University of Virginia Library

5. CHAPTER V.

Three months after the death of the proprietor of Rock-head,
and on that “moonlight night” with which we opened our last
chapter, Eve Innes was seated at her window looking out upon the
beautiful silvery scene of island, grove and river, which we have
described. Her cheek lay quietly in her hand, which was supported
by the window. Her eyes looked forth upon the darkly
shining river, and the distant murmur of the cascade of Rock-head
came faintly to her ear. But her thoughts were not with the
scene. In imagination she was following Edward Carleton in his
unknown wanderings. She had not heard from him save by idle
rumor, which whispered that he had horded himself with pirates at
Cape St. Antonio; and a paragraph in the city Gazette even met
her eye, in which it was stated that a captain of a Charleston brig
had recognised him on the deck of a buccaneer's droger which
chased him, but from which he escaped. Eve sighed at all this;
but her love only grew with the rumors, and her true heart clung
to him with faith and trusting devotion. She knew that he would
return. She cherished this hope when hope seemed hopeless.—
She heeded none of the rumors. She could not believe that one
whom she loved so purely and deeply could be evil! She felt her
heart's affections would never go out to an object unworthy their
high and holy character. Grief was at her heart at his absence;
and sadness lay like the soft shadow of twilight upon her spirits
that she never heard from him. How hard it is for woman to give
up hope where once her heart's truth has been bestowed! She
may weep and grieve in silence; but hope, like a star, though it
may go down at morn and leave no guide to the lifted eye, yet
rises again in the evening as bright as before:

Tender were her thoughts of Carleton as Eve sat by her window
with her eye upon the water. Suddenly she became conscious of
an object moving upon the river, within the shadows of the shore.
She recalled her thoughts and watched it narrowly, and oh, with
what a beating heart! for in all that transpired around her the image
of Carleton was ever mingled. Swiftly, darkly, silently, the object
glided along the shore, and she saw that it was a long light barque,
pulled by several men. An opening of the trees let in the moon
light broadly upon them as they passed, and she discerned in the

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The barge continued its rapid way. A young man stood in
he stern urging on the six rowers in a low but earnest tone. The
moonlight again shone upon his face, and that face was Edward
Carleton's! Eve's heart had spoken truly. In a few moments,
guided by him, the boat struck the bank beneath a large oak, and
springing upon the gnarled roots and then upon the lawn, he hurriedly
bade them neither to leave their oars nor to speak, and then
disappeared in a copse that covered a well-known by-path leading
to the villa.

Eve had lifted her head and again looked out, but the boat was
no longer visible. She listened, but the quick dip of oars no more
struck on the ear. She knew then that it had landed at the
oak. She left the window with a bounding heart, and the next
moment, guided by her impulsive love and hope, was upon the
lawn. But she had not gone three steps from the house when the
thoughtlessness and, perhaps, danger of her course occurred to
her, and she retreated to the covert of the trellised piazza, from
which, unobserved, she could discover the approach of any one
from the water. In a few moments she saw a figure obscruely in
the avenue, and as it came nearer she knew the step and form of
Edward Carleton. He came forth from the shade of the copsewalk
and stood in the clear moonshine gazing at the house. He
was within a few yards of her and she saw his face distinctly. How
had time and passion changed it! He was taller and manlier; and
if possible, carried himself more proudly; his fine, oriental profile
was stronger and handsomer, she thought; but she shrunk at the
dark brow which seemed a throne where ruled passion and fire.—
Yet as she gazed she loved. But love is woman's destiny; be the
object of her heart's affection good or evil, if she loves she loves!
What criminal, what bandit, what man however guilty and steeped
in crime and blood, but that some woman, even the beautiful
and true, has been found to love him, and to cling closer around
him as his fellow men cast him farther forth from their midst.

Dark and clouded with passion was the handsome face of Edward
Carleton. But the earth has volcanoes, and its fair bosom is
disfigured and made terrible by fierce whirlwinds; yet all men love
the world remembering only its sunshine and beauty. So Eve loved
Edward Carleton. He was her heart's world, and she loved him
for her spirit's life was in him.

He stood and gazed upon the villa, and directed his glance to the
window of her boudoir, and then advanced with a quick pace towards
it. Still unseen she followed him, oh! with what joy and
winged happiness in her step and at her heart.

He stopped near the casement and sang in a low, tender strain
the first lines of a well remembered serenade they had often sang
together, and which he had composed:

He paused and listened. A voice in reply came from the shrubbery
by his side. It was like a singing bird, gifted with articulation.
It was tremblingly full of joy, and running over like a bubbling
fountain. And the words in truth gushed forth from her
overrunning heart:

He started and looked round at the sound of the voice; and as
it sunk trembling with love and the excitement of the moment,
he continued in the words of the song, but in a more passionate
strain:

He then went on in a tender earnest voice, applying the remainder
of the song to her:

He approached the spot whence her voice had proceeded, and
where, by the agitation of the foliage, he knew she was concealed.
As he advanced she repeated with such a deep intonation of love
and joy that his bosom was filled with the sweet assurance of her
unchanging affection,

She could proceed no farther. Her heart dissolved in her song;
her voice was drowned in bliss! She was in Carleton's arms closely
clasped to his heart. Loved he then that true and trusting girl?
He thought then that he did; and proud in her lasting faith and
devotion, he felt grateful and happy, for she had always made
him happy. In his wanderings, to think of her was happiness, and
now, hearing of the death of Mr. Innes and of his father, he returned
to see if she still loved him above all the prejudices of mankind.
He had learned privately in Charleston, where he arrived the day
before as passenger, that she was still at her father's abode, and
unwedded, though many a wooer had sought her hand. Yes, Eve
had been wooed by many a youth, but she refused them all.—
Among her most pressing suitors was the attorney who had been
sent for to make Mr. Carleton's will. But every body knew that
she was in secret pining with her love for Carleton; and no one
mentioned his name in her presence. So Carleton took a boat and
by night ascended the river. We have seen the meeting with
Eve.

We must now hasten to the conclusion of our episode. An
hour of sweet happiness to Eve passed, and she had pledged
herself to be his, and he had sworn to wed her when she should
name the day, which he wished should be an early one. He
then left her, and returning to his boat pulled his way stealthily
along the banks to Rock-Head. He soon reached the landing
at the foot of the rock, and bidding his men secure the boat
and follow him, he climbed the well-known path to the chateau.
He found the postern leading to the river closed and
locked. He passed round the garden wall and reached the front
of the mansion. Stern, dark and silent it stood amid the pines and
cypresses that grew around. The solemn repose broken only by
the roar of the cascade, affected his mind. His father's shade
seemed to look angrily upon him from the window of his chamber.
He approached suddenly the main entrance, and found the door
ajar. He entered and ascended with a rapid, familiar tread to the
terrace-like hall in the centre of the building. The moonlight
streamed in through the windows and was his only lamp. He
stopped in the midst and looked around. Half-seen, dim portraits
glanced on him from the walls; the furniture remained where it
had ever stood; all seemed unchanged! He passed on to a door
at the upper end and opened it. To his surprise a light dimly
burned within, and an old African slave lay by it asleep upon a cot.
He recognised him as the old porter, and awoke him. From him he

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“Made he any will, Peter?” asked the young man after listening
to the slave's narrative.

“Yes, massa Shorge, de 'torney hab him safe.”

“I thought so,” murmured the young man sternly. “I knew
he would make a will and disinherit me? But we will see!”

The next day the attorney was sent for, and at night made his
appearance. The interval Carleton had passed with Eve, secretly
going and returning. But with all his caution, being desirous to
have his return unknown until he knew how men regarded him, it
was in a few hours known in the whole neighborhood that the heir
of Rock-head had made his appearance after his long absence on
the seas.

“And such was the tenor of his will?” sternly demanded Carleton
of the attonrey after a few brief words of conversation.

“Yes,” answered the man of law cooly; “if you marry, Eve,
the daughter of the late Mr. Innes, you are disinherited.

Carelton curled his lip haughtily and turned and walked the
room a few paces, and then came back to the attorney who was
busy opening and unsealing an envelope. “You are a long time,
Mr. Attorney, in getting at this will,” he said impatiently.

“I sealed and endorsed better to keep it, Mr. Carleton, not knowing
when you might return! There it is, sir. You can read it
for yourself, or I will.”

“I choose to read it,” answered Edward shortly, tearing it open.

“I forgot to give you this sealed letter that accompanies it!
'Twas given me by your father to be placed in your hand.”

“The will first,” answered Carleton impatient at the interruption;
for he had already began to peruse it.

The lawyer looked at him with wonder and retaining the letter
watched his countenance in silence.

“So! this is then the condition on which I am to inherit my
father's wealth?” he said musingly. “Well, be it so,” he added
in a half-tone; “Eve is fair and I love her; yet singing birds are
in every grove; but such estates come not, at a man's beckoning.
But what is this? A codicil? Let me read:

“If my son, Geo. Edward, aforesaid, shall bind himself to comply
with the condition of the above will, then the property real
and personal named therein, shall, at the expiration of seven years,
after such bond given, be placed in his possession, the interest
thereon in the meanwhile to be paid to him annually. (Thus I
punish him for his filial disobedience.) If at the expiration of the
seven years he shall wed the said Eve Innes, then shall the property
real and personal above named and scheduled, be given to the Society
for Colonizing Liberated Africans. My son, the said Geo.
Edward being now absent and forgetful of his duty, the interest
that may accumulate for the time (not exceeding two years) that
he shall remain away, shall be forfeited by him and shall go to the
husband of Eve Innes, if she be wedded within the two years.”

The heir's brows met and darkened as he perused the codicil.

“Well this is a precious document, Mr. Attorney! What if I
choose to comply with the conditions of the will?”

“I am in that case instructed to convey to you the titles to the
real and personal estate, which titles are now filed in the Orphan's
Court. The property besides Rook-wood, which is worth twenty
thousand, consists in bank stock of New York banks, Mr. Carleton:
your father being wise, invested all his wealth in that way
some years ago.”

“What is the probable value of the property?” asked Edward.

“Not less than one hundred and eighty thousand dollars. Few
young ladies, Mr. Carleton,” smiled and said the lawyer, “are
worth that these times. Miss Innes is very pretty and —”

“You may spare any further allusion to the lady in question, Mr.
Attorney;” said Carleton haughtily.

The Attorney stared and was silent.

The next day Edward Carleton made his appearance before the
Probate Judge and entered into a bond, pledging himself to the
negative condition named in the will. The Court then gave him
the necessary power to command the interest for seven years.

“And what has become of the interest, some two thousand dollars,
accumulated the last three months,” he demanded haughtily.

“In the possession of the Attorney, who drew up the will of
your father and who is also its executor,” answered the Judge
“The object for which it is to be appropriated is named in the codicil.
If at the expiration of two years —”

“Yes, you need not explain,” interrupted Carleton impatiently.
“Curses light on my father;” he muttered as he left the Court.
“What could have been the motive of his hostility to Eve?”

This interrogation was overheard by the Attorney, who accompanied
him from the Court. “If you will read the letter which
your father desired me to hand to you, it will probably throw some
light upon it!” said the executor; and again he handed it to him.
He took it, thrust it into his pocket, vaulted into his saddle and
galloped at full speed back to Rock-head followed by the Attorney
at a less adventurous pace. In his own room Edward broke the
seal of his father's letter. As he read it he paced the room like a
mad-man.

“My son,

I am now near my end—but, as I believe death to be an
everlasting sleep, I feel no alarm. The grave is rest. I envy the
clod and the rock which are dead and feel not; and rejoice that
I shall soon be their fellow! But I would say a word to you before
I am annihilated. I wish you to know what you are ignorant of
respecting me. I am an Englishman descended of a noble family.
My grand-father was an Earl, my mother a Countess. A step-mother
made my parental roof a hell, and at the age of sixteen I fled
from it. I shipped as a common seaman; and having a naturedly
vicious turn, (I conceal nothing now) I soon contracted the worst
vices. In my twentieth year, enraged by a blow inflicted by the
Captain, Iconspired, and heading a mutiny took possession of the
brig, killing the Captain with my own hands and so wiping out the
foul stain he had blackened me with. We steered for the coast
of Africa; and, tempted by the great wealth realized by slave-stealing,
we engaged in the traffic and took a cargo to the West Indies.
The immense returns by the way of profit, with the absence of all
principle, led me to engage in it for a long period, till at length,
after several years, my name was known throughout the West Indies
and inspired terror all along the African coast. The wealth
I accumulated was enormous; and the guilt with which it was obtained
was equally vast. But what is guilt but a name? The
grave hides alike evil and good: at least this is my belief, and at
this hour it is a consoling one. If there were a God I know
there would be a hell for me. But my conscience is calm and
gives me no warning of a hereafter; and so I die without fear. A
peaceful state, my son!

But I must be brief. Satiated with wealth I quit the traffic;
and, building a costly and swift sailing yacht, I cruised for pleasure
many months in the Mediterrancam, visiting every port, and
every where received as a private gentleman. At Syracuse as I
was on the eve of sailing, I gave a colation to a select party on
board my vessel. Among the guests was an American gentleman
and his daughter. I need not describe her. She was perfectly
lovely. Eve Innes (for I have seen her once) is her counterpart.
I fell in love with her at a glance and delayed my departure for
weeks to woo and win her. I offered her my hand and was rejected!
Fierce and uncontrolable by nature, I was maddened and
demanded the reason of her refusal. She was, at first, silent but
at length pleaded her ignorace of me! Fool that I was! I believed
she was attached to me and would have become mine; but the
truth she concealed. She was already betrothed. This I learned
by accident. I met her again at a ball and accused her of duplicity.
She treated me with insulting coolness; and haughtily taking
the arm of a gentleman near her, left me. That gentleman
was her betrothed. Need I say it was Mr. Innes, then a young
gentleman on his travels? I sought him out, and picked a quarrel
with him. We met with small swords and I was disarmed The

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next day I sailed. The week following they were married. I
heard of it at Naples. Settled gloom then took possession of me.
I traversed Asia and half India to banish the image of Eve Evelyn
(such was her name) from my mind. A year passed away, and in
Beyroot I met with a beautiful Jewish maiden. I was sick and she
nursed me till gratitude grew into love when I married her. She
possessed every grace and charm and gentle virtue of her sex. I
learned to adore her. You were the fruit of that blissful union
In giving you birth she died. I cursed my evil destiny; and,
leaving you with her relatives, I again became a wanderer. I visited
Charleston in disguise, witnessed the happiness of Eve Evelyn
in her own home; but she knew me not. I determined to
crush her happiness. She had two lovely sons and (shall I conceal
the truth?) they pined and died one after the other! I poisoned
them secretly and slowly! I felt a fiendish joy in seeing her
tears and in witnessing her anguish. At length I returned to Beyroot
and found you a handsome boy of four years. I was
suddenly haunted with the fear that you would be poisoned and I
took you with me. Five years we wandered together, and at length
led by, I knew not what secret motive, I resolved to live near
Eve! I purchased this property and came hither. In the place
of her two boys she had a daughter. It was an infant of three
years. I beheld her in her home, when she knew it not. I stole
thither by night—and saw she wept over it and was not happy. So
I would not take it away from her lest she should smile again; and
I let it live. The child grew; and when it was six years of age,
I met it with its mother. They had wandered along the green
shores gathering flowers and were near the cascade! I came suddenly
upon them! I took up the child! I was tempted to toss it
into the caldron of boiling foam amid the rocks, but it smiled on me
and looked so like its mother when first I saw and loved her, (for
now I hated her) that, instead, I kissed it and set it down. The
mother gazed on me; I knew she was searching memory! I was
willing she should know who stood before her and I turned a full
and expressive gaze upon her face; she met my glance and turned
deadly pale.”

“What would you here?” she said hoarsely.

“The bliss of being near you, Eve,” I answered, ironically yet
haughtily.

“You can mean no good.”

“No. I mean evil; I loved you when I thought you might have
been mine—I hate you, another's!”

“'Twas rumored in Syracuse, he was a pirate,” she said thinking
aloud.

“Yes, lady, I was a pirate—if you will; I am now the foe of thyself
and thine.”

She caught her child trembllng to her heart.

“Nay fear not; it bears to much thine image when first I saw
thee. Thou hast lost two boys?”

Yes,” she gasped rather than spoke.

“I poisoned them!” said I approaching her and whispering close
her appalled ear.

!” she shrieked. I thought she would have sunk to the
earth with horror, while her beautiful eyes blazed upon me, like
those of a leopardess robbed of its young. I was awed for a mo
ment.

“Yes. I lady! But fear not for this flower. I hate it, being
thine husband's. But I will harm it not, at least, while I see not
on her face thy scornful parting look.”

“Thou fiend! Thou shalt be —” she could say no more;
but, overpowered, fell insensible upon the sward. I bore her to
the water and revived her; and then suddenly left her, satisfied
with the result. She knew not whence I come or whither I went;
for no one had seen me, so secluded was my life. She reached
home, but spoke not after that hour. In three weeks she was
placed in the grave; and so I had my revenge! No not wholly;
I watched the young flower she had left to grow on earth. I
watched, unseen, her expanding loveliness, and only waited, when
there seemed most happiness garnered up in her father's bosom, to
crush it. But she grew up from spring to spring, even with that
gentle look of her mother's I love to recal; and I could never
make up my mind to destroy her. I saw your growing intimacy,
and in my heart resolved to make you in some way the instrument
of my hatred. But time passed on. She reached her sixteenth
year, and I saw that you loved her! Then all my hatred to her
blood returned, and I determined ere mine (dark and stained as it
was) should mingle in one stream with it she should perish! I had
formed my plan and the mode, and the hour was fixed by me,
when you left a note on your table saying that you had been insulted
by Mr. Innes and should leave the country. Your departure
saved her life. Now, I am near death! she yet lives, and I feel
no disposition to destroy her. But the curse of a father be upon
you, if you should return and wed her! My Will will express in
stronger terms my feeling on this subject. Curses rest upon your
head and upon the heads of your offspring, should you ever take
he daughter of Eve Evelyn to wife. Thy mistress she may be!
thy wife never, save with a father's curse!”

When Edward Carleton had finished the perusal of this extraordinary
confession, he crushed the manuscript in his hand and
stood a few moments with a stern brow and rigid look. At length
he spake:

“Yes, I am fit son for such a father! Curse his memory and his
name! What care I for such a father's curse! Let his memory
perish with him. This then is the secret of the condition annexed
to my inheritance; of thy long-rankling hate! disappointed passion
and the scornful treatment and marriage of his lady-love. And
he would have murdered Eve. God's malediction light on him!
My mistress! Never! I am not yet his peer in guilt, if his guilty
blood does flow in my veins. Eve is pure and for me she shall remain
pure. I am half determined to wed her, in revenge upon
foul wishes. But, no; this may not be; and I cannot give he
up. She is dear and precious to me, but my inheritance is more
so. But I will be guided by events with reference to Eve. She
is a lovely and glorious gem, for any man to wear on his bosom
Would to Heaven I could make her my wife. But this may not
be. I am beggared by my losses in the capture of our brigantine
by that British Cruiser, and must needs have money. And this I
have. Eight thousand dollars is a pretty income, but will
scarcely purchase me a new vessel. But I will wait my time; remain
here and watch events and be guided by the result.”

The heir of Rock-Head remained at home a few weeks, most of
which time was passed in the society of Eve. He spoke not of
their union, nor did she. She was happy in loving him, and having
him near her, and in believing that he loved her. At length
Carleton's proud spirit was chafed by slights received from
neighboring gentlemen with whom, with the reckless purpose of
ascertaining their opinion of him, he mingled on the turf and in
town. But though a few unprincipled young men bore his society
for his money, he found himself a general object of suspicion and
dislike. At length, fired by an insult, he challenged his man, who
refused to fight, adding the epithets “pirate and slaver.' Carlton
drew a dagger and struck him to the heart. He fled without a
parting interview with Eve. Weeks passed away, and at length she
learned that he was in New York. The intelligence conveyed to
her drooping heart new life. For though he had dyed his hand in
blood, she forgave him, for she loved him.

Suddenly she departed from home, no one knew whither. Rumor
had it, that Carleton had come secretly by night and stolen
her away. He had come secretly by night, but not stolen her
away. She voluntarily fled with him. She had written him at
New York, and received a reply full of tenderness and expressions
of passion. But in it he lamented that fate and fortune forbade
their union. She supposing that he alluded to her own loss of
fortune in case she wedded him, according to her father's will
wrote him she cared not for the sacrifice of all her inheritance, so
she possessed “her heart's world.” “Having thee, Edward,” she
wrote, “I have wealth and honor, and covet nothing. Assured Assured
your continued affection, I should be happy in a hovel. Seperated

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“I must marry Eve!” said Carleton as he perused her letter; “I
see my happiness depends on having her with me. She is a charming
sweet being, any one would be proud of. She loves me and
may be of infinite service to me. I need a faithful friend; I will
wed her secretly. She is too pure to be won otherwise, and I
cannot think of her, my friend from boyhood, in the light of a
mistress. I will make her my wife. The marriage shall be kept
secret till I can afford to do without my father's wealth. Eve, I
will make thee happy.”

Carleton was then in New York, secretly organizing a crew for
new adventures. He had met with Morris Græme, the expelled
Cambridge Student, at a gaming table, and struck with his bold
and reckless character as well as with his intelligence, he one
night took advantage of his losses and drew him into the organization.
When he had completed his crew, he appointed a rendezvous
at Baltimore, where he heard a beautiful clipper schooner
had just been built for a Revenue Cutter, and was to proceed, lightly
manned, to the coast of Maine, there to be stationed. He met
his men under Morris Græme's charge at the place appointed,
and that night, the day before she was to sail, the schooner was
secretly boarded and put to sea. Carleton steered for Charleston,
and running into the harbor at night was landed in a boat, and
the schooner stood off and on awaiting his return. Three hours
after, Eve was seated by his side on the way down the river. They
reached Charleston at midnight, and Carleton conducted her to
a justice who was in waiting for them. Without asking any questions,
but merely taking their christened names, he united them.
Though thickly veiled (at Carleton's request,) and unknown to
him, Eve recognized through her veil the justice whom she had
often seen at her father's, and knew, if she had such a doubt, that
she was a lawfully wedded wife. In two hours afterwards Carleton
was once more on the deck of his schooner with Eve by his
side.

That very day of happiness and love, Carleton persuaded her
to take a vow, not to reveal to mortal man their marriage. What
could she refuse Carleton? She believed he required the oath for
the preservation of her own fortune, for of his father's will she
knew nothing. She took the oath as he wished; but, young and
thoughtless, and blinded by love, she did not think of, or foresee
the painful and degrading consequences to herself. She first
learned them some time afterwards from Morris Græme's addresses,
and saw too late her folly and her crime. Once she begged
Carleton to remove from her name the dishonor which he now had
attached to it. But he laughed and turned her aside, and so let it
pass. Again she would have spoken to him, after Morris's insult,
but the stern displeasure of his countenance checked her, and she
became silent.

The reader of the “Dancing Feather” is already familiar with
the subsequent career of Carleton's schooner, to which Eve had
given this fanciful name from her grace and lightness upon the
waves. After the loss of his schooner, which was seized by a Revenue
Cutter and sold, as already stated. Carleton lodged privately
on shore under an assumed name, and in lavish style of living.
Eve, though his wife, passed as his mistress, and more than once
was she reminded of it by his unprincipled friends. But she loved
Carleton too much to complain; and, so that he occasionally
smiled upon her and spoke affectionately, she was passive in her
degradation Morris Græme, his Lieutenant, in the meanwhile
was retained in a sort of half-pay by Carleton, who also furnished
him with money to keep at command several of his best men.
Morris, also, supported himself and a mistress by gambling. Both
he had Carleton kept very secret, and careful not to be suspected
of ever having been connected with the “Dancing Feather.”
But Carleton's secret was at length betrayed; and learning that
he was to be arrested, he resolved to make some attempt the same
night to put to sea. He went along the shore of the East River to
take note of the craft, and see what one anchored alone might be
cut out. Approaching the vicinity of Colonel Powel's residence,
he saw the masts of the Dancing Feather above the wooded headland,
and at once recognized her. He then, as we have saw, met
Blanche Hillary. His passionate and self-condemning address to
her, was for the purpose of an appeal to her feelings, aware that
her prejudice must be against him; for he felt that he could never
be happy but with her love. He had but twice met Blanche; but
love once deeply planted in his fiery breast, needed only to be
watered with the dew of fond and ever living memories. In the
light of her sun, the star of Eve's happiness was destined slowly
to set. Eve had long felt his coldness, but knew not its cause.
This was at length revealed to her mind by jealousy, in their
interview in the cabin, from which we have so long absented
ourselves to glance behind the curtain at “Scenes of the Past,”
that we fear the reader has quite forgotten that he was present at
it. We now resume our narration proper, where we suspended it,
to recur to the former life of our chief characters.