University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.

The servant here interrupted the conversation
between Pinckney and his master, by informing the
former that Mr. Fitzhurst's carriage was at the door
waiting to convey him to Holly.

“Come, Langdale, will you not accompany me?”
said Pinckney, as he arose.

“Thank you; no, not now; but your friend, Sidney,
has been pressing me to call out and see him, and
while you are there, I shall avail myself of the invitation;
make my respects to the ladies, particularly to
the fair Fanny; and remember, when you come to
town, I shall feel hurt with you if you do not make
my house your home, at least while Fitzhurst's town-house
is unoccupied. Guard your heart, Howard, if
you have any respect for bachelorism.”

“I intend to do so,” replied Pinckney, in a gay
tone. “`My heart's in the Highlands,' as Burns says,
“and I am going to take charge of it.”

“Keep close watch over it,” said Langdale as
he followed his friend to the door, “or it will refuse
to quit the Highlands with you, though you went
wandering in search of the t'other fair one that you
wot of.”

Pinckney grasped his friend warmly by the hand,
and, bidding him adieu, entered the carriage, which
soon dashed away under the guidance of Pompey.

Pinckney was alone in the carriage, and reclining
back in luxurious ease, he gave himself up to a
thousand cheerful imaginings. Just as the very
last rays of the sun had hidden themselves behind the

hills, the carriage entered the lane leading to Holly.
As the wheels moved almost noiselessly along, Pinckney
leaned forward, and asked Pompey if there was
any company at the house. Pompey checked his
horse to a walk, and replied, “Yes, Master Pinckney,
there be one of young master's friends there, that be
come from the inferior (interior) of the state; he's
been there three days.”

“What's his name, Pompey?”

“Mr. Bradley, sir; he be an old friend of young
master's.”

“I've heard of him,” said Pinckney to himself.
“He is the one of whom Sidney speaks praisefully;
a beau, and a man of intellect, and all that. Go
on, Pompey,” he said aloud.

Pompey cracked his whip, and in a moment more
the carriage whirled around a grass-plat, in the
centre of which stood a holly-bush, and Pinckney
alighted. He entered the house without rapping, for
he was intimate enough with the household to waive
all ceremony. He passed along the hall, intending
to enter the usual sitting-room of the family. As he
did so, he glanced into a large withdrawing room,
and there beheld Fanny promenading—leaning on the
arm of a very handsome man, whom he had no doubt
was Mr. Bradley.

Pinckney started, and the feeling which shot through
his heart convinced him that of late he had not practised
self-examination. Not thinking exactly what
he was doing, he passed on in the direction of the
chamber which he formerly occupied, when the
voice of Fanny arrested him.

“Mr. Pinckney!” she exclaimed, “did you not see
me?”

“See you,” said Pinckney, recovering himself, and
with an air of gallantry, “to be sure I saw you, Miss
Fitzhurst, and should have felt your presence though

you had been surrounded by Egyptian darkness. I
passed by that I might make my toilette fit for your
presence.”

“Still ceremonious; I am glad to see you looking
so well. Mr. Pinckney, allow me to introduce you
to Mr. Bradley.” The young gentlemen saluted each
other, and Fanny, still holding Mr. Bradley's arm,
asked:

“How is Mr. Langdale?”

“Well; and he loaded me with compliments to
present—”

“O! he's completely harmless. I suppose now, that
he has had you in care so long, you have returned,
if possible, less romantic, and less of a believer in love,
than ever?”

“Quite the contrary: I have been vindicating the
tender passion so warmly from his assaults and
stoicism, and thinking so much of you, that my heart
has turned to tinder, and a single flash from a bright
eye will set it in a blaze.”

“'Tis lucky for you, then, sir,” said Mr. Bradley,
“that the twilight surrounds us.”

“Yes, sir; but you must remember, that in this
fair presence the twilight has not always surrounded
me; and though it did, that there are some spirits
who

So speaking, Pinckney bowed and repaired to his
apartment, where much of his apparel had been left.

“A fair spoken gentleman, Miss Fitzhurst,” said
Mr. Bradley, in a cold tone, as Pinckney's footsteps
died away in the passage.

“And a fascinating one, Mr. Bradley,” replied
Fanny, in a musing manner.

“Whiskers, and all the et cetera of a travelled
gentleman, I discover.”

“Yes, sir; every one of them, except their vanity
and passion for telling of foreign sights.”

“Very much of a man of the world. Is he callous
to beauty and to love?”

“He says so,” said Fanny, still musing.

“Your brother has spoken much to me of him.”

“O! brother thinks him past all parallel.”

“What a confiding spirit your brother possesses;
he flings his friendship with as much reliance upon a
friend, as would a woman upon a lover after long
years of trial and observation.”

“Flings!” exclaimed Fanny, passing from her
musing tone, and unconsciously releasing her arm from
Bradley's; “upon my word, Mr. Bradley, you pronounced
that word `flings' as though you were about
to add, immediately afterwards, `his friendship away,'
and then the tone of sarcasm in which you are pleased
to indulge, has not been for the first time erroneously
applied, though never more erroneously.”

Bradley bit his lip, and asked Fanny to take his
arm, which she declined, saying, she must prepare
for supper.

“You wish to arrange your toilette for Mr. Pinckney,
do you?” he said.

“Certainly, Mr. Bradley; as Mr. Pinckney pays me
that compliment I must return it,” and she withdrew.