Doctor Vandyke :: :: University of Virginia Library

All Williamsburg was in commotion.
Through the frosty air of the clear winter
night flashed chariots drawn by four-in-hands;
gallant young beaux mounted
upon prancing thorough-breds followed,
and the capital was all joy, merriment,
and uproar.

Colonel Brand had selected the most
opportune season for his visit to the city,
and on this night the carnival culminated.

Hitherto the days had been full
of pleasure and enjoyment; balls, races,
tea - drinkings, riding - excursions, and
card-parties, had been the order of the
day; but these were all thrown in the
shade by the coming “assembly.”

Colonel Brand's chariot stopped before
the great gate of the governor's
palace, in front of which a crowd of
motley character had assembled to look
at the richly-dressed beauties, as they
descended from their vehicles; and up
the broad walk, edged with Scottish lindens,
from which were suspended colored
lanterns to light the guests, the colonel
and his family advanced, and entered the
broad door.

In the large apartment, adorned with
full-length portraits of the king and
queen, the crowd was already great, and
it would be difficult to convey an idea
of the brilliance of the spectacle. Silk,
velvet, lace, and jewels, caught and threw
back in dazzling splendor the light of
the great chandeliers overhead, and the
stately gentlemen and smiling beauties
of an epoch famed for such, were mingled
in one great crowd, rich-colored as
the dream of some grand painter. Sonorous
music rang; the buzz of conversation
mingled with it; and in the centre
of the apartment his smiling excellency
the royal governor received and bowed
low to his guests with his well-known
urbanity and elegance.

He was leaning on the arm of his
confidential secretary, Lord Ruthven,
who, pale, clad in a rich but sombre costume,
and with his black hair only slightly
powdered, surveyed the company
with courteous but stately attention.
Despite obvious efforts, however, Ruthven
scarcely smiled; something plainly
bore heavily on this man's heart. In
fact, the melancholy young nobleman
had never ceased to be haunted by his
possessing thought, his mysterious dread.
Remaining in Virginia only at the express
and repeated request of the gov
ernor, he had never lost the apprehension
which rendered his life miserable;
and, on this evening, resembled, in his
black costume, with his dark eyes set
in his pale face, a veritable “death's
head at the feast.”

Suddenly the governor felt a convulsive
pressure upon his arm; and Lord
Ruthven, who had grown as pale as a
corpse, whispered in a low voice in his
ear:

“Who is she, my lord?”

The governor turned and looked at
the speaker. His eyes were distended,
and his finger indicated a young lady
who had just entered.

“What ails you, Ruthven?” the
governor said, in great astonishment.

“Who is she?” repeated Ruthven,
in the same tone.

The governor followed the direction
of the trembling finger, and said:

“The young lady in white satin, with
pearls in her hair?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Miss Brand—the daughter of my
friend Colonel Brand. Your solitary
way of living alone accounts for your
ignorance, my dear Ruthven.”

“Brand! Brand!” murmured Ruthven,
in a voice almost inaudible; “my
father had a friend—a Colonel Brand.”

“'Tis the same; and Miss Brand is a
beauty, is she not? Nay, there are two
beauties in the family. See! that tall
damsel is also a daughter of the colonel.
They are approaching. Here they are.
Let me present you.”

“No! no!” exclaimed the young
nobleman, almost fiercely, “not for the
universe — never! — that is—I mean —
pardon me, my lord, I am not well to-night—and—another
time—”

The governor had not time to think
of these singular words, or even to look
at the speaker. Colonel Brand was
within a few feet of him, accompanied
by the ladies of his family, and it was
utterly impossible for Ruthven to retire

without obvious and gross discourtesy.
With one hand, the governor, in fact,
detained him, the other hand grasped
Colonel Brand's, and the host cordially
welcomed his guest, and was presented
to the ladies.

Ruthven was on the point of tearing
himself away; his agitation was frightful,
and he seemed to have lost all self-control.
In the midst, however, of the
sort of vertigo which had seized upon
him, he heard the governor say:

“Miss Brand, may I have the honor
of presenting my friend Lord Ruthven?”

The young nobleman bowed low,
raised his hand to his breast, as though a
sudden pain assailed him, uttered some
hurried words, and, in spite of every effort
of the governor to detain him, retired
from the spot, and sought to leave the
apartment. This, however, was no
easy task. The crowd had become so
dense that to make way through it was
almost impossible. He found the way
barred on every hand, could only move
to and fro, borne like a leaf on the waves
of silk and velvet, and a sudden movement
of the mass almost made him lose
his balance. In regaining it, he placed
his foot on a young lady's train; the
young lady moved at the same instant,
and the consequence was that the satin
train was rent nearly in twain.

The instincts of the gentleman
triumphed over the cruel agony of the
individual, and Lord Ruthven, bowing
low, exclaimed:

“A thousand pardons, madam, for
my awkwardness!”

“It is nothing, sir!—do not annoy
yourself—the crowd is so great—”

And the beautiful eyes of Honoria
were fixed upon Lord Ruthven's face—a
smile upon the bright lips. As she
looked at him, his own sombre glance
met the young lady's, and he shuddered.

Honoria had gathered up the torn
skirt, thrown it over her snowy arm,
and now repeated, in her frank and simple
voice:

“It is impossible to avoid these accidents,
I assure you, my lord, in such
crowded rooms, and this will not inconvenience
me at all.”

“But—in dancing—there is a minuet—”

The words were forced from the lips
by a tremendous effort. Honoria did
not seem to observe the fact; her little
red-heeled slipper was beating time delightedly
to the stately music.

“Oh, I shall dance, I assure you, in
spite of it.”

The die was cast. It was a fatal
necessity, in accordance with the etiquette
of the time, that Lord Ruthven
should solicit the young lady's hand for
the minuet. He did so in a voice which
those who knew him would have scarce
recognized as his own. Honoria made
him a little courtesy of delighted assent,
and in a moment they were dancing together
in the stately menuet de la cour.
It was fortunate that nearly all eyes were
fixed upon the little “Brand beauty,” as
Honoria began to be called; upon her fair
face full of happy smiles bent toward her
bosom in the low courtesy—the slender
figure moving with exquisite grace—the
beautiful eyes, dancing with youthful
joy beneath the piled-up curls, the powder,
and the interwoven pearls. The
figure of the girl was sunshine incarnate
—the figure of Ruthven in his dark
dress, shadow. Innis, looking at them
from a corner of the apartment—for he
had returned to Williamsburg even after
Colonel Brand's arrival, and was one of
the guests on this night—Innis, gazing
at them, not without some trouble in his
frank face, felt a sort of shudder, in
presence of the funereal partner of his
idol.

The stately minuet bowed itself
through its splendid evolutions, and came
to an end. Lord Ruthven stopped suddenly;
remained as motionless as a figure

of black marble for an instant, then,
with a visible tremor of his nerves, offered
Honoria his arm, and was lost
again in the crowd.

“The music of his excellency is admirable—you
are fond of dancing—Miss
Brand?”

His voice had the same forced tones
—tones almost convulsive.

“Very fond, my lord,” said Honoria,
wondering at the evident agitation of
her companion.

“And the gavotte—the reel—the latter,
I think, is our own Scottish reel?”

“We call it the Virginia reel already,
and it is even a greater favorite than the
minuet.”

“It is natural that the ladies of Virginia
then should prefer their own dance,
Miss Brand. And you are a native of
Virginia, I believe?”

“Yes, indeed, my lord.”

“You have never visited England—
Scotland—I mean the Old World?”

He looked at her with singular intensity
as he spoke, and seemed to await
her reply with very extraordinary agitation.

“I have never been out of Virginia
in my life, sir,” said Honoria, and, laughing
with the frankness and simplicity
which made her so charming, she added:

“I should think you might know so,
my lord, by my provincial air and appearance.”

“By no means—Miss Brand is wholly
mistaken. Your father, however, has visited
the Old World—was a friend, I think,
of my own father, the late Lord Ruthven.
Then we two should be friends.”

Why he uttered the words he could
never understand. He did not mean
them, for Ruthven had registered a solemn
oath to leave the city of Williamsburg
on the very next day.

The interview lasted but a few moments
longer. Suddenly Honoria said,
with a little flutter in her voice, to some
one:

“I am very glad to see you!”

And, raising his eyes, Ruthven saw,
within three paces of him, Edmund Innis.

The young man, who had bowed low
over the little hand which Honoria held
out to him, made a bow also to Lord
Ruthven.

“I am pleased to find that your lordship
has recovered,” he said.

Innis held the hand of Honoria still,
as he spoke; and Ruthven gazed with
an indescribable expression upon the
graceful figures of the youth and maiden,
as they were grouped thus under the brilliant
chandelier.

“Yes—many thanks, sir—yes, I have,
I believe, recovered, and—you have returned
to the capital, Mr. Innis?”

“To prosecute my studies, my lord.
I design becoming a counseller one of
these days.”

“May your lot be happy, sir,” Ruthven
said, “though I shall not have the
opportunity to witness your forensic
triumphs. I shall return on the next
vessel to Europe.”

“Indeed, my lord!”

“Yes, I am under the necessity of so
doing.”

Innis had offered Honoria his arm,
Lord Ruthven having released the young
lady.

“Your lordship will not set out for
Europe, I hope,” said Honoria, smiling,
“without calling to see us—my father
will be happy, I am sure, to see the son
of his friend the late Lord Ruthven.”

The young nobleman bowed low.
Before he was aware of the words which
he was uttering, he said:

“I shall be very happy to pay my
respects to Colonel Brand and yourself,
Miss Brand.”

With a second bow he was lost in
the crowd, and ten minutes afterward
he had left the ballroom, and gained his
lodgings.