THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF NORTH CAROLINA THE COLLECTION OF NORTH CAROLINIANA i:ndo>x'fd by JOHN SPRUNT HILL CLASS OF 18 89 H528 0u .;iZD ASSOCIATION. 6t Shelf. 1. You can k.ep this book two weeks. If not returned in three, a tine of TWO CENTS will be imposed for EACH DAY there- after. 2. You are responsible for this book for anything beyond reason- able wear. T. B. PETEPiSON & BROTHERS; No. 306 Chestnut Street, Philadelphia, Have in Press, and will issue at once, an entire new, com- plete, and uniform edition of all the celebrated Novels, (which have been out of print for years), written by the late MRS. OAEOLIKE LEE HENTZ. The whole of the novels and stories of Mrs. Caroline Leb Hentz will be issued complete in twelve large duodecimo vol- umes. Two volumes will be issued each month, until the se- ries is complete, one volume on the first, and another on the fifteenth of the month. They will be printed on the finest paper, and bound in the most beautiful style, in fine Morocco cloth, with a new full gilt back, uniform with this edition of '* Linda ; or. The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole," and sold at the low price of $1.75 each, in Morocco cloth ; or in paper cover, at $1.50 each. The Novels of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz will be found, on pe- rusal by all, to be the most exciting and popular works that have ever emanated from the American press. They are written in a charming style, and will elicit through all a thrill of deep and exquisite pleasure. They are works which the oldest and the youngest may alike read with pleasure and profit. They abound with the most beautiful scenic descriptions, and display an intimate acquaintance with all phases of human character — all the characters being exceedingly well drawn. They are de- lightful books, full of incident, oftentimes bold and startling, and they describe the warm feelings of the Southerner in glow- ing colors. Indeed, all of Mrs. Hentz's stories aptly describe Southern life, and are highly moral in their application. In this field Mrs. Hentz wields a keen sickle, and harvests a rich and abundant crop. They will be found, in plot, incident, and management, to be superior to any other novels ever issued. In the whole range of elegant moral fiction, there cannot be found anything of more inestimable value, or superior to the ell arming works of Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, and they are all gems that will well repay a careful perusal. The Publishers feel assured that this series of Novels, by Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, will give entire satisfaction to the whole reading com- munity ; that they will encourage good taste and good morals, (1) 2 WRITINGS OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. and while away many leisure hours with great pleasure and prolit, and that they will also be recommended to others by all that peruse them. The first volume was issued on November 1st, 1869, and was LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. The first volume, "Limda," contains a full and complete Biography of the late Mrs. Caroline Lee Hentz, which has never before been published. The second volume will be issued on November 15th, 1869, and it will be ROBERT GRAHAM. A Sequel to "Linda; or, The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole." These will be followed, one on the Jirsf, ana one on the ffteenth of each month, by ERNEST LINWOOD ; or, The Inner Life of the Author. THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE; or, Scenes in Mrs. Hentz's Childhood. MARCUS WARLAND ; or. The Long Moss Spring. HELEN AND ARTHUR; or, Miss Thusa's Spinning- Wheel. COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; or. The Joys and Sorrows of American Life. EOLINE; or, MAGNOLIA VALE; Or, The Heiress of Glenmore. EENA; or, THE SNOW BIRD. A Tale of Real Life. THE LOST DAUGHTER ; and other Stories of the Heart. THE BANISHED SON ; and other Stories of the Heart. LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE ; and other Stories of the Heart. This series will no doubt prove to be the most popular series of Novels ever issued in this country, as they are written by the most popular Female Novelist that ever lived. Address all orders, at once, to receive immediate attention, for all or any of the above books, to T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS, Publishers, No. 306 Cliestiint Street, Philadelphia, Pa. t^ Above Books will he for sale hy all BookscWrs, or copies of any or nil of thm will he scut post-paid to any one, to any place, on receipt of their price by the publishers. LINDA; OR, THE YOUKG PEOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. BY MRS. CAROLmE LEE HENTZ. AUTHOR OP "ROBERT GRAHAM; A SEQUEL TO LINDA," " RENA ; OR, THE SNOW BIRD," "COURTSHIP AND MARRIAGE; OR, THE JOYS AND SORROWS OF AMERICAN LIFE," " THE PLANTER'S NORTHERN BRIDE ; OR, SCENES IN MRS. HENTZ'S CHILDHOOD," " MARCUS WARLAND ; OR, THE LONG MOSS SPRING," " THE BANISHED SON," "ERNEST LINWOOD; OR, THE INNER LIFE OF THE AUTHOR," "HELEN AND ARTHUR; OR, MISS THUSA'S SPINNING-WHEEL," "EOLINE; or, magnolia VALE," " the LOST DAUGHTER," "LOVE AFTER MARRIAGE," ETC., ETC., ETC. WITH A BIOGRAPHY OF THE AUTHOR. "There is a corafort in the strength of love; 'Twill make a thin^ emlurable^ which else Would overset the braiu, or break the heart."— 'VyoRDS'VORTH. " I love thee, and I feel That on the fountain of my heart a seal Is set to keep its waters pure and bright For Theo." Shelley. PHILADELPHIA: T. B. PETERSON & BROTHERS; 30G CHESTNUT STREET. Entered acconllng to Act of Congress, in tlio ypar 1869, l)y T. B. PETEUSON k BROTHERS, In the Clcrk'a OfBco of tlie District Court of the United States, in and for the Eastern Dintrict of PeuutiylvaDia. MRS. CAKOLINE LEE IIEXTZ'S WORKS. Each Work is complete in one volume, 12mo. LIXDA; OR, THE YOUXG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. ROBERT GRAHAM. A SEQUEL TO ''LIXDA:' ERXEST L IX WOOD; OR, THE IXXER LIFE OF THE A UTHOR. MARCUS WARLAXD; OR, THE LOXG 3I0SS SPRIXG. JIELEX AXD ARTHUR; OR, MISS THUSA'S SFIXXIXG- WHEEL. THE PLAXTER'S XORTHERX BRIDE; OR, SCEXES IX MRS. HEXTZ^S CHILDHOOD. COURTSHIP AXD MARRIAGE; OR, THE JOYS AXD SORRO WS OF AMERICAX LIFE. EOLIXE; OR, MAGXOLIA VALE. REX A; OR, THE SXOW BIRD. THE LOST DAUGHTER. THE BAXISHED SON. L VE A FTER MARRIA GE. Price of each, $1.75 in Cloth; or $1 50 in Paper Cover. Above books arc for sale by all Booksellers. Copies of any or all of the above books will be sent to any one, to any place poituge pre-paid, on receipt of their price by the Tublishers, T. B. PETEUSON & BROTH EllS, JUG CutiftT.NLr iJTKlii;-!-, PlIILADLLl'lHA, Pa. BIOGRAPHY OP MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. There are few, among the many beautiful villages of New England, more romantic than that of Lancas- ter, Mass., where, at the breaking out of the War of 1812, dwelt the family of the late Col. John Whiting. Himself a man of high mental cultivation and great literary tastes, and described as '^ of a fine military figure and commanding height" — his children in- herited both his personal and mental attractions ; but none more largely than his youngest child, Caroline Lee Whiting^ the subject of this sketch. Even at this time, a girl of ten or eleven years, she was at once distinguished among her school-mates by the remark- able genius she already displayed, and endeared to them by her winning manners, sweet disposition, and warmth of heart. Her compositions, sparkling with fancy, glowing with feeling, and mature in language, were thus early the admiration of her companions and the pride of the home circle ; and not few were the auguries of the future novelist. But the summons which roused the country to III IV BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HEXTZ. arms, and tlie long struggle wliicli followed, added another and an important element to the influences which moulded her opening character. Col. Whiting had been dead nearly two years : but his eldest son, Henry, had for four years followed in his footsteps ; and now his younger brothers entered upon the profession of their father. Too far removed from the scenes of war, and spared a personal cause of mourning, their sister realized little of its darker side: while a per- sonal interest made its history an exciting reality to all the family of the absent soldiers. The events, therefore, which proved the sons worthy to tread in their father's steps,* gave to the character of Caroline * The military record of this family is as remarkable in itself, as it is honorable to them. The following are the data of the "War Department. John Whiting, Commissioned Lieut. Col. 4th Regt. U. S. Infantry, July 8th, 1808 ; Adjutant and Inspector of the Army, July 17th, 1809 ; Colonel 5th Regiment Infantry, Dec. 31st, 1809. Died, Washington, D. C, Sept. 3d, 1810. Henry Whiting, (son of the latter), appointed Cornet Light Dra- goons, Oct. 20th, 1808; 2d Lieut., Sept., 1809; 1st Lieut., Aug., 1811; Aid-de-Camp to 1st Brig. Gen. Boyd, and distinguished in the capture of Fort George, U. C, May 27th, 1813 : Capt. 4th Regt. of Rifles, March, 1814; (which he declined) ; Brevet Captain, "for meritorious services," March l7th, 1814; retained (at the reduction of the Army), May, 1815, in 5th Regt. Infantry; Ald-de-Camp to Maj. Gen. Macomb, May, 1815; Capt., March, 1817; retained as Captain 1st Regt. Artillery, May, 1821; Brevet Major, "for ten years faithful service," March I7th, 1824; Brevet Lieut. Col., "for faithful and meritorious service," June 30th, 1834 ; Quarter Master, with rank of Major, Feb. 23d, 1835; Dcp. Quarter-Master General, with rank of Lieut. Col., July 7th, 183S ; Ass't. Quarter-Master BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. V the tone and strong patriotism whicli have since been so characteristic of her writings. The impressions also made upon her by the romantic beauty of the scenery around her native place, were no less vivid and lasting. A spirit originally highly aesthetic was developed with every ramble in the woods, and every hour spent in musing and building airy castles by the murmuring stream. Love of the beauty in nature became enthusiasm ; the flowers, which smiled at her approach, and the birds, whose song welcomed her, when she threw herself upon the mossy roots of an General, with rank of Colonel, April 21st, 1846 ; joined Gen. Tay- lor's Command in Mexico, as Acting Quarter-Master General, July 6th, 1846 ; Brevet Brig. Gen'l., " for gallant and meritorious con- duct in the battle of Buena Vista," Feb. 23d, 1847. Died in St. Louis, Sept. 16th, 1857. Tobias Whiting^ (son of Col. John Whiting), commissioned 2d Lieut. 1st Reg't. Artillery, Feb. 10th, 1812 ; 1st Lieut., June, 1813 ; Aid-de-Camp to Brig. Gen. Chandler, 1814; retained (at the reduc- tion of the Army) May, 1815, in the Artillery ; Captain, Sept., 1819 ; Instructor of Artillery, Military Academy, West Point, Aug. 1820 to 1821; Brevet Major "for ten years faithful service," Sept. 10th, 1829. Died at Lancaster, Mass., May 16th, 1842. Levi Whiting^ (son of Col. John Whiting), commissioned 2d Lieut. Artillery, Feb. ICth, 1812 ; 1st Lieut., June, 1814; retained (at the reduction of the Army), May, 1815, in the Artillery ; Captain 4th Reg. Artillery, May 21st, 1822 ; Brevet Major, " for ten years faith- ful service," May 21st, 1832 ; Major 1st Reg. Artillery, March 19th, 1842 ; Lieut. Col. 1st Reg. Artillery, April 1st, 1850. Died at Nau- gatuck, Conn., Aug. 3d, 1852. Henry M. Whiting, (son of Gen. Henry Whiting), Cadet, Sept., 1838^ 2d Lieut. 4th Reg. Artillery, July 1st, 1842 ; Brevet 1st Lieut, for gallant and meritorious conduct in Battle of Buena Vista, Feb. 23d, 1847. Died at Fort Brown, Texas, 1853. YI BIOGRAPnY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. old forest tree, were lier familiars, and old Monadnoc, a peak wliicli stands ruggedly forth among the range of mountains on the borders of New Hampshire, was to her indeed ''a kingly spirit throned among the hills." In such a heart, the influence of reliorious associa- tions take early and deep root ; and the transcript of that heart, as it was at this period, is evidence that they had given an elevated and a healthy tone to a character which otherwise had been in great danger of becoming morbid and unfitted for domestic life. From this early day do we perceive the hallowing and subduing influence of an unaffected trust in a heavenly Father, and an appreciation of the realities of life, which have ever preserved the true woman, amid the attractions of a literary career. On the 30th of September, 1824, Miss Whiting was married to Mr. N. M. Hentz, a French gentleman of highly cultivated mirid and varied talents, whose father, Nicholas Hentz, a lawyer of Metz, was a member of the French National Convention, and whose own devotion to the natural sciences, particu- larly to that of Entomology, is well known in that department. He was at this time associated with Mr. Bancroft, the historian, in conducting a Semi- nary at Round Hill, Northampton. In this place they resided nearly two years, when Mr. Hentz, having been elected to the post of Professor of Belles Lettres and Modern Languages in Chapel Hill Col- lege, N. C, they removed to the South, and resided BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. VII for years in the congenial atmosphere that surrounded this seat of learning. In this, their southern home, was added to Mrs. Hentz, the sacred trust of a Mother ; and the claims of dependent infancy and childhood, almost entirely and of necessity debarred attention to those of liter- ature. In the year 1830, Mr. Hentz was induced by some gentlemen, who wished to establish a Select Seminary under his superintendence and that of Mrs. Hentz conjointly, to remove to Covington, Kentucky, from whence, the second year after, they crossed the river and took charge of a similar institution in Cincinnati. Heretofore Mrs. Hentz's literary efforts h^ been confined to a limited field : in fact, with the exception of an occasional poem or sketch, which had found its way into a newspaper or magazine, they had been altogether private. Her portfolio was filled with the overflowings of her fertile pen — but it was to her sufiicient to have been the muse and the historiogra- pher of the family ; and she had been more intent upon the cultivation of her own mind than upon gaining for herself a wider appreciation than that of the immediate circle in which she personally moved. But, in Cincinnati, she was at once surrounded by appreciating friends ; and as a member of a highly intellectual coterie, mingled more than ever before in literary enjoyments and pursuits. She was thus gradually induced to appear more prominently in those walks to which she afterwards became so bright VIII BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. an ornament ; and from this period is to be dated lier rising reputation as an author. Their stay in Cincinnati was of less than two years duration, yet such was the fostering effect of an at- mosphere more congenial than any she ever afterward enjoyed, that, although engaged in school duties during all her stay in this city, her industry and quickened powers accomplished what to most writers would have been the work of years ; and some of her waitings of this time, if not those which have given Mrs. Hentz her widest reputation, are perhaps those which will secure it longest continuance. About this time a prize of §500 was offered, by Mr. Pelby of the Boston Theatre, for the best original tragedy, founded upon the conquest of the Moors in Spain. Mrs. Hentz entering the lists with De Lara^ the first dramatic effort of her maturer years, was the successful competitor ; and this was followed by two compositions of a similar character, Lamorah^ a tragedy of Indian frontier life; and Constance of Werdenherrjj a Dramatic Poem, the scene of which was laid in Switzerland during the struggle for free- dom. Mr. Pelby, having become unable, from busi- ness difficulties, to pay the award due the author, honorably restored to her the copyright of Be Lara. This tragedy was subsequently published in book form, but the other two, with the exception of the limited circulation of a Georgia newspaper, were never given to the public. In the year 183-i, Mr. Ilentz and his family re- BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. IX moved to Florence, a secluded town upon the Ten- nessee Kiver, in North Alabama ; and here, absorbed in family and in school duties, occupied with the care of four small children, the youngest but an infant at the time of their removal to this place, and sur- rounded by a circle of attached pupils, Mrs. Hentz, for nearly nine years, retired almost entirely from public notice, and passed, probably, the most domes- tic portion of her life. At no previous period, since her marriage, had her academic duties been so con- fining, or her family demanded so much of her time, her thoughts, and her feelings ; and during her entire residence in Florence, no work of any length was composed by her. Fugitive poems, hurriedly writ- ten as occasion called for or suggested them, are the only product of her pen during this long interval of her auctorial career. But Mrs. Hentz could not so entirely elude the notice of appreciative minds, and in the year 1843, they were induced, through the influence of literary friends, to remove from Florence, and take charge of a flourishing Seminary in Tuskaloosa. This city, at that time, not only the seat of the University of Alabama, but also the capital of the State, was the centre of much intellectual influence, and possessed of much literary society ; and thus surrounded, Mrs, Hentz was induced to resume her long-neglected pen, a pleasure now permitted more freely by lightened domestic cares. It was at this period that the writer first formed, X BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. as an inmate of Mrs. Hentz's family, an affectionate friendship which the lapse of years and a separation, but rarely interrupted either by personal intercourse or correspondence, have only warmed and heightened. He remembers her now most distinctly as he knew her then — moving among a numerous throng of de- voted school girls, commanding the respect, as she Avon the affectionate esteem, of those who were her assistants in the labors of instruction, as well as of those who were committed to her care — as the light and centre of a united family ; and only as an author when an hour found at her disposal between other duties, or snatched from the watches of the night, was pressed into service for the purpose. Aunt Patty's Scrap Bag, written during a school vacation in 18-1:4, for the Philadelphia Saturday Courier, was Mrs. Hentz's first return to more ex- tended composition, and the only work of the kind written at this time. On their removal from Tuskaloosa, in Dec, 18-1:5, Mrs. Hentz left behind her a more generally con- genial society than she ever afterward enjoyed, although a visit in Mobile, on the journey to Tus- kegee, Alabama — their next home — was a brief, but bright episode in her life. In the literary history of Mrs. Hentz, Tuskegee — a small place, a village in fact, scarce rescued from the relics of Indian struggles at this time — has no place ; it was chiefly made memorable, by the arrival of the time when the family circle was first broken up by the BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HEXTZ. XI departure of a son, to pursue his studies in a profes- sional school, and by the marriage of her eldest daughter. Another removal, however, to Columbus, Ga., early in 18-i8, enlarged her sphere of usefulness, and induced her again to resume her pen in the in- tervals between the engrossing duties of the Academy. Linda, or The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole ; and Eena, or The Snow Bird — were the first of a series of domestic novels which have given the widest spread to Mrs. Hentz's reputation, were written during this and the following year. For four years Columbus continued the home, but was at the same time the scene of many changes in Mrs. Hentz's domestic life, as it was of a considerable extension of her literary achievements. Her own long illness, and a total failure of Mr. Hentz's health from which he never recovered, occasioned them to relinquish further attention to the Seminary, which had been under their charge but little more than a year. From the period of her own recovery — with the exception of the spring of 1850, during which Mrs. Hentz sustained alone the cares of a select school — her time was chiefly devoted to writing, now not merely as a recreation but as a reliance. Her success is well known, as it was confidently antici- pated by her friends. Rena, or The Snow Bird, was succeeded by Marcus Warland, or The Long Moss Spring ; and Eoline, or Magnolia Yale ; written in 1851, at the bedside and amid the exhaust- ing cares of attending her husband through the XII BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HEXTZ. most distressing period of a prostrating nervous disease. In the spring of the year following, 1852, Mr. and Mrs. Hentz were persuaded to join their elder chil- dren, who were now settled in Florida, among whom they henceforth made their home. The wnnter and spring of 1853-4 were brightened to her by a visit to the scenes of her childhood and to the few remaining members of her family, but otherwise, bowed by affliction in sickness and death — the loss successively, soon after her removal from Columbus, of two bro- thers and a sister — these last four years of her life were toilsomely divided between unremitted devotion to the duties of a wife and a mother, and her labors witli her pen. Helen and Arthur, or Miss Thusa's Spin- ning Wheel was written in 1852 ; and in this and the year following, The Planter's Northern Bride. The publication of this latter, her largest w^ork, w^as, however, delayed until 1854. To these was added Robert Graham, a Sequel to Linda, OR The Young Pilot of the Belle Creole ; written during the winter of 1851-5, after her return from New England. Within the above three years Mrs. Ilcntz had also •prepared for publication four volumes, containing all of her earlier tales which she wished preserved, which volumes are published under the titles of "The Lost Daughter," "Courtship and Mar- riage," " The Banished Son," and " Love After BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. XIII Marriage," and also conducted in a large measure the literary department of the " Columbus Sentinel." The year 1855 was mostly passed at St. Andrew's Bay, Fla., in the hope that the sea air might be ben- eficial to Mr. Hentz. During the summer, however, leaving him with their daughter, she paid a visit to her eldest son, Dr. Charles A. Hentz, in Marianna, where she wrote her last novel, Ernest Linwood, and immediately on its completion forwarding it to her publisher, without any respite of mind or body, she returned to her post at St. Andrew's. All that bleak winter, which will be remembered on the Gulf coast as well as on the Canadian frontier, she was de- voted to her sick husband, who, suffering more from a nervous than from any organic disease, needed her unremitting attention, often nights as well as days. In these night watches the attacks of an insidious enemy, which was not yet suspected, were made upon her constitution. In January, 1856, it being designed to return to Marianna, she preceded Mr. Hentz, to prepare for his coming, and reached Dr. Hentz's home in that place on the 31st. A severe cold caught upon the journey, fastened itself upon her exhausted system. On Feb. 6th she completed and mailed to Mr. Ballou, of Bos- ton, the last production of her pen — JVo CrosSj no Crown. That very day she was seized with what proved to be masked pneumonia, though its symp- toms did not reveal themselves until the 10th. The most vigorous treatment was unavailing, and on Mon- XIV BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. day night, Feb. 11, 185(3, "she passed gently, sweetly away." It seemed almost prophetical, that in a letter to the writer, bearing date but a few days before her death, in speaking of the frequent insincerity between even the best friends, occurs this passage. '' We pass through the world with veiled hearts and muffled tongues, and we speak of what we care not and con- ceal what we really do care about, till we grow cold and artificial, and by and by the night comes, the shadows fall, and there is no time for confidence or truth." Mr. Hentz survived his wife but eight months, and they both rest together in the grave-yard of the Epis- copal Church in Marianna. Mrs. Hentz was gifted with a ready and fertile pen. Her numerous tales, of very difierent degrees of merit, dating from periods scattered over the whole of her married life, and written for various newspapers and magazines, . have enjoyed the highest reputation in that class of literature ; among them, The Moh Cap^ The Pedler^ a Sequel to the Moh Cap, The Pet Beauty, The Fortunes of a Young Physician^ The Two Sisters and Th,e Two Uncles, The Beauty Transformed, The Drunkard's Daughter, Father Hilario, the Catholic, The Tempted, Aunt Mercy, The Village Pastor's Wife, Thanhsgiving Day, and the Stranger at the Banquet, are all contained in a volume issued under the title of " Courtship and Marriage, or The Joys and Sorrows of Ameri- can Life ;" Aunt Patty's Scrap Bag, The Lost Daughter, Tlie Maiden of Judea^ The Pea- Green 2aJ'cta, The BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. XV Purple Satin Dress, The Velvet Boddice, The Snow Flakes, The Soldier'' s Bride, De Lara's Bride, and the Pre- mature Declaration of Love, are all contained in a vol- ume entitled " The Lost Daughter, and Other Sto- ries OF THE Heart ;" Wild Jack, or The Stolen Child, The Banished So7i, Bell and Pose, The Little Broom Boy, Selim, an Oriental Tale, Howard, the Apprentice Boy, The Black Mask, a Tale of the Land of Flowers, Magno- lia Leaves, The Paradise of the Dead, The Sex of the Soul, and a Trip to the Bay, are all contained in a vol- ume entitled " The Banished Son, and Other Sto- ries ;" TJie Bosom Serpent, Love After Marriage, The Victim of Excitement, The Blind OirVs Story, The Par- lour Serpent, The Shaker Girl, A Rainy Eveiiing, Three Scenes in the Life of a Belle, The Fatal Cosmetic, The Abyssinnian Neophyte, The Village Anthem, My Grand- mother's BrcLcelet, and The Mysterious Reticule, are all contained in a volume entitled "LovE After Mar- riage, and Other Stories." It is, however, through her larger novels — eight in number — and with the exception of Aunt Patty's Scrap Bag, and The Mob Cap, written during the last eight years of her life, that she is most widely and most favorably known. With Mrs. Hentz's prose works, therefore, at least with all of them which she would wish to be preserved, the public are in posses- sion ; and it is as a prose writer that she is ranked among the first Female Authors of America. What Mrs. Hentz has been as an author, and what henceforth is to be her rank in the annals of Ameri- XVI BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. can literature, tlie public will decide ; affection will scarcely be esteemed an impartial judge. But tliose only who knew her, and to all such was she dear, are in possession of the materials upon which to base a judgment of her talents or her genius. The position attained by many of those with whom she might be brought into comparison, has been due in no small part to the avoidance or the neglect of domestic du- ties and cares. Mrs. Hentz's brightest honor is awarded her by those who knew her as a Mother, Wife, and Friend, and what she has accompUshed has been based upon the cultivation of her youth, and the diligent employment of such scattered opportuni- ties as were afforded amid more important duties. Never for a moment was the true woman sacrificed to the author ; and therefore so far from living in an ideal world of her own bright creation, she lived in a practical and real world which her smile and her love made bright for others as well as for herself, and which gave to her writings their chief attraction by shedding upon them the real light of life. It was in accordance with these habits of mind, that she drew portraitures to no small extent, from place, person and incident ; and her friends recognize the scene of her own childhood in the early chapters of the Planter's Northern Bride ; the spirit which presided at her own fireside in Aunt Patty's Scrap Bag ; and so vividly has she portrayed, in the char- acter and childhood of Gabriella Lynn, in Ernest LlNWOOD, what all have felt must have been the inner BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE IIEJSTTZ. XVII life of the author, that one is almost tempted in the story also to seek for a resemblance which has no ex- istence. The currente calamo^ in Mrs. Hentz's instance, was no myth. Her pen glided over the page, hurrying to keep pace with the flow of her glowing thoughts, and impressing every thing with an ease and fresh- ness which were most genuine. Sheet after sheet was pushed from her, to a group of friends perhaps, or to her children, who sat by her reading them, as the un- born thoughts took being; and the writer has seen many of her sweetest poems, and still possesses some, in their first rough draft, sent forth on their little mis- sion, neither having nor needing the slightest cor- rection. Although Be Lara proves the powers of Mrs. Hentz in the field of tragic paths to be of a high stamp, it was domestic life that she loved most to sketch ; and while her fidelity to true heart-history and her radiant fancy were, each in its own way, the chief attractions of her tales, every page was purified by an exalted moral, true and hallowed by a Christian spirit. She had re- ceived many and varied gifts from the hand of Provi- dence. As such she recognized them even from childhood. A deep realization of the presence of a God in all the affairs of man is visible in her earliest writings ; and from the time, during her residence in Florence, when together with her husband she as- sumed the discipleship of her Saviour, her life was one earnest effort to render unto God, not in one de- Jt. SVIII BIOGRAPHY OF MRS. CAROLINE LEE HENTZ. partment alone, but for all His gifts, " His own with usury." Year by year, gratitude and sorrow alike drew her nearer and nearer to Him in whose faith at last she trustingly lay down to rest after the burden of the day was forever passed. Not a few who have never known her, have and shall mingle with their admiration, grateful and loving thoughts, while those who w^ere privileged to know her well, especially those who in early years were brought under her in- fluence and felt her affection, shall, with her children " rise up, and call her blessed." LINDA; OB, THE YOUNG PILOT OF THE BELLE CREOLE. CHAPTER I. Linda Walton, at eight years of age, was the most spoiled, petted, warm-hearted, impulsive, generous little tyrant that ever ruled over a Southern plantation. Her mother, a lovely, gentle, pious woman, was the only being that could bend her strong will, direct her wild impulses, and counteract, as far as possible, by firm, yet mild discipline, the baneful effect of her father's excessive indulgence. Little Linda had the mis- fortune to be a great heiress, for her grandfather, who resided in Louisiana, had bequeathed her a large plantation in one of those rich, luxuriant plains on the banks of the Mississippi, which are fertile as the borders of the Nile, with an hundred and fifty negroes, to convert, by their labour, the cotton, sugar, and rice into accumulating gold. But a far gi-eater, deeper misfortune befell her, about one year previous to the period we have chosen to present our young heiress to the reader. That lovely, gentle, pious mother, who exercised such holy influence on the mind and heart of her child, was taken from her by death, and Linda was left to the guardianship of a father, 13 14 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT whose days were passed in superintending his v^ottou and his negroes, and whose evening amusement it was to pet and caress the little orphan, whose beauty and quick intelligence were his pride and delight. But the prime minister of the household was Aunt Judy, her nurse, since promoted to the rank of housekeeper. Linda had loved her mother as few children of her age can love, and her grief at her death was BO wild and extraordinary that the negroes regarded her for a time with superstitious terror. The child, who, in the fear- lessness of her sorrow, would go and sit for hours on her mother's grave, was an enigma they could not solve. Mrs. Walton had kept Linda so constantly under her own surveil- lance, forbidding in her presence those awful stories of ghosts and phantoms that so often freeze the young blood, and palsy the bounding limbs of childhood, that Linda had never yet been led, by the hand of ignorance, into the dark regions of the spirit-land. She remembered her mother's face, as if it hud been the face of an angel, such as she had last seen it, so white, so pure, with that sweet glimmering smile death leaves on the lineaments of human loveliness. For a while, this holy presence was with her during the long day, and in the dreams of night. She was afraid to be passionate and rebelli- ous, lest that sweet, sad smile should vanish from those pale lips. But if time effaces the characters engraven on the granite surface of man's heart, how much sooner will it sweep over those prints traced in sand — the impressions of child- hood? A little while, the angel-face came not near her in the sunshine of day, but when the shadows of night deepened round her, it would bend meekly over her and seem to listen 10 her evening prayer. A little longer, and Linda learned to revel in the joy of independence, to issue her little imperious command; sure no mild voice would reprove, no gentle^ hand restrain, and she tried to forget the mother, who, liad she lived, would have rebuked her waywardness and controlled OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 15 her will. But no matter how self-willed Linda might be, let Aunt Judy but bind up her head with jimson leaves, and say she felt '^mighty poorly," she would glide noiselessly round her, hang tenderly on her sable neck, or pat her dark cheeks with her velvet hands. Sickness and sorrow were sacred things to her — and passion and pride subsided in their presence. Such was Linda at eight years old, such were the influences that acted on her childhood. One evening Mr. Walton seemed more thoughtful than usual. He ate his supper in silence, took Linda upon his knee, and watched with ominous interest the motions of Judy, who always presided with aristocratic dignity over the ablutions of the tea-cups, having two young negroes under her especial training, who treated her with most deferential respect, though they rolled their black eyes and showed their white teeth metaphorically behind her back. It was evident from Aunt Judy's air and style of dress, that she belonged to the ancient regime, the class of family servants who are admitted into the confidence of their master's household and are treated with kindness and affectionate familiarity. She always wore a stiff white turban coiled round her head, in the fashion of a cornu- copia — a nice, starched, checked apron, and carried a white napkin suspended over her left arm. Her African blood had not been corrupted by the base mingling of a paler stream. Black as ebony was her smooth and shining skin, on which the dazzling ivory of her teeth threw gleams bright as the moon on midnight. Judy had loved her gentle mistress : nay, more than loved — adored, reverenced her, as a being of a su- perior, holier race than her own. She mourned her death with the most unaffected grief, though she said it was a sin in her to mourn after her, for '^mistress had appeared to her, the night after she died, with beautiful shining wings on her back, and told, her she was crone to heaven, and that she must come and meet her there.'' 16 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT Sincere and lasting as was the sorrow of Judy, she derived great satisfaction from the household dignity with which she was invested. In the morning, her white turban was seen shooting with meteoric swiftness from room to room, while a little negro trotted behind her, jingling a basket of keys, and Linda, like a stray sunbeam, played round and about them, the pet and darling of all. This evening Judy knew, by a kind of intuition, that there was something on her master's mind that he wished to com- municate. The manner in which he glanced into the fire — oh ! the glorious light-wood blaze ! — how it illuminates every nook and corner of the room ! — what comfort and beauty and radiance it imparts to the cool, autumnal nights, while through the open windows steals the mild fragrance of departing sum- mer ! The rays from the silver candelabras, the glittering chandeliers, are pale and cold to the efiulgence of the light wood fire. It is the glory of the South. By this the dark cabin of the negro is lighted up as gorgeously as the halls of his master ; and with one of these magnificent torches, he can thread the thick labyrinths of the pine forests with unerring footstep. What lonely traveller ever passed near the Southern planter's habitation, in the darkness of night, that did not bless the hospitable beacon blaze that sunned the shadows of his path? Those tall posts, with three spreading feet, like the tripod of the Grecian Pythoness, surmounted by burning pine-knots, placed here and there in the spacious yard, seen through the tall, cone-shaped trees, are 60 many brilliant Btars, cheering the forest gloom. " Linda," said Mr. "Walton, '' would you not like to have a new mother ?" " A new mother I" repeated Linda, fixing her large, brown eyes in unutterable wonder on his face. " Where is she going to come from ?" '' There is a very nice lady^ who lives somewhere on this OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 17 river, who says she is willing to be a kind mother to you, and I hope you will love her very much, and be a very good, quiet, and obedient little girl." ^' When is she coming ? How big is she ? Does she look like my own dear mamma V cried Linda, out of breath with wonder and curiosity. Judy gave Minta such a sudden twitch of the ear, that the cup she was wiping dropped from her hand and dashed to pieces on the floor. It was fortunate that Judy found a legi- timate channel in which her wrath could find vent, for the idea of a new mistress, who might deprive her of all her household honours, was hateful to her. She gave the unfor- tunate delinquent several smart slaps on either side of the head, muttering between each blow — ^' You good for nothing, no account nigger ; go long into the kitchen this minute. New mistress, sure enough. Well, well, old Judy's tired enough toting the keys from morning till night. 'Spose master thinks she not take care of things — no treat Miss Linda proper enough. Oh, dear, dear — the Lord have mercy on us ! Poor, dear mistress ! When she come with her beautiful spread-out wings and told me to meet her in heaven, I didn't 'spect — oh dear I" Here the faithful creature, as if impressed with a presenti- ment of the evils which would follow the stranger's advent, bowed her head in her lap, and rocking to and fro, began to weep bitterly. Linda slid with lightning rapidity from her father's arms, and buried her head in the lap of her nurse. " I won't have a new mamma," cried she. " Pa shan' bring her here. I won't have an ugly, old woman, instead of my sweet, pretty mamma. I won't be a good girl ; I won't mind her ; that I won't." " Linda," said Mr. Walton, " you must not talk in that way, or I shall not love you any more ; and Judy, it is very 18 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT wrong in you to talk so before the child. Fm not at all dis- satisfied with your services. I know you are faithful and honest, and do all you can for Linda and myself; but if I choose to get me a wife, you have neither of you a right to dictate. It is for Linda's good, and for the good of the household. She is a lady of fortune, a widow, with one Bon— '' " A son V exclaimed Linda, lifting her head ; " how big is he r '' Oh, he is a big boy of thirteen or fourteen, who will be a brother to you, and teach you how to ride on the poney, and hunt squirrels in the wood." Linda smiled through her tears, but Judy groaned louder than ever at the idea of the big boy^ whose muddy shoes were going to track her shining waxed floor, and litter her clean-swept yard. *^I shall leave home to-morrow,'^ continued Mr. Walton, " and I expect to find every thing in the best order on my re- turn. Judy, see that your finest linen and whitest counter- panes are brought into service. Have a plenty of nice cakes and pies prepared, and dress my little girl in her prettiest. I know she wants her new brother to love her, and she will be a good girl for my sake." Mr. "Walton was one of those easy, good-natured men, whose equilibrium was never disturbed by the impulses of passion, and whose will was easily swayed by the will of others. Conscious of the extreme flexibility of his character, and fearing opposition exactly where he had met it, he had taken the precaution to arrange every thing before mentioning the subject, so that it would be impossible for him to recede with honour. The lady who had been recommended to him was very wealthy, had the reputation of being one of the best manager?' in the country, raised the most cotton, had the best disciplined Legrocs, was a doting mother to her own only son, OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 19 BJ\i ccnscqucnlly must be a tender one to his only orplian daughter. Mr. Walton's a%irs were getting into disorder, — liis over- eeer was inefficient, his negroes becoming idle and unruly, Linda terribly spoiled, and Judy growing entirely too conse- quential. The lady in question would remedy all thes^ evils. Her feminine but powerful influence would harmonize every jarring element, and his days would glide away in tranquil happiness. Linda, with the quick-changing feelings of childhood, began to think with pleasure of her new brother, and plan many excursions in which he was to be her protector and guide. She was sorry he was so old and so big ; but then he could wait upon her better, and carry her over the brooklets, and climb the trees for her, to get nuts and fruit. The image of a new mother, too, softened down into something that she longed to love. Notwithstanding her passionate assertion that she would not be good, she made an inward resolution that she would be so, for her strong affections yearned for more objects on which to shed their living warmth. Judy, too, finding the evil inevitable, endeavoured to culti- vate the grace of submission. She unlocked the store of snowy white linen, spread out the finest counterpanes, bright- ened up the family silver, and made most remarkable prepara- tions for a wedding feast. There was a perfect tempest in the kitchen among the rolling pins and beating sticks, a deadly massacre in the poultry yard. The little negroes were poking their woolly heads into the crannies and hollows after eggs, and Linda, in spite of Judy's remonstrances and pro- phecies that she would get sunburned and freckled, would be the first in every nest, no matter where it mignt be situated. At length all was ready. The floor shone like mirrors in their waxen varnish, through which their rich, dark veins traced bold and gi-aceful figures, resembling the finest ara- 20 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT besque ; wliite curtains were tastefullj festooned eacli side of the windows, showing the delicate leaf-work of the vines thai clambered round the frames ; green, odoriferous pine-bougha filled the chimneys, though at night to be displaced by the blazing knot ; vases of flowers ornamented the mantel-pieces and tables, and even the shelf in the passage, where the brass- bound bucket, with its silver-chased cocoa-nut shell-gourd, was always placed, was adorned in the same floral manner. The negroes, in their holiday dresses, were standing on logs or perched on the fence, watching their master's coming. Aunt Judy's white turban assumed its most majestic peak, and a pair of large, gold ear-rings and a massy finger-ring added to the aristocracy of her appearance. She had arrayed Linda in her prettiest white muslin dress and pantalettes, brushed her short, curly brown locks, till they were as bright and smooth as satin, and " blessed her little heart" a thousand times over. That little heart was throbbing with the most intense emotion. She began to conceive a great awe for the being for whom such splendid preparations had been making. She felt unhappy at her own insignificance. She was dwind- ling away into a mere mote in comparison with this great lady and her fourteen-year-old boy. She was afraid they would not love her; that her father would not love her any more. Even Aunt Judy would not care so much about her as she had done. Oh, she intended to be very good, and steal like a sweet doveling into the downy nests of their inmost hearts. With such thoughts as these swelling and softening her 'young bosom, the little girl gazed down through the avenue of trees that led to the house, trying to catch the sound of the carriage wheels, to be the first to announce the coming of the travellers. Her cheeks were pale, her eyes moist. She clung to Aunt Judy's hand as if afraid to let her go Was it instinct that led her to nestle closer to that humblo friend. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 21 a', this moment, wlien all the happiness of her future life was at stake ? ^^ There they come — there they come!" she exclaimed. " Don't you see the horses ? and don't you hear the wheels hum ?" [ Aunt Judy smoothed down her apron, and leading Linda to he gate, she arranged the negroes in a row on each side, through which the master and mistress were to pass. Minta and Dilsy, her two handmaids, stood next to herself and Linda, grinning from ear to ear. The carriage rolled up to the gate, and Mr. Walton, alight- ing, assisted his bride to descend. She was dressed in a plain, lead-coloured silk, a neat white bonnet and great veil. Her figure was good, but her features, being screened by the veil, could not be distinguished. " Robert, my darling, take care — you are treading on my dress.'^ This was addressed, in very soft, tender accents, to a tall, rough-looking, but handsome boy, who bounced out of the carriage before his mother had placed her foot on the ground, shoving her unceremoniously on one side, and stamping his feet with violence, to wake them up, he said. Judy folded her hands over her waist, and dropped several deep curtsies. ^' Welcome home, mistress. Hope to see you very well, mistress.'^ The lady made a little nod, but said nothing. " This is my daughter, my little Linda," said Mr. Walton, taking Linda's trembling hand, and drawing her towards»hira. " Linda, this is your new mamma ; you must be a good girl, and she will love you very much." The lady stooped down, kissed her through her veil, said she " was very fond of good little girls," and the new mistress passed under the shadow of the oak trees that hung over the 22 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNQ PILOT piazza, crossed the threshold, and entered the mansion whero she was henceforth to preside, for weal or for wo. The young Robert was obliged to give vent to his super- fluous activity, after being pent up so long in the limits of a carriage, before he could submit to any in-door restraints. He pulled the woolly locks of Judy's handmaids elect, till they screamed, swung Linda half a dozen times round him in the air, then laughed to see her fall from dizziness, set the dogs after the geese, and the cat after the dogs, — making more commotion in three minutes than a well-bred youth would in so many years. Judy tried in vain to keep down her hot African blood. " Never mind ! never mind !" muttered she, brushing the dirt from Linda's muslin frock, and smoothing her disordered ringlets. "^ew mistress, sure enough; new master, too; one master plenty. Knock her down, he'll eat green persim- mons for his supper.'' Linda dared not open her lips. She was terrified by his violence as much as she was disgusted by his rudeness. Her spirit quailed before his bold, wicked-looking, black eyes, and the love which had been welling forth to meet this brother, companion, protector, flowed back to the fountain. She walked slowly into the house, curious to see the face of the strange lady, whom her father had married. Mrs. "Walton stood by the window watching the gambols of her son, so absorbed in the contemplation she noticed not the entrance of the child, who gazed so earnestly and wistfully on her. Could the little step-daughter read the tablet of that smooth, cold countenance ? It required greater skill in phy- siognomy than Linda possessed, but she had an intuitive per- ception of character, and there was something in those thin, compressed lips, pale blue eyes, with almost white eyelashes and brows, that struck her very chillingly. She had the shining forehead, caused by the tight-drawn skin; sandy hair, OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 23 parted with elaborate precision ; and her light eje-brows were strained into a high arch, as if trying to remove as far as pos- sible from the stony, passionless orbs below. Linda looked and wondered what made her father love such a woman. He was so handsome himself, and her mother was so lovely. She did not know, foolish child, how little love had to do with this eligible second marriage, — this marriage of recommenda- tion and convenience — of policy and prudence. '''• Oh, I shall never love her V whispered Linda's sinking heart; "and she will never love me. And there will be no use in my trying to be good." She turned a reproachful glance at her father, thinking she could not love him half as well as before; but he looked so kindly and affectionately at her, and opened his arms so lovingly, that she rushed into them, and burying her head in his bosom, cried and sobbed aloud. " What makes her cry V^ said Mrs. Walton, in that soft, peculiar voice which startled one, from its want of harmony with her face. " I hope she is not afraid of me. Robert, dear," continued she, putting her head out of the window "don't exercise quite so much. It will make you sick. Don't, Kobert, make quite so much noise. Dear fellow !" turning with a smile to Mr. Walton, " he is so full of life and spirit, he does not know what to do. He has been still so long, too. You will get accustomed to his little sportive ways, I trust." " Oh, boys will be boys,'^ said he, with a slight embarrass- ment of manner. " But you must not think my little girl is crying from fear of you. She's tired and excited, and over glad to see me. That is all. You will find her a good deal spoiled, but her heart is in the right place. Win that and you can do any thing in the world with her." " I have no doubt we shall be good friends by and bv/' said Mrs. Walton. "We must give her time to get ac- quainted." 24 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT Who ever heard of children's wanting time to get ac- quainted ? The snark darts not more instantaneously along the electric chain than the glance of affection into the heart of a child. Time ! — the heart of a young child is full, brim- ming with love. Give it an outlet, and it gushes forth a crys- tal stream, carrying freshness and beauty wherever it flows. Had the step-mother only laid her hand gently on the drooping head, imprinted one kind kiss on the moist check of Linda, the child would have loved her, in spite of her chilling exterior ; but no kiss or caress was proffered, and Linda only clung closer to her father's bosom, assured that he loved her still, and would continue to love her. When supper was announced. Master Robert came in with a thundering noise, scraping his shoes, not on the nice mat by the threshold, but on the bright floor. "Please, young master,^' said Judy, almost choking with suppressed anger, " please wipe your shoes on the mat.'' " Hold your tongue, old unicorn V he exclaimed, shuffling as hard as he could. " If you don't mind what you say, I'll smash that tower on the top of your head as flat as a pancake. And you, you great goggle eyes,'' said he, turning to Minta, who, at a signal from Juda, was following him on all-fours, wiping his tracks with a tremendous flourish of the house- cloth, " if you don't stop chasing me with that old rag, I'll make you see through the back of your skull." " Robert," ejaculated the soft voice of his mother, " don't speak quite so loud ; and come to supper, my dear. You must be hungry by this time." Robert obeyed the summons with alacrity, and was the first to seat himself at a table literally covered with dainties. Linda, who had been taught by her mother that there was nothing so disgusting as gluttony and ill-breeding at table, and tht.t young persons should always wait modestly till elder or*cs were served, instead of calling upon the servants to wait OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 25 upon them first, witnessed with indignant astonishment the be- haviour of Robert. He ordered the servants here and there in the most insolent manner, when they were waiting on others ; filled his plate with cake, waffles, wafers, sweetmeats, and meat, at the same time scattering crumbs over the white table-cover, and spilling his cofiFee every time he carried it to his mouth. ^' Here, give me some more sugar, possum," cried he to Dilsy, having christened her already with that charming nick- name. " What sort of slop do you call this V Then filling his cup half full of loaf sugar, he declared it was not fit to drink, and pushing it back so suddenly that the contents flew into the preserve dishes and butter plates, he called for a tumbler of butter-milk, which was no sooner received than he issued his orders for a glass of water. After having eaten voraciously of every thing on the table, asking all the time what stuff this was, and what thing that, he leaned back in his chair with a loud hiccup, and began to drum his feet together under the table. His mother occasionally put in a "don't Robert,^' or "be patient, dear;" but she seemed not to have the faintest perception that the comfort of others could be disturbed by his youtliful impetuodty, as she called it. Mr. Walton tried to look,pleased and cheerful, but even his imperturbable good natui'e was tried beyond endurance. Was this the commencement of his tranquil domestic life, on which his fancy had been luxuriating ? Was the woman who had allowed her own son to arrive at his present years, with- out exerting one restraining influence on his animal propen™ sities, till they had acquired a giant's strength and a tyrant's power one who was fitted to act a mother's part to his aff'ec- tionate and wayward child ? Was she worthy to be the suc- cessor of his sweet and holy-minded wife ? Ah ! Mr. Walton, these mental interrogatories are made too late. You never even saw the woman to whom you have given the sacred name of wife, till all necessary preliminaries 26 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT had been arranged bj a mutual friend. You never saw the graceless boy, whom you must now acknowledge as a son, till you went to breathe the marriage vows, and swear before God and man to love and cherish his mother, till death did ye part. You were told it was an eligible match ; that she was a great manager, and looked well to the ways of her house- hold. You thought it too much trouble to take a long journey to see her beforehand, and judge of her feminine attractions. She had one husband, and that was a surety for her charms. The heyday of your youth was past, and the golden tints of romance faded into the gray tints of reality. It is true, when you first met this future bride, and beheld those pale, hard- looking eyes, those high arched, white brows, and those thin, pinched lips, your heart-springs recoiled with a sudden jar that destroyed the delicate machinery within. And when that darling boy of hers first exhibited his rare domestic accom- plishments, several cold shudders ran through your frame, pre- monitory symptoms of future wretchedness. The image of your fii'st love stole across your memory, in all the freshness of her virgin beauty, the delicacy of her matron loveliness, and you tried to shut it out. Your little Linda, too ; you thought of her and sighed, and wished you had not been so precipitate, had exercised your own judgment instead of fol- lowing blindly the counsels of others. But it was too late : your honour as a gentleman was pledged, and you could not retract. You would probably get accustomed to all this, and become reconciled to your lot. Yes ! and your child will be- come accustomed to have all her warm affections driven back into her breast, and turned to fiery scorpions there. She will be accustomed to the icy rod that will rule her by night and by day ; to the goad that spurs when weary nature sighs for repose, to the rein that chafes when the roused spirit bounds for action. — " But know thou, for all this, thou shalt bo brought unto judgment." OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 27 CHAPTER II. As Aunt Judy tad anticipated, the keys were taken from her possession, and she was reduced to the level of a common servant. This was a sad wound to the faithful creature's pride, for she had watched over her master's interests with scrupulous fidelity and real attachment. But this was not all the humiliation she was called upon to suffer. She, as well as the other household servants, had always partaken of the same food that was placed on their master's table, and they had never been stinted in their portion. It is true, they waited till his board was served, and his room swept and gar- nished; but then their meals were partaken in uninterrupted enjoyment and with contented spirits. The new Mrs. Wal- ton made a material change in this arrangement. The meal was measured and the bacon weighed for their daily food, and whatever dainties were left uj)on the table were set aside for Master Robert's luncheons. She discovered that it was a great waste to supply servants with sugar, and that coffee was very bad for their constitutions. But the greatest trial and mortification poor Judy was doomed to suffer, was the with- drawal of Linda from her influence and presence. '' Linda has been left entirely too much with the negroes," said Mrs. Walton to her husband. " I can do nothing with her while Judy stays in the house and interferes with my au- thority. I shall put Judy in the weaving-room, and Miuta and Dilsy in the spinning-room. I have servants of my own, already trained, whom I shall substitute in their place.'' What could Mr. Walton say ? She was literally conform- ing to his wishes, in separating Linda from her sable com' panions, and in superintending her constantly with her own 128 LINDA ; OR, THE YOUNG TILOT eye; but he could not, without many secret pang*?, see the faithful servants, who doated on his child, banished from the household, and strangers fulfilling their duties with coldness and constraint. Linda was outrageous when she learned the new organization of the family. She declared that " Aunt Judy shouldn't be put out of the house ; that she would go and live in the weaving-room ; that pa ought to be ashamed to let his old servants be treated so bad ; that she was an heiress, and a big heiress, and she had a right to be minded.'' Having for the first time burst through the bonds of fear, her long pent-up feelings — her sense of wrongs and degrada- tion — her hatred and wrath — refused to be restrained ; she wept and stamped her little feet in the impotence of her rage. ^^Take that child up stairs," said Mrs. Walton, without raising her voice in the least, to one of her own strong-armed slaves ; " take her up stairs." Mr. Walton, however his judgment might be convinced that she deserved punishment, could not bear to see her car- ried out of his sight, where he knew not what penalty would be inflicted on her. The feelings of the father were roused. " Put that child down," said he, with authority. ^^ I will take her away myself." " Mr. "Walton," said his lady, softly, ^' my servants must obey me, and I allow no one to interfere. You must leave the management of that child to me." The child was borne screaming from the room, stretching out her arms to her father and crying out till he could heai her no longer. " Please, pa, please take me with you I" Had Mr. Walton at this moment exerted the spirit of ? man and a father ; had he rescued his child from the iroi despotism that was beginning to coil around her ; had he him- self administered needed rebuke, mingling \wse counsel with words of love, what a blessed change he might have wrought! OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 29 But there was something paralyzing in the influence of that unchanging eye, that unvarying tone, the soft "shall" and "will/' that was always issuing from those thin lips. Like many other easy-tempered, weak-willed men, he yielded to a power he loathed and despised, and became a passive instrument of evil. The next time he saw his little daughter, she was sitting in a low chair by her step-mother, busily engaged in making patch-work. She had a subdued, sullen air ; her eyes were red and swollen, and every now and then she drew a long breath, like the last sigh of a tempest. She raised not her eyes at her father's entrance, nor bounded to meet him, as she was wont to do. Through and through, and through again, went her long-threaded needle, though a tear that dropped on the bright calico showed that she could not see very well where it was going. " Linda, my darling," said the self-upbraiding father, "como and sit in my lap, and show me that pretty work you are doing." " I have given her a task," replied Mrs. Walton, " and she must finish it before dinner." " She has never been used to confinement," Mr. "Walton Vtintured to say, " and I am afraid it will make her sick." " Shame to those who have had the charge of her," said I^trs. Walton, " that she is not used to it. A child of eight years of age is old enough to be taught habits of industry and propriety. I do not confine my son, for I wish him to have a manly and independent character ; but girls are very difi'erent. The domestic virtues must be cultivated in them." '* But I should think that an hour at a time," continued Mr. Walton " " Mr. Walton, I wish to be thoroughly understood in this matter," interrupted she, quietly; "when we married, you asked me to take charge of vour daughter and be a mother to 30 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT her. A lady must be a mucli better judge thau a gentlemaik of the education of a young girl. Linda has promised to obey me, and I mean she shall. And one thing, let me say, iMr. Walton, I have never allowed any one to interfere with my domestic arrangements, and I never will." This was unanswerable ; at least not a word was uttered in reply. Mr. Walton gazed upon Linda, who sat sewing and sewing without lifting her eyes, heaving those long-drawn breaths, which sound as if they came from under a leaden weight. What spell had converted the passionate little rebel into that silent, plodding seamstress ? Untie her muslin apron ; look at those purplish streaks on her tender back, and the secret of her submission may be discovered. It was the first time that personal chastisement had '^ver been applied to Linda. Her own mother had always been able to subdue her without having recourse to a means which should be the last exercise of parental authority; and her father had never lifted his hand to smite a slave, much less his child. At first, the shame and the insult maddened her to wilder rebellion, and she cried out, between every blow, " I don't care ; you may kill me ; but I won't mind." At length physical suffering triumphed over pride and self-will. She pleaded for pardon, and promised obedience. That promise once given, she resolved to obey. A high sense of honour, remarkable in so youtig a child, made her attach a solemn obligation to her word. She would not complain to her father, for it would do no good. She would not complain to Aunt Judy, for they would whip her too. She would try to submit, and never again expose herself to the burning shame and smarting pain of the lash. When her day's task was completed, and she was allowed to go out in the open air for a while, she flew to Aunt Judy's room, who almost smothered her with caresses. But Linda's tmarting back writhed wnder the pressure of her arms. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 31 « Oh, you hurt me, Aunt Judy ; you hurt me so \" The quick eye of the nurse caught a glimpse of the dark- ening stripes. The poor creature '' lifted up her voice and wept aloud.'' She kissed the delicate skin a thousand times over between each purple line, murmuring the name of her " poor, dear, dead mistress.'' " Oh, Lord, have mercy on us !" she cried. " I never 'spected to come to this. Bless her little soul and body ! If it had been poor Judy's back, she no mind it one bit. But this little, white, tender creature !— Oh, Lord, Lord ! what will become of that awful woman at the day of judgment, when poor, dear mistress stand there with beautiful white wings on, and a golden harp in her hand ? She stay way off; way off by the black pit, all black hisself— howling !" Judy did not call upon the name of the Lord in vain, aa too many do, in the moment of strong excitement. She was sincerely and devoutly pious. She believed in the judgments of the Almighty and the retributions of eternity. She be- lieved the blood of a Saviour had power to cleanse the sins of the African as well as the white man, and that, if she trusted in Him for salvation, she would be a beautiful white angel in heaven. It is true, her ideas of spiritual happiness were very dim and obscure. Her visions of heaven consisted of golden streets and golden harps, and white-winged spirits, and of an exceeding great glory. She often imagined she saw wondrous sights and heard wondrous things, and she described them sometimes with an eloquence that might inspire belief. But of that invisible glory of holiness which fills the inner temple of the soul, that heaven of purity and faith begun in the heart in this world, poor Judy had but a faint conception. From this time, the life of little Linda assumed a character of dreary monotony. Day after day she sat in her little chair, drawing her needle through and through the everlast- ( oli LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT ing patchwork, with a look of sad and oft-times sullen endur. ance, clouding her late joyous countenance. She was as the sparkling fountain imprisoned within marble tablets; the bird, with an iron weight fastened to its heaven-plumed wing ; the rosebud, enveloped in a leaden case. While she was tied down regularly to her morning and evening tasks, Robert was permitted to roam at large, in all- the glory of independence, making anarchy and uproar wherever he went. He never came near her without pulling her hair, pinching her arms, pulling her chair from under her, sticking pins into her, and performing various other interesting experiments. At first, she shrieked and resisted ; but finding the more she seemed to feel the torments he inflicted, the more he redoubled them, she learned to bear them with the unflinching fortitude of the Spartan boy ; and Kobert, deriving no amusement from the system of passive endurance, turned the artillery of his .mis- chief in other directions. Mrs. Walton, who had perceived from the first, the instinc- tive dislike of Linda, conceived a hatred for the child, which grew with the powers she exercised over her. Day by day she imposed upon her new restraints, and diminished, as far as possible, the scanty store of enjoyments left to her desolate childhood. Linda had a little room, opening into her father's, where she had slept since her mother's death. Though, as it has been said before, she was a fearless child and not afraid of the ghost-peopled realms of the darkj she loved her little room, and its contiguity to her remaining parent. It was pleasant when she awaked in the night to hear his breathing near ; it was pleasant in the bright morning to hear his voice calling her to awake, '^ for the sun was up, and the little birds rflngiiig about the windows. '^ One evening, wlu-n tired and listless she sought her little couch, she was surprised by seeing a larger bed in its place, a finer counterpane, and uu air of superior comfort about the OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 33 room. She turned to her step-mother with a glow of grati- tude lighting up her whole face. " Oh, how nice it looks/' she exclaimed. ^' What a pretty counterpane — what nice curtains, — and did you fix it this fine for me ? How very, very good.'' " Master Robert is going to have this room," said the negro who now waited upon her, one of Mrs. Walton's trained ser- vants. " He shan't i' :?xclaimed Linda, passionately, forgetting in her overwhelming astonishment her promise of implicit obe- dience. "He shan't have it — it's mine — next to my own dear papa's. He is a great big boy, and ought to be ashamed to want to sleep here. This is pa's house, and I'm an heiress, and I won't give it up V Pale with passion now looked that young face so lately il- luminated with the glow of gratitude. The spoiler had entered her secret sanctuary and robbed her of her household gods. " Robert has always slept near me," calmly rei^lied Mrs. Walton, " and I mean he shall do so still. I expected to find proper arrangements for him when I came, but as no one thought of his comfort, I have provided for it myself. Here, Nelly, take Miss Linda to her new apartment, and if she shows the lest rebellion, let me know it. Another word of in- solence shall not pass unpunished." The vision of the disgracing lash, its whizzing sound, the pain, the smart, the shame, passed before the mind of the outraged child. One look from these dark brown eyes flashed on the step-mother's impassive face, then turned on the walls, en- deared by the memory of a mother's tenderness and a father's care, one long, deep sigh, and the child passed on to the remote, comfortless apartment prepared for her reception. It was a large, unplastered room, almost entirely destitute of furniture. The shadows hung in gloomy wreaths from the dark rafters Bcarcely lighted up by the dim candle which Nelly placed on S4 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG Pn.OT a table of red-stained pine. It was a room which the firsf Mrs. Walton had used as a lumber-roonij little imagining her orphan daughter would ever be driven there by the cruelty of a tyrannizing successor. Let it not be supposed that the author of this tale would cast an odium on that class of females called to fulfil the duties of step-mother. There are many who carry to this difl&cult and responsible situation the holiest purposes and tenderest affections; who, standing in tlie place of the de- parted, feel the solemnities of death hallowing the duties of life ; who, feeling themselves called to a sacred mission, gird Tip their spirits to the task, even though ingratitude and neg- lect and misconception may be their best reward. There are those who bind up with gentlest hand the wounds of orphan- age ; revive with the dew of tenderness and the smile of en- com'agement the withering garlands of household joy, and convert the home, which death has made desolate, into a dwelling of peace and happiness and love. Blessings, endless blessings, cluster round these ministering angels of earth. The spirits of the dead hover around them, shedding balm from their refulgent wings. The prayers of innocent child- hood go up to the heaven of heavens in their behalf, and the heart of widowed love and son'ow reposes in hope and confi- dence on their faithful bosoms. Oh, that one of these blessed ministering angels had been sent to watch over little Linda ! She sat down in that large, dark room, on the foot of her little bed, and looked all around it with a slow, melancholy gaze. She seemed to take in at last the realities of her situation, and the dreariness of her life's future rose appallingly before her. With the instinctive feeling of dependence on God, which leads the human heart to turn to him when earthly comforts fail, ehe opened her trunk, and, taking out her mother's Bible, knelt down at the foot of the bed, and began to search for pome passage which that dear mother hud taught her to read or THE BELLE CREOLE. ^ " I remember/^ said tlio child to herself, " something about God's hearing the young ravens when they cry, and about his seeing the little sparrows when they fall. She turned the leaves without finding the text she sought, when, by chance, her eye caught some words which arrested her attention : '^ When my father and mother forsake me, then the Lord will take me up/' She read these again and again. She read them to herself, then repeated them aloud. ^' Oh V thought she, ^' the Lord will take care of me, for there is no one but God and Aunt Judy to love me now." Large tears roiled down her cheeks and fell on the leaves of her Bible. She was very sorry she had given way to such a burst of passion, for she was afraid the Lord would not love her for it ; but she would pray to him to forgive her, and she would promise never to do so any more. The negro Nelly, whose own pallet was spread near Linda's bed, and who had thrown herself across it, looked with a kind of awe upon the child, with her innocent hands clasped to- gether an.d her tearful eyes raised to heaven. She hated her despotic mistress ; and though, from fear of offending her, she spoke in a harsh tone to Linda before her face, her natural sense of right revolted from being made the passive instru- ment of oppression. She hated Master Kobert too, the noisy, pampered, selfish tyrant, and thought it a shame that he should be installed in Miss Linda's pretty, quiet room. She thought all this when Linda was giving vent to her burnino" anger, and asserting her rights with such passionate vehe- mence : but now, when she saw her subdued to such patient meekness, reading her Bible, then praying with such a holy look, the negro's heart grew blacker and blacker towards her mistress, and tenderer and softer towards her young victim. " Never mind, young missy," said she, after spreading the clothes carefully over her, ^^ I rather be in your place than hers, any how. She be sorry bimeby, you see, if she ben't 36 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT Massa Robert give her trouble enough hisself 'fore long. Never mind, he pay her for treating little missy so bad. Oh, lud ! lud ! think of Massa Robert in Miss Lindy's nice little room ! He eat, stuff hisself all day long, then turn and toss and make hisself sick all night/' Linda fell asleep with the gutteral accents of the negro murmuring in her ear. When Mr. Walton retired for the night, he went, as was his custom, to look at his sleeping child, and to indulge in those affectionate meditations which the poor man habitually re- pressed in the presence of his wife. What was his astonish- ment to see a boyish, sunburned face ; a shock of thick, black hair spread about on the pillow — in short, the slumbering beauties of Master Robert, instead of his own lovely little girl. ^^ What is all this ?" cried he to Mrs. Walton, in a tone louder than he had ever dared to use before ; " what is that great boy doing there ? And what have you done with my child V " I've given her another room,'' replied the soft, hissing, serpent voice. "Robert is to have her's now. He's very apt to be sick in the night, and it is not safe for him to be by himself. I always had him near me at home, and I mean he shall be now." "But where's Linda? what have you done with her?" cried the father, wiping the thick drops of perspiration from his brow. " She's in a very comfortable room. But you needn't speak so loud, Mr. AYalton. You'll wake Robert, and 1 can't have him disturbed." " I'll wake him with a vengeance," exclaimed Mr. Walton, the feelings of the indignant father getting the mastery of the husband's grovelling fears. " I'll rouse him from his soft nest with a witness. Here, you lubberly rascal, you great OF THE BELLE CREOLE. S7 selfish baby you, get up and tell me what you've done with nay poor, precious, little Liuda." ''Let me alone, let me alone," cried Robert, shaken and roused by no very gentle grasp. " Mother, make him let go/' " You had better not touch that child I" exclaimed the mother, pushing her husband back with a force that sent him reeling against the wall. There was something terrific in the pale passion of her stony eyes and ashy lips, that white heat, so intense and fearful. She fixed those eyes upon him with such a moveless, metallic glare, he became weak and passive as the bird, when fascinated by the gaze of the rattlesnake. " If you ever touch that boy again, you'll rue the hour that you was born.'^ " I rue it now," groaned the miserable father, and taking his lamp in his desperate hand, he went into the long passage which extended from his own chamber to a wing of the man- sion. He opened the first room, for there were several lead- ing into this passage. It was a chamber handsomely furnished for company, and so was the next. He went on, till he found the large, unplastered room to which Linda was consigned, like a piece of useless rubbish, not worth the keeping. There she lay, in the sweet, deep sleep of innocence and childhood ; one round, white arm drooped from the side of the bed, on the other her cheek was pillowed. Her eye-lashes were still moist with tears, but there was an air of placid sweetness and resig- nation difi"used over her countenance that melted his inmost soul. Scorn him as you will, that weak, woman-ruled man, but pity him too. Did you ever read the story of the prisoner, who was immured in an iron cell, with two or three grated windows ? How one by one those grated windows closed up, the iron walls grew narrower, and more narrow, till the shrink- ing, sufi"ocating victim felt himself crushing in his iron cofiin ! Thus imprisoned, and galled, and hopeless of escape, within a constantly narrowing circle of domestic joys, narrowing and 38 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT darkening every day, lived the rich, married widower. Why does he not claim the glorious prerogative of manhood, and become the lord of his household ? Alas ! he has an imbe- cility of mind, an infirmity of purpose, a cowardliness of heart, that makes it a moral impossibility. He can no more Bhake oflF that woman's yoke from his neck than the stream bound by winter's cold chains can shake the superincumbent weight of ice from its bosom. He kneels by the bedside of the sleeping orphan — he bui'ies his face in the sheets that cover her — he weeps in bitterness of soul — he mourns in dust and ashes over the evil he has brought upon her — he prays God to forgive him his blindness and folly — but he yields ! He returns in silence to his own apartment, and lies down on his wretched couch. Nelly's description of the manner in which Master Robert passed his nights was fully verified. He groaned and tumbled about, and bawled out to his mother for peppermint and pare- goric, and the tender parent rose and ministered to his wants, and tried to soothe her darling to sleep, with fond maternal caresses, unmindful of the little motherless exile in the dark, raftered room. OP THE BELLE CREOLE. Z9 CHAPTER in. While the internal affairs at Mr. Walton's presented so unhappy an aspect, the external state of things wore an ap- pearance of manifest improvement. The negro cabins were white-washed, the fences repaired, the wheels were all hum- ming and buzzing, the shuttles flying, and the negroes kept busy from early morn to latest eve. The traveller, gazing on the luxuriant woods, and catching a glimpse of Pine Grove, with its broad-winged, hospitable-looking dwelling-house — its row of neat, white out-buildings and well-trimmed shade-trees — would inquire the owner's name, and he would be told that it belonged to Mr. Walton, a rich planter, who had lately married a rich widow, one of the best managers in the country, who would soon double his property and turn every inch of his land into gold and silver. Mr. Walton was an envied man. Linda became reconciled to her change of apartments, and told her father she would not go back if she could — an assu- rance which relieved his mind of an intolerable burden. The truth was, the farther she was removed from her dreaded step- mother, the happier she was, and Nelly was become as warm a friend and as faithful an ally as ever Aunt Judy had been. She permitted her to sit up and read after Mrs. Walton had sent her to bed, rolled up pieces of white cloth, and sewing strips of hems across for arms, dressed them in calico, and called them dolls, for her juvenile nursery, and brought her many a little luxury, surreptitiously obtained, of which her mistress little dreamed. Her windows, too, looked out upon a beautiful creek, and she loved to watch the bright waters sparkling in the morning sun-beams, or flowing with golden 40 LINDA ; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT lu-st^e when gilt by his evening rays. Her spirit went out over the waters like the dove of the ark, and longed to find some green resting-place — some little flowery isle — where there was nothing but love and peace. A circumstance soon occurred which interrupted the mo- notonous tone of her feelings, and called forth a courage and self-devotion scarcely paralleled in so young a child. Judy had incurred the displeasure of Mrs. Walton to such a degree that she declared the faithful creature should be sold. A speculator was in the neighbourhood, and she determined to avail herself of so favourable an opportunity. She had so completely taken the reins of government into her own hands, that her laws were considered immutable as the Modes and Persians. Her word was the fiat of fate. Nothing was left but submission. This arrangement had been kept very secret; but Nelly, who had received some stolen knowledge of it, told it in confidence to Linda one night after she had retired to bed. At this intelligence, the afi"ectionate child wrung her hands and wept bitterly. She had learned the impotence of rage, and no longer exclaimed, as she would have done in months past, " She shan't be sold,'' She had a horrid idea of these cruel speculators, and would a thousand times rather see poor Judy in her grave than sold to one of these hard-hearted men. She must save her own kind nurse from such a terrible doom. But how ? An appeal to her father would be vain, who never acted in open opposition to his wife's will. After her parox- ysm of tears had subsided, she lay with her hands clasped over her eyes a long time, revolving great schemes in her young brain. At length, leaning forward on her elbow, she exclaimed — ^' To-morrow, did you say, Nelly ? Will she be sold to- morrow ?" ^' Yes — the coming to-morrow, after dinner ; so I hear mis- tress say/' or THE BELLE CREOLE. 41 " Nelly — ^please, good Nelly, go into the kitchen, and bring tti< two or three biscuits. Don't let any one see them, but bring them to me." " Lord bless the child ! what she want of biscuit this timo o' night? Miss Linda, you eat supper — ^you no hungry now." ^' But I will be hungry by and by," continued Linda, more earnestly ; " 1 want them — please, Nelly." '' Miss Lindy cry so much, make her feel mighty hollow — that it. Yes, she have biscuit." And Nelly brought some and laid them on Linda's bed. Linda thanked her as she had never done before for any thin^ to eat, and told her to lie down and go to sleep, for she would not trouble her any more. " What for Miss Lindy look at me so hard ?" said Nelly, as she composed herself on her pallet ; " what make her eye so big to-night ?" Linda had a great purpose in her heart, and her eyes did indeed dilate and darken while silently planning its execution. She lay gazing out into the still moonlight night, so beautiful, so glorious in its blue, upward depths ; and her spirit grew stronger as she gazed. The loud breathing of Nelly alone broke the silence of the hour. She knew that her parents were retired to rest, and every thing around the house spoke the slumbering state of the inmates. Then Linda softly rose, slipped on her dress, carefully putting the biscuits in her pocket, and, taking her shoes in her hand, slid down the back stairs. The doors were never fastened at nighty for the planter requires no guard but his powerful watch-dog, who roams un- chained at the midnight hour, the fierce guardian of his mas- ter's property and life. Every thing seemed to favour the little heroine, for she found the outside door partly open, and she glided through noiselessly as the moonbeams. Bruno, the noble mastiff, lay close by the threshold. Lift- 42 LINDA; OR, THE YOUXG PILOT ing his large, magnificent head, he was about to let out a vo- lume of SH^und, but a low whisper of " Hush, Bruno, hush I" and a biscuit dropped suddenly between his huge paws, con- ciliated the Cerberus of the household, and the miniature Psyche passed on. "It is only half a mile through the woods," murmured Bhe. " It is light as day — God won't let any thing hurt me, for I read in the Bible to-night that he takes caro of the conies in the hollows/' Now this was the great purpose Linda had conceived and had begun to execute. There was a planter of the name of Marshall, who lived a mile and a half from them by the car- riage road, and only half a mile measured by the by-path through the woods. He was their nearest neighbour, and had always been intimate with the family during the- life of the first Mrs. Walton and his after widowhood. He was a kind, benevolent, good man, who was beloved and respected by all who knew him. He had a little daughter about two years older than Linda, whom she was sometimes permitted to visit. Mr. Marshall had visited her father a few days before, to talk with him about a new teacher who was coming into the neighbour- hood, and she remembered hearing him say that his wife wanted a good house-servant, as the one on whom she chiefly relied was constantly sick. It was to beg Mr. Marshall to buy Judy before the cruel speculator arrived to consummate the bargain, that Linda had started on her lonely expedition. She knew if she could persuade him to ofier a higher price than the speculator, her mercenary step-mother would accept the ofi"er. Then Judy would have a kind master — a happy Qomc — and, when she grew big herself and had her own money, she would buy her back again, and they would live together all their lives. In the strength of her pure affection — her disinterested *ove — the child walked on alone into the deep pine woods. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 43 Once she looked back, and saw her mother's tombstone gleam- ing cold and white in the solemn splendour of the night. ^^ If she is looking down from heaven/' thought Linda, '' she will smile on me, for she loved Aunt Judy, too." Fast and faster pattered on the little feet through the deep- ening shadows, now and then emerging into a glorious burst of light — then again involved in gloom. She felt the solemn loneliness of nature. Her heart began to beat quick and quicker ; she started as the night wind sighed through the tall pines, or the plaintive lowing of cattle came in melancholy music to her ear. She thought of big, runaway negroes, who might be hidden in the woods, and who might rush out with long, sharp knives and kill her by the way-side. The old, broken stumps assumed the forms of wild beasts, crouching for their prey ; and the narrow, sandy path looked fike a tall person in white advancing to meet her. Fearless as she was by nature, nameless terrors would steal upon her in the strange loneliness of her pilgrimage. She remembered the " Babes in the Wood,'' and thought if she had a little brother with her, she would be willing to lie down and die, and let Hobin redbreast " cover them up carefully with leaves." But then Judy would be sold to the speculator. This spurred her weary feet, and she ran on without looking to the right or the left. The large, double log-cabin of Mr. Marshall appeared in sight. A new fear assailed her. How was she to gain admittance if they were all asleep ? Then the watch-dog — would a biscuit pacify him as it had done her Bruno ? Trem- bling and irresolute, she mounted the steps of a block placed in the front of the yard for the benefit of equestrians, and looked up at the windows all flooded by the silver moonliglifc How like a spirit she looked, standing there in her light dress, with bare head and arms, looking upward so earnestly. Surely heaven favoured her generous design. The good mas- ter of the house had not yet retired, but warf sitting at «ne of 3 4i LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT those "very windows enjoying the stillness of the glorious iiiglit. Ee belield the little figure standing on the block, and knew not what to think. Had he been a superstitious man, he would certainly have taken it for an apparition. Deter- mined to ascertain the nature of the sudden and fairy-like appearance, he came forth, and stood for a moment under the trees without approaching. The dog sprang up, barking. " Down, Fido, down V said the master, in a gentle voice, and the dog again crouched at his feet. ^' Who's there ?" gaid he, in an encouraging tone. '' It's me V replied a little, trembling voice. "And who is me?" cried Mr. Marshall, opening the gate with eager curiosity to ascertain what sprite it was perched on the steps. " It's Linda, little Linda Walton," was the answer, and the figure sprang from the block, and its arras were clinging caressingly round him. " Good heavens ! what brought the child here alone at this time of night ? What's the matter ? Your father — he's not sickr' "No, no — it's nothing but Judy; I want you to buy poor Judy ; please buy her, and I'll pay you ten times over when I get big.'' And Linda, breathless and excited, told him the tale of Judy's wrongs, and her own fears and hopes. "And you walked through the woods all alone to-night, just to save a negro from being sold to a cruel master !" ex- claimed the benevolent planter, clasping the heroic child in his arms, and wiping away the tears that started from Lis eyes. " Yes, I'll buy her, if I have to pay double what she is worth ; I'll buy her, if I have to pay all my next cotton crop brings to purchase her ! She's just the servant I want; but you shall have her back again when 3-ou claim her, for all that." OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 45 Linda was almost wild with joj at the success of her mis- sion. She cried and laughed, and jumped simultaneously, entreated Mr. Marshall to come very early in the morning, and never to tell anybody that she had asked him to do so.' Mr. Marshall promised, though he longed to tell every one of her fearless devotion, and bid her remain quietly a few mo- ments, till he brought a horse, on which he would bear her home himself. How happy was Linda, riding back in triumph through the same path, which seemed begirt with terrors a few moments before ! How benignantly the moon smiled upon her !' How lovingly the gale kissed her cool cheek ! How kindly the arms of Mr. Marshall enfolded her ! How he cheered her with praises and words of tenderness ! When arrived at the termination of the woods, he dismounted and led his young charge silently towards the house, kissed her again, and watched her as she approached the yet open door. A quick bark — another biscuit tossed — and all was still. Linda reached her chamber unseen and uninterrupted. Nelly was snoring more profoundly than ever. Every thing was just as she had left it. Linda crept into bed, chilled from her exposure to the night air, but her heart glowing with gratitude and joy. She could not sleep ; her soul Wiis magni- fied within her; she felt bigger, older, better; she loved "the world a great deal better, since there was such a good man in it as Mr. Marshall. She almost envied Aunt Judy her happy home. Full of sweet, happy thoughts, it was almost morning before she closed her eyelids, and then bright visions, sent by the guardian cherubim, hovered round her couch. 16 LINDA; OR, THE lOUNG TILOT CHAPTER lY. Mr. Marshall redeemed his promise; and Mrs. Waltou, without any suspicion of Linda's agency, accepted the liberal offer of her neighbour. Judy, who had been anticipating the most dreaded fate of the slave, went on her way rejoicing, blessing her young mistress, though unconscious of the great debt she owed her, and wishing she was going, too. An event occurred at this time which had a great influence on Linda's happiness. A school was opened in the neigh- bourhood, in which Master Robert and herself were entered as pupils. Mrs. Walton would gladly have kept Linda at home, sewing on the " never-ending, still beginning" patch- work, but the current of public opinion set too strongly against such a thing. She could tyrannize at home, and the world would never interfere ; but this was out-door business, and mankind would sit in judgment upon her, if she sent her own son, and debarred her step-daughter from the same privi- lege. The teacher was a gentleman of the name of Longwood, a native of the granite hills of New England. Being threat- ened by a pulmonary affection, he had sought the more genial latitude of the South, and, being destitute of fortune, was obliged to pay his expenses by the exercise of his talents. He came highly recommended as an elegant classical scholar, a thorough mathematician, and an accomplished linguist. The planters in the vicinity, who united to pay his salary, as is customary at the South, were induced to offer him higher wages than his predecessors had received, on account of his supi rior recommendations. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 47 The night previous to his installation in the duties of his office, Mr. Walton invited him to supper, as Mrs. Walton wished to give him particular directions about th^ manage- ment of her son. Linda felt the deepest curiosity, chastened by still deeper awe, respecting her future instructor. She awaited his entrance as she would that of a superior being, believing that he who was to open to her the gate of know- ledge must be like one of those oriental genii of whom her mother used to tell her. The tall, spare figure of Mr. Longwood, his pale, high fore- head, prominent nose, and small, deep-set eyes, made a very difi'erent impression from the stern, majestic image her fancy had drawn. There was an appearance of physical debility about him, with which his slender voice harmonized well ; but there was a restless, glancing fire in his small, gray eyes, that spoke great mental energy and enthusiasm. No one could be in his company half an hour without feeling that he was a complete original — a strange mixture of learning and pedantry, shrewdness and simplicity, poetry, phrenology, and syntax. It was dubious whether he was in earnest or jest — • whether he wished to excite mirth or produce gravity — whether the quick sparkle of his eye was the result of drollery or enthusiastic feeling. Robert stared upon him unrecedingly, trying to discover whether he was a man to be feared or not. ^' Your son has the organ of language very strongly deve- loped, madam," said he, placing his hand on the boy's head, which was rudely shaken off; ^' great fulness about the eyes. Il fait les (/rands yeux, as they say in French — organ of vene- ration much depressed ; large self-esteem j animal propensitiea predominant; he must avoid temptation; Yirtm est vitium fugere — to shun vice is a virtue '^ The offending hand was again placed on the boy^s head, iu the enthusiasm of a phrenological examination. i8 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT "Let go of my head I" cried out the subject; "you are sticking your thumbs in me. Let go, I say V " The organ of combativeness is also strikingly developed/'' continued the gentleman, pursuing with his eye the regions which had eluded his touch. " Pardon me, madam — I always tudy the heads of my pupils. ' The proper study of mankind is man.' By this means, I arrive at a true estimate of charac- ter, and know osactly what powers to bring into action. Your son is a study, madam — a great study. I shall devote myself to the task of developing his intellectual and spiritual organs, Adjuta me, quo id jiat facilius — aid me, that that may be done more easily.'^ Mrs. Walton was somewhat propitiated by his remark, that her son was a great study. Bewildered by such a display of erudition, she for the first time felt ashamed of Robert's neg- lected jntellect. Of limited education and low attainments herself, she was somewhat dazzled by the brilliant mosaic of his conversation. "I know nothing of phrenology, sir," said she; "but I dar<-: say you will find Robert as smart, naturally, as any boy of his age. He is very backward, and I am afraid will give you some trouble. I have petted and indulged him a great deal, as he is my only one. I want you not to be too strict with him a^t first, as he has never been used to restraint, and I am confident he could not bear it.'' "Xes talents produisent suivant la culture — talents yield according to their cultivation — as Marmontel justly observes, madam. ^ Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined,' as Pope very sensibly remarks. My mode of discipline, madam, is conyruentcm naturae — agreeably to nature — I endeavour to govern by her immutable laws — but it is a very mysterious process. Qualis sit animus, ipse animus nescit — the mind Itself knows not what the mind is — as Cicero very pertinently remarks ' V/hat a creature is man! — a worm — a god!— OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 49 midway from notliing to the Deity/ as Young feelingly ob- serves/' '^I am pleased that you agree with me in opinion, sir,'' said Mrs. Walton, catching a faint gleam of his meaning through his thick-coming quotations. " You do not use cor poral punishment, I presume.'' " Not until reason is impotent, madam. La conscience nons averiit en ami, avant de nous puni en juge — conscience warns us as a friend before punishing as a judge. I endeavour to imitate the great vicegerent of Jehovah. I enlarge venera- tion, diminish self-esteem, depress the animal propensities, and develope the moral sentiments — a great work, madam — Hand equidem tali me dignor lionore — I am not worthy of such an honour — as Virgil modestly remarks." " Why don't you talk English, like other folks ?" interro- gated E,obert. " What makes you mix up all sorts of words together in that way ? You an't going to learn me that fashion, I tell you." The mother smiled at her boy's wit ; but the incorrigible schoolmaster gravely answered : ^^MitliridateSj duorumet viginti gentium rex^ totidem Unguis jura dixit — Mithridates, king of twenty-two nations, pro nounced judicial decisions in as many languages." Daring this conversation, Linda had remained immovable ■with wonder. She would have felt crushed by such a torrent of learning, had not the kind sparkle of his eye reassured her. Mr. Walton, not willing that she should remain entirely in the back -ground, took hold of her hand and drew her towards Mr. Longwood. " Here is another little pupil of yours — what do you think of her phrenological development." The face of the tall pedant lighted up with a kind of ec- stasy as he passed his slender fingers through the child's short brown curls — ^' Splendid !" he exclaimed ; ^^ quite an e(|ui« 50 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT librium— perfect adaptation of all the organs to each other — benevolencej reverence, ideality, conscientiousness — Oh! far- mo8a puella — ^what pleasure shall I enjoy in instructing thee? T will make thee a ray of the sun of science — a flower of tho garden of literature. ^' Early, bright, chaste as morning iew,' as Young feelingly remarks. Madam, your daughter is beautiful study.'' " She is my step-daughter," replied the lady, in a freezing tone. ^^ You will have to use very strict measures with her, a very self-willed, passionate child." ^' I have always found gentle measures most successful with her,'' Mr. Walton ventured to assert. '' She has a re- markably affectionate disposition, and does not like to offend those she loves." " Supper is ready, Mr. Walton," cried the step-mother, with a lifting of her white eye-brows, that her husband under- stood but too well ; ^^ it has been announced some time." Ptobert, as usual, took the lead to the dining-room, and had already provided himself with a large piece of cake before the guest and family were seated. " Your son has the organ of alimentiveness most wonder- fully developed, madam," said Mr. Long wood, gazing in ap- parent admiration on the young glutton. ^^ Great care must be taken lest its power become weakened by too vehement use. Nulla res est, quae perferre possit continuam lahorem — there is nothing which can endure perpetual labour — as Quin- tilian excellently observes." Mr. Walton, who, in spite of the imbecility of mind ho displayed in yielding to the dominion of a despotic wife, was a man of some intellect and shrewdness, was exceedingly amused with his new acquaintance. He saw that he had a just appreciation of character, and that Master llobert would be in excellent hands. He was convinced, too, that there was more method than he had at lirst imagined, in his litei-ary mad- OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 61 ness, and that his were not random shafts. There was some- thing fascinating in the sparkle of his gray eye, flashing from object to object with the rapidity of lightning. It seemed a burning spark kindled from the spirit fires. He expatiated on the bounties of the hospitable board, of which, however, he sparingly partook. "This buttermilk,'' said the enthusiast, "is 'white as the foam upon the wave,' as Ossian beautifully observes. The scene reminds me of a land ' flowing with milk and honey.' Je puis plus de cas de Vaheille^ qui tirent le mieldes JieurSj que la femme qui en fait les bouquets — I value more the bee who draws the honey from the flowers than the woman who makes bouquets of them — an excellent French proverb. You seem a happy man, sir. Domus plena servis — a house full of ser- vants. Dives agres — rich in land. Duicissima uxor — the gentlest of wives. And children ' like corner-stones, polished after the similitude of a palace,' as David piously remarks." The negroes grinned at each other behind the chairs, at the odd manners of the eccentric gentleman. They did not understand his language, but they thought him "mighty funny," and wondered how the white folks couM keep fk-om laughing. It may be supposed that a man of such a peculiiir tempera- ment would be incapable of performing with dignity the du- ties which were required of him. But never was there a more efiicient, faithful, devoted teacher than Aristides Longwood. With a patience that never wearied, an energy that never flagged, and an enthusiasm that never grew cold, he set him- self to his daily tasks. With characteristic prodigality, he had inscribed on the walls of the school-room innumerable Latin mottoes, accompanied with translations. With a kmd of wand, which he carried in his right hand, he would direct thvi attention of the pupil to each golden aphorism, made more impressive by the two-fold garb in which they w^ro 62 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT clothed. The man who could breathe a spark of Promethean fii'e into the anivialized nature of Eobert Graham, must have possessed a magician's power. That man was Aristides Long- wood. At first the boy resisted his laws, refused to study, and attempted to convert the school-room into a scene of an- archy and misrule. After trying in vain every gentle, per- suasive, and rational appeal to his conscience, his heart, mind, and soul, he made use of the argumentmn ad hominem, which was never applied save as a last resort. Robert struggled manfully ; but it was astonishing what muscular power there was in those long, slender fingers, when the will was put forth. He never took his magnetic eyes from Robert's face during the operation. ^' ' Spare the rod and spoil the child,' as Solomon sapiently remarks,'^ repeated Aristides, when the first stroke descended ; '* Quod adest memento componere acquis — remember to make a proper use of the present moment — as Horace pithily ob- serves,'' continued he, while the second and thii'd blow was administered; "Surget Jiumo juvenis — the youth rises from the ground — as Ovid most appositely remarks." Here Robert described involuntarily the segment of a circle, and cried out vociferously for mercy. " ^ Mercy is twice blessed — it blesseth him that gives and him that receives,' as Sliakspeare nobly expresses it," ex- claimed the teacher, gently seating his conquered foe. Then turning to Linda, who wept bitterly over Robert's disgrace and sufferings, notwithstanding the petty wrongs she had en- dured from him, ^^Htnc illuc laclirymai — whence these tears ? Oil ! puella jjurissiina — the tree never yields forth its fragrance till the bark is penetrated, — the shell must be broken before the nut is exhumed." Mr. Longwood was kinder and gentler to Robert the re- mainder of the evening than he had been previous to tne flagellation, assisting him in his lessons and encoui'aging him OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 53 with hopes of success. What was passing in the boy^s mind could not be told, but he was e\ideutly reaching a great crisis. When Mrs. Walton learned the astonishing fact that Mr. Longwood had dared to whip her son, in spite of her prohibi- tioUj she was pale with passion. She declared he never should set his foot in the school-room again ; that he should know whom he had to deal with, and not insult her and her so^ with impunity. "I will go again," cried Robert, fixing his black eyes steadily upon hers. "If you had punished me before, I wouldn't be the big fool I am. But I'm tired of being a fool ; I'm tired of doing nothing but eat and play. There's Sam Marshall, not a bit older than I am, and he knows a heap more than I. I like Mr. Longwood, and I'm not going to stay home })ecause he whipped me." Mrs. Walton was astounded. The fire she had been so long smothering in her son's breast was beginning to blaze, and she could not quench the kindling flame. Ambition was mounting from the ashes of humiliation. From this hour, Mr. Longwood maintained the empire he had acquired. He never again had occasion to exercise in his behalf the magic wand. The people wondered, and said that a miracle had been wrought. If such was the influence he had gained over Robert, what might not be expected from Linda, with her bright intelli- gence, generous impulses, and yearning desires for instruction ? Oh ! what a spring was given to that elastic spirit, held down so long by such a leaden weight ! She felt as if she wera living in a new world — such streams of light were flowing into her mind. Well might her teacher say that she was a " beautiful study," for she drank in instruction as sweetly as the flowers drink in the dews of evening ; and gently as the dews come down did he temper his knowledge, so as to meet the capacities of her young understanding. 54 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT As it was a long walk from her father's house, Linda carried her dinner in a. little basket, and sitting under the shade of the trees, with a book in one hand, she accomplished her noon-day repast. Mr. Longwood often remained, too, for the pleasure of being with his favourite, when he could lay aside the character of the master, in the friend. It was an amus- ing contrast, to see the tall, slender figure, and pale, peculiar face of the teacher, by the side of the little, blooming girl, both seated under the same tree, in a state of perfect equality and freedom. When conversing with her, he endeavoured to check his overwhelming tide of quotations, but the habit had become such a necessity of his being, it was with difficulty re- strained. " You must never forget, my little friend," he would say, his deep-set eyes changing their restless expression to one of tender earnestness, ^' that what you are to be hereafter, you must begin to be now. The smallest seed committed to the ground contains the elements of the future tree or plant. If 70U want to be an angel in heaven, you must begin to plume your wings now, for it takes a long while to soar so high. Begin now, and be not afraid of fulling. Nee gemere aen'a ccssabit turtur ah ulmo — nor shall the turtle dove cease to coo from the lofty elm — as Virgil sweetly remarks. By and by you will g^ow stronger, and your soul will bear you up higher. ^ You will mount with wings as eagles,' as the Psalmist glori- ously remarks." Once, when a storm was rising, and seeing that she sat without fear, watching its approach, he led her mind to the sublimity of nature, teaching her to admire the grandeur, as well as the beauty of creation. " How grand is the forest," said he, " when the storm is rolling over it. Lsevius ventis agitatur ingens pinu>< — the great pine is more violently shaken by the winds — as Horace charmingly remarks. I love to see the forest trees, in their OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 55 green brotlierhood, mingling their branches together. Bui I am not one of them: 'I was a lovely tree in thy presence, but the blast of the mountain came and laid my green head low/ as Ossian feelingly observes. Oh ! j)ueUa carissima — the strength of my youth is departed." To the opening mind of Linda the words of her teache were fertilizing " as streams of living waters fresh from the fountain of intelligence." . CHAPTER V. Thus time glided onward. Notwithstanding Mrs. "Walton's bitter prejudices against the learned fool, the crazy fool, as she invariably called him, his star remained in the ascendant. She never forgave him the superior influence he had acquired over the mind of her son; though, through that influence, the boy was every day becoming more intelligent, ambitious, and refined. His intellect possessed a vitality which triumphed over the deadening process of self-indulgence, to which he had been subjected. But his heart ! — that unweeded garden, go long left to rank and poisonous luxuriance, — was the wilder- ness becoming cultivated, and beginning to blossom with the rose ? The answer may be read in after-scenes. A great grief was preparing for Linda. The slender frame of Aristides Longwood gradually assumed an appearance of greater debility. His shoulders drooped more heavily; hi eyes, though, if possible, brighter than ever, sunk deeper in their large sockets ; and a bright, warning spot burned every evening on his pale and sallow cheek ; a hollow cough often interrupted his eloquent instructions. It was but too evident that " the fine gold of the temple" was becoming dim. He 56 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT was advised to relinquish his situation, and seek the more genial climate of Cuba. It was a sad trial to him, for strong and tender was the tie that bound his lonely heart to the lovely and affectionate child. The last day he was with his pupils, after taking leave of them all, in a kind and solemn manner, he turned to Linda, who lingered behind, lost in sorrow that refused consolation. '^ Kum id lachrymat virgo ? — Does the maid weep on that account? as Terence pathetically remarks," said the melted aphorist, his voice trembling with emotion. ^'I grieve to leave thee, puella pulchrissima, for thou hast entwined thyself around my heart like a vernal garland; and I shall carry away with me the remembrance of its sweetness. Coehinij lion animurrij mutant^ qid trans mare corrunt — they change their sky, but not their soul, who cross the sea, as Horace feelingly observes. Not even the ' sky, but only the moun- tains and the plains — the same heavens will bend above us — the same glorious sun and moon will shine upon us, and the same. in\'isible atmosphere flow around. Forget not my in- structions, virgo juvenissima. Remember Nihil est virtute formosius — ^nothing is more beautiful than virtue, as Cicero pointedly remarks. Let the beautiful developments of thy character continue to unfold. Let ideality, reverence, and benevolence be still the crowning graces of thy youth. As for me, I am passing away like a shadow, and shall return no more : the traveller to the sea-girt isle will pause at my lonely grave, and exclaim, in the mournful language of Ossian, * Narrow is thy dwelling now — dark the place of thy abode ! Four stones, with their heads of moss, are the only memorials of thee.' " Linda never forgot the accents of that solemn, touching voi« "^«-^ was no moon and he had been told there was a dangerous precipice on th^ road they were to pass. Tom was a skilful, experienced driver, and had carried his master and former mistress safe v over many a rough and difficult pass; but he had e fS glass, and, when travelling, the temptation beset him with water the horses, he had unfortunately found too hospitable accommodations for himself, and had mounted the box in ing w^s ' ""^' ""'^' '"" ''^ ^P" "^ '- --'«^ '-i " out"tn'*th^ """''v ^™°^ ^eiyfast?" cried Linda, looking out on the precipitous sides of the road, which niw wen, winding round on the brow of a steep hill 62 LINDA; OR^ THE YOUNG PILOT " Oh, Tom knows what he's about," answered Mr. Walton, with that habitual easiness of mind which did not like the trouble of anticipating danger. ^' He's managed these horses from a boy, and they are as gentle as lambs." But, as the road grew steeper and narrower, and the horses proceeded with a constantly accelerating motion, Mr. Walton was roused to a sense of danger, and, putting his head from the window, commanded Tom to drive more slowly. J£e did not know the potent draught in which Tom had indulged, which deprived him of the power to guide and restrain the animals, who were only obeying the irresistible power of gra- vitation in pursuing so furiously their downward course. ^^ Father, let us jump out," exclaimed the terrified Linda; " we shall be dashed to pieces ! Look at that frightful cliff oh ! father — see where we are going." I\Ir. Walton gave one glance at the frightful cliff which they were approaching with such fearful velocity, and felt in- deed that they were lost. With a cry of agony, he clasped his young daughter closely in his arms, and, closing his eyes, tried to shut out the vision — the horrible vision of her man- gled limbs — her crushed and bleeding body ! At this moment a youth was seen darting with almost lightning speed across the fields. He leaped the zigzag railing, sprang over the rocky chasih by the way-side, into the road, right in front of the foaming, galloping, terrific-looking aiiimals. Linda, who, unlike her father, had been gazing with wild intensity abroad, taking in the w/iole terror of the sceve, beheld this figure flying with a speed that almost mocked her sight. She felt a Budden jerk of the carriage, which threw them on the oppo- site seat; but she could no longer see the brave, young stran- ger who was periling his life for their safety. She did not gee him dragged along over the rocks and sands, still holding the fiery steed he had caught by the bridle rein, with Lis young, powerful arm, till the beast himself was overthrown, OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 63 and tliey rolled togetlier in the dust. The other horse, feel- ing itself thus suddenly checked, burst the shackles that bound it to its fellow, and plunged headlong down the precipice, on the very brink of which they were arrested. The carriage was upset as the horse leaped from the harness ; but Linda and her father were saved unhurt. Linda was the first to spring up and think of their deliverer. She alone had seen him, ftnd knew the cause of their preservation. The animal lay with frothing mouth and panting limbs, exhausted by its late fury. Prostrate by its side, with his right arm under the horse's head, and covered with its flowing mane, appeared a figure, so youthful it seemed incredible that its strength had been their salvation. " Grood heavens V cried Mr. Walton, " has that boy saved usT " Yes, father," said Linda, wringing her hands and weep- ing bitterly, " he's saved us, but he is killed himself !" Mr. Walton knelt down over the youth, and laid his hand on his shoulder. " I am not killed," said the youth, faintly ; " but my arm — ^if I could only release it from under the horse's head." It seemed a formidable task to approach the animal that had lately exhibited such tremendous power ; but the moment Mr. Walton touched it, and endeavoured to move its head from the arm of the youth, it recognised its master's presence, and rolled it gently aside. The youth endeavoured to move his arm, but in vain. An expression of acute pain crossed his features. " It is broken," said he, and his lips turned of ashy pale- ness ; " but if you will help me, sir, I can rise.'^ Mr. Walton put one arm around the youth's shoulders, and was endeavouring to lift him, when he sprang up with sur- prising agility, though his cheek grew pale, and the nervous, contraction of his brow indicated great suffering. G4 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG riT.OT *^ What shall we do ? "What can be done to relieve you ?" exclaimed Mr. Walton, looking despairingly on his broken carriage, the remains of the noble animal quivering at the foot of the precipice, and then around on the woods and fields, where he could discern no trace of a habitation, though tha shadows of twilight were beginning to fall. Linda, on beholding the fainting countenance of their deli- verer, remembered the basket of cakes and cordials which had been put in the carriage for their own refreshment. She searched, and found one bottle unbroken, and filling with its contents a silver cup, ran forward and gave it to her father. " Here, father," said she, earnestly, " this will do him good.'' The youth was unconscious till this moment of the sweet young life he had preserved. He smiled on the little maiden as he drank the cordial, and the colour came back to his lips. " My mother lives within half a mile of this spot,'' said he. " I can show you the way, sir, if this little Miss can walk so far." " But what shall I do with this poor creature ?" cried Mr. Walton, looking sorrowfully on the exhausted horse. ^' I do not like to leave him." "I will send a negro back to bring him," replied the youth ; '^ I do not think he is injured." " Hallo, Massa ! — Bless a God you alive, and little Missus, too !" exclaimed a well-known voice, and Tom came panting along, his clothes covered with dust and sand, his hat-crown smashed in, and a look of dolorous sheepishness and remorse furtively glancing from his white-rimmed, rolling eyes. In the excitement of the scene, they had forgotten Tom, who had been thrown off, far back ; and, owing no doubt to the re- laxed state of his system, the non-resisting muscles, which intoxication causes, had escaped with no other injury than a few bruises. Unconscious that he was the agent of their OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 65 threatened destruction, they greeted him with a joj^ul wel- come, and as a great help in their time of need. ^' Awful times, Massa — awful times !" said Tom, casting a glance of rueful penitence on the noble victim now stretched in the immobility of death. " Help the living, Tom ; there is no use in mourning for the dead,'^ said his master, pointing to the animal near them. In a moment the horse was on its feet, shaking the dust from its silky sides, and tossing its disordered mane. Mr. "Walton proposed that the young man should be lifted on the horse, and be led by Tom to his own home, whither they would follow. But this he opposed so earnestly, insisting that Linda should ride, as he was perfectly able to walk, that Mr. Walton was obliged to yield. Linda refused, also, hav- ing received too terrible a fright to trust herself on the back of such a lion-like beast ; so they walked on together, leaving Tom to guard the trunks till some vehicle should be sent to remove them. Poor Linda, weakened from her fright, and weary from her long ride, could scarcely drag one foot after the other ; but she would not complain. She thought of the heroic sufferer, walking by her side, with his broken arm — broken for them, and she longed to share his pain, if she could not relieve it. Sometimes he would turn frightfully pale, and lean his head against her father's shoulder with a quick shudder ; then, de- claring himself better, walk on with renewed speed. He could not be older than Kobert, and he was scarcely as tall. Linda noticed that his dress was not as fine as Robert's, for it was evidently of domestic manufacture ; but there was suffi- cient gentility in his bearing to give her the impression that he was a gentleman's son. She hoped he was poor; then she would beg her father to let her give him half her fortune for eaving their lives. " And that," thought the grateful, gene- rous, little heiress, "would not half pay him." 66 LINDA ; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT How long a half mile seems when oue is travelling a new path, with weary step, in the midst of fast-deepening shadows and deeper anxieties ! '' There is my mother's house/' said the youth, in a faint voice, pointing with his left hand to a neat log-cabin, whose windows, illuminated by the blaze of pine-knots — those glo- rious flambeaus of the South — shone hospitably on the de- jected strangers. A female figure, with one arm raised above its head, shading the face, and looking earnestly down the path, stood in the door-way. '^ Roland, is that you V inquired a mild, anxious voice. " Yes, mother ; but make haste and come to me — I'm very faint,'' and the suffering boy, having fulfilled the task for which he had girded his failing strength, staggered and fell. After he had raised and assisted in bearing him into the house, laying him on the neat, white bed which stood in the room which they entered, Mr. Walton explained to the alarmed and distressed mother, the danger they had incurred, and the heroic and almost miraculous manner in which her son had rescued them from destruction. In spite of her distress and pre-occupation of mind, jMrs. Lee, (such was the name of Roland's mother,) could not help looking admiringly on the little maiden, who exhibited such animated sympathy, and such earnest desires to assist in Ro- land's recovery. While the mother was seeking more active restoratives, and her father was unloosening his collar and vest, Linda wet her handkerchief with water and bathed his forehead, till the drops trickled through his thick chesnut hair, on the snow white pillow. The fear that he was going to die, and die for them, filled her with intolerable anguish. The pale, meek, anxious face of his mother would haunt her for ever. She looked as if she had seen sorrow already, and she knew it vvould kill her to lose her son. When Roland began to re- or THE BELLE CREOLE. 67 vivGj and saw those large^ pitying, tearful, brown eyes gazing so wistfully on his face, and felt that soft, delicate, little hand bathing his head, it was no wonder he felt bewildered and knew not where he was. Starting, he tried to rj^ise himself on his elbow, but groaning with pain, fell back There wa3 no physician within the distance of six miles; and Roland suffered many hours with his swollen and inflamed arm, though after the first involuntary groan no expression of suf- fering escaped his lips. It was not till a late hour that Tom arrived with the trunks, and Linda, too much excited to sleep, was persuaded to retire to bed. The travellers were detained several days at the cottage of Mrs. Lee, till the carriage was repaired, another horse pur- chased, and the inflammation of Roland's arm reduced, so that no danger could be apprehended from his case. Linda could not bear to see his arm bound up in torturing-looking splin- ters, but he told her they did not hurt him, and that he should soon shake them off again. As for staying in bed, gentle and obedient to his mother in every thing else, she could not per- suade him to do that. He even went abroad with Linda, to show her where some of the prettiest wild flowers were blooming, and the young mocking-birds were making their nests. " This shall be yours," said he, selecting one hidden in a sweet, little, vine-wreathed hollow, " and when the little birds are fledged Fll make a cage for them, and take care of them, and call them after your name." " You are very good to think enough about me for that," said Linda ; " but I wish you would tell me of something I could do for you, who have done so much for us. If I were going home I would have a tree planted and call it after your name, — but that would be nothing after all." She longed to tell him what a fortune she had, and how gladly she would give him half, but a native feeling of deli- 68 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT cacy, a fear that it would sound like boastings a dread of wounding his pride, restrained her. '^ I am sure I've done nothing worth praising/^ cried Ko- land, colouring with pleasure, mingled with embarrassment, at the earnest expressions of gratitude she again and again epeated. ^' I could not help what I did, and there is no merit in it/' " Could not help it, Roland V " No ! I was walking through the field and caught a glimpse of the horses rushing along towards the precipice, and I knew there must be some one in the carriage who would be dashed to pieces over the rocks. I could no more help running and leaping the fence and ditch, than I could help breathing in the living air. I felt as strong as a lion, and had there been twenty horses instead of one, I believe I could have stopped them all. I didn't know whom I saved, so I'm sure I de- serve no thanks." ^' Yes, but you do though,'^ answered the grateful child, '' and I'll thank you and bless you as long as I live. I wish you were my brother instead of Robert, and that you were going to college, and that we were going to meet at home, four years from this time.'' ^' I wish so too," said Roland. ^^ But who is Robert ?" Then Linda sat down by him on the grass, and told him all about her home and childhood, except her own wrongs. She dwelt rapturously on her school-days, and described Aris- tidcs Longwood so perfectly and minutely that Roland said he should know him if he met in China. In return for her confidence, Roland told her his family history. His father was dead and all his brothers and sisters. He was " the only son of his mother, and she a widow." His father was a planter of considerable property, but he had lost it aluiost all by a security debt. His misfortunes preyed upon !ii > .spirits, so that he wasted away and died, and his mother, OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 69 collecting tlie few negroes that remained to her, retired to the •i log-cabin among the hills, where they now lived. He had been to school a good deal, but he was now staying at home with his mother, and assisting her on the farm. ^' I have always longed to go to sea,^' said the boy, kindling with enthusiasm as he proceeded ; " I never could read of the ocean and the great vessels sailing on its bosom, but my blood thrilled in my veins. Oh ! it must be a glorious thing to bo away out on the ocean, out of sight of land, nothing but sky and water all round you ; heaving upon the billows, heaving again and rocking like a cradle ; and the tall mast bending, then righting in the storm." " Would you like to have a ship of your own V cried Linda, her eyes sparkling with excitement. " I will get father to buy you one V '^ Thank you,'^ said Roland, laughing ; " it would be a great present, but I would not leave my mother to go so far from her ; and she has a great horror of the sea. But I will tell you what I do mean to do : — you know what large rivers we have, almost as grand as the sea ; well, one of these days, when you are a young lady, and going about in search of plea- sure, you may sail in Captain Lee's boat on the Alabama or Mississippi, for a captain I mean to be before I die, and then my mother can be with me.'' " But you cannot be a captain all at once, can you ?" asked Linda, sympathizing in his enthusiasm about the sea and the great rivers; for she too loved the blue waters, and they seemed a part of her own soul. a -^Q — I jnust take my degrees first. I'll serve as a ca Din- boy, clerk, pilot, till I get the command of a boat. I have a birch canoe in that creek yonder, which you see shining through the trees, and if I could only use my right arm I would row you merrily in it, and you should see what a sailor I am. I love to go out in it a moonlight night, and lying down in the 70 LINDA; OR, THE TOUNO PILOT bottom of the boat, let it go where it pleases, the waters making sucli a sweet song about my ears all the while. 1 have taken my first degrees already, you see." " But what if your boat should blow up, when you are a captain, — that would be dreadful.'^ " Yes ; but a carriage may run towards a precipice, and the lightning may strike, and the fever destroy you on your own bed. I believe I had rather be blown up in the air, with a good many bearing me company, and have the waters, that I love so well, for my grave, than lie down all alone in the cold ground, shut up in a dark, narrow coffin." This reminded Linda of a story that Mr. Longwood had told her of a great barbarian of the name of Alaric, w^ho had a mountain stream turned back from its course, leaving the channel bare, where his grave was dug, and after he was buried the waters were made to flow back for ever over his body. Roland kindled with enthusiasm at this recital, and envied the barbarian king such a magnificent grave. Linda repeated to her father all that Koland had told her, and begged him to buy him a boat and make him captain, as soon as he was a few years older. Though Mr. Walton's gratitude was not quite so uncalcu- lating as Linda's, he had the interests of his young preserver deeply at heart. He had a long conversation with him, in which he urged upon him the acceptance of a gift, which would assist him in his advancement and free him from all fear of pecuniary embarrassment. But the independent and high- minded boy, with modest firmness, declined the proffi3red boon. " If my mother should ever be in distress, or want beyond my power to relieve, then," said Roland, his fine countenance lighted up with grateful emotion, " I will apply to you, as my fii'st, best friend." Mr. Walton would have pressed the same ofi'er on the mo- ther, but there was a quiet dignity and refinement of manners OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 71 possessed by Mrs. Lee; a gentle reserve that shrunk from any allusion to her domestic interests. It was evident that some- thing of the pride of better days clung to her; that pride which a sensitive person is so fearful of wounding. The night before their departure, while he was meditating and trying to mature some plans by which he could remuner- ate them, without paining the delicacy he respected, he noticed a large, old-fashioned, brazen-clasped Bible, lying on th& mantel-piece — probably an heir-loom of the family, from the venerable antiquity of its appearance. After they had sepa- rated fox the night, he returned to the room for some article he had left, and saw Mrs. Lee seated at a table, reading in- tently in " that old-fashioned Bible, which lay on the stand." Softly closing the door, he waited till he heard her quiet foot- steps retreating to her own room ; then returning, he put a hundred dollar bill between the leaves of the Bible, where the widow's mark was placed; and closing the brazen clasps, laid it back upon the shelf. What a different man was Mr. Walton, when the pale, stony eyes of his wife were not resting, like two dull, heavy weights, on his soul ! The next morning the travellers stood by the door, ready to depart. Linda's eyes were brimming with tears. The heroism of Roland, and the gentle hospitality of his mother, had endeared them both to her warm heart. Never could she forget that dear log-cabin among the hills. Roland looked very sober; he scrutinized Tom with a keen eye as he mounted the box, for, more quick-discerning than Mr. Walton, he had detected the odour of whisky in hia breath on the night of the disaster. "Don't be afraid, young Massa," said Tom, winking hL eyes knowingly. " Tom knows what he's about this time. Long as he think of that arm of yours, all splintered up, he have enough to make him scary. Never mind^ young Massa, all safe now." t2 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT Kind adieus were exchanged — the carriage rolled slowly from the door. Still, long as the cottage was in view, Linda 3ast her tearful glances backward, and when she could discern nothing else, the white scarf that supported Roland's broken arm, gleaming through the distance, told her that he was yet ingering on the threshold. CHAPTER yn. Linda at a boarding-school — another era in her young ex- istence. But let us describe Hose Boicer, for such was the name of Mrs. Reveire's Seminary of Learning, — a large, white mansion, with a pillared piazza surrounding the build- ing. It was situated in the midst of an ample, green yard, margined with rose trees, whose profusion and great luxuriance had given name to the classic institution. The thick, cluster- ing multiflora and nondescript wreathed the pillars of the piazza, and a thick hedge of Cherokee roses ran around the in- terior of the wall. The want of shade might have been ob- jected to this beautiful building, had not a thick grove of young oaks, adjoining the yard, wooed the eye to repose in its cool depths. Many a rustic seat, placed beneath the trees, showed the use to which they were appropriated by the young students of Rose Bower. It was now the season of roses, and every bush was glowing with blossoms, every gale was redo- lent with their balmy breath. " Oh, what a beautiful place !" exclaimed Linda, when it first met her eager gaze. " I know I shall be happy here !" and "I know I shall be happy here," again repeated she to herself, when she beheld the lady to whose care she was committed, the elegant and accomplished Mrs Reveiro OF THE BELLE . CREOLE. 7S With a sweet benignity of countenance that softened tho dignity of her mien, she received her young charge, kindly holding her by the hand, and smoothing back the bright ringlets from her downcast eyes. " Your daughter appears very young to be left so far from home," said the lady, in a gentle tone. <^ But we will try to keep her from being home-sick with us.'' ^^I am not afraid of being home-sick with you,'' cried Linda, earnestly; then, blushing at her own warmth, she again bent her head till the ringlets shaded her eyes. " I think you have brought me a treasure in your daugh- ter," said Mrs. Reveire, when Linda had retired to change her travelling apparel; ^^she has one of the most intelligent, ingenuous countenances I ever saw." The father was touched — he became eloquent in the praises of his child ; but Mrs. Reveire, who read characters by a kind of intuition, needed not a parent's recommendation to interest her in her new pupil. Her heart had gone forth to meet her without waiting for her credentials, and she knew that Linda's met it, at least half-way. There was an expression in the beautiful eyes of the child that seemed to say, "I want you to love me, for I have not always known what love is." At length the bell sounded long and loud, to announee that supper was ready. Mrs. Reveire led Linda through a long passage, down a winding flight of stairs, into a large base- ment hall, where two tables were set parallel, the whole length of the room. Linda paced with timid steps the long, brick- paved hall, and took the place assigned her by Mrs. Reveire. Another long peal rung through the house; then came a rushing, rustling sound through the passage and on the stair- way, and the young ladies of the institute came in two by two, and took their stations at the table. There were about fifty; but there was no confusion in arranging them, as they alj knew their appointed places. 74 LINDA; OR, THE YOUXG TILOT "Young ladies," said Mrs. Reveire, looking kindly at Linda, " you have a new companion in Miss Linda Walt )n. I bespeak for her your kindest feelings and best offices, as she is very young, and knows not yet, as you have once felt, the loneliness of the stranger's heart/' Smiling glances from a myriad of bright eyes answered this affectionate address, and Linda smiled again. Thus a kind of electrical communication was established between the strangers, seldom known after the years of childhood and early youth. Linda could not eat ; every thing around her was so novel and exciting. The lively clatter of knives and forks — the low chatter of mingling voices — the sight of so many strange faces — quite bewildered her. Mrs. Reveire did not require her pupils to eat in unbroken silence, as ^' if funeral baked meats" were placed before them ; but she did require strict propriety and gentility of deportment. If the laugh was too loud, or the voice too rough in its tones, a word or look, directed towards the offending party recalled them to order. When supper was over, they retired in regular succession, as they came, only one young lady lingering behind, whom Mrs. Reveire introduced to Linda as her room-mate, by the name of Emily Chestney. She was a tall, stately looking girl, with very black hair and eyes, and a skin like polished marble. Linda thought she looked cold and haughty, and was sorry Mrs. Reviere had not given her as a companion one of those younger, merrier-looking girls, who looked so roguish and smiling upon her across the table. She was not required to study that night ; but sat with her father and Mrs. Reveire in the parlour till the ringing of the nine-o'clock bell, when tinother flight of stairs was ascended, another long passage threaded, and she found herself in her own dormitory, one of & long suite of apartments, so arranged as to accommodate two pupils in each. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 75 " Ob ! how nice and comfortable V ejaculated Linda, look- ing at the pure white walls, neat wardrobe, and bright-coloured curtains. ^^Are all the rooms like this?'' " Yes, exactly," replied Emily; "you must remember that this is No. 12 ; for, if you should chance to forget, you may lose your way and never be able to find it." "It will take me a long time to remember all the new things I see here," answered Linda. " But Tm sure of one thing — I cannot help being happy with such a sweet lady as Mrs. Reveire. Do you not love her very much ?" " I like her better than any teacher I ever knew ; but I'm tired of going to school, for all that. I think Tm old enough to stop." " Yes," said Linda, innocently, " I should think so, too." 'I Do you think I look so very old ?" asked the young lady, in a displeased. tone. "Tm only sixteen." " No," replied Linda, timidly ; for she felt she had given offence ; " but you are so tall, and look so much like a- lady — ■ somehow — I thought " " No matter," interrupted Emily, " I don't care how I look ; but I know how I feel ; and Tm determined to be a young lady in earnest before the year is out." ^; She gave her books a sudden push, and bid Linda prepare for bed, as their candles would be taken out in a short time, whether they were ready or not. Linda's head was soon qui- etly resting on her pillow, the candle was taken out, and Emily lay down by her side. She was weary and drowsy, and was just falling asleep, when a tittering noise in the pas- sage awakened her. The door softly opened, and the next moment something heavy was thrown upon her head. "Mercy, what's that?" exclaimed Linda, starting up in alarm. '' " It is one of the wild girls in the next room," replied Emily. " They are throwing their shoes at your head. That 5 76 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT is the way I was greeted the first night I came. Take no notice of them, or they will do something more annoying/ Linda remained perfectly still, though she felt a pair of cold, wet hands clasping her feet. " Let's tickle her," whispered a voice, at the foot of the bed. " No," whispered another, " she will scream, and Mrs. Ke- veire will hear her. We'll only tie her feet to the bed-post." ^^ If you do," said Emily, ^' I will tell Mrs. Reveire my- self. You had better go to bed, Kate Miller, and save your- self a mark of disgrace in the morning." Another suppressed titter, and all was still again. ^^This is one of the ceremonies of your initiation," said Emily. '^ Be thankful it is no worse." Linda was not at all pleased, and began to think she might find some thorns amid the sweet roses of the bower. She be- came wakeful, and it seemed that Emily was so too ; for she rose soon, and, taking a candle from her trunk, lighted it with a match, and placed it on the table; then taking a large, thick shawl, she hung it carefully over the curtained window, so as to exclude every ray of light. Linda did not move, but watched her movements with great curiosity, wondering what she was going to do that required so much caution. Emily seated herself at the table, and opening her portfolio took out letter after letter, and read them with the most profound at- tention. Then she drew paper, pen, and ink towards her, and began to write. Sometimes she would pause, and fix her large, bright eyes on the opposite wall so intently, that Linda almost expected to see two black spots left on its whiteness ; then, bending over her paper, her pen would make that quick, scratching sound which impresses the listener with such a grand idea of the writer. Linda continued to gaze upon her mysterious companion from under the shadow of the bed- cover, till Emily's features gradually became pale and misty, the iiueaments of her figure melted into I he white back-ground, OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 77 on wliicli it was defined, and vanished away. The young traveller was asleep. It was some time before the inexperienced Linda could un- derstand the various little deceptive arts practised by many of the pupils, to elude the vigilance of their teachers. Possessed of the most perfect ingenuousness of character herself, she loathed the petty subterfuges which she daily witnessed. Becoming every day more and more attached to Mrs. Re voire, she con- formed to all her rules with reverential obedience, and applied herself diligently to her studies, from the double motive of pleasing her instructress and improving herself. The wild girls nick-named her at first the ^Hittle parson," and passed upon her many a practical joke; but when they found that, though silent and studious at her desk, and patient and perse- vering at her tasks, she was one of the swiftest runners, most agile jumpers, and merriest laughers, when they assembled at play-hours, in the young oaken grove, she became a gene- ral favourite, and no amusement was considered perfect with- out the participation of Linda Walton. The child who is favourite of both teachers and pupils, must combine many rare qualities. Linda was happy in the consciousness of fulfilling her duty, and of being beloved by those around her. At home she was a Picciola, blooming in the dungeon's gloom, fair and sweet, in spite of the chiiMng influences that surrounded her; here she was a flower in the midst of flowers, bathed in sunshine, and rejoicing in the breeze. It was a lovely sight when the young inmate^ of Rose Bower, released from the restraints and duties of the day, gathered together, just before sunset, to revel in the joy of fi*eedom. Here a graceful group might be seen, reclining in all the abandonment of childish ease on the grass ; there, a merrier band, chasing each other under the flying rope ; some walking more soberly, with arm interlaced in arm, or passed 78 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT fondly round the girlish waist, would seek some remctte comer, and converse earnestly and confidingly with each other. Some- times a sulky, discontented-looking being, would stray off by herself, refusing to share in those pleasures which her own envy and jealousy embittered. But these solitary figures were very rare. To the passer-by, the oak grove presented as fair a spectacle as the garden of Eden — so many living rose-buds bursting into fresher, fairer life — so many bounding forms, revelling in the mere joy of existence — so many bright ring- lets tossing in the breeze, and so many starry eyes flashing upon each other rays of gladness and mirth — how could it be otherwise than a charming scene ? But though the casual observer could detect no flaw in this sparkling jewelry, there were some false gems there, unworthy of their setting. It pained Linda when she became aware of any mischievous plot, which she knew Mrs. Reveire would disapprove ; but, though she would not participate in their offences, she scorned to betray them. Emily was a mystery to her which she could not unravel. Frequently she would rise after all the dormitories were quiet, and, lighting her secret candle, write as if her whole soul were engaged in the task. Linda knew it was wrong, for it was in direct violation of Mrs. Keveire's rules, and she wished she had a different room-mate. She knew, too, that the letters thus secretly written were not given to Mrs. Reveire to he placed in the post-office, as the regulations of the school re- quired. Where, then, were they deposited ? One morning Linda noticed the washerwoman, who came for their clothes, in a long conference with Emily. The latter was placing a letter in her bosom as Linda entered the room, and her face was flushed with excitement. Linda had con- ceived a particular dislike to this woman, who was a free negro of the name of Peggy. She was astonished at the extreme familiarity to which the young ladies admitted her, and the OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 79 presents tliey lavished upon her. She scarcely ever left theii apartments without bearing with her some article of clothing which she was very careful to conceal from the searching eye of Mrs. Reveire. Peggy's cabin was situated back of the beautiful grove we have so often mentioned, entirely concealed by its luxuriant foliage. One evening, Kate Miller, the wild girl who had threatened to tie Linda's feet on the night of her arrival, drew Linda apart from her companions, and winding her arm around her waist, asked her if she did not want to go and see what a pretty little cottage Peggy had. " But does Mrs. Reveire allow you to go there ?' asked the conscientious Linda. ^' Oh, she don't care where we go, if we keep within school boundaries, and the lot where Peggy lives belongs to her. All you have to do is to jump over this fence and you will be there in the twinkling of an eye." Notwithstanding Linda's dislike of Peggy, she thought her cottage looked very inviting through the green trees, with its white-washed lattice, and neat little porch ; and with the na- tural cui-iosity of childhood, was glad to peep within. As they approached the door, she was surprised by hearing the hum of many laughing voices. " Oh, I dont want to go in," said Linda, trying to release her arm from Kate, who only grasped it the tighter. " There are so many people there— I know Mrs. Picveire will not like- it." " Mrs. Reveire will not like it !" exclaimed Kate, mocking Linda's deprecating tones. '^ don't care whether she likes it or not. She'll never find it out unless you tell her. Here girls," she cried in a louder voice, " come and help, — ^I've got a new member of our secret club ; come quickly." Half a dozen familiar faces appeared at the door, laughing violently. 80 LINDA; on, the young pilot '^ TVTiat ! the little parson ! — well done. This is capital. We must make her say grace for us.'' Linda struggled and entreated in vain. They seized her by main force, and whirled her into the centre of the room, while two of the girls stood in the doorway to preclude the possi- bility of her egress. " "Welcome to Liberty Hall, Miss Linda !" cried Kate, clap- ping her hands exultingly. " You are one among us now, and there is no use in being sanctified any longer." Linda gazed around her in unutterable astonishment. One pretty, delicate girl was stooping over a hot fire, though it was a warm summer eve, busily engaged in frying eggs ; an- other was turning some rashers of bacon, with a face the colour of crimson ; and a third was stirring a pot of custard, as if her life depended on the act. Bread and butter, cake and pickles were scattered over a table, to which Kate Miller drag- ged the shrinking Linda. ^^Here, honey, help yourself. Plenty of every thing in Liberty Hall. Peggy serves us like a princess. I mean she shall be queen of May next year." " I dont want any thing to eat," cried Linda, indignantly, ^^but what I find on Mrs Reveire's table. I am sure she doesn't starve us, that we should come and eat in a negro hovel." "Young Missus hold her head mighty high," muttered Peggy, who sat in a corner, smoking her long pipe, whose fumes were mingling with the odour of the viands. " Me no care. Bigger ladies than she glad enough to come and see Peggy." " Hear ! hear !" exclaimed Kate ; " the little parson is preaching. She is holding forth against the sin of gluttony, but she's longing all the time for some of the goodies. Come, Linda, this is all pretence; make yourself at home. You don't know what fun wu have hero." OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 81 "No, let her go and tell Mrs. Reveire. That will be better fun for her," cried one of Kate's companions. " I have never betrayed my companions/' said Linda, tears of wounded feeling starting into her eyes. " No, that she hasn't," interrupted Kate, frankly. " I am not afraid of her doing any thing so mean." Linda remarked, for the first time, that Emily Chestney was present, seated at a back window, with her usual cold and ab- stracted air. " You here, Emily !'^ exclaimed Linda. " I wouldn't have believed it." The marble white of Emily's cheek turned a bright crimson. ''I did not come to eat,'^ replied she, contemptuously. ^* Mercy !" exclaimed one of the door-keepers, " if here isn't Mrs. Reveire !" "With one bound she sprang under the table, making a ter- rible crash among Peggy's china. Fried eggs, boiled custard, and broiling ham, all leaped into the coals. Every chair was upset in the running and confusion which followed this unex- pected announcement. Linda stood still in the centre of the apartment, and hers was the first figure which met the calm, but indignant glance of Mrs. Reveire. " Linda, I little expected to see you here," cried she, in a voice which she in vain endeavoured to render tranquil " And Emily, too ; the dignified and lady-like Emily Chest- ney ! In whom can I place confidence ?" Linda bent her head and wept bitterly. "Linda didn't come of her own will," exclaimed Kate Mil- ler, boldly : " I dragged her in, and almost pulled my arms ofi^ in doing it." " I am glad, Kate, you have the redeeming virtue of can- dour left," replied Mrs. Reveire, gravely. " Linda, I rejoice that I have not been deceived in you. My feelings arc suffi- ciently wounded already. Grateful I am, that drop of bitter- 82 unda; or, the young pilot ness is not infused into my cup of care. As for you, un principled woman/' added she, turning to Peggy, her usually benignant countenance flashing with indignation, "where are the spoils you have hidden, the garments you have bribed these young ladies to bestow upon you, by pampering their lowest propensities, and teaching them the vilest deceit ? I have discovered the shameless traffic you have been carrying on ; in time, I trust, to prevent its worst consequences.'' Peggy began to mutter that she was free, and that she never asked the young ladies to give her their clothes ; but Mrs. Reveire commanded her with so much dignity to produce the ill-gotten spoils she had so long been secreting, that she dared not disobey. Hauling a large basket from under the bed, she displayed a quantity of dresses, aprons, skirts, &c., which filled even the ringleaders of this secret club with as- tonishment. " Young ladies,'' cried Mrs. Reveire, to the pale and trem- bling culprits surrounding that ominous-looking basket, " if this poor, ignorant negro deserves so severe a rebuke, what can I say to you, whose minds are enlightened by education ; whose hearts have been softened by the tenderest cares ? Is this the reward of my affection ? the return for my watchful Jays, my almost sleepless nights ? Have I ever imposed a re- straint that was not for your good ? Have I ever denied you food that you should gather in this low place and share the hospitality of a hireling ? What would your parents say if they entered at this moment, and witnessed the scene now presented to my eyes. Unhappy children ! you are bringing discredit on an institution which has long been my pride and delight. You are planting the thorns of ingratitude in the roses of my bower." The heads of the culprits dronpod lower and lower; sobs burst forth ; the wild spirit of fun and misrule was subdued by the calm, earnest, affectionate accents of her whom they OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 83 loved, in spite of all their folly and disobedience. Linda ran and threw her arms around Mrs. Reveire. "Oh, dear, best Mrs. Reveire, f-ay forgive them this time. They are very, very sorry. It is from the love of fun they have done it.'' " Fun is a low word, my child ; an excuse for the most grovelling actions. Those who have no higher object in their amusements, generally have recourse to the lowest and most degraded auxiliaries. I would have the young ladies commit- ted to my care cultivate a spirit of refinement in their most unguarded hours, their wildest moments of recreation. I would have them remember that they were brought here to receive the education of ladies, and that I do not divide my authority with the ignorant and debased." She spoke with so much majesty that Linda, fearful that she had offended, involuntarily relaxed the soft pressure of her arms, and turned aside her tearful eyes. " Nay, my sweet child," said she, drawing her once more closely to her, " I am not insensible to your touching appeal. My own heart is only too ready to grant your request. But I have a duty to fulfil, and these young ladies must not min- gle with their associates till I am assured, by their penitence and good behaviour, that contamination will not result from their companionship." Many a fair head looked down from Rose Bower on the novel procession that issued from Peggy's cottage that even- ing. First, Peggy marched forth, an immense basket tower- ing like a turret on her head ; then the delinquents followed, two and two, hanging their heads like bulrushes; lastly, Mrs. Reveire, with Emily and Linda on either side. There wag something so graceful and dignified about this lady, it was im- possible to associate any thing ridiculous with her, in whatever situation she might be placed ; and Emily, though her lip quivered, walked by her instructress with a step as firm and 84 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT a brow as lofty. The culprits were dismissed to tbeir rooms, where they were told to remain until personally sum- moned, — all but Emily, whom Mrs. Reveire led to her own apartment. " Why do you bring me here ?" asked she, proudly, " I am Trilling to submit to the same punishment as my companions.'' " I do not wish to punish so much as to convince," said the lady. " You were not led by the love of fun, if I must use 60 low an expression. You have other motives, Emily ; mo- tives which, however studiously you conceal from me, your delegated friend, are yet known to me, and fill me with the deepest anxiety." " Oh ! madam — what is it you mean ?" '' You are carrying on a secret correspondence. You have intrusted Peggy with the care of your letters ; you have com- mitted your reputation into the hands of a servant, and closed your heart to one whom you would find as ready to sympathize in your afi'ections as assist you in your duties, pro- vided, alwayS; those afi'ections were flowing in a legitimate channel." ^^Oh, madam!" again ejaculated Emily, covering her face with her hands and bursting into a passionate flood of tears. She wept as only the proud can weep, when the barriers of their pride are swept aside. Mrs. Reveire sat down by hex side, and put her arms kindly round her. Her own voice fal- tered — her own eyes were dim with tears. " I grieve to see you sufi"er, Emily ; and would gladly spare you the pain and humiliation you now endure. If you will grant me your full confidence, I will endeavour to save you from exposure and shame ; and, if possible, promote your future happiness. Though I have learned to discipline my passions and bring them under the control of reason and judgment, I have not forgotten the memory of my youthful OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 85 days, or the temptations to which a warin^ romantic imagina- tion exposes its possessor." " Oh, Mrs. Reveire ! how kind, how more than kind you are ! I am not worthy of such goodness, but I can appreciate it as it desei-ves. Ask me any thing — every thing ; I will have no more concealments. I have been too wretched in tho practice of deceit." Mrs. Re voire gathered from Emily's broken recital, that she was betrothed to a young man whom she had known from earliest childhood, but to whom her father objected, because he was not rich. She had been sent to a distant school that she might be removed from his vicinity, and positively forbid- den to have any correspondence with him. Through Peggy, Bhe had received his letters from the office, directed to a ficti- tious name, and sent her own in return. '^ And now," said she, after acknowledging the full extent of her transgressions, " you know how basely I have deceived you, can you extend to me your forgiveness ? It is in your power to destroy my happiness for ever. You can inform my father of my disobedience, and he will remove me still farther from all I love. I have no right to expect any other decision. Even then, I must ever be grateful for the gentleness and for- bearance you have exercised towards me." Emily begged permission to retire a moment to her own chamber, which, having obtained, she brought her portfolio, and laid it in Mrs. Reveire's lap. " I wish you to read his letters," said she ; " perhaps they will plead in my behalf.'*' ~ Mrs. Reveire read several; not from idle curiosity, bu from a desire to learn something of the character of the young man so romantically beloved. She became deeply in- terested in their contents, for they seemed the transcript of a warm and generous heart, a cultivated and enlightened mind. " I will write to him myself," said she, " urging him, for 86 ltnda; or, the youxg pilot your sake, to discontinue this clandestine correspondence, promising to intercede with your father with all the eloquence of which I am mistress, in behalf of both. You are very young, Emily ; and for every sacrifice you now make to duty, you will be richly rewarded hereafter. If your lover does not value you more for this adherence to principle, he is not worthy of the affection you have bestowed upon him.'' Relieved from the intolerable burden of duplicity, Emily's character appeared in a new and interesting light. She mani- fested the warmest attachment to Mrs. Reveire, and the most affectionate interest in Linda. The cold, abstracted, and statue-like girl, became the kind and sympathizing companion. It is scarcely necessary to state the manner in which Mrs. Reveire received information of the social meetings at Liberty Hall, or the secret correspondence of Emily. She employed no spies : but when her servants, by whom she was much be- loved, saw evil doings and secret machinations, they were sure to give her intelligence. After this, every thing went on smoothly for a long time at Rose Bower. The gentle firmness of Mrs. Reveire had the happiest influence on the young offenders. Even the wild Kate Miller began to think there was some- thing low in fun, and that there were pleasures superior to gluttony and deceit. OP THE BELL^ CREOLE. 87 CHAPTER VIII. About a year from the time that Linda became a resident of Rose Rower, the father of Emily came to bear her home. When Mrs. Reveire solicited a private interview with him, Emily trembled^ for she felt as if that conversation would de- cide her destiny. " My dear Emily/' said the lady, entering the chamber of her pupil — " be happy. The extreme worth, growing reputa- tion, and constant attachment of your friend, combined with your own resignation to his will, have induced your father to withdraw his prohibition and consent to your union. I lose a beloved pupil, but I trust society will gain a good, a noble woman.'' Emily, with a burst of grateful sensibility, threw her arms around the neck of her instructress. '^ You have made mo ffhat I am. Your tenderness and sympathy, even more than your wisdom and your goodness, have influenced my proud and wayward nature, and softened my heart for the reception of truth and virtue. I owe every thing to you; not only the happiness of my future life, but a mind and heart capable of enjoying it as I ought." " This is indeed a reward," exclaimed Mrs. Reveire, press- ing the grateful girl to her bosom. " This moment would re- pay me for life-long cares." The parting between Emily and Linda was tender and affectionate. "We shall meet again," said Emily j "some- thing tells me, we shall meet in after years, and renew tho friendship that commenced in sweet Rose Bower. ' Young as you are, Linda, you have taught me many a lesson of self- control, which I shall not soon forget. You do not know how 88 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT mucii those eyes of yours have said to me in the silence of oui little room, — nor how much my conscience has been troubled by their expressive language. Oh ! if I ever realize the hap- piness, whose prospect, even now, makes my heart ache, from the intensity of its bliss, I must find you out, Linda, wherever you may be, and you must come and share my domestic Eden." Linda gazed on the glowing counte'jiance of Emily, and wondered what that happiness was, which could thus glorify the human face. She had always thought Emily handsome, now she was transcendently beautiful. The young heiress tried to shadow forth her own future, and it was strange, that whenever the pencil of imagination began to sketch the outline, the figure of a youth, flying as with the wings of an eagle, or lying, with pale cheek, shaded by the horse's flowing mane, was sure to occupy the foreground. Then, the vast ocean would appear, with its sea-green waves, crested with dazzling foam, bearing over its undulating sur- face one stately vessel, and as it bowed its graceful spars and towering mast to the breeze, the same figure, only taller, and more man-like, trod the deck with the step of a master. Or borne on the waters of her own Alabama, or the grand Missis- sippi, a boat glided majestically along, and through the black volumes of smoke that curled o'er the dark blue current, that same gallant form was seen, presiding, like a young Neptune, over the watery element. After the departure of Emily, one of the pupils, rather younger than Linda, whose name was Louisa, but universally called Luta, begged for the vacant place in Linda's apartment. She was one of those sweet, loving beings, that wind like a fragrant garland round the heart. There was the slightest possible obliquity in her soft, violet eye, a half smile on her red, parted lips, and a graceful inclination of the head, like a young flower bending over its stem, that made Luta a most OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 89 Winning young creature. Her mind was not much expanded. She seemed all heart, born to love and to be loved. One even- ing, after jumping the rope, she sat on the grass, and leaned her head wearily on Linda^s lap. Her cheeks were the hue of scarlet, and her hands were dry and hot. ^' You have jumped too long, Luta dear," said Linda, laying down her book, and passing her Land tenderly over Luta's burning cheek. " But you must not lie here on this dewy grass, when you are so warm and feverish." ^^ Oh ! my head aches so bad," cried Luta, leaning against Linda, after they both rose from the ground. The girls all left their play and gathered anxiously round their little favourite. They had never heard her complain of illness, and a few moments before she had been in buoyant spirits. Mrs. Reveire thought her indisposition was caused by too violent exer- cise, and that a night's rest would restore her, but the morning found her feverish and languid. ^^ I did not sleep the whole night," said the patient child, " but I would not complain, for fear of waking Linda." A physician was summoned, who pronounced it a light case of fever, and left some gentle prescription, but towards night the scarlet cheek, and burning hand, and aching head contra- dicted the doctor's assertion. Mrs. Reveire became alarmed, and thought it her duty to remove Linda, fearing she might be exposed to the contagion of a malignant disease. She took her aside and expressed her fears and determination. " Pray don't ask me to leave her," said Linda, entreatingly, '^ you don't know what a good nurse I will make." " But your own health, my child. Her disease is assuming an alarming form, and I cannot allow you to be endangered.^'' " I have no mother, to mourn for me if I should die," uttered Linda, in a sad tone, " as Luta has." '^ But you have a kind father." "Yes ! but that isn't like a mother. He mic-ht find soma 90 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT Other child to love, and forget me hy-and-by." She remem- bered how her father had seemed to forget her dead mother, and marry that dreadful woman, and thought that the love of man was not enduring. Mrs. Reveire could not shake Linda's resolution, to re- main with her suffering young friend. In the strength of her fearless affection, she was equal to the task. During the night Mrs. Reveire, who had a cot brought in for the purpose, remained in the room, but when the duties of the day required her attendance, Luta was left to the charge of Linda, to whom she clung closer and closer, as she grew more sick and suffering. She would turn the fading violet of her eyes after her stilly footstep, and hold her hand in her burn- ing one, during her short, feverish slumbers, and sometimes she would bend forward and lean her hot head on Linda's bosom, as if she found relief only there. One night, as she lay in that attitude, so still that Linda supposed she slept, Luta felt tear after tear falling on her dry and throbbing temples. " What makes you cry so, Linda ?" asked she, trying to lift her heavy eyes, to the pitying face bending over her. '' I am sorry to see you suffer," replied Linda, drying with her lips the dew of her heart. ^' I give you so much trouble, and you are so good. You don't eat or sleep, and I am afraid you will die too." " Oh ! Luta you must not speak so. You will be better Boon, and play with us on the green once more." "No," said the child, laying her head back on the pillow, and fixing her eyes mournfully on Linda's face j "1 shall never sit under the oak trees again, or run about on the green grass. I shall never see my father and mother, for they will not reach here till I am dead, for it's a long, long way. Oh ! Linda," continued she, gathering strength as the fever burned hotter in uer veins, "don't leave me. Stay with me all the time. When OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 91 tliej dress me all in white and lay me in the dark coffin, you must not leave me, for I shall be afraid to be left alone. And when they put me in the cold ground, you must come and lie down by my side." The fire of delirium began to flash from her eyes. Trem- bling with alarm, Linda called Mrs. Eeveire, and they both watched her till morning light. The doctor now declared the case hopeless, and it was whispered from room to room that Luta was going to die. What solemnity, silence, and gloom pervaded that late busy, joyous household. The light laugh was hushed, the careless footstep stayed, the foolish jest heard no more. Death was entering the house, and " Never before Had his skeleton feet ever trod on that floor." Every little while, a pale face would appear at the half-open door, and a low voice inquire after the invalid, and then another and another, but Linda's pale face was always by the pillow of the dying, and her heart was taking in a solemn lesson. The delirium of the child assumed a most touching charac- ter. '^ Please tell my father and mother,'' she would earnestly plead, "that I've been a good girl. I didn't go to Pegoy'g You know I didn't, Mrs. Reveire. You would not scatter roses over me when I am dead, if I had. That was an ugly place, and the floor was all swimming with blackness. Tell them too how good Linda is. There's a pair of white wings under her muslin apron, and, when I sleep, she fans me with them, so gently— there— I feel them fluttering now.'' Gradually her ravings died away, into the^letharey of ap- proachmg dissolution. Then, when she was past all danger of excitement, Mrs. Reveire led in her pupils one by one, to take a farewell look of their dying companion. Poetry and fiction may describe the beauty of death and the loneliness of decay but the solemn reality of the scene belies these gilded picture.? 6 92 LINDA; ORj THE YOUNG PILOT Luta was a lovely child, one of tlie fairest of that youthful throng. Those half-closed, glazed, and sinking orbs, were they the violet eyes through which the loving heart so sweetly shone? Those parched and blackened lips, those sal- low, hueless cheeks, where are now their living roses ? " Behold," says Mrs. Reveire, solemnly addressing her weeping pupils, " and let the pride of youthful confidence no longer swell your bosom. She is going where we cannot fol- low her now, though we must one day travel the same lonely path. Alone must she lie down in her grave. Alone must she stand before the bar of Grod. There, we trust a Saviour's arm will enfold her — for she was lovely and good. But she must give an account of the golden opportunities of her youth, whether neglected or improved. She hears me not, she heeds me not, her ear is dull, and will soon be closed with the dust of the grave — but you, my beloved ones, whose young hearts still glow with life and hope — for you is the awful lesson writ- ten, the warning judgment gone forth." " And here is another lesson," continued she, laying her hand on Linda's drooping head, " here is one, younger than most of you, who never looked on death before, save one short glimpse of her dead mother's face. With a martyr's fearless patience she has travelled step by step with her young com- panion down the dark valley of the shadow of death. Her arms have enfolded, her love sustained, and her presence cheer- ed, and whether she passes away in the spring-time of life, or lies down in hoary age, God will send his angels to minister unto her, and scatter blessings round her dying couch." Mrs. Keveire's feelings became too high-wrought for speech. She knelt by the expiring Luta and bowed her head on the bed- cover. Youthful maiden — blooming school-girl — for you this scene IS portrayed. Have you ever followed the cold body of one of your companions to the narrow house appointed for all the OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 93 living ? Was it not a sad spectacle, and did you not turn in agony from the bright sun and smiling sky, that seemed to shine in mockery of the dead ? Did not your heart sicken to see the flowers, blooming on in unfaded beauty, while tlie flower of life was blighted for ever ? The morning was cloudless, and the air serene, when a long procession was seen winding along, through a shaded avenue, leading from Rose Bower. Clothed in white, with sable badges, they walked behind the bier, on which, covered with the sweeping, black pall, that solemn banner of the grave, was borne the remains of the young, the innocent, the loving Luta. They laid her down in her last couch, and scattered white roses on the dark cofiin-lid. Then, their sweet, sad voices rose in melancholy harmony, chanting a funeral hymn. ^^ I would not live always — I ask not to stay,'' repeated in mournful cadence those youthful voices ; and the gale, as it sighed thi'ough the willows that wept in that place of graves seemed to echo the dirge-like strains — " I would not live al- ways — I ask not to stay.'' " Farewell, sweet Luta," said the heart of Linda. ^^ I have stayed by you when you lay in your white shroud and your dark coffin. I must leave you now all alone in the cold grave ; though, if God willed it, I would gladly lie down by your side, for the world is a dreary place." And so it seems, when the loved and lovely are taken from the sight, and an awful blank is left ; but time passes on, the world begins to look fair again, and the waste places of the heart to bloom once more. 94 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT CHAPTER IX. Linda on her homeward journey. Two years have passed since she left Pinegrove, and she and Eobert are to meet during the holidaj^s at their own home. Little reason as she had to love the home where her stepmother presided, she could not but anticipate with pleasure the return to familiar scenes, associated with the memories of her earliest childhood. She wanted to see how Robert looked now he was nineteen, almost a man, and wondered whether he would treat her as kindly as he did just before they parted. But far more than all, she longed to see the cottage on the hill, where the gentle Mrs. Lee and the brave Roland dwelt. '' Did you stop there as you came V asked Linda of her father, as they drew near the memorable spot. ^' No, I was too anxious to see my child,'' replied Mr. "Wal- ton ; " but we will call now, and inquire after our gallant young friend," Linda's heart beat quick when, through an opening in the trees, she caught a glimpse of the well-known mansion ; '"ut the hospitable door was shut, the windows closed, and the grass grew rank about the threshold. ^' Oh, father," cried Linda, pale with disappointment and apprehension, " there's nobody here ! What has become of them?" " They have probably removed," replied her father. ^' Mrs. Lee told me she thought of doing so. I am very sorry, for I really loved that boy, and his mother was a lady in every sense of the word. Let us walk round the lot, and see if we can find any one, who c&n give us information of them.'' Linda eagerly sprang from the carriage, and sought the OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 95 paths now partly overgrown with weeds, which she and Ro- land had together traced. She looked for the mocking-birds' nest ; but the vines coiled like huge serpents over the hollow where their young tendrils once made a fairy bower. Linda gazed sadly on the changes time and neglect had wrought, when her eye suddenly lighted up. What was it she saw on the gray, mossy stone, leaning like a broken pillar against the tree ? Her own name, rudely but distinctly carved. Her first sensation was delight that Roland had not forgotten her ; but that old, mossy tablet looked so much like a tombstone in the midst of the silence and loneliness that she could not bear to linger near it. She saw the waters of the creek where Ro- land had launched his bark canoe, gleaming in the sunshine, and she persuaded her father to let her ramble to its banks, while he remained near the deserted cottage. She found the bark canoe moored in a little cove, formed by the shade of the silver- trunked beech. Again Linda's eye sparkled, for strangely eloquent, in that still spot, her own name spoke again and again from the smooth, white bark. Even on the darkened birch of the canoe she could read the same characters. The solitude seemed vocal with the name of Linda. But where was the hand that had traced those rustic letters — where the arm broken for their deliverance ? Linda turned away with a sigh, and for many a mile she rode in silence at her father's side. '^ Oh, how natural every thing looks I" exclaimed Linda when, at her journey's close, she beheld her own home after an absence of two years ; her first absence, and how long it seemed in the retrospect ! " Can this be Robert ?" thought she, as a tall and very handsome youth eagerly approached the carriage-door to assist her in alighting. The question was answered by the young man's catching her in his arms, and giving a welcome so cordial that her cheeks were cuvere'i vfith blushes. 96 LINDA} OR, THE YOUNG PILOT " Wty, Linda, how pretty, how very pretty you are !" ex- daimcd Robert, fixing his bold, black eyes, sparkling with unafi"ected admiration, on his youthful step-sister. ^^ Olij puella carissima! as Aristides would most feelingly remark, you are more than welcome to old Pinegrove." " And what a tall gentleman and expert flatterer Master Robert is become !" answered Linda, smilingly. " But, pray, tell me if you have heard any thing of oui* dear, good, non- pareil of a schoolmaster V " Yes, I met a gentleman at the university, just returned from Cuba, who knew our sapient teacher very well. His health was amending, and he was quoting Latin more fu- riously than ever. Honour to Aristides wherever he may be. If he had not whipped a little of the offending Adam out of me, I should have grown up the veriest bear in the universe. Ah, Linda, did you not think me a horrible young monster when I first came among you V Linda had now reached the threshold, which was still .^ guarded by the faithful Bruno. Chained to his old block, he* lay shaggy and massy, and apparently half asleep ] but there was a bright look of recognition in his intelligent eyes, and a quivering motion of his huge paws, when Linda came near him. '' Ah, Bruno, you have not forgotten me," cried his young mistress, joyfully patting his broad head. "You remember the biscuits I tossed into that large mouth.'' She checked herself, fearing she was betraying the secret of her night-ramble ; but she had so often fed Bruno that no one knew to what she referred. Linda thought the eyebrows of Mrs. Walton looked whiter and more highly arched than ever ; that her lips looked more pinched and cold, for she compared her to the loved image of Mrs. Reveire, treasured in her heart, and there were but few who would not suffer by the comparison. She evidently tried to b:* gracious, and Linda was grateful for the effort, and gave OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 97 her real heart-smiles in return for the little, pale gleams of kindness that lighted up her stony eyes. The negroes gave her a rapturous welcome. Aunt Judy had been allowed to come over and be present at the first greeting. When Linda, half-wild with excitement, was running about the yard, look- ing for the ducks, chickens, and geese, Judy took her aside, for her heart was brimming over, and was really aching from its fulness. She caught the hands of her pet-child, first one and then the other, and pressed her African lips upon their snow ; then leaning her tall, white turban against the garden railing, sobbed aloud : " Oh, Lord a mercy ! bless her and presarve her for ever and ever ! And did the blessed child think so much of poor, good-for-nothing old nigger as to go all living alone through the woods, when all dark as pitch, to get good massa to buy and take care of poor Judy ? Lord, bless her ! I never knew 'bout it when she went away, or I'd crawled on my hands and knees arter to kiss the dust of her feet ; and now she came back so pretty and so good. Oh ! if poor, dear missus was but live to see it V " Pray, Aunt Judy,'' cried Linda, smiling through the tears the afiectionate and grateful creature had brought to her eyes ; " pray, don't eat my hands up ; and, pray, don't make me cry and look ugly, when I've just got home and everybody is staring at me so hard.'^ '^ Young missus look puty any way — no matter if she cry her eye out her head, she look sweet ; the Lord bless her little soul !" " Mr. Marshall has turned traitor, I see," said Linda, " an broken his promise ; but say no more about it. Aunt Judy — it is not worth the thanking. Instead of being as dark as pitch, it was as bright as day, and the fairies were hoppiuij among the pine trees, keeping me company the whole way. Then I had such a nice ride home with Mr. Marshall. You 98 LINDA ; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT don't "know how grand I felt. He is a kind master, is lie not, Judy V " Oh, yes, missy, the best massa ever was. But, when young missy get married, Judy come and live with her all her born days." ^' That will be a long time to come," said the young girl ; and Robert came to lead her into the house. " I know what Massa Robert got in his head," muttered the negro, following them with her eyes and shaking her head significantly. '^ I know what new, old missus got in her head too, — nigger see a heap they an't thinking of. But the Lord never meant them two come together. Millennium time an't here yet, and lions and lambs don't get in the same pen. Massa Robert sure enough ! 'Fore he my massa, I see him eat alive fust !" When Lindar retired for the night, and Nelly ushered her into one of the company rooms, always kept so carefully swept and garnished, she said laughingly to her attendant, " You have mistaken the room, Nelly. I don't see the old rafter«, and cobwebs, and little, red pine-table. You must think I am company." ^' And so she be," said Nelly, grinning ; " you no sleep in that old hole any more. Missus got it full of dried fruit and cotton, and a heap o' things besides. It no fit for you any how, and she ought to be 'shamed of hisself to put yju there." " Has she put Robert in my little room again ?" asked Linda. " No, he too big for that this time. He mad as fire, when he think on't, I 'spect now." Linda was far happier at home than she expected to be. Her step-mother was mysteriously polite, and Robert more ihan kind. They enjoyed together all the amusements a ccmutry residence afiurdcd. Every day he acconipanied her 01 THE BELLE CREOLE. 99 on horscbackj through the woods, whose pure, resinous odours she delighted to inhale. Robert was a noble, fearless rider, and as he dashed along on his spirited steed, his long, black locks flying back from his brow, Linda could not help admir- ing his equestrian graces, though she wished he would be more gentle to the horses, and not show such superfluous fierceness of manner in disciplining them. She wished, too, he would not praise her so much, and tell her how pretty she was, and what a beautiful woman she was going to be. She thought it very silly in him, — her own step-brother. One day, as they were riding slowly along over a sandy path, Robert turned to her very abruptly, — " What's the reason, Linda, you never told me about that farmer boy, who stopped your carriage on the way to perdi- tion V "What more have I to tell, but that he saved our lives at a fearful risk to himself!" said Linda, blushing. " Well, I don't see any thing in the question to make you blush," said Robert, pettishly. " Wasn't he a great, coarse, vulgar-looking boy, — dressed in homespun and red brogans V " No, indeed," answered Linda, angry at the sneering man- ner of Robert. " There was nothing coarse or vulgar about him. It was easy enough to see he was a gentleman's son. His dress might have been of domestic manufacture, but it did not disgrace him, or prevent him from looking hand- some." " You seem to admire the young gentleman exceedingly." "One would think you thought my life of little value, to hear the scornful way in which you speak of my de- liverer." " It is because I value it so much, Linda, that I cannot bear to think it was rescued by that plebeian boy." Linda's spirit was roused — an expression of unutterarjle disdain curled the young roses of her lips. 100 LINDA ; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT " That plcbeiaD boy/' she cried, '^ as you are pleased to call him, Robert, is one of Nature's noblemen. He is your equal in every thing but fortune; and far more than equal, for he does not depend upon such poor things as money and birth to lift him up in the world. I tell you he is a gentleman, and I shall despise any one who contradicts me after this. There,'' she added, laughing and looking back, as she urged her horse into a canter, — " haven't I made a fine speech V Robert bit his lip with vexation, but he had never ad- mired Linda so much before. Jealousy began to mingle with his dawning passion, and the more difficult the object appeared of attainment, the more precious it seemed in his estimation. As he rode along, silent and gloomy, Linda felt sorry that she had spoken with so much warmth. " Let us shake hands, brother Robert, and not quarrel any more. It is not likely I shall ever see Roland Lee again, but I must ever think of him with gratitude and respect.'^ *' 1 wish you would not call me brother," said Robert. ^^ I am no more brother of yours than this famous Roland is." "Really you are very strange, Mr. Robert Graham. Is that respectful enough to suit your majesty?" " I don't want you to be respectful. I want you to be more affectionate, more familiar than ever ; but, for heaven's sake, stop calling me brother." Linda looked with astonishment — almost fear — upon Ro- bert. His manners were so strange, his colour so high, and his voice so excited. Surely he could not be intoxicated. Yet, what could be the cause of his singular behaviour ? " Linda," said he, seizing her bridle with one hand, so as to check the rapid motion of her horse ; " you and I are getting old enough to understand each other. I am nineteen, and you are fourteen, are you not ?" " Yes,— but what of that ?" " Why. in two years I shall be twenty-one, and you will be OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 101 sixteen. I shall have left college and you Kose Bower ; and then we shall both be thinking of getting married.'' Linda, who dreamed not of the application of his words, laughed till the green woods rang. " Married ! I hope you don't think I'm such a silly littlo girl as to have such ridiculous ideas in my head. Mrs. Reveire taught me something better than that. Why ! I am nothing but a child, and haven't left off my bib aprons yet." " You are not such a child but what you can understand what I mean, if you choCise," cried Robert, colouring still deeper, for he knew he was taking a bold step, though often prompted by his mother. '^I mean that in two years you will be old enough to marry, and I want you to promise to marry me. That is the reason I don't want you to call me brother any more.'' " Robert, for mercy's sake, don't talk in that way," cried Linda, terrified by this astounding declaration, though she could not, would not, believe him in earnest. ^'I won't let you speak so to me. It is wicked." ^^ Where is the wickedness ?" cried he, vehemently, grow- ing bolder now the revelation was made. ^^ Why haven't I a right to love you as well as anybody else ? I don't want you to marry me now, for we are both too young ; but in two years from this time, I declare to you, Linda Walton, by the heaven above and the earth beneath, that you shall be the wife of Robert Graham." "Let go my bridle, sir," cried Linda, frightened, indig- nant, and bewildered at this strange scene. " I'll tell my father, and you will not dare to talk to me in that way any more." " Your father and my mother know it already. That is, they are anxious that we should be married in a few years. And as I shall not see you for a long time after this, I wag determined I would not let you go without telling you how 102 ltnpa; OR; the youxg pilot much I loved you, for I do love you, Linda, better than any brother could love, for all I used to treat you so shamefully.'' Her father wished it — 3Irs. Walton too ! Linda felt as if in the coils of a serpent, whose folds must tighten round her. If Mrs. Walton willed it, her doom was sealed. Too young, too innocent, too child-like to think of marriage with any one — the idea' of it, associated with Robert, filled her with horror. She was beginning to like him as a brother ; now she could not help hating him. She could not bear to be with him alone in the woods. She made her horse go faster, till at last she urged it into a furious gallop. " Linda, Linda, you will be thrown off, if you ride so furi- ously," exclaimed Robert, again trying to catch hold of the bridle. But Linda flew on, without looking on the right, or on the left. She wanted to be at home, in her own room, far away from Robert's terrible black eyes. " What a race you two are running," said Mr. Walton, as they came galloping into the yard, and the animals, flecked with foam, stood panting and quivering under the trees. *' This is not safe, Robert ; you must take better care of Linda than this." " I tried to restrain her, but she would not let me," replied Robert, stooping down, as if to examine the girth. ^' Take me down, quick, father ; I am very dizzy," cried Linda, impatiently ; but before her father could reach her, she tossed the reins and sprang from the saddle ; then running up Btairs, closed the door, threw herself on the bed, and burst into a passionate fit of weeping. All her happiness was fled ; her holiday enjoyments at an end; the sweet confidence of childhood gone for ever. She knew something of the spirits with which she had to deal. The imbecility of her father, the despotism of ]Mrs. Walton, the bold reckless determination of Robert : she knew them all. Every feeling in her heart roso in rebellion against the idea of such a union. It seemed OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 103 more tHan unnatural — sacrilegious in her eyes. She had been so long accustomed to look upon Robert in the relation of a brother, she shrunk as much from any other tie as if she were really bound to him by the ties of consanguinity. Oh ! that Mrs. Reveire were near, that she might fly to her for sympathy and counsel. Oh ! that she had never left the guardian shades of Rose Bower. Linda refused to go to the supper-table, on the plea of a violent headache, no false excuse in her case, for her temples throbbed and burned as violently as poor Luta's did, when the fever began to rage in her veins. " Won't you have a cup of tea, Linda V asked Mrs. Wal- ton's soft, hissing voice. Linda started. She had not heard the opening of the door. How had the serpent glided in ? " Well, I will not force you," said Mrs. Walton, placing the cup on the table, and taking a seat by the bed. Linda plunged her head between two pillows, so as to shut out sight and sound, but in vain. That thin, peculiar voice could in- sinuate itself through any barrier. " Robert tells me he has frightened you," said the voice. " I thought you had more sense than to behave so like a mere child. I should think you would be proud and glad to think you were going to have such a handsome, smart, and rich hus- band as Robert. I am sure any lady in the land might jump at such a chance." " I don't want Robert for a husband," sobbed Linda. " I don't want anybody for a husband. Mrs. Reveire always said we mustn't think of the boys while we were at school and I have two years to go yet." " Linda, you are not the simpleton you are pretending to be," cried Mrs. Walton, pulling the pillows from her face. " It is proper you should know our plans, and you have reason to feel honoured and happy in the prospect of this projected union.'* 104 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT " But what is the reason you are in such a hurry ?" cried fiinda, with sudden animation. " Why can't I wait till I am old enough to choose for myself? What good will it do you or father for me to marry llobert ? Tell me, for I want to know." ^' Robert is rich, and you have a large fortune. We wish jr, unite them. An all-sufficient reason, and one which you will find shall outweigh every other.'' " Fortune !" repeated Linda, her eyes flashing scornfully through her tears. " Let him take my fortune, if that is what you want. I wish I were the poorest girl in the south-west, if I must be bought and sold like a negro slave. But I never will be. I never will enter into your mercenary scheme." ^' Miss Linda Walton," said Mrs. Walton, the white heat beginning to gleam from her eyes, ^' you are not to address me in that manner. You had better submit at once, or you will find to your cost, what it is to resist my authority, or oppose my will." " I will resist it at any cost," cried Linda, springing from the bed, and looking wildly around her. ^^ Where is my fa- ther ? Let me go to my father !" continued she, more vehe- mently, as Mrs. Walton placed her back against the door, and fixed upon her a glance, before which a weaker spirit would have quailed in terror. " What good will it do you to go to your father ?" exclaim- ed the inflexible step-mother. ^' Has he ever dared to coun- termand my decrees? Have you ever seen him do it? Have you ever seen any one do it ? No ! nor you never will." " I dare to do it," cried the child, with an undaunted air, "and I will do it. I have submitted to your tyranny long enough, you pitiless woman. I've felt the marks of your lash on my shoulders. I slept for years in a room 3^ou" scarcely' thought g(jod enough for a slave. You sent away from me OF THE BELLE CREOLE. "^ 105 my faitliful old nurse. You ruled me with a rcid of iron, and I did not complain. But I will bear no more. I will not be trafficked away in this vile manner. If my father does not protect me, I will appeal to the laws, and they shall." Mrs. Walton started. "Was this the sobbing, terrified child she had found buried in pillows, and shrinking from her sight ? She looked taller, older, standing so resolute and .fearless before her. The step-mother did not waver in her purpose, but she began to think she might push matters too far. She had no conception that Linda had such a spirit in her bosom yet, after having been under her discipline so long. ^' I do not wish my house to be made a scene of uproar and confusion," she added. ^' Let nothing more be said about it at present. It will be time enough to make a fuss about it two years hence. Remember, there is to be silence on this subject now. For the peace of the household, I am even will- ing to overlook your rebellious, undutiful, and ungrateful be- haviour." ^' Ungrateful !" repeated Linda. " Tell me what gratitude I owe you. What motherly tenderness have you ever be- 5towed upon me ? I wanted to love you, and you would not ,3t me do it. You would not let my father love me. You iried to keep everybody from loving me. You made me jvant to lie down in my mother's grave and die. Am I to be grateful for all this ?" " I know what gratitude to expect from step-daughters," answered Mrs. Walton, with livid lips. " I found you a pas- sionate, spoiled, and self-willed child, and I taught you the manners of a lady. I took you away from the negroes, and made you sit by my own side ; and now, because I want to give you my own son, a son of whom any mother in the uni- verse might be proud, you look as if you would trample me under your feet, and address me as you would not dare to do J06 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT a siriL'lc slave on the plantation." Mrs. "Walton glided through the door, which she closed as softly as if thej had been talking about roses. " Yes," thought Linda, with sudden revulsion of feeling, and sinking into a chair ; " I was a passionate and wayward child. I did not deserve to be loved. If I had not been tyrannized over, I should have been a tyrant myself. I have reason to be grateful to her, since she saved me from myself. And even now, what violent passions have I displayed ! What bitter reproaches have I heaped upon her ! I should not have forgotten that she is my father's wife ! Oh ! Mrs. Reveire, how would your clear, serene eye have rebuked your pnpil, Lad you beheld her a few moments ago." Thus Linda communed with her own heart, and became wise. While freely condemning herself, she became lenient in her judgment of others. It was very true what Mrs. Wal- ton had said, that it would be time enough to make a resist- ance two years hence. She had promised her that nothing more should be said upon the subject at present, and she would endeavour to banish it from her remembrance. And Robert, too ; how harshly she had treated him, for daring to tell her that he loved her better than a brother. She would not have used such threatening language, had she been calm and gentle as she ought to have been. The next morning (every one knows the reviving influence of a morning sunshine) Linda came down with pale cheeks and a dark shade under her eyes, but with a quiet, gentle air, and endeavoured to appear as if nothing had occurred the previous evening. She could not help blushing painfully when bhc met Robert's eye, and it was not strange, for "As the bolt bursts on high From the black cloud that bounds it, Flashed the soul of that eye Through the long lashes round it," OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 107 Its hue was the blackness of darkness, and its expression powerful. It is not to he supposed that the extreme agitation of hil daughter had been unnoticed by Mr. Walton, or that its cause was unknown. He imputed it, however, more to surprise than repugnance ; and, when his wife told him that it was best to say nothing to Linda on the subject at present, he yielded^ with his usual pliability, to her stronger will. When Mrs. Walton first expressed her determination that Eobert and Linda should be united at an early age, he was startled by the^ unexpectedness of the suggestion ; but, when she ex- plained the worldly policy of the scheme, he acknowledged its wisdom. Robert was no longer a rude, boisterous boy, but a handsome and talented youth, and whatever moral de- fects he might have, time would correct. Ah ! time does wondrous things. It reconciles the beast to the burden— the ox to the yoke— even the lordly lion to the bars of his cage. It had reconciled Mr. Walton to his domestic bondage. Years of vassalage had blunted his finer sensibilities and deadened his nicer perceptions. It is true, in the cottage of Mrs. Lee he had displayed extreme delicacy in putting his gift in the leaves of the family Bible; but his wife was not present. When removed from the atmosphere of home, some sparks of native manliness would flash forth ; but thej were becoming fainter and fainter — fewer and farther between. Robert's vacation terminated sooner than Linda's, and it now drew to a close. Notwithstanding her endeavours to treat him as she had always done, there had been coldness and constraint between them. Robert had usually passed his days in hunting, and his evenings in reading or sullen silence. He either resented the strong repugnance she had manifested, or was acting under an influence stronger than his own pas- sions. It was the last evening of his stay. Linda sat on the Bteps of the piazza. Robert came and stood by the pillar 108 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT nirainst which she leaned. The stars had come out one by one, till they made as glorious a company as when they sang tr»«^ether in the mominf' of creation, and all the sons of God sliouted for joy; and just in the vista, formed by the dividing branches of two lofty trees, the young moon was seen hang- ing her silver crescent on the dark-blue sky. " Wish, Robert," said Linda ; ^' the moon is shining over your right shoulder. "Wish for a safe and pleasant jouniey." '' I'd wish for something better than that, or not at all." " Then I will wish for you," cried Linda, with a touch of her former playfulness. ^' Oh, kind young moon, watch over tlie traveller, and guard him from all wild beasts, runaway negroes, and runaway horses likewise." " I did not think you wished me so much good, Linda," replied Robert, with animation. " Come, let us go where those two trees seem trying to catch the moon between them. It will be a long time before we walk together again." He took her hand and led her down the steps. She did not like to walk alone with Robert ; neither did she like to make him angry, when he was to leave her so soon. Perhaps he might die during the two coming years, and for ever dole- ful to her heart would be the remembrance of unkindness ex- hibited in the parting hour. " No," thought she, while her hand trembled in the grasp of his ; " let him say what he will, I will be gentle in return, for who knows what will hap- pen before we meet again ?" " I don't wonder you are afraid of me, Linda," said Robert, abruptly. ""^A^hen I think what a rough, greedy, selfish, young monster I used to be, I am ashamed to look you in the face. You remember the whipping the sapient Aristides gave mo? I know yua do ; and do you recollect the pitying shower of tears you shed over my disgrace ? I don't know which had the greatest effect upon me, the lashes or the tears. Justice was administering the punishment, and pity was dropping OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 109 balm into the wounds. I th ought you from that moment a little angel. I had abused and tormented you so shamefully, you ought to have laughed at my smarting back." " Oh, Robert, how could you think me so vindictive ?" " I did not think you so ; but you should have hated me. Well, I resolved to be a man instead of a brute. I found out that I had a mind and a heart buried in a mass of inert mat- ter. It was a great discovery. Since then, I think I have changed as much in the inner as the outer man." And Ro- bert passed his hand over his long, black locks, shading them back from his forehead. " Robert thinks himself very handsome," said Linda to herself, " and so he is." »^ Well, no matter," continued he, " about the past. The future — let us speak of that. I am determined to study as never youth studied before. I will be fii-st or nothing. I will climb to the topmost round of the ladder, and then drag it up after me, so that none can follow my footsteps." ^' How selfish !" Linda could not help exclaiming. " What if I am selfish ?" cried he, impetuously. ^^ Every- body is selfish, only they have a difi'erent way of showing it. All this I am resolved to do, and then I shall come back, covered with honours, to claim you, Linda, as my own. But, if you treat me then as you did the other day in the woods, I swear, I'll plunge as low in vice as I have raised myself high in knowledge and reputation." " Robert, for heaven^s sake, don't begin to talk in that way !" cried Linda, in a faltering voice. " I don't want to frighten you, but I must speak out. promised my mother to keep silence, but I cannot do it longer You can have no conception how I love you, Linda. I don't care for your fortune. I should love you if you were *^he overseer's daughter as well as I do now. Promise me that you will think of no one else, love no one else, till we meet 110 LrSDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT again, and I know you will keep your word. I will not go away without this promise. You must give it." ^'Do not speak so fiercely, Robert/' cried Linda, trying to draw her hand away from his tightening grasp. " There is no need of it. I am very willing to promise to love no one else, for I am too young to think of such a thing. Mrs. Reveire, my schoolmates, and books are all I shall have to love. No naughty boys are admitted into Rose Bower." "Don't laugh, Linda — I can't bear to hear you laugh when I'm so terribly in earnest. I have your promise though, and, when I go to my chamber, I mean to open one of my veins and write it down in blood." Poor Liuda I — it was a dark fate that linked her childhood to this youth of strong, precocious passions and headstrong will. It was a touching sight to see her, in all her childlike simplicity, innocence, and purity, shrinking by the side of the tall, fiery young man whose eyes flashed like meteors under the glimmering stars and the young, pearly moon. Well might she tremble for the future, thus early brought into the stormy conflict of human passions. Well might she weep, for who was to save her from the destiny that hung so threaten- ing over her ? Why did the memory of Roland Lee give her such exquisite pain ? Brave and generous as he was, his arm would be stretched in vain to rescue her from the foes of hei own household. Thus Robert and Linda parted. Once more in her beloved Rose Bower, she looked upon the past as a feverish dream, and the future again brightened with Lope. Two years glided by, and the dreaded hour of her depart- ure arrived, bringing with it the dark host of terrors she had 80 long kept at bay. She was to enjoy, however, a short respite. Her friend, Emily Chestney, now the happy wife of Kdmund Carleton, and a resident of Mobile, had written a press • ing invitation to her to make her a visit as soon as her school- OF THE BELLE CREOLE. Ill days were expired. Her father consented the more readily, as he had business of his own to transact in that city. It is unnecessary to describe the sorrow which filled the warm, grateful, and affectionate heart of Linda in parting with Mrs. Reveire and her young companions. "If you should be in distress, or driven to extremity," said Mrs. Reveire, to whom Linda had confided all her anxie- ties, "remember you have a friend whose arms will be ever open to shelter you, whose home to receive you. But remem- ber, above all things, my beloved child, that you have a Friend in heaven, kinder and more powerful than any earthly one, to whom you must look in the hour of trial and dread.'' Hallowed by the associations of her happiest childhood and blooming girlhood — endeared by the memory of ten thou- sand acts of kindness and affection — ennobled as the scene of her mind's growth and her heart's expansion — Rose Bower was the spot to which, in after years, her thoughts turned, like pious pilgrims, to some holy shrine. 112 LINDA: OR, THE YOUNG PILOT CHAPTER X. Beautiful is tlie winding Alabama, with its .lear, flowing waters and luxuriant shores ! And beautiful did the Belle Creole look, as she glided over the foaming current with the speed of an eagle and the grace of a swan ! , It was about sunset, and a long line of golden sheen marked the wake of the vessel, now sweeping round a grace- ful bend, where the river rolled deep and strong, unobstructed by sandbars or rocks, and the young pilot of the Belle Cre- ole rested against his wheel for a moment to take in the beauty of a scene on which he gazed with ever-renewed delight. How beautiful were those high, white bluffs, embroidered with rich, green moss-work ; while here and there a silver spring^ gushing forth, sparkled and rippled and tinkled like sweet-sounding bells, or dripping slowly over a smoother sur- face, whispered of coolness and freshness to the passer-by. "What rich, mingling shades of verdure crowned those hoary 2lifi"s ! The holly, with its deep, perennial green ] the mag- nolia, with its broad, magnificent, shining leaves; the tall, stately pines, those warriors of the woods, with their dark, unbending tuft-knots ; and, ever and anon, the long, gray moss sweeping its funeral garlands over the living green — all seemed hurrying along with spirit-like velocity to the music of the dashing waves. Sometimes, high up on the shelving bank, a large warehouse, with its long, wooden slide reaching down to the river's edge, a thoroughfare for the massy cotton bales, interrupted the monotony of the scene. Again rich fielafe of cultivated lands, adorned with the milk-white cotton balls, rolled like sea-green waves, spotted with foam, far as the eye could reach. OF THE BELLE CREOI E. 113 Accustomed, as tlie young pilot was, to this prodigal dis- play of Nature's loveliness, he still gazed with enthusiastic admiration ; but another feature soon arrested his attention, and it had no power to wander more. A gentleman, no longer young, and yet not old, with a very young girl hanging on his arm, walked with slow steps the hurricane deck. The extreme simplicity and youthfulness of the young girl's attire, marked her as one just '^ let loose from school.'' A white muslin sun-bonnet was swinging from her arm, a full, white frock, short enough to show the neat, white, embroidered pantalette, and a short, black silk apron, com- pleted her dress. She was talking very earnestly to the gen- tleman, whose head was bent towards her, and her head was slightly raised. Why did the pilot start, and the blood rush so quick and warm to his sunburnt cheek ? Ah ! was not that the same sweet vision which had once beamed on his boy- ish fancy, and shone a star of memory' on his lonely night- watches ? Those soft, bright, deep-brown eyes, were they not the same which met his waking glance when he swooned from the pain of his shattered arm ? That complexion of pearly fairness, brightened with the roses of youth — those dark-brown ringlets, so carelessly yet gracefully arranged — he knew, he recollected them all. The figure was taller, rounder, and more womanly ; but the face was scarcely changed. The heavenly innocence of childhood still rested there. But hark ! what does she say ? for the wind bears her voice to your ear as she passes along, unconscious of the vicinity of one whom her grateful heart has never forgotten. She is not accustomed to the structure and machinery of a steamboat, or her eyes would have sought the pilot's house for the sake of Roland Lee. The green railings which enclose him are above her head, and her soul is occupied intensely with the theme her father has chosen to converse upon. *' Do not speak of it, father — do not think of it — I never 114 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT cnn consent. The more I think of it, the more I shrink frona the thouirht. Tell me not that he is handsome — that he has brilliant talents — I know it all. But you do not speak of bis fierce passions — his fiery temper. Oh ! father, they would make me wretched." ^' You would mould him at your will." *' I don't want to mould others to my will," was the firm yet modest reply. " If I ever do marry, it shall be to one who can guide and sustain me in my life's journey, one whom I can respect as well as love — reverence as well as adore. But, father," added she, blushing at her own enthusiasm, " I don't want to marry for years to come. I want to revel awhile in the joy of freedom ; I want to travel to see the world — to play the belle a little ; and, more than all, I want to see if I can't make my father's home a little happier." " A pretty home I shall have, if you refuse to marry Ro- bert," uttered Mr. Walton, in a fretful, desponding tone. '^ Nothing but storms and tempests about my ears the whole time. There is no use in talking about it, Linda ; you must obey, for Mrs. Walton will be obeyed. She will not change her resolution 3 and, as for your foolish romance about not loving him, when you have lived as long as I have, you will know what nonsense that is." '' Then rather let me die this moment," exclaimed Linda, casting her eyes down on the golden wake streaming behind them ; "rather let me find a grave in those waters than live to mourn over my young life's vanished dream." ''' That is the way all young girls talk," said Mr. Walton, on whom two more years of intercourse with his eligible mate had passed with hardening process ; " but it is nothing but talk. I see the propriety of hastening the match, as you might DC running away with some romantic fellow — some poor fortune-hunter — who would bring you to poverty and disi^race.' OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 115 " Father, I sliall never marry without yoxir consent ; neither will I without my oicn. I know the limits of a pa- rent's authority and a daughter's obedience." Linda spoke this with the air of a young princess. Her father did not reply ; but cast upon her a troubled and waver- ing glance. " I'm sure I wish your happiness, my daughter ; you must know that I do." " You have always been kind," she replied, in a softened •voice, tears gathering into her eyes ; ^^ you have always loved me when away from that woman, whom I never could call mother. Oh ! that I could see my own dear father once more presiding with dignity over his own household; that he would dare to be, in thought and deed, a man. ''Father, I am very young, and I have no right to read lessons to you; but you have not been yourself for many years. You have sacrificed your own happiness. I know, I feel you have ; but, as you expect to meet the soul of my mo- ther, at the bar of God, on the great judgment-day, do not destroy that of her child." She paused, hung her head on her father's shoulder, and wept. His dried affections bloomed afresh, under the influ- ence of that gentle heart-shower. He clasped her in his arms, kissed her fondly again and again, promised she should not be forced, if he could help it, (a very necessary reserva- tion,) bade her dry her eyes, lest the passengers should sus- pect he had been scolding her, and led her tenderly from the deck. And how felt the young pilot, while listening to this thrill ing conversation? How could he remain still and silent, when every word made his heart bound, and his blood buri* in his veins? At the first glance of recognition, he had bowed his head and knelt by the side of the wheel, so that the lineaments of his figure could not be discerned. The boat 116 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT was gliding along a smooth current, and it needed not his guiding hand. At first he blushed at the thought of being a listener, but soon the intensity of his interest absorbed every other emotion. How he admired the noble, independent, yet womanly spirit of the daughter ! How he scorned, yet pitied the pusillanimous mind of the father ! How roused were his passions by the idea of the handsome, brilliant, fierce and fiery Robert ! Romantic fellow, and low fortune-lumter I These expres- Bions grated harshly on his ear. He might be the first — but the last never. He felt the distance that separated him from the rich heiress, and his proud heart recoiled from the thought of ever presuming on the condescension shown him when a boy. " She spoke kindly — she sympathized with my boyish en- thusiasm,'' repeated he to himself; '•'■ but she was a child then, and we were alone on the hills. And now, what is she ? A proud, beautiful, high-spirited heiress — and I — a proud, poor, high-spirited young man. Ah ! there is a great gulf between the rich and poor ! but I leaped it once, in my boyhood; and should danger again threaten, I'd vault over the abyss, at the peril of a thousand lives, to stand one moment by her side, on common ground. This bold step-brother ! she resists him now, but will she always stem the current setting so strongly against her?" Thus wildly ran the thoughts of the young pilot, as, with unerring eye and skilful hand, he directed the graceful mo- tions of the Belle Creole. Linda, who had always associated the idea of Roland with rivers and boats, could not help indulging the hope of meet- ing him on the element he loved. She wanted to inquire if there was one who bore his name on board, but an unaccounta- ble difiidence prevented her. "If he were here," thou«Tht fthc " he would see our name on the register, and if he has OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 117 forgotten ns, I would not wish to intrude mj^self on liis re- membrance/' The rich, goklen clouds that lingered round the setting sun gradually lost their glory, and, assuming that form so expres- sively called tliunder-pillars, leaned gloomily over the river. The moon, rising above their darkened summits, looked down on her celestial face mirrored in the water ; and as the clouds gathered round her, darting the lightning from their bosoms, the more heavenly became her smile, the brighter her ra- diance. Linda, delighting in the sublime as well as the beautiful, went out on deck, and stood gazing on the scene in a trans- port of youthful enthusiasm. She heard the thunder mutter- ing in the distance, and she was glad — it seemed such fitting music for the gallant boat to march by on its foaming way. She stood, with the breeze rustling through her ringlets and cooling her brow, wondering how the ladies could be so stupid as to think of sleep, instead of coming abroad, like her, to feel themselves a part of nature's wonderousness. She wanted some one near, to whom she could exclaim — " How beautiful — how grand !" whose eye would follow hers, as it watched the lightning's path or the moonbeam's track, whose ear would listen with hers to ^^the thunder-drum of heaven," and the dashing music of the waters. She heard a step walking to and fro in the gentleman's cabin, which she recognised as her father's. ^^I have not bidden him good-night/' said she. "I will go and bring him here, and make him admire, whether he will or no." Mr. Walton heard the soft, low voice that called him from the door, and obeyed the summons. The interview he had had with his daughter had roused his best, kindest feelings; and though he was beginning to feel rather sleepy, he lingered some time by her side, listening to her animated expressioas of admiration and delight. 118 ltnpa; or, the young tilot "Do you think there is any danger of the boiler's burst- ing ?" asked she, as the steam rushed violently from its pent- house. <'Xo, no, child— what makes you think of such a thing?" " I have heard that electricity has caused such accidents ; and I have been told, too, there is a large quantity of powder on board." "That may be; but there is no cause for apprehension. This is a fine new boat, and the captain never sleeps when there is the least shadow of danger. You had better retire now, for you may take cold from too long exposure to this breeze." "Well, good-night, father;" and passing her arm closely round his neck, she whispered, " Forgive me, if I have said any thing to wound your feelings to-uight. Indeed, I did not mean it." "Bless thee, darling," answered he, pressing her in his arms, in a long, affectionate embrace ; " I have more need to ask forgiveness of thee." Surely, some pitying angel had directed Linda's beart to seek this last touching manifestation of a father's love. Without changing her apparel or extinguishing her lamp, she lay down in her state-room; for, notwithstanding her fa- ther's asL>ertion, she could not dismiss all her misgi^dngs, and resolved, if any accident did occur, it should find her prepared. Too much excited to sleep, she lay and listened to the deep, sullen, monotonous, plunging sound of the engine, falling so regularly and heavily on the ear. And when the mighty Btearn spii it, imprisoned in those iron tubes, sent out its strong breath in startling sighs, as if labouring for deliverance, she could not help trembling at the thought of the terrific power man had made subservient to his will, well knowing if the giant vassal om:e gained the mastery, ruin and death would ensue. Gradually, however, slumber settled on her eyelids, OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 119 and slie wandered in the fairy land of dreams; wliile llie storm, which had been gathering, exhausted itself in rain, and the wind rocked the boat like a cradle, inducing deeper sleep. But hark ! — What sudden, deafening, rending thunder-peal bursts on the ear? Springing from her couch, Linda gazed wildly round her. Hark ! again ! — What shrieks of agony, what wails of despair ; what hoarse, desperate cries mingle in dreadful chorus ! The floor quakes and reels and heaves ! A hot, suffocating, intolerable vapour fills the air. "God of mercy,^^ she cried — "we are lost. Oh, my father ' — come to me — save me.^' W^ith a piercing shriek, she was rushing to the cabin door, but the shelving boards seemed to give way under her feet. She staggered and would have fallen, but a strong arm was thrown suddenly round her, and she was borne irresistibly to the very edge of the boat, whose shattered railing lay in splin- ters in their path. "Oh ! whither are you bearing me?'' she cried, struggling and recoiling from the fearful brink. " Let me go and perish with my father. Let me go," she shrieked again. " 1 will not leave him here to die." "You cannot save him," uttered a deep voice in her ear. "You will destroy yourself The boiler is burst. The boat is lost. Fear not — struggle not — I will preserve you, or perish with you. Haste, or another explosion still more terrible will shiver us to atoms." Even in that moment of indescribable horror, Linda recoo^- nised the tones of a voice which once before had breathed of deliverance, and death seemed robbed of half its terrors With one wild glance at the dark waters rolling below, rolling in inky blackness, in contrast with the lurid glare of the flames bursting above — one supplicating look to heaven, and yielding to the motion of the arm that held her with a stil' tightening grasp, she felt herself rushing downward with diz 120 LINDA ; OK, THE YOUNG PILOT zjing velocity, then plunging into the cold waves, where many a scorched and blackened corpse was already floating. She did not lose all consciousness, though, without any volition of her own, she was borne above the stream. Her head sunk powerless on the shoulder of her preserver, whose voice still niurmured in her ear, *^ Fear not — I will save you. Fear not — trust in me.^' Wails, shrieks, and groans were behind her, the mournful gurgling of the waters all round her, darkness and death before her, yet that low voice, whispering of safety and trust, sustained her sinking soul. They have reached the bank, a steep, shelving spot, where the gnarled roots and tangled boughs prevented a higher ascent. The water still splashed round her knees, but her feet pressed the earth. She had escaped the terrors of the drowning — she had escaped — but her father — where was he ? " Father, father !" she cried, stretching out her arms towards the boat, to whose smoking timbers human forms were clinging and writhing in the throes of mortal agony. At that moment, a disfigured and blackened face — a pair of quivering arms, rose above the surface of the river, then sunk again with a sullen plunge. Then came another tremendous explosion, louder than the loudest thun- der, and the Belle Creole was wrapped, from prow to helm, in one sheet of rolling flame. But Linda heard not the thunder- ing peal — she saw not the sheeted flames. Those withering features, those shivering arms, rising above the water at her agonized appeal, changed and distorted as they were, she re- cognised them as her father's. With a deep groan, she fell back in the arms of her deliverer, and death seemed stamped on her motionless form. lloland looked round him in despair. Must she die under these accumulating horrors, after escaping a burning and a drowning death ? Those who were saved in the yawl had reached the opposite shore, and he appeared alone in the midst of desolation. White and still as marble, she looked in the rnuix- OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 121 nificent blaze of that awful conflagration. The moon rose, too, above the sinking clouds, and, through the wreathing smoke, mingled its pale splendours with the crimson glare, and cast an unearthly reflection on her pallid features. "Oh, my God,^^ ejaculated the young man, kneeling on one knee, his nerveless arms scarcely able to sustain her. " Thou who hast protected thus far, leave her not to perish." Frantic at her protracted insensibility, he chafed her icy hands in his, laid his cheek to her cold cheeks, and pressed his lips, warm with the breath of life, to her chill and motion- less ones. *' Linda, Linda," be cried, and though no answer came, he still continued his passionate adjuration, while scalding tears gushed from his eyes, and mingled with the cold drops that oozed from her dripping hair. At length a shudder passed through her frame — she opened her eyes, with a look of wild alarm, but as they rested long and earnestly on the face bend- ing over her, they softened into an expression of coi.iding tenderness, and a faint smile passed over her lips. Then, as if awakening to some horrible recollection, she started and turned towards the water. " Did you not see him ?" she cried ; " I saw him — I knew him, all terrible as he looked." Covering her face with her hands, she burst into an agony of tears and leaned again on the shoulder of him who seemed now her last earthly friend. How came he there, like an angel of deliverance, once more rushing between her and terrible death ? The same arm that had checked the foaming steed " Had buffeted the billows for her rescue, And redeem'd her life, with half the loss of his." Heaven, by a mysterious agency, seemed to have united them in such awful scenes, that the artificial barriers fortune had raised between them might be shaken down and de- stroyed. 122 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT But what was to become of them, thus separated from their companions, in a place Avhere it was impossible for them to scale the bank; the air too, becoming hot and oppressive from the vicinity of the burning boat ? Eoland rose, still supporting Linda, who now tried to rally her bewildered faculties and gird herself with fortitude to meet the difficulties that might still be before her. His clear and loud holloo, again and again repeated, went across the river, and was answered from the opposite shore. A dark ob- ject began to float in the distance, and soon the sound of dip- ping oars was heard. " How many were saved ?" cried Roland, as the little vessel approached within speaking distance of the spot where they stood. "Eight in the yawl," was the answer; "three women, one child, and four men, including myself. How many have been drifted ashore I cannot tell, — an awful wreck,'^ exclaimed the man, looking with horror on the charring and smouldering remains of the gallant boat. With a sickening sensation Linda felt herself borne again on the current, which had so nearly proved her grave. And was it not her father's grave over which she was floating ? She closed her eyes, lest some horrible apparition should glare at her from the water, and felt a calmness settling on her feel- ings as the measured cadence of the oars, and the gurgling that followed every splashing sound, fell on her ear. She was roused by the sudden reeling of the boat, and a loud exclama- tion from Roland. A wretched, piteous-looking figure was clinging to the side of the vessel, which he had clutched with the grasp of despair, uttering the most heart-rending moans and incoherent cries. " Bear down on the opposite side,'' cried Roland to the man who guided the boat, and bending forward he seized the drown ing Avretch by the arms and dragged him into the vessel. Linda OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 123 gazed, in tLe wild hope that it might be her father, though she was sure she had seeu him sink in the agonies of death. What would she have given for the power to relieve the suffer- ings of the poor creature thus saved from present death, pro- bably onlj to linger in protracted anguish ! It was dreadful to see him hold up his lacerated and bleeding hands, and feel that there was no balm to drop into the wounds. To see him writhing in pangs, that mocked description, and yet know there was no physician near, " Oh, Koland," cried Linda, ^^ you have saved me from a doom like this. A second time I owe my life to you, — to Heaven and you,'' she added, looking upward with a realization of God's omnipotent and omnipresent glory, such as she had never felt before. She remembered the words of the psalmist : " All thy waves and billows have gone over me." She re- membered too, that he had said, " In the night his song shall be with me, and my prayer to the God of my life." Let us not linger too long on this sad page of our youno- heroine's history. A boat bound for Mobile received the sufferers about the morning's dawn. The hours spent on that desolate shore, far from any human habitation, with drenched garments, shivering limbs, and aching hearts, (for almost all that remained had lost some friend in the wreck,) were not soon forgotten by the survivors of the Belle Creole 124 LINDA; OV., THE YOUNG PILOT CHArTER XI. About four weeks after the terrible catastrophe described in the last chapter, Linda sat by the side of Emily in the family sitting-room. The fright, anguish, and long exposure of that dreadful night had caused a nervous illness, from which she had but just recovered, and it was the first time that, dismissing the character of an invalid, she was permit- ted to leave her own apartment. In the meantime, through the considerate kindness of Emily, her wardrobe, which had been destroyed in the wreck, had been entirely renewed, and those mourning garments prepared, appropriate to her orphan condition. With cheeks pale from sorrow and indisposition, looking still fairer and more colourless, in contrast with her hable dress, and eyes darkened with deeper meanings, Linda was not the same bright and rosy being who had walked the hurricane deck of the Belle Creole. The loss of her father, under any circumstances, would have been long and deeply folt; for, notwithstanding the weakness of his character,, he was a fond and doting parent, and all the love she would have lavished on her mother, had she been spared, flowed into the only natural channel open to receive it. But the horrible cir- cumstances of his death, added to her chilling sense of bereave- ment, sometimes almost drove her to frenzy. The recollection of his convulsed and agonized features rising above the gur- gling waters, then plunging never to rise again, haunted her by day and pursued her even in her dreams. Feelings of self-reproach, morbidly indulged, increased her melancholy. " I dared to upbraid him," she would exclaim; " that very night even I arraigned him as I would have done a criminal OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 125 before the bar of justice, and yet he forgave me. The last words that fell from his lips asked forgivenes> of me.^' Emily encouraged her to speak of her sorrow, for she knew that it is silent grief that dries up the heart ; but, when she found her dwelling too long on the saddening theme glie would change the subject to the heroism of Roland Lee Then Linda's tearful eyes would beam with grateful emotion, and she would repeat again and again the story of her rescue, and the more than woman's tenderness with which he had guarded and sustained her through all succeeding trials, till she was encircled in the arms of her friend. ^^ You say he has called every day to inquire of my wel- fare," said Linda, the colour dawning on her pale cheek. '' Oh ! he is kind as he is brave ; I owe him a life-long debt.'' Emily was now a noble, high-minded young woman, awake to the noblest purposes of her being, and happy in the warm, pure exercise of her heart's best affections. It has been seen that pride was the predominant defect of her character ; and, however softened this trait now was, the influence of early associations was still felt. She admired the bravery of Ro- land ) she respected his virtues ; but she was too aristocratic not to remember that his rank in life was not equal to her own. Judging Linda by herself, she never dreamed that the young pilot could awaken any other emotion than gratitude in her bosom. ^' You do, indeed, owe him more than words can express,'* answered Emily, '^ and it must be an unspeakable gratification to you that you have it in your power to repay, though you must ever be grateful for the obligation." " Repay !" cried Linda, her cheek glowing with a still brighter hue. " What do you mean, Emily ?" ■•' That you have a splendid fortune, and, as he is poor and in a lowly condition, you will be able to assist his advance- 126 LINDA; OR, TUE YOUNG PILOT ment in life, and remunerate liim in a manner that you could n/^t do if he wore in a higher station." " And do you think I could offer money to Roland Lee, as a compensation for my life twice preserved from the most hor- rible of deaths ?" exclaimed Linda, her bosom swelling at the thought of so poor a return to one of his magnanimous and lofty character. " Could I insult his delicacy — his pride — by such an offer ? Oh ! Emily, you do not know him, or you would never have suggested such a thing." ^' Then you must pardon me a crime committed in igno- rance," a slight suffusion passing over the marble of her face. " I have never seen him ; for, whenever he has called, I have been in your chamber, and, though Mr. Carleton has spoken of him in the most enthusiastic terms, you know gentlemen do not attach so much value to refinement of manners as we do. I have no doubt he has great and noble qualities. Indeed, I know he has ; but, educated, as he has been, and associated with a lower class of society, I cannot conceive of his pos- sessing that sensitive delicacy which would shrink from the offer I suggested." ' " Roland's education has been very different from what you imagine," said Linda, in a more subdued tone. " His father was once in affluent circumstances, and, in his early years, I doubt not he was as carefully attended as your father's sons. His mother is one of the most perfect ladies I ever saw.. Gen- tle, dignified, and self-possessed, her society alone would be sufficient to polish the rudest nature, and, when you have seen Roland, I think you will acknowledge that he could not natu- rally have been rough or unrefined." " Is he handsome ?" asked Emily, with a • true woman's curiosity. " I scarcely know whether he would be thought handsome or not," replied Linda. " You must recollect that I huvo fice^ him ouly as a guardian angel, and I cannot be an iuipar- OF THE BELLE CREOLE 127 tial judge. There was one moment'^ — here covering her face with her hands, as if some dark remembrance impeded her utterance, she remained silent a little while, then continued — *^ awakening from a death-like swoon, I beheld him looking down upon me by the light of the blazing boat and the strug- gling moonbeams. No, I cannot describe my emotions ; but, should you ever know what it is to feel the weight of desola- tion that then pressed on my heart, and meet the glance of kindness, pity, and protection, that then beamed on me, you would not wonder at my gratitude. '^ ^'I do not wonder," said Emily; "it is a beautiful senti- ment, and, in a heart as warm as yours, I know what its depth and strength must be. I only wish,'^ continued the aristo- cratic Emily, " that he was a real gentleman, then you could marry him, and that would be a glorious way of cancelling the debt." " It is of too sacred and solemn nature to be spoken of so lightly," replied Linda, too deeply wounded to speak with calmness. " I did not think that you, Emily, would thus have trifled with it ; and, as to your interpretation of the word gen- tleman, though we have studied at the same school, and you are older, and ought to be wiser, than I, I trust I can define it more truly and more worthily." " Forgive me," cried Emily, kissing Linda's now averted cheek ; " you soar above me, as you ever did, and make me feel ashamed of my own inferiority. I wish I could overcorue my foolish pride, and feel there were no real distinctions but those of virtue and talent. But early impressions are almost indelible. Of one thing, however, let me assure you: I have not spoken in wantonness, or with any intention of sporting with your feelings. Say that you believe me, Linda." A silent embrace was a stronger assurance than words. Emily looked upon her young companion with increasing in- 128 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT terest and admiration. There was something in the dignity of her sentiments that rebuked her worldly wisdom, and threw over her the softening shadow of humility. It was a favourable moment for the introduction of the young pilot, and it was well he came. ^^I am constrained to call this man a gentleman," said Emily to herself, as she gazed with earnest scrutiny on his entering figure. Clad in the plain, but elegant 4ress of an American citizen, he might have walked by the side of the proudest aristocrat of the land without being distinguished as one of lowlier station. Instead of veiling his worth under the shade of diffidence, as if conscious he was in the presence of his superiors, he had an air of even stately self-reliance — a firm and manly bearing that spoke of indwelling power. His manner, at first, even gave an impression of haughtiness ; but this was soon removed by the expression of his frank, ingenu- ous countenance, and the smile of even boyish sweetness that occasionally played round his lips. The woman who looked on the face and form of Roland Lee would feel secure of a sympathizer in joy and sorrow, a protector in the hour of danger, and an avenger in that of wrong. His voice, too, had a deep and mellow tone — that greatest of all charms to a refined and cultivated ear. Emily no longer wondered at the enthusiasm of Linda in defending her preserver, and claiming for him the respect due to a gentleman. She acknowledged herself, that she would no more dare to ofi'er money as a reward, to such a man, than to a prince of the royal blood. She watched with intense in- terest the countenances of both when they greeted each other. It was not strange that Linda's hand should tremble, and her cheek change from red to pale, from pale to red ; o: that Roland should address her in an agitated voice, considering the awful circumstances in which they had last met; but Emily's early initiation in the mysteries of the heart had made her skilful in OF THE BELliE CREOLE. 129 interpreting its hieroglyphics, and she began to tremble for the future happiness of her friend. She knew the persecution she had endured from her step-mother and her fiery son, and she saw in perspective many dark and stormy scenes. Roland, as he sat by the side of Linda, in that elegant and fiishionably furnished apartment, with the large dark eyes of Mrs. Carleton fixed in unconscious earnestness upon him, would gladly have exchanged the security and constraint of his present situation for the thrilling, maddening scenes, in which he had last met her. He thought of her clinging to his side in the whelming waters, clasped in his arms on the lonely bank, leaning on his shoulder in the floating bark, and abandoned in all the confidingness of innocence to his protecting tenderness, during the remainder of that dreadful night. He recalled her image, as she lay in her dripping garments, with wet, disordered tresses, and cheeks of alabaster whiteness, so near his throbbing heart, and sighed to think it would be now deemed an act of presumption to take her hand in his, save when extended in courtesy, at the moment of greeting. He did not know that his soul had passed into his eyes, or that the dark eyes still turned towards him were reading its vivid characters. But Roland did not long sit in this abstracted mood. He roused himself and entered into conversation with an ease and address, which convinced Emily of the truth of Linda's re- marks with regard to his early education. She inquired for his mother, and learned that she resided with a widowed sister on a small plantation, situated on the bay, where he had fre- quent opportunities of visiting her, during his floating life. Linda told him of their visit to his deserted cottage ; of the long and melancholy grass growing over the paths, the rank and trailing vines, the ramble on the silver creek, and the sight of the bark canoe. " Ah ! that bark canoe," exclaimed Roland, kindling at 130 ltnda; or, the young pilot the reminiscences of his boj^hood, '' how I love it, the cradle of nij bo^-ish fancy ! If all the dreams indulged in that rude vessel are ever realized/' continued he, laughing, *' I mean to have it placed over me as a monument, when I am dead, with an effigy of myself placed within, holding in its hand the story of Robinson Crusoe/' " Was it the perusal of Robinson Crusoe that first inspired you with a passion for the water V asked Linda. "Yes. Never shall I forget the enthusiasm excited in my mind by the history of that island king. But a work which made a still deeper impression was an account of a mutiny on board the ship Bounty, or Pandora, I do not recollect which, for the events, not the names, are stamped on my memory. There was a British captain belonging to that ship, who, forced by the mutineers into a small boat with about sixteen men, was left to drift out on the immense ocean to perish with his starving crew. But with dauntless energy he guided that frail boat over the waves of the Pacific, from the islands of the South Sea to the northern shores of Australia ; not only rul- ing the billows of the ocean, but the stormier spirits of those wild and famishing men. There was a moral sublimity in that man's character, of which I never could think without a burst of admiration." " I loved those pure, truth-telling islanders," said Linda, roused from her melancholy by the ardour of Roland's manner; "that lovely colony established by the repentant mutineers in beautiful Otaheite. Its description reminded me of the gar- den of Eden, and I could not help wishing, while reading it, to fly away from the world, and dwell with those simple, good beings, in that sweet wilderness." These remarks produced an animated discussion, in which Emily and Mr. Carleton joined, on the comparative enjoy- ments of a civilized and savage life, and the merits of the two rival elements, earth and water. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 131 " I should think," said Emily, turning to Eoland, '^ that your enthusiasm must have received an effectual check by the fatal accident which occurred to the Belle Creole." ^^ Not in the least," replied Roland. '^ I love to contend with danger ; and dijQ&culties only give new ardour to a pur- suit. Through life we are liable to accidents and death, but where are they accompanied with such indescribable pomp and sublimity as when fire and water seem contending for mastery, and battling in their might ?" Linda shuddered, and Roland dismissed the theme. Thus evening after evening passed away, and Linda almost forgot that she had a step-mother, whose summons might re- call her to a home from which her father's death seemed for ever to have severed her. Mr. Carleton, at Linda's request, had written to Mrs. Walton, giving her an account of the death of her husband, the rescue of Linda, and of her wish to remain for the present with her friend. She was waiting with anxiety the answer to this letter, though determined to resist any command for her return, assured that nothing but perse- cution and trial awaited her at Pine Grove, when a messenger arrived, who, though not altog6ther unexpected, was not tha less dreaded. How peaceful and pleasant every thing looked in that charm- ing apartment ! The elegant taste of a young and affianced bride had fitted and adorned it just sufficient for a domestic retreat, without overloading it with those costly ornaments proper only for a magnificent saloon. Books, music, painting, Mr. Carleton loved them all, and so did Emily. But better than books, music, or painting, he loved a game of chess ; and to please her husband, Emily had become a deep student at the game, so that she might engage as his opponent, when no more powerful champion entered the list. They sat this night at a little table, so intent on the movements of the ivory com- batants, that they scarcely listened to the sweet notes that 132 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT were warbling on the opposite side of ttie room. Yet once in a while, Emily would look up and smile, while her husband was meditating some tremendous move, and cast a glance at the piano, where Linia was seated, with Roland leaning over her chair. Linda had a soft, exquisitely modulated voice, to which Roland sung a deep, mellow second, making the richest harmony. He knew nothing of music scientifically ; but he could imitate the notes of every bird of the forest, and catch the air of any song after having once heard its melody. And Linda wanted no better accompaniment than the songster who had practised most by the light of the stars, while gliding on the bosom of the winding Alabama. It was while Emily was looking up, with one of her moonlight smiles, and those two voices were mingling in a sweet and prolonged chorus, that the door was opened, and Robert Graham ushered into the apartment. Emily started so suddenly that the chess-board overturned, and kings, queens, and bishops rolled ingloriously on the carpet. Linda rose from the piano, and stood trans- fixed, every drop of blood forsaking her cheeks and lips, while Roland, who knew, the moment he beheld the tall intruder, that it must be that "handsome, brilliant Robert,'' whose name was branded on his memory, returned his haughty stare with a glance equally haughty, and kept his station at Linda's Bide. Robert paused a moment at the threshold, to take in all the bearings of the scene he interrupted, and though his jealous passions were roused by the proximity of the noble- looking young man, whose melodious accents still rung in his ears, he dreamed not it was that same plebeian hoy, of whom he had so often spoken in scorn and contempt. Mr. Carleton's respectful, laconic letter had not entered into particulars, and in his hurried mention of facts he had not told the name of the preserver of Linda's life. His wife had told hira enougli 0^ the step-mother's character to convince him that it would be a mat'-.er of no interest to her; therefore Robert was OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 133 Ignorant that Linda owed her preservation a second time to Rohmd Lee. Linda's excessire paleness, for her face was now literally white as marble, and her deep mourning dress, struck Robert with painful interest. He sprang towards her, grasped both hands in his, with a force of which he was not aware, and bent upon her those eyes of intolerable brightness, whose beams seemed to scorch while they shone. " You have suffered, Linda/' said he, in a subdued voice, *^ I see it. I grieve for it." When she recovered sufficient composure, she introduced her friends Mr. and Mrs. Carleton, and then turned to Roland Lee. Why did the blood rush back in burning torrents to her cheeks, and her lips tremble with agitation, as she passed through the same ceremony with these two young men ? Ro- bert started ; gave one glance of astonishment, which changed into insufferable disdain, while his face became the colour of scarlet. ^' I hope Mrs. Carleton will excuse me," said he, with a strong effort at self-possession, " for the abrupt manner " in which I have intruded upon her. But I have not a moment to lose, for the boat which brought me returns early in the morning, and it would be better that Linda should go on board to-night. My mother cannot consent to her longer stay, and I am commissioned to bear her home." " I cannot suffer her to leave me," exclaimed Emily ; " she is not yet recovered from the effects of her last journey. Mr. Carleton wrote and informed your mother that she was to re- main with me much longer. I have had no visit yet. She has been sick and suffering. Indeed ! Indeed ! I cannot, shall not let her go." " 1 am sorry to dispute a lady's will," replied Robert, with an imperious bow, " but my mother's claims are paramount, and her commands invested with higher authority than yomy. 134 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG TTLOT The feeblest invalid can travel in safety in a boat, where she can enjoy every comfort and luxury the land can furnish, and I see no evidence of Miss "Walton's claims to that character." ^' No, no,'' said Mr. Carleton, " it is out of the question. Sit down, Mr. Graham, and enjoy the evening with us — the morning — days if you like, but I cannot trust her on that river BO soon. This visit has been a long-promised one, and it is scarcely yet begun. Why, one of my inducements for marry- ing was to see the little brown-eyed girl, the pet of Rose Bower. Come, Mr. Lee, join your persuasions to ours. You have a right to be heard. Linda cannot go without the per- mission of her guardian and deliverer." " I should like to know what right this gentleman has to interfere," cried Robert, measuring Roland with an indignant glance, " or who has constituted him the guardian of Miss Linda AValton." " Heaven, Robert, who made him my preserver," interrupted Linda, before Roland could frame the haughty reply rising to his lips. ^'Had it not been for him, I had shared my father's watery grave. His previous claims to gratitude and esteem you already know; and I should hope have learned to ap- preciate. He is not only my friend, but the friend of those whose guest I am, and for their sakes, if not for mine, Robert, I expect you will remember what politeness, if not feeling, require*." " Linda, I must speak with you alone," said Robert. " I cannot say what I would in the presence of strangers. Mrs. Carleton, allow me the privilege of a few moments' private con- versation with Miss Walton, in an adjoining room." "'No, no," cried Linda, shrinking back with undisguised reluctance. "There are no strangers here. You have no- rhing to say, but what the whole world may hear." " I fear I am, indeed, an intruder," said Roland, address- ing Linda in a low voice. " You will not depart ?" OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 135 ^' No," said Linda, in a still lower tone ; " I shall see you again on tlie morrow. * Roland — go, I entreat you." " I should not have lingered thus long," added he, raising his voice ; ^' but I would have it fully understood, this apology is addressed alone to you." The eyes of the young men met, as Roland passed through the door, and mutual defiance spoke in their beams. *' Linda," cried Robert, " there is no time to lose. Indeed, you must accompany me. I come as my mother's representa- tive and clothed with her authority. Surely, you will not continue to resist it." "I do," answered Linda, drawing away the hand he had seized. "I have a sanction higher than hers, to remain where I am. My father gave me his permission, and death has only added solemnity to his will." Robert walked the room with a resounding tread. Emily gazed upon him with mingled admiration and terror. The striking beauty of his face and form, and the dark, violent passions expressed in his countenance, formed a contrast pain- ful to witness. Linda gazed upon him also, with a troubled and varying countenance. At length, approaching him, and laying her hand gently on his arm, she said, with much emo- tion, " Let us go into the other room, Robert ; we have indeed much to say to each other, in which our friends cannot be interested." A ray of brightness illumined his gloomy face, and eagerly snatching her hand, he led her into the next apartment. "Now, Robert," she added, "sit down by my side, and listen to me one moment in calmness. It grieves me, indeed it does, to seem ungrateful for the kindness you have mani • fested in coming thus far to be my companion homeward. But if you could imagine all I have sufi'ered, you would not wonder that I shrink from exposing myself to similar daigers, 136 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT before my nerves have recovered strength to sustain them. I need the soothing tenderness of Emily — I need her sympathy and love. Ask your own heart, Robert, if I should return to Pine Grove, where would be the tenderness and sympathy that would minister to the wounds of an orphan heart, and chase ts dark remembrance ?" " Linda, fifty thousand Emilys could not lavish upon you half the love and tenderness that fills my single heart." " Ah, Robert, that would not make up for the want of wo- man's sympathy." " My mother" — " Speak not of your mother," interrupted Linda. '^ She never gave me one look of love, one word of tenderness. If, when my father lived, who attempted, though often vainly, to interpose the shield of parental affection between her despot- ism and me, she almost crushed me with its weight, how could I resist it now, alone and unprotected ?" " Unprotected I" exclaimed Robert. " Shall not I be your protector — your husband ? Once mine, a part of myself, she will transfer to you half of the love now bestowed on me. It is only when you oppose her will, you find her hard and in- flexible. You weep, Linda; you are softening, relenting. Come, she waits to welcome you as her daughter, to embrace you as the bride of her son." "Robert!"— " No— no — speak not to me in that tone ; I cannot bear it, I had rather be crushed at once under the icebergs of the Arctic seas, than be addressed in that freezing tone, than meet that congealing glance. It drives me mad, Linda. What have I done to merit this hatred, this contempt? In what gift of nature or fortune am I so unfortunate as to be lack- ing, that I cannot satisfy your fastidious taste ? I have kept my pledge. I have toiled and struggled, and won the meed OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 137 for which I panted. I have gained name and fame ; and now I claim the fulfilment of your promise, written in my own blood, and worn next my heart, ever since we parted." ''I know not what you mean, Robert," said Linda, trem- bling, as he drew forth a paper from his bosom, and held it before her eyes. " Did you not promise, when we last parted, that you would think of no one — love no one, till we met again. Here are the characters, traced in the red of my own veins. Have you fulfilled your pledge V The eyes of Robert seemed to burn into Linda's throbbing heart. Hers bowed beneath them, and her hand instinc- tively grasped the arm of the sofa for support. " I remember saying something of the kind, to calm your excited passions. But, whatever it was, it extended only to my residence in Rose Bower. I knew not then of the events which the future had in store." " By heavens, Linda," exclaimed Robert, starting up and standing before her, face to face, "your agitation confirms your shame. I would not, could not believe, but now I know it all. This Roland Lee, this obscure, low-born pilot, this proud, haughty upstart, has dared to come between me and my rights; but he had better beware. He had better not cross the lion in his path. By Him who made me, sooner than you should disgrace yourself by such an alliance, I would carry you down into the grave with me, though my own hand dealt the death-blow." " Cruel, insulting !" cried Linda, rising and fixing upon him a glance, where every contending passion seemed strug- gling for mastery. "You forget yourself, sir. You know not whom you address or whom you accuse. As for myself, I (^are not what you think of me ; but I will vindicate one, of whose worth and nobleness you cannot even dream 138 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT Roland Lee never uttered to me one sentiment warmer than esteem, tenderer than pity. He has never presumed on the mighty obligations he has imposed upon me ; but even if he had, I tell thee, Robert, he is your equal and mine — equal did I say — superior ! — and the man lives not who dares repeat a second time, the words you have just now uttered to me." She approached the door with a rapid step, which Robert, withering under her indignation, durst not oppose, but pausing, as she laid her hand upon the latch, and looking back with a moistened eye, " Robert," she said, " I cannot bear to leave you in anger, for you know not what you say. Only learn to love me as a brother, and I will be to you the tenderest of Bisters, the truest of friends. But, as for any other tie bind- ing us together, it is in vain to think of it. Such a union would be unnatural and unblest. Think of it no more, Robert, think of it no more V She opened the door slowly, for Robert, instead of follow- ing her, as she had feared, sunk back on the sofa, and covered his face with his handkerchief. This attitude of unresisting Borrow, so unexpected, so touching in contrast with his late fierceness and impetuosity, melted her at once. She could not leave him so. She drew near, and taking the hand which lay passive by his side, pressed it in both her own. ''Oh, Robert, let us not part in anger \" Robert lifted the handkerchief from his face, and Linda uttered a startling scream. " Oh, my God ! Robert, what have you done ?" His cheek was as colourless as the linen which was stained here and there with streaks of blood. Mr. Carleton and Emily rushed in at the sound of Linda^s cry, and the house was immediately a scene of confusion. A physician was summoned, who relieved Linda's agonized ter- rors, by assuring them it was only a very slight blood-vessel OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 139 wliich was ruptured — attended with no danger, ^nd that all he needed was perfect quietude. Linda hovered round him with tender solicitude, feeling as if she had just escaped the horror of being a murderer. She felt the deeper compassion as he was gentle and docile. The stormy passions which had caused the rupture appeared to have subsided with the flowing blood. <' If he urges me now to accompany him/' thought Linda sadly, ^^ I cannot refuse — I dare not rouse again the fearful strife.'' But Robert, though the next morning he insisted on his own departure, seemed to have yielded his will to hers. They all pleaded, nay insisted, that he should remain ; the physi- cian laid his commands on him, but in vain. He was perfectly well, he said, though his colourless face belied his words. " I must leave you, Emily," said Linda. " I could resist his authority and pride, but his generosity subdues me. I cannot let him depart alone. My destiny is darkening and closing around me. I shall soon have nothing left but sub- mission." "I will accompany him myself," cried Mr. Carleton, with generous eagerness. ^'I am sure I shall be a much more efficient nurse than a young lady who always faints at the sight of blood. I think, too, I shall be able to give a quietus to his mother that will prevent her farther interference." Linda could have knelt at his feet and blest him for his kindness, and Emily was magnanimous enough to give an as- sent to the arrangement, though the horrors of the burning boat were still too fresh in her memory not to fill her with sad misgivings. When Eobert learned Mr. Carleton' s deter- mination, he opposed it most strenuously, but the latter main- tained his resolution with such gay and good-humoured obsti- nacy, tt*it Robert was constrained to yield. 9 140 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT *' Forgive mo, Robert," cried the weeping Linda, sinking into bis arms, when tbe moment of departure came. " For- give me all tbe pain I have caused you, and believe me more unhappy than yourself. Continue to be what you now are, and when I return you shall find me all a brother's heart can wish." ^' I ask but one thing, Linda," said Robert, in a low voice ; *' I claim nothing for myself, but return to us free. Promise me but this, and I will depart content, if not happy " Could Linda refuse a request, urged by lips from which the life-blood had so lately flowed ? "I promise," she replied, in scarcely articulate accents. A quick, passionate embrace, a trembling pressure on her pale cheek, and she was left sobbing in the arms of Emily. OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 141 CHAPTER XII. About a week after Robert's departure, Linda sat read- ing in the sitting-room alone. Emily had retired eavljj on the plea of a sick headache, and Linda intended soon to follow, waiting but to finish a few pages of a work which fas- cinated her imagination. The rain was driving against the windows in violent gusts, making the casements shiver as it fell, and every now and then the wind would swell and rave through the trees, and then die away with a sudden, deep sigh, as if repenting the rude manner in which it had twisted tho young branches and scattered their green leaves in the blast. Linda looked up from her book and listened to the sobs of the stormy gale. It reminded her of Robert, and she sighed at the wreck his ungoverned passions might cause. It is true they had subsided like that raving wind, but they retained all their strength, and might burst forth at any moment in tlie whirlwind or the tempest, desolating the moral world. Per- haps she thought of another, for her eyes wandered dream- ingly over the pages, and the spell of genius no longer held her captive. The moaning sound of the wind made her feel very sad, and, yielding to the oppression that weighed down her spirits, she suffered her arm to fall across the table, her cheek to droop lower and lower, till it pressed the open pages of her book, and then closed her eyes to keep back the tear* that gathered heavy on their lids. The door opened, but Linda raised not her head. She thought it a servant ; for who would come abroad such a night as this ? A hand gently laid on her shoulder, and a sad-toned, mellow voice, uttering the name of Linda, made her start and tremble. 142 LINDA; OR; THE YOUNG PILOT ^^ Roland Lee ! what brought yon here in such a driving storm 't You are pale — ^you are agitated : tell me what has happened." " You will think me very weak when you learn it is the thought of saying farewell that has shaken my nerves thus. It is so much sooner than I anticipated, that" — he paused, but Linda was silent, and he continued, in a hurried manner — "I have been appointed pilot of a new boat just completed, which is baptized the Evening Star. The captain is a noble-hearted man, and a warm, disinterested friend of mine. It is to run on the Mississippi — that great river — the winding ocean of America. Linda, I ought to rejoice, for I cannot afford to be an idle man ; but can I, when I must leave you in a few hours, unknowing when or where we shall meet again ?" Linda was terrified at the anguish she felt at the thought of parting with Roland. It swept over her so suddenly and powerfully, it deprived her of utterance or motion. Too much agitated himself to comprehend the emotions that chained her tongue, he was pained by her silence, and went on more ra- pidly still, as if fearful of a pause in his present excited state of mind. '^ Before I leave you, Linda, as you have allowed me to call you by the name dear to my boyhood, let me thank you for the condescension you have ever shown to one on whom many like yourself would have looked down upon as an inferior. How I have blessed your gentleness and kindness, none ^but my God knoweth. I have tried not to be presumptuous ; I have endeavoured to remember the difference in our for- tunes " ^' Talk not of presumption, Roland," interrupted Linda, with a burst of feeling wholly irrepressible. '^ Be not so Tinjust to yourself or me. What do I not owe you ? Leave me not with such a burden of gratitude weighing upon my OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 143 heart. Show me some way in which I can prove that I am not aicogether an ingrate." " Do not speak of gratitude, Linda ; I cannot bear the word." " Alas ! I am a bankrupt even in words," she cried, looking down, her cheeks covered with a deepenmg glow. There was an expression in Roland's eye she dared not in- terpret, yet it quickened every pulsation of her heart. Slowh drawing from her finger a glittering ring — " This ring," she added, " is one of the few links that bind me to the past. Almost all my treasures were buried in the wreck ; but this was on my finger when you rescued me from a fiery or a watery grave, and it may be to you a memento of the life you have preserved." Her hand trembled as she extended it to Roland, and a mist covered her sight. "I cannot take it — I dare not," exclaimed he, dropping the hand which for one moment he had imprisoned in his passionate grasp. "I cannot take it as a pledge of gratitude; it would only mock the wild beating of a proud and too aspir- ing heart. No, no, Linda, rather let me forget you for ever, since your remembrance must henceforth constitute the misery as well as the glory of my life." " Speak to me, Roland, in this moment, perhaps the last we shall ever pass together, as if I were the poorest, humblest maiden of the land. Forget that I am so unfortunate as to be an heiress ; meet me, as I am, your equal, and tell me why my remembrance must make your existence wretched." Thus addressed, with such pure, earnest, beseeching, yet modest eyes raised to his, is it wonderful that Roland forgot ail the strong resolutions with which he had armed himself, and suffered his soul to gush forth in one full, deep stream of long-repressed passion ? He did not know that he knelt ; he was borne down by the tide of his overpowering emotions; 144 LINDA; OR, THE YOUXG PILOT he knew not what words he uttered — he only felt that the hour was come when he must speak or die. Seldom has man felt or woman inspired a worship so single or so pure. His spirit was full of enthusiasm — that divine fire which gives warmth and soul to every virtue, and purifies the passions from the alloy of earth. In boyhood, Nature reigned the unrivalled mistress of his soul, and, whether she appeared clothed in clouds or sunbeams, on the mountain or in the val- ley, he loved her still ; but, when she came gliding through the waves, in her mantle of azure fringed with white, with the stars on her bosom or the sun on her brow, his love be- came adoration. This impassioned worship, Linda, the fair young traveller, was the fii"st who ever shared. The image of the sweet, little girl, with soft, loving eyes and angelic smile, followed him wherever he went, and whispered to him of gentle things, when he roamed the forest or floated on the stream. Again he met her in the glow and the freshness of her girlhood — met her in those thrilling scenes which waken to sensibility the coldest heart. What, then, was their efi'ect on such a heart as Roland's ? We have seen, and Linda now felt and knew. And she, if she had loved Roland before, when the glance of his eye and the tones of his voice had conveyed to her the hope that she was beloved, how did she receive this outpouring of the heart and soul — this revelation of each bosom-thought and wish so long cherished in silence and pride ? The mo- ment that woman has an assurance of the love which she would barter the universe, were it hers, to obtain, must be the happiest of her existence. Linda had reached this crisis of her being. Though there was sorrow behind her and dark- ness before, she had touched one bright, luminous point — one dazzling focus of bliss — where her spirit fainted from the excess of joy and light. The first word which broke the silence that lingered like a OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 145 hoV spell around them, was " Robert/^ nttercd by Linda, in 1 startlincr tone. He seemed to be gliding between them with ghosMike°solemnity, reminding her of her promise to return free, and threatening her with that wedlock in the grave, to which he had doomed her, in preference to a union with Ro- land She saw, in the future, scenes of violence and blood ; and, shuddering, she drew back from Roland's arms, while the warm roses, whose bloom was deepened by the breath of love, faded on her cheek. (' No, no V she cried, veiling her eyes with her hand, a3 if to shut out the prophetic vision; "I dare not promise to be yours. I have pledged my word to return free. I feared to refuse, lest the life-blood should again gush forth. While Robert lives, I never can wed another. Hush ! you don't know him as I know him. You could not even dream of the strength, the frenzy of his passions. He would pursue you with unrelenting vengeance to the world's end. A three-fold sacrifice would be the awful result. No, Roland, I cannot hazard such consequences; the guilt of murder would be on my soul ! I can love you— live for you— die for you, Ro- land, but not with you." In vain Roland talked of bearing her to some sweet spot on the banks of the Mississippi, "Where the bright eyes of angels only Should come around them, to behold A paradise so pure and lonely." She remembered the prostrate form of Robert, the pallid cheek, the blood-stained handkerchief, and she still repeated, '' I should be a murderer." But, while she resisted his en- treaties, she breathed to him sentiments like these to cheer him in the parting hour — "Yes, if there be some happier sphere, Where fadeless truth, like ours, is dear— 146 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNQ PILOT If there be any land of rest. For those who love, and ne'er forget, — Oh, comfort thee — for safe and bless'd We'll meet in that calm region yet." • Roland did not despond. He was young, brave, and hope- ful. No dangers daunted, no difficulties impeded his spirit. Assured of Linda's love, the future spread out before him a boundless firmament, studded with suns, before whose bright- ness all clouds melted away. He pitied Robert, but he feared him not. Passion, unfed, must waste away and die, even if it have the strength of a giant. " See, is not that an omen of happiness ?" exclaimed he, pointing to the heavens through the parted curtains. A sin- gle, glorious star, pillowed on a bed of azure, was shining be- low the dark canopy of clouds that hung gloomiiy above. And long after Roland was gone, Linda sat in the silence of night gazing from her window at that one burning star, though ten thousand others now glittered in the blue, un- clouded heavens, and mingled their silvery effulgence ii jio milky-way. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 1^7 CHAPTER Xin. I Mr Carleton returned at the expected time, but not alone. Emily, in her joy at meeting him after their first separation, saw no one but her husband; but Linda beheld the veiled ficnire that accompanied him, and she recollected when she had first seen it descend from her father's carriage, about eight years before. A cold shudder ran through her frame, when the green veil was lifted, and she beheld again those stony, flint-like eyes, that dry, shining, parchment forehead, and those pale, shrivelled lips. More horrible and unnatural than ever looked the white semi-circles of her brows, in contrast with the black dress which she wore in mockery of her widow- hood. P • J.T, 4. " I thought I would come myself," said the soft voice that always made her blood curdle, " since Robert was so unsuc- cessful. We cannot be without you any longer at Pme- Grove." <^How is Robert?" asked Linda, with real anxiety, con- scious she was the cause of his indisposition. ^^He is not well," replied his mother. "He looks very badly, but with a little of your nursing he will soon be better." "For mercy's sake, Edmund," exclaimed Emily, when Linda had retired with Mrs. Walton, who wished to change her travelling apparel, "what made you bring that horrid woman with you? Why, she looks like the witch of Endor. She has half-petrified me already; and then that gliding ser- pent voice, I hear it hissing yet. Poor Linda, how I pity her. Oh ! Edmund, how came you to let her come with you ?" 148 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT *^ Because I could not help it/' answered her liusband, laughing at the unafFcctcd horror of Emily's countenance. ''I knew nothing of her intention, till I saw her trunk and band- box at the side of mine, and was told the lady placed herself under my protection. I was obliged to make a bow, and sub- mit with the best grace possible, though in my heart I wished her with Pharaoh's host, at the bottom of the Ked Sea. Lin- da will be compelled now to return, for that woman has a will of iron — nay, more inflexible than iron ; for the metal will bend after passing through the furnace, but I question whether the power exists that can fuse the elements of her nature. '' ^' And Robert, Edmund, what do you think of him V " Why, I pity him, Emily, from the bottom of my heart. Were he left to himself, I think he would give up a pursuit that makes Linda wretched, without advancing his own happi- ness. But his mother is constantly feeding the worst passions of his nature. Heavens ! it is strange, the influence that wo- man exercises over her household, yet she never raises her voice louder than you have heard it. I think," added he, after a pause, " that Robert will win the day, and that Linda ■will yield at last. He is very handsome, and such impassioned love might move a heart of stone." " You forget Roland Lee." "'No; but his pride is greater than his love, and he will die without revealing it, from the fear of being thought mer- cenary and presumptuous." Emily, whose aristocratic prejudices had long since yielded ,to the charm of Roland's manners, told her husband all that Linda had confided to her, of the avowed attachment subsisting between Roland and herself; and Mr. Carleton Bympathized as deeply as his wife in the feelings she de- Bcribed. '* Poor Linda!" again repeated Emily. ^' I know not what will become of her 1 should tremble myself at the idea of hex OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 149 marrying Roland, for Robert would run mad and kill himself, or her, or him, or all three. Oh, if I could only hope 'to see her one day as happy as I am, her wildest dreams of romance could ask no more." Mr. Carleton smiled tenderly on his wife, and reiterated the conjugal wish. The entrance of Linda and her step-mo- ther put a stop to their confidential conversation, and Emily was forced to play the polite hostess to this unwelcome and formidable woman. She looked, if possible, still more disagree- able, divested of her bonnet and shawl, for the hard, sharp outlines of her features were more distinctly observed. '^ You must not think of depriving me of Linda,'^ Emily ventured to say. " We planned this visit in Rose Bower, and taiked of a thousand pleasures we have not yet had au opportunity of enjoying.'' " She has already been here five weeks." '^B-:it she has been sick. I always count sick days as blanks." '^ I shall remain a few days to attend to some shopping," replied Mrs. Walton : " she must be ready to return with me then. I have particular reasons for wishing her at home. I was very glad of so favourable an opportunity of travelling with your husband." '^ Oh ! that I had kept him at home," groaned Emily within herself. She cast a dismal glance at Linda, on whose cheek a bright red spot was burning, of the same dye as that which stained Caesar's brow. ^^ I should like the assistance of your taste, Mrs. Carleton," continued Mrs. Walton, " if it will not be too much trouble. I wish to purchase some dresses for Linda. You can direct me to the most fashionable stores." " Thanks to Emily's kindness," said Linda, looking sadly at her mournir.g dress; " I have an ample supply. You are very kind, but indeed it is not necessary." 150 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT "You need not trouble yourself about it;" said tlie impor- turbable woman. " I will go out to-morrow morning with Mrs. Carleton, and you can do as you please about coming with us." "Put on your bonnet, Linda," said Emily, running up Btairs, after Mrs. Walton, equipped in her severe-looking bhck bonnet and green veil, entered the room. " Your step- mother seems in such an obliging mood, you ought to enjoy it with me." " There's something hidden, I fear, under this seeming kind- ness," answered Linda, mournfully. " She has the most singular countenance I ever saw," con- tinued Emily, putting on her gloves. " I wonder where Ro- bert got his beauty. I suspect his father must have been a handsome man.^" " I have been told that he was," replied Linda, sighing at the remembrance of her own father. Mrs. Walton was unusually gracious, and in every store where they stopped, she attributed the broad and prolonged Etare fixed upon her, as a tribute to her dignified and imposing appearance. " Have you any handsome white satin ? — any rich blonde lace ?" were the startling interrogations that met Linda's ear. What could she want with white satin and blonde lace, when they were both in deep mourning ? " I thought you wished to purchase some dresses for Lin- da," remarked Emily, as the lady fixed upon some satin and iace, which she declared superior to any she had seen. " And so I do," she replied, ordering the required number of yards to be measured off. " Stop, madam," said Linda, shuddering as if she had seen directions given for her shroud. "You forget that I am in mourning. I cannot wear that dress Indeed, you must not get it." OF THE UELLE CREOLE. 151 " You will wear it when occasion requires," said her step- mother, turning again to the merchant, and asking for white gloves and shoes. Linda cast a despairing glance at Emily. She could not venture upon a scene in that public place. She dared not utter the words burning on her lips, but sat like a victim, about to be bound to the stake. ^^ Had you not better wait till she does require them ?" in- terposed Emily. " I shall be happy to make purchases for you at any time. Satin and lace both become yellow when long laid aside.'' '^ There is no danger of their turning yellow," said Mrs. Walton, continuing the purchase. " Oh, heavens V exclaimed Linda, starting up, and forget- ting in her excitement where she was. " What shall I do ?" ^' The young lady seems ill," said the gentleman behind the counter, looking compassionately at the young and beauti- ful face, wearing an expression of such intense distress. " We can return home now," said Mrs. Walton, directing her packages to be put in the carriage. Linda uttered not a word during their homeward ride. She. went in silence to her chamber, where her step-mother followed, and, one by one, put the articles she had purchased in her travelling trunk. When the last bundle was deposited, and the trunk- locked, Mrs. Walton rose from her kneeling position, and met the eyes of Linda fixed steadfastly upon her. There was something in their expression that made her turn her head hastily aside, and she pretended to be looking for her handkerchief, on the other side of the room. " May I ask for what purpose you have been kind enoug to purchase those dresses, madam ?" inquired Linda. ^' I should think no explanation was necessary," was the cold reply. " I intend my daughter-in-law shall appear as be- comes her property and mine. You know what is customary for a bride to wear." 152 LINDA ; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT " Talk not of bridal garments to me," exclaimed Linda, passionately. " I would sooner exchange these sad-coloured robes for my grave-clothes, than put on the marriage finery you have purchased.'' ^'I had hoped," replied the step-mother, ^^that having learned by this time the uselessness of opposing my will, you were prepared to yield, without such unbecoming violence. But, instead of becoming more gentle and easy to be per- suaded, you are more rebellious and headstrong than ever. I sent my son to bring you home, and you dared to disobey, treating him with scorn and contempt. Yes,'' she added, grinding her teeth, as if to whet her hidden passion, " you have done what no one yet has had the hardihood to do, openly and boldly refused obedience to my commands. Poor, pitiful thing ! did you expect to do it with impunity ? You forgot you had no weak father by you, to uphold you in your disobedience and folly, and try, but in vain, to separate you from my power." " Oh ! my father," cried Linda, clasping her hands wildly together, " must I hear your sacred memory thus profaned ? Woman, if you had seen him as I saw him, crisped and black- ened, quivering in agonies too terrible to think of, the remem- brance would haunt you to' your dying day. You would not dare to insult his name, or heap persecution on his helpless daughter. Would to heaven I had perished with him, rather than live to be the victim of your tyranny." '^ You can talk well, very well, Miss Linda. You learned something at school. You took lessons in rhetoric, I believe'; but there are some lessons I can teach you better than Madam Reveire. We have a long account to settle, and a day of reckoning will soon come. You have stolen from me, by your viie arts, the affections of my son. I wanted him to marry you for your fortune, for I've sworn that shall be his; but that he should be such a fool as to think of loving yuu in earnest, OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 153 I would not have believed it. To hear him talk oi his hap- piness being blasted for ever, and by you !— Ungrateful, hai^d- hearted creature; you have destroyed his health, you have en- dangered his life. I do not believe you would shed one tear, if you saw him dead at your feet.'' Her dry lips began to quiver, and a tear actually moistened her glazed and pitiless-looking eyes. There was one vulner- able place in her heart. The dew of the cavern had not all hardened into stone. Linda caught that sign of human sensibility, and hailed it as the pilgrim hails the fountain in the burning desert. She had a mother's heart, and might be made to feel for her. Springing forward, she cast herself on her knees before her, and wound her arms round her dark raiments. "Oh, madam, I do pity Robert. I love him as a brother. I would sacrifice my life to restore him to health and happi- ness, if either have been lost through me. But I never want- ed him to love me with any thing but fraternal affection. 1 told him so two years ago. I told you the same. Oh ! you must remember it. You know I never deceived him. Force me not, I pray, force me not into this marriage. It would kill us both, for the more he loves me, the more wretched he would be. I will go to him, and, if he is sick, I will watch him like the fondest, tenderest of sisters, if you will ask no more. You shall never have cause to reproach me for rebel- lion and pride. I will show you all the respect and obedience of a daughter. Every night your name shall go up, mingled with blessings to the orphan's God. Nay, you must not leave me. You are moved. I see it. You cannot conceal it. Yoa will not harden your heart against me. You will be touched with compassion for the fatherless, motherless girl, who pray? you to have pity on her helplessness and youth." Thus supplicated Linda, with her white arms, from which the sleeves di'ooped back, still wrapped round the widow's 154 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT Bable folds, and her upturned, glistening eyes, pleading with an angel's eloquence. Yes ! the rock was moved. The tear, that had trembled for some time on the stony surface, rolled slowly and reluctantly, like wintry sleet, down her sallow cheek. Still the rock was harder than that smitten by the Jewish prophet's wand. A fountain gushed forth at his touch, but this sweet suppliant extracted only one tiny drop. " Be kind to Robert,'' said she, holding out her hand to Linda, '^ and you shall find a mother in me." This was equivocal consolation, for kindness to Robert, in her acceptation of the expression, might embrace a wide mean- ing: still Linda felt comforted. ^^ She can feel } she is human,'' repeated she to herself: *' she is not made all of granite, and I may yet hope." With the elasticity of youth, lier spirit rebounded from the pressure of despair, and a gleam of brightness dawned on the darkness of the future. Robert had shown some delicacy, and his mother one touch of feeling. That night she sat at her casement, and sought the star of Roland from all the innu- merable host of heaven ; and as its silver-beaming eye re- turned her earnest and adoring gaze, that ^' glorious voice," which hath no real sound, whispered to her soul of everlabt- ing joy, never-ending peace, and undying lov^e. OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 155 CHAPTER XIV. The sad parting with lier friends, the monotonous passago on the river, were over, and Linda was once more wending her homeward way, near the shores of the Alabama. Weary and abstracted, she leaned back in the carriage, and looked out on the gathering shades of twilight till they deepened into night, which grew darker and darker as they plunged deeper into the pine forest that skirted the road. It is the most melan- choly thing in the world to travel through a pine forest at night. To look out and see nothing but the tall, dim, stately cohimns, crowned with their dark capitals, stretching on in everlasting continuity— others, yet still the same— and hear the mournful rustling of the boughs above the head; it seems like passing through some grand, interminable corridor, where invisible minstrels are chanting low, dirge-like music, and imagination looks beyond the pillared multitude to catch a glimpse of the long funeral procession, hastening on to the place of graves. There is something melancholy, too, in the dull, heavy sound of the wheels sinking in the sandy road— the laboured tread of the weary horses— the protracted yawn of the drowsy driver. ^^ Wish we didn't have to go this roundabout way home," muttered Tom, trailing his long whip in the sand. ^' 'Twould be a mighty short distance from the boat, if one could go straight across. I always did despise this road. 'Tamt fi» for a nigger to drive, any way you can fix it." " Tom," said Mrs. Walton, '^ you had better drive fastt^r } we shall not reach home before midnight, at this rate." " I tell you, missus," replied Tom, <' one of these horses is ailing. T'other one keep pull, pull, and he sneak all the 10 156 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNO PILOT time beliiud. We got a mighty bad Lill to go up, too, 'fore we Bee home." ^' Let us get out and walk," said Linda, and Mrs. Walton, fearing for her sick horse, approved the proposition. Even Linda's light footsteps were clogged by the sand, now heavy with the dews of night, and they dragged wearily along. She wished there was a moon, that friend of the traveller, to cheer them on the way, for nothing could be more dreary than the sound of the whippoorwilFs voice wailing on the ear, or the solemn hootings of the owl, heard from the topmost boughs of the pines. Tom at length came to a dead halt. " Look here, missus," said he, " sure as you be born, this horse foundered. He drink, drink too much at the creek back; he won't go one step ; he blow and puff like a windmill." Mrs. Walton was struck with dismay. She knew by the laboured breathing of the horse that Tom's fears were not without foundation. But what was to be done ? They had lanterns to the carriage; but she had forgotten to take matches, and there was no one near to whom she could apply for assistance. " Hark !" exclaimed Linda ; ^^ I hear the sound of negroes singing not far off. I thought we could not be far from Mr. Marshall's plantation. See, here is a by-path leading to it." " What of that ?" uttered Mrs. Walton. " Tom cannot leave the horse in this condition. Linda, you must be the Jonah of our household, for you carry ill luck with you wherever you go. The first journey your father took you his finest horse was killed, and now my other best carriage-horse is going to die. If 3"ou had come with Robert, this would not have happened." ^ I will go myself," she meekly answered, " and see if I can «?cnd some help to Tom. I am not afraid to go alone." Away hhe ran, for the sand no longer obstructed her steps or THE BELLE CREOLE. 157 in the by-path, and the singing, sounding louder and louder, guided her way. Soon she saw a torch-light glimmering through the trees, and she found herself near a large corn-crib, from which the choral strains were issuing. To one unaccustomed to such a spectacle, nothing could have been more picturesque than the scene that presented itself to Linda's eye. Large, pine torches were flaring near the door, and threw their red light on the black visages of about forty or fifty negroes, sit- ting in a ring round an immense pile of corn, on which was seated the sable master of the ceremonies, who was tossing the corn down to the group below, who seized it, one by one, with a yell of delight, and, squaring their elbows and shrug- ging their shoulders, they vied with each other in stripping off the dry' husks from the golden ears. The African mo- narch of this harvest festival, as he threw the grain into the dexterous hands of the workmen, rolled out a volume of voice that shook the pine-boards of the crib, and every negro joined in the chorus with a vehemence and glee, a physical joy and strength, which none of the pale race can imitate — "As I went out by the light of the moon, Merrily singing this old tune, I come across a big raccoon A sotting on a rail," shouted the Agrarian king; and then the sable orchestra chimed bravely in — " A sotting on a rail, a sotting on a rail — I come across a big raccoon A sotting on a rail." Then, as the spirit of melody waxed stronger, the maste would vary his strains, and — "As I went down to Shinbone alley, Long time ago. To buy a bonnet for my Sally, Long time ago," 158 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT echoed through the wooJs, in one full, deafening chorus, dying away only to be repeated with more Herculean vigour. There is nothing that bears the name of music, that can be com- pared to the negro's singing ; he sings all over ; every muscle quivers with melody; it gushes from every pore. The sounds seem to roll from the white of his eyes, as well as through his ivory teeth. His shoulders, elbows, knees, all appear instinct with song. He winks, he grins, stamps with his feet, taps with his heel, pats with his toes, raps with hig knuckles — in short, gesticulates in every possible manner the human form admits. Oh ! he is in his glory at a CQjrn- shuckino; ! It was long before the sweet voice of Linda could be heard above the din. It was not till she stood within the door, like a fair spirit of light stealing on their darkness, that they checked their wild notes and listened to her accents. They all knew the young mistress of Piuegrove ; but her unexpected appearance in the midst of their revels, looking so alabaster white in her black dress, with the crimson glare of their flambeaux streaming on her face, struck some of them with superstitious terror. " It is a spirit I" whispered one, rolling his eyes slowly over his shoulder. " Pshaw — it's Miss Lindy," cried another of bolder nerves, springing up and coming towards her through heaps of shucks and denuded grain. It was the husband of Judy, and he worshipped the very ground on which her young mistress trod. " Lord bless her I" said he, peering at her from under his large hand, for tne blaze dazzled his eyes ; " how came Miss Lindy here this time o' night ? "Where she been ? — where she going ? — what for she all alone ?'' Linda explained their situation as briefly as possible, and was immediately escorted back by several of the stoutest vas- OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 159 Bals, witli Judy's husband at their head. They found Tom in real and unaffected grief, '■'■ sorrijwiug over the expiring horse/' and Mrs. Walton bitterly murmuring at a misfortune she im- puted to Linda's obstinacy and rebellion. Linda beheld, by the torches that the negroes brought, the poor creature stretched in his last agony, and the tears ran down her cheeks. She began to think there was some truth in her step-mother's remark that she was a Jonah, who brought misfortune in her train, and conscientiously assumed the loss of the Belle Cre- ole, as well as the two noble horses sacrificed in her cause. She proposed, as the only alternative, their passing the night at Mr. Marshall's ; but this Mrs. Walton positively refused, as she was determined on reaching home that night. Neither would she consent to borrowing his carriage ; she did not like him, and would not be indebted to him for the slightest favour : she could ride home on the remaining horse ) Linda could ride behind her, and they could thus reach home very conve- niently. Notwithstanding her fatigue and regret, Linda could not help smiling, when, mounted behind her mother, whose waist, for the first time, her shrinking arm surrounded, with a tall negro stalking before, waving a blazing pine-knot above his head, she jogged along, with a blanket for a saddle, and Mrs. Walton's large work-basket, committed to her care, swinging from her left arm. She had taken off her own bon- net to see more clearly the windings of the way; but her step-mother's long, green veil kept sweeping before her eyes, and twisting its folds with her damp ringlets. It was the same path she had travelled alone, when a little child, to in- tercede for her faithful Judy. She looked back upon the past, and remembered that God had been merciful to hei ; she accused herself of ingratitude and distrust, when she thought of the dangers from which she had been delivered— the perils she had escaped. She passed the old log school house, and thought how blessed she had been in the instruo IGO LINDA : OR, THE YOUNG PILOT tions of such a teacher as Aristides Longwood — so pure, so uuworld-like, and so wise. Then, memory, wandering among the green avenues and oaken groves of Rose Bower, recalled the lessons of love there instilled into her young heart, and she lifted it up in gratitude to Heaven. She lingered in fancy by the early grave of the gentle Luta, and wondered why God had spared her life, when he had taken away one so Bweet and lovely. She went back still farther into the twi- light of the past, and dwelt on her wayward, exacting child- hood, when left to her own wild will, before an arbitrary step- mother had ruled her with an iron rod. " It is all right — it is just,'' thought she, looking upward through the shadows of night. '' I have murmured and re- pined when I ought to be glowing with gratitude and love to the Being who has strewed my path with blessings, even as he has sown yon heavens with stars. I will no longer struggle madly with my destiny. I will commit myself into his guar- dian hands, praying only to be guided by his Spirit and governed by his will. If he has reserved for me such a blissful lot as to be the wife of Roland ; if I am permitted to walk hand in hand with him through life, and mingle my soul with his in death, my heart shall be a living holocaust, where gratitude shall burn with everlasting incense. But, if he has otherwise ordained, let me be able to say, ' Father, not my will, but thine be done.' '' With holy aspirations like these, the young heiress pursued her way, and, when she reached the old family gate, she could think with calmness of meeting Robert, though a few hours back the anticipation had filled her with fear and trembling. " Hallo, hallo, Massa I" called out the torch-bearer, for the gate was locked and Bruno set up a magnificent growl. A tall figure darkened the doorway. *' Robert, Robert ! don't come out in the night air \" cried his mother, but it was too late, he wasalrcady at the gates; and when Linda sprang from the horse, he caught her in his arma OF THE BELLE CREOLE. IGl ere slie reached the earth. She felt the tumultuous beatings of his heart, and her own began again to tremble with agi- tation. ^^ You are better, Robert. You are well/^ she cried, look- ing anxiously at his pale cheeks. " Yes, perfectly well, — now you have come. But where's the carriage ? What has happened ? Mother, what does this mean ?" ^' You are very polite to let me get down by the block,'* said Mrs. Walton, stepping carefully to the ground, then eagerly seizing her son's hand and drawing him towards the house. " Make haste and come in. Don't stay in the damp- ness." "I'm not sick, mother," said he, laughing and following her ; but Linda felt the hand which still held hers, glowing with feverish heat, and when they stood together in the light of the room, she thought he looked thinner than when they parted. His countenance seemed softened. His long, black lashes cast a drooping shade over his eyes, and tempered their insufferable brilliancy. Linda, anxious to divert his mind from dwelling on their last meeting, gave an amusing descrip- tion of their adventures, while she twisted her fingers in her shining hair, to restore its disordered ringlets. " I don't think it's any thing to laugh at," cried Mrs. Wal- ton, holding out her new crape bonnet, and exhibiting several sinking places in the pasteboard, from which the stiffening had departed. " I have lost my best horse, spoiled my new bon- net, and I have, no doubt, ruined my dress, riding on Tom's dirty blanket." Linda looked round the familiar room, and the smile forsook her lips. Her eye rested on her father's vacant arm-chair, and, weeping, she remembered her dead. " I never saw such a girl," said Mrs. Walton ; " laughing one moment, and crying the next." She thought it best, how- 14* 162 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT ever, not to accuse her before Robert of the death of th^* horse, suspectiug she would find a champion in him. And how did Linda feel, domesticated once more in her own native home — that home she had so much dreaded to see ? Ah ! she felt that it was home still, — the spot where she had first known life's mysterious vitality, childhood's wild exult- ance, — the place where a mother's smile had beamed, a' mother's prayer ascended, a mother's grave was made, — a father's arms had caressed. It was still the focus of her most vivid associa- tions, and though some of the rays were dim and darkened, they converged to their centre, obedient to nature's immutable laws. It was pleasant to feel the same breeze that had rocked the young birds of her native trees in their nests, fanning her cheek ; to hear the boughs whispering lovingly in her ear as the wind glided through them, as they had done years ago ; to be greeted on every side by glad, gleeful smiles, on the shin- ing faces of her own negroes, and be patted again, as she crossed the threshold, by the large, velvet paws of their household guardian. What a change did her return cause in the aspect of Pine Grove ! There was beauty and gentleness, and light and music, where there had been gloom and silence and darkness. The apartments were once more redolent with flowers ; the keys of the piano, resounding to the light touch of youthful fingers, responded to the sweet voice that warbled over them, and the birds, attracted by congenial strains, perched on the branches that shaded the windows, and joined in the chorus. The slaves, rejoicing in the beams of that lovely countenance — never turned towards them save in kindness and good-will — went cheerily to their daily tasks, vyii^ with eaph other in administering to her wants. And what did Robert do ? lie lived, breathed but in her presence; sat by her when she played and sang ; read to her when she sewed ; walked with her when she walked ; in short, was her shadow, wherever she OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 163 went. He seemed indeed the shadow of himself, so different was he from the fierce, imperious being she had so much feared. She began to think he had learned to love her as a brother, and her heart went forth to meet him with reviving confidence. Mrs. Walton, too, engrossed with her domestic afikirs, left her unmolested; appearing perfectly satisfied, as she saw her with Robert, whose complexion gradually assumed a ruddier hue. Thus several weeks glided by, leaving brightening roses on Linda's cheek and scattering down on her heart, when a letter from Emily made her utter an exclamation of joy. She hastily broke the seal, when another letter enclosed fell into her lap. Her heart told her whence it came, and burning blushes covered her face. The eyes of Robert were upon her — those unfathomable eyes, and she felt as if her secret was re- vealed. Before she had time to take it in her hand, he had caught it and gazed steadily on the superscription. A cloud, dark as night, gathered over his countenance. "This is a bold, free hand,'' said he with bitterness; "traced, no doubt, by one who is more accustomed to grasp the oar than guide the pen." " It is doubtless from Mr. Carleton," she was tempted to say, but the words died unuttered on her truthful lips. She had seen Roland's fine, vigorous handwriting, and recognised it at the first glance. Her hand trembled — her bosom panted. She longed to fly to some lone corner, where she could peruse it unseen. She dreaded the storm lowering on Robert's dark- ening brow. Sunshine on one side, shadow on the other; she stood irresolute, palpitating with mingled joy and fear. "You are not candid, Linda; you are not true," cried Robert, in a husky voice. " You have been trifling with feel- ings you can never fathom." " You are unjust and ungentleman-like, Robert," said she, moving to the door, her spirit roused, as it always was when 164 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT falsely accused. ^^ I am not accountable to you for my corre- spondence, and I assure you I have established no clandes- tine one." When she had left him, and recalled his dark, suffering countenance, she reproached herself for wounding a heart, with all its faults, only too devotedly her own. But Roland's letter was in her hand, and when, in the solitude of her cham- ber, her lightning glances flashed over the lines, then returned, and again retraced them with lingering tenderness, — she forgot Robert, her step-mother, every thing but him, with whose spirit her own mingled in every impassioned word. Roland wrote with a pen of fire, in language as free and fluent as the waves on which his bark was borne. Young maiden, plighted bride, or wedded wife ! Do you remember when the first letter, from him enshrined in your heart of hearts, met your gaze ? Perhaps you sat in the soft shadow of muslin curtains as Linda did, and pressed the snowy folds against your crimson cheek, or mantled them over your quickened heart. Or perchance you were alone with nature, " that sacred bride of heaven, worthy of the passion of a god," and drank in her sacred influences with the love foun- tain that flowed in rushing streams through the virgin chan- nels of your heart. Oh, beautiful as the first rose of. spring, the first star of evening, the first golden tint of the dawn, is the first written memorial from the being one loves ! Roland spoke with confidence of the future. He saw it in the light of his own bright, bold spirit, and it spread it like the map of a new, luxuriant country ; sunbeams lingering on the hill-tops, peace resting on the valleys, and freedom sporting on the blue, flowing streams. His soul expanded in the grander scenery by which he was suiToundcd. With the majestic Mississippi rolling beneath, the heavens themselves seemed to bend over him with a broader, more magnificent arch, and the wind unfurled its pinions with a stronger, ampler sweep. Ho OP THE BELLE CREOLE. 165 spoke with confidence of her love. Having once been assured of it from her own lips, he believed in it as fully and firmly as the truth of God. No doubts or suspicions sullied his faith or wounded her fidelity. It was the polar star of his life, shining with pure, unchanging lustre, to which his heart would turn with magnetic sympathy, even to its last vibra- tion. " Missus want to know if Miss Linda ever coming to din- ner/' said Nelly, putting her broad face in at the door. Linda started, — she had forgotten the flight of time, and hastily putting away her letters, she followed Nelly, with ill- concealed trepidation, into the dining-room. Robert was not there, but she was introduced to a stranger by the name of McCleod, a gentleman of Scotch descent, who occupied the place of Aristides in the log school-house, and had come to board a while in Mrs. Walton's family. Feeling the absence of Bobert an unspeakable relief, she welcomed the singular-vis- aged stranger with an involuntary smile, which was returned with usury. Mr. McCleod was considerably past the heyday of youth, but he had that evergreen appearance which made it exceed- ingly doubtful what his age might be. He had a wide, irre- gular mouth, with very white, uneven teeth, which he displayed liberally when he laughed — not only the teeth, but the gums, which were of an unusually vivid red. His hair, too, was of a deep, unadulterated red, coarse and frizzled ; standing in re- bellious tufts, thick as peonies, all over his head. There was a slight obliquity in his small, black eyes, that gave his coun- tenance an expression of extreme cunning and shrewdness, a quaint, old-fashioned, twinkling look, that harmonized admi- rably with the brogue of his glib-rolling tongue. Ugly, sen- sible, comical, strange, were the epithets suggested to Lind;t, by the appearance of the Scotch schoolmaster. She could not help smiling every time she met the odd twinkle of his 166 LINDA; OR, THE YOUNG PILOT eye, which was rather frequent, for he seemed to find her, as Aristides did, a " beautiful study,'' — laying down his knife and fork, and rubbing his hands energetically, while he gazed upon her. * A very nice young lady, very nice indeed," said he, con- tinuing the friction of his broad palms. *^Done with school, I suppose. Learning housewifery from her excellent mother, the best part of education. Excellent pudding, this, Mrs. "Walton — excellent. I dare say the young lady's delicate fin- gers assisted in forming this delightful union of the acid and sweet. Not at all strange, that the sweet should preponde- rate, not at all — he ! he !" He had a way of repeating his words at the end of each sen- tence, and at the close a kind of inward chuckle expressed his own approbation of his remarks. " I cannot pride myself much on my culinary accomplish- ments," rei^lied Linda, " though I intend to be an assiduous pupil in that department." " That's right," said Mr. McCleod, approvingly. " The art of cookery has degenerated in modern times. The Romans excelled in this divine science, and some of their most elegant scholars were the most accomplished gastronomists. My friend Mrs. Walton excels most ladies in this neglected branch of female education. She understands the exact proportions of things, she does — the art of composition, and I think I ex- cel in that of decomposition. I think I do. Ha ! ha !" It was very evident that the Scotchman was a favourite with Mrs. "Walton, a very rare thing. Perhaps it was because he treated her with unusual deference, praised her household virtues and accomplishments, had an ecstatic way of listening when she spoke, always jumped to the door, and held it as she passed through, and, above all, never contradicted her. It is true he exhibited these courtesies in a still more enthusiastic manner t? Linda, but she had been the first object of these OF THE BELLE CREOLE. 167 respectful attentions, and the first impression, usually so in- delible, was made. Linda rejoiced in tliis addition to the family trio, as it would break in on those too close-knitting tete-d-tetes with Robert, which she tried in vain to avoid. She expected, too, to derive great amusement from his oddities, as well as instruction from his classic lore. Supper passed, and still Robert came not. Mrs. Walton grew anxious and restless. He had gone out hunting, and she could not account for his long stay. Some accident must have happened. He would take cold, get sick, a thousand misfor- tunes might occur. In vain the Scotchman praised her rolls, *' uncommonly nice rolls ;" her muffins, " unspeakably light muffins.'' She heeded not : for one single chord, that vibrated to the touch of feeling, was awake. At length he returned, looking gloomy and weary, refused to eat any supper, and passed almost immediately to his own room. " What can be the matter with Robert ?" said his mother, casting a sinister glance at Linda. <' He appeared well and in good spirits this morning." Linda made no answer to this indirect question, but her heightened colour and downcast eye were Act unnoticed by Mrs. Walton. <