CHAPTER XXXIV.

THE HEIRESS OF THE ISLE.

“Thus from within and from without, She grew a flower of mind and eye ’Twas love that circled her about, And love that made her quick reply.”—_Sterling._

Changes had also in this time passed over the charming sea-girt island and its inhabitants.

Etoile from a beautiful child, had grown into a most beautiful maiden. Her form was of medium size and of exquisite symmetry. Her golden ringlets were more sunny bright, her smooth forehead more snowy-white, her blooming cheeks and lips flushed with a richer carnation, her blue eyes softened with a deeper tenderness. All her motions were perfect grace, all her tones perfect melody.

Her mind was one of the finest order, and was well cultivated, because she had followed up her earlier course of instruction by diligently reading the numerous volumes carefully selected for her use, by Julius Luxmore. She was passionately fond of music and of painting, to the study of which she had first been introduced by the accomplished Madame L’Orient, and which, of late years, she had, with the aid of manuals, enthusiastically cultivated. For the rest the beautiful girl was blessed with the sweetest temper and the gayest spirit. And thus, taken all for all in all, she was the moral sunshine of the Island.

Julius Luxmore continued the honored friend and confidential agent of Monsieur Henri De L’Ile. He sought by every means to ingratiate himself into the confidence, esteem, and affection of the master, the heiress, and even the negroes of the Island. He was handsome in person, plausible in sentiment, and pleasing in address. He seemed a miracle of ability, honor and benevolence. The master distinguished him, the servants lauded him, and Etoile having few to love in the world, loved him; but it was with a younger sister’s innocent, confiding affection.

And even if in some unguarded hour, when his mask of fair seeming was not fitted closely, Etoile with her fine feminine instinct faintly perceived that he was not in all respects perfect excellence, she quickly suppressed this idea, accusing herself of injustice and all uncharitableness. She absolutely _saw_ nothing wrong in Julius Luxmore; there appeared to be no _reason_ for her occasional suspicions of his soundness of integrity, and therefore she repelled those suspicions as both unjust and ungenerous.

For with all her mental and moral wealth—with her strength of intellect and warmth of affection, this beautiful young recluse of the isle, cut off from communication with all the rest of the world, was the most unsophisticated child of nature, entirely innocent of the knowledge of conventional life. If she always moved, spoke, and acted with the most exquisite politeness, it was because her soul was as gracious as her person was graceful. And if sometimes she made quaint mistakes, they were always the natural mistakes of a pure heart that thinketh no evil.

Mr. Luxmore had done all that man could do to recommend himself to her good opinion. He taxed his invention to increase her resources of interest and amusement.

In his frequent visits to the cities of the main land he collected the rarest and most attractive books, pictures, statuettes, vases, and ornamental, useful or instructive objects of every description.

At the Island, he had a green-house built and filled with the rarest exotics, that she might enjoy flowers all the year round. Adjoining the green-house, he caused an aviary to be erected, which he peopled with the finest song birds of our own and other countries. These conservatories were connected by glass doors with the favorite parlor and bed-chamber of Etoile, which now occupied the right hand side of the hall on the first floor. And thus the young heiress could at all seasons of the year enjoy the perfume of flowers, and the songs of birds.

The Island was, as I have already said, a mile in diameter, and three miles in circumference. Mr. Luxmore caused a road to be cleared around the whole circuit of the Isle above the beach, that Etoile might have a long three-mile race-course. And on his next visit to New York, he purchased from a celebrated riding-school a lady’s trained palfrey—a beautiful silvery white Arabian, which, together with a rich saddle and bridle, he shipped and conveyed to the Island for the use of Etoile.

Of all the presents that he had brought, this the most delighted the young girl. And she cordially expressed her thanks. It was Mr. Luxmore who first lifted her into the saddle, and taught her to guide her horse—it was Mr. Luxmore who was her constant companion in riding.

I will sketch one day, that the reader may judge how the beautiful young Islander, without companions of her own age, passed her time.

At the rising of the sun, the jubilant matin songs of the myriads of birds that swarmed the Isle awakened her. She arose, and knelt, and offered up her morning worship, then came out of her chamber, and when she was joined by Madeline, who with a bathing dress hung over arm, attended her young lady down to the crystal creek, where for half an hour she bathed and swan about like a Nereid in the limpid stream. Then resuming her ordinary dress, she returned to the house where Julius Luxmore would be waiting with two horses to take her on her morning ride. After a gallop of three-quarters of an hour around the beach, she would return with a fine appetite for breakfast. After the morning meal was over, she would retire to her own parlor, the front room on the right hand of the passage on the first floor, where she would occupy the long forenoon in reading, drawing, and practicing music on the piano or guitar, until one o’clock—when she would go out for an hour’s walk in the shady groves before returning to dinner at two. After the midday meal she would take her needle-work and go into her uncle’s cool sitting-room, where she would sit and sew, while the Monsieur Henri reclined in his arm-chair, and Julius Luxmore read to them both from Milton, Shakspeare, Paley, or some other of the English poets or essayists, until the old man fell asleep. They would then leave him to enjoy his nap, and go down to the beach, enter the smack, hoist a sail, and take a run of five or six miles up and down the Bay; after which they would return to an early tea. When the evening repast was over, Etoile would take her guitar and join her uncle and Julius Luxmore on the vine-shaded piazza, where they would sit, and she would sing and play for them, until the hour of retirement. At ten everybody on the Island was in bed.

Thus I have given you as a sample one day of Etoile’s life. A sufficiently happy programme for a single day; but when day after day, week after week, and month after month, with little variety, passed in this manner, it is not surprising that it should become monotonous and wearisome, and that, notwithstanding all the means and appliances of happiness with which she was surrounded, the beautiful Etoile should sigh for the unknown world beyond, which her imagination painted in such brilliant hues. And when Mr. Luxmore, after one of his visits to the main land, would return, bringing some rare exotic, some beautiful bird, some exquisite picture or sweet-toned lute, she would receive them with a smile of joy and gratitude that would be quickly followed by a deep sigh of aspiration for that world beyond, whence all these beautiful things came! For if every thing that came from that distant, shore was so charming, how much more charming must the shore itself be, she reasoned. And thus time and circumstances increased her longing to see the mainland.

But it was during the severe winter months when the ice-bound shores of the island sequestrated its inhabitants from all the rest of the human race, and allowed neither going forth nor coming in, that the society of Julius Luxmore was considered the very greatest acquisition to the enjoyment of the family. During the short days, when they could not venture from the house, Mr. Luxmore would play chess or backgammon with the old man all the morning; read to him and to Etoile all the afternoon, and recount for their amusement his adventures by sea and land, all the evening. Thus he rendered himself almost indispensable to the house.

It was in the fifth year of Julius Luxmore’s residence upon the Island, that an important event occurred, which shall be related in the next chapter.