CHAPTER IV.
O! I could whisper thee a tale, That surely would thy pity move, But what would idle words avail, Unless the heart might speak its love?
To tell that tale my pen were weak, My tongue its office, too, denies, Then mark it on my varying cheek, And read it in my languid eyes. ANONYMOUS.
After the expiration of a fortnight, Pownal could find no excuses tosatisfy even himself with remaining longer at Judge Bernard's. Thevisit had been, indeed, one of great enjoyment, and gladly would hehave availed himself of the pressing invitation of his host to prolongit, could he have conjured up any reason for doing so. Lightly wouldhe have esteemed and cheerfully welcomed another wound like that fromwhich he was recovering, could the pleasure have been thus purchased.The truth is that within a few days he had been conscious of a feelingof which he had never before suspected himself, and it was thisfeeling that made him so reluctant to depart. And yet, when, in thesilence of his chamber, and away from the blue eyes of Anne Bernard,he reflected upon his position, he was obliged to confess, with asigh, that prudence required he should leave a society as dangerousas it was sweet. To be in the same house with her, to breathe the sameair, to read the same books, to hear her voice was a luxury it washard to forego, but in proportion to the difficulty was the necessity.Besides he could not avoid fancying that young Bernard, though notcold, was hardly as cordial as formerly, and that he would regardwith satisfaction a separation from his sister. Nor had he reason tosuppose that she looked upon him with feelings other than those whichshe entertained for any other acquaintance standing to her in thesame relation as himself. Beyond the ordinary compliments and littleattentions which the manners of the day permitted, nothing had passedbetween them, and though satisfied he was not an object of aversion,he knew as well that she had never betrayed any partiality for him.Meanwhile, his own feelings were becoming interested, beyond, perhaps,the power of control, the sooner, therefore, he weaned himself fromthe delightful fascination, the better for his peace of mind.
Thomas Pownal was comparatively a stranger in the neighborhood, onlytwo or three months having elapsed since he had been sent by themercantile firm of Bloodgood, Pownal, & Co., of New York, to takecharge of a branch of their business at Hillsdale. Even in that shortspace of time, by his affable manners and attention to business he hadwon his way to the respect and esteem of the good people of the town,and was looked upon as one likely to succeed in the lottery of life.No one was more welcome, by reason of his amiable character, to thoseof his own age, while his steadiness recommended him to his elders.But his family was unknown, though he was supposed to be a distantrelation of the second member of the firm, nor had he any visiblemeans of subsistence except the very respectable salary, which, asa confidential clerk, he received from his employers, on whom hisprospects of success depended. The chasm, therefore, betwixt the onlydaughter of the wealthy Mr. Bernard and himself, was wide--wide enoughto check even an overweening confidence. But such it was not in thenature of Pownal to feel. He was sensible of the full force ofthe difficulties he had to encounter; to his modesty they seemedinsuperable, and he determined to drive from his heart a sentimentthat, in his despondency, he blamed himself for allowing to find aplace there.
It took him some days to form the resolution, and after it was formed,it was not easy to carry it into effect. More than once he had beenon the point of returning thanks for the kindness he had received,and avowing his intention to depart, but it seemed as if the veriesttrifle were sufficient to divert him from his purpose. If Mr. Bernardspoke of the satisfaction he derived from his company, if Mrs. Bernarddeclared she should miss him when he left; or if Anne's radiantface looked thanks for his reading aloud, they were all so manysolicitations to delay his departure. The treacherous heart readilylistened to the seduction, however much the judgment might disapprove.But, as we have seen, a time had come when the voice of prudence couldno longer be silenced, and, however unwillingly, must be obeyed. He,therefore, took occasion, one morning, at the breakfast table, toannounce his intended departure.
"Had I been a son," he said, in conclusion, "you could not havelavished more kindness upon me, and I shall never forget it."
"What! what!" cried the Judge, "I am not sure that the shooting one'sself is a bailable offence, and I shall be obliged to examine theauthorities, before I discharge you from custody, Master Thomas."
"To think," said Mrs. Bernard, "it does not seem a week since youcame, and we have all been so happy. I declare, Mr. Pownal, I shallnot know how to do without you."
"The dearest friends must part--but we shall always be glad to seeyou, Tom," said William Bernard.
"I do not see the necessity for your going," said the Judge. "Ourhouse is large enough for all; your attacks at table are not yet veryformidable; and I have not taught you whist perfectly. Would it notbe better to substitute a _curia vult avisare_ in place of a decision?But, Anne, have you nothing to say? Is this your gratitude for allThomas's martyrdoms of readings of I know not what unimaginablenonsense; and holdings of skeins of silk, more difficult to unwindthan the labyrinth through which Ariadne's thread conducted Theseus;and pickings up of whatever your feminine carelessness chose to dropon the carpet; and endurance of all the legions of annoyances withwhich young ladies delight to harass young gentlemen? Have you nobacking for your mother and me? One word from you ought to be worth athousand from us old folks."
"Mr. Pownal owes me some gratitude, too, father," said Anne, "for thepatience and accomplishments I have taught him. But he surely knowshow much pleasure his presence confers on all in this house. We shallmiss him very much, shall we not, Beau?"--addressing a little spanielthat, upon being spoken to, sat up on his hind legs to beg forbreakfast.
"I have several times endeavored to say this before," said Pownal,somewhat piqued, and feeling a strong desire to kick the innocentcur out of the room, "but have never been able to muster sufficientcourage. And now, if my thanks appear cold, as I am afraid they do toMiss Bernard, I assure her it is not the fault of my heart, but of mytongue."
"Hearts and tongues!" exclaimed the Judge. "The former belong to theladies' department; the latter to mine. Yet, I fancy I know somethingabout hearts, too; and yours, Thomas, I am sure, is adequate securityfor your words."
"You are very good, sir," said Pownal, "and I can only wish that allparticipated in your undeserved partiality."
Anne was vexed with herself for having spoken in so trifling a manner.The frigid politeness of her brother's speech, too, had not escapedher notice. It seemed to her now, that she had been wantonly rude. Shehastened, therefore, to repair the fault.
"Mr. Pownal mistakes," she said, "if he thinks me unmindful of thepleasant hours his unfortunate accident procured us. And I am sure Ishould be a monster of ingratitude," she added smiling, and relapsing,in spite of herself, into the very trifling she had condemned, "if Idid not remember, with lively emotions, his skill at holding silk andyarn."
"Well, whenever you want a reel, send for me," said Pownal, "and Ishall only be too happy to come."
"Take care, my good fellow," said the Judge, "she does not wind youup, too."
"I should be too happy--" began Pownal.
"For shame, father," cried Anne, laughing, and rising from the table."The young men have quite spoiled you, of late. Good-bye; you havefinished your last cup of coffee, and have no longer need of me." Sosaying, she hastened out of the room.
It was with mutual regret that the parting took place, and not withoutmany promises required of the young man that he would frequently visitthe family. His landlady, Mrs. Brown, was, as usual, all smiles, andwelcomes, and congratulations on his return; notwithstanding which, itwas with a sense of loneliness, amounting almost to desolation, thather lodger found himself installed again in his apartments. It seemedlike passing out of the golden sunshine into a gloomy cavern. Was itpossible that two short weeks could have produced so great a change inhim? When he thought upon the c
ause, the conscious blush revealed itsnature. "No," said he, aloud, as he paced backwards and forwardsin the room, "this is folly and madness. For me, a humble clerk, toconnect myself, even in imagination, with _her_! What have I to offerher? Or what even in prospect? I have been sailing in the clouds,and my tattered balloon is precipitated to the earth--I have beendreaming. How delicious was the dream! But I am now awake, and willnever expose myself to the mortification of ----. I have been foolish.No, not so; for, who could come within the range of such fascinations,and not be charmed? But what, after all, are they to me? I willresist this weakness, and learn to regard her as only any other valuedacquaintance; for, alas! she can never be more."
In such incoherent expressions, poor Pownal gave vent to the emotionsthat agitated him. It would have been some consolation, could he haveknown what was said at the Bernards', when the family gathered aroundthe table in the evening. Mrs. Bernard alluded more than once to thegap his absence made in their little circle; and the Judge, in hisjesting way, wished that somebody would shoot him again, if it mightbe the means to bring him back. Even Anne expressed regret at hisloss, since his company had been such a pleasure to her parents.