University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.
A COUNCIL OF WAR.

As soon as we had left the Brakes Harvey sought
an opportunity to communicate to Bel all that he
had learned from us in regard to the cause and circumstances
of the quarrel between Ned and Rutherford;
presenting to her, in the strongest point of
view he was able, the signal injustice she had done
to so faithful and devoted a lover. “I should not
have regarded the matter a rush,” said Harvey, “if
it were not that Ned, as I have often told you, is
one of the most sensitive creatures alive, and so
much inclined to melancholy that there is no knowing
what effect such an incident may have upon his
temper.” Bel smiled incredulously, and seemed as
if she did not know whether to take Harvey in jest
or earnest.

“You may treat this lightly,” continued Harvey,
“but I am sure you will feel some unpleasant misgivings
when you come to reflect on it.” She smiled
again.

“It is not a just return for that admirable constancy,”
Harvey proceeded, “which Ned, notwithstanding
his upper current of levity, has always
shown towards you; and which, amidst all his waywardness,
has always set steadily towards you. If

he has been volatile in his pursuits, you cannot deny
that he has connected you with the pleasantest passages
of his life; if he has been strange in his conduct,
now and then, it is very obvious that he has
never ceased to feel the desire to make himself
agreeable to you; if he has occasionally erred from
the straight line of decorum, every transgression may
be traced to some ardent endeavour to support your
cause, even at the expense of your good opinion.
Now, this is what I call faith, honour and gallantry:
It shows single heartedness, homage and modesty.
It is in the very best strain of a cavalier devoted to
his lady-love; and has more true chivalry in it than
all the formal courtesies in the world—”

Bel began to look grave.

“It cuts Ned to the heart to think his mistress
ungrateful; and, particularly, that she should listen
to a vile strolling pedler, and take his account of a
fray as if it were gospel, instead of suspending her
opinion until she should have a more authentic relation
from himself. This has sunk deeper into his
feelings than any act of unkindness that ever befel
him. And from you, Bel!—Conceive what anguish
Ned must have experienced when your cold looks
chided him for one of the most disinterested actions
of his life.”

“Why didn't he tell us all about this quarrel when
he brought the hawk home?” said Bel. “Why was
he silent then, I should like to know?”

“Was it for him,” asked Harvey, “to vaunt his
exploits in your ear? A brave man naturally forbears
to speak of his achievements; and therein is

Ned's true modesty of character conspicuous. He
would have concealed this from you until he had
grown gray, lest you might have been tempted to
think he played the braggart with you. I cannot
sufficiently admire such forbearance.”

“Ah me, cousin!” said Bel, “I do not know what
to think: You perplex me. I would not willingly
offend the meanest creature that lives. I am sure I
have no reason to be unkind to Mr. Hazard. But
still it is not my fault that I cannot set the same value
upon his virtues that you and others do.—I almost
wish I had not been so marked in my demeanour
to him this morning. I am sure I am not ungrateful
in my temper, cousin Harvey: Did he speak
much of it?”

“Rather in sorrow than in anger,” returned Harvey.
“But the thought haunted him all the time
he was here. He broke out once or twice and
swore.”

“Swore at me?” exclaimed Bel.

“No; I was mistaken in saying he swore.
He gave vent to some piteous feelings,—as well
he might:—but they were expressed chiefly in
sighs.”

“I wish I knew whether you were in earnest,
Harvey,” said Bel, beseechingly. “Mercy on me!
I do not know what to think. I wish I were in heaven!
And still, I won't believe Ned Hazard cares
the thousandth part as much for me as you make
out.”

This was not true, for Bel was inwardly very
much moved with the whole relation, and began to

feel, what she never before acknowledged, that Ned
had a very fair claim to her consideration.

Harvey was making an experiment upon her heart;
and, having set her to musing over the affair, left her
to settle the case with her own conscience. He had
now satisfied himself that Ned, if he used even ordinary
discretion, might turn the accident to good account;
and he therefore said nothing more to Bel,
knowing that the more she thought of what had passed,
the graver would be the impression on her mind.

The next morning he hastened over to Swallow
Barn, where, like a trusty minister, he detailed the
sum of his observations in a solemn council, convoked
for that purpose.

Never was any topic more minutely or more ably
discussed. We all agreed that Ned's prospects were
brightening; that a crisis had arrived which it required
great judgment to manage with effect; and that,
above all things, he must be very guarded for the future.
It was also resolved that he should henceforth
be more special and direct in his attentions, and not
scruple to assume the posture of an avowed lover:
that he should put on as much propriety of manner
as might be found requisite to gratify Bel's most visionary
requisitions; and that, in particular, he must
neither swear in her presence, nor talk lightly before
her.

“Oh, as to that,” said Ned, who had grown as
pliant as a trained hound in our hands, “I have already
resolved to show her that I can play the part
of the most solemn fool in the world. But, what
perplexes me most is to find out some sentimental

subject for conversation. I shall commit myself by
some egregious blunder of a joke, if I get to talking
at random. Faith, I have a great mind to write
down a whole discourse and commit it to memory.”

“Talk to her,” said Harvey, “upon classical matters.
Show her your learning. She thinks you don't
read; rub up some of your college pedantry: any
thing man;—give her a little of the heathen mythology!”

“Oh, I'll do it!” cried Ned with exultation. “I'll
astonish her with the Encyclopedia!”

“Take care, though,” interrupted Harvey, “to season
it well with delicate and appropriate allusions to
the affair in hand. Let it be congenial and lover-like;
no matter how nonsensical. But don't be bombastic,
Ned.”

“Trust me!” he replied, “I'll suit her to the twentieth
part of a scruple.”

Here our conclave broke up with a flash of merriment;
and we did nothing but jest all the rest of
the day.

Harvey dined with us; and when, in the evening,
he thought of returning, Carey came into the parlour
to make a proposition which had the effect to detain
our guest with us all that night. The incident that
followed will require a chapter to itself.