University of Virginia Library

34. CHAPTER XXXIV.

Mrs. Thurston was so ill that night, and
seemed so dreadfully prostrated in the morning,
that it was feared she could not survive the day,
Caroline, absorbed in grief and anxiety, had scarcely
thought of her promise to Avenard, and, when he
appeared to claim it, she met him at the gate, and
declared it impossible to leave her friend.

“You seem to have found very dear friends here,
Miss Hay,” said he, bitterly.

“So dear,” she replied, “that I feel that I could
almost lay down my own life to save that of the
one I am now attending—on her death-bed I fear
—though I have known her but for a few weeks.”

“It is new friends then who are so fortunate
as to interest you! Perhaps the gentleman with
whom I found you riding last evening was one of
those happy beings whom you have not known
long enough to despise!'

“On the contrary,” said Caroline, “he is an old
acquaintance, and a particular friend of my father's
family.”

“Oh! an old acquaintance and a family friend!
very convenient relations, certainly! I presume you
often claim his services as escort!”

“Mr. Avenard,” said Caroline, with some touch
of her natural spirit, though she was a little humbled
by the consciousness that the gentleman had
some right to complain,—“I know not by what
right you address yourself to me in this manner!
I deny your claim to the slightest interference in
my choice of society.”

“Caroline!” he said, in a changed and mournful
tone, “do not drive me quite mad. I am unhappy,
—wretched,—and to you at least I looked for
sympathy and kindness! Do not trifle with my
despair, but tell me when you will give me an
opportunity to converse with you without interruption.
I am about to leave the country.”

Caroline was keenly touched by the change in his
manner. Her eyes filled with tears, and she was
on the point of promising an early meeting, when
she was called anxiously from the house, and without
an adieu to her companion, she was at the bedside
of Mrs. Thurston in an instant.

Avenard waited as long as he decently could,
and then, finding she did not return, he plunged
into the wood, and hovered about within sight of

the cottage until he had seen Seymour dismount at
the door and go in without ceremony.

* * * * * *

Seymour had found an excellent necessity for
calling at Mr. Ellingham's. Finding a number of
letters lying at the post-office for Mr. Thurston, he
had judged it incumbent on him to ride over with
them; and indeed, without this, he would have
found it difficult to absent himself from a house
where his services had been required daily for some
time, and where he was always expected, and often
waited for with anxiety.

Mr. Thurston was pacing the little garden with
rapid steps, endeavoring to regain his wonted calmness,
after a night of watchfulness and great distress
of mind. Mrs. Thurston was now sleeping
quietly, and her physicians were awaiting with solicitude
the result of her repose.

“Thou art very kind,” said Mr. Thurston, as
he took the letters from the hand of his young
friend; and from his lips these words were not
words of course. As he read his letters, his countenance
exhibited surprise and emotion. When he
had finished, he said to Seymour that he wished immediately
to send one of those letters to Mr. Hay.
Seymour of course offered to be the bearer, and Mr.
Thurston said,

“It is like thee, for thou art kind. Tell friend

Hay, please, that I am somewhat afraid of seeming
intrusive, yet I feel as if I ought not to conceal
from him the intelligence contained in this letter.
If I am mistaken, I trust he will excuse me.”

And Seymour departed, having seen Caroline
only for an instant in passing.

He was scarcely out of sight of Mr. Ellingham's
when he was joined by Avenard.

“Have you seen Miss Hay this morning?”
asked the latter abruptly.

Seymour answered that he had just seen her,
and he was vexed to think that, so indifferent as
he was, he should have given these few words a
flurried air. The sight of Avenard, he thought,
seemed to cast a spell upon him.

“You seem to be a favored visitor!” said the
stranger scornfully; “pray, may I ask by what
right you intrude yourself upon Miss Hay at all
hours?”

“When I know by what right you interfere
with my movements,” said Seymour in reply, “I
may be disposed to answer such a question,—not
till then certainly.”

“Quite cavalier! well, sir! if I should inform
you that I consider myself accepted by Miss Hay,
you will think perhaps—”

“That is a matter with which I have no concern,”
said Seymour abruptly; “but my visits at
Mr. Ellingham's have another object, and my visits
to Miss Hay will be regulated by herself.” And

he quickened his horse's pace as if to escape further
discussion of a point which seemed likely to lead
to no pleasant results. Indeed the stranger seemed,
by the disorder and impetuosity of his manner, to
have a desire to pick a quarrel, which Seymour
was determined to avoid if possible, though his
Western blood had been stirred not a little, by the
Newyorker's impertinent air.

Before he reached Mr. Hay's, however, Avenard
was again at his side, seeming hurried, as if to
follow had been a recent thought.

“You are on your way to Mr. Hay's, I presume,”
said he, more civilly than before. “I wish to call
on him, and I will trouble you to introduce me, as
I have not the pleasure of a personal acquaintance
with him. Miss Hay was not at liberty to leave
her friend this morning.”

Seymour bowed coldly, as if not well pleased
with the office; but they presently found themselves
at the gate.

Mr. Avenard was, as we have said, handsome
and prepossessing; and though his manners lacked
that quietness and retenue which bespeak a mind
at ease, he pleased Mr. Hay exceedingly, and the
old gentleman's scrutiny was by no means an indifferent
one, since rumors of Caroline's “New-york
beau” had already reached his ears.

Seymour was ill at ease, and vexed with himself
for being so; and he took the earliest opportunity
to call Mr. Hay aside, to give him Mr. Thurston's

letter, and the accompanying message, and to
make his parting bow.

In the deep shade of the forest he endeavored
to recover his wonted coolness, but in vain; and
it was with a feeling of absolute despair that he for
the first time owned to himself the interest with
which Caroline, in her new character, as the angel
of the house of mourning, had inspired him.

His hands abandoned the rein—he ceased to
guide his horse, and he did not even notice that
the animal had wandered, browsing, far from the
beaten track, when he was recalled from a vortex
of busy thoughts by a violent blow; and Avenard,
his eyes flashing fire, his horse in a foam, and his
whole appearance betokening complete distraction,
stood beside him.

“Villain!” he shouted, “mean pitiful scoundrel!
this is your indifference! you were too much of a
coward to dare to avow your intentions, so you
resorted to the expedient of undermining! You do
not escape me!” And the madman drew a pistol
before Seymour had collected his senses.

Seymour was unarmed of course, for honest men
do not carry weapons in a peaceful land;—but
with the instinct of self-defence he turned upon
Avenard, and urged his horse forward with the
spur. The animal was a heavy and powerful one,
and easily rode down the other, which was of a
lighter make, and Avenard, unhorsed by the unexpected
shock, fell prostrate with the whole weight

of his own horse across his body. The pistol went
off however, and the ball broke Seymour's bridle
arm. He lost all consciousness, and sank forward,
with his face on his horse's neck; upon which that
wise beast took the well-known way to a good
stable, and carried his master safely to Mr. Hay's
gate.

We cannot report the extent to which our gay
Newyorker may have been injured by this rough
handling, for he quitted the country without any
further effort to see Miss Hay. Mr. Thurston's letters
had brought intelligence of one of those developments
which too often close the career of city
youths, who, unfortunately “born with the tastes of
a duke without his income,” find it convenient to
borrow of those who have more money than they
have the spirit to spend. Avenard had written somebody
else's name by mistake, and received various
sums of money thereupon, and he was now on his
way to more congenial climes.

All that could be guessed of his intention in
coming to this country was, the cruel and base
design of persuading the innocent Caroline to share
his exile, but we will hope he was not so utterly
vile; though it may be doubted whether a person
of his selfish and unprincipled habits is capable of
any form of disinterested affection.