Natalie; Or, A Gem Among the Sea-Weeds

by Emma V. Hallett

"She may rest assured that your sentiments, however expressed, will be truth in regard to the matter! for you are far from being a flatterer," said Mr. Santon, as entering the apartment he welcomed Mr. Delwood to his house. Natalie chose a simple piece--"The Wanderer's Home," and as the sound of her voice died away, there was not a dry eye in the room. Winnie was the first to break the spell, and smiling away a tear, she exclaimed, "I had forgotten to caution you against too great success in charming your listeners, therefore the encores of your audience will not permit you to retire without feeding the flame which you have excited."

"Remember you were not to flatter me," said Natalie, glancing at Delwood, who was silently contemplating her.

"Flattery or no flattery, you must repeat that to please me," said Mr. Santon, making manifest exertions to clear his throat, and looking for his handkerchief, as if suddenly seized with a cold. The piece was repeated with greater effect, and it was not till Winnie began to rally him that Delwood was aware of his negligence in escorting the fair songstress to a seat. "Pardon me, Miss Grosvenor," he said, "but the first tone of your voice carried me far back, to when I was a child of five or six years. It was in Italy, where my father spent some time, after my mother's death, and it so happened that I was permitted to accompany him to an entertainment given by an Italian lady of note, who, in the course of the evening, favored the company with a song. I was engaged with some sweetmeats as she commenced, but as she proceeded, gradually they fell from my hands, and when she had finished, I had found my way to her side, and clinging to her dress I burst into tears, begging her to take me to that beautiful place again! It is years since I have thought of the circumstance, and I trust you will pardon my enthusiasm, when I say that your "Wanderer's Home," has produced a similar effect!"

Natalie expressed her thanks for the compliment, with blushing modesty, and as Delwood bade them good morning, after having made arrangements for testing their courage with his iron grays, on the following morning; so long did his eye linger upon her, who had full command of his every thought, that he did not observe miss Winnie, who was trembling lest her fresh supply of mischief should come to an unendurable crisis, before he should depart.

It was soon rumored that the lion had been tamed, that the beautiful Miss Grosvenor had found her way to the heart of Clarence Delwood. Boston beauties sighed, and those who had been unsuccessful in what is sometimes termed "setting their caps," looked on with interest, but none who had seen the favored one, could find it in their hearts to wish her other than a life of joy. And thus time passed on, scarcely a day sped, but Clarence Delwood was seen ascending the steps of Mr. Santon's hospitable mansion. As Winnie expressed herself--"the affair was coming on bravely;" she had now found for whom Natalie was reserving that heart, which in spite of her caution, would impart to others its only element. The time was also drawing near, when Natalie was to have made glad her mother's heart by her presence. Old Vingo had desired his Massa Harry to write to young Missy, "dat eben de breakers gettin' impatient to see her once more, and dat he walk alone now, on de beach in de moonlight, but he neber 'speck to find anoder Sea-flower."

In a few days the Santon family were to part with Natalie. It was in vain they had urged upon her to remain with them another season, for as much as she had become attached to them all, she longed to see her home once more. Even Winnie failed to keep time with her usually joyous spirits, and there was one to whom this parting was not to be thought of. Mr. Delwood had as yet received no positive assurance, that his unmistakable sentiments towards Natalie were reciprocated, and yet he was confident that she regarded him with no common interest. He had read it in her soul, but he would hear from her own lips if happiness or misery was to be his through life, and it was with a nervous step that he wended his way on this last evening of her stay in Boston, that he might hear his fate. As he drew near the house, he observed, though early in the evening, but one dim light gleaming from an upper apartment, and as he reached the gate it was fast, and a porter stood within, who, to Delwood's hurried question if all was well, as he threw him a gold-piece, replied in a sad tone--"kind sir, my orders are to receive no one, as my mistress is dying, or you should have admittance at once; but I know that you, of all others, could serve to lighten the blow to my master, and if you take the responsibility, you shall be admitted."

"Leave that with me," he replied, "you shall not be censured," and with assumed calmness of manner, he entered. Noiselessly he opened the outer door, proceeding to the upper drawing-room, which opened to the room of the dying one. Mr. Santon sat with his face buried in his hands, sobbing aloud. Mr. Delwood took him tenderly by the hand, and whispered a few words in his ear, which seemed to rouse him from the dreadful state of mind to which he had yielded. "You find here a house of mourning," he said, "but your presence is most welcome."

"What can I do for you in this trying hour?" asked Delwood; "can I be of any assistance?"

"There is nothing to be done but to submit to the will of God," he answered, "and I pray that I may have strength so to do." The door of the chamber of death was opened, and the physician summoned Mr. Santon to his dying wife's bedside. Delwood stood in the door; pale, but not emaciated were the features upon which death had set his seal, her last moment was near, but she had strength and consciousness supported by the Sea-flower, to say a few parting words; with one hand in that of her husband, the other upon the head of her grief-stricken daughter, she said: "farewell, my dearest husband; it is but a little parting; you will meet me there at last." Turning to the Sea-flower, with her hand still upon the head of her daughter, she added, "my child will soon be motherless; through you, she is what I could wish to see her; and when I am gone, will you never lose sight of her? make her to be like yourself!" In a feeble voice she continued, "thank God that we may see heaven upon earth; the gentle spirit is pointing me to my rest;" a slight trembling of her weary frame, and she had gone to be with the "just made perfect;" a smile was upon her features, and they smoothed her limbs as for a night's repose. The father mingled his tears with those of his child, who was all that was left to him. The Sea-flower, leaning upon the arm of him who thought it not unmanly to weep over the scene he had witnessed, retired, leaving the afflicted ones to weep away the anguish in their hearts, ere they might look upon the loving kindness of Him, whose ways are all perfect.