The discarded daughter; or, The children of the isleSouthworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
General
The discarded daughter; or, The children of the isle
Southworth, Emma Dorothy Eliza Nevitte
Chesapeake Bay Region (Md. and Va.) -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Maryland -- Fiction
At last the sketch was finished and Magnus pronounced it perfect, and
threw his shoulders back with a yawn of relief, and brought his hands
together with a ring, exclaiming, as he turned to Alice:
“Now, cousin, let me order the horses and let us ride at once to the
beach. Why, here’s Goliah come from the post office—with a letter, too!”
“It is from the general, madam,” continued Magnus, receiving the letter
from the boy and handing it to Alice. She opened and glanced through it.
Then turning to the expectant child, she said:
“Elsie, your father will be home this evening. He will bring with him
Judge Wylie, Mr. Ulysses Wylie, Mr. Hardcastle, and Mr. Lionel
Hardcastle. He requests me to have supper ready for the party.”
Alice was soon superintending the preparations for supper. She had a
good deal of the pride of the housekeeper and the hostess about her.
Every Maryland woman has.
And that evening General Garnet entertained his friends to his heart’s
content. It was a sort of little political party, at which Mrs. Garnet
was not expected to appear.
After supper Lionel and Ulysses left the grave conclave of politicians
to the discussion of Congress and canvas-back ducks, and came out upon
the green.
Lionel was full of the new good fortune that had befallen him. The
dearest wish of his life was gratified; his father had at last obtained
for him a midshipman’s warrant and he was going to sea. Alice looked at
the wild and willful youth with much anxiety, and wished in her heart
that it might have been otherwise; that he might have been forced to
stay under his father’s protection and surveillance.
Lionel also, in his frank, off-hand manner, informed his Cousin Magnus
there before them all that his father had not forgotten him, either;
that he had arranged with a celebrated physician of Baltimore to receive
him as a student.
Magnus received this news with feelings of blended pain and
pleasure—pain at the thought of leaving his dear “Cousin Alice” and her
beautiful child—pleasure at the idea of the opening prospect of study,
improvement, and independence.
Elsie never thought of the evil; she only thought of the good; she threw
her arms around his neck and wished him joy and success.
But Alice was much more depressed than the occasion seemed to warrant.
Again she caught herself wishing that young people could possibly remain
at home. All partings depressed her. The idea of these saddened her.
Was the cloud on her beautiful face really sorrow at the certainty of
losing her loving boy-friend, or was it the shadow of coming events?
Alice sighed heavily as she watched the young people dance. And at an
early hour she recalled them to the house, served them with
refreshments, and, pleading great fatigue, dismissed them all to their
several chambers.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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