“Speak of it no more, Edward; see, Alfred is coming to call us to breakfast. I will take the path through the shrubbery and avoid him, or he will have his jest at our expense when we meet at table.” Springing from her lover’s side as she spoke, she lingered for an instant as she gained the copse, and turned with a fond, confiding glance toward him, but the sound of her brother’s footsteps checked the current of her feelings, and she was out of sight in an instant.
Edward Talbot was in his 22d year. With a fine figure, his frame indicated more activity than strength. His hazel eye, undimmed by recent illness, expressed decision of character, and his dark hair fell in untrimmed luxuriance over his pale but manly features.
Mary Gillespie was eighteen, and almost a woman. About the medium stature of her sex, her light, elastic figure moved in unconscious grace. Her silk-like chestnut hair shaded a neck of snowy whiteness; her brilliant cheek, now white as a lily, now mantled with a blush, more surely and more rapidly than words bespoke the current of her feelings; while her deep-blue eyes, bathed in liquid crystal, and curtained from the sight by their long and fringing lashes, rarely raised and as suddenly withdrawn, struck the beholder with wonder and admiration. Beautiful in person, sensitive in her feelings, and of a most confiding and affectionate nature, she was a being formed for love.
Mr. Gillespie was a merchant who had resided eight years upon the island, and for the last three held the situation of American Consul. The war having interrupted his business, he had been for some time winding up his affairs preparatory to returning home. He was an unpretending man, of practical good sense and sterling integrity. He had been five years a widower. Left with two children he had devoted every leisure hour to their education. But his son, now in his 14th year, proved more intractable than the daughter, and increased his anxiety to return and place him under the charge of competent teachers.
Such was the state of things when Lieutenant Talbot was sent on shore extremely ill. At first, in his province as consul, Mr. Gillespie had procured for him the best lodgings that could be hired; but when he heard his mother’s name, and found that through her the young officer was related to an old and cherished friend, he at once had him removed to his own house.
It was not to be expected that, under such circumstances, two kindred spirits should meet and not assimilate. It is no wonder that thus thrown together, they should become mutually attached. They did love! love only as those can do who, trustful in their natures, are uncankered by care, and in their thoughts, their prayers, their aspirations, and their dreams, they soon become each other's constant and abiding theme.
The morning after the one with which this tale had opened, Mr. Talbot threw open his casement, and stepping into the balcony, looked eagerly toward the west. It was again calm, and the unclouded sun, just risen, threw his unrefracted rays across the slumbering sea. It was Sunday, all was silent, and not a vestige of a living thing was seen. Not a solitary bird fanned the air, no roaming fish disturbed by its gambols the mirror-like surface of the deep, but on the furthest verge of the horizon,
“As idle as a painted ship,
Upon a painted ocean.”
floated a light and buoyant fabric, which alone, within the broad scope of vision, proclaimed man as its architect. It was the Hornet, the symmetrical Hornet, already renowned for a glorious achievement.