The Youth of Jefferson Part 48

Mowbray colored.

"He has a n.o.ble heart," he said; "do I understand that----"

"I love him! Yes, I cannot deny it truly; and why should I not make him happy?--for he loves me sincerely."

Mowbray felt his heart sink. Then that new-born hope was doomed to disappointment--that fancy was all folly! His miseries would be only deeper for the brief taste of happiness. He could not reply; he only muttered some inarticulate words, which Philippa did not seem to hear.

"I will decide finally on the day of the party at Shadynook," she said, smiling; "and now let us leave the subject. But do not forget to tell me when Charles enters," she added, laughing.

Poor Mowbray! he felt his heart oppressed with a new and more bitter emotion. The company thought him happy in exclusive possession of the lovely girl's society--his side was pierced with a cruel, rankling thorn.

CHAPTER XXVII.

THE LAST CHANCE OF JACQUES.

While Mowbray and Philippa were holding their singular colloquy in one portion of the laughing and animated crowd, our friend Sir Asinus, with that perseverance which characterized his great intellect, was endeavoring to make an impression on the heart of the maiden of his love. But it was all in vain.

In vain did Sir Asinus dance minuets without number, execute bows beyond example--the little maiden obstinately persisted in bestowing her smiles on her companion, Bathurst.

That young gentleman finally bore her off triumphantly on his arm.

Sir Asinus stood still for a moment, then sent these remarkable words after the little damsel:

"You have crushed a faithful heart--you have spurned a deep affection, beautiful and fascinating maiden. Inured to female charms, and weary of philosophy, I found in thee the ideal of my spirit--truth and simplicity: the fates forbid, and henceforth I am nought! Never again look up, O maiden, to my window, when the morning sun s.h.i.+nes on it, as you pa.s.s to school--expect to see me in those fair domains no more!

Henceforth I am a wanderer, and am homeless. In my bark, named in past days the Rebecca, I will seek some foreign clime, and nevermore return to these sh.o.r.es. I'll buy me a fiddle in Italy, and hobn.o.b with gondoliers, singing the songs of Ta.s.so on Venetian waters. Never again expect to see my face at the window as you go on merrily--I leave my native sh.o.r.e to-morrow, and am gone!"

With which words--words which terrified the little damsel profoundly--Sir Asinus folded his arms, and in this position, with a sad scowl upon his face, pa.s.sed forth into the night.

As he reached the door of the Raleigh, he perceived Mrs. Wimple and one or two elderly ladies getting into a chariot; and behind them Jacques leading Belle-bouche triumphantly toward his small two-seated vehicle.

Jacques was radiant, and this the reader may possibly understand, if he will recollect the scheme of this gentleman--to address Belle-bouche where no fate could interrupt him.

As Sir Asinus pa.s.sed on, frowning, Jacques cast upon that gentleman a look which expressed triumphant happiness.

"You won't interrupt me on my way back, will you?" he said, smiling; "eh, my dear Sir Asinus?"

Sir Asinus ground his teeth.

Belle-bouche was safely stowed into the vehicle--Jacques gathered up the reins, was about to get in--when, disastrous fate! the voice of Mrs. Wimple was heard, declaring that the night had grown too cool for her beloved niece to ride in the open air.

Sir Asinus lingered and listened with sombre pleasure.

In vain did Jacques remonstrate, and Belle-bouche declare the night delightful: Aunt Wimple, strong in her fears of night air, was inexorable.

So Belle-bouche with a little pout got down, and Jacques cursing his evil stars, a.s.sisted her into the chariot.

Would he not come in, and spend the night at Shadynook?--they could make room for him by squeezing, said Aunt Wimple.

No, no, he could not inconvenience them--he would not be able to stay at Shadynook--he hoped they would have a pleasant journey; and as the chariot rolled off, the melancholy Jacques gazed after it with an expression of profound misery.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder; he turned and saw Sir Asinus. But Sir Asinus was not deriding him--he was groaning.

"Let us commit suicide," said the knight, in gloomy tones.

Jacques started.

"Suicide!"

"The night is favorable, and my hopes are dead, like yours," said Sir Asinus, gloomily.

"That is enough to kill at one time," said the melancholy Jacques; "mine are not--animation is only suspended. On the whole, my dear friend, I am opposed to your proposition. Good night!"

And Jacques, with a melancholy smile, departed.

Sir Asinus, with a gesture of despair, rushed forth into the night.

Whether that gentleman had been reading romances or not, we cannot say; but as he disappeared, he bore a strong resemblance to a desperate lover bent on mischief.

Within, the reel had now begun--that n.o.ble divertis.e.m.e.nt, before which all other dances disappear, vanquished, overwhelmed, driven from the field, and weeping their departed glories. For the reel is a high mystery--it is superior to all--it cannot be danced beyond the borders of Virginia--as the Seville orange of commerce loses its flavor, and is nothing. The reel ends all the festivities of the old Virginian gatherings, and crowns with its supreme merriment the pyramid of mirth. When it is danced properly,--to proper music, by the proper persons, and with proper ardor,--all the elements break loose. Mirth and music and bright eyes respectively shower, thunder and lighten. In the old days, it snowed too--for the powder fell in alabaster dust and foamy clouds, and crammed the air with fragrance.

As for the reel which they danced at the Raleigh tavern, in the Apollo room, upon the occasion we allude to, who shall speak of it with adequate justice? Jacques lost it--tulip-like, the king of grace--Belle-bouche was with him; and a thousand eyes were on the maze,--the maze which flashed, and buzzed, and rustled, ever merrier--and glittered with its diamonds and far brighter eyes--and ever grew more tangled and more simple, one and many, complicate and single, while the music roared above in flas.h.i.+ng cadences and grand ambrosial grace.

And merrier feet were never seen. The little maidens seemed to pour their hearts out in the enchanting divertis.e.m.e.nt, and the whole apartment, with its dazzling lights and flowers, was full of laughter, mirth, and holiday from end to end. When the final roar of the violins dropped into silence, and so crumbled into nothing, all was ended.

Cavaliers offered their arms--ladies put on their hoods--chariots drove up and received their burdens; and in another hour, the joyous festival was but a recollection. After the reel--nothingness.

The Apollo room was still again--waiting for other men than youthful gallants, other words than flattering compliments.

And Mowbray went home with a wounded heart, which all the smiles of Philippa could not heal--for Hoffland was his rival. Denis went home with a happy heart, for Lucy had smiled on him. Sir Asinus was miserable--boy Bathurst was happy. The ball at the Raleigh was a true microcosm, where John smiled and James sighed, and all played on, and went away miserable or the reverse.

And so it ended.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

SIR ASINUS INTENDS FOR EUROPE.

The morning of the May-day festival dawned bright and joyous;--nature seemed to be smiling, and the "rosy-bosomed hours" began their flight toward the west, with that brilliant splendor which they always deck themselves in, in the merry month of May.

Jacques rose early, and was at his mirror betimes. He had selected a suit of extraordinary richness, made with express reference to the rainbow; and when he drew on his coat, and took a last survey of himself in the mirror, he smiled--no longer sighed--and thought of Belle-bouche with the triumphant feeling of a general who has driven the enemy at last into a corner.

He issued forth and mounted his gay charger, which, with original and brilliant taste, he had decked with ribbons for the joyous festival; and as he got into the saddle and gathered up the reins, a little crowd of diminutive negro boys, with sadly dilapidated garments, cringed before him, and threw up their caps and split the air with "hoora's" in his honor.

Jacques pranced forth from the _Raleigh_ stable yard in state, and took his way along Gloucester street, the admiration of every beholder. He was going to glory and conquest--probably: he was on his way to happiness--perhaps. He felt a sentiment of benevolent regard for all the human family, and even, in pa.s.sing, cast his thoughts on Sir Asinus.