C s l3 - rfe*.h 
 
 ora 2- 
 
This BOOK may be kept out TWO 
 WEEKS ONLY, and is subject to a fine 
 of FIVE CENTS a day thereafter. It was 
 taken out on the day indicated below: 
 
 
 
THE 
 
 Heirs of St. Kilda 
 
 A Story of the Southern Past 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN W. MOORE 
 
 "I held it truth with him who sings— 
 To one clear harp in divers tones, 
 That men may rise on stepping-stones 
 Of their dead selves to higher things." 
 
 In Memoriam. 
 
 RALEIGH : 
 EDWARDS, BR0UGHT0N & CO., PUBLISHERS. 
 
 1881. 
 
Copyrighted 1880, 
 By JOHN W. MOORE. 
 
 PEESSES OF 
 
 EDWARDS, BROUGHTOS & CO., 
 Raleigh, N. C. 
 
m 
 
 NO 
 
 TO 
 EUGENE GEISSOM, M. D., LL. D. 
 
 To You, dear friend, in whose large soul 
 My spirit finds its counterpart ; — 
 I bring this offering of my heart ; 
 
 And picture times grown gray and old. 
 
 Perhaps your love will hide the faults 
 That will be seen by other eyes ; 
 And you, too, bless the sacred ties 
 That bind us to our Southern vaults. 
 
 On clanging fields so deeply dyed, 
 
 Our strength was wasted man by man 
 Yet cling we to our father-land, 
 And in our ancient faith abide. 
 
 God bless us and th e things we love — 
 God help us cleave unto the right ; 
 Uplifted to sublimest height, 
 
 Transfigured with the lights above. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 » .... 
 
 In the altered condition of affairs seen in the South, 
 the author of this book, like many others, has been led 
 by the stress of circumstances into different paths than he 
 was wont to follow in happier days. Had the late war 
 between the States resulted differently, it is highly im- 
 probable that this work would have been undertaken. 
 In the wreck and change wrought upon our social life 
 arose a mute cry for vindication against the cruel 
 slanders and caricatures which have been published to 
 the world as true pictures of our inner life as a people. 
 The possibility that posterity may be deceived as to the 
 truth concerning the men and women of the South 
 preceding and during the late Revolution, has induced 
 the attempt at their portrayal here submitted to the public. 
 
 It can certainly appear neither unnatural nor presump- 
 tuous in us who participated in the long agony endured 
 in defence of our institutions to be sensitive as to the 
 opinions of those who are and shall be in positions, where 
 the truth may not be known concerning us and our 
 ways. We did not shed so much of our best blood to up- 
 hold a cause, which, when fully understood, will be likely 
 to make us 
 
 "Fixed figures for the time of scorn 
 " To point a slow unmoving finger at." 
 
6 Preface. 
 
 This story will be found to contain but little of the real 
 controversy between us and the people who so long and 
 successfully sought our undoing. The effort was made 
 to avoid those memorable differences of opinion, and the 
 author has contented himself with the simple portrayal 
 of Southern men and women as he knew them in the 
 days of oheir peace and prosperity. The motives control- 
 ling such an essay may be, in all modesty, claimed as 
 nobler than the production of a mere love story. It is 
 hoped that the " Heirs of St. Kilda," will justify the claim 
 that it is a faithful picture of our lost civilization. 
 
 In the elaboration of the structure, the ordinary 
 resources of the literary artist were found insufficient, 
 and unusual agencies have been invoked to fill out the 
 canvas. Many novel readers will be doubtless shocked 
 at the introduction of Gov. Eustace's valedictory, but the 
 burden of his discourse contained so much of themes 
 then filling the popular mind that their omission would 
 have marred the completeness of the exposition. The 
 nature of the plot and the customs of wealthy people 
 required the removal of the leading characters from the 
 
 earlier scenes. It was said by Edmund Spenser 
 
 • 
 
 "That all this famous antique history 
 Of some, the abundance of an idle brain 
 Will judged be, and painted forgery 
 Rather than matter of just memory; 
 Sith none that breathes living air doth know 
 AVhere is that happy land of Faery 
 Which I so much do vaunt yet no where show." 
 
Preface. 7 
 
 The inquisitive must determine for themselves the 
 position of St. Kilda Valley, and the originals of the 
 Eustace family. There are many witnesses to attest the 
 fidelity of the portraits, and that nothing has been set 
 down in malice will be patent to every reader. 
 
 With these explanations the work is committed to the 
 judgment of those willing to pause amid the excitement 
 and passion of the present in perusal of these echoes of 
 the dead past. In the consciousness of duty discharged, 
 the author trusts he is neither vain nor credulous in 
 bequeathing this book, as did Lord Bacon his memory, 
 " to men's charitable speeches, to foreign nations and the 
 next ages." 
 
TABLE OF CONTENTS. 
 
 Chapter I. St. Kilda Valley. 
 
 " II. Ellesmere. 
 
 " III. A Day in the Fields. 
 
 " IV. Thorndale Cottage. 
 
 11 V. St. Kilda Races. 
 
 " VI. Fireside Conversation. 
 
 " VII. Gower Hall. 
 
 " VIII. Christmas. 
 
 " IX. Rosamond's Story. 
 
 " X. Percival St. George. 
 
 " XI. Mr. Grey. 
 
 " XII. Philip at College. 
 
 " XIII. Philip goes out into the world. 
 
 " XIV. Grief at Ellesmere. 
 
 " XV. Titus Paine, The Outlaw. 
 
 " XVI. Gov. Eustace's Valedictory. 
 
 " XVII. Outward-Bound. 
 
 " XVIII. New Foes. 
 
 " XIX. Halcyon Days. 
 
 " XX. Pallida Mors. 
 
 " XXI. Rosamond's Sorrow. 
 
 " XXII. A New Goddess in the Pantheon. 
 
 " XXIII. Light in the Coliseum. 
 
 " XXIV. Wedding Bells. 
 
r 
 
THE HEIRS OF ST. KILDA. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF ST. KILDA. 
 
 " It was a mountain, at whose verdant feet 
 A spacious plain, outstretched in circuit wide, 
 Lay pleasant; from his side two rivers flowed, 
 The one winding, the other straight, and left between 
 Fair champaign, with less rivers intervein'd, 
 Then, meeting, join'd their tribute to the sea; 
 Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine; 
 With herds the pasture throng'd, with flocks the hills." 
 
 Paradise Regained. 
 
 The year of our Lord, 1845, approached its close. The 
 sun at midday yet retained much of Summer's warmth; 
 but as the shadows from the court house and church 
 spires stretched to the east, the coolness of early autumn 
 became perceptible. The village of St. Kilda was half- 
 hidden among its embowering trees, for the oaks in the 
 public square, and the over-arching elms of the street?, 
 being un visited by the frost, still held aloft the green 
 mantle they had assumed in the Spring. The white 
 houses peering from masses of shade made the village 
 half-rural in appearance, and with the two rivers which 
 there joined their waters, added to the surrounding 
 mountains, composed one of the loveliest scenes of all the 
 Southern country. It gave name to the fine valley in 
 which it was situated, and was the largest town in that 
 
12 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 portion of the State. From the number and earnestness 
 of the groups on the side-walks it was evident something 
 unusual was under consideration. 
 
 The great occasion of this and each succeeding year 
 was now close at hand, and not only the villagers, but the 
 inhabitants of all the surrounding valley, were alive to 
 its importance. It lacked but a few days to the races, 
 and this season was to St. Kilda what the Carnival is to 
 Rome and Derby-day to Epsom. It was a greater holi- 
 day than either Christmas or the fourth of July, and was 
 eagerly awaited by all classes of the community. Wealthy 
 planters grew restless as September waned, fearing train- 
 ers had not lavished sufficient care on their blood-horses, 
 and smaller farmers made it the occasion for disposing of 
 their surplus live stock. The good women of the country- 
 side, by immemorial custom, then received higher prices 
 for poultry and butter, and the youths of both sexes were 
 gladdened at the approach of a season long sacred to 
 festivity and mirth. 
 
 A turnpike led from the village northward, and along 
 this road, in the light of the declining sun, passed three 
 horsemen. They had just left St. Kilda, and evidently 
 belonged to that class most deeply interested in the 
 coming races. He, on the right, with the dark brown 
 hair, is Percival St. George, who has for three successive 
 seasons borne off the palm of victory in the exciting con- 
 tests. He rides a few paces to the rear and has but little 
 to say. Although now nearly forty years of age, he is 
 still possessed of that fine combination of form and feature 
 which rendered him so attractive in his light-hearted 
 youth to the women of two continents. There is a look 
 of weariness in his eyes, but a moustache conceals the 
 
The Valley of St. Kilda. 13 
 
 expression of his mouth. The calm elegance of his whole 
 figure is eloquent of proud descent. He is slightly above 
 the usual height, and has the histo^ of some great sorrow 
 plainly written in the lines of his face. Next to him 
 rides his cousin Philip Eustace, who will be seventeen 
 years old when he reaches his next birth-day. He is a 
 fine, well-grown youth, and sits on his black stallion as 
 if thoroughly at home. There is a strong family likeness 
 between himself and St. George. They have the same 
 complexion and dark eyes, and their close-cut hair 
 exhibits a striking similarity of contour. Arthur Kean 
 rides on the left, having arrived by the stage this very 
 day, and is now going out to his new home. He has come 
 to be the tutor of Philip Eustace, who is apparently old 
 enough to be at college. Kean is of medium size, and 
 with his black eyes and swarthy complexion has the 
 appearance of a Spaniard. 
 
 "Cousin Percy," said Philip, "I saw Mr. Compton's 
 new horse, Pepin, in town to-day. He is very handsome, 
 but I should think his stride too short to compete with 
 Hildebrand and Tempest. Do you expect to be beaten 
 this time?" 
 
 " No," said St. George, " I have no idea of Pepin's being 
 able to out-foot either of our horses in a close brush, 
 whatever he may be able to accomplish by mere bottom. 
 Then, too, Hildebrand and Tempest are possessed of 
 admirable endurance, and I am content to leave the 
 decision of the question to them. Pepin, as a three-year- 
 old, won the Shirley stakes in England last season, and 
 Mr. Compton has paid an extravagant price for him, 
 hoping to avenge himself of the defeats sustained more 
 than once by my horses." 
 
14 The Heirs of St. Rilda. 
 
 " Frederick Compton told ine," said Philip, "that Pepin 
 is more than half Arabian in his blood." 
 
 " He is much like his sire in shortness of limb and 
 muscular development of the fore-arm," said St. George. 
 " I am glad he has been brought over, for he is the only 
 importation to the valley in the last fifteen years; and I 
 am not wanting in admiration of English horses." 
 
 " If it be true, said Kean, " that Pepin was well backed 
 for the Goodwood Cup this year, it proves that among 
 competent judges he was regarded as one of the best 
 English horses, and that is saying very much for him. 
 I have seen most of the European studs, and my deliberate 
 opinion is that the English thoroughbred is the sum and 
 result of the different excellencies of all the breeds. So, 
 Mr. St. George, you must look well to it in this new 
 contest; your horse will have to do all in his power to 
 maintain his ascendency against this new competitor." 
 
 " No one," said Percival, " could submit to defeat more 
 cheerfully than myself. I consider racing an encourage- 
 ment to improvement in horses, and only desirable to 
 that end." 
 
 The party, by this time, had come some distance from 
 St. Kilda. The turnpike, for the last half mile, had been 
 gradually ascending the face of a hill, upon which was 
 the residence of Judge Eustace, the grandfather of young 
 Philip and the brother of St. George's mother. About 
 half way up the hill, the party dismounted to drink of 
 the sparkling water issuing from a spring on the side of 
 the road. The horsemen turned to gaze on the noble 
 scene; for all the central and southern portions of the 
 valley were before them. The larger of the two rivers 
 was its eastern boundary, the course of the stream being 
 
The Valley of St. Kilda. 15 
 
 nearly north and south. Twenty miles below, the moun- 
 tain chain, in primeval days, had been sundered by the 
 waters, and now on both sides great cliffs frowned across 
 the intervening space. Hawkshead is the last of a long 
 continuation of peaks sweeping in a curve around three 
 sides of St. Kilda valley. They again approach the river 
 at Satan's Nose, and it is twenty-five miles from Hawks- 
 head to that point, while the greatest breadth, from the 
 river to the place where the mountains receded farthest, 
 was fifteen. 
 
 The sun had shone brightly until the last half hour of 
 his stay in the heavens. Since that time masses of cloud 
 had been drifting from behind the mighty barriers, and 
 there was a magical transformation of the scene. A 
 wondrous mixture of lights and shades stretched them- 
 selves across the gentle undulations of the valley, and 
 just above the mountain tops shone the glory of the set- 
 ting sun. The distant peaks were almost as soft as the 
 clouds, in their tints of violet and blue, while those nearer 
 were dark with sombre forest far up their craggy sides. 
 St. Kilda, with her spires and white walls, gleamed from 
 the centre of the picture, while from many spots could be 
 seen the curling smoke of half-hidden cottages, with the 
 occasional gleam of the battlements of prouder mansions. 
 A few glimpses of the smaller river could be descried as 
 it wound its way through the scene. Philip had called 
 the attention of Kean from his inspection of the arrange- 
 ments around the spring, and he gazed in astonishment 
 at the change which had been wrought in the landscape 
 below. 
 
 "It is strange," said St. George, " that I should never 
 have seen St. Kilda Valley so beautiful before. It really 
 
16 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 seems to me that everything is transfigured, in this even- 
 ings glory." 
 
 " It is surpassingly grand," said Kean. " Do you often 
 observe such rapid changes in the appearance of things 
 here at sunset?" 
 
 " Yes," said St. George, " but not like this." 
 
 " If Mariana could only see the valley now," said 
 Philip. " I never realized before what a privilege it is to 
 see." 
 
 From behind the eastern hills, stole up the full-orbed 
 moon, completing the loveliness of the picture. It 
 reminded Percival St. George, who was himself a poet, of 
 Tennyson's description of the haunts of the Lotos-Eaters : 
 
 In the afternoon they came into a land, 
 
 In which it seemed always afternoon. 
 
 All round the coast the languid air did swoon, 
 
 Breathing like one that hath a weary dream. 
 
 Full-faced above the valley stood the moon. 
 
 The horsemen now mounted and passed along the 
 turnpike, until they reached the gate through the stone 
 walls encompassing the park, in which the Ellesmere 
 mansion stood. A broad carriage-way led to the house ; 
 and when the party arrived in front of its hospitable portal, 
 there was just sufficient light for Kean to see a large, 
 irregular pile, which had been added to at different eras. 
 
 After supper the family were gathered in the library, 
 and Arthur Kean had an opportunity to observe those 
 among whom he expected to spend at least one year of 
 his life. Judge Eustace was a man of noble presence, 
 and from his snowy locks the tutor saw he was verging 
 on three-score and ten, fixed by the royal psalmist as 
 the limit of hale and vigorous old age. He had long 
 
The Valley of St Kilda. 17 
 
 been regarded, by those who knew him best, as a great 
 and good man. Most of his life had been devoted to the 
 service of his native State, and for two terms he had 
 filled the place of United States Senator. His taste had 
 led him to prefer the honors of his profession to mere 
 political success, and he had retired from the Senate to 
 assume the highest judicial honors of the commonwealth. 
 He had been, until the last five years, the chief justice of 
 the supreme court, and had then withdrawn from all 
 public station, to seek the retirement and self-examina- 
 tion so important to men of his age. This Philip Eustace 
 had been the pride and ornament of a bar numbering 
 many illustrious names in its catalogue ; and, to the most 
 inattentive observer, it was plain that his polished and 
 austere intelligence had lost but little of its earlier vigor. 
 Mrs. Eustace, who had been the companion of her 
 husband for so long a time, was a belle and a beauty, 
 in her radiant youth, and the long years which sep- 
 arated the present from that time had fallen so gently 
 upon her that she preserved much of her original 
 vivacity. In her ceaseless cheerfulness she exhibited no 
 trace of querulous old age, and even the tones of her 
 voice yet retained the melody which had in the past 
 charmed the hearts of so many men, since grown famous 
 in the land. Miss Esther Stanhope was the elder of two 
 daughters, and when the good Bishop, her father, gave 
 her in marriage to the rising young lawyer, it was with 
 many misgivings lest her gaiety should not be appre- 
 ciated by the colder nature of her lord. These fore- 
 bodings were all happily unfulfilled in the issue, for 
 their wedded lives had been one long experience of 
 unbroken happiness. In the very diversity of tempera- 
 2 
 
18 The Heirs of St, Kildd. 
 
 ments lay the secret of their perfect concord : she loved 
 her husband for his nobility and unyielding integrit}*- ; 
 and the strong man lost his cares, and half forgot his 
 ambition, in the sweet presence of his wife. 
 
 Mariana Eustace, the sister of Philip, was almost 
 angelic in the purity and softness of her beauty. A 
 strange blindness had come to her dark brown eyes, but 
 there was no trace of sorrow or repining in her faultless 
 lineaments. She was two years younger than her brother, 
 they being the only children of Philip Ashton Eustace, 
 then Governor of the State. 
 
 The room in which the family and their visitors were 
 gathered was the favorite spot in all the house. It had, 
 a century before, been used as a chapel by the family, and 
 here still, at morning and evening, the prayers were said. 
 The brilliant light in the centre of the room brought out 
 every object into distinctness, and revealed a picture of 
 elegant home life in the Southern country. 
 
 At the east end of the library sat Mrs. Eustace talking 
 with Mr. Mason Somerville, who was on a visit with his 
 daughter, Ida, to the family at Ellesmere. He lived at 
 St. Kilda, and was then the leading counsel in that por- 
 tion of the State. He had been the law-partner of Gov, 
 Eustace until that gentleman gave up the practice for 
 the larger excitement of a seat in the national House of 
 Representatives. Over on their right sat Philip, Ida 
 Somerville and Mariana. 
 
 A little further on was Percival St. George, Reginald 
 Vane and Helen Temple. Vane was a cousin of the 
 Eustaces, and remarkable for his good humor and devotion 
 to country sports. Miss Temple, the niece of Mrs. Eustace, 
 who sat by his side, was the opposite of Mariana in her 
 
The Valley of St. RiUa. 19 
 
 lyp'e of beauty, and her black eyes and tresses had been 
 & thousand times toasted in St. Kilda Valley. He was 
 much of his time at Ellesmere, and devoted to the regal 
 looking brunette at his side. The flying feet of his horse 
 could be heard speeding away across the sleeping valley — - 
 mingling thoughts of his lady-love with plans boding 
 much interruption to any fox within miles of Gilnockie, 
 where the lone bachelor lived and hunted. 
 
 Judge Eustace and Arthur Kean are under the chan- 
 ■delier, and the large room is full of pleasant voices until 
 Mr. Somerville carries off every one but these two to the 
 adjoining room for music on the piano. The two men, 
 as they sit together, present many strong contrasts. The 
 elder's locks are whitened by the snows of many winters ; 
 the other with jetty hair is just entered upon manhood, 
 and yet there is much in the past to connect the two. 
 The young man who has just come thousands of miles 
 •finds warm welcome at Ellesmere. Judge Eustace had 
 been for years previous to the death of Talbot Kean, the 
 father of Arthur, the great friend and paragon of that 
 distinguished man, and had ever manifested peculiar 
 interest in the affairs of the son. Though living in a 
 different State, the Chief Justice, when informed of his 
 friend's dying condition, had gone to his bedside and 
 remained until death had closed the sad scene. Nor had 
 his good offices stopped there. By diligent search into 
 the affairs of his dead friend, the estate which had been 
 considered hopelessly entangled was so arranged that a 
 decent competence had been preserved for young Arthur, 
 who was thus enabled to continue his stay in Germany, 
 where he was prosecuting his education at the time of 
 kis father's death. 
 
20 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 These considerations had induced Kean to accept of 
 Judge Eustace's invitation to make Ellesrnere his home, 
 for at least a year, where he could pursue his study of 
 the law and act as the tutor of young Philip. 
 
 " Twelve years ago, Arthur," said Judge Eustace, 
 "Percy and I met you with your father in London. 
 Have you forgotten our night at Covent Garden ?" 
 
 " By no means, sir," said Kean, " I was in my fifteenth 
 year then, and you thereby estimate my thorough infatua- 
 tion with the splendors Edmund Kean was lavishing 
 upon his audiences. I have never seen Shakespeare's 
 masterpieces presented in such a manner since." 
 
 " I suppose you had the full benefit of the opera, while 
 your father's mission at Naples lasted, for I believe there 
 was the birth-place of this modern amusement?" 
 
 "As much as it can really be enjoyed. I was allowed 
 to go once or twice every week, and thus never grew 
 sated." 
 
 "I," said Judge Eustace, "should have soon reached 
 that conclusion, for though I can applaud the main idea 
 involved in the opera, and am willing to admit that as 
 every thought proper to the drama may have its corres- 
 ponding emotion, and, as a consequence, the possibility 
 of expression in music, still I have never been able to 
 bring myself to enjoy more than the detached beauties of 
 a song now and then, even in the greatest of these musical 
 plays. But, on the other hand, even a second rate play 
 enchains me for hours." 
 
 " I cannot say for the life of me," said Kean, " to which 
 branch of the art my preference lies. I fear I am foolishly 
 fond of both. I shall never forget Mr St. George's visit 
 
The Valley of St. Kilda. 21 
 
 to Naples. He frequently carried ine with him when my 
 father was detained at the legation." 
 
 " Poor Percy," said the Judge with a sigh." It had 
 been infinitely better for him never to have seen an opera. 
 His happiness in Naples was sadly counterbalanced by 
 his subsequent misfortune. My father's distress was 
 unspeakable," said Kean, " when we found him so ill in 
 Venice. We had gone there to attend his marriage, but 
 the beautiful being that was to have been his bride had 
 been three days dead, and he in such a state that every 
 one expected him to follow her most speedily." 
 
 "Arthur Kean," said the Judge, "I am no fatalist, but 
 there seems some dreadful curse hanging over our house 
 for the last quarter of a century. My own wedded life, 
 thank God, has been thrice blessed, but my dearest 
 friends have been singularly unfortunate. My oldest son 
 lost his lovely young wife soon after his marriage. Mrs. 
 Courtenay was a widow in less than a year from her 
 bridals. Percy did not even become a bride-groom before 
 he was a widower, and Stanhope, though I have frequently 
 urged him to leave the army and marry, yet broods over 
 a jilting at the hands of a heartless coquette he has not 
 seen in ten years. My dear sir, you can now appreciate 
 my anxiety as to training Philip. I wish to arm him 
 against these morbid tendencies which are threatening 
 to extinguish the name of Eustace in the St. Kilda 
 Valley. 
 
 " I pray God," said Kean, " that such a disaster may 
 never come. I have been struck with Philip's freedom 
 from such tendencies, and I shall bear in mind your sug- 
 gestions. I have never seen anything more beautiful 
 than his tender consideration for his sister, and I think 
 
22 The Heirs- of St. Kitdct. 
 
 it grows out of that very manliness which is the noblest 
 attribute of our sex." 
 
 " Even so/' said the Judge. " Mariana has been so* 
 dependent upon him in her blindness that I have long 
 dreaded the day of their separation. But it is getting 
 high time he was learning what life is. I would rear 
 every girl delicately at her own fireside, but nothing is* 
 more conducive to healthy sentiment in a young man 
 than large communion with those of his own age. It 
 prepares him for the rough jostling he may inevitably 
 expect in after life. There is no golden road to learning,, 
 and position is never achieved without a multitude of 
 rivals seeking to make themselves lions in the pathway 
 to success." 
 
 " I cordially agree with you,, sir," said Kean, " and for 
 myself I have ever found that my energies rose with the 
 consciousness of conflict. I look forward to my life at 
 the bar with pleasure, as it holds out larger promise of 
 frequent friendly struggle. But I must say that I 
 unfeignedly distrust my ability to supply Mr. Grey's 
 place in regard to Philip. I kuow him to be a most 
 finished scholar, and then his manner is so winning with 
 everybody, and especially the young, that I am really 
 fearful you have made a mistake in making me hi& 
 successor." 
 
 " It was his own proposition," said the Judge; "your 
 advantages are that you know German and the new- 
 advances in the style of teaching adopted in that really 
 wonderful country." 
 
 "I am free to say I could not have undertaken the- 
 position, however pleasant, had I not understood that. 
 Mr. Grey wrote even before you mentioned the subject in 
 
The Valley of St. Kilda. 23 
 
 your letters, and urged me to come. I met him for the 
 first time when you and he came over to see Mr. St. 
 George at Rome, and I think him as near the realization 
 of Sir Galahad as modern times could, under any circum- 
 stances, produce. 
 
 " There you have struck it," said Judge Eustace, and 
 he repeated : — 
 
 " A maiden knight to me is given, 
 Such hope I know not fear, 
 I yearn to hreathe the airs of heaven, 
 That often meet me here." 
 
 "I declare," continued the Judge, "that man is a con- 
 tinual rebuke to me. I took him a little child from his 
 desolated home, and he has ever treated me as his father, 
 but so awful is unalloyed goodness and truth, that I am 
 continually reminded by William Grey of what I lack in 
 my duty to God and man. With the most unaffected 
 and childlike simplicity he still excites more reverence 
 in my heart than any man I ever saw in all my long 
 experience. He and Mariana are the only persons I 
 have known of whom it may be said that while in the 
 world they are not of it. I am an old man, and years 
 ago, like Charles V., I thought I had left the world and 
 its vanities, when I withdrew from all public station ; but 
 often still the ghosts of my former ambitions steal upon 
 me, and, like Banquo's shade, they will not down at my 
 bidding. I humbly hope I shall be forgiven all my fail- 
 ings here, but I have no hope of ever being in this world 
 half as good as this ' Samaritan in whom there is no 
 guile.' But then I do not wish Philip to be such a man 
 as Mr. Grey. I would not for my right hand have him 
 fail in all reverence and duty to God, but his way in life 
 
24 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 will be so different that such an example, however 
 beautiful in itself, could not realize my hopes. We owe 
 something to our families and the commonwealth, and I 
 would not be gratified if I thought Philip liable to any 
 such freaks as converted Francis Xavier into a missionary, 
 however I may admire the unselfishness of such a man- 
 William Grey has not sought to instill any such tendencies, 
 and I know he has labored to impress Philip with the 
 importance of secular as well as christian duties, and I 
 had no fear on that head. But I am detaining you from 
 the young people. Suppose you go to the drawing rooms 
 and join them in their music. I will sit here and enjoy 
 a smoke in this beautiful meerschaum you have been so 
 kind as to bring to me from its home in the Fatherland." 
 
 Kean went in the direction of the music and found the 
 parties in one of a suit of elegant drawing rooms. He 
 took his seat by Miss Somerville, and when Mariana and 
 St. George had finished their duet — " Home to our moun- 
 tains " — Ida remarked : 
 
 " Do you think the angels can be more beautiful than 
 Mariana ?" 
 
 " They must then greatly exceed the limits of my 
 imagination," said Kean. "She surpasses my ideas of 
 mere beaut}'', and her picture in Italy would be worshipped 
 as a Madonna surpassing the dreams of the masters." 
 
 "I fear, Mr. Kean," said Ida, "after your long stay in 
 Europe, you will find our village life very tame in 
 comparison." 
 
 " I expect not, Miss Somerville. The Valley of St. 
 Kilda is beautiful in itself, and it has long been renowned 
 for its society." 
 
 " We are very grateful for your good opinion, Mr. 
 
The Valley of St. Kilda. 25 
 
 Kean, and next week you will see everybody in our 
 limits at the races." 
 
 Mr. Somerville here joined the group, remarking : 
 
 "I am delighted, Mr. Kean, to hear from Judge Eustace 
 that you contemplate making the Valley your permanent 
 home." 
 
 " I thank you, sir," said Kean, " the world was ail before 
 me where to choose, and here have I elected to stay." 
 
 For some time the music and conversation went on in 
 the drawing rooms. It was getting toward midnight, and 
 Reginald Vane and Helen Temple found occasion to go 
 back to the library to exchange those nameless heart- 
 communings that lovers, on the eve of parting, alwaj'S 
 find so sweet and unavoidable. The cavalier said he 
 must get back to Gilnockie, and be ready for disturbing 
 the morning echoes with hound and horn. They were 
 all the world to each other, as they sat in the shadow of 
 the embayed window. Judge Eustace was reading, mus- 
 ing and smoking. The company had all reassembled in 
 the library, but the Judge seemed absorbed in his book 
 and meerschaum until Mr. Somerville approached and 
 remarked : 
 
 "Ah, Mr. Chief Justice, how cau you find in that pipe 
 and Blackwood amusement to be compared to that we 
 have been enjoying at the hands of our friends in the 
 drawing room ?" 
 
 " Well, sir," said the Judge, "we are told in holy writ 
 that one of the guests who failed to attend the great feast 
 gave as an excuse that he had married a wife, and could 
 not attend. Mr. Kean thought enough of me, while four 
 thousand miles away, to buy me the pipe you see me 
 
26 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 trying for the first time to-night. So I hope, sir, the 
 musicians will hold me excused." 
 
 " Ladies," said Mr. Somerville, "as the Judge pleads 
 guilty, and the pipe is really so pretty, you must excuse 
 him." 
 
 "Certainly we will," said Mrs. Eustace, "but see His 
 Honor not only smokes his pipe, but really it is quite a 
 coincidence that this number of Blackwood's magazine, 
 which came to-night, is what he has been reading, and 
 here are his annotations on this very subject of smoking." 
 
 " Yes," said the Judge, " and a clever article it is. The 
 author sets out witli remarks upon the growth of the 
 revenues of several European States from tobacco, and 
 after a good deal of statistics, he goes into the aesthetics 
 of his subject." 
 
 "Well, I love my pipe myself," said Mr. Somerville, 
 "but my wife thinks I will kill myself at it, so I would 
 like to be fortified on my return tomorrow with some 
 new reasons why it is my duty to smoke." 
 
 " There is much- humbug among the doctors on that 
 subject," said the Judge, "and many reformers and crazy 
 optimists are denouncing this use of the Virginia weed, 
 asserting that it is a useless extravagance, in which poor 
 men waste mone}'' which ought to go toward the support 
 of their families. Mr. Somerville, think you the practice 
 has brought with it any positive benefit to mankind at 
 large?" 
 
 " I think so," said he, " for there seems to be a craving 
 among men for some such stimulus, and I hold that the 
 love of their pipes has kept many a man from frequent- 
 ing tippling-houses." 
 
 " More than that," said Judge Eustace; " when he has 
 
The Vdley of St. Kilda. 27 
 
 gone home at night, soured with the griefs and disap- 
 pointments which await us all, the brooding mind of the 
 laborer lias been lightened of its cares, and the toiling 
 wife spared harsh words which would have been spoken, 
 had he not sat down to his pipe and wiser thoughts. I 
 agree with James Hammond : 
 
 " Happiest he of happy mtn ; 
 Who when again the night returns, 
 When again the taper burns, 
 Can afford his tube to feed 
 With the fragrant Indian weed; 
 Pleasure for a nose divine, 
 Incense of the god of wine." 
 
 " I have noticed this pleasant effect/' said Kean, " and 
 I think it a great pity Sir Walter Raleigh had not intro- 
 duced it a century earlier in Europe. Martin Luther 
 w r ould have doubtless been a smoker and thereby less 
 acrimonious in debate ; perhaps a pipe might have saved 
 from the executioner's axe the fair neck of Anne Boleyn." 
 
 " I am clearly of the opinion," said Judge Eustace, 
 " that the griefs of the world have been diminished, and 
 the sum of human enjoyment largely increased by the 
 tobacco which has been burned in the pipes of the last 
 three centuries. If King James could arise from his 
 grave and see the innumerable smokers of our day, he 
 would think his Counter-blast was written to very little 
 purpose." 
 
 " In this new apotheosis of your pipes," said Miss 
 Temple, " why do you gentlemen not insist upon us of 
 the weaker sex partaking of this divine afflatus you 
 derive from such diminutive shrines ?" 
 
 " Many of you do," said Judge Eustace, " but happy 
 young creatures like you, Helen, are not supposed to be 
 
28 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 amenable to the usual griefs of humanity, and therefore 
 do not need this solace." 
 
 " Voltaire tells us, in his Charles XII," said Mrs. Eust- 
 ace, " that the Czar Peter had created an uneasiness in 
 the minds of his subjects by the innovations he was 
 making in their habits. A portion of them were discuss- 
 ing the ethics of this very habit of smoking when an old 
 Muscovite Priest opposed it on the ground that we are 
 assured in the Scriptures that a man is defiled by nothing 
 which enters into his mouth, but that which proceedeth 
 therefrom." 
 
 " Grandfather," said Mariana, " I think that smoking 
 cannot be considered a necessity of our lives ; and if it is 
 only a pleasure, can we consistently do that which brings 
 with it no show of service to God ? Mr. Grey was preach- 
 ing, on last Sabbath, to us on that subject, and I have 
 been trying to think how smoking can -be reconciled to 
 his views of our duty." 
 
 " A deep question, my love," said Judge Eustace, "and 
 we should ask ourselves many such along life's journey. 
 It never occurred to me before, that there could be any 
 question of morality in the habit we have been discussing- 
 The essence of our duty in matters of religion consists in 
 love and fear of God, and avoidance of things He has 
 forbidden. A large portion of our actions is necessarily 
 indifferent in this respect, but we should make them all 
 tend to the great end of testifying our gratitude for bene- 
 fits received. I cannot think it wrong to smoke, and can 
 feel as thankful in the enjoyment of my pipe as I do at 
 the dinner table. Jeremy Bentham holds that actions 
 right in themselves bring no injury to us or our neigh- 
 bors, while bad deeds always do. I find that my pipe 
 
The Valley of St. Kilda. 29 
 
 brings me gentler feelings toward the faults I see in others, 
 It opens the avenues of my heart to charitable sentiments, 
 and really makes me a man of larger sympathies and 
 greater patience than I would perhaps be without its aid. 
 Mariana, the night is waxing late : go to the organ and 
 let us join in our evening devotions." 
 
 Arthur Kean noticed, as he went to his room after 
 prayers, an unusual loftiness in the rooms of the Elles- 
 mere mansion. They had richly wainscotted walls in 
 the style of the last century; and as he traversed the 
 long passages, he observed much grotesque carved work 
 in the old building which had been considered a miracle 
 of workmanship in its earlier days. These relics of a 
 fancy once so exuberant and so long hidden in the grave 
 were full of interest to the young stranger. He was 
 charmed when he reached his own room; for its elaborate 
 ornamentation repeated many of the odd conceits he had 
 noticed in the corridors and the great testered bedstead 
 was of itself a curiosity. Carving had here gone mad in 
 the intricacy of its designs. The posts were covered with 
 a host of vines, flowers and birds, inextricably intertwined. 
 The head-board, with its finely-wrought edgings, con- 
 tained in its center a bas-relief representation of the wed- 
 ding of Mary of Valois, Duchess of Burgundy, to the 
 Arch-Duke Maximilian. 
 
 This was one of Sir Ellesmere Eustace's legacies ; and 
 was made in Nuremberg, for himself and his intended wife, 
 before their marriage. The large mantle-piece was of 
 Egyptian marble, and for days did Kean study the alle* 
 gorical mysteries of its sculptures. It seemed to him as 
 he looked upon these things, that he had somehow been 
 transferred to a former age, and falling asleep dreamed of 
 
/ 
 
 30 The Heirs of St. ttildd. 
 
 his life in Germany, where he had been so happy in his 
 youth. 
 
 In the year 1715, Sir George Eustace, who had been 
 one of the most tried and trusted of Marlborough's veter- 
 ans, came to live in this same Valley of St. Kilda. He 
 had followed the fortunes of John Churchill from the 
 commencement of his service under Louis XIV, until 
 the long career of victory was closed in disgrace, by the 
 withdrawal of the favor of the new sovereign of England, 
 George II. Sir George was wounded at Blenheim and 
 Ramilies, and led his squadrons unharmed through the 
 fiercely-contested fields of Oudenarde and Malplaquet. 
 He had grown gray in battle and siege, and having risen 
 to be a major-general of horse, had seen the great proto- 
 type and friend of his life stricken down by a prince 
 Who was a foreigner, and regardless of all the mighty 
 chief had done for England's glory. General Eustace* 
 like many others of that day, was indignant at the wrong 
 done his commander, and threw up his commission in 
 disgust. 
 
 When he went from home twenty years before, he was 
 the youngest cadet of a house long wealthy and illustri- 
 ous, but after all, offering but slender promise to a third 
 son. After vears of absence, both of the brothers, who 
 stood between him and the title, had died and he became 
 Sir George Eustace, the lord of many broad acres and 
 thrifty tenants ; but the charms of Bellona were too strong 
 in his heart for him to forego the glory he was winning. 
 So he had seen but little of England, and his rents had 
 accumalated, until he had so much money, on his resig- 
 nation, that men were not wanting to attribute his indig- 
 nation at the treatment of Marlborough to other reasons. 
 
The Valley of St Kilda. 31 
 
 They 'Whispered that Sir George and his great captain 
 had grown rich in the same way, and that a rigid scru- 
 tiny of his conduct would show unlawful gains from the 
 military chest. The injustice of these falsehoods so stung 
 the high soul of the man, that it fixed his determination 
 to leave a country which exhibited so little gratitude 
 for all his service in its behalf. He had married the 
 daughter of an eminent barrister; and making known 
 his determination to leave England and go to the 
 colonies, the father-in-law advised him to purchase St. 
 Kilda Valley. 
 
 One of the royal favorites, to whom it had been granted 
 by the king, sold the whole territory included between 
 the large river and the mountains to Sir George. His 
 wealth and connections enabled him to secure a number 
 of emigrants to cross the seas with him, and two gentle- 
 men of means, Lytteltoii Gower and Stanley Newton, 
 were of the party. They first came to the place where 
 the village now stands, and it was named in honor of the 
 birth place of Lady Eustace's mother, who was born near 
 the desolate cliffs of St. Kilda, in Scotland, once so cele- 
 brated as the scene of Lady Grange's captivity. After 
 the arrival of the proprietor he found no reason to repent 
 of his emigration ; this purchase, for a wonder, corres- 
 ponding to the many promised advantages for which it 
 had been selected. 
 
 Sir George parceled out the lands to his settlers, reserve 
 ing for himself six large tracts, since known as Ellesmerej 
 Grafton, Ramilies, Thorndale, Blenheim, and Vaucluse. 
 He retained his vessel in which he had crossed the ocean, 
 and by this means, in the course of years, he imported 
 from Africa enough negroes to work his own farms, and 
 
82 The Heirs of St. Kilda, 
 
 supply the wants of many of his colonists. He died after 
 building at Ellesmere, having resided there twelve years. 
 He had previously passed four years in the house now 
 known in the village as the old Eustace tavern. To his 
 widow he left the care of three children ; the elder of 
 these, Sir Ellesmere Eustace, inherited three of the 
 estates ; Philip, the second son, two of them ; and to the 
 daughter, Mariana, was bequeathed the beautiful Vaucluse 
 place. Lady Eustace returned to England to educate her 
 children, when her eldest son, having grown up and 
 married, she and Mariana returned with the young couple 
 to America. Philip also brought over a bride ; and two 
 years later his wife's brother, Templeton St. George, 
 having come on a visit, wooed and won the fair Mariana. 
 Judge Eustace represented the Ellesmere branch of the 
 family, and Percival St. George was the great grandson 
 of the first Templeton, while Mrs. Henrietta Courtenay, 
 mistress of Thorndale and Ramilies was the descendant 
 of the first Philip Eustace. 
 
Ellesmere. 33 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 i 
 
 ELLESMERE. 
 
 " Befoke the mansion lay a lucid lake, 
 Broad as transparent, deep, and freshly fed 
 By a river, which its softened way did take 
 In currents through the calmer water spread 
 Around: the wild fowl nestled in the brake 
 And sedges, brooding in their liquid bed: 
 The woods sloped downward to its brink, and stood 
 With their green faces fixed upon the flood." — Don Juan. 
 
 The Ellesmere estate lay almost wholey eastward of 
 the turnpike, stretching with its broad fields and green 
 pastures to the great river flowing full in sight. The 
 park, with its thousand acres of untouched oaks was 
 crescent-shaped around the house, leaving the eastern side 
 with uninterrupted views across the fields. This park 
 was broken in its profile by occasonal rivulets, thus 
 diversifying the surface of a plateau generally leveh 
 That portion of the mansion built by Sir George Eustace 
 was constructed with heavy walls, as if he had contem- 
 plated the possibility of its being sometimes used for 
 defense. This wing contained the western drawing rooms, 
 the dining hall, and the greater portion of the dormitories. 
 The eastern wing, as has been already stated, was later 
 constructed by his son. The conservatory on the south, 
 and the tower on the northeastern angle, were added by 
 the present proprietor. He had also bestowed much care 
 on the front lawn, and the broad belt of shrubbery fol- 
 lowing the sweep of the carriage way through the grounds. 
 Above the walks, over-arching oaks interlaced their limbs 
 3 
 
34 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 and foliage like some lofty cathedral roof. Half-concealed 
 in the shade of surrounding trees was a brick chapel in 
 the midst of the family cemetery, and beneath the marble 
 monuments, gleaming above the stone walls, slept all the 
 Eustaces, St. Georges, Courtenays, and Vanes, who had 
 died in St. Kilda Valley for a century past. 
 
 On the night described in the last chapter, young 
 Philip Eustace had gone to bed with his soul full of 
 emotions. Since his earliest recollection, until within 
 the last few weeks, he had been accustomed to the care 
 of a tutor, who had been reared by Judge Eustace. This 
 man had been preaching to the negroes at Ellesmere and 
 Grafton, while he was teaching Philip and Mariana, but 
 had lately become convinced that he should devote his 
 entire attention to the duties of his sacred calling. Philip 
 well knew the pleasure Mr. Grey had taken in instruct- 
 ing him, and could but regret the necessity of another 
 filling his place. The minister now spent alternate 
 weeks on the two estates ; to enable him to do this, it had 
 been necessary to resign his tutorship. A sermon was 
 preached every Sunday to the assembled negroes, and the 
 devotion of the earnest man had affected much good 
 among them. Few of the delinquencies, once calling for 
 correction, were now observable, and their cleanliness 
 and good behavior were the theme of the entire valley. 
 Much of this was doubtless due to the uniform justice 
 and kindness of the wise master's sway ; but it was evident 
 that great good had been effected by Mr. Grey, and he 
 was thus making their further instruction the chief labor 
 -of his life. 
 
 This good Samaritan was often grieved at the existence 
 t)f the statute forbidding the teaching of slaves to read 
 
EUesmePe. 35 
 
 and write. In the facts which led to its enactment he 
 saw much excuse for such legislation ; but was of the 
 opinion that it greatly crippled his efforts to raise the 
 minds and hearts of his charge to that degree of intelli- 
 gence necessary to a proper 'understanding of their relig- 
 ious duties. He was therefore earnestly desirous that 
 mere expediency should not perpetuate a law in direct 
 conflict with a special injunction of the Saviour of the 
 world. From a friend of such large and delicate sympa- 
 thies, Philip might well grieve to be separated; but with 
 hope for the future came tranquil sleep — the most unfail- 
 ing and blessed guerdon of youthful innocence. 
 
 After breakfast Judge Eustace and Arthur Kean 
 repaired to the library to further discuss the nature of the 
 new tutor's duties. Sir Ellesmere Eustace had made this 
 the most beautiful and attractive room in the house. It 
 was cruciform and filled with books, statuary and pic- 
 tures. An organ of considerable size and exquisite finish 
 stood in one of the recesses of the cross, and opposite to 
 it was a great window with elaborate mullions. The 
 room depended principally on its sky-light for illumina- 
 tion, and as Mr. Kean glanced up to the ceiling his eyes 
 revelled amid the delicate tracery of foliage and flowers. 
 
 " You will find Philip a boy of much spirit," said 
 Judge Eustace, " but of equal candor. He is fearless but 
 tractable, and under Mr. Grey's tuition has nearly mas- 
 tered the course of study pursued at our State University. 
 I should have sent him there ere this, but for my disap- 
 probation of sending boys too young to college. It 
 exposes them to temptations, to vice and idleness, always 
 abundantly found in the mixed society of large institu- 
 tions of learning. Philip's father^ Gov. Eustace, had the 
 
36 The Heirs of St. Kildcz, 
 
 misfortune to lose his wife, and since that time has suf- 
 fered his children to remain at Ellesmere. I have sought 
 to educate them as much as possible, under my own roof,, 
 but I desire Philip to join the next senior class, spend 
 one year at the University, and then visit Europe. He 
 has been studying the arts under a French teacher, and 
 I intend to afford him all the advantages within my 
 reach." 
 
 "I shall be most happy," said Mr. Keau, "to do all in 
 my power to further these designs, and shall be amply 
 repaid in your promised assistance in my study of the 
 law." 
 
 Judge Eustace and the tutor having discussed all their 
 arrangements, the ex chief justice left Ellesmere on a 
 visit to his son's plantation at Blenheim. 
 
 Arthur Kean was the son of a gentleman of a neighbor-- 
 ing State who had made reputation as a politician during 
 Gen. Jackson's administration. After considerable service- 
 in the House of Representatives he had gone abroad as 
 a foreign minister. He did not possess the qualities 
 which usually lead to success in pecuniary matters ; and 
 Talbot Kean, after living for thirty years in wealth, be- 
 came suddenly embarrassed. Arthur had been left in 
 Europe by his father to finish his education, and had 
 availed himself of the advantages in his reach. He now 
 sat looking at the beautiful room, and congratulating 
 himself on the pleasant home he had found. Over the 
 mantel was a portrait of Lord Ellesmere, an ancestor of 
 the family, from whom the place had derived its name. 
 Vandyke had not nattered the great equity-lawyer, for it 
 is said the people of London flocked to Westminster, to 
 see him whenever he presided as Lord Chancellor. On 
 
EUesmere. 37 
 
 each side were portraits of two Marianas Eustace; that, 
 on the right, the daughter of old Sir George, and the 
 other, the mother of Percival St. George. The young 
 tutor was impressed with the gravity of the trust he had 
 assumed; for to his care was committed the heir of 
 princely wealth. He had seen enough of Philip to per- 
 ceive that he had the talents to sustain the traditional 
 influence of his family. How all-important was it then 
 to give the right inclination to the mind of him whose 
 disposition and habits were of so much consequence to 
 •others. 
 
 Kean was in deep thought on the subject of his duty 
 in this matter when a touching vision passed before his 
 eyes. Mariana Eustace came in silently, following the 
 lead of a negro girl. She had no intimation of his 
 presence, and at once took her seat at the organ. He 
 •could see her side-face from the position he occupied, and 
 was even more struck with her loveliness than on the 
 evening before. The dark hazel eyes seemed to have lost 
 but little of their lustre in her blindness, and serene 
 repose was their habitual expression. The golden tresses 
 falling in waves around her head, in the illumination of 
 the sky light, were surrounded by a faint aureola. She 
 w r as a study from whom Guido or Titian would have 
 created a madonna to steal the hearts of all creeds. As 
 the soft, delicious music stole from her touch he at once 
 saw she w 7 as improvising, for the transitions were fitful., 
 and the use of the stops so unusual he felt confident she 
 was making the instrument the expression of her emo- 
 tions. For some time he sat looking at the beautv of her 
 face spell-bound in what seemed to him some mysterious 
 inspiration. At times, ; when the solemn wail of the minor 
 
38 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 keys fell on bis ear, he noticed that the sunny head drooped 
 in sympathy with the music, but this was momentary; 
 the burthen of her theme was triumphant exultation, 
 summoning to its aid the trumpet, hautbois, and flute 
 stops with the deepest of the pedal notes; and the largo 
 room trembled with the pomp of her strains. The last 
 note of the grand instrument had died into an echo, 
 
 Though she had ceased, her countenance uplifted 
 To heaven, still spake, with solemn glory bright. 
 
 Mariana, arose and without aid went to the door by 
 which she had entered; there, recognizing Philip's ap- 
 proaching footsteps, she paused. 
 
 " It is you, brother," said she. 
 
 " Yes, Mariana, I have been to Grafton ; Mr. Grey will 
 be here this evening." 
 
 "How is Alice today?" 
 
 "She is better. Dr. Vane and Mr. Grey think, with 
 good nursing, she will recover. Now let me see your 
 eyes:. I pray every hour for the restoration of your 
 vision." 
 
 " I am half fearful'" said Mariana, " to wish for my 
 eye-sight. I am afraid if this affliction passes away you 
 would care less for me, but I should be very happy in 
 your joy at my recovery." 
 
 " God bless you, sweet sister," said Philip, parting the 
 golden hair to kiss her brow. " I am. going to Mr. Keau 
 now." 
 
 " The gentle, blind girl went away through the shadows, 
 of corridors and past the lights of great windows. 
 Darkness, as of the grave,, had settled in her beautiful 
 
Ellesmere. 39 
 
 eyes; but love and heavenly peace seemed to dwell in 
 her soul. Philip looked after her until she passed out of 
 sight, and then he entered the library. 
 
 " Good morrow to you, Mr. Kean," said he. "I have 
 been out in the saddle this morning, and over at Grafton. 
 I learned that a red fox, famous in the valley for the 
 number of hard races he has run, is again lying in his 
 favorite cover near Satan's Nose. Cousin Percival has 
 gone to secure the aid of Reginald Vane, and I can 
 promise you a good look at the country, and any amount 
 of hard riding, if you will do us the honor to join our 
 party, as we shall try Reynard once more. to-morrow 
 morning." 
 
 "I thank } t ou, Philip," said Kean; "I accept your 
 invitation with pleasure, for, beside the excitement of the 
 chase, as you suggest, I can see much of the valley. We 
 are to commence our studies after the bustle of the races 
 has subsided. Until that time I will take pleasure in 
 joining you and Mr. St. George in any amusement you 
 may suggest, which will acquaint me with the surround- 
 ing country." 
 
 " You will see everybody next week at the races, in the 
 meanwhile I am certain there are several places I can 
 show you in which you will be interested. I went before 
 breakfast to see Mr. Grey at Grafton. We all love him 
 so much we regret when his week to stay there arrives." 
 
 " Philip," said Kean, " I am glad to hear you speak of 
 your former instructor with so much affection. Though 
 I do not intend making teaching my profession in life, 
 still it is so noble a trust, when properly appreciated, I 
 honor the man who in this matter fulfills the duty of his 
 station. I have every reason to believe this has been the 
 
40 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 case with Mr. Grey, and he is so fortunate with all his 
 elaborate instruction to retain your regard. Boys are too 
 apt to become disgusted with the preparations for the 
 duties of life, and transfer their dislike of the duties to 
 the teacher. I shall congratulate myself if my efforts 
 shall be attended with the same good fortune." 
 
 "Mr. Kean," said Philip, "I confess that before you 
 came I was prejudiced against you. I connected your 
 advent with my loss of Mr. Grey's company and instruc- 
 tion, but he has satisfied me of his sacrifice of pleasure to 
 a high sense of duty. He assured me that you were in 
 no respect the cause of his determination, and requested 
 me while I should continue to remember our long con- 
 nection, also to love and respect you." 
 
 Thus engaged in conversation they had passed from 
 the house through the lawn at its rear, and had now 
 reached the enclosure in which were the stable and ken- 
 nel. These were surrounded by a high stone wall, and 
 between them was a barrier separating the horses from 
 the dogs. Near the gate stood a little cottage, over the 
 rude porch of which a honeysuckle had crept in pretty 
 festoons. This was the residence of Thompson, who had 
 been for years paramount ruler in this portion of the 
 large establishment. This true son of Africa was in a 
 great measure the architect of his fortunes, having risen 
 from plow-boy at Blenheim to his present dignity, and 
 now to his commands, every stable-boy, horse, and hound 
 knew there was wisdom in yielding implicit obedience. 
 He was ludicrously superstitious, but reckless of danger, 
 as to mere bodily harm. It was strange to see this huge 
 man, timid as a child in the dark, but transformed at 
 daylight into the autocrat of the stable. The fiercest 
 
Ellesmere. 41 
 
 stallion dared not exhibit temper in his presence, for on 
 such occasions Thompson became a Stentor, so sonorous 
 and authoritative grew the blast of his trumpet-like 
 voice. 
 
 This enclosure had been enchanted ground to Philip, 
 when he was a little boy, and even now to him the 
 animals were sources of endless observation and pleasure. 
 Thompson's watchful care had been such that Judge 
 Eustace found it seldom necessary to visit the spot, which 
 the stalwart negro regarded as his own rightful domain. 
 When Philip and Kean entered the stable-yard they 
 found Thompson leisurely surveying one of his assistants 
 who was engaged in rubbing the silken coat of the beau- 
 ful stallion Black Sultan. 
 
 " Uncle Thompson," said Philip, "have everything in 
 readiness at day-dawn to-morrow. Mr. Compton's red 
 fox is now near Satan's Nose, and we shall give him 
 another trial." 
 
 "Yes, Mars Phil," said Thompson, "I knows he's up 
 dare, but it taint my 'pinion dat air fox is gwine to be tuck 
 no how; we can't make sich a show by eight dogs as we 
 did last week." 
 
 " We shall supply the places of Sweetlips and the seven 
 other disabled dogs by the pack of Cousin Reginald." 
 
 " Anything to please you, Mars Phil, but dem dogs of 
 Mars Reg's aint gwine to stay in de hunt furder dan de 
 stone bridge twixt Thorndale and Ramilies." 
 
 By Philip's order, Thompson then brought out some of 
 the thoroughbreds, which, with the coach teams, were 
 kept in this stable. The first shown was a superb chest- 
 nut stallion, named Tempest, a trifle behind Black Sultan 
 in size, but fully fifteen and a half hands in height. His 
 
42 The Heirs of St, Kilda. 
 
 clean, bony head was held aloft, in consciousness of regal 
 strength, while his burning eyes turned upon the brood 
 mares and colts grazing in an adjacent paddock. He was 
 four years old, and had been entered for the great race to 
 be run the ensuing week. The next horse led out was 
 Orion, a faultless blood bay of the same age, the property 
 of Gov. Eustace. Then came Sir Tristram, a large black 
 horse, the size of Sultan, now too old for the turf, but ten 
 years before famous for victories on more than one field. 
 Next was seen a dark gray mare, Mrs. Haller, extremely 
 handsome in her glossy dress, and her form blood-like in 
 a high degree. The beauty of the stable was Mariana's 
 Blanche, a graceful fawn-like thing, almost ideal in the 
 faultlessness of her appearance. She was milk-white and 
 had much of the blind girl's gentleness of nature. Her 
 large dark eyes were as soft as an antelope's, and seemed 
 full of tenderness, as she lowered her delicate neck to 
 receive Philip's caress. The hunters, Sirius, Ptarmigan, 
 and Gray Friar, were next exhibited, and in beauty of 
 form and carriage almost equalled the horses Kean had 
 alread}- seen. Philip did not think it necessary to show 
 the coach horses; but Judge Eustace's long-used saddle 
 horse was not forgotten. He was still a fine animal, and 
 contemporary with Marlborough, a large bay, which 
 Thompson had considered for years his property. 
 
 The sky had been overcast with clouds during the 
 morning, but while they intercepted the glare of the sun- 
 light, there was no promise of speedy rain. So at Philip's 
 suggestion Kean and he betook themselves to the depths 
 of the park. They soon reached a portion of the grounds 
 where the undulations of the surface resembled the swell 
 of mighty waves. They had gone some distance from 
 
Etlesmere. 43 
 
 the house, following the ineanderings of a walk, and now 
 they descended into a darker and deeper dell than any 
 yet visited. Following the lead of the pathway, as it 
 wound beneath the trees down in the twilight of the 
 lonely glen, they came upon a scene of wild beauty. 
 Over a mass of almost perpendicular rock, a volume of 
 water issued from a point far toward its summit, and 
 thundered down into the black gulf at its base. 
 
 Philip and Kean paused to survey the wild cataract 
 Just below where they stood, the waters formed a deep 
 narrow stream. The pathway led along its grassy margin 
 in all the windings of the ravine. They found occasional 
 obstructions checking the stream in its course, so placed 
 and adorned with rocks and creepers it was difficult to 
 realize that they were artificial. They seemed miniature 
 promontories formed there by the accidents of nature; 
 and at the first of them was found a boat house contain- 
 ing several canoes. Taking the smallest of them, they 
 passed along the tortuous course of the stream, which 
 widened and deepened as it went; until at some distance, 
 on turning a sharp bend, they glided out upon a lake. It 
 was a scene of sudden and surprising beauty. The soft 
 lines of the hill-tops, the velvety shores, and unruffled 
 peace of the waters, made up such a picture of dreamy 
 quietude, that Kean envied the tall, silent herons, which 
 stood so listlessly at the other end of the basin. 
 
 " Surely," said he, " this lake is not artificial" 
 
 " No," said Philip. "This is God's work, and it is to 
 me the sweetest picture I have ever seen." 
 
 " It is like the home of the fairies-," said Kean. " What 
 is that upon the island near the other end?" 
 
 " A pavilion built by Sir Ellesmere Eustace."' 
 
44 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " I see no outlet for the water which flows down the 
 glen." 
 
 " There is none visible," said Philip. " Grand-father 
 thinks much of it disappears by evaporation and that 
 some subteraneous duct carries off the remainder." 
 
 " Has no one painted this charming scene ?" said Kean. 
 " It is beautiful enough to inspire both poet and artist." 
 
 " M. de la Noue, who lives at St. Kilda, has a sweet 
 picture taken from the island, looking this way. We 
 will visit him the next time we are in the village if you 
 would like to make his acquaintance. He was for a long 
 time the instructor of Mariana and myself in music and 
 drawing. When Cousin Percival was a young man, he 
 wrote a piece of poetry in relation to a young lady he 
 loved in Europe." 
 
 " Can you repeat any of it." 
 
 " Yes, I remember it all, for I was so impressed at first 
 that this lake suggested its composition that I committed 
 it to memory. He called it Gondolied, and it ran thus : 
 
 Dreamily the mists are sleeping 
 
 In the twilight's hazy glow; 
 Mellow beams are softly streaming 
 
 From the moon on all below. 
 I can hear the rippling water 
 
 Murmur on the grassy shore, 
 I am thinking of the future 
 
 Of the bliss it has in store. 
 Not a leaf on high is stirring, 
 
 All the winds are hushed still-, 
 And the lilies now seem sleeping 
 
 By the faintly-gurgling rill. 
 
 All around, and high above me, • 
 
 Are mist-haunted, purpled hills; 
 And a soft delicious languor 
 
 All the dreamy landscape fills. 
 Drooping willows here are weeping 
 
 Silent tear drops on the ground, 
 i 
 
Ellesmere. 45 
 
 And from out the distant moorland 
 Comes a faintly ringing sound ; 
 
 Yet our stillness is unbroken, 
 As those soft horns ever blow, 
 
 From the Elf-land in the distance? 
 Over waters moving slow* 
 
 By my side a radiant maiden 
 
 Sits, with love-lit eyes of blue; 
 On my heart she's leaning listless, 
 
 And her hair is damp with dew. 
 On the lake through mist and shadow* 
 
 We are floating with the tide, 
 And we both are softly dreaming 
 
 Of the day she'll be my bride/ 
 On the plush of velvet cushions 
 
 Rest we in our fairy bark, 
 In a blissful silence musing 
 
 Without movement or remark* 
 
 Echoes round are softly breathing* 
 
 Whisp'rings on the summer air; 
 And the moonlight's placid glory 
 
 Streameth full upon her hair; 
 Golden tresses, which the fairies 
 
 All are wistful to possess: 
 Oh! the soft and dreamy splendor 1 
 
 Of her perfect loveliness J 
 Beauty far beyond the dreaming 
 
 Of the most ideal brain ; 
 Only In the realm of Aidenne 
 
 Could her like be seen again. 
 
 Here I see some star-like sorrow 
 
 Ever in her pensive face, 
 Strengthening the deep enchantment 
 
 Born of beauty and of grace : 
 For it is a sorrow blended 
 
 With a tinge of deepest joy; 
 Where the changeful smiles are flitting/ 
 
 And all thought of grief destroy. 
 Airy forms are gliding round her; 
 
 Angel whispers near her play; 
 Balmy breezes blow upon her;— 
 
 Is it wondrous that I stay ? 
 
 All the world is nought unto me; 
 
 Care has passed so far away 
 In this soft enchanted region, 
 
 With this queen of song I'll stay; 
 
46 The Heirs of Si. Hilda, 
 
 And from out her silken bondage 
 
 Forth I never more shall rove: 
 For this blissful, sweet enchantment-. 
 
 And this fond) unclouded love 
 Here detain me unresisting, 
 
 While 1 linger by her side s 
 In her dear entrancing presence 
 
 I shall evermore abide. 
 
 "Mr. St. George's versification is smooth and the repose 
 of the ideas well sustained," said Kean. a Did you say 
 this is a leaf from his heart-history?" 
 
 " Yes," said Philip. " My cousin has never recovered 
 from the enchantment he refers to in the conclusion of 
 the piece. He loved Leonora Orsini nigh unto death, 
 and when he lost her a shadow came upon him, that all 
 the affection of his friends has been unable to lift. Grand- 
 father says when Cousin Percy first grew 7 up he was the 
 gayest and handsomest youth he has ever seen, but you 
 know he is anything else than gay now." 
 
 While Philip was repeating the poetry, they had been 
 slowly returning to the point at which they found the 
 boat. Here they landed and returned to the house. Mr. 
 Grey was there, and Kean and he commenced an 
 acquaintance which was destined to become a warm and 
 enduring frienship. Philip was busy in his preparations 
 for the morrow's hunt. He had many reasons for using 
 every precaution to capture the sly red fox which had 
 so long baffled him and the other huntsmen of the 
 valley. 
 
A Day in the Fields, 47 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 A DAY IN THE FIELDS. 
 
 " Yelled on the view the opening pack-- 
 Rock, glen, and cavern paid them back; 
 To many a mingled sound at once, 
 The awakened mountain gave responses 
 An hundred dogs bayed deep and strong. 
 Clattered an hundred steeds alohg, 
 Their peal the merry horns rang out, 
 An hundred voices joined the shout." 
 
 Lady of the Lakex 
 
 As the light of coming day announced its approach, 
 by the faint illumination of the far-off summit of Hawks* 
 head, St. George, Philip, and Kean shook off their slum- 
 ber and rose to complete their unfinished preparations. 
 They expected a day of hard riding and bountiful excite* 
 ment. After a hasty lunch they went toward the ken- 
 nel. In the gray dawn the long belt of light, just above 
 the tops of the great hills across the river, was each mo- 
 ment blushing more deeply with the glory of the yet in- 
 visible sun. Ever wakeful chanticleer had just aroused 
 his sleeping harem ; when Thompson, having first tied 
 up the two stag-hounds, which on other occasions weie 
 allowed the liberty of the park, now blew a blast on his 
 hunting horn that stirred the dogs for miles around. It 
 seemed loud enough to have awakened the dead, and 
 rolled amid the hills around as if loth to cease its repeat- 
 ing echoes. This was his announcement to the kennel 
 that work was expected of them on the occasion, and 
 never was leader's call more lustily answered by trusted 
 liegemen. Immediately there arose a combination of 
 
48 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 sounds that was wonderful in variety and strength of 
 uproar; as every dog gave vehement note of his joy at 
 the signal. One by one through the half-opened gate 
 Thompson now suffered to pass such of the eager hounds 
 as were in his opinion in good running order. 
 
 " Stand back dare, Chloe," said he, " you looks much 
 like following that old, long-sided, red devil all day long ; 
 puny as you is. Come here Ringwood. Now dare's a 
 dog folks can count on. I'll bet my bottom dollar he 
 leads the pack from sunrise to sunset. Bless heaven, if 
 he aint the greatest dog ever smelt fox yit I" 
 
 These remarks of Thompson were half in soliloquy, and 
 in part addressed to the dogs themselves. Two half- 
 grown negro boys stood near the gate, holding the horses 
 now ready for their riders, who at this moment came up 
 and awaited the conclusion of the process of culling 
 from the kennel such dogs as their sable attendant 
 considered fit for the work expected on that day. They 
 were to follow a fox of whose prowess and craft they had 
 the most abundant proof in the past. They were soon 
 mounted and under way for the spot in which it was 
 understood wily Reynard now lurked. There was 
 scarcely a breath of wind, and the cool autumn air felt 
 delightfully bracing to the horsemen as they restrained 
 the impatient pride of their hunters, whose blood was 
 sent dancing through their beautiful frames at each loud 
 demonstration of the hounds. St. George was riding a 
 chestnut sorrel, in whose faultless symmetry and spirit 
 there was nothing that even the fastidious Master of 
 Vaucluse could find amiss. He was named for the great 
 captain, Gonsalvo. Philip rode Black Sultan, and Kean 
 a tall, powerful, young horse, known in the stables as 
 
t 
 
 A Day in the Fields. 49 
 
 Gray Friar. Either of them would have made reputation 
 had they been placed on the turf. They were selected 
 for their power and capacity to sustain the long and 
 desperate fox chases which were not unfrequently seen in 
 St. Kilda Valley. 
 
 A few birds were engaged in their matin songs, but 
 their melody was scarcely noticed in the wilder clamor 
 of a large eagle whose screams of angry impatience at the 
 noisy progress of the hounds near her nest summoned to 
 her shrill cries the presence of her mate. With headlong, 
 speed they both frequently swept earthward, as if they 
 would strike their extended talons into horseman and; 
 hound ; but up they arose again in their swift flight into 
 great circles, churning the startled air with their 
 wings, and giving increased note of their vehement dis- 
 pleasure. Kean was, at first, much disconcerted by one 
 of these swoops very near his head, but he was reassured 
 by his companions, who told him that these demonstra- 
 tions on the part of the eagles never resulted in actual 
 assault. They were pets of Judge Eustace, who never 
 permitted any disturbance of them, and in gratitude they,, 
 each year, occupied the same nest,and reared their young; 
 in the park. Arthur rode along repeating to himself — 
 
 "He clasps the crag with hooked hands, 
 Close to the sun in lonely lands, 
 Ringed in the azure world he stands. 
 
 He watcheth, from his mountain walls, 
 The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls, 
 And like a thunderbolt he falls." 
 
 The party passed through the park gate, and daylight 
 was now pouring, broad and full, upon all the towering 
 peaks of the blue, mist-swathed mountains. Midst great 
 4 
 
t 
 
 50 The Heirs of St. Kilda, 
 
 clamor of hound and horn, they turned their horses' heads 
 up the turnpike, in the direction of Satan's Nose. 
 
 Kean had noticed twenty dogs already trotting along 
 the road, when presently he was astonished to meet 
 Reginald Vane with as many more. These were the best 
 of his and St. George's packs. 
 
 "Good morning, Vane," said St. George. "I am glad 
 to see Mavis looking so well recovered. I feared, last 
 week, you would have to put a seton in his neck. I was 
 half fearful, too, that you would not come this morning, 
 you have become so wedded to your hermitage under the 
 mountains." 
 
 "I am glad you broke in upon my laziness, for without 
 'the certainty of a good meeting I would have given up 
 foxes for trout and unsuspecting deer." 
 
 " We are not diversifying your pursuits very much this 
 morning," said Kean. 
 
 " Yes," answered Vane. " Trout-fishing and deer-stalk- 
 ing are as different from the noisy clamor of a fox chase 
 ns the quiet of my solitary house from the bustle of St. 
 Kilda during race week. By the way, St. George, Comp- 
 ■ton says confidently that he shall beat Hildebrand by 
 three lengths. I have some hope that Redgauntlet will 
 not bolt this time, for I am going to make Edmund, who 
 is nearly a stone over his proper weight, ride him." 
 
 " Redgauntlet is in capital condition," said Philip. " I 
 saw Edmund try him over our course last week against 
 Godiva, and he behaved very finety." 
 
 " Hillo Thompson !" said Percival. " What are Tweed 
 and Troubadour doing here?" 
 
 " It's more 'an I can tell you, Mass Percy, for I tied 
 both of them grey hounds fast afore I opened the kennel." 
 
A Day in the Melds. 51 
 
 " We can shut them up at Glancy's," said Vane. 
 
 " Why not carry them along also?" said Kean. "I 
 should think they were as fast any dogs I see here." 
 
 " So they are," said St. George, " and, for the first hour, 
 would keep ahead of the pack, not knowing or caring 
 for what they were in pursuit, unless a deer should chance 
 to be lying in the cover which the fox we are seeking is 
 now said to occupy." 
 
 The party halted in front of Mr. Glancy's house, 
 and Thompson and Vane's man Edmund, having cap- 
 tured the two stag-hounds, whose company was so little 
 desired, speedily tied them up, with the request that they 
 should not be set at liberty until all danger of interrup- 
 tion from them should have passed by. The great Elles- 
 mere hill had now, at a distance of four miles from the 
 mansion, sloped gently down into a broad, fair valley, on 
 a little eminence, in which, stood Robert Glancy's home. 
 This vale stretched away to the small river and the 
 mountains beyond. The party passed through a gate on 
 the road-side, which opened into the limits of the Graf- 
 ton lands. About two miles off could be seen the farm 
 buildings. Satan's Nose was to the left, its summit four 
 miles away, and around its lofty Southern exposure were 
 meadow lands and little glens which ran back between 
 intervening ridges. They passed through the broad 
 fields until they came to the edge of the marsh lands. 
 
 The loud outcry of one of the hounds announced 
 the discovery of a warm trail, and a shout from Thomp- 
 son soon brought the whole pack to the assistance of 
 Ringwood, who had, by this time, corroborated the less 
 authoritative announcement of the first striker. 
 
 " I will bet three to one he is in those willows yonder 
 
52 The Heirs of Si Kilda. 
 
 at the edge of the flax pond," said Vane. " But it cannot 
 be that Compton's fox has come hereto sleep. Edmund, 
 go to the other end and look out for him; I am confi- 
 dent he will pass in that direction." 
 
 The excited negro sped to the point indicated, for the 
 foremost trailers were already entering the small thicket ; 
 when Reynard, in an agony of fright, rushed by, closely 
 pursued by the hounds now in full cry. Edmund re- 
 ported that a } r oung gray fox had passed him. The ex- 
 perienced huntsmen well knew he would not leave the 
 small thinly-wooded valley that ran in the direction of 
 Satan's Nose. They rode up to a small eminence from 
 which they could watch the progress of the chase; and 
 in a few minutes, like a hare, the fugitive had doubled 
 upon his track, and was making for the spot from which 
 he started. There he was soon captured, St. George 
 managing to get the first touch of his brush. 
 
 "This is quick work," said Kean, as he rode up to the 
 others who had dismounted. 
 
 " This chase is nothing, sir," said Philip. " It is a mere 
 cub we have taken. I should have been glad if he could 
 have remained unmolested until the next season ; he 
 would have given us a better race." 
 
 " I am afraid that sly fellow, who lies at the foot of the 
 hill across the meadow, has heard us, and is even now 
 commencing the flight he knows so well how to sustain," 
 said Vane. " I wish we had not crossed the path of this 
 youngster." 
 
 The dogs were scarcely blown at all in this short race, 
 and the party were soon in motion again, toward the 
 point at which they expected to find the prince of foxes. 
 A great tulip-poplar was pointed out to Kean as the place 
 
A Day in the Held. 53 
 
 near which his usual cover was to be found. The tutor 
 was advised to stop at the entrance of the glade, while 
 the huntsmen and dogs followed its course. Philip re- 
 mained with him, but he was loth to lose the opportu- 
 nity of riding at a stone fence, on the hill-top, which St. 
 George considered too dangerous for Kean, who was not 
 yet sufficiently practiced in such things, to undertake. 
 He awaited the movements of the huntsmen ; and as soon 
 as they heard the dogs open up the glade, they rode 
 swiftly for the fields just above Mr. Glancy's house. When 
 they reached this point, to which Philip knew the fox 
 must come to avoid the river on the right, they could hear 
 the dogs slowly coming on. This was a matter of sur- 
 prise, for the} r had fully expected a furious chase by this 
 time: but soon the trail waxed into a headlong run, and 
 in a few seconds Reynard passed them in full view flour- 
 ishing his expanded brush defiantly over his back. He 
 was running at a prodigious rate, about two hundred 
 yards in front of the peerless Ringwood, who as ever led 
 the bellowing pack which clamored close in his rear. 
 Philip instantly recognized the far-famed red fox, and 
 saluted him with a shout, as he passed. Black Sultan 
 felt the touch of steel spurs and was, the next minute, by 
 the side of Percival St. George. 
 
 " The devil must be in this fox ;" said he, " did you see 
 him when he passed." 
 
 "Yes, he was leading Ringwood by, at least, two hun- 
 dred yards. What made your movements, until the last 
 mile, so slow ?" 
 
 " The old Red broke cover, as soon as he heard us after 
 the young fox, and was some distance this side of the 
 
54 The Valley of St. Kilda. 
 
 stone wall. I have no doubt he was leisurely making 
 his way out of the neighborhood." 
 
 They were now rapidly approaching the river where it 
 bends suddenly westward, and, through the broad, open 
 fields, the whole pursuit was plainly to be seen. The fox 
 seemed conscious of his power, and still shook his flag- 
 like brush high in the air. The gait was exhausting to 
 all concerned; but on swept the wild cry of the eager 
 hounds, and still as fresh as when they started bounded 
 the excited horses. Five good miles were soon passed 
 at this fearful rate, when St. George proposed, as the fox 
 would probably cross the small stream just above Vau- 
 cluse, that they should pass down to Knightonsford, which 
 would cut off a considerable circuit. Thompson was 
 directed to follow the dogs; and at an easy gallop the 
 huntsmen proceeded to the crossing, and, having passed 
 the river, aw T aited the approach of the chase. The pre- 
 cipitous sides of the mountain barrier here approached 
 so close to the stream that but little distance separated 
 them, and as Reynard had, before this, in all his previous 
 escapes, made Hawkshead his city of refuge, it was reas- 
 onably concluded he would follow his old course. 
 
 There was now^ a lull in the storm of sound up the 
 river, which plainly told that the fox had been so closely 
 pressed, he was forced to cross the stream. In a few 
 seconds, Thompson's voice was heard, harking the dogs 
 to the recovered trail, and, with unabated speed, the din 
 of the pursuit swept up in the direction of the party 
 awaiting its approach. The chase had by this time 
 passed over at least fifteen miles, and they saw with de- 
 light, as Reynard glided by like a shadow, that the brush, 
 which was so proudly borne the last time they had seen 
 
A Day in the Field. 55 
 
 him, was now drooping and somewhat draggled. Ring- 
 wood, and Mavis, closely followed by a dozen strong 
 hounds, held him almost in view. With a wild cheer, as 
 they swept by, the huntsmen fell in their wake. Away 
 rolled the echoing tumult toward the east. Thompson, 
 with many of the straggling dogs, was considerably in 
 the rear. 
 
 Had they been pursuing any other fox, the huntsmen 
 would have counted upon a speedy capture after witness- 
 ing the signs of distress they had seen at the ford. The} 7 
 were not astonished, then, after following the dogs several 
 miles, to see no indications of speedy surrender. If there 
 was any difference in the distance, which still separated 
 the pursuers and pursued, it was in favor of the latter. 
 But just before them lay the great fields of the Thorn- 
 dale farm, and there was a prospect of seeing the fox's 
 condition more perfectly than had been afforded for a 
 considerable distance back. For some time longer, Rey- 
 nard persisted in following the bend of the river ; and by 
 hard riding on the chord, while the hounds were moving 
 on the arc of a circle, the huntsmen were rewarded by 
 a sight of the enemy now so thoroughly crest-fallen that 
 all joined Vane in a wild shout of joy. Thompson, on 
 his huge horse Marlborough by this time came up ; and 
 he, hearing the cheer, raised a cry that rose high above 
 all the confusion of sounds mingling in the deep excite- 
 ment of the hour. Fast and furious swept the yelling 
 tide past Thorndale. Hawkshead, with its lofty bare 
 summit, was growing higher momentarily. At every 
 leap the fox was coming closer to what, all had reason 
 to believe, would be freedom and deliverance to him. 
 But one more large field lay beyond this which they had 
 
56 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 now entered; and then thick undergrowth and steep 
 hill-sides would retard the progress of dog and horse, and 
 give aid and comfort to the fugitive that, so really, seemed 
 to bear a charmed life. . But Ringwood, Mavis, and their 
 gallant supporters, are not now stretching every muscle 
 and tendon in vain. The fox sees, from the closeness of 
 their approach, that he must be inevitably overhauled, 
 and turns to the left for a small cover of weeds and 
 bushes, on the edge of the thin wood marking the course 
 of the river. A yell of satisfaction arises, as the hunts- 
 men see him enter this; they consider it almost a com- 
 plete abandonment of hope on his part. 
 
 Outfooted in the open field, Reynard was, by no means, 
 captured ; for he was yet as full of craft, as also of unfail- 
 ing pluck. The party, which, a moment before, was so 
 hopeful, now heard, with amazement, the cries of the 
 dogs suddenly cease without an} r signs of the death. 
 They had evidently come to a dead loss, and all their 
 efforts and ingenuity to recover the trail amounted to 
 nothing. They were fast despairing, when Thompson, 
 having gone to the mouth of a spring branch that here 
 joined its tribute to the river, in stooping to drink heard 
 the breathing of some tired animal under the bushes 
 that concealed the face of an overhanging bank. He 
 listened attentively, and looking for sometime steadily in 
 that direction, in the dark shade of the shrubbery, he saw 
 indistinctly the small muzzle of cunning Reynard pro- 
 truding above the water. He communicated this intelli- 
 gence to the party, and, having called in the dogs, a few 
 pebbles thrown into the water quickly renewed the chase. 
 
 The huntsmen supposed that the bath, which Reynard 
 had taken, by the coolness of the spring water, so stiffened 
 
■A Day in the Fields. 57 
 
 the weary limbs of the fugitive that he would be soon 
 overhauled, but they were again mistaken. With a 
 desperate and final outburst of speed he led the pack 
 across the wide field, and was just entering another when 
 Philip, who was riding in advance, heard the death-cry 
 of rage and despair. For several minutes past the lead- 
 ing dogs, having held their quarry full in view, had been 
 almost silent in the supreme exertion they were making. 
 Black Sultan felt the prick of the spurs as Philip's shout 
 of exultation told of victory won. In an instant he had 
 reached the scene, and rushing amid the furious dogs laid 
 hold upon the brush which had been so long coveted 
 by the sportsmen of the entire region. 
 
 Nothing is more surprising to people unaccustomed to 
 such scenes than the ferocity of a hound when enraged 
 by a long chase. His timidity utterly vanishes on such 
 an emergency, and the animal which yells at the sight 
 of an uplifted whip on other occasions becomes trans- 
 formed into the embodiment of demoniac fury* 
 
 Philip, with Thompson's assistance, wrested the body 
 of the dead fox from the struggling dogs — every one of 
 which had proved himself of heroic endurance by the 
 work of that day. For more than thirty miles they had 
 followed their foe, and had captured the very prince and 
 paragon of foxes. 
 
 " Philip," said St. George, "you have fairly won your 
 spurs to-day, but that was a terrible leap you gave Black 
 Sultan over the last fence." 
 
 "Yes, cousin, but I was so bent on taking this fox and 
 tailing him myself that I took the risk." 
 
 "I suppose," said Kean, "that king Richard, at Bos- 
 worth, when offering a kingdom for a horse, could not 
 
58 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 have surpassed you in your appreciation of your noble 
 steed." 
 
 " I suppose not, sir," said Philip, "for Black Sultan has 
 forever endeared himself to me by this day's work." 
 
 Reginald Vane had ridden at the fence where Philip 
 crossed, and had taken a tumble by his horse's failure to 
 clear the obstruction. A few bruises on both, and a 
 somewhat dilapidated condition as to the rider's toilet, 
 were the worst of the bold huntsman's discomfiture. 
 
 " Ah, Philip," said he as he came up, " I'll take Red- 
 gauntlet out the next time but what I'll be even with 
 you. Do you know that fence is a rail higher than Col. 
 Ridgeley's famous jump?" 
 
 " I didn't see how high it was," said Philip, " but I 
 was determined to get in ahead, if I had to take a tum- 
 ble." 
 
 " Well, what will the Comptons say now," said St. 
 George. 
 
 " Confound them," said Vane, " it will rile them and 
 Frank Peyton as bad as the loss of a four-mile race." 
 
 The party mounted and returned to the spring-branch 
 where it crosses the road leading to Thorndale. Vane's 
 man, Edmund, was sent to apprise Mrs. Courtenay of their 
 intention to dine with her, and they dismounted to 
 slake their own and their animals' thirst. In the deep 
 shade, upon a sward that was soft and green, the tired 
 hunters and dogs halted for refreshment after the long 
 and hurried progress of the day. 
 
 " Philip," said Vane, " did you see Miss Yelverton last 
 week at the Capital." 
 
 " Yes, Cousin Reg., but she is [married you know, and 
 is now Mrs. Thorne." 
 
A Day in the Fields. 59 
 
 " Ah — I had not heard of that," said Vane. " St. George, 
 there went your last chance." 
 
 " Don't you pity me," said Percival. 
 
 " You had no pity on her Cousin Percy," said Philip. 
 
 " How was that, Philip," said Vane. 
 
 " Why, don't you remember her stay with us last 
 Christmas. She cured me of all my fancy for her by her 
 unmistakable preference for Cousin Percy; and then to 
 think that he should have gone off to Vaucluse and left 
 so beautiful a woman in love with him." 
 
 " Philip," said St. George very gravely, " please remem- 
 ber that you are speaking of a married lady." 
 
 " Cousin Percy, you know it is true." 
 
 " I know that Rosamond should have taught you better 
 than to be falling in love with Miss Yelverton and get- 
 ting jealous of me." 
 
 " Rosamond knows that I love her best of all, and 
 allows me a fancy now and then. Cousin Helen does the 
 same with one of my friends," said Philip, with a glance 
 at Vane. 
 
 " Ah, you scape-grace," said Vane, " you are as boun- 
 teous in your favors as if that girl were never to hear of 
 your many infidelities." 
 
 " Cousin Reg., I am all devotion to Miss Courtenay," 
 and lying there, with clear, full voice he sang : 
 
 She is so fair, Ah me, so fair! 
 
 The lilies droop their heads in shame; 
 Her soft, dark eyes, divinely rare, 
 
 Make all the world else weak and tame; 
 The tender glow of twilight stars 
 
 Is not one-half so dear to me — 
 Madonna eyes in smiles and tears, 
 
 That melt or flash so splendidly. 
 
60 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 She is so sweet, Ah me, so sweet! 
 
 So gentle in her loveliness — , 
 I worship e'en her dainty feet 
 
 And all her perfect beauty bless ; 
 I hear her voice — look in her eyes — 
 
 All other things are naught to me; 
 Ambition's dream within me dies. 
 
 I am her slave eternally. 
 
Thorndale Cottage. 61 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 THORNDALE COTTAGE. 
 
 "There along the dale, 
 With woods o'erhung, and shagged with niossy rocks, 
 Where on each hand the gushing waters play, 
 And down the rough cascade white dashing fall, 
 Or gleam in lengthened vista through the trees, 
 You silent steal, or sit beneath the shade 
 Of solemn oaks that tuft the swelling mounts."— Seasons. 
 
 Thorndale Cottage was, in every respect, the opposite 
 of the Ellesmere place. It stood at the entrance of a wild, 
 mountain dale, overlooked on three sides by lofty hills. 
 Its beautiful lawns were but slightly elevated above the 
 smooth meadow lands in front. It was originally a cot- 
 tage, and, with all its additions and adornments, was still 
 true to its name. Ellesmere, with its- proud eminence, 
 overlooking the country far around, appeared with its 
 tower and battlements half feudal in strength. The 
 first American Philip Eustace selected the quiet beauty 
 and seclusion of this pretty retreat, and used his large 
 wealth but sparingly in the way of architectural embellish- 
 ments. Since his day, in the century which had elapsed, 
 much had been done in the way of enlarging and beauti- 
 fying both the house and the grounds. To this sweet, 
 hill-surrounded dale Philip Eustace brought his charm- 
 ing young bride. Henrietta St. George had been in the 
 court of the second George of England one of its chief 
 beauties and attractions. She was witty, and pitiless to 
 her admirers, and the young American, with all his 
 wealth — which was grossly exaggerated by report — had 
 sighed in vain, until the death of Queen Caroline lost the 
 
62 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 fair Henrietta her place as maid of honor. Thus, after 
 reigning the belle of a gay circle in a great capital, she 
 came to this spot, and, with her handsome and genial 
 husband, became even more popular and influential than 
 her sister-in-law, Lady Ellesmere Eustace. Philip was, 
 somewhat, less intellectual than his brother, but his 
 wealth and elegant manners soon made him the most 
 engaging man in all St. Kilda Valley. The only clouds 
 which crossed the horizon of his pleasant life were the 
 deaths of several children. Templeton Eustace was the 
 only one of them who reached manhood, and he was the 
 grandfather of Mrs. Courtenay, who now resided upon 
 the estate. Sometimes she visited the city establishment 
 she had occupied before her husband's death, but these 
 interruptions of her stay at Thorndale became less fre- 
 quent with the lapse of time. 
 
 The hunting party was graciously received by the lady 
 of the house, beneath her vine-covered verandahs. Mrs. 
 Courtenay preserved the family characteristic of personal 
 beauty. She was a tall, pleasant-looking woman, of five 
 and thirty, and yet wore her widow's weeds for him who 
 had died so many years before. 
 
 Rosamond, her only daughter, was out on the lawn 
 with young Philip, looking at the fox in whose capture 
 he was still exulting. As they stand in the mellow 
 autumn sunlight they present a pretty picture of youth- 
 ful trust and happiness. The handsome young hunts- 
 man is holding up the dead fox for inspection, but the 
 large, black eyes of the maiden are more engaged with 
 the short, crispy curls on the high, white brow of him 
 before her than with the size and beauty of Reynard. 
 The tall, straight figure leans trustingly upon his arm, 
 
Thorndale Cottage. 63 
 
 and the look of satisfaction and sympathy which lights 
 up her face is beautiful to behold. Rosamond Courtenay 
 was, at that day, a mystery to all beholders. She was 
 nearly fourteen years old, and was as yet so thin and 
 angular in her figure that even the splendor of her lus- 
 trous eyes and the beauty of her mouth could not blind 
 observers to the evident plainness of the tout ensemble. 
 In spite of this, no one ever dreamed of saying she was 
 unattractive. There was some mysterious charm in her 
 look and manner that riveted the gaze of every one in 
 the vain effort to fathom and explain why they were so 
 attracted. 
 
 It was, as yet, a doubtful question what Rosamond 
 would be in the future. Perci val St. George, who was a wor- 
 shipper of the beautiful in all its developments, believed 
 she would, some day, become as radiant as the love of his 
 early youth ; but Mrs. Courtenay would sigh when she 
 saw Mariana with her daughter, and tell her that unless 
 she read fewer books she would become a plain-looking 
 blue-stocking. Rosamond dearly loved the old romancers 
 and poets, and, even when she took the stag-hound 
 Hubert out for a stroll up the glen among the bases of 
 the mountains, she carried her book in her hand. She 
 was, generally, shy in company, and could be induced to 
 talk but little; but when Philip and Mariana could get 
 her in the recess of some window, where they were unob- 
 served, she became transformed, as soon as a story was 
 called for. On such occasions she was, as it were, 
 entranced in the wonderful play of her fancy, and fairy 
 tales, so amplified and adorned, that their authors would 
 have scarcely recognized them, would flow, by the hour, 
 from lips which then seemed those of some rapt sybil. 
 
64 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 The coming marriage of Philip and Rosamond was 
 deeply desired by all branches of the family. To her, 
 this prospect had ever been full of pleasant images, 
 for she admired the bold youth above all human beings. 
 His warm and fearless nature had given him a romantic 
 charm to her ever-active imagination, and she had been 
 long castle-building in her dreams of their future. Philip 
 loved Rosamond for her gentle nature and manifest de- 
 votion to himself; but this did not prevent occasional 
 fancies for the grown-up beauties that he met in the gay 
 society of St. Kilda Valley. At dinner parties and other 
 festivities, he sometimes brought tears to her eyes, by 
 these little infidelities ; but his repentance and a few 
 caresses soon restored sunshine to the confiding girl. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay led the tired and hungry hunts- 
 men to a dinner that gave them the amplest satisfac- 
 tion. Rare, old wines, and delicatety concocted jellies and 
 sauces, gave additional relish to their already apprecia- 
 tive appetites; and above all the sweet dignity with 
 which she presided gave a charm to the occasion, which 
 can only be realized in the tact and refinement of such a 
 presence. 
 
 " What think you, Mr. Kean," said she, " of our Valley 
 of St. Kilda. You, doubtless, saw much of it in your long 
 chase to-day." 
 
 " I can assure you, Madam, that I am charmed with 
 all I have seen, and could but regret that our headlong 
 speed prevented my dwelling on many enchanting views 
 that were constantly opening in my sight as I passed." 
 
 " You must have had a most vigorous and exciting 
 chase, and Philip has fairly won his spurs, after so much 
 
Thorndale Collage. 65 
 
 hard riding. Rosamond, you seemed much interested in 
 the dead fox." 
 
 " Yes, Mother, for you must know Philip has promised 
 to make me a present of this most redoubtable animal, 
 and I am going to keep it as a trophy of his early 
 prowess." 
 
 " Yes, Cousin," said Philip, " Mr. Kean and I will pre- 
 pare the skin of Reynard in such a way that Rosamond 
 can see him in her bower almost as life-like as when he 
 started from his cover this morning." 
 
 " I think," said Kean, " we can make a very pleasing 
 addition to Miss Rosamond's retreat of this famous 
 animal. The fox in apparent pursuit of some startled 
 birds in the midst of artificial shrubbery, and shut up in 
 an air-tight glass case — if the skin is well preserved — will 
 be something novel among the canaries and flowers." 
 
 " We will go, after dinner, Mr. Kean," said Rosamond, 
 " and you and Philip can make the necessary arrange- 
 ments. I expect that such an addition to my pets will 
 throw the birds into a fever of excitement, and Hubert 
 will show such signs of his displeasure that it will re- 
 quire much coaxing to get him into a good humor." 
 
 " Rosamond," said Vane, " I expect Fred. Compton will 
 be doubly chagrined when he hears that Philip has taken 
 the fox which he has so often pursued in vain, and has 
 also given him to you." 
 
 " Now, listen to your teasing again, Cousin Reginald ; 
 you know that Fred, is making love to Mae Glancy. As 
 much as he may dislike being beaten in the capture of 
 this fox, which all of you have been so anxious to effect, 
 I am confident he will care nothing for my having it." 
 
 " Fred, is too much of a gentleman for such a thing," 
 5 
 
66 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 said Percival St. George. " He will be worried to think 
 that our dogs could overtake a fox which has so often 
 baffled his father's pack; but it would be very churlish 
 for hiin to dislike Rosamond's possession of his effigy." 
 
 "Could he not console himself by. saying you had a 
 larger number of hounds than he mustered in his fruitless 
 chases?" said Kean. 
 
 "No," answered St. George, "for Mr. Compton and 
 Frank. Peyton have followed him several times the whole 
 length of the valley with their united packs. Their last 
 chase was made with the assistance of Col. Ridgely's dogs, 
 thus largely outnumbering the force with which we took 
 the field this morning." 
 
 "Fred, must wait until next week," said Mrs. Courte- 
 nay. " Who knows but that he may get his revenge at 
 the races?" 
 
 " That satisfaction ma}^ be in store for him," said St, 
 George, " but I think Hildebrand has more to fear from 
 Philip's horse, Tempest, and Reginald's Redgauntlet 
 than Pepin, notwithstanding the great things Mr. Comp- 
 ton expects of him." 
 
 " Cousin Percival, what think you of my Leda?" said 
 Rosamond. " Uncle Isaac says she will be fit for me to 
 ride by next Spring. He wants me to have her trained 
 for the race-course, but I am not willing to expose her to 
 the gaze and criticism of such a place, not to mention the 
 strange figure I should present in competing with you 
 gentlemen, in what is claimed as an exclusive privilege 
 of your sex." 
 
 "That is, certainly, a quaint idea of Isaac's," said St. 
 George. " Leda is a beauty, and would, doubtless, sus- 
 tain herself, and bring no discredit on her high lineage ; 
 
Thorndale Cottage. 67 
 
 but she is destined to a more graceful duty, if }'ou make 
 her your palfrey." 
 
 " Philip," said Mrs. Courtenay, " I hear that your father 
 is expected home?" 
 
 " Yes, he will come to-morrow night. I left him at 
 the Capital a week ago, and he then fully intended to be 
 at Ellesmere during the races." 
 
 " I am glad that pretty Miss Yelverton is married," 
 said Rosamond, " otherwise I should look for her to be 
 coming with Cousin Ashton again ; and then I would 
 hear nothing from Philip but praises of her beauty." 
 
 "Rosamond," said Percival, "if I w r ere you I would 
 make Philip behave better. A flirtation with Frederick 
 Compton, or some other young man, would go far towards- 
 curing him of these roving fancies." 
 
 " No," said she, " I return good for evil. I am all con- 
 stancy." 
 
 Cousin Henrietta," said Philip, "you can bear me wit- 
 ness that Rosamond has made me almost as jealous as 
 Othello, by at least a dozen flirtations with this same 
 Fred. Compton." 
 
 " They, certainly, have much to talk about sometimes," 
 said Mrs. Courtenay. " For instance, at Col. Ridgely's, 
 while you were visiting your father, she and Fred, were, 
 all the evening when not dancing, engaged on some sub- 
 ject which seemed of great interest to both." 
 
 " Oh Mother ! I was only telling him those wild stories 
 I had read in Coleridge — " Christabel " and the " Ancient 
 Mariner." I missed Philip and Mariana so much that I 
 asked Fred, to leave the dance, and go with me to the 
 window on the east, to talk about what they were proba- 
 bly doing in the Governor's palace, away across the coun- 
 
68 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 try at the Capital ; and then the great, red moon came up 
 between the two hills across the river. "We sat there 
 watching the illumination of Hawkshead's summit, and 
 the broad belt of light across the river ; and I was hap- 
 pier there than among the dancers. That was the reason 
 of our long conversation. I always tell Fred., when he 
 says he loves me, that it must only be as a friend, for I 
 belong to Philip." 
 
 " Tell us something, Philip, you saw and did, while 
 you were gone," said Mrs. Courtenay. " Were you at any 
 parties while in the city ?" 
 
 " We attended several, but I enjoyed m\ 7 self most at an 
 evening reception which father gave. Among the first 
 who came was our old acquaintance Miss Yelverton, now 
 Mrs. Thorne. She was more beautiful than ever, in the 
 superb velvet she wore, with her hair intertwined with 
 pearls. She asked Mariana and myself to show her the 
 night-blooming cereus in the conservatory, but I think 
 she wished to inquire about some one whom I know she 
 has not forgotten, although she is married to another. 
 She looked like a queen, but Mariana seemed nearer 
 an angel that night than I have ever seen her. When 
 we returned to the drawing-rooms, the guests had nearly 
 all arrived, and I could but notice the general and invol- 
 untary tribute of admiration bestowod upon my sister, as 
 she leaned upon the arm of Mrs. Thorne. Among those 
 most touched by her loveliness was a distinguished 
 French occulist, who at once told my father that he 
 thought it possible to restore her lost vision. I would be 
 almost willing to die if he could only realize the hope he 
 has excited in my heart." 
 
 " I am afraid of these travelling doctors," said St. George, 
 
Thorndale Cottage. 69 
 
 " but this man's credentials are from the greatest savans 
 of Europe and America, and he was fast rising to emi- 
 nence when I was last in Paris. The treatment he 
 recommends is simple and harmless; so if he fails in 
 effecting a cure it will make her condition no worse." 
 
 " From what I have seen of Miss Mariana's eyes," said 
 Kean, " I should, certainly, conclude that the lenses and 
 retina are uninjured, and the difficulty of vision is, as 
 the physician suggests, in the optic nerve having be- 
 come weak from the severe illness she suffered a year 
 ago." 
 
 Dinner being over, some of the party repaired to the 
 drawing-rooms, from the northern windows of which the 
 views were now superb. The declining sun had already 
 commenced throwing across the valley long shadows 
 from the mountain peaks. Satan's Nose, Ellesmere, and 
 the great hills of the east, were still touched by the 
 sunlight; but the vales and gorges were becoming indis- 
 tinct in the deepening gloom. Rosamond had gone with 
 Kean and Philip to view the maiden's bower, and they 
 found everything therein so carefully arranged that it 
 justified the pains taken lest the purposed innovation 
 should appear out of taste amid the things of beauty and 
 grace previously collected. This most charming retreat 
 had been built by Philip Eustace who lived a century 
 before for his young wife. It was shaded by two large 
 hemlocks, and was half-hidden by clustering vines 
 Slender balconies supported the bird-cages in the front 
 windows, while a pretty fountain leaped high in the air, 
 with its incessant shower. This sparkling jet rose near 
 the front of a great, projecting oriel which formed a small 
 room of itself. Having arranged everything tD their 
 
70 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 satisfaction, they joined the company in the other part 
 of the house. Rosamond was pleased to have any me- 
 mento of Philip, and she now mused of how, in after 
 days, she would exhibit this fox, which had been so long 
 a theme of wonder, to all the sportsmen of the valley, 
 and had been untouched bv human hand until brought 
 as a trophy to herself. She resolved to keep it with the 
 same devotion that the Maid of Astolat lavished upon 
 the shield of the great Sir Launcelot, the star of ancient 
 chivalry. 
 
 The bright, autumn moon shed her silvery radiance 
 over the peaceful valley. Hawkshead, Maiden's Peak, 
 and Harcourt Hill, were all aglow in the broad, fair light 
 that rested upon their lofty summits. The curling mists 
 slowly arose from the mountain gorges now dark in im- 
 penetrable shadow ; and the horsemen, wearied with the 
 hardships of the past day, had been riding in silence since 
 leaving Thorndale Cottage. 
 
 " Mr. Kean," said St. George, " do you see the small 
 mountain just in the great bend to the south of that 
 bright star which almost seems touching Harcourt Hill ?" 
 
 " Yes," said Kean, " you mean the peak with the cleared 
 spot halfway up its side?" 
 
 " That hill," said Percival, " was the scene of a dark and 
 terrible tragedy. About fifty years ago a thrifty farmer 
 lived in the valley at its foot, and there reared four stal- 
 wart sons. George Bolton was the second of them, and, 
 by his daring and success in hunting, became famous in 
 the little community then living in the valley. He was 
 a tall, noble-looking, young man, and my father, who was 
 nearly the same age, was frequently with him in the 
 mountains, seeking game. This acquaintance brought 
 
Thorndale Cottage. 71 
 
 George Bolton, occasionally, to Vaucluse, and in the 
 course of his visits he met a pretty girl named Mary 
 Lawton, who had been, for a short time, an assistant of 
 my grandmother in the management of her household. 
 After several years of faithful love between these young 
 people, through my father's earnest entreaties, the objec- 
 tions urged by George's parents to their union were over- 
 come. The only ground of this opposition had been the 
 poverty of the young couple. George had often noticed 
 a beautiful little nook just below the clearing which you 
 see. In this secluded spot, close to a spring which poured 
 its ceaseless tribute down the mountain side, he built a 
 cottage, with his own hands, in which he promised him- 
 self years of quiet enjoyment with the maiden he had 
 wooed and won. The house was in a dell, overshadowed 
 by the surrounding trees. The chimney was constructed 
 with a view to economy, upon a stone that was so formed 
 by nature that George Bolton found, ready made to his 
 use, an indestructible hearth. They were married in the 
 midst of Christmas festivities, and the happy bride saw 
 no trace of displeasure in the cordial kindness with 
 which she was greeted by the parents of her husband. 
 The ceremony had taken place at Vaucluse, and farmer 
 Bolton had given them a party at his house; so on the 
 third night after their marriage they took up their abode 
 in the only room the cottage afforded." 
 
 " George Bolton, from some fatal fancy," continued 
 Percival, " had worked for many days on his house, in 
 the cold, saying he would have no fire 'till his blooming 
 bride should come there to be warmed by its heat. The 
 friends, who had seen them safely in possession of their 
 new home., had all departed, and in the course of the 
 
72 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 evening, after many compliments from the happy girl on 
 the comfort and completeness she [saw around her, they 
 retired to rest. Late in the night they were awakened 
 by some strange noises about the house. Unsuspicious 
 of the deadly peril awaiting him, the bridegroom sprang 
 from his bed to revive the almost expiring embers on the 
 fire-place, and to discover the cause of the disturbance. 
 He had scarcety taken a step in that direction when a 
 hundred rattle-snakes, on the floor, gave their terrific 
 note of displeasure- They lay so thickly that George 
 Bolton stumbled and fell among them. In an instant he 
 felt twenty deadly fangs planted in his body, and could 
 only say to his wife that he was dying. His love for her 
 triumphed in his last moments, for he manifested no fear 
 and did not endeavor to regain the bed, but directing 
 her to cover her head until help should come, speedily 
 expired. The young widow, in an agony of grief and 
 fear, complied with his last injunction, while the fierce 
 din of the rattles was still kept up. Through the long 
 and seemingly endless hours of the night the hapless 
 creature lay almost suffocating, for the reptiles were soon 
 upon the bed, and she could feel them gliding over her, 
 as if in search of another victim." 
 
 "Some of the neighbors came on the next morning, 
 and were surprised to find the door of the house closed. 
 No answer was returned to their calls, and having forced 
 open the door, they were horrified at the ghastly spectacle 
 before them. The hideously swollen and distorted body 
 lay upon the floor, surrounded by throngs of now com- 
 paratively quiet rattle-snakes. The}' were killed and the 
 widowed bride rescued. She had gone there, less than 
 twenty-four hours before, a picture of health and happi- 
 
Tliorndale Cottage. 73 
 
 ness; she had become, through the intense suffering of 
 the fatal night, gray-haired and prematurely old." 
 
 " How was such an extraordinary congregation of rat- 
 tle snakes accounted for?" said Kean. 
 
 " They had collected under the hearth of the cottage, 
 unknown to George Bolton, and were warmed into life by 
 the fire. They have not infested the house much since 
 that time, for on one occasion, being overtaken by a 
 blinding storm of rain, I was forced to abandon the chase 
 in which I was engaged, and found shelter within its 
 walls." 
 
 "What became of the bride, cousin Percy?" said 
 Philip. 
 
 " She never entirely recovered from the effects of the 
 grief and horror she experienced that night, but returned 
 to Vaucluse, and died in less than two years." 
 
 " Mass Percy," said Thompson, who was riding close 
 behind and listening, "you don't say you undertook to 
 sleep in that house; for I should bin afeard of Mr. 
 Bolton's ghost, let alone all dem nasty, venemoussarpunts 
 folks says lives all over dat hill now jest like de used to 
 do." 
 
 " Yes, Thompson, I slept soundly, without disturbance 
 from snake or goblin, although we kept a bright look out 
 for fear of the reptiles." 
 
 " Well, Mass Percy, I'm a heap too chicken-hearted to 
 a done sich a thing." 
 
 " Cousin Reginald," said Philip, "have you heard how 
 old Troubadour frightened uncle Thompson?" 
 
 " No," said Vane, " how was that, Thompson ?" 
 
 " Well, you see, Mass Reg., dare was a quiltin' frolic 
 'mongst the colored folks over at Grafton ; so a leetle arter 
 
74 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 dark I stepped over to see what fun was a gwine on. Old 
 'oman Nancy was agin my gwine, but I went anyhow; 
 and a lively time of it we had. Well, t'wards day, I 
 started home by a nigh cut cross de plantation, and I was 
 nigh bout got over de foot-way long dare in de slashes, 
 when, somehow or other, I got monstous uneasy like, 
 fur I knowd 'twas jus long dare old man Simon got 
 drownded when I was a boy. Master thought uncle 
 Simon was drunk, but we colored folks 'blievesde place is 
 onlucky anyhow, I was feelin mighty skittish, I can 
 tell you, case I thought I heered suppen. I whistled 
 awhile, and I listened awhile, and good gracious, I heered 
 suppen on de foot pieces right ahead o' me a soundin 
 like chains draggin along, an er gittin nigherand nigher 
 to me, until I got off o' de log to let de thing pass by if 
 it was gwine to. I kep a lookin and a lookin, when de 
 fus thing I knowd I disarned two great, big balls o' fire. 
 I jes trim bled all over, and de sweat come a bustin out, 
 an I was nigh bout fit to die anvhow, when de thins 
 rared up an put his cole nose agin my face. Well, you 
 know dare aint a horse in de valley dat can git through 
 de mire along dare, but if you blieve me, I wont a studyin 
 about de mire. Gentlemens, I jes nately ris an flew, but 
 fast as I run and loud as I hollored, I heered dem chains 
 a jinglin right close behind me, till I stumbled an fell 
 down. I jes shet my eyes and lay dare, when de thing 
 come up er smellin an a whinin, an den lay down side 
 o' me. I jes gin up for loss, an lay dare, afeered to open 
 my eyes or move till daybreak, when, bless your soul, I 
 peeped 'round an 'twant nothin arter all but dat ole 
 stag-hound, Troubadour. He'd got his chain loose where 
 I'd tied him, an had started over to Grafton, and skeered 
 
Thorndale Cottage. 75 
 
 me in dat way nigh bout to death for nothin. I never 
 shall injore dat dog agin." 
 
 "Well, Thompson, you will be more particular the 
 next time you leave your wife against her consent." 
 
 " Yes, Master, for I allers has bad luck when me an 
 Nancy disagrees about anything." 
 
 By this time they had reached the parting of the roads. 
 Reginald Vane turned aside to his bachelor home, and 
 the others rode on to Ellcsmere. 
 
 
76 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 ST. KILDA RACES. 
 
 " First came the trumpets at whose clang 
 
 So late the forest echoes rang, 
 
 On prancing steeds they forward pressed 
 
 "With scarlet mantle, azure vest; 
 
 Just in the advantageous glade. 
 
 The halting troop a iine had made 
 
 As partly from the opposing shade 
 
 Issued a gallant train." • Marmion. 
 
 It was now the third day of the races. The expected 
 presence of the Governor of the State had given unusual 
 attraction to the occasion. The field around the judges' 
 stand was early thronged with the inhabitants of the 
 valley and visitors from a distance. The jolly, good- 
 natured boniface, who had presided for so many years 
 over the fortunes of the old Eustace Tavern, declared he 
 had never been so worried in his attempts to accommo- 
 date people. His honest face, usually wreathed with 
 smiles of welcome for every guest, now clouded with 
 fresh trouble at each application for shelter. He well 
 knew that his competitor, who kept the St. Kilda House 
 on the opposite side of the Court-House square, had no 
 more room than himself. This state of affairs becoming 
 known, the town people and those in the surrounding 
 country opened their hospitable doors, and thus cared 
 for many who would, otherwise, have been sorely dis- 
 commoded. After a hard and doubtful struggle, the con- 
 test of the second day, among the three year old colts in 
 the two mile heats, resulted in the success of Mason Som- 
 erville's Ninian. The first day had been consumed in 
 
St. Kilda Races, 77 
 
 the inspection of the horses entered, and the arrange- 
 ment of the weights to be carried. 
 
 Philip Ashton Eustace, the Governor of the State, had 
 arrived at Ellesmere, the evening he was expected, and 
 had added unusual joy to the household. He very much 
 resembled his mother in appearance and manner, and he, 
 with his brother, Col. Stanhope Eustace of the United 
 States Army, were the only issue of their parents. Miss 
 Esther Stanhope was celebrated, in her youth, for her 
 brilliant gayety and sparkling repartee. Her husband, 
 Judge Eustace, on the contrary, was a model of bland ness 
 and simple dignity. Gov. Eustace had inherited the sun- 
 shine and vivacity of his mother ; and wherever he came, 
 new life danced in the eyes, and fluttered in the hearts 
 around him. Even the saintly calm of Mariana's face 
 soon exhibited little ripples of pleasure, amid the cease- 
 less anecdote and raillery of his conversation. He was 
 wanting in the tireless application and passionless judg- 
 ment of his father ; but in law cases, which aroused his 
 indignation or contempt as an advocate, he was peerless 
 and unapproachable. For hours, great multitudes would 
 hang in breathless attention on his impassioned utter- 
 ance. His invective was scathing ; and as his hearers 
 became excited and lost in its splendor, he could at 
 will fall into such pathos that strong men were often seen 
 to weep at his bidding. When there was occasion for it, 
 his humor would riot in the most redundant and ex- 
 quisite ridicule, and many a man was laughed out of 
 countenance, who, by some unlucky blunder, had be- 
 come amenable to his merciless wit. 
 
 At an early hour, the carriages with the ladies set out 
 from Ellesmere. Gov. Eustace prevailed on his mother 
 
78 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 and Mariana to accompany hira. St. George, Kean, and 
 Philip, were, as usual, on horseback. The race course 
 was on the edge of a large wood two miles from the vil- 
 lage. Several buildings had been constructed for the 
 purpose of exhibition ; for the races were only a part of 
 the attraction. Live stock and agricultural improve- 
 ments occupied the day, while balls and festivity con- 
 sumed much of the night. 
 
 Loud and prolonged cheers announced the arrival of 
 the Governor on the field, and testified to his popularity 
 among the people. Many of his friends came up to wel- 
 come him to his native vale; and soon the cries of the 
 multitude compelled him to make them a speech. He 
 did this in his characteristic style, warmly felicitating 
 himself on the privilege he was enjoying, of meeting so 
 many of his clearest and oldest friends, and deprecating 
 his own folly in being so much of his time absent from 
 them. '' My dear friends," said he, " the sweetest dream 
 of my life, for the last ten years, has been the prospect of 
 speedy return to St. Kilda Valley. But your great and 
 repeated honors have made mean unwilling exile. When 
 I behold these noble mountains around us, and remem- 
 ber my happiness in this valley in early life, I can but 
 wonder at my consenting to live elsewhere. But dear 
 friends, I am only a man, and am honest to confess, that 
 ambition and the love of your applause have caused me 
 to forego the enjoyment I should have experienced in 
 your company. I have been long desiring to come home, 
 and live a quiet citizen among you ; but the repeated 
 evidences of trust and confidence, on the part of the peo- 
 ple of this State, have acted as a counter-charm to this 
 inclination. A little incident in my last canvass so forci- 
 
St. Kilda Races. 79 
 
 bly illustrates this double-mindedness on my part, that 
 I will tell yon the story. I was travelling, and, at mid- 
 day, called at a small house on the road-side, to get food 
 for myself and horses. I found no one in the house, but 
 hearing a scuffle on the back porch, I there found a large 
 woman with the head of a small, sandy-haired man closely 
 confined under her arm, while 9he unmercifully bela- 
 bored him with her fist. 'Hillo,' said I, ' who keeps 
 house here?' She did not release him, but he turning his 
 head so as to get sight of me, exclaimed, ' Hang it all, 
 stranger, that is the very thing I and my wife are trying 
 to decide.' I have had as much difficulty as this perse- 
 cuted individual in making up my mind ; but I can pro- 
 mise vou all that I shall soon come back to St. Kilda, 
 from whose dear limits I should never have departed to 
 pursue the empty phantoms, which, at best, are the only 
 rewards of political success, had I not believed it my 
 duty to surrender my own pleasure to the public good." 
 
 " Mason Somerville," said the Governor to his former 
 law partner, as he descended from the judges' stand, " is 
 it possible you have assumed so venerable a habit as the 
 wearing of spectacles ?" 
 
 " Yes," said he, " the mills of the gods grind slowly but 
 surely ; and I find, though I have been, in all conscience, 
 lazy enough through life, at the age of forty-five my eye- 
 sight is such that I am compelled to use glasses." 
 
 " You should somewhat relax the severity of your study. 
 It is well known that we are of the same age, and people 
 will be saving that Ashton Eustace is also one of the 
 ancients." 
 
 " No danger of that, Governor," said he. " You are 
 as young in spirit, at least, as you were the day you 
 
80 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 worried Counsellor Tatem so much about his brief in the 
 case of Roberts vs. Jones." 
 
 " How was that, Mr. Somerville?" asked Percival St. 
 George. "I never heard the story." 
 
 "The Counsellor was a strange man," said Mr. Somer- 
 ville. " With moderate capacity, he managed, by his 
 assiduous attention to his cases and his marvelous ac- 
 quaintance with the prejudices and temperament of 
 every juror in the county, to make himself a sine qua non 
 in every case in which much depended on the complexion 
 of the jury. In the cause I refer to, he had been re- 
 tained by Jones, and had, as usual, carefully set down 
 everything in his brief that he wished to say. He had 
 commenced his remarks in opening the case for the de- 
 fense, and having to read an authority to the court, he 
 laid it down. As he did so, Eustace picked it up unob- 
 served by Tatem, and, adding something to the brief, put 
 it back in its place. The counsellor, never sus* 
 pecting a joke, took up his brief to look for his next 
 point, and closely scrutinizing the paper — for he was very 
 near-sighted — he very confidently remarked: f In the 
 next place, may it please the court, this action does not 
 lie, but I do.' This singular announcement was followed 
 by sounds of ill-suppressed laughter, in which the judge 
 himself was forced to join the bar and spectators. Old 
 Tatem fanned it into unspeakable disorder, on seeing the 
 joke too late. He turned around and solemnly remark- 
 ed : ' I'll be hanged if that ain't some of Eustace's work.' ' 
 
 " Yes," remarked Gov. Eustace. " The old gentleman 
 came very near calling me out for that ; but I recollect 
 another occasion on which, when I was solicitor for the 
 State, he was still more angry with me. He was retained 
 
St. Kilda Races. 81 
 
 by one of a large party indicted for an affray. The other 
 defendants submitted, and it was a plain case against 
 Tatem's client; but the counsellor was never known to 
 surrender a case, and in this instance was true to his habit 
 of making a long speech, in a very barren, hopeless cause. 
 He attempted to make the jury believe that I was desirous 
 of punishing, with undue severity, his particular client. 
 When I came to reply, I told the jury I should detain 
 them but a short time, as I thought my brother Tatem, 
 in his long speech, had caused them to forget much of 
 the testimony. I then recited the leading incidents de- 
 posed to, until I reached a point in the evidence where it 
 appeared that Tatem's client, having become worsted in 
 the fight, had ingloriously fled the field. In conclusion,, 
 I then remarked that it seemed from the testimony that 
 the defendant. Blaylock, letting his discretion get the bet- 
 ter of his valor, had left the scene of conflict in such ter- 
 ror, that I had but little doubt if his windage was- equal 
 to that of his counsel he was running up to that time. 
 Tatem arose in a rage, and swore he would not submit to 
 such unprofessional remarks :. but we soon laughed him 
 into a good humor." 
 
 "Gentlemen," continued the governor, "suppose we 
 look at the horses before the race comes off." 
 
 Several of the beautiful animals were near by, and 
 seemed impatient of the delay that kept them from the 
 exciting contest. St. George's horse, Hildebrand, in 
 the majestic symmetry of his large frame, the beauty 
 and evident power of his muscular development, and the 
 splendid record of continuous triumphs, was the lion 
 of the day. Near him stood Tempest and Orion, and, 
 a little farther on Mr. Compton's imported Pepin ; close; 
 6 
 
82 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 to him were Col. Ridgely's Clifton and Vane's horse, Red- 
 gauntlet. Frank. Peyton's Sea-foam, a beautiful, creamy 
 white, was much admired, but not in high favor. Musi- 
 dora and Tarelton belonged to parties outside of the 
 valley. Of the thirteen nominations only these came to 
 the post. 
 
 An equipage of unusual beauty, drawn by a span of 
 :high-stepping grays, passed the judges' stand, and drew 
 np in front of the building used as a reception hall for 
 'the ladies. Frederick Compton stood near by, and assis- 
 ted Mrs. Courtenay and Rosamond as they left the car- 
 riage. The young heiress of Thorndale looked in vain for 
 Philip. He, true to his name — horse-lover — mounted on 
 Black Sultan, in company with Kean, was riding about 
 the grounds, pointing out the prominent characters 
 among the men and animals. He was too much engrossed 
 in the pending race to think of any thing not in some 
 way connected therewith. 
 
 " There go Col. Ridgely and Mr. Frank. Peyton, the two 
 magnates of the Hawkshead neighborhood," said Philip. 
 " That black-roan the colonel is riding is a half brother 
 •of Sultan. The colonel is a great horseman and thinks 
 nothing of the hill-side fence at Satan's Nose. Mr. Peyton 
 is also a sportsman, but grandfather does not esteem him 
 highly, since he advocated the rescinding of the rule 
 requiring persons making entries of their horses to pledge 
 themselves against side-bets." 
 
 " All betting is then forbidden on the field ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; the only thing that can be won by the 
 owner of the successful horse is the large silver cup which 
 is always of the value of five hundred dollars. Each 
 
St. KMa Races. S3 
 
 man entering his horse pays one hundred dollars for the 
 privilege in the four mile heats, and fifty in the two." 
 
 " But there are thirteen entries ; what becomes of the 
 unappropriated eight hundred dollars?" 
 
 " The trustees apply it toward keeping the buildings 
 and race course in order." 
 
 It was now half past one, by the clock, and the jockeys 
 having received their orders from the judges, the course 
 was cleared. The horses moved up nearly in a line, and 
 at the president's signal, the race commenced. Red- 
 gauntlet and Pepin got under way at once, closely fol- 
 lowed by Hildebrand, Tempest, Orion, Clifton, and the 
 others. Vane and Compton ordered their horses to 
 be taken in hand. St. George and Philip saw no 
 necessity for interfering with their riders, as they were 
 both bearing well upon the mouths of their noble coursers. 
 Orion and Clifton thus passed to the front, and remained 
 there for the next half mile. As they were nearing the 
 close of the first mile, Hildebrand's jockey received orders 
 to let him go. Tempest lay just ahead, and Pepin a little 
 in advance of him. As St. George's magnificent horse 
 felt the spurs in his side, he sprang forward like a cannon 
 shot, and put new life into Tempest, who, now for the 
 first time, exhibited that glorious speed which could only 
 be equalled by his admirable endurance. Hildebrand 
 slowly gained upon him for one hundred yards, when 
 Tempest, getting a fresh taste of steel and cat-gut, lay 
 along side so doggedly that though Pepin was passed and 
 beaten by a half length at the end of the first mile, no 
 one could say which of the other two horses was in 
 advance. 
 
 Redgauntlet had, in the mean while, bolted as usual. 
 
84 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 The next mile was passed over at a terrific pace, but 
 Pepin's rider, having received fresh orders to hold hard, 
 he was imitated by the other jockeys who well knew that 
 the Englishman was husbanding his resources. They 
 had again got under full headway, and were coming at a 
 splendid rate, when St. George's hitherto unconquered 
 veteran was observed to falter in his career, and the cry 
 was raised " Hildebrand has let down." 
 
 There was much disappointment among the spectators 
 on learning this sad misfortune to the great racer. The 
 people of the valley felt that his reputation was a thing 
 that reflected honor on the whole community. His 
 prowess had been long the theme of admiring thousands, 
 not only there, but on many a distant race-course; and 
 now when he was bearing himself so splendidly in this 
 great contest against the imported horse, to be stricken 
 in a moment powerless, was something indeed mournful 
 to contemplate. While many were shedding tears at this 
 disaster to Hildebrand, onward swept the flying coursers 
 who still kept their distance on the field. These were 
 Tempest, Pepin, Orion, and Clifton. The others had 
 been reined up and withdrawn. As the horses approached 
 the termination of the fourth mile, a rate of speed was 
 attained that called forth most rapturous applause. By 
 tremendous exertion, Tempest out-footed his competitors, 
 and won the heat, beating Pepin by half a length. 
 Philip caressed the noble animal in his rapturous de- 
 light, but the second heat was yet to be run, and the 
 English horse, in his untamed prowess, reminded him 
 that the laurel of victory might yet be plucked from his 
 brow. 
 
 Tempest and Pepin exhibited but little distress after 
 
St. Kilda Races. 85 
 
 their prodigious exertions, and cooled off readily. At 
 the lapse of the half hour of breathing time, they came 
 back to the contest, apparently as fresh as if they had 
 been brought out of their stables for the first time that 
 day. Undaunted spirit was seen in their flashing eyes 
 and lofty carriage, and a shout of involuntary admiration 
 burst from the assembled multitude. All except Tempest 
 and Pepin were now withdrawn, and at the word both 
 horses started as in the commencement of the first heat. 
 Pepin at once set off at full speed, followed by the long, 
 steady stroke of Tempest, which soon shortened the gap 
 thus put between them. Toward the end of the first 
 mile the pace increased into a gait that told the leader he 
 must go faster if he kept his place at the front. Pepin, 
 however, passed the mile-post a little in advance, and 
 away they went gradually approaching each other until 
 Tempest, getting an intimation that more was expected 
 of him, rallied to such a degree that he speedily called 
 on his antagonist, and by the time they had made the 
 second mile, was a clear length ahead. The loud and 
 irrepressible cheer that broke spontaneously from the 
 spectators sent both horses into such a flight that their 
 jockeys wisely forbore urging the gallant animals until 
 nearing the last stretch. 
 
 Whips and spurs again came into full play. Never 
 was there witnessed a grander display of the endurance 
 and power of the blood-horse than these unflinching 
 champions of two hemispheres now afforded. With tire- 
 less stride and eyes of flame they sprang from the inflic- 
 tion of the cruel punishment. No one could say who 
 would win until Tempest, seeming to understand that 
 the crisis was upon him, broke away into a fresh burst of 
 
86 The Valley of St Kilda. 
 
 speed which carried him out a winner by two good 
 lengths. 
 
 The great victory was won, and Philip, in a transport 
 of joy, threw his arms around the neck of his horse and 
 petted him like a lamb. The mighty stallion, quivering 
 with fatigue after his prodigious exertions, now hung his 
 head to be fondled by the proud and gratified master. 
 
 "Here, uncle Thompson, take good care of Tempest," 
 said Philip. "I must now look for cousin Percy and 
 Hildebrand," and he rode off to a large tree beneath 
 which St. George had caused his disabled horse to be car- 
 ried. As soon as Philip came near, Percival exclaimed : 
 
 " Did Tempest keep his ground on the last stretch ?" 
 
 " Splendidly," said Philip, " and beat Pepin by two 
 lengths." 
 
 " Thank heaven for that," said Percival. " Hildebrand 
 is forever undone. He has let down in his right, hind 
 leg."" 
 
 " Poor Hildebrand I I almost regret the success of 
 Tempest, obtained at such a cost. I believe your horse 
 would have come out of the race victorious as ever but 
 for this accident." 
 
 "That is very doubtful, for Tempest and Pepin were 
 both along-side when he let down." 
 
 "Allow me to extend my sincere condolence, Mr. St. 
 George," said Arthur Kean, as he rode up " I am most 
 deeply pained at this sad accident to your horse." 
 
 " It is very deplorable to have so fine an animal ruin- 
 ed," said Percival. 
 
 " Will there be no hope of his recovery ?" 
 
 " He can never be strong enough for the turf again," 
 said St. George. " Lewis> as soon as the crowd leaves the- 
 
St. Kilda Races. 87 
 
 stables, get him there, and do not suffer people to ap- 
 proach near enough to fret him. Philip, they will soon 
 be ready at the audience-hall to give you the goblet 
 Tempest has so nobly won to day. I should have been 
 inconsolable about Hildebrand if that English horse had 
 beaten our St. Kilda stock." 
 
 They rode off in the direction of the judges' stand, and 
 as they passed the boys from the village, having collected 
 in a group, gave three lusty cheers for Phil. Eustace and 
 Tempest. Philip calmly lifted his hat and bowed. Gov. 
 Eustace, with Mrs. Courtenay and Rosamond, were watch- 
 ing their approach when this happened. 
 
 " See the coolness of that youngster," said the Governor. 
 " He takes that applause as if he were the Duke of Wel- 
 lington reviewing a division of English troops." 
 
 "Philip is, certainly, very self possessed for one so 
 young," said Mrs. Courtenay. 
 
 Rosamond sighed inaudibly as they turned their horses 
 in a different direction. Philip was exultant at Temp- 
 est's victory, and he wished to find Mariana, well know- 
 ing that any great joy of his conferred pleasure on her 
 sympathetic nature. He immediately longed for her 
 presence when he felt any unusual happiness. One of 
 the chief elements of this great satisfaction consisted in 
 the fact that the Comptons were again beaten. They 
 were a new family in the valley, and the head of the 
 house on many occasions seemed to attempt a rivalry of 
 the family at Ellesmere. 
 
 Mr. Compton had been Ashton Eustace's early competi- 
 tor for the legislative honors of the county, and, in many 
 things, it was evident that while nothing ill-natured 
 transpired, the Comptons unceasingly labored to neutral- 
 
88 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 ize the influence of that house, whose talents, virtues and 
 wealth made it supreme in the valley. The ex-chief- 
 justice was too indifferent to popular applause to care 
 much for these things, and while Philip scorned to take 
 an unfair advantage, he yet gloried in over-reaching his 
 rivals. The capture of the red fox was keenly enjoyed, 
 because William Compton and his sou had repeatedly 
 failed to take him. This new triumph over the horse 
 which had been specially imported from England to 
 eclipse Hildebrand, was enough to have stirred the pulses 
 of one older and more coldblooded than Philip. At 
 length he found his grandmother and Mariana in a 
 quiet spot, apart from the crowd. 
 
 "See, the conquering hero comes!" said Mrs. Eustace. 
 " Philip, is not this glory enough for one day ?" 
 
 " Yes, grandma, if Mariana could have seen how Tem- 
 pest bore himself, and had Hildebrand escaped the acci- 
 dent that so rudely closes his career, I should now be 
 supremely happy. Mariana, where were you when the 
 races were going on ?" 
 
 " We came here, brother; Oh I am so shocked at the 
 accident of poor Hildebrand. How does Cousin Percy 
 bear it?" 
 
 " By careful attention, he hopes to get him on his feet 
 again ; but his racing career is closed forever. The ten- 
 dons of his leg are so much stretched, that his pastern 
 joint touches the ground." 
 
 " I cannot think it right to prolong the exertion of the 
 horses to such an extent as to cause such a cruel mishap," 
 said Mariana. " I remember Hildebrand well, he was so 
 beautiful when I saw him last." 
 
 " Do not distress yourself, sister. Horses of great en- 
 
St. Kilda Races. 89 
 
 durance are valuable to civilians, and all-important to 
 military men; and to encourage the production of such 
 stock are these long races favored. Where is Rosamond ? 
 I have not seen her." 
 
 " She has been expecting you ail day ; of course she 
 cannot come to you." 
 
 "Philip, fearing that his cousin might feel hurt, went 
 off in quest of her. He found her still walking with his 
 father and her mother. 
 
 My liege-lady," said he, smiling, "I have come to 
 acknowledge my delinquency." 
 
 " You have a very truant disposition, sir, and your 
 greetings have been very slow in reaching us." 
 
 " You will congratulate me on my good fortune to- 
 day ?" 
 
 Oh, assuredly," said Rosamond, " I have been excusing 
 your absence already, as I knew you were so deeply ab- 
 sorbed in the race. Tempest is such a wonderful horse, 
 I can understand the interest you take in him. I fear 
 that Frederick Compton will be positively unpleasant 
 now." 
 
 " Have you seen him to-day ?" 
 
 " Yes, he has asked me a host of questions about the 
 fox chase. He was confident that Pepin would lead the 
 field. What are they ringing that bell for? I see the 
 people are going to the audience^hall.'' 
 
 " It is summoning me to receive the meed of Tempest's 
 victory. The vase is very beautiful this year. Will you 
 accorapan} 7 me?" 
 
 " I fear it will render me too conspicuous.''" 
 
 " I will not take you to a position where you will at- 
 
90 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 tract more attention than your sweet, dark eyes would 
 elsewhere in the room." 
 
 " Philip, if you are honest, I thank you, but I well 
 know that I am plain. Oh, how often have I wished 
 for beauty like Mariana's, so I could always keep you 
 half-mad for loving me," said the passionate girl, and the 
 glow of affection in her fine eyes made them as beautiful 
 as she could have wished. 
 
 They entered the hall, and many a heart, manly and 
 true, could but envy Philip the singular good fortune that 
 seemed in most things to crown his efforts. Born to 
 the enjoyment of large wealth, he was idolized by father 
 and grandfather ; and Percival St. George, too,had avowed 
 his intention of making him the heir of the principal 
 portion of his wealth. It was generally known also that 
 Rosamond Courtenay warmly seconded the wishes of all 
 branches of the family, that she should bestow upon him 
 her hand together with the great estates of Thorndale 
 and Hamillies And now he was the victor in a contest 
 that, by long usage among the gentlemen of the valley, 
 had come to be looked upon with as much interest, as did 
 the ancient Greeks upon the Olympic games. Philip 
 carried Rosamond to a seat by her mother, and then re- 
 received from the hands of his grandfather, who was 
 president of the club, the large and richly-chased vase 
 of silver. It was sculptured with a representation of the 
 battle between the Centaurs and Lapithae, at the marri- 
 age of Pirithous and Hippodamia. 
 
 " I fear," said Gov. Eustace, " that this early success 
 will give my son an undue fonduess for the race course, 
 but the regulations are so admirable here, he will not, at 
 this place, contract the pernicious habit of betting." 
 
St. Kilda Races. 91 
 
 " I do not think that Philip can ever descend so low 
 as to become a mere gambler," said Mrs. Courtenay. 
 " He has too much devotion to principle ; I never knew 
 a boy who exhibited so much reverence for the teachings 
 of those he ought to obey." 
 
 " Weil, father," said Philip, coming up with his vase 
 in his hands, " here is my second trophy in the last six 
 days ; but, with all the eclat of its attainment, I enjoyed 
 beating the field in the fox chase more than this much- 
 coveted honor. Rosamond, the marriage of the Lapithae, 
 amplified in your usual style, will enchain the attention 
 of Mariana and myself fur a j;ood hour." 
 
 The evening soon wore into night. The moon stole 
 up into the quiet heavens, and the eternal stars w r ere all 
 out in their unchanging glory. The gentle south-wind 
 sighed amid the trees of the forest, stirring the leaves 
 without disturbing the birds fast asleep in the wide- 
 spreading branches. The sounds of joyous music rolled 
 voluptuously on the night air, through the open doors of 
 the great ball room. The pride and beauty of St. Kilda 
 Valley were collected in the flowing light, and beautiful 
 forms were floating in the dance. Swift glances, convey- 
 ing a world of meaning, were flashing from many 
 bright eyes. Gratified parents were watching the sylph- 
 like movements of their daughters, or resting with pride 
 on the stately forms of their sons. Philip had com- 
 menced the pleasures of the evening with Rosamond, but 
 was now dancing with Ida Somerville. They had long 
 been friends ; for she was frequently with his sister at 
 Ellesmere. 
 
 " Ida," said Philip, "you are looking uncommonly well 
 
92 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 to-night. If you grow much prettier, I shall be losing 
 my heart." 
 
 " Oh, you sinner, Philip," answered the girl, "to speak 
 of loving any but Rosamond Courtenay !" 
 
 " Do you think I am very much in love with Rosa- 
 mond." 
 
 " You ought to be, for she is all devotion to you. 
 Philip, it is not right for you to be making love to 
 other girls, for I know it makes Rosamond unhappy." 
 
 " But how can I forbear, when they are so beautiful as 
 yourself, fairest Ida ?" 
 
 "That is all gammon. You can help it. Any one 
 can restrain his feelings. I can esteem a gentleman ever 
 so much, but it does not follow that I must love where 
 I admire." 
 
 " That is very much the case with you ladies, but not 
 so with me. I cannot admire a beautiful woman without 
 loving her a little. I am not very apt to break my heart, 
 I admit, with the depth of the attachment." 
 
 " Yes, you feel a slight fancy for a girl, and forthwith 
 make love to her; the week after she is probably forgot- 
 ten. Philip, at our age all love-making is mere pastime ; 
 but when you have grown to be a man, I know you 
 will be too honorable to do or say anything calculated to 
 produce a false impression. You will be possessed of so 
 many attractions, that it will be the greater wrong in 
 you. The high social position of your family, the great 
 wealth you will inherit, and your own personal advant- 
 ages, will be sure to make you a shining figure in society. 
 So now, as one of your best friends, let me ask vou not to 
 abuse the power you possess, and cease making love to 
 girls in mere jest," 
 
St. Kilda Races. 93 
 
 "I agree with you, Ida, but what a speech you have 
 made ! On my word, I shall stop making love to you if 
 you read me such lectures." 
 
 " Come here, Rosamond, and take Philip to task," said 
 Ida, as the young heiress of Thorndale was passing. 
 
 " What are you doing, Philip?" said Rosamond. 
 
 "I was only telling Ida she is so beautiful that I can 
 but love her a little ; but she has read me sucli a lecture 
 on flirtations that I am half-disgusted with all my fine 
 speeches to such a prosy little woman. Do you not think 
 it a poor return for all my gallantry, to be told that I 
 should confine such remarks to yourself?" 
 
 " He is so liberal in complimenting me, I can afford 
 to let him indulge a little in the same strain to other 
 girls ; but remember, Philip, it must be on rare occasions 
 that you do such things; for I claim as a right that the 
 most gallant of your speeches be reserved for myself." 
 
 Still onward rolled the joyous tide of the dancers. 
 Flute, violin and bassoon added their inspiring notes to 
 the pleasure which was apparent in so many faces. Regi- 
 nald Vane had been assiduous in his attentions, all the 
 evening, to Helen Temple ; and from appearances it 
 would seem the wedding that Thompson had so patiently 
 awaited, would soon be consummated. Percival St. 
 George was present ; and Kean knowing the story of his 
 lost love, observed his noble figure as he passed about 
 among the belles. Every eye brightened at his approach, 
 for he was still by far the handsomest man in the assem- 
 bly. Beautiful women assumed their most engaging 
 manner, but the memory of the daughter of beauty and 
 heaven-born genius was fresh in his heart, and he who 
 brought happiness to others, was all the while wishing 
 
94 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 himself away in the solitude of Vaucluse, or the home 
 circle at Ellesmere. Judge Eustace had left with Mariana 
 early in the evening. His wife had been prevailed upon 
 by her son to remain until a later hour. She was sitting 
 in the moonlight that streamed through a window when 
 St. George, approaching her, remarked : "I shall be at 
 your service aunt, if you desire leaving before the gov- 
 ernor is reaclw" 
 
 "Sit down, Percival, you have that same weary look 
 even here. Can you find no pleasure in the company of 
 all these beautiful girls?" 
 
 " Oh, of course, but I soon tire of any but the dear 
 familiar faces around your fireside, and the one face I 
 see best at Vaucluse." 
 
 " Dear Percy, why do you cling so close to that lost 
 image ? Why make yourself unhappy amid all that gaiety 
 we see around us ?" 
 
 " If I look unhappy, aunt, I belie my feelings. For 
 years, the memory of my loss was always poignant, but 
 it is not the case now. It has disqualified me for any- 
 thing like broad mirth ; yet I enjoy many of the pleas- 
 ures I see around me. 'The loss of a great hope is like 
 the setting of the sun. The stars come forth and the 
 night is holy.'" 
 
 Governor Eustace now approached and announced his 
 readiness to leave. An hour later the hall had become 
 the abode of silence. Darkness had usurped the scene of 
 late festivity. The lights and music were all gone. The 
 latest whisper of love had died into an echo. The center 
 of so much mirth and happiness was now a type and 
 emblem of that noisy human life which frets out its brief 
 hour upon the stage, and then swiftly glides into dark- 
 
St. Kilda Races. 95 
 
 ness and oblivion. The autumn breeze murmured 
 amid the trees, and the stars looked down as brightly as 
 they did upon Adam in paradise. Oh, empty and fleet- 
 ing stay of human joy ! Oh, serene and eternal Omnipo- 
 tence that sees and pities its frailty! 
 
96 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 FIRESIDE CONVERSATIONS. 
 
 " Let Winter come ! let polar spirits sweep 
 The darkning world and tempest-troubled deep! 
 Yet shall the smile of social love repay, 
 With mental light, the melancholy day ! 
 And, when its short and sullen noon is o'er 
 The ice-chain'd waters slumbering on the shore, 
 How bright the fagots in his little hall 
 Blaze on the hearth, and warm the pictured wall?" 
 
 Pleasures of Hope. 
 
 The St. Kilda races were over. The visitors of Elles- 
 rnere had returned to their homes, pleased with the 
 gracious hospitality. The day had been lowering and 
 promising rain, but the weather was sufficiently open to 
 allow the departure of the last family late in the even- 
 ing. Gov. Eustace still remained with his parents. As 
 the sun, which had been visible for a few minutes previ- 
 ous to his final disappearance for the day, sank behind 
 the mountains, the wind veered to the north-west and 
 commenced blowing a gale. Dense masses of cloud came 
 sweeping up from behind Sorrell's Peak and Satan's No^e 
 until the moon, which had been struggling with fitful 
 light, became totally eclipsed in the pervading gloom. 
 The silenced whippoorwill shrank cowering to the foliage 
 of the densest thicket, and the two stag-hounds, Tweed 
 and Troubadour, that slept on the front porch, arose 
 and listened to the wail of the coming storm, as it moaned 
 and sobbed amid the branches of the tossing trees. One 
 of them stretched himself, and, howling a dismal expres- 
 sion of disapprobation at being thus disturbed after hav- 
 
Fireside Conversations. 97 
 
 ing settled for the night, walked off to find more comfort- 
 able quarters. Deep, bellowing peals of thunder re- 
 verberated through the mountains, occasionally illum- 
 inated by the glare of lightning, while big, sullen drops 
 of rain gave notice that, even then, the storm, with all 
 its pitiless fury, was upon them. 
 
 St. George stood in the darkness, watching with a poet's 
 interest, the sublimity of the scene. Judge Eustace and 
 Arthur Kean were deep in a game of chess. Near them 
 Helen Temple sat reading the latest novel, and in one of 
 the drawing rooms, Gov. Eustace and his mother were 
 talking with Philip and Mariana. The lamps threw their 
 softened radiance over the beautiful rooms, rosy with 
 warmth and comfort. All was serene and pleasant there. 
 The storm without might roar and buffet the oaks, but 
 no .trace of its disturbing breath reached this group as 
 they sat lovingly together. The brilliant orator, the 
 honored statesman, the restless and unsatisfied politician 
 was here in the bosom of love and peace. The eyes of.' 
 his mother, still beautiful in her age, were full of tender- 
 ness and gratification as she looked upon her son and; 
 remembered the dutiful affection he had always shown 
 her, even in his exalted station as the chief magistrate of 
 a great State. His heart was full of the undying memories 
 of his boyhood, and he recalled her image, then so lovely,, 
 so tender with his little failings, so full of compassion 
 when he suffered. As he looked down at the meek face 
 with its golden hair and sightless eyes, another counte- 
 nance, as heavenly in its lineaments, which had illumined 
 his early manhood, returned to him from out the past. 
 That face, with its unforgotten. love, came back with 
 7 
 
98 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 wonderful distinctness, as he communed with those near- 
 est and dearest of all the earth to him. 
 
 " Father, said Mariana, " when you are old as grandpa 
 will you come and live here quietly with us?" 
 
 " Yes, my daughter, that is the pleasantest thought 
 that comes to me in my care-laden public life. I trust I 
 shall be able to escape the drudgery of office before long, 
 and return here, where my heart has always been, ere I 
 am much farther advanced in the evening of my days. 
 I hope that providence and the importunity of the people 
 will not detain me, until like Cardinal Wolsey, 'An old 
 man, broken with the storms of state, shall come to lay 
 his bones among vou.' " 
 
 " Yes, dear Ashton," said Mrs. Eustace, " nothing but 
 a sense of duty to God and our country supports me in 
 
 :my old age in my separation from you and Stanhope. 
 Poor fellow! I wonder where he and his regiment are 
 
 . this dreadful night." 
 
 " He is somewhere about Fort Leavenworth. I received 
 
 . a letter from him just before leaving the capital. There 
 
 ■ is strong prospect of a war with Mexico, in case we annex 
 Texas, and he will be made a brigadier-general in that 
 event. I will watch his interest with the Secretary of 
 War." 
 
 " Oh, I hope there will be no war," said Mariana. " My 
 brave uncle Stanhope might be killed, and it seems to 
 me so wicked to slay the men and poor horses, as in the 
 picture of Waterloo I used to see before I was blind." 
 
 " Yes, it seems cruel, my child, but the best nations are 
 sometimes forced into war: and patriotism and religion, 
 
 . alike, require of men that they should defend their homes. 
 
 . I trust the life of my brother will be spared. The presi- 
 
Fireside Conversations. 99 
 
 dent has intimated that the conflict is inevitable, and he 
 has notified the Governors of the States to be in readiness 
 for assembling the militia and calling for volunteers." 
 
 " I wish," said Philip, " I were old enough to get your 
 consent, father, to wield a sabre in my uncle's regiment. 
 Black Sultan would take me into the strongest, hollow 
 square ever formed in Mexico, not even excepting the iron 
 men who conquered under Cortez." 
 
 "You are too young for such things as yet, my son. 
 Continue in your dutiful obedience to your grand-parents, 
 and there is nothing in which I can, with propriety, please 
 you, that shall be withheld. Your connection with 
 Mr. Grey has been so satisfactory, I need not say to you 
 I hope you will make it as pleasant for Mr. Kean. I am 
 much pleased with the gravity and learning of your new 
 friend. His acquisitions make him an invaluable in- 
 structor to you. I knew his father, and there was not a 
 finer gentleman in the limits of the country. He bore 
 himself nobly in his misfortunes, and his son is deserv- 
 ing of all honor for his conduct, since their sad mis- 
 chance." 
 
 " You need have no apprehension on that score, father. 
 Mr. Kean has my warmest regard, and it shall not be 
 for want of exertion on my part, if I fail to obtain equal 
 esteem from himself." 
 
 " Do not allow your fondness for amusements, my son, 
 to absorb the attention you would devote to study. I 
 know it is frequently irksome for a young man of your 
 age to forego the society of his friends and the excitement 
 of the chase, but always remember that human excel- 
 lence is the result of prolonged exertion in the mastery 
 of details. Youthful minds are too apt to regard such 
 
100 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 things as insignificant and unworthy the labor bestowed, 
 but there is no greater mistake in life than the foolish 
 haste of some men who attempt the execution of enter- 
 prises for which the}' are unfitted by want of preparation. 
 As well might we essay to grapple with the problems of 
 high mathematics, being in ignorance of the elementary 
 rules of arithmetic. It is a fixed law in the nature of 
 things, that nothing great shall be accomplished without 
 sacrifice in its attainment; just as gold is valuable be- 
 cause it is hard to find, and difficult of sepaiation from 
 its alloys. Philip, I do not wish to encourage in your 
 young mind an}^ vain and empty ambition to bring you 
 dissatisfaction hereafter. I do not even advise you to 
 form your future plans on the basis of public life. I 
 have seen too much of the unfruitfulness of political 
 honors to desire your imitation of myself in that respect 
 I have thought it my duty to yield to the importunate 
 demands of my friends, urging me to accept unsought 
 nominations, and thus I have been withheld from the 
 care of my own desolated hearth, and have devoted to the 
 State the attention I owe, by nature and inclination, to 
 you, my dear children." 
 
 "You will never know," continued Gov. Eustace, "how 
 I have longed to be here at Ellesmere with you all. When 
 your mother died, life became so heavy to me that I 
 3'ielded to the advice of m} r friends, and looked around 
 for some larger excitement to help me from myself and 
 the grief which haunted me. Thus again I entered uj)on 
 a life I had abjured on my marriage, by consenting to 
 become a member of Congress. I have never sought any 
 of the many public trusts that my countrymen have seen 
 fit to confer upon me. Plere in this copy of Plato I have 
 
Fireside Conversations. 101 
 
 been reading how Socrates declares, in relation to the 
 duty of a citizen : ' Whoever continues with us, after he 
 has seen the manner in which we administer justice, and 
 in other respects govern the city, we now say, that he has 
 in fact entered into a compact with us, to do what we 
 order; and we affirm that he who does not obey is in 
 three respects guilty of injustice; because he does not 
 obey us who gave him being ; because he does not obey 
 us who nurtured him ; and because, having made a com- 
 pact that he would obey us, he neither does so, nor does 
 he pursuade us if we do anything wrongly.' I have 
 thought that if this wisest of the heathen philosophers 
 could hold such views of public duty, it was incumbent 
 on me to forego my pleasure, in deference to the public 
 will. These positions are of so much importance they 
 become curses to th-e community when filled by dis- 
 honest men." 
 
 " Then you think, father," said Philip, " it is the duty 
 •of a man to surrender his own inclination to the declared 
 wishes of a majority of his countrymen ; and he has no 
 right to decline the measure of duty they may impose 
 oipon him." 
 
 " That is precisely my belief, Philip, and it has kept 
 me from all that I love most, during the larger part of 
 any manhood." 
 
 " Father," said Mariana, " I trust the good people will 
 let you come home to us before long." 
 
 "Here the party in the drawing-room joined those in 
 the library. Mr. Grey was at Ellesmere, and had been 
 for some time, in conversation with Judge Eustace and 
 Arthur Kean. Percival St. George, after watching the 
 siorm, was now talking with Miss Temple. Mr. Grey was 
 
102 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 a year younger than Gov. Eustace. He was a small, thin 
 man, with mild, intelligent features, and was the imper- 
 sonation of guiless innocence. He was remarkable for his 
 scholarship, the warmth of his affections, and a noble 
 absence of all selfishness in his disposition. His life had 
 been devoted to study and the instruction of Philip, 
 Mariana, and Judge Eustace's negroes. He was a little 
 impracticable in some of his opinions; but, conceding 
 the truth of his premises, his lucid and well-considered 
 arguments soon brought his listeners inevitably to the 
 conclusion he desired. He loved and admired Judge 
 Eustace with much of that old, feudal attachment that 
 once so strongly connected protecting greatness and wise 
 humility; but all this deference to the great man was 
 powerless to lead the simple-hearted admirer beyond what 
 he believed was right. 
 
 "Governor," said Mr. Grey, "I have been hoping that 
 our State Legislature will give my memorial more atten- 
 tion this session than thev did two vears ago. I shall not 
 be satisfied until the slaves are legally married and per- 
 mitted to qualify themselves to obey the Lord's injunc- 
 tion : ' Search the scriptures.' " 
 
 " My dear friend," said the governor, " I would rejoice 
 if there were no objection to both objects of }^our memo- 
 rial, but I must say, that the perusal of the "Boston 
 Liberator," and kindred publications, by our slaves, would 
 add nothing to the security of the commonwealth, and 
 inevitably produce discontent. On the other hand, I 
 freely confess that I believe the African race is included 
 in the new covenant, and therefore owe obedience to its 
 commands. The question of marriage has two different 
 aspects. One is purely legal, making the bond which 
 
Fireside Conversations. 103 
 
 unites man and wife nothing beyond a simple con- 
 tract at law, by which the husband becomes bound to 
 afford sustenance and protection to his wife and their 
 issue. He thereby acquires her property, unless other- 
 wise stipulated by written agreement previous to mar- 
 riage. In this view of the case, the slave cannot be benefit- 
 ted by the legalization of his contract of marriage. He 
 cannot become liable for the support of his wife and 
 children, nor to an action at law for the recovery of her 
 debts. Another intention of the solemnization of the rite 
 of matrimony is to ascertain the truth of descent. A 
 slave cannot, by law, be considered the legal owner of 
 property: in virtue of the master's title to himself, his 
 individual chattels being considered those of his owner. 
 It can, then, never become a matter of importance to the 
 slave himself to ascertain who was his grandfather. I 
 think, however, it is a shame to southern civilization, 
 that our legislation has looked so little to the enforcement 
 of the moral duties incident to the marriage state among 
 the negroes/' 
 
 "To deal with one question at a time, governor," said 
 Mr. Grey, " are we unable to exclude the ' Liberator' and 
 other incendiary documents from the borders of our State 
 by legislation among ourselves?" 
 
 " The" carrying of the mails is a matter exclusively 
 under the control of the General Government, and you 
 know what a storm has been raised by the action of Con- 
 gress in that matter." 
 
 "Well, this is the naked fact, as I view it," said Mr. 
 Grey. "We have the positive command of the Saviour 
 to search the scriptures. This divine injunction rests 
 alike upon all the human species. It is our duty, not 
 
104 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 only to avoid putting stumbling-blocks in the way of 
 its fulfillment, but to give all the necessary aid to the 
 acquisition of such knowledge as will render it possible. 
 As to the question of marriage you agree to all I wish. 
 I simply desire that come legislative sanction may give 
 moral strength to the tie, and that men and women, if 
 they are slaves, shall still be treated as husband and 
 wife." 
 
 " There are many hardships connected with the law,'" 
 said Judge Eustace, "and some of them are inevitable; 
 but there is much unreasonable prejudice among lawyers 
 which often prevents their correction where it might be- 
 highlv salutarv." 
 
 "There is nothing connected with mankind which so- 
 humiliates the self-respect of thoughtful minds as the 
 engines of oppression and misrule — called governments. 
 As a general thing, in most ages and countries, they have 
 been hereditary despotisms. Often, a man of ordinary 
 discretion rules the great body of the people as he chooses ; 
 then again we see in this king — a drivelling idiot too* 
 weak to maintain his station — supplanted by some ad- 
 venturer, who becomes a tyrant, for fear others may 
 imitate his disregard of vested authority. At rare inter- 
 vals the struggling million?, organized by oppression, 
 arise and slay their tormentor; and at once rush hi to the 
 wild and short-lived folly of premature democrac}'. At 
 other times we see wiser men slowly exacting from r<ryal 
 prerogative some of its original powers, and adding little 
 to little, as England has done since the days of Runny- 
 mede, they build up what they call a temple of liberty. 
 But will any man, who knows the story of her government 
 of India and Ireland,, contend that there are not thus. 
 
 \ 
 
fireside Conversationss. 105 
 
 exhibited elements of grinding misrule? It is mournful 
 to think of the injustice and instability which seem to 
 degrade and pull down eventually, all human govern- 
 ments, like the fatal curse that hung over the doomed 
 house of Atreus." 
 
 " You do not think our boasted American government," 
 said St. George, " liable to any of these objections you 
 have been specifying ?" 
 
 " I regret to say that I do. I must be honest enough to 
 declare that I hold African slavery radically at war with 
 the theory of the American government. I think it 
 abundantly justified in the word of God and the necessi- 
 ties of our present condition ; and I also believe that this 
 democratic theory is doomed to superannuation and 
 effeteness, in less than a century. I do not deny that Mr. 
 Madison and his compeers framed the best possible 
 instrument then within the reach of human wisdom ; but 
 I hold that there is an original infirmity in the constitu- 
 tion of the human mind that renders abortive and trans- 
 itory all systems of rule. The strongest government, like 
 the human frame, bears in its very limitations the seeds 
 which must eventually ripen into decay and death. 
 Our history for the last thirty years abundantly sustains 
 me in my assertion. Can any of us say that the Constitu- 
 tion has been administered according to the terms agreed 
 upon by the States who were the high contracting parties 
 to that august compact? I left the political arena, dis- 
 gusted with the gradual extension of the general over 
 particular rights, in questions between the State and 
 Federal governments. I may be in my grave before it 
 happens, but some of you will live to see the overthrow 
 and disruption of the Union, or the suppression of every 
 
106 The Heirs of St.. Kilda. 
 
 reserved right guaranteed to the States by the Constitu- 
 tion." 
 
 " Then, Judge Eustace," said Arthur Kean, " if I under- 
 stand your position, there are two difficulties that forbid 
 the idea of stability to any government; the inherent 
 defects in the constitution, and the unwillingness of men 
 to abide by the terms of the charter after it is framed." 
 
 " That is as fair a statement of my views as could be 
 conveyed in so few words " 
 
 " Gov. Eustace," said Mr. Grey, " you must have been 
 much gratified with the overwhelming majority by whicli 
 you were recently re-elected to the chief-magistracy of 
 the State." 
 
 " Oh ! of course," said the governor. " Popular applause 
 is more or less grateful to every man, as the converse of 
 the proposition, that all men instinctively shrink from 
 public obloquy, is also true. Yet on analysing this 
 gratification, we are often humbled to find, that of the 
 masses who have contributed their votes, but a tithe of 
 them were actuated either by patriotism or discretion, in 
 the choice of candidates. A blind, unreasonable, adher- 
 ence to mere party seems to be the highest standard of 
 political morality, of which a vast majority of men are 
 capable. The wisest of the Greeks declared, ' We must 
 not so much regard what the multitude may say of us, but 
 wKat he may say who understands the just from the un- 
 just.' It is perfect^ within the range of possibility, that 
 the almost unbroken voice of the wise few may be against 
 the selection of a candidate who is after all returned by a 
 large majority. I say not these things as objecting to 
 free institutions, but simply to show you that, as much as 
 I appear to enjoy the sunshine of popular favor, I yet 
 
Fireside Convei'sations. 107 
 
 sometimes turn aside and listen to the still, small voice 
 which ever and anon asks of each man the question, 
 ' what is all this worth ?' " 
 
 " Carlyle has somewhere declared," said Percival St. 
 George, "that government consists in the selection of the 
 the wisest man in the state. What is to be the ultimate 
 effect of the means now used in our country toward attain- 
 ing this end? The framers of the constitution clearty 
 looked to the electoral colleges as the bodies which should 
 select the president of the United States. The substitu- 
 tion of the convention system, seems to me a step back- 
 wards." 
 
 " It is only another feature of omnipotent demagogue- 
 ism," said Judge Eustace. " Men, who are too ignorant 
 to know the teachings of history, or in criminal disregard 
 of their significance, are pushing us, every year, nearer 
 to anarchy, in their insane and limitless extension of the 
 right of suffrage. I honestly believe that, in case slavery 
 shall ever be abolished in these southern states, men 
 would not be wanting to advocate the enlargement of this 
 popular franchise to the negroes, steeped as they are in 
 ignorance. A republic, controlled primarily by a limited 
 number of intelligent and honest voters, is to me the 
 most reasonable and satisfactory system of rule yet tried 
 among men. One, resting on universal suffrage, is at 
 best a bubble and the most inexorable of all tyrannies, 
 from the fact that it is equally senseless and irresponsible. 
 The convention system you referred to, Percival, is noth- 
 ing but the transfer of the election to the mob, instead of 
 keeping it in the hands of the wise and responsible few, 
 that Hamilton, Madison, and their coadjutors intended, 
 should select the president." 
 
108 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 "Mr. Grey," said Gov. Eustace, "Col. Ridgely has been 
 telling me of his finding the skeleton of some huge ani- 
 mal in the bed of the creek at the foot of Hawkshead." 
 
 '• I suppose," said Mr. Grey, " from what I have heard, 
 that some saurian perished there in primeval days. I 
 have several times explored the course of the stream, 
 endeavoring to find the subterranean connection which, 
 I have no doubt, exists between it and the. Bride's Tarn. 
 The mournful fate of poor Ellice Newton, who perished 
 in its dark waters, lends a tragic interest to the spot. 
 
 "Mr. Grey," said Helen Temple, " do tell me the par- 
 ticulars of that sad storv. I have heard vou and uncle 
 Eustace often refer to it." 
 
 "Archibald Newton," said Mr. Grey, " was the son of 
 that Stanley Newton who came over to America with Sir 
 George Eustace. He was a man of large wealth, and 
 lived at the place where Col. Ridgely now resides. A 
 trace of insanity was observable, at times, in his demean- 
 or, which he was said to have inherited from his English 
 ancestry. He had contracted a second marriage with a 
 widow, the mother of two sons by her first husband. 
 Young Stanley Newton, the only son of his father, left 
 home in disgust, on the consummation of this alliance 
 which he looked upon as lowering the rank of his family. 
 There were many reports circulated in the valley in rela- 
 tion to the arts used by the second Mrs. Newton in mak- 
 ing herself mistress of Knowlton, the name by which the 
 plantation is still known. Ellice grew up to be a girl of 
 wondrous beauty, and her spirits were so buoyant that 
 even the rudeness and ceaseless ill-humor of her step- 
 mother, for several years, failed to cloud the sunlight of her 
 innocent joy. Nearly a hundred years have passed away 
 
Fireside Conversations. 109 
 
 since the light hearted girl rode her palfrey amid the 
 mountains ; but there is yet shown, at the foot of Hawks- 
 head, a little nook of retired beauty, which is still called 
 Ellice's bower. Here she loved to muse, undisturbed by 
 the discomforts she frequently encountered at home. A 
 young girl named Lucy Rhea, who had been for some- 
 time her companion, was always with her on these 
 excursions." 
 
 " Robert Gunteley," continued Mr. Grey, " was the elder 
 of Mrs. Newton's sons, and had been, for some time, an 
 unsuccessful suitor of the young heiress. His mother 
 became strangely fond and caressing in her deportment 
 to Ellice in the progress of this love-making, and the 
 guileless and unsuspecting creature was induced, by the 
 entreaties of the mother and son, in which her infatuated 
 father also joined, to betroth herself to Gunteley. This 
 was in the early spring, and with the coming autumn 
 they were to be married. In the summer Ellice went to 
 visit her aunt, who, learning the strategems of Mrs. New- 
 ton to bring about this ill-advised union, apparently lost 
 her resentment at her brother Archibald's misalliance, 
 and came to Knowlton for the first time since that event. 
 Making no objection, while there, to the approaching 
 nuptials, she procured Mr. Newton's consent for Ellice to 
 accompany her home. For a wonder, he did not in this 
 matter suffer himself to be ruled by his wife, who mani- 
 fested great unwillingness at her departure. Mrs. Claver- 
 ing discovered that her niece not only was averse to 
 marrying Gunteley, but really disliked him. She soon 
 gained Ellice's consent that the engagement should be 
 broken off, but enjoined silence upon her, lest her new 
 determination should be ascribed to the aunt's influence 
 
110 The Heirs of St, Kilda. 
 
 Mrs. Clavering was fond of company, and her house was 
 thronged for the two months of the young girl's stay, and 
 among the visitors was Spenser Vivian, a young man of 
 good connections and irreproachable character. He lived 
 in the valley, and, knowing something of Ellice's unmer- 
 rited suffering, became so much attracted by her beauty 
 and gentleness that he offered her his hand. She had 
 been strangely interested in him from their first meeting, 
 and now his avowal of love was only replied to by silent 
 tears. After much pursuasion she confessed her love for 
 himself, and how, by means that she could not under- 
 stand, she was engaged to be married in so short a time 
 to Robert Gunteley. She told him of her present horror 
 at the idea of such a union, and it was arranged between 
 them that, so soon as she should be free, Vivian should 
 openly avow himself her suitor. She went home, and, a 
 short time previous to her expected wedding, discarded 
 Robert Gunteley. Mrs. Newton was enraged, and the 
 father, usually full of gentleness toward his daughter, 
 goaded on by his wife, now seemed transformed in his 
 entire nature. The poor girl, amid sobs, told them he 
 could never marry Robert Gunteley, to whom at best she 
 had been indifferent, and for whom she now entertained 
 feelings of positive repugnance. Spenser Vivian visited 
 Knowlton, and saw the pitiful condition to which Ellice's 
 love for himself had reduced her. This served but to 
 increase his devotion to the beautiful girl and to multiply 
 their vows of fidelity. Archibald Newton's insanity now 
 became fearfully evident. He maintained that, as Ellice 
 had once made a promise of marriage to Gunteley, she 
 was bound to fulfill her pledge, and that she should never 
 marrv another. All that the tears and entreaties of the 
 
I (reside Conversations. Ill 
 
 heart-broken girl could avail was a reluctant consent that 
 she should remain unmarried for the present, in order 
 that she might forget Vivian, who was denied all oppor- 
 tunity of seeing her. She now manifested the hereditary 
 taint of insanity, by the hopeless gloom into which she 
 sank. Long fits of weeping, and abstinence from food, 
 soon brought her into a rapid decline. She had refused 
 her lover's earnest solicitations to marry without her 
 father's consent, and after weary months of separation, 
 when fast sinking like a blighted flower, there came to 
 her a new lease of life. Vivian had gone to the foot of 
 Hawkshead, hoping she would come in that direction, 
 and he accidently met her that evening, for her horseback 
 exercises had been seldom allowed of late. After several 
 interviews, seeing something of the sorrow lifted from 
 the young girl's brow, Mrs. Newton sent a spy, who dis- 
 covered these secret conferences. Lucy Rhea, her com- 
 panion, was driven from Knowlton, and Ellice deprived 
 of any future opportunities of thus meeting her lover. 
 The gloom of rayless despair soon settled on her life, for 
 a new grief was now added to the wrongs she had already 
 endured. A letter, purporting to be from Vivian, told 
 that he had come to be of her father's opinion, that she 
 was bound by her first engagement. Her heart gave way 
 under this unexpected blow. It dried up the source of 
 her tears, and she manifested no unwillingness to her 
 father's proposition that she should be immediately mar- 
 ried to Robert Gunteley. There were but few witnesses 
 to the ceremony, and Elliee's demeanor was calm through- 
 out the scene; but her eyes wore an expression which 
 appalled even the clouded intelligence of Archibald New- 
 ton. As soon as the fatal words had been spoken, he 
 
112 The Valley of St. Kilda. 
 
 became conscience-stricken with the part he had acied 
 toward his beautiful and innocent child. All his previ- 
 ous harshness was now changed into the most complacent 
 tenderness; half-crazy and repentant, he walked along in 
 the deepening twilight with the silent and drooped figure 
 at his side. They were beneath the elms on the eastern 
 front of the mansion, near the gate that opens on the 
 pathway leading to Hawkshead mountain. The infatu- 
 ated man thought the silence of the crushed heart, and 
 her recent obedience, in submitting to what she had so 
 long resisted, betokened entire submission to his will, 
 He told his daughter all the story of the forged letter, of 
 his complicity therein, and asked if she was not glad the 
 trouble was now all over. She staggered, as if shot 
 through the heart. Her arms, in their snowy, bridal 
 draper} 7 , were clasped tightly across her eyes, as if to shut 
 out some dreadful image. The thin, wasted figure seemed 
 bending beneath some intolerable burden. She knelt 
 before him and gasped for breath." 
 
 " Oh ! you have killed me, father, oh ! God, you have 
 made me commit perjury. Oh! father, you have killed 
 your child who loved you so dearly. How could you do 
 this thing when you knew I should die?" 
 
 "She writhed in unutterable agony; moans that would 
 have melted a heart of stone struggled up from her heart 
 burdened with a world of woe. A new thought seemed 
 to have transformed her into another being, and a wild, 
 maniacal laugh burst from her lips." 
 
 " Father," said she, arising, "you are good to me after 
 all. Had you not told me this, I should have died to- 
 night thinking Spenser Vivian had forgotten all his vows. 
 I should have gone to rest, thinking the truest of all the 
 
Fireside Conversations. 113 
 
 world false and unkind. But you have told me better 
 now, dear father. I know he loves me still. Oh ! I am 
 so happy — so happy !" 
 
 " The white figure knelt in the gloom as if engaged in 
 prayer, and the conscience-stricken man threw himself 
 on the ground to hide a sight he could no longer bear. 
 Hearing nothing, he raised his head to look around, but 
 Ellice had disappeared, and was nowhere to be found. 
 The next day, after long search, her body was discovered 
 in the deep, mountain tarn. In its black, motionless water 
 the gentle maiden sought rest from her heavy sorrows. 
 The father, goaded into madness by the stings of consci- 
 ence, sunk into senseless lunacy, and Mrs. Newton was 
 treated with such scorn by every one in the valley, that 
 she was forced to seek a home elsewhere. Young Stanley 
 Newton never returned, and after the lapse of many 
 years, the estate passed into the possession of Col. Ridge- 
 ly's father." 
 
 8 
 
114 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 GOWER HALL. 
 
 " No human figure stirred, to go or come, 
 No face looked forth from shut or open casement, 
 No chimney smoked— there was no sign of home 
 From parapet to basement. 
 
 O'er all there hung a shadow and a fear, 
 
 A sense of mystery the spirit daunted, 
 
 And said, as plain as whisper in the ear, 
 
 The place is haunted." Haunted House. 
 
 Early on the day succeeding the night described in 
 the preceding chapter, Gov. Eustace left Ellesmere for 
 his post of duty at the capital. His earnest and frequent 
 inquiries as to the condition of Mariana's eyes proved how 
 much hope the French physician had inspired as to the 
 restoration of vision to those darkened orbs, which, while 
 they failed to convey to her brain the images imprinted 
 upon the retina, still retained much of their lustrous 
 beauty. The last words of the tender father, as he seated 
 himself in the carriage, was an imploring request to her. 
 reiterating the importance of a strict compliance with the 
 oculist's instructions. The large-hearted man, with his 
 many endowments, again resumed his burden of public 
 duty, and renewed the exile he was so loth to continue. 
 His heart remained with the inmates of the statel} 7 house 
 at Ellesmere; but all his care was concealed in a show of 
 exuberant spirits and ceaseless good humor. Mariana 
 dried her tears in the music of the organ, and Philip, 
 mastering his grief at the separation, went to his new 
 apartments to commence his studies under Arthur Kean. 
 
Gower Hall. 115 
 
 Judge Eustace had suggested to his wife, that the small 
 room adjoining hers was ill adapted to Philip in his in- 
 creased mind and stature; so now, after years of stay 
 within its limits, he was to remove to other quarters- 
 Mrs. Eustace told him she desired Mr. Kean and himself 
 to occupy the fine suite of rooms once used by Sir Elles- 
 mere and his wife, and now accompanied them as they 
 went up to take possession. 
 
 "Grandma," said Philip, "you have arranged every- 
 thing here charmingly. Our end of the house is a little 
 palace within itself." 
 
 " We shall be as undisturbed here," said Kean, " as if 
 in the heart of a great forest." 
 
 " Young gentlemen," said Mrs. Eustace, " I am glad 
 you are pleased, for it was my selection, and I was fearful 
 you would think we were banishing you to this remote 
 corner to be rid of your company ; but I know that when 
 a man is studying he wishes to be out of the reach of 
 everything which can talk and ask questions." 
 
 Mrs. Eustace soon left the young men to their studies, 
 and she, so full of consideration for others, went through 
 the long, echoing corridors to find Mariana. She knew 
 that the blind girl was troubled at her father's departure, 
 for the organ notes that had fallen on her ears wailed 
 only amid the sorrowful, minor keys. 
 
 Autumn and early winter passed swiftly by, as the two 
 students, in undisturbed devotion to their books, seldom 
 left Ellesmere in quest of society. Occasionally they woke 
 the mountain echoes with the music of the chase, and a 
 portion of each day they devoted to horseback exercise. 
 One evening, when Philip had been reading Prometheus 
 
116 The Heirs of St. -Kilda. 
 
 Vinctus, as he laid aside that sublimest of all tragedies, 
 he remarked to Kean : 
 
 " What a terrible thought must have been the first 
 conception of this ghastly drama! It probably haunted 
 iEschylus like a night-mare, before he undertook the 
 great difficulties he must have foreseen in the treatment 
 of his subject. Prometheus, naked and chained to the 
 storm-smitten summit of the lonely mountain, with the 
 vulture ever consuming his indestructible vitals, is a 
 picture of such awful suffering that he might well have 
 shrunk from its portrayal." 
 
 " The Greek tragedians," said Kean, "were not easily 
 balked, either by the horror or difficulty of their themes. 
 Sophocles, in his CEdipus Tyrannus, has imagined a con- 
 dition, to my mind, as horrible as that of Prometheus. 
 The hidden significance of the riddle he answered the 
 Sphinx, his ignorance of the great problem of his 
 own life, and his fatal discovery when it was too late for 
 remedy, are even more tragic and mournful than the 
 lonely man on Caucassus, defiant and unconquered in his 
 agony, and braving the wrath of his immortal enemy." 
 
 " I agree with the critics," said Philip, " in awarding the 
 palm of dramatic excellence to the CEdipus ; yet with all 
 my admiration for the genius and skill displayed in the 
 creation of these tragedies, the blind conflict of these men 
 with resistless destiny is too horrible." 
 
 " There was much reasonableness, after all," said Kean, 
 " in the wild myths of that race, whose genius produced 
 an Iliad, and whose valor triumphed at Marathon. 
 Their belief in an inexorable destiny was a blind glimpse 
 of the overruling Providence which we know directs and 
 limits the extent of human achievements. They testified 
 
Goiver Hall. 117 
 
 their conviction of a controlling agency in earthly affairs 
 by thus adducing instances of its resistless power. This 
 conviction has haunted the minds of all ages, and we 
 find it to have been the central idea, not only of the 
 ancient Hellenic dreams, but centuries later, when their 
 descendants had passed under the sway of the mightier 
 Roman, the iEneid developed the same belief. Virgil 
 represented the Trojan fugitive as more fortunate, but 
 still as helpless in its hidden strength as any of the 
 Pelopidae. Sixteen centuries later Shakspeare declared: 
 
 " There is a divinity that shapes our ends, 
 Rough hew them as we may." 
 
 " How do you like the use of the supernatural in 
 poetry ?" said Philip. " Are such agencies as the king's 
 ghost in Hamlet, legitimate ?" 
 
 " Certainly," said Kean. " I believe, with the men of 
 preceding ages, that such things are in existence, and 
 within the range of possible communication with the 
 human race. I have been amazed at the skepticism of 
 the last half century on this subject. I have no patience 
 with the vulgar superstition that gives a ghost to every 
 old house; but I cannot believe that the human mind, 
 constituted as it is, could receive, without some corres- 
 ponding reality in nature, the pervading aw T e which comes 
 over all hearts, in certain circumstances, in spite of reason 
 and pride." 
 
 " I should like to see a ghost, if there are such things," 
 said Philip, standing near the western window of their 
 studio. " You can see away yonder across the valley, the 
 battlements of a large house, this side of Harcourt Hill. 
 That is old Govver Hall. It was built by Lyttelton Gower, 
 
118 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 who came to the valley with Sir George Eustace, and it 
 has heen, for many years, tenantless. Many families have 
 tried to live there; but some mysterious curse has been 
 about the place since the death of Harcourt Gower. I 
 would like to sleep there long enough to hear the tramp 
 of the unseen visitors, that Thompson sa} r s still walk 
 every night about the place." 
 
 " Suppose you get Thompson to go there and spend the 
 night with you," said Kean, smiling. 
 
 Carrying out the humor of this suggestion, they left 
 their books, and repaired to the stables. Thompson had 
 just locked the doors, and was making an authoritative 
 announcement to his two assistants, that the next time he 
 had to call for them twice before they shook off their 
 slumbers, as had been the case that morning, he should 
 deal out summary punishment. The countenance which 
 was clothed with frowning authority a moment before, 
 relaxed into a broad smile, on seeing the approach of the 
 white visitors, for he believed it the duty of every son of 
 Africa to light up his face when in the presence of his 
 superiors. 
 
 "Good evening, uncle Thompson." 
 
 " Sarvant, Masters." 
 
 " How are you and your command ?" said Philip. 
 
 "Thank de Lord, we's all gettin' along middlin' this 
 arternoon. All the sore-eyed dogs is gittin' well, now w r e 
 aint got dat red fox to run us to death. Night afore last, 
 arter ole 'oman Nancy and me was in bed, who should 
 come a scratchin' at my door but that same Sweetlips 
 what's been lost dese three month's past. I heerd de 
 whinin' and scratchin' but I was sorter jubous like about 
 gwine out dat time o'night, for to tell you de truth, I 'aint 
 
Gower Hall. 119 
 
 biii de same nigger sense dat triflin' dog skeerd me to 
 death in de slashes. So you see I waked up Nancy, sorter 
 for company like. Says I, ' ole 'oman, you hear dat 
 scratchin' at the door?' Says she, 'Thompson, 1 'aint 
 hearn any scratchin'. Why can't you let folks sleep.' 
 Says I, 'you mout keep folks company when dey raly 
 stands in need.' I turned over and tried to go to sleep, 
 but de thing kep sich a fass at de door I blowed up de 
 light, and peeped out to see what it was, but nothin' could 
 I disarm I cracked de door open a little wider, when, 
 blest to heaven, in jumped dat same Sweetlips I had done 
 gin out for dead. I got back in de bed, and Nancy had 
 to turn her out, for I wont certain whether 'twas Sweet- 
 lips or her ghost." 
 
 "Uncle Thompson," said Philip, "would you see me 
 encounter danger without doing all you could to help 
 me?" 
 
 " Mass. Phil., I am ready to die afore harm shall tetch 
 you." 
 
 " Well," said Philip, " Mr. Kean and I have been talk- 
 ing about ghosts, and we want you to go with us, and 
 spend to-morrow night in Gower House." 
 
 A deep groan broke from the depths of Thompson's 
 chest, and his small eyes opened wider and wider, until 
 a ring of white was seen around them. His astonishment 
 at the proposition seemed to have taken away his utter- 
 ance. At length he found words. 
 
 "Mass. Phil., just kill me stone-dead where I stand; I 
 tell you I'd ruther die ten times over dan go anywheres 
 about dat house arter dark." 
 
 <( What in the world makes you so afraid of Gower 
 Hall?" said Keam 
 
120 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " Why, Mr. Kean, aint you hearn about all dera things 
 dats storrniiv and hollorin' about Gower House every 
 night ? Why dare aint a family in de valley dat can stay 
 at de place, and sense Mr. Rider seed what he did, folks 
 don't even go by it arter dark." 
 
 " What happened to Mr. Rider?" said Philip. 
 
 " Mass. Phil., I never likes to talk about sich things 
 arter night; it puts cold chills on me, and I can't sleep 
 good arter it ; but howsouaever, dat aint tellin' how Jack 
 Rider got skeered so nigh to deth. Well, you see, he 
 had jest come to live in de valley, and was mightily taken 
 wid one of Squair Morton's daughters. Dare was some 
 party doins over dare dat night, and dare was no want of 
 sperits at de Squairs, and I spose Mr. Rider got his sheer. 
 He started iate arter de party broke up, to go across de 
 river dat runs along by Gower Hall, and, feeling his 
 liquor a little, he didn't notice de new road which turns 
 to de left; so he follered de old track along by de house. 
 It seems to me dat any sensible man ought to known 
 better dan to a done sich a thing. Well, he went a blun- 
 dering along, for de moon was gettin mighty low, and de 
 shadows from trees lay monstrous thick along de avenue. 
 De road was full of ruts, for folks didn't go dat way sense 
 de new one was made through de meadows. Jack Rider 
 hadn't hearn much about de place, being a new comer in 
 de country, so he thought he would ride past de house 
 any how, for by dis time he found out dat he had missed 
 de right road. He could see de great, high walls and 
 chimbleys shinin' through de dead trees, killed by de 
 lightning dat struck de house, dat summer. He was nigh 
 about up to de big willow oak, which stands in de corner 
 of de front lawn, when he heerd somebody a cryin' as if 
 
Gower Hall. 
 
 121 
 
 dare hearts would break. His horse stopped still in de 
 road an commenced trimblin' like a leaf. Jack Rider 
 looked into de shadow of de big tree, but he could disarn 
 nothin. He didn't like de warm steam dat come agin his 
 face, for he had hearn tell how dat was a bad sign. De 
 thing kep on a cryin' and he put both spurs well into his 
 horse's flanks to git him by de willow oak ; when, as true 
 as I'm a standin' here, a beautiful, tall, young white 
 'oman walked out intode road ahead of him. Her white 
 silk dress trailed a yard behind her, an she was a ringin' 
 of her hans, an a cryin' louder and louder. The horse 
 just stuck his head atween his feet, an wouldn't budge an 
 inch. The sweat poured off o' Jack Rider, for he was 
 skeerd nigh about dead when he fust seed her; but he 
 looked at her standin' dare so white in de moonshine wid 
 her shinin silk clothes on, an her long, black hair ketched- 
 up wid white beads; so, says he to himself, dis 'aint no 
 ghost w T id all dis finery on ; so he tuck heart and axed 
 her what she wanted. She didn't say a word, but kep on 
 a beckonin' an a motionin', till he got down to lead his 
 horse which trimbled so he could hardly git him to move. 
 De white 'oman walked slowly along de road, lookin' 
 back and motionin', till dey got on de river bank, when 
 she turned down de stream. Dey soon come to de high 
 bluff behind de house, where she stopped, an lookin' back 
 at Jack Rider, and cryin' louder dan ever, an pintin' 
 down at de water, wid her han' shinin' wid finger rings. 
 She kep on a pintin' an beckonin' down ; but findin' 
 Jack Rider wont gwine any closer, she jes gin a scream, 
 an, jumpin' up in de air, she flung herself head-foremost 
 down de bluff. He listened to hear her strike de water, 
 but he didn't hear nothin'. Five minits arter dat, Jack 
 
122 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 Rider had put two miles atween him and Gower Hall ; 
 for he knowd it was de ghost of Miss Creeoy Gower he'd 
 seen. She was ole Harcourt's daughter; an dey tell me 
 she was a gwine to be married, but de man she loved 
 fell over de very place she wanted Jack Rider to jump 
 down." 
 
 ' Well, Thompson, that sounds frightful, if it were true, 
 but how do you know that Jack Rider was sober enough 
 to tell a straight tale as to what he saw?" 
 
 'Mass. Phil., I blieves every word I tole you is gospel 
 truth.- I've seen things enough myself to convince me 
 dare's ghosts." 
 
 ' What did you ever see, Thompson," said Kean, " to 
 produce that opinion ?" 
 
 " When I was a young man, about Mass. Phil's size, ole 
 master was in Washington city wid de balance of de 
 family, an I was tendin to de brood mares down at Blen- 
 heim. So one Saturday night, I started about dusk to 
 come here to see mammy. De young mare I was ridin' 
 was so full of life an deviltry, she got me in de same 
 humor; so I come along de road singin' and a hollerin, 
 carin' for nothin' in de world, if it was dark ; for I wont 
 afeard o' ghosts in dem days, an I got de conceit tuck out 
 o' me dat very night. It was jes cleverly daik, when I 
 got along where Tillery's ole tavern stans. Delphine 
 shied off to one side of de road, and I looked round to see 
 what she was skeered on, an dare on top of de fence I 
 seed what I tuck to be a ten-year ole nigger-boy start- 
 naked an black as de ace o' spades. I cust him, an' axed 
 what he was doin up dare, dat time o' night. De words 
 wont out o' my mouth, afore lookin back I seed de thing 
 come aflyin right behind me, and, I'll never speak agin, 
 
Goicer Hall 123 
 
 if he didn't light right agin my back on de saddle. I 
 smelt his brimstone breath, an I knowd in a minit dat 
 me an de devil was ridin double. De mare knowd it too, 
 for she screamed like human de minit he lit on her. She 
 didn't need no urgin', for, if you blieve me. she jes ris an 
 flew. I leaned over her neck as fur as I could to keep 
 clear o' de thing's bans dat felt like iron in my sides. I 
 hollerd an begged him to let me alone ; but dare he sot 
 behine de saddle, clean tell we got to de stone bridge by 
 Thorndale. Dare he jumped up an went off in a clap o' 
 thunder dat clean tuck away what leetle sense I had left. 
 De nex thing I knowd I waked up de nex day at Ramil- 
 lies, an de niggers tole me,dey thought dat me an Delphine 
 was both gwine to die all night arter we got dare." 
 
 "That was very frightful also, uncle Thompson, but 
 you confess the worse thing the devil did to you, on this 
 occasion, was riding in your company, and perhaps pinch- 
 ing you a little during the excursion. I think you may 
 safely rely upon Harcourt Gower's being as civil, if you 
 will only consent to spend the night in that fine old 
 house you think he still inhabits." 
 
 " Mass. Phil., de only time I ever failed to do what you 
 wanted was when you axed me to jump down Snowdon 
 bluff. You was so leetle den, you didn't know no better. 
 I didn't do it, case I knowd twould kill me. I'd ruther 
 die dan go to Gower Hall wid all dem. sperits an dead 
 folks walkin' an cryin' about dare. I'm afeerd enough of 
 dat white 'oraan wid her pearls an finger rings ; but she 
 aint all folks has seen gwine about dare in de dark. 
 Taint bin five years sense Miss Retta Courtenay's ole Sam., 
 like a fool, went along dare one night, an de fuss thing 
 he knowd he heerd horses a meetin' him. Dev come at 
 
124 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 a full run up de ole race course on de side o' de road, an 
 he seed, as plain as I see you, Harcourt Gower, whos' bin 
 dead dese fifty years, ridin dat same horse, Dreadnought 
 he killed, for boltin' at de races one day, when Sam. was 
 a boy. He didn't know at fuss who was ridin tother 
 horse, but a secon' glimpse showed him 'twas de devil." 
 
 " Uncle Thompson, I fear we shall have to get some one 
 else to go as our servant." 
 
 " Mass. Phil., I'm afeard you will ; I'm willin' to go 
 anywhere dare aint no ghosts, but dey is things I can't 
 injore no how." 
 
 Philip amused the family at the supper table with a 
 repetition of the marvelous stories Thompson had been 
 recounting to Kean and himself. 
 
 " A great mystery hangs over that old house," said 
 Judge Eustace. " I was a small boy when Harcourt Gower 
 died ; but I still remember his striking appearance. He 
 was one of the most dissipated and turbulent men I ever 
 knew, and always seemed troubled with the memory of 
 black deeds, which, it was currently believed, had fre- 
 quently marked his course in life. Just previous to his 
 death he had reached home from a racing excursion, in 
 which he had lost heavily. His daughter, Lucretia, was 
 then living, and was a splendid and voluptuous beauty. 
 Young Harcourt, having incurred his father's displeasure 
 by some difference which had arisen between them, was 
 no longer an inmate of the house. Old Gower exhibited 
 his usual violence in the resentment he bore his son, and 
 had sworn, an hundred times, that not a shilling of his 
 money should go, at his death, to the youth. The morn- 
 ing after his return he was sitting before the fire in com- 
 pany with several visitors, and Lucretia inquired as to 
 
Gower Hall 125 
 
 what had been his success at the races. The question, 
 seemingly natural and innocent in itself, called up a 
 storm of frantic and ungovernable rage in her father. 
 Choking in the midst of the most horrible blasphemy, he 
 fell to the floor in a state of insensibility. Apoplexy had 
 succeeded, at last, in producing a death which cold steel 
 and fire-arms had so often failed to bring about. He had 
 given to his daughter, by a will he had written some time 
 before, the whole of his large estate. It was said that 
 Lucretia did but little toward producing reconciliation 
 between her father and her brother, and very probably 
 added fresh fuel to the wrath that burned so vindictively 
 against the son, who had largely inherited the rash and 
 unyielding disposition of his sire. Her mother had died 
 in her infancy, and Lucretia was engaged to be married 
 to a young man who perished by falling from the bluff 
 of which Thompson spoke. She survived his death but 
 a few months, and young Harcourt succeeded to the in- 
 heritance in spite of his father's wishes. From the date 
 of his taking possession w r ild stories have been told of 
 sights and sounds in and about Gower Hall. He persis- 
 ted in living in the house during his short and ill-fated 
 life, and would arise from the stormiest revelry to curse 
 his father, who, he alleged, was looking at him through 
 the doors and windows. He could never, it is said, sleep 
 undisturbed at night; but this failed to terrify him, until 
 in his last hours, when sinking under an attack of 
 delirium tremens, he frantically besought his companions 
 to save him from his inexorable persecutor. Gower Hall 
 was, at that time, one of the noblest seats in the valley; 
 and several families have endeavored to live there since, 
 
126 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 but have soon abandoned the place, which seems, in some 
 unaccountable way, to have become uninhabitable." 
 
 After supper all the family then at Ellesmere were col- 
 lected in the library. Percival St. George was gone to 
 Vaucluse ; Mariana and Helen Temple were at Thorndale. 
 The next was Christmas week, and Mrs. Courtenay, and 
 Rosamond, with other friends, had promised to spend 
 that delightful season with Mrs. Eustace. 
 
 "Philip," said his grandfather, " what has been your 
 chief study this week ?" 
 
 "The Greek tragedies, sir. I shall soon finish that por- 
 tion of my classical course; and I regret that I shall, in 
 the future, have so little to remind me of these beautiful 
 and deathless memorials of Athenian genius." 
 
 " That was a wonderful age, indeed," said Judge Eust- 
 ace, " which witnessed the lives of the three great masters 
 of tragic drama. Athens of that day was the most 
 splendid development of civic and military virtue ever 
 exhibited by any of the communities known in history. 
 In the short interval of time, between the Persian inva- 
 sion and the end of the Pelopponesian wars, that single 
 city produced men whose works have come down as the 
 patterns and embodied ideals of the highest excellence 
 attainable by human effort. The world is two thousand 
 years older now ; but what orator hopes to rival Demos- 
 thenes, or historian the majestic picture Thucydides has 
 left of its decline ? Who now reasons like Plato, or, with 
 all our mechanical improvements, can build like Pericles. 
 I believe that the intelligence, patriotism, and valor of 
 men found their highest exemplification in that era, and 
 within the walls of Athens." 
 
 " I think," said Arthur Kean, " the Athenian law of 
 
Gower Hall. 127 
 
 Ostracism a sad commentary on the political ethics of that 
 people." 
 
 "I do not agree with you in that matter," said Judge 
 Eustace. "I know, very well, ' ostracism ' has long been 
 a favorite theme of declamation among those who believe 
 that justice and gratitude are not to be found in free 
 governments. When we consider that six thousand 
 secret and uncontrolled voters had to testify their con- 
 viction that some political leader, by the ascendency of 
 his talents and personal influence, had become dangerous 
 to the State, it does not appear an unreasonable thing, 
 that the public peace should be kept by the exile of one 
 man whose ambition and power endangered all. It was 
 not resorted to, unless two or more leaders became so 
 controlling in their influence that a large portion of the 
 citizens believed the absence of some of them conducive 
 to the good of the State. Then the number of votes, 
 required for expulsion in such an emergency, made it 
 far preferable, in my opinion, to the Roman system of 
 settling the disputes of great rival claimants of the public 
 honors, by the death of one of them, as in the case of 
 Tiberius Gracchus, or b} r ruinous civil war." 
 
 "Still, Judge Eustace," said Kean, "we must admit 
 there was something wrong in the banishment of Aris- 
 tides. There must have been a great evil, somewhere, 
 in the system which allowed the expulsion of a man 
 whose enemies could only allege against him that they 
 were tired of hearing him called ' The JusV Plutarch 
 says the whole practice arose from envy and malice, in- 
 herent in democracy, and not from any reasonable and 
 patriotic fear for the good of the country." 
 
 " I know that Plutarch made the declaration you refer 
 
128 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 to, but I think his statement is capable of easy refutation. 
 Ostracism was one of the changes introduced by Ciis- 
 thenes, after the expulsion of the Pisistratidae, to protect 
 the immature democracy, which, then in Athens, as 
 cotemporaneously in Rome, needed all the safeguards 
 which could be thrown around it. The violent animosi- 
 ties of political leaders are the greatest source of danger 
 to popular governments. I do not believe that these 
 leaders in any species of rule can be brought to respect 
 the lives and property of their rivals, or the constitutional 
 protection to which they are entitled. Then, it is obvious, 
 when the prominence and violence of two leaders en- 
 danger the State, it is better that one should yield to the 
 superior fortune of the other. Ca3sar might reasonably 
 have submitted to the authority of the Senate in Pompey's 
 behalf; Cromwell might have spared the humbled 
 Charles, and Robespierre relented toward the helpless 
 Girondists : but human nature, though it may undergo 
 the mortification of political defeat for a long time, as seen 
 under the English constitution and our own, at last finds 
 conflicts so momentous that peace becomes impossible." 
 " I would not advocate the introduction of ostracism 
 here." continued Judge Eustace, "but we closely imitate 
 it in the necessary departure from office of the chief 
 executive after a certain term of service. The Athenians 
 stripped this exile of all loss either to the life or property 
 of the victim, and it could fall on any man whom the 
 large minority thought dangerous to the public weal. 
 Aristides himself, in his memorable contest with Themis- 
 tocles, recognized the wisdom of the measure when he 
 remarked that it would be well if he and his rival were 
 both sent into banishment." 
 
 
Gotver Hall. 129 
 
 { - Under that aspect of the case," said Kean, " it is less 
 odious, but you must recollect that it was used against 
 the unoffending tutor of Pericles, simply because philoso- 
 phy was unpopular." 
 
 " Yes," said the Judge, " but that was two generations 
 after its institution, and it found its last subject, in the 
 case to which you refer. Soon after that the city was 
 captured, and its liberties went under that long eclipse 
 from which they have never wholly emerged." 
 
 " None of the Greek cities," said Arthur Kean, " with 
 all their prosperity as autonomous communities, ever 
 exhibited much genius for great combinations. The 
 Spartan and Athenian headships over the Hellenic States 
 were embittered by frequent revolt, and though their 
 heroisoi made them immortal in history, they never 
 reached the statesmanship which cemented the world in 
 the homogeneous rule of Rome. Nations more populous 
 than all Greece were speedily conquered and lost 
 their identity in the pervading nationality of the ma- 
 jestic empire. Athens was unable to exercise even over 
 the despised Beotians, any permanent rule, but the 
 countless Gauls were held for centuries to unquestioning- 
 obedience by the mistress of the world." 
 
 " Rome," said Judge Eustace, " took every precaution 
 to secure the allegiance of her conquered tributaries, whose 
 gods soon found niches in the Pantheon and other tem- 
 ples of the imperial city. She built mighty aqueducts, 
 great roads, and impregnable citadels, wherever her arms 
 had penetrated, and nothing was omitted which would 
 overawe the seditious or gratify the contented. On the 
 other hand, Athenian supremacy was never more than 
 her hegemony artfully amplified by wrong. This was so 
 9 
 
130 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 » 
 
 short-lived that it is impossible to say what might have 
 been her destiny, if the issue of her great contest had 
 been different." 
 
 Philip retired to his bed, full of plans of enjoyment for 
 the Christmas holidays. The joy which comes to every 
 heart, with the approach of that festive season, kept him 
 awake with pleasant anticipations. The house was to be 
 full of his kindred and friends. Col. Stanhope Eustace 
 was already in the States, and was to be at Ellesmere for 
 the first time in several years. Philip sighed as he 
 thought of Mariana, who would be unable to see the 
 many beautiful things he knew his grandmother would 
 provide for the festive occasion, and then he remembered 
 his father, lonely in his great house at the capital, chaf- 
 ing at his self-assumed fetters, weary of his great burden, 
 and yet unwilling to lay it down. In the morning of his 
 days, this young boy had discovered that wealth and 
 the pride of place brought with them much of compensat- 
 ing misery. But health and youthful strength are not 
 often wedded to sleepless care, and Philip was soon dream- 
 ing of the rose-tinted future in store for him. 
 
 
Christmas. 131 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 "The churches all are wreathed with green, 
 The altars set with flowers, 
 And happy lowly hearts wait on, 
 And count the passing hours ; 
 Until the midnight chimes proclaim 
 The hallowed season come, 
 When Heaven's broad gates are opened wide, 
 And Hell's loud roar is dumb." —BothweU. 
 
 Yuletide had come to Ellesmere, and the old mansion 
 was full of joyous and congenial people. The bronzed 
 and long-expected Col. Stanhope Eustace had reached 
 the place of his nativity, on Christmas eve, and his fond 
 mother was once more gratified with his presence. The 
 soldier, released at last from the restraints of his com- 
 mand, gave himself up to a full enjoyment of the sweet, 
 home comforts and smiling welcome he saw on the faces 
 of all around him. He and Percival St. George, being 
 nearly of the same age, had always been friends, and 
 now, after their long separation, were full of pleasant 
 communion. They were bachelors, and had in this an 
 additional bond of union. Stanhope had a tall, martial 
 figure, with much of his father's port and stature. He 
 had the grave, commanding appearance which habits of 
 military control impart, but was full of geniality and 
 humor with his friends. He lacked his brother's briliant 
 wit and fervid feeling, but was so courtly and pleasant in 
 society, that it was hard to realize that he had spent 
 nearly half his life in frontier duty among the savages. 
 He had graduated at West Point with distinction, and 
 
132 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 had always borne the reputation of a brave and competent 
 officer, being as much feared in his command by those 
 who failed to perform their duty as he was beloved by 
 the men entitled to his commendation. 
 
 Mrs. Courtenay and Rosamond were at Ellesmere when 
 Col. Eustace arrived. Ida Somerville and Mae Glancy 7 
 two young ladies of the neighborhood, had preceded 
 them ; and, about sunset on Christmas eve, came also Col. 
 Ridgely with his wife and daughter, Isabel ; and, shortly 
 afterwards, Frederick Compton, with his sister, Edith. 
 Ellesmere, long celebrated for its graceful hospitality, was 
 now a scene of unbounded enjoyment. Mr. Grey was in 
 his glory. No one could be more delighted with the 
 society of the young, and such was the ascendency he 
 speedily gained in their affections that mothers had 
 simply to tell their children, when disposed to be ill- 
 natured, that Mr. Grey should know of it to bring about 
 at once a restoration of good behaviour. The earnest 
 and abstracted man, who seemed to live in a continual 
 atmosphere of devotion, was gifted with a rare insight 
 into the joys and griefs of the young, and never appeared 
 to grow weary of their company. This ascendency, once 
 obtained, was rarely lost with advancing years ; and there 
 was not a girl or boy of his acquaintance that did not 
 make him their confidential adviser, wherever innocence 
 and perplexity needed tender and considerate counsel. 
 Col. Ridgely lived at the country seat formerly the resi- 
 dence of unhappy Ellice Newton. His large wealth gave 
 him an opportunity of indulging his taste in the rearing 
 of improved stock, and Knowlton was as celebrated, now, 
 for its blood-horses and cattle, as it was once for the 
 tragical marriage of Archibald Newton's daughter. Col. 
 
Christmas. 133 
 
 Ridgely was delightful on all festive occasions, and had 
 long been on intimate terms with the family at Elles- 
 mere. His daughter, Isabel, was two years older than 
 Mariana, and, though she was not pretty, was yet so full 
 of gentleness and maidenly decorum, that she was a 
 general favorite. Mae Glancy, whose father lived at the 
 foot of Satan's Nose, was very lovely, with her flaxen 
 ringlets and lustrous blue eyes. She was a fountain of 
 perpetual joy, and seemed at no time to loose the native 
 sunshine of her disposition, for care and serious thoughts 
 were things she had seen in others, but had never ex- 
 perienced. Edith Compton was of the same age as Rosa- 
 mond Courtenay, and her opposite in every respect. She 
 was, in appearance, already a grown, young lady, with 
 light eyes and hair, handsome, sprightly, and well 
 acquainted with the accomplishments usually to be ob- 
 tained at boarding schools. With all this, she was utterly 
 unacquainted with books, except those she had used at 
 school, and the few late novels she had read. She hated 
 seclusion and thought, and was never better satisfied than 
 when surrounded by a circle of beaux. On such occa- 
 sions she w r as singularly gifted with conversational power. 
 Ida Somerville has, already, been introduced, and needs 
 no further commendation of her beauty or the admirable 
 good sense she always exhibited. Reginald Vane was 
 also a guest on the occasion. 
 
 A deep snow lay upon the ground, and the air was 
 bitter cold ; but the yule logs glowed in the great fire 
 places, and threw their generous warmth over all, irradi- 
 ating into new beauty the bright eyes of the young peo- 
 ple, and adding to the quiet enjoyment of the more elderly 
 of the party. Judge Eustace himself joined in the merry 
 
134 The Valley of St. Kilda. 
 
 confusion of blind-man's-buff, and was run down and cap- 
 tured by Mae Glancy, who cheated, in spite of all pre- 
 cautions to the contrary, by peeping with one eye. Huge 
 bowls of egg-nogg and mulled wine lent fresh animation 
 to the scene, and Mariana made music for the dancers, 
 until late in the night on Christmas eve. 
 
 Early the next morning, some of the gentlemen sallied 
 out in search of a stag which had been frequenting the 
 slashes where Thompson was so badly frightened by the 
 greyhound. The huge African, being indispensable on 
 such occasions, was of course one of the party. They 
 rode past the beautiful lake in the park, which was now 
 a sheet of ice. Their intention was to drive the deer 
 from his lurking place, and, by means of huntsmen 
 taking posts and awaiting his approach, to shoot him in 
 his flight ; but in case of his escape in the direction of 
 the mountains, to follow on horseback, for the open fields 
 presented abundant opportunity of testing the speed of 
 the high-mettled hunters against that of the animal they 
 were seeking. All of the party, with the exception of St. 
 George and Thompson, were posted on the probable line 
 of his retreat, and they, having passed to the end of the- 
 long rushes and thickets with the eight dogs kept for deer 
 hunting, commenced the drive. Thev soon discovered 
 traces of their game, for he had been moving since the 
 last fall of snow, and his tracks were plainly indented in 
 the hardened surface. The dogs, too, gave unmistaken 
 evidences of his speedy appearance ; and in a few mo- 
 ments he was flying in the direction of those who, in 
 silence, were awaiting his coming. The weight of the large 
 buck, combined with the prodigious leaps he was taking, 
 drove his sharp hoofs deep into the snow at every bound, 
 
Christmas. 135 
 
 and this considerably retarded his flight ; but on he sped, 
 like a rocket, until the report of Col. Eustace's rifle, fol- 
 lowed by a cry of terror from the stag, told that the bullet 
 had taken effect. The wound did not prove mortal, and, 
 turning as sharply as the pursuing hounds would allow, 
 the affrighted victim rushed across the slashes ; but here 
 again he was headed off by Percival, who planted a second 
 shot in his side, which soon perceptibly decreased the 
 speed of his flight. The two stag hounds, Troubadour and 
 Tweed, now caught sight of him, and were soon closing 
 in upon the desperate fugitive, as he stretched awa}^ to- 
 ward the river. They pulled him to the ground, a little 
 more than a mile from the spot where he was last shot. 
 The party soon gathered around St. George and Thomp- 
 son, whose position had enabled them to reach the spot 
 sooner than the others. The stag was a large animal, 
 whose wide-spreading antlers evinced full maturity. 
 
 '• It is too soon to break up a hunt so bravely begun,'' 
 said Reginald Vane. " Suppose we cross the river at 
 Morton's bridge. I can show you some glorious sport 
 around the foot of Sorrell's Peak. It is but five miles 
 awa} 7 , and it is yet so early, the sun has scarcely risen." 
 
 " What say you, Stanhope?" said St. George. 
 
 " Of course let us go. I suppose it will be all right if 
 we get home by dinner." 
 
 The whole party having given their consent, they at 
 once rode to Morton's bridge, and were soon on the hunt- 
 ing ground. This was a valley between Harcourt Hill 
 and Sorrell's Peak, and in some parts was densely cov- 
 ered with brush. From its sides the mountain walls 
 arose in almost perpendicular cliffs. This gorge ran back 
 for several miles, narrow in some places, and in others 
 
im The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 widening into broad, well-timbered vales. To hunt the 
 place properly, required more men than were present on 
 this occasion ; for the breadth of the valley was such at 
 its mouth, that it required at least twenty men abreast to 
 drive all the game toward the narrowest point, where Col. 
 Eustace, Frederick Compton and Arthur Kean concealed 
 themselves, and were lying in wait for the expected ani- 
 mals. They soon heard the commencement of the drive, 
 for the huntsmen and hounds seemed vieing, in their 
 noisy demonstrations, as they came up the glade. Per- 
 cival, Philip, Vane and Thompson were doing all they 
 could to frighten the unsuspecting denizens of the forest 
 into a fatal effort to pass those who, with loaded guns, 
 were waiting for their approach in the narrow defile. 
 They had not gone far before Vane had killed a wild 
 turkey. About the same time the dogs gave furious chase 
 to an animal which took refuge in a tree. Philip ap- 
 proaching, discovered a wild cat, and brought it to the 
 ground. St. George, in the meanwhile, had bagged three 
 hares; and Thompson soon after broke out into a tre- 
 mendous yell, proclaiming that he had seen a wolf. The 
 hounds were soon in hot pursuit, when two rifle shots 
 from the pother party announced that the game had 
 reached that point. These discharges drove back a doe, 
 which was killed by St. George. After bagging one more 
 hare, the drivers ceased firing, for fear of injuring their 
 friends. When they reached them, they found that Col. 
 Eustace had slain a stag, Arthur Kean a wolf, and Fred- 
 erick Compton had wounded another. Col. Eustace, 
 Philip and Thompson, with the dogs, now left the re- 
 mainder of the party in search of the disabled disturber 
 of the sheep folds, whose blood on the snow plainly be- 
 
Christmas. 137 
 
 trayed the direction of his retreat. They soon traced him 
 to his den under some immense rocks. The dogs were 
 urged to go in, but speedily retreated in dismay at the 
 terrible growls that arose upon their darkening the en- 
 trance of his cave. Col. Eustace fired into its mouth, but 
 failed to produce any effect, more than a repetition of the 
 angry notes of displeasure. Thompson now offered to 
 go down and shoot the wolf, but he w T as overruled in this 
 on account of its danger, and the impossibility of using a 
 rifle, with much promise of success, in the darkness of 
 the cavern. While his uncle was loading his rifle, Philip 
 with his revolver crept as near as he could, and peeping 
 around the rock, plainly discovered the glaring eyes of 
 the wolf. Leaning over, to get a better view, he fired just 
 below the light of the sullen eyes. He immediately 
 sprang hack followed by the enraged wolf, which, though 
 mortally wounded, had still enough strength to have man- 
 gled him terribly, but for the timely interposition of the 
 now dauntless Thompson. He had, suspecting Philip's in- 
 tention, followed him, and was close enough to strike the 
 wolf across the loins a blow with his gun, such as the 
 Titans may have dealt in ancient days, for it broke the 
 heavy piece into fragments, and instantly dispatched the 
 furious monster. Col. Eustace had not observed Philip's 
 movements, until his attention was called by the report 
 of the pistol. He sprang to the rescue of his nephew, but 
 was forestalled by the faithful negro. 
 
 "Bravely done, Thompson," said he. "This is the 
 quickest and prettiest work I have seen done since you 
 slew, with an axe, the bull which was about to gore my 
 father to death." 
 
 " Mass Phil, did'n't I tell you, las week, when you 
 
138 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 wanted me to go wid you to Gower Hall, I would suffer 
 death afore you should come to harm ?" 
 
 "You did, uncle Thompson, and I believe you. I 
 never intend to laugh at your fears of ghosts again. 
 Your blow saved me from a worse biting than I care to 
 endure." 
 
 " Philip, it was very reckless in you to trust to a pistol 
 shot, in such close quarters," said Col. Eustace. " Your 
 aim was remarkably correct under the circumstances, 
 and the wolf would have died in a few minutes. I should 
 judge, from its point of entry, the ball must have reached 
 and passed through the heart ; yet but for Thompson's 
 interference you would have nevertheless been badly 
 injured." 
 
 The sable hero having shouldered the wolf, they re- 
 joined the party awaiting them, and at once returned 
 toward Ellesmere. Every horse was well loaded with the 
 captured game, and each huntsman was busily engaged 
 in recounting his own adventures. Philip's encounter 
 with the wolf astonished no one, as his courage and 
 daring were well known; but Thompson's prompt and 
 intrepid conduct filled Arthur Kean with amazement; 
 for he had looked upon him hitherto as a mountain of 
 flesh afraid of its own shadow. He thought nature had 
 made him an entire coward ; but when Stanhope Eustace 
 told how a furious bull had once overtaken, and was 
 about to gore his father to death, and he had seen the 
 same Thompson fly as on the wings of the wind, and at 
 a blow crush the massive scull of the enraged animal, 
 the tutor's respect increased to admiration. 
 
 "This is the best day's hunting I have seen since we 
 were boys, Stanhope," said Percival. " You recollect 
 
Christmas. 139 
 
 when we came to this same spot with Ashton, Mr. Somer- 
 ville, Col. Ridgely, and others?" 
 
 " Considering our relative force, this is a much better 
 day's work. I have never seen it surpassed, in the num- 
 ber and variety of game captured in so short a time by a 
 small party, even on the Plains." 
 
 It was just twelve by the clock when they reached the 
 house, and every one therein came out to behold the 
 trophies of the morning's chase. The ladies were full of 
 womanly tremors at the dead wolves. Thompson's 
 prompt heroism inspired Rosamond and Mariana with 
 such gratitude that he was summoned to the house, and 
 thanked until big tears of joy and satisfaction stood in 
 his eyes. He was fairly loaded down with the many 
 presents with which they and Mrs. Eustace testified their 
 appreciation of the value of his service. His wife, Nancy, 
 was standing by, and her round, honest face was 
 wreathed in smiles of pleasure at her husband's increased 
 favor. 
 
 " Mistiss," said Thompson, " I've got another Christmas 
 gif to ax you, dis morning." 
 " What is it, Thompson ?" 
 
 " I w T ant you to tell Nancy how improper it looks for 
 her to be wantin' in respect for her husband. Now, she's 
 a good enough wife, but she don't confidence me in de 
 matter of ghosts." 
 
 "Nancy," said Mrs. Eustace, "your husband has this 
 day shown himself a brave and true man. I think it 
 wrong for you to laugh at him about anything he hon- 
 estly believes." 
 
 " Mistiss, nobody in de world couldn't help laughin' at 
 Thompson t'other night, when Sweetlip's runned him into 
 
140 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 de bed ; but T aint a gwine to do so no more, now he's 
 whipped a wolf." 
 
 Judge Eustace and Stanhope were conversing together 
 in the library, when Percival St. George came in and 
 took his seat in the cheerful glow of the Christmas fire. 
 The greater portion of the young people w r ere in the 
 drawing-rooms. 
 
 " Father," said Stanhope, " I think that you and Ashton 
 should make a soldier of Philip. I have never seen 
 greater coolness in confronting danger than he has ex- 
 hibited to-day in his affair with the wolf. I was loading 
 my gun at the time, and the first intimation I had of his 
 intention was the firing of the pistol, swiftly followed by 
 the rush of the animal upon him. He forbore to fire a 
 second time, as soon as Thompson's blow was stricken, 
 and returned his revolver to its belt, with as much cool- 
 ness as if his dangerous enemy had been dead a month. 
 Such self-possession in the presence of danger should be 
 used in directing military movements, and I hope you 
 will get him an appointment to the next class, at West 
 Point." 
 
 " My son, I shall never consent to Philip's going into the 
 army. The sacrifice I have made in consenting to your 
 remaining so long absent from us, is enough, without 
 calling upon me for further self-denial in this matter. 
 There are many exigencies in civil life demanding all 
 the courage the boldest soldier possesses, to sustain the 
 man, who, at all hazards, resolves to sustain the right and 
 resist the wrong. ' Peace hath her victories as well as 
 war,' and I am rejoiced to hear of any instance of deter- 
 mination in my grandson, as I take therefrom fresh as- 
 surance that he can never be driven from the high prin- 
 
Christmas. 141 
 
 ciples by which, I am persuaded, he is now actuated. I 
 hope to live long enough to see in him a man alike in- 
 sensible to the seduction of persuasion or the promptings 
 of terror. The greatest men are sometimes not superior 
 to the fear of bodily harm and the overawing influence 
 of more imperious natures. Then, as all-important as I 
 know individual bravery is to the soldier, it is equally 
 valuable to the quiet citizen." 
 
 " I regard valor," said Percival, "as more the result of 
 education than any natural effect of mere temperament. 
 Stanhope, in your experience have you observed much 
 difference in soldiers, in this respect, after long drill and 
 discipline?" 
 
 "There is much truth in your suggestion, Percy, as to 
 the efficacy of drill and obedience to command," said the 
 soldier." "I have no doubt that men, who, on entering 
 military service, are often full of fear and timidity, be- 
 come in course of time well behaved in the presence of 
 the enemy. A new principle is added to the motives 
 which usually control individual actions. The soldier's 
 reliance is not upon single effort alone, but he recognizes 
 the necessity of concerted action. The fear of death at the 
 enemy's hands is equipoised by the prospect of court- 
 martial and execution, if he behave badly in the face of 
 a hostile force ; then the habit of implicit obedience, with- 
 out question or appeal from the orders he receives, effects 
 whatever is wanting: and in this way many a coward be- 
 comes trustworthy, even in the trying emergency of the 
 charge. But it has often occurred to me that if this great 
 improvement can be wrought in him, who is weak and 
 fearful by nature, what limit is there to the capacity of 
 those iron nerves that always seem insensible to danger? 
 
142 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 Under the influence of habit and exposure, they rise into 
 an atmosphere of indifference, so superior to any fear of 
 death that they become positively sublime in the hour of 
 battle. I think Philip possesses in a more eminent de- 
 gree this superiority of spirit than any boy I have ever 
 seen, and for this reason I think he ought to be made a 
 soldier." 
 
 The young people, with Col. Ridgely at their head, now 
 came in from the drawing-rooms, in search of Mr. Grey. 
 They wanted his services in some scheme of amusement 
 which had been inaugurated on the spur of the moment, 
 and now brooked no delay. The good man was soon 
 found and led back in triumph to take control of what 
 was to follow. Rosamond, who was the author of the 
 new suggestion, proceeded to exclude all other males from 
 the room; and with the air of an ancient priestess com- 
 mencing some hidden and awful mystery in honor of 
 Eleusinian Ceres, forbade the approach of any one until 
 the preparatory rites were completed. After some delay, 
 Philip was also summoned to aid the deliberations, and, 
 at the close of a half hour, a scene of unexpected beauty 
 was witnessed in one of the drawing-rooms. All these 
 had been darkened, and the spectators, looking through 
 the doors, beheld the floor of the apartment, used as a 
 stage in the representation, so covered with gorgeous 
 plants, borrowed from the conservatory, that it appeared 
 as a blooming garden in which several fairies lay fast 
 asleep. Rosamond, as their queen, with a magic wand, 
 walked into their midst, exclaiming: — 
 
 "What! sleeping yet, my rosy posies? 
 Open your eyes and blow your noses." 
 
Christmas. 143 
 
 At these words the beautiful sleepers arose, and the 
 play commenced. Mae Glancy was Beauty; and Philip, 
 habited in an old wolf-skin, played the part of the Beast. 
 Rosamond, and Mr. Grey, hidden by the projecting walls, 
 did all the talking from a book ; the actors in sight only 
 going through the pantomime. In this way, although 
 the idea had not occurred to them an hour before, they 
 managed to give a pretty representation, and were rap- 
 turously applauded. 
 
 The lawn at the rear of the house had been thronged 
 all day with negroes from Grafton and Blenheim, who 
 rarely failed to visit the family head-quarters on Christ- 
 mas and other holidays. Added to these were many from 
 Vaucluse, and Mrs. Courtenay's farms ; for, by long inter- 
 marriage between the different estates, a large and inti- 
 mate relationship existed among the servants, many of 
 whom preferred wives not living on the same plantation 
 with themselves. The vast majority of these were the 
 descendants of those brought over by Sir'George Eustace, 
 and they valued the social position and large wealth of 
 his posterity as something reflecting honor on them- 
 selves. They scorned the idea of marrying into the 
 families of those they considered people of less considera- 
 tion. The heavy thump of the dancers had been keeping- 
 time to the inspiriting sounds of the violin and banjo 
 since early in the morning. This revel was going on in 
 a house between the lawn and the negro quarters; and 
 from its recesses were heard jigs and reels, which, to less 
 enthusiastic dancers, would have appeared unconscion- 
 ably long. Some were engaged in uproarious snow-ball- 
 ing, but such amusements were mostly confined to the 
 younger of the throng. Old men and women valued 
 
144 The Heirs of Si. Kilda. 
 
 more highly the pleasure to be obtained in warm drams, 
 and, in little knots around their fires they entertained 
 their visitors with voluble discussions of almost every 
 imaginable subject. Thompson's exploit in the morning 
 had made him the hero of the day, and he was now the 
 admiration of all his sable beholders, in the new apparel 
 which had just been giveu him. He moved about 
 through the crowd the picture of one whose fortune has 
 been secured, &nd who was conscious of his superiority 
 over all those around him. 
 
 At length the great event of the day, the Christmas 
 dinner, was announced. The dining room, like other 
 portions of the house, was decorated with evergreens for 
 the occasion, and the bounty of the table gave proof of 
 the excellency of Mrs. Eustace's management. 
 
 '• How could you have the heart to ask so long a bless- 
 ing, Mr. Grey," said Mae Glancy, as soon as the good man 
 had finished, "when these redoubtable huntsmen are 
 all so nearly famished?" 
 
 " We cannot learn too many lessons of patience, my 
 dear." 
 
 "But we are commanded in the Bible to feed the 
 hungry; and I know from Philip's appearance he was 
 wishing all the while for you to stop. Rosamond, we 
 must not interrupt these Nimrods, by conversation, in 
 their first attack on Mrs. Eustace's viands." 
 
 " Miss Glancy, I waut to make a truce with you for the 
 next half hour," said Philip, "and I will agree not to 
 tell how you were frightened by the calf." 
 
 " I don't care for that stoiw. I confess I thought that 
 the black calf, which had accidently gotten into the lawn, 
 was a bear, and left you to cover my retreat." 
 
Christmas. 145 
 
 '" Oh ! Mae Glancy," said Rosamond, " why, just to think 
 of you — the bravest of all girls, running from a little 
 
 calf!" 
 
 " Well," said Mae, " I am at least not afraid of a grass- 
 hopper, and there is one young lady of my acquaintance 
 can't say as much." 
 
 " Now she is referring to me," said Belle Ridgely. " I 
 was really much frightened, one night last summer, when 
 she was with me at Knowlton. We had retired, but I 
 could not sleep, and I distinctly heard, as I thought, foot- 
 steps in our room. I awoke Mae, and on making a light 
 found that it was a large grasshopper, which was jump- 
 ing about on the floor, and making a noise very similar 
 to footsteps. She has teased me unmercifully about my 
 cowardice ever since." 
 
 "She need say nothing to you, Miss Belle," said Philip, 
 "for she not only ran, but shouted most lustily for help 
 against the terrible black calf she had conjured into a 
 beast of prey. I am not astonished, however, at her ter- 
 ror of bears, for we are told that, on more than one occa- 
 sion, they have been instruments of punishment to> 
 wicked children." 
 
 "Excellent! Philip," said Edith Compton. Mae, Ii 
 think you had better make a truce." 
 
 " Col. Eustace," said Mr. Gray, " can you tell us how 
 and where you ate your last Christmas dinner?" 
 
 " I was in the neighborhood of Fort Pierre, with two 
 squadrons of my regiment. w^e made our dinner on 
 buffalo hump and tongues. We were in the midst of 
 the Sioux country, and had to keep a sharp lookout, for 
 fear of treachery and surprise." 
 
 " How do you like bear steaks, Stanhope?" said Perci-r 
 10 
 
146 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 val. " I am at a loss to say which is the better, the steak 
 or this delicious venison." 
 
 " To my taste," said Col. Ridgely, " these blue teals, 
 which Philip shot in the lake, are superior to any game 
 I have seen for a long time." 
 
 " Col. Ridgely," said Mrs. Eustace. " what do you think 
 of the comparative merits of wild and tame turkeys? 
 Percival and Philip prefer the former, but Judge Eustace 
 and myself agree in ascribing superior delicacy of flavor 
 to the domesticated fowl." 
 
 "I am of the same opinion, madam. I have noticed a 
 dryness in the flesh of the wild fowl, which makes it in- 
 ferior to those reared about our barn yards." 
 
 "You will find some canvas-backs and mallards in 
 your front, Reginald," said Mrs. Eustace. " They ought 
 to maintain their ascendency, for they are dressed with 
 .Lynn-Haven oysters." 
 
 " I can assure you, cousin, Miss Helen and myself duly 
 appreciate them." 
 
 " I do not believe the Roman dish of peacock's tongues 
 was half equal to this chicken salad," said Arthur Kean. 
 
 ' ; What epicures and spendthrifts the Romans must 
 have been !" said Mr. Grey. " Plutarch says, that on one 
 occasion Pompey and Cicero casually met Lucullus in 
 the Forum, and promised to dine with him, in case he 
 would make no further preparation for the banquet ; for 
 they well knew his. expenditures on such occasions were 
 enormous. He simply remarked to one of his servants 
 .that the meal should bespread in his Apollo-room. That 
 evening, w r hen the three men lay down to the feast, the 
 viands before them had cost, no. less than nine thousand 
 , dollars/' 
 
Christmas. 147 
 
 " What a good, lazy time those old people had, lying 
 down to eat and drink," said Mae Glancy. 
 
 " Philip," said Rosamond, " I am delighted with your 
 arrangement of the red fox in his cage ; it is really very 
 pretty. Hubert, as I supposed, was very indignant; and 
 I was fearful he would, in his anger, break the glass case : 
 but he now lies for hours gazing at what he deems his 
 enemy." 
 
 " I am glad its pleases you ; hut Mr. Kean is entitled 
 to the honor of the arrangements. The glass eyes, and 
 attitude of attention, with the uplifted brush, is a life-like 
 representation of Reynard's habits before we captured 
 him." 
 
 "Col. Eustace, did you engage in buffalo hunting- 
 while on the western plains?" said Mrs. Ridgely. 
 
 "As much, madam, as my duties would allow. It is a 
 wild and exciting amusement, and indispensable when 
 we once get beyond the pale of civilization, and are con- 
 tinually moving, as was the case with myself. Our supply 
 wagons go so slowdy that it is impossible to keep them 
 up with rapid cavalry movements, and we rely, mainl}-, 
 for subsistence on the vast herds of buffalo. In this way, 
 we are compelled, sometimes, to hunt a great deal." 
 
 " Stanhope," said Mrs. Eustace, " what society do you 
 find away out there?" 
 
 " We tee nobody but Indians and trappers, except when 
 •about the principal forts we sometimes meet with the 
 families of the married officers." 
 
 " It seems to me," said Mariana, " that such a life is 
 throwing away the best opportunities of existence. I well 
 know ' There is a pleasure in the pathless woods,' but I 
 
148 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 should always seek it in the neighborhood of civilized 
 people." 
 
 "Your impression is a very common one," said Stan- 
 hope, " with persons unacquainted with the wild inde- 
 pendence and freedom from restraint on the plains, which 
 is so fascinating to those accustomed to it. In addition 
 to this, there is a necessity that military protection should 
 be granted to the new settlements which are constantly 
 advancing westward. We are forced to keep a portion of 
 the army there to overawe the roving bands of Indians, 
 who would otherwise massacre the unprotected whites. 
 We soon learn to relish the untrammeled freedom of the 
 prairies; and there are many solitary trappers in that 
 region who feel crowded by the approach of a white man 
 within fifty miles of their lonely lodges." 
 
 " Duty hallows everything/' said the beautiful blind 
 girl, "and in that aspect of the case, I should submit 
 quietly to my fate, were I a man who should live there ;, 
 but what a privation it must be to those who can appre- 
 ciate the delights of the home circle !" 
 
 When the party left the table, the sun had disappeared 
 behind the mountains, and as the sky had been overcast 
 with leaden-hued clouds, usually seen about Christmas- 
 times, his jocund visage, until 'a few minutes before his 
 departure for the day, was unseen; but as night came on r 
 the heavens became for a time clear, and the cold, white 
 moon looked down from her starry pathway, and, with 
 the help of the snow, brought into broad illumination 
 everything in reach of her silvery rays. Sounds of en- 
 joyment still came in undiminished volume from the 
 scene of the negro revel. Fresh fires had been built ; 
 and Mrs. Eustace had sent them a supply of candles. 
 
 
Christmas. 149 
 
 They were evidently making a night of it •; and the fun 
 was becoming fast and furious, when Thompson an- 
 nounced that the feast, which had been so long in prep- 
 aration for them, was now ready. This greatly thinned 
 the ranks of the dancers ; but the few who persevered in 
 their worship of the graces were gradually recruited, 
 until the large room became as crowded as ever. The 
 gentlemen in the library were enjoying their smoke, and 
 their faces were lit up with that delightful glow which is 
 only seen after the enjoyment of a good dinner. 
 
 " Philip, Tempest is looking as well now as he did at 
 the races," said Col. Ridgely. " Thompson certainly does 
 not let him suffer for want of attention.'" 
 
 "Yes, sir," said Philip. " I am trying to get him in 
 such a condition that he will go still lower in the ' forties' 
 next year." 
 
 " His time in the race with Pepin," said Percival, " was 
 a little behind the reported performances of Flying 
 Childers and Eclipse, but as good as that of an\ r other 
 horse on record. I think you unreasonable in expecting 
 much more than he has alread} r done." 
 
 " How 7 has Hildebrand recovered, Mr. St. George?" said 
 Col. Ridgely. " I hear you have hopes of his complete 
 restoration.'" 
 
 " No," answered Percival, " not such a cure as will ever 
 return him to the turf; but I was mistaken as to the 
 nature of his injury. Instead of his letting down by 
 stretching the main leader, the trouble was in the coffin 
 joint. He moves, at moderate gaits, with comparative 
 ease; but I shall never let him run the risk of a similar 
 disaster by racing again." 
 
 " I think you are right in that, Percival," said Col. 
 
150 The Heirs of St. KiMa. 
 
 Eustace. " Hildebrand has made reputation enough, 
 and, being nine years of age, was an old horse for the turf 
 at the time of his mishap. I think the continuation of 
 the blood of such a horse a superior consideration to* 
 the mere satisfaction of additional triumphs." 
 
 " It is a great pity," said Mr. Grey, " that such acci. 
 dents should befall the noble creatures in their races. I 
 cannot see any material objection to these contests, as- 
 conducted at St. Kilda, beyond the great exactions which 
 sometimes, though rarely, I admit, disable them." 
 
 " There is scarcely a position in life that is free from 
 accident," said Col. Ridgely. " Horses become injured on 
 the highway, in the pasture, in the plow, and in the 
 stable. I cannot see, then, how this — the noblest of human 
 amusements — can be amenable to the imputation of cru- 
 elty, simply because a rider is occasionally thrown, or a. 
 horse disabled on the course." 
 
 " I agree with you, Col. Ridgety," said Arthur Kean, 
 "that there is no immorality in the testing of the speed 
 of trained animals; and I think there is, in the properly 
 conducted theatre, another instance of unthinking con- 
 demnation in which many people are honestly mistaken. 
 I consider well-sustained, dramatic representations the 
 largest and most reasonable of human pleasures, which 
 can, with any propriety, come under the general designa- 
 tion of amusement; but I am unwilling to lower the 
 dignity of these stately reproductions of what genius has 
 created to the idea of mere pastime. Conducted as it 
 should be, the stage would become one of the most potent 
 engines in the reach of christian philanthropy for elevat- 
 ing the hearts and minds of the people." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Grey,. " but your limitations are so- 
 
Christmas. 151 
 
 important, Mr. Kean, that I fear the theatre, as you would 
 have it, is impossible, simply because it is well nigh 
 hopeless to expect moral actors or the presentation of 
 unexceptionable plays. If you have ever known such an 
 institution which could be considered well conducted you 
 have seen what we, at least, do not possess in this country." 
 
 "That is very true," said Kean. "There are many 
 actors who disregard their moral duties, and plays are 
 often presented thai should never, for a moment, have 
 been tolerated on the stage: but what, may I ask, has 
 produced this state of affairs ? I believe it is the eon se- 
 quence of the fact that most decent people refuse all 
 countenance to an institution which they are unable to 
 suppress, and which they denounce as an enemy to the 
 best interest of man. They leave the patronage and 
 management of the whole thing in the hands of those 
 who are either grossly immoral or entirely indifferent on 
 the subject; and in this way managers are induced to 
 select plays that would never be introduced under hap- 
 pier auspices. The mutual hatred that grew up between 
 the old Puritans of England and the lovers of the stage, 
 after the Restoration, was, to my mind, one of the most 
 deplorable and unnecessary feuds that have injured the 
 cause of religion and popular education." 
 
 "Acting," said Judge Eustace, "is after all nothing 
 more than declamation in costume by one or more per- 
 sons. It is clearly not wrong to listen, when the piece 
 recited is neither immoral nor libellous. If the subject 
 matter is unobjectionable, the question further arises, how 
 can the character of the declaimer enter into the merits 
 of the case? Clearly, as Mr. Grey has already intimated, 
 in the fact that you sustain an institution which pro- 
 
152 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 duces bad effects on the men who constitute its corps* 
 dramatique. I think, with Mr. Kean, that if societ}' is 
 going to sustain the theatre, it is the duty of its good 
 members to do all in their power to expunge or banish 
 entirely objectionable plays, and reform, as much as pos- 
 sible, the character of the artists who, in spite of us, will 
 continue to amuse our people. I can say truly I have 
 enjoyed myself as much in the frequent representations 
 of Hamlet which I have seen, as in other merely intel- 
 lectual amusements. Where persons of proper character 
 play such a drama, I see no reasonable objection to wit- 
 nessing it." 
 
 " The war waged by th-e Puritans and their posterity 
 against the stage," said Percival St. George, " seems to me 
 as senseless as their condemnation of the most harmless 
 of other pleasures. The parliament of 1652, by regular 
 enactment, denounced the observation of Christmas as 
 heathenish, and declared the festival thereafter abolished." 
 
 "Cromwell and his followers made many mistakes," 
 said Judge Eustace, " but they were pious, God-fearing 
 men, and as thoroughly in earnest in what they professed 
 as any who have lived in the last ten centuries. We must 
 honor their zeal, however much we dissent from their 
 conclusions." 
 
 The ladies now came in, and soon the organ was swell- 
 ing with the burden of music which seemed ever majestic, 
 when the blind maiden made it the exponent of her 
 emotions. At Rosamond's request, Mariana improvised, 
 and all, whose musical cultivation enabled them to ap- 
 preciate her combinations and transitions, sighed as she 
 left the empyrean heights of her own fancy to give, with 
 the full strength of the instrument, the march in William 
 
Christmas. 153 
 
 Tell. This was succeeded by passages from the sacred 
 operas. " I know thai my Redeemer livelh" followed, and in 
 the grand symphony she became as one inspired,, and 
 a glow of angelic joy was on her beautiful face as she left 
 the instrument. 
 
 "Philip," said Rosamond, "do look at Mariana! She 
 is so unearthly in her beauty, I should scarcely be sur- 
 prised to see her translated before our eyes. As much as 
 I love her, I am always awed when she is at the organ.'' 
 
 " Mariana is a great mystery to me," said Philip. " She 
 is the most saintly spirit I have ever known, and has 
 always been so from infancy ; yet, this angel of light is 
 blind. She is so gentle, and loving, that never in my 
 life do I remember to have experienced any but the 
 tenderest affection for her. Still, there are times when I 
 feel the same awe that you describe. Rosamond, she is 
 so unlike any one else I have ever known, I sometimes 
 fear God will take her from us." 
 
 " Do not be so gloomy, dear Philip," said the warm 
 hearted girl. " I believe the angels watch over Mariana, 
 and I shall always love you better for your affection to 
 her." 
 
 "Will you, sweetheart?" said he, and putting back the 
 lustrous tresses that fell black as midnight over the broad, 
 white brow, he touched it with his lips. 
 
 Though Rosamond had been taught all her life that 
 her relatives expected her some day to be Philip's wife, 
 she now felt, for the first time, the great passicn of love 
 dawn on her heart. She had been a careless, affectionate 
 girl, an hour before, but now, as if by magic, she had 
 become transformed into a new being. She loved and 
 recognized the great alteration that had been wrought in 
 
154 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 her heart. Henceforth every thought blended with the 
 sense of duty that she should be constantly doing some- 
 thing to add to her fitness for being the helpmeet of her 
 ideal of a brave, true man. To her Philip's 3 r outh seemed 
 to have passed by with the birth of her new-found pas- 
 sion, and her imagination carried him forward into man- 
 hood as speedily as the old Greek myth had created 
 Pallas from the brain of Jove. She stood by her cousin, 
 mantled with new beauty, which was remarked by all the 
 jo} T ous groups as they revelled in the warm glow of the 
 lamps and the great Christmas fires. 
 
Rosamond's Story. • 155 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Rosamond's story. 
 
 •• Not to be with you, not to see your face, 
 Alas for me then, my good days are done." 
 
 — Idyls of (lie King. 
 
 As the mystic hours of nature drew near, the scene 
 from the library at Ellesmere was a picture of human 
 felicity. The different drawing-rooms could be seen like 
 some lovely vista from that apartment and were occupied 
 by the scattered groups. Through the folding doors each 
 beaming face and graceful form was visible to Judge 
 Eustace and his martial son as they stood conversing 
 beneath the chandelier. Mr. Grey and Col. Ridgely had 
 resumed their discussion as to the ethics of racing. Mr. 
 Kean and the married ladies formed another party. 
 Frederick Compton and Mae Glancy were deep in a 
 flirtation. Vane and Miss Temple seemed oblivious of 
 human ills. St. George, Belle Ridgely and Mariana had 
 joined Philip, who was talking to Rosamond, Edith 
 Compton and Ida Somerville. 
 
 " Rosamond," said St. George, " I will go and get your 
 harp — you promised to get ready the airs for this occa- 
 sion." 
 
 " Ah, cousin Percy, I fear you will all get weary of my 
 story." 
 
 " No, Rosamond," said Mariana, " do sing it for us." 
 
 "Pray do," said Ida, "you will recall Corinne in the 
 Capitol." 
 
 " Rosamond never fails in her promises," said Philip. 
 
156 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " My poor little Ethel is a sad story for so joyous an 
 audience," said the queenly maiden as the occupants of 
 the other rooms drew near. Her eyes grew glorious with 
 inspiration and her lithe form assumed a wondrous 
 grace, as with rich, passionate voice she began the sad > 
 dreamy measure with which the poem opened. It was as 
 follows: — 
 
 Yon little dream, whose kindly eyes, 
 
 Have marked St. Kilda's wild confines, 
 What tender light is in the skies, 
 
 And o'er the misty landscape shines ; 
 Whern waters fair, like silver spread, 
 
 Lie land-locked in a nestling bay ; 
 "While low, soft hills and belting mead. 
 
 Surround the village of St. Braix. 
 
 A distant headland miles away, 
 
 Across the tranquil water frowns, 
 Just where the ocean's mighty sway, 
 
 At last has met with metes and bounds ; 
 For through that narrow strait the wind, 
 
 No more endangers ship or life; 
 The stormy waves with fury blind, 
 
 There find a limit to their strife. 
 
 There high in air with red and gold, 
 
 Flung Vide o'er wastes of water 'round, 
 The light-house stands a beacon bold. 
 
 And is each night with glory crowned ; 
 For when on fast despairing e} r es. 
 
 The splendor of those lamps is shed, 
 They know that safety near them lies, 
 
 And danger has already fled. 
 
 Here, purpling in the distant AVest, 
 
 A range of mountains rising high, 
 Are haunted by broad belts of mist. 
 
 And blush with hues of softest dye ; 
 And nearer hills with crest and side. 
 
 In blue, and brown and burnished gold, 
 Grow fairer and are glorified 
 
 With sunset's beauty o'er them rolled. 
 
 The village with its leafy bowers, 
 
 O'erlooks green, meadow vistas far. 
 From which is borne the breath of flowers, 
 
 Upon the gladsome morning air. 
 
Rosamond's Story. 157 
 
 They lie along the dreamy bay, 
 
 Which reaches near the mountain side, 
 With scattered islands on the way, 
 
 Like jewels on the listless tide. 
 
 The dark old church with ivied tower, 
 
 Stands highest in the tranquil scene, 
 Its ancient clock each passing hour. 
 
 Still surely gives with pealing din ; 
 The grassy streets, the silence deep, 
 
 Are emblems of good so ids at ease, 
 As peacefully the shadows creep, 
 
 And liglitly goes and comes the breeze. 
 
 No bus}' mart of trade is here, 
 
 A seaside village, sweet St. Braix, 
 Goes softly on from year to year, 
 
 Where loit'ring tourists love to stray ; 
 But her bold seamen oft are seen, 
 
 Far as the ocean spreads her wave, 
 And in renown they Ion;? have been, 
 
 For goodly ship and voyage brave. 
 
 The moon is up : across the sea, 
 A belt of silver, splendidly, 
 Encircles ocean's weary breast, 
 With winds asleep and waves at rest ; 
 As if 'twere pathway fairy-wrought, 
 Or that which came in blessed thought, 
 To that lone man serene and mild, 
 Who visions saw on Patmos isle. 
 There from the lighthouse gleaming far, 
 The glory of some mighty star, 
 'Twould seem was burning high in air, 
 Like that upon the world's despair, 
 When on that eastern plain of old, 
 Such splendor on the shepherds rolled, 
 
 'Twas deep midsummer, and the night 
 So passing fair to mortal sight, 
 Had just enough of gentle breath 
 To stir the aspen's restless leaf, 
 And waft perfume from folded flowers, 
 As gaily sped those stai'ry hours. 
 And there were two who sat enthralled. 
 That gracious eve, for duty called, 
 And with the morrow's rising sun 
 The lover must with ship be gone. 
 
 The tower's great shadow at their feet, 
 Fell where immortelles blooming sweet, 
 By loving hands Avere planted there, 
 Upon the grave of infant fair. 
 
158 The Heirs of St. Kiida. 
 
 They both were young, and life's rich bloom 
 'Twould seem found little cause for gloom; 
 But on the black-eyed sailor's brow, 
 A tinge of sorrow rested low. 
 
 His gaze hart left fair Ethel's face, 
 
 The shadow's course he then did trace. 
 " I see, dear one," he softly^ said. 
 
 As they sat there where rest the dead ; 
 "An omen in this shadow thrown. 
 
 Upon us from \on lifeless stone ; 
 
 Tnis voyag ■ long 0:1 which I go, 
 
 I fear may bring us some deep woe. 
 
 Dark dreams have haunted me in sleep, 
 
 I hoped this shade Would bv us creep ; 
 
 But lo ! it falls upon us b'lth, 
 
 Some grief awaits oiu - plighted troth. 
 
 Perhaps 'tis weakness after all. 
 
 And meaningless they yet may fall ; 
 
 These phantoms of mysterious lvght, 
 
 That vanish with th • morning's light. 
 
 But Ethel you are grown so dear, 
 
 My own fond heart suggests its fear; 
 
 You are so rich in beauty's dower. 
 
 So like some tall, surpassing flower, 
 
 That overflows all hearts and eyes, 
 
 And yet so quickly from us flies, 
 
 Oil God ! why not in wisdom vast ; 
 
 When much was made always to last; 
 
 Was this the crowning glory given, 
 
 Not made to last as yonder heaven ?" 
 
 The deep, impas-ioned voice was still, 
 
 And sent to Ethel's heart a thrill. 
 
 Of fear that long hid been her own. 
 
 And which she could not then disown. 
 
 The moon-light streamed on her drooped head, 
 
 It seemed that voice from her had fled, 
 
 And in her eyes the tear-drop-: shone. 
 
 Like jewels 'neath that radiant moon. 
 " Oh stay with me and leave this life, 
 
 Where Death and hanger are so r.fe,'' 
 
 She >aid, and kneeling at his feet, 
 
 Uplifted eyes so sadly sweet, 
 
 That heart not made in such a mold. 
 
 Had done whate'er they might have told. 
 
 " Nay, darling ; duty calls me th ~vs, 
 And b ■ my voyage foul or fair, 
 I shrink not from the life I've known, 
 But when upon the ocean gone. 
 By all the love that swells my heart. 
 Be .still mine own though now we part, 
 
 
Rosamond's Story. 159 
 
 I swear by all my hopes of heaven, 
 The pledge of love to you I've given, 
 Shall sacred be — come weal, come woe, 
 Oh Ethel can you tell me so?" 
 And she still kneeling, quick replied, 
 " As I do hope but as your bride, 
 I'll ever live while life remains, 
 And even on celestial plains — 
 1 know that God will nor unbind, 
 The ties that make me wholly thin "." 
 
 'Twas morn, and from out of the golden East, 
 
 The first bright glance of the sun was cast ; 
 
 And then in an hour from the goodly bay, 
 
 The stout Victoriin' must be on her way. 
 
 She lay at the pier, with her prow to the sea, 
 
 The tloodtide was making so full and so f ee, 
 
 That she had to sail for those far distant lands. 
 
 Where broad rivers flow over gold- 1 ear' ng sands. 
 
 The cantain had parted with sweetest farewell, 
 
 From Ethel who loved him surpassingly well ; 
 
 And then while the sobs of wive-; on the pier, 
 
 Each moment grew faint on the sad seaman's ear. 
 
 Quick hands from on high shook the wide spreading sail, 
 
 Each rounded to fullness in the soft blowing gale ; 
 
 Like a white-winged thing, with life ever gay. 
 
 'I lie proud ship sped onward past the luht-house away. 
 
 Sail on mighty one to the uttermost Ind ; 
 
 To the voyage before us in mercy we're blind! 
 
 A year had passed, no tidings came, 
 
 And anxious grew each weary brea-t — 
 Almost another, still the same 
 
 Dead silence to those hearts oppressed : 
 At last 'twas known, the Victonne 
 
 Had never reached herde-tined port, 
 Although she seemed an ocean queen, 
 
 The waves had crushed her in their sport. 
 
 'Twas so surmised, though nothing sure 
 
 Was known of what her fate might be, 
 For we?ry months they did endure, 
 
 The pangs of dark uncertainty. 
 At last, all trust was wholly gone. 
 
 Each anguUhed heart gave up its hope, 
 And then in silence made its moan. 
 
 Faith's anchor parting its last rope. 
 
 St. Braix went mourning for her dead ; 
 
 The ancient town had ne'er before, 
 Lo-t such a crew as this thej* said. 
 
 And all bewailed them long and sore. 
 
160 The Heirs ©/ St. Kilda. 
 
 Young Harry was the pride of all, 
 A captain ever brave and true, 
 
 So handsome in his stature tall, 
 No wonder Ethel pallid grew. 
 
 It was in truth a dismal day, 
 
 When news came in the ship was lost, 
 For many hearts in anguish lay, 
 
 But she the one that sorrowed most ; 
 A fair, young girl with waving hair, 
 
 O'er hazel eyes and blooming cheek; 
 The tidings filled her with despair. 
 
 And she grew faint and very weak. 
 
 Her father was an artist old. 
 
 Who rarely now his pencil used ; 
 On quiet evenings would he stroll, 
 
 Along the beach and silent mused. 
 He had been famous years ago, 
 
 And then amassed his present store ; 
 He still was rich in fancy's flow, 
 
 And deeply skilled in nature's lore, 
 
 And he was then all tenderness, 
 
 To her who meekly went her ways ; 
 He thought that time would heal distress, 
 
 And Ethel still know happy days : 
 Young Harry Croome had loved her long, 
 
 And with the father's full consent; 
 Full oft had he with jest and song, 
 
 Fresh joy unto the old man sent. 
 
 But Captain Croome and all his crew, 
 
 With foundered ship were buried deep ; 
 Why should her tears oft start anew. 
 
 Why should she breathe his name in sleep? 
 The light was low in her brown eyes, 
 
 The golden gleam faint on her hair 
 Unless some joy should banish sighs, 
 
 His child might die in her despair. 
 
 She had been e'er a thing of joy, 
 
 Unto his widowed heart till now — 
 So calm, so free, and yet so coy, 
 
 With ne'er a care upon her brow : 
 He wept himself to see her gloom, 
 
 O'ercome her feeble show of life ; 
 And hours of weeping in her room, 
 
 Smote on his heart like cruel knife. 
 
 There was a time when Ethel Howe, 
 With her young lover oft w r ould stroll. 
 
 Along the beach in twilight's glow, 
 To watch the silver wavelets roll : 
 
 1 
 
11 
 
 Rosamond's Story. 161 
 
 She shuddered now at bay or sea, 
 She would not walk the shining strand ; 
 
 The church-yard with its willow tree, 
 Spoke to her of another land. 
 
 And often there, when all alone, 
 
 Clothed o'er with her own simple grace, 
 She silent sat, nor tear nor moan 
 
 Revealed how her young life ran waste: 
 With weary months her sadness grew, 
 
 A thing that no more sought its tears 5 
 At times a faint smile came to view, 
 
 And lulled the anxious father's fears. 
 
 But she grew feebler day by day. 
 
 She could not reach the church-yard wall ; 
 The doctors sent her far away, 
 
 Perhaps another scene might call, 
 Her heart away from its long grief; 
 
 So with her father she was gone 
 Two ye:irs or more, and slow relief 
 
 At last upon her faintly shone. 
 
 The bloom that mantled on her cheek, 
 
 In former days bad not returned ; 
 But in her eyes so dark and meek, 
 
 A gentle lustre ever burned: 
 Her graceful stature drooped no more, 
 
 A chastened beauty was her own ; 
 She was in truth as some rare flower, 
 
 Which trodden down has sweeter grown. 
 
 Her face no more revealed her pain, 
 
 Her look was peaceful in her sleep; 
 The father's heart grew glad again, 
 
 He thought the past was buried deep : 
 And then by slow degrees he sought, 
 
 To bring her 'mid the young and gay, 
 And she to please him in his thought, 
 
 Without remonstrance went his way. 
 
 In Beauty's circle she was crowned, 
 
 Of all the city fairest, best ; 
 Xo rival queens upon her frowned. 
 
 They saw her heart was still unblest, 
 For woman's eyes are swift to learn, 
 
 Where sorrow's feet have left their mark; 
 They know that though the cheek may burn, 
 
 The sold within may still be dark. 
 
 And so in May Fair's giddy haunts, 
 She sweetly bore her part in all, 
 
 In play, and song, and joyous dance, 
 The white-robed figure, lithe and tall 
 
182 Tie Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 Went soitly on upon the round 
 
 Which Wealth and Fashion gaily tread; 
 Until at last the father found 
 
 One that he wished that she should wed. 
 
 For he was all that heart could paint. 
 
 As partner of a daughter's life ; 
 Who though he might not be a saint, 
 
 Yet bore suet) gifts for future wife, 
 The old man in his heart and head, 
 
 Could not a single moment dream, 
 That long devotion to the dead, 
 
 Could thwart him in his darling scheme. 
 
 Her sire was wary, and he told 
 
 The lover all her tale of woe ; 
 And then he knew to win the goal. 
 
 He must be circumspect and slow : 
 So Rob .rt Grange with patience true. 
 
 Was ever at her side, when she 
 Might tender show of s rvice view, 
 
 in light that should most pleasant be. 
 
 He was in truth a man of mark, 
 
 Young, proud, and stately in his air, 
 With name esteemed since ages dark 
 
 Had known its earliest scion fair : 
 And he had riches ; — lordlv ease 
 
 Was his through all the listless year ; 
 Such men but rarely fail to please, 
 
 Or rob Bereavement of its tear. 
 
 A vein of wildest romance slept, 
 
 Beneath his high-bred courtesy ; 
 Because fair Ethel long had wept, 
 
 And that she still was far from free 
 From her great sorrow, all the more 
 
 This Sybarite to her was drawn : 
 He cloy'd of happy beauty's power, 
 
 And turned to one that was forlorn. 
 
 He recognized the mighty scope 
 
 Of love that lay in Ethel's heart ; 
 Half vain— half noble in the hope, 
 
 He minded to withdraw the dart, 
 That Faith and Death had planted there, 
 
 While yet her youth was in its glow : 
 And she to him was then more dear, 
 
 Than even he himself could know. 
 
 And in tins way, that which had beei 
 But lo e half wakened in his breas 
 
 Grew mighty passion : all within 
 Her image took, and wild unreal 
 
 
Rosamond's Story. 163 
 
 Was on him when away from her : 
 
 But when she came, then murmur'd praise 
 
 By others made his pulses stir — 
 Sweet dreams of her filled all his days. 
 
 Such homage could not fail to touch, 
 
 A heart not made of very stone ; 
 And Ethel pondered deep and much, 
 
 How her own thanks could best be shown. 
 Without awakening- in the end, 
 
 A thought of any closer tie, 
 Than that of dearij'-cherished friend, 
 
 Whose worth she valued very high. 
 
 And so communion 'twixt the two, 
 
 Waxed close as time rolled onward still ; 
 And greater longings daily grew. 
 
 In Grange's heart and warped his will: 
 For he no longer could forbear ; 
 
 His secret was at last her own ; 
 And as she hid the rising tear, 
 
 Yet never change in her had grown. 
 
 With winning grace, the simple tale. 
 
 Of all her fealty to the dead 
 She told, and Kobert very pale 
 
 Seemed one from whom bi'ight hopes had fled :. 
 He merely bowed his head, and long 
 
 Was lost in broken-hearted thought ; 
 It seemed his nature brave and strong, 
 
 Bad yielded up the prize it sought. 
 
 " Then let me but be still your friend," 
 
 He said with sad and pleading eyes ; 
 And she with tears thus brought to end 
 
 A scene that gave her no surprise. 
 The fathers heart was sorely wrung ; 
 
 Yet no complaint in word or air, 
 Reached her, but on his brow there hung 
 
 A sorrow newly fastened there. 
 
 And then sweet Ethel longed for home, 
 
 St. Braix was now in all her dreams, 
 She wished the strand once more to roam. 
 
 The sea no longer hateful seemed : 
 Within its dark, unfathomed breast, 
 
 Midst coral caves, she fondly thought. 
 Slept one whose image then was blest, 
 
 And onh gentlest sorrow brought. 
 
 The fathei sigh I, his hopt' was lost, 
 
 But Grange had promised he would come,. 
 
 Erie Autumn brought her first-born frost, 
 To see them in their village home : 
 
 
164 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 So they left all the circle wide, 
 Known in the city's broad embrace ; 
 
 And soon the tower far-off espied, 
 Betokened their own dwelling place. 
 
 There Ethel finds that loving hands. 
 
 Have kept her trellised vines and flowers; 
 The cottage fair still shaded stands, 
 
 Half-hidden in its leafy bowers. 
 St. Braix is peaceful as of old, 
 
 The sea still glistens far away, 
 The light-house lamps with red and gold, 
 
 Still gleam across the sleeping bay. 
 
 The blow that fell upon them sore 
 
 Has healed with slowly-moving years; 
 No looks of anguish as of yore, 
 
 The town has dried its latest tears : 
 Few hearts among the widows left, 
 
 Of those lost on the Victorine 
 "Set pine for husbands long bereft ; 
 
 Small thought is their's of what had been. 
 
 For some were freshly wedded then ; 
 
 And in their new-born children's eyes, 
 Found scope to banish thought of men 
 
 Become at last but memories, 
 Of that dim pa-t, that Time had hid, 
 
 In graves so still and darkly deep, 
 Remembrance dull, her heavy lid 
 
 Xe'er rais d but in disturbing sleep. 
 
 But there was one that Ethel knew, 
 
 The widow of her Harry's mate, 
 Who wore her weed-, and woman true, 
 
 Still wept upon her hu-band's fate : 
 These two were nearly of one age, 
 
 Sworn friends they had been long and fast ; 
 The face of each was but a page 
 
 Writ' o'er with all the buried past. 
 
 And they with Mary's little child, 
 
 Made up their own sweet, quiet world ; 
 In thought and word, all nnfleflled 
 
 They sat and talked while o'er them curled 
 The ghost-like mists from meadows wide, 
 
 And both would shudder lest the night, 
 To coming ship, with fog might hide — 
 
 The light-house with its guiding light. 
 
 At last there came a cruel blow, 
 
 That brought fresh shadow on their home ; 
 A bank had failed and earnings slow 
 
 Of years long back were swiftly gone. 
 
Eosamond's Story. 165 
 
 George Howe was now an aged man, 
 
 He could not hope in any way, 
 Such treasure lost, to make again 
 
 4 fortune at so late a day. 
 
 There was a remnant of the wreck, 
 
 That he still held as his last stay; 
 But all the sky was very bleak, 
 
 Unto the old man bent and gray; 
 His health gave way and then in bed, 
 
 The feeble lamp might soon go out, 
 'Twas grief to see the daughter's dread, 
 
 Of loss that seemed so near about. 
 
 A helping hand was Kobert Grange, 
 
 For he sat hourly by that bed, 
 The sick man's pillows to arrange, 
 
 Or bathe his often-aching head- 
 To lead his mind to other things, 
 
 Than what was wearing life away, 
 The thousand soothing offerings, 
 
 That all may need some hapless day. 
 
 For then he long had been their guest ; 
 
 St. Braix he said had goodly air, 
 But in his heart howe'er unblest. 
 
 Was love which would not brook despair. 
 With Ethel he was dearer grown 
 
 Than lie had been before he spoke 
 A year ago, and hope full-blown 
 
 Within his breast again awoke. 
 
 Then as the artist feebler grew. 
 
 He often lay with half-closed eyes, 
 And gazing long upon these two, 
 
 Would silent pray for dearer ties ; 
 And Ethel saw the longing thought, 
 
 That was unspoken to the ear, 
 And all her heart was strangely wrought, 
 
 And overflowed with boding fear. 
 
 One evening when they were alone. 
 
 The father bagged with all his might, 
 For what lie longed eiv he was gone, 
 
 And hid forever from her sight. 
 His words were wise, his wish so plain, 
 
 Though darkened all her future lay, 
 With choking tears and look of pain. 
 
 She said the words he wished her say. 
 
 And they were wed, before he died, 
 
 But some there were who weeping said, 
 
 She was the saddest, sweetest bride, 
 St. Braix had seen alive or dead. 
 
166 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 And she went meekly on her way, 
 The father lingered yet awhile, 
 
 Her cheek was paler day by day. 
 And fainter grew her gentle smile. 
 
 The spring flowers bloomed upon the grave 
 
 Of him who loved them long and well ; 
 George Howe was gone, the gifted, brave 
 
 Slept as the shadows softly fell, 
 From ivied tower, where Ethel knelt. 
 
 That sacred night with Harry Croome ; 
 IU influence then was doubly fell. 
 
 Although there was a single tornb. 
 
 She was a9 gentle and serene. 
 
 In her sweet waiting on her lord, 
 A., if no thought of what had been 
 
 Stele up to break their full accord; 
 But on her pallid cheek was grief, 
 
 That fe, ble step was ominous, 
 The drooping flower, the withered leaf 
 
 Soon hide themselves in native dust. 
 
 One eve he took her to the pier, 
 
 A ship was signalled from the sea ; 
 
 The husband hoped such sight would che< r 
 The listless form he pained to see. 
 
 And on it came with towering mast, 
 And clouds of canvas in ihe air, 
 "Bows on," she bore upon them fast- 
 In truth a noble sight and fair. 
 
 The village crowded to the wharf; 
 
 What ship it was no one could tell, 
 But soon all words we're spoken soft, 
 
 A breathless silence on them f 11 : 
 The ship came near, she rounded to, 
 
 One wailing cry rose high anil th'.n : 
 Pale Ethel -hrieked in deadly woe, 
 
 •'Oh God, it is the Victnrine ! !"' 
 
 And even then bold Harry Croome, 
 
 Had madly sprung unto her side ; 
 She lay so still, gone all her bloom. 
 
 It seemed in truth that she had did. 
 He clasped her in his arms before, 
 
 The awe-struck husband saw or knew ; 
 He kissed her pale lips o'er and o'er, 
 
 His face was wet wiih tearful dew. 
 
 " Oh Ethel, darling, do not die. 
 For I am here at last again : 
 I swear by him who rules the sky, 
 I'll ne'er return on yonder main." 
 
/,;/,<,. .. ad's Shirt/. 107 
 
 I ins me thesi two who loved so well, 
 And then pooi George with frantic cry— 
 "This is in ■ and Harry fell 
 
 With re head and bloodshot eye. 
 
 Within a month and he was gone : 
 The raging fever all was o'er, 
 
 The pallid man one dreary morn 
 
 Had lei' r . lie said to come no more : 
 No word he sent to her he loved, 
 
 No cle v to mark his lonely pj 
 He look* ■ thoi gh he was unmoved. 
 
 And least of all was he in wrath. 
 
 There were but few who with him sailed, 
 
 Tame back fron \ >yage evil-starred : 
 And stoutest heai ith terror quailed, 
 
 When all the as unbarred ; 
 
 Fierc I ii ith Mali 
 
 All night on that dark eastern coast, 
 Wherein the heathen's ruthless sword, 
 
 Had triumph got at tea fid cost. 
 
 A few survived and then in chair.-, 
 
 Went year: as slaves on weary round 
 Enduring all that chafes and pains 
 
 Until they had deliverance found: 
 \nd they were rescued witb their ship 
 
 Their leader bad from durance broke 
 One night when guard wa< ca pt, 
 
 And hi inii' when they awoke. 
 
 His sisii ■ as stained Malaysian brown, 
 
 His was the garb the country wore; 
 Ami as the speech to liim was known, 
 
 I > pas»si il at h ngtli unto a shore. 
 Whore English ships were found, and soon 
 
 Tin- e dire, so long delaye 1. 
 
 Had c ; Ihe secret stronghold flown, 
 
 And it was as in mortar brayed. 
 
 The Vietorine in friendly port 
 
 Was fitted once more for the sea ; 
 <\ distance they had nor to court. 
 
 Per all was rendered fui! and free : 
 V'W seamen took the place of thos - 
 
 Shi in ii attack and after woe; 
 Ami then once more with plashing prow, 
 
 The i «cued 'hip did homeward go. 
 
 But who can tell the anguish known. 
 
 In those six years when hope had lied ; 
 They knew at home, what grief was grown, 
 
 And they long numbered with the dead. 
 
168 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 They saw (lie circling years roll by T 
 And tli'.v us in s?oin<» living tomb, 
 
 All deaf unto the world's great cry. 
 To higher things could never come. 
 
 They saw the sun stride and set 
 
 Each day and s r ill no hope arose; 
 Some pining died and lowly slept, 
 
 Sreiire .-ii last in death's repose; 
 Bur he the leader, strong and brave, 
 
 Still aided by his faithful mate, 
 Kept life and hope, though some did rave- 
 
 With curses on o'er-ruling fate. 
 
 What Ethel said and what she felt 
 
 Was known to none but Mary Gore ; 
 But all that night in tears she knelt 
 
 Upon the bare and chilling floor : 
 To Eobert Grange no word she save. 
 
 Since they had seen the Victor! ne ; 
 And he was sad and very grave, 
 
 And not the man that he had been. 
 
 He I0112; ' ia( l known her love so true • 
 
 To one he thought would come no more ;• 
 But with that rival here anew, 
 
 His peace was broken deep and sore ; 
 To see the wife he cherished still 
 
 A' faint with worship not his own 
 Brought to his heart a deadly chill. 
 
 To madness he had well nigh gone. 
 
 "With fait "ring tongue at last he spoke 
 
 And eluded her with fealty lost; 
 A wailing cry upon him broke, 
 
 Her look was that of spirit lost : 
 u Oh spare me all these cruel words, 
 
 My burden from you soon will pass ; 
 You know not by what feeble cords 
 
 I cling amid the wintry blast." 
 
 " I never more shall see his face, 
 
 No word of li is upon my ear 
 Shall ever come, oh in your grace, 
 
 My pleading cry in mercy hear : 
 Oh leave me to myself and God, 
 
 I am so weak, deep rest I crave ; 
 Ere long the wine-pr^ss will be trod, 
 
 And 1 shall rest within my grave."" 
 
 He never sought to chid ■ her more ; 
 
 His every thought was now to save ^ 
 But vain is love in its weak power, 
 
 However madly it may rave.. 
 
Rosamond's Story, 169 
 
 One evening Mary Gore was there. 
 And when she went as night came on, 
 
 The husband found her sleeping fair, 
 As though all grief had from her gone. 
 
 'a 
 
 The light was full upon her face, 
 
 Around her swept the long brown hair, 
 A letter which she just had read, 
 
 Was still all damp with falling tear: 
 He touched her forehead, it was cold ; 
 
 A shiver ran through all Ins frame, 
 His si ; - ony could not be told; 
 
 He loudly called her dear, loved name. 
 
 But Ediel slept the sleep that knows 
 
 No waking up to further pain ; 
 Her look was that of deep repos \ 
 
 Upon her cheeks a rosy stain 
 Still lingered, as if joy had come 
 
 Unto her, as her closing eyes 
 Beheld some scene alive with bloom, 
 
 And lighted all by sunny skies. 
 
 The letter in her clasping hand 
 
 Was from the one she loved till death ; 
 They both were in that mystic land. 
 
 Where is no pain or failing breath : 
 And this is what with glazing eyes, 
 
 The hopeless man wrote ere he died; 
 As on his ear came wailing cries 
 
 Of many round him sorely tried: 
 
 I am dying, dearest Ethel, slowly ebbs my life away, 
 I am sinking here all lonely, at the close of my brief day ; 
 
 When I know that death is certain, and no hope of life remains, 
 I may tell you my anguish, ere I lose earth's weary chains. 
 
 When I found you were another's I could n t live and see 
 The grief my fatal presence would surely bring on thee ; 
 
 So I came to this dark city where pestilence is rife. 
 With the hope that it would ease me of my overburdened life. 
 
 It hath served my purpose surely. I am dying swiftly now; 
 
 I can then in freedom tell you all my love, sweet Ethel llowe ;. 
 For before you see my letter, I shall surely be no more. 
 
 And you will forgive me, darling, as I tread that happy shore. 
 
 I have not a word of chiding, that you Availed not for me ; 
 
 I was so long in coming back across the fatal sea, 
 I know of all your grieving, and your dying father's work : 
 You and he were right, sweet Ethel, but it made my way too dark. 
 
170 
 
 The Heirs of St. Kituu. 
 
 For year.-, a slave down-trodden, I had gone and still bore up; 
 
 To its la-t and foulest drfgs, I had drained arflit ion's cup : 
 With the hope of you before me, while 1 1 bought your love my own. 
 
 Sorrow's night could never darken the light that round me shone. 
 
 In all ni3 r darkest musings, in my chains I still could see 
 Your ey< s in sadiv ss swimming and wait ng long for me : 
 
 I had never dreamed of living with other than your smile, 
 Your image bad gone with me, and blessed me all the while. 
 
 Then forgive me all the weakness, that cam.' o'er me when we met, 
 If yon sat bore now he-ide me. not a tear my cheek should wet ; 
 
 I know your piteous story, an I I am satisfied, 
 
 My love has not grown colder, though my wish of life has died. 
 
 God bless you darling Ethel, now I can say n< more; 
 
 I feel my spirit drifting swiftly to anothei sho — 
 Something tell> me you will follow, and to me you will com;'. 
 
 Be it late or soon my lost one. I am still your Harry Cioome. 
 
 Rosamond grew strangely beautiful as the glow of in- 
 spiration deepened upon her in the progress of her chant. 
 Her voice gathered, power and pathos as the sad story 
 developed, and when she ceased her entire audience had 
 been melted into sympathy with tl e woes of the unhappy 
 bride of St. Biaix. The ladies were not alone in their 
 testimony of tears, for Judge Eustace and other gentle- 
 men were testifying their deep emotion in the same 
 manner. 
 
 "Rosamond," said Mr. Grey, "your story is as beauti- 
 ful as it is affecting. Your voice has wonderfully de- 
 veloped." 
 
 "I thank you, sir," said she. "I must beg pardon for 
 the sadness of my poor entertainment." 
 
 ''Its tragedy is all the sweeter," said St. George, "as a 
 foil to our Christmas mirth." 
 
 "Oh, Rosamond!" said Mariana, "why did you let 
 Ethel marry that Mr. Grange?" 
 
 " I giv( you the story," said Rosamond, "as it came to 
 me." 
 

 Rosamond's Story. 171 
 
 "Miss Courtenay," said Keun, "I bad no dream you 
 would give us such a treat. Pray accept a thousand 
 thanks." 
 
 Thus, amid the plaudits of all, the blooming girl sat 
 down, the centre of admiring friends. No one had ever 
 seen her so radiant. A strange new beauty and grace 
 was hers which were unaccountable in the suddenness 
 of their advent. The night had d< icd until the hour 
 had arrived for prayers and rest oon peaceful slum- 
 
 ber had come to every one of t! rclc at Elles- 
 
 mere. Philip mused of Rosamoni il forgetful n ess 
 
 came, and then in fantastic drean was metamor- 
 
 phosed into an angel of evei : ? sing and varying 
 
 loveliness. 
 
172 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PERCJVAL ST. GEORGE. 
 
 " How use doth breed a habit in a man ! 
 This shadowy desert, unfrequented woods, 
 I better brook than flourishing peopled towns. 
 Here can I sit alone, unseen of any, 
 And to the nightingale's complaining notes, 
 Tune my distresses, and record my woes. 
 O thou that dost inhabit in my breast, 
 Leave not the mansion so long tenantless ; 
 Lest growing ruinous, the building fall, 
 And leave no memory of what it was !" 
 
 — Two Gentlemen of Verona. 
 
 The dreary reign of winter was drawing to its close. 
 The red buds of the maple had commenced swelling. 
 The voice of gladness was returning to the long silent 
 birds, and in sheltered nooks the faint gleam of tender 
 grass blades was just peering into light. With the ap- 
 proach of spring the clouds of coming war with Mexico 
 deepened into more ominous certainty. Forth from the 
 loving circle at Ellesmere had gone the soldier, Stanhope 
 Eustace, though but half of hisJeave of absence had ex- 
 pired. The recollections of childhood were still fresh in 
 his heart, and the ties of kindred by no means disre- 
 garded ; but at the call of duty he gave up, of his own 
 accord, his lease of pleasure, and went back to the head 
 of his plumed squadrons. 
 
 Percival St. George regretted this loss of his early play- 
 mate, and was busy in adorning the walks and clustering; 
 parterres of Vaucluse. Sir George Eustace had found 
 the quiet vale in which it was situated covered with forest, 
 
Percival St. Geo-rge. 173 
 
 and was led by its beauty and fertility to reserve it for 
 himself. Templeton St. George, the first proprietor who 
 lived upon the place, had lavished upon it all that culti- 
 vated taste and large wealth could, accomplish in one 
 life-time. He was a friend of Shenstone, and had learned 
 from him many secrets in rural adornments. The grounds 
 at Vaucluse needed but little of the artificial means used 
 at Leasowes to impart the effect of distance; but in the 
 direction of Sorrel l's Peak was a noble vista, bordered by 
 trees planted in conformity with the English poet's ideas. 
 Here, amid the slumberous silence of great trees, and on 
 the pebbly margin of still lakes, Percival St. George had 
 passed the greater portion of his life in solitude. In the 
 seasons of the year permitting comfort out of doors, he 
 could be often found in his favorite haunt, in the depths 
 of the park where all was still : 
 
 '• And more to lull him in his shimbtr soft 
 A trickling streame from hia;h roeke tumbling - rtowne, 
 And ever-drizzling rain upon the loft, 
 Mixed with the murmuring winde, much like the sonne 
 Of swarming bees, <lid casr liiru in a swoune. 
 No other noise, nor people's troublous cryes, 
 As still are wont to annoy the walled towne, 
 Might 'tlier.' be beard ; but carelesse quiet lyes, 
 Wrapt in eternal silence, far from enemyes " 
 
 It was understood that St. George disliked visitors at 
 Vaucluse, and no one, except the families at Ellesmere 
 and Thorndale, ever intruded upon the mysterious retire- 
 ment of the recluse. Persons having business with him 
 were informed, by advertisement in the St. Kilda papers, 
 that such transactions would be attended to by Mr. Som- 
 erville In this way, there was no excuse for violating 
 his wishes, and many pangs of ungratified curiosity con- 
 cerning him were endured by his neighbors. Such con- 
 
174 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 duct generally produces invidious criticism and remark ; 
 but whatever resentment was felt at his wish to be alone, 
 was disarmed when, at rare intervals, he ventured forth 
 among men. The < h • m of his manner won all hearts 
 hot already attrai \ his perfection of form and feature. 
 
 The countenance liich had been dearer to Leonora 
 Orsini than all the applause her own genius and loveli- 
 ness awoke, was then more attractive than she had ever 
 seen it. The love which had arisen in his heart still shed 
 its glory on his face, and had not grown weak in the 
 fifteen years past. 
 
 The fair Italian was long ago dead ; and, in most hearts 
 by this time, would have become a pleasant memory > 
 bringing neither joy nor grief in the act of recollection ; 
 but with Percival St. George she was as sacred and much 
 regretted as ever. While he felt her lossless poignantly, 
 yet no person saw him, and, for an instant, failed to per- 
 ceive that some great shadow rested on his life. Judge 
 Eustace sighed to sec such mental endowments darkened 
 and rencb-red useless by calamity; but in spite of ail his 
 earnest counsel, the master of Vaucluse remained the 
 same ,l mute, inglorious Milton." Percival would srrile 
 as the wise publicist strove to incite him to ambition, for 
 with all his tenderness toward suffering in others, there 
 was never born into the world one who more thoroughly 
 disregarded the applause of man. While he felt,dike a 
 wound, any imputation of dishonor, yet he utterly 
 despised whatever the populace might think or say of 
 him. 
 
 He was a polished Sybarite, in the mysterious dispen- 
 sations of Providence, deprived of his idol, and in this 
 way disgusted with life. Sorrow, supreme and abiding, 
 
Percival Si. George. 175 
 
 had chastened this character of his enjoyments; but lie- 
 resolutely avoided all things threatening to disarrange 
 his dainty plumage, The insubstantial pageants and 
 gorgeous expectations of hope, had indeed utterly faded;, 
 but humility was as far as ever from his heart. He really 
 felt a large and proper interest in the numerous slaves 
 upon his estate, and omitted nothing that would con- 
 tribute to their welfare and enjoyment. His feudal tem- 
 perament led him to appreciate the position he occupied 
 in relation to these beings who, with their progenitors, 
 had been for ages the property of hh family, and there- 
 fore entitled to his care and protection. The mournful 
 beauty of his person, and the solitude in which he lived, 
 strongly impressed the sympathetic nature of the negroes. 
 
 Percival St. George was endowed with an exquisite 
 capacity for enjo3 T ment and suffering. His organization, 
 in other respects, was admirable ; and there is scarcely a 
 walk, in which success is worthy of effort, where his 
 ample endowments would not have enabled him to excel, 
 but his youthful ambition was all buried in the grave of 
 Leonora Orsini. His native abilities fitted him to shine 
 as a conversationalist, but even in the circle at Ellesmere 
 it was only when unusually interested that he could be 
 brought to a hearty discussion of important matters. He 
 never sought to conceal his opinions, but their expression, 
 was generally so sententious it rarely invited discus- 
 sion, for he abhorred debate. 
 
 As Percival St. George seldom manifested a desire for 
 
 the presence of his nearest kinsmen at Vaucluse, he 
 
 idly saw but one white person on the estate. This 
 
 was an old and trusted agent who had been for thirty 
 
 years the overseer of the negroes, and was one of the few 
 
176 The Heirs of St. Kikla. 
 
 of whose presence the sensitive nature of the poet did not 
 tire. Roger Earl had been born in the midst of humble 
 competence, and early learned to be contented with his 
 lot in the world. His attention to duty had, early in life, 
 procured for him the confidence of the community, and 
 Mrs. St. George, upon the death of her husband, had se- 
 cured his services on the estate, The excellence of his 
 management had been such that he had remained there 
 a solitary bachelor ever since. Percival, when a boy, had 
 learned to love him, and it was mainly due to his energy 
 that the plantation had been so admirably conducted. 
 Inside the stone walls encompassing the park, St. George 
 was, in fact and practice, master; but in the broad fields 
 outside, Roger Earl was lord paramount. 
 
 During the young heir's long absence in Europe, the 
 manager had often reflected upon the subject of his mar- 
 riage, but in his opinion this was a matter of secondary 
 importance He had promised to stay in command until 
 Percival could finish his education and see something of 
 the world. He was doubtful as to what exactions on his 
 time and attention a wife might entail, and therefore 
 resolutely set aside the project as a thing to be examined 
 in the future Alter the lapse of years Percival returned, 
 but the sunshine that once danced in the eyes of the boy 
 who had loved Earl was all gone. It was long before he 
 learned the secret of the blanched face and listless figure; 
 and when St. George had told the trusted companion of 
 his boyhood, Roger knew that it. was the great passion of 
 which he had been thinking so long which had wrought 
 this ruin in the fairest temple of strength and vivacity 
 he had ever seen containing the human soul. He stag- 
 gered back affrighted from a precipice over which he felt 
 
Percival St. George. lY7 
 
 bis own peace and unbroken content might have sunk 
 forever. It is true Percival St. George had left home, 
 saddened in the loss of his fair and loving mother, but 
 still the most radiant and promising youth of all the gay- 
 visitors at the Vaucluse of those days. He had parted 1 
 with this child of wealth and capacity for boundless en- 
 joyment when he was as beautiful as Hyperion, who re- 
 turned with dimmed eyes and wasted figure, to make a; 
 hermitage of the seat of gaiety. This was enough to 
 banish forever the dreams in which Roger Earl, in common 
 with other men, had indulged himself as to the joy of 
 wedded love. 
 
 Stanhope Eustace had gone, and w r as by this time at 
 the head of his regiment; the dogwood was becoming 
 white in its blossoms; and the valleys were growing pur- 
 ple in the tints of the maple shoots ; when Philip and 
 Arthur Keau were asked by Percival to epend a few days 
 with him at Vaucluse. They had at once consented, and 
 were now wandering about the house, looking at pictures 
 and statuary so much valued by their solitary collector 
 in the vears of his seclusion. The house stood in the 
 midst of a broad vale stretching southward from Sorrell's 
 Peak, through the centre of which meandered the current 
 of the smaller river frequently widening into lakes of 
 surpassing beauty in its progress through the park. The 
 grounds, with the lapse of time, and the careful attention 
 they had received, had become extremely attractive. At 
 the southern end of the largest of these lakes stood the 
 mansion built by Templetou St. George, which was 
 regarded by the people of the valley as the perfection of 
 rural architecture. After Philip and Kean had passed 
 several days in this retreat, one evening as the sun com-, 
 12 
 
178 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 menced disappearing behind the mountains they walked 
 out to enjoy the balmy air and the face of reviving nature. 
 They had gone nearly to the farther end of the largest 
 lake when they seated themselves on a mass of rocks near 
 the carriage way which led across a stone bridge just 
 beyond them. They were reclining in the shade, admir- 
 ing the scenery around, when Roger Earl approached 
 from the upper fields which he had just visited on a tour 
 of inspection. 
 
 " How is the wheat looking on the Gorse fields this 
 year?" asked Philip as Roger reined up to return their 
 salutation. 
 
 " About as well as I have ever seen it," said he. " I think 
 the wheat will be better than I have yet known on the 
 place." 
 
 "What was the amount of your last harvest?" said 
 Kean. 
 
 "A little the rise of twenty-two thousand bushels, 
 sir." 
 
 " That was a large quantity of wheat," returned Kean. 
 " It is more than is made in some States of the Union." 
 
 "Yes," said Earl, " Mr. St. George was telling me that 
 sseveral Yankee States have come to such a pass they make 
 little else beside Irish potatoes and hay." 
 
 "What do you think," said Kean, " of such a state of 
 things ?" 
 
 " I have never read books and newspapers enough to 
 give an opinion worth much ; but if the world was com- 
 posed of such communities we should all be starved out, 
 ,-once in a while, like the Irish." 
 
 "But when men are so thickly congregated," said 
 
Percival St. George. 179 
 
 Kean, " it is impossible to raise enough grain to feed the 
 population." 
 
 " Then let them emigrate," said Earl. *' There is 
 enough open land in the country for us all, and even St. 
 Kilda Valley, rich as it is, lacks much of being reduced 
 to cultivation." 
 
 " Mr. Earl," said Philip, " how do you get on with your 
 dykes and drains in the Goldsby meadows ?" 
 
 " They are as dry as this park now," said Roger, " and 
 you must ride down with me some day before your return 
 and look at them. I think Mr. St. George takes more 
 interest in the progress of the works there than any thing 
 I have seen him notice since he came from abroad." 
 
 " I think," said Philip, " that Cousin Percy is in better 
 spirits than usual." 
 
 " No doubt of it," said Earl. "When he is here he is 
 more than ever in the fields with me, and if that room 
 they call Mariana's was not in the house I think he would 
 be much better without it." 
 
 " What does it contain?" said Philip, "I have never 
 entered it since I was a child." 
 
 " Many things," said Roger, " for it was built for 
 Templeton St. George's wife, and is splendidly furnished. 
 There are two beautiful pictures in it which Mr. St. 
 George showed me and told me were the portraits of the 
 young lady he was to have married." 
 
 Roger Earl here glanced at the swn, and seeing it was 
 nearly night, rode away to attend to the stabling of the 
 farm horses under his charge. Philip and Kean returned 
 to the house, and found Percival opening boxes of books 
 which he had just received. 
 
180 The Heirs of St. Kilda, 
 
 Later in the evening they were sitting in a room, over 
 the mantel piece of which was the portrait of a young 
 woman. It was evidently an ol<i picture, and though 
 the flesh tints were faded with time, the grace of the 
 figure and beautiful lines of the face were perfectly pre- 
 served. Kean at once recognized it as the counterpart of 
 a picture at Ellesmere. 
 
 "Mr. St. George," said he r "I have never known a 
 family in which the features of the ancestors were so 
 perfectly transmitted as in your own. I see in that 
 picture on the mantel a strong likeness to Philip and 
 yourself, and, as Hamlet would say, a counterfeit present- 
 ment of Miss Mariana." 
 
 " It is strange," said Percival, " that we have changed 
 so little in the lapse of time. It is a portrait of my great- 
 grandmother, and, as you remarked, would be considered 
 anywhere a good likeness of the Mariana Eustace now 
 living." 
 
 "Cousin Percy," said Philip, "I recollect when I was a 
 child, you carried grandmother and myself to see a pic- 
 ture in a room on the other side of the house. I think it 
 represented a beautiful lad} 7 in regal attire." 
 
 "But few persons in this country," said St. George, 
 " have seen that painting. If you desire it we will go to 
 the room now. Come with us, Mr. Kean.' 
 
 Percival led the way to an apartment built and fur- 
 nished with exquite taste, and passing along its length r 
 paused before the larger of the only two pictures it con- 
 tained. Kean and Philip stood spell bound in admiration 
 of a beauty surpassing their dreams of female loveliness, 
 while Percival silently struggled to suppress his evident 
 emotion. 
 
Per rival St. George. 181 
 
 " That must be a portrait," said Kean, " for no imagin- 
 ation could have rendered an ideal so attractive. 
 
 " It represents Leonora Orsini," said Percival, " as I 
 -saw her in her first appearance as Norma. I had seen 
 her before, in Paris and Vienna, and had been moved by 
 the magic of her loveliness, but never until that occasion 
 did I realize the perfection of her charms. I had gone 
 from Rome to spend a few weeks in Florence, and with 
 an artist-friend was loitering about the Pitti Palace, 
 where we accidently met Leonora and her father. We 
 were mutually pleased with each other, and when she 
 left the galleries, she invited me to hear her that evening 
 in her first appearance as prima, donna in the production 
 •of Bellini's beautiful opera. The artist and myself were 
 half frantic with delight at the splendor of her persona- 
 tion, and you see her in the picture as she appeared in 
 singing that most exquisite conception of sublimated 
 sorrow — Casta Diva." 
 
 "The idea and execution of the piece are certainly 
 beautiful," said Kean. 
 
 "In the other picture," said Percival, " she is repre- 
 sented as a Madonna." 
 
 " Cousin Percy," said Philip, " I cannot imagine the 
 faces in heaven to be more beautiful than this, and I have 
 little doubt the painting is less attractive than the 
 ■original, for I think the new picture of Mariana by no 
 means equals herself.'" 
 
 " That," said St. George, " must be the case with all 
 portraits of lovely faces. The greatest charm in the hu- 
 man countenance is the almost infinite variety of expres- 
 sion some are capable of undergoing, and never was this 
 more the case than in Leonora. Not an emotion flitted 
 
182 The Heirs of St. Kilda, 
 
 through her soul but gave token of its presence in her 
 faultless features. The portrait conveys but one of her 
 thousand emotions, and, to that degree, falls below the 
 resistless fascination of her own presence." 
 
 " Cousin Percy," said Philip, " you have never talked 
 much with me concerning } r our love since I was a child. 
 If it does not distress you too much give us something 
 of your sad story." 
 
 " Yes, Philip," said Percival, " as I know your grand- 
 father has for some time intended you should spend sev- 
 eral years in Europe, I will tell you of ray disaster as a 
 warning against suffering yourself to become too much 
 interested in any one object. It is always a grave and 
 dangerous episode in the lives of the men of our family, 
 when the happy season of youth gives place to the stormy 
 passions of manhood. It seems impossible for us to know 
 that calm and equable spirit to be found in so many 
 others. I have seen men really attached lose the objects 
 of their affections, and after a decent show of grief console 
 themselves by supplying the place of the lost idol ; bus 
 none of us have been able to rise to the height of this 
 indifference, or, if you please, philosophy. Your father 
 is of no such material, and you have no reason to think 
 that, in case of similar calamity, you could find oblivion 
 sooner than he or myself: therefore, beware of fascination 
 which cannot promise a life of gratified desire." 
 
 " I have already told you how I first formed the ac- 
 quaintance of Count Orsini and his daughter, at Florence. 
 For two months I lingered there with them, where their 
 ancestors had been so illustrious. The relics of the Medici 
 family were abundant, and these, as they were connected 
 with her ow r n progenitors,, were chiefly attractive to- 
 
Perdval St. George. 183 
 
 Leonora. I soon discovered the absorbing passion grow- 
 ing up in my heart, and endeavored to crush it, for I was 
 prejudiced against people of both sexes connected with 
 the stage. Count Orsini was a prince in reality as well 
 as in name, and the want of wealth, which first led him 
 to consent to his daughter's appearance in the opera, had 
 passed away with her splendid success. They moved as 
 equals with the proudest on the Continent, and the Grand 
 Duke of Tuscany was one of their best friends. Count 
 Orsini was, at first, displeased with my attentions to his 
 daughter, but with the lapse of time her entreaties 
 induced him to consent to a suit he considered beneath 
 the rank of his family." 
 
 " They had made a tour of the great capitals," continued 
 Perdval, " and I accompanied them to their home on 
 Lake Corao. Leonora was to spend a long vacation of 
 rest from her toils and triumphs. Having gained her 
 father's consent to our marriage, in our unclouded bliss 
 we were as happy as human nature can become. She 
 was to have left the stage, for we were botli unwilling 
 that she should longer remain in such publicit}'. Noth- 
 ing prevented our immediate nuptials but her engage- 
 ment to sing for a short time in Vienna, from which 
 Leonora applied to the manager to be released. His 
 stubbornness cost me my happiness forever : o,nd subse- 
 quent to that time mine becomes a stor}- too sad for repe- 
 tition. In passing the Lagunes of Venice on our way to 
 the Austrian capital some deadly malaria blighted my 
 beautiful flower, and I saw her fade and pass from my 
 reach. Ten days before the world was full of glory, but, 
 since my loss, ' This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me 
 a sterile promontory ; this most excellent canopy, the air, 
 
184 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majesti- 
 eal roof, fretted with golden fire, why it appears no other 
 thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of 
 vapors.' " 
 
 "God was more merciful than I deserved: instead of a 
 maniac's death He gave me surcease from sorrow, in a 
 long, dreamless, wasting sickness. I was carried to the 
 brink of the grave, and after a period, which is a blank 
 in my existence, I gradually revived from the stupor 
 which had rested on my faculties. Leonora's death 
 seemed to my struggling mind some dim memory of long 
 vanished days, and, in place of my early agony, had 
 succeeded lethargy and intolerable disgust for all things. 
 Count Orsini had watched by me during my illness, and 
 when I recovered gave me the smaller of the two pictures. 
 I prize that more from the fact that it represents her own 
 beautiful nature more perfectly. In the other you see 
 her in the assumed despair of Norma." 
 
 " Cousin Percival," said Philip, " it seems that some 
 strange dowery of woe too often accompanies the gift of 
 great beauty in woman. The loveliest women have been 
 the most unfortunate, as Tennyson sings: 
 
 "'■In every land 
 I saw, wherever light illuinineth, 
 Beauty and anguish walking hand in hand 
 The downward slope to death." 
 
 "I cannot believe," said Percival, "that there is a 
 necessary heritage of woe belonging to this great gift. 
 Beautiful women make their own destinies." 
 
 " I agree with you," said Kean. "Women in high 
 station, if fair, have their dispositions ruined by earl)- 
 adulation, and are taught that their business in life is to 
 
Percival St. George. 185 
 
 make themselves attractive. They grow up with the im- 
 pression that life is to be one long day of romantic love- 
 making. They marry, and of course, with the lapse of 
 time, there is naturally an abatement in the little fond- 
 lings in which lovers and newly married men are so 
 prolific. The young wife, still glorious in undiminished 
 charms, weeps at what she considers the neglect of her 
 husband, when often it is only the inevitable absorption 
 of his attention to the graver duties of life. If in fashion- 
 able life, the pretty wife then amuses herself by flirtations. 
 This naturally excites the jealousy and distrust of the 
 husband, the old love giving place to duplicity and 
 hatred, and, of course, unhappiness to both. Helen half 
 consented to the treachery of Paris when he carried her 
 to Troy, and Cleopatra and Mary Stuart were most 
 accomplished flirts. Beauty is, I believe, when properly 
 appreciated, one of the most unfailing joys in nature, for 
 in a husband's eves a lovely woman never loses her 
 charms. She is still looked at with the old memories 
 pressed into his heart. While to other eyes the faded 
 matron may be less attractive, she is still as lovely to him 
 as the blooming daughter he sees growing up and repro- 
 ducing her mother's beauty." 
 
 Philip and Kean left St. George alone with the images 
 of his lost love. No care was in their hearts to banish 
 sleep, but their conversation had awakened a world of 
 memories in the sensitive and excitable nature of the 
 poet. The heavy carpet muffled his tread, so that his 
 footsteps were unheard as back and forth through the 
 long hours of the silent night walked the lone man. Oc- 
 casionally he would pause before the pictures, and in low 
 tones repeat : 
 
1SG The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 I am thinking of thee, Leonore — 
 
 I am thinking of Jays that have been, 
 
 When you bloomed as a beautiful flower 
 
 And my soul owned thee for its queen. 
 
 In tlie daylight I wander mid throngs, 
 
 And unheeded I pass them all by; 
 
 In their clamor I hear thy sweet songs 
 
 As soft as the nightingale's ciy. 
 
 I am dreaming of thee, Leonore — 
 I am dreaming of thee when the night 
 L gilding the soft meadows o'er. 
 As they glow in the tremulous light. 
 But the darkness has never a veil 
 To shroud the light of thine eyes; 
 I am seeing thy brow that wa> pale 
 I'm list'ning for one of thy sighs. 
 
 So through the shadowy night and by day — 
 
 On the land, on the sea, everywhere, 
 
 Though brief was thy beautiful stay, 
 
 Yet thine eyes and soft waving hair 
 
 Return in my visions to me 
 
 With nothing but love in their light; 
 
 So I'm thinking of thee all the day 
 
 And dreaming of thee all the night. 
 
 Genius has been defined to be the capacity to suffer and 
 enjo3 r to a larger extent than the same causes usually pro- 
 duce in ordinary dispositions. Others consider it mere 
 unusual grasp and application of knowledge. In this 
 latter view of the quality, there is nothing to induce un- 
 happiness, except the incapacity of most men to entertain 
 and satisfy such a mind, and the necessity of its retiring 
 upon its own high resources for solitary self-communion. 
 But the simple enlargement of the mental qualities is not 
 genius: it is the power to draw happiness, or its reverse, 
 in an extraordinary manner from occurrences of life. In 
 this way Percival St. George, through his acute sensibili- 
 ties, suffered years of depression in consequence of a dis- 
 aster which would have speedily ceased to distress most 
 men. Dryden has said : 
 
 "Great wits to madness nearly are allied." 
 
Percival St. George. 187 
 
 But eccentricity and mental aberration are by no means 
 necessary accompaniments of greatness, much less of 
 genius. While Sir Isaac Newton was so absent-minded 
 that he frequently forgot to eat his dinner, Shakspeare 
 was wise and prosperous in the affairs of the world, 
 Byron was madly impracticable in all things, while Sir 
 Walter Scott was the ornament of a large circle of friends : 
 and hundreds of instances contradict this idea, that genius 
 must be eccentric, or unhappy, in spite of Wordsworth's 
 declaration : 
 
 "We poets enter on our path with gladness, 
 But thereof comes despondency and madness." 
 
 Percival St. George was not a great man, but was pos- 
 sessed of fine poet sensibilities. His listless and aimless 
 mode of life forbade excellence in any of the departments 
 of human effort. With proper stimulus to exertion, he 
 might have attained eminence in whatever he desired. 
 As it was, even adversity, in a great measure, failed of its 
 lessons ; and while he never manifested a want of respect 
 to those fully satisfied with the revealed will of Provi- 
 dence, yet in his heart he failed to acknowledge the ex- 
 tent of his obligation in submission to its decrees. He 
 was too refined and sensitive to wound the feelings of 
 others, by the expression of doubts concerning truths 
 dear to them, and apparently even acquiesced in the lead- 
 ing claims of the faith of his friends; but in his heart 
 was no trust of the many promises sustaining the 
 Christian. 
 
 Percival's early loss was the key-note in all his sad 
 minstrelsy. He had so long nourished his grief, it had 
 become a part of himself; yet with all this melancholy 
 
188 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 in his recollections, there was nothing maudlin or weak 
 in his bearing. Only to his family friends, at rare inter- 
 vals, did he make any allusion to his loss. If urged by 
 Judge Eustace to a larger participation among the affairs 
 of men, he would plead the necessity of his confining his 
 efforts to the good of his slaves. He maintained that it 
 required all that he and Roger Earl could do to minister 
 to their efficiency and comfort. In addition to this, he 
 was in no respect a democrat in his opinions. He dis- 
 trusted popular institutions, and thoroughly disliked any 
 communion with the mob. To those of his neighbors 
 scantily provided with intelligence and goods, no man 
 could have shown more charity and forbearance ; but he 
 steadily denied the wisdom or propriety of endowing 
 them with equal franchises with himself. 
 
 The great mistake of St. George's life was his want of 
 submission to the manifest necessities of his nature. With 
 all the delicacy of feeling and tenderness of a woman, he 
 had for years disregarded the sweet offices of man as a 
 minister of consolation. While pure and blameless in 
 his life, he totally ignored in his thoughts the very ex- 
 istence of any comfort beyond his own resources, and 
 thus forgetful of God and his fellow creatures, in mingled 
 strength and weakness, he had unavailingly continued 
 the unequal struggle. Shall others think themselves 
 wiser, because in ambition or vanity they have made no 
 such essay of self-reliance? Shall self interest and worldly 
 engagement plume themselves on any superiority to the 
 mistakes of one too honest for deception? 
 
 ''Oh momentary graoe of mortal men, 
 Which we more hunt for than the «T%ce of God! 
 Who builds his hope in air of your fair looks, 
 Lives like a drunken sailor on a mast : 
 Ready, with eveiy nod, to tumble down 
 Into the fatal bowels of the deep." 
 
Mr. Grey. IS9 
 
 CHAPTER XL 
 
 MR. GREY. 
 
 "His eyes, diffused a venerable grace, 
 And charity itself was in his face. 
 Refined himself to soul, to curb the sense, 
 And made almost a sin of abstinence. 
 Yet, had his aspect nothing of severe, 
 But such a face as promised him sincere, 
 Nothing reserved or sullen was to see: 
 But sweet regards; and pleasing sanctity: 
 Mild was his accent, and his action free." 
 
 —Dryden's Tales from Chaucer, 
 
 This amiable and devoted mau lias several times ap- 
 peared in this narrative, and his virtues have been com- 
 mended in more than one instance; bat his influence 
 was so potent for good in the formation of the characters 
 of Philip and Mariana Eustace, that a larger meed of 
 notice will be accorded him in the present chapter. He 
 was, as has already been stated, nearly of the same age as 
 Gov. Eustace, and had been his school-mate and play- 
 fellow in early life. The story of his childhood was full 
 of melancholy interest, and furnished the firesides of St. 
 Kilda valley, for many years, with one of its wildest and 
 most mournful incidents. He was born in the long and 
 narrow vale that extends for several miles back between 
 Mounts Learning and Helliton. This retired nook formed 
 a complete cul-de-sac ; for the pass, at its extremity between 
 the peaks, was so elevated and precipitous that it was 
 considered impracticable, except to a few huntsmen who 
 occasionally ventured out of Swelterdale across this 
 mountain barrier. At the end of the lake, where the 
 
190 The Heirs of St. Kilda, 
 
 valley widened out, were several cottages ; but beyond 
 these, by two good miles, was the humble habitation of 
 Turner Grey and his wife Edith. William Grey was the 
 older of their two children, and was just nine years old 
 at the time of the incident about to be related. His pa- 
 rents were the only inhabitants of the almost inaccessible 
 dale in which they lived, and depended on patient labor 
 and economy to supply their means of life. The choice 
 of his home in this lonely spot exhibited the daring of 
 Turner Grey's nature. The distance between him and 
 his nearest neighbor would be generally deemed in the 
 American States inconsiderable, but from the peculiarity 
 of the single approach was equivalent to a much greater 
 removal from the friendly offices of men. 
 
 In the winter, when the snow commenced drifting down 
 the mountain sides, it was often a matter of impossibility 
 to communicate with the outer world ; and the solitary 
 cottage was, therefore, never highly valued as a place of 
 residence. Turner Grey had been a soldier, and had 
 lived for five years in the forest and plains of the West. 
 The parents of his wife had objected to his marriage ; and 
 this added to the disposition toward solitude already 
 strong in his mind ; so, as the cottage was unoccupied, and 
 could be had at a moderate price, the young couple, 
 shortly after their nuptials, came to the little cot in the 
 heart of the mountains, and had lived there ever since. 
 Some months previous to the period referred to, there 
 had occurred, in one of the cottages in which Turner 
 Grey happened to be a visitor, a deadly conflict between 
 two of the dalemen. There had been much talk of a gang 
 of counterfeiters, who were coining and issuing spurious 
 money in that portion of St. Kilda valley. These men 
 
Mr. Grey. 191 
 
 happening to get into an altercation, one of them charged 
 the other with complicity in this infamous violation of 
 the laws. It was promptly resented, and, before the by- 
 standers could separate them, the accuser was stabbed 
 and mortally wounded. The man who thus became 
 amenable to the double charge of counterfeiting and 
 homicide was arrested and put in jail, and was awaiting 
 his trial. It was now the time of the winter session of 
 the superior court, and Turner Grey, being an important 
 witness against the prisoner, was of course summoned to 
 attend. There had been several heavy falls of snow pre- 
 vious to his preparations for departure from his humble 
 home, and his wife, Edith, was full offender solicitude for 
 his safety. He was a man of stern manner, but had ever 
 been loving and considerate toward his companion. They 
 were indeed all in all to each other, iti the wild and lonely 
 recess in which they dwelt. Turner Grey, like the strong- 
 limbed, brave-hearted man that he was, went on foot 
 through the great snow drifts, having laughed in deri- 
 sion at the fears that filled the bosom of his wife. He 
 safely reached St. Kilda the day on which the case he had 
 been summoned to attend stood for trial ; but the severity 
 of the weather had detained other material witnesses, so 
 the judge postponed the case two days in consequence of 
 the continued failure of the expected men to appear. The 
 trial should have begun on Tuesday ; it was concluded 
 on Thursday morning ; and the jury and witnesses were 
 dismissed. The weather looked unsettled ; but as some 
 of his nearest neighbors, who lived at the end of the lake, 
 were going home that evening, Turner Grey accepted 
 their offer to carry him that far. They reached the lake 
 late in the night; but the fond husband, suspecting the 
 
192 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 anxiety of his wife at his long and unexpected absence-, 
 in spite of his friends' entreaties to the contrary, went at 
 once on his way through the narrow and awful glen in 
 the direction of his cottage. 
 
 The boldest heart might well have shrunk back dis- 
 mayed at the prospect which lay before him. The night 
 was so dark that) but for the reflection of light from the 
 spotless snow, he could not have seen at all. The masses 
 of cloud thai swept over the summits of the two moun- 
 tains were already scattering around flakes of snow, show- 
 ing the hardy mountaineer what was in store for him, 
 who thus braved their fury. It was not snowing when 
 he left the lake, or he, daring as he was, would have 
 remained with his friends until morning. By this time 
 he was in less than a mile of the little family who he 
 knew were sleepless on his account. But now he had 
 reached the commencement of the perils awaiting him 
 who thus attempted at night the passage of the stream 
 which flowed down the gorge to the lake. By his side 
 was the trusted shepherd clog which was his inseparable 
 companion. On they went in the blinding storm of snow 
 which was drifting down in frightful quantities. The 
 winds hurtling in the mountain tops roared, as if they 
 would sweep down the vast barriers which in everlasting 
 strength turned aside their currents. Occasionally the 
 straining eyes of the fast despairing husband caught 
 glimpses of a light faintly gleaming in the direction of 
 the home he was never to reach alive. There he well 
 knew sat his wife in her anguish awaiting his return. 
 There were his rosy children in the warm cottage ever 
 illumined through dreary winter. Who can imagine the 
 extremity of his torture, as he groped through the snow 
 
Mr. Grey. 193 
 
 and darkness, step by step, in the direction of the spot 
 where centered all his joys? He well knew beneath the 
 drift he was slowly passing, lay the channel of the stream 
 which ran with devious windings from the pool behind 
 his house. Several times the unerring instinct of his dog; 
 had warned him back from yawning chasms, but the cold 1 
 was so intense that he felt strongly disposed to lie down 
 and rest his weary limbs. This longing was resisted after 
 short pauses, for he was aware that slumber would 
 result in swift destruction. The energies of his faithful 
 dog, too, became paralyzed, for he now followed instead of." 
 leading, as directed by his master. 
 
 Edith Grey had been all this time, since his expected 
 return, in a state of the most consuming anxiety. She 
 loved her husband with a devotion which was almost 
 infatuation in its intensity. She had been assured that 
 he would not be longer absent than Thursday morning,, 
 and she supposed he would be able, in all probability, to 
 leave the court house on Tuesday evening and reach his 
 home some time that night, or at farthest, the next day. 
 The happy couple, living in their loving retirement, knew 
 little of the law's delays. He had gone away Monday 
 morning and it was now Thursday night. Edith was 
 strongly tempted, in the morning, to start for the houses 
 near the lake ; but, as she was a delicate woman, she well 
 knew it would overtask her strength to go and return the 
 same day ; then she looked at her children and thought 
 of the peril of leaving them alone, and with bitter tears 
 gave up her scheme. She was in the greatest possible 
 distress, as the shadows of coming night deepened around 
 her. Little William, her first born, exerted all his child- 
 ish eloquence to re-assure the drooping heart of his. 
 13 
 
194 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 mother ; and as she looked into the eyes of the sinless 
 boy she obtained occasionally fresh confidence in that 
 Providence, a trust in which her own teachings had 
 planted in his young heart. The storm raved and bellowed 
 through the mountains, as the trembling wife listened to 
 its fury. 
 
 In an agony of apprehension she vainly waited the 
 coming of her husband. By some strange intuition she 
 at last became convinced of the truth of his condition. 
 She felt that by this time he was wandering bewildered 
 in the midst of danger and death. She had lighted a 
 beacon at night-fall in the direction she was certain he 
 would come, and it washer only consolation, in the long 
 •watches of the terrible vigil, to keep this flaming signal 
 freshly supplied with fuel. She could not persuade 
 William to sleep, for the child saw such sorrow in his 
 young mother's look that he begged to be allowed to bear 
 her company. Several times she had gone out amid the 
 war of the elements to listen for some sign of her hus- 
 band's approach, and, 
 
 " In the dead waste and middle of the night," 
 
 as she stood straining her ears to the mighty dirge she 
 caught, faintly in the over-powering rush of the storm, 
 the sharp, quick cry of a dog in the extremity of terror. 
 There was a momentary lull in the sweep of the winds 
 and she heard now, full and distinct, the melancholy wail, 
 and recognized the voice of her husband's faithful com- 
 panion. The inarticulate note of grief told her at once 
 that disaster had overtaken the two. She hurriedly 
 i opened the cottage door, and telling her first born to 
 
Mr. Grey. 195 
 
 remain with his unconscious baby- brother asleep in the 
 cradle, with one last, long embrace of her child, she went 
 forth in a vain trust that she could aid her mate then 
 perishing in the snow. On she groped in the hideous 
 turmoil, following as best she could the direction of the 
 path that led to the crossing of the stream. At intervals 
 she caught the howl of despair that still came from the 
 dog. The love that was supreme in her heart was only 
 leading her to a fate which had already befallen her 
 husband. 
 
 With the departure of his mother there came a wonder- 
 ful increase of intelligence to the infant faculties of Wil- 
 liam Grey. He was but little more than nine years of 
 age at the time, but his conduct under the trying circum- 
 stances was characterized by much of the forethought 
 and prudence of matured manhood. He seemed to real- 
 ize at once the truth of his situation, that all must now 
 depend upon him for the safety of himself and helpless 
 brother. He anxiously awaited the return of his mother 
 until daylight, when he proceeded to the stable to feed 
 the few animals therein, and then brought wood from the 
 shed for the fire. Little George had awakened by this 
 time, and having dressed and fed him sparingly, he lay 
 down to the first sleep he had known for thirty hours. 
 In this way, for three days, he continued to care for and 
 preserve his brother and the domestic animals. At the 
 end of that time, the storm having ceased and their stock 
 of food being exhausted, he went to the lake to communi- 
 cate the extremity of his situation. On his way he found 
 the snow so deep along the bed of the stream he could not 
 discover the bridge, so he turned back and passed around 
 the pool. On his arrival at the settlements the disap- 
 
196 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 pearance of his parents was made known, and in a short 
 time a dozen men had started in search of their missing 
 neighbors. The little boy, already tired out with his 
 previous walk, was taken back on the shoulders of the 
 men to the rescue of his brother. The mountaineers at 
 once recognized the truth of Turner and Edith Grey's 
 death, and after considerable search, on removing the 
 snow along their separate paths, the remains of both were 
 found. Long experience in such cases had given them 
 such subtilty and skill they read in the windings of their 
 footsteps the story of distraction and despair preceding 
 the last moments of both husband and wife, and their 
 unfailing sagacity saw in the snow a history of the agony 
 endured by the master and his faithful dog. The poor 
 animal, they thought, perished in his attempt to reach 
 Edith Grey, for he was found drowned in the stream near 
 where she lay. Suffering was not confined to the hearts 
 of husband and wife on that last dread night. Of the 
 shepherd dog's sensations, no one but God 
 
 "Knows, who gave that love sublime, 
 And sense of loyal duty — great 
 Beyond all human estimate." 
 
 The story of this love unto death between the unfor- 
 tunate couple, and the rare and almost incredibly preco- 
 cious realization of the necessities of his position by 
 William Grey, drew great attention and sympathy to the 
 two little boys thus left orphans in the world. Death 
 had evidently come to both parents through the exercise 
 of the noblest and most unselfish motives. Judge Eus- 
 tace, learning the truth of the sad story, induced the 
 honest dale men to give him the children they had 
 
Mr. Grey. 197 
 
 already adopted in their own families. They remained 
 at Ellesmere until William was sent to college, and 
 George, having received a mercantile training, became a 
 prosperous merchant at St. Kilda, on capital given him 
 by his benefactor. 
 
 It was now the time for Philip and Arthur Kean to 
 leave home for the University, and the heart of Mr. Grey 
 yearned for the youth whose generous and amiable dis- 
 position he feared would expose him to temptations as 
 yet unknown under the protecting roof of his forefathers. 
 Mrs. Courtenay, Rosamond, and other friends, were at 
 Ellesmere to take leave of the young heir who was now 
 to encounter for the first time the pleasures and allure- 
 ments of the world. The bright sabbath morning was 
 radiant in the warmth and joy of early summer, and it 
 was the day for Mr. Grey to preach in the little chapel in 
 the park. The family having repaired thither, were 
 seated, and the colored people of the estate sat in their 
 Sunday clothes and best behavior, awaiting the beginning 
 of the services. Several neighboring families were also 
 present, and all observed the evident emotion of the 
 minister, as he arose and announced for his text: 
 
 u 
 
 And Saul said unto David, i Go and may the Lord be Avith 
 
 you 
 
 ?-ii 
 
 " Dearly beloved," said Mr. Grey, " these memorable 
 words were uttered on the occasion of a great crisis in 
 the affairs of two nations. As the bright ravs of the 
 morning sun illumined the crests of the Judean hills, on 
 opposite mountains, across the narrow valley of Elah. 
 stood the confronting hosts of the Israelites and Philis- 
 tines. The long lines, with waving penons and flashing 
 
198 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 armor gazed upon each other with all the hatred gendered 
 in centuries of warfare between rival races. Both sides 
 had prepared for a terrible conflict, and 
 
 'Far ia the horizon, to the north, appear'd 
 From skirt to skirt, a fiery region, stretched 
 In battailous aspect, and, nearer view 
 Bristled with upright beams innumerable 
 Of rigid spears, and helmets throng'd, and shields 
 Various, with boastful argument portrayed.' 
 
 u For forty days the son of Kish had borne the repeated 
 challenges of his enemies. Day after day Goliath of 
 Gath had retired unencountered from his tender of com- 
 bat. The brave blood seemed utterly extinct in the ranks 
 of Israel. Jerrubbaal had for ages slept with his fathers, 
 and Samson's heroic death failed to awaken a kindred 
 daring in the hearts of his countrymen. The boastful 
 words of the giant were all unpunished, and the hosts of 
 the Lord shrank cowering with none of their mighty 
 men to accept of the wager of battle. 
 
 " Such was the condition of affairs when a new spectator 
 appeared upon the stirring scene. To the amazement of 
 every one in Loth of the confronting lines, a youth, w T hose 
 cheeks were yet beardless and unbronzed by service, came 
 forward to accept the long-tendered challenge. That 
 Saul and his followers should have at all entrusted their 
 honor to the keeping of the lad evinced their intimidation 
 and fear of the giant. The Lord of hosts was about to 
 give his chosen people another instance of His protecting 
 power. While dismay chilled the hearts of those to whom 
 the nation looked for deliverance, His spirit was breath- 
 ing upon the heart of the strippling. David in his shep- 
 herd garb had asked permission of the king to do battle- 
 
Mr. Grey. 199 
 
 in his behalf. Refusing the assistance of all the martial 
 preparations of that age, with nothing but his sling and 
 the smooth pebbles from the brook, the young hero stood 
 ready to commence the seemingly unequal contest. 
 
 " Truly, my brethren, there have been but few inci- 
 dents in the history of the world of such moral sublimity 
 as this. Let us imagine the tall figure of Saul, as he 
 stood up to give David his parting blessing. One of them, 
 with all his royal dignity and experience in war, was the 
 slave of doubt and dismay; the other, in his almost 
 maiden modesty, serene and confident on the very verge 
 of conflict. 
 
 " The first thought that presents itself in this beautiful 
 episode, is one well worthy of consideration by men of all 
 ages and conditions. Was Saul mistaken in invoking 
 the divine presence? Were these the words of an un- 
 meaning ceremony, or the evidences of a vain trust in 
 one who has no existence? Was he justified in fact and 
 the traditions of his fathers, in saying to the young hero, 
 ' Go, and may th-e Lord be with you'? From the days of 
 Abraham until that time, the history of His peculiar peo- 
 ple had been one long lesson of the great truth, that God 
 not only is with nations who put their trust in him, but 
 innumerable individual instances had testified his pro- 
 tecting care of his servants. Though many centuries lay 
 between their eras, King Saul could not have forgotten 
 the story of Noah's preservation from the pervading dis- 
 aster, which, in righteous judgment, had been sent upon 
 the world. Think you he was oblivious of Joseph's 
 sudden advancement from a dungeon to a great station 
 and lasting prosperity, or could he have been more igno- 
 rant than the Philistines, who yet trembled as they re- 
 
200 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 called the memory of the Exodus and the subsequent 
 triumphs of Joshua's advent? Could the sword of the 
 Lord and of Gideon have passed from the recollection of 
 the race, or can you imagine that a man in either army 
 failed to remember the answered prayer of blinded and 
 despairing Samson ? No, my brethren, the prophet 
 Samuel was yet alive in the land, and the royal Jew well 
 understood he was uttering no empty invocation in the 
 wise and affectionate words he used. 
 
 " God has been with righteous men since the creation 
 of our species, and no man since Enoch's translation, in 
 possession of the convincing proof, is for a moment justi- 
 fied in a serious doubt on the subject. The accumulation 
 of testimony on this point has been going on with con- 
 stantly deepening certainty from age to age, until now it 
 is amazing that any reasonable being should hesitate for 
 a moment in giving full and perfect credence to the un- 
 failing goodness of God to his creature man. Saul, as he 
 gave this parting blessing to the young lad, had never a 
 doubt of the happiness and safety of those entitled to 
 such protection. Who can study without pity the tale of 
 his own life? Up to this time the blessings of heaven 
 had been with him. In his early manhood he had gone 
 out in search of his father's lost asses, and found empire 
 and rule before his return. Victory and prosperity had 
 flowed as a river around him. As yet, the Benjamite re- 
 membered his origin, and was humble before the power 
 which had, with no effort on his part, made him the king 
 of a nation. 
 
 " Alas ! my brethren, this favorite of heaven, like many 
 others, could not bear the dizzy exaltation to which the 
 favor of God had raised him ; and we find him, in the 
 
Mr. Grey. 201 
 
 sacred history, abandoned to remorse, and in the deep 
 watches of the night consulting the woman of Endor 
 whose sinful practices he had forbidden. Follow him a 
 little further on his course, and you see the career which 
 had opened so auspiciously at Mizpeh, closing in the 
 gloom of defeat and death on the bloody field of Gilboa. 
 "God had, in those days, frequently manifested Him- 
 self unto His people as their kind and forbearing protec- 
 tor. He had led their fathers, by cloud and by fire, 
 through the dreary wilderness and the retiring waters of 
 the sea. They had seen pursuing Pharaoh and his count- 
 less hosts overwhelmed. The impregnable walls of Jericho 
 had gone down before the blast of rains' horns. They 
 had looked upon the smoking mountain, and heard the 
 thunders of omnipotence at Sinai, and alas! they had 
 also witnessed the consuming wrath of God in the pun- 
 ishment of their sins. But they had not seen what we 
 know He has done for us. He had not then sent his Son 
 into the world to die for us. Christ had not then assumed 
 our nature, and walked with man as brother with brother. 
 In all his kindness to his people, He was yet full of un- 
 approachable majesty. The veil was not yet rent, and 
 the soul that presumed to thrust its sinful presence into 
 the Holy of Holies was cut off from among men. Christ, 
 our loving and affectionate friend, had not wept with the 
 sorrowing sisters of Lazarus, and no woman taken in the 
 act of crime had been dismissed with the gentle admoni- 
 tion, 'Go and sin no more.' Our gracious Master had 
 not then declared, ' He that eateth my flesh and drinketh 
 my blood, dwelleth in me and I in him.' 'The Lamb of 
 God that taketh away the sins of the world,' had not, by 
 His own death, sanctified His declaration, that ' Greater 
 
202 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 love hath no man than this, that a man lay down his life 
 for his friend.' While they knew there was an all-wise 
 and just God, His Son had not yet declared, there is one 
 supreme in heaven and earth who yet ' sticketh closer 
 than a brother.' No dying thief, repentant in his last 
 moments, had heard, as his ears grew dull and callous in 
 dissolution, the promise, ' This day shalt thou be with me 
 in Paradise.' 
 
 " Oh ! my brethren, would that we could fully appre- 
 ciate this matchless blessing that Saul invoked in David's 
 behalf. Oh ! that our sinful natures would allow us to 
 realize what it is to go and have God with us all along 
 our weary way in this life. Oh ! that we had thus that 
 ' peace of mind which passeth all understanding,' and that 
 consolation which the world cannot give, and feel with 
 the Apostle of the Gentiles, ' there is around us that love 
 from which neither height, nor depth, nor things present, 
 nor power or principalities can separate us.' Let no man 
 doubt that God walks with His faithful servants. Let 
 not the reprobate think that because ' He sendeth rain on 
 the just and the unjust,' that the wicked shall prosper, or 
 the seed of the righteous shall come to want.' God is not 
 only 'in us and over us, to work out a far more exceed- 
 ing and eternal weight of glory,' but. as surely as we live, 
 ( the angel of the Lord encamps around about those who 
 put their trust in Him.' 
 
 " Then Saul was using no idle ceremony in his bene- 
 diction. He was invoking in David's behalf a blessing 
 compared to which all other advantages, that can be im- 
 agined in the heart of man, are small and insignificant. 
 What are station, wealth, and the world's applause, to the 
 comfortable assurance of him included in the gracious 
 
Mr. Grey. 203 
 
 promise, that ' He shall give His angels charge over 
 thee?' What are the empty delusions and gratification 
 of those who put their trust in riches, compared to the 
 serene and undisturbed repose of him who relies upon 
 the blessing of God ? Who can fathom His goodness and 
 mercy, or weigh in golden scales the advantages of His 
 protecting presence ? Long years after the incident al- 
 luded to in my text, David, realizing that God had an- 
 swered Saul's wish in his behalf, at the close of his long 
 and prosperous reign, after subduing all his enemies, 
 and the dauntless boy had become the illustrious sage j 
 conscious of the blessings he enjoyed, the king exclaimed, 
 ' Who am I, and what is my house, that thou hast brought 
 me hither?' 
 
 " As great and ineffable as this blessing of God's pro- 
 tecting presence is in this life, how can I hope to display 
 the tremendous and inevitable necessity of its help in our 
 last hours on earth ? If it is so important to our happi- 
 ness and success in the brief interval allotted to men in 
 this world, to what unspeakable dimensions does it in- 
 crease with the approach of the next. If sorrow and 
 misfortune so darken the lives of the best men, that with- 
 out an omnipotent arm to lean upon existence is often a 
 well nigh insupportable burden, what shall be said of the 
 soul's agonized craving for help as it passes ' the dark 
 valley and shadow of death?' Oh ! that each of us could 
 realize the nature and extent of that dreadful emergency. 
 Would to God that all men would remember, ' We have 
 no continuing city in this world ;' that our lives, at best, 
 are but a short pilgrimage in a weary land. But brief 
 and uncertain as they are, and fearful and inevitable as 
 is the approach of death, if God has walked with us, and 
 
204 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 we with Him, the king of terrors is robbed of much that 
 is hideous in his aspect, and we 
 
 ' Approach our graves 
 Like one that draws the drapery of his couch 
 About him, and lies clown to pleasant dreams.' 
 
 " In contemplating such a close of 'life's fitful fever,' 
 even venal Balaam was enraptured as he viewed the 
 white tents and goodly array of the host he was sent to 
 curse. Disregarding the wishes of Balak, and recognizing 
 the blessedness of the chosen people of the Lord, he rap- 
 turously exclaimed : ' Let me die the death of the right- 
 eous, and let my last end be like his.' 
 
 " The circumstances which combine to show the advant- 
 age of those realizing in this life the continual protection 
 of God's presence, are so numerous that their very pro- 
 fusion is a source of embarrassment to him who, from 
 their vast number, essays to select illustrations to support 
 that which, by this time, should have become evident to 
 the understanding of all men. Some author has remarked 
 that an unbelieving astronomer is mad ; but the grand 
 thoughts and sublimated faith born of nightly vigils and 
 communion with the circling worlds which throng the 
 depths of infinite space, are no more necessary corolaries 
 than should be, to other men, an unfaltering trust in the 
 goodness of that care promised to the faithful. He that 
 keepeth Israel shall not slumber nor sleep. My brethren, 
 let us not repine under affliction or grow timid in con- 
 fronting calamity. Impenitent weakness may well grow 
 pale in the presence of danger and death. 
 
 'These thoughts may startle well, hut not a*toui)d, 
 The virtuous mind that ever walks attended 
 By a strong siding champion, conscience.' 
 
Mr. Grey. 205 
 
 " We know that darkness and solitude accompany him 
 through the battle of life who attempts to live without 
 the kindly offices and counsel of his fellows. Such men 
 have passed their time in wretched grandeur, and died 
 the monuments of their own folly. One of the saddest 
 of all truths that experience thrusts upon us amid our 
 social enjoyments is the fact that nothing is more uncer- 
 tain and more the sport of circumstances than this loving 
 exchange of regard. No species of hypocrisy is more 
 frequent than the show of affection between men. Self 
 interest and advancement are generally the controlling 
 motives which underly and direct human action un. 
 sanctified by the grace of God. It is from this main- 
 spring, added to the knowledge that unaided effort is 
 almost necessarily abortive, that men court the good will 
 of each other, and in this way, at rare intervals, have 
 been reared structures of love and confidence which stir 
 the blood in their recital, like the peal of a trumpet. 
 Who can read unmoved the story of Jonathan's love for 
 David, and the grief of the surviving hero at the fatal 
 tidings from Gilboa? 'I am distressed for thee, my 
 brother Jonathan : very pleasant hast thou been unto me : 
 thy love to me was wonderful, passing the love of woman.' 
 Then too, we have that sweetest of all sacred idyls, the 
 devotion of fair young Ruth to the desolate and widowed 
 Naomi. In profane story we have Pythagorean Damon 
 ready to die for his friend, and in later days the courage 
 of that high-born maiden who, hearing the footsteps of, 
 treason and death approaching her lord, thrust her own 
 beautiful arm as a bar into the iron fastning of the door. 
 
 ' Or her, who knew that Love can vanquish Death 
 Who kneeling, with one arm about her king, 
 Drew forth the poison with her balmy breath, 
 
 Sweet as new buds in Spring.' 
 
206 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " My brethren, let us thank God, there is noble and 
 disinterested friendship on earth, and as we recognize the 
 value of this privilege to what height of joy should we 
 rise, as we realize the possibility of the love of him who 
 crowneth us with mercy and loving kindness. 
 
 " How much better, then, was the simple benediction of 
 king Saul than all the elaborate worldly wisdom unsanc- 
 tified intelligence confers. Many of us have read with 
 pleasure the parting words of advice which the greatest 
 of the poets imagined in a wise and crafty father, to his 
 son on the threshold of manhood : 
 
 'To thine own self be true, 
 And it must follow as night the day 
 Thou canst not be false to any man.'' 
 
 " Brethren, the measure of our duty is not thus fulfilled, 
 for however perfect the discharge of our obligations to 
 man, our maker and preserver should be first in our 
 thoughts. The recognition of this all-important truth, 
 and the discharge of the dut}^ arising therefrom, assure 
 us happiness in this world and the next, and enable us 
 to trust him in whose goodness there is no variableness 
 nor shadow of turning. Of a man in such blessed estate 
 David has declared, ' He shall be like a tree planted by 
 the river of water, that bringeth forth his fruit in his 
 season ; his leaf also shall not wither, and whatsoever he 
 doeth shall prosper.' 
 
 " Then, if God goes with men, and great blessings fol- 
 low His gracious presence, the question naturally arises 
 why He walks not with every descendant of Adam? 
 The answer to this most important of all inquiries carries 
 us back to that paradise lost by our first parents. The 
 
Mr. Grey. 207 
 
 inborn proclivity to sin that led them astray has been 
 transmitted to all their posterity, and they have not 
 sought God in their counsels. If they have not declared 
 this in so many words, they have in their actions ; as did 
 the French mob when drunk with the blood of innocence, 
 as a climax to their infinite folly and shame, they forbade 
 religion, and paid to a prostitute the honors due Him. 
 How often, amid the wondrous and unceasing miracles 
 of the Exodus was Israel sighing for the flesh pots of 
 Egypt, and how could David, the man after God's own 
 heart, have so despised his favor, in his sin with Uriah's 
 wife ! Solomon perhaps enjoyed ail that his heart could 
 imagine, and yet, with his surpassing wisdom, was weak 
 enough to forfeit at last the crowning blessing of life, and 
 so it will be with all nations and individuals who forget 
 God. If we turn aside from him we need not look for 
 the large bounty of his promise, and it is only through 
 his forbearance that we, like the barren fig tree, are not 
 stricken down in our places. That he suffers men to 
 disregard his commands, persecute his church, and revile 
 his own holy name, does not show that the Lord is with 
 them, but it does prove that His mercy endureth forever. 
 " The divine favor to some men is often full of mystery 
 to us. The craft and subtilty of Jacob was preferred to 
 the unselfish magnanimity of Esau. The heroism and 
 devotion of Jonathan could not atone for the sins of his 
 father; and we can almost weep for Moses on the moun- 
 tain, when he went on Pisgah to die with Jordan still 
 pouring its flood between him and the promised land. 
 But God doeth all things well; and it is as sinful to 
 question his ways, as unwise to resist his decrees. There 
 is an old maxim among the English lawyers, that the 
 
208 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 king can do no harm to his subjects. They say, as the 
 sovereign is the source of all law, and liberty nothing 
 but franchises from the crown, therefore he can commit 
 no infraction of rules granted by himself. God is the 
 fountain of all truth and justice, and if he is gracious to 
 one individual, as in earl}' childhood to Samuel, we can 
 only say that we are clay in the potter's hands. If after 
 reaching accountability we lose his favor, it is only due 
 to our sins that such is the fact. God's rhoiee of men is 
 one of the inseparable attributes of his majesty. Let us 
 strive, my brethren, to make our calling and election 
 sure. 
 
 " Then we may say, it is evident to the eyes of all who 
 are not wilfully blind, that God is just in not walking 
 with every one. Saul might well say to the young lad 
 who, in the simplicity of his innocent trust, was willing 
 to die for the good of his people, ' Go, and may the Lord 
 be with you,' but how could Elijah have justified him- 
 self in using such language to king Ahab in any of his 
 war-like expeditions ? Could the mighty Tishbite, with 
 all the favor God so lavishly showered upon him, have 
 dared to invoke that pure presence upon such a man as 
 the husband of Jezebel ? Our sins drive God from us, 
 my brethren, often when he is moving upon our souls. 
 Since the cloven tongues of Pentecost, a richer heritage 
 of his grace has been given the world; but men in our 
 day grieve and expel the Holy Spirit as they did in an- 
 cient times. Do they forget there is a limit to the almost 
 infinite forbearance of God? Have they yet to hear the 
 declaration, ' My spirit shall not always strive with the 
 sons of men?' Can we not realize that 'out of Christ 
 the wrath of God is a consuming fire?' Alas! human 
 
Mr. Grey. 209 
 
 depravity sometimes reaches such a stage in its progress 
 to perdition, that the patient Saviour of the world con- 
 verts his pity into frowning and resistless indignation. 
 Oh ! my brethren, how shall I picture the state of a soul 
 without God and without hope in the world? What 
 shall I say of him who stands without an intercessor, ex- 
 posed to the anger of God? Whither shall he turn to 
 escape the tremendous energy of immortal wrath ? ' If I 
 ascend up into heaven,' says the Psalmist, ' thou art there ; 
 if I make my bed in hell, behold thou art there ; if I take 
 the wings of the morning and dwell in the uttermost 
 parts of the earth, even there shall thy hand lead me, and 
 thy right hand shall hold me.' 
 
 " The most appalling scene imaginable is that of a man 
 abandoned by heaven. I can conceive of nothing so ut- 
 terly wretched, as an immortal spirit thus given over by 
 God to irretrievable woe. Let us thank him that this is 
 seldom the case with those in the bloom of youth. Men, 
 wicked as the} 7 ' sometimes become, even at an early age,, 
 rarely sink so deeply at once in guilt as to banish the 
 wooing whisper of the still, small voice. We find the 
 hopelessly lost among those whose hoary heads are blos- 
 soming for the grave, and who in their long lives have 
 committed every crime which an imagination fertile in, 
 misdeeds and the conception thereof, can devise; who 
 have revelled for years in iniquity ; who have laughed to 
 scorn the warnings they have received ; who have rolled 
 sin as a sweet morsel under their tongues ; and whose 
 lives have been one long effort to resist the duty de- 
 manded at their hands. What a ghastly scene is the 
 death-bed of such a man ! How pitiable and weak has 
 then become the hardihood that derided morality and : 
 14 
 
210 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 despised justice ! How craven the spirit that once laughed 
 at danger, and seemed to bear a charmed life amid the 
 shafts of death ! Look at the shrunken limbs wasted by 
 disease contracted in nights of debauchery ! Hear the 
 feeble whine of that voice which once rang like a trum- 
 pet; look at that animated skeleton, and realize, if you 
 can, that here was once 
 
 4 A combination, and a form, indeed, 
 Where every God did seem to set his seal, 
 To give the world assurance of a man.' 
 
 Listen to the mutterings of the tongue, refusing to do its 
 office, in now useless prayer! See how the glaring eyes 
 grow dim, and the sunken cheeks pale in approaching 
 dissolution! and you will appreciate what it is to live 
 and die without hope in God. 
 
 " These remarks and the subject I have discussed to- 
 day, seem to me peculiarly appropriate at this seasou. 
 Some of } 7 ou, dear to my heart, who have long attended 
 my humble efforts to preach the gospel, are, like David, 
 about to go forth to encounter danger ; my heart yearns 
 for you when I think of the temptations that lie in wait 
 for you so thickly along the pathway of life. The straight 
 
 . and narrow way of truth, with all its beautiful simplicity, 
 is so apt to appear forbidding to the warm imagination 
 
 , of youth, that the seductions therefrom are too often suc- 
 cessful. ' Where- withal,' said the wisest of men, 'shall a 
 young man cleanse his way ?' And this remark implies 
 the difficulty of correct deportment at such an age. But 
 if youth is the period of warm passions, it is also that of 
 heart- tenderness. Habit and skepticism have not then 
 made callous the affections of the soul. Oh ! my young 
 
 .hearers, let me beseech you to love the Lamb of God, 
 
 
Mr. Grey. 211 
 
 while you are yet in the innocence and joy of the morn. 
 Let not the pleasures and vanities of this life pall on your 
 taste, before you begin the great work of preparation for 
 eternity. Ask of the libertine if he has found rest amid 
 his voluptuous indulgences, and you will find him mis- 
 erable. Go to the Sybarite, who is too refined to seek 
 pleasure in the gross joys of the sensualist, and he will 
 tell you his beautiful dreams of bliss are all unrealized. 
 Go to the man of ambition, and he will say the shouts of 
 popular applause are but two often the empty clamor of 
 ignorance. Inquire of him who revels in the delights of 
 fashionable society, and with experience he will agree 
 with Shenstone, 
 
 ' Whoe'er has traveled life's dull round, 
 Where'er its stages may have been. 
 May sigh to think he still has found 
 The warmest welcome at an inn.' 
 
 " Oh ! my brethren, trust to the experience of all men, 
 when they tell you the fleeting joys of this world turn to 
 ashes like Dead Sea fruit upon our lips. And now, in 
 conclusion, let us take to our hearts Saul's benediction to 
 David, and I say to those of you about to go out into the 
 great world, " May the Lord go with you ; and may the 
 grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, and the love of God, and 
 the fellowship of the Holy Ghost be with us all, evermore." 
 
 After the services had ended, Philip and Rosamond 
 lingered in the church-yard, walking slowly among the 
 monuments. The effect of the deep, shadowy quiet was 
 heightened by the presence of the dead. Mr. Grey's ser- 
 mon had much affected Philip, for he well knew he was 
 uppermost in the good man's thoughts, in the choice of 
 
212 The Heirs of Si Kilda. 
 
 his subject. The pointed allusions to himself; the un- 
 usual fervor of manner, and the unbidden tears, which 
 at times welled up in the minister's eyes, were all unmis- 
 takable symptoms of the affectionate interest on the part 
 of the teacher in his former pupil. Mr. Grey, on leaving 
 the chapel, and seeing the young couple near the marble 
 shaft raised to Templeton St. George's men: ory, joined 
 them and said : 
 
 " My children, I gave you my farewell warning to-day. 
 You are both going out from the homes which have so 
 long sheltered you from the hardships and temptations 
 of life. I trust you will both treasure up what I have 
 said, and remember that love dictated the counsel." 
 
 " Be sure, Mr. Grey," said Philip, " I shall never cease 
 to remember and reverence you. Your sermon to-day 
 lays me under fresh obligations, and I am sure, while life 
 and reason last, I shall frequently recall your counsel and 
 example. Rosamond and myself were just speaking of 
 you, sir." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Grey," said Rosamond, " we have been say- 
 ing such things about you as we really felt. We are older 
 than most boys and girls when sent from home for the 
 first time, and with the care that has been bestowed upon 
 us we should be recreant to forget the good advice you 
 have so often given us." 
 
 " Philip, when you are at the University I still love 
 as my Alma Mater, and you, Rosamond, in that giddy 
 city, I desire you both to write me whenever your minds 
 are troubled with doubt and temptation, and I will 
 endeavor in my replies to vindicate the ways of God with 
 man. Examine the foundations of our religion, and see 
 how from Abraham to the present day, not only the 
 
Mr. Grey. 213 
 
 prophecies have been fulfilled, but see in the types and 
 shadows the coming of Christ foretold as plainly as in 
 the rapt visions of Isaiah. The struggle between 
 •Christianity and infidelity still continues, and is ever 
 ■assuming new phases in the lapse of time. Rest assured 
 that a system which has triumphed so long will survive 
 unimpaired all future objections. I desire you to have 
 your faith serene, and in all your investigations on this 
 momentous subject, humbly trust in God for the truth, 
 and he will solve every doubt which may arise." 
 
 Philip felt a melancholy satisfaction in surveying the 
 objects around which, since his infancy,, had been so fami- 
 liar to his eyes. He was on the eve of his first consider- 
 able separation from them, and knew it would be years 
 before he again should know Ellesmere as his settled 
 domicile. It was natural that one who had been reared 
 in so much affection should now feel distressed, as the 
 shades of the lastevening at home deepened around him. 
 Long and tender were his conferences with Mariana and 
 Rosamond. The beautiful blind girl was giving up her 
 dearest earthly joy, but never a word escaped her to sad- 
 den the brother whose future usefulness much depended 
 on a wise separation from his home. Rosamond perhaps 
 felt a keener pang in parting: for deep as was the sister's 
 love, there was now in the heart of the cousin a passion 
 to which all other emotions pale their ineffectual fires. 
 Her tall, slender figure had latterly acquired wonderful 
 grace, and the dark eyes seemed to have deepened to 
 fathomless profundity, with their ever-changing betrayal 
 of the heart's images- 
 
214 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 PHILIP AT COLLEGE. 
 
 u There in each breast each active power dilates 
 Which broils whole nations, and convulses states; 
 And in a smaller range, a smaller sphere, 
 The dark deformities of man appear. 
 Yet there the gentler virtues kindred claim, 
 There Friendship lights her pure untainted flame, 
 There mild Benevolence delights to dwell, 
 And sweet Contentment rests without her cell." 
 
 — Childhood. 
 
 Philip had matriculated at the University as a mem- 
 ber of the senior class, and Arthur Kean, having accom- 
 panied him, was in the law school. Judge Eustace's 
 watchful care had not relaxed in its attention to the 
 comfort of his grandson, now that increasing years had 
 borne him from his immediate presence. An agent, sent 
 from Ellesmere, had rented for Philip and Arthur Kean 
 the spare rooms of a widowed lady, who lived in the 
 village, close to the walls encompassing the college campus, 
 and on their arrival they found every thing arranged for 
 immediate possession. The buildings and grounds at- 
 tached to the institution, the pretty village and pleasant 
 surrounding landscape atoned for much of the enjoyment 
 Philip had left behind him in the beautiful valley of his 
 nativity. He and Arthur Kean were soon strolling 
 through the walks where in golden-visioned youth had 
 loitered so many predecessors since grown famous in the 
 land. As they looked upon the ancient oaks they could 
 but remember the orators, statesmen, jurists, and divines, 
 who had there laid the foundations of their future great- 
 
Philip al College. 215 
 
 ness, and thrills of hope for future emulation expanded 
 the hearts so full of homage to maturer powers. One 
 vast poplar, towering the monarch of all its surrounding 
 companions, was pointed out as hallowed by many a tra- 
 dition of deeds yet remembered in college legend. 
 
 Everything around wore a look of studious repose, and 
 the venerable walls of the buildings seemed redolent of 
 memories haunting their chambers. Hundreds of stud- 
 ents sauntered on the walks, or clustered around the 
 stone steps of the different edifices, while lusty shouts 
 greeted the ears of each luckless freshman who dared 
 to show himself unaccompanied by an. older member of 
 college. Kean and Philip, being of the class denominated 
 " newies" were thus saluted ; but someone knowing their 
 position shouted at the top of his voice the truth of their 
 status, which acted like a charm, for every one was by 
 traditional usage forced to treat a senior as one of earth's 
 magnates. They were looked upon as an aristocracy in 
 their little republic, and members of the lower classes 
 were proud of the honor of their notice and acquaintance. 
 The sophomores, who had emerged from the thraldom 
 of freshman year six weeks before, looked down on their 
 successors in immeasurable disdain, and were their chief 
 tormentors. As the two friends were passing the front of 
 the south building, they were recognized by Alfred 
 Ridgely, the only son of the master of Knowlton in St. 
 Kilda Valley. He had been at Ellesmere during the past 
 vacation, and had just arrived. 
 
 " Philip, I am glad to see you at the University, at 
 last/' said he. " Allow me to extend my congratulations 
 on your success in getting into the senior class; for five 
 graduates of a respectable institution, who were desirous 
 
216 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 of taking degrees here, were forced to enter our class last 
 year as we rose juniors." 
 
 "Thank you," said Philip. "Several of the faculty 
 desired me to do the same. They did not object to my 
 scholarship, but disliked to grant diplomas to those who 
 have not been members of the University two years. My 
 grandfather had written to the president, and I suppose 
 his influence was the cause of my success." 
 
 " The Governor, as we call him," said Alfred Ridgely, 
 " is a trump, and I advise you to make him your friend, 
 for in my estimation he is one of our first men, and is 
 as kind as a father to those so fortunate as to attract his 
 esteem." 
 
 " I am much pleased with him," said Philip, " but he 
 certainly would make the worst model for a statue of 
 Apollo I have ever seen among men not actually deform- 
 ed. There is much dignity and kindness in his face, but 
 I do not believe that even his wife could have ever 
 thought him handsome." 
 
 " I am not certain of that," said Ridgely, "for I have 
 often heard women speak of the beauty of their husbands 
 whose charms were undiscoverable to other eyes. Shak- 
 spearedid not over-step the modesty of nature very much 
 when he made Bottom declare, 'Truth, reason and love 
 keep little company together.' " 
 
 Frederick Compton, having joined them, had been 
 pointing out to Kean so many students, that the latter 
 was surprised at the amount of information acquired in 
 the two days he had been a member of the University. 
 Philip invited his two acquaintances to tea with him that 
 evening, and they were soon in his rooms. Alfred 
 Ridgely was four years older than Philip, and had been 
 
Philip at College. Ill 
 
 much of his time absent from home; so the two young 
 men had seen little of each other for years, except in va- 
 cation. After supper, Philip joined his guests in their 
 enjoyment of the Virginia weed, for in reaching his col- 
 lege dignity he had taken a step beyond occasional cigars 
 to the superior dignity of the learned pipe. 
 
 " Well, Philip," said Fred. Compton, "this is not like 
 running red foxes and getting snapped up by wounded 
 wolves." 
 
 " No," answered Philip ; " but as Reginald Vane is to 
 marry cousin Helen, she will keep him so close at home, 
 game will be abundant by the time we get back. He lias 
 promised to keep the cover at the foot of Sorrell's Peak 
 inviolate until we can make another raid upon its peace." 
 
 " Philip," said Ridgely, " you will have to be careful 
 with your horses, or you will have them ruined here. I 
 brought Nelly Gwynn with me last winter, and I fear my 
 friends have injured her so much she will never recover. 
 It was a rare scene, w T hen Bob Truesdale, to whom I 
 loaned her, spoilt for the sake of a frolic one of the gamest 
 animals I ever saw." 
 
 " How was that, Ridgely?" cried all. 
 
 " It was a muster day for the militia, and as the regi- 
 ment was to parade near the University, many of the 
 students went to the field to witness the evolutions of 
 their country's defenders. After much bargaining among 
 the countrymen, a large portion of the students mounted 
 themselves for a drill under Truesdale, who had been a 
 member of a volunteer cavalry company at home. The 
 colonel of the militia did not relish the idea of this op- 
 position on the field which he had supposed the peculiar 
 theatre of his own glory, and sent a guard, armed with 
 
218 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 unloaded shot guns, to expel the intruders, by this time 
 often charging and wheeling in alarming proximity to 
 his regimental flanks. The improvised cavalrymen had, 
 by general contribution, purchased a barrel of whisky, 
 and were ready to say with Tom O'Shanter: 
 
 ' With tupenny we fear no evil, 
 With usquebah we'd face the devil.' 
 
 The demand made by the guard, that they should quit 
 the field, was resented as an insult to free Americans ; 
 and soon, instigated by drink and their own native dev- 
 iltry, the students had the luckless squad of infantry in 
 rapid retreat on their main body. The colonel had just 
 deployed his command, when by order of Truesdale the 
 literary horsemen, howling like savages, charged in mad 
 career full upon the startled militia. Never was field so 
 quickly won or ingloriously abandoned. The mounted 
 officers led the confused mass, as with flying feet they 
 sought the shelter of a neighboring wood. Elated with 
 their victory, they came to town with the horses they had 
 hired for only an hour, and made night hideous with 
 their clamorous charges through the streets. The militia 
 were so badly frightened they recovered their horses as 
 quietly as possible, making but small mention of a dis- 
 aster which doubtless many of them considered a defeat 
 as fearful if not as bloody as Waterloo itself." 
 
 " What did the university authorities say on the sub- 
 ject ?" said Kean. " The story must have reached their 
 ears." 
 
 " They doomed Truesdale to perpetual exile from these 
 sacred haunts." 
 
 " Is our Greek Professor a man of violent temper ?" 
 
Philip at College. 219 
 
 asked Philip. " My first impression led me to think he 
 was very pleasant, but in his examination of me on the 
 Greek tragedies, after dwelling, as I thought, long enough 
 on the third syllable of Philodetes to please the ear of the 
 most fastidious critic, I heard him, as it were, gasping for 
 breath. I looked at his countenance, and O horror ! he 
 was glaring on me like a fiend. His eyes flashed with 
 fury— the muscles of his face hideously distorted — and 
 when I discovered the cause of all this wrath, it was oc- 
 casioned by my shortening that ante-penult." 
 
 Before Philip had ended this description, Ridgely fell 
 into a fit of ungovernable laughter, astonishing the others, 
 who could not imagine any ground for so much mirth in 
 Philip's account of ill-humor iu the Professor. 
 
 " Heaven send us no direr wrath than swells the genial 
 heart of that man," said Ridgely. " Philip, excuse me, 
 for your description of Mr. Reiter's horror of a false 
 quantity, and the idea of that harmless gentleman's rage, 
 was so amusing I could not control myself. There is not 
 a gentler man alive, and the fury you imagined as con- 
 torting his face was nothing but an unfortunate habit of 
 making wry faces, to be rid of which he, I expect, would 
 give a kingdom. I have never known a kinder heart. 
 Whenever in a position to justify it. he treats the youngest 
 student with as much consideration as Gov. Young him- 
 self. His eccentricity has enabled the wags of all the 
 classes to teaze him unmercifully, but his good temper 
 survives unharmed all these trials." 
 
 Occasional shouts were heard in the campus, which 
 soon swelled into a wild uproar ; and his friends know- 
 ing nothing of what they meant were told by Ridgely 
 that the blacking club was going its rounds, and the 
 
220 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 members amusing themselves with painting the faces of 
 the freshmen. A pistol shot was fired about this time, 
 and the report reached the four young men through the 
 open windows as they sat conversing. This so excited 
 Frederick Compton, that he proposed to go to the build- 
 ings to learn the nature of the difficulty calling for the 
 use of deadly weapons. 
 
 " I advise you, Compton, to stay where you are," said 
 Ridgely. " The faculty will certainly be on hand to put 
 a stop to the affair, and your going there might subject 
 you to misconstruction." 
 
 " Yes, I would certainly remain here, Frederick," said 
 Kean. " These violent aggressions of the older students 
 upon the young boys just from home are wrong and 
 should be discountenanced. I can see neither wit nor 
 propriety in the invasion, by strong and experienced 
 young men, of the room of a poor stripling grieving for 
 his newly-lost protectors. Instead of there being pleasure 
 in such proceedings, they are, in my opinion, unmanly 
 and disgraceful. I suppose those who participate in such 
 things think it ludicrous if a friendless boy should be 
 terrified at the menaces of a large crowd hideously dis- 
 guised in their clothing and the liquor which has made 
 them brutes." 
 
 " Oh, I did not expect to join in the blacking," said 
 Compton. " I only wished to see what was going on." 
 
 " Then, Fred.," said Philip, " you are countenancing 
 these proceedings. I am determined never to engage in 
 anything I should be ashamed to confess." 
 
 A knock was heard at the front door, and Philip's 
 servant, Reuben, coming into the room, announced Gov. 
 Young. Philip at once went to meet hira. 
 
Philip at College. 221 
 
 " Mr. Eustace," said he, " I am glad to find you at home 
 this evening, as there is a serious disturbance among the 
 students. I hope you will always continue to act with 
 the same discretion, when the folly of others leads them 
 to such acts as you hear going on in the campus. Your 
 father and grandfather were students of whom this insti- 
 tution has ever been proud, and I trust you will follow 
 their example." 
 
 " I shall assuredly try, sir." 
 
 Gov. Young glanced in to see who was present, and 
 taking down their names departed. 
 
 " Gov. Young is one of the most remarkable men, in 
 many respects, I ever knew," said Ridgely. " He was 
 born and reared with but slender advantages, and yet 
 has not only reached high judicial honor and the chief 
 magistracy of his State, but is now recognized as one of 
 the ablest college presidents of the land." 
 
 Four students, unacquainted with Philip, called at the 
 door to request him to allow one of them, who had 
 received a pistol shot in the shoulder, to use one of his 
 rooms until he could obtain medical assistance. This 
 was of course granted. The wounded man was a fair- 
 haired youth from one of the extreme Southern States, 
 and the pallor and nervous twitchingsof his countenance 
 plainly told of the torture he was wndergoing. He was 
 a young man of noble presence, and Philip wondered at 
 the singular combination of grace and stoicism exhibited 
 in his suffering. He was laid upon a lounge, and one of 
 his friends went for a doctor. Charles Loundes, (for 
 this was his name), by an odd mixture of gentleness and 
 utter disregard of danger, was a great favorite among the 
 hot-spurs, and by his talents won the respectful consider- 
 
222 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 ation of those who could not commend his reckless lead- 
 ership in all the frolics and mischief for months past 
 Philip, as he took his hand in introduction, could but 
 observe the high-born courtesy triumphing over pain. 
 
 " I hope you are not hurt seriously, Mr. Loundes," 
 said Philip, bending over him and removing the bloody 
 clothing. 
 
 " I fear I am," said the sufferer, "but it is just punish- 
 ment for countenancing conduct which my own better 
 judgment condemned as brutal. I was knocked up last 
 year, in trying to prevent the same thing to which I was 
 at least consenting this time. My chief fear is that 
 the matter will reach the faculty and cause my expul- 
 sion." 
 
 "Reuben," said Kean, "bring plenty of cold water. I 
 am confident that will be the medical treatment prescribed 
 when the physician arrives." 
 
 Dr. Johnson soon made his appearance, and having 
 extracted the ball, which had not penetrated as deeply 
 as at first expected, administered anodynes both from his 
 medical chest and the fascination of his conversation. 
 
 " Mr. Loundes," said he, " you seem unlucky. Last 
 year about this time you were laid up with a broken 
 head, and now you are again under the weather. The 
 fates seem fond of playing you tricks." 
 
 " Yes, Doctor, I am an unlucky dog, although many of 
 my friends think I was born with a silver spoon in my 
 mouth." 
 
 " You had better be still here until morning," said the 
 doctor, " that is, if you do not incommode the gentlemen 
 occupying these rooms." 
 
 " Not at all," said Philip. " We shall be glad to enter* 
 
Philip at College. 223 
 
 tain Mr. Loundes. If he desires it he can occupy one of 
 our rooms until he recovers." 
 
 " I am under many obligations to you, Mr. Eustace, for 
 your kindness," said Loundes, " but I must get back as 
 early as possible to my chum. He will be lonely if I stay 
 until this wound heals, for I expect it will keep me a 
 close prisoner for at least a month. I think, after an 
 hour or two, it will be best for me, under the friendly 
 cover of the night, to regain my own quarters. I should 
 have occupied them as soon as I came to grief, but I found 
 they were in possession of the faculty, and had to change 
 my base and assume a new position." 
 
 " Well, go when you please," said the Doctor, " but be 
 particular, and do not jar yourself. If you will keep 
 your arm in a sling, and not move the injured muscles, 
 I can promise you speedy restoration, for it seems you are 
 hard to kill anyhow." 
 
 " What do you think of Dave Fisher's case to-day, 
 Doctor?" said Ridgely. 
 
 " He is very nearly gone, and there is scarcely a hope 
 of his recovery. He staid here during the vacation, and 
 has not seen any of his family for two years. The pros- 
 pect of seeing them no more on earth seems very distress- 
 ing to him, and I wish they lived near enough to reach 
 him in time, as, in that event, I would telegraph im 
 mediately." 
 
 " He was a fellow of infinite jest," said Ridgely, with a 
 sigh, "indeed a very Yorick in disposition. I have often 
 sent for him to night suppers in my room, and, though 
 there were but few present, he would make an after-din- 
 ner speech witty enough to set any table in a roar. Alas! 
 poor Fisher, where are his jests now ?" 
 
224 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " Not to change the subject, Ridgely," said the Doctor, 
 "Mr. Eustace, you must be in some way related to our 
 present Governor." 
 
 " I am his son, sir." 
 
 " I had supposed so, for you bear strong resemblance 
 in feature to him ; but in your length of limb you are 
 more like your grandfather. You must be full six feet 
 in height." 
 
 " That is my present altitude, sir." 
 
 " What has become of Percival St. George? I knew 
 him in Paris, and I am confident he was then the hand- 
 somest man alive. We went together to the opera, and 
 heard that wonderful girl whose subsequent death, I 
 learned, so nearly resulted in his own." 
 
 "My cousin is nearly the same he has been for the last 
 ten years, and preserves much of his comliness, but is 
 much altered from what he was when you saw him." 
 
 " I was never so attracted by a man/' said the Doctor, 
 "and for hours I have looked on, enraptured with his 
 ceaseless gaiety, and half realized he was some embodi- 
 ment of those old dreams which peopled our woods with 
 fauns. His person was the study of artists, and the 
 charm of his manner was such, that it seemed I could 
 never tire of his presence. How he could deny himself 
 to society, when his simple appearance was sufficient to 
 gain all hearts, passes my comprehension. I have sighed 
 to think his beauty and vivacity should ever be clouded 
 and lost in the ruin of age. I was never sentimental 
 about women, but Percival St. George interested me so I 
 shall never forget him. Mr. Kean, I understand you 
 were in Europe." 
 
 " Five years of my life were spent there, sir." 
 
Philip at College. 225 
 
 "lam afraid we shall not come up to your ideas of 
 what a University should be. Indeed I think it a farce 
 to call a literary institution with a law school attached a 
 University." 
 
 "It is certainly a misnomer," said Kean, "if we mean 
 by the term to convey the idea developed at Oxford and 
 Cambridge, in England, and similar seats of learning on 
 the continent. In their numerous schools can be found 
 a particular foundation for instruction in everything 
 worth knowing among men." 
 
 Charles Loundes now concluded that this was a favor- 
 able time for him to effect his retreat, and he soon reached 
 his room in the south building, without attracting the 
 attention of the faculty. The conversation was continued 
 in the room he had left until late in the night. The 
 next day he was doing so well he was able to entertain 
 many friends who came to inquire as to his condition.. 
 He had been, since Truesdale's expulsion, the leader in 
 all mischief-making and tricks upon the faculty. In ad- 
 dition to his fine presence and generosity, he was largely 
 gifted with natural eloquence. There was a singular 
 firmness in his adhesion to the strange ethics he had 
 adopted, and with many his opinions had grown in 
 weight, until they possessed the sanctions of law. He 
 believed it the moral duty of every collegian to wage war 
 on the faculty whenever opportunity afforded. This he 
 held to be a natural and fore-ordained state of things, not 
 to be prosecuted however to any further injury of the 
 body or estate of his fancied enemy than circumstances 
 required. The faculty were to be treated with respect in 
 their presence, but on other occasions everything which 
 did not involve positive injury to their character became 
 15 
 
226 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 legitimate as an engine to bring them into ridicule. 
 Added to this, he was the best shot, the most daring rider, 
 and the hardest head to confuse with liquor, and nothing 
 is wanting to account for his ascendency but the mention 
 of his lavish expenditure of his wealth. 
 
 The next morning he was lying propped up in bed, 
 and was entertaining his friends in a style which evinced 
 no depression' of spirit from his' recent accident. He had 
 written, by the hand of a crony, a note to the young 
 freshman who shot him, commending his pluck, and 
 disclaiming any ill feeling on his part. He freely avowed 
 that he was the man hit, and threw himself on the boy's 
 generosity to say nothing of the affair. He had been 
 waiting for more than an hour to hear what the lad would 
 say to his peaceful overtures, and nothing had been heard 
 from his trusty commissioner, Larkins, except that things 
 were working well. This information was conveyed on a 
 small piece of folded paper thrown out of the window to 
 ; a confederate awaiting despatches below. At length the 
 envoy returned with a message from Sidney Hay, that as 
 the affair had taken its present turn, he was sorry to have 
 injured Loundes, and would visit him during the day. 
 The crowd in Hay's room the night before were disposed 
 to beat him for firing the pistol, but when the weapon was 
 wrested from his hands, and the blacking consummated. 
 Loundes had gravely assured the crowd he would hold 
 any man personally responsible for further injury to the 
 boy. This was sufficient to secure him from further moles- 
 ■ tation. 
 
 " Well, Charley," said Henry Norton, " where did you 
 take yourself last night, when you found the faculty in 
 your room?" 
 
Philip at College. 227 
 
 *' I went to Mrs. Bowles' house, now occupied by two 
 new men. Eustace and Kean are their names, and they 
 are living in a style surpassing anything I have ever seen 
 among students." 
 
 " Ridgely says Eustace is as rich as a nabob," said 
 Norton, "and I suppose he can afford it, but I don't see 
 any necessity for his giving himself such airs." 
 
 "I don't suppose he thinks of his manner, Norton. 
 Ridgely says he has been all his life at home, shut up 
 with grandees and private tutors. I expect this has 
 caused the hauteur you dislike, but in ray opinion he 
 has the finest manner I have ever seen in a fellow who 
 knows so little of the world." 
 
 " How did he receive you, Charley?" said another. 
 
 " Well, he was on his dignity until he heard I was 
 hurt, and then he became as pleasant as a May morning. 
 He has two splendid horses here, and, they s&y, many 
 more just as fine at home." 
 
 "I saw them going to water yesterday," said Larkins, 
 " and I cannot tell, for the life of me, which I prefer, the 
 black or the gray. Charlie, I need not ask you how you 
 liked that wine he gave us; I could see how you relished 
 it." 
 
 " A drink fit for the gods !" said Loundes. 
 
 Dr. Johnson now made his appearance, followed by 
 Philip's man Reuben, who came to present his master's 
 compliments, and to ask how Mr. Loundes had rested, 
 and further to beg his acceptance of a few bottles of 
 wine, hoping he would find them beneficial in his sick- 
 ness. 
 
 " Loundes," said the doctor, " the wine will be of service 
 
228 The Heirs of St. Kilda.- 
 
 to you, if properly used — but I need not say too much.' 
 will endanger your life." 
 
 " I will drink it to a drop in accordance with your di- 
 rections. Larkins, write to Mr. Eustace, and say I ana 
 doing well, and would be pleased to see him here. Tender 
 him ray thanks for his kindness- last night, and the wine 
 he has sent," 
 
 After Dr. Johnston had examined and dressed the 
 wound, he filled his pipe and sat down for a talk. 
 
 " Loundes," said he, " those young men down at Mrs. 
 Bowles' are fine fellows, and I do not know when I have 
 met two strangers who have impressed me more agree- 
 ably. They are men of good sense and have evidently 
 been well raised." 
 
 " They are devilish nice fellows, doctor; at least, Eus- 
 tace is. I cannot say that I fancy Kean so much. Is not 
 Eustace fine looking?" 
 
 " His is the most remarkable family in that respect I 
 ever saw. They are all very much alike. You have 
 seen Gov. Eustace here, and know his appearance, but 
 Percival St. George, of whom you heard me speak last 
 night, when he was young would have attracted Venus 
 from Adonis himself." 
 
 Philip, with no effort of his own, was now winning the 
 favorable opinion of those students whose acquaintance 
 could not be reasonably expected to afford much advan- 
 tage beyond an enlargement of his knowledge of human 
 character. With most youths this sudden introduction 
 to the favor of one like Charles Loundes would have been 
 too apt to result in disaster, unless the bad influence 
 should be counteracted by something extraordinary. In 
 the evening after prayers, Philip and Kean rode out on- 
 
PJiilip at College. 229 
 
 horseback, and enjoyed the soft outlines of the surround- 
 ing countr} r . The}' found that the village, which sur- 
 rounded the University on three sides, was situated on a 
 lofty hill with many beautiful views around. It fell far 
 below the attractiveness of the grander elevations which 
 held in everlasting embrace the happy Valley of St. 
 Kilda. Philip's mind and heart went back to those 
 fondly remembered haunts, and dwelt tenderly on the 
 memory of his fair home, and the dear ones clustered 
 around the family altars at Ellesmere. On their return 
 they rode into the campus and up to the building where 
 Loundes lay disabled. Kean sat on horseback and held 
 the horses while Philip made a hasty call on the wounded 
 chief. 
 
 The students gathered around to inspect the beauty of 
 the steeds, and Black Sultan resented the unusual con- 
 course and scrutiny by angry symptoms of his displeasure, 
 but Philip having returned, the proud animal moved off 
 as if half conscious of the applause he was exciting. 
 The next morning was the occurrence of his first Sabbath 
 at college, and at the ringing of the bell the two friends 
 repaired to the chapel. Here they observed several pretty 
 faces among the village girls, but one, a daughter of a 
 professor, was surpassingly love!}'. Philip thought of 
 Mariana and Rosamond as soon as he saw her, although 
 her beauty was of an entirely different order. The 
 heiress of Thorndale's face was full of passionate longing, 
 and her full, dark eyes seemed over aglow with some 
 subtle enthusiasm, while the grey eyes of the University 
 beauty were cold and passionless. The serenity of Mariana, 
 with her abstract and heavenly illumination, seemed half 
 (unconscious of things around, but Lilly Seaton was full 
 
230 The Hem of St. Kilda. 
 
 of observation for everything that transpired in her 
 watchful presence. Philip had heard Alfred Ridgely 
 frequently refer to her attractiveness, for he, like a host 
 of others, was desperately in love with the belle of the- 
 college. 
 
 One of the professors was to preach, and took for his- 
 text the parable of Dives and Lazarus. He was a short, 
 stout man, with a harsh voice and large, fier} r e^^es, and 
 was full of curious ideas of elocution. He w T as always- 
 insisting on the student's suiting their voices to the mat- 
 ter declaimed,, and, never being satisfied with their per- 
 formances, was eagerly criticized himself whenever an 
 opportunity offered. He commenced his sermon with a 
 dry recital of the story of the rich man's profligac\; how 
 he spent his time in purple and fine clothing, and amid 
 his feasts disregarded the hungry pauper at his gate,, 
 until between the tedious story he made of it, and the 
 humdrum tone of his voice, the performance became so 
 decidedly soj)orific on a large portion of an audience 
 Boanerges could not have kept awake, that many were- 
 fast asleep. Suddenly he reached ths end of his story. 
 The rich man had lost his purple and fine linen, he had 
 consumed his last good dinner, and with Lazarus was m 
 the land 
 
 "From whose bourne no- traveller returns."" 
 
 Dives in torment lifted up his eyes and beheld the- 
 pauper in Abraham's bosom. The venerable stickler for 
 suiting the voice to the matter, carried out his theory, and 
 in a voice of thunder shouted the vain imploration re- 
 corded of Dives. The effect was an instantaneous awak- 
 
Philip at College, 231 
 
 ening of all the sleepers, and called forth a storm of 
 laughter from the entire congregation. Philip had always 
 been remarkable for his decorum in church, but this 
 scene was too much for his gravity. 
 
 His careful and elaborate training in the classics and 
 higher mathematics did not afford Philip an opportunity 
 of displaying his erudition, as his class had finished these 
 studies with the junior year, but in natural science, 
 metaphysics, and constitutional law, he found many 
 competitors who occasioned him severe application to 
 keep pace with the foremost. Alfred Ridgely and several 
 others were young men of close study and fine abilities, 
 but he was determined to fall behind none, and soon 
 occupied a position among the leading minds of his class. 
 He became a favorite with the professors and the reading 
 men among the students, and won the hearts of all by 
 mingled firmness and suavity. He soon learned the 
 status of Charles Loundesand his followers, and by adroit 
 management escaped being drawn into their society more 
 than he wished. They knew his love of field sports, and 
 had heard of his success in the match between Tempest 
 and Pepin, and these were things that filled them with 
 admiration. He met Loundes and Norton one evening, 
 as he and Arthur Kean were visiting at the house of one 
 of the professors. Lily Seaton, having heard they were 
 musicians, induced them to astonish the two madcaps 
 with some of the grand combinations which long practice 
 had enabled them to produce together. Loundes returned 
 to his room, and declared that he had always before had 
 a contempt for men who used the piano, as it was only 
 fit for women to play on, but now he would give half his 
 estate for the skill of either. This gave the two friends 
 
232 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 much eclat in the limited circle of society in the village, 
 but they had cultivated their musical taste for quiet 
 enjoyment, so it was soon understood that applications 
 for them to play in mixed assemblies were distasteful. 
 
 The literary society to which they belonged was a 
 source of much interest to both ; and the long and earnest 
 debates were as novel to Kean as to Philip. In Germany, 
 in other respects, the opportunities of mental culture are 
 almost perfect ; but Arthur had not there enjoyed the lib- 
 erty of untrammeled discussion ; here he at once under- 
 stood the secret of frequent public eminence among the 
 graduates of this institution. It was a matter of aston- 
 ishment to him to see young men, who yawned through 
 the hour of recitation, given to the study of Athenian 
 and Roman genius, vexing the dull ear of night with tire- 
 less harangues, whenever subjects of moment were selected 
 for debate. Kean, knowing the importance of participa- 
 tion in these discussions to himself, eagerly embraced the 
 opportunity thus afforded for forensic preparation, and 
 soon inspired Philip with a kindred feeling. They early 
 discovered the advantage of their opponents, who had en- 
 joyed years of practice in this the most cumulative of nil 
 arts. No man. was ever a great speaker at once ; for labor 
 and habit are absolutely essential in the matter. Charles 
 Loundes was also highly interested, whenever the debates 
 had the slightest connection with politics, past or present. 
 
 The leader of the madcaps had recovered from his 
 wound, and if the faculty ever knew the secret of his in- 
 jury, they thought him sufficiently punished. He was at 
 times brilliantly eloquent, for nature seemed to have sup- 
 plied him with a store of metaphor and allusion, which 
 was never wanting, when occasion offered, for sparkling 
 
Philip at College. 233 
 
 effect. His anecdotes, and his mode of telling them, were 
 inimitable; and he often gained, by ridicule, where his 
 logic would have been utterly unavailing. Kean and 
 Philip soon learned to respect him as an opponent, while 
 his admiration for them tempered the sarcasm with which 
 he would, otherwise, have assailed their positions. The 
 two societies were noted for the dignity of bearing to be 
 observed in their sessions, and anything which in a stu- 
 dent's morality was thought dishonorable in a member, 
 was followed by summary expulsion from the body. This 
 was equivalent to banishment from college, for the faculty 
 allowed no student to remain who had been declared, in 
 this way, unworthy of the companionship of his peers. 
 These trials for grave misdemeanor were solemn and 
 scrupulously conscientious in their investigations, and no 
 instance is recorded of injustice done those who have suf- 
 fered by their judgments. It is true, that in one case a 
 student was accused and convicted of high crime and ex- 
 pelled from the society, who afterwards reformed and be- 
 came a great man in the councils of the nation. ,, ■ 
 
 Philip soon had occasion to witness the high moral 
 motives actuating his fellow students on such occasions. 
 A member of his society, named McSnout, had frequently 
 distrusted him bv his coarseness and ill-nature in debate. 
 He was possessed of rugged good sense, but was a bully 
 in disposition. After a desperate fight with Loundes, 
 against whose supremacy he had plotted, having lost the 
 respect of gentlemen, he became the leader of the lowest 
 and most contemptible spirits in the institution, and was 
 in the eyes of the faculty an unmitigated nuisance For 
 sometime he had been too crafty for detection amid the 
 drunken debaucheries in which he passed nearly every 
 
234 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 night; but at last, in a state of beastly intoxication, after 
 the commission of a flagrant outrage, he was detected 
 and dismissed. In a few months he would have gradu- 
 ated, and his clique made many complaints, that after his 
 long stay he should thus miss his diploma. The sentence 
 of dismission, unlike that of expulsion, did not involve 
 hopelessness of return ; and it was urged by his friends, 
 that the society should petition the faculty to allow him 
 to rejoin his class. Philip and a majority of the members 
 arguing that prudent management in similar cases had 
 caused the faculty to treat such applications with respect, 
 by which hardships under their decisions had been reme- 
 died, opposed doing anything in McSnout's behalf. To 
 do so in such a case as this, where every one saw the ne- 
 cessity of punishment, they thought would impair the 
 effect of petitions on the part of the society, whose judi- 
 cious conduct heretofore had led to its success. In the 
 course of the debates, one of McSnout's friends grossly 
 insulted an inoffensive young man, who was courteously 
 opposing his wishes. At the suggestion of the presiding 
 officer, Philip, who was near the offender, Goals, promptly 
 seized him, and, in spite of his resistance, put him out of 
 the hall. This was on Tuesday at a called meeting, and 
 it is hardly necessary to state that McSnout's wishes were 
 refused by the society. 
 
 " Philip," said Charles Loundes, two nights later, in the 
 room of the former, " I advise you to prepare yourself for 
 a difficulty. McSnout and Goals, with several others, are 
 going around bullying every one who said anything 
 against petitioning for that scoundrel's return. They 
 have insulted White, and swear they will settle accounts 
 with you. Though I did not say anything on the occa- 
 
Philip at College. 235 
 
 sion, for fear some one might think me actuated by the 
 old grudge existing between McSnout and myself, I have 
 come to see you out, if they dare show fight here. Where 
 is Kean ?" 
 
 " He has gone out for a law recitation," said Philip. 
 " I appreciate your kindness, Charles. Here is the pistol 
 with which I shot the wolf last Christmas, but promise 
 me to reserve your fire until you see an absolute ne- 
 cessity." 
 
 " Oh, never fear," said Loundes. " I have waged seven 
 battles here with pistols in reach, but have shot no one 
 as yet." 
 
 " I shall not receive those visitors in my room," said 
 Philip, " so we will go to the front porch, and await their 
 approach." 
 
 They went out and took their seats in the moonlight, 
 and it was not long before they heard angry voices com- 
 ing dowui the street. Several men halted at the gate, one 
 of whom they recognized as McSnout. He inquired if 
 Philip Eustace was in, and being informed that he was, 
 came with another to the steps. 
 
 " Mr. Eustace," said McSnout, " I have come to demand 
 of you an explanation of your conduct in opposing the 
 petition for my recall." 
 
 " I am here, sir, to vindicate my right to say I shall 
 give you no explanation on the subject." 
 
 " Who are you, sir, standing up there in the dark?" 
 
 " Charles Loundes, at your service, Mr. McSnout," and 
 the fearless athlete came down to the front step." 
 
 " Mr. Eustace," said McSnout, " I think you very un- 
 reasonable in injuring me, as you have, and then refusing 
 me satisfaction." 
 
236 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " I have done nothing of the kind," said Philip. "I 
 hold myself responsible for all my actions." 
 
 "Then, sir," said Goals, "I hope you are ready to an- 
 swer for your conduct on Tuesday." 
 
 He was standing in front of Loundes, and, with the 
 conclusion of his words, rapidly drew a pistol which was 
 not leveled before his quick-sighted antagonist had 
 stricken. him senseless with a slung-shot. McSnout at- 
 tempted to stab Philip with a Bowie-knife, but a single 
 blow with a stick was sufficient to quell him. The two 
 friends were by this time in readiness for the others, who 
 still stood at the gate. As they made no demonstration 
 of attack. Philip called to them to carry off their disabled 
 comrades, who were now disarmed and helpless. A loud 
 laugh was heard near the gate, and the ponderous form 
 of Dr. Melton, the Professor of Natural Science, drew 
 near. J^. 
 
 " Young gentlemen," said he, " I have been watching 
 these tw T o bullies ever since they left Mr. White, and you 
 have served them the neatest trick my old eyes have seen 
 for many a long day. You both know my theory, that 
 in a rfundred men there must be, of necessity, some 
 scoundrels. Xow to my certain knowledge, the two 
 biggest scamps in this institution are lying like dead 
 dogs at your feet." 
 
 " Doctor," said Philip, " v/e have done what we believed 
 our duty. These men were apparently seeking our lives." 
 
 "I know all the circumstances of the case," said Dr. 
 Melton. " You did your duty to the society, by your op- 
 position to troubling the faculty with the petition in be- 
 half of McSnout. I wish Mr. Loundes you always had 
 as good reason for your other fights. Let us carry your 
 
V 
 
 Philip at College. 237 
 
 prisoners in, and see the amount of damage inflicted upon 
 them." 
 
 They found Goals much more seriously stunned than 
 his abettor, and cold water soon induced McSnout to open 
 his eyes, but to hide his shame he assumed delirium. 
 
 "You need not attempt that game, Mr. McSnout," said 
 Dr. Melton, "you cannot deceive me. You should be 
 ashamed of yourself, to be coming here without permis- 
 sion of the faculty, and getting your head broken in this 
 way." 
 
 The sullen and thoroughly cowed bully waited until 
 patience and Dr. Melton's skill recalled Goals to con- 
 sciousness, when they were again addressed by the stern 
 old man : 
 
 " I have been watching you both to night in your brutal 
 course, and I am glad we are now to be rid of your further 
 presence; for the absolute necessity of your banishment 
 has been long recognized. After your dismission, Mr. 
 McSnout, you have returned in defiance of our wishes, 
 and came here with Mr. Goals prepared to assassinate Mr, 
 Eustace. I now declare, if the morning light finds either 
 of you in two miles of this village, I will have you both 
 arrested and tried for assault with the intent to kill." 
 
 " I will go at once," said McSnout, "for I should not 
 have returned but for Goals." 
 
 " 1 will go too," said Goals, "if you will promise this 
 matter shall end here." 
 
 " I have nothing to do with it, in that event," said Dr. 
 Melton, " if these gentlemen, you have attacked, are 
 satisfied." 
 
 Philip and Loundes having expressed their willingness 
 to the arrangement, the crest-fallen bullies took their de- 
 
238 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 parture, followed by the professor, whose sleepless vigi- 
 lance would track them in all their actions and words, so 
 long as they remained in his neighborhood. 
 
 " Dr. Melton," said Loundes, " is the most mysterious 
 man I have ever known, and is the only member of the 
 faculty I cannot fathom. He is as insensible to fear as if 
 possessed of absolute invulnerability, and fails not to dis- 
 cover everything occurring around him. It seems tome 
 absolutely impossible to avoid his wonderful scrutiny. 
 He was in the laboratory so much last session, that he 
 bothered me in some of my schemes, and late one night 
 I attempted to frighten him awa}^, by fixing a petard to 
 the lower part of his door. I was on the outside watch- 
 ing him when the explosion occurred, and he did not 
 even arise from his seat, but continued reading. No one 
 but my room-mate knew anvthing of the affair, although 
 the shock awoke every man in the building. The next 
 week I received a note from the doctor, saying the trick 
 I had played him had doubtless caused more damage 
 than I intended. He, therefore, demanded twenty dollars 
 for the new 7 door, and the glass retorts and bottles broken 
 by the concussion. He concluded his note by saying, I 
 could pay this amount or appear that evening before the 
 faculty to answer for my conduct. As you may suppose, 
 I gladly paid it, and resolved to interfere w r ith him no 
 further." 
 
 "Well, Loundes," said Philip, "I shall never forget 
 vour services on this occasion, so let us both resolve that 
 we will not disturb an old man who can act with so much 
 generosity and good sense. You have fine abilities, and 
 in a few months w r ill go out into the world. Let me be- 
 seech you, my dear friend, to look more gravely on this 
 
Philip at College. 239 
 
 great battle of life which lies before us. If you will only 
 give up your fun and frolic, take my word for it, you can 
 be anything you may desire. I expect to go to Europe 
 soon after finishing my studies here, and I would be much 
 pleased to have your company." 
 
 " Well, lo tell the truth," said Loundes, " since I have 
 been staying with you and Kean, I am getting ashamed 
 of wasting so much lime, and have been astonishing my 
 friends at the amount of my reading, and the moderation 
 of my drink. Mother wishes me to go to Europe, and 
 I will accompany you with pleasure, if nothing prevent." 
 
 Kean now came in with Alfred Ridgely. They told 
 Philip and Loundes that the story of their fight had 
 already reached college, and the students were threaten- 
 ing to lynch McSnout and Goals. In the morning it was 
 ascertained that those worthies had disappeared, and they 
 were no more seen at a place where they had managed 
 to incur so much disgrace.' Philip acquired reputation 
 for his coolness in the affair, and, under Loundes' version 
 of it, became such a hero in the imagination of others 
 that it was the last unpleasant incident of his career at 
 the University. His influence for good with his new 
 friend constantly increased, and the gifted and fearless 
 leader, under the gentle persuasion of friendship, dis- 
 continued habits which the authority of the faculty was 
 powerless to restrain. The professors understood and 
 appreciated this noble work, and Gov. Young warmly 
 applauded the good he was thus effecting. But the 
 sweetest satisfaction Philip received for this interest he 
 took in his friend, was a letter of thanks he received Trom 
 Mrs. Loundes, who wrote from her home amid the orange 
 groves, telling him she daily prayed for God's blessing 
 
240 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 on his head, for the change she saw in her son's letters 
 and confessions, and which he had told her had been 
 wrought in him by his high example and brotherly 
 counsels. 
 
 The reports of scholarship and conduct had been some- 
 time before sent out, and Philip received letters from 
 home expressing the utmost satisfaction He had obtained 
 the highest honors of the class in all his studies ; and 
 President Young, in a private letter to Judge Eustace, 
 had expressed the warmest encomiums upon his conduct. 
 The rooms at Mr. Bowles' became a favorite stopping 
 place with him, where he frequently met Dr. Johnson, 
 who was also fond of Philip and Kean. The learning 
 and conversational power of these two men made them 
 gladly close their books whenever honored by such com- 
 pany. Thus, in that quiet repose of college life, with no 
 interruption to mar the even tenor of his way. went the 
 stalwart youth upon whom so many bright hopes were 
 resting; and in after years many hearts beat with pride 
 and pleasure, as they recalled the pleasant smile and 
 friendly words of Philip Eustace. He had no halfway 
 compliance with what he condemned, but gave his opin- 
 ions without hesitation on all things he thought wrong 
 in theory or practice. With this resolute dignity of char- 
 acter, there was no forward or officious intermeddling in 
 matters which did not concern him, for he was generally 
 modest in expression; but when anything stirred his 
 indignation, then his eyes shone, and the voice, at other 
 times gentle, became a fit reflector of his emotion. 
 
 Philip had grown very much in the last two years, his 
 figure being large and well proportioned ; incipient beard 
 had commenced darkening his ruddy cheeks. It was now 
 
Philip at College. 241 
 
 near vacation time, and, having obtained the consent of 
 his grandfather, he invited Charles Loundes to accom- 
 pany him home. He well knew that his friend, living 
 so far away, would remain in the college buildings, with 
 time hanging heavily upon him during the next six 
 weeks. Philip did not wish his recent reformation to be 
 subjected to the temptation of dissipation so strong in 
 such a season. The Christmas times at Ellesmere were 
 more than usually festive this year, and Reginald Vane 
 made good his promise about the cover at Morton's glade. 
 It troubled Philip to think of Rosamond now far away at 
 school, and his greatest joy, in all this happy season, was 
 the returning vision which he saw in the eyes of his 
 beautiful sister. Mariana was radiant with loveliness ; 
 but the meek spirit was the same at this hallowed season 
 as at other times. She missed Rosamond's voice, and 
 some lines of a poem Percival St. George had been read- 
 ing to her, haunted a mind that was only conscious of 
 grief through sympathy with others. She thought of the 
 heiress of Thorndale, and repeated to herself: 
 
 k4 The time draws near the birth i f Christ : 
 The moon is hid ; the night is still ; 
 The Christmas bells from hill to bill 
 Answer each other in the mist. 
 
 " Again at Christmas did we weave 
 The holly round the Christmas hearth, 
 The silent snow possessed the earth, 
 And calmly fell our Christinas eve. 
 
 " The yule-log sparkled keen with frost, 
 No wing of wind the region swept, 
 But over all things brooding slept 
 The quiet sense of something lost." 
 
 16 
 
242 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 PHILIP GOES OUT INTO THE WORLD. 
 
 Yearning for the large excitement that the coming years would yield • 
 Eager-hearted as a boy when first he leaves his father's held, 
 And at night along the dusky highway near and nearer drawn, 
 Sees in heaven the light of London flaring like' a dreary dawn ; 
 And his spirit leaps within him to be gone before him then, 
 Underneath the light he looks at/ in among the throngs of men; 
 Men, my brothers, men the workers, ever reaping something new : 
 That which they ha-ve done but earnest of the things that they shall do.' ' 
 
 —Locksley Hall. 
 
 Philip and his classmates had now reached the most 
 interesting and pleasant period of college life. They were 
 enjoying the liberty and ease of senior vacation, and in 
 less than a month they would be in possession of their 
 diplomas. The examinations had all been passed, and no 
 doubtful Rubicon rolled its waves between them and the 
 object of their desire. No labor but the preparation of 
 their speeches for Commencement remained, and Philip 
 with his accustomed good fortune had secured the vale- 
 dictory oration over his four associates in the honor of 
 the first distinction. Alfred Ridgely was to deliver the 
 salutatory, and from the number of graduates and the 
 amount of preparation a grand time was expected. 
 Philip, by his frequent participation in discussions, had 
 become one of the leading debaters in the society to 
 which he belonged, and from his known excellence in 
 literary composition, high merit was predicted for his 
 farewell address. Alfred Ridgely and Charles Loundes 
 had been talking with Philip in his room when Gov. 
 Young and Dr. Johnson came in. 
 
 
Philij) goes out into the World. 243 
 
 " Mr. Eustace," said the Governor, " I have been think- 
 ing and reading on the interesting topic which we were 
 discussing with Mr. Kean the other evening, and I find 
 the whole subject covered in one of Lord Stowell's last 
 admiralty decisions. I have brought the report of the 
 case with me, and would recommend you both to read it. 
 The two brothers, John and William Scott, were remark- 
 able men, and it is difficult to say whether Eldon was 
 greater in equity, or Stowell in international law." 
 
 " I am very much obliged to you, Governor," said Philip- 
 <; Mr. Kean and I will certainly examine the case to which 
 you refer." 
 
 "I wish," said Gov. Young, " that you would not only 
 study this case, but make the noble study of the law your 
 life-long employment. You will leave us with as high 
 honor as was ever won in so short a time. What course 
 in life have you and your excellent father mapped out 
 for your pursuit? Do you intend imitating him and. 
 your grandfather in the devotion of your time and facul- 
 ties to one of the learned professions, or will you go home' 
 and become the servant of your slaves ? I feel much 
 interest in you, Philip, and I have often regretted, since ■ 
 I knew you, that instead of humble competence you are 
 the heir to so much wealth. Had you been born and 
 reared with smaller expectations, I can scarcely fix a 
 limit at which, in my estimation, it would have been 
 reasonable to expect the legitimate expansion your powers 
 would have ceased : but I fear that mere business and 
 pleasure will usurp faculties which ought, in the fact of 
 their excellence, to be for the benefit of the community 
 at large. How do you intend spending your time for the 
 next two years ?" 
 
244 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " I shall remain in Germany at least that long, for my 
 grandfather is unwilling for me to engage in business 
 until I shall have reached my majority." 
 
 " Governor," said Dr. Johnson, " I know you are giving 
 the true expression of an idea that seems almost a part of 
 American religion, that whatever is excellent in mind 
 and character should be given to the State. I concede 
 that the doctrine is eminently patriotic, and so long as it 
 prevails among our leading minds, and the people have 
 the good sense to employ prime ability, the condition of 
 the country must be vastly better than it would be were 
 second rate men to lead and control affairs : but pardon 
 me in saying I think there is a limit in this devotion to 
 the public good. I do not believe, where a man's private 
 affairs call for his supervision, that the community has a 
 right to make him suffer for the mere fact of his intellec- 
 tual eminence and popularity. Now it may be in some 
 great emergency that Cincinnattus becomes, from his 
 known, peculiar fitness, necessary to right the laboring- 
 ship of state; but I think the emergency must be im- 
 minent, and Cincinnattus, by the confession of all, more 
 suited to the helm than any other man, before the State 
 has a right to drag him from his plow handles and do- 
 mestic usefulness." 
 
 " The direction of my future life," said Philip, " and the 
 nature of its pursuits, have been anxiously revolved in 
 my mind since my last conversation with my grand- 
 father. He then gave me to understand that in all hu- 
 man probability I shall be burdened with the manage- 
 ment of an estate of unusual size; that he, my father 
 . and cousin Percival, had determined to settle the bulk of 
 . their estates upon me, and for that reason desired me not 
 
Philip goes out into the World. 245 
 
 to form any professional schemes for the future. If I 
 study a profession at all it must be as a mere accomplish- 
 ment, for it will require all my energy and discretion to 
 manage properly the large and varied interests, including 
 a host of slaves. I cannot believe it right in a man who, 
 under the providence of God, is vested with the control 
 of negroes, and gives no care to the manner and matter 
 of their lives. I hold it a great sin before God, and a 
 shame on our civilization, that intelligent masters so 
 often disregard their duty, and leave to ignorant agents 
 those who have no appeal in case of oppression but in the 
 watchful care of him who has assumed the control of their 
 existence." 
 
 " With such views," said Gov. Young, '' if I believed 
 myself capable of public usefulness, as you must be aware 
 is the case with you, Philip Eustace, I should sell to 
 others property that thus kept me back from a higher 
 career. It is a shame, that one should forego fame and 
 usefulness as imperishable as the people it benefits, because 
 a small community of negroes should perhaps be less 
 lazy, and consequently less happy by the withdrawal of 
 his immediate supervision." 
 
 " Governor," said Philip, " you will pardon me in say- 
 ing that such a course would be chiefly prompted b} 7 that 
 passion which deprived the fallen angels of their original 
 blessedness. I should feel myself a disturber of the long 
 sleep of my ancestors if I could, to ambition, thus surren- 
 der for my own advancement the patrimony which, in 
 the lapse of time, may some day fall to ray possession. 
 I feel as if those noble estates, upon which I have lived 
 all my life, are a part of my being, and I could no more 
 think of turning my back upon Ellesmere than I could 
 
246 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 think of deserting my blind sister. Then, too, how can 
 I forget that Reuben, who stands at the door, was ray 
 playmate in childhood, or that his father killed the wolf 
 which was ready to destroy my life? Why, sir, these 
 negroes, whom you would sell sooner than embarrass 
 your march to fame, seem to me the noblest recipients of. 
 my good offices, in that they can understand and appre- 
 ciate my self-denial in their behalf. I love my horses, 
 and could scarcely be induced to part with them for 
 money, but I shall value my slaves infinitely more highly 
 because,, like myself, they are immortal beings." 
 
 "Philip,"' said the Governor, "I honor you for these 
 kindly sentiments of your heart. Had I been reared as 
 yourself, I know not but T should have been actuated by 
 similar promptings; but in the humble mountain home 
 I had none of these feudal ties to bind me in shaping my 
 course through life. My maxim is and has been, that it 
 is every man's duty to follow that pathway which prom- 
 ises benefit to the greatest number. If the peculiar bias 
 of mind fits men for special walks in life, let them devote 
 that intelligence, which nature and experience give, a 
 certain direction. If a lawyer has a son, whose natural 
 endowments and tastes evince genius for art, let him fore- 
 go the bar and the forum, and prosecute his calling amid 
 the beautiful images of the ideal. If the artist's son, like 
 Sir Robert Peel, exhibit fitness for public station, let him 
 turn from the profession of his father, and devote to the 
 State those rare qualities of counsel which are the perfec- 
 tion of human usefulness." 
 
 "I shall, at all events, Governor, fit myself for the 
 practice of the law, and then the exigencies of the future 
 will determine what shall be my course in life. My 
 
Philip goes out into the World. 247 
 
 friend, Mr. Kean, will commence the practice of law at 
 •St. Kilda next month. When I return from Europe I 
 can then definite' y decide whether I shall ever be his 
 partner." 
 
 " Mr. Kean," said Gov. Young, " I am glad to hear you 
 will become a citizen of our State, and I predict for you 
 ■eminent success in the profession you have chosen. 
 
 " I am at least safe from the embarrassments which 
 ■surround Philip," said Kean, "and, as the law is prover- 
 bially a jealous mistress, we shall live in the most perfect 
 harmony, as I intend to devote all my energies to my 
 profession." 
 
 " Mr. Loundes," said Gov. Young, " I hear you and Mr. 
 Ridgely intend making farmers of yourselves." 
 
 " That is our present determination, sir." 
 
 " You are both cursed with the same superfluity of 
 riches against which I have been inveighing in the case 
 •of Mr. Eustace. 1 expect, Mr. Loundes, you will follow 
 in the wake of your distinguished relative, and become as 
 keen a politician as your State has produced.. I know 
 your disposition too well to think you will rest contented 
 on a plantation." 
 
 " I like to talk politics, Governor," said Loundes, " and 
 you 'know I was once remarkably fond of good liquor; 
 I have sobered down, nevertheless, in the company of 
 Eustace and Kean, and if I have been able to control ray 
 appetite here, I shall also be able to resist the allurements 
 of office." 
 
 " Mr. Ridgely," said Gov. Young, " what subject has 
 Mr. Brantley selected for his oration at Commencement ?" 
 
 ■" I suppose his ill luck in failing to secure either the 
 
M8 The Hein of St. Kitda. 
 
 Valedictory or Salutatory led to his choice of ' Unaccred- 
 ited Great Men.' " 
 
 " A noble theme," said the Governor. " That greatness, 
 as a general thing, will, like water, seek its level, is most 
 true; but there are many grand natures hidden by over- 
 ruling circumstances. Who would have heard of the 
 eloquence of the blind preacher if Mr. Wirt had not, by 
 chance, stopped at his church for noontide rest, and what 
 a small figure Cromwell would have presented in history 
 had the first Charles and Elizabeth exchanged the eras of 
 their reigns ? That, 
 
 "There is a tide in the affairs of men. 
 "Which taken at the flood leads on to fortune r " 
 
 is beyond all denial ; and while some natures may seem 
 to control destiny, they are after all much indebted to 
 opportunity for what they attain."' 
 
 "Governor," said Kean, "do you suppose that Julius 
 Caesar or Napoleon could have, under any circumstances., 
 been restrained to the ordinary level?" 
 
 " I do not," said the Governor. Li Their opportunities 
 lay in their inordinate ambition and disregard of the 
 welfare of their countries ; but I am afraid if Mr. Brant- 
 ley were here he would think us forestalling him in. his 
 discussion of his subject. Gentlemen, I wish you good 
 evening." 
 
 With this the pleasant circle of friends separated for 
 the night. Philip had been but little of a beau in his 
 college life, and now it was so near its termination he had 
 determined to give the following day to the enjoyment of 
 a pic-nic in the woods. He was engaged to accompany 
 Lily Seaton^ who, in spite of his loyalty and truth to 
 

 Philip gone out into the World. 249 
 
 Rosamond, filled his heart with pleasure, when at rare 
 intervals he ventured into her charming presence. 
 
 Early in the day a gay throng of pleasure seekers had 
 gathered in the pretty dell yet bearing the name of a dis- 
 tinguished divine in a neighboring State. The learned 
 and eloquent bishop, when in the halcyon days of youth, 
 haunting these classic shades, could be frequently found 
 alone in the silence of this retreat. A brooklet poured 
 its sparkling waters over crystal pebbles, and murmured 
 between mossy banks, while the wide-spreading limbs of 
 huge oaks maintained, at noon-tide, the softened gloom 
 of twilight. The wild flowers, in their new mantles, 
 seemed all rejoicing in the balmy air of spring, and the 
 nimble squirrel frisked amid the feathery young leaves, 
 astonished at the invasion of his accustomed solitude. A 
 rustic pavilion had been erected for the dancers, and a 
 negro band were discoursing loud if not eloquent music 
 to the groups scattered around in the cool shade. 
 Cornelius Burnet, the aldermanic leader of the " musi- 
 cianers," as he called them, was now in his glory. No 
 fear of summary and disgraceful flight from the mid- 
 night bull-dance, in the south building, was before his 
 eyes. It was Saturday, and he knew his persecutors, the 
 faculty, had no authority in this sylvan retreat, which 
 was outside of the charmed two miles limiting their 
 jurisdiction. 
 
 The ball managers had already received a portion of 
 the dainties which had been so profusely provided for 
 Commencement, and Sam. Morphis had, in the four-horse 
 hack in which he delighted, a demijon filled to its utmost 
 capacity for use on this occasion. Willis Jenkins, another 
 gentleman of color, with his confrere, Charles Ligins, was 
 
250 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 in charge of the solids, and was frequently cautioned 
 against allowing his risible propensities getting the better 
 of him. This was a great tax on Willis' enjoyment, for 
 every student present knew that, barring the presence of 
 the ladies, he was prepared to have laughed into silence 
 the loudest-mouthed donkey in the land. David Moore, 
 in all his courtly politeness, was there too, while Chester- 
 field Merrit stood in silent wisdom, evidently elaborating 
 some mighty theme of discussion for his next meeting 
 with Dr. November. That pleasant day of rural delight 
 lingers still in the memory of many* hearts. 
 
 It was a select party, in which grave seniors, who were 
 soon to leave the place, were joined by a few of their 
 friends of the lower classes. Philip had escorted Lily 
 Seaton, and they were seated near the brook. She was as 
 fair as a wood nymph, in her white dress and the fresh 
 spring flowers in her hair. 
 
 " Mr. Eustace," said she, " I am sorry you are going 
 away so soon. I wish } t ou had come here two years 
 earlier." 
 
 "You are very kind, Miss Lily," said Philip, " and one 
 of my chief regrets on leaving college will be that I have 
 been so little in your charming company." 
 
 " I have been at home all the while, sir, and should have 
 been more than glad to have seen you. I suppose you 
 were reading hard, and thinking of that fair cousin of 
 yours." 
 
 " You refer to Rosamond. How could you have learned 
 anything about us?" 
 
 " I have heard you were to be married soon after you 
 graduate." 
 
 " On the contrary, I shall spend three years in Europe 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 25 L 
 
 and I do not know that I shall once see Rosamond in 
 that time." 
 
 " You are a mystery to me, Mr. Eustace. With all 
 your accomplishments and favor with the ladies, you only 
 visit them at rare intervals. Though you are a paragon 
 of perfection in the eyes of the faculty, yet you are almost 
 worshipped by Mr. Loundes and his wild associates. 
 You are fond of books, but no one has finer horses, or 
 follows the hounds with greater zest than yourself. I can 
 not understand you. I wish you were a junior, and had 
 to stay here another year, so I could learn more of what, 
 I must confess, is all mystery to me now." 
 
 "And what would become of me," said Philip, "sub- 
 jected to the fascination of such eyes for another year?" 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Eustace!" 
 
 " Come, Philip," said Charles Loundes, " we are waiting 
 for you and Miss Lily to make up our set." 
 
 Soon the dancers were threading the giddy mazes of 
 youth's favorite and most graceful pastime. It was well 
 that Philip was interrupted in his conversation, for it 
 was taking a turn inconsistent with his dignity and truth 
 of character; but much allowance must be made for the 
 ardor and impulsiveness of his youth. It is difficult for 
 a young man to be in the presence of so much beauty and 
 vivacity and not speak rash things. As well may we 
 preach moderation to the confirmed inebriate, or tell 
 children of the un healthiness of sweet meats as to expect 
 such a one, in the warmth of his youth, not to be moved 
 by the influence of beauty. Burnet's large e}'es protru- 
 ded in undisguised admiration of the sylph-like forms 
 floating in the softened light of the pavillion, while his 
 sable assistants blew their brass horns with might and 
 
252 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 main. On went the dancers, and long and loud arose 
 the music in the echoing dell. Enjoy thyself, golden- 
 visiuned youth ! In the spring tide of joy let no wrinkled 
 care obtrude itself on thoughtless revels. The world's 
 unrest finds us out soon enough, without our anticipating 
 what lies hidden in the undeveloped future. What shall 
 be the fate of these gay revellers? Shall rosy children, 
 and the long rapture of love wedded in happiness, attend 
 these maidens; or shall hollow deceit and cold neglect 
 mar their beauty ? Shall prosperous usefulness in the 
 walks of peace, or the destroying angel of civil strife, 
 mark those manly forms for its own ? 
 
 " Mr. Kean," said Lily Seaton, in the pauses of the 
 dance, " do give me a description of Rosamond Courtenay." 
 
 "I have not seen her in twelve months, Miss Seaton. 
 She was then promising to be one of those rare and fault- 
 less beauties resulting from generations of happy acci- 
 dents. She is as full of genius as of the promise of love- 
 liness, and, when I last saw her, was in that transition 
 state between a shy girl and the superb woman I am 
 confident she will soon become. Add to this, that she is 
 the heiress of immense estates, and you have some idea 
 of a young girl who can be, if she desire it, the most bril- 
 liant belle in America." 
 
 " I hear she is to be the bride of Mr. Eustace," said 
 Lily with a sigh. " I wonder if she loves him." 
 
 "They seem to be fond of each other." 
 
 " Late in the evening the party returned to the village, 
 some happy in the recollection of the day's pleasures, 
 others heart-sore from smiles denied and love proffered 
 in vain. Philip and Arthur Kean were too full of other 
 thoughts to be in such predicament; so having finished 
 
Philip goes out into the World. 253 
 
 their supper, they sat down to discuss a matter highly 
 interesting to both. 
 
 "Philip," said Kean, " I received a letter this evening 
 from Mr. Somerville, your father's friend, proposing to 
 take me into partnership with him. Your grandfather 
 is the best man in the world, and I am confident lie is in 
 soire w-a.y the author of this proposition. I am so slightly 
 acquainted with the distinguished advocate, he would 
 have scarcely made me this advantageous offer, without 
 strong recommendations from Judge Eustace." 
 
 " You may rest assured, my grandfather would not 
 have recommended you, without a conviction of your 
 ability to aid Mr. Somerville in his lucrative transac- 
 tions ; fo allow me to congratulate you on this piece of 
 good fortune." 
 
 "It is the very thing I desired above all earthly bles- 
 sings, and I cannot tell you how joyous it makes me feel. 
 I am now certain of early success, as I shall at once come 
 into notice at the bar. I shall write Mr. Somerville 
 immediately to accept his proposition and assure him, if 
 industry and attention can avail, he shall not repent of 
 his generous offer." 
 
 Philip was highly gratified at the prospects of his 
 friend, for the disparity of their years, and his former 
 tutelage, did not prevent Kean's treating him as an asso- 
 ciate and equal on all occasions. In the simple dignify 
 and moral strength of the 3-outh, the tutor had long ago 
 seen intelligence and discretion demanding no further 
 counsel from him. As they sat conversing young Comp- 
 ton came in, and his wild manner and pallid face plainly 
 told that something unusual had occurred. 
 
 "to 
 
254 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " Frederick," said Philip, " are you ill, or have you seen 
 a ghost?" 
 
 The young man only hid his face in his hands, and 
 moaned. The two friends exchanged glances of astonish- 
 ment, for Compton was one of the last they would have 
 expected to exhibit so much feeling. 
 
 " Have you heard bad news from home?" 
 
 " No." 
 
 •'Has Lily Seaton discarded you?" 
 
 "Oh, no!" 
 
 " Well, what on earth is the matter with you?" 
 
 As Philip said this, Compton arose without speaking a 
 word, and went to the windows which were up and low- 
 ered them ; opened the door, looked out to see that no 
 one was near, and then locked it. He exacted of them a 
 solemn pledge, that as long as he should live, they should 
 never divulge what he was about to tell. 
 
 " I have," said he, " witnessed a scene of horror this 
 night I shall never forget. You know that Drumgoole 
 was with us at the pic-nic to-day. He was never before 
 so full of life, and was waiting on Nelly Clayton, with 
 whom he was madly in love. Stapleton Cowell, you know, 
 was discarded by her last session, and they have not been 
 good friends since. Cowell threw a nut shell at me to- 
 day in the pavilion ; it missed me and fell on Miss Clay- 
 ton's dress. I noticed she flushed up and seemed angry, 
 but I had no dream of anything serious growing out of 
 it, until after dinner, Cowell remarked to me that he had 
 a difficulty with Drumgoole, and asked me to be his 
 friend. I, not suspecting anything more than an ordinary 
 fight, consented, and we soon received a note by the hand 
 of Drumgoole's second, stating that as Cowell had de- 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 255 
 
 clined making a written apology, be took this opportu- 
 nity of demanding personal satisfaction for an insult 
 offered to a lady while talking to him." 
 
 " Cowell," continued Compton, " promptly accepted the 
 challenge, and we left the ground immediately for the 
 hill a mile south-west of the University. Dalton went to 
 town and brought out to us a pair of duelling pistols be- 
 longing to his principal. I proposed to him that we 
 should settle the matter, as it was too trivial to proceed 
 to blood, and he reported what I said to Drumgoole, who. 
 disregarding the formalities used on such occasions, loudly 
 remarked that Cowell knew there could be no peace be- 
 tween them until he had written an apology for his con- 
 duct. Cowell said he had no further apology to make, 
 and demanded that we should be as quick as possible. 
 We measured off the distance and posted them. They 
 fired, and Drumgoole fell mortally wounded. He was 
 shot near the heart, and was dying when we reached 
 him." 
 
 " Oh ! Cowell," said he, " why did I have the folly to 
 drive you into this fatal quarrel ! My poor mother ! 
 what will become of her, if she ever knows how I am 
 dying? Give me your hand, Cowell ; let us be friends; 
 it was not your fault — not your fault." 
 
 He fell back, and we thought he was gone ; then he 
 raised his dead, and said : 
 
 " Come nearer, fellows, I can scarcely see you. Oh God ! 
 how hard it is to die thus in the spring of my life and 
 hope ! Put your hands in mine, and promise me never 
 to tell the secret of my death." 
 
 " He was too far gone to notice that I did not touch 
 his hand, and the next minute his soul was in the pres- 
 
256 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 ence of his Maker. Cowell begged me to observe Drurn- 
 goole's request, for the sake of himself and the dead. It 
 was too horrible a secret to bear about with me ! What 
 shall I do under the circumstances?" 
 
 " What have you done with the body ?" asked Philip. 
 
 " That was the most harrowing task of all ; we waited 
 until the poor fellow grew stiff in death, and, having dug 
 a grave, we placed him in it. I shall never forget the 
 gentle expression of the face of the dead, as I looked at it 
 in the deepening twilight. It reminded me of Hood's 
 dream of Eugene Aram : 
 
 * Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, 
 
 That cmilrl not do me ill ; 
 And yet I feared him all the more, 
 
 For lying there so still ; 
 There was a manhood in his look, 
 
 That murder could not kill.' 
 
 
 
 " After covering him, we conveyed the superfluous dirt 
 to a neighboring branch and restored the pile of rocks 
 we had removed from their original position to avoid 
 suspicion." 
 
 " You have committed a serious breach of the statute 
 law," said Kean, "which in such cases condemns, not only 
 the man who uses the deadly weapon, but the second 
 who aids and abets. However, men do not regard the 
 slayer who kills his antagonist in fair combat, as guilty 
 of so high an offence, but the law sees no difference be- 
 tween the duelist and the assassin. My advice to you, 
 Compton, is to say nothing more about this, as your con- 
 fession, if made known, will implicate you in the offence 
 against the law." 
 
 " Do you think I am morally responsible in any way 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 257 
 
 for the shedding of this man's blood? I did all I could 
 to prevent their proceeding to extremities." 
 
 " I think you and Dalton should have refused to have 
 had anything to do with the matter, after Drumgoole 
 violated the rules by speaking in the hearing of Cowell. 
 The quarrel rests in the hands of the seconds, after the 
 affair has once reached them, and the principals are bound 
 to abide by their decisions in all matters whatever touch- 
 ing the subject at issue. On any other theory the prac- 
 tice of calling in friends to manage such difficulties is 
 worse than useless. Then, if a duel is fought upon in- 
 sufficient grounds, it must be the fault of the seconds, 
 and I think they ought to be held responsible. You and 
 Dalton are too young to be expected to be acquainted 
 with the rules which govern personal difficulties, and this 
 advice comes too late now ; the deed is done, and I do 
 not know that you ought to be blamed for a thing you 
 honestly desired to avert." 
 
 " What do you think of it, Philip?" said Compton. 
 
 " I sympathize with you in the remorse I know you 
 feel, and think your greatest fault was your want of 
 firmness." 
 
 This disastrous affair socm resulted in the utter ruin of 
 Cowell, for he sought in hard drink surcease from his 
 haunting memories. Young Compton also grew exces- 
 sively dissipated, and, though but few suspected the cause, 
 he never forgot the dying look of the victim he saw ex- 
 pire in the glory of his youth. Unceasing restlessness 
 and indefinable apprehensions became his companions. 
 The freshness of youth fled from his cheeks, and he be- 
 came the embodiment of Coleridge's Ancient Mariner : 
 
 17 
 
258 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 "Like one, that on a lonesome road 
 Doth walk in fear and dread, 
 And having once turned round walks on, 
 And turns no more his head ; 
 Because he knows a frightful fiend 
 Doth close behind him tread." 
 
 The occasion of the college year was now arrived ; for 
 it was Monday of commencement week, and visitors were 
 rapidly assembling from all directions. Philip was mo- 
 mentarily expecting the arrival of his grandfather with 
 Mrs. Eustace and Mariana. His father, being Governor 
 of the State, was ex-officio chairman of the trustees, and 
 would also be present. Reuben, who was on the watch, 
 announced that the carriages from Ellesmere had arrived, 
 and on Kean's and Philip's reaching the hotel, they found, 
 in addition to those expected, Ida Somervillehad accom- 
 panied the party. Mariana's vision had so much im- 
 proved she could plainly discern the outlines of her 
 brother's figure, and she seemed astonished at the height 
 he had attained. When she saw him last he was a little 
 boy.; she now recognized a form whose proportions and 
 power were unmatched even in the great throng of stu- 
 dents and visitors surrounding the hotel. She was un- 
 able to perceive the beauty and symmetry of his person, 
 for her sight was as yet imperfect ; yet she was as happy 
 in this limited blessing as any of the fair maidens who 
 -surrounded her, in the full possession of all their faculties. 
 
 Philip was astonished at the warmth of Judge Eustace's 
 .commendations, for his grandfather was one of those rare, 
 well-poised intelligences, subjecting feeling to the domin- 
 ion of mind so completely that his emotions were seldom 
 visible in his manner. Gov. Eustace had, in the mean- 
 while, arrived, and Percival St. George and Mr. Grey were 
 the only missing faces belonging to Ellesmere. They sent 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 259 
 
 their warmest congratulations, and wished Philip great 
 joy of his college honors ; but the sweetest reward amid 
 all this well-earned satisfaction were the words of his 
 father and grandfather, when they told him in the sum- 
 mer twilight how he had fulfilled all their hopes, and felt 
 at the same time the sympathetic pressure of Mariana's 
 hand. 
 
 Bell Ridgely and Mae Glancy, with Col. Ridgely, were 
 also in the village to honor Alfred in his graduation, and 
 many of the most distinguished citizens had come to lend 
 additional lustre to the occasion. Young men, after years 
 of toil, were now to go forth and take their positions in 
 society. The goal, for which they had been laboring so 
 long, was attained, and with much fluttering at the heart, 
 as they thought of their audience, did the new bachelors 
 of art repeat their orations to themselves. 
 
 After supper some engagement had taken Philip to the 
 college buildings, and Judge and Gov. Eustace went to 
 his rooms, finding therein Gov. Young and Dr. Johnson. 
 
 " Gentlemen," said Gov. Young to them after their salu- 
 tations, " I have just been speaking of the mysterious 
 disappearance of a student who has not been seen or ac- 
 counted for, for several days. From what I can learn, he 
 was interested in a young lady who spends much of her 
 time in this village, and I suppose she must have refused 
 his addresses, and he has gone off in despair." 
 
 "Have ycu written to his friends?" asked Judge 
 Eustace. 
 
 "Yes; but have received no reply." 
 
 " I am glad," said Gov. Eustace, " to know that the con- 
 dition of the University is so excellent ; the number of 
 students is [unprecedented." 
 
260 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 u I have never known a more satisfactory condition orf 
 the institution," said Gov. Young. 
 
 " Gov. Young," said Judge Eustace, "you have laid uae 
 under much obligation for the interest you have mani- 
 fested in my grandson." 
 
 " You may thank Philip, sir," said Gov. Young, " for 
 much of that interest was the result of his own merits. 
 His modest and sensible deportment attracted my esteem 
 in our first interview, and our subsequent intercourse has 
 increased that sentiment into admiration of his character, 
 I believe the present satisfactory condition of the Uni- 
 versity, in the matter of discipline, is as much the effect 
 of his influence and example, as anything else I can as- 
 sign. While his conduct has been faultless, he has by 
 some strange magnetism obtained unbounded influence 
 over those students who were previously disturbers of our 
 peace. I earnestly wish he was entering, instead of leav- 
 ing college ; for I can hardly limit the benefits which 
 would accrue in four years of his presence." 
 
 " You give me much satisfaction and comfort in my 
 son," said the father, " but the credit of his present excel- 
 lence belongs to his grandfather, who has reared him 
 since his infancy." 
 
 " In the formation of character," said Judge Eustace, 
 " very much depends on the early direction imparted by 
 others to the thoughts and inclinations of the human 
 heart; but some natures are so essentially corrupt that 
 they seem to resist every influence for good. As Shak- 
 gpeare says of virtue .* 
 
 " As it never will be moved, 
 Though lewdness court it in a shape of heaven f 
 So lust, though to a radiant angel linked, 
 Will sate itself in a celestial bed, 
 And prey on garbage." 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 261 
 
 Philip, from his infancy, while he has ever possessed that 
 exuberance of spirit which is the result of physical and 
 moral health, has never exhibited .a disposition to violate 
 those things he had reason to believe proper moral re- 
 straints forbade. In his early education, my first lesson 
 was to convince him of my love, and then that he should 
 look to obedience for safety. From his natural intre- 
 pidity, it was difficult to impair the trust in his own 
 power, but accidents robbed him of this vain confidence, 
 and since then he has implicitly followed the way I in- 
 dicated." 
 
 The four learned men sat in earnest discussion of 
 Philip's future until his return. Judge Eustace was im- 
 movably opposed to any professional scheme, in which 
 he was joined, with moderate views, by Gov. Eustace. 
 Dr. Johnson agreed with Judge Eustace in all his plans 
 for his grandson. The father seemed disposed to leave to 
 Philip the determination of a matter more nearly con- 
 cerning himself than any one else. 
 
 The literary address on Wednesday was made by a gen- 
 tleman of high respectability, and his words were wisely 
 conceived and beautifully delivered. The time passed 
 rapidly by to the large concourse in attendance. In the 
 day they partook of intellectual feasts, and the shadows 
 of the campus were stirred by the strains from the band 
 hired for the occasion. At night the moon filled the air 
 with unclouded splendor, 
 
 " And all went merry as a marriage bell." 
 
 The speeches of the graduates, which had been the 
 burden of so much care, were at last delivered ; and the 
 faces, hitherto wreathed in smiles, now saddened with the 
 
262 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 thought that Philip Eustace, their ideal of a high-souled, 
 chivalrous friend, was standing before them to say his 
 parting words. They knew, from the sincerity of his na- 
 ture, they would hear the true sentiments of his heart, 
 and every student gazed in respectful attention as he took 
 his place on the rostrum. The gay maidens, unapprecia- 
 ting the manly sorrow of those who were now about to 
 part forever, continued the hum of conversation. Not five 
 words were spoken, however, by the solemn voice of the 
 valedictorian, before every eye was riveted on the noble 
 form in its black academic gown. The speaker's pale 
 brow surmounted features regular in their classic re- 
 pose, as if copied from some antique sculpture. His 
 tall figure was faultless in its symmetry, yet the mas- 
 sive shoulders evinced strength almost realizing the truth 
 of mythic Hercules. His tones, though full of pathos were 
 sonorous and distinct, as he recounted to his fellowstudents 
 the blessings they enjoyed. How God had given them a 
 land and ancestry worthy of comparison with those cele- 
 brated by Pericles in his funeral oration. They were re- 
 minded of the limited opportunities of the masses, and the 
 large responsibility of those who, in the fact of their 
 superior knowledge, owed a greater degree of watchful- 
 ness, lest they should mislead others whom nature had 
 caused to lean on higher intelligence for support and 
 guidance. Then, as superior intelligence brings with it 
 higher duties to the State, so arise higher claims upon 
 ourselves. 
 
 " Self-reverenee, self-knowledge, self-control, 
 These three alone lead life to sovereign power.. 
 Yet not for power^ (power of herself 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 263 
 
 Would come uncalled for,) but to live by law, 
 Acting the law we live by without fear; 
 And because right is right, to follow right 
 Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence." 
 
 * l And now," said he, " how shall we, who are about to 
 leave these chosen haunts of learning, take leave of you 
 the guides and instructors of our youth ! How can we 
 find words to express our gratitude for the kindness and 
 forbearance with which you have met our waywardness 
 and folly! You have not only been untiring in your 
 efforts to instruct the mind, but you have watched by our 
 bedsides in sickness, and constantly directed our hearts 
 to Him who is the author of our being and the guide of 
 our footsteps. 
 
 " It is a bitter pang, my comrades, to feel that we are 
 looking into each others eyes for the last time. These 
 halls shall soon be filled by other forms. New faces will 
 be seen in yon familiar windows, and we shall have gone 
 hence forever; 
 
 "'The old order changeth, yielding place to new, 
 And God fulfills himself in many ways, 
 Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.' 
 
 " Our attachments have been those the world knows but 
 little of, and wherever we have bestowed our affections, 
 no selfish motives have actuated us. Who of us has 
 dreamed of ulterior advantage in the matter of his likes 
 and dislikes, or fawned on his brother with hatred in his 
 heart ? Go beyond the walls that encompass us here, and 
 you will find that esteem is born of promised help. Ours 
 then have been blessed days in this respect. We have 
 lived here in serene repose, listening to the world's con- 
 tentions, but its sordid motives have not reached us. So 
 
264 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 nature has held her course, unwarped by the practices 
 which self-interest teaches. 
 
 " But these halcyon days have passed away forever 
 with many of us. Shall we allow sordid meanness to 
 corrupt our hearts and drag us from the high course we 
 have hitherto trod ? Shall we only love where we shall 
 be benefitted, and envy succeed to magnanimous emula- 
 tion ? I cannot believe you can soon forget the noble 
 lessons of self-denial and philanthropy we have been 
 taught here. I cannot believe you will allow the world 
 at once to taint you with its selfishness. I tell you, as 
 truly as God rules, charity and brotherly love are in no 
 way inconsistent with worldly prosperity. If by sordid 
 parsimony some men accumulate largely, have you 
 learned political economy to so little advantage, as to 
 dream for a moment that any miser can be rich ? 
 
 ut I stand not here in Wisdom's sacred stole. 
 My lips have not been touched with holy fire. 
 An humhler office than a counsellor 
 Of human duties, and an humbler place, 
 Would better grace my knowledge and my years. 
 1 1 would not seem presuming.*' 
 
 '' But our duty as christian gentlemen ends not with the 
 bestowal of our earthly goods upon our necessitous neigh- 
 bor. If God has enjoined upon us to prevent his coming 
 to physical suffering, how much more imperatively are 
 we, whose opportunities for mental culture have been 
 good, called on to exert ourselves in behalf of truth. Can 
 we be justified, if we stand idly with folded arms and see 
 others stumble blindly to perdition ? Can anything set 
 us free from the obligations that bind us to our fellow 
 men ? Can man become so exalted that delusion cannot 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 265 
 
 rea'ch him? Can we ask help of God, and be too indif- 
 ferent to counsel our neighbor who perishes for the want 
 of a word in season ? Let us, then, as we value our future 
 usefulness among men, and happiness in the world to 
 come, discard such selfish and fatal infatuation. There 
 can be no sinless escape from this duty, for a wisdom 
 mightier than man's has decreed that weakness shall be 
 the rule and strength, the exception, in the sum of hu- 
 man intelligence. A brotherhood in ill has been be- 
 queathed us by our first parents, and it becomes us as 
 men to assume each for himself his share in the general 
 burden. 
 
 '"For so the whole round earth is every way 
 Bound by gold chains about the feet of God !' 
 
 " To you, my classmates, I would especially appeal, to 
 remember how much good or evil may be accomplished 
 in each individual life. I know that you will agree with 
 me, that obedience to duty is the only theory of conduct 
 consistent with self-respect, and that none other can pos- 
 sibly fit us for heaven. As this beautiful life of cloistered 
 ease has at last reached its conclusion, so must I find an 
 end of my words. With Wordsworth: — 
 
 " ' Knowing the heart of man is set to be 
 The centre of this World, about which 
 Those revolutions of disturbances 
 Still roll ; where all the aspects of misery 
 Predominate; whose strong effects are such 
 As he must bear, being powerless to redress ; 
 And that unless above himself he can 
 Erect himself, how poor a thing is man !' " 
 
 The tone of deep and earnest feeling accompanying 
 these parting words strongly moved the hearts of all who 
 
266 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 heard them, and when the dense throng left the chapel 
 many a bold spirit made fresh resolution, that the duties 
 of life should find new energy in their discharge. 
 
 With the rising moon came the joyous notes of music 
 from the ball-room now full of the beauty and pride of 
 the State. Flashing diamonds were vainly seeking to 
 rival the brightness of eyes more lustrous in their life 
 and animation. Graceful figures in their snowy drapery 
 were gliding beneath the brilliant lights ; the managers 
 were busy in arranging new sets; and festive joy was 
 mantling on every cheek. It was the last night of com- 
 mencement week, and no thought of rest entered the 
 minds of those who had resolved there should be 
 
 "No sleep till morn when youth and pleasure meet 
 To chase the glowing hours with flying feet." 
 
 " Philip," said Ida Somerville, " you were so solemn and 
 grand in your valedictory, I never felt so useless and 
 sinful even in listening to Mr. Grey's sermons." 
 
 " Perhaps you thought me prosy." 
 
 " No, I was thinking what a glorious thing it is to be a 
 man and bear about such a heart as I know you possess. 
 You are so full of consecration to duty, so fixed in your 
 high resolves, and with such a field for display of useful- 
 ness — while I am but a woman circumscribed and tram- 
 melled on all sides. Oh ! Philip, a woman's life is at best 
 a series of little pleasures and great pains. Unsatisfied 
 longings for love and a brief episode of romance in 
 youth, are all we have to gratify these yearnings ; and 
 then too often come solitude and neglect for the remainder 
 of life. Poor mistaken Shelly, with all his errors in 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 267 
 
 theology, was right at heart in his sympathy for us when 
 he wrote of man's injustice: — 
 
 * Woman ! she is his slave, she has hecome 
 A thing I weep to speak — a thing of scorn, 
 The outcast of a desolated home, 
 Falsehood, and fear, and toil, like waves have worn 
 Channels upon her cheeks, which smiles adorn, 
 As calm decks the false ocean : — well ye know 
 What woman is, for none of woman born 
 Can choose but drain the bitter dregs of woe, 
 Which ever from the oppress'd to the oppressor flow.' " 
 
 " You look at the dark side of the picture," said Philip. 
 " If woman's mission lies in a smaller compass, it still is 
 as full of duty as that of man, and I think, where they 
 are happily wedded, the wife has equal opportunities 
 with her husband of fulfilling the requirements of her 
 station and of enjoying the happiness consequent thereon. 
 As you have summoned the beautiful madness of Shelly, 
 I shall offset it by the majestic wisdom of Shakspeare. 
 He says : — 
 
 " ' The beasts, the fishes, and the winged fowls, 
 Are their males' subjects, and at their controls, 
 Men, more divine, the masters of all these, 
 Lords of the wide world, and wild wat'ry seas, 
 Indued with intellectual sense and souls, 
 Of more pre-eminence than fish aud fowls 
 Are masters to their females, and their lords : 
 Then let your will attend on their accords.' 
 
 " But here comes my friend, Miss Lily Seaton. I wish 
 you to know her." 
 
 " Miss Somerville," said Lily, after introduction, " I am 
 very glad to see you St. Kilda ladies here. We liked Mr. 
 Ridgely, and have just seen enough of Mr. Eustace in his 
 college career to become interested in him. Then, too, 
 
268 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 his beautiful sister, who is leaning on her father's arm 
 has added to my curiosity concerning your happy val- 
 
 ley." 
 
 " It is the home of beauty and enjoyment, Miss Seaton," 
 said Ida, " and no one can give you a better idea of the 
 perfection to be found in its limits than Mariana Eustace." 
 
 " She is wonderfully lovely," said Lily, as she gazed 
 across the room at Mariana. " I should idolize such a 
 being if I were much with her." 
 
 "She is more like the angels than any being I have 
 ever known," said Philip. 
 
 " Then she is so fond of you, Mr. Eustace," said Lily. 
 " You ought to be very happy with so many sources of 
 pleasure. I have never known a person so singularly 
 blessed. I could not help thinking this evening, as you 
 were speaking, how well you could afford to feel thankful 
 and strive to do your duty, when everything conspires to 
 swell your felicity." 
 
 " I have never repined at my lot, Miss Lily," said 
 Philip, " and trust I feel grateful for the many blessings 
 I have enjoyed ; but I cannot see how disaster could alter 
 the nature, if it did the extent, of our usefulness." 
 
 " I did not mean to convey that idea," said Miss Seaton. 
 " You will certainly admit that we are creatures of circum- 
 stance, and happiness follows in the wake of gratification, 
 whether actual or prospective. Notwithstanding all that, 
 you have realized, you. are buoyed by one bright particu- 
 lar hope, which I think the most charming of all incen- 
 tives to duty." 
 
 " What can possibly be the cause of Frederick Conip- 
 ton's being so grave?" said Ida. I have scarcely seen 
 him since we came, and he looks like he had lost his last 
 friend." 
 
Philip gone out into the World. 269 
 
 " You must ask Miss Seaton," said Philip, dexterously 
 avoiding an unpleasant question. 
 
 " How should I know?" said Lily. " I have no means 
 of information as to Mr. Compton's affairs." 
 
 " Well, I knew that Fred, was smitten," said Philip, 
 " and I have heard of many others who have come to grief 
 and long faces, in their admiration of the fair maiden 
 whom Compton loved." 
 
 " It is too bad, Mr. Eustace," said she, " to teaze me 
 about so many of those silly young men. I am not re- 
 sponsible for their folly, and of course must get rid of 
 them in some wa} r ." 
 
 Thus passed Philip's last night at the University. He 
 was full of tender -emotion, as he wandered about amid 
 the gay throng, and felt that all the happy associations of 
 the place he had come to love so well would to-morrow 
 be things of the unreturning past. The flowing music 
 still rolled in voluptuous cadence to the giddy dancers, 
 and eyes, which had been so sparkling hours before, be- 
 came soft in the whispered vows exchanged. Pleasure 
 muffled the already noiseless wheels of time, as hour by 
 hour slid away, and midnight deepened toward morn. 
 Joy was yet unconfined ; full and rich poured the tide of 
 music ; brightly as ever gleamed the lights until even 
 this scene of gaiety, mad as it was, found its conclusion. 
 The white-shouldered beauties gathered up their shawls > } 
 the tired musicians left their places, and over the ball 
 room, as over all things human, came a change. The 
 lights were extinguished, and the holy calm of serene, 
 unchanging nature returned, as if in derision of the fad- 
 ing joys which for a few fleeting hours had disturbed the 
 repose of silent night. 
 
270 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 GRIEF AT ELLESMERE. 
 
 ' Alas ! that all we loved of him should be, 
 But for our grief, as if it had not been, 
 And grief itself be mortal ! Woe is me ! 
 Whence are we, and why are we ? of what scene 
 The actors or spectators? Great and mean 
 Meet mass'd in death, who lends what life must borrow. 
 As long as skies are blue, and fields are green 
 Evening must usher night, night urge the morrow, 
 Month follow month with woe, and year wake year to sorrow. 1 ' 
 
 — Adonavi. 
 
 Philip's stay at the University had become a pleasant 
 memory of the past. He had nothing in his recollection 
 of the time spent there, to bring with it regret or self- 
 reproach. His opportunities had been faithfully met 
 and appropriated, and no slighted tasks remained as min- 
 isters of future trouble. No trust had received his neglect, 
 and amid his ancestral oaks he felt that he had done 
 nothing to lower the reputation his family had borne so 
 long in the land of their nativity. These high sources 
 of consolation were needed by him at this juncture, for 
 sorrowful tidings awaited the return of the family to 
 Ellesmere. Stanhope Eustace had fallen in Mexico. The 
 dauntless soldier had found a hero's death amid the 
 shattered columns of the enemy, in the very moment of 
 victory : surrounded by dripping sabres, as the shouts of 
 triumph arose, a cannon-shot had torn him from future 
 fame and his country's service. 
 
 This sad bereavement of course threw gloom over the 
 household. Judge Eustace exerted himself to cheer the 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 271 
 
 drooping heart of his wife, but the wound was too fresh 
 for consolation. She could not erase from the tablets of 
 memory the image of him she had borne. It seemed to 
 her but yesterday that he was at Ellesmere, cheering all 
 with his gay and gallant presence ; looking forward with 
 confidence to the laurels to be won in this very war, and 
 now he slept in a new grave, amid his kindred at Elles- 
 mere. With many tears, in the solitude of her own 
 chamber, the fond mother bewailed the untimely death. 
 After the first few days she made but little allusion to 
 her loss ; but grief was written indellibly on her brow, 
 and Philip turned away with a sigh, as he saw its ac- 
 customed light clouded and merged in constant gloom. 
 
 Judge Eustace sustained himself, as might have been 
 expected, in this calamity. He well knew that the 
 nature of his son's life exposed him to constant danger of 
 a sudden termination of his career, and had been thus pre- 
 pared for the fatal tidings. He was a loving father, but 
 possessed much of that iron firmness of character Addi- 
 son has portrayed in Cato's speech over his dead son. 
 Had the ex-chief-justice lived in similar times and been 
 actuated by a like creed, he, too, would have exclaimed: — 
 
 " Thanks to the Gods ! my hoy has done his duty — 
 Welcome, my son ! Here set him down, my friends, 
 Full in my sight, that I may view at leisure 
 The bloody corpse, and count those glorious wounds. 
 How beautiful is death, when earned by virtue ! 
 Who would not be that youth? — what pity is it 
 That we can die but once to serve our country !" 
 
 The general commanding that portion of the army 
 with which Col. Eustace was operating, wrote a letter of 
 condolence to the afflicted father, full of the appreciation 
 
272 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 of the virtues of the lamented dead. Stanhope's long 
 service had been unstained by any imputation, and his 
 fall carried sorrow to the hearts of all his brother officers. 
 He was as. efficient in counsel as daring in execution ; 
 and, had he survived his last action, would have become 
 a general. 
 
 In this house of grief Philip found, in the few months 
 remaining between the solemn present and his departure 
 for Europe, need of all his philosophy. He had seen but 
 little of his uncle Stanhope, for the soldier had been ab- 
 sent almost the entire period since his nephew's earliest 
 recollection ; but what he had known of him was so 
 pleasant that he had come to look forward to the recep- 
 tion of his letters, and in this way he seemed to have 
 been a great deal more with the family at Ellesmere than 
 his rare visits implied. There had been, before the shadow 
 of death fell across the threshold, much innocent mirth 
 and enjoyment; now the hearts of all were unstrung to 
 such music, and they went about their separate tasks, 
 haunted by the memory that one who had always been 
 mentioned in their prayers would return no more. This 
 was a fresh injury to the old wound in Percival St. 
 George's heart ; but the nature which had so long fed on 
 sorrow as its aliment seemed unchanged by additional 
 grief. He had loved Stanhope as a brother, but what was 
 such a loss to the disaster of that death which had dar- 
 kened the world in his youth ? 
 
 Philip and his grandfather were almost insepara- 
 ble in their horse-back inspections of the estates. The 
 large intelligence, which had been so luminious at the 
 bar and in the Senate, had turned its far-seeing vis- 
 ion to domestic duties of life ; on its greatest and most 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 273 
 
 satisfactory mission, the culture of the soil. The manage- 
 ment of his plantations had long engaged the attention 
 of Judge Eustace, and the infinite improvement to which 
 enlightened agriculture may be carried, had induced him 
 to leave public station to find a realization of his life- 
 dream of contentment at home. In the cultivation of 
 fields now yellow with ripening wheat or green for 
 miles around in the luxuriance of maize, lay the marks 
 of his improving presence ; and to the young heir it was 
 of much importance to know their peculiarities. What 
 stiff, clay bottoms needed fresh liming for future crops ; 
 what exhausted spots called for help from the muck beds 
 and barnyards; what drains were to be enlarged; and 
 how the long hollows which stretched from the river 
 needed continual work in strengthening the dykes pro- 
 tecting them from freshets. 
 
 It was now more than a year since Philip had seen 
 Rosamond, as their vacations had not occurred at the 
 same time. When he was at Ellesmere she was in the 
 midst of her studies. This was a privation to them, but 
 they were faithful correspondents ; and Philip found con- 
 stant pleasure in observing the continual enlargement of 
 Rosamond's acquaintance with the forms and beauties of 
 cultivated intelligence. He had observed a change in 
 her demeanor towards him after the last happy Christ- 
 mas they had spent together, but he could not account for 
 it in any other way than to attribute it to the increasing 
 modesty of the maiden, fast approaching the age in which 
 the instincts and habits of the school girl give place to 
 the crowning perfections of womanhood. He, too, was 
 no longer the boy he had been when they talked so un- 
 reservedly before others at Thorndale of the nature of 
 18 
 
274 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 their future relations. Rosamond had ever regarded 
 Philip, in her childhood, as the embodiment of that chiv- 
 alric nature of which she had read so much in the olden 
 chronicles and romances. But this homage of childhood 
 had been succeded by passionate love, born amid the un- 
 forgotten delights of that blissful yuletide. The strange, 
 imaginative girl became tender and considerate in her 
 attention to the actual ; and her old disregard of mere 
 accomplisments no longer held her back from the study 
 of music and kindred graces. The powers of her voice 
 were becoming a matter of astonishment to herself; its 
 strength and compass were only equaled by its sweetness J 
 and passages requiring exertion even from the most ac- 
 complished singers, Rosamond soon sang with smiling 
 ease. These things afforded her pleasure, because she 
 associated them with the idea that they were fitting her 
 for companionship with him, she supposed endowed with 
 qualities of extraordinary merit. He was her Bertram, 
 and she could say with Helena ; 
 
 M It were all one 
 That I should love a bright particular star, 
 And think to wed it, he is so above me ; 
 In his bright radiance and collateral light 
 Must I be comforted, not in his sphere. 
 The ambition in my love thus plagues itself : 
 The hind, that would be mated by the lion 
 Must die for love." 
 
 These subjects, which had been a theme of constant 
 allusion in their happy childhood, now became, with the 
 approach of maturity, too sacred to be directly spoken of, 
 although uppermost in the minds of both. While Philip 
 loved Rosamond, of all the girls he had ever seen, next 
 to Mariana, he was yet untouched by that sentiment 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 275 
 
 which glowed in the heart and reflected itself in the eyes 
 of his cousin. Nothing had occurred to develop the 
 grand passion in him. The desire, so freely expressed 
 by all the family since his earliest recollection, that he 
 and Rosamond should some day be married, and her own 
 smiling acquiescence in his childish propositions, had 
 deprived his wooing of those love-provoking difficulties 
 which so much serve to call up and hasten the sentiment 
 in ordinary cases. There was, from long habit, no doubt 
 in his mind that she would in the future, when they were 
 both grown up, become his wife; so he had but few of 
 those romantic doubts and schemes for surmounting ob- 
 stacles which largely contribute to the composition of the 
 pleasures of that most charming period of human ex- 
 istence. 
 
 This certainty of future joy did not abide in the warm 
 heart of Rosamond. She knew at an early age the dif- 
 ference in the obligation to obedience between men and 
 women. Philip, as the future heir of the greatest estate 
 in the valley, and the headship of the family, would be a 
 very different personage from any maiden, whatever 
 might be the extent of her inheritance. Her education 
 had strengthened her original impression that her duty 
 required of her absolute reliance on others in such grave 
 matters as the choice of a husband ; that while obedience 
 was not only graceful in woman, but necessary to her 
 peace ; grand and unfaltering self-reliance must be the 
 crowning glory of matured manhood. No hand but God's 
 could lead the strong man in his search for the right way. 
 She considered it right that Philip, with ripened judg- 
 ment, should have it entirely in his own discretion,. 
 
276 The Heirs of St. Hilda. 
 
 whether he should sanction this family arrangement in 
 relation to their marriage. 
 
 Her duty in her own estimation, then, lay in submis- 
 sion to the known wishes of all who were dear to her ; 
 while Philip's, on the contrary, involved the question of 
 his own happiness and the amount of love he bore the 
 woman who was to share his destiny. He in virtue of 
 his manhood, and the very qualities which made him 
 dear to her heart, must be, in the very nature of things, 
 a free agent in this matter of such vital concern to the 
 lives of both. Thus with her daily increasing store of 
 personal and intellectual charms, pondered the maiden. 
 She heard from her mother and Mariana such stories of 
 Philip's increasing worth that she almost trembled at 
 the thought of again meeting him in whose good opinion 
 •she was so deeply interested. Mrs. Courtenay had written 
 to her at school, desiring her to visit Thorndale for a 
 short time before Philip's departure for Europe, and she 
 looked forward to their meeting with mingled emotions 
 •of joy and fear. Her mirror showed her a great differ- 
 ence from what she was a j T ear ago, and the fond admira. 
 tion of her associates often intimated that others 
 appreciated more highly than herself the rapid progress 
 she had made toward that perfection of grace and loveli- 
 ness she was soon to attain. 
 
 Philip entered with enthusiasm into his grandfather's 
 desire that he should embrace the present opportunity of 
 acquainting himself with the nature and peculiarities of 
 his future duties. The Summer waned in this search for 
 practical knowledge, and golden-breasted Autumn came 
 with her overflowing barns. The wheat fields were once 
 again to receive the seed for the next harvest, and this 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 277 
 
 was to be a new era in cultivation to St. Kilda Valley. 
 The " wizzard of the Pacific " had reached even this se- 
 cluded vale. Liebig's remarkable prophesy of the future 
 production of a concentrated fertilizer which should in a 
 small compass contain all the stimulating properties of 
 huge bulks of ordinary manures, had been realized in 
 Peruvian guano, now for the first time introduced into 
 the agriculture of this portion of the country. Judge 
 Eustace had procured a few tons for experiment on his 
 lands; and early in the morning he, with St. George and 
 Philip, repaired to the field where it was being scattered. 
 It was in that part of the farm lying along the turnpike, 
 in front of Mr. Glancy's house, and was a portion of the 
 Grafton property. Upon their arrival they found Nathan 
 Dale in superintendence of the work, for he was overseer 
 of the plantation, and with him were Mr. Glancy and 
 Roger Earl from Vaucluse. 
 
 " Mr. Glancy," said Judge Eustace, " Solomon says, there 
 is nothing new under the sun, but I think this process 
 would have created astonishment on the Judean hills." 
 
 " I have little doubt of it," said Mr. Glancy, " for it 
 amazes me to see you applying that small quantity of 
 dust, as a substitute for the heavy dressings we are in the 
 habit of applying to our lands." 
 
 " "Well," said Nathan Dale, " its consoling to think there 
 'aint much work lost in this 'ere sprinkling process we 
 are going through." 
 
 " We are in our infancy in such matters," said Judge 
 Eustace. " The study of chemistry, apart from the search 
 of the old alchemists for the elixir of life and the secret 
 of transmuting metals, is but a recent thing, and is, of 
 all branches of science, more particularly the child of 
 
278 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 patient experiment. Two hundred years from to-day 
 our posterity will be in the common possession of facts 
 and principles, the sudden production of which among 
 ns now would create more astonishment than a box of 
 lucifer matches among our ancestors. " 
 
 " Judge Eustace,'* said Mr. Glancy, " I think our atten- 
 tion to fertilizers is excluding a proper attention to good 
 drainage. The Goldsby meadows at Vaucluse are the 
 only lands, I know which are up to the mark in that 
 respect." 
 
 "Ten years ago/' said Percival St. George, " much of 
 that land was considered a hopeless quagmire, but it is 
 now as dry and productive as any in the valley." 
 
 " My drains are mostly open," said Judge Eustace, 
 "but I think, with good cultivation, not a gallon of water 
 should be suffered to pass over the surface of the fields. 
 The soil should be open enough to allow the water that 
 falls to pass through under-drains to the large, open 
 ditches. In this way there would be no washing of the 
 surface, but to carry out the idea would involve heavy 
 expenditure." 
 
 "Philip," said Mr. Glancy, "I hear you are going 
 abroad." 
 
 " I shall start soon after Christmas." 
 
 "I wish you much pleasure," said Mr. Glancy, " and as 
 many laurels as I hear you won at the university. I 
 fear Frederick Compton's stay there was disastrous, for 
 he has become morose and dissipated, and I think his 
 father acted wisely in acceeding to his request to send 
 him to another institution." 
 
 Philip rode back to Ellesmere with his grandfather 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 279 
 
 and cousin, and as they left the field Mr. Glancy re- 
 marked : 
 
 " There goes a young man who will be so rich he will 
 be troubled with his wealth, and yet I have never seen 
 any indication of a wish in him to avoid labor and 
 exertion." 
 
 " Philip is a born gentleman," said Roger Earl. " When 
 he comes to Vaucluse he brings sunshine with him, and 
 Mr. St. George, now that Col. Stanhope is dead, seems to 
 care more for him than for anybody in the world." 
 
 "I should like him better," said Nathan Dale, "if he 
 weren't so grand in the way he carries himself. I have 
 been living here on Grafton these ten years, but I 'aint 
 seen any failings in Philip yet." 
 
 " So, you like a man better for having failings, do you ?" 
 said Earl. " I have never considered such things recom- 
 mendations ; if a man does feel easier in a grandee's com- 
 pany who, he knows, was as drunk as a loon last court- 
 week. 
 
 " I don't mean," said Nathan Dale, " that a man should 
 belittle himself in that way; but I want to see a young 
 man be a young man. Why I am just as particular in 
 talking to Philip as I am to his grandfather." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Glancy, " I have known him since his 
 childhood, and he is the same now he was when I first 
 saw him. I honor his independence, and know that his 
 manner is no loftier than the accidents of his birth and 
 education justify." 
 
 There was much talk of this kind in relation to the 
 young heir who was to become so conspicuous among 
 those living in St. Kilda Valley. His neighbors did not 
 fail to discuss his character as they viewed it, and it was 
 
280 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 not unnatural that Nathan Dale should wish for some 
 exhibition of human weakness in one so inferior in years 
 to himself who, nevertheless, inspired him with a con- 
 sciousness of superiority in other things. Dale was old 
 enough for Philip's father, and his testy nature ill-brooked 
 in youth a dignity and self-respect he looked for as a 
 matter of course in Judge Eustace. He had been an 
 overseer of negroes, and had acquired, by long habit of 
 command, considerable notion of his own importance. 
 It was repulsive to his nature to be brought in contact 
 with those whose virtue and knowledge, in spite of their 
 youth, exacted from him a deference he was only willing 
 to bestow on those of maturer years. 
 
 The improvement in Mariana's eyes had continued, 
 until in her evening excursions with Philip she could 
 perceive the features of the surrounding landscape gradu- 
 ally emerging from the gloom of her previous blindness ; 
 and the only disquieting element in her present happi- 
 ness was the reflection that he would soon leave her for 
 foreign lands. She loved especially to visit the lake in 
 the park, and to muse there in the soft twilight. She was 
 comforted with the knowledge that her father's term of 
 office, as governor of the State, would soon expire, for 
 then she expected him to come to Ellesmereto live. The 
 loss of vision had seriously retarded her education, and 
 but for the help she received from the eyes of others, in 
 reading aloud to her, her knowledge would have been 
 extremely limited. Her blindness, however, interfered 
 but slightly with her musical attainments ; what she lost 
 in vision was more than compensated in her wonderful 
 development of the senses of hearing and touch. 
 
 Philip still retained much of his old fondness for his 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 281 
 
 horses and dogs, and frequently followed the hounds, as 
 with wild clamor they drove their crafty prey over the 
 hilly slopes. Tempest had repeated his triumph at the 
 St. Kilda races, and had also won the sweep-stakes over 
 several other courses. Judge Eustace was unwilling 
 that his grandson should make up matches for his horse, 
 for this or any other species of gambling was distasteful 
 to him. He approved of racing, no further than a proper 
 encouragement to those seeking to improve the speed and 
 endurance of horses, and was warmly opposed to betting 
 on the result. The silver cups awarded to the successful 
 champion at St. Kilda, and the purses at other points, he 
 regarded as allowable inducements to subscription, and 
 had thus permitted Philip to send Tempest to several 
 distant fields where he had reaped fresh laurels. The 
 courser was now eight years old, and was, therefore, con- 
 sidered an old horse on the turf, consequently he had 
 been withdrawn, and confined to his paddock and stable. 
 Arthur Kean had surmised truly, when, on the recep- 
 tion of Mr. Somerville's letter, he told Philip it was of his 
 opinion that Judge Eustace had been instrumental in 
 getting him the opportunity of immediate employment 
 in his profession. The business of his partner had been 
 so long lucrative he had accumulated a handsome for- 
 tune, and was now indisposed to continue the office duties 
 connected with his practice. The commendations of the 
 ex-chief-justice, of the diligence and good sense of Kean, 
 induced Mr. Somerville to make the offer of association, 
 and the young lawyer at once entered upon constant and 
 laborious duty. He willingly assumed all the trouble of 
 drawing up conveyances, contracts, wills, etc., and hunt- 
 ing up authorities on litigated cases. Mr. Somerville 
 
282 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 became speedily convinced of the future prominence of 
 his associate, and did all in his power, by timely advice 
 to him, and judicious praise to others, to lay the founda- 
 tion of a reputation destined to culminate in the highest 
 legal honors. 
 
 Kean was not possessed of great original power in his 
 intellectual endowments, and in this respect was fortun- 
 ately constituted for a practising lawyer. While Lord 
 Bacon, Sir Thomas More, Alexander Hamilton, and a 
 few others, have been profound jurists, and, at the same 
 time men of grand natural proportions; there is some 
 truth in Junius' strictures, when he remarks in his letter 
 to Lord Mansfield, " As a practical profession, the study 
 of the law requires but a moderate portion of abilities. 
 The learning of a pleader is usually upon a level with 
 his integrity. The indiscriminate defense of right and 
 wrong contracts the understanding while it corrupts the 
 heart. Subtlety is soon mistaken for wisdom, and im- 
 punity for virtue." 
 
 The young lawyer was too much engaged to be much 
 with his friends at Ellesmere, but occasional^ spent a 
 day with much pleasure in the circle so thoroughly ap- 
 preciating his sterling qualities. They had all collected 
 in the library, one evening, after supper. It was early 
 winter, and the fire illuminating their countenaces show- 
 ed that time had brought alleviation of their sorrow. 
 The accustomed look of peace and satisfaction had re- 
 turned to every face, but that of Mrs. Eustace. The 
 fond mother's grief was still fresh in her heart. Like 
 Constance pining for Arthur, the tender memory kept 
 whispering : 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 283 
 
 "Grief fills the room up of my absent child, 
 Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me; 
 There's nothing in this world can make me joy : 
 Life is as tedious as a twice told tale, 
 Vexing the dull ear of a drowsy man." 
 
 " Philip," said Mr. Grey, " I almost envy you the pleas- 
 ure and instruction I am sure you will realize in the next 
 three years ; but beware of the insidious influence of Ger- 
 man infidelity, That nation is in many respects the 
 foremost people in the world ; but a disbelief in every- 
 thing which is high and holy, seems to pervade the phil- 
 osophy of the country, and has reached the popular 
 heart." 
 
 "The Germans of our day," said Judge Eustace, " have 
 but few characteristics in common with those who lived 
 there in Luther's days. The reformers and their enemies 
 were all thoroughly in earnest, and were ready to die in 
 defence of either their religion or country; but in the 
 last century the two leading German minds have been as 
 devoid of trust in God as of enlightened patriotism. 
 Goethe's leading characteristic was his skepticism, and, 
 great as he was as a poet, was but little interested in the 
 woes of his people. Frederick of Prussia was no better 
 than Voltaire, whom he imitated in ethics and warred 
 himself into immortality, totally disregarding his father's 
 assent to the Pragmatic Sanction, and the tremendous 
 woes he thus brought upon his own kingdom." 
 
 "Grandfather," said Philip, "I do not think that all 
 the Germans of the sixteenth century were so much in 
 earnest. If you will recall the character of Maurice of 
 Saxony, you will recognize a man in every respect as 
 selfish and destitute of patriotism as Goethe himself, and 
 the want of the nobler instincts in him is more than 
 
284 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 atoned for in the genius and popularity of Schiller. I 
 know there is a want of faith in all classes of Germany; 
 and while I admire their research and acumen in his- 
 torical matters, I as heartily as any one condemn their 
 tendency to skepticism." 
 
 " The strangest feature," remarked Judge Eustace, " is 
 witnessed in the centrifugal aspects of their governmental 
 history. They have been for ages the most numerous 
 race in Europe; but such has been the uniform division 
 and discord among them, they have been, all the while, 
 inferior to the concentrated power of their French neigh- 
 bors. All their efforts for consolidation have proved 
 abortive; and Charles V., himself as emperor only 
 enforced the shadowy prerogatives of his position, by 
 means of his matchless Spanish infantry. The Smald- 
 kaldic League eventually triumphed even over him, and 
 the other kaisers were never anything but magnificent 
 pretenders. How a people, who would be of such ma- 
 jestic strength if united, should consent to dissipate its 
 power among petty principalities, is beyond my compre- 
 hension." 
 
 " I doubt the policy of combining small communities 
 into large empires," said Philip. " There must be con- 
 flict of interest between states sundered by long distances ; 
 how then can uniform laws of revenue and commerce 
 bear equally upon those having no object in common, 
 save that of defence against foreign invasion. Suppose, 
 for instance, that an agricultural people are attached to 
 a government whose legislation is chiefly directed to the 
 support of manufactures : can one interest be fostered 
 without injury to the other? and is it in the nature of 
 man to so discriminate between antagonistic pursuits as 
 
Grief at EUesmere. 285 
 
 to weigh out in golden scales the damage and benefit 
 equally between them ? We have in the history of the 
 small Hellenic communities, when their cities were au- 
 tonomous, a state of prosperity which has probably never 
 been equaled, except perhaps by similar Italian republics 
 previous to the change of the trade routes from the East. 
 The same effects were repeated in Germany by the cities 
 constituting the Hanseatic League. I do not believe, 
 trammelled by general systems of revenue, these small 
 communities could have ever reached a tithe of the pros- 
 perity which was the consequence of their individual 
 wisdom and freedom from restraint." 
 
 " That sounds very plausible," said Judge Eustace, 
 " but where is the necessity of any conflict of interest be- 
 tween communities owing a common allegiance to the 
 same government ? Take your example of a nation con- 
 stituted as our own, of two great sections: the one devo- 
 ted to the cultivation of the soil, and the other to manu- 
 factures. I can see no necessity for undue depression or 
 exaltation of either interest. I grant you, if one obtain 
 the ascendency in legislation, and disregards the rights 
 of the other, oppression the most hateful and intolerable 
 can be visited upon the community which is thus placed 
 at the mercy of its competitor. I know this spirit has 
 actuated many governments, and is not entirely wanting 
 in our own ; yet it is the most abject statesmanship which 
 can be imagined. Instead of there being a necessary 
 conflict, there should be a lasting benefit involved in the 
 very diversity of pursuits distinguishing the two sections. 
 Political economists have demonstrated that division of 
 labor is beneficial, for one portion of the nation produces 
 what the other consumes. Under a w T ise and economical 
 
286 The Heirs of St. Kiida. 
 
 administration of the government, the only oppression 
 possible would be from revenue laws ; if for the sake of 
 some interest, imposts should be laid on foreign goods: 
 but even in such cases the injury is so slight, it is scarcely 
 perceived in our present system." 
 
 ''That is all true," said Philip, "but, grandfather, un- 
 der your supposition there is mutual concession and com- 
 promise of the antagonisms in interest. You presume 
 that great states are necessarily wise in their avoidance 
 of favoritism among the sections ; but you must recollect 
 that nothing is so easily created and blindly maintained, 
 as the animosities which seem almost certain to rise be- 
 tween communities defined by habits or geographical 
 position, and ruled by the same government. How did 
 the Flemings and Spanards hate each other under Philip 
 II. or the English and Scotch under James I? The 
 people of England loathed the Dutch under William III, 
 as they did the Hanoverians under the first and second 
 Georges. I think it a poor reliance for the weaker to 
 trust the stronger party, if there be any chance of self- 
 protection and autonomy possible to the minority." 
 
 " That may be the case, my son," said Judge Eustace, 
 but the important problem, we as a nation are working 
 out, remains unsolved. I confess that these same jealous- 
 ies and animosities of which you speak are ill omens of 
 our ultimate success. They defy any system of govern- 
 ment, and when carried to excess in a free republic can 
 lead to but one result — the loss of liberty to all parties 
 concerned. Sectional hatred and free institutions are 
 incompatible with each other, and must sooner or later 
 result in bloodshed. Such animosities are the most sense- 
 less infirmities to which large masses of men are liable. 
 
G rief at Ellesmere. 287 
 
 Like jealousy, they subsist on imaginary wrongs, and 
 like Ot hello discover, too late, the folly of their resent- 
 ments. One community which has seen but little of the 
 other, and often with many friends living in the hated 
 section, yet for some unaccountable reason, takes up a 
 deadly animosity, and is deaf to reason, until they have 
 imbrued their hands in kindred blood. Many govern- 
 ments have been ruined, because a few selfish men have 
 sown the seeds of future discord, expecting no direr result 
 than their own elevation to office. All other evils of free 
 government are slight in comparison to those which flow 
 from the machinations of demagogues. They are reck- 
 less of what may be the consequence of their teachings, 
 and with our natural proneness to evil we are too apt to 
 prefer such to better men. Such men have not been con- 
 fined to great states ; in the small Greek and Italian re- 
 publics, they flourished to perfection. Athenian Cleon has 
 furnished the model for many modern imitators, and 
 Dante knew many such in the Florentine troubles, whose 
 bad names have been preserved in unenviable immortal- 
 ity in the Divine Comedy." 
 
 "How then, uncle," said St. George, "can you, knowing 
 that mob-rule is certain to gender and tod often elevate 
 to office such curses as these men, still sanction de- 
 mocracy. I believe our American glorification of free 
 institutions is all delusion. We have erected the sense- 
 less masses into another golden calf, and our public men 
 vie with each other in their worship of an idol, which, in 
 scriptural language, having eyes sees not, and ears hears 
 not. It nauseates me to hear stump-speakers talking of 
 the voice of the people being the voice of God; I would 
 
288 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 much sooner expect to find them registering the devil's 
 edicts." 
 
 " What wisdom can there be in looking for discre- 
 tion among those who have no opinions of their own ? 
 and to low, dissolute natures for the preservation and en- 
 couragement of political virtue?" 
 
 " Your remarks, Percival," said Judge Eustace, " grow 
 out of your theory of government, which you know ex- 
 tends but little beyond affording protection to the enjoy- 
 ment of property and the punishment of guilt. You 
 have always maintained that the masses should be held 
 in quiet subjection to those who, by reason of their 
 superior intelligence and virtue are better suited for 
 framing and executing the laws. The true theory is, that 
 government should be instituted for the protection of the 
 helpless and weak, from the rapacity of the wise and 
 strong. Intelligence and capital very well take care of 
 themselves, and need but few safeguards from the law, 
 but ignorance, with all the help that can be afforded, will 
 suffer in the hands of unprincipled men. As the greater 
 portion of every community thus stand in need of pro- 
 tection, they are made the fountain of political power to 
 enable them as much as possible to counteract the schemes 
 of crafty selfishness. That the people often blunder in 
 their ignorance is true, but they gain wisdom by experi- 
 ence, and what is found to be bad policy to-day can be 
 changed to-morrow. Then, too, freedom of speech allows 
 any one who has enough of patriotism and ability to do 
 so to pull the lion's skin from the shoulders of the dema- 
 gogue who seeks to mislead them." 
 
 " I know that theory very well," said Percival, " but 
 what punishment would follow such an exposure? If 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 289 
 
 he is not a high civil officer, nothing but his own con- 
 science reproves him for his misdemeanor, and the self- 
 reproaches of such a man are but slight. If, like Warren 
 Hastings, he fills a station of importance, and is guilty of 
 such enormities, another Edmund Burke may be fired 
 with indignation, and put in process impeachment, with 
 all its pageantry ; but you well know how enormous the 
 crime must be to produce such a state of things. It has 
 been two centuries since the Earl of Stafford suffered for 
 what his own violent political enemies alleged against 
 him, and his was the latest impeachment, I now recollect 
 which ended capitally. The pitiless and bloody man, 
 who had exhausted the catalogue of crimes in India 
 was never punished ; yet who, but God, can say, that 
 Thomas Wentworth's motives were criminal, in his ad- 
 vocacy of the Thorough ?" 
 
 " If we can trust to Stafford's own declaration," said 
 Judge Eustace, " he had labored for years to make Eng- 
 land what France then was under Louis XIV. The best 
 efforts of his life were devoted to the destruction of that 
 assurance of liberty to the subject which had commenced 
 at the field of Runnymede, and by slow and continuous 
 struggle on the part of Parliament had assumed some 
 form and substance at that day. If it be treason to seek the 
 destruction of the barriers which protect individual right 
 against the encroachment of the sovereign, then he was 
 a traitor. His talents made him all the more dangerous 
 to popular liberty, and had he been successful in his de- 
 signs civilization would have borne a very different aspect 
 from what it does. Trials for political offences are natur- 
 ally difficult and delicate, and should be as seldom resort- 
 ed to as is consistent with the safety of the state. The 
 19 
 
290 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 modern roind justly revolts at the sequence of bloody 
 vengeance upon the success of a party, for, however mis- 
 taken and criminal in their view, the conduct of their 
 fallen opponents — patriotism and purity of purpose may, 
 after all, have been the motives actuating their conduct." 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Grey, " that charity which covers a 
 multitude of sins, should be in our hearts and soften our 
 judgments toward those in office. Without his own de- 
 clarations to guide us, a public man's motives are often 
 only known to himself and God, and where our interests 
 are identical with his it seems to me unnatural that any 
 one should deliberately plot mischief when it is sure to 
 recoil upon himself and his posterity." 
 
 "I know," said Percival, " that Lord Bacon has said, 
 that in his children a man has given hostages to fortune: 
 but the thoroughly selfish have small regard for those 
 who are to come after him. Imagine Catiline or Benedict 
 Arnold considering the interests of their grandchildren ! 
 Why such men are utterly indifferent to everything except 
 themselves." 
 
 " Cousin Percy," said Mariana, " do you think it possi- 
 ble for men to become as sinful as that? How can they 
 thus forget God and their future accountability? I can- 
 not imagine anything desirable in high station, when 
 memory brings shame to the man who has thus climbed 
 a ladder of crime to reach objects which are only desir- 
 able, after all, in the increased pleasure successful merit 
 imparts. 
 
 " How e'er it be it seems to me 
 'Tis only noble to be good. 
 Kind hearts are more than coronets, 
 And simple faith than Norman blood."' 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 291 
 
 "That is the true philosophy, after all," said Judge 
 Eustace, " for Shakspeare makes Macbeth, even while re- 
 flecting upon his intended crime, acknowledge, that 
 
 "Vaulting ambition which o'er leaps itself," 
 
 is after all insufficient, for, as the regicide declared, 
 
 "In these cases, 
 We still have judgment here, that we but teach 
 Bloody instructions, which, being taught, return 
 To plague the inventor : This even-handed justice 
 Commends the ingredients of our poison'd chalice 
 To our own lips." 
 
 Often in such discussions of the great problems of hu- 
 man life did the circle at Ellesmere spend their evenings. 
 This portion of the day had long been by Judge Eustace 
 held sacred to conversation and pleasure. It would have 
 been a matter of astonishment to Philip and Mariana to 
 have known how much of their information on all sub- 
 jects had been obtained on such occasions, for they were 
 ever eager listeners to their wise and affectionate grand- 
 father. 
 
 As the time of his departure drew near, Philip fre- 
 quently amused himself in inspections of the stables and 
 kennel. With all his interest in graver subjects, his mind 
 yet recurred to the days when these were the most pleas- 
 ant haunts of his boyhood. One evening, after returning 
 from a ride with his sister, he found Thompson at the 
 kennel gate, and remarked: 
 
 " Uncle Thompson, I am soon going away again, and 
 shall be gone for a long time ; so I fear Ringwood and 
 Sweetlips will be too old to lead the pack when I return. 
 You must take good care of them in my absence, for the 
 good they have done." 
 
292 2he Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " Shore and sartin I will, Mass Phil. Ise hearn tell how 
 you'er gwine away agin, an' it hurt my feelins, for if you 
 blieve me, I was hopin' how you was to stay here a long 
 time. Whar you gwine to now, Mass Phil ?" 
 
 " Away over the ocean to Europe, and I expect to be 
 gone at least three years." 
 
 " Well, Mass Phil, some how I 'aint never had much 
 opinion of dem folks sense de way dey served Mass Percy 
 over dare. Why afore he went amongst dem he was allers 
 a sky-larking one way or another. I never seed a young 
 man fuller of life in my born days, and when he got back 
 you wouldn't er knowd him. You was a leetle bit of a 
 boy den, but he 'aint got over it yit; for sometimes I looks 
 at him settin' upon his horse, an' he is so solemn like 
 about de face, it hurts my heart to see him. Nancy said 
 'twas all about a young lady; but if you blieves me ef half 
 de women in de world was clean dead and gone 'twould- 
 n't serve me so." 
 
 " Uncle Thomnson, vou have never loved as he did." 
 
 " Maybe not, Mass Phil, but I sets a heap er store by 
 Nancy, specially sense she's lef off devilin' me 'bout 
 sperits." 
 
 Philip had received, that day, a letter from Rosamond. 
 She was tender in her allusions to his expected absence 
 from the country, and besought him to allow her to see 
 him once more before he departed. There were many 
 things she wished to talk over with him, now that more 
 than a year had elapsed since they had seen each other. 
 She had met Lily Seaton, who had known him at the 
 University, and she had manifested much interest in form- 
 ing Rosamond's acquaintance. They had spoken much 
 of him, and the heiress of Thorndale was very proud of 
 his college reputation. 
 
Grief at Ellesmere. 293 
 
 The happy days of thoughtless boyhood had passed 
 away, and the future lay before Philip, full of glowing 
 promise. 
 
 The death of Stanhope Eustace had much increased 
 the prospective weight of responsibility which would 
 some day come upon him, and with a clear perception of 
 what would be his duties under the circumstances, he 
 went on w 7 ith his work of preparation. Grief was under- 
 mining the health of his grandmother, and was reflecting 
 itself upon the strongly sympathetic nature of Mariana. 
 The prospect of his departure, under these circumstances, 
 brought with it many disquieting suggestions; but youth 
 is ever hopeful; so Philip, placing his trust in that unfail- 
 ing Providence which had thus far cared for him, calmly 
 accepted the sorrows of the present, and with golden 
 hopes awaited the future. 
 
294 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TITUS PAINE — THE OUTLAW. 
 
 "He chose the Sinner's way, the Scorner's rnirth; 
 Now feigned contrition with obdurate tears, 
 Then wore a bravery that betrayed his fears ; 
 "With oaths and curses now his Lord denied. 
 And strangled guilty shame with desperate pride; 
 While inly rack'd, he proved what culprits feel, 
 When conscience breaks remembrance on the wheel." 
 
 —Abdullah and Sabat. 
 
 The annual races near St. Kilda had passed with the 
 usual festivities, and Philip had looked on, as the high 
 mettled coursers out- stripped the speed of the winds. He 
 still found much pleasure in the noble animals, as in 
 conscious power they spurned the dust from their impa- 
 tient feet ; but it was no longer the absorbing interest he 
 had felt two years before, when Tempest was so all-im- 
 portant in his estimation. The honor of his family and 
 native valley had ceased to be dependant, in his opinion, 
 on the result of horse-races. With the lapse of time, 
 higher aspirations had come, and the horizon of his hopes 
 and joys had immensely expanded. No vague phantoms 
 of unsatisfied ambition supplied the place of these buried 
 idols ; but with grave and hopeful consideration of the 
 future, he realized, thus standing on the threshold of 
 manhood, that comfort and usefulness must be found in 
 higher walks. 
 
 The glare and heat of summer had given place to the 
 chastened glories of autumn, and under the weird touches 
 of the frost, the forest, with its unnumbered shades of 
 green, was now gay in a thousand varied tints. The 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 295 
 
 squirrel revelled in the boundless profusion of ripened 
 nuts, and the balmy air and dreamy voluptuousness of 
 Indian Summer gladdened the land. The softness of the 
 atmosphere and the gorgeous hill-sides filled the heart of 
 Philip with delight. He thought of Rosamond far away 
 in the dreary brick walls of the city, and longed for her 
 to be with him, as he surveyed their native hills thus 
 robed in the pomp of mysterious decay. 
 
 Alfred and Isabel Ridgely were visiting the family at 
 Ellesmere. Late that evening Judge Eustace returned 
 from Grafton with the information that Mr. Grey had 
 been taken suddenly ill. Philip at once determined to 
 go and spend the night with his former instructor, and 
 Ridgely having joined him in this resolution, they were 
 soon at the house jointly occupied by Nathan Dale and 
 the good man. Mr. Grey protested they were giving 
 themselves unnecessary trouble ; that he would very well 
 pass the night alone ; but the hot, dry skin and unceas- 
 ing pain convinced Philip that the sufferer, who was but 
 feeble at best, was prostrated by a serious attack of bilious 
 fever. 
 
 " I am scarcely ever sick," said Mr. Grey, " that I cannot 
 trace my bodily distemper to some sorrow of the mind. 
 The death of poor Stanhope, and the prospect of your 
 own departure, Philip, have weighed heavily on my 
 spirits: added to this, Isham, in whom I have greatly 
 confided, from the apparent christian sobriety of his be- 
 havior, is implicated in hog-stealing with a runaway 
 negro, and I have been sorely tried in his apostacy. 
 Many good men think negroes incorrigible, and have but 
 little faith in their profession of religion, but I have not 
 limited the divine grace in such a way. I believe the 
 
296 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 promise is to all men, and now to find that Isham, who 
 was, in appearance, one of the best of my little flock here 
 is a hog-thief, has brought me much disappointment and 
 chagrin." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Grey," said Philip, " do not suffer your- 
 self to be distressed by this affair. Remember even one 
 of the chosen twelve fell into the sin of denying his Lord, 
 and expect no more of this recreant negro. I know how 
 you trusted Isham, but there are others who at least have 
 not openly fallen." 
 
 " St. Peter sinned," said Mr. Grey, " and bitterly repent- 
 ed his fall, but Isham is sullen since the reception of 
 punishment, and seems utterly indifferent to what God 
 requires. I can see no trace of penitence in his hard and 
 obdurate heart." 
 
 This trouble was evidently uppermost in the good man's 
 thoughts, but Philip's tact gradually led him to the con- 
 sideration of other subjects, and the three consumed much 
 of the night in conversation. Alfred Ridgely retired to 
 an upper room, leaving his comrade to watch by the 
 bedside of the sick man. Mr. Grey had fallen asleep, and 
 as Philip sat in silence, many thoughts of his happy 
 childhood, so largely associated with him who lay moan- 
 ing in his troubled slumber, went and came through his 
 mind. 
 
 The candle had been so shaded in the fire-place that 
 but little light was in the room, when Philip was astonish- 
 ed to hear the sound of falling blows. He listened in- 
 tently, and smothered sobs of pain came to his ear. This 
 was followed by the sharp clatter of a horses feet approach- 
 ing at a gallop. He went to the outer door and noise- 
 lessly opened it. The moonlight rested full upon the 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 297 
 
 trees round the house 7 and Philip distinctly saw Nathan 
 Dale dismount and tie his horse to a rack. He also 
 noticed a bright light in the kitchen, the door of which 
 was opened as the overseer approached, and a negro wo- 
 man came out weeping. 
 
 " Miranda," said Dale, " what are you crying about, 
 what did you make a fire for in the kitchen this time of 
 night?" 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Dale," said the woman, " Titus Paine is here, 
 and has beaten me almost to death to make me cook 
 something for him to eat. Ke made the fire and is in 
 the house now." 
 
 " Who are you ?" said Dale, as he stepped into the 
 kitchen. 
 
 " Didn't that woman tell you who I am ?" growled the 
 heavy voice of a gigantic negro as he arose from his seat. 
 
 " How dare you come here, runaway and outlaw as you 
 are?" 
 
 " I comes when I please, and I goes when I please, I 
 does." 
 
 Dale stooped to raise a broken chair which lay on the 
 floor, when Titus Paine, with the spring of a tiger, leaped 
 forward, and with a blow from a club he had held behind 
 him, struck down the overseer, and kicked his body from 
 the kitchen. The hardened wretch, without further at- 
 tention to the man he had slain, deliberately resumed his 
 seat to finish his interrupted meal. Prudence should 
 have prompted Philip, after he had witnessed this scene 
 of violence, to have aroused Alfred Ridgely to aid him 
 in the desperate resolution he then formed ; but the brutal 
 atrocity of the murder had aroused a nature which 
 brooked no delay in its wrath. He grasped a stick, and 
 
298 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 before Titus Paine was aware of his presence on the 
 plantation he was standing in the kitchen door. As the 
 ruffian raised his sinister eyes he beheld a minister of 
 vengeance, before whose awakened fury the stoutest heart 
 might well have quailed. Philip was in his shirt sleeves, 
 and Titus saw, at a glance, the power and activity of his 
 new antagonist. He perceived in the steady eyes that 
 regarded him a spirit before which one less determined 
 might have shrunk with apprehension. The runaway 
 exhibited no symptoms of fear, but at once sprang up 
 without a word to meet his advancing foe. The heavy 
 club was again brandished aloft, but striking the joist of 
 the unceiled room fell with diminished force on the stick 
 which had already inflicted a blow on the negro, but 
 glanced from his thick skull as if it had been iron. 
 Again the enraged Titan brought down the club, but its 
 force was parried each time by the skillful fencer, until 
 blinded by the strokes which fell so fast upon him, he 
 dropped his weapon and rushed in upon Philip. 
 
 The extraordinary power of each was now strained to 
 its utmost, but Philip's superior activity gave him the 
 advantage, and with a shock that made the house tremble 
 the African fell with his feet high in the air. The heavy 
 club was grasped before the negro could arise, and a single 
 blow sufficed to end the combat. Titus Paine lay in- 
 sensible on the floor, as Mr. Grey and Alfred Ridgely 
 made their appearance. The unconscious ruffian was 
 tied, and on bringing into the light the body of Dale it 
 w T as found that life was utterly extinct, for the blow on 
 his skull had crushed it. Several of the negro men, in 
 the meanwhile, had collected before the door, attracted 
 by the outcry of Miranda at the commencement of hos- 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 299 
 
 tilities between Philip and the runaway. One of them 
 came in, and looking in Titus' face, remarked : 
 
 " Mass Phil, dat nigger aint no more out of his senses 
 dan I is." 
 
 " It makes but little difference," said Philip, " whether 
 he talks or not." 
 
 "Mass Phil," said the foreman, "I didn't b'lieve the 
 man was living calcerlated to throw Titus Paine, but I 
 seed you when you tuck de fiyin mare on him, and bless 
 to heaven he nately shuck de yeth." 
 
 " Philip," said Ridgely, " did you grapple with that 
 huge man-mountain on the floor?" 
 
 " Yes, he ran in upon me, in spite of the beating I gave 
 him with the heavy stick you see lying there. Poor Dale 
 died under the first blow." 
 
 "Iheerd Titus Paine say, day fore yistiddy, he were 
 gwine to kill Mr. Dale," said one of the negroes. 
 
 Mr. Grey was too ill to remain up longer, but the two 
 young men watched over the dead body and the prisoner 
 the remainder of the night. At day-dawn Titus, evident- 
 ly in his senses, but obstinately silent, was conveyed to 
 St. Kilda jail. The fact of his commitment, and the 
 brutal murder he had just perpetrated, became known, 
 and a concourse of citizens, already acquainted with his 
 infamous character, demanded the keys of the jailor, that 
 they might proceed to summary punishment, but speeches 
 by Judge Eustace, and Mr. Somerville, induced them to 
 leave him to the law he had so often violated. It lacked 
 but a short time to the occurrence of the fall term of the 
 superior court, and he could then have his trial. There 
 was scarcely a man in the valley who had not suffered by 
 the depredations of the culprit who lay heavily ironed in 
 
300 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 prison, and such was the determination that he should 
 not escape justice, the men of the town and the surround- 
 ing country kept guard around the jail for fear he might 
 possibly break out, as he had done on previous accasions. 
 
 Titus Paine had for some time been looked upon as the 
 nuisance and terror of St. Kilda Valley. In some in- 
 stances, after forcibly entering houses, he had unmerci- 
 fully beaten the owners who resented his intrusion. He 
 was never known to labor, but carried such of the animals 
 as he needed for his subsistence to his den. Frequent 
 attempts were made to arrest him, but he had contrived 
 hitherto to elude every scheme for his capture. No man 
 felt safe when he had reason to believe that Titus was in 
 his neighborhood, for if he failed to get vengeance on the 
 person of him he regarded as his enemy, he was apt to 
 take satisfaction on the live stock and barns b}^ burning 
 the one and killing the other. The community was 
 highly gratified, when it was understood that this desper- 
 ate outlaw had been arrested in the midst of his crimes. 
 His great stature and unusual strength were well known 
 in the country, and it was thought a matter of impossi- 
 bility for any one man to cope with him successfully, 
 unaided bv fire arms. 
 
 The community were astonished that Philip, unarmed 
 and by his own physical strength, had encountered and 
 overcome this son of Anak, and the popular admiration 
 of his spirit and power rose to frenzy. Nothing sooner 
 rivets the attention of the masses than the union of 
 dauntless courage and great bodily vigor. This is the 
 secret of Richard of the lion-heart's fame, and beyond 
 these cpualifications there is nothing in the character of 
 Sampson to justify the admiration of men, and so 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 301 
 
 captivated even the grand genius of Milton that it led to 
 the composition of his Agonistes, Stanhope Eustace had 
 been correct in his estimate of Philip's disposition. He 
 was as insensible to fear as any one having the same mo- 
 tives to desire a continuance of life. Unhappiness and 
 despair often create heroes of very common-place charac- 
 ters, and men have astonished armies with the splendor 
 of their daring whose disappointment and troubles had 
 made them weary of life. Philip had much to hope for 
 from the future, but this weighed nothing in the balance 
 when his controlling sense of duty led in a different 
 direction. He had periled his life in the conflict with 
 Titus, because he believed it incumbent upon every good 
 citizen to arrest the perpetrators of high crime. The de- 
 liberate slaughter of Nathan Dale had excited his indig- 
 nation and hatred of oppression, for the overseer had fal- 
 len in the conscientious discharge of his duty. 
 
 On the evening succeeding the murder of Nathan Dale 
 all the family at Ellesmere were collected, for Mr. Grey 
 had been brought from Grafton in a carriage and was 
 now able to sit up. 
 
 " Judge Eustace," said Alfred Ridgely, " I hear that 
 Titus Paine has long borne an infamous character. Do 
 you know much of his previous history ?" 
 
 " Titus Paine," said the Judge, " first came to my notice 
 when I was a member of the supreme court. He had 
 been convicted of murder in the court below, and his 
 counsel had brought the case, by appeal, before us. The 
 case was one of intense interest, from the direct conflict 
 between the facts deposed to, and the prisoner's confes- 
 sions ; and in this way my attention was strongly drawn 
 to the accused. I learned that Titus had been owned by 
 
302 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 a man living in the eastern part of the State, and hired 
 to another who was getting shingles in that section of 
 the country. This is a business much followed in that 
 portion of the State, and in the same swamp in which 
 Titus was working, a man named Cullens, assisted by his 
 son, found his livelihood in a similar occupation. Amos 
 Cullens, being subject to epileptic convulsions, was, at 
 best, very feeble in body and mind, and was at times sub- 
 ject to fits of melancholy. One Saturday afternoon he 
 told his son, Richard, to leave his drawing knife with 
 which he was at work and go home to his mother, as she 
 would need his services in procuring firewood. They 
 had no servants, and such labor fell to the share of the 
 oldest son. Richard obeyed his father's injunction, and 
 left him alone in the swamp." 
 
 " As night came on," continued Judge Eustace, "Mrs. 
 Cullens became uneasy for her husband's safety ; but as 
 it was two miles to the place where he had been left at 
 work by Richard, she forbore sending her son, who was 
 of tender years, to look for him, for fear he might come 
 to harm. She spent the night much troubled in mind, 
 and as soon as it was light on Sunday morning Richard 
 set out in search of his father. He went to the point 
 where Cullens had been left at work, and found the tools 
 with which their handicraft was prosecuted hidden where 
 they were accustomed to be concealed. At a small dis- 
 tance from them, the coat which the unfortunate man 
 had worn the day before, was found lying on a fallen tree, 
 and near by the boy discovered the dead body of his 
 father suspended by the neck to a tree. Horror-stricken 
 the son returned to his mother and informed her of the 
 calamity which had thus deprived her family of its head 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 303 
 
 and principal support. The coroner of the county was at 
 once made acquainted with these facts, and he summoned 
 a jury of inquest to determine, if possible, in what man- 
 ner the deceased had come to his death." 
 
 " Upon examination of the ground about the spot there 
 was no trace of a struggle, as would have been the case 
 had some other man been the author of the hanging. 
 The body, when taken down and examined, exhibited no 
 sign of violence, and the clothes Cullens wore were not 
 torn or injurned. His suspenders were used as the cord 
 producing death. The tree upon which he was hanging- 
 was just rigid enough to lift his feet clear of the ground, 
 and upon his arms and legs were found small pieces of 
 moss corresponding to that on the tree, while on the 
 maple itself a portion of the parasites had been rubbed 
 off. The jury were further put in possession of the facts 
 in Richard's knowledge, and I think were warranted by 
 the testimony in finding, as they did, that the deceased 
 had come to his death by his own hands." 
 
 " A few days after the jury of inquest had reached this 
 conclusion, Titus Paine went by the house of Mrs. Cul- 
 lens, and asked permission of her to drink at the well. 
 She deposed, in her testimony, that she had consented to 
 his request, and that after slaking his thirst, he told her 
 he had heard of her husband's death and the verdict of 
 the coroner's jury. He further said, though they might 
 think Mr. Cullens had killed himself, he, Titus, had good 
 reason to believe that some enemy had inflicted this in- 
 jury upon her. Mrs. Cullens said, she thought no more 
 of this declaration of the negro, considering it idle talk, 
 and not believing for an instant that he really knew any- 
 
304 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 thing of the matter beyond the facts already in common 
 possession. 
 
 " Several years after this," continued Judge Eustace, 
 *' the man with whom Titus was then at work, declared, 
 that late one night he was awakened b} r a conversation 
 carried on in a low tone between Paine and another negro 
 man who was spending the night under the same shed 
 with himself in the swamp. He swore that he dis- 
 tinctly heard Titus ask his comrade if he recollected 
 Amos Cullens, and upon his answering in the affirmative, 
 Titus remarked, ' The white folks thought he killed him- 
 self ; but don't you believe it, for I hung that man my- 
 self.' Some years after this, the accused went to a neigh- 
 boring county where his master lived, and while there 
 declared to the negroes the same thing. By some means 
 these facts reached the ears of the grand jury of the county 
 in which Cullens had died, and thus Titus Paine became 
 indicted for a murder alleged to have been committed 
 years before. When the sheriff arrested him, he inquired 
 of his prisoner if he knew any cause why he should be 
 taken into custody ; and Titus supposed it was to satisfy 
 some execution against his owner who was embarrassed 
 by pecuniary difficulties. Upon being assured that he 
 was mistaken, he seemed reflecting for an instant, and 
 remarked, ' I expect it is about that old Cullens matter.' 
 
 " To prove that the physical strength of Titus Paine 
 would have enabled him to have hanged Amos Cullens 
 without much exertion, it was shown by the prosecution 
 that for some grave misdemeanor his first owner had, on 
 one occasion, determined to send him out of the State, to 
 be sold in the city of New Orleans. In carrying out this 
 object he was taken in chains to the nearest sea-port, and 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 305 
 
 placed on a vessel which was about to sail for his point 
 of destination. Early in the voyage this vessel was 
 wrecked on the coast, and lay beached upon the barrier 
 of sand which there separates the ocean and sound waters. 
 For safe-keeping, after the vessel was stranded, the cap- 
 tain chained Titus by one of his legs to the anchor of his 
 bark, and went off with some wreckers to spend the night 
 at their house. Titus was so fastened to the large mass 
 of iron, he could not escape without sundering the chains 
 by which he was confined. None of the crew having re- 
 mained by the wreck, they discovered, the next morning, 
 that the negro and anchor had both disappeared. Titus 
 was traced across the banks to a house a mile off, to 
 which point, by his unaided strength, like another Sam- 
 son, he had borne a burden supposed to be impossible to 
 human strength. Having found an axe there, he escaped 
 from his massive clog, and his master having relented 
 allowed him to resume his business of getting shingles." 
 
 " It was further shown that his unaided strength was 
 sufficient to lift a hogshead of molasses into a dray, and 
 it was a common feat with him to take hold of the two 
 ends of a full barrel of whisky and, raising it up, to drink 
 from the bung. This testimony was thought sufficient 
 in the first trial in the court below to justify the jury in 
 finding him guilty of the murder of Amos Cullens. Ex- 
 ception was taken to the ruling on some points of the 
 presiding judge, and we of the supreme court, having 
 granted a new trial, he was soon after acquitted." 
 
 " What !" said Mr. Grey, " acquit such a monster of 
 iniquity after his repeated confessions that he had wan- 
 tonly slain the man Cullens ?" 
 
 "Yes," said Judge Eustace, "the last jury acquitted 
 20 
 
306 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 mainly on the ground that there was no assignable reason 
 for Titus' commission of the alleged felony. The facts, 
 outside of his confession, indicated, unmistakeably, suicide 
 on the part of Cullens, and a slight acquaintance with 
 criminal practice will satisfy any one that no species of 
 evidence is so liable to be false as confession of crime. 
 It is a singular aberration of the human mind, and hun- 
 dreds of cases have shown that under some strong delu- 
 sion men have confessed offences which were impossible 
 for them to have committed. I do not believe that Titus 
 Paine really thought he had murdered Amos Cullens. 
 His declarations to that effect were simple gasconade ; 
 but many have honestly been under the impression that 
 they had committed offenses of which there could be no 
 doubt of their entire innocence. The human mind, in 
 dwelling upon some crimes, seems, by a mysterious 
 fascination, to become convinced of participation in 
 things which they have never witnessed." 
 
 " Grandfather," said Philip, " how did Titus come to 
 live in this region of the State?" 
 
 " After his acquittal in the second trial," said Judge 
 Eustace, "his temper, which had not been originally 
 cruel, became fearfully malignant. For several years be- 
 fore he was arrested on the charge of murder, he had 
 been living with a free woman of color as his wife. He 
 had frequently told her he had slain Amos Cullens, and, 
 when he was put on his trial, she had no doubt of his 
 conviction and punishment with death. Upon his sen- 
 tence becoming known, she had, with the facility of that 
 class of our population for consolation in such distress, 
 listened to the addresses of a free-negro ; and while Titus 
 lay in jail she became the wife of the new suitor. On his 
 
Titus Paine— the Outlaw. 307 
 
 acquittal and discharge, he, becoming acquainted with 
 these hasty nuptials, manifested displeasure only in his 
 scowling face, and said nothing indicating enmity toward 
 the unfaithful partner of his bed and board. He had been 
 at liberty but a short time when the house, in which she 
 and her paramour were staying, was burned during the 
 night, and two unconsumed hearts, with some of the 
 larger bones of the human body, were all that remained 
 of the couple who had lived there. Suspicion of course 
 immediately rested on Titus Paine, and though the evi- 
 dence was slight, there was but little doubt on the minds 
 of the people that he had slain the objects of his resent- 
 ment, and then fired the house to conceal the double 
 murd'er he had committed." 
 
 " A portion of the community," continued Judge Eus- 
 tace, " went to the farm of his master, and having taken 
 possession of Titus, proceeded to hang him without 
 further aid of judge or jury. His great weight broke 
 the rope, when a negro-trader, who happened to be pres- 
 ent, offered, at this juncture, to purchase him and carry 
 him from the State, if they would consent not to kill him. 
 The crowd, fickle as unlawful assemblies always are, 
 agreed to the proposition, as Titus, in the meanwhile, 
 had solemnly sworn that if they would thus permit his 
 departure he would never return. Once more rescued 
 from impending death, he was heavily ironed and put in 
 jail until, shortly afterward, the speculator started with a 
 gang of negroes for the Gulf States. To make sure of 
 Titus this time, he was chained to another negro man of 
 whose fidelity the trader had no doubt. Paine passed 
 quietly through the country, and had gone fifty miles 
 west of St. Kilda Valley, when, late one night, the camp 
 
308 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 was alarmed by the stifled cries of the man to whom 
 Titus was fettered. For the first time since starting, the 
 speculator had neglected to chain the legs of Titus. He 
 had arisen at midnight, and grasping his companion and 
 threatening him with death if he made a noise, he sprang 
 off into the darkness. The terrified negro made desper- 
 ate efforts, both by outcries and muscular exertion to im- 
 pede the flight of the giant who was thus bearing him off 
 against his consent ; but his struggles and the white man's 
 pursuit were unavailing, for Titus made his escape, and 
 was seen shortly afterwards in this valley. No one knows 
 the fate of him he carried off. 
 
 " Since that time, he has mainly lived in the valley, in 
 open war with the white men and every negro unwilling 
 to join him in his desperate villainy. Four years ago 
 Silas Haines, a white man of advanced age and great 
 kindness of disposition, heard, late at night, some one 
 breaking into his smoke-house, and going out fired both 
 barrels of his gun to frighten away the thief. Titus Paine 
 deliberately cut his throat, and carried off the bacon he 
 desired. Many efforts have been made to capture him, 
 but his cunning and desperate courage have enabled him 
 to elude them all. 
 
 " Philip, you may congratulate yourself upon a feat of 
 which Hercules himself might have justly felt proud, and, 
 but for your knowledge of fencing, you would have met 
 the fate of Nathan Dale." 
 
 Philip was much bruised in his desperate struggle with 
 the outlaw whose heavy club, though in a great measure 
 parried by the stout walking stick, had beaten down its 
 defence enough to inflict several serious blows on his 
 arms and head. His prodigious exertions, when he found 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 309 
 
 himself in the African's grasp, rendered him hoarse and 
 feverish for nearly a month afterwards. 
 
 For some time past, Mariana had ceased to improve in 
 her vision; for her health, at .ill times delicate, had evi- 
 dently become affected through sympathy with her grand- 
 mother's sorrow, and her own distress at Stanhope 
 Eustace's death. Dr. Vane, of St. Kilda, who had long 
 attended her, wrote to her father recommending a change 
 in her mode of life and surrounding scenes. About this 
 time the President of the United States, knowing that his 
 friend and supporter was nearly at the end of his term of 
 office, tendered Gov. Eustace the mission to Paris. He 
 had determined to withdraw entirely from political life, 
 but Philip would leave in a short time for Europe; and 
 here too was Dr. Vane, in whose sagacity he had much 
 confidence, recommending change of scene for Mariana. 
 Besides this, that love of office, which, like a second na- 
 ture, infuses itself in the dispositions of men, suggested 
 to him that he could be with his family and enjoy great 
 station at the same time by accepting the President's 
 offer. Let no man sneer at this double purpose of the 
 brilliant politician, nor arrogate to himself superiority, 
 thinking he would have acted differently under the reso- 
 lution Gov. Eustace had formed. Let him remember, 
 that of all the potentates of whom we have record, none 
 but Diocletian and Charles V., have voluntarily laid down 
 the purple. 
 
 Gov. Eustace had long desired to visit Europe, and was 
 convinced that it would be beneficial to his mother and 
 daughter to accompany Philip as far as Paris : added to 
 these inducements, the position offered him by the presi- 
 dent led him to visit Ellesmere at once, before taking any 
 
310 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 further steps in the matter. The serene and passionless 
 judgment of the father still maintained its ascendency 
 over the conduct of the son, clothed as he was with the 
 delegated dignity of a commonwealth. His propositions 
 were soon acceeded to by the parents, and it was determin- 
 ed they should depart for the Eastern world as soon as 
 affairs could be properly arranged. Gov. Eustace was to 
 return in a few days to the capital, and having accepted 
 the offer of the French mission, to resign at once his 
 office as chief magistrate of the State. 
 
 The superior court, the next day, commenced its fall 
 session at St. Kilda, and the male members of the family 
 at Ellesmere were all in attendance. The grand jury, on 
 Tuesday morning, brought in a true bill against Titus 
 Paine for the murder of Nathan Dale, and on Wednes- 
 day he was carried to the court house for arraignment. 
 The ferocity and manifold crimes of the prisoner attracted 
 an immense concourse to witness his trial. The iron 
 firmness of his character still sustained him in his reso- 
 lution to be silent, and when asked how he would be 
 tried, the counsel assigned him had to reply for him, " by 
 God and the country." He bore an undaunted front, 
 and met with unfaltering gaze the scrutiny of the multi- 
 tude thirsting for his blood. When called upon to plead 
 he said nothing, and the plea of not guilty was entered 
 up by order of the judge. 
 
 The solicitor for the State opened the prosecution, aided 
 by Mr. Soraerville and Arthur Kean. He remarked that 
 he was sure that men, who had acted with such extra- 
 ordinary forbearance in not taking the life of the prisoner 
 at once, on his capture, would now administer even-han- 
 ded justice in listening to and weighing the evidence to 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 311 
 
 be laid before them. The law in its offended majesty 
 was ever merciful to the criminal, for men not interested 
 in slaves were not eligible as jury men on this occasion. 
 After a few other remarks the witnesses for the prosecution 
 were called and duly sworn, and a murmur of admiration 
 arose from the dense throng as Philip Eustace took his 
 place on the stand. 
 
 " Now there's a man as is a man ;" said an honest old 
 daleman, "thank God old Titus met his match at last.' 
 
 " Well ! now 'uint young Philip as proper a man as ever 
 you see?" said the man at his elbow. 
 
 " You see that black bruise on his temple? That's 
 where Titus struck him." 
 
 " Yes, I sees it ; it was a powerful lick, but from what 
 I've hearn, Philip paid him up for it when he got the 
 flying-mare hitch upon him." 
 
 Philip's testimony was soon given, and the calmness of 
 his demeanor was such that when the counsel for the 
 prisoner took up the cross-examination he was soon satis- 
 fied that nothing could be gained by persistance in his 
 interrogatories. The jury and audience exhibited signs 
 of impatience and displeasure at questions they consid- 
 ered ill-timed and disrespectful to him they then regard- 
 ed as the most deserving of mankind. Miranda had been 
 seriously injured by the beating Titus had given her, and 
 was so weak she could scarcely stand, but she entirely 
 corroborated the testimony already given. She was un- 
 mistakably terrified by the scowls of the prisoner, being 
 unable to realize, even then, that she was safe from his 
 persecution. Two negro men swore they had heard Titus 
 Paine declare, on more than one occasion, that he would 
 take the life of Nathan Dale as a recompense for the over- 
 
312 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 seer's efforts to capture him. As the prisoner still re- 
 mained obstinately silent, no witnesses were introduced 
 for the defense. 
 
 Arthur Kean and the solicitor for the State made able 
 speeches, and were replied to by the learned and ingeni- 
 ous gentleman who defended the accused. He evidently 
 considered his efforts exerted in a bad cause, and there- 
 fore fell short of his usual eloquent persuasion. His 
 honor,in submitting the case to the jury, told them there 
 were no controverted law points for his decision; if the 
 testimony adduced in their hearing was believed by them 
 to be true, then Titus Paine, the prisoner at the bar, was 
 guilty of wilful and felonious murder on the person of 
 Nathan Dale, as alleged in the bill of indictment. He 
 charged them that however odious and criminal may 
 have been the previous character of the accused, they 
 should remember they were trying him on the merits of 
 the case then under hearing, and the prisoner's former 
 misdeeds should have no connection with the matter 
 properly under their consideration in making up their 
 verdict. 
 
 The jury retired to their room for consultation, and the 
 dense crowd remained in breathless attention, awaiting 
 their return. For the first time since the commencement 
 of the trial the prisoner exhibited an interest in what was 
 transpiring. He lost. his indifference, and his eyes seem- 
 ed riveted on the door through which they had retired. 
 His respiration became quick and distressing, and, 
 although the day was cool, big drops of perspiration col- 
 lected upon his low forehead. The lower jaw seemed to 
 lose its vitality and fell, displaying his strong, spotless 
 teeth. The huge frame, which had borne itself so defi- 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 313 
 
 antly hitherto, now drooped with an agony of apprehen- 
 sion ; and monster as he was, Philip, who was observing 
 him, could but feel pity at his torture. 
 
 " Father," said he, " I have thought, until this moment, 
 that Titus Paine was insensible to fear, but see how un- 
 manned he is at the prospect of the sentence of death." 
 
 "You will find yourself mistaken when the jury re- 
 turns," said Gov. Eustace. " Here they come ; now watch 
 him and you will see it was suspense which apparently 
 unmanned him." 
 
 " Gentlemen of the jury, what say you?" said the clerk 
 of the court; "is the prisoner at the bar guilty or not 
 guilty?" 
 
 " Guilty !" said the foreman, and as he spoke the word 
 the colossal figure of the accused straightened itself as .if 
 in positive triumph. The keen, undaunted eyes seemed 
 strangely luminous as they roved over the assembly. 
 With one long breath the heaving chest resumed its 
 ordinary movements, and Titus Paine appeared as little 
 interested in the proceedings as any man present. 
 
 "Let the prisoner stand up to receive his sentence," 
 said the judge, and without further orders the murderer 
 arose to his full height, towering like Saul, head and 
 shoulders above the people. 
 
 " Titus Paine," said his Honor, "you have been duly 
 convicted by a sworn jury of your countrymen of the 
 felonious killing of Nathan Dale, then being in the peace 
 of God and the State. You have committed a heinous 
 crime, and we are told in the sacred scriptures and the 
 practices of all civilized communities that the murderer 
 shall surely be put to death. The court therefore directs 
 that you shall be taken from the jail, by the sheriff of 
 
314 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 this county, between the hours of ten and three o'clock, 
 on the twelfth day of the ensuing month, and that you 
 be hanged by the neck until you are dead, and may God 
 have mercy on your soul I" 
 
 The prisoner was taken back to his dungeon, and the 
 people retired from the court house. The judge and others 
 were seated on the piazza in front of the hotel rooms 
 occupied during court week by the lawyers from a dis- 
 tance. 
 
 " Nagle," said judge Marsden, " what was the matter 
 with you to-day ? You were by no means yourself in 
 the speech you made." 
 
 "I was very much puzzled to talk at all," said Mr. 
 Nagle, " and I think the people of St. Kilda valley de- 
 serve much credit for not hanging that wretch before the 
 court met. I felt, all the time I was defending him, that 
 he was the veriest scoundrel alive. Did you observe how 7 
 soon the jury and bystanders commenced looking indig- 
 nant when I was cross-examining young Eustace?" 
 
 " Yes ; and I knew you were injuring your case b} r the 
 questions you were asking. Young Eustace seems to be 
 as much beloved here as his father is all over the State." 
 
 "He must be a Samson in strength," said Nagle, "to 
 have overcome that gigantic negro in fair fight. I won- 
 der if his mental endowments are up to the traditional 
 mark of his family ?" 
 
 " He has the best balanced mind I have ever known," 
 said Kean. " Governor Young, of the University, regards 
 him as the most promising youth of his acquaintance." 
 
 " I recollect now," said Nagle, " that a neighbor of mine, 
 who was at college with him, spoke very highly of Philip 
 Eustace, the sou of the Governor of the State. He must 
 
Titus Paine— the Outlaw. 315 
 
 be very deserving, if the half of what Tom. Larkins told 
 me is true." 
 
 " It is to be regretted," said Mr. Somerville, " that Judge 
 Eustace opposes his practice of the law ; for I am persua- 
 ded he would become an ornament to the profession, in 
 the event of his turning his attention in that direction." 
 
 " Governor Eustace is to make his farewell speech to- 
 morrow," said Kean. " His friends are preparing a din- 
 ner, and, after much persuasion, he has consented to ad- 
 dress them. You have heard of his intention to resign 
 his position as governor?" 
 
 " Yes," said Judge Marsden, " he told me he would ac- 
 cept the French mission, tendered him by the President. 
 We must finish the court business in time to hear his 
 address." 
 
 A. carriage containing Judge Eustace and the governor 
 now drove up. Judge Marsden had promised to spend the 
 night at Eilesmere, and they went off in that direction. 
 Ashton Eustace, George Marsden and Mr. Somerville 
 were members of the same class at the University. In 
 eloquence and native ability, the politician surpassed his 
 early friends ; but both had achieved eminence by dili- 
 gence in study and unceasing attention to the details of 
 their profession. 
 
 " Marsden/' said Governor Eustace, as they neared the 
 park gate at Eilesmere, " is not this a glorious region to 
 live in and look upon? I was never happy out of these 
 mountain barriers, and the pleasantest hope of my life is 
 the prospect of spending the evening of my days amid 
 their unfailing beauties." 
 
 " St. Kilda Valley is certainly full of charms," said 
 Judge Marsden, looking on the noble views to their left, 
 
316 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " but happiness is rarely found in the loveliest spots of 
 creation, unless the higher cravings of the mind are sat- 
 isfied." 
 
 " Yes," said the Governor, " but I have not thus sweet- 
 ened my toil amid my native hills. I have passed the 
 larger portion of m}^ manhood amid the fruitless paths of 
 ambition, and now that I have the prospect of return, I 
 shall shortly be borne awaj by overruling circumstances 
 farther than ever before. Life is full of contradictions, 
 and is, at best, the sport of chance. I have been promis- 
 ing myself peace and happiness, but 
 
 " w To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, 
 Creeps in this petty pace from day to day, 
 To the last syllable of recorded time .„ 
 And all our yesterdays have lighted fools 
 The way to dusty death." ' 
 
 Percival St. George and Philip were riding on horse- 
 back along the turnpike. They had been discussing the 
 incidents of the trial. Philip felt solemn with the knowl- 
 edge that through him a fellow creature had been drag- 
 ged to punishment; but no foolish sentimentalism mar- 
 red his satisfaction in his consciousness of the benefit he 
 had conferred on his people. 
 
 " Cousin Percy," said he, " is there no hope of your ac- 
 companying us abroad?" 
 
 " No, Philip, I have been of so little use in life, I am 
 determined, for this once, to strive to be of some service 
 to my friends. As your grandfather and father will be 
 absent for some time, I think some one of the family 
 should remain in the valley. Cousin Henrietta, too, 
 
Titus Paine — the Outlaw. 317 
 
 would be without an adviser, and she and Rosamond 
 need some one of us in their neighborhood ; so Mr. Grey 
 and I will remain and see that matters are properly man- 
 aged at Ellesmere, Grafton and Blenheim, and visit 
 Thorndale occasionally." 
 
 The night wind was scattering the withered leaves in 
 the park, as they neared the house. The stag-hounds 
 bayed deep-mouthed welcome from the front porch ; and 
 the stars threw their feeble radiance on the carriage way. 
 Slowly, and in silence, rode the cousins, full of thought 
 and emotion. Life had taught lessons to both. To the 
 elder 
 
 "One fatal remembrance — one sorrow that throws 
 Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes — 
 To which Life nothing darker nor brighter can bring, 
 For which joy hath no balm and affliction no sting." 
 
 Both were largely gifted in whatever men consider de- 
 sirable. One in the dawn of boundless hope was yet 
 humble and contented with whatever the fates might 
 bring; the other, with equal opportunities, had found the 
 promise of life all delusion, and the bubble of expected 
 joy had broken in his grasp. The youth in body and 
 soul yielded to heaven the submission of a child ; while 
 the matured man united his womanly delicacy to the 
 obstinacy of Prometheus, and relied only upon himself. 
 Up beyond those stars, in the quiet depths of the infinite 
 dwelt merciful forbearance with the weaknesses of both. 
 One dreamed of the fates ever busy with their webs of 
 human destiny; the other of that divine love controlling 
 the nimble fingers of the children of the night. To the 
 
318 
 
 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 christian youth, existence was full of boundless hope and 
 increasing joy ; to the skeptic all was darkness, and he 
 could but 
 
 " Chide the cripple, tardy-gaited night, 
 "Who, like a foul and ugly witch, did limp 
 So tediously away." 
 
Gov. Eustace's Valedictory. 319 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 gov. Eustace's valedictory. 
 
 One rubbed his elbow, thus; and fleered, and swore, 
 A better speech was never spoke before: 
 Another, with his finger and his thumb, 
 Cried "Via! we will do't, come what will come!" 
 The third he capered, and cried, "All goes well!" 
 
 — Love's Labors Lost. 
 
 The preparations for the public dinner to the retiring 
 governor were completed, and the entire population of 
 St. Kilda Valley, having donned their best clothes, were 
 collecting on the fair-grounds, near the village. There 
 was but little division in their minds on political ques- 
 tions, and in their support of Gov. Eustace they always 
 exhibited remarkable enthusiasm and unanimity. Tbe 
 merits of his ancestry, the virtues and position of his 
 father, added to his own winning manner, made him 
 almost an idol to those among whom he had been reared. 
 To vote against him was to incur the odium of a com- 
 munity highly appreciating social enjoyments, and even 
 his early opponent, Mr. Compton, soon discovered his 
 own road to popularity lay in graceful submission to the 
 general will. Many things had combined to feed this 
 popular fancy. The charity of himself and father; the 
 real devotion of his luminious intelligence to duties as- 
 sumed, and the fact that he was enough absent to make 
 his return always the occasion of congratulation, had con- 
 spired to fix him in the public mind.. 
 
 This confidence of the people was warmly appreciated 
 by the impulsive leader. The depth of this feeling beamed 
 
320 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 in his eyes and trembled in his utterance whenever he 
 confessed to them the pleasure he thus received, and 
 hardy mountaineers would return to their humble homes 
 after listening to these impassioned assurances; and eyes 
 which never lost their steadiness in the face of danger 
 would swim with tenderness, when wives and children 
 were told how Ashton Eustace had been talking that day. 
 It was, then, with great concern and regret that they 
 learned one so long loved and trusted was about to leave 
 their service. To many who had come to regard him as 
 necessary to the public weal, it was a source of unmixed 
 sorrow. The family afflictions at Ellesmere were known, 
 and disabled veterans who had served in Mexico with 
 Stanhope, returning, told the particulars of the dauntless 
 soldier's death, satisfying all that these aiid other causes 
 justified the governor in taking the step they so much 
 deplored. In accepting the honor of the farewell dinner, 
 he had requested the committee who waited upon him to 
 make this the occasion for assembling all his friends in 
 the valle\\ He wished to see the good men there with 
 their wives and children, to rejoice with them that ere 
 long he would be free to return to his home in their 
 midst. 
 
 At an early hour the place selected was thronged by 
 people from every nook and corner of St. Kilda vale. 
 The rustic swains came on horseback with their sweet- 
 hearts en croupe, and in waggons filled with all ages and 
 descriptions of the population. Each good woman well 
 recollected the smooth-spoken young candidate that was 
 years ago so fond of her children, and as she had heard 
 he wished to see her and her progeny, she had come to 
 help her husband do honor to him who had done honor 
 
Gov. Eustace's Valedictory. 321 
 
 to the valley. Gov. Eustace spent a greater portion of 
 the morning in greetings and conversations with his 
 friends. He had the faculty of never forgetting a face 
 once seen, and all who were old enough to have attracted 
 his attention in his early canvasses were recognized and 
 addressed by him. 
 
 " Make way, men !" cried a strong voice. " Aunt Polly 
 Dunn wants to shake hands with the Governor." 
 
 A venerable woman, bent with the weight of years, 
 came slowly wending her way through the crowd. A 
 long walking-stick was in one hand, and the other rested 
 on the shoulder of a lad who walked by her side, in 
 mingled assurance and modesty. 
 
 " I am glad to see you, Mrs. Dunn," said the Governor, 
 going forward to meet her. " How are you and yours to* 
 day, madam ?" 
 
 "Thank the Lord, sir, we be all as well as we could 
 look for. How is it with you and your folks, Governor ?" 
 
 " I am well, but my mother and daughter are in feeble 
 health." 
 
 " I have hearn as much," said she. u Well, Governor, 
 here is the boy, my poor son, Henry, named after you. 
 He wanted to see you, and I wanted to see you, so we 
 have come all the way here to lay eyes on ye once more." 
 
 " How old are you, Ashton ?" said the Governor. 
 
 " I am sixteen my next birth day, sir." 
 
 " We are all troubled in mind about you, up in Laurel- 
 dale, Governor," said Mrs. Dunn. " Some of us knows 
 what it is to have sorrow at the heart." 
 
 " God has sent me a great trouble," said the Governor. 
 
 " Well, Governor," said an old daleman, " I have always 
 stuck by you through thick and thin, and I tell you now, 
 21 
 
322 The Heirs of Si. Kilda, 
 
 I believe you are taking away our best friend in going 
 over yonder to them French folks." 
 
 Hundreds of such greetings and assurances met him 
 on every side, and he was often touched by manifesta- 
 tions of attachment and sympathy, but the next moment 
 his elastic spirits had recovered. Wherever he went, 
 there was a circle of admiring listeners who were eager 
 to hear all that he should say. The prosperous condition 
 of the people not supporting much litigation in the courts, 
 all the law docket had been disposed of, and the judge 
 adjourned the session. The large audience-hall was filled 
 to its utmost capacity, as the time approached for the 
 orator to commence, and his entrance was greeted with 
 loud and prolonged cheering. The beauty and intelli- 
 gence of the valley were present side by side with its- 
 honest yeomanry. Every eye was bent upon him who 
 was now to make his last speech. A thousand hearts- 
 beat quickly as he ascended the stage ; and as the cheers 
 died away, Gov. Eustace said he was unable to express 
 the emotions which filled his heart. "I confess to you," 
 he continued, "I have never so painfully realized my own 
 unworthiness, as to-day in the face of this great and un- 
 merited honor you do me. I cannot find words to tell 
 my gratitude for your generous appreciation. I have this 
 day met you all, among whom I was born and reared, 
 and as I glance over this great throng I am reminded 
 that you are here to testify your affection to me. Was it 
 not enough, when I was young, that you took me by the 
 hand and gave me your confidence? Think you that 
 twenty years of loving trust are insufficient to gratify the 
 cravings of my heart? Hard, indeed, would I be to 
 satisfy, if such were the case. Then let me thank you,. 
 
Gov. Eustace's Valedictory. 323 
 
 my friends, with all ray soul, in this, perhaps, the last 
 speech I shall ever make, and assure you, that while life 
 lasts I shall remember your kindness. When I came 
 home I had no dream of such a thing, and I should not 
 have consented to address you, as much as I desired 
 to meet with you all, had not the high and important 
 issues now being made, in my opinion, called for a part- 
 ing word of advice. 
 
 '' Fellow citizens, I am here, at your own request, to 
 give you my views on political topics. I came with no 
 purpose of my own to subserve. I am at the close of my 
 career as a solicitor of your suffrages, and the wide ocean 
 will be between us before you will cast your votes in de- 
 termination of some of the matters which I shall discuss. 
 Then I know you will believe what I tell you to-dajr, 
 thus assured that I have no further interest in the matter 
 than what every good citizen must feel in the welfare of 
 the country. 
 
 " We have abundant cause for gratitude to heaven for 
 the unnumbered blessings we enjoy as a people. Less 
 than two centuries ago, our forefathers, led by the provi- 
 dence of God, came here to live in a wilderness. In the 
 interval which separates us from that time, we have seen 
 a republic, grand in all its dimensions, take the place of 
 previous discord and petty division. Year by year the 
 axe of the white man has been heard nearer the setting 
 sun. Slowly, in the same direction, has retired the red 
 man of the forest, departing like a shadow from the haunts 
 of his forefathers, and with his frail canoe yielding place 
 to the stately argosies of advancing civilization. This 
 country, so vast in its extent, and so wonderful in the va- 
 riety of its resources, has been, by the wisdom and patriot- 
 
324 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 ism of our ancestors, blessed with a government free and 
 beneficent in its nature. The statesmen who framed the 
 Federal Constitution, have left us a legacy which will 
 make us the happiest people in the world, if we are only 
 virtuous and wise enough to adhere to its directions. 
 Fellow citizens, shall we do this? Will the obstinacy 
 and selfishness of mankind allow us to preserve this char- 
 ter intact? I confess to you, I have many doubts on the 
 subject. 
 
 " A cloud has arisen upon our political horizon, which 
 was scarce discernible when we first knew each other; 
 but it has increased its proportions, until now it over- 
 shadows the land. You all understand me as referring 
 to the growing disposition of some people to interfere with 
 affairs which were in the most solemn manner guaranteed 
 to the several states, as things incident to their reserved 
 sovereignty. We all agree as to what our rights are ; but 
 I wish to warn you against the insidious approaches of 
 this spirit, which, unchecked, will some day destroy the 
 liberties of us all. I declare to you, that in my opinion, 
 the constitution under which we live is worse than use- 
 less, unless its spirit and letter are observed. A people 
 who have agreed to a charter, which plainly declares the 
 way in which they should be governed, are supremely 
 blessed so long as that instrument is regarded ; but when 
 it ceases to be observed, and the dominant majority de- 
 spise its restraints, the whole thing becomes a mockery 
 and a delusion. 
 
 " We have long been remarkable for the moderation 
 and conservatism of our habits. We have preserved more 
 of the laws and institutions under which our fathers lived 
 than any other American community, but it seems this 
 
Gov. Eustace's Valedictory. 325 
 
 season of contentment is about to pass away. There is a 
 wide-spread and persistent agitation of subjects dangerous 
 in their ultimate effects, and, full of evil omens for our 
 future happiness." 
 
 Governor Eustace proceeded to explain the anomalous 
 condition of the Southern States. How, in a free republic, 
 they were yet filled with millions of bondmen. That 
 question had been of serious import ever since the action 
 of Mr. Jefferson and Virginia had initiated the policy of 
 the Federal Government as to the new States and Terri- 
 tories, The ordinance of 1789 was but one of a thous- 
 and other indications that the Southern men of that day 
 contemplated gradual emancipation of their slaves. But 
 this spirit had met with strange recognition. The early 
 abolition petitions to Congress- had been followed by 
 movements, gradually increasing in offensive action and 
 comment, until the former liberal and philosophic spirit 
 of the slave-holders became lost in disgust and opposition 
 to all the schemes of the abolitionists. This alienation 
 of the sections was growing year by year. An enmity 
 which could only eventuate in bloodshed was evident to 
 the most careless observer. He besought his people to 
 discard such a spirit and trust to the better feelings of 
 the future for the healing of the great breach in the Re- 
 public's life. 
 
 He advised his hearers to give less devotion to party 
 and more to the country. To cleave to their rights under 
 the law, but at the same time to abstain from those ani- 
 mosities and recriminations which availed nothing but to 
 increase the evil. He besought his people to act frankfv 
 and mercifully with their bondsmen, and to remember 
 
326 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 that they were in no wise responsible for the dangers and 
 distractions of trie time. 
 
 The subjects discussed by Gov. Eustace are generally 
 of passionless inquiry. The calm and deliberate political 
 economist studies them in the quiet of his retirement, 
 but the passionate leader discerned danger in the objects 
 of his animadversion, and, throughout the delivery of 
 his speech, exhibited the most intense feeling. No man 
 in all the concourse went away with a doubt of his deep 
 concern for the public welfare. The honest mountaineers 
 had never heard Ashton Eustace speak with so much 
 earnestness and solemnity before. Not an anecdote fell 
 from his lips, and they were confident that a great danger 
 was menacing the State. Ef^vas^oo much exhausted to 
 reply, at length, to the toast in his honor at the dinner 
 table; and this was generally regretted, as his fancy and 
 exhuberant feeling made his efforts delightful on such 
 occasions ; but other orators were present to make speeches 
 and offer toasts until late in the evening. 
 
 It had been a day of deep enjoyment to him who had 
 so long basked in the sunshine of popular favor, but with 
 his return to Ellesmere, came the whispers of that ever 
 present spirit asking, 'what is all this worth ?'* Ambition 
 had gained its desires ; but applause and position must 
 perish with the morrow. Even then the shouts, which 
 had gratified him, were gone with the dying echoes that 
 followed, and he felt with the poet : 
 
 "The world is too much with us. Late and soon. 
 Getting and spending we lay waste our powers." 
 
 f 
 
Ouhvard- Bound. '327 
 
 •CHAPTER XVIL 
 
 OUTWARD-BOUND. 
 
 M Adieu, adieu ! my native shore 
 Fades o'er the waters blue; 
 The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar, 
 And shrieks the wild sea-mew. 
 Yon sun that sets upon the sea 
 We follow in his flight; 
 Farewell awhile to him and thee. 
 My -natire Land— Good Night t" 
 
 —CMlde Harol6~ 
 
 Once more Christmas had eorae and gone. Gov. Eus- 
 tace had laid down his magisterial honors, and another 
 filled hie place. The families at Ellesmere and Thorndale 
 had vainly waited the coming of Rosamond ; sudden 
 illness had disappointed the hopes which she and they 
 ihad indulged., and Philip saw with regret that if he met 
 her at all before his departure it would be among strang- 
 ers. His father had now completed all his preparations 
 for the voyage save his visit to the President for final 
 instructions and credentials. Letters had been received 
 from the Secretary of State urging the importance of the 
 new envoy's early presence at his post of duty. Titus 
 Paine had -expiated the crimes of his life on the gallows : 
 meeting death with stoical indifference. Charles Loundes 
 had come from his home amid the orange groves, and 
 was once more an exile from the broad fields of cotton 
 sand sugar-cane. 
 
 Everything was in readiness for the departure of the 
 family, and many of their friends were paying farewell 
 visits. Philip loo.ked with melancholy interest on the 
 
328 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 home he was leaving. Mariana was less affected than 
 her brother; her joy for years past having lain in the 
 serene domain of her own thoughts. The trees and 
 embowered walks, the beautiful lawns and the still waters 
 of the lake, were things she faintly remembered to have 
 seen and loved in a time whieh almost seemed to* 
 belong to another existence. Whether she remained 
 at Ellesmere or crossed the ocean, her sources of peace 
 would remain undisturbed. She regretted to be separat- 
 ed from Percival and Mr. Grey, and the organ in the 
 library. In it she had found a voice and reflection of her 
 soul, and its symphonies were to her what sun-light and 
 nature's ever-varying loveliness were to others. Dimly, 
 as in a dream, her partially restored vision received ai 
 Ayiight the outlines of forms : but as yet the soft, glorious 
 tints and delicate shadings of the picture were hidden in 
 darkness. 
 
 Judge Eustace gave his parting instructions to the two 
 overseers, to whose care the estates of Ellesmere and 
 Grafton were to be left during his absence. He fully 
 appreciated the nature of his duties to his slaves- and was 
 anxious that his long-established rules should be observed 
 during his sojourn in Europe.. 
 
 "You are both aware," said he,, "that I shall leave 
 home to-morrow. The period of n^ absence will depend 
 upon the health of my wife and granddaughter. I have 
 yielded to the suggestions of Dr. Vane, and shall go abroad 
 with the hope of their restoration. I need not tell you 
 what will be my anxiety in thus separating myself from 
 my interests here; but I have relied upon, your judgment 
 and honesty, in committing so much to your charge. 
 Mr. Grey will remain,, and I insist that you both treai, 
 
Outward- Bound. 329 
 
 him with all respect due his sacred calling. He will in 
 no way interfere with you in your duties, and I wish him 
 to be aided in all that he shall think necessary to the 
 comfort of the negroes who may be sick. My nephew, 
 Mr. St. George, will exercise a general supervision, as I 
 have done, and must of course receive your respectful 
 compliance with his directions. I shall expect you to be 
 firm and at the same time forbearing with the faults of 
 the negroes. If their offences need punishment, equally 
 avoid needless severity and fruitless leniency. Do not 
 indulge in useless threats; but let your actions, not your 
 words, inspire fear of your resentment. Any weakness 
 on your nart will be readily seen and made use of by the 
 negroes. He who drinks with them or in any way sinks 
 himself to their level, at once parts with his authority. 
 You cannot give too much of your presence in the fields 
 and barn-yards, but have no further association than oc- 
 casional inspection of their houses to see that they are 
 kept clean. Send for Dr. Vane whenever you have rea- 
 son to think they are sick, and compel others to give 
 them that attention they will rarely extend if left to the 
 promptings of their own humanity." 
 
 The next morning saw the family group which had 
 clustered so lovingly at Ellesmere en route for a distant 
 destination. Mrs. Hewett, the house-keeper, and the two 
 bachelors were the only white occupants of the large, 
 silent building. The two stag-hounds, as the night deep- 
 ened, seemed conscious of the exodus, and frequently 
 howled their almost articulate sorrow to the winter moon. 
 The cold winds whistled and sobbed around the angles, 
 and darkness as of the grave reigned in the unoccupied 
 rooms. Nothing is more painfully impressive than the 
 
330 7 he Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 stillness and desertion of buildings long known as the 
 haunts of pleasure. The mind realizes with difficulty 
 the absence of beaming eyes and cheerful voices, and the 
 hush of death is instinctively associated with the oppres- 
 sive quiet. Percival was accustomed to solitude, as Vau- 
 cluse had long ceased to be a centre of joy; but this ab- 
 sence of the friends of his lonely life weighed heavily on 
 the heart accustomed to look to them for its only social 
 enjoyments. The loss of another whose unforgotten 
 beauty stole up in strange distinctness, kept him silent. 
 Occasionally Mr. Grey had made overtures of conversa- 
 tion, but he saw that the mind of his companion was far 
 away. 
 
 " Mr. Grey," at length said Percival, "think you in the 
 other world there will be recognition among friends who 
 have known and loved each other in this life ?" 
 
 " I have no doubt of it," said Mr. Grey. " We are 
 taught in the instance of the woman who had seven 
 brothers as her husbands, that such relations should not 
 continue to exist; but this cannot imply that we are to 
 be oblivious of those who have been dear to us in the 
 present existence. On the contrary, we are told that 
 Dives, though separated by a great gulf, recognized afar 
 off Abraham who had lived ages before he was born into 
 the world. Whether our social affections survive or 
 perish, in the hour of dissolution, we can safely trust our 
 Creator in a preparation of bliss for the redeemed, the 
 adequate conception of which surpasses our present com- 
 prehension. The variety of innocent and enduring joys 
 which await the devout mind in this world, is but a feeble 
 earnest of the supreme felicit} 7 to be enjoyed in the life to 
 come." 
 
Outward- Bound. 331 
 
 " I have found," said Percival, " more sorrow than joy 
 in the lives I have known ; and in my own experience, 
 as I recall the past, it seems I have been journeying all 
 my years through a wide desert, where oases have been 
 rare. In the general sum of my emotions my blissful 
 moments have been to me as a few ineffectual stars on the 
 bosom of almost rayless night — a few small islands of 
 rest in a wide and weary ocean of toil." 
 
 Late into the long, winter night sat the two men dis- 
 cussing these deep and mysterious questions of God's 
 dealing with bis creatures. Years ago they were children: 
 one a desolate and friendless orphan in whom a fearful 
 disaster had seemingly destroyed the only chance of hap- 
 piness in life. Small promise of joy remained to the 
 little boy, already steeped in poverty and deprived of the 
 tender oversight of the mother he had seen depart in the 
 midnight storm on her fatal and unavailing mission. 
 Who was to teach the ways of Him who dwelleth in 
 thick darkness to this young life thus left alone in the 
 world. His companion had been born amid all that men 
 consider desirable. The down of incipient manhood was 
 on his cheek, ere consumption had slowly removed the 
 fair and indulgent being who had pressed him to her 
 bosom, the first and only pledge of her wedded love. The 
 irrepressible admiration of all beholders had greeted him 
 in the lingering glance and gentle tones of affection ; but 
 with so much to give joy, he was now confessing that his 
 pathway had lain through a land of sorrow and the 
 problem of his own life shrouded to his scrutiny in im- 
 penetrable shadow. The wind had been tempered to the 
 shorn lamb, but had fallen with chilling coldness on the 
 warm and passionate nature of the child of wealth. 
 
332 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 Gov. Eustace and the family went by wa} 7 of Washing- 
 ton, but Philip left the party to take leave of Rosamond. 
 The illness which had prevented her visit to Thorndale 
 during the Christmas holidays had so enfeebled her that 
 she was yet keeping her room when he arrived in the 
 city. She had been placed hy her mother in the family 
 of one of her friends, the wife of an officer in the navy, 
 and the heiress of Thorndale had in this way never 
 known the discomforts of a boarding school. The com- 
 modore bad been absent on a long cruise during her stay 
 and Mrs. Leighton was very limited in her attentions to 
 the mere pleasures of society. Her daughters were in 
 attendance at the same seminar} 7 with Rosamond, and 
 the} 7 Avere very pleasant to her who was now for the first 
 time removed from the protection of home and the guid- 
 ance of her mother. Mrs. Oourtenay had been with her 
 for some time, and had not } r et returned to St. Kilda Val- 
 ley, much as she desired to take leave of the family at 
 Ellesmere. She warmly thanked Philip for the kindness 
 of his visit, and after some conversation withdrew, wisely 
 concluding that the young people would have much to 
 talk over after their separation for the past eighteen 
 months. 
 
 Rosamond was seated in a large, carved chair which so 
 intercepted the softened lamp-light that Philip could not 
 realize the wonderful development which had been 
 wrought in the beauty of her he so much associated with 
 his dreams of the future. She was thin and pale but her 
 splendid eyes beamed upon him with a love that banish- 
 ed much of the weary languor seen in them previous to 
 his arrival. The mass of waving hair was brushed back 
 from her brow and with the snowy camellias in the 
 
Outward- Bound. 333 
 
 dim light the fair girl seemed almost divine in her 
 beauty. 
 
 "Philip," said Rosamond, " I cannot tell \ou what a 
 relief it is to me to have seen you before your depar- 
 ture." 
 
 '• I should have come to you," said he, " had we not 
 expected you to be with us during the holidays. All the 
 while I was thinking of the happy time we spent two 
 years ago when uncle Stanhope was with us. To know 
 that you were sick and among strangers destro} r ed my 
 pleasure." 
 
 "Poor cousin Stanhope," said Rosamond, " I wept long 
 and sore when I heard of his death. You have not 
 forgotten his anxiety to have you educated for a soldier." 
 
 " No, he was always partial to me, and seemed more so 
 after my adventure with the wolf. He was a true-hearted 
 man and met a death all soldiers regard as the happiest 
 the accidents of life afford. I wish he could have lived 
 with us to old age." 
 
 " I am very glad you did not go to West Point as he 
 desired; you might some day have shared his fate." 
 
 " So I might, sweet cousin, but many soldiers come home 
 after all their dangers and hardships. Mrs. Leighton and 
 her daughters are so kind to you, your'school days must 
 be very pleasant." 
 
 •' These long absences weigh heavily upon me," said 
 Rosamond. My friends here are ver}' good, but their 
 affection cannot supply that of my mother. Then I miss 
 you, and Mariana, and the dear faces at Ellesmere so 
 much, and now to think you are all going away across 
 the wide, trackless ocean, which will soon be rolling its 
 
334 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 great waves between us. Oh ! Philip, I am so weak, it 
 makes me sick at heart to think of it." 
 
 " Dear Rosamond," said Philip, "I fear my visit has 
 brought you trouble instead of the satisfaction my own 
 heart feels in your presence." 
 
 " 01) no," said she, and the soft eyes with their depth 
 of feeling were unspeakably beautiful. " My happiness 
 in being with you is only clouded by the thought that it 
 is the last time I may see you for years, and perhaps for- 
 ever. I would not, if I could, interfere with your inten- 
 tion to visit Europe, but while you will be surrounded 
 by so much to absorb the heart and mind, do not forget 
 me in America, who will be thinking of you all the 
 while." 
 
 " While I have life, sweet-heart," said Philip, " I shall 
 never forget you. I have so long pictured you as my 
 central joy, that I should feel recreant to the past and 
 my better self if circumstances could weaken or destroy 
 these fondest hopes of my life." 
 
 The conference was long and loving, and when it was 
 finished both hearts felt the great calm which confidence 
 in this momentous question always brings. Nothing in 
 the accidents of life afford so deep and pervading a quiet 
 to the restless affections as the first full assurance of re- 
 quited love in youth. To Rosamond it was a glimpse 
 of Paradise, for she had for years past cherished Philip's 
 image with all the strength of her nature. She had 
 always looked upon him as the dearest of playmates ; but 
 this sentiment had deepened into a passion, forming a 
 source of joy almost necessary to her existence. The 
 large mirror behind them had never reflected two finer 
 forms., and Rosamond, as she leaned back with half closed 
 
Outward-Bound. 335 
 
 eyes amid the silken cushions of the chair, looked upon 
 her affianced lover and compared him with her ideal pic- 
 tures of the heroes of old romance. She felt assured in 
 her heart that neither Sir Lancelot of the Lake, nor Sir 
 Percival, in all their splendid attire at the royal jousts, 
 were nobler than Philip. Sir Galahad could not have 
 shown more tenderness than she felt in the glance of his 
 dark eyes; and in the fleeting moments yet remaining 
 she was storing away in her memory each tone and jes- 
 ture of the happy present to be recalled in the future. 
 Oh golden visions of unreturning youth, who can hope 
 to paint the glory and depth of your joy ! The softest 
 breathing at evening of summer airs is not disturbed in 
 the whispered vow, and the rhetoric of him who sways a 
 senate is not so eloquent as the silent pressure of clasped 
 hands. Oh mystery of human emotion ! wherein con- 
 cealed are the causes that clothe the universe with halos 
 of joy, and then shroud it with palls of despair ! Oh 
 wondrous glamour ! now everything is nothing to a 
 pretty eye-brow, and a smile contents the heart which in 
 coming years may weep like Alexander, that there are 
 no more worlds to conquer. 
 
 " Philip remained with his cousin until he thought her 
 weakness required his forbearance, and, summoning Mrs. 
 Courtenay, amid their tears and kisses, departed. The 
 next day he rejoined his father who was still in Wash- 
 ington. The President had long been the personal as well 
 as political friend of Gov. Eustace, for they were at college 
 together, and the intimacy there established had been 
 subsequently cemented by mutual esteem and good offices. 
 The influence and eloquence of the Governor had largely 
 contributed to give the vote of the State to his friend, in 
 
336 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 the great struggle for the chief magistracy of the nation; 
 and to his efforts much was due in the President's obtain- 
 ing another high office, years before, when they were 
 members of Congress. It was not, then, with the formality 
 usual in such presentations, that Philip was introduced 
 to and kindly treated by his father's friend ; and in after 
 years, when both statesmen were no more, he remembered 
 with gratitude these gentle amenities in one whose duties 
 allowed him so little time for their exercise. 
 
 The winter evening, with its cold wind and leaden sky, 
 had arrived, on which the steamship had been advertised 
 to start for Europe. As if in noisy impatience to be on 
 her way, she lay at the dock with the hidden forces bel- 
 lowing through her escape-pipes. Soon the great wheels 
 were in motion, and, in the pride of her strength, the 
 good ship Baltic turned her head seaward. Swiftly through 
 the waters of the harbor glided this majestic result of the 
 genius and skill of foregoing ages. Philip and Charles 
 Loundes were on deck, watching the city as it gradually 
 became dim in the increasing distance. On they w r ent, 
 through the narrows, and then, for the first time, they 
 beheld the ocean. In the ashen, colorless sky, which was 
 fast darkening with coming night, there were but few of 
 the beauties that sometimes glow T in the gorgeous and 
 changing hues of the sunset. Philip saw in the wastes of 
 water before him an instantaneous suggestion of an end- 
 less eternity, and he could but remember that life, with 
 its largest illumination, is, after all, but a voyage through 
 unknown seas ever surging beneath doubtful stars. 
 
 There was but little roll beyond the breakers ; but here, 
 as at all times, the din of the surf seemed an angry re- 
 monstrance against the further progress of the steamer. 
 
Outward- Bound. 337 
 
 Nothing impresses the imagination with the mysteries 
 of creation and existence like the deep and fearful sug- 
 gestions of a lowering twilight at sea. The tendency of 
 most minds at that season is, even under ordinary cir- 
 cumstances, disposed toward solemn self-examination; 
 and Philip had never experienced more vividly such 
 promptings, of which nature, and especially the sea, is so 
 full. Ke feit a depression and isolation of feeling unac- 
 countable to him. His interview with his cousin 
 afforded him unalloyed pleasure in its remembrance; 
 but now, as he stood silent in the increasing gloom, and 
 looked out to the dim. horizon of waters, he was over- 
 whelmed with the insignificance of individual life in the 
 aggregate of existence. The sense of danger, which so 
 powerfully increases the sublimity of such occasions, was 
 but a small element in this dim perception of the infinite. 
 
 " Philip," said Charles Loundes, "it is so dreary out 
 here, let us go down to the saloon." 
 
 " Wait awhile," said Philip. c< I see the clouds are 
 passing from the east, and we shall soon have a cloudless 
 sky in that direction. This dark and troubled appear- 
 ance nature wears has strangely depressed me, and I wish 
 to see the moon rise. I can never feel so pleasantly in 
 company when I enter its circle gloomy as this mysterious 
 sea has made me. I know, by the illumination to the 
 right of the ship's course, we shall soon have these sullen 
 waters smiling as brightly as Rosamond did upon me 
 when I last saw her." 
 
 " I have never seen your innamorata, Philip, but your 
 grandmother says she can smile like an angel." 
 
 " I would have invited you to have gone with me, when 
 I left the party to visit her, but for her recent illness ; 
 22 
 
338 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 and you must recollect the shortness of the pleasure I 
 then enjoyed : so you can pardon my desire to have her 
 all to myself." 
 
 As Philip had predicted, the dense clouds that had 
 previously enveloped the ocean rolled slowly away. The 
 stars were seen glowing with all the more glory for their 
 recent eclipse. Up, as from the ocean, came the full-orbed 
 moon, and the scene, which an hour ago looked so full 
 of threatened disaster, now sparkled and danced in the 
 pervading light. Across the great waters, from shore to 
 shore, fell that glittering pathway; the ship sped on her 
 way toward the storied orient, and as the night advanced 
 the two young men, who had been in the meanwhile in 
 the saloons below, returned to the deck with Governor 
 Eustace. 
 
 The voyage, so far, had been delightful, not even the 
 ladies had been troubled with sea-sickness ; but the wind 
 freshened up, and upset many of their newly-formed ideas 
 of the pleasures to be found on the rolling deep. Wind 
 and wave were alike powerless, however, to stop for an 
 instant the engines to which hundred-armed Briareus 
 was a thing of weakness. Swiftly and steady on her 
 course, went the good ship with her freight of life, and 
 it was announced that the next day, in case no accident 
 occurred, would show them the Irish coast. 
 
 Mariana, though somewhat enfeebled, was still as beau- 
 tiful as ever, and the heart of Charles Loundes, from his 
 first beholding her, had been strangely attracted. Mrs. 
 Eustace, in the company of her son, had been more lively 
 than at any time since the death of Stanhope, and all 
 were eagerly expectant of the morrow's incidents. 
 For the last two days the voyage had been remarkably 
 
Outward- Bound. 339 
 
 pleasant with the smooth sea and constant social enjoy- 
 ment. There seems to be some peculiar result of voyages 
 and travel, which develops itself when near the close, 
 and, if people have been companionable in the mean- 
 while, is very apt to produce strong attachments. It is a 
 redeeming feature in life at sea, that sailors, who have 
 gone around the world together, come to love each other 
 as brothers. Companions in arms, who have survived 
 the dangers and carnage of war, become strangely attach- 
 ed. It was something of this feeling that gave a tender 
 interest to the occasion in the heart of Mariana. She 
 knew that ere long Philip and his friend would leave 
 them for Germany, and she was more than usually pen- 
 sive, as they stood on deck enjoying the pleasant air 
 and the hills of the Emerald Isle now full in view. 
 
 Her vision was not yet sufficiently restored to afford her 
 a full perception of the welcome sight, but as the state of 
 the air and the mellow light of evening were not likely to 
 prove injurious, she had been induced to leave the saloon 
 with the remainder of the party. She and Loundeswere 
 standing apart from the others, and his frank and hand- 
 some face, instead of beaming with the satisfaction visible 
 on others, seemed really troubled in its expression. They 
 had been talking on indifferent subjects in which Mariana 
 had been the principal speaker, for he seemed contented 
 to lean over the railing and gaze at her. 
 
 " Mr. Loundes," said she, " you are so quiet this even- 
 ing, you must be affected by the neighborhood of the 
 brave people who live on that unhappy island, who, with 
 all their genius and valor, have been denied the gift of 
 liberty, and to my mind so needlessly oppressed." 
 
 " No," said he, " the Irish and their wrongs were not in 
 
340 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 all my thoughts. I was looking at you, and wishing that 
 this voyage could be pleasant enough to you, for us to 
 turn southward and circumnavigate the world before we 
 stop. I am really troubled at the prospect of its being so 
 soon ended." 
 
 "Indeed, we have had a charming time, when the sea 
 was not rough ; and I too feel regret that we cannot 
 all remain in the ship together until we reach Paris ; 
 but I should scarcely be willing to undertake a trip 
 around the world." 
 
 " You have not the unspeakable pleasure, which is mine, 
 of seeing one to remind you of the winged angels in 
 Paradise ; of beholding a sweet, thoughtful face that seems 
 ever aglow with some heavenly light. You cannot real- 
 ize the happiness of one who is contented to look on the 
 object of his idolatry, and feel that while it is wellnigh 
 hopeless to expect more, she is yet near at hand, and ever 
 full of tender consideration. Now we are so near the 
 busy cities and throngs of men, I know that we shall 
 speedily separate, and I beg you to believe me, when I 
 say, you have been long dearer than my own existence." 
 
 " Oh Mr. Loundes, you make me happy and sad at the 
 same time ! I am full of joy, that any one can find plea- 
 sure in my poor darkened presence, and sad that you 
 nourish a sentiment which experienced in moderation 
 adds to our happiness, but allowed to pass into extrava- 
 gance is sure to bring pain both to him who cherishes it 
 and to the object of his unreasonable attachment. Let 
 me ask 3 r ou, as the dear friend that you are, to love me 
 in the calm and equable spirit which should ever charac- 
 terize those owing a higher and holier allegiance. I dis- 
 like the idea of losing all this pretty comfort and quiet 
 
Outward- Bound. 341 
 
 we have been enjoying and the pleasure of constant asso- 
 ciation on ship-board, but do not let us dignify a mere 
 shadow of the heart's natural repining, into a real and 
 acknowledged cause of grief." 
 
 Charles Loundes looked at the sinless face, and knew 
 that a full perception of his passionate words had not 
 reached Mariana's heart. She evidently regarded his 
 declaration only as a protestation of extravagent friend- 
 ship, and with difficulty he restrained himself from say- 
 ing all he so much longed to utter. He was abashed at 
 the thought of analysing the promptings of his passion in 
 the presence of one so little lower than the angels. With 
 a sigh he locked his secret again in the recesses of his 
 heart, and accepted the friendship of her he so much 
 longed to make his bride. With all his love and delicate 
 attention, she had never regarded him as her lover; so 
 with resolute patience and but slight hope of eventual 
 success, he determined to wait for future developments. 
 
 There was but little time given to their enjoyment of 
 the scenery and historical attractions of England. A 
 few days were spent in London, and then, as fast as steam 
 could carry them, traveled the envoy and his party to 
 their destination — the center and focus of civiliza- 
 tion, the gay capital of the world. Paris, which has been 
 wittily said to be very near heaven and next door to hell, 
 was at length reached, and they all were charmed with 
 the elegance and grace so lavishly scattered around. The 
 throngs along the Boulevardes, and the brilliant gas- 
 lights at night, made it more like a fairy scene than a 
 reality. 
 
 To Philip the world's metropolis was full of subjects 
 for new thought- He had been reared in the quiet valley 
 
342 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 of St. Kilda, where the river-side hills with their tall 
 back ground of blue mountains constituted the scenery 
 he had known and loved. The quiet of the woods, and 
 the voiceless charm of still lakes, had fed his taste, until 
 he passionately enjoyed the beauty and repose of nature. 
 These old scenes were not forgotten, as he gazed upon the 
 thronged streets, but his chief pleasures now were found 
 amid the lavish adornments of Versailles and Fontain- 
 bleau, where he sometimes wandered in the midst of 
 beauties, the creation of which had resulted in such woe 
 to France. 
 
 Gov. Eustace was living in Place Vendome, and the 
 family soon settled into something of home-feeling, amid 
 the splendors of the French hotel they inhabited. The 
 envoy devoted all the time he could spare from the duties 
 of his mission to the comfort and happiness of his mother 
 and daughter, and his efforts were crowned with the in- 
 creased health of both. Mrs. Eustace could not forget 
 her son sleeping in his far-distant grave, and had lost 
 much of her sunny disposition, but was still cheerful and 
 pleasant. The oculists, after a careful examination of 
 Mariana's eyes, were confident of their complete restora- 
 tion. 
 
 Philip Eustace and Charles Loundes were soon quietly 
 pursuing their studies at a German university. Both had 
 learned the language before attempting to avail them- 
 selves of the advantages there afforded. Before their de- 
 parture, Loundes had often been with Mariana and wished 
 to tell her all he felt, but as yet he despaired of success. 
 They went a portion of the way along the beautiful 
 Rhine; and but for the ruins of the old castles perched 
 upon the hill-tops, Philip could have almost imagined 
 he was again among his native mountains. 
 
Neiv iaces. 343 
 
 CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 NEW FACES. 
 
 " O my good Gonzalo, 
 My true preserver, and a loyal sir, 
 
 I will pay thy graces 
 
 Home, both in word and deecL" 
 
 — Tempest. 
 
 T^o people in the world equal the Germans in their 
 understanding and appreciation of the true comforts of 
 life. There is, perhaps, more genius in Italy, and cer- 
 tainly more wit among the French ; but mankind are 
 largely indebted to the Fatherland for many other bene- 
 fits beyond the production of Martin Luther and the art 
 of printing. There is scarcely a department of human 
 excellence in which German) 7 has not illustrious instances 
 of successful cultivation ; and in real research and acquire- 
 ment they are, without exception, the foremost people 
 in all the living world. In their university training they 
 have equaled and surpassed the advantages afforded even 
 the ancient Athenian youth. No philosopher has lived 
 in the last century more profound and original than Kant, 
 and in poetry Goethe and Schiller have equalled the 
 proudest, while Jean Paul has traversed the enchanted 
 boundaries hitherto separating the realms of poesy and 
 philosophy. In historical research they have created a 
 system under which the myths of profane ston 7 have been 
 -so scrutinized that admiration has been earned from all 
 men. But this analysis, which has eliminated truth and 
 discarded the fables from the recorded traditions of an- 
 cient days, has not been content with this eclecticism 
 
344 The Heirs of St. Kildcu. 
 
 among the mythological dreams of the poets ; it has ex- 
 tended its unhallowed touch to those awful and hidden 
 mysteries of revelation, and become skeptical to every- 
 thing which does not conform to human probability. 
 
 Living in the midst of this cultivated people,, the tw T o> 
 young Americans found an abundance of amusement 
 and instruction. The quaint, old city in which their 
 university was situated, with its- olden associations and 
 habits, was full of unfailing interest ; and the castle- 
 crowned hills surrounding it were to Philip like the faces 
 of dear friends. Fair landscapes on ever} 7 side were stud- 
 ded w T ith hamlets and with frequent remains of the feudal 
 ages, in the romantic and ivy clad walls of ancient strong- 
 holds. 
 
 On one of the eminences in the citv stood the house of 
 Counsellor Strauss, the friend in whose home the pleasant 
 student-days of Arthur Kean had been passed. His two 
 friends, at his request, were ins-tailed in his former apart- 
 ments, and from tall windows they looked over the city 
 at their pleasure. A host of memories of the past were 
 connected with that little sea of gables What days of 
 busy toil and traffic, and what pleasant nights of gaiety 
 and song, had it known t What times of oppression and 
 wrong had it experienced in those long vanished eras,, 
 when the wishes of iron hearted burggraves were the law 
 of the land! Many traditions, dim with the centu- 
 ries they had survived, still haunted the great tower, and 
 seemed as black to modern view as the noisy rooks clam- 
 oring around its summit. The grave, beer-drinking 
 burghers pointed to the marks of cannon shot made by 
 an angry kaiser who was balked in his fury by the stout- 
 hearted supporters of a rebellious kurfurst;, and further 
 
New Faces. 345 
 
 on the trace of an old breach in the wall was exhibited, 
 which would have given the city over to the horrors 
 shortly before endured at Magdeburg, had not Gustavus 
 and his Swedes arrived that very evening, and forced the 
 enemy to withdraw. 
 
 The beautiful creations of art were so abundant that 
 even in the busy haunts of trade elaborate fountains 
 were to be seen, rich in the unfading glory of sculpture. 
 Huge, iron-bound linden trees, some planted by ancient 
 queens, still bravely withstood the storms which swept 
 from the mountains in the distance. Effigies of mediae- 
 val prelates surmounted the cathedral doors, as if guard- 
 ing the marble hosts asleep within, and basking in the 
 eorseons tints of stained windows. Cherubs and satyrs 
 gazed with their eyes of stone, and seemed eloquent with 
 the truth that human life is ever compounded of good 
 and evil. 
 
 The city had known many vicissitudes in the course of 
 its history — sometimes the residence and capital of 
 mighty princes, and then relapsing to the smaller dig- 
 nity of a provincial town. At intervals, the Kaiser him- 
 self had held his court there; but the memories of all its 
 potentates and councils were but insignificant shadows 
 of the past, and its chief glory survived in the names 
 of the poets and artists who had loved the place of 
 their birth, and still lived in the deathless works of their 
 hands. 
 
 Counsellor Strauss was prosperous in his affairs, and 
 lived a busy, pleasant life. He had been absorbed in 
 business in his youth ; but now that he saw his children 
 growing up to maturity, and he was getting to be an old 
 man, he held in virtue thereof, that he was entitled to> 
 
346 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 relaxation when official duty permitted. His residence 
 was a stone building, and had been previous to the Re- 
 formation part of a monastic institutiion ; the forefathers 
 of the present proprietor having inhabited it for many- 
 generations. The family, in whose increase he felt he 
 was becoming such a patriarch, consisted of a son and two 
 daughters. Their mother had been dead for years, but 
 the widower concluded that his peace of mind and that 
 of his household were of too much importance to be en- 
 dangered by the introduction of a step-mother for his 
 children : so M. Strauss, though he was admired and 
 caressed by a large "portion of marriageable ladies of his 
 acquaintance, continued obstinately blind to their charms 
 and content with the comfort he found at his own fire- 
 side, and in the opera-house hard by. In the shade of a 
 tree which grew in the court of his establishment, the 
 counsellor entertained his friends on summer evenings, 
 and in the flowing moonlight and music quaffed his 
 wine and blest his propitious stars, that their radiance 
 should have hitherto rested upon him with such slight 
 interruptions. He was a pleasant-looking man, of medium 
 size; while his daughters Ernestine and Sophie were 
 pretty, rosy-cheeked damsels, always ready to spend the 
 larger portion of the night in flirtations and the swift 
 movements of German dances. Gustave, the brother, had 
 been educated to succeed his father in the traditional 
 calling of his family, which for ages had seen one of each 
 generation a counsellor. 
 
 The geniality and kindness of these new friends soon 
 made the home of the two students full of pleasure. Just 
 opposite to wdiere they lived, dwelt a large family of 
 Jagerndorfs, which after a long series of brothers and sist- 
 
New Faces. 347 
 
 ers wound up the roll with a large-headed, long-armed 
 dwarf, named Sigismund. The counsellor managed to 
 keep on the amiable side of this little monster, and was 
 sometimes sent for to induce him to abandon an obstin- 
 ately maintained position astride the weather-cock. 
 
 Philip had received as a present from his father, two 
 superb English thoroughbred horses which he kept in 
 the same stable with counsellor Strauss' span of Flanders 
 mares, with which that dignitary, together with his 
 daughters, sometimes went in state to their possessions 
 beyond the city limits. If Anne of Cleves in any way 
 resembled those great, spiritless brutes, Henry VIII. was 
 somewhat excusable in refusing her as his bride. With 
 the clean-limbed, fiery barbs, the two Americans some- 
 times made excursions into the country, enrapturing 
 Sigismund Jagerndorf with the lofty movements of their 
 horses, and transferring a large portion of his admiration 
 of the animals to their owner. Philip pitied, the urchin 
 who so eagerly greeted his coming, and he soon became 
 a pet of both students. Nature had compensated the 
 dwarf's feeble lower extremities by a prodigious develop- 
 ment of his chest and arms. His head was frightfully 
 large, and his mouth would have graced the most savage 
 of the carnivora. 
 
 This new life in a strange land was full of promptings 
 to thought in Philip. His love of the beautiful in the 
 arts was gratified in the 'countless paintings and sculp- 
 tures he saw, and his appreciation of those things not 
 merely useful was so different from the usual character- 
 istics of his countrvmen, he almost felt translated to 
 another sphere of existence. The weary laborers, as they 
 walked in the twilight from their work in the fields, made 
 
348 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 the air musical with deathless hymns or songs of patriot- 
 ism ; and the city artisans, with full voices reproduced 
 the grand harmonies they had listened to the night be- 
 fore at the opeia-house. Philip felt in his heart that 
 whatever errors there might be in the theology of such a 
 people, the all-absorbing worship of mammon, at least, 
 had not removed from their view the cheerful and half 
 religious love of the beautiful. One evening, in the 
 pleasant light of the declining sun, he was riding alone 
 along the road in sight of a fine old castle still partly 
 inhabited by the Schulemburg family. The vintage was 
 at its height, and the odor of ripe graphs pervaded the 
 air. The soft autumn atmosphere was deliciously sooth- 
 ing, and the young student was thinking of her who had 
 been much in his mind since their last interview previ- 
 ous to his departure from America. The pure white brow, 
 so blanched and transparent in the shaded light of that 
 evening, he had endeavored to picture to himself in its 
 matured beauty, when health and happiness had restored 
 its roseate bloom. The effort was wholly unsatisfactory, 
 for in the uncertain light in which he had seen her, he 
 was unable to amplify and define the mental image to 
 his wish. 
 
 He noticed the beautiful figure of a lady on horse-back 
 enter the road from the grounds surrounding Schulem- 
 burg castle. She was followed by a groom riding a little 
 distance in the rear; and Philip saw at a glance that 
 horsemanship was a thing but little known to him. He 
 was evidently ill at ease on the impatient animal, whose 
 temper was only aggravated by his awkward attempts at 
 conciliation. The horses of the young lady and her at- 
 tendant were far inferior to his English steeds, but were 
 
New Faces. 349 
 
 the finest of the German breed Philip had seen, and his 
 interest in them and the trim, graceful figure of the fair 
 rider, drew much of his attention, as he restrained the 
 impatience of Hamlet, who was unwilling to follow when 
 others led. The groom was evidently growing more un- 
 easy at every movement of his horse, which, happening 
 to pass a heavily-loaded hay wagon, with a sudden start ? 
 fairly dislodged the rider, and with a snort of triumph 
 sped forward in pursuit of the fair equestrian. The rush 
 of the riderless steed from behind at once started the 
 spirited animal she was riding, and from her fruitless 
 efforts Philip saw that she was unable to check the head- 
 long speed with which she was being borne along. He 
 gave rein to his Horse, which speedily narrowed the dis- 
 tance between him and the fugitives; but he was doubt- 
 ful of the result of his attempting to run down the one 
 the lady was riding, for fear a sudden start might unseat 
 her. 
 
 By this time she looked back, and uttered an implor- 
 ing cry for help, for she well knew a dangerous curve and 
 descent a mile ahead made it necessary that she should 
 be rescued before reaching that point. Bui; the fifty yards 
 still intervening would require fierce riding to be over- 
 come in that distance, and as Philip had never fully 
 tested the speed of the powerful animal he was riding, he 
 was by no means certain the feat could be accomplished. 
 As he pressed both spurs fully home into the tender sides 
 of his horse, he felt the mighty frame spring forward, as 
 if the previous gait had been but child's play. The size 
 of the rider would have been a serious drawback to most 
 horses, but Hamlet's prodigious power was equal to any 
 emergency ; for he had been selected with a view to the 
 
350 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 weight be would have to carry, and most fully did he 
 answer every expectation. In less than three-fourths of 
 a mile, he was alongside of the flying horses, and the 
 next instant Philip had grasped the reins still bravely 
 maintained by the trembling beauty. With gradual re- 
 straint, lest the lady should be thrown, the wild career 
 was surely and steadily moderated, until, at an order from 
 his master, Hamlet stood still. The presence of mind, 
 which the sense of her situation had hitherto forced upon 
 the beautiful girl, now forsook her entirely, as she looked 
 forward and saw the hill-side she feared. The sunny head, 
 with its golden curls, drooped, and she became totally 
 unconscious. Philip with one hand held the horses, and 
 with the other sustained the helpless form of the fainting 
 maiden. 
 
 He looked into her face as it rested on his arm, and was 
 filled with admiration at the perfection of its lines. Her 
 e} r es were of that rich, deep blue which so completely 
 finish the contrast of colors in the radiance of a full 
 blonde. The lustrous hair waved over a brow rivalling 
 the lily in purity, and the rich, warm lips pallid in syn- 
 cope, when Philip first beheld them, recovered their 
 bloom, as the queen -like being resumed her erect position 
 in the saddle. 
 
 " How can I ever hope to thank you enough, sir, for 
 this timely aid?" said she in French, and a blush over-_ 
 spread her features, as the position to which her helpless- 
 ness had reduced her became fully realized. 
 
 " I beg you to feel under no obligations," said Philip. 
 " My satisfaction at your safety more than compensates 
 for any efforts in your behalf." 
 
New Faces. 351 
 
 57 
 
 *' do not think I can so forget my name and duty as 
 to undervalue the great service you have rendered me. 
 
 Philip saw the necessity of his escorting the countess 
 home, for the fiery animal his strong arm had arrested 
 in flight was still unsubdued, and needed other restraint 
 than that of the fair rider. Through the mellow light of 
 the autumn evening they rode back to the ancient palace 
 of the Counts of Schulemberg, the title of which, by the 
 death of her father, had descended to young Theresa. 
 Some of the most important seigniories which had long 
 been attached to the proud house had by reason of the 
 Salic rule of succession, lapsed to the Baron Waldemar of 
 Keiningheim, her father's younger brother. He was a 
 bachelor, and spent a greater portion of his time with his 
 niece. In early life he had been a soldier, and had served 
 with credit under Blucher and other German command- 
 ers. He participated in the disasters of the double defeat 
 at Jena and Auerstadt, but was avenged, and lost his arm 
 at Waterloo. 
 
 The beautiful grounds and vast size of the castle were 
 observed by Philip. He noticed that a portion of the 
 establishment was uninhabited and ruinous. The eastern 
 wing was a palace within itself, and presented many evi- 
 dences of wealth and elegance. They dismounted, and 
 Philip accompanied the countess through a host of do- 
 mestics; and, having traversed several apartments full of 
 splendor and modern comfort, they found the Baron 
 Waldemar. He warmly thanked Philip for his opportune 
 services, and expressed astonishment that the countess 
 should have ventured out with an attendant so ignorant 
 of the management of horses. She told him that one 
 groom had been sent to the city; another was sick; and 
 
352 The Heirs of St. Kildu. 
 
 thinking there was no danger in a short excursion, she 
 had gone forth thus poorly attended. 
 
 Philip returned to the city. It was nearly dark as he 
 passed along the streets, and, being occupied with thoughts 
 of his recent ad venture, did not observe Sigismund Jagern- 
 dorf hanging by one hand to the projecting balustrade in 
 front of his father's house; but the antics of the dwarf 
 were a source of terror to his horse. Philip, to correct 
 this foolish dread of what could really do him no harm, 
 forced the animal close under the uncouth figure, when 
 Sigismund, with the agility of a monkey, loosing his hold, 
 alighted behind the saddle. This was more than Hamlet 
 could withstand, and he sprang forward with a cry of 
 mingled fear and rage. Many of the burghers witnessed 
 the scene, and as horsemanship was no part of their ac- 
 complishments, they certainly expected to see both of the 
 riders thrown. But they knew little of the firm seat and 
 muscular power of Philip, and nothing was surer than 
 while he kept his place the dwarf was not to be shaken 
 off. The horse was soon subdued, but ever afterward 
 manifested the utmost abhorrence and fear at the approach 
 of his singular foe. The half-witted creature laughed at 
 Philip's remonstrance, for fear of bodily injury had no 
 place in his thoughts. 
 
 Philip had been anxious to return from the castle to 
 witness the production of a German translation of Shak- 
 speare's masterpiece, for he had agreed to go to the theatre 
 with the family of Counsellor Strauss that night. He 
 had often admired its beauties by the fireside, but had 
 never seen it represented on the stage. The great drama 
 lost many of its exquisite beauties in its change of lan- 
 guage, but preserved enough of its vigor to enchain the 
 
New Faces. 353 
 
 attention of the audience, as they listened to the majestic 
 utterances of him whose genius was for the world and all 
 time. Sophie was seated by Philip, and was awe-stricken 
 as the ghost glided upon the stage. She wept at the 
 madness of Ophelia, and was indignant at Hamlet's re- 
 proaches of her own sex. 
 
 Ludwig Jagerndorf, the oldest of Sigismund's brothers, 
 was present, and was becoming, a fast friend of the two 
 Americans, who could but admire his genius as an artist. 
 He was connected with the university where he labored 
 to increase the funds realized from his paintings, in order 
 that he might visit Rome and Florence to study the 
 Italian masters. Ludwig was enchanted with the play 
 and when it was over went home with his friends. After 
 the three young men had seated themselves to the enjo} r - 
 ment of their pipes and beer, Philip related his evening's 
 adventure with the countess of Schulemberg. 
 
 " She is the greatest beauty and the richest heiress in 
 all this principality," said Ludwig, " and has shone the 
 star of Baden Baden and other spas, for the two last 
 seasons. It is said that the Baron Waldemar, though her 
 guardian, has never attempted to induce her to accept 
 any of the many offers of marriage which have been 
 tendered by nobles of different lands." 
 
 " He has never married himself," said Philip, "and it 
 may be his own indifference to the nuptial tie is the secret 
 of his forbearance toward his niece." 
 
 " Yes," said Ludwig, " I am persuaded some such feel- 
 ing of consistency restrains him, for he knows, in the 
 event of her dying childless, the titles of Schulemberg 
 and Keiningheim will both lapse to the Grand Duke." 
 
 " Philip," said Charles Loundes, " you are always hap- 
 23 
 
354 Ihe Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 pening to some such good luck as this. Had I foregone 
 my evening's flirtation with pretty Ernestine, I should 
 have also made the acquaintance of this great beauty you 
 and M. Ludwig are making me crazy to see." 
 
 " One of my pictures," said Jagerndorff, " illustrates a 
 wild story connected with that old castle of Schulemberg. 
 There was a spectre-lover, said to have haunted the 
 northern portion now in ruins, to whom one of the 
 daughters of the house had plighted her hand on the eve 
 of his departure for the siege of Belgrade, under Prince 
 Eugene of Savoy. She had promised to be his in life 
 and death, but when she heard he was slain by the infidel 
 Turk she forgot her vows and wedded another. In the 
 midst of the feastings, the pale figure of him who had 
 died in the Paynim trenches returned, and though invis- 
 ible to others was recognized by the bride. He steadily 
 regarded her, and lifting his helmet exhibited the marks 
 where the fatal scimetar had severed his head. He dis- 
 appeared from the revel, but each evening returned, and 
 beckoning to the false one slowly withdrew, until after 
 many visits, she was so maddened by conscience she fol- 
 lowed and ,was never heard of more. We laugh at such 
 stories now, but fifty years ago they were a portion of our 
 creed in this part of the world." 
 
 "What new light has come to you," said Loundes, 
 "that was hidden from the eyes of your forefathers? Is 
 there any reason that you disbelieve in the manifesta- 
 tions of the supernatural, beyond the fact that you have 
 not seen the evidences upon which the ancient belief 
 rested ?" 
 
 " Every person of intelligence now laughs at ghost 
 
New Faces. 355 
 
 stories," said Jagerndorf. " You surely have no confidence 
 in the old wives' fables." 
 
 " Suppose," said Loundes, "we strip this subject of its 
 ludicrous aspects, and look at it seriously and reasonably. 
 You admit there is an existence after death, and, with all 
 mankind, feel in spite of your skepticism, that there is a 
 conformity with the course of probability in the play we 
 have been witnessing to-night. If this were not the case 
 the whole plot of the great dramatist would be a tissue of 
 folly. If we fully believed the dead king could not, under 
 any circumstances, have communicated with his living 
 son, we should be incontrollably disgusted at the recital 
 of a foolish and impossible absurdity. The human mind 
 in all preceding ages has instinctively recognized this 
 life after death, and the possibility of communication of 
 the dead under certain circumstances with those living 
 This mysterious affinity between life and death is termed 
 the supernatural, but is it after all anything more than a 
 legitimate development of nature itself? If the same law 
 of existence which controls us in life, preserves our im- 
 perishable spirits after death, what is it more than a con- 
 tinuance of those causes and effects that we call nature? 
 We hold there is a prolongation of the soul's existence, 
 after the fact of physical dissolution, but we know noth- 
 ing of the limits imposed by the laws which control the 
 disembodied spirit." 
 
 " No," said Jagerndorf, " some confine it in purgatory,, 
 like dead Hamlet to-night declared : 
 
 ''To fast in fires, 
 Till the foul crimes, done in my days of nature, 
 Are burned and purged away." 
 
356 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 And others say frankly, they have no information on 
 the subject." 
 
 " Well," continued Loundes, " you are then forced to 
 the conclusion that, after admitting there is a continuance 
 of spiritual existence, there is no evidence to indicate the 
 conditions of that state, how then can you assert that one 
 of the most enduring convictions, which finds no conflict 
 with probability, is after all unreasonable." 
 
 " Because," said Jiigerndorf, " we do not see such phan- 
 toms without sufficient grounds for the belief that they 
 are only optical delusions and the creatures of excited 
 imaginations." 
 
 "You reason," said Loundes, "like the king of Siam, 
 when told by the Dutch minister that the rivers and 
 lakes of his country became so hard in winter that men 
 could walk upon them. The Asiatic prince, living in 
 the tropics with no knowledge of northern latitudes, 
 laughed him to scorn, and deemed the whole story a 
 pure fabrication, because it violated his knowledge of 
 natural habits. I believe the rarity of supernatural ap- 
 pearances is a mercy of Providence, for the human mind 
 is oppressed and awed to such a degree in the realization 
 of such a presence, that life would become insupportable 
 were men brought in frequent contact with what they 
 believed to be the spirits of the dead. We feel awe in the 
 presence of the corpse of a little child, and I believe this 
 sensation is the result of the soul's recognition that the 
 dead have entered upon a higher stage of existence." 
 
 " I do not believe in ghost stories," said Jiigerndorf, 
 " but I confess I have enough superstition in my nature 
 to relish their recital, and to feel a little tremulous some- 
 times at night, when alone I have been startled by things 
 
New Faces. 357 
 
 for which I was unable to account. I suppose, however, this 
 weakness is due to early education in the nurseiy where 
 all children hear those wild legends which have been 
 transmitted from other ages." 
 
 "It seems strange to me," said Loundcs, 'Mo hear you 
 confessing this, when all the lessons of your training and 
 reason combat such a belief. Do you suppose the Creator 
 would have formed men with this pervading and irre- 
 pressible conviction that there is a possibility of some 
 dreadful apparition coming forth from the womb of mys* 
 terious night, unless there was a solemn reality to sanc- 
 tion the sentiment? Can the wisdom and teachings of 
 education amount to so little as to leave us to a miserable 
 deception of the imagination which you instance as the 
 source of sensations you are powerless to escape? There 
 is no such incongruity in the natural economy, as this 
 wasteful creation of a great leading emotion among men, 
 after all amounting to nothing when examined in its 
 inner significance. There must be some corresponding 
 reality in the realm of possibilities, to justify and account 
 for such wide-spread and lasting convictions among 
 men." 
 
 " I think," said Philip, " that it is unreasonable to deny 
 the probability of such things, simply because we have 
 not seen or heard them, while other men may have done 
 so." 
 
 The next day a showy equipage stopped in front of 
 Counsellor Strauss' office, and the countess of Schulem- 
 berg, for the first time in several months, called on him 
 whose professional aid was frequently given to the young 
 mistress of the ancient barony. The business concerns, 
 which were apparently the occasion of her visit, were 
 
358 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 discussed to her satisfaction, and she had arisen to return 
 to her carriage, when she paused and remarked : 
 
 " You have two j'oung gentlemen from America living 
 at your house, M. Strauss. I saw one of them yesterday 
 evening, and his aid was so valuable in a serious emer- 
 gency, I have invited him to visit me at my place. Will 
 you please tell me who Mr. Eustace is?" 
 
 " He is the son of the American embassador at Paris, 
 and comes recommended to me by those in whom I can 
 place implicit cpnfidence, as a gentleman. His ancestors 
 have long been eminent among the wealthiest and most 
 talented of the Americans, and I think him worthy of his 
 lineage." 
 
 The countess seemed satisfied with this information, 
 and at once passed to her carriage. She was much pleased 
 with the politeness of the American stranger, and the 
 counsellor's commendations increased her interest. The 
 coolness and grace of his bearing in the embarrassing 
 circumstances of their first meeting, added to her grati- 
 tude, created a strong desire to see him again. She knew 
 from the costly simplicity of his attire and the self-pos- 
 session of his manner, that he had been differently bred 
 from some of his countrymen at whose mingled assurance 
 and bashfulness she was often amused in Baden Baden. 
 Although she had rejected many suitors, there was no 
 beauty in Europe who more highly appreciated the ad- 
 miration her charms excited ; and the pleasure she thus 
 received was one of the chief causes of her remaining 
 unmarried. She had been reared and educated in her 
 own ancestral halls, under the watchful guidance and 
 advice of her uncle ; and while this training had not un- 
 fitted her to shine as a belle in maiden fieedom, yet the 
 
New Faces. 359 
 
 honest opinions of the old soldier had disgusted her with 
 the habits of European married women. She was fully 
 convinced that, with matrimony, came an obligation to 
 forsake the general, and rely upon individual love and 
 admiration as the sources of her pleasure. She frequently 
 expressed her abhorrence of the conduct of many she saw 
 around her, and resolved she would never bestow her 
 hand in wedlock until prepared to forego the charms of 
 love-making from all but one man. 
 
 Philip was utterly unconscious of the interest he had 
 inspired in this lovely and high-born maiden. The 
 studies he was pursuing did not absorb his time, and he 
 wisely concluded that much improvement would result 
 in attention to the habits of the people among whom he 
 was sojourning. He was one evening in the opera-house, 
 listening to Weber's fine music in Der Freischutz, when, 
 looking across the hall, he saw the Countess Theresa in 
 her box, and, receiving a glance of recognition, passed 
 over and accosted her. 
 
 " I am very glad to see you again," said she. "You 
 have not hurried yourself in redeeming the promise you 
 made to visit us at the castle." 
 
 " I can assure you," said Philip, " it has not been from 
 a want of inclination, but I have been somehow im- 
 pressed with the idea that I should not take advantage 
 of the acquaintance commenced in such an unusual 
 manner." 
 
 " You distress me in speaking thus, Mr. Eustaee. Could 
 you think me wholy insincere in the invitation and as- 
 surance I gave you ?" 
 
 " Not at all ; we may be entirely honest under some 
 imagined obligation in our efforts to discharge the debt 
 
360 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 of gratitude we owe, but it does not follow because we are 
 grateful for benefits conferred, we should desire to see the 
 author of the kindness very often." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Eustace, suppose 'you forget that adventure 
 with the horses — I assure you I shall not — and imagine 
 we have met for the first time, and hear me again declare 
 I esteem your presence a pleasure, independent of any 
 gratitude I feel. My uncle authorizes me to say as much 
 for him, but he will be here in a few minutes, and can, 
 speak for himself." 
 
 " I am truly obliged to your ladyship," said Philip,, 
 "for this kindness. I shall do myself the honor to visit 
 Schulemberg castle." 
 
 A passage in the music here drew their attention, and 
 they listened until the song was finished. The countess 
 was a passionate lover of the creations of genius, and did 
 not visit the opera-house so much for small-talk as for 
 the enjoyment of the harmonies and soul-pictures of the- 
 great maestros. Philip felt assured of the fine nature of 
 the beautiful being before him, and was convinced that 
 the artificial forms of high life had not been able to warp 
 and destroy the passionate intuitions which still controlled 
 her in all her graceful existence. She was the impersona- 
 tion of winning elegance in her manner, and he soon 
 learned the high tone of her principles. To admiration 
 of her beauty, was added esteem for the freedom of her 
 mind in matters merely conventional, which often so< 
 influence the sentiments of women and men that they 
 become a second nature, enthralling the mind and pois- 
 oning the heart to all that is noble and unaffected in 
 nature. 
 
 The autumn frost had stripped of its foliage the lindeni 
 
New laces. 361 
 
 tree that stood in the court yard of Counsellor Strauss' 
 house. The air was too cool to enjoy out-door pleasures, 
 so largely appreciated in Germany, and the two, who had 
 become thoroughly domesticated in their foreign home, 
 were sitting in the pleasant glow of a fire with Ludwig 
 Jagerndorf and the family. Philip had commenced his 
 first original picture, and he and the artist had been look- 
 ing at it that evening. 
 
 " I like your treatment of the subject very much," said 
 Ludwig, "especially as it is your first effort at composi- 
 tion. The attitude of the two figures is full of passion 
 and meaning, and I can almost weep to think it is proba- 
 bly your first and last effort in a calling I think worthy 
 of any man's life time devotion." 
 
 " What is your subject?" asked the counsellor. 
 
 "It is," said Philip, "the last interview between King 
 Arthur and his guilt} 7 wife, Guinevere, previous to the 
 battle in which the chief of the Pound Table was wounded 
 unto death. According to the ancient chronicle, the 
 queen had fled from the court, and was at first supposed 
 by Arthur to be with her lover, Launcelot, beyond the 
 seas. After war against him of the Lake and fruitless 
 search in that direction, she was discovered in a nunnery, 
 and the king is represented in the picture as supplicating; 
 the blessings of heaven on her who lies grovelling in 
 silence at his feet." 
 
 " Your countrymen," said the counsellor, " do not cul- 
 tivate the arts for instruction and amusement as you do, 
 Mr. Eustace." 
 
 " No," said Philip, " our system of education ignores- 
 the prosecution of studies opening to the human gaze the 
 never failing enjoyment of the beautiful in art and nature. 
 
362 The Heirs of SL Kilda. 
 
 The majority of our people are blind even, to the gorgeous 
 American sunsets, which are generally richer than those 
 seen in Europe, The loveliest scenery is to them only 
 attractive in the probability of its fertility; and in music 
 their taste is satisfied in the reels and jigs of negro fid- 
 dlers. They have but slight appreciation of what Milton 
 calls 
 
 " Strains that might create a soul 
 Under the ribs of death." 
 
 Here the party were disturbed by cries of fire, and this 
 announcement was soon followed by a bright glare upon 
 the windows. They went out and found that a neighbor 
 was removing his furniture, while the devouring element 
 was rapidly destroying his house. The engines were, as 
 usual, too late to save the building and limited their 
 effort to prevent the spread of the flames to other tene- 
 ments. The burning house was taller than its neighbors 
 and its roof so difficult of access, that wuthout consider- 
 able exertion it could not be reached. Those who had 
 been engaged in saving the furniture of the upper rooms 
 made a timely retreat by the stair-way already in flames, 
 as were all the lower windows. The crowd were con- 
 gratulating themselves that every one had escaped, when 
 a cry of despair w 7 as heard from the topmost story. No 
 one could imagine from whom it proceeded, until Ludwig 
 Jagerndorf missed Sigismund, who had been with him a 
 few minutes before, and thought he recognized the voice 
 of the dwarf still faintly heard from high above. The 
 next minute the window sash was thrown up, and far up, 
 was seen, like a demon amid the ascending smoke and 
 flames, the ill-shapen figure. He was thoroughly terri- 
 
New Faces. 363 
 
 fied, and made hideous outcries for help. None saw a 
 chance of rescue, for the ladders were too short, and the 
 three lower stories were so far consumed that the walls 
 might fall in at any moment. The conviction was set- 
 tling in the mind of all that Sigismund must certainly 
 perish, when a sudden thought struck Philip, and he ran 
 into a house standing next on the right. He was soon 
 on its roof, and by others was lifted high enough to grasp 
 the balustrade that served as a parapet to the burning 
 building. By this means he drew himself up and reached 
 the roof. The crowd below, who were watching his move- 
 ments in breathless suspense, were terrified when they 
 saw him seize the parapet above the low window in which 
 the dwarf stood and lower his tall frame in its front. 
 Sigismund grasped the feet within his reach, and with 
 tlie agility of a cat passing along Philip's body and over 
 his shoulders, with a cry of exultation leaped upon the 
 roof. He then turned to assist his rescuer who was soon 
 beside him. As Philip once more regained the roof, a 
 shout of applause arose from the astonished multitude 
 who were almost frantic in their demonstrations, as the 
 two, unharmed, regained the street. 
 
 Ludwig Jiigerndorf could only grasp in silence the hand 
 of his friend who had thus periled his life for his poor 
 brother. The next day, the whole city was informed of 
 the dangerous feat, and every one was wondering at 
 Philip's recklessness. His reputation for courage was as 
 well established in this city of strangers as in his native 
 valley, and many became much interested in the handsome 
 American who was pointed out as the hero of the fiie, 
 and whom they also saw frequently basking in the smiles 
 of the Countess of Schulemberg, now fonder than ever of 
 
3G4 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 the opera. She had heard the particulars of his conduct 
 at the fire, and from Charles Loundes such lavish praise, 
 that the heart of the warm and impulsive maiden became 
 strangely fascinated. The deference of his conduct to- 
 ward her was marked, and bore abundant confession 
 of liis appreciation of her charms. There was a difference 
 between his admiration and that of other men she had 
 seen, for all had yielded to the resistless attraction of her 
 presence. Philip, however, always preserved a certain 
 manliness and reserve which served but to increase the 
 countess' regard for him ; for she, like other beautiful 
 women, keenly relished the power she was conscious she 
 possessed over those of the opposite sex. Circumstances 
 and Observation had clothed him in her view with nobler 
 attributes than she had previously witnessed, and yet 
 with all her preference for himself she could remember 
 no expression of his beyond what gallantry and good 
 breeding justify. 
 
 Philip perceived her evident kindliness i-oward him, 
 but persisted in attributing these tokens of regard to her 
 gratitude for his aid on the evening of their first acquaint- 
 ance. In his own heart there was growing up a sentiment 
 he never stopped to analyze, or he might have at once ; 
 through his high sense of duty, become unhappy with 
 the extent of his attachment. His love for Rosamond 
 was in his heart fresh as ever, and it did not, for a mo- 
 ment, occur to him that he could possibly transfer his 
 fealty to Theresa of Schulemberg. 
 
Halcyon Days. 3G5 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 HALCYON DAYS. 
 
 "O, she, that hath a heart of that fine frame, 
 To pay this debt of love, but to a brother, 
 How will she love, when the rich golden shaft, 
 Hath kill'd the flock of all affections else 
 That live in her!" 
 
 — Twelfth Night. 
 
 The German winter with its festivals and quiet, fire- 
 side pleasures had happily glided over the heads of the 
 two young students who had arrived, a year before, amid 
 the strange faces of an unknown land. During the 
 Christmas holidays, by help of railways, they made a fly- 
 ing visit to the family in Paris, then settled into en- 
 joyment of homedife amid the noise and gaiety of the 
 great hive of fashion. Philip saw with delight that 
 Mariana's eyes had lost their look of abstraction. The 
 darkness, which had so long shut him from her vision, 
 had passed away, and her blindness existed but in the 
 memory of the past. In the lapse of time and with in- 
 creasing health, came a further development of her ma- 
 donna-like beaut} 7 . 
 
 Philip had last seen Rosamond in the faint illumina- 
 tion of a sick chamber, and he could but judge, from the 
 pure, pale brow, the remaining perfections of a face he did 
 not see: but the magic of his cousin's attraction had but 
 little in common with that of Mariana. The Countess 
 of Schulemberg, too, afforded delicious suggestions as 
 he looked upon the swiftly changing evidences of passing 
 emotion. He noticed with his awakened artist percep- 
 
366 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 tions the full blue eyes aglow with the splendor of joy, 
 and anon swimming in the soft languor of maiden medi- 
 tations. Philip saw much difference in these two. In 
 his sister, an ethereal Minerva-like exemption from the 
 fluctuations of feeling; in the countess, ever-active sus- 
 ceptibility to the changing complexion of her own heart- 
 yearnings. In one, sensuous promptings seemed bound 
 in the golden ligatures of sleepless wisdom ; in the other 
 passion was continually asking of supervising discretion 
 limits to the extent of its joy. Innocence and beauty 
 were alike possessed, and the hand of Providence had 
 rested heavily on the hearts of both. Mariana had seen 
 the world with its flowers, its sunsets, and its gleaming 
 lakes, fade as she thought forever from her view ; and the 
 mistress of Schulemberg castle yet bewailed the loss of 
 her parents. Both had grown wiser in these afflictions '> 
 but in their original natures, were planted the seeds 
 which, though in the final harvest they might yield kin- 
 dred sheaves, yet in youth necessarily presented a divers- 
 itv of bloom. 
 
 Philip returned with a heart freshened by recent com- 
 munion with those who had been so happy in welcom- 
 ing him to their Parisian home. Charles Loundes had 
 at last told his love, plainly, and unmistakably to her 
 who was to him so full of inspiring beauty ; and Mariana 
 had so tenderly received his homage that he was wholly 
 unable to fathom the soft yet changeless nature of the idol 
 he worshipped. She seemed pleased with his devotion ; 
 and yet he felt, after all he had said, that in her present 
 determination he could never induce her to become his 
 bride. That she experienced a large and increasing in- 
 terest in the friend of her brother, was evident not only 
 
Halcyon Days. 367 
 
 to himself, but to those around her; and that this attach- 
 ment was stronger and more abiding than those usually 
 producing betrothal was true ; but while Mariana recog- 
 nized in her own heart this growing interest, she never 
 thought of Charles Loundes in connection with marriage, 
 until with fervid eloquence he told her how necessary- 
 she was to his future peace. Philip had often talked 
 with him in relation to his hope, and such was the con- 
 fidence reposed by the brother in the honor, and such 
 were the endearing qualities of his friend, that he was his 
 choice of all the world as the husband of his sister, in the 
 event of her own wishes toward such a marriage. 
 
 Of this much Charles Loundes was assured ; but was 
 also acquainted with Gov. Eustace's opposition to any 
 such change in the relations of his daughter. Now that 
 her vision was wholly restored, the father, who had al- 
 ways loved her with the tenderest affection, was annoyed 
 at the slightest probability of her removal from his pres- 
 ence. The nature of his public duties had separated him 
 so much from his children, that since she had reached 
 maturity, and was restored to a full possession of her fac- 
 ulties, he manifested repugnance to another's interfering 
 between himself and his daughter. He appreciated the 
 passionless serenity of her disposition, and felt that the 
 young men who frequented his saloons could fall in love 
 with an angel with as much propriety as with Mariana. 
 He knew she had lived for years in an atmosphere which 
 was utterly beyond the comprehension of most people, 
 and the idea of disturbing the composure of this sinless 
 being, with the profaning company of man, seemed to 
 him a thing unhallowed and not to be permitted. 
 
368 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 From Philip's representation and his own observation, 
 Gov. Eustace saw much in Louncles to attract his com- 
 mendation ; but in this matter of surrendering his heart's 
 idol, who now reproduced to his gaze the beautiful mother 
 who had long ago faded from his arms, was a subject full 
 of pain. That Philip should love, and some day marry 
 Rosamond, was one of the chief wishes of his heart; and 
 both of the young people were well aware of this desire.. 
 The father and son had a long conversation on the sub- 
 ject during the Christmas visit, and Gov. Eustace was 
 happy in the belief that there was nothing in the con- 
 duct of either to weaken the trust that ere long his wishes 
 in this respect would be gratified. 
 
 The awakening influences of spring were as joyous to 
 Philip in his German home as in his own native valley, 
 and he was full of satisfaction as he traversed the smooth, 
 broad roads leading in all directions around. Sometimes 
 the gentler of the two English horses, called Exile, car- 
 ried on these evening excursions a curious looking rider. 
 Sigismund, from the peril he had induced Philip to un- 
 dergo at the fire, since that event seemed to have grown 
 strangely in his favor, and the dwarf regarded him with 
 a devotion truly wonderful. No errand was troublesome, 
 if Philip requested it. and his mother, whose tender 
 blindness to his deformity in stature and disposition, 
 made her ever gentle, saw with sorrowful astonishment 
 that her own child now preferred this stranger to herself. 
 But recollecting Philip's services, she told Sigismund, 
 with a sigh, the gentleman was kind and noble hearted, 
 and deserved all the love he gave him. The people would 
 smile with kindly salutations as the American passed 
 through the streets on horseback, thus strangely attended. 
 
Halcyon Days. 369 
 
 The story of his kindness, and the wild attachment of the 
 dwarf, became known ; and all wondered at this conde- 
 scension of the cavalier from beyond the seas, to one so 
 many of themselves regarded with aversion. 
 
 Sigismund was a great lover of the theatre and opera, 
 and, for the first time in his life, had full opportunity to 
 gratify this passion for the bright lights and music which 
 seemed to constitute the chief attractions of the whole 
 affair. He was sometimes noticed to exhibit delight at 
 the brilliant and unusual costumes of the actors, but the 
 drama itself was entirely beyond his comprehension. He 
 occasionally came to Philip as he was sitting at the play 
 with the countess, who was interested in the dw,arf from 
 the fact of his devotion to one she so much admired her- 
 self; but she could not, with all her beauty and winning- 
 kindness, prevent his growing restless in her presence. 
 Ludwig was fearful Sigismund w T ould prove troublesome 
 in his attachment and sometimes remonstrated with 
 Philip for not sending him off; but this would have been 
 such a grief to the half-witted creature, the advice was 
 not taken. As Charles Loundes occasionally teased him, 
 he was but little loved by the dwarf, who was slow to for- 
 get anything he regarded as an affront. 
 
 Philip and Ludwig kept their easels in the same room, 
 and the more the American, who painted for the pleasure 
 of mastering a beautiful art, saw of the calm, assiduous 
 attention of him who was working for sustenance in life 
 and immortalitv afterwards, the more was he attracted 
 toward him. He had never seen such enlightened devo- 
 tion to a mere calling; for beyond his love of music and 
 sculpture, the whole pleasure of the artist seemed centered 
 in eager study of the forms of beauty in nature, and their 
 24 
 
370 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 delineation. Apart from his recreation from toil at the 
 easel, he seemed to care for no pleasure in life. His even- 
 ing: excursions on the streets were made tours of observa- 
 tion on the varying effects of light and shadow, and the 
 ■shop-doors were observed, for new folds in his draperies. 
 Philip's horses, with their elegant forms, were to him al- 
 most as great a source of delight as they were to Sigis- 
 mund, and he sketched them in almost every possible 
 attitude. 
 
 One evening Philip and he were standing amid the 
 sculptured memorials of the dead, in an old cathedral 
 long ago hoary with age. The mellow light of the de- 
 clining day came in glory through the lofty arches of 
 the stained windows, lighting up the marble effigies of 
 those who bad slumbered for ages in this venerable fane. 
 Just before them was a reclining figure, with its crossed 
 legs denoting a crusader, and beyond it some half- forgot- 
 ten saint. The light from the gleaming marble was re- 
 flected up into the dim, lofty depths of the vaulted roof, 
 disclosing the wondrous beauties long ago wrought by the 
 hands of the matchless builders of mediaeval days. Philip 
 remembered and repeated Congreve's beautiful descrip- 
 tion : 
 
 " How reverend is the face of this tall pile. 
 Whose ancient -pillars rear their marble heads 
 To bear aloft its arched and ponderous roof. 
 By its own weight made steadfast and immovable, 
 Looking tranquility. It strikes an awe 
 And terror on my aching sight ; the tombs 
 And monumental caves of death look cold, 
 And shoot a chilliness to my trembling heart." 
 
 " Ludwig," said Philip, " I shall sadly miss these grand 
 temples, when I return to America. Years ago, before I 
 
Halcyon Days. 371 
 
 •ever stood beneath them, I had imagined, with Milton, 
 how sweet it was 
 
 ' To walk the studious cloister's pale, 
 And love the h ; gh embower'd roof, 
 V ith antique pillars, massy proof, 
 And storied windows richly dight, 
 Casting a dim religious light.' 
 
 I shall wander in our great forests, and imagine myself 
 in some huge cathedral again. This noble pile will be 
 frequently in my recollection, I can assure you. But 
 solemn and majestic as are the untouched forests of my 
 native land, they are less impressive than this stately 
 home of religion and death. 
 
 "Ludwig," continued Philipj "a deep and unquestion- 
 ing faith in the divine sources of their religion must have 
 led those great ancestors of yours to conceive and erect 
 this beautiful and stupendous temple of worship; for 
 every portion of it seems to me stamped with impressions 
 of the soul. How is it, that you Germans of the present 
 day have come to believe in nothing but what you can 
 see with your own feeble eyes, when so many of your 
 noble forefathers were willing to die in the crusades?" 
 
 " We are wiser than our simple-hearted ancestry." said 
 the artist. " Credulity and faith are to my view synony- 
 mous terms, and, with their sister superstition, were pro- 
 duced at the same birth. Priest-craft and feudal tyranny 
 conspired to fetter the minds of men for a long time, and 
 were for ages successful ; but since the advent of good 
 Doctor Martin, their empire has been waning." 
 
 "You must admit," said Philip, "that Luther taught 
 nothing to justify such skepticism ; for his whole daunt- 
 less life was one long and eloquent evangel of this very 
 
372 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 principle which you pronounce the sister of credulity. 
 His central idea was that men are justified by faith ; 
 but the Germans of this dav would make his whole mis- 
 sion a senseless disturbance of the world's creeds, to estab- 
 lish a dogma which is after all simple credulity, the 
 ancient Romish stepping stone to dominion in spiritual 
 matters." 
 
 " It is not reasonable," said Ludwig, " to expect men to 
 believe things contrar} T to their knowledge of the possi- 
 bilities of nature." 
 
 "You acknowledge there is a necessity for a religious 
 belief of some kind ?" 
 
 " Oh yes. Men turn instinctively to some religion, 
 and I think it clearly evident, that by the constitution 
 of their natures there must be some form of worship." 
 
 " It is passing strange," said Philip, " to hear you thus 
 confess this necessity, and then say there is wisdom in 
 any skepticism as to the revelation we possess. It is in 
 the first place a system (even conceding it is of human 
 origin) of such consummate wisdom and benefit in its 
 practical injunctions, that on any other theory of morals 
 the world would become utterly debased. Add to this, 
 it claims to be the revealed will of the God whom I know 
 you acknowledge ; then in what an awful position you 
 place yourself by infidelity and rebellion to His known 
 commands. If Islamism, Boodhism, or the vanished 
 creeds of the ancients, is either of them preferable in your 
 estimation to this system which all enlightened nations 
 have received in the spirit of its high claims, then to be 
 consistent you should turn to that creed which in your 
 belief most nearly approaches the truth. It seems to 
 me preposterous to acknowledge the need of some 
 
Halcyon Days. 373 
 
 religion, and then raise difficulties and doubts as to the 
 truth of a moral code you confess to be the best which has 
 yet been made known to the world." 
 
 " I have no objection to Christianity itself," said Lud- 
 wig, " for I acknowledge the wisdom and purity of the 
 Decalogue and the teachings of Christ. I have no desire 
 to weaken the reverence of men for this system of morals 
 to which I endeavor to conform myself; but I do object 
 to the persecutions which christians have visited upon 
 each other, and I cannot believe in the wild stories of the 
 Exodus." 
 
 " My friend, how do you fail to perceive the damaging 
 aiature of these very objections ? You must know that 
 the whole drift of Christ's teachings on earth was utterly 
 opposed to the spirit of persecution. With what justice 
 can you confound human misdeeds and want of charity? 
 with the sublime patience and meekness of Him whose 
 life among men was a long lesson of unobtrusive humil- 
 ity, and who, preaching peace in every imaginable way, 
 denied that he had come to force men into His doctrines. 
 How then can you hold Him or His true followers re- 
 sponsible for the bloody folly and intemperance of those 
 who falsely persecute in His name? Again, you main- 
 tain that the system, resting its claims to divine origin 
 on miraculous attestations of its truth, should be subject- 
 •ed to the same canons of criticism you apply to mere hu- 
 man statements. I maintain that Mahomet imposed a 
 snare and a delusion upon men, because there are no 
 divine sanctions to the truth of his teachings. I am 
 satisfied that Jesus did not transcend in his claims the 
 real truth of his descent, because through ages of the 
 world's history there had been a series of miracles and 
 
374 The Heirs of St. Kitda. 
 
 prophecies corroborating the great truth that Messiah,. 
 in the lapse of time, should come and suffer death at the- 
 hands of man. When I point you to these extraordinary 
 evidences upon which I rest my faith, you turn upon me 
 and ask me to prove them by the very rules- of probability,, 
 the violation of which attest their divine origin." 
 
 " I have never taken that view of the subject," said 
 Ludwig, " and I admit that Moses' statements, that the 
 Israelites were led by the hand of God, are not amenable- 
 to similar tests of examination as those allowable in de- 
 termining the truth of Homer's statements concerning 
 the Trojan war." 
 
 "Then," said Philip, "if we are to accept the Bible as 
 true in part, it is our duty to receive it as a whole. If 
 the statements upon which Christianity rests its claims 
 to authenticity are proved in some respects, then 
 should come into exercise the faculty of faith which 
 trustingly accepts the truths over which reason is power- 
 less in its efforts at dissection. You say you cannot be- 
 lieve what you fail to understand in religion ; but you 
 forget how little of the true operations of nature we really 
 comprehend. Are not our technical terms after all but 
 ingenious devices to hide our ignorance? In physics, 
 we set out with the assertion, that all material bodies are- 
 subjected to the law of gravitation ; but no man pretends, 
 to explain the secret of this attraction. The mariner in 
 his wanderings upon the trackless deep, while clouds may 
 have hidden the stars from his view, is confident in all 
 the perilous darkness that his needle is still pointing 
 northward. Do you know why it obeys this law ? And 
 yet with this inability to penetrate the hidden significance 
 of things around us, that men should hope to fathom the 
 
Halcoyon Days. 375 
 
 deep purposes of infinite wisdom, seems to me as illogical 
 as it is impious. You do not understand the lost process 
 by which your ancestors stained that gorgeous window, 
 and yet you see its glory, and know how futile are present 
 attempts to equal it: 
 
 4 All garlanded with carved images, 
 Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass, 
 And diamonded with panes of quaint device, 
 Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes, 
 As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask 'd wings.' " 
 
 The artist, in the careless habits of German skepticism, 
 had never reflected upon these questions in the earnest 
 manner he saw actuating Philip, and their profound im- 
 portance now engaged the speculations of the worshipper 
 of the beautiful in a manner entirely unusual with him. 
 He had witnessed his friend's disregard of danger, and 
 yet this youth, who seemed to attract all hearts with the 
 resistless generosity of his nature, could pause amid life's 
 blandishments and seek the support of an unseen arm, 
 when so many things conspired to bring the suggestion 
 of the sufficiency of his own power. If this heir to abound- 
 ing wealth and the favoring smiles of beautiful women 
 could feel the need of such support, how could the poor 
 artist continue in his unthinking self-reliance? Ludwig, 
 that night, fell asleep pondering these weighty matters, 
 and visions of beautiful forms went dancing through his 
 brain. The great dream of his life was to secure im- 
 mortality for the works of his hands, forgetting that 
 within his own breast was a creative faculty in the 
 very nature of its being, deathless whether he recognized 
 it or not Oh blindness and poverty of human concep- 
 
at- 
 
 76 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 tion ! thus to lose sight of the Infinite and Eternal, in 
 futile idolatry of the swiftly vanishing present. 
 
 Ludwig Jagerndorf was, as usual, busy at his easel, and 
 Charles Loundes was lounging about the room. "White 
 clouds of smoke arose from his meerschaum, while he 
 patted the silken head of a spaniel which was fawning 
 upon him. 
 
 "Where is Philip to-day?"' said the artist. 
 
 "Visiting the countess," said Loundes. 
 
 " He must be loving the charming creature. I wish 
 she would sit to me for this unfinished head of Mary 
 Stuart." 
 
 " Who is the man in the foreground, with the sword 
 through his body?" 
 
 " David Rizzio, the queen's secretary, who was assas- 
 sinated by Darnley and others." 
 
 " I see now, it is the murder of Rizzio you are paint- 
 ing. I thought you had finished that piece." 
 
 "No; I have taken it in hand again, to retouch the 
 queen's head. I was looking at the Countess of Schul- 
 emberg at the opera a few nights ago, and she so com- 
 pletely realized my idea of the Scottish beauty's loveli- 
 ness, as she sat conversing with our friend, that I am 
 putting some touches of her face in my picture. By the 
 way, did you ever know another man like Philip Eustace? 
 He is a puzzle to me." 
 
 " In what way do you fail to comprehend him?" 
 
 " Well, in the first place, he seems to enjoy almost 
 everything in which you could reasonably suppose a man 
 could find amusement ; but with it all he is so just and 
 moderate, that I cannot discover he has any particular 
 hobby. The Countess Theresa, and half the women who 
 
Halcyon Bays. 377 
 
 have seen him, are in love with his handsome person ; 
 yet he never slights his studies, and finds time to caress 
 poor Sigismund. With his love for horses and dogs, 
 he has real enthusiasm for art; and with all these enjoy- 
 ments, is as conscientious as a divine." 
 
 " He is the best and bravest man I ever saw." 
 " I fully admit his admirable qualities," said Ludwig, 
 " but that does not enable me to fathom his disposition." 
 A third person was in the artist's studio, apparently 
 absorbed in the paintings, old pieces of armor, and drapery 
 scattered around. But intently as he surveyed these 
 things, his whole soul was stirred by portions of the con- 
 versation to which he had been listening. He was ele- 
 gantly dressed, and seemed deeply interested in the crea- 
 tions of Lud wig's* fancy. He had a look of inward pain, 
 as if some memory of the past, or unsatisfied hope, was 
 aiding intemperance in marring the smooth front' of this 
 man of the world. The severity of expression about his 
 thin, colorless lips, and the cold glitter of deeply-set gray 
 eyes, repelled the interest arising in the breast of Ludwig 
 Jagerndorf, who was easily flattered by the appearance of 
 admiration for his works. This stranger was well known 
 to Loundes, who had never liked Frederick Compton 
 when they were together in America. He had traveled 
 out of his intended route, to visit his acquaintances, for 
 whom he expressed unbounded attachment. He said he 
 had come to make the tour of Europe, but had passed, 
 with little delay, from Liverpool to Paris ; and there 
 having learned where he could find Philip, had started 
 two days afterward for the German city. He was appa- 
 rently actuated by strong friendship and desire to be with 
 his former associates, to judge from these movements of 
 
378 Ihe Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 one who bad come to visit and survey the wonders of a 
 continent. His small, white hands smoothed his yellow 
 locks, as if satisfied with his inspection of the room ; and 
 with an air of indifference to what had been said, he sat 
 down where he could see Ludwig moulding into greater 
 loveliness the face of the radiant and unfortunate queen." 
 
 " Loundes," said he, "you and Philip must have a very 
 pleasant and eas} 7 time here." 
 
 " Yes, that is the case with myself ; but Philip manages 
 to keep himself busy." 
 
 " How is it he can find so much more to do than you?" 
 
 " Monsieur Eustace," said Ludwig, "is getting to bean 
 artist, and then he has to look after so many friends. 
 There is a beautiful young countess who lives in the castle 
 on the hill on the outside of the cit}^ ; if you will walk to 
 that window in the northern end of the room, you can see 
 its towers and battlements." 
 
 "I have just been looking at it," said Compton. " Do 
 you think Philip cares for this countess?" 
 
 " Yes ; he likes her as would any man with half a soul , 
 seeing she values him so highly." 
 
 Charles Loundes somehow did not fancy this discussion 
 of his absent friend by Compton ; so, by a series of ques- 
 tions in regard to matters in America, the young gentle- 
 man from St. Kilda, who by no means desired to create 
 the impression that he was more than casually interested 
 in the nature of Philip's feelings, was forced to talk on 
 other subjects. If his heart could have been seen, it would 
 have disclosed so much desire for all the particulars in 
 relation to this matter, that one less astute would have 
 immediately returned to a subject as yet so unsatisfac- 
 torily understood. 
 
Halcyon Days. 379 
 
 Philip had gone out early in the morning in the direc- 
 tion of Schulemberg castle, and as the countess had fre- 
 quently requested him to bring Sigismund, he had com- 
 plied with the earnest entreaties of the dwarf to that effect. 
 So after solemn assurance that he would be on his good 
 behavior, the two had set out on horseback. When Philip 
 reached the castle, there were grave smiles of astonish- 
 ment among the servants at the uncouth appearance of 
 his attendant, and Sigismund half repented his visit, 
 when he was taken by the hand and led to the saloon, 
 where the countess and Baron Waldemar were sitting. 
 At the request of the lady, he took a chair and remained 
 for sometime quietly surveying the high, vaulted ceiling, 
 with its sculptured vines and flowers enclosing glowing 
 frescoes; but the restraint was too much, and having 
 promised not to break his neck from any of the trees, he 
 was soon enjoying the sunshine and freedom of the 
 grounds. 
 
 Schulemberg castle had been, in the remote past, one 
 of the largest and most magnificent of feudal residences. 
 Its most ancient portions had been constructed with a 
 massive strength and simplicity which still preserved a 
 majestic charm in the lofty towers and projecting but- 
 tresses breaking the continuity of the vast dead -walls. 
 The hill upon which it stood had been once held and for- 
 tified by the Romans as a military post, and traces of their 
 works were yet discernible. The central portion of the 
 huge pile had been a splendid palace in the days of Ru- 
 dolf of Hapsburg, but was ruined in the wars which de- 
 stroyed the short-lived prosperity of the Winter-King. 
 The mighty houses of Hapsburg and Hohenzollern had 
 both sent brides to grace its stately walls, and the Countess 
 
380 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 Theresa could thus trace her descent from the great em- 
 perors and kings of the shadowy past. Although the 
 latest male representatives of the line had been engaged 
 in continuous opposition to Napoleon, Schulemberg castle 
 had escaped the ravages of that fearful period in which 
 so much German blood was shed, and which so frequently 
 saw their armies smitten with disastrous defeat before the 
 •conquering legions of France. 
 
 The form of Baron Waldemar, already bowed with the 
 weight of years, would seem to stoop still lower in grief 
 as he recalled the fearful incidents of such routs as his 
 comrades endured at Jena and Austerlitz ; but the fire 
 would come back to his eyes, and the feeble frame dilate 
 with triumph at the mention of Leipsic and Waterloo. 
 Philip was astonished at the mingled fear and hatred still 
 lingering in the memory of this member of the old no- 
 blesse, whose tenure of power had been so fearfully inter- 
 rupted and jeopardized by him who was yet regarded as 
 a Corsican adventurer. 
 
 The day had passed rapidly away in the pleasure the 
 two young people found in each other's company ; and as 
 the shadows from the towers commenced stretching them- 
 selves to the east, they came out into the golden sunshine 
 for a ramble among the trees. From one of these Sigis- 
 mund, on seeing Philip, made a hasty descent, leaving 
 his perch amid the boughs where he had been gazing into 
 a neat of young birds. Philip and the countess passed 
 along the marble balustrade on the edge of the terrace, 
 down a flight of steps between two stone dragons couchant 
 upon massive slabs of the same material. 
 
 They went slowly on in the mellow evening light, fol- 
 lowed by the dwarf; The old duenna, Madame von Ess- 
 
Halcyon Boys. 381 
 
 ling, who had long been the guide and companion of the 
 countess, as she looked on the three figures from her 
 window, was reminded of an old German allegory of 
 Youth and Innocence, pursued by the ill-shapen genius 
 of Malice. Philip and the countess paused in a little 
 shady dell over-hung and darkened by mighty trees. 
 Under the hill-side was a grotto in the silence and gloom 
 of which, beneath the sparkling waters of a fountain, 
 reclined the statue of a beautiful girl. She was timorously 
 looking up, while the water poured over her figure from 
 a shell she held in her uplifted hand. 
 
 " The face of the figure," said Philip, " reminds me of 
 a picture I noticed in the castle." 
 
 "It represents Undine," said the countess. " There is 
 an old story of her love for a knight of our house, who 
 was the younger of two brothers, and became famous as- 
 one of the Teutsch Hitters. He was known as Conrad 
 von Miltiz, and survived the great disaster of his brother- 
 hood at Tannenberg, ultimately becoming hochmeister 
 of his order. It is said that he found the pretty nymph 
 playing in the waters of this very spring, and they came 
 to love each other very dearly. Whenever Conrad could 
 visit this home of his birth, he would come to this spot 
 and look all day into the eyes of Undine, who sought no 
 higher bliss than to be caressed by the handsome soldier. 
 They met here, and continued in their love for years, 
 until Kurfurst Johanu, the alchemist, happening to be 
 the guest of Cassimer von Schulemberg, the elder broth- 
 er, by some magical spell banished the beautiful lady of 
 the woods; and Conrad failing to find her erected this 
 grotto with that sweet little statue to commemorate his 
 lost love/' 
 
382 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " The expression of her eyes is exceeding tender," said 
 Philip. Ritter Conrad must have been very happy in 
 such looks of love." 
 
 If Philip had looked in the face of the fair being at his 
 side, he would have seen it aglow with a love which 
 sculptors have vainly endeavored to portray, in the cold- 
 ness of their marble images. 
 
 " Think you," said she, " that man ever becomes truly 
 happy in the knowledge that he is loved by woman?" 
 
 " Most assuredly, to him whose heart is pure and pos- 
 sesses the capacity to appreciate the sources of true hap- 
 piness, there can be no earthly boon conferring such utter 
 ecstacy as the confession from her he loves, that his 
 affection is returned. Place and station may be grateful 
 to the ambitious, but the memory of the first, full assur- 
 ance on this subject has ever been acknowledged by good 
 men as the supreme height of earthly felicity." 
 
 " I have thought," said the countess, " that this roman- 
 tic bliss belonged exclusively to the experience of my 
 sex." 
 
 "Those who, like yourself," said Philip, " are so full of 
 goodness and beauty, I doubt not, experience higher joy 
 in anything tending to the production of such emotion, 
 than men can feel ; for I believe our enjoyment is 
 always deep and complete just as we are innocent and 
 pure." 
 
 " Then, Mr. Eustace, you must be very happy," said 
 the countess, " for every one esteems you, even little Sigis- 
 mund ; and if I can trust my own belief and the declara- 
 tions of'those in Germany who know you best, you must 
 be very good." 
 
 " I am ver} r happy in your ladyship's good opinion, and 
 
Halcyon Days. 383 
 
 wish I deserved it. Sigismund first fancied me on ac- 
 count of my horses, but I really think he has much grati- 
 tude for my getting him out of that burning house in 
 which he came so near being roasted." 
 
 "That was so reckless and daring in you; I tremble 
 for your life, whenever I think of it. You are a great- 
 hero with the city people since. I hear they call 
 you the American prince. I once thought titles and 
 nobility very essential, and the evening we first met I 
 half regretted that you did not belong to our class, but I 
 have come to regard all these distinctions of rank as hu- 
 man vanity, and you, Mr. Eustace, have taught me this 
 lesson." 
 
 " Philip raised the soft hand which was crossed over its 
 mate upon a marble urn, and kissed the rosy fingers in 
 token of his thankfulness. Looking into the clear depths 
 of the beautiful eyes which still rested upon him, he read 
 full confirmation of all she had said. Who could listen 
 to such words under similar circumstances and remain 
 unmoved ? Philip Eustace's heart was entirely appreci- 
 ative of the kindness and charms of the young countess, 
 and he told her with all the simplicity of his nature how 
 deeply he felt. He had no intention of making such a 
 declaration as to lead Theresa to believe she was the sole 
 object of his affections ; but she knowing the deliberate 
 moderation of Philip in all things, thought it full of love, 
 for him from whom she did not expect the usual vows 
 of eternal devotion. A light of satisfaction, calm and 
 entire, glowed in her face as they slowly returned to the 
 terrace where Sigismund was impatiently awaiting them. 
 They promised to meet the next evening at the opera- 
 house, and the stalwart figure, with its strange attendant, 
 
cJSi The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 passed swiftly through the gathering gloom toward the 
 city in the distance. Up the broad flight of steps between 
 the great stone dragons went the maiden as radiant as an 
 angel to dream of her new-found joy. 
 
 Philip was surprised, on his return, to find Frederick 
 Compton in his room awaiting his arrival. He had many 
 questions to ask in relation to the good people of St. Kilda 
 valley, now not seen for nearly two years. Mr. Grey and 
 Percival St. George were well, and Arthur Kean was soon 
 to wed Ida Somerville. This was not unknown to Philip, 
 for he had received a letter from his friend, stating that 
 they had obtained Mr. Somerville's consent to their mar- 
 riage in the ensuing fall. He had also written with 
 bright hopes of his professional success, for he was fast 
 rising to eminence, both as an advocate and jurist. Philip, 
 also having recently received a long and loving letter 
 from Rosamond, and knowing she would not leave school 
 until midsummer, asked no questions concerning her. 
 Compton had seen her just before leaving America, but 
 said nothing of his visit to the city in which she was 
 living. 
 
 Philip had never dignified Fredrick Compton with any 
 jealousy as his rival, although he had long known the 
 chief desire of the young man and his family was to win 
 Rosamond, if possible. In the conscious security of her 
 love, and the oft expressed wishes of her mother, the 
 young heir of the house of Eustace had smiled at the 
 aspirations of his less favored competitor. Compton was 
 not a man to be easily discouraged, and had never yet 
 surrendered the hope of one day making himself the 
 master of Thorndale and Ramilies. Rosamond had fre- 
 quently assured him that she loved her cousin, and would 
 
Halcyon Days. 385 
 
 someday become his wife, if he desired it; yet such avow- 
 als, plain as they were, failed to shake Frederick in his 
 purpose; for he believed his rival cared little for the 
 family arrangements. He supposed from Philip's usual 
 silence on the subject he was at least indifferent, and it 
 was with a thrill of pleasure he heard Ludwig Jagerndorf 
 intimate that his long expected means of success was, in 
 some degree, assuming a promise of realization. 
 
 Charles Loundes had too much delicacy of feeling to 
 refer to the subject of Philip's visits to the countess, in 
 the presence of others, and, on his friend's arrival, simply 
 inquired after the health of the countess and Baron Wal- 
 demar. This was a keen disappointment to Compton, 
 for he had expected from the friend's love of raillery, and 
 the usual disposition of young men on such occasions, 
 that there would be something of the kind to give him 
 insight into the true state of the case. The gravity of 
 Loundes' inquiry and of Philip's reply completely upset 
 his calculations, so after further conversation, promising 
 to see them again on the morrow, he left for his lodgings. 
 
 Philip was too thoughtful to be communicative that 
 evening; so 'Charles Loundes left him to his solitan r 
 meditations, and went in search of the lively young ladies 
 who were singing near by. To most men of his age, 
 Philip's position would have been one of unalloyed pleas- 
 ure. The countess' love had been too plainly evinced,, 
 that day, for him not to perceive it; with all his modesty 
 and self-depreciation. He had never spoken of his en- 
 gagement with Rosamond to the proud descendant of so 
 many belted earls, simply because he had never dreamed 
 of the possibility of her expecting under any circum- 
 stances an offer of marriage from an untitled foreigner,. 
 25 
 
386 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 who, whatever might be the social eminence of his family 
 at home, was after all only a plain citizen of a republic. 
 He did not even then feel satisfied that this beautiful 
 and noble-minded woman, as much as she prized the 
 privilege of following the wishes of her own heart, would 
 disregard the long-reverenced traditions of her family, 
 in accepting his hand, were he disposed to offer it. 
 
 Then it occurred to him to ask of himself what was to 
 be the effect of this attachment on her, and in this sue:- 
 gestion he found the pain and difficulty of his position. 
 He did not desire to throw any shadow across the previ- 
 ously sun-lit pathway of beauty and innocence ; but it 
 distressed him to think of ending the pleasant and harm- 
 less intercourse between them. He verv well knew, as 
 long as he continued to treat her with the deference and 
 admiration he could not withhold, and she was convinced 
 •of the feelings on his part he had that evening avowed, 
 •so long would she entertain every sentiment she then 
 experienced. Whether she had ever thought of him in 
 connection with wedlock he was wholly ignorant ; so 
 trusting to her purity and good sense he hoped for the 
 best and looked forward with pleasure to their next 
 meeting. 
 
 The next day was the Sabbath, and after attending 
 church, Philip and Ludwig, with the declining sun, again 
 visited the old minister. The artist was soon to depart 
 on his long-desired visit to Rome ; for Philip had pur- 
 chased many of his finest pictures and sent them to his 
 father, thus enabling the friend to accomplish his inten- 
 sion, w T hich was to give finish to a mind already richly 
 stored with the great lessons of the beautifuh This would 
 ■probably be their last free conference together, and it was 
 
Halcyon Days. 387 
 
 long and full of touching assurances of esteem from 
 both. 
 
 Philip had promised to call for Frederick Compton on 
 his way to the opera-house, the evening he expected to 
 see the countess. Sigismund, as usual on such occasions, 
 was with him, and while Compton was perfecting his 
 elaborate toilet, to meet a crowd of strangers, the dwarf 
 amused himself by swinging by his teeth from a table in 
 the corner of the room, greatly to Frederick's horror, who 
 imagined, when he first noticed the proceeding, that the 
 imp had contrived really to hang himself. At last, when 
 these preparations were completed, and they had reached 
 their evening's destination, the performance had already 
 commenced. Philip noticed, as he conducted Compton 
 to a box, that the countess had just arrived ; so apologi- 
 zing for leaving, he went to her side. 
 
 " We are both late this evening," said he. 
 
 "Yes," said the countess. "I thought at one time, I 
 should be unable to fulfill my promise, as my uncle was 
 indisposed, and I was unwilling to leave him. He, know- 
 ing my engagement, suggested I should take Madame 
 von Essling as my escort." 
 
 " Permit me to say you are looking unusually well this 
 evening. It must be the excitement of your coming al- 
 most unattended which has given your eyes their addi- 
 tional lustre." 
 
 "lain happy that they please you," said the countess ; 
 and the beautiful orbs rested upon him for a moment 
 with an expression which put to flight half of his good 
 resolutions. 
 
 The opera for the evening was Mozart's Don Juan, or, 
 as the Italians call it, Giovanni, the most wonderful aiwi 
 
388 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 comprehensive work'of such character yet created for the 
 amusement of mankind. The countess was in that state 
 of delicious contentment which is satisfied with a limited 
 amount of speech; and as Philip had not witnessed a 
 previous production of the musical Shakspeare's chef- 
 d'oeuvre, they were frequently silent : he rapt in the 
 progress of the scenes, and the radiant beauty in silent 
 observation, as the grand and ludicrous, so strangely 
 blended in the great performance, were depicted in the 
 varying expressions of his countenance. 
 
 " We seem very attractive to the gentleman who sits 
 opposite," said the countess. "Do you know him?" 
 
 " He is an American acquaintance of mine," said 
 Philip, " and was doubtless attracted by yonv appearance ;• 
 but he seems now very much engrossed with the stage." 
 
 Frederick Compton was manifestly determined to see 
 everything his opera glasses would disclose of what passed 
 between Philip and the countess, for he had been indus- 
 triously gazing in their direction the whole evening, 
 whenever PhiJip was not looking toward him;, at such 
 times he became apparently absorbed in the proceedings 
 on the stage. The countess, like a true belle, was of 
 course alive to the necessity of seeing who of her ac- 
 quaintances were present, and had thus several times ob- 
 served the closeness of Compton's scrutiny. 
 
 The opera was finished, and the ladies of the ballet had 
 retired from view 7 , and doffed their tinsel finery. The 
 manager had recovered his temper, and the musicians- 
 had ceased to labor at their instruments. The lights were 
 all extinguished, and the hall, a few minutes previously 
 a fairy scene, was now as dark as Erebus. Like other 
 human vanities, the splendor had all vanished into ray- 
 
Halcgon Days. 389 
 
 less dark d ess, and a trembling mouse crept from under 
 the stage, the sole occupant of a room so shortly before 
 gorgeous enough for Titania's revels. Philip accompanied 
 the countess and Madam von Essling to their home. As 
 they left the carriage they paused to gaze upon the castle 
 glorified in the splendor of a full-orbed moon. 
 
 " Schulemberg castle never appeared to me so fair as it 
 does this night," said the countess, leaning upon the arm 
 •of him at her side ; and then softly added.: " For you were 
 not here to view it with me/' 
 
 Philip's only answer was a silent pressure of the hand 
 he held in his own. He was strangely moved with the 
 weird loveliness of all things around him, and was loth 
 to lose the beauty which seemed born as of some subtle 
 enchantment. He thought of Melrose Abbey: 
 
 •"When the broken arehes are black in night, 
 And each shafted oriel glimmers white, 
 When the cold light's uncertain shower 
 Streams on the ruin'd central tower ; 
 When buttress and buttress, alternately:, 
 :Seemed framed of ebon and ivory." 
 
390 The Heirs of St. Kild&>. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PALLIDA MORS. 
 
 "What is it that will last? 
 All things are taken from us, and become- 
 Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past. 
 Let us alone. What pleasure can we have- 
 To war with evil. Is there any peace 
 In ever climbing up the climbing wave? 
 All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave^ 
 In silence ripen, fall and cease." 
 
 The Lotos-Eaters^ 
 
 The summer glided by, until the increasing wealth 
 of vegetation reached its climax of development, and 
 then, with the gradual shortening of the term of each day's 
 light, commenced nature's process of deterioration in the 
 freshness hitherto observable in the witching domain of 
 Flora. In his observation of the changing aspect of the 
 fields, this was always a season of saddened interest to 
 Philip Eustace. Having watched with joy the beautiful 
 progressions ever going on in the summer months in the 
 myriad forms of vegetation, he continued his scrutiny 
 through the autumn. In the springhe watched the ten- 
 der shoots and half opened buds conveying prophecies 
 of almost impossible beauty in the coming hour of ma- 
 turity and fruition. At such a season the very songs of 
 the birds seemed to him redolent of some delicious expec- 
 tation, all the more charming in the fact of its dim and; 
 unascertained character. He had often wondered at this- 
 vague and shadowy longing in his own heart, and felt 
 that there must be some law of affinity controlling and 
 connecting all God's creation. He knew that certain 
 
Pallida Mors. 391 
 
 dreamers in philosophy held that all organic life consists 
 but in a series of developments from one and the same 
 inferior source, but no such pantheistic subtleties mingled 
 in his steady and delighted attention to those things 
 which in his heart he was assured had been placed on 
 earth for gratification ard instruction. 
 
 Frederick Compton made but a short stay with him 
 for whose society he had manifested so much anxiety, in 
 his hurried approach. A look of satisfaction, wholly new 
 to him, was observable, and he went off, to loiter away 
 months of listless inactivity. Lad wig Jagerndorf had 
 been for some time in his new studio at Rome and wrote 
 Philip long letters describing his residence in the old? 
 mouldering palace so typical of the waning glories of 
 the city in which it stood. The Countess of Schulemberg, 
 also, was temporarily absent. As much as her heart 
 yearned to remain, there were still duties which affection 
 for her uncle compelled her to regard, in spite of their 
 conflict with her own inclinations. The brave and time- 
 worn soldier had given the best efforts of his declining 
 years to the furtherance of her fortunes and happiness. 
 Among the few gratifications he had left to himself, in 
 his devotion to his neice, was his annual trip to the wat- 
 ering places, and even in this he was mindful of her, 
 as much as he enjoyed his game at the roulette table and 
 the society of the surviving comrades of old campaigning 
 times. 
 
 He considered that her brilliant loveliness needed an 
 airing thinking her young life must grow dull in the 
 quiet and seclusion of the castle. In these views he had 
 been entirely right, and conformable to the desires of the 
 countess until that season ; but she knew it would seem 
 
392 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 unreasonable to the baron, to appear unwilling to keep 
 up this habit and complied with his wishes, with a show 
 of the utmost cheerfulness. Among people gathered from 
 so many different countries, Theresa of Schulemberg, in 
 the bloom of her radiant youth, lived in the realm of her 
 own thoughts, even while laughing and coquetting with 
 her admiring beaux. Baden-Baden supposed that her 
 triumphs of that season were brilliant enough to satisfy 
 an empress, and the giddy throng went on with its danc- 
 ing, its gambling, and double intoxication from love and 
 wine ; but there was one who shone as the queen of the 
 revel, who in her heart felt and despised the emptiness 
 of all such pageants. 
 
 Philip was now profiting to the utmost of his ability 
 by the opportunities yet remaining to him at the uni- 
 versity. The arts and Roman jurisprudence were his 
 principal studies, and as Charles Loundes and he would 
 leave the institution in a few months, they both more 
 than ever appreciated the pleasure of their lives for the 
 last two years. The seats under the linden tree in the 
 court yard had not yet been abandoned by the family of 
 Counsellor Strauss, and cheerful repasts were still spread 
 beneath its protecting shade, though the velvety sward 
 around had lost much of its freshness. One evening as 
 the family were seated there, Philip and Loundes came 
 in from a walk and found a telegraphic dispatch, stating 
 that Gov. Eustace lay dangerously ill in Paris, and desir- 
 ed his son to come at once to his bedside. 
 
 Philip knew that his father had long suffered from an 
 organic derangement of the valves of the heart, and had 
 been frequently told by him that physicians thought 
 that while by prudence his life might be prolonged to 
 
Pallida Mors. 393 
 
 old age, yet such was the uncertainty of his malady, he 
 was prepared at any moment to die under its effects. He 
 did not wonder that this dreadful uncertainty brought 
 with it but little terror to one who thus continually faced 
 the most direful of all human apprehensions but was 
 filled with admiration that his father could still preserve 
 his genial warmth and humor. To the careless observer, 
 Gov. Eustace seemed gifted with an unfailing supply of 
 pleasant fancies; but Philip well knew under all that 
 charming mirth lay the watchful intelligence which, as a 
 sleepless sentinel, was ever looking for the death which at 
 any time might be close at hand. 
 
 As the young student traversed the famous region of 
 the Rhine, though he looked out upon its beauties and 
 saw the tall battlements of ruined castles, yet he was 
 too profoundly depressed for the enjoyment of either art 
 or nature. Grief was an emotion to which he was unac- 
 customed ; for his mother had died when he was so young 
 he failed to appreciate the extent of his loss at the time; 
 and his uncle Stanhope was the dearest friend he had 
 ever mourned since he was old enough to value the worth 
 of those beloved for their own merits and the ties of kin- 
 dred blood. But few hours elapsed from the reception of 
 the telegram, before the dying father was gladdened in 
 the arrival of the son. Philip had ever been dutiful and 
 was now peculiarly the centre of all those fading hopes 
 so long cherished by him whose lease of mortal life was 
 near its termination. In the stalwart and affectionate 
 brother, Gov. Eustace was assured that Mariana would 
 find abundant love and protection. 
 
 The envoy had been an ambitious man, but the taint 
 of selfishness was not in his nature. He had been much 
 
394 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 separated from his children, but this grew out of his de- 
 votion to their well-being. Had he consulted his feelings 
 he would have kept them with him ; but he knew that 
 his own mother would better supply the place of her who 
 was sleeping beneath the sod of Ellesmere than any one 
 whose services could be secured for money. Another 
 man would have probably supplied his own and his chil- 
 dren's wants by the selection of a second wife. It may 
 have been a romantic and ill-advised idea in him, but 
 Ashton Eustace could not forget ihe being he saw renewed 
 in his daughter, and there was a strong conviction, which 
 he never sought to weaken, that somewhere amid the 
 isles of the blest her tender eyes were looking upon him 
 and awaiting his coming. The thought of giving this 
 love to another, which still was hers, was revolting to his 
 sensitive nature. The subject of his marking again was 
 the only theme upon which he was not full of pleasant 
 badinage, for he turned with disgust from unions of mere 
 convenience, considering the nuptial tie, when unsancti- 
 fied by absorbing love, a degrading and brutal relation. 
 On his arrival, Philip was met at the door of the sick- 
 room by his grandfather who could only grasp his hand 
 in silence, and to the eager inquiry as to the father's con- 
 dition, -Judge Eustace replied that he was still alive. Mrs. 
 Eustace was supporting the head of her son, as Philip 
 entered the room, while Mariana knelt by the bedside 
 holding one of the feeble hands. Gov. Eustace had fallen 
 into a gentle slumber, so Philip, with silent kisses to the 
 two watchers, took his seat and looked at the pale face of 
 the sufferer. The doctor, who was present, had been un- 
 remitting in his attentions since this last fatal attack, and 
 sat realizing the futility of his art in the treatment of 
 
Pallida Mors. 395 
 
 organic disorders like that under which his patient was 
 now sinking, in spite of all his efforts to the contrary. 
 
 Anguish filled the bosom of the son, as he gazed on the 
 unconscious face of him who was- the author of his being, 
 and whose devoted kindness had been so invariably at- 
 tested through all the period to which his memory ex- 
 tended. He recalled the numberless instances of his 
 father's tender regard, and now that everything indicated 
 he was about to lose him on the verge of their long-antici- 
 pated tour of Europe, and from the quiet hom^ life after- 
 ward in St. Kilda valley, arose an agony of grief in his 
 soul. With a strong effort he put back the tears which 
 were welling, up, and had recovered some degree of com- 
 posure, when he observed his father's brow contract as if 
 in pain, followed by his starting up from sleep and gasp- 
 ing for breath. Gov. Eustace appeared to be dying, but 
 his crippled heart still preserved enough vitality to dis- 
 gorge itself, and, with a look of exhaustion, the envoy 
 fell back with closed eyes in his mother's arms. He was 
 silent for a minute, when he fondly kissed the tear- 
 bedewed cheek above him, and remarked : 
 
 "Dear mother, this is a cruel blow to you, already 
 bowed under affliction. How long have I slept?" 
 
 " Nearly a half hour, my son." 
 
 " It must be time for Philip's arrival." 
 
 "You seem to rest more easily," said the doctor, who 
 had led Philip behind the head of the bed during his 
 father's paroxysm. " I expect, sir, your son is close at 
 hand by this time; but pray do not yield to your emo- 
 tions when you see him." 
 
 " I understand the necessity of caution," said the 
 sufferer. 
 
396 The Heirs of B. Kildcu 
 
 " M. Philip, then you can speak to your father." 
 
 Their greeting, with all this precaution, strongly 
 affecfed both, but in a few moments they were calm 
 -enough for the slight conversation allowable under the 
 circumstances. The physician cautioned them against 
 prolonged conferences, and having other duties requiring 
 his attention, took his leave for the morning. For several 
 days the fluctuating tide of life alternately gave promise 
 of recovery, and then by return of the spasmodic action 
 of the heart these newly-formed hopes were dissipated. 
 Gov. Eustace, fearful of injury to Mariana's recovered 
 vision, would not allow her to watch long by his bedside 
 at night, so the task of continuous vigilance was divided 
 between Philip and his grandparents. Late on the third 
 night after his arrival, the son was keeping solitary vigil. 
 Judge Eustace was asleep in an adjoining room, and the 
 watch-worn mother was taking a short respite on a lounge 
 near the bed. For several hours the sick man had slept 
 peacefully, but Philip observed the ominous contraction 
 •of the brow, and the next moment the gasping for breath 
 had commenced. The struggle for sometime seemed 
 hopeless, and it awakened Mrs. Eustace, who was fast con- 
 cluding all was over when Gov. Eustace again spoke. 
 
 " These sufferings will soon be past," said he, taking 
 the hands of each, " for a new sensation of relief, and at 
 the same time of further weakness, has come upon me. 
 lam confident I shall not live until daylight." 
 
 " Dear Ashton," said his mother, " do not give way to 
 your feelings." 
 
 Gov. Eustace told his mother that he felt as calm as if 
 he had never experienced a trouble in his life. He assured 
 her that her own teachings in childhood had guided him 
 
Pallida Mors. 397 
 
 through all the devious windings of his course, and that 
 the death he knew to be near at hand, was thus shorn of 
 terror. Dr. Velpeau had cautioned him against talking, 
 but that was when the physician had hopes of his recov- 
 er}'. Now he was dying, he would not longer forbear 
 what had been previously withheld through respect for 
 the opinions of his medical adviser. 
 
 " I have so much to say to you, Philip, that I fear my 
 strength will be unequal to the task. You have been so 
 dutiful all your days, and have given me so much com- 
 fort, that it is now my only source of satisfaction and 
 content in this dispensation of Providence. I should be 
 troubled for Mariana, but I know that in you she will 
 have a protector in whose kindness and forethought I 
 have all confidence. I leave her to your charge, mj^son, 
 when age shall have removed the loving supervision of 
 my own parents, and I know that I need say nothing of 
 your conduct toward them. They have been the authors 
 of your own excellence, and I am confident, while they 
 live, you will continue to heed and reverence their wishes. 
 I had promised myself much comfort in your society 
 during the remainder of my life, for my resignation of 
 the post I now hold was forwarded to Washington a month 
 ago; but it has pleased God I should die in the harness 
 which has so long galled me. It has pleased Him to de- 
 stroy my anticipations, and I uncomplainingly submit to 
 His decree. If you, my son, and Rosamond love each 
 other, as I hope you do, always recollect that my last ex- 
 pressed wish was for your union. I have only now, dear 
 Philip, to give you my parting blessing, and pray if you 
 shall live to have a son of your own, he may be of as 
 much comfort and pride as you have ever been to me." 
 
398 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 Philip, at his father's request, summoned Judge Eustace 
 and Mariana, and from his calmness they thought him 
 mistaken in the nearness of approaching dissolution. 
 After a half hour spent in loving assurances, having 
 taken leave of all, he fell into quiet slumber, and as the 
 faint uleam of morn shone through the closed windows, 
 the watchful mother noticed that breathing had ceased. 
 Upon examination they found that the orator and states- 
 man had closed his mortal career, and was fast asleep in 
 death. 
 
 The gloom that settled on the foreign home of the 
 family, previously so happy, was too deep to desire obser- 
 vation ; so, with as little ostentation as possible, in view 
 of the public importance of the position recently rilled 
 by the distinguished dead, the body was removed by the 
 stricken father to the quiet of the family burial place at 
 Ellesmere. 
 
 On the evening previous to Philip's departure from 
 Paris, he was alone in one of the saloons of the large sil- 
 ent house, wondering at the fortitude displayed by his 
 grandmother under her present loss, when she had so 
 nearly perished in her grief for his uncle Stanhope. He 
 well knew if there was any difference in her love for her 
 two sons, it was in favor of her first-born ; yet the dis- 
 position which had been so full of sunshine previous to 
 the soldier's death seemed almost hopelessly clouded sub- 
 sequently, but now after a passionate flood of tears she 
 manifested a serenity in striking contrast to the tremu- 
 lous, unspoken despair evident in every lineament of her 
 husband. The tenderness of the wife locked up the 
 mother's grief in her own heart, and found comfort in 
 her efforts to bring alleviation to the bruised heart of the 
 
Pallida Mors. 399 
 
 suffering father. lie had now surrendered to the good 
 of the land he had so faithfully served both of the sons 
 whose own worth and reverence for himself had been so 
 dear to his declining age. The wise, undemonstrative 
 man ivas in .an agony of desolation unknown to more 
 elastic and imaginative dispositions, and his wife and 
 grandchildren found that he needed all their loving 
 sympathy in his dire extremity. 
 
 Philip returned to Germany with a heavy heart and 
 his sad face told the =tory of his loss. Charles Loundes 
 had a double cause for joining in his melancholy. He 
 was grieved for the sake of the friend, and felt that 
 Europe was shorn of attraction in the departure of Mari- 
 ana Eustace from its limits. Usually hope is an import- 
 ant element in the passion of love, being the fuel which 
 continually adds to the pictures of expected joy, and with 
 its destruction in most breasts, the adored object becomes 
 a dim remembrance of the past. Petrarch loved his 
 Laura, and Dante his Beatrice, long after the stimulus 
 of this emotion had passed away, and the emotions of the 
 great Florentine appeared to have deepened with the dis- 
 appearance of his mistress from the land of the living. 
 Charles Loundes had much of this tendency in his nature. 
 He still cherished a hope, however faint, that there would 
 be a change in Mariana's disposition, and that she would 
 mingle more of earthly emotion in the purity of her re- 
 gard for him. He felt certain she was not indifferent to 
 his happiness, and this assurance was to him a source of 
 the most delicious dreams of his life. 
 
 With the falling leaves, returned to the halls of her 
 fathers the brilliant Countess of Schulembenr. The sav 
 life she had been recently leading bed necessarily induced 
 
400 Ihe Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 many reflections as to the nature and probable result of 
 her still fondly cherished regard for Philip Eustace, and 
 there was a modification of her disposition toward him. 
 Her admiration was in nowise decreased, but in the 
 throng of men and women among whom she had been 
 latterly moving, were many like herself, belonging to a 
 titled aristocracy, devoted to those ideas which sustain 
 the long-established gradations of society. The solitude 
 of her life among her dependants in the old castle had 
 created, with the dawn of great emotions, a feeling of in- 
 dependence and disregard tor her own caste. Amid the 
 close comparisons which always force themselves upon 
 the mind in resorts where persons of mixed claims to the 
 world's respect jostle each other as they do at watering 
 places, the countess' disposition to disregard her own sta- 
 tion was weakened. She had seen no one among the 
 noblemen to whom she was willing to give more than a 
 fleeting thought; but as she recalled the warmth of many 
 of their protestations of devotion, she could but remember, 
 with some pique, that Philip had been but chary in those 
 avowals which are such delicious incense to ever}'- pretty 
 woman. Blushes of dissatisfaction with herself would 
 sometimes mantle her face when alone, and it occurred 
 to her that perhaps Philip had thought her too demon- 
 strative toward him ; so with fresh convictions of the duty 
 she owed her rank as the Countess of Schulemberg and to 
 herself as a beautiful, all-conquering belle, she returned 
 to her home. Having been several da} r s without seeing 
 Philip, she was at a loss to account for his failing to visit 
 her, when one morning the Baron Waldemar, who had 
 been to the city, remarked : 
 
 " I have seen our friend, Mr. Eustace, to day, and found 
 
Pallida Mors. 401 
 
 him suffering from indisposition and affliction at the 
 recent loss of his father." 
 
 "I am very sorry for him," said the countess. "It is 
 very strange that an envoy's death should not have been 
 announced in the papers." 
 
 " It doubtless was, but when did we think of papers at 
 Baden-Baden. He says he will soon leave us to com- 
 mence his travels." 
 
 " Did he promise to see us before he leaves?" 
 
 " Yes, so soon as his health permits." 
 
 Philip had been sick for several days, and had not left 
 his room when the baron went to visit for him. Thero 
 were mutual feelings of respect between the two, and 
 though at times the embodiment of the exclusive pride 
 of birth in Europe was slightly uneasy at the evident 
 interest manifested by his niece toward the citizen strang- 
 er from America, it was attributed to grateful remem- 
 brance of services rendered at their first interview. 
 
 He recognized in Philip Eustace a brave and consci- 
 entious man, and toward such he was ever kindly appre- 
 ciative, and in this way reposed much confidence in the 
 young representative of democratic sentiment, to the 
 growth of which he was thoroughly opposed. 
 
 Philip, in the first full appreciation of his loss in the 
 death of his father, had felt very sorely the extent of his 
 privation ; but that higher trust which had so often lifted 
 him above the tainting influences of success now became 
 a support and consolation in the hour of his bereavement. 
 Gov. Eustace's death had not been unexpected, and he 
 had heard from the lips of him who was now gone fre- 
 quent premonitions of the stealthy enemy ever ready for 
 the fatal attack. Weeks had. stolen by and the cruel. 
 26 
 
402 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 freshness of the gap in his heart was healed over by the 
 blessed soothing which God in his mercy has granted to 
 the effects of time in the direst calamities. The loving- 
 father was still fresh in his remembrance, but it was with 
 that softened recollection which in well ordered disposi- 
 tions occasions little suffering, as the mind recalls the 
 image of the cherished and the lost. 
 
 His innocent pleasures were now as sweet as before, and 
 his satisfaction, consequent upon a sense of duty dis- 
 charged at the close of the day, was as full as ever. He 
 was alone, one evening, when a gentle rap at the door was 
 heard, and in the deepening twilight Sigismund came 
 quietly into the room. The dwarf had understood he was 
 about to lose the company of Philip and his horses, and, 
 for the first time in his life, the half-witted creature ex- 
 hibited concern at what yet lacked days of its accomplish- 
 ment. He had seemed, hitherto, wholly to fail of appre- 
 ciation, when told by his mother that at some day he 
 would suffer for misdeeds in life. He seemed powerless 
 to grasp any joy or sorrow of the future, and never antici- 
 pated the morrow's pleasures. Philip was much astonish- 
 ed that Sigismund should manifest feeling at his early 
 departure, and was touched by the mute sorrow which 
 was apparent in the large, strange eyes. 
 
 The subject of his final interview with the Countess of 
 Schulemberg was much pondered. He was not certain 
 that any explanations would be necessary. If she regard- 
 ed their intercourse in the light he hoped, all would be 
 well. He could say farewell, having assured her of his 
 admiration and esteem, and his departure would, perhaps, 
 be marked with no sadder consequence than her shedding 
 a few bitter tears. Then he reflected what he should do 
 
Pallida Mors. 403 
 
 in the event of her saying something calling for a full 
 confession of his disposition toward her. In that case he 
 resolved she should know all the story of his love for 
 Rosamond, the wishes of his family, and his own plight- 
 ed faith. Then if blame should be attached to his not 
 making this avowal earlier, he would tell of his unwilling- 
 ness to obtrude his own individual concerns uncalled for 
 upon her notice. He hoped, with these reasons for his 
 conduct, he could take his leave and still be remembered 
 with no bitterness. 
 
 He regretted that Charles Loundes had not told the 
 countess the story of his love for his cousin; but he had 
 never directly asked his friend to do so, and once, when 
 he had intimated such a thing, Charles had opposed it, 
 saying Philip should not thus make a gratuitous exposure 
 of his affairs, which might be considered unnecessary 
 and impertinent under the circumstances. Philip, of 
 course, said nothing to his companion conveying the im- 
 pression that he thought the countess would be distressed 
 at his departure, and Loundes never considered that pos- 
 sible with a lady of fashion. He held that with belles, 
 who have experience and tact, it was legitimate to flirt to 
 any extent short of a positive engagement to marry, and 
 with Philip he knew such a thing was impossible. 
 
 Thoughtful of his demeanor in this interview, which 
 he felt was to be their last, Philip had accepted Baron 
 Waldemar's invitation to dine at the castle. The countess 
 had formed many resolutions as to her conduct toward 
 him ; but as soon as she saw the traces of grief and re- 
 cent illness, from which he was still imperfectly recov- 
 ered, grew half-repentant as she met his frank gaze. She 
 greeted him with expressions of tender sympathy, and 
 
404 The Heirs of Si. Kilda, 
 
 they were soon discussing the intended route of Iiis= 
 travels. He was to send his baggage by railway to Paris, 
 and, with Charles Loundes, to pass on horse-back down 
 the Rhine into Holland, as he desired to send his horses 
 to America from some of the Dutch seaports. In the 
 evening the countess and he made an excursion over 
 the road she had gone the afternoon of their first inter- 
 view. Theresa, in her black velvet riding habit, and the 
 long sable plume drooping over her golden hair, was 
 never more lovely ; and Philip) could but gaze at the 
 beautiful figure aglow with health and grace. She was 
 very quiet and thoughtful, evidently thinking of his ap- 
 proaching departure, a subject he was disposed to evade 
 in his conversation. 
 
 " I hear," said he, " that your stay at Baden-Baden was 
 unusually pleasant this season." 
 
 " Yes," said she, " I feel some pleasure in the little 
 rivalries which spring up at such places between persons 
 of my age and sex. I know it is a small thing, but one 
 cannot help being pleased with victory on such occasions." 
 
 " I believe any species of emulation is attractive to 
 both sexes, and think it quite as reasonable that a lady 
 should enjoy the honor of the largest attendance, as for 
 men, who have already money enough, to waste the night 
 on the chance of winning more at roulette." 
 
 " I am called a belle," said the countess, " and am 
 honest enough to confess I find pleasure in the knowl- 
 edge that I possess qualities which usually attract at-. 
 tention. I know this is vanity, but what is hu- 
 man life but vanity ? You men frequently wear your- 
 selves down with long speeches, but is not the orator's 
 
Pallida Mors. 405 
 
 charm found in the consciousness that so many are hang- 
 ing upon his words?" 
 
 " Yes, there are many men who make speeches with 
 no higher motive, but in such case I have never known 
 •one to rise to heights entitling him to the grand appella- 
 tion of orator. Demosthenes, periling his life in denun- 
 ciation of the Macedonian's designs upon his country ; 
 •Cicero, disregarding the danger of Catiline's resentment 
 and exposing conspiracy; or Edmund Burke, fired with 
 the knowledge that Hastings had waded to riches through 
 the tears and blood of oppressed millions, were the occa- 
 sions when great natures, in the glory of integrity, be- 
 came superior to the petty vanity of hearing themselves 
 •speak." 
 
 " I expect you will be an orator yourself, if you can 
 defend them so eloquently to so poor an audience as 
 myself." 
 
 "No; my father assured, me, as I valued my peace of 
 mind, I should avoid public life. There will be hundreds 
 of human beings dependant on my sense of justice and 
 •care for their happiness, and as they are my hereditary 
 subjects, I shall strive to do my utmost for their comfort." 
 
 " If the world were composed of such men as you, I 
 should be in love with your American system of slavery, 
 which, in that event, would afford the weak and ignorant 
 so much protecting kindness." 
 
 " You are very kind, lady Theresa, but I fear you over- 
 estimate my worth. Wherever I shall bear rule in life, I 
 shall consider it a high duty to be thoughtful of those 
 having a right to expect attention from me." 
 
 " That is what I know," said the countess, " and I wish 
 you had been born the sovereign prince of this duchy." 
 
406 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 " In that event," said Philip, " the ruler would have 
 soon been subjected by some of his subjects." 
 
 " You would need have but little fear on that score. I 
 think you have managed to remain your own master, in 
 spite of the glamour you someiimes say resides in my 
 glance." 
 
 " I am sure I have been long ago overcome in its- 
 splendor." 
 
 " Let us understand each other before we part, it may 
 he, forever," said the countess. " Do not speak to me in 
 language of mere gallantry, when I am sorrowing in the 
 thought I shall no more see you after this evening." 
 
 " I am speaking to you, dear lady, in all the sincerity of 
 my heart, which beats as warmly towards you as the cir- 
 cumstances attending us could possibly justify." 
 
 " You made me very happy at Undine's grotto," said 
 the countess, " for I then thought you loved me, but I 
 have concluded that you are only my good friend." 
 
 " I have been troubled very often," said Philip, " lest I 
 might be thought too bold, lady Theresa, in daring to be 
 considered even your friend, and I have not mentioned 
 things which perhaps ought to have been said, for fear 
 you might deem them unnecessarily obtruded on }'our 
 consideration. I shall never cease to love you as long a& 
 I live," and Philip went on telling her of his higher love 
 and plighted faith to his cousin, who relied upon his 
 honor in the fulfillment of their engagement. The beau- 
 tiful head, with its black plumes and lustrous hair shin- 
 ing in the light of the setting sun, drooped very low as 
 the recital continued, and when, he had finished she. was 
 bowed and silent still. 
 
Pallida Mors. 407 
 
 " Oh ! speak to me," said Philip, " and say you have not 
 ceased to regard me, for I now know this avowal should 
 have been earlier made." 
 
 " While I was in the gay world of Baden-Baden," said 
 the countess, with a low, sad voice, " I thought I had 
 found pride enough to sustain me under this confession ; 
 which somehow I feared you would at last make. I often 
 had the foreboding that you would tell me you loved 
 another, yet I have lacked the fortitude to ask you di- 
 rectly if my dim dread was well founded. I suspected, 
 from the reserve of your manner, you were thus fettered, 
 while I have believed that you cared for me, and have no 
 doubt of it now; but I almost wish you had left me to 
 my fate the evening we first met." 
 
 " Lady Theresa," said Philip, " you are planting thorns 
 in my heart. I shall never forgive myself for having 
 brought you this unhappiness. Oh ! that I should have 
 been so weak not to have told you all before." 
 
 " No," said she, and the fair face was lifted until her 
 gaze rested full upon him, " I am glad you have not 
 done so, for this great joy I have known would have been 
 otherwise never experienced. The thought of marriage 
 has not been connected with you, for I well knew I would 
 not relish a home in America, and it was too much to 
 have expected you to surrender your ties and kindred. 
 I have recognised in you the true nobility of nature, and 
 have not sought to curb the joy of my heart. I shall 
 remember you with no bitterness, for you did not seek 
 my love, and what I have given you has been the result 
 of my unsolicited bounty. It may sound strange to you 
 to hear me, a woman, making these confessions, and to 
 
408 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 any one but ) 7 ou, I think I should die before my heart 
 should be thus exposed." 
 
 " You make me very happy in this last statement," 
 said Philip. " I am sincerely glad I have known one of 
 the truest and most beautiful of God's creatures, and have 
 had the good fortune to attract her esteem." 
 
 " I shall teach myself," said the countess, " to remember 
 you as my dear brother, and I know your happy cousin, 
 if she could see my heart now that I fully understand 
 her claims upon you, would have no objection to the love 
 I still bear you, which I promise to cherish while I have 
 life. I have never been anxious to enter that domain 
 which seems so full of charms to young women. I have 
 despaired of making myself happier, and am unwilling 
 to cloud my existence by assuming obligations for which 
 I feel no inclination ; so when you are married, if you 
 will bring your bride to Schulemberg castle, I promise 
 you I will not feel jealous of her happiness." 
 
 With many such assurances, rode on the two who were, 
 an hour ago, so much like lovers in appearance, but were 
 now linked in that almost as holy relation of friends. 
 The lengthening shadows of twilight fell around them, 
 and the clear autumn moon had stolen up into the 
 heavens, as they passed the great ruins of the northern 
 wing of the castle. As it was his last visit, the countess 
 would not consent to Philip's departure until the queen 
 of the tides was far advanced on her starlighted journey. 
 They went out for a last look at the grand battlements 
 now silvered in all their broken lines with all-hallowing 
 light. The night was cloudless; but in the beautiful up- 
 turned face at Philip's shoulder, was a serenity as deep 
 and undisturbed as that which fell upon it from the in- 
 
Pallida Mors. 409 
 
 finite depths above. He gazed upon the mournful beauty 
 of the lifeless ruin, and turned from the contemplation of 
 its majestic stillness to look for the last time upon eyes 
 in whose light he had known so much happiness. In 
 their liquid depths he saw there was sorrow, but no cloud 
 of despair. They still rested fondly upon him, but the 
 old look of passionate entreaty for the avowal of his love 
 was gone forever. 
 
 Philip's heart was too full to speak his good-bye ; so 
 he bowed his head and kissed the pure brow, and the 
 next minute the rapid footfalls of Hamlet were swiftly 
 bearing him away. On through the lights and shadows 
 of the stately approach, glided the lone horseman. On 
 the marble platform still lingered the queenly form, 
 between the stone dragons guarding the portal. They 
 had witnessed many arrivals and departures, but never 
 in all their history had they seen a great joy so sweetly 
 surrendered as the golden-haired maiden, in the strength 
 of her goodness, went slowly up the broad steps. Oh ! 
 wondrous power of human love, and more divine gift of 
 unselfish wisdom ! Oh ! fathomless mystery of changing 
 life, what man has the capacity to grasp the heights and 
 depths of your mighty significance! Who in the midst 
 of crowned joy, listens for the footsteps of coming 
 Nemesis, or sees the. promise of Paradise in the very 
 bosom of woe? Strange miracles of compensation await 
 us at every turn. Hidden in supremest satisfaction, are 
 the germs of future despair; and from ray less depths a 
 feeble spark of hope is nourished until it grows into a 
 flame illuminating the ages of unending bliss. 
 
410 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 Rosamond's sorrow. 
 
 And weeping then she made her moan, 
 " The night comes on that knows not morn, 
 
 When shall I cease to he all alone, 
 To live forgotten, and love forlorn." 
 
 — Mariana in the South. 
 
 More than four years have elapsed since Rosamond 
 Courtenay, then a girl of fourteen summers, made her 
 first appearance. This interval of time is no inconsider- 
 able portion of the term usually allotted to human ex- 
 istence, and, in the season of youth, is long enough for 
 marked changes in the feelings and appearance of both 
 sexes. In the life of a female, it is a season of such won- 
 drous transformations that it often becomes difficult to 
 realize the changes we behold in the full-grown woman. 
 When Rosamond met Philip at the door as he came up 
 to Thorndale cottage after the fox chase, he saw before 
 him a tall, angular girl, striking in the contour of the 
 head and face ; but with all the charms of dark, brown 
 eyes, she could not be considered, even by his indulgent 
 eyes, as beautiful as rosy-cheeked Ida Somerville. 
 
 The thoughtful boy had often sighed for this want of 
 beauty in her he had always been taught to regard as his 
 future bride. He saw she was even less pretty than Mae 
 Glancy, and was far inferior to the perfection of form and 
 feature observable in Mariana : but there was some inde- 
 finable charm which made her very different from others. 
 She seemed to live in an atmosphere wholly removed 
 from that in which they existed. The dark eyes would 
 
Rosamond' & Son*ow\ 411 
 
 light up with a splendor born of her own sweet fancies, 
 and there was a low, passionate fervor in her tones which 
 imparted fascination to her wild stories, when her cousins 
 sat spell-bound as her audience. 
 
 Rosamond had now finished her school-days, and had 
 been at home for several months. She had recently re- 
 ceived a letter from Philip, who had left Europe for the 
 East. His letters often expressed a desire to return to 
 America, but he was also eager to visit the cradles of hu- 
 man history before his final departure from the old 
 world. He had frequently spoken of the Countess of 
 Schulemberg 's kindness to him, and the admiration with 
 which he regarded her was not hidden. Rosamond was 
 sometimes a little piqued in reading these fervid praises ; 
 but, having unbounded trust in the honor and loyalty of 
 her betrothed, gave herself no uneasiness on the subject 
 of his fidelity. 
 
 Ellesmere had again become the home of the family, 
 so sadly returning from their long stay abroad. Judge 
 Eustace was busy on the farms needing his attention. 
 During his absence his agents had discharged their duties 
 as well as could have been expected; but who has been so 
 happy as to delegate his cares and still find everything 
 executed as if he had been present? Large and varied 
 interests now became a great alleviation to the sorrowful 
 heart of the childless old man. The people of St. Kilda 
 valley testified much sympathy for him in his sorrow, 
 and it was affecting to see their grief when they first 
 learned that the man who had so long been their idol had 
 become but a shadow of the past. They had obeyed, to 
 the letter, his last passionate appeals against political 
 views he believed dangerous to their peace, and in many 
 
412 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 a rude home on the mountain sides, bitter tears stole into 
 the eyes of stern men as they recalled the genial smile and 
 pleasant words of him who, with all his reputation and 
 success, bore so much love for his early friends. Life's 
 fitful fever was over ; but of the throng who had been so 
 lavish of their favors, how many would continue to 
 cherish his memory? Alas for the stability of the struct- 
 ure for which thou laborest, public man ! 
 
 If life itself is a fleeting exhalation, what shall be said 
 of that volatile incense of popular favor for which so 
 much toil and care are undergone ? Is there a dream 
 that the applause of to-day will outlive the morrow? 
 "So long?" says Hamlet. *' Nay, then let the devil wear 
 black, for I'll have a suit of sables. O Heavens ! die two 
 months ago, and not forgotten yet? Then there's hope 
 a great man's memory may outlive his life half a year." 
 
 When the breath of spring came upon the awakening 
 fields in the misty, dream-like glow of the life-giving 
 warmth, two forms could be frequently seen at the grave 
 of the dead statesman. Rosamond and Mariana were 
 planting flowers and watering them with their tears. 
 Both in their hearts called him father. To one unac- 
 quainted with them, had he first seen the calm and pas- 
 sionless beauty of her who had been for years shrouded 
 in darkness, he would have been read v to conclude earth 
 contained no lovelier being; but turning to the taller 
 stature of her companion, he would have seen another, in 
 whose clear perfection all other forms were dwarfed and 
 eclipsed in attractiveness. To say that Rosamond Courte- 
 nay was beautiful, seemed but a feeble commencement 
 of a portraiture in the completion of which the power of 
 mere words became utterly tame. Her radiant and super- 
 
Bosam ond's Sorrow. 413 
 
 lative loveliness of form and feature instantly riveted the 
 gaze of all beholders. Mariana had often seen the vast 
 range of delineation of female beauty in the Louvre. 
 She had stood in almost breathless admiration before the 
 madonnas and angels of the great artists of the past, but 
 when, after her return from Europe, she beheld her 
 cousin, she seemed spell-bound, and could but murmur, 
 " O Rosamond, if Philip could only see you I" 
 
 Mariana recalled from the period preceding her blind- 
 ness the image of a little girl who was shy and plain 7 
 and while loving in her disposition, evidently more at 
 home with an old romance than even with the admiring 
 attentions of Philip and herself, unless they were listen- 
 ing to some story of hers which realized to the young 
 dreamer more vividly the wealth of her fervid imagin- 
 ings. She saw in the Rosamond before her a greater 
 transformation than was ever wrought by the archest 
 enchanter ; a blooming woman, fairer than her own mir- 
 ror reflected in the mysteries of toilet, and clothed with 
 such watchful consideration for others that the charm of 
 physical perfection soon became secondary to the magic 
 of her manner. 
 
 During the last year of her stay, Rosamond had seen 
 much gaiety in the city in which she was educated. The 
 commodore, in whose family she lived, having returned 
 from the command of the squadron on the African coast, 
 his daughters, previously secluded by their mother, at 
 once went forward into the round of pleasures upon which 
 young ladies usually enter. There was too much po- 
 liteness among those who visited the house for the dis- 
 play of any marked preference, at first, for either of the 
 three maidens ; but Rosamond's beautv was so unrivalled 
 
414 2 he Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 she was recognized as the attraction which had converted 
 a family, but little visited before, into leaders of fashion. 
 If the good lady who had acted so much like a mother to 
 Rosamond, had been liable to the usual weakness of those 
 who see their daughters eclipsed in the superior charms 
 of another, the heiress of Thorndale's stay might have 
 been embittered by exhibitions of jealousy ,|but she had be- 
 come too dear to the whole family for any such feeling, and 
 it never occurred to their minds that any one could hope 
 to behold unmoved the splendor of the beauty they had 
 seen developed among themselves. Rosamond's encase- 
 ment and romantic devotion to her cousin were not un- 
 known, and, therefore, they looked for no interference 
 with any of their own expectations. Nothing in the 
 range of the usual incidents of life more severely tries 
 the affection of woman than the knowledge that one is 
 surpassed by another in attractiveness. 
 
 " Men hate because in act or strife 
 They cross each other's path ; 
 Short is the space for jealous j r , 
 And tierce the hour of wrath : 
 But woman's hate runs deeper far, 
 Though shallow at the spring ; 
 Eight seldom is it that they forget 
 The shaft that galled their wing. 
 A fairer face, a higher place, 
 More worship, more applause, 
 Will make a woman loathe her friend. 
 Without a deadlier cause." 
 
 In Rosamond Courtney, Mrs. Leighton and her daugh- 
 ters saw an entire absence of a desire to win the love of 
 gallants surrounding her. She was ever kind and con- 
 siderate, but no token of the usual coquetries of a pretty 
 woman was discernible in the simple sweetness of the 
 queenly maiden. She accepted the incense ever arising 
 
Rosamond's Sorrow. 415 
 
 around her in society with such meek and deprecating 
 remonstrance, they could not in their hearts find an ex- 
 cuse for envy. God and her own nature had clothed her 
 with glorious attractiveness, and it was the result of no 
 exertion of her own. The vanity sometimes allowable 
 in young belles was wholly wanting in her earnest and 
 graceful demeanor. 
 
 William Compton, the father of Frederick, was consid- 
 ered by his neighbors a happy man. His long-cherished 
 desire for public station had been gratified in his election, 
 more than a year before, to the House of Representatives 
 in Congress. Pepin, after his defeat at the St. Kilda 
 races by Philip's horse, Tempest, had a career of brilliant 
 success over different race-courses, and though Mr. Comp- 
 ton was known to gamble habitually no one thought he 
 lost much money at cards. He was supposed to be much 
 too astute for that. Sume of his acquaintances feared he 
 was injuring his health by strong drink, but no one ever 
 saw him under the influence of liquor, when not in such 
 goodly companionship that his own departure from so- 
 briety seemed rather the effect of social feeling than any 
 confirmed weakness. He would sometimes confess he 
 did not think it an unpardonable sin for a man to be in 
 such condition when many of his friends were in a similar 
 state. 
 
 Mr. Compton had become the oracle of the valley, and 
 now that his former competitor was dead and his father 
 disabled by age from attention to public affairs, the long 
 desired leadership had been obtained. No man in all 
 the St. Kilda region was more consulted and looked up 
 to, than Mr. Compton. Many parents would have been 
 troubled at the traces of dissipation in Frederick, who, 
 
416 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 though to the eyes of the uninitiated, a thoroughly re- 
 spectable young man, was yet not entirely indebted to 
 study and attention to business for hi? bloodless face, 
 and meagre figure. He had recently returned from 
 Europe, on hearing that Thorndale cottage was again 
 cheered by the presence of Rosamond. To marry this 
 heiress, was now the object of his otherwise purposeless 
 life. To all things else he manifested an indifference 
 strange in one so young. He did not positively dislike 
 the rival who had baffled and outstripped him in the con- 
 test hio own vanity had suggested, if his own words could 
 be trusted. He was commonly profuse in his praise of 
 the noble character ascribed to him whose unselfih kind- 
 ness was too well known to be openly assailed ; but in 
 his heart the young schemer would have rejoiced if the 
 wild Bedouin of the desert had closed the career of the 
 antagonist upholding the hopes of continued ascendency 
 in the house of Eustace. 
 
 According to the latest accounts in the possession of 
 these two men who were consulting together concerning 
 him, Philip was among the Arabs indulging his fondness 
 for horses, and surveying, on their native plains, the 
 steeds long celebrated all over the world. They were un- 
 able to ascertain when he was expected "in America, and 
 this seemed to trouble them as they were deeply interest- 
 ed in his movements. Mr. Compton was restless^ walk- 
 ing to and fro on the plush of a Turkey carpet in the 
 gaudy pattern of which he appeared to have become fas- 
 cinated, for his look had been several minutes bent on 
 the floor. He was revolving some subject engaging the 
 attention of every faculty, and, pausing before his son, 
 who was reclining on a sofa, he remarked : 
 

 Rosamond's Sorrow. 417 
 
 " Frederick, I shall be a ruined man in less than six 
 months unless you can marry Rosamond Courtenay. My 
 liabilities now due and those rapidly maturing will reach 
 ninety thousand dollars. I cannot renew my notes in 
 bank unless I can pay at least twenty thousand dollars; 
 and if it were to save my life I would be unable to meet 
 that claim which Col. Ridgely holds against me. With 
 the large sums belonging to Rosamond you could easily 
 extricate me from this dilemma to which my own folly 
 has reduced me." 
 
 " What do you call your folly, father?" 
 
 "Why the madness of risking the money I have lost 
 on that horse in the great match just decided, and the 
 double-dyed simplicity of giving thousands to a senator 
 and a professional gambler who, I am now convinced, 
 united to fleece me in Washington last winter." 
 
 " I have not before heard of this latter misfortune. To 
 what extent did you suffer?" 
 
 " At least thirty thousand dollars. I had great suc- 
 cess at first, and was hoping I should realize enough to 
 pay my debts, but was swindled out of the last farthing I 
 could raise." 
 
 " Could not the farm in the South be sold ?" 
 
 " No ; I have a considerable amount to pay on that yet ; 
 and the man from whom I purchased has a lien upon 
 both land and negroes, and movements of that sort would 
 be certain to precipitate my creditors upon me. I thought 
 from what you wrote me from Paris, Philip Eustace would 
 marry that German countess. How is it you now have 
 doubts?" 
 
 " When that letter was written," said Frederick, " I 
 had visited the city in which is the university he was at- 
 27 
 
418 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 tending. I there saw and heard enough from Eustace 
 himself and his friends to convince me he was greatly 
 interested in this young woman. I looked at them as 
 they sat together in an opera house, and saw that she 
 loved him too deeply even to conceal it there. I have 
 never known anything to divert Philip from his purpose, 
 and I certainly counted upon their marriage ; seeing she 
 was an heiress and the uncontrolled mistress of her per- 
 son. I even visited Schulemberg castle, and bribed a 
 servant to communicate to me at Paris everything he 
 should observe indicating the true status of affairs between 
 the countess and him. I grew uneasy when she went to 
 Baden-Baden, and I repaired thither to observe her. She 
 was surrounded by admiring nobles, but I saw her dis- 
 satisfaction in all the adulation her beauty excited. I 
 knew she was thinking of Eustace, but when she went 
 home, I soon heard that Philip seldom visited her, and 
 that she seemed troubled about something, the nature of 
 which was unknown. Finally my faithful spy reported 
 that he saw them part in front of the castle, and though 
 they were so tenderty attached that he kissed her brow ; 
 yet they spoke words in his hearing which indicated the 
 love-making was all over. She was very sad after his 
 departure, but not a line has ever passed between them 
 through the post ; and I am convinced, though they real- 
 ly loved each other, the affair has had to yield to the ac- 
 cursed good faith which this man persists in keeping with 
 Rosamond." 
 
 " Why have you not used this love passage of young 
 Eustace with the German lady to prejudice Miss Courte- 
 nay against him ? Have you tried that yet?" and the 
 
Rosamond's Sorrow. 419 
 
 eyes of the father sparkled with the thought that flashed 
 upon his mind. 
 
 " No," said Frederick, arising from his recumbent po- 
 sition, " I have not thought it prudent to take a step 
 which would be sure to awaken furious resentment in 
 this son of the giants. I can assure you any one may 
 well pause before he creates in Philip Eustace's mind the 
 belief that his honor has been assailed. I never saw a 
 man whom I should not prefer as my opponent in such 
 circumstances. If necessary he would suffer ten deaths, 
 or beat me into mince-meat, if he caught me tampering 
 with his name." 
 
 " Well, if you are afraid of him, I suppose I need not 
 say anything more of what I think can be safely effected." 
 
 " I am not afraid of Eustace or any one else; but I am 
 unwilling to place myself in the power of a man who 
 values his life as nothing to his good name, and would 
 be certain to blazon my shame to the world if he de- 
 tected me in using unfair means against him with Rosa- 
 mond. Let me hear what you have to propose, it may 
 be I will approve your suggestion, after all." 
 
 " You say you do not dare to take any but fair advan- 
 tage of young Eustace in this matter. That remark con- 
 veys a slur on myself; but I suppose I need not quarrel 
 with you, when we are discussing a plan for my relief, 
 even if you do indirectly insinuate I would have you act 
 dishonestly." 
 
 " Father, we know each other," said the young man, 
 with an ill-concealed sneer. " Go on, if you please, and 
 let me hear what you will propose to weaken the attach- 
 ment between these young people every one else is so. 
 anxious to see united." 
 
420 The Heirs of St. Kida. 
 
 " I agree with you," said Mr. Compton, " that this affair 
 must be delicately managed. The young lady is too in- 
 telligent and her cousin too dangerous, to be interfered 
 with in any weak and bungling manner. But you say 
 you know that Philip Eustace loved this young German 
 girl, and she reciprocated his affection. Now it is noth- 
 ing but fair that Rosamond Courtenay, the affianced bride 
 of the gay deceiver, should be informed of his untruth to 
 herself. Moralists are agreed that the essence of a false- 
 hood consists in the deception practiced. If we satisfy 
 fhe heiress of Thorndale that Philip loves a woman in 
 Europe, it does not involve a necessary violation of the 
 truth. If you could manage to convince her mind on 
 rthis subject, I think the mere instrument of that convic- 
 tion ought not to be such a matter of scruple that a man 
 should suffer his conscience to be hurt thereat; provided, 
 always, he manages with enough tact to keep himself out 
 of an ugly difficulty with the rival,, who would of course 
 be furious at the disturbance in his affairs." 
 
 " Father, if you please, cease talking like a Jesuit, and 
 let me hear, in so many words, how you would accom- 
 plish this thing. I would almost be willing to accept the 
 torture of the damned, if it would bring Rosamond 
 Courtenay to my arms." 
 
 "Well," said Mr. Compton, "suppose you obtain an 
 opportunity for uninterrupted conversation with the 
 young lady. As you have not recently appeared in the 
 character of her lover ; assume that of a friend. Appear 
 unwilling to say anything to disturb her, but intimate 
 that you have information which should, by all means, 
 be in her possession. Speak of the sacred nature of a 
 double friendship, in which duty is divided between two 
 
Rosamond's Sorrow. 421 
 
 persons. Suggest that she is in danger of incurring un- 
 happiness through life by ignorance of facts iu your 
 keeping ; yet such is your affection for a friend, you can 
 scarcely bring yourself to the disclosures you half believe 
 it your duty to make. If she exhibit any desire for the 
 information, exact a solemn pledge that, under no cir- 
 cumstances, are the revelations to be repeated ; and then 
 tell her how } T ou saw Philip Eustace and this German 
 woman billing and cooing. If you have a specimen of 
 his hand-writing, I could produce you a letter which 
 would work like a charm in the matter." 
 
 "What! commit a forgery?" said Frederick, and his 
 cavernous gray eyes grew luminous with excitement. 
 
 "There you are again making your disparaging inu- 
 endoes, my son. Do you think me such a fool as to think 
 of committing an offence for which I might become in- 
 famous? By no means commit a forgery! Write a let- 
 ter, but sign no name to it. Read only a portion of its 
 contents, and intimate that the remainder is of such a 
 nature she should not see it. You need not say at all it 
 was written by Philip ; let that inference be drawn from 
 the subject matter and chirography. Follow these di- 
 rections, and I am very much mistaken if both our de- 
 sires are not accomplished." 
 
 The summer was at its height of heat and gaiety. 
 Rosamond had received a letter from the daughters of 
 Commodore Leigh ton, and with Percival St. George as 
 their escort, Mrs. Courtenay had accepted an invitation 
 to meet them at the seaside. Mariana accompanied them, 
 and, with oft-expressed wishes for the presence of him 
 who was now wandering, they knew not where, they took 
 up their abode under the shadow of a great fortress. 
 
422 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 The commodore and his family were there, with many 
 other friends Rosamond had known before leaving their 
 circle. The beauty of the two heiresses from St. Kilda 
 soon made them centers of attention, but the adulation 
 of admirers was not the music to which they loved to 
 listen. There was indeed one who could have awakened 
 rapturous bliss by a few words in the ears of Rosamond, 
 but he was far beyond the ocean rolling full in view. 
 With Rosamond and Mariana, Percival, still retaining 
 many of his youthful attractions, would go forth to listen 
 to the murmur of the restless waves, and enjoy himself 
 more than he had for years past in the presence of these 
 lustrous beauties who were so full of tender appreciation 
 of his infirmities. They saw with regret that the ruth- 
 less hand of time was scattering a little silver in his dark 
 brown hair, and about the sad eyes were furrows which 
 had been planted by the touch of sorrow ; but his pres- 
 ence there betokened much alleviation from grief. If 
 St. George was not so handsome, he was far happier than 
 at any time since his early loss. 
 
 " I am very glad," said he, " that Philip is forearmed 
 against disaster in his attachment for you, Rosamond. If 
 he could see vou now, I would not fear all the beauties 
 of the world bringing him to such trouble as I have 
 known. The men of our family seem able to love but 
 one woman, and I know of none who have entered into 
 a second marriage; where their hearts are once given, it 
 is for life." 
 
 "Such w^ere the sentiments of my dear father, cousin 
 Percy," said Mariana. " He never gave me another 
 mother after he had lost my own." 
 
Rosamond's Sorrow. 423 
 
 " I am sure," said Rosamond, " that mother proves the 
 same trait in the females. She has married but once." 
 
 " Yes," said Percival, " I fear some of us are too indif- 
 ferent to this relation, which, when blest with the love 
 that often hallows wedded joy, is the highest bliss deriv- 
 able from human affinities. Mariana, I think you are 
 utterly careless about, if not averse, to the thought of 
 marriage." 
 
 " I really never thought seriously on the subject but 
 once," said she. " My dear friend, Charles Loundes, 
 (whom you do not know, Rosamond), I believed really 
 loved me, and his entreaties for my promise to become 
 his wife so disturbed me that I was forced to ask myself 
 if it was my duty to make the pledge he desired. I did 
 not feel, under the circumstances, I should add to the 
 happiness of either by so doing. I love him for his devo- 
 tion to Philip, but my feelings never recognized the ne- 
 cessity of his presence, and I think I was right in not 
 acceding to his request." 
 
 " Of course you were, St. Cecilia !" said Percival. " Who 
 ever knew you to be wrong ?" 
 
 " Cousin Percival," said Rosamond, " there goes my 
 friend, Mr. Hastings, an acquaintance of mine when at 
 school. I am sorry he is going to leave the country, for 
 he has a charming family, and they are fond of me. He 
 is an author too, you know." 
 
 " Yes," said Percival, " I have read some of his pro- 
 ductions; he is very genial and pleasant in his fancies." 
 
 " You must know him personalty," said Rosamond. 
 
 The season at the watering place was nearly over, and 
 in a few days the visitors from St. Kilda expected to leave 
 for their homes. Just previous to their departure they 
 
424 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 were astonished by the arrival of Frederick Coinpton and 
 his sister, Edith. Rosamond observed a change in his 
 demeanor toward herself. For years in the past he had 
 never failed to embrace opportunities to tell her of his 
 love. The last time she saw him, before his departure 
 for Europe, he had, indeed, said but little on the subject, 
 and in his visits previous to her leaving Thorndale for 
 the sea-side, he had but once referred to his love. She 
 congratulated herself on the pleasant change from a 
 despairing lover to a good friend ; and was consequently 
 more than usually kind in her demeanor toward him. 
 The beautiful victim was wholly unsuspicious of the toils 
 into which the heartless and selfish man was leading her. 
 The party was promenading on the parapet of the forti- 
 fication. The military friends of the ladies had shown 
 them the flight of seveial shells fired from a huge colum- 
 biad. They wondered at the ease with which a few 
 cannoneers traversed the great piece on its circular car- 
 riage, and were still more at a loss to understand how 
 men could be brought to submit patiently for hours to 
 bombardment from such frightful projectiles. At the 
 request of Compton, Rosamond walked with him to the 
 next piece, also mounted en barbette, and the two sat down 
 on the carriage. 
 
 " I do wish Philip would come home,'' said he, " for I 
 should be rejoiced to see his face once more. I am 
 afraid he is having such a happy time among those pret- 
 ty countesses his anxiety to return is not as great as it 
 should be." 
 
 "I am confident," said Rosamond, " instead of his be- 
 ing in the midst of pleasant society he is at this very 
 
Rosamond's Sorrow. 425 
 
 moment among the descendants of Ishmael, on the de- 
 sert." 
 
 " Oh ! he has returned to Schulemberg castle long be- 
 fore this. Of course he will not be letting those at home 
 know all his movements. Did you ever hear of the 
 Countess Theresa ?" 
 
 " Certainly ; Philip has written me glowing accounts 
 of her beauty and kindness to him. They were excellent 
 friends during his stay in Germany." 
 
 Compton looked up and smiled in a manner peculiar 
 to himself. Rosamond noticed it, and it told her as 
 plainly as so many words, he pitied her want of under- 
 standing. She had never relished the idea of the coun- 
 tess being so fond of Philip, and she was instantly anxi- 
 ous for an explanation of the silence with which her last 
 remarks were treated. 
 
 " You must excuse me," said Frederick, " I cannot be 
 saying anything about the way we young men behave 
 when our fathers and sweethearts are not in sight. Philip 
 is my friend, and I in am honor bound to keep my knowl- 
 edge to myself." 
 
 " I am sure Philip would have no objection to my 
 knowing the truth; whatever it may be." 
 
 " Oh ! but you must recollect my former folly, when 
 I dared to have a hope in con-nection with yourself ! Now 
 if Philip Eustace, good as he is, were to hear I had been 
 telling you of any of his love matters, he would never 
 forgive me and always believe I acted from sinister mo- 
 tives." 
 
 " I know very well he has done nothing at which I 
 should be distressed." 
 
 "I am your friend as well as Philip's, but I know you 
 
426 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 will believe me when I declare my greater regard is for 
 yourself. Then you are a woman, and I have long felt 
 it was my duty to guard you from possible unhappiness, 
 by warning you in time. I have thought my motives 
 would be misconstrued, and even now I fear you are dis- 
 trusting me. If I tell you anything it must be with the 
 understanding that it is to be mentioned to no other 
 person." 
 
 " Go on, Frederick," said Rosamond, " I promise you I 
 will not even breathe it to Philip." 
 
 " Before I say anything more," said Frederick, " I must 
 insist that you ought not to hold Philip to the same rules 
 of devotion lovers are usually expected to observe. You 
 must recollect his engagement to you is a family affair. 
 He has been taught to regard you as his love, but the 
 heart cannot be controlled in this matter. I have every 
 reason to believe he tries to be faithful to you. He is 
 the most sincere and dutiful son I ever knew, and as he 
 is acquainted with his grandfather's and father's wishes, 
 for his union with yourself, of course he will submit to 
 their desires. 
 
 These artful words of praise sank into Rosamond's 
 heart like the sound of shovelled earth on the ears of 
 listening friends as the last sad rite is performed for the 
 dead. He was praising Philip so much, that she was 
 completely devoid of suspicion, and her noble head droop- 
 ed with the first dull throbbings of a great sorrow. 
 
 " Go on with the facts you promised me, Frederick, and 
 spare me, if you can, these cruel observations which, 
 though you may intend them kindly, sink like daggers 
 into my heart." 
 
 "You must not take these things, which you know as 
 
Rosamond's Sorrow. 427 
 
 well as I do, so much to heart," said Compton, and his 
 bitter eyes danced with joy as he saw the grief he had 
 caused. " You must accept facts in the way of the 
 world; for family-made matches were never supposed 
 to carry much love with them. Parties to such affairs of 
 convenience look not to each other, but elsewhere, for 
 affection. I have seen enough of European life to know 
 this is almost always the case. Philip clearly recognizes 
 this sensible view of his position in the world. He has 
 always been engaged to you, but this did not prevent his 
 making love to Lily Seaton while we were at college. 
 Poor girl ! she loved him too." 
 
 Here was another cruel stab, for Rosamond remem- 
 bered the visit of Miss Seaton to herself, the young lady's 
 manifest interest in everything relating to Philip, and 
 she had a strong suspicion of the truth of Frederick's 
 concluding remark. 
 
 "And then," continued Compton, "how could he be 
 expected to remain insensible to the evident love of the 
 beautiful countess who, unasked, gave him the heart 
 which even dukes were unable to win ? I saw her in 
 the glory of her triumph at Baden-Baden where she re- 
 mained unmoved amid all the adoration of her titled 
 gallants. But you should have seen the dreamy languor 
 of her love-lit eyes when Philip was at her side." 
 
 " Have you any reason to believe that Philip returned 
 her love ?" said the low voice of Rosamond, and her eyes 
 eagerly questioned his face as if this were her last hope. 
 
 " I never heard Philip say as much, but his friends, the 
 closest and dearest, distinctly declared it in so many 
 words in my presence. I will show you a portion of a 
 letter I received while in Paris. I know it is a gross 
 
428 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 breach of the confidence the writer reposed in me, but 
 you may read it, and see what I have told you is true." 
 
 He held the paper folded over in such a way that she 
 could read only a part. A few sentences sufficed, and 
 the blood fled from her face. 
 
 " It is enough," she murmured. " You have told and 
 shown me enough. Oh ! Frederick, if you had only 
 killed me before you destroyed my hopes in life. I wish 
 I could die and be at rest, and release Philip from his 
 vows. Frederick, I have a sinful wish to throw myself 
 into the waves of the sea out there. Think you it would 
 be unpardonable?" 
 
 The soft, dark eyes gazed with such a look of wild long- 
 ing upon the gray caps of the breakers, that the wretch 
 who had occasioned her terrible despair, was frightened 
 at his own work, and with passionate words besought her 
 to be reasonable. 
 
 " What a fool I have been to talk to you in such a way. 
 I thought you would view the matter as any one else, 
 and not go frantic like some tragedy queen about the 
 little flirtation of a young man who is, after all, so much 
 better than any of us. But remember, you have prom- 
 ised to say nothing of what has passed between us." 
 
 "Yes, I remember," said Rosamond, still looking out 
 on the sea. " Your words shall die with me, Frederick. 
 Oh, I can surely not be burdened long !" 
 
 It was nearly dark when they left their seats ; 
 
 ?■ And like a dying 1 lady, lean and pale, 
 Who totters forth, wrapt in a gauzy veil, 
 Out of her chamber, led by the insane 
 And feeble wanderings of her fading brain 
 
 The moon arose.' 
 
Rosamond's Sorrow. 429 
 
 The party went to the hotel, and Rosamond at once 
 retired to her room, excusing herself on the plea of sick- 
 ness, which Mrs. Courtenay and Mariana feared was 
 serious when they saw the pallor of her face. They re- 
 turned to St. Kilda valley, but the spirit of the beautiful 
 heiress of Thorndale was darkened in a manner unac- 
 countable to her friends. In her warm, imaginative dis- 
 position she had been all her life building up fancy 
 structures of future bliss in which Philip was so largely 
 associated that now she had come to distrust his love, 
 existence became a blank, and she seemed sinking daily 
 to deeper depths of gloom. 
 
430 The Heirs of St Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 A NEW GODDESS IN THE PANTHEON. 
 
 "I love thee not the less: from thee 
 By Juno's smile I turn not — no, no, no- 
 While the great waters are at ebb and flow. 
 I have a triple soul ! O fond pretence— 
 For both, for both my love is so immense, 
 I feel my heart is cut in twain for them." 
 
 Endymion. 
 
 More than a year had elapsed since Philip Eustace 
 and Charles Loundes started on their pilgrimage. They 
 passed through France and Spain, and at Gibraltar took 
 berths on one of the steamers of the over-land route from 
 England to India, and thus reached Egypt and the Holy 
 Land. They had gone as far into the desert as Tadmor 
 and returning to the haunts of civilization, traversed 
 the cities of the Levantine coast. Greece had been the 
 latest field of exploration, and, then after a long chapter 
 of moving accidents, they were safely arrived in the 
 Eternal City. 
 
 This had been a laborious expedition to Philip. He 
 had undertaken it with a determination to enjoy himself 
 as much as he could ; but study of the monuments of the 
 past was his chief object. In the shadow of the Pyra- 
 mids he realized the folly of human vanity; and amid 
 the scenes of hallowed Israel, found the moonlight still 
 placid on Olivet and the summer winds gentle in 
 Gethsemane as in the days of the Saviour. Athens, with 
 crumbling marbles was the most mournful picture of all; 
 for in this chosen haunt of deathless genius men had 
 accomplished all that is attainable by uninspired wisdom. 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 431 
 
 After air his wanderings, he had come to the grandest 
 of all cities. Shorn of her olden precedence, Rome of 
 the present day has not, without reason been called 
 eternal. Philip had so much to muse upon in the story 
 of its long-waning glories that he determined upon a 
 month's stay, and soon found Ludwig Jagerndorf busy 
 as ever at his easel. The enthusiasm of the artist, had 
 deepened since his friend had last seen him, and his stay 
 in Rome was a period of passionate enjoyment. With 
 a devotion remarkable even among artists, he had been 
 giving his time, when not at work with his colors, to the 
 study of the relics of Italian genius. There had been 
 much to transfer to the subtle realm of his own fancy 
 amid the well-preserved beauties of art in his own native 
 city; but here creative faculty had been so lavish in its 
 accomplishment that things prized in other lands were 
 left to perish unnoticed. Mutilated torsoes, and the dis- 
 jecta membra of antiques worthy of immortal care, were 
 scattered around and destined, ere long, to follow many 
 another precious remnant to the lime-kiln. 
 
 Ludwig was overjoyed to meet Philip, for he had known 
 of his departure from Germany, but for a year past had 
 heard nothing of his movements. This reunion brought 
 no less happiness to the heart of the American, for he 
 had but few acquaintances in the city. The minister- 
 resident from the United States had gone on a visit to 
 Naples, not intending to return for several days, and 
 thus Philip fortunately found a friend to direct him in 
 his explorations. He had not forgotten the location of 
 Ludwig's studio, described in the artist's letters, but he 
 at first feared he had returned to his home, and was 
 therefore delighted when he had passed down the Corso 
 
432 Ihe Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 and diverged into Via della Ripetta, to find on a tablet 
 the name of him he was so eager to meet. On the walls. 
 of the studio was abundant evidence of enthusiasm and 
 patient work. Rough sketches and completed pictures 
 were scattered in endless confusion ; some, exposed to 
 view, having received their last touches ; others, being 
 unfinished, were reversed. Here was a sure and pleasant 
 retreat for Philip whenever he should tire in his explor- 
 ations and feel the need of a place filling that craving of 
 the human heart which is ever unsatisfied until there is 
 some home-like asylum for refuge among strangers. 
 Ludwig readily surrendered his time, to act as guide for 
 his American friend, in surveying the wreck of that 
 proud metropolis which is yet an object well worthy of 
 all admiration. 
 
 Philip had purchased, while among the Arabs, two 
 horses so remarkable for their beauty he had been at 
 great pains to have them shipped to Malta, and by means 
 of a courier, sent to his agent on the island, received 
 them at Rome. He and Loundes had taken them out 
 one evening for an airing on the Pincian Hill, when they 
 met the American minister who had just returned from 
 Naples. Mr. Maitland had been known to them in 
 America, and more than once his two young countrymen 
 had met him at the house of Gov. Eustace in Paris. The 
 three were conversing together, when a horseman riding 
 an animal of singular power and elegance approached 
 the group. He was accosted by the American envoy and 
 introduced as Lord Vernon, the English embassador at 
 the Papal court. 
 
 " Mr. Eustace," said he, " were you related to the late 
 envoy to Paris ?" 
 

 A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 433 
 
 " He was my father, sir." 
 
 " I met him frequently," said his lordship, " and re- 
 gretted to hear of his death. I have several times this 
 evening observed those fine animals you and Mr. Loundes 
 ,are riding. They must be genuine barbs, or I am mis- 
 taken." 
 
 " They are, sir," said Philip, " I purchased them in the 
 desert from an Arab sheik." 
 
 " You have won a prize," said Lord Vernon, " richly 
 rewarding you for all the trouble such a journey must 
 have occasioned. Gentlemen, how long will you remain 
 in the city ?" 
 
 " For several weeks," said Philip. 
 
 " I am glad to hear it," said Lord Vernon, " and, as I 
 am fond of horses, and have a portion of my English 
 stud with me, I will have your horses cared for in my 
 stable, if you desire it You will find Italian grooming 
 sadly out joint." 
 
 " I am a thousand times obliged to your lordship," said 
 Philip, " for I have been sorely troubled on that very 
 score." 
 
 Lord Vernon, having invited the three to dine with 
 him on the morrow, bade them good evening and rode 
 off amid the gay costumes and equipages which gave life 
 and animation to this haunt of modern pleasure resting 
 upon the bosom of ancient decay. The Americans hav- 
 ing accepted the invitation, Mr. Maitland assured Philip 
 he had found a friend in the British embassador, who 
 carried his fondness for horses and field sports to such a 
 pitch, that he highly regarded men sharing such feelings. 
 
 It was in the early days of delicious Italian spring; and 
 while the iron heart of winter was yet unbroken in 
 28 
 
434 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 northern Germany and England, here, in the closing hours 
 of February, many spots in the Eternal City exhibited 
 the slowly-accepted influences of coming rejuvenation 
 among the trees and flowers. Philip and Jagerndorf, on 
 their way to the Castle of St. Angelo, beyond the Tiber, 
 found themselves in front of that best-preserved and most 
 impressive of all the relics of the imperial past — the huge, 
 rotund and time-blackened Pantheon. The two so full 
 of the pleasure born of devotion to study of the beautiful, 
 paused to gaze upon the massive temple which, in the 
 grand idea of its first dedication, seems to have contained 
 a prophecy of its enduring adaptation to all the exigen- 
 cies of the world's changing creeds. 
 
 "Let us go in," said Ludwig, "here is the tomb of 
 Raphael." 
 
 " A fit mausoleum," said Philip, " for him whose min- 
 gled tenderness and strength must make his name dearer 
 to you modern artists than any of the old masters." 
 
 They were surveying the vast dome, exchanging recol- 
 lections of the great deeds and changes it had witnessed 
 and survived. Philip was wondering how there could be 
 such an air of majestic simplicity amid so many things 
 taudry in its minor accessories, when he observed, under 
 the circular aperture in the far-off roof, a party which 
 had just entered. The group consisted of a man and 
 three females ; one, from her manner, he supposed to be 
 the wife, and the two others daughters. Philip and Ja- 
 gerndorf, as they passed them simultaneously naused to 
 look upon one of the young ladies. She was gazing up 
 silently at the sky through the opening above, and the 
 magic of her wondrous beauty instantly enchanted both. 
 The lines of her face and figure were ideal in their per- 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon 435 
 
 fection ; but sorrow hallowed and exalted attractions 
 they had never seen equaled in the human countenance. 
 Philip observed a scarcely perceptible movement of her 
 lips, which he thought were breathing some sweet prayer 
 to Him whose all-seeing eye was typified in the aperture 
 through which her half-uttered j'-earnings arose. It oc- 
 curred to him he had surely met her before, and he was 
 striving to recall where it could have been, when her 
 eyes rested upon him with joyous surprise, as if in recog- 
 nition ; but the next instant their expression had changed 
 into that cold indifference with which great beauties re- 
 ward the admiration of strangers. Philip felt chagrined 
 at his earnestness, fearing he would be considered rude, 
 but could not rid himself of the impression of their pre- 
 vious acquaintance. As they were reaching the entrance, 
 he glanced over his shoulder, and the dark, lustrous 
 eyes still followed his movements. 
 
 " The expression of the taller of those young ladies re- 
 minds me of Guido's Beatrice Cenci," said Ludwig. " It 
 is even more beautifully sad, and I would give the world 
 for the opportunity of painting her." 
 
 " Titian," said Philip, " would have prized such a privi- 
 lege. She is most divinely lovely." 
 
 " Even fairer than the Countess of Schulemberg," said 
 Lugwig. 
 
 " Even so," said Philip. " The countess is very attract- 
 ive, but not so beautiful as this goddess of the Pantheon. 
 It occurs to me I have seen her somewhere before." 
 
 " I have beheld such faces and figures in my dreams," 
 said Ludwig, " but never in my waking moments. Such 
 perfection does not exist in two women at the same time, 
 and it is sad to think we may never meet her again." 
 
436 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 With many such remarks about the girl they had seen 
 in the heathen temple, which had been for twelve cen- 
 turies full of christian shrines, they went to the Castle of 
 St. Angelo. Mr. Maitland and his two countrymen, ac- 
 cording to their promise, proceeded to the British em- 
 bassy. Lord Vernon had introduced much English com- 
 fort into the dreary palace he inhabited, and his manner 
 was charming to the pleasant company that had gather- 
 ed before the arrival of the Americans. He seemed wait- 
 ing for some one else, and soon a Mr. Hastings and his 
 family were announced. Philip felt a thrill of unaccount- 
 able pleasure as he met the glance of the lady who had 
 .so attracted his attention that morning in the Pantheon. 
 He noticed that a portion of the shadow had passed from 
 her brow, and in the short conversation before dinner he 
 learned that Mr. Hastings had been recently a British 
 consul in the United States. 
 
 Philip sat next to Mrs. Hastings at the table, while Mr. 
 Maitland occupied the opposite seat, with their eldest 
 daughter, who had been introduced as Miss Venetia 
 Hastings. The conversation first turned upon the recent 
 visit of the two young men to the desert, but Mrs. Hast- 
 ings and Philip soon became deeply engaged in a discus- 
 sion of her stay in America. To him, who had been so 
 long an exile from his native land, this was a delightful 
 theme; and he was remarking how the home of his 
 childhood, with its dear faces, overbalanced all the attrac- 
 tions he found in Europe, when he happened to glance at 
 Miss Hastings, and the same tender look was in her eyes 
 that filled them when they first rested upon him in the 
 Pantheon. She was silent at the time, but turned to Mr. 
 Maitland with some remark connected with his visit to 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 437 
 
 Naples. There was such surpassing grace in her manner 
 Philip could not forbear observation, and when the ladies 
 arose to leave the table he thought he had never been in 
 such presence. There were several very attractive faces 
 and forms among them, but they seemed dwarfed in the 
 queenly stature and movements of fair Venetia. He felt 
 relieved when the gentlemen returned to the drawing 
 rooms and took his seat at her side. Hours glided away 
 as he sat conversing with her, and when Mr. Hastings, 
 previous to his departure, saying his long stay in America 
 caused the citizens of that land to seem personal friends, 
 invited Philip to visit him often during his stay in 
 Rome, he who was slow in forming attachments gladly 
 promised he would do so. His last thought before sleep- 
 ing, that night, was of the sweet tones of Venetia's voice, 
 adding her own request to that of the ex-consul. 
 
 The next morning the two Americans were in Lud- 
 wig's studio. The artist was at work, finishing a superb 
 picture of Iphigenia in Aulis. The daughter of Aga- 
 memnon stood adorned for the horrible oblation, and 
 stern confederate kings, awaiting the costly sacrifice, filled 
 the middle ground. The victim, in the bloom of her 
 youth, seemed almost resigned to the necessity of her 
 fate; but in the pensive face was knowledge of her im- 
 pending departure from the warmth and light dancing 
 upon the blue JEgean waves. White-robed priests and 
 clouds of incense filled up the remainder of the scene. 
 Jagerndorf was full of his subject ; but this did not pre- 
 vent interchange of ideas with his friends. 
 
 " So," said he, " you met our Pantheon divinity at Lord 
 Vernon's ?" 
 
438 The Heirs of a. Kilda. 
 
 " Yes," said Philip, " and she lost none of her attributes 
 on closer scrutiny." 
 
 " She is the most superb woman I ever met, so far as 
 external appearance and grace of manner extend," said 
 Loundes. "I was almost dying to speak with her, but 
 she was evidently so absorbed with Philip, I forbore to 
 disturb them. How is it, Don Giovanni, that you man- 
 age to interest these ladies at first sight? I could see 
 even at the dinner table, you had attracted her attention, 
 and while you were talking to Mrs. Hastings, there was, 
 at times, on her brow a light beautiful enough to have 
 streamed out of Paradise." 
 
 " You are in love with Miss Hastings," said Philip, 
 " and imagine these pretty things you so .happily describe. 
 I found fair Venetia kind, but very grave and lady-like 
 in her manner. I have never seen a young woman who 
 more impressed me with the evident absence of all 
 coquetry which you seem to irnply in your remarks." 
 
 " Not at all," said Loundes, " I saw nothing indicating 
 such a thing ; but she somehow seemed strangely inter- 
 ested in your society, and there were passing glimpses of 
 a great joy in her heart, which I am certain has known 
 some deep sorrow in its history." 
 
 " I noticed," said Jagerndorf, " in the Pantheon the 
 same expression, and it was such sublimated grief that I 
 fancied she must owe a portion of her beauty to its pres- 
 ence. I am trying to give my Iphigenia a trace of the 
 same feeling ; but my poor memory has lost much of the 
 original charm which moved me so yesterday. Philip, 
 the last evening we were together in the dear old Father- 
 land, you were telling me of a cousin you loved at 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 439 
 
 home. Are you still determined to marry her on your 
 return ?" 
 
 "Most assuredly;" said Philip, "whatever may be the 
 pleasure I find with others, I have never yet faltered in 
 my allegiance to Rosamond- She has not written to me 
 for some months now, and as I shall go to America so 
 soon, in my last letter I intimated I would soon follow." 
 
 " Philip," said Loundes, ■' I hope you will not be so 
 much like an old maid here, as you were in Germany. 
 You never made half enough love to the countess, and I 
 think ought to have forfeited her esteem for the spiritless 
 manner in which you received the undisguised admira- 
 tion of a princess. If it had been myself, I should have 
 exhausted my eloquence long before the first season was 
 over at the opera-house." 
 
 " Charles," said Philip, " do not jest. The Countess 
 Theresa and myself were friends; but how could I pre- 
 tend to feelings I never possessed? It would be a sub- 
 ject of bitter regret that any levity of mine had created a 
 false hope in the heart of a man, and much more in that 
 of a woman." 
 
 " You are entirely too matter of fact in such affairs," 
 said Loundes. " If the world were to follow your ex- 
 ample, we should have no more flirtations, and the girls 
 would become very insipid things. It is folly in them to 
 believe all we tell them, and they generally know very 
 well how far to trust us." 
 
 " I find my love and my flirtations," said Ludwig, " in 
 the creations of my own hands and brain ; but when I 
 was almost a man I was also attracted by pretty eyes. 
 They are now to me only subservient to my art. If they 
 suggest anything I have not before delineated, they make 
 
440 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 me happy; but they are generally so common-place that 
 only when I see some rare perfection like this peerless 
 Venetia's do I stop for a second glance." 
 
 Lord Vernon manifested continued interest in Philip's 
 beautiful Arabians, and one evening they made an ex- 
 cursion into the country, to enable the Englishman to 
 test their habits under the saddle. They were both of 
 large size for their breed, and but for the sheik's cupidity 
 would have yet remained the pride of a desert tribe. The 
 horsemen took their way through the gate of San Sebas- 
 tiani along the world-famous Via Appia. This noble 
 highway which had been constructed two thousand years 
 before suggested to Philip a throng of stirring memories. 
 Through the malarious and now deserted Campagna, 
 along this very road, what mighty hosts had marched in 
 triumph or fled in terrified retreat ! Here went Pompey 
 in his flight from Koine, and in his rear followed the 
 imperious and conquering Csesar. Its granite blocks had 
 echoed with the returning tread of Scylla's veterans and 
 with the flying feet of those bearing intelligence of the 
 fatal disaster at Cannae. 
 
 " What conflux issuing forth, or entering in, 
 Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces 
 Hasting, or on return, in robes of state ; 
 Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power, 
 Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings ; 
 Or embassies from regions far remote 
 In various habits on the Appian road." 
 
 As they were returning to the city they were overtaken 
 by the carriage of Mr. Hastings, and were passing along 
 slowly together when Lord Vernon remarked : 
 
 " Miss Hastings, do you not admire these horses of Mr. 
 Eustace ? M 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 441 
 
 " They are very beautiful," said Venetia. " What are 
 their names, Mr. Eustace ?" 
 
 " I call the one I am riding Selim, the other Rosa- 
 mond." 
 
 Miss Hastings turned her face from him as he finished 
 the sentence, and Philip did not perceive her altered ex- 
 pression. Then looking up, she said : 
 
 " Will you stroll with me to-morrow on the Pincian ?" 
 
 " I shall be very happy to do so ?" 
 
 The next day Philip was too much engrossed with the 
 beauty of Venetia to linger in the studio of Jagerndorf, 
 and went early to the house of Mr. Hastings. There was ' 
 a warmth in his invitations which strongly contrasted 
 with the usual polite indifference of strangers, which was 
 very pleasing to the wear}' young traveller. Indeed he 
 noticed a freedom from restraint in the conduct of those 
 he met in Rome, entirely different from the society in 
 which he had mingled elsewhere. There seemed to be a 
 general consent that people should live in a way that 
 seemed best to themselves, without that troublesome 
 espionage too many in other places exercise in their neigh- 
 bors' affairs. Even Lord Vernon, representing the most 
 reserved people in the world, had from the first shown a 
 kindness and frank disregard of mere conventionalities 
 grateful to Philip, who had in the last year seen innu- 
 merable faces, but was all the while impressed with the 
 fact that his existence to them was a subject of utter 
 disregard. The Englishman was doubtless more inter- 
 ested in the horses Philip had obtained with so much 
 trouble than with himself, but this did not appear in the 
 respectful attentions he bestowed upon the two young 
 men. 
 
442 The Heirs of Si Kilda. 
 
 Edward Hastings was a man of culture and attain- 
 ments. His life had been spent in literary industry, and 
 he had attained some celebrity as an author. To further 
 his desire for a stay of considerable extent, his friends in 
 power had accredited him as consul to one of the south- 
 ern cities of the United States, and he was now able to 
 live in elegant ease on the income received from the sale 
 of his books. He found a more congenial home beneath 
 the glorious light and azure skies of Italy than in the 
 clouds and humidit}' of England, and thus lived at 
 Rome. 
 
 " Mr. Eustace," said he, " as you have been in the old 
 world for three years, and have latterly seen so many 
 ruins, I suppose Rome is less striking to you than to my- 
 self w r ho have so long lived amid the prosperous and ex- 
 panding states of your country. I saw nothing of decay 
 there, but everything bore the impress of earnest utility 
 and recent creation. I made scarcely any stay in Eng- 
 land, hurrying here for the benefit of Mrs. Hastings' 
 health, and you may imagine how r grand and gloomy to 
 me the Eternal City appears." 
 
 " Rome is very mournful to me also," said Philip, " but 
 I do not experience the tender regret for her fate which I 
 felt as I stood amid the ruins of the Acropolis. The very 
 gradeur and duration of Roman rule should have been 
 enough to satisfy the claims almost of a world, much less 
 tljose of a city." 
 
 Philip and the divine Venetia went on their stroll to 
 the Pincian. If the city was saddening in its aspects 
 elsewhere, here were beautiful verdure and shade, and 
 the grounds were full of gay people. The fountains threw 
 up their jets of water; and above all, was the incompar- 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 343 
 
 able Italian sky. The colors of the picturesque costumes 
 were more brilliant than one could imagine the same 
 material could possibly appear seen in a different climate. 
 The scene, with its lawns, marble basins, and avenues 
 bordered with busts of those who have made Italy the 
 admiration of all the world, was so fair and full of ani- 
 mation, they could but feel happy. Philip, as much as 
 he enjoyed such things, as he glanced at the thoughtful 
 face at his side, confessed in his heart that after all here 
 was the highest effort nature had yet shown him of all 
 her gifts. The richness of the dark mourning Venetia 
 wore heightened the effect of her calm and noble pres- 
 ence, and her companion observed a gradual disappear- 
 ance of the cloud he had seen on her brow when he first 
 beheld her in the Pantheon. 
 
 " These clustering trees and beautiful flowers," said she, 
 "are so refreshing to me, I feel as if coming from under 
 the shadow of death into a new-born immortality. This 
 great mouldering city with all its fame and remaining 
 beauty impresses me with its look of voiceless grief. It 
 seems to me as if it were really what Lord Byron called 
 it, ' the Niobe of nations ;' yet these trees, and plants, and 
 the green sward, are as fresh as those gladdening our first 
 parents before their sin in Paradise." 
 
 "You must be fond of nature," said Philip, " and I am 
 sure there ought to be a sympathy between yourself and 
 all other beautiful things ; fori am persuaded there .is 
 some general law of affinity linking like unto like. I am 
 not astonished that you should prefer the eternal fresh- 
 ness of God's creations among things inanimate to the 
 crumbling traces of human genius and ambition." 
 
 " Do not understand me," said she, " as undervaluing 
 
444 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 art. I love the old Pantheon where we first met, and I 
 feel inexpressibly moved, Protestant as I am, whenever I 
 visit St. Peters. I love to enter some of these many 
 time-worn basilicas when the choir chants its evening 
 hymn to the Virgin : I listen to the tender music and 
 see the glorified light coming through the great windows; 
 I lift up my own heart in prayer, and it seems then I am 
 nearer heaven than if I had not received the beautiful 
 influences coming to my soul so thickly at such an 
 hour." 
 
 " I fear you will be so captivated with these striking 
 accessories which the Roman church throws around her 
 worship, we shall lose you from our faith. I can very 
 well understand your feelings ; and the danger is not 
 great if you are watchful enough to separate your emo- 
 tions evoked in the merelv earthly music and architec- 
 tural effects from the spirit and claims of the religion 
 itself." 
 
 " Oh do not think I can ever worship a saint or imagine 
 a wafer the body of our Savior ; but there is such a balm 
 to the troubled spirit in many of the Catholic forms as I 
 am away here from our church I think it no sin to forget 
 the differences which divide me from the theology of this 
 people, who, after all, worship the same God with myself. 
 If you will come often aud lead my poor thoughts into 
 the right channel, I am confident my occasional prayers 
 at. vespers will not mislead my heart." 
 
 Philip looked into the dark eyes raised so trustingly 
 to his own, and thought he had seen them in all the 
 sweet dreams of his life. 
 
 " That would be the most delightful task I ever as- 
 sumed ; but how could the teacher hope to resist the im- 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 445 
 
 pressions of such a pupil ? I fear I should soon surrender 
 the control of my heart in efforts to guard your mind 
 from the approach of error." 
 
 " I pray you, do not mock me with gallant speeches. 
 I have felt so lonely before I met you, O so lonely !" 
 
 The meek head bent over, and the bright beams of the 
 Italian evening rested upon it. Philip felt for the first 
 time in his life that here was a being in whose presence 
 existence would become one long study of the holy and 
 beautiful. 
 
 " I have become very weak," said Venetia, " full of emo- 
 tions beyond my control ; and, Mr. Eustace, I have felt a 
 calmness in your presence that is very pleasant. I have 
 hoped we would become good friends." 
 
 " I would be in despair," said Philip, " if I thought 
 you could regard me as in any way indifferent to your 
 welfare. I am impressed, whenever I look in your eyes, 
 that I have seen you before, for they are to me like some 
 dimly remembered dream of the past. I not only enjoy 
 your presence, but there steals upon me a sense of delici- 
 ous bliss. I fear I am doing wrong in this very joy I 
 experience, for duty should control us through life, and 
 mere happiness should be subordinated to its control." 
 
 " I can assure you there can be no harm in our joy. 
 God never intended us to be unhappy, unless we make 
 ourselves so. Yes, we can," said she, with a thoughtful 
 pause. " The only great sorrow I ever knew came to me 
 out of the bosom of innocent bliss ; but that grief may 
 have been the child of misapprehension. I am hoping 
 for a joy which shall be more lasting, and in its sunshine 
 I shall be all the happier that a fleeting cloud intervened 
 between me and the source of my illumination." 
 
446 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 She looked up with a countenance which the divinity 
 of hope was surrounding with an aureola of its own efful- 
 gence, and Philip thought of his duty to Rosamond as he 
 felt love deep and uncontrollable for the saintly beauty 
 at his side. The realization brought a pang to his heart 
 which pictured itself on his face as he turned sorrowfully 
 away. When his glance again rested upon her, Venetia 
 was looking across the Borghese gardens upon the mys- 
 terious and sullen outline of the Egyptian obelisk. She 
 was regarding, with all that touching sadness which had 
 so moved him in the Pantheon, the strange relic of an 
 age so vast that Abraham may have seen it on the Nile. 
 He felt that he was in a painful dilemma, for if he con- 
 tinued these conferences, he would become more hope- 
 lessly fascinated by her who so freely opened her heart 
 to his inspection. He was conscious that her delicacy of 
 perception had instantly taken cognizance of his momen- 
 tary throe of self-reproach, for he saw a return of grief to 
 her face ; so with a resolution to restrain such thoughts 
 while in her presence, he remarked : 
 
 " I would almost give my life to lift this shadow which 
 I see on your brow. I do not seek to know this grief to 
 which you have referred, but if you will rely upon one 
 who cares too much for your happiness to add to his own, 
 whatever I can do consistent with my duty to you and 
 myself, shall not be withheld. I have sorrowed in the 
 loss of a dear father and the former blindness of my sister, 
 and know what it is to be burdened with grief; but you 
 have hope that the clouds which have rested upon you 
 will soon disappear. I beseech you to disperse them all, 
 and trust in that superintending care which has promised 
 to bring good out of all things." 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheaa. 447 
 
 " I am so grateful to you for that remark," said she. 
 " The suggestion of an evil which my soul dreads worse 
 than death obscured my vision for a moment. Now I am 
 willing to risk all to Him who " tempers the wind to the 
 shorn lamb," if you will only promise to often give me 
 such good council in the future." 
 
 " My stay in Rome is necessarily brief," said Philip, 
 with a sigh. " I must return to America ; but in the 
 meanwhile, whatever I can say or do to add to your 
 pleasure shall not be withheld." 
 
 They returned in the twilight through the Piazza del 
 Popolo, passing under the black shadow of the overhang- 
 ing obelisk. They were just leaving the Corso for the Via 
 del Babuino, when Philip observed a man who was pass- 
 ing them start as if in astonishment. He looked back, 
 and the figure had stopped and was gazing after them. As 
 they slowly proceeded on, Philip several times caught 
 glimpses of the man stealthily hanging upon their tracks 
 as if observing their motions. The moon was beginning 
 to gild the domes of St. Peters and the Pantheon, and they 
 paused to look on the beautiful scene, now so full of light 
 that the archangel on the summit of the Castle of St. 
 Angelo was almost distinguishable. Philip having seen 
 Venetia home, walked rapidly back to encounter his mys- 
 terious pursuer, but he had glided off in the shadows 
 and all trace of him was lost. 
 
 Day by day Philip realized more fully to himself that 
 he was in love with the beautiful being who, if he could 
 trust her own words, was so unaccountably attached to 
 himself. One evening when alone with Mr. Hastings, 
 having been talking of America and his approaching 
 return, he told him of his engagement to Rosamond. He 
 
448 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 was fearful the interest Venetia evinced in him might 
 lead her into unhappy hopes, but this disclosure occasion- 
 ed no dimunition of the kindness previously shown him, 
 and Philip felt half ashamed at what he supposed the 
 suggestions of his own vanity. He remembered his ex- 
 perience with the Countess of Schulemberg, and while it 
 gave him a false confidence in his own power of self- 
 control, yet it caused him to recognize the possibility of 
 Venetia's love. 
 
 For a month he surrendered himself to the delicious 
 joy of her presence. Together they had explored the old 
 palaces of the Doria, Borghese, Corsini ; and were one 
 day examining pictures in the Colonna when Philip, 
 who had been for some time half-convinced that Venetia 
 was loving him too well for her own happiness, resolved 
 on his departure for America. She had been as lovely 
 and bright that day as the sunshine of Italy ; and so con- 
 vinced was Philip that he must leave Rome if he ever 
 expected to be happy with Rosamond as his wife, he told 
 Venetia of his intention. Tears came into her eyes and 
 the old Pantheon shadow settled on her brow ; but there 
 was evident determination in the drawn lines about her 
 mouth, as if she were preparing her heart for a great sac- 
 rifice. Philip's resolution was much shaken as her 
 slender hand trembled in his grasp, and he would have 
 given the world to have told her the love in his heart ; 
 but, at all events, his plighted faith must be kept. Defer- 
 ring his departure would be only increasing his and her 
 torture ; so, with steady voice and a glance which sought 
 to convey only a brother's kindness, he walked away. 
 
 Philip could not resist his desire of seeing her once 
 more that evening, and waited in the street, near the 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 449 
 
 'church at which she usually attended vespers until he 
 saw her approach. He stood in the shadow, so she was 
 unconscious of his presence when she passed, and he saw 
 she was in deep sorrow. The beautiful head which rose 
 so queenly whenever a gleam of joy entered her soul, 
 drooped as if in despair, and following her was a form 
 instantly recognized by Philip as the man who had so 
 persistently pursued them on the evening of their first 
 stroll on the Pincian. The strange figure followed 
 Venetia into the building, and his face was so concealed 
 by a slouched hat and other disguises, Philip's suspicions 
 were aroused that in some way this person must have 
 been the cause of her sorrow. The possibility of his 
 haunting her as a mysterious persecutor awoke the indig- 
 nation of a heart ready to face death in behalf of those 
 much less beloved, and he kept his post of observation 
 until the sorrowing maiden came out of the church, fol- 
 lowed by her strange attendant. 
 
 Philip could not resist the impression that his duty re- 
 quired him to keep Venetia in sight until she reached 
 home, and fathom, if possible, this secret surveillance of 
 one she had never mentioned to him. It was growing 
 dark, and after passing some distance he could perceive 
 that the pursuer was rapidly approaching her. Philip 
 heard him speak, and the next instant he had seized her. 
 She made an effort to scream, but the hand of the villain 
 was on her mouth. The profaning touch was speedily 
 removed, for a strong arm doubly nerved by love and 
 rage struck the aggressor to the earth. As he fell a pis- 
 tol was fired by a confederate from behind, the ball from 
 which grazed Philip's temple. He turned upon his new 
 assailant, but he immediately fled, and the man on the 
 29 
 
450 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 ground in the meanwhile drawing a revolver discharged 
 one of its balls into the shoulder of him who had thus 
 baffled his purposes. The assassin was stricken to 
 the ground by a blow dealt by a policeman. His 
 wounded antagonist turned his attention to Venetia, who 
 was bewildered by the violence of the scene. Philip 
 stated the circumstances to the policeman who, for a 
 wonder in Rome, was prompt enough to be of service, 
 and, giving his own and Mr. Hasting's address, went with 
 his fair charge toward her home. 
 
 Venetia was so stunned she did not discover at first 
 that Philip, who was trying to soothe her agitation, was 
 wounded ; but when they had nearly reached Mr. Hast- 
 ings' house, she became aw T are of it by the dripping of 
 blood from his clothing. With a great effort she master- 
 ed her agony of apprehension, when entering the door he 
 became so faint he would have fallen but for assistance. 
 A surgeon was soon procured, who insisted that the 
 wounded man should stir as little as possible. Philip 
 was anxious to return to his lodgings, but Mr. Hastings 
 w r ould not consent to this. He said it was his duty and 
 pleasure to take care of one who had protected his adopt- 
 ed daughter. To these solicitations the fair Venetia ad- 
 ded such sweet entreaties that the sufferer, who could not 
 think of being so near her without pleasure, was forced 
 to consent. Charles Loundes and Ludwig Jagerndorf 
 having been sent for, were soon at his bedside to aid the 
 fairer nurses. The patient the next day became deliri- 
 ous and in the wanderings of his mind, was constantly 
 talking of his double love for Venetia and Rosamond. 
 The grief-stricken maiden was tireless in her attentions, 
 and often as the two friends sat watching the beautiful 
 
A new Goddess in the Pantheon. 451 
 
 figure, hovering over him they loved, strange gleams of 
 joy brightened her face, as some murmur of the pallid 
 lips breathed her name in accents of affection. Mr. 
 Hastings surveyed, with the eye of a philosopher, this 
 rare devotion Philip seemed to inspire in all who ap- 
 proached him, and it recalled to his mind George Her- 
 bert's declaration : 
 
 "More servants wait on man 
 Than he'll take notice of. In every path, 
 
 He treads down that which doth befriend him 
 
 When sickness makes him pale and wan. 
 Oh mighty love ! Man is one world, and hath 
 
 Another to attend him." 
 
452 2he Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 LIGHT IN THE COLISEUM. 
 
 A If after every tempest come such calms, 
 May the winds blow 'till they have wakeh'd death ! 
 And let the laboring bark climb hills of seas 
 Olyiapus-high; and duck again as low 
 As hell 's from heaven ! If it were now to die, 
 ' Twere now to be most happy; for, I fear, 
 My soul hath a content so absolute, 
 That not another comfort like to this 
 Succeeds in unknown fate." 
 
 —Othello. 
 
 Italian spring was each day calling from the bond- 
 age of its silken sheath some new miracle of beauty in 
 the luxuriant foliage. The opening buds gradually be- 
 came more gorgeous, and with this fulness of restored 
 perfection in the flowers, returned the first faint glow of 
 coming health to the pallid face of Philip Eustace. Hav- 
 ing safely passed through the crisis of his danger, with 
 his natural endowments of strength and health, it was 
 seen there was no longer a necessity for his confinement 
 to the sickroom. The gentle watcher, in whose defence 
 he had received his hurt, had never manifested a look of 
 weariness in all her vigils. After conferences with the 
 surgeon and Charles Loundes, concerning herself and 
 Philip, he, who had been so long his dear friend and 
 fellow- wanderer yielded precedence in the direction of 
 affairs, as if she possessed superior claims. The artist 
 and he would sit quietly for hours at a time, and gaze 
 awe-stricken on the beautiful maiden, the light on whose 
 brow had become as that of an angel. Ludwig had studied 
 this sorrow chastening the antique elegance of her out- 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 453 
 
 lines until in his studio was now a picture far advanced 
 towards completion, preserving the expression which had 
 so fascinated him in the Pantheon. 
 
 To Philip's two friends Venetia became half divine, 
 deepening and entirety exceeding their previous concep- 
 tions of the sacred purity and tenderness of a true wo- 
 man's love. Loundes had known the rare perfections of 
 Mariana, but in his recollection of her there was nothing 
 to parallel this self-forgetfulness and devotion which 
 seemed suspending the frailty of human nature. He al- 
 most realized the old fables of immortal beauty descend- 
 ing from Olympic courts to watch over and sustain suf- 
 fering heroes. Mariana was pure as the driven snow, but 
 in Venetia every movement and expression was indica- 
 tive of a love which had converted the woman into an 
 angelic guardian of the object of her attachment. Mariana 
 had never exhibited capacity for a sentiment on the con- 
 tinuance of which her own existence depended. In no 
 earthly source were the fountains of enjoyment to her 
 who had walked so long in blindness, but it was plain to 
 all that the very life of Venetia was involved in that of 
 Philip, and she seemed to have no thought but of him. 
 There were no visits to the churches at vespers for pray- 
 ers; from her heart was rising a continual incense of 
 supplication for the life and happiness of him who 
 
 " Lay like one in trance, 
 That bears his burial talked of by his friends, 
 And cannot speak, nor move, nor make one sign, 
 But lies and dreads his doom." 
 
 The delicate perception of Jiigerndorf read t he secret of 
 her calmness in the upturned face, and felt that he was 
 
454 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 in an atmosphere to which all his previous conceptions 
 were gross and earthly. 
 
 Philip's reason was too weak to resist the emotions of 
 his heart whenever he saw Venetia at his bedside ; and 
 with low, feeble tones told the story of his love for her. 
 As he looked into her tender eyes, resting so unfaltering- 
 ly upon his own, he read more of her heart than her own 
 maidenly confessions conveyed. To his mind sometimes 
 half reproachfully stole up the image of his cousin as he 
 had seen her in their last interview, but that period 
 seemed to belong to a life long gone by. The Rosamond 
 he had loved was in some strange way lost and con- 
 founded in this superb Venetia, who had broken down all 
 his strong resolutions, and drew from him, in spite of all his 
 struggles to the contrary, the long withheld story of his 
 over-mastering devotion to herself. There was a dim con- 
 viction in his mind that Providence was in some myste- 
 rious way sanctioning this love from which he had at first 
 shrank as contrary to his duty. He now had no thought 
 of what should be the result of all this present happiness ; 
 it was so full and complete it seemed to him its very re- 
 collection would compensate for years of subsequent sor- 
 row. He wondered if he could ever again grow unhap- 
 py under any circumstances with the knowledge of such 
 devotion having been lavished upon him. Venetia's 
 family knew of his engagement to Rosamond, yet they 
 made no objection to the tie which was in their very 
 eyes, day by day, growing stronger between himself and 
 their adopted daughter. This was all mystery to Philip, 
 and in his weakness he turned from anything so difficult 
 to grasp, as wearisome and hopeless of solution. He ac- 
 cepted the present as he found it, and surrendered him- 
 
Light in the Coliseum,. 455 
 
 self to the delicious interchange of those nameless endear- 
 ments which hallow and sweeten the glamour of youthful 
 attachments. Barren have been the joys of life to those 
 who, in the golden memories of that vanished era, fail to 
 recall some such visions of bliss. 
 
 Lord Vernon and Mr. Maitland were very kind to 
 Philip in his days of suffering. They had exerted them- 
 selves to discover the names of his assailants. One had 
 escaped, but he who fired the pistol-shot which wounded 
 him, though confined to a dungeon since that night, had 
 obstinately withheld his name. Mr. Maitland, from what 
 he could learn, supposed the prisoner to be an American. 
 The Papal system of criminal procedure was so secret that 
 few disclosures were made by the authorities, in relation 
 to the case, and these were obtained with difficulty. An 
 officer connected with the courts, having taken the de- 
 positions of Philip and Venetia, was kind enough to pro- 
 cure for the injured man a sight of the pistol with which 
 he had been shot. 
 
 On pleasant evenings Lord Vernon frequently sent a 
 carriage in which Philip and his fair companion basked 
 in the loveliness of the skies and found fresh delight in 
 the face of now fully-attired nature. Philip in his ill- 
 ness had lost the bronze imparted by long travel and 
 exposure, and his pale cheeks and flowing brown hair 
 caused him to resemble some of the old pictures in the 
 city. 
 
 Ludwig Jagerndorf was gratified in the wish expressed 
 for the opportunity of painting Venetia's portrait. One 
 day as he was at work on this engagement, Philip, having 
 heard Charles Loundes refer to a beautiful QEnone which 
 had made its appearance in the studio since his illness, 
 
456 The Heirs of St. Kida. 
 
 asked Ludwig to show him the work. The artist put 
 down his pallet and brushes,, and brought from the other 
 end of the room a full-length picture which had been 
 turned to the wall in their previous visits. Philip was 
 astounded to behold a complete reproduction of Venetia 
 as they saw her in the Pantheon. 
 
 " This," said Jagemdorf to the maiden, " is CEnone after 
 the desertion of Paris. Can you imagine who suggested 
 my subject ?" 
 
 "Yes," said she, "it much resembles myself; but I 
 surely never looked so sad as that white-robed figure." 
 
 " Ludwig," said Philip, " I must by all means possess 
 it." 
 
 " I have intended it as a present for you," said Jagern- 
 dorf, " as a memento of your kindness to Sigismund and 
 myself." 
 
 " You have more than repaid me," said Philip, "long 
 ago, in your own kindness ; and I shall never be able to 
 tell you how much I prize this picture. It is almost as 
 beautiful as the new goddess of the Pantheon." 
 
 " He will spoil me with vanity," said Venetia, " if he 
 speaks in this way, Mr. Ludwig." 
 
 " There can be but little harm," said Ludwig, " in your 
 hearing such speeches when every eye that beholds you 
 is eloquent with the same sentiment." 
 
 " How can you, Ludwig," said Philip,. " with so much 
 appreciation of the beautiful,, have hitherto failed in pay- 
 ing that last and supreme homage to its claims implied 
 in the term love ? You are attracted by the loveliness of 
 nature, but how have you failed of that higher affinity 
 between two hearts ? The calm of your life may be less 
 disturbed, but the very monotony of your sensations 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 457 
 
 must, at last, pall in their want of fruition. Repose and 
 immunity from the usual disturbances of life are low 
 pleasures — at best but little surpassing the unreasoning 
 content of well-fed animals. We find in the precarious 
 tenure of human love those higher joys the more prized 
 in the very knowledge they can be so easily lost. The 
 bird which has never known the pleasures of a pinion 
 may be quiet in the cage, 
 
 "And what may count itself as blest, 
 The heart that never plighted troth ;" 
 
 but after all we owe our happiness to a conformity with 
 natural laws, and they point to the necessity of man's 
 looking to his other self for the bestowment of content." 
 
 "You are doubtless happier," said Ludwig, "than I 
 have ever been at any time in my life ; but not having 
 found one upon whom to lavish my affection with the 
 prospect of its return, art has come to me in its stead ; and 
 I find pleasure in toil, which so increases with years, my 
 dearest hope is to be undisturbed. It gives me joy to see 
 you happy, but I should fear to risk my own frail bark 
 on such an untried sea as the whole subject would be to 
 me." 
 
 " Ah ! M. Ludwig," said Venetia, " I fear you are a 
 hardened old bachelor, but I know you can love your 
 friends very dearly. You were as tender as any woman 
 to our patient in his illness." 
 
 Several weeks had passed away since Philip felt any 
 inconvenience from his wounds. The surgeon and his 
 friends remonstrated whenever he proposed starting 
 homeward, insisting he was not yet sufficiently restored 
 
458 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 for the long journey across Europe and the Atlantic 
 ocean. His mirror exhibited a face so thin and wan, he 
 was forced to agree with, their advice aud his own incli- 
 nations to remain longer in the presence ol Venetia. 
 Now he found himself so much restored, he removed to 
 his own lodgings, and conscience was beginning to whis- 
 per the wrong of longer delay in his departure. If he 
 had analysed his feelings, he would have been puzzled 
 to account for the madness of deferring a separation all 
 along recognized as inevitable and not remote; but still, 
 with a feeling that was unreasonable to himself, he ling- 
 ered for a few days longer. Life beyond that time had 
 but little promise. He still remembered Rosamond with 
 kindness, and he never thought of blaming her for the 
 the painful position to which his own weakness and the 
 force of circumstances had reduced him. 
 
 Much of his time was spent in the company of her who 
 became dearer as the hour of parting approached. The 
 last time he had seen Venetia, on referring to his deter- 
 mination, he was surprised that she manifested so little 
 of the old grief which once clouded her brow whenever 
 he spoke of their separation. More than two weeks ago 
 he had sent his horses, by way of Paris, to the sea-coast, 
 to be ready to go with him to America ; when one even- 
 ing he was alone, and was surprised to receive a letter 
 which had been lying for months uncalled-for in the 
 French capital. He recognized his grandfather's hand- 
 writing on the envelope, and was afraid of sad news 
 from home, as he hastened to break the seal. It began 
 with a statement of the good health blessing the family 
 at Ellesmere, and the anxiety with which they awaited 
 his arrival for he had written he would be at home about 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 459 
 
 that time. Philip felt conscience-stricken as he read, "I 
 have something painful to relate in relation to your 
 cousin Rosamond, in whom, until recently, we were all 
 so proud and happy. She left school, the most lovely 
 and attractive young woman it has been my good for- 
 tune to see in all my life. We were charmed as much 
 by the sweetness of her disposition as by the perfection 
 of her beauty, and I often reflected, as I looked upon her, 
 what joy would be yours in such a wife. She was de- 
 voted to you, and I was astonished that, having seen you 
 so little in the last four years, she should cherish such 
 romantic attachment. Surrounded by many admirers, 
 who would have eagerly linked their fortune to hers, she 
 seemed above all the weaknesses incident to pretty wo- 
 men, and was as true to you as if already your wife. She 
 went with her mother and Mariana, under the charge of 
 Percival, to the seaside, radiant and happy, and a month 
 afterwards she returned in sorrow so profound and mys- 
 terious, we are yet wholly unsatisfied as to its origin. I 
 am assured by her mother and Mariana that it grew out 
 of no unhappy attachment contracted there. She steadily 
 refused to account for the depression destroying her life, 
 until her mother discovered, from language uttered in 
 her sleep, her belief that you were forgetful of her, in the 
 love of another. Percival says there was a long conver- 
 sation between herself and Frederick Compton, on the 
 evening she first exhibited symptoms of melancholy, and I 
 have since learned that, on one occasion, when his father 
 was intoxicated, at St. Kilda, he declared to some gentle- 
 men that he was satisfied you were about to be married 
 to the German countess of whom you have so often spok- 
 en. Although I know the falsehood of this story, I am 
 
460 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 satisfied young Compton has used it to destroy the hap- 
 piness, if not the reason, of our beautiful Rosamond. We 
 know you too well to think you could so far forget your 
 plighted honor in this way. 
 
 " Percival, at the request of Rosamond and her mother, 
 has accompanied them to Europe, where, I hope, travel 
 and change of scene will remove this corroding grief 
 from the heart of the voung sufferer. As soon as thi 
 
 & 
 
 us 
 
 letter reaches you, I desire you to find them, and remove 
 this impression from the mind of this dear girl, whose 
 unusual devotion to yourself has occasioned her distress. 
 If I believed you capable of deserting her for any other 
 woman, I should be shamed in all my nature, that my 
 grandson, in whom I have rested the hopes of my 
 childless age, was so lost to his own honor as to think of 
 such a thing as these false and malicious men have as- 
 cribed to you. Were you capable of such a thing, it 
 would dishonor our name, and bring my own gray hairs 
 in sorrow to the grave. Forgive my warmth on this hor- 
 rible and impossible subject. I am not, dear Philip, for 
 a moment shaken in my trust of your good sense and 
 claims to the name of gentleman. In all my long ex- 
 perience, you have been so far the most faultless youth I 
 have known, and I am confident you will continue in 
 this career of truth and self-respect. In that trust I com- 
 mit you to the keeping of God ; praying him to bless 
 you, and while life lasts. 
 
 Your grandfather, 
 
 Philip Eustace, Sr." 
 It would be difficult to imagine the feeling of thorough 
 humiliation Philip experienced in reading this letter. He 
 felt that he was not only amenable to the censures of his 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 461 
 
 grandfather, but the energy and good sense of the epistle 
 recalled his own faculties which had been eclipsed and 
 benumbed of their former vigor by passion and sickness. 
 He considered himself the slave of an ignoble thraldom, 
 and remembered with shame that when he was two years 
 younger he had resisted all the fascinations of Theresa of 
 Schulemberg. Now to fall a helpless slave into a roman- 
 tic attachment for one of whose parentage he was igno- 
 rant, profoundly humbled him. He was dismayed at the 
 prospect of his return to Ellesmere ; for how could he face 
 his grandfather with a knowledge of such weakness in 
 himself? 
 
 Then, too, the fair brow of Rosamond, which he had 
 dimly seen that night when they had ratified the vows 
 of their childhood, stole up in his memory. He thought 
 of all the suffering the sensitive and imaginative girl had 
 undergone on his account, and now its first intelligence 
 reaches him in the midst of a passion to which his love 
 for the German countess was only child's play. He was 
 stung to the heart, and horrified to think his position 
 would soon become known to the world, thus exposing 
 him to the contempt of all good men. He felt the throb 
 of a wound deeper than that lately inflicted by the assas : 
 sin, and, for the first time in his life, wished his existence 
 ended. 
 
 He went out into the soft Italian air and mingled with 
 the throng on the Corso ; soon wearying of that, he passed 
 on amid the mouldering old city now less mournful in its 
 aspect than his own face. The glances of men who per- 
 ceived his trouble only increased his uneasiness, and he 
 paused not until he reached the bridge of St. Angelo. 
 The yellow water of the Tiber went on its course to the 
 
462 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 sea, disregarding his sorrow as it had that of countless 
 other men who, in the ages since Romulus, had lived and 
 come to grief in the great city. As he stood pensively 
 gazing into the water, heartily wishing himself asleep 
 beneath its waves, one of Goethe's songs stole up to his 
 remembrance: 
 
 "Heart, my heart, what hath changed thee? 
 
 What doth weigh on thee so sore? 
 What hath from myself estranged thee, 
 
 That I scarcely know thee more? 
 Gone is all which once seemed dearest, 
 Gone the care which once was nearest, 
 
 Gone thy toils and tranquil bliss, 
 
 Ah ! how couldst thou come to this?" 
 
 He looked around upon the relics of the past, and return- 
 ing passed by the Fountain of Trevi. In the midst of a 
 ruined temple of the far-off heathen age he sat on a fallen 
 column, which, in its massive and enduring strength, 
 seemed almost as intact as when fresh from the hands of 
 those cunning artisans who had been resting from their 
 labors so long. Philip, in the presence of this voiceless 
 and neglected representative of a forgotten splendor, felt 
 rebuked that he, who was the architect of his own trouble, 
 should thus, like a child, shrink from what he had 
 brought upon himself; so, with the hour of sunset, he 
 returned to his lodgings in a calmer state of mind, but 
 fully resolved that the morrow should witness his depar- 
 ture from Rome. He was busy in his preparations when 
 Loundes and Jagerndorf came in from a stroll. Noticing 
 the gravity of Philip's countenance, Ludwig asked : 
 "What are you doing with your trunks?" 
 "Preparing to take leave of you, Ludwig. I have this 
 evening received a letter from home which makes me 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 463 
 
 ashamed of loitering longer here, so I shall bid you adieu 
 to-morrow." 
 
 He made no further explanations, and the artist was 
 grieved to see the determination first announced adhered 
 to as Philip and his servant continued to pack the trunks. 
 Ludwig sorrowfully took his leave to prepare the pictures 
 belonging to his friend for his departure. 
 
 " Philip," said Loundes, "we have promised to meet 
 our friends in the Coliseum to-night. Have you forgot- 
 ten our agreement?" 
 
 " No. I shall be ready in time, but you are not pre- 
 paring to start in the morning. Are you unwilling to go 
 then ?" 
 
 " Not if you are still intent upon it when we return 
 to-night." 
 
 Philip was galled at this last remark, considering it a 
 reflection on the thraldom of which he was now heartily 
 ashamed. He made no reply, for he felt that his friend 
 was reasonable in this lowered estimation in which he 
 was held. Sorrow and shame but no resentment throbbed 
 in his heart as he silently continued his labors. When 
 these were finished, they went on their way to the vast 
 amphitheatre to which, in the morning, Philip was ex- 
 pecting to go as light-hearted as any man among the 
 multitudes formerly there celebrating their bloody satur- 
 nalia. As he walked silently by the side of his friend, in 
 his heart was a gloom, deep as ever clouded the brow or 
 dimmed the eyes of doomed gladiator repairing thither to 
 amuse a remorseless populace with the sight of his dying 
 agouies. 
 
 The moonlight fell gloriously on all objects, hallowing, 
 with silvery radiance, hundreds around which cluster 
 
464 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 a world of memories. In its soothing influence Philip's 
 burdened heart recurred with anguish to the thought 
 that, on this night, he should look on the beauty of Ve- 
 netia for the last time. As they approached the colossal 
 ruin, in whose vast area huge armies could be seated, the 
 tender mournfulness of Byron's description recurred to a 
 mind then filled with darker despair than ever haunted 
 the mind of the noble poet : 
 
 " The trees which grew along the broken arches 
 Waved dark in the blue midnight, from afar 
 The watch-dog bay*d beyond the Tiber ; and 
 More near from out the Cnesar's palace came 
 The owl*s long cry, and interruptedly, 
 Of distant sentinels the fitful song 
 Begun and died Upon the gentle wind." 
 
 As they entered the shadow of the great walls, they 
 heard the voice of Venetia, singing an English ballad, 
 and Philip knew from the sadness of the song she was 
 hurt at his delay in coming. Carriages, at the entrance, 
 showed that they w r ere not to expect silence in contem- 
 plating a scene so full of majestic stillness, and sounds of 
 laughter from the enclosure itself, in his present mood, 
 jarred on his ears. The arches rose tier over tier between 
 him and the moon, and he tried to realize the wondrous 
 beauty it had inspired in other imaginations; but there 
 w r as either too much light or, possibly, his heart was un- 
 strung to the enjoyment of anything. Here, in the 
 world's greatest charnel-house the nations once sent to 
 their conquerors, wild beasts, strong-limbed gladiators, 
 and unresisting christians, that imperial Rome might see 
 them die on this very area. From the central point, 
 where the earth had received such seas of blood, now 
 
y Light in the Coliseum. 465 
 
 arose the tall, black cross emblematic of a faith once so 
 persecuted there. 
 
 After some pleasant raillery on their late arrival, the 
 party, which the Americans had joined, settled themselves 
 amid fallen columns, and chatted on, merrily as people 
 should, who visit places so long dedicated to amusement. 
 At Philip's request Venetia accompanied him around the 
 shrines, for what he felt to be his last conference with 
 her. 
 
 " I am very glad you have come," said she. " I feared 
 you w r ere ill, and I should not see you to-night?' 
 
 "I have been very busy this evening," said he, " in 
 the most sorrowful labor of my life. I have been prepar- 
 ing to take leave of you and Rome in the morning." 
 
 " Why this haste, dear Philip, have you ceased to love 
 me?" 
 
 "Alas no! I love you better than my own life, which 
 I have been half tempted, this evening, to throw away in 
 the Tiber." 
 
 " Oh ! Philip, you are not talking like yourself. How 
 can you, who have sustained me in my great trouble, and 
 whose noble trust in God restored m^ soul to joy, thus 
 madly contemplate the most unreasonable and sinful of 
 all human transgressions?" 
 
 " Venetia, I am in a cloud so black I have no hope for 
 the future. In my love for you I have lost my self rever- 
 ence, and, Oh ■! God, that I should say it, I know not how 
 to meet the face of my grandfather." 
 
 The strong man paused, shaken with a mighty convul- 
 sion, and Venetia realized his torture. 
 
 " Oh ! Philip, my life, my dearest of all hopes, tell me 
 this trouble, and I will be willing to die, if I do not make 
 30 
 
466 TU Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 it all clear. You shall see your grandfather as proudly 
 as you ever met him if you will only trust me. Remem- 
 ber the abyss from which you have lifted me, and let me 
 know all this grief." 
 
 " It is too late, Venetia. The day of hope has passed 
 forever from my reach, and life, once full of promise, has 
 become an utter wreck. I am stranded on a barren 
 shore from which there is but one escape, and in that, I 
 agree with you, is such sin I dare not think of it. Let 
 us go to the cross in the centre of the arena and I will 
 tell you all." 
 
 They went to the spot indicated, and seated themselves. 
 The moonlight was streaming full upon Venetia, and 
 Philip gazed sorrowfully into eyes in whose tender love- 
 liness a worse man would have felt half-absolved from 
 the most atrocious blood-guiltiness. 
 
 " Venetia," said he, "you are all the more beautiful 
 now that I feel we are talking together for the last 
 time." 
 
 "Your beauty is your beanty, and I srn 
 In speaking, yet oli grant ray worship of ft 
 Words, as we grant grief tears." 
 
 " 1 wish I had died when that unknown wretch wounded 
 me. I should have left the world in all my integrity ; 
 but now, to my shame and grief, I have the knowledge 
 that what I must say to you will seem reproachful." 
 
 " I promise you, Philip, I will not feel hurt at anything, 
 you say. I have much to urge in extenuation of my 
 conduct, and you shall have my story when you have 
 finished." 
 
 " I am th« only male heir," said Philip, " of a family of 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 467 
 
 large wealth, and my grandfather, who reared me, 
 has lavished upon me, since my earliest recollection, a 
 love so tender and such wise counsel I have been favored 
 with all the benefits my heart could desire. I have a 
 dear cousin, named Rosamond Courtenay, and our friends 
 have told us from early childhood we should some day 
 be married. I have ever loved her, and when we were 
 little children we exchanged vows afterward ratified on 
 the eve of my departure for Europe. I left my native 
 country, having gone to Germany, and was there but a 
 short time when by chance I rescued a young countess 
 from probable death. There amid strangers in a foreign 
 land she gave me such kindness and love I should be 
 brutal to forget it. I loved her for the nobleness of her 
 heart; but we parted only as friends. I told her the 
 story of my love for Rosamond, and kept my honor as a 
 gentleman, with no regrets to poison my future happiness 
 I went forth into the world on my travels, and after 
 wandering in different climes I came here, and by acci- 
 dent saw you in the Pantheon. I was at once irresistibly 
 attracted, and soon resolved to fly from a presence that 
 promised to unfit me for the love of my cousin. The 
 desire to see you again that evening detained me at the 
 church near which I was wounded, and through your 
 dear guardianship robbed of my manhood. I had hith- 
 erto maintained the silence duty suggested, but in my 
 weakness you learned all the secret of my love. I have 
 been unable to recover from the glamour your beauty 
 and goodness has thrown around me until this day. 
 A letter which I received from my grandfather has 
 recalled my faculties to a proper appreciation of my 
 course. Some one has convinced Rosamond that I 
 
468 The Hem of St. Kitdd. 
 
 love the countess of Schulemberg, and the belief has 
 crushed the heart of my dear cousin. She is in Europe 
 with her friends, seeking to regain her former peace. 
 My grandfather has written me to go at once in search of 
 her and refute the slander which has caused her grief. 
 But, Venetia, how can I approach her pure presence with 
 a lie on my lips. I was never other than the friend of 
 Theresa of Schulemberg, but you are dearer to me than 
 my existence ; and thus, when called upon to save myself 
 from dishonor by denying one imputed breach of my 
 plighted word, I am self-convicted of yielding to my love 
 for you. Oh ! Venetia, to what straits has your beauty 
 brought me, and what shall I say to my dear sorrowing 
 «cousin to raise her drooping head? My grandfather de^ 
 ■claree if he thought me capable of deserting her, and 
 .thus dishonoring my name, it would bring his gray hairs 
 with sorrow to the grave." 
 
 "My stay in Rome," continued Philip, " has almost 
 .realized the old Greek idea of destiny ; for while I have 
 struggled to do what I felt was my duty, accident and ir- 
 repressible heart proclivities have overruled and baffled 
 ;me. I told Mr. Hastings of my engagement, that he 
 might know my duty and help me perform it. How 
 have you aided me in this matter, Venetia ? Your adopt- 
 ed father must have told you my situation ; why then did 
 you not drive me from your presence when you saw the 
 fatal infatuation which was stealing my reason and honor? 
 What hope have you left me in the world, and how can I 
 become the husband of my cousin, having left my heart 
 ^with you in Rome? How can I meet the wisdom and 
 innocence of those at home? Venetia Hastings, I call 
 iheaven to witness, with all my .love for you, I would a 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 469 
 
 hundred deaths had come ere I saw your fatal beauty. 
 You have made me happy in disregard of my duty, and 
 •destroyed my self-respect as a man. I doubt not you have 
 been kind in intention, but you new know the ruin you 
 have wrought. I know not how to say farewell, but I 
 leave you forever this night, and may a diviner pity than 
 I shall find bless you through life. If it were right, I 
 eould lie down at your feet, in this blood-stained arena, 
 and be happy forever; but I must sin in this love no 
 longer. I shall start in the morning to look for Rosa- 
 mond to tell her all." 
 
 "Where will you find Rosamond, Philip?" said she, 
 detaining him as he arose to leave. "My heart's dear 
 love, I am your Rosamond;" and with a flood of happy 
 tears the beautiful maiden, no longer Venetia Hastings, 
 but the peerless heiress of Thorndale, wept upon his 
 bosom. All disguises were now ended, and the burden 
 lifted from Philip's heart. As she looked in the dark 
 eyes so tenderly regarding her, she felt astonished that 
 there should have ever floated a cloud of doubt into her 
 atmosphere of love, now seemingly as clear as the star- 
 gemmed Italian heavens. Over the mute and bloody 
 arena in the shadow of the black cross, sat the lovers. 
 From this same spot, in ages long ago dead and lost in 
 the eternity that lies behind us, what voiceless agonies 
 had arisen toward the sources of infinite pity I Here the 
 gladiator had felt his eyes swim in death, and heard the 
 shouts of brutal applause grow faint in the throes of dis- 
 solution. Up into those same quiet heavens had gone 
 the last faith-illumined glance of unresisting and yet tri- 
 umphant martyrs. Here, in the hidden mystery of Him 
 whose eyes had seen all this holocaust of woe, were these 
 
470 The Heirs of St. Kida. 
 
 two beings in the fullness of their youth, basking in the 
 joy born of the most tender and innocent of all human 
 emotions. The two were for some time silent, for 
 Philip was too happy to heed the voices of visitors around 
 them. Rosamond had promised to explain the mystery 
 he was so anxious to unravel. 
 
 "Our good friend, Mr. Loundes," said she, "has told 
 me that the Countess of Schulemberg sometimes called 
 you Don Giovanni. You need not wonder then that my 
 affections, when almost a child, should have clung so 
 closely to you. I have been in dream-land a large por- 
 tion of ray life, and all my fancies have taken you and 
 your plighted love as their source of happiness. Instead 
 of the wild old romances I was so fond of rehearsing to 
 you and Mariana, my visions early rested upon you, and 
 my joy in you when I should come to live in your smiles. 
 In those days I was pained whenever I approached a 
 mirror, and thought surely Philip cannot love me as I 
 would have him, unless I grow more winsome. I prayed 
 heaven to send me beauty for your sake, and as the years 
 went by in which I could only see you in my dreams, I 
 watched the changes in my appearance, and saw with a 
 great joy God was answering my prayer. My own eyes 
 and the words of those who loved me too dearly for flat- 
 tery, assured me I was no longer plain. I felt confident 
 that when you saw me, and knew how dearly I loved you, 
 there would be no regret for the vows we had so often ex- 
 changed. 
 
 " Dear Philip," continued Rosamond, " God has pun- 
 isned me for this vain confidence. I became convinced, 
 in a way I am. not at liberty to explain, that you repented 
 of our engagement, and had given your heart to the 
 
LigM in the Coliseum. 471 
 
 •Countess of Schulemberg. I was too weak and faint- 
 hearted to see through the falsehood, and the conviction 
 that you had ceased to love me shattered my hopes. I 
 was so sinful I longed and prayed for death. Knowing 
 your high sense of honor, and fearing you would carry 
 out our engagement, even though you loved another, I 
 felt the possibility of my becoming a burden on your life. 
 I was fast going to the grave I so earnestly desired, when 
 mother learned the secret of my grief. I did not break 
 my promise to say nothing of what had been told me, 
 but I was so heavy-laden in my sorrow, I talked of you 
 in my dreams. 
 
 " Through her came a g?eam of hopeful distrust of the 
 statements which had been weighing upon me as a fear- 
 ful certainty. I determined I would come to Europe and 
 see you under another name, and if possible win your 
 love. It occurred to me you might not be loving an- 
 other, and still, in your dutiful regard for the wishes of 
 the family, be willing to fulfill our engagement. I was 
 determined to become your bride on no such grounds. 
 You must love me for myself and no other reason. Oh ! 
 Philip, I am so thankful I came to this determination. I 
 am now fully assured of your disposition toward me. I 
 came to Rome, for I knew you had not been here, and 
 you had written me you would be certain to do so. Mr. 
 Hastings had been a dear friend of mine in America, so I 
 told him all my story and plans, and he eagerly seconded 
 them. He adopted me as his daughter, and I had been 
 here but two weeks when we went to look at the Pan- 
 theon. I did not perceive you at first, and was silently 
 praying for our meeting, when I felt a strong convietion 
 of your presence, and,, looking around, saw you. Ola 
 
472 The Hews of St. Km*. 
 
 the joy of that moment! I felt that heaven had answer- 
 ed my prayer; but, from the eagerness of your glance, 
 fearing you had some suspicion of my identity, I looked 
 coldly upon you to destroy this impression. I saw, at the 
 embassy, that you did not recognize me, and regarded 
 this second meeting by accident as ominous of joy. 
 
 " I need not tell you now, dear Philip, that much of 
 Mr. Hastings* kindness and my own conduct, which must 
 have see-med strange to. you at times, has been prompted 
 by my desire to obtain a full confession of the love I 
 sometimes saw in your manner, but which you so reso- 
 lutely forbore to speak. I was in despair at your going 
 away, for I had really ascertained nothing but what you 
 had told Mr. Hastings; so when in your delirium you; 
 spoke of a double affection mysteriously divided between 
 Yenetia and Rosamond I was made happy in full assur- 
 ance. I desired the surgeon to let me tell you all, but 
 he said it might destroy your life in the excitement it 
 would create. I was afraid your friends would think me- 
 indelicate in my claims to watch over you when another 
 was in possession of your troth ; so, on the promise of 
 keeping my secret, I told them I was Rosamond Courte- 
 nay. Since your recovery I have been eagerly waiting 
 for an opportunity, but your silence concerning Rosamond 
 has puzzled me to tell you. I was a little hurt, dear 
 Philip, for fear you had almost forgotten the little girl 
 who so loved you in your regard for Venetia. You have 
 now shown me your truth and nobility, and I thank 
 heaven for all we have suffered — it has only strengthened 
 our love." 
 
 "•How long*" said Philip, " would you have left me in 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 473 
 
 this cruel uncertainty had I not determined to leave 
 you ?" 
 
 " This very meeting was planned by myself that I 
 might here tell you all. To this end I have written to 
 my mother anc] cousin Percival, who have been staying 
 with Count Orsini at Lake Como. They reached the city 
 this evening and are here." 
 
 They crossed the arena to one of the shrines where they 
 found Percival St. George and Mrs. Ccurtenay. When 
 the greetings were over the master of Vaucluse remarked, 
 
 " Philip I must congratulate you on this scenic denoue- 
 ment of the prettiest melodrama in actual life I have ever 
 had the good fortune to observe. You and Rosamond 
 have kept me holding my breath for months past.'* 
 
 "Well Philip," said Charles Loundes, 
 
 "Can these things be. 
 And overcome us like a summers cloud, 
 Without our special wonder?" 
 
 " What say you now ; shall we leave Rome in the 
 morning?" 
 
 " No," said Philip, " I have found the fair Rosamond 
 for whom I was to search. Charley I owe you something 
 for the pains you have taken to keep me in the dark, and 
 I will get Mariana to pay off ray debt when we reach 
 Ellesmere." 
 
 " Cousin Venetia," said Percival, " we are all too happy 
 to think of retiring sooner than the moon. I brought 
 your harp in the carriage, and you must help us to cele- 
 brate your happiness to-night. Though we are not at 
 the capitol, and have no bays ready for your coronation^ 
 
474 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 we can easily imagine you another Corinne if you will 
 sing us that pretty fantasy addressed to Philip." 
 
 Rosamond stood by the instrument, in the full glow of 
 the moonlight, and in her flowing draperies seemed some 
 noble priestess of extinct creeds reverenced in past ages. 
 She looked up to the great arches high above her, and 
 in a voice so full and rich all merriment was hushed into 
 silence, sang this 
 
 MIDNIGHT FANTASY. 
 
 "The stars of heaven are gleaming'" 
 
 On sleeping land and sea, 
 With all their bright rays teeming 
 
 With joy for you and me. 
 Oh love ! they seem, with each sweet beam, 
 
 To kiss the happy sea; 
 Their loving eyes look from the skies 
 
 Of deep infinity. 
 
 *'The stars of heaven are gleaming:' 1 
 
 Dear one I wake for thee ; * 
 Thou art .iear when I am dreaming 
 
 With thought and fancy free. 
 From this sweet home, to thee they roam, 
 
 Oh bear me gentle river 
 Unto his side — 1 am his bride 
 
 Forever and forever. 
 
 u The stars of heaven are gleaming " 
 
 Upon the distant lake ; 
 The swan has hushed her sereaming 
 
 Until the birds shall wake ; 
 The shadows deep now softly sleep 
 
 Upon the moveless tide ; 
 Its crystal waves in stilly caves, 
 
 The sportive Naiads hide. 
 
 "The stars of heaven are gleaming' 1 
 
 Amid the bowery glade ; 
 A nightingale is seeming 
 
 From Paradise estrayeel ; 
 How wild and free her melody, 
 
 Oh love ! this summer night 
 Would that ray lay could bear to thee 
 
 Such story of delight. 
 
Light in the Coliseum. 475 
 
 "The stars of heaven are gleaming:" 
 
 No sorrow of the day 
 Comes to me softly dreaming 
 
 Of my lover far away. 
 O'er hazy lea, and languid sea 
 
 From shilling realms above 
 With softer gleam, upon such dream, 
 
 Look down O scar of love ! 
 
 " The stars of heaven are gleaming," 
 
 In the castle's ruined hall 
 The moon beams soft are streaming, 
 
 Splendor through the creviced wall 
 The long light breaks, in snowy flakes, 
 
 Upon the marble stair ; 
 While starbeams sweet, with silent feet 
 
 Are swiftly dancing th'-re, 
 
 " The stars of heaven are gleaming" 
 
 'Long battlements on high 
 Where banners once were streaming, 
 
 And shrilled the battle-cry ; 
 In ceaseless glee, could we but see 
 
 The fairy armies go 
 Above the moat, they gayly float 
 
 To music soft and low. 
 
 "The stars of heaven are gleaming," 
 
 They glow with softer light, 
 The sad moon too is seeming 
 
 To faint witli fleeing Ni^rht, 
 To me they seem, some fading dream, 
 
 As golden morn comes on, 
 The breezes wake, upon the lake : 
 
 Another day is born. 
 
 "The stars of heaven are gleaming" 
 
 Oli Love within thine eyes ; 
 I know a light is beaming, 
 
 Whose death my soul denies. 
 It e'er shall glow, as round us flow 
 
 The full, joy-brimming years ; 
 I trust in thee, and Him we see 
 
 Alike through smiles and tears. 
 
 " The stars of heaven are gleaming," 
 
 The dew-washed willows weep 
 jNIists from each gorge are streaming 
 
 Where babbling runlets creep 
 Oh ! look, oh ! see how splendidly 
 
 Flames all the orient sky. 
 As star by star in realms afar 
 
 Fade slowly all, and die. 
 
476 Vie Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 The moon hung ver} 7 low on the horizon before the 
 party left the Coliseum. Philip had gone there with a 
 heavy heart, but left it serene and contented as any of all 
 the countless hosts entering and departing in the last 
 eighteen centuries. As he rode away in the carriage by 
 Rosamond's side, his glance lingered upon the vast arches 
 now more beautiful in the softened light of the sinking 
 moon, Earth had no promise of greater joy, 
 
The Wedding Bells. 477 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE WEDDING BELLS. 
 
 "That their exceeding mirth may not be told: 
 Suffice it here by signs to understand 
 The usual joys at knitting of love's bandi 
 Thrice happy man the knight himself did hold, 
 Possessed of his lady's heart and hand; 
 And ever, when his eye did her behold, 
 His heart did seem to melt in pleasures manifold." 
 
 ^The Faery Queen, 
 
 Ellesmere, in all its long history of alternate joy and 
 grief, bad never witnessed an occasion of such unalloyed 
 satisfaction as had been visible throughout the day in 
 every face belonging to the large establishment. Tbe 
 gloom which had come upon the stately homestead after 
 its double loss by death and the departure of the family 
 had disappeared on the return of the wanderers. On the - 
 previous evening the rooms at Thorndale cottage were 
 filled with friends to witness the bridals of Philip Eustace 
 and Rosamond Courtenay, and there was momentary ex- 
 pectation of the arrival of the wedding* party. It was a 
 general holiday among all the negroes of the family, and 
 they were showing by their uproarious hilarity how 
 much they sympathized with this return of joy to the 
 " white folks in the great house." 
 
 They had come by hundreds, not only from Grafton 
 and Blenheim, but Thorndale, Vaucluse and Ramillies 
 were nearly deserted, to allow them an opportunity of 
 participating in the feast of barbecued pigs and roasted 
 oxen. Fiddles and banjos were freshly strung for the 
 night's revel, and on every side were indications of 
 
478 The Heirs of Si Kilda. 
 
 boundless satisfaction among the joyous slaves. Thomp- 
 son still maintained his authority with no perceptible 
 dimunition of his huge stature. In so large a gathering, 
 where many were consulting him as the oracle in whose 
 response all their ignorance could be enlightened, he as- 
 sumed an importance equal to the occasion, and with 
 unfailing good humor answered a thousand questions. 
 
 "Unk. Thomson," said one, "how long 'fore all dem 
 folks down at Thorndale gwine to git here?" 
 
 " Well, Tony, to de best o' my information it will be 
 'twix sunset and dark." 
 
 " I've hearn say," said another, " ole master has done 
 and gin up everything to Mass Phil ; and all us niggers 
 down at Grafton belongs to him now." 
 
 "That's true as gospel, Luke," said Thompson, " ole 
 master tole me no longer dan las' week dat he and Miss 
 Henretta Courtenay was gwine to make over everything 
 to Mass Phil." 
 
 " Mass Percy tole us," said one from Vaucluse, " dat he 
 wanted everybody Mr. Earl could spare from tendin' to 
 de horses an' mules to come here to Mas. Phil's weddin'. 
 He said if nothin' happened Mass Phil was some o' dese 
 days boun' to be de master o' Vaucluse an' we colored 
 folks over dare." 
 
 Judge Eustace was opposed to any bridal tour on the 
 part of the new r ly-wedded pair. He thought they had 
 travelled enough, and they fully agreed with him. This 
 was the second night of a series of dinner parties and 
 evening entertainments in honor of the young people in 
 whose joy so many participated. Even Percival St. 
 George determined to disturb the solitude of his house 
 with the merriment of this festive occasion. Mr. Somer- 
 
The Wedding Bells. 479 
 
 ville and Col. Ridgely had also issued invitations, and 
 with all these merry-makings St. Kilda valley was half 
 mad with excitement. 
 
 At nightfall, as Thompson had predicted, came the 
 long retinue of carriages from Thorndale. Every room 
 in the house was lighted-up for the numerous guests par- 
 ticipating in the family joy. Friends had come from 
 distant homes to mingle in the gaieties, and boundless 
 satisfaction palpitated in every heart, Mrs. Eustace who 
 had drooped so much for the loss of Stanhope having 
 found the death of her remaining son had so shattered 
 the father that he needed all her native sunshine, con- 
 cealed her sorrows, and in the love she bore her grandson 
 not only participated in his enjoyment but transferred 
 much of her happiness to her very quiet and dignified 
 husband. Judge Eustace had not shown so much 
 satisfaction even at the wedding of his son Ash ton as 
 now in this union so long an object of his solicitude, and 
 at one time so jeopardised by the falsehood of Frederick 
 Corapton. 
 
 Philip, after his recovery, had examined the pistol with 
 which he was shot, and on its silver mounting he found 
 engraved the small initial letters F. C. The officer who 
 took his deposition had made this discovery, and showed 
 them to Philip, asking him if he had an acquaintance to 
 whose name they applied. The truth flashed upon his 
 mind, and on his return to America, having learned that 
 young Compton had followed Rosamond to Europe, he 
 was convinced of his villainy and complicity in the at- 
 tempt to murder. He never communicated this informa- 
 tion to Rosamond, knowing it would occasion her dis- 
 tress to think she had been even partially the cause of 
 
480 The Beirs of St. Kilda, 
 
 the life-long imprisonment to which the baffled abductor 
 and assassin was sentenced by the Roman tribunals. He 
 was unwilling to let the world know that any one, who 
 had ever hoped for the hand of his bride, had fallen so 
 low ; so the fate of the mad and guilty man was a sealed 
 mystery to those among whom he was reared. The elder 
 Compton, in spite of all his schemes, had been deprived 
 of the greater portion of his property, and with a small 
 remnant dishonestly fled from the country. The hand- 
 some residence and farm at Gatesley were now offered for 
 sale by those who had attached them, and not one of the 
 family remained in St. Kilda valley. 
 
 At Ellesmere were gathered many of those who have 
 largely occupied the earlier pages of this narrative. Ar- 
 thur Kean and his wife, formerly Ida Somerville, were 
 talking with Philip and Rosamond. The lawyer had al- 
 ready secured position at the bar, and by diligence and 
 probity was surely and steadily approaching the highest 
 honors of his profession. Mr. Grey was there, the most 
 cheerful and animated spirit of them all. In his sacred 
 functions he had knit the holy tie between the lovers, 
 and the good man seemed almost as much delighted in 
 this happy event as the bridegroom himself. He still 
 devoted his life to the humble flock long ago se- 
 lected as his spiritual charge, and with unfaltering zeal 
 had so far persevered in what he believed his special duty 
 toward them. At times unlooked for apostacies, as had 
 been exemplified in Isham, were repeated by others, and 
 thus brought sorrow to the heart of the faithful shepherd; 
 but he was too well satisfied with the good effected to 
 abandon them as incorrigible. 
 
 Percival St. George had slowly outlived the great sor- 
 
7U Wedding Bells. 481 
 
 row which had blighted his youth, and had become in 
 many respects as other men. While much of his time 
 was still spent in the solitude of Vaucluse, it grew out of 
 no disgust with the usual enjoyments of men. He did 
 not seek promiscuous communion, but by no means 
 shunned the usual interchange of neighborly cour- 
 tesies. His interest in Rosamond had overcome much 
 of his aversion to mingling with strangers. In his 
 efforts to console her in the midst of her gloom conse- 
 quent upon their visit to the sea-side, he had largely pal- 
 liated the sting of his own long treasured grief. He now 
 mingled with the gay throng with all his former grace of 
 manner. Alfred Ridgely and his affianced bride, Mae 
 Glancy, were also present. Honest Roger Earl was there, 
 too, to share in the festivities of the family he had so long 
 and faithfully served. Philip happened to be passing, 
 found him alone, and at his request Roger entered 
 the blaze of fashion and loveliness. He approached Rosa- 
 mond and congratulated the bride, who was, according to. 
 his statement, even more beautiful than Leonora Orsini's 
 portrait in the closed room at Vaucluse. 
 
 It would be difficult for persons who have dwelt in 
 other portions of the world to realize the joy and free- 
 dom from restraint pervading this large assembly. All 
 thought it their duty to make themselves as pleasant a& 
 possible, rightfully considering gravity and sour visages 
 as much out of place on such occasions as a death's-head 
 at a revel. The loveliness of the bride had never before 
 shone so transcendently above all competition. She ac- 
 cepted the duties incident to her central and supreme im- 
 portance in the throng with such charming grace, that 
 even Philip was surprised at her vivacity. The story of. 
 31 
 
482 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 her love and suffering being known to those present, it 
 elicited an admiration and fervor of regard which her 
 delicate perception recognized in those who half forgot 
 her dazzling beauty in the superior merits of pure and 
 passionate devotion. Philip's rescue of Sigismund from 
 the burning house in Germany, with his previous feats 
 of daring, made him a modern Guy of Warwick to the 
 people of St. Kilda valley. No theme could be dearer to 
 Rosamond than praise of him; and she was gratified on 
 every side, not only by the spoken truth, but the very 
 expression of mute< eloquent eyes unable to conceal the 
 pleasure of beholding his stalwart figure. Judge Eustace 
 with all his placidity of manner, could not conceal 
 .his satisfaction at this boundless esteem manifested 
 ion the grandson, in whose character and attainments he 
 "had ever been so absorbed. 
 
 Philip and Rosamond were all in all to each other, but 
 .had too much appreciation of the pervading sympathy 
 .surrounding them to fail in a proper recognition and re- 
 turn of the kindness. The young wife could now follow 
 the promptings of her heart without danger of forming 
 false hopes in the breasts of her male friends. She 
 had never known the usual weakness of pretty women in 
 .their love of admiration and had frequently blamed her- 
 self for declarations which in spite of her prudence fell 
 ,from the lips of those who had the pleasure of her radi- 
 .ant presence. 
 
 Charles Loundes and she were standing a little remov- 
 ed from the gay party, and she saw from the thoughtful 
 brow that something was engrossing his soul. 
 
 " You are looking," said she, " as if but half participat- 
 ing in the spirit of this closing scene of what cousin 
 
The Wedding Bells. 483 
 
 Percy calls our melodrama. Will you tell me, who 
 as Philip's wife am in duty bound to love you, how 
 I can put to flight that shadow from your brow?" 
 
 " Yes, Rosamond," said Loundes, " make Mariana love 
 me with half of your devotion to Philip, and I promise 
 you my face shall be a picture of happiness the remainder 
 of my life. I have endeavored to control my love for 
 her, for I see in spite of all her kindness she does not ap- 
 preciate it. I have resolved to make one last effort to- 
 night, and ask her once more to become my wife." 
 
 " I should be very happy, dear Charles," said Rosamond, 
 " if you and Mariana would love each other. I have not 
 failed in telling her how much Philip and I prefer you 
 to any one else as her husband, but I dare not encourage 
 you to hope. I think Mariana will never marry. She 
 lives in a sphere above our usual human reach. Beyond 
 her love for kindred and friends I do not believe she has 
 at all experienced the pleasure and pain which so early 
 visited me in my devotion to Philip " 
 
 " Rosamond," said Philip, approaching them, " the col- 
 ored people have requested me to take you to the scene of 
 their festivities. They wish to see the bride." 
 
 " Of course," said she, " we must comply with their 
 wishes." 
 
 " Now here's a young master and mistiss worth seeing," 
 said Thompson, who was waiting for them at the door. 
 " Mass Phil, our folks has axed me to invite you and Miss 
 Rosamond to please give us one look at you. We all 
 thinks it's good for sore eyes to git sight o' anything nice 
 as young mistiss. I was tellen' dem how 7 I seed her las' 
 night at Thorndale, a lookin' so much like de blessed 
 
484 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 angels ; an' dey all wants to see her in dem bride's clothes 
 she's got on now." 
 
 " Uncle Thompson," said Rosamond, "I am very much 
 gratified in your good opinion. Has Philip told you 
 how often we spoke of you when we were across the seas 
 among all those strange people in Europe ?" 
 
 " Yes, mistiss, Mass Phil, has told me all 'bout it, and 
 the heap of nice things you and he fetched for me and 
 Nancy made us de proudest niggers in de valley." 
 
 They had by this time reached the banquet hall of the 
 negroes, which was filled to repletion. The dancing had 
 been suspended on information of Philip's and Rosa- 
 mond's approach, and they came forward to pay their re- 
 spects to the young master and mistress in whose known 
 kindness they had ample earnest of future good treat- 
 ment. 
 
 " Mass Philip," said one, " I want you to fix up de 
 house an' you an' Miss Rosamond stay some down at 
 Blenheim." 
 
 " What you talkin' 'bout, Jack ?" said another, " of 
 course dey are gwine to stay all dare spare time down at 
 Thorndale." 
 
 " We shall visit you all frequently," said Philip. 
 " Uncle Thompson has enough horses to carry us around 
 the world." 
 
 " An' de best horses on de yeth," said Thompson. 
 " Miss Rosamond I wants to show dem to you. Mass 
 Percy keeps Hildebrand here, and Tempest is jes as good 
 as he was de day you seed him beat dat outlandish horse 
 o' Mr. Compton's. Den dares dem two fine fellers we calls 
 Hamlet and Exile, and if I was gwine to die de next 
 minit I couldn't tell which I likes best, dem or Selim and 
 
The Wedding Bells. 485 
 
 Rosamond what Mass Phil, fetched home wid him. 
 Mistis I'm afeard for yon to ride dat young mare yit. 
 Blanche is sure-footed enough for any ridin' you'll do, so 
 I want you to give her an airin' sometimes, for Miss 
 Mariana don't take to my horses much no how. Mass 
 Phil, is sorter tired o' old Sultan, but he's as good as ever. 
 He aint a day older dan Gray Friar he gin to Mr. Kean ; 
 an' he rides him to dis day." 
 
 " I hope to ride Black Sultan many times more, Uncle 
 Thompson," said Philip, "but I should hate to give him 
 such a day of it as when we followed the dogs from Satan's 
 Nose to below the stone bridge." 
 
 " Mass Phil," said Thompson, " Kitty showed me dat 
 same varmint when I was over dare yistirday, an' he 
 looks pint-blank like he did 'fore a dog's mouth ever 
 siled him. I should be feard o' hurtin' Sultan myself; 
 but some ole horses can stand a heap o' hard ridin'. Dare 
 was old Marlboro good most to de day o' his death, an' it 
 takes a horse as is a horse to carry me. Pve bin ridin' 
 one o' dem lumberin' coach horses dat I counts mighty 
 near next to nothing 'cept tis to pull a carriage full o f 
 ladies. Mass Phil. I hope you aint gwine to give up de 
 country to de foxes now you's married ?" 
 
 " Oh no, we shall stir them up often," said Philip, " and 
 you will find it as hard a matter to follow Plamlet and 
 Selim as you ever did Black Sultan if you take a coach- 
 horse into the fields." 
 
 "Well master," said Thompson, "lam gittin' so ole 
 an' heavy I carry too much weight for dem thorough- 
 breds. I am glad you like de young dogs, for now 
 Sweetlips an' Ringwood is both dead, I was afeard you'd 
 think my trainin' won't good when you was gone." 
 
486 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 Philip assured him he was in every way satisfied with 
 his attention, and with the bride returned to the drawing 
 rooms. The negroes were dazzled in the splendor of the 
 gentle beauty, for she seemed to them a being almost de- 
 serving their worship. The riddles and banjos recom- 
 menced, and soon the clatter of resounding feet told of 
 fresh life and mettle in the sable dancers. What a care- 
 less, half-reasoning race were those contented slaves of 
 St. Kilda valley? with no thought for the morrow, they 
 passed through life as if care had no part in their organ- 
 ization. 
 
 As the night wore on Charles Loundes determined 
 more strongly on renewing the suit, in which he had 
 such slight hope of success. Mariana never seemed so 
 beautiful to him as on this occasion. He had not on his 
 return from Europe been pressing in his solicitations, for 
 he had spent the larger portion of his time since that 
 event at home with his mother, and he had but recently 
 returned to witness the marriage of his friend. He well 
 knew that in case Mariana accepted him her family would 
 have no objection to their marriage. His talents and 
 good character, together with the high position and 
 wealth of his lineage, made him worthy of any woman's 
 choice. To all these recommendations was added his 
 long friendship for Philip. They had been for years to- 
 gether in strange lands, and were now loth to be separ- 
 ated. He had no doubt of the esteem in which he was 
 held by the object of his devotion, but her strange im- 
 munity from usual faults seemed to have rendered her 
 superior to any necessity of communion with others in 
 hours of depression. Mariana was entirely removed from 
 any such ills as grief and melancholy, and knew 
 
The Wedding Bells 437 
 
 nothing of those dim and unaccountable hours of dejec- 
 tion often incident to her own sex. Her only distress was 
 an occasional suggestion of her own heart that she was 
 not sufficiently absorbed in her devotion to heaven. No 
 earthly pleasure or care obstructed her view of the celes- 
 tial courts, and there centered the sources of her cloudless 
 serenity. The organ she still so much used was under 
 her touch the utterance of some beautiful prayer. She 
 had confessed this one evening to Rosamond when no one 
 but themselves was present. 
 
 " Mariana," said Rosamond, " what is passing through 
 your soul when you are making that wild and solemn 
 music?" 
 
 " Rosamond," said she, " I can scarcely tell you how I 
 feel when alone with my organ. It has become the voice 
 of inv soul, and I come here to forget the world. I can 
 then express things my tongue is powerless to utter. I 
 know God can understand all my longings, whether they 
 assume the form of words or ascend in this other incense 
 of worship." 
 
 Rosamond, with all her devotion, could not rise to the 
 comprehension of this complete abstraction of a soul sur- 
 rounded by so much to bind it earthward. She was too 
 much absorbed in Philip to understand how a world, so 
 gloriously beautiful to her, should become of such small 
 moment to a lovely young woman like Mariana. She 
 had once tired of life, and longed for oblivion and rest; 
 but she now shuddered at herself for entertaining such 
 sinful disregard of her duty. Mariana's blindness had 
 not been without its lessons. She had come to the light 
 again, but was unwilling to forego one atom of former 
 consolation. Had she been of the opposite sex, and lived 
 
488 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 in sUch an age, she would have realized the beautiful 
 character of Sir Galahad ; 
 
 "A Maiden knight — to me is given 
 
 Such hope, I know not fear ; 
 I yearn to breathe the airs of heaven 
 
 That often meet me here. 
 I muse on joy that will not cease, 
 
 Pure spaces clothed in living beams. 
 Pure lilies of eternal peace, 
 
 Whose odors haunt my dreams." 
 
 Charles Loundes and Mariana were standing in the 
 opened bay-window of the central drawing room. The 
 moonlight fell upon their faces, and the happy voices of 
 the katydids were busy in their night-music. 
 
 " Philip and Rosamond/' said Charles, " are so happy I 
 almost envy them. A singular succession of happy inci- 
 dents have combined to render him contented with his 
 lot. Everybady seems to love him, and when I first met 
 Rosamond as Venetia Hastings, I was confident she could 
 not remain indifferent to him. Think you this Don 
 Giovanni, as we sometimes call him, could have won your 
 love had you not been his sister?" 
 
 " Oh, yes," said Mariana, " I should have loved him for 
 his noble nature, just as I regard you, dear friend, because 
 you are true and good. I am easily won by those I ad- 
 mire, and wonder why you should ask me if I should not 
 esteem Philip as every one else does." 
 
 " I do not refer to friendship, Mariana," said Loundes. 
 "One can have manv friends, and esteem them all. I 
 mean that greater and more absorbing devotion which 
 has been separated from mere good-will and well defined 
 in the term — love." 
 
 " I understand you," said Mariana, " but, at the same 
 
The Wedding Bells. 489 
 
 time, I fail to appreciate your meaning. I can easily 
 realize how I might become attached to one for other 
 reasons than admiration of his goodness, but I could 
 never see why Rosamond should have been troubled 
 when she thought Philip was loving another. -I am sure 
 the Countess of Schulemberg was worthy of his regard." 
 " Oh! Mariana," said Loundes, " if you were fully aware 
 of the despair I feel in hearing that declaration amid all 
 this joy ; I know in your heart you would pity my suffer- 
 ing. I met your brother when I had been just shot down 
 and preserved, almost by a miracle, from death. I was 
 in the midst of a wild, unthinking course of vice and 
 folly ; but learning lessons of wisdom from him, became 
 another being. Great as was the change, there has been 
 and still is abundant room for improvement ; but when I 
 first met you, I was impressed with the idea that you 
 were fore-ordained to the work of my further regeneration 
 and disenthralment from the empire of evil. I accepted, 
 with all joy, this promise of my own rash heart. I was 
 confident I should find peace and happiness in your 
 presence, could I but call you mine. For more than a 
 year I kept these fond hopes locked in the recesses of my 
 breast, and it was not until we were nearing the close of 
 our voyage to Europe that I told you of my love. From 
 your kindness, I hoped I was not indifferent to you, and 
 in that trust found my happiness; but you destroyed 
 much of hope even then. I consoled myself in the fact 
 of your youth and affliction ; trusting that when you had 
 grown to full womanhood and the free use of your dear, 
 darkened eyes, I might yet find my joy. That expecta- 
 tion has never forsaken me since ; and, whatever I seem 
 to others, you have been present in all my thoughts. As 
 
490 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 I studied to make myself worthy of you, your image fol- 
 lowed me through all the mouldering cities of the East; 
 and I have brought this love, still fresh and ever increas- 
 ing, again to your notice. Can 3-011 fail to appreciate the 
 value of such an offering? Can this devotion of my heart 
 not stir some answering throe in yours? In the name of 
 your goodness and pity for all things else, do not over- 
 look this necessity I feel for your love." 
 
 " Alas ! my dear friend," said Mariana, " how unhappy 
 you make me in speaking thus. I have not hidden my 
 love for you, and after all my assurances you seem dis- 
 satisfied. You have been almost as dear to me as Philip, 
 and with him } r ou have been ever in my pikers; how 
 then can you think me indifferent to what you call your 
 necessity for my love ?" 
 
 The moonlight was streaming through the window 
 upon the two, and the lover, with bowed head, was fast 
 surrendering those hopes which had hitherto, with doubt- 
 ful effulgence, illumined his dim glimpses of the future. 
 Sore and bitter was the ta^k in thus uprooting from his 
 heart a trust he had considered so feeble. He remained 
 silent for a minute, as he felt that the golden gateway of 
 bliss was being closed upon him forever. 
 
 " Mariana," said he, " if I loved you less, I might be 
 capable of persuading you that with these sentiments of 
 sisterly regard you have expressed for me, there was still 
 affection enough to warrant our marriage. I shall urge 
 no such plea. While I believe your esteem is greater 
 than that which leads to most marriages, I cannot think 
 of degrading the holiest and sweetest of ties to such a 
 level. In this relation there should be some such devo- 
 tion as seen in Philip and Rosamond. I have been too 
 
The Wedding Bells. 491 
 
 long in sight of the Aidenne of their jo} T , not to have 
 caught some of the roseate hues streaming through the 
 open portals. I dare not, with all the love I bear you, 
 ask you to become my wife without feeling some of the 
 importunate necessity I experience for your presence. In 
 reaching this determination, my sensations are those of 
 some despairing seaman perishing amid the sea with the 
 isles of the blest in fall view, but ,alas, forever unattain- 
 able!" 
 
 w You will some day smile as you remember this fervor, 
 dear friend," said Mariana, "and when you shall marry 
 a fair girl who can appreciate these feelings which seem 
 so strange to me, you will rejoice that I have not con- 
 sented to assume duties'for which I have no inclination." 
 
 "I shall never marry," said he, "until I can teach my 
 heart to regard you as nothing dearer than a friend. 
 "When I shall have accomplished this I shall look around 
 me in the world fur some one in whose love I can expect 
 repose and happiness. To accomplish this task of self 
 mastery I shall not, like a coward, fly from your presence, 
 for it will ever be one of my dearest pleasures to behold 
 you in your goodness and beaut\\ I feel no trace of re- 
 sentment that you have not loved me as I desired, for it 
 has been no fault of yours. You have lived too close to 
 heaven not to have lost much of earth, and you are too 
 exalted for me to disturb your serenity by sjmipathy with 
 my poor joys and griefs. My greatest consolation is the 
 thought of the slight possibility of another winning 
 the prize which I feel is beyond my reach." 
 
 "You may rest safely assured in that trust," said Mari- 
 ana. "If I have refused to marry you, so long dear to 
 my thoughts, there is small prospect of change in my 
 
492 The Heirs of St. Kilda. 
 
 determination. You possess all the qualities which I 
 have seen engaging the affections of other girls around 
 me, and, if after endeavoring to realize similar feelings 
 toward you, I have failed in this, the season of our youth, 
 I am confident my disposition will remain unaltered in 
 riper years. I have long examined my heart to see if I 
 was so disposed toward you as to justify me in becoming 
 your wife. While there was pleasure in the contempla- 
 tion, I was all along convinced I possessed but little of 
 the attachment which would fit me for your bride. So 
 we will be the dearest of friends. I am very glad to hear 
 you have purchased Mr. Compton's place, and as you will 
 live near us I know I shall love your mother." 
 
 " She has consented to come to the Valley of St. Kilda 
 as her future home," said Loundes, " and will be doubt- 
 less very fond of one she has hoped to call daughter. 
 But that is all past now; help me to bury these dead 
 hopes out of our sight, and if in coming years these fond 
 dreams which have followed me to so little purpose shall 
 steal up unbidden, you shall only see them in the passing 
 glance. I expect they will sometimes revisit me in the 
 pale glimpses of the moon, but they shall come and go 
 as silently as ghosts, and like those flitting shadows of 
 the night shall fly before the sunlight of my reason and 
 determination." 
 
 " Bravely and manfully spoken, dear Charles," said she. 
 " Persevere in such resolution and we will both be happy 
 in our love as friends." 
 
 They left the moonlit seclusion of the window, and 
 mingled in the flowing happiness of the merry dancers. 
 The quiet stars looked down with the same aspect of 
 eternal and changeless beauty they wore on the evening 
 
The Wedding Bells. 493 
 
 of tlieir creation. What difference could it make in the 
 universe, whether joy or woe filled the haunts of men ? 
 What was even the sum of all life in one planet to the 
 countless worlds thronging the vast spaces of infinity? 
 
 " These our actors 
 As I foretold you, were all spirits, and 
 Are melted into air, into thin air, 
 And, like the baseless fabric of this vision, 
 The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, 
 The solemn temples, the great globe itself, 
 Yea, all which it inherits shall dissolve ; 
 And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, 
 Leave not a rack behind : We are such stuff 
 As dreams are made of, and our little life 
 Is rounded with a sleep/' 
 
 THE END,