University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

Campbell.

Harris's claims to relationship being in fact
well founded, were easily admitted by Mr.
Lewis. The agreeable exterior and plausible
manners of this young man, have already been
noticed. Well educated, and accustomed to
the most polished society in Great Britain, he
had acquired, in addition to his natural gaiety
and cheerfulness, an artificial suavity and an
accommodating courtesy of behaviour, especially
in the presence of ladies, which rendered
him a uniform favourite with the sex.
Even men whose judgments attached but slight
importance to such superficial accomplishments
in comparison with the more solid qualities of
the mind and heart, found more satisfaction in
his society than that of many on whose sincerity
and soundness of principles they could
more fully rely.

It is not to be wondered at, that, with such
companionable qualities added to his claim of
relationship, this agreeable young man should
soon be permitted to enjoy much intimacy and
favour with Harriet Lewis. He, indeed, became
assiduous in his attentions to her, and exerted
all his arts of pleasing to win her favour.
She was pleased with his manners and flattered
by his attentions, and, therefore, felt pleasure in
his society. With the anxious eye of a devoted
lover, Meredith beheld the sudden rise of this
intimacy between Harriet and Harris; and the
feelings of jealousy became added to the former
causes of his dislike of the latter; and as
he could not be deceitful, and affect cordiality
which he did not feel, his manners as well as
his feelings became cool towards his cousin.

Harris soon perceived this change in the
manners of Meredith, and he had too much
discernment not to know the cause. He triumphed
in it. It was exactly what he wished
for. He had never felt a sincere friendship
for Meredith—perhaps never for any one,
for his heart was not made for friendship. And
for some time past, he had cherished feelings
altogether inimical to his cousin. And Meredith
well knew that he was estranged; but he
did not suppose him hostile. The arts of dissimulation
possessed and practised by Harris,
would have been sufficient to deceive one much

more experienced in the world, than the youthful,
candid and unsuspicious Meredith. Even
now, when the latter scarcely concealed his
aversion, the former affected not to perceive
it, but evinced more than usual cordiality towards
one on whom he secretly rejoiced to
have the power of inflicting pain. With a refined
cruelty, and a serpent-like disposition, he
attempted to wind himself into a breast where
he knew he was unwelcome, that he might add
venom to the wounds he had already given.
In this, however, he did not succeed. The
single-heartedness of Meredith foiled the arts
of his enemy; for no flattery could extort from
him a feigned regard or induce him to place
confidence where he felt dislike.

The hypocrisy of Harris, however, answered
one purpose on which he set considerable
value. It deprived Meredith of any pretence
for coming to an avowed rupture, an event for
which his open temper exceedingly longed.
Preserving, by this means, access to the object
who was writhing under the influence of his
torturing subtleties, the tormentor could enjoy
the malignant satisfaction of witnessing the effects
of his artful inflictions, which, with the
capricious power of mysterious agency, he could
modify, diminish, or increase according to his
pleasure or the policy of the occasion.

The true causes of Harris's hostility towards

Meredith had a foundation much deeper than
their political variance, and older than his introduction
to Harriet Lewis. The dissimilarity
of their dispositions would have prevented them
from ever becoming very confidential friends,
but, without the aid of some more serious cause for
dissatisfaction, might not have interrupted the
harmony of good companionship, and social
courtesy, which for some time existed between
them.

But that cause must now be unfolded. Ah!
when I think of it, and its terrible consequences,
how does my indignation kindle against the
memory of the worker of that deed of iniquity!
It is true, he was subjected to the fierceness
of a father's vengeance, and was made to
shrink with terror, and tremble through all his
frame, before the awful denunications of a mysterious
agent of Eternal Justice. But could the
infliction of vengeance undo the crime he had
committed, or restore to the victims of his
guilt that happiness of which he had despeiled
them. Ah! no—never—never in this world,
were they again to know happiness, which had
fled from its mansion in their bosoms, like the
dove from the ark, to return no more!

At the time Harris arrived in America,
Mary Balantyne was approaching her sixteenth
year, and if ever there was a fascinating being
at that age, she was one. Archness, liveliness,

innocence, happiness, beamed from her countenance,
which was illuminated with gay looks
and playful smiles. She had, from her childhood,
been a favourite with Edward Meredith.
He was about four years her senior. His attendance
at her father's seminary afforded him
daily opportunities of observing her dawning
beauties, and, at the same time, of becoming
acquainted with the excellent qualities of her
mind, to the cultivation of which her father
had been anxiously attentive. After what has
been stated in relation to her father's solicitude
for her welfare, and the devotion with which
he applied himself to the implanting in her
mind correct and virtuous principles, it needs
scarcely be added that an abhorrence of vice
and an attachment to virtue, had become so
habitual to her as almost to form an identity
with her nature. She could not think but in
accordance with integrity and truth, nor could
she cherish a desire that was not virtuous.

Often and often as Meredith beheld her budding
graces opening into womanhood, and
breathing around her the vernal sweets of
youth, beauty, and purity, would feelings
warmer than the fraternal ones he had been
long accustomed to cherish towards her, intrude
into his bosom; but he was obliged to
check such dangerous emotions. He dared
not think of a closer connexion with her than

that of an endearing and disinterested friendship.
For his mother, whose sway over his
mind was then supreme, amiable and intelligent
as she was, had aristocratical feelings on
the subject of matrimony, and had formed expectations
of seeing her son united to one of
the highest females, for rank and fortune, in
the land. She had early observed Edward's
partiality for the lovely flower that was budding
in the bowers of Dilworth; and fair and
sweet as she confessed that flower to be, she
deemed it too humble and lowly to match with
the splendid fortunes which she conceived to
be in store for him. She, therefore, repeatedly
exhorted him to guard against forming any
tender connexion with Miss Balantyne. She
even laid her injunctions on him to that effect,
and Edward obeyed them. He had long delighted
to gaze on the beauties of Miss Balantyne;
but these beauties had been hitherto,
perhaps, too infantile, to inspire him with a
serious and lasting passion. This, as we have
seen, it was reserved for the matured charms
of Harriet Lewis, to inspire. But the welfare
of Mary Balantyne was, notwithstanding,
dear to his heart. A generous concern also for
that of her father operated on his feelings; for
from him he had derived much instruction for
which he was grateful. Yet, perhaps, his being
the father of the interesting Mary, formed,
in reality, the chief claim which Balantyne had
upon Edward's regard. Be this as it might,
he was, next to his uncle, Elias, the man, in
all the world, for whom he entertained the
highest veneration.

These were the feelings cherished by Meredith
towards Balantyne and his daughter,
when Harris became acquainted with them,
and owing to congeniality of political opinions,
gained the confidence of the loyal North Briton,
who looked upon the young Englishman
as his countryman. Harris, therefore, soon
became a favourite guest at Dilworth, and the
attractions of Miss Balantyne made him a frequent
one.

The libertine principles of Harris were not
unknown to Meredith, who had been often the
confidential auditor of his numerous and expensive
gallantries in the British metropolis.
It was with much uneasiness, therefore, that
he observed a man of this description insinuating
himself into the affection of the innocent
and artless Mary. Harris, not aware of the
deep interest which Edward took in the welfare
of this young woman, one evening, as they
rambled along the banks of the Brandywine,
confessed, in his loose, affable, and confidential
way, that he was greatly enamoured of
Miss Balantyne, that he had declared to her
his passion, and had reason to believe that it
was fully returned.

“Then you are resolved on matrimony, I
suppose?” said Edward, jocularly.

“Matrimony! no, faith,” returned Harris,
“I am not such a fool as that amounts to. In
the bowers of love, it is for a mistress, not a
wife that I have always sought; and it is not
the smiles of a pretty girl, however fascinating,
in the woods of America, that shall make me
change my habits.”

Meredith was thrown into seriousness by
this reply. He remained silent for some moments.
He then said with firmness:

“Mr. Harris, you have made an insinuation
to which I cannot listen with complaisance
nor reply with levity. The daughters of America
shall never, in general terms, be spoken
of lightly in my hearing, without meeting with
a defender. With respect to the one whose
affections you say you have courted for no
honourable purpose—mark me, sir, in her welfare
I am particularly interested. I shall henceforth
watch your intercourse with her; and
should I discover in your conduct any tendency
of a dishonourable nature, from that moment
I shall cast you from my friendship, and
take upon myself to avenge her cause.”

“Hey day! master champion!” retorted
Harris, with affected indifference, but evidently
much surprised and provoked. “You would
fight for the reputation of a favourite fair one,

however frail, would you? But, master Edward,
whenever I am so fortunate as to win
the love of a pretty girl, hang me, if I shall
ask your permission to enjoy the blessing!”

“Hear me!” said Meredith; “I will cut
this altercation short, by declaring solemnly,
that if you attempt, in any manner, by either
word or deed, to injure the spotless fame of
Mary Balantyne, I shall hunt you over the
face of the earth, until I inflict upon you the
vengeance that justice shall require!”

“And does Edward Meredith suppose that
Charles Harris shall not be easily found, when
he is wanted for the purpose of combat? But in
whose quarrel does the mettlesome Edward
wish now to embark? Whom have I slandered?
By heavens, not Miss Balantyne, whom
I love too tenderly to injure. But master
Edward, your vehemence awakes a strong suspicion
that you are somewhat of a rival to me
in the affections of this girl. If so, speak out,
that we may understand each other, and we
shall soon find means of settling our controversy.”

“I am not the lover of Miss Balantyne in
the sense you suppose,” returned Meredith.
“But I am her sincere and warm friend, and,
as such shall ever be ready to defend her reputation
against a calumniator, or revenge it,
if need be, upon a seducer. You have heard

my determition. Reflect upon it, and act accordingly.
Farewell! I shall waste no more
words at present.”

So saying, Meredith turned abruptly into a
different path, on which he observed some
people advancing, and left the astonished and
irritated Harris cursing equally his own imprudent
communication, and his cousin's impetuosity.

From this time Meredith and Harris placed
no confidence in each other. The latter made
some pretence to Mrs. Meredith for withdrawing
his residence from her house, and took
lodgings in the village of Dilworth. The meeting
of Meredith with Miss Lewis, and the occurrences
related in the last chapter took place,
shortly after this estrangement, and will account
for the high and fretful tone of their
conversation on their way to Philadelphia.

The assiduity of Harris's attentions to Miss
Lewis, was at first greatly induced by his desire
of inflicting pain on Meredith; and his success
in this matter afforded him, as we have seen, no
small triumph. The gay and light-hearted
beauty for whom Meredith sighed, also observed
his uneasiness, for what woman was ever
blind to the workings of jealousy in the mind
of her lover? She internally exulted in this
proof of the power of her charms over a young
man whom she truly loved. She, therefore,

for some time, encouraged the attentions of
Harris more than she otherwise would have
done; for, although possessed of a truly good
heart, which rendered her averse to give pain
to any one, yet she had a sufficient sprinkling
of that vanity, generally incident to young
and flattered beauties, which inspires them with
coquetry, and causes them to derive pleasure
from the anxieties and jealousies of their most
favoured lovers.

Miss Lewis, however, was not disposed to
push her coquetry, in this instance, to excess.
Her heart really preferred Meredith to any
other suitor, and she did not wish to sport with
his feelings so far as either to alienate them
from herself, or impel him to a serious and hazardous
hostility with Harris. When Edward,
therefore, driven almost to desperation by her
indulgence of the familiarities of his cousin,
resolved, even at the risk of incurring her displeasure,
to declare to her his feelings on the
subject, and require from her an explanation
of her conduct, that he might know whether
or not, he yet possessed any place in her regards,
she afforded him entire satisfaction on
the subject.

“I think,” said she, “that the relationship
existing between Harris and me, fully sanctions
the intimacy of which you complain. At
the same time, I confess, that I have intentionally

encouraged his attentions for the purpose
of trying the sincerity of your attachment, and
also, because I was willing to punish you for
being so easily made jealous.”

“Oh! Harriet, how could you take pleasure
in giving me pain!”

“Mr. Meredith,” said she, “if you choose
to torment yourself, when I think proper to
enjoy the society of my friends, it is your own
fault. I really cannot consent to abandon the
enjoyments of social life, in order to keep you
in good temper.”

“You mistake me, Miss Lewis; I do not
wish such a sacrifice. But you, indeed, of late
seemed to prefer the society of Harris to
mine.”

“Seemed—that word is truly spoken,” said
she. “It was but a seeming preference. Besides
you are not my cousin.”

“But cousins,” he observed, “may be lovers,
and are often dangerous playmates.”

“Edward!” she replied, “you are really
provokingly suspicious. Have I not already
made avowals sufficient to convince you of my
preference. If you are not satisfied, I assure
you I will not fall on my knees and implore
you to believe me. I have not affected to
doubt the sincerity of your professions, and I
consider it a very bad compliment to my veracity
that you should doubt mine.”

“Do not be offended, Miss Lewis,” said he.
“It is the very ardor of my affections which
renders me anxious to have the assurance of
yours made doubly sure. But I am now satisfied.
I will no longer doubt that I am, in
truth, the preferred of your heart.”

“Then, since you are become reasonable
again, there is my hand,” she said, smiling.
“I give it in token of a sincere heart; and I
hope that, for the future, you will not permit
my civilities to my friends, to arouse your jealousy.”

Meredith caught the beautiful hand thus offered
to him, imprinted on it a burning kiss,
which sent blushes to the lovely countenance
of its owner, and caused her, in some confusion,
to snatch it from his grasp.

“Come, come, Edward,” said she, “you are
too violent. Let us hasten to the company of
our friends, and appear as if we cared nothing
for each other.”

“You are a most teazing, most bewitching,
and endearing, lovely girl. I am, in every
thing, your slave, and must obey you,” replied
Edward, now in the height of good humour
and happiness; and he accompanied her to a
brilliant evening party to which they had been
engaged. Harris was present. Miss Lewis
altered not her manner towards him. She was
as cordial and familiar with him as usual. He

often cast upon Edward a look of malicious
triumph. But Edward was now proof against
its intended effects; and the officious tormentor
was astonished and mortified to observe, that
instead of the scowl of vexation and anger,
which his exulting glances were accustomed to
extort from the writhing object of his malice,
they were now only answered with haughty
contempt or provoking indifference. On this
evening, therefore, the triumph was on the
part of Edward; and Harris, with all his dexterity
at dissimulation, could not avoid betraying
symptoms of discomfiture and chagrin
which did not escape the observation of Miss
Lewis; and it afforded her no small satisfaction,
especially as she saw that it was also perceived
by Edward.