Hatchie, the Guardian Slave | Page 9

tone of affectionate sympathy; "but,
if you have any sorrow which oppresses you, reveal it to my father, and
take counsel against it. My father's house is your home,--at least, we
have always endeavored to make it so. Father has always regarded you
with the affection of a parent, and taught me to consider you as a
brother--"
"A brother!" interrupted Henry, feeling that the relation of brother and
sister was too cold for the warmth of his affection; but, instantly
banishing the unworthy thought, he continued,
"And so, my pretty sister, you are for the first time entering upon your
sisterly relations?"
"The first time! Have I not always given you evidence of a sister's
esteem?"
"Pardon me. I only jested," said Henry, as the playful smile left his
countenance.

"Do not jest upon serious things, Henry," replied Emily. "But, brother,
something troubles you. You cannot deny it. You look so gloomy and
sad, and must leave us so suddenly."
"Nay, my sweet sister,--since sister I am permitted to call you,--you
must forgive me if I am obstinate just this once."
"I will forgive your obstinacy because you desire it, and not because I
am satisfied. Do you know, brother," said she, with a playful smile,
"that I suspect you are in love?"
This raillery was intended to have been uttered with a pert archness; but
the crimson cheek and tremulous lips entirely defeated the intention.
"Fie, sister! You are jesting now, yourself," replied Henry, with what
was intended for a smile, but which, like his assailant's archness, was a
signal failure.
Both parties were now in the most unfortunate position imaginable.
Neither dared to speak, for fear of disclosing their emotions. Both felt
the awkwardness of the silence, and both felt the danger of breaking it.
Henry twirled the tassel of the window drapery, and Emily twisted her
pocket-handkerchief into every conceivable shape. Henry was the first
to gather fortitude enough to venture a remark.
"I must leave you, sister, now that, for the first time, the relation is
acknowledged. I assure you, however, that I appreciate the sisterly
kindness you have always lavished upon me. And I shall always
remember this visit as the happiest period of my life."
"Then I may hope you will often repeat it," replied Emily, sadly.
"However pleasant it would be for me to do so, I fear my duty will be a
barrier to my inclination. My future post, you are aware, is Newport."
"And you depart so suddenly, and then seem inclined to make your
absence perpetual! But we shall see you where-ever you are. We go to
Newport this season, if father's health will permit," returned Emily,

with a playful pout.
"I would stay by you,--that is, I would stay at Bellevue forever,--if my
duty to your father--I mean to my country--would permit," stammered
Henry, much agitated, as he rose to depart.
"I must go and bid farewell to your father," continued he, taking her
hand, which he perceived trembled violently, in his own; "and I trust
you will remember your absent brother--" kindly, he was about to say,
but Emily, attempting to rise, was overpowered by the emotions which
she had vainly striven to suppress, and sunk back in a swoon.
Henry summoned assistance, and applied the usual restoratives, but he
did not again venture to address her; and, as her pale features exhibited
signs of returning consciousness, he hurried from the room.
As the hour of his departure drew near, he bade an affectionate farewell
to Colonel Dumont, who was confined to his room by illness. His kind
friend used many entreaties for him to prolong his stay, but Henry
pleaded his duty, and that the dying request of a brother officer required
him to take a journey into Georgia, which would consume some three
or four weeks' time. He intended to go to his future station by the way
of the Mississippi, and promised that, if any time were left him on his
return, he would again visit Bellevue. This, however, he thought was
improbable.
Colonel Dumont gave his _protegé_ much good advice, and, as his
failing health had infected his usually cheerful spirits, he said that they
would probably meet no more in this world. He frankly told him that he
should remember him in his will, and wished him ever to regard Emily
in the relation of a sister.
This last wish seemed like a positive prohibition of the fond hope he
had cherished, of regarding her in a nearer and more tender relation. He
congratulated himself on the decision with which he had resisted the
temptation to avow his love.
This injunction of Emily's father could be interpreted in two ways,--as a

requirement to preserve the present friendly relations, or as a
prohibition against his ever