University of Virginia Library

25. CHAPTER XXV.

The white water-violet lifted its slender stem
above the marshy sod of the pastures; star-shaped
tufts, spires of nameless weeds, spread along the margin
of sunken brooks; and red and purple stalky
grass sprouted thinly over dry, sandy patches. The
crows flew constantly between their nests in the
woods of Apsley river, and the shores of the bay.
Sebastian Ford gathered the violets, and watched the
crows; the fields were sodden and barren, the damp
sea wind roared round him continually, and the weak
sunshine, pouring through a dull, cold sky, shed a
dismal light; but the gathering of the flowers gave
him a singular delight; and the crows peopled the
solitude for him. A human creature, walking by the
water's edge,—as they did, with contemplative gravity,
or grotesquely hopping in the fields,—and joining
other human creatures in a slow, noisy procession
from one stone wall to another, would have destroyed
the effect of the scene. Any flower besides the
sweet violet, which, although trembling in the wind,
and dashed with rain and fog, kept its colors full and
fresh, and its delicious odor, he would have passed
unheeded. He asked Argus what was the secret
that made them so frail, yet so vigorous; the crows

so gay and so solemn; himself so happy, yet so expectant?

“The truth is,” he replied, “that having worn out
all traditionary romance, you are now trying to extract
nourishment from some nameless ideality, and
to interpret it by these facts. It is pretty much like
a bear's sucking his own claws; the roots of your
present happiness are in yourself. The time will
come, probably, for you to rush out of these recesses,—famished,
savage; and, like other men, demand
your natural prey.”

“Though I search for nothing at present, neither
within nor without, I recognize a power which may
saturate my fibres, as a spring saturates the sand it
hides under. You do not say that all thirst may not
be slaked?”

“I am not thirsty; and so I say nothing. I was
merely thinking of your age, and how faithfully it
reflects whatever is presented to it.”

“And what does yours reflect? Argus, you are
changed.”

“You are making me a philosopher.”

“How goes the heart of a philosopher?”

Sebastian laid his hand against the heart of Argus,
and softly kissed his cheek.

“It stands still,” said Argus.

“This is the rock I came ashore on; perhaps it
hould remain immovable, for the performance of
another great deed.”

“If my heart could be moved, surely it should

be moved now, under your hand, Sebastian; it has
become an easy thing to feel an affection for you.”

The strange contraction of Sebastian's intense eyes
suddenly became visible, and Argus felt searched in
every nerve.

“Keep off your eyes, for God's sake,” he cried.
“I may have lost the old bearings, but am not troubled;
if you choose to be speculative, you rascal, I
must, too.”

But Sebastian did not feel satisfied with the impression
he had received from Argus. Did he suffer
from that inevitable ennui which alike visits solitude
and society; enters the fairest structures of the soul;
and dwells with their wreck? Were the limited,
rigid, self-denying practices of the resolute man at
last corrosive to him? Had he recalled the beatitudes
of the senses which young men play fast and
loose with, and old men consider a despairing dream;
or as the ripples which rise, break, and disappear on
the surface of that ocean of the soul, whose depths
nothing mortal ever stirs? Was it that smooth, unenergetic,
indescribable sadness which accepts life and
immortality, “and all I was, in ashes?” Was it something
less,—poverty, debt, ill health, fretting obligations?
He pondered long over the subject, and then
endeavored to bring about a change, which should
relieve Argus.

“Give me half of Temple House,” he begged,
“and share your money with me.”

“You are to be trusted with neither. I should
soon hear the walls opening, after the manner of your

Spanish earthquakes, and my money would vanish
in your little Spanish games.”

“I have nothing Spanish about me now,—my
games are all played. I have no other country than
the spot you give me, and, absolutely, no other tie
outside of it.”

“So much the better for you. Avoid ties.”

“I have a little money over there.”

“Well.”

“I would like to have it over here.”

“Is it in bags? Come, Sebastian, what are you
at?”

The statement of Sebastian's wishes and explanations
finally induced Argus to leave his employment
in Kent, and resume his idle habits. The liberty of the
elms at sunrise or sunset was his once more; the old
comedies came out from their retreat, and his tongue
regained its ancient bitterness,—which fact made
Mat Sutcliffe come to the conclusion that all was as
it should be with the Capen. Mary Sutcliffe, taking
the advantage of meal time one day, made a representation
to Mat, of the “goings on” at Temple
House in this period; although inartistic, she was
quite able to seize Sebastian's individuality and describe
his influence.

“Your Mr. Ford,” she said, “is a vagabones. His
dark blood is too thick for work, but thin enough for
deviltry. The Sea turned him into the Gates family,
and he could, if he willed to do so, turn the Gates
family into the sea. As for that ship being his,—it
wasn't,—the cargo wasn't. What was the cargo, I

should like to know? Rum? Slaves? Opium?
But the sea did not swallow all,—it left something
which he carried in his face;—better for some folks
if it had swallowed it. I tell you he can wind women
round his little finger; he draws them out of
themselves with his narrow eyes, that cut like
a knife. I feel 'em, when he looks at me, at the back
of my head; it seems as if I must part his eyebrows
and look into them for something he knows is a treasure.
Up at the house, it is go here, and go there, as
polite as pie. `Chloe, where is my flower-glass?'
`Roxalana, sit here.' `Tempe, will you have a
chair?' `Argus, here, oh, Argus, do!' Now, who
who is your Mr. Ford, that he should drum the Gates
family up and down with his tongue? I say he'll
turn out to be the wuss kind of a vagabones.”

“Georgey likes him,” replied Mat seriously.

“And Argus?”

“Yes.”

“And Roxalana?”

“Yes.”

“And Chloe?”

“Yes.”

“And how about Tempe?”

“She doesn't like him.”

“I say she does.”

“I say she does not.” And Mat struck his plate
smartly with his knife, jumped to his feet, planted
his hands on the table, and eyed Mary angrily. She
poured herself a cup of tea from a battered teapot at
her elbow, with an affectation of calmness.

“You know she couldn't like a swarthy foreigner,”
he continued. “It's impossible. She shan't.”

“Cat's foot! he aint a foreigner, he is a man,—and
as handsome as ever he can live; handsomest creature
I ever laid eyes on; beats that English buster, Carfield,
up at the Forge, and going to marry Virginia
Brande, to rags; beats everybody in wits. Roxalana
Gates will crawl on her hands and knees for him;
Capen Gates would sell his soul and body for him;
Tempe would lie her eyes out, and cheat the devil
to catch him. And you, I couldn't say what you
wouldn't demean yourself in, to please that ugly,
dark, cross-looking gypsy.”

“Slack your jaw, or I'll choke you. It is through
his means that the Capen can do as he likes now;
that reglar work used him up nigh. Gates is web-footed,
he can only paddle ashore; he aint fit for
business, and you know it; that's the reason he's a
miser, you fool. Maybe,—but I haven't thought of
it before,—that's the reason he won't—but things
are going on right up at the house, and you'd better
keep a civil tongue in your head.”

“If you've settled it, I hope you'll sit down
again, and go on with your beef and pork. Lord
knows it was long enough biling.”

“If it fails to go down it won't be for want of
sarse. You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Moll;
you are going on for fifty, and yet you keep being
a damned tartar.”

“I am three years younger than you are.”

“'Pears to me now, I had no excuse at all for taking

you alongside; I didn't put in for wrinkles, or a
red nose, or a bald spot on the top of your head.”

Mary's fortitude gave way and she began to cry,
and bite her apron.

“Go to your Fords,” she said, “and your Georgeys,
and stay. I can't get a stick of wood chopped,
nor a handful of shavings brought in to kindle my
fire with, by you. I might as well call on the town
now, as any time.”

“There, there,—it's all right, dry up; aint I coming
home to supper? This ere beef is first rate. I'll
tell you something. Mr. Ford has offered me wages
to keep the garden and lawn clean; and I think he
wants me to contrive to do the Capen's errands, and
be a kind of a right hand man for Mrs. Roxalana, in
matters she has had to do with respecting olds and
ends, you know.”

“I always knew that Mr. Ford would do what
was right. How much did he offer?”

“I'll let you know when I come back. Don't
say that again about the little gal,—will you?—
Tempe?”

“I did not mean it.”

“I knew you were in fun.”

But after he had gone, she said to herself, “Only
I did mean it. That man will marry Tempe. The
weight of Roxalana Gates's will is enough for that;
I know her slow brass. Sho, they are lumps of
putty in her hands. Down she goes on her hams,
and every soul of them gets crooked in the knee.
Smooth as pie-crust, sluggish as an eel in the mud,

but sensible as death—she knows what she is about.
There comes Sally Bayley with a bowl in one hand,
to borrow something, and my dishes are not
washed.”

Virginia also learned Sebastian's influence. Since
her interview with Argus she had given up her familiar
visits to Temple House, and went no more by
the path from the Forge. She now came through
the town, in her carriage generally, and in full dress
as if she were on a round of formal calls, which included
the Gates family. Arriving late one afternoon
on foot, with card-case, lace parasol, and enveloped
in a cashmere shawl, she dropped into a chair
with an expression in her face which Roxalana liked.

“I am tired out, Roxalana,” she exclaimed. “I
am sick of Mrs. Ring and Wing, and King. Their
front doors and tongues are alike; their religion,
flounces, and card-baskets are the same; their scandal
list and subscription list run neck and neck. Tell
me something different. Oh, how nice you are Roxalana;
pleasant old gown, and careless, twisted hair,
how I love you.”

“Do stay, Virginia; I have not seen you for
weeks. It is pleasant when you are here. Chloe
has brought me snatches and fragments of you, and
that is all I get. I feel as if an inquiry respecting
the Forge now would be an intrusion. I should be
very glad to have you speak of your affairs at home,
should you choose to do so.”

“Lowly, shabby, cigar-flavored room,” said Virginia,
“how delightful you are! cracked panes, sunken

hearthstone, mappy ceiling,—you are delicious!
Where did that flower-glass come from? A wild
flower in it,—who brings them here?”

“Sebastian.”

“No; I cannot stay, it is impossible.”

She tossed her card-case and parasol upon the table,
however, and unfastened her shawl.

“What a beautiful shawl!” said Roxalana, pinching
its texture.

“I wish you would take it for a rug; I see
yours on the hearth is full of holes.”

Roxalana laughed, and put out her foot to designate
the newest one, and Virginia saw that her
shoes had holes also.

“Let us put our feet on the shawl this minute,
Roxalana.” And Virginia threw it on the floor, and
trampled it.

“What a beautiful dress,” said Roxalana. “I
am fond of this soft, heavy, black silk, and I prefer
velvet trimming, too.”

“Does my fine dress please you, dear?”

“It is an agreeable change for my eyes. You
knew we are not strong on finery in any respect.”

“Where is Mr. Ford? I have not met him
since his return.”

“I am surprised. He is on his usual ramble.
Why,—when did you see Argus last?”

“The very night of his return,—Mr. Ford,—
I mean to Temple House.”

“Where was he?”

“At our house; he came to see father.”

“Argus is an inscrutable man; I do not approve
of him at all. Did you see him?”

Virginia clasped her hands nervously, but looked
steadily at Roxalana and answered, “I saw him
nearly all night.”

The dark red fire slowly kindled in Roxalana's
cheek.

“Where is that man?” she said, rolling her eyes,
“I want him. Who knew that you saw him?”

“Mr. Carfield.”

“Was he present throughout the interview?”

“I am sure that Argus put him out of the parlor:
but I do not know.”

Roxalana gave one of her shaking, short laughs,
which made Virginia smile in spite of her agitation.

“It is certain he fought for you, Virginia; but
why don't you know what he did?”

“Because, Roxalana, I had thrown myself at the
feet of Argus, and fell as senseless a heap as this
shawl is. I did so in the hope of escaping from Mr.
Carfield. I am a slave, Roxalana; I have the blood
and spirit of a slave, and cannot, dare not follow
even the imperious dictates of my passion. No; for
all I was desperate enough to toss my heart to
Argus, it was for defence. I am afraid of my father.
What shall I do?”

“Take off your gloves,” said Roxalana, in a stern
voice. “You must spend the remainder of the
afternoon with me. The time has past, certainly, for
fathers to compel their children into unwilling marriages.”

“But my own principles interfere with my wishes.
I cannot help believing just as he believes, about
the direction of my life. How can I disunite
myself from his well-knit, reasonable plans?”

“I do not see what a profound love has to do
with principle, or reason. If love was not a separate
power, impregnable to conscience, human nature
would be a feebly sustained thing. It should exist
for itself, and by itself, and then, through it, we poor
creatures may be exalted in spite of vice and crime.
Don't you think so? Would you like to live for
Argus?”

“Roxalana, you are the last person to aid me; in
my way, my father's way, I mean. Let me go now,
happy at least in having seen you.”

“Would you like to live for Argus?”

“Live for him! Do I not? Must I speak to you,
also, of the secret which makes me infinite? The
remembrance of his embrace, and the hope of it,
give immortality to my past and future. My
interior life rises and rolls like a flood over the thick
and purposeless darkness of my outward life. My
interior life consists of my love for Argus; my real
being is there, Roxalana. Its fine tissues vibrate
and sparkle under its sway, as running waters under
a moonlight sky. I acknowledge it strange, but I
believe that in me Love has completed his divine
circle. Argus belongs to my happiness,—in soul
and body. To live with him would be to renounce
the terrors, pain, and evil of my odious and enforced
existence. It would prove so seductive and binding

an alliance that conscience would vaguely accuse me
of falling into the depths of a great temptation, from
which I should never beseech God to deliver me.
You have known this, Roxalana, have you not, my
sister?”

Roxalana fell back on the density which always
aided her when people passed beyond her limits.
Faithful as she was to the ideal of love, she was
incapable of approaching the meaning of Virginia's
passion, and wandered at once from the intensity of
the scene, with the happy sense which made her so
invaluable a relief to those attached to her.

“I couldn't leave him, you may be quite sure; life
would be somewhat valueless, if absent from him.
As I said, I do not in many respects approve of him.
He has cold, hard manners, but he is sincere and
proud; these traits have made his habits simple;
simple habits, if practiced a long time, will have a
good effect upon the character. Our life is meagre
enough, as you have doubtless observed. For years
we have had to manage on small means; we are
acquainted with all sorts of economies. Could you
endure the change? Would you not grow rather
sick of `pleasant old gowns,' if you were compelled
to wear them?”

It struck Virginia she would not look as well in
them as Roxalana did; and a sad feeling stole
over her at the thought of the impossibility of ever
making herself a harmonious portion of Temple
House.

“I would not invade your premises, unless I came

to learn of you,” she answered. “And as I have
learned so much on compulsion, it would not be
difficult to learn a little more.”

“I think I would not like to have you come with
money; it might unsettle us terribly. I am sure
Argus dislikes the cares of property. Sebastian has
none, or very little,—enough barely to cover his
small expenses with us, and it makes his being here
appear so much the more an admirable arrangement.
You are aware how entirely he suits Argus.”

“Argus came to our house to pay back borrowed
money.”

“Did he? I knew nothing of it.”

“It was borrowed for Mr. Ford's use, I know; he
never would have borrowed it for his own.”

“Yet you must recollect that Argus had business
transactions with your father years ago.”

“He put his hand on my head once, when I was
a little girl, and looking up I saw his face for the
first time, and I liked him then. And now I will
go.”

She began drawing on her gloves, leisurely.
Roxalana stepped to the door and called in Chloe.

“Your Missey will stay till evening, provided I
send you home with her. I am greatly inclined to
have her see us at our tea-table. Look up Tempe,
Chloe, and I will bring down Georgey. You must
have a sight of my boy, Virginia; he is the most
intelligent child you ever saw,—wise beyond his
months, and more beautiful than any picture.”

“If I must stay, I must,” replied Virginia. “There

is no help for you, Chloe; to tell the truth I am glad
to have my scruples overcome.”

“The gentlemen will be expecting you back, Missey,”
said Chloe, shaking Virginia's shawl, and
folding it. “Spec' the Forge fires will die down
dead, and Mr. Brande will take hisself to his bed,
Mr. Carfield will betake hisself to all out doors if
you don't show yourself behind our china tea cups at
seven o'clock precisely. 'Pears to me I am a-going
to walk home with you, and so slow to-night; and
that after I get there I shall play Indian. Mis' Gates,
have you seen any Indian in me for ever so long?
Haven't I been regular in life's warfare?”

“Your conduct is acceptable, Chloe,” said Roxalana.
“Perhaps you had better pass the night at
Mr. Brande's.”

“Do you know that I never go and come by the
path now?” asked Virginia.

“Missey, you are welcome to any whim you can
indulge yourself with. The Lord knows your
chances are few enough.”

Virginia, seated at the table soon after, slowly
drinking tea from the old frail china, and tasting
Roxalana's most famous sweetmeats, drifted entirely
from the Brande world, and was wafted like a feather
in the currents of the surrounding atmosphere, which
filled her with a serene pleasure.

Her voice and manner, confiding, winning, submissive,
struck even Tempe and Chloe; the noble movement
of her head, her dewy, lustrous eyes, and full,
eager lips, her beautiful jewelled hands, and the exquisite

art of her sombre dress, made Sebastian recoil,
as if his memory had received an unexpected blow.
The isolation of Argus, which had wrapped him in a
cool, colorless cloud, seemed about to part and leave
him as he was before. For the time Argus could
not resist a subtle arrogance, which Virginia's love
gave him. His domineering eyes and tongue flashed
upon her, and withdrew; Sebastian was reminded of
the revolving lights he had seen on the lonely northern
coast, and wondered if the solitary Argus was
aware of his brilliancy. Roxalana's quiet, solid,
animal spirit enjoyed the scene. It was, in her estimation,
a reasonable entertainment, which could
have no reaction. No extra candles were burning,
and there was not too much tea in the teapot.
Chloe's management was both safe and agreeable
throughout, and there was no cause for worriment;
moreover, the assembly consisted of all the persons
she loved and admired. She ate little or nothing,—
for that was her habit; sat almost silent; and her face
was dark and heavy, as at all times, and her voice
drawling and meaningless in accent. Yet she was felt
as an object of genuine force.

“Is this like the old time, Virginia,” inquired
Tempe; “when you were in the way of running down
from the Forge alone? It is not to me.”

“It is different,” Virginia replied.

Chloe caught the glance, as it passed between Argus
and Virginia, which revealed their secret. She
instantly, though offering cake, made a mental prayer,
entreating God not to prevent the match; for there

was conversion and money in it for Argus, peace, freedom
and indulgence for Virginia. She also prayed
that Mr. Carfield might be removed.

“Miss Brande,” said Sebastian, “I collect your
cold, lonely wild flowers, they surprise me so! Where
may I not, in this strange soil, find the most beautiful
blossom? I recall a poet who said—`the love
which speaks, sings, wails in one part of creation, reveals
itself in the other half under the form of flowers.'
The counterpart of these pale, perfect, frail flowers
—what can it be?”

A brilliant color flew into Tempe's face, and she
exclaimed, “The flowers you bring home, Sebastian
last six weeks only, and then even their stalks and
leaves die down to the ground.”

“It is only a common love they designate after all,
you see,” said Argus. “Are you also developing a
botanical taste, Tempe?”

“I despise flowers, and those who love them,” she
answered.

“Tempe,” said Roxalana, “why do you choose to
be contrary just at this moment, on the infrequent
occasion of Virginia's visit? You like my tulips
very well.”

“The sight of them makes me sick.”

“She is a little cactus,” Sebastian said, in a low
tone to Virginia.

“Our conservatory is in beautiful order, Tempe,”
said Virginia, with a smile to Sebastian; “I am sure
you would like those queer foreign plants.”

“I like little that is foreign,—neither cactus, nor

aloes, nor pine-apples, centipedes, scorpions, parrots.”

“I shall yet fetch you a pink cockatoo, prettier
than yourself, Miss Tempe,” said Sebastian.

“And Chloe must fetch me from this,” said Virginia,
looking at her watch, “since you decree, Roxalana,
that I am to be escorted.”

“I think,” said Argus quietly, “I heard your carriage
at the gate just now.”

Roxalana looked sternly at Virginia, and said, “If
that Mr. Carfield has come for you, as I presume he
has, in his capacity as your jailor, I hope he will
break his neck in coming up the steps. Argus, if I
were you—”

“Don't Argus me,” interrupted Argus roughly,
“Moses is walking up the path. Mr. Carfield will
not enter our doors.”

But he was mistaken. Chloe let in Mr. Carfield,
with a crushed hat in one hand, and a twisted glove
in the other; he was perfectly unconcerned, and his
lips were parted by a gay smile as he made a low
bow to Roxalana, who immediately folded her hands
rigidly, and stared at him. His glance caught up the
countenances of every person present; in the face of
Argus he read an entire understanding of the insolence
which had brought him hither. Virginia mechanically
introduced him, and made a hasty sign to
Tempe, who refused to recognize it.

“It became cloudy suddenly, Miss Brande,” said
Mr. Carfield, “and your father mentioning your dress
as unfit to encounter a shower, thought best to send

for you. I drove over in the wagon, accordingly.”

“Thank you,” she replied; “I did not dream of a
storm, it has been so bright and pleasant here.”

“I imagined it,” he returned. “Mrs. Gates is the
soul of hospitality, I have been told. Temple
House is a refuge,—catholic, tranquil, refined.”

“You are right, sir,” Sebastian remarked. “What
happy circumstance gave you this penetration, since
unlike myself, you were not allowed to reach this
haven?”

“Your accuracy is remarkable,” added Roxalana.

“There will be no storm, Virginia,” interrupted
Argus, who had been at the window to scan the sky;
“if you prefer walking home, I will go with you.”

“Cannot I go also?” asked Sebastian.

Virginia, who stood shawled and gloved, with her
eyes on the floor, hesitated; the idea of her way between
Temple House and the Forge being attended
by the three men was an oppressive one. She
dreaded, also, lest a second devastating scene should
occur with Argus and Mr. Carfield, if the same
chance was offered them. Argus was weaker now,
she knew,—his heart was opening for her, and Mr.
Carfield was a devil. Yet the idea of the two mile
drive with him, in the dark, behind his rushing black
stallion, between whom and himself was a feud of
kicks, snorts, curses and blows, was still worse. There
was an instant of silence; Tempe glided round the
table, and under the pretence of pulling out Virginia's
bonnet strings, whispered:

“I would not go with you, for you wanted to make

me a cat's paw; I understand. I won't make speeches
to your beau, for the sake of having you keep your
mouth shut. And now Sebastian wants to be a cat's
paw. Pretty doings, I should think.”

“Tempe, you weary me,” Virginia whispered harshly.
“Heaven help me, you think there are no limits
to my patience.”

Tempe, with a shrug, turned from her and met Mr
Carfield's eyes; an electricity passed from one to
the other, and revealed an evil affinity. He saw
that her sharp, passionate, ethereal face was suited
to the tortures which self-will, hatred, and suspicion
can inflict; and she felt by intuition that he possessed
the force given by such traits, and that it could be
excited without scruple.

“Did you drive Black Tom down?” asked Virginia
suddenly, looking up at Mr. Carfield. “You
know how much I am afraid of him.”

He replied that he came with another horse,
though at that time Black Tom was knocking his
jaws against the stone underpinning of the gully wall,
and lolling his tongue with the pain of his bit. Without
a word Virginia kissed Roxalana and swept out
of the room; Mr. Carfield, waving his glove by way
of a parting salute, stepped quickly after her, and
was followed by Argus and Sebastian. They found
Chloe down by the gate with a lantern. She held it
over the palings as Virginia descended the steps,
and saw by its light that Mr. Carfield had lied to
her; he was untying Black Tom's rein from the ring
in the wall. There was no retreat for her; she must

go with him now, and turning to Argus, she thrust
him back, and said:

“Don't come any further, Argus; good night. My
heart is broken, and hope that my neck may be.”

He took her hand, and kissed it, and let her
go; Sebastian, catching a glimpse of the act, hastily
swung over the palings with Chloe.

“Why, damn this gentleman,” he said coolly; “it
strikes me that this is the Black Tom she is afraid of.”

Virginia, already in the wagon, raised her face at
the sound of his voice, and the sad, sweet, pale vision,
framed in the darkness, and plunging through
it, out of sight, to the thundering sound of the
madly beating iron feet, made his brain dizzy, and his
heart throb—the waves surged over him again,—
singing, sparkling, multitudinous, boundless!

“Roll over me, then,” he muttered, “and leave me
dead, or free forever. To die, and come to life in
convulsion; to open weary eyes in the blaze and triumph
of other eyes; to speak the extorted words,
lips to lips; to drag, lift, wing my soul through
that maze whose winding ways but come back to
their mysterious beginning, and start again soul by
soul—no!”

“Have marsy,” said Chloe, rattling her lantern; “I
knew it. If I hadn't been afraid, while you were
all bowing and scraping inside, I'd ha' poured scalding
water down on that horse; I could ha' done it,
the kettle was full, hissing on the fire; but I should
have been turned out of meeting. I should never
hear the last of it from Mr. Brande; with his handkerchief

he'd ha' waved me into perdition; and so I
said, `Go away, Indian, come again, Christian,'
lighted my lantern, and walked down here 'spectable.”

“You are all afraid here, Chloe,—except Roxalana,—she
is a great soul, living largely in little
things.”

“When we want to commit a deadly sin, the most
of us aint a mite afraid; but in the `how-are-you's,'
and `do come agains,' we are much afraid.”

They heard Argus scratching a match on the
steps.

“No matter whether he sees his way into the
house or not,” she said angrily.

“Certainly not. Go in yourself; I shall stay out
and smoke. The moon is rising.”

As she disappeared up the path, Argus came up
the steps and offered Sebastian a cigar.

“I thought so,” he said.

Sebastian, having politely accepted the cigar,
smoked, said nothing, and fixed his eyes on the
moon just tossing up the crest of King's Hill, in a
mass of pearly spume, and throwing a spectral light
against the house and lawn.

“I thought so, from his lying face,” continued Argus.
“It did not surprise me to see the brute he
loves to drive and beat.”

“Indeed!” said Sebastian at last, with an effort to
obtain a better view of the moon, which averted his
head from Argus. “And you did not break the jaws
of the two beasts?”

Argus chuckled, swore, drew a fiery star at the

end of his cigar, threw it over the fence, and
said:

“Are you cold, Sebastian?”

“On the contrary.”

“On fire, then?”

“Is not the first touch of ice like fire?”

“I shall tell you something Can you stay out in
the air till I have done? I would have you.”

“Very well, Argus, go on.”

Argus related his experience with Mr. Carfield,
and in spite of himself betrayed the part Virginia
played in their interview at Brande's house. The
moon, swelling over the crowding vapor, hung in the
clear sky above their heads, and illuminated the spot
where the dark figures with pale faces stood. To
Sebastian's mind it appeared to be the illumination,
cold, distant, glittering, which showed him Virginia's
form wrapped in the camlet cloak as Argus described
her.

“You and the Englishman are rivals then,” he said.

“No.”

“How shall I understand you?”

“The devil! what do you wish to understand?
Have I not this moment explained the reason of
my not falling upon Carfield. I do not fancy the
business of avenger.”

“Take care; love for an imbroglio is in my
blood. My terrible bath in your bay, which I
hear now shivering like a hound, did not wash it
out. Argus, do you love that girl? Why not?”

“Pooh, what are you talking about? I am fine

for a lover,—don't you think? Come; we have
been out here long enough.”

“And she flew from her father's house to escape
that man,—flew to you for protection.”

“Which I did not give her,” said Argus, savagely.
“Still, did you not see her happy to-night?
Oh, she belongs in her place, and I in mine.”

“She is beautiful.”

“Do you think so?”

“I have a mind to stroll along the shore; will
you come, Argus, with another cigar?”

“No, Sebastian, I never go now where the horizon
extends itself. The bay looks well to-night, by
the position of the moon, limitless to the south.
You will like it. I'll turn into my chamber.”