There seemed no means of conveying my poor mangled carcass along the rugged paths of that broken district, and despair seemed gathering with the gloom of the evening.
Just at this juncture, a young man who stood above me on a crag burst out with a tremendous hallo-o!! and continued to shout boisterously, and wave his square yard of perfumed linen, with a grotesque earnestness. It was soon apparent that he was signaling a boat, which appeared to be crossing the lake, half a mile above us, and which was rendered visible by
“The western wave of ebbing day.”
She returns my signal, cried Harry, jumping from his eminence, and immediately roaring out that he had sprained his ankle most unmercifully. Our comrades drew off his boot, and using it in place of a pitcher, commenced pouring water on the injured limb. Meantime the boat approached us, a commodious yacht built craft, carrying two oarsmen and a young highlander, who realized my idea of Sir William Wallace, for he was at once the most beautiful, noble and unconscious creature that my eyes ever rested on. Addressing us with a lofty and yet gentle courtesy, he inquired in what way he could be of service to us. Our forlorn condition was soon explained to him, and it was speedily settled that he should convey Harry, myself, and fairy Charlotte, to his mountain home, while one of his boatmen should pilot the residue of the party to the main road, where we had left our carriages. The young Scotsman, whose name was Malcomb Douglas, assured us that we should receive both medical and surgical attendance at his father’s house, where we should be welcome until we were recovered of our injuries, or until we were pleased to leave. My couch was speedily transferred to the bow of the boat, and dear, lovely Charlotte was soon again burdened with my languid head, for by this time I was both dispirited and faint. I took no note of the voyage, except that our benefactor took the place at the oar of him whom he had sent as guide to our party; and long before we landed the night was dark, for the young moon, which shed a trembling radiance on the opposite mountain shore, left our side of the deep, dark water in a blacker shadow.
At length we landed, and I had become so stiff and sore, from my undrest injuries, that I lost my consciousness as they lifted me from the boat, and on the ninth day after, awoke to find myself in a magnificently furnished room, lying in a bed which might have beseemed a monarch, while near my pillow, in an antique velvet-cushioned easy-chair, reclined my fairy Charlotte, in a deep but apparently troubled sleep. I soon recollected all that had befallen me, except the lapse of time since the memorable night, and thinking that we had recently arrived, did not wonder that Charlotte had sunk under her fatigue. So I composed myself to sleep and kept her company in the land of dreams.
I awoke again. It was still night, at least it seemed so in that darkened apartment, but I could distinguish the rich and heavy ornaments of the walls and ceiling, and the sumptuous embroidery of the heavy tapestries, which swept from the lofty cornice to the floor; the antique chair also stood by the bedside, but its late occupant was not there. I moved, and raised my head somewhat from the pillow, when from the concealment of my bed-curtain came forward a stately lady, apparently fifty years of age, wearing a rich dress of black satin, and holding a small golden night-lamp in her hand. She looked earnestly into my eyes a moment, and then with a gentle grace, which betrayed no surprise or other emotion, she inquired how I had rested, and if I found myself better of my wounds. I replied that I felt quite well, when she shook her head, bade me be quiet, and took her seat in the vacant chair. Presently Charlotte stole softly into the room from a curtained recess, and meeting my smile of recognition, uttered a cry of joy, laughed, danced, wrung her hands, and finally wept like an infant, despite all the efforts of the dark-robed lady to quiet her transports. I now discovered that I had been a week delirious, and considered in a very precarious condition; that Harry was nearly well, and that he and Charlotte had been my constant attendants, aided by the lady present, and other members of her household. Soon after a silvery haired old man, came to my bedside, and being introduced as my physician, congratulated me with courteous politeness on the favorable change in my condition, adding that with proper care my recovery would be certain and speedy.
Did you ever enjoy the luxury of an easy convalescence, surrounded by every comfort, and attended by a smiling beauty, and jovial young companion? What Elysium-like dreams employ the languid fancy—and what a world of impossibilities gather around us, like tangible and familiar things. I dreamed of a life of love and joy with fairy Charlotte. I would win her, and bear her like a rich trophy to my transatlantic home. Oh! we would be so happy. How would her buoyancy of spirit enhance all my joys; and her ready sympathy, how it would soothe my sorrows; and then what a nurse she would be, whenever I was ill. She liked me, that was certain; of course I could win her love, and then my happiness was secure. And I indulged in all the passionate vagaries of love dreaming, until I felt that unconnected with Charlotte there was for me no futurity. Thus passed one week more, and then I was permitted to occupy the cushioned chair, and sit by the open window. It was singular that I had felt so little curiosity respecting my host, and the singularity of surrounding objects, but my love fancies had fully occupied my mind.
Now, as I sat at the casement, which extended from floor to ceiling, and had no other protection for the crystal crown-glass than the clinging vines without, and the embroidered tapestries within, and looked out upon the wild scenery, apparently uninvaded by the hand of cultivation, which substitutes the useful for the beautiful, the production of Art for the sublimity of Nature, I felt the awakening of a thousand wonders, as to where I was, and with whom, and how the wealth of that chamber found its way to that singularly hidden spot; and who was the stately lady who occasionally came to my bedside; and how such a man as Malcomb Douglas came to be an inhabitant of those mountain wilds? I had seen him but seldom, since I regained my consciousness, but his manners were perfect, and his conversation displayed unconsciously the treasures of a rare and richly cultivated intellect. He seemed a being altogether above the level of mankind. It would have seemed absurd to fancy him talking nonsense, discussing fashions, or inquiring what he would get for dinner. Yet he was not ignorant or unmindful of the courtesies, and little conventionalities of life—but he seemed to hold them of no moment, and give no thought to such trifles—which came to him intuitively, and as belonging to daily intercourse.
As I thus mused, gazing down upon the lake, and away to the opposite hills, I observed, shooting out from behind an abrupt headland, a beautiful little sail-boat, in which stood Malcomb Douglas, and which, coming round the point, ran into a white pebbled bay, just in front of and beneath my window; and then from a clump of hazels emerged my idol, Charlotte, supported by no other than Harry Heath, who, it then occurred to me, had mentioned in the morning that he should take my gentle nurse out for a little exercise, as she was suffering from her close attendance upon me. She was beautiful in the distance, but as she clung to Harry’s arm, and looked up familiarly into his face, I felt a pang of jealousy, the first that had ever wrung my bosom. They stepped into the boat, and sat down together, and the little craft, as if proud of her freight, put off gallantly along the shining water. And Charlotte would be by Harry’s side—how long?
“I fear you are in great pain,” came in anxious, inquiring tone upon my ear.