University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

Scarcely had the frost painted the leaves of the New England forests their many colors before Lieutenant Howell, with his trunk packed, was on his way to New York, there to take the first outgoing steamer for Charleston. A delightful passage of three days brought him to the city, and as soon as propriety would permit he was striking the knocker of the high gate of the Vanross residence. His reception was an overflow of genuine cordiality.

"I am so glad to see you," exclaimed Mrs. Vanross, her deep black eyes still sparkling with a luster that seemed to contradict the testimony of her gray hairs.

"You are looking so well," said Hor-

tense, and Leonard fairly blushed with pride and confusion.

"We are all glad to welcome you back to Charleston," said Lavinia, disclosing to the full a set of pearly teeth, her arched eyebrows and long drooping eyelashes resting upon a complexion of richest brunette, possessed of a figure most delicately molded, and crowned with a luxuriant mass of black and glossy hair, which had just enough of curl in it to give it a look of life.

Lavinia was in fact bewitchingly beautiful; and as she advanced toward Mr. Howell, clad in snowy evening dress, extending her faultlessly shaped hand to clasp his, that seemed so large and ill-made in comparison, he experienced a degree of embarrassment hard to define. In a few moments, however, he was at his ease. Seated on the piazza, with a sister on

either side, and the mothere in front, he told in his best style, which was indeed poor enough, his experiences during the passage northward, and of the great "muster out," not omitting to mention the greetings he had received among his friends at his home.

Led on by their interested attention and artless questions, he spoke quite freely of his plans for the future, continually circling around the one point more important to him than all others, and yet keeping it well in the distance. Much of what he said was intended especially for Hortense; and Leonard hoped that she would see that she made the greater part of that really practical future which he enthusiastically painted, although he carefully avoided any self-committing expressions. Like the ship-of-war seeking to draw the fire of some concealed battery, he hoped by his honest

description, his bits of romance, and his occasional jets of wit to bring some response from the well-guarded fort within. But all in vain. Hortense listened with Desdemona-like sympathy and talked with the utmost freedom, but she more than puzzled him by giving out no sign that she was reading the ardent story of his heart, that was fairly living and breathing between the lines of his sprightly conversation.

Lavinia fluttered around him, almost as gay in manner as the little humming-bird, which at that moment was flitting among the flowers that scented the piazza. She was unquestionably superior to her sister in beauty, and was also her junior in years. Leonard greatly admired her—indeed, he was bewildered by her beauty—and if pressed for a reason for not preferring her to her sister would probably have answered in a tone subdued almost to reverence: "She is too handsome for me."

Leonard C. Howell admired the beauty of Lavinia, but he was of too coarse a cast to hope to bring to his side a creature so fine of fiber and so spiritual as Lavinia; and he had the supreme manliness not to seek to possess and despoil a soul for whose intimate companionship he was in no sense fitted. He admired Lavinia, but she was above his love.

The love which he felt for Hortense had in a measure created his world anew; for although it was ardent and romantic enough, it was at the same time accompanied by the fond hope that at an early day the noble object would be his. And it was this hope which inspired him in his practical planning for the future, and which bore him up in his present sacrifices of pleasure and often of comfort.

The course of true love was never smooth. If for a time Leonard's way

seemed so clear and the goal so near at hand, it was only to entice him to surrender himself more completely to its gentle but imperious sway. He is honest and earnest, and the love which he brings to Hortense is the full offering of his ripening manhood; and there seems nothing to prevent its being kindly accepted. The differences in manner, in taste, expression, and experience between them only serve to make them more interesting to each other; and although on different sides during the war, that does not now interfere with their friendship.

The evening's conversation terminated very pleasantly, after an engagement on Leonard's part to join the Vanross family in a little social gathering at their home a week later, on which occasion he would be regarded as the guest of the family generally and the especial escort of Hortense.

Up to this time there was nothing like a betrothal between the two young people; that is, there had been no formal proposal, nor indeed any set courtship or lovemaking. The feeling between them had come up Topsy-like, without any making; it had grown secretly but irresistibly, and although neither had confessed it in words, yet both knew and felt its presence, and had manifested it to others in a thousand ways, even when trying most to hide it.

The long week ended at last, and Leonard found himself the center of a very quiet evening party at the Vanross residence. It was a gathering of the relatives and very intimate friends; for even the middle circle in which the Vanross ladies moved was not generally prepared to entertain an ex-"Yankee" officer. Great care had been exercised in sending out the invitations that no inharmonious guest should be present.

The party therefore was small but congenial, and the time passed in easy conversation, Lieutenant Howell receiving marked attention. He noticed, however, that the guests on retiring were more ceremonious, and that they were generally richer in their expressions than those he had been accustomed to meet in his Northern experience.

As the party had been in his honor, he was of course the last to leave; and during the brief after-conversation the first straw to cross his pathway fell. It was but a straw, but it came, and it stayed.

Seated alone with the family, by the merest accident the subject of religion came up in some form, and the fact was disclosed that Mrs. Vanross and her daughters were Christians of the old-fashioned, orthodox type. The Bible was to them the supreme rule of life, and Hortense an earnest defender of its teachings.

Leonard had imbibed somewhat of the so-called liberal ideas of New England; and although he had no definite creed of his own, he had learned, perhaps, to doubt orthodoxy, as he called it, but of which he had no precise ideas, and certainly to complain of the restraints of religion. Hence, when he saw his adored Hortense appear as the champion of a subject and a cause which he inwardly hated, there arose within him a warfare which for the time compelled him to maintain silence. It was now the turn of Hortense to play the part of the tantalizing corvette, and despite Leonard's caution he soon found himself reduced to the necessity of exposing his opinions.

Hortense, observing his uneasiness during the conversation and the maladroitness of some of his responses, said with kindness:

"I fear, Mr. Howell, that the conversation is hardly agreeable to you. Perhaps we had better turn our thoughts into another channel."

"By no means," replied Mr. Howell, "if you are willing to allow a difference of opinion. Who knows but we may hit upon some undiscovered truth? At least it will be a pleasure to hear Hypatia discourse, even upon that driest and most threadbare of all subjects—creeds and confessions," said he, with an air of compliment to Hortense, and of ill-concealed contempt for religion.

"Oh, Mr. Howell, the subject does not seem dry at all to me; you must come and hear our minister—Dr. Caulfield. He makes it interesting enough."

"Oh, yes; I have heard many fine preachers, and have heard many good things from the pulpit; and I have nothing

to say against the many hard-working men in that calling who honestly believe what they say; I only feel sorry for them; but for those who do not believe, and who yet go on and preach, I have no feeling but one of contempt. I admit all the morality claimed and taught by the most ardent religionists, but I am not willing to enslave myself to their creeds."

"Well," replied Hortense laughingly, "perhaps it is because you do not have the time to think of religion as we do, or are so strong that you do not feel the need of something to lean upon. Gentlemen do not seem naturally so religious as women. I and sister Lavinia have been so accustomed all our lives to lean upon either papa, while he lived, or upon William since papa's death, that we have been molded for religion. We could not live without it. And, then, ma—she has just

led us to God by her own faith and life."

Leonard was a little disturbed by the reply of Hortense. Her earnestness and sincerity greatly heightened his admiration, but at the same time he saw enough to convince him that she would not readily surrender her faith. Unwilling to appear as a direct opponent of religion, and desiring to avoid being pushed further into a discussion which had suddenly assumed so serious a form, he turned the admirable plea aside with a pleasantry, remarking that one so strong in character and so rich in endowments as herself had much more to give than to receive. He doubted not that the favored brothers could see something of divinity in their sister.

Hortense, though earnest and pious, was not beyond the effects of a compliment, especially from Leonard; and she knew

that the compliment was sincere, if not indeed deserved. Her dark cheek crimsoned slightly, and betraying a little confusion she said:

"Oh, Mr. Howell, you do not mean me; you mean sister Lavinia. She is the boys' idol. Sister Lavinia, in their eyes, is the incomparable one."

This was said with no tone of sisterly jealousy. Hortense knew that Lavinia was more richly endowed than herself in point of beauty; but far from envying her on this account, she rather took pleasure in it, as so much the more added to the common stock of the household. Besides, Hortense herself was by no means devoid of beauty. She was of the same type as her sister; had the same black eyes; the same glossy hair, pearly teeth, ruby lips, and rich, dark complexion; but therer was more of the robust, the positive, the material

in Hortense. She was rather grand and stately, while her sister was more fairy-like and captivating. The beauty of Lavinia was of that type that brings its worshipper to her feet bewildered and almost bereft of his mind; the beauty of Hortense bids him rise to his greatest altitude and gird himself with his noblest thought.

Lavinia, who was not far away, having heard her name mentioned, was soon standing by the side of Hortense, her face beaming with sisterly affection, and her bewitching eyes sending their gleaming arrows right through Leonard Howell's heart. An entrancing picture she presented as she poised herself gracefully a moment and said:

"What is it, sister? May I not have a share in this deeply interesting conversation? You have complimented me by mentioning my name, and—you know a

woman's curiosity—so you must tell me what you are talking about."

Explanations were made and the conversation lightened up, and as it was growing late, Mr. Howell soon after sought his hat and light overcoat and withdrew, the ladies accompanying him to the piazza, and following him with their gaze until he had descended the high steps and passed down the shrub-lined white walk to the high street gate. Opening this, he paused and bowed his final good-night, and then started briskly down Rutledge Street to return to his hotel.

The streets were badly lighted, the sidewalks uneven, and, except on the best business streets, unpaved. A large part of the city through which he passed was familiarly known as the "burnt district," in which stood numerous chimneys rearing their heads sullenly in the darkness as so

many tombstones marking the graves of departed homes. On every hand was also to be seen the ruinous work of shot and shell. The scene altogether, as it was revealed by the dim lamplight, was well fitted to awaken in the mind of the solitary walker serious if not somber reflection.

Mr. Howell had left the Vanross residence in no gay mood. He felt somewhat dissatisfied with himself and with the part he had played in the later conversation of the evening. Nor was he well pleased as he thought over the entire evening. The party had been very agreeable, and he had been the center of attention; still he was not satisfied. But little accustomed to fashionable life, and altogether a stranger to the social manners of Charleston, he felt that he had not been able to deport himself with becoming grace; and he was specially mortified that he had disclosed

his religious views to the Vanross family. The more he thought over the matter the greater became his uneasiness, and the more intense his disgust with himself.

"The whole family will turn against me, sure," said he half aloud; "and as to Hortense—ah, well! it is fortunate that I have said no more to her. She shall never know what I intended; I will quietly withdraw, and she will be none the wiser for my experience. It is clear she will never love me, and why should I waste my love further upon her? The affair must drop right where it is, and we will remain only friends."

Soliloquizing thus, Leonard drew himself up to his full height, and with the firm step that the drill had taught him flattered himself that he had reached a conclusion and had dismissed a new-born love. Calling up the gayety of his spirits, he entered

the hotel and hastened to his room. His sleep, however, was not refreshing, and when morning at last came he found himself as firmly bound in the toils of unpleasant thought as when he paced the dark streets on the night before. The party, the conversation, and Hortense were still with him, and it seemed as difficult to get away from them as to get away from himself.