refulgence,—a glorious, indestructible conflagration.
Contrasting with this was the green of the grass and shrubberies in the
interior of the Isle, that still retained its spring-like verdure.
Central in this oasis of verdancy and bloom, stood the white buildings
of the Island mansion and out-houses.
In his ignorance of the usual landing-place, Julius Luxmore could not
decide toward which point of the Island beach to direct his course. At
length, however, he determined to come to anchor, and go out in his
little skiff to reconnoitre the coast, and perhaps to make his first
visit to the mansion house. He accordingly gave orders to drop the
anchor, and to let down the skiff. And when these commands were
fulfilled, having made a careful toilet, he entered the little boat, and
alone, with his single oar, struck out toward the Isle.
On a nearer approach this gem of the sea grew, if possible, still
brighter and more beautiful. The calm repose and crystal clearness of
the water that kissed its shores, reflected as in a mirror the rich
refulgent foliage that girdled them. Julius Luxmore pushed his boat up
close under the overhanging branches, and so in the deep refreshing
shadows, proceeded to row around the Isle in search of some convenient
landing-place.
Presently he came to a tiny rock-bound islet of pellucid depth, that
might have been the grotto of the Naiad Queen, or the bath of beauty for
all the sea-nymphs.
And, oh, Orpheus! what sounds are these that break the silence like the
shiver of a thousand silver bells?
It is a voice of entrancing melody—a sweet, rich, elastic, bird-like
voice, caroling a jubilant, exultant air, the words of which are lost in
the rapture of the notes.
To enjoy this delightful song without disturbing the singer, Julius
Luxmore pushed his boat up under the shelter of an overhanging alder
tree, where he remained concealed in the deep obscurity.
Presently the song ceased, and the cessation was accompanied by the
sound of a plunge into the still water of the inlet.
He peered out from his hiding-place, but for a few moments saw nothing
except the widening circle of ripples where the water had been
disturbed—and then—oh, Amphitrite, and all the Naiads! What was it? Was
it a mermaid or was it a mortal?
The face and head of a beautiful girl of that sweet age between
childhood and womanhood, yet nearer childhood, appeared above the
surface. This fair creature was clad in a long flowing white garment
that completely vailed her perfect form as she floated gracefully about,
disporting herself in the bright pellucid water. Julius Luxmore dared
scarcely breathe, lest he should dissolve the lovely vision from which
he could not withdraw his fascinated gaze. As she swam or dived, or
reared her radiant head with its golden hair all spangled with the
diamond dew that sparkled in the slanting sun rays, she still sang
snatches of a wild, gay air, though in a somewhat lower key, as though
her sportive evolutions in the water, carried off some portion of the
overflowing life that had at first inspired her song. So she continued
to sport and sing—sometimes diving to the bottom and bringing up
handsful of the pearl-like pebbles that she threw high into the sky to
see them fall a mimic hailstorm into the calm water that then leaped up
in a thousand rainbow sparkles!—sometimes swimming joyously on to the
mouth of the fairy inlet, and whirling around and hurrying back, lashing
the water with her white arms in a whimsical affectation of terror; and
sometimes with bosom level and head only slightly raised, floating upon
the surface as idly and lightly as a lotus leaf, until the sun went
down.
“That is my Princess of the Isle!—that is my Star of the Sea!—as poor
Victoire called her! It can be no other!” said Julius Luxmore, gazing in
a sort of ecstacy of anticipated possession on the bewitching creature.
“Ah, Barbara, Barbara! even you would scarcely blame me for being
dazzled by such a prize!” he continued, devouring this beauteous vision
with his eyes.
“At this moment a voice was heard from the Island——
“Etoile! Etoile! my Pearl!”
“Here, Maman, here!” responded the clear, silvery tones of the swimmer.
And at her voice, a handsome quadroon woman, middle-aged, and neatly
dressed, emerged from the bushes overhanging the spot, and came
cautiously down to the brink of the inlet.
As she appeared, the little maiden came out of the water, laughing, and
wringing her dripping hair.
“Little Nereid!” said the nurse, fondly holding out her hand to assist
her in the assent of the bank.
“No! unless you mean the Queen of the Nereids!—Amphitrite, if you will,
nothing less!” laughed the maiden, as she joined her nurse, and both
disappeared among the trees.
“Was ever any thing out of Heaven so wondrous beautiful! And is that
exquisite creature, at some day or other, to be mine, my own? Upon my
life and conscience it may be so, for I see nothing to prevent it! Come!
even if to wait five years for her, were not the quickest, easiest, and
surest way of securing an immense fortune, it would still be well worth
while to wait to secure such a pearl as herself alone!” mused Julius
Luxmore, as he came out of his retreat, and pushed his boat onward on
his exploration of the Island shores.
After making about three-quarters of the whole circuit, he came to the
regular landing-place with its neat little pier, the protective railings
and the steps of which were painted green and white.
Here he moored his boat and paused to consider the propriety of, at that
late hour, presenting himself at the Island mansion.
The sun had set; but the reflection of his last rays still flushed with
crimson all the western horizon, while the orient was bathed in golden
glory with the beams of the risen full moon. Under the two lights the
lovely Island lay like a scene of enchantment. Lamps gleamed from the
lower windows of the white fronted mansion.
Upon the whole, Julius Luxmore could not resist the temptation to go
forward. He looked critically at his own dress. In view of this possible
visit he had, before leaving the vessel, carefully arranged his toilet;
and now upon examination, he found that it had contracted no soil, nor
in any other way had it become disarranged.
He stepped out of his boat, went up the steps to the pier and walked
onward under the tall branches of the trees, that met over his head, up
the long avenue leading to the house, until at last he reached a terrace
crowned with a trellis, thickly overgrown with climbing roses, still in
full bloom. He had but just reached this spot and noted a graceful,
golden-haired, white-robed female form leaning over the trellis of
roses, when he was suddenly struck and thrown down beneath an
overwhelming weight, to find himself in the powerful grasp of a huge
bull-dog, who had fastened his jaws firmly on his shoulder. Tightly as
the beast held him, it was with a certain wise and merciful reserve of
his fangs, for though his strong teeth clenched, they did not penetrate
the broadcloth of the coat, far less the skin of the man. Yet Julius
Luxmore felt certain that at the first struggle to escape, those fearful
fangs would be buried deeply in his flesh and crimsoned with his blood.
All this passed in a single instant of time, for, “in the twinkling of
an eye,” the white-robed female figure, whom Luxmore had recognized as
Etoile, darted down the terrace, and threw herself upon the great brute,
half-caressingly and half-rebukingly, and said—
“Why, Dragon! how dare you, sir? What ails you? Let go, this moment!”
But the huge beast, without relaxing his hold, rolled his blood-shot
eyes up toward his little mistress, and growled a remonstrance.
“What, sir! you will not obey?” exclaimed the little girl, taking hold
of his ears, and shaking his head. The dog released the prisoner, but
growled a very decided difference of opinion with his mistress upon this
subject of setting the stranger at liberty. Julius Luxmore, who had at
all hazards struggled to rise, now sprang to his feet, bowed, and was
about to deliver the neat salutation he had improvised for the occasion,
when Etoile interrupted him by saying, with inimitable grace and
simplicity—
“Stranger, I am very sorry that Dragon should have behaved so rudely; I
pray you to forgive him; he is not naturally wicked, and must have been
very unwell to have acted in such a surly manner to a visitor. I hope
you will think no more of it, sir, but do us the pleasure to walk into
the house.”
“I thank you, young lady,” said Julius Luxmore, with a bow, “I am here
to see Mr. De L’Ile, if he can be spoken with.”
“Yes, sir! and your name is——?”
“Julius Luxmore.”
The little girl raised a small silver whistle that hung at her side, and
blew a clear, sweet blast, that presently brought a mulatto page to her
presence.
“Go to your master, Frivola, and say that a gentleman of the name of
Luxmore has arrived, and desires an interview with him,” she said.
The boy bowed low, and went to obey.
“Excuse me, young lady,” said Mr. Luxmore, with a waive of his hand, as
he left the side of Etoile, and stepped after the page to say, “Tell
your master that Mr. Luxmore brings him news of his niece and nephew,
Madame L’Orient and Monsieur Victoire.”
Again the boy bowed, and then hurried onward toward the house to do his
errand.
Mr. Luxmore returned to the side of the little maiden.
“What a paradise is this home of yours, young lady,” he said, in a tone
of sincere admiration.
“Oh! do you find it so? I am very glad you like it; but it is very
strange you should!”
“You think it strange that I should like this charming spot!” exclaimed
Luxmore, in genuine surprise.
“Do you find it charming also? How curious!”
“Why, yes! Do not _you_ think it charming?”
“Oh, certainly, _I_ do! but you perceive I know nothing better than
this! But it is very strange that _you_ should find the Isle so
charming?”
“But why?”
“Oh! because _you_ came from the beautiful world beyond!” said Etoile,
with a sigh of aspiration.
“Ah! and you think the world beyond so beautiful?”
“Oh, yes, sir! I think it is!”
“Again—why?”
“Oh, because I know it!—it is a beautiful! a glorious! an enchanting
world, beyond these seas!”
“But how do you know it, my little angel?”
“Oh, sir! I can see from here its lovely shores! vaguely, indeed; but
still, I _can_ see them, and can judge what their celestial beauty on a
nearer view must be!”
“Whe-ew! ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,’ and ‘hills are
green far away,’ say the poets and the sages; and here is a little fairy
living in a fairy land, who thinks all beauty, poetry, and delight
resides in the work-a-day world ‘beyond these seas,’ as she calls it!”
thought Mr. Luxmore, as he stood contemplating the fervent, enthusiastic
little creature before him.
“And you have never been to the world beyond?”
“Never, sir! They say I came from that lovely world, but it is so long
ago I do not remember it.”
“I suspect you came not from the world _beyond_, but from the world
_above_, fair seraph!” said Mr. Luxmore, with an attempt at flattery.
But his little companion was far too unschooled in worldliness to
understand or appreciate the compliment, and she answered, simply—
“I do not recollect, sir! I wish, indeed, that I did remember the lovely
world whence I came.”
“And you have never had an opportunity of reviving your recollections,
even by a visit to the mainland?”
“Oh, no, sir!”
“Do you ever see persons from those shores?”
“Ah, sir! I have never in my life seen but _two_ persons from the world
beyond—and they were both so beautiful! just like the shores whence they
came; but like nobody at all on this Island!”
“And who were those angels, or demigods, in human form, young lady?”
inquired Julius Luxmore, as a pang of jealousy shot through his heart.
“Oh, sir! _one_ was Barbara Brande. She came to see me once after my
grandmere, Madame L’Orient, went away. Oh! Barbara was something better
than any thing I had ever seen before! She reminded me of a chieftainess
such as I have read of in history—I do not mean of a commonplace queen,
but of a warrior queen—a leader of armies, a Boadicea, a Zenobia, a
Semiramis! Her eyes were the eyes of a goddess—so full, and clear, and
commanding! Are all women in your world beyond like Barbara Brande, do
you know?”
Julius was thinking of that Barbara, that grand girl, whom the graphic
description of Etoile had conjured in all her noble beauty before him,
and he did not reply until the little maiden had repeated her question,
then he answered:
“Probably not. There are very few anywhere who would answer to your
description of Miss Brande.”
“Oh! but I would like to see her again!”
“Has Miss Brande been to see you often? Is she in the habit of coming?”
inquired Julius, very uneasily; for there could scarcely be conceived an
event more threatening to his projects than a visit from Barbara Brande
to the Island.
“Oh, no! oh, no! She was never here but once—that was two years ago,
directly after my grandmere departed!”
“Do you know why she never came again?”
“I think so! My uncle discourages visitors from the world beyond!”
“And he is quite right,” thought Julius Luxmore, to himself.
But Etoile looked pensive.
“Well, fair one! you spoke of _two_ very handsome visitors—the only
persons from the main you had ever seen!—_one_ was Miss Brande! Now I
have a curiosity to know who was the _other_?”
“Why, do you not know?”
“No, indeed!”
“And can you not guess?”
“Not I.”
“Well, then, of course it was _yourself_, stranger! Who else, indeed,
could it possibly have been?”
“Well, if that is not a sincere piece of flattery, I do not know what
else it should be called!” said Julius Luxmore, to himself.
“Ah! I do wish to go on the beautiful main!” sighed Etoile.
“But you have not yet told me, fair child, how—since you have never been
near the main—you know it to be so beautiful?”
“Oh, sir, you forget! I did! I told you that I saw both shores—dimly, it
is true, but I saw them! There is the coast that I call the sunrise
shore!—its beach looks like glistening silver! the verdure on its higher
swells of land like shining emeralds! and over all the morning sun
diffuses a rich, roseate glow! Oh, it is so beautiful even from this
distance! and how much more so it must be from a nearer view.”
“Whe—ew! the coast of Accommac! a flat reach of sand varied only by
starved grass and stunted evergreens. But I suppose the atmospheric
magic throws a charm over even that desolate shore,” thought Julius
Luxmore, watching with interest the young enthusiast, who ignorant of
his secret comments—continued in her strain of sincere, though erring
admiration.
“And then there is the opposite coast that I call the sunset shore, and
that is a thousand times richer, more varied and more beautiful than the
other. At different seasons, on different days, and even at different
hours, its aspect changes, and each change is lovely or magnificent.
Sometimes it looks like a shore of gold, when the refulgent light of
sunset glances athwart its sands—sometimes the hues are of amethyst,
sometimes of emerald, then of ruby, but always is the color of the coast
varied with the ever-changing, ever glorious sunset sky above it.”
Even in that pale moonlight, he could see her eyes kindle and glow, as
she spoke. And while he listened and gazed in growing admiration of this
fair creature, so beautiful, so refined, so cultivated, yet so entirely
inexperienced and simple, the boy Frivole reappeared upon the terrace
and announced that his master was now ready to give audience to Mr.
Luxmore.
“That is well,” said Etoile, who had had some doubts upon the subject of
the stranger’s reception by the reserved old man. “That is well, and I
am glad.”
“This way, please sir,” said Frivole, as he bowed and led the way across
the rose-terrace, and up the granite steps, through the front portico of
the mansion.
“My master is in his library,” he continued, as he preceded the visitor
down the central hall, until he arrived at the second door on the right
hand.
“Mr. Luxmore,” he then announced, ushering in the visitor.
Julius found himself in a plain, medium-sized apartment, having two back
windows. The simple furniture consisted of a straw matting on the floor,
straw-bottomed chairs ranged along the walls, window-blinds, and
fire-screen of painted canvas, a single mahogany centre-table, and one
arm-chair beside it in which sat Monsieur Henri De L’Ile, otherwise, his
Majesty the King of the Island, who now arose and stood in an attitude
of gracious dignity to receive the “Embassador.”
Mr. Julius Luxmore gave one quick, comprehensive glance at this
potentate.
The Island King had aged much since we last heard of him. His venerable
face, surrounded by its circle of snow-white hair and beard, was
bleached and sunken, his imposing form was feeble and bowed; his dress
was still studiously neat, and even elegant, though in the style of the
last century—consisting of a somewhat faded mazarine blue velvet coat,
white satin vest, white doe-skin small-clothes, white silk hose, black
pumps, and diamond shoe-buckles. He stood with his right hand resting
upon the table, and his left hand opened and waved—in an attitude and
with an expression that in a real king might have been called royal
courtesy, but that in Monsieur Henri De L’Ile, was something
indescribable.
Mr. Julius Luxmore found himself in a dilemma, as to the manner in which
he should address this anomalous personage. Firstly, it was vitally
important that this potentate should not be offended—secondly, that he
should be conciliated. How should Mr. Julius Luxmore avoid the first,
and effect the last? In truth, this was a serious difficulty—for should
the lunatic happen to be enjoying a lucid interval, it would be
insulting to address him as “Sire,” or “Your Majesty,” whereas, should
he, on the other hand, chance to be still under the influence of his
monomania, it would be treason and destruction to address him as
Monsieur De L’Ile. Meanwhile he filled up the swiftly passing moments by
slowly advancing and lowly bowing. And when he could draw no nearer he
came to a stand and bowed in silence, hoping that some word or gesture
on the part of his host would furnish him with the cue.
Not so—for the manner of Monsieur De L’Ile, or his Majesty, might
equally have been the patient politeness of a prince or of a private
gentleman.
Julius was almost in despair, while the necessity of speaking was
imminent—he bowed for the last time and commenced:
“I have the honor of addressing——” Here he paused not daring to add
either—“Mr. De L’Ile,” or “His Majesty, the King of the Isles,” but
waited, hat in hand, for the other party to come to his aid.
The other party did nothing of the sort, but merely nodded courteously,
and waited his further words.
Upon the whole, Julius decided not to take up and complete his
unfinished sentence, and “shirked” the difficulty by saying:
“I have the honor, sir, of being the custodian of certain documents
entrusted to my care by Monsieur, the late Victoire L’Orient.”
“The ‘late!’ Mon Dieu! the ‘late!’ And is the prince, my nephew, dead
then?” exclaimed the old man, in consternation, controlled even at that
trying moment by his sense of kingly dignity.
But Mr. Julius Luxmore now had his cue! he bowed with the greatest
deference, and lowering his tone to a key of the deepest solemnity,
said:
“Sire—it is with the profoundest grief that I announce to your Majesty
the death of his Highness, the Prince, your nephew, Monseigneur Victoire
L’Orient.”
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Oh, hapless house! Oh miserable princes!”
ejaculated the old man, sinking into his chair and covering his face
with his hands.
For a little while both were silent—Monsieur De L’Ile, from real
sorrow—Mr. Julius Luxmore, from affected respect and sympathy.
At length the former raised his head, saying:
“How and when did this occur? Give me all the details, sir.”
Julius bowed, and standing, cap in hand, before his Majesty, gave an
account of the voyage and wreck of the Mercury.
“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” was still the interjection of the bereaved old
man.
“But, pardon, sire—Monseigneur Victoire, the prince, your nephew, left a
daughter.”
“Go on, Monsieur; go on. You would speak of the Princess Etoile.”
Julius bowed profoundly.
“Say on, sir.”
Julius then explained that he had enjoyed the friendship and confidence
of “Monseigneur” Victoire L’Orient, who had entrusted him with the
guardianship of his young daughter; that he was prepared to exhibit the
will of the “Prince” at any moment most convenient to “His Majesty.”
“I will, then, overlook the documents to-morrow, Monsieur. Bring them to
me, in this room, at ten o’clock in the morning. For the present, I feel
overcome and must retire. Meanwhile, let me hope that you will avail
yourself of what poor hospitality a reduced king can offer. Be good
enough to ring, sir,” said the old man, in a weary but still dignified
manner.
Julius took the bell-rope, and rang a peal that presently brought the
little page, Frivole, to the presence.
“Boy, show this gentleman into the back drawing-room, and set
refreshments before him. Afterward, when he shall wish to retire for the
night, attend him to the bed-chamber formerly occupied by Madame,” said
“His Majesty.”
Then turning toward the visitor, he added:
“I hope you will palliate to yourself any lack of attendance that you
may perceive, sir. I have lately suffered a great loss in the death of
my chamberlain, Monsieur Louis, whose place I have not been able to
supply. Good rest be yours, sir,” and with a courteous nod and wave of
the hand, the King of the Isle dismissed the ‘Embassador.’
Julius bowed nearly to the ground, and walking backward, as from royal
presence, withdrew from the room.
“A courteous gentleman—a truly courteous gentleman. I like him well,”
ruminated his Majesty, who had never before been so adroitly flattered.
Meanwhile, Julius Luxmore followed the little page across the hall to
the opposite room, where the boy left him to go and bring refreshments.
“So—so,” mused Julius when thus left alone—“that clever quadroon
man-of-business, Louis, who gave the late lamented Madame L’Orient so
much trouble, and who might have given me a deal more, is now out of
everybody’s way—good. And his place as premier is not supplied—better. I
will endeavor to supply it—best. Come, Julius Luxmore, your star is in
the ascendant.”
While thus he soliloquized, Frivole reappeared, bringing a waiter with
lights and refreshments, that he arranged upon the table.
“Where is your young mistress?” inquired Mr. Luxmore of the boy,
hesitating to designate her as Miss L’Orient or as the princess, for the
simple reason, that he was ignorant of how much this boy might be imbued
with the illusions of his master.
“The princess has gone to bed,” replied Frivole.
Mr. Luxmore understood,—whether from credulity or policy, the negroes of
the place entered into the humor of their master’s monomania. The only
doubt left to be cleared upon this subject was, whether they believed in
or flattered the royal assumptions of the old man. And this problem
Julius determined to solve—if he could. But Julius Luxmore, with all his
cunning, was no match for the secretiveness of the youngest negro on the
Isle. He dared not, in many words, ask his young attendant if he
considered his master a madman. And to all his astute observations and
indirect questions, intended to draw out the boy’s thoughts upon the
subject, Frivole replied with a tact of evasion quite equal to the
questioner’s art of investigation. The boy’s manner was graceful,
smooth, and subtle. Mr. Luxmore felt himself playing with some
beautiful, slippery serpent, whose evolutions were all charming, but who
might possibly turn and sting him. He let Frivole alone.
When his meal was finished, the boy offered to show him up to his
sleeping apartment.
And Mr. Luxmore arose and accepted his services. He was conducted up
stairs and introduced into the second floor, front, right-hand chamber,
the best in the house.
From the front windows of this room, Mr. Luxmore looked out to sea, and
saw his schooner riding at anchor a short distance from the coast. Some
little anxiety he felt upon the subject of this vessel, left all night
in the hands of the negro crew; but, after mature deliberation, he
decided that it was best that he should remain for the night the guest
of Monsieur De L’Ile. So he left the vessel to its fate, and went to
bed.
It was a long hour before mental exhilaration yielded to bodily fatigue
and permitted him to sink to sleep, and then his slumber was disturbed
by exciting dreams of wealth and grandeur; and, after a restless and
perturbed night, he was early awakened by the carolling of a sweet,
joyous voice under his window. He knew that voice, and he slipped out of
bed, went to the window, and, concealing himself in the curtains, peeped
out.
First of all, out at sea, he saw his ship, still riding safely at
anchor.
Then, on the rose-terrace below, stood Etoile, her graceful little
shoulders wrapped in a blue silk mantle to protect them from the early
morning dampness.
Julius hastened to make his toilet and descend to the portico.
As soon as she heard the door open, and saw the visitor come out, she
turned and came dancing up the steps to greet him.
Mr. Luxmore saw by her manner that she knew nothing of the calamitous
intelligence he had the night before revealed to Monsieur De L’Ile.
He thought as she came toward him that she looked far more beautiful in
the morning light than she had seemed the evening previous. She was but
eleven years old, yet well grown and well developed for that age. There
was in her fair young beauty a look of unsunned newness and freshness
delightful to contemplate.
She came up carolling, but ceased her song to say:
“I am so glad you came down so early, Mr. Luxmore. The sun is rising.
Oh, come see it over my sunrise shore!”
“With pleasure,” said Julius. “From what point shall we view it?”
“Oh, from the eastern extremity of the rose-terrace, here—where there is
nothing to intercept the view,” she said, dancing down the steps, and
leading the way.
Julius followed, whither she led, to the eastern end of the terrace,
where they stood under an arch of multifloras.
“There; look out over the water. Look at the glorious world beyond!” she
said exultingly.
From the height on which they stood the ground descended in a succession
of gentle undulating green hills, down to the pearly beach, whence the
broad blue waters rolled sparkling away toward the far distant “sunrise
shore,” which looked, under the glorious morning light, like the very
foundations of the celestial city.
“See, oh see!—if all the precious stones that ever were created were
fused and streamed along the orient, they could not burn and glow and
radiate and flash like that!—could they? Look, oh look! first along the
blue water, a long line of silvery light; then golden, then ruby, then
topaz, then sapphire, then all the colors of the rainbow flushing the
clouds. Ah! that shore! shall I ever set my foot upon that shore,” she
breathed with intense aspiration.
“Ay, that you shall, my pretty one! I promise you.”
“Oh! have you that power, sir?” she exclaimed, turning quickly and
flashing upon him a sudden, penetrating gaze.
“Aye, I have that power, fair one, else I should not now be here.”
“But tell me how is that?”
“You shall learn in the course of the day, little lady.”
“Shall I tread that glorious shore very soon?”
“As soon as it may be proper and expedient that you should,” replied
Julius Luxmore, feeling a curious interest in the visual illusion that
presented a wild, rugged and desolate coast, under such a celestial
aspect to the insulated Island maiden; but wondering no longer that her
whole imagination invested the whole world beyond with such heavenly
beauty—for after all, the cause lay in the atmospheric effect of
distance, and she conceived the glorious shores only as she saw them.
The ringing of the breakfast bell summoned them to the house.
The breakfast table was neatly arranged in the back parlor on the left
side of the hell.
Madeleine the quadroon and her son Frivole were in attendance. But two
covers were laid.
Madeleine courtesied and announced that her master would not appear at
the table, but would breakfast in his room, and begged that his guest
would excuse him and command his house and servants.
Julius Luxmore would do that thing with great pleasure at some future
time, he thought.
He handed the little girl to her seat at the table, and took his place
at the opposite side of the board.
Madeleine was a good housekeeper, and the breakfast was excellent.
When the morning meal was over, Mr. Luxmore assorted his papers that he
always now carefully carried about his person, and prepared for his
visit to Monsieur De L’Ile.
At the appointed hour he presented himself.
He found “His Majesty” in the same room, seated at the same table, where
he had been first introduced to him. In truth, the Island King looked
not much the worse for the sad news that had been told him. He was
clothed in a somewhat faded purple cashmere dressing-gown, and now
seemed fuller of business than of sorrow.
“I am glad of this. It is the way of madness, however,” said Julius
Luxmore to himself, on seeing the state of the case.
As the “Embassador” advanced to the table, “His Majesty” looked up and
nodded graciously and desired that Monsieur would waive ceremony, draw
up a chair and seat himself, that they might proceed to business.
Mr. Luxmore complied.
But it is not necessary that I should trouble the reader with the
details of “business” transacted between a madman on the one part and a
villain on the other. It is sufficient to say that Mr. Luxmore presented
his credentials—consisting of the last will and testament of Victoire
L’Orient together with various documents, all valuable as corroborative
testimony to the authenticity of the will.
The credentials were so well received, and the bearer of the credentials
so well approved, that after some excellent diplomacy, Julius Luxmore
found himself so high in royal favor as to receive the appointment to
the post of premier, _vice_ Monsieur Louis, deceased.
His Majesty then occupied himself with details of the solemnities of the
royal mourning, which he decided should be purple; and then he
commissioned Monsieur the Minister—_videlicet_—Mr. Julius Luxmore, to go
upon the main, and make the needful purchases.
Finally, dismissing Mr. Luxmore to do his errand, he sent for the
“Princess,” and in a private interview communicated to her the facts of
the decease of her relatives. This intelligence threw over the youthful
maiden an air of seriousness that was, however, as far removed from
sorrow, as was the golden haze of these autumnal mornings from thunder
clouds. It was not natural that the young Etoile should grieve over the
loss of relatives, one of whom she had never seen, from the other of
whom she had been so long separated. In truth no one sorrowed. The young
maiden was too happy, the old man too crazy, and the servants all too
indifferent to do so. The “bereavement” spread no gloom over the bright
Island, where it was not fully realized. Only sometimes the mad old man
would suddenly recollect that he ought to be overwhelmed with
affliction, and then he would fall to tearing his white hair and
exclaiming:
“Oh, miserable princess! Oh, hapless house!” And having paid this
tribute of lamentation to the departed, would resume his habitual
cheerfulness.
The truth is, that the old man was sinking deeper into the infirmities
of body and imbecilities of mind attendant upon extreme old age.
And Julius Luxmore soon found himself invested not only with the
government of the farm, fisheries, and financial affairs of the Island,
but also with the care of the old man’s person, and with that of the
young girl’s education. It really seemed as if the place had needed and
waited for his coming. Had he been a conscientious and disinterested
man, his arrival would have been a most opportune blessing. But he was
selfish, and unprincipled, and he turned, you may readily believe, every
circumstance of his position to his own advantage.
He adroitly and successfully flattered the old man, and thus attained
the first place in the dotard’s esteem and confidence.
By delicate attentions and interesting instructions, he so well
recommended himself to the favor of the fair Etoile, as to become in
some degree essential to the little maiden’s happiness.
He also, in conducting the sales of produce from the farm and fisheries
of the Island, changed the place of trade from the hamlet of Eastville
on the eastern shore of the village of Heathville, about sixty miles
further up the Bay on the west coast. His motive for this change, it
will be easily seen, was to avoid a neighborhood where he was sure to be
recognized, in favor of one where he was a total stranger.
In short, Mr. Julius Luxmore did as he pleased. His rule “there was none
to dispute.” The old man was duped; the young maiden fascinated; and the
quadroon, even if she escaped the spell of his deceit, was, since
deprived of her coadjutor, Louis, notwithstanding her intellectual
brightness, but a meek creature, to be cunningly managed rather than
feared.
His schooner had for some weeks remained at anchor near the Isle; but
the negro crew were forbidden to leave her deck, and so had never
approached the beach. Every day Mr. Luxmore had visited the vessel to
look after the safety of the craft, and the necessities of the men. And
when at last it was convenient to do so, he had taken two of the Island
sailors, embarked with them on the schooner, and set sail for Norfolk,
where he paid off and discharged his hired men.
Then, having thus got rid of the “aliens,” he purchased some books and
pictures for Etoile, and a gorgeous purple dressing-gown for “His
Majesty,” and with the two home negroes, set sail for the Isle. After a
short and pleasant voyage, he arrived there to rejoice all hearts. And
it is difficult to decide whether was Etoile the more delighted with her
books and pictures, or “His Majesty” with his royal robe.
It is not to be supposed, however, that a man of Julius Luxmore’s age,
habits, and temperament, could be content to confine himself within the
contracted limits of a sea-girt Island, with no other society than an
old lunatic, a young maiden, and a troop of negro slaves, and with no
change of scene than an occasional voyage to Heathville, to sell a cargo
of corn or fish. With all Etoile’s delightful beauty, she was but a
child; with all his golden prospects, the time passed heavily; he was
wearied, bored; he no longer wondered that Etoile pined for “the
glorious world beyond.” He himself, who knew it well to be any thing but
“glorious,” also pined for it.
In a word, he felt the necessity of devising some plan of safe and
frequent intercourse with “the rest of mankind.”
But this communication with his fellow-creatures, to be secure, must be,
like the “reciprocity” of some people, all on one side. He must change
the scene; must often go somewhere; but no one else should ever come to
the Island. No one should know of the precious treasure hidden there.
But we will, for the present, leave this delectable young gentleman to
make the best of his good fortune, while we go back after his forsaken
love, Captain Barbara Brande, and her noble passenger.