28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
SAINTY HARLEY.
St. Leger returned slowly to Huntsdon, rode up the hill, tied his
horse at the rack, and had just entered the house—his head down,
his eyes fixed upon the floor—when a laughing voice exclaimed,
“How do you do, Mr. St. Leger! I have been waiting for you
for more than an hour. I am very glad to see you!”
St. Leger raised his head quickly, and saw standing before him a
young fellow, apparently nineteen or twenty years of age, clad in
the height of the fashion, and a model of youthful freshness and
beauty. The face was fascinating for its gayety and bloom. The
eyes were full of sunshine. The round contour of the cheeks, the
down—far too slight and delicate to be regarded even as an incipient
beard—the light of youth and joy in the smile, were charming.
“Why, Sainty!” exclaimed St. Leger, grasping his hand, “when
did you arrive? What brought you? You at Huntsdon?”
The youth looked radiant.
“How am I to answer all your questions at once! I might ask
you what brought you to Huntsdon, dear Mr. St. Leger, if that
would not be rude. I reckon we are both surprised—I am pleased,
I tell you! Brother Justin wrote me from Vienna that he was
coming to Virginia, and I might come back, too, on a visit if I chose,
during the autumn. I had plenty of money—including your tip
when you came to Eton to see me; and so I took ship, had a
splendid voyage, and got here to-day—to find not a single soul at
Huntsdon but old James and the rest of the servants, who have
made an ovation in my honor.”
The voice of the youth was delightfully joyful. It was a cordial
to St. Leger, who had begun to feel solemn from having been mixed
up lately with so much mystery.
“Well, my dear Sainty,” he said, looking kindly at the youth in
his jaunty college-cap, and smiling, “nobody will be happier to see
you than Justin.”
“Where is he, Mr. St. Leger? Nobody knows.”
“And I no better. He has ridden out somewhere.”
“Does he treat you in this unceremonious way?”
“Oh yes. I am entirely at home—I and Justin are Damon and
Pythias, and Damon is naturally at his ease in Pythias' house. I
came to Virginia to bring dispatches to the authorities, and very
naturally sought out Justin.”
“I hope you did! To do anything else would have been shocking,
Mr. St. Leger. How natural the old place does look! I love it
better than every other place in the world put together. I am
going to ride all over it with brother Justin, and then go and see
uncle George and uncle Joshua at Oakhill, and—”
“Your uncle George is dead, Sainty.”
“Dead!” exclaimed the youth.
“He died more than a month ago.”
The young man looked deeply shocked and grieved, and his gay
talk ceased.
On the next morning, Harley not having returned, Sainty
mounted his horse and rode to Oakhill. He found Colonel Hartright
sitting stiffly in his great chair in the library, the door of which
he opened without ceremony. A moment afterwards he had
grasped the hand of the old lord of the manor, and said, in his
fresh, young voice,
“How do you do, uncle? You are the only uncle I have now.
Poor old uncle George! I am mighty glad to see you, uncle
Joshua!”
It was the first time for many years that anybody had administered
to Colonel Joshua Hartright, of Oakhill, that up-and-down
pump-handle shake of the hand. It shook him up in the most
surprising manner, and nearly took away his breath.
“Why, bless my soul!—ahem! Is this you, my dear St. George?”
“I hardly know myself by that name, uncle. Everybody calls
me Sainty.”
“Yes, yes—well, yes—Sainty. When did you return?”
“Yesterday, uncle, and I only heard of uncle George's death when
I came. Poor uncle George! It made me cry.”
Colonel Hartright looked at the youth with an expression of
kindness and softness that he had not bestowed upon any other
human being for a long time.
“I am glad to see that you feel your uncle's death, Sainty,” he
said. “He loved you very much.”
“But he loved brother Justin more.”
“Colonel Hartright made no reply. He had evidently not forgiven
the elder brother for his European wanderings, and his supposed
financial arrangements in connection with his “expectations.”
“I have not seen your brother very frequently of late,” he said.
“He has, I believe, a gentleman from England with him.”
“Yes, uncle—Mr. St. Leger, the finest fellow you ever saw!”
And Sainty Harley drew a glowing picture of St. Leger, after
which he asked about everybody, declared that he would rather
live in a cabin in Virginia than in a palace anywhere else; then he
got up, told Colonel Hartright that he would come back very soon,
and, inflicting a second pump-handle shake of the hand on that
gentleman, accompanied by an affectionate smile, rode away to
Huntsdon.
Justin Harley had not even yet returned. St. Leger declared his
conviction that he must certainly be “lost;” and in the afternoon,
finding the time hang upon his hands, proposed a visit to Blandfield.
“Judge Bland lives there, don't he, Mr. St. Leger?” said the
youth.
“Judge Bland et alios, or rather alias,” was St. Leger's reply.
“There are two charming young persons there, Sainty—namely,
Misses Evelyn and Annie Bland, to say nothing of a somewhat
more elderly lady who would be too old for you—Miss Clementina.”
“Let's go at once!”
“Very well; order the horses.”
They were soon on the way to Blandfield, and reached it as the
sun was setting.
As they rode up the avenue, a slight figure flitted along the grassy
bank of the small stream winding through the low-ground of the
lawn, and disappeared behind a huge willow. Of this figure Mr.
St. George Harley alone caught a good glimpse, and he laughed.
“What is the matter?” said St. Leger.
“Didn't you see?” said the youth.
“See what?”
“The nymph—or Oread, or Dryad—as you choose.”
“Where?”
“Down by the run. She wore a pink dress, and no shoes or
stockings! I know what she was doing—she was wading in the
branch!”
It was agreeable to hear the gay laughter of the youth, who
added.
“And I tell you it was no common milkmaid-nymph. It was
Miss Evelyn Bland, or Miss—Annie. Is that her name?”
“Oh, Annie, by all means!” said St. Leger, returning the laugh.
“Miss Evelyn is much too dignified to wade.”
“Well, we'll soon see. Yonder she goes scudding up the hill!
She has her shoes and stockings on! The fair vision has vanished!”
They were soon at the door, and everybody was in the parlor, including
Judge Bland. St. George Harley's reception was exceedingly
cordial, and Miss Evelyn, particularly, exhibited marked
pleasure in his society. She sang for him, looked at him with the
sweetest smiles, and in half-an-hour they had grown so intimate
that the youth was about to ask her if she had been down to the
run that evening, when tea was announced, and Miss Annie Bland,
aged about sixteen,—the real nymph—came in demurely, and made
Mr. St. George Harley a negligent little curtsey, in response to his
bow.
When the friends took their leave, which they did not do until
nearly ten o'clock, there was a general impression at Blandfield
that something resembling sunshine had been filling the old mansion.
This, indeed, was the impression that “Sainty Harley” always
left behind him. Is there a great undiscovered force—some occult
animal-magnetic fluid—residing in certain human beings, which
routs gloom, blue devils, and dullness? If so, this youth had it.
Everybody smiled when he came. His voice was a cordial. He
talked a good deal, but listened well. He was simple, natural, unconscious,
and put everybody in a good humor.
As they rode homeward, he said:
“I am very glad you took me to Blandfield this evening, Mr. St.
Leger. Did you ever see nicer people? Real old Virginia! Does
brother Justin visit there?
“Very little.”
“Well, he's wrong. I wish he would get married—and the tall
one is a beauty. She would just do for a sister! And if brother
Justin don't court her, I'll court her myself!”
“What do you think of the younger damsel?”
“Did not get acquainted with her. She certainly is pretty; but
I say, Mr. St. Leger,—Miss Clementina is jolly, and the old Judge
is as fine as any nobleman I ever laid my eyes on. Brother Justin
ought to go oftener. Where can he be? I hope we will find him
at home when we get back.”
“I hope so.”
The hope was disappointed. Harley had not returned.
On the next morning Sainty Harley ate an excellent breakfast,
talking all the time with old James, and asking him questions;
rose, wondered that his brother had not returned, and finally
decided that he would walk over and see his old mammy, at the
quarters, and his old friend Saunders.
About one in the day Harley rode up the hill. Dismounting, he
walked slowly, with his firm step, to the porch where St. Leger
was seated.
