The discarded daughter; or, The children of the isle

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Ihteoduotort — St. Clara’s Islb,

OHAPTEB

I. Mount Calm, . , ....

Chapter 1. Mount Calm

A proud aristocratic hall it seems,

Let me introduce you to Mount Calm, the seat ot General Aaron Garnet. Even from the hay you can see the mansion-house, with its broad white front, as it crowns the highest of a distant range of hills. After passing through the village of Hutton, and going up and down the grassy hills that rise one above the other beyond it, you enter a deep hollow, thickly grown with woods, and passing through it, begin to ascend, by a heavily shaded forest road, the last and highest hill of the range — Mount Calm. When about half-way up this hill, you come to the brick walls enclosing the private grounds, and passing through the porter^ s gate, you enter a heavily shaded carriage drive, that, sweeping around in an ascending half-circle, brings you up before the mansion house. Now you can turn around and view tha grounds and the landscape below. The lawn, with its numerous gigantic oaks and elms, its vine-clad arbours, serpentine walks and rustic seats ; the magnificent old forest enclosing it in a sweeping semicircle ; the undulating hills below, as they fall one beneath the other towards the level land; the distant village of Hutton, with its quiet little life ; the bright inlet flowing on to the sea ; the boundless sea itself meeting the eastern horizon. Turning now towards the house, you see a succession of terraces reached by marble steps, and adorned with beautiful foreign trees and parterres of flowers. The front of the mansion is of white granite; the main building is largo and square, and flanked by two wings ; the house consists of three stories, with cellar and attic; through the centre of the main building, on each floor, runs a broad hall, ‘Sanked each side by doors admitting into vast, lofty, and luxuriously-furnished apartments — two on a suite, divided from each other by a curtained arch thus : On the first floor, on the north side of the broad hall, were tha

MOUNT CALM.

Iwo parlours, separated and connected by a lofty arch, with crimson velvet curtains and gilt cornices ; on the soiiih side, the dining-room and the library were similarly divided. On the second floor, on the north side of the broad hall, the lady's bed-chamber and dressing-room were separated by/ an arch, hung with rose-coloured silk curtains ; on the sai^ floor, on the south side, was a corresponding suijbe The third story contained several handsomely-furnished /spari chan/bers. The wings that flanked the building wei^^Npi^c^iec^ as follows : the north wing had been designed for a>j^feturfe-^allery, with a sky-light, but was empty and closed u^^^he south wing comprised a handsome saloon, opening upon \ conservatory, with a southern aspect. ; — *

Behind the house was a greeni slope and a thick grove that concealed from view the extensive 'outbuildings connected with the establishment, and which scattered down the back slope of the hill, in something like this sjrder : — the kitchen and servants' apartment were nearest the mansion, then camo the wash-house, bake-house, meat-house, &c., all separate buildings ; below these were the stables, kennels, hen-houses, and all sorts of houses and pens for all descriptions of farm stock and poultry; and still below these, and on every side below, were barns, granaries, corn-lofts, root-houses, winter and

every kind of building for all manner of plantation produce. Extensive fields of corn, wheat, rye, oats, tobacco, &c., spread all over the undulatory land at the bottom. The estate itself comprised several thousands of the best acres in old St. Mary's county, and there were several hundred of them under the best cultivation, and in the richest state of productiveness.

This princely estate had remained in the possession of the Chesters since the first settlement of the country, and unlike the usual fate of old Maryland plantations, the property had not only been carefully preserved, but had steadily increased in value up to the time of the Kevolution, when it had reached its highest importance.

The estate was then in the hands of Charles Chester, Esq., Justice of the Peace and Associate Judge of the Provincial Court. His family consisted of a wife, two sons, and a daughter.

At the breaking out of the Revolution, Judge Chester and his two stalwart boys took the field among the first, and at the triumphant close of the war, Colonel Chester set out on his

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER.

return home with a pair of epaulettes, minus his pair of goodly sons, who were left not only dead upon the field of glory, but buried with all the honours of victorious war upon ^ the immortal plains of Yorktown. And thus it happened that the heirship of the heavy estate, with all its burden of onerous responsibilities, fell upon the frail shoulders of young Alice Chester, — a fair-skinned, golden-haired, blue-eyed girl of seventeen, the fairest, gentlest, and most fragile being that ever owed life to a stern and warlike sire. Alice living at home with her simple-hearted, domestic mother, had been very little noticed by her father, or even by any one else, until, by the death of his sons, she became the sole heiress of the vast estate, which was to prove the greatest misfortune of her life. For Alice, thus left to herself to find companionship, had been drawn into an attachment upon which the happiness of her whole future existence depended. Living with her mother a very secluded life during the absence of her father and brothers with the American army, Alice saw very little company as she grew up to womanhood, and her mind and heart began to throw out their feelers for knowledge and sympathy, even as a young and tender plant strikes out its roots for new nourishment. Their only visiters were a few quiet, domestic ladies of the neighbourhood, who, if the weather was very fine and tempting, would occasionally come with their knitting work, the baby and the black nurse, or perhaps with grandma and the two little girls, to spend the afternoon and take tea, and who would invariably depart before or at sunset.

The long, long bleak winters were passed in almost inviolable seclusion, cheered only by an occasional letter from the army, and an occasional ride to church, if the road happened to be passable, which was very seldom the case.

This life lasted until Alice was fifteen years of age, when an event occurred such as would make no stir at all in a city, but which will throw a quiet country neighbourhood into convulsions, namely — a change of ministry, not national but parochial ! The old parson, compelled by declining health, had departed to take charge of a congregation farther south, and a young parson had come in his stead. The E-everend Milton Sinclair was handsome, graceful, and accomplished. It is true, you think, these are positive faults in a young clergyman, since it leads the susceptible and romantic among the young women of his charge to love the messenger more than Him whose message he bears, making the servant outrival the

MOUNT CALM.

Master in the affections of a portion of his people; hat you will pardon the manly beauty, grace, and accomplishments of Milton Sinclair, when I tell you that these fascinating superficial accidents were overbalanced by a highly moral, intellectual, and religious tone of character.

By the invitation of Mrs. Chester, the young minister became the temporary inmate of Mount Calm, and very much he entertained and instructed, cheered, and sustained the secluded mother and daughter. He became the almoner of the lady to the poor around. He directed and superintended the reading of Alice : introducing gradually, as her opening mind could bear, all the beauties and glories of science, history, philosophy, and poetry. And above all were her religious interests cared for, the duties of charity in its broadest sense, self-devotion, fortitude, patience, faith through life and unto death, hope within the very cannon’s mouth of despair, ail that is included in the golden rule of love to God and our neighbour, was cultivated in the genial soil of her soul.

He impressed upon her that she it was to whom the tremendous trust of the ten talents had been confided, and of whom, therefore, double would be required. That God had not endowed her richly with every manner of good — in her worldly rank ; in hei social position ; in her domestic surroundings ; in her physical health and beauty ; in her intellectual power — that she might live for herself alone, or even for those she Ipved, alone ; and above all — far above all — did he point her to the elevating truth that God had not so richly and gloriously endowed her with natural constitutional goodness, that she might rest indolently contented with even the high moral character that had been — like fortune, friends, intellect, and beauty — God’s free gift. No : he made her feel that “ of her to whom much had been given, much, very much, would be required.”

And, oh ! how she loved to hear him talk ! how meekly she acquiesced in his truth that all the virtues for which she had been praised so much — ^if indeed she had any — were constitutional, and would not, and should not serve her in the great day of final account. And oh ! how her heart burned to show him the self-devotion, the patience, the fortitude of which it was capable ! Poor Alice, the opportunity was not long wanting ! and when it came — but of that more hereafter.

When the spring opened, a visit from the bishop of the diocese was expected. Sinclair, as her pastor, began to prepare

Alice for the sacred rite of confirmation : praying with her, reading with her, directing her meditations, exhorting her to private prayer and self-examination j speaking to her also of the times when the newly enrolled Soldier of the Cross had to take up the burthen indeed ; when the sacred laying on of handa’^ — the benediction — the trust was the bond of union between the apostle and his convert.

Oh ! in after life, the desert of after life, the one

“ Green spot on memory’s waste”

was this sweet innocent season of early love and early religious fervour ! How slowly and softly their mutual love matured — how silently — gaining immortal life, while they scarcely suspected its existence, or at all recognised love under its true name and nature ! Alice, for her part, mistook it for a part of her religion ; and when she would go to church, in the most tempestuous weather, never surmised that she went as much to hear the preacher^s

“ One loved voice”

as to listen to the Word of God. On Sinclair’s side, he called it duty, pastoral care, &c., until one day he was aroused from his happy dream as by a thunder shock ! — and he knew that months before he should have gradually abandoned his visits to Mount Calm, or obtained its master’s permission to continue them on a new and more intimate footing. He lost not an hour now in seeking the presence of Mrs. Chester, and informing her of his deep, unconquerable, eternal love of Alice, and placing his destiny in her hands. The lady set him at rest at once by telling him that she at least had known of this attachment for months past, that if she had not warmly approved it, she would have felt it her duty to have informed him long ago. She knew that his affection was appreciated and returned by Alice. She was very happy that it was so. She highly esteemed Mr. Sinclair as her minister, and should love him as a third son. It was the marriage she should most of all others desire for her sole daughter. She told him, however, that the final decision must rest with her father, and advised him to write immediately to Colonel Chester.

Sinclair did so, conscientiously awaiting her father’s letter, before addressing Alice.

Colonel Chester’s letter came. His reply was highly favourable. If the affections of Alice were interested, if hei

MOUNT CALM.

mother’s approval and consent had been obtained, if the references given answered his expectations, why then let Sinclair proceed in his wooing, and Grod prosper him in his suit ! The match, in a worldly point of view, was certainly as good a one as Alice could reasonably expect. Alice’s prospects were assuredly not of the first order. She had two brothers, between whom the Mount Calm estate would be divided. Her own dower would be very moderate, and paid down at her marriage : beyond that she must expect nothing. He preferred, however, that the marriage should not take place during his absence ; Sinclair might go on with his wooing, and take care of Alice and her mother, until his return, when, if nothing should happen to prevent it, he should take pleasure in bestowing the hand of his daughter on one so worthy to receive it.

Milton Sinclair was happy ! Oh ! how happy he was I At that moment he was almost an infidel to the Scripture truth of the Curse. At that moment — and from that moment for several weeks and months afterwards — he could not — ^no, for his soul’s salvation he could not — have preached t sermon in which was one single element of original sin, total depravity, the wrath of Grod, and eternal perdition. No ; from that moment, for weeks and months after, his themes were Faith, Hope, and Charity ; Grace, Mercy, and Peace ; Peace on Earth and Good Will to Man ; the Love of God j the Glory of Kedemptionj the Immortality of the Soul; the Eternal Joys of Heaven. /

Milton Sinclair took the letter, and hastened with it to Mrs. Chester. The lady read it, and, smiling, returned it to him, telling him that Alice was in the garden.

He hurried thither, and found Alice watering her fiowers. He led her to a rustic seat, placed the letter in her hand, and seated himself by her side, watching her as she read it. When she had finished it, he drew her, blushing, to his bosom, and called her his wife ! his dear wife ! his wife for earth and for Heaven ! the crowning gift of God I And this was the manner of his first declaration of love. And this the manner of her modest, quiet acceptance. They were blessed ; so blessed ! too blessed for any more words ! There is one moment in the lives of ally perhaps, when the fullness of joy almost breaks the heart. Such a moment had come for them now. This was that marriage of Heaven — the highest mutual love united and exalted into religion ! the highest human love cemented and elevated to Divine !

THE DISCARDED DAUGHTER.

There is a legal punishment for those who sever wedded hands ; let all beware of the frightful retribution that here or hereafter may overwhelm those who sever wedded souls ! for they indeed have put asunder ^ those’ whom God had joined together.”

They were blessed ; they were happy ! When loving each other most, they loved God most. The soul incapable of love, IS still more incapable of religion — ^nay, love often elevates the irreligious into the worshipper. Love can redeem any soul ; it was LOVE that gave itself for all souls ! Love is religion — for God is Love.”

Their love was not extravagant or excitable ; it grew calm, profound, soul-satisfying. There was no doubt or fear ! They said ay ! and felt that hearts, united by a love like theirs, sustained by a faith like theirs, might do all things ! And they planned — Oh ! how they planned ! not for themselves, but for others ; for all whom they might possibly serve ; the poor, the sick, the sorrowing, the ignorant, and the vicious. They seemed to apologize for so much happiness to a world shadowed with suffering, by resolving that no sorrow should remain unmitigated, which they by effort or by sacrifice might ameliorate. There was no selfishness in their hearts, for there was no want. They possessed all things in each other and in God. How sincerely they pitied all who were not loving and beloved as they were ! who were not fervent, soul worshippers of God, as they were. And this was not egotism ; they were not egotists ; the fullness of life, the fullness of content, the beauty of love, the glory of faith, shut out SELF-like, “in-like Satan. They thought, not of themselves, but of each other, and of all others. Their love, their piety, their happiness lit up the dark house everywhere.

Mrs. Chester watched them with pleasure, mingled with subdued wonder ; such had not been her own experience in affairs of the heart. Hers had been a marriage of convenience, followed by an affection of propinquity and of habit, and had so far proved tolerable as the world goes. And she watched these lovers with quiet, but delightful surprise, and she blessed them a thousand times! blessed them as we bless happy, young children — because they are blessed already ! And woman-like, mother-like, she busied herself in thinking of all their future interests, in seeking the influence of the most important of the country gentry, and of the church vestry, to have Sinclair’s temporary appointment to their parish confirmed into

TUE NEW SUITOR.

u permanent one, and in this she succeeded. Then she occupied herself in seeking a site for their parsonage, and planning a model for the house; in ordering furniture from the Northern cities, which was to be paid for from her own private purse, in order to leave Alice’s moderate dower entire, to be put out at interest, and to avoid subtracting from Sinclair’s very moderate salary. Finally, she set her maids to work carding, spinning, knitting, weaving, and sewing, that Alice might have a full supply of every description of household cloth and linen. The bride’s trousseau was the last thing thought of, and there was time enough she thought for that when her father should arrive. She did not know when that would be, but it was well to have everything that took a great deal of time and labour, such as the house and furniture, and the household stuff ready — ^as for the wedding-dresses, and other minor preparations, of course they could, and must be deferred, until Colonel Chester’s arrival, and then they could be speedily got up.

It was in the midst of this domestic happiness, this great, intense joy and hope, that the thunderbolt fell I

Chapter II. The New Suitor

How ! Will she none ? Doth she not give us thanks ?

Is she not proud ? Doth she not count her blessed,

Unworthy as she is, that we have wrought So worthy a gentleman to be her bridegroom ?

Shakspeakb.

First came the news of the glorious victory of Yorktown— * the final and signal triumph of the American arms. There were no railroads and telegraphic wires in those days, and very few newspapers. The report, the re-echo of this splendid victory rolled on towards their quiet neighbourhood like a storm ; in clouds of doubt, in thunder and lightning of astonishment, joy, and mad triumph. The most delirious rejoicing convulsed the whole village and neighbourhood for days, Ijefore any newspaper arrived with an account of the battle.

And the same mail that brought the ?^-»wspaper, with a long

28 THE DISCAHHED DAUaHTEB.

account of tlie battle, headed in great capital letters line below line, brought also a letter sealed with black ; that sped like a bullet through the foreboding heart of Mrs. Chester, a letter from Colonel Chester, announcing the glorious death of his two brave sons upon the field of victory ; and, oh ! there was less of the father’s love and regret, the husband’s tenderness and sympathy, and the Christian’s resignation, than the soldier’s martial pride, in the spirit of the Ihtter.

Nor can we blame him much ; that was a time, that was a cause in which men made haste to peril not only their own lives, but those they held dearest on earth, and could see their best beloved fall, yet scarcely wait to ^‘bury vheir dead.”

But Mrs. Chester was overwhelmed with grief by the two-fold bereavement, the fall of both her gallant sons, of whom she was as proud as fond.

She did not dream of the calamity, worse than death, that had befallen Alice, in the disguise of a princely inheritance, destined to darken her whole life with sorrow, while it mocked her in the face of the world with its unreal light and splendour. No ! she was too much borne down by grief to think of Alice, or her change of fortune, at all.

Nor did Alice once remember it. She was almost stupefied by the effect of such sudden sorrow falling upon so much

Nor did Milton Sinclair once recollect it. In those first days of bitter lamentations and wailings, the young minister visited and sought to sustain, soothe, and console the bereaved mother and sister, never calculating how tremendously, or how fatally this calamity might affect his own destiny, as Colonel Chester might choose to view it. On the one hand, endowing him with untold wealth, on the other, depriving him of the only wealth he coveted, his fair, gentle, and fragile Alice.

But there was one who was not so forgetful — Colonel Chester. He was still with the army, but another letter was received from him, announcing his speedy return home, accompanied by his friend and companion in arms. General Garnet, a young officer, who, though but thirty years of age, had risen to the highest rank in the army, and won an immortal fame. No doubt, he wrote that Mrs. Chester and her daughter knew General Garnet by his wide celebrity, and would be proud to

THE NEW SUITOR.

make liis personal acquaintance. They would therefore, he requested, prepare to receive him with all honour.

Mrs. Chester was incapable of hospitable thoughts as of domestic cares. One fatal regret filled her heart. She had not left her darkened chamber since the first news of her heavy bereavement had sent her there overwhelmed with affliction. Alice, advised and assisted by the young minister, did everything possible to get things in readiness for the reception of her father and his distinguished guest.

Colonel Chester came at length, accompanied by General Garnet. He met Alice with great empressement — for it was scarcely great affection — praised her growth and her beauty, introduced General Garnet, and, excusing himself, passed to the sick chamber of his wife.

Left alone with her guest, Alice examined him, shyly, with the curiosity of a woman, and the bashfulness of a country girl. General Garnet certainly possessed, in its highest degree, V air noble et distingu6. He was what young ladies call a fine, military-looking man. He certainly had a fine, martial figure and bearing, or that which is our ideal of it — - a tall and elegantly proportioned figure, a calm, majestic carriage, yet withal suggestive of great reposing strength and fire. His fine, clear cut classic features were surrounded by the softest, silkiest, blackest hair and whiskers — or rather they usually seemed the blackest; — they were, in reality, of the darkest, deepest, yet most fiery auburn, black as midnight in the shade, but reddening into threads of fire where the sun struck — singular hair ! but characteristic I He had eyes akin to his hair — hazel eyes, soft, gentle, but smouldering, and upon occasion, beaming with a lurid fire, or flashing with a fierce, terrible light. His lips, for the exquisite beauty of their curve, fullness, and colour, might have seemed effeminate, but for the dark moustache. His teeth were very fine, and his smile so beautiful and charming, that few could resist its j)ower. His voice was perfect harmony itself. His manner vras dignified and imposing, or graceful, earnest, and seductive. Yet, sometimes, one ki a sudden, vague astonishment, would feel that he was a man who could unite the utmost inflexibility and even cruelty of purpose with the mo^t graceful and gracious urbanity of manner. With all his marvellous powers of fascination, he was a man to darken, chill, repel a brightspirited, warm-souled, pure-hearted girl like Alice. Yet she did the honours of her father’s house to her father’s guest 2

HE DISCARDED DAUGHTER.

until that guest merged into the lover, and then Alice felt and betrayed the utmost soul-sickened repugnance to him and his suit.

It was now that the object of Colonel Chester in inviting this distinguished visiter to Mount Calm became evident — that of bestowing the hand of his daughter and heiress upon him.

After a conversation with Greneral Garnet he sent for Alice, and, without any preface at all, bade her make up her mind to a speedy marriage with the husband he had chosen for her, his distinguished and dear friend. General Garnet.

Stunned and bewildered, Alice at first

“Never fancied such a thing As answer possible to give I ”

But then, after a while, modestly, timidly she spoke of her engagement to Milton Sinclair. Her engagement to Milton Sinclair I pooh, pooh ! — pooh, pooh ! — folly ! She must never think of him again. Above all, she must never refer to him or their little childish engagement in General Garnetts presence, who would highly disapprove of it. Besides, there was 710 engagement I nonsense ! ridiculous i preposterous ! utterly preposterous I and let him hear no more of it. There was, at most, only a — a — a conditional — a — a — a — but let him hear no more of it I Milton Sinclair would never have the audacity, the insolence, the impudence^ to presume that now — the d — ^1 ! if he should, his holy cloth should not protect him from chastisement 1

Alice sat pale, stupefied, with one cold hand laid over the other on her lap. Her quiescent attitude deceived Colonel Chester, for he did not look at her closely enough to see the deathly paleness of her face, and the utter despair of its whole expression. He could not comprehend her feeling any more than she could understand his want of it.

Come, Alice,” he said, times and circumstances are changed ; there is a vast difference, let mo inform you, between the position and privileges of a moderately dowered girl, and a young lady who is to inherit such an estate as Mount Calm.^ You may now make one of the most distinguished alliances in the country. General Garnet, it is true, has no fortune, but a name among the most glorious in the land. Think of what % marriage !”

THE NEW SUITOR. 81

But Alice was incapable of thought — almost of feeling — all was hard despair, stupor, torpor.

There — you may go now, Alice,^^ said Colonel Chester, still deceived, ^^and be thankful that your father had too much thought and care for you to throw you away upon a poor country parson.^^

Alice passed from the room, mechanically pressing her hands to her temples, trying to awake as from a heart-sickening dream. And so she passed to her now frequent post of duty, her declining mother’s darkened room and sick bed. The senses, or the intuitions, or the instincts of those on the confines of the unseen world, are sometimes preternaturally acute. There was that in the falling footstep, in the very form and bearing of Alice as she glided through the shadows of that dark room, that revealed to the mother the existence of some heavy cloud teeming with sorrow, that was ready to burst upon the devoted head of her child.

She called Alice to her bedside, took her hand in her gentle grasp, looked with wondering sadness into her eyes — her eyes set in the stare of blank stupor — murmured, tenderly,

What is the matter, Alice ? Tell your mother ?”

Her mother’s loving voice and touch unsealed the spell-bound founts of tears and speech.

‘‘ Oh ! mother ! mother I I am ruined ! ruined !” she wildly gasped, and sinking down upon the floor, dropped her head upon the bed with hysterical sobs, and gasps, and inarticulate wailings.

Her mother laid her gentle hand upon her child’s burning and throbbing head, and raised her tender eyes in silent prayer for her, while this storm raged, and until it passed, and Alice, exhausted, but calm, was able to rise, sit by her side, and while she held her hand, tell her what had happened.

I will speak to him, Alice,” she then said I will tell him how you and Sinclair love each other — as you could not tell him, my child. I will show him how vain — oh ! how vain ! are wealth, and rank, and honour, and glory, in the hour of grief, by the bed of death, in the presence of God ! how love, and truth, and faith are all in all ! Yes ! and I will make him feel it, too. And though he should not realize it as I do — yet he will never refuse me a request now !” Sho did not say all that she meant — she did not say ^‘he will never refuse my last dying request.” Noj not for all the world contained would she have added the grief of those words