The Youth of Jefferson Part 31

"Charles, you are either the most inexperienced or the most desperately hopeful character that has ever been created."

"I am neither," said Hoffland smiling. "I am rational, and I know what I say."

Mowbray suppressed an impatient gesture, and said:

"Did I not tell you that she made me the b.u.t.t for her wit and sarcasm----"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes; and more! She scoffed at me, as a mere fortune-hunter, and gave me the most ironical advice----"

"You are convinced it was ironical?"

"Convinced? Have I eyes--have I ears? Truly, if I had failed to be convinced, I should have verified the scriptural saying of those who have eyes and see not--who have ears and do not hear."

"Are the eyes always true?" said Hoffland, smiling.

"No: you have not succeeded, nevertheless, in showing me that I saw wrong."

"Are the ears invariably just?"

"For Heaven's sake, cease worrying me with general propositions!" said Mowbray.

Then, seeing that his companion was hurt by his irritated tone, he added:

"Forgive me, Charles! I lose my equanimity upon this subject; let us dismiss it."

"Very well," said Hoffland, smiling mischievously; "but remember what I now say, Ernest, and remember well. The eyes are deceptive--the ears worse than deceptive. You truly have eyes and see not, ears and hear not! I think it highly probable that your lady-love, who is an excellent-hearted girl, I am convinced, intended merely to apply a last test; and if you have bounded like an impulsive horse under the spur, and tossed from her, the blame does not rest with her. And remember this too, Ernest," Hoffland went on sadly; for one of the strange peculiarities of this young man was his habit of abrupt transition from merriment to sadness, from smiles to sighs; "remember, Ernest, that your determination to see her no more has probably inflicted on this young girl's heart a cruel pang: you cannot know that she is not now shedding bitter tears at the result of her trial of your feelings! Oh! remember that it is not the poor and afflicted only who weep--it is the rich and joyous also; and the hottest tears are often shed by the eyes which seem made to dispense smiles alone!"

Mowbray listened to the earnest voice in silence. A long pause followed, neither looking at the other; then Mowbray said:

"You deceive yourself, Charles, if you imagine that this beautiful and wealthy young girl spends a second thought upon myself. I was to her only a pa.s.sing shadow--another name to add to her long list of captives. Well! I gave her the sincere love of an honest heart, such a love as no woman has the right to spurn. She did spurn it. Well! I am not a child to sob and moan, and go and beg her on my knees to love me--no! I love her more than ever, Charles; all my boasting was mere boasting and untrue--I love her still--but that heart, and it shall not issue forth but with my life. I love her! but I will never place myself in the dust before a woman who has scorned me. Silence and self-control I have, and these will sustain me."

"Oh, Ernest! Ernest!"

"You seem strangely moved by my words," said Mowbray; "but you should not fancy my love so fatal. It is a delirium at times, but Heaven be thanked, it cannot drive me mad. Now let us stop speaking of these things. When I think of that young girl, all my calmness leaves me.

Oh, she was so frank and true a soul, I thought!--so sincere and bold!--so lovely, and with such a strength of heart! I was deceived.

Well, well--it seems to be the fate of men, to find the ideal of their hearts unworthy. Let us speak of it no further."

And suppressing his emotion by a violent effort, Mowbray added in a voice perfectly calm and collected:

"There is our cottage, Charles--Roseland; and I see Lucy waiting for us under the roses on the porch--she always looks for me, I believe."

CHAPTER XIX.

HOFFLAND EXERTS HIMSELF TO AMUSE THE COMPANY.

Lucy was a young girl of nineteen or twenty, with the brightest face, the most sparkling eyes, and the merriest voice which ever adorned woman entering her prime. Her laughter was contagious, and the listener must perforce laugh in unison. Her face drove away gloom, as the sun does; her smile was pure merriment, routing all cares; and Mowbray's sad countenance became again serene, his lips smiled.

Lucy bowed demurely to the boy, who held out his hand laughing.

"Oh! Ernest and myself are sworn friends," he said; "and the fact is, Miss Lucy, I had serious doubts whether I should not kiss you--I love you so much--for Ernest's sake!"

And Hoffland pursed up his lips, prepared for all things.

Lucy was so completely overcome by laughter at this extraordinary speech, that for a moment she remained perfectly silent, shaking with merriment.

Hoffland conceived the design to take advantage of this astonishment, and modestly "held up his mouth," as children say. The consequence was that Miss Lucy extricated her hand from his grasp, and drew back with some hauteur; whereupon Hoffland a.s.sumed an expression of such mortification and childlike dissatisfaction, that Mowbray, who had witnessed this strange scene, could not suppress a smile.

"I might as well tell you frankly at once, Lucy," he said, "that Charles is the oddest person, and I think the most perfect boy, at times, I have ever known."

"I a boy!" cried Hoffland; "I am no such thing!--am I, Lucy--_Miss_ Lucy, I mean, of course? I am not so young as all that, and I see nothing so strange in wanting a kiss. But I won't misbehave any more; come now, see!"

And drawing himself up with a delightful expression of dignified courtesy, Hoffland said, solemnly offering his arm to Lucy:

"Shall I have the honor, Miss Mowbray, of escorting you into the garden for the purpose of gathering some roses to deck your queenly brow?"

Lucy would have refused; but overcome with laughter, and unable to resist the ludicrous solemnity of Hoffland's voice and manner, she placed her finger on his arm, and they walked into the garden.

Roseland was a delightful little cottage, full of flowers, and redolent of spring. It fronted south, and seemed to be the favorite of the sun, which shone through its vine-embowered windows and lit up its drooping eaves, as it nowhere else did.

A little pa.s.sage led quite through the house, and by this pa.s.sage Hoffland and his fair companion entered the garden.

Mowbray sat down and examined some papers which he took from his pocket; then trained a flowering vine from the window-sill to a nail in the wall without, for he was very fond of flowers; then, bethinking himself that Hoffland was his guest, turned to go into the garden.

As he did so, he caught sight of a horseman approaching the cottage; and soon this horseman drew near enough to be recognised. It was Mr.

John Denis, whose admiration for Miss Lucy Mowbray our readers have possibly divined from former pages of this true history.

Mr. Denis dismounted and entered the grounds of the cottage, sending before him a friendly smile. Denis was one of those honest, worthy fellows, who are as single-minded as children, and in whose eyes all men and things are just what they seem: hypocrisy he could never understand, and it was almost as difficult for the worthy young man to comprehend irony. We have seen an exemplification of this in his affair with Hoffland; and if our narrative permitted it, we might, by following him through his after life, find many more instances of the same singleness of heart and understanding.

Denis was very tastefully dressed, and his face was, as we have said, full of smiles. He held out his hand to Mowbray with honest warmth, and they entered the cottage.

The reader may imagine that Denis inquired as to the whereabouts of Miss Lucy--his wandering glances not having fallen upon that young lady. Not at all. For did ever lover introduce the subject of his lady-love? When we are young, and in love, do we go to visit Dulcinea or her brother Tom? Is not that agreeable young gentleman the sole attraction which draws us; do we not ride a dozen miles for his sake, and has Dulcinea any thing to do with the rapturous delight we experience in dreaming of the month we shall spend with Tom in August?

Of course not; and Denis did not allude in the remotest manner to Lucy. On the contrary, he became the actor which love makes of the truest men, and said, with careless ease:

"A lovely evening for a ride."

"Yes," said Mowbray, driving away his sad thoughts; "why didn't you come with us, Jack?"

"With you?"

"Myself and Hoffland."

"Hoffland!"