Chapter 2

"----Misplaced in life,
I know not what I could have been, but feel
I am not what I should be--let it end."

Sardanapalus.

Glad enough was I to find the quiet and domestic character of my vessel
restored. Lucy had vanished as soon as it was proper; but, agreeably to
her request, I got the sloop's head down-stream, and began our
return-passage, without even thinking of putting a foot on the then
unknown land of Albany. Marble was too much accustomed to submit without
inquiry to the movements of the vessel he was in, to raise any objections;
and the Wallingford, her boat in tow, was soon turning down with the tide,
aided by a light westerly wind, on her homeward course. This change kept
all on deck so busy, that it was some little time ere I saw Lucy again.
When we did meet, however, I found her sad, and full of apprehension.
Grace had evidently been deeply hurt by Rupert's deportment. The effect on
her frame was such, that it was desirable to let her be as little
disturbed as possible. Lucy hoped she might fall asleep; for, like an
infant, her exhausted physical powers sought relief in this resource,
almost as often as the state of her mind would permit. Her existence,
although I did not then know it, was like that of the flame which flickers
in the air, and which is endangered by the slightest increase of the
current to which the lamp may be exposed.

We succeeded in getting across the Overslaugh without touching, and had
got down among the islands below Coejiman's,[1] when we were met by the
new flood. The wind dying away to a calm, we were compelled to select a
berth, and anchor. As soon as we were snug, I sought an interview with
Lucy; but the dear girl sent me word by Chloe that Grace was dozing, and
that she could not see me just at that moment, as her presence in the
cabin was necessary in order to maintain silence. On receiving this
message, I ordered the boat hauled up alongside; Marble, myself and Neb
got in; when the black sculled us ashore--Chloe grinning at the latter's
dexterity, as with one hand, and a mere play of the wrist, he caused the
water to foam under the bows of our little bark.

[Footnote 1: Queemans, as pronounced. This is a Dutch, not an Indian
name, and belongs to a respectable New York family.]

The spot where we landed was a small but lovely gravelly cove, that was
shaded by three or four enormous weeping-willows, and presented the very
picture of peace and repose. It was altogether a retired and rural bit,
there being near it no regular landing, no reels for seines, nor any of
those signs that denote a place of resort. A single cottage stood on a
small natural terrace, elevated some ten or twelve feet above the rich
bottom that sustained the