CHAPTER VII.
It may easily be imagined that with my feelings I had not much inclination for the society of my uncle. I did not, it is true, dare to offend, but I tried as much as possible to avoid him; and have often wondered since at the kindness of his forbearance. When the business of the day was over, it was my only comfort to take long walks, in which I enjoyed the luxury of ruminating unmolested on the events of my past life. I had been several months in America, when I asked permission to avail myself of two or three holidays in the counting-house, to visit the celebrated falls of La Chaudière. Leave was granted; and I set out by myself, carrying a small basket, containing such refreshment as might enable me to take the longest advantage of my furlough.
Having left the boat in which I was conveyed up the river, at a convenient distance, I quickly gained the deepest recesses of the dark massy woods that surround that beautiful cataract, to see which was my ostensible motive for this excursion; my real object was to give a free course to my sorrows, and obtain a short interval of undisturbed leisure, to consider whether there existed any practicable mode of relieving them. The grandeur of the pines, and the solemn cadence of the waters soothed my mind, and brought consolation, without suggesting a remedy for my unhappiness. In the depth of this leafy seclusion, I poured out my complaints, without dread of interruption, and repined aloud at the severity of my lot.
"Why," murmured I, "am I gifted with talents which must remain unexercised? Why endowed with activity which is to lie dormant? Why have birth, habits, and education, formed me for higher things, while I am condemned to the vulgar cares of loss and gain, in which I have no interest, and obliged to confine my understanding to the sordid purposes of accumulating wealth, which is to line the coffers of another, and not even reward my labours by enriching me?"
Tired at length by self-directed questions such as these, which I could not answer to my satisfaction, I lay down under the shelter of a hut formed with stakes and covered with branches, which had been probably raised by some artist, who perhaps remained at the Chaudière, to take sketches, beyond the necessary time for seeing the water-fall.
Here I fell asleep, and dreamed of home. I thought that I had landed in the Bay, and had toiled my way over the cliffs to Kelly's cottage, where I found my mother pale and weeping, as she gazed on the ocean, and exclaimed, "Better is it to shed tears over the grave of those we love, than mourn the living!" The voice which seemed to pronounce these words was so faithfully echoed by memory, that I started up, and broke into a passionate invocation to my country: "Oh, my dear native skies! beloved Island of the emerald's hue! nursery of freedom, land of the generous and the brave, when shall I revisit your coasts? Glendruid, thou lovely scene of infant joys, shall I ever look upon thy rocky shore again?"
As I uttered these words, a slight rustling amongst the leaves behind me caught my ear; but ere I had time to turn round, my arm was seized with an eager grasp, and my eyes were met by those of Henry Talbot. No language could convey the rapture and astonishment of this unexpected meeting. A second figure, which had been concealed by the thick foliage from my view, now advanced, and I perceived a youthful stranger, of the most prepossessing appearance.