41. XLI.
PROGRESS.
TWO days after Mr. Argal's return, he set out for
Greenway Court, accompanied by his daughter,
who had delivered the Earl's message, and expressed
a desire to “breathe a little fresh air.”
Her father had readily acquiesced in this proposal, and
mounting their horses—Mr. Argal his stout cab, and his
daughter her slender-legged filly—they were soon upon the
road. There were two routes to Greenway Court. One led
by the Ordinary; another branching to the right, and following
a mere bridle path, wound over the prairie, and approached
the house on a different side.
In compliance with the request of the young lady, who said
she was heartily tired of the common road, they pursued
this latter, and very soon arrived at the Earl's.
He met them at the door, and exhibited a satisfaction
upon seeing Miss Argal, very unusual with one who seemed
hard to arouse or interest. He assisted the young lady
from her animal, gave her his arm, and led her into the
mansion with grave courtesy. Mr. Argal followed, and
they were, all three, seated ere long before the crackling
fire of light sticks, which was far from unpleasant.
Whilst her father and the Earl were engaged in discussing
the business matters which were the occasion of the
visit, Miss Argal amused herself looking over the bookshelves;
and finally bore away a volume of the “Spectator,”
in which she very soon seemed to become absorbed. She
presented a fascinating picture as she sat by the window,
poring over the book. One of her plump, white arms, from
which the wide sleeve had fallen back, sustained her bent
head, the elbow resting on the window-sill, the rounded
wrist, adorned with its fine bracelet, half buried in the profuse
curls of her ebon hair. Her full, but graceful figure,
was inclined forward, and her black eyes were nearly concealed
by the long, dark lashes, almost resting on the rosy
cheek.
She was still poring over the volume, when a grave and
courteous voice said behind her:
“Pray what have you there, Miss Argal—a romance from
my collection?”
“Oh no, my lord, I never could read romances,” was the
smiling reply; “it is a volume of Mr. Addison's `Spectator,'
which I admire very much.”
“And I also, madam,” replied the Earl. “He is a writer
of rare wit and humor.”
“Oh, he certainly is!”
“Pray what paper did you open at—his attack on the
ladies, and their fashions? It created a great talk, I remember,
at the time.”
“So I suppose, my lord; but I was not reading that. I
was interested very much in this paper.”
And she held up the book with her fascinating smile.
The Earl looked at it. The paper was one which he had
contributed to the “Spectator” in his youth.
“I have heard that Mr. Addison and Mr. Steele wrote
together,” said Miss Argal; “can your lordship tell me
which of them wrote this? It is so elegantly composed—so
delightful!”
The Earl smiled. He had prided himself much on his
literary reputation, and the old leaven of a former vanity
had not spent its strength.
“I am almost ashamed to reply after such high commendation,
madam,” he said; “but truth renders it necessary
for me to say that I am myself the author of that
number.”
“You, my lord! Have you ever written for the printers?”
The Earl smiled again: there was something singularly
delightful to him in the young lady's admiration and surprise.
“I am obliged to say yes,” he answered. “I knew Mr.
Addison, and esteemed him highly; and rather received,
than conferred a favor by having a place in the “Spectator.”
Indeed, the man himself was of such conspicuous gifts, that
the greatest noblemen, much more my poor self, were honored
by his friendship and conversation. He lived but
simply when I knew him first, and dressed very meanly:
but you forgot what he wore, and the poor apartment he
occupied, when his calm, clear voice began. He would
smoke his pipe and converse for hours, and I still recall his
smile, with its extraordinary sweetness and serenity, as
though his thoughts were fixed upon some delightful recollection,
or unseen spirits were whispering to him. All who
knew him admired and loved him; I was honored by his
friendship. He was a very great man; I am not—that explains
all, madam.”
“And you wrote this beautiful paper?” said Miss Argal,
with a contemplative air, “this paper I was reading with
so much interest?”
“I believe so. And I think you will find my name affixed
at the end.”
The young lady turned the leaf, and said, innocently:
“Why here it is, sure enough! `Thomas, Lord Fairfax.'
I ought to have looked.”
Had she looked? Yes. The connection of the Earl with
the “Spectator” had been known to her, and she had sought
for and found, and commenced reading the number marked
with his name.
After some more conversation on literature, the book was
replaced on the shelf, and at the same moment a savory
odor invaded the apartment. The dinner hour had arrived,
and with a little urging Mr. Argal remained.
Dinner was served after the English fashion, in courses,
and the three persons remained at table until the sun began
to stream through the western window. Miss Argal had
summoned all her wonderful powers to attract the admiring
attention of the Earl, and she had succeeded. She had
commenced by flattering his vanity; she ended by impressing
upon him the fact that she regarded him with a mixture
of respect and affection, which she struggled against, but
could not overcome. The conversation had turned upon
marriage and the philosophy of that relation; and the young
lady, in the most casual and unintentional way, had declared
that for her part, she never could understand the taste of women
for “mere boys.” Young men were no favorites of hers.
They were so terribly vain, and prided themselves so much
upon their youth and beauty; they seemed to bestow their
affection as a sort of favor on the ladies, and, indeed, she
never could bear them, the vain creatures! If she ever
thought of marrying, she would select some one else. It
should be a serious person; no matter if he had reached or
even passed middle age. She would be sure at least of his
love, and could rely upon his judgment and his protection.
She would rather a thousand times trust her happiness to
such a one, than to a giddy-pated youth, however handsome
he might be.
All this was uttered by Miss Argal in the most innocent
and careless way: the mere outpouring, it appeared, of her
confiding disposition. And it thrilled the cold heart of the
weary exile with a new and delightful emotion. His vanity
was soothed and flattered—his admiration was excited by
the lovely speaker—his ears drank in the music of her voice,
and his eyes dwelt with unaccustomed intensity upon her
countenance, so instinct with beauty and fascination.
When, very soon after dinner, Mr. Argal declared the
necessity of his departure, the Earl pressed him warmly to
remain. The young lady, as before, discovered that she
was laboring under a cough, but this only hurried her departure.
Mr. Argal thanked his lordship, but said that it
was absolutely necessary for him to return that evening.
And so the horses were brought up, and the Earl assisted
the young lady to her seat in the saddle.
Did her ungloved hand retain his own, as it had retained
Falconbridge's on that evening of their first meeting? Was
the slight but clearly perceptible pressure intentional?
The Earl stood on the porch and watched them until they
were out of sight; the languishing smile of Miss Argal as
she departed, still before him. As he turned finally, and
re-entered the house, he muttered:
“I have never seen a beauty as superb, or a more brilliant
mind! Let me beware! Love a woman again? It would
be monstrous!”
But all the evening he was thinking of her.
