53. CHAPTER LIII.
THE NEWS REACHES VANELY.
In the old drawing-room at Vanely, through whose open
windows a fresh breeze wafts in an odor of green leaves,
and flowers, and fruit trees, full of perfumed blossoms, sit
the young ladies of the family, busily engaged on some ornamental
work, and in entertaining Mr. Alston and a certain
Mr. Hamilton.
Mr. Hamilton is a rubicund widower who has come—he
says—to see Colonel Vane on business; but not finding that
gentleman at home, is disconsolate, and is compelled to talk
with Miss Seraphina. He calls frequently “on business with
Colonel Vane.”
Mr. Alston does not mask his designs with any such plea
—he does not conceal the fact that he has come “to shake
the tree,” or in other words, to pay his addresses to Miss
Helen, who seems far from being offended by it.
For the moment, however, honest Tom is talking with
Miss Bonnybel. He leans over her, and says, with a gentle
smile,
“Pray what enchanting little affair is that, Miss Bonnybel?
The wedding dress of a fairy princess?”
Bonnybel appears, of late, to have lost much of her old
vivacity. She scarcely smiles as she replies:
“It is only a cuff. I thought I would make them myself
instead of giving them to Miss Carne.”
“Miss Carne? pray who is that?”
“I forgot—you've not seen her. She's a seamstress
whom we brought from town with us. There she is at the
door.”
Mr. Alston turns his head and makes a slight movement,
as he sees before him the remarkable head. Miss Carne is
an Italian-looking woman, with a brunette complexion, black
hair, and deep, penetrating eyes. She is undeniably handsome,
standing in her submissive attitude with folded hands;
but there is something repelling in her air and appearance.
“Have you laid out the pieces, Miss?” she said, with a
slight Italian accent; “I am ready to go on with the
dress.”
Bonnybel gave her some directions, and she disappeared
as she came, without noise.
“A singular face,” said Mr. Alston, “but I do not like it.
She is undoubtedly beautiful, but not prepossessing. Well,
that is scarcely a matter of importance. Pray whose is this
delightfully perfumed epistle?” adds Mr. Alston, smiling,
and raising, as he does so, from the table an embossed
paper.
“ 'T is Aunt Seraphina's verses,” says Helen, smiling demurely;
“ask her to let you read them.”
“Coming from such a source, they must be indeed perfect,”
says the gallant Jack Hamilton, with an ogle.
In spite of Miss Seraphina's objections, Mr. Alston reads
aloud,
A LADY'S ADIEU TO HER TEA TABLE.
“Farewell to the Tea Board, with its gaudy equipage
Of Cups and Saucers, Cream Bucket, Sugar Tongs,
The pretty Tea Chest, also, lately stored
With Hyson, Congo, and best Double Fine.
Full many a joyous moment have I sat by ye,
Hearing the Girls Tattle, the Old Maids talk Scandal,
And the spruce Coxcomb laugh at, may be, nothing.
No more shall I dish out the once loved Liquor,
Though now detestable to all at Vanely,
Because I'm taught (and I believe it true),
Its Use will fasten slavish Chains upon my Country,
And Liberty's the Goddess I would choose
To reign triumphant in America!”
“Bravo!” cried honest Jack; “I have rarely heard such
verses! Permit me, my dear Miss Seraphina, to have them
put in the `Gazette.' ”
“O, I never could consent,” murmurs Miss Seraphina, in
confusion.
“Genius must be treated with gentle force, my dear
madam,” says Mr. Hamilton; “I'll strike out the words,
`to all at Vanely,” and all the colony shall admire you.'
That the gentleman carried out his threat is proved from
the fact that we have taken the verses from the old “Virginia
Gazette.”
The conversation then turns on a number of things, and
finally, at the request of Tom Alston, Bonnybel goes reluctantly
to the harpsichord and sings. The song is “Katherine
Ogie,” and the young lady sings it with deep sadness.
It sighs itself away, and she returns listlessly to her
seat.
“An exquisite tune,” says Mr. Alston, “and 't is Harry's
great favorite. By the bye, Miss Bonnybel, where is Harry?”
“I really do not know, sir,” is the reply; “in town, I
suppose, where we left him, or rather he left us.”
And Bonnybel's sadness changes to a pout.
“Harry's not in town, my child,” says the voice of Colonel
Vane, behind them, “and I'm sorry to say that his life is in
danger.”
Bonnybel rose to her feet with a start, turning pale as
death, but instantly fell again in the chair.
“He is at `Flower of Hundreds,' ” continued the colonel,
sorrowfully, “and he was brought thither yesterday, by
Captain Waters, in one of the sail-boats. The account is,
that the boatman was hailed by Captain Waters, at Jamestown,
and going ashore found Harry lying on the grass,
bleeding from a wound in the breast. I know who's to
blame for it!” added the colonel, flushing, “and if the boy
dies, I'll pursue him to the end of the earth!”
He was diverted from his wrath by a sudden exclamation
from Helen. Bonnybel had caught her sister's arm, to prevent
herself from fainting. In a few minutes she was weeping
in her chamber, in the arms of Helen, who cried with
her.
She heard the two gentlemen mount their horses hastily,
and ride away at full gallop, and then the chariot rolled up
to the door.
“O, I'll go too!” cried Bonnybel, starting up. “I would
die of suspense here! Come, sister!”
And breaking away from Helen, she hastily descended,
just as the colonel and Aunt Mabel were entering the coach.
Helen followed, and they soon reached “Flower of Hundreds.”
The colonel and Aunt Mabel went to St. John's chamber,
the young ladies remaining in the sitting-room. Bonnybel
resembled a statue; she did not move or speak, but, from
time to time, her vacant eyes were raised to the pictures
they had looked upon together.
As the slow step of the colonel was heard descending
the stairs, she started, her cheeks flushed—she rose, and
hastened to the door.
“How is he?” she said, in a low tone.
“Badly hurt, but not dangerously,” returned the colonel;
“the wound was got in a duel with that man Lindon, at
Jamestown island; the letter which you wrote, my child,
before the assembly, turned the weapon, and, in all probability,
saved his life. The doctor and his friends are now
with him, and they think that a month's confinement will
be all.”
Bonnybel drew a long, labored breath, went slowly to the
window, looking forth on the river, and there she remained
without turning her head.
She was crying like a child, but they were tears of joy.
