A short gap in this narrative places the present action of our story in America. It is needless here to narrate the first settlement of the New England Colonies. The landing of the Pilgrim Fathers has been immortalised both in prose and verse until it has become as familiar to each American as any household word. We will not, therefore, ask the reader’s detention at the perusal of a thrice-told tale. It is likewise known that that landing was but the herald of a succession of immigrations, and the establishment of numerous colonies. Owing to the talent and liberal education, not less than the enterprise of the early settlers, this wilderness was not long, in spite of repeated obstacles, ere it grew up into flourishing villages and towns, some of them fairer than had ever graced the stalwort ground of Old England.

We introduce the reader into one of those villages, situated some twenty miles distant from New Haven. It might somewhat surprise him when we say, were it not for the frequent instances of the rapid growth of cities in our western wilds, which we would remind him have sprung up within his own recollection, that the latter place was, even at the period to which we refer, a flourishing and important town. Yet, notwithstanding the superior size and consequence of New Haven, the village of L—— was the place in which the governor of the colony chose to reside.

Had the course of our narrative not led us thither, we could have selected no better sample than L., of the truth of what we have asserted regarding the existence of neat and attractive villages in New England at that early day. It was situated on the high-road, in a small valley, through which wound down certain rocky falls, a clear rivulet, that afforded excellent opportunities of fishing to such of the inhabitants as were fond of the occupation of the angle. These, however, were few, for then, as now, the people of Connecticut possessed much of the same busy spirit which is one of their distinguishing characteristics. The glassy brook alluded to, served yet another purpose during the season when the sportive inhabitants of the watery element had disappeared. In the winter-time, when thickly frozen over, it formed, out of their school-houses, the grand resort of the children of the village for the purpose of skating and sliding. There, at those times, on a clear, bracing day, such as no country but New England ever shows in perfection, might always be seen a crowd of these happy beings, of both sexes, and of various ages, all collected together, some to partake and others merely to observe the amusements mentioned.

Upon a certain day, the neighborhood of the brook was thronged even to a greater extent than usual, owing to the exceeding brightness of the weather, which had led some of the tenderest mothers to withhold their customary mandate enjoining immediate return from school, lest the beloved object of the command might suffer from playing in the cold. Among those who had thus had their ordinary restrictions remitted, was a little girl whose extreme loveliness must have arrested the attention of any observer. Her features were not merely beautiful, but there was a charm in her countenance more attractive still—that purity and mildness which our fancy attributes to angels. There was a bewitching grace, moreover, in her attitudes that might have furnished delighted employment to the painter and sculptor, had there been any time or inclination among the colonists to bestow upon the cultivation of the arts.

This child was seemingly about five years old. She was standing, with a number of other little ones of her own age, looking on with great apparent delight—now at the larger boys, who were skating dexterously, and describing many a circle and angle, unknown in mathematics, upon the smooth surface of the brook, and then at a number of girls merrily chasing each other upon a slide at one side.

As one of the large boys spoken of passed her, he said, “Come, Jessy, I will give you a ride upon the ice;” and taking her in his arms, he was soon again gliding rapidly along.

“Take care!” shouted a noble-looking youth, whose glowing complexion and sparkling eye shone with the excitement of the exercise. “Take care, the ice is slightly cracked there, and it will scarcely bear the double weight.”

It was too late. Ere the words were well spoken, the ice gave way, and the boy who bore the fair burden sunk beneath the congealed element.

One loud shriek from the mingled voice of the young spectators announced the frightful accident.

With the speed of lightning, the youth who had uttered the words of warning darted forward, and plunging under the ice, disappeared from view.

Great consternation prevailed for some moments. Many of the children gave way to loud cries; others quietly wept; while a few of the older and more considerate ran toward their homes, in order to summon assistance.

In less time than it has taken to represent the state of feeling which prevailed during his absence, Frank Stanley rose to the surface, bearing in his arms the unconscious form of the young creature he had saved. Recovering his position on the ice, he speedily regained the shore, and overcome with the exertion, laid her gently on the ground.

The heart in his bosom was frozen with cold, but a quickening thrill passed through it, boy as he was, as he gazed upon those sweetly composed features. Her hair was dripping, and her long, wet lashes by upon her cheek as quietly as upon that of a dead child. Her garments hung heavily around her, and her tiny hands, which were half lost in their folds, were cold and still, as well as beautiful as gems of classic sculpture.

As his companions came up bearing the other sufferer, Frank Stanley hastily snatched off his own saturated coat, and spread it over her senseless body, ere he again, with recovered strength, raised her in his arms.

The alarmed villagers by this time came flocking to the spot, among whom was the governor of the settlement, whose venerable and striking countenance manifested peculiar anxiety.

“Your niece is safe, Governor H——,” said Frank Stanley, pressing forward and exposing his fair burden. “She is merely insensible from fright.”

“Thank God that she is saved!” exclaimed the governor, receiving her in his arms. “But whose rash act was it,” continued he, looking sternly around among the boys, “that exposed my Jessy to such peril?”

Something like a flush of indignation passed over the countenance of young Stanley, as he replied, “It was an accident, sir, which might have happened in the hands of more experienced persons than ourselves.”

“Thou hast been in danger thyself, Frank, hast thou not?” asked the governor, his stern mood giving way immediately at the sight of the youth’s dripping clothes. “And is there no one else more dangerously injured?” inquired he, casting an anxious, scrutinizing glance among the collected group.

“Frederick, here, is wet too, but not otherwise the worse for the accident.”

“Let him and Frank, then, immediately return to their homes, and don dry garments; and I must look to my little girl here, that she do not suffer for this.”

So saying, the governor turned and departed, pressing the little lifeless one more closely in his arms.

His disappearance was the signal for the dispersion of the group, the young members of which turned toward their homes, much sobered in spirits from the accident here related.

Following Governor H. to his home, we will leave him a moment and pause to describe that rustic dwelling. It was situated at some little distance from the main village, and was of larger size than most of the cottages there. Like them, however, it bore the same rural name, though it looked more like an English villa of some pretensions. On each side of a graceful portico stretched piazzas, covered in summer with roses and woodbine, while the neat enclosure in front, surrounded by its white paling, bloomed richly with American plants and shrubbery. At this season, however, the roses were dead, and the shrubbery lifeless; and the frozen ground of the well-kept walk rung under the tread of the stout governor, as he flung open the gate and rapidly approached the house.

The brilliant lustre of the brass-knocker, the white and spotless door-step, and the immaculate neatness of every thing around, were types of the prevailing habits of the proprietors.

At the door, awaiting Governor H.’s arrival with great anxiety depicted on their faces, stood two female figures, the one being a genteel matron, somewhat advanced in years, and the other a young lady of less than twenty summers.

“Relieve yourselves of your apprehensions,” said the governor, in a loud voice, as soon as he came within speaking distance. “She had merely fainted from fright, and seems to be even now gradually recovering.”

“The Lord be praised!” exclaimed the ladies, advancing to the steps of the portico to meet him.

They entered the house together. In a moment the fainting child was laid upon a couch, and being quickly attired in dry clothing, restoratives were actively applied. The elder female chafed her small, chilled palms in her own, while the younger administered a warm drink to her frozen lips.

After a short time she unclosed her eyes, smiled faintly, and throwing her dimpled arms around the neck of the young lady who bent over her, burst into tears. “My dear sister,” she said, faintly, “I dreamed that I had gone to Heaven, where I heard sweet music, and saw little children like myself, with golden crowns upon their heads, and beautiful lyres in their hands.”

“God has not called thee there yet. He has kindly spared thee to us a little longer,” said the young person to whom she spoke, stooping down and kissing her tenderly, while she, in like manner, relieved herself by a flood of tears.

“The Almighty is very merciful,” said the matron, wiping her eyes, while something like a moisture hung upon the lashes of the governor’s piercing orbs, and dimmed their usual keenness.

“I am not ill, uncle, aunt, Lucy, and we need none of us cry,” said the child, with the fickleness of an April day and the elasticity of her years, instantly changing her tears for smiles. “See, I am able to get up,” she added, disentangling herself from the embrace of her whom she had called her sister, and sitting upon the side of the couch.

At that moment a shadow without attracted her attention. “There is Mr. Elmore, Lucy!” she exclaimed, with childish glee.

The young lady had barely time to wipe away the traces of her recent emotion, when a tall figure crossed the portico and entered the room without ceremony. The new comer was a young man in the bloom of youth. As he entered, he lifted his hat, and a quantity of fair brown hair fell partially over a commanding forehead. His features were handsome, and his aspect both manly and prepossessing.

The governor and his wife advanced and greeted him cordially, while the blush that mantled on the of Lucy Ellet, as she half rose and extended her hand to him, told that a sentiment warmer than mere friendship existed between them.

“Where is the young heroine of this accident, which I hear had well nigh proved fatal?” asked the stranger, after he had exchanged congratulations with the rest.

The little Jessy, who had at first shrunk away with the bashfulness of childhood, here timidly advanced. The stranger smiled, stroked her soft ringlets, kissed her fair brow, and she nestled herself in his breast.

The whole party drawing near the fire, an interesting specimen was now exhibited of those social and endearing habits of the early settlers peculiar to their intercourse.

The simple room and furniture were eloquent of the poetry of home. Not decorated by any appendages of mere show, whatever could contribute to sterling comfort was exhibited in every node and corner of the good-sized apartment. The broad, inviting couch on which the rescued child had lain was placed opposite the chimney. The heavy book-case, containing the family library, occupied a deep recess to the right. On the left was a side-board, groaning with plate, the remains of English wealth. The large, round dining-table, polished as a mirror, stood in its customary place in the centre of the room. Two great arm-chairs, covered with chintz and garnished with rockers—the seats belonging to the heads of the family—filled a space on either side of the hearth, within which burned a huge turf fire, that threw its kindly warmth to the remotest walls. Over the mantel-piece hung a full-length miniature portrait of the first Protector of the British Commonwealth. Coiled on a thick rug before the fire lay a large Angola cat. A mastiff dog had so far overcome his natural antipathy to her race, as to keep her company on the other side; while the loud breathings of both evinced the depth of their slumbers.

The huge arm-chair on the left was the throne of the governor. There he received and dispatched the documents pertaining to his office. There also he wrote his letters, read his papers, received his visiters, conversed with his friends, and chatted with his family. There, besides, he gave excellent advice to such of the members of the settlement as needed it: and there, above all, arose morning and evening the voice of his pious worship.

The lesser arm-chair on the right was the seat of Mrs. H., who, in like manner, had her established routine of duties which she discharged there, with not less laudable exactness and fidelity. Nor was there at any time a more pleasing feature in the whole apartment than her motherly figure and cheerful visage fixed within its comfortable embrace.

While the party were agreeably engaged in conversation they were suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the door.

“Who can that be?” said the governor. “Will you ask who knocks, Mr. Elmore?”

The latter rose and unlatched the door, when two figures crossed the threshold.

“Pray pardon us,” said one of the new comers, in a courteous voice, “but having business of importance with the governor, we have ventured to intrude,” and he lifted his hat with something of foreign urbanity.

The speaker was not handsome, but there was a certain elegance in his air, and intelligence in his countenance that were agreeable. He was clad in a velvet traveling-dress, and possessed an address greatly superior to any of the villagers, at the same time that his height and the breadth of his muscular limbs were calculated to induce that admiration which the appearance of great strength in his sex always inspires.

His companion was totally different in all outward respects—being a man of about fifty years of age, attired in a garb which was chiefly distinguished by an affectation of ill-assorted finery. A colored silk handkerchief, in which glittered a large paste brooch, was twisted around his neck, and his breeches were ornamented with plated buckles. His harsh countenance was traced with furrows, while his hair fell over a low and forbidding brow, on which hung a heavy frown, unrelieved by any pleasing expression of the other features.

“Walk in, gentlemen, and approach the fire,” said Governor H., rising and eyeing the strangers with a keen and rather dissatisfied glance.

In drawing near the younger gallant cast an unsuppressed look of admiration upon Lucy Ellet, that caused her to bend down her sparkling eyes, which had previously been fixed on himself and his companion with an arch expression of penetrating curiosity.

It was not surprising that the attention of the stranger had been attracted by the appearance of this young lady, for, like the little Jessy, she was endowed with a more than ordinary share of personal attractions. Yet it must be admitted that the styles of their beauty were of an exactly opposite cast. One of those singular freaks of Nature which sometimes creates children of the same parents in the most dissimilar mould, seemed to have operated in their case to produce two sisters as unlike in every particular relating to outward appearance as possible.

While the young countenance of Jessy was of the tenderest and softest Madonna cast, her eyes of a delicate azure, and the light golden locks parted upon a fair brow, like a gleam of sunshine upon a hill of snow, her sister’s face was precisely the opposite. Lucy’s complexion, indeed, was of the darkest hue ever seen in maidens of English birth, yet mantled withal by so rich a shade of color, that for many it might have possessed a greater charm than the fairness of a blonde. Her hair was black as night; and her eyes, of the same hue, were never excelled in lustre or beauty by the loveliest damsels of Spain. Her countenance was of a lively and expressive character, in which spirit and wit seemed to predominate; and the quick, black eye, with its beautifully penciled brow, seemed to presage the arch remark to which the rosy and half smiling lip appeared ready to give utterance.

“We have ridden far,” said the younger stranger, breaking the silence which ensued when they had taken seats, and turning his eye again on Lucy, as though he hoped to elicit a reply to his remark.

He was not disappointed. “May I ask,” said she, “what distance you have come?”

“We left Massachusetts a couple of days ago,” he replied, “and have been at hard riding ever since.”

“You spoke of business, gentlemen,” remarked the governor, rather impatiently; “will you be so good as to proceed with the object of your visit?”

“I address Governor H., sir, I presume?” said the ill-looking stranger, speaking for the first time.

He signified ascent.

“Our business is official and private,” continued the speaker, in a voice harsh and unpleasant, looking around uneasily at the spectators.

“All affairs with me are conducted in the presence of my family,” said the governor drily.

“It is imperative, sir, that we see you alone,” urged the other, in a dictatorial tone.

“Will you look whether there is a good fire in your little sanctum?” said her uncle to Lucy, giving her at the same time a significant glance, and having referred in his remark to a small room adjoining, where Lucy not unfrequently repaired, surrounded by numbers of the village children—with whom she was a general favorite—to dress their dolls, cover their balls, and perform other similar acts. Here, too, she retired for the purpose of reading, writing, and other occasions of privacy. More than all, it was the spot sacred to an hour’s conversation with Mr. Elmore apart from the rest of the family during his visits.

The little Jessy anticipated Lucy, just as she was rising, and opened the door leading to the room spoken of.

“The fire burns brightly, uncle,” said the child.

“Will you walk in here with me, gentlemen?” said the governor.

The two strangers rose, and Governor H. held the door until they had preceded him into the room. Going in last, he threw another expressive glance at Lucy, and followed them, leaving the door ajar.

Lucy, with the quickness of her character, read in her uncle’s look that he wished her to overhear the conversation about to take place between himself and his visiters. Moving her chair, therefore, near the half open door, while her lover was engaged in speaking with her aunt, and playing at the same time with the soft curls of the fair Jessy, who was leaning on his knee, she applied herself to listen.

“Your names first, gentlemen: you have not yet introduced yourselves,” said her uncle’s voice.

“Mr. Dale,” replied the pleasing tones of the young stranger who had spoken on their first entrance, “and Mr. Brooks.”

“Be seated, then, Messrs. Dale and Brooks,” observed the governor, “and have the kindness to proceed in unfolding the nature of your errand.”

“I am the bearer of these documents for you,” said the harsh voice of him who had been introduced as Mr. Brooks.

Lucy here heard the rattling of paper, as though the governor were unfolding a letter. He proceeded to read aloud:

“The bearers, James Brooks and Thomas Dale, having been empowered by His Majesty, in the enclosed warrant, to seize the persons of the escaped regicides, Lisle and Heath, you are hereby desired, not only to permit said Brooks and Dale to make thorough search throughout your colony, but likewise to furnish them with every facility for that purpose; it being currently believed that the said regicides are secreted in New Haven.

ENDICOTT,

Governor of Massachusetts Colony.”

There was now again a rattling, as if occasioned by the unfolding of paper. The governor continued:

“Whereas, Henry Lisle and William Heath, of the city of London, having been confined under charge of treason and rebellion, have made their escape—and whereas it is believed they have fled to our possessions in America, we do hereby authorize and appoint our true and loyal subjects, James Brooks and Thomas Dale, to make diligent search throughout all the New England colonies for the said traitors and rebels. Moreover we do hereby command our subjects, the governors and deputy-governors of said colonies, to aid and abet by all possible means their capture and imprisonment: And we do hereby denounce as rebels any who may secrete or harbor said Lisle and Heath, in the accomplishing of this our royal mandate.”

Lucy heard her uncle clear his throat after he had ceased reading, and there was a moment’s pause.

“It will be impossible,” said he at length, “Messrs. Brooks and Dale, for me to act officially in this matter until I have convened the magistrates of the colony.”

“I see no necessity for any thing of the kind,” said Mr. Brooks, in an irritated tone.

“Nevertheless, there exists a very great necessity,” answered the governor, decidedly; “so much so, that as I have said, it will be utterly out of the question for me to proceed independently in relation to the affair.”

“How soon, then, can this convocation be summoned?”

“Not certainly before twenty-four hours from this time,” replied the governor: “or perhaps a day later. You are aware that the meeting will have to take place in New Haven, which is twenty miles distant.”

“We might easily proceed there at once, and reach the place in time to call a convention, and settle the affair to-night,” urged Mr. Brooks, dictatorially.

“I am a slow man, and cannot bring myself to be in a hurry. One night can make no possible difference, and to-morrow I will call a meeting of the magistrates.”

Lucy here arose and approached a door leading to the outer piazza. Her lover’s eye followed her graceful figure with a feeling of pride as she crossed the room. She turned at the door, and seeking his eye ere she closed it, gave him a signal to follow her.

In some surprise, he instantly obeyed.

“Henry,” she said earnestly, and in a low voice, as if fearing that some one might chance to be near, “Henry, I have overheard what has passed between my uncle and his visiters. The latter are persons commissioned by King Charles to apprehend the escaped prisoners who have taken refuge in New Haven. They wish to obtain authority for their arrest and re-imprisonment, as well as for making a strict search throughout the colony, and will probably obtain this to-morrow. What do you think can be done in this emergency?”

“I scarce know what to say, dear Lucy,” said he, as he took her hand involuntarily, and seemed to be reflecting deeply on her words.

“Could not you,” resumed Lucy, “return at once to New Haven, and apprise the exiles of their danger?”

“Excellent: I will set out at once.”

“I have thought of a place of security for them likewise,” continued Lucy, and she drew nearer and whispered a word in his ear.

“Admirable girl!” exclaimed her lover, delightedly. “Why, Lucy, I believe you are inspired by the Almighty for the exigencies of this moment. But I must depart without delay.”

“Yes,” said Lucy, “there is not an instant’s time to be lost; and I will contrive to detain the officers until you are too far on your way for them to overtake you, in case they should design proceeding to New Haven to-night.”

He pressed her hand affectionately to his lips, and was gone.

Lucy returned into the room she had left just at the moment that her uncle and the strangers re-entered.

“Your visiters, uncle, will probably remain and take some refreshment,” said she, as she perceived they were about to depart, and giving him at the same time an arch look to second her invitation. “Tea will be in a short time, gentlemen,” she added, fixing her eyes on the younger stranger with such a coquettish urgency as to make her appeal irresistible.

“Take seats, gentlemen,” said the governor, in a more cordial tone than he had yet assumed.

“I thank you,” said Mr. Brooks, “but we will—”

“We will remain,” interrupted Mr. Dale, giving a wink to his companion, and turning toward the fire.

Mr. Brooks had no alternative but to follow his example; and the governor and his wife held him in conversation, while Lucy exerted all her powers of entertainment for the benefit of Mr. Dale. The little Jessy, more wearied than usual in consequence of her late adventure, fell asleep upon the couch, and did not awake until tea was over, and the visiters had departed.

True to his promise, early on the following morning Governor H. set out for New Haven, and convened the magistrates of the colony. After a short consultation, the determination was arrived at, that the exiled regicides not having violated any of the laws by which the community was governed, were not subject to arrest under their order. But to that part of the mandate authorising a search to be made, and prohibiting a secretion of the offenders, they paid loyal respect, and the sanctity of every house resigned and exposed to the inquisition of the officers. Their search, however, was unsuccessful, and they set out the next morning on their return to Massachusetts.

——