CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER VIII.Onewould hardly recognize in the tall youth the little boy that cried so when called away from the party, but times and persons change a great deal in seven years. Ned Cheyleigh is still my bosom friend, nobler, truer and moremanly, if a soul such as his can know any degree of improvement. Frank Paning and myself, after innumerable quarrels and make-ups, have grown somewhat intimate, partly from the fact that our families are near neighbors, and partly because we are thrown together so constantly at school, being the only two members of a Latin class. He has lost much of his boyish rudeness, and when it is politic is kind, obliging and pleasant, but I still often feel in his presence the old sensation of repulsion. Lulie is still the bone between us, though with infinite tact she contrives to preserve the balance of feeling. Frank thinks he has the best of the contest, and I often am obliged to think so too, though generally my conceit and vanity keep my spirits up. Thus much for relative position as regards each other. And if, reader, you have become interested in us sufficiently to desire to see us personally, I will endeavor to give you our pictures. First, then, is Ned, a rather stout, thick-set figure; round open face, with large very blue eyes, firm mouth—not expressed so much in the lips as in the set of the teeth beneath them; brownish dark hair, which, though always kept short, always looks dishevelled; nose the least prominent feature in his face, though straight and well formed; his whole face expressing so much integrity of conduct and candor of meaning, that Campanella would have sworn by him without ever hearing him utter a word, though there was not as much depth in it as a man of the world could have wished for. Frank was almost his exact opposite, and much the handsomer of the two. His form was very tall for his age, and graceful; his hair jet black, and curling crisply over a well shaped head; his nose slightly aquiline and long; his mouth, with very white teeth, was always a little curled, either with a smile or a sneer; and, whatever his state of feelings, it ever wore one of these expressions, their only variation being an increased intensity. His eyes were rather small, very black, yet showing a great deal of white in theiroblique glances. He always looked straight at you in ordinary pleasant converse, or when he thought he had you at a disadvantage; but when himself in the inferiority, his glance was down and aside, in fact every way but into your eyes. For instance, he could never look his teacher in the face when arraigned for a misdemeanor, yet he would gaze steadily at a comrade while accusing him of wrong. And it was a frequent jest in school that when Frank Paning’s eyes fell he was under “hack.”But to give you an exact idea of Lulie Mayland is beyond my power. I can describe well enough her bright sunny face, with its clear hazel eyes, its dimpled chin and pouting lips, and her cheeks with the roses coming and going with almost every word; but I cannot describe the effect of the thoughts that seemed to be ever coming up from her soul to her face, yet never uttered. There was always something more beneath those eyes you longed to know. If she looked and expressed sorrow for a misfortune, you knew, as you gazed into her face, there was a vast well of sympathy untold. If she laughed, and laughing was her life’s most constant phase, you felt that it was only the bubbles of mirth, that its springs were yet to be sounded. And in my intercourse with her I always felt there were two Lulies—one on the surface, a bright laughing girl, with a warm sunny heart, whom I loved dearly, and who I sometimes thought loved me; the other was a far more radiant being, whose face was beneath the first Lulie’s, and whose shadow or likeness she constantly wore, though never distinctly enough to be perfectly recognized. And this last Lulie was the idol of my heart—she whom I adored so unceasingly, and yet who I knew deep in my heart never loved me.I would not affect mystery with this duality; I simply wish to present an idea of one of those faces we sometimes see—faces that, strive how they will, by word and look, can never express all their meaning; faces that, from their verysecrecy, so to speak, possess a power we either dread or love. Lulie’s power over me I loved; and loving, hoped one day to attain to the love of her inner soul.Mr. Cheyleigh possessed a beautiful residence on the Sound, about eight miles from Wilmington, and Ned invited Frank and myself to spend the vacation with him. What an Elysium it was for us! Horses, dogs and boats at our command! Every nook of the Sound was explored in our fishing, crabbing and shrimping excursions; every swamp and lake invaded in our search for summer game. But of all our pleasures the greatest was to go over to the beach and take the surf. The delicate votaries of fashion at the watering places know nothing of its real luxury. Swathed in flannel and buoyed by ropes they strangle through the tortures of a dip, and declare it charming. But to go beyond the reach oflorgnettes, to disrobe entirely without fear of the sun’s tanning, to trip lightly over the cool moist sand, and plunge into the great tossing ocean, is to really enjoy the thing.But now we are in; we find our depth, and wait for the wave. Ah, here it comes! A great green fellow, crumbling towards the shore; a smooth, glassy valley before it, and its white crest curling proudly in its power. “Here it is! how it rustles! turn your backs! now spring!” and the next instant, swept from our feet, we ride the great monster to land, where he throws us high upon the sand, and sinks back to his watery domain, with a growl for our intrusion.With our numerous sports time passed all the more rapidly, and we were preparing to return home. The evening previous to the day appointed was a dark and threatening one. A heavy blue bank lay in the west, and though the sun, as he passed beyond it, had thrown across it a bright golden fringe, it refused to be propitiated, and sullenly waited till he had disappeared, when it loomed blackly up, while the constant quivering of the lightning, and the distant, heavy jarring of the thunder told that a storm of noordinary magnitude was brewing. After tea Mr. Cheyleigh went out on the back piazza to smoke, while we boys took our seats on the steps, and in subdued tones told tales of the awful effects of lightning, and its affinity for isolated houses like Mr. Cheyleigh’s. The cloud had now reached half way up the heavens, and its dark line was distinctly marked on the blue of the sky. A few brave little stars were twinkling defiantly in front of it, though the bright evening star had long since sunk behind its folds. It grew very dark, so that all objects in the yard were invisible, save when for an instant illuminated by the greenish flickering glare of the lightning. We at length caught the dull roar of the distant wind, while the leaves gave their premonitory rustle, as a poor frightened little zephyr fled to them for refuge. We heard the tap of Mr. Cheyleigh’s pipe, and saw the fiery sparks fall from the railing and glow a moment or two amidst the grass, then a few great drops of rain pattered down on the steps, and we rose and entered the house. Windows were pulled down, shutters were fastened, and doors were closed. Another shake among the trees, and then came the shedding, gushing sound of the rain as it fell in torrents, while the wind in all its fury burst upon us. The house cracked, the windows shook, and the corners howled in the terrific blast, while the window sashes clashed back and forth in their slides, as if the storm would burst in the very panes. The lightning showed through the blinds even with the lamps lighted, as if it was broad day out doors, every other second, while the thunders filled up the intervals of darkness with repeated peals, each of which seemed vieing with its predecessor in stunning, deafening sounds.We all gathered around the lamp stands in silence, and looked into each other’s faces, with eyes wide open from apprehension. Mrs. Cheyleigh had two of the smaller children in her lap, their heads buried in her bosom, and herhead resting down on theirs, to keep from seeing the lightning. Mr. Cheyleigh was trying to read, but at every severe peal of thunder would take down the paper and press his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, as if muttering a prayer to himself. The dining room maids were standing back against the wall, their hands folded under their white aprons, and their heads leaning together as they whispered and snickered about their sable beaux. At length Mrs. Cheyleigh spoke, her voice having a very solemn and liturgical tone:“Mr. Cheyleigh, isn’t this an awful storm?”As if in applause of her question, a burst of thunder, louder than any before, rolled across the sky, and fell off somewhere in the distance with a terrible thump and a long deep growl.“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Cheyleigh, taking his fingers from his eyes to tear off a corner of his newspaper and put in his mouth; “I have not known so strong a blow as this for several years.”“I trust,” said Mrs. Cheyleigh, raising her head from the children, with the prints of their heads on her cheeks, “that there is nothing like this to-night at the Springs, where Gertrude and Ella are.”“Nonsense, my dear,” said Mr. Cheyleigh smiling a little, “this storm only extends a few miles along our coast. I fear for the vessels, though, if there should be any in reach of this wind.”“Oh, ‘twould be frightful, indeed, to be on the water such a night as this. I hope every ship is safe in some harbor,” answered Mrs. Cheyleigh, laying her hands on the little heads in her lap, as if they were two little ships, and her arms were their harbor. Aye, they were! Live how or where we may, life’s ocean has no surer shelter from its storms than a mother’s arms; and if early in our voyage this harbor is closed up by the tomb rocks, we only beat about as best we may till we anchor in the vail!Mr. Cheyleigh now rose, and going to the window, shaded his eyes with the palms of his hand, while he gazed out into the darkness. Turning into the light again, he said:“I think the danger of the storm is over now, only the rain is falling. As amusements are out of the question I think the children had better go to bed.”Mrs. Cheyleigh accordingly raised the two little ones from her lap, they getting up with their hair over their eyes, which they kept half shut, as if afraid of another blinding flash of lightning. As they left the room with their attendant, we sat down to the table and made a hasty supper, and after that took our lamps and retired.In our rooms we undressed, and laying down commenced to talk over the subject of lost ships and rescues. The thunder had moved so far off as to be scarcely audible, though the pale reflected lightning still flickered through the shutters. The wind was still very strong, and drove the heavy rain drops with sharp clicks upon the window panes, as if a million little storm sprites were trying to kick the glass in with their tiny feet. As we lay there, our imaginations filled with the horrors of the sea, we performed enough feats in fancy to have made bankrupt all the humane societies by our demands for medals.We saved from watery graves enough fair women to set up a larger colony of Bacchæ than Euripides ever sung, or Tennyson jailed in his Womans’ Rights College. We brought off enough treasure in our lifeboat to give every ass in the nation a pair of gold ears, which, in the present condition of affairs, would require more of the precious metal than a Briarean Midas could ever touch into existence with all his hands.After saving several fleets larger than the Armada we at length got to sleep. Once I awoke under the impression that I heard a cannon shot, and listening I heard three distinct booms, at intervals of a minute or two; but as thelightning was still glimmering I concluded it was the thunder, and, getting a little closer to Ned, dropped to sleep again.When we went down next morning we found that the storm had left strong marks of its violence everywhere. The yard was washed into gullies and trenches, and strewed with the limbs and leaves of the trees and bunches of mistletoe. One side of the garden paling was blown down, and the rose bushes and shrubbery torn and bent. Down at the stables the water was standing in great yellow pools, in which were floating the shingles and pieces of board torn from the roofs around. The horses and mules were all wet on their backs and manes, where the rain had beat through after the shingles were loosened. The cattle were all drenched, and looked as melancholy, as they stood around the fences with their sleek dripping coats, as if they had been bereaved. The chickens, as well as the dogs, had their tails drooping down instead of erect, a sure sign that they were out of spirits, and nothing in sight seemed to have enjoyed the storm except an old black and white Muscovite drake, who was washing his muddy feathers in a muddy puddle of water near the gate, fluttering his wings, bobbing his head, and whispering, in the greatest glee, to his lady, who was waddling around the edge, followed by a little brood as yellow as if just hatched from the famous golden eggs.The corn, as far as we could see, was lapped and twisted in the rows, while the rice was lying flat as before a sickle. The sky was still overcast, and great shaggy masses of cloud were drifting rapidly southward, as if ashamed of the havoc they had made. Here and there for an instant shone little patches of blue sky, which kept coming and going all the morning, increasing each time in size, till at noon the sun shone brightly out, jeweling the foliage, gilding the landscape, and even condescending to paint a tiny spectrum on each glistening blade of grass.After dinner Ned proposed that we go over to the beach, and see the effect of the storm there. As it took us some time to get our boat ready, and the wind was against us, we did not get to the beach till late in the evening. The clouds had all been bleached by the sun to fleecy whiteness, and now, taking their gorgeous orange vestures from the wardrobe of the West, they ranged themselves like Titanic sentries to guard their monarch’s couch.Far away toward their domain stretched a verdant panorama of washed and fresh looking forests, white, nestling cottages and the wimpling sheen of the Sound. We turned to the grand old ocean, who would not be so easily appeased. The scowl of his fury still lingered on his face, and he lashed the shore in sullen though subsiding rage. The parting sun threw over his angry countenance a shimmering veil of gold, but could not hide the frown. Yet ‘twas wondrous pleasing to behold the myriads of sunlit bubbles, sparkling with rainbow helmets, mount their billow steeds, and, in a long, regular line, come charging to the shore. As fast as one squadron was dashed upon the immovable sand, that lay like a great yellow dragon before them, another succeeded; and, like the victims of Peter the Hermit’s and Bernard’s fanaticism, these millions of little crusaders were wasted on a fitting type of the desolate East.After contemplating the scene for some time, we began to search up and down the beach for signs of wreck or objects tossed ashore. Something far down the beach caught our eye, and we all hastened toward it, wondering what it could be. There was a dark object, whose shape we could not make out, and near it a bright scarlet something. Curiosity lent wings, and we flew over the distance. Frank Paning was rather fleeter than Ned or myself, and outran us by many yards. We saw him, as he reached the objects, raise both hands and turn towards us with a face full of horror. In a moment we were at his side.Before us, on the sand, lay two figures still and cold. One was the form of a little girl, lashed to what appeared to be the door of a ship’s cabin. She was bound closely to it with ropes, and was lying with her bloodless cheek pressed down upon the rough panels. Her garments seemed to be of very fine material and make, though now drenched with sea water; over her shoulders was clinging a scarlet cape or mantle, which was the red spot that had attracted our notice. At her side was strapped a curiously carved steel box, now heavily oxidized by the salt sea.The door and its human freight had been cast high up on the shore; but, tied by one wrist to the knob of the door, lower towards the water, stretched the figure of a man. He was lying on his face, which was so much sunk in the yielding sand that we could only observe his hair, which was long and gray. His form was tall and large, and clad in a black suit of clothes; around his waist was strapped a broad belt of leather, to which, if anything was attached, we could not see it, as the ends must have been beneath him. Ever and anon a wave would break on the shore, and, as if mocking its victims, come rustling up the sand, covering the half buried feet, floating the clinging clothes, on and up, till it lifted and waved like moss the dank gray hair, then sink, sighing, back to the sea; while he lay there, so heedless of all, stretching the cord-bound hand, with its blue, water-shrivelled fingers, appealingly yet protectingly, toward the child on the door.We gazed long, with all the silence of horror, at the sad spectacle, and with agitated looks at each other. I at length spoke:“Boys, what must we do? They ought to know of this at Mr. Cheyleigh’s.”“Yes, indeed, they ought,” said Ned. “Let’s go over and get the negroes and the big boat, and carry both bodies home.”“Do you reckon they are both dead?” whispered Frank.“They must be,” returned Ned, looking at them both attentively. “The man is, I am sure; for, if not dead before, the water washing so constantly over him since he has lain here would have drowned him.”“Let’s see, any way,” said I; and we all three stooped to lift the man first. Not without a shudder did we touch the cold, clammy flesh, as we strove to drag him up from the water’s edge. His weight was too great for us, clogged as he was with sand and water, and we could only move him up the bank a foot or two, and turn him over on his back. We cleaned the sand as well as we could from his mouth, nostrils and eyes—the faded blue balls of the last being so thickly covered with the fine, sharp grains that we had to wipe them very hard with our handkerchiefs—at least Ned and I did; Frank vowed he wasn’t going to put his handkerchief in a dead man’s eyes, just to get the grits out.We then left the man and tried the girl with better success. We cut the cords that held her to the door, and lifted her up; Ned supporting her head as tenderly as a woman. Never had I dreamed of such beauty! Her face was as colorless as marble, but showed more perfectly for that its exquisite outline; her temples were chased with a network of blue veins that were brought out more distinctly by the cold water she had been in so long. Her eyes were closed, but the lids atoned by their rose-leaf texture and long black fringe. Her mouth was partially open, as if gasping, but made up for this slight disfigurement by disclosing a set of the clearest, smoothest teeth. But, though each separate feature was beautiful, there was a look about them when combined that baffles all description. Perhaps her beauty was enhanced by her romantic surroundings; but I could not help thinking, as she lay there so passive and still, that the angel who had borne her soul away had been trying onthe faces of heaven, to see which would suit her best, and had forgotten to take off his fairest.As we looked on in silent admiration, Ned placed his hand upon her forehead, and exclaimed with great animation:“Look here, John! her flesh does not feel like the other’s—it is cold, but not so clammy.”A touch confirmed his remark; for while her hands and forehead were icy cold, there was not that peculiar deathlike clamminess or inelasticity about them that tells so infallibly that the soul has departed, and we drew hope from this circumstance that she might yet live. We ran at the next wave and caught our hats full of water, which we dashed into her face, without stopping to reflect that she had perhaps had enough of water for the present. We loosened her clothing as delicately as possible, and began chafing her hands and arms. Our anxiety to revive her made us almost drown her again with our hats of water, and in our eagerness we rubbed the tender flesh almost raw on her hands and arms.In the midst of our efforts Ned, who was supporting her, exclaimed:“Look! look! she drew her breath.”We gathered excitedly around and watched her closely, but her face was still marble—no sign of life in its pale outlines! After we had gazed a long while in the most intense suspense, a quick spasmodic gasp came through her parted lips, and a quiver played over her eyelids.What a moment for our heroism! We felt that we were saving from the monster sea a fairer being than ever Palamon and Arcite tilted for. Beowulf, conquering the hideous Grendel, felt no more chivalric pride than did we, as our lovely waif lay with fitful breathings in our arms.At length her respiration became more regular, and her eyes slowly unclosed. “Eyes” is a meagre word for themagnificent black orbs turned so timidly and wonderingly upon us; they probably served the commonplace purpose of vision, but the pleading eloquence of their look, and the emotions of fear and amazement which were almost audible in her gaze, declared their primary object to be expression.Turning them restlessly from one to another of us, and failing to recognize any one, she closed them, as if in pain. Ned now ventured to speak, though we were almost afraid he would scare the soul away again that had been so hardly persuaded to return.“Are you suffering now? Don’t be alarmed, we are all friends.”Again she opened her eyes, looked wildly at him, then suddenly seemed to come to consciousness. With a frantic look of horror she cried out: “Oh, padre! padre! oh donde està mi padre!” and other frantic sentences, in a language unknown to us, and strove to rise to her feet. Ned and I assisted her, and she stood up on the sand. It was most unfortunate that she did so; for, as she gained her feet, her eyes fell on the corpse near the water, and, with a soul-piercing shriek, she sank to the earth, and all our efforts to revive her again were unavailing. As it had now grown quite dark we intended to hurry across the sound and tell Mr. Cheyleigh. Our sail boat being very small, it was thought best to leave one of us with the body, and to take the little girl in the boat over to the house. As it was not a pleasant solitude by any means, we drew pebbles to see who should remain, and it fell to my lot. Accordingly, Ned and Frank took up their fair burden, and promising me to make all the possible haste they could, went slowly up the banks to their boat. I saw them lay their charge down gently, hoist the sail and glide away in the darkness, and I was alone with the dead. The sun had long since gone down, and the red tinge of the sky was paling into the dusky gray of twilight. Far up and down thebeach the dreary waste of waters grew drearier in the deepening shades, and the darkness fell so fast that when I looked up at the sky for a moment, and then turned to the sea, an hour seemed to have elapsed when measured by the increase of gloom. The sail of Ned’s boat at last disappeared behind a point of land, and there was nothing for me to watch but the dead man’s face and the moaning, tossing waters. It was now too dark to distinguish his features; there was only the ghastly white shape of his face, that, as I gazed so long upon it, seemed to make hideous grimaces at me—now sneering at my timidity, now opening its faded eyes to glare at me for having sent the little girl away; now shutting one eye and opening the other, sometimes reversing the face, putting the eyes in the chin and the mouth in the forehead; sometimes disappearing entirely, then suddenly coming back as white as ever. I would have fled up the beach, but I was afraid the corpse would spring up and run after me. And the whole scene was full of death! The stars seemed dead men’s eyes, the sob of each wave was a dying groan, the white foam caps were dying faces, struggling for life, and a white gull, flying across the sky, was a cloth from the face of a corpse.Suddenly a light came over the waters, and I looked up to find that the moon, at its full, was raising its great yellow disc from the waves. As if in kindly sympathy with me, the light came dancing over the burnished sea, but ceased its gambols at the shore, and threw its wan radiance over the dead face.With the light I grew bolder, and rose and stood by the corpse, to see if it had moved. But it was lying as we had placed it, without a quiver in the face; and again I sat down upon the sand. Looking over the sound I saw Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat coming, and the rapid flash of the dripping oars told that it was speeding well. Inexpressibly relieved, I went down to the landing and stood there, as unconcernedas if I had been pleasantly entertained on the beach. The rigging rattled as the sails came down, the keel grated on the sand, and Mr. Cheyleigh, Ned and Frank, and four stout negroes got out and went to the body. They wrapped it in blankets, laid it in the bottom of the boat, and with a stiff breeze and strong oars we soon glided under the shadow of Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat house. Ned, Frank and I sprang out and ran ahead to see about the little girl.Mrs. Cheyleigh was up in her chamber with her, and we could see only two or three excited negroes, who could tell nothing. We soon heard the negro men coming up the steps with their loaded, faltering tread, and we followed them into the back parlor, where, under Mr. Cheyleigh’s direction, they deposited their burden, smoothed the blankets over him, and marched out, picking up their hats from the corners of the doors, where they had thrown them as they came into the “gretouse.”Mr. Cheyleigh then went up stairs to aid Mrs. Cheyleigh while we turned into the dining room, where they were just bringing in supper.“I wonder what will be done with her if Mrs. Cheyleigh succeeds in bringing her to?” said Frank, as we took our seats near the open window.This was something we had not thought of, and we were somewhat startled by the query; as we considered her ours by right of discovery, and her disposal, consequently, a matter of importance to each of us.“I suppose,” continued Frank, “she’ll have to go to the Orphan Asylum.”I repudiated the idea with indignation.“Never!” I said warmly; “if her friends do not come forward and claim her, I will get father to adopt her, as he has no other children beside me.”“Oh! perhaps you will,” said Frank, with something of a sneer in his tone; “any way I claim an interest in her, and will have her for my sweetheart.”“You had better first learn whether she is alive or not,” said Ned, reprovingly.The waiting maid, Tildy, here interrupted us:“Marse Ned, supper’s ready; you reckon your mar’s gwine to come down?”“She don’t want none, nohow,” said Winny, another maid, coming into the room. “I jes come outen her room and she was a rubbing the little gal with brandy and mustard.”Tildy again put in, half to Winny and half to us:“I wonder how come dey never stood de man on his head to let de water run outen his mouth?”“Sheer! what you know ‘bout it, gal?” rejoined Winny, giving her a push on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “I tell you what, doe Tildy, dey ain’t no poor bokra; de little gal had on de finest underclose I ever see, mo’ lace and stuff all round ’em; and when mistis was undressing her she taken off her neck er big gold chain with er locket hung to it. I taken it up and looked at it, and it’s got a whole heap er sets in it, dat shines wors’n mistis’s breastpin.”Mr. Cheyleigh here entered the room and said:“Winny! your mistress wants a cup of hot tea and some toast carried up to her immediately. Come to the table, boys, Mrs. Cheyleigh will not be down to-night.”We sat down to the table, but could not eat for eager questions. Mr. C. informed us that, after much rubbing and many stimulants, the little girl had become conscious, and had been able to speak. She had addressed Mrs. C. at first in Spanish, but, on hearing her give some order to the servants, inquired if Mrs. C. spoke English, and learning that she did, used our language quite fluently. Mrs. C. had gotten her to bed and was trying to keep her from talking. She had, by a few questions, learned that the little girl was a Cuban; that her name was Carlotta Lola Rurlestone, and that she was lost from a ship the night before. She was constantly asking for her father, and Mrs. Cheyleigh hadthought it best not to tell her of his death, but had evaded her queries as best she could. She was under the influence of an opiate now, and Mrs. C. wanted the house kept quiet.After supper we had food enough for conversation till a late hour, when we retired only to dream of shipwrecks, and corpses, and half drowned girls.At the breakfast table the following morning we were glad to meet Mrs. Cheyleigh, who was able to give us still more news about our little protégé. She told us she seemed much better, though feeble; that she recollected the scene now, and was weeping violently about her father’s death; that her mother had been dead several years; that her father was a native of New Orleans, and that he and she had started to this country to spend the summer, as was their custom; that they had stormy weather for several days, and been driven somewhat from their course, and when the violent storm came on it was said that the ship was sinking; that her father had lashed her to a cabin door he had wrenched off, and, that he might not get separated from her, tied his wrist to its knob. He threw her into the water and tried to follow, but was jerked over by the weight of the door, and fell, striking his head violently against it. He seemed to be stunned, as he made no motion afterwards, but drifted about with the door, his face down in the water and his whole body sometimes out of sight. That the ship was soon blown off and out of sight, and that her agony was so great, as she saw her father drowning, and could not move to help him, that she had become insensible, and had known nothing more till she was in Mrs. Cheyleigh’s room, though she remembered faintly seeing strange faces around her as in a dream.“She is in constant distress about her father,” continued Mrs. C., “but I hope that, with proper care and attention, she will recover. Mr. Cheyleigh has sent to town for Dr.Mayland, and also for the Coroner, who will hold his inquest as soon as possible.”Very soon after breakfast the Coroner arrived, and his jurymen began to drop in one by one.We went out to the back piazza, where they were assembling, and walked among the crowd, listening to a confused jargon of questions in regard to the crops, wonderful tales of the ravages of the late storm, and surmises as to the drowned stranger, and the probable verdict that would be rendered.The Coroner was a middle aged man, of great self-importance, who evidently thought an inquest a work of as great moment as a national negotiation. He took but little interest in the conversation of the others present, though he occasionally addressed some words to Mr. Cheyleigh, who was sitting near him. After considerable delay, and the assemblage of a large crowd of people, he pulled out his great fat silver watch, and said slowly:“Well, I reckon we had as well begin. The morning is getting on smartly. Where is the body, Mr. Cheyleigh?”Mr. Cheyleigh led the way, the Coroner and his jury following in single file till they reached the parlor. They crowded round the table to get a view of the corpse, all leaning forward, and holding their hats and hands behind them, as if they were tied there. The tall men looked on, while those small in stature moved round and round, vainly endeavoring to find a gap in the crowd to peep through.The usual form of selecting and empanelling the jury was gone through with, and the Coroner commenced to examine the witnesses. Mr. Cheyleigh was first sworn.“Mr. Cheyleigh,” said the Coroner, walking his chair backward on the two hind legs a step or two, to gaze better at Mr. Cheyleigh through a pair of very broad rimmed silver specs, “will you please to state all you know about the finding of this body.”Mr. Cheyleigh came forward very gravely, and proceeded to relate his knowledge of the affair with a declamatory style, and with such long words that I did not know whether he meant to confuse the Coroner by using language above his two-syllable comprehension, or was acting under the common impulse of human nature to display proficiency in any department which has not been attained by those listening.“The first information,” he began, with a salutatory wave of his hand, “which I received of the discovery of the bodies was imparted to me by my son and his friend. Immediately on receipt of this intelligence I took the large boat, and with some of my negroes we rapidly made the transit of the Sound. Their report of the melancholy catastrophe was unhappily confirmed, for in close proximity to the water’s edge lay this body. Edward and Frank brought the little girl over with them when they came for me, and Mrs. Cheyleigh has succeeded in resuscitating her. The man had apparently been inanimate for a period of some length, as his flesh had undergone considerable contraction from contact with the water—at least was contracted around the bones and features; the body proper was very much distended. He had been tied by one hand to the door of a ship’s cabin, though the boys had cut the cord. I placed the body in the boat, and brought it where you now see it.”The Coroner moved his head up and down, slowly at first, then faster and in shorter spaces, till it came to rest, like a spring pendulum, as who should say:“Just as I expected; all just as I expected;” and then, with a look of legal sagacity that would have adorned an Ellenborough, asked:“Did you bring the door over with you?”“I deemed that altogether unnecessary, but I took from the man’s waist a pouch containing some money and one or two checks for large amounts on New York houses. I alsofound a very fine watch and chain; the upper lid of the watch bears a bouquet of diamonds and the initials H. V. R. Here is the watch and pouch.”He passed them to the Coroner, who examined every part as minutely as if he were identifying stolen property, and having satisfied himself that the articles did not belong to him, passed them on to the others, who each examined them in the same critical way.“What, then, Mr. Cheyleigh,” resumed the Coroner, after they had all finished their tedious examination of the articles, and returned them to Mr. C., “do you think was the cause of his death?”“Strangulation, sir, from the influx of water into the larynx, and the consequent exclusion of air.”“Exactly—exactly, Mr. Cheyleigh; that will do, sir. Did you say your son found the bodies?”“He and two of his friends.”“We can examine him, then?”“Certainly, sir.”Ned was a little confused as he came forward, and kept passing his hand nervously over his tumbled hair. The Coroner assumed a mild, patronizing air, and said:“Well, my son, what can you tell us of this affair?” Ned swallowed once or twice, and began:“After the storm, John Smith, Frank Paning and myself thought we would go over to the banks and take a view of the ocean. When we got over the sky was fair, but the——”“Never mind about the sky, my son,” interrupts the Coroner, “just tell what you know about the dead man.”“Well,” resumed Ned, with a long breath, and another swallow, “John Smith saw them first, and we all ran to them and tried to move the man, but found him rather heavy, we then cut the cords, and lifted up the little girl——”“Stop! stop! don’t tell about the girl, let us hear about the man.”“I don’t know anything particular about him, except that he was dead.”“How was he lying when you found him?”“His feet were in the water and his face was in the sand. One arm was doubled under him so, and the other—the one tied to the door knob—was stretched out so.”Ned here attempted to assume a descriptive attitude.“Did the knot appear to have been tied by himself or somebody else?”“It was a slip knot, and could have been fastened by himself.”“Did he lie as if the water had washed him up, or somebody had placed him there?”“I think he was thrown up by the waves, sir.”“You didn’t see any tracks or boat marks about?”“No, sir.”“That will do. I don’t think it is worth while to examine anymore witnesses. Gentlemen, you can make up your verdict.”We accordingly left the room, while twelve good citizens endeavored most earnestly to ascertain what they already knew—the manner of the dead man’s death.When we got out we found Horace waiting for Frank and myself with the carriage and horses.We packed up our valises, made Ned promise to come to see us, left a kiss for our little foundling, and were soon rolling towards home.Father and mother were as much interested in my news as I could have desired, and as I dwelt upon the beauty of the little girl and her lonely condition, I saw by the tear in mother’s eye, and the serious shade on father’s face, that I had made an impression. After recounting all in as vivid terms as I could command, I begged father toadopt her, offering as arguments many facts which he perhaps knew as well as I: that he was able to do it; that she would not be a great expense; that she would be company for mother when I was away; that I wanted a sister just like her, and would love and care for her tenderly, and wound up by declaring I would rather starve than have her sent to the Orphan Asylum.“Well, well, don’t be so impatient, my son,” said father, relapsing into a smile, “even if I were inclined to adopt your suggestion there are many preliminaries to be arranged. I must see Cheyleigh, as she is now under his charge, and I must write to her friends in Cuba, where you say she came from. Then, perhaps, she may not be willing to come and live with us. You will have to restrain your eagerness till your mother and I consult about what is best to be done.”I was obliged to rest content with this. I went down town in the afternoon and recited to every acquaintance I met our wonderful adventure. The sun was nearly down when I was interrupted in the midst of my narrative by a servant, who came to tell me that there was a lady at home who wished to see me. I wound up my story and hurried home, wondering who it could be. To my utter surprise and pleasure I found Lulie Mayland in the sitting room, looking prettier and brighter than ever. She smiled delightfully when I pressed her hand and said, with a little blush:“It’s strange, isn’t it, for a lady to call on a gentleman? but you must excuse me now. Pa has just returned from the Sound and has been telling me about the little girl you found. My curiosity was so excited I determined to come to see you and learn all about it, as you would not call and tell me. Promise me you won’t think strange of it.”“Oh, Lulie, the bare idea of such formality between old friends!” I said, taking a seat near her.“Well, we will not deem it a breach of form for the sake of old times.”“What a pity it is,” said I, half musing, “that people grow older and colder in their natures. We were so happy as children. Do you remember the day in the nursery, long ago?”“Yes, I believe I do; but tell me about your Sound adventure now, I am all impatience to hear that.”I detailed minutely every circumstance connected with the affair, and dwelt particularly upon the little girl’s superb beauty, hoping thereby to raise a spark of envy in Lulie’s heart, for I was piqued at her only believing to remember about the nursery scene. As I pictured to her the wavy black hair, the gazelle like eyes and chiselled features of Carlotta, I thought I detected a glance towards the opposite mirrors, where her own tumbled curls and merry blue eyes were reflected. When I had concluded she sat for some time in thought, then softly said:“No father—no mother—no home!”I knew then that envy found no room in a heart so full of pity and love.“What is to be done with her?” she said, at length.“I don’t know; I am trying to get father to adopt her, and I think he is half inclined to do so.”“Oh, that would be splendid,” she said, brightening at the thought; “I could see her so often, and we would be such dear friends. Do beg Col. Smith to bring her here.”“You may rest assured I will do my utmost, if it is only to get you over here sometimes, as you now have to make formal explanations for a single visit.”“Indeed, I expect you have other motives for your petition. Somebody’s heart, perhaps, aids somebody’s lips in begging.”“Never!” I said, with great emphasis; “she is truly lovely, but there is only one heart in the world I care to——”“I am very much obliged to you, Johnnie, for your narration,” she said, rising to go, “it has interested me very much.”“The obligation is mine,” I said, with a profound bow, “for your kind attention. ‘Twas really a pleasure to talk with such a listener.”I escorted her home, and sat with her some time on the stoop, and felt more than ever that I was completely her slave. She seemed to have thrown around me an inflexible chain, one which I could not bend to get nearer her heart, and one which I could not break to get away. Every word of her conversation was so chosen that, while it kept alive my hopes, it did not satisfy them, and yet she skilfully permitted no word of love making to pass between us; all was carried on by innuendo; and, when I bade her good evening, I felt convinced that she did not love me, but dreaded to wound me by the disclosure.CHAPTER IX.“John, I saw Cheyleigh in town to-day, and we have arranged all the matters about bringing up your sister, as I suppose you will call her, to live with us. Your mother and yourself must go down for her in the carriage the day after to-morrow.” Thus spoke father, as he pushed his chair back from the tea table, about a week after my return from the Sound.I deemed it dignified only to say, “Yes, sir.”“My dear,” he continued, addressing mother, and taking a cigar from his case, “you have some clothing getting ready for her, have you not? As she didn’t bring her baggage on the door I presume her wardrobe is scanty, so much so that she can exclaim, with the fallen Cardinal:‘My robe,And my integrity to Heaven, is allI dare now call mine own.’”“Oh, Col. Smith,” said mother, reproachfully, “do not jest at her misfortunes.”“Not jesting, my dear, not jesting; but, since poor Wolsey’s time, I suppose she is the only one who could boast any integrity, when limited to a single robe. However, we have not proved her yet—Wolsey may still be alone.”“That is worse than jesting,” returned mother, with a smile the good Samaritan might have worn, “you are blotting her with suspicion before you have ever seen her.”“We will assume, then, for your good hearted sake,” said father, blowing out the words on each side of the cigar he was lighting, “that she is an angel, and let her prove her wings.”“I am sure that she will,” said mother, as she rang her table bell for the servants to clear off the tea things.The next day was one of preparation, and the room intended for Carlotta was fixed up like a fairy bower. The morning after, mother and I were whirling rapidly toward the Sound in our open carriage, the top thrown back to catch the fresh breeze. What a pleasure was such a drive on such a morning, with such horses, through such scenery, on such an errand!Neither of us spoke, but leaned upon the side cushions of the carriage, listening to the rapid trample of the horses’ feet and the singing of the wheels over the level roads as we flashed along; now through slim, quiet woods, where the sunshine drove away the shade from half the ground; now through thick luxuriant trees, grouping themselves with dense foliage-curtains around dark unrippled pools, where Artemis could have bathed with perfect modesty, and from which, now, a lonely heron, startled by our wheels, slowly rose with his blue noiseless wings; now through a swampy hollow, where the laurel poured from its white cups exquisite perfume, and now through the solemn forests, where thepatriarch oaks waved their gray moss-hair, and the towering pines stretched their broad arms benignly over all, as if to invoke a blessing from the blue heavens above.At last Mervue, as Mr. Cheyleigh’s place was called, with its long avenue of oaks, came in view, and in a few moments our horses, lathered with foam, were prancing with unspent fire at the door. Mrs. Cheyleigh, Ned and two of the children, with Carlotta, met us at the steps. Mrs. Cheyleigh had told her of our coming, and her great speaking eyes were turned inquiringly upon us. Mother did not wait for introduction or salutation, but rushed forward and clasped her in her arms. Carlotta seemed in an instant to sound the depths of mother’s tender love, and her first touch was an electric flow of sympathy. Throwing her arms around mother’s neck she burst into convulsive sobbing. It touched every one present. Mrs. Cheyleigh wept; Ned turned into the house with his handkerchief to his face, while I, trying to hide my emotion, was ruthlessly plucking and snapping the tendrils of a jasmine that was clambering over the sides of the porch—little Sue Cheyleigh, in the artless curiosity of childhood, walking around to look at my eyes, in order to discover whether I was crying or not. The first paroxysm of grief over, mother gently released Carlotta, and Mrs. Cheyleigh, with that half hoarse tone which always succeeds tears, invited us in. Carlotta grasped mother tightly by the hand and we followed Mrs. Cheyleigh into the house. Having now an opportunity to observe her closely, I found that Carlotta was not such a little girl as I had supposed—being, in fact, nearly as old and as large as Lulie. Mother, Mrs. C. and the children taking seats in the large, cool sitting room, Ned and myself went out to the stables to see about the horses. When I returned to the sitting room I found mother and Carlotta alone—Mrs. Cheyleigh having excused herself for a short time to attend to domestic affairs. Mother was sitting near an open window, gently stroking Carlotta’shead, which lay confidingly in her lap. They were talking, and, not wishing to interrupt, I took my seat quietly near them.“And you are willing to come with us and be our child?” mother said, bending over her.“If you all are willing to take me,” said Carlotta, “I will try to deserve your love.”“We love you already, my darling child, and will love you more and more each day.”“I believe you, and trust you, ma’am; but oh! my father, my dear, dead father! how I wish that I were with you in the ground!” and the poor child broke down into sobbing.“Hush, dear,” said mother, gently; “do not speak so; God has seen fit to spare you——”“I know He has, but I wish He had not; ‘twould be far sweeter than life to lie by father’s side, though it is cold. But oh!” she continued, raising up her head to look in mother’s face, and taking her hand, “I am so ungrateful to you; you are so good to offer me a home, and yet I shrink from going where I have no right to go, except the right of your kindness.”“That shall be the surest right of all,” said mother, kissing her forehead; “but you must not feel dependent. We do not take you because we pity you, but because we want just such a daughter to live with and love us.”“Then, will you promise me, ma’am, if you ever tire of me, that you will send me away? You can do it without unkindness, because papa had a great deal of money, and you can pay some one to take care of me. Will you promise me?”“Yes, dear, I will promise you to send you away whenever we get tired of you. But, in the meantime, I do not want you to feel humble in our home, as if you were a charity child. Col. Smith has examined your father’s papers, and finds that you are possessed of considerable wealth.He has written to your father’s agent, who was named in the papers, and to the American Consul at Havana. He will probably go to Cuba himself next month, to see about the appointment of a guardian and the settlement of your estate. Have you no relatives at all there?”“I have a cousin, who lives on the other side of the island, but I have not seen him since I was a very little child. Mother was an orphan, like myself, and came from Spain to Cuba with an old uncle, who died after she was married to papa. We had many acquaintances, but no relatives anywhere in the island except the cousin I have spoken of. I have heard papa speak of having relatives in New Orleans, but I do not know their names.”“Well, you are composed now; try to remain so. Do not give up to those sad feelings when you feel them coming on.”“I do struggle hard, Mrs. Smith, to keep from crying; but whenever I commence thinking about the evening of the storm—and I cannot help thinking about it—I remember how happy papa and I were sitting together in our state room, and, though the wind had been high for a day or two, we felt so secure, for the steamer was thought to be the strongest one on the line. I remember so well his holding me by the hand, and saying:“‘I think the wind is lulling, Lottie, bird; we will be safe to-morrow.’ And then came that terrible cry that the ship was sinking; and we ran together out on the deck, only to find the crew in a panic, and the storm wilder than ever. Papa dragged me back to the cabin, tore off the door, tied me to it, and—— Oh! I cannot, cannot think of it without crying. Do not blame me, I cannot help it.” And her eyes filled again, and her lip quivered with suppressed feeling.“Dear child, you know I do not blame you; only try by every means to keep your mind from reverting to the painful scene. I will not offer consolation now, for I well knowhow deceitful it sounds to the bereaved to hear those who are not, quoting scripture passages to recommend resignation and submission. The beautiful sacred words are meant as a sympathy, not as a teaching. When your lips are lifted farther from this cup of gall we will go together to the Fount of Life and drink its sweet waters.”Mrs. Cheyleigh now returned to the room, and the conversation, ceasing between mother and Carlotta, became general. So many and varied were the topics to be discussed that the morning passed rapidly away; dinner came on, and the afternoon siesta, in hammocks swung in the verandas, where the sea breeze came cool and refreshing, was enjoyed, when the sinking sun reminded us that it was time to order the carriage.When Carlotta came to tell Mrs. C. good-bye, and thank her for her kindness, she had nearly lost control of herself again, but, with an effort, she kept her tears back and entered the carriage. The shadows which had been hiding from the sun all day around the roots of the trees were now stretching out at great length, and spreading into all kinds of fantastic shapes, though they still kept the trees between them and the glaring eye they dreaded so much. The scenery through which we passed was all drowsiness, instead of the vivacity of the morning. The sun had gone down and the twilight was fading when we stopped at our door. Father and Lulie Mayland were standing on the stoop, waiting for us. Father took Carlotta in his arms out of the carriage and pressed her to him tenderly, while I was helping mother out. Lulie was then presented to her, and, after a kiss and embrace, they went up the steps hand-in-hand, as fast friends as if they had known and loved each other from their birth. We went into the dining room, where early summer tea was already laid. Carlotta did not wish anything, and mother withdrew in a short time with her. After the silence that succeeded, for a few seconds,their retirement, father said (and I knew by the twinkle in his eye he was enjoying the thorns on which I sat):“Lulie,” sighting at her with one eye through his iced tea, “I am afraid you will have a powerful rival in Carlotta. You must secure all your beaux with double chains or she will steal them away. I think one is proving recreant already, if I may judge from the glances of admiration he lavished upon her just now at the table.”My face was crimson, and the consciousness that it was so made the hue only deeper. To be teased about the girl I loved, before her face, by father, too, was the very climax of embarrassment to me. I glanced at Lulie, and found her not in the least disconcerted.“Oh, John is so fickle,” she replied, laughing, “that I can never count on him for more than a day or two. If he deserts me, however, I shall not be desolate, as I have several others under my thumb, you know.”Embarrassment is very much increased by being contrasted with coolness and ease, and mine received a tenfold impulse from Lulie’s light way of treating the matter.“Really,” continued father, “you are quite a belle; but I am surprised that John should have withdrawn so easily from the contest. I thought you had more perseverance, my son. Surely, you did not encourage him, Lulie?”“Yes, indeed I did, but he was not to be caught, and I have given him up as a hopeless case.”I vainly endeavored to swallow my confusion with large gulps of tea; the tea somehow slipped by and left the confusion sticking in my throat, but I managed to jerk out the words:“If you ever gave any encouragement I did not know it.”“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed father. “Very good, my son, very good. But suppose she were to offer encouragement now, would you come back? Try him once more, Lulie. I would enjoy the courtship very much.”“I am willing,” she said, demurely; but I thought I detected a smile towards father, as if they were in conspiracy.“Now, John,” continued father, “she says she is ready, and will return a favorable answer. How will you commence? Don’t blurt out ‘I love you!’ as that would be unexpected and sudden; come to it gradually, and the slower you are in getting to the point the surer will your answer be ‘Yes.’”I could stand it no longer, but rose from the table and walked from the room, not, however, before hearing Lulie say:“I don’t quite agree with you, Col. Smith. I can’t bear a slow courting fellow. If he loves much it won’t take him long to tell it. There! you have run John off. I like him ever so much, only he is very timid.”I went out and sat on the stoop in no pleasant frame of mind. I was provoked with father for teasing me; I was provoked with myself for being teased, and I was provoked with Lulie for not being teased.“She cannot love me or she would not treat the matter so lightly,” I soliloquized, grinding white circles on the brown stone with my boot heel. “She thinks me timid, too; I’ll prove my boldness the first opportunity I get.”Father and Lulie now came out and sat down, but no further allusion was made to the dining room topic. We spoke of our intended trip to the plantation near Goldsboro’, and Lulie agreed, if her pa was willing, to go up and spend the remainder of the summer with us, as it would be very pleasant for her to be with Carlotta. After talking for some time of the pleasures of the country, Lulie rose to go, and I, of course, accompanied her.So far from proving my boldness I walked by her side in awkward silence till she spoke.“Why did you let your father tease you so to-night, Johnnie?”“He didn’t tease me,” I returned, with Munchausen mendacity. “I didn’t care a straw for what he said, only I did not choose to be spoken of so before a lady.”“I’ll wager Frank Paning would not have been disconcerted,” she said. “He has more self-possession than any one I ever saw.”“I don’t care what in the thunder Frank Paning has; I don’t want to be like him,” I said, savagely.“I did not intend to offend you, sir; I am obliged to you for your escort thus far, but, since you are so incensed, will need your services no farther,” she said, very quietly, taking her hand from my arm.“I beg a thousand pardons, Lulie; I was rude and hasty, but so many constant allusions to Paning irritate me beyond measure. He must be very dear to you from the repeated mention of his name.”“Oh, no, that does not follow at all. I think very well of him, as he is attentive and kind; but here we are at our gate; won’t you come in?”“Thanks! not to-night. Let me ask pardon again, Lulie, for my very harsh words on the way.”“Do not mention it; ‘tis forgotten with me. Good night!”My feelings, as I walked homeward, were very much mingled. There was always pleasure and pain in being with Lulie. Young as she was she already possessed consummate skill in swaying the feelings—now by some bewitching word or look raising your hopes, then dashing them to earth by some sarcasm, or worse, an allusion to some other favorite. She had reduced her game to a science, and always pitted special rivals against each other. Frank was sure to be my thorn. A single remark, evincing a preference for him, was enough to disturb my equanimity for an evening. So, in my thoughts this evening there was pain, yet a sweet pleasure, too, in the reflection that, in our retired country seat up in Wayne, I would have her all to myself;that I could see her every day, and talk as long and freely as I chose, with all the adjuncts and concomitants of love—woods, birds, brooks, bowers, meadows and moonshine.Just as I reached our gate I met Frank Paning himself, hurrying up street to his home.“Hello, John!” he said, lightly, as we stopped, “where have you been? Over to the Doc’s, I suppose. I am getting jealous. Lulie must be looked to.”“There is no danger,” I replied; “you are certainly the idol there.”“Oh, you tell me that to blind me, but I know a thing or two. By the way, how is our little foundling. I heard to-day that your folks had brought her here to raise up as a wife for you. I suppose you wish to train her up to suit you, so she will not have to learn your ways after marriage.”“You heard a most infamous falsehood, then, and you can tell your informant I said so,” I replied, the blood rushing to my face.“Well, don’t get mad about it; I was only joking. I want to call on her; when will she receive company?”“Not in a year or two,” I said, emphatically. “She is going up the country next week, and will not return till the fall, when she will commence school, and be closely occupied with her studies.”“I see it is plain you fear rivals. I will not trouble you.”Before I could reply he was gone.

CHAPTER VIII.Onewould hardly recognize in the tall youth the little boy that cried so when called away from the party, but times and persons change a great deal in seven years. Ned Cheyleigh is still my bosom friend, nobler, truer and moremanly, if a soul such as his can know any degree of improvement. Frank Paning and myself, after innumerable quarrels and make-ups, have grown somewhat intimate, partly from the fact that our families are near neighbors, and partly because we are thrown together so constantly at school, being the only two members of a Latin class. He has lost much of his boyish rudeness, and when it is politic is kind, obliging and pleasant, but I still often feel in his presence the old sensation of repulsion. Lulie is still the bone between us, though with infinite tact she contrives to preserve the balance of feeling. Frank thinks he has the best of the contest, and I often am obliged to think so too, though generally my conceit and vanity keep my spirits up. Thus much for relative position as regards each other. And if, reader, you have become interested in us sufficiently to desire to see us personally, I will endeavor to give you our pictures. First, then, is Ned, a rather stout, thick-set figure; round open face, with large very blue eyes, firm mouth—not expressed so much in the lips as in the set of the teeth beneath them; brownish dark hair, which, though always kept short, always looks dishevelled; nose the least prominent feature in his face, though straight and well formed; his whole face expressing so much integrity of conduct and candor of meaning, that Campanella would have sworn by him without ever hearing him utter a word, though there was not as much depth in it as a man of the world could have wished for. Frank was almost his exact opposite, and much the handsomer of the two. His form was very tall for his age, and graceful; his hair jet black, and curling crisply over a well shaped head; his nose slightly aquiline and long; his mouth, with very white teeth, was always a little curled, either with a smile or a sneer; and, whatever his state of feelings, it ever wore one of these expressions, their only variation being an increased intensity. His eyes were rather small, very black, yet showing a great deal of white in theiroblique glances. He always looked straight at you in ordinary pleasant converse, or when he thought he had you at a disadvantage; but when himself in the inferiority, his glance was down and aside, in fact every way but into your eyes. For instance, he could never look his teacher in the face when arraigned for a misdemeanor, yet he would gaze steadily at a comrade while accusing him of wrong. And it was a frequent jest in school that when Frank Paning’s eyes fell he was under “hack.”But to give you an exact idea of Lulie Mayland is beyond my power. I can describe well enough her bright sunny face, with its clear hazel eyes, its dimpled chin and pouting lips, and her cheeks with the roses coming and going with almost every word; but I cannot describe the effect of the thoughts that seemed to be ever coming up from her soul to her face, yet never uttered. There was always something more beneath those eyes you longed to know. If she looked and expressed sorrow for a misfortune, you knew, as you gazed into her face, there was a vast well of sympathy untold. If she laughed, and laughing was her life’s most constant phase, you felt that it was only the bubbles of mirth, that its springs were yet to be sounded. And in my intercourse with her I always felt there were two Lulies—one on the surface, a bright laughing girl, with a warm sunny heart, whom I loved dearly, and who I sometimes thought loved me; the other was a far more radiant being, whose face was beneath the first Lulie’s, and whose shadow or likeness she constantly wore, though never distinctly enough to be perfectly recognized. And this last Lulie was the idol of my heart—she whom I adored so unceasingly, and yet who I knew deep in my heart never loved me.I would not affect mystery with this duality; I simply wish to present an idea of one of those faces we sometimes see—faces that, strive how they will, by word and look, can never express all their meaning; faces that, from their verysecrecy, so to speak, possess a power we either dread or love. Lulie’s power over me I loved; and loving, hoped one day to attain to the love of her inner soul.Mr. Cheyleigh possessed a beautiful residence on the Sound, about eight miles from Wilmington, and Ned invited Frank and myself to spend the vacation with him. What an Elysium it was for us! Horses, dogs and boats at our command! Every nook of the Sound was explored in our fishing, crabbing and shrimping excursions; every swamp and lake invaded in our search for summer game. But of all our pleasures the greatest was to go over to the beach and take the surf. The delicate votaries of fashion at the watering places know nothing of its real luxury. Swathed in flannel and buoyed by ropes they strangle through the tortures of a dip, and declare it charming. But to go beyond the reach oflorgnettes, to disrobe entirely without fear of the sun’s tanning, to trip lightly over the cool moist sand, and plunge into the great tossing ocean, is to really enjoy the thing.But now we are in; we find our depth, and wait for the wave. Ah, here it comes! A great green fellow, crumbling towards the shore; a smooth, glassy valley before it, and its white crest curling proudly in its power. “Here it is! how it rustles! turn your backs! now spring!” and the next instant, swept from our feet, we ride the great monster to land, where he throws us high upon the sand, and sinks back to his watery domain, with a growl for our intrusion.With our numerous sports time passed all the more rapidly, and we were preparing to return home. The evening previous to the day appointed was a dark and threatening one. A heavy blue bank lay in the west, and though the sun, as he passed beyond it, had thrown across it a bright golden fringe, it refused to be propitiated, and sullenly waited till he had disappeared, when it loomed blackly up, while the constant quivering of the lightning, and the distant, heavy jarring of the thunder told that a storm of noordinary magnitude was brewing. After tea Mr. Cheyleigh went out on the back piazza to smoke, while we boys took our seats on the steps, and in subdued tones told tales of the awful effects of lightning, and its affinity for isolated houses like Mr. Cheyleigh’s. The cloud had now reached half way up the heavens, and its dark line was distinctly marked on the blue of the sky. A few brave little stars were twinkling defiantly in front of it, though the bright evening star had long since sunk behind its folds. It grew very dark, so that all objects in the yard were invisible, save when for an instant illuminated by the greenish flickering glare of the lightning. We at length caught the dull roar of the distant wind, while the leaves gave their premonitory rustle, as a poor frightened little zephyr fled to them for refuge. We heard the tap of Mr. Cheyleigh’s pipe, and saw the fiery sparks fall from the railing and glow a moment or two amidst the grass, then a few great drops of rain pattered down on the steps, and we rose and entered the house. Windows were pulled down, shutters were fastened, and doors were closed. Another shake among the trees, and then came the shedding, gushing sound of the rain as it fell in torrents, while the wind in all its fury burst upon us. The house cracked, the windows shook, and the corners howled in the terrific blast, while the window sashes clashed back and forth in their slides, as if the storm would burst in the very panes. The lightning showed through the blinds even with the lamps lighted, as if it was broad day out doors, every other second, while the thunders filled up the intervals of darkness with repeated peals, each of which seemed vieing with its predecessor in stunning, deafening sounds.We all gathered around the lamp stands in silence, and looked into each other’s faces, with eyes wide open from apprehension. Mrs. Cheyleigh had two of the smaller children in her lap, their heads buried in her bosom, and herhead resting down on theirs, to keep from seeing the lightning. Mr. Cheyleigh was trying to read, but at every severe peal of thunder would take down the paper and press his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, as if muttering a prayer to himself. The dining room maids were standing back against the wall, their hands folded under their white aprons, and their heads leaning together as they whispered and snickered about their sable beaux. At length Mrs. Cheyleigh spoke, her voice having a very solemn and liturgical tone:“Mr. Cheyleigh, isn’t this an awful storm?”As if in applause of her question, a burst of thunder, louder than any before, rolled across the sky, and fell off somewhere in the distance with a terrible thump and a long deep growl.“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Cheyleigh, taking his fingers from his eyes to tear off a corner of his newspaper and put in his mouth; “I have not known so strong a blow as this for several years.”“I trust,” said Mrs. Cheyleigh, raising her head from the children, with the prints of their heads on her cheeks, “that there is nothing like this to-night at the Springs, where Gertrude and Ella are.”“Nonsense, my dear,” said Mr. Cheyleigh smiling a little, “this storm only extends a few miles along our coast. I fear for the vessels, though, if there should be any in reach of this wind.”“Oh, ‘twould be frightful, indeed, to be on the water such a night as this. I hope every ship is safe in some harbor,” answered Mrs. Cheyleigh, laying her hands on the little heads in her lap, as if they were two little ships, and her arms were their harbor. Aye, they were! Live how or where we may, life’s ocean has no surer shelter from its storms than a mother’s arms; and if early in our voyage this harbor is closed up by the tomb rocks, we only beat about as best we may till we anchor in the vail!Mr. Cheyleigh now rose, and going to the window, shaded his eyes with the palms of his hand, while he gazed out into the darkness. Turning into the light again, he said:“I think the danger of the storm is over now, only the rain is falling. As amusements are out of the question I think the children had better go to bed.”Mrs. Cheyleigh accordingly raised the two little ones from her lap, they getting up with their hair over their eyes, which they kept half shut, as if afraid of another blinding flash of lightning. As they left the room with their attendant, we sat down to the table and made a hasty supper, and after that took our lamps and retired.In our rooms we undressed, and laying down commenced to talk over the subject of lost ships and rescues. The thunder had moved so far off as to be scarcely audible, though the pale reflected lightning still flickered through the shutters. The wind was still very strong, and drove the heavy rain drops with sharp clicks upon the window panes, as if a million little storm sprites were trying to kick the glass in with their tiny feet. As we lay there, our imaginations filled with the horrors of the sea, we performed enough feats in fancy to have made bankrupt all the humane societies by our demands for medals.We saved from watery graves enough fair women to set up a larger colony of Bacchæ than Euripides ever sung, or Tennyson jailed in his Womans’ Rights College. We brought off enough treasure in our lifeboat to give every ass in the nation a pair of gold ears, which, in the present condition of affairs, would require more of the precious metal than a Briarean Midas could ever touch into existence with all his hands.After saving several fleets larger than the Armada we at length got to sleep. Once I awoke under the impression that I heard a cannon shot, and listening I heard three distinct booms, at intervals of a minute or two; but as thelightning was still glimmering I concluded it was the thunder, and, getting a little closer to Ned, dropped to sleep again.When we went down next morning we found that the storm had left strong marks of its violence everywhere. The yard was washed into gullies and trenches, and strewed with the limbs and leaves of the trees and bunches of mistletoe. One side of the garden paling was blown down, and the rose bushes and shrubbery torn and bent. Down at the stables the water was standing in great yellow pools, in which were floating the shingles and pieces of board torn from the roofs around. The horses and mules were all wet on their backs and manes, where the rain had beat through after the shingles were loosened. The cattle were all drenched, and looked as melancholy, as they stood around the fences with their sleek dripping coats, as if they had been bereaved. The chickens, as well as the dogs, had their tails drooping down instead of erect, a sure sign that they were out of spirits, and nothing in sight seemed to have enjoyed the storm except an old black and white Muscovite drake, who was washing his muddy feathers in a muddy puddle of water near the gate, fluttering his wings, bobbing his head, and whispering, in the greatest glee, to his lady, who was waddling around the edge, followed by a little brood as yellow as if just hatched from the famous golden eggs.The corn, as far as we could see, was lapped and twisted in the rows, while the rice was lying flat as before a sickle. The sky was still overcast, and great shaggy masses of cloud were drifting rapidly southward, as if ashamed of the havoc they had made. Here and there for an instant shone little patches of blue sky, which kept coming and going all the morning, increasing each time in size, till at noon the sun shone brightly out, jeweling the foliage, gilding the landscape, and even condescending to paint a tiny spectrum on each glistening blade of grass.After dinner Ned proposed that we go over to the beach, and see the effect of the storm there. As it took us some time to get our boat ready, and the wind was against us, we did not get to the beach till late in the evening. The clouds had all been bleached by the sun to fleecy whiteness, and now, taking their gorgeous orange vestures from the wardrobe of the West, they ranged themselves like Titanic sentries to guard their monarch’s couch.Far away toward their domain stretched a verdant panorama of washed and fresh looking forests, white, nestling cottages and the wimpling sheen of the Sound. We turned to the grand old ocean, who would not be so easily appeased. The scowl of his fury still lingered on his face, and he lashed the shore in sullen though subsiding rage. The parting sun threw over his angry countenance a shimmering veil of gold, but could not hide the frown. Yet ‘twas wondrous pleasing to behold the myriads of sunlit bubbles, sparkling with rainbow helmets, mount their billow steeds, and, in a long, regular line, come charging to the shore. As fast as one squadron was dashed upon the immovable sand, that lay like a great yellow dragon before them, another succeeded; and, like the victims of Peter the Hermit’s and Bernard’s fanaticism, these millions of little crusaders were wasted on a fitting type of the desolate East.After contemplating the scene for some time, we began to search up and down the beach for signs of wreck or objects tossed ashore. Something far down the beach caught our eye, and we all hastened toward it, wondering what it could be. There was a dark object, whose shape we could not make out, and near it a bright scarlet something. Curiosity lent wings, and we flew over the distance. Frank Paning was rather fleeter than Ned or myself, and outran us by many yards. We saw him, as he reached the objects, raise both hands and turn towards us with a face full of horror. In a moment we were at his side.Before us, on the sand, lay two figures still and cold. One was the form of a little girl, lashed to what appeared to be the door of a ship’s cabin. She was bound closely to it with ropes, and was lying with her bloodless cheek pressed down upon the rough panels. Her garments seemed to be of very fine material and make, though now drenched with sea water; over her shoulders was clinging a scarlet cape or mantle, which was the red spot that had attracted our notice. At her side was strapped a curiously carved steel box, now heavily oxidized by the salt sea.The door and its human freight had been cast high up on the shore; but, tied by one wrist to the knob of the door, lower towards the water, stretched the figure of a man. He was lying on his face, which was so much sunk in the yielding sand that we could only observe his hair, which was long and gray. His form was tall and large, and clad in a black suit of clothes; around his waist was strapped a broad belt of leather, to which, if anything was attached, we could not see it, as the ends must have been beneath him. Ever and anon a wave would break on the shore, and, as if mocking its victims, come rustling up the sand, covering the half buried feet, floating the clinging clothes, on and up, till it lifted and waved like moss the dank gray hair, then sink, sighing, back to the sea; while he lay there, so heedless of all, stretching the cord-bound hand, with its blue, water-shrivelled fingers, appealingly yet protectingly, toward the child on the door.We gazed long, with all the silence of horror, at the sad spectacle, and with agitated looks at each other. I at length spoke:“Boys, what must we do? They ought to know of this at Mr. Cheyleigh’s.”“Yes, indeed, they ought,” said Ned. “Let’s go over and get the negroes and the big boat, and carry both bodies home.”“Do you reckon they are both dead?” whispered Frank.“They must be,” returned Ned, looking at them both attentively. “The man is, I am sure; for, if not dead before, the water washing so constantly over him since he has lain here would have drowned him.”“Let’s see, any way,” said I; and we all three stooped to lift the man first. Not without a shudder did we touch the cold, clammy flesh, as we strove to drag him up from the water’s edge. His weight was too great for us, clogged as he was with sand and water, and we could only move him up the bank a foot or two, and turn him over on his back. We cleaned the sand as well as we could from his mouth, nostrils and eyes—the faded blue balls of the last being so thickly covered with the fine, sharp grains that we had to wipe them very hard with our handkerchiefs—at least Ned and I did; Frank vowed he wasn’t going to put his handkerchief in a dead man’s eyes, just to get the grits out.We then left the man and tried the girl with better success. We cut the cords that held her to the door, and lifted her up; Ned supporting her head as tenderly as a woman. Never had I dreamed of such beauty! Her face was as colorless as marble, but showed more perfectly for that its exquisite outline; her temples were chased with a network of blue veins that were brought out more distinctly by the cold water she had been in so long. Her eyes were closed, but the lids atoned by their rose-leaf texture and long black fringe. Her mouth was partially open, as if gasping, but made up for this slight disfigurement by disclosing a set of the clearest, smoothest teeth. But, though each separate feature was beautiful, there was a look about them when combined that baffles all description. Perhaps her beauty was enhanced by her romantic surroundings; but I could not help thinking, as she lay there so passive and still, that the angel who had borne her soul away had been trying onthe faces of heaven, to see which would suit her best, and had forgotten to take off his fairest.As we looked on in silent admiration, Ned placed his hand upon her forehead, and exclaimed with great animation:“Look here, John! her flesh does not feel like the other’s—it is cold, but not so clammy.”A touch confirmed his remark; for while her hands and forehead were icy cold, there was not that peculiar deathlike clamminess or inelasticity about them that tells so infallibly that the soul has departed, and we drew hope from this circumstance that she might yet live. We ran at the next wave and caught our hats full of water, which we dashed into her face, without stopping to reflect that she had perhaps had enough of water for the present. We loosened her clothing as delicately as possible, and began chafing her hands and arms. Our anxiety to revive her made us almost drown her again with our hats of water, and in our eagerness we rubbed the tender flesh almost raw on her hands and arms.In the midst of our efforts Ned, who was supporting her, exclaimed:“Look! look! she drew her breath.”We gathered excitedly around and watched her closely, but her face was still marble—no sign of life in its pale outlines! After we had gazed a long while in the most intense suspense, a quick spasmodic gasp came through her parted lips, and a quiver played over her eyelids.What a moment for our heroism! We felt that we were saving from the monster sea a fairer being than ever Palamon and Arcite tilted for. Beowulf, conquering the hideous Grendel, felt no more chivalric pride than did we, as our lovely waif lay with fitful breathings in our arms.At length her respiration became more regular, and her eyes slowly unclosed. “Eyes” is a meagre word for themagnificent black orbs turned so timidly and wonderingly upon us; they probably served the commonplace purpose of vision, but the pleading eloquence of their look, and the emotions of fear and amazement which were almost audible in her gaze, declared their primary object to be expression.Turning them restlessly from one to another of us, and failing to recognize any one, she closed them, as if in pain. Ned now ventured to speak, though we were almost afraid he would scare the soul away again that had been so hardly persuaded to return.“Are you suffering now? Don’t be alarmed, we are all friends.”Again she opened her eyes, looked wildly at him, then suddenly seemed to come to consciousness. With a frantic look of horror she cried out: “Oh, padre! padre! oh donde està mi padre!” and other frantic sentences, in a language unknown to us, and strove to rise to her feet. Ned and I assisted her, and she stood up on the sand. It was most unfortunate that she did so; for, as she gained her feet, her eyes fell on the corpse near the water, and, with a soul-piercing shriek, she sank to the earth, and all our efforts to revive her again were unavailing. As it had now grown quite dark we intended to hurry across the sound and tell Mr. Cheyleigh. Our sail boat being very small, it was thought best to leave one of us with the body, and to take the little girl in the boat over to the house. As it was not a pleasant solitude by any means, we drew pebbles to see who should remain, and it fell to my lot. Accordingly, Ned and Frank took up their fair burden, and promising me to make all the possible haste they could, went slowly up the banks to their boat. I saw them lay their charge down gently, hoist the sail and glide away in the darkness, and I was alone with the dead. The sun had long since gone down, and the red tinge of the sky was paling into the dusky gray of twilight. Far up and down thebeach the dreary waste of waters grew drearier in the deepening shades, and the darkness fell so fast that when I looked up at the sky for a moment, and then turned to the sea, an hour seemed to have elapsed when measured by the increase of gloom. The sail of Ned’s boat at last disappeared behind a point of land, and there was nothing for me to watch but the dead man’s face and the moaning, tossing waters. It was now too dark to distinguish his features; there was only the ghastly white shape of his face, that, as I gazed so long upon it, seemed to make hideous grimaces at me—now sneering at my timidity, now opening its faded eyes to glare at me for having sent the little girl away; now shutting one eye and opening the other, sometimes reversing the face, putting the eyes in the chin and the mouth in the forehead; sometimes disappearing entirely, then suddenly coming back as white as ever. I would have fled up the beach, but I was afraid the corpse would spring up and run after me. And the whole scene was full of death! The stars seemed dead men’s eyes, the sob of each wave was a dying groan, the white foam caps were dying faces, struggling for life, and a white gull, flying across the sky, was a cloth from the face of a corpse.Suddenly a light came over the waters, and I looked up to find that the moon, at its full, was raising its great yellow disc from the waves. As if in kindly sympathy with me, the light came dancing over the burnished sea, but ceased its gambols at the shore, and threw its wan radiance over the dead face.With the light I grew bolder, and rose and stood by the corpse, to see if it had moved. But it was lying as we had placed it, without a quiver in the face; and again I sat down upon the sand. Looking over the sound I saw Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat coming, and the rapid flash of the dripping oars told that it was speeding well. Inexpressibly relieved, I went down to the landing and stood there, as unconcernedas if I had been pleasantly entertained on the beach. The rigging rattled as the sails came down, the keel grated on the sand, and Mr. Cheyleigh, Ned and Frank, and four stout negroes got out and went to the body. They wrapped it in blankets, laid it in the bottom of the boat, and with a stiff breeze and strong oars we soon glided under the shadow of Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat house. Ned, Frank and I sprang out and ran ahead to see about the little girl.Mrs. Cheyleigh was up in her chamber with her, and we could see only two or three excited negroes, who could tell nothing. We soon heard the negro men coming up the steps with their loaded, faltering tread, and we followed them into the back parlor, where, under Mr. Cheyleigh’s direction, they deposited their burden, smoothed the blankets over him, and marched out, picking up their hats from the corners of the doors, where they had thrown them as they came into the “gretouse.”Mr. Cheyleigh then went up stairs to aid Mrs. Cheyleigh while we turned into the dining room, where they were just bringing in supper.“I wonder what will be done with her if Mrs. Cheyleigh succeeds in bringing her to?” said Frank, as we took our seats near the open window.This was something we had not thought of, and we were somewhat startled by the query; as we considered her ours by right of discovery, and her disposal, consequently, a matter of importance to each of us.“I suppose,” continued Frank, “she’ll have to go to the Orphan Asylum.”I repudiated the idea with indignation.“Never!” I said warmly; “if her friends do not come forward and claim her, I will get father to adopt her, as he has no other children beside me.”“Oh! perhaps you will,” said Frank, with something of a sneer in his tone; “any way I claim an interest in her, and will have her for my sweetheart.”“You had better first learn whether she is alive or not,” said Ned, reprovingly.The waiting maid, Tildy, here interrupted us:“Marse Ned, supper’s ready; you reckon your mar’s gwine to come down?”“She don’t want none, nohow,” said Winny, another maid, coming into the room. “I jes come outen her room and she was a rubbing the little gal with brandy and mustard.”Tildy again put in, half to Winny and half to us:“I wonder how come dey never stood de man on his head to let de water run outen his mouth?”“Sheer! what you know ‘bout it, gal?” rejoined Winny, giving her a push on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “I tell you what, doe Tildy, dey ain’t no poor bokra; de little gal had on de finest underclose I ever see, mo’ lace and stuff all round ’em; and when mistis was undressing her she taken off her neck er big gold chain with er locket hung to it. I taken it up and looked at it, and it’s got a whole heap er sets in it, dat shines wors’n mistis’s breastpin.”Mr. Cheyleigh here entered the room and said:“Winny! your mistress wants a cup of hot tea and some toast carried up to her immediately. Come to the table, boys, Mrs. Cheyleigh will not be down to-night.”We sat down to the table, but could not eat for eager questions. Mr. C. informed us that, after much rubbing and many stimulants, the little girl had become conscious, and had been able to speak. She had addressed Mrs. C. at first in Spanish, but, on hearing her give some order to the servants, inquired if Mrs. C. spoke English, and learning that she did, used our language quite fluently. Mrs. C. had gotten her to bed and was trying to keep her from talking. She had, by a few questions, learned that the little girl was a Cuban; that her name was Carlotta Lola Rurlestone, and that she was lost from a ship the night before. She was constantly asking for her father, and Mrs. Cheyleigh hadthought it best not to tell her of his death, but had evaded her queries as best she could. She was under the influence of an opiate now, and Mrs. C. wanted the house kept quiet.After supper we had food enough for conversation till a late hour, when we retired only to dream of shipwrecks, and corpses, and half drowned girls.At the breakfast table the following morning we were glad to meet Mrs. Cheyleigh, who was able to give us still more news about our little protégé. She told us she seemed much better, though feeble; that she recollected the scene now, and was weeping violently about her father’s death; that her mother had been dead several years; that her father was a native of New Orleans, and that he and she had started to this country to spend the summer, as was their custom; that they had stormy weather for several days, and been driven somewhat from their course, and when the violent storm came on it was said that the ship was sinking; that her father had lashed her to a cabin door he had wrenched off, and, that he might not get separated from her, tied his wrist to its knob. He threw her into the water and tried to follow, but was jerked over by the weight of the door, and fell, striking his head violently against it. He seemed to be stunned, as he made no motion afterwards, but drifted about with the door, his face down in the water and his whole body sometimes out of sight. That the ship was soon blown off and out of sight, and that her agony was so great, as she saw her father drowning, and could not move to help him, that she had become insensible, and had known nothing more till she was in Mrs. Cheyleigh’s room, though she remembered faintly seeing strange faces around her as in a dream.“She is in constant distress about her father,” continued Mrs. C., “but I hope that, with proper care and attention, she will recover. Mr. Cheyleigh has sent to town for Dr.Mayland, and also for the Coroner, who will hold his inquest as soon as possible.”Very soon after breakfast the Coroner arrived, and his jurymen began to drop in one by one.We went out to the back piazza, where they were assembling, and walked among the crowd, listening to a confused jargon of questions in regard to the crops, wonderful tales of the ravages of the late storm, and surmises as to the drowned stranger, and the probable verdict that would be rendered.The Coroner was a middle aged man, of great self-importance, who evidently thought an inquest a work of as great moment as a national negotiation. He took but little interest in the conversation of the others present, though he occasionally addressed some words to Mr. Cheyleigh, who was sitting near him. After considerable delay, and the assemblage of a large crowd of people, he pulled out his great fat silver watch, and said slowly:“Well, I reckon we had as well begin. The morning is getting on smartly. Where is the body, Mr. Cheyleigh?”Mr. Cheyleigh led the way, the Coroner and his jury following in single file till they reached the parlor. They crowded round the table to get a view of the corpse, all leaning forward, and holding their hats and hands behind them, as if they were tied there. The tall men looked on, while those small in stature moved round and round, vainly endeavoring to find a gap in the crowd to peep through.The usual form of selecting and empanelling the jury was gone through with, and the Coroner commenced to examine the witnesses. Mr. Cheyleigh was first sworn.“Mr. Cheyleigh,” said the Coroner, walking his chair backward on the two hind legs a step or two, to gaze better at Mr. Cheyleigh through a pair of very broad rimmed silver specs, “will you please to state all you know about the finding of this body.”Mr. Cheyleigh came forward very gravely, and proceeded to relate his knowledge of the affair with a declamatory style, and with such long words that I did not know whether he meant to confuse the Coroner by using language above his two-syllable comprehension, or was acting under the common impulse of human nature to display proficiency in any department which has not been attained by those listening.“The first information,” he began, with a salutatory wave of his hand, “which I received of the discovery of the bodies was imparted to me by my son and his friend. Immediately on receipt of this intelligence I took the large boat, and with some of my negroes we rapidly made the transit of the Sound. Their report of the melancholy catastrophe was unhappily confirmed, for in close proximity to the water’s edge lay this body. Edward and Frank brought the little girl over with them when they came for me, and Mrs. Cheyleigh has succeeded in resuscitating her. The man had apparently been inanimate for a period of some length, as his flesh had undergone considerable contraction from contact with the water—at least was contracted around the bones and features; the body proper was very much distended. He had been tied by one hand to the door of a ship’s cabin, though the boys had cut the cord. I placed the body in the boat, and brought it where you now see it.”The Coroner moved his head up and down, slowly at first, then faster and in shorter spaces, till it came to rest, like a spring pendulum, as who should say:“Just as I expected; all just as I expected;” and then, with a look of legal sagacity that would have adorned an Ellenborough, asked:“Did you bring the door over with you?”“I deemed that altogether unnecessary, but I took from the man’s waist a pouch containing some money and one or two checks for large amounts on New York houses. I alsofound a very fine watch and chain; the upper lid of the watch bears a bouquet of diamonds and the initials H. V. R. Here is the watch and pouch.”He passed them to the Coroner, who examined every part as minutely as if he were identifying stolen property, and having satisfied himself that the articles did not belong to him, passed them on to the others, who each examined them in the same critical way.“What, then, Mr. Cheyleigh,” resumed the Coroner, after they had all finished their tedious examination of the articles, and returned them to Mr. C., “do you think was the cause of his death?”“Strangulation, sir, from the influx of water into the larynx, and the consequent exclusion of air.”“Exactly—exactly, Mr. Cheyleigh; that will do, sir. Did you say your son found the bodies?”“He and two of his friends.”“We can examine him, then?”“Certainly, sir.”Ned was a little confused as he came forward, and kept passing his hand nervously over his tumbled hair. The Coroner assumed a mild, patronizing air, and said:“Well, my son, what can you tell us of this affair?” Ned swallowed once or twice, and began:“After the storm, John Smith, Frank Paning and myself thought we would go over to the banks and take a view of the ocean. When we got over the sky was fair, but the——”“Never mind about the sky, my son,” interrupts the Coroner, “just tell what you know about the dead man.”“Well,” resumed Ned, with a long breath, and another swallow, “John Smith saw them first, and we all ran to them and tried to move the man, but found him rather heavy, we then cut the cords, and lifted up the little girl——”“Stop! stop! don’t tell about the girl, let us hear about the man.”“I don’t know anything particular about him, except that he was dead.”“How was he lying when you found him?”“His feet were in the water and his face was in the sand. One arm was doubled under him so, and the other—the one tied to the door knob—was stretched out so.”Ned here attempted to assume a descriptive attitude.“Did the knot appear to have been tied by himself or somebody else?”“It was a slip knot, and could have been fastened by himself.”“Did he lie as if the water had washed him up, or somebody had placed him there?”“I think he was thrown up by the waves, sir.”“You didn’t see any tracks or boat marks about?”“No, sir.”“That will do. I don’t think it is worth while to examine anymore witnesses. Gentlemen, you can make up your verdict.”We accordingly left the room, while twelve good citizens endeavored most earnestly to ascertain what they already knew—the manner of the dead man’s death.When we got out we found Horace waiting for Frank and myself with the carriage and horses.We packed up our valises, made Ned promise to come to see us, left a kiss for our little foundling, and were soon rolling towards home.Father and mother were as much interested in my news as I could have desired, and as I dwelt upon the beauty of the little girl and her lonely condition, I saw by the tear in mother’s eye, and the serious shade on father’s face, that I had made an impression. After recounting all in as vivid terms as I could command, I begged father toadopt her, offering as arguments many facts which he perhaps knew as well as I: that he was able to do it; that she would not be a great expense; that she would be company for mother when I was away; that I wanted a sister just like her, and would love and care for her tenderly, and wound up by declaring I would rather starve than have her sent to the Orphan Asylum.“Well, well, don’t be so impatient, my son,” said father, relapsing into a smile, “even if I were inclined to adopt your suggestion there are many preliminaries to be arranged. I must see Cheyleigh, as she is now under his charge, and I must write to her friends in Cuba, where you say she came from. Then, perhaps, she may not be willing to come and live with us. You will have to restrain your eagerness till your mother and I consult about what is best to be done.”I was obliged to rest content with this. I went down town in the afternoon and recited to every acquaintance I met our wonderful adventure. The sun was nearly down when I was interrupted in the midst of my narrative by a servant, who came to tell me that there was a lady at home who wished to see me. I wound up my story and hurried home, wondering who it could be. To my utter surprise and pleasure I found Lulie Mayland in the sitting room, looking prettier and brighter than ever. She smiled delightfully when I pressed her hand and said, with a little blush:“It’s strange, isn’t it, for a lady to call on a gentleman? but you must excuse me now. Pa has just returned from the Sound and has been telling me about the little girl you found. My curiosity was so excited I determined to come to see you and learn all about it, as you would not call and tell me. Promise me you won’t think strange of it.”“Oh, Lulie, the bare idea of such formality between old friends!” I said, taking a seat near her.“Well, we will not deem it a breach of form for the sake of old times.”“What a pity it is,” said I, half musing, “that people grow older and colder in their natures. We were so happy as children. Do you remember the day in the nursery, long ago?”“Yes, I believe I do; but tell me about your Sound adventure now, I am all impatience to hear that.”I detailed minutely every circumstance connected with the affair, and dwelt particularly upon the little girl’s superb beauty, hoping thereby to raise a spark of envy in Lulie’s heart, for I was piqued at her only believing to remember about the nursery scene. As I pictured to her the wavy black hair, the gazelle like eyes and chiselled features of Carlotta, I thought I detected a glance towards the opposite mirrors, where her own tumbled curls and merry blue eyes were reflected. When I had concluded she sat for some time in thought, then softly said:“No father—no mother—no home!”I knew then that envy found no room in a heart so full of pity and love.“What is to be done with her?” she said, at length.“I don’t know; I am trying to get father to adopt her, and I think he is half inclined to do so.”“Oh, that would be splendid,” she said, brightening at the thought; “I could see her so often, and we would be such dear friends. Do beg Col. Smith to bring her here.”“You may rest assured I will do my utmost, if it is only to get you over here sometimes, as you now have to make formal explanations for a single visit.”“Indeed, I expect you have other motives for your petition. Somebody’s heart, perhaps, aids somebody’s lips in begging.”“Never!” I said, with great emphasis; “she is truly lovely, but there is only one heart in the world I care to——”“I am very much obliged to you, Johnnie, for your narration,” she said, rising to go, “it has interested me very much.”“The obligation is mine,” I said, with a profound bow, “for your kind attention. ‘Twas really a pleasure to talk with such a listener.”I escorted her home, and sat with her some time on the stoop, and felt more than ever that I was completely her slave. She seemed to have thrown around me an inflexible chain, one which I could not bend to get nearer her heart, and one which I could not break to get away. Every word of her conversation was so chosen that, while it kept alive my hopes, it did not satisfy them, and yet she skilfully permitted no word of love making to pass between us; all was carried on by innuendo; and, when I bade her good evening, I felt convinced that she did not love me, but dreaded to wound me by the disclosure.

Onewould hardly recognize in the tall youth the little boy that cried so when called away from the party, but times and persons change a great deal in seven years. Ned Cheyleigh is still my bosom friend, nobler, truer and moremanly, if a soul such as his can know any degree of improvement. Frank Paning and myself, after innumerable quarrels and make-ups, have grown somewhat intimate, partly from the fact that our families are near neighbors, and partly because we are thrown together so constantly at school, being the only two members of a Latin class. He has lost much of his boyish rudeness, and when it is politic is kind, obliging and pleasant, but I still often feel in his presence the old sensation of repulsion. Lulie is still the bone between us, though with infinite tact she contrives to preserve the balance of feeling. Frank thinks he has the best of the contest, and I often am obliged to think so too, though generally my conceit and vanity keep my spirits up. Thus much for relative position as regards each other. And if, reader, you have become interested in us sufficiently to desire to see us personally, I will endeavor to give you our pictures. First, then, is Ned, a rather stout, thick-set figure; round open face, with large very blue eyes, firm mouth—not expressed so much in the lips as in the set of the teeth beneath them; brownish dark hair, which, though always kept short, always looks dishevelled; nose the least prominent feature in his face, though straight and well formed; his whole face expressing so much integrity of conduct and candor of meaning, that Campanella would have sworn by him without ever hearing him utter a word, though there was not as much depth in it as a man of the world could have wished for. Frank was almost his exact opposite, and much the handsomer of the two. His form was very tall for his age, and graceful; his hair jet black, and curling crisply over a well shaped head; his nose slightly aquiline and long; his mouth, with very white teeth, was always a little curled, either with a smile or a sneer; and, whatever his state of feelings, it ever wore one of these expressions, their only variation being an increased intensity. His eyes were rather small, very black, yet showing a great deal of white in theiroblique glances. He always looked straight at you in ordinary pleasant converse, or when he thought he had you at a disadvantage; but when himself in the inferiority, his glance was down and aside, in fact every way but into your eyes. For instance, he could never look his teacher in the face when arraigned for a misdemeanor, yet he would gaze steadily at a comrade while accusing him of wrong. And it was a frequent jest in school that when Frank Paning’s eyes fell he was under “hack.”

But to give you an exact idea of Lulie Mayland is beyond my power. I can describe well enough her bright sunny face, with its clear hazel eyes, its dimpled chin and pouting lips, and her cheeks with the roses coming and going with almost every word; but I cannot describe the effect of the thoughts that seemed to be ever coming up from her soul to her face, yet never uttered. There was always something more beneath those eyes you longed to know. If she looked and expressed sorrow for a misfortune, you knew, as you gazed into her face, there was a vast well of sympathy untold. If she laughed, and laughing was her life’s most constant phase, you felt that it was only the bubbles of mirth, that its springs were yet to be sounded. And in my intercourse with her I always felt there were two Lulies—one on the surface, a bright laughing girl, with a warm sunny heart, whom I loved dearly, and who I sometimes thought loved me; the other was a far more radiant being, whose face was beneath the first Lulie’s, and whose shadow or likeness she constantly wore, though never distinctly enough to be perfectly recognized. And this last Lulie was the idol of my heart—she whom I adored so unceasingly, and yet who I knew deep in my heart never loved me.

I would not affect mystery with this duality; I simply wish to present an idea of one of those faces we sometimes see—faces that, strive how they will, by word and look, can never express all their meaning; faces that, from their verysecrecy, so to speak, possess a power we either dread or love. Lulie’s power over me I loved; and loving, hoped one day to attain to the love of her inner soul.

Mr. Cheyleigh possessed a beautiful residence on the Sound, about eight miles from Wilmington, and Ned invited Frank and myself to spend the vacation with him. What an Elysium it was for us! Horses, dogs and boats at our command! Every nook of the Sound was explored in our fishing, crabbing and shrimping excursions; every swamp and lake invaded in our search for summer game. But of all our pleasures the greatest was to go over to the beach and take the surf. The delicate votaries of fashion at the watering places know nothing of its real luxury. Swathed in flannel and buoyed by ropes they strangle through the tortures of a dip, and declare it charming. But to go beyond the reach oflorgnettes, to disrobe entirely without fear of the sun’s tanning, to trip lightly over the cool moist sand, and plunge into the great tossing ocean, is to really enjoy the thing.

But now we are in; we find our depth, and wait for the wave. Ah, here it comes! A great green fellow, crumbling towards the shore; a smooth, glassy valley before it, and its white crest curling proudly in its power. “Here it is! how it rustles! turn your backs! now spring!” and the next instant, swept from our feet, we ride the great monster to land, where he throws us high upon the sand, and sinks back to his watery domain, with a growl for our intrusion.

With our numerous sports time passed all the more rapidly, and we were preparing to return home. The evening previous to the day appointed was a dark and threatening one. A heavy blue bank lay in the west, and though the sun, as he passed beyond it, had thrown across it a bright golden fringe, it refused to be propitiated, and sullenly waited till he had disappeared, when it loomed blackly up, while the constant quivering of the lightning, and the distant, heavy jarring of the thunder told that a storm of noordinary magnitude was brewing. After tea Mr. Cheyleigh went out on the back piazza to smoke, while we boys took our seats on the steps, and in subdued tones told tales of the awful effects of lightning, and its affinity for isolated houses like Mr. Cheyleigh’s. The cloud had now reached half way up the heavens, and its dark line was distinctly marked on the blue of the sky. A few brave little stars were twinkling defiantly in front of it, though the bright evening star had long since sunk behind its folds. It grew very dark, so that all objects in the yard were invisible, save when for an instant illuminated by the greenish flickering glare of the lightning. We at length caught the dull roar of the distant wind, while the leaves gave their premonitory rustle, as a poor frightened little zephyr fled to them for refuge. We heard the tap of Mr. Cheyleigh’s pipe, and saw the fiery sparks fall from the railing and glow a moment or two amidst the grass, then a few great drops of rain pattered down on the steps, and we rose and entered the house. Windows were pulled down, shutters were fastened, and doors were closed. Another shake among the trees, and then came the shedding, gushing sound of the rain as it fell in torrents, while the wind in all its fury burst upon us. The house cracked, the windows shook, and the corners howled in the terrific blast, while the window sashes clashed back and forth in their slides, as if the storm would burst in the very panes. The lightning showed through the blinds even with the lamps lighted, as if it was broad day out doors, every other second, while the thunders filled up the intervals of darkness with repeated peals, each of which seemed vieing with its predecessor in stunning, deafening sounds.

We all gathered around the lamp stands in silence, and looked into each other’s faces, with eyes wide open from apprehension. Mrs. Cheyleigh had two of the smaller children in her lap, their heads buried in her bosom, and herhead resting down on theirs, to keep from seeing the lightning. Mr. Cheyleigh was trying to read, but at every severe peal of thunder would take down the paper and press his thumb and forefinger over his eyes, as if muttering a prayer to himself. The dining room maids were standing back against the wall, their hands folded under their white aprons, and their heads leaning together as they whispered and snickered about their sable beaux. At length Mrs. Cheyleigh spoke, her voice having a very solemn and liturgical tone:

“Mr. Cheyleigh, isn’t this an awful storm?”

As if in applause of her question, a burst of thunder, louder than any before, rolled across the sky, and fell off somewhere in the distance with a terrible thump and a long deep growl.

“Yes, my dear,” said Mr. Cheyleigh, taking his fingers from his eyes to tear off a corner of his newspaper and put in his mouth; “I have not known so strong a blow as this for several years.”

“I trust,” said Mrs. Cheyleigh, raising her head from the children, with the prints of their heads on her cheeks, “that there is nothing like this to-night at the Springs, where Gertrude and Ella are.”

“Nonsense, my dear,” said Mr. Cheyleigh smiling a little, “this storm only extends a few miles along our coast. I fear for the vessels, though, if there should be any in reach of this wind.”

“Oh, ‘twould be frightful, indeed, to be on the water such a night as this. I hope every ship is safe in some harbor,” answered Mrs. Cheyleigh, laying her hands on the little heads in her lap, as if they were two little ships, and her arms were their harbor. Aye, they were! Live how or where we may, life’s ocean has no surer shelter from its storms than a mother’s arms; and if early in our voyage this harbor is closed up by the tomb rocks, we only beat about as best we may till we anchor in the vail!

Mr. Cheyleigh now rose, and going to the window, shaded his eyes with the palms of his hand, while he gazed out into the darkness. Turning into the light again, he said:

“I think the danger of the storm is over now, only the rain is falling. As amusements are out of the question I think the children had better go to bed.”

Mrs. Cheyleigh accordingly raised the two little ones from her lap, they getting up with their hair over their eyes, which they kept half shut, as if afraid of another blinding flash of lightning. As they left the room with their attendant, we sat down to the table and made a hasty supper, and after that took our lamps and retired.

In our rooms we undressed, and laying down commenced to talk over the subject of lost ships and rescues. The thunder had moved so far off as to be scarcely audible, though the pale reflected lightning still flickered through the shutters. The wind was still very strong, and drove the heavy rain drops with sharp clicks upon the window panes, as if a million little storm sprites were trying to kick the glass in with their tiny feet. As we lay there, our imaginations filled with the horrors of the sea, we performed enough feats in fancy to have made bankrupt all the humane societies by our demands for medals.

We saved from watery graves enough fair women to set up a larger colony of Bacchæ than Euripides ever sung, or Tennyson jailed in his Womans’ Rights College. We brought off enough treasure in our lifeboat to give every ass in the nation a pair of gold ears, which, in the present condition of affairs, would require more of the precious metal than a Briarean Midas could ever touch into existence with all his hands.

After saving several fleets larger than the Armada we at length got to sleep. Once I awoke under the impression that I heard a cannon shot, and listening I heard three distinct booms, at intervals of a minute or two; but as thelightning was still glimmering I concluded it was the thunder, and, getting a little closer to Ned, dropped to sleep again.

When we went down next morning we found that the storm had left strong marks of its violence everywhere. The yard was washed into gullies and trenches, and strewed with the limbs and leaves of the trees and bunches of mistletoe. One side of the garden paling was blown down, and the rose bushes and shrubbery torn and bent. Down at the stables the water was standing in great yellow pools, in which were floating the shingles and pieces of board torn from the roofs around. The horses and mules were all wet on their backs and manes, where the rain had beat through after the shingles were loosened. The cattle were all drenched, and looked as melancholy, as they stood around the fences with their sleek dripping coats, as if they had been bereaved. The chickens, as well as the dogs, had their tails drooping down instead of erect, a sure sign that they were out of spirits, and nothing in sight seemed to have enjoyed the storm except an old black and white Muscovite drake, who was washing his muddy feathers in a muddy puddle of water near the gate, fluttering his wings, bobbing his head, and whispering, in the greatest glee, to his lady, who was waddling around the edge, followed by a little brood as yellow as if just hatched from the famous golden eggs.

The corn, as far as we could see, was lapped and twisted in the rows, while the rice was lying flat as before a sickle. The sky was still overcast, and great shaggy masses of cloud were drifting rapidly southward, as if ashamed of the havoc they had made. Here and there for an instant shone little patches of blue sky, which kept coming and going all the morning, increasing each time in size, till at noon the sun shone brightly out, jeweling the foliage, gilding the landscape, and even condescending to paint a tiny spectrum on each glistening blade of grass.

After dinner Ned proposed that we go over to the beach, and see the effect of the storm there. As it took us some time to get our boat ready, and the wind was against us, we did not get to the beach till late in the evening. The clouds had all been bleached by the sun to fleecy whiteness, and now, taking their gorgeous orange vestures from the wardrobe of the West, they ranged themselves like Titanic sentries to guard their monarch’s couch.

Far away toward their domain stretched a verdant panorama of washed and fresh looking forests, white, nestling cottages and the wimpling sheen of the Sound. We turned to the grand old ocean, who would not be so easily appeased. The scowl of his fury still lingered on his face, and he lashed the shore in sullen though subsiding rage. The parting sun threw over his angry countenance a shimmering veil of gold, but could not hide the frown. Yet ‘twas wondrous pleasing to behold the myriads of sunlit bubbles, sparkling with rainbow helmets, mount their billow steeds, and, in a long, regular line, come charging to the shore. As fast as one squadron was dashed upon the immovable sand, that lay like a great yellow dragon before them, another succeeded; and, like the victims of Peter the Hermit’s and Bernard’s fanaticism, these millions of little crusaders were wasted on a fitting type of the desolate East.

After contemplating the scene for some time, we began to search up and down the beach for signs of wreck or objects tossed ashore. Something far down the beach caught our eye, and we all hastened toward it, wondering what it could be. There was a dark object, whose shape we could not make out, and near it a bright scarlet something. Curiosity lent wings, and we flew over the distance. Frank Paning was rather fleeter than Ned or myself, and outran us by many yards. We saw him, as he reached the objects, raise both hands and turn towards us with a face full of horror. In a moment we were at his side.

Before us, on the sand, lay two figures still and cold. One was the form of a little girl, lashed to what appeared to be the door of a ship’s cabin. She was bound closely to it with ropes, and was lying with her bloodless cheek pressed down upon the rough panels. Her garments seemed to be of very fine material and make, though now drenched with sea water; over her shoulders was clinging a scarlet cape or mantle, which was the red spot that had attracted our notice. At her side was strapped a curiously carved steel box, now heavily oxidized by the salt sea.

The door and its human freight had been cast high up on the shore; but, tied by one wrist to the knob of the door, lower towards the water, stretched the figure of a man. He was lying on his face, which was so much sunk in the yielding sand that we could only observe his hair, which was long and gray. His form was tall and large, and clad in a black suit of clothes; around his waist was strapped a broad belt of leather, to which, if anything was attached, we could not see it, as the ends must have been beneath him. Ever and anon a wave would break on the shore, and, as if mocking its victims, come rustling up the sand, covering the half buried feet, floating the clinging clothes, on and up, till it lifted and waved like moss the dank gray hair, then sink, sighing, back to the sea; while he lay there, so heedless of all, stretching the cord-bound hand, with its blue, water-shrivelled fingers, appealingly yet protectingly, toward the child on the door.

We gazed long, with all the silence of horror, at the sad spectacle, and with agitated looks at each other. I at length spoke:

“Boys, what must we do? They ought to know of this at Mr. Cheyleigh’s.”

“Yes, indeed, they ought,” said Ned. “Let’s go over and get the negroes and the big boat, and carry both bodies home.”

“Do you reckon they are both dead?” whispered Frank.

“They must be,” returned Ned, looking at them both attentively. “The man is, I am sure; for, if not dead before, the water washing so constantly over him since he has lain here would have drowned him.”

“Let’s see, any way,” said I; and we all three stooped to lift the man first. Not without a shudder did we touch the cold, clammy flesh, as we strove to drag him up from the water’s edge. His weight was too great for us, clogged as he was with sand and water, and we could only move him up the bank a foot or two, and turn him over on his back. We cleaned the sand as well as we could from his mouth, nostrils and eyes—the faded blue balls of the last being so thickly covered with the fine, sharp grains that we had to wipe them very hard with our handkerchiefs—at least Ned and I did; Frank vowed he wasn’t going to put his handkerchief in a dead man’s eyes, just to get the grits out.

We then left the man and tried the girl with better success. We cut the cords that held her to the door, and lifted her up; Ned supporting her head as tenderly as a woman. Never had I dreamed of such beauty! Her face was as colorless as marble, but showed more perfectly for that its exquisite outline; her temples were chased with a network of blue veins that were brought out more distinctly by the cold water she had been in so long. Her eyes were closed, but the lids atoned by their rose-leaf texture and long black fringe. Her mouth was partially open, as if gasping, but made up for this slight disfigurement by disclosing a set of the clearest, smoothest teeth. But, though each separate feature was beautiful, there was a look about them when combined that baffles all description. Perhaps her beauty was enhanced by her romantic surroundings; but I could not help thinking, as she lay there so passive and still, that the angel who had borne her soul away had been trying onthe faces of heaven, to see which would suit her best, and had forgotten to take off his fairest.

As we looked on in silent admiration, Ned placed his hand upon her forehead, and exclaimed with great animation:

“Look here, John! her flesh does not feel like the other’s—it is cold, but not so clammy.”

A touch confirmed his remark; for while her hands and forehead were icy cold, there was not that peculiar deathlike clamminess or inelasticity about them that tells so infallibly that the soul has departed, and we drew hope from this circumstance that she might yet live. We ran at the next wave and caught our hats full of water, which we dashed into her face, without stopping to reflect that she had perhaps had enough of water for the present. We loosened her clothing as delicately as possible, and began chafing her hands and arms. Our anxiety to revive her made us almost drown her again with our hats of water, and in our eagerness we rubbed the tender flesh almost raw on her hands and arms.

In the midst of our efforts Ned, who was supporting her, exclaimed:

“Look! look! she drew her breath.”

We gathered excitedly around and watched her closely, but her face was still marble—no sign of life in its pale outlines! After we had gazed a long while in the most intense suspense, a quick spasmodic gasp came through her parted lips, and a quiver played over her eyelids.

What a moment for our heroism! We felt that we were saving from the monster sea a fairer being than ever Palamon and Arcite tilted for. Beowulf, conquering the hideous Grendel, felt no more chivalric pride than did we, as our lovely waif lay with fitful breathings in our arms.

At length her respiration became more regular, and her eyes slowly unclosed. “Eyes” is a meagre word for themagnificent black orbs turned so timidly and wonderingly upon us; they probably served the commonplace purpose of vision, but the pleading eloquence of their look, and the emotions of fear and amazement which were almost audible in her gaze, declared their primary object to be expression.

Turning them restlessly from one to another of us, and failing to recognize any one, she closed them, as if in pain. Ned now ventured to speak, though we were almost afraid he would scare the soul away again that had been so hardly persuaded to return.

“Are you suffering now? Don’t be alarmed, we are all friends.”

Again she opened her eyes, looked wildly at him, then suddenly seemed to come to consciousness. With a frantic look of horror she cried out: “Oh, padre! padre! oh donde està mi padre!” and other frantic sentences, in a language unknown to us, and strove to rise to her feet. Ned and I assisted her, and she stood up on the sand. It was most unfortunate that she did so; for, as she gained her feet, her eyes fell on the corpse near the water, and, with a soul-piercing shriek, she sank to the earth, and all our efforts to revive her again were unavailing. As it had now grown quite dark we intended to hurry across the sound and tell Mr. Cheyleigh. Our sail boat being very small, it was thought best to leave one of us with the body, and to take the little girl in the boat over to the house. As it was not a pleasant solitude by any means, we drew pebbles to see who should remain, and it fell to my lot. Accordingly, Ned and Frank took up their fair burden, and promising me to make all the possible haste they could, went slowly up the banks to their boat. I saw them lay their charge down gently, hoist the sail and glide away in the darkness, and I was alone with the dead. The sun had long since gone down, and the red tinge of the sky was paling into the dusky gray of twilight. Far up and down thebeach the dreary waste of waters grew drearier in the deepening shades, and the darkness fell so fast that when I looked up at the sky for a moment, and then turned to the sea, an hour seemed to have elapsed when measured by the increase of gloom. The sail of Ned’s boat at last disappeared behind a point of land, and there was nothing for me to watch but the dead man’s face and the moaning, tossing waters. It was now too dark to distinguish his features; there was only the ghastly white shape of his face, that, as I gazed so long upon it, seemed to make hideous grimaces at me—now sneering at my timidity, now opening its faded eyes to glare at me for having sent the little girl away; now shutting one eye and opening the other, sometimes reversing the face, putting the eyes in the chin and the mouth in the forehead; sometimes disappearing entirely, then suddenly coming back as white as ever. I would have fled up the beach, but I was afraid the corpse would spring up and run after me. And the whole scene was full of death! The stars seemed dead men’s eyes, the sob of each wave was a dying groan, the white foam caps were dying faces, struggling for life, and a white gull, flying across the sky, was a cloth from the face of a corpse.

Suddenly a light came over the waters, and I looked up to find that the moon, at its full, was raising its great yellow disc from the waves. As if in kindly sympathy with me, the light came dancing over the burnished sea, but ceased its gambols at the shore, and threw its wan radiance over the dead face.

With the light I grew bolder, and rose and stood by the corpse, to see if it had moved. But it was lying as we had placed it, without a quiver in the face; and again I sat down upon the sand. Looking over the sound I saw Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat coming, and the rapid flash of the dripping oars told that it was speeding well. Inexpressibly relieved, I went down to the landing and stood there, as unconcernedas if I had been pleasantly entertained on the beach. The rigging rattled as the sails came down, the keel grated on the sand, and Mr. Cheyleigh, Ned and Frank, and four stout negroes got out and went to the body. They wrapped it in blankets, laid it in the bottom of the boat, and with a stiff breeze and strong oars we soon glided under the shadow of Mr. Cheyleigh’s boat house. Ned, Frank and I sprang out and ran ahead to see about the little girl.

Mrs. Cheyleigh was up in her chamber with her, and we could see only two or three excited negroes, who could tell nothing. We soon heard the negro men coming up the steps with their loaded, faltering tread, and we followed them into the back parlor, where, under Mr. Cheyleigh’s direction, they deposited their burden, smoothed the blankets over him, and marched out, picking up their hats from the corners of the doors, where they had thrown them as they came into the “gretouse.”

Mr. Cheyleigh then went up stairs to aid Mrs. Cheyleigh while we turned into the dining room, where they were just bringing in supper.

“I wonder what will be done with her if Mrs. Cheyleigh succeeds in bringing her to?” said Frank, as we took our seats near the open window.

This was something we had not thought of, and we were somewhat startled by the query; as we considered her ours by right of discovery, and her disposal, consequently, a matter of importance to each of us.

“I suppose,” continued Frank, “she’ll have to go to the Orphan Asylum.”

I repudiated the idea with indignation.

“Never!” I said warmly; “if her friends do not come forward and claim her, I will get father to adopt her, as he has no other children beside me.”

“Oh! perhaps you will,” said Frank, with something of a sneer in his tone; “any way I claim an interest in her, and will have her for my sweetheart.”

“You had better first learn whether she is alive or not,” said Ned, reprovingly.

The waiting maid, Tildy, here interrupted us:

“Marse Ned, supper’s ready; you reckon your mar’s gwine to come down?”

“She don’t want none, nohow,” said Winny, another maid, coming into the room. “I jes come outen her room and she was a rubbing the little gal with brandy and mustard.”

Tildy again put in, half to Winny and half to us:

“I wonder how come dey never stood de man on his head to let de water run outen his mouth?”

“Sheer! what you know ‘bout it, gal?” rejoined Winny, giving her a push on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “I tell you what, doe Tildy, dey ain’t no poor bokra; de little gal had on de finest underclose I ever see, mo’ lace and stuff all round ’em; and when mistis was undressing her she taken off her neck er big gold chain with er locket hung to it. I taken it up and looked at it, and it’s got a whole heap er sets in it, dat shines wors’n mistis’s breastpin.”

Mr. Cheyleigh here entered the room and said:

“Winny! your mistress wants a cup of hot tea and some toast carried up to her immediately. Come to the table, boys, Mrs. Cheyleigh will not be down to-night.”

We sat down to the table, but could not eat for eager questions. Mr. C. informed us that, after much rubbing and many stimulants, the little girl had become conscious, and had been able to speak. She had addressed Mrs. C. at first in Spanish, but, on hearing her give some order to the servants, inquired if Mrs. C. spoke English, and learning that she did, used our language quite fluently. Mrs. C. had gotten her to bed and was trying to keep her from talking. She had, by a few questions, learned that the little girl was a Cuban; that her name was Carlotta Lola Rurlestone, and that she was lost from a ship the night before. She was constantly asking for her father, and Mrs. Cheyleigh hadthought it best not to tell her of his death, but had evaded her queries as best she could. She was under the influence of an opiate now, and Mrs. C. wanted the house kept quiet.

After supper we had food enough for conversation till a late hour, when we retired only to dream of shipwrecks, and corpses, and half drowned girls.

At the breakfast table the following morning we were glad to meet Mrs. Cheyleigh, who was able to give us still more news about our little protégé. She told us she seemed much better, though feeble; that she recollected the scene now, and was weeping violently about her father’s death; that her mother had been dead several years; that her father was a native of New Orleans, and that he and she had started to this country to spend the summer, as was their custom; that they had stormy weather for several days, and been driven somewhat from their course, and when the violent storm came on it was said that the ship was sinking; that her father had lashed her to a cabin door he had wrenched off, and, that he might not get separated from her, tied his wrist to its knob. He threw her into the water and tried to follow, but was jerked over by the weight of the door, and fell, striking his head violently against it. He seemed to be stunned, as he made no motion afterwards, but drifted about with the door, his face down in the water and his whole body sometimes out of sight. That the ship was soon blown off and out of sight, and that her agony was so great, as she saw her father drowning, and could not move to help him, that she had become insensible, and had known nothing more till she was in Mrs. Cheyleigh’s room, though she remembered faintly seeing strange faces around her as in a dream.

“She is in constant distress about her father,” continued Mrs. C., “but I hope that, with proper care and attention, she will recover. Mr. Cheyleigh has sent to town for Dr.Mayland, and also for the Coroner, who will hold his inquest as soon as possible.”

Very soon after breakfast the Coroner arrived, and his jurymen began to drop in one by one.

We went out to the back piazza, where they were assembling, and walked among the crowd, listening to a confused jargon of questions in regard to the crops, wonderful tales of the ravages of the late storm, and surmises as to the drowned stranger, and the probable verdict that would be rendered.

The Coroner was a middle aged man, of great self-importance, who evidently thought an inquest a work of as great moment as a national negotiation. He took but little interest in the conversation of the others present, though he occasionally addressed some words to Mr. Cheyleigh, who was sitting near him. After considerable delay, and the assemblage of a large crowd of people, he pulled out his great fat silver watch, and said slowly:

“Well, I reckon we had as well begin. The morning is getting on smartly. Where is the body, Mr. Cheyleigh?”

Mr. Cheyleigh led the way, the Coroner and his jury following in single file till they reached the parlor. They crowded round the table to get a view of the corpse, all leaning forward, and holding their hats and hands behind them, as if they were tied there. The tall men looked on, while those small in stature moved round and round, vainly endeavoring to find a gap in the crowd to peep through.

The usual form of selecting and empanelling the jury was gone through with, and the Coroner commenced to examine the witnesses. Mr. Cheyleigh was first sworn.

“Mr. Cheyleigh,” said the Coroner, walking his chair backward on the two hind legs a step or two, to gaze better at Mr. Cheyleigh through a pair of very broad rimmed silver specs, “will you please to state all you know about the finding of this body.”

Mr. Cheyleigh came forward very gravely, and proceeded to relate his knowledge of the affair with a declamatory style, and with such long words that I did not know whether he meant to confuse the Coroner by using language above his two-syllable comprehension, or was acting under the common impulse of human nature to display proficiency in any department which has not been attained by those listening.

“The first information,” he began, with a salutatory wave of his hand, “which I received of the discovery of the bodies was imparted to me by my son and his friend. Immediately on receipt of this intelligence I took the large boat, and with some of my negroes we rapidly made the transit of the Sound. Their report of the melancholy catastrophe was unhappily confirmed, for in close proximity to the water’s edge lay this body. Edward and Frank brought the little girl over with them when they came for me, and Mrs. Cheyleigh has succeeded in resuscitating her. The man had apparently been inanimate for a period of some length, as his flesh had undergone considerable contraction from contact with the water—at least was contracted around the bones and features; the body proper was very much distended. He had been tied by one hand to the door of a ship’s cabin, though the boys had cut the cord. I placed the body in the boat, and brought it where you now see it.”

The Coroner moved his head up and down, slowly at first, then faster and in shorter spaces, till it came to rest, like a spring pendulum, as who should say:

“Just as I expected; all just as I expected;” and then, with a look of legal sagacity that would have adorned an Ellenborough, asked:

“Did you bring the door over with you?”

“I deemed that altogether unnecessary, but I took from the man’s waist a pouch containing some money and one or two checks for large amounts on New York houses. I alsofound a very fine watch and chain; the upper lid of the watch bears a bouquet of diamonds and the initials H. V. R. Here is the watch and pouch.”

He passed them to the Coroner, who examined every part as minutely as if he were identifying stolen property, and having satisfied himself that the articles did not belong to him, passed them on to the others, who each examined them in the same critical way.

“What, then, Mr. Cheyleigh,” resumed the Coroner, after they had all finished their tedious examination of the articles, and returned them to Mr. C., “do you think was the cause of his death?”

“Strangulation, sir, from the influx of water into the larynx, and the consequent exclusion of air.”

“Exactly—exactly, Mr. Cheyleigh; that will do, sir. Did you say your son found the bodies?”

“He and two of his friends.”

“We can examine him, then?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Ned was a little confused as he came forward, and kept passing his hand nervously over his tumbled hair. The Coroner assumed a mild, patronizing air, and said:

“Well, my son, what can you tell us of this affair?” Ned swallowed once or twice, and began:

“After the storm, John Smith, Frank Paning and myself thought we would go over to the banks and take a view of the ocean. When we got over the sky was fair, but the——”

“Never mind about the sky, my son,” interrupts the Coroner, “just tell what you know about the dead man.”

“Well,” resumed Ned, with a long breath, and another swallow, “John Smith saw them first, and we all ran to them and tried to move the man, but found him rather heavy, we then cut the cords, and lifted up the little girl——”

“Stop! stop! don’t tell about the girl, let us hear about the man.”

“I don’t know anything particular about him, except that he was dead.”

“How was he lying when you found him?”

“His feet were in the water and his face was in the sand. One arm was doubled under him so, and the other—the one tied to the door knob—was stretched out so.”

Ned here attempted to assume a descriptive attitude.

“Did the knot appear to have been tied by himself or somebody else?”

“It was a slip knot, and could have been fastened by himself.”

“Did he lie as if the water had washed him up, or somebody had placed him there?”

“I think he was thrown up by the waves, sir.”

“You didn’t see any tracks or boat marks about?”

“No, sir.”

“That will do. I don’t think it is worth while to examine anymore witnesses. Gentlemen, you can make up your verdict.”

We accordingly left the room, while twelve good citizens endeavored most earnestly to ascertain what they already knew—the manner of the dead man’s death.

When we got out we found Horace waiting for Frank and myself with the carriage and horses.

We packed up our valises, made Ned promise to come to see us, left a kiss for our little foundling, and were soon rolling towards home.

Father and mother were as much interested in my news as I could have desired, and as I dwelt upon the beauty of the little girl and her lonely condition, I saw by the tear in mother’s eye, and the serious shade on father’s face, that I had made an impression. After recounting all in as vivid terms as I could command, I begged father toadopt her, offering as arguments many facts which he perhaps knew as well as I: that he was able to do it; that she would not be a great expense; that she would be company for mother when I was away; that I wanted a sister just like her, and would love and care for her tenderly, and wound up by declaring I would rather starve than have her sent to the Orphan Asylum.

“Well, well, don’t be so impatient, my son,” said father, relapsing into a smile, “even if I were inclined to adopt your suggestion there are many preliminaries to be arranged. I must see Cheyleigh, as she is now under his charge, and I must write to her friends in Cuba, where you say she came from. Then, perhaps, she may not be willing to come and live with us. You will have to restrain your eagerness till your mother and I consult about what is best to be done.”

I was obliged to rest content with this. I went down town in the afternoon and recited to every acquaintance I met our wonderful adventure. The sun was nearly down when I was interrupted in the midst of my narrative by a servant, who came to tell me that there was a lady at home who wished to see me. I wound up my story and hurried home, wondering who it could be. To my utter surprise and pleasure I found Lulie Mayland in the sitting room, looking prettier and brighter than ever. She smiled delightfully when I pressed her hand and said, with a little blush:

“It’s strange, isn’t it, for a lady to call on a gentleman? but you must excuse me now. Pa has just returned from the Sound and has been telling me about the little girl you found. My curiosity was so excited I determined to come to see you and learn all about it, as you would not call and tell me. Promise me you won’t think strange of it.”

“Oh, Lulie, the bare idea of such formality between old friends!” I said, taking a seat near her.

“Well, we will not deem it a breach of form for the sake of old times.”

“What a pity it is,” said I, half musing, “that people grow older and colder in their natures. We were so happy as children. Do you remember the day in the nursery, long ago?”

“Yes, I believe I do; but tell me about your Sound adventure now, I am all impatience to hear that.”

I detailed minutely every circumstance connected with the affair, and dwelt particularly upon the little girl’s superb beauty, hoping thereby to raise a spark of envy in Lulie’s heart, for I was piqued at her only believing to remember about the nursery scene. As I pictured to her the wavy black hair, the gazelle like eyes and chiselled features of Carlotta, I thought I detected a glance towards the opposite mirrors, where her own tumbled curls and merry blue eyes were reflected. When I had concluded she sat for some time in thought, then softly said:

“No father—no mother—no home!”

I knew then that envy found no room in a heart so full of pity and love.

“What is to be done with her?” she said, at length.

“I don’t know; I am trying to get father to adopt her, and I think he is half inclined to do so.”

“Oh, that would be splendid,” she said, brightening at the thought; “I could see her so often, and we would be such dear friends. Do beg Col. Smith to bring her here.”

“You may rest assured I will do my utmost, if it is only to get you over here sometimes, as you now have to make formal explanations for a single visit.”

“Indeed, I expect you have other motives for your petition. Somebody’s heart, perhaps, aids somebody’s lips in begging.”

“Never!” I said, with great emphasis; “she is truly lovely, but there is only one heart in the world I care to——”

“I am very much obliged to you, Johnnie, for your narration,” she said, rising to go, “it has interested me very much.”

“The obligation is mine,” I said, with a profound bow, “for your kind attention. ‘Twas really a pleasure to talk with such a listener.”

I escorted her home, and sat with her some time on the stoop, and felt more than ever that I was completely her slave. She seemed to have thrown around me an inflexible chain, one which I could not bend to get nearer her heart, and one which I could not break to get away. Every word of her conversation was so chosen that, while it kept alive my hopes, it did not satisfy them, and yet she skilfully permitted no word of love making to pass between us; all was carried on by innuendo; and, when I bade her good evening, I felt convinced that she did not love me, but dreaded to wound me by the disclosure.

CHAPTER IX.“John, I saw Cheyleigh in town to-day, and we have arranged all the matters about bringing up your sister, as I suppose you will call her, to live with us. Your mother and yourself must go down for her in the carriage the day after to-morrow.” Thus spoke father, as he pushed his chair back from the tea table, about a week after my return from the Sound.I deemed it dignified only to say, “Yes, sir.”“My dear,” he continued, addressing mother, and taking a cigar from his case, “you have some clothing getting ready for her, have you not? As she didn’t bring her baggage on the door I presume her wardrobe is scanty, so much so that she can exclaim, with the fallen Cardinal:‘My robe,And my integrity to Heaven, is allI dare now call mine own.’”“Oh, Col. Smith,” said mother, reproachfully, “do not jest at her misfortunes.”“Not jesting, my dear, not jesting; but, since poor Wolsey’s time, I suppose she is the only one who could boast any integrity, when limited to a single robe. However, we have not proved her yet—Wolsey may still be alone.”“That is worse than jesting,” returned mother, with a smile the good Samaritan might have worn, “you are blotting her with suspicion before you have ever seen her.”“We will assume, then, for your good hearted sake,” said father, blowing out the words on each side of the cigar he was lighting, “that she is an angel, and let her prove her wings.”“I am sure that she will,” said mother, as she rang her table bell for the servants to clear off the tea things.The next day was one of preparation, and the room intended for Carlotta was fixed up like a fairy bower. The morning after, mother and I were whirling rapidly toward the Sound in our open carriage, the top thrown back to catch the fresh breeze. What a pleasure was such a drive on such a morning, with such horses, through such scenery, on such an errand!Neither of us spoke, but leaned upon the side cushions of the carriage, listening to the rapid trample of the horses’ feet and the singing of the wheels over the level roads as we flashed along; now through slim, quiet woods, where the sunshine drove away the shade from half the ground; now through thick luxuriant trees, grouping themselves with dense foliage-curtains around dark unrippled pools, where Artemis could have bathed with perfect modesty, and from which, now, a lonely heron, startled by our wheels, slowly rose with his blue noiseless wings; now through a swampy hollow, where the laurel poured from its white cups exquisite perfume, and now through the solemn forests, where thepatriarch oaks waved their gray moss-hair, and the towering pines stretched their broad arms benignly over all, as if to invoke a blessing from the blue heavens above.At last Mervue, as Mr. Cheyleigh’s place was called, with its long avenue of oaks, came in view, and in a few moments our horses, lathered with foam, were prancing with unspent fire at the door. Mrs. Cheyleigh, Ned and two of the children, with Carlotta, met us at the steps. Mrs. Cheyleigh had told her of our coming, and her great speaking eyes were turned inquiringly upon us. Mother did not wait for introduction or salutation, but rushed forward and clasped her in her arms. Carlotta seemed in an instant to sound the depths of mother’s tender love, and her first touch was an electric flow of sympathy. Throwing her arms around mother’s neck she burst into convulsive sobbing. It touched every one present. Mrs. Cheyleigh wept; Ned turned into the house with his handkerchief to his face, while I, trying to hide my emotion, was ruthlessly plucking and snapping the tendrils of a jasmine that was clambering over the sides of the porch—little Sue Cheyleigh, in the artless curiosity of childhood, walking around to look at my eyes, in order to discover whether I was crying or not. The first paroxysm of grief over, mother gently released Carlotta, and Mrs. Cheyleigh, with that half hoarse tone which always succeeds tears, invited us in. Carlotta grasped mother tightly by the hand and we followed Mrs. Cheyleigh into the house. Having now an opportunity to observe her closely, I found that Carlotta was not such a little girl as I had supposed—being, in fact, nearly as old and as large as Lulie. Mother, Mrs. C. and the children taking seats in the large, cool sitting room, Ned and myself went out to the stables to see about the horses. When I returned to the sitting room I found mother and Carlotta alone—Mrs. Cheyleigh having excused herself for a short time to attend to domestic affairs. Mother was sitting near an open window, gently stroking Carlotta’shead, which lay confidingly in her lap. They were talking, and, not wishing to interrupt, I took my seat quietly near them.“And you are willing to come with us and be our child?” mother said, bending over her.“If you all are willing to take me,” said Carlotta, “I will try to deserve your love.”“We love you already, my darling child, and will love you more and more each day.”“I believe you, and trust you, ma’am; but oh! my father, my dear, dead father! how I wish that I were with you in the ground!” and the poor child broke down into sobbing.“Hush, dear,” said mother, gently; “do not speak so; God has seen fit to spare you——”“I know He has, but I wish He had not; ‘twould be far sweeter than life to lie by father’s side, though it is cold. But oh!” she continued, raising up her head to look in mother’s face, and taking her hand, “I am so ungrateful to you; you are so good to offer me a home, and yet I shrink from going where I have no right to go, except the right of your kindness.”“That shall be the surest right of all,” said mother, kissing her forehead; “but you must not feel dependent. We do not take you because we pity you, but because we want just such a daughter to live with and love us.”“Then, will you promise me, ma’am, if you ever tire of me, that you will send me away? You can do it without unkindness, because papa had a great deal of money, and you can pay some one to take care of me. Will you promise me?”“Yes, dear, I will promise you to send you away whenever we get tired of you. But, in the meantime, I do not want you to feel humble in our home, as if you were a charity child. Col. Smith has examined your father’s papers, and finds that you are possessed of considerable wealth.He has written to your father’s agent, who was named in the papers, and to the American Consul at Havana. He will probably go to Cuba himself next month, to see about the appointment of a guardian and the settlement of your estate. Have you no relatives at all there?”“I have a cousin, who lives on the other side of the island, but I have not seen him since I was a very little child. Mother was an orphan, like myself, and came from Spain to Cuba with an old uncle, who died after she was married to papa. We had many acquaintances, but no relatives anywhere in the island except the cousin I have spoken of. I have heard papa speak of having relatives in New Orleans, but I do not know their names.”“Well, you are composed now; try to remain so. Do not give up to those sad feelings when you feel them coming on.”“I do struggle hard, Mrs. Smith, to keep from crying; but whenever I commence thinking about the evening of the storm—and I cannot help thinking about it—I remember how happy papa and I were sitting together in our state room, and, though the wind had been high for a day or two, we felt so secure, for the steamer was thought to be the strongest one on the line. I remember so well his holding me by the hand, and saying:“‘I think the wind is lulling, Lottie, bird; we will be safe to-morrow.’ And then came that terrible cry that the ship was sinking; and we ran together out on the deck, only to find the crew in a panic, and the storm wilder than ever. Papa dragged me back to the cabin, tore off the door, tied me to it, and—— Oh! I cannot, cannot think of it without crying. Do not blame me, I cannot help it.” And her eyes filled again, and her lip quivered with suppressed feeling.“Dear child, you know I do not blame you; only try by every means to keep your mind from reverting to the painful scene. I will not offer consolation now, for I well knowhow deceitful it sounds to the bereaved to hear those who are not, quoting scripture passages to recommend resignation and submission. The beautiful sacred words are meant as a sympathy, not as a teaching. When your lips are lifted farther from this cup of gall we will go together to the Fount of Life and drink its sweet waters.”Mrs. Cheyleigh now returned to the room, and the conversation, ceasing between mother and Carlotta, became general. So many and varied were the topics to be discussed that the morning passed rapidly away; dinner came on, and the afternoon siesta, in hammocks swung in the verandas, where the sea breeze came cool and refreshing, was enjoyed, when the sinking sun reminded us that it was time to order the carriage.When Carlotta came to tell Mrs. C. good-bye, and thank her for her kindness, she had nearly lost control of herself again, but, with an effort, she kept her tears back and entered the carriage. The shadows which had been hiding from the sun all day around the roots of the trees were now stretching out at great length, and spreading into all kinds of fantastic shapes, though they still kept the trees between them and the glaring eye they dreaded so much. The scenery through which we passed was all drowsiness, instead of the vivacity of the morning. The sun had gone down and the twilight was fading when we stopped at our door. Father and Lulie Mayland were standing on the stoop, waiting for us. Father took Carlotta in his arms out of the carriage and pressed her to him tenderly, while I was helping mother out. Lulie was then presented to her, and, after a kiss and embrace, they went up the steps hand-in-hand, as fast friends as if they had known and loved each other from their birth. We went into the dining room, where early summer tea was already laid. Carlotta did not wish anything, and mother withdrew in a short time with her. After the silence that succeeded, for a few seconds,their retirement, father said (and I knew by the twinkle in his eye he was enjoying the thorns on which I sat):“Lulie,” sighting at her with one eye through his iced tea, “I am afraid you will have a powerful rival in Carlotta. You must secure all your beaux with double chains or she will steal them away. I think one is proving recreant already, if I may judge from the glances of admiration he lavished upon her just now at the table.”My face was crimson, and the consciousness that it was so made the hue only deeper. To be teased about the girl I loved, before her face, by father, too, was the very climax of embarrassment to me. I glanced at Lulie, and found her not in the least disconcerted.“Oh, John is so fickle,” she replied, laughing, “that I can never count on him for more than a day or two. If he deserts me, however, I shall not be desolate, as I have several others under my thumb, you know.”Embarrassment is very much increased by being contrasted with coolness and ease, and mine received a tenfold impulse from Lulie’s light way of treating the matter.“Really,” continued father, “you are quite a belle; but I am surprised that John should have withdrawn so easily from the contest. I thought you had more perseverance, my son. Surely, you did not encourage him, Lulie?”“Yes, indeed I did, but he was not to be caught, and I have given him up as a hopeless case.”I vainly endeavored to swallow my confusion with large gulps of tea; the tea somehow slipped by and left the confusion sticking in my throat, but I managed to jerk out the words:“If you ever gave any encouragement I did not know it.”“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed father. “Very good, my son, very good. But suppose she were to offer encouragement now, would you come back? Try him once more, Lulie. I would enjoy the courtship very much.”“I am willing,” she said, demurely; but I thought I detected a smile towards father, as if they were in conspiracy.“Now, John,” continued father, “she says she is ready, and will return a favorable answer. How will you commence? Don’t blurt out ‘I love you!’ as that would be unexpected and sudden; come to it gradually, and the slower you are in getting to the point the surer will your answer be ‘Yes.’”I could stand it no longer, but rose from the table and walked from the room, not, however, before hearing Lulie say:“I don’t quite agree with you, Col. Smith. I can’t bear a slow courting fellow. If he loves much it won’t take him long to tell it. There! you have run John off. I like him ever so much, only he is very timid.”I went out and sat on the stoop in no pleasant frame of mind. I was provoked with father for teasing me; I was provoked with myself for being teased, and I was provoked with Lulie for not being teased.“She cannot love me or she would not treat the matter so lightly,” I soliloquized, grinding white circles on the brown stone with my boot heel. “She thinks me timid, too; I’ll prove my boldness the first opportunity I get.”Father and Lulie now came out and sat down, but no further allusion was made to the dining room topic. We spoke of our intended trip to the plantation near Goldsboro’, and Lulie agreed, if her pa was willing, to go up and spend the remainder of the summer with us, as it would be very pleasant for her to be with Carlotta. After talking for some time of the pleasures of the country, Lulie rose to go, and I, of course, accompanied her.So far from proving my boldness I walked by her side in awkward silence till she spoke.“Why did you let your father tease you so to-night, Johnnie?”“He didn’t tease me,” I returned, with Munchausen mendacity. “I didn’t care a straw for what he said, only I did not choose to be spoken of so before a lady.”“I’ll wager Frank Paning would not have been disconcerted,” she said. “He has more self-possession than any one I ever saw.”“I don’t care what in the thunder Frank Paning has; I don’t want to be like him,” I said, savagely.“I did not intend to offend you, sir; I am obliged to you for your escort thus far, but, since you are so incensed, will need your services no farther,” she said, very quietly, taking her hand from my arm.“I beg a thousand pardons, Lulie; I was rude and hasty, but so many constant allusions to Paning irritate me beyond measure. He must be very dear to you from the repeated mention of his name.”“Oh, no, that does not follow at all. I think very well of him, as he is attentive and kind; but here we are at our gate; won’t you come in?”“Thanks! not to-night. Let me ask pardon again, Lulie, for my very harsh words on the way.”“Do not mention it; ‘tis forgotten with me. Good night!”My feelings, as I walked homeward, were very much mingled. There was always pleasure and pain in being with Lulie. Young as she was she already possessed consummate skill in swaying the feelings—now by some bewitching word or look raising your hopes, then dashing them to earth by some sarcasm, or worse, an allusion to some other favorite. She had reduced her game to a science, and always pitted special rivals against each other. Frank was sure to be my thorn. A single remark, evincing a preference for him, was enough to disturb my equanimity for an evening. So, in my thoughts this evening there was pain, yet a sweet pleasure, too, in the reflection that, in our retired country seat up in Wayne, I would have her all to myself;that I could see her every day, and talk as long and freely as I chose, with all the adjuncts and concomitants of love—woods, birds, brooks, bowers, meadows and moonshine.Just as I reached our gate I met Frank Paning himself, hurrying up street to his home.“Hello, John!” he said, lightly, as we stopped, “where have you been? Over to the Doc’s, I suppose. I am getting jealous. Lulie must be looked to.”“There is no danger,” I replied; “you are certainly the idol there.”“Oh, you tell me that to blind me, but I know a thing or two. By the way, how is our little foundling. I heard to-day that your folks had brought her here to raise up as a wife for you. I suppose you wish to train her up to suit you, so she will not have to learn your ways after marriage.”“You heard a most infamous falsehood, then, and you can tell your informant I said so,” I replied, the blood rushing to my face.“Well, don’t get mad about it; I was only joking. I want to call on her; when will she receive company?”“Not in a year or two,” I said, emphatically. “She is going up the country next week, and will not return till the fall, when she will commence school, and be closely occupied with her studies.”“I see it is plain you fear rivals. I will not trouble you.”Before I could reply he was gone.

“John, I saw Cheyleigh in town to-day, and we have arranged all the matters about bringing up your sister, as I suppose you will call her, to live with us. Your mother and yourself must go down for her in the carriage the day after to-morrow.” Thus spoke father, as he pushed his chair back from the tea table, about a week after my return from the Sound.

I deemed it dignified only to say, “Yes, sir.”

“My dear,” he continued, addressing mother, and taking a cigar from his case, “you have some clothing getting ready for her, have you not? As she didn’t bring her baggage on the door I presume her wardrobe is scanty, so much so that she can exclaim, with the fallen Cardinal:

‘My robe,

And my integrity to Heaven, is allI dare now call mine own.’”

“Oh, Col. Smith,” said mother, reproachfully, “do not jest at her misfortunes.”

“Not jesting, my dear, not jesting; but, since poor Wolsey’s time, I suppose she is the only one who could boast any integrity, when limited to a single robe. However, we have not proved her yet—Wolsey may still be alone.”

“That is worse than jesting,” returned mother, with a smile the good Samaritan might have worn, “you are blotting her with suspicion before you have ever seen her.”

“We will assume, then, for your good hearted sake,” said father, blowing out the words on each side of the cigar he was lighting, “that she is an angel, and let her prove her wings.”

“I am sure that she will,” said mother, as she rang her table bell for the servants to clear off the tea things.

The next day was one of preparation, and the room intended for Carlotta was fixed up like a fairy bower. The morning after, mother and I were whirling rapidly toward the Sound in our open carriage, the top thrown back to catch the fresh breeze. What a pleasure was such a drive on such a morning, with such horses, through such scenery, on such an errand!

Neither of us spoke, but leaned upon the side cushions of the carriage, listening to the rapid trample of the horses’ feet and the singing of the wheels over the level roads as we flashed along; now through slim, quiet woods, where the sunshine drove away the shade from half the ground; now through thick luxuriant trees, grouping themselves with dense foliage-curtains around dark unrippled pools, where Artemis could have bathed with perfect modesty, and from which, now, a lonely heron, startled by our wheels, slowly rose with his blue noiseless wings; now through a swampy hollow, where the laurel poured from its white cups exquisite perfume, and now through the solemn forests, where thepatriarch oaks waved their gray moss-hair, and the towering pines stretched their broad arms benignly over all, as if to invoke a blessing from the blue heavens above.

At last Mervue, as Mr. Cheyleigh’s place was called, with its long avenue of oaks, came in view, and in a few moments our horses, lathered with foam, were prancing with unspent fire at the door. Mrs. Cheyleigh, Ned and two of the children, with Carlotta, met us at the steps. Mrs. Cheyleigh had told her of our coming, and her great speaking eyes were turned inquiringly upon us. Mother did not wait for introduction or salutation, but rushed forward and clasped her in her arms. Carlotta seemed in an instant to sound the depths of mother’s tender love, and her first touch was an electric flow of sympathy. Throwing her arms around mother’s neck she burst into convulsive sobbing. It touched every one present. Mrs. Cheyleigh wept; Ned turned into the house with his handkerchief to his face, while I, trying to hide my emotion, was ruthlessly plucking and snapping the tendrils of a jasmine that was clambering over the sides of the porch—little Sue Cheyleigh, in the artless curiosity of childhood, walking around to look at my eyes, in order to discover whether I was crying or not. The first paroxysm of grief over, mother gently released Carlotta, and Mrs. Cheyleigh, with that half hoarse tone which always succeeds tears, invited us in. Carlotta grasped mother tightly by the hand and we followed Mrs. Cheyleigh into the house. Having now an opportunity to observe her closely, I found that Carlotta was not such a little girl as I had supposed—being, in fact, nearly as old and as large as Lulie. Mother, Mrs. C. and the children taking seats in the large, cool sitting room, Ned and myself went out to the stables to see about the horses. When I returned to the sitting room I found mother and Carlotta alone—Mrs. Cheyleigh having excused herself for a short time to attend to domestic affairs. Mother was sitting near an open window, gently stroking Carlotta’shead, which lay confidingly in her lap. They were talking, and, not wishing to interrupt, I took my seat quietly near them.

“And you are willing to come with us and be our child?” mother said, bending over her.

“If you all are willing to take me,” said Carlotta, “I will try to deserve your love.”

“We love you already, my darling child, and will love you more and more each day.”

“I believe you, and trust you, ma’am; but oh! my father, my dear, dead father! how I wish that I were with you in the ground!” and the poor child broke down into sobbing.

“Hush, dear,” said mother, gently; “do not speak so; God has seen fit to spare you——”

“I know He has, but I wish He had not; ‘twould be far sweeter than life to lie by father’s side, though it is cold. But oh!” she continued, raising up her head to look in mother’s face, and taking her hand, “I am so ungrateful to you; you are so good to offer me a home, and yet I shrink from going where I have no right to go, except the right of your kindness.”

“That shall be the surest right of all,” said mother, kissing her forehead; “but you must not feel dependent. We do not take you because we pity you, but because we want just such a daughter to live with and love us.”

“Then, will you promise me, ma’am, if you ever tire of me, that you will send me away? You can do it without unkindness, because papa had a great deal of money, and you can pay some one to take care of me. Will you promise me?”

“Yes, dear, I will promise you to send you away whenever we get tired of you. But, in the meantime, I do not want you to feel humble in our home, as if you were a charity child. Col. Smith has examined your father’s papers, and finds that you are possessed of considerable wealth.He has written to your father’s agent, who was named in the papers, and to the American Consul at Havana. He will probably go to Cuba himself next month, to see about the appointment of a guardian and the settlement of your estate. Have you no relatives at all there?”

“I have a cousin, who lives on the other side of the island, but I have not seen him since I was a very little child. Mother was an orphan, like myself, and came from Spain to Cuba with an old uncle, who died after she was married to papa. We had many acquaintances, but no relatives anywhere in the island except the cousin I have spoken of. I have heard papa speak of having relatives in New Orleans, but I do not know their names.”

“Well, you are composed now; try to remain so. Do not give up to those sad feelings when you feel them coming on.”

“I do struggle hard, Mrs. Smith, to keep from crying; but whenever I commence thinking about the evening of the storm—and I cannot help thinking about it—I remember how happy papa and I were sitting together in our state room, and, though the wind had been high for a day or two, we felt so secure, for the steamer was thought to be the strongest one on the line. I remember so well his holding me by the hand, and saying:

“‘I think the wind is lulling, Lottie, bird; we will be safe to-morrow.’ And then came that terrible cry that the ship was sinking; and we ran together out on the deck, only to find the crew in a panic, and the storm wilder than ever. Papa dragged me back to the cabin, tore off the door, tied me to it, and—— Oh! I cannot, cannot think of it without crying. Do not blame me, I cannot help it.” And her eyes filled again, and her lip quivered with suppressed feeling.

“Dear child, you know I do not blame you; only try by every means to keep your mind from reverting to the painful scene. I will not offer consolation now, for I well knowhow deceitful it sounds to the bereaved to hear those who are not, quoting scripture passages to recommend resignation and submission. The beautiful sacred words are meant as a sympathy, not as a teaching. When your lips are lifted farther from this cup of gall we will go together to the Fount of Life and drink its sweet waters.”

Mrs. Cheyleigh now returned to the room, and the conversation, ceasing between mother and Carlotta, became general. So many and varied were the topics to be discussed that the morning passed rapidly away; dinner came on, and the afternoon siesta, in hammocks swung in the verandas, where the sea breeze came cool and refreshing, was enjoyed, when the sinking sun reminded us that it was time to order the carriage.

When Carlotta came to tell Mrs. C. good-bye, and thank her for her kindness, she had nearly lost control of herself again, but, with an effort, she kept her tears back and entered the carriage. The shadows which had been hiding from the sun all day around the roots of the trees were now stretching out at great length, and spreading into all kinds of fantastic shapes, though they still kept the trees between them and the glaring eye they dreaded so much. The scenery through which we passed was all drowsiness, instead of the vivacity of the morning. The sun had gone down and the twilight was fading when we stopped at our door. Father and Lulie Mayland were standing on the stoop, waiting for us. Father took Carlotta in his arms out of the carriage and pressed her to him tenderly, while I was helping mother out. Lulie was then presented to her, and, after a kiss and embrace, they went up the steps hand-in-hand, as fast friends as if they had known and loved each other from their birth. We went into the dining room, where early summer tea was already laid. Carlotta did not wish anything, and mother withdrew in a short time with her. After the silence that succeeded, for a few seconds,their retirement, father said (and I knew by the twinkle in his eye he was enjoying the thorns on which I sat):

“Lulie,” sighting at her with one eye through his iced tea, “I am afraid you will have a powerful rival in Carlotta. You must secure all your beaux with double chains or she will steal them away. I think one is proving recreant already, if I may judge from the glances of admiration he lavished upon her just now at the table.”

My face was crimson, and the consciousness that it was so made the hue only deeper. To be teased about the girl I loved, before her face, by father, too, was the very climax of embarrassment to me. I glanced at Lulie, and found her not in the least disconcerted.

“Oh, John is so fickle,” she replied, laughing, “that I can never count on him for more than a day or two. If he deserts me, however, I shall not be desolate, as I have several others under my thumb, you know.”

Embarrassment is very much increased by being contrasted with coolness and ease, and mine received a tenfold impulse from Lulie’s light way of treating the matter.

“Really,” continued father, “you are quite a belle; but I am surprised that John should have withdrawn so easily from the contest. I thought you had more perseverance, my son. Surely, you did not encourage him, Lulie?”

“Yes, indeed I did, but he was not to be caught, and I have given him up as a hopeless case.”

I vainly endeavored to swallow my confusion with large gulps of tea; the tea somehow slipped by and left the confusion sticking in my throat, but I managed to jerk out the words:

“If you ever gave any encouragement I did not know it.”

“Ha! ha! ha!” laughed father. “Very good, my son, very good. But suppose she were to offer encouragement now, would you come back? Try him once more, Lulie. I would enjoy the courtship very much.”

“I am willing,” she said, demurely; but I thought I detected a smile towards father, as if they were in conspiracy.

“Now, John,” continued father, “she says she is ready, and will return a favorable answer. How will you commence? Don’t blurt out ‘I love you!’ as that would be unexpected and sudden; come to it gradually, and the slower you are in getting to the point the surer will your answer be ‘Yes.’”

I could stand it no longer, but rose from the table and walked from the room, not, however, before hearing Lulie say:

“I don’t quite agree with you, Col. Smith. I can’t bear a slow courting fellow. If he loves much it won’t take him long to tell it. There! you have run John off. I like him ever so much, only he is very timid.”

I went out and sat on the stoop in no pleasant frame of mind. I was provoked with father for teasing me; I was provoked with myself for being teased, and I was provoked with Lulie for not being teased.

“She cannot love me or she would not treat the matter so lightly,” I soliloquized, grinding white circles on the brown stone with my boot heel. “She thinks me timid, too; I’ll prove my boldness the first opportunity I get.”

Father and Lulie now came out and sat down, but no further allusion was made to the dining room topic. We spoke of our intended trip to the plantation near Goldsboro’, and Lulie agreed, if her pa was willing, to go up and spend the remainder of the summer with us, as it would be very pleasant for her to be with Carlotta. After talking for some time of the pleasures of the country, Lulie rose to go, and I, of course, accompanied her.

So far from proving my boldness I walked by her side in awkward silence till she spoke.

“Why did you let your father tease you so to-night, Johnnie?”

“He didn’t tease me,” I returned, with Munchausen mendacity. “I didn’t care a straw for what he said, only I did not choose to be spoken of so before a lady.”

“I’ll wager Frank Paning would not have been disconcerted,” she said. “He has more self-possession than any one I ever saw.”

“I don’t care what in the thunder Frank Paning has; I don’t want to be like him,” I said, savagely.

“I did not intend to offend you, sir; I am obliged to you for your escort thus far, but, since you are so incensed, will need your services no farther,” she said, very quietly, taking her hand from my arm.

“I beg a thousand pardons, Lulie; I was rude and hasty, but so many constant allusions to Paning irritate me beyond measure. He must be very dear to you from the repeated mention of his name.”

“Oh, no, that does not follow at all. I think very well of him, as he is attentive and kind; but here we are at our gate; won’t you come in?”

“Thanks! not to-night. Let me ask pardon again, Lulie, for my very harsh words on the way.”

“Do not mention it; ‘tis forgotten with me. Good night!”

My feelings, as I walked homeward, were very much mingled. There was always pleasure and pain in being with Lulie. Young as she was she already possessed consummate skill in swaying the feelings—now by some bewitching word or look raising your hopes, then dashing them to earth by some sarcasm, or worse, an allusion to some other favorite. She had reduced her game to a science, and always pitted special rivals against each other. Frank was sure to be my thorn. A single remark, evincing a preference for him, was enough to disturb my equanimity for an evening. So, in my thoughts this evening there was pain, yet a sweet pleasure, too, in the reflection that, in our retired country seat up in Wayne, I would have her all to myself;that I could see her every day, and talk as long and freely as I chose, with all the adjuncts and concomitants of love—woods, birds, brooks, bowers, meadows and moonshine.

Just as I reached our gate I met Frank Paning himself, hurrying up street to his home.

“Hello, John!” he said, lightly, as we stopped, “where have you been? Over to the Doc’s, I suppose. I am getting jealous. Lulie must be looked to.”

“There is no danger,” I replied; “you are certainly the idol there.”

“Oh, you tell me that to blind me, but I know a thing or two. By the way, how is our little foundling. I heard to-day that your folks had brought her here to raise up as a wife for you. I suppose you wish to train her up to suit you, so she will not have to learn your ways after marriage.”

“You heard a most infamous falsehood, then, and you can tell your informant I said so,” I replied, the blood rushing to my face.

“Well, don’t get mad about it; I was only joking. I want to call on her; when will she receive company?”

“Not in a year or two,” I said, emphatically. “She is going up the country next week, and will not return till the fall, when she will commence school, and be closely occupied with her studies.”

“I see it is plain you fear rivals. I will not trouble you.”

Before I could reply he was gone.

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