University of Virginia Library

47. CHAPTER XLVII.
BUSINESS.

Hour after hour on this night, and long after midnight, St. Leger
heard Harley walking to and fro in his chamber.

That slow, deliberate, never-ceasing sound of steps followed the
young man as he fell asleep, and mingled with his dreams—dreary,
monotonous, haunting him.

Harley was indeed passing through one of those crises which
occur at times in all men's lives. He was revolving in his mind
every detail of his situation, and striving to find in the chaos
which seemed to surround him some little tract of firm ground
whereon to plant his feet.

This noble and proud nature found itself hampered, thwarted,
subjected, apparently, to all the spites of fate. Struck heavily at
once in his heart and in his personal fortunes, losing the woman
whom he loved passionately, and seeing the old family estate,
which he hoped to transmit to his brother, about to pass from him,
but for his serene strength of will, Harley would have yielded to
despair, and abandoned all further struggle.

Instead of yielding, he looked his troubles in the face, and tried
to save a plank from the wreck, as brave men will.

He kept up his slow pacing to and fro until nearly daylight. He
then slept for two or three hours, and came down, meeting St.
Leger with his habitual calmness and cordiality.

“Do you know, my dear friend,” he said, “that I have determined
to go back to Europe with you?”

“To Europe! You will return—and so soon, Harley?”

“Yes. I have become a perfect Bohemian, I am afraid. I am
restless—of no use here; perhaps I shall be of as little there, but I
shall be more at home. A sad statement, is it not?”

“Yes.”

St. Leger looked at his friend curiously. Did he care nothing,
after all, for Evelyn Bland? Had she discarded him? What had
happened?

“You are in earnest in this scheme, Harley?”

“Yes.”

“I need not tell you that, personally, nothing could delight me
more, as I shall have your company; but I must say that I did not
expect to have it.”

“I am capricious, you see.”

“I see that something has worked a change in you suddenly, my
dear friend. Be candid. What is it?”

“A change?”

“You were as bright as a May morning a few days since—now,
you are as gloomy.”

“Pshaw! You are full of fancies, St. Leger!”

“And you of evasions!”

St. Leger spoke with real mortification.

“You do not deserve to have a friend, Harley, for you never
confide in anybody. You keep your griefs and joys, your happiness
and your troubles, all shut up in your own breast.”

Harley's countenance assumed an expression of cordial regard,
and he looked kindly at St. Leger.

“Friend,” he said, “I have never been fond of concealment, and
was never what is called secretive. If I do not speak of some
things, it is because I find it painful, or think it best that I should
not—even to you. Yes, something troubles me, to be frank with
you. I will tell you some day what it is. And now amuse yourself
as you can. I shall be busy to-day.”

Harley then sent for Mr. Shanks, the engineer, who had remained
at Huntsdon, and informed him that circumstances wholly
unforeseen would prevent the drainage of the Blackwater Swamp.
He should not be subjected to loss, however, and would be fully
remunerated for his time and trouble in coming to Virginia, the
season still permitting him to return to England.

Mr. Shanks smiled in a friendly way. Harley had indeed made
a strong friend of him by his cordial and kindly manners.

“I don't want remuneration, Mr. Harley. You have paid my
expenses,” he said, “and I am offered a job which will pay me as
well as the draining, sir.”

“What is that?”

“Your uncle, Colonel Hartright, wants his whole property and
the Glenvale estate surveyed, and plats drawn up, sir.”

With which Mr. Shanks proceeded to explain. He had become
intimate with Saunders—Harley's old overseer—and Mr. Saunders
had made him acquainted with Mr. Jackson—Colonel Hartright's
overseer—and Mr. Jackson had gone straight to his employer, and
said:

“Colonel, here is the very man you want—a number one surveyor
to make the surveys and maps of the whole property.”

Thereupon Colonel Hartright had sent for Shanks—had been
pleased with that personage, had offered him the place of surveyor,
and Harley's announcement had enabled him to accept it.

“Very well,” said Harley. “I am glad that it so happens, Mr.
Shanks. Make your home with me, if you like me well enough.”

“I like you very well, indeed, Mr. Harley,” said Mr. Shanks,
with a low bow. “I'll be too busy; but I'll come and see you, and
am much obliged to you, Mr. Harley.”

Mr. Shanks bowed again, went away, and closed his bargain
with Colonel Hartright, who was slowly recovering from his
attack.

As Mr. Shanks left his new employer, a coach, drawn by four
horses, stopped in front of Oakhill, and Judge Bland got out of it.

The Judge, who had retired some years before from the bench,
and resumed the practice of his profession, had been in Williamsburg
attending the session of the General Court.

On the preceding day, the old gray-haired clerk of the court—a
very elegant gentleman, as the old-time clerks often were—said to
him,

“I think you have forgotten that business of Colonel Hartright's,
Judge—the conveyance in Brown vs. Hartright; you are
counsel for the Colonel,”

“Yes, yes! I must see him—my notes are mislaid.”

“The old gentleman has had a bad attack, it is said,” continued
the chatty old clerk.

“Very bad; but he is much better.”

“By the bye, Judge, I think young Harley is his nephew—
Harley of Huntsdon.”

“Yes.”

“He is in a bad way, I fear. Hicks—you know Hicks—has filed
a bill asking for a decree to seel Huntsdon, to satisfy a mortgage—
over seven thousand pounds.”

“Is it possible!”

“Filed to-day—Hoskins for complainant.”

“Seven thousand pounds! Absurd! The Huntsdon estate is
worth treble the money!”

“Well, the bill is filed. The object of Hicks is plain. He is a
notorious old Shylock, and no doubt aims at buying in the estate.”

“Hum!” said Judge Bland.

“It would be a shame.”

“A shame indeed! And it shall not be done if I can prevent it.
Let me see the bill, Mr. Dance.”

The Judge looked at the bill, and, after carefully reading it, knit
his brows.

“A pity—seven thousand pounds! But it is monstrous to ask
for a decree to sell Huntsdon. The Court will never hear of such
a thing.”

Mr. Dance shook his head.

“I don't know. Practice has changed. Better see Mr. Harley,
and advise him. We knew his father, you know.”

“I certainty shall, Mr. Dance.”

And Judge Bland shook his head, uttering three distinct “hums”
as he folded up the document and returned it to the old clerk.

He reached Oakhill just at dinner time, and discussed Colonel
Hartright's business over a glass of wine. When this subject was
exhausted, he informed his host of the attempt on Mr. Hicks' part
to sell Huntsdon.

“Sell Huntsdon!” exclaimed the old colonel.

“To satisfy a claim of over seven thousand pounds.”

“Good heavens!” cried Colonel Hartright, “Justin Harley surely
does not owe that amount!”

“It seems so.”

“My dear sir, it is impossible! It is outrageous! A wasteful,
extravagant, incorrigible spendthrift!”

“Careless in money matters, as his father was before him. But
I have a very high opinion of Justin Harley, Colonel,—a very
high opinion indeed!”

“I am sorry to say that my opinion differs from yours, Judge.
The most opinionated—the hardest-headed young man I ever
knew. He has never shown his sense in any affair but one—and
that is in abandoning a wild goose project.”

“You refer to—”

“This drainage scheme—emptying the water from the Blackwater
Swamp. The man who came from England to undertake it
has just been here, and informs me it is given up.”

“I am very glad of it.”

“And I; for Justin Harley is my sister's son, after all. And he
is to be ruined! And by Hicks! Hicks is a rascal. I have told
him so. He had the audacity to come and propose lending me
money. I told him if he entered my doors again I would kick him
out!”

And Colonel Hartright looked irate.

“Sell Huntsdon?—Hicks!”

“I hope to disappoint the project, my dear sir, but the law is
uncertain. At least I will try—and now I must take my leave,
Colonel.”

The old gentlemen thereupon shook hands cordially, and Judge
Bland was soon rolling away in his coach. The sun was declining
as he passed Huntsdon. As he came opposite the gate, Harley
rode out, going in the opposite direction.

They exchanged a cordial salute.

“My good genius must have sent you,” said Harley. “I was just
thinking of you, and wishing to see you. I need your aid.”

“I will serve you, if I can, most readily and cheerfully.”

Harley told him of Mr. Hicks' note, and the Judge nodded.

“He has already filed his bill—a gentleman of despatch—I have
looked at it.”

“And your advice is—”

“To come and see me—this is Saturday—say on Monday. The
afternoon, if agreeable to you, Mr. Harley.”

“Perfectly sir. You will understand, that I wish, if possible, to
avert this proceeding, or delay it, and thus prevent a peremptory
sale of the property, which will easily pay the debt in a few
years.”

“Yes.”

“Another favor, sir. I wish to have a deed drawn up—and this
it may possibly be convenient to you to have ready for me when I
come.”

“A deed?”

“Conveying my entire estate, real and personal, to my brother
St. George.”

“To your brother! Your whole estate?”

“I am going to Europe, and have a conviction that I will not
live long. My course may seem capricious and the result of whim,
but it is not. Will you treat my request as that of a man who has
deliberately decided, after long reflection, upon the course he
means to pursue, and prepare the deed?”

“Hum! hum! hum! Why do you go to Europe, my young
friend?”

Harley smiled rather sadly.

“I have grown to be a wanderer; Mr. Hicks may indulge my
brother; any one of a hundred reasons, my good old friend. Will
you preyare my deed for me?”

The Judge looked at him. Something in Harley's expression
convinced him that argument was useless.

“I will prepare it,” he said; “but I require a copy of your
father's will.”

“I have one, and will bring it.”

“Give up this sad determination—exile is a sorrowful thing—
very sorrowful, Mr. Harley.”

“Is life, under any conditions, so very gay, my dear sir? But
this is unprofitable talk. I am detaining you.”

And, saluting Judge Bland with profound respect, Harley rode
on.