University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

The frankness and cordiality of his manner, when
introduced to Douglas, gave assurance that he took
a great interest in the young man; who felt, on his
part, that he was in the presence of a man of no
common mould, and that in that man he had found
an efficient friend.

“And now, Tom,” said Mr. Trevor, “pass the
word for coffee and privacy in this room.”

Tom bowed and withdrew, and Mr. Trevor, without
preface or apology, proceeded to lay the case
before his friend. This he did with great precision
of statement, while the other listened with an
air which showed that no word was lost on him.
Having got through, Mr. Trevor added: “We now
wish you to advise what should be done in this
case.”

“Resign, by all means,” said Mr. B—. “Resign
immediately!”

“Your reasons?” asked Mr. Trevor.

“There are plenty of them, of which you are
aware,” said B—, “and with which our young friend
shall be made acquainted after resignation—not before.
But there are others which may be spoken of
now. The alternative is a court of inquiry, a court-martial,
or resignation. To the two first the same objection
applies. Your nephew cannot expect any satisfactory
result from either, but by the use of means
which, I am sure, his delicacy would not permit him
to use—I mean the public use of a lady's name.
Some people have a taste for that, and in other parts
of the world it is all the rage. I thank God that the
fashion has not reached us. A woman, exposed to
notoriety, learns to bear and then to love it. When
she gets to that, she should go North; write books;
patronize abolition societies; or keep a boarding-school.
She is no longer fit to be the wife of a Virginia
gentleman. But there is no need to say this.
You, Trevor, were your nephew so inclined, would
never permit the name of your daughter to be thus
profaned.”

“I could oppose nothing to it,” said Mr. Trevor,
“but my displeasure. And though I might not wish
it, could I have a right to be displeased with Douglas
for vindicating himself from a charge which has
grown out of his gallant defence of her? Think of
the favorable standing of his family; observe the
rapid promotion of his brother; and consider whether

a punctilio of this sort should bind him to renounce
prospects so flattering?”

“Were the prospect more flattering than you state
it,” said B—, “it would not change my opinion. But
what prospect is there? Colonel Trevor is perhaps
a favorite at court. So, doubtless, is your brother.
But he is not a man whose fidelity is either to be
bought or rewarded; and he and his will be, at any
moment, postponed and sacrificed to the mercenary,
who might desert and even mutiny for want of pay.
Here is proof it.

“Look at the shallow pretext for this proposed
court-martial. The President is pleased to say that
he believes your brother; but that there are those
who do not. Who are they? Who can they be?
Who is there, worthy to be accounted among his
advisers, that can disbelieve any thing that Hugh
Trevor shall assert? Don't you see the cheat?
Don't you see that your brother, whose attachment
to the Union, based as it is on principle, may be
safely trusted, is to have his feelings wounded to
gratify the mortified pride of the elder Baker, and
the skulking malice of his son? You, Mr. Trevor,
know better than I do, who are about the President.
Is there one among them to whom your father's
word would need the support of other testimony?
Good old man! So little has he of pride or jealousy,
that this thought never occurs to him. He is modestly
asking himself what right he has to expect

credence from those who do not know him. And
who are these malcontent officers? Think you
there is one of them who would venture to express
his dissatisfaction to you? No. There is no one
malcontent. No one dissatisfied but that son of
the horse-leech, whose mouth is ever agape, and
never can be filled.

“Do look at this letter,” continued B—, addressing
Mr. Trevor. “How perfectly in character. Not
one traversable allegation (as the lawyers say) except
that of his friendship for your brother. `Those
friends whom I feel bound to consult!' Who are
they? Press him, and I dare say some fellow below
contempt, some scullion of the kitchen political
or the kitchen gastronomical, may be found to father
what it is alleged that these friends have said. `His
information is from a source entitled to all confidence!'
Does he even say that as of himself? No. He
charges that too on his friends, though it might not
be easy to find a sponsor for that compliment to old
Baker. Since the death of his brother pimp Ritchie,
I think that sort of thing has gone out of fashion.
`Hardly less valuable and meritorious than your brother.'
The same authority. `On dit,' `they say.'
I think this last On, would be as hard to find as that
universal author of mischief, Nobody.

“But, when we come to the dissatisfaction of the
army, it is worse still. Here is on dit upon on dit.
Somebody says that somebody else is dissatisfied;

and such are the gossamer threads, woven into a
veil to hide this insult to your brother, and this indignity
to your nephew. Take away these, and
what remains but a wish to soothe Baker? And
what must be the force of those favorable dispositions
to your young friend, which are to be counteracted
by such a motive? By a reluctance to offend
an abject wretch too spiritless to resent, and
without influence to make his resentment at all
formidable.”

“Enough!” said Douglas. “I will send on my
resignation by the next mail.”

“No, my dear sir,” said B—, “don't yield too
readily to my suggestions.”

“It was his own suggestion, and already approved
by me,” said Mr. Trevor. “Had you dissented,
we would have reconsidered the matter. As it is,
we are but confirmed in our decision.”

“That being the case,” said B—, “I have only
to say distinctly that the thing admits of no doubt
with me. I am not only sure that, in resigning, your
nephew will do what best becomes him as a gentleman,
but that he will make a fortunate escape from
the service of one whose maxim it is to reward none
but the mercenary.”

“Then go to work, my boy,” said Mr. Trevor.
The mail goes at day-light. Enclose your letter of
resignation, unsealed, in one to your father. I will
have them mailed to-night, and you will get an answer

in a week. Here are the materials. Write,
and we will chat and take our coffee. By the way,
Douglas, you have not dined.”

“Thank you, my dear uncle, I am too busy to be
hungry,” said the youth.

“Be it so,” said the old gentleman. “It is not
so long since I was young, but that I understand
your trim. Starving is better than blood letting, and
a full heart needs the one or the other.”

When Douglas's letters were finished, he would
gladly have put them into Delia's hands before he
sent them off. But he found, what most men have
been surprised to find, that after what had passed in
the morning between him and Delia, it was much
harder to obtain an interview with her than before.
When a young gentleman makes a visit of some days
to a friend in the country, whose daughter suspects
that he has something to say to her that she is impatient
to hear, it is amusing to see how many
chances will bring them together. Each of them is
always happening to have some call to go where the
other happens to be; and, when together, each is apt
to be detained in the room by some interesting occupation
until the rest of the company have left it. They
are continually meeting in passages, and on staircases;
and, in pleasant weather, they are almost
sure to stroll into the garden about the same time.
But let the decisive word be once spoken, and all is
changed. Then, bless us, how we blush! and how

we glide through half-open doors, and slip away,
around corners!

Still it will happen, as love makes people restless,
that both will rise early, and so meet in the parlor
before others are awake. And then there is “the
dewy eve and rising moon,” and the quiet walk
“by wimpling burn and leafy shaw;” but as to a
private word in the bustling hours of the day, that is
out of the question.

All this is the result of sheer accident. See how
innocent and artless she looks! And how light and
elastic is her step as she moves along; her swan-like
neck outstretched, her face slightly upturned, her eye
swimming in light, and looking as if the veil of futurity
were raised before her, and all the gay visions
of hope stood disclosed in bright reality. Is she
not beautiful? O the charm of mutual love! Who
can wonder that each man's mistress, wearing this
Cytherean zone, is in his eyes the Queen of Beauty
herself?

But I forget myself. What place for thoughts
like these in a chronicle of wars and revolutions?
True, it is in such causes that the spring of great
events is found. But these belong to the history of
man in all ages, in all countries, under all circumstances.
It was so “before Helen;” and will be
so while the world stands. But it may not be unprofitable
to look into the chain of cause and consequence,
and to trace the deliverance of Virginia from

thraldom, and the defeat of the usurper's well-laid
plans, to the impertinent speech of one of his minions
to a country girl, during a pic nic party at the falls of
James river.

But to return. Douglas took a copy of his letter
of resignation, and, meeting Delia the next morning,
put it into her hands. She read it with a grave and
thoughtful countenance, and then, looking sadly in
his face, said: “This is what I feared.”

“What you feared!” replied he, in amazement.
“Can you then wish me to retain my place in the
army?”

“Until you resign it to conviction and a sense of
duty, certainly!”

“And can you doubt that I have done so?”

“How can it be so?” she replied. “But yesterday
we spoke on this subject. What has since happened.
O! can it be that my noble father has imposed
dishonorable conditions; and that you have
been weak enough to comply with them? O! Douglas!
Is my love fated to destroy the very qualities
that engaged it?”

“Dear Delia,” said Douglas, “I understand you
now. Your beautiful indignation reminds me that
you do not know what has passed.”

“What can have passed?” asked she, with earnest
and reproachful sadness. “All the eloquence and
address of Mr. B—himself could not have convinced
your unbiassed mind in two hours' conversation. I

know his power. I know the wonders he has
wrought; and I trembled when I heard the watchword,
“coffee and privacy.” I feared your love
for me might be used to sway your judgment, and
hoped to have found an opportunity to invoke it for
the worthier purpose of guarding your honor. I did
not dream that, when I rose so early this morning, I
was already too late.”
said Douglas, playfully. “Your indignation is so
eloquent, that, cruel as it is, I would not interrupt
you to undeceive you. Your father and Mr. B—
have made no attack on my opinions or allegiance,
and what was done last night you have had no
agency in, since our party at the Falls. It all
originated there.”

He now gave her the full history of the affair, and
succeeded in convincing her that his standard of
honor was even higher than she had imagined. If
she requited him for her unjust suspicions with a
kiss, he never told of it. Perhaps she did. For
although, according to the refinements of the Yankees,
kissing was in very bad taste, yet the northern
regime had not reached the banks of the Roanoke.
The ladies there continued still to walk in the steps
of their chaste mothers—safe in that high sense of
honor which protects at once from pollution and suspicion.

It is true, that when a people become corrupt,
they must learn to be fastidious, and invent safeguards
to prevent vice, and blinds to conceal it when
it is to be indulged. Duennas are necessary in
Spain. They are at once the guarantee of a lady's
honor, and the safe instruments of her pleasures.
Black eunuchs perform the same functions in Turkey.
In the northern factories, boys and girls are
not permitted to work together. In their churches,
the gentlemen and ladies do not sit in the same
pew. What a pitch of refinement! Sterne's story
of the Abbe in the theatre at Paris affords the only
parallel.

Thank God! the frame of our society has kept us
free from the cause and its consequences. Whatever
corruption there may be among us is restrained
to a particular class, instead of diffusing itself by
continuous contact through all grades and ranks. If
it were true, as the wise and eloquent, and pious, and
benevolent, and discrect Dr. Channing had said,
some fifteen years before, that below a certain line
all was corrupt, it was equally true that above it
all was pure. Nature had marked the line, and
established there a boundary which the gangrene of
the social body could never pass.