Isabel Leicester
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Clotilda Jennings >> Isabel Leicester
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"Why Emmy, this is better luck than I expected," exclaimed Everard in
surprise.
"You didn't think that I would let you breakfast alone did you,"
returned Emily proceeding to pour out the tea, "but oh, Everard, I'm so
sorry that you are going away so soon, I really am quite afraid to be
left alone with Isabel so weak, whatever shall I do if she gets worse."
"As to being alone, why Norris is a host in herself. Besides, you must
take it for granted that she will soon get all right. If there really
should be cause you must not hesitate to call in the doctor, but
remember Dr. Heathfield said you were not to do so, if it could be
avoided, and Emmy, if there should be anything serious, mind you
telegraph mamma, and if you get very much alarmed, you know that I could
get here in a few hours, and I shall not mind the trouble, so make
yourself easy. But at all events, I intend to run down in two or three
weeks, just to see how you all get on--mind you write often Emmy." This
Emmy promised to do, and bid him good bye with a bright face.
D---- was a pretty little town on the sea-coast, which was much
frequented in summer, but during the winter it was almost deserted. It
was very quiet just now as it was so very early in the season. The house
in which our party had taken up their abode, was beautifully situated
upon some rising ground, about half a mile from the beach. On the right,
as far as eye could reach, stretched the broad expanse of deep blue sea,
with its ever varying succession of white sails and gay steamers. To the
left lay verdant meadows, picturesque villas, and sloping hills,
stretching far into the distance until bounded by a belt of forest,
beyond which the ground rose again, capped by a rugged crag. Belonging
to the house, were pretty grounds tastefully laid out, and a nice
shrubbery, also a maze in which the children delighted to lose
themselves.
After the first few days, Isabel mended rapidly, and before long was
able to join the children and Emily in their rambles, and even got down
to the beach after the second week, so that Emily sent charming accounts
of Isabel's progress to her mother and Everard.
CHAPTER XI.
"Look Louis, what a nice packet has come by express, I wonder what it
can be. Oh, open it now dear Louis," she added, laying her hand
coaxingly upon his shoulder, as he was about to pocket the wonderful
packet. "I am dying with curiosity, to see what it contains."
"It is only a business affair, nothing to interest you, little
curiosity," he answered playfully.
But she was not so easily satisfied, for the start of recognition as he
glanced at the writing, had not escaped his wife's quick eyes.
"But I do so want to know what is in it, I felt something hard like a
little box, and it is such pretty writing," she said.
"Perhaps the drugs I wrote for," he returned carelessly.
"Drugs from a lady, Louis," she said archly.
"Oh I forgot, no it can't be the drugs, but it will keep," he replied,
thrusting it into his pocket. "I must teach you not to be so curious
Natalie.
Then laughing, she endeavored to withdraw it from his pocket, but he
took the little hand in an iron grasp, saying "don't be silly Natalie."
"Oh Louis, you hurt me," she pouted.
"I didn't intend to do so," he returned, loosening his hold, but there
was a stern, determined look in his face as he did so, which prevented
her making any further attempts to satisfy her curiosity, and the large
tears welled up into her eyes as he hastily left the room.
That night, after Natalie had retired to rest, Louis stood leaning
against the chimney-piece, gazing thoughtfully into the fire. Upon the
table lay the packet, he knew well enough the moment he saw it what it
contained, the letters and presents that Isabel had received from
himself. Yes there they were, and he would not for worlds have Natalie
see them. There they were, the letters, the trinkets, but he had
expected something more--an angry note, upbraiding him for his mean
conduct and requesting the return of her letters. Over this he would
have rejoiced, but no, here were the letters and trinkets without note
or comment, just enclosed in a blank cover, and this cool contempt
annoyed him more than the bitterest expressions of angry reproach would
have done. She had returned all that he had ever given her, well, what
else had he expected, did he think she would have kept them? No, of
course not, but then he had not thought about it, he knew now that his
revenge had had a very different effect to what he had intended, she
would cast off all further regard for him, perhaps she hated him, while
he, trusting to her sweet disposition and deep affection for himself,
had expected that she, unable to overcome her wondrous love, would pine
and grieve over her great, her irreparable loss. Ah Louis, if this was
your object you did not manage the affair skilfully. You also forgot
that by marrying another, you were taking perhaps, the only step that
could effectually prevent the object you had in view, (for this,
together with the offensive manner in which it was done, supplied her
with a motive which aided essentially to enable her to carry out her
determination to stifle all feelings of love towards him, in fact to
forget him.) He now saw the folly of the course he had adopted, she
would soon forget him altogether, perhaps find another more patient and
gentle, who could make her happier than he would have done, such
thoughts as these were madness--perhaps she might marry another, no,
he clinched his fist and vowed she should not. How had his so called
revenge recoiled upon himself, he had not been aware how madly he loved
her, until she was lost to him forever, and he almost cursed the filthy
lucre that had lured him on until it had been his ruin. For what had he
gained--he new what he had lost, the only woman that he had ever loved
or could love, but what had he gained, not the satisfaction which he had
expected, only a few thousand dollars and a pretty childish little wife
of whom he already tired.
With an angry exclamation he threw the whole packet into the fire, and
then leaning his face upon his hand, before an open book, sat still and
pale through the long long night, until in the gray dawn, a soft little
hand upon his shoulder, and a warm kiss upon his cheek, aroused him from
his reverie.
CHAPTER XII.
There was a large rock, about a mile to the left of the town of D----,
which was surrounded by numerous small ones. This place was called the
wrecker's reef, and was covered at high water, but when the tide was
low, Isabel and the others often went there to get shells. They had to
be careful to watch the rise of the tide, as, long before the rock was
covered the retreat was cut off by the water surrounding the largest
rock, like an island, this island gradually diminished, until, when the
tide was in it was several feet under water, this part of the coast was
very little frequented. One afternoon when they had been at D---- about
three weeks or a month, having obtained the shells they wished for, they
sat down on the rocks to rest, Isabel began relating a tale she had
lately read, and they were all so much interested, that they had not
observed that the tide was fast coming in, nor was it until the rock was
quite surrounded that they did so. The terrified children clung around
Isabel entreating her to save them, while Emily scarcely less alarmed,
screamed aloud for help, but it was not very likely that her cries for
assistance would be heard in that lonely place, and their danger became
more imminent, as a stiff breeze had sprung up, and the surge round the
reef was becoming very heavy, and even should they be observed, the
passage from the beach to the reef was so dangerous, that only a skilful
and experienced hand could possibly succeed in rescuing them from their
perilous situation, so that although there was a small boat moored on
the beach it did not afford them much consolation. They were constantly
drenched with spray, and were quite aware that the reef would be covered
with water ere long.
"Oh dearest Isabel, what shall we do," asked Emily, looking ghastly
white, and shaking like an aspen.
"The water will wash us all away, and then we shall all be drowned,"
cried little Amy.
"And we shall never see papa and mamma any more,' added Rose. Alice
stood perfectly quiet, (after the first moment of their surprise when
she had clung to Isabel with the rest) her large eyes fixed upon Isabel
with an expression that spoke volumes.
"I fear there is no escape," said Isabel, in as calm a tone as she could
command, "we can only commend ourselves to the care of our heavenly
Father, and patiently await his will. This they did, and then Isabel
endeavored to calm litttle Amy, who was crying most piteously, but a
shout of joy from Rose, drew her attention once more to the shore. "Here
is Everard, oh here is Everard," cried Rose, clapping her hands and
dancing with joy, and sure enough, there was Everard scrambling down the
cliff. This was Saturday afternoon, and he had come to spend Sunday with
them, but finding they were out he came in search of them, Norris,
fortunately being able to tell him where they had gone.
As the reef was such a short distance from land, and as a boat was
moored on the beach, the children naturally concluded that they were now
safe. It was not so however with Isabel, she knew the dangerous nature
of this shallow water, with innumerable rocks only just beneath the
surface, but still sufficiently covered to hide them from view, which
made it very difficult to take a boat safely through them, even when the
water was smooth, but how much more so, now that a rough swell was
foaming over them. Indeed it was only by taking a zig-zag course, that
any boat could be guided in safety through the labyrinth of rocks. As
Everard was quite unacquainted with the perilous nature of the reef, it
was well that Isabel had taken particular notice of the only passage and
its curious windings, so that they were enabled to direct him how to
steer, or the boat would assuredly have been knocked to pieces, and they
all would inevitably have perished. But fortunately Everard was the
crack oar of the college club, and the owner of the champion medal, and
in spite of all difficulties managed to make his way to the reef.
Isabel had watched the progress of the boat with intense anxiety, her
heart beat fast, for she expected every moment that it would come to
grief, and she experienced an indescribable sensation of apprehension
when it grated on the rock on which they stood.
"Oh, this boat won't hold us all," exclaimed Emily in dismay.
"Don't leave me," entreated little Amy, "please don't."
"No darling, you shall not be left," said Isabel kissing her and then
lifting her into the boat. Quickly as this was done, Rose was already
in; Isabel insisted upon both Emily and Alice going, though the boat was
by this means very heavily laden--Alice would have remained with her,
but Isabel would not allow it, as there was every prospect of the reef
being entirely covered before the boat could possibly return.
"But it seems so mean to leave you here alone." urged Alice.
"It will not mend matters, if two are washed off instead of one,"
whispered Isabel, "go dear Alice while you can."
"But it seems so mean," she repeated.
"Come Alice," said Everard in a tone that settled the question at once,
"every minute is of the greatest importance." It was agony to him to
leave Isabel, but there was no help for it, the boat was now loaded down
to the water's edge. He would gladly have let Alice remain, had there
appeared any chance of returning in time, for he would have gained
several minutes by so doing, for if the boat had been lighter he could
have made better time. As it was he did not dare to risk it, for it
seemed like dooming Alice to destruction needlessly. But oh, the horror
of leaving Isabel when perhaps she would be washed away by the fast
rising tide before he could return. This thought had also decided him to
take Alice, for should Isabel be washed off he might be able to save
her, but how could he hope to save two in such untoward circumstances.
"Courage Miss Leicester," and the boat seemed to fly through the water
with each vigorous stroke; his face wore an expression of intense
anxiety as he bent to his oars. No words passed his firmly compressed
lips after they left the reef, but his contracted brow and heavy
breathing revealed how deeply he was suffering. In an incredibly short
time they reached the beach, and Everard landed them in a very
unceremonies manner, and then started once more for the rock.
Notwithstanding all the exertion he had undergone, his face was as pale
as death, and the cold damp stood upon his brow. There was an air of
determination about him as he sprang back into the boat, that convinced
Emily that he would save Isabel or perish in the attempt, and from that
day she was master of his secret, but like a dear good sister as she
was, she kept it in her kind little heart, though she sometimes built
castles in the air.
Knowing now the proper course to take, Everard propelled the boat with
marvellous rapidity, it skimmed over the water like an ocean bird, at
least so Rose said; yet when he reached the reef, every part on which it
was possible to stand was covered with water, and it was with the
greatest difficulty that Isabel contrived to cling to a pointed piece of
rock which still remained above water, nor could she have done so much
longer, as her strength was fast failing. It seemed to Isabel wondrous
strange, that she should feel so anxious to be rescued from her perilous
situation, when not so long ago she had been so desirous of death, but
so it was.
It was no easy matter to get the boat to this point, and had it required
any more water to float it, it would have been impossible. As soon as
Isabel was in the boat a joyful shout was raised by the party on shore.
The return to land was slow, as the great exertion he had been forced to
use was beginning to tell upon Everard. Of course Isabel was soaking
wet, but fortunately a large plaid that Norris had made them take with
them had been left on the beach; this they wrapt round her, and then
went home as quickly as might be.
"Mercy on us," exclaimed Norris, as they made their appearance, "what in
the name of wonder have you been doing."
"Why getting a soaking don't you see," returned Isabel, much amused at
Norris's manner.
"Then you will just get to bed right away Miss Leicester, for I would
like to know how I am to answer to my Misses and Dr. Heathfield, if you
get the consumption through your nonsense, dear me, and you were looking
so well."
"But Norris, if I change these wet things surely that will do."
"You just get to bed, I say, for you are in my charge."
Everard laughed.
"Now Mr. Everard don't you be a interfering."
"Oh, certainly not."
"Now come along at once Miss Leicester, and I will get you some hot
gruel." Isabel did as she was bid, not wishing to vex Norris who had
been very kind, but she protested against the gruel, but in vain, Norris
made her swallow a large basin full, which to Isabel's intense disgust
had a plentiful supply of brandy in it. After this Norris consented to
hear the history of their adventures, which was told by the whole five
at once.
"The air of D---- seems to have done wonders," said Everard when Isabel
made her appearance at breakfast next morning looking quite her former
self.
"Yes indeed," returned Isabel with a pleasant smile, "how very stupid
you must have thought us yesterday, I can't imagine how we could have
been so foolish."
"I suppose that you were not aware that the reef would be covered as the
tide rose."
"Oh yes, we knew quite well."
"Well then, you were all awfully stupid, if you will excuse my saying
so," returned Everard, "I gave you credit Miss Leicester for more
prudence."
"You may well be surprised," Isabel answered coloring, "I am afraid when
Mrs. Arlington hears of it she will be of Lady Ashton's opinion, that I
am not fit to have charge of her daughters."
Emily laughed.
"Did she say that," said Everard, "it was very impertinent of her."
"She thinks herself a privileged person, you would be astonished I can
tell you if you heard all that she said."
"Do be quiet Emily," interrupted Isabel.
But Emily kept giving provoking little hints all breakfast time, and
even as they walked to church she let out little bits, until Isabel grew
almost angry. Everard admired the church exceedingly, "that is just such
a church as I would like," he said as they went home.
"Oh Everard," exclaimed Emily, "a little bit of a church like that."
"It is not so small," he returned.
"Oh well, I thought you were more ambitious, if I were a clergyman I
should wish to preach to a crowded assembly in a very large city church,
and make a sensation."
"Emily!"
"Oh don't look so grave."
"A man that would care about making a sensation, would not be fit to be
a clergyman."
"Oh Everard, I am sure it is only good clergymen that do make a
sensation."
"What do you call making a sensation?" he inquired.
"Why, to have every body saying what a splendid preacher, and praising
you up to the skies."
"Of course every clergyman should aim to be a good preacher, but his
sermon should be composed with the object of doing as much good as
possible, the idea of getting praise by it should never enter his head."
"Of course I know I never should have done for a parson, if I had been a
man I should have been a----."
"Lawyer," the children all shouted in a breath.
"Or a midshipman," said Emily.
"I wonder what Miss Leicester would have been," observed Rose.
"A doctor," said Emily, "I know she would have been a doctor, wouldn't
you Isabel."
Isabel became scarlet, this was only a random suggestion, but it seemed
so like the answer the children had given Emily, that it made her color
painfully.
"Oh what is the use of talking such nonsense," she replied, but her
vivid color had given Emily a new idea; Isabel she whispered "do those
pet letters come from a doctor," a shade passed over Isabel's face like
a cloud over the sun, as the thought occured that she should get no more
pet letters, as Emily chose to call them, for though she had so firmly
resolved not to allow her thoughts to dwell upon the past, there were
still times when she was painfully reminded of the happy days that would
never return, not that she grieved for the loss of Louis, as he now
stood revealed in his true character. She knew that it had been her own
ideal Louis that she had loved, she had clothed him with virtue that he
did not possess, and ascribed to him a nobleness of nature to which he
was a stranger, and her bitter sorrow was that he should have proved so
different to what she had believed him. She had already begun to think
that, as he was what he was, it was all for the best, and even now she
felt more of contempt than love regarding him, though nothing short of
the offensive and aggravated circumstances that had taken place, could
have served to quench such love as her's.
Isabel avoided giving an answer to Emily's question, by drawing
attention to a beautiful yacht that was now making the harbor, this did
for the time, but Emily had made enough by her venture to plague Isabel
sufficiently about the doctor, so much so, that Everard took occasion
when they two were walking in the shrubbery to remonstrate with his
sister, "Emily," he said, "can't you see that Miss Leicester is really
annoyed at your nonsense, and I think that it amounts to rudeness in
such a case."
"Oh she don't care about it."
"You are mistaken Emily."
"Oh, but it is such fun, I do so like to make her color up, she looks so
pretty."
"But when you see that it really annoys----."
"When I get into the spirit of the thing, I can't stop." interrupted
Emily.
"I know it," replied Everard gently, "and that is the reason that I
mention it, otherwise the matter is too trivial to comment upon."
The tears stood in Emily's eyes, "I did not mean any harm," she said
softly, for Everard had great influence, and the secret of this
influence which he had acquired over all the family was, that he was
gentle yet very firm.
"I did not say that there was any harm, only you should learn to stop
when you see that it annoys, and surely you might abstain from such
nonsense on a Sunday, it is setting the children a bad example to say
the least of it."
CHAPTER XIII.
Isabel and the children remained the greater part of the summer at
D----, but Emily returned home to join her mamma and sister, who had
consented to join an expedition that had been got up among a few select
friends. Upon the last afternoon of their stay at D---- they went for a
ramble into a pretty little copse wood, the children were looking for
berries, and Isabel sat upon a mossy bank reading.
"Come Isabel, let us at least be friends," said a voice close beside
her.
Surprised and startled, Isabel beheld Louis Taschereau.
"Let us be friends," he repeated taking a seat on the bank.
"Impossible, Dr. Taschereau," said Isabel rising, "had you broken off
your engagement in a straightforward manner, it might have been
different, as your feelings had undergone a change, I should have been
quite content to release you, but to have corresponded with me up to the
very day of your marriage, and allow me by a chance meeting at an
evening party to become aware of the fact for the first time, together
with the effrontery with which you behaved on that occasion, are insults
which I should be wanting in self respect not to resent."
"My feelings have undergone no change, they cannot change, it is you
alone that I have ever loved or shall love, my wife I never did, never
can. Oh pity me Isabel for I am most miserably unhappy."
"From my heart I pity her who is so unfortunate as to have Dr.
Taschereau for a husband," she replied, "I cannot pity you, for if
anything could make your conduct more contemptible, it is the fact that
you have just acknowledged, that you do not love the girl that you have
made your wife, though having seen the way in which you treat those you
profess to love it is no great loss, and your happiness must ever be a
matter of indifference to me."
"Oh cruel girl, I am not so heartless, what grieves me more than even my
own misery is the thought of your suffering."
"Then pray do not distress yourself on my account Dr. Taschereau,
whatever I may have felt it is past, for when Isabel Leicester could no
longer esteem, she must cease to love."
"I will not believe that you find it so easy to forget me, for that you
did love me you dare not deny, it was no passing fancy, you must feel
more than you are willing to own," he said angrily.
"I do not wish to deny it," returned Isabel firmly, "but you out to have
known me better than to think that I should continue to do so. After you
were married it became my duty to forget that I had ever loved you, and
to banish every thought of you. You have made your choice and now
regrets are useless, even wrong, whatever she may be, she is your wife,
and it is your duty and should be your pleasure to make her happy, and
as you value happiness, never give her cause to doubt your love."
"As you say, regrets are useless, but that thought only adds to my
torture, I can only compare my present wretchedness with the happy lot
which might have been mine, but for my own folly," he said sadly, "but
you must help me."
"How can I help you," exclaimed Isabel.
"It is you alone who can, for you are the only person who ever had any
influence over me, you must help to keep me right. Will you not forgive
me Isabel, and let me be a friend--a brother."
"Thank heaven I have no such brother," exclaimed Isabel fervently, "for
I should feel very much inclined to disown him if I had. Friends we can
never be Dr. Taschereau, as I told you before, whenever and wherever we
meet, it must be as strangers."
"As you will," he said bitterly, "but since you will not have me for
your friend, you shall have me for a foe."
"Think not to intimidate me with idle threats," she answered haughtily,
"you have no power to harm me, and I feel assured that as your love is
worthless, so in the end your hatred will prove harmless."
"That is as it may be, but still I had much rather that we were
friends."
"If an enemy, I defy you, my friend you can never be."
"As you will," he returned fiercely, "but remember if I go to the bad,
with you will rest the blame," and then he disappeared through the wood.
"And what is his wife about during this conversation, writing to her
cousin. Let us take a peep at the letter.
DEAREST MARIE.--I am happy--very happy, how could I be otherwise
with my noble Louis, he is so kind, so thoughtful and considerate,
he would not let me accompany him to-day, because I was so tired
with the journey yesterday, so I take the opportunity thus
afforded me to write to you. Oh Marie, how could you ever suppose
that he married me for my money, how could you form so mean an
opinion of my generous, noble, high minded Louis, you wrong him
Marie, indeed you do. True, he is more reserved than is pleasant,
but I presume that is because I am so childish as papa used to
say. Would you believe I had a jealous fit about a packet that he
received from a lady, which he refused to open when I asked him.
Well he sat up very very late that night, and I took it into my
stupid little head that his sitting up had something to do with
the packet, and the thought so possessed me, that I got up and
went softly into the library, and there he was in a brown study
over some medical work. Oh Marie I felt so ashamed of my foolish
fancies.
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