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Elinor Wyllys by Susan Fenimore Cooper

Part 7 out of 7

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successful negotiation; for a woman was seen going towards the
garden with a basket, and Sam, the boy, had landed. Before long a
basket was carried down from the house; while Sam and the woman
were still busy in the garden.

"They had better be off as soon as they can," said de Vaux, "for
the wind is certainly falling."

"There is a shower coming up over the island, Captain de Vaux,"
said Stebbins, touching his hat.

"Coming, sure enough!--look yonder!"--exclaimed Harry, pointing
eastward, where heavy clouds were now seen rising rapidly over
the wood.

"We shall have a shower, and something of a squall, I guess,"
added Stebbins.

There could not indeed be much doubt of the fact, for a heavy
shower now seemed advancing, with the sudden rapidity not unusual
after very warm weather; the position of the bay, and a wooded
bank having concealed its approach until close at hand.

"We shall have a dead calm in ten minutes," said de Vaux; "I wish
the Petrel was off."

But still there seemed something going on in the garden; the
woman and Sam were very busy, and Charlie and Smith had joined

"They must see the shower coming up by this time!" exclaimed de

"There will be a squall and a sharp one, too," added Stebbins.

The wind, which had prevailed steadily all the morning in a
light, sultry breeze from the south, was now dying away; the
sullen roll of distant thunder was heard, while here and there a
sudden flash burst from a nearer cloud.

"Thank Heaven, they are off at last!" cried de Vaux, who was
watching the schooner with some anxiety.

Harry and the two men were busy gathering together under cover of
the shanty, the different articles scattered about, and among
others Charlie's half-finished sketch.

The sun was now obscured; light, detached clouds, looking heated
and angry, were hurrying in advance with a low flight, while the
heavens were half-covered by the threatening mass which came
gathering in dark and heavy folds about the island. Suddenly the
great body of vapour which had been hanging sullenly over the
western horizon all the morning, now set in motion by a fresh
current of air, began to rise with a slow movement, as if to meet
the array advancing so eagerly from the opposite direction; it
came onward steadily, with a higher and a wider sweep than the
mass which was pouring immediately over the little bay. The
landscape had hung out its storm-lights; the dark scowl of the
approaching gust fell alike on wood, beach, and waters; the birds
were wheeling about anxiously; the gulls and other water-fowl
flying lower and lower, nearer and nearer to their favourite
element; the land-birds hurrying hither and thither, seeking
shelter among their native branches. But not a drop of rain had
yet fallen; and the waves still came rolling in upon the sands
with the measured, lulling sound of fair weather.

The air from the south revived for a moment, sweeping in light,
fitful puffs over the bay. Favoured by this last flickering
current of the morning's breeze, the Petrel had succeeded in
making her way half across the bay, though returning less
steadily than she had gone on her errand an hour before.

"Give us another puff or two, and she will yet be here before the
squall," said de Vaux.

The little schooner was now indeed within less than half a mile
of the wharf; but here at length the wind entirely failed her,
and she sat idly on the water. De Vaux was watching her through
the glass; there seemed to be some little hesitation and
confusion on board; Sam, the boy, had given up the tiller to
Black Bob. Suddenly the first blast of the gust from the east
came rustling through the wood, making the young trees bend
before it; then as it passed over the water there was a minute's

"How she dodges!--What are they about?" exclaimed Harry.

"What do they mean?--Are they blind?--can't they see the squall
coming?" cried de Vaux in great anxiety, as he watched the
hesitation on board the Petrel.

"As my name is Nat Fisher, that nigger is drunk!--I thought so
this morning!" exclaimed the steward.

"And Smith and Hubbard know nothing of a boat!" cried de Vaux, in

The words had scarcely passed his lips before the wind came
rushing over the wood, in a sudden, furious blast, bringing
darker and heavier clouds, accompanied by quick, vivid flashes of
lightning, and sharp cracks of thunder; the rain pouring down in
torrents. It was with difficulty the young men kept their footing
on the end of the wharf, such was the first fury of the gust; but
they forgot themselves in fears for their friends.

"Are they mad!" cried de Vaux, as he marked the uncertainty of
their movements; while the wind was sweeping furiously over the
darkened waters towards them.

A heavy sheet of rain, pouring in a flood from the clouds,
completely enveloped the party on the wharf; another second and a
shout was indistinctly heard amid the tumult of the winds and
waters; a lighter cloud passed over, the bay was partially seen
again; but neither the white sails of the Petrel nor her buoyant
form could be traced by the eager eyes on the wharf. She had been
struck by the gust and capsized.

"She is gone!" exclaimed de Vaux, with a cry of horror.

"Charlie can't swim!" cried Harry.

"Nor Bob, for certain," said the steward. "I don't know about the

Three shots from a fowling-piece were rapidly fired, as a signal
to the party in the Petrel that their situation was known to
their friends on shore. The steward was instantly ordered to run
along the beach to the farthest point, and carry the boat from
there to the spot; it was a distance of more than two miles by
land, still de Vaux thought it best to be done; while he himself
and Stebbins seized another pair of oars, and set off at full
speed in the opposite direction, to the nearest point, about a
mile from the wharf, beyond which Stryker was fishing with their
own boat, intending to carry her instantly to the relief of the
party in the schooner.

Harry thought of his friend; Charlie could not swim, he himself
was a remarkably good swimmer. It must be some little time before
either boat could reach the capsized schooner, and in the
interval, two at least of the four individuals in the Petrel,
were helpless and in imminent peril. The idea of Charlie's danger
decided his course; in a moment he had cast off his clothes, and
with Bruno at his side--a faithful ally at such a moment--he had
thrown himself into the water, confident that he could swim the
distance himself with ease.

The next half-hour was one of fearful anxiety. The gust still
raged with sullen fury; the shower from eastward, collected among
the mists of the ocean, and the array from the west, gathered
amid the woods and marshes of the land, met with a fierce shock
on the shores of the Vineyard. The thunder and lightning were
unusually severe, several bolts falling within a short distance
about the bay; the rain pouring down in a dense sheet, as the
wind drove cloud after cloud over the spot in its stormy flight.
And amid this scene of violence four human beings were struggling
for life, while their anxious friends were hurrying to their
relief, with every nerve alive. Frederick Smith was the first who
rose after the Petrel capsized; in another moment he saw the head
of the boy emerge from the water at a little distance; the lad
could swim, and both had soon gained the portion of the little
schooner's hull which was partially bare, though constantly
washed by the waves. Another minute, and Smith saw amid the spray
Charlie's head; he knew that Hubbard could not swim, and moved
towards him with a cry of encouragement.

"Here!" replied the young painter; but he had disappeared before
Smith could reach him.

A fresh blast of wind, rain, and hail passed over the spot; Smith
moved about calling to Hubbard and the negro; but he received no
answer from either.

"There's one of them!" cried the boy eagerly; he swam towards the
object he had seen, but it proved to be only a hat.

Both returned to the Petrel's side, watching as closely as the
violence of the wind and rain would permit. Not a trace of the
negro was seen; yet Smith thought he must have risen to the
surface at some point unobserved by them, for he was a man of a
large, corpulent body, more likely to float than many others. A
second time Smith was relieved by seeing Charlie rise, but at a
greater distance from the Petrel's hull; a second time he
strained every nerve to reach him, but again the young man sunk
beneath the waves.

A shout was now heard. "It is the boat!" said Smith, as he
answered the call. He was mistaken; it was Hazlehurst who now
approached, with Bruno at his side, guided by the voices of Smith
and the boy.

"Charlie!" cried Harry, as he made his way through the water.
Charlie!" he repeated again.

"Hubbard has sunk twice, and the negro is gone!" cried Smith.

"Come to the hull and take breath," added Smith.

But just as he spoke, Harry had seen an arm left bare by a
passing wave; he made a desperate effort, reached the spot, and
seized Charlie's body, crying joyfully, "It is Hubbard; I have
him!--Charlie, do you know me?--Charlie, speak but a word, my
good fellow!"

But the young man had lost his consciousness; he returned no
answer either by look or word. Harry grasped his collar, holding
his face above the water, and at the same time moving towards the
Petrel's hull as rapidly as he could.

"Here Bruno, my noble dog! That's right, Smith, get a firm hold
on the schooner; we must draw him up, he has fainted; but the
boats must be here soon."

Smith was following Hazlehurst's directions; but ere Bruno had
joined his master, Harry, now within a short distance of the
schooner, suddenly cried, "Help!"--and in another second both he
and Charlie had disappeared beneath the water, in a manner as
incomprehensible, as it was unexpected and distressing to Smith.

"He's sunk!" cried the boy.

"How?--where? Surely he was not exhausted!"

A howl burst from Bruno.

"Perhaps it's the cramp," said the lad.

"Both sunk!--Hazlehurst too!" again exclaimed Smith, as much
amazed as he was distressed. He and the boy threw themselves from
the schooner's side again, looking anxiously for some trace of

"Look sharp, my lad, as you would save a fellow-creature!"

"There's one of them!" cried the boy, and in another instant he
had caught Charlie by the hair. But not a trace of Hazlehurst was
seen since he first disappeared, and the waters had closed so
suddenly over him. Charlie was carried to the Petrel's side; and
while Smith and the lad were endeavouring to raise him on the
schooner, Bruno was swimming hither and thither, howling
piteously for his master.

A shout was now heard.

"The boat at last, thank Heaven!" cried Smith, returning the

A minute passed; nothing was seen of Harry; Charlie was raised
entirely above water; when at length the Petrel's boat dashed
towards them, urged by all the strength of four rowers.

"Hubbard!--Bob!" cried de Vaux, as the first glance showed him
that both Smith and the boy were safe.

"Hubbard is here, insensible--Bob gone--Hazlehurst sunk, too!"

"Hazlehurst and Bob, too!--Merciful powers!" exclaimed the party.

A hurried, eager search succeeded, as soon as Charlie, with Smith
and Sam, now somewhat exhausted by fatigue and agitation, were
taken on board. Hubbard was quite insensible; young Van Horne,
the physician, thought his appearance unfavourable, but instantly
resorted to every means possible under the circumstances, with
the hope of restoring animation. Still nothing was seen of Harry;
his entire disappearance was quite incomprehensible.

"It must have been cramp; yet I never knew him have it, and he is
one of the best swimmers in the country!" said de Vaux.

"He must have felt it coming, and had presence of mind to loosen
his hold of Hubbard at the same moment he cried for help,"
observed Smith.

Bruno was still swimming, now here, now there, encircling the
Petrel in wider or narrower reaches, howling from time to time
with a sound that went to the hearts of all who heard him.
Different objects floating about beguiled the party for an
instant with hope, but each time a few strokes of the oars
undeceived them.

Suddenly Bruno stopped within a short distance of the Petrel, and
dove; those in the boat watched him eagerly; he rose with a sharp
bark, calling them to the spot; then dove again, rose with a
howl, and for a third time disappeared beneath the water.
Convinced that he had found either Harry or the negro, de Vaux
threw off his coat and plunged into the water, to examine the
spot thoroughly. The dog soon rose again with a rope in his
mouth, pulling it with all his strength, uttering at the same
time a smothered cry. The rope was seized by those in the boat,
and de Vaux dove; he touched first one body, then another; but
all his strength was unequal to the task of raising either. After
a hurried examination, it was found that one body, that of the
negro, was entangled in a rope and thus held under water from the
first; while Harry's leg was firmly clenched in the dying grip of
Black Bob, who must have seized it as Hazlehurst passed, and
drawn him downward in that way.

In as short a time as possible, Hazlehurst and the negro were
placed in the boat by the side of Hubbard, who had not yet showed
any sign of life; every effort was made to revive them by some of
the party, while the others rowed with all their strength towards
the shore.

All watched the face of Van Horne, the young physician, with the
greatest anxiety, as he leaned first over one, then over another,
directing the labours of the rest.

"Surely there must be some hope!" cried de Vaux to him.

"We will leave no effort untried," replied the other; though he
could not look sanguine.

The boat from the most distant point, rowed by the steward and a
boy from the farm-house, now joined them; and those who could not
be of use in assisting Van Horne, passed into her, taking their
oars, and towing the boat of the ill-fated Petrel with her
melancholy burden towards the beach. Bruno could not be moved
from his old master's side; it was painful to see him crawling
from one body to the other, with as much watchfulness, as much
grief, and almost as much intelligence as the surviving friends;
now crouching at the cold feet of Hazlehurst, now licking the
stiff hand, now raising himself to gaze wistfully at the
inanimate features of the young man.

The shower was passing over; the rain soon ceased, the clouds
broke away, the sun burst again in full glory upon the bay, the
beach, the woods, throwing a brilliant bow over the island. But
three of those upon whom it had shone only an hour earlier, were
now stretched cold and lifeless on the sands; while the mourning
survivors were hanging in heartfelt grief over the bodies of the
two friends and the negro sailor.


"And e'en to wakeful conscience unconfest,
Her fear, her grief, her joy were his alone."

{Reginald Heber (English poet, 1783-1826), "Morte d'Arthur: A
Fragment" lines II.534-535}

THE melancholy disaster of the Petrel happened on Monday; it was
not until the Thursday following that the evil tidings reached

Elinor, accompanied by Mary Van Alstyne, set out quite early in
the morning to pay some visits at different country-houses in the
neighbourhood. They had been out some little time, having driven
several miles, and made three or four calls, when they reached
Mrs. Van Horne's. On entering the parlour they found the mistress
of the house was not there, but a much less agreeable person, the
elder Mrs. Tibbs, the greatest gossip in Longbridge.

"I am glad to see you this morning, young ladies," she said.

"Thank you, ma'am; it is a very pleasant morning, certainly,"
replied Elinor, as she took a seat on the sofa.

"Very pleasant, yes; but I was fearful you might have been kept
at home by the bad news we Longbridge people have just heard."

"It does not seem to have kept you at home either, Mrs. Tibbs,
whatever it may be," replied Elinor, smiling; for she knew that
any news, whether good or bad, always set this lady in motion.
Little did the poor young girl suspect the nature of the
intelligence that awaited her!

"No; I thought my good friend, Mrs. Van Horne, might feel uneasy
about her son, and came over to be with her."

"Mrs. Van Horne! Has anything happened to the family?"

"You haven't heard the news then?--I am surprised at that. But
here is an account of the accident in the New Haven Eagle. It has
made us all feel quite dreadfully at home!"

"What has happened?--Pray tell us!" exclaimed Elinor, now looking

"Here is the account; but perhaps you had better let Miss Mary
read it; she was not so intimate with the deceased."

"What is it?--let me see the paper, Mary. An accident to one of
the Van Hornes!" and she took the sheet from the table. Her eye
immediately fell on the following article:

"Our city was painfully excited this morning by the intelligence
which reached here, of a distressing accident to a beautiful
little schooner, the property of Hubert de Vaux, Esq., of New
York, which was seen in our waters only a few days since, and
attracted universal admiration in our port."

Elinor's eyes could see no farther; she stretched out the paper
to her cousin, saying in a faint voice, "Mary, read!"

Mary Van Alstyne took the paper, and continued silently to look
over the passage.

"This little schooner, bound on a cruise of pleasure, had reached
Martha's Vineyard, when, during the sudden squall which passed
over this section also on Monday, she capsized, and melancholy to
relate, four persons lost their lives. The party consisted of Mr.
de Vaux himself, Colonel Stryker, and Mr. Van Horne, of New York;
Charles Hubbard, Esq., the distinguished young artist; Henry
Hazlehurst, Esq., our secretary of Legation to the court of
Russia, where he was shortly to proceed with Mr. Henley, our
Envoy; and also Frederick Smith, Esq., a young gentleman from
Philadelphia. There were in addition five men in the crew. We
regret to add that Mr. Hazlehurst and Mr. Hubbard, a negro sailor
known as Black Bob, and another man, name not mentioned, were
drowned; the bodies were all recovered, but every effort to
restore life proved unavailing."

Mary Van Alstyne had strong nerves, but the suddenness of these
melancholy tidings, and a dread of the effect upon Elinor, made
her turn deadly pale.

"Tell me, Mary," said her cousin faintly.

Mary waited a moment to recover herself, when the question was
anxiously repeated. She took Elinor's hand and sat down by her
side, using every precaution of delicacy and tenderness in
breaking the bad news to her cousin; she approached the worst as
gradually as she could, and mentioned every favourable
circumstance first; while Elinor sat trembling in every limb, yet
endeavouring to retain command over her senses and her feelings.
But it was in vain; when Mary was at length forced to confess
that two of their friends were among the lost, Elinor put her
hand to her heart, while her eyes were fixed on her cousin's
lips; when the name of Hazlehurst was at length reluctantly
pronounced, she started from her chair, and fell quite insensible
on the floor, at her companion's feet.

It was a long time before she could be restored. Mrs. Van Horne
and the doctor, who was happily in the house, did all in their
power to relieve their young friend; and Mrs. Tibbs was really
quite distressed and mortified, when she found the effects of her
allusion to the accident were so serious.

"Poor young thing!--I'd no notion, Mrs. Van Horne, that she would
have taken it so much to heart. Do you suppose she was engaged to
one of the young gentlemen?"

An imploring look from Mary Van Alstyne said to the doctor as
plainly as look could speak, "Do send her away!"

The doctor was very ready to do so, and by virtue of his medical
authority requested the gossip to walk into the other room, where
he permitted himself to give her a sharp reprimand for having
been in such haste to tell the evil tidings.

It was some time before Elinor fully recovered her consciousness;
her first words expressed a wish to be carried home.

"Home, Mary," she said faintly.

Mrs. Van Horne, who was deeply interested in her young friend,
was anxious she should remain where she was until her strength
had entirely returned.

"I am strong now," said Elinor feebly, making an effort to rise.

Mary looked inquiringly at the doctor.

"You shall go in a few minutes, my dear Miss Elinor," said the
doctor after an instant's hesitation; he thought it best that she
should do so, but determined that his wife and himself would
accompany her to Wyllys-Roof.

"Mary," said Elinor, with an effort, looking towards Mrs. Van
Horne, "ask if--"

Mary guessed that she wished to know if the Van Hornes had heard
anything in addition to the account in the paper. Without
speaking, she looked the question.

"We have had a few lines, sent us by Mrs. de Vaux from New York,"
said Mrs. Van Horne, gently.

Elinor closed her eyes, and fell back again on the cushion.

"You must not talk, my dear," said the doctor kindly.

Young de Vaux had in fact written a line or two to his mother,
who was in New York, by the boat which he sent off immediately to
engage a small steamer, as soon as the squall had passed over;
and this note had been considerately forwarded by Mrs. de Vaux to
the Van Hornes, as it mentioned the safety of their own son. It
ran as follows:

"Martha's Vineyard.

"MY DEAR MOTHER:--We are greatly distressed by a melancholy
accident which befell us scarce an hour since. The Petrel
capsized; most of our party are safe; but two of my friends are
gone, Hazlehurst and Hubbard! You will understand our grief; mine
especially! We shall return immediately.

"Your son, H. de V."

The doctor handed this note to Mary, at a moment when Mrs. Van
Horne was bending over Elinor.

In a few minutes Elinor made another request to be carried home.

"Pray take me home, doctor," she said; "I can go now."

The doctor felt her pulse, and observing that although very
feeble, she seemed to have command of herself, he thought the air
and motion would be of service. The carriage was ordered, she
took a restorative, and making a great effort to rally, leaning
on the doctor's arm she walked to the door. Dr. and Mrs. Van
Horne accompanied her, as well as her cousin.

"Thank you," she said with her usual gentleness, as she remarked
their kind intention, and then throwing herself back in her seat
she closed her eyes; her face was deadly pale, large tears would
force themselves slowly from beneath her eyelids, and a shudder
pass over her limbs; and yet it was evident she made a strong
effort to control her emotion. There was something in her whole
expression and manner, that bore all the stamp of the deepest
feeling; it was no common nervousness, no shock of sudden
surprise, nor merely friendly sympathy; it was the expression of
unalloyed grief springing from the very depths of a noble heart.

Even Dr. Van Horne, whose nerves had been hardened by the
exercise of years amid scenes peculiar to his calling, could
scarcely refrain from shedding tears, as he looked with
compassion and with respect at his young friend. She seemed quite
indifferent to the observation of others; her heart and mind were
apparently engrossed by one idea, one feeling, and all her
strength engaged in facing one evil.

Mrs. Van Horne had not supposed that the bad news would have
affected her so deeply, nor was Mary Van Alstyne prepared for the
result; but however Elinor might have hitherto deceived herself,
however much her friends might have misunderstood her, the truth
was now only too clear; her heart had spoken too loudly to be
misunderstood--it was wholly Hazlehurst's.

They drove on steadily and slowly, the silence only interrupted
by occasional remarks of Elinor's companions, as they offered her
some assistance. When they came in sight of the Hubbard cottage,
Mary Van Alstyne's heart sunk anew, as she remembered the blow
which had also fallen upon their good neighbours.

Elinor's efforts for self-command increased as she drew near
home--for the sake of her friends, her aunt and grandfather, she
strained every nerve; but on reaching the house it was in vain,
her resolution gave way entirely when she saw Bruno lying in his
usual place on the piazza. She became so much agitated that it
was feared she would again fall into a deep swoon, and she was
carried from the carriage to a sofa in the drawing-room. Neither
Miss Agnes nor Mr. Wyllys was at home; they had gone to their
afflicted neighbours the Hubbards. An express had brought a
report of the melancholy catastrophe, not half an hour after
Elinor had left Wyllys-Roof in the morning; the lifeless body of
our poor young friend, Charlie, was to reach Longbridge that
afternoon, and Hubert de Vaux had come to request Miss Agnes to
break the sad truth to the bereaved mother and sister. Jane also
was absent, she was in New York with the Taylors; but Elinor's
faithful nurse and the old black cook came hurrying to her
assistance, as soon as they knew she had reached the house so
much indisposed.

{"express" = special messenger}

Miss Agnes was sent for; but Elinor had revived again when her
aunt returned, though she was still surrounded by the anxious
circle, Mary, the Van Hornes, her nurse, and old Hetty. When she
heard the footsteps approaching, she made an effort to raise
herself, with a sort of instinctive desire to spare her aunt a
sight of all her weakness.

"You had better lie still, my dear Miss Elinor," said the doctor
kindly, offering her a glass of some restorative.

Miss Agnes entered the room and advanced anxiously to the sofa.

"My poor child!" exclaimed Miss Wyllys. "What is it,
doctor?--illness?" she added anxiously.

The doctor shook his head. "She heard the news too suddenly," he

Mr. Wyllys now followed his daughter. Elinor turned her eyes
towards the door as he entered; a cry burst from her lips--she
saw Hazlehurst!

Yes, Hazlehurst standing in the doorway, looking pale and
distressed, but living, breathing, moving!

In another second Elinor had started to her feet, sprung towards
him, and thrown herself in his arms--heedless of the family,
heedless of friends and servants about her, forgetting in that
one sudden revulsion of feeling, the whole world but Harry.

{"revulsion" = a sudden change of feeling}

Hazlehurst seemed quite forgetful himself of the everyday {sic}
rules of society, and the merely friendly position in which they
had stood at parting, but a week before; his whole expression and
manner now betrayed an interest in Elinor too strong to be
disguised, and which could be explained in one way only.

All this was the work of a moment; the various degrees of
amazement, produced by the sudden appearance of Harry, on some
individuals of the group of spectators, the surprise of others at
the strong emotions betrayed by the young couple had not
subsided, when an exclamation from Hazlehurst himself again fixed
their attention entirely on Elinor.

"She has fainted!" he cried, and carried her to the sofa.

But joy is life to the heart and spirits; Elinor lost her
consciousness for a moment only. She raised her eyes and fixed
them upon Hazlehurst, who still held one of her hands.

"It is Harry!" she exclaimed, and burst into tears. She felt that
he was safe, that he was by her side; she already felt that he
loved her, that they understood each other; and yet she was still
quite incapable of giving anything like a reason for what had
passed. It was all confusion in her mind, all indistinct but the
blessed truth that Harry was safe, accompanied by a hope she had
not dared to cherish for years. She was still feeble and
agitated, her colour varying with every beat of her heart; her
face now covered with a deep natural blush at the sound of
Harry's voice, at the expression of his eye; now deadly pale
again as she caught some allusion to the Petrel.

The doctor recommended that she should be left alone with Miss
Wyllys. Her grandfather kissed her tenderly and left the room, as
well as the rest of the party; with one exception,
however--Hazlehurst lingered behind.

Having reached the adjoining room, explanations were exchanged
between the friends. Mr. Wyllys learned that Elinor and the Van
Hornes had supposed Harry lost, from the paper, and the first
hurried note of de Vaux. When they arrived at Wyllys-Roof, there
was no one there to give them any later information; Mammy Sarah,
the nurse, knew no more than themselves; she had heard the
Broadlawn story, after having seen young de Vaux leave the house
with Miss Agnes, when they first went to the Hubbards'.
Hazlehurst had not accompanied his friend, for he had seen Mr.
Wyllys in a neighbouring field, and went there to give him the
information; and thence they had both gone to the cottage, where
they remained until Mrs. Clapp and Mr. Joseph Hubbard arrived
from Longbridge. Neither Mr. Wyllys nor Miss Agnes had received
the least intimation of the accident, until they heard a correct
account from de Vaux, and Harry himself; consequently they had
not felt the same alarm for Hazlehurst.

Dr. and Mrs. Van Horne were much gratified by hearing, that
Hazlehurst's restoration was owing to the devoted perseverance of
their son; for it was only after every one else had given up the
hope of reviving him, after long and ceaseless exertions, that
signs of life were discovered. They also now learned the
circumstances of the accident, the fact that two instead of four
persons were lost, and they found that it was in endeavouring to
save Charlie that Harry had so nearly lost his own life. But we
leave them together to express their natural feelings of
gratitude for those who had escaped, sympathy with the sufferers,
their surprise at Harry's appearance, and all the varying
emotions of such a moment.

While this conversation was passing in one room, Elinor was in
some measure recovering from the first sudden shock of the
morning in the other. Harry seemed fully determined to maintain
his post at her side, and still kept possession of her hand; in
fact, the solemn, anxious moment, hallowed by grief, at which the
disclosure of their mutual feelings had been made, seemed to
banish all common, petty embarrassments. Miss Agnes and Harry
required but a word and a look to explain matters; the aunt
already understood it all.

"Poor Charlie!" exclaimed Elinor, with a half-inquiring look, as
if with a faint hope that he too might have returned, like Harry.

"Our friend is gone, dearest!" said Harry, his eyes moistened
with tears as he spoke.

Elinor wept, and a silence of a minute ensued. "His poor mother,
and his sister!" she exclaimed at length.

"His two mothers, rather," said Harry, with a faltering voice.

After another silence, Elinor turned to Hazlehurst with an
anxious look, saying:

"And your other friends?"

"All safe; love."

"The crew too?"

"One of the crew is lost; Black Bob, a sailor from Longbridge."

"I remember him; he had no family I believe, Aunt," she said.

"None, my child, that I have ever heard of."

"The heaviest blow has fallen upon the Hubbards," said Harry.

After a pause, in which aunt and niece had prayed for the
mourners, Elinor again made some inquiries.

"Were all in the Petrel at the time?" asked Elinor.

"Smith and our poor Charlie, the negro and a boy were crossing a
bay in the Petrel, when she capsized, by the bad management of
the negro, who had been drinking. The rest of us were on shore."

"You were not in any danger then?" said Elinor, as if relieved
that he had not even been exposed to past peril.

"I owe my life to my friend Van Horne," he replied.

Elinor shuddered, and turned deadly pale again. Harry threw his
arms about her and embraced her fervently, until Elinor, who had
now partially recovered the common current of her ideas, made a
gentle struggle to release herself.

"But you were not in the Petrel?" she said again, as if anxious
to understand all that related to him.

"We all went to our friends as soon as we saw the schooner
capsize," said Harry.

"Hubert de Vaux told me that Harry swam some distance, with the
hope of saving poor Charles, who could not swim himself," said
Miss Agnes. "It was in that way, my child, that he was exposed."

"To save Charlie!--that was like you," said Elinor, with a glow
on her cheek.

"There was no danger--no merit whatever in doing so--I have often
swum farther," said Harry; "the only difficulty was caused by my
becoming entangled in some ropes, which drew me under water."

"But where was the boat?"

"It was not at hand at the moment; they brought it as soon as

"Did Charlie speak?" asked Elinor, sadly.

"My poor friend was insensible when I reached him."

Again a moment's pause ensued.

"I must not forget to tell you, love, that we owe a great deal to
another friend of ours," said Harry, smiling. "You will be glad
to hear that Bruno behaved nobly; he first discovered the ropes
in which we were entangled."

"Bruno!--Where is my noble dog? Pray call him; let me see him!"

Harry went to the door, and there was Bruno lying across the
threshold, as if waiting to be admitted; he came in at Harry's
call, but not with his usual bound; he seemed to understand that
if his old master had been saved, his master's friend was lost.
The noble creature was much caressed by Miss Wyllys and Elinor;
and we are not ashamed to confess that the latter kissed him more
than once. At length, Miss Agnes observing that her niece was
very much recovered, rose from her seat, and stooping to kiss
Elinor's forehead, placed her hand in that of Harry, saying with
much feeling, as she joined them, "God bless you, my children!"
and then left the room.

As for what passed after Miss Agnes left her young friends, we
cannot say; Bruno was the only witness to that interview between
Harry and Elinor, and as Bruno was no tell-tale, nothing has ever
transpired on the subject. We may suppose, however, that two
young people, strongly attached to each other, united under such
peculiar circumstances, did not part again until a conclusive and
satisfactory explanation had taken place. Harry no doubt was
enabled to quiet any scruples he may have felt with regard to
Ellsworth; and probably Elinor was assured, that she had entirely
mistaken Hazlehurst's feelings during the past summer; that Mrs.
Creighton was his friend's sister, and a charming woman, but not
the woman he loved, not the woman he could ever love, after
having known his Elinor. Then, as both parties were frank and
warm-hearted, as they had known each other for years, and had
just been reunited under circumstances so solemn, there was
probably more truth, less reserve, and possibly more tenderness
than usual at similar meetings. Doubtless there were some smiles;
and to judge from the tone of both parties on separating, we
think that some tears must have been shed. We are certain that
amid their own intimate personal communications, the young friend
so dear to both, so recently lost, was more than once remembered;
while at the same time it is a fact, that another communication
of some importance to Harry, the disclosures of Stebbins, was
forgotten by him, or deferred until the interview was
interrupted. Mr. Wyllys entered to let Harry know that Hubert de
Vaux had come for him.

"De Vaux is here waiting for you, Harry," said Mr. Wyllys,
opening the drawing-room door.

"Is it possible, my dear sir?--Is it so late?" exclaimed Harry.

It was in fact de Vaux, come to accompany Harry to Longbridge, to
meet the body of our poor Charlie: so closely, on that eventful
day, were joy and sadness mingled to the friends at Wyllys-Roof.

Elinor had risen from her seat as her grandfather approached.

"You feel better, my child," he said kindly.

"I am happy, grandpapa!--happy as I can be TO-DAY!" she added,
blushing, and weeping, and throwing her arms about his neck.

"It is all right, I see. May you be blessed, together, my
children!" said the venerable man, uniting their hands.

After an instant's silence, Elinor made a movement to leave the

"I am going to Longbridge, but I shall hope to see you again in
the evening," said Harry, before she left him.

"When you come back, then. You are going to Longbridge, you say?"

"Yes," Said Harry sadly; "to meet Van Horne and Smith, with--"

Elinor made no reply; she understood his sad errand; offered him
her hand again, and left the room. She retired to her own
apartment, and remained there alone for a long time; and there
the young girl fell on her knees, and offered up most fervent,
heartfelt thanksgivings for the safety of one she loved truly,
one she had long loved, so recently rescued from the grave.

That afternoon, just as the autumn sun was sinking towards the
woods, throwing a rich, warm glow over the country, a simple
procession was seen moving slowly and sadly over the Longbridge
highway. It was the body of Charlie Hubbard, brought home by his
friends, to pass a few hours beneath his mother's roof, ere it
was consigned to its last resting-place under the sod. We have
not yet dared to intrude upon the stricken inmates of the old
grey cottage; we shall not attempt to paint their grief, such
grief is sacred. The bereaved mother, half-infirm in body and
mind, seemed to feel the blow without fully understanding it:
Patsey, poor Patsey felt the affliction fully, comprehended it
wholly. Charlie had been her idol from infancy; she had watched
over the boy with an engrossing affection, an earnest devotion,
which could be only compared to a mother's love, which might
claim a mother's sacred name. She was entirely overcome when the
young artist's body was brought into the house, and placed in the
coffin, beneath his father's portrait.

"My boy!--my brother!--Charlie!" she cried wildly; all her usual
calmness, her usual firmness giving way at the moment, as the
young face she loved so tenderly was first disclosed to her view,
pale and lifeless. But the fine features of the young artist,
almost feminine in their delicate beauty, returned no answering
glance--they were rigid, cold, and partially discoloured by

Hazlehurst and de Vaux passed the night beside the body of their
friend; Miss Agnes and Mrs. Van Horne were with the bereaved
mother and sisters.

Early on the following morning, Mr. Wyllys and Elinor came to
take a last look at their young friend.

'Can it indeed be true?--Charlie gone for ever, gone so
suddenly!' thought Elinor, as she leaned over his body, weeping
with the sincere, heartfelt grief of a true friend, until
Hazlehurst, pained by her emotion, gently drew her away; not,
however, before she had bent over poor Charlie, and gently kissed
the discoloured forehead of her young companion, for the first
and the last time.

Patsey's grief, though not less deep, was more calm than at
first. Again and again she had returned to her young brother's
coffin, with varying feelings; now overwhelmed by poignant grief,
now partially soothed by the first balm of holy resignation; now
alone, now accompanied by her friends. Once, early that morning,
the infirm mother was brought into the room to look for the last
time on the face of her son; she was carried in a chair and
placed by the coffin, then assisted to rise by Miss Agnes and her
daughter Kate. Her tears flowed long, falling on her boy's cold,
but still beautiful features; she wiped them away herself, and
with an humble phrase of resignation, in the words of Scripture,
expressed the thought that ere long she should be laid by his
side. Her's was not the bitter, living grief of Patsey; she felt
that she was near the grave herself. Tears of gentle-hearted
women were not the only tears which fell upon Charlie's bier; his
uncles, his elder brothers, and more than one true friend were
there. But amid all the strong, contending emotions of those who
crowded the humble room, who hung over the coffin, still that
youthful form lay rigid in the fearful chill, the awful silence
of death; he, whose bright eye, whose pleasant smile had never
yet met the look of a friend without the quick glance of
intellect, or the glow of kindly feeling. Patsey felt the change;
she felt that the being she loved was not all there, the dearer
portion was already beyond her sight--and with this reflection
came the blessed consolations of Christian hope; for the
unfeigned faith and the penitent obedience of the Christian, had
been known to Charlie Hubbard from childhood; nor had they ever
been forgotten by the young man.

Soon after sun-rise, friends and neighbours began to collect;
they came from miles around, all classes and all ages--for the
family was much respected, and their sudden bereavement had
excited general compassion. The little door-yard and the humble
parlour were filled, with those who justly claimed the name of
friends; the highway and an adjoining field were crowded with

After a solemn prayer within the house, those who had loved the
dead fixed their eyes for the last time on his features; the
coffin was closed from the light, the body was carried for the
last time over the threshold, it was placed on a carriage, and
the living crowd moved away, following the dead, with the slow,
heavy movement of sorrow. The mother, the sisters, and the
nearest female friends remained in privacy together at the house
of mourning. As the funeral train moved along the highway towards
Longbridge, it gradually increased in length; the different
dwellings before which it passed had their windows closed, as a
simple token of sympathy, and on approaching the village, one
bell after another was heard, tolling sadly. The hearse paused
for a moment before the house of Mr. Joseph Hubbard; those who
had come thus far in carriages alighted, and joined by others
collected in the village, they moved from there on foot. Several
brother artists from New York, and other associates of the young
man's, bore the cloth which covered his coffin; and immediately
after the nearest relatives, the elder brothers, and the uncles,
came Hazlehurst and de Vaux, with the whole party of the Petrel,
and the crew of the little schooner: and sincerely did they mourn
their young friend; it is seldom indeed that the simple feeling
of grief and compassion pervades a whole funeral train so
generally as that of the young artist. But our poor Charlie had
been much loved by all who knew him; he was carried to the grave
among old friends of his family, in his native village--and there
were many there capable of admiring his genius and respecting his
character. As the procession entered the enclosure it passed
before a new-made grave, that of the negro sailor, who had been
decently interred by the directions of de Vaux, on the preceding
evening, the party of the Petrel having also attended his
funeral. On reaching the final resting-place of the young artist,
among the tombs of his family, by the side of his father the
minister, an impressive prayer and a short but touching address
were made; the coffin was lowered, the earth thrown on it, and
the grave closed over Charlie Hubbard: the story of his life was

{"entered the enclosure" = at Christ Episcopal Church, in
Cooperstown, which Susan Fenimore Cooper attended,
African-Americans were at this time buried just inside the
churchyard entrance, away from the other graves; "was told" = was

Harry was the last to leave the spot. While the funeral train
returned with the mourners to the house of Mr. Joseph Hubbard, he
remained standing by the grave of his friend, his mind filled
with the recollection of the brilliant hopes so suddenly
extinguished, the warm fancies so suddenly chilled, the bright
dreams so suddenly blighted by the cold hand of death. The solemn
truth, that the shadow of death had also passed over himself was
not forgotten; life in its true character, with all its real
value, all its uncertainties, all its responsibilities, rose more
clearly revealed to him than it had ever yet done; he turned from
Charlie's grave a wiser man, carrying with him, in the
recollection of his own unexpected restoration, an impulse for
higher and more steadfast exertion in the discharge of duty.

But if Hazlehurst's thoughts, as he retraced his solitary way
towards Wyllys-Roof, were partly sad, they were not all gloomy.
Wisdom does not lessen our enjoyment of one real blessing of
life; she merely teaches us to distinguish the false from the
true, and she even increases our happiness amid the evils and
sorrows against which we are warned, by purifying our pleasures,
and giving life and strength to every better thought and feeling.
When Harry entered the gate of Wyllys-Roof, his heart beat with
joy again, as he saw Elinor, now his betrothed wife, awaiting his
return on the piazza; he joined her, and they had a long
conversation together in the fullness of confidence and
affection. They were at length interrupted by Miss Agnes, who
returned from the Hubbards'. The young people inquired
particularly after Miss Patsey.

"She is much more calm than she was yesterday; more like herself,
more resigned, thinking again of others, attending to Mrs.
Hubbard; she seems already to have found some consoling

"It seems, indeed," said Harry, "as if Hubbard's memory would
furnish consolation to his friends by the very greatness of their
loss; his character, his conduct, were always so excellent; the
best consolation for Miss Patsey."

"It is touching to see that excellent woman's deep affection for
one, so different from herself in many respects," observed Mr.

"Fraternal affection is a very strong tie," said Miss Agnes

She might have added that it is one of the most honourable to the
human heart, as it is peculiar to our race. Other natural
affections, even the best, may be partially traced among the
inferior beings of creation; something of the conjugal, paternal,
and filial attachment may be roused for a moment in most living
creatures; but fraternal affection is known to man alone, and
would seem in its perfect disinterestedness, almost worthy to
pass unchanged to a higher sphere.

"I have often thought," said Mr. Wyllys, "that the affection of
an unmarried sister for a brother or a sister, whose chief
interests and affections belong by right to another, if not the
most tender, is surely the most purely disinterested and generous
which the human heart can know: and single women probably feel
the tie more strongly than others."

Mr. Wyllys was thinking when he spoke, of his daughter Agnes and
Patsey Hubbard; and he might have thought of hundreds of others
in the same circumstances, for happily such instances are very

"I have never had either brother or sister, but I can well
imagine it must be a strong tie," said Elinor.

"I flattered myself I had been a sort of brother to you in old
times," said Harry smiling.

"Your romantic, adopted brothers, Nelly, are not good for much,"
said her grandfather. "We tried the experiment with Harry, and
see how it has turned out; it generally proves so, either too
much or too little. Don't fancy you know anything about plain,
honest, brotherly affection," he added, smiling kindly on his
granddaughter, who sat by his side.

Probably Harry was quite as well satisfied with the actual state
of things.

"But Charlie was also a son to Miss Patsey," he added, after a

"Yes; he had been almost entirely under her care from an infant,"
replied Miss Agnes.

"Poor Charlie!--little did I think that bright young head would
be laid in the grave before mine!" said Mr. Wyllys.

A moment's pause ensued.

"Much as I loved Hubbard, much as I regret his loss," said Harry,
"I shall always think of him with a melancholy pleasure."

"Excepting his loss, there does not seem indeed to be one painful
reflection connected with his name," observed Miss Agnes.

"Cherish his memory then among your better recollections," added
Mr. Wyllys, to Harry and Elinor. "And an old man can tell you the
full value of happy recollections; you will find one day the
blessing of such treasures of memory."

"It is a legacy, however, which the good alone can leave their
friends," said Miss Agnes.

And so it proved, indeed; after the first severe grief of the
sudden bereavement had passed away, the young man was remembered
among his friends with a peculiar tenderness, connected with his
youth, his genius, his excellent character, his blameless life,
and early death. Life had been but a morning to Charlie Hubbard,
but it was a glowing summer morning; its hours had not been
wasted, abused, misspent; brief as they were, yet in passing they
had brought blessings to himself, to his fellow-beings; and they
had left to those who loved him the best consolations of memory.


"Is not true love of higher price
Than outward form, though fair to see?"

{Samuel Taylor Coleridge (English poet, 1772-1834), "Separation"
lines 9-10}

HARRY had a busy autumn that year. He had two important objects
in view, and within a few weeks he succeeded in accomplishing
both. He was very desirous, now all difficulties were removed,
that his marriage with Elinor should not be deferred any longer
than was absolutely necessary.

"There cannot be the shadow of a reason, love, for waiting," he
said to her within a few days of the explanation. "Remember, it
is now six years since you first promised to become my
wife--since we were first engaged."

"Six years, off and on," said Elinor smiling.

"Not really off more than a moment."

Elinor shook her head and smiled.

"No; not really off more than a very short time."

"Very well," said Elinor archly; "but don't you think the less we
say about that second year the better? Perhaps the third and the
fourth too."

"No indeed; I have been thinking it all over; and in the first
place there has not been a moment in those six years when I have
not loved you; though to my bitter mortification I confess, there
was also a moment when I was IN LOVE with another, but it was a
very short moment, and a very disagreeable one to remember. No; I
wish you to look well into those six years, for I honestly think
they will appear more to my credit than you are at all aware of.
I shan't be satisfied until we have talked them over again, my
part at least; I don't know that you will submit to the same

"Oh, you have already heard all I have to say," she replied,
blushing deeply; "I shan't allude to my part of the story again
this long while."

Nevertheless, Harry soon succeeded in obtaining her consent to be
married within six weeks; in fact she made but few objections to
the arrangement, although she would have preferred waiting
longer, on account of the recent afflictions of Jane and the

The important day soon arrived, and the wedding took place at
Wyllys-Roof. A number of friends and relatives of both parties
were collected for the occasion; Mrs. Stanley, Robert Hazlehurst
and his wife, the late Mrs. George Wyllys and her new husband, or
as Harry called them, Mr. and Mrs. Uncle Dozie, the Van Hornes,
de Vauxes, Bernards, and others. Mary Van Alstyne was bridesmaid,
and Hubert de Vaux groomsman. The ceremony which at length united
our two young friends, was impressively performed by the
clergyman of the parish to which the Wyllyses belonged; and it
may be doubted whether there were another couple married that
day, in the whole wide world, whose feelings as they took the
solemn vows were more true, more honourable to their natures,
than those of Harry and Elinor.

Talking of vows, it was remarked by the spectators that the groom
made his promises and engagements in a more decided tone of
voice, a less embarrassed manner than usual; for, strange to say,
your grooms, happy men, are often awkward, miserable swains
enough in appearance; though it would be uncharitable in the
extreme, not to suppose them always abounding in internal
felicity. There was also another observation made by several of
the wedding-guests, friends of Harry, who were then at
Wyllys-Roof for the first time, and it becomes our duty to record
the remark, since it related to no less a person than the bride;
it was observed that she was not as pretty as a bride should be.

"Mrs. Harry Hazlehurst is no beauty, certainly," said Albert
Dangler to Orlando Flyrter.

"No beauty! She is downright ugly--I·wonder at Hazlehurst's

Unfortunately for Elinor, the days are past when benevolent
fairies arrive just at the important moment, and by a tap of the
wand or a phial of elixir, change the coarsest features, the most
unfavourable complexion, into a dazzling image of everything most
lovely, most beautiful. Nor had she the good luck of certain
young ladies of whom one reads quite often, who improve so
astonishingly in personal appearance between fifteen and
twenty--generally during the absence of the hero--that they are
not to be recognized, and a second introduction becomes
necessary. No; Elinor was no nearer to being a beauty when Harry
returned from Brazil, than when he went to Paris; she was just as
plain on the evening of her wedding as she was six years before,
when first presented to the reader's notice.

Jane, though now in widow's weeds, was just as beautiful too, as
when we first saw her; she was present at her cousin's wedding,
as Elinor wished her to be there, although in a deep mourning
dress. Patsey Hubbard was also in the drawing-room during the
ceremony, and in deep black; but she left her friends as soon as
she had expressed her warmest wishes for the happiness of her
former pupil: she wept as she turned from the house, for she
could not yet see that well-known, cheerful circle at
Wyllys-Roof, without missing one bright young face from the

Among those who had declined invitations to the wedding, were Mr.
Ellsworth and Mrs. Creighton, although both had expressed many
good wishes for the affianced couple; the gentleman wrote
sincerely, but a little sadly perhaps, as it was only six weeks
since his refusal; the lady wrote gracefully, but a little
spitefully it is believed, since it was now generally known that
Harry must recover entire possession of his fortune.

This vexatious affair was, in fact, finally settled about the
time of Harry's marriage; and, thanks to the disclosures of
Stebbins, it was no longer a difficult matter to unravel the
plot. As soon as William Stanley's representative, or in other
words, Hopgood, found that Stebbins had betrayed him, he ran off,
but was arrested shortly after, tried and convicted. He was no
sooner sentenced, than he offered to answer any questions that
might be asked, for he was anxious that his accomplice,
Clapp--who had also taken flight, and succeeded in eluding all
pursuit--should be punished as well as himself. It appeared that
his resemblance to the Stanleys was the first cause of his taking
the name of William Stanley; he was distantly related to them
through his mother, and, as we may often observe, the family
likeness, after having been partially lost for one or two
generations, had appeared quite strongly again in himself; and as
usual, the peculiarities of the resemblance had become more
deeply marked as he grew older. Being very nearly of the same
age, and of the same pursuit as William Stanley, he had actually
been taken for the young man on several occasions. He had been in
the same lawyer's office as Clapp, whom he had known as a boy,
and had always kept up some intercourse with him; meeting him one
day accidentally, he related the fact of his having passed
himself off for William Stanley by way of a joke. "The sight of
means to do ill deeds, makes deeds ill done:" Clapp seemed from
that moment to have first taken the idea of the plot; he
gradually disclosed his plan to Hopgood, who was quick-witted, a
good mimic, and quite clever enough for the purpose. The idea was
repeatedly abandoned, then resumed again; Hopgood having
purposely shipped under the name of William Stanley, several
times, and practised an imitation of William Stanley's hand by
way of an experiment. Finding no difficulties in these first
steps, they gradually grew bolder, collecting information about
the Stanleys, and carefully arranging all the details. Stebbins
had frightened them on one occasion; but after having obtained
possession of the papers in his hands, Clapp determined to carry
out their plan at once; he thought the probability of success was
strongly in their favour, with so much evidence within their
reach; and the spoils were so considerable, that they were in his
opinion worth the risk. The profits of their roguery were to be
equally divided, if they succeeded; and they had also agreed that
if at any moment matters began to look badly, they would make
their escape from the country together. Hopgood, who was
generally supposed by those who had known him, to have died at
New Orleans twenty years since, had been often with William
Stanley when a lad in the lawyer's office; he knew the house and
neighbourhood of Greatwood perfectly, and had a distinct
recollection of Mr. Stanley, the father, and of many persons and
circumstances that would prove very useful. Clapp easily obtained
other necessary information, and they went to Greatwood,
examining the whole house and place, in order to revive Hopgood's
recollections; while at the same time they made but little
mystery of their excursion, hoping rather that when discovered it
would pass off as a natural visit of William Stanley to the old
home which he was about to claim. The whole plan was carefully
matured under Clapp's cunning management; on some doubtful points
they were to be cautious, and a set of signals were agreed upon
for moments of difficulty; but generally they were to assume a
bold, confident aspect, freely offering an interview to the
executors, and sending a specimen of the forged handwriting as a
letter to Mrs. Stanley. The volume of the Spectator was a thought
of Clapp's; he bribed a boy to admit him into the library at
Greatwood one Sunday, when the housekeeper was at church, and he
selected the volume which seemed well suited to his purpose;
removing the boy from the neighbourhood immediately after, by
giving him high wages in a distant part of the country. As for
Mr. Reed he was completely their dupe, having been himself
honestly convinced of the identity of Clapp's client. It was nine
years from the time the plot first suggested itself, until they
finally appeared as public claimants of the estate and name of
William Stanley, and during that time, Clapp, who had never
entirely abandoned the idea, although Hopgood had repeatedly done
so, had been able to mature the plan very thoroughly.

{"'The sight of means to do ill deeds...'" Shakespeare, "King
John", IV.ii.219-220}

The declarations of Stebbins and Hopgood were easily proved; and
Harry had no further difficulty in resuming possession of

Clapp was not heard of for years. His wife, little Willie, and
two younger children, became inmates of the old grey cottage,
under the care of Miss Patsey, who still continues the same
honest, whole-souled, benevolent being she was years ago. Patsey
was now quite at her ease, and enabled to provide for her sister
Kate and the three children, and it was to poor Charlie she owed
the means of doing so; by an unusual precaution in one so young,
he had left a will, giving everything he owned to his mother and
eldest sister. Shortly after his death, some of his friends,
Hazlehurst among the number, got up an exhibition of all his
pictures; they made a fine and quite numerous collection, for
Charlie had painted very rapidly. The melancholy interest
connected with the young painter's name, his high reputation in
the particular field he had chosen, the fact that all his
paintings were collected together, from the first view of
Chewattan lake taken when a mere boy, to the sketch of Nantucket
which he was retouching but a moment before his death, and the
sad recollection that his palette was now broken for ever,
attracted unusual attention. The result of that melancholy
exhibition, with the sale of some remaining pictures, proved
sufficient to place his mother and sister, with their moderate
views, in very comfortable circumstances; thus even after his
death Charlie proved a blessing to his family. In looking over
the young man's papers, Patsey found some lines which surprised
her, although they explained several circumstances which she had
never before fully understood; they betrayed a secret, undeclared
attachment, which had expressed itself simply and gracefully in
verses full of feeling and well written. It was evident from
these lines that poor Charlie's poetical imagination, even from
early boyhood, had been filled with the lovely image of his young
companion, Jane Graham: there was a beautiful sketch of her face
among his papers, which from the date, must have been taken from
memory while she was in Paris. It was clear from the tone of the
verses, that Charlie had scrupulously confined his secret within
his own bosom, for there were a few lines addressed to Jane since
her widowhood, lamenting that grief should so soon have thrown a
shadow over that lovely head, and concluding with a fear that she
would little value even this expression of sympathy from one, to
whom she had only given careless indifference, and one who had
never asked more than the friendship of early companionship.
Patsey hesitated for a moment, but then decided that the
miniature and the verses should never be shown--they should meet
no eyes but her own; Charlie had not spoken himself, his secret
should remain untold.

We must not omit to mention, that a few weeks after Charlie's
death young Van Horne offered himself to Mary Hubbard, the
youngest daughter of the family; he was accepted, and the
connexion, which was very gratifying to Patsey and her mother,
proved a happy one. Mrs. Hubbard survived her daughter's marriage
several years. Kate and her little ones have remained at the old
grey cottage from the time of Clapp's flight; the children are
now growing up promising young people, and they owe much to
Patsey's judicious care. Willie, the hero of the temperance
meeting, is her favourite, for she persuades herself that he is
like her lost Charlie; and in many respects the boy happily
resembles his uncle far more than his father. Last year Mrs.
Clapp received for the first time, a letter in a handwriting very
like that of her husband; its contents seemed distressing, for
she wept much, and held several consultations with Patsey. At
length quite a little sum was drawn from their modest means, Kate
packed up her trunk, took leave of her sister and children, and
set out upon a long and a solitary journey. She was absent for
months; but letters were occasionally received from her, and at
length she returned to the grey cottage in deep mourning. It was
supposed that she was now a widow; and as Patsey upon one single
occasion confirmed the report, the opinion must have been
correct, for Patsey Hubbard's word was truth itself. No public
account of Clapp's death, however, reached Longbridge, and his
name was never mentioned by the Hubbards; still, it seemed to be
known at last that Mrs. Clapp had gone to a great distance, to
attend her husband during a long and fatal illness: and Mrs.
Tibbs also found out by indefatigable inquiries, far and near,
that about the same time one of the elders of Joe Smith, the
Mormon impostor, had died of consumption at Nauvoo; that he had
written somewhere several months before his death, that a
delicate-looking woman had arrived, and had not quitted his side
as long as he lived; that immediately after his death she had
left Nauvoo, and had gone no one knew whither. It is quite
certain that a young man from Longbridge travelling at the west,
wrote home that he had seen Mrs. Clapp on board a Mississippi
steamer, just about that time. The story is probably true,
although nothing very positive is known at Longbridge.

{"no public account" = the uncertainty surrounding Mr. Clapp's
fate resembles that of Judith Hutter, at the end of James
Fenimore Cooper's "The Deerslayer" (1841)}

As for Hopgood, we have already mentioned that he had been
arrested, and most righteously condemned to a long imprisonment
for his share in that unprincipled, audacious conspiracy. A year
afterwards, however, it pleased those in authority to send him
out into the community again; he was pardoned--

As all reserve is generally dropped in the last chapter, we may
as well tell the reader a secret of Mrs. Creighton's. We have
every reason to believe that she never cared much for Harry,
although she always cared a great deal for his fortune. She was
determined to marry again, for two reasons; in the first place
she did not wish to give way to a sister-in-law, and she knew her
brother intended marrying; and then she never could manage that
brother as she wished; he was by no means disposed to throw away
as much time, thought, and money upon dissipation, as she would
have liked. She wanted a rich husband, of course; Harry did very
well in every particular but one--she thought him too much like
her brother in his tastes to be all she desired; still he suited
her better than any of her other admirers, and she would have
been quite satisfied to accept him, had he kept his fortune.
Without that fortune, it was a very different affair; he was no
longer to be thought of for a moment. We strongly suspect also,
that the pretty widow saw farther than any one else into the true
state of matters between Elinor and Harry, long before the
parties themselves had had an explanation; and for that reason,
so long as she was determined to take Hazlehurst for her second
husband, she decidedly encouraged Ellsworth's attention to
Elinor. Since we are so near the last page, we shall also admit
that Mrs. Creighton had quite a strong partiality for Mr.
Stryker, while the gentleman was thoroughly in love with her; but
neither was rich, and money, that is to say wealth, was
absolutely necessary in the opinion of both parties; so Mr.
Stryker went off to New Orleans in quest of a quadroon heiress
recommended to him, and Mrs. Creighton became Mrs. Pompey Taylor,
junior; marrying the second son of the merchant, an individual
who was nearly ten years younger than herself, and resembled his
brother in every respect except in being much less handsome. The
happy couple sailed for Europe immediately after the ceremony.

We are sorry to say that Mr. Taylor, the father, suffered
severely, not long after the marriage of his second son, by the
great fire; he suffered also in the great panic, and in various
other panics which have succeeded one another. Still he has not
failed, but he is a poorer man than when we first had the honour
of making his acquaintance. In other respects he is much what he
was fifteen years ago, devoted as much as ever and as exclusively
as ever to making money; still valuing everything, visible or
invisible, by the market-price in gold, silver, or bank-notes;
although unfortunately much less successful than at the
commencement of his career, in accumulating dollars and cents;
his seems to be "the fruitless race, without a prize;" and yet
Mr. Taylor is approaching the time of life when the end of the
race cannot be very distant.

{"the great fire" = the fire that destroyed much of downtown New
York City in 1835. "the great panic..." = the financial panic of
1837, and the depression that followed; "the fruitless race..." =
from William Cowper (English poet, 1731-1800), "Hope" line 25}

Adeline is improved in many respects, her mother's advice has had
a good effect on her; still it is amusing to see her already
training up several little girls for future belles, on her own
pattern; rather it is believed to the annoyance of her quiet
husband. Emma Taylor is decidedly less lively, she too having in
some measure composed herself, after achieving belle-ship and

Mr. and Mrs. Uncle Dozie removed from Longbridge not long after
their marriage; they have since returned there again, and now, by
the last accounts, they are again talking of leaving the place.

Mrs. Hilson still continues to annoy her family with a
persevering ingenuity, for which certain silly women appear
peculiarly well qualified; at times she talks of taking the veil
in a nunnery, at others, of again entering the bands of Hymen
with some English aristocrat of illustrious lineage; she
confesses that either step would be sufficiently romantic and
aristocratic to suit her refined tastes, but which she will
eventually adopt cannot yet be known. Fortunately, her sister
Emmeline has profited much more than the "city lady" herself by
the follies of the past; she has lately married a respectable
man, one of their Longbridge neighbours, much to her father's

Mary Van Alstyne remains single, and passes much of her time with

Some eighteen months after Harry's marriage, one evening as he
was sitting on the piazza at Wyllys-Roof, he received a letter
which made him smile; calling Elinor from the drawing-room, he
communicated the contents to her. It was from Ellsworth,
announcing his approaching marriage with the lovely Mrs. Taylor,
or in other words, our friend Jane. Harry laughed a good deal,
and coloured a little too, as he plainly saw by the tone of the
letter, that his friend was going through precisely the same
process as himself, during his Paris days, when he first
discovered such wisdom in the depths of Jane's dark eyes, such
delicacy of sentiment in the purity of her complexion, such
tenderness in every common smile of her beautiful lips.
Ellsworth, however, would probably not find out as soon as
himself, that all these beauties made up a lovely picture indeed,
but nothing more; for his friend was an accepted suitor, and
might indulge himself by keeping agreeable fancies alive as long
as he chose; while Harry had been rather rudely awakened from his
trance by very shabby treatment in the first place, and a refusal
at last. To Hazlehurst, the most amusing part of Ellsworth's
story was, an allusion to a certain resemblance in character
between Mrs. Taylor and 'one whom he had so much admired, one
whom he must always admire.'

"Now, Elinor, do me the justice to say I was never half so bad as
that; I never pretended to think Jane like you, in one good

"It would be a pity if you had--Jane has good qualities of her
own. But I am rejoiced to hear the news; it is an excellent match
for both parties."

"Yes; though Jane is a lovely puppet, and nothing more, yet it is
a good match on that very account; Ellsworth will look after her.
It is to be hoped they are satisfied; I think we are, my sweet
wife; don't you?"

His frank, natural, affectionate smile as he spoke, was tolerably
satisfactory, certainly as to his estimate of his own fate; and
it is to be hoped the reader is by this time sufficiently well
acquainted with Elinor and Harry, to credit his account of the
matter. From all we know of both, we are ourselves disposed to
believe them very well qualified to pass through life happily
together, making the cheerful days pleasanter, and the dark hours
less gloomy to each other.

Harry seems to have given up his diplomatic pursuits for the
present at least; he remains at home, making himself useful both
in private and public life. Last year he and Elinor were at the
Rip-Raps, accompanied by Mr. Wyllys and Miss Agnes, and a little
family of their own--several engaging, clever, well-trained
children. The little girls, without being beauties, are not
plain; they are indeed quite as pretty as Jane's daughters; the
only ugly face in the young troop belongs to a fine-spirited
little fellow, to whom it is of no consequence at all, as he has
just discarded his petticoats for ever. Perhaps both father and
mother are pleased that such is the case; the feeling would seem
to be one of those weaknesses which will linger about every
parent's heart. Yet Elinor acknowledges that she is herself a
happy woman without beauty; and Harry, loving her as he does for
a thousand good reasons, and inclinations, and partialities,
sometimes actually believes that he loves her the better for that
plain face which appeals to his more generous feelings. Many men
will always laugh at an ugly woman, and the idea of loving her;
but is it an error in Hazlehurst's biographer to suppose that
there are others who, placed in similar circumstances, would feel
as Harry felt?

{"the Rip-Raps" = sea resort at Hampton, Virginia; near Old Point
Comfort, where Mr. Ellsworth had seen Elinor in Vol. II, Chapter

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