CHAPTER IV
THROWING THINGS INTO CONFUSION
Prudence declares that whenever a person is in that disagreeablesituation which compels him to ask "what shall I do?" that the wisestanswer is, "nothing." But such answer did not satisfy George Hyde. Hewas too young, too sure of his own good fortune, too restless andimpulsive, to accept Prudence as a councillor. He might haveconsidered, that, hitherto, affairs had happened precisely as he wishedthem; and that it would be good policy to trust to his futureopportunities. But he was so much in earnest, so honestly in love, thathe felt his doubts and anxieties could only be relieved by action.Sympathy, at least, he must have; and he knew no man, to whom he wouldwillingly talk of Cornelia. The little jests and innuendoes sure tofollow his confidence would be intolerable if associated with acreature so pure and so ingenuous.
"I will go to my mother!" he thought. And this resolution satisfied himso well, that he carried it out at once. But it was after dark when hereached the tall stone portals of Hyde Manor House. The ride, however,had given him back his best self. For when we leave society and comeinto the presence of Nature, we become children again; and the fictionsof thought and action assumed among men drop off like a garment. Thebeauty of the pale green hills, and the flowing river, and the buddingtrees, and the melody of birds singing as if they never would grow old,were all but charming accessories and horizons to his constant picturesof Cornelia. It was she who gave life and beauty to all he saw; for asa rule, if men notice nature at all, it is ever through some paintedwindow of their own souls. Few indeed are those who hear--
"The Ancient Word, That walked among the silent trees."
Yet Hyde was keenly conscious of some mystical sympathy between himselfand the lovely scenes through which he passed--conscious still more ofit when the sun had set and the moon rose--dim and inscrutable--overthe lonely way, and filled the narrow glen which was at the entrance tothe Manor House full of brooding power.
The great building loomed up dark and silent; there was but one lightvisible. It was in his mother's usual sitting-room, and as soon as hesaw it, he began to whistle. She heard him afar off, and was at thedoor to give him a welcome.
"Joris, my dear one, we were talking of you!" she cried, as he leapedfrom the saddle to her arms. "So glad are we! Come in quickly! Such agood surprise! It is our hearts' wish granted! Well, are you? Quitewell? Now, then, I am happy. Happy as can be! Look now, Richard!" shecalled, as she flung the door open, and entered with the handsome,smiling youth at her side.
In his way the father was just as much pleased. He pushed some papershe had been busy with impatiently aside, and stood up with outstretchedhand to meet his son.
"Kate, my dear heart," he cried, "let us have something to eat. The boywill be hungry as a hunter after his ride. And George, what brings youhome? We were just telling each other--your mother and I--that you werein the height of the city's follies."
"Indeed, sir, there will be few follies for some days. Mr. Franklin isdead, and the city goes into mourning."
"'Tis a fate that all must meet," said the General; "but death andFranklin would look each other in the face as friends--He had a work todo, he did it well, and it is finished. That is all. What other news doyou bring?"
"It is said that Mirabeau is arrested somewhere, for something. I didnot hear the particulars."
"Probably, for the very least of his crimes. Marat hates him; and Maratrepresents the fury of the Revolution. The monster wished to erecteight hundred gibbets, and hang Mirabeau first."
"And the deputies are returning to the Provinces, drunk with their ownimportance. They have abolished titles, and coats of arms, andliveries; and published a list of the names the nobles are toassume--as if people did not know their own names. Mr. Hamilton says'Revolution in France has gone raving mad, and converted twenty-fourmillions of people into savages.'"
"I hate the French!" said the General passionately. "It is a naturalinstinct with me, just as tame animals are born with an antipathy towild beasts. If I thought I had one drop of French blood in me, I wouldlet it out with a dagger."
George winced a little. He remembered that the Morans were of Frenchextraction; and he answered--
"After all, father, we must judge people individually. Mere race is notmuch."
"George Hyde! What are you saying? RACE is everything. It is thestrongest and deepest of all human feelings. Nothing conquers itsprejudices."
"Except love. I have heard, father, that Love never asks 'of what raceart thou?' or even 'whose son, or daughter, art thou?'"
"You have heard many foolish things, George; that is one of them. Menand women marry out of their own nationality, AT THEIR PERIL. I took mylife in my hand for your mother's love."
"She was worthy of the peril."
"God knows it."
At this moment Mrs. Hyde entered the room, her fair face alight withlove. A servant carrying a tray full of good things to eat, followedher; and it was delightful to watch her eager happiness as she arrangedmeats, and sweetmeats, in tempting order for the hungry young man. Hethoroughly enjoyed this provision for his comfort; and as he ate, hetalked to his father of those things interesting to him, answering allquestions with that complaisant positiveness of youth which decideseverything at once, and without reservation. No one understood thisbetter than General Hyde, but it pleased him to draw out his son'sopinions; and it also pleased him to watch the pride of the fondmother, who evidently considered her boy a paragon of youthful judgment.
"And pray," he asked, "what can you tell me about the seat ofgovernment? Will New York be chosen?"
"I am sure it will be Philadelphia; and, indeed, I care not. It would,however, amuse you to hear some of the opinions on the matter; forevery one hangs his judgment on the peg of his own little interests orlikings. Young De Witt says New York wants no government departments;that she is far too busy a city, to endure government idlers hangingaround her best streets. Doctor Rush says the government is making ourcity a sink of political vice. Mr. Wolcott says honesty is the fashionin New York. Some of the clergy think Wall Street as wicked as the mostfashionable streets in Tyre and Sodom; and the street-singers--thanksto Mr. Freneau--have each, and all, their little audiences on thesubject. As I came up Broadway, a man was shouting a rhyme advising thePhiladelphians to 'get ready their dishcloths and brooms, and beginscouring their knockers, and scrubbing their rooms.' Perhaps the mostsensible thing on the subject came from one of the New Englandsenators. He thought the seat of government ought to be 'in somewilderness, where there would be no social attractions, where memberscould go and attend strictly to business.' Upon my word, sir, theopinions are endless in number and variety; but, in truth, Mr. Hamiltonand Mr. Morris are arranging the matter. This is without doubt. Thereis to be some sort of compromise with the Southern senators, who arepromised the capital on the Potomac, finally, if they no longer opposethe assumption of the State debts. I hear that Mr. Jefferson has beenbrought to agree to this understanding. And Mr. Morris doubtlessthinks, if the government offices are once opened in Philadelphia, theywill remain there."
"And Joris, the ladies? What say they on the subject?" asked Mrs. Hyde.
"Indeed, mother, some of them are lamenting, and some looking forwardto the change. All are talking of the social deposition of thebeautiful Mrs. Bingham. 'She will have to abate herself a little beforeMrs. Washington,' I heard one lady say; while others declare, that herassociation with our Republican Court will be harmonious andadvantageous; especially, as she is beloved in the home of thePresident."
"OUR REPUBLICAN COURT! The definition is absurd!" said General Hyde,with both scorn and temper. "A court pre-supposes both royalty andnobility!"
"We have both of them intrinsically, father."
"In faith, George! you will find, that intrinsic qualities have nosocial value. What people require is their external evidence."
"And their external evidence would be extremely offensive here, sir.For my part, I think, the sneaking hankering aft
er titles andceremonies, among our wealthy men and women is a very great weakness.Every one knows that nothing would please fussy Mr. Adams better thanto be a duke, or even a lord--and he is by no means alone in suchdesires."
"They may be yet realized."
"They will not, sir--not, at least, while Thomas Jefferson lives. He isthe bulldog of Democracy, and he would be at the throat of any suchpretences as soon as they were suggested."
"Very well, George! I have no objections."
"I knew, sir, that you were a thorough Democrat."
"Do not go too far, George. I love Democracy; but I hate Democrats! NowI am sleepy, and as Mr. Jefferson is on the watch, I may go to sleepcomfortably. I will talk to you more on these subjects in the morning.Good-night!" He put his hand on his son's shoulder, and looked with aproud confidence into the bright face, lifted to the touch.
Then George was alone with his mother; but she was full of littlehousehold affairs; and he could not bring into them a subject so close,and so sacred to his heart. He listened a little wearily to her plans,and was glad when she recollected the late hour and hurried him away tohis chamber--a large, lofty room in the front of the house, on whichshe had realized all the ideas that her great love, and her reallyexquisite taste suggested. He entered it with a sense of delight, andreadily surrendered himself to its dreamy air of sleep and rest. "Iwill speak to my mother in the morning," he thought. "To-night, hermind is full of other things."
But in the morning Mrs. Hyde was still more interested in "otherthings." She had an architect with her, her servants were to order, herhouse to look after; and George readily felt that his hour wascertainly not in the early morning. He had slept a little late, and hismother did not approve of sleep beyond the normal hour. He saw that hehad delayed household matters, and made an environment not quiteharmonious. So he ate his breakfast rapidly, and went out to the newstables. He expected to find the General there, and he was notdisappointed. He had, however, finished his inspection of the horses,and he proposed a walk to the upper end of the Glen, where a great pondwas being dug for Mrs. Hyde's swans, and other aquatic birds.
There was much to interest them as they walked: men were busy draining,and building stone walls; ploughing and sowing, and digging, andplanting. Yet, in the midst of all this busy life, George detected inhis father's manner an air of melancholy. He looked into his son's facewith affection, and pointed out to him with an apparent interest, theimprovements in progress, but George knew--though he could not haveexplained why he knew--that his father's heart was not really in thesethings. Presently he asked, "How goes it with your law books, George?"
"Faith, sir, I must confess, very indifferently. I have no senses thatway; and 'tis only your desire that keeps my books open. I would farrather read my Plutarch, or write with my sword."
"Let me tell you, soberly, that it is a matter of personal interest toyou. There is now no question of the law as a profession, for sinceyour cousin's death your prospects have entirely changed. But consider,George, that not only this estate, but also the estate of yourGrandfather Van Heemskirk must eventually come to you. Much of both hasbeen bought from confiscated properties, and it is not improbable thatclaimants may arise who will cause you trouble. How necessary, then,that you should know something of the laws affecting land and propertyin this country."
"My grandfather is in trouble. I forgot to tell you last night, thathis friend, Elder Semple, is dead."
"Dead!"
"Yes, sir."
For a few minutes General Hyde remained silent; then he said with muchfeeling, "Peace to the old Tory! He was once very kind to me and to myfamily. Ah, George, I have again defrauded myself of a satisfaction!For a long time I have intended to go and see him--it is now too late!But I will return to the city with you and pay him the last respectpossible. Who told you this news?"
"I was walking on Broadway with young McAllister, and Doctor Moranstopped us and sent word to Elder McAllister of the death of hisfriend. I think, indeed, they were relatives."
"Was Doctor Moran his physician?"
"Yes, sir. A very good physician, I believe; I know, that he is a verycourteous and entertaining gentleman."
"And pray, George, how do you come by such an opinion?"
"I had the honour of spending an evening at Doctor Moran's house thisweek; and if you will believe me, sir, he has a daughter that shamesevery other beauty. Such bewildering loveliness! Such entrancingfreshness and purity I never saw before!"
"In love again, George. Faith, you make me ashamed of my own youth! Butthis enchanting creature cannot make of her father--anything but whathe is."
"This time I am desperately, and really, in love."
"So you were with Mollie Trefuses, with Sarah Talbot, with Eliza Capel,with Matilda Howard--and a galaxy of minor beauties."
"But it has come to this--I wish to marry Miss Moran; and I neverwished to marry any other woman."
"You have forgotten--And by Heaven! you must forget Miss Moran. She isnot to be thought of as a wife--for one moment."
"Sir, you are not so unjust as to make such a statement without givingme a reason for it."
"Giving you a reason! My reason ought to have sprung up voluntary inyour own heart. It is an incredible thing if you are not alreadyfamiliar with it."
"Simply, sir, I profess my ignorance."
"Look around you. Look east, and west, and north, and south,--all theserich lands were bought with your Uncle William's money. He made himselfpoor, to make me rich; because, having brought me up as his heir, hethought his marriage late in life had in a manner defrauded me. Youknow that the death of his two sons has again made me the heir to theHyde earldom; and that after me, the succession is yours. Tell me nowwhat child is left to your uncle?"
"Only his daughter Annie, a girl of fourteen or fifteen years."
"What will become of her when her father dies?"
"Sir, how can I divine her future?"
"It is your duty to divine her future. Her father has no gold to leaveher--he gave it to me--and the land he cannot leave her; yet she has anatural right, beyond either mine or yours."
"I give her my right, cheerfully."
"You cannot give it to her--unless you outlaw yourself from your nativecountry--strip yourself of your citizenship--declare yourself unworthyto be a son of the land that gave you birth. Even if you perpetratedsuch a civil crime, you would render no service to Annie. Your rightwould simply lapse to the son of Herbert Hyde--the young man you met atOxford--"
"Surely, sir, we need not talk of that fellow. I have already told youwhat a very sycophant he is. He licks the dust before any man of wealthor authority; his tongue hangs down to his shoe-buckles."
"Well then, sir, what is your duty to Annie Hyde?"
"I do not conceive myself to have any special duty to Annie Hyde."
"Upon my honour, you are then perversely stupid! But it is impossiblethat you do not realize what justice, honour, gratitude and generositydemand from you! When your uncle wrote me that pitiful letter whichinformed me of the death of his last son, my first thought was that hisdaughter must be assured her right in the succession. There is one wayto compass this. You know what that way is.--Why do you not speak?"
"Because, sir, if I confess your evident opinion to be just, I bindmyself to carry it out, because of its justice."
"Is it not just?"
"It might be just to Annie and very unjust to me."
"No, sir. Justice is a thing absolute; it is not altered bycircumstances, especially for a circumstance so trivial as a youngman's idle fancy."
"'Tis no idle fancy. I love Cornelia Moran."
"You have already loved a score of beauties--and forgotten them."
"I have admired, and forgot. If I had loved, I should not haveforgotten. Now, I love."
"Then, sir, be a man, a noble man, and put your personal gratificationbelow justice, honour, and gratitude. This is the first real trial ofyour life, George, are you going to play the coward in
it?"
"If you could only see Miss Moran!"
"I should find it difficult to be civil to her. George, I put beforeyou a duty that no gentleman can by any possibility evade."
"If this arrangement is so important, why was I not told of it, erethis?"
"It is scarcely a year since your Cousin Harry's death. Annie is notfifteen years old. I did not wish to force matters. I intended you togo to England next year, and I hoped that a marriage might come withoutmy advice or my interference. It seemed to me that Annie's positionwould itself open your heart to her."
"I have no heart to give her."
"Then you must at least give her your hand. I myself proposed thisarrangement, and your uncle's pleasure and gratitude were of the mosttouching kind. Further, if you will have the very truth, then know,that under no circumstances, will I sanction a marriage with DoctorMoran's daughter."
"You cannot possibly object to her, sir. She is perfection itself."
"I object to her in-toto. I detest Doctor Moran, personally. I know notwhy, nor care wherefore. I detest him still more sincerely as a man ofFrench extraction. I was brought very much in contact with him forthree years, and if we had not been in camp, and under arms, I wouldhave challenged him a score of times. He is the most offensive of men.He brought his race prejudices continually to the front. When Lafayettewas wounded, with some of his bragging company, nothing would do butDoctor Moran must go with them to the hospital at Bethlehem; yes, andstay there, until the precious marquis was out of danger. I'll swearthat he would not have done this for Washington--he would haveblustered about the poor fellows lying sick in camp. Moran talks aboutbeing an American, and the Frenchman crops out at every corner. But HEis neither here, nor there, in our affairs; what I wish you to rememberis, that rank has its duties as well as its privileges; and you wouldbe a poltroon to accept one and ignore the other. What are you going todo?"
"I know not. I must think--"
"I am ashamed of you! In the name of all that is honourable, what isthere to think about? Have you told this Miss Moran that you love her?"
"Not in precise words. I have only seen her three or four times."
"Then, sir, you have only YOURSELF to think about. Have I a son with solittle proper feeling that he needs to think a moment when the case isbetween honour and himself? George, it is high time that you set out totravel. In the neighbourhood of your mother, and your grandparents, andyour flatterers in the city, you never get beyond the atmosphere ofyour own whims and fancies. This conversation has come sooner than Iwished; but after it, there is nothing worth talking about."
"Sir, you are more cruel and unreasonable than I could believepossible."
"The railings of a losing lover are not worth answering. Give youranger sway, and when you are reasonable again, tell me. A man mad inlove has some title to my pity."
"And, sir, if you were any other man but my father, I would say'Confound your pity!' I am not sensible of deserving it, except as theresult of your own unreasonable demands on me--Our conversation isextremely unpleasant, and I desire to put an end to it. Permit me toreturn to the house."
"With all my heart. But let me advise you to say nothing to yourmother, at present, on this subject:" then with an air of dejection headded--"What is past, must go; and whatever is to come is very sure tohappen."
"Sir, nothing past, present, or future, can change me. I shall obey thewishes of my heart, and be true to its love."
"Let me tell you, George, that Love is now grown wise. He followsFortune."
"Good-morning, sir."
"Let it be so. I will see you to-morrow in town. Ten to one, you willbe more reasonable then."
He stood in the centre of the roadway watching his son's angrycarriage. The poise of his head, and his rapid, uneven steps, weresymptoms the anxious father understood very well. "He is in a nakedtemper, without even civil disguise," he muttered; "and I hope his owncompany will satisfy him until the first fever is past. Do I not knowthat to be in love is to be possessed? It is in the head--theheart--the blood--it is indeed an uncontrollable fever! I hope, firstand foremost, that he will keep away from his mother in his presentunreason."
His mother was, however, George's first desire. He did not believe shewould sanction his sacrifice to Annie Hyde. Justice, honour, gratitude!these were fine names of his father's invention to adorn a ceremonywhich would celebrate his life-long misery, and he rebelled againstsuch an immolation of his youth and happiness. When he reached thehouse, he found that his mother had gone to the pond to feed her swans;and he decided to ride a little out of his way in order to see herthere. Presently he came to a spot where tall, shadowing pinessurrounded a large sheet of water, dipping their lowest branches intoit. Mrs. Hyde stood among them, and the white, stately birds werecrowding to her very feet. He reined in his horse to watch her, andthough accustomed to her beauty, he marvelled again at it. Like asylvan goddess she stood, divinely tall, and divinely fair; her wholepresence suffused with a heavenly serenity and happiness! Upon the softearth the hoofs of his horse had not been audible, but when he camewithin her sight, it was wonderful to watch the transformation on hercountenance. A great love, a great joy, swept away like a gust of wind,the peace on its surface; and a glowing, loving intelligence made herinstantly restless. She called him with sweet imperiousness, "George!Joris! Joris! My dear one!" and he answered her with the one word evernear, and ever dear, to a woman's heart--"MOTHER!"
"I thought you were with your father. Where have you left him?"
"In the wilderness. There is need for me to go to the city. My fatherwill tell you WHY. I come only to see you--to kiss you--"
"Joris, I see that you are angry. Well then, my dear one, what is it?What has your father been saying to you?"
"He will tell you."
"SO! Whatever it is, your part I shall take. Right or wrong, your partI shall take."
"There is nothing wrong, dear mother."
"Money, is it?"
"It is not money. My father is generous to me."
"Then, some woman it is?"
"Kiss me, mother. After all, there is no woman like unto you."
She drew close to him, and he stooped his handsome face to hers, andkissed her many times. Her smile comforted him, for it was full ofconfidence, as she said--
"Trouble not yourself, Joris. At the last, your father sees through myeyes. Must you go? Well then, the Best of Beings go with you!"
"When are you coming to town, mother?"
"Next week. There is a dinner party at the President's, and your fatherwill not be absent--nor I--nor you?"
"If I am invited, I shall go, just that I may see you enter the room.Let me tell you, that sight always fills my heart with a tumultuouspride and love."
"A great flatterer are you, Joris!" but she lifted her face again, andGeorge kissed it, and then rode rapidly away.
He hardly drew rein until he reached his grandfather's house, ahandsome Dutch residence, built of yellow brick, and standing in agarden that was, at this season, a glory of tulips and daffodils,hyacinths and narcissus--the splendid colouring of the beds beingwonderfully increased by their borderings of clipped box. An air ofsunshiny peace was over the place, and as the upper-half of theside-door stood open he tied his horse and went in. The ticking of thetall house-clock was the only sound he heard at first, but as he stoodirresolute, a sweet, thin voice in an adjoining room began to sing ahymn.
"Grandmother! Grandmother!! Grandmother!!!" he called, and before thelast appeal was echoed the old lady appeared. She came forward rapidly,her knitting in her hand. She was singularly bright and alert, withrosy cheeks, and snow-white hair under a snow-white cap ofclear-starched lace. A snow-white kerchief of lawn was crossed over herbreast, and the rest of her dress was so perfectly Dutch that she mighthave stepped out of one of Tenier's pictures.
"Oh, my Joris!" she cried, "Joris! Joris! I am so happy to see thee.But what, then, is the matter? Thy eyes are full of trouble."
"I will
tell you, grandmother." And he sat down by her side and wentover the conversation he had had with his father. She never interruptedhim, but he knew by the rapid clicking of her knitting needles that shewas moved far beyond her usual quietude. When he ceased speaking, sheanswered--
"To sell thee, Joris, is a great shame, and for nothing to sell thee isstill worse. This is what I think: Let half of the income from theearldom go to the poor young lady, but THYSELF into the bargain, isbeyond all reason. And if with Cornelia Moran thou art in love, a goodthing it is;--so I say."
"Do you know Cornelia, grandmother?"
"Well, then, I have seen her; more than once. A great beauty I thinkher; and Doctor John has Money--plenty of money--and a very good familyare the Morans. I remember his father--a very fine gentleman."
"But my father hates Doctor Moran."
"Very wicked is he to hate any one. Why, then?"
"He gave me only one reason--that his family is French."
"SO! Thy mother was Dutch. Every one cannot be English--a God's mercythey cannot! Now, then, thy grandfather is coming; thy trouble tell tohim. Good advice he will give thee."
Senator Van Heemskirk however went first into his garden and gatheringgreat handfuls of white narcissus and golden daffodils, he called aslave woman and bade her carry them to the Semple house, and lay themin, and around, his friend's coffin. One white lily he kept in his handas he came towards his wife and grandson, with eyes fixed on its beauty.
"Lysbet," he said,--but he clasped George's hand as he spoke--"MyLysbet, if in the Dead Valley of this earth grow such heavenly flowersas this, we will not fear the grave. It is only to sleep on the breastthat gives us the lily and the rose, and the wheat, and the corn. Oh,how sweet is this flower! It has the scent of Paradise."
He laid it gently down while he put off his fine broadcloth coat andlace ruffles and assumed the long vest and silk skull cap, which washis home dress; then he put it in a buttonhole of his vest, and seemedto joy himself in its delicate fragrance. With these preliminariesneither Joris nor Lysbet interfered; but when he had lit his long pipeand seated himself comfortably in his chair, Lysbet said--
"Where hast thou been all this afternoon?"
"I have been sealing up my friend's desk and drawers until his sonsarrive. Very happy he looks. He is now ONE OF THOSE THAT KNOW."
"Well, then, after the long strife, 'He Rests.'"
"Men have written it. What know they about it? Rest would not be heavento my friend Alexander Semple. To work, to be up and doing His Will,that would be his delight."
"I wonder, Joris, if in the next life we shall know each other?"
"My Lysbet, in this life do we know each other?"
"I think not. Here has come our dear Joris full of trouble to thee, forhis father has said such things as I could not have believed. Joris,tell thy grandfather what they are."
And this time George, being very sure of hearty sympathy, told his talewith great feeling--perhaps even with a little anger. His grandfatherlistened patiently to the youth's impatience, but he did not answerexactly to his expectations.
"My Joris," he said, "so hard it is to accept what goes against ourwishes. If Cornelia Moran you had not met, would your father's desiresbe so impossible to you? Noble and generous would they not seem--"
"But I have seen Cornelia, and I love her."
"Two or three times you have seen her. How can you be sure that youlove her?"
"In the first hour I was sure."
"Of nothing are we quite sure. In too great a hurry are you. Miss Moranmay not love you. She may refuse ever to love you. Her mind you havenot asked. Beside this, in his family her father may not wish you. Avery proud man is Doctor John."
"Grandfather, I may be an earl some day."
"An English earl. Doctor John may not endure to think of his only childliving in that far-off country. I, myself, know how this thought canwork a father to madness. And, again, your Cousin Annie may not wish tomarry you."
"Faith, sir, I had not thought of myself as so very disagreeable."
"No. Vain and self-confident is a young man. See, then, how many thingsmay work this way, that way, and if wise you are you will be quiet andwait for events. One thing, move not in your anger; it is like puttingto sea in a tempest. Now I shall just say a word or two on the otherside. If your father is so set in his mind about the Hydes, let him dothe justice to them he wishes to do; but it is not right that he shouldmake YOU do it for him."
"He says that only I can give Annie justice."
"But that is not good sense. When the present Earl dies, and she isleft an orphan, who shall prevent your father from adopting her as hisown daughter, and leaving her a daughter's portion of the estate? Insuch case, she would be in exactly the same position as if her brotherhad lived and become earl. Is not that so?"
"My dear, dear grandfather, you carry wisdom with you! Now I shall havethe pleasure to propose to my father that he do his own justice! Owise, wise grandfather! You have made me happy to a degree!"
"Very well, but say not that _I_ gave you such counsel. When yourfather speaks to me, as he is certain to do, then I will say such andsuch words to him; but my words in your mouth will be a great offence;and very justly so, for it is hard to carry words, and carry nothingelse. Your dear mother--how is she?"
"Well and happy. She builds, and she plants, and the days are too shortfor her. But my father is not so happy. I can see that he is wearied ofeverything."
"Not here, is his heart. It is in England. And no longer has he greathopes to keep him young. If of Liberty I now speak to him, he has asmile so hopeless that both sad and angry it makes me. No faith has heleft in any man, except Washington; and I think, also, he isdisappointed that Washington was not crowned King George the First."
"I can assure you, sir, that others share his disappointment. Mr. Adamswould not object to be Duke of New York, and even little Burr wouldlike a lordship."
"I have heard; my ears are not dull, nor my eyes blind. But too muchout of the world lives your father; men who do so grow unfit to live inthe world. He dreams dreams impossible to us--impossible to France--andthen he says 'Liberty is a dream.' Well, well, Life also is adream--when we awake--"
Then he ceased speaking, and there was silence until Lysbet VanHeemskirk said, softly, "When we awake, WE SHALL BE SATISFIED."
Van Heernskirk smiled at his wife's cheerful assurance, and continued,"It is true, Lysbet, what you say; and even here, in our dreaming, whatsatisfaction! As for me, I expect not too much. The old order and thenew order fight yet for the victory; and what passes now will be worthtalking about fifty years hence."
"It is said, grandfather, that the Dutch church is anti-Federal to aman."
"Not true are such sayings. The church will be very like old VanSteenwyck, who boasts of his impartiality, and who votes for theFederals once, and for the anti-Federals once, and the third time doesnot vote at all. If taken was the vote of the Church, it would be sixfor the Federals and half-a-dozen for the anti-Federals."
"Mr. Burr--"
"Of Mr. Burr I will not talk. I like not his little dirty politics."
"He is very clever."
"Well, then, you have to praise him for being clever; for being honestyou cannot praise him."
"'Tis a monstrous pity that Right can only be on one side; yetsometimes Right and Mr. Burr may happen to be on the same side."
"The right way is too straight for Aaron Burr. If into it he wanders'tis for a wrong reason."
"My dear grandfather, how your words bite!"
"I wish not to say biting things; but Aaron Burr stands for thosepoliticians who turn patriotism into shopkeeping and their owninterest--men who care far more for WHO governs us than for HOW we aregoverned. And what will be the end of such ways? I will tell you. Weshall have a Democracy that will be the reign of those who know theleast and talk the loudest."
At this point in the conversation Van Heemskirk was called to the doorabout some business matter and Ge
orge was left alone with hisgrandmother. She was setting the tea-table, and her hands were full ofchina; but she put the cups quickly down, and going to George's side,said--
"Cornelia Moran spends this evening with her friend Arenta Van Ariens.Well then, would thou like an excuse to call on Arenta?"
"Oh, grandmother! Do you indeed know Arenta? Can you send me there?"
"Since she was one month old I have known Arenta. This morning, shecame here to borrow for her Aunt Jacobus my ivory winders. Now then, Idid not wish to lend Angelica Jacobus my winders; and I said to Arentathat 'by and by I would look for them.' Not far are they to seek; andfor thy pleasure I will get them, and thou canst take them this eveningto Arenta."
"O you dear, dear grandmother!" and he stood up, and lifted her rosyface between his hands and kissed her.
"I am so fond of thee," she continued. "I love thee so much; and thypleasure is my pleasure; and I see no harm--no harm at all--in thy lovefor the beautiful Cornelia. I think, with thee, she is a girl worth anyman's heart; and if thou canst win her, I, for one, will be joyful withthee. Perhaps, though, I am a selfish old woman--it is so easy to beselfish."
"Let me tell you, grandmother, you know not how to be selfish."
"Let me tell thee, Joris, I was thinking of myself, as well as of thee.For while thy grandfather talked of Aaron Burr, this thought came intomy mind--if to Annie Hyde my Joris is married, he will live in England,and I shall see him no more in this world. But if to Cornelia Moran heis married, when his father goes to England, then here he will stay; hewill live at Hyde Manor, and I shall go to see him, and he will callhere to see me;--and then, many good days came into my thoughts. Yes,yes, in every kind thing, in every good thing, somewhere there is hid alittle bit of our own will and way. Always, if I look with straighteyes, I can find it." "Get me the winders, grandmother; for now youhave given me a reason to hurry."
"But why so quickly must you go?"
"Look at me! It will take me two hours to dress. I have had nodinner--I want to think--you understand, grandmother?"
Then she went into the best parlour, and opening one of the shutterslet in sufficient light to find in the drawer of a little Chinesecabinet some ivory winders of very curious design and workmanship. Shefolded them in soft tissue paper and handed them to her grandson with apleasant nod; and the young man slipped them into his waistcoat pocket,and then went hurriedly away.
He had spoken of his dinner, but though somewhat hungry, he made but alight meal. His dress seemed to him the most vitally important thing ofthe hour; and no girl choosing her first ball gown could have felt moreanxious and critical on the subject. His call was to be considered anaccidental one; and he could not therefore dress as splendidly as if itwere a ceremonious or expected visit. After much hesitation, heselected a coat and breeches of black velvet, a pearl-coloured vest,and cravat and ruffles of fine English bone lace. Yet when his toiletwas completed, he was dissatisfied. He felt sure more splendid apparelset off his dark beauty to greater advantage; and yet he was equallysure that more splendid apparel would not--on this occasion--be assuitable.
Doubting and hoping, he reached the Van Ariens' house soon after seveno'clock. It was not quite dark, and Jacob Van Ariens stood on thestoop, smoking his pipe and talking to a man who had the appearance ofa workman; and who was, in fact, the foreman of his business quartersin the Swamp.
"Good-evening, sir," said George with smiling politeness. "Is Miss VanAriens within?"
"Within? Yes. But company she has tonight," said the watchful father,as he stood suspicious and immovable in the entrance.
It did not seem to George as if it would be an easy thing to pass sucha porter at the door, but he continued,
"I have come with a message to Miss Van Ariens."
"A very fine messenger!" answered Van Ariens, slightly smiling.
"A fine lady deserves a fine messenger. But, sir, if you will do myerrand for me, I am content. 'Tis from Madame Van Heemskirk--"
"SO then? That is good."
"I am George Hyde, her grandson, you know."
"Well then, I did not know. 'Tis near dark, and I see not as well asonce I did."
"I have brought from Madame Van Heemskirk some ivory winders for MadameJacobus."
"Come in, come in, and tell my Arenta the message thyself. I knownothing of such things. Come in, I did not think of thee as my friendVan Heemskirk's grandson. Welcome art thou!" and Van Ariens himselfopened the parlour door, saying, "Arenta, here is George Hyde. Amessage he brings for thy Aunt Angelica."
And while these words were being uttered, George delighted his eyeswith the vision of Cornelia, who sat at a small table with someneedlework in her hand. Arenta's tatting was over her foot, and she hadto remove it in order to rise and meet Hyde. Rem sat idly fingering apack of playing cards and talking to Cornelia. This situation Georgetook in at a glance; though his sense of sight was quite satisfied whenit rested on the lovely girl who dropped her needle as he entered, forhe saw the bright flush which overspread her face and throat, and thelight of pleasure which so filled her eyes that they seemed to make herwhole face luminous.
In a few moments, Arenta's pretty enthusiasms and welcomes dissipatedall constraint, and Hyde placed his chair among the happy group andfell easily into his most charming mood. Even Rem could not resist theatmosphere of gaiety and real enjoyment that soon pervaded the room.They sang, they played, they had a game at whist, and everything thathappened was in some subtle, secret way, a vehicle for Hyde's love toexpress itself. Yet it was to Arenta he appeared to be most attentive;and Rem was good-naturedly inclined to permit his sister to beappropriated, if only he was first in the service of Cornelia.
But though Hyde's attentions were so little obvious, Cornelia wassatisfied. It would have been a poor lover who could not have saidunder such circumstances "I love you" a hundred times over; and GeorgeHyde was not a poor lover. He had naturally the ardent confidence anddaring which delight women, and he had not passed several seasons inthe highest London society without learning all those sweet, occultways of making known admiration, which the presence of others rendersboth necessary and possible.
About half-past nine, a negro woman came with Cornelia's cloak andhood. George took them from Arenta's hand and folded the warm circularround Cornelia's slight figure; and then watched her tie her prettypink hood, managing amid the pleasant stir of leave-taking to whispersome words that sang all night like sweetest music in her heart. It wasRem, however, that gave her his arm and escorted her to her own door;and with this rightful privilege to his guest young Hyde was far toogentlemanly and just to interfere. However, even in this moment ofseeming secondary consideration, he heard a few words which gave him adelightful assurance of coming satisfaction. For as the two girls stoodin the hall, Arenta said--
"You will come over in the morning, Cornelia?"
"I cannot," answered Cornelia. "After breakfast, I have to go toRichmond Hill with a message from my mother to Mrs. Adams; and thoughfather will drive me there I shall most likely have to walk home. But Iwill come to you in the afternoon."
"Very well. Then in the morning I will go to Aunt Angelica's with thewinders. I shall then have some news to tell you in the afternoon--thatis, if the town makes us any."
And George, hearing these words, could hardly control his delight. Forhe was one of Mrs. Adams' favourites, and so much at home in her housethat he could visit her at any hour of the day without a ceremoniousinvitation. And it immediately struck him that his mother had oftendesired to know how Mrs. Adams fed her swans, and also that she hadwished for some seeds from her laburnum trees. These things would makea valid excuse for an early call, as Mrs. Adams might naturally supposehe was on his way to Hyde Manor.
He took a merry leave of Arenta, and with his mind full of this plan,went directly to his rooms. The Belvedere Club was this night,impossible to him. After the angelic Cornelia, he could not take intohis consciousness the hideous Marat, and the savage orgies of theFrench Revolution. Su
ch a thought transference would be an impossibleprofanation. Indeed, he could consider no other thing, but themiraculous fact, that Cornelia was going to Mrs. Adams'; and that itwas quite within his power to meet her there.
"'Tis my destiny! 'Tis my happy destiny to love her!" he said softly tohimself. "Such an adorable girl! Such a ravishing beauty is notelsewhere on this earth!" And he was not conscious of any exaggerationin such language. Nor was there. He was young, he was rich, he had nobusiness to consider, no sorrow to sober him, no care of any kind tomingle with the rapturous thoughts which his transported imaginationand his captivated heart blended with the image of Cornelia.
"I shall tell Mrs. Adams how far gone in love I am," he continued. "Sheis herself set on that clever little husband of hers; and 'tis said,theirs was a love match, beyond all speculation. I shall say to her,'Help me, madame, to an opportunity'; and I think she will not refuse.As for my father, I heard him this morning with as much patience as anyChristian could do; but I am resolved to marry Cornelia. I will notgive her up; not for an earldom! not for a dukedom! not for the crownof England!"
And to these thoughts he flung off, with a kind of passion, his coatand vest. The action was but the affirmation of his resolve, amaterialization of his will. To have used an oath in connection withCornelia would have offended him; but this passionate action assertedwith equal emphasis his unalterable resolve. A tender, gallant,courageous spirit possessed him. He was carried away by the feelings itinspired: and nobly so, for alas for that man who professes to be inlove and is not carried away by his feelings; in such case, he has nofeelings worth speaking of!
Joris Hyde allowed the sweet emotions Cornelia had inspired to have,and to hold, and to occupy his whole being. His heart burned withinhim; memories of Cornelia closed his eyes, and then filled them withadorable visions of her pure, fresh loveliness; his pulses bounded; hisblood ran warm and free as the ethereal ichor of the gods. Sleep was athousand leagues away; he was so vivid, that the room felt hot; and heflung open the casement and sat in a beatitude of blissful hopes andimaginations.
And after midnight, when dreams fall, the moon came up over Nassau andCedar Streets and threw poetic glamours over the antique churches, andgrassy graveyards, and the pretty houses, covered with vines andbudding rosebushes; and this soft shadow of light calmed and charmedhim. In it, he could believe all his dreams possible. He leaned forwardand watched the silvery disc, struggling in soft, white clouds; partingthem, as with hands, when they formed in baffling, airy masses in herway. And the heavenly traveller was not silent; she had a language heunderstood; for as he watched the sweet, strong miracle, he said softlyto himself--
"It is a sign to me! It is a sign! So will I put away every bafflinghindrance between Cornelia and myself. Barriers will only be as thosevaporous clouds. I shall part them with my strong resolves--I shall--Ishall--I--" and he fell asleep with this sense of victory thrilling hiswhole being. Then the moon rose higher, and soon came in broad whitebars through the window and lay on his young, handsome, smiling face,with the same sweet radiance that in the days of the gods glorified thebeautiful shepherd, sleeping on the Ephesian plains.