“Prairie–bird must learn to love her sister!” whispered she, folding her in an affectionate embrace.
“Learn, Lucy!” replied Prairie–bird, whose tears could no longer be controlled; “Learn! can a few years have so changed our faces and our hearts, that Lucy and Evy must now learn to love each other?”
Before the astonished girl could reply, Aunt Mary, darting forward with frantic haste, exclaimed, “What voice is that?” then catching Prairie–bird by the arm, examined with wild intensity every line of her countenance. As she looked, the tears gathered in her own eyes, her frame trembled with agitation, and she fell upon her neck, saying, “’Tis she—’tis my poor brother’s long–lost child!”
Lucy’s heart told her that it was so indeed: Colonel Brandon was overcome with astonishment; but he read in the looks of Reginald and Ethelston that the lost treasure was restored; and as memory retraced in the features of Prairie–bird those of his attached and lamented friend, he too was unmanned; and grasping Ethelston’s hand, wrung it with an emotion beyond the power of words.
The news spread like wildfire throughout the house, that Captain Ethelston’s sister was returned; and Lucy was obliged to run with all speed to her mother’s room to prevent a sudden shock of joy that might affect her weakly nerves. Is it possible to describe or imagine the transports of the succeeding hour in that happy circle! or the caresses showered upon Prairie–bird! What word would the pen or tongue employ? “Congratulations?” As well might one attempt to represent Niagara by the water poured from a pitcher!
We will trust that hour to the reader’s heart, and will suppose it past, and that Lucy, with still tearful eyes, and her arm still round her recovered sister’s neck, was leading her from the room where she had just knelt, to receive Mrs. Brandon’s maternal kiss, when in passing a half–open door, Lucy said, “Evy, that is your brother’s room; but he is not in it, he is still on the lawn.”
“Oh! I must look into Edward’s room,” exclaimed Prairie–bird; and opening the door, she entered, followed by Lucy. A rifle, a fowling–piece, and a fishing–rod stood in one corner; over them were ranged several pairs of pistols, and two or three cutlasses, apparently of foreign workmanship; in the opposite corner, near the window, was a globe, by the side of which stood a case filled with naval charts; on the other side of the room was ranged a row of shelves well stored with books, and the writing–table in the centre was covered with papers, all neatly tied and docketed, as he had left them at his last departure.
Prairie–bird’s eye wandered with a certain degree of interest over all these indications of her brother’s habits, until it rested upon a small portrait, hung over the chimney–piece. It represented a man of middle age and stature, and although the painting was scarcely above mediocrity as a work of art, the expression of the countenance was strikingly open and benevolent. Prairie–bird gazed upon it, until she thought that the mild orbs upon the inanimate canvass returned her affectionate gaze. With clasped hands and beating heart, she stood awhile silent, and then sinking on her knees, without removing her eyes from the object upon which they rested, she murmured, in a whisper scarcely audible, “My father!”
It was indeed the portrait of his lamented friend, that Colonel Brandon had kindly placed in Ethelston’s room, a circumstance which had escaped Lucy’s memory at the moment of her entering it.
Stooping over her kneeling companion, she kissed her forehead, saying, “Evy, I will leave you for a few minutes to commune with the memory of the honoured dead; you will find me in the vestibule below.” So saying, she gently closed the door, and left the room.