University of Virginia Library

18. CHAPTER XVIII.
HOW MISS LAVINIA DEVELOPED HER THEORIES UPON MATRIMONY.

The Apple Orchard carriage, containing the solemn Miss
Lavinia, very soon arrived at the abode of old Scowley, as our
friend Verty was accustomed to call the respectable preceptress
of Miss Redbud; and Miss Lavinia descended and entered with
solemn dignity.

Miss Sallianna and herself exchanged elaborate curtseys, and
Miss Lavinia sailed into the pleasant sylvan parlor and took her
seat reverely.

“Our dear little girls are amusing themselves this morning,”
said Miss Sallianna, inclining her head upon one shoulder, and
raising her smiling eyes toward the ceiling; “the youthful mind,
my dear madam, requires relaxation, and we do not force it.”

Miss Lavinia uttered a dignified “hem,” and passed her handkerchief
solemnly over her lips.

“In this abode of the graces and rural sublunaries,” continued
Miss Sallianna, gently flirting her fan, “our young friends seem
to lead a very happy life.”

“Yes—I suppose so.”

“Indeed, madam, I may say the time passes for them in a
golden cadence of salubrious delights,” said Miss Sallianna.

Her visitor inclined her head.

“If we could only exclude completely all thoughts of the opposite
sex—”

Miss Lavinia listened with some interest to this peroration.

“If we could live far from the vain world of man—”

The solemn head indicated a coincidence of opinion.

“If we could but dedicate ourselves wholly to the care of our
little flock, we should be felicitous,” continued Miss Sallianna.
“But, alas! they will come to see us, madam, and we cannot
exclude the dangerous enemy. I am often obliged to send word
that I am not `at home' to the beaux, and yet that is very cruel.
But duty is my guide, and I bow to its bequests.”

With which words, Miss Sallianna fixed her eyes resignedly
upon the ceiling, and was silent. If Miss Lavinia had labored
under the impression that Miss Sallianna designed to utter any
complaints about Redbud, she did not show that such had
been her expectation. She only bowed and said, politely, that
if her little cousin Redbud was disengaged, she should like to see
her.

“Oh yes! she is disengaged,” said Miss Sallianna, with a
languishing smile; “the dear child has been roaming over the
garden and around the ensuing hills since the first appearance of
the radiant orb of Sol, madam. I think such perambulations
healthy.”

Miss Lavinia said that she agreed with her.

“Reddy, as I call your lovely little niece—your cousin, eh?—
is one of my most cherished pupils, madam; and I discover in
her so many charming criterions of excellence, that I am sure she
will grow up an object of interest to everybody. There she is
out on the lawn. I will call her, madam, and if you would dispense
with my society for a short time, I will again return, and
we will discuss my favorite subject, the beauties of nature.”

Miss Lavinia having, by a solemn movement of the head, indicated
her willingness to languish without her hostess' society for
a short period, Miss Sallianna rose, and made her exit from the
apartment, with upraised eyes and gently smiling lips.

Five minutes afterwards Redbud ran in, laughing and rosy-cheeked.

“Oh, cousin Lavinia!” she cried, “I'm so glad to see you!”

Miss Lavinia enclosed her young relation in a dignified embrace,
and kissed her solemnly.

“I am very glad to see you looking so well, Redbud,” she said,
indicating a cricket at her feet, upon which Miss Redbud accordingly
seated herself. I have not been able before to come
and see you, but Miss Scowley gives me excellent accounts of
you.”

“Does she!” laughed Redbud.

“Yes.”

Redbud laughed again.

“What is the cause of your amusement?” said Miss Lavinia.

“Oh, I only meant that she told everybody who came, that
everybody was good.”

“Hum!”

“She does,” said Redbud.

“Then you mean that you do not deserve her praise?”

“Oh, I didn't mean that, cousin Lavinia! I'm very glad she
likes me. I want everybody to like me. But it's true.”

“I believe you are good, Redbud,” Miss Lavinia said, calmly.

“I hope so, ma'am.”

“Are you happy here?”

“Oh yes, ma'am—except that I would like to be at home to
see you all.”

“Do you miss us?”

“Oh yes, indeed!”

Miss Lavinia cleared her throat, and began to revolve her address
to be delivered.

“You do not see us very often, Redbud,” she said,—“I mean
myself and your father—but from what I have heard this morning,
that young man Verty still visits you.”

Redbud colored, and did not reply.

Miss Lavinia's face assumed an expression of mingled severity
and dignity, and she said to the girl.

“Redbud, I am sorry you do not observe the advice I gave
you,—of course, I have no right to command you, and you are
now growing old enough to act for yourself in these things. You
are nearly seventeen, and are growing to be a woman. But I
fear you are deficient in resolution, and still encourage the visits
of this young man.”

Poor Redbud was silent—she could not deny the accusation.

Miss Lavinia looked at her with grim affection, and said:

“I hope, Redbud, that, in future, you will be more careful.
I am sorry to be compelled to say it—but Verty is not a proper
person for you to remain upon such intimate and confidential
terms with. He has good qualities, and is very sensible and
kind-hearted; but he is a mere Indian, and cannot have anything
in common with one so much his superior in station, as
yourself.”

“Oh, ma'am—!” began Redbud.

“Speak plainly,” said Miss Lavinia; “do not be afraid.”

“I was only going to say that I am not superior to Verty,”
Redbud added, with tears in her eyes; “he is so good, and kind,
and sincere.”

“You misunderstand me—I did not mean that he was not a
proper companion for you, as far as his character went; for,
I say again, that his character is perfectly good. But—child
that you are!—you cannot comprehend yet that something
more is wanting—that Verty is an Indian, and of unknown
parentage.”

Poor Redbud struggled to follow Miss Lavinia's meaning.

“I see that I must speak plainly,” said that lady, solemnly,
“and I will commence by saying, Redbud, that the whole male
sex are always engaged in endeavoring to make an impression on
the hearts of the other sex. The object to which every young
man, without exception, dedicates his life, is to gain the ascendancy
over the heart of some young person of the opposite sex;
and they well know that when this ascendancy is gained, breaking

it is often more than human power can accomplish. Young
girls should carefully avoid all this, and should always remember
that the intimacies formed in early life, last, generally, throughout
their whole existence.”

Redbud looked down, and felt a strong disposition to wipe her
eyes.

Miss Lavinia proceeded, like an ancient oracle, impassible and
infallible.

“Now, I mean, Redbud,” she said, “that while Verty may
be, and no doubt is, all that you could wish in a friend, you still
ought not to encourage him, and continue your injudicious friendship.
Far be it from me to insist upon the necessity of classes in
the community, and the impropriety of marrying those who are
uncongenial in taste and habit, and—”

“Marrying, ma'am!” exclaimed Redbud—then she stopped.

“Yes, Redbud,” said Miss Lavinia, with dignity, “and nothing
will persuade me that this young man has not conceived the design
of marrying you. I do not say, mind me, that he is actuated
by unworthy motives—I have no right to. I do not believe that
this young man has ever reflected that Apple Orchard, a very
fine estate, will some day be yours. I only say that, like all
youths, he has set his heart upon possessing your hand, and that
he is not a proper husband for you.”

Having uttered this downright and unmistakeable opinion, Miss
Lavinia raised her head with dignity, and smoothed down her
silk dress with solemn grace.

As to poor Redbud, she could only lean her head on her hand,
and endeavor to suppress her gathering tears.

“Verty is an Indian, and a young man of obscure birth—
wholly uneducated, and, generally speaking, a savage, though a
harmless one,” said the lady, returning to the charge. “Now,
Redbud, you cannot fail to perceive that it is impossible for you
to marry an Indian whom nobody knows anything about. Your

family have claims upon you, and these you cannot disregard,
and unite yourself to one of an inferior race, who—”

“Oh, cousin Lavinia! cousin Lavinia!” cried Redbud, with a
gush of tears, “please don't talk to me any more about this; you
make me feel so badly! Verty never said a word to me about
marrying, and it would be foolish. Marry! Oh! you know I
am nothing but a child, and you make me very unhappy by
talking so.”

Redbud leaned her forehead on her hand, and wiped away the
tears running down her cheeks.

“It is not agreeable to me to mention this subject,” Miss
Lavinia said, solemnly, smoothing Redbud's disordered hair,
“but I consider it my duty, child. You have said truly that
you are still very young, and that it is ridiculous to talk about
your being married. But, Redbud, the day will come when you
will be a woman, and then you will find this intimacy with Verty
a stone around your neck. I wish to warn you in time. These
early friendships are only productive of suffering, when in course
of time they must be dissolved. I wish to ward off this suffering
from you!”

“Oh, ma'am!” sobbed Redbud.

“I love you very much.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“And as I have more experience than you,” said Miss Lavinia,
grimly—“more knowledge of the wiles of men, I consider it my
duty to direct your conduct.”

“Yes, ma'am,” said Redbud, seeing the wall closing round her
inexorably.

“If, then, you would spare Verty suffering, as well as yourself,
you will gradually place your relations on a different basis.”

“On—a—dif—ferent—basis,” said Redbud; “Yes, ma'am.”

“It may be done,” said Miss Lavinia; “and do not understand
me, child, to counsel an abrupt and violent breaking off of all the
ties between yourself and this young man.”

“No, ma'am.”

“You may do it gradually; make your demeanor toward
him calmer at every interview—if he must come—do not have so
many confidential conversations—never call him `Verty' ”—

“Oh, ma'am!” said Redbud, “but I can't call him Mr.
Verty.”

“Don't call him anything,” said the astute enemy of the male
sex, “and gradually add `sir' to the end of your observations.
In this manner, Redbud, you may place your relations on an
entirely different footing.”

“Yes, ma'am!”

Miss Lavinia looked at the child for some moments with a
singular expression of commiseration. Then smoothing the small
head again, she said more softly:—

“What I advise is for your own good, Redbud. I only aim
at your happiness. Pursue the plan I have indicated, and whenever
you can, avoid this young man—as you will both suffer.
Men, men,” murmured Miss Lavinia, “they are our masters, and
ask nothing better than that delightful tribute to their power—a
broken heart.”

“Yes, yes, Redbud,” said the solemn lady, rising, “this advice
I have given you is well worthy of your attention. Both you
and this young man will undergo cruel suffering if you persist in
your present relations. I will say no more. I have done my
duty, and I am sure you will not think that I am actuated by
old-maidish scruples, and have made a bugbear for myself. I
love you, Redbud, as well as I love any one in the world, and all
I have said is for your good. Now I must go.”

And Miss Lavinia solemnly enclosed the weeping girl in her
arms, and returned to her carriage. Before her sailed Miss
Sallianna, smiling and languishing—her eyes upon the sky, and
uttering the most elegant compliments. These were received by
Miss Lavinia with grave politeness; and finally the two ladies
inclined their heads to each other, and the carriage drove off

toward Winchester, followed by Redbud's eye. That young lady
was standing at the window, refusing to be comforted by her
friend Fanny—who had given her the pigeon, it will be remembered—and
obstinately bent on proving to herself that she was
the most wretched young lady who had ever existed.

Meanwhile Miss Lavinia continued her way, gazing in a
dignified attitude from the window of her carriage. Just as she
reached the bottom of the hill, what was her horror to perceive
a cavalier approach from the opposite direction—an elegant
cavalier, mounted on a shaggy horse, and followed by a long-eared
hound—in whose richly clad person she recognized the
whilom forest boy.

Miss Lavinia held up both her hands, and uttered an exclamation
of horror.

As to Verty, he passed rapidly, with a fascinating smile, saying,
as he disappeared:—

“I hope you gave my love to Redbud, Miss Lavinia!”
Miss Lavinia could only gasp.