48. CHAPTER XLVIII.
ST. JOHN GOES TO “FLODDEN.”
On the next morning, St. John made the Vanes a visit, at
Mr. Burwell's, and found them all ready to depart. The
chariot was at the door.
To the cordial invitation of the colonel to return with
them, the young man responded by saying that he had
“important business,” which might detain him some days;
he would come as soon as was possible. Few words passed
between himself and Bonnybel, and these were very formal
and constrained. So they departed.
The young man then turned his thoughts to another subject.
We have seen that he had appointed with Captain
Waters to come and dine with that worthy, and hear the
result of the negotiations with Foy, and toward the captain's,
which was up the river, he now directed his way,
mounted on “Tallyho,” who cantered on gayly, and soon
left Williamsburg in the far distance.
A ride of an hour brought St. John in front of a fine old
building crowning a bluff of the James, and surveying, from
its lofty position, the wide expanse of field, and stream, and
forest.
This was “Flodden,” the residence of Captain Ralph
Waters, and, far off, across the river, on a lofty hill toward
the west, the young man discerned the walls of his own
house, “Flower of Hundreds,” embowered in the spring
foliage, and glittering in the fresh light of morning.
St. John had scarcely drawn rein at the door of “Flodden,”
when the voice of Captain Waters, from within the
hall, greeted him jovially, and the next moment saw the
figure of the soldier advance, with a smile of welcome on
the bold features.
St. John's horse was led away, and they entered.
“Why, here you are as punctual as a clock, morbleu!”
cried the captain; “delighted to see you on this glorious
morning. Faith! it makes a man laugh in spite of
him!”
And the captain performed that ceremony with great
gusto. When the worthy soldier laughed he seemed simply
to carry out the design for which his features were
moulded, as we have said elsewhere in speaking of him.
His bold and vigorous nature appeared to find food for
laughter in every thing, and his clear eyes looked the whole
world in the face with careless good humor.
“A fine animal that?” said the captain, gazing at “Tallyho,”
as he was led away, “and I see Selim's blood plain in
him.”
“You are right, captain.”
“Well, you see, I seldom am any thing else in regard to
horses.”
“And as to men?”
“Well!” said Captain Waters, curling his moustache, “I
judge them tolerably too. There's Foy, now, thinks he's
duping your humble servant, and preserves the most mysterious
air about things I'm perfectly acquainted with.
Really, a perfect snake in the grass is that Foy!”
And the captain curled his moustache downward, a sign
of disdain with him always.
“You have seen him of course,” said St. John, “as he
acts for Mr. Lindon?”
“Why, certainly, my dear fellow,” returned the captain,
“and we had the most charming little interview you ever
heard of. Wait till we're alone, after dinner, comrade, and
I'll tell you how it was.”
“Good! I'll listen with pleasure, and I'm not curious at
present. Tell me when we've dined.”
“Count on that, mon ami, and now let's go see madam
and the bon père.”
“With pleasure!”
Madam, whom the captain addressed also, from time to
time, as Henriette, was an extremely handsome dame of
about thirty, perhaps a year or two more, and carried herself
with an air of the most aristocratic ease. Two little
girls played on the carpet at her side, and a little boy was
busy on a wooden horse in the distance.
Opposite this domestic group sat old John Waters, the
captain's father, in his wide, softly-cushioned chair, with his
benignant smile, his gray, thin locks, and his empty pipe
carelessly resting against his knee.
Mrs. Waters advanced, with her courtly and graceful
case, to press St. John's hand, the old man rose erect in his
chair, and smiled more benignantly than ever, and even the
little girls rose too, and came, bashfully peering from their
showers of golden curls, to receive their share of the young
man's attention.
It was only Captain Ralph Waters, jr., that somewhat
petted and spoiled young gentleman, who paid no attention
to the visitor.
“See the domestic and touching group!” said the captain;
“the hen in the midst of her chickens; the dame partlet
scratching and clucking.”
Madam Henriette shook her handsome head, threateningly,
at this address, and said,
“Well, sir, and pray what are you?”
“I'm a rooster,” observed the captain with great candor;
“you see, my dear partlet, I fought the Français so long,
and heard the crowing of the Gallic cock so often, that morbleu!
I've turned to a rooster completely.”
“And I suppose you like to crow over us poor women?”
“Exactly.”
“Is he not a shameful man, Mr. St. John?” said the lady,
laughing; “he has not the least regard for our feelings.”
“Your feelings, madam?”
“Yes; only the other day I requested him to buy me a
set of pearls at Rowsay's, in town, and he absolutely refused.”
“Is it possible, captain?” said St. John; “could you resist?”
“Yes, my dear boy,” said the captain, heaving a sigh, “I
was hard-hearted to that extent.”
“You acknowledge it then?”
“Certainly.”
“Is that not dreadful, Mr. St. John?” said the lady;
“there is only one excuse that he gives; can you divine
it?”
“No indeed.”
“This excuse is, that he bought me some diamonds! It
is true that the diamonds cost ten times as much as the
pearls, and I greatly preferred them, and said so. But he
knew that I did not wish to be so extravagant, and like an
unfeeling man, he went and bought the diamonds!”
The captain looked guilty and conscience-stricken—his
expression of remorse was affecting.
“Well, well, my dear,” he said, “do not thus expose my
failings to the public. Ventrebleu! I'm ashamed, but you
see diamonds have always attracted me since—”
The captain paused.
“Since when, sir?”
“Since I won your heart with that diamond necklace, my
dear Henriette!” replied Captain Waters, with simplicity,
“some time in the good year '65, I think.”
At this charge, madame seemed to be actually overcome
by indignation. Her work dropped upon her knee,
she gazed steadily at her enemy, and then burst into
laughter.
“Mr. St. John I hope you will pardon me,” she said,
struggling with her mirth, “but this gentleman, Captain
Waters, always sets me off! Look at him there, everlastingly
playing with that horrid moustache, stooping in his
shoulders, and pretending to be dreaming, as he thrums on
his chair. Just look!”
“Dreaming?” said the captain; “was I dreaming ma
chére?”
“Yes, sir, you were!” cried Mrs. Henriette, laughing.
“I believe I was,” said the captain, whose bold face grew
suddenly very sad, “I was thinking of those good old times,
and our Beatrice.”
The martial head drooped, and for a moment there was
silence.
The lady's face, too, had passed from smiles to sadness—
from mirth to pensiveness.
“Eh bien!” said the captain, heaving a sigh; “let us not
rake in the ashes for those buried memories. I'll dream no
more, but rather light the bon pére's pipe. Eh? Shall I,
mon pére?”
The old man assented with a smile and a nod, and the lady
laid down her work and went and arranged the cricket for
his feet in the kindest and most attentive way.
The little girls then leaned on grandpa's knee to see the
brilliant glow in the bowl of the pipe, and then the old man
was left alone to his dreams, and Captain Waters and his
friend strolled out through the grounds, talking of every
thing but the real subject, which, by general consent, had
been deferred.
Thus passed the morning at Flodden.
