Part 2 (1/2)
In territorial extent, in the number of slaves employed, and in the quant.i.ty of sugar annually produced, the plantation of Colonel Dumont was one of the most important on the river. This fact, added to the possession of immense estates in the city, rendered its owner a man of no small consequence in the vicinity. But, more than this, Colonel Dumont was beloved and respected for his many good qualities of mind and heart. In the late war with England he had served in the army, and as an officer had won an enviable distinction by his courage and his talents.
Coming unexpectedly into the possession of this estate by the death of an uncle, he retired, at the close of the war, from a profession to which a genuine patriotism alone had invited him, and devoted himself entirely to the improvement of his lands.
Colonel Dumont had been married; but, after a single year of happiness in the conjugal state, his wife died, leaving him an only daughter in remembrance of her. This child, at the opening of the tale, was within a few years of maturity,--the image of her father's only love,--not less fair, not less pure and good.
Emily Dumont was a beautiful girl, fair as the lily, gentle as the dove.
She was of a medium height, and of slender and graceful form. Her step was light and elastic, and, if there was any poetry in her light, elegant form, there was more in her easy, fairy-like motion. Her features were as daintily moulded as her form. Her eye was light blue, soft, and beautifully expressive of a pure heart. She was a little paler than the connoisseur in female loveliness would demand in his ideal, and her expression was a little inclined to sadness; but it was a sadness--or rather a sweet dignity--more winning than repulsive to the gazer.
Emily Dumont, highly as fortune had favored her in the bestowal of worldly goods and personal beauty, was still more blessed in the gifts of an expansive mind and a gentle heart; and mind and heart had both been faithfully cultivated by the a.s.siduous care of her devoted father.
She was a true woman,--not a mere plaything to while away a dandy's idle hours, not a piece of tinsel to adorn the parlor of a nabob, but a true woman,--one fitted by nature and education to adorn all the varied scenes of life. Although brought up in unclouded prosperity, amid luxury and affluence, she was still prepared for the day of adversity, if it should ever come.
As the heiress of immense wealth, her hand was eagerly sought in the aristocratic circle around her; but thus far she had resisted all these attacks upon her heart, and upon her prospective riches. In the crowd of suitors who gathered around her was Anthony Maxwell. In the item of wealth his fortune was comparatively small; and in that of a n.o.ble character, smaller still. Emily could have forgiven him the want of the former, but the latter was imperatively demanded. At the young lawyer's return from the North, and on his first appearance at the bar, Emily had regarded him with more than ordinary attention. But, after the death of his father, the reports which reached her ears of his dissolute habits and inclinations caused her to regard him with distrust. His wit, accomplishments and native suavity, had procured him admission into the circle of her more favored friends. But the report of his vices had as promptly produced his expulsion.
The return of the army from Mexico brought with it the young officer whom we have before mentioned. The father of this young man had been a companion-in-arms of Colonel Dumont, and a strong friends.h.i.+p had grown up between the veterans. The tie was severed only by the death of the former, after a life of mercantile misfortunes, and finally of utter ruin. At the period of the father's insolvency and death, Henry Carroll, the son, was a cadet at West Point, and was about abandoning his chosen profession, for the want of means, when Colonel Dumont wrote him an affectionate letter, offering all that he required to complete his studies. This offer, coming from one who had been a heavy loser by his father's bankruptcy, was highly appreciated, and the young student had allowed no false delicacy to prevent his acceptance of the generous proposal, though with a stipulation to repay all sums, with interest.
Colonel Dumont, in his regular summer tour to the North, never failed to visit his young friend, whose n.o.ble bearing and lofty principle entirely won his heart, and he charged himself with a father's duty towards him.
A regular correspondence was kept up between the self-const.i.tuted guardian and his _protege_; and the more the former read the heart of the young man, the more did he rejoice that he had befriended him. He read with mingled pride and affection the repeated instances of his daring courage and matchless skill which found their way into the newspapers; while the record of his humanity to a fallen foe contributed to swell the tide of the old gentleman's affection.
On his return from Mexico, Henry's first care was to see his devoted friend and guardian, and he accepted his pressing invitation to spend a month at Bellevue.
As an inmate of her father's family, he was, of course, a constant companion of Emily. Her radiant beauty had captivated his heart long ere the month had expired; and he saw, or thought he saw, in the heart of the fair girl, indications of a sympathetic sentiment. In the rashness of his warm blood he had allowed himself to cherish a lively hope that his dawning love was not entirely unrequited. He had seen that _his_ bouquet was more fondly cherished than the offerings of others; that _his_ hand, as she alighted from the carriage, was more gladly received than any other; that _his_ conversation never wearied her; in short, there was in all their intercourse an unmistakable exponent of feelings deeper than those of common friends.h.i.+p.
In the midst of this delighted existence,--while yet he revelled in the pleasure of loving and being loved,--there came to him, like a dark cloud over a clear sky, the unwelcome thought that it was wrong for him to entangle the affections of his benefactor's daughter. He was a beggar,--the object of her father's charity. Her prospects were brilliant and certain, and he felt that he had no right to mar or destroy them. He knew that she would love him none the less for his poverty; but, probably, her father had already antic.i.p.ated something better than a beggar for his future son-in-law.
Poor Captain Carroll! The modesty of true greatness of soul had left unconsidered the genuine n.o.bility of the man. He thought not of the name he had won on the field of battle,--of the honorable wounds he bore as testimonials of his devotion to his country. He was poor, and, in the despondency which his position induced, he attributed to wealth a value which to the truly good it never possesses.
He loved Emily, and his poverty seemed to shut him out from the hallowed field to which his heart fondly sought admission.
Henry Carroll was a high-minded man; he felt that to love the daughter while the father's views were unknown to him would be rank ingrat.i.tude; and ingrat.i.tude towards so good a man, so kind a benefactor, was repugnant to every principle of his nature. There was but one path open to him. If he could not help loving her, he could strive to prevent the loved one from squandering her affections where pain and sorrow might ensue. They had often met; but he strove to believe, in his unwilling zeal, that their intimacy had not yet resulted in an incurable pa.s.sion.
She had as yet shown nothing that could not have resulted from simple friends.h.i.+p. And yet she had,--the warm glow that adorned her cheek when she received his flower, the expressive glance of her soft eye as he a.s.sisted her to the carriage, the sweet smile with which she had always greeted him,--ah, no, these were not friends.h.i.+p! I He could not believe that his affection was unreturned; it was too precious to remain unacknowledged. The will and the heart would not conform to each other.
But his duty seemed plain, and he did not hesitate to obey its call, though it demanded a great sacrifice.
The month to which he had limited his visit at Bellevue expired about the period at which our tale begins. Inclination prompted him to accept the pressing invitation of Colonel Dumont to prolong his stay; but, bitter as was the thought of parting from her he loved, his nice sense of honor compelled him to be firm in his purpose.
The announcement of his intended departure to Emily, as they were seated in the drawing-room on the designated day, afforded him another evidence that her heart was not untouched. Her pale cheek grew paler, and the playful smile was instantly dismissed.
”So soon?” said she, scarcely able to conceal the tremulous emotion which agitated her.
”So soon! I have finished the month allotted to me,” replied Henry Carroll, with a weak effort to appear gayer than he felt.
”Allotted to you! And pray are you stinted in the length of your visit?”
”My orders will not permit a longer stay, happy as I should be to remain; and I have already trespa.s.sed long on your hospitality.”
”Indeed, Henry, you have grown sensitive! You were not wont to consider your visits a trespa.s.s. Pray, have you not been regarded as one of the family?”
”True, I have. I can never repay the debt of grat.i.tude for the many kindnesses I have received at your good father's hands.”
”He has been a thousand times repaid by the honorable life you have led,--by feeling that the talents he has encouraged you to foster are now blessing the world,” replied Emily, warmly; ”so no more of your grat.i.tude, if you please.”