University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.

A fine body of snow lay on the ground. White, white,—
cheerful and cold,—the trees rearing through the still air
their part of the earth's burden; the sky in dazzling contrast
to the bright roofs on which the sun poured down his full
complement of rays,—in vain;—the snow laughed at them.
A very merry laugh if it was a cold one.

The side-walks were cleared and dry; for in those unsophisticated
days laws were not only made but enforced; and
foot-passengers went comfortably along in their sphere of
action, while a host of sleighs swept by in theirs. Neither
division of the public crowded into an undistinguishable
throng as now,—both people and sleighs had a pretty setting
of air and snow,—then was it easy to see and to be
seen.

In this reign of fur and velvet, cloth boots and wadded
cloaks, the merging is a less matter; but when the weaker
sex protected themselves with white dresses and stockings to
match, and shoes that matched anything but the season,—
when high-coloured and fly-away little capes were the best
defence that the Commander-in-chief of the feminine forces

allowed during a winter campaign,—then elbow-room was a
thing of some moment. It would have been intolerable to
have one's own scarlet wings confounded with a neighbouring
pair of blue, and so to present the general appearance
of a two-headed butterfly somewhat diversified as to his
pinions; or worse still, to have no room for them to fly at
all. But no such misfortune befell the ladies of 1813,—
the field was clear, and spotted with butterflies as a field
should be—each in its turn `the observed of all observers.'

Thornton's horses were shaking their heads and jingling
their bells at his door; snorting, and pawing the snow, and
putting their heads together with every symptom of readiness
and impatience,—the white foam frozen in a thick crust
upon mouth and bit, the sun glancing from every metallic
spot on the bright harness. On the steps stood Mr Clyde
himself, in much the same mood as his horses,—the minute-hand
of his watch seeming to mark the hours. One butterfly
after another sailed down the street—or fluttered, as the
case might be; now beating about in the cool wind, and
then bearing down wing-and-wing upon the enemy; and
soon espying Mr. Clyde's position, gracefully inclined its
pretty head that way, and glanced at the gay horses. And
Mr. Clyde's arms being for the tenth time forced from
their position to return such courtesies, enwrapped themselves
thereafter more closely than ever; and when the
closing of the hall door drew his attention, he turned
sharply round.

No butterfly stood there—and yet it might have been a
creature with wings; but not such as are ever spread on
earth except to fly away withal.

`What wonder will come next?' she said smiling.
`Thornton and his horses both here five minutes before
the time!'

`You are not going to wear that veil?' was the abrupt
reply.

`With your favour, yes.'

`I do detest veils!' said Thornton impatiently. `The
man who invented them should have had his head muffled in
one for the rest of his life.'

`It was probably a woman,' said Rosalie smiling.

`Then my wish was doubtless accomplished.'

`But the wind is so keen when one is riding,' urged his
sister.

`I can stand it.'

Rosalie laid her hand on his cheek, with a laughing look
that said his face was ever so little case-hardened. But
he moved away, and putting his sisters into the sleigh
bestowed himself there with a very decided air of dissatisfaction.

`It's so excessively stupid!' he said. `What if people
do stare at you? they can't carry off anything but the remembrance,
and I am willing anybody should have that.
One might as well go up Broadway with a nun for
company!'

The veil was quietly put aside—neither wind nor starers
mattered much now, she had other things to think of. But
with her usual quick desire that her brother should not
think her sad and wrapped up in her own thoughts, Rosalie
came resolutely out of them, and exerted herself to talk and
be pleased.

It was a pretty sight. The gayly dressed ladies, the
broadcloth gentlemen, the bright coloured sleighs and their
Buffalo-skin comforts, were a pretty mingling of shade and
tint; and the exhilarated horses caught the very spirit of
the fun, and dashed along as if nothing had been at their
heels but a little cloud of snow. Light weight indeed many

of the sleighs were, and small resistance gave the smooth
snow to the smooth runners,—there was nothing to check the
speed. Little cutters, and large double sleighs with sweeping
skins, appeared in the distance on some Broadway hill;
and came flying down at a rate which just left the riders
their breath, their amusement and their politeness. Nods,
bows, smiles, the eye's admiration and the hand's salute,
glanced about like deputy sunbeams; and the bells rang out
after the fashion of the gypsy song,
A faint jingle would be heard in the distance of a cross
street, then in a moment nearer and nearer, till the little
punt dashed out into the thoroughfare,—the good horse
ploughing his way through the snow with head up and breast
thrown forward, as if he felt proud of his work. Then came
another equipage that was but a compound of plain boards,
plain men, and clear fun. Neither skins nor seats—but the
little wooden platform absolutely full of humanity in the
last state of enjoyment, and the one bell upon the horse's
neck exerting itself to the utmost. And here, there and
everywhere—upon the frozen gutters, upon the crossings—
in every attainable place of inconvenience and danger, countless
little boys were busy exercising the only team they had,
—to wit themselves.

`There is Marion!' exclaimed Hulda, as Miss Arnet
flew by in her sleigh and gayly kissed her hand in answer
to their salute. `How pretty she looks! But I wonder
why she always rides alone.'

`Because she chooses it, I suspect,' said Thornton dryly.
`Rosalie, there comes your friend Mrs. Raynor.'

Caleb Williams looked sobriety itself behind his black
horses, who lifted their feet and set them down again in the

white snow with a sort of dainty regularity and precision;
while the large grave-coloured and most comfortable looking
sleigh, followed on at a pleasant but not breathless rate.
The smile of the good quakeress to Rosalie was refreshing
to see—so very bright and heartfelt.

Thornton however thought differently, for after conveying
to his horses a very imperative request that they
would go faster, he saw fit to express his distaste in
words.

`I wish I could ever go through Broadway without
meeting that turn-out!' he said.

`What is a turn-out?' said Hulda whose eyes were
already half shut.

`I don't care much about it when I am alone,' Thornton
went on without noticing her, `but when you are with me I
always get provoked.'

`That is unfortunate,' said Rosalie smiling. `If I am
such a magnet for disagreeableness I had better stay at
home. I hope you don't get provoked at me?'

`You always will look so pleased to see her,' he said
gloomily.

`So I am—I like her very much.'

`But I don't—there's the thing. And she looks at you
just as I saw you once when you were a little child look at
a canary bird in the hands of a school boy. And I say it
provokes me.'

`What an imagination you have!' said his sister laughing.
`I noticed the particular pleasantness of her look towards
you.'

`She had no business to look at me,' said Thornton. `I
don't know her and I don't want to.'

`The next time you come out,' said Rosalie raising her
bright eyes to his face, `I'll write a placard for the front of
your cap—`Ladies will please keep their eyes off.”

`You are a saucy girl,' said her brother, whose displeasure
was however evaporating. `Do you mean to say
that Mrs. Raynor did not think to herself what a poor forlorn
child you were, and how much better off you would be
in her sleigh than in mine?'

`She has called me a poor child very often, but not
from any such reason,' said Rosalie, as the thought of the
true one fell like a shadow upon her face. `And she knows
very little of me, Thornton, if she thinks that I wish myself
out of your sleigh, or that I have one thought in my heart
about you I am unwilling you should know.'

`There are several I don't wish to know,' said Thornton,
—`I doubt some of them might make me feel uncomfortable.
But I wish you would pull that veil back again Alie, for I
have somehow got an uneasy notion that I am the wind
blowing in your face.'

`You are full of notions to-day; but the wind does not
trouble me at all now that we have turned. How pleasant
it has been! I have enjoyed it so much.'

`Really?'

`Really.'

Thornton looked pleased.

`I have enjoyed it too, very much—with one or two
drawbacks.'

`How did you ever get such a dislike to so excellent a
person as Mrs. Raynor?' said his sister, as she arranged
the little sleeping Hulda in a more comfortable position.
`You do not know her—and surely you never heard anything
but good of her.'

`Never—I wish I had. If any one else would speak of
her with a qualification perhaps I should not. I hate these
dreadfully precise people.'

`O she is not a bit precise!' cried his sister—`not a

bit! Of course a quaker must talk after the quaker fashion,
but her heart is as free as a child's.'

`Well that is a good thing about a heart, certainly,'
said Thornton with a meditative air. `But however it may
be, the sight of her always gives me an uncomfortable
sensation. I believe she reminds me of her son, and him I
do know.'

`And do not like?'

`No —'

`Why not?'

`I could give a very straight answer on the subject,' said
the young man with a glance at his sister's face, `but perhaps
it's as well not. In general, he don't like me and I
don't like him—nor his pursuits.'

`Did you ever hear that they were anything but creditable?'
said Rosalie turning a startled look upon him.

`What is it to you whether they are or not?'

`Making the profession he does, I should be exceedingly
sorry to think that he had disgraced it. Did you ever see
or hear anything to make you think so?'

`Never—' said Thornton briefly.

And no more words were spoken till they were at home
again.

The sleigh with black horses was at the door in five
minutes after their own arrival, and Rosalie was called
down to see her friend `for a single moment only,' before
she had time to do more than throw off her wrappers. And
when she came into the parlour, her hair a little brushed
back by the wind, and the glow of exercise and fresh air
yet in her cheeks, the good quakeress took her in her arms,
and kissed her more than once before she spoke.

`I was so glad to see thee out,' she said,—`it is so good
for thee. And how dost thou now, dear child? better?

Art thou learning to cast all thy care upon the strong hand
that will not let it press thy little weak heart too heavily?'

The trembling lips could hardly answer,

`Sometimes.'

“`I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction'”—said
her friend tenderly. `Chosen thee, love—not cast thee out
thither. Thee must remember that. And also that other
verse which saith, “Rejoice in the Lord alway.” Now tell
me—how doth thy sister?'

`O quite well again.'

`And thy brother—I saw him with thee even now. He
hath thine eyes, Rosalie, but more self-willed. I love him
for thy sake—ye are so much alike.'

But Rosalie's smile was like nobody but herself.

`And you are well again, too?' she said, as she sat on
a low seat by her friend, looking up at her with the intense
pleasure of having even for a moment comfort and counsel
from one older than herself.

`Yes my child—or at the least so well that I am going
away,—that is wherefore thou seest me now, and but an instant
have I to stay. A week or two I shall be with my
sister, which shall pleasure and I trust profit us both; and
then shall I return again to wait.'

What for, the quakeress did not say, but she rose and
took Rosalie in her arms as she had done before.

`Fare thee well, dear child! and the best of all blessings
be upon thee. “There be many that say, `Who will
shew us any good?' Lord lift thou up the light of thy
countenance upon us!'”

`O that it might be upon us!' Rosalie thought, as she
came back from the front door and went slowly up stairs to
dress. `Will that day ever come?' And then she remembered,

“I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness
of the Lord in the land of the living.”

`And what had your dear friend to say to you?' inquired
Thornton when he came to dinner.

`Not much—just to bid me goodbye. She is going
away for a few days.'

`Charming! We will go sleigh-riding every day. I
shall take this opportunity to give my canary bird plenty of
fresh air and exercise.'

`Your canary bird is much obliged to you for being
glad when she is sorry,' said his sister smiling.

`Truly you are sorry sometimes when I am glad,' said
Thornton.

`When the question is of things that do you mischief.'

`I wonder how you are to judge of that?' said he
laughing and patting her cheek. `Methinks your censorship
is getting a little rampant. Don't you suppose now,
my fair monitor, that if you went out a little more I should
go out a little less?—that if you sometimes gave me your
company abroad I should oftener give you mine at home?'

`You know I have had enough to hinder my going out.'

`Have had—but now?'

There was enough, now; but after a moment's struggle
with herself Rosalie looked up and answered cheerfully,

`I will go with you wherever you wish me to go.'

`Is that said with a little Catholic reservation to your
own better judgment?'

`No, to yours. I would trust you pretty implicitly if
you once took the responsibility upon yourself.'

`I should like to know where it rests now?' said
Thornton, looking half amused and half vexed. `If you
were not the steadiest little mouse that ever went about
from corner to cupboard, the responsibility would be pretty

well thrown upon my shoulders, I fancy. I'll take it, at all
events. Will you go with me to the theatre to-night?'

`O I am not obliged to answer any but serious propositions,'
said she smiling. `You do not wish me to go with
you there—let this be one of the evenings bestowed upon
me at home.'

`Why shouldn't I wish you to go? What harm will it
do you any more than other people?'

`I never mean to try and find out. But I would not go
if I knew it would do me none.'

`Because you think actors must necessarily be bad
people?'

`Not necessarily perhaps. But Thornton, if there was
a gulf over which but one in a hundred could leap, while all
the rest were dashed to pieces, what would you think of the
rich people who hired them to try?'

`I will let you know my opinion of that amusement
when it is advertised,' said her brother. `But I tell you
Alie, it's of no use to compare our opinions—we never were
meant to live together.'

She laid her hands upon his shoulders, and looked up at
him with a face so loving, so beseeching, so full of all that
she could not say, that its light was half reflected. Her
whole heart was in that look; and Thornton felt as he had
never felt before, how true, how pure a heart it was—how
unspeakably reasonable in all its requests. But his own
unhumbled nature, the blind pride which will serve sin
rather than God, because he is the rightful ruler of the
universe, rose up within him; and silently laying his hand
upon his sister's lips, Thornton disengaged himself and
walked away to the dinner table.