Miles Wallingford Part 9

"It is Christianity--its spirit, its very essence; without which the heart cannot be right, let the tongue proclaim what delusion it may."

Marble had imbibed a sincere respect for my late guardian, equally from what he had heard me say in his favour and what he had seen himself, of his benevolent feelings kind-hearted morality, and excellent sense.

Nevertheless, it was not an easy matter to teach a being like Marble the lesson that he was to do good to those who used him despitefully; and just at that moment he was in a frame of mind to do almost anything else, sooner than pardon Van Ta.s.sel. All this I could see, understanding the man so well and, in order to prevent a useless discussion that might disturb my sister, I managed to change the discourse before it was too late; I say too late, because it is not easy to shake off two moralists who sustain their doctrines as strongly as Mr. Hardinge and my mate.

"I am glad the name of this Mr. Van Ta.s.sel has been mentioned," I observed, "as it may be well to have your advice, sir, concerning our best mode of proceeding in his affair."

I then related to Mr. Hardinge the history of the mortgage, and the necessity there was for prompt.i.tude, inasmuch as the sale was advertised for the ensuing week. My late guardian was better acquainted with the country, up the river, than I was myself; and it was fortunate the subject was broached, as he soon convinced me the only course to be pursued was to put Marble ash.o.r.e at Hudson, where, if too late for the regular stage, he might obtain some other conveyance, and proceed to town by land. This would barely leave him time to transact all the necessary business, and to be back in season to prevent the t.i.tle to the Willow Cove from pa.s.sing into the usurer's grasp. As was usual with Mr. Hardinge, he entered into this, as into every good work, heart and hand, and immediately set about writing directions for Marble's government when he got ash.o.r.e. This put in end to the banquet, and glad was I to see the table removed, and the other signs of a tranquil night reappear.

It was twelve before the sloop was as low as Hudson, and I saw by our rate of sailing, that, indeed, there was little prospect of her reaching New York in time for Marble's necessities. He was landed, therefore, and Mr.

Hardinge and myself accompanied him to the stage-house, where we ascertained that the next morning after breakfast he would be enabled to get into the stage, which would reach town in the evening of the succeeding day. But this was altogether too slow for Marble's impatience.

He insisted on procuring a private conveyance, and we saw him drive out of the long street that then composed most of the city of Hudson, at a slapping pace, about one o'clock in the morning. This important duty discharged, Mr. Hardinge and I returned to the sloop in which Neb had been standing off and on, in waiting for us, and again made sail down the river. When I turned in, the Wallingford was getting along at the rate of about five miles the hour; the wind having freshened, and come out at the westward, a quarter that just enabled her to lay her course.

The reader will easily imagine I did not oversleep myself the following morning. My uneasiness was so great, indeed, that I dreamed of the dreadful accident which had produced my father's death, and then fancied that I saw him, my mother, and Grace, all interred at the same time, and in the same grave. Fortunately, the wind stood at the west, and the sloop was already within twenty miles of the creek at Clawbonny, when I got on deck. All was quiet in the after-cabin; and, Mr. Hardinge still continuing in his berth, I went out to breathe the fresh morning air, without speaking to any below. There was no one on the quarter-deck but the pilot, who was at the helm; though I saw a pair of legs beneath the boom, close in with the mast, that I knew to be Neb's, and a neat, dark petticoat that I felt certain must belong to Chloe. I approached the spot, in tending to question the former on the subject of the weather during his watch; but, just as about to hail him, I heard the young lady say, in a more animated tone than was discreet for the character of the conversation--

"No, _nebber_, sah--_nebber_, widout de apperbation of my modder and de whole famerly. Mattermony a berry differ t'ing, Neb, from what you surposes. Now, many a young n.i.g.g.e.r gentleman imagine dat he has only to coax his gal to say 'yes,' and den dey goes to de clergy and stands up for de blessin', and imagines all right for de futur', and for de present time, all which is just a derlusion and a derception. No, sah; mattermony a berry differ t'ing from _dat,_ as any old lady can tell you. De fuss t'ing in mattermony, is to hab a _consent_."

"Well, Chloe, and hab'n't I had dis berry consent from you, now for most two year?"

"Ay, dat not de consent I surposes. You wouldn't t'ink, Neb, ongrateful feller, to get marry, widout first askin' do consent of Ma.s.ser Mile, I _do_ surpose! You, who has been his own waiter so long, and has gone to sea wid him so often; and has saved his life; and has helped kill so many hateful saverges; and has been on a desert conternent wid him."

"I nebber told you dat, Chloe--I said on an island."

"Well, what's the differ? You cannot tell me anyt'ing of edercation, Neb; for I hab hear Miss Grace and Miss Lucy say deir lesson so often, dat I sometime surposes I can say 'em all, one by one, almost as well as my young lady, 'emselves. No, Neb; on _dat_ subjeck better be silent. You been much too busy, ebber to be edercated; and, if I _do_ marry you, remember I now tell you, I shall not enter into mattermony wid you on account of any edercation you hab."

"All Clawbonny say dat we can make as good a couple, Chloe, as ebber stood up togedder."

"All Clawbonny don't know much of mattermony, Neb. People talks inderskrimernaterly, and doesn't know what dey says, too often. In de fuss place my modder, my own born modder, upposes our uner, and dat is a great differculty to begin wid. When a born modder upposes, a darter ought to t'ink sebberal time."

"Let me speak to Ma.s.ser Mile; he'll fetch up her objeckshun wid a round turn."

"What dat, Neb?"

"It mean Ma.s.ser will _order_ her to consent."

"Dat nebber saterfy my conscience, Neb. We be n.i.g.g.e.r dat true; but no Clawbonny master ebber tell a Clawbonny slabe to get marry, or not to get marry, as he choose. Dat would be intollabull, and not to be supported!

No; mattermony is religion; and religion free. No colour' young lady hab vergin aff.e.c.kshun, to t'row 'em away on just whom her ma.s.ser say. But, Neb, dere one odder differculty to our uner dat I don't know--sometime, I feel awful about it!"

As Chloe now spoke naturally, for the first time. Neb was evidently startled; and I had sufficient amus.e.m.e.nt, and sufficient curiosity, to remain stationary in order to hear what this new obstacle might be. The voice of the negress was music itself; almost as sweet as Lucy's; and I was struck with a slight tremor that pervaded it, as she so suddenly put an end to all her own affectation of sentiment, and nipped her airs and graces, as it might be, in the bud.

"Nebber talk to me of mattermony, Neb," Chloe continued, almost sobbing as she spoke, "while Miss Grace be in dis berry bad way! It hard enough to see her look so pale and melercholy, widout t'inking of becomin' a wife."

"Miss Grace will grow better, now Ma.s.ser Mile carry her on de water. If he only take her to sea, she get so fat and hearty, no libbin' wid her!"

Chloe did not acquiesce in this opinion; she rather insisted that "Miss Grace" was altogether too delicate and refined a person to live in a s.h.i.+p.

But the circ.u.mstance that struck me with the greatest force, in this characteristic dialogue, was the fact that Chloe betrayed to me the consciousness of the cause of my sister's indisposition; while true to her s.e.x's instincts, and faithful to her duty, the girl completely concealed it from her lover. I was also oppressively struck with the melancholy forebodings that appeared in Chloe's manner, rather than in her words, and which made it apparent that she doubted of her young mistress's recovery.

She concluded the conversation by saying--

"No, no, Neb--don't talk to me of mattermony while Miss Grace so ill; and if any t'ing _should_ happen, you need nebber talk to me of it, at _all_.

I could nebber t'ink of any uner (union) should anyt'ing happen to Miss Grace. Lub (love) will die forebber in de family, when Miss Grace die!"

I turned away, at this speech, the tears starting to my eyes, and saw Lucy standing in the companion-way. She was waiting to speak to me, and no sooner caught my eye, than beckoning me to her side, she let me know that my sister desired to see me. Erasing every sign of emotion as soon as possible, I descended with Lucy, and was soon at the side of my sister's berth.

Grace received me with an angelic smile; but, I almost gasped for breath as I noticed the prodigious change that had come over her in so brief a s.p.a.ce. She now looked more like a being of another world than ever; and this, too, immediately after coming from the refreshment of a night's rest. I kissed her forehead, which had an unnatural chill on it, I thought; and I felt the feeble pressure of an arm that was thrown affectionately round my neck. I then sat down on the transom, still holding my sister's hand. Grace looked anxiously at me for half a minute, ere she spoke, as if to ascertain how far I was conscious of her situation.

"Lucy tells me, brother," she at length said, "that you think of carrying me down the river, as far as town, in order to get further advice. I hope this is a mistake of our dear Lucy's, however?"

"It is not, Grace. If the wind stand here at the westward, I hope to have you in Lucy's own house in Wall street, by to-morrow evening. I know she will receive you hospitably, and have ventured to form the plan without consulting you on the subject."

"Better that I should be at Clawbonny--if anything can now do me good, brother, it will be native air, and pure country air. Hearken to my request, and stop at the creek."

"Your serious request, Grace, will be a law to me, if made on due reflection. This growing feebleness, however, alarms me; and I cannot justify it to myself not to send for advice."

"Remember, Miles, it is not yet twenty-four hours since one of the ablest men of the country saw me. We have his written instructions; and, all that man can do for me, they will do for me. No, brother; listen to my entreaties, and go into the creek. I pine, I pine to be again at dear Clawbonny, where alone I can enjoy anything like peace of body or mind.

This vessel is unsuited to me; I cannot think of a future, or pray in it.

Brother, _dearest_ brother, carry me home, if you love me!"

There was no resisting such an appeal. I went on deck with a heavy heart, and gave the necessary orders to the pilot; and, in about eight-and-forty hours after we emerged into the Hudson, we left that n.o.ble stream again, to shoot beneath the shaded, leafy banks of our own inlet. Grace was so feeble as to be carried to the chaise, in which she was supported by Lucy, during the short drive to the house. When I reached my own dwelling, I found Mr. Hardinge pacing the little portico, or piazza, waiting for my arrival, with an uneasiness of manner that at once proclaimed his anxiety to see me. He had driven the horse of the chaise, and had imbibed a first impression of Grace's danger.

"Miles, my dear boy--my second son"--the simple-hearted, excellent old man commenced; "Miles, my dear boy, the hand of G.o.d has been laid heavily on us--your beloved sister, my own precious Grace, is far more ill than I had any idea of, before this morning."

"She is in the hands of her merciful Creator," I said, struggling to command myself, "who, I greatly fear, is about to call her from a world that is not good enough for one so innocent and pure, to take her to himself. I have foreseen this from the hour I first met her, after my return; though a single ray of hope dawned on me, when Post advised the change of scene. So far from producing good, this excursion has produced evil; and she is much worse than when we left home."

"Such short-sighted mortals are we!--But what can we do, my boy?--I confess my judgment, my faculties themselves, are nearly annihilated by the suddenness of this shock. I had supposed her illness some trifling complaint that youth and care would certainly remove; and here we stand, as it might be, at the call of the trumpet's blast, almost around her grave!"

"I am most anxious to lean on your wisdom and experience, my dear sir, at this critical moment; if you will advise, I shall be happy to follow your instructions."

"We must lean on G.o.d, Miles," answered my worthy guardian, still pacing the piazza, the tears running down his cheeks in streams, and speaking so huskily as barely to be intelligible; "yes, we will have the prayers of the congregation next Sunday morning; and most devout and heartfelt prayers they will be; for her own sainted mother was not more deservedly loved! To be called away so young--to die in the first bloom of youth and loveliness, as it were--but, it is to go to her G.o.d! We must endeavour to think of her gain--to rejoice over, rather than mourn her loss."

"I grieve to perceive that you regard my sister's case as so entirely hopeless, sir."

"Hopeless!--It is full of the brightest promise; and when I come to look calmly at it, my reason tells me I ought not to grieve. Still, Miles, the loss of Lucy, herself, would scarce be a more severe blow to me. I have loved her from childhood, cared for her as for one of my own, and feel the same love for her that I should feel for a second daughter. Your parents were dear to me, and their children have always appeared to me to belong to my own blood. Had I not been your guardian, boy, and you and Grace been comparatively so rich, while I and mine were so poor, it would have been the first wish of my heart to have seen Rupert and Grace, you and Lucy, united, which would have made you all my beloved children alike.

I often thought of this, until I found it necessary to repress the hope, lest I should prove unfaithful to my trust. Now, indeed, Mrs. Bradfort's bequest might have smoothed over every difficulty; but it came too late!

It was not to be; Providence had ordered otherwise."

"You had an ardent supporter of your scheme in one of your children, at least, sir."

"So you have given me to understand, Miles, and I regret that I was informed of the fact so late, or I might have contrived to keep off other young men while you were at sea, or until an opportunity offered to enable you to secure my daughter's affections. That done, neither time nor distance could have displaced you; the needle not being more true than Lucy, or the laws of nature more certain."

"The knowledge of these sterling qualities, sir, only makes me regret my having come too late, so much the more."

"It was not to be;--at one time, I _did_ think Rupert and Grace had a preference for each other; but I must have been deceived. G.o.d had ordered it otherwise, and wisely no doubt; as his omniscience foresaw the early drooping of this lovely flower. I suppose their having been educated together, so much like brother and sister, has been the reason there was so much indifference to each other's merits. You have been an exception on account of your long absences, Miles, and you must look to those absences for the consolation and relief you will doubtless require. Alas! alas!

that I could not now fold Grace to my heart, as a daughter and a bride, instead of standing over her grave! Nothing but Rupert's diffidence of his own claims, during our days of poverty, could have prevented him from submitting himself to so much loveliness and virtue. I acquit the ad of insensibility; for nothing but the sense of poverty and the pride of a poor gentleman, added perhaps to the brotherly regard he has always felt for Grace, could have kept him from seeking her hand. Grace, properly enough, would have requited his affection."

Such is a specimen of the delusion under which we live, daily. Here was my sister dying of blighted affections, under my own roof; and the upright, conscientious father of the wretch who had produced this withering evil, utterly unconscious of the wrong that had been done; still regarding his son with the partiality and indulgence of a fond parent. To me, it seemed incredible at the time, that unsuspecting integrity could carry its simplicity so far; but I have since lived long enough to know that mistakes like these are constantly occurring around us; effects being hourly attributed to causes with which they have no connection; and causes being followed down to effects, that are as imaginary as human sagacity is faulty. As for myself, I can safely say, that in scarce a circ.u.mstance of my life, that has brought me the least under the cognizance of the public, have I ever been judged justly. In various instances have I been praised for acts that were either totally without any merit, or, at least, the particular merit imputed to them; while I have been even persecuted for deeds that deserved praise. An instance or two of the latter of these cases of the false judgment of the world will be laid before the reader as I proceed.

Mr. Hardinge continued for some time to expatiate on the loveliness of Grace's character, and to betray the weight of the blow he had received, in gaining this sudden knowledge of her danger. He seemed to pa.s.s all at once from a state of inconsiderate security to one of total hopelessness, and found the shock so much harder to endure. At length he sent for Lucy, with whom he continued closeted for near an hour. I ascertained, afterwards, that he questioned the dear girl closely on the subject of my sister's malady; even desiring to know if her affections were any way connected with this extraordinary sinking of the vital powers; but not in the slightest degree inclining to the distrust of Rupert's being in any manner implicated in the affair. Lucy, truthful and frank as she was, felt the uselessness, nay, the danger, of enlightening her father, and managed to evade all his more delicate inquiries, without involving herself in falsehoods. She well knew, if he were apprised of the real state of the case, that Rupert would have been sent for; and every reparation it was in his power to make would have been insisted on, as an act of justice; a hopeless and distressing attempt to restore the confidence of unbounded love, and the esteem which, once lost, is gone forever. Perhaps the keenest of all Grace's sufferings proceeded from the consciousness of the total want of merit in the man she had so effectually enshrined in her heart, that he could only be ejected by breaking in pieces and utterly destroying the tenement that had so long contained him. With ordinary notions, this change of opinion might have sufficed for the purposes of an effectual cure; but my poor sister was differently const.i.tuted. She had ever been different from most of her s.e.x, in intensity of feeling; and had come near dying, while still a child, on the occasion of the direful catastrophe of my father's loss; and the decease of even our mother, though long expected, had come near to extinguish the flame of life in the daughter. As I have already said more than once, a being so sensitive and so pure, ever seemed better fitted for the regions of bliss, than for the collisions and sorrows of the world.

Now we were at Clawbonny again, I scarce knew how to employ myself. Grace I could not see; Lucy, who took the entire management of the invalid, requiring for her rest and quiet. In this she did but follow the directions of reason, as well as those left by Post; and I was fain to yield, knowing that my sister could not possibly have a more judicious or a more tender nurse.