University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

After the confession of young Duncan, `the course of true love'
ran smoothly for many days after, deepening and strengthening in
both their hearts as it flowed. Both were happy in the consciousness
of loving and being beloved. But Duncan's term of absence
from the University rapidly drew to a close; and he looked forward
with sadness to the arrival of the hour when he should be
compelled to seperate from her, around whose heart the cords of
his own life were firmly bound. The day at length came and tender
and passionate and sorrowful was the farewell; for his absence
was to be for a year. A winter and a summer was to elapse ere
they should meet again.

Absence only served to strengthen the passion of Duncan, and
his letters to Isabel breathed the ardor of the purest and most elevated
love. This devotion and sincerity met a warm return from
her, and her replies breathed affection and tenderness, and were
filled with pledges of constancy.

But Miss Sumpter knew not her own heart. Duncan had been
her first admirer, and love in her had grown from gratitude and
pride. Yet it was love and true love! But the same causes still
involved the power of creating the same effects. And this power
was soon tested. After Duncan's absence, the youthful Howard
became a frequent visiter at Judge Sumpter's. But it was from
loneliness rather than any tender motive of which Isabel was the
object. He generally came with his gun, and with his dogs at his
heels, and usually called to her through the window, instead of entering
the house. The Judge often was his companion in the
forest after game, and sometimes Isabel also accompanied them.
As Spring opened she became more frequently his companion;
and he taught her to use the fowling piece and to manage a boat
almost with skill equal to his own. Thrown so much into society
Isabel insensibly took a delight in joining him in his daily excursions;
till at length the Judge playfully reproved her for neglecting
her harp for a shot-gun and loving the green forests better
than the drawing room! And there was truth in the reproof; for
so agreeable had Howard's companionship seemed to be, that she
preferred a morning ramble with him by the sea-side, or through
the forest glades, than remaining at home, where he would never
remain a moment. Indeed, he scarcely ever entered the house.
And had she not joined him out doors, she would rarely have
seen him. The beauty, good humor and buoyant spirits of Miss
Sumpter, had a charm for Howard, and he got so bewitched with
her fascinating companionship, that he felt dull, and was indifferent
to the game whenever he went abroad alone. At length there

seemed to take place a great change in him; and instead of going
into the forests for the love of the chase, it was apparent that he
only went for the love of Isabel's society. This was clearly evident
from the fact that of late, when she could not accompany
him, he would himself deeline going, and, standing his gun by the
side of the window, sit on its step with his feet upon the lawn, and
pass the time with relating his hunting adventures, and listening
to her stories of boarding school frolics.

This change in the aspect of affairs took place in less than seven
months after poor Duncan's departure. Howard was now past
his nineteenth year, and as tall as his brother, and equally handsome.
Indeed, Isabel, as she watched his countenance as he related
some stirring incident of personal adventure, and marked his
flashing dark eyes and his finely animated features, let the thought
enter her mind that he was even handsomer than Duncan!

Weeks past on, and Howard forgot when he came to bring his
gun, to ask her to accompany him in his forest pastimes. He would
sit by her and talk, and sometimes she would sing to him. He soon
learned to love her songs better than those of the forest birds, and
the tones of her harp were pleasanter to his ear than the music of
the winds and of the waves dashing upon the beach. A gentler influence
came over his soul. His voice grew gradually lower in its
tone, and his manner subdued. He was no longer the reckless,
rash, thoughtless boy of a few months back. He was tamed! and the
power lay in that secret charm which is given to woman for the purpose
of taming and subduing our fiercer natures. Miss Sumpter was
the magician that had changed his nature. Yet, she knew it not!
She was blind to her own involuntary work! She had not sought
to win his heart, nor wished to lose to him her own! She had
thought nothing about results. She liked his society, and was
gratified when she found her influence over him was so great as to
induce him to prefer an hour's quiet, thoughtful, conversation at
home with her, to passing the morning in pursuit of game in the
forests, or climbing cliffs for young hawks; or flying over the
waves in his light skiff, pursuing sharks with his rifle! She did
not foresee any danger in this intimacy. If any day he came not,
she missed him more than she ought to have done; for she was
restless and indifferent, and cared not to touch her harp and sing,
if he could not be there to listen. Yet she was not, (at least she
did not think of being,) false to the absent Duncan. Her letters
to him were just as tender as ever, and as full of love and desires
to see him, with warm expressions of anticipated happiness when
he should return. Yet, oddly enough, (perhaps it was her sex's
instinct,) she did not mention Howard, save in a line or a postscript,
such as follows:

`Your brother appears quite well, and we frequently see him:'
or, `Howard was here yesterday for a few moments, and is looking
finely; but seems to care less for hunting than he used to. But I
suppose he often writes to you.'

These postcripts should have been truly written in this way:

`Howard is now here trying to learn a favorite air of mine on a
guitar he has bought for himself, having of late taken a strange
fancy for music. He has a fine voice, which I am cultivating for
him; as he sings with me every piece I play. He passes most of the
forenoons with me, and is a most entertaining companion. I could
listen to him for hours. He has a fine taste for painting I discover,
and some sketches he has made I have been colouring under his
direction. We often walk out to the cliff at sun-set, in the path
where you and I used to ramble so fondly together; and I think no
young man could be a more delightful companion at such times.
He has a taste for poetry, and has recently penned, and presented
me a pretty poem on my adventure with the stag, and the tragic
death of poor Antelope. I would write more, but am working a
game bag for Howard, the pattern of which he has himself drawn;
it represents a young hunter with his bow unstrung, his arrows
broken, and his quiver cast aside, reclining at the feet of the
Graces, who are crowning him with a wreath!'

The reader will see from this true statement of affairs, that Isabel
was in very great danger of proving traitorous to her troth
pledged to Duncan. But this idea never entered her mind. She
did not think of loving Howard. And in truth, to do her full justice,
she regarded him more as a brother than as one who might
steal her affections. She would not have been so intimate with
any one but Duncan's brother. This she felt was the truth; and
if ever any notion of impropriety entered her mind, she would
meet it with this defence, and so acquit herself. But she knew not
herself, and how dangerous it was for a betrothed maiden to cherish
close friendship with a handsome youth, in the absence of the betrothed,
even if the youth were his brother! And thus, with the
delusive idea that it was no harm to teach Howard to sing, to
work game-bags for him, and to feel very happy in his society, and
unhappy out of it, because he was Duncan's brother, this beauteous
erring girl, suffered herself imperceptibly to let her friendship
silently deepen in her heart to love! `But, how can she love
twice?' asks some fair one with surprise, Love is of a two-fold
nature, and a two-fold origin, yet both are true! There is a love
which is inspired by assiduous attentions, by tender devotion, by
series of kindness, by expressions of admiration, and confessions
of ardent attachment, from the lover; to all which the maiden is
supposed to be, at first, indifferent but to the strength and steadiness
of which she at length yields her heart, and loves in return
because she is beloved. This is passive love, and it is the most
common in the world; Its true name is gratified pride, at being
made the exclusive object of admiration. This is an inferior
aspect of love, with reference to woman. There is a love deeper
and more pure and lasting. It is when, without any effort on the
part of the man to win her affections, love silently steals into her
bosom; and he discovers that he is a beloved object, ere he had
by word or act made an effort to win! This kind of woman's love,
is true love, and never perishes while the heart endures! The
other is transplanted from the soil of the lover's heart to her own!
this is the growth of her own rich heart; upsringing from roots
that draw nourishment from the springs of her own being. It
overgrows the other and ont roots it! It is a tree of life, bearing
immortal fruit. The other is the love that terminates with time,
and oftener in time, this is a love that transcends time, and is existant
in eternity.

The love of Isabel Sumpter for Duncan, sprung not from her
own heart. It was the love of Duncan planted there, and growing
from roots that had been first nourished in his own being. It
was therefore, that his love was the deeper and purer! Yet she
loved him as the world deems it, and the world is content to call
this passively reflecting love, `love!' To most it is love. The
majority of mankind know no other. When the true is awakened
and begins to grow by the side of the other, then follow all the
mischief of which the heart is the theatre and the player!

What was the condition of Howard's heart, while the change
was silently going on in the bosom of Isabel? Youths of Howard's
age are sufficiently susceptible of impressions from the beautiful,
among the other sex. But Howard was not so impressible with
the tender passion as others! He was too light and volatile, to be
easily subdued by bright eyes into a sighing lover. Yet he loved
the society of Isabel more than that of any person in the world,
and had no relish for any thing in which she did not participate.
But his liking for her was rather that of a brother for a sister. His
heart was not interested, and he would not have been jealous, if
she had told him, (as she never had done) that she was engaged to
his brother Duncan! Perhaps, however, a better idea can be obtained
of the true state of Howard's feelings, in reference to Isabel,
from the following extract of a letter addressed to his brother, a few
weeks before the time when he was expected home, after his year's
absence at College.

The reception of this letter filled Duncan's brain with all sorts
of lover's jealous fancies. It troubled him sorely. He had, indeed,
no proofs of Isabel's falsity; but there was proof that Howard
was too intimate with her, for an absent lover to bear with perfect
philosophy. That very day he had also received a letter from
Isabel. It breathed the same tenderness and affection; at least he
thought so when he read it. He now went to his desk and opened
and read it again by the light of Howard's epistle. He now
thought he discovered a coldness and stiffness in it, which had before
escaped his observation. He examined it more jealously still,
and picked many a flaw in it; till at last it seemed to him in every
line to contain proof of her untruth. Such is jealousy.

He answered Howard's letter, and never before had he written a

letter to his brother with such difficulty. He wanted to be angry
with him, but strove to write with his usual affection. He also
wrote to Isabel. Here he found it more difficult to write with indifference.
He felt like reproaching her; but reflection and fear
of being unjust, withheld every expression of reproach as it rose
to his pen. The letter was affectionate and kind; but the ardour
and devotion which characterised his other letters was wanting in
this; and he could not help it. He felt grieved, pained, restless.
In a word he was jealous.

Howard did not notice the slight change of manner in his brother's
letter; for suspecting nothing, he searched for nothing in it.
This was not the case with Isabel. Its new tone struck her at
once. She saw his wounded heart in every line, disguised as it
was. One sentence gave her the key to the whole, and awakened
her to a review of her conduct. It was as follows:

`I have received a letter from my father, in which he desires me
to spend a year in Europe before I return home. I replied that I
could not consent to go abroad without first paying a visit to Virginia.
Need I say that you were alone in my thoughts! But
since my reply was mailed to him, circumstances have occurred
which have led me to change my mind. I shall, therefore, leave
here direct for Europe. My absence you have by this time become
accustomed to; and should my decision occasion any disappointment
to you, the society of my brother Howard will no doubt,
compensate for my absence, as it has, hitherto, served materially to
alleviate it!'

This last sentence Isabel-read over several times very thoughtfully,
till she fully understood the feeling that dictated it.

`Yes,' said she, with a deep blush of consciousness of giving
him cause; `yes, Duncan is jealous of Howard, and doubts my
faithfulness. Till this moment I never suspected that my acquaintance
with Howard was improper, under my peculiar relations
with Duncan. But I see it now. I have thought too much of
him; and loved his society too much. Yet I truly love Duncan.
I do not love Howard. I am sure I do not! I have never thought
of such a thing; and certainly he has not! I think Duncan has no
right to be jealous!'

But notwithstanding her attempts to excuse herself, she could
not but feel that her lover would have a right to feel some resentment
if he knew all. `But does he know all?' she asked herself.
`How can he know all?'

And this self-questioning caused her deeply to blush; for it involved
the fact that there was that which she did not desire should
be known. This led her to reflect upon all her intimacies with
Howard, and she was conscious that she should not be quite willing
that he should have been witness to all the tender passages of
words and looks, which had passed between them in a sisterly
and brotherly way,' as she phrased it in her heart. She also was
led to examine her feelings in relation to the handsome youth, with
whom she was in the habit of such daily intimacy. The result was a
confession in the depths of her own soul, that Howard was very dear
to her. The more she examined herself the deeper and stronger she
found were her feelings of tender regard, and at length the conviction
flashed upon her mind that she loved him! She was startled
at the idea and trembled with strangely mixed dread and happiness.
She was seated by her window with Duncan's letter still
open in her hand, as this conviction that she loved Howard, stood
forth prominent in her mind. There was, shall we say it? joy in
the thought; yet there was more alarm. She felt happy and sad
together. She leaned her head upon the window and hid her face
and thought long and painfully. Duncan's image seemed to rise
before her, and with a visage of grief and sorrowful anger reproached
her! Then would intervene the bright countenance of the
noble Howard! The consciousness of her influence over his proud
and independent spirit, and the hope that she was dear to him,
with the conviction that she loved him, oh, as she had never loved
his brother, dried her tears and filled her soul with peace. Yet
she was not happy! She did not feel guilty. She reproved not
herself. But she pitied Duncan; for she knew how much he
loved her. She sympathised with the grief of his noble spirit,
when he should learn that she loved Howard.

`But he shall not know it,' said she, under an impulse of generous
feeling. `Let the secret of my love be locked in my own
bosom. Howard shall not know it. Duncan shall be happy in believing
me true! I love him. I can love him as a wife. I can
make him happy. He shall be happy. Howard I will forget, or
remember only with sweet sad pleasure!'

At this moment a light touch was laid upon her hand. She looked
up and beheld Howard.

`You are ill or sorrowful, dear Isabel,' he said, taking her hand,
and then with a smile of gentle feeling parting the fallen hair back
from her forehead.

`Howard, I—I entreat you to leave me,' she cried pressing her
hand upon her eyes, while her bosom heaved with strange, deep
emotion.

`Have I offended you, then?' he asked, starting back and gazing
upon her with a look of surprise and embarrassment.

`No—no!' she answered earnestly; `but, but, Howard, I feel
that it is not—nay—I hardly know what to say! Will you leave
me?' she asked imploringly.

`Yes, Miss Isabel, if you command me,' he answered with increased
surprise, and in a proud tone.

`Now you are displeased! I have been too hasty—too indiscreet!
Stay—go not from me with that cloud on your brow!' she
cried, rising and detaining him. `Forgive me, Howard; but I
am far from being well this morning.' And reseating herself, the
poor girl buried her face in her hands, and burst into a flood of
tears.

`There is nothing for me to forgive you, my friend Isabel,' said
Howard, tenderly bending over her. `I have been too hasty to
take offence, and I myself need to be forgiven. I am sorry that
you are ill.'

Isabel made no answer. Her bosom was torn between love and
duty. Each moment deepened the consciousness of her strong
passion for Howard. As he bent over her, and his low, sympathetic
voice fell upon her ear, she could not hide from her soul the
deep joy his presence gave her, and she trembled the more. Duncan
filled her thoughts; Howard filled her heart! Her being was
torn by the conflict. She was bewildered and lost in the chaos of
her feelings.

`You seem deeply agitated, Isabel. Pray what has occurred?'
he inquired with touching interest. `This is not illness so much
of the body as of the mind. Have I offended you? I know I am
often rash and thoughtless; but intentionally I would not wound
your feelings. I would take my own life first. Have I been the
cause?'

`Yes. No, no! You have not offended me. Pray don't ask
me. Do not be offended with me! but I must beg you to go! I
feel sorrowful, and tears and solitude are better for me for a while.'

`I will go; but, dear Isabel, I leave with you all my sympathy,
whatever be the cause of your grief. If it will alleviate it at all,
know that you have my deepest sympathy.' Never had Howard
spoken so tenderly to her. Her tears had unfolded the tenderer
emotions of his nature

`I know it, Howard.'

After gazing a moment upon her as she leaned her head upon
her arm, her face half hid in curls, and her whole form heaving
with the intensity of the struggle with herself, he turned away,
feeling in his breast a gentle and kindly interest awakened for his
lovely friend he had never before experienced.

From this hour Howard's manner towards her was changed from
what it had been. The next time he met her he found her calm
She made no allusion to the past, nor did he. But his manner and
the tone of his voice she noticed were singularly tender and gentle.
His eye was softer and deeper in its expression as it lingered on
her face and timidly sought, yet shrunk from, her own. His attentions
were more delicate and touching; and she was not blind
to a deeper meaning in his every word and look.

She had, on the day of her interview with Howard, struggled
long with herself, and the issue had been, not victory over her
new love, but a generous determination to sacrifice it to her sense
of duty to Duncan. She resolved to be passive in Howard's prosence,
and in no instance to suffer her passion for him to grow.—
She nobly determined to let it perish in her heart if her heart perished
with it. This she might in time, with proper watchfulness
over herself, have been successful in if the change we have spoken
of had not come over the whole being of Howard. The tears of
the lovely weeper had dissolved his youthful heart, and awakened
in it all its sweet sympathies and manly sensibilities. He thought
of her with gentle pity, which is akin to purest love. When next
he met, these feelings showed themselves so apparently that she
had not only her own love but his to combat with. And did she
sorrow at the discovery that Howard loved? Did she shed tears at
this fresh obstacle in the way of her duty to Duncan? No, oh no!
The sweet conviction made her forget her resolutions, made her to
forget Duncan; and filled her whole being with the most exquisite
delight. `She was then loved in return,' was the happy thought
that poured itself like a full fountain into her bosom.

`Howard, dear Howard! my heart is all thine! Thou only art
my soul's idol! Henceforth thou art the centre of my life's bliss!
the sun around which, like a planet, I shall revolve in an ever circling
orbit of light and love!'

Such were her feelings while, three weeks afterwards, she leaned
fondly upon Howard's arm, as they walked together in the embowered
path by the cliff, and discoursed of love by the golden
light of the autumn moon.

At length the day approached when Duncan was looked for
home; for when the hour he was to leave for Europe came close at
hand he felt that he could not fulfil his intention and depart without
seeing Isabel once more, and learning from her own lips her
treachery to his love, reproach her for her perfidy, and leave her
forever. He had therefore written that he should visit Virginia
before quitting the country. This letter was to his parents and
not to Isabel; who, too candid to write when her affections were

transferred to another, she had left his last letters unanswered.—
Yet in her heart she felt she loved Duncan no less; she but loved
Howard more.