45. XLV.
IN WHICH DR. VANDYKE PROPOSES TO
MAKE A NIGHT OF IT.
Dr. Vandyke walked into the small
sitting-room of Innis's mountain lodge,
with the air of a gentleman who feels
perfectly at home; and posting himself
with his back to the fire, his slender legs
wide apart, and his voluminous skirts
gathered under his arms, looked around
with interest and some curiosity.
The room was small and low-pitched,
but with an ample fireplace, in which a
fire of heavy logs was quietly burning,
the mass supported on old - fashioned
brass andirons, with grotesquely-carved
heads, resembling the ancient masks.
The carpet had once been superb, with
bouquets of flowers in their natural colors,
but was now quite faded, and, where
the legs of the small square table in the
centre of the room rested upon it, was
worn with holes which showed the floor
beneath. The furniture of the room
was very old, but had evidently belonged
to persons of taste and elegance. It
consisted of a large carved sofa of some
dark wood covered with rich cloth, and
an old sideboard with worn silver, some
chairs with elaborately - ornamented
backs and dark cushions, two large arm-chairs
on each side of the fireplace, a
venerable harpsichord, and a tall clock
in one corner, reaching from the floor to
the ceiling, with a great white face, black
hands, and colored representations of the
sun, moon, and stars, above the face. On
the walls, yellow with age, were a number
of engravings representing the battle
of Blenheim, and other scenes in the
wars of Marlborough, wherein the
roughly - engraved figures of wooden-looking
human beings lay about, and
automata-like horses pranced in the cavalry-charge;
and on each side of the
mantel-piece, which was very tall and
supported a few books, was a comic engraving
by Hogarth, the one representing
a cock-fight, and the other the idle
apprentice playing upon a tombstone.
There were but two portraits in the room
—those of Innis's father and mother.
These faced each other on the eastern
and western walls, and represented, the
first a gentleman of distinguished bearing,
his smiling face half covered by a flowing
peruke; the other a lady of great beauty
and very high-spirited appearance—the
frames of dark oak, the canvas dingy.
In one corner, a fowling-piece leaned,
supporting a bird-bag of netted twine;
and near this a small bookcase stood
against the wall, half filled with odd
volumes in brown leather, of histories,
poems, romances, and treatises on English
law.
Dr. Vandyke took in these details of
the apartment with a comprehensive
glance; drew a huge watch from his
fob, and consulted it, glancing as he did
so through the window at the sun, which
was already declining; and, abruptly
turning to Innis, said:
“I have come to dine with you, and
perhaps to spend the night.”
“Thanks, doctor,” said Innis, who
was pale, and spoke in a dull, apathetic
voice. “I am fortunate enough to be
able to entertain you, and to provide for
your horses too. My old servant will
see that the horses and driver want
nothing.”
The young man went as he spoke into
an adjoining room, through the door
of which Dr. Vandyke saw a neat bed;
and, coming back in a few moments, said:
“All will be attended to, doctor—
there is old Ned showing the way to the
stables; and now, welcome again to my
poor home. I had not expected to see
you in so remote a spot.”
“That's natural, and I am not quite
sure of my own identity; but I believe
the individual who has the honor to address
you is Dr. Julius Vandyke.”
“You were at Rivanna, no doubt,
and took the fancy—”
“Stop all that roundabout talk, my
young friend,” said the doctor, abruptly;
“let us throw ceremony to the dogs, and
come to business. You are breaking
your heart about Honoria Brand—come,
deny it, if you can!”
An expression of great wretchedness
came to the young man's face.
“Who am I, to presume to look up to
Miss Brand?” he said, bitterly.
“You are a man—and a gentleman,
too, if there is any difference! I say
you are making yourself unhappy about
a girl, and I have come here to have a
little talk with you on that subject.”
Innis shook his head gloomily.
“What good will come of it?” he
said. “Let the ashes cover it — you
know the warning of the Latin poet:
`Do not disturb the ashes that conceal
the hidden fire.”'
“I know a little Latin, but I choose
to think and resolve for myself. I mean
to talk about this affair—to talk to my
heart's content! But I propose to dine
first, as I perceive the odor of that meal,
and welcome it.”
The door opened as Dr. Vandyke
spoke, and an old family servant with
gray hair, and a profoundly deferential
bearing, made his appearance, and proceeded
to set the table. He then disappeared,
but soon served dinner, which
was plain but appetizing. As the host
and his guest sat down, a knock was
heard at the outer door; the doctor's
driver appeared with a leather-covered
case, and this case the doctor at once
opened, producing a brace of heavy,
square bottles, through whose transparent
sides a ruby-colored liquid was seen
to agitate itself, as the bottles were deposited
on the table.
“Always travel with my liquor-case,”
said the doctor. “Rum—and superb!”
He pushed the square bottle to Innis,
who poured out some, but scarcely
touched the glass with his lips.
“Come! drink—eat!” cried Dr. Vandyke,
with his mouth full of ham.
“I have no appetite to-day, doctor,”
was the reply.
“And had none yesterday, I'd be
willing to swear. Such is the effect of
this abominable love-business.”
The doctor continued to growl
throughout the repast, in which Innis
rather affected to join than took any
real part; and in due time the cloth was
removed, and host and guest drew their
chairs to the fire.
“This is comfortable,” said Dr. Vandyke,
leaning forward and rubbing his
knees, with a glance through the window
at the sun, about to disappear behind
the mountain. “Snow a foot deep
without, but a good fire within of bickory-logs
that warms one through and
through! Hear the wind, how it howls!
Faith! I'll brew a bowl of punch to
crown the victory over Boreas, and we'll
make a night of it!”
As he spoke, the doctor rose and
pounced upon a great bowl of porcelain
on the sideboard; at the same moment
the old major-domo appeared with a
japanned waiter containing a silver coffee-pot,
and some small cups of exquisitely
thin china, richly colored.
“Coffee!” cried the doctor; “how
now, thou Sybarite! But if coffee—then
hot water! Some hot water, my aged
friend; I see before me the sugar!”
With profound deference the old servant
brought in hot water; the doctor
proceeded to brew the punch, which he
subsequently dealt out with a silver
ladle; and, having informed his host that
he preferred firelight to candles, the eccentric
guest resumed his arm-chair before
the fire, rubbed his legs with an air
of enjoyment, and said:
“I beg to offer a toast! To our
common and highly-esteemed friend the
most excellent lady, who once came
near espousing the amiable Julius Vandyke!”
With these words, the amiable Julius
Vandyke raised his ponderous feet,
placed them upon the cross-piece of his
chair, elevated thus his knees very nearly
to the level of his eyes, and, leaning
his head back, swallowed his glass of
punch at one gulp. Innis had never lost
his apathetic expression. He now said:
“The lady you were near espousing
once, doctor?”
“Lady Brand.”
“Ah! You were once an admirer
of my aunt?”
“At least I asked her to marry me,
in this very room.”
“In this room?”
“Hold! She was sitting yonder. The
sun was setting, and the shadow of the
crooked pine-tree there was thrown
upon the face of the old clock. It was
half-past six in the evening, I remember.”
Innis looked at the eccentric being
before him, who was now clasping his
arms around his drawn-up knees.
“You surprise me, doctor,” he said.
“I did know—”
“That this house was familiar to me?
Perfectly; and, as we have plenty of
time to-night, suppose I tell you a little
of what the poets would call the `romance
of my existence?”'
Innis inclined his head; and, refilling
his glass with a bacchanalian air, Dr.
Vandyke said:
