Mark Gildersleeve Part 16

I'm off to bed. I suppose you and Maggie will talk here for three hours yet;" and George retired with a stretch and a yawn.

When they were alone, Mrs. Gildersleeve touched on the topic nearest to her brother-in-law's heart. It was done in the light of an apology. She said: "In one of my letters, I am ashamed to say, I spoke censoriously and unjustly of Miss Heath, and I wish to take it all back; but it shows how particular we ought to be not to judge hastily. Miss Heath, I suppose you know, has come into her property, and her first thought and care is to carry out her father's intentions about building those charitable inst.i.tutions. It will cost ever so much. I believe Mr. Mumbie tried to prevent or rather persuade her not to lay out so much money, but she wouldn't listen to it; and they say is even going to spend more; but that's just like Edna Heath."

How intensely the colonel's heart indorsed that opinion. "Where is she now?" he inquired.

"She's living in New York, with the Mumbies. You must certainly pay her a visit, and renew your old acquaintance. Mr. Mumbie sold out his paper-mill, and has retired from business."

An hour or more of such conversation and Mark withdrew, to find himself again in his little bedroom. Nothing was disturbed. There was his bookcase with its narrow desk, where he had pa.s.sed so many hours in brain-racking devotions to the immortal Nine; and as he glanced over the turgid lines of some uncompleted poem in the portfolio, his smile justified the belief that time brought its own severe criticism to poetasters. There lay in their accustomed places his guitar and zithern, and over his bed-head hung, as of yore, the engraving of Carlo Dolce's _Mater Dolorosa_, whose exquisite mouth and chin were but counterparts of Edna's. It was so natural to lie in the bed where he had slept since childhood; and he seemed to breathe such an atmosphere of peace and quietude, that the tremendous events he had pa.s.sed through during three years, seemed like a hiatus in his life, or a dream. Did the war exist?

Here, all was tranquillity undisturbed by alarms; but away on the banks of the Appomattox, his brethren in arms slept in suspense; the vigilant picket watched the wily foe; the bursting sh.e.l.l tore the limbs of some sleeping soldier, and starving conscripts, in b.u.t.ternut rags, were flying from the rebel trenches to hospitable imprisonment within the Union lines. Such thoughts filled Mark's mind as he tossed uneasily on his downy couch and soft fringed pillow, until, to court slumber, he was obliged to wrap himself in a blanket, and seek repose on the hard floor.

The next morning, in his impatience to see Edna, he would have started at once for the metropolis, but there were his old a.s.sociates at the Works, who could not be neglected. He went there, and shook hands with them all, from Knatchbull to the youngest apprentice. How they all crowded around and questioned him, and seemed to be as much interested in him as if he belonged to them, while his brother stood by with an approving look, as if the colonel were entirely the product of his care and training. Mark found the Works still further enlarged; for his brother's business had increased prodigiously, and George, while alluding to this, did not fail to remark to the colonel, with a spice of malice, that if he had remained at home and accepted the partnership, he would by this time have possessed a small fortune. "A clear hundred thousand were the profits last year--a clear hundred thousand. What do you think of that, old man?" But the old man, as he affectionately called him, did not seem to think much about it, for he merely replied, "Glad to hear of it for your sake," and seemed as indifferent as ever to such favors. George then said, as a consolatory offset, "Whenever you want to come back, you're welcome. Your old place is waiting for you, and it will pay you better than soldiering in the end."

Then there was the visit to the Falls. No true Beltonian returning from a long absence ever failed to pay his devoirs at that shrine. It seemed as if the old legend of the Indians, that the Great Spirit abided there, had perpetuated itself, and found believers among their white successors. Mark pa.s.sed an hour of the fine January fore-noon in pleasant contemplation near the cataract. It was an old friend. Its roar, its crags, its emerald waters were familiar to him from childhood, when he spent holidays around the pebbly sh.o.r.es seeking flint arrow-heads, or in older years when he resorted thither to derive inspiration and metaphorically court the nymphs and dryads. The torrent that sped on in sublime and unceasing monotone had measured his existence like a clepsydra.

Mark extended his walk to the cliff--to the villa that had seemed to him a very palace of enchantment, and around which so many blissful a.s.sociations cl.u.s.tered. Here was the spot where he had made his first avowal of love, and he could almost recall the novel, delicious thrill with which he pressed Edna's hand to his lips. Now the gates were chained and locked, and their lamps broken by vagrant boys; the lodge was tenantless; the marble basin of the fountain choked with dead leaves, and its spouting swans decapitated; the grounds neglected, and the windows of the imposing structure blinded. How sad and deserted an aspect! How changed the place--once the abode of "elegant Eunomia," the G.o.ddess of his dreams! He remembered his surrept.i.tious visit and eavesdropping the night of Edna's party. Where were all that youth and beauty now? The sweeping wind answered with a dismal sigh. Was there any omen in this?

His reverie was cut short by the patter of horses' hoofs behind him. It was the four-in-hand of Mr. Nehemiah Gogglemush, a new-comer in Belton, who saluted him with a stare. This man, who seemed ambitious to succeed to the position of the late magnifico, was the inventor of the world-famous "Terpsich.o.r.ean Ointment," a corn-salve of marvellous virtue, that had brought him a fortune correspondingly marvellous. He had purchased a site on the cliff and reared a gorgeous pile, all turrets, gilt Tudor-flowers and weatherc.o.c.ks, which completely overshadowed Mr. Mumbie's dwelling. Gogglemush seemed to have no end of money and actually dared to set up a drag, while his wife and daughters made shameful exhibitions of themselves in diamonds, point-lace, India shawls; and deported themselves generally in a way that no person in their station, and connected with corn-salve, who had any regard for public opinion, would venture to. Moreover, at church the Misses Adela and Angela Gogglemush, in all their odious finery, monopolized the attention of the congregation, and even the rector was reported to be not indifferent to the attractions of the younger of the two.

Of course it was impossible for the Mumbies to live in constant proximity to such vulgarity, and especially as there was absolutely no one now in the place, except Judge Hull's family, with whom they could a.s.sociate, as Mrs. Mumbie said, they had been forced to remove to New York.

On his return Mark stopped for a moment at St. Jude's. The s.e.xton wanted to show him the beautiful memorial windows, presented by Miss Heath in honor of her father and mother. Mark peopled the edifice with its old frequenters--with handsome, refined Mr. Heath, dignifiedly condescending, as if he were willing to meet his Maker half way; with Edna's sweet, uplifted, attentive profile; devout, slow-winking Mrs.

Applegate, and in the opposite pew, pompous Mr. Mumbie, who occupied one corner with such upright, unvarying exact.i.tude, that he served as a sundial to Mark to measure the service, when the purple ray from a lancet-window moved over the capacious white waistcoat of the portly paper-maker. The new-comers had taken possession of that pew now, for Mark saw in it several richly bound octavo prayer-books, stamped with the name Gogglemush, hideous in Gothic text.

Mark now proceeded to call on Dr. Wattletop. The information in regard to the latter's pecuniary condition, imparted by Mrs. Gildersleeve, troubled her brother-in-law, and he was anxious to offer any a.s.sistance that the physician was likely to accept; but when the colonel, after much hesitation and circ.u.mlocution, hinted at his desire, Dr. Wattletop cut him short with a "Thanks--thanks, my dear boy, I'm quite easy. You must know that Miss Heath has requested me to accept, at a handsome salary, the position of physician-in-chief to the hospital she is erecting for the county. n.o.ble girl, that--though I don't know after all that she's doing any more than her duty," he hastened to add, fearing that he might have been betrayed into admiration or approval of generosity. "The world, though, is so const.i.tuted, so warped from all ideas of justice, that the mere performance of a single act of duty is greeted with applause. Sad commentary, that. Pokemore is a.s.sociated with me in the management. There was an effort made to foist this humbug Keene upon us. But Pokemore and I at once declared that we would not listen to it, and should consider it an insult and resign at once if this ignoramus and quack were attached in any way to the inst.i.tution. We carried our point, of course."

Mark reflected on this instance of inconsistency in the doctor. Tolerant and unprejudiced he was towards every system and opinion save one--the one that attacked his professional judgment, and therefore self-love.

The doctor had grown garrulous with age, and gave Mark a long and circ.u.mstantial account of the illness and last hours of Dagon; and then branched off into the exposition of some of his theories respecting future existence. All this was listened to with respectful impatience by the colonel, who was eager to return home and prepare himself to take the afternoon train to New York. He was disappointed in this intention, for he found himself obliged to attend a little tea-party that evening, given by Mrs. Sniffen in honor of his return.

XIX.

The next day Mark arrived in New York. He alighted at the "Albemarle"

and proceeded at once to make himself as presentable as his worn uniform would permit, and after a deal of brushing came out almost as smart-looking as a West Point cadet. As the time for the longed-for meeting neared, an unaccountable timidity seized him, and it required more s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up of his courage to ring the door-bell of Mr. Mumbie's house, than it would to have made him charge a battery. The new residence of the Mumbies was one of those extravagant structures that line the Fifth Avenue, and costly enough to be the domicil of a duke.

Mark asked to see Miss Heath. The domestic who answered his ring replied that he did not know whether she were in or not, but would go and see--would the gentleman give his name?

Mark sent up a card and the servant returned with a "not at home."

When would she be in?

Servant couldn't tell--uncertain--didn't know.

The colonel went away, found some brother officers at the hotel, and dined with them. Afterwards he returned to Mr. Mumbie's, but met with no better success; Miss Heath was still "not at home." Disappointed again, Mark returned to his hotel and retired to his room to smoke in gloomy meditation and solitude. He was debating upon the propriety of calling again that day, when his privacy was invaded by one of the officers he had dined with. Being an old comrade of the colonel, he burst in unceremoniously, "Where the devil have you been, Gildersleeve? I've been looking all over for you the past two hours. Want to see you badly.

What's the matter, old boy; you look awfully down in the mouth. Not sick, I hope? Here, rouse up; I've got an invite for you to a grand shine to-night. It's a big blow-out, and we'll have some fun."

Mark drew from its envelope an engraved card imparting the information that the pleasure of his company was requested by Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel at No. ---- Madison Square, on that evening.

"What's this, major?" inquired Mark; "Who is Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel?"

"Don't know the Van Spuytenduyvels! Why, benighted boy, the Van Spuytenduyvels are one of the most ill.u.s.trious and stupid families in the State, and of the best blood of the Knickerbockers. The wretches wallow in wealth. Where stands yon costly fane was once the ancestral cabbage plantation of the Van Spuytenduyvels. However, that's neither here nor there. The lady is an old friend of mine, and that's enough.

Met her a while ago--mentioned you--told her you were a good-looking boy, battle-scarred, and all that sort o' thing; and she said, bring him along, by all means, and made me promise besides. So don't look so bored; go you must."

"Go, nonsense! Why should I go?" said Mark, in no mood for trifling. "I don't know this lady."

"I told you that I had recorded a solemn vow to bring you, and you've got to go, w.i.l.l.y-nilly," said the major, imperturbably.

"But I've no dress suit," expostulated Mark.

"Dress suit, hear the innocent! Not any, thank you. Why, you stupid, you'd spoil all in a swallow-tail coat. What the deuce do you suppose Mrs. V. S. wants of you in black with a white choker? Haven't you sense enough to see that all she cares is to have the proper complement of gilt b.u.t.tons and straps in her rooms? As for you, my bold soldier boy, you're no account whatever, and she don't just care two pins for your valorous and gallant self; so be sensible--be sensible. Brush up your spread-eagles and prepare; but first get sheared, for you look like a bushwacker with those elf-locks."

The advice was in order, for Mark, in singular contrast with his former scrupulousness in that respect, had become rather neglectful of his personal appearance, and his long black hair floating carelessly down his neck befitted the chief of a band of jay-hawkers better than a spruce Federal officer. "Bestir yourself, Gil; you haven't much time,"

added the major, as a parting injunction. "I'll call for you at ten."

Ten o'clock came, and with it the major, who found Mark still in the same att.i.tude, unprepared, and ruefully refilling his pipe.

"Now, Gildersleeve, I'll not stand this," exclaimed the lively major.

"Go you must. When I say a thing I mean it;" and in spite of his remonstrances the reluctant colonel was borne off to the ball.

Their carriage left them at the carpeted porch of a sumptuous residence fronting Madison Square, and a domestic directed them to an upper room.

After a little preliminary adjustment of their toilets, they descended to the parlors, to pay their respects to their host and hostess.

The major presented his friend the colonel to Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel, a tall dame with ma.s.sive shoulders and majestic nose, who returned the colonel's bow with becoming haughtiness; and to Mr. Van Spuytenduyvel, a small man, ambushed in the voluminous skirts of his ample consort; and then the colonel and his friend were permitted to pa.s.s on and mingle in the festal throng. The major soon found an attractive acquaintance among the ladies, and slipped away, leaving Mark to shift for himself. It was the first time the colonel had ever attended a fashionable party, and the brilliancy of the scene and display of jewels and rich dresses rather dazzled him. A dull pastime, though, for he saw none but strange faces. He looked about him in the vague hope that perchance he might meet the one whose image occupied his thoughts; but apparently she was not present. As he stood staring with an inquisitive and rather bewildered expression, he attracted no little attention. His three years of campaigning certainly furnished an example of how thoroughly not only the mind, but its dial the countenance becomes subdued to what the former works in. He was now the _beau ideal_ of a dashing trooper: swarthy and sinewy as an Apache brave, with a decided chin and glittering eyes. The scar on his brow, too, neither softened his sternness nor enhanced his good looks, and he found himself the object of many stares and audible remarks from ladies to their escorts as to who he was, and whether a "regular" or "volunteer," until, embarra.s.sed at the notice he attracted, he threaded his way to a corner secure from observation.

The rooms were excessively crowded, and the atmosphere was heated with the numerous lights, and heavy with the odors of flowers and perfumes.

Regardless of all this, some determined dancers were dashing along wildly, and whirling couples carromed like billiard-b.a.l.l.s. Mark, inclined to muse, indulged in mental criticism of the company. What struck him most was not the weary, solemn mien of the elder guests, nor the absence of frank joyousness in the young men, but the supercilious nonchalance and worldly-wise air of the young ladies. Here and there was a modest flower, but many wore expressions of bold self-possession, that seemed to his untutored eyes to border on effrontery. Perhaps a harsh judgment on the part of our captious colonel, but it must be remembered that he was still but a child of nature, living in the ideal. His poetic temperament led him to indulge in such exalted fancies of the excellences of the gentler s.e.x, that when taken from his dreams and placed face to face with the sophisticated belles of two seasons, he was naturally discountenanced. To one living outside the pale of fashionable society, its artificiality is painfully apparent. Presently the colonel's soldierly eye was attracted by the erect figure of a young lady, whose back was towards him. Her shoulders and neck were moulded with such perfect grace, that he was desirous to see her face, and changing his position to do so, he beheld a radiant beauty, that recalled a Louis Quatorze marchioness. Powdered hair and a patch enhanced the fairness of her complexion, while bistred lashes gave an unnatural brilliancy to her eyes. Her slender throat was encircled by a diamond necklace, whose pendent cross flashed from a breast of snow, that brought the lines on Pope's Belinda to mind. She was toying with a fan, and chatting with a group of gentlemen who were evidently admiring her, and her beautiful simpering countenance betrayed gratified vanity.

Mark scrutinized her closely. Recollections of familiar features arose, and the truth flashed to him that this young person was Edna.

But what a change! Not now the sweet, modest rose of Belton, but an egregiously vain and affected coquette. So thought Mark, in whose unsophisticated eyes the transformation was complete and manifest. He watched her a few moments longer. One of her danglers was made supremely happy by being permitted to b.u.t.ton her glove, while another enjoyed the bliss of holding her bouquet. Then a third, a tight-built little fellow, with closely-cropped hair accurately parted in the centre of his round head, a mustache of magnitude, and a crush hat in his hand, gallantly clasping her, led her off in the mazes of a waltz. It certainly was a graceful sight; but Mark saw, or fancied he saw, but another phase of affectation in Edna's posed features and downcast eyes, as she glided around in evident consciousness of the admiration she excited. With a pang of disappointment, Mark shrank away, fearing to be noticed by Edna.

He had an undefined dread of being noticed by her there and then, and very soon after, had bidden adieu to Mrs. Van Spuytenduyvel, and left the house.

What bitter emotions filled the heart, and what cynical thoughts the mind, of our impetuous hero that night, it would be difficult to describe. He imagined he had discovered the cause of Edna's neglect of him. She was utterly changed. Other thoughts occupied her mind, and other affections her heart, if she had either, which he was beginning in his bitterness to doubt. Should he make another attempt to see her? No, he would not. She was unworthy of further attention. He should return to his duties at once, and start for the front the very next morning.

Such was his decision before he fell into a feverish, disturbed slumber towards dawn. But, as usual, the bright sunlight of morning proved a sedative, and Mark became disposed to be lenient. "Perhaps," thought he, "I have been unjust to her. She has been left an orphan to the care of fashionable people. Could she resist--could any young girl resist the influences of the artificial existence that such people lead? Truth is, I must confess, that I don't know anything about fashion or fashionable people or their ways and manners. I've no doubt that I'm all wrong, and that her heart is all right--that she is as good and kind and candid as ever. But when I think of the dear little artless darling who used to coast down the Academy hill at Belton with me, and laugh so ripplingly when she fell in a snow-bank, and that Pompadour-looking belle playing her eyes at the host of smirking fools around her, I feel as if I could--well, well, she's a warm-hearted girl for all that, and has always been my friend, and I'm a fool" (this was the invariable conclusion arrived at by the colonel in his self-examinations). "At any rate," he continued, "I have no right to judge her harshly. I shall call on her, and her welcome will doubtless efface the disagreeable impression I have received."

XX.

The morrow found the colonel calling again on Miss Heath. Before doing so he took his friend the major's advice, and visited a tonsorial artist in order to present a less savage and more prepossessing appearance.