University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

`Perhaps,' answered Gordon to the raillery
of his friend, touching his confidence
that he lived in the memory of the fair stranger,
`perhaps, if I had not seen her again,
and been confirmed in my confidence, I
might have had doubts.'

`And did you see her again?'

`Yes, and for the last time. It was the
same day. After I had reached home with
Bella, I excused myself from tea, and walked
up the street, with an indefinable hope that I
should meet the lovely girl who was now filling
all my thoughts. It was about half an
hour before sundown. She was going up
Washington street when I met her; and
having made up my mind that she resided in
the vicinity of Charlestown bridge, I turned
my steps slowly in that direction, hoping she
would overtake me on her return, or that
when I should reach the bridge and retrace
my steps, I should meet her going homeward.
You can see from this how deeply she interested
me, my dear Ogilvie.'

`I am wondering at you—you, usually so
grave and quiet, and hitherto so unimpressable
by female chrams. To be captivated
at last by a young sewing-girl, of whose name
and residence you are ignorant. It is time
to marvel.'

`I am not certain she is a sewing-girl.
But if she should prove to be it will make
no difference with the interest I feel in her,
but rather increase it.'

`And pray when did this mysterious beauty
appear again?'

`You may smile as freely as you choose,
Hugh. If you should ever see her you will
not wonder at me.'

`I hope I shall see her by all means.'

`I had reached the bridge and was returning,
fearing I had taken the walk in vain,
when as I was crossing Hanover street, near
Union, I beheld her going down the opposite
side. Although I was looking for her, I
was so overcome with surprise and joy that I
was for a moment immovable. She was
tripping along with a graceful, buoyant step,
her green veil half drawn over her face, and
looking neither to the right nor the left. She
did not see me; and collecting my senses I
crossed over, and followed her, intending
to give her the case I had found, thus
making it an excuse for addressing her. I
was afraid she would turn and discover me,
and take alarm; but she did not look behind,
and each moment I drew nigher to her. Suddenly
she stepped into a milliner's shop. The
next moment I was in front of it. I saw her

standing at the counter, and no one behind
it but an old deaf woman, for the young girl
had to raise her voice an octave to make her
hear. `Now or never,' said I, and plucking
up courage I went into the little shop.

She heard my step, turned, and seeing me
looked surprised, deeply colored, and dropped
her veil; but I could see that her hands, in
which she was holding a piece of muslin she
had taken up, slightly trembled. I feared I
had alarmed, perhaps offended her. Her manner
indicated fear and embarassment. But
I resolved I would not give any unfavorable
impressions to get place in her thoughts, and
I advanced, and said respectfully:

“`Pardon me, Miss, but I believe you are
the owner of this case.”' And the little
morroco case, which was ready in my hand,
I extended towards her.

`As I spoke, her side face was towards me,
and her veil hid her profile. But hearing
my voice she turned, and as I concluded she
put back her veil, and revealed the sweet
countenance that for months had been mingled
in my dreams, and woven into all my
waking thoughts. The eye looked gentle
and kind, and although there was an air of
timidity in her manner she smiled, and said
in the most charming way:

“`You are very kind to take so much
trouble, sir, to keep this so long for me, if
you found it on the bridge. I am very glad
to get it again, sir, although it is of no value.
But it was my mother's.” These last words
were spoken with a touching sadness that
made me love her still more.

`I answered her, though I know I was confused,
and spoke awkwardly, that I had found
it on the bridge three weeks before, and that
I had sought an opportunity to restore it to
her.

“`And I am glad, sir,” she said, “that I
have an opportunity of thanking you for your
courage and kindness exerted in my behalf.
In another moment, sir, I should have sprung
over the balustrade into the river. I have
not thought of your service without gratitude
and a desire to see you and thank you. I
did not leave the bridge, sir, till I sent two
men to your aid, but I saw you put the
ruffians to flight ere the men reached you..”

“`I know that you did not show indifference
to my fate,” I answered, “but I could
not hope that you would now recognize
me.”

“`Yes sir,” she responded, dropping her
eyes to the floor, and drumming upon it with
the tip of her small foot. “I had also seen
you before, though of course you do not remember
the time,” and she raised her fine
eyes, and bent them upon me with a look
that I felt betrayed a hope that I had not forgotten.

“`I shall never forget the time,” I answered
with warmth. “I am happy to know
that you recollect it. The remembrance of
that moment has been a source of deep joy
to me ever since. I have not forgotten, I
shall never forget you, and to know that
you have not forgotten me, inspires me with
a hope that—that—”

`Here I hesitated, and at length came to a
full stop. Her cheeks, naturally pale, were
like roses. Her young bosom heaved like an
affrighted pigeon's. I stood gazing on her
with happiness inconceivable. Her deep emotion
betrayed the place I held in her
thoughts.'

`You should have said heart, Gordon,' remarked
Hugh, who was listening with deep
and earnest interest. `She loved you, that is
clear, or she would not have shown such
agitation.'

`I was convinced of it. You can, the refore,
form some conception of my joy at this
discovery. I felt a delight not to be expressed
at this assurance that she who had so
long had my heart would not refuse me her
own.'

`For a few moments there was an embarassing,
yet I am sure a happy silence, on
both sides. I had said all I dared to. She
knew not what to say, or how to receive my
words. But I saw that she was pleased amid

all her embarassment and maidenly confusion.
Joy trembled on her eyelids, and gave quicker
pulsations to her heart.

“`Pardon me,” I said, in a low deprecating
tone. “I have said too much. But if
you knew, sweet girl, how I have loved to
think of you—how I have striven to learn
your name and abode, how I have sought for
such a happy moment as this to unfold to
you my heart's holy secret, you would not
frown upon me.'

“`I do not frown upon you, sir, she said,
as if she hardly knew how to trust her voice.
But she did not raise her eyelids. The color
however came and went in her cheeks
like summer lightning. “It is better the
meeting should not have been, sir, that we
should have—have—forgotten—each—each
other,” she continued, with an effort that
was painful to witness. “You are an officer
—a gentleman—I am a poor girl. Do not
think of me again. I wish we had never
met. Good evening, sir. If you do regard
me, respect my wishes, and speak to me no
more.”

`With these words, which seemed to be
wrung from her heart, she dropped her veil
over her face, but not before I saw sparkling
tears upon her eyelashes. They eloquently
told me how great had been the effort she had
made to banish me from her heart; for it
was plain, strange as it may appear, that we
were mutually interested in each other, and
had been so from our first meeting when our
fingers came in contact and our eyes met as
we tied the cord to the old exile's wrist.'

`I was about to assure her of my devotion,
and that humbleness of station would never
influence me when my heart was interested;
but she was already gone. The moment she
had dropped her veil, and the soft mellow
tones of her voice had ceased to fall on my
ear, she hastened from the shop.

`My first impulse was to pursue her. But
I feared I should offend her, and this apprehension
arrested my steps. But I determined,
by following at a distance, to learn where
she resided, for I had given my happiness into
her keeping, and I made up my mind on
the spot that if her poverty should prove the
only bar to an honorable union with her, I
would offer my hand as she already had possession
of my heart.'

`This is a romantic passion of yours, on
both sides, Gordon,' said Hugh, `and what
became of her?'

`I stopped to ask the old woman of the
shop who she was; but I had to shout so loud
in her ear, that I abandoned the idea of getting
information in this vociferous way; and
so, giving the lovely girl, who had more and
more charmed me by her propriety of behavior,
as well as increased my love for her
by so artlessly and frankly confessing an interest
in me, giving her three or four minutes
time, I left to pursue her. But she had
effectually eluded my sight, and although I
have been in that street and others in the
vicinity every day since, I have not seen her,
nor could I ascertain who she was.'

`Perhaps she is an evil spirit sent to tempt
you, Gordon,' said Hugh, gravely.

`She is an angel rather, given to earth
to bless it with her presence. She is
very lovely. Her face is a faultless oval, and
her brown hair is parted above her sweet
brow, and is braided in a knot behind. Her
compiexion is pure and warm, though pale,
as if from too close confinement; for I have
now no doubt that she is a needle-girl. Her
mouth is very beautiful; its shape like Cupid's
bow, and the full mellow lips blush like
cherries. The smile that plays about it is
like the light of joy beaming through. Her
teeth are rows of dewy pearls, and her voice
has a low, harp-like sound that one could
listen to with a sense of delicious enjoyment.
Her figure is slighter at the waist than Bella's
but fuller at the bust, and she is perhaps half
an inch under her height. And though a
sewing-girl, as she may be, her hands are as
small and white, and the fingers as symmetrical
in their taper shape as Bella's. And her
foot, though the shoe was something well

worn, was gracefully moulded, narrow, arched
and exquisitely diminutive.'

`I see clearly enough, Gordon,' said Hugh,
laughing, `I see that you are irrevocably in
love. But do you, in good faith, mean to
pursue this romantic passion. You, a rich,
fashionable, aristocratic young man, a lieutenant
in the navy, and whose attentions the
proudest beauty in the land might covet; you
to fall in love with a poor sewing-girl because
she is pretty, and has skill in capturing runaway
monkies!'

`You may ridicule me as much as you
please, See the maiden, and you will then
envy me in the possession of so lovely a
prize.'

`It may be so. But while I love Bella,
cruel and cold as she is, I shall envy no one
another. It is this young girl, then, you
think might be obtained to act the part of
flower-girl in our project for my father's release?'

`No, no; I have already told you that I
neither know her name, nor where she resides,
though it is my impression it is somewhere
in the vicinity of the shop on Hanover
street, where I last saw her. I merely said
that if I knew where she was, and could see
her, I might waken her pity for your father,
as it has moved the old exile, and so get her
to aid you.'

`Then, pray who did you allude to? You
spoke of some one.

`This captain's daughter, whom black
Cæsar told me lived at the end of the wharf,
and who, with her father was so needy. I
am going with him to see her, and try if
money will not prevail upon her to consent to
take part with us.'

`It is all uncertain, then. I wish you
could see the other one. I have no doubt
she would, as she is so good hearted, aid me,
if all were told her. When shall I see you?'

`I will go back in your boat to the city
when the sun rises, and go up to the Two
Anchors to breakfast; for I told you that I
took a room there, as a mate waiting for a
ship. This is a convenient place to make
my observations from, and to bring your
father to, and conceal him, should he escape
from prison, till he can embark.'

`It is a wise step in you. You then will
return, and I will be here to hear what you
have to report. For this purpose keep the
boat till you know the result, and what can
be done. I shall be ready at any moment to
do my part.'

`Can you see the wharf from the shallop?'

`No, but I can from the door of the cattle-keepers
shed on the island.'

`Well, be on the lookout just at dark. I'll
show a light, and raise and lower it on the
pier head, when you are to stand in with the
shallop. Can you remain here in the cove
without suspicion during the day?'

`After the boat returns that takes you to
town, I shall sail out and drop down to the
fishing ground a mile below; and towards
sunset return to this station again. I hope
that you will succeed. If your plan can't be
carried out, you must try another. My father
must be saved at all risks, if, as I said, from
the foot of the gallows.'

`Nothing on my part shall be wanting, my
dear Oglivie, to effect his liberation, as you
well know. My friendship for you, my confidence
in your father's innocence of crime-leads
me to the risks I am now running. But
no personal considerations shall influence
me to lessen my exertions. I am in hopes I
can obtain the services of this captain's
daughter for money, of which I shall not be
sparing. If I cannot, some other mode will
be devised. I will let you know by ten o'clock
what I have done. If I fail in one I will
adopt another scheme. By the time you see
my signal light I shall have effected something
in which we can place confidence.'

`I heartily trust so,' answered Hugh, as
he rose up to go on deck.

The storm had passed over. The stars
were shining, the winds were still, and the
waves settling to repose.