 | CHAPTER VII. The King of the Hurons |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
She is woman, and therefore to be won.”
—Shaks,—Henry VI.
Major St. George Grover was a man who had made some
converts to the doctrine of total depravity; yet he was far from
being a polemic, and might have found it difficult to tell what were
his own views on that much mooted point. Of an aristocratic and
wealthy family in England, he had long pursued an unremitting
career of profligacy in that country, whence he had but recently
transplanted his vices into the New World, where, it need scarcely be
said, they took deep root, and produced an abundant harvest; not
dissimilar, indeed, to some indigenous crops in the same soil, for
earth, unfortunately, has no clime in which sin is an exotic.
Major Grover was one of the individuals who had accompanied
Lord Cornbury on board the St. Cloud, where he had been a silent
observer of events, had been struck with Miss Montaigne's beauty,
had stared at her with relentless effrontery, and, scarcely aside, had
laughed merrily with Ensign Midge over some jeering remarks upon
her charms. He had at once resolved on becoming acquainted
with so attractive a person; and he saw with delight that her companion
was a simpleton, and her protector a priest of the proscribed
school. For many days he had lost trace of the strangers, but he
discovered their retreat at length, and learned, by singular assiduity,
the history and situation of their hostess, with the prominent traits
of her character. He learned, too, that beau Shiel was a distant
relative of the widow, rather beyond speaking distance, it is true,
Shiel on his request did not hesitate to call on Mrs. Sniff, much to
her delight, and to express his regrets that the cares of business had
prevented him for some little time preceding from keeping bright the
chain of friendship between himself and his respected cousin. But
the widow said it was not to be spoken of, and she was sure she was
much obliged to Mr. Shiel for remembering her at all; and so a
footing was very soon established for that gentleman in the dove-cot;
and he knew, as he expressed himself to Major Grover, exactly
where he stood. He did not know where the ladies stood, however,
for, equally to his own chagrin and that of Mrs. Sniff, they did
not descend to the drawing-room, and the widow was compelled to
manufacture two extemporaneous headaches in their behalf. She
took the opportunity, however, to hint at the scrupulosity of rank,
and informed Mr. Shiel that she would try to prevent a recurrence
of his disappointment, if he would do her the honor to dine with
her on the ensuing day, an invitation at which he secretly exulted,
and which, after a very studious perusal of some blank tablets, to
make sure that he had no other engagements, he graciously
accepted.
But now came Mrs. Sniff's turn to be delighted, aye, to be
thrown into a very paroxysm of silent ecstasies; for Mr. Shiel
craved the very particular favor of being allowed to bring with him
his friend, the Honorable Major Grover, a gentleman of ancient
family, who could trace his lineage back to the days of the Conquest,
and was even suspected of having had ancestors before that
period; but that was mere conjecture. The favor was of course
readily accorded, and the visitor took his leave, with a profusion of
courteous words and gestures, in which line, however, he scarcely
transcended the remarkable exploits of the widow, who seemed to
respond with a sort of mesmeric motion to all the grimaces and
genuflections of her visitor.
It had been a rash and unconsidered thing, Mrs. Sniff's invitation
heaviness. Strange visions haunted her sleep. Her lodgers had
again proved refractory, and would not leave their rooms, and her
illustrious visiters and herself were vainly trying to dine upon a pair
of boiled epaulettes, which defied all her attempts at carving, and
were quite deficient in gravy besides. If she tried to propitiate
Blanche, she was pelted with glass slippers for her pains; and
Emily, taught by her friend's example, proved equally intractable.
The dews of anxious thought were upon the widow's brow when
she awoke in the morning, which was necessarily at an early hour;
for, to secure such a result, she had compelled a bantam rooster,
famed for his vociferous greetings of the dawn, to take lodgings in
her room. She set earnestly about the labors of the day, and
engaged in the preparations for dinner with such enthusiasm, as to
quite overlook the minor matter of breakfast, a meal which, by the
customs of that age, was clearly entitled to precedence. She was
fortunately, however, reminded of this slight blunder by a voracious
serving girl, whose seldom-sated appetite proved a faithful monitor
on the occasion.
Fearful that Blanche and Emily would in some way slip
through her fingers, after all, it was not until the latest allowable
minute that she informed them of her expected guests; they
were only some of her particular friends, she said, who would
take things quite as they found them, and were not to be treated
with ceremony. Major Grover was so fond of his beloved England,
that he longed to see any one who had recently trod its blessed
shores, so Mr. Shiel had said, and she thought it was a very pretty
sentiment, and one which did equal honor to his heart and his
gizzard—which last word was a lapsus linguœ of the widow, occasioned
by a sudden remembrance of a contemplated chicken fricasee,
in which those parts of the dissected fowl were to figure.
Miss Montaigne did not absent herself from the great dinner, for
she had not the heart to disappoint her anxious hostess, and,
New York society; while Emily was delighted beyond bounds at
an event so full of promise. The visiters came in due season, and
were introduced in due form. The widow and Miss Roselle, who
were both elaborately dressed, seemed equally to captivate the
obliging Shiel, who quite gave up the beautiful Blanche to the
attentions of his friend. That these were anything but pleasing to
her would have been quite apparent to an indifferent observer; but
Grover, being quite fascinated by his companion, fell into the common
error of believing that she was equally pleased. It will not be
necessary to record more minutely the events of a day, memorable
only for laying the foundation of an acquaintance, which the major
strove sedulously to improve, and which led to some striking results.
For a while he persecuted Blanche with attentions seemingly
respectful, but which took no form sufficiently definite to admit of
effectual repulse. She avoided him when she could, and when she
could not, was coldly civil, and ceremoniously polite. Thus affairs
stood for a few weeks, when an event occurred which wrought a
marked change in the designs of the suitor. He chanced one evening
at a restaurateur's to hear the name of Roselle pronounced in a
foreign accent, and upon observation he discovered two Frenchmen
of the lower class, conversing together in their own language, and
in a low tone of voice. A little attention enabled him to perceive
that the colloquists were sailors who had formed part of the crew of
the St. Cloud, and that they were discussing some events connected
with its capture. Seemingly engrossed in some other matter, he
contrived to pay the closest attention to their discourse, which was
the less guarded, because they supposed their dialect to be unintelligible
to the other individuals present.
From this conversation Grover learned the important fact that the
younger of the two ladies passing under the name of Roselle was, in
reality, a daughter of the celebrated Baron Montaigne, who, on arriving
at New York, had assumed the obscurer name which she now bore,
by her father, for leaving the city. This information was full of
interest to the listener, and for a while he could not decide how best
to avail himself of its advantages. Despite his self-flattery, he was
conscious that he had as yet made no advances in Blanche's affections
adequate to his exertions; and it was now a solace to his pride
to believe that if he was baffled it was by one, conscious of rank
temporarily obscured, which might claim an equality with his own.
What then if he should abandon his irrational prejudices against
matrimony, and seek this peerless beauty with an honest love? The
hymeneal fetters could not be as onerous as they had been represented,
especially if one were disposed to wear them loosely, as he
certainly should do. Blanche would adorn any circle; her dowry,
if not immediate, would, doubtless, be princely at some future day;
and he would carry her back to England to eclipse the crowds of
Lady Janes and Lady Annes, whose virtuous mamas had denounced
him as an irreclaimable roué, and had shown as much perturbation
at his appearance in their guarded circles, as the cluttering hen when
the hawk hovers in the air. He would, besides, have the credit of
great generosity and disinterestedness; for he would woo and wed
the stranger in her assumed name, seemingly ignorant of her true
rank and expected patrimony. Thus would he also pay the higher
compliment to her attractions, and make more sure of her regard.
But on the last point he indulged no fears; the thought of a refusal
did not enter into his mind, and would have been scouted as
the very ravings of delirium. Having thus resolved, he kept his
own counsel and lost no time in inaction. There was, at once, a
marked change in the character of his addresses to Blanche, who,
finding no coolness sufficient to discourage him, rejoiced at the
prospect of being soon able to give him a peremptory dismissal.
She was not kept long awaiting such an opportunity, but found it a
difficult thing to convince her astonished suitor that she really
rejected his offer. It was again and again renewed, and the haughty
value, and explaining the magnanimity of his proposal. His wealth,
his rank, his family, were all dilated upon as creating a disparity of
advantages in his favor, which might well entitle him to look for a
different answer. But no different answer came. Blanche was
obliged to him for his good opinion; she had endeavored, since the
first suspicion of his sentiments, to discourage him, and she begged
that her decision might be considered final and conclusive.
Grover retired from this interview,—not a lover,—but a madman.
Opposition had inflamed his passion, wounded his vanity, awakened
his pride, and called into intense action every evil part of his nature.
He was capable of making a mock of every moral obligation, when
his mind was undisturbed; what he could do in its present dangerous
ebullition, remains to be seen.
| CHAPTER VII. The King of the Hurons | |