Ernest Linwood; or, The Inner Life of the Author

by Caroline Lee Hentz

"Say not so, my beloved brother. The cloud was on my heart already, and you have scarcely made it darker or more chilling. I feel as if I had been living amid the thunderstorms of tropic regions, where even in sunshine electric fires are flashing. Before this shock came, my soul was sick and weary of the conflicts of wild and warring passions. Oh! you know not how often I have sighed for a brother's heart to lean upon, even when wedded joys were brightest,—how much more must I prize the blessing now! Surely never brother and sister had more to bind them to each other, than you and I, Richard. Suffering and sorrow, life's holiest sacraments, have hallowed and strengthened the ties of nature."

It was not long before we were able to ride abroad with Mrs. Linwood and Edith, and it was astonishing how rapidly we advanced in restoration to health. I could perceive that we were objects of intense interest and curiosity, from the keen and eager glances that greeted us on every side; for the fearful tragedy of which I had been the heroine, had cast a shadow over the town and its surroundings. Its rumor had swept beyond the blue hills, and Grandison Place was looked upon as the theatre of a dark and bloody drama. This was all natural. Seldom is the history of every-day life marked by events as romantic and thrilling as those compressed in my brief experience of eighteen years. And of all the deep, vehement passions, whose exhibition excites the popular mind, there is none that takes such strong hold as jealousy, the terrible hydra of the human heart.

I believe I was generally beloved, and that a deep feeling of sympathy for my misfortunes pervaded the community, for I had never been elated by prosperity; but Ernest, whose exclusiveness and reserve was deemed haughtiness, was far from being popular. Mrs. Linwood was revered by all, and blessed as the benefactress of the poor and the comforter of the afflicted; but she was lifted by fortune above the social level of the community, and few, very few were on terms of intimacy with the inmates of the Granite Castle, as Grandison Place was often called. Its massy stone walls, its turreted roof, sweeping lawn, and elevated position, seemed emblematic of the aristocracy of its owners; and though the blessings of the lower classes, and the respect and reverence of the higher, rested upon it, there was a mediocral one, such as is found in every community, that looked with envy on those, whose characters they could not appreciate, because they were lifted so high above their own level.

I have spoken of Dr. Harlowe and Mr. Regulus as the most valued friends of the family; but there was one whom it would be ungrateful in me to omit, and whose pure and sacred traits came forth in the dark hours through which I had just passed, like those worlds of light which are never seen by day. I allude to Mr. Somerville, the pastor of the parish, and who might truly be called a man of God. The aged minister, who had presided over the church during my mother's life, had been gathered to his fathers, and his name was treasured, a golden sheaf, in the garner of memory. The successor, who had to walk in the holy footprints he had left in the valley, was obliged to take heed to his steps and to shake the dust of earth from his sandals as he went along. In our day of sunshine he had stood somewhat aloof, for he felt his mission was to the poor and lowly, to the sons and daughters of want and affliction; but as soon as sickness and sorrow darkened the household, he came with lips distilling balm, and hands ready to pour oil on the bruised and wounded heart.

Methinks I see him now, as when he knelt by my bedside, after I aroused from my long and deadly trance. No outward graces adorned his person, but the beauty of holiness was on his brow, and its low, sweet music in his somewhat feeble accents. It seemed to me as if an angel were pleading for me, and my soul, emerging as it were from the cold waves of oblivion, thrilled with new-born life. Had my spirit been nearer to God during its unconscious wanderings, and brought back with it impressions of celestial glory never conceived before? I know not; but I know that a change had passed over it, and that I felt the reality of that eternity, which had seemed before a grand and ever-receding shadow.

Every day, during Richard's illness and mine, came our good and beloved pastor, and he always left a track of light behind him. I always felt nearer heaven when he departed than when he came, for its kingdom was within him.

To him I confided my wish to accompany my brother on his filial mission, and he warmly approved it.

"As surely as I believe the Lord has put it into your heart to go," said he, "do I believe that a blessing will follow you."

Mrs. Linwood was more tardy in her sanction.

"My dear child," she said, looking at me with the tenderest compassion, "you do not know what is before you. What will you do in that great city without female friendship and sympathy? You and Richard, both so young and inexperienced in the ways of the world. I will not, however, put any obstacle in his path, for man may go unshrinking where woman may not tread. But you, my Gabriella, must remain with me."