Graham's Magazine, Vol. XXXII No. 4, April 1848

"No," answered the nun, opening her great eyes.

"Well, then, I've a great deal to tell you. Let me ask you, in the first place, if you know where your brother Pedro is."

I was frightened at the expression which my cousin's face assumed. "Yes!" she said, in a hoarse voice, "he is in the Guarda-Costa. My God! Frank! I saw him a year ago in the streets, toiling as a scavenger."

I saw that there was yet deep feeling under the cold, melancholy exterior. I had but little time to work, and hastened to proceed.

"Cousin Clara," I resumed, "you are mistaken; your brother has escaped from confinement, and is now on board my ship, the Gentile."

"Thank God!" cried the nun, clasping her hands, "now am I willing to die."

"And further," said I, immediately continuing my revelations, "can you repress your feelings?"

"What more can you have to tell me?" whispered Sister Agatha. "Go on, I am not so nearly stone as I thought myself; but I can hear without any dangerous outbreak of emotion whatever you have to say."

"Well," I resumed, "you were mistaken about Mr. Stewart's death – "

I had been too abrupt. The nun turned deadly pale, and clung to the bars of the grate for support; but the emotion was momentary. "Go on," said she, in a hoarse whisper.

"Can you bear it?" I asked, anxiously.

"Yes, no matter what it may be."

"Command yourself, then; Mr. Stewart is not only alive, but well; he loves you yet most ardently, but without hope; he is now on board of the Gentile, he and Pedro – not three miles from you."

While thus by piecemeal I doled out my information, I watched the effect on my auditor. There was no more fainting. Her lips parted, and displayed her white teeth firmly set against each other, and her little hands grasped the bars of the grate convulsively.

Quickly and concisely I stated my plan for her escape; but still she maintained the same attitude; she did not even seem to hear me.

"Clara, do you consent?" I cried, in despair, for I heard the steps of the Superior and Mr. Stowe.

Suddenly she extended her hand through the grate and grasped mine. "I do," she said, "if I'm damned for it."

"Right, then; you shall be warned in time. Go now, for your features are any thing but calm."

The nun vanished as the Superior entered.

"I have been taking advantage of your confidence, señora," said I; "I have been trying to persuade my cousin that she is discontented and unhappy, but without success."

"Ah! no fear of that, señor," cried the lady, with a smile, while Mr. Stowe stood aghast; "girls who have been disappointed in love make good nuns."

"Then you will dare to trust me to see her again. I promised that I would call once more before I sail, with your permission."

"Si, Señor, whenever you please."

After partaking of some very fine fruit and wine, we took our leave with many thanks.

"Well, Frank, how you startled me," said Mr. Stowe, as we drove off. "You told the truth, I suppose; but the truth is not to be told at all times."

"Oh!" said I, "I only told half the truth – "

"Is it possible that Sister Agatha consents to escape?"

"She has promised to do so," I replied.

Mr. Stowe expressed so much surprise that I found that he had had no faith in my success – but the good gentleman was now overjoyed. "Capital, Frank!" said he, "you would make a splendid diplomatist. Now what do you say to going directly aboard ship and telling your tidings to the officers and Pedro? We will take a boat at the mole and get aboard in time for dinner."

"Agreed; how happy we shall make Mr. Stewart and Don Pedro."

Mr. Stowe prophesied correctly. The officers of the Gentile were at dinner in the cabin when we suddenly burst upon them. I need not say that all hands were no less surprised than delighted at the intelligence we had to communicate. I thought my hands would be wrung off, so severely were they shaken.

After dinner Mr. Stowe and myself returned on shore, and in a family conclave there also stated the result of our visit to the convent.

CHAPTER IX.

Yellow Fever and Love-making

The succeeding three days passed most happily with me. I grew more and more in love with Ellen. We visited all the places of note in the neighborhood of the town, and were even projecting an excursion to Havana in the steamboat, when an event occurred that came very near sending me on a much longer voyage. One afternoon, while waiting for Captain Smith with Langley at the United States Café, I was suddenly taken with a distracting pain through my temples, though just previously I had felt as well as ever in my life. The agony increased, and Langley, to whom I complained, began to be frightened, when luckily Captain Smith arrived, who, upon looking at me, and hearing Langley's account of the matter, immediately called a volante, put me aboard, and drove to Mr. Stowe's house. During the ride I grew worse and worse every moment; the jolting of the carriage almost killed me, and by the time we had arrived at our destination I was nearly crazy. I just remember of being lifted out of the volante, and of seeing the pale, anxious face of Ellen somewhere – and I knew no more of the matter until some sixty hours afterward, one fine morning, when I all at once opened my eyes, and found myself flat on my back, weak as a cat, and my head done up in plaintain-leaves and wet towels. I heard low conversation and the rattle of dice, and casting my eyes toward the verandah, from whence the noise proceeded, I perceived Langley and Mary Stowe very composedly engaged in a game of backgammon. Ellen sat by the jalousie, just within the room, looking very pale, and with a book in her hand, which I judged by the appearance to be a prayer-book. I felt very weak, but perfectly happy, and not being disposed to talk, lay entirely still, enjoying the delicious languor which I felt, and the cool breeze which entered freely from the blinded windows, and listened to the conversation of my friends.

"Come, come, Ellen," said Mary, looking up from the board, "don't look so wobegone – 't is your throw, William – Frank is doing well enough now. The doctor says that when he wakes he will be entirely out of danger, and free from pain. Psha! Will, you take me up. I don't see, my dear, why you should take so much more interest than any one else – is it not ridiculous, William?"

"Perfectly so," replied Langley – "double sixes, by the Lord! – two of 'em, three, four. Now Frank is my shipmate, and, in the main, a tolerable decent fellow; but he isn't worth shedding so many tears about."

"Why, William!" exclaimed Ellen, "you know that you cried like a baby yourself night before last, when he was so very sick."

"Ahem! so I did; but I was so vexed to see our pleasant party to Havana was broken up. Frank was very ill-natured to fall sick just at that time – I'll flog him for it when he gets well."

"You can't do it, Bill Langley," cried I, as loudly as possible, for the first time taking a part in the conversation.

The trio started to their feet at this unexpected display of my colloquial powers; down went backgammon-board, men, dice, prayer-book, and all upon the floor.

"Hillo! Frank!" cried Langley, ranging alongside the bed, "how do you find yourself by this time, my little dear?"

"Perfectly well, only very weak."

"Does your head ache now, Frank?" asked Mary, laying her soft hand upon my forehead.

"Not a bit, only I've got most confounded sore hair."

"Eh! my lad, they talked of leaving you no hair at all," cried Bill, "they thought one spell of shaving your head. Egad! you'd have looked like a bald eagle!"

"Why, what has been the matter with me?" I asked.

"Matter with you! why, man, you have had the yellowest kind of a fever. Touch and go, it was; but you're worth ten dead men this morning."

Ellen during this conversation had left the room, and now returned with her father and the physician, who had called with Captain Smith. I was pronounced in a fair way of speedy recovery. Everybody was very glad, but I noticed that Ellen said nothing; indeed, instead of being overjoyed like my good skipper or Langley, she had to wipe the tears from her eyes.

"Frank," said Langley, when I was finally left alone with that worthy gentleman, "how little Nell did pipe her eye the other night, when we were all so fearful you were going to slip your wind; and just between you and I and the main-mast, I'm walking into her sister's young affections just as the monkey went up the back-stay, hand over hand. Prehaps she aint a darling. I've been writing a piece of poetry about her, don't you want to hear it?"