University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

On the opposite side of the mere of Eden, half a mile from the village,
was situated a gentleman's seat, with its lawns and gardens extending
quite to the water. It was called `Rosemont,' and was the
residence of Colonel Odlin, who had distinguished himself in the then
recent war of the revolution, and now with fresh military honors, an
ample fortune, and an only daughter, had retired to this lovely spot.
He was proud and haughty, and educated his daughter in aristocratic
seclusion; but nevertheless occasionally permitted her to visit Eden,
and once a month attend the village church. Mary Elizabeth Odlin
was a sweet, delicate girl, with soft black eyes of the identical rich
color of her auburn hair, which at every motion of her head, reflected
a sunny hue of gold: her complexion was unsulied as snow, and
so transparent was the skin of her hands, temples, and round white
neck, that the veins could be followed by the blue tints underneath.
She was scarcely sixteen, a little below the middle height, with a round
full figure, light and agile in its motion as the pet fawn that accompanied
her in all her walks. She had a lively spirit, a gentle temper,
a musical laugh, and a smile so sweet and expressive of her happy-heartedness,
that one could not look upon, without feeling an interest
in her; few saw without loving her. I forgot to say, too, that she
sang with great simplicity and taste, several gentle songs; had an exquisite
hand and the most loveable little foot in the world. Somehow
or other it chanced that Henry Irvine and she had once met, the year
before, and from that period, young as they both were, a silent, unspoken,
but increasing mutual passion, sprung up in their hearts.

At sunset of the day on which the events just related had transpired,
Mary was seated in a little favorite bower, at the foot of the garden,
that looked upon the water, and from which was a view of the

village, spread out before her like a picture, when she descried a boat,
containing two persons, put off from the opposite side of the lake, and
rapidly approach the spot where she was seated. A glance at the form
of the individual in the stern told her that it was none other than
Henry; while in the broad shoulders and shaggy bare head of the
oarsman, she could not fail to recognize his inseparable companion,
Davy Dow. Scarce had the boat touched the snowy beach, ere Mary,
who flew to meet it, was in the arms of Henry. They walked together
silently for a few moments, beneath the water-oaks that overhung
the winding shore, when, after they had retired a little apart from
observation, Henry, who, to Mary's surprise, had remained moody as
well as silent, and wholly forgetful of his usual lightness of spirits,
stopped suddenly, and impressively said to her:

`Mary, I have come to bid you good bye.'

`Henry!' was the exclamation that escaped her lips at this announcement.

`It is true. I leave Eden with the dawn.'

`Whither?'

`To seek my fortune—and, in after years to return, if you will then
have proved true to me, to claim you, dare I say it, as my bride!'

He warmly pressed her to his heart as he spoke, and looked anxiously
into her face for a reply

For a moment, the gentle girl remained silent. The suddenness
of the announcement had stunned her, and she was incapable of speaking.
At length recovering her usual manner, she said playfully:

`You say so but to try my affection, Henry. If this is all you wish,
although I ought not to humor you, I will frankly tell you that my love,
young as we both are, shall never meet with a change.'

`Your father?'

`With his approval, always, Henry.'

`But the wealthy Colonel Odlin will never approve the love of a
poor lad, unknown to birth and fortune.'

`My father will ever seek the happiness of his only child Henry;
and my happiness never will be sacrificed even to his own pride of
birth and fortune.'

`Yet thrice has he forbidden me to speak and have you forgotten
Mary, when he so rudely thrust me one side, at the church door, when
I offered to assist you in descending from the carriage?'

`Speak not this now—'twas a hasty act. I wish to learn what you
mean by saying you have come to bid me farewell?'

`It needs no explanation. I have struck the master a blow, and
the whole village has risen against me. Even my good foster mother,
if I may call her such, has forbidden me the shelter of her roof, until
I have asked the tyrant's pardon.'

`And you will not?'

`And I will not.'

`I am very sorry this has chanced! You have been inprudent and
over-hasty, I fear, Henry. Your temper is too quick to take fire at
every spark that comes in contact with it. What could have provoked
you to so rash a thing! Sacrilege would scarce have been a greater
crime in the eyes of the villagers.'

`He bade me take off—but no, I will not speak of it,' he said
blushing with mingled shame and indignation, `let it suffice, Mary,
that he insulted me, and I struck him.'

`That 'a did, Miss Mary,' said Davy, who had approached them
unperceived, `and I hut un a dig i' the ribs, too, that knock'd the wind
oot 'o the body on un. Young Measter Henry was right, and had he
no' licked the Measter, I fegs! I'd a felt mighty like lickin' Henry
myself, savin' your presence, Miss Mary; and so I came to tell yees
yer father is coomin doon the walk, and might'nt altogether—yer
know Master Henry—' here Davy completed his intelligence with a
wink and a hieroglyphical screwing up of his face that was easily interpreted
by the lovers.

`I must leave you dearest,' said Henry quickly. Go and shove off
the boat, Davy. Farewell Mary, dear Mary,' he would have said more,
but the fullness of his heart impeded utterance.

`Whither do you go, Henry?' she asked, lifting her face wet with
tears, from his shoulder.

`To Philapelphia, to carve out my own fortunes—to accomplish
something, dearest girl, to make me worthy of you. Will you love
me while I am absent?'

`Love you, Henry dearest! how can you doubt me?'

`Will you promise, then, to wait for me seven years? If you do
not hear from me then either for good or for evil, you shall then be
free.

`I promise to be yours and none other's while life lasts,' she replied
earnestly.

`I ask only for seven years. Will you promise?'

`promise,' she said fervently and affectionately.

`God bless you, then, Mary! I shall have something to cheer my
exile. I shall not return until Colonel Odlin, haughty as he is,
shall take me by the hand with pride, and in that hand place the trembling
little member I now clasp in it. Adieu, adieu, dearest. When
you next hear from me it will be with honor. Only be true to
me.'

`Do you see those twin stars, just appearing in the evening sky?—
they shall be emblems of our love. Look at them often, when absent
far from me, and doubt it not!'

A hasty embrace—a passionate kiss—the first he had ever placed
upon her sweet mouth, and they had parted. The boat containing the
fading figure of Henry shot rapidly across the lake, while Mary turning
to meet her parent, joined him before he reached the bottom of
the avenue, or had described them, and returned with him sllently and
sadly towards the house.