“’T will be made sooner. I believe the history of my predecessor was no secret to you. The manner in which he was driven from the marine of the Stuarts, on account of his opposition to tyranny; his refuge with an only daughter, in the colonies; and his final recourse to the free-trade for a livelihood, have often been alluded to between us.”
“Hum–I have a good memory for business, Master Skimmer, but I am as forgetful as a new-made lord of his pedigree, on all matters that should be overlooked. I dare say, however, it was as you have stated.”
“You know, that when my protector and predecessor abandoned the land, he took his all with him upon the water.”
“He took a wholesome and good-going schooner, Master Skimmer, with an assorted freight of chosen tobacco, well ballasted with stones from off the seashore. He was no foolish admirer of sea-green women, and flaunting brigantines. Often did the royal cruisers mistake the worthy dealer for an in dustrious fisherman!”
“He had his humors, and I have mine. But you forget a part of the freight he carried;–a part that was not the least valuable.”
“There might have been a bale of marten’s furs– for the trade was just getting brisk in that article.”
“There was a beautiful, an innocent, and an affectionate girl–”
The Alderman made an involuntary movement, which nearly hid his countenance from his companion.
“There was, indeed, a beautiful, and, as you say, a most warm-hearted girl, in the concern!” he uttered, in a voice that was subdued and hoarse. “She died, as I have heard from thyself, Master Skimmer, in the Italian seas. I never saw the father, after the last visit of his child to this coast.”
“She did die, among the islands of the Mediterranean. But the void she left in the hearts of all who knew her, was filled, in time, by her–daughter.”
The Alderman started from his chair, and, looking the free-trader intently and anxiously in the face, he slowly repeated the word–
“Daughter!”
“I have said it.–Eudora is the daughter of that injured woman–need I say, who is the father?”
The burgher groaned, and, covering his face with his hands, he sunk back into his chair, shivering convulsively.
“What evidence have I of this?” he at length muttered–“Eudora is thy sister!”
The answer of the free-trader was accompanied by a melancholy smile.
“You have been deceived. Save the brigantine, my being is attached to nothing. When my own brave father fell by the side of him who protected my youth, none of my blood were left. I loved him as a father, and he called me son, while Eudora was passed upon you as the child of a second marriage. But here is sufficient evidence of her birth.”
The Alderman took a paper, which his companion put gravely into his hand, and his eyes ran eagerly over its contents. It was a letter to himself from the mother of Eudora, written after the birth of the latter, and with the endearing affection of a woman. The love between the young merchant and the fair daughter of his secret correspondent had been less criminal on his part than most similar connexions. Nothing but the peculiarity of their situation, and the real embarrassment of introducing to the world one whose existence was unknown to his friends, and their mutual awe of the unfortunate but still proud parent, had prevented a legal marriage. The simple forms of the colony were easily satisfied, and there was even some reason to raise a question whether they had not been sufficiently consulted to render the offspring legitimate. As Myndert Van Beverout, therefore, read the epistle of her whom he had once so truly loved, and whose loss had, in more senses than one, been to him an irreparable misfortune, since his character might have yielded to her gentle and healthful influence, his limbs trembled, and his whole frame betrayed the violence of extreme agitation. The language of the dying woman was kind and free from reproach, but it was solemn and admonitory. She communicated the birth of their child; but she left it to the disposition of her own father, while she apprized the author of its being of its existence; and, in the event of its ever being consigned to his care, she earnestly recommended it to his love. The close was a leave-taking, in which the lingering affections of this life were placed in mournful contrast to the hopes of the future.
“Why has this so long been hidden from me?” demanded the agitated merchant–“Why, oh reckless and fearless man! have I been permitted to expose the frailties of nature to my own child?”
The smile of the free-trader was bitter, and proud.
“Mr. Van Beverout, we are no dealers of the short voyase. Our trade is the concern of life;– our world, the Water-Witch. As we have so little of the interests of the land, our philosophy is above its weaknesses. The birth of Eudora was concealed from you, at the will of her grandfather. It might have been resentment;–it might have been pride.– Had it been affection, the girl has that to justify the fraud.”
“And Eudora, herself?–Does she–or has she long known the truth?”
“But lately. Since the death of our common friend, the girl has been solely dependent on me for counsel and protection. It is now a year since she first learned she was not my sister. Until then, like you, she supposed us equally derived from one who was the parent of neither. Necessity has compelled me, of late, to keep her much in the brigantine.”
“The retribution is righteous!” groaned the Alderman. “I am punished for my pusillanimity, in the degradation of my own child!”
The step of the free-trader, as he advanced nearer to his companion, was full of dignity; and his keen eye glowed with the resentment of an offended man.
“Alderman Van Beverout,” he said, with stern rebuke in his voice, “you receive your daughter, stainless as was her unfortunate mother, when necessity compelled him whose being was wrapped up in hers, to trust her beneath your roof. We of the contraband have our own opinions of right and wrong, and my gratitude, no less than my principles, teaches me that the descendant of my benefactor is to be protected, not injured. Had I, in truth, been the brother of Eudora, language and conduct more innocent could not have been shown her, than that she has both heard and witnessed while guarded by my care.”
“From my soul, I thank thee!” burst from the lips of the Alderman, “The girl shall be acknowledged; and with such a dowry as I can give, she may yet hope for a suitable and honorable marriage.”
“Thou may’st bestow her on thy favorite Patroon;” returned the Skimmer, with a calm but sad eye. “She is more than worthy of all he can return. The man is willing to take her, for he is not ignorant of her sex and history. That much I thought due to Eudora herself, when fortune placed the young man in my power.”
“Thou art only too honest for this wicked world, Master Skimmer! Let me see the loving pair, and bestow my blessing, on the instant!”
The free-trader turned slowly away, and, opening a door, he motioned for those within to enter. Alida instantly appeared, leading the counterfeit Seadrift, clad in the proper attire of her sex. Although the burgher had often seen the supposed sister of the Skimmer in her female habiliments, she never before had struck him as a being of so rare beauty as at that moment. The silken whiskers had been removed, and in their places were burning cheeks, that were rather enriched than discolored by the warm touches of the sun. The dark glossy ringlets, that were no longer artfully converted to the purposes of the masquerade, fell naturally in curls about the temples and brows, shading a countenance which in general was playfully arch, though at that moment it was shadowed by reflection and feeling. It is seldom that two such beings are seen together, as those who now knelt at the feet of the merchant. In the breast of the latter, the accustomed and lasting love of the uncle and protector appeared, for an instant, to struggle with the new-born affection of a parent. Nature was too strong for even his blunted and perverted sentiments; and, calling his child aloud by name, the selfish and calculating Alderman sunk upon the neck of Eudora, and wept. It would have been difficult to trace the emotions of the stern but observant free-trader, as he watched the progress of this scene. Distrust, uneasiness, and finally melancholy, were in his eye. With the latter expression predominant, he quitted the room, like one who felt a stranger had no right to witness emotions so sacred.
Two hours later, and the principal personages of the narrative were assembled on the margin of the Cove, beneath the shade of an oak that seemed coeval with the continent. The brigantine was aweigh; and, under a light show of canvas, she was making easy stretches in the little basin, resembling, by the ease and grace of her movements, some beautiful swan sailing up and down in the enjoyment of its instinct. A boat had just touched the shore, and the ‘Skimmer of the Seas’ stood near, stretching out a hand to aid the boy Zephyr to land.