Tony Butler Part 29

CHAPTER XVIII. ON THE ROAD

A great moralist and a profound thinker has left it on record that there were few pleasanter sensations than those of being whirled rapidly along a good road at the top speed of a pair of posters. Whether, had he lived in our age of express trains, the "rail" might not have qualified the judgment is not so sure. One thing is, however, certain,--the charm of a brisk drive on a fine breezy morning, along a bold coast, with a very beautiful woman for a companion, is one that belongs to all eras, independent of broad gauges and narrow, and deriving none of its enjoyment from steam or science. Maitland was to know this now in all its ecstasy, as he drove off from Lyle Abbey with Mrs. Trafford. There was something of gala in the equipage,--the four dappled grays with pink roses at their heads, the smartly dressed servants, and, more than all, the lovely widow herself, most becomingly dressed in a costume which, by favor of the climate, could combine furs with lace,--that forcibly struck him as resembling the accompaniments of a wedding; and he smiled at the pleasant conceit.

"What is it amuses you, Mr. Maitland?" said she, unable to repress her curiosity.

"I am afraid to tell you,--that is, I might have told you a moment ago, but I can't now."

"Perhaps I guess it?"

"I don't think so."

"No matter; let us talk of something else. Isn't that a very beautiful little bay? It was a fancy of mine once to build a cottage there. You can see the spot from here, to the left of those three rocks."

"Yes; but there are walls there,--ruins, I think."

"No, not exactly ruins. They were the outer walls of my intended villa, which I abandoned after I had begun it; and there they stand,--accusers of a change of mind, sad reminders of other days and their projects."

"Were they very pleasant days that you sigh over them, or are they sad reminiscences?"

"Both one and the other. I thought it would be such a nice thing to retire from the world and all its vanities, and live there very secluded and forgotten."

"And how long ago was this?"

"Oh, very long ago,--fully a year and a half."

"Indeed!" cried he, with a well-feigned astonishment.

"Yes," said she, resuming. "I was very tired of being flattered and feted, and what people call 'spoiled;' for it is by no means remembered how much amus.e.m.e.nt is afforded to those who play the part of 'spoilers'

in the wilfulness and caprice they excite; and so I thought, 'I 'll show you all how very easy it is to live without you. I 'll let you see that I can exist without your homage.'"

"And you really fancied this?"

"You ask as if you thought the thing incredible."

"Only difficult,--not impossible."

"I never intended total isolation, mind. I 'd have had my intimates, say two or three,--certainly not more,--dear friends, to come and go and stay as they pleased."

"And do you know how you 'd have pa.s.sed your time, or shall I tell you?"

"Yes. Let me hear your version of it."

"In talking incessantly of that very world you had quitted, in greedily devouring all its scandals, and canva.s.sing all its sins,--criticising, very possibly, its shortcomings and condemning its frivolities; but still following with a wistful eye all its doings, and secretly longing to be in the thick of them."

"Oh, how wrong you are, how totally wrong! You know very little about him who would have been my chief adviser and Grand Vizier."

"And who, pray, would have been so fortunate as to fill that post?"

"The son of that old lady to whom you devoted so many mornings,--the playfellow of long ago, Tony Butler."

"Indeed, I only made his acquaintance yesterday, and it would be rash to speak on such a short experience; but I may be permitted to ask, has he that store of resources which enliven solitude? is he so full of life's experiences that he can afford to retire from the world and live on the interest of his knowledge of mankind?"

"He knows nothing whatever of what is called life,--at least what Mr.

Maitland would call life. He is the most simple-hearted young fellow in the world, with the finest nature, and the most generous."

"What would I not give for a friend who would grow so enthusiastic about me!"

"Are you so sure you 'd deserve it?"

"If I did, there would be no merit in the praise. Credit means trust for what one may or may not have."

"Well, I am speaking of Tony as I know him; and, true to the adage, there he is, coming down the hill. Pull up, George."

"Mr. Butler's making me a sign, ma'am, not to stop till I reach the top of the hill."

The moment after, the spanking team stood champing their bits and tossing their manes on the crest of the ridge.

"Come here, Tony, and be scolded!" cried Mrs. Trafford; while the young fellow, instead of approaching the carriage, busied himself about the horses.

"Wait a moment till I let down their heads. How could you have suffered them to come up the long hill with the bearing-reins on, Alice?" cried he.

"So, then, it is I that am to have the scolding," said she, in a whisper; then added aloud, "Come here and beg pardon. I 'm not sure you 'll get it, for your shameful desertion of us. Where have you been, sir?

and why have not you reported yourself on your return?"

Tony came up to the side of the carriage with an attempt at swagger that only increased his own confusion, and made him blush deeply. No sooner, however, had he seen Maitland, of whose presence up to that he had been ignorant, than he grew pale, and had to steady himself by catching hold of the door.

"I see you are ashamed," said she, "but I 'll keep you over for sentence. Meanwhile, let me present you to Mr. Maitland."

"I know him," said Tony, gulping out the words.

"Yes," chimed in Maitland, "we made acquaintance yesterday; and if Mr.

Butler be but of my mind, it will not be a mere pa.s.sing knowledge we shall have of each other."

"Get in, Tony, and come a mile or two with us. You know all the short cuts in the mountains, and can get back easily."

"There's the short cut I mean to take now," said Tony, sternly, as he pointed to a path that led down to the seash.o.r.e. "I am going home."

"Yes, sir," resumed she, with a well-feigned air of severity; "but mine is a command."

"I have left the service,--I have taken my discharge," said he, with a forced laugh.

"At least, you ought to quit with honor,--not as a deserter," said she, softly but sadly.

"Perhaps he could not trust his resolution, if he were to see again the old flag he had served under," said Maitland.

"Who made you the exponent of what I felt, sir?" said he, savagely. "I don't remember that in our one single conversation we touched on these things."