University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

With this, and a part of the succeeding chapter, dear reader,
we shall close our reminiscences of the more youthful years of our
heroes and heroine, bringing the time up to the period of the second
departure of the brig of war from the Road stead, when we shall resume
our narrative on the sea,

As the hour drew nigh when Duncan was expected to arrive,
Isabel became restless and ill at case. She could not but painful
ly reflect upon their plighted troth, and that she had been untrue to
him who had been true to her, and whom she knew was coming
home only to see her. She tried to convince herself that she still
loved him, and that her deep passion for Howard was not incompatible
with her troth to him! Her feelings were mixed and varying;
and sorely was she perplexed. She felt she could regard
Duncan as a dear friend, and welcome him as such; but she was
conscious he would claim, as he deserved, all that love which she
bestowed on his brother. But this she felt could never be given
him. Howard had become her heart's idol. She had folded her
life up in his, as the bud of a rose is folded within its cup.

`Oh, that the dread meeting with him were past,' she said, as
she seated herself by the harp to see if she could not drive her unpleasant
thoughts away with music. It was the morning on which
Duncan was expected at `Merton,' the seat of Gol. Dudley. Howard
had not called that morning as usual, having detained himself
to welcome his brother; whom he promised to bring over to see
her as soon as he came. She would have forbidden this, but Howard
said he knew his brother would wish first to hasten to her.
Howard was yet ignorant of his brother's love for Isabel. He
loved her with romantic ardor. All her deep, passionate love, he
returned with idolatrous devotion. In her he found and adored
all the graces of her sex. His emotions at the expectation of meeting
Duncan were very different from her's. He wished his brother
to know his happiness, that he might share his gentle sympathy.

`How happy,' thought he, `will the knowledge of my happiness
in Isabel's love, make him!'

The morning passed by, and the noon, and yet Duncan did not
arrive. Howard delayed no longer, but hastened to Judge Sumpter's,
giving his brother up till the next day.

Isabel had been all day in a state of painful suspense. She feared
to meet her lover, yet wished the meeting passed. As hour
after hour went by, she was a prey to a nervous anxiety which
gave fevor to her pulse and cheek.

`Am I gurlty, then, in loving Howard?' she asked herself, as
she paced the drawing-room, listening and starting at every sound.
`If I am guilty in loving the one, I am also in loving the other,
and love is guilt! But love is not guilt. I loved Duncan, but I
had not then known Howard, or I had not loved Duncan! He
never had my heart. I thought he had, but I was in error. Howard
has my heart, my life, my being! If it is not wrong to love,
it is not wrong to love with all our nature. Nay, it is wrong not
to love wholly. Duncan cannot complain! I gave him all I
could then, and thought I gave him all. But if a new nature is
awakened within me, a new love has sprung up in my heart which
overgrows the other, shall I not cherish the last and noble love,
even though the first perish! Should I be doing justice to myself
to crush the nobler germ, and cherish the baser! Should I be just
in bestowing upon Duncan the baser, when his love demands my
better love, which he never awakened, and which never can be
his! But into what a subtle maze of reasoning am I plunging! If
that be love which I hold for dear Howard, then I have never
loved Duncan. Let him, henceforth, be only as a brother to me;
for as such I can love him. But how shall I tell him this? How
shall I wound his noble and truthful heart, by telling him I love
him not. My lips will refuse utterance! And need I tell him?
Had I not best by manner, by degrees, show him that we can only
be as friends! Oh, how strongly does duty urge me to sacrifice
myself, and let him be happy in finding me his! But can I deceive
him?'

Here she suddenly stopped and listened to a footstep, with a
throbbing heart. It was only a slave passing the window.

`It was not he! How my heart palpitates! Yet, why should I
condemn myself! I have not injured Duncan. In loving How
ard I have only been true to my own nature! And how can I
give up my love, my living love, for the shadow and form of it
which went before? How can I cease to love Howard; or keeping
still my troth to Duncan, love Howard without guilt. Oh,
that I knew how to act! If Howard knew the truth; generous
and noble as he is, I feel that he would at once fly me to give his
brother place in my affections! Never would he stand between
his brother and his happiness! If Howard knew all, I should lose
him forever! How then shall I guard the secret, save by appearing
to Duncan as ever, till events shall further guide me! This
I will do. I will meet him with affection, for this I feel; for loving
Howard should not make me love Duncan less! He shall
have all the love he has ever had, for it is still his. Content with
this, he may not discover a deeper love which is his brother's! I
will meet him as he would wish me to, and let after circumstances
govern my conduct. But my soul is sad! I feel heavy fore-thoughts
of pending evil. Yet I know not how to act to avert it!
List! There is Howard's step! He is alone!'

`Dearest Isabel,' said the youth, as she met him at the window,
tenderly pressing his lips to her hand, `I have come to relieve your
anxiety; having waited so long for Duncan.

`And he has not yet come?'

`He is not yet arrived, and will not probably be here till morning,
as it is now nearly sun-down.'

Isabel felt relieved, and was glad in her heart that he had been
delayed.

`You look ill, Isabel,' he said kindly regarding her; `let us take
a walk together on the cliff. The evening is pleasant, and the
sun-set promises to be very fine!'

She took his arm, and they proceeded to the cliff. For some
time Isabel remained silent. She was very much distressed; for
notwithstanding her decision she was still troubled. Her sense of
duty, of honor, and of justice was correct and high-toned. She
could not for a moment cherish the thought of hypocrisy or deceit.
Yet she knew the truth would make Duncan, whom she
still tenderly regarded, wretched; and her knowledge of Howard's
character assured her that he, on knowing it, as he too must
know it, would at once resign her to his brother, whatever might
be the sacrifice. Thus she should lose both Duncan and Howard,
and perish the victim of a two-fold love. What woman would
not pause ere she made such a sacrifice? The sacrifice was not
only of herself and her own love; but it would involve Duncan's
happiness and Howard's love. It would be the wreck of three noble
hearts!'

`How happy I should be, dear Isabel, If brother was our companion
in this walk,' said Howard, as they passed along the woodland
avenue. `I am impatient to see him, to let him see how beautiful
you have become! how changed since he saw you!'

Isabel sighed as her heart echoed `how changed!' Howard's
words also startled her.

`Howard!' she said, with embarrassment; and stood still by
an oak, beneath which was a rustic arm-chair.

`Dearest Isabel!' he answered, looking at her face, and impassionedly
seeking her glance which wasdown-cast:

`I would rather you would not speak of me in terms of admiration,
to your brother Duncan!

`Why, Duncan I know would be delighted to hear you spoken
of! He thinks, or used to think a great deal of you! I know he
will like you very much, and feel that you will become greater
friends than you were when he was here before!'

`I fear not, Howard! But you must beware,' she added with
attempt at playfulness, `that you do not praise me too high! Duncan
is very susceptible!'

Howard blushed and then said, smiling, `I should be very sorry
if Duncan should get to love you just as I do, sweet Isabel!'

`Then don't be instrumental in producing such a catastrophe.
Speak of me only as a friend.'

`Yet I love my dear brother so fondly,' continued Howard, pursuing
the train of thoughts Isabel had interrupted, `But I could
almost have wished he had loved you first!'

Here both seated themselves on the rustic seat, beneath the
dark shadows of the grove, through an opening in which the sea
was visible.

`Can you be so indifferent to me, then, as to utter a wish like
this, Howard!' she asked in a tone of disappointment.

`No, Isabel, dear! It is not that I do not love you with all my
heart, for I do; but that I love Duncan so well that I could have
been willing, ere I had known the bliss of loving you, he should
first have known it!'

`And if Duncan should love me now?' asked Isabel timidly,
trembling for Howard's constancy.

`Duncan is too good to try to steal your heart from me, my Bel!'
he answered smiling, and pressing her gentle form to his heart.

`But he might not know you loved me, Howard,' she said, her
heart deeply and painfully interested in his conversation.

`I shall tell him of it, for I know my happiness will increase his
own!'

`Oh, never, never!' she cried with such energy and distress
that Howard started from the seat, and gazed upon her face by the
dim twilight with surprise and astonishment. `Pardon me, dear
Howard. I knew not what I said,' she added re-seating herself,
and for a moment burying her face in her hands.

`You are strangely agitated,' he said affectionately, as he marked
the strong heaving of her bosom.

`No, I am better. Howard!'

`What, my Isabel!'

`If you love me, name not to Duncan our—our intimacy!'

`Nay—call it truly what it is, my sweet Bel! Call it by its
right name, `love.'

`Tell him not you love me! Dear as the knowledge of this fact
is to my poor heart, I would not it should be known to others—at
least at present.

There was a secret hope in her heart that time and absence
would cure Duncan's passion, and that all might yet be well.

`If you wish it, I will not,' he said warmly.

`Thank you, Howard. You are ever kind and good.'

`What could I refuse you, Isabel.'

`Here is a step coming along the path!'

`It is Duncan!' cried Howard, as he saw his brother's form in
the walk, relieved against the light of the sky and sea. `My
brother, my dear brother! You are indeed welcome home!' he
said, as he clasped him in his fraternal embrace and kissed his
cheeks.

`Can it be possible that this tall young man is the stripling I
left,' thought Duncan, as he received and returned his embrace,
kissing him in return. `How you have altered and grown! I
should hardly have known you, brother!' he said to him in the
full, glad tones of re-union.

`There is one, also, you will be scarcely less welcome to, dear
brother,' he said, leading him to the rustic bench where Isabel sat,
unable to think or move. She would have met Duncan any where
than there at that hour with Howard.

Duncan approached her, and in the few steps he made towards
the seat where she sat, his mind was distracted by a hundred
thoughts! At one instant he felt like bowing coldly at a distance,
and then conversing with Howard on indifferent subjects. At another
he felt like rushing forward and folding her to his heart, with
all the warmth of his heart's unchanging love. He had arrived
half an hour before his sudden appearance, having been detained
by an accident to the stage. On learning that Howard was at
Judge Sumpter's he departed to see him, and also meet Isabel at
the same time. He still had doubts of her constancy, and believed
that his brother was his rival in her affections. This was
however, only a suspicion. It had, nevertheless, made him very
uneasy and unhappy, and as we have seen, had drawn from him
cold letters to her. He had now come home to know the truth of
his suspicions; to confirm or destroy them. His love for Isabel
had met with no abatement. He was trembling with joy to clasp
her to his bosom, and find his doubts were without foundation. It this
state of mixed feeling between hope and fear, he was traversing
the walk to the mansion of Judge Sumpter where Howard discovered
his approach.

The words of Howard, which informed him of the presence of
Isabel, strengthened his hopes of her truth; notwithstanding, he
felt a jealous pang shoot through his bosom, at meeting her at such
an hour in his brother's company. It was too much like intruding
upon two lovers!

Isabel put an end to his indecision, by rising and meeting him
ere he reached her.

`Duncan, dear Duncan, I also welcome you back again,' she
warmly said, extending her hand to him. The words, and the act,
were alike impulsive and unstudied. She felt as she spoke. Her
grasp of his hand was frank and kindly. The sight of him awakened,
in a degree, her former feelings.

His doubts were dispelled like mist before the sun. A beaming
smile from a glad and grateful heart, illuminated his face; and he
returned her greeting with tenderness and warmth, that showed
her how that he, at least, remained unchanged. He felt that he
had wronged her, and tried to laugh at himself for his jealousy of
his brother; and seriously condemned himself for his suspicions of
her truth. Isabel was greatly relieved, to find the dreaded meeting
had come off so happily; and felt a lightness in her heart that
made her very cheerful, as giving each brother an arm, she walked
homeward. There was no need of explanation now, she felt.
She had met Duncan as she ought to have done, and he was happy!

Days passed on which, in their progress, gradually unfolded to
Duncan what a first nor a second meeting with the parties could
fully develope; that Isabel, though she might love him, also loved
Howard! and that Howard betrayed his own reciprocating passion,
in every word and look. The old suspicion slowly revived and was
reluctantly received into his mind. It was made stronger by the
communications of a dissipated young man of the neighbourhood,
who had spent a fortune at races, and at the gaining table. His
name was Hamilton Woodhall. He had made up his mind to try
and repair his fortune by a union with the wealthy Miss Sumpter.
He therefore called upon her, and made her acquaintance. He
was already known to the brothers, whom he now daily visited.
Through him Duncan learned the close intimacy between Howard
and Isabel; for the spendthrift Woodhall, detected the passion of
Duncan for her; and hoped by creating a rivalry between the
brothers to profit by it. Duncan had not been ten days at home,
before he was satisfied that he shared a divided heart; and also
that his brother was ignorantly his rival in Isabel's affections.

This discovery was made by accidentally overhearing a conversation
between them, which proved to him that they were
lovers. On making this discovery, Duncan's first emotions were
those of resentment against both; but a little reflection, with the
remembrance of some words of Howard's he had overheard, convinced
him his brother knew not of his own attachment. But towards
her, his bosom burned with anger! He felt that she had deceived
him; and he resolved to accuse her of duplicity, and leave
her never more to see her. But his pride came to his aid, and he
resolved to leave home without any interview. But this determination
was given up at the suggestions of his love for her, which
would not suffer him to leave her, without an effort to restore his
place in her heart.

`And,' said he, at home in his own chamber, in which he had
shut himself, to reflect upon the subject; `shall I make this attempt,
and, if I succeed, wreck my brother's hopes, who, I have
discovered is not less attached to her than I! But yet he cannot
love as I have loved! She cannot love him as I have believed she
has loved me! He is young and gay hearted, and this love is perhaps
merely a romantic attachment. If my brother knew the
truth he could forget her in a few days, and I feel that he would!
He is capable of making any sacrifice for me, or any one that he
loves! But if, to save me from unhappines, he would willingly resign
his love, would it not make her unhappy, if her heart is set
upon him! I feel my own peace is dependant upon recovering her
affections! She is kind; she is gentle; she is friendly; nay, she
is even affectionate to me. Yet what is all this, when I know her
heart is not wholly mine. I am torn with conflicting feelings, and
know not how to act!'

Such was the trial in Duncan's generous and true nature. He
loved his brother—he loved Isabel too well, to desire even his own
peace and happiness at the expense of their own. He loved her
even in her inconstancy, too much to purchase her constancy at
the risk of Howard's unhappiness. Before he acted he resolved to
study them both, unobserved; and then, if he found them deeply
attached to each other, so that disseverance would produce pain,
he nobly resolved to leave them his blessing, and fly his home,
though he carried a crushed heart with him.

It was the evening of the day on which he made this noble,
self-sacrificing resolution, that we have introduced him to the
reader, in the third Chapter, as witnessing a tender interview between
Howard and Isabel. This scene between the lovers, he felt
sealed his own destiny. Howard, and not himself had her heart.
Painful as this conviction was, he resolved to resign her, if she
confessed the preference. It was, proper, before he did so, that he
should formally restore her pledged troth!

He lingered in the walk, until Howard departed; and as he
witnessed the tender looks with which they parted, he felt feelings
of jealousy rise in his heart against his brother, which he could
not resist. He also felt against her, deep displeasure. He had said
he would not entertain such feeling's, but bless them in their loves.
But he forgot that he was human; and that the heart of man in
love, is not always under his own government.

When Duncan entered the drawing-room, Isabel was seated
thoughtfully were Howard had parted from her, her hand listlessly
laid upon her harp. She was thinking pleasantly and tenderly of
him. Duncan was not in all her thoughts. Since his return, her
manner towards him had been unusually kind and cordial. She
strove to please him, and to atone by attentions, for the involuntary
treachery of her heart. Her voice when she spoke to him,
wae characterised by a tone of sympathy, as if she grieved in her
heart for the heavy disappointment which she knew he must
sooner or later suffer. She pitied him; and this feeling cast a gentle
shadow over all her manner. It touched him, and he thought
and hoped, it was the gentleness of love. But when he observed
her manner, the tone of her voice and the glance of her eye when
she spoke with Howard, he felt, with bitterness at his heart, that
that was love and not the other!

She looked up, and seeing him when he entered, appeared very
much confused.

`Do not rise, Isabel,' he said, taking her hand and reseating her,
and occupying the place by her side which his brother had recently
vacated. `I will not detain you long. I have come to say that
this hand, which I feel I am unworthy of, but which you once did
me the honor to pledge to me, with, as I then believed, your heart
in it, I now surrender to you.' And he laid her hand down.
`From this hour I will try to forget you. To-morrow or next day
I take my departure for Europe. May you be happy with Howard,

should you ever become his wife. He is every way worthy of
you. As for me, I shall not expect any more happiness in this
world. I have no more fountains of affection in my heart to unseal,
to let their waters run to waste. Pardon me, if I seem severe!
I do not feel so. Now receive my last advice, Isabel!'
he said, rising, and taking up her passive hand. `But before I say
the last word farewell, I would have you answer me one question?'

He looked at her steadily and calmly as he spoke. It cost him
a great effort to seem so. During his address she sat silent and
immoveable as a statue. Her face was pale as marble, and the
tears trickled from her eyes like rain. He silently observed her a
moment, and his heart yearned towards her. But he restrained
his feelings. He felt that she was no longer his own!

`The question I would put you is this?' he said, in an even tone.
`Does my brother know of our plighted troth?'

`No—oh no!' she cried, covering her face, while the tears forced
their way through her fingers.

`I am relieved by this answer, greatly relieved,' he said, with
emotion. `Howard is still my dear brother! Now, farewell, dear
Isabel! That you may be happy shall be my daily prayer!'

He turned and was leaving the apartment, when she arose and,
flying towards him, caught his hand and sunk at his feet.

`Forgive me! forgive me! Say that you forgive me, Duncan!'

`I do, Isabel! But,' he added, in a tone that chilled her, `only
for my brother Howard's sake!'

`Duncan, oh, if you knew my poor heart! But its struggles you
can never know. You are dear, very dear, to me! I love you, I
have not ceased to love you! But I had not known Howard, or I
should have known my heart better, when I fondly believed it was
all yours! I love not you less, but Howard more! Hate me not
for what I cannot help! Be still my friend—oh, if not for my
sake, for Howard's!'

`Isabel, I am your friend,' he said, lifting her to her feet. `You
are dear to me! I think I can understand your conflict, and believe
I know all you would tell me! My loss is Howard's gain!
But one more question rises to my lips.'

`Speak, Duncan,' she said, standing passively, looking the personification
of sorrow, by his side.

`I would ask if you had never known Howard, if I still should
have retained the first place in your affections? Does not the
cause lie in me?'

`No. You are noble and good! I, alone, am the unworthy!
Yes, Duncan! You would have still held the throne of my heart
but for him who has taught me that I had a heart within that I offered
you.'

The brow of Duncan grew dark, and he looked displeased at her
words. He walked across the room, and then returned to her,
where she stood trembling like a statue. Both were so taken up
with the subject in which they were so deeply interested, that they
did not discover the presence of a third person. This was Hamilton
Woodhall, who had entered by the hall door unannounced;
not that his intimacy at the house had by any means warranted this
familiarity; but, knowing himself not to be a favorite of Miss
Sumpter's, and being naturally of a reckless, head-strong character,
he resolved to forestall a denial to see him. He came in very
softly—a mode of entrance peculiar to the stealthy and suspicious.
The conversation interested him, and it was like him to remain unobserved
and listen to it; and to do him justice, he was a very attentive
listener. There was still another person who appeared, a
moment after Woodhall's entrance by the hall door, at the lawn
window. He was a very different character from this young man,
however. It was Howard, who had returned, after leaving, to restore
to her a pet rabbit he had given her, which he had found wandering
far from the house on the skirts of the forest; and perhaps
to say and receive another tender `good night.' He also was an
involuntary auditor of their conversation.

Again Duncan advanced towards her and said, in a tone of deep
feeling:

`One more question, dear Isabel!'

She trembled, but said with a painful exertion of the voice for
utterance, `name it, Duncan!'

`If Howard were not living, (which heaven forfend!) would
your love be mine!'

`All the love I ever knew for you would then be yours, Duncan,'
she said, feeling a strange fear paralyze her heart at his singular
words.

`Enough! I ask not for more than that! If a deeper love
lay in the grave with Howard, then let it lay, so thou wouldst be
mine on earth, and surrender to me all thy earthly affections. If
Howard were dead, and thou wert my wife, I would still let thee
love him with thy more spiritual love, so I had thy true affections.
This reply has strengthened me. I know by it that I am still dear
to thee, and that thou lovest me, but lovest my brother better!
May you be happy together, and may he long live to enjoy that
better love which the depths of my own true love, alas, could never
move in thy soul! Now fare thee well, Isabel, and God bless
thee and my brother!'

With these words Duncan pressed his lips to her hand and sprang
from the window upon the lawn. His eyes were blinded by tears,
and he did not see his brother, whom he almost touched as he
brushed past him. Isabel stood a moment as if stupified with surprise
and grief, and then uttering a sad, wild cry, she fell senseless
her length upon the floor. Howard, however, saw it not. He had
hastened after his brother, who had gone at great speed towards
the cliff along the path homeward.

The fall and the shriek brought Judge Sumpter from his library
on the opposite side of the hall, and the house-keeper and servants.
But Hamilton Woodhall had her already in his arms, conveying
her to a sofa, when they entered.

`It was some difficulty or quarrel, Judge, with that haughty fellow,
Duncan Dudley! They were at high words as I came in,
when I saw him abruptly quit her, and she fainted and fell,' was
the artful reply of Woodhall to the hurried inquiries of Judge Sumpter.

The Judge, without replying, relieved him of his charge, and
taking his daughter in his arms, bore her to her chamber, where
she in a short time revived. Hamilton Woodhall, after lingering
a while, and finding himself unthought of, left the house, muttering
his displeasure at the Judge's want of hospitality. When she
revived, to her father's questions she said earnestly:

`Ask me not to explain, dear father. I cannot.'

`Has Duncan Dudley insulted you?'

`No; oh no!'

`Young Woodhall says you were quarrelling, and he left you in
anger.'

`I cannot explain now, sir! some other time, perhaps, dear father,
I may confide all to you. Let me exculpate Duncan. He has
done nothing. Oh, no! he is good and noble. I have been the
erring one.'

The Judge was too sensible a man to urge her further; and referring
the cause of her shriek and fainting to some love misunderstanding
between her and young Dudley, (for he suspected their
attachment,) which her affections led her to conceal even though
Duncan were to blame, he left her to the quiet and repose she so
much needed.