Chapter 11

"Captain,"--exclaimed a tall, slight young man, as he ascended the cabin steps of a noble vessel, and, having gained the deck, stood gazing on the expansive Atlantic stretched out before him,--"Captain," he eagerly inquired, "this surely is not our destination," pointing at the same time with his finger to a rude outline of land, now distinctly visible.

"No, indeed," said the Captain, good humoredly; "it would be but a poor compliment to the stately city of B----, to take this rude coast, with its sandy beaches, its rocky eminences, and fishermen's huts, for its handsome dimensions. Nevertheless, poor as this little fishing settlement looks, it is a very welcome sight just now, I assure you, as our provisions are getting scarce, and as to the water, my cook tells me he should have hardly enough to fill a tea-kettle for to-morrow's breakfast."

"And so you intend putting in here for supplies?"

"Precisely so, though I see by your look you deem it not a very probable place to obtain them. But this is not the first time I have been obliged to put in here, and have always found a hearty welcome, and obtained necessary supplies; not, perhaps, the very best of provisions, but such as the place can afford; and I am well acquainted with one of the fishermen, an emigrant from my native place, whose hospitality, and that of his family, is unbounded; and whenever I happen to tarry here, they do all in their power to make us comfortable."

"And how long do you expect to remain?" inquired Mr. Clifford.

"For a few days only, but long enough I trust to recover these two sailors of mine, who have been complaining so much of late; and my wife's health also is not as good as usual, accustomed though she has been to long sea-voyages. You, too, Sir, I think," said the Captain, "will be all the better for a taste of the land breeze, even though it should not be laden with the balmy breath of flowers."

"You are quite right, Captain," was the reply; "and anxious as I am to see my home again, after five long years' absence, I shall be none the worse for a ramble on =terra firma= once more."

In a few hours subsequent to the conversation recorded above, a fine boat might be seen rapidly cutting the sparkling waves, and the little party, consisting of the Captain and his wife, with their only passenger, Mr. Clifford, soon landed on the sandy beach, and gladly directed their steps towards Mr. Williamson's cottage.

Captain Pierce pointed out the residence to Mr. Clifford, for though it was at some distance from their landing place, it could be distinctly seen, owing to the elevation of the ground on which it was built.

"You had better go on, Sir," said the Captain, "and, if you have no objection, inform them you are a passenger of the barge '=Pearl=.' That will be sufficient, I know, to insure you a hearty welcome, and you can add, if you choose, that we are behind; for my wife and myself are but indifferent walkers, being more accustomed to patrolling the deck of a vessel than climbing these steep hills, so that if you try to conform your pace to ours, you will be quite weary when you reach the dwelling."

Mr. Clifford laughingly replied, and hastening his steps, soon came in sight of the cottage.

It was near the end of April, and the day a balmy one, even for smiling June.

At the open window of the sitting-room, which commanded a view of the road and harbor, Agnes was seated busily engaged in embroidering the muslin dress intended for Ellen's wedding attire. The sound of steps near at hand arrested her attention, and looking up, she beheld a stranger, with wonder and admiration depicted on his countenance, standing and gazing fixedly at her. For a moment her heart seemed to cease its pulsations, and a death-like pallor overspread her cheeks, for so strikingly did the form and face resemble Arthur Bernard, that, in spite of the improbability of the case, Agnes almost believed it to be him.

Ernest, on his part, was equally surprised at seeing, in a fisherman's dwelling, one whose elegant appearance formed such a striking contrast to the unpretending and rudely fashioned abode in which she dwelt.

The small purse of gold, which Agnes had thoughtfully secured about her person on the night that witnessed the conflagration of the ill-fated steamer, had enabled her to purchase from Mrs. Williamson some plain materials, which had been fashioned, by her own skilful fingers, into neat and becoming attire. Her nicely-fitting brown stuff dress, relieved by a linen collar of snowy whiteness, displayed to advantage her graceful figure; her soft brown tresses were smoothly parted from her fair forehead; and her fine intelligent countenance, on whose every lineament refinement and sensibility were stamped, wore an expression of sweet and touching resignation, and hope "subdued but cherished still;" what marvel, then, that Ernest Clifford's steps were arrested, when he beheld so lovely an apparition, and that he gazed upon her as though he expected that the fair vision would soon vanish from his view. He had watched her for a few moments unobserved, but when their glances met, he marked, with increasing astonishment, her evident emotion, and pleased, yet strangely puzzled, he could not find courage to seek admittance at the cottage, but, retracing his steps, resolved to wait for an introduction from the Captain.

It was with a good deal of surprise that the Captain and his wife beheld Ernest advancing towards them.

"Was no one within," he inquired, "that you have come back so soon?"

"Really, Captain," was the reply, "I could not summon courage to knock at the door and ascertain."

"Courage!" echoed the Captain, wondering as he marked the young man's heightened color and evident embarrassment,--"courage to knock at a poor fisherman's dwelling! Really, Mr. Clifford, your sojourn among these barbarians must have been productive of no little injury to you, if it has robbed you of that courage with which I am sure, from your appearance, Nature plentifully endowed you."

"You misunderstand me, my dear Sir, I assure you," was the reply. "I feared intruding, and thought I would prefer waiting for an introduction from you."

The Captain could contain himself no longer, but burst into a hearty fit of laughter, in which he was joined by his wife.

"You must excuse me, Mr. Clifford," he said, apologizing; "but, really, the idea of your formality amused me no little; for, however acceptable such would prove to the society with which you have been accustomed to mingle, I am afraid such ceremonious politeness would be hardly popular here."

"But, really, Captain,"--and Mr. Clifford looked, it must be confessed, a little vexed,--"you should have informed me who I was going to meet, before sending me on as herald. I was not aware that I should be thrown into the society of ladies, or I should have endeavored to appear to a little better advantage. As it is, I am hardly fit to be seen; and while I am aware that your good lady excuses me, knowing the circumstances under which I took shelter with you, yet, to strangers I would appear rather ludicrous, clad in those ill-fitting garments."

"They are not the most elegant in the world, I acknowledge," was the response; "but much better than the fishermen's wives and daughters are accustomed to see, for those are the only =ladies= that inhabit these sterile regions."

"It surely could not have been a fisherman's daughter that I beheld just now, as I neared the dwelling to which you directed me; for, seated at the window, sewing, was a young lady, neatly though plainly dressed; but her look and manner bespoke her to be far above such a condition of life."

The Captain looked puzzled, and turning to his wife, said, "It must, be Ellen Williamson, to whom Mr. Clifford alludes. She is not ill-favored, by any means, and indeed quite the belle of the place, being by far the best looking girl in it; nevertheless, I should hardly mistake her for one of higher rank; but Mr. Clifford has been so long without beholding woman's face divine, with the exception of yours, my dear, that he is ready to magnify good looks into positive beauty and grace."

The young man seemed disconcerted.

"I could almost stake my existence, that the person to whom I refer is not, cannot be the daughter of a fisherman. However, if it should be so, Captain, and such a region as this can produce so lovely a being, in spite of its barren wastes and rocky steppes, I should be ready to surname it Paradise, or The Enchanted Isle, if you will; for certainly it was a vision of enchantment I just now beheld."

Captain Pierce, though almost imagining that his young friend's intellect had been deranged, gaily responded:--

"I must warn you in time, I see, for you are in danger of losing your heart, if it is not gone already. Ellen Williamson is engaged to a worthy young man, a captain of a fishing schooner, and their marriage is to be celebrated this spring, so her father informed me when I was here last year, and I think it only my duty to give you fair warning, that another claims your enchantress as his own. But here we are at the cottage, and your doubts will speedily be put to flight, by an introduction to the girl herself."

The loud knock of the Captain, at the cottage door, was quickly answered by Mrs. Williamson, who, in terms of genuine pleasure, welcomed his safe return, and the little party were ushered into the sitting-room, whose neat and even tasteful appearance, formed a striking contrast to the generality of the fishermen's huts.

Mr. Clifford's quick eye, as they entered, sought the window, but the seat was vacant now; evidences of its having been lately occupied were discernible in a work-basket that stood on a table near, and on which some embroidered muslin had been lightly thrown.

The Captain smiled as he observed Mr. Clifford's disappointed look, and turning to Mrs. Williamson, who was assisting his wife in divesting herself of her shawl and bonnet, inquired after her daughter.

"She is quite well, thank you," was her reply, "and was here a moment ago, but observing you in the distance, ran to inform her father; who is working beyond the hill at the back of the dwelling. She will be back shortly."

A slight sigh escaped from Mr. Clifford, unheard by all save his friend, who turned to him with a mischievous smile, which the former easily interpreted as, "I wonder which was right, you or I?"

In the meanwhile, Mrs. Williamson was entreating Mrs. Pierce to take some rest, "for indeed you look much in need of it," she added, "and I will have a cup of strong tea ready for you in a few moments, for you need something to refresh you, I am sure, after being so long on the salt water."

Her husband seconded Mrs. Williamson's advice.

"You had better go, my dear, and lay down for a little while, and you will feel vastly better, I assure you. As for me, I must now go back to the ship, but will return in time to join you in a good cup of tea, which, from past experience, I know will be excellent,--and I suppose I shall then see Mr. Williamson and daughter."

"Oh, yes, Sir," was the reply. "They should have been back before this; but I expect husband was farther off than Ellen imagined, and seeking for him has detained her."

Gaily waving an adieu, the Captain hurried away, and Mrs. Pierce following the fisherman's wife into her chamber, Ernest Clifford was left alone. He seated himself at the open casement in a listless attitude; for though he would hardly acknowledge it to himself, he could not help a feeling of disappointment in finding his air castle so quickly shattered.

The only object of attraction to be seen from the casement was a fine view of the sea; but Ernest had been too long a sojourner on the wild waste of waters, not to have become weary of their monotony, and tired of gazing at what had been so long a familiar object, he turned his attention to the interior of the room. As he glanced round the apartment, he could not help admiring the spotless neatness which marked it, for everything was in the most perfect order, while the few ornaments and some pretty shells, that the fisherman and Ellen's betrothed had brought on their return from different voyages, were tastefully arranged on the mantel-piece and tables, with several books, which, from the pencilled passages he observed as he opened them, had evidently been well conned. In one, a small volume of miscellaneous poems, Ellen's name was inscribed on the fly-leaf, in a graceful Italian hand, evidently a lady's writing.

"This fisherman's daughter must certainly be a very superior person," he said to himself, as he turned over page after page, observing with the eye of a critic,--for literature to him had been a familiar study from early youth,--that the finest passages were the only ones marked, proving, conclusively, that they had been the reader's favorites.

"Strange to find one like her in so remote and desolate a spot," and, half-aloud, he read the stanzas, in which he had just opened, smiling as he thought how true they were in this instance.

"Full many a gem of purest ray serene The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air."

He was interrupted by the clear, sweet tones of a woman's voice in an adjoining room.

"You will find my chamber quite comfortable, Mrs. Pierce, and I must insist on your sharing it, for there is abundance of room for us both."

"But I am afraid of discommoding you, my dear young lady, and can easily sleep on board, though I will take advantage of your kindness now, to rest on your bed for a short time."

"Indeed, my, dear Madam, I assure you, that you will be conferring a favor instead of receiving one, in sharing my apartment, while you remain, for it is such a delight to me to see the face of a countrywoman in this, the land of my exile."

"How long did Mrs. Williamson say it was since you were conveyed here?" inquired Mrs. Pierce.

"Nearly six months."

"And what a dreary time you must have found it, my dear."

"No," said the sweet voice again, that sounded like music to the ear of the unintentional listener; "No," she repeated, "I have felt tolerably contented with my lot, and but for the remembrance of my friends and the sorrow they must have endured on my account, thinking, as they certainly must, that a watery grave has been my portion,--but for such remembrances I should have been comparatively happy. But you will never sleep," she added playfully, "if I go on chattering in this manner, so I will leave you to your much needed repose."

At this moment, the outer door of the cottage opened, and the Captain, accompanied by Mr. Williamson and his daughter, whom he had met as he was returning from the ship, entered the room, and a mutual introduction to Mr. Clifford took place.

The Captain, as he named "Ellen Williamson," looked roguishly at Mr. Clifford, who returned his glance with an equally amused smile, but one that the Captain could not comprehend. Not sorry to find he was in the right, and with a little mischievous pleasure, as he imagined his friend's discomfiture, when the fair stranger,--for such from her conversation she evidently was,--should make her appearance, Ernest's eyes were riveted at the door, which communicated with an inner apartment, and at length his patient watching was rewarded.

The fisherman's wife, overhearing the Captain's somewhat loud though cheerful voice, hastened to meet him again, accompanied by Agnes, who was anxious to resume the employment which astonishment and emotion had caused her to throw aside. Besides, it must be confessed, she felt in no way averse to see again the stranger, whose striking similarity to her friend, had so deeply overcome her. From Mrs. Pierce she had already learned his name, and also a sketch of his history, from the period of her first acquaintance with him, and thrillingly interesting as it was, Agnes could not help feeling attracted towards one who had suffered so much, and who, like herself, had been an unwilling exile from his native land.

Captain Pierce, who was sitting with his face turned from the door, and who, moreover, was engaged in relating to Mr. Williamson the particulars of his voyage, did not, at first, observe the new comer; but as she advanced nearer, he abruptly paused in the conversation, and with a glance--as full of astonishment and perplexity as Ernest, who was now an amused spectator, could desire--intently regarded her.

"I see you wonder, Captain, how this young lady, whose name is Miss Wiltshire," said Mrs. Williamson, "took up her residence in this out of the way place; but Elliot, on his return voyage from H---- in November, happened, fortunately, to rescue her from the waves, into which she was thrown by the upsetting of a boat, and having brought her here, she has remained ever since in this dreary place, at least it must be such to her, for she has had no opportunity of returning to her friends."

With her customary grace, Agnes returned the Captain's and Mr. Clifford's respectful greeting, and resumed again her embroidery, disclaiming, however, as she did so, the epithet of dreary, as being quite inappropriate, in her estimation, to the place which had afforded her so hospitable a shelter.

"It would be impossible for me to find any spot dreary," she said, "inhabited by so many kind friends, and from whom I have received such true tokens of hospitality; and while I confess to an eager desire to behold again my relatives, it will not be without very great pain that I shall part from those whose warmest sympathies and tenderest care were exercised towards a helpless stranger."

"I have heard," said Mr. Pierce, turning to Mrs. Williamson, whose countenance told the emotion she felt at the intimation of Agnes's speedy departure, "I have heard of =some= entertaining 'angels unawares,' and I should judge you have been thus fortunate, Mrs. W."

"You may, indeed, say so, Sir," said the good woman, wiping away a tear with the corner of her apron; "I cannot tell you what a blessing this young lady has been, not only to my family, but to the whole neighborhood. Indeed, Sir, you would be surprised to see what a change has been effected by her in this place. Miss Wiltshire has established a day school for the children, and a night class for the young people; and our Sabbaths, that some spent in sleep, others in doing nothing, or worse than nothing, now pass in a very different manner, for we have both Church and Sabbath school, and 'come up with those that keep holy day.' What we shall do without her, I cannot imagine, though, to be sure, it would be dreadfully selfish in me to wish her to stay longer, for those to whom she belongs must be breaking their hearts after so lovely a creature."

The above conversation, which was addressed particularly to the Captain, was delivered in an under-tone, and was therefore unheard by Agnes, who was an attentive listener to Mr. Clifford, as he called up all the varied powers of his fine intellect for the purpose of describing the scenes through which he had passed; and he was well rewarded for his efforts by the sweet smile, and breathless interest, with which Agnes heard the narration.