“I am not ill, uncle, aunt, Lucy, and we need none of us cry,” said the child, with the fickleness of an April day and the elasticity of her years, instantly changing her tears for smiles. “See, I am able to get up,” she added, disentangling herself from the embrace of her whom she had called her sister, and sitting upon the side of the couch.
At that moment a shadow without attracted her attention. “There is Mr. Elmore, Lucy!” she exclaimed, with childish glee.
The young lady had barely time to wipe away the traces of her recent emotion, when a tall figure crossed the portico and entered the room without ceremony. The new comer was a young man in the bloom of youth. As he entered, he lifted his hat, and a quantity of fair brown hair fell partially over a commanding forehead. His features were handsome, and his aspect both manly and prepossessing.
The governor and his wife advanced and greeted him cordially, while the blush that mantled on the of Lucy Ellet, as she half rose and extended her hand to him, told that a sentiment warmer than mere friendship existed between them.
“Where is the young heroine of this accident, which I hear had well nigh proved fatal?” asked the stranger, after he had exchanged congratulations with the rest.
The little Jessy, who had at first shrunk away with the bashfulness of childhood, here timidly advanced. The stranger smiled, stroked her soft ringlets, kissed her fair brow, and she nestled herself in his breast.
The whole party drawing near the fire, an interesting specimen was now exhibited of those social and endearing habits of the early settlers peculiar to their intercourse.
The simple room and furniture were eloquent of the poetry of home. Not decorated by any appendages of mere show, whatever could contribute to sterling comfort was exhibited in every node and corner of the good-sized apartment. The broad, inviting couch on which the rescued child had lain was placed opposite the chimney. The heavy book-case, containing the family library, occupied a deep recess to the right. On the left was a side-board, groaning with plate, the remains of English wealth. The large, round dining-table, polished as a mirror, stood in its customary place in the centre of the room. Two great arm-chairs, covered with chintz and garnished with rockers—the seats belonging to the heads of the family—filled a space on either side of the hearth, within which burned a huge turf fire, that threw its kindly warmth to the remotest walls. Over the mantel-piece hung a full-length miniature portrait of the first Protector of the British Commonwealth. Coiled on a thick rug before the fire lay a large Angola cat. A mastiff dog had so far overcome his natural antipathy to her race, as to keep her company on the other side; while the loud breathings of both evinced the depth of their slumbers.
The huge arm-chair on the left was the throne of the governor. There he received and dispatched the documents pertaining to his office. There also he wrote his letters, read his papers, received his visiters, conversed with his friends, and chatted with his family. There, besides, he gave excellent advice to such of the members of the settlement as needed it: and there, above all, arose morning and evening the voice of his pious worship.
The lesser arm-chair on the right was the seat of Mrs. H., who, in like manner, had her established routine of duties which she discharged there, with not less laudable exactness and fidelity. Nor was there at any time a more pleasing feature in the whole apartment than her motherly figure and cheerful visage fixed within its comfortable embrace.