"But you would not mistake the kelp-gatherers for blessed spirits!" returned the gay Alice, "nor run the risque of your life to draw their portraits! But Louis loves roaming about amongst odd places, as much as you may love a quiet walk, and a bunch of sweet flowers;" added she, observing the delight with which Ferdinand continued to smell at the mignonette, "and so, we must forgive him."
Ferdinand was gratified at her playful reference to her fragrant gift, and answered, "I do not believe that he can love rock or quicksand better than I could love and cherish some of the sweet flowers of this island, which he seems content to cast away!—and, pardon me, if I a little doubt the taste of your adventurous cousin?"
The sisters did not quite understand this speech, which seemed to begin in sport, but certainly ended with a serious tone.
"You mistake my cousin," said Cornelia, "if you suppose he chuses perilous excursions, from a vanity to shew his courage.—Courage is so natural to him, that he never thinks about it.—The activity of his mind makes exercise necessary to him; and the fearlessness of his temper renders that easy to him, which might be difficult, if not impossible to timid characters.—But indeed, his affection for us has been the most frequent cause of risquing his safety; for he deems no attempt too hazardous, by which he can gratify a wish of my mother, or a desire of my sister or myself."
"My uncle will tell you, such have been his ways from a child," cried Alice, "and from the first of my recollection, I remember these frightful tokens of his love! Coming in with curious aquatic plants he had torn from some hardly accessible rock, for my uncle's herbal; or making his appearance with shells for me, which he had swam for, and sought in the sand bank at the point-head. I am sure I have often admired their beauties through my tears; but he never would believe we could be frightened."
"Indeed," rejoined Cornelia, "after old fisher-John's two sons were drowned, I have known Louis absent for hours on the open sea in the poor man's boat, helping him to draw his nets. For nothing is troublesome, or dangerous to him, that is connected with affection or benevolence."
"Ah, those daring expeditions suit your taste, Cornelia!" said Alice, with a shudder; "You, like Louis, love to ride in the whirlwind and direct the storm! I can never forget his absence one whole night during a frightful tempest, when we did not know but that each horrid blast we listened to, was that which was sinking him to a watery grave. My terrors cost me a fit of illness,—and then my uncle made him see the cruelty, and even wickedness, of being rashly brave; for ever since, he has been careful not to put himself in any needless danger."
Ferdinand sighed heavily, as both sisters separately spoke. He felt a sense of feebleness in his own character, which made him envy the enterprising spirit of Louis. "Here," murmured he to himself, "is indeed the fire of youth, the animating principle of future greatness; while that which burns in my veins, withers my very vitals, and consumes every nobler element within me. Wretch that I am,—reprobate, and accursed!" His lips moved almost audibly, as his accusing spirit uttered the last words; and unconsciously turning from the sisters, he walked hastily down the hill towards the cliff.
Cornelia and Alice gazed, on each other, astonished; "That is very odd!" cried the latter, "Did you observe his countenance?"
"Yes, he suddenly knit his brows; and I thought looked quite strange!"