The Lovells: a story of the Danish War

Chapter I

tt DA, Ada ! you are really too wild and too daring ! " exclaimed Grace Lovell to her little sister, as the latter bounded lightly and fearlessly from one to another of the disjointed basaltic columns that lay scattered about on that striking and interesting spot, so well known as " The Giant's Causeway." " Then come here, my steady sister Grace," replied the laughing child, " and catch me. See, I am going to jump down ; and then Robert, and Sophy, and I dre going to run a race all along this fine Causeway, even to the last stone that the sea has left dry ; and then, and then — you will see what we shall do next." " Something very wise and prudent, I daresay, you B little romp," said Grace, as she obeyed her sister's summons, and stood ready to receive her in her arms as she sprang from her elevated position.

" Now pray, Ada, do not run on along the Cause way until you all get drowned. You know that old Murphy says the giants used to walk across to Scotland upon it ; but then they were so tall that I suppose their heads were always above water." " Which mine would not be, you mean to say — nor yours either, Grace, though you are so proud of being a head taller than I am," replied Ada, merrily. " And a little wiser also, I hope," said her sister ; as the child started off to join her young companions; and, looking back at the same time, was suddenly brought up against an angle of one of the many-sided stones that strewed the ground. " I am not hurt," she said, bravely ; but her face rather belied her words, and she paused a minute in her wild career. " I am almost afraid to leave you, Ada, you are so careless.

I will ask Edward to go with you, and look after you all, while Alfred, and Ellen, and I hunt about for shells. I want also to draw the shape of every one of these stones that has a different number of sides. Murphy told me that there are seven different forms to be found. When you all come back from wetting your feet in the salt waters, we will join papa and Mr. and Mrs. Kinnaird, who are sketching the Giant's Great Organ, and preparing our picnic dinner out there among those rocks." Away went Ada, quite oblivious of her bruised knee and elbow ; and soon Grace saw her and the younger members of the party in full course along the wonderful Causeway, while she, and Alfred, and Ellen Kinnaird commenced their search for shells and other curiosities, and made rough diagrams of the multiform portions of basaltic columns by which they were surrounded.

Their search was so careful that it was eminently successful. From a triangle to a nine-sided joint they found specimens, and Grace greatly regretted that she could not carry away at least one sample of every form, to adorn her rockery at her father's pretty parsonage. Leaving her to her drawing, and her useless regret, we will introduce her and her companions rather more formally to our readers. Grace was the eldest daughter of the Rev. Algernon Lovell, who had commenced his clerical career as chaplain to a man of-war going out to the South American station. There he had become attached to a young and beautiful Spaniard, whose attractions made him forget that she held a different creed to his own ; and that (as the Apostle warns us) "two cannot walk together unless they be agreed" especially unless they be agreed on the one all important subject of religion.

Isabella Rodriquez was amiable and affectionate : she was devoted to her husband, and there was only one point on which Algernon Lovell could have B wished her changed. But that was a point which became more and more important in his estimation, as he became more and more earnest in his Master's service. Many were his efforts to bring his beloved wife to share his own feelings, and his own opinions ; and many were the prayers that arose from his heart for divine aid and guidance in this great work. His prayers were answered, and the desire of his heart was accomplished ; and after Mr. Lovell brought her to Ireland — where he was recalled to take possession of a living — she became an earnest Christian, and a member of her husband's congregation ; and when she died he could find consolation for the bitter bereavement in the firm conviction that she had gone to the presence of her Saviour, and that he should rejoin her there.

Isabella Lovell died after the birth of her little son Robert, who, at the time at which our story commences, was five years of age, his eldest sister, Grace, being thirteen, and Ada nine. The other boys and girls, whose names we have mentioned, were the children of Mr. Kinnaird, who resided on his own extensive property, near the foot of Sliebh Gullen, a mountain of considerable altitude in the County of Armagh. Croone Castle, Mr. Kinnaird's dwelling, was situated in the parish of which Mr. Lovell was the vicar ; and the two Gentle men, and their respective families, became intimate friends. During Isabella Lovell's life, she and Mrs. Kinnaird were very frequent companions, and the beautiful Spaniard created a deep interest in the breast of the English lady — for Mrs. Kinnaird was a native of the sister isle.

From her the enthusiastic Isabella learnt much, both by precept and example. Next to her husband, she looked to her kind and Christian friend for guidance and advice ; and when she died it was to Charlotte Kinnaird that she recommended her three young children, who were doomed to lose a mother's care and love. Isabella Lovell's trust in her friend was not misplaced. Mrs. Kinnaird assumed the active super intendence of the orphans ; and, while their only remaining parent was too much bowed down by grief to watch over them, she did all that an affectionate Christian spirit could dictate, or an energetic character accomplish, to supply to them what they had lost. It naturally followed that her own children learnt to regard the young Lovells almost in the light of brothers and sisters. They shared each others pleasures, and frequently each others tasks.

Their holidays were almost invariably spent together ; and when, in course of time, Alfred and Edward Kinnaird were sent to school, some pleasant expedition was generally arranged for the summer vacation, in which the Lovells were always invited to share. It was on one of these occasions, that, as we have seen, the united families found themselves at the Giant's Causeway ; having taken up their abode in the neighbouring village of Portrush, with the intention of thoroughly examining every part of the interesting basaltic formations which mark that part of the Irish coast ; and also of making excursions to every other spot that possessed either picturesque or historical attractions. v Alfred Kinnaird, and his brother Edward, better known by the abbreviation Ned, were now respectively sixteen and fourteen years of age.

They were, therefore, both able and willing to undertake fatiguing' and adventurous expeditions, and to enter into anything that partook of the nature of sport. In these pursuits they were joined and encouraged by their friend and guide, Charles Lovell, who was half brother to the Vicar, and so much younger than he as to be looked on by all the young people as their companion and playfellow, rather than as one of "the elders." Charles Lovell was an ensign in a Highland Regiment, then quartered in Scotland, and he had ingeniously contrived to make his leave of absence synchronize with the young Kinnairds' vacation, and so enable him to join the happy party at Portrush, where he was received with acclamations of joy and welcome. At the precise moment at which our story opened, he was engaged with his brother and Mr. Kinnaird in examining that most striking part of the basaltic formations called, by. the inhabitants of the neighbourhood, the Great Organ.

This name is derived from the peculiar form and arrangement of the columns, and it is very appropriate ; for at that spot they rise perpendicularly against the side of the steep hill, and are exposed to view for a considerable height, placed side by side in very apt resemblance to the pipes of a gigantic organ— such as might have been played on by the mighty race who trod the mysterious Causeway, and traced its course beneath the waters that divide the British Isles. It was only by promising to accompany the boys after dinner to the summit of the rock that rises above this magnificent natural organ — and from which a fine view of the sea and the neighbouring islands can be obtained — that Charles Lovell had been excused from sharing in the occupations of his younger friends. It might, perhaps, have been as well, humanly speaking, if he had met with as little indulgence on this occasion as was generally accorded to him.

But such was not to be the case — sad and unlooked for results were ordered, for good reasons, to arise from this party of pleasure ; and Charles Lovell could not foresee that his presence would be peculiarly needful among his young favourites. Very busy were Grace, and Alfred, and Ellen Kinnaird in examining the disjointed columns, and observing the remarkable manner in which each was formed, and rendered secure, by the upper surface of the several pieces being concave, and that which rested on it being convex. Grace made several very ac curate drawings and measurements ; and then she sat down on one of the ready-made seats, to attempt a sketch of a fine specimen of the immense boulders that lie here and there among the basaltic ruins ; and are objects of curiosity, not only from their size, and their circular form, but also from their being composed of an entirely different kind of stone from that which is found all around them.

" Where do they come from, and what power hewed them into their round shape, and rolled them here among these strange octagons and sexagons ? " said Grace, thoughtfully, as she arranged her sketch book, and prepared to commence her drawing. " Why, surely the giants did it all," replied Alfred, laughing. " You know we are now in the domain of the mighty men of old — the sons of Anak ? The giants who sang to the tones of yonder organ, and washed their feet by walking along the Causeway to the Scottish coast, and back again — could easily have formed these boulders in some of the neighbouring quarries and rolled them down here to play bowls with. You may record this lucid and scientific ex planation in your book, Grace." " Well, Alfred," exclaimed his sister Ellen, " you have not talked to old Murphy for nothing.

I suppose he put all these wise notions into your head." " Not at all, Ellen ; they are purely original, and I claim all the merit of the discovery, which I have no doubt the Archæological Societies have failed to hit upon. I shall communicate it to uncle Charles." " He is not your uncle, Alfred," said Grace, looking up smilingly from her drawing. " He is everybody's uncle," replied the boy, with great animation. "Such a good fellow as Ensign Charles Lovell should be dubbed uncle by every boy and girl who has the honour of his acquaintance. I assure you he is Ned's and my uncle, as well as yours ; so pray do not try to monopolize him." " You are quite welcome to a share of him, Alfred. I only wish I had him here now -to shew me how to make this great unmanageable ball look round." "Let me help you, Grace," said Alfred ; "and then I will go and look for all those young ones, and bring them back to dinner.

I wonder where they are." His remark was answered by a shout from the summit of the boulder — and, looking up, he and his companions beheld to their astonishment and dismay, Ada Lovell and Ned Kinnaird standing on the very apex of the mass of stone. " O, Ada — what have you done ? how have you climbed up there ? and how will you ever come down in safety ? " exclaimed Grace, in great alarm. " O, I shall get down as easily as I got up," replied the thoughtless child. " I wanted to startle you, Grace ; so we crept silently to the back of this fine stone ; and you were so busy that you did not hear us building a staircase. Come round and see how clever we have been. Hastily Grace and her two companions passed round the enormous boulder, and her fears were by no means dispelled by a sight of the " staircase " up which Ada had clambered and down which she pro posed to descend.

A few of the smallest basaltic stones had been piled one on another, by the united efforts of the children ; and on this unstable pillar Ada and Ned had mounted, and then had clambered up the boulder, by means of the inequalities of its surface and the tufts of dry grass that had stuck their roots into the clefts. " Stay where you are ! " cried Grace. " Remain quite still, Ada, and Alfred will run for uncle Charles. He is so tall and so strong that perhaps he can help you down. O, I wish he had been with you — he would never have suffered you to climb to such a dangerous place." " O no, Grace," exclaimed Ned, who suddenly became aware that he had been much to blame for leading Ada into a situation of so much peril. " Do not send for your uncle, he will be so angry with me, and with poor dear Ada also — and indeed it was my fault more than hers.

I am sure that Alfred and I can get her down quite safe." And instantly he threw himself on his face, on the slope of the boulder, and began to descend like a cat, clinging to the short projections, and calling to Alfred to give him a shoulder. His brother mounted on the tottering staircase, and succeeded in supporting him until he could spring to the ground, where he alighted with no other injury than scratched hands and a considerable shake. " Now, Ada," he cried, " you must do as I did, and Alfred and I together will be ready to receive you, and lift you down. You need not jump as I have done. These stones are very hard to come down upon." Quickly another heap of stones was made for Edward to stand upon ; and then little Ada com menced the perilous descent. Her courage had now all evaporated, and she glanced fearfully down at her sister, whose anxious countenance did not tend to reassure her.

" Gently, Ada ! " said Alfred. " Fix your foot firmly on that projecting stone — there — a little to the right. Now very carefully with the other foot. Well done, we shall soon be able to reach you, and then you will be quite safe." One more step was taken — but the projection was not firm. Ada felt it giving way beneath her tread, terror overcame her, and she lost her hold above, and fell backwards with such force and suddenness that all the boys' efforts could not save her. Alfred caught her dress for a moment, and thus slightly broke the fall, which must otherwise have proved fatal, for her head would have come with dreadful force upon the hard sharp stones below. As it was she fell on her back, where she lay, stunned and motionless, and apparently without life. The agony of the group may be better imagined than described.

Her little brother Robert and Sophy Kinnaird burst out into wild cries and sobs, while the elder ones raised up the inanimate form, and rested the head of the sufferer upon her sister's knees. Grace did not speak — with parted lips, and wild enquiring eyes, she looked from Ada's death-like countenance into Alfred's speaking face, as if to find there an answer of hope. Alfred had his hand on her heart ; and, after a few seconds of fearful suspense, he exclaimed — " It beats again — she is not dead ! " " God be praised ! " murmured Grace, and then tears flowed from her eyes and relieved her bursting heart. " Ned," said Alfred, kindly, " take my place and help to support poor Ada, and gently rub one hand, while Ellen takes the other. You must not carry the sad news to Mr. Lovell and our parents.

I will go and bring help to carry Ada from this place." Poor Ned did as he was directed, almost mechan ically. His quivering lips and pallid face shewed his deep distress at what had occurred, but he spoke not ; and, in mournful silence, the sad young friends remained, while Alfred ran, as swiftly as the nature of the ground would admit, to break the tidings to Ada's fond father. He found all the elders of the party assembled together at the spot appointed for a general ren dezvous ; and uncle Charles just starting to summon the younger members to share the repast which was spread beneath the shade of a great rock. A few words sufficed to tell of the catastrophe ; and a few minutes brought all the party to the spot where Ada still remained in the same unconscious and alarming state. Her face was deadly pale, and her features wore an appearance of rigidity, and an ex pression of suffering that was very distressing to behold.

Her dark hair fell on her neck, and her long black eyelashes and marked eyebrows gave to her countenance a very striking aspect, and forcibly recalled to Mr. Lovell the last time that he had looked on his departed wife, before she was hidden for ever from his eyes. Ada had always strongly resembled her mother — her features and complexion bore much more of the Spanish type than of the British ; and in character and disposition she was also more like the quick impulsive Isabella Rodriquez, than was her graver and fairer sister Grace. It was with a bitter pang that Algernon Lovell gazed upon his much-loved child, and thought that perhaps in a few short hours she would be removed from him, and taken to rejoin her whom he had never ceased to love and mourn. But Algernon Lovell was a man and a Christian.

He had been taught in the furnace of affliction, and he knew how to meet trials with fortitude and calmness. Softly he placed his arms beneath the slight form that lay so still ; and gently he raised it from Grace's knees. As he did so a spasm of evident pain con tracted Ada's delicate features, and shewed that she was at least sensible to suffering. " Grace, my child," said her father, in a low voice, "we must trust in God, and not despair." " I can bear anything now that you are with me, father," she replied. And driving back her tears she rose from the ground, and prepared to assist in bearing away her sister from the spot. " Your uncle will help me," said Mr. Lovell. " Great care must be taken to avoid the slightest shock. I much fear that the injury is very serious, and it is best to move her while she is still partially unconscious."

It was a sad procession that moved slowly over the broken and uneven surface ; and the countenances of all were a striking contrast to what they had been one hour previous. Perhaps of all the party, Ned Kinnaird looked the most hopelessly miserable. No one reproached him, but his own conscience upbraided him sharply for his thoughtless folly. Indeed all were too much absorbed in Ada's state to take any notice of the cause of her misfortune, except Mrs. Kinnaird. The mother's heart sympathised in her boy's sorrow and distress ; and she hung back to soothe and comfort him, and dry his bitter tears with words of hope and encouragement. Thus they reached the spot where the untasted banquet was displayed, and near which the carriages were in waiting. The journey, though short, and per formed with the greatest care, had evidently caused Ada very great suffering.

Several times she had moaned piteously, and once she had opened her large dark eyes, and fixed them on her father's face with such a touching look of appeal, and yet of unconscious ness, as almost unmanned him. The first object was to convey her where she could have medical aid ; and very quickly a couch was made in one of the carriages, and her father and sister accompanied and supported her until they reached Portrush. Not until she was undressed and laid in her bed did she recover her senses, or attempt to speak. Then she looked up at Mr. Lovell with all her natural intelligence, and said in a faint voice, " Will you forgive me, father ? I did very wrong." If tears fell then from that father's eyes, who would blame him ? Very tenderly he kissed his penitent child, who was so severely suffering for her thoughtless ness ; and very gently he tried to comfort her, and to assure her that no anger mingled with his sorrow.

" I will never be so foolish and disobedient again, papa," she said. But her father did not reply ; he only turned away his face that she might not read in his countenance the sad foreboding which he felt that the lively agile child would never again have power to err in the same way. The medical man, who arrived shortly, confirmed all his fears. Ada's spine was injured ; a long and tedious confinement, and perfect rest must be resorted to, as the only means of effecting even a partial cure. More than that he did not hope for : and he urged Mr. Lovell to convey her, by easy stages, to her own comfortable home with as little delay as possible. This was done; and to the poor suffering child, and all her friends, it was an unspeakable blessing when they found themselves in the cheerful vicarage at Croone.

A gloom was now indeed shed over that once happy home ; but it did not long abide there. Ada's hitherto unfailing cheerfulness did not even now desert her although she suffered very severely, and her quick impetuous disposition caused the trial to be very keenly felt. There were times, we must own, when patience gave way, and her warm temper shewed itself in a manner that was very distressing to her sister Grace, and to her faithful and long-suffering nurse, Dinah Collins, who were her two most constant companions. But these were exceptions, and the little sufferer never failed to regret such signs of impatience. As months and years passed by — and months and years did pass by, and leave poor Ada nearly as helpless as they found her — her character gradually soft ened. She became more gentle and thoughtful, and much more watchful over herself; so that scarcely a hasty or impatient word ever escaped her lips ; even an expression of weariness was immediately checked, and pardon asked so humbly of her attendants, that they only loved her the more, and sought more anxi ously to mitigate her sufferings.

Ada's was, at the best, a life of constant privation — but it was blessed to her. We will not dwell on the years that immediately followed her affliction ; for it is with a later period that our story is more especially connected ; and to that period we must now introduce our readers.

Chapter II. IX

years passed away — years of joy and sorrow, of health and sickness, of prosperity and adversity, in various degrees to different individuals — but years of trial and probation to all. This period had been one of great importance to several of the young people who have already been mentioned; for in those years they had passed from childhood to youth — from the discipline of the school room to the liberty of intelligent members of society, and companions to their parents. Nor had these years been wasted. The hopes of Mr. and Mrs. Kin naird, and of Mr. Lovell, with regard to their children had not yet been disappointed ; and they had reason to believe that the good seed which they had sown in faith and prayer would eventually bring forth the fruit of holy and useful lives. Alfred Kinnaird had reached the age of twenty.

He had passed honourably through his college life with as few faults and follies as could reasonably be expected. His father willingly acceded to his wish to c travel for two or three years before settling at home, and taking upon himself the duties and the pleasures oY a country gentleman. Ned had chosen the Navy as his profession, and was now on a cruise in the Mediter ranean. He had never forgiven himself for the share he had had in poor Ada's sad accident. Before he went to sea the greatest part of his leisure time was spent by her side, either as she lay on her couch in-doors, or whilst she was gently drawn about the garden and lawn. His pocket-money was hoarded up to obtain for her books, or prints, or anything that could help to cheer her long hours of pain or weari ness; and, when he left his native land, and entered on his active profession, his letters proved that he did not forget the past, and that the serious thoughts and gentle feelings which had been aroused by contrition and pity still marked his once wild and heedless character.

Ellen and Sophy Kinnaird were still too young to have shown any remarkable idiosyncrasy. The routine of education was still going on with them ; and their conduct was as much marked by faults and virtues — by good resolves and partial failures — as that of most other well brought-up girls of their age. They con tinued to be the constant companions of Grace and Ada Lovell ; and the companionship was profitable to them, and very pleasant to the invalid and her sister, whose lives were necessarily very monotonous. At the time of which we are now speaking, Ada had so far recovered the use of her limbs, as to be able to walk with the assistance of crutches. She had spent the previous summer and autumn at the sea-side, with Grace and her nurse Dinah. Not again at Port rush, which place would have reminded them all so painfully of the commencement of her sufferings — but at a quiet bathing village, on the Western coast, where the air was both mild and bracing, and .where her father could easily visit her whenever he could spare the time from his numerous parish duties.

This arrangement had proved very satisfactory. The change of air was greatly blessed to Ada ; and from that time her health seemed much improved, and she was able to resume many of her former occupations. It was a source of great joy and gratitude to her, when she returned home, to find that she could join her sister in some of her parochial visitings; and very touching was the welcome she received from the poor inhabitants, who had known and loved her as a lively and kind-hearted child ; but who had scarcely seen her during her years of utter helplessness, and could now hardly recognize her in the tall, slight, bending form, and pale earnest face that met their eyes. The visits to Croone Castle were also now resumed. So constant and unwearied had been Grace's atten dance on her sister, that hitherto Mrs. Kinnaird had seldom been able to induce her to leave her even for an evening; and the earnest solicitations of the younger members of the family had generally proved equally unsuccessful.

The intercourse between the families C had therefore been almost entirely kept up by the Kinnairds, who never lost their interest in their young friends at the vicarage; and never ceased to regard them almost as members of their own family. The summer which found poor Ada again able to leave her couch, was that which followed Alfred Kin naird's leaving college. Several of his vacations had been spent from home, as he had joined reading parties of his fellow-students, or he had remained in England to visit relations of his mother's. He had therefore seen comparatively little of his old play-fellows, Grace and Ada, and their young brother Robert — though he always heard much of them from his mother and sisters. It was now nearly a year since he had met any of the Lovells, for his last Christmas vacation had been spent in England, where his parents had joined him after taking leave of Edward at Plymouth — from whence he had sailed for the Mediterranean — and the spring and summer he had passed among his English friends.

That last year had made a very marked change in Grace. • Both in appearance and manners she was greatly improved; and her character had matured and strengthened in a way that might never have occurred if circumstances had not so specially drawn it out. During the months that she resided at the sea-side, with no companions except her afflicted sister, and her nurse, Dinah Collins, and no variety except the occasional visits of her father, Grace had read much and thought much. She had studied her own charac ter and that of Ada ; and she had made it her object to acquire such an influence over the mind of the suffering girl, as would enable her to lead her onward, step by step, in that heavenward road which she was resolved — by God's help — to tread herself. Together they studied — together they "searched the scriptures," — and together they formed resolutions for their future, mode of life and conduct, when Ada might be left to no other care and guardianship than that of her kind and devoted sister; which Grace had quite made up xher mind should always be entirely dedicated to her.