CHAPTER XXIII.

ETOILE L’ORIENT.

“She was all lightness, life and glee! One of the shapes we seem To meet in visions of the night; But should they greet our waking sight, Imagine that we dream.”—_George Hill._

It was the afternoon of a warm, refulgent day in October that Julius Luxmore came in sight of the loveliest of Isles. It lay like some jewel of rich mosaic on the heaving bosom of the bay. The girdle of woods, that skirted its shores were just beginning to turn, and on the northern and western side were tinged with a ruddy, crimson color; the low, descending sun, striking full upon this hue kindled it up into a flame-like refulgence,—a glorious, indestructible conflagration. Contrasting with this was the green of the grass and shrubberies in the interior of the Isle, that still retained its spring-like verdure. Central in this oasis of verdancy and bloom, stood the white buildings of the Island mansion and out-houses.

In his ignorance of the usual landing-place, Julius Luxmore could not decide toward which point of the Island beach to direct his course. At length, however, he determined to come to anchor, and go out in his little skiff to reconnoitre the coast, and perhaps to make his first visit to the mansion house. He accordingly gave orders to drop the anchor, and to let down the skiff. And when these commands were fulfilled, having made a careful toilet, he entered the little boat, and alone, with his single oar, struck out toward the Isle.

On a nearer approach this gem of the sea grew, if possible, still brighter and more beautiful. The calm repose and crystal clearness of the water that kissed its shores, reflected as in a mirror the rich refulgent foliage that girdled them. Julius Luxmore pushed his boat up close under the overhanging branches, and so in the deep refreshing shadows, proceeded to row around the Isle in search of some convenient landing-place.

Presently he came to a tiny rock-bound islet of pellucid depth, that might have been the grotto of the Naiad Queen, or the bath of beauty for all the sea-nymphs.

And, oh, Orpheus! what sounds are these that break the silence like the shiver of a thousand silver bells?

It is a voice of entrancing melody—a sweet, rich, elastic, bird-like voice, caroling a jubilant, exultant air, the words of which are lost in the rapture of the notes.

To enjoy this delightful song without disturbing the singer, Julius Luxmore pushed his boat up under the shelter of an overhanging alder tree, where he remained concealed in the deep obscurity.

Presently the song ceased, and the cessation was accompanied by the sound of a plunge into the still water of the inlet.

He peered out from his hiding-place, but for a few moments saw nothing except the widening circle of ripples where the water had been disturbed—and then—oh, Amphitrite, and all the Naiads! What was it? Was it a mermaid or was it a mortal?

The face and head of a beautiful girl of that sweet age between childhood and womanhood, yet nearer childhood, appeared above the surface. This fair creature was clad in a long flowing white garment that completely vailed her perfect form as she floated gracefully about, disporting herself in the bright pellucid water. Julius Luxmore dared scarcely breathe, lest he should dissolve the lovely vision from which he could not withdraw his fascinated gaze. As she swam or dived, or reared her radiant head with its golden hair all spangled with the diamond dew that sparkled in the slanting sun rays, she still sang snatches of a wild, gay air, though in a somewhat lower key, as though her sportive evolutions in the water, carried off some portion of the overflowing life that had at first inspired her song. So she continued to sport and sing—sometimes diving to the bottom and bringing up handsful of the pearl-like pebbles that she threw high into the sky to see them fall a mimic hailstorm into the calm water that then leaped up in a thousand rainbow sparkles!—sometimes swimming joyously on to the mouth of the fairy inlet, and whirling around and hurrying back, lashing the water with her white arms in a whimsical affectation of terror; and sometimes with bosom level and head only slightly raised, floating upon the surface as idly and lightly as a lotus leaf, until the sun went down.

“That is my Princess of the Isle!—that is my Star of the Sea!—as poor Victoire called her! It can be no other!” said Julius Luxmore, gazing in a sort of ecstacy of anticipated possession on the bewitching creature.

“Ah, Barbara, Barbara! even you would scarcely blame me for being dazzled by such a prize!” he continued, devouring this beauteous vision with his eyes.

“At this moment a voice was heard from the Island——

“Etoile! Etoile! my Pearl!”

“Here, Maman, here!” responded the clear, silvery tones of the swimmer.

And at her voice, a handsome quadroon woman, middle-aged, and neatly dressed, emerged from the bushes overhanging the spot, and came cautiously down to the brink of the inlet.

As she appeared, the little maiden came out of the water, laughing, and wringing her dripping hair.

“Little Nereid!” said the nurse, fondly holding out her hand to assist her in the assent of the bank.

“No! unless you mean the Queen of the Nereids!—Amphitrite, if you will, nothing less!” laughed the maiden, as she joined her nurse, and both disappeared among the trees.

“Was ever any thing out of Heaven so wondrous beautiful! And is that exquisite creature, at some day or other, to be mine, my own? Upon my life and conscience it may be so, for I see nothing to prevent it! Come! even if to wait five years for her, were not the quickest, easiest, and surest way of securing an immense fortune, it would still be well worth while to wait to secure such a pearl as herself alone!” mused Julius Luxmore, as he came out of his retreat, and pushed his boat onward on his exploration of the Island shores.

After making about three-quarters of the whole circuit, he came to the regular landing-place with its neat little pier, the protective railings and the steps of which were painted green and white.

Here he moored his boat and paused to consider the propriety of, at that late hour, presenting himself at the Island mansion.

The sun had set; but the reflection of his last rays still flushed with crimson all the western horizon, while the orient was bathed in golden glory with the beams of the risen full moon. Under the two lights the lovely Island lay like a scene of enchantment. Lamps gleamed from the lower windows of the white fronted mansion.

Upon the whole, Julius Luxmore could not resist the temptation to go forward. He looked critically at his own dress. In view of this possible visit he had, before leaving the vessel, carefully arranged his toilet; and now upon examination, he found that it had contracted no soil, nor in any other way had it become disarranged.

He stepped out of his boat, went up the steps to the pier and walked onward under the tall branches of the trees, that met over his head, up the long avenue leading to the house, until at last he reached a terrace crowned with a trellis, thickly overgrown with climbing roses, still in full bloom. He had but just reached this spot and noted a graceful, golden-haired, white-robed female form leaning over the trellis of roses, when he was suddenly struck and thrown down beneath an overwhelming weight, to find himself in the powerful grasp of a huge bull-dog, who had fastened his jaws firmly on his shoulder. Tightly as the beast held him, it was with a certain wise and merciful reserve of his fangs, for though his strong teeth clenched, they did not penetrate the broadcloth of the coat, far less the skin of the man. Yet Julius Luxmore felt certain that at the first struggle to escape, those fearful fangs would be buried deeply in his flesh and crimsoned with his blood.

All this passed in a single instant of time, for, “in the twinkling of an eye,” the white-robed female figure, whom Luxmore had recognized as Etoile, darted down the terrace, and threw herself upon the great brute, half-caressingly and half-rebukingly, and said—

“Why, Dragon! how dare you, sir? What ails you? Let go, this moment!”

But the huge beast, without relaxing his hold, rolled his blood-shot eyes up toward his little mistress, and growled a remonstrance.

“What, sir! you will not obey?” exclaimed the little girl, taking hold of his ears, and shaking his head. The dog released the prisoner, but growled a very decided difference of opinion with his mistress upon this subject of setting the stranger at liberty. Julius Luxmore, who had at all hazards struggled to rise, now sprang to his feet, bowed, and was about to deliver the neat salutation he had improvised for the occasion, when Etoile interrupted him by saying, with inimitable grace and simplicity—

“Stranger, I am very sorry that Dragon should have behaved so rudely; I pray you to forgive him; he is not naturally wicked, and must have been very unwell to have acted in such a surly manner to a visitor. I hope you will think no more of it, sir, but do us the pleasure to walk into the house.”

“I thank you, young lady,” said Julius Luxmore, with a bow, “I am here to see Mr. De L’Ile, if he can be spoken with.”

“Yes, sir! and your name is——?”

“Julius Luxmore.”

The little girl raised a small silver whistle that hung at her side, and blew a clear, sweet blast, that presently brought a mulatto page to her presence.

“Go to your master, Frivola, and say that a gentleman of the name of Luxmore has arrived, and desires an interview with him,” she said.

The boy bowed low, and went to obey.

“Excuse me, young lady,” said Mr. Luxmore, with a waive of his hand, as he left the side of Etoile, and stepped after the page to say, “Tell your master that Mr. Luxmore brings him news of his niece and nephew, Madame L’Orient and Monsieur Victoire.”

Again the boy bowed, and then hurried onward toward the house to do his errand.

Mr. Luxmore returned to the side of the little maiden.

“What a paradise is this home of yours, young lady,” he said, in a tone of sincere admiration.

“Oh! do you find it so? I am very glad you like it; but it is very strange you should!”

“You think it strange that I should like this charming spot!” exclaimed Luxmore, in genuine surprise.

“Do you find it charming also? How curious!”

“Why, yes! Do not _you_ think it charming?”

“Oh, certainly, _I_ do! but you perceive I know nothing better than this! But it is very strange that _you_ should find the Isle so charming?”

“But why?”

“Oh! because _you_ came from the beautiful world beyond!” said Etoile, with a sigh of aspiration.

“Ah! and you think the world beyond so beautiful?”

“Oh, yes, sir! I think it is!”

“Again—why?”

“Oh, because I know it!—it is a beautiful! a glorious! an enchanting world, beyond these seas!”

“But how do you know it, my little angel?”

“Oh, sir! I can see from here its lovely shores! vaguely, indeed; but still, I _can_ see them, and can judge what their celestial beauty on a nearer view must be!”

“Whe-ew! ’Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,’ and ‘hills are green far away,’ say the poets and the sages; and here is a little fairy living in a fairy land, who thinks all beauty, poetry, and delight resides in the work-a-day world ‘beyond these seas,’ as she calls it!” thought Mr. Luxmore, as he stood contemplating the fervent, enthusiastic little creature before him.

“And you have never been to the world beyond?”

“Never, sir! They say I came from that lovely world, but it is so long ago I do not remember it.”

“I suspect you came not from the world _beyond_, but from the world _above_, fair seraph!” said Mr. Luxmore, with an attempt at flattery.

But his little companion was far too unschooled in worldliness to understand or appreciate the compliment, and she answered, simply—

“I do not recollect, sir! I wish, indeed, that I did remember the lovely world whence I came.”

“And you have never had an opportunity of reviving your recollections, even by a visit to the mainland?”

“Oh, no, sir!”

“Do you ever see persons from those shores?”

“Ah, sir! I have never in my life seen but _two_ persons from the world beyond—and they were both so beautiful! just like the shores whence they came; but like nobody at all on this Island!”

“And who were those angels, or demigods, in human form, young lady?” inquired Julius Luxmore, as a pang of jealousy shot through his heart.

“Oh, sir! _one_ was Barbara Brande. She came to see me once after my grandmere, Madame L’Orient, went away. Oh! Barbara was something better than any thing I had ever seen before! She reminded me of a chieftainess such as I have read of in history—I do not mean of a commonplace queen, but of a warrior queen—a leader of armies, a Boadicea, a Zenobia, a Semiramis! Her eyes were the eyes of a goddess—so full, and clear, and commanding! Are all women in your world beyond like Barbara Brande, do you know?”

Julius was thinking of that Barbara, that grand girl, whom the graphic description of Etoile had conjured in all her noble beauty before him, and he did not reply until the little maiden had repeated her question, then he answered:

“Probably not. There are very few anywhere who would answer to your description of Miss Brande.”

“Oh! but I would like to see her again!”

“Has Miss Brande been to see you often? Is she in the habit of coming?” inquired Julius, very uneasily; for there could scarcely be conceived an event more threatening to his projects than a visit from Barbara Brande to the Island.

“Oh, no! oh, no! She was never here but once—that was two years ago, directly after my grandmere departed!”

“Do you know why she never came again?”

“I think so! My uncle discourages visitors from the world beyond!”

“And he is quite right,” thought Julius Luxmore, to himself.

But Etoile looked pensive.

“Well, fair one! you spoke of _two_ very handsome visitors—the only persons from the main you had ever seen!—_one_ was Miss Brande! Now I have a curiosity to know who was the _other_?”

“Why, do you not know?”

“No, indeed!”

“And can you not guess?”

“Not I.”

“Well, then, of course it was _yourself_, stranger! Who else, indeed, could it possibly have been?”

“Well, if that is not a sincere piece of flattery, I do not know what else it should be called!” said Julius Luxmore, to himself.

“Ah! I do wish to go on the beautiful main!” sighed Etoile.

“But you have not yet told me, fair child, how—since you have never been near the main—you know it to be so beautiful?”

“Oh, sir, you forget! I did! I told you that I saw both shores—dimly, it is true, but I saw them! There is the coast that I call the sunrise shore!—its beach looks like glistening silver! the verdure on its higher swells of land like shining emeralds! and over all the morning sun diffuses a rich, roseate glow! Oh, it is so beautiful even from this distance! and how much more so it must be from a nearer view.”

“Whe—ew! the coast of Accommac! a flat reach of sand varied only by starved grass and stunted evergreens. But I suppose the atmospheric magic throws a charm over even that desolate shore,” thought Julius Luxmore, watching with interest the young enthusiast, who ignorant of his secret comments—continued in her strain of sincere, though erring admiration.

“And then there is the opposite coast that I call the sunset shore, and that is a thousand times richer, more varied and more beautiful than the other. At different seasons, on different days, and even at different hours, its aspect changes, and each change is lovely or magnificent. Sometimes it looks like a shore of gold, when the refulgent light of sunset glances athwart its sands—sometimes the hues are of amethyst, sometimes of emerald, then of ruby, but always is the color of the coast varied with the ever-changing, ever glorious sunset sky above it.”

Even in that pale moonlight, he could see her eyes kindle and glow, as she spoke. And while he listened and gazed in growing admiration of this fair creature, so beautiful, so refined, so cultivated, yet so entirely inexperienced and simple, the boy Frivole reappeared upon the terrace and announced that his master was now ready to give audience to Mr. Luxmore.

“That is well,” said Etoile, who had had some doubts upon the subject of the stranger’s reception by the reserved old man. “That is well, and I am glad.”

“This way, please sir,” said Frivole, as he bowed and led the way across the rose-terrace, and up the granite steps, through the front portico of the mansion.

“My master is in his library,” he continued, as he preceded the visitor down the central hall, until he arrived at the second door on the right hand.

“Mr. Luxmore,” he then announced, ushering in the visitor.

Julius found himself in a plain, medium-sized apartment, having two back windows. The simple furniture consisted of a straw matting on the floor, straw-bottomed chairs ranged along the walls, window-blinds, and fire-screen of painted canvas, a single mahogany centre-table, and one arm-chair beside it in which sat Monsieur Henri De L’Ile, otherwise, his Majesty the King of the Island, who now arose and stood in an attitude of gracious dignity to receive the “Embassador.”

Mr. Julius Luxmore gave one quick, comprehensive glance at this potentate.

The Island King had aged much since we last heard of him. His venerable face, surrounded by its circle of snow-white hair and beard, was bleached and sunken, his imposing form was feeble and bowed; his dress was still studiously neat, and even elegant, though in the style of the last century—consisting of a somewhat faded mazarine blue velvet coat, white satin vest, white doe-skin small-clothes, white silk hose, black pumps, and diamond shoe-buckles. He stood with his right hand resting upon the table, and his left hand opened and waved—in an attitude and with an expression that in a real king might have been called royal courtesy, but that in Monsieur Henri De L’Ile, was something indescribable.

Mr. Julius Luxmore found himself in a dilemma, as to the manner in which he should address this anomalous personage. Firstly, it was vitally important that this potentate should not be offended—secondly, that he should be conciliated. How should Mr. Julius Luxmore avoid the first, and effect the last? In truth, this was a serious difficulty—for should the lunatic happen to be enjoying a lucid interval, it would be insulting to address him as “Sire,” or “Your Majesty,” whereas, should he, on the other hand, chance to be still under the influence of his monomania, it would be treason and destruction to address him as Monsieur De L’Ile. Meanwhile he filled up the swiftly passing moments by slowly advancing and lowly bowing. And when he could draw no nearer he came to a stand and bowed in silence, hoping that some word or gesture on the part of his host would furnish him with the cue.

Not so—for the manner of Monsieur De L’Ile, or his Majesty, might equally have been the patient politeness of a prince or of a private gentleman.

Julius was almost in despair, while the necessity of speaking was imminent—he bowed for the last time and commenced:

“I have the honor of addressing——” Here he paused not daring to add either—“Mr. De L’Ile,” or “His Majesty, the King of the Isles,” but waited, hat in hand, for the other party to come to his aid.

The other party did nothing of the sort, but merely nodded courteously, and waited his further words.

Upon the whole, Julius decided not to take up and complete his unfinished sentence, and “shirked” the difficulty by saying:

“I have the honor, sir, of being the custodian of certain documents entrusted to my care by Monsieur, the late Victoire L’Orient.”

“The ‘late!’ Mon Dieu! the ‘late!’ And is the prince, my nephew, dead then?” exclaimed the old man, in consternation, controlled even at that trying moment by his sense of kingly dignity.

But Mr. Julius Luxmore now had his cue! he bowed with the greatest deference, and lowering his tone to a key of the deepest solemnity, said:

“Sire—it is with the profoundest grief that I announce to your Majesty the death of his Highness, the Prince, your nephew, Monseigneur Victoire L’Orient.”

“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu! Oh, hapless house! Oh miserable princes!” ejaculated the old man, sinking into his chair and covering his face with his hands.

For a little while both were silent—Monsieur De L’Ile, from real sorrow—Mr. Julius Luxmore, from affected respect and sympathy.

At length the former raised his head, saying:

“How and when did this occur? Give me all the details, sir.”

Julius bowed, and standing, cap in hand, before his Majesty, gave an account of the voyage and wreck of the Mercury.

“Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!” was still the interjection of the bereaved old man.

“But, pardon, sire—Monseigneur Victoire, the prince, your nephew, left a daughter.”

“Go on, Monsieur; go on. You would speak of the Princess Etoile.”

Julius bowed profoundly.

“Say on, sir.”

Julius then explained that he had enjoyed the friendship and confidence of “Monseigneur” Victoire L’Orient, who had entrusted him with the guardianship of his young daughter; that he was prepared to exhibit the will of the “Prince” at any moment most convenient to “His Majesty.”

“I will, then, overlook the documents to-morrow, Monsieur. Bring them to me, in this room, at ten o’clock in the morning. For the present, I feel overcome and must retire. Meanwhile, let me hope that you will avail yourself of what poor hospitality a reduced king can offer. Be good enough to ring, sir,” said the old man, in a weary but still dignified manner.

Julius took the bell-rope, and rang a peal that presently brought the little page, Frivole, to the presence.

“Boy, show this gentleman into the back drawing-room, and set refreshments before him. Afterward, when he shall wish to retire for the night, attend him to the bed-chamber formerly occupied by Madame,” said “His Majesty.”

Then turning toward the visitor, he added:

“I hope you will palliate to yourself any lack of attendance that you may perceive, sir. I have lately suffered a great loss in the death of my chamberlain, Monsieur Louis, whose place I have not been able to supply. Good rest be yours, sir,” and with a courteous nod and wave of the hand, the King of the Isle dismissed the ‘Embassador.’

Julius bowed nearly to the ground, and walking backward, as from royal presence, withdrew from the room.

“A courteous gentleman—a truly courteous gentleman. I like him well,” ruminated his Majesty, who had never before been so adroitly flattered.

Meanwhile, Julius Luxmore followed the little page across the hall to the opposite room, where the boy left him to go and bring refreshments.

“So—so,” mused Julius when thus left alone—“that clever quadroon man-of-business, Louis, who gave the late lamented Madame L’Orient so much trouble, and who might have given me a deal more, is now out of everybody’s way—good. And his place as premier is not supplied—better. I will endeavor to supply it—best. Come, Julius Luxmore, your star is in the ascendant.”

While thus he soliloquized, Frivole reappeared, bringing a waiter with lights and refreshments, that he arranged upon the table.

“Where is your young mistress?” inquired Mr. Luxmore of the boy, hesitating to designate her as Miss L’Orient or as the princess, for the simple reason, that he was ignorant of how much this boy might be imbued with the illusions of his master.

“The princess has gone to bed,” replied Frivole.

Mr. Luxmore understood,—whether from credulity or policy, the negroes of the place entered into the humor of their master’s monomania. The only doubt left to be cleared upon this subject was, whether they believed in or flattered the royal assumptions of the old man. And this problem Julius determined to solve—if he could. But Julius Luxmore, with all his cunning, was no match for the secretiveness of the youngest negro on the Isle. He dared not, in many words, ask his young attendant if he considered his master a madman. And to all his astute observations and indirect questions, intended to draw out the boy’s thoughts upon the subject, Frivole replied with a tact of evasion quite equal to the questioner’s art of investigation. The boy’s manner was graceful, smooth, and subtle. Mr. Luxmore felt himself playing with some beautiful, slippery serpent, whose evolutions were all charming, but who might possibly turn and sting him. He let Frivole alone.

When his meal was finished, the boy offered to show him up to his sleeping apartment.

And Mr. Luxmore arose and accepted his services. He was conducted up stairs and introduced into the second floor, front, right-hand chamber, the best in the house.

From the front windows of this room, Mr. Luxmore looked out to sea, and saw his schooner riding at anchor a short distance from the coast. Some little anxiety he felt upon the subject of this vessel, left all night in the hands of the negro crew; but, after mature deliberation, he decided that it was best that he should remain for the night the guest of Monsieur De L’Ile. So he left the vessel to its fate, and went to bed.

It was a long hour before mental exhilaration yielded to bodily fatigue and permitted him to sink to sleep, and then his slumber was disturbed by exciting dreams of wealth and grandeur; and, after a restless and perturbed night, he was early awakened by the carolling of a sweet, joyous voice under his window. He knew that voice, and he slipped out of bed, went to the window, and, concealing himself in the curtains, peeped out.

First of all, out at sea, he saw his ship, still riding safely at anchor.

Then, on the rose-terrace below, stood Etoile, her graceful little shoulders wrapped in a blue silk mantle to protect them from the early morning dampness.

Julius hastened to make his toilet and descend to the portico.

As soon as she heard the door open, and saw the visitor come out, she turned and came dancing up the steps to greet him.

Mr. Luxmore saw by her manner that she knew nothing of the calamitous intelligence he had the night before revealed to Monsieur De L’Ile.

He thought as she came toward him that she looked far more beautiful in the morning light than she had seemed the evening previous. She was but eleven years old, yet well grown and well developed for that age. There was in her fair young beauty a look of unsunned newness and freshness delightful to contemplate.

She came up carolling, but ceased her song to say:

“I am so glad you came down so early, Mr. Luxmore. The sun is rising. Oh, come see it over my sunrise shore!”

“With pleasure,” said Julius. “From what point shall we view it?”

“Oh, from the eastern extremity of the rose-terrace, here—where there is nothing to intercept the view,” she said, dancing down the steps, and leading the way.

Julius followed, whither she led, to the eastern end of the terrace, where they stood under an arch of multifloras.

“There; look out over the water. Look at the glorious world beyond!” she said exultingly.

From the height on which they stood the ground descended in a succession of gentle undulating green hills, down to the pearly beach, whence the broad blue waters rolled sparkling away toward the far distant “sunrise shore,” which looked, under the glorious morning light, like the very foundations of the celestial city.

“See, oh see!—if all the precious stones that ever were created were fused and streamed along the orient, they could not burn and glow and radiate and flash like that!—could they? Look, oh look! first along the blue water, a long line of silvery light; then golden, then ruby, then topaz, then sapphire, then all the colors of the rainbow flushing the clouds. Ah! that shore! shall I ever set my foot upon that shore,” she breathed with intense aspiration.

“Ay, that you shall, my pretty one! I promise you.”

“Oh! have you that power, sir?” she exclaimed, turning quickly and flashing upon him a sudden, penetrating gaze.

“Aye, I have that power, fair one, else I should not now be here.”

“But tell me how is that?”

“You shall learn in the course of the day, little lady.”

“Shall I tread that glorious shore very soon?”

“As soon as it may be proper and expedient that you should,” replied Julius Luxmore, feeling a curious interest in the visual illusion that presented a wild, rugged and desolate coast, under such a celestial aspect to the insulated Island maiden; but wondering no longer that her whole imagination invested the whole world beyond with such heavenly beauty—for after all, the cause lay in the atmospheric effect of distance, and she conceived the glorious shores only as she saw them.

The ringing of the breakfast bell summoned them to the house.

The breakfast table was neatly arranged in the back parlor on the left side of the hell.

Madeleine the quadroon and her son Frivole were in attendance. But two covers were laid.

Madeleine courtesied and announced that her master would not appear at the table, but would breakfast in his room, and begged that his guest would excuse him and command his house and servants.

Julius Luxmore would do that thing with great pleasure at some future time, he thought.

He handed the little girl to her seat at the table, and took his place at the opposite side of the board.

Madeleine was a good housekeeper, and the breakfast was excellent.

When the morning meal was over, Mr. Luxmore assorted his papers that he always now carefully carried about his person, and prepared for his visit to Monsieur De L’Ile.

At the appointed hour he presented himself.

He found “His Majesty” in the same room, seated at the same table, where he had been first introduced to him. In truth, the Island King looked not much the worse for the sad news that had been told him. He was clothed in a somewhat faded purple cashmere dressing-gown, and now seemed fuller of business than of sorrow.

“I am glad of this. It is the way of madness, however,” said Julius Luxmore to himself, on seeing the state of the case.

As the “Embassador” advanced to the table, “His Majesty” looked up and nodded graciously and desired that Monsieur would waive ceremony, draw up a chair and seat himself, that they might proceed to business.

Mr. Luxmore complied.

But it is not necessary that I should trouble the reader with the details of “business” transacted between a madman on the one part and a villain on the other. It is sufficient to say that Mr. Luxmore presented his credentials—consisting of the last will and testament of Victoire L’Orient together with various documents, all valuable as corroborative testimony to the authenticity of the will.

The credentials were so well received, and the bearer of the credentials so well approved, that after some excellent diplomacy, Julius Luxmore found himself so high in royal favor as to receive the appointment to the post of premier, _vice_ Monsieur Louis, deceased.

His Majesty then occupied himself with details of the solemnities of the royal mourning, which he decided should be purple; and then he commissioned Monsieur the Minister—_videlicet_—Mr. Julius Luxmore, to go upon the main, and make the needful purchases.

Finally, dismissing Mr. Luxmore to do his errand, he sent for the “Princess,” and in a private interview communicated to her the facts of the decease of her relatives. This intelligence threw over the youthful maiden an air of seriousness that was, however, as far removed from sorrow, as was the golden haze of these autumnal mornings from thunder clouds. It was not natural that the young Etoile should grieve over the loss of relatives, one of whom she had never seen, from the other of whom she had been so long separated. In truth no one sorrowed. The young maiden was too happy, the old man too crazy, and the servants all too indifferent to do so. The “bereavement” spread no gloom over the bright Island, where it was not fully realized. Only sometimes the mad old man would suddenly recollect that he ought to be overwhelmed with affliction, and then he would fall to tearing his white hair and exclaiming:

“Oh, miserable princess! Oh, hapless house!” And having paid this tribute of lamentation to the departed, would resume his habitual cheerfulness.

The truth is, that the old man was sinking deeper into the infirmities of body and imbecilities of mind attendant upon extreme old age.

And Julius Luxmore soon found himself invested not only with the government of the farm, fisheries, and financial affairs of the Island, but also with the care of the old man’s person, and with that of the young girl’s education. It really seemed as if the place had needed and waited for his coming. Had he been a conscientious and disinterested man, his arrival would have been a most opportune blessing. But he was selfish, and unprincipled, and he turned, you may readily believe, every circumstance of his position to his own advantage.

He adroitly and successfully flattered the old man, and thus attained the first place in the dotard’s esteem and confidence.

By delicate attentions and interesting instructions, he so well recommended himself to the favor of the fair Etoile, as to become in some degree essential to the little maiden’s happiness.

He also, in conducting the sales of produce from the farm and fisheries of the Island, changed the place of trade from the hamlet of Eastville on the eastern shore of the village of Heathville, about sixty miles further up the Bay on the west coast. His motive for this change, it will be easily seen, was to avoid a neighborhood where he was sure to be recognized, in favor of one where he was a total stranger.

In short, Mr. Julius Luxmore did as he pleased. His rule “there was none to dispute.” The old man was duped; the young maiden fascinated; and the quadroon, even if she escaped the spell of his deceit, was, since deprived of her coadjutor, Louis, notwithstanding her intellectual brightness, but a meek creature, to be cunningly managed rather than feared.

His schooner had for some weeks remained at anchor near the Isle; but the negro crew were forbidden to leave her deck, and so had never approached the beach. Every day Mr. Luxmore had visited the vessel to look after the safety of the craft, and the necessities of the men. And when at last it was convenient to do so, he had taken two of the Island sailors, embarked with them on the schooner, and set sail for Norfolk, where he paid off and discharged his hired men.

Then, having thus got rid of the “aliens,” he purchased some books and pictures for Etoile, and a gorgeous purple dressing-gown for “His Majesty,” and with the two home negroes, set sail for the Isle. After a short and pleasant voyage, he arrived there to rejoice all hearts. And it is difficult to decide whether was Etoile the more delighted with her books and pictures, or “His Majesty” with his royal robe.

It is not to be supposed, however, that a man of Julius Luxmore’s age, habits, and temperament, could be content to confine himself within the contracted limits of a sea-girt Island, with no other society than an old lunatic, a young maiden, and a troop of negro slaves, and with no change of scene than an occasional voyage to Heathville, to sell a cargo of corn or fish. With all Etoile’s delightful beauty, she was but a child; with all his golden prospects, the time passed heavily; he was wearied, bored; he no longer wondered that Etoile pined for “the glorious world beyond.” He himself, who knew it well to be any thing but “glorious,” also pined for it.

In a word, he felt the necessity of devising some plan of safe and frequent intercourse with “the rest of mankind.”

But this communication with his fellow-creatures, to be secure, must be, like the “reciprocity” of some people, all on one side. He must change the scene; must often go somewhere; but no one else should ever come to the Island. No one should know of the precious treasure hidden there.

But we will, for the present, leave this delectable young gentleman to make the best of his good fortune, while we go back after his forsaken love, Captain Barbara Brande, and her noble passenger.