University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

“You will have learned by the previous letters[1]
of Lamar and myself, every interesting circumstance
which has occurred to us, together with our
sage observations upon men and things as they
were presented.

“Lamar spends more than half his time with the
Kentuckian,—he declares that he will never rest
satisfied until he persuades him to remove to the
high hills of the Santee, where he can have him
for a neighbour. He has found a new source of
amusement to-day, in the supposed discovery that
Damon is in love with the pretty country girl, on
whose account, you will recollect, he got into the
affray at the circus. Her father invited him to
pay them a visit, and Lamar has been trying to
persuade him to take advantage of it immediately,
and has even offered to accompany him. I have
no doubt he would succeed, had not the Kentuckian's
idol, Pete Ironsides, been sent into the country

`to board,' as he calls it. As it is, he has determined
upon accepting the invitation as he returns.

“My own affairs are assuming too sombre a hue
for me to enjoy Lamar's foolery as I used to do,
when we three lived together, and when you and I
were made joint partakers of his animal spirits; I
in fact lived upon his stock in trade in that respect,
while you added no little to the joint concern; I
was always, I fear, but a sullen companion for
such merry fellows. But have you never observed
that the most lasting and ardent friendships are
formed of such materials? Even in married life,
you will, in nine cases out of ten, see the most opposite
qualities form the most durable and happy
connexions. This is running, I know, right in the
teeth of the romantic twaddle of the day, about
congenial sentiments, and the like; but is it not
true? Look around you, and see in every instance
if the lively woman has not chosen a serious husband;
the man of genius, a dull drone; the bigot
and fanatic, a romp; the pious lady, a libertine.
These observations, however, like most others of
the college stamp, may be destined to give place
to others of a very different character. When I
look back upon all the various revolutions of opinion
which the mind undergoes, before it arrives
even at our present state of maturity, I am dismayed,
and almost afraid to look forward.

“Nor is it in matters of abstract opinion alone,
I fear, that we are destined to undergo changes.
Our hopes must be in some measure paralyzed, our

hearts made colder, and our youthful friendships
broken asunder! Look what sad havoc a single
year has already made in our own catalogue.
Where now is that noble band of young and generous
spirits, who but a single twelvemonth ago
were all the world to each other? Two of them
have surrendered the bright hopes of young life
upon its very threshold, and the others are scattered
abroad over land and sea. But I have wandered
from the subject of our adventures, which
we have promised faithfully to record.

“Is it not strange how fate seems to play with
us, when once we are fairly embarked upon life's
great current? I am now completely wound up
in perplexities and embarrassments, which, a week
ago, I never once thought of. The actors in this
new drama in which I am confessedly entangled,
were then perfect strangers to me; and how handsomely
has providence, or fate, or whatever you
may choose to call it, paved the way for my more
complete introduction into these new mysteries?
The lady becomes intimate with my mother,
though coming from opposite ends of the Union.
She travels home again and is taken ill on the road,
at the very time when Lamar and I strike into
the same road. It seemed, too, as if I was placed
at the table where our acquaintance commenced,
in the very position where I could not avoid making
a tender of my services; and now that I have
become almost a part of their little family here, I
find that they have been afflicted in some way

beyond measure. They seem to be surrounded
with mysteries and strange connexions; more than
once have I gone specially to break the spell, and
clear away the trammels which render this most
strange and interesting young lady miserable.
Various methods have I devised to acquire the
secret, but they have always ended in awkwardness
and embarrassment. It is no easy matter to
initiate one's self into the midst of family secrets,
when one is comparatively a stranger; yet it
must be done, and that shortly. I feel that it is
necessary to my own peace; indeed it is necessary
in order that I may see my own way clearly, to
have these cruel doubts solved. Every hour but
adds to my entanglement, and if there is a shadow
of foundation for the phantasies of the lunatic, the
sooner I make the plunge the better. Yet how
simple I become; if I had now the decision of
character for which I once had credit in college, I
should not long suffer the dreams of a maniac to
disturb my good opinion of this most lovely and
interesting girl. You may talk of your embarrassments
and difficulties with Bell's untamable
humour; they are all child's play,—mere romping,
—but the case is not so easy of adjustment here;
the old gentleman has just announced, that he shall
resume his journey early to-morrow morning; so
that something must be effected this afternoon or
evening. If there is no other way, I will formally
seek an interview with the lady, and, however
painful it may be to her, I will ask her to explain
her strange fear of the lunatic; of course I must
avow the reason; you shall hear the result.

“P.S. 12 o'clock at night—I have broken the
ice, my dear fellow, and no doubt you will think I
have got a cold bath for my pains.

“Soon after dark I knocked at the door, and
waited some little time with throbbing pulses, to
hear that gentle and silvery voice bid me “come
in!” for I had seen the old gentleman go off in a
carriage, to the theatre, as I hoped. No summons
came—I repeated my knock with the same result.
I do not know what prompted me to an act so
rude, but I mechanically pushed open the door before
I had reflected a moment. I was in the presence
of the little fairy. She held in her hand an
open letter, which was wet with tears; her head
was leaning far back against the wall; her comb,
carrying with it the large rolls of her fair brown
hair, was partly lying on the window, and partly
stuck into its place; the pearl of her cheeks
was still wet with recent tears. I did not know
which was now worst, to retreat or go forward.
At first I thought she had fainted, and would have
sprung to the bell; but I soon saw that she slumbered
gently and peacefully. Randolph, there is
something heavenly in the slumbers of a young,
innocent, and beautiful female; but I will leave
my reflections for another time. I was about to
retreat, and had so far closed the door as to hide
my person, when she suddenly awoke and said,

`Come in, dear father, come in!' the lights had
not yet been brought, but I could see the crimson
mantling her neck and cheeks as she discovered
who the visiter was, and replaced her hair at the
same time.

“I felt confused and ashamed, and stammered
some vague attempt at an apology. She made
light of my intrusion; but one thing attracted my
attention particularly. Just as the maid set the
lights upon the table in the centre of the room, I
thought that I recognised my mother's handwriting
in the letter which she now hastily folded up and
thrust into her reticule. As I mentioned, she had
been weeping over it. This set my imagination
to work; I could not divine on what theme my
mother could write to her; still less what subject
for grief they could have between them. I inquired
if she was well; she said `yes, as well as usual, but
exhausted for want of sleep the previous night.' I
instantly connected her want of sleep and restlessness
with my mother's letter; and before I had
sufficiently reflected upon the import of the question,
I asked her whether her first acquaintance
with my mother had not been formed during her
late visit to the springs. She answered in the
affirmative. `But why do you ask?' said she,
searchingly. `For no particular reason, but the
question occurred to me, from seeing the hand-writing
of the letter you have just folded up. I
thought it strange that you should receive a letter
from my mother, when I have received none.'
`This letter,' said she, `was not received at this

place; I was merely refreshing my memory with
its contents.' `It is not often,' said I, `that my
mother writes so as to bring tears into the eyes of
her friends, and if you would not consider the expression
of the wish too impertinent, and that too
when I have little expectation of its being granted,
I would say that I never before had so much curiosity
to see one of her letters.'

“`Your curiosity,' said she, `should be gratified
immediately, but this letter alludes to circumstances
which would perhaps be uninteresting to you; but
even were they otherwise, it would excite your
curiosity still more to read the letter, when I am
unable to give such explanations now as it requires.'

“`You labour under a most grievous error,' said
I, `if you suppose there are any circumstances
connected in any way with the present distress of
Miss Frances St. Clair, which would be uninteresting
to me. The express object of my visit to-night
was to ask that very explanation. It may seem
strange and impertinent that I should seek that
which you evidently avoid; but my excuse is, and
it is the only one that I can plead, that this is your
last evening in the city; will Miss St. Clair be
offended, if I acknowledge that upon this explanation
turns my happiness? I am fearful of giving
offence by acknowledging that any previous history
is necessary of one who carries in her countenance
a refutation of all calumnies.'

“I had ventured to seize her unresisting hand,

but as I concluded the sentence, she withdrew it,
and covered her face with her handkerchief, pressing
it hard, and breathing short. At the same
time I noticed some confusion with her distress,
though without anger. This imboldened me to
proceed.

“`It may appear like double presumption in me
to ask an explanation before I can proffer a suit,
which may be instantly and indignantly rejected,
either with or without your history.'

“`I will not prudishly affect to misunderstand
you, in either of the prominent points of your remarks,'
said she, her head sinking in modest guise,
`but before I reply to them, will you tell me whence
you have ever heard any thing against me.'

“The question went straight to my suspicious
heart, and rankled there; insomuch that I coughed
and hemmed at it several times ineffectually; her
eyes being riveted on me all the while, like a judge's
upon a detected thief—I felt that her pure and
searching gaze was far more honest than my own,
and I should speedily have begun an explanation
if her father had not at that instant entered the
room. I thought he saw and disrelished the matter
in hand, for he seated himself in a chair, in a certain
manner, by which one understands a person
to say, `I'll stay all night, if you have no objections.'
I will be up by daylight in the morning, lest the
old gentleman steal a march upon me.