The Youth of Jefferson Part 52

"Only a penny, sir!" she said, motioning back a pistole which Mr. Jack Denis held out gaily.

And then--the collection ended--the young girls of the masquerade hurried back to rid themselves of their pyramid.

Mr. Jack Denis and Miss Lucy Mowbray, who had just arrived with her brother, bent their steps toward the grove, through which ran a purling stream; and thither they were followed after a little by Miss Martha Wayles and her admirer, Bathurst. We cannot follow them and listen to their conversation--that would be indecorous. But we may be permitted to say that two young ladies--one very young--on that morning plighted their troth to two young gentlemen--one very young.

And if they blushed somewhat upon returning, it was an honest blush, which the present chronicler for one will not laugh at.

In the garden all by this time was joyous and wild merriment. The young ladies were running here and there; servants were preparing in a flowery retreat a long table full of fruits and every delicacy; and merriest of all, Miss Philippa was scattering on every side her joyous and contagious laughter.

Suddenly this laughter of the young lady ceased, and she colored slightly.

She saw Mowbray looking at her with a glance of so much love, that she could not support his gaze.

In a moment he was at her side. "Will you not walk with me?" she said, without waiting for him to address her; and in a moment her arm was in his own, and they were strolling away. They went toward a n.o.ble old oak, in the branches of which was fixed a platform, and this platform was approached by a movable sort of ladder. The leaves around the platform were so dense that it was impossible to see any one who might be sitting within.

As Mowbray and Philippa approached, the ladder was seen suddenly to move, a little exclamation was heard, and the next moment the movable steps rose erect, balanced themselves for an instant, and fell to the ground, cutting off all connection between the platform and the ground.

At the same moment a triumphant voice muttered:

"Now let me see them interrupt me!"

Mowbray and Philippa did not hear it; they pa.s.sed on, silent and embarra.s.sed.

Philippa, it was evident, had something to say, and scarcely knew how to begin; she hesitated, laughed, blushed, and patted the ground petulantly with her little foot. At last she said, with a smile and a blush:

"I asked you to offer me your arm for an especial purpose. Can you guess what that purpose was?"

Mowbray smiled, and replied:

"I am afraid not."

"I wished to tell you a tale."

"A tale?"

"A history, if you please; and as you are a thinker, and an impartial one, to ask your opinion."

"I am sure you do me a great deal of honor," said Mowbray, smiling with happiness; "I listen."

Philippa cast down her eyes, patted the ground more violently than before with her silken-sandalled foot, and biting her lip, was silent.

Mowbray looked at her, and saw the blush upon her cheek. She raised her head--their eyes met; and the blush deepened.

"Do not look at me," she said, turning away her head and bursting into a constrained laugh; "I never could bear to have any one look at me."

"It is a very severe request, but I will obey you," he said, smiling; "now for your history."

"It will surprise you, I suppose," she said, with her daring laugh again; "but listen. Do not interrupt me. Well, sir, once upon a time--you see I begin in true tale fashion--once upon a time, there was a young girl who had the misfortune to be very rich. She had been left an orphan at an early age, and never knew the love and tenderness of parents. Well, sir, as was very natural, this young woman, with all her wealth, experienced one want--but that was a great one--the necessity of having some one to love her. I will be brief, sir--let me go on uninterruptedly. One day this young woman saw pa.s.s before her a man whose eyes and words proved that he had some affection for her--enough that it was afterwards shown that she was not mistaken. At the time, however, she doubted his affection. Her unhappy wealth had made her suspicious, and she experienced a sort of horror of giving her heart to some one who loved her wealth and not herself. Let me go on, sir! I must not be interrupted! Well, she doubted this gentleman; and one day said to him what she afterwards bitterly regretted. She determined to charge him with mercenary intentions, and watch his looks and listen to his words, and test him. He listened, replied coldly, and departed, leaving her nearly heart-broken, for his nature was not one which any woman could despise."

Mowbray looked at her strangely. She went on.

"She watched for him day after day--he did not come. She was angry, and yet troubled; she doubted, and yet tried to justify herself. But even when he left her, she had conceived a mad scheme--it was to go and become his companion, and so test him. This she did, a.s.suming the dress of a man: was it not very indelicate, sir, and could she have been a lady? I see you start--but do not interrupt me. Let me go on. The young woman a.s.sumed, as I said, an impenetrable disguise--ingratiated herself with him, and found out all his secrets. The precious secret which she had thus braved conventionality to discover, was her own. He loved her--yes! he loved her!" said the young girl, with a tremor of the voice and a beating heart; "she could not be mistaken! In moments of unreserve, of confidence, he told her all, as one friend tells another, and she knew that she was loved. Then she threw off her disguise--finding him n.o.ble and sincere--and came to him and told him all. She saw that he was incredulous--could not realize such indelicacies in the woman he loved; and to make her humiliation complete, she proved to him, by producing a trifle he had given her, in her disguise--like this, sir."

And Philippa with a trembling hand drew forth the fringed gloves which she had procured from Mowbray at the Indian Camp. They fell from her outstretched hand--it shook.

Mowbray was pale, and his eyes were full of wonder.

"Before leaving him, this audacious young girl was more than once convinced that the wild and unworthy freak she had undertaken to play, would lower her in his estimation; but she did not draw back. Her training had been bad; she enjoyed her liberty. Not until she had resumed the dress of her s.e.x, did she awake to the consciousness of the great social transgression she had been guilty of. She then went to him and told him all, and stopped him when he tried to speak--do not speak, sir!--and bade him read the words she had written him, as she left him----"

Mowbray, with an unconscious movement, took from his pocket the letter left by Hoffland in the post-office, on the morning of the ball.

Philippa took it from his hand and opened it.

"Pardon, Ernest!"

These words were all it contained; and the young girl pointing to them, dropped the letter and burst into a flood of pa.s.sionate tears.

Her impulsive nature had fairly spent itself, and but for the circling arm of Mowbray she would have fallen.

In a moment her head was on his bosom--she was weeping pa.s.sionately; and Mowbray forgot all, and only saw the woman whom he loved.

Need we say that he did not utter one word of comment on her narrative? Poor Mowbray! he was no statue, and the hand which she had promised him laughingly on that morning, now lay in his own; the proud and haughty girl was conquered by a power far stronger than her pride; and over them the merry blossoms showered, the orioles sang, and Nature laughed to see her perfect triumph.

When Philippa returned to the company she was very silent, and blushed deeply, holding to her face the handkerchief which Hoffland had picked up. But no one noticed her; all was in confusion.

Where was Belle-bouche? That was the question, and a hundred voices asked it. She had disappeared; and Jacques too was nowhere to be seen.

The banquet was ready; where was the hostess?

It was in the middle of all this uproar that a voice was heard from the great oak, and looking up, the laughing throng perceived the radiant face of Jacques framed among the leaves, and looking on them.

"My friends," said Jacques, "the matter is very simple--be good enough to raise those steps."

And the cavalier pointed to the prostrate ladder.

With a burst of laughter, the steps were raised and placed against the oak. And then Jacques was observed to place his foot upon them, leading by the hand--Belle-bouche.

Belle-bouche was blushing much more deeply than Philippa; and Jacques was the picture of happiness. Is it too much to suppose that he had this time stolen a march on the inimical fates, and forced Belle-bouche to answer him? Is it extravagant to fancy that her reply was _not_, No?

And so they descended, and the company, laughing at the mishap, hastened toward the flower and fruit decorated table, and the banquet inaugurated itself joyously.

And in the midst of all, who should make his appearance but--the gallant Sir Asinus! Sir Asinus, no longer intending for Europe, but satisfied with Virginia; no _longer_ woful, but in pa.s.sable good spirits; no longer melancholy, but surveying those around him with affectionate regard.

And see him, in the midst of laughter and applause, mount on the end of a barrel which had held innumerable cakes, holding a paper in his hand, and calling for attention.

Listen!

"Whereas," reads Sir Asinus, "the undersigned has heretofore at different times expressed opinions of his Majesty, and of the Established Church, and of the n.o.ble aristocracy of England and Virginia, derogatory to the character of the said Majesty, and so forth;--also, whereas, he has unjustly slandered the n.o.ble and sublime College of William and Mary, so called from their gracious majesties, deceased;--and whereas, the said opinions have caused great personal inconvenience to the undersigned, and whereas he is tired of martyrdom and exile: Therefore, be it hereby promulgated, that the undersigned doth here and now publicly declare himself ashamed of the said opinions, and doth abjure them: And doth declare his Majesty George III. the greatest of kings since Dionysius of Syracuse and Nero; and his great measure, the Stamp Act, the n.o.blest legislation since the edict of Nantz. And further, the undersigned doth uphold the great Established Church, and revere its ministers, so justly celebrated for their piety and card-playing, their proficiency in theology, and their familiarity with that great religious epic of the Reformation, 'Reynard the Fox'--the study of which they pursue even on horseback.

And lastly, the said undersigned doth honor the great college of Virginia, and revere the aristocracy, and respect entails, and spurn the common cla.s.ses as becomes a gentleman and honest citizen; and in all other things doth conform himself to established rules, being convinced that whatever is, is right: and to the same hath set his hand, this twentieth day of May, in the year 1764."

Having finished which, Sir Asinus casts a melancholy glance upon little Martha, and adds: