10. CHAPTER X.
THE QUADROON'S HOME.
A FEW miles out of Richmond is a pleasant place, with here and
there a beautiful cottage surrounded by trees so as scarcely to be seen.
Among these was one far retired from the public roads, and almost
hidden among the trees. This was the spot that Henry Linwood had
selected for Isabella, the eldest daughter of Agnes. The young man
hired the house, furnished it, and placed his mistress there, and for
many months no one in his father's family knew where he spent his
leisure hours.
When Henry was not with her, Isabella employed herself in looking
after her little garden and the flowers that grew in front of her
cottage. The passion-flower, peony, dahlia, laburnum, and other plants,
so abundant in warm climates, under the tasteful hand of Isabella,
lavished their beauty upon this retired spot, and miniature paradise.
Although Isabella had been assured by Henry that she should be free
and that he would always consider her as his wife, she nevertheless felt
that she ought to be married and acknowledged by him. But this was
an impossibility under the State laws, even had the young man been
disposed to do what was right in the matter. Related as he was, however,
to one of the first families in Virginia, he would not have dared to
marry a woman of so low an origin, even had the laws been favorable.
Here, in this secluded grove, unvisited by any other except her lover,
Isabella lived for years. She had become the mother of a lovely
daughter, which its father named Clotelle. The complexion of the
child was still fairer than that of its mother. Indeed, she was not
darker than other white children, and as she grew older she more and
more resembled her father.
As time passed away, Henry became negligent of Isabella and his
child, so much so, that days and even weeks passed without their seeing
him, or knowing where he was. Becoming more acquainted with the
world, and moving continually in the society of young women of his
own station, the young man felt that Isabella was a burden to him, and
having as some would say, “outgrown his love,” he longed to free himself
of the responsibility; yet every time he saw the child, he felt that
he owed it his fatherly care.
Henry had now entered into political life, and been elected to a seat
in the legislature of his native State; and in his intercourse with his
friends had become acquainted with Gertrude Miller, the daughter of a
wealthy gentleman living near Richmond. Both Henry and Gertrude
were very good-looking, and a mutual attachment sprang up between
them.
Instead of finding fault with the unfrequent visits of Henry, Isabella
always met him with a smile, and tried to make both him and herself
believe that business was the cause of his negligence. When he was
with her, she devoted every moment of her time to him, and never
failed to speak of the growth and increasing intelligence of Clotelle.
The child had grown so large as to be able to follow its father on his
departure out to the road. But the impression made on Henry's feelings
by the devoted woman and her child was momentary. His heart
had grown hard, and his acts were guided by no fixed principle. Henry
and Gertrude had been married nearly two years before Isabella knew
anything of the event, and it was merely by accident that she became
acquainted with the facts.
One beautiful afternoon, when Isabella and Clotelle were picking wild
strawberries some two miles from their home, and the road-side,
they observed a one-horse chaise driving past. The mother turned her
face from the carriage not wishing to be seen by strangers, little dreaming
that the chaise contained Henry and his wife. The child, however,
watched the chaise, and startled her mother by screaming out at the
top of her voice, “Papa! papa!” and clapped her little hands for joy.
The mother turned in haste to look at the strangers, and her eyes encountered
those of Henry's pale and dejected countenance. Gertrude's
eyes were on the child. The swiftness with which Henry drove by
could not hide from his wife the striking resemblance of the child to
himself. The young wife had heard the child exclaim “Papa! papa!”
and she immediately saw by the quivering of his lips and the agitation
depicted in his countenance, that all was not right.
“Who is that woman? and why did that child call you papa?” she
inquired, with a trembling voice.
Henry was silent; he knew not what to say, and without another
word passing between them, they drove home.
On reaching her room, Gertrude buried her face in her handkerchief
and wept. She loved Henry, and when she had heard from the lips of
her companions how their husbands had proved false, she felt that he
was an exception, and fervently thanked God that she had been so
blessed.
When Gertrude retired to her bed that night, the sad scene of the
day followed her. The beauty of Isabella, with her flowing curls, and
the look of the child, so much resembling the man whom she so dearly
loved, could not be forgotten; and little Clotelle's exclamation of “Papa!
papa!” rang in her ears during the whole night.
The return of Henry at twelve o'clock did not increase her happiness.
Feeling his guilt, he had absented himself from the house since his return
from the ride.
