Delusion, or The Witch of New England Part 4

"I hope," said Edith, "you have not thrown away all its contents; for I had some charming fancies last night, inspired, I believe, by that very ink-bottle."

Seymore blushed; but he did not look displeased, and Edith was satisfied.

The next morning was clear and balmy, and, soon after breakfast, they mounted their horses for their return.

There are few things more exhilarating than riding through woods on a clear autumnal morning; but Edith felt no longer the wild gayety of the previous morning. With a thoughtful countenance, she rode silently by her father's side when the path would permit, or followed quietly when it was too narrow.

"You seem to have found food for thought in the student's garret, my dear," said her father.

Edith blushed slightly, but did not answer.

They had accomplished about half their journey, when Mr. Grafton proposed turning off from the direct path to visit an old lady,--a friend of Edith's mother, an emigrant of a n.o.ble family from the mother country.

Edith followed silently, wondering she had never heard her father mention this friend of her mother before.

They soon after emerged from the forest upon open fields, cleared and cultivated with unusual care. A beautiful brook ran winding in the midst, and the whole domain was enclosed in strong fences of stone.

About midway was built a low, irregular, but very large farmhouse. It consisted of smaller buildings, connected by very strong palisades; and the whole was enclosed, at some distance, by a fence built of strong timbers. It was evidently a dwelling designed for defence against Indians. They entered the enclosure by an iron gate, so highly wrought and finished that it must have been imported from the mother country.

Edith found herself in a large garden, that had once been cultivated with much care and expense. It had been filled with rose-bushes, honeysuckles, and choice English flowers; but all was now in a state of neglect and decay. The walks were overrun with weeds, the arbors in ruins, and the tendrils of the vines wandering at their own wanton will.

It seemed as if neglect had aided the autumn frost to cover this favorite spot with the garb of mourning.

There was no front entrance to this singular building; and the visitors rode round to a low door at the back, partly concealed by a pent roof.

After knocking several minutes, it was opened by a very old negro, dressed in a tarnished livery, with his woolly hair drawn out into a queue, and powdered. He smiled a welcome, and, with much show of respect, led them through many dark pa.s.sages to a low but very comfortable room. The walls were hung with faded tapestry; and the low ceiling, crossed with heavy beams, would have made the apartment gloomy, but for two large windows that looked into the sunny garden. The sashes were of small, lozenge panes of gla.s.s set in lead; while the bright autumn sun streamed through, and shone with cheerful light on the black oak furniture, and showed every mote dancing in its beams.

Edith looked around with surprise and delight. A lady not much past the meridian of life came forward to greet them. She was dressed in an olive-colored brocade, with a snowy lawn ap.r.o.n and neckerchief folded across her breast. The sleeve reached just below the elbow, and was finished with a ruffle, and black silk mitts met the ruffle at the elbow. A rich lace shaded her face, and a small black velvet hood was tied closely under the chin.

The lady's manner was rather stately and formal, as she greeted Mr.

Grafton with all the ceremony of the old school of politeness, and looked at his daughter.

"She is the image of her mother," said Lady C----.

"She is a precious flower," answered Mr. Grafton, looking at Edith with pride and affection, as she stood, half respectful, half bashful, before the lady.

"You have called her Mary, I hope,--her mother's name."

"No," answered Mr. Grafton; "I have but _one_ Mary,"--and he looked upwards.

Edith pressed closer to her father. "Call me Edith, madam," she said, with a timid smile.

Lady C---- smiled also, and was soon in earnest conversation with Mr.

Grafton.

Edith was engaged in examining a room so much more elegant than any she had seen before. Her eyes were soon attracted by a full-length portrait on the opposite side of the apartment. It was a lady in the bloom of youth, dressed in the costume of the second Charles. It was evidently an exquisite work of art. To Edith, the somewhat startling exposure of the bust, which the fashion of the period demanded, was redeemed by the chaste and nunlike expression of the face. Tender blue eyes were cast down on a wounded dove that she cherished in her bosom; and the long, dark eyelash shaded a pale and pensive cheek.

Edith was fascinated by this beautiful picture. Who was she? where did she live? what was her fate? were questions hovering on her lips, which she dared not ask of the stately lady on the couch; but, as she stood riveted before it, "O that I had such a friend!" pa.s.sed through her mind; and, like inexperienced and enthusiastic youth, she thought how fondly she could have loved her, and, if it were necessary, have sacrificed her own life for hers.

Lady C---- observed her fixed attention.

"That is a portrait of the Lady Ursula," she said, "who built this house, and brought over from England the fruits and flowers of the garden. Alas! they are now much wasted and destroyed."

At this moment, the old negro appeared, to say that the dinner was served.

They pa.s.sed into another low room, in the centre of which was a long oaken dining-table, the upper end raised two steps higher than the lower, and the whole was fixed to the floor. At this time, the upper end only was covered with a rich damask cloth, where the lady and her guests took their seats; the other half of the table extending bare beneath them.

"In this chair, and at this table, the Lady Ursula was wont to dine with her maidens and serving-men," said Lady C----, as she took her seat in a high-backed, richly-carved chair of oak; "and I have retained the custom, though my serving-men are much reduced;" and she glanced her eye on the trembling old negro.

Edith thought how dreary it must be to dine there in solitary state, with no one to speak to except the old negro, and she cast a pitying look around the apartment.

A beauffet was in one corner, well filled with ma.s.sive plate, and the walls were adorned with pictures in needle-work, framed in dark ebony.

The picture opposite Edith was much faded and defaced, but it was meant to represent Abraham offering his son Isaac in sacrifice.

"It was the work of the Lady Ursula's fingers," said Lady C----, "as every thing else you see here was created by her."

"Is she now living?" asked Edith, very innocently.

"Alas! no, my dear; hers was a sad fate; but her story is too long for the dining hour;" and as dinner was soon over, they returned to the other apartment.

Edith longed for a ramble in the garden. When she returned, the horses were at the door, and she took a reluctant leave, for she had not heard the story of the Lady Ursula.

As soon as they had turned their horses' heads outside the iron gate, Edith began her eager questions:

"Who was that beautiful woman, the original of the portrait? Where did she live? How did she die? What was her fate?" Her father smiled, and related the following particulars, which deserve another chapter.

CHAPTER VII.

"Loveliest of lovely things are they On earth, that soonest pa.s.s away.

Even love, long tried, and cherished long, Becomes more tender, and more strong, At thought of that insatiate grave From which its yearnings cannot save.

"But where is she, who, at this calm hour, Watched his coming to see?

She is not at the door, nor yet in the bower: He calls,--but he only hears on the flower The hum of the laden bee."

BRYANT.

"The Lady Ursula was the daughter of an English n.o.bleman, the proprietor of Grondale Abbey. She was betrothed, in early life, to a young man, an officer in the army. As she was an only daughter, and inherited from her mother a large fortune, her father disapproved of her choice, and wished her to ally herself with the heir of a n.o.ble family. He was rejoiced, therefore, when a war broke out, that obliged Col. Fowler to leave the country with his regiment, to join the army.

"The parting of the lovers was painful, but they parted, as the young do, full of hope, and agreed to keep up a very frequent correspondence.

"For a year, his letters cheered his faithful mistress; but then they ceased, and a report of his death in battle reached her. Her father then urged the other alliance. This the Lady Ursula steadily refused; and she was soon after relieved from all importunity, by the death of her father.

"She was an only daughter, but her father left several sons. His estate belonged to the eldest, by entail, and the younger brothers, having obtained large grants of land in this country, determined to emigrate to the new world.

"The Lady Ursula, disappointed of all her cherished hopes, after much reflection, decided to accompany them, and become an actual settler in the wilderness.