Caroline had sufficiently improved as greatly to decrease solicitude on her account: though there was still a want of sufficient humility, a too great p.r.o.neness to trust implicitly in her own strength, an inclination to prejudice, and a love of admiration, which all made Mrs. Hamilton fear would expose her to some personal sorrow ere they were entirely overcome. To produce eternal good, she might not murmur at temporal suffering; but her fond heart, though it could antic.i.p.ate it calmly for herself, so shrunk from it, as touching her child, that the nearer approached the period of Caroline's introduction to the gay world, the more painfully anxious she became, and the more gladly would she have retained her in the retirement of Oakwood, where all her better and higher qualities alone had play. But she knew this could not be; and she could only _trust_ that her anxiety would be proved as groundless with Caroline, as every letter from Oxford proved it to be with Percy, and _endeavor_ to avert it by never wavering in her watchful and guiding love.

Emmeline, at fifteen, was just the same sportive, happy, innocent child as she had been at twelve. Her feelings were, indeed, still deeper, her imagination more vivid, her religion more fervid. To her every thing was touched with poetry--it mattered not how dull and commonplace it might seem to other people; but Mrs. Hamilton's judicious care had so taught that _Truth_ alone was poetry and beauty--the Ideal only lovable when its basis was the Real--that she was neither romantic nor visionary.

Keen as her sensibilities were, even over a work of fiction, they prompted the _deed_ and _act_ of kindness, not the tear alone. For miles round her father's large domain she was known, loved, so felt as a guardian spirit, that the very sound of her step seemed to promise joy.

She actually seemed to live for others--making their pleasures hers; and, withal, so joyous, especially in her own home and at Greville Manor, that even anxiety seemed exorcised when she was near. Before strangers, indeed, she would be as shy as a young fawn; though even then natural kindliness of heart prompted such kindness of word and manner, as always to excite the wish to see her again.

Edward, in the two years and a quarter which he had been away, had only once occasioned anxiety. Two or three months after he had sailed, he wrote home in the highest terms of a certain Gilbert Harding, one of the senior midshipmen of his ship, from whom he had received kindness upon kindness; and who, being six or seven years older than himself, he jestingly wrote to his aunt and uncle, must certainly be the very best friend he could have chosen, as he was much too old to lead him into mischief. Why he (Harding) had taken such a fancy to him, Edward could not tell; but he was so excessively kind, so taught him his duty, and smoothed all the difficulties and disagreeables which, he owned, had at first seemed overwhelming, that he never could be grateful enough. He added, that, though not a general favorite with his immediate messmates, he was very highly esteemed by Sir Edward Manly and his other superior officers, and that the former had much commended him for his kindness to the youngest boy on board, which Edward was. It was very easy to perceive that young Fortescue's susceptible affections had all been not only attracted, but already riveted by this new friend. All the young party at Oakwood rejoiced at it; Mrs. Hamilton would have done so also, had she not perceived an anxious expression on her husband's face, which alarmed her. He did not, however, make any remark till he had spoken to Mr. Howard, and then imparted to his wife alone (not choosing to create suspicion in the open hearts of his children) that this Gilbert Harding, though very young at the time had been one of the princ.i.p.al actors in the affair which had caused Mr. Howard to dismiss his pupils, as we related in a former page; that his very youth, for he could scarcely have been more than eleven or twelve, and determined hardihood, so marked natural depravity, that Mr. Howard had had less hope for him than for any of the others. This opinion had been borne out by his after conduct at home; but the affair had been successfully hushed up by his family; and by immense interest he been permitted to enter the navy, where, it was said, his youthful errors had been so redeemed, and his courage and conduct altogether had so won him applause, that no farther fears were entertained for him. Mr. Howard alone retained his opinion, that the disposition was naturally bad, and doubted the _internal_ response to the seeming _outward good_; and he was grieved and anxious beyond measure, when he heard that he was not only on board the same ship as Edward, but already his favorite companion and most trusted friend. His anxiety, of course, extended itself to Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton to such a degree, that at the first moment they would gladly have endeavored to exchange his ship; but this would have seemed very strange to Sir Edward Manly, who was one of Mr. Hamilton's most valued friends.

He had, in fact, actually delayed Edward's becoming a midshipman till Sir Edward could take him in his own ship and now to place him elsewhere was really impossible; and, after all, though he might be removed from Harding's influence, how could his anxious guardians know all with whom he might be thrown? They were obliged to content themselves with writing earnestly and affectionately to Edward; and, painful as it was, to throw a doubt and shade over such youthful confidence and affection, implored him not to trust too implicitly in Harding; that his character had not always been free from stain; that he (Edward) was still so young and so susceptible, he might find that he had imbibed principles, and been tempted to wrong almost unconsciously, and suffer from its effects when too late to escape. They wrote as affectionately and indulgently as they could--Mr. Howard, as well as his aunt and uncle; but still they felt that it certainly did appear cruel to warn a young, warm heart to break off the first friendship it had formed; especially as he beheld that friend approved of by his captain, and looked up to by the crew. And that Edward's reply was somewhat cold, though he did promise caution, and a.s.sure them he had not so forgotten the influences and principles of Oakwood as to allow any one to lead him into error, did not surprise them. He never referred to Harding again, except sometimes casually to mention his companionship, or some act which had won him approval; and they really hoped their letters had had at least the effect of putting him on his guard. Sir Edward Manly's own reply to Mr. Hamilton's anxious appeal to him, however, succeeded in quieting their fears; he a.s.sured them he had seen nothing in Harding's conduct, since he had been at sea, to render him an unfit companion for any boy: that he had heard of some boyish faults, but it was rather hard he was to suffer from them as a man; and he a.s.sured his friends that he would keep a strict look-out after young Fortescue, and the first appearance of a change in a character which, young as he was, he could not help loving, should be inquired into, and the friendship ended by sending Harding to some other ship. So wrote Sir Edward Manly, with the fullest possible intention to perform; and Edward's anxious friends were happy, more especially as letter after letter brought praises of the young sailor from captain, officers, and crew, and his own epistles, though brief, were affectionate and satisfactory.

It was happy for Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, and Mr. Howard, too, that they were ignorant of the multiplicity of great and little things which could not fail to engross the mind of Sir Edward Manly, who was not only captain of the Prince William, a gallant seventy-four, but commander of the little flotilla which accompanied him, or they could not have rested so secure. Happy for them too, during those years of separation, that they were not perfectly acquainted with Edward's real weakness of character, or of the fearful extent of mischief which the influences of his first twelve years had engendered. Had he remained at Oakwood till nineteen or twenty, it _is_ probable they would have been insensibly conquered, and the impressions of good, which he had appeared so readily to receive, really taken root and guided his after life, but eighteen months could not do this, as Mrs. Hamilton would have felt, had she known _all_ the effect of her sister's ill-judged partiality and indulgence; but this, as we have already mentioned, was concealed from her by the bright, lovable, winning qualities, which alone were uppermost. Our readers, in fact, know more of Edward (if they have at all thought of his conduct in so frequently allowing his sister to suffer for him) than his aunt, penetrative as she was; and, therefore, in the events we shall have occasion to relate, we trust that Mrs.

Hamilton will not appear an inconsistent character, inasmuch that one in general so successfully observant, should fail in penetration when most needed.

Edward's life at Oakwood had been so very happy, its pleasures and indulgences so innocent, so numerous, that he did not himself know his liability to temptation, from the excessive love of pleasure which his mother's indiscreet indulgence had originally infused. The control which his uncle and Mr. Howard exercised over him had been so very gentle and forbearing, that he had scarcely ever felt the inclination to exert self-will, and when it so chanced that he had, Ellen had covered his fault, or borne its penalty for him. He thought he had guided himself, when, in fact, he was guided; but this could no longer be the case when one of the little world which thronged a first-rate man-of-war. Outward actions were, indeed, under control; but what captain, the most earnest, most able in the world, could look into and guide the _hearts_ of all those committed to his care? And almost the first action of Edward's unbiased will was indignantly to tear into shreds, and scatter to the winds and the waves, those affectionate and warning letters, and cling the more closely to, rest the more confidingly on Harding, for the wrong that he thought he had done him, by allowing his eye even to rest for a moment on such base, unfounded aspersions on his name.

When Mrs. Hamilton told Ellen that her letters to her brother, and his to her, should never be subjected to any scrutiny but their own, she acted on a principle which many parents and guardians would consider as high-flown and romantic, and which she herself had most painful reason to regret--the effects, at least, but not the principle itself, for that was based on too refined a feeling to waver, even though she suffered from it. She could not bear, nor could her husband, the system which prevailed in some families of their acquaintance, that their children could neither receive nor write letters to each other, or their intimate friends, without being shown to their seniors. As for opening and reading a letter directed to one of them, before its possessor saw it, as they had seen done, it was, in their estimation, as much dishonor and as mean, as if such a thing had been done to an adult. Perfect confidence in their home they had indeed instilled, and that confidence was never withheld. There was a degree of suspicion attached to a demand always to see what a child had written or received, from which Mrs.

Hamilton's pure mind actually shrunk in loathing. In the many months the Grahame family pa.s.sed in London, Annie and Caroline corresponded without the least restraint: no doubt many would p.r.o.nounce Mrs. Hamilton very unwise, knowing Annie so well, and trembling for Caroline as she did; but, as she told Miss Harcourt, she had some notions peculiar to herself (they always had the sanction and sympathy of her husband, however), and this was one of them. She was always pleased and interested in all that her children read to her, either from their own epistles or those they received, and if they wished it, read them herself, but she never asked to do so, and the consequence was, that the most perfect confidence was given.

When Ellen and Edward parted, they were both so young, that Mr. Hamilton had hesitated as to whether his wife was quite justified in the perfect trust with which she treated them, and whether it would not be wiser to overlook their correspondence; but Mrs. Hamilton so argued that their very youth was their safeguard, that they were all in all to each other, and as such she wished them to feel they were bound by even a closer and a fonder tie than that of brother and sister under other circ.u.mstances, so won over her husband that he yielded; and from the long extracts that Ellen would read of Edward's letters to the family in general, and of her own to her aunt, he was quite satisfied as to the wisdom of his wife's judgment.

For full a year after Edward's departure, Ellen's conduct and general improvement had given her aunt nothing but pleasure; even Miss Harcourt's and Caroline's prejudice was nearly removed, though, at times, the fancy would steal over both that she was not exactly what she seemed, and that that which was hidden was not exactly that which Mrs.

Hamilton believed it; and this fancy strengthened by a certain indefinable yet _felt_ change in Ellen, commencing about thirteen months after she had parted from her brother. Mrs. Hamilton herself, for some time strove against belief, but at length she could no longer conceal from herself that Ellen _was_ becoming reserved again, and fearful, at times almost shrinking, and sad, as in her childhood. The openness, and almost light-heartedness, which for one brief year had so characterized her, seemed completely but so insensibly to have gone, that Mrs.

Hamilton could not satisfy herself as to the time of the commencement, or reason of the change. Her temper, too, became fitful, and altogether her aunt's anxiety and bewilderment as to her real character returned in full force. Once, when gently questioned as to why her temper was so altered, Ellen confessed with tears, that she knew it was, but she could not help it, she believed she was not well; and Mrs. Hamilton called in Mr. Maitland, who said that she really was in a highly nervous state, and required care and quietness, and the less notice that was taken of her momentary irritability or depression the better. Little did the worthy man imagine how his young patient blessed him for these words; giving a reason for and so allowing the trepidation which paled her cheek, parched her lips, and made her hand so tremble, when she received a letter from her brother, to pa.s.s unnoticed.

But change in manner was not all; almost every second or third month Ellen's allowance of pocket-money (which was unusually liberal, as Mrs.

Hamilton wished to accustom her girls, from an early age, to purchase some few articles of dress for themselves, and so learn the value of money) most strangely and mysteriously disappeared. Ellen either could not or would not give any account of it; and, of course, it not only exposed her to her aunt's most serious displeasure, but inexpressibly heightened not only Mrs. Hamilton's bewilderment and anxiety, but Miss Harcourt's and Caroline's unspoken prejudice. From the time of Edward's departure, Ellen had never been discovered in or suspected of either uttering or acting an untruth; but her silence, her apparent determined ignorance of, or resolution not to confess the cause of the incomprehensible disappearance of her allowance, naturally compelled Mrs. Hamilton to revert to the propensity of her childhood, and fear that truthfulness was again deserting her. Her displeasure lasting of course, the longer from Ellen's want of openness, and the air of what almost appeared to her anxious yet still affectionate aunt like sullen defiance (in reality, it was almost despair), when spoken to, caused a painful degree of estrangement between them, always, however, giving place to Mrs. Hamilton's usual caressing manner, the moment Ellen seemed really repentant, and her month's expenditure could be properly explained.

For six or eight months before the day on which we recommence our narrative, there had been, however, nothing to complain of in Ellen, except still that unnatural reserve and frequent depression, as if dreading something she knew not what, which, as every other part of her conduct was satisfactory, Mrs. Hamilton tried to comfort herself was physical alone. No reference to the past was ever made: her manner to her niece became the same as usual; but she could not feel secure as to her character, and, what was most painful, there were times when she was compelled to doubt even Ellen's affection for herself, a thing she had never had the slightest cause to do even when she was a little inanimate child.

But very few changes had taken place in the Greville and Grahame families. Mrs. Greville's trial continued in unmitigated, if not heightened bitterness: the example, the companionship of his father had appeared to have blighted every good seed which she had strenuously endeavored to plant in the bosom of her son. At sixteen he was already an accomplished man of the world, in its most painful sense: he had his own companions, his own haunts; scarcely ever visiting his home, for a reason which, could his poor mother have known it, would have given her some slight gleam of comfort. He could not a.s.sociate either with her or his sister, without feeling a sort of loathing of himself, a longing to be to them as Percy and Herbert Hamilton were at Oakwood; and not having the moral courage sufficient to break from the control of his father, and the exciting pleasures in which that control initiated him, he shrunk more and more from the only spot in which better feelings were so awakened within him as to give him pain. To deaden this unacknowledged remorse, his manner was rude and unfeeling, so that his very visits, though inexpressibly longed for by his mother, brought only increase of grief.

Mrs. Greville seemed herself so inured to suffering, that she bore up against it without any visible failing of health; struggling against its enervating effects, more, perhaps, than she was aware of herself, for the sake of one treasure still granted her--her own almost angel Mary--who, she knew, without her love and constant cheerfulness, must sink beneath such a constant aggravated trial. Yet that very love brought increase of anxiety from more than one cause. As yet there was no change in their manner of living, but Mrs. Greville knew that, from the excesses of her husband and son, there very soon must be. Ruin, poverty, all its fearful ills, stood before her in perspective, and how could Mary's fragile frame and gentle spirit bear up against them? Again and again the question pressed upon her--Did Herbert Hamilton indeed love her child, as every pa.s.sing year seemed to confirm? and if he did, would--could his parents consent to his union with the child of such a father, the sister of such a brother? There were always long messages to Mary in Herbert's letters to his mother, which Mrs. Hamilton not only delivered herself, but sometimes even put the whole letter into Mary's hand, and at last laughingly said, she really thought they had much better write to each other, as then she should chance to get a letter all to herself, not merely be the medium of a communication between them; and Mary, though she did slightly blush, which she was in the habit of doing for scarcely any thing, seemed to think it so perfectly natural, that she merely said, if Herbert had time to write to her, she should like it very much, and would certainly answer him.

"My dear Emmeline, what are you about?" was Mrs. Greville's anxious appeal, the moment they were alone.

"Giving pleasure to two young folks, of whom I am most excessively fond," was Mrs. Hamilton's laughing reply. "Don't look so terrified, my dear Jessie. They love each other as boy and girl now, and if the love should deepen into that of man and woman, why, all I can say is--I would rather have your Mary for my Herbert than any one else I know."

"She is not only _my_ Mary!" answered the poor mother, with such a quivering of the eye and lip, that it checked Mrs. Hamilton's joyousness at once.

"She is _your_ Mary, in all that can make such a character as my Herbert happy," was her instant reply, with a pressure of Mrs. Greville's hand, that said far more than her words. "I am not one of those who like to make matches in antic.i.p.ation, for man's best laid schemes are so often overthrown by the most trifling but unforeseen chances, that display a much wiser providence than our greatest wisdom, that I should consider it almost sinful so to do; but never let a thought of suffering cross your mind, dearest Jessie, as to what my husband's and my own answer will be, if our Herbert should indeed ever wish to choose your Mary as his wife, and, certainly a most important addition, should she wish it too. Our best plan now is to let them follow their own inclinations regarding correspondence. We can, I am sure, trust them both, for what can be a greater proof of my boy's perfect confidence in my sympathy with his feelings toward her, than to make me his messenger, as he has done, and as he, no doubt, will continue to do, even if he write. I have not the smallest doubt, that he will inclose me his letters to her unsealed, and I rather think your Mary will send me her replies in the same unreserved manner."

And she was right. Nor, we think, did the purity and innocence of those letters, so intensely interesting to each other, give place to any other style, even when they chanced to discover that Mrs. Hamilton was utterly ignorant of their contents, except that which they chose to read or impart to her themselves.

But even this a.s.surance on the part of one so loved and trusted as Mrs.

Hamilton, could not entirely remove Mrs. Greville's vague antic.i.p.ations of evil. Mr. Greville always shunned, and declared he hated the Hamilton family; but as he seemed to entertain the same feeling toward herself and her poor Mary, she tried to comfort herself by the idea that he would never trouble his head about his daughter; or be glad to get her out of his way, especially if she married well. Still anxiety for the future would press upon her; only calmed by her firm, unchanging faith in that gracious, ever-watchful Providence, who, if in spite of her heavy troubles she still tried to trust and serve, would order all things for the best; and it was this, this faith alone, which so supported her, as to permit her to make her child's home and heart almost as happy as if her path had all been smooth.

In the Grahame family a change had taken place, in Master Cecil's being sent to Eton some time before his father had intended; but so many cases of Lady Helen's faulty indolence and ruinous indulgence had come under his notice, that he felt to remove the boy from her influence must be accomplished at any cost. Cecil was quite delighted, but his mother was so indignant, that she overcame her habitual awe of her husband sufficiently to vow that she would not live so far from her son, and if he must go to school, she must leave Moorlands. Grahame, with equal positiveness, declared that he would not give up a home endeared to him so long, nor to entirely break off his companionship with his dearest friends. A very stormy dialogue of course took place, and ended by both parties being more resolved to entertain their own opinion. The interposition of Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, however, obtained some concession on Grahame's part, and he promised that if Lady Helen would make Moorlands her home from the middle of July till the end of October, November and December should be spent in the vicinity of Eton, and she should then have six months for London and its attractions. This concession brought back all Lady Helen's smiles, and charmed Annie, though it was a source of real regret to Caroline, who could not help feeling a little pained at her friend's small concern at this long separation from her. But still she loved her; and, as Annie wrote frequently, and when she was at Moorlands never tired of her society (the eight months of absence giving her so much interesting matter to impart), Caroline was not only satisfied, but insensible to the utter want of sympathy which Annie manifested in _her_ pursuits, _her_ pleasures. Mrs. Hamilton often wished that Caroline had chosen one more deserving of her friendship, but she trusted that time and experience would teach her Annie's real character, and so did not feel any anxiety on that score.

There was only one member in Grahame's family, that Mr. and Mrs.

Hamilton hoped might bring joy and comfort to their friend, and that was his little Lilla. She was five years younger than Annie, and being much less attractive, seemed almost forgotten, and so was spared the dangerous ordeal of flattery and indulgence to which Annie had been subject; and from being more violent and less agreeable than Cecil, was not so frequently spoiled by her mother. They feared the poor child would have much to endure from her own temper, Annie's overbearing insolence, and Lady Helen's culpable indolence; but Mrs. Hamilton hoped, when she resided part of the year in London, as she felt she would very soon be called upon to do, to be enabled to rouse Grahame's attention toward his youngest child, and prevail on him to relax in his sternness toward her; and by taking notice of her continually herself, instill such feelings in her as would attract her toward her father, and so increase the happiness of both. Every visit of the Grahame family to Moorlands, she resolved to study Lilla well, and try all she could to make one in reality so estimable, as her husband's friend, happy, in one child at least.

It had been Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton's intention to go to London the January after Caroline was seventeen, and give her the advantage of finishing masters, and a partial introduction to the world, by having the best society at home, before she launched into all its exciting pleasures; to return to Oakwood in July or August, and revisit the metropolis the following February or March, for the season, when, as she would be eighteen and a half, she should be fully introduced. Caroline, of course, antic.i.p.ated this period with intense delight. She was quite satisfied that in her first visit she should study as much as, if not more than before; and content and thankful that her mother would allow her to enter so far into society, as always to join dinner or evening parties at home, and go to some of her most intimate friends, when their coteries were very small and friendly; and, another eagerly antic.i.p.ated delight, sometimes go to the opera and the best concerts, and visit all the galleries of art.

To poor Emmeline these antic.i.p.ations gave no pleasure whatever; she hated the very thought of leaving Oakwood, firmly convinced that not the most highly intellectual, nor the most delightful social enjoyment in London, could equal the pure delights of Devonshire and home. Ellen seemed too engrossed with her own thoughts to evince a feeling either way, much to her aunt's regret, as her constant quietness and seeming determined repression of her sentiments, rendered her character still more difficult to read.

But a heavy disappointment was preparing for Caroline, in the compelled postponement of her bright antic.i.p.ations; to understand the causes of which, we must glance back on an event in the Hamilton family, which had occurred some years before its present head was born. In the early part of the reign of George the Third, Arthur Hamilton, the grandfather of our friend of the same name, had been sent by government to the coast of Denmark: his estimable character so won him the regard of the reigning sovereign, Christian VII., that, on his departure, the royal wish was expressed for his speedy return.--On his voyage home, he was wrecked off the Feroe Islands, and rescued from danger and death by the strenuous exertions of the islanders, who entertained him and the crew with the utmost hospitality, till their ship was again seaworthy. During his involuntary detention, Mr. Hamilton became deeply interested in the Feroese, a people living, it seemed, in the midst of desolation, a cl.u.s.ter of small rocky islets, divided by some hundred miles of stormy sea from their fellows. He made the tour of the islands, and found almost all their inhabitants possessing the same characteristics as those of Samboe, the island off which he had been wrecked; kind, hospitable, honest, temperate, inclined to natural piety, but so perfectly indifferent to the various privations and annoyances of their lot, as to make no effort toward removing them. Traveling either by land or sea was so dangerous and difficult, that in some parishes the clergyman could only perform service twice a year,[3] or once every one, two, or three months. The islands in which the clergyman resided were, Mr. Hamilton observed, in a much higher state of civilization and morality than Samboe and some others, and an earnest desire took possession of him, to do some real service for those who had saved him from danger and treated him so hospitably. He very speedily acquired their language, which gave him still more influence. He found, also, that if their ancient customs and traditions were left undisturbed, they were very easily led, and this discovery strengthened his purpose.--His departure was universally regretted; and his promise to return imagined too great a privilege to be believed.

[Footnote 3: For this account of Feroe and the Feroese the author is indebted to a "History of the Islands, by a Resident."]

As soon as his political duties in England permitted, Mr. Hamilton revisited Denmark, and was received with such cordiality as to encourage him to make his pet.i.tion for the improvement of his majesty's poor subjects of Samboe. It was granted directly; the little island so far made over to him, that he was at liberty to introduce and erect whatever he pleased within it; and Mr. Hamilton, all eagerness for the perfection of his plans, returned with speed to England; obtained the valuable aid of a poor though worthy clergyman, who, with his wife, voluntarily offered to make Samboe their home, and a.s.sist their benefactor (for such Mr. Hamilton had long been), to the very best of their ability. A strong-built vessel was easily procured, and a favorable voyage soon transported them to Feroe. The delight of the Samboese at beholding their former guest again, prepossessed Mr. and Mrs. Wilson in their favor, and Mr. Hamilton, before his six months' sojourn with them was over, beheld the island in a fair way of religious and moral improvement.--Schools were formed and masters appointed--houses were made more comfortable--women and young children more cared for, and employments found, and sufficiently rewarded to encourage persevering labor. Three or four times Mr. Hamilton visited the island again before his death, and each time he had more reason to be satisfied with the effect of his schemes. Mr. and Mrs. Wilson were perfectly happy. Their son was united to the pretty and excellent daughter of one of the Danish clergymen, and a young family was blooming round them, so that there seemed a fair promise of the ministry of Samboe continuing long in charge of the same family.

Mr. Hamilton, on his death-bed, exacted a promise from his son that he would not permit the island to fall back into its old habits; but that, if required, he would visit it himself. The visit was not required, but Percy Hamilton (the father of the present possessor of Oakwood), from respect to his father's memory, made a voyage to Samboe on the demise of the elder Wilson. He found every thing flourishing and happy; Frederic Wilson had been received as their pastor and head, with as much joy as their regret for his father would permit; and Mr. Hamilton returned to England, satisfied with himself, and inexpressibly touched by the veneration still entertained in that distant island for his father. The same promise was demanded by him from his son, and Arthur Hamilton had visited Feroe directly after the loss of his parent, and before his engagement with Miss Manvers. He found it in the same satisfactory condition as his predecessors had done, and the letters he regularly received confirmed it; but for the last year and a half he had received no tidings. Frederic Wilson, he knew, was dead, but his last account had told him his eldest son, who had been educated in Denmark, had been gladly received by the simple people, and promised fair to be as much loved, and do the same good as his father and grandfather. The silence then was incomprehensible, and Mr. Hamilton had resolved, if another year pa.s.sed without intelligence, it would be a positive duty to visit it himself.

CHAPTER II.

A LETTER, AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

It was the seventh of June, and one of those glorious mornings, when Nature looks lovelier than ever. The windows of the breakfast-room were thrown widely open, and never did the superb trees of Oakwood Park look richer or display a greater variety of green. The flower-garden, on part of which the breakfast-room opened, was actually dazzling with its profusion of brilliant flowers, on which the sun looked down so gloriously; a smooth lawn whose green was a perfect emerald, stretched down from the parterre, till it was lost in woody openings, which disclosed the winding river, that, lying as a lake on one side, appeared to sweep round some exquisite scenery on the opposite side, and form another lake, about a mile further. It was Emmeline's favorite view, and she always declared, that it so varied its aspects of loveliness, she was sure it never looked two mornings exactly alike, and so long would she stand and admire, that her mother often threatened to send her her breakfast in her own room, where the view, though picturesque, would not so completely turn her attention from the dull realities of life. There were some letters on the table this morning, so she had a longer time to drink in poetry than usual.

"Who can offer Ellen a more precious birthday-gift than mine?" exclaimed Mrs. Hamilton, playfully holding up a letter, as her niece entered. "I wonder if Edward remembered how near his sister was to fifteen, and so wrote on the chance of your receiving it on the day itself!"

"Why, Ellen, what a queer effect pleasure has on you! I always notice you turn quite pale whenever Edward's letters are given to you,"

interposed Emmeline, looking at her cousin, and laughing. "I am sure, the very hurry I am in to open Percy's and Herbert's, must give me a color, and you are as deliberate as if you did not care about it. I do wish you would not be so cold and quiet."

"One giddy brain is quite enough in a house," rejoined her father, in the same mirthful tone, and looking up from his letter he called Ellen to him, and kissed her. "I forgot the day of the month, my little girl, but I am not too late, I hope, to say, G.o.d bless you, and wish that every year may pa.s.s more happily, more usefully, and more prepared for eternity than the last!"

"I do not think you have forgotten it, my dear uncle," replied Ellen, gratefully (she had not yet opened her brother's letter); "for my aunt says, I am to thank you as well as her for this beautiful birthday gift," and she displayed an elegant little gold watch; "indeed, I do not know how to thank you for all your kindness!" she added, so earnestly that tears came to her eyes.

"I will say, as I have heard your aunt often say--by trying to be a little more lively, and unreserved, my dear Ellen; that would prove our kindness and affection made you happy, better than any thing; but I am not going to lecture you on your birthday, and with a letter from Edward in your hand," he continued, smiling. "Open it, my dear, I want to know its date; I rather think my friend Manly's must be written later."

"Nothing in it for me, Ellen?" asked her aunt. "What a lazy boy he has grown!"

"An inclosure for you, Ellen; why, that is as queer as your paleness!"

said Emmeline.

"Do let your cousin's paleness alone," interposed Mrs. Hamilton, gayly.

"I really can not perceive she has any less color than usual, and as for the inclosure, Edward often has something to add at the last moment, and no room to insert it, and so there is nothing remarkable in his using another half sheet."

"Emmeline always creates wonders out of shadows," said Caroline, dryly.

"And you never see any thing but dull, coa.r.s.e, heavy realities," laughed her sister in reply. "Come, Ellen, tell us something of this idle brother of yours, who promised to write to me every packet, and never does."

Ellen read nearly the whole letter aloud, and it was unusually entertaining, for the ship had been cruising about the last month and Edward described the various scenes and new places he had visited more lengthily than usual. He antic.i.p.ated with great glee an engagement with some desperate pirates, whose track they were pursuing.

"Does he mention an engagement?" inquired Mr. Hamilton.

"No, uncle; he concludes quite abruptly, saying they have just piped all hands, and he must be off. The direction does not seem his writing."