58. CHAPTER LVIII.
ST. LEGER RECEIVES HIS ORDERS.
The sun rose clear and brilliant on the morning following these
scenes, burnishing the vast expanse of snow, glittering on the
icicles depending from the trees, and filling everything with joy
and silent laughter.
Sainty Harley leaped from bed, wakened by the flashing light,
and making a hasty but careful toilet—admiring as he did so his
budding moustache in the mirror—descended to the breakfast-room,
where he consumed a sufficient amount of savory old ham
and muffins to have satisfied a ploughman. He then started up,
begged Harley and St. Leger to excuse him, and rushed forth, evidently
with some precise object in view.
In half an hour the youth's programme for the day was seen.
There drove up to the door—or, to speak more precisely, Sainty
Harley drove up to the door—a large and elegant sleigh, to which
were attached four long-tailed and glossy horses, champing their
bits and pawing the snow impatiently.
Sainty's face was radiant with joy and youthful excitement.
“I say, brother, did you ever see a finer team than that?” he
exclaimed. “I've got Selim and Nelly in the lead, and they are
beauties, ain't they?”
He then administered to the beauties a cut of his whip which
made them jump; and, relinquishing the reins to a youthful and
highly-delighted groom, who sat beside him, leaped out and ran
up the steps.
“I'm going to drive out some of the fair sex to-day!” he laughed,
“and I'd like to see 'em find fault with that turnout! I say, Mr.
St. Leger, don't you want to come along with us? And you, too,
brother! You are cooping yourself up in the house to that extent
that your face is growing white, and you are moping—moping,
brother!”
Harley smiled with kindly affection.
“Thank you, Sainty! I believe I won't ride to-day. Where are
you going?”
The youth colored a little.
“To—to—the fact is, I promised, the first snow, that I would
bring the sleigh—”
“To Blandfield? Well, that was gallant!” said Harley. “Ladies
like sleigh-riding Get the bear-skin. It may be cold.”
Sainty Harley was plainly relieved.
“I was going to ask you to lend it to me, brother. None of your
common blanket-wrappings! A bear-skin!—a real bear-skin from
the banks of the Danube! brought by his Excellency, Justin Harley,
Esq., on his return from his travels!”
Harley looked with kindly sweetness at the youth. His fresh
accents and joyous laughter evidently pleased him.
“You are very welcome to the bear-skin, my dear Sainty,” he
said, “and I hope you will have a happy day!”
There was no exhibition of emotion on Harley's part as he
uttered these words. Never had the expression of his face been
more kindly. St. Leger looked at him with curious interest. He
suspected the presence of some latent sorrow in the calm man
standing before him, but saw no trace of any such thing in him;
the composed countenance defied him.
Sainty had secured the bear-skin, and sprung into the vehicle,
his groom beside him. The lash rose and fell upon the impatient
Selim and Nelly in the lead; they jumped and simultaneously
stood erect, pawing the air; then, held firmly by the youth, who
was an excellent driver, as nearly all Virginia boys are, they began
to move in steady, regular leaps, came down to their work, and the
sleigh darted down the hill, the bells ringing merrily.
As it passed through the great gate and flew in the direction of
Blandfield, Sainty raised his cap and waved it around his curly
head in token of farewell. Then the brilliant equipage disappeared,
and the merry jingle of the bells steadily died away, and
was no more heard.
St. Leger was looking after the sleigh.
“Youth is a superb thing!” he said, “and Sainty is brimfull of
it. A most lovable youngster!”
“Is he not?” said Harley.
“Pity you can't catch a little of the boy's sunshine! I never
saw a man look so sad. Come, cheer up, old fellow!”
“So you think I am sad?”
Harley smiled with his gentle, patient expression.
“Sad unto death!” said St. Leger.
“What a fancy, friend! Where is the good of being sad? Men
grow thoughtful, perhaps, as they go on in life, and look at things
more philosophically than in boyhood. But, after all, time glides
away for them as for the gay people. They acquire the habit of
living;—it is a fatiguing habit sometimes—but let us cease this idle
talk. There is Dick with the mail.”
A servant was seen returning from the neighboring post-town,
and soon came up, handing Harley the letter-bag. It contained
two letters—one for each of the friends. As St. Leger opened his,
and looked at it, his countenance fell, and he uttered a slight
exclamation. Harley, who was attentively reading his own letter,
with an air of deep absorption, raised his head.
“What is the matter?” he said.
“Read!” said St. Leger, handing him the letter.
Harley took it and glanced at it. It was from the Governor at
Williamsburg, and contained but a few lines. His Excellency
begged leave to inform Mr. St. Leger that his report for the Home
Government was at last finished, and he would be much gratified
to have it transmitted by Mr. St. Leger's hands to its destination
in London, at as early a moment as suited Mr. St. Leger's convenience.
“Orders, you see,” said the young man, looking quite melancholy.
“Yes.”
“I must go at last; my time is up.”
“Well, you know our arrangement? I am going with you.”
“You adhere to that resolution?”
“Certainly! Nothing has occurred to make me change my
mind. In three days all the business which detains me in this
country will be finished, and then, my dear friend, we will take
ship together.”
St. Leger felt that Harley's determination was deliberate, and
that it would be idle to oppose it.
“Well—well,” he said, “I will then write to his Excellency that
in three days I shall be at his orders. You, too, have a letter.”
“Yes,” said Harley, in a low tone, “and a very singular one.”
“From whom?”
“To tell you would excite your curiosity, and involve a long
story, which I only feel myself equal to when we have begun our
voyage. I will then tell you everything.”
“Everything?”
“The history of my life.”
“Ah!”
“You would like to hear it?”
“Yes—yes, indeed!”
“You shall hear it, then, and you will find it a singular experience,
with some strange incidents. This letter clears up one
mystery which has long puzzled me.”
“The letter?”
“It is from a person whom you have heard Puccoon speak of. I
might as well tell you.”
“You mean—”
“The man of the swamp.”
Harley finished the perusal, and folding up the letter, placed it
in his pocket.
“It concerns you, too,” he added, quietly; “but all this will soon
be explained. It is truly strange. Now, my dear friend, I must go
and see Saunders. Amuse yourself as you can until dinner time.
After dinner, we have an engagement, you know, to ride together
to Blandfield, where I have an appointment with Judge Bland.”
This terminated the conversation, and Harley went to see Saunders.
On his return, the friends dined together; and in the afternoon
they set out on horseback for Blandfield.
