38. CHAPTER XXXVIII.
EL DORADO.
As St. Leger rode up the hill at Huntsdon, he saw Harley sitting
upon the portico and awaiting him. He had just returned from
Blandfield.
The young man ran lightly up the steps, then suddenly stopped,
looking at his friend.
“Harley!” he said.
“Well, mon ami.”
“Have you found the receipt to draw down a part of the sunshine,
and get it into your countenance?”
“What do you mean, my dear St. Leger?”
“I mean that you are ten years younger than I ever saw you
before! I mean that you have discovered El Dorado, the fount
of youth, or some rejuvenating balm. What is it?”
“It is nothing; you are fanciful.”
“Fanciful! To tell me that I am fanciful when I say that you
are an entirely different man!”
“The merest fancy!”
“There again, being dogmatic is your only fault, Harley. Don't
I know the ordinary style of your physiognomy? Haven't I wintered
and summered Justin Harley for a lengthened period? Who
was it that hunted with that individual on the Danube, drove with
him on the prado, smoked with him like a boy of the burschen, and
tried to cheer him and couldn't?”
“Pshaw!” said Harley, laughing, “I am the same.”
“You are apparently just approaching the age of eighteen,
whereas the Justin Harley with whom I was formerly acquainted
was a gentleman far advanced in life, grim, cool, melancholy, with
something on his mind, one would have said; not a jovial personage,
though a good fellow, I allow.”
“Thank you, St. Leger. I like candor.”
“There again! who ever saw you laugh in that way before,
Harley?”
“Well!”
“Do you know what will take place soon?”
“What?”
“You will make a joke!—a joke! I never thought the day would
come when I would charge you with that enormity!”
“Is it such an enormity? Well, dear, St. Leger, have your jest
at my expense. I am glad you see cause to jest so. I believe I am
in better spirits than I used to be.”
“You believe! I see it and hear it in your face, your voice, your
laughter, your cheery, happy way of talking, Harley, and your lordship's
cheeks. They are as brown and ruddy as a ploughman's.”
“That's because I am well.”
“And happy! Nothing gives flesh and color like happiness!
nothing is more wholesome.”
“You are certainly right in that.”
“And what is the logical deduction, my boy? You see I address
you as a youth. The conclusion is—the irresistible conclusion—
that you are happy.”
“So be it. There is nothing, I hope, so very criminal in the
fact.”
“Has the prospect of returning to Europe in the spring, as I
think you intend, anything to do with the phenomenon?”
St. Leger uttered these words with satirical smiles.
“Returning to Europe?” said Harley.
“Yes. You have one dozen times, at least, spoken of your
intention.”
“Harley's brown face was just touched by the least possible
color.
“I shall not probably go back,” he said.
“Not go back!”
“I think not.”
“You! remain here?”
“Yes,” said Harley, smiling, “I think it my duty to do so.
Everything goes wrong in the absence of the master.”
“Ha! ha!”
“What in the world are you laughing at, St. Leger?”
“I am laughing at human nature—at the propensity of the
featherless biped called man to make everything fit to his own
wishes—at the success of a certain friend of mine in persuading
himself that what he desires to do is the very best thing and the
only thing for an intelligent person to do. You wish to remain in
Virginia, and remaining in Virginia is your duty!”
Harley colored again.
“Well,” he said.
“You no doubt mean to dedicate your life to drainage.”
“I think I shall drain the swamp, my dear friend.”
“To bucolic pursuits?”
“They are healthy.”
“You propose to grew fat, and become a respectable justice of the
peace, and vestryman, and arrest poachers and vagrants, and be
`his honor the squire,' and add to the population of the world.”
“It is humdrum; but is it so absurd, this peaceful and commonplace
career, my dear friend?”
“A truce to argument. When did it take place?” said St. Leger.
“What?”
“When did you fall in?”
“Fall in what?”
“In love!”
Having uttered these words, St. Leger laughed in triumph, looking
straight at Harley, who certainly did not sustain the glance
very coolly.
“Pshaw! my dear fellow,” he said. “Of all things in the world,
I would advise you to avoid this propensity to discover fancied
mysteries, and form opinions without sufficient foundation.”
“Fine words—long words, Harley. Whenever a man uses long
words, I think he is dodging. You are in love!”
“What put such an idea in your head?”
“I can see it.”
“Pshaw!”
“Nothing else explains this new expression in your face, Harley.
What a face! It positively reflects the sunshine on my own, and
lights me up! And I don't have to seek very far for the sunshine!”
Harley did not reply.
“You were riding out to-day with your sunshine, and of all the
tableaux that I have ever seen, that equestrian group of a cavalier
holding a damsel in his arms was the most picturesque.”
With these words St. Leger began to laugh, went into the house,
and disappeared, leaving Harley actually blushing.
As we have seen, nothing was truer than the charge made by St.
Leger. A new life had entered the frame of Harley. His cheek
was ruddier, his eyes brighter, his step more elastic; he seemed
growing younger and younger day by day.
He rose to his feet, and looked out with dreamy eyes upon the
calm landscape.
“Yes,” he said, with his gentle smile, “my life has changed.
What will come of this? I know not; but I do know that I shall
not return to Europe yet!”
