University of Virginia Library

4. CHAPTER IV.

Leonard continued sadly confused in mind all that day, and it was several days before he regained his wonted composure. He was not an insincere coxcomb, and had never indulged in the ghastly pastime of playing at chess with women's hearts. On the contrary, he had a heart of his own, and at present he seemed pretty much all heart. A hundred times in a day did he resolve to untwine the silken cords that bound him to Hortense; and a hundred times in a day, at the conclusion of each series of efforts, would he find himself more firmly bound than before. Her face, her form, her eyes, her teeth, her hair, her sweet, musical voice, her refined, silvery

Charleston laugh, her graceful though rather stately carriage, her artless and becoming manners—each charm in detail had its hold upon him, and when each was loosened, as he fancies, he soon found that the tout ensemble had entirely restored its hold. Ah, love! love! Who can measure thy power or weigh thy force! Less ponderous than sunlight, thou art heavier than the universe!

But it was not only Leonard's heart that caused to remain in Charleston, and that would send him in a few days back to the Vanross gate, but his pride was also divided in its forces. A goodly part of his pride acted as ally with his heart; for, had not his flowing tongue and pen got the better of him at times among his old army associates, as well as among the companions of his early youth? And was it not an open secret among his acquaintances that

he had gone South on an errand of love? Brave as Leonard was before his heart, he found it hard to bear up against the assaults of his pride. He had faced bullets on the field, but he fairly cowed now at the thought of facing ridicule; and so, yielding to the power of love, he nevertheless took some comfort in the unmanly thought that he surrendered rather to his pride.

It was but a few days indeed before Leonard again found himself at Mrs. Vandross', but these had been long days to him. The welcome proved that no ill effect from his previous conversation had lingered in the hearts of the ladies. It was quite early in the afternoon of a beautiful November day, and Mr. Howell came to invite the young ladies to take a drive. The invitation was accepted, and in a few minutes all were seated in the best conveyance to be

had, himself and Hortense on the back seat and Lavinia directly in front.

The drive included a short trip up the road to the Half-Moon Battery, and through the lanes of live-oaks that then lined the plank roadway extending for some miles north of the city; thence somewhat retracing their course, they ended their drive with a tour through the city to the famous "Battery," arriving home just about dark.

The conversation during all the way had been cheerful and free; but still Leonard was not fully relieved from the unpleasant recollections of the brief discussion on the night of the party. It was his purpose to recur to the topic at the first convenient opportunity, in order that he might clear away any unfavorable impression which he feared his remarks had made. But the scenes of the drive had so occupied the attention of the entire party that he was

kept busy in observing, especially as on their return, the whole beautiful harbor came into view.

Arriving and alighting from the carriage, which was then dismissed, Leonard accompanied the ladies into the house, and was soon seated alone with Hortense in the parlor, while Lavinia busied herself in preparing a simple repast. Notwithstanding the heroic efforts he had made to free himself from the peculiar bonds which seemed to link his fate to the chariot wheels of Hortense Vanross, Leonard never before felt as completely under her sway; and although he had longed for the moment to come when he might be alone with her, now that it had come he was confused and almost paralyzed in his efforts to talk or even to think. However, moving over and taking a seat on the large old-fashioned sofa on which Hortense was already seated,

he made an effort to reintroduce the subject that had caused him so much uneasiness, at the same time desiring to offer some apologies for his manner and to modify the remarks he had made.

"I fear, Miss Hortense," said he, "that you were not pleased with what I said the other evening when we were talking on the subject of religion."

"Perhaps I did not altogether agree with you, Mr. Howell, and perhaps I spoke too warmly. I beg pardon for anything in my tone or manner which may have led you to think that I was displeased; I assure you I was not at all displeased," replied Hortense seriously.

"I surely did not mean to be impolite or in any way lacking in courtesy; I accidentally got into the subject, and I have felt ever since that I expressed myself quite improperly. I am certainly not a

heathen, nor do I claim to be an infidel, although I admit that I am not orthodox on all religious topics. But I wished to call up the matter only to apologize for my manner on that evening; and after this, with your consent, we will taboo the subject altogether."

"Oh, no, Mr. Howell, you do not need to apologize, I am sure. No one was the least offended, and it has not been talked of at all. The subject is not at all disagreeable to me, and I shall be glad to resume it at any time whenever it may please you."

Leonard's confusion and embarrassment rather increased as the conversation went on, and he felt himself far away from the subject at that time dearest to his heart. How should he ever unfold to the honored creature at his side the love that was consuming his life? A few weeks ago he

flattered himself that she knew his interest in her and more than reciprocated it; and he imagined then that he could go through the form of proposal without a ruffle of spirit or quake of heart, and would carry off in triumph the rich evidence of his conquest. How tall and proud he appeared then in his own eyes as he surveyed himself in the flattering mirror of his own fancy. With what excusable assurance did he speak of his "Southern belle" and his "Southern beauty," the "Charleston rebel" that he had captured.

Thus talked Lieutenant Howell to his army associates when miles away; but where now is that volubility, adroitness, and courage, as he sits on this old-fashioned sofa, not far from the side of his adored Hortense? What has become of the freedom of tongue he possessed, even on the occasion of his first visit to the Vanross

house after his return to the city as a civilian?

Lieutenant Howell was in a new rôle, and his situation could have been described as one of painful deliciousness. He suffered, but he enjoyed his own sufferings.

"My dear Hortense, I am always ready to converse with you upon this subject or about anything. Whatever pleases you delights me. It is such a rich privilege to be in your society that the sort of conversation is not of much importance. It is a pleasure to me to look at you and to listen." And Leonard moved a little nearer to her, but still the distance between them on that long sofa was very respectable.

Hortense replied with thanks for the compliment, and suggested pantomime, but Leonard was not equal to the demands of such a performance and begged to be excused. Miss Hortense then returned to

the earlier conversation about where they had left off.

"No, Mr. Howell, you cannot be a heathen; and you say you are not an infidel, which I must also accept; but then at the same time you tell us that you do not believe in creeds and confessions; and you do not believe in Christians and in churches. Of course this is all strange to us, who have always believed in such things. Pardon me, but I am curious to know just what you do believe on these subjects."

Although Lieutenant Howell would have much preferred to have passed from the subject by an easier route, now that he had done his best to remove the previous unpleasantness, yet he saw no way to avoid the open door into which Hortense almost commandingly invited him to enter. In his own mind and heart a question was

struggling for utterance, which at that time was vastly more important to him than the questions of his faith. His hobby of irreligion had now lost all its charms. However, he made some efforts to avow his beliefs, but found the task very difficult. It had been an easy matter to talk with men of his own way of thinking about superstitious and creeds and churches and preachers; but when he was called upon to make a confession of his faith to that earnest, Christian woman, who was already the sovereign of his heart, his tongue was singularly tame.

Again the honest demand of Hortense had somewhat nonplussed him. He had been in the habit of asserting only his disbeliefs and ridiculing the beliefs of others; now he was asked for his own belief; and to ridicule the belief of Hortense did not enter his thought. Leonard found himself

reduced within very narrow limits, and for the nonce was compelled to cast the lead into the depths of his own soul. He was unable to command art enough to deceive even had he been so inclined. Hortense had brought him abruptly vis-à-vis with himself, and transfixed him, as it were, before his own soul with mesmeric power, and he must stay until the answer was given. Leonard, thou art now at the command of the empress of thy heart, looking in upon thy soul, and thou must answer her question. Thou art unable to deceive; thou durst not disobey. What does thou believe? Negatives and ridicule will not avail thee in the presence of this spotless woman, who awes thee by the very divinity of her character.

"Well, it would be much easier, Miss Hortense," said Leonard, "to tell what I do not believe than to tell just what I do

believe. But I say this; I do believe in God, and I believe him to be a being of wisdom and love, but I do not hold the usual orthodox opinions about religion either as a theory or as an experience. I believe all things are under invariable law," thus sliding into a familiar retreat and hoping the discussion would soon terminate.

"Well," replied Hortense; "Perhaps we do not differ so widely in our opinions. You believe in a God of goodness and love; and in law, which to me is nothing more than God's unchangeable ways. This is a part of religion, to believe in God as good and loving."

"Yes; but somehow I cannot bring myself to think of the great God as taking any personal interest in us individually, or as having anything to do with our petty affairs. I look upon it that all things are placed under law and left to work out

their destiny. I believe the law the best that could be for the whole but not the best for each individual; I will even grant it to be a law of benevolence, but I think it is fixed; and so I cannot see the value of prayer; nor can I recognize any personal communication with the Divine Being. I lack all that element which is called faith. I am not spiritual; perhaps if I had your gifts I should have also your faith."

"But Mr. Howell," replied Hortense, now turning her gaze full upon him, and appearing grander in his eyes than ever before, as her whole face kindled with an earnestness that heightened every line of beauty in her form and features, "I am sure you do not lack sympathy even if you do lack faith. I noticed to-day how easily you were interested in everything along the drive; and how you were fairly enraptured with our beautiful harbor and

Battery. Myself and sister were delightfully entertained by your enlivening remarks. You wrong yourself, Mr. Howell. You have a soul to see the beautiful and admire it, and to see suffering, and you have a heart to feel with the sufferer and to relieve his sufferings if possible. Your soldier training may have deceived you; but I know that you have sentiment enough, spiritual life enough. Do not say you are not spiritual; you wrong yourself."

Lieutenant Howell had never listened to such flattering remarks concerning himself before in all his life, and he was greatly affected. He would have been pleased had the words been spoken by only a friend; but to hear them spoken by the one person above all others whose good opinion he desired, transported him beyond himself. He saw earnestness and interest in the

tone, look and attitude of Hortense, all so chaste, and he drew in at once the most exhilarating draught of hope. The old anticipation that had been a little blurred by recent circumstances, now came back increased a thousandfold. He felt that he not only enjoyed the good opinion of Hortense as expressed by her kind words and kinder tones; but what was so much more previous to him, he read in the sign-language, known only to real lovers, that her heart was not locked against him. He permitted himself to believe that he had at length secured a recognition in her heart as something morer than a friend.

Before he could press the advantage which came to him through the kind words of Hortense, Lavinia entered the room and invited them to tea, and the remainder of the evening was passed in the presence of the family. The conversation became

quite general, although it was unavoidably colored from the effects of the previous brief discussion, and the whole family recognized Lieutenant Howell's opposition to Christianity as professed and practiced in their household. There was no real discussion—certainly nothing like debate—but the general conversation tended to show that Lavinia greeted the views of Leonard with more tolerance than did the others. Hortense appeared as one pained at the position in which she saw her friend placed, but in the midst of her manifest solicitude she never allowed herself to indorse any expression of doubt or disbelief.

The evening ended, and Lieutenant Howell went to his hotel feeling very bright, and congratulated himself that the day of betrothal was near. The hope had now returned to him that he should secure

the much-coveted promise ere he should be compelled to leave the city. He fancies the barriers were well out of the way; the manners of Hortense during the drive and all the evening had been most gracious, and the good-night she gave Leonard at parting was accompanied with a cordial invitation to come again. Bright visions arose before him as he fell asleep that night under the transforming influences of the lover's hope.