University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

When Carleton descended into the cabin, Eve was seated on a
low ottoman, her face buried in her hands while tears were slowly
trickling along their azure tinted veins down to the beautiful wrist.
Her long and beautiful auburn hair, fell in disregarded luxuriance
about her neck and over her moulded arm and sylph-like figure,
the soft and touching drapery of woman's grief! She heard his well
known step, and brushing the tears from her dark eyes she threw
back her glorious hair and rose to meet him! What love! what
deep affection was in her sweet aspect, as she advanced towards
him! Whatsoever power there is in female fascination; whatsoever
charm there is in woman's idolatory was inscribed by love's finger
on every feature! She sprang towards him! She hung upon his
manly bosom, as the ivy entwines its trusting tendrils around the
oak.

“Carleton, dearest Carleton! you have not forgotten me!” Oh,
if you knew how heavily the hours passed when you were away!
I am envious of all others, that keep you from me! I would be
with you ever! Ever be looking up, thus! into your eyes, that
now beam upon me so kindly! ever by your side, knowing that
whenever I lift my gaze, it will rest upon your beloved features!'

“You are silly, Eve, to love so wildly,” he said, slightly drawing
her to his side and imprinting a kiss upon her pure forehead; and
he looked as he spoke as if touched and gratified at her deep womanly
and almost childish devotion. “You should not thus lavishly
cast all your love at a throw!”

“I cast it into thy bosom, Carleton!” she said bending her
graceful head, as if to hide from him a shadow of sadness.

He was touched by the tone of her voice and said playfully,
“Yet thou hast lost, Eve, and I am the happy winner!”

“Have I not gained thee, Carleton? Having thee I possess all
things! It hast filled my heart with joy that I hear thee say
thou art the happy winner! Oh, Carleton, if you knew how a
careless word from you—one word that gives me a hope that I still
am dear to you—makes my heart a heaven! you would love to
bless me thus! But alas! I sometimes of late, fear that you have
forgotten your love for me and —.” She could not go on!
He felt a tear fall upon his hand.

“Nay, Eve, thou hast done nought to offend me,” he said tenderly,
moved by the touching and eloquent distress which checked
her words; and leading her to the ottoman he seated himself at
her feet.

“My dearest, noble husband! Nay frown not!—thou must
suffer me to call thee by that loved title, Carleton!—for to feel
that I am thy wife is a source of sweet, indescribable joy! I cannot
keep the deep tide from bursting forth, when thou alone only
art present! Forgive me, Carleton! To thee I must speak of
my happiness, and tell thee how full it is! I must repeat in thy
ears, the happy word wife! I must hear my voice utter the
blissful sounds My husband! Forbid me not, dear Carleton!
Nay, do not look so darkly! I will not offend again! But smile on
me, and I will, though it break my heart, keep locked within it,
the secrets of our —”

“Utter not the word, Eve,” said Carleton, with stern interruption!
“Thou well knowest thou art risking my fiercest displeasure!
Be content. I suffer thee to remain on board!”

“Oh, joy, joy! I dared not ask thee what thou hadst determined,
but I knew in my heart, when you entered, that my love had triumphed.
Bless thee, Carleton! For this clemency—may I not
call it returning love!—you have my deepest gratitude. Near thee!
Oh, this is sweet peace, I will forget, since thou hast commanded
it, that thou art — I will breathe the blessed word only in my

heart!—and I am thine—thy — let me speak it, Carleton—
thy wife!”

“Eve!”

Nay—be not angry with me. To thine ear alone has it been
breathed! Art thou unwilling in secret to hear it? Oh, no, no!
Notwithstanding your late icy coldness—which if hot tears could
have dissolved, had long since been melted into your first affection!
notwithstanding you would last night have left me, yet I
know, I feel, Carleton, that you do not wish thou wert not my —
what, so dear, thou art to me! Thou wouldst kill me didst thou
say so! Do I hate thee? Did I love thee less, when I knew my
husband was an outlaw! did I fly thee, and scorn thee, and like
the world turn against thee? No! thou knowest I did not! True
to thee and my woman's love, I loved thee, had room been in my
heart, more. Thou wert dearer to me, when I knew I was the
only one that loved thee! Of thy crimes confessed to me, the
night I discovered who my husband was, did I reproach thee!
Did I not forgive thee and tell thee that guiltless wert thou to me
so that thou lovedst me!”

“Noble, devoted Eve! I feel that I am unworthy of you!”
he said sadly. “I never appreciated you! You were not destined
in Heaven to be my wife! Thy love and devotion deserve a better
return than I can render thee!”

“Than thou canst render me!” she cried with an earnestness
and passion, that increased the brilliancy of her dark eyes, tearful
though they were; “what canst thou give me, Carleton that
is not dear to me? A word—a look—the slightest glance of thine,
is to me a treasure which like a miser I hoard up in my heart's
close casket, fondly to gloat over when thou art absent!”

“But, dear Eve,” he said with hesitation, as if uncertain how
to reply to her impassioned words; you would not love wisely to
love unrequited! Such love as thine should be returned with all
a man's soul and being! Besides thee, he should have eye or
thought for no other! Thou must be the altar of his passion—the
shrine of his adoration! Thou adorest? he must adore! Eve, I
never have even loved!”

The lovely being at whose feet he sat, listened as if she did
not hear, or hearing did not understand! With her eyes fixed
earnestly upon his troubled face, and her lips apart as if she
would speak, she spoke not! She looked at him a few moments
in silent, painful amazement Then she released her hand slowly,
gently from his—for he had held it all along, and now seemed
with his down-cast gaze to be admiring the glittering jewels that
adorned it. Gently, slowly she disengaged it and clasped, instead,
her own hand, and bending towards him in an attitude of touching
eloquence, she knelt suppliantly! Still she spoke not! He
felt her large eyes fixed upon him, and he dared not look up! He
feared to meet their sad, reproving, soul-stricken gaze.

“George! Carleton!” she said, and her voice seemed to issue
from her heart. “Did I hear aright? Oh, speak—speak kindly to
me! and tell me if you said you never loved me? I will listen—I
will not let my heart burst—I will hold it in thus with my hands!”
and she pressed her clasped fingers beneath her bosom close to her
heart. “See, I am calm!”

“Eve—for God's sake, do not look and talk to me so!” he cried
with acute misery. “It was an idle word—I meant it not! Turn
away those eyes, I cannot bear their gaze!”

“If they grieve thee, Carleton, I will turn them away, I would
not grieve thee! But thou hast grieved me; oh Carleton, thou
hast grieved me!” Who could withstand the touching suffering
of these few gentle words of complaint? The pirate-chief caught
her hands, pressed them to his lips, and breathed a word of tenderness
into her ear. “Eve, forgive me! I meant not what I said.
'Twas an idle word!”

“'Tis spoken, Carleton,” she said recovering her hand and
rising to her feet with sweet dignity; “and I feel that it is a true one'
Thou hast then never loved me! Alas, when to thee I gave my
virgin heart, and thou didst kneel and swear thou lovedst me better
than thou didst love life! lovedst thou me not then? When in
that hour, I surrendered to thee my maiden name and took thine,
alas! ne'er yet mine! and thou didst fold me to thy heart thy bride and
wife! lovedst thou me not, then, Carleton! When, because thou
wished it so, I, ere yet I had been one day a wife, did take a dreadful
oath administered by thee, that I should never divulge, save with
thy free consent, our union! lovedst thou me not then, Carleton?”

It was like a spirit of judgment from the other world interrogating
him! He was overpowered with the conflict of his feelings,
and turning from her walked across the cabin, where he stood a
moment with his face buried in his hands! She approached him
with a countenance emanating love and sympathy.

“George, forgive me! I meant not to wound where I would
kneel to heal! I know thou lovedst me! I know thou hast ever
loved me! Thou knowest not thy own heart. If thou wilt look
within, thou wilt see the image of thy Eve, imprinted there in the
lines of life!”

“No, no, Eve!” he said with bitterness, “I will not deceive
you! I never have truly loved thee! If I could have loved thee,
thy deep, pure, idolatrous affection would have created love in my
bosom! I was proud of thee—of thy matchless loveliness—of thy
deep love for me! but I never returned, never requited it! Instead
of being a fountain reflecting the summer sunshine of thy warm
and sunny love, I was like a wintry pool presenting an icy shield
to its beams!”

“Never! never loved me!” spoke she slowly and whisperingly,
as if her thoughts introverted, were holding converse with her
heart.

“No, truly, Eve! It is time thou wert undeceived! I have long
wished for this occasion, but —”

“Long!” repeated the lovely sufferer, “hast thou not loved
me for long, Carleton?”

He hesitated, embarrassed how to reply to such painful questions.
If she had shown anger, or scorn, or hate, he felt he could have borne
it. But to be so like an angel in meekness and gentleness! to receive
with such touching sorrow his confession! this was more
than even his cold and stern spirit could endure. Again he turned
from her, and seemed as if leaving the cabin. But a single word
from her lips arrested him.

“George!”

“Eve!”

“Come to me! Nay nearer! sit by me!”

He obeyed her.

“I will say what I have to say, calmly. Thou hast deceived
me, Carleton! But I complain not! I am not about to reproach
you! If I have grieved you, forgive me! It was a sudden shock
to me, to be told from your beloved lips—for thou art still my beloved,
George—that I was not loved by thee! But it is over now!
I feel I can bear it! Now nothing remains but for me to love thee!
Nay—do not look displeased! It is the sweet lesson I have taught
my heart for years! and it will not forget it! nor would I it should
forget. Thou art my heart's world, its serene Heaven, in which
like a dove it flies and is blest; its uprising star guiding it to happiness
and peace; its sun from which it derives its warmth and
life! Its pulse can only throb with thine, and when thy heart
ceases to beat, mine will find rest?”

“Strange and unaccountable creature!” said Carleton with
emotion, and yet speaking as if annoyed. “I have told thee, dear
Eve, that I have never loved thee! I must now tell thee, I do not
now love thee! I pity, I feel for you, with all my heart! I know
how deep, how strong your attachment is to me! I knew it would
survive even this painful and most trying confession. But, my
dear Eve, is it not folly to love, where thou art not beloved! Is it
not—”

“Nay, Carlton, I have heard thy words! The arrow hath
pierced and cloven my spirit's life! but it hath not shivered the
mirror in my breast, wherein thy image is reflected! Thou art
dear to me as before! I may not cease to love thee; but I may
weep that thou lovest not me! But wherefore, dear Carleton,”
she said with warm and glowing feeling; “wherefore hast thou not

loved? Have I been all unworthy thy manly affection? of that noble
love—which this hour I would die to know was mine own.”

“No, Eve! you are worthy any man's love! Of yours few are
worthy, much less myself.”

“Yes—you wrong yourself, Carleton! you have erred, you are
now in the path of error! but you are generous and noble and
good! Thy spirit is dark and thy nature is stern; but I know that
thou hast among men few thy peer. Unworthy! No! and,” she
added, her voice suddenly changing to a subdued tone, “thou lovest
me not. Alas, me! yet thou must love some one. Thy nature
is confiding, and thy spirit will yearn for its mate. Thou wilt love
some one. Happy she! whom thou lovest? Blest the maiden,
into whose rich bosom thou pourest all the wealth of thy great
heart's affections. Happy the lovely and loved who can read in
thy deep, passionate gaze, that thou lovest and she is the beloved.
I have, alas! thought, (for my love blinded my penetration and I
was willingly deceived,) that I read love and devotion in your admiring
eyes; and my ear has trembled, and my heart-string's,
catching the vibration, have thrilled with joy, as you poured into
them words of love. But alas! the glance was that of pride and
admiring passion, the words the voice of flattery. George thou
hast then mocked me with the semblance of love!”

“Thou didst deceive thyself, Eve; not I thee. I admire thee;
I was proud of thee, and thou sawest these passions in my eyes
and construed it love. I praised thy beauty, and thou didst think
I worshipped thee. No, Eve, thou wert the idol only of my vanity,
the shrine of my self-love.”

“Carleton,” she said with strange seriousness in the tones of
her voice, “why then did you wed me?”

“Because I then believed that I loved thee.”

“Then!” she repeated with an emphasis that made him start.
“What has shown thee since then, that thou wert in error, George?”
and her dark observing glance was fixed upon his changing countenance
with singular earnestness.

He was silent a few moments. He was perplexed, and evidently
was withholding the truth to invent an indifferent reply. It
was plain by a change in the expression of her intense gaze that
this suspicion rose to her mind.

“It was the devotion and disinterestedness of your own love for
me, Eve!” he replied with a sudden readiness that would have
showed to a close observer, that he had lit upon a happy reply
with which he meant to cover from her the true one. “I witnessed
your attachment, and from you learning how to love, knew then I
had never loved.” His eyes avoided hers as he replied, and she
listened without moving. For a few seconds after he had ceased
speaking both were silent; he inwardly congratulating himself
upon his successful answer to her abrupt inquiry, she with
her young and faithful heart torn by the first pang of jealousy. She
broke the silence.

“George Carleton, thou hast not spoken the truth,” she said
severely yet not unkindly; there was more sorrow than anger in
her even and solemn tones.

The young pirate-chief started and his haughty spirit instinctively
rose at the imputation. But as his gaze fell on the lovely woman
he had wronged, he suppressed his emotion and replied,

“Eve from thee I forgive that word! I have wronged thee, most
truly have I, and from thee can forgive much!”

“And from thee, George, I can forgive much! I did think a
while since, that there was nothing I could not forgive in thee!
But my heart hath within the minute past taught me not to trust
my deep love too far! There is one thing I may not forgive in
thee, George!” Carleton plainly desired to avoid the allusion that
he evidently anticipated, and said quickly,

“Would to God, Eve, thou wouldst heed the teaching of thy
heart and not trust thy deep love too far! It will ne'er be requited
and if it be trampled and crushed under foot, thou must
thank thyself! If thou wilt love where thou art —”

“Oh, say not hated with thy lips as I read it in thine eyes, Carleton,
and I will strive to love thee less,” she cried, almost shriek
ing, as she pressed her hand upon his mouth. “I have wronged
thee by my suspicion of thy truth! I knew thou would'st never
be false to me—though thou lovest me not so much and warmly as
thou thinkest thou ought to do! I will not require that thou
shouldst measure thy love by mine! nor, because thou findest it
fall short, thou shouldest not think and so teach thy heart that
thou lovest me not; I but think that 'tis woman's nature to love
most! I know thou art deceiving thyself and dost truly love me!
For the suspicion that, but now, flashed on my brain like bale-fire,
that it was because thou hadst learned by loving another, that thou
knewest thou lovedest not me, I will not, I dare not, I may not
cherish in my thought! Say 'tis false, dear Carleton! O, God, say
“ 'tis false” and I will kneel to thee!”

Carleton saw now before him, in Eve, woman in her true character!
Gentle, loving, adoring, self-sacrificing, let but a spark of
suspicion, not that her love hath been slighted, for this she will
forgive and still love on, but that her love hath been slighted for
another's shrine, light on her heart and a conflagration of all the
wild passions of her being ensue! Carlton had never seen Eve
but as the gentle, beautiful and loving; her dark eyes beaming affection;
her soft, heart-deep tones breathing tenderness and devotion!
But now how changed! how sudden the transition in
the time from giving utterance to one sentence to speaking another!
and yet she only suspected, and the moment before she had
rejected the suspicion; but now, as she gazed upon his tell-tale
cheek and averted eye and saw he spoke not, it rushed back upon
her soul with new strength and distinctness of outline, and she at
once yielded up her whole nature to its influence; loosed the
wings of her spirit to its storm and let it drive her whither it
would. Such is woman when the depths of her heart are moved by
jealousy! Light and darkness are not more opposite than her two
natures! To her jealousy would create a hell! love a heaven!

Carleton stood in silent awe and gazed upon her. Her slight and
singularly elegant person was dilated and seemed taller by many
inches. Her bosom violently heaved till her kerchief seemed as if
agitated by the wind. Her attitude was commanding and spirited
Her dark, glorious eyes flashed with fire and her pale cheek and
bloodless lips spoke eloquently and painfully of the deep feeling
within. He stood as if petrified before her, and observed her with
an astonishment he did not strive to suppress. Could that lovely
yet angry creature who stood flashing upon him, be the yielding
and quiet girl whom he had so long held dishonored by withholding
from her the title of wife? He felt both fear and respect
as he contemplated her; and the awkward conviction forced itself
upon his mind that to trifle with such a woman's love would not
be lightly dangerous! She seemed to be reading his thoughts.

“Speak!” she said commandingly as he still continued silent.

“Eve, I know not what wild spirit has taken possession of thee.
Thou art not thyself. But a moment since thou wert defending
me with extraordinary eloquence, and now I behold thee without
a feather of a cause standing in hostile attitude and demanding of
me I know not what! Art thou beside thyself?”

“No, Carleton, no!” she said hurriedly and nervously. “Yet I
do not know but that I am. There is a strange sensation at my
heart!” and she pressed her hands against it: “It can't be so. I
have judged you wrongfully. No, dear Carleton—I knew you
would not lo—love a-noth—I could not live if I knew it;—yet I
—I think I should—thou—love you still—but—but, dear Carleton,
she—you—you should both—”

Here she tottered and would have fallen to the floor but for his
arm. He caught her and gently laid her upon the ottoman. Her
lips still moved and he bent his ear over her to catch the words from
her tremulous lips. She spoke in a very low but singularly distinct
and firm tone. It was the completion of the sentence:

“— both die!” and she was insensible.

“God of Heaven, what a woman,” he exclaimed starting back
with horror.

Pale, and lifeless, and lovely; how still and strange was her death-like
repose! How calm and beautiful she lay there, like innocence

slumbering; yet her nether lip wore not the pure expression of innocence.
It was compressed against its fellow and bore the footprint
of the stern spirit that fled from it as she breathed forth her
last determined words.

Carleton made no effort to reanimate her! he seemed not to
think of it. Lost in his own thoughts he gazed upon his wife a few
moments as she lay beautiful and still before him, as if death and
not life now claimed her; and as he dwelt on this new developement
of her being, he was amazed and feared to contemplate the consequences
to his future purposes! He loved Blanche Hillary!
Eve had been to him a pretty toy, whom he had tired of and with
whose devoted love he wearied, though his pride was gratified
by it. Although circumstances had now fortuitously brought
about his confession that he had never loved Eve, he witheld, for
reasons, all will discern when it is remembered that Eve, though
unacknowledged, was his lawful wife, the confession of his attachment
to Blanche. Eve's womanly penetration aided by her deep
love, which is ever the parent of jealousy, had detected his cmbarrasment,
and instantly suspicion of the truth flashed upon her
mind. The consequences we have just seen. The reaction of
feeling upon her full heart crushed it. A beautiful sacrifice! she
seemed an offering upon the altar of love, a victim of Carleton's
pride. And was she a victim to his pride. Loved he never that
sweet devoted creature? Had he never thought he loved her?
yes, until he met Blanche Hillary. He then knew that he had
been deceived, believing he had loved; and that alone, he felt,
was love which the charms and presence of Blanche inspired in his
bosom! It was a new, strange, blissful emotion, such as he had never
experienced in Eve's presence. It was deep happiness; with
such happiness Eve had never filled his soul. 'Till he knew Blanche
he had only known the image of love, and with this painted image
he had deceived Eve—deceived himself.

As he gazed upon her with introverted thoughts the past came
before his mind in vivid colours! We will lift the veil and with
him gaze upon the picture memory so faithfully retouched!