University of Virginia Library

48. CHAPTER XLVIII.
CONCLUSION.

The return voyage to Oswego, which was commenced the moment
that Brom was received on board, occupied the remainder
of the night, and a brief and sleepless period it proved to the
relieved and delighted travellers.

Assembled in the cabin, they discussed, with no thought of
rest, and with little abatement of their joyous excitement, the
various incidents of the eventful enterprise which had terminated
so happily. Harry had much to tell of his capture and of his
prison experiences, but he had far more to learn of what had been
done for him, of countless details of which he was as yet necessarily
ignorant. Gertrude, indeed, said little of her own achievements,
but there were enough to blazon them; and in regard to
many events, including the interview with Governor Arthur, the
impulsive Ruth, when questioned, became the eager narrator.
The story of her own solitary travels was also drawn forth; of the
treacherous guide who robbed and deserted her, and of the more
treacherous kidnapper, from whose grasp the valiant Van Vrank
had saved her.

Thomas, also, had his story to tell, scarcely less replete with
interest, and which, like much of the other narratives, necessarily
abounded with compliments to the heroic Johnson, who, wakeful
enough to other tales, went fairly to sleep (may our readers not do
the same) over a spirited recital of his defence of Rainbow Island.

The brothers had, indeed, reason to confess that although they
had tired of a monotonous and peaceful life at home, their few
months' experience of war had been crowded enough with incidents
to fully satisfy their longings for a change, and to content
them hereafter with more peaceful and laudable pursuits. Each
had seen sufficient reason to change his convictions in relation to
the merits of the cause they had espoused, to which, indeed,
Harry had been rendered a convert, rather by his fraternal affection,
than by the deductions of an unbiased judgment. But they
considerately concealed these new sentiments from the heroic man
to whom they owed so much, and whose opinions and prejudices,
they well knew, were rooted too deeply to be shaken by argument
or influenced by example. To him, indeed, a wronged citizen of
the country he sought to revolutionize, the subject had far different
relations, and might justify a far different conduct.

It was with much grief that the brothers and Miss Van Kleeck
parted, at Oswego, with this valiant and generous man, whom no
persuasions of Gertrude could induce to receive a reward for the
great favors he had conferred. A costly memento, indeed, she
gave, which as a memento only he received and cherished, nor
would she suffer her benefactor to depart until she had extorted
a promise from him that, when better days should come, and he
should no longer be an object of governmental vigilance, he would
visit her at her own home on the quiet bank of the Hudson. On
his brave followers she bestowed an additional bounty beyond the
large remuneration which had been advanced to them, and this
she accompanied with kind words and judicious praise, which, far
more than the gold, won their enduring gratitude and remembrance.

If Harry felt humiliated to see himself thus ransomed, as it
were, by a lady, like a prisoner redeemed from Arabic captivity,
while he stood penniless by, the feeling was only of momentary
duration. All Gertrude's conduct had borne evidence of the

promptings of a noble philanthropy, with which he felt that he
would scarcely have the right, if he had the power, to interfere.

To some extent he would have the ability, on his return home,
to discharge his pecuniary obligations to her, and there was a
future in which, the promptings of ambition told him, he might
yet repair the shattered fortune of his fair friend—shattered for his
sake. But he knew that if he could do all this, he would still fall
immeasurably short of requiting his obligations to Gertrude, to
whom he would ever remain a willing and a grateful debtor. But
with a revived affection stimulating a long dormant hope, it was
impossible that Harry should long remain ignorant of the grand
mistake of his life, originated by his blindness, and perpetuated
by his indiscretion, until it had so nearly proved utterably irreparable.

Reason and reflection had long since convinced him that
Thomas had been an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of Gertrude,
and this belief was changed into certainty soon after the re-union
of the brothers, by the distinct avowal of the younger.

He not only freely acknowledged his own deserved repulse, but,
with still unextinguished vanity, he imputed it solely to the circumstance
that the young lady's heart was pre-occupied by Harry,
who, he said, had long before made an unknown and undesigned
conquest of it. Harry doubted still, but Thomas, with many
earnest assurances, half convinced him of what he so earnestly
hoped for.

“But you, Tom,” said Harry, “you should not yield to one
repulse—and I certainly will never be your rival.”

“No, you never will. You need not fear that; and as to one
refusal, I think, if I recollect aright, I had three or four. No, no;
Getty and I have a very distinct understanding now; and, to tell
the truth, I cannot say that I ever was really in love with her, or
with any one else. You know very well it was only a question of
policy with me. I was a fortune-hunter, which you never were,

and never could be. I deserved all that I received; and you,
Harry, richly deserve all that I am very sure you are going to
receive, and that is the heart and hand of Gertrude.”

Harry was now more convinced than ever that Tom was the
noble fellow he had always believed him, and although in that
opinion he was still in error (yet not so widely as once), let him
be pardoned the blindness produced by an excess of light radiating
from his own generous heart.

A stage-coach journey homeward, which confined the travelling
party to narrow limits, and compelled a common sociability, relieved
in some degree, the embarrassment which the unavowed
lovers could not fail to experience in each other's presence.

A few days of travel brought them home, where the intelligence
of their safety had preceded them, and where they received the
glad greetings of friends and neighbors, who had long given up
Harry for lost, and who, as yet, had no knowledge of the mode in
which his release had been accomplished.

The good old Guert Rosevelt, who had long been suffering
from serious illness, found sudden strength again at the sight of
his favorite boy, whom he clasped, weeping, in his arms, and addressed
volubly in Low Dutch, the only language in which he
could express his violent emotion with a rapidity necessary to
his relief.

“I should have died with you, my boy,” he said, “if they had
killed you. But now I shall live another year—another year to
see you.”

“Twenty of them, grandpa—twenty of them, I am certain.
Why, you will soon be well; we are going to take the best of
care of you, and next spring you will be as strong as ever again.”

The old man smiled, and whatever may have been his presentiments,
he would say nothing farther to mar the happiness of that
joyous hour. If it was with a more moderate welcome that he
greeted Thomas, it was less from favoritism to the elder, than

because he had long known of the other's safety, and had entertained
no solicitude in his behalf.

Aunt Becky, although very glad to receive her niece again in
safety, was greatly disappointed to learn that she was not married
to Van Vrank, and that there was no probability of such an
event.

She soon had other cause of perplexity in the renewed visits of
Harry Vrail, who rightfully resolved that Gertrude should at once
know the whole history of his love—his presumptuous love, if
such it were—and that his painful doubts should be dispelled,
even although by a more painful certainty.

By that same bright fireside where he had spoken his hasty
farewell, where her tears had been with difficulty concealed from
his view, as she responded to his adieux, there did they meet again,
alone, with the shadow of that sad hour yet resting on their
young hearts.

Need it be said how quickly that cloud was dispelled—how
effulgent was the light which succeeded it! Gertrude knew all;
not only that she was now loved, which might have been the result
of gratitude alone, but that for years she had been the one object
of Harry's most fervent and faithful affection. And richly did
this consciousness alone repay her for all that she had suffered and
sacrificed. Not less complete was Harry's bliss, the memory of
whose past sorrows rendered doubly bright the serene skies which
now smiled upon him.

In the first hour of their unselfish joy, their happy hearts
turned to that sweet child of a foreign land, to whom they jointly
owed so immeasurable a debt, and whom each was henceforth to
regard and cherish as a sister. As such, the delighted Ruth was
formally and fully recognized, discarding forever the abhorred
name of her pretended relative, and assuming henceforth the
patronymic, not euphonic indeed, but dear to her, of Van
Kleeck.

“There will be need for some one to take it, if it is to be long
preserved,” she said, archly, to Gertrude, calling a rich blush to
the cheek of the fiancée, and a gay smile to the lips of Harry.

Within a few months indeed, when spring began to put forth
its rich promise, making all nature glad, and bringing to the
patriarchal Guert that restored strength which the voice of affection
had predicted; when May, bright May, brought again its
verdure and its flowers, Ruth and Dame Becky bore the Flemish
name alone.

Gertrude became a bride, and amid the festivities which marked
that occasion, none was more gay than the rejected Thomas, who
had learned from the perpetual examples of generosity before him
to rejoice in the happiness of others. What a roystering time he
and Van Vrank, aided by some village confrères, made of that
wedding evening; and how the happy grandsire enjoyed their
mirth, and grew young again in heart amidst this festival of youth
and love. Even Aunt Becky became gracious beneath so many
genial influences, and, to the dangerous merriment of Garret, was
coaxed into dancing a minuet in the style of the preceding century.
Brom, stationed beside the sable musicians, richly enjoyed
the scene, and became himself the object of no small share of
attention. All had a pleasant word for him, for all knew his
fidelity, and the invaluable services he had rendered Harry.

Ruth, now a blooming school-girl, exuberant in innocent glee,
was the bridesmaid, and if she had not ever been forgetful of
self, there might have been something in the scenes around her
to carry her thoughts a few years forward to a similar event
in her own destiny. If she thought not of these things, however,
there was one who did, and whose honest heart warmed with
emotion whenever his eye fell upon the beautiful child.

Stimulated by ambition to make himself worthy of her, Garret,
during the years which were yet necessary to ripen Ruth into all
the graces of womanhood, found time and means for great personal

improvement, and in no small degree for mental cultivation. He
found time, also, to win the heart he so much prized, and without
any promptings from Aunt Becky, who had long given him over
as a dolt, he conducted his courtship to a triumphant issue.

The patroon-like estate which had descended to Gertrude,
although shorn of some of its fair proportions, was far from being
entirely sacrificed by her generosity. A few valuable farms were
sold to discharge the incumbrances she had imposed upon them
when starting on her heroic expedition, but the great bulk of the
property still remained to her, and by the aid of those very unromantic
improvements so deploringly depicted at the outset of this
narrative, it soon acquired an increased value, nearly equivalent
to all that had been lost. From these great possessions the
young and generous owners did not cease freely to dispense. On
Garret they early bestowed a farm adjoining his own, for the
hoped purchase of which they knew he had been long carefully
hoarding his gains, and Ruth's dowry, when at length her wedding
day came, was, of course, a noble one. Much, too, had been
lavished on her education, and although she became a prize
sought by many aspirants, and capable of making what the world
calls a splendid alliance, Gertrude and Harry did not desire to see
her affections diverted from the honest heart she had chosen. Nor
had she, fortunately, any such weak ambition to interfere with her
happiness, which has remained unmarred by regrets, and unclouded
even by the remembrance of her early griefs.

Thomas found a brother's ready aid, and was afforded opportunities
of professional advancement, which he embraced with
commendable zeal, forgetful of his military aspirations, and
achieving a success which enabled him to laugh at his grandsire's
moderate predictions in his behalf.

To that venerable man there remained a long, serene evening
of life, with its tranquil memories and its blissful hopes, for his
was the Christian's confidence, which grows stronger at death's

approach. The hour of his exultant departure brought the first
real grief to Harry and Gertrude, of whose family he had ever
been a cherished member, happy and dispensing joy.

Hadley did not visit his American friends, as he had given them
reason to hope, having been recalled to England sooner than he
had anticipated, by an urgent summons from his father; but Gertrude
had the satisfaction of receiving a letter from him, congratulating
her on the success of her great enterprise, and highly
complimenting her heroism and generosity. He related many
amusing incidents connected with the alarm in Kingston on the
night of the rescue, but said he believed he had been fortunate
enough to entirely escape suspicion of any collusion with the
brigands.

Brave old Commodore Johnson made good his promise of visiting
his young friends, and beholding the happiness he had done
so much to promote, and great was the gratification of the veteran
soldier, as together they recounted the vicissitudes they had mutually
experienced, and the triumph they had achieved. But
although entertained with a noble hospitality, and urged with
almost filial affection to prolong his stay, the old hero could not
long be detained from his island world, where, since the border
war had ceased, and his high hopes had been relinquished, he
had found a quiet and peaceful home. There Harry, in turn,
accompanied by Thomas and Van Vrank, made him an autumnal
visit, and spent a week in the exciting pleasures of the chase; and
many were the rich presents they bore, in the name of Gertrude
and Ruth, to their benefactor and his family.

It remains only to say a word of sable Brom, who, notwithstanding
that the munificence of Gertrude has rendered him
independent of labor, has ever remained in her family, nominally
a servant, but virtually his own master, and to some extent the
controller of all around him. His military career and its consequences
have made him an oracle in all the neighborhood, and

he takes delight in recounting his experiences, whenever he can
find a listener to whom the tale is new. But his most attentive
and delighted auditors now, who never tire of his repetitions, are
some juvenile representatives of the houses of Vrail and Van
Vrank, who address each other as Hadley, and Getty, and Ruth,
and who become compliant to all requests, on being promised a
story of the war. They grow wild with excitement over its details,
and fully sympathize with the regrets which are invariably
expressed by Brom at its close, that he was obliged to abandon
the beautiful horses and coach to the British dragoons.