University of Virginia Library

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13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE SEA-SHELL.

It was indeed the `Sea-Shell,' the little
warlike-looking schooner in which
Captain Bonfield had left the shores of
England eighteen days before. After coming
into the outer-roads of the harbour
she had hauled her wind and stood across
the bay in the direction of the shores of
Dorchester. She had got within two
miles of the land when Mary's quick recognising
eye descried her. To a mute
who is accustomed to make the eye subserve
the uses of other senses, resemblances
are readily perceived, and the
memory, even of the most minute particulars,
is wonderfully acute. Thus at
the distance of two miles, and after many
months absence, Mary was able at a
glance to see that the stranger was the
Sea-Shell. When the vessel was pointed
out by her to Flora, the latter also recognized
it, and her face was as bright with
joy as Mary's, for both of them equally
loved the smuggler. He had from the
first been their only and best friend. They
looked upon him as a father; and his
conduct towards them had always been
like that of a find parent. Of his profession
or real character and name they
knew nothing. To Flora he had always
called himself after the name of his vessel,
Capt. `Dart,' and by this name alone
she knew him. To this address she sent
all her letters. She supposed that he
was a merchant-captain. The fact that
he was an outlaw she was ignorant of;
nor, had she known it, is it probable that
she would have loved him less. What
ever he was, he was dear to her as her
first, and only, and oldest friend and protector.
Mary showed all her feelings of
attachment for the smuggler, though with
more sedateness and gravity.

Their joy at seeing the vessel approaching
was communicated to the heart and
countenance of Edgar. He had long felt
a curiosity to see the man who seemed
to be the only link between Flora and
her unknown parents. The three now
watched the vessel, as it approached, with
the deepest interest. Half a mile from
the shore on account of the shallowness of
the water, it rounded to drop her anchor,
and in a minute and a half everything
was snug.

`How quick she took in sails,' cried
Edgar; `but a moment ago she was
moving in with everything packed on,
and now she is motionless, with every
sail furled upon the yards: your uncle is
a skilful seaman, Flora. From the looks
of the vessel she must be in the English
naval service. As it is after sun-down,
he shows no colours.'

`See a boat has put off, Edgar. In a
few minutes, and I shall see him, and
embrace him. Let us hasten to the shore
to meet him as soon as he lands.

They immediately descended the eminence,
and by a path, on one side, bordered
by a hedge of fir-trees, on the other
open to the lawn, they reached the beach
just as the boat also struck it. Before
getting to the water-side Flora had recognized
the form of her uncle, as she affectionately
termed the smuggler, standing
in the stern of his boat. He had also

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The next moment he leaped upon the
sand, and Flora and Mary were both together
clasped to his heart. He kissed
them both with deep affection upon the
check, and holding them off, looked them
each steadily in the face, as if to see what
changes time had continued to make.

`You are, if possible, more beautiful
than ever, Flora, and you, Mary, more
like an angel. Tell her so Flora.'

`She understands you, uncle; oh, how
happy I am to see you once more.
Mary wishes me to tell you that she expected
you to-day, for she has dreamed
about you three nights and the dreams
of mutes always come true, she says.'

`She looks happy and so do you, and I
know you are both glad to see me. What
a reward is mine for taking care of you
when no one cared for you,' said Bonfield,
with delighted looks, in which were
mingled emotions of pride and gratitude
in being so loved by creatures so good
and beautiful as the two were. `But who
is this?' he asked, glancing at Edgar,
who stood a few feet off looking upon the
scene of the happy meeting with the air
of one who secretly wished, but feared,
to participate in it.

`You will soon know, and be glad to
know him, uncle,' onswered Flora blushing.
`It is Mr. Edgar Channing, the son
of the gentleman who is the proprietor of
the estate. And—but—well, I won't be
foolish about it, dear uncle;' she said after
a moment's beautiful confusion, durin
which Mary, who perfectly understood
he whole, went up to Edgar; `you
must know some time. We are to be
married to-morrow.'

Mary at the same instant placed in
Edgar's hand that of Flora, and, joining
them together, looked in the Captain's
face with one of those sweet smiles which
shed over her features perfect sunshine.

`I see, I see,' said Bonfield. `If Mary
consents to it, all will be right, and so
will I. There is no deceiving her. Mr.
Channing, there is my hand! I am glad
to see any one that loves those I love.
You show your good sense and make
me respect your judgment in choosing
my little rose here. None but the good
could love her, nor could she love any
one who was not worthy of her. But, I
think you are to be married a little too
soon. We will, however, talk about
that when we get up to the cottage.
How is the old gardener?'

`Quite well, dear uncle, and he will
be most glad to see you back. My heart
is so full of joy that I don't know how to
keep from weeping.'

`I shall scold you, for getting married
before I came back. But, so long as it
has'nt taken place I'll forgive you.—
What say you to putting it off young gentleman
and lady until we get to England?'

`To England?' she repeated.

`Are you going to take Flora to England,
sir?' he asked with surprise.

`What is it?' asked Mary of Flora,
with signs, seeing their surprised and
troubled looks.

Flora instantly explained. Mary looked
pleased at the idea of going to England.

`Yes, Flora, said the Captain. `I
have come to America on purpose to
take you to your native land.'

`When, uncle? Why?' she asked
eagerly.

`At once. If possible I would have
you on board my vessel and be away
before midnight. Nay, do not look
alarmed; I will not interfere with any of
your love engagements, Flora. You
shall marry Mr. Edgar before you go,
and he will go too, I dare say.'

They were now all four walking slowly
towards the old gardener's cottage.

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`Uncle,' she said, `I cannot go and
leave Edgar. His happiness and mine
are woven in one thread for life. If I
postpone my marriage it may be to be
forced, if it were possible, into another
there. It would be to make him wretched.
First let us be married, and when
you tell him you have discovered my relatives,
he will gladly go with us. He
marries me, uncle, against much opposition.
He has been disinherited by his
father and repudiated by his family for
his attachment to me; for he is rich and
I am poor and humble. But, for all that,
he loves me and I live only in his love.
Consent to our union and we will both
go with you!'

`Well, I will say no more. I suppose
it can't be helped now it is gone so far.
So smile again, my child. You shall be
married and I and all my crew will
dance at your wedding. But only on the
condition that you and your young husband,
a fine looking fellow though, sail
at once with me for England. I like him
already, partly because you like him;
partly because Mary does; partly because
he is so confoundedly good-looking;
and partly because, being rich and
you poor, he loves you for yourself. It
shows he is a man of sense. Let us go
on ahead and overtake him and see what
he says.'

The proposal, though at first a little
startling to Edgar to sail at once to England,
he gladly embraced. It was decided
ere they reached the old man's
house, that the wedding should take place
the next morning on board the Sea-Shell.
The evening was spent in preparations.
Edgar had to go to the city to leave in
structions about his affairs for a three
months' absence, as he said; but he was
back again by ten o'clock. All was
bustle and joy and hope with some gladness.
The old gardener was sad that
Flora and Mary were to leave him; but
his tears were soon dried up when he
was invited by Bonfield to make one of
the party to England, where the Captain
told him that on Flora's account, he
would have his fortune made. As his
son Harry was all that was left to him,
and he was the first officer of the Sea-Shell,
the old man gladly embraced the
proposal to accompany those who for
many years had seemed to him as his
own children. At eleven o'clock at
night Bonfield went on board taking all
the baggage belonging to his passengers.
He then got every thing ready for them
to come on board the next morning. At
the prospect of a wedding on board, the
whole of the crew were in great glee,
and everything went forward with cheerfulness
and activity. Fresh water and
fresh provisions were taken on board,
late as it was, and by morning all was
ready both for the wedding and for sailing
again. The smuggler had not lost a
moment in delay. At six bells two boats
deeorated with flags were sent on shore
for the bridal party. A clergyman, an
intimate friend of Edgar, accompanied
them to the vessel. Before eight o'clock
the ceremony was performed. Flora
looked perfectly lovely. Edgar perfectly
happy. Mary seemed the very picture
of peaceful joy. Her countenance
beamed with serenity and happiness.
The Captain appeared to enjoy the whole
with pride and satisfaction. Flora seemed
to him like a very daughter; and he
deeply participated in her joy. He
knew she was happy and this made him
so.

At the end of the ceremony the generous
smuggler placed a roleau of gold

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At eight o'clock the crew of the cutter
was piped to the side, and the clergyman
took his leave. As soon as the boat got
back, the anchor was weighed, the top-sail
loosened, the mainsail hoisted, and
the schooner gradually moved from her
moorings with a five-knot breeze from
the West. In a few minutes she spread
all her canvas and gallantly ploughed her
way down the harbor, passing one after
the other a fleet of outward-bound coasters,
taking the lead of the whole, and
stretching away alone into the open sea.

Her departure was watched by wondering
eyes from the villa of Mr. Channing;
for, as she was getting under
weigh, a servant who had lived with the
gardener arrived at the house and preclaimed
that the old gardener had gone to
England in the black vessel anchored off
there, and had not only taken Flora and
Mary, but that Edgar had gone on board
also.

The father and daughter, and a spendthrift
nephew the old man had taken into
his family under the pretence of making
him his heir, hoping thereby to alarm
Edgar, one and all hastened to the piazza
to look at the vessel. Upon closely
questioning the man, they got from him a
general notion of what had occurred;
though every thing had been kept carefully
from his knowledge as far as possible.

`Edgar has now fairly thrown himself
away,' said his father. `I rue the
day that villainous runaway English gardener
ever was employed by me.'

`We ought to have made a scullion of
the girl, and then this folly of Edgar's
would not have been committed,' said
Margaret. `Disgraced! He has ran
away with a gardener's daughter.'

`Let him go, cousin. He ant worth
the thought, if he takes up with one so
low,' said the young heir in expectation,
who felt that he ought to be very much
indebted to Flora, and in his heart would
not have had things otherwise than they
were for the world.

`There is a boat coming ashore,' said
Margaret, who never kept her eyes off
of the vessel. `I wonder what new.'

`Go and see who lands,' said Mr.
Channing to the servant, who hastened
to obey.

`The vessel is spreading her sails and
going again,' exclaimed Margaret. `Is
it possible that my brother has gone to
England?'

`Here comes Terry, running, with a
note in his hand,' said the heir.

Margaret flew to meet him and took it
from him.

`Who gave it to you?' she demanded.

`The young praast, miss.'

`What young praast,' she added, opening
it; for she recognised her brother's
hand-writing.

`Here he coomes to spake for hisself,
miss,' answered Terry, as the clergyman
Edgar's friend, came walking towards
the house.

Margaret looked up to see him, and
then commenced reading aloud to her
father with a voice which increased each
moment in indignation:—

`My dear Sister,

`I am married. The noble and
amiable Flora is mine. Her relatives in
England have sent for her, and we leave
in the vessel which is anchored near
the gardens. On board this vessel I was
united to Flora at eight o'clock this
morning. I go to England with my dear
wife to gratify her; for you must know
she is no relative of the old gardener, but
is an orphan, who was placed under his

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charge in a mysterious way with money
in plenty for him to educate her. This
he has done. Tbe captain of the vessel
says that her relatives have been discovered
in England, and that they have sent
him express for her. He has just told me
that they are certainly noble. But this
assurance does not make me think more
of Flora. I have loved her in her humility.
I could love her no more were she
a princess. No title of nobility could
make her nobler than she is in my eyes.
But as the captain is not sure even of the
name of her relatives, who seem to have
kept him in the same kind of mystery
which from childhood has hung about
Flora, it may be that they are of humble
degree. But should I find that they were
of the peasantry, and dwelt in earthen
hovels, I should think no less of Flora.
To me she would always be Flora. I
shall probably return after an absence of
three months. Present my regards to my
father. Still and ever, whatever you
may be to me, Margaret,

`Your affectionate brother,

`Edgar.'

`I could die with shame. My brother
married to our gardener's daughter!'
cried the proud girl.

`Good morning, Mr. Channing,' said
the young clergyman. `I have had the
pleasure of performing the marriage ceremony
this morning, which makes the
lovely Flora Nickerson the wife of your
son. He gave me a line to send to you,
but after giving it to your servant, I concluded
to call by in person and inform
you.'

`You are a villain, sir,' cried Mr.
Channing in great excitement. `How
dare you marry my son, sirrah? How
dared you do it?' And the old man
shook his crutch as if he would gladly lay
it upon the `cloth' of the clergyman, who
stood before him calmly eyeing him, yet
with surprise at his vehemence.

`I did it, sir, at the request of the parties
most interested, Mr. Channing, and
also, what is more to the purpose, I did
it in the line of my duty. I could not
refuse any application of the kind without
just cause; and I saw no reason why
I could not legally join together in marriage
these two persons.'

`Have you dene, sir? I shall go—I
say I shall go mad, sirrah! I hardly
know how keep my patience!' And
the rich man shook with rage, while Margaret,
the proud and beautiful heiress,
stood by with a lip of scorn, and a brow
of anger, muttering at intervals as she
darted glances ot at the young clergyman.

`Impertinence! What audacity!—
To attempt to excuse such uncalled-for
interference in domestic affairs.'

`I do defend myself, lady! and further,
permit me to say,' answered the
clergyman firmly, and he turned to leave
them, seeing that his stay only provoked
them.

`You had better go!' cried the merchant,
`for you are at the bottom of the
whole. I have lost my son through you.
What have you further to say to that,
sir!' and he looked daggers at the young
minister.