Are to the jealous, confirmations strong
—— Moor of VeniceThe weather, which had been mild and clear since the storm, now changed with the suddenness of the American climate. Towards evening the cold blasts poured down from the mountains, and flurries of snow plainly indicated that the month of November had arrived——a season whose temperature varies from the heats of summer to the cold of winter. Frances had stood at the window of her own apartment, watching the slow progress of the funeral procession, with a melancholy that was too deep to be excited by the spectacle. There was something in the sad office which engaged the attention of her father and brother, that was in unison with the feelings of the maid. As she gazed around, she saw the trees bending to the force of the whirlwinds, that swept through the valley with an impetuosity that shook even the buildings of lesser importance; and the forest, that had so lately glittered in the sun with its variegated hues, was fast losing its loveliness, as the leaves were torn from the branches, and were driving irregularly before the eddies of the blast. A few of the southern dragoons, who were patroling the passes which led to the encampment of the corps, could be distinguished at a distance on the heights, bending to their pommels, as they faced the keen air which had so lately traversed the great fresh water lakes. and drawing their watch coats around them in tighter folds.
The maid witnessed the disappearance of the wooden tenement of the deceased, as it was slowly lowered from the light of day, and the sight still added to the chilling dreariness of the view. Captain Singleton was sleeping under the careful watchfulness of his own man, while his sister had been persuaded to take possession of her room, for the purpose of obtaining the repose, of which her last night's journeying had robbed her. The apartment of Miss Singleton communicated with the room occupied by the sisters, through a private door, as well as through the ordinary passage of the house; this door was partly open, and Frances moved towards it with the benevolent intention of ascertaining the situation of her guest, when the surprised girl saw her, whom she had thought to be sleeping, not only awake, but employed in a manner that banished all probability of present repose. The black tresses, that during the dinner had been drawn in close folds over the crown of the head, were now loosened, and fell in profusion over her shoulders and bosom, imparting a slight degree of wildness to her expressive countenance. The chilling white of her complexion was strongly contrasted with the brilliant glances of eyes of the deepest black, that were fixed in rooted attention on a picture she held in her hand. Frances hardly breathed, as she was enabled, by a movement of Isabella, to see that it was the figure of a man in the well known dress of the southern horse; but she gasped for breath, and instinctively laid her hand on her heart to quell its throbbings, as she thought she recognised the lineaments that were so deeply seated in her own imagination. Frances felt she was improperly prying into thesacred privacy of another, but her emotious were too powerful to permit her to speak, and she drew back to a chair, whence she still retained a view of the stranger, from whose countenance she felt it to be impossible to withdraw her eyes. Isabella was too much engrossed by her own feelings to discover the trembling figure of the maid who witnessed her actions, and she pressed the inanimate image to her lips, with an enthusiasm that denoted the most intense passion. The expression of the countenance of the fair stranger was so changeable, and the transitions were so rapid, that Frances had scarcely time to distinguish the character of the emotion, before it was succeeded by another equally powerful, and equally attractive. Admiration and sorrow were, however, the preponderating passions; the latter was indicated by large drops that fell from her eyes on the picture, and which followed each other over her cheek at such intervals, as seemed to pronounce the grief too heavy to admit of the ordinary bursts of sorrow. Every movement of Isabella was marked by an enthusiasm that was peculiar to her nature, and every passion in its turn triumphed in her breast with an undisputed sway. The fury of the wind, as it whistled around the angles of the building, was in consonance with those feelings, and she rose and moved to a window of her apartment. Her figure was now hid from the view of Frances, who was about to rise and approach her guest, when tones of a thrilling melody chained her in breathless silence to the spot. The notes were wild, and the voice not powerful, but the execution exceeded any thing the maid had ever heard, and she stood, endeavouring to stifle the sounds of her own gentle breathing, until the song following was concluded:
Cold blow the blasts o'er the tops of the mountain,
And bare is the oak on the hill,
Slowly the vapours exhale from the fountain,
And bright gleams the ice-bordered rill;
All nature is seeking its annual rest,
But the slumbers of peace have deserted my breast.
Long has the storm pour'd its weight on my nation,
And long have her brave stood the shock;
Long has our chieftain ennobled his station,
Unlicens'd ambition relaxes its toil,
Yet blighted affection represses my smile.
Abroad the wild fury of winter is low'ring,
And leafless, and drear is the tree,
But the vertical sun of the south appears pouring
Its fierce, killing heats upon me——
Without all the season's chill symptoms begin,
But the fire of passion is raging within.
Frances abandoned her whole soul to the suppressed melody of the music, though the language of the song expressed a meaning, which united with certain events of that and the preceding day, left a sensation of uneasiness in the bosom of the warm-hearted girl, to which she had hitherto been a stranger. Isabella moved from the window as her last tones melted on the ear of her admiring listener, and, for the first time, her eye rested on the face of the pallid maiden. A glow of fire lighted the countenances of both at the same instant, and the blue eye of Frances met the brilliant black one of her guest for a single moment, and both fell in abashed confusion on the carpet; they advanced, however, until they met, and had taken each other's hand, before either ventured again to look her companion in the face.
"This sudden change in the weather, and perhaps the situation of my brother, have united to make me melancholy, Miss Wharton," said Isabellain a low tone, and in a voice that trembled as she spoke.
"Tis thought you have little to apprehend for your brother," said Frances, in the same embarrassed manner; "had you seen him when he was brought in by Major Dunwoodie"——
Frances paused with a feeling of conscious shame, for which she could not account herself, and in raising her eyes, she saw Isabella studying her countenance, with an earnestness that again drove the blood tumultuously to her temples.
"You were speaking of Major Dunwoodie," said Isabella faintly.
"He was with Captain Singleton."
"Do you know Dunwoodie——have you seen him often?" continued Isabella, in a voice that startled her companion. Once more Frances ventured to look her guest in the face, and again she met the piercing eyes bent on her as if to search her inmost heart. "Speak, Miss Wharton, is Major Dunwoodie known to you?"
"He is my relative," said Frances, appalled at the manner of the other.
"A relative!" echoed Miss Singleton; "in what degree——speak, Miss Wharton, I conjure you to speak."
"Our parents were cousins," replied Frances, in still greater confusion at the vehemence of Isabella.
"And he is to be your husband," cried the stranger impetuously.
Frances felt her pride awakened by this direct attack upon the delicacy of her feelings, and she raised her eyes from the floor to her interrogator a little proudly, when the pale cheek and quivering lip of Isabella removed her resentment in a moment.
"It is true——my conjecture is true——speak to me, Miss Wharton——I conjure you, in mercy to my feelings, to tell me——do you love Dunwoodie?" There was a plaintive earnestness in the voice of Miss Singleton, that disarmed Frances of all resentment, and the only answer she could make was hiding her burning face between her hands, as she sunk back in a chair to conceal her confusion.
Isabella paced the floor in silence for several minutes, until she had succeeded in conquering the violence of her feelings, when she approached the place where Frances yet sat, endeavouring to exclude the eyes of her companion from reading the shame expressed in her countenance, and taking the hand of the maid, she spoke with an evident effort at composure.
"Pardon me, Miss Wharton, if my ungovernable feelings have led me into impropriety——the powerful motive——the cruel reason"——she hesitated; Frances now raised her face, and the eyes of the maids once more met——they fell in each other's arms, and laid their burning cheeks together——the embrace was long——was ardent and sincere——but neither spoke——and on separating, Frances retired to her own room without farther explanation.
While this extraordinary scene was acting in the room of Miss Singleton, matters of great importance were agitated in the drawing-room. The disposition of the fragments of such a dinner as the one we have recorded, was a task that required no little exertion and calculation. Notwithstanding several of the small game had nestled in the pocket of Capt. Lawton's man, and even the assistant of Dr. Sitgreaves had calculated the uncertainty of his remaining long in such good quarters, still there was more left unconsumed than the prudent spinster knew how to dispose of to advantage. Cæsar and his mistress had, therefore, a longand confidential communication on this important business, and the consequence was that Colonel Wellmere was left to the hospitality of Sarah Wharton. All the ordinary topics of conversation were exhausted, when the colonel, with a little of the uneasiness that is in some degree inseparable from conscious error, touched lightly on the transactions of the preceding day.
"We little thought, Miss Wharton, when I first saw this Mr. Dunwoodie in your house in Queenstreet, that he was to be the renowned warrior he has proved himself," said Wellmere, endeavouring to smile contemptuously.
"Renowned, when we consider the enemy he overcame," said Sarah with consideration for her companion's feelings. "'I' was most unfortunate indeed in every respect that you met with the accident, or doubtless the arms of our Prince would have triumphed in their usual manner."
"And yet the pleasure of such society as this accident has introduced me to, would more than repay the pain of a mortified spirit and wounded body," added the colonel in a manner of peculiar softness.
"I hope the latter is but trifling," said Sarah, stooping to hide her blushes under the pretext of biting a thread from the work on her knee.
"Trifling, indeed, to the former," returned the colonel in the same manner. "Ah! Miss Wharton, it is in such moments we feel the full value of friendship and sympathy."
Those who have never tried it, cannot easily imagine, what a rapid progress a warm hearted female can make in love, in the short space of half an hour, particularly where there is a predisposition to the distemper. Sarah found the conversation, when it began to touch on friendship and sympathy, too interesting to venture her voicewith a reply. She however turned her eyes on the colonel, and saw him gazing at her fine face with an admiration that was quite as manifest, and much more soothing, than any words could make it.
Their tete-a-tete was uninterrupted for an hour, and although nothing that would be called decided by an experienced matron was said by the gentleman, he uttered a thousand things that delighted his companion for the moment, who retired to her rest with a lighter heart than she had felt since the arrest of her brother by the Americans.
