Afloat and Ashore Part 43

The front seat of the box had two vacant places. The bench would hold six, while it had yet only four. The audience, however, was still a.s.sembling, and, presently, a stir in Lucy's box denoted the arrival of company. The whole party moved, and Andrew Drewett handed an elderly lady in, his mother, as I afterwards ascertained, and took the other place himself. I watched the salutations that were exchanged, and understood that the new comers had been expected. The places had been reserved for them, and old Mrs. Drewett was doubtless the _chaperone;_ though, one having a brother and the other a father with her, the two young ladies had not hesitated about preceding the elderly lady. They had come from different quarters of the town, and had agreed to meet at the theatre. Old Mrs. Drewett was very particular in shaking hands with Lucy, though I had not the misery of seeing her son go through the same ceremony. Still he was sufficiently pointed in his salutations; and, during the movements, I perceived he managed to get next to Lucy, leaving the Major to entertain his mother. All this was natural, and what might have been expected; yet, it gave me a pang that I cannot describe.

I sat, for half an hour, perfectly inattentive to the play, meditating on the nature of my real position towards Lucy. I recalled the days of childhood and early youth; the night of my first departure from home; my return, and the incidents accompanying my second departure; the affair of the locket, and all I had truly felt myself, and all that I had supposed Lucy herself to feel, on those several occasions. Could it be possible I had so much deceived myself, and that the interest the dear girl had certainly manifested in me had been nothing but the fruits of her naturally warm and honest heart--her strong disposition to frankness-habit, as Rupert had so gently hinted in reference to ourselves? Then I could not conceal from myself the bitter fact that I was, now, no equal match for Lucy, in the eyes of the world. While she was poor, and I comparatively rich, the inequality in social station might have been overlooked; it existed, certainly, but was not so very marked that it might not, even in that day, be readily forgotten; but now, Lucy was an heiress, had much more than double my own fortune--had a fortune indeed; while I was barely in easy circ.u.mstances, as persons of the higher cla.s.ses regarded wealth. The whole matter seemed reversed.

It was clear that a sailor like myself, with no peculiar advantages, those of a tolerable education excepted, and who was necessarily so much absent, had not the same chances of preferring his suit, as one of your town idlers; a nominal lawyer, for instance, who dropped in at his office for an hour or two, just after breakfast, and promenaded Broadway the rest of the time, until dinner; or a man of entire leisure, like Andrew Drewett, who belonged to the City Library set, and had no other connection with business than to see that his rents were collected and his dividends paid. The more I reflected, the more humble I became, he less my chances seemed and I determined to quit the theatre, at once.

The reader will remember that I was New York born and bred, a state of society in which few natives acted on the principle that "there was nothing too high to be aspired to, nothing too low to be done."

I admitted I had superiors, and was willing to defer to the facts and opinions of the world as I knew it.

In the lobby of the building, I experienced a pang at the idea of quitting the place without getting one look at the face of Lucy. I was in an humble mood, it is true, but that did not necessarily infer a total self-denial. I determined, therefore, to pa.s.s into the pit, with my box-check, feast my eyes by one long gaze at the dear creature's ingenuous countenance, and carry away the impression, as a lasting memorial of her whom I so well loved, and whom I felt persuaded I should ever continue to love. After this indulgence, I would studiously avoid her, in order to release my thoughts as much as possible from the perfect thraldom in which they had existed, ever since I had heard of Mrs. Bradfort's death. Previously to that time, I am afraid I had counted a little more than was becoming on the ease of my own circ.u.mstances, and Lucy's comparative poverty. Not that I had ever supposed her to be in the least mercenary--this I knew to be utterly, totally false--but because the good town of Manhattan, even in 1803, was _tant soit peu_ addicted to dollars, and Lucy's charms would not be likely to attract so many suitors, in the modest setting of a poor country clergyman's means, as in the golden frame by which they had been surrounded by Mrs. Bradfort's testamentary devise, even supposing Rupert to come in for quite one half.

I had no difficulty in finding a convenient place in the pit; one, from which I got a front and near view of the whole six, as they sat ranged side by side. Of the Major and old Mrs. Drewett it is unnecessary to say much. The latter looked as all dowager-like widows of that day used to appear, respectable, staid, and richly attired. The good lady had come on the stage during the revolution, and had a slightly military air--a _parade_ in her graces, that was not altogether unknown to the _eleves_ of that school. I dare say she could use such words as "martinets,"

"mowhairs," "brigadiers," and other terms familiar to her cla.s.s. Alas!

how completely all these little traces of the past are disappearing from our habits and manners!

As for the Major, he appeared much better in health, and altogether altered in mien. I could readily detect the influence of the world on him; He was evidently a so much greater man in New York than he had been whew I found him in London, that it is not wonderful he felt the difference. Between the acts, I remarked that all the princ.i.p.al persons in the front rows were desirous of exchanging nods with the "British officer," a proof that he was circulating freely in the best set, and had reached a point, when "not to know him, argues yourself unknown."

{Footnote *: The miserable moral dependence of this country on Great Britain, forty years since, cannot well be brought home to the present generation. It is still too great, but has not a t.i.the of its former force. The writer has himself known an Italian Prince, a man of family and of high personal merit, pa.s.s unnoticed before a society that was eager to make the acquaintance of most of the "agents" of the Birmingham b.u.t.ton dealers; and this simply because one came from Italy and the other from England. The following anecdote, which is quite as true as any other fact in this work, furnishes a good example of what is meant.

It is now a quarter of a century since the writer's first book appeared.

Two or three months after the publication, he was walking down Broadway with a friend, when a man of much distinction in the New York circles was pa.s.sing up, on the other side-walk. The gentleman in question caught the writer's eye, bowed, and _crossed the street_, to shake hands and inquire after the author's health. The difference in years made this attention marked. "You are in high favour," observed the friend, as the two walked away, to "have ---- pay you such a compliment--your book must have done this." "Now mark my words--I have been puffed in some English magazine, and ---- knows it." The two were on their way to the author's publishers, and, on entering the door, honest Charles Wiley put a puff on the book in question into the writer's hand! What rendered the whole more striking, was the fact that the paragraph was as flagrant a puff as was ever written, and had probably been paid for, by the English publisher. The gentleman in question was a man of talents and merit, but he had been born half a century too soon, to enjoy entire mental independence in a country that had so recently been a colony.]

Emily certainly looked well and happy. I could see that she was delighted with Rupert's flattery, and I confess I cared very little for his change of sentiment, or his success. That both Major and Emily Merton were different persons in the midst of the world and in the solitudes of the Pacific, was as evident as it was that I was a different personage in command of the Crisis, and in the pit of the Park theatre. I dare say, at that moment. Miss Merton had nearly forgotten that such a man as Miles Wallingford existed, though I think she sometimes recalled the string of magnificent pearls that were to ornament the neck of his wife, should he ever find any one to have him.

But, Lucy, dear, upright, warm-hearted, truth-telling, beloved Lucy! all this time, I forget to speak of her. There she sat in maiden loveliness, her beauty still more developed, her eye as beaming, l.u.s.trous, feeling, as ever, her blush as sensitive, her smile as sweet, and her movements as natural and graceful. The simplicity of her half-mourning, too, added to her beauty, which was of a character to require no further aid from dress, than such as was dependent purely on taste. As I gazed at her, enthralled, I fancied nothing was wanting to complete the appearance, but my own necklace. Powerful, robust man as I was, with my frame hardened by exposure and trials, I could have sat down and wept, after gazing some time at the precious creature, under the feeling produced by the conviction that I was never to renew my intercourse with her, on terms of intimacy at least. The thought that from day to day we were to become more and more strangers, was almost too much to be borne. As it was, scalding tears forced themselves to my eyes, though I succeeded in concealing the weakness from those around me. At length the tragedy terminated, the curtain dropped, and the audience began to move about.

The pit which had, just before, been crowded, was now nearly empty, and I was afraid of being seen. Still, I could not tear myself away, but remained after nine-tenths of those around me had gone into the lobbies.

It was easy, now, to see the change which had come over Lucy's position, in the attentions she received. All the ladies in the princ.i.p.al boxes had nods and smiles for her and half the fashionable-looking young men in the house crowded round her box, or actually entered it to pay their compliments. I fancied Andrew Drewett had a self-satisfied air that seemed to say, "you are paying your homage indirectly to myself, in paying it to this young lady." As for Lucy, my jealous watchfulness could not detect the smallest alteration in her deportment, so far as simplicity and nature were concerned. She appeared in a trifling degree more womanly, perhaps, than when I saw her last, being now in her twentieth year; but the attentions she received made no visible change in her manners. I had become lost in the scene, and was standing in a musing att.i.tude, my side face towards the box, when I heard a suppressed exclamation, in Lucy's voice. I was too near her to be mistaken, and it caused the blood to rush to my heart in a torrent. Turning, I saw the dear girl, with her hand extended over the front of the box, her face suffused with blushes, and her eyes riveted on myself. I was recognised, and the surprise had produced a display of all that old friendship, certainly, that had once existed between us, in the simplicity and truth of childhood.

"Miles Wallingford!" she said, as I advanced to shake the offered hand, and as soon as I was near enough to permit her to speak without attracting too much attention--"_you_ arrived, and _we_ knew nothing of it!"

It was plain Rupert had said nothing of having seen me, or of our interview in the street. He seemed a little ashamed, and leaned forward to say--

"I declare I forgot to mention, Lucy, that I met Captain Wallingford as I was going to join the Colonel and Miss Merton. Oh! we have had a long talk together, and it will save you a history of past events."

"I may, nevertheless, say," I rejoined, "how happy I am to see Miss Hardinge looking so well, and to be able to pay my compliments to my old pa.s.sengers."

Of course I shook hands with the Major and Emily, bowed to Drewett, was named to his mother, and was invited to enter the box, as it was not quite in rule to be conversing between the pit and the front rows. I forgot my prudent resolutions, and was behind Lucy in three minutes.

Andrew Drewett had the civility to offer me his place, though it was with an air that said plain enough "what do _I_ care for _him_--he is a ship-master, and I am a man of fashion and fortune, and can resume my seat at any moment, while the poor fellow can only catch his chances, as he occasionally _comes into port_." At least, I fancied his manner said something like this.

"Thank you, Mr. Drewett," said Lucy, in her sweetest manner. "Mr.

Wallingford and I are very, _very_ old friends,--you know he is Grace's brother, and you have been at Clawbonny"--Drewett bowed, civilly enough--"and I have a thousand things to say to him. So, Miles, take this seat, and let me hear all about your voyage."

As half the audience went away as soon as the tragedy ended, the second seat of the box was vacated, and the other gentlemen getting on it, to stretch their limbs, I had abundance of room to sit at Lucy's side, half facing her, at the same time. As she insisted on hearing my story, before we proceeded to anything else, I was obliged to gratify her.

"By the way, Major Merton," I cried, as the tale was closed, "an old friend of yours, Moses Marble by name, has come to life again, and is at this moment in New York."

I then related the manner in which I had fallen in with my old mate.

This was a most unfortunate self-interruption for me, giving the Major a fair opportunity for cutting into the conversation. The orchestra, moreover, giving notice that the curtain would soon rise for the after-piece, the old gentleman soon got me into the lobby to hear the particulars. I was supremely vexed, and I thought Lucy appeared sorry; but there was no help for it, and then we could not converse while the piece was going on.

"I suppose you care little for this silly farce," observed the Major, looking in at one of the windows, after I had gone over Marble's affair in detail. "If not, we will continue our walk, and wait for the ladies to come out. Drewett and Hardinge will take good care of them."

I a.s.sented, and we continued to walk the lobby till the end of the act.

Major Merton was always gentleman-like; and he even behaved to me, as if he remembered the many obligations he was under. He now communicated several little facts connected with his own circ.u.mstances, alluding to the probability of his remaining in America a few years. Our chat continued some time, my looks frequently turning towards the door of the box, when my companion suddenly observed--

"Your old acquaintances the Hardinges have had a lucky wind-fall--one, I fancy, they hardly expected, a few years Since."

"Probably not; though the estate has fallen into excellent hands," I answered. "I am surprised, however, that Mrs. Bradfort did not leave the property to the old gentleman, as it once belonged to their common grandfather, and he properly stood next in succession."

"I fancy she thought the good parson would not know what to do with it.

Now, Rupert Hardinge is clever, and spirited, and in a way to make a figure in the world; and it is probably in better hands, than if it had been left first to the old gentleman."

"The old gentleman has been a faithful steward to me, and I doubt not would have proved equally so to his own children. But, does Rupert get _all_ Mrs. Bradfort's property?"

"I believe not; there is some sort of a trust, I have heard him say; and I rather fancy that his sister has some direct or reversionary interest.

Perhaps she is named as the heir, if he die without issue. There _was_ a silly story, that Mrs. Bradfort had left everything to Lucy; but I have, it from the best authority, that _that_ is not true--" The idea of Rupert Hardinge's being the "best authority" for any thing; a fellow who never knew what unadulterated truth was, from the time he was in petticoats, or could talk!--"As I _know_ there is a trust, though one of no great moment; I presume Lucy has some contingent interest, subject, most probably, to her marrying with her brother's approbation, or some such provision. The old lady was sagacious, and no doubt did all that was necessary."

It is wonderful how people daily deceive themselves on the subject of property; those who care the most about it, appearing to make the greatest blunders. In the way of bequests, in particular, the lies that are told are marvellous. It is now many years since I learned to take no heed of rumours on such subjects, and least of all, rumours that come from the cla.s.s of the money-gripers. Such people refer everything to dollars, and seldom converse a minute without using the word. Here, however, was Major Merton evidently Rupert's dupe; though with what probable consequences, it was not in my power to foresee. It was clearly not my business to undeceive him; and the conversation, getting to be embarra.s.sing, I was not sorry to hear the movement which announced the end of the act. At the box door, to my great regret, we met Mrs. Drewett retiring, the ladies finding the farce dull, and not worth the time lost in listening to it. Rupert gave me an uneasy glance, and he even dragged me aside to whisper--"Miles, what I told you this evening, is strictly a family secret, and was entrusted to a friend."

"I have nothing to do with your private concerns, Rupert--" I answered,--"only, let me expect you to act honourably, especially when women are concerned."

"Everything will come right, depend on it; the truth will set everything right, and all will come out, just as I predicted."

I saw Lucy looking anxiously around, while Drewett had gone to order the carriages to advance, and I hoped it might be for me. In a moment I was by her side; at the next, Mr. Andrew Drewett offered his arm, saying, her carriage "stopped the way." We moved into the outer lobby, in a body, and then it was found that Mrs. Drewett's carriage was up first, while Lucy's was in the rear. Yes, Lucy's carriage!--the dear girl having come into immediate possession of her relative's houses, furniture, horses, carriages, and everything else, without reserve, just as they had been left behind by the last inc.u.mbent, when she departed from the scene of life, to lie down in the grave. Mrs. Bradfort's arms were still on the chariot, I observed, its owner refusing all Rupert's solicitations to supplant them by those of Hardinge. The latter took his revenge, however, by telling everybody how generous he was in keeping a carriage for his sister.

The Major handed Mrs. Drewett in, and her son was compelled to say good night, to see his mother home. This gave me one blessed minute with Lucy, by herself. She spoke of Grace; said they had now been separated months, longer than they ever had been before in their lives, and that all her own persuasions could not induce my sister to rejoin her in town, while her own wish to visit Clawbonny had been constantly disappointed, Rupert insisting that her presence was necessary, for so many arrangements about business.

"Grace is not as humble as I was, in old times, Miles," said the dear girl, looking me in the face, half sadly, half reproachfully, the light of the lamp falling full on her tearful, tender eyes, "and I hope you are not about to imitate her bad example. She wishes us to know she has Clawbonny for a home, but I never hesitated to admit how poor we were, while you alone were rich."

"G.o.d bless you, Lucy!" I whispered, squeezing her hand with fervour--"It cannot be _that_--have you heard anything of Grace's health?"

"Oh! she is well, I know--Rupert tells me _that_, and her letters are cheerful and kind as ever, without a word of complaint. But I _must_ see her soon. Grace Wallingford and Lucy Hardinge were not born to live asunder. Here is the carriage; I shall see you in the morning, Miles--at breakfast, say--eight o'clock, precisely."

"It will be impossible--I sail for Clawbonny with the first of the flood, and that will make at four. I shall sleep in the sloop."

Major Merton put Lucy into the carriage; the good-nights were pa.s.sed, and I was left standing on the lowest step of the building gazing after the carriage, Rupert walking swiftly away.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

"Hear me a little; For I have only been silent so long, And given way unto this course of fortune, By noting of the lady: I have mark'd A thousand blushing apparitions start Into her face; a thousand innocent shames In angel whiteness bear away those blushes--"

SHAKESPEARE

I reached the Wallingford before eleven, where I found Neb in attendance with my trunks and other effects. Being now on board my own craft, I gave orders to profit by a favourable turn in the wind, and to get under-way at once, instead of waiting for the flood. When I left the deck, the sloop was above the State Prison, a point towards which the town itself had made considerable progress since the time I first introduced it to the reader. Notwithstanding this early start, we did not enter the creek until about eight in the morning of the second day.

No sooner was the vessel near enough, than my foot was on the wharf, and I began to ascend the hill. From the summit of the latter I saw my late guardian hurrying along the road, it afterwards appearing that a stray paper from town had announced the arrival of the Dawn, and that I was expected to come up in the sloop. I was received with extended hands, was kissed just as if I had still been a boy, and heard the guileless old man murmuring his blessings on me, and a prayer of thankfulness.

Nothing ever changed good Mr. Hardinge, who, now that he could command the whole income of his daughter, was just as well satisfied to live on the three or four hundreds he got from his glebe and his parish, as he ever had been in his life.