42. CHAPTER XLII.
SAINTY HARLEY BREAKS THE ICE.
The two brothers rode on for nearly a mile without uttering a
word. Both seemed buried in reflection. Harley's were apparently
calm, but the youth's were plainly excited. He evidently
wished to say something—was afraid to say it—and was blushing.
At last he made a desperate effort.
“Brother!” he blurted out.
Harley turned his head and looked at him.
“Well, Sainty.”
“What would you say to—to—now you are going to laugh!”
“Laugh? At what?”
“Well, what do you think of my getting married? There—it is
out!”
“Married!”
“Yes, brother.” said the youth, blushing immensely.
“You, Sainty!”
“Why shouldn't I, brother? I'm nearly twenty—a real patriarch!”
The youth uttered a laugh, which was intended to hide his confusion.
Harley rode on for some moments silently; then he said:
“There is no good reason why you should not marry if you wish,
Sainty.”
“I thought not.”
“You are somewhat young, but—”
“That is no objection, is it?”
Harley looked at the ardent boy with earnest affection and
sweetness; at such moments his face was charming.
“It is the merest question of policy. Marriage is—I fancy that
it is—at twenty—I mean to say that marriage is always a serious
matter, no doubt—not all roses and nightingales, but a practical
business affair.”
“Yes, brother.”
“The responsibility should thus not be assumed too early; but
still, where there is strong affection—an earnest love on each side—
it is best, perhaps, to marry young.”
“You dear, old brother! listen to the words of wisdom!”
Harley smiled.
“What jumps with our inclinations is always wise and judicious,
my boy.”
“I believe you.”
“Still, one should reflect seriously before taking so important a
step. There are many things to be considered.”
“You mean—”
“I mean the character of the lady, her suitability, and her social
position. I am not a very exclusive person in my views, but I
think one should marry in his own rank in society.”
“Of course!”
“And if the young lady you are thinking of—for you are thinking
of a particular person, are you not?”
“Ye—s.”
“If she is sweet-tempered, attractive, refined,—money is unimportant,
as you will have enough—I can see no obstacle whatever.”
“She's all that, brother!”
“Well—her name?”
Sainty blushed tremendously.
“I'd rather not—!”
Harley laughed.
“Very well. I do not insist upon knowing. You will tell me
when you desire to do so.”
Sainty reflected for some time, blushing and confused. The
reverie ended in a laugh again, and the words:
“You were speaking of what was to be looked for in the young
lady. She ought to be of a good family?”
“I think so, certainly.”
“Is—that is—what do you think,of Judge Bland's family?”
“Judge Bland's!”
“Ye—s, brother.”
“Judge Bland's!”
Sainty felt that he had broken the ice.
“Yes, brother! Judge Bland's! Why do you start so, and keep
exclaiming in that way? You said people of our class ought to
marry into good families, didn't you?”
Harley had become somewhat pale.
“Yes,” he said, in a low voice.
“And that I was not too young?”
“I said so.”
“And if the person was sweet, and the rest, she would do?”
The youth's confusion was such that he did not observe the uncontrollable
emotion of his brother. The strong frame was trembling,
as if an ague fit had seized upon it.
“Well,” continued the youth, “I have not told you about it before,
brother. You see I was a little shaky; but—but she is everything
she ought to be. I think I'm getting on; and now, as you make no
objection—as I was sure you wouldn't, brother—I'll go ahead and
court her, and take my chance, and if I get her, I'll have the very
prettiest and sweetest wife in the whole colony.”
With which, the laughing face of Sainty glowed; and, to hide
his blushes, he turned away his head and was silent.
Harley had not uttered another word. He rode on in perfect
silence, with his eyes fixed upon the ground, and a slight tremor
agitating his frame. A great despair had entered his heart, and
rested there like a lump of ice. This, then, was what he had to
look forward to—rivalry with his own brother—with the boy who
was more like a son to him, indeed, than a brother—whom he loved
with all his heart, and whose happiness was as dear to him as his
own. This boy had, like himself, yielded to the charm of Evelyn's
beauty. He loved her; perchance she, too, loved him; but that he
loved her was misery enough. Why had he been so blind? Why
had he not asked himself the meaning of those incessant visits of
the youth to Blandfield? How was it that he had not understood
the significance of that interview, side by side, upon the rustic seat,
the ill humor of the girl at having their interview interrupted, the
whole miserable truth which now dawned upon him, or rather fell
like lightning?
He scarcely asked himself if Evelyn's feeling for his brother was
such as the youth supposed it might be. The one thought was
burnt into his brain that he, Justin Harley, was his brother's rival.
All the way back to Huntsdon this storm raged in his breast. It
was the great struggle of this strong man's life. On the one side
passionate love for the woman who had become the dream of his
waking and sleeping hours—upon whom he had suddenly poured
out all the wealth of his large and earnest heart; on the other side
the love of his brother—the brother whose happiness he was to
secure, or overthrow to reach his own!
The conflict was bitter. The storm tore him mile after mile.
The evil spirit and the good—the two loves of his strong heart for
Evelyn and his brother—wrestled in him and shook him. Then
he grew still again; the calm came. He turned to Sainty Harley,
looked at him with a depth of affection which no words can express,
and, steadying his voice by a powerful exertion of his will,
said:
“My dear boy, it is possible that you may not have understood
me distinctly as to the matter we have spoken of on this ride. I
can see no objection to the marriage you suggest. She—the young
lady—is all that one could wish. We have no father, Sainty. I
am an old gentleman, and you shall have my blessing. Now, let
us not speak further of this. Tell me when your arrangements are
made. Here is Huntsdown. It shall be yours on the day of your
marriage, Sainty.”
