A Canadian Heroine, Volume 1

ce, tone, gestures too well to doubt that she regarded this long-kept secret as something which must separate her from Percy-must separate her, she therefore fanc

m, and came back carrying a small, old-fashioned desk, which she placed upon the table. This desk, which she knew had been her mother's when a girl, and which contained many little treasures, attracted Lucia's attention. Obeying a sign from Mrs. Costello,

ess, Lucia," Mrs. Costello said with slow painful uttera

ortrait lying there face downwards, she involun

st I know?" she wh

u m

all figure with black hair, dressed in a gaily striped shirt and blanket, and leaning on a spear-an Indian. She threw th

cking her, came above all, her own face with the dark traits which she had believed to be Spanish, but which she could now trace to such a different origin. In a moment, and for ever, her girlish vanity fell from her. She felt as if her beauty were but the badge of degradation and misery. And then there came the

ostello drew back; she returned to her chair, and sat down to wait, but the long deep sigh which unconsciously escaped her, as she did so, reached Lucia's heart. A strong impulse of love and pity seemed to break through all her misery; she felt that, at least, she did not suffer alone, a

aid, "I have much to tell you, my

r. I must k

old childish attitude at her mother's feet; only tha

aid. "Explain all I

ce. It would be apt to be a piece of special pleading, for or against, as egotism or conscience happened to be strongest. Best, then, not to try to reproduce the words spoken that night-spo

d, to grow up alone; and she knew, more familiarly, but with a sense of awe which was almost dislike, the child's father, her own grandfather, a man saddened, silent, unsympathetic. These

scientious, and very well instructed, but she was not judicious. She never found out that her pupil would have been an absolute slave to affection, but was altogether hardened to severity, and when she failed in herself enforcing her authority, she made the great and most unlucky mistake of appealing to George Wynter. Mary, up to that time, had had no dislike to her cousin. He was nearly twenty years older than herself, an excell

st time she was fortunate in her surroundings. Companionship made her gay, and emulation woke keen and successful ambition. Nearly three years passed, and, in place of ignorance an

t, showing her much that was best worth seeing in the south of Europe-but seeing places chiefly, people seldom. In all this time she saw nothing of her cousin George-he had almost fallen out of her acquaintance, and taken the place of a disagreeable memory. But when she and her father came home, he was there to receive them, and she began to realize that his presence was to be an

arisome and depressing years, partly from her position, partly from her strong, and always growing, dislike to the cousin, who was so much more to her father than she was. She saw very few people; now and then she went with her father to a dinner-party where most of the guests were "grave and reverend seigniors" like himself; now and then to a dance, where people were civil to her, and where some stranger in the neighbourhood would occasionally show signs of incipient admiration, pleasantly exciting to a girl in her teens. And now and then she had to receive visitors at home, feeling constrained and annoyed while she did so, by the invariable presence of George. There were neighbours who would gladly have been good to her. It was common for mothers to say to each other, "Poor Mary Wynter! I should like to ask here more, but I really

could get permission to spend a week away from home. This girl had married at the very time of Mary's leaving school-she lived much in the world, and would have carried Mary into the whirl of dissipation if Mr. Wynter had allowed it. But he had res

of George, were the most delightful, she would have been puzzled to say. The next week her head steadied a little-everything was delightful, but it was London, and not fairyland; it could not be denied that the rooms were hot, and that one came down rather tired in the morning. Mrs. Churchill,

ure wilfulness, chose to take fright at something by the roadside; they made a sudden rush, and their mistress all at once found herself quite unable to hold them. There was no immediate danger, the road being both good and clear, but as they went on, their pace, instead of subsiding, seemed to increase. The carriage was not of the low build of these days, and the servant hesitated to risk a jump from his perch at the back. Meantime a corner was in sight, which it wo

o resembled a very handsome Spaniard, spoke with a slight French accent, and in a remarkably musical voice. The handsome one, indeed, spoke very little-it was he who had first stepped into the road and caught the runaway ponies; but having done so, he left his companion to take the lead in replying to Mrs. Churchill's civilities. And when she finally begged to know their names, in order that her husband might also express his grat

r her driving. She handed the card to Mary, who read on it, "Mr. Bail

was very much the nicest looking. I must get my husband t

in end of the wedge, perhaps, had wounded her, and a succession of blows would easily drive it deep into her heart, or her fancy, as the case might be. Perhaps, too, it was more

he people she was to meet there. The hostess was fond of collecting together all sorts of stray oddities, and of trying to further a scheme of universal brotherhood by mixing up in her drawing-room a most motley crowd, including all classes, from the ultra fine lady to the emancipated slave. It was not, perhaps, very amusing to the portion of her guest

exercise of patience and perseverance, they had struggled in and got to

ght, I think; and if I followed my own inclinations, I should try to slip round to a little roo

go; we can perhaps move about a little, lat

a celebrity, now a woolly-haired princess, now a jewelled Oriental, met them as they went; but at last they turned out of the crowd and pa

flected light, and a murmur of voices, came from the windows of the great drawing-room which also opened to the balcony. But both light and sound were subdued to

on the balcony. Helen moved impatie

he recognized with surprise. It was that of their acquaintance of the morning. He was speaking in French,

low me to remind you that you are not doing your duty. If you don

sly harmonious. "You bring me here, into this horrible crowd, where I am stifled, and I do not see what

I wish I had made you come in paint and feather

room. Bailey, who was first, passed Mary without seeing her, but the

d moved a ste

ou now that chance has given me the opportunity. I am Mrs. Churchill, and I am

n that nothing serious could have been overheard, and was ready to receive w

ho now stood silent near to her. She in turn rose, and spoke with some diffidence. "I should like to o

red; "the ponies would most likely have become quiet of themselves, only

e unmanageable, and we had not met anybod

the larger rooms, and she was obliged to follow, she went dreamingly until they found themselves beside their hostess. Upon her Helen seized, and assailed her with que

a true, genuine Uncas, only educa

roes-stately, generous, brave, and beautiful-capable of everything that was grandest, noblest, and most fascinating. Here was one in propria p

was done never to be undone, howe

nd, found his baptismal one of Christian more convenient, was the chief of a tribe once powerful, now fallen into decay. To raise this tribe again was his one idea, his fervent ambition. He had himself been educated by the French Jesuits, but, when fully informed, had seen the errors of their faith, and now earnestly desired to found amo

by saying that they required some one to look after the more practical matters of lodging, food, etc., which Christian, a stranger in Europe, could not well do, and professed himself to be a mere hired accessory. It was Christian who was the soul of all, the hero, who, for a noble purpose, endured a daily mortifi

; she began to think she had been often ill-tempered, and must try to make amends. Christian had found means-or Bailey had found them for him-to make her believe herself as much to him as he was to her. She knew that the whole party had left London, and were moving from place

evenings were social, after a fashion. Sometimes Mary played or sung-sometimes George read aloud. Mr. Wynter liked to be amused, but he did not care to talk. Thus, even

new book, proved too strong for her. The book was one of her favourite Indian stories, and she lost herself in the delightful depths of the "forest primeval" with an e

fall, with a sudden conviction that something impor

u. It did not seem necessary to say anything about it before, but now y

t, papa?" she said,

, and yet old enough for a girl to have some idea of her duties.

nd where was the bridegroom? She almost laughed, as she thought that she co

aged to ask, at last. "N

r repeated in surprise

opped a minute t

ked at his face and could not. He was too much in earnest-she perceived that with him the thing was settled-and therefore d

ed to change. Then he got up,

pposed you must have guessed my intentions. I

however, was necessary. The marriage could not take place until just before the Indians sailed for Canada, which would be in March, and Mary could obtain delay, only by a kind of compromise. She made her cousin himself the means of obtaining this, by reminding him that the least he could do for her, was to give her time to reconcile herself to so new an idea. He, not the least in love, and far from suspecting a rival,

nd still more completely during the voyage, that all the

a few children were brought up by the priests with the greatest care,-probably because it was by means of these boys, that they hoped more effectually to civilize the whole tribe. At any rate, they taught them all that they could have taught Europeans; having them completely in their own hands, there was no difficulty about this, and the more intelligent among them became good scholars. There was one boy, however, who distinguished himself above the rest, and was naturally the pride and favourite of the mission. He was an orphan, whom they had named Christian, and whom they were turning expressly for a priest. But when Christian was about sixteen, the mission was for the first time disturbed. Some Protestant missionaries invaded the island itself, and built their house close to the Indian wigwams. They spoke the language sufficiently to be understood, and took every means of making themselves acceptable to the people. They were men of great fervour and earnestness, and to the Indian senses, their religion, with its abundant hymns, and exclamatory prayers, had an attraction greater than that of the more decorous service to which they were accustomed. One by one, the so-called converts left the Jesuit church, and were re-converted with great acclamation. But when the infection reached their own pupils, their own particular and beloved flock, the priests were in despair; and the very first of their children to leave them, was Christian. He had been, for some time, tired of the sober and self-denying life which he was obliged to lead; and having gained all the advantages the priests could give him, and knowing that his profession of Protestantism would be hailed with the greatest joy by the new missionaries, he went to them, and so succeeded in persuading them of his sincerity, that he became as great a favourite as he had before been with his old teachers. The Jesuits, soon after, finding themselves almost entirely abandoned, gave up their mission and left the field to their opponents.

d to be an heiress. At first, Bailey had had some thought of himself winning this prize; but he had wit enough to see that he would not succeed, and that C

nt, Mrs. Costello was no longer leading her daughter through places and scenes entirely strange. She paused, and faltered, yet beg

helpless in their hands. There came, about the middle of our voyage, a time when I sunk into a kind of stupor; worn out with the misery of my disappointment, I gave up my whole mind to a gloomy passiveness. Morning after morning I crept out on deck, and sat all day leaning against the bulwarks, with a cloak drawn round me, seeing nothing but the waves and sky, and indifferent to wind or rain, or the hot sun which sometimes shone on me. All this time I had taken no notice of the Indians, who for their part avoided me, and left me a portion of the deck always undisturbed. But one day as I sat as usual vacantly looking out to sea, I was disturbed by the cries of a child. The babies, although there were four or five in the party, were usually so quiet that the sound surprised me. I looked round, a

comfortable little bed, in an unoccupied space close to my cabin. There we nursed the poor little creature, which got well wonderfully soon

ns, which seemed to carry the sense of degradation to my very heart. But Mary and her little sister had done me good. I had already lost some of my pride, and began to remember that, however I might repent my marriage, I had entered into it of my own will, and could not now free

hin that their voices reached me quite distinctly, and I soon found that they were disputing about something. From the day when, on board ship, Bailey had told me how they had entrapped me simply for the money to which I was entitled, there had never been any allusion made, in my presence, to the profit they expected to make of me. I could hear now, however, as their voices grew louder, that this was the cause of thei

d neat, though not better than the cottages of many farm-labourers in England, and I was so humbled that I never thought of complaining. It stood

not until three years of solitude, terro

to England. He was often away from me for many days without my knowing where he was, and I only heard from others, vague stories of his spending nights and days, drinking and gambling, on the American side of the river. At first,

ould not bear to complain to them, or to make my story a subject for missionary reports and speeches. You see I had a little pride still, but I do not

sual supplies. A great many of them left the island, and tried to find food by begging, or by selling mats, and baskets, at the nearest settlements. The misery of these poor creatures attracted attention, and people began to wonder why, since they were Christians, and had received some degree of teaching, they were still so ignorant of the means of living. The answer was easy. The missionaries who had taught them were as ignorant as themselves of these things; and,