“——When shines the sun aslant,
The sun may shine and we be cold;
Oh, listen, loving hearts and bold,
Unto my wild romaunt,
Margaret, Margaret!”
—E. B. BROWNING.
Colonel Compton and family, traveling at leisure in their private carriage, reached the Blue Ridge on the fifth, and Winchester on the seventh day of their journey, and went immediately to the fine old family mansion on the suburbs of the old town, which was comfortably prepared for the occupancy of the proprietor.
Miss De Lancie’s elegant house on Loudoun street, under the charge of an exemplary matron, was also ready for the reception of its mistress; but Marguerite yielded to the solicitations of her friend Cornelia, and remained her guest for the present.
Compton Lodge was somewhat older than the town; it was a substantial building of gray sandstone, situated in a fine park, shaded with great forest trees, and inclosed by a stone wall; it had once been a famous hunting seat, where Lord Fairfax, General Morgan, Major Helphinstine and other votaries of St. Hubert, “most did congregate;” and even now it was rather noted for its superior breed of hounds and horses; and for the great foxhunts that were there got up.
Marguerite De Lancie liked the old place upon all these accounts, and sometimes, when the hunting company was very select, she did not hesitate to join their sylvan sports; and scarcely a hunter there, even old Lord Fairfax himself, who still, in his age, pursued with every youthful enthusiasm the pleasures of the chase—acquitted himself better than did this Diana.
But now, in March, the hunting season was over, and if Marguerite De Lancie preferred Compton Lodge to her own house, it was because, after a long winter in Philadelphia—with the monotony of straight streets and red brick walls, and the weariness of crowded rooms—the umbrageous shade of forest trees, the silence and the solitude of nature, with the company of her sole bosom friend, was most welcome.
The second morning after their settlement at home, Colonel Compton’s family were seated around the breakfast table, discussing their coffee, buckwheat cakes and broiled venison.
Marguerite’s attention was divided between the conversation at the table, and the view from the two open windows before her, where rolling waves of green hills, dappled over with the white and pink blossoms of peach and cherry trees, now in full bloom, wooed and refreshed the eye.
Colonel Compton was sipping his coffee and looking over the Winchester Republican, when suddenly he set down his cup and broke into a loud laugh.
All looked up.
“Well, what is the matter?” inquired the comfortable, motherly Mrs. Compton, without ceasing to butter her buckwheat.
“Oh! ha, ha, ha, ha,” laughed the colonel.
“That is a very satisfactory reply, upon my word,” commented the good woman, covering her cakes with honey.
“Don’t—don’t—that fellow will be the death of me!”
“Pleasant prospect to laugh at—that!” said his wife, twisting a luscious segment of her now well-sauced buckwheat around the fork, preparatory to lifting it to her lips.
“Oh! do let us have the joke, if there is a joke, papa,” pleaded Cornelia.
“Hem! well, listen, then!” said Colonel Compton, reading:
“Distinguished arrival at McGuire’s Hotel. Lord William Daw, the second son of the most noble, the Marquis of Eaglecliff, arrived at this place last evening. His lordship, accompanied by his tutor, the Rev. Henry Murray, is now on a tour of the United States, and visits Winchester for the purpose of becoming acquainted with the history and antiquities of the town!”
“That is exceedingly rich! that will quite do!” commented the colonel, laying down his newspaper, and turning with a comic expression toward Marguerite.
She was looking, by the by, in high beauty, though her morning costume was more picturesque than elegant, and more careless than either, and consisted simply of a dark chintz wrapper, over which, drawn closely around her shoulders, was a scarlet crape shawl, in fine contrast with the lustrous purple sheen of her black hair, one-half of which was rolled in a careless mass at the nape of her neck, and the other dropped in rich ringlets down each side of her glowing, brilliant face.
“Hem! the antiquities of Winchester. I rather suspect it is the juvenilities that our young antiquarian is in chase of. Pray, Miss De Lancie, are you one of the antiquities?”
Marguerite curled her proud lip, erected her head and deigned no other reply.
“Unquestionably you also have conquered a title, Marguerite; when you are married, will you place me on your visiting list, Lady William Daw?” asked Cornelia Compton, with an arch glance.
“Cease,” said Marguerite, peremptorily, “if I were to be married, which is utterly out of the question, it would not be to a schoolboy, let me assure you!”
“If you ‘were to be married, which is utterly out of the question’—why, you don’t mean to tell us that you have forsworn matrimony, Marguerite? What do you intend to do? go into a cloister? Nonsense! in nine month you will marry,” said Colonel Compton.
“I marry? ha! ha! ha! there must be a great improvement in the stock of men! Where is the unmarried son of Adam that I would deliberately vow to love, honor and obey? Why I should forswear myself at the altar! Of all the single men I meet, the refined ones are weak and effeminate, and the strong ones are coarse and brutal! I’ll none of them!” said Marguerite, with a shrug of her shoulders.
“Thank you for making my husband a sort of presumptive exception,” said Mrs. Compton.
“Will you call upon Lord William, this morning, papa?” inquired Miss Compton.
“My dear, believe me, the opportunity will scarcely be allowed. His lordship will not stand upon ceremony, I assure you. I expect to hear his name announced every moment.”
And then, as in confirmation of Colonel Compton’s predictions, a servant entered and handed a card.
“Humph! where have you shown the gentleman, John?”
“Into the front drawing-room, sir.”
“Nonsense—bring him in here.”
The servant bowed and left the room.
“Such a free and easy visitor is not to be treated with formality. It is as I foresaw, ladies! Lord William Daw waits to pay his respects.”
At that moment the door was once more opened, and the visitor announced.
Lord William Daw was a pleasing, wholesome, rather than a handsome or distinguished-looking youth—with a short, stout figure, dark eyes and dark hair, a round rosy face, and white teeth, and an expression full of good-humor, frank and easy among his friends, and disembarrassed among strangers to whom he was indifferent, he was yet timid and bashful as a girl in presence of those whom he admired and honored; how much more so in the society of her—the beautiful and regal woman who had won his young heart’s first and deepest worship. With all this the youngster possessed an indomitable will and power of perseverance, which, when aroused, few men, or things, could withstand, and which his messmates at Oxford denominated (your pardon, super-refined reader) an “English bull-dogish—hold-on-a-tiveness.”
Lord William entered the breakfast-room, smiling and blushing between pleasure and embarrassment.
Colonel Compton arose and advanced, with a cordial smile and extended hand, to welcome him. “Heartily glad to see you, sir! And here are Mrs. Compton, and my daughter Cornelia, and my sweetheart, Marguerite, all waiting to shake hands with you.”
The ladies arose, and Lord William, set at ease by this friendly greeting, paid his respects quite pleasingly.
“And now here is a chair and plate ready for you, for we hope that you have not breakfasted?” said the host.
Lord William had breakfasted; but would do so again. So he sat down at the table and spoiled a cup of coffee and a couple of buckwheat cakes without deriving much benefit from either. A lively conversation ensued.
“The history and antiquities of Winchester, sir,” said Colonel Compton, with a half-suppressed smile, in reply to a question of the young tourist. “The history is scarcely a hundred years old, and the antiquities consist mainly of some vestiges of the Shawanee’s occupancy, and of Washington’s march in the old French and Indian War; but the society, sir—the society representing the old respectability of the State may not be unworthy of your attention.”
Lord William was sure that the society was most worthy of cultivation, nevertheless, he would like to see those “vestiges” of which his host spoke.
“The ladies will take their usual morning ride within an hour or two, sir, and if you would like to attend them, they will take pleasure in showing you these monuments.”
Lord William was again “most happy.” And Colonel Compton rang and ordered “Ali,” to be brought out saddled for his lordship’s use.
Within an hour after rising from the table, the riding party, consisting of Miss Compton, Miss De Lancie, Lord William Daw, and a groom in attendance, set forth. The lions of Winchester and its environs were soon exhausted, and the party returned to Compton Lodge in time for an early dinner.
Lord William Daw sojourned at Winchester, and became a daily visitor at Compton Lodge. Colonel Compton, to break the exclusiveness of his visits to one house, introduced him at large among the gentry of the neighborhood. And numerous were the tea, card, and cotillion parties got up for the sole purpose of entertaining the young scion of nobility, where it was only necessary to secure Miss De Lancie’s presence in order to ensure his lordship’s dutiful attendance. Mr. Murray chafed and fretted at what he called his pupil’s consummate infatuation, and talked of writing home to his father, “the marquis.” Marguerite scorned, or seemed to scorn, his lordship’s pretensions, until one morning at breakfast, Colonel Compton, half seriously, half jestingly, said:
“Sweetheart, you do not appear to join in the respect universally shown to this young stranger.”
“If,” said Marguerite, “the young man had any distinguished personal excellence, I should not be backward in recognizing it; but he is at best—Lord William Daw! Now who is Lord William Daw that I should bow down and worship him?”
“Lord William Daw, my dear, is the second son of the most noble, the Marquis of Eaglecliff, as you have already seen announced with a flourish of editorial trumpets, by our title-despising and very consistent democratic newspapers! He is heir presumptive, and as I learn from Mr. Murray, rather more than heir presumptive to his father’s titles and estates; for it appears that the marquis has been twice married, and that his eldest son, by his first marchioness, derives a very feeble constitution from his mother; and it is not supposed that he will ever marry, or that he will survive his father; ergo, the hopes of the marquis for re-union rest with his second son, Lord William Daw; finis, that young nobleman’s devoirs are not quite beneath the consideration even of a young lady of ‘one of the first families of Virginia,’ who is besides a belle, a blue, and a freeholder.”
“Marguerite, future marchioness of Eaglecliff, when you are married will your ladyship please to remember one poor Cornelia Compton, who lived in an old country house near Winchester, and once enjoyed your favor?” said Miss Compton.
Marguerite shrugged her shoulders with an expression to the effect that the future succession of the Marquisate of Eaglecliff was a matter of no moment to her.
But from this time, Marguerite’s friends accused her, with uncertain justice, of showing somewhat more favor to the boyish lover, who might one day set the coronet of a marchioness upon her brow. When rallied upon this point, she would reply:
“There are certainly qualities which I do like in the young man; he is frank, simple and intelligent, and above all, is perfectly free from affectation, or pretension of any sort. Upon individual worth alone he is entitled to polite consideration.”
There was, perhaps, a slight discrepancy between this opinion and one formerly delivered by Miss De Lancie; but let that pass; the last-uttered judgment was probably the most righteous, as growing out of a longer acquaintance, and longer experience in the merits of the subject.
Thus—while Lord William Daw prolonged his stay, and Mr. Murray fumed and fretted, the months of April, May, and June went by. The first of July the family of Compton Lodge prepared to commence their summer tour among the watering, and other places of resort. They left Winchester about the seventh of the month.
Lord William Daw had not been invited to join their party, nor had he manifested inclination to obtrude himself upon their company, nor did he immediately follow in their train.
Nevertheless, a few days after their establishment at Berkeley Springs, Colonel Compton read in the list of arrivals the names of “Lord William Daw, Rev. Henry Murray, and two servants.”
Enough! The intimacy between the young nobleman and the Comptons was renewed at Berkeley. And soon the devotion of his youthful lordship to the beautiful and gifted Marguerite De Lancie was the theme of every tongue. To escape this notice, Marguerite withdrew from her party, and attended by her maid and footman, proceeded to join some acquaintances at Saratoga.
In vain! for unluckily Saratoga was as free to one traveler as to another, provided he could pay. And within the same week of Marguerite’s settlement at her lodgings, all the manœuvring mammas and marriageable daughters at the Springs were thrown into a state of excitement and speculation by the appearance among them of a young English nobleman, the heir presumptive of a marquisate.
But alas! it was soon perceived that Lord William had eyes and ears and heart for none other than the dazzling Miss De Lancie, “la Marguerite des Marguerites,” as the French minister had called her.
Miss De Lancie’s manner to her boyish worshiper was rather restraining and modifying than repulsing or discouraging. And there were those who did not hesitate to accuse the proud and queenly Marguerite of finished coquetry.
To avoid this, the lady next joined a party of friends who were going to Niagara.
And of course it was obvious to all that the young English tourist, traveling only for improvement, must see the great Falls. Consequently, upon the day after Miss De Lancie’s arrival at the Niagara Hotel, Lord William Daw led her in to dinner. And once more the “infatuation,” as they chose to call it, of that young gentleman, became the favorite subject of gossip.
A few weeks spent at the Falls brought the last of September, and Marguerite had promised, upon the first of October, to join her friends, the Comptons, in New York.
When Lord William Daw learned that she was soon to leave, half ashamed, perhaps, of forever following in the train of this disdainful beauty, he terminated his visit and preceded her eastward.
But when the stagecoach containing Miss De Lancie and her party drew up before the city hotel, Lord William, perhaps “to treat resolution,” was the first person to step from the piazza and welcome her back.
Colonel Compton and his family were only waiting for Marguerite’s arrival to proceed southward. The next day but one was fixed for their departure. But the intervening morning, while the family were alone in their private parlor, Lord William Daw entered, looking grave and troubled.
Colonel Compton arose in some anxiety to welcome him. When he had greeted the ladies and taken a seat, he said:
“I have come only to bid you good-by, friends.”
“I am sorry to hear that! but—you are not going far, or to remain long, I hope,” said Colonel Compton.
“I am going back to England, sir,” replied the young man, with a sorrowful glance at Miss De Lancie, who seemed not quite unmoved.
“You astonish us, Lord William! Is this not a sudden resolution?” inquired Mrs. Compton.
“It is a sudden misfortune, my dear madam! Only this morning have I received a letter from my father, announcing the dangerous illness of my dear mother, and urging my instant return by the first homeward-bound vessel. The Venture, Captain Parke, sails for Liverpool at twelve to-day. I must be on board within two hours,” replied the young man, in a mournful voice, turning the same deeply-appealing glance toward Marguerite, whose color slightly paled.
“We are very sorry to lose you, Lord William, and still sorrier for the occasion of your leaving us,” said Cornelia Compton. And so said all the party except—Miss De Lancie.
Lord William then arose to shake hands with his friends.
“I wish you a pleasant voyage and a pleasant arrival,” said the colonel.
“And that you may find your dear mother quite restored to health,” added Mrs. Compton.
“Oh, yes, indeed! I hope you will, and that you will soon visit us again,” said Cornelia.
Marguerite said nothing.
“Have you no parting word for me, Miss De Lancie?” inquired the young man, approaching her, and speaking in a low tone, and with a beseeching look.
Marguerite waved her hand. “A good voyage, my lord,” she said.
He caught that hand and pressed it to his lips and heart, and after a long, deep gaze into her eyes, he recollected himself, snatched his hat, bowed to the party, and left the room.
Colonel Compton, in the true spirit of kindness, arose and followed with the purpose of attending him to his ship.
“There’s a coronet slipped through your fingers! Oh, Marguerite! Marguerite! if I had been in your place I should have secured that match! For, once married, they couldn’t unmarry us, or bar the succession, either, and so, in spite of all the reverend tutors and most noble papas in existence, I should, in time, have worn the coronet of a marchioness,” said Miss Compton.
“And you would have done a very unprincipled thing, Cornelia,” replied her mother, very gravely.
The blood rushed to Miss De Lancie’s brow and crimsoned her face, as she arose in haste and withdrew to her own chamber.
“But, mamma, what do you suppose to have been the cause of Marguerite’s rejection of Lord William’s addresses?”
“I think that she had two reasons, either of which would have been all sufficient to govern her in declining the alliance. The first was, that Marguerite could never yield her affections to a man who has no other personal claims upon her esteem than the possession of a good heart and a fair share of intelligence; the second was, that Miss De Lancie had too high a sense of honor to bestow her hand on a young gentleman whose addresses were unsanctioned by his family.”
The next day Colonel Compton and his party set out for Philadelphia, where, upon his arrival, he received from Mr. Adams an official appointment that required his residence in the city of Richmond. And thither, in the course of the month, he proceeded with his wife and daughter.
Miss De Lancie went down to pass the autumn at her own house in Winchester, where she remained until the first of December, when, according to promise, she went to Richmond to spend the winter with her friend Cornelia.
The Comptons had taken a very commodious house in a fashionable quarter of the city, and were in the habit of seeing a great deal of company. It was altogether a very brilliant winter in the new capital of Virginia. Quite a constellation of beauties and celebrities were there assembled, but the star of the ascendant was the splendid Marguerite De Lancie. She was even more beautiful and dazzling than ever; and she entered with spirit into all the gayeties of the season. Tea and card parties, dances and masked balls followed each other in quick succession.
It was just before Christmas that the belles of the metropolis were thrown into a state of delightful excitement by the issue of tickets from the gubernatorial mansion, to a grand ball to be given on the ensuing New Year’s Eve. Great was the flutter of preparation, and great the accession of business that flowed in upon the milliners, mantua-makers and jewelers.
Miss De Lancie and Miss Compton went out together to select their dresses for the occasion. I mention this expedition merely to give you a clew to what I sometimes suspected to be the true motive that inspired Cornelia Compton’s rather selfish nature, with that caressing affection she displayed for Marguerite De Lancie. As for Marguerite’s devotion to Cornelia, it was one of those mysteries, or prophecies of the human heart, that only the future can explain. Upon this occasion, when Miss De Lancie ordered a rich, white brocade for her own dress, she selected a superb pink satin for her friend’s; and when from the jeweler’s Marguerite’s hereditary diamonds came, set in a new form, they were accompanied by a pretty set of pearls to adorn the arms and bosom of Cornelia. Colonel Compton knew nothing of his guest’s costly presents to his daughter. With a gentleman’s inexperience in such matters, he supposed that the hundred dollars he had given “Nellie” for her outfit had covered all the expenses. And when Mrs. Compton, who better knew the cost of pearls and brocade, made any objection, Marguerite silenced her by delicately intimating the possibility, that, under some circumstances, for instance, that of her being treated as a stranger, she might be capable of withdrawing to a boarding-house.
The eventful evening of the governor’s ball arrived. The entertainment was by all conceded to be, what it should have been, the most splendid affair of the kind that had come off that season. A suite of four spacious rooms, superbly furnished and adorned, and brilliantly lighted, were thrown open. In the first, or dressing-room, the ladies left their cloaks and mantles, and rearranged their toilets. In the second, Governor Wood stood, surrounded by the most distinguished civil and military officers of the State, and with his unequaled, dignified courtesy received his guests. In the third, and most spacious saloon, where the floor was covered with canvas for dancing, the walls were lined with mirrors, and festooned with flowers that enriched the atmosphere with odoriferous perfumes, while from a vine-covered balcony a military band filled all the air with music. Beyond the saloon, the last, or supper-room, was elegantly set out. The supper table was quite a marvel of taste in that department; just above it hung an immensely large chandelier, with quite a forest of pendant brilliants; its light fell and was flashed back from a sheet mirror laid upon the center of a table, and surrounded by a wreath of box-vines and violets, like a fairy lake within its banks of flowers; on the outer edge of this ring was a circle of grapes with their leaves and tendrils; while filling up the other space were exotic flowers and tropical fruits, and every variety of delicate refreshment in the most beautiful designs.
The rooms were filled before the late arrival of Colonel Compton and his party. The ladies paused but a few minutes in the dressing-room to compose their toilets and draw on their gloves, and then they joined their escort at the inner door, went in, and were presented to Governor Wood, and then passed onward to the dancing-saloon, where the music was sounding and the waltz moving with great vivacity.
The entrée of our young ladies made quite a sensation. Both were dressed with exquisite taste.
Miss Compton wore a rich rose-colored satin robe, the short sleeves and low corsage of which were trimmed with fine lace, and the skirt open in front and looped away, with lilies of the valley, from a white sarsenet petticoat; a wreath of lilies crowned her brown hair, and a necklace and bracelet of pearls adorned her fair bosom and arms.
And as for Miss De Lancie, if ever her beauty, elegance and fascination reached a culminating point, it was upon this occasion. Though her dress was always perfect, it was not so much what she wore as her manner of wearing, that made her toilets so generally admired. Upon this evening her costume was as simple as it was elegant—a rich, white brocade robe open over a skirt of embroidered white satin, delicate falls of lace from the low bodice and flowing sleeves, and a light tiara of diamonds spanning like a rainbow the blackness of her hair.
As soon as the young ladies were seated, they were surrounded. Miss Compton accepted an invitation to join the waltzers.
Miss De Lancie, who never waltzed, remained the center of a charmed circle, formed of the most distinguished men present, until the waltzing was over, and the quadrilles were called, where she accepted the hand of Colonel Randolph for the first set, and yielded her seat to the wearied Cornelia, who was led thither by her partner to rest.
It chanced that Miss De Lancie was conducted to the head of the set, then forming, and that she stood at some little distance, immediately in front of, and facing the spot where Cornelia sat, so that the latter, while resting, could witness Marguerite. Now Cornelia very much admired Miss De Lancie, and thought it appeared graceful and disinterested to laud the excellencies of her friend, at she would not have done those of her sister, had she possessed one. So now she tapped her partner’s hand with her fan, and said:
“Oh, do but look at Miss De Lancie! Is she not the most beautiful woman in the room?”
The gentleman followed the direction of her glance, where Marguerite was moving like a queen through the dance, and said:
“Miss De Lancie is certainly the most beautiful woman in the world—except one,” with a glance, that the vanity of Nellie readily interpreted.
The eyes of both turned again upon Marguerite, who was now standing still in her place waiting for the next quadrille to be called. While they thus contemplated her in all her splendid beauty, set off by a toilet the most elegant in the room, Marguerite suddenly gave a violent start, shivered through all her frame and bent anxiously to listen to something that was passing between two gentlemen, who were conversing in a low tone, near her. She grew paler and paler as she listened, and then with a stifled shriek, she fell to the floor, ere any one could spring to save her.
Cornelia flew to her friend’s relief. She was already raised in the arms of Colonel Randolph, and surrounded by ladies anxiously proffering vinaigrettes and fans, while their partners rushed after glasses of water.
“Bring her into the dressing-room, at once, Randolph,” said Colonel Compton, as he joined the group.
Accordingly Miss De Lancie was conveyed thither, and laid upon a lounge, where every restorative at hand was used in succession, and in vain. More than an hour passed, while she lay in that deathlike swoon; and when at last the efforts of an experienced physician were crowned with thus much success, that she opened her dimmed eyes and unclosed her blanched lips, it was only to utter one word—“Lost”—and to relapse into insensibility.
She was put into the carriage and conveyed home, accompanied by her wondering friends and attended by the perplexed physician. She was immediately undressed and placed in bed, where she lay all night, vibrating between stupor and a low muttering delirium, in which some irreparable misfortune was indicated without being revealed—was it all delirium?
Next, a low, nervous fever supervened, and for six weeks Marguerite De Lancie swayed with a slow, pendulous uncertainty between life and death. The cause of her sudden indisposition remained a mystery. The few cautious inquiries made by Colonel Compton resulted in nothing satisfactory. The two gentlemen whose conversation was supposed by Miss Compton to have occasioned Miss De Lancie’s swoon could not be identified—among the crowd then assembled at the governor’s reception, and now dispersed all over the city—without urging investigation to an indiscreet extent.
“This is an inquiry that we cannot with propriety push, Nellie. We must await the issue of Miss De Lancie’s illness. If she recovers she will doubtless explain,” said Colonel Compton.
With the opening of the spring, Marguerite De Lancie’s life-powers rallied and convalescence declared itself. In the first stages of her recovery, while yet body and mind were in that feeble state which sometimes leaves the spiritual vision so clear, she lay one day, contemplating her friend, who sat by her pillow, when suddenly she threw her arms around Cornelia’s neck, lifted her eyes in an agony of supplication to her face, and cried:
“Oh, Nellie! do you truly love me? Oh, Nellie! love me! love me! lest I go mad!”
In reply, Cornelia half smothered the invalid with caresses and kisses, and assurances of unchanging affection.
“Oh, Nellie, Nellie! there was one who on the eve of the bitterest trial, said to his chosen friends, ‘All ye shall be offended because of me.’ And his chief friend said, ‘Although all should be offended yet will not I,’ and furthermore declared, ‘if I should die with thee, I will not deny thee in any wise.’ Oh! failing human strength! Oh! feeble human love! Nellie! you know how it ended. ‘They all forsook him and fled.’”
“But I will be truer to my friend than Peter to his master,” replied Cornelia.
Marguerite drew the girl’s face down closer to her own, gazed wistfully, not into but upon those brilliant, superficial brown eyes, that because they had no depth repelled her confidence, and then with a deep groan and a mournful shake of the head, she released Nellie, and turned her own face to the wall. Did she deem Miss Compton’s friendship less profound than pretentious? I do not know; but from that time Miss De Lancie maintained, upon one subject at least, a stern reserve. And when, at last, directly, though most kindly and respectfully, questioned as to the origin of her agitation and swoon in the ball-room, she declared it to have been a symptom of approaching illness, and discouraged further interrogation.
Slowly Marguerite De Lancie regained her strength. It was the middle of March before she left her bed, and the first of April before she went out of the house.
One day about this time, as the two friends were sitting together in Marguerite’s chamber, Cornelia said:
“There is a circumstance that I think I ought to have told you before now, Marguerite. But we read of it only a few days after you were taken ill, and when you were not in a condition to be told of it.”
“Well, what circumstance was that?” asked Miss De Lancie, indifferently.
“It was a fatal accident that happened to one of our friends. No, now! don’t get alarmed—it was to no particular friend,” said Cornelia, interrupting herself upon seeing Marguerite’s very lips grow white.
“Well! what was it?” questioned the latter.
“Why, then, you must know that the Venture, in which Lord William Daw sailed, was wrecked off the coast of Cornwall, and Lord William and Mr. Murray were among the lost. We read the whole account of it, copied from an English paper into the Richmond Standard. Lord William’s body was washed ashore, the same night of the wreck.”
“Poor young man, he deserved a better fate,” said Marguerite.
Miss De Lancie went no more into society that season; indeed, the season was well over before she was able to go out. She announced her intention, as soon as the state of her health should permit her to travel, to terminate her visit to Richmond, and go down to her plantation on the banks of the Potomac. Cornelia would gladly have attended her friend, and only waited permission to do so; but the waited invitation was not extended, and Marguerite prepared to set out alone.
“We shall meet you at Berkeley or at Saratoga, this summer?” said Cornelia.
“Perhaps—I do not yet know—my plans for the summer are not arranged,” said Marguerite.
“But you will write as soon as you reach home?”
“Yes—certainly,” pressing her parting kiss upon the lips of her friend.
The promised letter, announcing Marguerite’s safe arrival at Plover’s Point, was received; but it was the last that came thence; for though Cornelia promptly replied to it, she received no second one. And though Cornelia wrote again and again, her letters remained unanswered. Weeks passed into months and brought midsummer. Colonel Compton with his family went to Saratoga, but without meeting Miss De Lancie. About the middle of August they came to Berkeley; but failed to see, or to hear any tidings of their friend.
“Indeed, I am very much afraid that Marguerite may be lying ill at Plover’s Point, surrounded only by ignorant servants who cannot write to inform us,” said Cornelia, advancing a probability so striking and so alarming, that Colonel Compton, immediately after taking his family back to Richmond, set out for Plover’s Point to ascertain the state of the case in question. But when he arrived at the plantation, great was his surprise to learn that Miss De Lancie had left home for New York, as early as the middle of April, and had not since been heard from. And this was the last of September. With this information, Colonel Compton returned to Richmond. Extreme was the astonishment of the family upon hearing this; and when month after month passed, and no tidings of the missing one arrived, and no clew to her retreat, or to her fate was gained, the grief and dismay of her friends could only be equaled by the wonder and conjecture of society at large, upon the strange subject of Marguerite De Lancie’s disappearance.