"Once upon a time, long before Adam and Eve lived, I believe it was, while the earth was young, there lived on it a fair, radiant maiden, sweeter than the breath of fresh-blown roses and more l.u.s.trous than the morning star. All the world was her own paradise, and she traversed it as she chose, finding everywhere trees bearing golden fruit, which never turned to ashes, flowers in perpetual bloom, fountains that bubbled and birds that sang in the linden groves, all for her. Nothing was forbidden her. No cares, no fears, or griefs marred her pleasures; for she had no law to consult but her own wishes. When she would eat, the trees bent down their boughs, and whispered, 'Choose my fruit.' When she would listen, the birds vied with each other in their melodies. When she would walk, the green sod was proud to bear her, and, when weary, the gentlest flower-laden zephyrs soothed her to rest. Thus she might have remained always happy; but one day she chanced to see herself in the water, and she thought how every thing else was double. Then she became conscious of a strange pain. Every thing now lost its charm. She sought a companion; but she could find none. Nothing was wanting but the thing she most desired--the sight of her own kin. At last, she instinctively felt that the burning gaze of a lover was bent upon her face, and, looking up, she saw only the sun in the sky, shining as though myriads needed his light. 'Alas!' she sighed, 'He is as lonely as I, and he shall be my lover;' but the sun was coy and timid. He gazed proudly at her from a great distance, and veiled himself behind a cloud when she would see him, that his brightness might not harm her; but he never came nigh. At last, when she was worn out with longing for a closer companionship, she set out to find her adored sun; and as she sighed, 'Shall I find him never?' some one from a grotto near by answered, 'Ever?' 'Who are you?' cried the maid. 'I am a bodiless spirit,' was the answer, 'the voice of one that is gone. I tell impossible things. I am the shadow of the past, the substance of events to come. Man is a mocker.' 'Can you tell me where to find my lover?' asked the maid. Echo told her not to look up for him, for he was too high above her, not to seek him in the east, for then he was hastening away; but to seek him in the west, where he laid himself and rested at night, for the night was made for lovers. Then she hastened joyously, till she came to the extreme west, to the very edge of the world."

"How could she get to the edge, when it is round?" interrupted Alice.

"Probably the world was not round at that time," explained Adelpha.

Charles went on:

"The maid summoned all the powers of nature and the air, and bade them build a palace. It was not like other palaces. There were no jewels there; but every thing was warm and crimson and ruddy. The gates were parallel bars of cloud, with the west wind for warden. Crystals of rain-drops paved the court-yard. The architecture was floating mists and delicate vapors, filled with a silent music, that waited only for the warm touch of the player to melt it into soul-subduing harmonies; and along the galleries ran a netted fringe of those tender whispers, which only the favored may hear. So she built her palace and filled it with all things such as she thought the sun would like, not forgetting an abundance of fire to warm him, lest even her love would prove insufficient for one of so fiery a nature. Then she dismissed her attendants and sat down alone to wait his coming. The day seemed long and drear and weary; but she had seen him watching her, and he was coming at last. Down the slope he glided, holding his fiery steeds in check. There was joy for the desolate one, for her lover was coming; but the pitiless sun descended and swept by, scorning the open gates, and her siren voice, that would have wooed him thither. The next day pa.s.sed, and the next, and the next, and she was still disappointed; but she could not believe that all her labor had been in vain, and still she nursed her sickly, dying hope. Though that sun has set thousands of times since then, she hopes for their union still. In the day time the palace is dark like the clouds; but, as evening approaches, she lights it up for his coming. Then we see those glorious tints of crimson and gold and purple and dun, dimming till they mingle with the white clouds above, and, were we near enough, we might possibly hear the tones of the reviving music, as it melts; but as the sun goes fairly down, the music hushes, the beautiful tints fade and die, the palace becomes a dark spot again, and the poor little watcher within sighs forth her disappointment and composes herself to wait for another sunset."

"I don't believe your story, Charles Stevens," said Alice, at the conclusion, "and I don't see what good it does, anyhow, to make up such a one as that."

"The moral in it is man's faithlessness and woman's constancy," put in Cora Waters, who had, for a long time, been silent.

Adelpha, who had watched the sun sink beneath the distant blue hills, as she listened to Charles, now chanced to glance over her shoulder at the sea behind, with the moon just rising above the watery horizon, and with a merry peal of laughter she added:

"Charles, your heroine is more dull than modern maids, or, when the sun jilted her, she would have wooed the moon."

Alice, rising, said, "It is growing dark. Let us go home."

"Alice, are you afraid of the witches, which seem to disturb Mr. Parris and Cotton Mather?" asked Adelpha.

"There are no witches," Alice Corey answered with a shudder. "Father and mother both deny that there are any witches, and it is wrong to cry out against my aunt, Goody Nurse."

"I dare say it is. The evening grows chill. Let us go home."

As the four wended their way across the fields and meadows, Charles Stevens, who walked between Cora and Adelpha, cast alternately furtive glances at each, sorely troubled to decide which he liked best.

"Both are beautiful," he thought. "Ere long I must wed, and which of the twain shall it be? Both are beautiful, and both are good; but, unfortunately, they are two, and I am one."

The child, who had lingered behind to pluck a wild flower, at this moment came running after them, calling:

"Wait! wait! I implore you, wait for me!"

"What have you seen, Alice?"

"A black woman."

The girls were almost ready to faint; but Charles, who was above superst.i.tion, bade them be calm and hurried through the deepening shades of twilight to the trees on the hill where the woman had been seen. He came in sight of the figure of a woman clothed in black, sitting at the root of an oak.

"Who are you?" he asked, advancing toward her.

"Charles Stevens!" she gasped, raising her head.

"Sarah Williams, what are you doing here?"

"Prythee, what are you doing?" she asked.

"This is unaccountable."

She rose and, turning her white face to him, said:

"Charles Stevens, which of the twain do you love best?" and she pointed to Cora and Adelpha. He made no answer. "Which of the twain is it?" she repeated. "Aye, Charles Stevens, you shall never wed either. Do you hear?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Which of the twain shall it be?"]

"Woman, what mean you?"

"You cannot decide which you love most. Wed neither, Charles. Wed me!"

"You!" he cried, in astonishment.

"Yes, why not?"

"You already have a husband."

"No; he is dead, he was lost at sea. I am still young and fair, and wherefore not choose me?"

Charles Stevens burst into a laugh, half merriment and half disgust, and turned from the bold, scheming woman. She followed him for a few paces, saying in tones low but deep:

"Verily, Charles Stevens, you scorn me; but I will yet make you repent that you ever treated my love with contempt. You shall rue this day."

He hurried away from the annoyance, treating her threats lightly, and little dreaming that they would be fulfilled.

Winter came and pa.s.sed, and Adelpha Leisler still lingered at Salem.

Rumors of trouble came to her ears from home; but the light-hearted girl gave them little thought. One morning in May, 1691, Charles met her coming to seek him. Her face was deathly white, and her frame trembling.

"What has happened, Adelpha?"

"There is trouble at home, Charles," she cried. "Father and Milborne have been arrested and imprisoned and I fear it will fare hard with them. I want to set out for New York at once. Will you accompany me?"

"I will."

They found his mother and Cora and told them all. He implored Cora to remain with his mother, until he returned, which she consented to do.

CHAPTER XII.

LEISLER'S FATE.

The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, and all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour:---- The paths of glory lead but to the grave.

--Gray.

In order to explain the sudden danger which menaced the father of Adelpha Leisler, and which she, like a true, heroic daughter, hastened to brave, we will be compelled to narrate some events in our story of a historical nature. Jacob Leisler was an influential colonist of an old Dutch family, as has been stated, and a Presbyterian.

Under the reign of James II. the Presbyterians had suffered, and no one rejoiced more at the accession of William and Mary than did the Dutch of New York.