Wyllys bowed her head, in acknowledgment of the truth of the opinion,
and in testimony of the renown of the deceased Admiral; but did not
think it necessary to make any reply. Instead of allowing the subject
to occupy her mind any longer, she turned to her young pupil, and
observed, speaking in a voice and with a manner from which every
appearance of restraint was banished,—
“Gertrude, my love, you will have pleasure in returning to this
charming island, and to these cheering sea breezes.”
“And to my aunt!” exclaimed Gertrude. “I wish my father could be
persuaded to dispose of his estates in Carolina, and come northward, to
reside the whole year.”
“It is not quite as easy for an affluent proprietor to remove as you
may imagine, my child,” returned Mrs de Lacey. “Much as I wish that
some such plan could be adopted, I never press my brother on the
subject. Besides, I am not certain, that, if we were ever to make
another change in the family, it would not be to return _home_
altogether. It is now more than a century, Mrs Wyllys, since the
Graysons came into the colonies, in a moment of dissatisfaction with
the government in England. My great-grandfather sir Everard, was
displeased with his second son, and the dissension led my grandfather
to the province of Carolina. But, as the breach has long since been
healed, I often think my brother and myself may yet return to the halls
of our ancestors. Much will, however, depend on the manner in which we
dispose of our treasure on this side of the Atlantic.”
As the really well-meaning, though, perhaps, a little too much
self-satisfied lady concluded her remark, she glanced her eye at the
perfectly unconscious subject of the close of her speech. Gertrude had,
as usual, when her aunt chose to favour her governess with any of her
family reminiscences, turned her head aside, and was now offering her
cheek, burning with health, and perhaps a little with shame, to the
cooling influence of the evening breeze. The instant the voice of Mrs
de Lacey had ceased, she turned hastily to her companions; and,
pointing to a noble-looking ship, whose masts, as it lay in the inner
harbour, were seen rising above the roofs of the town, she exclaimed,
as if glad to change the subject in any manner,—
“And yonder gloomy prison is to be our home, dear Mrs Wyllys, for the
next month!”
“I hope your dislike to the sea has magnified the time,” mildly
returned her governess; “the passage between this place and Carolina
has been often made in a shorter period.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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