Ishmael; Or, In the Depths. Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte Southworth

myself and my estate. I could marry Nora at any time, openly, without my mother's consent. But that would give her great pain. It would not kill her, nor make her ill, but it would wound her in her tenderest points—her love of her son, and her love of rank; it would produce an open rupture between us. She would never forgive me, nor acknowledge my wife."

      "Then why do you speak at all of marrying Nora?" interrupted Hannah angrily.

      Herman turned and looked at Nora. That mute look was his only answer, and it was eloquent; it said plainly what his lips forbore to speak: "I have won her love, and I ought to marry her; for if I do not, she will die."

      Then he continued as if Hannah had not interrupted him:

      "I wish to get on as easily as I can between these conflicting difficulties. I will not wrong Nora, and I will not grieve my mother. The only way to avoid doing either will be for me to marry my darling privately, and keep the affair a secret until a fitting opportunity offers to publish it."

      "A secret marriage! Mr. Brudenell! is that what you propose to my sister?"

      "Why not, Hannah?"

      "Secret marriages are terrible things!"

      "Disappointed affections, broken hearts, early graves, are more terrible."

      "Fudge!" was the word that rose to Hannah's lips, as she looked at the young man; but when she turned to her sister she felt that his words might be true.

      "Besides, Hannah," he continued, "this will not be a secret marriage. You cannot call that a secret which will be known to four persons—the parson, you, Nora, and myself. I shall not even bind you or Nora to keep the secret longer than you think it her interest to declare it. She shall have the marriage certificate in her own keeping, and every legal protection and defense; so that even if I should die suddenly—"

      Nora gasped for breath.

      —"she would be able to claim and establish her rights and position in the world. Hannah, you must see that I mean to act honestly and honorably," said the young man, in an earnest tone.

      "I see that you do; but, Mr. Brudenell, it appears to me that the fatal weakness of which you have already spoken to me—the 'propensity to please'—is again leading you into error. You wish to save Nora, and you wish to spare your mother; and to do both these things, you are sacrificing—"

      "What, Hannah?"

      "Well—fair, plain, open, straight-forward, upright dealing, such as should always exist between man and woman."

      "Hannah, you are unjust to me! Am I not fair, plain, open, straight-forward, upright, and all the rest of it in my dealing with you?"

      "With us, yes; but—"

      "With my mother it is necessary to be cautious. It is true that she has no right to oppose my marriage with Nora; but yet she would oppose it, even to death! Therefore, to save trouble and secure peace, I would marry my dear Nora quietly. Mystery, Hannah, is not necessarily guilt; it is often wisdom and mercy. Do not object to a little harmless mystery, that is besides to secure peace! Come, Hannah, what say you?"

      "How long must this marriage, should it take place, be kept a secret?" inquired Hannah uneasily.

      "Not one hour longer than you and Nora think it necessary that it should be declared! Still, I should beg your forbearance as long as possible. Come, Hannah, your answer!"

      "I must have time to reflect. I fear I should be doing very wrong to consent to this marriage, and yet—and yet—. But I must take a night to think of it! To-morrow, Mr. Brudenell, I will give you an answer!"

      With this reply the young man was obliged to be contented. Soon after he arose and took his leave.

      When he was quite out of hearing Nora arose and threw herself into her sister's arms, crying:

      "Oh, Hannah, consent! consent! I cannot live without him!"

      The elder sister caressed the younger tenderly; told her of all the dangers of a secret marriage; of all the miseries of an ill-sorted one; and implored her to dismiss her wealthy lover, and struggle with her misplaced love.

      Nora replied only with tears and sobs, and vain repetitions of the words:

      "I cannot live without him, Hannah! I cannot live without him!"

      Alas, for weakness, willfulness, and passion! They, and not wise counsels, gained the day. Nora would not give up her lover; would not struggle with her love; but would have her own way.

      At length, in yielding a reluctant acquiesence, Hannah said:

      "I would never countenance this—never, Nora! but for one reason; it is that I know, whether I consent or not, you two, weak and willful and passionate as you are, will rush into this imprudent marriage all the same! And I think for your sake it had better take place with my sanction, and in my presence, than otherwise."

      Nora clasped her sister's neck and covered her face with kisses.

      "He means well by us, dear Hannah—indeed he does, bless him! So do not look so grave because we are going to be happy."

      Had Herman felt sure of his answer the next day? It really seemed so; for when he made his appearance at the cottage in the morning he brought the marriage license in his pocket and a peripatetic minister in his company.

      And before the astonished sisters had time to recover their self-possession Herman Brudenell's will had carried his purpose, and the marriage ceremony was performed. The minister then wrote out the certificate, which was signed by himself, and witnessed by Hannah, and handed it to the bride.

      "Now, dearest Nora," whispered the triumphant bridegroom, "I am happy, and you are safe!"

      But—were either of them really safe or happy?

CHAPTER V.

       Table of Contents

      LOVE AND FATE.

      Amid the sylvan solitude

       Of unshorn grass and waving wood

       And waters glancing bright and fast,

       A softened voice was in her ear,

       Sweet as those lulling sounds and fine

       The hunter lifts his head to hear,

       Now far and faint, now full and near—

       The murmur of the wood swept pine.

       A manly form was ever nigh,

       A bold, free hunter, with an eye

       Whose dark, keen glance had power to wake

       Both fear and love—to awe and charm.

       Faded the world that they had known,

       A poor vain shadow, cold and waste,

       In the warm present bliss alone

       Seemed they of actual life to taste.

       —Whittier.

      It was in the month of June they were married; when the sun shone with his brightest splendor; when the sky was of the clearest blue, when the grass was of the freshest green, the woods in their rudest foliage, the flowers in their richest bloom, and all nature in her most luxuriant life! Yes, June was their honeymoon; the forest shades their bridal halls, and birds and flowers and leaves and rills their train of attendants. For weeks they lived a kind of fairy life, wandering together through the depths of the valley forest, discovering through the illumination of their love new beauties and glories in the earth and sky; new sympathies with every form of life. Were ever suns so bright, skies so clear, and woods so green as theirs in this month of beauty, love, and joy!

      "It seems to me that I must have been deaf and blind and