The heiress of Greenhurst

by Ann S. Stephens

We went down to the lake, where Chaleco waited with the little boat. He looked hard at me, as I came round the tiny cove, where he lay as if in a cradle, rocking upon the bright waters as they flowed in and out, forming ripples and ridges of diamonds among the white pebbles of the beach.

“What is it, Zana?” he said, springing ashore, as Cora seated herself in the boat, and interrogating me in a whisper on the bank. “You look sharp set, like a hawk when it first sees its prey. What has happened up yonder?”

I took the antique little Bible from under my shawl, and opening it at the blank leaf, pointed out the writing.

He read it two or three times over, and then thrust the book into his bosom. His face was thoughtful at first, but as he pondered over the writing, muscle by muscle relaxed in his dark features, and at last they broke forth in a blaze of the most eloquent triumph; his questions came quick upon each other, like waves in a cataract.

“Where did you get that? Is it all? Who has had possession so long? Speak, Zana, I must know more.”

“Why, is it so important?” I inquired, excited by his look and manner.

“Important! why, child”——but he checked himself, inquiring more composedly how I came in possession of the book.

I told him how it had been pointed out by Cora. Without more questioning, he stepped into the boat, and bade me follow him.

When we were all seated, and the boat was shooting pleasantly across the lake, Chaleco began, in a quiet, indifferent manner, to converse with Cora. At first she was shy and reluctant to answer him, but his manner was so persuasive, his voice so winning, that it was impossible to resist their charm. After awhile he glided into the subject of the book, speaking of its antique binding, of the rare perfume which she might have noticed in the precious wood, and he went on to explain that it was used of old in the building of the Tabernacle. All this interested Cora greatly, and when he began to wonder how this singular volume could have found its way into the farmer’s dwelling, she commenced to conjecture and question about the probabilities with more apparent earnestness than himself.

“The old people might perhaps know,” she said. “Now I think of it, they did tell me of some persons, a gentleman, lady and little child that lived with them long ago—probably they left the book; but then, how came Lord Clare’s name in it?”