Home as Found by James Fenimore Cooper (easy novels to read .txt) 📖

let an antipathy

against a name that was your mother's, interfere with your sense of

right. I know that some unpleasant questions arose concerning your

succession to my aunt's fortune, but that was all settled in your

favour twenty years ago, and I had thought to your entire

satisfaction."

 

"Unhappily, family quarrels are ever the most bitter, and usually

they are the least reconcileable," returned John Effingham,

evasively.--"I would that this young man's name were any thing but

Assheton! I do not wish to see Eve plighting her faith at the altar,

to any one bearing that, accursed name!"

 

"I shall plight my faith, if ever it be done, dear cousin John, to

the man, and not to his name."

 

"No, no--he must keep the appellation of Powis by which we have all

learned to love him, and to which he has done so much credit."

 

"This is very strange, Jack, for a man who is usually as discreet and

as well regulated as yourself. I again propose that we send for Paul,

and ascertain precisely to what branch of this so-much-disliked

family he really belongs."

 

"No, father, if you love me, not now!" cried Eve, arresting Mr.

Effingham's hand as it touched the bell-cord; "it would appear

distrustful, and even cruel, were we to enter into such an inquiry so

soon. Powis might think we valued his family, more than we do

himself,"

 

"Eve is right, Ned; but I will not sleep without learning all. There

is an unfinished examination of the papers left by poor Monday, and I

will take an occasion to summon Paul to its completion, when an

opportunity will offer to renew the subject of his own history; for

it was at the other investigation that he first spoke frankly to me,

concerning himself."

 

"Do so, cousin Jack, and let it be at once," said Eve earnestly. "I

can trust you with Powis alone, for I know how much you respect and

esteem him in your heart. See, it is already ten."

 

"But, he will naturally wish to spend the close of an evening like

this engaged in investigating something very different from Mr.

Monday's tale," returned her cousin; the smile with which he spoke

chasing away the look of chilled aversion that had so lately darkened

his noble features.

 

"No, not to-night," answered the blushing Eve. "I have confessed

weakness enough for one day. Tomorrow, if you will--if he will,--but

not to-night. I shall retire with Mrs. Hawker, who already complains

of fatigue; and you will send for Powis, to meet you in your own

room, without unnecessary delay."

 

Eve kissed John Effingham coaxingly, and as they walked together out

of the library, she pointed towards the door that led to the

chambers. Her cousin laughingly complied, and when in his own room,

he sent a message to Paul to join him.

 

"Now, indeed, may I call you a kinsman," said John Effingham, rising

to receive the young man, towards whom he advanced, with extended

hands, in his most winning manner. "Eve's frankness and your own

discernment have made us a happy family!"

 

"If any thing could add to the felicity of being acceptable to Miss

Effingham," returned Paul, struggling to command his feelings, "it is

the manner in which her father and yourself have received my poor

offers."

 

"Well, we will now speak of it no more. I saw from the first which

way things were tending, and it was my plain-dealing that opened the

eyes of Templemore to the impossibility of his ever succeeding, by

which means his heart has been kept from breaking."

 

"Oh! Mr. Effingham, Templemore never loved-Eve Effingham! I thought

so once, and he thought so, too; but it could not have been a love

like mine."

 

"It certainly differed in the essential circumstance of reciprocity,

which, in itself, singularly qualifies the passion, so far as

duration is concerned. Templemore did not exactly know the reason why

he preferred Eve; but, having seen so much of the society in which he

lived, I was enabled to detect the cause. Accustomed to an elaborate

sophistication, the singular union of refinement and nature caught

his fancy; for the English seldom see the last separated from

vulgarity; and when it is found, softened by a high intelligence and

polished manners, it has usually great attractions for the _biases_."

 

"He is fortunate in having so readily found a substitute for Eve

Effingham!"

 

"This change is not unnatural, neither. In the first place, I, with

this truth-telling 'tongue, destroyed all hope, before he had

committed himself by a declaration; and then Grace Van Cortlandt

possesses the great attraction of nature, in a degree quite equal to

that of her cousin. Besides, Templemore, though a gentleman, and a

brave man, and a worthy one, is not remarkable for qualities of a

very extraordinary kind. He will be as happy as is usual for an

Englishman of his class to be, and he has no particular right to

expect more. I sent for you, however, less to talk of love, than to

trace its unhappy consequences in this affair, revealed by the papers

of poor Monday. It is time we acquitted ourselves of that trust. Do

me the favour to open the dressing-case that stands on the toilet-

table; you will find in it the key that belongs to the bureau, where

I have placed the secretary that contains the papers."

 

Paul did as desired. The dressing-case was complicated and large,

having several compartments, none of which were fastened. In the

first opened, he saw a miniature of a female so beautiful, that his

eve rested on it, as it might be, by a fascination.--Notwithstanding

some difference produced by the fashions of different periods, the

resemblance to the object of his love, was obvious at a glance. Borne

away by the pleasure of the discovery, and actually believing that he

saw a picture of Eve, drawn in a dress that did not in a great degree

vary from the present attire, fashion having undergone no very

striking revolution in the last twenty years, he exclaimed--

 

"This is indeed a treasure, Mr. Effingham, and most sincerely do I

envy you its possession. It is like, and yet, in some particulars, it

is unlike--it scarcely does Miss Effingham justice about the nose and

forehead!"

 

John Effingham started when he saw the miniature in Paul's hand, but

recovering himself, he smiled at the eager delusion of his young

friend, and said with perfect composure--

 

"It is not Eve, but her mother. The two features you have named in

the former came from my family; but in all the others, the likeness

is almost identical."

 

"This then is Mrs. Effingham!" murmured Paul, gazing on the face of

the mother of his love, with a respectful melancholy, and an interest

that was rather heightened than lessened by a knowledge of the truth.

"She died young, sir?"

 

"Quite; she can scarcely be said to have become an angel too soon,

for she was always one."

 

This was said with a feeling that did not escape Paul, though it

surprised him. There were six or seven miniature-cases in the

compartment of the dressing-box, and supposing that the one which lay

uppermost belonged to the miniature in his hand, he raised it, and

opened the lid with a view to replace the picture of Eve's mother,

with a species of pious reverence. Instead of finding an empty case,

however, another miniature met his eye. The exclamation that now

escaped the young man was one of delight and surprise.

 

"That must be my grandmother, with whom you are in such raptures, at

present," said John Effingham, laughing--"I was comparing it

yesterday with the picture of Eve, which is in the Russia-leather

case, that you will find somewhere there. I do not wonder, however,

at your admiration, for she was a beauty in her day, and no woman is

fool enough to be painted after she grows ugly."

 

"Not so--not so--Mr. Effingham! This is the miniature I lost in the

Montauk, and which I had given up as booty to the Arabs. It has,

doubtless, found its way into your state-room, and has been put among

your effects by your man, through mistake. It is very precious to me,

for it is nearly every memorial I possess of my own mother!"

 

"Your mother!" exclaimed John Effingham rising. "I think there must

be some mistake, for I examined all those pictures this very morning,

and it is the first time they have been opened since our arrival from

Europe. It cannot be the missing picture."

 

"Mine it is certainly; in that I cannot be mistaken!"

 

"It would be odd indeed, if one of my grandmothers, for both are

there, should prove to be your mother.--Powis, will you have the

goodness to let me see the picture you mean."

 

Paul brought the miniature and a light, placing both before the eyes

of his friend.

 

"That!" exclaimed John Effingham, his voice sounding harsh and

unnatural to the listener,--"that picture like _your_ mother!"

 

"It is her miniature--_the_ miniature that was transmitted to

me, from those who had charge of my childhood. I cannot be mistaken

as to the countenance, or the dress."

 

"And your father's name was Assheton?"

 

"Certainly--John Assheton, of the Asshetons of Pennsylvania."

 

John Effingham groaned aloud; when Paul stepped back equally shocked

and surprised, he saw that the face of his friend was almost livid,

and that the hand which held the picture shook like the aspen.

 

"Are you unwell, dear Mr. Effingham?"

 

"No--no--'tis impossible! This lady never had a child. Powis, you

have been deceived by some fancied, or some real resemblance. This

picture is mine, and has not been out of my possession these five and

twenty years."

 

"Pardon me, sir, it is the picture of my mother, and no other; the

very picture lost in the Montauk."

 

The gaze that John Effingham cast upon the young man was ghastly; and

Paul was about to ring the bell, but a gesture of denial prevented

him.

 

"See," said John Effingham, hoarsely, as he touched a spring in the

setting, and exposed to view the initials of two names interwoven

with hair--"is this, too, yours?"

 

Paul looked surprised and disappointed.

 

"That certainly settles the question; my miniature had no such

addition; and yet I believe that sweet and pensive countenance to be

the face of my own beloved mother, and of no one else."

 

John Effingham struggled to appear calm; and, replacing the pictures,

he took the key from the dressing case, and, opening the bureau, he

took out the secretary. This he signed for Powis, who had the key, to

open; throwing himself into a chair, though every thing was done

mechanically, as if his mind and body had little or no connection

with each other.

 

"Some accidental resemblance has deceived you as to the miniature,"

he said, while Paul was looking for the proper number among the

letters of Mr. Monday. "No--no--that _cannot_ be the picture of

your mother. She left no child. Assheton did you say, was the name of

your father?"

 

"Assheton--John Assheton--about that, at least, there can have been

no mistake. This is the num her at which we left off--will you, sir,

or shall I, read?"

 

The other made a sign for Paul to read; looking, at the same time, as

if it were impossible for him to discharge that duty himself.

 

"This is a letter from the woman who appears to have been entrusted

with the child, to the man Dowse," said Paul, first glancing his eyes

over the page,--"it appears to be little else but gossip--ha!--what

is this, I see?"

 

John Effingham raised himself in his chair, and he sat gazing at

Paul, as one gazes who expects some extraordinary developement,

though of what nature he knew not.

 

"This is a singular passage," Paul continued--"so much so as to need

elucidation. 'I have taken the child with me to get the picture from

the jeweller, who has mended the ring, and the little urchin knew it

at a glance.'"

 

"What is there remarkable in that? Others beside ourselves have had

pictures;-and this child knows its own better than you."

 

"Mr. Effingham, such a thing occurred to myself! It is one of those

early events of which I still retain, have ever retained, a vivid

recollection. Though little more than an infant at the time, well do

I recollect to have been taken in this manner to a jeweller's, and

the delight I felt at recovering my mother's picture, that which is

now lost, after it had not been seen for a month or two."

 

"Paul Blunt--Powis--Assheton "--said John Effingham, speaking so

hoarsely as to be nearly unintelligible, "remain here a few minutes--

I will rejoin you."

 

John Effingham arose, and, notwithstanding he rallied all his powers,

it was with extreme difficulty he succeeded in reaching the door,

steadily rejecting the offered assistance of Paul, who was at a loss

what to think of so much agitation in a man usually so self-possessed

and tranquil. When out of the room, John Effingham did better, and he

proceeded to the library, followed by his own man, whom he had

ordered to accompany him with