14. XIV.
META.
Innis found his friend Phil Cary upon
the portico, engaged in a word-combat
with his intimate enemy, Miss Lou
Brand, between whom and himself existed
relations of permanent hostility—
or very great liking—it was difficult to
say which.
They certainly struck fire, like steel
and flint, whenever they met; but then
they apparently could not remain away
from each other; gravitated as it were
together; and were much too aggressive
and provoking to be indifferent.
That excellent class of persons who
take charge of the affairs of their neigh
borhoods, said that Miss Lou Brand was
extremely fond of Mr. Phil Cary, but
had confidentially announced, in the
secrecy of female friendship, that she intended
to “give him a lesson.” Mr. Phil
Cary, on the other hand, was said to be
aware of this dire resolve on the part
of his enemy, and to shape his course
with great skill in accordance therewith
—proceeding in his attentions just far
enough to provoke and tantalize Miss
Brand, but carefully refraining, with
covert enjoyment of the joke, from an
avowal. Such were the relations of the
young people — circumstances would
doubtless determine the result; meanwhile,
they laughed at each other, held
each other up to ridicule, and invariably
sought out each other in society.
Innis smiled as he passed them, and,
inviting his friend to come and see him,
mounted his horse.
“Remember the party on Wednesday!”
Miss Lou called out.
“The party?” said Innis.
“Haven't you heard of it? We expect
to have half a dozen girls; they
will stay for a week, and we intend to
turn night into day!—it will be delightful!”
“Turning night into day?”
“Yes, sir! why not? Day is so
stupid.”
“And then the fairer portion of
creation look so much better by lamplight,”
said Mr. Cary, meekly.
The young lady turned upon him
instantly.
“Why should not girls turn night into
day, if they fancy?”
“Why not?” echoed Mr. Phil Cary
—“they do nothing.”
“They sew, sir!—and that is better
than passing the time in idleness, or
eternally hunting, hunting, as is the
practice of some people.”
“Do you really sew?” said Mr. Cary,
with interest.
“Yes, sir; as your lordship is aware,
we are the weaker species of vessels,
and—”
“Yes, yes, I had lost sight of that,”
interrupted Mr. Phil Cary; “you therefore
sew, and—am I wrong in supposing
that you occasionally talk?”
“Wearisome!”
And, turning her back on Mr. Cary,
Miss Brand returned Innis's bow, and
said:
“Be sure to come on Wednesday,
and stay for a week at least, Edmund.
We intend to have a charming time, and
to eat the dumb-cake.”
“What is that, cousin?”
“A secret.”
A smothered laugh behind the young
lady excited her sudden indignation.
“I don't believe there is any secret,”
said Phil Cary, with much frankness;
“women never keep secrets.”
What followed this renewal of the
assault, Innis did not observe; he left
the foes in the midst of their altercation,
and rode down the hill. As he
went along slowly, his lips wore a faint
smile, and his face was a little flushed.
He was thinking of Honoria. In his
absence, she had grown dearer far to
him than before. Now, he would see
her again for a few weeks — then he
would leave her; time, change, vicissitude,
would work their will on each.
When should he see her again, if he ever
saw her?
The young man was going along,
buried in these thoughts, his eyes fixed
upon the ground, when suddenly his
horse shied so violently that he was
nearly unseated.
The origin of this fright on the part
of the animal was the occurrence of a
very singular incident. From the great
oak, beneath which he had been passing,
had suddenly fallen, within five paces,
the figure of the girl Meta. A sort of
rustic bower in this great, wide-armed
tree, was indeed a favorite haunt of the
elf - like maiden; her singular agility
enabled her to mount without difficulty
to her hiding-place; and here, cradled
in foliage, she would spend hour after
hour, gazing at the sky, the passing
clouds, listening to the twitter of the
birds amid the leaves, or baring her
brow to the cooling breeze. As Innis
passed, she had swung from a drooping
bough, falling as lightly as a cat to the
turf beneath, and now stood looking at
him with her singularly-piercing eyes
framed in the masses of black curls
descending to and nearly covering her
shoulders.
The expression of the beautiful face
was strange. Anger, regret, tenderness
—all passed in turn over the telltale
countenance, which at certain moments
reflected what was passing in Meta's
breast so plainly that words were unnecessary.
Words, indeed, the girl had
none. Bereft alike of speech and reason,
this poor girl was nearly cut off by her
misfortune from all the life around her.
She had succeeded, however, in making
for herself a species of language of signs
and gestures — Innis understood in a
measure these signs — and, as the girl
now began to gesticulate with singular
energy, he understood that she was expressing
regret for her cold reception of
him upon his arrival.
Innis looked at the young face, filled
with its conflicting emotions, and an expression
of pitying kindness came to his
own.
“It was nothing, Meta,” he said; “I
was a little surprised, 'tis true. I am
not hurt, however, and will not even
ask you why you thus received me. I
am sure of your affection for me, and
you know my affection for you.”
The head sank quickly, and tears
came to the girl's eyes. She uttered
some inarticulate sounds, blushed, trembled,
then with a quick movement seized
the young man's hand and kissed it.
A few moments afterward she had
disappeared, running with inconceivable
rapidity into the deepest shades of the
park.
Innis looked after her, shook his head
with a pitying sigh, and rode on.
