“That might depend on circumstances. I have been known by different names in different situations However, if you call me Wilder, I shall not fail to answer.”
“Wilder!” a good name; though, I dare say, it would have been as true were it Wildone. You young ship-boys have the character of being a little erratic in your humours at times. How many tender hearts have you left to sigh for your errors, amid shady bowers, while you have been ploughing—that is the word, I believe—ploughing the salt-sea ocean?”
“Few sigh for me,” returned Wilder, thoughtfully, though he evidently began to chafe a little under this free sort of catechism. “Let us now return to our study of the tower. What think you has been its object?”
“Its present use is plain, and its former use can be no great mystery. It holds at this moment two light hearts; and, if I am not mistaken, as many light heads, not overstocked with the stores of wisdom. Formerly it had its granaries of corn, at least, and, I doubt not, certain little quadrupeds, who were quite as light of fingers as we are of head and heart. In plain English, it has been a mill”
“There are those who think it had been a fortress.”
“Hum! The place might do, at need,” returned he in green, casting a rapid and peculiar glance around him. “But mill it has been, notwithstanding one might wish it a nobler origin. The windy situation the pillars to keep off the invading vermin, the shape, the air, the very complexion, prove it. Whir-r-r, whir-r-r; there has been clatter enough here in time past, I warrant you. Hist! It is not done yet!”
Stepping lightly to one of the little perforations which had once served as windows to the tower, he cautiously thrust his head through the opening; and, after gazing there half a minute, he withdrew it again, making a gesture to the attentive Wilder to be silent. The latter complied; nor was it long before the nature of the interruption was sufficiently explained.
The silvery voice of woman was first heard at a little distance; and then, as the speakers drew nigher the sounds arose directly from beneath, within the very shadow of the tower. By a sort of tacit consent, Wilder and the barrister chose spots favourable to the execution of such a purpose; and each continued, during the time the visiters remained near the ruin, examining their persons, unseen themselves, and we are sorry we must do so much violence to the breeding of two such important characters in our legend, amused and attentive listeners also to their conversation.
Chapter IV
“They fool me to the top of my bent.”
—Hamlet
The party below consisted of four individuals all of whom were females. One was a lady in the decline of her years; another was past the middle age the third was on the very threshold of what is called “life,” as it is applied to intercourse with the world; and the fourth was a negress, who might have seen some five-and-twenty revolutions of the seasons. The latter, at that time, and in that country, of course appeared only in the character of a humble, though perhaps favoured domestic.
“And now, my child, that I have given you all the advice which circumstances and your own excellent heart need,” said the elderly lady, among the first words that were distinctly intelligible to the listeners, “I will change the ungracious office to one more agreeable. You will tell your father of my continued affection, and of the promise he has given, that you are to return once again, before we separate for the last time.”
This speech was addressed to the younger female, and was apparently received with as much tenderness and sincerity as it was uttered. The one who was addressed raised her eyes, which were glittering with tears she evidently struggled to conceal, and answered in a voice that sounded in the ears of the two youthful listeners like the notes of the Syren, so very sweet and musical were its tones.
“It is useless to remind me of a promise, my beloved aunt, which I have so much interest in remembering,” she said. “I hope for even more than you have perhaps dared to wish; if my father does not return with me in the spring, it shall not be for want of urging on my part.”
“Our good Wyllys will lend her aid,” returned the aunt, smiling and bowing to the third female, with that mixture of suavity and form which was peculiar to the stately manners of the time, and which was rarely neglected, when a superior addressed an inferior. “She is entitled to command some interest with General Grayson, from her fidelity and services.”
“She is entitled to everything that love and heart can give!” exclaimed the niece, with a haste and earnestness that proclaimed how willingly she would temper the formal politeness of the other by the warmth of her own affectionate manner; “my father will scarcely refuse her any thing.”
“And have we the assurance of Miss Wyllys that she will be in our interests?” demanded the aunt, without permitting her own sense of propriety to be overcome by the stronger feelings of her niece; “with so powerful an ally, our league will be invincible.”
“I am so entirely of opinion, that the salubrious air of this healthful island is of great importance to my young charge, Madam, that, were all other considerations wanting, the little I can do to aid your wishes shall be sure to be done.”
Wyllys spoke with dignity, and perhaps with some portion of that reserve which distinguished all the communications between the wealthy and high-born aunt and the salaried and dependent governess of her brother’s heiress. Still her manner was gentle, and the voice, like that of her pupil, soft and strikingly feminine.
“We may then consider the victory as achieved, as my late husband the Rear-Admiral was accustomed to say. Admiral de Lacey, my dear Mrs Wyllys, adopted it in early life as a maxim, by which all his future conduct was governed, and by adhering to which he acquired no small share of his professional reputation, that, in order to be successful, it was only necessary to be determined one would be so;—a noble and inspiriting rule, and one that could not fail to lead to those signal results which, as we all know them, I need not mention.”
Wyllys bowed her head, in acknowledgment of the truth of the opinion, and in testimony of the renown of the deceased Admiral; but did not think it necessary to make any reply. Instead of allowing the subject to occupy her mind any longer, she turned to her young pupil, and observed, speaking in a voice and with a manner from which every appearance of restraint was banished,—
“Gertrude, my love, you will have pleasure in returning to this charming island, and to these cheering sea breezes.”
“And to my aunt!” exclaimed Gertrude. “I wish my father could be persuaded to dispose of his estates in Carolina, and come northward, to reside the whole year.”
“It is not quite as easy for an affluent proprietor to remove as you may imagine, my child,” returned Mrs de Lacey. “Much as I wish that some such plan could be adopted, I never press my brother on the subject. Besides, I am not certain, that, if we were ever to make another change in the family, it would not be to return home altogether. It is now more than a century, Mrs Wyllys, since the Graysons came into the colonies, in a moment of dissatisfaction with the government in England. My great-grandfather sir Everard, was displeased with his second son, and the dissension led my grandfather to the province of Carolina. But, as the breach has long since been healed, I often think my brother and myself may yet return to the halls of our ancestors. Much will, however, depend on the manner in which we dispose of our treasure on this side of the Atlantic.”
As the really well-meaning, though, perhaps, a little too much self-satisfied lady concluded her remark, she glanced her eye at the perfectly unconscious subject