43. CHAPTER XLIII.
THE SOIRÉE.
There was a splendid reception in the evening. Many
of the officers had been joined by their wives, and several
belles from the city were present. The eye of Randolph
was calm and clear; a benign dignity seemed enthroned on
his brow, and a placid smile rested on his lips. And Alice
stood beside him, pale though beautiful. Majestic in stature,
graceful in attitude, animated in expression; her eye vying
in cerulian with the cloudless sky, and her crescent forehead
illuminated with its star-like diamond; the daughter of the
President, in the Executive palace, never inspired greater
admiration. And Edith, who stood beside her, shared the
homage lavished by the multitude. Nor was the unassuming
Mary, the gentle and cherished companion of the
high-born maidens, obscured by the glitter of fashion.
Blount, himself the centre of a group of admirers, when
the saloons were filled, nevertheless could not wholly withdraw
his eyes from his affianced bride; and Edith, and even
Alice observed it.
And Lord Slysir, unable either to walk or to stand without
pain, was borne in by two of his servants, who had been
permitted to join him, seated in a great chair that moved
on rollers. He, too, seemed to gaze at Edith, as one under
the spell of an irresistible fascination.
Blount, having long been waiting an opportunity to utter
all he felt in the ear of Edith, embraced the earliest moment
to seek a tête-à-tête. But when he approached, unperceived
by Edith, young Summers appeared at her elbow on the
opposite side. Twice before he had attracted her notice in
the same manner; and this time he seemed disposed to linger.
“Have we not met somewhere?” asked Edith, unable
any longer to resist an utterance of the interrogatory which
rose so often to her lips.
“Yes, lady,” said Summers.
“Where?”
“I ought not, perhaps, to say, if other ears might hear
me,” was the very mysterious reply.
“I am quite certain, sir, I should have no objection to
hear it mentioned in the presence of any auditor. But we
will go into yonder corner, now partially deserted.”
As they moved away, Blount joined the circle round the
President and Alice.
“Who is that?” asked he, after exchanging renewed
greetings with Alice, and at the same time indicating by a
nod, and perhaps rather an imperious one, the individual
who had walked aside with Edith.
“Were I not MARBLE, General, the manner and tone of
your demand might have startled me.”
“Was it startling? Forgive me.”
“Was it not? But you were not conscious of it. That
is one of the President's clerks.”
“One of the President's clerks?”
“One of the President's clerks! Is that so very remarkable?”
“No. Perhaps not,” said he, half abstractedly. “I can
wait—”
“General Blount!”
“Nay, fear me not. We have been reconciled.”
“Ha! ha! How often, Harry?”
“Upon my word I do not remember,” said he, partaking
of Alice's merriment.
“General!” said the President, placing his hand on
Blount's shoulder, and whispering in his ear, “follow me
presently into the office. Let your eyes cease to follow that
provoking magnet. She is her own mistress yet, and competent
to take care care of herself. Be not uneasy or suspicious,
or—what you will—”
“I am all attention, sir,” said Blount. “Pray go on.”
“Lead Alice round once or twice, and give me an opportunity
to escape. I have important despatches.” Saying
this, Randolph offered his arm to one of the glittering
dames from the city, and led the promenade. But, before
the circle of the saloon was completed, he had uttered his
apologies, and vanished through a door communicating
with the library, then occupied as his office.
“You still have the ring,” said Blount, looking down at
the fair hand of Alice, reposing on his arm.
“Yes. Here, let me return it.”
“No.”
“Edith will never receive it from me.”
“Nor from me, except at the altar.”
“Where else should she receive it?”
“I cannot tell. Keep it until then. What better repository
could we have? And, Alice, the day may be distant
when the transfer can be made at the altar.”
“Is it not your purpose to urge the completion—?”
“Not now.”
“And why not? Her father has abandoned the position
he held, if not, indeed, the cause of those with whom he was
identified, and—and—he might consent.”
“It were bootless!” said Blount, mournfully. “I could
not now, consistently with my regard for Edith, ask her to
brave with me the dark and terrible future looming up in
the horizon. If I survive—if the cloud should be riven,
and a single ray of sunshine beam upon our pathway,
then—”
“Harry, you believe, then, that this storm, instead of
speedily abating, is destined to increase?”
“Frankly, I do.”
“And so does my father. Alas, for the Republic!”
“It will survive—though the heads of many of its defenders
and champions may lie low.”
“But think not Edith would be appalled. Woman can
be true even when the strongest man proves false; can
share the ills of life, its fearful tempests, as well as its peaceful
sunshine, with the one she loves. Has she not confessed
as much?”
“I have not questioned her.”
“And why not? Her father might signify his approbation,
and she might consent. Then all this suspense, these
fearful forebodings, these cruel doubts—”
“Nay—I would not link my uncertain fate, in such a moment,
with the one I have loved and cherished. Not only
the pang of separation, but the fear of disaster and death,
would be too much to add to her present cares. Her venerable
father will require her undivided attention.”
“How weak and fragile we are, in the estimation of the
stern lords of creation! Will she not care for you absent,
though unwedded, and fear disaster and death? Harry,
the thought of an absent husband, battling for his country,
and achieving glory in the path of duty, would be a sustaining
thought, rather than a source of additional unhappiness,
whilst she watched beside her parent's couch!”
“It might be so. But the thought that I had irrevocably
bound her, and left her, would rankle in my breast.
But what in the name of woman's caprice can so enchain her
to the side of that stripling?” he continued, momentarily
pausing, and casting a glance at the corner where Edith
and Summers still remained in earnest conversation.
