Sketches And Tales Illustrative Of Life In The Backwoods Of New Brunswick Part 3

But why, said the old man, do I talk so long--I weary you, my children, for the fancies of age are not those of youth--hope's fairy flowers are bright for you--the faded things of memory are mine alone--with them I live, but rejoice ye in your happiness, and gather now, in the spring time of your days, treasures to cheer you in the fall of life. As to your favourite, the stove, although I love it not so well as the old familiar fire-place, I can admire and value it as part of the spirit of improvement which is spreading o'er our land--her early troubles are pa.s.sing away, and she is rising fast to take her place among the nations of the earth--bitter has been her struggle for existence, but the clouds are fading in the brightness of her coming years, and her past woes will be forgotten.

He ceased, but we all loved to hear him talk, he was so kind and good, and he was earnestly requested for one of those tales of the early times of our own land, which had often thrilled us with their simple, yet often woeful interest.

I am become an egotist to-night, for self is the only theme of which I can discourse. My spirit, too, is like the minstrel harp of which you have to-night been reading, 'twill "echo nought but sadness;" but if it please you, you shall have uncle Ethel's love story--well may we say alas! for time,

"For he taketh away the heart of youth, And its gladness which hath been Like the summer's suns.h.i.+ne on our path, Making the desert green."

More than sixty years have elapsed since the time of which I now shall speak. We lived then, a large and happy family, in the dwelling where our fathers' sires had died--sons and daughters had married, but still remained beneath the shadow of the parent roof tree, which seemed to extend its wings like a guardian spirit, as they increased in number.

'Twas near the city of New York, and stood in the centre of sunny fields, which had been won from the forest shade. Our parents were natives of the soil, but theirs had come from the far land of Germany, and the memories of that land were still fondly cherished by their descendants. The low-roofed cottage, with its many-pointed gables and narrow cas.e.m.e.nt, was gay with the bright flowers of that home of their hearts--cherished and guarded there with the tenderest care--all hues of earth seemed blended in the bright parterre of tulips, over which the magnificent dahlia towered, tall and stately as a queen--the rich scent of the wallflower breathed around, and the jessamine went climbing freely o'er the trellissed porch and arching eaves--each flower around my home bore to me the face of a friend--they bore to me the poetry of the earth, as the stars tell the sweet harmonies of heaven--but there is a vision of fairer beauty than either star or flower comes with the thought of these bye-gone days--the face of my orphan cousin Ella Werner arises in the brightness of its young beauty, as it used to beam upon me from the latticed window of my home: for her's, indeed,

"Was a form of life and light, That seen became a part of sight, And comes where'er I turn mine eye, The morning star of memory."

Ella's mother was sister to my father: she lived but long enough to look upon her child, and her husband died of a broken heart soon after her.

Thus the very existence of the fair girl was fatal to those who best loved her--not best, for all living loved her. In after-years it seemed as though it was her beauty, that fatal gift, which ne'er for good was given to many, caused her woe. Ella's spirit was pure and bright as the eyes through which it beamed--the gladness of her young heart's happiness rung in the silvery music of her voice, and in the fairy magic of her smile she looked as if sorrow could never dim the golden l.u.s.tre of her curls, or trace a cloud on her snowy brow--gentle and lovely she was, and that was all. There was no depth of thought, no strength of mind, to form the character of one so gifted. Her faculties for reasoning were the impulses of her own heart: these were generally good, and const.i.tuted her principle of action--but changeful as the summer sky are the feelings of the human heart, unswayed by the deeper power of the head. Such were Ella's, and their power destroyed her. Alas! how calmly can I talk now of her faults; but who could think of them when they looked upon her, and loved her as I did--'tis only since she is gone I discover them.

Of the other members of the family I need not speak, as you already know of them; but there is one whose name you have never heard, for crime and sorrow rest with it, and oblivion shrouds his memory. Conrad Ernstein was also my cousin, and an orphan--he was an inmate of our dwelling, and my mother was to him as a parent. He was some years older, but his delicate const.i.tution and studious mind withdrew him from the others, and made him the companion of Ella and myself. I have said that Ella's mind was too volatile, so in like degree was Conrad's, in its deep unchanging firmness and immutability of purpose. Nothing deterred him from the pursuit of any object he engaged in--obstacles but increased his energy to overcome and call forth stronger powers of mind--this was observable in his learning. Science the most abstruse and difficult was his favourite study, and in these he attained an excellence rarely arrived at by one so situated.

Wondered at and admired by all, his pride which was great was amply gratified, and what was evil in his nature was not yet called into being--his disposition was melancholy, and showed none of the joyousness of youth--yet that very sadness seemed to make us love him all the more--his air of suffering asked for pity--'twas strange to see the glad-hearted Ella leave my mother's side, while she sang to us the songs of the blue Rhine, and bend her sunny brow with him over the ancient page of some clasped volume, containing the terrific legends of the "black forest," till the tales of the wild huntsmen filled her with dread--then again would she spring to my mother, and burying her head in her bosom, ask her once more to sing the songs of her native land, for so we still called Germany; and, as you see, the romances and legends of that country formed our childhood's lore, my early love for Ella grew and increased with my years, and I fancied that she loved me.

On the first of May, or, as it was by us styled, "Walburga's eve," the young German maidens have a custom of seeking a lonely stream, and flinging on its waters a wreath of early flowers, as an offering to a spirit which then has power. When, as the legend tells, the face of their lover will glide along the water, and the name be borne on the breeze, if the gift be pleasing to the spirit. Ella, I knew, had for some time been preparing to keep this ancient relic of the pagan rites--she had a treasured rose tree which bloomed, unexpectedly, early in the season--these delicate things she fancied would be a fitting offering to the spirit. She paused not to think of what she was about to do--the thing itself was but a harmless folly--from aught of ill her nature would have drawn instinctively; but evil there might have been--she stayed not to weigh the result--at the last hour of sunset she wreathed her roses, and set out. In the lightness of my heart I followed in the same path, intending to surprize her. I heard her clear voice floating on the air, as she sung the invocation to the spirit--the words were these:--

Blue-eyed spirit of balmy spring, Bright young flowers to thee I bring, Wreaths all tinged with hues divine, Meet to rest on thy fairy shrine.

With these I invoke thy gentle care, Queen of the earth and ambient air, Come with the light of thy radiant skies, Trace on the stream my true love's eyes, Show me the face in the silvery deep, Whose image for aye my heart may keep; Bid the waters echoing sh.e.l.l, Whisper the name thy breezes tell.

And still on the feast of Walburga's eve, Bright young flowers to thee I'll give; Beautiful spirit I've spoken the spell, And offered the gift thou lovest well."

The last notes died suddenly away, and Ella, greatly agitated, threw herself into my arms. I enquired the cause of her terror, and forgetting her secrecy, she said a face had appeared to her on the stream. Just then we saw Conrad, who had followed on the same purpose I had, but had fallen and hurt his ancle, and was unable to proceed. He joined not with me when I laughed at Ella's fright, but a deeper paleness overspread his countenance. Raising his eyes to the heavens, they rested on a star beaming brightly in the blue--its mild radiance seemed to soothe him.

See ye yonder, said he, how clear and unclouded the l.u.s.tre of that s.h.i.+ning orb--these words seemed irrelevant, but I knew their meaning.

His knowledge of German literature had led him into the mazes of its mingled philosophy and wild romance. Astronomy and astrology were to him the same; the star to which he pointed was what he called the planet of his fate, and its brightness or obscurity were shadowed in his mind--its aspect caused him either joy or woe. The incident of Ella's fright agitated him much, for the occurrences of this real world were to him all tinged with the supernatural; but he looked again at the heavens, and the mild l.u.s.tre of the star was reflected in his eyes; he leaned upon my arm, and we pa.s.sed onward. I knew not then that his dark spirit felt the sunbeams which illumined mine own.

That same balmy evening I stood with Ella by the silver stream which traced its s.h.i.+ning path around our home, watching the clear moonbeams as they flashed in the fairy foambells sparkling at our feet. There I first told my love--her hand was clasped in mine--she heard me, and raising her dewy eyes, said, "Dearest Ethel, I love you well; but not as she who weds must love you--be still to me my own dear friend and brother, and Ella will love you as she ever has. Ask not for more." She left me, and I saw a tear-drop gem the silken braid on her cheek, and thus my dream of beauty burst. My spirit's light grew dark as the treasured spell which bound me broke. Some hours pa.s.sed in agony, such as none could feel but those who loved as I did--so deep, so fondly.

As I approached my home the warm evening light was streaming from the windows, and I heard her rich voice thrilling its wild melody. Every brow smiled upon her: even Conrad's was unbent. I looked upon her, and prayed she might never know a grief like mine. The ringing music of her laugh greeted my entrance, and ere the night had pa.s.sed she charmed away my woe.

While these things occurred with us, the aspect of the times without had changed. America made war with England. What were her injuries we asked not, but 'twas not likely that we, come of a race who loved so well their "fatherland and king," would join with those who had risen against theirs. As yet the crisis was not come, and in New York British power was still triumphant.

Among the many festivities given by the officers, naval and military, then in the country, was a splendid ball on board a British frigate then in the harbour. To this scene of magic beauty and delight I accompanied Ella--'twas but a few days after that unhappy first of May; but the buoyant spirits of youth are soon rekindled, and Ella yet, I thought, might love me. The scene was so new, and withal so splendid in its details, that it comes before me now fresh and undimmed. The night was one of summer's softest, earliest beauty: the moonlight slept upon the still waters, and the tall masts, with all their graceful tracery of spar and line, were bathed with rich radiance, mingled with the hundred lights of coloured lamps, suspended from festoons of flowers; low couches stood along the bulwarks of the n.o.ble s.h.i.+p, and the meteor flag of England, which waved so oft amid the battle and the breeze, now wafted its ruby cross o'er fair forms gliding through the dance, to the rich strains of merry music--'twas an hour that sent glad feeling to the heart. The gay dresses and n.o.ble bearing of the military officers, all glistening in scarlet and gold, contrasted well with the white robes and delicate beauty of the fair girls by their sides. But they had their rivals in the gallant givers of the fete. Many a lady's heart was lost that night. "What is it always makes a sailor so dangerous a rival?"

Ella used to say, when rallied on her partiality for a "bluejacket,"

that she loved it because it was the colour of so many things dear to her: the sky was blue, the waves of the deep mysterious sea were blue, and the wreaths of that fairy flower, which bears the magic name forget-me-not, were of the same charmed hue. Some such reason, I suppose, it is that makes every maiden love a sailor.

While we stood gazing on the scene, enchanted and delighted, one came near and joined our group. n.o.bility of mind and birth was written on his brow in beauty's brightest traits. He seemed hardly nineteen, but, young as he was, many a wild breeze had parted the wavy ringlets of his hair, and the salt spray of the ocean raised a deeper hue on his cheek. His light and graceful figure was clad in the becoming costume of his rank, and on his richly braided bosom rested three half blown roses. Ella's eyes for an instant met his, they fell upon the flowers, and she dropped fainting from my arm. The mystery was soon explained. De Clairville, such was the stranger's name, had been walking on the cliffs when Ella sought the stream--he heard her voice and approached to see from whence it came--his was the face she had seen upon the waters; he heard her scream, and descended to apologise, but she was gone, and he had found and worn her rose buds--

"Oh! there are looks and tones that dart An instant suns.h.i.+ne through the heart, As if the soul that instant caught Some treasure it through life had sought; As if the very lips and eyes, Predestined to have all our sighs, And never be forgot again, Sparkled and spoke before us then."

So sings the poet, and so seemed it with Ella and De Clairville; and when the rosy morn, tinging the eastern sky, announced to the revellers the hour of parting, that night of happiness was deemed too short.

To hasten on my story, I must merely say that they became fondly attached, and when De Clairville departed for another station, he left Ella as his betrothed bride. On love such as theirs 'twould seem to all that heaven smiled; but inscrutable to human eyes are the ways of Providence, for deadly was the blight thrown o'er them.

Meanwhile the events in which the country was engaged drew to a close.

England acknowledged the independence of America, and withdrew her forces; but while she did so, offered a home and protection to those who yet wished to claim it. We were among the first to embrace the proposal: and though with sadness we left our sunny home with all its fond remembrances, yet integrity of mind was dearer still. We might not stay in the land with whose inst.i.tutions we concurred not. Conrad, with his learning and talents, 'twas thought, might remain to seek the path of fame already opening to him; but what to him were the dreams of ambition, compared to the all-engrossing thought which now bound each faculty of his mind beneath its power. Ella, my mother also wished to stay, nor attempt with us the perils of our new life; for here her betrothed, when he returned, expected to meet her; but she flung her arms around my mother, saying in the language of Ruth, "thy home, dearest, shall be mine," and there shall De Clairville join us. Suffice it, then, to say, that after bidding farewell to scenes we loved, our wearisome voyage was ended, and we landed on these sterile and dreary sh.o.r.es. We dared not venture from the coast, and our abode was chosen in what appeared to us the best of this bleak and barren soil. 'Twas a sad change, but those were the days of strong hearts and trusting hopes.

Our settlement was formed of six or eight different households, all connected, and all from the neighbourhood of the beautiful Bowery. Each knew what the other had left, and tried to cheer each other with brighter hopes than they hardly dared to feel; but sympathy and kindness were among us.

Why need I tell you of our blighted crops and scanty harvests, and all the toil and trouble which we then endured. I must go on with what I commenced--the story of my own love. Shall I say that when Ella accompanied us I hoped De Clairville might never join us. 'Tis true, but what were my feelings to discover the love of Conrad for the gem of my heart, and that he cherished it with all the deep strength of his nature. I saw Ella's manner was not such as became a betrothed maiden, but she feared Conrad, and trembled beneath the dark glance of his eye.

A feeling more of fear and pity than of love was her's; but I was fearful for the result, for I knew he was one not to be trifled with.

The last dreary days of the autumn were gathered round us--the earth was already bound in her frozen sleep, and all nature stilled in her silent trance--all, save the restless waves, das.h.i.+ng on the rocky sh.o.r.e; or the wind, which first curled their crests, and then went sweeping through the wiry foliage of the pines--when, at the close of the short twilight, we were all gathered on the highest point which overlooked the sea, earnestly gazing o'er the dim horizon, where night was coming fast.

Ere the sun had set a barque had been seen, and her appearance caused unwonted excitement in our solitudes. s.h.i.+ps in those days were strange but welcome visitants. Not merely the necessaries of life, but kind letters and tidings from distant friends were borne by them. As the darkness increased, signal fires were raised along the beach, and ere long a gun came booming o'er the waters; soon after came the n.o.ble s.h.i.+p herself; her white sails gleaming through the night, and the glittering spray flas.h.i.+ng in diamond sparkles from her prow. She came to, some distance from the sh.o.r.e, and, as if by magic, every sail was furled. A boat came glancing from her side; a few minutes sent it to the beach, and a gallant form sprung out upon the strand. It was De Clairville come to claim his affianced bride; and with a blus.h.i.+ng cheek and tearful eye Ella was once more folded to his faithful heart.

A pang of jealous feeling for an instant darted through me, but Conrad's face met mine, and its dark expression drove the demon power from me. I saw the withering scowl of hate he cast upon De Clairville, and I inwardly determined to s.h.i.+eld the n.o.ble youth from the malice of that dark one; for, bright as was to me the hope of Ella's love, I loved her too well to be ought but rejoiced in her happiness. Although it brought sorrow to myself, yet she was blessed. Mirth and joy, now for a while cheered our lonely homes; we knew we were to lose our flower; but love like theirs is a gladsome thing to look at. Many were the gifts De Clairville brought his bride from the rich sh.o.r.e of England. Bracelets, radiant as her own bright eyes, and pearls as pure as the neck they twined. Among other things was a fairy case of gold, in the form of a locket, which he himself wore. Ella wished to see what it contained, and laughingly he unclosed it before us: 'twas the faded rose leaves of her offerings to the love spirit on Walburga's eve. They had rested on his heart, he said, in the hours of absence; and there, in death, should they be still. Ella blushed and hid her face upon his bosom. I sighed at the memory of that day, but Conrad's gloomy frown recalled me to the present--this was their bridal eve. Our pastor was with us, and the lowly building where we wors.h.i.+pped was decorated with simple state for the occasion.

It stood on an eminence some distance from the other houses. That night I was awakened from sleep by a sudden light s.h.i.+ning through the room--a wild dream' was yet before me, and a death snriek seemed ringing in my ears. I looked from the window; our little church was all in flames; 'twas built of rough logs, and was of little value, save that it was hallowed by its use. A fire had-probably been left on to prepare it for the morrow, and from this the mischief had arisen. I thought little about it, and none knew of its destruction till the morn.

The sun rose round and red, and sparkled o'er the glittering sheen of the frost king's gems, flung in wild symmetry o'er the earth, till all that before looked dark and drear was wreathed with a veil of dazzling beauty; even the blackened logs where the fire had been had their delicate tracery of pearly fringe. The guests a.s.sembled in our dwelling, and the pastor stood before the humble altar, raised for the occasion.

The walls were rude, but the bride in her young beauty might have graced a palace. She leaned on Conrad's arm, according to our custom, as her oldest unmarried relative. The tables were spread with the bridal cheer, and the blazing fire crackled merrily on the wide hearth-stone. The bridegroom's presence alone was waited for. Gaily hung with flags was the s.h.i.+p, and cheers rung loudly from her crew as a boat left her side.

It came, but bore but the officers invited to the wedding. Where was De Clairville? None knew! We had expected he pa.s.sed the night on board; but there he had not been. 'Twas most strange! The day pa.s.sed away, and others like it, and still he came not. He was gone for ever. Had he proved false and forsaken his love? Such was the imputation thrown on his absence by Conrad.

The sailors joined us; a band of Indian hunters led the way, and for miles around the woods were searched, but trace of human footsteps, save our own, we saw not. Long did the vessel's crew linger by the sh.o.r.e, hoping each day for tidings of their loved commander's fate, but of him they heard no more, and it was deemed he had met his death by drowning.

Conrad, whose morose manner suddenly disappeared for a bold and forward tone, so utterly at variance from his usual that all were surprized, still persisted in a.s.serting that he had but proceeded along the coast, and would join his vessel as she pa.s.sed onward. One of the sailors, an old and grey-haired man, who loved De Clairville as a son, indignantly denied the charge. He was incapable of such an action. "G.o.d grant," said he, "he may have been fairly dealt with." "You would not say he had been murdered," said Conrad. "No," said the old man, "I thought not of that: if he were, not a leaflet in your woods but would bear witness to the crime."

We were standing then by the ruined church--a slender beech tree grew beside it--one faded leaf yet hovered on its stem--for an instant it trembled in the blast, then fell at Conrad's feet, brus.h.i.+ng his cheek as it pa.s.sed. If the blow of a giant had struck him he could not have fallen more heavily to the ground. An inward loathing, such as may mortal man never feel to his fellow, forbade me to a.s.sist him. He had fainted; but the cold air soon revived him, and he arose, complaining of sudden illness. The sailors left us, and the s.h.i.+p sailed slowly from our waters, with her colours floating sadly half-mast high.

Ella thus suddenly bereaved, mourned in wild and bitter grief, but woman's pride, at times her guardian angel, at others her destroyer, took up its stronghold in her heart. The tempter Conrad awoke its tones--with specious wile he recalled De Clairville's lofty ideas of name and birth--how proudly he spoke of his lady mother and the castled state of his father's hall. Was it not likely that, at the last, this pride had rallied its strength around him, and bade him seek a n.o.bler bride than the lowly maiden of the "Refugees?" Too readily she heard him, for love the fondest is nearest allied to hate the deepest, and De Clairville's name became a thing for scorn and hate. 'Twas vain for me to speak--what could I say? A species of fascination seemed to be obtained by Conrad o'er her--a witching spell was in his words--'twas but the power, swayed by his strong and ill-formed mind, over her weak but gentle one--which, if rightly guided, would have echoed such sweet music--and, ere the summer pa.s.sed, she had forgotten her lost lover, and was to wed him.

To others there was nothing strange in this, but to me it brought a wild and dreary feeling; not that my early dreams were unchanged, for I had learned to think a love like her's, so lightly lost and won, was not the thing to be prized. Alas! I knew not the blackness of the spirit that beguiled her, and wrought such woe. Still she had done wrong--the affections of man's heart may not be idly dealt with--the woman who feigns what she feels not, has her hand on the lion's mane. Ella at one time had done this, and she reaped a dark guerdon for her falsehood. Yet in her it might have been excused, for the very weakness of her nature led her to it. Let those who are more strongly gifted beware of her fate.

The earth was in the richest flush of her green beauty. On the morn, Ella was again to be a bride--the golden light streamed through the glad blue sky, and all looked bright and fair--the remains of the church, which had long looked black and dreary, were gay with the richness of vegetation--the bracken waved its green plumes, and the tall mullen plant, with its broad white leaves, raised its pale crest above the charred walls. While the dew was s.h.i.+ning bright I had gone forth--surprise and consternation greeted my solitary approach when I returned. Again the holy book had been opened--the priest stood ready with the bride, and tarried for the lover--they thought he was with me, but I had not seen him--daylight pa.s.sed away, night came, but brought him not--the moon arose, and her shadowy light gave to familiar things of day the spectral forms of mystery.

While we sat in silence, thinking of Conrad's absence, a dog's mournful whine sounded near--it grew louder, and attracted our attention. We followed the sound--it came from the ruins of the church, and there, among the weeds and flowers lay Conrad stiff and cold--he was dead, and, oh the horrible expression of that face, the demoniac look of despair was never written in such fearful lines on human face before. All felt relief when 'twas covered from the sight. One hand had 'twined in the death grasp round the reed-like stem of the mullen plant--we unclosed it, and it sprung back, tall and straight as before; something glittered in the other--'twas the half of De Clairville's golden locket--how it came to be in his possession was strange, but we thought not of it then.

Events like these have a saddening influence on the mind, and the gloom for Conrad's sudden death hung heavy o'er us--Ella's mourning was long and deep. I was not grieved to see it, for sorrow makes the spirit wiser.

Three years pa.s.sed away--little change had been among us, save that some of our aged were gone, and the young had risen around us. Once more it was the first of May--the night was dark and still, but the silvery sounds of the waging earth came like balm o'er the soul--there was a murmur in the forest, as though one heard the song of the young leaves bursting into life, and the glad gus.h.i.+ng of the springing streams rose with them. The memory of other days was floating o'er my mind, when a soft voice broke on my reverie. Her thoughts had been with mine--"Ethel," said she, "remember you, how on such a night as this, you once sought my love. Alas! how little knew I then of my own heart--your's it should then have been--you know the shades that have pa.s.sed over it. Is Ella's love a worthless gift, or will you accept it now as freely as 'tis offered. How long and sternly must we be trained e'er love's young dream can be forgotten." The events that intervened all pa.s.sed away, and Ella was again the same maiden that stood with me so long ago by the streamlet's side on Walburga's eve. My heart's long silenced music once more rung forth its melody at her sweet words, and life again was bright with the gems of hope and fond affection.

In places so lone as that in which we lived, the fancies of superst.i.tion have ample scope to range. It had long been whispered through the settlement that the spirit of Conrad appeared on the spot where he had died at certain times. When the moon beamed, a shadowy form was seen to wave its pale arms among the ruins of the church, which yet remained unchanged. So strongly was the story believed, that after night-fall none dared to pa.s.s the spot alone. Ella, too, had heard it, and trembled whilst she disbelieved its truth. Our marriage morning came, and Ella was for the third time arrayed in her bridal dress. A wreath of pearl gleamed through her hair, and lace and satin robed her peerless form--the tinge upon her cheek might not have been so bright as once it was, but to me she was lovely--more of mind was blended with the feelings of the heart, and gave a higher tone to her beauty. The holy words were said, and my fondest hopes made truth. Is it, that because in our most blissful hours the spirits are most ready fall, or was it the sense of coming ill that threw its dreary shade of sadness o'er me all that day? The glorious sun sunk brightly to his rest, but the rose cloud round his path seemed deepened to the hue of blood. A wailing sound came o'er the waters, and a whispering, as of woe, sighed through the leafy trees. This feeling of despondency I tried in vain to banish; as the evening came, it grew deeper, but Ella was more joyous than ever, for a long time, she had been. All the fairy wiles of her winning youth seemed bright as of old--glad faces were around us, and she was the gayest of them all; when, suddenly, something from the open door met her eyes--one loud shriek broke from her, and she rushed wildly from among us. I saw her speed madly up the hill, where stood the church. I was hastening after, when strong arms held me back, and fingers, trembling with awe and dread, pointed to the object of their terror--there among the ruins stood a tall and ghost-like form, whose spectral head seemed to move with a threatening motion--for an instant I was paralysed, but Ella's white robes flashed before me, and I broke from their grasp. Again I heard her shriek--she vanished from me, but the phantom form still stood. I reached it, and that thing of fear was but a gigantic weed--a tall mullen that had outgrown the others on the very spot where we had found the body of Conrad; the waving of its flexile head and long pale leaves, s.h.i.+ning with moonlight, were the motions we had seen--but where was Ella? The decaying logs gave way beneath her, and she had fallen into a vault or cellar beneath the building. Meanwhile those at the house recovered their courage, and came towards us, bearing lights. We entered the vault, and, on her knees before a figure, was Ella--the form and dress were De Clairville's, such as we had seen him in last, but the face, oh! heaven, the face showed but the white bones of a skeleton. The rich brown curls still clung to the fleshless skull, and on the finger glittered the ring with which Ella was to have been wed. The half of the golden locket was clasped to his breast--the ribbon by which it hung seemed to have been torn rudely from its place, but the hand had kept its hold till the motion caused by our descent--it fell at Ella's feet, a sad memento of other days, and recalled her to sensation. Horror paled the brows of all, but to me was given a deeper woe, to think and know what Ella must have felt.

Every feeling was deepened to intensity of agony in the pa.s.sing of that night--that dreary closing of my bridal day. How came the morning's light I know not, but when it did, the fresh breeze blew on my brow, and I saw the remains of De Clairville lying on the gra.s.s before me--they had borne him from below, and it showed more plainly the crime which had been among us. The deep blue of the dress was changed to a darker hue where the red life blood had flowed, and from the back was drawn the treacherous implement of death. The hearts of all readily whispered the murderer's name, and fuller proof was given in that ancient dagger that had long been an heir-loom in the family of Conrad--a relic of the old Teutonic race from whence they sprung--well was it known, and we had often wondered at its disappearance. He, Conrad, was the murderer--he had slain De Clairville, and fired the building to conceal his crime.

G.o.d was the avenger of the dark deed--the mighty hand of conscience struck him in his proudest hour--the humblest things of earth, brought deathly terror to his soul. 'Twas evident the appearance of the mullen plant, which drew us to the spot, had been the cause of his death. The words of the old sailor seemed true. The lowly herb had brought the crime to light, and in the hand of heaven had punished the murderer.

We buried De Clairville beneath a mossy mound, where the lofty pine and spicy cedar waved above, and hallowed words were said o'er his rest. A blight seemed to hover o'er our lonely settlement by the deed which had been done within it. Nothing bound us to the spot; but hues of sadness rested with it, and ever would. 'Twas an unhallowed spot, and we prepared to leave it, and seek another resting place.

Our boats lay ready by the beach, and some were already embarked. I took a last look around--something white gleamed among the trees around De Clairville's grave--'twas Ella, who lay there dead. She always accused herself as the cause of De Clairville's death, and indirectly, too, she had been--but rest.i.tution now was made. We laid her by his side, and thus I lost my early, only love.

Here then was it where we chose our heritage, and here we have since remained, but everything is changed since then. Many an aged brow has pa.s.sed from earth, and many a bright eye closed in death. Every trace of old is pa.s.sing away, save where their shadows glide in the memory. Even the grave where Ella slept is gone from earth.

Twenty years after her death I made a pilgrimage to the place--the young sapling pines which shaded it had grown to lofty trees--human voice seemed never to have broken in tones of joy or woe the deep solitude around--the long gra.s.s waved rank and dark above the walls we had raised, and the red berries hung rich and ripe by the ruined hearthstone. Again, when another twenty years pa.s.sed, I came to it once more--the weight of age had gathered o'er me, but there lay the buried sunlight of my youth, and the spirit thoughts of other days drew me to it. Again there was a change--a change which told me my own time drew near. The woods were gone long since--the reaper had pa.s.sed o'er the lowly graves, and knew them not. The last record of my love and of my woe, was gone. Dwellings were raised along the lonely beach, and laden s.h.i.+ps floated on the long silent waters. I bade the place farewell for ever, and returned to await in peace and hope my summons to the promised rest.

The old man paused--the dreams of the past had weakened him, and he retired for the night. Next morn we waited long for his presence, but he came not. We sought his chamber, and found him dead. The soul had pa.s.sed away--one hand was folded on his heart, and oh! the might of earthly love. It clasped a s.h.i.+ning braid of silken hair, and something, of which their faint perfume told to be the faded rose leaves--frail memorials of his fondly loved Ella, but lasting after the warm heart which cherished them was cold. He was gone where, if it be not in heaven "a crime to love too well," his spirit may yet meet with her's, in that holy light, whose purity of bliss may not be broken by the vain turmoil of earthly feelings. So ends the story of uncle Ethel.