16. CHAPTER XVI.
AT THE END OF A MONTH.
A month after these scenes, Henry St. Leger was still at Huntsdon.
The last days of autumn had come; the splendor of the
forests had faded to a russet brown, and the chill winds preluded
winter.
This month had brought about some unexpected events. St.
Leger had gone now and then to Blandfield; then more frequently;
then nearly every day; and one day he came away with a decidedly
melancholy and crestfallen expression of countenance, which plainly
indicated a catastrophe.
In fact, Miss Evelyn Bland had on that morning declined the
young gentleman's proposal that she should become Mrs. St. Leger,
going through the ceremony of discardal with some blushes, and
real regret at disappointing one whose regard she had come to
value, as she enjoyed his society, but leaving no doubt of her intention
not to think at that time or ever of his proposal.
So St. Leger had come back in a far from cheerful state of mind,
attempting to laugh, but not succeeding very well. The first thing
he did was to go to Harley and say:
“Well, my dear old fellow I am routed, driven, cut to pieces!
The fair one has said no! and I don't think in all my life I ever
heard that small word spoken in a way so unmistakable!”
Harley's face glowed, and something like a flash came from his
calm eyes.
“You have addressed Miss Bland?”
“Well,” said St. Leger, forcing a laugh, “I at least told her I
loved her, and asked her to marry me.”
“And—?”
“She said no! Hang it, Harley, if I were to take up the whole
day discoursing and describing, I couldn't convey the result of my
attack more clearly. Charged with every color flying; troops of
all arms brought into action; drums beating, fife playing—the
result ignominious discomfiture!”
“I am sorry for it,” said Harley, in a low voice.
“Well, love is war!” said St. Leger, regaining some of his ordinary
good spirits; “and war is proverbially an uncertain affair, mon
ami—a good soldier is prepared for either event.”
“You take it cheerfully, my dear St. Leger. You are a man of
nerve!”
“Why not? All is lost; but suspense is worse than the worst
fate. I need all my courage, it is true. Battles are renewed; the
defeat of to-day changes to the success of to-morrow in war; but I
regret to say that I am unable to indulge any such dreams on the
present occasion. I am definitely crushed; can't rally—having no
reserves! The fair one not only said no, but when I mildly intimated
that she might change her mind—I could conveniently wait
— assured me that she never could — begged me not to deceive
myself; and she said that in a way so positive that there is nothing
to do but to give the affair up forever!”
Harley made no reply, but an hour afterward mounted his horse,
rode out, as if to look at his estate, and having got out of sight of
the house, set out for Blandfield.
Evelyn was in the drawing-room, alone, when he entered, and
turned away her head, in order to conceal what seemed to be a
quick blush. Harley seemed not to, or did not, notice it, and
plunged at once into the subject which he had come to discuss—his
friend's rejection.
An hour afterward he was riding back toward Huntsdon, at a
walk, reflecting. Evelyn had been perfectly explicit—as Harley
had been perfectly unceremonious. She valued Mr. St. Leger as a
friend, and very highly, she said, but it was impossible that she
could ever think of him for a moment in any other light. Would
Mr. Harley spare her further allusion to what was a very painful
subject? She must say again that any change in her feelings was
impossible, and she trusted Mr. St. Leger would spare her the pain of
repeating this determination to him.
Harley bowed, looked intently at the speaker, who was blushing
and faltering a little, and went away.
“Where have you been? Come—a bet!” said St. Leger, trying
to laugh, as Harley re-entered the drawing-room at Huntsdon.
“None is necessary, my dear friend, and I do not wish to conceal
anything.”
“You have been yonder?”
“Yes.”
“And there is no hope?”
Harley did not reply.
“It is better to tell me. If you remain silent, I shall know there
is none.”
Harley did remain silent.
“Very well, my dear fellow,” the young man said, with some
emotion. “All is definitely over, I see, as I have told you, and I
have my autumn romance to carry away in my memory to England.”
“To England?”
“I must go in a week at farthest. My leave is exhausted, and
his Excellency the Governor has returned, you know. Virginia
has proved unlucky to me. What a comedy life is! Well, as it is a
comedy, let us try to laugh!”
It was rather a melancholy performance, and Harley quickly
changed the subject, urging his friend, without success, to defer
his departure.
“Impossible, mon ami! Duty calls! In a week—one single week.
One more fox-hunt to-morrow! It will bring back my good
spirits!”
And it did. St. Leger came back rosy, laughing, and thirsty for
claret. Trouble sat lightly on this joyous temperament, which revolted
from gloom, and would see the sunshine behind the clouds.
Harley was asking himself ruefully what he should do when the
gay face of his friend disappeared from Huntsdon, leaving him to
pass the humdrum days without society, when an incident occurred
which changed the whole current of his life.
