After the plans of Mr. Dubois had been discussed, mutual inquiries and communications respecting future prospects were made, until the evening hours were gone.
"If my life is spared, I shall come here and spend another season, as I have spent the one just closing", said Mr. Norton.
Thus they parted for the night.
In the morning there was time for nothing, but a few hasty words.
Adele"s face was very pale. Mr. Lansdowne, looking as if he had not slept for many hours, took her hand, bent over it silently for a moment, then walked slowly to the boat without turning his head.
During days and weeks of tranquil pleasure in each other"s companionship, these two young beings had unconsciously become lovers.
No sooner had they awakened to a knowledge of this fact, than a great danger and an unlooked for sorrow, while deepening the current of their existence, had also deepened their affection. Was that formal, restrained adieu to be the end of all this?
CHAPTER XXIV.
CHATEAU DE ROSSILLON.
In the year 1828, three years after the occurrences related in the last chapter, Adele Dubois, grown into a superb beauty, stood near the Aphrodite fountain, in front of the chateau de Rossillon, feeding from her hand a beautiful white fawn. It was a warm, sunny afternoon in June. Majestic trees shaded the green lawn, and the dark brown hue of the old chateau formed a fitting background for the charming tableau.
Adele was enveloped in a cloud of white gauzy drapery, a black velvet girdle encircling her waist, fastened by a clasp of gold and pearls.
Her hair was laid in smooth bands over her brow, then drawn into one ma.s.s of heavy braids upon the back of the head, and secured by a golden arrow shot through it.
One who by chance had seen Adele in the wilds of Miramichi, at the age of sixteen, would at once recognize the lady feeding the fawn as the same. At a second glance, the hair would be seen to have grown a shade darker and a gleam more shining, the large sloe-colored eyes more thoughtful and dreamy, the complexion of a more transparent whiteness, and the figure to have ripened into a fuller and richer symmetry.
Nothing could surpa.s.s the exquisite moulding and fairness of the arm extended alternately to feed and caress the pet animal before her. No wonder the little creature looked up at her with its soft, almost human eyes, and gazed in her face, as if half bewildered by her beauty.
With a proud and stately grace, she moved over the sward, up the marble steps and pa.s.sed through the great saloon of the chateau. Was there not a slight air of indifference and _ennui_ in her face and movements? Possibly. It has been noticed that people who are loved, petted, and admired, who have plenty of gold and jewels, who sit at feasts made for princes, and have the grand shine of splendor always gleaming round them, are more likely to carry that weary aspect, than others. Queens even do not look pleased and happy more than half the time. The fact was, that Adele of Miramichi, having spent much time in Paris, during the last three years, where she had been greatly admired, now that the novelty was over, had become tired of playing a part in the pageantry of courtly life and longed for something more substantial.
As she crossed the saloon, a page informed her that Mrs. Dubois wished her presence in the library. She immediately obeyed the summons.
This apartment, one of the pleasantest in the chateau, was a favorite with the Count; and as age and infirmity crept upon him, he grew more and more attached to it, and was accustomed to spend there the greater part of his time, amused and soothed by the attentions of Mrs. Dubois and Adele. It was a lofty, but not very large apartment, the walls nearly covered with bookcases of oak, carved in quaint old patterns and filled with choice books in various languages. Several finely executed statues were placed in niches, and one large picture, by Rubens, gathered a stream of sunshine upon its gorgeous canvas.
The Count was sitting, buried in the purple cushions of an easy-chair, fast asleep, and as Adele entered the room, her mother held up her finger, warningly.
"_Ma chere_", said Mrs. Dubois, in a low tone, "here is a packet of letters for you, from Paris".
Adele took them from her mother"s hand, indifferently. She read and crushed together a note bearing the impression of a coat of arms.
"Count D"Orsay and sister wish to come here next week", she said, with a half sigh.
"_Eh, bien! ma chere_, they are agreeable people. I shall be glad to see them".
"Yes", replied Adele, "Gabrielle is very lovely.
Nevertheless, I regret they are coming".
"Do you know, Adele, how highly your father esteems the young Count?"
"Yes, mamma, and that is one reason why I do not wish him to come now to Rossillon. You know he loves me, and my father approves. I can never marry him. But I esteem and respect him so much, that it will give me infinite pain to say nay".
Mrs. Dubois looked at Adele very tenderly, yet gravely, and said, "_Ma fille_, do not throw away a true, devoted affection, for the sake of a phantom one. I fear that, while you are dreaming and waiting, happiness will slip out of your path".
"Dreaming and waiting", repeated Adele, a slight red color kindling on her cheek, "_am_ I dreaming and waiting?"
"It seems to me you are, _ma chere_; I fear it will at last spoil your peace. I do not see how the Count D"Orsay can fail to win your heart.
Do not decide hastily, Adele".
"I have considered the affair a long time already. I have looked into my heart and find nothing there, for Count D"Orsay, but simple respect, esteem, and friendship. It would be a wrong to him, should I consent to marry him, without a warmer, deeper sentiment. It is of no use thinking about it longer. The subject must be closed. I know I shall not change, and his affection is too true and pure to be tampered with. I shall tell him all frankly next week".
"_Eh, bien_!" said Mrs. Dubois, with a sigh, and returned to her letters.
Adele, who felt quite unhappy to disappoint her mother"s hopes in the case, looked thoughtful. They were both silent for several minutes.
"Here is a letter from the good missionary", suddenly whispered Mrs.
Dubois, holding up to her daughter several sheets of large paper, well covered. "See what a nice long one. Now we shall hear the news from our old home".
She began to read the missive in a low tone, looking occasionally to see if her voice disturbed the sleeper, and Adele, whose countenance had instantly brightened upon the mention of the letter, drew her seat nearer to her mother and listened intently.
MIRAMICHI RIVER, APRIL, 1828.
DEAR FRIENDS--
I am again on the memorable spot. You can scarcely imagine my interest in retracing the scene of my brief mission here, in the summer and autumn of 1825, or the deep emotion with which I revisit your former residence, the house under whose roof you so kindly sheltered and entertained one, then exiled, like yourselves, from home. I shall ever rejoice that Providence threw me into your society, and bestowed upon me the precious gift of your friendship.
Three years have pa.s.sed since those eventful weeks we spent together, on the banks of this beautiful river, and you will be interested to know what changes have taken place here during that time.
Traces are still distinctly visible of the awful fire, but Time, the great healer of wounds, and Nature, who is ever striving to cover up the desolations of earth, are both at work, silently but diligently overlaying the hideous black disfigurement with greenness and beauty.
The Miramichi and its picturesque precincts are now more alive than ever, with a hardy and active population. New villages are springing up on the banks of the river, and business, especially in the branches of lumbering and fishing, is greatly increasing. There is also a marvellous change in the moral aspect of the country. It is ascribed in a great degree to the deep impression made upon the minds of the people by the conflagration, and doubtless this is the fact. It must be that G.o.d had a retributory end in view in that great event. It was a judgment upon the community for its exceeding wickedness. Nothing short of a grand, widespread illumination like that, could have penetrated the gross darkness that hung over the land.
The way has been thus prepared for the reception of the truth; and whereas formerly the people, if they came at all to hear the preaching of G.o.d"s word, were only drawn by motives of vain curiosity, or the desire of novelty, they now come in great numbers and with a sincere desire, as I believe, to be instructed in the way of salvation. Last year, I came to this region early in the spring and labored until late in the autumn, preaching up and down the river, from house to house and from grove to grove, and found the people, almost everywhere, ready to hear. Many were baptized in the flowing waters of the Miramichi, made a profession of their faith in Christ, and have since exhibited in their daily lives, good and in some cases shining evidence of their sincerity.
You may perhaps be interested to know that yesterday, which was the Sabbath, I discoursed, as in days gone by, in Micah"s Grove. The people came in from a great distance around, and it was estimated that there were not less than eight hundred present.
My soul was completely filled with a sense of G.o.d"s unbounded love to the human family, and my heart was enlarged to speak of the wonderful things belonging to His goodness and mercy towards us, as a race. I was like a bottle filled with new wine, my heart overflowing with the remembrance of G.o.d"s love. Conviction was carried in a most signal manner to the souls of many present. The whole a.s.sembly seemed for a time to be overshadowed by the immediate Divine presence.
It is remarkable, that though the people do at the present time seem to be under profound religious impressions, yet there are scarcely any traces of the delusion and wildfire usually accompanying such seasons, among a somewhat uncultivated and undisciplined population. That great fire sobered them, perhaps.
But, my dear friends, I know you are impatient to hear some details respecting the state of affairs at the "Dubois Settlement", so called from the grateful attachment felt by the inhabitants for a distinguished family once residing there. The new people who have established themselves here of late, are acquainted with the family just alluded to, of course only by tradition, but so deep has been the impression made upon the minds of the new comers, by Mrs. McNab, Micah Mummychog, and others, of the worth, benevolence, power, and present grandeur of said family, that these persons are more than willing, they feel honored in retaining the name of Dubois in this parish. The above is written, to elucidate to your minds the fact, obvious enough here, that you are not forgotten.
Now, you will wish to hear what has befallen some of the queer notabilities of the Settlement. By courtesy, I begin with Mrs. McNab.
You will remember her, as the general oracle and adviser of a certain portion of the female population in the neighborhood, and as greatly opposed to some of the "doctreenes", as she called my instructions to the people. Well, she remains in her entireness and individuality, her costume as grotesque and her speech as Scotch as ever.
You will be surprised, however, to learn that she has a far more favorable opinion of your humble servant than formerly. I have had some difficulty in accounting for this change in her disposition. It seems, however, that she had early taken a prejudice against Yankees, and had got an idea, in the beginning, that I had some wily and sinister intentions toward the people, connected with my labors here.
No developments of that kind having been made, she began to look more complacently upon my efforts, and she thinks now that the way in which I have endeavored to lead the community, is not so bad after all.
"The warst thing I had agen ye, was this", she said to me not long since. "My meenister o" the Kirk at Dumfries used to preach that a pusson, might repent o" his sins, an" pray and pray a" his life lang, but wad nae ken, in this warld, whether or nae he was to be saved.