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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/76576-0.txt b/76576-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..446f5fb --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9576 @@ + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76576 *** + + + + + +[Illustration: “THEY RESTED ON THE BENCHES, AND MADE LITTLE CONFIDENCES, + AND WERE VERY HAPPY.”] + + + + + The Belle of + Bowling Green + + By AMELIA E. BARR + + Author of “The Bow of Orange Ribbon;” “The + Maid of Maiden Lane,” Etc. + + + [Illustration: colophon] + + With Illustrations + By WALTER H. EVERETT + + A. L. BURT COMPANY, + PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK + + + Copyright, 1904, + BY + DODD, MEAD & COMPANY + + _Published, October_ + + PRINTED IN NEW YORK, U. S. A. + + + _To My Friend_ + + WARREN SNYDER + + _A Bookman and a Lover of Books_ + + _This Novel is Dedicated_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +CHAPTER PAGE + + I MONDAY’S DAUGHTERS 3 + + II THE SPRING OF LIFE 30 + + III A SWEETNESS MORE DESIRED THAN SPRING 61 + + IV INTRODUCES MR. ST. ANGE 81 + + V A CHAIN OF CAUSES 115 + + VI THE MIRACLE OF LOVE 149 + + VII THE INCIDENT OF MARRIAGE 194 + +VIII THE ROSE OF RENUNCIATION 226 + + IX THE REPROOF OF THE SWORD 252 + + X THE STAR OF PEACE 296 + + XI AFTERWARD 321 + + + + +_Prologue_ + + + O shades of respectable Vans! + O Livingstons, Kennedys, Jays! + Lend me your names to conjure with, + And bring back the fine old days-- + When the trade and wealth of the city + Lay snugly the rivers between, + And the homes of its merchant princes, + Were built round the Bowling Green. + Here’s to the homes that are past! + Here’s to the men that have been! + Here’s to the heart of New York, + That beats on the Bowling Green! + + Here’s to the men who could meet + Mockers and doubters, with smiles; + And planning for centuries hence, + Lay out their city by miles. + It has spread far out to the North, + It has spread to the East and the West, + Though the men who saw it in dreams, + Now sleep in old Trinity’s breast. + Here’s to the homes that are past! + Here’s to the men that have been! + Here’s to the heart of New York, + That beats on the Bowling Green! + + And here’s to the maids of the past! + (They were beautiful maids we know,) + That strolled in the Battery Park, + In the years of the Long Ago. + And though maids of to-day are fair, + (No lovelier ever have been) + They are proud to be called by the names + Of the Belles of the Bowling Green. + Here’s to the men of the past! + Here’s to the maids that have been! + Here’s to the heart of New York, + That beats on the Bowling Green! + + + + +_The Belle of Bowling Green_ + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +_Monday’s Daughters_ + + +Every city has some locality to which its heroic and civic memories +especially cling; and this locality in the city of New York is the +historic acre of the Bowling Green. With that spot it has been +throughout its existence, in some way or other, unfailingly linked; and +its mingled story of camp and court and domestic life ought to make the +Bowling Green to the citizens of New York all that the Palladium was to +the citizens of ancient Troy. For as the Palladium held in one hand a +pike, and in the other hand a distaff and spindle, so also, the story of +the Bowling Green is one of the pike and the distaff. It has felt the +tread of fighting men, and the light feet of happy maidens; and though +showing a front of cannon, has lain for nearly three centuries at the +open seaward door of the city, like a green hearthstone of welcome. + +In the closing years of the eighteenth, and the early years of the +nineteenth century, the Bowling Green was in a large measure surrounded +by the stately homes of the most honourable and wealthy citizens; and +though this class, before the war of 1812, had began to move slowly +northward, it was some years later a very aristocratic quarter, +especially favoured by the rich families of Dutch extraction, who, +having dwelt for many generations somewhere around the Fort and the +Bowling Green, were not easily induced to relinquish their homes in a +locality so familiar and so dear to them. + +Thus for nearly one hundred and forty years there had been Bloommaerts +living in the old Beaver Path, and in Bloommaert’s Valley, or Broad +Street, and when Judge Gerardus Bloommaert, in 1790, built himself a +handsome dwelling, he desired no finer site for it than the Bowling +Green. It was a lofty, roomy house of red brick, without extraneous +ornament, but realising in its interior arrangements and furnishings the +highest ideals of household comfort and elegance. + +Sapphira, his only daughter, a girl of eighteen years old, was, however, +its chief charm and attraction. No painting on all its walls could rival +her living beauty; and many a young citizen found the road to the Custom +House the road of his desire. For was there not always the hope that he +might catch a glimpse of the lovely Sapphira at the window of her home? +Or meet her walking on the Mall, or the Battery, and perhaps, if very +fortunate, get a smile or a word from her in passing. + +All knew that they could give themselves good reasons for their +devotions; they did not bow to an unworthy idol. Sapphira Bloommaert had +to perfection every mystery and beauty of the flesh--dark, lambent eyes, +hardly more lambent than the luminous face lighted up by the spirit +behind it; nut-brown hair, with brows and long eyelashes of a still +darker shade; a vivid complexion; an exquisite mouth; a tall, erect, +slender form with a rather proud carriage, and movements that were +naturally of superb dignity: “the airs of a queen,” as her cousin +Annette said. But Sapphira had no consciousness in this attitude; it was +as natural as breathing to her; and was the result of a perfectly +harmonious physical and moral beauty, developed under circumstances of +love and happiness. All her life days had been full of content; she +looked as if she had been born smiling. + +This was exactly what her grandmother Bloommaert said to her one +morning, and that with some irritation; for the elder woman was anxious +about many people and many things, and Sapphira’s expression of pleasant +contentment was not the kind of sympathy that worry finds soothing. + +“In trouble is the city, Sapphira, and over that bit of hair-work you +sit smiling, as if in Paradise we were. I think, indeed, you were born +smiling.” + +“The time of tears is not yet, grandmother; when it comes, I shall +weep--like other women.” + +“Weep! Yes, yes; but one thing remember--deliverance comes never through +tears. Look at Cornelia Desbrosses; dying she is, with her own tears +poisoned.” + +“I am sorry for Cornelia; I wish that she had no cause to weep,” and +with these words she did not smile. It had suddenly struck her that +perhaps it was not right or kind to be happy when there was so much fear +and anxiety in her native city. The idea was new and painful; she rose +and went with it to the solitude of her own room; and her mother after +silently watching her exit, said: + +“She is so gentle, so easily moved--was it worth while?” + +“You think so? Give Sapphira a motive strong enough, and so firm she +will be--so impossible to move. Oh, yes, Carlita, I know!” + +“Indeed, mother, she obeys as readily as a little child. Our will is her +will. She bends to it just like the leaves of that tree to the wind.” + +“Very good! but there may come a day when to your will she will not +bend; when a rod of finely tempered steel will be more pliant in your +hand than her wish or will. We shall see. She is a very child yet, but +times are coming--are come--that will turn children quickly into men and +women. Our Gerardus, where is he?” + +“He left home rather earlier than usual. He was sure there was important +news.” Mrs. Bloommaert spoke coldly. Her mother-in-law always set her +temper on edge with the claim vibrating through the two words “our +Gerardus.” “There is so much talk and nothing comes of it but annoyance +to ourselves,” she continued, “the cry has been war for five years. It +comes not.” + +“It is here. At the street corners I saw the bill-man pasting up news of +it. In every one’s mouth I heard it. Alive was the air with the word +_war_; and standing in groups, men were talking together in that +passion of anger that means war, war, and nothing but war.” + +“The blood of New York is always boiling, mother. When Gerardus comes he +will tell us if it be war. I shall not be sorry if it is. When one has +been waiting for a blow five long years, it is a relief to have it fall. +Who is to blame? The administration, or the people?” + +“As well may you ask whether it is the fiddle, or the fiddlestick, that +makes the tune.” + +“At any rate we shall give England a good fight. Our men are not +cowards.” + +“Carlita, all men would be cowards--if they durst.” + +“Mother!” + +“If they durst disobey the nobler instincts which make the lower ones +face their duty.” + +“Oh!” + +“Carlita, you have no ideas about humanity.” + +“I think mother I, at least, understand my husband and sons--as for +Sapphira----” + +“More difficult she will be--and more interesting. Peter and Christopher +are all Dutch; they that run may read them, but in Sapphira the Dutch +and French are discreetly mingled. She has tithed your French ancestors, +Carlita--take good heed of her.” + +“They were of noble strain.” + +“Surely, that is well known. Now I must go home, for I know that Annette +is already afraid, and there is the dinner to order. Pigeons do not fly +into the mouth ready roasted, and Commenia is getting old. She is lazy, +too; but so! The year goes round and somehow we do not find it all bad.” + +As she finished speaking, Sapphira came hastily into the room. Her face +was flushed, her eyes flashing, and she cried out with unrestrained +emotion: “Mother! Mother! We must put out our flags! All the houses on +the Green are flagged! Kouba has them ready. He will help me. And you +too, mother? Certainly you will help? Kouba says we are going to fight +England again! I am so proud! I am so happy! Come, come, mother!” + +“My dear one, wait a little. Your father will be here soon, and----” + +“Oh, no, no! Father may be in court. He is likely with the mayor. +Perhaps he is talking to the people. We can not wait. We must put out +the flags--the old one that has seen battle, and the new one that is to +see it.” + +“But Sapphira----” + +“I have the flags ready, mother. Come quickly,” and without further +parley she ran with fleet, headlong steps to the upper rooms of the +house. Madame, her grandmother, smiled knowingly at her daughter-in-law. + +“The will that is your will?” she asked; “where is it? You can see for +yourself, Carlita.” + +“The news seems to be true at last. You had better wait for Gerardus, +mother. He will tell us all about it.” + +“The news will find me out in Nassau Street.” + +“Commenia can manage without you for one day.” + +“There are strawberries to preserve. I like to manage my affairs myself. +I have my own way, and some other way does not please me.” + +“Well, then, I shall go to Sapphira. My hands are itching for the flags. +I am sure you understand, mother.” + +“Understand! If it comes to that, I made up my mind many years ago about +those English tyrants--and I have not to make it over. I think about +them and their ways exactly as I did when I sent my dear Peter with +Joris Van Heemskirk’s troops to fight them. Gerardus was but a boy +then--ten years old only--but he cried to go with his father. God be +with us! Wives and mothers don’t forget, _O wee! O wee!_” + +Her voice softened, she looked wistfully backward and, with outstretched +hand, waved her daughter-in-law upstairs. Then she opened for herself +the wide, front entrance. The door was heavy, but it swung easily to her +firm grip. And yet she was in the seventy-fourth year of her life days. + +With a slow but imperious step she took the road to her own home. She +was not afraid of the crowd, nor of the enthusiasm that moved it. At +every turn she was recognised and saluted, for Madame Bloommaert was +part and parcel of the honour of the city, and her bright, handsome face +with its coal-black eyes and eyebrows, and snow-white hair lying like +mist upon its brown temples, was a familiar sight to old and young. She +was rather small of stature, but so disdainfully erect that she gave the +impression of being a tall woman--an illusion aided by the buoyancy of +her temper and the definite character of her movements. + +Her home was on lower Nassau Street between Beaver and Marketfield. It +had been her residence for fifty years, and was as perfectly Dutch as +herself in its character. Nothing in the street, however, was more +interesting than this human habitation. It appeared to have created for +itself a sort of soul, so instinct with personality was it. A large +garden surrounded it, though its space had been slowly curtailed as land +in the vicinity became valuable; yet there was still room enough for +some fine shrubbery, a little grass plot, beds of flowers, strawberry +and other vines, and the deep, cool well, with its antique shed full of +bright pewter dishes. + +The house itself was of red brick, mellow and warm, and soft to the eyes +with the rains and sunshine of half a century; and nothing could be +finer than its front, sending up sharp points to the sky, with a little +boat weathercock on the tallest point boxing about in the wind. Over the +wide casements a sweetbrier climbed, and nodded its tiny flower; and the +veranda, cunningly carved along the bottom railing in an open leaf +pattern, was a perfect bower of Virginia creeper. + +She opened the garden gate, and its mingled perfumes made her sigh with +pleasure. Such boxwood borders, such gay, sweet flowers, such brick +walks laid in zig-zag pattern, and shaded by elm and maple trees are not +to be found in New York city now, but to madame they were only the +beautiful frame of her daily life. She cast her eyes down to see if the +walk had been swept, and then looked up at the house as if it were a +friend. The flag she loved, the flag under which her young husband had +died fighting for liberty, was floating from her window. She stood still +and gazed at it. Without words it spoke to her, and without words she +answered its claim. In a moment she had accepted whatever of trial or +triumph it might bring her. + +She went forward more hastily, but, ere she reached the entrance, a very +pretty girl came running to meet her. “Have you heard the news, +grandmother?” she cried. “Are you not very happy? What did Sapphira say? +And Aunt Carlita?--and uncle?--and all of them?” + +Madame was unable to answer her questions. She clasped her hand firmly, +and went with her into the house. Straight to the main living room she +went, an apartment in which the dearest portion of her household gods +were enshrined: massive silver services on a richly carved sideboard; +semi-lucent china in the corner cupboard; three pictures of Teniers that +one of her husband’s ancestors had bought from the hands of the great +painter himself; and chairs of antique workmanship that had crossed the +ocean with Samuel Bloommaert in 1629 when he bought Zwanendael, the +Valley of the Swans. The wide, open fireplace of this room was in itself +a picture. The deep cavity at the back and the abutting jambs were +coloured a vivid scarlet, with a wash made from iron dust; the +hearthstone was white as snow with pipeclay, and in front of the heavy +brass irons was a tall blue and white jar with dragons for handles, +holding a bunch of red roses, mingled with green asparagus branches. The +broad chimney piece above this home picture had also its distinctive +charm. It shone with silver candlesticks, their snuffers, and little +trays. It kept the silver posset pan that had made the baby’s food half +a century ago; the christening cups of her son Gerardus and her daughter +Elsie; and two beautiful lacquered tea-caddies from India and China. + +Opposite the fireplace, at the end of the room, there was a long table +black with age and heavy with Nuremburg carving; but it was on a small +round one which stood by an open window that a dinner service for two +persons was very prettily laid. Madame sat down in a chair near it, and +Annette took off her scarf and bonnet and long gloves, and chattered +volubly as she did so: + +“I know you would like our flag to be out as soon as the rest, +grandmother, and the Yates’ flag was flying, and the Vanderlyns’, and I +had hard work to get ours flying before the Moores’ and the Rivingtons’. +I thought the whole city had gone mad, and I sent Mink and Bass to find +the reason out. They stopped so long! and when they came back, they said +it was because we are going to fight England again. How men do love to +fight, grandmother!” + +“When for their liberty and their homes men fight they do well, do they +not?” + +“If you had heard Peter Smith talking to a little crowd at our very +gate, you would think men found the reason for their existence in a gun +or a sword. He said we should whip England in about six weeks, and----” + +“That is enough, Annette. The sort of rubbish that Peter talks and +simpletons believe I know. We shall win our fight, no doubt of that; but +in six weeks! No, it may as likely be six years.” + +“Grandmother! Six years! And will there be no balls, and suppers, and no +lovers for six years? Of course, all the young men who are to be noticed +will prefer fighting to anything else; and what shall I do for a lover, +grandmother?” + +“There is always Jose Westervelt.” + +“He will not do at all. He is too troublesome. He thinks I ought not to +dance with any one but him; actually he objects to my speaking to some +people, or even looking at them. It is too uncomfortable. I do not like +tyranny--no American girl does.” + +“So you rebelled. But then, do you expect to catch fish without wetting +yourself?” + +“It has been done.” She was putting on her grandmother’s feet the cloth +slippers she usually wore in the house, and as she rose she perceived +with a smile the delicious odour of the roasted pigeons which a negro +slave was just bringing to the table. + +“I told Commenia to roast them, grandmother. I knew you would want +something nice when you got back.” + +“Before the fire did she roast them?” + +“Yes--on skewers, and basted them with fresh butter. I found enough peas +on the vines, and I pulled and shelled them myself, for it was next to +impossible to keep the blacks off the streets.” + +“Thank you, dear one.” + +“I have had such a happy year, grandmother, and now, I suppose, all our +gaieties will be ended.” + +“Come, come, there will be more gaieties than ever. I am sure that the +Battery will be put in fighting trim; then the Bowling Green, with +soldiers, will be alive. What will follow? Drills and parades, and what +not; and in all the houses round about the Green the women will make +idols of the men in uniform. And to be sure they will show their +adoration by meat offerings and drink offerings; ceremonies, Annette, +which generally end in dancing and love-making.” + +“You notice everything, grandmother.” + +“I have been young and now I am old; but love never gets a day older. +What love was in the beginning, he is now, and ever shall be. These +pigeons are very good. You said you had some at the Radcliffes’ +yesterday--what kind of a dinner did they give?” + +“It was a good dinner, but not a dinner to be asked out to; you and I +often have a better one--and there was no dancing, only cards and +games--and Jose Westervelt.” + +“Poor Jose!” + +“Grandmother, he is so magisterial. He sets up his opinions as if they +were a golden image; and I am not the girl to fall down before them.” + +“He is a distinguished mathematician already.” + +“And looks it: besides he knows no more of dancing than a Hindoo knows +of skating. Also, since he came back from England, he is so cold and +positive in his views, and so stiff and rigid in his London-made +clothes, that I cannot endure him. Did you see Sapphira, grandmother?” + +“Yes. With some hair work she was busy--a finger ring, or brooch or some +such trifle. There will be other work soon, I think. In the last war we +had to make all our own clothing and most of our household necessities. +The last war! Oh, Annette, dear one, I lost everything in the last war!” + +“But you are now a rich woman, grandmother.” + +“I mean not that. I lost your grandfather; he was everything to me. +There was money, yes; and there was property; but all in a bad way then. +Now; well, it is a little different.” + +“However did you manage?” + +“I worked and hoped and helped myself and others, and left the rest to +God. While I slept He made things to grow and prosper. And when this war +is over we shall have settled our standing among the nations beyond all +dispute, and New York will stride forward as if she wore the +seven-leagued boots.” + +“Then, grandmother, you will build a fine house past Trinity Church--a +good deal past it--perhaps half a mile, or even a mile, and we shall +have a carriage of our own and be among the quality.” + +“I shall never leave this house, Annette. But I tell you, my dear +one--you shall go to Washington every season. If your uncle and aunt +Bloommaert go there, that will be sufficient; if not, I have friends who +will see to it. Sapphira grows wonderfully handsome.” + +“And I, grandmother?” + +“You have your own beauty. You need not to envy any one. Now I am tired +and I will go to my room. I want to take some better counsel than my +own.” + +“May I not go to see Sapphira, grandmother? I want to see her very +much.” + +“You may not go to-day. Listen; the constant tramp of feet and the noise +of men shouting and gathering grows louder. Stay in your home.” + +“It is very tiresome! Men are always quarrelling about something. What +is the use of governments if they can’t prevent war? Any one can settle +a quarrel by fighting over it. I do not see what good fighting does. The +drums parading round will give us headaches, and the men will go +swaggering from one day to another after them. I am in a passion at +President Madison--just too when summer is here, and we were going to +the Springs, and I was sure to have had an enchanting time.” + +“Thou little good-for-nothing! Hold thy foolish tongue! If our men are +going to fight it is for thy liberty and thy honour and thy happiness. +Sit still an hour and think of that.” + +She shut the door when she had spoken these words, and then went, a +little wearily, upstairs; but if any one had seen her half an hour +afterwards sitting with closed eyes and clasped hands asleep in the +large chair that stood by her bedside, they would have said, “She has +been satisfied.” For though she looked much older when asleep, her face +then showed nothing but that sacred peace and refinement which comes +only through a constant idea of God’s care and presence. + +Annette stood still until she heard her grandmother’s door close; then, +after a moment or two of indecision, she took from under the +sofa-cushion a book, and stood it up before her with a comical air of +judgment. + +“It is all your fault, you unlucky ‘Children of The Abbey,’” she said +sternly. “If I had been able to get rid of you, I should have gone with +grandmother to Uncle Gerard’s house this morning; and, considering the +news, we should certainly have remained there all day. And as +grandmother says, ‘if the pot boils, it always boils over on the Bowling +Green.’ I ought to have been where I could see and hear all that was +going on. I think Sapphira might have sent for me! People are so +selfish, and affairs always work so contrary. If I try to be unselfish +nothing good comes of it--to me; and if I am reasonably selfish then I +am sure to suffer for it. Grandfather de Vries is right; whenever I go +to see him, he always mumbles to me: ‘see now, love others well, but +thyself most of all.’ Grandfather de Vries is a wise man--every one says +so--and he tells me to love myself best of all. Well, I shall have no +company this afternoon but these silly ‘Children of The Abbey.’ They are +as distractingly absurd as they can be, but I want to know whether they +get married or not.” + +She sought this information with great apparent interest, yet ever as +she turned the fascinating leaves, she let the book drop down a minute +while she wondered “what was going on on the Bowling Green.” For she had +that keen impression of “something missed” which frequently and +mockingly informs a person in whom selfishness is ingrained, +unconscious, hereditary. + +And her premonition was more than true. Her uncle at that very hour was +standing on the topmost step of the flight leading to his house door, +and there was a crowd of young men before him--a crowd drunk with its +own passionate enthusiasm--who would not be satisfied until he had +spoken. His wife and his daughter stood at his right hand, and at his +left his son Christopher held aloft the torn and stained colours that +had floated above “Bloommaert’s Men” through the heroic days of the War +for Independence. Shout after shout greeted his appearance, and when +there was a moment’s pause, a beautiful youth stepped forward and called +out: + +“Speak to us, judge. It is your words we are waiting for.” His hat was +in his hand, and his bare head, crowned with close, clustering curls, +was lifted to the judge. For one moment his eyes sought out Sapphira, +and she caught the glance, and it went to her heart like a ray of +sunshine. Yet it was into her father’s face she smiled as she gently +touched his arm. Then he spoke as if a burning coal had been laid on his +lips, and the very air felt as if set on fire by his words: + +“My neighbours, and my fellow citizens!” he cried, “I have hitherto been +bitterly against this war with England; but now, I am for it. With all +my heart and soul, with all my body, with every shilling of my estate I +am for it. I have always been a true and consistent Federalist. But now, +there are no Federalists! there are no Republicans! We are all +Americans! Dutch and English and French and Scotch, all are to-day +Americans! America is the mother of us all. She has nursed us at her +breast. She has made us free from all ancient tyrannies. She has given +us homes and wives and children, filled our granaries with the finest of +the wheat, and set before us the commerce of the whole earth. Shall we +not love her? Shall we not defend her when she is insulted and wronged +and threatened?” + +A roar of enthusiastic assent answered these questions. + +“If we must fight we will strike no soft blows in battle. We will give +our enemy and the whole world this lesson--that no foreign warships can +safely come blustering and pillaging our coasts. New York is to be +defended, and New Yorkers are the men to defend their native city. Will +you do it?” + +He was answered by a shout of affirmation. + +“To the last gun?” + +“Yes.” + +“To the last man?” + +“Yes! Yes! You will stand with us, Bloommaert?” + +“Living or dead I will stand with you.” Then he took reverently in his +hands the faded glorious rag that Christopher Bloommaert held. + +“Look,” he said, in a voice as tender as a woman’s--“look at the flag +that never waved over a coward, the flag to which we lifted our eyes +when all was dark, and saw victory in its stars. It is a flag made for +free men; will you ever let England--ever let any enemy--take it from +you?” + +“We will die for it!” + +“No, you will live for it! You will carry it from victory to victory and +fly it in the face of all the world--the flag of a free country--the +flag of men that will have nothing else, and nothing less--than absolute +liberty and absolute independence.” As he spoke these words he lifted +the old banner to his lips, and then held it out to the people. + +It was an act of allegiance that embraced every soul present, and was +followed by a moment of silence that throbbed with emotion; then the +young man who had spoken for the company looked expressively at his +comrades, and they turned northward to the city, their hearts burning +with a steady fervour of loyalty, and their faces full of that +dauntless hope which of its own energy fulfils itself. Quiet they could +not long be, and when they reached the upper end of the Bowling Green, +they began to sing; softly at first, but gradually gathering into a +rattling vocal melody, the fiery passion of loyalty that filled their +hearts: + + “Here’s to the Squire who goes to parade! + Here’s to the citizen soldier! + Here’s to the merchant who fights for his trade + Whom danger increasing makes bolder. + Here’s to the lawyer, who leaving his bar + Hastens where honour doth lead, Sir, + Changing his gown for the ensigns of war, + The cause of his country to plead, Sir! + Freedom appears, + Every heart cheers, + And calls for the help of the brave Volunteers.” + +They sang the verse to the gay inspiring music of its old English song, +and then gave lustily the cheers it called for. Their echo floated into +the Bloommaert house, where the family were sitting down to their +belated dinner; for this commonplace event was eagerly accepted as a +relief. To eat and to drink, that would mean help and remission, and +they had felt until feeling had become prostrating and oppressive. + +Christopher made the first remark, and this was to quote the last line +of the song, “Calls for the help of the brave Volunteers,” asking after +a short pause, “Is it not so, father?” + +“Yes, Christopher. I suppose you will sail soon?” + +“As soon as my new ship is ready. Peter is hurrying it forward. I am +impatient to be off.” + +“Have you seen Peter to-day?” asked his mother. + +“I saw him, but he was far too busy to talk. The hammers ring in his +ship-yard from the first streak of dawn to the last glint of daylight. +And now the demand for ships will be doubled.” + +“We shall want soldiers as well as sailors, Christopher,” said the +judge. + +“That is true, father, and they will not be to beg nor to seek. This is +a cause that knocks at every man’s door. Leonard Murray is only one of +many rich young men who are raising companies at their own expense.” + +“Then it _was_ Leonard Murray with those men who were here an hour ago,” +said Mrs. Bloommaert. “I felt sure of it; but how much he has changed.” + +“In some ways, yes; in general he is just the same good fellow he has +ever been. I had a few words with him early this morning, and he asked +me to give his respectful remembrance to you and to Sapphira.” + +“It is four or five years since I saw him; where has he been?” + +“He was at Yale nearly two years; then he went with a party as far west +as the Mississippi, and down the river to New Orleans. He was staying +with the Edward Livingstons until the rumours of war became so positive +that he could not doubt their truth. Then he sailed from New Orleans to +Norfolk, and so on to Washington. He reached Washington the very day of +the proclamation of war and came so rapidly with the news that Mayor +Clinton received it some hours before the official notice.” + +“And every hour is of the greatest importance now,” said the judge. +“Indeed, I have hardly time for my afternoon pipe, for I promised Mr. +Clinton to meet him at four o’clock.” + +This information hurried the dinner a little, and Judge Bloommaert took +his smoke very restlessly. After he had left the house, Christopher did +not remain long. His ship’s progress absorbed his thoughts, and he was +not a talkative man. His ardour, his national pride, and his hatred of +oppression were quite as potent factors with Christopher Bloommaert as +with any patriot in New York, but the force they induced was a silent +and concentrated one. On land he seemed to be rather a heavy man, slow +in his movements and short in his speech; but the passion of his nature +was only biding its opportunity, and those who had ever seen Christopher +Bloommaert in action on his own deck knew for all time afterwards what +miracles physical courage set on fire by patriotism and by personal +interest combined might accomplish. + +As he was leaving the room he held the open door in his hand a minute, +and said: “Mother, do you know that Aaron Burr is back? He put up his +sign in Nassau Street yesterday; I saw it this morning.” + +“Dear me, Chris! I hope he has come to help his country in her +trouble--that would be only right.” + +“Help his country! Aaron Burr help! The man is dead.” + +“What do you mean, Chris? You said he was back, now you say he is dead.” + +“His honour is slain, and all men have lost faith in him. The man is +dead.” + +He went away with these words, and Sapphira and her mother watched him +out of sight. For some minutes they did not speak; then Mrs. Bloommaert +asked: “Did you know Leonard Murray this morning, Sapphira?” + +“Yes, mother. I knew him at once. I think that he passed the house twice +yesterday. I was not quite sure then, but this morning I had not a +moment’s doubt. I wish Annette had been here. She will be very much +disappointed.” + +“Annette would have spoiled everything. I am glad she was not here.” + +“Oh, mother!” + +“Yes, she would. I will tell you how. When your father was called out, +and took his stand on the topmost step, with Christopher and the flag on +one side of him and you and I on the other side, do you think Annette +would have been satisfied to stand with us? To be only one of a group? +That is not Annette’s idea of what is due to Annette.” + +“But what could she have done to alter it?” + +“She would have said in her pretty, apologetic way that it was ‘too bad +to crowd us, and that any place was right for her,’ and, before an +answer was possible, she would have slipped past Christopher and seated +herself on the second step at his feet. With her long curls and her +white frock, and the blue snood in her hair, and the flag above her, she +would have made a picture sufficiently lovely to have attracted and +distracted every man present. There would have been but a poor, divided +enthusiasm; and yet, Annette would have been so naturally and so +innocently conspicuous that both your father and Christopher would have +been unconscious of her small, selfish diplomacy.” + +“Annette is so pretty.” + +“And so vain of her beauty.” + +“That is true, but I fancy, mother, even the flowers are vain of their +beauty. I have noticed often how the roses when in full bloom, sway and +bend and put on languishing airs as if they knew they were sweet and +lovely. And, to be sure, I have frequently when I have looked in a +mirror been very glad I had a fair face and a good form.” + +“It was a very indiscreet, I may say a very wrong thing to do.” + +There was a short, penitential silence, and then Sapphira said: + +“Though to-morrow is Sunday, may I go and see Annette early in the +morning? I am sure both grandmother and Annette will like to know about +father’s speech.” + +“I can assure you that they know all about it already. Kouba was not +here to wait on your father when he left the house--why? Because he had +gone as fast as possible to his old mistress with the news. Your +grandmother gave him to your father when we were married, but it is only +with his left hand that Kouba has served us. Your grandmother is still +first; he goes to her with all the news of our house; he always has done +so, he always will do so. Nassau Street already knows all--and +more--that happened on the Bowling Green to-day.” + +Mrs. Bloommaert was quite correct in her opinion. Kouba had not even +waited to eat his dinner, but had gone at once to “old mistress” with +his own account of the event. And as madame was in her room asleep, +Annette had been made the recipient of his views. She listened and she +understood, without inquiry or dissent, where the information was +truthful and where Kouba was embroidering the occurrence with his +personal opinions. She accepted all apparently with equal faith, and +then told the old man to “go to the kitchen and get his dinner and a +bottle of ‘Sopus beer.” + +“What an exciting event!” she exclaimed, “and Kouba is sure that Leonard +Murray was the leader of the crowd. I believe it. It was Leonard I saw +with the Clark boys half an hour ago. I dare say he is staying with +them. I must go and tell grandmother.” + +She found madame awake, and quickly gave her Kouba’s news. And it was +really a little comfort to Annette to see her grandmother’s +disappointment. “So sorry am I that I came away,” she said, “for a +great deal I would not have missed that scene, Annette.” + +“No, indeed, grandmother! I think it will be very hard to sit here all +evening and not know what is going on; shall we walk over to uncle’s +now?” + +“Three hours after lunch? No!” + +“Kouba said the Clark boys were in the crowd; suppose I write and ask +Mrs. Clark and Elsie and Sally to take tea with us. Then the men will +come later, and we shall hear whatever there is to hear.” + +“The Clarks may not care to come.” + +“Yes they will. Let me write and ask them. We do want some one to talk +to, grandmother.” + +Permission being at last obtained, Annette wrote one of her nicest notes +and they sent it with a slave woman across the street to the Clarks’ +house. Mrs. Clark read it, laughed, and then called her daughter Sally. + +“Sally,” she said, “that little minx over the way has found out that +Leonard Murray is here. Answer this invitation as pleasantly as +possible, but tell her we cannot leave our own home to-night, as we have +company.” + +“We might ask Annette here, mother.” + +“That is what she expects us to do.” + +“She is so pretty and cheerful.” + +“We will do without her beauty and her cheerfulness to-night.” + +“Joe is very fond of her.” + +“That is not the question; answer as I have told you.” + +But though Sally made the answer as kind as her own kind heart, nothing +atoned to Annette for the fact that her little scheme--though one with a +double aspect--had failed in both directions. + +“They cannot come, grandmother, and they do not even ask us over +there--they have company. I know who it is, for I am sure I saw Leonard +Murray with the Clark boys an hour ago. But then----” + +“What?” + +“Sally is really ugly, and though Elsie has a pretty face, she is as +dowdy as can be.” + +“And so much prettier is Annette de Vries--is that what you mean?” + +“Yes, that is ‘the because’ of the slight.” + +“Of such a thing I would not think. ‘The because’ has nothing to do with +us. And a very sweet girl is Sally Clark. Every one loves her.” + +“Don’t scold me, grandmother. I have had already three disappointments. +To-day is very unlucky.” + +“Then sit still and let it go by. Take the days as they come to you, +child.” + +Annette did not immediately answer. She had gone to the window and was +looking eagerly out. There was a sound of footsteps and of voices in +spirited conversation. Listening and looking, she waited until voices +and footsteps became faint in the distance. Then she turned to her +grandmother with a shrug of satisfaction: + +“I was right, as I generally am,” she said. “The Clark boys, with +Leonard Murray, have just gone by. Leonard is their company. What is he +there for? He never used to care for those girls. Before he went to +college ‘from Sapphira to Sapphira was the limit of his way.’” + +“Thou foolish one! He is none of thy affair.” + +“I do not care a button for Leonard Murray, but I think my cousin +Sapphira does, and--and----” + +What other reasons she had were not revealed. She stood at the window +with an air of mortification, which, however, soon turned to one of +pride and triumph; and then she tapped the glass merrily to her +thoughts. + +What was the girl dreaming of? Beauty’s conquests? Social power? Love +after her own heart? A marriage which would hand in her millennium? +Alas, for the dreams of youth! Madame watched her in pitying +silence--she knew how they would end. + + + + +[Illustration] + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +_The Spring of Life_ + + +To the roll of the drum and the shrill call of the fife the days went in +a manner that was far from being disagreeable to the youthful population +of New York. They enjoyed the thrill of a fear that was mingled with +much excitement; and for a short period almost a license of political +and patriotic temper prevailed. But to the more responsible citizens the +news of war was far from welcome; so unwelcome, indeed, that only a few +days before its proclamation, two petitions had been presented to the +Senate signed by three hundred and ten citizens of New York, and by +nearly all of the largest mercantile houses, praying that the embargo +might be continued, “because they believed it would produce all the +benefits of war without its calamities.” Mr. Justice Bloommaert had been +one of the signers of this petition, and when he recovered the equipoise +of his usually calm nature, he was astonished and a little annoyed at +the precipitancy with which he had publicly changed his opinions. It was +in a measure unaccountable, and he searched all the outlying posts of +his inmost soul to see where the weak point had been. It was not his +wife’s sarcasms or his daughter’s more pronounced sympathy--he was used +to their wordy warfare, and he was sure that no persuasive force in +their armoury would have driven him to the ill-advised hastiness of his +unpremeditated speech on the Bowling Green. + +No, it was “the doing of that young fool, Leonard Murray.” The judge had +returned to his home that momentous Saturday in a passionate temper of +hatred to England and her old tyrannies. He had been irritated by the +lukewarmness and doleful prophecies of the majority of his friends and +associates, and by the fact that every newspaper in the city was opposed +to the war. And then, while his wife and daughter were stimulating his +feverish mood of disapproval, he had suddenly been called to the front +to stand by the opinions of others and to declare his own. He felt that +somehow he had been tricked by circumstances, and his hand forced; and +that young Leonard Murray was to blame for the whole affair. He had +never liked the lad’s father, and having been twice obliged to decide +important cases against him, the elder Murray had shown his resentment +in ways that had been both irritating and injurious. They had also been +distinctly opposed in politics, and, moreover, in their youth had been +rivals for the love of the pretty Carlita Duprey. Now, the son of this +disagreeable man had apparently taken up his father’s power to be at +least unfavourable to him. He worked himself into a still, hot passion +against the youth, and determined then and there to have nothing more to +do with him. + +Not that he intended to recede from any word he had uttered. He told +himself instantly that he had only declared the truth, and that he would +stand for, and by, every letter of his speech. But he wished that he had +made that speech voluntarily, in some regularly called meeting, and not +in response to a request voiced by young Leonard Murray. That was the +sore point of the hurt, so that he hardly touched it, even in thought, +but reverted at once to his speech, which struck him now as +grandiloquent, turgid, and bombastic--not the kind of speech he would +have made in the City Hall or at the Common Council by any means, and a +tingling sense of chagrin answered this conviction. It was thoughts +similar to these which surged with passionate strength through his mind +as he stood on the following Wednesday afternoon on the steps of the +City Hall. There had just been a public meeting in the park, called to +approve the war measure, but it had been very scantily attended; and as +the noisy crowd scattered, mainly up and down Broadway, he hardly knew +whether he was glad or sorry for the failure. The uproarious conduct of +the youth of the city offended him, and as a general thing the men of +experience, of solid wealth and political power, had not answered the +call for this meeting. For it was a Democratic call, and New York at +that day was the very stronghold of the Federalists. + +He stood a few minutes considering which streets would likely be the +quietest road to his home, and seeing Broadway full of marching +companies, all more or less musical and vociferous, he turned into +Nassau Street, hoping to escape the cheers and attentions which his +outspoken sympathy had brought him. For some distance it was +comparatively quiet, but between Garden and Beaver streets he saw +approaching what appeared to be a full company. They were stepping +proudly to the music of “The President’s March,” and the narrow street +appeared to Bloommaert’s eyes to be full of their waving flags. + +There was no outlet for his escape, and he assumed a dignity of bearing +and a self-centred air that was usually both arms and armour to him. He +hoped to pass unnoticed, but as the company approached it halted at +command. His name was spoken. He lifted his eyes perforce and up flew +every hat in respectful recognition. What could he do? Some of them were +the very men he had addressed and aroused to enthusiasm on the previous +Saturday. His noblest nature came to the front. He saluted them in +return, wished them “God speed,” and so passed on, but not before he had +noticed the happy, triumphant face of their captain, Leonard Murray. + +“That man again!” he muttered, and he could not dismiss “that man” from +his memory during the rest of the walk. He passed his mother’s house but +did not enter it, for it was nearing his dinner hour, and he hoped in +the society of his wife and daughter to find the restful equipoise he +had lost during the morning’s events. As he mounted the steps Sapphira +threw open the door. Her face was radiant. She was the incarnation of +pleasure. + +“Father,” she cried, “I am so glad that you have come home early. I have +such good news. Mother and I have had such a great honour; you can’t +tell how happy we both feel.” + +Her visible joy was infectious, and Bloommaert flung his annoyance out +of memory. “Come, now,” he said cheerfully, “let us hear the good news. +Who brought it to you?” + +“Well, you would never guess, dear father, and I am going to let mother +tell you.” + +They entered the dining room as she spoke, and its cool sweetness was +like a breath of heaven. Mrs. Bloommaert rose with a smile. + +“Gerardus, my dear!” she exclaimed, “you are earlier than I hoped. That +is good. Now we shall have dinner.” + +“But Carlita, first the good news that Sapphira can hardly keep from +me.” + +“Has she not told you?” + +“No. She says you are to tell me.” + +“Well, then, it is very pleasant to her, and to me. Leonard Murray came +here this morning just after you left. He had hoped to find you still at +home--and he wanted us to select the uniform for his company. They are +to fight under our colours, you see! He had many patterns of cloth with +him, and we chose dark blue for the coats, and orange for the vest, and +the head dress is to be dark blue cap with a rosette and streamers of +red, white, and blue! The tricolour, my dear one--that was for my +nation, and the blue and orange, that was for yours. Leonard was +delighted. He is going to pay for the uniforms and support the company +until the city puts it in active service. Then it will fight under our +colours. Was it not kind and respectful of Leonard?” + +“It was a piece of damned impertinence. I never heard of such +impudence!” + +“Father!” + +“Gerardus, I am astonished at you!” + +“The insolent puppy! What right had he? How dare he?” + +“Mr. Justice, he only did what every young man of standing has done: the +Clarksons, the Fairlies, the Westervelts, the Moores--every family of +consideration has given its colours to some company or other. It is an +honour, Mr. Justice, a great honour, and we are very proud of it. I told +Leonard so.” + +“Leonard, indeed! It seems that you are already very familiar.” + +“Already! It is a long already. I have known the boy from the hour of +his birth. His mother was my friend when we were both little girls. I +was with his mother when she died. I promised her to be kind to Leonard +whenever I had opportunity--the opportunity came this morning--I +thought you would be pleased--and proud--but then, one never knows a +man’s real feelings--never! After last Saturday, too--it is +inconceivable.” Mrs. Bloommaert rose, and as her daughter followed her +the judge was left alone with whatever answer he intended to make. + +Generally, when an antagonist withdraws, the party left in possession of +the ground feels a sense of victory. He tosses his head a little and +triumphs in the fashion that best suits him. But Judge Bloommaert, +standing with his doubled-up hand on his dining table, had a sinking +sense of defeat. His large, dignified personality succumbed as the two +slender slips of womanhood passed him--Carlita’s haughty little head +expressing a disdainful disapproval, and Sapphira giving him a look from +eyes full of reproachful astonishment. + +A natural instinct led him to sit down in order to consider his ways. +“What the deuce!” he exclaimed. “Confound the fellow! What does it all +mean?” Then his logical mind began to reflect, to deliberate, to weigh +his own case as relentlessly as if it was the case of a stranger. The +result was a decision in favour of his wife’s and his daughter’s +position. From their standpoint he had been unreasonable and +inconsistent. And he could put in no demurrer; for the only objection he +was able to make lay in that covert dislike to the young man for which +he was unable to give any reason that would not be more humiliating than +simple submission. + +He had reached this point when a negro slave, dressed from head to foot +in spotless white linen, entered the room. He was carrying a platter +containing a sirloin of roast beef, and the appetising odour, blended +with the fragrance of the fresh peas,--boiled with the sprig of mint +they call for,--stimulated the judge to the necessary action. He rose +promptly and went to the sitting room in the rear. At the door he heard +Sapphira and her mother talking, but they were instantly silent as he +entered. That was a symptom he did not regard. He knew the tactics that +were always successful, and with a smile and a courtly bow he offered +his arm to Mrs. Bloommaert. The courtesy was made invincible by the +glance that accompanied it--a glance that was explanation, apology, and +admiration sent swiftly and indisputably to her heart. Words would have +been halting and impotent in comparison, and they were ignored. The only +ones spoken referred to the waiting meal. “Dinner is served, Carlita,” +and Carlita, with an answering glance of pardon and affection, proudly +took the arm offered her. Ere they reached the door Sapphira was +remembered, and her father stretched backward his hand for her clasp. +Thus they entered the dining room together, and almost at the same +moment they were joined by Christopher. + +He was hot and sunburned but full of quiet satisfaction. He laid his arm +across his mother’s neck as he passed her, and taking a seat next to his +sister clasped her little hand lovingly under the table. + +With beaming eyes she acknowledged this token of his affection, and +then touching a piece of pale blue ribbon tied through a buttonhole of +his jacket, she asked: + +“Pray, Chris, who is now your patron saint? Last year it was good St. +Nicholas, and orange was all your cry. Why have you forsaken your old +patron and changed your colours?” + +Chris laughed a little. “I was caught unaware, Sapphira,” he answered. +“As I came up Cedar Street I saw Mary Selwyn cutting roses in Mr. +Webster’s garden. She had a rose at her throat, and a rose in her hair, +and a basket of roses in her hand, and she was as sweet and as pretty as +any rose that ever bloomed in all New York. And she said ‘Good-morning, +Captain Bloommaert; I hear you are soon for the ocean, and the enemy, +and God be with you!’ And I said, ‘So soon now, Miss Selwyn, that this +must be our good-bye, I think.’ Then she lifted her scissors and cut +from the ribbon round her neck the piece I am wearing. ‘It is the full +half,’ she said, ‘and I will keep the other half till you come home +again happy and glorious.’” + +“Well, then, it is your luck ribbon, Chris, and you must not change it,” +said Sapphira. + +“In a very few minutes I was under great temptation to do so, Sapphira. +I thought I would call on grandmother, but as I got near to her house I +saw Walter Havens just leaving the gate. He was walking very proudly, +and a flutter of red ribbon was on his head, and the next step showed me +a flutter of white skirts behind the vines on the veranda. So I knew +cousin Annette had been setting him up till he felt as if he had twenty +hearts instead of only one.” + +“Did you speak to Annette after that observation?” asked his father. + +“Why yes, sir. She saw me at once, and came running to open the gate. +She had all her airs and graces about her and looked as radiant as the +red ribbons she wore. She saw my blue ribbon immediately, and said +scornfully, ‘Pray now, whose favour is that affair tied in your +buttonhole? It is a poor thing, Chris! Shall I not give you an inch or +two of my solitaire?’ and she lifted the housewife at her belt, and +would have taken out her scissors. But I said, ‘No, no, Miss de Vries, +I’m not taking shares with Walter Havens. I’ll just hold on to my ‘poor +thing.’ I wonder how many rose ribbons you have given away this +morning?” + +“Did she tell you how many, Chris?” asked Mrs. Bloommaert. + +“She looked as if she might have given a hundred, but she kept her +secret--you may trust Annette to keep anything that belongs to her--even +her secrets; and most women give them away. Annette de Vries knows +better.” + +“What did grandmother say?” asked Sapphira. + +“I did not see her. She was in her room, asleep, Annette said. They are +coming here this evening--with the Clarks, and perhaps others. You won’t +mind, mother, will you?” + +“Indeed I shall be glad, if you wish it, Chris.” For her heart had +comprehended that his “good-bye” to Miss Selwyn meant that he was ready +for sea. And it was Christopher’s habit to slip away on some night, or +early morning tide, when there was no one around to embarrass his +orders. For he was not a man that either liked or needed the approbation +and sympathies of others; as a rule, Christopher Bloommaert’s approval +was sufficient for him. + +He was evidently full of business, and went away as soon as he had +finished his dinner. The judge went with him, and Mrs. Bloommaert and +her daughter, left alone, began instantly to discuss the subject of +Christopher’s departure. + +“It is his way,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. “The little party this evening is +his farewell. We must make it as pleasant as possible. Your grandmother +and Annette will be here, I suppose?” + +“And the Clarks--Elsie and Sally, and Joe and Jack--and I suppose +Leonard Murray will come with them,” answered Sapphira. + +“I should not wonder if Chris asked Miss Selwyn also.” + +“Very likely. She is a nice girl. I hope Chris did ask her. No one can +help loving Mary Selwyn.” + +“What shall we do? What would Chris like best? You know, Sapphira, if +any one knows.” + +“Let us have tea at six o’clock, then we can all go to the Battery to +hear the music. There is a young moon, and it is warm enough to make the +sea breezes welcome. Moffat’s Military Band is to play from the portico +of the flagstaff to-night, and we can have ices and cakes and wine +served to us in the enclosure if we want them.” + +“You had better return home about nine o’clock, and I will have +refreshments here ready for you. The large parlour can be somewhat +cleared, Bose will bring his violin, and you might have a little dance. +I don’t believe father will mind. He knows Chris is ready to sail. I +could see that.” + +“Oh, mother! Oh, dear mother, how good you are!” + +The preparations for this rather impromptu gathering gave Mrs. +Bloommaert very little trouble. Her servants were slaves, born in her +own household, and whose share in all the family joy was certain and +admitted. They entered heartily into the necessary arrangements, and in +a short time the house had put on that air of festal confusion which the +prospect of feasting and dancing entails. + +Before six the guests began to arrive, and the eight or ten which +Christopher’s speech had suggested speedily became twenty. It appeared +as if the young man had casually invited all of his acquaintances. But +Mrs. Bloommaert made every one welcome, and the slight difficulty in +seating them--the little crush and crowding--really induced a very +spontaneous and unconstrained happiness. Then there was trouble in +serving all rapidly enough, so Christopher, and Joe Westervelt and +Willis Clark volunteered their services, and to these three Mrs. +Bloommaert herself added Leonard Murray, whom she appointed her special +aid; and thus the tea became a kind of parlour picnic. The windows were +all open, the white curtains swaying gently in the breeze, and the +scent of roses everywhere mingled with the delightful aromas of fine +tea, and spiced bread, and fresh, ripe strawberries. Merry talk and +happy laughter thrilled the warm air, and it was a joy in itself to +watch so many bright, young faces, all keenly responsive to the pleasure +of each other’s presence. + +Before seven o’clock they were ready for their walk on the Battery, and +came trooping down the wide stairway, a brilliant company of lovely +girls in their spencers of various coloured silks, and their pink or +white frocks, their gipsy straw bonnets, and their low walking shoes +fastened with silver or paste latchets. In twos and threes they +sauntered along the lovely walk, and as the young moon rose, the band +played sweetly from a boat on the water, and the waves broke gently +against the wall of the embankment, their laughter and merry talk became +lower and quieter. They rested on the benches, and made little +confidences, and were very happy, though their joy was lulled and +hushed, as if for this rare hour some friendly spirit had pressed gently +down the soft pedal on life, and thus made its felicity more enchanting +and more personal. + +But if they forget the dance, their little feet had memories; they began +to twitch and slip in and out, and grow restless; and Sapphira +remembered the hour, though Leonard was charming, and the tale he was +telling her, wonderful. “But then,” she said, “mother is expecting us, +and those at home must not be disappointed; for if there is anything +grandmother likes, it is to watch the dance.” So they went back to the +Bloommaert house and found all ready and waiting for the cotillion. +Upstairs with fleetest steps went the merry maidens, returning in less +than ten minutes without their spencers, and with feet shod in satin +sandals. The fiddles were twanging, and the prompter already advising +gentlemen to choose their partners. Then the room became a living joy. +The hearts of all beat with the twinkling steps of the dancers, and +every one seized a measure of fleeting bliss, and for a breathing space +in life forgot that they would ever grow weary or ever have to part. + +Madame sat in her son’s chair, flushed and smiling, her eyes wandering +between her granddaughters. They were certainly the most beautiful women +in the room, and when the judge came quietly to her side about ten +o’clock she said to him: “Look once at Annette; at her feet are half the +men; and as for Sapphira, I know not what to make of her--all of the men +are her lovers, but some one was telling me it is Leonard Murray only +that pleases her. I take leave to say they are a handsome couple, +Gerardus.” + +Involuntarily he followed his mother’s direction, and was forced to +admit the truth of her remark. But it gave him an angry pain to do so, +while the young man’s expression of rapturous satisfaction provoked him +beyond words. He had Sapphira’s hand, they were treading a measure--not +so much to the music of the violins as to the music in their own hearts. +They had forgotten the limitations of life, they were in some rarer and +diviner atmosphere. Step to step, with clasped hands, and eyes beaming +into each other’s face, they glided past him as if they were immortals +moving to spheral music. + +But beautiful as this vision of primal joy was, it roused no response in +Judge Bloommaert’s heart, and after a few words with madame he slipped +away to the quiet of his room. He was wakeful and restless, and he +lifted the papers in a case which had some personal interest for him, +and soon became absorbed in their details. Yet he was aware of that +inevitable decrease of mirth which follows its climax, and not +ill-pleased to hear the breaking up of the gathering. The chattering of +the girls resuming their spencers and walking shoes made him lay down +his papers and go to the open window, and so he watched the dissolution +of happiness; for the company parted, even at his own door, into small +groups, some merely crossing to the other side of the Green, others +going to Wall, State, Cedar, and Nassau streets. The later party seemed +the larger contingent, and he heard the men of it, as they passed +northward, begin to sing, “We be Three Poor Mariners.” Christopher’s +voice rang out musically cheerful, and the father’s heart swelled with +love and pride, as he said tenderly, “God bless the boy.” The prayer was +an exorcism; anger and all evil fled at the words of blessing, so that +when Mrs. Bloommaert, flushed and weary, came to him he was able to meet +her with the sympathy she needed. + +“Gerardus, my dear one,” she said, “Chris bade me good-bye; I am sure of +it. He laid his cheek against mine and whispered, ‘A short farewell, +mother!’ and all I could say was ‘God bless you, Chris!’” + +“It was enough.” + +“When does he sail?” + +“About four o’clock in the morning. He will go out on the tide-top, +then.” + +“Where is he going?” + +“To the Connecticut coast first, for supplies; easier got there than +here; afterwards he goes nobody knows where, but as the Domine said last +Sunday, he can’t go where God is not.” + +“In that I trust. Did you notice the blue ribbon in his jacket?” + +“Yes, I noticed.” + +“He seemed very fond of Mary to-night. I could not help seeing his +devotion. Mother noticed it, also.” + +“What did mother say?” + +“She said Mary was a good girl, of good stock, but she had not a dollar. +I said, ‘love was everything in marriage, and that money did not much +matter.’” + +“Hum--m--! It does no harm.” + +Then there was a short silence; madame was removing her lace cap and +collar, and the judge putting away his papers. Both were thinking of the +same thing, and neither of them cared to introduce the subject. But the +judge’s patience was the better trained, and he calmly waited for the +question he was sure would not be long delayed. + +She rose as she asked it, went to her dressing table, and began to open +her jewel box. “Did you notice Sapphira and Leonard Murray dancing? I +thought I saw you watching them.” + +“Yes, I saw them, and to tell you just what I thought of the exhibition +would only pain you, Carlita. Don’t ask me.” + +“I am sure I don’t know why I am not to ask you; every one was charmed +with their grace. Even the elegant Mr. Washington Irving said their +movements were ‘the poetry of motion.’ I thought it a very fine remark.” + +“Well, I suppose Mr. Washington Irving knows all about the poetry of +motion. But if you will believe me, Carlita, there are some Dutchman in +New York who do not worship Mr. Washington Irving.” + +Then there was another silence, and this time the judge broke it. +“Carlita,” he said, “what are you going all around the square to ask me? +Speak out, wife.” + +“Well, Gerardus, any one can see that Leonard Murray is in love with +Sapphira, and that Sapphira is not indifferent to him. I want to ask you +if this marriage would be suitable, because if you are against it, their +intimacy ought to be checked at once.” + +“How are you going to check it? Tell me that. We cannot shut her up in +her room and set a watch over her, nor can we pack her off to Hong Kong +or Timbuctoo--out of his way.” + +“Then you are against it?” + +“Yes.” + +“But what for?” + +“I am not ready to give you my reasons.” + +“I cannot imagine what they may be. Leonard is rich.” + +“Very. Colonel Rutgers told me his estate in land and houses and ready +cash might be worth seven hundred thousand dollars. But, as you reminded +me in regard to Mary Selwyn, money in matrimony does not much matter.” + +“I don’t think it is as important as love; though, as you said, money +does no harm to matrimony. But it is not only money, with Leonard. He is +of good family.” + +“His great-grandfather was a Highland Scot, and James Murray, his +father, cared for nothing but money. It was a bit of land here, and a +dollar or two there--a hard man, both to friend and foe. I never liked +him. We came to words often, and to blows once--that was about you, +Carlita.” + +“You had no need to quarrel about me. From the first to last it has been +you, Gerardus; you, and only you.” + +“Yet after we were engaged, James Murray asked you to marry him. No +honourable man would have done such a thing.” + +“Have you not forgotten? The man is dead. Let his faults be left in +silence.” + +“I do not like to see you so partial to his son.” + +“The son is his mother’s son. He has qualities the very opposite of his +father’s. James Murray was a bigot and a miser. Leonard has the broadest +and most tolerant views.” + +“There, you have said plenty. If there is any man not to be trusted, it +is this broad, tolerant fellow. You remember Herman Strauss? He is that +kind of character, brought up in the Middle Dutch Church, he married an +Episcopalian, and without difficulty--being so broad--he went with her +to Trinity. He praised the Democrats--Clintonian and Madisonian +both--and yet he called himself a Federalist--thought that both were +right in some ways. But like all men of this uncertain calibre, he had +one or two trifling opinions, of no consequence whatever, either to +himself or others, for whose sake he would lose money and friends, and +even risk his life. It was only a question as to the brand of wine Mr. +Jefferson drank, that made him insult Colonel Wilde, and in consequence +fight a duel which has left him a cripple for life. So much for your man +of wide sympathies and broad views! I like a man who has positive +opinions and sticks to them. Yes, sticks to them, right or wrong! A man +who sticks to his opinions will stick to his friends and his family. +Good in everything! Good in every one! _Nonsense!_ Such ideas lead to +nowhere, and to nothing. The man that holds them I do not want to marry +my daughter.” + +“Mrs. Clark says Leonard’s moral character is beautiful.” + +“Mrs. Clark has known him about four days. And pray, what does Mrs. +Clark, or you, or any other woman know about a man’s moral character? +Leonard Murray’s ancestors have been for centuries restless, +quarrelsome, fighting Highlandmen. He is not twenty-two yet, and he has +been as far west and south as he could get, and only came home because +there was likely to be some fighting on hand.” + +“But then, Gerardus--what have you behind you?” + +“Centuries full of God-fearing Dutchmen--honest traders and peaceable +burghers and scholarly domines.” + +“Oh, yes, and _Beggars of the Sea_, and men who fought with De Ruyter +and Tromp, and wandered to the ends of the earth with Van Heemskirk for +adventures, and came with the Englishman, Henry Hudson, here itself, and +did a little good business with the poor Indians. And Gerardus, look at +your own sons--Christopher is never at home but when he is at sea. He is +happier in a ship than a house, and also he likes the ship to carry +cutlasses and cannon. As for Peter, you know as well as I do that if he +were not building ships he would be sailing them. He loves a ship better +than a wife. He knows all about every ship he ever built--her length and +breadth and speed, how much sail she can carry, how many men she +requires to manage her, and he calls them by their names as if they were +flesh and blood. Does Peter ever go to see a woman? No; he goes to see +some ship or other. Now then, what influence have your honest traders +and peaceable burghers had on your sons?” + +“My dear Carlita, don’t you see you are running away with yourself? You +are preaching for my side, instead of your own. Chris and Peter are +results, so is Leonard Murray. You can’t put nature to the door, +Carlita. Nature is more than nurture; all that our home and education +and trading surroundings could do for boys, was done for Peter and +Chris; but nature was ahead of us--she had put into them the wandering +salt drops of adventure that stirred ‘The Beggars,’ and Tromp, and Van +Heemskirk. I tell you truly, Carlita, that the breed is more than the +pasture. As you know, the cuckoo lays her eggs in any bird’s nest; it +may be hatched among blackbirds or robins or thrushes, but it is always +a cuckoo. And so we came back to my first position, that a man cannot +deliver himself from his ancestors.” + +“I do not care, Gerardus, about ancestors; I look at Leonard just as he +is to-day. And I wish you would tell me plainly what to do. Or will you, +yourself, let Leonard know your mind on this subject? Perhaps that would +be best.” + +“How can I speak to him? Can I refuse Sapphira until he asks for her? +Can I go to him and say, ‘Sir, I see that you admire my daughter, and I +do not intend to let you marry her.’ That would be offering Sapphira and +myself for insult, and I could not complain if I got what I asked for.” + +“Is there anything I can do, seeing that you object so strongly to +Leonard?” + +“Yes, you can tell Sapphira how much I feel about such an alliance; you +can show her the path of obedience and duty; and I expect you to do this +much. I did not like mother’s attitude about him at all, and I shall +speak to her myself. Sapphira must be made to feel that Leonard Murray +is impossible.” + +“Well, Gerardus, I will speak to the poor little one. Oh, I am so sorry +for her--she will feel it every way so much; but some fathers don’t +care, even if they turn a wedding into a funeral.” + +“Such words are not right, nor even true. I care for Sapphira’s welfare +above everything.” + +“Speak to mother; I wish you would. She will not refuse Leonard if he +asks her for Annette. And Annette is already in love with him, I am not +deceived in that. She was white with envy and jealousy to-night.” + +“Is Annette in it?” + +“Yes, and very much so, I think.” + +“Then I give up the case. No man can rule right against three or four +women. I am going to sleep now, and I hope it may be a long time before +I hear Leonard Murray’s name again.” + +His hope had but a short existence. When he entered the breakfast room +the following morning, the first thing he saw was Sapphira bending over +a basket of green rushes, running over with white rosebuds. She turned +to him a face full of delight. + +“See, father,” she cried. “Are they not lovely? Are they not sweet? If +you kiss me, you will get their dew upon my lips.” + +He bent his head down to the fragrant flowers, and then asked: “Where +did you get them so early in the morning?” + +“Leonard Murray sent them. Let me pin this bud on the lapel of your +coat.” + +“No,” he said bitterly, pushing the white hand and the white flower +away. “Go to your room, and take the flowers with you. I will not have +them in any place where I can see them.” Then a negro boy entering, he +turned to him, and ordered his breakfast in a tone and manner that +admitted of no delay nor dispute. + +Sapphira had lifted her basket, but as soon as they were alone she +asked: “Did you mean those unkind words, father?” + +“Every one of them.” He shuffled his coffee cup, let the sugar tongs +fall, and then rang the bell in a passion. Yet he did not escape the +pathetic look of astonished and wounded love in Sapphira’s eyes as she +left the room, with the basket of rosebuds clasped to her breast. + +All day this vision haunted him. He wished to go home long before the +usual hour, but that would have been a kind of submission. He said he +had a headache, but it was really a heartache that distressed him, and +during a large part of the day he was debating within himself how such +an unhappy position had managed to subjugate him in so short a period of +time. For, if any one a week previously had told him he could be +controlled in all his tenderest feelings by a dislike apparently so +unreasonable, he would have scoffed the idea away. He said frequently +to himself the word “unreasonable,” for that was the troublesome, +exasperating sting of the temptation. The young man himself had done +nothing that any fair or rational person would consider offensive--quite +the contrary; and yet he was conscious of an antagonism that was +something more than mere dislike--something, indeed, that might easily +become hatred. + +He had just admitted the word “hatred” to his consciousness as he +reached the entrance of the Government House. The day had at last worn +itself away, wearily enough, to the dinner hour. He might now go home +and face whatever trouble he had evoked. + +“Good-afternoon, Mr. Justice.” + +He turned, and the light of a sudden idea flashed into his face, when he +saw the man who had accosted him. + +“Good-afternoon to you, Mr. Attorney Willis. I am just thinking about +that case you defended a few days ago--the case of the man Gavazzio. A +strange one, rather.” + +“A very strange case. He stabbed a man for no reason whatever; simply +said he hated him, and seemed to think that feeling justification +enough.” + +“See the Italian consul about him. I do not think he had broken any +Italian law--that is, there are unwritten laws among these people, of a +force quite as strong as the written code. We must take that fact into +consideration with the sentence. The stabbed man is recovering, I +hear?” + +“Oh, yes; I will see the consul, as you desire it. Gavazzio most +certainly thought we were interfering in his private affairs by +arresting him.” + +“I have no doubt of it. Well, Mr. Attorney, the law is supreme, but we +must not forget that the essence of the law is justice. Good-day, sir.” + +This incident, so spontaneous and so unconsidered, gave him a sense of +satisfaction; he felt better for it, though he did not ask himself why, +nor wherefore, in the matter. As he approached his home he saw Sapphira +sitting at the window, her head bent over the work she was doing. She +heard her father’s step, she knew he was watching her, but she did not +lift her eyes, or give him the smile he expected. And when he entered +the room she preserved the same attitude. He lifted a newspaper and +began to read it; the servants brought in the dinner, and Mrs. +Bloommaert also came and took her place at the table. She was not the +usual Carlita at all, and the judge had a very depressing meal. As for +Sapphira, she did not speak, unless in answer to some direct question +regarding her food. She was pale and wretched-looking, and her eyes were +red with weeping. + +The judge ate his roast duck, and glanced at the two patient, silent, +provoking women. They were making him miserable, and spoiling his +food,--and he liked roast duck,--yet he did not know how to accuse them. +Apparently they were perfectly innocent women, but unseen by mortal eyes +they had the husband and father’s heart in their little white hands, +and were cruelly wounding it. When dinner was over Sapphira lifted her +work and went to her room, and Mrs. Bloommaert, instead of sitting down +for her usual chat with her husband while he smoked his pipe, walked +restlessly about, putting silver and crystal away, and making a great +pretence of being exceedingly interested in her investigations. He +watched her silently until she was about to leave the room, then he said +a little peremptorily, “Carlita, where are you going? What, by heaven +and earth, is the matter with you!” + +“You know what is the matter, Gerardus.” + +“I suppose the trouble is--Leonard Murray again. Confound the man!” + +“Mr. Justice, you will please remember I am present. I think you behaved +very unkindly to Sapphira this morning--and the poor little one has had +such an unhappy day! my heart bleeds for her.” + +“Well, Carlita, I was too harsh, I will admit that; but I cannot tell +Sapphira that I was wrong. It was all said and done in a moment--the +sight of the flowers, and her joy in them----” + +“I know, Gerardus. I must confess to the same temper. When I came +downstairs, and found you had gone without your proper breakfast, and +that you had neither come upstairs to bid me good-bye, nor yet left any +message for me, I was troubled. And I had a headache, and had to go to +Sapphira’s room to get her to come to the table, and the sight of her +crying over those tiresome rosebuds made me angry; and I said more and +worse than you did. I told her she ought to be ashamed to put her father +out for any strange man; and that the fuss she was making over Leonard +Murray was unmaidenly; and that the young man himself was far too free +and demonstrative--oh, you know, Gerardus, what disagreeable things a +fretful mother has the liberty to say to her child! And then, as if all +this was not enough, Annette came in about eleven o’clock, and I told +her Sapphira was not well, but she would go to her. And, of course, the +first things she noticed were the white roses and Sapphira’s trouble, +and the little minx put two and two together in a moment. What do you +think she said, Gerardus?” + +“Pitied Sapphira, I suppose.” + +“She clapped her hands and cried out, ‘Oh, you also got roses! White +ones! Mine were pink--such lovely pink rosebuds! My colour is pink, you +know.’ And Sapphira answered, ‘I thought it was blue,’ but Annette +dropped the subject at once and began to rave about Sapphira’s swollen +face and red eyes, and offered her a score of remedies--and so on. +Sapphira could only suffer. You know she would have died rather than +express either curiosity or annoyance. So, then, having given Sapphira +the third and cruelest blow, she went tripping away, telling her ‘to +sleep, and not to dream of the handsome Leonard.’ I generally go to +Sapphira after a visit from Annette, and when I went to the poor child’s +room she was sobbing as if her heart would break. She told me what +Annette said, and cried the more, because she had been scolded both by +you and me, and all for nothing.” + +“Poor little one!” + +“Yes, indeed, Gerardus. These young hearts suffer. We have forgotten how +little things seemed so great and so hard in our teens; but every heart +is a fresh heart, and made that it may suffer, I think.” + +“I do not believe Annette got a basket of pink roses. I do not like +Murray, but I think there are things he would not do. I saw a letter +too--at the bottom of the basket. Oh, I do not believe Annette!” + +“That is so. I told Sapphira it was a lie--oh, yes, I will say the word +straight out, for I do think it was a lie. But she is a clever girl. She +took in all sides of the question as quick as lightning. She knew they +were from Leonard, and that there had been trouble, and she knew Sappha +would never name pink roses to Leonard. She was safe enough in Sappha’s +pride, for, though she gave a positive impression that Leonard had sent +her a basket of pink roses, she never said it was Leonard. If brought to +examination, she would have pretended astonishment at Sapphira’s +inference, modestly refused the donor’s name, and very likely added +‘indeed, it was only a little jealousy, dearest Sapphira, that caused +you to misunderstand me.’ You see, I have known Annette all her life. +She always manages to put Sapphira in the wrong; and at the same time +look so sweetly innocent herself.” + +“What is to be done in this unhappy affair, Carlita? Sit here beside +me, wife, and tell me. For you are a wise, kind woman, and you love us +all.” + +“God knows, Gerardus! I have been thinking, thinking, thinking, through +the livelong day, and what I say is this--let those things alone that +you cannot manage. Because you cannot manage them, they make you angry; +and you lose your self-respect, and then you lose your temper, and then, +there is, God knows, what other loss of love and life and happiness. My +father used to say--and my father was a good man, Gerardus.” + +“No better man ever lived than father Duprey.” + +“Well, then, he always said that birth, marriage, and death were God’s +part; and that marriage was the most so of all these three great events. +For birth only gives the soul into the parent’s charge for perhaps +twenty years; and then all the rest of life is in the charge of the +husband. As for death, then, it is God Himself that takes the charge. +Let the young ones come and go; they may be fulfilling His will and +way--if we enquire after His will and way.” + +“But if Murray speaks to me for Sapphira, what then?” + +“There is the war. Tell him marriage is impossible until peace comes. +War time is beset with the unexpected. In love affairs, time is +everything. Speak fairly and kindly, and put off.” + +“Very good, Carlita. But if I should discover any reason why the +marriage should not be, this time plan is not the thing. If a love +affair ought to be broken off, it ought to be done at once--and if +there should be any truth in those pink roses!” + +“Well, Gerardus, if you are expecting trouble, you may leave Annette to +make it. But my opinion is that Sapphira ought to be trusted. If you +believe that God gave her into our charge for her sweet childhood and +girlhood, can you not trust Him to order her wifehood and motherhood; +and even in old age, to carry her and direct her way? If He foresaw her +parents, also, He foresaw her husband. Are you not interfering too soon, +and too much? After all, what can we do against destiny?” + +“You are right, Carlita. Go now and comfort the poor child a little. You +know what to say--both for yourself and for me.” + +Then Mrs. Bloommaert rose, smiling trustfully and happily, but at the +door she turned. Her husband went toward her, and she toward him, and +when they met, she kissed him with untranslatable affection. Again she +was at the door, and the judge stood in the middle of the room watching +her. As she slowly opened it, he made up his mind about something he had +been pondering for a couple of weeks. + +“Carlita,” he said, “you may tell Sapphira that to-morrow I will buy her +that grand pianoforte at Bailey & Stevens’, that she was so delighted +with.” + +“Oh, my dear Gerardus!” + +“It is not white rosebuds, but yet she may like it.” He could not help +this little fling. + +“There is nothing in all the world she wanted so much, though she never +dreamed of possessing it.” + +“We shall see, dear! We shall see!” + +In about half an hour the door opened gently, and there was a swift, +light movement. Then Sappha was at his knees, and her face was against +his breast, and he bent his head, and she threw her white arms around +his neck and kissed him. There was no word spoken; and there was none +needed--the kiss--the kneeling figure--the clasping arms, were the +clearest of explanations, the surest of all promises. Verily “he that +ruleth his spirit is stronger than he who taketh a city.” + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +_A Sweetness More Desired than Spring_ + + +In this sort of veiled truce the new days came, but the inheritance of +those other few days, following the declaration of war, was not disposed +of. On the contrary, its influence continually increased; though Leonard +received from Mrs. Bloommaert neither special favour nor special +disregard. As for the judge, he preserved a grave courtesy, which the +young man found it almost impossible either to warm, or to move; and it +soon became obvious to Mrs. Bloommaert that her husband’s frequent +visits to his friend, General Bloomfield, were made in order to prevent +all temptations to alter the polite reserve of his assumed manner. + +But the lover’s power is the poet’s power. He can make love from all the +common strings with which this world is strung. And this time was far +from being common; it was thrilled through and through by rumours of +war, of defeat and of victory, so that the sound of trumpets, and the +march of fighting men were a constant obligato to the most trivial +affairs. No one knew what great news any hour might bring. Expectation +stood on tiptoe waiting for the incredible. This was not only the case +in America. All over Christendom the war flags were flying, and the +nations humbling themselves before the great Napoleon. With an army of +more than half a million men he was then on his way to invade the +dominions of the Emperor of Russia, and at the same time he was waging +war with England and Spain, in the Spanish peninsula. The greater part +of the rest of Europe was subject to his control; and England was +necessarily at war, not only with Napoleon, but with all the other +powers of Europe, who were either allies or dependents of Napoleon. +Under such circumstances it was hardly likely that she would send any +greater force from her continental wars than she thought necessary to +maintain her possessions in America. Thus, as yet, there was all the +stir and enthusiasm of war, without any great fear of immediate danger. + +Leonard came and went, as many other young men did, to the house of +Bloommaert; and their talk was all of fighting. But the eyes have a +language of their own; the hands speak, flowers and books and music, all +were messengers of love, and did his high behests. Moreover, New York +was even abnormally gay. She gave vent to her emotions in social +delights and unlimited hospitality. Tea-and card-parties, assemblies or +subscription balls, excursions up the river, visits to Ballston mineral +springs, riding and driving, and the evening saunter on the +Battery--when the moon shone, and the band played, and embryo heroes +brought ices and made honest love--all these things were part and +parcel of these early days of war, in eighteen hundred and twelve; and +Leonard Murray and Sapphira Bloommaert met under such happy +circumstances continually. + +The Bowling Green was the heart of this festivity, for it was the +headquarters of the military commanders; and all the colour and pomp of +war centred there. Every morning Sappha awoke to the sound of martial +music; and every hour of daylight the sidewalks were gay with the +uniforms of the army and the militia. It was Annette’s misfortune to +live in Nassau Street; but then, as she said, “a great many officers +found Nassau Street a convenient way to the Battery.” Doubtless they did +so, for her pretty face among the flowers and tantalising shrubbery of +the house was an attraction worth going a little out of the way for. +However, both Annette and Madame Bloommaert spent much time at the house +on the Bowling Green; and no one was more interested in public affairs +than the judge’s mother. Her daughter-in-law had many other cares and +duties; but the war to Madame Jonaca Bloommaert was the pivot on which +all her interests hung. + +She was sitting, one morning towards the end of July, eating breakfast +with her granddaughter. There was a little breeze wandering about the +old place, and madame wore her white Canton crape shawl, a sure sign +that she intended to go to the Bowling Green. Well Annette had prepared +herself for such a likely visit, and she looked with complacent +satisfaction at her figured chintz frock, and her snow-white pelerine of +the sheerest muslin. + +“About that affair at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church last Sunday, I want to +ask your uncle Gerardus,” said madame. “I take leave to say it was not +respectable. I can hardly credit the tale--eh; what do you think?” + +“It must be true, grandmother; I was at the dinner table yesterday when +cousin Peter came in and told us.” + +“Told you? What then?” + +“He said that after leaving church on Sunday morning, and seeing us +safely to our gate, he went up Nassau Street and crossed the City Hall +Park, intending to call on John Van Ambridge. Not finding him at home, +he took the Broadway to the Bowling Green, and as he was passing St. +Paul’s Episcopal Church an artillery regiment marched out of the church, +playing _Yankee Doodle_; and so up Broadway, to both the outspoken anger +and outspoken pleasure of the crowd. Many men called on them to cease; +others bid them go on, and there was a commotion that would likely have +been much greater, if it had not been Sunday.” + +“What said Peter?” + +“He did not like it; he said it never could have happened at the Middle +Dutch Church, and so he laid all the blame on Episcopacy.” + +“And what said your uncle?” + +“He did not like it either. He thought the officers should be +reprimanded. What do you say, grandmother?” + +“I like it.” + +Annette smiled with a pleasant anticipation. She rather enjoyed a +difference of opinion between the household powers. There was generally +some small advantage in one way or another as a result. Reconciliations +were sure to follow, and reconciliations brought laxities and +favours--not infrequently gifts. She did not forget Sappha’s new +piano--the white roses and the tear-stained face, and as a natural +sequence--the piano. + +As they took their way to the Bowling Green madame noticed an unusual +quiet in the streets, but Annette, to whom the Bowling Green represented +New York, thought everything very lively. The musical exit from St. +John’s supplied the conversation, or at least seasoned it with a just +interesting acrimony, till the dinner hour arrived. The judge was always +pleased to see his mother, and always placed her in his own seat at the +table when she eat with them, and this loyal respect and kindness, +though so often repeated, never failed to touch madame as if it was a +new thing that very hour. So she spoke far more tolerantly than she +intended, about the scene at St. John’s, and expended her little store +of wrath upon an ordinance which the Common Council had just passed, +making it unlawful for any one but those in actual service to beat drums +or play fifes on the streets, except under great restrictions as to +time. Madame indignantly declared such a law to be “a restriction on the +liberty of the individual;” and she reminded her son how much of a +sinner he himself had been, when the Revolutionary War was beginning. + +“You were then a lad of only ten years old, Gerardus, yet the drum was +never out of your hands, unless you were playing the fife,” she said. + +“I am sorry to hear this, mother,” he answered. “The suffering that has +been caused by such exhibitions of boyish patriotism is beyond our +counting. The healthy have been made sick, the sick have been made +worse, and in many cases, undoubtedly, they have died in consequence of +the perpetual noise. Latterly these bands have taken to beating drums +incessantly before the house of any one thought to be opposed to the +war, and the general distress has compelled householders to beseech the +Town Council for its interference.” + +“An old woman am I,” said madame, “but the noise never annoyed me.” + +“Mother, you are not an old woman, and you will never be old. If you see +one hundred years, you will die young.” + +She put out her thin, brown hand towards her son at this compliment, and +he laid his own all over it. Then she added a little defiantly: “More +noise than ever we shall have in a day or two. Just nobody, is the +Common Council. The new disease is noise, and the boys all have it.” + +“Well, then, mother, the law will make short work of it--there is a +heavy fine and the watch-house for those who do not mind the law.” + +“Poor boys!” + +“I think we have had enough of that subject,” said Mrs. Bloommaert; “is +there no other news, Gerardus?” + +“Well, my friend General Bloomfield is to be relieved of his command +here; so my pleasant evening smoke and chat with him will soon come to +an end. I heard, also, that the company raised by Leonard Murray had +joined Colonel Harsen’s artillery regiment, and offered their services +as a body to the governor, and that it has been accepted. Some parts of +it will go to Staten Island, others to Bedloe’s Island and the Narrows.” + +He did not raise his eyes as he made this statement, or he must have +seen the face of his daughter flush and pale at his words. She +understood from them that Leonard would leave New York, and she could +not imagine how long his absence might be. Mrs. Bloommaert did not +speak; but she looked curiously at the dropped countenance of her +husband. In some dim, undefined way, she came in a moment to the +conclusion that this bit of military movement had been effected by +General Bloomfield, in order to please his friend. Annette shrugged her +shoulders and said some one, or something, always carried off _her_ +friends. She wondered what she should do without Leonard--he was so +obliging, so merry, so always on hand when she wanted him, and so +discreetly absent when she would have felt him a nuisance. She went on +in a pretty, complaining way, as if Leonard was her special friend, or +even lover, and though all present looked at her with a mild +astonishment, no one cared to contradict the position she had taken. +Madame even endorsed it by her unconscious affectation of sympathy. “You +have a trifle of eight or ten other admirers, child,” she said; “and +Leonard Murray is by no means unparagoned. A token give to him, and let +him go; a little discipline, that will be good for him.” + +This discussion had given Sappha time for self-control, and Mrs. +Bloommaert looked with admiration at her daughter. She had feared some +scornful or passionate word, but the face of Sappha was as calm as that +of a sleeping child. She had taken possession of herself completely; and +she asked her mother for some delicacy she wanted, with an air of one +only concerned about her dinner. For by a strong mental effort she had +closed the door on Leonard for the time being: she loved him too well, +and too nobly, to babble about her relations with him--especially with +her cousin Annette. + +She asked her father for no further information, and he was pleased at +her reticence; so much so that he gently stroked her hair as he passed +her seat in going out; and the smile she gave him in return made him +thoroughly respect her. It was a time when it was considered a mark of +refinement in a woman to weep readily; and if under the stress of any +unusual joy or grief or disappointment she fainted away, she was thought +to have done the right thing to prove her exquisite sensibility. But if +Sapphira had fainted on hearing of her lover’s departure, the judge +would never have stroked her hair, and she would also have missed that +comprehensive, kindling glance from her mother, which at once bid her +be brave for the occasion, and assured her of sympathy. + +But the weariest river finds the sea somewhere, and the time and the +hour run through the longest day. There were visitors after dinner, and +then tea-time came and went; and the judge prepared himself to see his +mother and niece safely to their home. + +“And, Carlita, my dear,” he said, “I may not be home until late. There +is to be a meeting at Tammany Hall to approve the war, and considering +our conversation to-day at dinner, one thing about the call is worth +telling you--it is ‘recommended to citizens of forty-five years of age +and upward.’” + +Madame laughed and gave her long mitts an impatient jerk--“these +greybeards of ‘forty-five and upward’ are going to talk very wisely, no +doubt,” she said; “but the young men it is, who will man the ships and +the batteries, and the real fighting do.” + +“The old men will lead them, mother.” + +“Sixteen were you when you went to the front in the last war, Gerardus; +and Aaron Burr, who was no older, if as old, carried messages between +Arnold and Montgomery through the thick of the fight at Quebec; and when +Montgomery fell, little Burr it was who caught his body and carried it +out of the line of fire through a very rain of bullets--a boy, mind +you!” + +“Mother, I have divested myself of all community of feeling with the +man called Aaron Burr, and of all interest whatever in his sayings and +doings.” + +“There it is! However, the sayings and doings will talk for themselves +some day. Come, let us be going. Carlita looks worn out with our +chatter.” + +Carlita did not deny the imputation, and as soon as the echo of their +footsteps had died away in the distance, she said, “Sappha, carry the +candles into the other parlour. I want to lie down on the sofa. I want +to be quiet and dark, and find out where I am, and what I am. The strain +has been very hard. Nassau Street always leaves me feeling fit for +nothing but sleep.” + +“And then to end it, that weary Aaron Burr controversy. Can’t people let +him alone?” + +“No! When he did well, he heard it never; now they say he has done ill, +he hears of it day in and day out.” + +So Sappha went to the best parlour, where the piano still stood open, +with the new music scattered over it. She put it in order, and the very +act brought her a restful, thoughtful mood. Then she closed the +instrument, and drawing a comfortable chair before the window she sat +down to commune with her own heart. If what her father had said +concerning Leonard’s company was correct--and she had no doubt of +it--then it was almost certain Leonard would himself call and tell her. +He might call that very night; she was finally sure he would call, and +her ears took intent note of every sound, and of every coming footstep. + +Very rarely are our hopes and wishes accomplished! But this hour was +favourable to Sappha’s love. In a very short time she heard the strong, +quick steps she was waiting to hear; and her face grew luminous with +pleasure, and a sweet smile made her little red mouth enchanting. She +did not go to meet him--the front door stood wide open these summer +evenings, and there was a distinct luxury in sitting still and waiting +for the approach of happiness. It was approaching so surely, so swiftly, +and as the steps came near, and more near, she heard in that scarcely +broken silence the oracle of her heart. + +He entered softly, with a grace half-mystical and half-sensuous; and +without a word stood over her. Then she lifted her eyes, and he saw +their bright light turn tender, and he stooped and laid his cheek +against hers, and whispered: “Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you +love me, Sappha? Speak, dearest! Speak quickly! Oh, speak kindly!” + +And her soul flew to her lips, and there was no need of words. Love +found a sweeter interpretation. + +“Thy little white hand, give it to me.” + +She had no will to refuse it, almost of its own will it slipped between +the two strong hands that held it fast. Then he found out those happy +love words that are so glad that they dance as they burn; those words at +once so simple and so wise, so gentle and so strong. + +And the great marvel of love is ever this--the slenderness of the +knowledge and experience which compels one human being to say to +another, “I love you!” which compels souls to rush together, as if they +were drawn by some such irresistible attraction as compels planets to +follow their orbits. Both were so young and so happy that they made each +other seem lovelier as they sat with clasped hands, speaking of +Leonard’s company and its destination. + +“How shall I endure your absence, Leonard? I know not. You are my life, +now, dear one,” said Sappha. + +“But, Sappha, my sweet, I shall be in your thoughts, as you in mine; and +we shall not know that we are apart. Besides, it will be only for ninety +days.” + +“Ah, but, Leonard, love reckons days for years, and every little absence +is an age! The tedious hours will move heavily away, and every minute +seem a lazy day.” + +“Where have you learned all this?” + +“You taught me.” + +“Oh, love! love! love! How sweet you are! When I return, then you will +be my wife. Let me speak to your father and mother to-night. Why should +we wait?” + +“Leonard, I have promised my father and mother that I will not engage +myself to any one, until the war is over.” + +“But that was before this happy hour. Such a promise cannot now stand, +darling.” + +“It cannot be broken. How could you ever trust me if I was false to the +dear father and mother who love me so much?” + +“But we are engaged, Sappha. No mere ceremony of asking consent can ever +make us more truly one.” + +“Then, my love, be content with that knowledge.” + +“The war may last a lifetime.” + +“It may be over in a year--or less.” + +The love-light in her eyes, her tremulous smiles, her penetrative +loveliness, her confident heart’s still fervour, filled him with an +inward gladness that was unspeakable. His eyes dilated with rapture; he +felt as if he was walking on air, and breathing some diviner atmosphere. +The joy of love had gone to his head like wine. + +In a little while Mrs. Bloommaert came into the room, and though she was +sleepy and distrait, she could not but notice the couple who stood up +hand-in-hand to meet her. Sappha was eighteen years old, but her radiant +face looked almost childlike in its innocent joyousness; and Leonard at +her side was the incarnation of young manhood; endowed with strength and +grace and beauty, and crowned with the glory of fortunate love. + +Leonard wished her to understand, but she smiled away all explanations, +and pretended a little worry over her long sleep, and the late hour; and +there was nothing left for Leonard but to say “Good-night.” They both +went to the door with him, and when he was out of sight, the door was +shut and the mother said, “I must have been asleep! Your father will be +here soon, Sappha. You had better go to bed. I suppose Leonard is going +with the men he raised.” + +“Yes, he is going.” + +“He ought to be glad to go. It is good for a young man to have some +experiences. Well, dear one, the day is over; and you must be tired.” + +Then Sappha perceived that her mother did not wish to know +authentically, what she understood clearly enough; and a little saddened +by this want of sympathy, she went quietly into solitude with her joy. + +The three months that followed this interview were filled with incident. +New Yorkers needed no theatre; the war supplied every emotion of dismay +and triumph of which the human heart is capable. “_On to Canada!_” had +been the slogan at its commencement; and General Hull with over two +thousand fine troops quickly took peaceable possession of the little +village of Sandwich, on the Canadian shore. His first dispatches threw +New York into a tumult of excitement and delight. The American flag was +flying on both sides of the Niagara River, and from the grandiloquent +proclamation Hull had made the Canadians, and his first dispatches, it +really appeared as if Canada had fallen. But even while bells were +ringing and cannons firing jubilates for this news, Hull himself had +thrown out the white flag from his fort at Detroit, and surrendered the +stronghold and all his forces without firing a gun. The anger and +mortification of the people were in due season, however, turned into +triumph; for if General Hull surrendered on the nineteenth of August, +Captain Hull of the frigate _Constitution_ on the tenth of August took +the British man-of-war _Guerrière_ on the coast of Newfoundland; and the +news of this victory, which arrived in New York about the first of +September, roused the wildest enthusiasm. + +This circumstance indicates very well the progress of the war. The army +operations on the Canadian frontier were everywhere disastrous to +America; on the ocean her ships vindicated by constant brilliant +victories the descent of her sailors from that great maritime power +whose flag had braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze. There +is not in all history a more splendid naval record than the United +States made during these ninety days of alternate dismay and triumph. +And no city felt these wonderful sea victories quite as New York did. +Her great ship-yards on the East River had sent out the armed frigates +and brigs, that were covering the nation, even in the eyes of her enemy, +with a great and unexpected glory. The _Constitution!_ the _President!_ +the _Essex!_ the _United States!_ these gallant ships had a kind of +personality to New Yorkers. They had seen them grow to perfection in +Christian Bergh’s and Adam Brown’s yards. They had stood godfathers at +their christening, and they watched their valiant careers almost as a +father watches his son’s course to a glorious success. + +On the fourth of September Sappha and Mrs. Bloommaert were in Greenwich +Street shopping, when they suddenly heard a wild shout of joy. “The +_Constitution!_ the _Constitution!_” From mouth to mouth the two words +flew like wild-fire. The whole city was roaring them. The bells clapped +them out. The cannon sent them thundering over land and sea. Men +meeting, though strangers, clasped hands; and women threw themselves +into each other’s arms, weeping. Was there feeling enough left for a +maid to be lovelorn or melancholy? Not in Sappha’s case. She gave her +whole heart to rejoice with her country first, and then proudly +remembered the dear youth who must at that moment be rejoicing with her. + +Letters from him came more frequently than she had dared to hope. Some +one available as a messenger was frequently at the Narrows fort, and +Leonard never missed an opportunity. There was no restriction on this +correspondence by her father and mother, though at the beginning of it +the judge strongly advised restriction. + +“Written words cannot be denied or rubbed out, Carlita,” he said. “I +know what young men are. Suppose Leonard should show Sappha’s letters to +some companion.” + +“Suppose an impossibility, Gerardus.” + +“Not so. A man in love is always a vain man, if his love is returned. He +has conquered, and he puts on all the airs of a victor. He usually wants +some one to admire and envy him, and a love letter is a visible proof of +his prowess among women. I would not allow Sappha to write.” + +“Then you are in the wrong, my dear one. Nothing is better for a lover +than a course of love letters. It is the finest education for +marriage.” + +“They say so many extravagant things.” + +“Very well. That is good. They get used to saying fine things, then they +feel them, and ’tis no harm at all for a lover to write down his +mistress ‘an angel.’ He may treat her the better for it, all their lives +together.” + +“So! so! Take thy own foolish way, wife. I do not forget thy dear little +love notes--and ever the few leaves of sweet brier in them. I can smell +it yet.” + +So Sappha had her love letters, and she also wrote them. Leonard’s were +like himself, frankly outspoken, full of extravagancy, both in love and +war. “He loved her as never man loved before;” and she saw the words +shine on the paper, and believed in them with all her soul. “He longed +for those unspeakable English tyrants to come within reach of their +guns, they would be sunk twenty fathoms deep in no time--then, then, +then, oh, then he would fly to her, as a bird to its nest!” Love and +glory mingled thus, until love took entire possession; then the +conclusion was a passionate exploiting of that yearning word “_why?_” +“_Why_ could they not be married when he returned? _Why_ should they +wait? _Why_ did she not think as he did? _Why_ consider the war at all? +_Why_ let that old tyrant of a motherland called England interfere in +their happiness? _Why_ let anything? Or anybody?” There had been little +parties of visitors at the Narrows, “_Why_ had she not persuaded her +father and mother to sail so far with her? _Why_, in short, did she not +understand that life was dreadfully dull in the fort, and that a sight +of her would be heaven to him? _Why? Why? Why_ did she not love him as +wildly and fondly and eternally as he loved her?” + +All this exaggeration was the most beautiful truth to Sapphira. She +adored her lover for the very prodigality of his pleas and +protestations. It was right and proper that lovers should suffer all the +pangs of separation; she was rather proud of Leonard’s wailing and +complaining; and careful not to comfort it too much, by comparing it +with her own. Indeed she rather affected the style of a sweet little +mentor, bound to remind him that he must love honour, even before +herself. And she so blended their own hopes and happiness with domestic +and public affairs as to make her letters all that a daily paper might +be to a man shut up in prison, or in a fort in a wilderness. Leonard saw +through them, the New York he loved, the busy, hopeful people, talking, +trading, singing, smoking, loving, living through every sense they had; +and he felt with the keenest delight all Sappha’s sweet +self-disparagements and compunctions for her own happiness and good +fortune in being beloved by him. + +“I cannot tell you, my own dear friend,” she wrote on the sixth of +November, “how happy your assurances of affection make me. People who +are very, very happy do not know how to write down their joy. I have no +words but the old, old ones--I do so love you! If I but think of your +name, I bless it forever. When your letters come, I kiss the seal +before I open them; when I write you a letter I look love into every +word I write. My father does not speak of you--oh, there is so much else +for him to talk of! My mother looks only the sweet sympathy she will not +utter, until my father wills it--and in that she is right, I think. +Annette may suspect, but she knows nothing certainly; our secret is very +much our own yet, and the dearer for it. You would say so also, if you +could see and hear New York at the present time. In spite of our small +deprivations, we are all very happy. The militia stationed here are +having a most sociable time, and there are parades and reviews +constantly in progress. The theatre is now filled every night it is +open, and if only some gallant privateer, or some sailor from the ships +comes in, the performance has to stop until he has been cheered to the +skies. I am sorry, my dearest friend, that you did not join the navy; +for just now sailors are the idols of our city--I do not mean that--oh, +no! I could not bear to think of you at sea. I am counting the days and +the hours now. I heard mother tell Annette that the men at the Narrows +would be home for the great parade on Evacuation Day, Annette clapped +her hands and said ‘then Leonard Murray will return to us; and I shall +ask grandmother to give him a dinner. He will be so glad to see me,’ she +added, ‘and I shall be so glad to see him.’ She put me out of +calculation, and I did not mind; for if _you_ remember, what care I if +all the world forgets me? It is too bad the English ships will not give +you a chance of glory, we have almost forgot how to fear them. Every +one is in high spirits; we have no doubt of God, nor our country, nor of +our brave sailors and soldiers. And, oh, Leonard! dear, dear Leonard, I +have not one doubt of you. So then I send you my heart; for I do trust +you, Leonard, for all the joy that life shall bring me. Yes I do! I do! +Sappha.” + +Such foolish words! Ah, no! Such words of delightful wisdom! And happy +indeed is the woman who in her youth hides such letters away in her Book +of Life. They will sweeten every page of it--even to the very end. + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +_Introduces Mr. Achille St. Ange_ + + +On the afternoon of November the twenty-fifth Annette was sitting with +her grandmother in the comfortable, large living room which the elder +woman loved. Outside the day was extraordinarily beautiful for the +season. The sky was nearly cloudless, the balmy air had just that snap +of early frost which made it exhilarating, and there was not a breath of +wind. The tall, straight Michaelmas daisies stood radiantly still in +their late purple glory; the golden marigolds glowed at their feet; +every twig, and every blade of grass might have been cut out of stone. +It was a speechless, motionless, spell-bound garden, lit up with a flood +of winter sunshine. + +Madame had her knitting in her hand, but she was not busy with it; her +gaze was fixed upon Annette, who was fastening more carefully the silver +spangles on a gown of blue gauze. “Madame Duval barely catches them,” +she said plaintively, “and I suppose there will be dancing to-night.” + +“I do not think there will be anything of the kind, Annette. Your aunt +will have to use the largest room for dinner, and dinner dishes are not +moved by magic. Also, I do not intend to remain there all night; so fine +is the weather we can easily return home. It has been such a tumultuous +day that I shall need sleep, and out of my own bed I never get it.” + +“But the parade was splendid, grandmother; and I am sure you are glad +you saw it.” + +“Oh, my child, my years it made me count. So well I remember the first +Evacuation Day parade. General Washington and the victorious army led +it. Then I wept because your grandfather was not among living +heroes--to-day I did not weep--so soon we shall meet again.” A sound of +distant music arrested speech, and they listened in silence till it died +away. Then Annette said: “There are to be so many public dinners, and +the theatre is to be brilliantly illuminated. Oh, grandmother, I wish +you would let me go with the Westervelt party to the theatre. What +excitement there will be there! What cheering and singing and fine +acting! and at uncle’s!--well, you know what uncle’s Evacuation dinners +are--ten or twelve old men who were in his company will be there; and +they will tell the same stories, and sing the same songs, and pay the +ladies the same compliments. I would like to go to the theatre.” + +“To your uncle’s dinner party you will go to-night; and I think the +dress you are spangling is too light. You had better wear something +warmer.” + +“Grandmother, I saw Sappha’s dress yesterday--it is a white gauze with +brilliant crimson roses scattered over it; and it is to be worn over a +rich, white satin slip. Do you want me to look a dowdy beside her?” + +“Like a dowdy you could not look, not if you tried to, Annette. Of your +health I want you to take good care. Your mother had very weak lungs.” + +“My lungs are strong enough, grandmother, it is my heart that is so +dangerously weak. It is always giving me sensations. Leonard Murray has +come back so handsome, I felt my heart as soon as I saw him.” + +“Annette, in such a way as that a good girl should not talk, even to her +grandmother. I do not think it is respectable. I am too lenient with +you, and you are too free with me.” + +“Grandmother, who is that? He is coming in here. I never saw the man +before. How handsome! how genteel! how simply noble he looks! I must +send Lucas to open the door.” + +In a minute or two the stranger let the knocker fall lightly in a +rat-tat-tat, and the little negro boy who answered his summons put him +into the chill best parlour, and brought his card to madame. She read +the name on it with difficulty, and passing the card to Annette, drew +her brows together in an effort of remembrance. + +“_Mr. Achille St. Ange._” + +“St. Ange! St. Ange! Ah, yes, I now recollect. Gertrude Bergen married +a French gentleman called St. Ange. Gertrude and I were schoolgirls +together. I was one of her bridesmaids. This young man must be her +grandson. It seems incredible--impossible----” + +“But in the meantime, grandmother, this young man is waiting in the cold +parlour.” + +“I had forgotten. Let Lucas bring him here. Do you hear, Lucas?” + +“Yes, madame.” + +In a few moments Mr. St. Ange entered, with the air and manner of a +prince; bowing first to madame, and then, with a shade less deference, +to Annette. His slight, agile figure had the erect carriage of one born +to command; and his general appearance and aspect was suggestively +haughty, and yet when people became familiar with him, they saw only a +careless tolerance of all opinions, and a certain compatibility of +temper, which easily passed for good nature. His hair was intensely +black and soft, and lay in straight locks on his white brow; his eyes, +equally dark, were full of a sombre fire; his skin had the pallor of the +hot land from which he came. + +Madame rose to welcome him and remained standing until he was seated, +then she smilingly resumed her chair, and said: + +“Indeed, Mr. St. Agne, for a moment I had forgotten. Backward for more +than half a century I had to think--then I remembered your +grandmother--Gertrude Bergen. Am I right?” + +“Madame is correct,” he answered; “my grandmother died ten years ago. My +mother is also no longer with the son, who needs her so much. I have +come to New York, and I have ventured to present a claim on your +kindness three generations old.” + +His handsome face, his direct manner, the utter absence of anything +subtle in his air or appearance, perhaps even the grave richness of his +perfectly suitable attire prepossessed both women instantly in his +favour. Madame took out wine and cake with her own hands; Annette was +the cup-bearer, and he accepted the service with a grace far more +flattering than any challenge or deprecation of it could have been. And +as Annette handed him the glass, he incidentally--quite incidentally, +indeed--lifted his eyes to hers, and the glance seemed to rivet her to +the spot, to include not only her vision, but her very soul. + +Mr. Achille St. Ange wanted a friend, that was all; and madame promised +to do her best to advise him in the new life upon which he was entering. +They talked a little of his Louisiana home, and of his future +intentions, but the visit was not prolonged at this time. “He had made +his introduction,” he said, “the future he hoped to justify it.” + +The advent of this rekindled friendship was quite an event to madame. +She could do nothing but talk of it; she kept recalling her life with +Gertrude Bergen, and she wondered a little over her grandson’s +appearance. “But, then,” she continued, “Gertrude was from Belgium, and +swarthy, though fine-looking. Much darker is her grandson, more intense, +more buoyant--well, that, too, is natural; it is the French _esprit_ +upon the Dutch respectability. His grandfather I remember now--the most +careless of mortals, full of fire and fight, and yet amiable--most +amiable. We all envied Gertrude a little. He took her to France--to some +little town near Paris. How did they get to Louisiana, I wonder?” + +Annette was the silent one in this event. She let her grandmother talk. +She wanted to hear all about Achille. The man had made a singular +impression on her. Many lovers had been at her feet, but she had really +loved none of them. Was this strange emotion--more akin to tears than +laughter--really love? She told herself that the man was captivating, +and that she must be “on guard” whenever he was present. And withal she +kept wondering “what he thought of her,” and worrying because she was +not dressed to the best advantage. + +Perhaps she would not have been quite pleased if she had been truthfully +told Mr. St. Ange’s feeling concerning her, for it was one of a perverse +admiration, oddly mingled of repulsion and fascination. He had never +before seen a woman so startlingly fair, so white--so white and +pink--eyes so blue, hair so palely yellow; her beauty struck him as +great, but almost uncanny--he wondered if so white a woman was not +equally cold. Would she ever warm to love? And then he answered his +reflections with a soft utterance: “We shall see! We shall see!” + +The dinner party at the judge’s was to be at four o’clock, and the rest +of the afternoon was fully occupied in preparing for it. And in this +preparation, if Annette had been keeping “guard” over herself, she would +have noticed that even already the stranger influenced her. She laid +aside the spangled robe and put on a gown of purple cloth trimmed with +minever. And she thought, and said, that this change was in deference to +her grandmother’s desires; but in reality it came from the feeling that +Mr. St. Ange would not be at her uncle’s, and that no one else much +mattered. Even if Leonard was present, she felt now that Leonard was a +past interest; St. Ange was new and different, and his favour full of +all kinds of possibilities. + +On arriving at the house on the Bowling Green they found it in a festal +state of confusion. The largest parlour had been stripped of all its +movable furniture, and the space devoted to a long table, and to chairs +for the twenty or more people that were to be seated. It already shone +with massive silver and beautiful crystal; while the odours of delicious +meats and confections inspired a sense of warmth and comfort, and of +good things to come. Blazing fires were in every grate; the numerous +silver sconces on the walls, and the scintillating crystal chandelier +above the table were all filled with wax candles, which would be lit as +soon as the daylight waned a little farther. The judge was in full +evening dress, and madame in brocaded ruby velvet, with a string of +pearls round her yet beautiful throat. And when Sapphira came into the +room Annette was deeply mortified at her own foolishness in dressing so +plainly. She felt that she had wounded and humiliated herself for a +probability. In a moment of new hope she had let slip the certainties +Sappha had embraced. For Sappha, in her rose-sprinkled gown, looked as +if she stepped out of the heart of a rose. Her brilliant colour, the +sunlike radiancy of her eyes, her glowing gown, made her, indeed, a +beauteous apparition, wonderfully sweet and noble. Annette looked at her +with an envious surprise. Something had happened to her cousin Sappha; +what it was she did not understand, but Sappha had an air of mystery and +mastery, unperceived by herself, but rousing in all who knew the girl +intimately a questioning wonder. It came from an interior sense of +settlement and completeness; Sappha had found him whom her soul loved, +and the restlessness, the unconscious seeking and craving of girlhood, +was over. + +In her desire to somewhat equalise things, Annette gave her cousin a +very flowery description of her grandmother’s strange visitor. She +described him as the most beautiful, elegant, and graceful of human +creatures; and she emphasised very strongly her grandmother’s strong +claim upon his affection and attention--“‘a friendship in its third +generation,’ he called it, Sappha, and I suppose we shall see a great +deal of him. He is to call to-morrow to consult grandmother about his +money and his business.” + +“Where does he come from?” Sappha asked, but in such a listless way that +Annette responded angrily, “It is easy to see you do not care where he +comes from. I thought you would feel some interest in such a romantic +affair. What are the old men and women who will be here to-night in +comparison with such an adorable young man? And how you have dressed +yourself for them! Do you imagine they will appreciate, or, perhaps, +even notice it?” + +“I dressed myself in honour of the day, and for my father and mother’s +oldest friends. Here are some of them coming. I must help mother to +receive them.” + +“I am afraid it is going to be an unlucky and disagreeable night,” +sighed Annette to herself, as she stood by the fire watching the rapid +arrival of cloaked and hooded guests. As she mused amid the happy sounds +of welcome, she noticed a sudden shutting and opening of Sappha’s bright +eyes, and an expression of more eager delight on her face. A quick +presentiment flashed through Annette’s mind, and she followed her +cousin’s glance to the little group advancing. Yes, it was as she +expected!--Leonard Murray’s fair head towered in youthful beauty and +animation above all the white-haired men and women entering the room +with him. Then Annette slipped sweetly past all obstructions, and with a +smile said softly to Sappha: “‘I dressed myself in honour of the day, +and for my father and mother’s oldest friends!’ Oh, Sappha! Sappha! Is +Mr. Murray among their oldest friends?” + +Sappha’s face burned, but fortunately there was no time for words. The +judge and Peter were seating their guests, and every one was for the +moment silent and attentive. Madame, his mother, had the head of the +table, and every guest saluted her as they passed to their own seats. +And what a goodly company it was! Such sturdy, stalwart men; such +rosy-faced, comfortable-looking, handsome women! such good-will and +fellow-feeling! such amiable admiration of each other’s dress and +appearance! And when the slaves brought in, at shoulder height, the hot +savoury dishes, such simultaneous delight to find them the Hollandish +delicacies, which now remain to us only in printed descriptions; yes, +even to the little saucers of that dear condiment made of pickled and +spiced red cabbage, once so welcome and necessary to the Dutch palate. +And pray, what mouth once familiar with its savour and flavour and +relish could resist the delicately thin, purple strips? Olives were +already taking its place at the tables of the high-bred citizens, who +loved French fashions and French cooking; but among these old-fashioned, +picturesque figures, its antique, homely taste and aspect was surely +beautiful and fitting. At any rate, there was no one at Judge +Bloommaert’s dinner table who would not have passed by caviare or olives +or any other condiment in its favour. + +Who has ever written down happiness? and what superfluity of words would +describe the good fellowship of the next hour? There was no “hush” on +any source of innocent pleasure. With the good food went good wine and +good company, and above all, and through all, a good fellowship bounded +by the strongest of public and private ties. + +And as the more substantial dishes gave place to fruits and confections, +the nobler part of the feast took its precedency. The wine was +consecrated to patriotism and friendship, in heartfelt toasts; and one +of the earliest, and the most enthusiastic, was given to Madame Jonaca +Bloommaert. It was a spontaneous innovation, roused by her beautiful old +age, and her young enthusiasm, and she was for a moment embarrassed by +the unexpected. Only for a moment; then she rose erect as a girl, her +face kindling to her emotions, and in a clear voice answered the united +salutation: + +“My friends, I thank you all. There has been much talk of the Dutch and +of the Americans. Well, then, I am a Dutchwoman, and I am an American. +Both names are graven on my soul. America is my home, America is my +native land, and I would give my own life for her prosperity. But also, +Holland is my _Vaderland_! and my _Moederland_! I have never seen it, I +never shall see it, but what then? When our _Vaderland_ and _Moederland_ +is lost to sight, good Dutchmen, and good Dutchwomen, _find it in their +hearts_!” Her thin hands were clasped over her breast, her eyes full of +a solemn ecstacy; for that moment she put off the vesture of her years, +and stood there, shining in the eternal youth of the soul. + +In the midst of feelings not translatable she sat down, and as the +little tumult subsided Peter Bloommaert rose, and said: + +“My dear grandmother has opened our hearts for the song my brother +Chris wrote, the night before he went away. I promised to sing it for +him this night, and my friend, Leonard Murray--who has it set to some +good music--will help me. It is my business to build, it is my brother +Christopher’s business to sail, and to fight, but I say this--and it is +the truth--if America, my native land, needs my hands for fighting, the +love I bear for my _Vaderland_ will only make me fight the better for my +native land.” Then he looked at Leonard, and the two young, vibrant +voices, blended Christopher’s “Flag Song” with a stirring strain of +catching melody: + + O Flag of the Netherlands, are not our hearts + All flagbearers sacred to thee? + To our song, and our shout, O banner fly out! + Fly out o’er the land and the sea! + Unfold thee, unfold thee, invincible flag, + Remember thy brave, younger years, + When men crying ‘Freedom!’ died underneath thee, + ’Mid storming and clashing of spears. + Flag of Fidelity! + Piety, Courage! + Thy Blue, White, and Red + We salute! + + Thou art blue as the skies, and red as the dawn, + Thou art white as the noonday light; + Fidelity gave thee her beautiful blue, + And Piety bound thee in white. + Then Faith and Fidelity went to the field + Where the blood of thy heroes was shed; + And there, where the sword was the breath of the Lord, + They gave thee thy ribbon of red. + Flag of Fidelity! + Piety! Courage! + Thy Blue, White, and Red + We salute! + +The enthusiasm evoked by this _Vlaggelied_ was kept up in toast and +story and song until the big clock in the hall struck seven. Then the +judge and Colonel Rutgers rose; they were going to speak at a dinner +given by the officers of the Third New York State Artillery, and others +were going either to the theatre or to Scudder’s Museum, both of which +buildings were to be brilliantly illuminated. But a few of the guests +would willingly have prolonged the present pleasure, and old Samuel Van +Slyck said: + +“Well, then, judge, too fast is your clock. There is yet one good +half-hour before seven.” + +“No, no, Van Slyck,” answered the judge, “a Dutch clock goes always just +so; you cannot make it too fast.” And to this national joke the party +rose; they rose with a smile that ended in an involuntary sigh and the +little laughing stir with which human beings try to hide the breaking up +of a happiness. + +Cloaked and hooded, the majority went northward up Broadway; but quite a +number went eastward to Nassau, Wall, and State streets. In this party +were Madame Bloommaert and Annette, their escorts being Peter, and +Leonard Murray. They were the last to leave, for they were in no great +hurry; so they took leisurely farewells, and some of the women drank a +cup of tea standing cloaked in the parlour. In this short postponement +Leonard found the moments he had been longing for. Never had Sappha been +so entrancing in his eyes, and the radiancy of her beauty had not +charmed him more than the graceful generosity with which she had +suffered herself to be eclipsed for the honour and pleasures of others. +And, oh, how sweet he made the cup of tea he brought her, with such +honeyed words of praise! And how proud and happy he was made by her +answer. + +“If I was fair to you, dear Leonard, I have my perfect wish; for when +you are not here, then all the world is nothing.” + +They were both happy and excited, and it is little wonder if they +betrayed to Annette’s sharp eyes more than they intended. She was +spending all her fascinations on her cousin Peter, but while making eyes +at cousin Peter was not oblivious of her cousin Sappha. And when the +festal hours were quite over and she was alone with her grandmother, she +could not avoid giving utterance to her suspicions: + +“Grandmother,” she said, putting the tips of her fingers together and +resting her chin upon them, “I have an idea.” + +“Well, then, what is it?” + +“I think Sappha and Leonard Murray are not only in love with each +other--I think, also, they are engaged.” + +“You talk more nonsense than usual. No one has said a word of that kind +to me. Of this family, I am the head, there could be no engagement +without my approval. Your uncle and aunt would have told me at +once--Sappha also. About engagements, what do you know? Lovers you +have, but making love and making a life-long engagement are different +things. Sappha is not engaged.” + +“Then ’tis a thousand pities, for I am sure she is mortally in love with +Leonard.” + +“And if he was mortally in love with Sappha, what wonder? More beautiful +every day, grows Sapphira Bloommaert.” + +“That is because she is in love. ‘Love makes the lover fair,’” and she +began to hum the song. + +“I have never seen love any change make in you. A new dress might, +but--” + +“I have never been in love. A new dress is the height of my affection. +However, I go back to what I said--I am sure Sappha and Leonard are +engaged.” + +“Was some one telling you this story?” + +“No. I told the story to myself.” + +“How did you make it up?” + +“I kept my eyes open.” + +“Well, what then?” + +“I saw that they had that ‘air’ about their slightest intercourse that +mere experimental lovers never dare. I mean that sure look that married +people have. Watch them and you will see it.” + +“Watch, I shall not. See, I shall not. As soon as there is any purpose +of marriage for Sapphira Bloommaert, I shall be told of it--told +immediately. If I was not, I should never forgive the slight,--never! +And your uncle and aunt know it. Can you find nothing pleasanter about +the dinner to talk of? It was a dinner to gladden Dutch hearts. I helped +your aunt arrange the courses, and I gave her many of my choice receipts +for the dishes. No one in New York has such fine Hollandish receipts as +I have, except, perhaps, old Peter Bogart, the biscuit maker.” + +“I know, grandmother, I never pass his shop at Broadway and Cortlandt +Street without going in for some doughnuts. No one can make such good +ones; and how far back he looks in his smallclothes and long stockings, +his big hat, and knee buckles, and shoe buckles, and sleeve buckles, his +powdered hair and his long cue.” + +“Yes, Peter Bogart and Mr. and Mrs. Skaats are among the few Dutch who +have never changed with changing customs. While moving with the city and +the times they have retained their picturesque dress and household life. +And in all New York no one is more respected; no one more interesting +and lovable than Mr. and Mrs. Skaats.” + +“I never saw them!” + +“I am sure you have not.” + +“Well, then, who are they?” + +“Mr. Skaats is custodian of the City Hall, and this delightful old +couple often entertain the judges, lawyers, and the councilmen at their +dinner table; on which is always found the Hollandish dishes we are so +rapidly forgetting. Your uncle occasionally dines with them, and would +do so more frequently if his own home was not so convenient. You must +ask him to take you to see these dear old Dutch people; or I dare say +Sappha knows them. Soon they will only be a pleasant memory.” + +“I do not need to go and see the Skaats for a pleasant Dutch memory. +There is no finer Dutchwoman in the world than my grandmother, Madame +Jonaca Bloommaert.” + +Madame was gratified at this compliment, and, perhaps, in order to +return the pleasure, or else for the sake of changing the subject, she +said: “Mr. St. Ange will be here in the morning--but I do not think it +is necessary to warm the best parlour.” + +“No, no, grandmother. Our sitting-room is far more distinguished. The +best parlour is like a great many parlours; our sitting-room has a +character--a most respectable one. I could see that he was impressed by +it. I dare say he will soon know Sappha, and of course he will fall in +love with her, and then there will be some interest in watching how +Leonard Murray will like that.” + +“Well, then, keep yourself clear; see, and hear, and say nothing; that +is wise.” + +“But I like to meddle--a little bit. I wonder if Leonard and Sappha are +really engaged! Leonard might have come in and sat an hour with us; I +expected so much courtesy from him. But no! though I told him we were so +lonely in the evenings, he never offered to spend a little time with us. +I dare say he returned at once to the Bowling Green. I saw him say a +word or two to Sappha as he left, and she smiled and nodded, and I am +very sure he was asking her permission to return.” + +“Such nonsense! He would have asked your aunt that question.” + +“Oh, the question is nothing! any question meant the same thing. I have +no doubt at all, Leonard is at this moment with Sappha. They will be +pretending to help aunt Carlita, but then helping her will mean pleasing +themselves.” + +But for once Annette’s sensibility, though so selfishly acute, was not +correct. Leonard did not return to the Bowling Green, and Sappha was +disappointed and hurt by his failure to do so. For an hour she sat with +her mother before the fire, expecting every moment to hear his +footsteps. And this expectation was so intense that she was frequently +certain of their approach--his light rapid tread, his way of mounting +the steps two at a time--both these sounds were repeated again and again +upon her sensitive ear drum, and yet Leonard came not. Alas, what +heart-watcher has not been tormented by these spectral promises? for the +ears have their phantoms as well as the eyes. At last she reluctantly +gave up hope, and as she lit her night candle she said in a tone of +affected cheerfulness: + +“I suppose Leonard would stay an hour or two with grandmother and +Annette.” + +“Why should you suppose such a thing? I am sure he never thought of +doing so. I dare say he went with Peter to the theatre.” + +“Grandmother had a visitor to-day--a grandson of Mrs. Saint-Ange.” + +“She told me so.” + +“He is very handsome, Annette says.” + +“Well, then, he will, perhaps, find work for idle hearts to do. Your +grandmother declares Annette shall marry a Dutchman. But when I was a +girl French nobles fleeing from Robespierre elbowed one another on +Broadway, and they carried off most of the rich and pretty Dutch +maidens. A Frenchman is a great temptation; your grandmother will have +to guard her determination, or she may be disappointed.” + +“Good-night, dear mother. I will help you in the morning to put +everything straight.” + +“Good-night, and good angels give you good dreams, dear one.” + +And as Sappha put down her candle in the dim, lonely room, and hastened +her disrobing because of the cold, she could not help wondering where +all the enthusiasms of the early evening were gone to--the light, the +warmth, the good cheer, the good fellowship, the joy of song, the thrill +of love. They had been so vividly present two hours ago, and now they +were so vividly absent that the tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she +had an overpowering sense of discouragement and defeat. And the sting of +this inward depression was Leonard Murray. “He might have come back for +an hour! He might have come! and he did not.” Murmuring this sorrowful +complaint she went into the land of sleep. And in that world of the +soul she met her angel, and was so counselled and strengthened that she +awoke with a light heart and with song upon her lips--all her fret and +lurking jealousy turned into a frank confidence; all her doubts changed +into the happiest hopes. And as every one has, more or less, frequently +experienced this marvellous communion, this falling on sleep angry, +disappointed, dismayed, and awakening soothed, satisfied, encouraged, +there is no need to speculate concerning such a spiritual +transformation. Those who have the key to it require no tutor; those who +have not the key could not be made to understand. + +Sappha simply and cheerfully accepted the change; she was even able to +see where she had been unreasonable in her expectations; her whole mood +was softened and more generous. She dressed herself and went down, rosy +with the cold, and her father found her standing before the blazing fire +warming her feet and hands. The windows were white with frost, and a +bugle sounded piercingly sweet in the cold, clear air; but the big room +was full of comfort and of the promise of a good plentiful meal. + +They began to talk at once about the dinner party of the previous +evening, and Sappha said: “The best part of the whole affair was +grandmother. I think, father, that she looked about twenty years old, +when she was speaking. How radiant was her face! How sweet her voice! +How proud I am to be her granddaughter!” + +And this acknowledgment so pleased the judge that he answered: “I shall +never forget her countenance as she lifted her eyes to the flags above +the mantlepiece; her glance took in both, with equal affection; the red, +white, and blue of the Netherlands, and the Star Spangled Banner which +hung by its side. And let me tell you, Sappha, I liked our Christopher’s +song, and also I liked the music Mr. Murray wrote for it. One was as +good as the other. Here comes mother, and the coffee, and how delicious +the meat and bread smell! Mother is always the bringer of good things. +Sit here, Sappha, it is warmer than your own place.” + +During breakfast the gathering of the previous evening was more fully +discussed; and in speaking of madame and Annette Sapphira made mention +of Mr. St. Ange, who had visited them. Somewhat to their astonishment +the judge said he had heard of the young man through the Livingstons, +with whom he had had some business transactions. Mr. Edward Livingston, +of New Orleans, had supplied him with introductions to some of the best +New York families, and he thought it likely, from what he had been told, +that Annette’s description of his beauty and excessive gentility was not +more of an exaggeration than Annette’s usual statements. + +“You have been told things about him, father. Then he has been in New +York more than two days?” + +“He has been here about two weeks.” + +“Oh! I understood from Annette that he had flown to grandmother’s +friendship at once. She spoke as if they were to have the introducing of +him to society in New York.” + +“Well, then, they can do a great deal for Mr. St. Ange in that way. I +fancy he is rather popular already among the Livingston and Clinton set. +My mother can give him equally fine introductions among the Dutch +aristocracy. I believe him to be a gentleman, and I should think it +quite prudent to offer him any courtesy that comes in your way.” + +After the judge had left home the two women continued the conversation. +Mrs. Bloommaert was certain St. Ange was at least of French parentage. +“His name is one of the best names among the nobility of France,” she +said. “And if he is truly a French gentleman, you will see of what +expression that word ‘gentleman’ is capable. But I wish not that you +should meet him through Annette--her airs will be insufferable. I think +it possible he may be at the Girauds’ ball to-morrow night. There you +would meet him quite naturally. It is strange Josette Giraud did not +name him to you when she called last Monday.” + +“Josette loves my brother Peter. Peter has her whole heart. There would +not be room for the finest French gentleman in the world in it.” + +“Josette is a good girl. I wish much that Peter would marry her. But no, +Peter thinks only of ships.” + +“Oh, you don’t know, mother! Peter talks about ships, but not about +girls. All the same he thinks a deal about Josette Giraud.” + +“Sometimes I fear Annette. I have seen her! She makes eyes at Peter, +she admires him, and lets him see it--and men are so easily captured.” + +“But then, Annette does not want to capture Peter. She is only amusing +herself. She makes eyes at all good-looking young men. She cannot help +it.” + +“Your grandmother ought not to allow her to do so.” + +“Poor grandmother! She does not know it, or see it. If she did, she +could as easily prevent a bird from singing as keep Annette from looking +lovely things out of her beautiful eyes. And really, mother, she intends +no wrong. How can she help being so pretty and so clever?” + +“Peter could have taken them home last night without the assistance of +Leonard Murray--and Leonard wanted to stay a while here, but Annette +asked him with one of those ‘lovely looks’ to walk with them, and +Leonard never once objected.” + +“How could he?” + +“And this morning she will have no recollection of either Peter or +Leonard. She will be busy with the conquest of this Mr. St. Ange.” + +“If so, Mr. St. Ange will soon be her captive. I shall think no worse of +him for a ready submission. ‘Honour to the vanquished!’ was a favourite +device of the knights of the olden times.” + +Mrs. Bloommaert was, however, a little out of her calculation. So was +Annette. Both had been sure St. Ange would avail himself of the earliest +possible hour in which a call could be politely possible; and Annette, +somewhat to her grandmother’s amusement, had dressed herself in the +fascinating little Dutch costume she had worn at a St. Nicholas +festival. She said she had done so because it was so warm and +comfortable for a cold morning; and she smoothed the quilted silk +petticoat and the cloth jacket down, and made little explanations about +them and the vest of white embroidery, which neither deceived madame nor +herself. Her fair hair was in two long braids, tied with blue ribbons; +her short petticoat revealed her small feet dressed in grey stockings +clocked with orange; and high-heeled shoes fastened with silver +latchets. She was picturesque and very pretty, and armed from head to +feet for conquest. But, alas! St. Ange came not. In fact he was +comfortably sleeping while she was watching; and it was not until the +middle of the afternoon he made the promised visit. He had been dining +at Mr. Grinnel’s the previous evening, and had afterwards gone to the +theatre with a large party. And he lamented with an almost womanly +plaintiveness the bitter cold, that, for him, spoiled every +entertainment. The theatre, he said, was at freezing point; and how the +ladies endured the temperature in their evening gowns was to him a +marvel. Then he looked round madame’s fine old room with its solid oak, +and massive silver, its curtained windows, thick carpet, plentiful +bearskin rugs, and huge blazing fire, and said with a happy sigh: “It +was the only room fit to live in that he had seen in New York. Handsome +rooms! oh, yes, very handsome rooms he had seen, but all cold, killing +cold!” + +Madame reminded him that New York and Lousiana were in different +latitudes; and Annette found him the most cosey chair in the warmest +corner, and the general warmth and sympathy was soon effectual. +Complaint was changed for admiration, and as the day waned, and the +firelight made itself more and more impressive, his conversation lost +its business and social character, and became personal and reminiscent. + +Madame asked him if he was born in New Orleans, and at the question his +eyes flashed like living furnaces filled with flame. + +“But no,” he answered. “No, no! I was born in that island that God made +like Paradise, and negroes have made like hell. Near the town of Cayes I +was born, in a vast stone mansion standing on a terrace and shaded by +stately palms. Six terraces led from it to the ocean, and marble steps +led from one terrace to another. My father had left France very early in +the reign of Louis the Sixteenth, and I have heard that even at that +time he had a positive prescience of the horrors of the coming +revolution. However, without this incentive he would have made the +emigration; for he had fallen heir to immense hereditary estates in +Hayti, which had been in the possession of our family from the time of +Columbus. Here he cultivated the cane, introducing it himself from the +West Indies; and he also exported great quantities of mahogany, and of +that beautiful wood which is fragrant in its native forests as the +sweetest of roses. There were many slaves on the estate, who lived in a +little village of their own, about a mile away from the house. During +the awful insurrection of 1791 my father defended his mansion, and as he +had great influence with the blacks he was not seriously interfered +with; but he was never afterwards happy. He foresaw that the continual +fighting between the blacks and the mulattoes must finally drive all +white people from the island, and he prepared for this emergency by +sending to New Orleans at every opportunity all the money he could +spare. In 1803 the long years of continual horrors culminated, and the +United States having bought Louisiana, my father resolved to remove +there at once. A British frigate was in the harbour of Cayes at the +time, and arrangements were made with the captain for our immediate +removal. I was then of fourteen years, and I knew only too well the +demoniac character of these insurrections. This one also was likely to +be especially cruel, owing to the presence of French troops sent by +Napoleon to subjugate the blacks. Secretly I assisted my father to carry +to the ship the money, jewels, and papers we intended to take with us, +but ere this duty was quite accomplished we saw that there was no time +to lose. With anxious hearts we watched the ship sail northward, but +this movement was only a feint. We knew that about midnight she would +return to the appointed place for us. + +“Sick with many fears we watched for the setting of the sun. It had been +a hot, suffocating day, and every hour of it had indicated a fierce, and +still more fierce, gathering of the combatants. Hellish cries, and +shouts to the beating of drums, and the wild chanting of the Obeah +priests had filled the daylight with unspeakable terrors. But when the +sun sank, suddenly a preternatural calm followed. Mysterious lights were +seen in the thick woods, howlings and cries, horrible and inhuman, came +out of its dense darkness. Abominable sacrifices were being offered to +the demon they worshipped, and we knew that as soon as these rites were +over indiscriminate slaughter and devilish cruelties would begin. My +mother had my little sister in her arms, and I went with her through the +forest to the seaside. She reached our meeting place by one exit, I by +another; for we were suspiciously watched, and durst not leave the house +in a body. My father and my two eldest brothers were to join us by +different routes. + +“That awful walk! That enchanted walk through the hot, thick forest! I +shall never forget it in this life or the next--I shall never forget it! +Even the insects were voiceless, and the huge serpents lay prone in +spellbound stillness. We had not reached the sea before a terrific +thunder storm broke over us. Then the glare and gloom made each other +more awful; the black sky was torn by such lightning as you have no +conception of; and in the midst of natural terrors no one can describe +the blacks held a carnival of outrage and death in every conceivable +form of hellish cruelty that Obeah could devise. + +“Nearly dead with fatigue and fright my mother reached the little cove +where the ship was to meet us, and there we waited in an agony of terror +for the arrival of my father and brothers. They came not. And if the +ship was noticed lying near we should be discovered. I walked back as +far as I durst, looking for any trace of them. My mother lay upon the +sand praying. My little sister slept at her side. In that hour childhood +left me forever. In that hour I learned how much one may suffer, and yet +not die. Daylight began to appear, and the ship was about half a mile +from the land. Then I called,--not with the voice I am now using,--but +with some far mightier force, ‘_Father! Father!_’ And at that moment he +appeared, pushing his way through the green tangle. And his face was +whiter than death, because it was full of horror and agony, which the +face of death very rarely is. + +“He could not speak. He made motions to me to signal the ship, which I +instantly did. It was not many minutes till we saw our signal answered +and a little boat coming quickly toward us. But my father quivered with +anxiety, and he said, afterwards, they were the most awful moments of +his existence. For he knew there was a party of negroes in pursuit, and, +indeed, we were just getting into the boat when we heard them crashing +through the underwood. My mother had said only two words, ‘August! +Victor!’ and my father had answered only, ‘Dead.’ Then the sailors +pulled with all their strength to escape the bullets that followed us; +but one struck and killed the babe in my mother’s arms, and another +fatally wounded a man at one of the oars. He fell, and my father took +his place.” + +Annette was watching St. Ange like one fascinated; her blue eyes were +wide open, her face terror-stricken, her little form all a-tremble. +Madame had covered her face, but when Achille ceased speaking she +stretched out her hand to him, and for a few moments there was an +intense passionful silence. Madame broke it. + +“You reached New Orleans safely?” + +“It was a hard journey. The captain had taken on a great number of the +fugitives, and he waited around the island for two days, rescuing many +more who had trusted to the mercy of the sea rather than dare the bloody +riot on land; so that we were much overcrowded and soon suffering for +food and water. Fever followed, and when we reached New Orleans we were +in a pitiable plight. My mother did not recover from this experience. +She never asked further about my brothers, and my father would not have +told her the truth, if she had asked. ‘They are dead! They died like +heroes!’ That was all my father ever told me. It was all that I wished +to know. + +“On Bayou Têche we bought a plantation, and began again the cultivation +of the cane, but mother died visibly, day by day, and within six weeks +we buried her under the waving banners of the grey moss that hung so +mournfully from the live oaks, that January morning. As to my father, he +was never again the same. He had been a very joyous man, but he smiled +no more, and he fretted continually over the loss of his family and his +beautiful home in Hayti. For some years we were all in all to each +other, and he laboured hard to bring our new plantation into a fine +condition. Then he, too, left me, and the place was hateful in my sight. +I wished to escape forever from the sight of negroes. I feared them, +even in my sleep. Had not those who had shared our food, and games, and +constant society slain with fiendish delight my poor brothers and my +only sister? I was acquainted with Mr. Edward Livingston, a lawyer in +New Orleans, and who himself had married a beautiful refugee from the +great Haitian insurrection, and he advised me not to sell my plantation, +as in view of the war I could not get its value. I would not listen to +him--a simpler life with the black cloud removed seemed to me the only +thing I desired. But no, I have not here escaped it. What shall I do?” + +“The blacks in New York are mostly free, and they are comparatively few +in number,” said madame. + +“Few in number--that is some security. But now, I must tell you, that +this summer, on the very night that there was a great volcanic eruption +from the burning heart of St. Vincent, there was another massacre. Amid +the roaring darkness, the intolerable heat, the rain of ashes, the +stench of sulphur, and the stygian horror of the heavens and the earth, +the blacks, + +[Illustration: “THE CAPTAIN ... WAITED AROUND THE ISLAND FOR TWO DAYS, +RESCUING MANY MORE WHO HAD TRUSTED TO THE MERCY OF THE SEA.”] + +made frantic by their terror, and led by the priests of Obeah, fell upon +the whites indiscriminately. They fled to the ships in the harbour--to +the sea--anywhere, anywhere, from those huge animal natures whose eyes +were flaming with rage, and whose souls were without pity. Nearly one +hundred of these fugitives finally reached Norfolk and Virginia. Some +had been warned either by their own souls, or by friends, and had money +and jewels with them; others were quite destitute; many were sick, and +their condition was pitiable. All desired to reach the French +settlements in Louisiana, but transit by water was most uncertain, +nearly all the usual shipping being employed in the more congenial +business of privateering. Then, in the midst of their distress, comes +into port one day Captain Christopher Bloommaert. He had with him a fine +English frigate, the prize of his skill and valour. And when he +understood the case of these poor souls, he called his men together and +proposed to them the God-like voyage of carrying the miserables to New +Orleans. ‘’Tis but a little way out of our purposed course,’ he said, +‘and who knows on what tack good fortune may meet us?’ And the men +answered with a shout of ready assent, and so they finally reached New +Orleans. I saw them land. Many of them were old friends of my family, +and I heard such stories from their lips as make men mad. One old +planter, who had money with him, bought my estate, and took those with +him to its shelter who had neither money nor friends. Their kindness to +each other was wonderful. As for me, I hastened away from scenes that +had cast a pall over all my life. Yet I forget not; to forget would be +an impossible mercy.” + +Then madame talked comfortably to the young man, and after a while tea +was brought in, and Annette, grave and silent for once, made it; and +quietly watched, and listened, and served. St. Ange liked her better in +this mood. The other Annette, with her little coquetries, had not +pleased him half so well. When he left she understood that she had +gained favour in his eyes; he kissed her hand with an enthralling grace +and respect--or, at least, Annette found it so. And that night, though +she felt certain Leonard Murray was singing the new songs with Sappha, +she told herself that she “did not care if he was. Achille was twice as +interesting; he was, indeed, a romantic, a tragic hero--and very nearly +a lover. And he was so captivating, so unusually handsome!” She went +over the rather long list of young men with whom she was friendly, and +positively assured herself that all were commonplace compared with this +wonderful Achille. And, to be sure, his small but elegant figure, his +pale passionate face, set in those straight black locks, his caressing +voice, his subtle smile, his gentle pressure of the hand--all these +charms were not the prominent ones of the practical, business-like young +men with whom she was most familiar. + +After St. Ange’s departure madame sat silent for some time, and Annette +watched her with a strange speculation in her mind--did people really +keep their emotions fresh when they were three-score and ten years old? +Her grandmother had seemed to feel all that she had felt. Her hands, her +feet, her whole figure had revealed strong sensation, her eyes been +tender with sympathy and keen with anger; her interest had never +flagged. In passionate sensibility had twenty years no superiority over +seventy years? Patience, Annette! Time will tell you the secret. Oh, the +soul keeps its youth! + +She considered this question, however, until it wearied her, and then +she asked abruptly: “Grandmother, of what are you dreaming?” + +“Mr. St. Ange. I was recalling the day on which his grandfather carried +off to France pretty Gertrude Bergen. She went to France and died in +Haiti, and now her grandson is driven back by events he cannot control +to New York.” + +“Where he will probably marry some other pretty Dutch maiden.” + +“And small heed we take of such things; we even count them of chance; +yet, how often that which flowers to-day grows from very old roots.” + +“Grandmother, I want two new dresses. Can I have them?” + +“Stuffs of every kind are very dear, Annette.” + +“Only two, grandmother.” + +“And Madame Lafarge’s charges for making dresses are extravagant--the +making is the worst.” + +“It has to be done, grandmother.” + +“Yes--but if you will turn to your Bible, Annette, you will find that +the woman whose ‘price was above rubies’ made her own dresses.”[1] + +“Indeed, grandmother, you need only glance at any picture of a Bible +woman to see that. Dresses without shape, without style--and as for _the +fit_!” And Annette could only explain the enormity of the fit by +throwing up her hands in expressive silence. + +“If you get the dresses, then a new bonnet will be wanted.” + +“Yes, a bonnet would be a necessity; also some of those sweet furs that +come from South America--so soft and grey are they. Oh, the ugliest +woman looks pretty in them!” + +“You are extortionate, Annette.” + +“Grandmother, I have not yet asked for a grand piano.” + +Then madame laughed. And Annette laid her soft cheek against madame and +kissed her good-night. But though she walked delicately and almost on +tip-toes to her own room, there was an air of triumph in the poise of +her pretty head. She set the candle down by the mirror and looked +complaisantly at herself. + +“I shall get what I want,” she said softly. “I always do.” + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +_A Chain of Causes_ + + +It had been a stirring summer in New York, and the year was now closing +with a remarkable month. For October had been signalised by two naval +victories, the British war frigate _Frolic_ having been captured by +Captain Jones, and the _Macedonian_ by Commodore Decatur, and as the +successful commanders were expected in New York during December, great +preparations were being made for their entertainment, the more so, as +Captain Hull, the hero of the _Constitution_, would also be present. + +Considering these things, Annette’s request for two new gowns was a +modest one; yet so many women were just then acquiring new gowns that it +was with difficulty she succeeded in getting hers ready for Christmas +Day. Achille had helped her to select her ball dress, and it was so +lovely that she felt no fear of being on this occasion eclipsed by +Sappha’s gayer garments. That Achille had been consulted in its +selection need not imply more than a rather intimate friendship; for the +young man had become a familiar friend of a great many families. His sad +history, his unusual beauty and grace, his many social accomplishments, +and his faultless manners and dress, had given him almost by acclamation +a very prominent position in the fashionable circles of New York. The +Dutch claimed him on his mother’s side, the French on his father’s, and +New Yorkers on the ground that he had of choice elected to become a +citizen of New York. No gathering was considered complete without his +presence; the most select clubs sought his association; and among those +men who loved fine horses and skilful fencing, he was acknowledged an +incomparable judge and master. + +But though he accepted this homage, he did not seek it; nor did it seem +to afford him much pleasure. Those most familiar with his habits knew +that he very much preferred the society of the Friendly Club, which met +in the parlour of Dr. Smith’s house in Pine Street. Here, with young +Washington Irving, Charles Brockden Brown, and other literary and +learned men, he passed the hours that pleased him most. Nor was this his +only social peculiarity. He formed a close friendship with the exile +Aguste Louis de Singeron, the most famous pastry cook and confectioner +in New York; also an ex-courtier and ex-warrior of Louis the Sixteenth: +a little man of the most undaunted spirit, chivalrous and courteous, at +once the most polite and the most passionate of men. Every day St. Ange +might be found sitting in De Singeron’s neat little shop on William +Street. Sometimes their conversation seemed to be sufficient for their +entertainment; sometimes a chess board lay on the narrow counter between +them. Fine ladies passed in and out, but St. Ange was never disturbed +by their advent; and if a game was in progress no smiling invitation +allured him to leave it unfinished. It will be seen then, that in spite +of his gentle air and suave manners, he had a will sufficiently strong +to insure him his own way. + +His intercourse with the two Bloommaert families was, however, the most +important of all his life’s engagements. With other families he had +frequent, but casual and intermittent, meetings; he was at the close of +this year in one or other of the Bloommaert households every day. With +Madame Jonaca he had formed a most affectionate alliance; he asked her +counsel, and followed it; he told her all the pleasant news of that +society which she still loved; he took her frequently out in his sleigh +that she might see any unusual parade of the troops or militia; he +brought her all the newspapers, and delighted himself and madame--as +well as Annette--by reading aloud the numerous passages he had marked in +them, as likely to interest both women. He came in when he was cold, to +be warmed in Madame’s cosey parlour; when he was lonely he went there +for company; when he was sad for comfort. + +In the Bowling Green home he had a footing quite as sure, though on a +different foundation. In this family it was the judge who favoured him +above all others. If St. Ange came into the room his face brightened, he +put aside the paper or pamphlet he was reading, and turned to the young +man for conversation. He went with him to Dr. Smith’s Club, and said it +was the only sensible club he had ever visited. If the day was mild the +two men took a brisk walk together on the Battery, and talked politics +or science, and sometimes law, if the judge was engaged with any very +interesting case; and if all these sources of intercourse were too few, +out came the chess board, and in silent moves and monosyllabled +conversation the evening passed away. + +His relations with Mrs. Bloommaert and Sappha were equally friendly and +familiar. Very early in his visits to the Bowling Green house he had +assured himself that the lovely Sappha had no heart to give--that she +was entirely devoted to his friend Leonard Murray. This conviction had +at first given him a pang, for not only Sappha’s beauty, but her +beautiful disposition, had moved him to an admiration he had never +before felt; and he had told himself that to win such an angel for his +wife, with the entry into such a perfect home, and the alliance of +characters so lovable as Judge Bloommaert and Sappha’s mother, would be +as much of heaven on earth as any man could hope to receive. + +For a week he had nursed this charming illusion, then something +happened--a look, a movement, a passing touch or whisper--one, or all of +these things opened his eyes; he felt convinced that Leonard had some +certain right that he could not honourably infringe upon--and honour was +the first, the dominating, sentiment that moved Achille’s thoughts and +words and deeds. All was _not_ fair in love to Achille St. Ange; so he +deliberately put down his love for Sappha; denied it perpetually to his +craving heart; and taught himself to look upon her as his friend’s +beloved and his own friend and sister. + +As a general thing Leonard understood this, though there had never been +a word uttered between them regarding Sappha. Leonard was immersed in +business of various kinds, but he quickly satisfied himself that he had +nothing to fear from St. Ange’s admiration of Sappha. The three were +often together in the evenings, and nearly as often Annette made the +fourth. Music, conversation, occasionally an informal cotillion, reading +aloud, or recitations passed the happy hours, while the judge listened, +watched, corrected, or advised, and Mrs. Bloommaert moved through all +their entertainments, smiling the blessing of innocent happiness upon +them. + +The first shadow on this charming companionship fell about Christmas. It +came in the form of a suspicion, not of Sappha’s love, but of the +judge’s simple good-will. He had never pretended any friendship for +Leonard, but during the past month he had treated him with a civility +that left no cause for offence. Suddenly one evening Leonard became +possessed with the idea that the judge’s demonstrative liking for St. +Ange was not as real as it appeared; that, in fact, it was a liking +affected in a great measure for the purpose of making him feel the real +indifference of his own treatment. He could hardly tell what +circumstance had evoked this suspicion, but when he began to ponder the +idea it grew to undreamed of proportions. He sat up nearly all night, +busy with this profitless and miserable consideration, and memory +brought him one proof after another to pillar his suspicion. And the +conclusion of the matter was that Sappha’s father wished her to marry +St. Ange, and that in such case, even if the war was over before three +years had passed, it would be in the power of the judge to forbid their +marriage, as Sappha would not be of age for nearly three years. Then, +when Sappha was of age, would she marry him without her father’s +consent? It was doubtful. Then again, might not three years more of +antagonism, showing itself in every little daily household event or +pleasure, wear out the tenderest, truest love? In this restless, +suspicious temper he told himself that it was almost certain to do so. +The fate of love is, that it always sees too little or too much. All +true lovers have this madness, this enchantment, where the reason seems +bound. For in love there is no prudence that can help a man, no reason +that can assist him, and none that he would have. He prefers the madness +which convinces him his love is more than common love. Let vulgar love +know moderation, he loves out of all reason, and finds his wretchedness +pleasing. + +Now jealousy is only good when she torments herself, and Leonard, +sitting up and losing sleep to indulge her, deserved the restless pain +which he evoked. It troubled him so effectually the following day that +he found it difficult to perform the work he had so enthusiastically +undertaken--that of assisting in the decorations at the City Hall for +the great naval ball to be given to the officers of the war frigates in +New York on New Year’s Eve. He was impatient for night to come; then he +would go to Judge Bloommaert’s again and take good heed of every look +and word, and so resolve the question that so much troubled him. + +Well, we generally get the evil we expect, and so Leonard was not +disappointed. There had been, as it happened, a slightly ruffled +conversation during the evening meal, about an invitation just received +from St. Ange. He had taken a box at the Park Theatre, and Madame +Bloommaert had promised to go under his escort to see the final +representation of the capture of the _Macedonian_ by the _United +States_. There was to be also a patriotic sketch and a farce called +“Right and Wrong.” The polite little note added that there was plenty of +room in the box for the judge and for Mrs. and Miss Bloommaert, and +begged them to accept its convenience. + +The judge said “he would not go.” He furthermore said, “he did not like +his mother being seen so much with that young Frenchman; people would +make remarks about it.” + +“Gerardus!” + +“Just as if she had no son, or grandson, to take her to see things.” + +“You never do take her anywhere but to church, Gerardus; and as for +Peter, I do not suppose he ever remembers her; he trusts to you and you +to him. I am sure St. Ange has given her a great deal of pleasure that +she would not have had from you or Peter.” + +“I do not approve of Christmas kept in theatres and such places. What +would your father say, Carlita, about going to the theatre on Christmas +night? We have always kept Christmas at church, and as a religious +festival.” + +“This is a different Christmas. It is a patriotic festival, as well as a +religious one, this year. Mother naturally wants to see the sailors and +the battle transparency, and hear the songs and feel the throbbing of +the great heart of the city. You ought to go with her.” + +“Who taught you to say ‘ought’ to me, Carlita?” + +“My heart and my conscience.” + +“Well, if you get behind your conscience, I am dumb. Go with mother--if +you wish.” + +“No. Mr. St. Ange goes with her. You must go with Sappha and I, or----” + +“I am busy. I cannot go.” + +“I am sorry. I must ask Leonard Murray then.” + +“Oh, what diplomats women are! I suppose I must go, but I do wish Mr. +St. Ange would be less attentive to my family.” + +“He may yet be more so. Annette considers herself as----” + +“There, there, wife! Don’t say it, and then you will not have to unsay +it.” + +This refusal to listen to Annette’s considerations put a stop to the +discussion. The judge took a book of travels and affected to be lost in +its matter and marvels, and Mrs. Bloommaert found it impossible to get +him to resume the conversation and finish it with more satisfactory +decision. Finally she said: “I do wish, Gerardus, you would talk to us a +little. There are many things I want to ask you about.” + +“Not to-night, Carlita.” + +“Of course we are going to the naval ball, and preparations specially +for it must be made. Why do you not answer me, Gerardus?” + +“My dear Carlita, no husband ever repented of having held his tongue. I +am in no mood to talk to-night.” + +“You promised Sappha that pearl necklace.” + +“Hum-m-m!” + +“And I cannot lend her mine, as I shall want to wear it.” + +There was no answer, but then silence answers much; and Mrs. Bloommaert, +considering her husband’s face, felt that she had begun to win. He was +evidently pondering the position, for he was not reading. During this +critical pause Leonard Murray entered. He was aware at once of the +constrained atmosphere, and with the egotism of jealousy he attributed +it to his sudden appearance. For once he was really _de trop_. He +interrupted an important decision, and Mrs. Bloommaert was annoyed. +Under cover of his entry, and the slight commotion it caused, the judge +resumed his reading. “I must ask your indulgence, Mr. Murray,” he said +politely, “but I am just now accompanying Mr. James Bruce in search of +the sources of the Nile; and it is not easy to live between Egypt and +the Bowling Green.” + +Leonard said he understood, and would be sorry to interrupt a mental +trip so much to Judge Bloommaert’s taste. But he did not understand--not +at all. He was mortified at his reception, and he had not that domestic +instinct which would have taught him that the constraint he felt was of +a family nature and did not include him. In his present sensitive, +jealous mood he believed the judge was reading because he preferred +reading to his society--that Mrs. Bloommaert was silent and restless +because, in some way, he had interfered; and that Sappha’s shy, abortive +efforts to restore a cheerful, confidential feeling were colder and more +perfunctory than he had ever before seen them. + +In this latter estimate he was partly correct. Sappha was as eager and +anxious about the visit to the theatre and the naval ball as it was +natural a girl of eighteen years old should be, and Leonard had +interrupted discussion at a critical point; had put off settlements +about dresses and various other important items--and besides this fault +had brought into the room with him an atmosphere very different from his +usual light-hearted mood, explaining itself by interesting political or +social news. For once he was quite absorbed in Leonard Murray, and then +nobody seemed to care about Leonard Murray. Mrs. Bloommaert asked him +questions about the decorations, and Sappha about the people who were +assisting with them, and he simply answered, without adding any of his +usual amusing commentaries. + +In a short time Mrs. Bloommaert left the room, and as the judge appeared +to be lost in the sources of the Nile Leonard was practically alone with +Sappha. He first asked her to practise some songs with him, but she +answered, “The parlour is unwarmed and unlighted, Leonard, and I do not +want to take cold, just when the holidays are here.” + +“Certainly not,” he said, but the refusal was a fresh offence. Why had +Sappha not ordered fire and light to be put in the parlour? She usually +did. Something was interesting her more than his probable visit--what +could it be? Not the theatre--not the naval ball. Sappha was used to +such affairs; he had never known them put the whole house out of temper +before. For by this time he had decided the atmosphere was one of bad +temper, without considering for a moment that it was possibly his own +bad temper. + +Suddenly he rose and said he must go; and no one asked him to remain +longer. Sappha felt the constraint of her father’s presence, and did not +accompany him to the hall. Mrs. Bloommaert was opening and shutting +drawers and doors upstairs, and the judge only gave to his “Good-night, +judge,” a civil equivalent in “Good-night, Mr. Murray.” As he was +leaving the house he saw Mr. St. Ange approaching it, and instead of +advancing to meet him he turned southward towards Stone Street. Of this +cowardly step he was soon ashamed, and he went back and forced himself +to pass the Bloommaert house. It had a more happy aspect. Some one had +stirred the logs, and the dancing flames showed through the dropped +white shades. There was a movement also in the room; the sound of +voices, and once he could have sworn he heard Sappha laugh. Did he not +know her laugh among a thousand? It was like the tinkle of a little +bell. + +For at least a quarter of an hour he tormented himself with the pictures +his imagination drew of what was passing behind that illuminated screen. +Then he went gloomily to his room and sat down with jealousy, and began +to count up his suspicions. A miserable companion is jealousy! And a +miserable tale of wrongs she gave him to reckon up. But at least he +reached one truth in that unhappy occupation--it was, that the +engagement between Sappha and himself ought to be immediately made +public. All their little misunderstandings, all his humiliations, had +come through their relationship being kept secret. He felt that he was +missing much of the pleasure of his wooing; certainly he was deprived of +the _éclat_ that it ought to have brought him. It was all wrong! All +wrong! And it must be put right at once. He promised himself he would +see to that necessity the first thing he did in the morning. + +With this promise his insurgent heart suffered him to sleep a little, +yet sleep did him no good. He awoke with the same consuming fever of +resentment. He could not eat, nor yet drink; he had no use for anything +but thought: jealous thought, with that eternal hurry of the soul that +will not suffer rest--thoughts of love and sorrow, starting in every +direction from his unhappy heart, to find out some hope, and meeting +only suspicion, anger, and despair. It was his first experience of that +egotistical malady, + + “whose torment, no men sure + But lovers and the damned endure.” + +And he was astonished and dismayed at his suffering. + +But few men suffer patiently; they are usually quick for their own +relief, and accordingly very early the following morning Leonard made an +excuse for calling on Sappha. Mrs. Bloommaert had gone, however, to +Nassau Street, and he did not need to urge the excuse prepared. He +launched at once into his wrongs and his sufferings; and indeed the +latter had left some intelligible traces. Sappha was moved by his pale +face and troubled eyes to unusual sympathy; but this did not suffice. He +felt that the only way to prevent a recurrence of the night’s suffering +was to insist upon a public acknowledgment of his rights as her accepted +lover, and he told Sappha this in no equivocal words. + +She was distressed by his passion and evident distraction, but she would +not listen for a moment to his proposal to explain their position to her +father that night. And his eager entreaties finally roused in her +something like anger. “You are too selfish, Leonard,” she said, “and +please do not make your love for me the excuse for your selfishness. You +must be happy, no matter who is unhappy. Could you have picked out in +the whole year a time more unpropitious, more inopportune, than this +very week? Every person who has any patriotic feeling gives up all their +interest to our country for the next few days. Christmas and New Year’s +holidays have claims we cannot forget. It is my father’s holiday, his +great holiday, when he throws all business cares from his mind. My +mother has all manner of little domesticities and household hopes and +fears and duties to attend to. Have at least a little patience! Wait +until the New Year’s feast is over.” + +“And give St. Ange another ten days full of delightful opportunities.” + +“St. Ange! What do you mean, Leonard? Surely you are not jealous of St. +Ange. He has given you no cause whatever.” + +“At first he behaved with all the honour imaginable; but lately I have +seen a change. He is no longer influenced by a belief in our engagement. +Naturally he thinks, if it had existed, you or I would have shown some +signs of so close a relationship. I have been held back on every hand, +and you have not been as seclusive and exclusive as you might have +been.” + +“Oh, Leonard! How can you?” + +“You have been very kind and familiar with St. Ange. He comes here quite +as much as I do. He goes out with your grandmother and mother, and often +your father is seen walking on the Battery with him. He never walks with +me. I do not like it. It is too much suffering! I cannot endure it.” + +“I heard mother come in. I will go and speak to her, Leonard.” + +“Do. She must see how reasonable I am.” + +But the moment Sappha entered her mother’s room she was met by a rebuff. +Mrs. Bloommaert just looked in her face, and understood; and before she +had spoken half a dozen words she said with an air of resolve and +annoyance. “Now, Sappha, I will hear nothing about Leonard. He has been +quite unreasonable lately, and he was in a bad temper last night. Oh, +yes, he was! I know bad temper when I see it.” + +“But, mother, this is important. He is really determined.” + +“Do not tell me what he is determined on, for I shall certainly repeat +all you say to your father.” + +“He wants, dear mother, he wants----” + +“Just what he cannot have; what he has no right to have--yet. He +promised you to wait. I know he did. Do not tell me anything, Sappha, +because I shall feel it my duty to tell your father all you say--just at +this time too! It is too bad! It is exceedingly selfish and +inconsiderate; and I am astonished at Leonard Murray.” + +“I do not think you ought to call Leonard ‘selfish and inconsiderate.’ +He is very unhappy.” + +“When all the city is happy and rejoicing! Can he not put aside his own +happiness for a while and rejoice with every one else? We are going to +keep Christmas for the Christ’s sake; we are going to honour the brave +men who have done our country such honour; we are going, all of us, to +think of our country and forget ourselves; and Leonard must take this +very time to urge some bit of pleasure that will be his, and his only, +that no one else must share----” + +“You forget me, mother.” + +“No. I am sure you are no party to anything that is so selfishly +personal. I think you would put the general good, and the general +happiness, before your own satisfaction.” + +Then Sappha answered, “I hope you judge me rightly, mother; and I will +be very firm with Leonard. Yet he seems so miserable.” + +“He is nursing some silly idea that in some way or other he is being +wronged. This notion blots all other ideas out of recognition; he is, as +I said before, suffering from selfishness; and selfishness is the +worst-tempered of all vices.” + +“At any rate, he is wretched. Come and speak to him, mother.” + +“No, I will not. I have other things to do. Of course he is wretched! he +ought to be, for bad temper, fortunately, bites at both ends. My advice +to you is, be a little cross yourself. Dear me! How tiresome men in love +are!” + +To this last exclamation Sappha closed the door. She walked slowly +downstairs, she lingered, she seemed unable to come to any decision. +But in the midst of her uncertainty she listened to her heart, and what +her heart said to her was this: “It can never be wrong to be kind.” So +strengthened, and even counselled, by this suggestion, she went back to +her lover. He was walking about the room in a fever of self-torment, and +as the door opened he turned inquiringly. And it was the loveliest of +Sapphas he saw. She met him in all her charms; her eyes had a sunny +radiance, her mouth was all smiles, she looked as if there was not a +care in the wide world--a healing, lovesome woman, wonderfully sweet and +comforting. + +“Dearest one,” she said softly, “sit here beside me. Let me have your +hand, Leonard, and listen to me. My mother says this is the very worst +time in all the year to speak to my father. He is so full of public +affairs, and you know, just now, they ought to come before any private +ones. Ought they not, dear?” + +“Yes, of course, but----” + +“Well, there can be no ‘but’ for a few days. Christmas is Christ’s +feast--we cannot presume to put ourselves before Christmas; and then +come all the honours, and feasts, and public rejoicings for our dear +country. You would not put yourself, nor even Sappha, before America, +her honour and freedom? And so I think, with mother, we must wait until +after the New Year before we say a word about ourselves. Dear, a few +months, a few weeks ago, you were so happy with my assurance only. Is it +less sweet now than then?” + +And as she spoke more and more tenderly, aiding her words with loving +glances and the light pressure of her little hand, softer thoughts +flowed in, and the enchanter, love, usurped the place of every evil +passion. Leonard finally promised to be happy, and to let others be +happy; and he kissed this agreement on her lips. Alas! + + “Man, only, clogs with care his happiness, + And while he should enjoy his part of bliss, + With thoughts of what might be, destroys what is.” + DRYDEN. + +And when Sappha had watched and smiled him out of sight she turned in +with a sigh and a sudden depression of spirit. She had won Leonard to +her wish and way, but anger is always self-immolation, and for a time at +least Leonard had fallen in her esteem, for she was compelled to +disapprove of much that he had said; and the more we judge, the less we +love. + +The whole affair seemed trifling to Mrs. Bloommaert; it was an annoyance +in the midst of events of far more importance, and had to be got out of +the way--that was all. But to Sappha it was different. She had forgiven +Leonard, but unhappy is the lover whom a woman forgives; and Sappha was +herself quite conscious that some virtue had gone out of her life. It +was not a little event to Sappha, for there are no little events with +the heart. + +Fortunately Annette and St. Ange came in, and Sappha was compelled to +meet them on the level of their joyous temper. They had finished +decorating madame’s house, and their arms were full of box and feathery +hemlock and the blooms of many-coloured everlasting flowers and great +bunches of the vermilion berries of the darling pyracantha shrub. They +were tingling with the Christmas joy, and their ringing laughter, their +jokes and snatches of song, their quips and mock reproofs of their own +mirth, filled the house with the electric atmosphere of Merry Christmas. +Negroes were chattering among them, raising ladders, and running +messages, and the tapping of the little hammers, and the cries of +admiration as the room grew to a fairy bower, was far better than the +music of many instruments--it was the music of the heart. + +“We ought to have had holly,” said St. Ange. “There is always holly in +Christmas decorations.” + +“The pyracantha berries are just as pretty,” answered Mrs. Bloommaert, +“and the pyracantha is a rapid grower, and can be cut with +impunity--even with profit to the bush; but to cut holly! that is rather +a cruel business. It is almost as bad as flinging the Christmas tree +into the streets when it has done its whole duty.” + +“But, aunt Carlita, what else can be done? It is too big to keep, +and----” + +“I will tell you. In Germany, the home of the Christmas tree, they give +it house room until Shrove Tuesday, then it is formally burned.” + +“Well,” said Sapphira, “we are not going to have a Christmas tree this +year; my father likes far better the _Yule Klap_.” + +“What an outlandish name!” exclaimed St. Ange. + +“Truly so, but then, such a delightful custom!” replied Annette. +“To-morrow night you will have to do your part in the Yule Klap; I hope +you are prepared.” + +“But then, I know not.” + +“My aunt will tell you all about it.” And Mrs. Bloommaert said: “Come +now, it is easy enough. The judge will open the Christmas room, and then +every one will throw their gifts into the room, crying ‘_Yule Klap_’ in +a disguised voice. The gifts may be rich or poor, but they must be +wrapped in a great number of coverings, and each cover be addressed to a +different person, but the person whose name is on the last cover gets +the gift. The gifts are to be strictly anonymous. So then no thanks are +to be given, and there can be no envious feelings awakened.” + +“That is charming,” cried St. Ange. Then he was in a hurry to leave, but +Mrs. Bloommaert insisted that he should stay and drink a glass of hot +negus ere he went into the cold air. While the negro boy was bringing in +a tray full of Christmas dainties, and Sappha spicing the Portugal wine, +they finished the dressing of the room; and then sat down round the fire +to refresh themselves. + +And very soon St. Ange began to talk of certain Christmas feasts he had +spent in Europe--in Madrid, at the Christmas turkey fair, amid glorious +sunshine, the flower girls selling camillas and violets; everywhere +colour, beauty, music, barbarism, and dirt. At Rome in the antique fish +market, always brilliantly lighted with large torches on Christmas Eve. +“For I assure you,” he said, “the sumptuous fish supper of that night is +beyond anything that can be conceived of here.”--at Naples, where +Christmas is kept with confectionery, and the Toledo is a feast of sugar +and sweets. + +“Are then the Neapolitans so fond of confectionery?” asked Annette. +“They must be very children,” she added. + +“They are children among sweets,” he answered. “A Neapolitan noble told +me that the king was ever fearing revolution; ‘but,’ he added, ‘if he +will only present every Neapolitan with a box of sweets a revolution +will be impossible.’” + +“I do not think a box of sweets to every American would have prevented +our Revolution,” said Sappha. + +Every one laughed heartily at the idea, and then she pictured Washington +and Putnam, and her grandfather Bloommaert’s reception of these peace +offerings. And the scene was so funnily enacted that no one could help +laughing heartily at it. Yet in the very climax of the hilarious chorus +Sappha had a heavy heart; her mirth was only from the lips outward. +However, it seemed only too real to Leonard, who entered suddenly while +the peal of laughter was at its height. And he was so totally unexpected +that the moment’s sudden silence which followed was the most natural +consequence; especially as it ended in a rush of inquiries and +exclamations. + +“So glad to see you!” + +“Come and sit down, and have a glass of hot negus.” + +“What good fortune sent you?” + +“Is there any strange news?” And then Mrs. Bloommaert’s rather stiff +question: “Is anything wrong, Leonard?” + +Leonard turned to her at once. “No, indeed,” he answered. “I met the +judge at the City Hall and he asked me to bring you this letter. I think +he expects to be detained. He was just going on to an important +committee. If there is any answer, I will carry it, if you wish me to do +so.” + +And as Mrs. Bloommaert read the letter Sappha brought him some spiced +wine, but he would not take it. He said “he was going back to complete +some decorations, whose position required a very clear head and steady +foot.” But he knew in his heart that it was no fear of danger made him +refuse the proffered cup of good-will. It was jealousy that whispered to +him: “The cup was not mingled for you. There was no thought of you in +it. Others were expected and prepared for, and you were not even told.” +Under the influence of such thoughts he was constrained and quite unlike +himself, and an effectual destroyer of happiness. An uncomfortable +silence, broken by bungling attempts to restore the natural mirth he had +disturbed, were not happy efforts. He made himself an intruder, and then +blamed every one else for the position he had taken voluntarily, through +his own misconception. Sappha was painfully aware of the constraint, +and she wished for once that Annette would open her generally ready +stream of badinage. But Annette was busy advising, in a somewhat private +detail, St. Ange concerning his part of the game of _Yule Klap_; and St. +Ange, having received her instructions while Leonard was waiting, rose +when Leonard did, and proposed to walk part of the way with him. + +“You will call this evening, will you not?” asked Sappha timidly, as +they stood by a little table full of mysterious packages. + +“It will be impossible,” he answered. “Every part of the decorations are +in my charge, and I have a great deal to attend to.” + +“To-morrow is Christmas Eve. You will be here for the _Yule Klap_?” + +“If I am wanted!” + +“Oh, Leonard! If you are wanted! If you are not present I shall not care +for anything, or any one else.” + +“Then I will come, dearest.” This conversation had been held, almost in +whispers, as Sappha was supposed to be showing Leonard some of the _Yule +Klap_ offerings she was preparing. Then the young men went away +together, but the ocean between them could not really have set them more +apart. St. Ange made several attempts to open a conversation on _Yule +Klap_. He wanted Leonard’s advice about the gifts most suitable; but +Leonard professed both ignorance and indifference concerning a game so +childish; and at Vaarick Street St. Ange, having failed completely to +evoke anything like friendly intercourse, bid him good-morning. He was +worried over his friend’s evident displeasure; and over his own failure +to either account for or dispel it. He went westward to Greenwich +Street, and having made many purchases in the most fashionable stores, +rather wearily returned to his rooms at the City Hotel. He was depressed +and had a premonition of trouble. + +After this little cloud the Christmas festivities went on with unalloyed +pleasure. Madame and Annette were to stay at the Bowling Green house +until Saturday, and when the judge saw his mother’s delight in her +anticipated visit to the theatre on Christmas night he had no heart to +say one opposing word. But Sappha was not now so eager. She felt sure +that in Leonard’s present temper he would not like her to be the guest +of St. Ange, and she resolved to forego the pleasure. “I shall have a +little headache in the morning, and it will grow worse towards night, +and I shall beg to be left at home that I may sleep it away. I do not +think it will be wrong,” she mused. “There is not room in the box St. +Ange has taken but for six; and if there was room, I am sure Leonard +would not accept the invitation to join us. Well, then, it is better to +make an excuse than to make trouble. Why did not Leonard rent a box? He +might have thought of it just as well as St. Ange. I wish I knew what it +is best, what it is right, to do.” + +To such troubled thoughts she fell asleep, and when she awoke in the +morning the weather had settled the matter for her. It was bitterly +cold, and a furious snowstorm was blocking up the pathways and making a +visit to the theatre beyond a safe or pleasant probability. Madame sadly +admitted the condition, but the day went happily forward; and about two +o’clock Leonard and St. Ange and Peter arrived, and the judge opened the +Christmas room, and then there was two hours of pure mirth--of surprise +without end; of beautiful gifts whose donors were to speculate about; +half-guesses sent into conscious faces; questions asked with beaming +eyes; all the delightful uncertainties which love could make, and love +alone unravel. The Christmas dinner followed, and after it a dance, +which madame, with Peter for her partner, opened. Every one joined in +it, and the merriest of evenings was thus inaugurated. So nobody +regretted the theatre, not even madame, for she had been privately +informed by St. Ange that the box was reserved for the great naval +performance on the seventh of January; and that it would be one far more +worth seeing, one never to be forgotten. And madame kept this bit of +anticipatory pleasure as a little secret, and was as gay as a child over +it. + +Leonard also was in his most charming mood, and Sappha was divinely +happy; her beauty was enchanting, and her manner so mild and sweet that +she diffused on all hands a sense of exquisite peace and felicity. For +Leonard had whispered to her such words of contrition and devotion as +erased totally and forever the memory of his unworthy temper and +suspicions. And after that confession there could be only sorrow for his +fault, and delight in pardoning and forgetting it. + +All throughout the following week he preserved this sunny mood. He was +undoubtedly very busy, for the naval dinner was to be given on the +twenty-ninth of December, and he was the director of the committee of +young men who were turning the great dining room of the City Hotel into +a marine palace. It was his taste which colonnaded it with the masts of +ships wreathed with laurel and all the national flags of the +world--except that of Great Britain. It was Leonard who devised the +greensward, in the midst of which was a real lake, and floating on it a +miniature United States war frigate. + +It was Leonard, also, who hung behind the dais on which Mayor Clinton, +Decatur, Hall, and the officers of the navy were to sit, the mainsail of +a ship thirty-three feet by sixteen, on which the American eagle was +painted, holding in his beak a scroll bearing these significant words: +“Our children are the property of our country.” There were many other +transparencies to attend to; besides which, every table was to bear a +miniature warship with American colours displayed. And to the five +hundred gentlemen of New York, who sat down to the dinner served in that +room, these were no childish symbols. They were the palpable, visible +signs of a patriotism that meant freedom or death, and nothing less. + +In the midst of all the business connected with such preparations, in a +time when the things wanted were not always procurable, and had to be +supplied by the things that could be obtained, Leonard--whose heart was +hot in his work of patriotism--was naturally very busy and very much +occupied with the work on hand. Yet he found time sufficient to see +Sappha often enough to convince her he had not fallen away from the +promise he had made her--“to harbour no unworthy suspicions of any one +who loved him.” + +At length New Year’s Eve arrived. More than three hundred of New York’s +loveliest women had been for weeks preparing for it, and all were eager +for the pleasure it promised them. + +The Bloommaert party, consisting of the judge, Mrs. Bloommaert, Sappha, +and Annette, were early arrivals; and Leonard, who was one of the +directors, met them at the door. And he looked so noble, and so +handsome, and his manner was so fine and gracious, that even Judge +Bloommaert was impressed by his personality, and returned his greeting +with unusual warmth. But then, as Leonard reflected, any man who failed +in politeness, or even in cordiality, in the presence of three such +lovely women as Sappha, Annette, and Mrs. Bloommaert, would surely be +something less than human. + +Mrs. Bloommaert’s beauty was yet in its ripe perfection. She was as the +full blown rose that has not yet dropped a single leaf. She wore a gown +of white satin covered with a netting of gold thread; and there was a +string of pearls round her throat, and a large comb in form the braids +and bows of her glossy black hair. She carried in her hand a little fan +of exquisite workmanship, and used it with a grace that no woman in the +room, old or young, could imitate. + +Sappha’s gown was of white satin of so rich a quality that any trimming +on it would have been vulgar and superfluous. Her sandals also were of +white satin; and in her beautiful, brown hair there was one white rose; +and round her slender throat the necklace of pearls which had come to +her among the gifts of the _Yule Klap_. Annette was dressed in a slip of +pale blue satin, covered with white gauze of the most transparent +quality; a very mist of white over a little cloud of pale blue. Her +sandals were blue, and she wore a necklace of turquoise stones cut in +the shape of stars and united by a tiny ornament of frosted silver. Her +hair hung free, and was loosely curled and confined by a simple band of +blue ribbon. + +And if Sappha, with her “eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above,” seemed +to wear Love’s very vesture with just that touch of pride that made men +wonder and revere, Annette was like a Love from Greuze’s dainty brush--a +laughing, dancing, teasing, mocking fairy. Achille was constantly +hovering around her, and this evident admiration and attention Sappha +was careful to point out to Leonard. + +The dance begun at nine o’clock, and at eleven supper was served in a +room fitted up like the great cabin of a ship of the line; but after +supper dancing was resumed, and continued until nearly two o’clock in +the morning. Then reluctantly the happy crowd went to their homes to +rest, for it was then New Year’s Day, always a busy, fatiguing +anniversary--a day which every one felt it a duty to consecrate to +friendship and hospitality. + +Indeed, in Judge Bloommaert’s household there was barely time for a +little sleep before the parlours were crowded with callers; and all of +them brought but one topic of conversation--the arrival of the captive +British war vessel, the _Macedonian_. For her conqueror had brought her +as far as Hell Gate the day previous, in order that she might arrive on +the first of January, and be presented to New York as a “New Year’s +Gift.” And, as if good fortune was pleased with this honour to her +favourite city, the very breeze that was needed sprang up, and at the +very moment it was needed; and amid the shouting crowds that lined the +banks of the East River, the captive vessel was taken to the Brooklyn +Navy Yard. + +“I had the heart-ache for her,” said Leonard. “She carried herself so +proudly. I bethought me of how she had borne the living fury of the +elements, and the living fury of fiery battle, and I lifted my hat a +moment to the wounded ship in her humiliation, just as I would have done +to any great soldier or sailor, if I saw them marched between shouting +enemies, manacled and helpless.” And at these words the judge regarded +him silently; and there was a quivering fire in Sappha’s eyes as she +said softly: “You felt as the brave always feel in the presence of a +fallen enemy. You remember the motto of the old Plantagenet +knights--‘Honour to the vanquished!’” + +“I remember. You told me that once before. Do you know your brother +Peter would not look at her?” + +“That was strange,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. “What was the matter with +Peter?” + +“Peter always looks on a ship as a woman, and he cannot bear to see her +in distress.” + +“It is a strange feeling, that, between ships and ship men,” said Dr. +Smith. “Sailors all give them consciousness and sympathy, and it is a +common thing to hear them say of any craft, ‘she behaves well.’ Captain +Tim Barnard of the privateer _General Armstrong_, when chasing an enemy, +talks to his ship, as an Arabian to his horse; urges her, entreats her +to put forth all her speed, makes her promises of additional guns, or a +new flag, and, what is more, he firmly believes she understands and +obeys him.” + +“Well,” answered the judge, “every one I know connected with shipping +speaks as commonly and as naturally of the average life of a ship as +they do of the average life of a sailor.” + +“Once,” said Achille, “when I was in England I watched from the cliff a +ship in danger. She flashed out signals of distress, and her minute guns +sounded like the cries of some living creature, and as I looked and +listened I saw men running to some boats that were lying half-alive on +their stocks, and in a moment they were in the raving, raging sea. Boats +and men seemed alike eager and pitiful. And the gallant ship! She was +like a mother in extremity--if she must go, she entreated that her sons +might be saved.” + +“Were they?” + +“Yes, all of them; but the next morning her figure-head, looking seaward +wistfully, was lying on the beach; and her broken rudder beside it. They +were sadder than spoken words. No one saw the ship die. She went down to +her grave alone--but I think she was glad of that.” + +“Come, come then,” said Peter, who had entered during this conversation, +“we need not go so far afield for splendid facts. Let us remember the +nineteenth of last August, when Captain Isaac Hull wounded to death the +fine British man-of-war _Guerrière_. It was seen at once that her case +was hopeless, and the _Constitution_ watched by her all night, and +removed not only all her men, but also all their private possessions. On +the morning of the twentieth she was ready for her grave. A slow match +was applied to her magazine, and the _Constitution_ bore away. At a safe +distance she hove to, and the officers and men of both ships stood +watching. The guns which had been left shotted soon began to go off. +They were the death knells of the dying man-of-war. Presently the flames +reached the magazine, a mass of wreckage flew skyward. The _Guerrière_ +was no more. But William Storey, who was present, told me every man +stood bare-headed as she sank, and that her officers wept, while some of +her men blubbered like children.” + +“Thank you, Peter,” said the judge. “It is a good thing to hear that +Hull was so noble to his prisoners.” + +“As for that,” continued Peter, “there wasn’t a touch of ill-will on +either side, after the fight was over. Storey said the prisoners and +captors sat around the fok’sle together, telling yarns, exchanging +tobacco and many little courtesies. Hull is too brave a man to fear +brave men. Some captains might have handcuffed the crew, not so Hull; +and, indeed, every American sailor on the _Constitution_ felt a manly +unwillingness to handcuff enemies who had fought so bravely.” + +“Sappha,” said the judge, “I have heard Mr. Murray singing with you at +intervals this afternoon and evening a verse or two that you were +setting to a wonderful bit of music. Try it again, my dear.” + +“It is _The March of the Men of Moray_, father. Mr. Murray wrote two or +three verses to it about the _Macedonia_. Come, Leonard,” and she struck +a few ringing chords and looked inspiration into his bending face. Then +out rang the little ballad to the marching music of his clan: + + What will they say in England, + When the story there is told, + Of Commodore Decatur, + And his sailor men so bold? + + They’ll say it was a gallant fight, + And fairly lost and won; + So honour to the sailor men, + By whom the deed was done! + + What will they say in England? + They’ll say with grateful lip, + Now glory to Almighty God, + No Frenchman took the ship! + + No Frenchman shot her colours down! + The doomed ship had this grace-- + To take her death blow from the hands + Of men of the English race! + + And all good honest men and true + Will pray for war to cease; + And merchant ships go to-and-fro + On messages of peace. + + And men-of-war sail on the land, + And soldiers plough the sea, + Ere brothers fight, who ought to dwell + In love and unity. + +“Thank you, Mr. Murray,” said the judge. “’Tis a stirring melody!” + +“’Tis the march of my forefather’s clan, sir.” + +“And you have said for America, and for England, what they deserve. We +both love fair play; and I am sure both nations know how to take, either +a victory or a defeat, like men, and gentlemen. God make honourable +peace between us, and that right early!” + +To this pious wish the company remaining, departed; but after Leonard +had made his long, sweet adieu, Sappha heard her father gently tapping +on the table the time of “_The March of the Men of Moray_,” as in +pleasant thoughtfulness he hummed to its music, + + “They’ll say it was a gallant fight, + And fairly lost and won, + So honour to the sailor men, + By whom the deed was done!” + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +_The Miracle of Love_ + + +There had been something more than courtesy in Judge Bloommaert’s +attitude to Leonard that New Year’s night, and Sappha was exceedingly +happy to notice it. If Leonard would only be careful and conciliating, +such favour might be won as would make an acknowledgment of their +engagement pleasantly possible. As it was, Sappha was light-hearted and +hopeful, for surely now Leonard would wait the natural development of +events. + +And for a few days the subject was not named; Sappha was busy helping +her mother to put in order the numerous household goods and affairs that +had been disarranged by the licence of the holidays, and Leonard also +had some unusual business, the nature of which he promised to reveal +before the week was over. New Year’s Day fell that year on a Friday, and +on the Tuesday following it Sappha went to visit her grandmother and +cousin. It was a sunshiny, winter day, and the old house on Nassau +Street had such an antique, handsome homelikeness, as made far finer +dwellings look common and vulgar in comparison with it. Madame sat by +the blazing fire writing letters; Annette was marking new towels with +the Bloommaert initials; but when she saw Sappha at the gate she put +away her work and ran to meet her. + +Then there was no more writing, and no more sampler letters; the three +women sat down to “talk things over.” And when the _Yule Klap_ presents +and the New Year’s feasts had been discussed, they drifted very +naturally to the guests and to their dressing and conversation. Madame +enjoyed it all, and the morning passed quickly and pleasantly away. + +“Grandmother has a secret, Sappha, and I cannot coax it from her,” said +Annette. Then she laid her hand upon madame’s, and added: “Now that +Sappha is here, do tell us both, grandmother.” + +“Until Thursday morning I will not tell you,” she answered. “Do you wish +me to break my promise? That is not my way.” + +“You promised Achille, eh, grandmother? Oh, I see that I have guessed +correctly--you are smiling, grandmother, and you cannot help it--so +then, it is something Achille is going to do! Very well, Achille shall +tell me. I shall insist upon it.” + +They joked, and wondered about “grandmother’s secret,” and ineffectually +begged to share it, until dinner was over; then madame went to her room, +and the girls dropped the subject at once--they had more interesting +matter to discuss. + +“Have you seen Leonard since the New Year?” asked Annette. “How +delightfully he conducted himself! How charmingly he sang and talked! I +do believe that uncle Gerardus was quite impressed by his intelligence. +He is very handsome also--does he still make love to you, Sappha?” + +“He would not be in the fashion if he omitted the fine words all the +young men say nowadays. I might as well ask you if Achille flatters the +fair Annette in the same silly way?” + +“Do you think it silly? I think it is heavenly sweet, and quite proper. +Yes, the dear Achille continually invents new names for me. The ‘fair +Annette’ is out of date. I am now his ‘Heart’s Desire!’ I am afraid he +is distractingly in love with me.” + +“But why do you fear it? Are you not in love with the dear Achille?” + +“I fear it, because I am sure that I am life or death to him; and I am +not quite sure that I am in love with any one--it is such a +responsibility. Are you in love with Leonard?” + +“What is the use of being in love, when you cannot marry for nearly +three years. I have promised father and mother not to engage myself to +any one until after the war.” + +“How foolish! Such silly promises ought to be broken--are made to be +broken. Does Leonard want to marry you?” + +“I wish you would ask him. In so many ways Leonard is inscrutable. He +has some business on hand now that he is keeping a secret. I think +secrets are in the air. Pray, when will you marry Achille? Or has he not +asked you yet?” + +“My dear Sappha, he is the most sensitive of mortals. He says love +should not be talked about--it makes it common; takes off all the bloom +and glory from Cupid’s wings; just as handling the butterfly makes it +crushed and shabby. I think he is right. Achille does not need to talk, +he says such things with his soft black eyes that perhaps he had better +not say with his beautiful red lips. However, his lips are not as +prudent as they might be.” + +“Oh, Annette! Do you really mean that he has kissed you?--and yet you +are not engaged.” + +“Suppose it is so! I do not feel a whit the worse for it. I am going to +be Mrs. St. Ange. I have made up my mind on that subject.” + +“But Achille?” + +“That is settled. I intend to marry him. Some people will say I am +making a poor match--because, you know, I shall have a great deal of +property and money; but I do not intend to listen to any one’s opinion.” + +“But Achille has not really asked you to be his wife?” + +“That is nothing. He will do so the very hour I am ready to accept him. +I put the question off until after the holidays, because one can never +tell what might happen at New Year’s.” + +“Were you expecting anything to happen?--anything unforeseen, Annette?” + +“Well, I thought young Washington Irving might come home at Christmas, +and I wanted to see him again. I felt sure you knew that I have been +considering him.” + +“He loved Matilda Hoffman.” + +“I know that, of course. But after she--withdrew, I felt that it might +be my office to comfort him. He looked so charming, and so sorrowful.” + +“I have not seen him lately,” said Sappha. + +“He went to Philadelphia about some magazine he is editing; but I heard +that he is coming back to board with Mrs. Ryckman. His great friend, +Harry Brevoort, told Achille so. However, I have given Mr. Irving quite +up. I don’t think I could take any interest in the Analectic Magazine; +though I am sure I cannot imagine what an Analectic Magazine is like. +But then, as Achille says, I have no occasion to know such things. I +rather think it is something dreadful--it might be a doctor’s magazine. +I believe Mr. Irving thought of being a doctor.” + +“I certainly believe you would find Achille more agreeable to you than +Mr. Irving.” + +“Achille is so wonderfully polite. You cannot make him forget his fine +manners--and grandmother is very fond of him. She does not like Mr. +Irving. She thinks his ‘History of New York,’ a piece of great +impertinence--and I wish to please grandmother, for several reasons.” + +In such conversation they passed the afternoon, until madame came back +to them, Sappha always skilfully parrying Annette’s point blank +questions, by others just as direct; and in this way easily leading her +cousin to personal subjects of far superior interest to her--that is, +her own lovers and love affairs. Just before madame’s tea hour Leonard +came. He was in the highest possible spirits, and carried himself as if +something very important had happened to him; as, indeed, it had. + +He said he had been at the Bowling Green, and found no one at home. Mrs. +Bloommaert had gone to drink a cup of tea with Mrs. Jane Renwick, and +hear her talk of “poor Robert Burns,” who had sung of her as _The +Blue-Eyed Lassie_. + +“Well, then, now we shall find out if Mr. Washington Irving is in New +York, or is likely to be here; for he certainly could not be in the city +a day without going to see Jane Renwick,” said Annette. + +“What does Sapphira Bloommaert or Annette de Vries want with Mr. +Washington Irving?” asked madame. “Has he not turned the respectable +Dutch of New York into ridicule--made people to laugh at their homely +ways. Such laughter is not good for them, nor yet for us.” + +“We were just wondering about him, grandmother--you know he is a +possibility now.” + +“Annette De Vries!” + +“For American girls, I mean. I was telling Sappha that little Mary +Sanford is quite willing to comfort the widowed lover.” + +“Such silly chatter is this! Leonard, have you news more sensible?” + +“I think I have, madame. In the first place, there is to be such a play +at the Park Theatre on Thursday night as never has been seen, nor is +ever likely to be seen again. I went to the Bowling Green to ask Mrs. +Bloommaert and Sappha to come to my box, and now I come here to tell +you. There is room there also for you madame, and for Annette. I hope +you will do me the great honour to accept my invitation;” and he rose +and bowed to madame first, and then with a charming exaggeration to +Sappha and Annette. + +Madame put off answering for herself and Annette, but Sappha accepted +the invitation with delight; and in the conversation incident to this +proposal, and the asides springing readily from it, the daylight faded +and the good supper was brought in and thoroughly enjoyed. Then the +table was cleared, and the hearth swept, and the candles placed on the +high chimney piece, where their light did not weary madame’s eyes; and +the little company drew their chairs within the comfort line of the +blazing fire. + +Annette was a little quieter than seemed natural, but then Achille had +not called. The day was slipping away without his customary devotion, +and Sappha was present to notice this remissness; it was, therefore, +very annoying, for Annette felt its contradiction after her little +fanfaronade about her power over the impassioned, sensitive Achille St. +Ange. + +Suddenly Leonard seemed to take a resolve, or else the news he had to +tell urged him beyond restraint. He looked at Sappha with a demanding +interest, and then said: “Madame, I remember that you once asserted all +young men ought to have either a business or a profession, if only to +keep them out of mischief. I have this day concluded to begin the study +of the law. I hope I may thus be kept out of mischief.” + +“Come, now, you have done a wise thing, Leonard; I am glad of what you +say.” + +“I feel quite satisfied, madame, that I have done right--done what my +dear father would approve, if he were alive to direct me. And yet, at +last, I acted without taking much thought or advice on the subject.” + +“That also may be a wise thing, Leonard. Young men sometimes take more +thought than is good for purpose--they think and think till they cannot +act.” + +“As I say, the resolve came suddenly. I had a large bill to pay two days +ago for business connected with my real estate; and as I looked at it I +thought, Why not do this business myself? Half an hour afterwards Mr. +King said this same thing to me; and I went home and considered the +subject. Then I called on several good business men and asked them who +was the best real estate lawyer in the city.” + +“Real estate!” cried madame, “then you are not going to study criminal +law?” + +“No, no! I want to know all about the laws regulating the buying and +selling of property, leasing, mortgaging, renting, and so on--what +tenants ought to do, and what landlords ought to do--don’t you see, +madame?” He said “madame,” but he looked at Sappha, who was watching him +with an expression more speculative than approving. + +“Yes,” answered madame, “I see. And your idea is a very prudent one. +Listen, if a good teacher on this subject you want, go and article +yourself to Seth Vanderlyn. What he does not know about real estate is +not worth knowing.” + +“Oh, I have done better than Seth Vanderlyn! I am going to read with +Aaron Burr! What do you think of that? The most learned, the most +delightful, the most eminent of all living lawyers. I am really so +excited at my good fortune I know not what to say. Mr. King and Mr. Read +and several other men of affairs and experience told me I had selected a +lawyer who had no compeer in land and property business. In such respect +they all said I had done well, and for other matters, I was the best +judge. I suppose they referred to Mr. Burr’s duelling episode.” + +Sappha’s face expressed only dismay and distress. She had neither a word +nor a smile for Leonard’s great news. He turned to Annette. She was lost +in the contemplation of her feet--which were small and beautifully shod, +and she silently turned them in and out, as if their perfect fit was the +present question of importance. Madame’s brows were drawn together, and +there was a look of uncertainty on her face. In a moment of time Leonard +saw all these different signs of disapproval and dislike. His face +flushed with anger, and he continued in a tone of offence: + +“I thought you would all rejoice with me. I thought you would at least +commend the step I had taken--I----” + +“It is no good step for you,” answered madame in a voice of regret. “If +with bad men you go you are counted one with them; if with doomed men +you go, you catch misfortune from them.” + +“I do not understand what you mean, madame.” + +“Leonard,” interrupted Sappha, “you have not asked my father’s opinion? +If you had, you would never have taken this foolish step.” + +“‘Foolish step?’ Why, Sappha, every one to whom I have named my purpose +thinks me fortunate. And if you only knew Mr. Burr you would confess it +an enormous privilege to be under his advice and tuition. He is the most +fascinating of men.” + +“Fascinating! Yes, that is right,” said madame. “His charm I know well. +But listen to me, Leonard Murray, this is a fascination to be thrown +off--it is no good for you. All of your friends, do you wish to lose?” + +“Yes, if they are so foolish as to leave me because, wanting +instruction, I have chosen the best of masters.” + +“Well, then, say also, the most unpopular man in New York.” + +“Indeed, madame, you are mistaken,” answered Leonard warmly. “I do not +know a more popular man than Mr. Burr in New York to-day. No lawyer has +a larger practice, and during the few hours I passed in his office the +last two days I saw there the most honourable and influential of our +citizens. Every one treated him with respect, and it is a fact that the +first day his return to New York was known five hundred gentlemen called +on him before he slept that night. It is also a fact that within twelve +days after he nailed up his sign in Nassau Street he received two +thousand dollars in cash fees. His business is now large and lucrative, +and no one but those stupid Tory Federalists are against him.” + +“My father is a stupid Tory Federalist, Leonard,” said Sappha coldly. + +“Oh, how unfortunate I am! I do nothing but make mistakes to-night. Poor +Mr. Burr! A majority of our great men have fought duels; is Mr. Burr to +be the scapegoat of all American duellists? De Witt Clinton, though his +enemy, admits that no man ever received provocation so frequent, so +irritating, so injurious, and so untruthful, as Burr received from +Alexander Hamilton. My dear friends, I assure you that Burr has more +defenders than his victim.” + +“Very likely,” replied Sappha with a remarkable show of temper, “a great +many people prefer a living dog to a dead lion.” + +“I thought I was sure of your sympathy, Sappha,” answered Leonard, and +as he uttered these words Annette rose up hastily, clapped her hands +together, and said: “Thank goodness, I hear Achille St. Ange’s +footsteps! Now we shall have some sensible conversation.” She ran to +the door and set it wide open, and Achille saw the comforting +firelight, and the beautiful girl standing in its glow, waiting to +welcome him. It gave him a sense of content, almost of home and love. He +came in holding her hand; his black fur cloak throwing into remarkable +significance the pallor of his haughty, handsome face, lighted by eyes +of intense blackness and brilliancy. + +Leonard was not pleased at what he considered the intrusion, but +Achille’s fine manners and the easy tone of his conversation were really +a welcome relief to the uncomfortable strain introduced by the Burr +topic. Achille was cheery and agreeable, and had plenty of those little +critical things to say of acquaintances every one likes to +hear--critical, but not unkindly so. This night, also, he was even +unusually handsome, and his sumptuous dress only in the diapason of the +general air of luxury which was the distinguishing quality of his life. + +To the gay persiflage of his conversation madame paid little attention. +She was lost in thoughtful reminiscence, and when she re-entered the +society of those around her she returned to the conversation which the +entrance of Achille had interrupted. + +“I have been taking thought, Leonard,” she said, “and I wonder me at +you! Of good days are you tired? If so, then join yourself to Aaron +Burr. I am not pleased that you should do this, but so, nothing will +help, I fear--at least no ordinary advice.” + +“Is not that a hard thing to say, madame?” + +“Very well, but it is the truth. So then, to make short work of it, no +ordinary advice will I give you; but an extraordinary reason, that may +perhaps turn your mind another way. I know not--there are none so blind +as those who will not see.” + +“First, madame, permit me to ask Mr. St. Ange, in your presence, if he +thinks I require either ordinary or extraordinary arguments against the +course I have marked out for myself.” + +Madame moved her head in assent, and then Leonard, in a few sentences, +told Achille of his proposed study with Mr. Burr, and asked him frankly +“if he considered Mr. Burr’s duelling experience inimical to business +relations with him?” + +And Achille answered promptly: “If Mr. Burr had not fought Mr. Hamilton +I should consider your engagement with him disastrous, both to your +social and business reputation. Mr. Hamilton had slandered Mr. Burr in +public and in private, and even while Mr. Burr supposed him to be his +friend he had disseminated the unguarded sallies of his host while a +guest at his dinner table. As I understand the subject, Mr. Burr had no +alternative between two inexorable facts--to fight, which might mean +physical death; not to fight, which would certainly mean social and +political death. Mr. Burr had, I think, a too great patience. I would +have appealed to the sword to stop the tongue long before Mr. Burr +did.” + +Leonard was delighted and grateful, and said so, and Achille added: “We +must remember that Cheetham, who edited Hamilton’s newspaper, asked the +public through that organ: ‘Is the Vice-President sunk so low as to +submit to be insulted by General Hamilton?’ It seems to me then that +Cheetham really sent the challenge to Mr. Burr, and that the +Vice-President had no honourable alternative. He had to fight or be +eternally branded a poltroon, a dastardly coward!” And he uttered these +shameful words with such passionate scorn that they seemed to disturb +the air like wildfire. + +“About duelling there may be two opinions,” said Madame, “but when +treason is the question, what then?” + +“But that question was settled by Mr. Burr’s trial, madame,” answered +Leonard. “The law and the testimony, the judge, and the jury decided +that Mr. Burr was not guilty of treason. Should we go behind that +settlement?” + +“The people have gone behind it, and will do so.” + +“I doubt that as a final result,” said Leonard. “Many are of Mr. +Vanderlyn’s opinion, that the natural boundaries of the United States +are the Atlantic and Pacific, and that all foreign authority must be got +rid of within that territory. If Aaron Burr did not succeed, he thought +others would.” + +“But Aaron Burr would have set up a monarchy for himself.” + +“That is not conceivable, madame. I said so to Mr. Vanderlyn, and he +laughed at the idea. He said, ‘Burr had remarkable military genius, and +that his object was to atone for his political failure by some great +military feat, but whatever the feat he contemplated, it would have been +in the end for his country.’ Vanderlyn put aside all evidence to the +contrary, because given by men who had been at first confederate with +Burr, and then betrayed him. What reliance could be placed on anything +such men said? I believe,” said Leonard, with confident fervour, “that +Mr. Burr will outlive the memory of his faults and attain yet the +success his great abilities deserve.” + +“_He will not!_” said madame. “The hatred of the living a man may fight, +and hope to conquer, but the vengeance of the dead, who then can escape +that? Sooner or later it drives ‘the one followed’ to destroy himself. +This trouble began twelve years gone by. Hamilton and Burr called it to +themselves, that night they tricked justice, slandered the innocent, and +let the guilty go free. Snuff the candles, Achille, the room is full of +shadows; more light give us, and I will tell you when, and how, the doom +of both men was called to them.” + +There was a few minutes’ delay, during which the silence was unbroken, +and then madame continued: + +“It was in the year of God eighteen hundred, in the month of March, and +we had come near to the spring. Mr. Hamilton was then of all the lawyers +in New York the most famous, and it was one of the sights of the city to +see him going to court with his papers and books. In that month came +the trial of Levi Weekes for the murder of the beautiful Gulielma Sands, +and Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Burr were united in the defence of Weekes. Very +well indeed I knew Elma Sands, for she lived with her uncle and aunt +Ring, who were tenants of mine for many years. At the time of her murder +they lived in Greenwich Street, near Franklin; and Weekes boarded with +them. He was a brother of Ezra Weekes, who kept the famous City Hotel, +and with his brother he could have boarded. But not so, with the Rings +he stayed, because of Elma, and every one said they were promised to +each other, and when the spring came were to be married. Well, then, +this dreadful thing happened--Elma Sands went out with Levi Weekes one +Sunday in December, 1799, and never again was she seen by any one. +Distracted were her uncle and aunt, and everywhere, far and near, Elma +was sought. It was no good. What I could do, I did, for I had watched +the orphan girl grow from her childhood to her womanhood, and so sorry +also was I for the uncle and aunt, who slept not, nor yet rested, and +whose terrible suspense was ended in five weeks, by the finding of +Elma’s body in a well eighty feet deep. Then the city went wild about +her murder; for the appearance of the body left no room for doubt as to +what poor Elma’s fate had been; and every one felt quite sure that Levi +Weekes was the criminal.” Here madame paused and appeared to be much +affected, and Achille, without a word, pushed a glass of water closer to +her, and having drank of it, she continued: + +“It was Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Burr that defended the prisoner; the +prosecutor was Cadwallader D. Colden, and Chief Justice Lansing was the +judge. On both sides there were great lawyers, and the trial was long +and wearisome; but never were Elias Ring and his wife absent from it, +no, not for one hour. So the end came at last. It was a stormy night in +April that it came, and very late, and the court room was but dimly +lighted, for some of the candles had burned themselves away, and had not +been renewed, and the people had been listening to Hamilton’s speech, +and thinking of nothing else. A great speech it was; my son Judge +Bloommaert told me it was wonderful; and though every one was worn out, +none left the building. + +“Then Aaron Burr arose. Some facts he set forth in such a way as to +throw all suspicion on the chief witness against Weekes; and while +people were amazed at the charge, and no time had been given to examine +it, or deny it, he lifted two candles from the table and flashed them in +the face of the man he had accused; and as he did this thing he cried +out in a voice like doom: ‘_Gentlemen, behold the murderer!_’ Shocked +and terrified was the man, and like a foolish one he rushed from the +room; and this cry of Aaron Burr’s the weary, excited jury took for the +truth, and so then, Levi Weekes was declared ‘not guilty.’ Stupefied +were all present, and before they could recover themselves from their +astonishment Catherine Ring stood up. She was a Quakeress and to speak +in public accustomed, and so, lifting her face and hands to heaven she +refused the verdict; and gave the case ‘_to the justice of God and the +vengeance of the Dead!_’ + +“I say plainly, every one was thrilled with awe and terror. Her voice +was low and even, but straight to every heart it went; and those +furthest away heard it clear and fateful as those close at her side. Mr. +Hamilton began to put up his papers, but she stepped close to his side +and said: ‘Alexander Hamilton, if there be justice in heaven, heaven +will see that thee dies a bloody death; and thy helper shall help thee +to it!’ At these words Burr rose, and looked at her with a smile, and +she continued, ‘Take thy time, Aaron Burr. Thee need not hurry; thee +will long for death, long before death will have thee. Nay, but thee +shall be a dead man long before thee can hide thyself in the grave. And +all that we have suffered in that long month of not knowing, thee shall +suffer many times over. Dost thee think God had no witness in this room? +Go thy way, Alexander Hamilton! Go thy way, Aaron Burr! There is _one +that follows after_!’ She turned then to Judge Lansing, but he had left +the bench. Then she touched her husband’s arm, and said: ‘Come, Elias, +the unrighteous judge cannot escape the righteous one. Some day he will +go out, and be heard of no more forever.’[2] + +“And here is the wonderful thing--all the time she was dooming these +three great men not one soul moved or spoke. The entire audience sat or +stood silent and motionless; and when out of the court-room they went, +it was as if they were leaving a church. And Elias and Catherine Ring +passed through them, and though they had the pity and respect of all +there, no one spoke to them, and no one stayed them. For every word of +doom Catherine Ring had uttered had been heard; and her inspired face +spoke to the crowd; Elias walking at her side praying aloud as he +walked. + +“My son Gerardus was present during the entire trial; he heard all, he +saw all, and he told me the story I have just told you. And what I say +is the truth--Hamilton’s earthly doom has been fulfilled; Burr is yet +learning the unpitying vengence of the dead. That insane idea of +conquest, who drove him to it? Who, at the critical hour, turned his +confederates against him? Who sent him to wander in Europe a degraded, +desperate man? What a cup of shame and poverty he drank there, I and a +few others know. Then, when reckless with his misfortune, back he comes +to New York, and for a short time he is lifted up by the many old +acquaintances who remember his abilities and his sufferings. But only to +be cast down is he lifted up. In less than one month he hears of the +death of his grandson, a beautiful, intelligent boy of twelve years old, +on whom all his future hopes were built. A terrible blow it was, but +only the beginning of sorrow. Six months afterwards his idolised +daughter left Charleston for New York. She was heartbroken by the loss +of her son, and was coming to her father to be comforted. She sailed on +the thirtieth of December, 1811, A. D., and ought to have been in New +York about the fifth of January. She did not come. She never came. She +was never heard of again. It was then Catherine Ring’s promised +retribution overtook him. Who can tell what agonies of suspense he +endured? There was daily hope, and there was daily despair! Such nights +of grief! Such days of watching! His worst unfriends pitied him. To have +heard of the unhappy woman would have pleased every one; but no, no, +never a word came. When some weeks were gone over, there was a report +that the ship in which she sailed had been taken by pirates, and all on +board murdered except Mr. Burr’s daughter. She, it was said, had been +put on shore a captive. The miserable man! He would not, he could not, +bear this idea. He said to me one morning, as I talked with him at the +garden gate, ‘Theodosia is dead! If she were not all the prisons in the +world could not keep her from me!’ Well, then, all of you must remember +the loss of Theodosia Burr Alston?” + +“I was in New Orleans at the time,” said Leonard. “I heard nothing +there, or if so, have forgotten.” + +“I also was in New Orleans,” said Achille. “I do not remember--no, not +at all.” + +“I do remember,” said Sappha. “Mother was very sorry for Mr. Burr. We +often spoke of him.” + +“You never told me about it, grandmother,” added Annette. “Why did you +not?” + +“Good reasons had I. So much was there to say that could not be talked +about. A great many people had yet in mind Catherine Ring’s words, and +so Aaron Burr’s long watch for the child that never came was quietly +and pitifully passed over. Yes, people remember; and if they do not +remember they _feel_--they _feel_, they know not what. I have watched. +One by one, I have seen those that welcomed Aaron Burr home drop away +from him. This day a man stops and greets him, to-morrow he passes him +by. The unlucky, they only stick to him; because for a familiar they +know him. Aaron Burr is a doomed man--haunted by the wraiths of those he +has wronged--a doomed man, and nothing that he does shall ever prosper.” + +She ceased speaking with these words, and after some desultory +conversation on the subject, Sappha said, “she must go home.” Then +Annette went upstairs with her, and Achille made an effort to continue +the subject; but neither madame nor yet Leonard were disposed for +discussion; and when Sappha returned to the parlour, cloaked and wrapped +in furs, Leonard hastily assumed his street costume and went out with +her. Then the conversation, the warmth, and the drowsy light, added to +the unusual feeling which the Ring tragedy had evoked, produced an +effect upon madame she did not anticipate--she gradually lost +consciousness, and finally fell asleep. For a while Achille and Annette +spoke in whispers, and Annette tried all her powers to win from her +companion the secret madame made so much of. He dallied with it, but +kept it inviolate; and she dropped her pretty head with a sense of +defeat that the circumstance hardly seemed to warrant. Quiet and +speechless she sat, and Achille held her hand and watched the shadow of +disappointment obliterate the dimples and smiles, not always as becoming +in his eyes as her graver deportment. The glow of the firelight, the +stillness thrilled through and through with that old tragedy of love, +the look of defeat in Annette’s pretty face, and her whole attitude of +submission to it, pleased the young man. He thought her more womanly and +exquisite than ever before; and he kissed the hand he held, and said in +the softest, sweetest voice: “I cannot tell you madame’s secret, but I +will tell you one of my own--Annette, beautiful Annette, I love you.” + +And Annette behaved with the most amazing propriety. He felt the little +hand he held tremble to his words, and he saw on her face the +transfiguration of love, though she did not lift it, or answer him in +any other way. But this coy reticence was exactly the conduct Achille +approved; and in that dim room, where only sleep kept vigil, Achille +asked Annette to be his wife, and Annette answered him as he desired. + +“I shall speak to madame in the morning,” he said; “to-night it will be +too much.” + +“It is too much even for me,” answered Annette; “I never dreamed of +being so happy.” + +“Nor I,” answered the fortunate lover. He then surrendered himself to +her charm. He forgot how often he had privately declared he would never +do so; forgot how often he had told himself that Annette de Vries was a +beauty with + +[Illustration: “IN THAT DIM ROOM, WHERE ONLY SLEEP KEPT VIGIL, ACHILLE +ASKED ANNETTE TO BE HIS WIFE.”] + +a heart like a little glacier. As for Annette, she was satisfied. In the +first days of her acquaintance with Achille St. Ange she had resolved to +be his wife; and her resolve was now in process of accomplishment. And +after all, it had not been a difficult end to attain; a little love, a +little listening, a little patience, a little persistence, and the man +was won. It was only another case of proving the folly of any resistance +to invincible woman. For has not all experience proved that if a woman +seriously determines to marry a certain man she is about as sure to +accomplish her end as if, wishing to reach Washington, she entered a +train bound for that city? + +During this scene between Annette and Achille Sappha and Leonard Murray +were walking in the clear, frosty starlight. They were lovers, but their +conversation was too anxious to be loverlike. Sappha was entreating +Leonard to cancel his engagement with Mr. Burr. She was sure if he did +not her father would permit no engagement with his daughter. “You will +have to choose,” she said, “between Mr. Burr and myself. You cannot take +both into your life, Leonard; I am sure it is impossible.” She did not +name the Ring tragedy. She was far less impressed by it than Leonard had +been. It was her father’s opposition she feared. + +Not so Leonard. He had inherited from his Scotch ancestors a vivid vein +of supernatural tendency. His own clan had numerous traditions of +posthumous revenge, so vindictive that Leonard’s first unconscious +commentary on madame’s narrative was the whispered exclamation--only +heard by Achille--“The vengeance of the dead is terrible!” But if there +was this latent fear in his heart, mingled with the personal one that +association might include him in that vengeance, the feeling was +strongly combated by another inherited tendency, so vital as to be +almost beyond reasoning with--the sentiment of loyalty to a person or a +cause to which he had once given his allegiance. It had been a kind of +insanity in his clan, for they had always gathered to the last man in +the cause of their exiled kings, though they knew right well that to +stand by the Stuarts was to stand by misfortune and death. + +So, tossed between these two horns of a dilemma, Leonard could not make +Sappha the unconditional promise she asked. He had given to Aaron Burr a +fealty founded on an intense admiration for his great abilities and his +great wrongs. The physical charm of the man had also fascinated Leonard, +as it fascinated almost every one who came fairly under its influence; +and thus, though warned by one ancestral strain to retire from some +malignity he could not control, he was urged forward by another +sentiment which put his word, his honour, his friendship, and his +loyalty before all other considerations. + +These underlying motives of action were but partially understood by +Leonard, and were not comprehended in any measure by Sappha. But at +eighteen years of age we do not need to know, in order to feel; we can +feel without knowledge; and Sappha was certain that the association of +her lover with a man so unfortunate as Mr. Burr would include both of +them in its inimical proneness to calamity. + +The mingling of these elements in Leonard’s nature must be recognised +before we can understand how a lover, earnest and devoted, could +hesitate about casting adrift a friendship so recent when it threatened +a tie still fonder and more personal. But the most invulnerable +sentiments a man has to conquer are those he brings with him from +previous incarnations. Prejudices and opinions planted in his mind +during last year, or the present year, will have a demonstrative +vitality; but there is a stubborn quality about those we bring with us +that is only gained by passing through the grave and tasting of +immortality. If Sappha’s and Leonard’s love for each other was not of +the past, then it was hardly one year old; yet she was demanding for it +a sacrifice of feelings incorporate in Leonard’s nature from unknown +centuries. + +They walked together talking only of Mr. Burr for more than an hour; +then Sappha said “she was cold and must go into the house.” She was not +so much cold as weary. We are always weary when we do not understand, +and Sappha could not understand why Mr. Burr should interfere in her +affairs. At the door Leonard spoke to her about the theatre on Friday +night, and she promised to give her father and mother his invitation. +“It is too late to detain you longer, my beloved,” he said; “but I will +call early in the morning for the answer. I hope they will accept my +offer. It will make me very proud and happy.” + +Sappha was sure that her mother would do so. “My father is always +uncertain,” she said, “but I think he will go if I ask him.” + +In the morning, however, there was no question of naming the subject. +The judge had come home late the previous night, and even then was +suffering all the premonitory symptoms of an attack of gout. Sappha was +accustomed to these evil periods, and quite aware that all Leonard’s +plans were useless. For no one but Mrs. Bloommaert and the two negro men +who nursed the judge were likely to see him; or, if they were wise, to +want to see him; and Sappha was compelled to add disappointment to the +already restless dissatisfaction which had somehow invaded the love +which Leonard really bore her. + +The morning interview was, moreover, very hurried. Leonard was going to +court to hear Mr. Burr argue a certain case, and though he did not tell +Sappha this, she felt that Mr. Burr was the cause of her lover’s unusual +haste. Before he knew this objectionable person he had never worried +about time; now he was constantly consulting his watch. She felt as if +their love had been mingled with some element that robbed it of its +immortal beauty and bound it to the slavery of hours and minutes; nay, +she could not have defined her sense of loss, even thus far, accurately; +she was only wistfully conscious of a change that was not a gain. + +Leonard came early in the morning, and was bitterly disappointed to find +that his little plan was absolutely abortive. The judge was suffering +much, and the subject had not even been named to him. Mrs. Bloommaert, +indeed, rather fretfully interrupted Sappha in the midst of her delivery +of Leonard’s invitation. “The theatre!” she ejaculated. “If you were in +your father’s room for ten minutes you would not have the courage to +name the place. I am sorry, of course, but theatre-going is out of the +question. Leonard does seem so unfortunate!” + +“Do not be unjust, mother; don’t you think it is father that is +unfortunate? And then his misfortune makes you suffer, and I also; for I +did want to go to the theatre on Friday night so much. I suppose Annette +will be disappointed also, for of course she cannot go with Achille +alone. They were, no doubt, calculating on your presence.” + +“It cannot be helped, Sappha. Your father must not be left; my place is +with him. I suppose Mrs. Clark will be going. Leonard and you can join +her party.” + +But when this proposition was made to Leonard he refused it without +reservation. He was certain that the Clark party was already complete, +and he showed a touch of stubbornness in temper that pained and +astonished Sappha. If he could not have his pleasure exactly as he +wished it, there was no longer any pleasure in it; and he said with an +air of intense chagrin: + +“I shall be the only young man of my circle who will not be there with +the girl he loves and the family into which he hopes to be admitted. I +feel it very much.” And with these words he went away. + +All morning Sappha sat in a kind of listless grief. She was in a mesh of +circumstances against whose evil influence she was powerless. Nothing +could avail. The morning was damp and cold and full of melancholy, the +house strangely still; she could not sew, she could not read, she could +only suffer. And at eighteen years of age suffering is so acute, it +seems to youth’s dreams of happiness such a wrong; and the reasonable +indifference of age has, to its impatience, the very spirit of cruelty. + +About noon Mrs. Bloommaert came into the room. She had a letter in her +hand, and there was a singular expression of discomposure both on her +countenance and in the fretful way in which she held the missive in her +outstretched hand. + +“Sappha,” she said, “here comes news indeed! Your grandmother has +written to tell us that last night Achille St. Ange asked Annette to +marry him. And of course Annette accepted the offer,” commented +Annette’s aunt. “Your grandmother seems delighted with the match.” + +“They will suit each other very well, mother. I am sure they will be +happy. I must go and congratulate Annette.” + +“Not to-day. They both went, early this morning, with the news, to +grandfather De Vries, and of course that is a day’s visit.” + +“As he is the guardian of her estate, Annette would have to ask him for +money; for she will now want a great deal of it. I am glad she is going +to marry Achille; she has loved him ever since they met.” + +“Annette loves Annette first and best of all. But she has plenty of +sense, and she knows that a girl of twenty-one has no chances to throw +away.” + +“Annette looks about seventeen, mother, and she has more lovers than I +ever had.” + +“That is because you allowed every one to see your preference for +Leonard Murray. Besides, what you say is not so. In spite of your +partiality, no girl in New York has more admirers than Sapphira +Bloommaert.” + +“I prefer Leonard to all I ever had, or might have had.” + +“Yes. I know. Very foolish, too! Your father does not like him; he will +never give a willing consent to your marriage with him--and girls ought +to marry before they are Annette’s age. In fact, I have thought her a +little old-maidish for a year past.” + +“Oh, mother! Now you are joking----” + +“Too affected--too full of pouts, and shrugs and pirouettes; things very +pretty when a girl is fifteen or sixteen, but quite old-maidish airs at +twenty-one.” + +“Mother, Annette never looked more than seventeen, and she is not quite +twenty-one.” + +“I think she looks every day of her age. She is more than two years +older than you; and two years, when a girl is in her teens, is a great +deal. Well, well, I thought you would have been married first.” + +“If father and you were willing, I could be married at once. Leonard +would be glad; but----” + +“Oh, yes! we all know how soon ‘but’ comes; _but_, you want your own +way; _but_, father wants his way; _but_----” + +“Mother wants her way also.” + +“No, no! Mother is willing for any way that works for others’ +happiness--and Leonard is well enough, only things seem always to go +contrary for him and you.” + +“Dear mother, somebody once said the course of true love never did run +smooth. Leonard loves me truly--for myself only. He is rich, and I am +not rich. He could marry any girl he desires in New York, but he loves +me. Is not that worth counting in his favour?” + +“I never said different, Sappha.” + +“Annette is very rich; Leonard could have married Annette.” + +“I have no doubt of it. I should not wonder if Mr. St. Ange knows the +exact amount of her fortune. Frenchmen are not indifferent to a fortune +in their brides. I know that. It is a national custom to consider it. +St. Ange will have a difficult interview with old De Vries! I would like +very much to be present. De Vries will fight every dollar diverted from +Annette’s control. Oh, yes! he will fight them, cent by cent.” + +“Mother, dear, I do not think Achille has given Annette’s money a +moment’s consideration. I do believe he loves her sincerely. He did not +wish to love her. He fought the feeling for a long time; both Annette +and I knew it, and Annette has often laughed at the way he held out. But +she always said, when we spoke of the subject, ‘He is not invincible, +some day he will surrender.’ I want to tell her how glad I am.” + +“You cannot do so to-day. It is evident they intended a long visit, for +your grandmother says in a postscript, ‘Tell Sappha to come very early +in the morning. I want particularly to see her.’” + +Here the conversation was interrupted by a violent ringing of the +judge’s bedroom bell; and the echo of a demanding voice whose tenor +could not be mistaken. Mrs. Bloommaert threw her mother-in-law’s letter +toward Sappha, and answered the summons at once; and Sappha lifted the +letter and carefully re-read it. + + MY DEAR GERARDUS AND CARLITA: + + I have to announce to you the engagement of Annette to my friend + Achille St. Ange. I am pleased with Annette’s choice, and her + marriage will probably take place on her next birthday, the seventh + day of June, on which day, as you know, she comes of age. I wish no + objections to be made. Annette has pleased herself, and done well + to herself, and what more can be expected? + + Your affectionate mother, + JONACA BLOMMAERT. + + P. S.--Tell Sappha I wish to see her very early in the morning. I + have a pleasant piece of news for her. + +All through that dreary day this letter lay in Sappha’s work-basket. It +seemed almost to have life, and to talk to her; and when her mother came +to drink a cup of tea, she was glad to give her back the intimate, +insinuating bit of script. Mrs. Bloommaert held it a moment, and then +locked it in the judge’s desk. “I don’t want to see it again,” she said, +“but if I burn it, your father will be sure to consider it important +enough to keep. Can you imagine what news your grandmother has to tell +you?” + +“No. There was considerable jesting about a secret yesterday, but it did +not strike me as important. It most likely relates in some way to +Annette’s marriage.” + +“That is hardly possible; Annette did not say a word of her engagement +to you yesterday?” + +“Oh, but grandmother would not permit her to speak until she herself had +announced it. Grandmother is particular about such things. Still, I do +not think they were engaged when I left there last night. Achille did +not look, or act, like an engaged man; and Annette would have told the +secret in twenty ways without uttering a word. I should certainly have +seen it. No, the offer was made after I left. Achille was in a very +sensitive mood. However, Annette will tell me everything to-morrow.” + +In the morning she obeyed her grandmother’s request, and went to Nassau +Street very early. She told herself as she walked rapidly through the +frosty air that there would likely be some little change in Annette. +“There always is,” she mused; “as soon as a girl is engaged something +takes place--I wonder what it is.” The first symptom of this change met +Sappha at once. Annette did not run to meet her as usual, and though +quite as demonstrative, there was a little air of superiority, of +settlement, of some subtile accession, that was indefinable, and yet +both positive and practical. She was dressed with great care, and in +high spirits; and madame shared obviously in all her anticipations. + +Sappha was indeed astonished at her grandmother’s appearance and excited +mood. Annette answered Sappha’s congratulations with a kiss and a smile +only; but madame expressed her pleasure frankly. She was already +planning Annette’s wedding and Annette’s home. Suddenly she recollected +herself, and said, “Well, then, have you remembered the secret I +promised to tell you this morning, Sappha?” + +“Is not Annette’s good fortune the secret, grandmother?” + +“No. Listen to me. I am going to the theatre to-night! You do not +believe me? I assure you it is true. And you, and Annette, and Achille +go with me. Achille has been making all preparations for my comfort; and +I am sure to have a very happy evening. But it would not be happy, +unless you and Annette shared it. Now you must return home, and send +here the dress you are going to wear; and then you will spend the day +with me. It is to be my gala day. I shall wear my velvet gown, and I am +as happy as a little girl. A great evening it will be, and I intend to +share all its gladness, and all its enthusiasms. And as Annette has been +so kind and clever as to add her happiness to mine, it is a spring-tide +of good luck. I consider myself a very fortunate woman.” + +“Dear grandmother, my father is suffering very much. Will it be kind and +right for me to be at the theatre while he is in such distress?” + +“Your father will drink Portugal wine, and then of course he suffers, +and makes your mother and every one else miserable. He has the gout; +well, you know what that means. I am sorry that he drinks wine, when he +ought to drink water; but what he invites he must entertain. I am sorry +also, that your mother cannot go with us; she has not drunk Portugal +wine, and yet she has the deprivation. Yes, for your mother I am sorry. +But as for stopping from the theatre to think about pre-arranged +suffering, I shall not do it--and there is no obligation on you to +deprive yourself of this night’s pleasure. If I can go with a good +conscience, you may safely go with me.” + +She had talked herself into a tone of self-defence, and Sappha perceived +that it would be unwise to say more. Also, she was very eager for the +promised entertainment, and wonderfully delighted at the idea of her +grandmother’s pleasant vagary. + +“Why, grandmother!” she answered, “it will be part of the performance to +see Madame Jonaca Bloommaert present. You will make quite a sensation, +and when I am an old woman I shall talk about the night I went with +grandmother to the Park Theatre.” + +Then she drew the lovely girl to her side and kissed her, and after a +little discussion about the dress to be worn, urged her to go home and +procure it. Also, she sent by Sappha certain messages to her son +Gerardus, which Mrs. Bloommaert, upon consideration, positively refused +to deliver. + +“Your father is paying dearly for drinking a glass or two of wine,” she +answered, “and it is none of God’s way to worry, as well as punish. And +I will not tell him over again what he has been told so often; there is +nothing so aggravating. What are you going to wear?” + +“Mother dear, ought I to go? There is father--and there is Leonard----” + +“I forgot! Leonard called here, while you were away.” + +“Oh, dear! What did you say to him, mother?” + +“I could not see him. I was just giving your father his breakfast. He +slept late this morning, and----” + +“Then what message did you send?” + +“I sent him word you were out, and told him it was impossible to accept +his kind offer. Of course I made the refusal in as agreeable words as +possible.” + +“Did you tell him I had gone to Nassau Street?” + +“I forget--I suppose I did. It was Kouba who opened the door. Kouba +would be sure to tell him.” + +Then Sappha went to her room, packed the clothing she desired, and sent +it to Nassau Street by Kouba. On being questioned, he could not +remember whether he had told Mr. Murray to go to Nassau Street or +not--thought maybe he had. “Master Murray mighty dissatisfied like,” he +added, and then he looked curiously in Sappha’s face. + +“You are to take this parcel to Nassau Street, Kouba; and when you come +back here you will find a letter for Mr. Murray on the piano; you will +then go and find Mr. Murray, and give him the letter.” + +The writing of this letter was a difficult task to Sappha. She felt the +cruelty of Leonard’s position very much--his offer to her family had +been early and most generous; yet it was impossible for her father and +mother to accept it, and equally impossible for her to accept it alone. +The disappointment to his own plans Leonard would doubtless take as +cheerfully as possible; but what would he say to her going with Achille? +For he might not see Madame Bloommaert’s claim on her granddaughter in +the light of an affectionate command and compliance; and then he would +be jealous again--and then--and then? Sappha felt bewildered, until she +recollected Annette’s engagement. That circumstance would certainly +define Achille’s position and prevent any ill-will. “And I told him in +my letter about it, so then it is all right.” Thus she reasoned herself +into a satisfied mood; and when she returned to her grandmother’s and +cousin’s company she could not help catching the joyous expectancy of +the situation. + +And very soon Achille came in, and it was prettily amusing to watch the +behaviour of the newly betrothed. It seemed as if they now found all the +world a delightful mystery, a secret between themselves only. Such +reliance, such hope, such expectation, had suddenly sprung up between +them that there was a constant necessity for little confidences and +unshared understandings. However, nothing could be more beautiful than +the manner in which Achille treated madame. He consulted her about all +the evening’s arrangements, and gave her an affection and respect, which +she returned with that charming kindness that is the innocent coquetry +of old age. + +It was finally agreed that Achille should come for them soon after five +o’clock. The usual hour for opening the theatre was six, but Achille +said the crowd on the streets was already very embarrassing and +difficult to manage. + +All afternoon there was a growing sense of something unusual and +paramountly exciting--that undistinguishable murmur born of human +struggle and exulting gladness. The three women dressed to it, and were +all ready for their refreshing cup of tea at half-past four o’clock. +Both girls had tacitly agreed that madame was to be the heroine of the +occasion. Both assisted in her toilet, and escorted her downstairs like +maids of honour. And certainly it would have been hard to find a woman +of more distinguished appearance. Her gown of black velvet, though not +in the mode, was in _her_ mode, and suited her to perfection. White +satin and fine lace made the stomacher, and her white hair was shaded +by lace and by a little velvet hood turned back with white satin. Her +face had a pretty pink flush, and she was very quiet during the last +half hour of waiting. + +“There were no theatres when I was a girl,” she said softly. “Would you +believe, my dears, that I have never been in a theatre, never seen a +play? I wonder me, what your grandfather Bloommaert would say?” + +“He would be glad to have you go, of course,” answered Sappha. “Why, +grandmother, you ought to go to-night. It is not the play you are going +to see, it is something grander.” + +She smiled, and Annette said, “I hear a carriage coming. Grandmother, +how do I look?” + +“You are both pretty enough. It is a great satisfaction to see you +dressed alike.” + +Then Achille entered, and hurried them a little. He said the immense +crowd would render their progress very slow; but no one cared much for +the delay. The crowd was orderly and full of enthusiasm. Scudder’s +Museum, all public places, and private houses were brilliantly +illuminated; there was a sound of music everywhere, and the crowd itself +continually burst into irrepressible patriotic song. + +It was nearly six when they succeeded in reaching the theatre, and +madame’s heart thrilled very much as a child’s would have done when she +entered what seemed to her a fairy palace. For the whole front of the +theatre was a brilliant transparency representing the engagement of the +frigates _United States_ and _Macedonian_. The Star Spangled Banner met +their eyes on all sides, and to its inspiring music they entered the box +Achille had provided. Most of the boxes were already filled to their +utmost capacity; and in the gallery there was not space enough left for +the foot of a little child. But the pit was empty, and to it every eye +was turned. Almost immediately the tumultuously joyful cheering outside +announced some important arrival. The orchestra struck up, with amazing +dash and spirit, _Yankee Doodle_, and three hearty cheers answered the +music as four hundred sailors from the war frigates entered. The crowd +inside rose to greet them; cheer followed cheer, until women and men +both sobbed with emotion. Then the gunner with his speaking trumpet took +his stand in the centre of the pit, in order to command silence if +necessary, and the boatswain with his silver call stood next him, to +second his commands. And four hundred sailors in their blue jackets, +scarlet vests, and glazed hats, all alive with patriotism and excited +with victory, made a remarkable audience. They had just come from a +dinner given them by the city at the City Hotel, and were exceedingly +jovial, and perhaps the big gunner and the boatswain standing up in +their midst were not amiss as guides and masters of ceremonies, for when +Decatur shortly afterwards entered the box provided for him they rose at +the sight of their commodore as one man, and gave twelve such cheers as +only four hundred proud and happy sailors could give; every man +standing on tiptoe and flourishing his glazed hat in that saucy, +dauntless way that is peculiar to sailors. And whoever heard those +repeated huzzas, with the silver whistle of the boatswain shrilling +through them, heard music of humanity that they never in life forgot. +Madame wept silently and unconsciously, Sappha sat with gleaming eyes +still and white with emotion, Annette clapped her hands and leaned on +Achille for support. The very atmosphere of the house was tremulous and +electric, and men and women said and did things of which they were quite +unconscious. And wild as the excitement was, it continued during the +whole performance; the play, the scenes, the transparencies and dances +being chosen and arranged for the purpose of calling out the naval +spirit of the audience and of doing homage to the American sailor, who +was deservedly at that hour the hope of the country and the idol of the +people. + +When the wonderful evening was over the sailors left the theatre in +perfect order, and preceded by their own band of music marched to their +landing at New Slip; and while this exit was transpiring, so many people +visited Madame Bloommaert that she may be said to have held a ten +minutes’ royal reception in her box. And though the beautiful old woman +with her beaming face and rich dark drapery was in herself a picture +worth looking at, her charm was greatly increased by the lovely girls +who stood on either side of her--both of them dressed alike in pale blue +camblet gowns and spencers of the then rare chinchilla fur, so soft, so +delicately grey, so inconstestably becoming. + +“I have had four hours of perfect happiness,” said madame, as she lay at +last among her pillows, with her hands clasped upon her breast, “of +perfect happiness! Think of that, children! Four hours of perfect +happiness!” + +Annette said eagerly, “I too, grandmother, I too have been perfectly +happy.” But Sappha did not speak, she bent her head and kissed madame, +and fussed a little about her night posset, and her pillows, and the +rush light, and so managed to evade any notice of a silence which might +have been construed adversely. For indeed Sappha had not been perfectly +happy. She had rejoiced with those that rejoiced, but in her heart there +was a sense of failure. Leonard had not sought her out, and she had been +unable to gain any recognition from him. For a short time he was in the +Clarks’ box, and she watched for some sign that he was aware of her +presence; but the sign did not come, and long before the entertainment +was over he had disappeared. + +“He is jealous again,” she thought with a sigh. And really it appeared +as if, in this crisis, he had some cause for offence. His offer to +accompany Sappha and her family had been refused, and Sappha was with +Achille. He had not even been asked to join Achille’s party, and as for +the judge’s gout--every one knew he was subject to the complaint. He +thought Mrs. Bloommaert might have left him for three or four hours; he +told himself that she would have done so if Sappha had asked her with +sufficient persuasion. It angered him to see the girl he loved and whose +troth he held, in the company of Achille St. Ange. For he was not yet +aware of Achille’s engagement to Annette, the letter which Sappha sent +by Kouba not having reached him. For Kouba had thought far more of +enjoying the excitement of the streets than of finding Mr. Murray, and +the only effort he made in that direction was to finally leave the +letter at the City Hotel, where he was told Mr. Murray was dining. + +So this tremulous fear of having wounded her lover was dropped into +Sappha’s cup of pleasure, and clouded and dimmed its perfection. Its +very uncertainty was fretsome; there was nothing tangible to put aside; +it affected her as a drop of ink infects a glass of pure water--it +cannot be definitely pointed out, but it has spoiled the water. The only +certain feeling was a regret, which lay like a slant shadow over her +heart and life. She was glad when the morning came. She wished to go +home, and be alone a little. Annette’s selfish joy, though effusively +good-tempered, was not pleasant, and it struck Sappha in that hour that +there are times when good breeding is better than good temper. + +On arriving at the Bowling Green she interviewed Kouba at once. But +Kouba had his tale ready. He assured Sappha that he had found Mr. Murray +eating his dinner at the City Hotel, and that a white man had promised +to send the letter right away to him, “And I saw him do it,” he added, +with a reckless disregard for facts. If this was the case, then Leonard +knew of the engagement between Annette and Achille, and she could not +imagine why her lover had so obviously ignored her. + +But for a time it was necessary to put this question out of her mind. +She had to describe the previous evening’s proceedings to her father and +mother, and then it was dinner time--and Leonard had not come. She was +utterly miserable, and under the plea of a headache went to her room. It +was impossible for her to talk any longer of those things that did not +concern her. She wanted to think of her lover, and if possible discover +what course was the best to take. + +“Oh, if father had not been ill just at this time!” she sighed, “we +might have been all so happy together last night! Why did father’s +attack come on the very day both mother and I wanted him to be well? Oh, +how unfortunate!” And Sappha’s lament was quite true--the unfortunate +thing usually happens at the unfortunate time, for a malign fate never +does things by half. So the girl wept, and told herself that she was +sorry she had gone to the theatre at all, and that whenever she tried to +be kind to others and to forget herself she was always sorry. She +declared Leonard had a right to be offended. He had been badly treated, +and his desire to have their engagement made public was a wise and +honourable one for both of them. Perhaps her arguments were all wrong, +but then the human relations are built on feeling, not on reason or +knowledge. And feeling is not an exact science; like all spiritual +qualities, it has the vagueness of greatness about it. + +However, youth is happy in this respect--it can weep. Sorrow finds an +outlet by the eyes; when we grow older it sinks inward and drowns the +heart. So Sappha wept her grief away, and was sitting in a kind of +dismal, hopeless stillness when Leonard came. + +They met and embraced speechlessly, and it was evident that Leonard also +had been suffering. But in little confidences and mutual explanations +all suspicions and fears passed away, and their love was nourished and +cherished by the tears with which they watered it. And in this interview +they came to the conclusion that their engagement must be publicly +ratified, and Leonard promised to see Judge Bloommaert as soon as the +latter was able to discuss the subject. + +“And you will not vex my father about Mr. Burr? Dear Leonard, you will +not put Mr. Burr before me?” + +“I will put no one on earth before you, my darling! No one!” + +“Remember, Leonard, that you have had nothing but worries since you +visited the man. But wherever or whenever you meet Aaron Burr, I would +count it an unlucky day.” + +And the questionable words sunk deeper into Leonard’s consciousness than +far more reasonable arguments would have done. He answered them with +kisses only, but as he walked up the Bowling Green he said at +intervals, as if answering his thoughts: “Perhaps--maybe--who can tell? +She is best of all, God forever bless her!” + +As for Sappha, she went swiftly upstairs to her room. Her heart was as +light as it had been heavy. She sat down, she arose, she rubbed her +palms with pleasure, she sighed, she smiled, and her eyes were full of +love’s own light as she whispered softly, “Leonard! Leonard! Leonard! +Oh, my dear one!” + +Thus does grief favour all who bear the gift of tears. + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +_The Incident of Marriage_ + + +The interview so important to Leonard’s love affairs, and so eagerly +desired by him, did not come as he had planned it should come. He had +intended to speak to the judge when Mrs. Bloommaert was present and +Sappha not far away, for he counted very largely on their personal +influence for a favourable answer to his request. But one morning as he +was passing the house the judge, who was sitting by the window, saw him; +and by a friendly, familiar gesture, invited him to an interview. + +“You see, Mr. Murray,” he said cheerfully, “I have fallen behind in all +city news. Sit an hour and tell me what is going on.” And he held the +young man’s hand and looked with pleasure into his frank, handsome +countenance. + +“Well, judge, De Witt Clinton is sure to be re-elected mayor.” + +“Yes, yes; the majority of the council are Federalists.” + +“I think the war party are equally in his favour.” + +“No doubt, he has been a good mayor. Any war news?” + +“There is a report that the _Constitution_ captured the British war +frigate _Java_ about last Christmas Day. I believe the report, for it +came by the privateer _Tartar_, Captain King.” + +“I wish we could have any such news from the Niagara frontier. Nothing +but disaster comes that way. The government has requested my son Peter +to go there and assist Brown with the building of the lake fleet. I +wonder if it will accomplish anything.” + +“All it is intended to accomplish, judge. We must give the men up there +time and opportunity. Before summer is over we shall hear from them.” + +They then began a conversation upon the defences of New York, and +Leonard described the work going forward on Hendrick’s reef, and at +Navesink. “There are more than eight hundred Jersey Blues on the +heights,” he said, “and the telegraph on the Highlands is ready to work. +General Izard is an active and zealous officer.” + +Having exhausted this subject, the judge suddenly became personal, and +with an abruptness that startled Leonard, asked: + +“How are you spending these fine winter days, Mr. Murray? Tell me, if my +question is not an intrusive one.” + +“Indeed, sir, I consider it a great honour. And advice from you, at this +time, would be of more service than you can imagine.” + +“If you will take it; but most people ask advice only that it may +confirm them in the thing they have already resolved to do.” + +“I will ask your advice, sir. It cannot but be better than my own +opinion.” Then Leonard explained his intention with regard to the study +of the law regulating real estate, and Judge Bloommaert listened with +attention and evident satisfaction. + +“It will be a good thing for you to do, Mr. Murray,” he answered, when +Leonard ceased speaking. “You ought not to be idle, even if you can +afford it; and this study will not only employ your time, it will +eventually save you much money. Go and see Mr. Vanderlyn. Perhaps he may +let you read with him. No one knows more about real estate.” + +“I have been told, sir, that Mr. Burr is the greatest authority on that +subject.” + +“Mr. Burr is out of consideration.” + +“I confess, sir, that I have already considered him.” + +“Have you spoken to him?” + +“Not definitely.” + +“Mr. Murray, if you sit in Mr. Burr’s office, you will soon share his +opinions. And in such case, I should be compelled to forbid you the +society of myself and family. You cannot touch pitch and not be +defiled.” + +He spoke with rising anger, and Leonard answered as softly as possible: + +“Judge, I ask your advice in this matter. I have already told you I +would take it. Can we not talk of Mr. Burr as reasonably as of the war +and our defences? I am open to conviction, and free to confess that I do +not see what Mr. Burr has done to merit the ostracism he is receiving +from certain parties. I suppose it is one of the accidents of his fate, +a paradox--and life is full of paradoxes.” + +“Mr. Burr’s ostracism is no accident, it is his own act. The man has +committed a crime, and the interpretation thereof is written on +everything he does.” + +“You mean his duel with Mr. Hamilton? Sir, if Mr. Hamilton had killed +Mr. Burr, would the Federalists have considered it a crime?” + +“Mr. Hamilton’s case is out of our jurisdiction. It is gone to a higher +court.” + +“Is not that special pleading, judge?” + +“It will do for the case.” + +“Hamilton had publicly called Burr unprincipled, dangerous, despicable, +an American Cataline--oh, many other derogatory epithets! Would not Mr. +Burr have been generally held as despicable if he had not defended his +good name?” + +“By killing his defamer?” + +“Well, sir, how else could he have done it?” + +“In politics men call each other all sorts of ill names. They even +invent new ones for their opponent. And though in Paradise the lion will +lie down with the lamb, in Paradise they will not have to submit their +rival political views to general elections. Say that Mr. Hamilton was +vituperative--it was a war of words. Mr. Burr Had a tongue and a pen, +as well as Mr. Hamilton. If Mr. Hamilton had insulted Mr. Burr’s wife, +or run off with his daughter, there might have been some excuse for a +bloody settlement, but words, words, words, the tongue or the pen would +have answered them.” + +“Then, judge, you do not approve of the duel?” + +“I do not. But I think that Mr. Burr’s fatal mistake will eventually put +duelling as much out as witchcraft. We shall probably also have strong +repressive laws against it.” + +“Yet as long as public opinion respects duelling, no repressive law will +be as strong as public opinion. We are as moral and intelligent now as +any people can be, yet the duel is not obsolete, nor has Mr. Burr’s +ostracism been a deterrent.” + +“I know that. Last year two men quarrelled about an umbrella in the hall +of Scudder’s Museum, and the next day one of them shot the other dead. +Nine out of ten people called the dead man a fool for his pains. Mr. +Murray, the duel has become perilously close to the ridiculous. Men may +talk about blowing out brains for an angry word, but the majority +quietly laugh at the absurdity. Such conduct is totally unworthy of +American common sense. For no man of intelligence would fight a duel if +he remembered that he would render himself liable to form the text for +an article in _The Morning Chronicle_. To be treated either with its +satire or its morality would be equally depressing--it would make him +intensely ridiculous in any case. But we shall never give up duelling +on moral and intelligent grounds.” + +“Then on what other grounds?” + +“The class duellists come from are the brainless class; and if the +custom was strictly confined by this class to their fellows, it would be +one of the most innocent of their amusements. We must make duelling +ridiculous, for when mockery and satire are constant about any subject, +you may know that thing is dead, and its shell only remains.” + +“But, judge, if a man’s honour is assailed----” + +“If we were all Hotspurs, Mr. Murray, and ready to plunge into the deep +and pluck honour by the locks, we might count on sympathy; but when the +majority think with Falstaff, that ‘honour is a mere scutcheon’ we get a +chill, until we remember the divine law. For after all, sir, the +Decalogue remains as a finality. Look up the sixth clause of that code.” + +“There is nothing to add to it, sir.” + +“Not on moral and intellectual grounds. Socially, you may remember the +homely proverb which advises ‘Go with good men, and you will be counted +one of them.’ Go with Mr. Burr, and you will be counted with him; held +at the same price--nay, you will be only one of Mr. Burr’s satellites. +If you want really to study law----” + +“No, sir. I give up the idea. I have said sufficient to Mr. Burr to +wound him if I go elsewhere. And just because he is down at present, I +will not give him a coward’s kick.” + +“There is no occasion to do so. It is not a chargeable thing to salute +civilly. But Mr. Burr’s affairs are none of your profit, therefore why +make them your peril?” + +“I thank you for your good advice, judge.” + +“Then take it.” + +“I will, sir.” + +“Now having interfered with your intention, I am bound to offer you +something in its place. It is this: I can get you active employment with +Gouverneur Morris, Simeon De Witt, and John Rutherford, who are busy yet +in perfecting their plans for the streets of the future New York. I +should not wonder if they map out the whole island. In fact, they have +already provided space for a greater population than is collected on any +spot this side of China. I cannot say I like their mathematical +arrangement; they are making a city idealised after Euclid--straight, +stiff, wearisome, without character or expression.” + +“But it will be a most convenient arrangement. I would carry the plan +out, even north of Harlem Flat.” + +“There will be no houses there for centuries to come.” + +“Oh, yes, sir, before this century goes out.” + +The judge smiled. He liked the young man’s enthusiasm, and he answered: +“So be it. You shall help to survey the ground. I will speak to De Witt +to-morrow.” + +At this point of the discussion there was a knock at the front door, +followed by a little stir of entrance, and the sound of speech and light +laughter. Both men were suddenly all ear. There was no more +conversation, and after a few moments of silent expectation Mrs. +Bloommaert and Sappha entered the room together. They were in happy +mood, and Sappha was so lovely with the bloom of the frosty air on her +smiling face that Leonard forgot everything and every one but her, and +before either were aware he had taken her hands and kissed her. + +The next moment they both realised their position, and Leonard, still +holding Sappha’s hand, led her to the astonished father. “Sir,” he said, +“we have loved each other since we were children. Will you now sanction +our love, and permit our betrothal?” + +The judge looked helplessly at his wife. She was watching the young +couple with smiles on her face, and evident sympathy in her heart for +their cause. If he wished to be adverse and disagreeable, he foresaw he +would have no help from Mrs. Bloommaert. Yet to give up in a moment all +the wavering feelings of dislike he had entertained for Leonard, and all +his own settled purpose of no recognised engagement for his daughter +until peace was accomplished, was a hard struggle. Perhaps it was well +he had to decide in a moment. At that precise hour he was in a mood of +liking Leonard, and he had no time to reason himself into another mood. +Slowly, and with a little asperity, he answered: + +“Mr. Murray, it seems to me you have not waited either for my sanction +or my permission.” + +“Ah, sir, consider the temptation.” + +Involuntarily he looked into the face of “the temptation.” With clear, +shining eyes she held his eyes a moment, and then her voice uttered the +undeniable entreaty: “I love Leonard so dearly, father. And he loves +me.” + +“I see! I see!” + +“We only wish to please you, father; that is best of all.” + +“Indeed, sir, that is best of all!” said Leonard eagerly. + +“Well, well! In this country the majority rules. What can a man do if +there are three against him, especially when one of the three is his +wife?” and he shook his head, and looked somewhat reproachfully at his +wife. + +Then Sappha slipped her arms around his neck, and laid her cheek against +his, and he embraced his daughter and stretched out his hand to Leonard. + +Thus Fortune often brings in the boats we do not steer, and by what we +call a happy accident guides our dearest and most difficult hopes to a +sudden fruition. It is then a good thing to leave the door wide open for +our unknown angels. They often accomplish for us what we hardly dare to +attempt. + +After this settlement Sappha and Leonard felt that they might revel in +the joy of life and take their pleasure where-ever they found it. And +they found it both in public and private affairs. Annette’s marriage was +to take place in June, and there were preparations without end going on +for that event. Her grandfather De Vries had given her, as a wedding +gift, the Semple place, a beautiful old home set in a fine garden which +had once sloped down to the river bank. + +“It is not exactly what I should have chosen,” said the bride-elect; +“but it is valuable property, and grandfather would not have given it to +me if I had not promised to live there.” + +“It is no hardship to live in the Semple house,” said Sappha. “The rooms +are so large, the woodwork so richly carved, and the garden is the +sweetest, shadiest place in New York, I think.” + +“Grandmother is going to furnish it, and she lets me choose exactly what +I want. I declare, dear Achille and I have no time for love-making, we +are so worried about chairs and tables and wedding garments.” + +“I never should have thought Achille would worry about anything. He is +always so deliberate, and so calm.” + +“Oh, but a man in love is a different creature, and I can tell you that +Achille is distractingly in love. I am not quite ignorant about the +queer ways of men in a fever of infatuation. Why, he scarcely ever goes +to see the pastry cook now.” + +“Oh, but De Singeron was a gallant officer of King Louis! He is in exile +and misfortune, that is all. The pastry business is but an +emergency--and he manages it splendidly----” + +“Certainly. I have always liked his good things. And he is going to make +us the most wonderful wedding cake. However, when Achille and I are +married Achille will have to give up many things, and Monsieur Auguste +Louis de Singeron will be one of them. At present I have too many things +to worry about to interfere.” + +“You have nearly half a year in which to do your worrying. Why not take +things more easily?” + +“Oh, the fun is in the fuss! Did you hear that General Moreau is going +back to Europe to join the allies? The emperor of Russia has sent for +him, and now he will have the chance to pay Napoleon back for his nine +years’ exile. But I shall never pass 119 Pearl Street without a sigh. No +one ever gave such princely entertainments as the Moreaus. The general +is to have a great appointment, but what he likes best is the chance of +fighting the world’s big tyrant. Achille is going to see him embark--and +many others. But this is not my affair. There is my wedding gown, for +instance.” + +“Have you decided on it?” + +“It must be white--everything about me must be white. Achille says so. I +think grandmother will send to Boston for the silk or satin; there is +none here of a quality fit for the most important gown a woman can ever +wear. You would think it was grandmother’s wedding, she is so interested +in every little thing about it.” + +Indeed, Annette did not much overstate madame’s interest in her +granddaughter’s marriage preparations. She lifted the additional work, +and even the additional expense, with a light-hearted alacrity that was +wonderful. And in many ways her cheerfulness brought her a rich and +ready reward. She had been almost a recluse for some years, she was now +seen constantly on the streets and in the stores, and not infrequently +in this way she became a delighted spectator of public parades and +military drills and movements. Achille usually accompanied her, and his +respectful attentions were a source of wonder and speculation to those +who forgot to consider that Frenchmen are specially trained to give +honour, and even reverence, to old age. So it was not remarkable that +madame put on a kind of second youth; how could she be in constant, +affectionate accord with four loving young hearts and not do so? + +For the next half-year, then, Annette was the centre of interest in her +own little world. The judge and Mrs. Bloommaert, Sappha, and Leonard +gladly entered into the spirit of this generous service for, and +sympathy with, the exultant little bride. And at this period of her +life, even her foibles and selfishness were pleasantly excused. It was +her last draught of the careless joy of girlhood; no one wished to +spill, or spoil, one drop of it. + +Leonard and Sappha were much of their time at the Bloommaert House in +Nassau Street; although Leonard, in the City Commissioner’s office, was +making some pretence of mapping out streets and lots of ground in the +wilderness round Harlem Flat. But this business hardly interfered with +his attentions to Sappha and Annette; nor yet with the military spirit +which took him very regularly to the guard-room of some of the +volunteer companies. He was also a recognised dependence when the city +wished to entertain some hero whom it delighted to honour; for then both +his purse and his natural genius for method and arrangement made him an +invaluable surety for success. + +During this half-year there were not many warlike events to influence +New York, and her citizens had become quite used to the guns at the +different forts signalling “the British fleet off Sandy Hook.” Many +false alarms also contributed to this sense of security. They were well +aware, too, that the already numerous forts were being steadily +increased and strengthened, and in April the Battery parade was +fortified. This park was then a strip of greensward about three hundred +feet wide, between State Street and the water’s edge. It had no sea +wall, only a low wooden fence on the edge of a bluff two or three feet +high; then loose sand and pebbles to the water’s edge. There was a dock +at the foot of Whitehall Street, and at Marketfield Street the water +came nearly to the middle of the block between Washington and Greenwich +streets. About the centre of the southeastern part of this park there +was a public garden and a charming little hall, where coffee, cakes, ice +cream, and other delicacies were served; and on summer evenings some of +the military bands made excellent music there for the visitors. + +Of course, the erection of a breastwork around this water line of the +park was an interesting event to all the dwellers on the Bowling Green, +and Sappha and Leonard, during the lovely days of April and May, took +their walks about the Battery fortifications, and thus thrilled their +love through and through with the passion of patriotism and the glow and +excitement of its warlike preparations. + +It was while these Battery defences were being constructed that the city +gave one of its usual great entertainments to Captain Lawrence, who in +the _Hornet_ had captured the British brig-of-war _Peacock_. Two +circumstances made this dinner one that brought the war very close to +the people of New York--the first was the fact that Lawrence was a +citizen of New York; the second was the marching of the one hundred and +six survivors of the sunk ship _Peacock_ through all the principal +streets of the city to their prison in Fort Gansevoort, thus affording +the populace a very visible proof of victory. It was, however, +noticeable that few of American parentage offered any insult to the +depressed-looking sailors, while many men of the first consideration +raised their hats as the unhappy line passed. Leonard and Achille were +among this number. “Honour to the vanquished!” said Achille with +emotion; and Leonard, remembering who had taught them that sentiment, +repeated it. And this courtesy was the more emphatic, because at that +very time a large number of British war vessels had entered the +Chesapeake and Delaware bays. + +But did war ever stop marriage? On the contrary, it seems to give a +strange vitality and hurry to love-making; and in the midst of all its +alarms Annette’s wedding preparations went blithely on to their +determined crisis. On the seventh of June Annette, being of age, became +mistress of her estate, and on the seventeenth of the same month she +married Achille St. Ange. + +It was an exquisite summer day, and the old house in Nassau Street had +never looked more picturesquely homelike. Every rose tree was in bloom, +and doors and windows were all open to admit the scented air. For the +company far exceeded the capacity of the parlours; it filled the hall, +the stairway, and the piazzas, and even in the garden happy young people +were wandering among the syringa bushes and the red and white roses. And +presently there was a little wistful, eager stir, and Annette, followed +by her grandmother and Sappha, came softly down the stairway. Then the +girls sitting there rose and stood on each side of the descent, and +Achille hastened to meet the snow-white figure, and ere she touched the +floor took her hands in his own. And never had Annette looked so fair +and so lovely; from the rose in her hair to the satin sandals on her +feet she was in lustrous white. The faint colour of her cheeks, the +deeper red of her mouth, and the heavenly blue of her eyes were but the +tender tints that gave life to the bright, slow-moving, bride-like +beauty. + +Many a time Annette had consciously assumed a pensive, thoughtful +expression, for Achille admired her most in such moods; but there was no +necessity for the pretence this day. Those who had any penetrative +observation might see beyond the light of her sweet smiles and glances +the shadowed eyes that both remember and foresee. She was not a girl at +all inclined to reflection, but feeling and intuition go where reason +cannot enter, and Annette felt that this very day was the meridian day +of her life. Having gained this, the height of her hope and desire, she +wondered--even against her will--“if she must henceforward tread the +downward slope until the evening shades of life found her?” Was this day +to give a future to her past and change girlhood’s simple hopes into the +richer joys of wifehood? Or would this new self that had just taken +possession of her bring kisses wet with tears, waste remembrance of +vanished hours, and forlorn sighs for the days eventual? Not these +words, but the sentiment of them, insinuated itself into the bride’s +consciousness. It was uncalled, and unwelcome; and Annette, frowning at +the intrusion, dismissed it. She had always found “change” meant +something better, and that there was ever a living joy, ready to take +the place of a dead one, even as-- + + “The last cowslip in the fields we see + On the same day with the first corn poppy.” + +Fortunately, after any great domestic vicissitude, there is generally a +suspension of everything unusual. The family in which it has occurred +refuse to be drawn into further changes. They instinctively feel that +marriage, as well as death, makes life barren, and they say in many +different ways, “It is enough. Leave things as they are; at least, for a +little while.” + +This was certainly the feeling in the Bloommaert family, and it was made +more sensible by the unsatisfactory condition of the country. The +campaign on the northern frontier had been, all the year, one military +disaster, and the president designated the ninth of September as “a day +of humiliation, fasting, and prayer, and for an invocation for divine +help.” On the eighth of September the British men-of-war captured thirty +coasters within twelve miles of New York city, and the citizens who +knelt in the pews of Trinity the next day not only felt the need of +divine help, but were also wonderfully strengthened and comforted by the +appropriate selection designated in the Prayer Book for the ninth day of +the month. These were so remarkably suitable and encouraging that +several of the newspapers called attention to the circumstance. + +The very day after this public entreaty for help Commodore Perry in his +flagship _Lawrence_ won his victory on Lake Erie, and on the +twenty-second of the month the news reached New York City, and turned +fear and sadness into hope and triumph. General Harrison’s victory over +Tecumseh followed, and these two successes had a special claim on the +thankfulness of New York City and State; for “they gave security and +repose to two hundred thousand families, who a week before then, could +not fall asleep any night, with the certainty of escaping fire or the +tomahawk until morning.” + +Never since the white man first trod Manhattan Island had food and +clothing been so difficult to obtain; and yet the great mass of the +people of New York City did not seem to be at all anxious about national +affairs. They had become accustomed to the war, and domestic life went +very well then, to its triumphs and excitements of many kinds. For, if +the prices of all the necessities and conveniences of life were high, +there were plenty of treasury notes to pay for them; and very frequently +valuable cargoes were brought, or sent, into port as prizes of some of +the American privateers that were then swarming on the ocean. + +Harrison’s victory and the approach of winter gave New York a feeling of +present security, and the city was unusually gay. General Moreau’s +princely entertainments were hardly missed, for the St. Anges’ dinners +and balls were even more frequent, and more splendid; and Annette +presided over these functions with a marvellous grace and tact. She +seemed, at this time, to have realised her utmost ambition, and to be +happy and satisfied in the actuality. Even the judge was more hospitable +than he had ever before been; and madame was in a perpetual flutter +between the dinners of her son Gerardus and the dances of her +granddaughter, Annette. + +So to the thrill of warlike drums and trumpets and the witching music of +the dance fiddle Sappha’s wooing went happily forward. There was +constant movement between the Bowling Green, Nassau Street, and the +Semple house; and it was just as well Leonard had not opened any law +book, for in these days all his reading and research was in the light +and love of Sappha’s eyes. Certainly in the City Commissioner’s office +his work was trifling and inconstant, for the greater part of his time +was spent in the civil services necessary for the comfort of the many +militia companies then in the city. In this respect he held a kind of +non-official over-sight; for he was always ready to personally supply, +at once, comforts which otherwise would have been delayed. Consequently +he was welcome in every guard-room, and no young man in New York was +more popular or more respected. + +Judge Bloommaert was well aware of this fact, and yet there were times +when the old dislike would assert itself; and, strange as it may seem, +this feeling was usually caused by Leonard’s overflowing vitality, his +almost boisterous good humour, and his confident conversation. + +“The fellow never knows when he has ceased to be interesting,” he said +one night fretfully, “and you and Sappha hang upon his words as if they +were very wisdom. I am astonished at you, Carlita.” + +“And I at you, Gerardus. Why cannot you two talk an hour together +without getting on each others’ prejudices?” + +“Leonard is always so cock-sure he is right.” + +“Convince him he is wrong.” + +“You cannot handle his arguments any more than you can handle soap +bubbles; both are so empty.” + +“I think he is very interesting. He knows all that is going on, and he +tells us all he knows.” + +“To be sure! He is a walking newspaper, and the leading article is +always Leonard Murray. Whatever does Sapphira Bloommaert see in him? I +am sure, also, that he keeps up his acquaintance with Mr. Burr. Yet he +knows my opinion about that man.” + +“Well, you see, Gerardus, though you may interfere somewhat in Leonard +Murray’s love affairs, you cannot dictate to him concerning his friends. +Suppose he should tell you that he did not approve of your friendship +with Mr. Morris?” + +“The impertinence is not supposable, Carlita. What are you thinking of? +Such remarks are enough to make any man lose his temper.” + +“Very likely, but if you lose your present temper, Gerardus, do not look +for it; it is not worth finding. Do you really wish to separate Sappha +and Leonard, after all that has been said and granted?” + +“I do not say that. Cannot a man grumble a little to his wife? And must +she take every fretful word at its full value? People complain of bonds +they would never break. As the Dutch proverb has it, ‘The tooth often +bites the tongue, but yet they keep together.’” + +“Dear husband, all will come right in the long run. Leonard is in a very +hard position. He desires to please so much that he exceeds, and so +offends. He loves Sappha with all his heart; that should excuse many +faults.” + +“I do not see it in that way. It is not a favour to love Sapphira, nor +yet a hard thing to do. What are you talking about?” + +“I am saying that we both need sleep. We are tired out now. In the +morning things will look so different.” + +Such little frets, however, hardly ruffled the full stream of the life +of that day. There were plenty of real worries for those who wished to +complain; and for those inclined to take the fervour and faith, the +courage and self-denial of the time, there were plenty of occasions for +happiness and hope. And so the winter grew to spring, and the spring +waxed to summer, and June brought roses and the most astonishing news. + +It came to the Bloommaert’s one morning as they were sitting at the +breakfast table. The meal was over, but they lingered together +discussing a dinner party which Annette was to give that day, and their +order of going to it. It was a special dinner, to which only relatives +of the family were invited, and was given in honour of Annette’s little +daughter, then six weeks old. Madame was present, and took an eager +interest in the affair, for the child had been called by her name; and +she had with her the deed of a house in Cedar Street, which she was +going to put into the little Jonaca’s hand. + +Leonard had promised to call for Sappha at twelve o’clock, but the judge +was advising them to go early, when the parlour door was thrown open +with some impetuosity, and Leonard stood looking at the group with a +face full of conflicting emotions. In a moment every one had divined +that he had important news, and the judge rose to his feet and asked +impatiently: + +“What is it, Leonard?” + +“Two hundred thousand French troops are prisoners of war. Paris is in +possession of the allies. Napoleon has been exiled. The Bourbons are +again on the throne of France.” + +“My God! Is all this true, Leonard?” + +“There is not a doubt of it.” + +“Then I must go and see Gouverneur Morris at once. Tell Annette I will +be on time for dinner.” And he hurried away with these words, and left +Leonard to discuss the news and the dinner with the three excited women. + +There was now no unnecessary delay, for the streets were already in a +state of commotion, the news having spread like wildfire. Nor could they +escape the influence of the fervid atmosphere through which they passed; +the glowing sunshine was not more ardent than the passionate rejoicing +and the passionate hatred that challenged each other at every step of +their progress. Even the shadowy stillness of the Semple gardens and the +large, cool rooms of the house were full of the same restless +antagonising spirit. Annette’s cousins, the Verplancks and the Van +Burens, and her aunt, Joanna de Vries, speedily followed them, but it +was only the women of the families that entered the house; the men +hastened back to Broadway and the Battery to hear and to discuss the +news. And it was hard for Annette to keep a smiling face over her angry +heart. Who were the Bourbons that they should interfere with her +affairs? Indeed, she complained to her grandmother bitterly of Achille’s +strange conduct. He had left her in the midst of their breakfast, left +her as soon as he heard the news, without one thought as to the family +duties devolving on him that day. And madame had not been too +sympathetic. “You have been crying, Annette,” she said. “I am afraid you +have a discontented temper. For the dinner, your husband will return.” + +“I know not, grandmother. When that pastry cook flung open our parlour +door and cried out ‘_Achille! Achille! Napoleon is in exile! The +Bourbons are on the throne of France again!_’ Achille flung himself into +the man’s arms, and they kissed each other. Grandmother, they kissed +each other, and then went off together as if they were out of their +senses.” + +“But to you also, Achille spoke? Of the dinner he spoke; I know it.” + +“He said he would return in time for dinner; but he will forget--he was +beside himself----” + +“Come, come, let not Joanna de Vries see that you are vexed at any +thing. Too much she will have to say. Here comes Madame Rutgers! Shall +we go to them?” + +Then Annette went to welcome her guests, and, with longer or shorter +delays, the company gathered. Every one had something strange to add to +the general excitement, but it was only the women that chattered and +quarrelled until near two o’clock. Then the judge and Leonard came in +together, and were soon followed by the young Verplanks, Commissioner +Van Buren and his two sons, and Cornelius Bogart, Annette’s favourite +cousin. + +But Achille at two o’clock had not arrived, and the dinner was ready, +and the company waiting--the men very impatiently, for at “high ’Change” +they had taken their usual nooning of a piece of raw salt codfish and a +glass of punch, and they knew that the ordinary at the Tontine Coffee +House, in Wall Street, would have at three o’clock a dinner very much +more to their mind, considering the news of the day and the disturbance +and the agitation it had caused. Annette, under these conditions, had +nothing to offer as attractive. The women, fair and otherwise, were the +women of their own family connections; and relations must be taken as +found; there is no choice, as in friends. Which of us has not relations +that would never be on our list of friends? + +So there was an uncomfortable hour of waiting, and as Achille came not +Madame Bloommaert proposed to serve dinner without his presence. “For +one laggard,” she said, “to keep twenty-eight people waiting is not +right, Annette. At once, now, the dinner ought to be served.” + +Annette agreed to this, but it was hard for her to smile, and to keep +back tears. However, just as Judge Bloommaert was going to take +Achille’s place the laggard entered. And he was in such a radiant mood +that he passed over as insignificant his delay. “He was a little +late--he had forgotten--but then it was remarkable that he should have +remembered at all. Such news! Such glorious news? Oh, it had been a +wonderful morning!” + +In further conversation he said his friend Monsieur de Singeron had +presented his business to a poor French family. “He is going home! He is +beside himself with joy!” he continued. “He will be restored to his +rank, and to his command in the royal guards! Ah! it is enough to have +lived to see this day. It atones, it atones for all!” And Achille, who +could neither eat nor drink, sat smiling at every one. He was sure all +reasonable people must feel as he did. + +“I suppose,” said Judge Bloommaert, “most of the French exiles will +return, as soon as they can, to their native country.” + +“They will make no delays,” answered Achille. “It was a good sight to +watch them on the ship and the river bank. They were unhappy, uncertain, +until they saw with their own eyes the frigate that had brought the glad +news, and her captain understood. He permitted the crowd to tread her +deck. He flew over them the lilies of France. He spoke to them in their +own tongue. Ah, my friends, you will sympathise with these sad exiles; +you will not wonder that they knelt down and wept tears of joy!” + +Indeed, Achille was so transported with his own sympathies that he +failed to perceive the atmosphere of dissent among his guests. True, the +judge’s fellow feeling was evident, also that of the Verplanks, but the +De Vries family and the Van Burens were in hot opposition to anything, +or any one, whom the Federalists favoured. So the element of the room +was not conducive to domestic rejoicing; and the dinner was virtually a +failure. The men of the party were all anxious to return to their clubs +or gathering-places; and the women, left to themselves, soon exhausted +their admiration for the little Jonaca, and remembered their own homes +and household affairs. And as the day waned, the thick trees surrounding +the Semple house filled the rooms with shadows, and Annette--a little +dismayed by Achille’s conduct--could not lift her flagging spirits to +the proper pitch of hospitality. Then Joanna de Vries opened the way for +an early retreat. She spoke of the restless streets, and of her father’s +great age and loneliness, and immediately every one recollected duties +equally as important. And as madame intended to remain with Annette, +Mrs. Bloommaert and Sappha also took their departure. + +It was a beautiful summer evening, and the streets, though neither +crowded nor boisterous, were full of life. The happy French residents +had illuminated their houses, and through their open windows came joyful +sounds of rejoicing and song. Federalist orators were addressing small +gatherings of people at the street corners, and Democratic orators +contradicting all they said at the next block. Applause, laughter, +derision, enthusiasm of one kind or another thrilled the warm air, and +the joy and pang of life assailed the heart or imagination at every +step. + +On the Bowling Green there was a very respectable audience listening to +Gouverneur Morris, who was speaking in such passionate accord with +Achille’s sentiments that it was astonishing not to find Achille at his +right hand. + +“Mr. Morris is the most eloquent speaker of the age,” said Leonard; “let +us listen a few minutes to his words.” And as they did so, they heard +the embryo utterance of that remarkable “Bourbon speech” which he made a +few days afterwards in Dr. Romeyn’s church in Cedar Street: + +“The Bourbons are restored. Rejoice, France, Spain, Portugal, Europe, +rejoice! Nations of Europe, ye are brethren once more! The family of +nations is complete. Embrace, rejoice! And thou, too, my much wronged +country! my dear, abused, self-murdered country! bleeding as thou art, +rejoice! The Bourbons are restored. The long agony is over. The Bourbons +are restored!” + +“Let us go home, Leonard,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. “I never heard so much +praise of the Bourbons before. My father did not approve of them. If +Napoleon is done with, why did not the French people insist on a +republic? They had Lafayette--and others.” + +Leonard answered only, “Yes.” He did not wish to open the subject of the +helplessness of France, nor point out how absurdly irrational it would +be for the allied kings of Europe to found a republic in their midst. He +felt weary of the subject, and the sense of the evening’s failure +affected him. It had been a disappointing day, what was the good of +prolonging it? Sappha and Leonard might have fallen into the mistake of +doing so, but Mrs. Bloommaert knew better. At the doorstep she +positively dismissed Leonard, who could not quite hide the fact that he +was willing to obey her. But Sappha, who had hoped to charm away this +feeling of tediousness and lassitude when they were alone, was vexed at +losing her opportunity. + +“It was not kind of you, mother, to send Leonard off as soon as we had +done with him. He was weary, too,” she said. + +“Weary! I should think he was,” answered Mrs. Bloommaert; “he must be +worn out with women to-day. Such a crowd of us as Annette got together.” + +“The women were not more disagreeable than the men, mother,” said +Sappha. “And I believe Leonard has gone straight to the militia +guard-rooms--there are nothing but men there, and so he can rest.” + +“I hope he has not gone to any guard-room. Every one will be quarrelling +with his neighbour to-night.” + +Leonard had, indeed, gone to the guard-room of the Jersey Blues, but his +visit was decidedly against his inclination. He was as weary as Mrs. +Bloommaert had supposed him to be--weary of the Bourbons, and of the +passionate fratching about them; weary of men, and of women also; weary +of companionship of all kinds; weary of noise and strain of the restless +city; weary of life itself. Vital and large as his nervous force was, it +had become exhausted; feeling had wasted it, and disappointment been +equally depleting. He resolved when he turned from the Bloommaert house +to go direct to his rooms in the City Hotel and seek in solitude and +sleep a renewal of strength and hope. On the steps of the hotel an old +acquaintance accosted him, and Leonard rather reluctantly asked “if he +had come to see him?” + +“Yes,” answered the man. “I am in trouble, Mr. Murray, and I could think +of no one but you to give me some advice. It is about Miss Martin. You +remember pretty Sarah Martin? We were engaged, and she has broken the +engagement. I am very unhappy. I do not know what to do. I think you can +tell me.” + +“I am going to my rooms now. Come upstairs with me, McKenzie.” + +“I cannot. I must be back at the guard-room in half an hour. Will you +not go with me? We can talk there well enough.” + +Then Leonard went with McKenzie, and after the little formalities with +the men present in the guard-room were over, Leonard and McKenzie took +chairs to an open window and began their consultation. And very soon +Leonard threw off his lassitude and became heartily interested in his +friend’s trouble. Suddenly a voice, blatant and dictatorial, fell upon +his consciousness. It was the voice of a man who had been a member of +the company raised by Leonard, and who during the whole term of its +service was a source of annoyance and disputing--a man of low birth and +of a mean, envious nature, who had neither a good education nor good +breeding, and, indeed, who affected to despise both. Leonard’s youth, +beauty, fine culture, and fine manners, added to his great wealth and +popularity, roused at once Horace Gilson’s envy; and envy in the close +companionship of a military fort quickly grew to an almost +uncontrollable hatred. And in Gilson’s nature hatred had its proper +soil; he was insensible to the nobler qualities of humanity, and +persuaded himself--and other of his kind--that Leonard’s gracious +forbearance was not the fine courtesy of an officer to his subordinate, +but the fear of a timid and effeminate spirit. Indeed, Leonard’s three +months’ service had been made an hourly trial by the hardly concealed +mockery and contempt of Horace Gilson. Of all men in the wide world he +was the very last Leonard wished to see. He moved his chair a little +nearer to McKenzie, and by so doing faced the open window only. McKenzie +continued talking, unmindful of Gilson’s entrance, but Leonard heard +above all he said the sneering taunt and scoffing laugh of the man he +despised and disliked. Every one and everything appeared to provoke his +disdain, and it was not long before he turned his attention to the two +men sitting apart at the window. + +“Secrets! Secrets!” he cried with effusive familiarity. “We will have no +secrets in a guard-room. Out with the ladies’ names--if you are not +ashamed of them.” + +Leonard looked indifferently out of the window; it was McKenzie’s +affair, not his. And McKenzie, laying his hand upon his pistol in an +almost mechanical way, merely glanced at the bully and said: “You had +better mind your own business, sir.” + +“I am not speaking to you, McKenzie,” Gilson answered. “I am addressing +Captain Murray, the great New York Adonis and lady killer! Come, +captain, your latest victories?” + +“Mr. Gilson,” answered Leonard, “my friend and I are discussing private +concerns. When we desire your company, we will let you know. In the +meantime, we wish to be alone.” + +“Now, captain, no more airs from you. You have left the militia, you +know--three months used up your patriotism,” answered Gilson scornfully. + +McKenzie rose in a passion. “Damn your impertinence, Gilson! I’ll give +you a----” + +“Be quiet, Mac,” interrupted Leonard. “The fool is drunk--you can’t even +horsewhip a drunken man.” Then he took McKenzie firmly by the arm and +both rose to leave the room. + +“Drunk, eh?” cried Gilson in a rage. “Drunk! It is well for you both to +get out of my way, for I’ll pay you all I owe you yet, Murray--you, and +your damned dollars! Go and see if you can buy a little common +dog-courage with them.” + +“Let me knock the ranting bully down, Murray.” + +“He is not worth it.” + +By this time the men present were on their feet, some urging Murray to +leave the room, some trying to talk reason into Gilson, who became more +and more defiant as the objects of his abuse passed out of the hearing +of it. + +It was a wretched ending to a disagreeable day, and Leonard sat half +through the midsummer night fretting and fuming over the incident. He +was not a quarrelsome man, and a quarrel with Horace Gilson was an +affair too low and despicable to contemplate. Why had McKenzie come to +him with his trouble? He felt the injustice of the visit. If he had been +a few minutes later he would have missed the man and the annoyance that +had grown out of his sympathy with him. He looked wistfully out of the +window towards the Bloommaert house, and remembered Sappha, but speedily +exiled her from his thoughts, because he could not keep the scene at the +guard-room out of them; and it seemed a sacrilege to have both in his +consciousness at the same time. + +However, after an irritating vigil of some hours he fell asleep with +sheer weariness, and when he awakened near noon on the following day +Nature had accomplished her renovating work. The Unseen Powers had +cradled his soul into peace, cleared away the rack and wreckage of an +unfortunate day, and filled his exhausted spirit with the miraculous +strength of Faith and Hope. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +_The Rose of Renunciation_ + + +As Leonard dressed himself he recollected the guard-room quarrel and +smiled. It seemed really so ridiculous and ineffectual; yet he resolved +to avoid Gilson as much as possible. “The man was drunk,” he thought, +“but sober or drunk, he has an envious nature, and a tongue ready for +ill words. Perhaps he may seek me out and continue his offensive +behavior. What then?” He pondered this likelihood a few moments, and +then asked himself cheerfully: + +“Why should I worry about the probability of such a thing? As if it +mattered.” But it is hard to tell what matters, though safe enough to +say that in conduct it is best not to make trifles of trifles. For there +is an amazing vitality in some trifles, and we know not which may +abortively pass and which may become of momentous importance. + +Yet, for two days Leonard hardly thought of Gilson and his drunken +abuse; or if it entered his mind it was only as an annoying and +commonplace event that he was in no way responsible for. He had not one +fear that it could possibly have any serious effect upon his life. And +as it happened the two days following Annette’s dinner party were +exceedingly happy ones to Sappha and Leonard. One of them was spent with +Madame Bloommaert in Nassau Street, and another with Annette at the +Semple house. Then came Saturday, and Leonard went early in the +afternoon to the Bowling Green. It was a very warm day, the parlour +windows in Judge Bloommaert’s house were open, and Sappha was sitting in +the sunshine happily indolent. She smiled a thousand welcomes as he +entered, but did not move, for her lap was full of knotted embroidery +silks, and Leonard seated himself at her side, and together they began +to slowly unravel and sort the tangled skeins. So happy, so merry, were +they! their hands touching, their heads touching, light laughter and +loving whispers feeding their hearts with a full content. + +When the judge came home Sappha and Leonard rose gaily to meet him, but +they were both chilled by his manner, which was constrained and +unfriendly. A sense of something unpleasant swept out of cognisance the +innocent mirth that had pervaded the room; and in a moment its mental +atmosphere was changed. It was embarrassing, because Leonard did not +like to presume there was an offence--it might be only a passing mood, +and the mood might be caused by something or by some person outside of +their interference. So the suddenly checked lovers sat silent, or only +made whispered remarks about the condition of the silks. + +One of these remarks attracted the judge’s attention, and he turned to +the apparently busy young man and said: “Sappha has given you a pretty +tangle to straighten out--Leonard.” He spoke Leonard’s name with a +hesitation that was almost like a withdrawal of the position that had +been given him, and Leonard felt the reluctance keenly, yet he answered +with much cheerfulness. + +“Patience will win her way, sir--she does in every tangle. One by one +the knots are being untied.” + +“You might cut them,” said the judge. + +“That would be wasteful and foolish, sir. No one would be the gainer, +and no one would be satisfied. I will unravel them--with Sappha’s help.” + +“Well, Leonard,”--this time the name was spoken a little more +pleasantly--“well, Leonard, I can tell you there is an ugly tangle up +the street for you either to cut, or to unravel. And I must say, I am +astonished, not to say displeased, at your neglecting it for three +days.” + +“A tangle up the street, sir,--a tangle I have neglected!” + +“You certainly have not forgotten your quarrel with Horace Gilson?” + +“Oh, I had no quarrel with the fellow! How could I? He was drunk.” + +“Not too drunk to tell you that you had only three months’ worth of +patriotism; not too drunk to bid you buy a little dog-courage with your +dirty dollars. Sir, you ought to have stopped such remarks as quickly +as they were made--yes, sir, they ought to have been stopped +peremptorily, whether they were drunk or sober remarks.” + +“But, judge, you cannot talk to a drunken man--you cannot reason with a +drunken man----” + +“Well, then, you can knock him down. That is an argument even a drunken +man will understand.” + +“Father!” cried Sappha with indignation, as she stood with flashing eyes +before him. “Father, to knock a drunken man down would be as bad as to +knock an insane man down. In both cases it would be brutal.” + +“When men make themselves into brutes it is just to treat them like +brutes.” + +“I never heard such nonsense! such cruel nonsense! I think Leonard did +quite right to ignore the fellow.” + +“You have no business, miss, to think anything about such subjects. Go +to your mother.” + +“Mother went to Nassau Street long ago.” + +“I want her. Tell her to come home immediately. And I do not want you. +It is necessary for me to speak to Leonard alone.” + +“Very well. I shall go for mother.” But ere she left the room she took +Leonard’s hands in hers and kissed him. There was a whispered word also, +which the judge did not hear, but the girl’s act of sympathy was +irritating enough. He drew his lips wide and tight, and as soon as +Sappha closed the door he said: + +“Now, sir, what are you going to do? Gilson has been vapouring from Dan +to Beersheba about your--cowardice, and your want of patriotism; and Mr. +Ogden told me that when he instanced your frequent generous loans to the +city Gilson laughed and said you had made forty per cent. on them. ‘You +and your father,’ he added, ‘were both canny Scots, and knew cleverly +how to rub one dollar into two.’” + +“Judge, my father----” + +“Wait a little. Why have you not been in any of your usual resorts since +Wednesday night? It does not look right--the rascal has had a clear +field for all the scurrilous lies he chose to tell.” + +“Sir, if I had known that the man was lying soberly about me, I would +surely have given him openly the name he merits. But I did not dream +that he would dare to say out of liquor what he said in liquor; for he +is a quaking coward, and as fearful as a whipped child. Others are +behind him in this bluster. Alas, my money has never brought me anything +but envy and ill-will--no matter how heartily I give it! What would you +advise me to do, sir?” + +“Make the man hold his tongue.” + +“How?” + +The judge was silent a moment, then with a touch of scorn he answered: +“There is the law. Sue him for slander. He is said to be worth twenty +thousand dollars. Lay your damages at twenty thousand. Your friend, Mr. +Burr, will defend your case very feelingly, no doubt.” + +And with some anger Leonard answered: “That course is out of the +question, sir.” + +“Well, then, write a letter to the newspapers.” + +“I do not propose to lend the fellow’s words so much importance.” + +“Then give him his lies back generally, and particularly--give him them +back on the street, and in the guard-room, or wherever you meet him--and +make a point of meeting him, here, there, and everywhere.” + +“That is what I propose to do. Then, sir, egged on by those whose cue he +is now following, he will probably challenge me. Shall I accept his +challenge?” + +“I am not your conscience keeper, Leonard.” + +“Put the question then, as a matter of social expediency.” + +“If the social verdict is what you want, ask Achille St. Ange. He is a +good authority.” + +“Once more, sir. If I lift this foolish business to the moral plane, +what do you say?” + +“Zounds! Leonard, I have told you already that morally judging this +question I hold the Decalogue as a finality!” And with these words the +judge rose to his feet. It was evident he had no more to say on the +subject, and Leonard bid him “good-afternoon” and left the house. There +had been throughout the interview a want of sympathy in the judge’s +manner that insinuated suspicion, or at least uncertainty, and Leonard +was pained and offended by it. Judge Bloommaert had known him +intimately, yet he had permitted the evil tongue of a stranger to +influence his own experience. Angry tears rose unconsciously to his +eyes, and he asked himself what did it profit a man to be truthful and +generous, if any dastardly liar could smear and cancel the noblest +record? He walked up the Bowling Green with a burning heart, but Sappha +had whispered her promise to be near the statue; and he soon saw the +flutter of her white gown as she came to meet him. They entered the +enclosure and sat down on a bench facing that heroic representation of +Washington, which, made of wood, shaped and coloured to imitate the +rosiest glow of life, was the best artistic effort New York was capable +of one hundred years ago.[3] But even if Sappha and Leonard had been +conscious of its artistic defects, they cared little for them at that +hour. Their own affairs were too urgent, too perilously near to trouble +again. And though Sappha was full of sympathy and quite determined to +uphold Leonard in all he had done and was going to do, yet she at once +gave vent to her womanish fears in the essentially provoking query: “Oh, +Leonard, why did you not show yourself in the city the last three days? +You might have known people would say you were afraid of that dreadful +man.” + +“Dear Sappha!” he answered, “will you, too, oblige me to explain that my +absence from my usual haunts the last three days was quite accidental; +you wanted me to go to Nassau Street with you Thursday, and your +grandmother kept us all day. You wanted me to go to the Semple house +with you Friday, and Annette and Achille kept us all day. This morning +my lawyer brought to the hotel a number of papers and accounts, and it +was noon before we had reviewed them. Then we had a meal together, and +afterwards I came to you. How could I imagine Gilson’s unmerited abuse +of me? And it seems I had no friend or acquaintance willing to take the +trouble to tell me how the man was slandering me behind my +back--everything, and every one, was against me.” + +“Father told you as soon as he heard the scandal.” + +“Yes, but not very kindly. There was a taste of doubt in all he said. +And he would give me no positive straight-forward advice. I feel +completely at sea as regards his wishes. I am going this evening to talk +the matter over with Achille.” + +“Oh, no! Oh, no! Achille will urge you to fight the low creature. I +cannot bear that, Leonard.” + +“There is not the least danger. Gilson would be a child in my hands.” + +“You never know. Accidents happen--you must be out of practice, and +then, it cannot be right. I don’t believe you are afraid--I am sure you +are not--but I do not want you to fight. I am afraid--I am a mortal +coward about you. You must not accept a challenge, if he sends one. I +shall die of fear. I shall, indeed.” + +“If it should become necessary to fight, I am any man’s equal. My sword +and my hands are trained to perfection. Even Achille admits my +superiority. I, personally, should not be in the least danger. In fact, +I am both with sword and pistol so much more expert than Gilson that it +would be almost cowardice, as well as cruelty, to meet him in a duel. +There could be no justice in such a trial of right or wrong--but how few +people can know this? Or knowing it, feel that it might bind me as an +honourable man to refuse the duel.” + +“I pray you, Leonard, take my advice, and do not go to Achille. It would +be ‘fight, of course you must fight,’ with Achille. He would hear of +nothing else. And for my sake, Leonard, you must not fight. In the long +run, father would be angry if you did, and perhaps make it an excuse for +separating us. Leonard, promise me on your honour not to fight. If you +come to me with bloody hands I will not take them. And if you let out +life with either sword or pistol your hand will be forevermore bloody. +No water will cleanse it, no good woman will touch it, no saint in +heaven clasp it--better cut it off, and cast it from you, than stain it +for all eternity.” She was quivering with feeling, her eyes were full of +tears, and her voice had those tones of tender authority which subjugate +as well as persuade. + +“My dear darling little preacher,” Leonard answered, “I promise you +these hands shall never do anything to make them unworthy to clasp +yours.” And he took her hand, pressed it firmly between his own, and +kissed his promise upon it. Then she rose smiling; they walked together +to madame’s house, and at the gate they parted. + +But though somewhat comforted, Leonard did not feel as if the way before +him had been either cleared or lightened; in fact, his promise to Sappha +had in some measure closed the only apparent exit out of the dilemma. At +the moment of promising he had been carried away by his love, and had +not thought of contingencies; but as soon as he was alone “the tangle” +became more and more of a tangle; and unfortunately it was Saturday +evening; the streets were quiet, business nearly over for the week, men +generally either at home with their families, or enjoying in their +company the sail up the river or the concert on the Battery. + +Not knowing what to do, or where to go, he did nothing, and went nowhere +but to his rooms in the City Hotel. He was determined to make no false +step. Hurry in this matter might have calamitous consequences. Out of +just such false, wicked words lifelong tragedies had often come. And +there was Sappha--he must consider Sappha before himself. + +The next day being Sabbath, he went to the Garden Street Church in the +morning and to Trinity Church in the afternoon. In both houses he met +acquaintances, whose recognition of him appeared to be cooler and more +constrained than usual. But then he knew that he was suspicious, and the +change was probably only an imaginary one. When he left Trinity he +walked northward to the Semple house, and on the way met at least two +painful incidents, which were not imagination: When opposite the City +Hall Park he saw Doctor Stevens and his wife approaching him, and as +soon as they perceived Leonard they crossed Broadway and entered the +park. And as this movement took them off the direct way to their home +Leonard was justified in believing they had made it to avoid a meeting +with him. The circumstance pained and angered him. He turned quickly +into Chambers Street, and saw Mr. Leonard Fisher coming towards him. +Now, Mr. Fisher was one of the officers of the Washington Benevolent +Society, of which society Leonard had been the most active member. On +business of relief and charity he had come constantly in contact with +Mr. Fisher, and always in a temper of friendly courtesy. He expected +nothing but a kindly greeting from him, but when he was half a block +distant Mr. Fisher crossed the street, and as Leonard passed he kept +his eyes stubbornly set on some object in front of him. + +Burning with a sense of wrong and injustice, Leonard hastened forward +and threw himself upon Achille’s friendship. Here he was not +disappointed. Achille entered into his feelings and espoused his cause +with complete understanding and ardent sympathy. He acknowledged Francis +de Mille had said something of the slander to him on the previous day, +but that he had laughed away the words as utterly preposterous, and De +Mille had let the subject drop. “But,” he added, “it can be dropped no +longer. Judge Bloommaert is right. The rascal has had a clear field too +long--now, he must be made to acknowledge his lies, as lies; and then +hold his tongue about your affairs forever.” + +“What is to be done, Achille?” + +“There is but one way--for a man of honour. You must challenge him +immediately.” + +“I suppose so--but Sappha is distressed at the idea. I fear I shall lose +her if I do. And the judge is against the practice.” + +“Those questions come afterwards. Women know not their own minds. If you +fail to punish this ill-tongued fellow, Sappha, in her heart, will +despise you--and the judge also. Take my word for that--so will all +honourable men. You remember that affair in New Orleans? Duplicate it.” + +This last remark seemed to give a sudden light and hope to Leonard. He +smiled and said cheerfully: “That would be sufficient; thank you, +Achille. Now then, where am I most likely to meet Gilson? Do you know +his haunts or the places he most frequents?” + +“We can easily find them out. Our host of the City Hotel will doubtless +be able to give us information. Look here, Leonard, I have the plan!” +and he took paper and pencil from his pocket, and the two bent over it +in consultation for about half an hour. Then Annette joined them, and +they went to the dinner table, and afterwards Achille told Annette the +dilemma into which Leonard had fallen. He said nothing of a duel, +however; neither did Annette, a circumstance which would have convinced +any woman that she anticipated that result, and was carefully pondering +it. That Leonard stayed with them all night, and that Achille went out +with him early in the morning, was to her substantial confirmation of +her suspicions. + +Privately, she was very angry. Why should her husband relate himself and +his spotless honour with a man whose character had been so shamefully +defamed? It was in Annette’s eyes a piece of Quixotic imprudence. She +thought Achille ought to have remembered that he had a wife and +daughter, and that, at least, her approval should have been asked. She +said to herself that it was not unlikely there was some truth in all Mr. +Gilson had asserted. Men so available as Leonard Murray were likely to +be womanish; and he was always dangling after Sappha Bloommaert. Gilson +had been talking for three days. It was strange, indeed, that Leonard +had not stopped such imputations at once. “I don’t believe he was +ignorant of them,” she said, and in her passion she uttered the words +aloud: “He knew all about Gilson’s abuse, but he thought the man would +grow weary, or go away, or that Achille or some of his friends, would +lift the quarrel for him. And when none of these conveniences have come, +then he has sought out my husband. Oh, yes! he knew Achille was always +ready for a fight--it is a shame! I am not going to permit it; Leonard +Murray must conduct his own quarrels.” + +To such thoughts she nursed her surmised wrongs all day; and as Achille +did not return home until very late she had become hysterical under the +pressure of their certainty. Nor did her husband’s evasive carelessness +allay her anxiety; she was not consoled by his smiles, nor by the light +kiss with which he advised her “to sleep and forget her imaginary +fears.” This course was not possible to Annette; she lay awake +considering and planning until the dawn. Then, when she ought to have +been on the alert, she fell into the dead sleep of utter mental and +physical weariness. + +In this interval Achille arose, dressed with some care, and calling +Annette’s maid, left with her his “remembrances for madame, and the +assurance that he would be home for dinner.” Annette did not believe the +message. She asked for the hour, and decided there was yet a possibility +of finding her uncle Bloommaert at his home. While she hastily dressed, +her carriage was prepared, and she reached the Bowling Green house just +as the judge was descending the steps. She arrested him midway. “Uncle,” +she sobbed, “I am in trouble about Achille. I want you to help me.” + +“What is the matter with Achille? Have you been scolding? Has he run +away from you?” + +“I cannot bear jokes this morning, uncle. I think Achille has gone to +fight a duel.” + +“Nonsense!” + +“Yes, I am sure he is going to fight that low creature, Horace Gilson. +You know----” + +“Twofold nonsense. He has nothing to do with the man. That is Leonard +Murray’s business.” + +“But Leonard came to Achille on Sunday night. He was full of shame and +anger about every one passing him without recognition; and I am sure he +must have deserved the slight, or Doctor and Mrs. Stevens and Mr. Fisher +would not have done so--on a Sunday, just coming out of church, too, +when people ought to feel friendly.” + +“Come, come, Annette, this is all foolishness, and I am in no mood for +it this morning. If Leonard has been insulted, he knows how to right +himself--and that, without Achille’s help. Gilson is a low, scurrilous +creature, and I hope Leonard will give him a lesson.” + +“Uncle! Uncle! You must not go away without helping me.” + +“Good gracious, Annette! What am I to do? What can I do? If Achille +wishes to stand by Leonard in this matter, nothing I can say will +prevent it. And, by George, I do not intend to say anything! As for +Achille fighting Gilson, that is absurd. Leonard Murray is no special +favourite of mine, but I am sure he is a young man who can do his own +fighting, and who will let no one else do it for him. Leonard will fight +Gilson, if fighting is necessary.” + +“But, uncle, you ought not to put me off in this way. I shall go to +grandmother and tell her.” + +“Well, Annette, that is a dreadful threat--but you will find your +grandmother no more sympathetic, in this case, than I am.” + +“_So!_ Perhaps, however, you will attend to what aunt Carlita says. Come +into the house and let us ask her.” + +“I will not waste any more time, Annette; nor will I sanction you +annoying your aunt this morning. She has had one of her worst headaches +all night long, and has just fallen on sleep. Do not attempt to awaken +her. And you must say nothing unpleasant to Sappha. She is worried +already, and she has been up with her mother all night. Do have +self-control enough to keep your ridiculous fears to yourself--or if you +cannot, then go to your grandmother, or better still, go home. Home is +the proper place for foolish women, full of their own fears and +fancies.” + +With these words he went down the steps, and Annette watched him +angrily. For a moment or two she considered his advice to “go to her +grandmother”; then suddenly, with a passionate motion of her head, she +lifted the knocker and let it fall several times with unmistakable +decision. + +Sappha, who was busy in the back parlour, ran hastily into the hall, and +when she saw Annette advanced to meet her with a lifted finger and a +“hush!” upon her lips. “Mother has had such a bad night,” she said +softly, “and now she is sleeping. Come in here, Annette, as quietly as +possible. What is the matter? I hope Jonaca is well. Why, Annette, you +are crying!” + +“Yes, and it is you who ought to be crying! Yet you appear perfectly +unconcerned.” + +“But why ought I to be crying? You know mother has had these headaches +all her life. This attack is no worse than usual.” + +“_Mother! Mother!_ I am not thinking of your mother! I am thinking of +Leonard Murray.” + +“Is anything wrong with Leonard?” + +“I do not know what you call wrong. The whole city considers him +shamefully wrong! No one will speak to him! He is disgraced beyond +everything! I am ashamed, I am burning with anger, to think that he +might have been through you connected with my family--I mean the De +Vries family. And I am distracted about Achille. He came to Achille on +Sunday night--” + +“Who came to Achille?” + +“Leonard Murray, of course. And he almost cried about the way people +had insulted him--coming out of church, too. And, I suppose, indeed, I +am sure, that Achille promised to help him, and stand by him, and fight +that man Gilson for him----” + +“Stop, Annette! You are not speaking the truth now. You are, at least, +under a false impression. If Gilson is to be fought, Leonard will fight +him. Make no mistake about that. Leonard is no coward; and a man need +not be foolhardy to prove himself brave--only cowards are afraid to be +called cowards. My father has said that very often.” + +“And pray what comes of such ideas? When a man is insulted they lead to +nothing. I have just been talking to my uncle Gerardus, and he thinks +precisely as I do. To let a man go up and down calling you a thief and a +coward, and say nothing, and do nothing, is neither moral nor +respectable. That is Leonard Murray’s position. And I think it a shame +that I have to be kept on the rack for two days about your lover. I +never troubled you about Achille; and I am not well, and when I am sick +then dear little Jonaca is sick--and I have had to get up this morning +hours before the proper time and leave my house, and my child about your +lover, just because he cannot manage his own troubles; troubles, also, +that he has made for himself.” + +“You do not know what you are saying, Annette. Your temper carries you +beyond truth. Leonard did not make this trouble----” + +“Oh, yes, he did. His pride and self-conceit are intolerable. His +patronage of people is offensive. And Achille and I have often noticed +how purse-proud he was----” + +“It is a shame to say such things, Annette. You know they are +slander--wicked slander! No man was ever less concerned about his +wealth, in fact, he----” + +“Oh, we can let that subject drop--we all know how he spreads abroad his +money. I am speaking now of his cowardice. Every one is speaking of it; +rich and poor alike. He is a byword on the Exchange. He will never have +another invitation to any respectable house. Even I must shut my doors +against him--and, to be sure, no nice girl will ever be seen with him +again.” + +“All that you are saying is cruelly false, Annette; you are trying to +pain and terrify me----” + +“What good would that do me? I am only telling you what you ought to +know.” + +“But why? Why are you telling me?” + +“Because I am angry at you. Why did you advise Leonard to come to +Achille for help?” + +“I did not advise him to come to Achille. How could Achille help +Leonard? The idea!” + +“I say plainly that Achille is now seeking that man Gilson, and if he +meets him before Leonard does--which he is sure to do--he will challenge +him at once.” + +“How ridiculous! Achille has no quarrel with Gilson. Why should he +challenge him?” + +“Because of the things he has charged Leonard with. And Achille’s honour +is so sensitive, and he is so passionate, the dispute will end in +Achille making it his own quarrel. Then he will fight Gilson, before +Leonard even succeeds in meeting him.” + +“I hope he will!” said Sappha with affected satisfaction. + +“You wicked girl! To say such a thing to a wife and a mother! Oh, now, I +think you are none too good for Leonard Murray! By all means marry +him--only for decency’s sake take yourselves out of New York! There are +places where wealth will cloak cowardice. England, for instance!” + +“All these stories you tell about Leonard are downright lies. Yes, I +shall marry him, and we shall stay here--in New York. Do you understand? +And if you were not insane with temper I would promise myself never to +speak to you again, Annette St. Ange. Cowardice, indeed! You, yourself, +are at this moment suffering from cowardice. Your fear of Achille being +hurt has made you suspicious, unjust, slanderous. And Leonard and I must +endure your shameful words--a woman has no redress. I am going to leave +you. You have willingly wounded and insulted me--without any reason at +all. I hope you will be sorry for it----” + +“I am sorry, Sappha. Do not go away. I am sorry for you--that is the +reason of my temper; and it is Leonard, not you, I am angry at.” + +“We will not name Leonard. If he is all you say, he is not fit for you +to talk about.” + +“No, indeed!” + +“I think you had better go home, Annette. You are making yourself, and +me, also, ill; for nothing.” + +“For nothing! That is all the thanks I receive for getting up so early +and coming to warn and advise you.” + +“I wish you had not come.” + +“I shall go now and tell grandmother. She will perhaps be able to make +you see things properly. I hope you will not make yourself sick about +Leonard----” + +“It is not my way.” + +“If a girl’s lover turns out badly, she ought not to cry about him--it +is neither moral nor respectable. I say this, Sappha, politely and +kindly.” + +“Thank you, politely and kindly, Annette.” + +“I hope Leonard may come out of this affair better than we think.” + +“Thank you. I hope Achille may come out of this affair better than we +think.” + +The clash of the front door emphasised this provoking bit of courtesy, +and Sappha flew like a bird to her room, that she might conceal the +tumult of outraged feelings warring within her. And then as soon as she +was alone all her anger fled from Annette to Leonard. She accused him +with bitter unreason; for at this hour she was insensible to everything +but the painfully humiliating results of what she still mentally called +“his quarrel” with Horace Gilson. And, oh, how Annette had hurt her! For +Annette had not yet learned how to endure; and they who can bear +nothing are themselves unbearable. + +For two hours she gave full sway to her insurgent feelings; but at the +last every mental struggle ended in her blaming Leonard. Leonard, for +her sake, ought to have avoided such a degrading quarrel--Leonard ought +to have faced it the first thing the following morning, instead of that +he had trifled away the whole day in Nassau Street, and the next day at +Annette’s, and now Annette felt that she had the right to call his +courtesy cowardice. + +“Well, then, it looks like cowardice!” she sobbed passionately, “and +then Saturday he told me some story about his lawyer detaining +him--never once did he name Gilson to me. It looks like---- _Oh, wee! +oh, wee!_ my heart will break with the shame of it! Every one will pity +me. Even if some make excuses for Leonard, I shall know it is only pity +for me--only pity! I cannot bear it! I cannot think of it! Father and +mother must take me away--no, no, I must face the shame, smile at it, +what they call ‘live it down.’ Oh, what shall I say? What shall I do? +And mother is too ill to trouble. And to father I cannot complain of +Leonard. Oh, Leonard! Leonard! Leonard!” + +And it was while tossed from wave to wave on this flood tide of anger +and sorrow that she was told Leonard was waiting to see her. She rose up +hastily. Had she taken a few moments to calm herself everything might +have been different. But even her opening of the doors between herself +and her lover betrayed the whirl and tumult of the feelings that +distracted her. Nor was this mental storm soothed by Leonard’s presence. +He came eagerly forward to meet her; a pleasant smile on his face and a +white rose in his hand. She took the flower from him, and threw it down +upon the table; and he regarded her with amazement. Her face, her +attitude, the passion of her movements, arrested the words he was eager +to utter; and in that fateful pause Sappha’s unguarded, unconsidered +accusations fell like the voice of doom upon his senses. + +“You are a byword among men! No nice girl will be seen with you! You +will never again be asked to any respectable house! Annette says so! She +will be even compelled to shut her door against you!” + +“Sappha, Sappha! Do you know what you are saying?” + +“Only too well I know it. Annette has just been here. She has told me +all. You left her to tell me. Why did you not come yourself? Sunday, +Monday, Tuesday, all these days I have been in suspense and misery.” + +“Listen to me, Sappha, I----” + +“It is too late now. Annette has told me. I have heard it all--my heart +is broken--I shall die of shame. Every one will pity me. I cannot, I +cannot bear it----” + +“Stop one moment, Sappha. Do you believe Annette? Do you think she will +be forced to shut her door against me?” + +“She says so.” + +“Then Judge Bloommaert may have the same obligation--and you also. If +you can believe this, you can believe anything that is said against me, +your promised husband. It is I who am heartbroken. It is I who must feel +shame. It is I who must go all my life in the fiery shadow of wrong and +injustice. Sappha, you have known me as no other person has known +me,--in my inmost soul,--and yet you can believe I deserve such +treatment?” + +“How can I tell? If you had done anything to right yourself----” + +“Oh, that is not the question. You should have trusted me through +everything, and in spite of every one. You have failed me just when I +needed most your love and confidence. If Annette tells you I ought to be +shut out of your heart and house, you will believe her! What is your +love worth? It is only a summer day’s idyll. The first chill wind of +disapproval kills it. I will go before I am shut out. In future days it +may be easier for you to remember that I closed the door on my own +happiness. Oh, Sappha, Sappha! lighter than vapour is your love--and I +had built my life upon it!” + +His face expressed more indignation than distress. He lifted the rose +she had flung down and looked at it with a moment’s pity; then he pushed +it toward her. + +“It is my last offering,” he said. “Take it. And as it fades, forget me. +I shall never give you shame or trouble again.” + +Then anger took entire possession of Sappha; and anger does everything +wrong. She lifted the rose and cried out amid her passionate weeping: + +“I will not wait for it to fade. No, I will forget you _now! now! now!_” +and as she uttered the words she ruthlessly tore off the white petals, +scattered them on the floor at his feet--and was gone. + +Her tears, her shivering words, the utter passion of misery and +tenderness that made the action almost like the slaying of a living +creature, so stupefied and fascinated Leonard that for a moment he could +neither move nor speak. When he recovered himself he ran to the foot of +the stairs and called her. “Sappha! Sappha!” he cried. “Sappha, come +back to me, I have something to tell you.” But she was gone. A slight +flutter of her white gown as she turned the last angle was all he saw; +and if she heard his appeal she did not answer it. + +For a few minutes he waited, but the laughter of the negroes in the +kitchen, coming faintly through the baize-lined doors, was the only +sound he heard. Then he returned to the parlour and carefully gathered, +one by one, the torn leaves. The last note Sappha had sent him was in +his pocket book. He placed them between the sheets and, shutting them in +the book, put it in his breast. + +What was he so still for? What had he done? What had come to him? Blast, +or blight, or fire, or fever? He picked up the torn rose leaves as if +they were bits of his heart, and the door clashed behind him and seemed +to shake the very foundations of his life. He knew that he was walking, +but his heart hung heavy at his feet. All he loved was behind him--he +was drifting, drifting into a darkness where love and joy would never +again find him. Oh, it is only + + “---- the Lord above, + He only knows the strength of Love; + He only knows, and He only can, + The root of Love that is in a man.” + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +_The Reproof of the Sword_ + + +Leonard’s suffering was very great, but Sappha’s was still greater. +Wounded love, injustice, and disappointment can inflict mental distress +that has no parallel in physical pain, but with Sappha’s misery was +mingled the intolerable drop of remorse for her hasty passion. Now that +all was over, now that Leonard had gone away forever, there came to her +the clearest conviction that she had done him a great wrong. She +remembered that she had not even given him an opportunity to explain +circumstances--she had met him with passionate reproaches and flung his +love gift, torn and mutilated, at his feet. After that shameful, piteous +rejection what could Leonard do but go away? It was an act for which +there could be no apology and no forgiveness. She cried out with the +anguish this cruel, hopeless reflection caused her; and had Leonard been +really present she would have fallen at his feet in an agony of love and +repentance. + +Prone upon her bed she lay, torturing herself by a thousand +self-reproaches, and by a perpetual memory of that last look of pained +amazement with which her lover had regarded her. She could not put it +from her, it seemed to have exorcised every other memory of his face. +With heartbroken sobs she sent after him one cry, “Forgive me! Oh, +Leonard, forgive me!” But the void between them swallowed it up in +silence. There was nothing to be done. The long, long days and years +before her held only frustrate longings and despair. This reflection +came to her as a finality, and she ceased weeping and protesting and lay +dumb and passive like a child smitten by a power it can neither appease +nor comprehend. + +Her mother found her in this mood, and when Sappha said, “I cannot come +to dinner to-day, I am in trouble. Annette told me things about Leonard, +and I have sent him away forever!” the mother understood and was full of +pity. + +“Do not try to come down, dear,” she answered. “As soon as your father +goes out, I will return to you.” + +“Are you better, mother? Are you able to attend to father?” + +“Yes, yes, I am well again. Ah, me, there is always sorrow at somebody’s +heart!” + +“It is my own fault, mother. Leonard is not to blame. I will tell +you--after a little while.” + +Then Mrs. Bloommaert went with a heavy heart to serve the dinner; for +whether heads are aching or hearts breaking dinner is a fact that cannot +be excused. She was full of anxious thought as she went about the +table, placing sauces, condiments, and wines, and arranging the small +details which always pleased her husband. He had been depressed and +angry concerning Leonard Murray’s conduct for some days, and she +wondered how the news of Sappha’s dismissal of the young man would +affect him. + +Contrary to all expectation he entered the house in high spirits. He was +delighted to find his wife better, and able to give him her company and +sympathy; and as soon as they were alone he began to talk to her about +Leonard in a manner full of pride and satisfaction. Nor was he much +dashed by the information that there had been a quarrel between the +lovers, and a final separation. + +“Final separation!” he repeated, with an incredulous laugh. “Nonsense. +That is a regular climax to a love fever. They will be more devoted than +ever in a week’s time. Tell her what I have just told you, and they will +be friends in half an hour.” + +“I fear not. Leonard has shown wonderful patience so far, but my father +used to say ‘beware the anger of a patient man’; for when once his +patience has given way, his anger is not to be pacified.” + +“All foolishness, Carlita. Go and tell Sappha everything. I promised to +meet St. Ange about three o’clock; you see I have not any time to spare +now.” + +“I do not know what Annette said to Sappha--something ill-natured, no +doubt; but I wonder St. Ange did not give her strict orders to keep her +tongue quiet about this business.” + +“You wonder St. Ange did not give Annette ‘strict orders.’ Well, +Carlita, I wonder at your simplicity. Who can order a bad-tempered +woman’s tongue? Tell Sappha I have gone with St. Ange to see Leonard. +Doubtless I shall bring him home with me.” + +He went out with this pleasant anticipation, and Mrs. Bloommaert +arranged a little dinner for her daughter, and sent it upstairs to her. +“You must eat, Sappha,” she said, “you can’t live on your tears. And I +have good news for you--very good news. See now, how nice this roast +chicken looks, and the beans, and the strawberry tart; and I made the +tea myself; yes, dear, you must have a cup of tea, and you must first +tell me all that Annette, the cruel ill-natured woman, said to you.” + +This confidence helped Sappha wonderfully. She could rightly enough +blame Annette, and there was relief in shifting so much of the reproach +from herself. And Mrs. Bloommaert felt no scruple in throwing the whole +weight of the unfortunate affair on Annette. “It would never have +happened, never!” she said, “if Annette had been minding her house and +her baby instead of following Achille round; and then because she could +not find him she must come and vent her home-made wretchedness on you. I +wish I had heard her! She called Leonard a coward, did she?” + +“She said every respectable person thought him one, and she repeated +many things about him getting enormous interest from the city--oh, +mother, I cannot go over it again.” + +“There is no need to do so. Leonard Murray has turned all such ideas +topsy-turvy. Now I am going to tell you all about it, and you will see +how well he has managed this miserable business. On Sunday he went to +see Achille, and Achille told him he could forbear no longer, and though +Leonard thought it was a kind of cowardice to fight a man so inferior in +skill both with sword and pistol to himself, Achille convinced him there +was no other way to prevent Gilson lying. So early on Monday morning +Achille called upon Gilson. He first presented to him a paper +acknowledging all his accusations against Leonard to be false and +malicious, requiring him to sign it. But Gilson fell into a great +passion, and said he would fight St. Ange for daring to offer him such +an insult; and Achille answered, ‘it would give him a supreme pleasure +to allow him an opportunity as soon as his friend, Mr. Murray, had +received satisfaction.’ Then he gave him Leonard’s challenge. The fellow +threw it carelessly down on the table, and said ‘he was going to Boston +on important affairs, but when he returned he would make immediate +arrangements to meet Mr. Murray and teach him to mind his own business.’ +‘On the contrary,’ said Achille, ‘you will meet Mr. Murray before you go +to Boston. You will meet him to-morrow morning at half-past seven +o’clock in Hahn’s wood, Hoboken. You know the place. Or if there is any +other place you prefer, I am here to make arrangements.’ Gilson said, +‘one place was as good as another.’ Then they agreed that the weapons +should be rapiers, and Gilson laughed scornfully, and ‘hoped the +clearing at Hahn’s wood was not too large, for he intended close +quarters. Murray,’ he said, ‘could not have half an acre to skip about +in.’ To which fresh insult Achille answered that if Mr. Gilson wished +close quarters he felt sure Mr. Murray would be delighted to fight on a +billiard table.” + +“I like Achille, mother, yes I do!” + +“Achille is a good friend in need. He made all other arrangements for +the duel, and Gilson promised that he and his friend Myron Hays would be +on the ground at half-past seven the following morning. He used a deal +of very bad language in making these arrangements. Your father said we +could imagine it as bad as we chose, and that then it would come far +short of the reality.” + +“So there was a duel this morning! Oh, mother, if I had only known!” + +“Do not hurry me, Sappha. I want to tell you all just as it happened. +Leonard did not trust Gilson’s promise, nor did Achille. They determined +to watch him; and they found out two things: first, that he intended +leaving New York for Boston soon after seven; second, that he had +ordered breakfast for himself and Myron Hays fifteen minutes before +seven at the City Hotel.” + +“But, mother, Gilson must have known that Leonard stayed at the City +Hotel?” + +“Of course he knew; but he felt sure Leonard would be crossing the river +at that time. Then he would have taken his breakfast, sending the while +repeated inquiries as to whether any one had seen Leonard or St. Ange, +and affecting great indignation at their non-appearance. Finally some +insolent message of future defiance and punishment would have been left +with the proprietor for Leonard. Oh, can you not see through the +foolish, cowardly plan?” + +“It was a contemptible scheme, and full of weak points, mother,” +answered Sappha. + +“It would have answered well enough; it would, at least, have thrown +doubt and contempt on both men. Fortunately Leonard and St. Ange +followed Gilson so closely that they were at his side ere he had +finished giving the order for serving his coffee. ‘At present,’ said St. +Ange very politely, ‘there is not time for coffee. We will cross the +river at once, sir,’ and Gilson answered, ‘I am going to Boston on most +important business. Mr. Murray must have got my letter explaining.’ Then +Leonard said, ‘You never wrote me any letter, sir. And you are not going +to Boston, you are going to Hoboken, and that at once.’ Gilson still +insisted that he would fight Leonard when he came back from Boston, and +St. Ange told him he could have that satisfaction if he wished it; but +first of all, he must fulfil his present engagement. ‘All is ready for +it, he continued; ‘a boat waits for you and Mr. Hays at the foot of the +garden, and another boat for Mr. Murray and myself will keep yours in +sight.’ Then the man looked at his second, and Mr. Hays said it was +proper to go at once, and he was thus morally, or unmorally, forced into +compliance. At the last moment Gilson ‘supposed arms and a doctor had +been remembered,’ and St. Ange told him those duties had been delegated +to him and properly attended to. ‘The doctor,’ he said, ‘was in their +boat, and the swords also,’ the latter having been approved by Mr. Hays +on the previous day, at which time it was also agreed that Gilson should +have his choice of the two weapons. St. Ange told your father there had +been several irregularities, but that all had been arranged with perfect +fairness by himself and Mr. Hays.” + +At this juncture Sappha lost all control of her emotions and began to +weep and lament; and her mother rather sharply continued: “Tears are not +needed at all, Sappha. Leonard was perfectly calm. Of his own safety he +had not a fear. He and St. Ange kept Gilson’s boat in sight until they +landed; then the ground was marked off, and the men threw away their +coats and vests and received their swords from the seconds. I cannot +tell you just what happened, but your father could make it plain enough +I dare say. To me it was only thrust and parry, touch and go, for a few +minutes, then Leonard made a feint at Gilson’s breast, but by a movement +instantaneous as a thought nailed his right foot to the ground with his +rapier. The man shrieked, and would have seized Leonard’s sword, but +that action was instantly prevented by the seconds. The affair was over. +Gilson was at Leonard’s mercy, and when he withdrew his sword St. Ange +said, ‘Doctor, the case is now yours. And then turning to Gilson he +continued, ‘Mr. Gilson, if you cannot control your tongue in the future, +we will do this as often as you like.’” + +“I hope the man will not die, mother!” + +“Oh, no! Leonard intended only to punish him. He will have a few weeks’ +severe pain, and may have to use a crutch for a longer time--perhaps he +may not dance any more; but he only received what he richly deserved.” + +“But I do not see, mother, how this duel will put Leonard right in +people’s estimation.” + +“Oh, my dear, St. Ange took good care to secure witnesses to Gilson’s +cowardly attempt to get away; and the men who rowed the two boats were +there, to report for the newspapers. They heard much conversation I have +not repeated. Your father also thinks Myron Hays, though he would not +say much, was deceived and very indignant. You may be sure that St. Ange +and Leonard arranged for a full vindication. Now, Sappha, wash your face +and dress yourself prettily. Father said he would bring Leonard back to +tea with him.” + +“Leonard will not come with father. He will never come again, I know! I +know!” + +[Illustration: “HE AND ST. ANGE KEPT GILSON’S BOAT IN SIGHT UNTIL THEY +LANDED.”] + +“If he does not, his behaviour will be cruel and dishonourable. Why did +he not tell you about the duel!” + +“He could not--I did not give him a moment’s opportunity. It was my +fault--all my fault. I was so angry at what Annette told me that I met +him in a passion, and before he had time to tell me why he had stayed +away and what had occurred I shocked him with Annette’s false charges, +one upon the other, without any pause, until I told him that Annette was +going to shut her door against him. Then he asked me if we also intended +to shut our door against him, and mother, I have no excuse--there is no +excuse for me, none! I ought to suffer. Oh, how miserable I am! And, +mother, mother, I have made my own misery.” + +“You go too far, Sappha. You make too much of a few words. All lovers +have quarrels, and in my opinion Leonard cannot come back too soon.” + +“He will not come. He was too quiet. He said too little. He will never +come back. Always, we have slighted him a little.” + +“He has been very well received--do not make excuses for him on that +ground. I wish Annette would keep her tongue out of our affairs. She is +nothing but a mischief maker.” + +“I know, but Annette could not have harmed me if I had been true to +Leonard. To be ready to doubt him, only on Annette’s word, was a +shameful wrong, and I deserve to be forsaken and forgotten.” + +“It is Leonard’s fault more than yours. He ought to have stopped that +man’s tongue at once. Any woman would have become suspicious and +irritable. It was a shame for Leonard to put your love for him to such a +trial. He will see that as soon as he gets over the little slight. Now +dress yourself, dear, and come downstairs. What is the use of nursing +sorrow in a darkened room? Sunshine makes grief more bearable. I do +believe that Leonard will return with your father.” + +“I will come down--but Leonard will not return with father.” + +“You are very provoking, Sapphira. And I can tell you one thing, they +that are determined to be miserable will always find the wherewithal for +misery. Try and hope for the best,” and she kissed her and added, “Put +on a fresh white frock, you look best in white.” + +So Sappha did as she was counselled, but her bravery did not help her to +bear her sorrow--a sorrow made worse by its uncertainty in all respects. +If Leonard had only granted her a little time, if he had been patient +enough to tell her of the morning’s events, if he had not given that +rose of renunciation! Yes, that act of his was the real provocative of +her desertion. He had told her to forget him. What could he expect but a +prompt acceptance of his request? It would have been impossible at that +stage to have hesitated. He had broken their betrothal, not her; how +then could she hope he would make any effort to renew it? + +She did not hope for it, though she obeyed her mother’s desire, and with +an aching heart dressed herself in white and went downstairs. About five +o’clock she heard her father’s steps, and he was not alone. But the +double footsteps did not give her a moment’s hope. She knew they were +not Leonard’s, and in a few moments she saw that St. Ange was her +father’s companion. They were talking in tones of earnest gratification, +and as soon as the ordinary greetings were over resumed their +conversation. + +The subject was, of course, the duel and the sympathetic response it had +evoked in Leonard’s favour. Gilson’s effort to escape to Boston, his +bullying language when detected, the decided white feather he had shown +on the field, his cowardice under pain since he had received his +punishment, were now the topics of public conversation; and the men who +had been foremost in doubting Leonard Murray were now the warmest in his +praise. All these things St. Ange described in his usual sparkling +detail, and the judge, Mrs. Bloommaert, and Sappha listened to him with +the keenest interest. + +Suddenly Judge Bloommaert said: “I never heard before of a man disabling +his antagonist just in that way. I wonder how Leonard learned the +stroke.” + +“One of Robespierre’s emigrants taught it to Leonard. He was a noble of +the highest lineage, but when driven to America he embraced the simple +life of the wilderness with inconceivable ardour. Leonard met him in the +exploring party which he accompanied to the Mississippi, and together +they went down the river to New Orleans. Their tedious voyage was +relieved with sword play, and under this French noble’s tuition Leonard +became an incomparable fencer. With this same stroke he disarmed Señor +Zavala in New Orleans.” + +“Ah! Then Murray has fought before?” + +“Yes. The duel between Señor Zavala and Mr. Murray is well remembered in +New Orleans.” + +“Suppose, then, you tell us about it,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. + +“I was not acquainted with Leonard at the time, but Mr. Livingston told +me of the circumstance. The Americans in New Orleans are proud of it.” + +“Why have you never named it before, then?” asked the judge. + +“Leonard desired me not to speak of it because he said there was a +feeling against the duel in New York, and that you, judge, whose good +opinion he specially desired, were opposed to the custom. I think, +indeed, that Leonard’s reluctance to notice Gilson’s slanders arose from +a fear of offending you.” + +“Well, St. Ange, as a general thing I do not approve of the duel; but +there are exceptions to every rule, and the exceptions must be condoned. +They need not, however, be repeated.” + +“We are more anxious to hear about Leonard’s New Orleans affair than to +discuss the right or wrong of duelling,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. And St. +Ange smilingly continued: + +“The occasion for it lay backward some years, even to that twentieth of +December, A. D., 1801, when the tri-coloured flag of the French republic +was displayed at sunrise in New Orleans for the last time. For at noon +that day Governor Claiborne and General Wilkinson, at the head of the +American forces, entered New Orleans, and the French Commissioner +Laussant gave up the keys of the City Hall to them. Amid tears and +profound silence the French flag was hauled down, and the Stars and +Stripes took its place. + +“There were about one hundred and fifty Americans in the city at that +time, and they stood together on the corner of the Place d’Arms and +cheered it. But no one else showed any approval. The French and Spanish +inhabitants could not reconcile themselves to the change; prejudices +amounting to superstition made them for a long time attribute everything +unpleasant to the American occupation. This bias was carried so far that +when, on one occasion, a public ball was interrupted by an earthquake +the anger of an old Creole gentleman was roused, and he said +passionately, ‘It was not in the Spanish or the French times that the +amusements of the ladies were interfered with.’ + +“However, as soon as the cession was complete, northern immigration +poured into New Orleans, and when the present war was proclaimed there +was no lack of enthusiasm for its prosecution. Still some of the old +antagonism remained, and one morning as Leonard was in the Place d’Arms +he saw some members of a volunteer regiment deploy there. A boyish +American carried the flag in front of them, and Señor Zavala as he +passed made a very offensive and contemptuous remark. Leonard stepped +out and asked if he intended that remark for the American flag. Zavala +answered, ‘It is most welcome to it, Señor.’ Leonard challenged him +there and then. As Zavala was something of a bravo, he looked amused, +and, when he saw that Leonard was in earnest, annoyed. For he did not +like to fight such a youth; he had the same scruple that influenced +Leonard in fighting Gilson; he considered himself so superior in skill +to his challenger that an acceptance was very like cruelty, if not also +cowardice. + +“But Leonard would not retreat, and Zavala declined to make any apology, +and the duel took place. A great interest was evinced in this affair, +though duels were common enough on every subject, and Leonard had +especially the watchful sympathy of every American in the city. They +were resolved that at least he should have fair play, and that if he had +been wounded there were plenty of men ready to take up his quarrel with +Zavala. To the amazement of every one Zavala was disarmed in less than +five minutes, and in precisely the same manner as Gilson. But his +behaviour was very different. He made no outcry, he knew the code too +well to touch his antagonist’s sword, and it was with a polite smile he +handed his rapier to Leonard and said, ‘Señor, my sword is yours. I make +my apology to you and to your flag.’” + +“I have nothing to say against that duel,” said the judge, and Mrs. +Bloommaert’s face was radiant with sympathy and approval. Sappha’s eyes, +heavy with unshed tears, were dropped, and she could not speak. Had she +tried her very words would have wept. + +“Leonard behaved splendidly,” continued St. Ange. “With his weapon he +withdrew all ill feeling, and during Zavala’s convalescence he passed +some time with him every day, and supplied him with attentions and +luxuries Zavala’s own means could not have procured. The conclusion of +this story I heard yesterday. Zavala is now enrolled for the defence of +the very flag he insulted. Mr. Livingston had the news in a letter, and +he recalled the duel to my memory in order to emphasise the result. + +“It is rather remarkable,” said the judge. “I never heard of this affair +before.” + +“Well, no!” answered Achille. “It was only known by the Livingstons, +myself, and Leonard; and none of us thought it well to talk about it +here. New York is not New Orleans, where the duel is concerned. To have +fought a few successful duels in New Orleans is a social distinction; in +New York the result socially is doubtful. You have only to look at Mr. +Burr----” + +“There is a heavier charge against Mr. Burr than the duel--his +country----” + +“Pardon me, judge, his country’s laws have declared him innocent; can we +go behind judge, jury, and the written law?” + +At this question Mrs. Bloommaert rose from the table, and Sappha quietly +left the room, and did not return to it. Every word uttered by Achille +had intensified her grief and made more bitter her repentance. Never +before had she understood her lover or rightly valued his affection. +Alas, alas, that sorrow should be the clearest of all revelations! Love +too often bandages the eyes of the soul, but sorrow rends away all +obstructions to vision. At that hour Sappha saw Leonard as she had never +before seen him--his unselfishness, his modesty, his patience, the truth +and tenderness of his affection, his beauty and graciousness, the living +joy that his companionship had been to her. Oh, there was no end to such +recollections! and her soul ached in all its senses, for by her own act +she had cast ashes on every one of the sweet memories between them. + +It was, however, well for her that she could not indulge too much this +rapturous pain of memory, for it unfitted her for the world she had to +live in; a world empty to her, but thrilling to the highest passions all +around her. For none could be indifferent to the fact that peace in +Europe meant a far more active war against America. Hitherto, England’s +hands had been tied by her conflict with Napoleon and all the nations +allied with him; now she was at liberty to turn her armaments against +America. Yet, though the people of New York were alive to their danger, +and not careless in preparing to meet it, they had never been so +remarkable for their entertainments and pleasure taking. All the +newspapers commented on the fact, pointing out the number of places of +amusement open every night, and the constant steamboat excursions every +day. + +From all these sources of pleasure Sapphira Bloommaert disappeared. It +was said she was in ill health, but as every one knew of her engagement +to Leonard Murray her seclusion was generally attributed to his absence. +For Sappha’s premonition had been correct; Leonard did not return to +her. She watched despairingly for several days, and then heard that he +had left the city. It was the judge’s painful duty to give this +information to his child, and though he named the circumstance, as it +were, casually, he saw and felt the suffering his words caused. Sappha +did not speak, but Mrs. Bloommaert said with an angry amazement: + +“Gone! Where, then, has he gone to, Gerardus?” + +“I know not. No one knows, unless it be lawyer Grahame, or Achille. +Grahame will never say a word, nor Achille, until he gets warrant for +it.” + +“But there must be some opinion,” continued Mrs. Bloommaert. “Men cannot +disappear without leaving at least an opinion.” + +“Well then, there are several opinions. Some think he has gone to the +Niagara frontier, others to Washington, and not a few are sure he is on +his way to New Orleans. I myself think New Orleans very likely; he has +interests and friends there.” + +And Sappha listened and ate her bread to this sorrowful news. Only her +colourless face revealed her suffering at that moment; but it showed +itself in various ways after this certainty had been accepted. One of +the most pronounced forms it took was a feeling of intense dislike and +anger towards Annette. She would not go to Annette’s house, nor would +she see her if she called at the Bowling Green house. Her reasons were +sufficient to herself, and Mrs. Bloommaert thought her daughter +justified in her conduct. Not yet could she ask Sappha to forgive; not +while her eyes held that look of pain and despair, and her whole manner +that of one standing smitten and dismayed before a barrier she could not +cross. + +As a matter of course, the unhappy Sappha passed her days “going +quietly,” almost hopelessly, for there was in her grief that element of +tragic fatality, that sense of Fate shaping life by the most trivial +things, that renders men and women despairing. Never before had she +given sway to a temper so unreasonable, so impetuous, so passionately +hasty. And surely not without the co-operation of the stars had Annette +called just at that early hour in the morning--Annette, jealous, +miserable, ill-tempered, envious, full of suspicions, and delighting in +making misery for others as well as herself. Then, unfortunately, Mrs. +Bloommaert was ill; and Annette, unrestrained by her presence, while +Sappha’s sympathies had been called on all night long and her temper +unconsciously frayed and irritated by her inability to prevent her +mother’s suffering. Oh, every trivial thing had been against her, even +to the small event of her going to the back parlour after breakfast! For +had she remained, as was her usual custom, in front of the house, she +would have seen Annette’s interview with her father, and been prepared +for whatever she might say. + +All these considerations gave a sort of fatality to her quarrel with +Leonard, but they did not induce any kinder feeling towards Annette. She +regarded her, if not as the author, at least as the tool and messenger, +of evil; and Annette was quickly made to feel her position. Of course +she was angered by it. And Annette was easily made angry at this time, +for Achille had never been so provoking and unmanageable. In spite of +her complaints, he had lately spent all his days with De Singeron, who +was now on the point of sailing for France; and the episode of Leonard’s +duel had been specially aggravating, because she had not been taken into +confidence concerning it. And with that singular obtuseness common to +selfish people, she considered Mrs. Bloommaert’s coolness and Sappha’s +constant refusals to see her as a quite uncalled-for show of offence. +She told herself she had only repeated what every one was saying, and +that if Sappha had any sense of what was proper and respectable she +would have been grateful for her candour. “People are always asking to +be told the truth,” she complained, “and then when you put yourself out +of the way to tell it, they are sure to be angry at you.” + +When three weeks had passed in this uncomfortable manner, Annette began +seriously to miss her accustomed sources of that familiar friendship +which admits of confidence and some showing of individuality. She awoke +one morning with a sense of isolation and of not being properly loved +and cared for; that was too intolerable to be endured longer, and taking +little Jonaca with her as a kind of peacemaker, she called on her aunt +and Sappha. As the carriage drew up at the Bloommaert house she saw +Sappha rise, and when she entered the parlour only Mrs. Bloommaert was +present. + +“Good-morning, aunt Carlita! I have brought Jonaca to see you.” + +Mrs. Bloommaert kissed the babe, and said she “looked well,” and then +resumed her sewing. + +“Where is Sappha, aunt?” + +“She is in her room. She is not well, and I cannot disturb her.” + +“Oh, indeed, aunt, I saw her as I passed the window. She need not run +away from me.” + +“Has Sappha run away from you? Why has she done that?” + +“I suppose because I told her some things about Leonard Murray. It was +right for her to know them; but I have no doubt, now that Leonard has +run away, she blames me for all his faults.” + +“Leonard has not run away, and it is very wrong and very spiteful in you +to make such remarks.” + +“Nobody knows where he is, and he has left New York. What do you call +that, aunt?” + +“I call it minding his own affairs, and as for saying no one knows where +he is, that is a lie. Because he did not tell Annette St. Ange where he +was going, is that proof that he has told no one? Indeed, Annette, if +you can believe it, there are a few people of consequence in New York +beside yourself--and Mr. St. Ange.” + +“Well, then, you need not be angry, aunt. And it is not kind nor yet +religious to call what I say ‘a lie.’ No one ever used such a word to me +before.” + +“You forget. Often I have heard your grandmother say the same thing.” + +“She was more polite than to say ‘a lie’; she might doubt what I told +her, though always afterwards she found out I was right.” + +“Indeed, Annette, you must excuse me from discussing your perfections +this morning. I am busy. Sappha is sick.” + +“I am going upstairs to see her, aunt.” + +“You are not, Annette. You have hurt her sufficiently. I will not allow +you to go and tell her that Leonard has ‘run away,’ for instance. And I +dare say you have plenty of such sharp speeches ready.” + +“I have not--I have only----” + +“If they are not ready, ’tis no matter. They spring up to your thoughts. +I ask you to excuse me this morning, for I have many things to attend +to.” + +“Very well. You have hardly noticed little Jonaca, and you have really +told me to go away. I think you have behaved in a very rude and unkind +manner. You can say to Sappha I am sorry for her. If she will remember I +told her often that Leonard Murray was not at all sincere. I don’t think +he ever loved Sappha well enough to wish to marry her.” + +“Good-morning, Annette!” And with these words Annette found herself +alone. She immediately drove to her grandmother’s. She felt sure of +appreciation there. And madame was delighted to see her and the child. +She took the little one in her arms and held it to her breast with a +soft cradling motion that soon put it to sleep, and then she laid it +tenderly down among the pillows on the sofa. + +“So sweet, so pretty is she!” sighed madame. “I wonder if it is possible +that I was ever like to her!” + +“Once I too was so sweet! so pretty! so loved and happy! but +now--now----” + +“Well then, _now_, you are also sweet and pretty and loved and happy.” + +“Oh, no, I am not, grandmother. Every one is cross with me, every one +seems to hate me--except you.” + +“_Hush! hush!_ What you are saying is not true. It is unlucky to put +into words such thoughts.” + +“I have just been at aunt Carlita’s, and she hardly noticed Jonaca, and +told me she was busy, and I must excuse her.” + +“Where was Sappha?” + +“Aunt says she is sick. She would not let me see her.” + +“Well, then, Sappha looks ill--I have noticed it.” + +“She is fretting about Leonard. You know he was really made to fight +that duel. I think Achille made him fight it, and now he has run away +from New York. I suppose he did not like to meet his acquaintances.” + +At this point Annette suddenly stopped speaking, being admonished +thereto by her grandmother’s rising anger. The old lady was regarding +her with an expression Annette seldom saw on her face, but which was one +she did not care to neglect. + +“Have you said all the wickedness in your heart, Annette?” she asked +sternly. “You know that false, false, false! are all your words. The +truth I had from Achille--the whole truth--and Leonard has not run away; +why then should he run away? Your uncle Gerardus tells me that very +wisely and very honourably he behaved. Also, I heard from him about the +affair in New Orleans. That, then, was a duel to be proud of.” + +“In New Orleans? What affair in New Orleans, grandmother? I never heard +of that.” + +“Achille can tell you. Ask him.” + +“He has not told me, and he knows. You see then, how much he trusts me, +grandmother. I will not ask him. You tell me, grandmother.” + +“No, I will not tell you what he has kept from you. Good reasons he may +have, of which I know nothing.” + +“_So!_ I begin to find out things! Very good! I shall make Achille tell +me.” + +“Can you make Achille speak if he wishes not to speak? Try it once, and +you will be sorry. Annette, Annette, I fear me for your future, if so +unreasonable you are!” + +“Unreasonable! Grandmother! I assure you I have many good reasons for +all I do. Very unhappy I have been lately! Oh, I wish you would pity me +a little!” + +“Surely Annette St. Ange needs not pity. Come, now, tell me all your +troubles,--very small are they,--and in telling they will go away. +Achille loves you--is kind to you; Jonaca is well, you are well--what +then is the matter?” + +“If Achille loves me, he loves far better that pastry cook.” + +“There it is--‘that pastry cook.’ You have no good right to use those +words, and well you know it. The pastry cook De Singeron is now Count de +Singeron, and goes home to take again his place in a court regiment. But +_so!_ even if he were yet a pastry cook, he is the friend of Achille; he +is loved by Achille; by you also he ought to be loved for Achille’s +sake.” + +“You always take Achille’s part.” + +“When Achille is right and you are wrong.” + +“Thank goodness, I have done with the Count de Singeron! He left New +York yesterday, and Achille sat up all night and cried about it.” + +“Have you quarrelled--you and Achille?” + +“No one can quarrel with Achille. If I get angry he says only, ‘Madame +is not well,’ or ‘Madame needs a little rest,’ and then bows and leaves +me--perhaps he kisses my hand, and then I feel as if I should like +to---- Oh, grandmother, it is terrible! If he would only get angry!” + +“My dear one, you know not the anger of such men as Achille. _That_ +would be terrible indeed! I warn you of it. To rude words or cross words +he will never condescend; but--but--the thing he will _do_, if you love +him, your heart it will break!” + +“He does not talk to me as he should. Here is this New Orleans affair! I +am not told of it, and Leonard’s duel with Mr. Gilson I knew nothing of +till it was over--and so it was really Achille who is to blame for the +trouble with Sappha.” + +“Oh! Oh! The trouble with Sappha! What did you do to Sappha, Annette?” + +“Nothing much--it is not worth telling you, grandmother.” + +“The judge of that I will be myself.” + +“I do not wish to tell you, grandmother. It is nothing.” + +“Very good! I will ask Sappha. The truth she will tell me, I know.” + +“I do not like that Sappha should complain of me to you, grandmother. I +will tell you myself. It was the dreadful morning of the duel. When I +awoke I found Achille had gone, and I was afraid he would be hurt, and +very angry indeed that he should mix himself up in Leonard Murray’s +disgraceful quarrel. I thought I ought to have been considered. Just +think, grandmother, how disagreeable it was likely to be for me--every +one of the De Vries coming to talk it over, and all the Cruger women, +and Fanny Curtenius, and the Sebrings, Fishers, Ogdens, and all the rest +of them. I felt as if I could not bear the shame, and then never to have +been consulted about such an affair! It was too bad.” + +“That was to spare you anxiety. Achille was thoughtful for you.” + +“No, he was thoughtful for himself. He knew I should not permit him to +have anything to do in such a quarrel, and he really ran away from me.” + +“I advise you, say nothing like that to Achille.” + +“Well, then, I was angry, very angry, and I thought I would get uncle +Gerardus to interfere--or you, grandmother. And uncle was unkind, and +told me to go home and not to disturb aunt Carlita, who had, of course, +one of her bad headaches.” + +“Annette! You should not say such a thing.” + +“Well, it is the truth. Aunt has a headache whenever it is inconvenient +for her to have one; and uncle said Sappha had been up all night with +her, and I was ordered not to worry Sappha or say anything unpleasant +to her. I felt then very, very angry, and I went into the house and when +I saw Sappha with her white face and injured manner I could not be +quiet. I told her all that I had been told about Leonard, and she was +what I call insolent to me, and she will not speak to me now; she goes +away if I call there, and aunt Carlita is almost as rude. This morning +she hardly noticed poor little innocent Jonaca, and she asked me to +excuse her. Sappha went to her room as soon as she saw me coming.” + +“Now, then, Annette, a family quarrel I will not have. In my family we +have all had to bear and forbear, and you must make up friends with +Sappha. What, in short, did you say that so offended your cousin? Tell +me the worst.” + +“Well, to be sure, I said people called Leonard a coward and usurer, and +that no respectable person would speak to him, and no good girl could be +seen with him, and that I, like the others, would have to shut my door +against him.” + +“Thou cruel one! Tell me no more--and all these things thou knew to be +lies.” + +“How could I know? Achille told me nothing.” + +“Who did tell thee?” + +“Alida de Vries, and Fanny Curtenius, and Emma Ogden, and many others.” + +“And Leonard himself ate with thee on the Sunday previous to the duel, +and what he told Achille thou heard. If it seemed true and good to +Achille, could thou not also have believed? I am ashamed of thee! Thou +hast not one decent excuse. All thou said to Sappha, thou said, knowing +in thy cruel heart it was lies.” + +“Grandmother, it is too bad to put all the blame on me. And I will not +now be scolded as if I was a child.” + +“Then why did thou come here, deceitful one? Did thou think I would +bless thee for thy shameless cruelty? Go to thy own home, then.” + +“Dear grandmother--you will make me ill. I cannot bear you to be angry.” + +“Well, then, go tell thy cousin thou art sorry.” + +“Yes, I will, if I can see her. I will do it for your sake, grandmother. +I will do anything, if you will forgive me. I was so miserable that +morning--if you would tell Sappha I am sorry, then perhaps she will +listen to me.” + +“I will see to that. I want not to have the whole city talking of the +quarrel in the Bloommaert family. Our troubles are our own, and our own +are our quarrels. To-morrow I will talk to Sappha; and the next day thou +must make all right that is wrong. See thou do it.” + +With this understanding Annette went home, and on the day appointed she +visited Sappha. In the interval madame had also visited Sappha, and with +the help of her son and daughter-in-law arranged a kind of truce between +Annette and the cousin she had injured so seriously. But now, if never +before, all three learned the strength of that unbendable will which +madame had pointed out as existing in Sappha’s nature, when as yet no +one had ever seen any evidence of it. Sappha agreed, for the sake of +preventing gossip about the Bloommaerts, to speak politely to Annette +whenever they met; and also not pointedly to avoid their meeting by +disappearing whenever Annette appeared. Beyond this concession she would +not move; and when madame proposed a family dinner at Annette’s house, +Sappha said with a positiveness even her father respected: + +“I will not enter Annette’s house.” + +“That is a word that cannot stand, Sappha,” answered madame, with an +almost equal positiveness. + +“It will stand, grandmother,” Sappha replied, “until I enter it with +Leonard Murray. Annette threatened to shut her door against Leonard. In +so doing, she shut it against me. If Leonard should ever return, if he +should ever forgive me--he may then forgive the woman who has caused us +both so much suffering. If these unlikely things happen, we may go +_together_ to Annette’s. I will never go without him. Never!” And there +was such calm invincible determination in every word she uttered that +even madame felt it useless to try either reasoning or authority. +Indeed, Sappha won in this plain statement of her position the perfect +sympathy of her father, and he said: + +“I think Sappha is quite right. The stand she has taken is unassailable. +We must make the best of what she concedes. If Sappha still regards +Leonard as her future husband, she can do no less.” + +“But, my son----” + +“Yes, my mother, I know what you would say, but in this case my daughter +is right. I shall stand by my daughter.” + +Then Sappha went to her father, and he put his arm around her and kissed +her, and told her, “he was sure she would do the very best she could, +and so he trusted her.” + +In accordance, therefore, with the promise made, and the obligation +implied by her father’s confidence, Sappha remained in the parlour when +Annette called the next day. She came in her most expansive and effusive +mood; kissed her aunt, and then in a kind of mock contrition asked +Sappha if she might be permitted to kiss her also? + +“I do not deserve a kiss, Sappha, I know I do not; but I am a little +sinner to every one, and there is nothing I can do but say ‘Annette is +sorry.’ And really I am sorry. If there is anything I can do, to undo my +foolishness----” + +“There is nothing, Annette.” + +“It is too bad. I never dreamed of Leonard taking offence at you; every +one was saying unkind things, and I thought you ought to know. I was +really very miserable that morning. I hardly knew what I was saying. But +the idea of Leonard going away from all his friends--and you!--that +never occurred to me.” + +“We will not speak of Mr. Murray. There are other things to talk of.” + +“Indeed yes. Have you heard that Mary Sebring is going to Washington? +Many people say, because Captain Ellis is there.” + +“How is Jonaca? Why did you not bring her?” + +“I left her with grandmother. She is well enough.” + +This strained social intercourse was soon invaded by news of menacing +national importance. The British fleet was being constantly increased, +the blockade very strictly enforced, and the real conflict felt to be +near at hand. The entire populace was now divided into two great +parties; one was for war, the other for peace; and the fear of disunion +of the States hung heavy over all. + +On the Fourth of July the President had made a call for 93,500 militia; +and before the middle of the month alarm for the safety of New York was +so great that the men exempt from military duty formed themselves into +companies to aid in its defence. On the third of August Mayor Clinton, +in an address to the people, said: + +“This city is in danger! We are threatened with invasion. It is the duty +of all good citizens to prepare for the crisis. Let there be but one +voice among us. Let every arm be raised to defend our country; our +country demands our aid. She expects that every free man will be found +at his post in the hour of danger, and that every free citizen of New +York will do his duty.” + +This appeal was answered with a prompt and stirring enthusiasm. +Volunteer associations pressed forward without regard to party or +situation in life. The ground of self-defence was a common ground, and +rich and poor worked together on the same works, intermingling their +labours with patriotic emulation. The Bowling Green and Brooklyn Heights +were like military camps; indeed, the whole city was one great company +enrolled to save New York, or perish with it. On the twenty-sixth day of +August the _Evening Post_ announced the taking of Washington and the +flight of the President, and the wildest excitement prevailed; and on +the following morning, the press unanimously called: + + TO ARMS! CITIZENS, TO ARMS! + + YOUR CAPITAL IS TAKEN! PREPARE TO DEFEND OUR CITY TO THE LAST + EXTREMITY! THIS IS NO TIME TO TALK! WE MUST ACT AND ACT WITH + VIGOUR, OR WE ARE LOST! + +In the meantime the government had revised its instructions to the +envoys for peace. The rights stipulated for in 1813 and 1814 they were +told to abandon; and “_if necessary waive every point for which the war +was commenced_.” Nothing could more urgently describe the urgent +necessity of the country, which, indeed, was financially and +commercially on the brink of ruin. Her harbours were blockaded; +communications coastwise between all ports cut off; ships rotting in +every creek and cove where they could find security, and the immense +annual products of the country mouldering in warehouses. The sources of +profitable labour were dried up, and the currency considered as +irredeemable paper. Nor were these things the worst features of the +situation. A still more dangerous symptom of the national emergency was +the hostility of certain portions of the Union. Secession in some States +was a proposition not unlikely to become a fact; while the credit of the +government was exhausted, and the war apparently as far from a close as +ever it had been. + +The winter also was very severe, the Hudson frozen across to Jersey +City, and the Sound frozen across from the mainland to Sands Point. +There was much poverty and suffering, and a great gloom and depression +owing to the apparent failure of the Peace Commissioners at Ghent to +effect any reasonable agreement. Yet among the military social +entertainments were frequent, and the people prominent in New York +social life still kept up the pretence of fashion, and gave dinners, +balls, and theatre parties, which had a kind of half-hearted semblance +of gaiety. + +Sapphira Bloommaert availed herself of the reasonable excuse which +public calamity gave her to retire from everything society called +“pleasure”; therefore her absence from Annette’s entertainments escaped +the unpleasant notice it would otherwise have received. Annette was able +to parry all inquiries on two grounds; first, on Sappha’s national +sympathy; or, if this reason was incredulously received, mysteriously to +associate Mr. Murray’s name with that of his country. “Sappha was so +sensitive; her country was in distress, and then also, her lover was in +danger. Yes, Mr. Murray had joined General Jackson at New Orleans, and +every one knew what a reckless soldier General Jackson was. Of course +Sappha was not in a dancing mood. She could understand. For if Mr. St. +Ange was with General Jackson, she would be incapable of seeing any one, +even her dearest friends.” + +People thought with her, or not with her, Annette cared little. They had +been given reasons for Sappha’s absence from social affairs, and they +could not, to her face, go beyond them. But Achille was not to be so +easily put off. He himself had taken to the judge the information that +Leonard was with General Jackson; and after this honourable certainty of +her lover’s position he saw no reason for Sappha’s seclusion. + +“Why does Sappha decline all our invitations, Annette?” he asked one +night, after a rather disappointing dance. “We do miss her so much.” + +“I endure her absence very comfortably,” replied Annette. “Sappha has +been ill-natured with me ever since---- Oh, for a long time. How do you +like Miss Bogardus?” + +“Very well, she accommodates herself perfectly; but why is Sappha at +disagreement with you? It is a pity. Our parties do not succeed without +her. She is so lovely, so enchanting in her grace and kindness.” + +“Well, then, you may accustom yourself to do without her beauty, and +enchantments, and grace, and kindness. She will never enter this house +again! There now! I know it! and I am not broken-hearted, Achille.” + +“Madame is what she calls joking?” + +Achille asked this question in a cold, even voice, but if Annette had +been a wise woman she would have regarded the look in his eyes and the +stern set of his lips as ominous and implacable. On the contrary, she +defied them, being roused to that attitude by a number of little +annoyances, of which this inquiry concerning Sappha was the culmination. +She flung down the bracelet she had been unclasping in a temper, and +answered: + +“One does not joke about Sapphira Bloommaert. No, indeed! A girl that +cannot understand a little mistake--a mere slip of the tongue.” + +“You astonish me, Annette,” answered Achille. “I have always considered +your cousin as most amiable--most easy to persuade. What slip, what +mistake, did you make?” + +“I do not care to talk about Sappha any longer. I am weary.” + +“Then madame must sleep and rest. I can myself ask Sappha; perhaps I may +rectify the little mistake--the slip----” + +“Oh, Achille, do let the subject drop!” + +“It interests, it excites me. There is a wrong; that is unfortunate. I +may put it right. When did the little mistake occur?” + +Then Annette perceived that she must tell the story herself or have the +whole subject reopened. The latter course, with her uncle, aunt, and +grandmother all opposed to her, was not to be endured. She was +undressing her hair, and she turned round and faced Achille with its +pale beauty streaming over her shoulders and emphasising the living +whiteness of her face and throat; and Achille experienced again that +singular sense of repulsion and fascination she had first inspired in +his heart; for she looked more like some angry elfin creature than a +mere mortal woman. + +“Achille,” she said, “it will give me pleasure to tell you how I +offended my cousin, who is lovely, so enchanting in her grace and +kindness. You remember the morning that you had to attend to Leonard +Murray’s duel? Very well, you went away without considering me. I was +forced to get up, order the carriage, and ride as fast as possible to +see my uncle.” + +“What for? What reason? None whatever.” + +“I wanted uncle Gerardus to find you--to stop you----” + +“You followed me--you sent your uncle to follow me. I surely do not +understand!” + +“Uncle would have nothing to do with the affair, and he treated me +rudely.” + +“Rudely? I must see about that.” + +“Good gracious, Achille! I mean unkindly. He would not interfere, and he +told me not to trouble Sappha--and I was afraid for you.” + +“_Mon Dieu_, Annette! Afraid for me!” + +“And the very sight of Sappha was more than I could bear. All this +trouble for me because of her cowardly lover, and so I told her what +every one was calling Leonard. You know very well what that was. And she +got angry, and that made me say a thing I was sorry for afterwards; and +I told her that I was sorry, and she made believe to forgive me, but +Sappha does not forgive right; and not even grandmother or uncle +Gerardus can make her.” + +“What thing was it you said?” + +“I said every respectable person would shut their doors against Leonard +Murray, and that I supposed I should have to shut my doors; and so now +she will not come here. She says she never will come, unless Leonard +comes with her.” + +“Madame reminds me. This truly is madame’s house, and madame has the +right to shut her doors against any one she wishes to affront. I must +protect my friend, I must ask him to a house whose doors stand open for +him. To-morrow I shall conclude the purchase of the Mowatt place, and we +shall remove to it. I know not what day Mr. Murray may return, and the +possibility of his being turned away from madame’s house fills me with +anxiety.” + +“Oh, Achille! Achille! We cannot leave this house. Grandfather de Vries +only gave it to me on condition we lived in it. We shall lose the place, +and it is valuable property. Oh, Achille!” + +“Madame must understand that I would rather lose the property than lose +my friend.” + +From this position Achille would not retire, and Annette’s friends would +not interfere. Madame said “she had no control over Annette’s finances, +and that it was De Vries’ way to keep a string tied to every dollar not +entirely under his own hand. And when Annette grew sentimental over the +place, as “one of her wedding gifts” and “her bride home,” madame said: + +“Full of memories it was, before you were born, Annette, and they are +not all pleasant ones. At the cost of your purse, your tongue has +talked; I hope, then, you will remember the lesson you pay dearly for.” +Mrs. Bloommaert thought the Mowatt house would be healthier for Jonaca. +It was high and sunny, and she advised her niece to accept it cheerfully +on that ground. But the judge administered the most consoling opinion, +for he laughed at Annette’s fears and said, “Batavius de Vries was _non +compos mentis_ and incapable of making any change in his will that would +stand.” This assurance set Annette firmly on her feet. She accepted the +inevitable as if it was precisely the thing she had been longing for. +And though Achille was astonished at her charming complaisance and +co-operation, he admired her tact, and rewarded it by adorning and +furnishing her rooms in the delicate blues she affected. + +The news of this change of residence caused far less surprise and talk +than Annette had anticipated. No one seemed to consider it of much +importance, and the reasons and excuses for her removal which Annette +had prepared were hardly called for. Indeed, most people had interests +of their own to employ all their speculation, for the winter was the +most hopeless one New York had suffered since the commencement of the +war. Many, like Sapphira Bloommaert, refused all invitations to parties +of pleasure; some on patriotic grounds, many more because the financial +pressure of the times forbade extravagance of every kind. And as if to +sanction and strengthen this retirement, the President urged the keeping +of the twelfth day of January, 1815, as a day of fasting, humiliation, +and prayers for peace. The bitter cold, the deep snows, the scarcity of +all necessaries of life, the silence and suspense enforced by the +winter, affected the most careless; and there was an oppressive feeling +and a longing for peace that could not be thrown off. + +The reviving stir under this national nightmare did not occur until the +evening of February the eleventh. Sappha was reading to her father the +travels of Mungo Park, and they were much interested in them. Even Mrs. +Bloommaert had let her work fall to her lap, and was listening with +moist eyes to Park’s despair in the desert and his restoration to hope +and life by the sight of a little wild flower in the desolate place. +Suddenly a chorus of exulting shouts filled the Bowling Green. The judge +leaped to his feet. + +“_It is peace!_” he cried. “Open the windows! Let us hear! Let us see!” +And at that moment every window on the Bowling Green was thrown open. +Men were pouring from the houses into the street, as a deep harmonius +anthem came rolling down Broadway, into the Bowling Green, an anthem of +one glad note--“_Peace! Peace! Peace!_” + +Regardless of all warnings and entreaties, the judge went out. “The news +will keep me warm,” he said; and as he hastily buttoned up his long +coat he looked twenty years younger. “You need not be anxious about +father to-night,” said Sappha to her mother. “He will take no harm, and, +oh, how I wish I could go with him!” + +By this time every house in the neighbourhood was illuminated and open; +the women in them calling and waving to each other. The forts were +bellowing the news up and down the river; and for four hours thousands +of men and women were constantly passing through the Bowling Green +carrying torches and crying with jubilant voices the same glad word, +“_Peace! Peace! Peace!_” And above all this joyful hubbub the bells of +Trinity rang clear and strong, echoing between earth and heaven the same +exulting song. + +Not until after midnight did the judge return home. He had been a sick +man for a week. He was then quite well, full of hope, almost drunk with +enthusiasm. Hot coffee was waiting for him, but he called for meat, and +insisted on having it. “The doctor has nothing to do with my case +to-night,” he said. “I know what I want, Carlita. I am hungry. I have +spent ten years of life the past four hours. Glad of it--well spent are +they! Give me meat and bread. Oh, then, I will take coffee, but it ought +to be wine--the best wine in the world is not enough.” + +He was throwing off his coat as he spoke, and he then went to the +roaring fire and spread out his wet feet to its warmth. His wife looked +with terror at their condition. + +“I did not know they were wet, Carlita,” he said. “I never thought of +my feet. Kouba, take off my shoes and stockings and get dry ones. My +feet were too happy to be sick; they never gave me one twinge! Why, +Carlita, I have walked miles to-night, and I am not tired.” + +“And you are so hoarse that you can scarcely whisper, Gerardus.” + +“Am I? Then I must have been shouting with the rest. I did not know it. +Never mind, the news is worth the shout. Now my feet are dry and warm, +give me my coffee, and something to eat; and I will talk to you--if I +can.” + +“Did you see anything of Peter?” + +“I met him. He had been to mother’s, and he was coming for me.” + +“How did Peter hear so quickly?” + +“He was sitting in the office of _The Gazette_ in Hanover Square. Peter +goes there often in the evenings. It is a great place of resort for the +men of that quarter; but being Saturday night no one was there but Mr. +Lang and Alderman Cebra; and they were just going to shut up the office +when a pilot rushed in. He stood for a moment breathless and speechless, +and while they wondered he gasped out, ‘_Peace! the boat is here with +the treaty!_’ In a minute, Peter says, every one rushed into the Square +shouting _Peace!_ and every window was thrown up, and every one in the +surrounding houses was on the street. And immediately the cry was heard +from all quarters of the city. The news spread like wildfire. No one +could say how it happened, but in less than one hour every waking soul +in New York knew it. Houses were all illuminated, and I wonder if there +was any one left in them, for the streets were crowded with men and +women both; and none thought of the cold, and no one knew that it was +snowing.” + +“And now you can hardly speak, Gerardus.” + +“I have been shouting, though I did not know that I opened my lips. Such +a song of gladness I shall never hear again, Carlita, in this world. I +am glad I lost my voice in it.” + +“Well and good; but what did the Democrats say? Did they----” + +“We were all Democrats, and we were all Federalists to-night. Men that +have not spoken to each other for four years shook hands to-night. +Strangers were friends to-night. There were no rich and no poor +to-night. We were all citizens of New York to-night. We were all +brothers. Carlita, Sappha, I would not have missed to-night for anything +in the world.” + +“I am afraid you will have to suffer for it, Gerardus.” + +“I do not believe it. I never felt better in all my life. Why, here +comes Mr. Goodrich!” And with these words a bright, exulting gentleman +walked into the room. + +“Your door stood open, judge,” he said, “and I did not know you were +able to be out, so I thought I would call and rejoice a while with +you.” + +“I have been on the street for four hours, Mr. Goodrich; four of the +happiest hours of my life. You know about that?” + +“Thank God, I do! I went last night to Miss Dellinger’s concert and ball +at the City Hotel. She was singing _The Death of Lawrence_ when I heard +a strange murmur, and then a wild shout on the street. The next moment +the door of the concert hall was thrown open and a man, breathless with +excitement, rushed in crying ‘_Peace! Peace!_ An English sloop-of-war is +here with the treaty.’ The music instantly ceased, and the hall was +empty in a few minutes. No one thought of the song, no one remembered +the ball. We all, men and women, rushed into the street. Broadway was a +living tide of happy, shouting human beings. Many were bare-headed, and +did not know it. No one cared for the cold. They were white with snow, +and quite indifferent to the fact.” + +“I saw them! I was among them! I must have been shouting too, but I was +not aware of it at the time. Have you heard from any one what terms we +have got? Will you believe that I have not thought of ‘terms’ until this +moment?” + +“Nor have I, judge. I have heard no one ask about the terms. No one +cares about terms just yet. We have _peace_! That is enough!” + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +_The Star of Peace_ + + +The one idea of New York, now that peace was assured, was renovation and +reconstruction. Every one was busy. The war was a dead issue, commerce +was a living one. The passion for trading and building took the place of +the military passion, and the happy sounds of labour and traffic +superseded those of the cannon and the drum. + +The preservation of the city had been for four years the dominant care +of its inhabitants; now that it was safe they turned with a vehement +spirit of industry to building up trade and commerce in every direction. +It was under these auspices a joyful city. There was less dancing and +dining, but there was a growing prosperity and content, for all had some +business or handicraft to pursue, and all were full of hope and energy. + +And the spirit of reconstruction was as potent in women as in men, +though their arena for its exercise was more restricted. Mrs. Bloommaert +began at once to talk of new carpets and curtains, and of a complete +refurnishing of the principal rooms of the house. And as the spring came +on every dwelling on the Bowling Green caught this fever of +improvement; and first one and then another displayed to passers-by +their fresh paint and their new lace draperies. It was a sign of some +consequence, for it typified the strength of that hope and energy which +embraced domestic comforts and elegancies as part and parcel of their +civic prosperity. + +In all the changes made in the Bloommaert house Sappha felt, or at least +affected to feel, a sufficient interest. She could not shadow her +mother’s busy pleasure by any evident want of sympathy, yet it was +sometimes difficult to forget sufficiently her offended lover. Her +soul--that strange, fluttering mystery--had lost its life’s dominant, +the other soul to which it had learned to refer every thought and +desire; and there was now silence or discord where once there had been +sweetest melody. Her suffering, however, was no longer a storm, it was +rather a still, hopeless rain, an unimpassioned grief that seldom found +the natural outlet of tears. But these constant fires of repression and +self-immolation were sacramental as well as sacrificial. They were +strong with absolution also; and thus made calm and sure by much sorrow +and by one love, she gradually came out of trouble with a spirit +tempered as by fire; having lost nothing in the furnace but the dross of +her nobler qualities. + +She rarely heard of Leonard. She knew that he was in New Orleans, and +attached to the staff of General Jackson; and so, in the final struggle, +doing his duty to his country. But she never forgot the fact that he +ought to have been in his native city. “It is my fault, all my fault. +No wonder Leonard cannot forgive me,” she said when Mrs. Bloommaert +blamed his absence during the darkest days New York had known. + +The news of the victory at New Orleans followed closely on the news of +peace. It was brought to the Bloommaert household by Achille, who +received it with a letter from Mr. Edward Livingston. “Our friend +Leonard Murray was wounded in the right arm,” he added; “rather a bad +sword cut, but he is with the Livingstons, and has every possible care +and attention.” + +Annette came in later, and, unaware of her husband’s visit, made a great +deal more of Leonard’s wound than Achille had done. She “hoped it would +not be necessary to resort to amputation--a right arm was so convenient, +not to say necessary. And he got it just for interfering,” she +continued. “An English officer had struck down a man carrying the flag, +and Leonard caught the flag as it was falling, and then of course the +Englishman fell upon Leonard. Leonard always was so interfering--I mean +so ready to do every one’s duty for them. You see it was not his place +to take care of the flag; so he got hurt taking care of it. Grandfather +de Vries always told me never to volunteer, and never to interfere. If a +person does his own work and duty in this world, it is all that can be +expected of him. Poor Leonard!” + +“Oh!” said Sappha, “I think you may keep your pity, Annette, for these +poor creatures who never volunteer and never interfere. Suppose every +one had followed your grandfather’s advice, where would America be now?” + +“I do not know. It is not my place to look after America,” answered +Annette. + +“I will tell you then--it would be under the feet of England.” + +“Grandfather de Vries often says there were very good times when the +English were here----” + +“Come, come, Annette,” interrupted Mrs. Bloommaert, “you are only +talking nonsense. When do you move into your new house?” + +“Next month. Achille is delightfully considerate. All my rooms are +furnished in blue, because he thinks blue so becoming to me; and he +takes my advice entirely about the rest. We shall have the most elegant +dwelling in the city; and I am glad this dreadful war is over. Now I can +get the carpets I desire.” + +“Did Mrs. Livingston say anything about the condition of New Orleans?” +asked Mrs. Bloommaert. + +“I did not read her letter. Achille desired me to do so, but I have +honour. I would not read Mrs. Livingston’s letter. I do not see why she +should write to my husband. I do not write to Mr. Livingston.” + +“She is an old friend of Achille’s. Mr. Livingston is much too busy to +write letters. Perhaps she thought Leonard Murray had friends in New +York who would be glad to hear that he was well cared for.” + +“Do you believe that Leonard Murray yet remembers us? I do not. We were +all so kind to the young man, and Achille stood by him when no one else +would. Oh, you need not leave the room, Sappha! I was just going to +praise Leonard a little.” + +But Sappha did leave the room, and Mrs. Bloommaert said with some +temper: + +“You have done mischief enough, Annette; why can you not let Leonard +alone? You are too unkind to Sappha.” + +“Oh, then, aunt, I think it is Sappha who is truly cruel to me. Because +she will not come to our house, I shall have to remove to that ugly +Mowatt place. I hate it. All the pretty furniture in the world will not +make it endurable; and if Sappha will not visit us there, I know not +what Achille will say or do. To be driven from house to house for +Sappha’s temper is not a pleasant or a reasonable thing.” + +“Before Sappha’s temper, there was your own temper, Annette; and I am +sure you need not expect Sappha to visit you in your new home unless you +also expect Leonard.” + +“I suppose I shall have to write to Leonard, and tell him the trouble I +am in. I think he would come back and get Sappha to forgive me properly, +if I ask him. He was always very fond of me.” + +“If you write to Leonard Murray one word about Sapphira Bloommaert I +will never speak to you again, Annette. You may depend upon that! How +can you be so malicious?” + +“Malicious! You will misunderstand me, aunt Carlita. I thought perhaps +if I wrote and told Leonard how angry Sappha was, and how Achille had +nearly quarrelled with me about Sappha, he might come back to New York. +And I am sure any one can see that Sappha is breaking her heart about +his desertion of her.” + +“Sappha is doing nothing of the kind. Sappha is perfectly happy.” + +“Oh, I am so glad to hear it! Sappha is perfectly happy! Why did she go +away? I really meant nothing unkind. If she had only remained, I was +going to tell her about Aglae Davezac, Mrs. Livingston’s lovely sister. +I dare say she consoles Leonard very well. She is not handsome, but she +has a beautiful figure, and is very witty.” + +“Annette, if you will believe me, we are neither of us interested in +either Mrs. Livingston or her lovely sister. There are things nearer +home. When did you call on your grandmother? She was complaining of your +neglect lately.” + +“I am just going to see her.” + +“I hope you will tell her exactly what you have said here.” + +“No, we shall talk about Jonaca and the new house. Good-morning, aunt!” + +Annette’s visits had fallen into this kind of veiled unfriendliness. She +would have ceased coming to the Bowling Green at all if Achille’s +pointed inquiries had not forced her into a semblance of civility, for +she blamed Sappha, not only for her removal to the Mowatt house, but +also for many a passage of words between Achille and herself that were +less agreeable than they ought to have been, or would have been if +Sappha had not formed the subject of discussion. And from Annette’s +point of view, perhaps there was cause for some irritation. For a few +hasty words which Sappha refused to ignore, there had been many hasty +ones between herself and Achille; and, moreover, she did not feel the +Mowatt house any equivalent for the roomy, aristocratic dwelling she had +been compelled to abandon. Every annoyance that came up regarding this +removal she blamed Sappha for; and though she affected to be pleased +with the change, it had not only been a bitter mortification to her, but +also brought other unpleasant consequences in its train. For it had been +just the very kind of thing necessary to rouse Achille to a sense of +small household tyranny that he had tolerated because he preferred +toleration to assertion. But having once affirmed and exerted his right +he had not again relinquished the authority of master. + +“I submitted too easily,” said Annette, when discussing the subject with +her grandmother; “and now Achille just says ‘madame will do this,’ or +‘madame will go there,’ or ‘madame will say so-and-so,’ and I seem to +have no power to say madame will not. Oh, grandmother, just for a few +words! It is too much punishment! I was so happy, and now I am not happy +at all. I sometimes wish that I could die.” + +“Annette, my dear one, thou must not make more of trouble than there is. +Often I have told thee not to complain; after complaint there is no +oblivion. If Achille can be polite, cannot thou be silent? With silence, +one may plague the devil; but as for spoken words, no sponge wipes them +out.” + +Thus and so events were progressing, as the spring of 1815 waxed to June +and roses again. There was at this time some probability that the judge +might be requested to go to England as legal adviser to agents sent by +the government to arrange some question of boundary not very clearly +stated; and if so, he proposed to take his wife and daughter with him. + +Sappha heard of this arrangement with dismay, and it was hard for her to +enter into her mother’s little flurry of anticipation. She did not wish +to leave New York at all, for she felt certain that Leonard would return +as soon as he was able, if only to look after his large interests in +property and real estate. For in the short time intervening between the +advent of peace and the advent of summer the whole aspect of New York +had been changed. Stores and warehouses long closed were open, houses of +all kinds had found ready tenants, the streets were crowded with +vehicles, the shipyards literally alive, and vessels coming and going +constantly from and to every quarter of the globe. There was not a +branch of industry nor a corner of the city where New York’s citizens +were not proving their liberal views, their broad intelligence, and +their energetic activity. How could Leonard Murray stay away from his +own city when it was offering him such advantages for new investments +and such excellent opportunities for those he already possessed? + +She did not include herself among the reasons for his return. She had no +hope that she could influence it in any way. If Leonard had not quite +forgotten her, he had at least resolved not to renew their acquaintance +in any degree. If this were not the case, he would have written to her, +sent her some message, some token, if it were only a flower. And at this +point she always felt anew the pang of despair; for Leonard would never +give her another flower. She had no reason to expect it, she did not +deserve it. Here reflection stopped. It could go no further, the memory +of that scattered rose was a barrier that no love could put aside or win +over. + +She made one effort to remain at home; she went to her grandmother and +entreated that she would interfere for her. “If you desired me to stay +with you, dear grandmother,” she said, “my father would permit it; I am +sure he would.” + +“So then, dear one, I must not ask him. Thy mother, what of her? Very +much disappointed she would be. To see the wonderful sights of London +alone, what pleasure would she find in that? And the shopping, and the +visiting without thee, would not be the same. Oh, no, it is in thy +delight the good mother will find delight; and in the admiration thou +wilt receive will be her honour. Very much alone she will be without +thee, for, as to thy father, the affairs of his commission will occupy +him. Shall I tell thee thy duty? It is to put away all regret from thy +thoughts; to give thyself to the honour and pleasure of thy good +parents; to add thy smiles, thy hopes, thy glad young spirits to theirs. +This is a great honour for thy father, a great pleasure for thy mother, +and if Sapphira Bloommaert I know, I think she will not make it less. +No, she will smile, and then ten times greater it will be.” + +And at these words Sappha smiled, and promised to go willingly and do +all she could to increase the joy of those with her. + +“And that will not only be right, but wise,” answered the old lady; “for +in the way of duty it is that we meet blessing and happiness.” + +From this interview Sappha went home determined to lift cheerfully the +burden in her way; and lo! it became lighter than a grasshopper. She +found that as soon as she put herself out of consideration she caught +the spirit of the change; she became interested in all the details of +their journey, and finally almost enthusiastic. Then her father’s pride +and happy anticipations were hers, as were also her mother’s manifold +little plans for her own desires and her promises for the desires of +others. They lingered over their meals, and they sat hours later at +night, talking about the places they were to visit, the people they were +to see, and the beautiful things they were to purchase. They had long +lists of china, and silk, and lace, to which they were constantly +adding; for all their relatives and friends and acquaintances had +commissions for them to fill. + +In these busy, happy days Sappha won back all the gladsomeness she had +lost. She put Leonard, with a loving thought, into the background of her +hopes. She gave herself without one grudging thought to the joy set +before her. And with this happy spirit came back the radiancy of her +beauty; her step regained its elasticity, her cheeks their brilliant +colour, her eyes their tender glow, her smiles their love-making +persuasion. And every one but madame said it was because she was going +to Europe and expected to be presented at Court. Even the judge smiled a +little sarcastically, and said to himself, “Leonard Murray has been +forgotten.” Mrs. Bloommaert did not err quite so far; but realising the +charm of all the new expectations before her, she gave them the credit +of changing Sappha’s dejection to cheerfulness. It was only madame who +knew the secret of the happy transition; she understood how the noblest +feelings had crushed down the selfish ones and restored the almost +despairing girl, by showing her life with a larger horizon than her own +personality. + +So affairs went on in the Bowling Green house until only ten days +remained for the last preparations. And these days were expected to be +full of visits and farewell hospitalities; for a voyage to Europe was at +that time an undertaking surrounded by uncertainty, and even danger, and +people went to the Bloommaerts to bid them good-bye, and then as they +spoke of the subject shook doubtful heads and wondered if they would +ever see them again. + +One day about a week before they were to leave Sappha put on her hat to +go to Nassau Street. There had been many callers, and she was excited +and a little weary, but Mrs. Bloommaert was still more so; and Sappha +entreated her to try and sleep until she returned. Having darkened the +room she went away, a little depressed by the shutting out of the +sunlight, the uncovered stairway, and general air of the dismantled +home. But she was so beautiful that any one might have wondered what +mystic elements had been combined to produce that air of pleased +serenity and thoughtful happiness, which gave to her youth and +loveliness a charm that mere form and colour could not impart. She was +thinking of Leonard. As she went slowly from step to step she was +thinking of Leonard. That day Mrs. Livingston had called, and she had +talked enthusiastically about him, of his bravery in action, and his +cheerfulness when suffering; and, moreover, of his return to New York. +“His wound had been worse than at first appeared likely,” she said, “but +her sister-in-law believed he would be able to leave New Orleans before +the yellow fever season. A thing very desirable,” she added, “for there +are fears of a severe epidemic this year.” + +“But Mr. Murray will come north before the danger?” asked Mrs. +Bloommaert. + +“I am sure he will; next month early, I should say.” + +Sappha was thinking of this promise, and telling herself that she would +persuade her grandmother to see Leonard and say for her all she would +say, if present. She had supreme confidence in her love and wisdom, and +believed that if ever Leonard could be reconciled, it might well be by +Madame Bloommaert’s representations. She did not trust Annette, but her +grandmother could not fail! and it was the light of these words “_could +not fail!_” that gave such singular radiance and serenity to her face +and manner. + +She looked into the parlour to see if her father had returned home, and +then opened the front door. As she did so an eager, tender voice said +“_Sappha! Sappha!_” and at the same moment she cried out, “_Leonard! +Leonard!_” The four words blended as one voice; and as they did so their +hands clasped, their lips met, and the two that had been so miserably +two, were now one again. + +They went into the parlour and sat down, hardly able to speak--too happy +to speak--too sure of each other to want explanations, even to bear +them, throwing the wretched episode of the quarrel behind them, caring +only for a future in which they might never more miss each other for a +moment. Pale with suffering and confinement, Leonard had just that air +of pathos which takes a woman’s heart by storm; and Sappha felt that she +had never until that moment known how dear he was to her. + +Mentally she asked herself what was now to be done. She felt that the +journey to England had become an impossible thing. She could not leave +Leonard. She could not even speak of the coming separation. For a little +while she wished the felicity of their reunion to be shadeless, +cloudless, saddened by no yesterday, fearing no to-morrow. Just one hour +of such love could sweeten life, why invade it with any careful thought? + +All too soon the careful thought came. Leonard had heard of the intended +voyage, and it had filled him with such anxiety that against all advices +and persuasions he had hastened his return to New York. He was resolved +that Sappha should remain with him, or else that he should go with +Sappha. In either case, immediate marriage was advisable, and Sappha had +now no desire to oppose his wishes. + +“We can be married to-morrow, the next day, the day we leave. What is to +prevent it?” he asked. She laid her hand in his for answer, and at that +moment the judge entered. And as Judge Bloommaert was a man who never +required two lessons on any subject, he met Leonard with great kindness +and sympathy; and when the subject of an immediate marriage was named +made no objections to its consideration “as soon as Mrs. Bloommaert was +present.” + +Then Sappha went swiftly to her mother. She knelt down by the bedside +and laid her head on her mother’s breast. “Father is home,” she +whispered, “and Leonard! Oh, mother, mother! Leonard has come back to +me! and he wants to go with us to England--and he wants to be married +before we go. Mother, dear, sweet mother! you will agree with Leonard? +Yes, you will! Yes, you will--for my sake, mother.” + +“Are you dreaming, Sappha? How can Leonard be here? Mrs. Livingston said +a few hours ago that he was in New Orleans.” + +“But he left New Orleans the same day that her letter left. He could not +stay in New Orleans when he heard we were going to England. He has +travelled night and day, and he is still pale with suffering. You will +be sorry only to see how pale he is. We cannot be parted again; he says +it will kill him--and father says we may be married if you are willing. +You are willing, mother? Yes, I know you are. Say yes, dear mother, say +yes, for Sappha’s sake.” + +“I will dress and see Leonard as soon as possible, Sappha. And if your +father is willing for you to marry at once, of course I shall agree with +him. But have you considered? We sail in six days. You have no wedding +dress. The house is all topsy-turvy. Not a room we can set a table +in--carpets up, curtains down, glass and silver all packed away.” + +“Mother, none of these things are at all necessary. It is Leonard, and +not carpets and glass and silver; and----” + +“Yes, yes! I know! But you must have a decent gown; a new gown, an old +one is unlucky.” + +“Well, then, it can be made in two or three days--we have six days, you +know. Come and see Leonard. I am sure you will see how sensible he is.” + +Mrs. Bloommaert smiled, rose quickly and began to dress. “Go now and +look after tea. Make things as nice as you can. I will be downstairs in +half an hour.” + +“And then you will stand by Leonard?” + +“He has not stood very well by you the last year.” + +“Please do not name that--do not think of it. I have always told you it +was my fault.” + +“It tosses all my plans upside down, Sappha. I expected to have you with +me in all my pleasures. I shall have to wander about London alone, and I +shall have no lovely daughter to introduce. Oh, ’tis a great +disappointment to me!” + +“We shall be together, mother. It will be all the same, and you will +have Leonard also.” + +“My dear, Leonard will want you all the time. I know. He will grudge for +any one to breathe the air of the same room with you--but if you are +happy, father and I must be content without you.” + +“It will not be like that, mother. You will see.” + +“Yes, fathers and mothers all _see_. Suppose now you go and tell the +women in the kitchen to get us something to eat. We shall all be more +amiable if we have the teacups before us.” + +The discussion, however, was amiable enough. Judge Bloommaert had not +watched his daughter for a year without coming to a very clear +diagnosis of the conditions that alone would give her happiness; and he +had plenty of that wisdom which knows the art of turning the inevitable +into the thing most desirable. The hour had come. Sappha had waited with +a beautiful patience for it; he was resolved to give her its joy, fully +and freely, and without any holdback. + +“Carlita,” he said, as soon as mutual greetings were over, “Carlita, +Leonard wishes to marry Sappha at once, and go with us to England. I +think it is a good plan. What say you?” + +“I think with you always, Gerardus.” + +“Such hurry will only admit of a very simple wedding ceremony, but +Leonard says that is what Sappha and he prefer; and as it is their +marriage, they have a right of choice. Eh, Leonard?” + +“As you say, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Livingston will represent my friends, and +if Sappha’s nearest relatives are witnesses the company will be of the +proper size. Why should we ask half of New York to gaze at the most +sacred and private of all domestic events?” + +“Well, then, we will let it be so. Can you arrange for such a wedding, +Carlita--say on the morning of the day we leave?” + +“I can do my best, Gerardus.” + +“The packet sails at two o’clock in the afternoon. I suppose the +marriage could take place at twelve.” + +“Better say at ten o’clock, Gerardus. We shall need time to change our +dresses and pack up the last things.” + +“True. Then, Leonard, we will say ten o’clock next Wednesday. Is that +right?” + +“If Sappha and Mrs. Bloommaert say so. I suppose it cannot be Saturday +or Monday?” + +“Impossible,” answered Mrs. Bloommaert. “There is a wedding dress to +make.” + +“Sappha has plenty of pretty dresses.” + +“She has not, however, a wedding dress. She cannot be married without +one.” + +“Then perhaps it ought to be bought to-night. There is plenty of time +yet.” + +“In the morning will do.” + +“If it should not be ready----” + +“I will attend to that,” said Mrs. Bloommaert, and her manner was not +only confident, but final on the subject. + +“I must go out for an hour after tea, but when I return we can talk over +a few business points,” said the judge to Leonard; and the young man was +so elated and happy he only smiled; he could say neither yes nor no; +everything had slipped from his consciousness but the joy of being near +Sappha, of seeing her face, of hearing her speak, and feeling the clasp +of her hand within his own. + +Then when the judge had gone Mrs. Bloommaert said to Sappha: “I have a +letter to write to your grandmother; a very important letter, and I +shall have to pick my thoughts, and choose my words, and that is a +thing I cannot do if you and Leonard are whispering behind me. Go into +the other parlour, and make your little arrangements there.” + +Very willingly they obeyed, and the sight of the piano was enough to +raise the spirit of melody in Leonard’s heart. “Let us sing one song +together, dearest,” he said, and Sappha found the key of the locked +instrument, while Leonard searched among the piled music sheets for some +song fit for the happy hour. + +“Love’s Maytime,” he cried. “That sounds well.” And he stooped and +kissed her as she seated herself. Their heads bent toward each other, +they were radiant with the most transporting love and their hearts +ravished with the bliss of their reunion. + +“Sing, my love, and sadden me into deeper joy,” whispered Leonard; and +soft and low to the simple melody Sappha sang: + + “We two will see the springtime still + In days with autumn rife; + When wintry winds blow bleak and chill + And we near the bourne of life. + + “For love is ever young and kind, + And love will with us stay + Till we in Life’s December find + A path of endless May.” + --_Louis Ledoux._ + +Leonard caught the melody quickly, and Mrs. Bloommaert stopped her +writing to listen. “Their voices are like one,” she thought. “They are +happy, they may be more so, but ‘a path of endless May’ is asking a +great deal; and yet, as we grow old and unbeautiful, the thought of +endless life, and endless youth, and endless love, and endless May helps +to make grey hair and failing strength bearable. What was it I heard +Rose singing last night? Something of the same kind--some Methodist hymn +about endless spring: + + “There everlasting spring abides + And never fading flowers.” + +“Yes, everlasting spring would bring endless May, but I wish they would +not now sing about it, the music interferes, I cannot write my letter, +and if madame is not immediately informed of the marriage she will be +offended.” Yet she did not silence the music. She understood that for +the lovers the world was just then revolving in Paradise, and that music +is the language of Paradise. So she erased, and wrote over, and finally +finished with an apology for all her mistakes. + +Very soon the judge returned, and when he had lit his pipe he called +Leonard to join him; and they sat down together and talked of their +intended voyage. “It is a purely business visit to England as far as I +am concerned,” said the judge, “but we intend to be seen and to see; for +there are many Americans in London at present, and with some of them I +am familiar. May I ask, Leonard, what is taking you across the Atlantic +at this time? Is Sappha entirely accountable?” + +“Not quite, sir,” Leonard answered. “Sooner or later this year I must +have gone to Scotland to fulfil my father’s last charge to me.” No one +questioned this remark, and Leonard continued: “After the defeat at +Sheriffmuir my great-grandfather found himself on the brink of ruin. His +clan had virtually perished, and he had given his last sovereign to _The +Cause_. Emigration was all that remained and he was the more eager for +this outlet when he learned that his name was on the list of the +proscribed chiefs, and his life in danger. He went to the Earl of Moray, +who had not been ‘out,’ and sold his estate to him on these conditions: +To the third generation it was to be redeemable; but if not then +ransomed it might be sold, though only to a purchaser bearing the name +of Murray. My father hoped to be the saviour of the place, but he died +before the investments made for this purpose had grown to sufficient +increase. On his deathbed he solemnly left this duty to my management; +and I vowed to him to fulfil every obligation to the last tittle. I now +find myself able to honour my pledge, and I am going to Scotland to do +it.” + +“That is right,” said the judge. “Where is this estate?” + +“In the Highlands of Scotland, north of Inverness. It is a romantic +country, and I expect great pleasure from the journey; especially as I +hope now that Sappha may go with me; but we can decide that question +when we are closer to it.” + +“Certainly. You intend then to buy back the estate? Will that be of any +advantage to you?” + +“Not financially--just yet. But I have great faith in the future of +land.” + +“What will you do with it? Rent it?” + +“No. The few Murrays yet remaining there would resent a stranger over +them. I shall leave the oldest of the clan guardian of the place. The +land will not run away. The house is built of immense blocks of granite, +and may stand a thousand years. In time I shall find a profitable use +for both house and land--one can always trust land.” + +This subject naturally brought to discussion a home in New York, and the +judge said, “As the Government House is on the point of being pulled +down, I shall buy a lot on the south of the Bowling Green and build a +handsome dwelling on it for Sapphira. Like you, Leonard, I have faith in +land. When this part of the city ceases to be socially desirable it will +become commercially valuable; and commerce pays good rentage.” + +It was near midnight when all subjects growing out of this sudden change +of intentions had been discussed; and the days that followed were days +of hurry and happiness. But every one entered so heartily into the +joyful girl’s marriage that nothing was belated or neglected, and on the +evening before the desired day there was time for all to sit down and +arrange the final ceremonies. It was then that Leonard put into Sappha’s +hand, as he bid her good-night, the beauteous gift which is yet worn by +her great-granddaughter. With a kiss and a blessing he put it into her +hand, and she took it into the lighted parlour to examine. It was +addressed only + + “_To Sapphira, Sapphires_,” + +and when the cover of the box was removed she discovered a necklace of +those exquisite Asteria sapphires which have in the centre of their +heavenly blue opalescence a star of six rays. The judge had already seen +them. He said Leonard had bought them from a Creole jeweller in New +Orleans, and that they had once belonged to a beautiful princess of +Ceylon. + +But whatever their history, never had they clasped the throat of a +lovelier woman than Sapphira Bloommaert on the day of her wedding. The +little company invited were gathered in the ordinary sitting-room of her +father’s house, but the June sunshine flooded gloriously the homelike +place; and Annette, who had been freely forgiven, had made it a bower of +white roses. On the hearthstone stood the domine, and the bride’s mother +and grandmother were on either side of him. Mr. and Mrs. Livingston, Mr. +and Mrs. Morris, Annette and Achille, Peter and his betrothed, Josette +Genaud, were the witnesses. + +It was on her father’s arm the lovely Sapphira entered. Every one +instinctively felt her approach; conversation ceased, laughter was +hushed, all were at pleased attention when they heard the light +footsteps and the gentle rustling of the silk wedding gown. A kind of +radiance came in with her; came from her tall bright beauty, from the +glow in her eyes, from her fresh, sweet face, from the warm lights about +her shining hair, and the scintillating glory of the gems around her +white neck. In her hand she held a perfect white rose, and either of +design or by some fortunate accident she stood exactly on the spot where +she had parted from Leonard with the rejected, scattered rose between +them. But true love knows not rejection; from the ends of the earth it +returns to its own; it cannot retain a memory of offence for ever and +ever; it not only gives, but forgives. + +Three hours after the ceremony the Bloommaert household were on their +way to England, and Peter had charge of the house on the Bowling Green. +“We shall be back in the fall of the year,” the judge said to his son, +“for I have much to attend to in New York this coming winter.” + + * * * * * + +The judge kept his promise, but Leonard and Sappha did not return with +him. Sappha had accompanied her husband to Scotland, and after his +mission to the Highlands had been accomplished they lingered a while in +Edinburgh. Here they met an old acquaintance who was going to Holland +and Belgium, and they went with him to these countries. Then, the +wander-fever being still upon Leonard, they travelled southward to +France and Italy, returning to England by the usual tourist route +through Switzerland. And, as at that day the facilities for travel were +small, and its difficulties and hindrances for travel many and +perplexing, it was more than a year before they again reached London, +and turned their faces westward and homeward. + +Homeward! The word tasted sweet in Sappha’s mouth. She said it over and +over, and the first sight of the open arms of the low-lying American +shore brought happy tears to her eyes. The Bowling Green at last! After +so many strange lands, after so many wonderful days in the old, old +world, here was the fresh young world, with all its splendid hopes +again! The flag they loved, the homes they knew, the people who belonged +to them--these things were best of all; dearest of all were the +contentful sum of all their future hopes and desires. The great cities, +the fairest spots in Europe, were now only as picture books and +memories; but Home, Sweet Home was on Bowling Green. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +_Afterward_ + + +If any of my readers believe marriage to be the completion and +consummation of individual life, they will be willing to consider the +story of Sapphira finished when she married Leonard Murray. But if they +rather believe it to be the open portal to a grander and wider life, +they will find the few following pages a sufficient index to a future +which they can unfold and amplify from their own knowledge and +experience. So that I need only say that when Sapphira Murray entered +the beautiful home which her father built for her on the south side of +the Bowling Green she could have had no dream of its future destiny. She +dwelt there in sweet contentment for many years, and died in its lofty +front chamber just before the war of 1860. Leonard Murray did not long +survive his beloved wife. He wandered disconsolately around the Green, +or strolled slowly in the Battery Park for a few months, and was then +laid beside her in that aristocratic little graveyard on Second Street, +which, though surrounded by the tumult of the city, keeps to this day +its flowery seclusion. + +With the removal of these well-known figures the Bowling Green suffered +a distinct social loss; and when Stephen Whitney, who was a near +neighbour of the Murrays, died in 1861, the prestige of its wealth +departed, for Mr. Whitney was the richest man in New York, with the +exception of some members of the Astor family. From that date the +Bowling Green began to assume a business character, and the homes of the +Bloommaerts and Murrays no longer sheltered their descendants. Lawrence +Bloommaert, the son of Captain Christopher Bloommaert, remained a while +in the house of his grandfather, Judge Gerardus Bloommaert, but his +family were all girls, and they married and scattered through the +Madison Square district, and even still further north. Leonard and +Sapphira’s three sons had fine homes in the Murray Hill locality, and +their only daughter Sapphira, who had married the eldest son of Peter +Bloommaert, was in 189--living in a spacious mansion on the Riverside +Drive. She was born in 1827, and therefore at the period of these +reminiscences nearing seventy years of age. But she still kept the dew +of her youth, and her children and children’s children filled her +splendid home with the living splendour of youth and beauty and +affection. + +She was sitting alone one night in the fall of 189--. She looked a +little weary, her figure drooped slightly, her hands lay as motionless +as if they were asleep; but there was a flush of excitement on her +cheeks, and her eyes were full of dreams. She was seeing with them, but +seeing nothing within their physical horizon. They had backward vision +at this hour, and she smiled faintly at the scenes they flashed before +her memory. + +In a short time the door was noiselessly opened, and a much younger +woman entered. She came toward the elder one with a slow, easy grace, +and taking her passive hands between her own said: “Mother, you have +wearied yourself. I fear you have been foolish to-day.” + +“No, no, Carlita,” was the quick response. “I have had a happy day. I am +glad I took my desire. I did not expect you. It is a _Faust_ night; why +are you not at the opera?” + +“The opera will not miss me. Gerard has gone with the little Van Sant +girl; and of course Agatha Van Sant will be present. I do not suppose +the conductor would lift his baton until he saw Mrs. Agatha Van Sant +enter her box; then, he would nod his satisfaction, and say with a +lordly air, ‘Let the opera commence.’ I shall see enough of opera this +winter; and I want so much to hear about your expedition. What time did +you start?” + +“About eleven o’clock. Gerard wanted to go with me, but I wished to be +alone. There was really no danger. Dalby knows the city, and the horses +obey his word or touch. I went to my old home. I was in every room of +it.” + +“It must be much changed.” + +“In accidentals, yes, very much changed; but the large sunny rooms and +the grand seaward outlook are the same. I went first to the nursery on +the top story, and, Carlita, I could replace every chair and table. I +could see James and Leonard and Auguste busy with their books and +playthings; and there was one back window that had a little embrasure, +which was very dear and familiar to me. In that nook I read ‘Robinson +Crusoe,’ and the ‘Exiles of Siberia,’ and best of all, ‘The Arabian +Nights.’ I sat down there and tried to recall the long, long, happy days +in which it was my favourite retreat. I stood and looked downward over +the balustrade, and fancied I saw again my beautiful mother, clothed in +white and sparkling with gems, going out with father to some dinner or +ball; and I remembered how I used to thus watch for her coming, and call +her; and how she would stand still and lift her face full of love and +smiles to bid me a ‘good-night.’ Once at a little ceremony of this kind +I dropped her a white rose, and she put it in her bosom, and my father +laughed and called me ‘darling’ and I went to bed that night more happy +than I can tell you. I stayed some time in the nursery, and longer in my +mother’s room. It had only sweet memories, for I never went into it +without meeting a smile, no, not even on that last day of her beautiful +life, when she called us all to her side for the long farewell. She +died, as I have often told you, singing. She had sung, more or less, all +her life long; and she went away faintly and sweetly singing, + + “‘Hark, they whisper, angels say, + Sister spirit, come away;’ + +and after a pause, still more softly-- + + “‘Tell me, my soul, can this be death?’ + +See, Carlita, I brought some sprays from the honeysuckle she planted on +the seaward porch. Though November, it is in bloom. My father put +flowers from this same vine in her hands after she was dead. It was a +lovely, happy memory, Carlita. In a little sitting-room I found a window +pane on which Annette St. Ange and my mother had written their names, +enclosing them in a very perfect circle, and I brought the glass away +with me. I could not bear to think that some stranger, in the +destruction of the room, might perhaps tread the names beneath his +feet.” + +“Grandmother must have loved Mrs. St. Ange?” + +“They were close friends, especially after the disappearance of Mr. St. +Agne.” + +“Mother, what was the meaning of that disappearance--death?” + +“People generally spoke of it as death; but my father and mother knew +better; and when Annette had passed beyond mortal care and suffering +something occurred--I think the marriage of her granddaughter in +Paris--that led my mother to tell me the truth. To-day, Carlita, I saw +Annette St. Ange again, though not as I recollected her in life.” + +“What do you mean, mother?” + +“I saw her picture; the one taken soon after her marriage, and in her +marriage garments--I was at the Loan Exhibition.” + +“Oh, mother, why did you not wait for me to go with you?” + +“Well, my dear, the bit of glass in my hand made me remember the +exhibit; and as I had heard Gerard say the Van Sants were going to send +some portraits, I suddenly resolved to visit the rooms and see if +Annette St. Ange’s was among them. And there I saw it--very +conspicuously placed also; a wonderfully lovely presentment of a lovely +girl.” + +“But was it like her?” + +“It was not like the Mrs. St. Ange I remember. The portrait represented +a fairylike beauty, dainty, exquisite, with the bluest eyes and the +palest golden hair imaginable; an air of indefinable coquetry and grace; +and a slight, girlish figure clothed in white from head to feet. But the +Mrs. St. Ange that used to visit my mother was very different. She was +always in black, her eyes were not pretty or expressive, her hair had +lost all its glow, and her slight figure became round and heavy. She was +also sad-looking. I do not recollect her smiling. She seemed full of +care. Still there were points of resemblance, when you looked for them; +and you may be sure the bright, lovely girl did not become the sad, +hard-looking woman without many and long-continued trials.” + +“She ought not to have married a foreigner. They do not understand +American women; and then one or the other goes to the wall.” + +“In the St. Ange case, it was Annette. Her husband was soft as velvet +and hard as iron. In some way she lost her grip of the situation, and +when men go one step beyond their right they go too far. He never said +an impolite word to her; also, he ceased saying a loving word. She +became afraid of him, nervous, diffident, and suspicious. He had only to +remark in the blandest way that she was losing her fine manners, and she +lost them. In his presence she did herself no justice. He looked +critically at her, slightly shrugged his shoulders, and she was as +awkward as he considered her. In five years no one would have known the +once sarcastic, clever, authoritative Annette de Vries. She had +subsided. She was forgotten; and she hardly knew how to frame a +complaint of the way in which this condition had been brought about. + +“Fortunately, she found some comfort in her house and her children, but +Mr. St. Ange took no apparent interest in either. It was a lonely +pleasure. He was disappointed because the three girls were not three +boys. He spent very little time in his home, preferring one or other of +the clubs of which he was a member.” + +“I think he was simply--a brute.” + +“Not quite that--he did not intend to be brutal. He had taken a distaste +to Annette. My mother told me that in the days of their first +acquaintance he had periods of this distaste; a kind of repulsion which +was overcome by the fascination of her great physical beauty. But the +physical beauty faded, lost its charm, and you can see, Carlita, what +would then happen. But he was never rude or actively unkind; and in +public he treated her with marked attention and respect. If Annette had +complained, no one would have believed her; even her grandmother was +sure in her heart that Annette had managed badly a very good man.” + +“Poor Annette, I am sorry for her.” + +“My mother was sorry for her. She understood. My mother, in matters of +the heart, had a sort of clairvoyant perception; and she never would +listen to any one who blamed Annette. This kind of life between Mr. St. +Ange and his wife went on for nearly ten years; and then one day he +reached home in a strangely excited condition. He said he had received a +request, that was in reality a command, to return to France and look +after the affairs of his family. He was going at once. He expected to be +away at least a year. Annette made no objection, nor did she ask any +questions about the business. She was quite aware that all inquiries +would be answered only as it suited her husband’s views. However, before +he went he made over to her in the most absolute way every dollar he +possessed, both in property and money. He said the ocean voyage was a +life risk; that he had always been unfortunate at sea, and that he +wished his wife to have no difficulty, in case of his death, in +realising his fortune. He himself took nothing away but some changes of +clothing. ‘If he lived to reach Paris he would have no difficulty +concerning money,’ he said, ‘and if not--the thing he had done was well +done and only an act of justice.’ And every one thought his conduct +beautifully thoughtful and unselfish. He went away on a night tide, +when no one was aware of his intention, and again people said, ‘How +considerate!’ and Annette affected to agree with them.” + +“Well, at least, she was clever. I should have done the same, mother. +Did she really grieve at his departure?” + +“No. She turned all her attention to her money affairs. One of her great +troubles had been Achille’s refusal to interfere in the management of +her fortune; or even to permit her to make any change in its +disposition, however profitable such change would be. ‘Your most +sensible grandfather De Vries invested your money, and neither you nor I +can improve upon his financial foresight,’ was the usual answer. But +times had changed, and Annette knew well that her investments needed +change of the most radical kind. She made them without a day’s delay. +She called to her assistance the son of the man who had been her +grandfather’s lawyer, and with his advice speedily nearly doubled her +income. All that Achille had left her was closely secured in real +estate, and she found in this business such pleasant satisfaction, that +she regained much of her beauty and old-time spirit.” + +“She had thrown off the incubus, mother.” + +“Yes, and regained her self-appreciation. Her lawyer praised her +financial insight, her friends praised her appearance, she took the +reins of household management again, and held them with such strict +method and discipline that her servants, from being the most idle and +insolent in the city, became the most respectful and obedient.” + +“Did she ever talk of her husband?” + +“She never spoke of him until the year which Mr. St. Ange had named as +the period of his absence was more than over. No word of any kind had +come to her, and she said to my father, that she expected none. Achille +had told her he would be too busy to write letters, and that she must +accept ‘no news’ to be ‘good news.’ But he had given her the address in +Paris where she might write to him, if there occurred anything worth +writing about. My father advised her to write and inquire as to the +health and welfare of Mr. St. Ange, and the date of his probable return. +Annette did so, and after the lapse of four months received a short note +from the lawyer she had addressed, saying: ‘The ship in which Monsieur +St. Ange sailed from New York was lost in the Bay of Biscay, and all on +board perished. It is possible, but not likely, that Monsieur St. Ange +was picked up by some vessel, whose course would take her round the Cape +to India or China, and thus prevent all intelligence reaching us for a +year or two. Madame is advised to consider this probability, but not to +place much hope upon it.’” + +Carlita laughed scornfully, and her mother continued: “Annette took the +information with a blank calmness; no one could tell what her feelings +were. She continued her busy life for three more years, and then one day +a fashionable gentleman, called Van Tienhoven, visited her. In the most +guarded and respectful manner he told her that he had just returned from +France; that while there he had, through the influence of powerful +friends, visited the Court of Versailles several times, and that on two +occasions he had seen there, in close attendance upon the King, Mr. St. +Ange, or, he added, if not Mr. St. Ange, the most perfect duplicate of +that gentleman that can be imagined. Annette preserved her composure +until his confidence was closed, then gave it an unqualified denial. She +told Van Tienhoven that St. Ange’s lawyer had assured her of the death +of her husband; and begged him not to give publicity to the suspicion +that he still lived. She showed him how painful it must be to her, how +unfortunate for her daughters, and she emphatically declared her own +belief in Mr. St. Ange’s death. He gave her his word of honour to +observe strict silence on the subject; and the Van Tienhovens are all +gentlemen. I have no doubt the promise of secrecy was kept. + +“But Annette became restless and unhappy, and both her grandmother and +my father advised her to go to Paris. She went, taking with her Jonaca, +the eldest of her daughters, who had always been the favourite of St. +Ange. In less than four months she was in New York again. She came back +without Jonaca, and dressed in the most pronounced widow’s costume. She +said unequivocally that her husband was dead, and that she had left +Jonaca at a fine Parisian school; her father’s friends having strongly +urged her to do so, promising to care well for the girl. No one had any +right to doubt Annette’s statement, but mother told me that from the +first there was a doubt. It was undefined and unspoken, but it permeated +society; and Annette soon felt it. One day after some particularly +disagreeable incident, she came to my mother and told her what had +occurred; and mother said, ‘Dear, what does it matter? _You_ know that +Achille is dead, do you not?’ And she answered in a sullen, angry way, +‘Sapphira, he is as dead to me as if he lay at the bottom of the Bay of +Biscay. There is no truer widow in all America than Annette St. Ange. +And then she pulled the widow’s veil from her bonnet, and the widow’s +cap from her head, and flung them with passionate scorn far from her. +What confidence followed this act mother never fully told me; but I +gathered from what she said that she had been compelled to give up +Jonaca, who had been placed in a convent for proper education, and that +the interview with her husband had been extremely painful. But he kissed +her hand at the close of the negotiations, and he sent servants in +magnificent livery to attend to her luggage and passports and all the +other formalities of travel; and they waited on her as if she was a +princess, until they saw her safely on board the American-bound vessel. + +“Gradually I learned more of this domestic tragedy. Judge Bloommaert +told my father and mother that Annette was in receipt of a large income +from France. Later, I heard that the notes authenticating this income +were signed by the Duc de Massareene. A few years later Jonaca St. Ange +was introduced to French society of the highest rank, and in about half +a year we heard of her marriage to the Marquis de Lauvine. Annette was +proud of the alliance, and announced it in all the New York newspapers.” + +“Now, mother, I begin to see how it is all the Van Sants go to Paris +‘for their luck,’ as they say.” + +“You see only in part. Annette never spoke plainly to any one, unless it +was to my mother and her lawyer. Her second daughter, Clara, went to +Paris in her fifteenth year, remained in the convent two years, and was +then introduced to society by her sister, the Marquise de Lauvine. But +Clara refused all French alliances; she had a child love for George Van +Sant, and she came home and married him. The youngest daughter, Annette, +also went to Paris, and returned home to marry Fayette Varian. Their +children have all friends in Paris, and some Americans wonder at the way +they succeed socially. To me it is no wonder. The de Massareenes and De +Lauvines are sensible of their right, and rather proud of their rich +American kindred.” + +“I understand now, mother, why the Van Sants and Varians still crown +Annette St. Ange as the most remarkable of women.” + +“She was a remarkable woman. My father did not hesitate to say to my +mother and self, that she had done wisely in accepting money in place of +a very doubtful recognition. You see the marriage laws were uncertain to +her, and she knew well if her husband was a Roman Catholic that +circumstance alone might invalidate her own marriage.” + +“But was he a Roman Catholic?” + +“Yes. Always had been, I suspect.” + +“Then I think he was very dishonourable, and----” + +“We will not discuss that question. It involves too many of our own +kindred. Madame Jonaca, her grandmother, her uncle, Judge Bloommaert, +and her Grandfather de Vries ought perhaps not to have taken the young +man’s ‘conformity’ for reality. That is past. The atonement made was +very real and lasting. Immediately on her return from Paris Annette +bought a beautiful home, she had the finest horses and carriages in New +York, and she brought from far and near the very best teachers for her +daughters. But in spite of this apparent extravagance she kept a strict +account of every expense, and made every dollar earn its fullest +percentage. Besides which, she speculated wisely, and was fortunate in +every money transaction she touched. The Van Sants owe to her prudence +all the luxury they enjoy to-day. They do well to praise her. I was +thinking of her bride picture, and of the sad, sombrely clothed woman I +remembered, when you came into the room. And I had just come to the +conclusion that her husband’s withdrawal was a fortunate thing for +Annette and her daughters.” + +“She gave up all for her children. She was a good woman.” + +“I do not believe she would have given up the crossing of a ‘t’ if it +had not been for her children. She had spirit enough to have fought +every court in France,--when she was from under her husband’s +influence,--but motherhood was Annette’s passion, and if the Van Sants +and Varians knew Annette St. Ange’s true story they would give hearty +thanks and praise to the self-effacing woman who chose for them wealth +and honour in America rather than a foreign nobility, with perhaps the +bar sinister across it.” + +“I am going to take a good look at Annette St. Ange’s picture to-morrow, +mother. I have been rather worried lately at our Gerard’s attentions to +Clara Van Sant, but if she has any share in her grandmother’s reticent, +self-respecting, prudent, far-seeing nature, Gerard has my blessing. He +can marry Clara to-morrow. What have you done with that square of glass, +mother?” + +“It is in my desk.” + +“I would have it fitted into one of the windows in your private +sitting-room.” + +“Thank you for the suggestion, Carlita.” + +“I cannot help wondering at fate, or whatever you call the power that +orders our lives. Here were two women brought up in the same kind of +loving, orderly homes, and surrounded by just the same influences, and +the marriage of one is a living tragedy, and the marriage of the other +is a song of love. How did the difference come to pass?” + +“There were personal reasons in both cases to account for the +difference--if there was all the dissimilarity you suppose.” + +“Was there not?” + +“No; my mother’s song of love had discords, and often fell into the +minor key. No one can tell in what particular way a man will try the +heart of the woman that loves him. My dear father had some failings that +might have made sorrow enough, but mother knew how to accept the +discipline; and in some cases we are reaping the benefit this day, both +of my father’s foibles and my mother’s wise acceptance of them.” + +“I have always believed Grandfather Murray to have been a nearly +faultless man.” + +“Under some circumstances his failings would have been virtues; but when +a man marries he assumes duties which are paramount, and which demand a +sacrifice of things in themselves innocent and even commendable. He had +a love for travel, adventure, and even fighting, that at times became a +hunger that must be satisfied; and these periods were often of long +duration, and caused my mother infinite alarm and anxiety. I will only +give you two instances, and these two, because they are prominent +factors in our present life.” + +“One of them is, of course, Castle Murray in Scotland?” + +“Yes. You know the story of its loss and redemption. But that was but +the beginning. The old place seemed to draw father like a magnet, and he +doubtless spent a great deal of money on its improvement; for he built +additional rooms and inaugurated industries which I believe are still in +progress.” + +“He was making the land valuable, mother. Was not that wise?” + +“It did not look like wisdom to my anxious mother, and when my eldest +brother James died it looked still less prudent. But my brother +Alexander was then ‘Murray of Castle Murray,’ and he was as fanatic as +his father and elder brother had been. His son David was equally proud +of the old grey walls, and you know how Gerard plumes himself on being +heir to the place.” + +“Yes, I know; but, mother, the Scotch place is now a very distinctive +and valuable property. You are as proud as any of us, when the +newspapers announce ‘Mr. Gerard Murray and a party of friends _en route_ +to Castle Murray, his ancestral home in the Scotch Highlands, for the +shooting season.’ And the years Gerard does not himself go there he +rents the place for an almost incredible sum to some rich American or +Englishman. I am sure we should miss the money, as well as the +distinction, Murray Castle brings us if it was no longer ours. For my +part, I think my Grandfather Murray did a very wise thing in buying back +and renovating the old home, I do believe it will prove one of his best +speculations.” + +“I do not doubt your faith, Carlita; and you must remember, I am now +giving you instances of good results from your grandfather’s wandering +fever. For you know wherever he went the lust for land went with him. +He had also the strangest instinct concerning its value. In some occult +way he divined the fortune of land, just as some fishermen point out to +the fleet of boats exactly where the school of herring swim, though no +ripple on the water and no shimmer of the fish show to the ordinary +eye--or, as I myself have seen, a man step out from his comrades and say +‘You may dig here, there is water beneath our feet.’ In some such way, +your grandfather could pick out the corners of certain streets, and even +plots and parcels of unplanted lands, as future desirable locations.” + +“I do wish, mother, such an instinct was hereditary, and that it had +come my road.” + +“It was a special gift, and perhaps was allied to the second-sight that +was not uncommon among his people. I was going to tell you that about +1850 he went to New Orleans. He had property there, and always kept it, +my mother thought, because it gave him a plausible excuse for a journey +when he could find no other. Well, on this journey he met, in New +Orleans, General Sam Houston. The two men loved each other on sight, and +your grandfather went back with him to Texas. He was infatuated with the +country. He wrote mother the most extravagant love letters, all inspired +by the skies, and the prairies, the wonderful sunshine, the intoxicating +atmosphere, and the seas of flowers nodding, even at his bridle reins. +And my dear mother affected an equal enthusiasm; she told him to enjoy +the trip in all its fulness--not to hurry home. She assured him all was +well--and that she was able to manage affairs a little longer without +him.” + +“I suppose she knew that he would stay until the fever of wandering had +exhausted itself?” + +“Perhaps she did; but even if so, her sympathy made him more happy. He +remained in Texas nearly a year, and, of course, bought land there. Some +of this land has been very advantageously turned into cash; but there +was one tract he would never part with. To be sure, no one seemed to +want it; and I have heard Texans who came to our house--where they were +always welcome--ask him what motive he had in buying land so valueless. +He always laughed a little, and said, ‘It was a fancy of his.’ Then +_they_ would laugh, and tell him that ‘he was rich enough to buy a +fancy.’ All the same, it was easy to see they thought either that my +father had been cheated or else that he was a mighty poor judge of land +and localities. But nothing altered his opinion of the Texas property, +and he took a promise both from my brothers and myself that we would not +sell it for fifty years. Well, Carlita, you know how it turned out?” + +“Mother! You mean the oil lands? Good gracious! How could grandfather +know? There was no oil found below ground in his day--how could he +know?” + +“So you see, though mother had these periods of loneliness and trial, +_we_ are reaping their harvest; and I am sure she is glad of it.” + +“Grandfather was a strange ‘mixture of the elements’; so shrewd and +worldly-wise, and yet so romantic.” + +“You may add sentiment to the romance. When he first entered Castle +Murray he saw it exactly as it had been left. No one had touched +anything. The old chief’s chair, as he pushed it from the table when he +had eaten his last meal in the home he was leaving, remained just at the +angle taken; a half-bottle of usquebaugh and an unbroken glass stood on +the bare oak table. The dust of generations lay an inch thick, and on +the hearthstone were a few remnants of half-burnt wood. These remnants +your grandfather carefully gathered, and when the first fire in the +Bowling Green house was lit they kindled it. But no one who ever saw +Leonard Murray buying or selling land would have dreamed that he had +room in his heart for a bit of sentiment like that.” + +“I have heard him called a shrewd, hard man.” + +“I know. Listen again. You have complained of the superabundance of +white roses at our old country home up the river?” + +“Well, mother, they are absurdly out of proportion. They cover walls and +fences and over-run the garden, and ought to give place, in part, to +other flowers.” + +“Not while I live. My mother and father carefully reared the first +growth from the seeds of one white rose, which in some way was vitally +connected with their love. There was a quarrel, and my mother rejected +the rose; and father kept it, and then after they were married they +planted the seed, and watched and nourished it, until it became a tree +bearing white roses. From slips of that tree the garden has been +garlanded with roses. I do not wish it changed, until you have put the +last earthly rose in my cold hands.” + +“Dear mother! Dear mother!” + +They talked over these incidents until Gerard returned; and then as they +took some slight refreshment together fell into speculations concerning +the past and present Bowling Green. Gerard was sympathetic with its +past, but enthusiastic as to its future. And when Mrs. Bloommaert spoke +feelingly of the dignified men who in early days had been the familiar +figures on its pleasant sidewalks, Gerard answered: + +“Dear auntie, these dignified old merchants in breeches and beavers and +fine lawn ruffles have most worthy successors in the clean-shaved men of +to-day, sensibly clothed from their soft hats to their comfortably +low-cut shoes. Would it not be delightful to show some of these old, +dignified merchants over the new Bowling Green? Take them through Nassau +Street and way up Broadway? I think they would need all the training +they have been having since they died to bear it.” + +“You ought not to speak so lightly of the future life, Gerard.” + +“Auntie, your pardon! But do you think that only the incarnated improve? +May not the de-incarnated be progressing also?” + +“Of that condition I have no knowledge; but we all know that the first +builders of New York had the hard part. They laid the foundation of all +that has been done.” + +“All right, aunt; but the men of to-day have built well and loftily on +their foundation. If they could see the Bowling Green to-day, and the +magnificent commercial city of which it is the centre--if they could see +the elevated roads, the motor cars, the railways, telegraphs, and ocean +cable service and all the rest of our business facilities, I am sure +they would have no words for their astonishment and delight.” + +“Well, children, I have lived a long time to-day. I belong to the--past. +I am tired. Good-night, Gerard.” + +“Good-night, aunt. Dream of the past, but be sure that however +enterprising, energetic, patriotic, and far-seeing those old-time New +Yorkers were, there is just as much enterprise and energy, just as much +patriotism and prudence, with the New Yorkers of to-day, for + + “The bold brave heart of New York + Still beats on the Bowling Green!” + + +THE END + + + + +POPULAR COPYRIGHT BOOKS + +AT MODERATE PRICES + +Any of the following titles can be bought of your Bookseller at the +price you paid for this volume + + + =Adventures of Captain Kettle.= Cutcliffe Hyne. + + =Adventures of Gerard.= A. Conan Doyle. + + =Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.= A. Conan Doyle. + + =Alton of Somasco.= Harold Bindloss. + + =Arms and the Woman.= Harold MacGrath. + + =Artemus Ward’s Works= (extra illustrated). + + =At the Mercy of Tiberius.= Augusta Evans Wilson. + + =Battle Ground, The.= Ellen Glasgow. + + =Belle of Bowling Green, The.= Amelia E. Barr. + + =Ben Blair.= Will Lillibridge. + + =Bob, Son of Battle.= Alfred Ollivant. + + =Boss, The.= Alfred Henry Lewis. + + =Brass Bowl, The.= Louis Joseph Vance. + + =Brethren, The.= H. Rider Haggard. + + =By Snare of Love.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =By Wit of Woman.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =Cap’n Erie.= Joseph C. Lincoln. + + =Captain in the Ranks, A.= George Cary Eggleston. + + =Cardigan.= Robert W. Chambers. + + =Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine.= Frank R. Stockton. + + =Circle, The.= Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of “The Masquerader,” + “The Gambler”). + + =Conquest of Canaan, The.= Booth Tarkington. + + =Courier of Fortune, A.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =Darrow Enigma, The.= Melvin Severy. + + =Deliverance, The.= Ellen Glasgow. + + =Exploits of Brigadier Gerard.= A. Conan Doyle. + + =Fighting Chance, The.= Robert W. Chambers. + + =For a Maiden Brave.= Chauncey C. Hotchkiss. + + =For Love or Crown.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =Fugitive Blacksmith, The.= Charles D. Stewart. + + =Heart’s Highway, The.= Mary E. Wilkins. + + =Holladay Case, The.= Burton Egbert Stevenson. + + =Hurricane Island.= H. B. Marriott-Watson. + + =Indifference of Juliet, The.= Grace S. Richmond. + + =Infelice.= Augusta Evans Wilson. + + =In the Name of a Woman.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =Lady Betty Across the Water.= C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + + =Lane That Had No Turning, The.= Gilbert Parker. + + =Leavenworth Case, The.= Anna Katharine Green. + + =Lilac Sunbonnet, The.= S. R. Crockett. + + =Lin McLean.= Owen Wister. + + =Long Night, The.= Stanley J. Weyman. + + =Maid at Arms, The.= Robert W. Chambers. + + =Man from Red Keg, The.= Eugene Thwing. + + =Marathon Mystery, The.= Burton Egbert Stevenson. + + =Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.= A. Conan Doyle. + + =Millionaire Baby, The.= Anna Katharine Green. + + =Missourian, The.= Eugene P. Lyle, Jr. + + =My Friend the Chauffeur.= C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + + =My Lady of the North.= Randall Parrish. + + =Mystery of June 13th.= Melvin L. Severy. + + =Mystery Tales.= Edgar Allen Poe. + + =Nancy Stair.= Elinor Macartney Lane. + + =None But the Brave.= Hamblen Sears. + + =Order No. 11.= Caroline Abbot Stanley. + + =Pam.= Bettina von Hutten. + + =Pam Decides.= Bettina von Hutten. + + =Partners of the Tide.= Joseph C. Lincoln. + + =Phra the Phoenician.= Edwin Lester Arnold. + + =President, The.= Alfred Henry Lewis. + + =Princess Passes, The.= C. N. and A. M. Williamson. + + =Private War, The.= Louis Joseph Vance. + + =Prodigal Son, The.= Hall Caine. + + =Queen’s Advocate, The.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =Quickening, The.= Francis Lynde. + + =Richard the Brazen.= Cyrus Townsend Brady and Edward Peple. + + =Rose of the World.= Agnes and Egerton Castle. + + =Sarita the Carlist.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =Seats of the Mighty, The.= Gilbert Parker. + + =Sir Nigel.= A. Conan Doyle. + + =Sir Richard Calmady.= Lucas Malet. + + =Speckled Bird.= Augusta Evans Wilson. + + =Spoilers, The.= Rex Beach. + + =Sunset Trail, The.= Alfred Henry Lewis. + + =Sword of the Old Frontier, A.= Randall Parrish. + + =Tales of Sherlock Holmes.= A. Conan Doyle. + + =That Printer of Udell’s.= Harold Bell Wright. + + =Throwback, The.= Alfred Henry Lewis. + + =Trail of the Sword, The.= Gilbert Parker. + + =Two Vanrevels, The.= Booth Tarkington. + + =Up From Slavery.= Booker T. Washington. + + =Vashti.= Augusta Evans Wilson. + + =Viper of Milan, The= (original edition). Marjorie Bowen. + + =Voice of the People, The.= Ellen Glasgow. + + =Wheel of Life, The.= Ellen Glasgow. + + =When I Was Czar.= Arthur W. Marchmont. + + =When Wilderness Was King.= Randall Parrish. + + =Woman in Grey, A.= Mrs. C. N. Williamson. + + =Woman in the Alcove, The.= Anna Katharine Green. + + +A. L. BURT CO., Publishers, 52-58 Duane St., New York City + + +FOOTNOTES: + +[1] Proverbs xxxi. 22. + +[2] In November, 1829, twenty-five years later, Judge Lansing left his +hotel in New York to take steamboat for Albany, and was never seen or +heard of afterward. + +[3] This marvellous production remained on the Bowling Green until +1843, when the city’s art critics had advanced so far as to allege +the brilliant statue was not a work of art; and in deference to their +opinion it was sold to a collector of antiquities, who kept it forty +years. Then he died, and it was sold at auction for $300. It is now +in a cigar store on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, where it +fills the position usually given to the wooden Indian. These facts are +noticed in the hope that the millionaire patriots congregating round +the Bowling Green may find it in their hearts not only to release the +historic statue from its degrading position, but also to place upon the +empty pedestal a statue of Washington worthy of the situation and of +the great city it appeals to. + + +Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber: + +but it any one=> but if any one {pg 17} + +Three hours after luck=> Three hours after lunch {pg 27} + +But Judge Bloomaert=> But Judge Bloommaert {pg 36} + +and Mrs. Bloomaert=> and Mrs. Bloommaert {pg 40} + +The perparations for this=> The preparations for this {pg 41} + +with envy and jealously to-night=> with envy and jealousy to-night {pg +51} + +she did not life her eyes=> she did not lift her eyes {pg 54} + +themeselves before=> themselves before {pg 62} + +New York and Lousiania=> New York and Lousiana {pg 105} + +having bought Louisiania=> having bought Louisiana {pg 106} + +camillas and voilets=> camillas and violets {pg 135} + +take any interst=> take any interest {pg 153} + +greater populalation=> greater population {pg 200} + +rose tree was in gloom=> rose tree was in bloom {pg 208} + +Convice him he is wrong=> Convince him he is wrong {pg 212} + +will unmistakable decision=> with unmistakable decision {pg 242} + +opening the doors=> opening of the doors {pg 247} + +door was nosielessly opened=> door was noiselessly opened {pg 323} + +with the Blooommaert=> with the Bloommaert {pg 150} + + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76576 *** diff --git a/76576-h/76576-h.htm b/76576-h/76576-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..00a11ed --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/76576-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,9739 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html> +<html lang="en"> + <head> +<link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover"> + +<meta charset="utf-8"> +<title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Bell of +Bowling Green, by Amelia E. Barr. +</title> +<style> + +a:link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + + link {background-color:#ffffff;color:blue;text-decoration:none;} + +a:visited {background-color:#ffffff;color:purple;text-decoration:none;} + +a:hover {background-color:#ffffff;color:#FF0000;text-decoration:underline;} + +body{margin-left:4%;margin-right:6%;background:#ffffff;color:black;font-family:"Times New Roman", serif;font-size:medium;} + +.bbox {border:solid 1px black;padding:.25em; +margin:1em auto; +max-width:25em;} + +.bbox1 {border:solid 1px black;} + +.blockquot {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;} + +.c {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.caption {font-weight:normal;} +.caption p{font-size:75%;text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.cb {text-align:center;text-indent:0%;font-weight:bold;} + +.fint {text-align:center;text-indent:0%; +margin-top:2em;} + +.figcenter {margin:3% auto 3% auto;clear:both; +text-align:center;text-indent:0%;} + +.footnotes {border:dotted 3px gray;margin-top:5%;clear:both;} + +.footnote {width:95%;margin:auto 3% 1% auto;font-size:0.9em;position:relative;} + +.label {position:relative;left:-.5em;top:0;text-align:left;font-size:.8em;} + +.fnanchor {vertical-align:30%;font-size:.8em;} + + h1 {margin-top:5%;text-align:center;clear:both; +font-weight:normal;} + + h2 {margin-top:4%;margin-bottom:2%;text-align:center;clear:both; + font-size:100%;font-weight:normal;} + + h3 {margin:4% auto 2% auto;text-align:center;clear:both;} + + hr {width:95%;margin:2em auto 2em auto;clear:both;color:black;} + + hr.full {width: 95%;margin:2% auto 2% auto;border-top:1px solid black; +padding:.1em;border-bottom:1px solid black;border-left:none;border-right:none;} + + img {border:none;} + +.lftspc {margin-left:.25em;} + +.nind {text-indent:0%;} + + p {margin-top:.2em;text-align:justify;margin-bottom:.2em;text-indent:4%;} + +.pagenum {font-style:normal;position:absolute; +left:95%;font-size:55%;text-align:right;color:gray; +background-color:#ffffff;font-variant:normal; +font-style:normal;font-weight:normal; +text-decoration:none;text-indent:0em;} + +.r {text-align:right;margin-right: 5%;} + +.rt {text-align:right;vertical-align:bottom;} + +small {font-size: 70%;} + + sup {font-size:75%;vertical-align:top;} + +.smcap {font-variant:small-caps;font-size:100%;} + +table {margin-top:2%;margin-bottom:2%;margin-left:auto;margin-right:auto;border:none;} + +div.poetry {text-align:center;} +div.poem {font-size:90%;margin:auto auto;text-indent:0%; +display: inline-block; text-align: left;} +.poem .stanza {margin-top: 1em;margin-bottom:1em;} +.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: .45em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i3 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 3em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i61 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i81 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} +.poem span.i15 {display: block; margin-left: 10em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + +.dropc {vertical-align:top;float: left;} + +div.trans {border:dotted 2px black; +margin:1em auto;max-width:80%;} + +div.trans p{text-align:center;} + +.toc {margin:1em auto;max-width:25em; +border:2px solid black;text-indent:0%;text-align:center;} + +</style> + </head> +<body> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76576 ***</div> +<hr class="full"> + +<p class="toc"> +<a href="#CONTENTS">CONTENTS</a><br> +<a href="#FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES</a><br> +<a href="#transcrib">TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</a></p> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<a href="images/cover.jpg"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" width="366" height="550" alt=""></a> +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/frontispiece.jpg" width="377" height="550" alt="“THEY RESTED ON THE BENCHES, AND MADE LITTLE CONFIDENCES, +AND WERE VERY HAPPY.”"> +<br> +<span class="caption">“THEY RESTED ON THE BENCHES, AND MADE LITTLE CONFIDENCES, +AND WERE VERY HAPPY.”</span> +</div> + +<div class="bbox"> +<div class="bbox1"> + +<h1> +The Belle of<br> +Bowling Green</h1> + +<hr class="full"> +<p class="c"> +By AMELIA E. BARR</p> +<hr><p class="c"> +Author of “The Bow of Orange Ribbon;” “The<br> +Maid of Maiden Lane,” Etc.<br> +<br> +<br> +<img src="images/colophon.png" width="100" height="100" alt=""> +<br> +With Illustrations<br> +By WALTER H. EVERETT</p> +<hr class="full"> +<p class="c"> +A. L. BURT COMPANY,<br> +PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK<br> +</p> + +</div> +</div> + +<p class="c"> +Copyright, 1904,<br> +BY<br> +<span class="smcap">Dodd, Mead & Company</span><br> +<br> +<i>Published, October</i><br> +<br> +PRINTED IN NEW YORK, U. S. A.<br> +<br> +<br> +<i>To My Friend</i><br> +<br> +WARREN SNYDER<br> +<br> +<i>A Bookman and a Lover of Books</i><br> +<br> +<i>This Novel is Dedicated</i><br> +</p> + +<h2><a id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + +<table> +<tr><td><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td> </td> +<td><small>PAGE</small></td> +</tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">Monday’s Daughters</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_3">3</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">The Spring of Life</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_30">30</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">A Sweetness More Desired than Spring</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_61">61</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Introduces Mr. St. Ange</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_81">81</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">A Chain of Causes</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_115">115</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">The Miracle of Love</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_149">149</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">The Incident of Marriage</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_194">194</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">The Rose of Renunciation</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_226">226</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">The Reproof of the Sword</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_252">252</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">The Star of Peace</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_296">296</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td class="rt"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI</a></td><td class="smcap"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Afterward</a></td><td class="rt"><a href="#page_321">321</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<h2><a id="Prologue"></a><i>Prologue</i></h2> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O shades of respectable Vans!<br></span> +<span class="i2">O Livingstons, Kennedys, Jays!<br></span> +<span class="i0">Lend me your names to conjure with,<br></span> +<span class="i2">And bring back the fine old days—<br></span> +<span class="i0">When the trade and wealth of the city<br></span> +<span class="i2">Lay snugly the rivers between,<br></span> +<span class="i0">And the homes of its merchant princes,<br></span> +<span class="i2">Were built round the Bowling Green.<br></span> +<span class="i81">Here’s to the homes that are past!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Here’s to the men that have been!<br></span> +<span class="i81">Here’s to the heart of New York,<br></span> +<span class="i61">That beats on the Bowling Green!<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here’s to the men who could meet<br></span> +<span class="i2">Mockers and doubters, with smiles;<br></span> +<span class="i0">And planning for centuries hence,<br></span> +<span class="i2">Lay out their city by miles.<br></span> +<span class="i0">It has spread far out to the North,<br></span> +<span class="i2">It has spread to the East and the West,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Though the men who saw it in dreams,<br></span> +<span class="i2">Now sleep in old Trinity’s breast.<br></span> +<span class="i81">Here’s to the homes that are past!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Here’s to the men that have been!<br></span> +<span class="i81">Here’s to the heart of New York,<br></span> +<span class="i6">That beats on the Bowling Green!<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And here’s to the maids of the past!<br></span> +<span class="i2">(They were beautiful maids we know,)<br></span> +<span class="i0">That strolled in the Battery Park,<br></span> +<span class="i2">In the years of the Long Ago.<br></span> +<span class="i0">And though maids of to-day are fair,<br></span> +<span class="i2">(No lovelier ever have been)<br></span> +<span class="i0">They are proud to be called by the names<br></span> +<span class="i2">Of the Belles of the Bowling Green.<br></span> +<span class="i81">Here’s to the men of the past!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Here’s to the maids that have been!<br></span> +<span class="i81">Here’s to the heart of New York,<br></span> +<span class="i61">That beats on the Bowling Green!<br></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_1">{1}</a></span></div></div> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_2">{2}</a></span>  </p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="page_3">{3}</a></span>  </p> + +<h1><i>The Belle of Bowling Green</i></h1> + +<h2><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br><a id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER ONE<br><br> +<i>Monday’s Daughters</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_E.png" +width="80" height="79" +alt="E"></span>VERY city has some locality to which its heroic and civic memories +especially cling; and this locality in the city of New York is the +historic acre of the Bowling Green. With that spot it has been +throughout its existence, in some way or other, unfailingly linked; and +its mingled story of camp and court and domestic life ought to make the +Bowling Green to the citizens of New York all that the Palladium was to +the citizens of ancient Troy. For as the Palladium held in one hand a +pike, and in the other hand a distaff and spindle, so also, the story of +the Bowling Green is one of the pike and the distaff. It has felt the +tread of fighting men, and the light feet of happy maidens; and though +showing a front of cannon, has lain for nearly three centuries at the +open seaward door of the city, like a green hearthstone of welcome.</p> + +<p>In the closing years of the eighteenth, and the early years of the +nineteenth century, the Bowling Green was in a large measure surrounded +by the stately homes of the most honourable and wealthy citizens; and +though this class, before the war of 1812, had began to move slowly +northward, it was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_4">{4}</a></span> some years later a very aristocratic quarter, +especially favoured by the rich families of Dutch extraction, who, +having dwelt for many generations somewhere around the Fort and the +Bowling Green, were not easily induced to relinquish their homes in a +locality so familiar and so dear to them.</p> + +<p>Thus for nearly one hundred and forty years there had been Bloommaerts +living in the old Beaver Path, and in Bloommaert’s Valley, or Broad +Street, and when Judge Gerardus Bloommaert, in 1790, built himself a +handsome dwelling, he desired no finer site for it than the Bowling +Green. It was a lofty, roomy house of red brick, without extraneous +ornament, but realising in its interior arrangements and furnishings the +highest ideals of household comfort and elegance.</p> + +<p>Sapphira, his only daughter, a girl of eighteen years old, was, however, +its chief charm and attraction. No painting on all its walls could rival +her living beauty; and many a young citizen found the road to the Custom +House the road of his desire. For was there not always the hope that he +might catch a glimpse of the lovely Sapphira at the window of her home? +Or meet her walking on the Mall, or the Battery, and perhaps, if very +fortunate, get a smile or a word from her in passing.</p> + +<p>All knew that they could give themselves good reasons for their +devotions; they did not bow to an unworthy idol. Sapphira Bloommaert had +to perfection every mystery and beauty of the flesh—dark, lambent eyes, +hardly more lambent than the luminous face lighted up by the spirit +behind it;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_5">{5}</a></span> nut-brown hair, with brows and long eyelashes of a still +darker shade; a vivid complexion; an exquisite mouth; a tall, erect, +slender form with a rather proud carriage, and movements that were +naturally of superb dignity: “the airs of a queen,” as her cousin +Annette said. But Sapphira had no consciousness in this attitude; it was +as natural as breathing to her; and was the result of a perfectly +harmonious physical and moral beauty, developed under circumstances of +love and happiness. All her life days had been full of content; she +looked as if she had been born smiling.</p> + +<p>This was exactly what her grandmother Bloommaert said to her one +morning, and that with some irritation; for the elder woman was anxious +about many people and many things, and Sapphira’s expression of pleasant +contentment was not the kind of sympathy that worry finds soothing.</p> + +<p>“In trouble is the city, Sapphira, and over that bit of hair-work you +sit smiling, as if in Paradise we were. I think, indeed, you were born +smiling.”</p> + +<p>“The time of tears is not yet, grandmother; when it comes, I shall +weep—like other women.”</p> + +<p>“Weep! Yes, yes; but one thing remember—deliverance comes never through +tears. Look at Cornelia Desbrosses; dying she is, with her own tears +poisoned.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry for Cornelia; I wish that she had no cause to weep,” and +with these words she did not smile. It had suddenly struck her that +perhaps it was not right or kind to be happy when there was so much fear +and anxiety in her na<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_6">{6}</a></span>tive city. The idea was new and painful; she rose +and went with it to the solitude of her own room; and her mother after +silently watching her exit, said:</p> + +<p>“She is so gentle, so easily moved—was it worth while?”</p> + +<p>“You think so? Give Sapphira a motive strong enough, and so firm she +will be—so impossible to move. Oh, yes, Carlita, I know!”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, mother, she obeys as readily as a little child. Our will is her +will. She bends to it just like the leaves of that tree to the wind.”</p> + +<p>“Very good! but there may come a day when to your will she will not +bend; when a rod of finely tempered steel will be more pliant in your +hand than her wish or will. We shall see. She is a very child yet, but +times are coming—are come—that will turn children quickly into men and +women. Our Gerardus, where is he?”</p> + +<p>“He left home rather earlier than usual. He was sure there was important +news.” Mrs. Bloommaert spoke coldly. Her mother-in-law always set her +temper on edge with the claim vibrating through the two words “our +Gerardus.” “There is so much talk and nothing comes of it but annoyance +to ourselves,” she continued, “the cry has been war for five years. It +comes not.”</p> + +<p>“It is here. At the street corners I saw the bill-man pasting up news of +it. In every one’s mouth I heard it. Alive was the air with the word +<i>war</i>; and standing in groups, men<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_7">{7}</a></span> were talking together in that +passion of anger that means war, war, and nothing but war.”</p> + +<p>“The blood of New York is always boiling, mother. When Gerardus comes he +will tell us if it be war. I shall not be sorry if it is. When one has +been waiting for a blow five long years, it is a relief to have it fall. +Who is to blame? The administration, or the people?”</p> + +<p>“As well may you ask whether it is the fiddle, or the fiddlestick, that +makes the tune.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate we shall give England a good fight. Our men are not +cowards.”</p> + +<p>“Carlita, all men would be cowards—if they durst.”</p> + +<p>“Mother!”</p> + +<p>“If they durst disobey the nobler instincts which make the lower ones +face their duty.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!”</p> + +<p>“Carlita, you have no ideas about humanity.”</p> + +<p>“I think mother I, at least, understand my husband and sons—as for +Sapphira——”</p> + +<p>“More difficult she will be—and more interesting. Peter and Christopher +are all Dutch; they that run may read them, but in Sapphira the Dutch +and French are discreetly mingled. She has tithed your French ancestors, +Carlita—take good heed of her.”</p> + +<p>“They were of noble strain.”</p> + +<p>“Surely, that is well known. Now I must go home, for I know that Annette +is already afraid, and there is the dinner<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_8">{8}</a></span> to order. Pigeons do not fly +into the mouth ready roasted, and Commenia is getting old. She is lazy, +too; but so! The year goes round and somehow we do not find it all bad.”</p> + +<p>As she finished speaking, Sapphira came hastily into the room. Her face +was flushed, her eyes flashing, and she cried out with unrestrained +emotion: “Mother! Mother! We must put out our flags! All the houses on +the Green are flagged! Kouba has them ready. He will help me. And you +too, mother? Certainly you will help? Kouba says we are going to fight +England again! I am so proud! I am so happy! Come, come, mother!”</p> + +<p>“My dear one, wait a little. Your father will be here soon, and——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, no! Father may be in court. He is likely with the mayor. +Perhaps he is talking to the people. We can not wait. We must put out +the flags—the old one that has seen battle, and the new one that is to +see it.”</p> + +<p>“But Sapphira——”</p> + +<p>“I have the flags ready, mother. Come quickly,” and without further +parley she ran with fleet, headlong steps to the upper rooms of the +house. Madame, her grandmother, smiled knowingly at her daughter-in-law.</p> + +<p>“The will that is your will?” she asked; “where is it? You can see for +yourself, Carlita.”</p> + +<p>“The news seems to be true at last. You had better wait for Gerardus, +mother. He will tell us all about it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_9">{9}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“The news will find me out in Nassau Street.”</p> + +<p>“Commenia can manage without you for one day.”</p> + +<p>“There are strawberries to preserve. I like to manage my affairs myself. +I have my own way, and some other way does not please me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I shall go to Sapphira. My hands are itching for the flags. +I am sure you understand, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Understand! If it comes to that, I made up my mind many years ago about +those English tyrants—and I have not to make it over. I think about +them and their ways exactly as I did when I sent my dear Peter with +Joris Van Heemskirk’s troops to fight them. Gerardus was but a boy +then—ten years old only—but he cried to go with his father. God be +with us! Wives and mothers don’t forget, <i>O wee! O wee!</i>”</p> + +<p>Her voice softened, she looked wistfully backward and, with outstretched +hand, waved her daughter-in-law upstairs. Then she opened for herself +the wide, front entrance. The door was heavy, but it swung easily to her +firm grip. And yet she was in the seventy-fourth year of her life days.</p> + +<p>With a slow but imperious step she took the road to her own home. She +was not afraid of the crowd, nor of the enthusiasm that moved it. At +every turn she was recognised and saluted, for Madame Bloommaert was +part and parcel of the honour of the city, and her bright, handsome face +with its coal-black eyes and eyebrows, and snow-white hair lying<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_10">{10}</a></span> like +mist upon its brown temples, was a familiar sight to old and young. She +was rather small of stature, but so disdainfully erect that she gave the +impression of being a tall woman—an illusion aided by the buoyancy of +her temper and the definite character of her movements.</p> + +<p>Her home was on lower Nassau Street between Beaver and Marketfield. It +had been her residence for fifty years, and was as perfectly Dutch as +herself in its character. Nothing in the street, however, was more +interesting than this human habitation. It appeared to have created for +itself a sort of soul, so instinct with personality was it. A large +garden surrounded it, though its space had been slowly curtailed as land +in the vicinity became valuable; yet there was still room enough for +some fine shrubbery, a little grass plot, beds of flowers, strawberry +and other vines, and the deep, cool well, with its antique shed full of +bright pewter dishes.</p> + +<p>The house itself was of red brick, mellow and warm, and soft to the eyes +with the rains and sunshine of half a century; and nothing could be +finer than its front, sending up sharp points to the sky, with a little +boat weathercock on the tallest point boxing about in the wind. Over the +wide casements a sweetbrier climbed, and nodded its tiny flower; and the +veranda, cunningly carved along the bottom railing in an open leaf +pattern, was a perfect bower of Virginia creeper.</p> + +<p>She opened the garden gate, and its mingled perfumes made her sigh with +pleasure. Such boxwood borders, such gay,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_11">{11}</a></span> sweet flowers, such brick +walks laid in zig-zag pattern, and shaded by elm and maple trees are not +to be found in New York city now, but to madame they were only the +beautiful frame of her daily life. She cast her eyes down to see if the +walk had been swept, and then looked up at the house as if it were a +friend. The flag she loved, the flag under which her young husband had +died fighting for liberty, was floating from her window. She stood still +and gazed at it. Without words it spoke to her, and without words she +answered its claim. In a moment she had accepted whatever of trial or +triumph it might bring her.</p> + +<p>She went forward more hastily, but, ere she reached the entrance, a very +pretty girl came running to meet her. “Have you heard the news, +grandmother?” she cried. “Are you not very happy? What did Sapphira say? +And Aunt Carlita?—and uncle?—and all of them?”</p> + +<p>Madame was unable to answer her questions. She clasped her hand firmly, +and went with her into the house. Straight to the main living room she +went, an apartment in which the dearest portion of her household gods +were enshrined: massive silver services on a richly carved sideboard; +semi-lucent china in the corner cupboard; three pictures of Teniers that +one of her husband’s ancestors had bought from the hands of the great +painter himself; and chairs of antique workmanship that had crossed the +ocean with Samuel Bloommaert in 1629 when he bought Zwanendael, the +Valley of the Swans. The wide, open fireplace of this room was in itself +a picture.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_12">{12}</a></span> The deep cavity at the back and the abutting jambs were +coloured a vivid scarlet, with a wash made from iron dust; the +hearthstone was white as snow with pipeclay, and in front of the heavy +brass irons was a tall blue and white jar with dragons for handles, +holding a bunch of red roses, mingled with green asparagus branches. The +broad chimney piece above this home picture had also its distinctive +charm. It shone with silver candlesticks, their snuffers, and little +trays. It kept the silver posset pan that had made the baby’s food half +a century ago; the christening cups of her son Gerardus and her daughter +Elsie; and two beautiful lacquered tea-caddies from India and China.</p> + +<p>Opposite the fireplace, at the end of the room, there was a long table +black with age and heavy with Nuremburg carving; but it was on a small +round one which stood by an open window that a dinner service for two +persons was very prettily laid. Madame sat down in a chair near it, and +Annette took off her scarf and bonnet and long gloves, and chattered +volubly as she did so:</p> + +<p>“I know you would like our flag to be out as soon as the rest, +grandmother, and the Yates’ flag was flying, and the Vanderlyns’, and I +had hard work to get ours flying before the Moores’ and the Rivingtons’. +I thought the whole city had gone mad, and I sent Mink and Bass to find +the reason out. They stopped so long! and when they came back, they said +it was because we are going to fight England again. How men do love to +fight, grandmother!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_13">{13}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“When for their liberty and their homes men fight they do well, do they +not?”</p> + +<p>“If you had heard Peter Smith talking to a little crowd at our very +gate, you would think men found the reason for their existence in a gun +or a sword. He said we should whip England in about six weeks, and——”</p> + +<p>“That is enough, Annette. The sort of rubbish that Peter talks and +simpletons believe I know. We shall win our fight, no doubt of that; but +in six weeks! No, it may as likely be six years.”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother! Six years! And will there be no balls, and suppers, and no +lovers for six years? Of course, all the young men who are to be noticed +will prefer fighting to anything else; and what shall I do for a lover, +grandmother?”</p> + +<p>“There is always Jose Westervelt.”</p> + +<p>“He will not do at all. He is too troublesome. He thinks I ought not to +dance with any one but him; actually he objects to my speaking to some +people, or even looking at them. It is too uncomfortable. I do not like +tyranny—no American girl does.”</p> + +<p>“So you rebelled. But then, do you expect to catch fish without wetting +yourself?”</p> + +<p>“It has been done.” She was putting on her grandmother’s feet the cloth +slippers she usually wore in the house, and as she rose she perceived +with a smile the delicious odour of the roasted pigeons which a negro +slave was just bringing to the table.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_14">{14}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I told Commenia to roast them, grandmother. I knew you would want +something nice when you got back.”</p> + +<p>“Before the fire did she roast them?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—on skewers, and basted them with fresh butter. I found enough peas +on the vines, and I pulled and shelled them myself, for it was next to +impossible to keep the blacks off the streets.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, dear one.”</p> + +<p>“I have had such a happy year, grandmother, and now, I suppose, all our +gaieties will be ended.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, there will be more gaieties than ever. I am sure that the +Battery will be put in fighting trim; then the Bowling Green, with +soldiers, will be alive. What will follow? Drills and parades, and what +not; and in all the houses round about the Green the women will make +idols of the men in uniform. And to be sure they will show their +adoration by meat offerings and drink offerings; ceremonies, Annette, +which generally end in dancing and love-making.”</p> + +<p>“You notice everything, grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“I have been young and now I am old; but love never gets a day older. +What love was in the beginning, he is now, and ever shall be. These +pigeons are very good. You said you had some at the Radcliffes’ +yesterday—what kind of a dinner did they give?”</p> + +<p>“It was a good dinner, but not a dinner to be asked out to; you and I +often have a better one—and there was no dancing, only cards and +games—and Jose Westervelt.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_15">{15}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Poor Jose!”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother, he is so magisterial. He sets up his opinions as if they +were a golden image; and I am not the girl to fall down before them.”</p> + +<p>“He is a distinguished mathematician already.”</p> + +<p>“And looks it: besides he knows no more of dancing than a Hindoo knows +of skating. Also, since he came back from England, he is so cold and +positive in his views, and so stiff and rigid in his London-made +clothes, that I cannot endure him. Did you see Sapphira, grandmother?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. With some hair work she was busy—a finger ring, or brooch or some +such trifle. There will be other work soon, I think. In the last war we +had to make all our own clothing and most of our household necessities. +The last war! Oh, Annette, dear one, I lost everything in the last war!”</p> + +<p>“But you are now a rich woman, grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“I mean not that. I lost your grandfather; he was everything to me. +There was money, yes; and there was property; but all in a bad way then. +Now; well, it is a little different.”</p> + +<p>“However did you manage?”</p> + +<p>“I worked and hoped and helped myself and others, and left the rest to +God. While I slept He made things to grow and prosper. And when this war +is over we shall have settled our standing among the nations beyond all +dispute, and New York will stride forward as if she wore the +seven-leagued boots.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_16">{16}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Then, grandmother, you will build a fine house past Trinity Church—a +good deal past it—perhaps half a mile, or even a mile, and we shall +have a carriage of our own and be among the quality.”</p> + +<p>“I shall never leave this house, Annette. But I tell you, my dear +one—you shall go to Washington every season. If your uncle and aunt +Bloommaert go there, that will be sufficient; if not, I have friends who +will see to it. Sapphira grows wonderfully handsome.”</p> + +<p>“And I, grandmother?”</p> + +<p>“You have your own beauty. You need not to envy any one. Now I am tired +and I will go to my room. I want to take some better counsel than my +own.”</p> + +<p>“May I not go to see Sapphira, grandmother? I want to see her very +much.”</p> + +<p>“You may not go to-day. Listen; the constant tramp of feet and the noise +of men shouting and gathering grows louder. Stay in your home.”</p> + +<p>“It is very tiresome! Men are always quarrelling about something. What +is the use of governments if they can’t prevent war? Any one can settle +a quarrel by fighting over it. I do not see what good fighting does. The +drums parading round will give us headaches, and the men will go +swaggering from one day to another after them. I am in a passion at +President Madison—just too when summer is here, and we were going to +the Springs, and I was sure to have had an enchanting time.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_17">{17}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Thou little good-for-nothing! Hold thy foolish tongue! If our men are +going to fight it is for thy liberty and thy honour and thy happiness. +Sit still an hour and think of that.”</p> + +<p>She shut the door when she had spoken these words, and then went, a +little wearily, upstairs; but if any one had seen her half an hour +afterwards sitting with closed eyes and clasped hands asleep in the +large chair that stood by her bedside, they would have said, “She has +been satisfied.” For though she looked much older when asleep, her face +then showed nothing but that sacred peace and refinement which comes +only through a constant idea of God’s care and presence.</p> + +<p>Annette stood still until she heard her grandmother’s door close; then, +after a moment or two of indecision, she took from under the +sofa-cushion a book, and stood it up before her with a comical air of +judgment.</p> + +<p>“It is all your fault, you unlucky ‘Children of The Abbey,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> she said +sternly. “If I had been able to get rid of you, I should have gone with +grandmother to Uncle Gerard’s house this morning; and, considering the +news, we should certainly have remained there all day. And as +grandmother says, ‘if the pot boils, it always boils over on the Bowling +Green.’ I ought to have been where I could see and hear all that was +going on. I think Sapphira might have sent for me! People are so +selfish, and affairs always work so contrary. If I try to be unselfish +nothing good comes of it—to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_18">{18}</a></span> me; and if I am reasonably selfish then I +am sure to suffer for it. Grandfather de Vries is right; whenever I go +to see him, he always mumbles to me: ‘see now, love others well, but +thyself most of all.’ Grandfather de Vries is a wise man—every one says +so—and he tells me to love myself best of all. Well, I shall have no +company this afternoon but these silly ‘Children of The Abbey.’ They are +as distractingly absurd as they can be, but I want to know whether they +get married or not.”</p> + +<p>She sought this information with great apparent interest, yet ever as +she turned the fascinating leaves, she let the book drop down a minute +while she wondered “what was going on on the Bowling Green.” For she had +that keen impression of “something missed” which frequently and +mockingly informs a person in whom selfishness is ingrained, +unconscious, hereditary.</p> + +<p>And her premonition was more than true. Her uncle at that very hour was +standing on the topmost step of the flight leading to his house door, +and there was a crowd of young men before him—a crowd drunk with its +own passionate enthusiasm—who would not be satisfied until he had +spoken. His wife and his daughter stood at his right hand, and at his +left his son Christopher held aloft the torn and stained colours that +had floated above “Bloommaert’s Men” through the heroic days of the War +for Independence. Shout after shout greeted his appearance, and when +there was a moment’s pause, a beautiful youth stepped forward and called +out:<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_19">{19}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Speak to us, judge. It is your words we are waiting for.” His hat was +in his hand, and his bare head, crowned with close, clustering curls, +was lifted to the judge. For one moment his eyes sought out Sapphira, +and she caught the glance, and it went to her heart like a ray of +sunshine. Yet it was into her father’s face she smiled as she gently +touched his arm. Then he spoke as if a burning coal had been laid on his +lips, and the very air felt as if set on fire by his words:</p> + +<p>“My neighbours, and my fellow citizens!” he cried, “I have hitherto been +bitterly against this war with England; but now, I am for it. With all +my heart and soul, with all my body, with every shilling of my estate I +am for it. I have always been a true and consistent Federalist. But now, +there are no Federalists! there are no Republicans! We are all +Americans! Dutch and English and French and Scotch, all are to-day +Americans! America is the mother of us all. She has nursed us at her +breast. She has made us free from all ancient tyrannies. She has given +us homes and wives and children, filled our granaries with the finest of +the wheat, and set before us the commerce of the whole earth. Shall we +not love her? Shall we not defend her when she is insulted and wronged +and threatened?”</p> + +<p>A roar of enthusiastic assent answered these questions.</p> + +<p>“If we must fight we will strike no soft blows in battle. We will give +our enemy and the whole world this lesson—that no foreign warships can +safely come blustering and pillaging our coasts. New York is to be +defended, and New<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_20">{20}</a></span> Yorkers are the men to defend their native city. Will +you do it?”</p> + +<p>He was answered by a shout of affirmation.</p> + +<p>“To the last gun?”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“To the last man?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Yes! You will stand with us, Bloommaert?”</p> + +<p>“Living or dead I will stand with you.” Then he took reverently in his +hands the faded glorious rag that Christopher Bloommaert held.</p> + +<p>“Look,” he said, in a voice as tender as a woman’s—“look at the flag +that never waved over a coward, the flag to which we lifted our eyes +when all was dark, and saw victory in its stars. It is a flag made for +free men; will you ever let England—ever let any enemy—take it from +you?”</p> + +<p>“We will die for it!”</p> + +<p>“No, you will live for it! You will carry it from victory to victory and +fly it in the face of all the world—the flag of a free country—the +flag of men that will have nothing else, and nothing less—than absolute +liberty and absolute independence.” As he spoke these words he lifted +the old banner to his lips, and then held it out to the people.</p> + +<p>It was an act of allegiance that embraced every soul present, and was +followed by a moment of silence that throbbed with emotion; then the +young man who had spoken for the company looked expressively at his +comrades, and they turned northward to the city, their hearts burning +with a steady<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_21">{21}</a></span> fervour of loyalty, and their faces full of that +dauntless hope which of its own energy fulfils itself. Quiet they could +not long be, and when they reached the upper end of the Bowling Green, +they began to sing; softly at first, but gradually gathering into a +rattling vocal melody, the fiery passion of loyalty that filled their +hearts:</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Here’s to the Squire who goes to parade!<br></span> +<span class="i2">Here’s to the citizen soldier!<br></span> +<span class="i0">Here’s to the merchant who fights for his trade<br></span> +<span class="i2">Whom danger increasing makes bolder.<br></span> +<span class="i0">Here’s to the lawyer, who leaving his bar<br></span> +<span class="i2">Hastens where honour doth lead, Sir,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Changing his gown for the ensigns of war,<br></span> +<span class="i2">The cause of his country to plead, Sir!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Freedom appears,<br></span> +<span class="i61">Every heart cheers,<br></span> +<span class="i0">And calls for the help of the brave Volunteers.”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>They sang the verse to the gay inspiring music of its old English song, +and then gave lustily the cheers it called for. Their echo floated into +the Bloommaert house, where the family were sitting down to their +belated dinner; for this commonplace event was eagerly accepted as a +relief. To eat and to drink, that would mean help and remission, and +they had felt until feeling had become prostrating and oppressive.</p> + +<p>Christopher made the first remark, and this was to quote the last line +of the song, “Calls for the help of the brave Volunteers,” asking after +a short pause, “Is it not so, father?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_22">{22}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Christopher. I suppose you will sail soon?”</p> + +<p>“As soon as my new ship is ready. Peter is hurrying it forward. I am +impatient to be off.”</p> + +<p>“Have you seen Peter to-day?” asked his mother.</p> + +<p>“I saw him, but he was far too busy to talk. The hammers ring in his +ship-yard from the first streak of dawn to the last glint of daylight. +And now the demand for ships will be doubled.”</p> + +<p>“We shall want soldiers as well as sailors, Christopher,” said the +judge.</p> + +<p>“That is true, father, and they will not be to beg nor to seek. This is +a cause that knocks at every man’s door. Leonard Murray is only one of +many rich young men who are raising companies at their own expense.”</p> + +<p>“Then it <i>was</i> Leonard Murray with those men who were here an hour ago,” +said Mrs. Bloommaert. “I felt sure of it; but how much he has changed.”</p> + +<p>“In some ways, yes; in general he is just the same good fellow he has +ever been. I had a few words with him early this morning, and he asked +me to give his respectful remembrance to you and to Sapphira.”</p> + +<p>“It is four or five years since I saw him; where has he been?”</p> + +<p>“He was at Yale nearly two years; then he went with a party as far west +as the Mississippi, and down the river to New Orleans. He was staying +with the Edward Livingstons until the rumours of war became so positive +that he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_23">{23}</a></span> could not doubt their truth. Then he sailed from New Orleans to +Norfolk, and so on to Washington. He reached Washington the very day of +the proclamation of war and came so rapidly with the news that Mayor +Clinton received it some hours before the official notice.”</p> + +<p>“And every hour is of the greatest importance now,” said the judge. +“Indeed, I have hardly time for my afternoon pipe, for I promised Mr. +Clinton to meet him at four o’clock.”</p> + +<p>This information hurried the dinner a little, and Judge Bloommaert took +his smoke very restlessly. After he had left the house, Christopher did +not remain long. His ship’s progress absorbed his thoughts, and he was +not a talkative man. His ardour, his national pride, and his hatred of +oppression were quite as potent factors with Christopher Bloommaert as +with any patriot in New York, but the force they induced was a silent +and concentrated one. On land he seemed to be rather a heavy man, slow +in his movements and short in his speech; but the passion of his nature +was only biding its opportunity, and those who had ever seen Christopher +Bloommaert in action on his own deck knew for all time afterwards what +miracles physical courage set on fire by patriotism and by personal +interest combined might accomplish.</p> + +<p>As he was leaving the room he held the open door in his hand a minute, +and said: “Mother, do you know that Aaron Burr is back? He put up his +sign in Nassau Street yesterday; I saw it this morning.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_24">{24}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Dear me, Chris! I hope he has come to help his country in her +trouble—that would be only right.”</p> + +<p>“Help his country! Aaron Burr help! The man is dead.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, Chris? You said he was back, now you say he is dead.”</p> + +<p>“His honour is slain, and all men have lost faith in him. The man is +dead.”</p> + +<p>He went away with these words, and Sapphira and her mother watched him +out of sight. For some minutes they did not speak; then Mrs. Bloommaert +asked: “Did you know Leonard Murray this morning, Sapphira?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, mother. I knew him at once. I think that he passed the house twice +yesterday. I was not quite sure then, but this morning I had not a +moment’s doubt. I wish Annette had been here. She will be very much +disappointed.”</p> + +<p>“Annette would have spoiled everything. I am glad she was not here.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, she would. I will tell you how. When your father was called out, +and took his stand on the topmost step, with Christopher and the flag on +one side of him and you and I on the other side, do you think Annette +would have been satisfied to stand with us? To be only one of a group? +That is not Annette’s idea of what is due to Annette.”</p> + +<p>“But what could she have done to alter it?”</p> + +<p>“She would have said in her pretty, apologetic way that it<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_25">{25}</a></span> was ‘too bad +to crowd us, and that any place was right for her,’ and, before an +answer was possible, she would have slipped past Christopher and seated +herself on the second step at his feet. With her long curls and her +white frock, and the blue snood in her hair, and the flag above her, she +would have made a picture sufficiently lovely to have attracted and +distracted every man present. There would have been but a poor, divided +enthusiasm; and yet, Annette would have been so naturally and so +innocently conspicuous that both your father and Christopher would have +been unconscious of her small, selfish diplomacy.”</p> + +<p>“Annette is so pretty.”</p> + +<p>“And so vain of her beauty.”</p> + +<p>“That is true, but I fancy, mother, even the flowers are vain of their +beauty. I have noticed often how the roses when in full bloom, sway and +bend and put on languishing airs as if they knew they were sweet and +lovely. And, to be sure, I have frequently when I have looked in a +mirror been very glad I had a fair face and a good form.”</p> + +<p>“It was a very indiscreet, I may say a very wrong thing to do.”</p> + +<p>There was a short, penitential silence, and then Sapphira said:</p> + +<p>“Though to-morrow is Sunday, may I go and see Annette early in the +morning? I am sure both grandmother and Annette will like to know about +father’s speech.”</p> + +<p>“I can assure you that they know all about it already.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_26">{26}</a></span> Kouba was not +here to wait on your father when he left the house—why? Because he had +gone as fast as possible to his old mistress with the news. Your +grandmother gave him to your father when we were married, but it is only +with his left hand that Kouba has served us. Your grandmother is still +first; he goes to her with all the news of our house; he always has done +so, he always will do so. Nassau Street already knows all—and +more—that happened on the Bowling Green to-day.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bloommaert was quite correct in her opinion. Kouba had not even +waited to eat his dinner, but had gone at once to “old mistress” with +his own account of the event. And as madame was in her room asleep, +Annette had been made the recipient of his views. She listened and she +understood, without inquiry or dissent, where the information was +truthful and where Kouba was embroidering the occurrence with his +personal opinions. She accepted all apparently with equal faith, and +then told the old man to “go to the kitchen and get his dinner and a +bottle of ‘Sopus beer.”</p> + +<p>“What an exciting event!” she exclaimed, “and Kouba is sure that Leonard +Murray was the leader of the crowd. I believe it. It was Leonard I saw +with the Clark boys half an hour ago. I dare say he is staying with +them. I must go and tell grandmother.”</p> + +<p>She found madame awake, and quickly gave her Kouba’s news. And it was +really a little comfort to Annette to see her grandmother’s +disappointment. “So sorry am I that I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_27">{27}</a></span> came away,” she said, “for a +great deal I would not have missed that scene, Annette.”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed, grandmother! I think it will be very hard to sit here all +evening and not know what is going on; shall we walk over to uncle’s +now?”</p> + +<p>“Three hours after lunch? No!”</p> + +<p>“Kouba said the Clark boys were in the crowd; suppose I write and ask +Mrs. Clark and Elsie and Sally to take tea with us. Then the men will +come later, and we shall hear whatever there is to hear.”</p> + +<p>“The Clarks may not care to come.”</p> + +<p>“Yes they will. Let me write and ask them. We do want some one to talk +to, grandmother.”</p> + +<p>Permission being at last obtained, Annette wrote one of her nicest notes +and they sent it with a slave woman across the street to the Clarks’ +house. Mrs. Clark read it, laughed, and then called her daughter Sally.</p> + +<p>“Sally,” she said, “that little minx over the way has found out that +Leonard Murray is here. Answer this invitation as pleasantly as +possible, but tell her we cannot leave our own home to-night, as we have +company.”</p> + +<p>“We might ask Annette here, mother.”</p> + +<p>“That is what she expects us to do.”</p> + +<p>“She is so pretty and cheerful.”</p> + +<p>“We will do without her beauty and her cheerfulness to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Joe is very fond of her.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_28">{28}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“That is not the question; answer as I have told you.”</p> + +<p>But though Sally made the answer as kind as her own kind heart, nothing +atoned to Annette for the fact that her little scheme—though one with a +double aspect—had failed in both directions.</p> + +<p>“They cannot come, grandmother, and they do not even ask us over +there—they have company. I know who it is, for I am sure I saw Leonard +Murray with the Clark boys an hour ago. But then——”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“Sally is really ugly, and though Elsie has a pretty face, she is as +dowdy as can be.”</p> + +<p>“And so much prettier is Annette de Vries—is that what you mean?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that is ‘the because’ of the slight.”</p> + +<p>“Of such a thing I would not think. ‘The because’ has nothing to do with +us. And a very sweet girl is Sally Clark. Every one loves her.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t scold me, grandmother. I have had already three disappointments. +To-day is very unlucky.”</p> + +<p>“Then sit still and let it go by. Take the days as they come to you, +child.”</p> + +<p>Annette did not immediately answer. She had gone to the window and was +looking eagerly out. There was a sound of footsteps and of voices in +spirited conversation. Listening and looking, she waited until voices +and footsteps became<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_29">{29}</a></span> faint in the distance. Then she turned to her +grandmother with a shrug of satisfaction:</p> + +<p>“I was right, as I generally am,” she said. “The Clark boys, with +Leonard Murray, have just gone by. Leonard is their company. What is he +there for? He never used to care for those girls. Before he went to +college ‘from Sapphira to Sapphira was the limit of his way.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“Thou foolish one! He is none of thy affair.”</p> + +<p>“I do not care a button for Leonard Murray, but I think my cousin +Sapphira does, and—and——”</p> + +<p>What other reasons she had were not revealed. She stood at the window +with an air of mortification, which, however, soon turned to one of +pride and triumph; and then she tapped the glass merrily to her +thoughts.</p> + +<p>What was the girl dreaming of? Beauty’s conquests? Social power? Love +after her own heart? A marriage which would hand in her millennium? +Alas, for the dreams of youth! Madame watched her in pitying +silence—she knew how they would end.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_30">{30}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_II"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER TWO<br><br> +<i>The Spring of Life</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_T.png" +width="80" height="80" +alt="T"></span>O the roll of the drum and the shrill call of the fife the days went in +a manner that was far from being disagreeable to the youthful population +of New York. They enjoyed the thrill of a fear that was mingled with +much excitement; and for a short period almost a license of political +and patriotic temper prevailed. But to the more responsible citizens the +news of war was far from welcome; so unwelcome, indeed, that only a few +days before its proclamation, two petitions had been presented to the +Senate signed by three hundred and ten citizens of New York, and by +nearly all of the largest mercantile houses, praying that the embargo +might be continued, “because they believed it would produce all the +benefits of war without its calamities.” Mr. Justice Bloommaert had been +one of the signers of this petition, and when he recovered the equipoise +of his usually calm nature, he was astonished and a little annoyed at +the precipitancy with which he had publicly changed his opinions. It was +in a measure unaccountable, and he searched all the outlying posts of +his inmost soul to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_31">{31}</a></span> see where the weak point had been. It was not his +wife’s sarcasms or his daughter’s more pronounced sympathy—he was used +to their wordy warfare, and he was sure that no persuasive force in +their armoury would have driven him to the ill-advised hastiness of his +unpremeditated speech on the Bowling Green.</p> + +<p>No, it was “the doing of that young fool, Leonard Murray.” The judge had +returned to his home that momentous Saturday in a passionate temper of +hatred to England and her old tyrannies. He had been irritated by the +lukewarmness and doleful prophecies of the majority of his friends and +associates, and by the fact that every newspaper in the city was opposed +to the war. And then, while his wife and daughter were stimulating his +feverish mood of disapproval, he had suddenly been called to the front +to stand by the opinions of others and to declare his own. He felt that +somehow he had been tricked by circumstances, and his hand forced; and +that young Leonard Murray was to blame for the whole affair. He had +never liked the lad’s father, and having been twice obliged to decide +important cases against him, the elder Murray had shown his resentment +in ways that had been both irritating and injurious. They had also been +distinctly opposed in politics, and, moreover, in their youth had been +rivals for the love of the pretty Carlita Duprey. Now, the son of this +disagreeable man had apparently taken up his father’s power to be at +least unfavourable to him. He worked himself into a still, hot passion<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_32">{32}</a></span> +against the youth, and determined then and there to have nothing more to +do with him.</p> + +<p>Not that he intended to recede from any word he had uttered. He told +himself instantly that he had only declared the truth, and that he would +stand for, and by, every letter of his speech. But he wished that he had +made that speech voluntarily, in some regularly called meeting, and not +in response to a request voiced by young Leonard Murray. That was the +sore point of the hurt, so that he hardly touched it, even in thought, +but reverted at once to his speech, which struck him now as +grandiloquent, turgid, and bombastic—not the kind of speech he would +have made in the City Hall or at the Common Council by any means, and a +tingling sense of chagrin answered this conviction. It was thoughts +similar to these which surged with passionate strength through his mind +as he stood on the following Wednesday afternoon on the steps of the +City Hall. There had just been a public meeting in the park, called to +approve the war measure, but it had been very scantily attended; and as +the noisy crowd scattered, mainly up and down Broadway, he hardly knew +whether he was glad or sorry for the failure. The uproarious conduct of +the youth of the city offended him, and as a general thing the men of +experience, of solid wealth and political power, had not answered the +call for this meeting. For it was a Democratic call, and New York at +that day was the very stronghold of the Federalists.</p> + +<p>He stood a few minutes considering which streets would<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_33">{33}</a></span> likely be the +quietest road to his home, and seeing Broadway full of marching +companies, all more or less musical and vociferous, he turned into +Nassau Street, hoping to escape the cheers and attentions which his +outspoken sympathy had brought him. For some distance it was +comparatively quiet, but between Garden and Beaver streets he saw +approaching what appeared to be a full company. They were stepping +proudly to the music of “The President’s March,” and the narrow street +appeared to Bloommaert’s eyes to be full of their waving flags.</p> + +<p>There was no outlet for his escape, and he assumed a dignity of bearing +and a self-centred air that was usually both arms and armour to him. He +hoped to pass unnoticed, but as the company approached it halted at +command. His name was spoken. He lifted his eyes perforce and up flew +every hat in respectful recognition. What could he do? Some of them were +the very men he had addressed and aroused to enthusiasm on the previous +Saturday. His noblest nature came to the front. He saluted them in +return, wished them “God speed,” and so passed on, but not before he had +noticed the happy, triumphant face of their captain, Leonard Murray.</p> + +<p>“That man again!” he muttered, and he could not dismiss “that man” from +his memory during the rest of the walk. He passed his mother’s house but +did not enter it, for it was nearing his dinner hour, and he hoped in +the society of his wife and daughter to find the restful equipoise he +had lost<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_34">{34}</a></span> during the morning’s events. As he mounted the steps Sapphira +threw open the door. Her face was radiant. She was the incarnation of +pleasure.</p> + +<p>“Father,” she cried, “I am so glad that you have come home early. I have +such good news. Mother and I have had such a great honour; you can’t +tell how happy we both feel.”</p> + +<p>Her visible joy was infectious, and Bloommaert flung his annoyance out +of memory. “Come, now,” he said cheerfully, “let us hear the good news. +Who brought it to you?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you would never guess, dear father, and I am going to let mother +tell you.”</p> + +<p>They entered the dining room as she spoke, and its cool sweetness was +like a breath of heaven. Mrs. Bloommaert rose with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Gerardus, my dear!” she exclaimed, “you are earlier than I hoped. That +is good. Now we shall have dinner.”</p> + +<p>“But Carlita, first the good news that Sapphira can hardly keep from +me.”</p> + +<p>“Has she not told you?”</p> + +<p>“No. She says you are to tell me.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, it is very pleasant to her, and to me. Leonard Murray came +here this morning just after you left. He had hoped to find you still at +home—and he wanted us to select the uniform for his company. They are +to fight under our colours, you see! He had many patterns of cloth with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_35">{35}</a></span> +him, and we chose dark blue for the coats, and orange for the vest, and +the head dress is to be dark blue cap with a rosette and streamers of +red, white, and blue! The tricolour, my dear one—that was for my +nation, and the blue and orange, that was for yours. Leonard was +delighted. He is going to pay for the uniforms and support the company +until the city puts it in active service. Then it will fight under our +colours. Was it not kind and respectful of Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“It was a piece of damned impertinence. I never heard of such +impudence!”</p> + +<p>“Father!”</p> + +<p>“Gerardus, I am astonished at you!”</p> + +<p>“The insolent puppy! What right had he? How dare he?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Justice, he only did what every young man of standing has done: the +Clarksons, the Fairlies, the Westervelts, the Moores—every family of +consideration has given its colours to some company or other. It is an +honour, Mr. Justice, a great honour, and we are very proud of it. I told +Leonard so.”</p> + +<p>“Leonard, indeed! It seems that you are already very familiar.”</p> + +<p>“Already! It is a long already. I have known the boy from the hour of +his birth. His mother was my friend when we were both little girls. I +was with his mother when she died. I promised her to be kind to Leonard +whenever I had opportunity—the opportunity came this morning—I +thought<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_36">{36}</a></span> you would be pleased—and proud—but then, one never knows a +man’s real feelings—never! After last Saturday, too—it is +inconceivable.” Mrs. Bloommaert rose, and as her daughter followed her +the judge was left alone with whatever answer he intended to make.</p> + +<p>Generally, when an antagonist withdraws, the party left in possession of +the ground feels a sense of victory. He tosses his head a little and +triumphs in the fashion that best suits him. But Judge Bloommaert, +standing with his doubled-up hand on his dining table, had a sinking +sense of defeat. His large, dignified personality succumbed as the two +slender slips of womanhood passed him—Carlita’s haughty little head +expressing a disdainful disapproval, and Sapphira giving him a look from +eyes full of reproachful astonishment.</p> + +<p>A natural instinct led him to sit down in order to consider his ways. +“What the deuce!” he exclaimed. “Confound the fellow! What does it all +mean?” Then his logical mind began to reflect, to deliberate, to weigh +his own case as relentlessly as if it was the case of a stranger. The +result was a decision in favour of his wife’s and his daughter’s +position. From their standpoint he had been unreasonable and +inconsistent. And he could put in no demurrer; for the only objection he +was able to make lay in that covert dislike to the young man for which +he was unable to give any reason that would not be more humiliating than +simple submission.</p> + +<p>He had reached this point when a negro slave, dressed from<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_37">{37}</a></span> head to foot +in spotless white linen, entered the room. He was carrying a platter +containing a sirloin of roast beef, and the appetising odour, blended +with the fragrance of the fresh peas,—boiled with the sprig of mint +they call for,—stimulated the judge to the necessary action. He rose +promptly and went to the sitting room in the rear. At the door he heard +Sapphira and her mother talking, but they were instantly silent as he +entered. That was a symptom he did not regard. He knew the tactics that +were always successful, and with a smile and a courtly bow he offered +his arm to Mrs. Bloommaert. The courtesy was made invincible by the +glance that accompanied it—a glance that was explanation, apology, and +admiration sent swiftly and indisputably to her heart. Words would have +been halting and impotent in comparison, and they were ignored. The only +ones spoken referred to the waiting meal. “Dinner is served, Carlita,” +and Carlita, with an answering glance of pardon and affection, proudly +took the arm offered her. Ere they reached the door Sapphira was +remembered, and her father stretched backward his hand for her clasp. +Thus they entered the dining room together, and almost at the same +moment they were joined by Christopher.</p> + +<p>He was hot and sunburned but full of quiet satisfaction. He laid his arm +across his mother’s neck as he passed her, and taking a seat next to his +sister clasped her little hand lovingly under the table.</p> + +<p>With beaming eyes she acknowledged this token of his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_38">{38}</a></span> affection, and +then touching a piece of pale blue ribbon tied through a buttonhole of +his jacket, she asked:</p> + +<p>“Pray, Chris, who is now your patron saint? Last year it was good St. +Nicholas, and orange was all your cry. Why have you forsaken your old +patron and changed your colours?”</p> + +<p>Chris laughed a little. “I was caught unaware, Sapphira,” he answered. +“As I came up Cedar Street I saw Mary Selwyn cutting roses in Mr. +Webster’s garden. She had a rose at her throat, and a rose in her hair, +and a basket of roses in her hand, and she was as sweet and as pretty as +any rose that ever bloomed in all New York. And she said ‘Good-morning, +Captain Bloommaert; I hear you are soon for the ocean, and the enemy, +and God be with you!’ And I said, ‘So soon now, Miss Selwyn, that this +must be our good-bye, I think.’ Then she lifted her scissors and cut +from the ribbon round her neck the piece I am wearing. ‘It is the full +half,’ she said, ‘and I will keep the other half till you come home +again happy and glorious.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“Well, then, it is your luck ribbon, Chris, and you must not change it,” +said Sapphira.</p> + +<p>“In a very few minutes I was under great temptation to do so, Sapphira. +I thought I would call on grandmother, but as I got near to her house I +saw Walter Havens just leaving the gate. He was walking very proudly, +and a flutter of red ribbon was on his head, and the next step showed me +a flutter of white skirts behind the vines on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_39">{39}</a></span> veranda. So I knew +cousin Annette had been setting him up till he felt as if he had twenty +hearts instead of only one.”</p> + +<p>“Did you speak to Annette after that observation?” asked his father.</p> + +<p>“Why yes, sir. She saw me at once, and came running to open the gate. +She had all her airs and graces about her and looked as radiant as the +red ribbons she wore. She saw my blue ribbon immediately, and said +scornfully, ‘Pray now, whose favour is that affair tied in your +buttonhole? It is a poor thing, Chris! Shall I not give you an inch or +two of my solitaire?’ and she lifted the housewife at her belt, and +would have taken out her scissors. But I said, ‘No, no, Miss de Vries, +I’m not taking shares with Walter Havens. I’ll just hold on to my ‘poor +thing.’ I wonder how many rose ribbons you have given away this +morning?”</p> + +<p>“Did she tell you how many, Chris?” asked Mrs. Bloommaert.</p> + +<p>“She looked as if she might have given a hundred, but she kept her +secret—you may trust Annette to keep anything that belongs to her—even +her secrets; and most women give them away. Annette de Vries knows +better.”</p> + +<p>“What did grandmother say?” asked Sapphira.</p> + +<p>“I did not see her. She was in her room, asleep, Annette said. They are +coming here this evening—with the Clarks, and perhaps others. You won’t +mind, mother, will you?”</p> + +<p>“Indeed I shall be glad, if you wish it, Chris.” For her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_40">{40}</a></span> heart had +comprehended that his “good-bye” to Miss Selwyn meant that he was ready +for sea. And it was Christopher’s habit to slip away on some night, or +early morning tide, when there was no one around to embarrass his +orders. For he was not a man that either liked or needed the approbation +and sympathies of others; as a rule, Christopher Bloommaert’s approval +was sufficient for him.</p> + +<p>He was evidently full of business, and went away as soon as he had +finished his dinner. The judge went with him, and Mrs. Bloommaert and +her daughter, left alone, began instantly to discuss the subject of +Christopher’s departure.</p> + +<p>“It is his way,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. “The little party this evening is +his farewell. We must make it as pleasant as possible. Your grandmother +and Annette will be here, I suppose?”</p> + +<p>“And the Clarks—Elsie and Sally, and Joe and Jack—and I suppose +Leonard Murray will come with them,” answered Sapphira.</p> + +<p>“I should not wonder if Chris asked Miss Selwyn also.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely. She is a nice girl. I hope Chris did ask her. No one can +help loving Mary Selwyn.”</p> + +<p>“What shall we do? What would Chris like best? You know, Sapphira, if +any one knows.”</p> + +<p>“Let us have tea at six o’clock, then we can all go to the Battery to +hear the music. There is a young moon, and it is warm enough to make the +sea breezes welcome. Moffat’s Military Band is to play from the portico +of the flagstaff to-<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_41">{41}</a></span>night, and we can have ices and cakes and wine +served to us in the enclosure if we want them.”</p> + +<p>“You had better return home about nine o’clock, and I will have +refreshments here ready for you. The large parlour can be somewhat +cleared, Bose will bring his violin, and you might have a little dance. +I don’t believe father will mind. He knows Chris is ready to sail. I +could see that.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother! Oh, dear mother, how good you are!”</p> + +<p>The preparations for this rather impromptu gathering gave Mrs. +Bloommaert very little trouble. Her servants were slaves, born in her +own household, and whose share in all the family joy was certain and +admitted. They entered heartily into the necessary arrangements, and in +a short time the house had put on that air of festal confusion which the +prospect of feasting and dancing entails.</p> + +<p>Before six the guests began to arrive, and the eight or ten which +Christopher’s speech had suggested speedily became twenty. It appeared +as if the young man had casually invited all of his acquaintances. But +Mrs. Bloommaert made every one welcome, and the slight difficulty in +seating them—the little crush and crowding—really induced a very +spontaneous and unconstrained happiness. Then there was trouble in +serving all rapidly enough, so Christopher, and Joe Westervelt and +Willis Clark volunteered their services, and to these three Mrs. +Bloommaert herself added Leonard Murray, whom she appointed her special +aid; and thus the tea became a kind of parlour picnic. The windows were +all<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_42">{42}</a></span> open, the white curtains swaying gently in the breeze, and the +scent of roses everywhere mingled with the delightful aromas of fine +tea, and spiced bread, and fresh, ripe strawberries. Merry talk and +happy laughter thrilled the warm air, and it was a joy in itself to +watch so many bright, young faces, all keenly responsive to the pleasure +of each other’s presence.</p> + +<p>Before seven o’clock they were ready for their walk on the Battery, and +came trooping down the wide stairway, a brilliant company of lovely +girls in their spencers of various coloured silks, and their pink or +white frocks, their gipsy straw bonnets, and their low walking shoes +fastened with silver or paste latchets. In twos and threes they +sauntered along the lovely walk, and as the young moon rose, the band +played sweetly from a boat on the water, and the waves broke gently +against the wall of the embankment, their laughter and merry talk became +lower and quieter. They rested on the benches, and made little +confidences, and were very happy, though their joy was lulled and +hushed, as if for this rare hour some friendly spirit had pressed gently +down the soft pedal on life, and thus made its felicity more enchanting +and more personal.</p> + +<p>But if they forget the dance, their little feet had memories; they began +to twitch and slip in and out, and grow restless; and Sapphira +remembered the hour, though Leonard was charming, and the tale he was +telling her, wonderful. “But then,” she said, “mother is expecting us, +and those at home must not be disappointed; for if there is anything +grand<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_43">{43}</a></span>mother likes, it is to watch the dance.” So they went back to the +Bloommaert house and found all ready and waiting for the cotillion. +Upstairs with fleetest steps went the merry maidens, returning in less +than ten minutes without their spencers, and with feet shod in satin +sandals. The fiddles were twanging, and the prompter already advising +gentlemen to choose their partners. Then the room became a living joy. +The hearts of all beat with the twinkling steps of the dancers, and +every one seized a measure of fleeting bliss, and for a breathing space +in life forgot that they would ever grow weary or ever have to part.</p> + +<p>Madame sat in her son’s chair, flushed and smiling, her eyes wandering +between her granddaughters. They were certainly the most beautiful women +in the room, and when the judge came quietly to her side about ten +o’clock she said to him: “Look once at Annette; at her feet are half the +men; and as for Sapphira, I know not what to make of her—all of the men +are her lovers, but some one was telling me it is Leonard Murray only +that pleases her. I take leave to say they are a handsome couple, +Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>Involuntarily he followed his mother’s direction, and was forced to +admit the truth of her remark. But it gave him an angry pain to do so, +while the young man’s expression of rapturous satisfaction provoked him +beyond words. He had Sapphira’s hand, they were treading a measure—not +so much to the music of the violins as to the music in their own hearts. +They had forgotten the limitations of life, they were in some<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_44">{44}</a></span> rarer and +diviner atmosphere. Step to step, with clasped hands, and eyes beaming +into each other’s face, they glided past him as if they were immortals +moving to spheral music.</p> + +<p>But beautiful as this vision of primal joy was, it roused no response in +Judge Bloommaert’s heart, and after a few words with madame he slipped +away to the quiet of his room. He was wakeful and restless, and he +lifted the papers in a case which had some personal interest for him, +and soon became absorbed in their details. Yet he was aware of that +inevitable decrease of mirth which follows its climax, and not +ill-pleased to hear the breaking up of the gathering. The chattering of +the girls resuming their spencers and walking shoes made him lay down +his papers and go to the open window, and so he watched the dissolution +of happiness; for the company parted, even at his own door, into small +groups, some merely crossing to the other side of the Green, others +going to Wall, State, Cedar, and Nassau streets. The later party seemed +the larger contingent, and he heard the men of it, as they passed +northward, begin to sing, “We be Three Poor Mariners.” Christopher’s +voice rang out musically cheerful, and the father’s heart swelled with +love and pride, as he said tenderly, “God bless the boy.” The prayer was +an exorcism; anger and all evil fled at the words of blessing, so that +when Mrs. Bloommaert, flushed and weary, came to him he was able to meet +her with the sympathy she needed.</p> + +<p>“Gerardus, my dear one,” she said, “Chris bade me good-bye; I am sure of +it. He laid his cheek against mine and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_45">{45}</a></span> whispered, ‘A short farewell, +mother!’ and all I could say was ‘God bless you, Chris!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“It was enough.”</p> + +<p>“When does he sail?”</p> + +<p>“About four o’clock in the morning. He will go out on the tide-top, +then.”</p> + +<p>“Where is he going?”</p> + +<p>“To the Connecticut coast first, for supplies; easier got there than +here; afterwards he goes nobody knows where, but as the Domine said last +Sunday, he can’t go where God is not.”</p> + +<p>“In that I trust. Did you notice the blue ribbon in his jacket?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I noticed.”</p> + +<p>“He seemed very fond of Mary to-night. I could not help seeing his +devotion. Mother noticed it, also.”</p> + +<p>“What did mother say?”</p> + +<p>“She said Mary was a good girl, of good stock, but she had not a dollar. +I said, ‘love was everything in marriage, and that money did not much +matter.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“Hum—m—! It does no harm.”</p> + +<p>Then there was a short silence; madame was removing her lace cap and +collar, and the judge putting away his papers. Both were thinking of the +same thing, and neither of them cared to introduce the subject. But the +judge’s patience was the better trained, and he calmly waited for the +question he was sure would not be long delayed.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_46">{46}</a></span></p> + +<p>She rose as she asked it, went to her dressing table, and began to open +her jewel box. “Did you notice Sapphira and Leonard Murray dancing? I +thought I saw you watching them.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I saw them, and to tell you just what I thought of the exhibition +would only pain you, Carlita. Don’t ask me.”</p> + +<p>“I am sure I don’t know why I am not to ask you; every one was charmed +with their grace. Even the elegant Mr. Washington Irving said their +movements were ‘the poetry of motion.’ I thought it a very fine remark.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I suppose Mr. Washington Irving knows all about the poetry of +motion. But if you will believe me, Carlita, there are some Dutchman in +New York who do not worship Mr. Washington Irving.”</p> + +<p>Then there was another silence, and this time the judge broke it. +“Carlita,” he said, “what are you going all around the square to ask me? +Speak out, wife.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Gerardus, any one can see that Leonard Murray is in love with +Sapphira, and that Sapphira is not indifferent to him. I want to ask you +if this marriage would be suitable, because if you are against it, their +intimacy ought to be checked at once.”</p> + +<p>“How are you going to check it? Tell me that. We cannot shut her up in +her room and set a watch over her, nor can we pack her off to Hong Kong +or Timbuctoo—out of his way.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are against it?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_47">{47}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Yes.”</p> + +<p>“But what for?”</p> + +<p>“I am not ready to give you my reasons.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot imagine what they may be. Leonard is rich.”</p> + +<p>“Very. Colonel Rutgers told me his estate in land and houses and ready +cash might be worth seven hundred thousand dollars. But, as you reminded +me in regard to Mary Selwyn, money in matrimony does not much matter.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think it is as important as love; though, as you said, money +does no harm to matrimony. But it is not only money, with Leonard. He is +of good family.”</p> + +<p>“His great-grandfather was a Highland Scot, and James Murray, his +father, cared for nothing but money. It was a bit of land here, and a +dollar or two there—a hard man, both to friend and foe. I never liked +him. We came to words often, and to blows once—that was about you, +Carlita.”</p> + +<p>“You had no need to quarrel about me. From the first to last it has been +you, Gerardus; you, and only you.”</p> + +<p>“Yet after we were engaged, James Murray asked you to marry him. No +honourable man would have done such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“Have you not forgotten? The man is dead. Let his faults be left in +silence.”</p> + +<p>“I do not like to see you so partial to his son.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_48">{48}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“The son is his mother’s son. He has qualities the very opposite of his +father’s. James Murray was a bigot and a miser. Leonard has the broadest +and most tolerant views.”</p> + +<p>“There, you have said plenty. If there is any man not to be trusted, it +is this broad, tolerant fellow. You remember Herman Strauss? He is that +kind of character, brought up in the Middle Dutch Church, he married an +Episcopalian, and without difficulty—being so broad—he went with her +to Trinity. He praised the Democrats—Clintonian and Madisonian +both—and yet he called himself a Federalist—thought that both were +right in some ways. But like all men of this uncertain calibre, he had +one or two trifling opinions, of no consequence whatever, either to +himself or others, for whose sake he would lose money and friends, and +even risk his life. It was only a question as to the brand of wine Mr. +Jefferson drank, that made him insult Colonel Wilde, and in consequence +fight a duel which has left him a cripple for life. So much for your man +of wide sympathies and broad views! I like a man who has positive +opinions and sticks to them. Yes, sticks to them, right or wrong! A man +who sticks to his opinions will stick to his friends and his family. +Good in everything! Good in every one! <i>Nonsense!</i> Such ideas lead to +nowhere, and to nothing. The man that holds them I do not want to marry +my daughter.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Clark says Leonard’s moral character is beautiful.”</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Clark has known him about four days. And pray, what does Mrs. +Clark, or you, or any other woman know<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_49">{49}</a></span> about a man’s moral character? +Leonard Murray’s ancestors have been for centuries restless, +quarrelsome, fighting Highlandmen. He is not twenty-two yet, and he has +been as far west and south as he could get, and only came home because +there was likely to be some fighting on hand.”</p> + +<p>“But then, Gerardus—what have you behind you?”</p> + +<p>“Centuries full of God-fearing Dutchmen—honest traders and peaceable +burghers and scholarly domines.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, and <i>Beggars of the Sea</i>, and men who fought with De Ruyter +and Tromp, and wandered to the ends of the earth with Van Heemskirk for +adventures, and came with the Englishman, Henry Hudson, here itself, and +did a little good business with the poor Indians. And Gerardus, look at +your own sons—Christopher is never at home but when he is at sea. He is +happier in a ship than a house, and also he likes the ship to carry +cutlasses and cannon. As for Peter, you know as well as I do that if he +were not building ships he would be sailing them. He loves a ship better +than a wife. He knows all about every ship he ever built—her length and +breadth and speed, how much sail she can carry, how many men she +requires to manage her, and he calls them by their names as if they were +flesh and blood. Does Peter ever go to see a woman? No; he goes to see +some ship or other. Now then, what influence have your honest traders +and peaceable burghers had on your sons?”</p> + +<p>“My dear Carlita, don’t you see you are running away with yourself? You +are preaching for my side, instead of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_50">{50}</a></span> your own. Chris and Peter are +results, so is Leonard Murray. You can’t put nature to the door, +Carlita. Nature is more than nurture; all that our home and education +and trading surroundings could do for boys, was done for Peter and +Chris; but nature was ahead of us—she had put into them the wandering +salt drops of adventure that stirred ‘The Beggars,’ and Tromp, and Van +Heemskirk. I tell you truly, Carlita, that the breed is more than the +pasture. As you know, the cuckoo lays her eggs in any bird’s nest; it +may be hatched among blackbirds or robins or thrushes, but it is always +a cuckoo. And so we came back to my first position, that a man cannot +deliver himself from his ancestors.”</p> + +<p>“I do not care, Gerardus, about ancestors; I look at Leonard just as he +is to-day. And I wish you would tell me plainly what to do. Or will you, +yourself, let Leonard know your mind on this subject? Perhaps that would +be best.”</p> + +<p>“How can I speak to him? Can I refuse Sapphira until he asks for her? +Can I go to him and say, ‘Sir, I see that you admire my daughter, and I +do not intend to let you marry her.’ That would be offering Sapphira and +myself for insult, and I could not complain if I got what I asked for.”</p> + +<p>“Is there anything I can do, seeing that you object so strongly to +Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, you can tell Sapphira how much I feel about such an alliance; you +can show her the path of obedience and duty; and I expect you to do this +much. I did not like mother’s attitude about him at all, and I shall +speak to her myself.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_51">{51}</a></span> Sapphira must be made to feel that Leonard Murray +is impossible.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Gerardus, I will speak to the poor little one. Oh, I am so sorry +for her—she will feel it every way so much; but some fathers don’t +care, even if they turn a wedding into a funeral.”</p> + +<p>“Such words are not right, nor even true. I care for Sapphira’s welfare +above everything.”</p> + +<p>“Speak to mother; I wish you would. She will not refuse Leonard if he +asks her for Annette. And Annette is already in love with him, I am not +deceived in that. She was white with envy and jealousy to-night.”</p> + +<p>“Is Annette in it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and very much so, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Then I give up the case. No man can rule right against three or four +women. I am going to sleep now, and I hope it may be a long time before +I hear Leonard Murray’s name again.”</p> + +<p>His hope had but a short existence. When he entered the breakfast room +the following morning, the first thing he saw was Sapphira bending over +a basket of green rushes, running over with white rosebuds. She turned +to him a face full of delight.</p> + +<p>“See, father,” she cried. “Are they not lovely? Are they not sweet? If +you kiss me, you will get their dew upon my lips.”</p> + +<p>He bent his head down to the fragrant flowers, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_52">{52}</a></span> then asked: “Where +did you get them so early in the morning?”</p> + +<p>“Leonard Murray sent them. Let me pin this bud on the lapel of your +coat.”</p> + +<p>“No,” he said bitterly, pushing the white hand and the white flower +away. “Go to your room, and take the flowers with you. I will not have +them in any place where I can see them.” Then a negro boy entering, he +turned to him, and ordered his breakfast in a tone and manner that +admitted of no delay nor dispute.</p> + +<p>Sapphira had lifted her basket, but as soon as they were alone she +asked: “Did you mean those unkind words, father?”</p> + +<p>“Every one of them.” He shuffled his coffee cup, let the sugar tongs +fall, and then rang the bell in a passion. Yet he did not escape the +pathetic look of astonished and wounded love in Sapphira’s eyes as she +left the room, with the basket of rosebuds clasped to her breast.</p> + +<p>All day this vision haunted him. He wished to go home long before the +usual hour, but that would have been a kind of submission. He said he +had a headache, but it was really a heartache that distressed him, and +during a large part of the day he was debating within himself how such +an unhappy position had managed to subjugate him in so short a period of +time. For, if any one a week previously had told him he could be +controlled in all his tenderest feelings by a dislike apparently so +unreasonable, he would have scoffed the idea<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_53">{53}</a></span> away. He said frequently +to himself the word “unreasonable,” for that was the troublesome, +exasperating sting of the temptation. The young man himself had done +nothing that any fair or rational person would consider offensive—quite +the contrary; and yet he was conscious of an antagonism that was +something more than mere dislike—something, indeed, that might easily +become hatred.</p> + +<p>He had just admitted the word “hatred” to his consciousness as he +reached the entrance of the Government House. The day had at last worn +itself away, wearily enough, to the dinner hour. He might now go home +and face whatever trouble he had evoked.</p> + +<p>“Good-afternoon, Mr. Justice.”</p> + +<p>He turned, and the light of a sudden idea flashed into his face, when he +saw the man who had accosted him.</p> + +<p>“Good-afternoon to you, Mr. Attorney Willis. I am just thinking about +that case you defended a few days ago—the case of the man Gavazzio. A +strange one, rather.”</p> + +<p>“A very strange case. He stabbed a man for no reason whatever; simply +said he hated him, and seemed to think that feeling justification +enough.”</p> + +<p>“See the Italian consul about him. I do not think he had broken any +Italian law—that is, there are unwritten laws among these people, of a +force quite as strong as the written code. We must take that fact into +consideration with the sentence. The stabbed man is recovering, I +hear?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_54">{54}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes; I will see the consul, as you desire it. Gavazzio most +certainly thought we were interfering in his private affairs by +arresting him.”</p> + +<p>“I have no doubt of it. Well, Mr. Attorney, the law is supreme, but we +must not forget that the essence of the law is justice. Good-day, sir.”</p> + +<p>This incident, so spontaneous and so unconsidered, gave him a sense of +satisfaction; he felt better for it, though he did not ask himself why, +nor wherefore, in the matter. As he approached his home he saw Sapphira +sitting at the window, her head bent over the work she was doing. She +heard her father’s step, she knew he was watching her, but she did not +lift her eyes, or give him the smile he expected. And when he entered +the room she preserved the same attitude. He lifted a newspaper and +began to read it; the servants brought in the dinner, and Mrs. +Bloommaert also came and took her place at the table. She was not the +usual Carlita at all, and the judge had a very depressing meal. As for +Sapphira, she did not speak, unless in answer to some direct question +regarding her food. She was pale and wretched-looking, and her eyes were +red with weeping.</p> + +<p>The judge ate his roast duck, and glanced at the two patient, silent, +provoking women. They were making him miserable, and spoiling his +food,—and he liked roast duck,—yet he did not know how to accuse them. +Apparently they were perfectly innocent women, but unseen by mortal eyes +they had the husband and father’s heart in their little white<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_55">{55}</a></span> hands, +and were cruelly wounding it. When dinner was over Sapphira lifted her +work and went to her room, and Mrs. Bloommaert, instead of sitting down +for her usual chat with her husband while he smoked his pipe, walked +restlessly about, putting silver and crystal away, and making a great +pretence of being exceedingly interested in her investigations. He +watched her silently until she was about to leave the room, then he said +a little peremptorily, “Carlita, where are you going? What, by heaven +and earth, is the matter with you!”</p> + +<p>“You know what is the matter, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose the trouble is—Leonard Murray again. Confound the man!”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Justice, you will please remember I am present. I think you behaved +very unkindly to Sapphira this morning—and the poor little one has had +such an unhappy day! my heart bleeds for her.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Carlita, I was too harsh, I will admit that; but I cannot tell +Sapphira that I was wrong. It was all said and done in a moment—the +sight of the flowers, and her joy in them——”</p> + +<p>“I know, Gerardus. I must confess to the same temper. When I came +downstairs, and found you had gone without your proper breakfast, and +that you had neither come upstairs to bid me good-bye, nor yet left any +message for me, I was troubled. And I had a headache, and had to go to +Sapphira’s room to get her to come to the table, and the sight of her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_56">{56}</a></span> +crying over those tiresome rosebuds made me angry; and I said more and +worse than you did. I told her she ought to be ashamed to put her father +out for any strange man; and that the fuss she was making over Leonard +Murray was unmaidenly; and that the young man himself was far too free +and demonstrative—oh, you know, Gerardus, what disagreeable things a +fretful mother has the liberty to say to her child! And then, as if all +this was not enough, Annette came in about eleven o’clock, and I told +her Sapphira was not well, but she would go to her. And, of course, the +first things she noticed were the white roses and Sapphira’s trouble, +and the little minx put two and two together in a moment. What do you +think she said, Gerardus?”</p> + +<p>“Pitied Sapphira, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“She clapped her hands and cried out, ‘Oh, you also got roses! White +ones! Mine were pink—such lovely pink rosebuds! My colour is pink, you +know.’ And Sapphira answered, ‘I thought it was blue,’ but Annette +dropped the subject at once and began to rave about Sapphira’s swollen +face and red eyes, and offered her a score of remedies—and so on. +Sapphira could only suffer. You know she would have died rather than +express either curiosity or annoyance. So, then, having given Sapphira +the third and cruelest blow, she went tripping away, telling her ‘to +sleep, and not to dream of the handsome Leonard.’ I generally go to +Sapphira after a visit from Annette, and when I went to the poor child’s +room she was sobbing as if her heart would break. She told<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_57">{57}</a></span> me what +Annette said, and cried the more, because she had been scolded both by +you and me, and all for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Poor little one!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed, Gerardus. These young hearts suffer. We have forgotten how +little things seemed so great and so hard in our teens; but every heart +is a fresh heart, and made that it may suffer, I think.”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe Annette got a basket of pink roses. I do not like +Murray, but I think there are things he would not do. I saw a letter +too—at the bottom of the basket. Oh, I do not believe Annette!”</p> + +<p>“That is so. I told Sapphira it was a lie—oh, yes, I will say the word +straight out, for I do think it was a lie. But she is a clever girl. She +took in all sides of the question as quick as lightning. She knew they +were from Leonard, and that there had been trouble, and she knew Sappha +would never name pink roses to Leonard. She was safe enough in Sappha’s +pride, for, though she gave a positive impression that Leonard had sent +her a basket of pink roses, she never said it was Leonard. If brought to +examination, she would have pretended astonishment at Sapphira’s +inference, modestly refused the donor’s name, and very likely added +‘indeed, it was only a little jealousy, dearest Sapphira, that caused +you to misunderstand me.’ You see, I have known Annette all her life. +She always manages to put Sapphira in the wrong; and at the same time +look so sweetly innocent herself.”</p> + +<p>“What is to be done in this unhappy affair, Carlita? Sit<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_58">{58}</a></span> here beside +me, wife, and tell me. For you are a wise, kind woman, and you love us +all.”</p> + +<p>“God knows, Gerardus! I have been thinking, thinking, thinking, through +the livelong day, and what I say is this—let those things alone that +you cannot manage. Because you cannot manage them, they make you angry; +and you lose your self-respect, and then you lose your temper, and then, +there is, God knows, what other loss of love and life and happiness. My +father used to say—and my father was a good man, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“No better man ever lived than father Duprey.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, he always said that birth, marriage, and death were God’s +part; and that marriage was the most so of all these three great events. +For birth only gives the soul into the parent’s charge for perhaps +twenty years; and then all the rest of life is in the charge of the +husband. As for death, then, it is God Himself that takes the charge. +Let the young ones come and go; they may be fulfilling His will and +way—if we enquire after His will and way.”</p> + +<p>“But if Murray speaks to me for Sapphira, what then?”</p> + +<p>“There is the war. Tell him marriage is impossible until peace comes. +War time is beset with the unexpected. In love affairs, time is +everything. Speak fairly and kindly, and put off.”</p> + +<p>“Very good, Carlita. But if I should discover any reason why the +marriage should not be, this time plan is not the thing. If a love +affair ought to be broken off, it ought to be<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_59">{59}</a></span> done at once—and if +there should be any truth in those pink roses!”</p> + +<p>“Well, Gerardus, if you are expecting trouble, you may leave Annette to +make it. But my opinion is that Sapphira ought to be trusted. If you +believe that God gave her into our charge for her sweet childhood and +girlhood, can you not trust Him to order her wifehood and motherhood; +and even in old age, to carry her and direct her way? If He foresaw her +parents, also, He foresaw her husband. Are you not interfering too soon, +and too much? After all, what can we do against destiny?”</p> + +<p>“You are right, Carlita. Go now and comfort the poor child a little. You +know what to say—both for yourself and for me.”</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Bloommaert rose, smiling trustfully and happily, but at the +door she turned. Her husband went toward her, and she toward him, and +when they met, she kissed him with untranslatable affection. Again she +was at the door, and the judge stood in the middle of the room watching +her. As she slowly opened it, he made up his mind about something he had +been pondering for a couple of weeks.</p> + +<p>“Carlita,” he said, “you may tell Sapphira that to-morrow I will buy her +that grand pianoforte at Bailey & Stevens’, that she was so delighted +with.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my dear Gerardus!”</p> + +<p>“It is not white rosebuds, but yet she may like it.” He could not help +this little fling.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_60">{60}</a></span></p> + +<p>“There is nothing in all the world she wanted so much, though she never +dreamed of possessing it.”</p> + +<p>“We shall see, dear! We shall see!”</p> + +<p>In about half an hour the door opened gently, and there was a swift, +light movement. Then Sappha was at his knees, and her face was against +his breast, and he bent his head, and she threw her white arms around +his neck and kissed him. There was no word spoken; and there was none +needed—the kiss—the kneeling figure—the clasping arms, were the +clearest of explanations, the surest of all promises. Verily “he that +ruleth his spirit is stronger than he who taketh a city.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_61">{61}</a></span>”</p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_III"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER THREE<br><br> +<i>A Sweetness More Desired than Spring</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_I.png" +width="80" height="82" +alt="I"></span>N this sort of veiled truce the new days came, but the inheritance of +those other few days, following the declaration of war, was not disposed +of. On the contrary, its influence continually increased; though Leonard +received from Mrs. Bloommaert neither special favour nor special +disregard. As for the judge, he preserved a grave courtesy, which the +young man found it almost impossible either to warm, or to move; and it +soon became obvious to Mrs. Bloommaert that her husband’s frequent +visits to his friend, General Bloomfield, were made in order to prevent +all temptations to alter the polite reserve of his assumed manner.</p> + +<p>But the lover’s power is the poet’s power. He can make love from all the +common strings with which this world is strung. And this time was far +from being common; it was thrilled through and through by rumours of +war, of defeat and of victory, so that the sound of trumpets, and the +march of fighting men were a constant obligato to the most trivial +affairs. No one knew what great news any hour might<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_62">{62}</a></span> bring. Expectation +stood on tiptoe waiting for the incredible. This was not only the case +in America. All over Christendom the war flags were flying, and the +nations humbling themselves before the great Napoleon. With an army of +more than half a million men he was then on his way to invade the +dominions of the Emperor of Russia, and at the same time he was waging +war with England and Spain, in the Spanish peninsula. The greater part +of the rest of Europe was subject to his control; and England was +necessarily at war, not only with Napoleon, but with all the other +powers of Europe, who were either allies or dependents of Napoleon. +Under such circumstances it was hardly likely that she would send any +greater force from her continental wars than she thought necessary to +maintain her possessions in America. Thus, as yet, there was all the +stir and enthusiasm of war, without any great fear of immediate danger.</p> + +<p>Leonard came and went, as many other young men did, to the house of +Bloommaert; and their talk was all of fighting. But the eyes have a +language of their own; the hands speak, flowers and books and music, all +were messengers of love, and did his high behests. Moreover, New York +was even abnormally gay. She gave vent to her emotions in social +delights and unlimited hospitality. Tea-and card-parties, assemblies or +subscription balls, excursions up the river, visits to Ballston mineral +springs, riding and driving, and the evening saunter on the +Battery—when the moon shone, and the band played, and embryo heroes +brought ices<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_63">{63}</a></span> and made honest love—all these things were part and +parcel of these early days of war, in eighteen hundred and twelve; and +Leonard Murray and Sapphira Bloommaert met under such happy +circumstances continually.</p> + +<p>The Bowling Green was the heart of this festivity, for it was the +headquarters of the military commanders; and all the colour and pomp of +war centred there. Every morning Sappha awoke to the sound of martial +music; and every hour of daylight the sidewalks were gay with the +uniforms of the army and the militia. It was Annette’s misfortune to +live in Nassau Street; but then, as she said, “a great many officers +found Nassau Street a convenient way to the Battery.” Doubtless they did +so, for her pretty face among the flowers and tantalising shrubbery of +the house was an attraction worth going a little out of the way for. +However, both Annette and Madame Bloommaert spent much time at the house +on the Bowling Green; and no one was more interested in public affairs +than the judge’s mother. Her daughter-in-law had many other cares and +duties; but the war to Madame Jonaca Bloommaert was the pivot on which +all her interests hung.</p> + +<p>She was sitting, one morning towards the end of July, eating breakfast +with her granddaughter. There was a little breeze wandering about the +old place, and madame wore her white Canton crape shawl, a sure sign +that she intended to go to the Bowling Green. Well Annette had prepared +herself for such a likely visit, and she looked with complacent<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_64">{64}</a></span> +satisfaction at her figured chintz frock, and her snow-white pelerine of +the sheerest muslin.</p> + +<p>“About that affair at St. Paul’s Episcopal Church last Sunday, I want to +ask your uncle Gerardus,” said madame. “I take leave to say it was not +respectable. I can hardly credit the tale—eh; what do you think?”</p> + +<p>“It must be true, grandmother; I was at the dinner table yesterday when +cousin Peter came in and told us.”</p> + +<p>“Told you? What then?”</p> + +<p>“He said that after leaving church on Sunday morning, and seeing us +safely to our gate, he went up Nassau Street and crossed the City Hall +Park, intending to call on John Van Ambridge. Not finding him at home, +he took the Broadway to the Bowling Green, and as he was passing St. +Paul’s Episcopal Church an artillery regiment marched out of the church, +playing <i>Yankee Doodle</i>; and so up Broadway, to both the outspoken anger +and outspoken pleasure of the crowd. Many men called on them to cease; +others bid them go on, and there was a commotion that would likely have +been much greater, if it had not been Sunday.”</p> + +<p>“What said Peter?”</p> + +<p>“He did not like it; he said it never could have happened at the Middle +Dutch Church, and so he laid all the blame on Episcopacy.”</p> + +<p>“And what said your uncle?”</p> + +<p>“He did not like it either. He thought the officers should be +reprimanded. What do you say, grandmother?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_65">{65}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“I like it.”</p> + +<p>Annette smiled with a pleasant anticipation. She rather enjoyed a +difference of opinion between the household powers. There was generally +some small advantage in one way or another as a result. Reconciliations +were sure to follow, and reconciliations brought laxities and +favours—not infrequently gifts. She did not forget Sappha’s new +piano—the white roses and the tear-stained face, and as a natural +sequence—the piano.</p> + +<p>As they took their way to the Bowling Green madame noticed an unusual +quiet in the streets, but Annette, to whom the Bowling Green represented +New York, thought everything very lively. The musical exit from St. +John’s supplied the conversation, or at least seasoned it with a just +interesting acrimony, till the dinner hour arrived. The judge was always +pleased to see his mother, and always placed her in his own seat at the +table when she eat with them, and this loyal respect and kindness, +though so often repeated, never failed to touch madame as if it was a +new thing that very hour. So she spoke far more tolerantly than she +intended, about the scene at St. John’s, and expended her little store +of wrath upon an ordinance which the Common Council had just passed, +making it unlawful for any one but those in actual service to beat drums +or play fifes on the streets, except under great restrictions as to +time. Madame indignantly declared such a law to be “a restriction on the +liberty of the individual;” and she reminded her son how much of a +sin<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_66">{66}</a></span>ner he himself had been, when the Revolutionary War was beginning.</p> + +<p>“You were then a lad of only ten years old, Gerardus, yet the drum was +never out of your hands, unless you were playing the fife,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I am sorry to hear this, mother,” he answered. “The suffering that has +been caused by such exhibitions of boyish patriotism is beyond our +counting. The healthy have been made sick, the sick have been made +worse, and in many cases, undoubtedly, they have died in consequence of +the perpetual noise. Latterly these bands have taken to beating drums +incessantly before the house of any one thought to be opposed to the +war, and the general distress has compelled householders to beseech the +Town Council for its interference.”</p> + +<p>“An old woman am I,” said madame, “but the noise never annoyed me.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, you are not an old woman, and you will never be old. If you see +one hundred years, you will die young.”</p> + +<p>She put out her thin, brown hand towards her son at this compliment, and +he laid his own all over it. Then she added a little defiantly: “More +noise than ever we shall have in a day or two. Just nobody, is the +Common Council. The new disease is noise, and the boys all have it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, mother, the law will make short work of it—there is a +heavy fine and the watch-house for those who do not mind the law.”</p> + +<p>“Poor boys!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_67">{67}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“I think we have had enough of that subject,” said Mrs. Bloommaert; “is +there no other news, Gerardus?”</p> + +<p>“Well, my friend General Bloomfield is to be relieved of his command +here; so my pleasant evening smoke and chat with him will soon come to +an end. I heard, also, that the company raised by Leonard Murray had +joined Colonel Harsen’s artillery regiment, and offered their services +as a body to the governor, and that it has been accepted. Some parts of +it will go to Staten Island, others to Bedloe’s Island and the Narrows.”</p> + +<p>He did not raise his eyes as he made this statement, or he must have +seen the face of his daughter flush and pale at his words. She +understood from them that Leonard would leave New York, and she could +not imagine how long his absence might be. Mrs. Bloommaert did not +speak; but she looked curiously at the dropped countenance of her +husband. In some dim, undefined way, she came in a moment to the +conclusion that this bit of military movement had been effected by +General Bloomfield, in order to please his friend. Annette shrugged her +shoulders and said some one, or something, always carried off <i>her</i> +friends. She wondered what she should do without Leonard—he was so +obliging, so merry, so always on hand when she wanted him, and so +discreetly absent when she would have felt him a nuisance. She went on +in a pretty, complaining way, as if Leonard was her special friend, or +even lover, and though all present looked at her with a mild +astonishment, no one cared to contradict the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_68">{68}</a></span> position she had taken. +Madame even endorsed it by her unconscious affectation of sympathy. “You +have a trifle of eight or ten other admirers, child,” she said; “and +Leonard Murray is by no means unparagoned. A token give to him, and let +him go; a little discipline, that will be good for him.”</p> + +<p>This discussion had given Sappha time for self-control, and Mrs. +Bloommaert looked with admiration at her daughter. She had feared some +scornful or passionate word, but the face of Sappha was as calm as that +of a sleeping child. She had taken possession of herself completely; and +she asked her mother for some delicacy she wanted, with an air of one +only concerned about her dinner. For by a strong mental effort she had +closed the door on Leonard for the time being: she loved him too well, +and too nobly, to babble about her relations with him—especially with +her cousin Annette.</p> + +<p>She asked her father for no further information, and he was pleased at +her reticence; so much so that he gently stroked her hair as he passed +her seat in going out; and the smile she gave him in return made him +thoroughly respect her. It was a time when it was considered a mark of +refinement in a woman to weep readily; and if under the stress of any +unusual joy or grief or disappointment she fainted away, she was thought +to have done the right thing to prove her exquisite sensibility. But if +Sapphira had fainted on hearing of her lover’s departure, the judge +would never have stroked her hair, and she would also have missed that +comprehensive, kindling glance from her mother, which at once<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_69">{69}</a></span> bid her +be brave for the occasion, and assured her of sympathy.</p> + +<p>But the weariest river finds the sea somewhere, and the time and the +hour run through the longest day. There were visitors after dinner, and +then tea-time came and went; and the judge prepared himself to see his +mother and niece safely to their home.</p> + +<p>“And, Carlita, my dear,” he said, “I may not be home until late. There +is to be a meeting at Tammany Hall to approve the war, and considering +our conversation to-day at dinner, one thing about the call is worth +telling you—it is ‘recommended to citizens of forty-five years of age +and upward.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>Madame laughed and gave her long mitts an impatient jerk—“these +greybeards of ‘forty-five and upward’ are going to talk very wisely, no +doubt,” she said; “but the young men it is, who will man the ships and +the batteries, and the real fighting do.”</p> + +<p>“The old men will lead them, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Sixteen were you when you went to the front in the last war, Gerardus; +and Aaron Burr, who was no older, if as old, carried messages between +Arnold and Montgomery through the thick of the fight at Quebec; and when +Montgomery fell, little Burr it was who caught his body and carried it +out of the line of fire through a very rain of bullets—a boy, mind +you!”</p> + +<p>“Mother, I have divested myself of all community of feel<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_70">{70}</a></span>ing with the +man called Aaron Burr, and of all interest whatever in his sayings and +doings.”</p> + +<p>“There it is! However, the sayings and doings will talk for themselves +some day. Come, let us be going. Carlita looks worn out with our +chatter.”</p> + +<p>Carlita did not deny the imputation, and as soon as the echo of their +footsteps had died away in the distance, she said, “Sappha, carry the +candles into the other parlour. I want to lie down on the sofa. I want +to be quiet and dark, and find out where I am, and what I am. The strain +has been very hard. Nassau Street always leaves me feeling fit for +nothing but sleep.”</p> + +<p>“And then to end it, that weary Aaron Burr controversy. Can’t people let +him alone?”</p> + +<p>“No! When he did well, he heard it never; now they say he has done ill, +he hears of it day in and day out.”</p> + +<p>So Sappha went to the best parlour, where the piano still stood open, +with the new music scattered over it. She put it in order, and the very +act brought her a restful, thoughtful mood. Then she closed the +instrument, and drawing a comfortable chair before the window she sat +down to commune with her own heart. If what her father had said +concerning Leonard’s company was correct—and she had no doubt of +it—then it was almost certain Leonard would himself call and tell her. +He might call that very night; she was finally sure he would call, and +her ears took intent note of every sound, and of every coming footstep.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_71">{71}</a></span></p> + +<p>Very rarely are our hopes and wishes accomplished! But this hour was +favourable to Sappha’s love. In a very short time she heard the strong, +quick steps she was waiting to hear; and her face grew luminous with +pleasure, and a sweet smile made her little red mouth enchanting. She +did not go to meet him—the front door stood wide open these summer +evenings, and there was a distinct luxury in sitting still and waiting +for the approach of happiness. It was approaching so surely, so swiftly, +and as the steps came near, and more near, she heard in that scarcely +broken silence the oracle of her heart.</p> + +<p>He entered softly, with a grace half-mystical and half-sensuous; and +without a word stood over her. Then she lifted her eyes, and he saw +their bright light turn tender, and he stooped and laid his cheek +against hers, and whispered: “Do you love me? Do you love me? Do you +love me, Sappha? Speak, dearest! Speak quickly! Oh, speak kindly!”</p> + +<p>And her soul flew to her lips, and there was no need of words. Love +found a sweeter interpretation.</p> + +<p>“Thy little white hand, give it to me.”</p> + +<p>She had no will to refuse it, almost of its own will it slipped between +the two strong hands that held it fast. Then he found out those happy +love words that are so glad that they dance as they burn; those words at +once so simple and so wise, so gentle and so strong.</p> + +<p>And the great marvel of love is ever this—the slenderness<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_72">{72}</a></span> of the +knowledge and experience which compels one human being to say to +another, “I love you!” which compels souls to rush together, as if they +were drawn by some such irresistible attraction as compels planets to +follow their orbits. Both were so young and so happy that they made each +other seem lovelier as they sat with clasped hands, speaking of +Leonard’s company and its destination.</p> + +<p>“How shall I endure your absence, Leonard? I know not. You are my life, +now, dear one,” said Sappha.</p> + +<p>“But, Sappha, my sweet, I shall be in your thoughts, as you in mine; and +we shall not know that we are apart. Besides, it will be only for ninety +days.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, but, Leonard, love reckons days for years, and every little absence +is an age! The tedious hours will move heavily away, and every minute +seem a lazy day.”</p> + +<p>“Where have you learned all this?”</p> + +<p>“You taught me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, love! love! love! How sweet you are! When I return, then you will +be my wife. Let me speak to your father and mother to-night. Why should +we wait?”</p> + +<p>“Leonard, I have promised my father and mother that I will not engage +myself to any one, until the war is over.”</p> + +<p>“But that was before this happy hour. Such a promise cannot now stand, +darling.”</p> + +<p>“It cannot be broken. How could you ever trust me if I was false to the +dear father and mother who love me so much?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_73">{73}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“But we are engaged, Sappha. No mere ceremony of asking consent can ever +make us more truly one.”</p> + +<p>“Then, my love, be content with that knowledge.”</p> + +<p>“The war may last a lifetime.”</p> + +<p>“It may be over in a year—or less.”</p> + +<p>The love-light in her eyes, her tremulous smiles, her penetrative +loveliness, her confident heart’s still fervour, filled him with an +inward gladness that was unspeakable. His eyes dilated with rapture; he +felt as if he was walking on air, and breathing some diviner atmosphere. +The joy of love had gone to his head like wine.</p> + +<p>In a little while Mrs. Bloommaert came into the room, and though she was +sleepy and distrait, she could not but notice the couple who stood up +hand-in-hand to meet her. Sappha was eighteen years old, but her radiant +face looked almost childlike in its innocent joyousness; and Leonard at +her side was the incarnation of young manhood; endowed with strength and +grace and beauty, and crowned with the glory of fortunate love.</p> + +<p>Leonard wished her to understand, but she smiled away all explanations, +and pretended a little worry over her long sleep, and the late hour; and +there was nothing left for Leonard but to say “Good-night.” They both +went to the door with him, and when he was out of sight, the door was +shut and the mother said, “I must have been asleep! Your father will be +here soon, Sappha. You had better go to bed. I suppose Leonard is going +with the men he raised.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_74">{74}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Yes, he is going.”</p> + +<p>“He ought to be glad to go. It is good for a young man to have some +experiences. Well, dear one, the day is over; and you must be tired.”</p> + +<p>Then Sappha perceived that her mother did not wish to know +authentically, what she understood clearly enough; and a little saddened +by this want of sympathy, she went quietly into solitude with her joy.</p> + +<p>The three months that followed this interview were filled with incident. +New Yorkers needed no theatre; the war supplied every emotion of dismay +and triumph of which the human heart is capable. “<i>On to Canada!</i>” had +been the slogan at its commencement; and General Hull with over two +thousand fine troops quickly took peaceable possession of the little +village of Sandwich, on the Canadian shore. His first dispatches threw +New York into a tumult of excitement and delight. The American flag was +flying on both sides of the Niagara River, and from the grandiloquent +proclamation Hull had made the Canadians, and his first dispatches, it +really appeared as if Canada had fallen. But even while bells were +ringing and cannons firing jubilates for this news, Hull himself had +thrown out the white flag from his fort at Detroit, and surrendered the +stronghold and all his forces without firing a gun. The anger and +mortification of the people were in due season, however, turned into +triumph; for if General Hull surrendered on the nineteenth of August, +Captain Hull of the frigate <i>Constitution</i> on the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_75">{75}</a></span> tenth of August took +the British man-of-war <i>Guerrière</i> on the coast of Newfoundland; and the +news of this victory, which arrived in New York about the first of +September, roused the wildest enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>This circumstance indicates very well the progress of the war. The army +operations on the Canadian frontier were everywhere disastrous to +America; on the ocean her ships vindicated by constant brilliant +victories the descent of her sailors from that great maritime power +whose flag had braved a thousand years the battle and the breeze. There +is not in all history a more splendid naval record than the United +States made during these ninety days of alternate dismay and triumph. +And no city felt these wonderful sea victories quite as New York did. +Her great ship-yards on the East River had sent out the armed frigates +and brigs, that were covering the nation, even in the eyes of her enemy, +with a great and unexpected glory. The <i>Constitution!</i> the <i>President!</i> +the <i>Essex!</i> the <i>United States!</i> these gallant ships had a kind of +personality to New Yorkers. They had seen them grow to perfection in +Christian Bergh’s and Adam Brown’s yards. They had stood godfathers at +their christening, and they watched their valiant careers almost as a +father watches his son’s course to a glorious success.</p> + +<p>On the fourth of September Sappha and Mrs. Bloommaert were in Greenwich +Street shopping, when they suddenly heard a wild shout of joy. “The +<i>Constitution!</i> the <i>Constitution!</i>” From mouth to mouth the two words +flew<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_76">{76}</a></span> like wild-fire. The whole city was roaring them. The bells clapped +them out. The cannon sent them thundering over land and sea. Men +meeting, though strangers, clasped hands; and women threw themselves +into each other’s arms, weeping. Was there feeling enough left for a +maid to be lovelorn or melancholy? Not in Sappha’s case. She gave her +whole heart to rejoice with her country first, and then proudly +remembered the dear youth who must at that moment be rejoicing with her.</p> + +<p>Letters from him came more frequently than she had dared to hope. Some +one available as a messenger was frequently at the Narrows fort, and +Leonard never missed an opportunity. There was no restriction on this +correspondence by her father and mother, though at the beginning of it +the judge strongly advised restriction.</p> + +<p>“Written words cannot be denied or rubbed out, Carlita,” he said. “I +know what young men are. Suppose Leonard should show Sappha’s letters to +some companion.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose an impossibility, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“Not so. A man in love is always a vain man, if his love is returned. He +has conquered, and he puts on all the airs of a victor. He usually wants +some one to admire and envy him, and a love letter is a visible proof of +his prowess among women. I would not allow Sappha to write.”</p> + +<p>“Then you are in the wrong, my dear one. Nothing is better for a lover +than a course of love letters. It is the finest education for +marriage.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_77">{77}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“They say so many extravagant things.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. That is good. They get used to saying fine things, then they +feel them, and ’tis no harm at all for a lover to write down his +mistress ‘an angel.’ He may treat her the better for it, all their lives +together.”</p> + +<p>“So! so! Take thy own foolish way, wife. I do not forget thy dear little +love notes—and ever the few leaves of sweet brier in them. I can smell +it yet.”</p> + +<p>So Sappha had her love letters, and she also wrote them. Leonard’s were +like himself, frankly outspoken, full of extravagancy, both in love and +war. “He loved her as never man loved before;” and she saw the words +shine on the paper, and believed in them with all her soul. “He longed +for those unspeakable English tyrants to come within reach of their +guns, they would be sunk twenty fathoms deep in no time—then, then, +then, oh, then he would fly to her, as a bird to its nest!” Love and +glory mingled thus, until love took entire possession; then the +conclusion was a passionate exploiting of that yearning word “<i>why?</i>” +“<i>Why</i> could they not be married when he returned? <i>Why</i> should they +wait? <i>Why</i> did she not think as he did? <i>Why</i> consider the war at all? +<i>Why</i> let that old tyrant of a motherland called England interfere in +their happiness? <i>Why</i> let anything? Or anybody?” There had been little +parties of visitors at the Narrows, “<i>Why</i> had she not persuaded her +father and mother to sail so far with her? <i>Why</i>, in short, did she not +understand that life was dreadfully dull<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_78">{78}</a></span> in the fort, and that a sight +of her would be heaven to him? <i>Why? Why? Why</i> did she not love him as +wildly and fondly and eternally as he loved her?”</p> + +<p>All this exaggeration was the most beautiful truth to Sapphira. She +adored her lover for the very prodigality of his pleas and +protestations. It was right and proper that lovers should suffer all the +pangs of separation; she was rather proud of Leonard’s wailing and +complaining; and careful not to comfort it too much, by comparing it +with her own. Indeed she rather affected the style of a sweet little +mentor, bound to remind him that he must love honour, even before +herself. And she so blended their own hopes and happiness with domestic +and public affairs as to make her letters all that a daily paper might +be to a man shut up in prison, or in a fort in a wilderness. Leonard saw +through them, the New York he loved, the busy, hopeful people, talking, +trading, singing, smoking, loving, living through every sense they had; +and he felt with the keenest delight all Sappha’s sweet +self-disparagements and compunctions for her own happiness and good +fortune in being beloved by him.</p> + +<p>“I cannot tell you, my own dear friend,” she wrote on the sixth of +November, “how happy your assurances of affection make me. People who +are very, very happy do not know how to write down their joy. I have no +words but the old, old ones—I do so love you! If I but think of your +name, I bless it forever. When your letters come, I kiss the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_79">{79}</a></span> seal +before I open them; when I write you a letter I look love into every +word I write. My father does not speak of you—oh, there is so much else +for him to talk of! My mother looks only the sweet sympathy she will not +utter, until my father wills it—and in that she is right, I think. +Annette may suspect, but she knows nothing certainly; our secret is very +much our own yet, and the dearer for it. You would say so also, if you +could see and hear New York at the present time. In spite of our small +deprivations, we are all very happy. The militia stationed here are +having a most sociable time, and there are parades and reviews +constantly in progress. The theatre is now filled every night it is +open, and if only some gallant privateer, or some sailor from the ships +comes in, the performance has to stop until he has been cheered to the +skies. I am sorry, my dearest friend, that you did not join the navy; +for just now sailors are the idols of our city—I do not mean that—oh, +no! I could not bear to think of you at sea. I am counting the days and +the hours now. I heard mother tell Annette that the men at the Narrows +would be home for the great parade on Evacuation Day, Annette clapped +her hands and said ‘then Leonard Murray will return to us; and I shall +ask grandmother to give him a dinner. He will be so glad to see me,’ she +added, ‘and I shall be so glad to see him.’ She put me out of +calculation, and I did not mind; for if <i>you</i> remember, what care I if +all the world forgets me? It is too bad the English ships will not give +you a chance of glory, we have almost<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_80">{80}</a></span> forgot how to fear them. Every +one is in high spirits; we have no doubt of God, nor our country, nor of +our brave sailors and soldiers. And, oh, Leonard! dear, dear Leonard, I +have not one doubt of you. So then I send you my heart; for I do trust +you, Leonard, for all the joy that life shall bring me. Yes I do! I do! +Sappha.”</p> + +<p>Such foolish words! Ah, no! Such words of delightful wisdom! And happy +indeed is the woman who in her youth hides such letters away in her Book +of Life. They will sweeten every page of it—even to the very end.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_81">{81}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IV"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER FOUR<br><br> +<i>Introduces Mr. Achille St. Ange</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_O.png" +width="80" height="78" +alt="O"></span>N the afternoon of November the twenty-fifth Annette was sitting with +her grandmother in the comfortable, large living room which the elder +woman loved. Outside the day was extraordinarily beautiful for the +season. The sky was nearly cloudless, the balmy air had just that snap +of early frost which made it exhilarating, and there was not a breath of +wind. The tall, straight Michaelmas daisies stood radiantly still in +their late purple glory; the golden marigolds glowed at their feet; +every twig, and every blade of grass might have been cut out of stone. +It was a speechless, motionless, spell-bound garden, lit up with a flood +of winter sunshine.</p> + +<p>Madame had her knitting in her hand, but she was not busy with it; her +gaze was fixed upon Annette, who was fastening more carefully the silver +spangles on a gown of blue gauze. “Madame Duval barely catches them,” +she said plaintively, “and I suppose there will be dancing to-night.”</p> + +<p>“I do not think there will be anything of the kind, An<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_82">{82}</a></span>nette. Your aunt +will have to use the largest room for dinner, and dinner dishes are not +moved by magic. Also, I do not intend to remain there all night; so fine +is the weather we can easily return home. It has been such a tumultuous +day that I shall need sleep, and out of my own bed I never get it.”</p> + +<p>“But the parade was splendid, grandmother; and I am sure you are glad +you saw it.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my child, my years it made me count. So well I remember the first +Evacuation Day parade. General Washington and the victorious army led +it. Then I wept because your grandfather was not among living +heroes—to-day I did not weep—so soon we shall meet again.” A sound of +distant music arrested speech, and they listened in silence till it died +away. Then Annette said: “There are to be so many public dinners, and +the theatre is to be brilliantly illuminated. Oh, grandmother, I wish +you would let me go with the Westervelt party to the theatre. What +excitement there will be there! What cheering and singing and fine +acting! and at uncle’s!—well, you know what uncle’s Evacuation dinners +are—ten or twelve old men who were in his company will be there; and +they will tell the same stories, and sing the same songs, and pay the +ladies the same compliments. I would like to go to the theatre.”</p> + +<p>“To your uncle’s dinner party you will go to-night; and I think the +dress you are spangling is too light. You had better wear something +warmer.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_83">{83}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother, I saw Sappha’s dress yesterday—it is a white gauze with +brilliant crimson roses scattered over it; and it is to be worn over a +rich, white satin slip. Do you want me to look a dowdy beside her?”</p> + +<p>“Like a dowdy you could not look, not if you tried to, Annette. Of your +health I want you to take good care. Your mother had very weak lungs.”</p> + +<p>“My lungs are strong enough, grandmother, it is my heart that is so +dangerously weak. It is always giving me sensations. Leonard Murray has +come back so handsome, I felt my heart as soon as I saw him.”</p> + +<p>“Annette, in such a way as that a good girl should not talk, even to her +grandmother. I do not think it is respectable. I am too lenient with +you, and you are too free with me.”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother, who is that? He is coming in here. I never saw the man +before. How handsome! how genteel! how simply noble he looks! I must +send Lucas to open the door.”</p> + +<p>In a minute or two the stranger let the knocker fall lightly in a +rat-tat-tat, and the little negro boy who answered his summons put him +into the chill best parlour, and brought his card to madame. She read +the name on it with difficulty, and passing the card to Annette, drew +her brows together in an effort of remembrance.</p> + +<p>“<i>Mr. Achille St. Ange.</i>”</p> + +<p>“St. Ange! St. Ange! Ah, yes, I now recollect. Ger<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_84">{84}</a></span>trude Bergen married +a French gentleman called St. Ange. Gertrude and I were schoolgirls +together. I was one of her bridesmaids. This young man must be her +grandson. It seems incredible—impossible——”</p> + +<p>“But in the meantime, grandmother, this young man is waiting in the cold +parlour.”</p> + +<p>“I had forgotten. Let Lucas bring him here. Do you hear, Lucas?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, madame.”</p> + +<p>In a few moments Mr. St. Ange entered, with the air and manner of a +prince; bowing first to madame, and then, with a shade less deference, +to Annette. His slight, agile figure had the erect carriage of one born +to command; and his general appearance and aspect was suggestively +haughty, and yet when people became familiar with him, they saw only a +careless tolerance of all opinions, and a certain compatibility of +temper, which easily passed for good nature. His hair was intensely +black and soft, and lay in straight locks on his white brow; his eyes, +equally dark, were full of a sombre fire; his skin had the pallor of the +hot land from which he came.</p> + +<p>Madame rose to welcome him and remained standing until he was seated, +then she smilingly resumed her chair, and said:</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Mr. St. Agne, for a moment I had forgotten. Backward for more +than half a century I had to think—then I remembered your +grandmother—Gertrude Bergen. Am I right?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_85">{85}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Madame is correct,” he answered; “my grandmother died ten years ago. My +mother is also no longer with the son, who needs her so much. I have +come to New York, and I have ventured to present a claim on your +kindness three generations old.”</p> + +<p>His handsome face, his direct manner, the utter absence of anything +subtle in his air or appearance, perhaps even the grave richness of his +perfectly suitable attire prepossessed both women instantly in his +favour. Madame took out wine and cake with her own hands; Annette was +the cup-bearer, and he accepted the service with a grace far more +flattering than any challenge or deprecation of it could have been. And +as Annette handed him the glass, he incidentally—quite incidentally, +indeed—lifted his eyes to hers, and the glance seemed to rivet her to +the spot, to include not only her vision, but her very soul.</p> + +<p>Mr. Achille St. Ange wanted a friend, that was all; and madame promised +to do her best to advise him in the new life upon which he was entering. +They talked a little of his Louisiana home, and of his future +intentions, but the visit was not prolonged at this time. “He had made +his introduction,” he said, “the future he hoped to justify it.”</p> + +<p>The advent of this rekindled friendship was quite an event to madame. +She could do nothing but talk of it; she kept recalling her life with +Gertrude Bergen, and she wondered a little over her grandson’s +appearance. “But, then,” she<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_86">{86}</a></span> continued, “Gertrude was from Belgium, and +swarthy, though fine-looking. Much darker is her grandson, more intense, +more buoyant—well, that, too, is natural; it is the French <i>esprit</i> +upon the Dutch respectability. His grandfather I remember now—the most +careless of mortals, full of fire and fight, and yet amiable—most +amiable. We all envied Gertrude a little. He took her to France—to some +little town near Paris. How did they get to Louisiana, I wonder?”</p> + +<p>Annette was the silent one in this event. She let her grandmother talk. +She wanted to hear all about Achille. The man had made a singular +impression on her. Many lovers had been at her feet, but she had really +loved none of them. Was this strange emotion—more akin to tears than +laughter—really love? She told herself that the man was captivating, +and that she must be “on guard” whenever he was present. And withal she +kept wondering “what he thought of her,” and worrying because she was +not dressed to the best advantage.</p> + +<p>Perhaps she would not have been quite pleased if she had been truthfully +told Mr. St. Ange’s feeling concerning her, for it was one of a perverse +admiration, oddly mingled of repulsion and fascination. He had never +before seen a woman so startlingly fair, so white—so white and +pink—eyes so blue, hair so palely yellow; her beauty struck him as +great, but almost uncanny—he wondered if so white a woman was not +equally cold. Would she ever warm to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_87">{87}</a></span> love? And then he answered his +reflections with a soft utterance: “We shall see! We shall see!”</p> + +<p>The dinner party at the judge’s was to be at four o’clock, and the rest +of the afternoon was fully occupied in preparing for it. And in this +preparation, if Annette had been keeping “guard” over herself, she would +have noticed that even already the stranger influenced her. She laid +aside the spangled robe and put on a gown of purple cloth trimmed with +minever. And she thought, and said, that this change was in deference to +her grandmother’s desires; but in reality it came from the feeling that +Mr. St. Ange would not be at her uncle’s, and that no one else much +mattered. Even if Leonard was present, she felt now that Leonard was a +past interest; St. Ange was new and different, and his favour full of +all kinds of possibilities.</p> + +<p>On arriving at the house on the Bowling Green they found it in a festal +state of confusion. The largest parlour had been stripped of all its +movable furniture, and the space devoted to a long table, and to chairs +for the twenty or more people that were to be seated. It already shone +with massive silver and beautiful crystal; while the odours of delicious +meats and confections inspired a sense of warmth and comfort, and of +good things to come. Blazing fires were in every grate; the numerous +silver sconces on the walls, and the scintillating crystal chandelier +above the table were all filled with wax candles, which would be lit as +soon as the daylight waned a little farther. The judge was in full +evening dress,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_88">{88}</a></span> and madame in brocaded ruby velvet, with a string of +pearls round her yet beautiful throat. And when Sapphira came into the +room Annette was deeply mortified at her own foolishness in dressing so +plainly. She felt that she had wounded and humiliated herself for a +probability. In a moment of new hope she had let slip the certainties +Sappha had embraced. For Sappha, in her rose-sprinkled gown, looked as +if she stepped out of the heart of a rose. Her brilliant colour, the +sunlike radiancy of her eyes, her glowing gown, made her, indeed, a +beauteous apparition, wonderfully sweet and noble. Annette looked at her +with an envious surprise. Something had happened to her cousin Sappha; +what it was she did not understand, but Sappha had an air of mystery and +mastery, unperceived by herself, but rousing in all who knew the girl +intimately a questioning wonder. It came from an interior sense of +settlement and completeness; Sappha had found him whom her soul loved, +and the restlessness, the unconscious seeking and craving of girlhood, +was over.</p> + +<p>In her desire to somewhat equalise things, Annette gave her cousin a +very flowery description of her grandmother’s strange visitor. She +described him as the most beautiful, elegant, and graceful of human +creatures; and she emphasised very strongly her grandmother’s strong +claim upon his affection and attention—“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>a friendship in its third +generation,’ he called it, Sappha, and I suppose we shall see a great +deal of him. He is to call to-morrow to consult grandmother about his +money and his business.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_89">{89}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Where does he come from?” Sappha asked, but in such a listless way that +Annette responded angrily, “It is easy to see you do not care where he +comes from. I thought you would feel some interest in such a romantic +affair. What are the old men and women who will be here to-night in +comparison with such an adorable young man? And how you have dressed +yourself for them! Do you imagine they will appreciate, or, perhaps, +even notice it?”</p> + +<p>“I dressed myself in honour of the day, and for my father and mother’s +oldest friends. Here are some of them coming. I must help mother to +receive them.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid it is going to be an unlucky and disagreeable night,” +sighed Annette to herself, as she stood by the fire watching the rapid +arrival of cloaked and hooded guests. As she mused amid the happy sounds +of welcome, she noticed a sudden shutting and opening of Sappha’s bright +eyes, and an expression of more eager delight on her face. A quick +presentiment flashed through Annette’s mind, and she followed her +cousin’s glance to the little group advancing. Yes, it was as she +expected!—Leonard Murray’s fair head towered in youthful beauty and +animation above all the white-haired men and women entering the room +with him. Then Annette slipped sweetly past all obstructions, and with a +smile said softly to Sappha: “<span class="lftspc">‘</span>I dressed myself in honour of the day, +and for my father and mother’s oldest friends!’ Oh, Sappha! Sappha! Is +Mr. Murray among their oldest friends?”</p> + +<p>Sappha’s face burned, but fortunately there was no time for<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_90">{90}</a></span> words. The +judge and Peter were seating their guests, and every one was for the +moment silent and attentive. Madame, his mother, had the head of the +table, and every guest saluted her as they passed to their own seats. +And what a goodly company it was! Such sturdy, stalwart men; such +rosy-faced, comfortable-looking, handsome women! such good-will and +fellow-feeling! such amiable admiration of each other’s dress and +appearance! And when the slaves brought in, at shoulder height, the hot +savoury dishes, such simultaneous delight to find them the Hollandish +delicacies, which now remain to us only in printed descriptions; yes, +even to the little saucers of that dear condiment made of pickled and +spiced red cabbage, once so welcome and necessary to the Dutch palate. +And pray, what mouth once familiar with its savour and flavour and +relish could resist the delicately thin, purple strips? Olives were +already taking its place at the tables of the high-bred citizens, who +loved French fashions and French cooking; but among these old-fashioned, +picturesque figures, its antique, homely taste and aspect was surely +beautiful and fitting. At any rate, there was no one at Judge +Bloommaert’s dinner table who would not have passed by caviare or olives +or any other condiment in its favour.</p> + +<p>Who has ever written down happiness? and what superfluity of words would +describe the good fellowship of the next hour? There was no “hush” on +any source of innocent pleasure. With the good food went good wine and +good<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_91">{91}</a></span> company, and above all, and through all, a good fellowship bounded +by the strongest of public and private ties.</p> + +<p>And as the more substantial dishes gave place to fruits and confections, +the nobler part of the feast took its precedency. The wine was +consecrated to patriotism and friendship, in heartfelt toasts; and one +of the earliest, and the most enthusiastic, was given to Madame Jonaca +Bloommaert. It was a spontaneous innovation, roused by her beautiful old +age, and her young enthusiasm, and she was for a moment embarrassed by +the unexpected. Only for a moment; then she rose erect as a girl, her +face kindling to her emotions, and in a clear voice answered the united +salutation:</p> + +<p>“My friends, I thank you all. There has been much talk of the Dutch and +of the Americans. Well, then, I am a Dutchwoman, and I am an American. +Both names are graven on my soul. America is my home, America is my +native land, and I would give my own life for her prosperity. But also, +Holland is my <i>Vaderland</i>! and my <i>Moederland</i>! I have never seen it, I +never shall see it, but what then? When our <i>Vaderland</i> and <i>Moederland</i> +is lost to sight, good Dutchmen, and good Dutchwomen, <i>find it in their +hearts</i>!” Her thin hands were clasped over her breast, her eyes full of +a solemn ecstacy; for that moment she put off the vesture of her years, +and stood there, shining in the eternal youth of the soul.</p> + +<p>In the midst of feelings not translatable she sat down, and as the +little tumult subsided Peter Bloommaert rose, and said:</p> + +<p>“My dear grandmother has opened our hearts for the song<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_92">{92}</a></span> my brother +Chris wrote, the night before he went away. I promised to sing it for +him this night, and my friend, Leonard Murray—who has it set to some +good music—will help me. It is my business to build, it is my brother +Christopher’s business to sail, and to fight, but I say this—and it is +the truth—if America, my native land, needs my hands for fighting, the +love I bear for my <i>Vaderland</i> will only make me fight the better for my +native land.” Then he looked at Leonard, and the two young, vibrant +voices, blended Christopher’s “Flag Song” with a stirring strain of +catching melody:</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O Flag of the Netherlands, are not our hearts<br></span> +<span class="i2">All flagbearers sacred to thee?<br></span> +<span class="i0">To our song, and our shout, O banner fly out!<br></span> +<span class="i2">Fly out o’er the land and the sea!<br></span> +<span class="i0">Unfold thee, unfold thee, invincible flag,<br></span> +<span class="i2">Remember thy brave, younger years,<br></span> +<span class="i0">When men crying ‘Freedom!’ died underneath thee,<br></span> +<span class="i2">’Mid storming and clashing of spears.<br></span> +<span class="i61">Flag of Fidelity!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Piety, Courage!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Thy Blue, White, and Red<br></span> +<span class="i61">We salute!<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou art blue as the skies, and red as the dawn,<br></span> +<span class="i2">Thou art white as the noonday light;<br></span> +<span class="i0">Fidelity gave thee her beautiful blue,<br></span> +<span class="i2">And Piety bound thee in white.<br></span> +<span class="i0">Then Faith and Fidelity went to the field<br></span> +<span class="i2">Where the blood of thy heroes was shed;<br></span> +<span class="i0">And there, where the sword was the breath of the Lord,<br></span> +<span class="i2">They gave thee thy ribbon of red.<br></span> +<span class="i61">Flag of Fidelity!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Piety! Courage!<br></span> +<span class="i61">Thy Blue, White, and Red<br></span> +<span class="i61">We salute!<br></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_93">{93}</a></span></div></div> +</div> + +<p>The enthusiasm evoked by this <i>Vlaggelied</i> was kept up in toast and +story and song until the big clock in the hall struck seven. Then the +judge and Colonel Rutgers rose; they were going to speak at a dinner +given by the officers of the Third New York State Artillery, and others +were going either to the theatre or to Scudder’s Museum, both of which +buildings were to be brilliantly illuminated. But a few of the guests +would willingly have prolonged the present pleasure, and old Samuel Van +Slyck said:</p> + +<p>“Well, then, judge, too fast is your clock. There is yet one good +half-hour before seven.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, Van Slyck,” answered the judge, “a Dutch clock goes always just +so; you cannot make it too fast.” And to this national joke the party +rose; they rose with a smile that ended in an involuntary sigh and the +little laughing stir with which human beings try to hide the breaking up +of a happiness.</p> + +<p>Cloaked and hooded, the majority went northward up Broadway; but quite a +number went eastward to Nassau, Wall, and State streets. In this party +were Madame Bloommaert and Annette, their escorts being Peter, and +Leonard Murray. They were the last to leave, for they were in no great +hurry; so they took leisurely farewells, and some of the women drank a +cup of tea standing cloaked in the parlour. In this short postponement +Leonard found the moments he had been longing for. Never had Sappha been +so entrancing in his eyes, and the radiancy of her beauty had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_94">{94}</a></span> not +charmed him more than the graceful generosity with which she had +suffered herself to be eclipsed for the honour and pleasures of others. +And, oh, how sweet he made the cup of tea he brought her, with such +honeyed words of praise! And how proud and happy he was made by her +answer.</p> + +<p>“If I was fair to you, dear Leonard, I have my perfect wish; for when +you are not here, then all the world is nothing.”</p> + +<p>They were both happy and excited, and it is little wonder if they +betrayed to Annette’s sharp eyes more than they intended. She was +spending all her fascinations on her cousin Peter, but while making eyes +at cousin Peter was not oblivious of her cousin Sappha. And when the +festal hours were quite over and she was alone with her grandmother, she +could not avoid giving utterance to her suspicions:</p> + +<p>“Grandmother,” she said, putting the tips of her fingers together and +resting her chin upon them, “I have an idea.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, what is it?”</p> + +<p>“I think Sappha and Leonard Murray are not only in love with each +other—I think, also, they are engaged.”</p> + +<p>“You talk more nonsense than usual. No one has said a word of that kind +to me. Of this family, I am the head, there could be no engagement +without my approval. Your uncle and aunt would have told me at +once—Sappha also. About engagements, what do you know? Lovers you +have,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_95">{95}</a></span> but making love and making a life-long engagement are different +things. Sappha is not engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Then ’tis a thousand pities, for I am sure she is mortally in love with +Leonard.”</p> + +<p>“And if he was mortally in love with Sappha, what wonder? More beautiful +every day, grows Sapphira Bloommaert.”</p> + +<p>“That is because she is in love. ‘Love makes the lover fair,’<span class="lftspc">”</span> and she +began to hum the song.</p> + +<p>“I have never seen love any change make in you. A new dress might, +but—”</p> + +<p>“I have never been in love. A new dress is the height of my affection. +However, I go back to what I said—I am sure Sappha and Leonard are +engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Was some one telling you this story?”</p> + +<p>“No. I told the story to myself.”</p> + +<p>“How did you make it up?”</p> + +<p>“I kept my eyes open.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what then?”</p> + +<p>“I saw that they had that ‘air’ about their slightest intercourse that +mere experimental lovers never dare. I mean that sure look that married +people have. Watch them and you will see it.”</p> + +<p>“Watch, I shall not. See, I shall not. As soon as there is any purpose +of marriage for Sapphira Bloommaert, I shall be told of it—told +immediately. If I was not, I should never forgive the slight,—never! +And your uncle and aunt<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_96">{96}</a></span> know it. Can you find nothing pleasanter about +the dinner to talk of? It was a dinner to gladden Dutch hearts. I helped +your aunt arrange the courses, and I gave her many of my choice receipts +for the dishes. No one in New York has such fine Hollandish receipts as +I have, except, perhaps, old Peter Bogart, the biscuit maker.”</p> + +<p>“I know, grandmother, I never pass his shop at Broadway and Cortlandt +Street without going in for some doughnuts. No one can make such good +ones; and how far back he looks in his smallclothes and long stockings, +his big hat, and knee buckles, and shoe buckles, and sleeve buckles, his +powdered hair and his long cue.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Peter Bogart and Mr. and Mrs. Skaats are among the few Dutch who +have never changed with changing customs. While moving with the city and +the times they have retained their picturesque dress and household life. +And in all New York no one is more respected; no one more interesting +and lovable than Mr. and Mrs. Skaats.”</p> + +<p>“I never saw them!”</p> + +<p>“I am sure you have not.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, who are they?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Skaats is custodian of the City Hall, and this delightful old +couple often entertain the judges, lawyers, and the councilmen at their +dinner table; on which is always found the Hollandish dishes we are so +rapidly forgetting. Your uncle occasionally dines with them, and would +do so more frequently if his own home was not so convenient. You<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_97">{97}</a></span> must +ask him to take you to see these dear old Dutch people; or I dare say +Sappha knows them. Soon they will only be a pleasant memory.”</p> + +<p>“I do not need to go and see the Skaats for a pleasant Dutch memory. +There is no finer Dutchwoman in the world than my grandmother, Madame +Jonaca Bloommaert.”</p> + +<p>Madame was gratified at this compliment, and, perhaps, in order to +return the pleasure, or else for the sake of changing the subject, she +said: “Mr. St. Ange will be here in the morning—but I do not think it +is necessary to warm the best parlour.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, grandmother. Our sitting-room is far more distinguished. The +best parlour is like a great many parlours; our sitting-room has a +character—a most respectable one. I could see that he was impressed by +it. I dare say he will soon know Sappha, and of course he will fall in +love with her, and then there will be some interest in watching how +Leonard Murray will like that.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, keep yourself clear; see, and hear, and say nothing; that +is wise.”</p> + +<p>“But I like to meddle—a little bit. I wonder if Leonard and Sappha are +really engaged! Leonard might have come in and sat an hour with us; I +expected so much courtesy from him. But no! though I told him we were so +lonely in the evenings, he never offered to spend a little time with us. +I dare say he returned at once to the Bowling Green. I saw him say a +word or two to Sappha as he left, and she<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_98">{98}</a></span> smiled and nodded, and I am +very sure he was asking her permission to return.”</p> + +<p>“Such nonsense! He would have asked your aunt that question.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the question is nothing! any question meant the same thing. I have +no doubt at all, Leonard is at this moment with Sappha. They will be +pretending to help aunt Carlita, but then helping her will mean pleasing +themselves.”</p> + +<p>But for once Annette’s sensibility, though so selfishly acute, was not +correct. Leonard did not return to the Bowling Green, and Sappha was +disappointed and hurt by his failure to do so. For an hour she sat with +her mother before the fire, expecting every moment to hear his +footsteps. And this expectation was so intense that she was frequently +certain of their approach—his light rapid tread, his way of mounting +the steps two at a time—both these sounds were repeated again and again +upon her sensitive ear drum, and yet Leonard came not. Alas, what +heart-watcher has not been tormented by these spectral promises? for the +ears have their phantoms as well as the eyes. At last she reluctantly +gave up hope, and as she lit her night candle she said in a tone of +affected cheerfulness:</p> + +<p>“I suppose Leonard would stay an hour or two with grandmother and +Annette.”</p> + +<p>“Why should you suppose such a thing? I am sure he never thought of +doing so. I dare say he went with Peter to the theatre.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_99">{99}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother had a visitor to-day—a grandson of Mrs. Saint-Ange.”</p> + +<p>“She told me so.”</p> + +<p>“He is very handsome, Annette says.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, he will, perhaps, find work for idle hearts to do. Your +grandmother declares Annette shall marry a Dutchman. But when I was a +girl French nobles fleeing from Robespierre elbowed one another on +Broadway, and they carried off most of the rich and pretty Dutch +maidens. A Frenchman is a great temptation; your grandmother will have +to guard her determination, or she may be disappointed.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, dear mother. I will help you in the morning to put +everything straight.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, and good angels give you good dreams, dear one.”</p> + +<p>And as Sappha put down her candle in the dim, lonely room, and hastened +her disrobing because of the cold, she could not help wondering where +all the enthusiasms of the early evening were gone to—the light, the +warmth, the good cheer, the good fellowship, the joy of song, the thrill +of love. They had been so vividly present two hours ago, and now they +were so vividly absent that the tears came unbidden to her eyes, and she +had an overpowering sense of discouragement and defeat. And the sting of +this inward depression was Leonard Murray. “He might have come back for +an hour! He might have come! and he did not.” Murmuring this sorrowful +complaint she went into the land of sleep.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_100">{100}</a></span> And in that world of the +soul she met her angel, and was so counselled and strengthened that she +awoke with a light heart and with song upon her lips—all her fret and +lurking jealousy turned into a frank confidence; all her doubts changed +into the happiest hopes. And as every one has, more or less, frequently +experienced this marvellous communion, this falling on sleep angry, +disappointed, dismayed, and awakening soothed, satisfied, encouraged, +there is no need to speculate concerning such a spiritual +transformation. Those who have the key to it require no tutor; those who +have not the key could not be made to understand.</p> + +<p>Sappha simply and cheerfully accepted the change; she was even able to +see where she had been unreasonable in her expectations; her whole mood +was softened and more generous. She dressed herself and went down, rosy +with the cold, and her father found her standing before the blazing fire +warming her feet and hands. The windows were white with frost, and a +bugle sounded piercingly sweet in the cold, clear air; but the big room +was full of comfort and of the promise of a good plentiful meal.</p> + +<p>They began to talk at once about the dinner party of the previous +evening, and Sappha said: “The best part of the whole affair was +grandmother. I think, father, that she looked about twenty years old, +when she was speaking. How radiant was her face! How sweet her voice! +How proud I am to be her granddaughter!”</p> + +<p>And this acknowledgment so pleased the judge that he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_101">{101}</a></span> answered: “I shall +never forget her countenance as she lifted her eyes to the flags above +the mantlepiece; her glance took in both, with equal affection; the red, +white, and blue of the Netherlands, and the Star Spangled Banner which +hung by its side. And let me tell you, Sappha, I liked our Christopher’s +song, and also I liked the music Mr. Murray wrote for it. One was as +good as the other. Here comes mother, and the coffee, and how delicious +the meat and bread smell! Mother is always the bringer of good things. +Sit here, Sappha, it is warmer than your own place.”</p> + +<p>During breakfast the gathering of the previous evening was more fully +discussed; and in speaking of madame and Annette Sapphira made mention +of Mr. St. Ange, who had visited them. Somewhat to their astonishment +the judge said he had heard of the young man through the Livingstons, +with whom he had had some business transactions. Mr. Edward Livingston, +of New Orleans, had supplied him with introductions to some of the best +New York families, and he thought it likely, from what he had been told, +that Annette’s description of his beauty and excessive gentility was not +more of an exaggeration than Annette’s usual statements.</p> + +<p>“You have been told things about him, father. Then he has been in New +York more than two days?”</p> + +<p>“He has been here about two weeks.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! I understood from Annette that he had flown to grandmother’s +friendship at once. She spoke as if they were to have the introducing of +him to society in New York.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_102">{102}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, they can do a great deal for Mr. St. Ange in that way. I +fancy he is rather popular already among the Livingston and Clinton set. +My mother can give him equally fine introductions among the Dutch +aristocracy. I believe him to be a gentleman, and I should think it +quite prudent to offer him any courtesy that comes in your way.”</p> + +<p>After the judge had left home the two women continued the conversation. +Mrs. Bloommaert was certain St. Ange was at least of French parentage. +“His name is one of the best names among the nobility of France,” she +said. “And if he is truly a French gentleman, you will see of what +expression that word ‘gentleman’ is capable. But I wish not that you +should meet him through Annette—her airs will be insufferable. I think +it possible he may be at the Girauds’ ball to-morrow night. There you +would meet him quite naturally. It is strange Josette Giraud did not +name him to you when she called last Monday.”</p> + +<p>“Josette loves my brother Peter. Peter has her whole heart. There would +not be room for the finest French gentleman in the world in it.”</p> + +<p>“Josette is a good girl. I wish much that Peter would marry her. But no, +Peter thinks only of ships.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you don’t know, mother! Peter talks about ships, but not about +girls. All the same he thinks a deal about Josette Giraud.”</p> + +<p>“Sometimes I fear Annette. I have seen her! She makes<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_103">{103}</a></span> eyes at Peter, +she admires him, and lets him see it—and men are so easily captured.”</p> + +<p>“But then, Annette does not want to capture Peter. She is only amusing +herself. She makes eyes at all good-looking young men. She cannot help +it.”</p> + +<p>“Your grandmother ought not to allow her to do so.”</p> + +<p>“Poor grandmother! She does not know it, or see it. If she did, she +could as easily prevent a bird from singing as keep Annette from looking +lovely things out of her beautiful eyes. And really, mother, she intends +no wrong. How can she help being so pretty and so clever?”</p> + +<p>“Peter could have taken them home last night without the assistance of +Leonard Murray—and Leonard wanted to stay a while here, but Annette +asked him with one of those ‘lovely looks’ to walk with them, and +Leonard never once objected.”</p> + +<p>“How could he?”</p> + +<p>“And this morning she will have no recollection of either Peter or +Leonard. She will be busy with the conquest of this Mr. St. Ange.”</p> + +<p>“If so, Mr. St. Ange will soon be her captive. I shall think no worse of +him for a ready submission. ‘Honour to the vanquished!’ was a favourite +device of the knights of the olden times.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bloommaert was, however, a little out of her calculation. So was +Annette. Both had been sure St. Ange would avail himself of the earliest +possible hour in which a call<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_104">{104}</a></span> could be politely possible; and Annette, +somewhat to her grandmother’s amusement, had dressed herself in the +fascinating little Dutch costume she had worn at a St. Nicholas +festival. She said she had done so because it was so warm and +comfortable for a cold morning; and she smoothed the quilted silk +petticoat and the cloth jacket down, and made little explanations about +them and the vest of white embroidery, which neither deceived madame nor +herself. Her fair hair was in two long braids, tied with blue ribbons; +her short petticoat revealed her small feet dressed in grey stockings +clocked with orange; and high-heeled shoes fastened with silver +latchets. She was picturesque and very pretty, and armed from head to +feet for conquest. But, alas! St. Ange came not. In fact he was +comfortably sleeping while she was watching; and it was not until the +middle of the afternoon he made the promised visit. He had been dining +at Mr. Grinnel’s the previous evening, and had afterwards gone to the +theatre with a large party. And he lamented with an almost womanly +plaintiveness the bitter cold, that, for him, spoiled every +entertainment. The theatre, he said, was at freezing point; and how the +ladies endured the temperature in their evening gowns was to him a +marvel. Then he looked round madame’s fine old room with its solid oak, +and massive silver, its curtained windows, thick carpet, plentiful +bearskin rugs, and huge blazing fire, and said with a happy sigh: “It +was the only room fit to live in that he had seen in New York. Handsome +rooms! oh, yes,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_105">{105}</a></span> very handsome rooms he had seen, but all cold, killing +cold!”</p> + +<p>Madame reminded him that New York and Lousiana were in different +latitudes; and Annette found him the most cosey chair in the warmest +corner, and the general warmth and sympathy was soon effectual. +Complaint was changed for admiration, and as the day waned, and the +firelight made itself more and more impressive, his conversation lost +its business and social character, and became personal and reminiscent.</p> + +<p>Madame asked him if he was born in New Orleans, and at the question his +eyes flashed like living furnaces filled with flame.</p> + +<p>“But no,” he answered. “No, no! I was born in that island that God made +like Paradise, and negroes have made like hell. Near the town of Cayes I +was born, in a vast stone mansion standing on a terrace and shaded by +stately palms. Six terraces led from it to the ocean, and marble steps +led from one terrace to another. My father had left France very early in +the reign of Louis the Sixteenth, and I have heard that even at that +time he had a positive prescience of the horrors of the coming +revolution. However, without this incentive he would have made the +emigration; for he had fallen heir to immense hereditary estates in +Hayti, which had been in the possession of our family from the time of +Columbus. Here he cultivated the cane, introducing it himself from the +West Indies; and he also exported great quanti<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_106">{106}</a></span>ties of mahogany, and of +that beautiful wood which is fragrant in its native forests as the +sweetest of roses. There were many slaves on the estate, who lived in a +little village of their own, about a mile away from the house. During +the awful insurrection of 1791 my father defended his mansion, and as he +had great influence with the blacks he was not seriously interfered +with; but he was never afterwards happy. He foresaw that the continual +fighting between the blacks and the mulattoes must finally drive all +white people from the island, and he prepared for this emergency by +sending to New Orleans at every opportunity all the money he could +spare. In 1803 the long years of continual horrors culminated, and the +United States having bought Louisiana, my father resolved to remove +there at once. A British frigate was in the harbour of Cayes at the +time, and arrangements were made with the captain for our immediate +removal. I was then of fourteen years, and I knew only too well the +demoniac character of these insurrections. This one also was likely to +be especially cruel, owing to the presence of French troops sent by +Napoleon to subjugate the blacks. Secretly I assisted my father to carry +to the ship the money, jewels, and papers we intended to take with us, +but ere this duty was quite accomplished we saw that there was no time +to lose. With anxious hearts we watched the ship sail northward, but +this movement was only a feint. We knew that about midnight she would +return to the appointed place for us.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_107">{107}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Sick with many fears we watched for the setting of the sun. It had been +a hot, suffocating day, and every hour of it had indicated a fierce, and +still more fierce, gathering of the combatants. Hellish cries, and +shouts to the beating of drums, and the wild chanting of the Obeah +priests had filled the daylight with unspeakable terrors. But when the +sun sank, suddenly a preternatural calm followed. Mysterious lights were +seen in the thick woods, howlings and cries, horrible and inhuman, came +out of its dense darkness. Abominable sacrifices were being offered to +the demon they worshipped, and we knew that as soon as these rites were +over indiscriminate slaughter and devilish cruelties would begin. My +mother had my little sister in her arms, and I went with her through the +forest to the seaside. She reached our meeting place by one exit, I by +another; for we were suspiciously watched, and durst not leave the house +in a body. My father and my two eldest brothers were to join us by +different routes.</p> + +<p>“That awful walk! That enchanted walk through the hot, thick forest! I +shall never forget it in this life or the next—I shall never forget it! +Even the insects were voiceless, and the huge serpents lay prone in +spellbound stillness. We had not reached the sea before a terrific +thunder storm broke over us. Then the glare and gloom made each other +more awful; the black sky was torn by such lightning as you have no +conception of; and in the midst of natural terrors no one can describe +the blacks held a carnival of out<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_108">{108}</a></span>rage and death in every conceivable +form of hellish cruelty that Obeah could devise.</p> + +<p>“Nearly dead with fatigue and fright my mother reached the little cove +where the ship was to meet us, and there we waited in an agony of terror +for the arrival of my father and brothers. They came not. And if the +ship was noticed lying near we should be discovered. I walked back as +far as I durst, looking for any trace of them. My mother lay upon the +sand praying. My little sister slept at her side. In that hour childhood +left me forever. In that hour I learned how much one may suffer, and yet +not die. Daylight began to appear, and the ship was about half a mile +from the land. Then I called,—not with the voice I am now using,—but +with some far mightier force, ‘<i>Father! Father!</i>’ And at that moment he +appeared, pushing his way through the green tangle. And his face was +whiter than death, because it was full of horror and agony, which the +face of death very rarely is.</p> + +<p>“He could not speak. He made motions to me to signal the ship, which I +instantly did. It was not many minutes till we saw our signal answered +and a little boat coming quickly toward us. But my father quivered with +anxiety, and he said, afterwards, they were the most awful moments of +his existence. For he knew there was a party of negroes in pursuit, and, +indeed, we were just getting into the boat when we heard them crashing +through the underwood. My mother had said only two words, ‘August! +Victor!’ and my<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_109">{109}</a></span> father had answered only, ‘Dead.’ Then the sailors +pulled with all their strength to escape the bullets that followed us; +but one struck and killed the babe in my mother’s arms, and another +fatally wounded a man at one of the oars. He fell, and my father took +his place.”</p> + +<p>Annette was watching St. Ange like one fascinated; her blue eyes were +wide open, her face terror-stricken, her little form all a-tremble. +Madame had covered her face, but when Achille ceased speaking she +stretched out her hand to him, and for a few moments there was an +intense passionful silence. Madame broke it.</p> + +<p>“You reached New Orleans safely?”</p> + +<p>“It was a hard journey. The captain had taken on a great number of the +fugitives, and he waited around the island for two days, rescuing many +more who had trusted to the mercy of the sea rather than dare the bloody +riot on land; so that we were much overcrowded and soon suffering for +food and water. Fever followed, and when we reached New Orleans we were +in a pitiable plight. My mother did not recover from this experience. +She never asked further about my brothers, and my father would not have +told her the truth, if she had asked. ‘They are dead! They died like +heroes!’ That was all my father ever told me. It was all that I wished +to know.</p> + +<p>“On Bayou Têche we bought a plantation, and began again the cultivation +of the cane, but mother died visibly, day by day, and within six weeks +we buried her under the waving<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_110">{110}</a></span> banners of the grey moss that hung so +mournfully from the live oaks, that January morning. As to my father, he +was never again the same. He had been a very joyous man, but he smiled +no more, and he fretted continually over the loss of his family and his +beautiful home in Hayti. For some years we were all in all to each +other, and he laboured hard to bring our new plantation into a fine +condition. Then he, too, left me, and the place was hateful in my sight. +I wished to escape forever from the sight of negroes. I feared them, +even in my sleep. Had not those who had shared our food, and games, and +constant society slain with fiendish delight my poor brothers and my +only sister? I was acquainted with Mr. Edward Livingston, a lawyer in +New Orleans, and who himself had married a beautiful refugee from the +great Haitian insurrection, and he advised me not to sell my plantation, +as in view of the war I could not get its value. I would not listen to +him—a simpler life with the black cloud removed seemed to me the only +thing I desired. But no, I have not here escaped it. What shall I do?”</p> + +<p>“The blacks in New York are mostly free, and they are comparatively few +in number,” said madame.</p> + +<p>“Few in number—that is some security. But now, I must tell you, that +this summer, on the very night that there was a great volcanic eruption +from the burning heart of St. Vincent, there was another massacre. Amid +the roaring darkness, the intolerable heat, the rain of ashes, the +stench of sulphur, and the stygian horror of the heavens and the earth, +the blacks,</p> + +<p>[Illustration: “THE CAPTAIN ... WAITED AROUND THE ISLAND FOR TWO DAYS, +RESCUING MANY MORE WHO HAD TRUSTED TO THE MERCY OF THE SEA.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_111">{111}</a></span>”]</p> + +<p class="nind">made frantic by their terror, and led by the priests of Obeah, fell upon +the whites indiscriminately. They fled to the ships in the harbour—to +the sea—anywhere, anywhere, from those huge animal natures whose eyes +were flaming with rage, and whose souls were without pity. Nearly one +hundred of these fugitives finally reached Norfolk and Virginia. Some +had been warned either by their own souls, or by friends, and had money +and jewels with them; others were quite destitute; many were sick, and +their condition was pitiable. All desired to reach the French +settlements in Louisiana, but transit by water was most uncertain, +nearly all the usual shipping being employed in the more congenial +business of privateering. Then, in the midst of their distress, comes +into port one day Captain Christopher Bloommaert. He had with him a fine +English frigate, the prize of his skill and valour. And when he +understood the case of these poor souls, he called his men together and +proposed to them the God-like voyage of carrying the miserables to New +Orleans. ‘<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis but a little way out of our purposed course,’ he said, +‘and who knows on what tack good fortune may meet us?’ And the men +answered with a shout of ready assent, and so they finally reached New +Orleans. I saw them land. Many of them were old friends of my family, +and I heard such stories from their lips as make men mad. One old +planter, who had money with him, bought my estate, and took those with +him to its shelter who had neither money nor friends. Their kindness to +each other was wonderful. As for me, I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_112">{112}</a></span> hastened away from scenes that +had cast a pall over all my life. Yet I forget not; to forget would be +an impossible mercy.”</p> + +<p>Then madame talked comfortably to the young man, and after a while tea +was brought in, and Annette, grave and silent for once, made it; and +quietly watched, and listened, and served. St. Ange liked her better in +this mood. The other Annette, with her little coquetries, had not +pleased him half so well. When he left she understood that she had +gained favour in his eyes; he kissed her hand with an enthralling grace +and respect—or, at least, Annette found it so. And that night, though +she felt certain Leonard Murray was singing the new songs with Sappha, +she told herself that she “did not care if he was. Achille was twice as +interesting; he was, indeed, a romantic, a tragic hero—and very nearly +a lover. And he was so captivating, so unusually handsome!” She went +over the rather long list of young men with whom she was friendly, and +positively assured herself that all were commonplace compared with this +wonderful Achille. And, to be sure, his small but elegant figure, his +pale passionate face, set in those straight black locks, his caressing +voice, his subtle smile, his gentle pressure of the hand—all these +charms were not the prominent ones of the practical, business-like young +men with whom she was most familiar.</p> + +<p>After St. Ange’s departure madame sat silent for some time, and Annette +watched her with a strange speculation in<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_113">{113}</a></span> her mind—did people really +keep their emotions fresh when they were three-score and ten years old? +Her grandmother had seemed to feel all that she had felt. Her hands, her +feet, her whole figure had revealed strong sensation, her eyes been +tender with sympathy and keen with anger; her interest had never +flagged. In passionate sensibility had twenty years no superiority over +seventy years? Patience, Annette! Time will tell you the secret. Oh, the +soul keeps its youth!</p> + +<p>She considered this question, however, until it wearied her, and then +she asked abruptly: “Grandmother, of what are you dreaming?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. St. Ange. I was recalling the day on which his grandfather carried +off to France pretty Gertrude Bergen. She went to France and died in +Haiti, and now her grandson is driven back by events he cannot control +to New York.”</p> + +<p>“Where he will probably marry some other pretty Dutch maiden.”</p> + +<p>“And small heed we take of such things; we even count them of chance; +yet, how often that which flowers to-day grows from very old roots.”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother, I want two new dresses. Can I have them?”</p> + +<p>“Stuffs of every kind are very dear, Annette.”</p> + +<p>“Only two, grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“And Madame Lafarge’s charges for making dresses are extravagant—the +making is the worst.”</p> + +<p>“It has to be done, grandmother.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_114">{114}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Yes—but if you will turn to your Bible, Annette, you will find that +the woman whose ‘price was above rubies’ made her own dresses.”<a id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p> + +<p>“Indeed, grandmother, you need only glance at any picture of a Bible +woman to see that. Dresses without shape, without style—and as for <i>the +fit</i>!” And Annette could only explain the enormity of the fit by +throwing up her hands in expressive silence.</p> + +<p>“If you get the dresses, then a new bonnet will be wanted.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, a bonnet would be a necessity; also some of those sweet furs that +come from South America—so soft and grey are they. Oh, the ugliest +woman looks pretty in them!”</p> + +<p>“You are extortionate, Annette.”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother, I have not yet asked for a grand piano.”</p> + +<p>Then madame laughed. And Annette laid her soft cheek against madame and +kissed her good-night. But though she walked delicately and almost on +tip-toes to her own room, there was an air of triumph in the poise of +her pretty head. She set the candle down by the mirror and looked +complaisantly at herself.</p> + +<p>“I shall get what I want,” she said softly. “I always do.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_115">{115}</a></span>”</p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_V"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER FIVE<br><br> +<i>A Chain of Causes</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_I.png" +width="80" height="82" +alt="I"></span>T had been a stirring summer in New York, and the year was now closing +with a remarkable month. For October had been signalised by two naval +victories, the British war frigate <i>Frolic</i> having been captured by +Captain Jones, and the <i>Macedonian</i> by Commodore Decatur, and as the +successful commanders were expected in New York during December, great +preparations were being made for their entertainment, the more so, as +Captain Hull, the hero of the <i>Constitution</i>, would also be present.</p> + +<p>Considering these things, Annette’s request for two new gowns was a +modest one; yet so many women were just then acquiring new gowns that it +was with difficulty she succeeded in getting hers ready for Christmas +Day. Achille had helped her to select her ball dress, and it was so +lovely that she felt no fear of being on this occasion eclipsed by +Sappha’s gayer garments. That Achille had been consulted in its +selection need not imply more than a rather intimate friendship; for the +young man had become a familiar friend of a great many families. His sad +history, his unusual<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_116">{116}</a></span> beauty and grace, his many social accomplishments, +and his faultless manners and dress, had given him almost by acclamation +a very prominent position in the fashionable circles of New York. The +Dutch claimed him on his mother’s side, the French on his father’s, and +New Yorkers on the ground that he had of choice elected to become a +citizen of New York. No gathering was considered complete without his +presence; the most select clubs sought his association; and among those +men who loved fine horses and skilful fencing, he was acknowledged an +incomparable judge and master.</p> + +<p>But though he accepted this homage, he did not seek it; nor did it seem +to afford him much pleasure. Those most familiar with his habits knew +that he very much preferred the society of the Friendly Club, which met +in the parlour of Dr. Smith’s house in Pine Street. Here, with young +Washington Irving, Charles Brockden Brown, and other literary and +learned men, he passed the hours that pleased him most. Nor was this his +only social peculiarity. He formed a close friendship with the exile +Aguste Louis de Singeron, the most famous pastry cook and confectioner +in New York; also an ex-courtier and ex-warrior of Louis the Sixteenth: +a little man of the most undaunted spirit, chivalrous and courteous, at +once the most polite and the most passionate of men. Every day St. Ange +might be found sitting in De Singeron’s neat little shop on William +Street. Sometimes their conversation seemed to be sufficient for their +entertainment; sometimes a chess board lay on the narrow counter between +them.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_117">{117}</a></span> Fine ladies passed in and out, but St. Ange was never disturbed +by their advent; and if a game was in progress no smiling invitation +allured him to leave it unfinished. It will be seen then, that in spite +of his gentle air and suave manners, he had a will sufficiently strong +to insure him his own way.</p> + +<p>His intercourse with the two Bloommaert families was, however, the most +important of all his life’s engagements. With other families he had +frequent, but casual and intermittent, meetings; he was at the close of +this year in one or other of the Bloommaert households every day. With +Madame Jonaca he had formed a most affectionate alliance; he asked her +counsel, and followed it; he told her all the pleasant news of that +society which she still loved; he took her frequently out in his sleigh +that she might see any unusual parade of the troops or militia; he +brought her all the newspapers, and delighted himself and madame—as +well as Annette—by reading aloud the numerous passages he had marked in +them, as likely to interest both women. He came in when he was cold, to +be warmed in Madame’s cosey parlour; when he was lonely he went there +for company; when he was sad for comfort.</p> + +<p>In the Bowling Green home he had a footing quite as sure, though on a +different foundation. In this family it was the judge who favoured him +above all others. If St. Ange came into the room his face brightened, he +put aside the paper or pamphlet he was reading, and turned to the young +man for conversation. He went with him to Dr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_118">{118}</a></span> Smith’s Club, and said it +was the only sensible club he had ever visited. If the day was mild the +two men took a brisk walk together on the Battery, and talked politics +or science, and sometimes law, if the judge was engaged with any very +interesting case; and if all these sources of intercourse were too few, +out came the chess board, and in silent moves and monosyllabled +conversation the evening passed away.</p> + +<p>His relations with Mrs. Bloommaert and Sappha were equally friendly and +familiar. Very early in his visits to the Bowling Green house he had +assured himself that the lovely Sappha had no heart to give—that she +was entirely devoted to his friend Leonard Murray. This conviction had +at first given him a pang, for not only Sappha’s beauty, but her +beautiful disposition, had moved him to an admiration he had never +before felt; and he had told himself that to win such an angel for his +wife, with the entry into such a perfect home, and the alliance of +characters so lovable as Judge Bloommaert and Sappha’s mother, would be +as much of heaven on earth as any man could hope to receive.</p> + +<p>For a week he had nursed this charming illusion, then something +happened—a look, a movement, a passing touch or whisper—one, or all of +these things opened his eyes; he felt convinced that Leonard had some +certain right that he could not honourably infringe upon—and honour was +the first, the dominating, sentiment that moved Achille’s thoughts and +words and deeds. All was <i>not</i> fair in love to Achille St. Ange; so he +deliberately put down his love for Sappha;<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_119">{119}</a></span> denied it perpetually to his +craving heart; and taught himself to look upon her as his friend’s +beloved and his own friend and sister.</p> + +<p>As a general thing Leonard understood this, though there had never been +a word uttered between them regarding Sappha. Leonard was immersed in +business of various kinds, but he quickly satisfied himself that he had +nothing to fear from St. Ange’s admiration of Sappha. The three were +often together in the evenings, and nearly as often Annette made the +fourth. Music, conversation, occasionally an informal cotillion, reading +aloud, or recitations passed the happy hours, while the judge listened, +watched, corrected, or advised, and Mrs. Bloommaert moved through all +their entertainments, smiling the blessing of innocent happiness upon +them.</p> + +<p>The first shadow on this charming companionship fell about Christmas. It +came in the form of a suspicion, not of Sappha’s love, but of the +judge’s simple good-will. He had never pretended any friendship for +Leonard, but during the past month he had treated him with a civility +that left no cause for offence. Suddenly one evening Leonard became +possessed with the idea that the judge’s demonstrative liking for St. +Ange was not as real as it appeared; that, in fact, it was a liking +affected in a great measure for the purpose of making him feel the real +indifference of his own treatment. He could hardly tell what +circumstance had evoked this suspicion, but when he began to ponder the +idea it grew to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_120">{120}</a></span> undreamed of proportions. He sat up nearly all night, +busy with this profitless and miserable consideration, and memory +brought him one proof after another to pillar his suspicion. And the +conclusion of the matter was that Sappha’s father wished her to marry +St. Ange, and that in such case, even if the war was over before three +years had passed, it would be in the power of the judge to forbid their +marriage, as Sappha would not be of age for nearly three years. Then, +when Sappha was of age, would she marry him without her father’s +consent? It was doubtful. Then again, might not three years more of +antagonism, showing itself in every little daily household event or +pleasure, wear out the tenderest, truest love? In this restless, +suspicious temper he told himself that it was almost certain to do so. +The fate of love is, that it always sees too little or too much. All +true lovers have this madness, this enchantment, where the reason seems +bound. For in love there is no prudence that can help a man, no reason +that can assist him, and none that he would have. He prefers the madness +which convinces him his love is more than common love. Let vulgar love +know moderation, he loves out of all reason, and finds his wretchedness +pleasing.</p> + +<p>Now jealousy is only good when she torments herself, and Leonard, +sitting up and losing sleep to indulge her, deserved the restless pain +which he evoked. It troubled him so effectually the following day that +he found it difficult to perform the work he had so enthusiastically +undertaken<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_121">{121}</a></span>—that of assisting in the decorations at the City Hall for +the great naval ball to be given to the officers of the war frigates in +New York on New Year’s Eve. He was impatient for night to come; then he +would go to Judge Bloommaert’s again and take good heed of every look +and word, and so resolve the question that so much troubled him.</p> + +<p>Well, we generally get the evil we expect, and so Leonard was not +disappointed. There had been, as it happened, a slightly ruffled +conversation during the evening meal, about an invitation just received +from St. Ange. He had taken a box at the Park Theatre, and Madame +Bloommaert had promised to go under his escort to see the final +representation of the capture of the <i>Macedonian</i> by the <i>United +States</i>. There was to be also a patriotic sketch and a farce called +“Right and Wrong.” The polite little note added that there was plenty of +room in the box for the judge and for Mrs. and Miss Bloommaert, and +begged them to accept its convenience.</p> + +<p>The judge said “he would not go.” He furthermore said, “he did not like +his mother being seen so much with that young Frenchman; people would +make remarks about it.”</p> + +<p>“Gerardus!”</p> + +<p>“Just as if she had no son, or grandson, to take her to see things.”</p> + +<p>“You never do take her anywhere but to church, Gerardus; and as for +Peter, I do not suppose he ever remembers<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_122">{122}</a></span> her; he trusts to you and you +to him. I am sure St. Ange has given her a great deal of pleasure that +she would not have had from you or Peter.”</p> + +<p>“I do not approve of Christmas kept in theatres and such places. What +would your father say, Carlita, about going to the theatre on Christmas +night? We have always kept Christmas at church, and as a religious +festival.”</p> + +<p>“This is a different Christmas. It is a patriotic festival, as well as a +religious one, this year. Mother naturally wants to see the sailors and +the battle transparency, and hear the songs and feel the throbbing of +the great heart of the city. You ought to go with her.”</p> + +<p>“Who taught you to say ‘ought’ to me, Carlita?”</p> + +<p>“My heart and my conscience.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if you get behind your conscience, I am dumb. Go with mother—if +you wish.”</p> + +<p>“No. Mr. St. Ange goes with her. You must go with Sappha and I, or——”</p> + +<p>“I am busy. I cannot go.”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry. I must ask Leonard Murray then.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, what diplomats women are! I suppose I must go, but I do wish Mr. +St. Ange would be less attentive to my family.”</p> + +<p>“He may yet be more so. Annette considers herself as——”</p> + +<p>“There, there, wife! Don’t say it, and then you will not have to unsay +it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_123">{123}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>This refusal to listen to Annette’s considerations put a stop to the +discussion. The judge took a book of travels and affected to be lost in +its matter and marvels, and Mrs. Bloommaert found it impossible to get +him to resume the conversation and finish it with more satisfactory +decision. Finally she said: “I do wish, Gerardus, you would talk to us a +little. There are many things I want to ask you about.”</p> + +<p>“Not to-night, Carlita.”</p> + +<p>“Of course we are going to the naval ball, and preparations specially +for it must be made. Why do you not answer me, Gerardus?”</p> + +<p>“My dear Carlita, no husband ever repented of having held his tongue. I +am in no mood to talk to-night.”</p> + +<p>“You promised Sappha that pearl necklace.”</p> + +<p>“Hum-m-m!”</p> + +<p>“And I cannot lend her mine, as I shall want to wear it.”</p> + +<p>There was no answer, but then silence answers much; and Mrs. Bloommaert, +considering her husband’s face, felt that she had begun to win. He was +evidently pondering the position, for he was not reading. During this +critical pause Leonard Murray entered. He was aware at once of the +constrained atmosphere, and with the egotism of jealousy he attributed +it to his sudden appearance. For once he was really <i>de trop</i>. He +interrupted an important decision, and Mrs. Bloommaert was annoyed. +Under cover of his entry, and the slight commotion it caused, the judge +resumed his<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_124">{124}</a></span> reading. “I must ask your indulgence, Mr. Murray,” he said +politely, “but I am just now accompanying Mr. James Bruce in search of +the sources of the Nile; and it is not easy to live between Egypt and +the Bowling Green.”</p> + +<p>Leonard said he understood, and would be sorry to interrupt a mental +trip so much to Judge Bloommaert’s taste. But he did not understand—not +at all. He was mortified at his reception, and he had not that domestic +instinct which would have taught him that the constraint he felt was of +a family nature and did not include him. In his present sensitive, +jealous mood he believed the judge was reading because he preferred +reading to his society—that Mrs. Bloommaert was silent and restless +because, in some way, he had interfered; and that Sappha’s shy, abortive +efforts to restore a cheerful, confidential feeling were colder and more +perfunctory than he had ever before seen them.</p> + +<p>In this latter estimate he was partly correct. Sappha was as eager and +anxious about the visit to the theatre and the naval ball as it was +natural a girl of eighteen years old should be, and Leonard had +interrupted discussion at a critical point; had put off settlements +about dresses and various other important items—and besides this fault +had brought into the room with him an atmosphere very different from his +usual light-hearted mood, explaining itself by interesting political or +social news. For once he was quite absorbed in Leonard Murray, and then +nobody seemed to care about Leonard Murray. Mrs. Bloommaert asked him<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_125">{125}</a></span> +questions about the decorations, and Sappha about the people who were +assisting with them, and he simply answered, without adding any of his +usual amusing commentaries.</p> + +<p>In a short time Mrs. Bloommaert left the room, and as the judge appeared +to be lost in the sources of the Nile Leonard was practically alone with +Sappha. He first asked her to practise some songs with him, but she +answered, “The parlour is unwarmed and unlighted, Leonard, and I do not +want to take cold, just when the holidays are here.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not,” he said, but the refusal was a fresh offence. Why had +Sappha not ordered fire and light to be put in the parlour? She usually +did. Something was interesting her more than his probable visit—what +could it be? Not the theatre—not the naval ball. Sappha was used to +such affairs; he had never known them put the whole house out of temper +before. For by this time he had decided the atmosphere was one of bad +temper, without considering for a moment that it was possibly his own +bad temper.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he rose and said he must go; and no one asked him to remain +longer. Sappha felt the constraint of her father’s presence, and did not +accompany him to the hall. Mrs. Bloommaert was opening and shutting +drawers and doors upstairs, and the judge only gave to his “Good-night, +judge,” a civil equivalent in “Good-night, Mr. Murray.” As he was +leaving the house he saw Mr. St. Ange approaching it, and instead of +advancing to meet him he turned southward towards Stone Street. Of this +cowardly step he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_126">{126}</a></span> was soon ashamed, and he went back and forced himself +to pass the Bloommaert house. It had a more happy aspect. Some one had +stirred the logs, and the dancing flames showed through the dropped +white shades. There was a movement also in the room; the sound of +voices, and once he could have sworn he heard Sappha laugh. Did he not +know her laugh among a thousand? It was like the tinkle of a little +bell.</p> + +<p>For at least a quarter of an hour he tormented himself with the pictures +his imagination drew of what was passing behind that illuminated screen. +Then he went gloomily to his room and sat down with jealousy, and began +to count up his suspicions. A miserable companion is jealousy! And a +miserable tale of wrongs she gave him to reckon up. But at least he +reached one truth in that unhappy occupation—it was, that the +engagement between Sappha and himself ought to be immediately made +public. All their little misunderstandings, all his humiliations, had +come through their relationship being kept secret. He felt that he was +missing much of the pleasure of his wooing; certainly he was deprived of +the <i>éclat</i> that it ought to have brought him. It was all wrong! All +wrong! And it must be put right at once. He promised himself he would +see to that necessity the first thing he did in the morning.</p> + +<p>With this promise his insurgent heart suffered him to sleep a little, +yet sleep did him no good. He awoke with the same consuming fever of +resentment. He could not eat, nor yet drink; he had no use for anything +but thought: jealous<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_127">{127}</a></span> thought, with that eternal hurry of the soul that +will not suffer rest—thoughts of love and sorrow, starting in every +direction from his unhappy heart, to find out some hope, and meeting +only suspicion, anger, and despair. It was his first experience of that +egotistical malady,</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i4">“whose torment, no men sure<br></span> +<span class="i0">But lovers and the damned endure.”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">And he was astonished and dismayed at his suffering.</p> + +<p>But few men suffer patiently; they are usually quick for their own +relief, and accordingly very early the following morning Leonard made an +excuse for calling on Sappha. Mrs. Bloommaert had gone, however, to +Nassau Street, and he did not need to urge the excuse prepared. He +launched at once into his wrongs and his sufferings; and indeed the +latter had left some intelligible traces. Sappha was moved by his pale +face and troubled eyes to unusual sympathy; but this did not suffice. He +felt that the only way to prevent a recurrence of the night’s suffering +was to insist upon a public acknowledgment of his rights as her accepted +lover, and he told Sappha this in no equivocal words.</p> + +<p>She was distressed by his passion and evident distraction, but she would +not listen for a moment to his proposal to explain their position to her +father that night. And his eager entreaties finally roused in her +something like anger. “You are too selfish, Leonard,” she said, “and +please do not make your love for me the excuse for your selfishness. You +must be happy, no matter who is unhappy. Could you have<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_128">{128}</a></span> picked out in +the whole year a time more unpropitious, more inopportune, than this +very week? Every person who has any patriotic feeling gives up all their +interest to our country for the next few days. Christmas and New Year’s +holidays have claims we cannot forget. It is my father’s holiday, his +great holiday, when he throws all business cares from his mind. My +mother has all manner of little domesticities and household hopes and +fears and duties to attend to. Have at least a little patience! Wait +until the New Year’s feast is over.”</p> + +<p>“And give St. Ange another ten days full of delightful opportunities.”</p> + +<p>“St. Ange! What do you mean, Leonard? Surely you are not jealous of St. +Ange. He has given you no cause whatever.”</p> + +<p>“At first he behaved with all the honour imaginable; but lately I have +seen a change. He is no longer influenced by a belief in our engagement. +Naturally he thinks, if it had existed, you or I would have shown some +signs of so close a relationship. I have been held back on every hand, +and you have not been as seclusive and exclusive as you might have +been.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Leonard! How can you?”</p> + +<p>“You have been very kind and familiar with St. Ange. He comes here quite +as much as I do. He goes out with your grandmother and mother, and often +your father is seen walking on the Battery with him. He never walks with +me. I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_129">{129}</a></span> do not like it. It is too much suffering! I cannot endure it.”</p> + +<p>“I heard mother come in. I will go and speak to her, Leonard.”</p> + +<p>“Do. She must see how reasonable I am.”</p> + +<p>But the moment Sappha entered her mother’s room she was met by a rebuff. +Mrs. Bloommaert just looked in her face, and understood; and before she +had spoken half a dozen words she said with an air of resolve and +annoyance. “Now, Sappha, I will hear nothing about Leonard. He has been +quite unreasonable lately, and he was in a bad temper last night. Oh, +yes, he was! I know bad temper when I see it.”</p> + +<p>“But, mother, this is important. He is really determined.”</p> + +<p>“Do not tell me what he is determined on, for I shall certainly repeat +all you say to your father.”</p> + +<p>“He wants, dear mother, he wants——”</p> + +<p>“Just what he cannot have; what he has no right to have—yet. He +promised you to wait. I know he did. Do not tell me anything, Sappha, +because I shall feel it my duty to tell your father all you say—just at +this time too! It is too bad! It is exceedingly selfish and +inconsiderate; and I am astonished at Leonard Murray.”</p> + +<p>“I do not think you ought to call Leonard ‘selfish and inconsiderate.’ +He is very unhappy.”</p> + +<p>“When all the city is happy and rejoicing! Can he not<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_130">{130}</a></span> put aside his own +happiness for a while and rejoice with every one else? We are going to +keep Christmas for the Christ’s sake; we are going to honour the brave +men who have done our country such honour; we are going, all of us, to +think of our country and forget ourselves; and Leonard must take this +very time to urge some bit of pleasure that will be his, and his only, +that no one else must share——”</p> + +<p>“You forget me, mother.”</p> + +<p>“No. I am sure you are no party to anything that is so selfishly +personal. I think you would put the general good, and the general +happiness, before your own satisfaction.”</p> + +<p>Then Sappha answered, “I hope you judge me rightly, mother; and I will +be very firm with Leonard. Yet he seems so miserable.”</p> + +<p>“He is nursing some silly idea that in some way or other he is being +wronged. This notion blots all other ideas out of recognition; he is, as +I said before, suffering from selfishness; and selfishness is the +worst-tempered of all vices.”</p> + +<p>“At any rate, he is wretched. Come and speak to him, mother.”</p> + +<p>“No, I will not. I have other things to do. Of course he is wretched! he +ought to be, for bad temper, fortunately, bites at both ends. My advice +to you is, be a little cross yourself. Dear me! How tiresome men in love +are!”</p> + +<p>To this last exclamation Sappha closed the door. She walked slowly +downstairs, she lingered, she seemed unable<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_131">{131}</a></span> to come to any decision. +But in the midst of her uncertainty she listened to her heart, and what +her heart said to her was this: “It can never be wrong to be kind.” So +strengthened, and even counselled, by this suggestion, she went back to +her lover. He was walking about the room in a fever of self-torment, and +as the door opened he turned inquiringly. And it was the loveliest of +Sapphas he saw. She met him in all her charms; her eyes had a sunny +radiance, her mouth was all smiles, she looked as if there was not a +care in the wide world—a healing, lovesome woman, wonderfully sweet and +comforting.</p> + +<p>“Dearest one,” she said softly, “sit here beside me. Let me have your +hand, Leonard, and listen to me. My mother says this is the very worst +time in all the year to speak to my father. He is so full of public +affairs, and you know, just now, they ought to come before any private +ones. Ought they not, dear?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course, but——”</p> + +<p>“Well, there can be no ‘but’ for a few days. Christmas is Christ’s +feast—we cannot presume to put ourselves before Christmas; and then +come all the honours, and feasts, and public rejoicings for our dear +country. You would not put yourself, nor even Sappha, before America, +her honour and freedom? And so I think, with mother, we must wait until +after the New Year before we say a word about ourselves. Dear, a few +months, a few weeks ago, you were so happy with my assurance only. Is it +less sweet now than then?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_132">{132}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>And as she spoke more and more tenderly, aiding her words with loving +glances and the light pressure of her little hand, softer thoughts +flowed in, and the enchanter, love, usurped the place of every evil +passion. Leonard finally promised to be happy, and to let others be +happy; and he kissed this agreement on her lips. Alas!</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“Man, only, clogs with care his happiness,<br></span> +<span class="i1">And while he should enjoy his part of bliss,<br></span> +<span class="i1">With thoughts of what might be, destroys what is.”<br></span> +<span class="i15"><span class="smcap">Dryden.</span><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>And when Sappha had watched and smiled him out of sight she turned in +with a sigh and a sudden depression of spirit. She had won Leonard to +her wish and way, but anger is always self-immolation, and for a time at +least Leonard had fallen in her esteem, for she was compelled to +disapprove of much that he had said; and the more we judge, the less we +love.</p> + +<p>The whole affair seemed trifling to Mrs. Bloommaert; it was an annoyance +in the midst of events of far more importance, and had to be got out of +the way—that was all. But to Sappha it was different. She had forgiven +Leonard, but unhappy is the lover whom a woman forgives; and Sappha was +herself quite conscious that some virtue had gone out of her life. It +was not a little event to Sappha, for there are no little events with +the heart.</p> + +<p>Fortunately Annette and St. Ange came in, and Sappha was compelled to +meet them on the level of their joyous<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_133">{133}</a></span> temper. They had finished +decorating madame’s house, and their arms were full of box and feathery +hemlock and the blooms of many-coloured everlasting flowers and great +bunches of the vermilion berries of the darling pyracantha shrub. They +were tingling with the Christmas joy, and their ringing laughter, their +jokes and snatches of song, their quips and mock reproofs of their own +mirth, filled the house with the electric atmosphere of Merry Christmas. +Negroes were chattering among them, raising ladders, and running +messages, and the tapping of the little hammers, and the cries of +admiration as the room grew to a fairy bower, was far better than the +music of many instruments—it was the music of the heart.</p> + +<p>“We ought to have had holly,” said St. Ange. “There is always holly in +Christmas decorations.”</p> + +<p>“The pyracantha berries are just as pretty,” answered Mrs. Bloommaert, +“and the pyracantha is a rapid grower, and can be cut with +impunity—even with profit to the bush; but to cut holly! that is rather +a cruel business. It is almost as bad as flinging the Christmas tree +into the streets when it has done its whole duty.”</p> + +<p>“But, aunt Carlita, what else can be done? It is too big to keep, +and——”</p> + +<p>“I will tell you. In Germany, the home of the Christmas tree, they give +it house room until Shrove Tuesday, then it is formally burned.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Sapphira, “we are not going to have a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_134">{134}</a></span> Christmas tree this +year; my father likes far better the <i>Yule Klap</i>.”</p> + +<p>“What an outlandish name!” exclaimed St. Ange.</p> + +<p>“Truly so, but then, such a delightful custom!” replied Annette. +“To-morrow night you will have to do your part in the Yule Klap; I hope +you are prepared.”</p> + +<p>“But then, I know not.”</p> + +<p>“My aunt will tell you all about it.” And Mrs. Bloommaert said: “Come +now, it is easy enough. The judge will open the Christmas room, and then +every one will throw their gifts into the room, crying ‘<i>Yule Klap</i>’ in +a disguised voice. The gifts may be rich or poor, but they must be +wrapped in a great number of coverings, and each cover be addressed to a +different person, but the person whose name is on the last cover gets +the gift. The gifts are to be strictly anonymous. So then no thanks are +to be given, and there can be no envious feelings awakened.”</p> + +<p>“That is charming,” cried St. Ange. Then he was in a hurry to leave, but +Mrs. Bloommaert insisted that he should stay and drink a glass of hot +negus ere he went into the cold air. While the negro boy was bringing in +a tray full of Christmas dainties, and Sappha spicing the Portugal wine, +they finished the dressing of the room; and then sat down round the fire +to refresh themselves.</p> + +<p>And very soon St. Ange began to talk of certain Christmas feasts he had +spent in Europe—in Madrid, at the Christmas turkey fair, amid glorious +sunshine, the flower girls selling<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_135">{135}</a></span> camillas and violets; everywhere +colour, beauty, music, barbarism, and dirt. At Rome in the antique fish +market, always brilliantly lighted with large torches on Christmas Eve. +“For I assure you,” he said, “the sumptuous fish supper of that night is +beyond anything that can be conceived of here.”—at Naples, where +Christmas is kept with confectionery, and the Toledo is a feast of sugar +and sweets.</p> + +<p>“Are then the Neapolitans so fond of confectionery?” asked Annette. +“They must be very children,” she added.</p> + +<p>“They are children among sweets,” he answered. “A Neapolitan noble told +me that the king was ever fearing revolution; ‘but,’ he added, ‘if he +will only present every Neapolitan with a box of sweets a revolution +will be impossible.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“I do not think a box of sweets to every American would have prevented +our Revolution,” said Sappha.</p> + +<p>Every one laughed heartily at the idea, and then she pictured Washington +and Putnam, and her grandfather Bloommaert’s reception of these peace +offerings. And the scene was so funnily enacted that no one could help +laughing heartily at it. Yet in the very climax of the hilarious chorus +Sappha had a heavy heart; her mirth was only from the lips outward. +However, it seemed only too real to Leonard, who entered suddenly while +the peal of laughter was at its height. And he was so totally unexpected +that the moment’s sudden silence which followed was the most natural +consequence; especially as it ended in a rush of inquiries and +exclamations.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_136">{136}</a></span></p> + +<p>“So glad to see you!”</p> + +<p>“Come and sit down, and have a glass of hot negus.”</p> + +<p>“What good fortune sent you?”</p> + +<p>“Is there any strange news?” And then Mrs. Bloommaert’s rather stiff +question: “Is anything wrong, Leonard?”</p> + +<p>Leonard turned to her at once. “No, indeed,” he answered. “I met the +judge at the City Hall and he asked me to bring you this letter. I think +he expects to be detained. He was just going on to an important +committee. If there is any answer, I will carry it, if you wish me to do +so.”</p> + +<p>And as Mrs. Bloommaert read the letter Sappha brought him some spiced +wine, but he would not take it. He said “he was going back to complete +some decorations, whose position required a very clear head and steady +foot.” But he knew in his heart that it was no fear of danger made him +refuse the proffered cup of good-will. It was jealousy that whispered to +him: “The cup was not mingled for you. There was no thought of you in +it. Others were expected and prepared for, and you were not even told.” +Under the influence of such thoughts he was constrained and quite unlike +himself, and an effectual destroyer of happiness. An uncomfortable +silence, broken by bungling attempts to restore the natural mirth he had +disturbed, were not happy efforts. He made himself an intruder, and then +blamed every one else for the position he had taken voluntarily, through +his own misconception. Sappha was painfully aware of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_137">{137}</a></span> constraint, +and she wished for once that Annette would open her generally ready +stream of badinage. But Annette was busy advising, in a somewhat private +detail, St. Ange concerning his part of the game of <i>Yule Klap</i>; and St. +Ange, having received her instructions while Leonard was waiting, rose +when Leonard did, and proposed to walk part of the way with him.</p> + +<p>“You will call this evening, will you not?” asked Sappha timidly, as +they stood by a little table full of mysterious packages.</p> + +<p>“It will be impossible,” he answered. “Every part of the decorations are +in my charge, and I have a great deal to attend to.”</p> + +<p>“To-morrow is Christmas Eve. You will be here for the <i>Yule Klap</i>?”</p> + +<p>“If I am wanted!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Leonard! If you are wanted! If you are not present I shall not care +for anything, or any one else.”</p> + +<p>“Then I will come, dearest.” This conversation had been held, almost in +whispers, as Sappha was supposed to be showing Leonard some of the <i>Yule +Klap</i> offerings she was preparing. Then the young men went away +together, but the ocean between them could not really have set them more +apart. St. Ange made several attempts to open a conversation on <i>Yule +Klap</i>. He wanted Leonard’s advice about the gifts most suitable; but +Leonard professed both ignorance and indifference concerning a game so +childish; and at Vaarick<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_138">{138}</a></span> Street St. Ange, having failed completely to +evoke anything like friendly intercourse, bid him good-morning. He was +worried over his friend’s evident displeasure; and over his own failure +to either account for or dispel it. He went westward to Greenwich +Street, and having made many purchases in the most fashionable stores, +rather wearily returned to his rooms at the City Hotel. He was depressed +and had a premonition of trouble.</p> + +<p>After this little cloud the Christmas festivities went on with unalloyed +pleasure. Madame and Annette were to stay at the Bowling Green house +until Saturday, and when the judge saw his mother’s delight in her +anticipated visit to the theatre on Christmas night he had no heart to +say one opposing word. But Sappha was not now so eager. She felt sure +that in Leonard’s present temper he would not like her to be the guest +of St. Ange, and she resolved to forego the pleasure. “I shall have a +little headache in the morning, and it will grow worse towards night, +and I shall beg to be left at home that I may sleep it away. I do not +think it will be wrong,” she mused. “There is not room in the box St. +Ange has taken but for six; and if there was room, I am sure Leonard +would not accept the invitation to join us. Well, then, it is better to +make an excuse than to make trouble. Why did not Leonard rent a box? He +might have thought of it just as well as St. Ange. I wish I knew what it +is best, what it is right, to do.”</p> + +<p>To such troubled thoughts she fell asleep, and when she<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_139">{139}</a></span> awoke in the +morning the weather had settled the matter for her. It was bitterly +cold, and a furious snowstorm was blocking up the pathways and making a +visit to the theatre beyond a safe or pleasant probability. Madame sadly +admitted the condition, but the day went happily forward; and about two +o’clock Leonard and St. Ange and Peter arrived, and the judge opened the +Christmas room, and then there was two hours of pure mirth—of surprise +without end; of beautiful gifts whose donors were to speculate about; +half-guesses sent into conscious faces; questions asked with beaming +eyes; all the delightful uncertainties which love could make, and love +alone unravel. The Christmas dinner followed, and after it a dance, +which madame, with Peter for her partner, opened. Every one joined in +it, and the merriest of evenings was thus inaugurated. So nobody +regretted the theatre, not even madame, for she had been privately +informed by St. Ange that the box was reserved for the great naval +performance on the seventh of January; and that it would be one far more +worth seeing, one never to be forgotten. And madame kept this bit of +anticipatory pleasure as a little secret, and was as gay as a child over +it.</p> + +<p>Leonard also was in his most charming mood, and Sappha was divinely +happy; her beauty was enchanting, and her manner so mild and sweet that +she diffused on all hands a sense of exquisite peace and felicity. For +Leonard had whispered to her such words of contrition and devotion as +erased totally and forever the memory of his unworthy tem<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_140">{140}</a></span>per and +suspicions. And after that confession there could be only sorrow for his +fault, and delight in pardoning and forgetting it.</p> + +<p>All throughout the following week he preserved this sunny mood. He was +undoubtedly very busy, for the naval dinner was to be given on the +twenty-ninth of December, and he was the director of the committee of +young men who were turning the great dining room of the City Hotel into +a marine palace. It was his taste which colonnaded it with the masts of +ships wreathed with laurel and all the national flags of the +world—except that of Great Britain. It was Leonard who devised the +greensward, in the midst of which was a real lake, and floating on it a +miniature United States war frigate.</p> + +<p>It was Leonard, also, who hung behind the dais on which Mayor Clinton, +Decatur, Hall, and the officers of the navy were to sit, the mainsail of +a ship thirty-three feet by sixteen, on which the American eagle was +painted, holding in his beak a scroll bearing these significant words: +“Our children are the property of our country.” There were many other +transparencies to attend to; besides which, every table was to bear a +miniature warship with American colours displayed. And to the five +hundred gentlemen of New York, who sat down to the dinner served in that +room, these were no childish symbols. They were the palpable, visible +signs of a patriotism that meant freedom or death, and nothing less.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_141">{141}</a></span></p> + +<p>In the midst of all the business connected with such preparations, in a +time when the things wanted were not always procurable, and had to be +supplied by the things that could be obtained, Leonard—whose heart was +hot in his work of patriotism—was naturally very busy and very much +occupied with the work on hand. Yet he found time sufficient to see +Sappha often enough to convince her he had not fallen away from the +promise he had made her—“to harbour no unworthy suspicions of any one +who loved him.”</p> + +<p>At length New Year’s Eve arrived. More than three hundred of New York’s +loveliest women had been for weeks preparing for it, and all were eager +for the pleasure it promised them.</p> + +<p>The Bloommaert party, consisting of the judge, Mrs. Bloommaert, Sappha, +and Annette, were early arrivals; and Leonard, who was one of the +directors, met them at the door. And he looked so noble, and so +handsome, and his manner was so fine and gracious, that even Judge +Bloommaert was impressed by his personality, and returned his greeting +with unusual warmth. But then, as Leonard reflected, any man who failed +in politeness, or even in cordiality, in the presence of three such +lovely women as Sappha, Annette, and Mrs. Bloommaert, would surely be +something less than human.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bloommaert’s beauty was yet in its ripe perfection. She was as the +full blown rose that has not yet dropped a single leaf. She wore a gown +of white satin covered with a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_142">{142}</a></span> netting of gold thread; and there was a +string of pearls round her throat, and a large comb in form the braids +and bows of her glossy black hair. She carried in her hand a little fan +of exquisite workmanship, and used it with a grace that no woman in the +room, old or young, could imitate.</p> + +<p>Sappha’s gown was of white satin of so rich a quality that any trimming +on it would have been vulgar and superfluous. Her sandals also were of +white satin; and in her beautiful, brown hair there was one white rose; +and round her slender throat the necklace of pearls which had come to +her among the gifts of the <i>Yule Klap</i>. Annette was dressed in a slip of +pale blue satin, covered with white gauze of the most transparent +quality; a very mist of white over a little cloud of pale blue. Her +sandals were blue, and she wore a necklace of turquoise stones cut in +the shape of stars and united by a tiny ornament of frosted silver. Her +hair hung free, and was loosely curled and confined by a simple band of +blue ribbon.</p> + +<p>And if Sappha, with her “eyes grey-lit in shadowing hair above,” seemed +to wear Love’s very vesture with just that touch of pride that made men +wonder and revere, Annette was like a Love from Greuze’s dainty brush—a +laughing, dancing, teasing, mocking fairy. Achille was constantly +hovering around her, and this evident admiration and attention Sappha +was careful to point out to Leonard.</p> + +<p>The dance begun at nine o’clock, and at eleven supper was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_143">{143}</a></span> served in a +room fitted up like the great cabin of a ship of the line; but after +supper dancing was resumed, and continued until nearly two o’clock in +the morning. Then reluctantly the happy crowd went to their homes to +rest, for it was then New Year’s Day, always a busy, fatiguing +anniversary—a day which every one felt it a duty to consecrate to +friendship and hospitality.</p> + +<p>Indeed, in Judge Bloommaert’s household there was barely time for a +little sleep before the parlours were crowded with callers; and all of +them brought but one topic of conversation—the arrival of the captive +British war vessel, the <i>Macedonian</i>. For her conqueror had brought her +as far as Hell Gate the day previous, in order that she might arrive on +the first of January, and be presented to New York as a “New Year’s +Gift.” And, as if good fortune was pleased with this honour to her +favourite city, the very breeze that was needed sprang up, and at the +very moment it was needed; and amid the shouting crowds that lined the +banks of the East River, the captive vessel was taken to the Brooklyn +Navy Yard.</p> + +<p>“I had the heart-ache for her,” said Leonard. “She carried herself so +proudly. I bethought me of how she had borne the living fury of the +elements, and the living fury of fiery battle, and I lifted my hat a +moment to the wounded ship in her humiliation, just as I would have done +to any great soldier or sailor, if I saw them marched between shouting +enemies, manacled and helpless.” And at these words<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_144">{144}</a></span> the judge regarded +him silently; and there was a quivering fire in Sappha’s eyes as she +said softly: “You felt as the brave always feel in the presence of a +fallen enemy. You remember the motto of the old Plantagenet +knights—‘Honour to the vanquished!’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“I remember. You told me that once before. Do you know your brother +Peter would not look at her?”</p> + +<p>“That was strange,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. “What was the matter with +Peter?”</p> + +<p>“Peter always looks on a ship as a woman, and he cannot bear to see her +in distress.”</p> + +<p>“It is a strange feeling, that, between ships and ship men,” said Dr. +Smith. “Sailors all give them consciousness and sympathy, and it is a +common thing to hear them say of any craft, ‘she behaves well.’ Captain +Tim Barnard of the privateer <i>General Armstrong</i>, when chasing an enemy, +talks to his ship, as an Arabian to his horse; urges her, entreats her +to put forth all her speed, makes her promises of additional guns, or a +new flag, and, what is more, he firmly believes she understands and +obeys him.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” answered the judge, “every one I know connected with shipping +speaks as commonly and as naturally of the average life of a ship as +they do of the average life of a sailor.”</p> + +<p>“Once,” said Achille, “when I was in England I watched from the cliff a +ship in danger. She flashed out signals of distress, and her minute guns +sounded like the cries of some<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_145">{145}</a></span> living creature, and as I looked and +listened I saw men running to some boats that were lying half-alive on +their stocks, and in a moment they were in the raving, raging sea. Boats +and men seemed alike eager and pitiful. And the gallant ship! She was +like a mother in extremity—if she must go, she entreated that her sons +might be saved.”</p> + +<p>“Were they?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, all of them; but the next morning her figure-head, looking seaward +wistfully, was lying on the beach; and her broken rudder beside it. They +were sadder than spoken words. No one saw the ship die. She went down to +her grave alone—but I think she was glad of that.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come then,” said Peter, who had entered during this conversation, +“we need not go so far afield for splendid facts. Let us remember the +nineteenth of last August, when Captain Isaac Hull wounded to death the +fine British man-of-war <i>Guerrière</i>. It was seen at once that her case +was hopeless, and the <i>Constitution</i> watched by her all night, and +removed not only all her men, but also all their private possessions. On +the morning of the twentieth she was ready for her grave. A slow match +was applied to her magazine, and the <i>Constitution</i> bore away. At a safe +distance she hove to, and the officers and men of both ships stood +watching. The guns which had been left shotted soon began to go off. +They were the death knells of the dying man-of-war. Presently the flames +reached the magazine, a mass of wreckage flew skyward. The <i>Guerrière</i> +was no more. But William<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_146">{146}</a></span> Storey, who was present, told me every man +stood bare-headed as she sank, and that her officers wept, while some of +her men blubbered like children.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Peter,” said the judge. “It is a good thing to hear that +Hull was so noble to his prisoners.”</p> + +<p>“As for that,” continued Peter, “there wasn’t a touch of ill-will on +either side, after the fight was over. Storey said the prisoners and +captors sat around the fok’sle together, telling yarns, exchanging +tobacco and many little courtesies. Hull is too brave a man to fear +brave men. Some captains might have handcuffed the crew, not so Hull; +and, indeed, every American sailor on the <i>Constitution</i> felt a manly +unwillingness to handcuff enemies who had fought so bravely.”</p> + +<p>“Sappha,” said the judge, “I have heard Mr. Murray singing with you at +intervals this afternoon and evening a verse or two that you were +setting to a wonderful bit of music. Try it again, my dear.”</p> + +<p>“It is <i>The March of the Men of Moray</i>, father. Mr. Murray wrote two or +three verses to it about the <i>Macedonia</i>. Come, Leonard,” and she struck +a few ringing chords and looked inspiration into his bending face. Then +out rang the little ballad to the marching music of his clan:</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What will they say in England,<br></span> +<span class="i2">When the story there is told,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Of Commodore Decatur,<br></span> +<span class="i2">And his sailor men so bold?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_147">{147}</a></span><br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They’ll say it was a gallant fight,<br></span> +<span class="i2">And fairly lost and won;<br></span> +<span class="i0">So honour to the sailor men,<br></span> +<span class="i2">By whom the deed was done!<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What will they say in England?<br></span> +<span class="i2">They’ll say with grateful lip,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Now glory to Almighty God,<br></span> +<span class="i2">No Frenchman took the ship!<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">No Frenchman shot her colours down!<br></span> +<span class="i2">The doomed ship had this grace—<br></span> +<span class="i0">To take her death blow from the hands<br></span> +<span class="i2">Of men of the English race!<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And all good honest men and true<br></span> +<span class="i2">Will pray for war to cease;<br></span> +<span class="i0">And merchant ships go to-and-fro<br></span> +<span class="i2">On messages of peace.<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And men-of-war sail on the land,<br></span> +<span class="i2">And soldiers plough the sea,<br></span> +<span class="i0">Ere brothers fight, who ought to dwell<br></span> +<span class="i2">In love and unity.<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>“Thank you, Mr. Murray,” said the judge. “<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis a stirring melody!”</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">’</span>Tis the march of my forefather’s clan, sir.”</p> + +<p>“And you have said for America, and for England, what they deserve. We +both love fair play; and I am sure both nations know how to take, either +a victory or a defeat, like men, and gentlemen. God make honourable +peace between us, and that right early!”</p> + +<p>To this pious wish the company remaining, departed; but<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_148">{148}</a></span> after Leonard +had made his long, sweet adieu, Sappha heard her father gently tapping +on the table the time of “<i>The March of the Men of Moray</i>,” as in +pleasant thoughtfulness he hummed to its music,</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“They’ll say it was a gallant fight,<br></span> +<span class="i2">And fairly lost and won,<br></span> +<span class="i1">So honour to the sailor men,<br></span> +<span class="i2">By whom the deed was done!”<br></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_149">{149}</a></span></div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VI"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER SIX<br><br> +<i>The Miracle of Love</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_T.png" +width="80" height="80" +alt="T"></span>HERE had been something more than courtesy in Judge Bloommaert’s +attitude to Leonard that New Year’s night, and Sappha was exceedingly +happy to notice it. If Leonard would only be careful and conciliating, +such favour might be won as would make an acknowledgment of their +engagement pleasantly possible. As it was, Sappha was light-hearted and +hopeful, for surely now Leonard would wait the natural development of +events.</p> + +<p>And for a few days the subject was not named; Sappha was busy helping +her mother to put in order the numerous household goods and affairs that +had been disarranged by the licence of the holidays, and Leonard also +had some unusual business, the nature of which he promised to reveal +before the week was over. New Year’s Day fell that year on a Friday, and +on the Tuesday following it Sappha went to visit her grandmother and +cousin. It was a sunshiny, winter day, and the old house on Nassau +Street had such an antique, handsome homelikeness, as made far finer +dwellings look common<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_150">{150}</a></span> and vulgar in comparison with it. Madame sat by +the blazing fire writing letters; Annette was marking new towels with +the Bloommaert initials; but when she saw Sappha at the gate she put +away her work and ran to meet her.</p> + +<p>Then there was no more writing, and no more sampler letters; the three +women sat down to “talk things over.” And when the <i>Yule Klap</i> presents +and the New Year’s feasts had been discussed, they drifted very +naturally to the guests and to their dressing and conversation. Madame +enjoyed it all, and the morning passed quickly and pleasantly away.</p> + +<p>“Grandmother has a secret, Sappha, and I cannot coax it from her,” said +Annette. Then she laid her hand upon madame’s, and added: “Now that +Sappha is here, do tell us both, grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“Until Thursday morning I will not tell you,” she answered. “Do you wish +me to break my promise? That is not my way.”</p> + +<p>“You promised Achille, eh, grandmother? Oh, I see that I have guessed +correctly—you are smiling, grandmother, and you cannot help it—so +then, it is something Achille is going to do! Very well, Achille shall +tell me. I shall insist upon it.”</p> + +<p>They joked, and wondered about “grandmother’s secret,” and ineffectually +begged to share it, until dinner was over; then madame went to her room, +and the girls dropped the subject at once—they had more interesting +matter to discuss.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_151">{151}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Have you seen Leonard since the New Year?” asked Annette. “How +delightfully he conducted himself! How charmingly he sang and talked! I +do believe that uncle Gerardus was quite impressed by his intelligence. +He is very handsome also—does he still make love to you, Sappha?”</p> + +<p>“He would not be in the fashion if he omitted the fine words all the +young men say nowadays. I might as well ask you if Achille flatters the +fair Annette in the same silly way?”</p> + +<p>“Do you think it silly? I think it is heavenly sweet, and quite proper. +Yes, the dear Achille continually invents new names for me. The ‘fair +Annette’ is out of date. I am now his ‘Heart’s Desire!’ I am afraid he +is distractingly in love with me.”</p> + +<p>“But why do you fear it? Are you not in love with the dear Achille?”</p> + +<p>“I fear it, because I am sure that I am life or death to him; and I am +not quite sure that I am in love with any one—it is such a +responsibility. Are you in love with Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“What is the use of being in love, when you cannot marry for nearly +three years. I have promised father and mother not to engage myself to +any one until after the war.”</p> + +<p>“How foolish! Such silly promises ought to be broken—are made to be +broken. Does Leonard want to marry you?”</p> + +<p>“I wish you would ask him. In so many ways Leonard is inscrutable. He +has some business on hand now that he is<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_152">{152}</a></span> keeping a secret. I think +secrets are in the air. Pray, when will you marry Achille? Or has he not +asked you yet?”</p> + +<p>“My dear Sappha, he is the most sensitive of mortals. He says love +should not be talked about—it makes it common; takes off all the bloom +and glory from Cupid’s wings; just as handling the butterfly makes it +crushed and shabby. I think he is right. Achille does not need to talk, +he says such things with his soft black eyes that perhaps he had better +not say with his beautiful red lips. However, his lips are not as +prudent as they might be.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Annette! Do you really mean that he has kissed you?—and yet you +are not engaged.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose it is so! I do not feel a whit the worse for it. I am going to +be Mrs. St. Ange. I have made up my mind on that subject.”</p> + +<p>“But Achille?”</p> + +<p>“That is settled. I intend to marry him. Some people will say I am +making a poor match—because, you know, I shall have a great deal of +property and money; but I do not intend to listen to any one’s opinion.”</p> + +<p>“But Achille has not really asked you to be his wife?”</p> + +<p>“That is nothing. He will do so the very hour I am ready to accept him. +I put the question off until after the holidays, because one can never +tell what might happen at New Year’s.”</p> + +<p>“Were you expecting anything to happen?—anything unforeseen, Annette?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_153">{153}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Well, I thought young Washington Irving might come home at Christmas, +and I wanted to see him again. I felt sure you knew that I have been +considering him.”</p> + +<p>“He loved Matilda Hoffman.”</p> + +<p>“I know that, of course. But after she—withdrew, I felt that it might +be my office to comfort him. He looked so charming, and so sorrowful.”</p> + +<p>“I have not seen him lately,” said Sappha.</p> + +<p>“He went to Philadelphia about some magazine he is editing; but I heard +that he is coming back to board with Mrs. Ryckman. His great friend, +Harry Brevoort, told Achille so. However, I have given Mr. Irving quite +up. I don’t think I could take any interest in the Analectic Magazine; +though I am sure I cannot imagine what an Analectic Magazine is like. +But then, as Achille says, I have no occasion to know such things. I +rather think it is something dreadful—it might be a doctor’s magazine. +I believe Mr. Irving thought of being a doctor.”</p> + +<p>“I certainly believe you would find Achille more agreeable to you than +Mr. Irving.”</p> + +<p>“Achille is so wonderfully polite. You cannot make him forget his fine +manners—and grandmother is very fond of him. She does not like Mr. +Irving. She thinks his ‘History of New York,’ a piece of great +impertinence—and I wish to please grandmother, for several reasons.”</p> + +<p>In such conversation they passed the afternoon, until madame came back +to them, Sappha always skilfully parry<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_154">{154}</a></span>ing Annette’s point blank +questions, by others just as direct; and in this way easily leading her +cousin to personal subjects of far superior interest to her—that is, +her own lovers and love affairs. Just before madame’s tea hour Leonard +came. He was in the highest possible spirits, and carried himself as if +something very important had happened to him; as, indeed, it had.</p> + +<p>He said he had been at the Bowling Green, and found no one at home. Mrs. +Bloommaert had gone to drink a cup of tea with Mrs. Jane Renwick, and +hear her talk of “poor Robert Burns,” who had sung of her as <i>The +Blue-Eyed Lassie</i>.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, now we shall find out if Mr. Washington Irving is in New +York, or is likely to be here; for he certainly could not be in the city +a day without going to see Jane Renwick,” said Annette.</p> + +<p>“What does Sapphira Bloommaert or Annette de Vries want with Mr. +Washington Irving?” asked madame. “Has he not turned the respectable +Dutch of New York into ridicule—made people to laugh at their homely +ways. Such laughter is not good for them, nor yet for us.”</p> + +<p>“We were just wondering about him, grandmother—you know he is a +possibility now.”</p> + +<p>“Annette De Vries!”</p> + +<p>“For American girls, I mean. I was telling Sappha that little Mary +Sanford is quite willing to comfort the widowed lover.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_155">{155}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Such silly chatter is this! Leonard, have you news more sensible?”</p> + +<p>“I think I have, madame. In the first place, there is to be such a play +at the Park Theatre on Thursday night as never has been seen, nor is +ever likely to be seen again. I went to the Bowling Green to ask Mrs. +Bloommaert and Sappha to come to my box, and now I come here to tell +you. There is room there also for you madame, and for Annette. I hope +you will do me the great honour to accept my invitation;” and he rose +and bowed to madame first, and then with a charming exaggeration to +Sappha and Annette.</p> + +<p>Madame put off answering for herself and Annette, but Sappha accepted +the invitation with delight; and in the conversation incident to this +proposal, and the asides springing readily from it, the daylight faded +and the good supper was brought in and thoroughly enjoyed. Then the +table was cleared, and the hearth swept, and the candles placed on the +high chimney piece, where their light did not weary madame’s eyes; and +the little company drew their chairs within the comfort line of the +blazing fire.</p> + +<p>Annette was a little quieter than seemed natural, but then Achille had +not called. The day was slipping away without his customary devotion, +and Sappha was present to notice this remissness; it was, therefore, +very annoying, for Annette felt its contradiction after her little +fanfaronade about her power over the impassioned, sensitive Achille St. +Ange.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Leonard seemed to take a resolve, or else the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_156">{156}</a></span> news he had to +tell urged him beyond restraint. He looked at Sappha with a demanding +interest, and then said: “Madame, I remember that you once asserted all +young men ought to have either a business or a profession, if only to +keep them out of mischief. I have this day concluded to begin the study +of the law. I hope I may thus be kept out of mischief.”</p> + +<p>“Come, now, you have done a wise thing, Leonard; I am glad of what you +say.”</p> + +<p>“I feel quite satisfied, madame, that I have done right—done what my +dear father would approve, if he were alive to direct me. And yet, at +last, I acted without taking much thought or advice on the subject.”</p> + +<p>“That also may be a wise thing, Leonard. Young men sometimes take more +thought than is good for purpose—they think and think till they cannot +act.”</p> + +<p>“As I say, the resolve came suddenly. I had a large bill to pay two days +ago for business connected with my real estate; and as I looked at it I +thought, Why not do this business myself? Half an hour afterwards Mr. +King said this same thing to me; and I went home and considered the +subject. Then I called on several good business men and asked them who +was the best real estate lawyer in the city.”</p> + +<p>“Real estate!” cried madame, “then you are not going to study criminal +law?”</p> + +<p>“No, no! I want to know all about the laws regulating the buying and +selling of property, leasing, mortgaging, renting, and so on—what +tenants ought to do, and what land<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_157">{157}</a></span>lords ought to do—don’t you see, +madame?” He said “madame,” but he looked at Sappha, who was watching him +with an expression more speculative than approving.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered madame, “I see. And your idea is a very prudent one. +Listen, if a good teacher on this subject you want, go and article +yourself to Seth Vanderlyn. What he does not know about real estate is +not worth knowing.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I have done better than Seth Vanderlyn! I am going to read with +Aaron Burr! What do you think of that? The most learned, the most +delightful, the most eminent of all living lawyers. I am really so +excited at my good fortune I know not what to say. Mr. King and Mr. Read +and several other men of affairs and experience told me I had selected a +lawyer who had no compeer in land and property business. In such respect +they all said I had done well, and for other matters, I was the best +judge. I suppose they referred to Mr. Burr’s duelling episode.”</p> + +<p>Sappha’s face expressed only dismay and distress. She had neither a word +nor a smile for Leonard’s great news. He turned to Annette. She was lost +in the contemplation of her feet—which were small and beautifully shod, +and she silently turned them in and out, as if their perfect fit was the +present question of importance. Madame’s brows were drawn together, and +there was a look of uncertainty on her face. In a moment of time Leonard +saw all these different signs of disapproval and dislike. His face +flushed with anger, and he continued in a tone of offence:<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_158">{158}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I thought you would all rejoice with me. I thought you would at least +commend the step I had taken—I——”</p> + +<p>“It is no good step for you,” answered madame in a voice of regret. “If +with bad men you go you are counted one with them; if with doomed men +you go, you catch misfortune from them.”</p> + +<p>“I do not understand what you mean, madame.”</p> + +<p>“Leonard,” interrupted Sappha, “you have not asked my father’s opinion? +If you had, you would never have taken this foolish step.”</p> + +<p>“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Foolish step?’ Why, Sappha, every one to whom I have named my purpose +thinks me fortunate. And if you only knew Mr. Burr you would confess it +an enormous privilege to be under his advice and tuition. He is the most +fascinating of men.”</p> + +<p>“Fascinating! Yes, that is right,” said madame. “His charm I know well. +But listen to me, Leonard Murray, this is a fascination to be thrown +off—it is no good for you. All of your friends, do you wish to lose?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, if they are so foolish as to leave me because, wanting +instruction, I have chosen the best of masters.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, say also, the most unpopular man in New York.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, madame, you are mistaken,” answered Leonard warmly. “I do not +know a more popular man than Mr. Burr in New York to-day. No lawyer has +a larger practice, and during the few hours I passed in his office the +last two<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_159">{159}</a></span> days I saw there the most honourable and influential of our +citizens. Every one treated him with respect, and it is a fact that the +first day his return to New York was known five hundred gentlemen called +on him before he slept that night. It is also a fact that within twelve +days after he nailed up his sign in Nassau Street he received two +thousand dollars in cash fees. His business is now large and lucrative, +and no one but those stupid Tory Federalists are against him.”</p> + +<p>“My father is a stupid Tory Federalist, Leonard,” said Sappha coldly.</p> + +<p>“Oh, how unfortunate I am! I do nothing but make mistakes to-night. Poor +Mr. Burr! A majority of our great men have fought duels; is Mr. Burr to +be the scapegoat of all American duellists? De Witt Clinton, though his +enemy, admits that no man ever received provocation so frequent, so +irritating, so injurious, and so untruthful, as Burr received from +Alexander Hamilton. My dear friends, I assure you that Burr has more +defenders than his victim.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely,” replied Sappha with a remarkable show of temper, “a great +many people prefer a living dog to a dead lion.”</p> + +<p>“I thought I was sure of your sympathy, Sappha,” answered Leonard, and +as he uttered these words Annette rose up hastily, clapped her hands +together, and said: “Thank goodness, I hear Achille St. Ange’s +footsteps! Now we shall have some sensible conversation.” She ran to +the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_160">{160}</a></span> door and set it wide open, and Achille saw the comforting +firelight, and the beautiful girl standing in its glow, waiting to +welcome him. It gave him a sense of content, almost of home and love. He +came in holding her hand; his black fur cloak throwing into remarkable +significance the pallor of his haughty, handsome face, lighted by eyes +of intense blackness and brilliancy.</p> + +<p>Leonard was not pleased at what he considered the intrusion, but +Achille’s fine manners and the easy tone of his conversation were really +a welcome relief to the uncomfortable strain introduced by the Burr +topic. Achille was cheery and agreeable, and had plenty of those little +critical things to say of acquaintances every one likes to +hear—critical, but not unkindly so. This night, also, he was even +unusually handsome, and his sumptuous dress only in the diapason of the +general air of luxury which was the distinguishing quality of his life.</p> + +<p>To the gay persiflage of his conversation madame paid little attention. +She was lost in thoughtful reminiscence, and when she re-entered the +society of those around her she returned to the conversation which the +entrance of Achille had interrupted.</p> + +<p>“I have been taking thought, Leonard,” she said, “and I wonder me at +you! Of good days are you tired? If so, then join yourself to Aaron +Burr. I am not pleased that you should do this, but so, nothing will +help, I fear—at least no ordinary advice.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_161">{161}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Is not that a hard thing to say, madame?”</p> + +<p>“Very well, but it is the truth. So then, to make short work of it, no +ordinary advice will I give you; but an extraordinary reason, that may +perhaps turn your mind another way. I know not—there are none so blind +as those who will not see.”</p> + +<p>“First, madame, permit me to ask Mr. St. Ange, in your presence, if he +thinks I require either ordinary or extraordinary arguments against the +course I have marked out for myself.”</p> + +<p>Madame moved her head in assent, and then Leonard, in a few sentences, +told Achille of his proposed study with Mr. Burr, and asked him frankly +“if he considered Mr. Burr’s duelling experience inimical to business +relations with him?”</p> + +<p>And Achille answered promptly: “If Mr. Burr had not fought Mr. Hamilton +I should consider your engagement with him disastrous, both to your +social and business reputation. Mr. Hamilton had slandered Mr. Burr in +public and in private, and even while Mr. Burr supposed him to be his +friend he had disseminated the unguarded sallies of his host while a +guest at his dinner table. As I understand the subject, Mr. Burr had no +alternative between two inexorable facts—to fight, which might mean +physical death; not to fight, which would certainly mean social and +political death. Mr. Burr had, I think, a too great patience. I would +have appealed to the sword to stop the tongue long before Mr. Burr +did.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_162">{162}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Leonard was delighted and grateful, and said so, and Achille added: “We +must remember that Cheetham, who edited Hamilton’s newspaper, asked the +public through that organ: ‘Is the Vice-President sunk so low as to +submit to be insulted by General Hamilton?’ It seems to me then that +Cheetham really sent the challenge to Mr. Burr, and that the +Vice-President had no honourable alternative. He had to fight or be +eternally branded a poltroon, a dastardly coward!” And he uttered these +shameful words with such passionate scorn that they seemed to disturb +the air like wildfire.</p> + +<p>“About duelling there may be two opinions,” said Madame, “but when +treason is the question, what then?”</p> + +<p>“But that question was settled by Mr. Burr’s trial, madame,” answered +Leonard. “The law and the testimony, the judge, and the jury decided +that Mr. Burr was not guilty of treason. Should we go behind that +settlement?”</p> + +<p>“The people have gone behind it, and will do so.”</p> + +<p>“I doubt that as a final result,” said Leonard. “Many are of Mr. +Vanderlyn’s opinion, that the natural boundaries of the United States +are the Atlantic and Pacific, and that all foreign authority must be got +rid of within that territory. If Aaron Burr did not succeed, he thought +others would.”</p> + +<p>“But Aaron Burr would have set up a monarchy for himself.”</p> + +<p>“That is not conceivable, madame. I said so to Mr. Vanderlyn, and he +laughed at the idea. He said, ‘Burr had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_163">{163}</a></span> remarkable military genius, and +that his object was to atone for his political failure by some great +military feat, but whatever the feat he contemplated, it would have been +in the end for his country.’ Vanderlyn put aside all evidence to the +contrary, because given by men who had been at first confederate with +Burr, and then betrayed him. What reliance could be placed on anything +such men said? I believe,” said Leonard, with confident fervour, “that +Mr. Burr will outlive the memory of his faults and attain yet the +success his great abilities deserve.”</p> + +<p>“<i>He will not!</i>” said madame. “The hatred of the living a man may fight, +and hope to conquer, but the vengeance of the dead, who then can escape +that? Sooner or later it drives ‘the one followed’ to destroy himself. +This trouble began twelve years gone by. Hamilton and Burr called it to +themselves, that night they tricked justice, slandered the innocent, and +let the guilty go free. Snuff the candles, Achille, the room is full of +shadows; more light give us, and I will tell you when, and how, the doom +of both men was called to them.”</p> + +<p>There was a few minutes’ delay, during which the silence was unbroken, +and then madame continued:</p> + +<p>“It was in the year of God eighteen hundred, in the month of March, and +we had come near to the spring. Mr. Hamilton was then of all the lawyers +in New York the most famous, and it was one of the sights of the city to +see him going to court with his papers and books. In that month<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_164">{164}</a></span> came +the trial of Levi Weekes for the murder of the beautiful Gulielma Sands, +and Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Burr were united in the defence of Weekes. Very +well indeed I knew Elma Sands, for she lived with her uncle and aunt +Ring, who were tenants of mine for many years. At the time of her murder +they lived in Greenwich Street, near Franklin; and Weekes boarded with +them. He was a brother of Ezra Weekes, who kept the famous City Hotel, +and with his brother he could have boarded. But not so, with the Rings +he stayed, because of Elma, and every one said they were promised to +each other, and when the spring came were to be married. Well, then, +this dreadful thing happened—Elma Sands went out with Levi Weekes one +Sunday in December, 1799, and never again was she seen by any one. +Distracted were her uncle and aunt, and everywhere, far and near, Elma +was sought. It was no good. What I could do, I did, for I had watched +the orphan girl grow from her childhood to her womanhood, and so sorry +also was I for the uncle and aunt, who slept not, nor yet rested, and +whose terrible suspense was ended in five weeks, by the finding of +Elma’s body in a well eighty feet deep. Then the city went wild about +her murder; for the appearance of the body left no room for doubt as to +what poor Elma’s fate had been; and every one felt quite sure that Levi +Weekes was the criminal.” Here madame paused and appeared to be much +affected, and Achille, without a word, pushed a glass of water closer to +her, and having drank of it, she continued:<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_165">{165}</a></span></p> + +<p>“It was Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Burr that defended the prisoner; the +prosecutor was Cadwallader D. Colden, and Chief Justice Lansing was the +judge. On both sides there were great lawyers, and the trial was long +and wearisome; but never were Elias Ring and his wife absent from it, +no, not for one hour. So the end came at last. It was a stormy night in +April that it came, and very late, and the court room was but dimly +lighted, for some of the candles had burned themselves away, and had not +been renewed, and the people had been listening to Hamilton’s speech, +and thinking of nothing else. A great speech it was; my son Judge +Bloommaert told me it was wonderful; and though every one was worn out, +none left the building.</p> + +<p>“Then Aaron Burr arose. Some facts he set forth in such a way as to +throw all suspicion on the chief witness against Weekes; and while +people were amazed at the charge, and no time had been given to examine +it, or deny it, he lifted two candles from the table and flashed them in +the face of the man he had accused; and as he did this thing he cried +out in a voice like doom: ‘<i>Gentlemen, behold the murderer!</i>’ Shocked +and terrified was the man, and like a foolish one he rushed from the +room; and this cry of Aaron Burr’s the weary, excited jury took for the +truth, and so then, Levi Weekes was declared ‘not guilty.’ Stupefied +were all present, and before they could recover themselves from their +astonishment Catherine Ring stood up. She was a Quakeress and to speak +in public accustomed, and so, lifting her face<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_166">{166}</a></span> and hands to heaven she +refused the verdict; and gave the case ‘<i>to the justice of God and the +vengeance of the Dead!</i>’</p> + +<p>“I say plainly, every one was thrilled with awe and terror. Her voice +was low and even, but straight to every heart it went; and those +furthest away heard it clear and fateful as those close at her side. Mr. +Hamilton began to put up his papers, but she stepped close to his side +and said: ‘Alexander Hamilton, if there be justice in heaven, heaven +will see that thee dies a bloody death; and thy helper shall help thee +to it!’ At these words Burr rose, and looked at her with a smile, and +she continued, ‘Take thy time, Aaron Burr. Thee need not hurry; thee +will long for death, long before death will have thee. Nay, but thee +shall be a dead man long before thee can hide thyself in the grave. And +all that we have suffered in that long month of not knowing, thee shall +suffer many times over. Dost thee think God had no witness in this room? +Go thy way, Alexander Hamilton! Go thy way, Aaron Burr! There is <i>one +that follows after</i>!’ She turned then to Judge Lansing, but he had left +the bench. Then she touched her husband’s arm, and said: ‘Come, Elias, +the unrighteous judge cannot escape the righteous one. Some day he will +go out, and be heard of no more forever.’<a id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a></p> + +<p>“And here is the wonderful thing—all the time she was dooming these +three great men not one soul moved or spoke. The entire audience sat or +stood silent and motionless; and when out of the court-room they went, +it was as if they were leaving a church. And Elias and Catherine Ring<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_167">{167}</a></span> +passed through them, and though they had the pity and respect of all +there, no one spoke to them, and no one stayed them. For every word of +doom Catherine Ring had uttered had been heard; and her inspired face +spoke to the crowd; Elias walking at her side praying aloud as he +walked.</p> + +<p>“My son Gerardus was present during the entire trial; he heard all, he +saw all, and he told me the story I have just told you. And what I say +is the truth—Hamilton’s earthly doom has been fulfilled; Burr is yet +learning the unpitying vengence of the dead. That insane idea of +conquest, who drove him to it? Who, at the critical hour, turned his +confederates against him? Who sent him to wander in Europe a degraded, +desperate man? What a cup of shame and poverty he drank there, I and a +few others know. Then, when reckless with his misfortune, back he comes +to New York, and for a short time he is lifted up by the many old +acquaintances who remember his abilities and his sufferings. But only to +be cast down is he lifted up. In less than one month he hears of the +death of his grandson, a beautiful, intelligent boy of twelve years old, +on whom all his future hopes were built. A terrible blow it was, but +only the beginning of sorrow. Six months afterwards his idolised +daughter left Charleston for New York. She was heartbroken by the loss +of her son, and was coming to her father to be comforted. She sailed on +the thirtieth of December, 1811, A. D., and ought to have been in New +York about the fifth of January. She did not come. She never came. She<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_168">{168}</a></span> +was never heard of again. It was then Catherine Ring’s promised +retribution overtook him. Who can tell what agonies of suspense he +endured? There was daily hope, and there was daily despair! Such nights +of grief! Such days of watching! His worst unfriends pitied him. To have +heard of the unhappy woman would have pleased every one; but no, no, +never a word came. When some weeks were gone over, there was a report +that the ship in which she sailed had been taken by pirates, and all on +board murdered except Mr. Burr’s daughter. She, it was said, had been +put on shore a captive. The miserable man! He would not, he could not, +bear this idea. He said to me one morning, as I talked with him at the +garden gate, ‘Theodosia is dead! If she were not all the prisons in the +world could not keep her from me!’ Well, then, all of you must remember +the loss of Theodosia Burr Alston?”</p> + +<p>“I was in New Orleans at the time,” said Leonard. “I heard nothing +there, or if so, have forgotten.”</p> + +<p>“I also was in New Orleans,” said Achille. “I do not remember—no, not +at all.”</p> + +<p>“I do remember,” said Sappha. “Mother was very sorry for Mr. Burr. We +often spoke of him.”</p> + +<p>“You never told me about it, grandmother,” added Annette. “Why did you +not?”</p> + +<p>“Good reasons had I. So much was there to say that could not be talked +about. A great many people had yet in mind Catherine Ring’s words, and +so Aaron Burr’s long<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_169">{169}</a></span> watch for the child that never came was quietly +and pitifully passed over. Yes, people remember; and if they do not +remember they <i>feel</i>—they <i>feel</i>, they know not what. I have watched. +One by one, I have seen those that welcomed Aaron Burr home drop away +from him. This day a man stops and greets him, to-morrow he passes him +by. The unlucky, they only stick to him; because for a familiar they +know him. Aaron Burr is a doomed man—haunted by the wraiths of those he +has wronged—a doomed man, and nothing that he does shall ever prosper.”</p> + +<p>She ceased speaking with these words, and after some desultory +conversation on the subject, Sappha said, “she must go home.” Then +Annette went upstairs with her, and Achille made an effort to continue +the subject; but neither madame nor yet Leonard were disposed for +discussion; and when Sappha returned to the parlour, cloaked and wrapped +in furs, Leonard hastily assumed his street costume and went out with +her. Then the conversation, the warmth, and the drowsy light, added to +the unusual feeling which the Ring tragedy had evoked, produced an +effect upon madame she did not anticipate—she gradually lost +consciousness, and finally fell asleep. For a while Achille and Annette +spoke in whispers, and Annette tried all her powers to win from her +companion the secret madame made so much of. He dallied with it, but +kept it inviolate; and she dropped her pretty head with a sense of +defeat that the circumstance hardly seemed to warrant. Quiet and +speechless she sat, and Achille<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_170">{170}</a></span> held her hand and watched the shadow of +disappointment obliterate the dimples and smiles, not always as becoming +in his eyes as her graver deportment. The glow of the firelight, the +stillness thrilled through and through with that old tragedy of love, +the look of defeat in Annette’s pretty face, and her whole attitude of +submission to it, pleased the young man. He thought her more womanly and +exquisite than ever before; and he kissed the hand he held, and said in +the softest, sweetest voice: “I cannot tell you madame’s secret, but I +will tell you one of my own—Annette, beautiful Annette, I love you.”</p> + +<p>And Annette behaved with the most amazing propriety. He felt the little +hand he held tremble to his words, and he saw on her face the +transfiguration of love, though she did not lift it, or answer him in +any other way. But this coy reticence was exactly the conduct Achille +approved; and in that dim room, where only sleep kept vigil, Achille +asked Annette to be his wife, and Annette answered him as he desired.</p> + +<p>“I shall speak to madame in the morning,” he said; “to-night it will be +too much.”</p> + +<p>“It is too much even for me,” answered Annette; “I never dreamed of +being so happy.”</p> + +<p>“Nor I,” answered the fortunate lover. He then surrendered himself to +her charm. He forgot how often he had privately declared he would never +do so; forgot how often he had told himself that Annette de Vries was a +beauty with</p> + +<p>[Illustration: “IN THAT DIM ROOM, WHERE ONLY SLEEP KEPT VIGIL, ACHILLE +ASKED ANNETTE TO BE HIS WIFE.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_171">{171}</a></span>”]</p> + +<p class="nind">a heart like a little glacier. As for Annette, she was satisfied. In the +first days of her acquaintance with Achille St. Ange she had resolved to +be his wife; and her resolve was now in process of accomplishment. And +after all, it had not been a difficult end to attain; a little love, a +little listening, a little patience, a little persistence, and the man +was won. It was only another case of proving the folly of any resistance +to invincible woman. For has not all experience proved that if a woman +seriously determines to marry a certain man she is about as sure to +accomplish her end as if, wishing to reach Washington, she entered a +train bound for that city?</p> + +<p>During this scene between Annette and Achille Sappha and Leonard Murray +were walking in the clear, frosty starlight. They were lovers, but their +conversation was too anxious to be loverlike. Sappha was entreating +Leonard to cancel his engagement with Mr. Burr. She was sure if he did +not her father would permit no engagement with his daughter. “You will +have to choose,” she said, “between Mr. Burr and myself. You cannot take +both into your life, Leonard; I am sure it is impossible.” She did not +name the Ring tragedy. She was far less impressed by it than Leonard had +been. It was her father’s opposition she feared.</p> + +<p>Not so Leonard. He had inherited from his Scotch ancestors a vivid vein +of supernatural tendency. His own clan had numerous traditions of +posthumous revenge, so vindictive that Leonard’s first unconscious +commentary on madame’s narrative was the whispered exclamation—only<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_172">{172}</a></span> +heard by Achille—“The vengeance of the dead is terrible!” But if there +was this latent fear in his heart, mingled with the personal one that +association might include him in that vengeance, the feeling was +strongly combated by another inherited tendency, so vital as to be +almost beyond reasoning with—the sentiment of loyalty to a person or a +cause to which he had once given his allegiance. It had been a kind of +insanity in his clan, for they had always gathered to the last man in +the cause of their exiled kings, though they knew right well that to +stand by the Stuarts was to stand by misfortune and death.</p> + +<p>So, tossed between these two horns of a dilemma, Leonard could not make +Sappha the unconditional promise she asked. He had given to Aaron Burr a +fealty founded on an intense admiration for his great abilities and his +great wrongs. The physical charm of the man had also fascinated Leonard, +as it fascinated almost every one who came fairly under its influence; +and thus, though warned by one ancestral strain to retire from some +malignity he could not control, he was urged forward by another +sentiment which put his word, his honour, his friendship, and his +loyalty before all other considerations.</p> + +<p>These underlying motives of action were but partially understood by +Leonard, and were not comprehended in any measure by Sappha. But at +eighteen years of age we do not need to know, in order to feel; we can +feel without knowledge; and Sappha was certain that the association of +her lover<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_173">{173}</a></span> with a man so unfortunate as Mr. Burr would include both of +them in its inimical proneness to calamity.</p> + +<p>The mingling of these elements in Leonard’s nature must be recognised +before we can understand how a lover, earnest and devoted, could +hesitate about casting adrift a friendship so recent when it threatened +a tie still fonder and more personal. But the most invulnerable +sentiments a man has to conquer are those he brings with him from +previous incarnations. Prejudices and opinions planted in his mind +during last year, or the present year, will have a demonstrative +vitality; but there is a stubborn quality about those we bring with us +that is only gained by passing through the grave and tasting of +immortality. If Sappha’s and Leonard’s love for each other was not of +the past, then it was hardly one year old; yet she was demanding for it +a sacrifice of feelings incorporate in Leonard’s nature from unknown +centuries.</p> + +<p>They walked together talking only of Mr. Burr for more than an hour; +then Sappha said “she was cold and must go into the house.” She was not +so much cold as weary. We are always weary when we do not understand, +and Sappha could not understand why Mr. Burr should interfere in her +affairs. At the door Leonard spoke to her about the theatre on Friday +night, and she promised to give her father and mother his invitation. +“It is too late to detain you longer, my beloved,” he said; “but I will +call early in the morning for the answer. I hope they will<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_174">{174}</a></span> accept my +offer. It will make me very proud and happy.”</p> + +<p>Sappha was sure that her mother would do so. “My father is always +uncertain,” she said, “but I think he will go if I ask him.”</p> + +<p>In the morning, however, there was no question of naming the subject. +The judge had come home late the previous night, and even then was +suffering all the premonitory symptoms of an attack of gout. Sappha was +accustomed to these evil periods, and quite aware that all Leonard’s +plans were useless. For no one but Mrs. Bloommaert and the two negro men +who nursed the judge were likely to see him; or, if they were wise, to +want to see him; and Sappha was compelled to add disappointment to the +already restless dissatisfaction which had somehow invaded the love +which Leonard really bore her.</p> + +<p>The morning interview was, moreover, very hurried. Leonard was going to +court to hear Mr. Burr argue a certain case, and though he did not tell +Sappha this, she felt that Mr. Burr was the cause of her lover’s unusual +haste. Before he knew this objectionable person he had never worried +about time; now he was constantly consulting his watch. She felt as if +their love had been mingled with some element that robbed it of its +immortal beauty and bound it to the slavery of hours and minutes; nay, +she could not have defined her sense of loss, even thus far, accurately; +she was only wistfully conscious of a change that was not a gain.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_175">{175}</a></span></p> + +<p>Leonard came early in the morning, and was bitterly disappointed to find +that his little plan was absolutely abortive. The judge was suffering +much, and the subject had not even been named to him. Mrs. Bloommaert, +indeed, rather fretfully interrupted Sappha in the midst of her delivery +of Leonard’s invitation. “The theatre!” she ejaculated. “If you were in +your father’s room for ten minutes you would not have the courage to +name the place. I am sorry, of course, but theatre-going is out of the +question. Leonard does seem so unfortunate!”</p> + +<p>“Do not be unjust, mother; don’t you think it is father that is +unfortunate? And then his misfortune makes you suffer, and I also; for I +did want to go to the theatre on Friday night so much. I suppose Annette +will be disappointed also, for of course she cannot go with Achille +alone. They were, no doubt, calculating on your presence.”</p> + +<p>“It cannot be helped, Sappha. Your father must not be left; my place is +with him. I suppose Mrs. Clark will be going. Leonard and you can join +her party.”</p> + +<p>But when this proposition was made to Leonard he refused it without +reservation. He was certain that the Clark party was already complete, +and he showed a touch of stubbornness in temper that pained and +astonished Sappha. If he could not have his pleasure exactly as he +wished it, there was no longer any pleasure in it; and he said with an +air of intense chagrin:</p> + +<p>“I shall be the only young man of my circle who will not<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_176">{176}</a></span> be there with +the girl he loves and the family into which he hopes to be admitted. I +feel it very much.” And with these words he went away.</p> + +<p>All morning Sappha sat in a kind of listless grief. She was in a mesh of +circumstances against whose evil influence she was powerless. Nothing +could avail. The morning was damp and cold and full of melancholy, the +house strangely still; she could not sew, she could not read, she could +only suffer. And at eighteen years of age suffering is so acute, it +seems to youth’s dreams of happiness such a wrong; and the reasonable +indifference of age has, to its impatience, the very spirit of cruelty.</p> + +<p>About noon Mrs. Bloommaert came into the room. She had a letter in her +hand, and there was a singular expression of discomposure both on her +countenance and in the fretful way in which she held the missive in her +outstretched hand.</p> + +<p>“Sappha,” she said, “here comes news indeed! Your grandmother has +written to tell us that last night Achille St. Ange asked Annette to +marry him. And of course Annette accepted the offer,” commented +Annette’s aunt. “Your grandmother seems delighted with the match.”</p> + +<p>“They will suit each other very well, mother. I am sure they will be +happy. I must go and congratulate Annette.”</p> + +<p>“Not to-day. They both went, early this morning, with the news, to +grandfather De Vries, and of course that is a day’s visit.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_177">{177}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“As he is the guardian of her estate, Annette would have to ask him for +money; for she will now want a great deal of it. I am glad she is going +to marry Achille; she has loved him ever since they met.”</p> + +<p>“Annette loves Annette first and best of all. But she has plenty of +sense, and she knows that a girl of twenty-one has no chances to throw +away.”</p> + +<p>“Annette looks about seventeen, mother, and she has more lovers than I +ever had.”</p> + +<p>“That is because you allowed every one to see your preference for +Leonard Murray. Besides, what you say is not so. In spite of your +partiality, no girl in New York has more admirers than Sapphira +Bloommaert.”</p> + +<p>“I prefer Leonard to all I ever had, or might have had.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. I know. Very foolish, too! Your father does not like him; he will +never give a willing consent to your marriage with him—and girls ought +to marry before they are Annette’s age. In fact, I have thought her a +little old-maidish for a year past.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother! Now you are joking——”</p> + +<p>“Too affected—too full of pouts, and shrugs and pirouettes; things very +pretty when a girl is fifteen or sixteen, but quite old-maidish airs at +twenty-one.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, Annette never looked more than seventeen, and she is not quite +twenty-one.”</p> + +<p>“I think she looks every day of her age. She is more than two years +older than you; and two years, when a girl<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_178">{178}</a></span> is in her teens, is a great +deal. Well, well, I thought you would have been married first.”</p> + +<p>“If father and you were willing, I could be married at once. Leonard +would be glad; but——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes! we all know how soon ‘but’ comes; <i>but</i>, you want your own +way; <i>but</i>, father wants his way; <i>but</i>——”</p> + +<p>“Mother wants her way also.”</p> + +<p>“No, no! Mother is willing for any way that works for others’ +happiness—and Leonard is well enough, only things seem always to go +contrary for him and you.”</p> + +<p>“Dear mother, somebody once said the course of true love never did run +smooth. Leonard loves me truly—for myself only. He is rich, and I am +not rich. He could marry any girl he desires in New York, but he loves +me. Is not that worth counting in his favour?”</p> + +<p>“I never said different, Sappha.”</p> + +<p>“Annette is very rich; Leonard could have married Annette.”</p> + +<p>“I have no doubt of it. I should not wonder if Mr. St. Ange knows the +exact amount of her fortune. Frenchmen are not indifferent to a fortune +in their brides. I know that. It is a national custom to consider it. +St. Ange will have a difficult interview with old De Vries! I would like +very much to be present. De Vries will fight every dollar diverted from +Annette’s control. Oh, yes! he will fight them, cent by cent.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, dear, I do not think Achille has given An<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_179">{179}</a></span>nette’s money a +moment’s consideration. I do believe he loves her sincerely. He did not +wish to love her. He fought the feeling for a long time; both Annette +and I knew it, and Annette has often laughed at the way he held out. But +she always said, when we spoke of the subject, ‘He is not invincible, +some day he will surrender.’ I want to tell her how glad I am.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot do so to-day. It is evident they intended a long visit, for +your grandmother says in a postscript, ‘Tell Sappha to come very early +in the morning. I want particularly to see her.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>Here the conversation was interrupted by a violent ringing of the +judge’s bedroom bell; and the echo of a demanding voice whose tenor +could not be mistaken. Mrs. Bloommaert threw her mother-in-law’s letter +toward Sappha, and answered the summons at once; and Sappha lifted the +letter and carefully re-read it.</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="nind"> +<span class="smcap">My Dear Gerardus and Carlita</span>:<br> +</p> + +<p>I have to announce to you the engagement of Annette to my friend +Achille St. Ange. I am pleased with Annette’s choice, and her +marriage will probably take place on her next birthday, the seventh +day of June, on which day, as you know, she comes of age. I wish no +objections to be made. Annette has pleased herself, and done well +to herself, and what more can be expected?</p> + +<p class="r"> +Your affectionate mother,<br> +<span class="smcap">Jonaca Blommaert</span>.<br> +</p> + +<p>P. S.—Tell Sappha I wish to see her very early in the morning. I +have a pleasant piece of news for her.</p></div> + +<p>All through that dreary day this letter lay in Sapph<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_180">{180}</a></span>a’s work-basket. It +seemed almost to have life, and to talk to her; and when her mother came +to drink a cup of tea, she was glad to give her back the intimate, +insinuating bit of script. Mrs. Bloommaert held it a moment, and then +locked it in the judge’s desk. “I don’t want to see it again,” she said, +“but if I burn it, your father will be sure to consider it important +enough to keep. Can you imagine what news your grandmother has to tell +you?”</p> + +<p>“No. There was considerable jesting about a secret yesterday, but it did +not strike me as important. It most likely relates in some way to +Annette’s marriage.”</p> + +<p>“That is hardly possible; Annette did not say a word of her engagement +to you yesterday?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but grandmother would not permit her to speak until she herself had +announced it. Grandmother is particular about such things. Still, I do +not think they were engaged when I left there last night. Achille did +not look, or act, like an engaged man; and Annette would have told the +secret in twenty ways without uttering a word. I should certainly have +seen it. No, the offer was made after I left. Achille was in a very +sensitive mood. However, Annette will tell me everything to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>In the morning she obeyed her grandmother’s request, and went to Nassau +Street very early. She told herself as she walked rapidly through the +frosty air that there would likely be some little change in Annette. +“There always is,” she mused; “as soon as a girl is engaged something +takes place<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_181">{181}</a></span>—I wonder what it is.” The first symptom of this change met +Sappha at once. Annette did not run to meet her as usual, and though +quite as demonstrative, there was a little air of superiority, of +settlement, of some subtile accession, that was indefinable, and yet +both positive and practical. She was dressed with great care, and in +high spirits; and madame shared obviously in all her anticipations.</p> + +<p>Sappha was indeed astonished at her grandmother’s appearance and excited +mood. Annette answered Sappha’s congratulations with a kiss and a smile +only; but madame expressed her pleasure frankly. She was already +planning Annette’s wedding and Annette’s home. Suddenly she recollected +herself, and said, “Well, then, have you remembered the secret I +promised to tell you this morning, Sappha?”</p> + +<p>“Is not Annette’s good fortune the secret, grandmother?”</p> + +<p>“No. Listen to me. I am going to the theatre to-night! You do not +believe me? I assure you it is true. And you, and Annette, and Achille +go with me. Achille has been making all preparations for my comfort; and +I am sure to have a very happy evening. But it would not be happy, +unless you and Annette shared it. Now you must return home, and send +here the dress you are going to wear; and then you will spend the day +with me. It is to be my gala day. I shall wear my velvet gown, and I am +as happy as a little girl. A great evening it will be, and I intend to +share all its gladness, and all its enthusiasms. And as Annette has been +so kind and clever as to add her happiness to mine, it<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_182">{182}</a></span> is a spring-tide +of good luck. I consider myself a very fortunate woman.”</p> + +<p>“Dear grandmother, my father is suffering very much. Will it be kind and +right for me to be at the theatre while he is in such distress?”</p> + +<p>“Your father will drink Portugal wine, and then of course he suffers, +and makes your mother and every one else miserable. He has the gout; +well, you know what that means. I am sorry that he drinks wine, when he +ought to drink water; but what he invites he must entertain. I am sorry +also, that your mother cannot go with us; she has not drunk Portugal +wine, and yet she has the deprivation. Yes, for your mother I am sorry. +But as for stopping from the theatre to think about pre-arranged +suffering, I shall not do it—and there is no obligation on you to +deprive yourself of this night’s pleasure. If I can go with a good +conscience, you may safely go with me.”</p> + +<p>She had talked herself into a tone of self-defence, and Sappha perceived +that it would be unwise to say more. Also, she was very eager for the +promised entertainment, and wonderfully delighted at the idea of her +grandmother’s pleasant vagary.</p> + +<p>“Why, grandmother!” she answered, “it will be part of the performance to +see Madame Jonaca Bloommaert present. You will make quite a sensation, +and when I am an old woman I shall talk about the night I went with +grandmother to the Park Theatre.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_183">{183}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>Then she drew the lovely girl to her side and kissed her, and after a +little discussion about the dress to be worn, urged her to go home and +procure it. Also, she sent by Sappha certain messages to her son +Gerardus, which Mrs. Bloommaert, upon consideration, positively refused +to deliver.</p> + +<p>“Your father is paying dearly for drinking a glass or two of wine,” she +answered, “and it is none of God’s way to worry, as well as punish. And +I will not tell him over again what he has been told so often; there is +nothing so aggravating. What are you going to wear?”</p> + +<p>“Mother dear, ought I to go? There is father—and there is Leonard——”</p> + +<p>“I forgot! Leonard called here, while you were away.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, dear! What did you say to him, mother?”</p> + +<p>“I could not see him. I was just giving your father his breakfast. He +slept late this morning, and——”</p> + +<p>“Then what message did you send?”</p> + +<p>“I sent him word you were out, and told him it was impossible to accept +his kind offer. Of course I made the refusal in as agreeable words as +possible.”</p> + +<p>“Did you tell him I had gone to Nassau Street?”</p> + +<p>“I forget—I suppose I did. It was Kouba who opened the door. Kouba +would be sure to tell him.”</p> + +<p>Then Sappha went to her room, packed the clothing she desired, and sent +it to Nassau Street by Kouba. On being<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_184">{184}</a></span> questioned, he could not +remember whether he had told Mr. Murray to go to Nassau Street or +not—thought maybe he had. “Master Murray mighty dissatisfied like,” he +added, and then he looked curiously in Sappha’s face.</p> + +<p>“You are to take this parcel to Nassau Street, Kouba; and when you come +back here you will find a letter for Mr. Murray on the piano; you will +then go and find Mr. Murray, and give him the letter.”</p> + +<p>The writing of this letter was a difficult task to Sappha. She felt the +cruelty of Leonard’s position very much—his offer to her family had +been early and most generous; yet it was impossible for her father and +mother to accept it, and equally impossible for her to accept it alone. +The disappointment to his own plans Leonard would doubtless take as +cheerfully as possible; but what would he say to her going with Achille? +For he might not see Madame Bloommaert’s claim on her granddaughter in +the light of an affectionate command and compliance; and then he would +be jealous again—and then—and then? Sappha felt bewildered, until she +recollected Annette’s engagement. That circumstance would certainly +define Achille’s position and prevent any ill-will. “And I told him in +my letter about it, so then it is all right.” Thus she reasoned herself +into a satisfied mood; and when she returned to her grandmother’s and +cousin’s company she could not help catching the joyous expectancy of +the situation.</p> + +<p>And very soon Achille came in, and it was prettily amus<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_185">{185}</a></span>ing to watch the +behaviour of the newly betrothed. It seemed as if they now found all the +world a delightful mystery, a secret between themselves only. Such +reliance, such hope, such expectation, had suddenly sprung up between +them that there was a constant necessity for little confidences and +unshared understandings. However, nothing could be more beautiful than +the manner in which Achille treated madame. He consulted her about all +the evening’s arrangements, and gave her an affection and respect, which +she returned with that charming kindness that is the innocent coquetry +of old age.</p> + +<p>It was finally agreed that Achille should come for them soon after five +o’clock. The usual hour for opening the theatre was six, but Achille +said the crowd on the streets was already very embarrassing and +difficult to manage.</p> + +<p>All afternoon there was a growing sense of something unusual and +paramountly exciting—that undistinguishable murmur born of human +struggle and exulting gladness. The three women dressed to it, and were +all ready for their refreshing cup of tea at half-past four o’clock. +Both girls had tacitly agreed that madame was to be the heroine of the +occasion. Both assisted in her toilet, and escorted her downstairs like +maids of honour. And certainly it would have been hard to find a woman +of more distinguished appearance. Her gown of black velvet, though not +in the mode, was in <i>her</i> mode, and suited her to perfection. White +satin and fine lace made the stomacher, and her white hair was<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_186">{186}</a></span> shaded +by lace and by a little velvet hood turned back with white satin. Her +face had a pretty pink flush, and she was very quiet during the last +half hour of waiting.</p> + +<p>“There were no theatres when I was a girl,” she said softly. “Would you +believe, my dears, that I have never been in a theatre, never seen a +play? I wonder me, what your grandfather Bloommaert would say?”</p> + +<p>“He would be glad to have you go, of course,” answered Sappha. “Why, +grandmother, you ought to go to-night. It is not the play you are going +to see, it is something grander.”</p> + +<p>She smiled, and Annette said, “I hear a carriage coming. Grandmother, +how do I look?”</p> + +<p>“You are both pretty enough. It is a great satisfaction to see you +dressed alike.”</p> + +<p>Then Achille entered, and hurried them a little. He said the immense +crowd would render their progress very slow; but no one cared much for +the delay. The crowd was orderly and full of enthusiasm. Scudder’s +Museum, all public places, and private houses were brilliantly +illuminated; there was a sound of music everywhere, and the crowd itself +continually burst into irrepressible patriotic song.</p> + +<p>It was nearly six when they succeeded in reaching the theatre, and +madame’s heart thrilled very much as a child’s would have done when she +entered what seemed to her a fairy palace. For the whole front of the +theatre was a bril<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_187">{187}</a></span>liant transparency representing the engagement of the +frigates <i>United States</i> and <i>Macedonian</i>. The Star Spangled Banner met +their eyes on all sides, and to its inspiring music they entered the box +Achille had provided. Most of the boxes were already filled to their +utmost capacity; and in the gallery there was not space enough left for +the foot of a little child. But the pit was empty, and to it every eye +was turned. Almost immediately the tumultuously joyful cheering outside +announced some important arrival. The orchestra struck up, with amazing +dash and spirit, <i>Yankee Doodle</i>, and three hearty cheers answered the +music as four hundred sailors from the war frigates entered. The crowd +inside rose to greet them; cheer followed cheer, until women and men +both sobbed with emotion. Then the gunner with his speaking trumpet took +his stand in the centre of the pit, in order to command silence if +necessary, and the boatswain with his silver call stood next him, to +second his commands. And four hundred sailors in their blue jackets, +scarlet vests, and glazed hats, all alive with patriotism and excited +with victory, made a remarkable audience. They had just come from a +dinner given them by the city at the City Hotel, and were exceedingly +jovial, and perhaps the big gunner and the boatswain standing up in +their midst were not amiss as guides and masters of ceremonies, for when +Decatur shortly afterwards entered the box provided for him they rose at +the sight of their commodore as one man, and gave twelve such cheers as +only four hundred<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_188">{188}</a></span> proud and happy sailors could give; every man +standing on tiptoe and flourishing his glazed hat in that saucy, +dauntless way that is peculiar to sailors. And whoever heard those +repeated huzzas, with the silver whistle of the boatswain shrilling +through them, heard music of humanity that they never in life forgot. +Madame wept silently and unconsciously, Sappha sat with gleaming eyes +still and white with emotion, Annette clapped her hands and leaned on +Achille for support. The very atmosphere of the house was tremulous and +electric, and men and women said and did things of which they were quite +unconscious. And wild as the excitement was, it continued during the +whole performance; the play, the scenes, the transparencies and dances +being chosen and arranged for the purpose of calling out the naval +spirit of the audience and of doing homage to the American sailor, who +was deservedly at that hour the hope of the country and the idol of the +people.</p> + +<p>When the wonderful evening was over the sailors left the theatre in +perfect order, and preceded by their own band of music marched to their +landing at New Slip; and while this exit was transpiring, so many people +visited Madame Bloommaert that she may be said to have held a ten +minutes’ royal reception in her box. And though the beautiful old woman +with her beaming face and rich dark drapery was in herself a picture +worth looking at, her charm was greatly increased by the lovely girls +who stood on either side of her—both of them dressed alike in pale blue +camblet gowns and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_189">{189}</a></span> spencers of the then rare chinchilla fur, so soft, so +delicately grey, so inconstestably becoming.</p> + +<p>“I have had four hours of perfect happiness,” said madame, as she lay at +last among her pillows, with her hands clasped upon her breast, “of +perfect happiness! Think of that, children! Four hours of perfect +happiness!”</p> + +<p>Annette said eagerly, “I too, grandmother, I too have been perfectly +happy.” But Sappha did not speak, she bent her head and kissed madame, +and fussed a little about her night posset, and her pillows, and the +rush light, and so managed to evade any notice of a silence which might +have been construed adversely. For indeed Sappha had not been perfectly +happy. She had rejoiced with those that rejoiced, but in her heart there +was a sense of failure. Leonard had not sought her out, and she had been +unable to gain any recognition from him. For a short time he was in the +Clarks’ box, and she watched for some sign that he was aware of her +presence; but the sign did not come, and long before the entertainment +was over he had disappeared.</p> + +<p>“He is jealous again,” she thought with a sigh. And really it appeared +as if, in this crisis, he had some cause for offence. His offer to +accompany Sappha and her family had been refused, and Sappha was with +Achille. He had not even been asked to join Achille’s party, and as for +the judge’s gout—every one knew he was subject to the complaint. He +thought Mrs. Bloommaert might have left him for three or four hours; he +told himself that she would have<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_190">{190}</a></span> done so if Sappha had asked her with +sufficient persuasion. It angered him to see the girl he loved and whose +troth he held, in the company of Achille St. Ange. For he was not yet +aware of Achille’s engagement to Annette, the letter which Sappha sent +by Kouba not having reached him. For Kouba had thought far more of +enjoying the excitement of the streets than of finding Mr. Murray, and +the only effort he made in that direction was to finally leave the +letter at the City Hotel, where he was told Mr. Murray was dining.</p> + +<p>So this tremulous fear of having wounded her lover was dropped into +Sappha’s cup of pleasure, and clouded and dimmed its perfection. Its +very uncertainty was fretsome; there was nothing tangible to put aside; +it affected her as a drop of ink infects a glass of pure water—it +cannot be definitely pointed out, but it has spoiled the water. The only +certain feeling was a regret, which lay like a slant shadow over her +heart and life. She was glad when the morning came. She wished to go +home, and be alone a little. Annette’s selfish joy, though effusively +good-tempered, was not pleasant, and it struck Sappha in that hour that +there are times when good breeding is better than good temper.</p> + +<p>On arriving at the Bowling Green she interviewed Kouba at once. But +Kouba had his tale ready. He assured Sappha that he had found Mr. Murray +eating his dinner at the City Hotel, and that a white man had promised +to send the letter right away to him, “And I saw him do it,” he added, +with a reckless disregard for facts. If this was the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_191">{191}</a></span> case, then Leonard +knew of the engagement between Annette and Achille, and she could not +imagine why her lover had so obviously ignored her.</p> + +<p>But for a time it was necessary to put this question out of her mind. +She had to describe the previous evening’s proceedings to her father and +mother, and then it was dinner time—and Leonard had not come. She was +utterly miserable, and under the plea of a headache went to her room. It +was impossible for her to talk any longer of those things that did not +concern her. She wanted to think of her lover, and if possible discover +what course was the best to take.</p> + +<p>“Oh, if father had not been ill just at this time!” she sighed, “we +might have been all so happy together last night! Why did father’s +attack come on the very day both mother and I wanted him to be well? Oh, +how unfortunate!” And Sappha’s lament was quite true—the unfortunate +thing usually happens at the unfortunate time, for a malign fate never +does things by half. So the girl wept, and told herself that she was +sorry she had gone to the theatre at all, and that whenever she tried to +be kind to others and to forget herself she was always sorry. She +declared Leonard had a right to be offended. He had been badly treated, +and his desire to have their engagement made public was a wise and +honourable one for both of them. Perhaps her arguments were all wrong, +but then the human relations are built on feeling, not on reason or +knowledge. And feeling is not<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_192">{192}</a></span> an exact science; like all spiritual +qualities, it has the vagueness of greatness about it.</p> + +<p>However, youth is happy in this respect—it can weep. Sorrow finds an +outlet by the eyes; when we grow older it sinks inward and drowns the +heart. So Sappha wept her grief away, and was sitting in a kind of +dismal, hopeless stillness when Leonard came.</p> + +<p>They met and embraced speechlessly, and it was evident that Leonard also +had been suffering. But in little confidences and mutual explanations +all suspicions and fears passed away, and their love was nourished and +cherished by the tears with which they watered it. And in this interview +they came to the conclusion that their engagement must be publicly +ratified, and Leonard promised to see Judge Bloommaert as soon as the +latter was able to discuss the subject.</p> + +<p>“And you will not vex my father about Mr. Burr? Dear Leonard, you will +not put Mr. Burr before me?”</p> + +<p>“I will put no one on earth before you, my darling! No one!”</p> + +<p>“Remember, Leonard, that you have had nothing but worries since you +visited the man. But wherever or whenever you meet Aaron Burr, I would +count it an unlucky day.”</p> + +<p>And the questionable words sunk deeper into Leonard’s consciousness than +far more reasonable arguments would have done. He answered them with +kisses only, but as he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_193">{193}</a></span> walked up the Bowling Green he said at +intervals, as if answering his thoughts: “Perhaps—maybe—who can tell? +She is best of all, God forever bless her!”</p> + +<p>As for Sappha, she went swiftly upstairs to her room. Her heart was as +light as it had been heavy. She sat down, she arose, she rubbed her +palms with pleasure, she sighed, she smiled, and her eyes were full of +love’s own light as she whispered softly, “Leonard! Leonard! Leonard! +Oh, my dear one!”</p> + +<p>Thus does grief favour all who bear the gift of tears.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_194">{194}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VII"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER SEVEN<br><br> +<i>The Incident of Marriage</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_T.png" +width="80" height="80" +alt="T"></span>HE interview so important to Leonard’s love affairs, and so eagerly +desired by him, did not come as he had planned it should come. He had +intended to speak to the judge when Mrs. Bloommaert was present and +Sappha not far away, for he counted very largely on their personal +influence for a favourable answer to his request. But one morning as he +was passing the house the judge, who was sitting by the window, saw him; +and by a friendly, familiar gesture, invited him to an interview.</p> + +<p>“You see, Mr. Murray,” he said cheerfully, “I have fallen behind in all +city news. Sit an hour and tell me what is going on.” And he held the +young man’s hand and looked with pleasure into his frank, handsome +countenance.</p> + +<p>“Well, judge, De Witt Clinton is sure to be re-elected mayor.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes; the majority of the council are Federalists.”</p> + +<p>“I think the war party are equally in his favour.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt, he has been a good mayor. Any war news?”</p> + +<p>“There is a report that the <i>Constitution</i> captured the British war +frigate <i>Java</i> about last Christmas Day. I be<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_195">{195}</a></span>lieve the report, for it +came by the privateer <i>Tartar</i>, Captain King.”</p> + +<p>“I wish we could have any such news from the Niagara frontier. Nothing +but disaster comes that way. The government has requested my son Peter +to go there and assist Brown with the building of the lake fleet. I +wonder if it will accomplish anything.”</p> + +<p>“All it is intended to accomplish, judge. We must give the men up there +time and opportunity. Before summer is over we shall hear from them.”</p> + +<p>They then began a conversation upon the defences of New York, and +Leonard described the work going forward on Hendrick’s reef, and at +Navesink. “There are more than eight hundred Jersey Blues on the +heights,” he said, “and the telegraph on the Highlands is ready to work. +General Izard is an active and zealous officer.”</p> + +<p>Having exhausted this subject, the judge suddenly became personal, and +with an abruptness that startled Leonard, asked:</p> + +<p>“How are you spending these fine winter days, Mr. Murray? Tell me, if my +question is not an intrusive one.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, sir, I consider it a great honour. And advice from you, at this +time, would be of more service than you can imagine.”</p> + +<p>“If you will take it; but most people ask advice only that it may +confirm them in the thing they have already resolved to do.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_196">{196}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“I will ask your advice, sir. It cannot but be better than my own +opinion.” Then Leonard explained his intention with regard to the study +of the law regulating real estate, and Judge Bloommaert listened with +attention and evident satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“It will be a good thing for you to do, Mr. Murray,” he answered, when +Leonard ceased speaking. “You ought not to be idle, even if you can +afford it; and this study will not only employ your time, it will +eventually save you much money. Go and see Mr. Vanderlyn. Perhaps he may +let you read with him. No one knows more about real estate.”</p> + +<p>“I have been told, sir, that Mr. Burr is the greatest authority on that +subject.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burr is out of consideration.”</p> + +<p>“I confess, sir, that I have already considered him.”</p> + +<p>“Have you spoken to him?”</p> + +<p>“Not definitely.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Murray, if you sit in Mr. Burr’s office, you will soon share his +opinions. And in such case, I should be compelled to forbid you the +society of myself and family. You cannot touch pitch and not be +defiled.”</p> + +<p>He spoke with rising anger, and Leonard answered as softly as possible:</p> + +<p>“Judge, I ask your advice in this matter. I have already told you I +would take it. Can we not talk of Mr. Burr as reasonably as of the war +and our defences? I am open to conviction, and free to confess that I do +not<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_197">{197}</a></span> see what Mr. Burr has done to merit the ostracism he is receiving +from certain parties. I suppose it is one of the accidents of his fate, +a paradox—and life is full of paradoxes.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burr’s ostracism is no accident, it is his own act. The man has +committed a crime, and the interpretation thereof is written on +everything he does.”</p> + +<p>“You mean his duel with Mr. Hamilton? Sir, if Mr. Hamilton had killed +Mr. Burr, would the Federalists have considered it a crime?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Hamilton’s case is out of our jurisdiction. It is gone to a higher +court.”</p> + +<p>“Is not that special pleading, judge?”</p> + +<p>“It will do for the case.”</p> + +<p>“Hamilton had publicly called Burr unprincipled, dangerous, despicable, +an American Cataline—oh, many other derogatory epithets! Would not Mr. +Burr have been generally held as despicable if he had not defended his +good name?”</p> + +<p>“By killing his defamer?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, how else could he have done it?”</p> + +<p>“In politics men call each other all sorts of ill names. They even +invent new ones for their opponent. And though in Paradise the lion will +lie down with the lamb, in Paradise they will not have to submit their +rival political views to general elections. Say that Mr. Hamilton was +vituperative—it was a war of words. Mr. Burr Had a tongue and a<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_198">{198}</a></span> pen, +as well as Mr. Hamilton. If Mr. Hamilton had insulted Mr. Burr’s wife, +or run off with his daughter, there might have been some excuse for a +bloody settlement, but words, words, words, the tongue or the pen would +have answered them.”</p> + +<p>“Then, judge, you do not approve of the duel?”</p> + +<p>“I do not. But I think that Mr. Burr’s fatal mistake will eventually put +duelling as much out as witchcraft. We shall probably also have strong +repressive laws against it.”</p> + +<p>“Yet as long as public opinion respects duelling, no repressive law will +be as strong as public opinion. We are as moral and intelligent now as +any people can be, yet the duel is not obsolete, nor has Mr. Burr’s +ostracism been a deterrent.”</p> + +<p>“I know that. Last year two men quarrelled about an umbrella in the hall +of Scudder’s Museum, and the next day one of them shot the other dead. +Nine out of ten people called the dead man a fool for his pains. Mr. +Murray, the duel has become perilously close to the ridiculous. Men may +talk about blowing out brains for an angry word, but the majority +quietly laugh at the absurdity. Such conduct is totally unworthy of +American common sense. For no man of intelligence would fight a duel if +he remembered that he would render himself liable to form the text for +an article in <i>The Morning Chronicle</i>. To be treated either with its +satire or its morality would be equally depressing—it would make him +intensely ridiculous in any case. But<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_199">{199}</a></span> we shall never give up duelling +on moral and intelligent grounds.”</p> + +<p>“Then on what other grounds?”</p> + +<p>“The class duellists come from are the brainless class; and if the +custom was strictly confined by this class to their fellows, it would be +one of the most innocent of their amusements. We must make duelling +ridiculous, for when mockery and satire are constant about any subject, +you may know that thing is dead, and its shell only remains.”</p> + +<p>“But, judge, if a man’s honour is assailed——”</p> + +<p>“If we were all Hotspurs, Mr. Murray, and ready to plunge into the deep +and pluck honour by the locks, we might count on sympathy; but when the +majority think with Falstaff, that ‘honour is a mere scutcheon’ we get a +chill, until we remember the divine law. For after all, sir, the +Decalogue remains as a finality. Look up the sixth clause of that code.”</p> + +<p>“There is nothing to add to it, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Not on moral and intellectual grounds. Socially, you may remember the +homely proverb which advises ‘Go with good men, and you will be counted +one of them.’ Go with Mr. Burr, and you will be counted with him; held +at the same price—nay, you will be only one of Mr. Burr’s satellites. +If you want really to study law——”</p> + +<p>“No, sir. I give up the idea. I have said sufficient to Mr. Burr to +wound him if I go elsewhere. And just because he is down at present, I +will not give him a coward’s kick.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_200">{200}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“There is no occasion to do so. It is not a chargeable thing to salute +civilly. But Mr. Burr’s affairs are none of your profit, therefore why +make them your peril?”</p> + +<p>“I thank you for your good advice, judge.”</p> + +<p>“Then take it.”</p> + +<p>“I will, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Now having interfered with your intention, I am bound to offer you +something in its place. It is this: I can get you active employment with +Gouverneur Morris, Simeon De Witt, and John Rutherford, who are busy yet +in perfecting their plans for the streets of the future New York. I +should not wonder if they map out the whole island. In fact, they have +already provided space for a greater population than is collected on any +spot this side of China. I cannot say I like their mathematical +arrangement; they are making a city idealised after Euclid—straight, +stiff, wearisome, without character or expression.”</p> + +<p>“But it will be a most convenient arrangement. I would carry the plan +out, even north of Harlem Flat.”</p> + +<p>“There will be no houses there for centuries to come.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, sir, before this century goes out.”</p> + +<p>The judge smiled. He liked the young man’s enthusiasm, and he answered: +“So be it. You shall help to survey the ground. I will speak to De Witt +to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>At this point of the discussion there was a knock at the front door, +followed by a little stir of entrance, and the sound of speech and light +laughter. Both men were sud<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_201">{201}</a></span>denly all ear. There was no more +conversation, and after a few moments of silent expectation Mrs. +Bloommaert and Sappha entered the room together. They were in happy +mood, and Sappha was so lovely with the bloom of the frosty air on her +smiling face that Leonard forgot everything and every one but her, and +before either were aware he had taken her hands and kissed her.</p> + +<p>The next moment they both realised their position, and Leonard, still +holding Sappha’s hand, led her to the astonished father. “Sir,” he said, +“we have loved each other since we were children. Will you now sanction +our love, and permit our betrothal?”</p> + +<p>The judge looked helplessly at his wife. She was watching the young +couple with smiles on her face, and evident sympathy in her heart for +their cause. If he wished to be adverse and disagreeable, he foresaw he +would have no help from Mrs. Bloommaert. Yet to give up in a moment all +the wavering feelings of dislike he had entertained for Leonard, and all +his own settled purpose of no recognised engagement for his daughter +until peace was accomplished, was a hard struggle. Perhaps it was well +he had to decide in a moment. At that precise hour he was in a mood of +liking Leonard, and he had no time to reason himself into another mood. +Slowly, and with a little asperity, he answered:</p> + +<p>“Mr. Murray, it seems to me you have not waited either for my sanction +or my permission.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_202">{202}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Ah, sir, consider the temptation.”</p> + +<p>Involuntarily he looked into the face of “the temptation.” With clear, +shining eyes she held his eyes a moment, and then her voice uttered the +undeniable entreaty: “I love Leonard so dearly, father. And he loves +me.”</p> + +<p>“I see! I see!”</p> + +<p>“We only wish to please you, father; that is best of all.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, sir, that is best of all!” said Leonard eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Well, well! In this country the majority rules. What can a man do if +there are three against him, especially when one of the three is his +wife?” and he shook his head, and looked somewhat reproachfully at his +wife.</p> + +<p>Then Sappha slipped her arms around his neck, and laid her cheek against +his, and he embraced his daughter and stretched out his hand to Leonard.</p> + +<p>Thus Fortune often brings in the boats we do not steer, and by what we +call a happy accident guides our dearest and most difficult hopes to a +sudden fruition. It is then a good thing to leave the door wide open for +our unknown angels. They often accomplish for us what we hardly dare to +attempt.</p> + +<p>After this settlement Sappha and Leonard felt that they might revel in +the joy of life and take their pleasure where-ever they found it. And +they found it both in public and private affairs. Annette’s marriage was +to take place in June, and there were preparations without end going on +for that event. Her grandfather De Vries had given her, as<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_203">{203}</a></span> a wedding +gift, the Semple place, a beautiful old home set in a fine garden which +had once sloped down to the river bank.</p> + +<p>“It is not exactly what I should have chosen,” said the bride-elect; +“but it is valuable property, and grandfather would not have given it to +me if I had not promised to live there.”</p> + +<p>“It is no hardship to live in the Semple house,” said Sappha. “The rooms +are so large, the woodwork so richly carved, and the garden is the +sweetest, shadiest place in New York, I think.”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother is going to furnish it, and she lets me choose exactly what +I want. I declare, dear Achille and I have no time for love-making, we +are so worried about chairs and tables and wedding garments.”</p> + +<p>“I never should have thought Achille would worry about anything. He is +always so deliberate, and so calm.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but a man in love is a different creature, and I can tell you that +Achille is distractingly in love. I am not quite ignorant about the +queer ways of men in a fever of infatuation. Why, he scarcely ever goes +to see the pastry cook now.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but De Singeron was a gallant officer of King Louis! He is in exile +and misfortune, that is all. The pastry business is but an +emergency—and he manages it splendidly——”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I have always liked his good things. And he is going to make +us the most wonderful wedding cake. However, when Achille and I are +married Achille will have<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_204">{204}</a></span> to give up many things, and Monsieur Auguste +Louis de Singeron will be one of them. At present I have too many things +to worry about to interfere.”</p> + +<p>“You have nearly half a year in which to do your worrying. Why not take +things more easily?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, the fun is in the fuss! Did you hear that General Moreau is going +back to Europe to join the allies? The emperor of Russia has sent for +him, and now he will have the chance to pay Napoleon back for his nine +years’ exile. But I shall never pass 119 Pearl Street without a sigh. No +one ever gave such princely entertainments as the Moreaus. The general +is to have a great appointment, but what he likes best is the chance of +fighting the world’s big tyrant. Achille is going to see him embark—and +many others. But this is not my affair. There is my wedding gown, for +instance.”</p> + +<p>“Have you decided on it?”</p> + +<p>“It must be white—everything about me must be white. Achille says so. I +think grandmother will send to Boston for the silk or satin; there is +none here of a quality fit for the most important gown a woman can ever +wear. You would think it was grandmother’s wedding, she is so interested +in every little thing about it.”</p> + +<p>Indeed, Annette did not much overstate madame’s interest in her +granddaughter’s marriage preparations. She lifted the additional work, +and even the additional expense, with a light-hearted alacrity that was +wonderful. And in many<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_205">{205}</a></span> ways her cheerfulness brought her a rich and +ready reward. She had been almost a recluse for some years, she was now +seen constantly on the streets and in the stores, and not infrequently +in this way she became a delighted spectator of public parades and +military drills and movements. Achille usually accompanied her, and his +respectful attentions were a source of wonder and speculation to those +who forgot to consider that Frenchmen are specially trained to give +honour, and even reverence, to old age. So it was not remarkable that +madame put on a kind of second youth; how could she be in constant, +affectionate accord with four loving young hearts and not do so?</p> + +<p>For the next half-year, then, Annette was the centre of interest in her +own little world. The judge and Mrs. Bloommaert, Sappha, and Leonard +gladly entered into the spirit of this generous service for, and +sympathy with, the exultant little bride. And at this period of her +life, even her foibles and selfishness were pleasantly excused. It was +her last draught of the careless joy of girlhood; no one wished to +spill, or spoil, one drop of it.</p> + +<p>Leonard and Sappha were much of their time at the Bloommaert House in +Nassau Street; although Leonard, in the City Commissioner’s office, was +making some pretence of mapping out streets and lots of ground in the +wilderness round Harlem Flat. But this business hardly interfered with +his attentions to Sappha and Annette; nor yet with the military spirit +which took him very regularly to the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_206">{206}</a></span> guard-room of some of the +volunteer companies. He was also a recognised dependence when the city +wished to entertain some hero whom it delighted to honour; for then both +his purse and his natural genius for method and arrangement made him an +invaluable surety for success.</p> + +<p>During this half-year there were not many warlike events to influence +New York, and her citizens had become quite used to the guns at the +different forts signalling “the British fleet off Sandy Hook.” Many +false alarms also contributed to this sense of security. They were well +aware, too, that the already numerous forts were being steadily +increased and strengthened, and in April the Battery parade was +fortified. This park was then a strip of greensward about three hundred +feet wide, between State Street and the water’s edge. It had no sea +wall, only a low wooden fence on the edge of a bluff two or three feet +high; then loose sand and pebbles to the water’s edge. There was a dock +at the foot of Whitehall Street, and at Marketfield Street the water +came nearly to the middle of the block between Washington and Greenwich +streets. About the centre of the southeastern part of this park there +was a public garden and a charming little hall, where coffee, cakes, ice +cream, and other delicacies were served; and on summer evenings some of +the military bands made excellent music there for the visitors.</p> + +<p>Of course, the erection of a breastwork around this water line of the +park was an interesting event to all the dwellers on the Bowling Green, +and Sappha and Leonard, during the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_207">{207}</a></span> lovely days of April and May, took +their walks about the Battery fortifications, and thus thrilled their +love through and through with the passion of patriotism and the glow and +excitement of its warlike preparations.</p> + +<p>It was while these Battery defences were being constructed that the city +gave one of its usual great entertainments to Captain Lawrence, who in +the <i>Hornet</i> had captured the British brig-of-war <i>Peacock</i>. Two +circumstances made this dinner one that brought the war very close to +the people of New York—the first was the fact that Lawrence was a +citizen of New York; the second was the marching of the one hundred and +six survivors of the sunk ship <i>Peacock</i> through all the principal +streets of the city to their prison in Fort Gansevoort, thus affording +the populace a very visible proof of victory. It was, however, +noticeable that few of American parentage offered any insult to the +depressed-looking sailors, while many men of the first consideration +raised their hats as the unhappy line passed. Leonard and Achille were +among this number. “Honour to the vanquished!” said Achille with +emotion; and Leonard, remembering who had taught them that sentiment, +repeated it. And this courtesy was the more emphatic, because at that +very time a large number of British war vessels had entered the +Chesapeake and Delaware bays.</p> + +<p>But did war ever stop marriage? On the contrary, it seems to give a +strange vitality and hurry to love-making; and in the midst of all its +alarms Annette’s wedding prepara<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_208">{208}</a></span>tions went blithely on to their +determined crisis. On the seventh of June Annette, being of age, became +mistress of her estate, and on the seventeenth of the same month she +married Achille St. Ange.</p> + +<p>It was an exquisite summer day, and the old house in Nassau Street had +never looked more picturesquely homelike. Every rose tree was in bloom, +and doors and windows were all open to admit the scented air. For the +company far exceeded the capacity of the parlours; it filled the hall, +the stairway, and the piazzas, and even in the garden happy young people +were wandering among the syringa bushes and the red and white roses. And +presently there was a little wistful, eager stir, and Annette, followed +by her grandmother and Sappha, came softly down the stairway. Then the +girls sitting there rose and stood on each side of the descent, and +Achille hastened to meet the snow-white figure, and ere she touched the +floor took her hands in his own. And never had Annette looked so fair +and so lovely; from the rose in her hair to the satin sandals on her +feet she was in lustrous white. The faint colour of her cheeks, the +deeper red of her mouth, and the heavenly blue of her eyes were but the +tender tints that gave life to the bright, slow-moving, bride-like +beauty.</p> + +<p>Many a time Annette had consciously assumed a pensive, thoughtful +expression, for Achille admired her most in such moods; but there was no +necessity for the pretence this day. Those who had any penetrative +observation might see beyond<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_209">{209}</a></span> the light of her sweet smiles and glances +the shadowed eyes that both remember and foresee. She was not a girl at +all inclined to reflection, but feeling and intuition go where reason +cannot enter, and Annette felt that this very day was the meridian day +of her life. Having gained this, the height of her hope and desire, she +wondered—even against her will—“if she must henceforward tread the +downward slope until the evening shades of life found her?” Was this day +to give a future to her past and change girlhood’s simple hopes into the +richer joys of wifehood? Or would this new self that had just taken +possession of her bring kisses wet with tears, waste remembrance of +vanished hours, and forlorn sighs for the days eventual? Not these +words, but the sentiment of them, insinuated itself into the bride’s +consciousness. It was uncalled, and unwelcome; and Annette, frowning at +the intrusion, dismissed it. She had always found “change” meant +something better, and that there was ever a living joy, ready to take +the place of a dead one, even as—</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The last cowslip in the fields we see<br></span> +<span class="i1">On the same day with the first corn poppy.”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>Fortunately, after any great domestic vicissitude, there is generally a +suspension of everything unusual. The family in which it has occurred +refuse to be drawn into further changes. They instinctively feel that +marriage, as well as death, makes life barren, and they say in many +different ways, “It is enough. Leave things as they are; at least, for a +little while.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_210">{210}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>This was certainly the feeling in the Bloommaert family, and it was made +more sensible by the unsatisfactory condition of the country. The +campaign on the northern frontier had been, all the year, one military +disaster, and the president designated the ninth of September as “a day +of humiliation, fasting, and prayer, and for an invocation for divine +help.” On the eighth of September the British men-of-war captured thirty +coasters within twelve miles of New York city, and the citizens who +knelt in the pews of Trinity the next day not only felt the need of +divine help, but were also wonderfully strengthened and comforted by the +appropriate selection designated in the Prayer Book for the ninth day of +the month. These were so remarkably suitable and encouraging that +several of the newspapers called attention to the circumstance.</p> + +<p>The very day after this public entreaty for help Commodore Perry in his +flagship <i>Lawrence</i> won his victory on Lake Erie, and on the +twenty-second of the month the news reached New York City, and turned +fear and sadness into hope and triumph. General Harrison’s victory over +Tecumseh followed, and these two successes had a special claim on the +thankfulness of New York City and State; for “they gave security and +repose to two hundred thousand families, who a week before then, could +not fall asleep any night, with the certainty of escaping fire or the +tomahawk until morning.”</p> + +<p>Never since the white man first trod Manhattan Island had food and +clothing been so difficult to obtain; and yet the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_211">{211}</a></span> great mass of the +people of New York City did not seem to be at all anxious about national +affairs. They had become accustomed to the war, and domestic life went +very well then, to its triumphs and excitements of many kinds. For, if +the prices of all the necessities and conveniences of life were high, +there were plenty of treasury notes to pay for them; and very frequently +valuable cargoes were brought, or sent, into port as prizes of some of +the American privateers that were then swarming on the ocean.</p> + +<p>Harrison’s victory and the approach of winter gave New York a feeling of +present security, and the city was unusually gay. General Moreau’s +princely entertainments were hardly missed, for the St. Anges’ dinners +and balls were even more frequent, and more splendid; and Annette +presided over these functions with a marvellous grace and tact. She +seemed, at this time, to have realised her utmost ambition, and to be +happy and satisfied in the actuality. Even the judge was more hospitable +than he had ever before been; and madame was in a perpetual flutter +between the dinners of her son Gerardus and the dances of her +granddaughter, Annette.</p> + +<p>So to the thrill of warlike drums and trumpets and the witching music of +the dance fiddle Sappha’s wooing went happily forward. There was +constant movement between the Bowling Green, Nassau Street, and the +Semple house; and it was just as well Leonard had not opened any law +book, for in these days all his reading and research was in the light<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_212">{212}</a></span> +and love of Sappha’s eyes. Certainly in the City Commissioner’s office +his work was trifling and inconstant, for the greater part of his time +was spent in the civil services necessary for the comfort of the many +militia companies then in the city. In this respect he held a kind of +non-official over-sight; for he was always ready to personally supply, +at once, comforts which otherwise would have been delayed. Consequently +he was welcome in every guard-room, and no young man in New York was +more popular or more respected.</p> + +<p>Judge Bloommaert was well aware of this fact, and yet there were times +when the old dislike would assert itself; and, strange as it may seem, +this feeling was usually caused by Leonard’s overflowing vitality, his +almost boisterous good humour, and his confident conversation.</p> + +<p>“The fellow never knows when he has ceased to be interesting,” he said +one night fretfully, “and you and Sappha hang upon his words as if they +were very wisdom. I am astonished at you, Carlita.”</p> + +<p>“And I at you, Gerardus. Why cannot you two talk an hour together +without getting on each others’ prejudices?”</p> + +<p>“Leonard is always so cock-sure he is right.”</p> + +<p>“Convince him he is wrong.”</p> + +<p>“You cannot handle his arguments any more than you can handle soap +bubbles; both are so empty.”</p> + +<p>“I think he is very interesting. He knows all that is going on, and he +tells us all he knows.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_213">{213}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“To be sure! He is a walking newspaper, and the leading article is +always Leonard Murray. Whatever does Sapphira Bloommaert see in him? I +am sure, also, that he keeps up his acquaintance with Mr. Burr. Yet he +knows my opinion about that man.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you see, Gerardus, though you may interfere somewhat in Leonard +Murray’s love affairs, you cannot dictate to him concerning his friends. +Suppose he should tell you that he did not approve of your friendship +with Mr. Morris?”</p> + +<p>“The impertinence is not supposable, Carlita. What are you thinking of? +Such remarks are enough to make any man lose his temper.”</p> + +<p>“Very likely, but if you lose your present temper, Gerardus, do not look +for it; it is not worth finding. Do you really wish to separate Sappha +and Leonard, after all that has been said and granted?”</p> + +<p>“I do not say that. Cannot a man grumble a little to his wife? And must +she take every fretful word at its full value? People complain of bonds +they would never break. As the Dutch proverb has it, ‘The tooth often +bites the tongue, but yet they keep together.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“Dear husband, all will come right in the long run. Leonard is in a very +hard position. He desires to please so much that he exceeds, and so +offends. He loves Sappha with all his heart; that should excuse many +faults.”</p> + +<p>“I do not see it in that way. It is not a favour to love<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_214">{214}</a></span> Sapphira, nor +yet a hard thing to do. What are you talking about?”</p> + +<p>“I am saying that we both need sleep. We are tired out now. In the +morning things will look so different.”</p> + +<p>Such little frets, however, hardly ruffled the full stream of the life +of that day. There were plenty of real worries for those who wished to +complain; and for those inclined to take the fervour and faith, the +courage and self-denial of the time, there were plenty of occasions for +happiness and hope. And so the winter grew to spring, and the spring +waxed to summer, and June brought roses and the most astonishing news.</p> + +<p>It came to the Bloommaert’s one morning as they were sitting at the +breakfast table. The meal was over, but they lingered together +discussing a dinner party which Annette was to give that day, and their +order of going to it. It was a special dinner, to which only relatives +of the family were invited, and was given in honour of Annette’s little +daughter, then six weeks old. Madame was present, and took an eager +interest in the affair, for the child had been called by her name; and +she had with her the deed of a house in Cedar Street, which she was +going to put into the little Jonaca’s hand.</p> + +<p>Leonard had promised to call for Sappha at twelve o’clock, but the judge +was advising them to go early, when the parlour door was thrown open +with some impetuosity, and Leonard stood looking at the group with a +face full of con<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_215">{215}</a></span>flicting emotions. In a moment every one had divined +that he had important news, and the judge rose to his feet and asked +impatiently:</p> + +<p>“What is it, Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“Two hundred thousand French troops are prisoners of war. Paris is in +possession of the allies. Napoleon has been exiled. The Bourbons are +again on the throne of France.”</p> + +<p>“My God! Is all this true, Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“There is not a doubt of it.”</p> + +<p>“Then I must go and see Gouverneur Morris at once. Tell Annette I will +be on time for dinner.” And he hurried away with these words, and left +Leonard to discuss the news and the dinner with the three excited women.</p> + +<p>There was now no unnecessary delay, for the streets were already in a +state of commotion, the news having spread like wildfire. Nor could they +escape the influence of the fervid atmosphere through which they passed; +the glowing sunshine was not more ardent than the passionate rejoicing +and the passionate hatred that challenged each other at every step of +their progress. Even the shadowy stillness of the Semple gardens and the +large, cool rooms of the house were full of the same restless +antagonising spirit. Annette’s cousins, the Verplancks and the Van +Burens, and her aunt, Joanna de Vries, speedily followed them, but it +was only the women of the families that entered the house; the men +hastened back to Broadway and the Battery to hear and to discuss the +news. And it was hard for Annette to keep a smiling face over her<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_216">{216}</a></span> angry +heart. Who were the Bourbons that they should interfere with her +affairs? Indeed, she complained to her grandmother bitterly of Achille’s +strange conduct. He had left her in the midst of their breakfast, left +her as soon as he heard the news, without one thought as to the family +duties devolving on him that day. And madame had not been too +sympathetic. “You have been crying, Annette,” she said. “I am afraid you +have a discontented temper. For the dinner, your husband will return.”</p> + +<p>“I know not, grandmother. When that pastry cook flung open our parlour +door and cried out ‘<i>Achille! Achille! Napoleon is in exile! The +Bourbons are on the throne of France again!</i>’ Achille flung himself into +the man’s arms, and they kissed each other. Grandmother, they kissed +each other, and then went off together as if they were out of their +senses.”</p> + +<p>“But to you also, Achille spoke? Of the dinner he spoke; I know it.”</p> + +<p>“He said he would return in time for dinner; but he will forget—he was +beside himself——”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, let not Joanna de Vries see that you are vexed at any +thing. Too much she will have to say. Here comes Madame Rutgers! Shall +we go to them?”</p> + +<p>Then Annette went to welcome her guests, and, with longer or shorter +delays, the company gathered. Every one had something strange to add to +the general excitement, but it was only the women that chattered and +quarrelled until near<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_217">{217}</a></span> two o’clock. Then the judge and Leonard came in +together, and were soon followed by the young Verplanks, Commissioner +Van Buren and his two sons, and Cornelius Bogart, Annette’s favourite +cousin.</p> + +<p>But Achille at two o’clock had not arrived, and the dinner was ready, +and the company waiting—the men very impatiently, for at “high ’Change” +they had taken their usual nooning of a piece of raw salt codfish and a +glass of punch, and they knew that the ordinary at the Tontine Coffee +House, in Wall Street, would have at three o’clock a dinner very much +more to their mind, considering the news of the day and the disturbance +and the agitation it had caused. Annette, under these conditions, had +nothing to offer as attractive. The women, fair and otherwise, were the +women of their own family connections; and relations must be taken as +found; there is no choice, as in friends. Which of us has not relations +that would never be on our list of friends?</p> + +<p>So there was an uncomfortable hour of waiting, and as Achille came not +Madame Bloommaert proposed to serve dinner without his presence. “For +one laggard,” she said, “to keep twenty-eight people waiting is not +right, Annette. At once, now, the dinner ought to be served.”</p> + +<p>Annette agreed to this, but it was hard for her to smile, and to keep +back tears. However, just as Judge Bloommaert was going to take +Achille’s place the laggard entered. And he was in such a radiant mood +that he passed over as insignificant his delay. “He was a little +late—he had for<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_218">{218}</a></span>gotten—but then it was remarkable that he should have +remembered at all. Such news! Such glorious news? Oh, it had been a +wonderful morning!”</p> + +<p>In further conversation he said his friend Monsieur de Singeron had +presented his business to a poor French family. “He is going home! He is +beside himself with joy!” he continued. “He will be restored to his +rank, and to his command in the royal guards! Ah! it is enough to have +lived to see this day. It atones, it atones for all!” And Achille, who +could neither eat nor drink, sat smiling at every one. He was sure all +reasonable people must feel as he did.</p> + +<p>“I suppose,” said Judge Bloommaert, “most of the French exiles will +return, as soon as they can, to their native country.”</p> + +<p>“They will make no delays,” answered Achille. “It was a good sight to +watch them on the ship and the river bank. They were unhappy, uncertain, +until they saw with their own eyes the frigate that had brought the glad +news, and her captain understood. He permitted the crowd to tread her +deck. He flew over them the lilies of France. He spoke to them in their +own tongue. Ah, my friends, you will sympathise with these sad exiles; +you will not wonder that they knelt down and wept tears of joy!”</p> + +<p>Indeed, Achille was so transported with his own sympathies that he +failed to perceive the atmosphere of dissent among his guests. True, the +judge’s fellow feeling was evident, also that of the Verplanks, but the +De Vries family<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_219">{219}</a></span> and the Van Burens were in hot opposition to anything, +or any one, whom the Federalists favoured. So the element of the room +was not conducive to domestic rejoicing; and the dinner was virtually a +failure. The men of the party were all anxious to return to their clubs +or gathering-places; and the women, left to themselves, soon exhausted +their admiration for the little Jonaca, and remembered their own homes +and household affairs. And as the day waned, the thick trees surrounding +the Semple house filled the rooms with shadows, and Annette—a little +dismayed by Achille’s conduct—could not lift her flagging spirits to +the proper pitch of hospitality. Then Joanna de Vries opened the way for +an early retreat. She spoke of the restless streets, and of her father’s +great age and loneliness, and immediately every one recollected duties +equally as important. And as madame intended to remain with Annette, +Mrs. Bloommaert and Sappha also took their departure.</p> + +<p>It was a beautiful summer evening, and the streets, though neither +crowded nor boisterous, were full of life. The happy French residents +had illuminated their houses, and through their open windows came joyful +sounds of rejoicing and song. Federalist orators were addressing small +gatherings of people at the street corners, and Democratic orators +contradicting all they said at the next block. Applause, laughter, +derision, enthusiasm of one kind or another thrilled the warm air, and +the joy and pang of life assailed the heart or imagination at every +step.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_220">{220}</a></span></p> + +<p>On the Bowling Green there was a very respectable audience listening to +Gouverneur Morris, who was speaking in such passionate accord with +Achille’s sentiments that it was astonishing not to find Achille at his +right hand.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Morris is the most eloquent speaker of the age,” said Leonard; “let +us listen a few minutes to his words.” And as they did so, they heard +the embryo utterance of that remarkable “Bourbon speech” which he made a +few days afterwards in Dr. Romeyn’s church in Cedar Street:</p> + +<p>“The Bourbons are restored. Rejoice, France, Spain, Portugal, Europe, +rejoice! Nations of Europe, ye are brethren once more! The family of +nations is complete. Embrace, rejoice! And thou, too, my much wronged +country! my dear, abused, self-murdered country! bleeding as thou art, +rejoice! The Bourbons are restored. The long agony is over. The Bourbons +are restored!”</p> + +<p>“Let us go home, Leonard,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. “I never heard so much +praise of the Bourbons before. My father did not approve of them. If +Napoleon is done with, why did not the French people insist on a +republic? They had Lafayette—and others.”</p> + +<p>Leonard answered only, “Yes.” He did not wish to open the subject of the +helplessness of France, nor point out how absurdly irrational it would +be for the allied kings of Europe to found a republic in their midst. He +felt weary of the subject, and the sense of the evening’s failure +affected him. It had been a disappointing day, what was the good<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_221">{221}</a></span> of +prolonging it? Sappha and Leonard might have fallen into the mistake of +doing so, but Mrs. Bloommaert knew better. At the doorstep she +positively dismissed Leonard, who could not quite hide the fact that he +was willing to obey her. But Sappha, who had hoped to charm away this +feeling of tediousness and lassitude when they were alone, was vexed at +losing her opportunity.</p> + +<p>“It was not kind of you, mother, to send Leonard off as soon as we had +done with him. He was weary, too,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Weary! I should think he was,” answered Mrs. Bloommaert; “he must be +worn out with women to-day. Such a crowd of us as Annette got together.”</p> + +<p>“The women were not more disagreeable than the men, mother,” said +Sappha. “And I believe Leonard has gone straight to the militia +guard-rooms—there are nothing but men there, and so he can rest.”</p> + +<p>“I hope he has not gone to any guard-room. Every one will be quarrelling +with his neighbour to-night.”</p> + +<p>Leonard had, indeed, gone to the guard-room of the Jersey Blues, but his +visit was decidedly against his inclination. He was as weary as Mrs. +Bloommaert had supposed him to be—weary of the Bourbons, and of the +passionate fratching about them; weary of men, and of women also; weary +of companionship of all kinds; weary of noise and strain of the restless +city; weary of life itself. Vital and large as his nervous force was, it +had become exhausted; feeling had<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_222">{222}</a></span> wasted it, and disappointment been +equally depleting. He resolved when he turned from the Bloommaert house +to go direct to his rooms in the City Hotel and seek in solitude and +sleep a renewal of strength and hope. On the steps of the hotel an old +acquaintance accosted him, and Leonard rather reluctantly asked “if he +had come to see him?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” answered the man. “I am in trouble, Mr. Murray, and I could think +of no one but you to give me some advice. It is about Miss Martin. You +remember pretty Sarah Martin? We were engaged, and she has broken the +engagement. I am very unhappy. I do not know what to do. I think you can +tell me.”</p> + +<p>“I am going to my rooms now. Come upstairs with me, McKenzie.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot. I must be back at the guard-room in half an hour. Will you +not go with me? We can talk there well enough.”</p> + +<p>Then Leonard went with McKenzie, and after the little formalities with +the men present in the guard-room were over, Leonard and McKenzie took +chairs to an open window and began their consultation. And very soon +Leonard threw off his lassitude and became heartily interested in his +friend’s trouble. Suddenly a voice, blatant and dictatorial, fell upon +his consciousness. It was the voice of a man who had been a member of +the company raised by Leonard, and who during the whole term of its +service was a source of annoyance and disputing—a man of low birth and +of a mean, envious<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_223">{223}</a></span> nature, who had neither a good education nor good +breeding, and, indeed, who affected to despise both. Leonard’s youth, +beauty, fine culture, and fine manners, added to his great wealth and +popularity, roused at once Horace Gilson’s envy; and envy in the close +companionship of a military fort quickly grew to an almost +uncontrollable hatred. And in Gilson’s nature hatred had its proper +soil; he was insensible to the nobler qualities of humanity, and +persuaded himself—and other of his kind—that Leonard’s gracious +forbearance was not the fine courtesy of an officer to his subordinate, +but the fear of a timid and effeminate spirit. Indeed, Leonard’s three +months’ service had been made an hourly trial by the hardly concealed +mockery and contempt of Horace Gilson. Of all men in the wide world he +was the very last Leonard wished to see. He moved his chair a little +nearer to McKenzie, and by so doing faced the open window only. McKenzie +continued talking, unmindful of Gilson’s entrance, but Leonard heard +above all he said the sneering taunt and scoffing laugh of the man he +despised and disliked. Every one and everything appeared to provoke his +disdain, and it was not long before he turned his attention to the two +men sitting apart at the window.</p> + +<p>“Secrets! Secrets!” he cried with effusive familiarity. “We will have no +secrets in a guard-room. Out with the ladies’ names—if you are not +ashamed of them.”</p> + +<p>Leonard looked indifferently out of the window; it was McKenzie’s +affair, not his. And McKenzie, laying his hand<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_224">{224}</a></span> upon his pistol in an +almost mechanical way, merely glanced at the bully and said: “You had +better mind your own business, sir.”</p> + +<p>“I am not speaking to you, McKenzie,” Gilson answered. “I am addressing +Captain Murray, the great New York Adonis and lady killer! Come, +captain, your latest victories?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gilson,” answered Leonard, “my friend and I are discussing private +concerns. When we desire your company, we will let you know. In the +meantime, we wish to be alone.”</p> + +<p>“Now, captain, no more airs from you. You have left the militia, you +know—three months used up your patriotism,” answered Gilson scornfully.</p> + +<p>McKenzie rose in a passion. “Damn your impertinence, Gilson! I’ll give +you a——”</p> + +<p>“Be quiet, Mac,” interrupted Leonard. “The fool is drunk—you can’t even +horsewhip a drunken man.” Then he took McKenzie firmly by the arm and +both rose to leave the room.</p> + +<p>“Drunk, eh?” cried Gilson in a rage. “Drunk! It is well for you both to +get out of my way, for I’ll pay you all I owe you yet, Murray—you, and +your damned dollars! Go and see if you can buy a little common +dog-courage with them.”</p> + +<p>“Let me knock the ranting bully down, Murray.”</p> + +<p>“He is not worth it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_225">{225}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>By this time the men present were on their feet, some urging Murray to +leave the room, some trying to talk reason into Gilson, who became more +and more defiant as the objects of his abuse passed out of the hearing +of it.</p> + +<p>It was a wretched ending to a disagreeable day, and Leonard sat half +through the midsummer night fretting and fuming over the incident. He +was not a quarrelsome man, and a quarrel with Horace Gilson was an +affair too low and despicable to contemplate. Why had McKenzie come to +him with his trouble? He felt the injustice of the visit. If he had been +a few minutes later he would have missed the man and the annoyance that +had grown out of his sympathy with him. He looked wistfully out of the +window towards the Bloommaert house, and remembered Sappha, but speedily +exiled her from his thoughts, because he could not keep the scene at the +guard-room out of them; and it seemed a sacrilege to have both in his +consciousness at the same time.</p> + +<p>However, after an irritating vigil of some hours he fell asleep with +sheer weariness, and when he awakened near noon on the following day +Nature had accomplished her renovating work. The Unseen Powers had +cradled his soul into peace, cleared away the rack and wreckage of an +unfortunate day, and filled his exhausted spirit with the miraculous +strength of Faith and Hope.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_226">{226}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER EIGHT<br><br> +<i>The Rose of Renunciation</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_A.png" +width="80" height="81" +alt="A"></span>S Leonard dressed himself he recollected the guard-room quarrel and +smiled. It seemed really so ridiculous and ineffectual; yet he resolved +to avoid Gilson as much as possible. “The man was drunk,” he thought, +“but sober or drunk, he has an envious nature, and a tongue ready for +ill words. Perhaps he may seek me out and continue his offensive +behavior. What then?” He pondered this likelihood a few moments, and +then asked himself cheerfully:</p> + +<p>“Why should I worry about the probability of such a thing? As if it +mattered.” But it is hard to tell what matters, though safe enough to +say that in conduct it is best not to make trifles of trifles. For there +is an amazing vitality in some trifles, and we know not which may +abortively pass and which may become of momentous importance.</p> + +<p>Yet, for two days Leonard hardly thought of Gilson and his drunken +abuse; or if it entered his mind it was only as an annoying and +commonplace event that he was in no way responsible for. He had not one +fear that it could pos<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_227">{227}</a></span>sibly have any serious effect upon his life. And +as it happened the two days following Annette’s dinner party were +exceedingly happy ones to Sappha and Leonard. One of them was spent with +Madame Bloommaert in Nassau Street, and another with Annette at the +Semple house. Then came Saturday, and Leonard went early in the +afternoon to the Bowling Green. It was a very warm day, the parlour +windows in Judge Bloommaert’s house were open, and Sappha was sitting in +the sunshine happily indolent. She smiled a thousand welcomes as he +entered, but did not move, for her lap was full of knotted embroidery +silks, and Leonard seated himself at her side, and together they began +to slowly unravel and sort the tangled skeins. So happy, so merry, were +they! their hands touching, their heads touching, light laughter and +loving whispers feeding their hearts with a full content.</p> + +<p>When the judge came home Sappha and Leonard rose gaily to meet him, but +they were both chilled by his manner, which was constrained and +unfriendly. A sense of something unpleasant swept out of cognisance the +innocent mirth that had pervaded the room; and in a moment its mental +atmosphere was changed. It was embarrassing, because Leonard did not +like to presume there was an offence—it might be only a passing mood, +and the mood might be caused by something or by some person outside of +their interference. So the suddenly checked lovers sat silent, or only +made whispered remarks about the condition of the silks.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_228">{228}</a></span></p> + +<p>One of these remarks attracted the judge’s attention, and he turned to +the apparently busy young man and said: “Sappha has given you a pretty +tangle to straighten out—Leonard.” He spoke Leonard’s name with a +hesitation that was almost like a withdrawal of the position that had +been given him, and Leonard felt the reluctance keenly, yet he answered +with much cheerfulness.</p> + +<p>“Patience will win her way, sir—she does in every tangle. One by one +the knots are being untied.”</p> + +<p>“You might cut them,” said the judge.</p> + +<p>“That would be wasteful and foolish, sir. No one would be the gainer, +and no one would be satisfied. I will unravel them—with Sappha’s help.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Leonard,”—this time the name was spoken a little more +pleasantly—“well, Leonard, I can tell you there is an ugly tangle up +the street for you either to cut, or to unravel. And I must say, I am +astonished, not to say displeased, at your neglecting it for three +days.”</p> + +<p>“A tangle up the street, sir,—a tangle I have neglected!”</p> + +<p>“You certainly have not forgotten your quarrel with Horace Gilson?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I had no quarrel with the fellow! How could I? He was drunk.”</p> + +<p>“Not too drunk to tell you that you had only three months’ worth of +patriotism; not too drunk to bid you buy a little dog-courage with your +dirty dollars. Sir, you ought<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_229">{229}</a></span> to have stopped such remarks as quickly +as they were made—yes, sir, they ought to have been stopped +peremptorily, whether they were drunk or sober remarks.”</p> + +<p>“But, judge, you cannot talk to a drunken man—you cannot reason with a +drunken man——”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, you can knock him down. That is an argument even a drunken +man will understand.”</p> + +<p>“Father!” cried Sappha with indignation, as she stood with flashing eyes +before him. “Father, to knock a drunken man down would be as bad as to +knock an insane man down. In both cases it would be brutal.”</p> + +<p>“When men make themselves into brutes it is just to treat them like +brutes.”</p> + +<p>“I never heard such nonsense! such cruel nonsense! I think Leonard did +quite right to ignore the fellow.”</p> + +<p>“You have no business, miss, to think anything about such subjects. Go +to your mother.”</p> + +<p>“Mother went to Nassau Street long ago.”</p> + +<p>“I want her. Tell her to come home immediately. And I do not want you. +It is necessary for me to speak to Leonard alone.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. I shall go for mother.” But ere she left the room she took +Leonard’s hands in hers and kissed him. There was a whispered word also, +which the judge did not hear, but the girl’s act of sympathy was +irritating enough. He drew his lips wide and tight, and as soon as +Sappha closed the door he said:<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_230">{230}</a></span></p> + +<p>“Now, sir, what are you going to do? Gilson has been vapouring from Dan +to Beersheba about your—cowardice, and your want of patriotism; and Mr. +Ogden told me that when he instanced your frequent generous loans to the +city Gilson laughed and said you had made forty per cent. on them. ‘You +and your father,’ he added, ‘were both canny Scots, and knew cleverly +how to rub one dollar into two.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“Judge, my father——”</p> + +<p>“Wait a little. Why have you not been in any of your usual resorts since +Wednesday night? It does not look right—the rascal has had a clear +field for all the scurrilous lies he chose to tell.”</p> + +<p>“Sir, if I had known that the man was lying soberly about me, I would +surely have given him openly the name he merits. But I did not dream +that he would dare to say out of liquor what he said in liquor; for he +is a quaking coward, and as fearful as a whipped child. Others are +behind him in this bluster. Alas, my money has never brought me anything +but envy and ill-will—no matter how heartily I give it! What would you +advise me to do, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Make the man hold his tongue.”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>The judge was silent a moment, then with a touch of scorn he answered: +“There is the law. Sue him for slander. He is said to be worth twenty +thousand dollars. Lay your damages at twenty thousand. Your friend, Mr. +Burr, will defend your case very feelingly, no doubt.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_231">{231}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>And with some anger Leonard answered: “That course is out of the +question, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, write a letter to the newspapers.”</p> + +<p>“I do not propose to lend the fellow’s words so much importance.”</p> + +<p>“Then give him his lies back generally, and particularly—give him them +back on the street, and in the guard-room, or wherever you meet him—and +make a point of meeting him, here, there, and everywhere.”</p> + +<p>“That is what I propose to do. Then, sir, egged on by those whose cue he +is now following, he will probably challenge me. Shall I accept his +challenge?”</p> + +<p>“I am not your conscience keeper, Leonard.”</p> + +<p>“Put the question then, as a matter of social expediency.”</p> + +<p>“If the social verdict is what you want, ask Achille St. Ange. He is a +good authority.”</p> + +<p>“Once more, sir. If I lift this foolish business to the moral plane, +what do you say?”</p> + +<p>“Zounds! Leonard, I have told you already that morally judging this +question I hold the Decalogue as a finality!” And with these words the +judge rose to his feet. It was evident he had no more to say on the +subject, and Leonard bid him “good-afternoon” and left the house. There +had been throughout the interview a want of sympathy in the judge’s +manner that insinuated suspicion, or at least uncertainty, and Leonard +was pained and offended by it. Judge Bloommaert<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_232">{232}</a></span> had known him +intimately, yet he had permitted the evil tongue of a stranger to +influence his own experience. Angry tears rose unconsciously to his +eyes, and he asked himself what did it profit a man to be truthful and +generous, if any dastardly liar could smear and cancel the noblest +record? He walked up the Bowling Green with a burning heart, but Sappha +had whispered her promise to be near the statue; and he soon saw the +flutter of her white gown as she came to meet him. They entered the +enclosure and sat down on a bench facing that heroic representation of +Washington, which, made of wood, shaped and coloured to imitate the +rosiest glow of life, was the best artistic effort New York was capable +of one hundred years ago.<a id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> But even if Sappha and Leonard had been +conscious of its artistic defects, they cared little for them at that +hour. Their own affairs were too urgent, too perilously near to trouble +again. And<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_233">{233}</a></span> though Sappha was full of sympathy and quite determined to +uphold Leonard in all he had done and was going to do, yet she at once +gave vent to her womanish fears in the essentially provoking query: “Oh, +Leonard, why did you not show yourself in the city the last three days? +You might have known people would say you were afraid of that dreadful +man.”</p> + +<p>“Dear Sappha!” he answered, “will you, too, oblige me to explain that my +absence from my usual haunts the last three days was quite accidental; +you wanted me to go to Nassau Street with you Thursday, and your +grandmother kept us all day. You wanted me to go to the Semple house +with you Friday, and Annette and Achille kept us all day. This morning +my lawyer brought to the hotel a number of papers and accounts, and it +was noon before we had reviewed them. Then we had a meal together, and +afterwards I came to you. How could I imagine Gilson’s unmerited abuse +of me? And it seems I had no friend or acquaintance willing to take the +trouble to tell me how the man was slandering me behind my +back—everything, and every one, was against me.”</p> + +<p>“Father told you as soon as he heard the scandal.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but not very kindly. There was a taste of doubt in all he said. +And he would give me no positive straight-forward advice. I feel +completely at sea as regards his wishes. I am going this evening to talk +the matter over with Achille.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_234">{234}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! Oh, no! Achille will urge you to fight the low creature. I +cannot bear that, Leonard.”</p> + +<p>“There is not the least danger. Gilson would be a child in my hands.”</p> + +<p>“You never know. Accidents happen—you must be out of practice, and +then, it cannot be right. I don’t believe you are afraid—I am sure you +are not—but I do not want you to fight. I am afraid—I am a mortal +coward about you. You must not accept a challenge, if he sends one. I +shall die of fear. I shall, indeed.”</p> + +<p>“If it should become necessary to fight, I am any man’s equal. My sword +and my hands are trained to perfection. Even Achille admits my +superiority. I, personally, should not be in the least danger. In fact, +I am both with sword and pistol so much more expert than Gilson that it +would be almost cowardice, as well as cruelty, to meet him in a duel. +There could be no justice in such a trial of right or wrong—but how few +people can know this? Or knowing it, feel that it might bind me as an +honourable man to refuse the duel.”</p> + +<p>“I pray you, Leonard, take my advice, and do not go to Achille. It would +be ‘fight, of course you must fight,’ with Achille. He would hear of +nothing else. And for my sake, Leonard, you must not fight. In the long +run, father would be angry if you did, and perhaps make it an excuse for +separating us. Leonard, promise me on your honour not to fight. If you +come to me with bloody hands I will not take<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_235">{235}</a></span> them. And if you let out +life with either sword or pistol your hand will be forevermore bloody. +No water will cleanse it, no good woman will touch it, no saint in +heaven clasp it—better cut it off, and cast it from you, than stain it +for all eternity.” She was quivering with feeling, her eyes were full of +tears, and her voice had those tones of tender authority which subjugate +as well as persuade.</p> + +<p>“My dear darling little preacher,” Leonard answered, “I promise you +these hands shall never do anything to make them unworthy to clasp +yours.” And he took her hand, pressed it firmly between his own, and +kissed his promise upon it. Then she rose smiling; they walked together +to madame’s house, and at the gate they parted.</p> + +<p>But though somewhat comforted, Leonard did not feel as if the way before +him had been either cleared or lightened; in fact, his promise to Sappha +had in some measure closed the only apparent exit out of the dilemma. At +the moment of promising he had been carried away by his love, and had +not thought of contingencies; but as soon as he was alone “the tangle” +became more and more of a tangle; and unfortunately it was Saturday +evening; the streets were quiet, business nearly over for the week, men +generally either at home with their families, or enjoying in their +company the sail up the river or the concert on the Battery.</p> + +<p>Not knowing what to do, or where to go, he did nothing, and went nowhere +but to his rooms in the City Hotel. He was determined to make no false +step. Hurry in this matter<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_236">{236}</a></span> might have calamitous consequences. Out of +just such false, wicked words lifelong tragedies had often come. And +there was Sappha—he must consider Sappha before himself.</p> + +<p>The next day being Sabbath, he went to the Garden Street Church in the +morning and to Trinity Church in the afternoon. In both houses he met +acquaintances, whose recognition of him appeared to be cooler and more +constrained than usual. But then he knew that he was suspicious, and the +change was probably only an imaginary one. When he left Trinity he +walked northward to the Semple house, and on the way met at least two +painful incidents, which were not imagination: When opposite the City +Hall Park he saw Doctor Stevens and his wife approaching him, and as +soon as they perceived Leonard they crossed Broadway and entered the +park. And as this movement took them off the direct way to their home +Leonard was justified in believing they had made it to avoid a meeting +with him. The circumstance pained and angered him. He turned quickly +into Chambers Street, and saw Mr. Leonard Fisher coming towards him. +Now, Mr. Fisher was one of the officers of the Washington Benevolent +Society, of which society Leonard had been the most active member. On +business of relief and charity he had come constantly in contact with +Mr. Fisher, and always in a temper of friendly courtesy. He expected +nothing but a kindly greeting from him, but when he was half a block +distant Mr. Fisher crossed the street, and as<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_237">{237}</a></span> Leonard passed he kept +his eyes stubbornly set on some object in front of him.</p> + +<p>Burning with a sense of wrong and injustice, Leonard hastened forward +and threw himself upon Achille’s friendship. Here he was not +disappointed. Achille entered into his feelings and espoused his cause +with complete understanding and ardent sympathy. He acknowledged Francis +de Mille had said something of the slander to him on the previous day, +but that he had laughed away the words as utterly preposterous, and De +Mille had let the subject drop. “But,” he added, “it can be dropped no +longer. Judge Bloommaert is right. The rascal has had a clear field too +long—now, he must be made to acknowledge his lies, as lies; and then +hold his tongue about your affairs forever.”</p> + +<p>“What is to be done, Achille?”</p> + +<p>“There is but one way—for a man of honour. You must challenge him +immediately.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose so—but Sappha is distressed at the idea. I fear I shall lose +her if I do. And the judge is against the practice.”</p> + +<p>“Those questions come afterwards. Women know not their own minds. If you +fail to punish this ill-tongued fellow, Sappha, in her heart, will +despise you—and the judge also. Take my word for that—so will all +honourable men. You remember that affair in New Orleans? Duplicate it.”</p> + +<p>This last remark seemed to give a sudden light and hope<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_238">{238}</a></span> to Leonard. He +smiled and said cheerfully: “That would be sufficient; thank you, +Achille. Now then, where am I most likely to meet Gilson? Do you know +his haunts or the places he most frequents?”</p> + +<p>“We can easily find them out. Our host of the City Hotel will doubtless +be able to give us information. Look here, Leonard, I have the plan!” +and he took paper and pencil from his pocket, and the two bent over it +in consultation for about half an hour. Then Annette joined them, and +they went to the dinner table, and afterwards Achille told Annette the +dilemma into which Leonard had fallen. He said nothing of a duel, +however; neither did Annette, a circumstance which would have convinced +any woman that she anticipated that result, and was carefully pondering +it. That Leonard stayed with them all night, and that Achille went out +with him early in the morning, was to her substantial confirmation of +her suspicions.</p> + +<p>Privately, she was very angry. Why should her husband relate himself and +his spotless honour with a man whose character had been so shamefully +defamed? It was in Annette’s eyes a piece of Quixotic imprudence. She +thought Achille ought to have remembered that he had a wife and +daughter, and that, at least, her approval should have been asked. She +said to herself that it was not unlikely there was some truth in all Mr. +Gilson had asserted. Men so available as Leonard Murray were likely to +be womanish; and he was always dangling after Sappha Bloommaert. Gil<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_239">{239}</a></span>son +had been talking for three days. It was strange, indeed, that Leonard +had not stopped such imputations at once. “I don’t believe he was +ignorant of them,” she said, and in her passion she uttered the words +aloud: “He knew all about Gilson’s abuse, but he thought the man would +grow weary, or go away, or that Achille or some of his friends, would +lift the quarrel for him. And when none of these conveniences have come, +then he has sought out my husband. Oh, yes! he knew Achille was always +ready for a fight—it is a shame! I am not going to permit it; Leonard +Murray must conduct his own quarrels.”</p> + +<p>To such thoughts she nursed her surmised wrongs all day; and as Achille +did not return home until very late she had become hysterical under the +pressure of their certainty. Nor did her husband’s evasive carelessness +allay her anxiety; she was not consoled by his smiles, nor by the light +kiss with which he advised her “to sleep and forget her imaginary +fears.” This course was not possible to Annette; she lay awake +considering and planning until the dawn. Then, when she ought to have +been on the alert, she fell into the dead sleep of utter mental and +physical weariness.</p> + +<p>In this interval Achille arose, dressed with some care, and calling +Annette’s maid, left with her his “remembrances for madame, and the +assurance that he would be home for dinner.” Annette did not believe the +message. She asked for the hour, and decided there was yet a possibility +of finding her uncle Bloommaert at his home. While she hastily<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_240">{240}</a></span> dressed, +her carriage was prepared, and she reached the Bowling Green house just +as the judge was descending the steps. She arrested him midway. “Uncle,” +she sobbed, “I am in trouble about Achille. I want you to help me.”</p> + +<p>“What is the matter with Achille? Have you been scolding? Has he run +away from you?”</p> + +<p>“I cannot bear jokes this morning, uncle. I think Achille has gone to +fight a duel.”</p> + +<p>“Nonsense!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I am sure he is going to fight that low creature, Horace Gilson. +You know——”</p> + +<p>“Twofold nonsense. He has nothing to do with the man. That is Leonard +Murray’s business.”</p> + +<p>“But Leonard came to Achille on Sunday night. He was full of shame and +anger about every one passing him without recognition; and I am sure he +must have deserved the slight, or Doctor and Mrs. Stevens and Mr. Fisher +would not have done so—on a Sunday, just coming out of church, too, +when people ought to feel friendly.”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, Annette, this is all foolishness, and I am in no mood for +it this morning. If Leonard has been insulted, he knows how to right +himself—and that, without Achille’s help. Gilson is a low, scurrilous +creature, and I hope Leonard will give him a lesson.”</p> + +<p>“Uncle! Uncle! You must not go away without helping me.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_241">{241}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious, Annette! What am I to do? What can I do? If Achille +wishes to stand by Leonard in this matter, nothing I can say will +prevent it. And, by George, I do not intend to say anything! As for +Achille fighting Gilson, that is absurd. Leonard Murray is no special +favourite of mine, but I am sure he is a young man who can do his own +fighting, and who will let no one else do it for him. Leonard will fight +Gilson, if fighting is necessary.”</p> + +<p>“But, uncle, you ought not to put me off in this way. I shall go to +grandmother and tell her.”</p> + +<p>“Well, Annette, that is a dreadful threat—but you will find your +grandmother no more sympathetic, in this case, than I am.”</p> + +<p>“<i>So!</i> Perhaps, however, you will attend to what aunt Carlita says. Come +into the house and let us ask her.”</p> + +<p>“I will not waste any more time, Annette; nor will I sanction you +annoying your aunt this morning. She has had one of her worst headaches +all night long, and has just fallen on sleep. Do not attempt to awaken +her. And you must say nothing unpleasant to Sappha. She is worried +already, and she has been up with her mother all night. Do have +self-control enough to keep your ridiculous fears to yourself—or if you +cannot, then go to your grandmother, or better still, go home. Home is +the proper place for foolish women, full of their own fears and +fancies.”</p> + +<p>With these words he went down the steps, and Annette watched him +angrily. For a moment or two she considered<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_242">{242}</a></span> his advice to “go to her +grandmother”; then suddenly, with a passionate motion of her head, she +lifted the knocker and let it fall several times with unmistakable +decision.</p> + +<p>Sappha, who was busy in the back parlour, ran hastily into the hall, and +when she saw Annette advanced to meet her with a lifted finger and a +“hush!” upon her lips. “Mother has had such a bad night,” she said +softly, “and now she is sleeping. Come in here, Annette, as quietly as +possible. What is the matter? I hope Jonaca is well. Why, Annette, you +are crying!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and it is you who ought to be crying! Yet you appear perfectly +unconcerned.”</p> + +<p>“But why ought I to be crying? You know mother has had these headaches +all her life. This attack is no worse than usual.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Mother! Mother!</i> I am not thinking of your mother! I am thinking of +Leonard Murray.”</p> + +<p>“Is anything wrong with Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know what you call wrong. The whole city considers him +shamefully wrong! No one will speak to him! He is disgraced beyond +everything! I am ashamed, I am burning with anger, to think that he +might have been through you connected with my family—I mean the De +Vries family. And I am distracted about Achille. He came to Achille on +Sunday night—”</p> + +<p>“Who came to Achille?”</p> + +<p>“Leonard Murray, of course. And he almost cried about<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_243">{243}</a></span> the way people +had insulted him—coming out of church, too. And, I suppose, indeed, I +am sure, that Achille promised to help him, and stand by him, and fight +that man Gilson for him——”</p> + +<p>“Stop, Annette! You are not speaking the truth now. You are, at least, +under a false impression. If Gilson is to be fought, Leonard will fight +him. Make no mistake about that. Leonard is no coward; and a man need +not be foolhardy to prove himself brave—only cowards are afraid to be +called cowards. My father has said that very often.”</p> + +<p>“And pray what comes of such ideas? When a man is insulted they lead to +nothing. I have just been talking to my uncle Gerardus, and he thinks +precisely as I do. To let a man go up and down calling you a thief and a +coward, and say nothing, and do nothing, is neither moral nor +respectable. That is Leonard Murray’s position. And I think it a shame +that I have to be kept on the rack for two days about your lover. I +never troubled you about Achille; and I am not well, and when I am sick +then dear little Jonaca is sick—and I have had to get up this morning +hours before the proper time and leave my house, and my child about your +lover, just because he cannot manage his own troubles; troubles, also, +that he has made for himself.”</p> + +<p>“You do not know what you are saying, Annette. Your temper carries you +beyond truth. Leonard did not make this trouble<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_244">{244}</a></span>——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, he did. His pride and self-conceit are intolerable. His +patronage of people is offensive. And Achille and I have often noticed +how purse-proud he was——”</p> + +<p>“It is a shame to say such things, Annette. You know they are +slander—wicked slander! No man was ever less concerned about his +wealth, in fact, he——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, we can let that subject drop—we all know how he spreads abroad his +money. I am speaking now of his cowardice. Every one is speaking of it; +rich and poor alike. He is a byword on the Exchange. He will never have +another invitation to any respectable house. Even I must shut my doors +against him—and, to be sure, no nice girl will ever be seen with him +again.”</p> + +<p>“All that you are saying is cruelly false, Annette; you are trying to +pain and terrify me——”</p> + +<p>“What good would that do me? I am only telling you what you ought to +know.”</p> + +<p>“But why? Why are you telling me?”</p> + +<p>“Because I am angry at you. Why did you advise Leonard to come to +Achille for help?”</p> + +<p>“I did not advise him to come to Achille. How could Achille help +Leonard? The idea!”</p> + +<p>“I say plainly that Achille is now seeking that man Gilson, and if he +meets him before Leonard does—which he is sure to do—he will challenge +him at once.”</p> + +<p>“How ridiculous! Achille has no quarrel with Gilson. Why should he +challenge him?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_245">{245}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Because of the things he has charged Leonard with. And Achille’s honour +is so sensitive, and he is so passionate, the dispute will end in +Achille making it his own quarrel. Then he will fight Gilson, before +Leonard even succeeds in meeting him.”</p> + +<p>“I hope he will!” said Sappha with affected satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“You wicked girl! To say such a thing to a wife and a mother! Oh, now, I +think you are none too good for Leonard Murray! By all means marry +him—only for decency’s sake take yourselves out of New York! There are +places where wealth will cloak cowardice. England, for instance!”</p> + +<p>“All these stories you tell about Leonard are downright lies. Yes, I +shall marry him, and we shall stay here—in New York. Do you understand? +And if you were not insane with temper I would promise myself never to +speak to you again, Annette St. Ange. Cowardice, indeed! You, yourself, +are at this moment suffering from cowardice. Your fear of Achille being +hurt has made you suspicious, unjust, slanderous. And Leonard and I must +endure your shameful words—a woman has no redress. I am going to leave +you. You have willingly wounded and insulted me—without any reason at +all. I hope you will be sorry for it——”</p> + +<p>“I am sorry, Sappha. Do not go away. I am sorry for you—that is the +reason of my temper; and it is Leonard, not you, I am angry at.”</p> + +<p>“We will not name Leonard. If he is all you say, he is not fit for you +to talk about.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_246">{246}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed!”</p> + +<p>“I think you had better go home, Annette. You are making yourself, and +me, also, ill; for nothing.”</p> + +<p>“For nothing! That is all the thanks I receive for getting up so early +and coming to warn and advise you.”</p> + +<p>“I wish you had not come.”</p> + +<p>“I shall go now and tell grandmother. She will perhaps be able to make +you see things properly. I hope you will not make yourself sick about +Leonard——”</p> + +<p>“It is not my way.”</p> + +<p>“If a girl’s lover turns out badly, she ought not to cry about him—it +is neither moral nor respectable. I say this, Sappha, politely and +kindly.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, politely and kindly, Annette.”</p> + +<p>“I hope Leonard may come out of this affair better than we think.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you. I hope Achille may come out of this affair better than we +think.”</p> + +<p>The clash of the front door emphasised this provoking bit of courtesy, +and Sappha flew like a bird to her room, that she might conceal the +tumult of outraged feelings warring within her. And then as soon as she +was alone all her anger fled from Annette to Leonard. She accused him +with bitter unreason; for at this hour she was insensible to everything +but the painfully humiliating results of what she still mentally called +“his quarrel” with Horace Gilson. And, oh, how Annette had hurt her! For +Annette had not yet learned<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_247">{247}</a></span> how to endure; and they who can bear +nothing are themselves unbearable.</p> + +<p>For two hours she gave full sway to her insurgent feelings; but at the +last every mental struggle ended in her blaming Leonard. Leonard, for +her sake, ought to have avoided such a degrading quarrel—Leonard ought +to have faced it the first thing the following morning, instead of that +he had trifled away the whole day in Nassau Street, and the next day at +Annette’s, and now Annette felt that she had the right to call his +courtesy cowardice.</p> + +<p>“Well, then, it looks like cowardice!” she sobbed passionately, “and +then Saturday he told me some story about his lawyer detaining +him—never once did he name Gilson to me. It looks like—— <i>Oh, wee! +oh, wee!</i> my heart will break with the shame of it! Every one will pity +me. Even if some make excuses for Leonard, I shall know it is only pity +for me—only pity! I cannot bear it! I cannot think of it! Father and +mother must take me away—no, no, I must face the shame, smile at it, +what they call ‘live it down.’ Oh, what shall I say? What shall I do? +And mother is too ill to trouble. And to father I cannot complain of +Leonard. Oh, Leonard! Leonard! Leonard!”</p> + +<p>And it was while tossed from wave to wave on this flood tide of anger +and sorrow that she was told Leonard was waiting to see her. She rose up +hastily. Had she taken a few moments to calm herself everything might +have been different. But even her opening of the doors between herself +and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_248">{248}</a></span> her lover betrayed the whirl and tumult of the feelings that +distracted her. Nor was this mental storm soothed by Leonard’s presence. +He came eagerly forward to meet her; a pleasant smile on his face and a +white rose in his hand. She took the flower from him, and threw it down +upon the table; and he regarded her with amazement. Her face, her +attitude, the passion of her movements, arrested the words he was eager +to utter; and in that fateful pause Sappha’s unguarded, unconsidered +accusations fell like the voice of doom upon his senses.</p> + +<p>“You are a byword among men! No nice girl will be seen with you! You +will never again be asked to any respectable house! Annette says so! She +will be even compelled to shut her door against you!”</p> + +<p>“Sappha, Sappha! Do you know what you are saying?”</p> + +<p>“Only too well I know it. Annette has just been here. She has told me +all. You left her to tell me. Why did you not come yourself? Sunday, +Monday, Tuesday, all these days I have been in suspense and misery.”</p> + +<p>“Listen to me, Sappha, I——”</p> + +<p>“It is too late now. Annette has told me. I have heard it all—my heart +is broken—I shall die of shame. Every one will pity me. I cannot, I +cannot bear it——”</p> + +<p>“Stop one moment, Sappha. Do you believe Annette? Do you think she will +be forced to shut her door against me?”</p> + +<p>“She says so.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_249">{249}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Then Judge Bloommaert may have the same obligation—and you also. If +you can believe this, you can believe anything that is said against me, +your promised husband. It is I who am heartbroken. It is I who must feel +shame. It is I who must go all my life in the fiery shadow of wrong and +injustice. Sappha, you have known me as no other person has known +me,—in my inmost soul,—and yet you can believe I deserve such +treatment?”</p> + +<p>“How can I tell? If you had done anything to right yourself——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, that is not the question. You should have trusted me through +everything, and in spite of every one. You have failed me just when I +needed most your love and confidence. If Annette tells you I ought to be +shut out of your heart and house, you will believe her! What is your +love worth? It is only a summer day’s idyll. The first chill wind of +disapproval kills it. I will go before I am shut out. In future days it +may be easier for you to remember that I closed the door on my own +happiness. Oh, Sappha, Sappha! lighter than vapour is your love—and I +had built my life upon it!”</p> + +<p>His face expressed more indignation than distress. He lifted the rose +she had flung down and looked at it with a moment’s pity; then he pushed +it toward her.</p> + +<p>“It is my last offering,” he said. “Take it. And as it fades, forget me. +I shall never give you shame or trouble again.”</p> + +<p>Then anger took entire possession of Sappha; and anger<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_250">{250}</a></span> does everything +wrong. She lifted the rose and cried out amid her passionate weeping:</p> + +<p>“I will not wait for it to fade. No, I will forget you <i>now! now! now!</i>” +and as she uttered the words she ruthlessly tore off the white petals, +scattered them on the floor at his feet—and was gone.</p> + +<p>Her tears, her shivering words, the utter passion of misery and +tenderness that made the action almost like the slaying of a living +creature, so stupefied and fascinated Leonard that for a moment he could +neither move nor speak. When he recovered himself he ran to the foot of +the stairs and called her. “Sappha! Sappha!” he cried. “Sappha, come +back to me, I have something to tell you.” But she was gone. A slight +flutter of her white gown as she turned the last angle was all he saw; +and if she heard his appeal she did not answer it.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes he waited, but the laughter of the negroes in the +kitchen, coming faintly through the baize-lined doors, was the only +sound he heard. Then he returned to the parlour and carefully gathered, +one by one, the torn leaves. The last note Sappha had sent him was in +his pocket book. He placed them between the sheets and, shutting them in +the book, put it in his breast.</p> + +<p>What was he so still for? What had he done? What had come to him? Blast, +or blight, or fire, or fever? He picked up the torn rose leaves as if +they were bits of his heart, and the door clashed behind him and seemed +to shake the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_251">{251}</a></span> very foundations of his life. He knew that he was walking, +but his heart hung heavy at his feet. All he loved was behind him—he +was drifting, drifting into a darkness where love and joy would never +again find him. Oh, it is only</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i81">“—— the Lord above,<br></span> +<span class="i0">He only knows the strength of Love;<br></span> +<span class="i0">He only knows, and He only can,<br></span> +<span class="i0">The root of Love that is in a man.”<br></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_252">{252}</a></span></div></div> +</div> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_IX"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER NINE<br><br> +<i>The Reproof of the Sword</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_L.png" +width="80" height="80" +alt="L"></span>EONARD’s suffering was very great, but Sappha’s was still greater. +Wounded love, injustice, and disappointment can inflict mental distress +that has no parallel in physical pain, but with Sappha’s misery was +mingled the intolerable drop of remorse for her hasty passion. Now that +all was over, now that Leonard had gone away forever, there came to her +the clearest conviction that she had done him a great wrong. She +remembered that she had not even given him an opportunity to explain +circumstances—she had met him with passionate reproaches and flung his +love gift, torn and mutilated, at his feet. After that shameful, piteous +rejection what could Leonard do but go away? It was an act for which +there could be no apology and no forgiveness. She cried out with the +anguish this cruel, hopeless reflection caused her; and had Leonard been +really present she would have fallen at his feet in an agony of love and +repentance.</p> + +<p>Prone upon her bed she lay, torturing herself by a thousand +self-reproaches, and by a perpetual memory of that last<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_253">{253}</a></span> look of pained +amazement with which her lover had regarded her. She could not put it +from her, it seemed to have exorcised every other memory of his face. +With heartbroken sobs she sent after him one cry, “Forgive me! Oh, +Leonard, forgive me!” But the void between them swallowed it up in +silence. There was nothing to be done. The long, long days and years +before her held only frustrate longings and despair. This reflection +came to her as a finality, and she ceased weeping and protesting and lay +dumb and passive like a child smitten by a power it can neither appease +nor comprehend.</p> + +<p>Her mother found her in this mood, and when Sappha said, “I cannot come +to dinner to-day, I am in trouble. Annette told me things about Leonard, +and I have sent him away forever!” the mother understood and was full of +pity.</p> + +<p>“Do not try to come down, dear,” she answered. “As soon as your father +goes out, I will return to you.”</p> + +<p>“Are you better, mother? Are you able to attend to father?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I am well again. Ah, me, there is always sorrow at somebody’s +heart!”</p> + +<p>“It is my own fault, mother. Leonard is not to blame. I will tell +you—after a little while.”</p> + +<p>Then Mrs. Bloommaert went with a heavy heart to serve the dinner; for +whether heads are aching or hearts breaking dinner is a fact that cannot +be excused. She was full<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_254">{254}</a></span> of anxious thought as she went about the +table, placing sauces, condiments, and wines, and arranging the small +details which always pleased her husband. He had been depressed and +angry concerning Leonard Murray’s conduct for some days, and she +wondered how the news of Sappha’s dismissal of the young man would +affect him.</p> + +<p>Contrary to all expectation he entered the house in high spirits. He was +delighted to find his wife better, and able to give him her company and +sympathy; and as soon as they were alone he began to talk to her about +Leonard in a manner full of pride and satisfaction. Nor was he much +dashed by the information that there had been a quarrel between the +lovers, and a final separation.</p> + +<p>“Final separation!” he repeated, with an incredulous laugh. “Nonsense. +That is a regular climax to a love fever. They will be more devoted than +ever in a week’s time. Tell her what I have just told you, and they will +be friends in half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“I fear not. Leonard has shown wonderful patience so far, but my father +used to say ‘beware the anger of a patient man’; for when once his +patience has given way, his anger is not to be pacified.”</p> + +<p>“All foolishness, Carlita. Go and tell Sappha everything. I promised to +meet St. Ange about three o’clock; you see I have not any time to spare +now.”</p> + +<p>“I do not know what Annette said to Sappha—something ill-natured, no +doubt; but I wonder St. Ange did not give<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_255">{255}</a></span> her strict orders to keep her +tongue quiet about this business.”</p> + +<p>“You wonder St. Ange did not give Annette ‘strict orders.’ Well, +Carlita, I wonder at your simplicity. Who can order a bad-tempered +woman’s tongue? Tell Sappha I have gone with St. Ange to see Leonard. +Doubtless I shall bring him home with me.”</p> + +<p>He went out with this pleasant anticipation, and Mrs. Bloommaert +arranged a little dinner for her daughter, and sent it upstairs to her. +“You must eat, Sappha,” she said, “you can’t live on your tears. And I +have good news for you—very good news. See now, how nice this roast +chicken looks, and the beans, and the strawberry tart; and I made the +tea myself; yes, dear, you must have a cup of tea, and you must first +tell me all that Annette, the cruel ill-natured woman, said to you.”</p> + +<p>This confidence helped Sappha wonderfully. She could rightly enough +blame Annette, and there was relief in shifting so much of the reproach +from herself. And Mrs. Bloommaert felt no scruple in throwing the whole +weight of the unfortunate affair on Annette. “It would never have +happened, never!” she said, “if Annette had been minding her house and +her baby instead of following Achille round; and then because she could +not find him she must come and vent her home-made wretchedness on you. I +wish I had heard her! She called Leonard a coward, did she?”</p> + +<p>“She said every respectable person thought him one,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_256">{256}</a></span> and she repeated +many things about him getting enormous interest from the city—oh, +mother, I cannot go over it again.”</p> + +<p>“There is no need to do so. Leonard Murray has turned all such ideas +topsy-turvy. Now I am going to tell you all about it, and you will see +how well he has managed this miserable business. On Sunday he went to +see Achille, and Achille told him he could forbear no longer, and though +Leonard thought it was a kind of cowardice to fight a man so inferior in +skill both with sword and pistol to himself, Achille convinced him there +was no other way to prevent Gilson lying. So early on Monday morning +Achille called upon Gilson. He first presented to him a paper +acknowledging all his accusations against Leonard to be false and +malicious, requiring him to sign it. But Gilson fell into a great +passion, and said he would fight St. Ange for daring to offer him such +an insult; and Achille answered, ‘it would give him a supreme pleasure +to allow him an opportunity as soon as his friend, Mr. Murray, had +received satisfaction.’ Then he gave him Leonard’s challenge. The fellow +threw it carelessly down on the table, and said ‘he was going to Boston +on important affairs, but when he returned he would make immediate +arrangements to meet Mr. Murray and teach him to mind his own business.’ +‘On the contrary,’ said Achille, ‘you will meet Mr. Murray before you go +to Boston. You will meet him to-morrow morning at half-past seven +o’clock in Hahn’s wood, Hoboken. You<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_257">{257}</a></span> know the place. Or if there is any +other place you prefer, I am here to make arrangements.’ Gilson said, +‘one place was as good as another.’ Then they agreed that the weapons +should be rapiers, and Gilson laughed scornfully, and ‘hoped the +clearing at Hahn’s wood was not too large, for he intended close +quarters. Murray,’ he said, ‘could not have half an acre to skip about +in.’ To which fresh insult Achille answered that if Mr. Gilson wished +close quarters he felt sure Mr. Murray would be delighted to fight on a +billiard table.”</p> + +<p>“I like Achille, mother, yes I do!”</p> + +<p>“Achille is a good friend in need. He made all other arrangements for +the duel, and Gilson promised that he and his friend Myron Hays would be +on the ground at half-past seven the following morning. He used a deal +of very bad language in making these arrangements. Your father said we +could imagine it as bad as we chose, and that then it would come far +short of the reality.”</p> + +<p>“So there was a duel this morning! Oh, mother, if I had only known!”</p> + +<p>“Do not hurry me, Sappha. I want to tell you all just as it happened. +Leonard did not trust Gilson’s promise, nor did Achille. They determined +to watch him; and they found out two things: first, that he intended +leaving New York for Boston soon after seven; second, that he had +ordered breakfast for himself and Myron Hays fifteen minutes before +seven at the City Hotel.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_258">{258}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“But, mother, Gilson must have known that Leonard stayed at the City +Hotel?”</p> + +<p>“Of course he knew; but he felt sure Leonard would be crossing the river +at that time. Then he would have taken his breakfast, sending the while +repeated inquiries as to whether any one had seen Leonard or St. Ange, +and affecting great indignation at their non-appearance. Finally some +insolent message of future defiance and punishment would have been left +with the proprietor for Leonard. Oh, can you not see through the +foolish, cowardly plan?”</p> + +<p>“It was a contemptible scheme, and full of weak points, mother,” +answered Sappha.</p> + +<p>“It would have answered well enough; it would, at least, have thrown +doubt and contempt on both men. Fortunately Leonard and St. Ange +followed Gilson so closely that they were at his side ere he had +finished giving the order for serving his coffee. ‘At present,’ said St. +Ange very politely, ‘there is not time for coffee. We will cross the +river at once, sir,’ and Gilson answered, ‘I am going to Boston on most +important business. Mr. Murray must have got my letter explaining.’ Then +Leonard said, ‘You never wrote me any letter, sir. And you are not going +to Boston, you are going to Hoboken, and that at once.’ Gilson still +insisted that he would fight Leonard when he came back from Boston, and +St. Ange told him he could have that satisfaction if he wished it; but +first of all, he must fulfil his present engagement. ‘All is ready for +it, he continued; ‘a boat waits for you and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_259">{259}</a></span> Mr. Hays at the foot of the +garden, and another boat for Mr. Murray and myself will keep yours in +sight.’ Then the man looked at his second, and Mr. Hays said it was +proper to go at once, and he was thus morally, or unmorally, forced into +compliance. At the last moment Gilson ‘supposed arms and a doctor had +been remembered,’ and St. Ange told him those duties had been delegated +to him and properly attended to. ‘The doctor,’ he said, ‘was in their +boat, and the swords also,’ the latter having been approved by Mr. Hays +on the previous day, at which time it was also agreed that Gilson should +have his choice of the two weapons. St. Ange told your father there had +been several irregularities, but that all had been arranged with perfect +fairness by himself and Mr. Hays.”</p> + +<p>At this juncture Sappha lost all control of her emotions and began to +weep and lament; and her mother rather sharply continued: “Tears are not +needed at all, Sappha. Leonard was perfectly calm. Of his own safety he +had not a fear. He and St. Ange kept Gilson’s boat in sight until they +landed; then the ground was marked off, and the men threw away their +coats and vests and received their swords from the seconds. I cannot +tell you just what happened, but your father could make it plain enough +I dare say. To me it was only thrust and parry, touch and go, for a few +minutes, then Leonard made a feint at Gilson’s breast, but by a movement +instantaneous as a thought nailed his right foot to the ground with his +rapier. The man shrieked,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_260">{260}</a></span> and would have seized Leonard’s sword, but +that action was instantly prevented by the seconds. The affair was over. +Gilson was at Leonard’s mercy, and when he withdrew his sword St. Ange +said, ‘Doctor, the case is now yours. And then turning to Gilson he +continued, ‘Mr. Gilson, if you cannot control your tongue in the future, +we will do this as often as you like.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“I hope the man will not die, mother!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no! Leonard intended only to punish him. He will have a few weeks’ +severe pain, and may have to use a crutch for a longer time—perhaps he +may not dance any more; but he only received what he richly deserved.”</p> + +<p>“But I do not see, mother, how this duel will put Leonard right in +people’s estimation.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my dear, St. Ange took good care to secure witnesses to Gilson’s +cowardly attempt to get away; and the men who rowed the two boats were +there, to report for the newspapers. They heard much conversation I have +not repeated. Your father also thinks Myron Hays, though he would not +say much, was deceived and very indignant. You may be sure that St. Ange +and Leonard arranged for a full vindication. Now, Sappha, wash your face +and dress yourself prettily. Father said he would bring Leonard back to +tea with him.”</p> + +<p>“Leonard will not come with father. He will never come again, I know! I +know!”</p> + +<p>[Illustration: “HE AND ST. ANGE KEPT GILSON’S BOAT IN SIGHT UNTIL THEY +LANDED.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_261">{261}</a></span>”]</p> + +<p>“If he does not, his behaviour will be cruel and dishonourable. Why did +he not tell you about the duel!”</p> + +<p>“He could not—I did not give him a moment’s opportunity. It was my +fault—all my fault. I was so angry at what Annette told me that I met +him in a passion, and before he had time to tell me why he had stayed +away and what had occurred I shocked him with Annette’s false charges, +one upon the other, without any pause, until I told him that Annette was +going to shut her door against him. Then he asked me if we also intended +to shut our door against him, and mother, I have no excuse—there is no +excuse for me, none! I ought to suffer. Oh, how miserable I am! And, +mother, mother, I have made my own misery.”</p> + +<p>“You go too far, Sappha. You make too much of a few words. All lovers +have quarrels, and in my opinion Leonard cannot come back too soon.”</p> + +<p>“He will not come. He was too quiet. He said too little. He will never +come back. Always, we have slighted him a little.”</p> + +<p>“He has been very well received—do not make excuses for him on that +ground. I wish Annette would keep her tongue out of our affairs. She is +nothing but a mischief maker.”</p> + +<p>“I know, but Annette could not have harmed me if I had been true to +Leonard. To be ready to doubt him, only on Annette’s word, was a +shameful wrong, and I deserve to be forsaken and forgotten.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_262">{262}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“It is Leonard’s fault more than yours. He ought to have stopped that +man’s tongue at once. Any woman would have become suspicious and +irritable. It was a shame for Leonard to put your love for him to such a +trial. He will see that as soon as he gets over the little slight. Now +dress yourself, dear, and come downstairs. What is the use of nursing +sorrow in a darkened room? Sunshine makes grief more bearable. I do +believe that Leonard will return with your father.”</p> + +<p>“I will come down—but Leonard will not return with father.”</p> + +<p>“You are very provoking, Sapphira. And I can tell you one thing, they +that are determined to be miserable will always find the wherewithal for +misery. Try and hope for the best,” and she kissed her and added, “Put +on a fresh white frock, you look best in white.”</p> + +<p>So Sappha did as she was counselled, but her bravery did not help her to +bear her sorrow—a sorrow made worse by its uncertainty in all respects. +If Leonard had only granted her a little time, if he had been patient +enough to tell her of the morning’s events, if he had not given that +rose of renunciation! Yes, that act of his was the real provocative of +her desertion. He had told her to forget him. What could he expect but a +prompt acceptance of his request? It would have been impossible at that +stage to have hesitated. He had broken their betrothal, not her; how +then could she hope he would make any effort to renew it?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_263">{263}</a></span></p> + +<p>She did not hope for it, though she obeyed her mother’s desire, and with +an aching heart dressed herself in white and went downstairs. About five +o’clock she heard her father’s steps, and he was not alone. But the +double footsteps did not give her a moment’s hope. She knew they were +not Leonard’s, and in a few moments she saw that St. Ange was her +father’s companion. They were talking in tones of earnest gratification, +and as soon as the ordinary greetings were over resumed their +conversation.</p> + +<p>The subject was, of course, the duel and the sympathetic response it had +evoked in Leonard’s favour. Gilson’s effort to escape to Boston, his +bullying language when detected, the decided white feather he had shown +on the field, his cowardice under pain since he had received his +punishment, were now the topics of public conversation; and the men who +had been foremost in doubting Leonard Murray were now the warmest in his +praise. All these things St. Ange described in his usual sparkling +detail, and the judge, Mrs. Bloommaert, and Sappha listened to him with +the keenest interest.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Judge Bloommaert said: “I never heard before of a man disabling +his antagonist just in that way. I wonder how Leonard learned the +stroke.”</p> + +<p>“One of Robespierre’s emigrants taught it to Leonard. He was a noble of +the highest lineage, but when driven to America he embraced the simple +life of the wilderness with inconceivable ardour. Leonard met him in the +exploring<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_264">{264}</a></span> party which he accompanied to the Mississippi, and together +they went down the river to New Orleans. Their tedious voyage was +relieved with sword play, and under this French noble’s tuition Leonard +became an incomparable fencer. With this same stroke he disarmed Señor +Zavala in New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>“Ah! Then Murray has fought before?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. The duel between Señor Zavala and Mr. Murray is well remembered in +New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>“Suppose, then, you tell us about it,” said Mrs. Bloommaert.</p> + +<p>“I was not acquainted with Leonard at the time, but Mr. Livingston told +me of the circumstance. The Americans in New Orleans are proud of it.”</p> + +<p>“Why have you never named it before, then?” asked the judge.</p> + +<p>“Leonard desired me not to speak of it because he said there was a +feeling against the duel in New York, and that you, judge, whose good +opinion he specially desired, were opposed to the custom. I think, +indeed, that Leonard’s reluctance to notice Gilson’s slanders arose from +a fear of offending you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, St. Ange, as a general thing I do not approve of the duel; but +there are exceptions to every rule, and the exceptions must be condoned. +They need not, however, be repeated.”</p> + +<p>“We are more anxious to hear about Leonard’s New<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_265">{265}</a></span> Orleans affair than to +discuss the right or wrong of duelling,” said Mrs. Bloommaert. And St. +Ange smilingly continued:</p> + +<p>“The occasion for it lay backward some years, even to that twentieth of +December, A. D., 1801, when the tri-coloured flag of the French republic +was displayed at sunrise in New Orleans for the last time. For at noon +that day Governor Claiborne and General Wilkinson, at the head of the +American forces, entered New Orleans, and the French Commissioner +Laussant gave up the keys of the City Hall to them. Amid tears and +profound silence the French flag was hauled down, and the Stars and +Stripes took its place.</p> + +<p>“There were about one hundred and fifty Americans in the city at that +time, and they stood together on the corner of the Place d’Arms and +cheered it. But no one else showed any approval. The French and Spanish +inhabitants could not reconcile themselves to the change; prejudices +amounting to superstition made them for a long time attribute everything +unpleasant to the American occupation. This bias was carried so far that +when, on one occasion, a public ball was interrupted by an earthquake +the anger of an old Creole gentleman was roused, and he said +passionately, ‘It was not in the Spanish or the French times that the +amusements of the ladies were interfered with.’</p> + +<p>“However, as soon as the cession was complete, northern immigration +poured into New Orleans, and when the present<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_266">{266}</a></span> war was proclaimed there +was no lack of enthusiasm for its prosecution. Still some of the old +antagonism remained, and one morning as Leonard was in the Place d’Arms +he saw some members of a volunteer regiment deploy there. A boyish +American carried the flag in front of them, and Señor Zavala as he +passed made a very offensive and contemptuous remark. Leonard stepped +out and asked if he intended that remark for the American flag. Zavala +answered, ‘It is most welcome to it, Señor.’ Leonard challenged him +there and then. As Zavala was something of a bravo, he looked amused, +and, when he saw that Leonard was in earnest, annoyed. For he did not +like to fight such a youth; he had the same scruple that influenced +Leonard in fighting Gilson; he considered himself so superior in skill +to his challenger that an acceptance was very like cruelty, if not also +cowardice.</p> + +<p>“But Leonard would not retreat, and Zavala declined to make any apology, +and the duel took place. A great interest was evinced in this affair, +though duels were common enough on every subject, and Leonard had +especially the watchful sympathy of every American in the city. They +were resolved that at least he should have fair play, and that if he had +been wounded there were plenty of men ready to take up his quarrel with +Zavala. To the amazement of every one Zavala was disarmed in less than +five minutes, and in precisely the same manner as Gilson. But his +behaviour was very different. He made no outcry, he knew the<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_267">{267}</a></span> code too +well to touch his antagonist’s sword, and it was with a polite smile he +handed his rapier to Leonard and said, ‘Señor, my sword is yours. I make +my apology to you and to your flag.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>“I have nothing to say against that duel,” said the judge, and Mrs. +Bloommaert’s face was radiant with sympathy and approval. Sappha’s eyes, +heavy with unshed tears, were dropped, and she could not speak. Had she +tried her very words would have wept.</p> + +<p>“Leonard behaved splendidly,” continued St. Ange. “With his weapon he +withdrew all ill feeling, and during Zavala’s convalescence he passed +some time with him every day, and supplied him with attentions and +luxuries Zavala’s own means could not have procured. The conclusion of +this story I heard yesterday. Zavala is now enrolled for the defence of +the very flag he insulted. Mr. Livingston had the news in a letter, and +he recalled the duel to my memory in order to emphasise the result.</p> + +<p>“It is rather remarkable,” said the judge. “I never heard of this affair +before.”</p> + +<p>“Well, no!” answered Achille. “It was only known by the Livingstons, +myself, and Leonard; and none of us thought it well to talk about it +here. New York is not New Orleans, where the duel is concerned. To have +fought a few successful duels in New Orleans is a social distinction; in +New York the result socially is doubtful. You have only to look at Mr. +Burr<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_268">{268}</a></span>——”</p> + +<p>“There is a heavier charge against Mr. Burr than the duel—his +country——”</p> + +<p>“Pardon me, judge, his country’s laws have declared him innocent; can we +go behind judge, jury, and the written law?”</p> + +<p>At this question Mrs. Bloommaert rose from the table, and Sappha quietly +left the room, and did not return to it. Every word uttered by Achille +had intensified her grief and made more bitter her repentance. Never +before had she understood her lover or rightly valued his affection. +Alas, alas, that sorrow should be the clearest of all revelations! Love +too often bandages the eyes of the soul, but sorrow rends away all +obstructions to vision. At that hour Sappha saw Leonard as she had never +before seen him—his unselfishness, his modesty, his patience, the truth +and tenderness of his affection, his beauty and graciousness, the living +joy that his companionship had been to her. Oh, there was no end to such +recollections! and her soul ached in all its senses, for by her own act +she had cast ashes on every one of the sweet memories between them.</p> + +<p>It was, however, well for her that she could not indulge too much this +rapturous pain of memory, for it unfitted her for the world she had to +live in; a world empty to her, but thrilling to the highest passions all +around her. For none could be indifferent to the fact that peace in +Europe meant a far more active war against America. Hitherto, England’s +hands had been tied by her conflict with Napoleon<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_269">{269}</a></span> and all the nations +allied with him; now she was at liberty to turn her armaments against +America. Yet, though the people of New York were alive to their danger, +and not careless in preparing to meet it, they had never been so +remarkable for their entertainments and pleasure taking. All the +newspapers commented on the fact, pointing out the number of places of +amusement open every night, and the constant steamboat excursions every +day.</p> + +<p>From all these sources of pleasure Sapphira Bloommaert disappeared. It +was said she was in ill health, but as every one knew of her engagement +to Leonard Murray her seclusion was generally attributed to his absence. +For Sappha’s premonition had been correct; Leonard did not return to +her. She watched despairingly for several days, and then heard that he +had left the city. It was the judge’s painful duty to give this +information to his child, and though he named the circumstance, as it +were, casually, he saw and felt the suffering his words caused. Sappha +did not speak, but Mrs. Bloommaert said with an angry amazement:</p> + +<p>“Gone! Where, then, has he gone to, Gerardus?”</p> + +<p>“I know not. No one knows, unless it be lawyer Grahame, or Achille. +Grahame will never say a word, nor Achille, until he gets warrant for +it.”</p> + +<p>“But there must be some opinion,” continued Mrs. Bloommaert. “Men cannot +disappear without leaving at least an opinion.”</p> + +<p>“Well then, there are several opinions. Some think he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_270">{270}</a></span> has gone to the +Niagara frontier, others to Washington, and not a few are sure he is on +his way to New Orleans. I myself think New Orleans very likely; he has +interests and friends there.”</p> + +<p>And Sappha listened and ate her bread to this sorrowful news. Only her +colourless face revealed her suffering at that moment; but it showed +itself in various ways after this certainty had been accepted. One of +the most pronounced forms it took was a feeling of intense dislike and +anger towards Annette. She would not go to Annette’s house, nor would +she see her if she called at the Bowling Green house. Her reasons were +sufficient to herself, and Mrs. Bloommaert thought her daughter +justified in her conduct. Not yet could she ask Sappha to forgive; not +while her eyes held that look of pain and despair, and her whole manner +that of one standing smitten and dismayed before a barrier she could not +cross.</p> + +<p>As a matter of course, the unhappy Sappha passed her days “going +quietly,” almost hopelessly, for there was in her grief that element of +tragic fatality, that sense of Fate shaping life by the most trivial +things, that renders men and women despairing. Never before had she +given sway to a temper so unreasonable, so impetuous, so passionately +hasty. And surely not without the co-operation of the stars had Annette +called just at that early hour in the morning—Annette, jealous, +miserable, ill-tempered, envious, full of suspicions, and delighting in +making misery for others as<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_271">{271}</a></span> well as herself. Then, unfortunately, Mrs. +Bloommaert was ill; and Annette, unrestrained by her presence, while +Sappha’s sympathies had been called on all night long and her temper +unconsciously frayed and irritated by her inability to prevent her +mother’s suffering. Oh, every trivial thing had been against her, even +to the small event of her going to the back parlour after breakfast! For +had she remained, as was her usual custom, in front of the house, she +would have seen Annette’s interview with her father, and been prepared +for whatever she might say.</p> + +<p>All these considerations gave a sort of fatality to her quarrel with +Leonard, but they did not induce any kinder feeling towards Annette. She +regarded her, if not as the author, at least as the tool and messenger, +of evil; and Annette was quickly made to feel her position. Of course +she was angered by it. And Annette was easily made angry at this time, +for Achille had never been so provoking and unmanageable. In spite of +her complaints, he had lately spent all his days with De Singeron, who +was now on the point of sailing for France; and the episode of Leonard’s +duel had been specially aggravating, because she had not been taken into +confidence concerning it. And with that singular obtuseness common to +selfish people, she considered Mrs. Bloommaert’s coolness and Sappha’s +constant refusals to see her as a quite uncalled-for show of offence. +She told herself she had only repeated what every one was saying, and +that if Sappha had any sense of what was proper and re<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_272">{272}</a></span>spectable she +would have been grateful for her candour. “People are always asking to +be told the truth,” she complained, “and then when you put yourself out +of the way to tell it, they are sure to be angry at you.”</p> + +<p>When three weeks had passed in this uncomfortable manner, Annette began +seriously to miss her accustomed sources of that familiar friendship +which admits of confidence and some showing of individuality. She awoke +one morning with a sense of isolation and of not being properly loved +and cared for; that was too intolerable to be endured longer, and taking +little Jonaca with her as a kind of peacemaker, she called on her aunt +and Sappha. As the carriage drew up at the Bloommaert house she saw +Sappha rise, and when she entered the parlour only Mrs. Bloommaert was +present.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, aunt Carlita! I have brought Jonaca to see you.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bloommaert kissed the babe, and said she “looked well,” and then +resumed her sewing.</p> + +<p>“Where is Sappha, aunt?”</p> + +<p>“She is in her room. She is not well, and I cannot disturb her.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, indeed, aunt, I saw her as I passed the window. She need not run +away from me.”</p> + +<p>“Has Sappha run away from you? Why has she done that?”</p> + +<p>“I suppose because I told her some things about Leonard Murray. It was +right for her to know them; but I have no<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_273">{273}</a></span> doubt, now that Leonard has +run away, she blames me for all his faults.”</p> + +<p>“Leonard has not run away, and it is very wrong and very spiteful in you +to make such remarks.”</p> + +<p>“Nobody knows where he is, and he has left New York. What do you call +that, aunt?”</p> + +<p>“I call it minding his own affairs, and as for saying no one knows where +he is, that is a lie. Because he did not tell Annette St. Ange where he +was going, is that proof that he has told no one? Indeed, Annette, if +you can believe it, there are a few people of consequence in New York +beside yourself—and Mr. St. Ange.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, you need not be angry, aunt. And it is not kind nor yet +religious to call what I say ‘a lie.’ No one ever used such a word to me +before.”</p> + +<p>“You forget. Often I have heard your grandmother say the same thing.”</p> + +<p>“She was more polite than to say ‘a lie’; she might doubt what I told +her, though always afterwards she found out I was right.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed, Annette, you must excuse me from discussing your perfections +this morning. I am busy. Sappha is sick.”</p> + +<p>“I am going upstairs to see her, aunt.”</p> + +<p>“You are not, Annette. You have hurt her sufficiently. I will not allow +you to go and tell her that Leonard has ‘run away,’ for instance. And I +dare say you have plenty of such sharp speeches ready.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_274">{274}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“I have not—I have only——”</p> + +<p>“If they are not ready, ’tis no matter. They spring up to your thoughts. +I ask you to excuse me this morning, for I have many things to attend +to.”</p> + +<p>“Very well. You have hardly noticed little Jonaca, and you have really +told me to go away. I think you have behaved in a very rude and unkind +manner. You can say to Sappha I am sorry for her. If she will remember I +told her often that Leonard Murray was not at all sincere. I don’t think +he ever loved Sappha well enough to wish to marry her.”</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Annette!” And with these words Annette found herself +alone. She immediately drove to her grandmother’s. She felt sure of +appreciation there. And madame was delighted to see her and the child. +She took the little one in her arms and held it to her breast with a +soft cradling motion that soon put it to sleep, and then she laid it +tenderly down among the pillows on the sofa.</p> + +<p>“So sweet, so pretty is she!” sighed madame. “I wonder if it is possible +that I was ever like to her!”</p> + +<p>“Once I too was so sweet! so pretty! so loved and happy! but +now—now——”</p> + +<p>“Well then, <i>now</i>, you are also sweet and pretty and loved and happy.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no, I am not, grandmother. Every one is cross with me, every one +seems to hate me—except you.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Hush! hush!</i> What you are saying is not true. It is unlucky to put +into words such thoughts.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_275">{275}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“I have just been at aunt Carlita’s, and she hardly noticed Jonaca, and +told me she was busy, and I must excuse her.”</p> + +<p>“Where was Sappha?”</p> + +<p>“Aunt says she is sick. She would not let me see her.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, Sappha looks ill—I have noticed it.”</p> + +<p>“She is fretting about Leonard. You know he was really made to fight +that duel. I think Achille made him fight it, and now he has run away +from New York. I suppose he did not like to meet his acquaintances.”</p> + +<p>At this point Annette suddenly stopped speaking, being admonished +thereto by her grandmother’s rising anger. The old lady was regarding +her with an expression Annette seldom saw on her face, but which was one +she did not care to neglect.</p> + +<p>“Have you said all the wickedness in your heart, Annette?” she asked +sternly. “You know that false, false, false! are all your words. The +truth I had from Achille—the whole truth—and Leonard has not run away; +why then should he run away? Your uncle Gerardus tells me that very +wisely and very honourably he behaved. Also, I heard from him about the +affair in New Orleans. That, then, was a duel to be proud of.”</p> + +<p>“In New Orleans? What affair in New Orleans, grandmother? I never heard +of that.”</p> + +<p>“Achille can tell you. Ask him.”</p> + +<p>“He has not told me, and he knows. You see then,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_276">{276}</a></span> how much he trusts me, +grandmother. I will not ask him. You tell me, grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“No, I will not tell you what he has kept from you. Good reasons he may +have, of which I know nothing.”</p> + +<p>“<i>So!</i> I begin to find out things! Very good! I shall make Achille tell +me.”</p> + +<p>“Can you make Achille speak if he wishes not to speak? Try it once, and +you will be sorry. Annette, Annette, I fear me for your future, if so +unreasonable you are!”</p> + +<p>“Unreasonable! Grandmother! I assure you I have many good reasons for +all I do. Very unhappy I have been lately! Oh, I wish you would pity me +a little!”</p> + +<p>“Surely Annette St. Ange needs not pity. Come, now, tell me all your +troubles,—very small are they,—and in telling they will go away. +Achille loves you—is kind to you; Jonaca is well, you are well—what +then is the matter?”</p> + +<p>“If Achille loves me, he loves far better that pastry cook.”</p> + +<p>“There it is—‘that pastry cook.’ You have no good right to use those +words, and well you know it. The pastry cook De Singeron is now Count de +Singeron, and goes home to take again his place in a court regiment. But +<i>so!</i> even if he were yet a pastry cook, he is the friend of Achille; he +is loved by Achille; by you also he ought to be loved for Achille’s +sake.”</p> + +<p>“You always take Achille’s part.”</p> + +<p>“When Achille is right and you are wrong.”</p> + +<p>“Thank goodness, I have done with the Count de Singe<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_277">{277}</a></span>ron! He left New +York yesterday, and Achille sat up all night and cried about it.”</p> + +<p>“Have you quarrelled—you and Achille?”</p> + +<p>“No one can quarrel with Achille. If I get angry he says only, ‘Madame +is not well,’ or ‘Madame needs a little rest,’ and then bows and leaves +me—perhaps he kisses my hand, and then I feel as if I should like +to—— Oh, grandmother, it is terrible! If he would only get angry!”</p> + +<p>“My dear one, you know not the anger of such men as Achille. <i>That</i> +would be terrible indeed! I warn you of it. To rude words or cross words +he will never condescend; but—but—the thing he will <i>do</i>, if you love +him, your heart it will break!”</p> + +<p>“He does not talk to me as he should. Here is this New Orleans affair! I +am not told of it, and Leonard’s duel with Mr. Gilson I knew nothing of +till it was over—and so it was really Achille who is to blame for the +trouble with Sappha.”</p> + +<p>“Oh! Oh! The trouble with Sappha! What did you do to Sappha, Annette?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing much—it is not worth telling you, grandmother.”</p> + +<p>“The judge of that I will be myself.”</p> + +<p>“I do not wish to tell you, grandmother. It is nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Very good! I will ask Sappha. The truth she will tell me, I know.”</p> + +<p>“I do not like that Sappha should complain of me to you,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_278">{278}</a></span> grandmother. I +will tell you myself. It was the dreadful morning of the duel. When I +awoke I found Achille had gone, and I was afraid he would be hurt, and +very angry indeed that he should mix himself up in Leonard Murray’s +disgraceful quarrel. I thought I ought to have been considered. Just +think, grandmother, how disagreeable it was likely to be for me—every +one of the De Vries coming to talk it over, and all the Cruger women, +and Fanny Curtenius, and the Sebrings, Fishers, Ogdens, and all the rest +of them. I felt as if I could not bear the shame, and then never to have +been consulted about such an affair! It was too bad.”</p> + +<p>“That was to spare you anxiety. Achille was thoughtful for you.”</p> + +<p>“No, he was thoughtful for himself. He knew I should not permit him to +have anything to do in such a quarrel, and he really ran away from me.”</p> + +<p>“I advise you, say nothing like that to Achille.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, I was angry, very angry, and I thought I would get uncle +Gerardus to interfere—or you, grandmother. And uncle was unkind, and +told me to go home and not to disturb aunt Carlita, who had, of course, +one of her bad headaches.”</p> + +<p>“Annette! You should not say such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, it is the truth. Aunt has a headache whenever it is inconvenient +for her to have one; and uncle said Sappha had been up all night with +her, and I was ordered not to<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_279">{279}</a></span> worry Sappha or say anything unpleasant +to her. I felt then very, very angry, and I went into the house and when +I saw Sappha with her white face and injured manner I could not be +quiet. I told her all that I had been told about Leonard, and she was +what I call insolent to me, and she will not speak to me now; she goes +away if I call there, and aunt Carlita is almost as rude. This morning +she hardly noticed poor little innocent Jonaca, and she asked me to +excuse her. Sappha went to her room as soon as she saw me coming.”</p> + +<p>“Now, then, Annette, a family quarrel I will not have. In my family we +have all had to bear and forbear, and you must make up friends with +Sappha. What, in short, did you say that so offended your cousin? Tell +me the worst.”</p> + +<p>“Well, to be sure, I said people called Leonard a coward and usurer, and +that no respectable person would speak to him, and no good girl could be +seen with him, and that I, like the others, would have to shut my door +against him.”</p> + +<p>“Thou cruel one! Tell me no more—and all these things thou knew to be +lies.”</p> + +<p>“How could I know? Achille told me nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Who did tell thee?”</p> + +<p>“Alida de Vries, and Fanny Curtenius, and Emma Ogden, and many others.”</p> + +<p>“And Leonard himself ate with thee on the Sunday previous to the duel, +and what he told Achille thou heard. If it seemed true and good to +Achille, could thou not also<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_280">{280}</a></span> have believed? I am ashamed of thee! Thou +hast not one decent excuse. All thou said to Sappha, thou said, knowing +in thy cruel heart it was lies.”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother, it is too bad to put all the blame on me. And I will not +now be scolded as if I was a child.”</p> + +<p>“Then why did thou come here, deceitful one? Did thou think I would +bless thee for thy shameless cruelty? Go to thy own home, then.”</p> + +<p>“Dear grandmother—you will make me ill. I cannot bear you to be angry.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, go tell thy cousin thou art sorry.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I will, if I can see her. I will do it for your sake, grandmother. +I will do anything, if you will forgive me. I was so miserable that +morning—if you would tell Sappha I am sorry, then perhaps she will +listen to me.”</p> + +<p>“I will see to that. I want not to have the whole city talking of the +quarrel in the Bloommaert family. Our troubles are our own, and our own +are our quarrels. To-morrow I will talk to Sappha; and the next day thou +must make all right that is wrong. See thou do it.”</p> + +<p>With this understanding Annette went home, and on the day appointed she +visited Sappha. In the interval madame had also visited Sappha, and with +the help of her son and daughter-in-law arranged a kind of truce between +Annette and the cousin she had injured so seriously. But now, if never +before, all three learned the strength of that unbendable will which +madame had pointed out as existing<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_281">{281}</a></span> in Sappha’s nature, when as yet no +one had ever seen any evidence of it. Sappha agreed, for the sake of +preventing gossip about the Bloommaerts, to speak politely to Annette +whenever they met; and also not pointedly to avoid their meeting by +disappearing whenever Annette appeared. Beyond this concession she would +not move; and when madame proposed a family dinner at Annette’s house, +Sappha said with a positiveness even her father respected:</p> + +<p>“I will not enter Annette’s house.”</p> + +<p>“That is a word that cannot stand, Sappha,” answered madame, with an +almost equal positiveness.</p> + +<p>“It will stand, grandmother,” Sappha replied, “until I enter it with +Leonard Murray. Annette threatened to shut her door against Leonard. In +so doing, she shut it against me. If Leonard should ever return, if he +should ever forgive me—he may then forgive the woman who has caused us +both so much suffering. If these unlikely things happen, we may go +<i>together</i> to Annette’s. I will never go without him. Never!” And there +was such calm invincible determination in every word she uttered that +even madame felt it useless to try either reasoning or authority. +Indeed, Sappha won in this plain statement of her position the perfect +sympathy of her father, and he said:</p> + +<p>“I think Sappha is quite right. The stand she has taken is unassailable. +We must make the best of what she concedes. If Sappha still regards +Leonard as her future husband, she can do no less.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_282">{282}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“But, my son——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, my mother, I know what you would say, but in this case my daughter +is right. I shall stand by my daughter.”</p> + +<p>Then Sappha went to her father, and he put his arm around her and kissed +her, and told her, “he was sure she would do the very best she could, +and so he trusted her.”</p> + +<p>In accordance, therefore, with the promise made, and the obligation +implied by her father’s confidence, Sappha remained in the parlour when +Annette called the next day. She came in her most expansive and effusive +mood; kissed her aunt, and then in a kind of mock contrition asked +Sappha if she might be permitted to kiss her also?</p> + +<p>“I do not deserve a kiss, Sappha, I know I do not; but I am a little +sinner to every one, and there is nothing I can do but say ‘Annette is +sorry.’ And really I am sorry. If there is anything I can do, to undo my +foolishness——”</p> + +<p>“There is nothing, Annette.”</p> + +<p>“It is too bad. I never dreamed of Leonard taking offence at you; every +one was saying unkind things, and I thought you ought to know. I was +really very miserable that morning. I hardly knew what I was saying. But +the idea of Leonard going away from all his friends—and you!—that +never occurred to me.”</p> + +<p>“We will not speak of Mr. Murray. There are other things to talk of.”</p> + +<p>“Indeed yes. Have you heard that Mary Sebring is<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_283">{283}</a></span> going to Washington? +Many people say, because Captain Ellis is there.”</p> + +<p>“How is Jonaca? Why did you not bring her?”</p> + +<p>“I left her with grandmother. She is well enough.”</p> + +<p>This strained social intercourse was soon invaded by news of menacing +national importance. The British fleet was being constantly increased, +the blockade very strictly enforced, and the real conflict felt to be +near at hand. The entire populace was now divided into two great +parties; one was for war, the other for peace; and the fear of disunion +of the States hung heavy over all.</p> + +<p>On the Fourth of July the President had made a call for 93,500 militia; +and before the middle of the month alarm for the safety of New York was +so great that the men exempt from military duty formed themselves into +companies to aid in its defence. On the third of August Mayor Clinton, +in an address to the people, said:</p> + +<p>“This city is in danger! We are threatened with invasion. It is the duty +of all good citizens to prepare for the crisis. Let there be but one +voice among us. Let every arm be raised to defend our country; our +country demands our aid. She expects that every free man will be found +at his post in the hour of danger, and that every free citizen of New +York will do his duty.”</p> + +<p>This appeal was answered with a prompt and stirring enthusiasm. +Volunteer associations pressed forward without regard to party or +situation in life. The ground of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_284">{284}</a></span> self-defence was a common ground, and +rich and poor worked together on the same works, intermingling their +labours with patriotic emulation. The Bowling Green and Brooklyn Heights +were like military camps; indeed, the whole city was one great company +enrolled to save New York, or perish with it. On the twenty-sixth day of +August the <i>Evening Post</i> announced the taking of Washington and the +flight of the President, and the wildest excitement prevailed; and on +the following morning, the press unanimously called:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p class="c">TO ARMS! CITIZENS, TO ARMS!</p> + +<p class="c"><span class="smcap">Your capital is taken! Prepare to defend our city to the last +extremity! This is no time to talk! We must act and act with +vigour, or we are lost!</span></p></div> + +<p>In the meantime the government had revised its instructions to the +envoys for peace. The rights stipulated for in 1813 and 1814 they were +told to abandon; and “<i>if necessary waive every point for which the war +was commenced</i>.” Nothing could more urgently describe the urgent +necessity of the country, which, indeed, was financially and +commercially on the brink of ruin. Her harbours were blockaded; +communications coastwise between all ports cut off; ships rotting in +every creek and cove where they could find security, and the immense +annual products of the country mouldering in warehouses. The sources of +profitable labour were dried up, and the currency considered as +irredeemable paper. Nor were these things the worst features of the +situation. A still more dangerous symptom of the national emergency<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_285">{285}</a></span> was +the hostility of certain portions of the Union. Secession in some States +was a proposition not unlikely to become a fact; while the credit of the +government was exhausted, and the war apparently as far from a close as +ever it had been.</p> + +<p>The winter also was very severe, the Hudson frozen across to Jersey +City, and the Sound frozen across from the mainland to Sands Point. +There was much poverty and suffering, and a great gloom and depression +owing to the apparent failure of the Peace Commissioners at Ghent to +effect any reasonable agreement. Yet among the military social +entertainments were frequent, and the people prominent in New York +social life still kept up the pretence of fashion, and gave dinners, +balls, and theatre parties, which had a kind of half-hearted semblance +of gaiety.</p> + +<p>Sapphira Bloommaert availed herself of the reasonable excuse which +public calamity gave her to retire from everything society called +“pleasure”; therefore her absence from Annette’s entertainments escaped +the unpleasant notice it would otherwise have received. Annette was able +to parry all inquiries on two grounds; first, on Sappha’s national +sympathy; or, if this reason was incredulously received, mysteriously to +associate Mr. Murray’s name with that of his country. “Sappha was so +sensitive; her country was in distress, and then also, her lover was in +danger. Yes, Mr. Murray had joined General Jackson at New Orleans, and +every one knew what a reckless soldier General Jackson was. Of course +Sappha was not in a dancing mood.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_286">{286}</a></span> She could understand. For if Mr. St. +Ange was with General Jackson, she would be incapable of seeing any one, +even her dearest friends.”</p> + +<p>People thought with her, or not with her, Annette cared little. They had +been given reasons for Sappha’s absence from social affairs, and they +could not, to her face, go beyond them. But Achille was not to be so +easily put off. He himself had taken to the judge the information that +Leonard was with General Jackson; and after this honourable certainty of +her lover’s position he saw no reason for Sappha’s seclusion.</p> + +<p>“Why does Sappha decline all our invitations, Annette?” he asked one +night, after a rather disappointing dance. “We do miss her so much.”</p> + +<p>“I endure her absence very comfortably,” replied Annette. “Sappha has +been ill-natured with me ever since—— Oh, for a long time. How do you +like Miss Bogardus?”</p> + +<p>“Very well, she accommodates herself perfectly; but why is Sappha at +disagreement with you? It is a pity. Our parties do not succeed without +her. She is so lovely, so enchanting in her grace and kindness.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, you may accustom yourself to do without her beauty, and +enchantments, and grace, and kindness. She will never enter this house +again! There now! I know it! and I am not broken-hearted, Achille.”</p> + +<p>“Madame is what she calls joking?”</p> + +<p>Achille asked this question in a cold, even voice, but if<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_287">{287}</a></span> Annette had +been a wise woman she would have regarded the look in his eyes and the +stern set of his lips as ominous and implacable. On the contrary, she +defied them, being roused to that attitude by a number of little +annoyances, of which this inquiry concerning Sappha was the culmination. +She flung down the bracelet she had been unclasping in a temper, and +answered:</p> + +<p>“One does not joke about Sapphira Bloommaert. No, indeed! A girl that +cannot understand a little mistake—a mere slip of the tongue.”</p> + +<p>“You astonish me, Annette,” answered Achille. “I have always considered +your cousin as most amiable—most easy to persuade. What slip, what +mistake, did you make?”</p> + +<p>“I do not care to talk about Sappha any longer. I am weary.”</p> + +<p>“Then madame must sleep and rest. I can myself ask Sappha; perhaps I may +rectify the little mistake—the slip——”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Achille, do let the subject drop!”</p> + +<p>“It interests, it excites me. There is a wrong; that is unfortunate. I +may put it right. When did the little mistake occur?”</p> + +<p>Then Annette perceived that she must tell the story herself or have the +whole subject reopened. The latter course, with her uncle, aunt, and +grandmother all opposed to her, was not to be endured. She was +undressing her hair, and she turned round and faced Achille with its +pale beauty<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_288">{288}</a></span> streaming over her shoulders and emphasising the living +whiteness of her face and throat; and Achille experienced again that +singular sense of repulsion and fascination she had first inspired in +his heart; for she looked more like some angry elfin creature than a +mere mortal woman.</p> + +<p>“Achille,” she said, “it will give me pleasure to tell you how I +offended my cousin, who is lovely, so enchanting in her grace and +kindness. You remember the morning that you had to attend to Leonard +Murray’s duel? Very well, you went away without considering me. I was +forced to get up, order the carriage, and ride as fast as possible to +see my uncle.”</p> + +<p>“What for? What reason? None whatever.”</p> + +<p>“I wanted uncle Gerardus to find you—to stop you——”</p> + +<p>“You followed me—you sent your uncle to follow me. I surely do not +understand!”</p> + +<p>“Uncle would have nothing to do with the affair, and he treated me +rudely.”</p> + +<p>“Rudely? I must see about that.”</p> + +<p>“Good gracious, Achille! I mean unkindly. He would not interfere, and he +told me not to trouble Sappha—and I was afraid for you.”</p> + +<p>“<i>Mon Dieu</i>, Annette! Afraid for me!”</p> + +<p>“And the very sight of Sappha was more than I could bear. All this +trouble for me because of her cowardly lover, and so I told her what +every one was calling Leonard. You know very well what that was. And she +got angry, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_289">{289}</a></span> that made me say a thing I was sorry for afterwards; and +I told her that I was sorry, and she made believe to forgive me, but +Sappha does not forgive right; and not even grandmother or uncle +Gerardus can make her.”</p> + +<p>“What thing was it you said?”</p> + +<p>“I said every respectable person would shut their doors against Leonard +Murray, and that I supposed I should have to shut my doors; and so now +she will not come here. She says she never will come, unless Leonard +comes with her.”</p> + +<p>“Madame reminds me. This truly is madame’s house, and madame has the +right to shut her doors against any one she wishes to affront. I must +protect my friend, I must ask him to a house whose doors stand open for +him. To-morrow I shall conclude the purchase of the Mowatt place, and we +shall remove to it. I know not what day Mr. Murray may return, and the +possibility of his being turned away from madame’s house fills me with +anxiety.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Achille! Achille! We cannot leave this house. Grandfather de Vries +only gave it to me on condition we lived in it. We shall lose the place, +and it is valuable property. Oh, Achille!”</p> + +<p>“Madame must understand that I would rather lose the property than lose +my friend.”</p> + +<p>From this position Achille would not retire, and Annette’s friends would +not interfere. Madame said “she had no control over Annette’s finances, +and that it was De Vries’ way to keep a string tied to every dollar not<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_290">{290}</a></span> +entirely under his own hand. And when Annette grew sentimental over the +place, as “one of her wedding gifts” and “her bride home,” madame said:</p> + +<p>“Full of memories it was, before you were born, Annette, and they are +not all pleasant ones. At the cost of your purse, your tongue has +talked; I hope, then, you will remember the lesson you pay dearly for.” +Mrs. Bloommaert thought the Mowatt house would be healthier for Jonaca. +It was high and sunny, and she advised her niece to accept it cheerfully +on that ground. But the judge administered the most consoling opinion, +for he laughed at Annette’s fears and said, “Batavius de Vries was <i>non +compos mentis</i> and incapable of making any change in his will that would +stand.” This assurance set Annette firmly on her feet. She accepted the +inevitable as if it was precisely the thing she had been longing for. +And though Achille was astonished at her charming complaisance and +co-operation, he admired her tact, and rewarded it by adorning and +furnishing her rooms in the delicate blues she affected.</p> + +<p>The news of this change of residence caused far less surprise and talk +than Annette had anticipated. No one seemed to consider it of much +importance, and the reasons and excuses for her removal which Annette +had prepared were hardly called for. Indeed, most people had interests +of their own to employ all their speculation, for the winter was the +most hopeless one New York had suffered since the commencement of the +war. Many, like Sapphira Bloommaert,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_291">{291}</a></span> refused all invitations to parties +of pleasure; some on patriotic grounds, many more because the financial +pressure of the times forbade extravagance of every kind. And as if to +sanction and strengthen this retirement, the President urged the keeping +of the twelfth day of January, 1815, as a day of fasting, humiliation, +and prayers for peace. The bitter cold, the deep snows, the scarcity of +all necessaries of life, the silence and suspense enforced by the +winter, affected the most careless; and there was an oppressive feeling +and a longing for peace that could not be thrown off.</p> + +<p>The reviving stir under this national nightmare did not occur until the +evening of February the eleventh. Sappha was reading to her father the +travels of Mungo Park, and they were much interested in them. Even Mrs. +Bloommaert had let her work fall to her lap, and was listening with +moist eyes to Park’s despair in the desert and his restoration to hope +and life by the sight of a little wild flower in the desolate place. +Suddenly a chorus of exulting shouts filled the Bowling Green. The judge +leaped to his feet.</p> + +<p>“<i>It is peace!</i>” he cried. “Open the windows! Let us hear! Let us see!” +And at that moment every window on the Bowling Green was thrown open. +Men were pouring from the houses into the street, as a deep harmonius +anthem came rolling down Broadway, into the Bowling Green, an anthem of +one glad note—“<i>Peace! Peace! Peace!</i>”</p> + +<p>Regardless of all warnings and entreaties, the judge went out. “The news +will keep me warm,” he said; and as he<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_292">{292}</a></span> hastily buttoned up his long +coat he looked twenty years younger. “You need not be anxious about +father to-night,” said Sappha to her mother. “He will take no harm, and, +oh, how I wish I could go with him!”</p> + +<p>By this time every house in the neighbourhood was illuminated and open; +the women in them calling and waving to each other. The forts were +bellowing the news up and down the river; and for four hours thousands +of men and women were constantly passing through the Bowling Green +carrying torches and crying with jubilant voices the same glad word, +“<i>Peace! Peace! Peace!</i>” And above all this joyful hubbub the bells of +Trinity rang clear and strong, echoing between earth and heaven the same +exulting song.</p> + +<p>Not until after midnight did the judge return home. He had been a sick +man for a week. He was then quite well, full of hope, almost drunk with +enthusiasm. Hot coffee was waiting for him, but he called for meat, and +insisted on having it. “The doctor has nothing to do with my case +to-night,” he said. “I know what I want, Carlita. I am hungry. I have +spent ten years of life the past four hours. Glad of it—well spent are +they! Give me meat and bread. Oh, then, I will take coffee, but it ought +to be wine—the best wine in the world is not enough.”</p> + +<p>He was throwing off his coat as he spoke, and he then went to the +roaring fire and spread out his wet feet to its warmth. His wife looked +with terror at their condition.</p> + +<p>“I did not know they were wet, Carlita,” he said. “I<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_293">{293}</a></span> never thought of +my feet. Kouba, take off my shoes and stockings and get dry ones. My +feet were too happy to be sick; they never gave me one twinge! Why, +Carlita, I have walked miles to-night, and I am not tired.”</p> + +<p>“And you are so hoarse that you can scarcely whisper, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“Am I? Then I must have been shouting with the rest. I did not know it. +Never mind, the news is worth the shout. Now my feet are dry and warm, +give me my coffee, and something to eat; and I will talk to you—if I +can.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see anything of Peter?”</p> + +<p>“I met him. He had been to mother’s, and he was coming for me.”</p> + +<p>“How did Peter hear so quickly?”</p> + +<p>“He was sitting in the office of <i>The Gazette</i> in Hanover Square. Peter +goes there often in the evenings. It is a great place of resort for the +men of that quarter; but being Saturday night no one was there but Mr. +Lang and Alderman Cebra; and they were just going to shut up the office +when a pilot rushed in. He stood for a moment breathless and speechless, +and while they wondered he gasped out, ‘<i>Peace! the boat is here with +the treaty!</i>’ In a minute, Peter says, every one rushed into the Square +shouting <i>Peace!</i> and every window was thrown up, and every one in the +surrounding houses was on the street. And immediately the cry was heard +from all quarters of the city.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_294">{294}</a></span> The news spread like wildfire. No one +could say how it happened, but in less than one hour every waking soul +in New York knew it. Houses were all illuminated, and I wonder if there +was any one left in them, for the streets were crowded with men and +women both; and none thought of the cold, and no one knew that it was +snowing.”</p> + +<p>“And now you can hardly speak, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“I have been shouting, though I did not know that I opened my lips. Such +a song of gladness I shall never hear again, Carlita, in this world. I +am glad I lost my voice in it.”</p> + +<p>“Well and good; but what did the Democrats say? Did they——”</p> + +<p>“We were all Democrats, and we were all Federalists to-night. Men that +have not spoken to each other for four years shook hands to-night. +Strangers were friends to-night. There were no rich and no poor +to-night. We were all citizens of New York to-night. We were all +brothers. Carlita, Sappha, I would not have missed to-night for anything +in the world.”</p> + +<p>“I am afraid you will have to suffer for it, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe it. I never felt better in all my life. Why, here +comes Mr. Goodrich!” And with these words a bright, exulting gentleman +walked into the room.</p> + +<p>“Your door stood open, judge,” he said, “and I did not know you were +able to be out, so I thought I would call and rejoice a while with +you.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_295">{295}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“I have been on the street for four hours, Mr. Goodrich; four of the +happiest hours of my life. You know about that?”</p> + +<p>“Thank God, I do! I went last night to Miss Dellinger’s concert and ball +at the City Hotel. She was singing <i>The Death of Lawrence</i> when I heard +a strange murmur, and then a wild shout on the street. The next moment +the door of the concert hall was thrown open and a man, breathless with +excitement, rushed in crying ‘<i>Peace! Peace!</i> An English sloop-of-war is +here with the treaty.’ The music instantly ceased, and the hall was +empty in a few minutes. No one thought of the song, no one remembered +the ball. We all, men and women, rushed into the street. Broadway was a +living tide of happy, shouting human beings. Many were bare-headed, and +did not know it. No one cared for the cold. They were white with snow, +and quite indifferent to the fact.”</p> + +<p>“I saw them! I was among them! I must have been shouting too, but I was +not aware of it at the time. Have you heard from any one what terms we +have got? Will you believe that I have not thought of ‘terms’ until this +moment?”</p> + +<p>“Nor have I, judge. I have heard no one ask about the terms. No one +cares about terms just yet. We have <i>peace</i>! That is enough!<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_296">{296}</a></span>”</p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_X"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER TEN<br><br> +<i>The Star of Peace</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_T.png" +width="80" height="80" +alt="T"></span>HE one idea of New York, now that peace was assured, was renovation and +reconstruction. Every one was busy. The war was a dead issue, commerce +was a living one. The passion for trading and building took the place of +the military passion, and the happy sounds of labour and traffic +superseded those of the cannon and the drum.</p> + +<p>The preservation of the city had been for four years the dominant care +of its inhabitants; now that it was safe they turned with a vehement +spirit of industry to building up trade and commerce in every direction. +It was under these auspices a joyful city. There was less dancing and +dining, but there was a growing prosperity and content, for all had some +business or handicraft to pursue, and all were full of hope and energy.</p> + +<p>And the spirit of reconstruction was as potent in women as in men, +though their arena for its exercise was more restricted. Mrs. Bloommaert +began at once to talk of new carpets and curtains, and of a complete +refurnishing of the principal rooms of the house. And as the spring came +on every dwelling on the Bowling Green caught this fever of<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_297">{297}</a></span> +improvement; and first one and then another displayed to passers-by +their fresh paint and their new lace draperies. It was a sign of some +consequence, for it typified the strength of that hope and energy which +embraced domestic comforts and elegancies as part and parcel of their +civic prosperity.</p> + +<p>In all the changes made in the Bloommaert house Sappha felt, or at least +affected to feel, a sufficient interest. She could not shadow her +mother’s busy pleasure by any evident want of sympathy, yet it was +sometimes difficult to forget sufficiently her offended lover. Her +soul—that strange, fluttering mystery—had lost its life’s dominant, +the other soul to which it had learned to refer every thought and +desire; and there was now silence or discord where once there had been +sweetest melody. Her suffering, however, was no longer a storm, it was +rather a still, hopeless rain, an unimpassioned grief that seldom found +the natural outlet of tears. But these constant fires of repression and +self-immolation were sacramental as well as sacrificial. They were +strong with absolution also; and thus made calm and sure by much sorrow +and by one love, she gradually came out of trouble with a spirit +tempered as by fire; having lost nothing in the furnace but the dross of +her nobler qualities.</p> + +<p>She rarely heard of Leonard. She knew that he was in New Orleans, and +attached to the staff of General Jackson; and so, in the final struggle, +doing his duty to his country. But she never forgot the fact that he +ought to have been in his native city. “It is my fault, all my fault.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_298">{298}</a></span> +No wonder Leonard cannot forgive me,” she said when Mrs. Bloommaert +blamed his absence during the darkest days New York had known.</p> + +<p>The news of the victory at New Orleans followed closely on the news of +peace. It was brought to the Bloommaert household by Achille, who +received it with a letter from Mr. Edward Livingston. “Our friend +Leonard Murray was wounded in the right arm,” he added; “rather a bad +sword cut, but he is with the Livingstons, and has every possible care +and attention.”</p> + +<p>Annette came in later, and, unaware of her husband’s visit, made a great +deal more of Leonard’s wound than Achille had done. She “hoped it would +not be necessary to resort to amputation—a right arm was so convenient, +not to say necessary. And he got it just for interfering,” she +continued. “An English officer had struck down a man carrying the flag, +and Leonard caught the flag as it was falling, and then of course the +Englishman fell upon Leonard. Leonard always was so interfering—I mean +so ready to do every one’s duty for them. You see it was not his place +to take care of the flag; so he got hurt taking care of it. Grandfather +de Vries always told me never to volunteer, and never to interfere. If a +person does his own work and duty in this world, it is all that can be +expected of him. Poor Leonard!”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Sappha, “I think you may keep your pity, Annette, for these +poor creatures who never volunteer and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_299">{299}</a></span> never interfere. Suppose every +one had followed your grandfather’s advice, where would America be now?”</p> + +<p>“I do not know. It is not my place to look after America,” answered +Annette.</p> + +<p>“I will tell you then—it would be under the feet of England.”</p> + +<p>“Grandfather de Vries often says there were very good times when the +English were here——”</p> + +<p>“Come, come, Annette,” interrupted Mrs. Bloommaert, “you are only +talking nonsense. When do you move into your new house?”</p> + +<p>“Next month. Achille is delightfully considerate. All my rooms are +furnished in blue, because he thinks blue so becoming to me; and he +takes my advice entirely about the rest. We shall have the most elegant +dwelling in the city; and I am glad this dreadful war is over. Now I can +get the carpets I desire.”</p> + +<p>“Did Mrs. Livingston say anything about the condition of New Orleans?” +asked Mrs. Bloommaert.</p> + +<p>“I did not read her letter. Achille desired me to do so, but I have +honour. I would not read Mrs. Livingston’s letter. I do not see why she +should write to my husband. I do not write to Mr. Livingston.”</p> + +<p>“She is an old friend of Achille’s. Mr. Livingston is much too busy to +write letters. Perhaps she thought Leonard Murray had friends in New +York who would be glad to hear that he was well cared for.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_300">{300}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Do you believe that Leonard Murray yet remembers us? I do not. We were +all so kind to the young man, and Achille stood by him when no one else +would. Oh, you need not leave the room, Sappha! I was just going to +praise Leonard a little.”</p> + +<p>But Sappha did leave the room, and Mrs. Bloommaert said with some +temper:</p> + +<p>“You have done mischief enough, Annette; why can you not let Leonard +alone? You are too unkind to Sappha.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, then, aunt, I think it is Sappha who is truly cruel to me. Because +she will not come to our house, I shall have to remove to that ugly +Mowatt place. I hate it. All the pretty furniture in the world will not +make it endurable; and if Sappha will not visit us there, I know not +what Achille will say or do. To be driven from house to house for +Sappha’s temper is not a pleasant or a reasonable thing.”</p> + +<p>“Before Sappha’s temper, there was your own temper, Annette; and I am +sure you need not expect Sappha to visit you in your new home unless you +also expect Leonard.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose I shall have to write to Leonard, and tell him the trouble I +am in. I think he would come back and get Sappha to forgive me properly, +if I ask him. He was always very fond of me.”</p> + +<p>“If you write to Leonard Murray one word about Sapphira Bloommaert I +will never speak to you again, Annette. You may depend upon that! How +can you be so malicious?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_301">{301}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Malicious! You will misunderstand me, aunt Carlita. I thought perhaps +if I wrote and told Leonard how angry Sappha was, and how Achille had +nearly quarrelled with me about Sappha, he might come back to New York. +And I am sure any one can see that Sappha is breaking her heart about +his desertion of her.”</p> + +<p>“Sappha is doing nothing of the kind. Sappha is perfectly happy.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I am so glad to hear it! Sappha is perfectly happy! Why did she go +away? I really meant nothing unkind. If she had only remained, I was +going to tell her about Aglae Davezac, Mrs. Livingston’s lovely sister. +I dare say she consoles Leonard very well. She is not handsome, but she +has a beautiful figure, and is very witty.”</p> + +<p>“Annette, if you will believe me, we are neither of us interested in +either Mrs. Livingston or her lovely sister. There are things nearer +home. When did you call on your grandmother? She was complaining of your +neglect lately.”</p> + +<p>“I am just going to see her.”</p> + +<p>“I hope you will tell her exactly what you have said here.”</p> + +<p>“No, we shall talk about Jonaca and the new house. Good-morning, aunt!”</p> + +<p>Annette’s visits had fallen into this kind of veiled unfriendliness. She +would have ceased coming to the Bowling Green at all if Achille’s +pointed inquiries had not forced her into a semblance of civility, for +she blamed Sappha, not only for<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_302">{302}</a></span> her removal to the Mowatt house, but +also for many a passage of words between Achille and herself that were +less agreeable than they ought to have been, or would have been if +Sappha had not formed the subject of discussion. And from Annette’s +point of view, perhaps there was cause for some irritation. For a few +hasty words which Sappha refused to ignore, there had been many hasty +ones between herself and Achille; and, moreover, she did not feel the +Mowatt house any equivalent for the roomy, aristocratic dwelling she had +been compelled to abandon. Every annoyance that came up regarding this +removal she blamed Sappha for; and though she affected to be pleased +with the change, it had not only been a bitter mortification to her, but +also brought other unpleasant consequences in its train. For it had been +just the very kind of thing necessary to rouse Achille to a sense of +small household tyranny that he had tolerated because he preferred +toleration to assertion. But having once affirmed and exerted his right +he had not again relinquished the authority of master.</p> + +<p>“I submitted too easily,” said Annette, when discussing the subject with +her grandmother; “and now Achille just says ‘madame will do this,’ or +‘madame will go there,’ or ‘madame will say so-and-so,’ and I seem to +have no power to say madame will not. Oh, grandmother, just for a few +words! It is too much punishment! I was so happy, and now I am not happy +at all. I sometimes wish that I could die.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_303">{303}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Annette, my dear one, thou must not make more of trouble than there is. +Often I have told thee not to complain; after complaint there is no +oblivion. If Achille can be polite, cannot thou be silent? With silence, +one may plague the devil; but as for spoken words, no sponge wipes them +out.”</p> + +<p>Thus and so events were progressing, as the spring of 1815 waxed to June +and roses again. There was at this time some probability that the judge +might be requested to go to England as legal adviser to agents sent by +the government to arrange some question of boundary not very clearly +stated; and if so, he proposed to take his wife and daughter with him.</p> + +<p>Sappha heard of this arrangement with dismay, and it was hard for her to +enter into her mother’s little flurry of anticipation. She did not wish +to leave New York at all, for she felt certain that Leonard would return +as soon as he was able, if only to look after his large interests in +property and real estate. For in the short time intervening between the +advent of peace and the advent of summer the whole aspect of New York +had been changed. Stores and warehouses long closed were open, houses of +all kinds had found ready tenants, the streets were crowded with +vehicles, the shipyards literally alive, and vessels coming and going +constantly from and to every quarter of the globe. There was not a +branch of industry nor a corner of the city where New York’s citizens +were not proving their liberal views, their<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_304">{304}</a></span> broad intelligence, and +their energetic activity. How could Leonard Murray stay away from his +own city when it was offering him such advantages for new investments +and such excellent opportunities for those he already possessed?</p> + +<p>She did not include herself among the reasons for his return. She had no +hope that she could influence it in any way. If Leonard had not quite +forgotten her, he had at least resolved not to renew their acquaintance +in any degree. If this were not the case, he would have written to her, +sent her some message, some token, if it were only a flower. And at this +point she always felt anew the pang of despair; for Leonard would never +give her another flower. She had no reason to expect it, she did not +deserve it. Here reflection stopped. It could go no further, the memory +of that scattered rose was a barrier that no love could put aside or win +over.</p> + +<p>She made one effort to remain at home; she went to her grandmother and +entreated that she would interfere for her. “If you desired me to stay +with you, dear grandmother,” she said, “my father would permit it; I am +sure he would.”</p> + +<p>“So then, dear one, I must not ask him. Thy mother, what of her? Very +much disappointed she would be. To see the wonderful sights of London +alone, what pleasure would she find in that? And the shopping, and the +visiting without thee, would not be the same. Oh, no, it is in thy +delight the good mother will find delight; and in the admiration thou +wilt receive will be her honour. Very much<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_305">{305}</a></span> alone she will be without +thee, for, as to thy father, the affairs of his commission will occupy +him. Shall I tell thee thy duty? It is to put away all regret from thy +thoughts; to give thyself to the honour and pleasure of thy good +parents; to add thy smiles, thy hopes, thy glad young spirits to theirs. +This is a great honour for thy father, a great pleasure for thy mother, +and if Sapphira Bloommaert I know, I think she will not make it less. +No, she will smile, and then ten times greater it will be.”</p> + +<p>And at these words Sappha smiled, and promised to go willingly and do +all she could to increase the joy of those with her.</p> + +<p>“And that will not only be right, but wise,” answered the old lady; “for +in the way of duty it is that we meet blessing and happiness.”</p> + +<p>From this interview Sappha went home determined to lift cheerfully the +burden in her way; and lo! it became lighter than a grasshopper. She +found that as soon as she put herself out of consideration she caught +the spirit of the change; she became interested in all the details of +their journey, and finally almost enthusiastic. Then her father’s pride +and happy anticipations were hers, as were also her mother’s manifold +little plans for her own desires and her promises for the desires of +others. They lingered over their meals, and they sat hours later at +night, talking about the places they were to visit, the people they were +to see, and the beautiful things they were to purchase. They had long<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_306">{306}</a></span> +lists of china, and silk, and lace, to which they were constantly +adding; for all their relatives and friends and acquaintances had +commissions for them to fill.</p> + +<p>In these busy, happy days Sappha won back all the gladsomeness she had +lost. She put Leonard, with a loving thought, into the background of her +hopes. She gave herself without one grudging thought to the joy set +before her. And with this happy spirit came back the radiancy of her +beauty; her step regained its elasticity, her cheeks their brilliant +colour, her eyes their tender glow, her smiles their love-making +persuasion. And every one but madame said it was because she was going +to Europe and expected to be presented at Court. Even the judge smiled a +little sarcastically, and said to himself, “Leonard Murray has been +forgotten.” Mrs. Bloommaert did not err quite so far; but realising the +charm of all the new expectations before her, she gave them the credit +of changing Sappha’s dejection to cheerfulness. It was only madame who +knew the secret of the happy transition; she understood how the noblest +feelings had crushed down the selfish ones and restored the almost +despairing girl, by showing her life with a larger horizon than her own +personality.</p> + +<p>So affairs went on in the Bowling Green house until only ten days +remained for the last preparations. And these days were expected to be +full of visits and farewell hospitalities; for a voyage to Europe was at +that time an undertaking surrounded by uncertainty, and even danger, and +people went<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_307">{307}</a></span> to the Bloommaerts to bid them good-bye, and then as they +spoke of the subject shook doubtful heads and wondered if they would +ever see them again.</p> + +<p>One day about a week before they were to leave Sappha put on her hat to +go to Nassau Street. There had been many callers, and she was excited +and a little weary, but Mrs. Bloommaert was still more so; and Sappha +entreated her to try and sleep until she returned. Having darkened the +room she went away, a little depressed by the shutting out of the +sunlight, the uncovered stairway, and general air of the dismantled +home. But she was so beautiful that any one might have wondered what +mystic elements had been combined to produce that air of pleased +serenity and thoughtful happiness, which gave to her youth and +loveliness a charm that mere form and colour could not impart. She was +thinking of Leonard. As she went slowly from step to step she was +thinking of Leonard. That day Mrs. Livingston had called, and she had +talked enthusiastically about him, of his bravery in action, and his +cheerfulness when suffering; and, moreover, of his return to New York. +“His wound had been worse than at first appeared likely,” she said, “but +her sister-in-law believed he would be able to leave New Orleans before +the yellow fever season. A thing very desirable,” she added, “for there +are fears of a severe epidemic this year.”</p> + +<p>“But Mr. Murray will come north before the danger?” asked Mrs. +Bloommaert.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_308">{308}</a></span></p> + +<p>“I am sure he will; next month early, I should say.”</p> + +<p>Sappha was thinking of this promise, and telling herself that she would +persuade her grandmother to see Leonard and say for her all she would +say, if present. She had supreme confidence in her love and wisdom, and +believed that if ever Leonard could be reconciled, it might well be by +Madame Bloommaert’s representations. She did not trust Annette, but her +grandmother could not fail! and it was the light of these words “<i>could +not fail!</i>” that gave such singular radiance and serenity to her face +and manner.</p> + +<p>She looked into the parlour to see if her father had returned home, and +then opened the front door. As she did so an eager, tender voice said +“<i>Sappha! Sappha!</i>” and at the same moment she cried out, “<i>Leonard! +Leonard!</i>” The four words blended as one voice; and as they did so their +hands clasped, their lips met, and the two that had been so miserably +two, were now one again.</p> + +<p>They went into the parlour and sat down, hardly able to speak—too happy +to speak—too sure of each other to want explanations, even to bear +them, throwing the wretched episode of the quarrel behind them, caring +only for a future in which they might never more miss each other for a +moment. Pale with suffering and confinement, Leonard had just that air +of pathos which takes a woman’s heart by storm; and Sappha felt that she +had never until that moment known how dear he was to her.</p> + +<p>Mentally she asked herself what was now to be done.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_309">{309}</a></span> She felt that the +journey to England had become an impossible thing. She could not leave +Leonard. She could not even speak of the coming separation. For a little +while she wished the felicity of their reunion to be shadeless, +cloudless, saddened by no yesterday, fearing no to-morrow. Just one hour +of such love could sweeten life, why invade it with any careful thought?</p> + +<p>All too soon the careful thought came. Leonard had heard of the intended +voyage, and it had filled him with such anxiety that against all advices +and persuasions he had hastened his return to New York. He was resolved +that Sappha should remain with him, or else that he should go with +Sappha. In either case, immediate marriage was advisable, and Sappha had +now no desire to oppose his wishes.</p> + +<p>“We can be married to-morrow, the next day, the day we leave. What is to +prevent it?” he asked. She laid her hand in his for answer, and at that +moment the judge entered. And as Judge Bloommaert was a man who never +required two lessons on any subject, he met Leonard with great kindness +and sympathy; and when the subject of an immediate marriage was named +made no objections to its consideration “as soon as Mrs. Bloommaert was +present.”</p> + +<p>Then Sappha went swiftly to her mother. She knelt down by the bedside +and laid her head on her mother’s breast. “Father is home,” she +whispered, “and Leonard! Oh, mother, mother! Leonard has come back to +me! and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_310">{310}</a></span> he wants to go with us to England—and he wants to be married +before we go. Mother, dear, sweet mother! you will agree with Leonard? +Yes, you will! Yes, you will—for my sake, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Are you dreaming, Sappha? How can Leonard be here? Mrs. Livingston said +a few hours ago that he was in New Orleans.”</p> + +<p>“But he left New Orleans the same day that her letter left. He could not +stay in New Orleans when he heard we were going to England. He has +travelled night and day, and he is still pale with suffering. You will +be sorry only to see how pale he is. We cannot be parted again; he says +it will kill him—and father says we may be married if you are willing. +You are willing, mother? Yes, I know you are. Say yes, dear mother, say +yes, for Sappha’s sake.”</p> + +<p>“I will dress and see Leonard as soon as possible, Sappha. And if your +father is willing for you to marry at once, of course I shall agree with +him. But have you considered? We sail in six days. You have no wedding +dress. The house is all topsy-turvy. Not a room we can set a table +in—carpets up, curtains down, glass and silver all packed away.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, none of these things are at all necessary. It is Leonard, and +not carpets and glass and silver; and——”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes! I know! But you must have a decent gown; a new gown, an old +one is unlucky.”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, it can be made in two or three days—we<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_311">{311}</a></span> have six days, you +know. Come and see Leonard. I am sure you will see how sensible he is.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Bloommaert smiled, rose quickly and began to dress. “Go now and +look after tea. Make things as nice as you can. I will be downstairs in +half an hour.”</p> + +<p>“And then you will stand by Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“He has not stood very well by you the last year.”</p> + +<p>“Please do not name that—do not think of it. I have always told you it +was my fault.”</p> + +<p>“It tosses all my plans upside down, Sappha. I expected to have you with +me in all my pleasures. I shall have to wander about London alone, and I +shall have no lovely daughter to introduce. Oh, ’tis a great +disappointment to me!”</p> + +<p>“We shall be together, mother. It will be all the same, and you will +have Leonard also.”</p> + +<p>“My dear, Leonard will want you all the time. I know. He will grudge for +any one to breathe the air of the same room with you—but if you are +happy, father and I must be content without you.”</p> + +<p>“It will not be like that, mother. You will see.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, fathers and mothers all <i>see</i>. Suppose now you go and tell the +women in the kitchen to get us something to eat. We shall all be more +amiable if we have the teacups before us.”</p> + +<p>The discussion, however, was amiable enough. Judge Bloommaert had not +watched his daughter for a year with<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_312">{312}</a></span>out coming to a very clear +diagnosis of the conditions that alone would give her happiness; and he +had plenty of that wisdom which knows the art of turning the inevitable +into the thing most desirable. The hour had come. Sappha had waited with +a beautiful patience for it; he was resolved to give her its joy, fully +and freely, and without any holdback.</p> + +<p>“Carlita,” he said, as soon as mutual greetings were over, “Carlita, +Leonard wishes to marry Sappha at once, and go with us to England. I +think it is a good plan. What say you?”</p> + +<p>“I think with you always, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“Such hurry will only admit of a very simple wedding ceremony, but +Leonard says that is what Sappha and he prefer; and as it is their +marriage, they have a right of choice. Eh, Leonard?”</p> + +<p>“As you say, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Livingston will represent my friends, and +if Sappha’s nearest relatives are witnesses the company will be of the +proper size. Why should we ask half of New York to gaze at the most +sacred and private of all domestic events?”</p> + +<p>“Well, then, we will let it be so. Can you arrange for such a wedding, +Carlita—say on the morning of the day we leave?”</p> + +<p>“I can do my best, Gerardus.”</p> + +<p>“The packet sails at two o’clock in the afternoon. I suppose the +marriage could take place at twelve.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_313">{313}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Better say at ten o’clock, Gerardus. We shall need time to change our +dresses and pack up the last things.”</p> + +<p>“True. Then, Leonard, we will say ten o’clock next Wednesday. Is that +right?”</p> + +<p>“If Sappha and Mrs. Bloommaert say so. I suppose it cannot be Saturday +or Monday?”</p> + +<p>“Impossible,” answered Mrs. Bloommaert. “There is a wedding dress to +make.”</p> + +<p>“Sappha has plenty of pretty dresses.”</p> + +<p>“She has not, however, a wedding dress. She cannot be married without +one.”</p> + +<p>“Then perhaps it ought to be bought to-night. There is plenty of time +yet.”</p> + +<p>“In the morning will do.”</p> + +<p>“If it should not be ready——”</p> + +<p>“I will attend to that,” said Mrs. Bloommaert, and her manner was not +only confident, but final on the subject.</p> + +<p>“I must go out for an hour after tea, but when I return we can talk over +a few business points,” said the judge to Leonard; and the young man was +so elated and happy he only smiled; he could say neither yes nor no; +everything had slipped from his consciousness but the joy of being near +Sappha, of seeing her face, of hearing her speak, and feeling the clasp +of her hand within his own.</p> + +<p>Then when the judge had gone Mrs. Bloommaert said to Sappha: “I have a +letter to write to your grandmother; a very important letter, and I +shall have to pick my thoughts,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_314">{314}</a></span> and choose my words, and that is a +thing I cannot do if you and Leonard are whispering behind me. Go into +the other parlour, and make your little arrangements there.”</p> + +<p>Very willingly they obeyed, and the sight of the piano was enough to +raise the spirit of melody in Leonard’s heart. “Let us sing one song +together, dearest,” he said, and Sappha found the key of the locked +instrument, while Leonard searched among the piled music sheets for some +song fit for the happy hour.</p> + +<p>“Love’s Maytime,” he cried. “That sounds well.” And he stooped and +kissed her as she seated herself. Their heads bent toward each other, +they were radiant with the most transporting love and their hearts +ravished with the bliss of their reunion.</p> + +<p>“Sing, my love, and sadden me into deeper joy,” whispered Leonard; and +soft and low to the simple melody Sappha sang:</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“We two will see the springtime still<br></span> +<span class="i3">In days with autumn rife;<br></span> +<span class="i1">When wintry winds blow bleak and chill<br></span> +<span class="i3">And we near the bourne of life.<br></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“For love is ever young and kind,<br></span> +<span class="i3">And love will with us stay<br></span> +<span class="i1">Till we in Life’s December find<br></span> +<span class="i3">A path of endless May.”<br></span> +<span class="i81">—<i>Louis Ledoux.</i><br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>Leonard caught the melody quickly, and Mrs. Bloommaert stopped her +writing to listen. “Their voices are like<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_315">{315}</a></span> one,” she thought. “They are +happy, they may be more so, but ‘a path of endless May’ is asking a +great deal; and yet, as we grow old and unbeautiful, the thought of +endless life, and endless youth, and endless love, and endless May helps +to make grey hair and failing strength bearable. What was it I heard +Rose singing last night? Something of the same kind—some Methodist hymn +about endless spring:</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“There everlasting spring abides<br></span> +<span class="i1">And never fading flowers.”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p>“Yes, everlasting spring would bring endless May, but I wish they would +not now sing about it, the music interferes, I cannot write my letter, +and if madame is not immediately informed of the marriage she will be +offended.” Yet she did not silence the music. She understood that for +the lovers the world was just then revolving in Paradise, and that music +is the language of Paradise. So she erased, and wrote over, and finally +finished with an apology for all her mistakes.</p> + +<p>Very soon the judge returned, and when he had lit his pipe he called +Leonard to join him; and they sat down together and talked of their +intended voyage. “It is a purely business visit to England as far as I +am concerned,” said the judge, “but we intend to be seen and to see; for +there are many Americans in London at present, and with some of them I +am familiar. May I ask, Leonard, what is<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_316">{316}</a></span> taking you across the Atlantic +at this time? Is Sappha entirely accountable?”</p> + +<p>“Not quite, sir,” Leonard answered. “Sooner or later this year I must +have gone to Scotland to fulfil my father’s last charge to me.” No one +questioned this remark, and Leonard continued: “After the defeat at +Sheriffmuir my great-grandfather found himself on the brink of ruin. His +clan had virtually perished, and he had given his last sovereign to <i>The +Cause</i>. Emigration was all that remained and he was the more eager for +this outlet when he learned that his name was on the list of the +proscribed chiefs, and his life in danger. He went to the Earl of Moray, +who had not been ‘out,’ and sold his estate to him on these conditions: +To the third generation it was to be redeemable; but if not then +ransomed it might be sold, though only to a purchaser bearing the name +of Murray. My father hoped to be the saviour of the place, but he died +before the investments made for this purpose had grown to sufficient +increase. On his deathbed he solemnly left this duty to my management; +and I vowed to him to fulfil every obligation to the last tittle. I now +find myself able to honour my pledge, and I am going to Scotland to do +it.”</p> + +<p>“That is right,” said the judge. “Where is this estate?”</p> + +<p>“In the Highlands of Scotland, north of Inverness. It is a romantic +country, and I expect great pleasure from the journey; especially as I +hope now that Sappha may go<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_317">{317}</a></span> with me; but we can decide that question +when we are closer to it.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. You intend then to buy back the estate? Will that be of any +advantage to you?”</p> + +<p>“Not financially—just yet. But I have great faith in the future of +land.”</p> + +<p>“What will you do with it? Rent it?”</p> + +<p>“No. The few Murrays yet remaining there would resent a stranger over +them. I shall leave the oldest of the clan guardian of the place. The +land will not run away. The house is built of immense blocks of granite, +and may stand a thousand years. In time I shall find a profitable use +for both house and land—one can always trust land.”</p> + +<p>This subject naturally brought to discussion a home in New York, and the +judge said, “As the Government House is on the point of being pulled +down, I shall buy a lot on the south of the Bowling Green and build a +handsome dwelling on it for Sapphira. Like you, Leonard, I have faith in +land. When this part of the city ceases to be socially desirable it will +become commercially valuable; and commerce pays good rentage.”</p> + +<p>It was near midnight when all subjects growing out of this sudden change +of intentions had been discussed; and the days that followed were days +of hurry and happiness. But every one entered so heartily into the +joyful girl’s marriage that nothing was belated or neglected, and on the +evening before the desired day there was time for all to sit down<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_318">{318}</a></span> and +arrange the final ceremonies. It was then that Leonard put into Sappha’s +hand, as he bid her good-night, the beauteous gift which is yet worn by +her great-granddaughter. With a kiss and a blessing he put it into her +hand, and she took it into the lighted parlour to examine. It was +addressed only</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<i>To Sapphira, Sapphires</i>,”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">and when the cover of the box was removed she discovered a necklace of +those exquisite Asteria sapphires which have in the centre of their +heavenly blue opalescence a star of six rays. The judge had already seen +them. He said Leonard had bought them from a Creole jeweller in New +Orleans, and that they had once belonged to a beautiful princess of +Ceylon.</p> + +<p>But whatever their history, never had they clasped the throat of a +lovelier woman than Sapphira Bloommaert on the day of her wedding. The +little company invited were gathered in the ordinary sitting-room of her +father’s house, but the June sunshine flooded gloriously the homelike +place; and Annette, who had been freely forgiven, had made it a bower of +white roses. On the hearthstone stood the domine, and the bride’s mother +and grandmother were on either side of him. Mr. and Mrs. Livingston, Mr. +and Mrs. Morris, Annette and Achille, Peter and his betrothed, Josette +Genaud, were the witnesses.</p> + +<p>It was on her father’s arm the lovely Sapphira entered. Every one +instinctively felt her approach; conversation ceased,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_319">{319}</a></span> laughter was +hushed, all were at pleased attention when they heard the light +footsteps and the gentle rustling of the silk wedding gown. A kind of +radiance came in with her; came from her tall bright beauty, from the +glow in her eyes, from her fresh, sweet face, from the warm lights about +her shining hair, and the scintillating glory of the gems around her +white neck. In her hand she held a perfect white rose, and either of +design or by some fortunate accident she stood exactly on the spot where +she had parted from Leonard with the rejected, scattered rose between +them. But true love knows not rejection; from the ends of the earth it +returns to its own; it cannot retain a memory of offence for ever and +ever; it not only gives, but forgives.</p> + +<p>Three hours after the ceremony the Bloommaert household were on their +way to England, and Peter had charge of the house on the Bowling Green. +“We shall be back in the fall of the year,” the judge said to his son, +“for I have much to attend to in New York this coming winter.”</p> + +<p> </p> + +<p>The judge kept his promise, but Leonard and Sappha did not return with +him. Sappha had accompanied her husband to Scotland, and after his +mission to the Highlands had been accomplished they lingered a while in +Edinburgh. Here they met an old acquaintance who was going to Holland +and Belgium, and they went with him to these countries. Then, the +wander-fever being still upon Leonard, they travelled southward to +France and Italy, returning<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_320">{320}</a></span> to England by the usual tourist route +through Switzerland. And, as at that day the facilities for travel were +small, and its difficulties and hindrances for travel many and +perplexing, it was more than a year before they again reached London, +and turned their faces westward and homeward.</p> + +<p>Homeward! The word tasted sweet in Sappha’s mouth. She said it over and +over, and the first sight of the open arms of the low-lying American +shore brought happy tears to her eyes. The Bowling Green at last! After +so many strange lands, after so many wonderful days in the old, old +world, here was the fresh young world, with all its splendid hopes +again! The flag they loved, the homes they knew, the people who belonged +to them—these things were best of all; dearest of all were the +contentful sum of all their future hopes and desires. The great cities, +the fairest spots in Europe, were now only as picture books and +memories; but Home, Sweet Home was on Bowling Green.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_321">{321}</a></span></p> + +<h2><a id="CHAPTER_XI"></a><img src="images/barra.png" width="450" height="16" alt=""> +<br><br>CHAPTER ELEVEN<br><br> +<i>Afterward</i></h2> + +<p class="nind"><span class="dropc"><img src="images/ltr_I.png" +width="80" height="82" +alt="I"></span>F any of my readers believe marriage to be the completion and +consummation of individual life, they will be willing to consider the +story of Sapphira finished when she married Leonard Murray. But if they +rather believe it to be the open portal to a grander and wider life, +they will find the few following pages a sufficient index to a future +which they can unfold and amplify from their own knowledge and +experience. So that I need only say that when Sapphira Murray entered +the beautiful home which her father built for her on the south side of +the Bowling Green she could have had no dream of its future destiny. She +dwelt there in sweet contentment for many years, and died in its lofty +front chamber just before the war of 1860. Leonard Murray did not long +survive his beloved wife. He wandered disconsolately around the Green, +or strolled slowly in the Battery Park for a few months, and was then +laid beside her in that aristocratic little graveyard on Second Street, +which, though surrounded by the tumult of the city, keeps to this day +its flowery seclusion.</p> + +<p>With the removal of these well-known figures the Bowl<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_322">{322}</a></span>ing Green suffered +a distinct social loss; and when Stephen Whitney, who was a near +neighbour of the Murrays, died in 1861, the prestige of its wealth +departed, for Mr. Whitney was the richest man in New York, with the +exception of some members of the Astor family. From that date the +Bowling Green began to assume a business character, and the homes of the +Bloommaerts and Murrays no longer sheltered their descendants. Lawrence +Bloommaert, the son of Captain Christopher Bloommaert, remained a while +in the house of his grandfather, Judge Gerardus Bloommaert, but his +family were all girls, and they married and scattered through the +Madison Square district, and even still further north. Leonard and +Sapphira’s three sons had fine homes in the Murray Hill locality, and +their only daughter Sapphira, who had married the eldest son of Peter +Bloommaert, was in 189—living in a spacious mansion on the Riverside +Drive. She was born in 1827, and therefore at the period of these +reminiscences nearing seventy years of age. But she still kept the dew +of her youth, and her children and children’s children filled her +splendid home with the living splendour of youth and beauty and +affection.</p> + +<p>She was sitting alone one night in the fall of 189—. She looked a +little weary, her figure drooped slightly, her hands lay as motionless +as if they were asleep; but there was a flush of excitement on her +cheeks, and her eyes were full of dreams. She was seeing with them, but +seeing nothing within their physical horizon. They had backward vision +at this hour,<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_323">{323}</a></span> and she smiled faintly at the scenes they flashed before +her memory.</p> + +<p>In a short time the door was noiselessly opened, and a much younger +woman entered. She came toward the elder one with a slow, easy grace, +and taking her passive hands between her own said: “Mother, you have +wearied yourself. I fear you have been foolish to-day.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, Carlita,” was the quick response. “I have had a happy day. I am +glad I took my desire. I did not expect you. It is a <i>Faust</i> night; why +are you not at the opera?”</p> + +<p>“The opera will not miss me. Gerard has gone with the little Van Sant +girl; and of course Agatha Van Sant will be present. I do not suppose +the conductor would lift his baton until he saw Mrs. Agatha Van Sant +enter her box; then, he would nod his satisfaction, and say with a +lordly air, ‘Let the opera commence.’ I shall see enough of opera this +winter; and I want so much to hear about your expedition. What time did +you start?”</p> + +<p>“About eleven o’clock. Gerard wanted to go with me, but I wished to be +alone. There was really no danger. Dalby knows the city, and the horses +obey his word or touch. I went to my old home. I was in every room of +it.”</p> + +<p>“It must be much changed.”</p> + +<p>“In accidentals, yes, very much changed; but the large sunny rooms and +the grand seaward outlook are the same. I went first to the nursery on +the top story, and, Carlita, I could replace every chair and table. I +could see James and<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_324">{324}</a></span> Leonard and Auguste busy with their books and +playthings; and there was one back window that had a little embrasure, +which was very dear and familiar to me. In that nook I read ‘Robinson +Crusoe,’ and the ‘Exiles of Siberia,’ and best of all, ‘The Arabian +Nights.’ I sat down there and tried to recall the long, long, happy days +in which it was my favourite retreat. I stood and looked downward over +the balustrade, and fancied I saw again my beautiful mother, clothed in +white and sparkling with gems, going out with father to some dinner or +ball; and I remembered how I used to thus watch for her coming, and call +her; and how she would stand still and lift her face full of love and +smiles to bid me a ‘good-night.’ Once at a little ceremony of this kind +I dropped her a white rose, and she put it in her bosom, and my father +laughed and called me ‘darling’ and I went to bed that night more happy +than I can tell you. I stayed some time in the nursery, and longer in my +mother’s room. It had only sweet memories, for I never went into it +without meeting a smile, no, not even on that last day of her beautiful +life, when she called us all to her side for the long farewell. She +died, as I have often told you, singing. She had sung, more or less, all +her life long; and she went away faintly and sweetly singing,</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Hark, they whisper, angels say,<br></span> +<span class="i2">Sister spirit, come away;’<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">and after a pause, still more softly—</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“<span class="lftspc">‘</span>Tell me, my soul, can this be death?’<br></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_325">{325}</a></span></div></div> +</div> + +<p class="nind">See, Carlita, I brought some sprays from the honeysuckle she planted on +the seaward porch. Though November, it is in bloom. My father put +flowers from this same vine in her hands after she was dead. It was a +lovely, happy memory, Carlita. In a little sitting-room I found a window +pane on which Annette St. Ange and my mother had written their names, +enclosing them in a very perfect circle, and I brought the glass away +with me. I could not bear to think that some stranger, in the +destruction of the room, might perhaps tread the names beneath his +feet.”</p> + +<p>“Grandmother must have loved Mrs. St. Ange?”</p> + +<p>“They were close friends, especially after the disappearance of Mr. St. +Agne.”</p> + +<p>“Mother, what was the meaning of that disappearance—death?”</p> + +<p>“People generally spoke of it as death; but my father and mother knew +better; and when Annette had passed beyond mortal care and suffering +something occurred—I think the marriage of her granddaughter in +Paris—that led my mother to tell me the truth. To-day, Carlita, I saw +Annette St. Ange again, though not as I recollected her in life.”</p> + +<p>“What do you mean, mother?”</p> + +<p>“I saw her picture; the one taken soon after her marriage, and in her +marriage garments—I was at the Loan Exhibition.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, mother, why did you not wait for me to go with you?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_326">{326}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Well, my dear, the bit of glass in my hand made me remember the +exhibit; and as I had heard Gerard say the Van Sants were going to send +some portraits, I suddenly resolved to visit the rooms and see if +Annette St. Ange’s was among them. And there I saw it—very +conspicuously placed also; a wonderfully lovely presentment of a lovely +girl.”</p> + +<p>“But was it like her?”</p> + +<p>“It was not like the Mrs. St. Ange I remember. The portrait represented +a fairylike beauty, dainty, exquisite, with the bluest eyes and the +palest golden hair imaginable; an air of indefinable coquetry and grace; +and a slight, girlish figure clothed in white from head to feet. But the +Mrs. St. Ange that used to visit my mother was very different. She was +always in black, her eyes were not pretty or expressive, her hair had +lost all its glow, and her slight figure became round and heavy. She was +also sad-looking. I do not recollect her smiling. She seemed full of +care. Still there were points of resemblance, when you looked for them; +and you may be sure the bright, lovely girl did not become the sad, +hard-looking woman without many and long-continued trials.”</p> + +<p>“She ought not to have married a foreigner. They do not understand +American women; and then one or the other goes to the wall.”</p> + +<p>“In the St. Ange case, it was Annette. Her husband was soft as velvet +and hard as iron. In some way she lost<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_327">{327}</a></span> her grip of the situation, and +when men go one step beyond their right they go too far. He never said +an impolite word to her; also, he ceased saying a loving word. She +became afraid of him, nervous, diffident, and suspicious. He had only to +remark in the blandest way that she was losing her fine manners, and she +lost them. In his presence she did herself no justice. He looked +critically at her, slightly shrugged his shoulders, and she was as +awkward as he considered her. In five years no one would have known the +once sarcastic, clever, authoritative Annette de Vries. She had +subsided. She was forgotten; and she hardly knew how to frame a +complaint of the way in which this condition had been brought about.</p> + +<p>“Fortunately, she found some comfort in her house and her children, but +Mr. St. Ange took no apparent interest in either. It was a lonely +pleasure. He was disappointed because the three girls were not three +boys. He spent very little time in his home, preferring one or other of +the clubs of which he was a member.”</p> + +<p>“I think he was simply—a brute.”</p> + +<p>“Not quite that—he did not intend to be brutal. He had taken a distaste +to Annette. My mother told me that in the days of their first +acquaintance he had periods of this distaste; a kind of repulsion which +was overcome by the fascination of her great physical beauty. But the +physical beauty faded, lost its charm, and you can see, Carlita, what +would then happen. But he was never rude or actively<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_328">{328}</a></span> unkind; and in +public he treated her with marked attention and respect. If Annette had +complained, no one would have believed her; even her grandmother was +sure in her heart that Annette had managed badly a very good man.”</p> + +<p>“Poor Annette, I am sorry for her.”</p> + +<p>“My mother was sorry for her. She understood. My mother, in matters of +the heart, had a sort of clairvoyant perception; and she never would +listen to any one who blamed Annette. This kind of life between Mr. St. +Ange and his wife went on for nearly ten years; and then one day he +reached home in a strangely excited condition. He said he had received a +request, that was in reality a command, to return to France and look +after the affairs of his family. He was going at once. He expected to be +away at least a year. Annette made no objection, nor did she ask any +questions about the business. She was quite aware that all inquiries +would be answered only as it suited her husband’s views. However, before +he went he made over to her in the most absolute way every dollar he +possessed, both in property and money. He said the ocean voyage was a +life risk; that he had always been unfortunate at sea, and that he +wished his wife to have no difficulty, in case of his death, in +realising his fortune. He himself took nothing away but some changes of +clothing. ‘If he lived to reach Paris he would have no difficulty +concerning money,’ he said, ‘and if not—the thing he had done was well +done and only an act of justice.’ And every one thought his conduct +beautifully<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_329">{329}</a></span> thoughtful and unselfish. He went away on a night tide, +when no one was aware of his intention, and again people said, ‘How +considerate!’ and Annette affected to agree with them.”</p> + +<p>“Well, at least, she was clever. I should have done the same, mother. +Did she really grieve at his departure?”</p> + +<p>“No. She turned all her attention to her money affairs. One of her great +troubles had been Achille’s refusal to interfere in the management of +her fortune; or even to permit her to make any change in its +disposition, however profitable such change would be. ‘Your most +sensible grandfather De Vries invested your money, and neither you nor I +can improve upon his financial foresight,’ was the usual answer. But +times had changed, and Annette knew well that her investments needed +change of the most radical kind. She made them without a day’s delay. +She called to her assistance the son of the man who had been her +grandfather’s lawyer, and with his advice speedily nearly doubled her +income. All that Achille had left her was closely secured in real +estate, and she found in this business such pleasant satisfaction, that +she regained much of her beauty and old-time spirit.”</p> + +<p>“She had thrown off the incubus, mother.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, and regained her self-appreciation. Her lawyer praised her +financial insight, her friends praised her appearance, she took the +reins of household management again, and held them with such strict +method and discipline that<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_330">{330}</a></span> her servants, from being the most idle and +insolent in the city, became the most respectful and obedient.”</p> + +<p>“Did she ever talk of her husband?”</p> + +<p>“She never spoke of him until the year which Mr. St. Ange had named as +the period of his absence was more than over. No word of any kind had +come to her, and she said to my father, that she expected none. Achille +had told her he would be too busy to write letters, and that she must +accept ‘no news’ to be ‘good news.’ But he had given her the address in +Paris where she might write to him, if there occurred anything worth +writing about. My father advised her to write and inquire as to the +health and welfare of Mr. St. Ange, and the date of his probable return. +Annette did so, and after the lapse of four months received a short note +from the lawyer she had addressed, saying: ‘The ship in which Monsieur +St. Ange sailed from New York was lost in the Bay of Biscay, and all on +board perished. It is possible, but not likely, that Monsieur St. Ange +was picked up by some vessel, whose course would take her round the Cape +to India or China, and thus prevent all intelligence reaching us for a +year or two. Madame is advised to consider this probability, but not to +place much hope upon it.’<span class="lftspc">”</span></p> + +<p>Carlita laughed scornfully, and her mother continued: “Annette took the +information with a blank calmness; no one could tell what her feelings +were. She continued her busy life for three more years, and then one day +a fashionable gentleman, called Van Tienhoven, visited her. In the most<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_331">{331}</a></span> +guarded and respectful manner he told her that he had just returned from +France; that while there he had, through the influence of powerful +friends, visited the Court of Versailles several times, and that on two +occasions he had seen there, in close attendance upon the King, Mr. St. +Ange, or, he added, if not Mr. St. Ange, the most perfect duplicate of +that gentleman that can be imagined. Annette preserved her composure +until his confidence was closed, then gave it an unqualified denial. She +told Van Tienhoven that St. Ange’s lawyer had assured her of the death +of her husband; and begged him not to give publicity to the suspicion +that he still lived. She showed him how painful it must be to her, how +unfortunate for her daughters, and she emphatically declared her own +belief in Mr. St. Ange’s death. He gave her his word of honour to +observe strict silence on the subject; and the Van Tienhovens are all +gentlemen. I have no doubt the promise of secrecy was kept.</p> + +<p>“But Annette became restless and unhappy, and both her grandmother and +my father advised her to go to Paris. She went, taking with her Jonaca, +the eldest of her daughters, who had always been the favourite of St. +Ange. In less than four months she was in New York again. She came back +without Jonaca, and dressed in the most pronounced widow’s costume. She +said unequivocally that her husband was dead, and that she had left +Jonaca at a fine Parisian school; her father’s friends having strongly +urged her to do so, promising to care well for the girl. No one had any<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_332">{332}</a></span> +right to doubt Annette’s statement, but mother told me that from the +first there was a doubt. It was undefined and unspoken, but it permeated +society; and Annette soon felt it. One day after some particularly +disagreeable incident, she came to my mother and told her what had +occurred; and mother said, ‘Dear, what does it matter? <i>You</i> know that +Achille is dead, do you not?’ And she answered in a sullen, angry way, +‘Sapphira, he is as dead to me as if he lay at the bottom of the Bay of +Biscay. There is no truer widow in all America than Annette St. Ange. +And then she pulled the widow’s veil from her bonnet, and the widow’s +cap from her head, and flung them with passionate scorn far from her. +What confidence followed this act mother never fully told me; but I +gathered from what she said that she had been compelled to give up +Jonaca, who had been placed in a convent for proper education, and that +the interview with her husband had been extremely painful. But he kissed +her hand at the close of the negotiations, and he sent servants in +magnificent livery to attend to her luggage and passports and all the +other formalities of travel; and they waited on her as if she was a +princess, until they saw her safely on board the American-bound vessel.</p> + +<p>“Gradually I learned more of this domestic tragedy. Judge Bloommaert +told my father and mother that Annette was in receipt of a large income +from France. Later, I heard that the notes authenticating this income +were signed by the Duc de Massareene. A few years later Jonaca St.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_333">{333}</a></span> Ange +was introduced to French society of the highest rank, and in about half +a year we heard of her marriage to the Marquis de Lauvine. Annette was +proud of the alliance, and announced it in all the New York newspapers.”</p> + +<p>“Now, mother, I begin to see how it is all the Van Sants go to Paris +‘for their luck,’ as they say.”</p> + +<p>“You see only in part. Annette never spoke plainly to any one, unless it +was to my mother and her lawyer. Her second daughter, Clara, went to +Paris in her fifteenth year, remained in the convent two years, and was +then introduced to society by her sister, the Marquise de Lauvine. But +Clara refused all French alliances; she had a child love for George Van +Sant, and she came home and married him. The youngest daughter, Annette, +also went to Paris, and returned home to marry Fayette Varian. Their +children have all friends in Paris, and some Americans wonder at the way +they succeed socially. To me it is no wonder. The de Massareenes and De +Lauvines are sensible of their right, and rather proud of their rich +American kindred.”</p> + +<p>“I understand now, mother, why the Van Sants and Varians still crown +Annette St. Ange as the most remarkable of women.”</p> + +<p>“She was a remarkable woman. My father did not hesitate to say to my +mother and self, that she had done wisely in accepting money in place of +a very doubtful recognition. You see the marriage laws were uncertain to +her, and she knew well if her husband was a Roman Catholic<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_334">{334}</a></span> that +circumstance alone might invalidate her own marriage.”</p> + +<p>“But was he a Roman Catholic?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Always had been, I suspect.”</p> + +<p>“Then I think he was very dishonourable, and——”</p> + +<p>“We will not discuss that question. It involves too many of our own +kindred. Madame Jonaca, her grandmother, her uncle, Judge Bloommaert, +and her Grandfather de Vries ought perhaps not to have taken the young +man’s ‘conformity’ for reality. That is past. The atonement made was +very real and lasting. Immediately on her return from Paris Annette +bought a beautiful home, she had the finest horses and carriages in New +York, and she brought from far and near the very best teachers for her +daughters. But in spite of this apparent extravagance she kept a strict +account of every expense, and made every dollar earn its fullest +percentage. Besides which, she speculated wisely, and was fortunate in +every money transaction she touched. The Van Sants owe to her prudence +all the luxury they enjoy to-day. They do well to praise her. I was +thinking of her bride picture, and of the sad, sombrely clothed woman I +remembered, when you came into the room. And I had just come to the +conclusion that her husband’s withdrawal was a fortunate thing for +Annette and her daughters.”</p> + +<p>“She gave up all for her children. She was a good woman.”</p> + +<p>“I do not believe she would have given up the crossing<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_335">{335}</a></span> of a ‘t’ if it +had not been for her children. She had spirit enough to have fought +every court in France,—when she was from under her husband’s +influence,—but motherhood was Annette’s passion, and if the Van Sants +and Varians knew Annette St. Ange’s true story they would give hearty +thanks and praise to the self-effacing woman who chose for them wealth +and honour in America rather than a foreign nobility, with perhaps the +bar sinister across it.”</p> + +<p>“I am going to take a good look at Annette St. Ange’s picture to-morrow, +mother. I have been rather worried lately at our Gerard’s attentions to +Clara Van Sant, but if she has any share in her grandmother’s reticent, +self-respecting, prudent, far-seeing nature, Gerard has my blessing. He +can marry Clara to-morrow. What have you done with that square of glass, +mother?”</p> + +<p>“It is in my desk.”</p> + +<p>“I would have it fitted into one of the windows in your private +sitting-room.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you for the suggestion, Carlita.”</p> + +<p>“I cannot help wondering at fate, or whatever you call the power that +orders our lives. Here were two women brought up in the same kind of +loving, orderly homes, and surrounded by just the same influences, and +the marriage of one is a living tragedy, and the marriage of the other +is a song of love. How did the difference come to pass?”</p> + +<p>“There were personal reasons in both cases to account<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_336">{336}</a></span> for the +difference—if there was all the dissimilarity you suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Was there not?”</p> + +<p>“No; my mother’s song of love had discords, and often fell into the +minor key. No one can tell in what particular way a man will try the +heart of the woman that loves him. My dear father had some failings that +might have made sorrow enough, but mother knew how to accept the +discipline; and in some cases we are reaping the benefit this day, both +of my father’s foibles and my mother’s wise acceptance of them.”</p> + +<p>“I have always believed Grandfather Murray to have been a nearly +faultless man.”</p> + +<p>“Under some circumstances his failings would have been virtues; but when +a man marries he assumes duties which are paramount, and which demand a +sacrifice of things in themselves innocent and even commendable. He had +a love for travel, adventure, and even fighting, that at times became a +hunger that must be satisfied; and these periods were often of long +duration, and caused my mother infinite alarm and anxiety. I will only +give you two instances, and these two, because they are prominent +factors in our present life.”</p> + +<p>“One of them is, of course, Castle Murray in Scotland?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. You know the story of its loss and redemption. But that was but +the beginning. The old place seemed to draw father like a magnet, and he +doubtless spent a great<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_337">{337}</a></span> deal of money on its improvement; for he built +additional rooms and inaugurated industries which I believe are still in +progress.”</p> + +<p>“He was making the land valuable, mother. Was not that wise?”</p> + +<p>“It did not look like wisdom to my anxious mother, and when my eldest +brother James died it looked still less prudent. But my brother +Alexander was then ‘Murray of Castle Murray,’ and he was as fanatic as +his father and elder brother had been. His son David was equally proud +of the old grey walls, and you know how Gerard plumes himself on being +heir to the place.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know; but, mother, the Scotch place is now a very distinctive +and valuable property. You are as proud as any of us, when the +newspapers announce ‘Mr. Gerard Murray and a party of friends <i>en route</i> +to Castle Murray, his ancestral home in the Scotch Highlands, for the +shooting season.’ And the years Gerard does not himself go there he +rents the place for an almost incredible sum to some rich American or +Englishman. I am sure we should miss the money, as well as the +distinction, Murray Castle brings us if it was no longer ours. For my +part, I think my Grandfather Murray did a very wise thing in buying back +and renovating the old home, I do believe it will prove one of his best +speculations.”</p> + +<p>“I do not doubt your faith, Carlita; and you must remember, I am now +giving you instances of good results from your grandfather’s wandering +fever. For you know wherever<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_338">{338}</a></span> he went the lust for land went with him. +He had also the strangest instinct concerning its value. In some occult +way he divined the fortune of land, just as some fishermen point out to +the fleet of boats exactly where the school of herring swim, though no +ripple on the water and no shimmer of the fish show to the ordinary +eye—or, as I myself have seen, a man step out from his comrades and say +‘You may dig here, there is water beneath our feet.’ In some such way, +your grandfather could pick out the corners of certain streets, and even +plots and parcels of unplanted lands, as future desirable locations.”</p> + +<p>“I do wish, mother, such an instinct was hereditary, and that it had +come my road.”</p> + +<p>“It was a special gift, and perhaps was allied to the second-sight that +was not uncommon among his people. I was going to tell you that about +1850 he went to New Orleans. He had property there, and always kept it, +my mother thought, because it gave him a plausible excuse for a journey +when he could find no other. Well, on this journey he met, in New +Orleans, General Sam Houston. The two men loved each other on sight, and +your grandfather went back with him to Texas. He was infatuated with the +country. He wrote mother the most extravagant love letters, all inspired +by the skies, and the prairies, the wonderful sunshine, the intoxicating +atmosphere, and the seas of flowers nodding, even at his bridle reins. +And my dear mother affected an equal enthusiasm; she told him to enjoy +the trip<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_339">{339}</a></span> in all its fulness—not to hurry home. She assured him all was +well—and that she was able to manage affairs a little longer without +him.”</p> + +<p>“I suppose she knew that he would stay until the fever of wandering had +exhausted itself?”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps she did; but even if so, her sympathy made him more happy. He +remained in Texas nearly a year, and, of course, bought land there. Some +of this land has been very advantageously turned into cash; but there +was one tract he would never part with. To be sure, no one seemed to +want it; and I have heard Texans who came to our house—where they were +always welcome—ask him what motive he had in buying land so valueless. +He always laughed a little, and said, ‘It was a fancy of his.’ Then +<i>they</i> would laugh, and tell him that ‘he was rich enough to buy a +fancy.’ All the same, it was easy to see they thought either that my +father had been cheated or else that he was a mighty poor judge of land +and localities. But nothing altered his opinion of the Texas property, +and he took a promise both from my brothers and myself that we would not +sell it for fifty years. Well, Carlita, you know how it turned out?”</p> + +<p>“Mother! You mean the oil lands? Good gracious! How could grandfather +know? There was no oil found below ground in his day—how could he +know?”</p> + +<p>“So you see, though mother had these periods of loneliness and trial, +<i>we</i> are reaping their harvest; and I am sure she is glad of it.<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_340">{340}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Grandfather was a strange ‘mixture of the elements’; so shrewd and +worldly-wise, and yet so romantic.”</p> + +<p>“You may add sentiment to the romance. When he first entered Castle +Murray he saw it exactly as it had been left. No one had touched +anything. The old chief’s chair, as he pushed it from the table when he +had eaten his last meal in the home he was leaving, remained just at the +angle taken; a half-bottle of usquebaugh and an unbroken glass stood on +the bare oak table. The dust of generations lay an inch thick, and on +the hearthstone were a few remnants of half-burnt wood. These remnants +your grandfather carefully gathered, and when the first fire in the +Bowling Green house was lit they kindled it. But no one who ever saw +Leonard Murray buying or selling land would have dreamed that he had +room in his heart for a bit of sentiment like that.”</p> + +<p>“I have heard him called a shrewd, hard man.”</p> + +<p>“I know. Listen again. You have complained of the superabundance of +white roses at our old country home up the river?”</p> + +<p>“Well, mother, they are absurdly out of proportion. They cover walls and +fences and over-run the garden, and ought to give place, in part, to +other flowers.”</p> + +<p>“Not while I live. My mother and father carefully reared the first +growth from the seeds of one white rose, which in some way was vitally +connected with their love. There was a quarrel, and my mother rejected +the rose; and father kept it, and then after they were married they +planted<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_341">{341}</a></span> the seed, and watched and nourished it, until it became a tree +bearing white roses. From slips of that tree the garden has been +garlanded with roses. I do not wish it changed, until you have put the +last earthly rose in my cold hands.”</p> + +<p>“Dear mother! Dear mother!”</p> + +<p>They talked over these incidents until Gerard returned; and then as they +took some slight refreshment together fell into speculations concerning +the past and present Bowling Green. Gerard was sympathetic with its +past, but enthusiastic as to its future. And when Mrs. Bloommaert spoke +feelingly of the dignified men who in early days had been the familiar +figures on its pleasant sidewalks, Gerard answered:</p> + +<p>“Dear auntie, these dignified old merchants in breeches and beavers and +fine lawn ruffles have most worthy successors in the clean-shaved men of +to-day, sensibly clothed from their soft hats to their comfortably +low-cut shoes. Would it not be delightful to show some of these old, +dignified merchants over the new Bowling Green? Take them through Nassau +Street and way up Broadway? I think they would need all the training +they have been having since they died to bear it.”</p> + +<p>“You ought not to speak so lightly of the future life, Gerard.”</p> + +<p>“Auntie, your pardon! But do you think that only the incarnated improve? +May not the de-incarnated be progressing also?<span class="pagenum"><a id="page_342">{342}</a></span>”</p> + +<p>“Of that condition I have no knowledge; but we all know that the first +builders of New York had the hard part. They laid the foundation of all +that has been done.”</p> + +<p>“All right, aunt; but the men of to-day have built well and loftily on +their foundation. If they could see the Bowling Green to-day, and the +magnificent commercial city of which it is the centre—if they could see +the elevated roads, the motor cars, the railways, telegraphs, and ocean +cable service and all the rest of our business facilities, I am sure +they would have no words for their astonishment and delight.”</p> + +<p>“Well, children, I have lived a long time to-day. I belong to the—past. +I am tired. Good-night, Gerard.”</p> + +<p>“Good-night, aunt. Dream of the past, but be sure that however +enterprising, energetic, patriotic, and far-seeing those old-time New +Yorkers were, there is just as much enterprise and energy, just as much +patriotism and prudence, with the New Yorkers of to-day, for</p> + +<div class="poetry"> +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">“The bold brave heart of New York<br></span> +<span class="i1">Still beats on the Bowling Green!”<br></span> +</div></div> +</div> + +<p class="fint">THE END</p> + +<h2><b>POPULAR COPYRIGHT BOOKS<br><br> +AT MODERATE PRICES</b></h2> + +<p class="cb">Any of the following titles can be bought of your Bookseller at the +price you paid for this volume</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><b>Adventures of Captain Kettle.</b> Cutcliffe Hyne.</p> + +<p><b>Adventures of Gerard.</b> A. Conan Doyle.</p> + +<p><b>Adventures of Sherlock Holmes.</b> A. Conan Doyle.</p> + +<p><b>Alton of Somasco.</b> Harold Bindloss.</p> + +<p><b>Arms and the Woman.</b> Harold MacGrath.</p> + +<p><b>Artemus Ward’s Works</b> (extra illustrated).</p> + +<p><b>At the Mercy of Tiberius.</b> Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> + +<p><b>Battle Ground, The.</b> Ellen Glasgow.</p> + +<p><b>Belle of Bowling Green, The.</b> Amelia E. Barr.</p> + +<p><b>Ben Blair.</b> Will Lillibridge.</p> + +<p><b>Bob, Son of Battle.</b> Alfred Ollivant.</p> + +<p><b>Boss, The.</b> Alfred Henry Lewis.</p> + +<p><b>Brass Bowl, The.</b> Louis Joseph Vance.</p> + +<p><b>Brethren, The.</b> H. Rider Haggard.</p> + +<p><b>By Snare of Love.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>By Wit of Woman.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>Cap’n Erie.</b> Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> + +<p><b>Captain in the Ranks, A.</b> George Cary Eggleston.</p> + +<p><b>Cardigan.</b> Robert W. Chambers.</p> + +<p><b>Casting Away of Mrs. Leeks and Mrs. Aleshine.</b> Frank R. Stockton.</p> + +<p><b>Circle, The.</b> Katherine Cecil Thurston (author of “The Masquerader,” +“The Gambler”).</p> + +<p><b>Conquest of Canaan, The.</b> Booth Tarkington.</p> + +<p><b>Courier of Fortune, A.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>Darrow Enigma, The.</b> Melvin Severy.</p> + +<p><b>Deliverance, The.</b> Ellen Glasgow.</p> + +<p><b>Exploits of Brigadier Gerard.</b> A. Conan Doyle.</p> + +<p><b>Fighting Chance, The.</b> Robert W. Chambers.</p> + +<p><b>For a Maiden Brave.</b> Chauncey C. Hotchkiss.</p> + +<p><b>For Love or Crown.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>Fugitive Blacksmith, The.</b> Charles D. Stewart.</p> + +<p><b>Heart’s Highway, The.</b> Mary E. Wilkins.</p> + +<p><b>Holladay Case, The.</b> Burton Egbert Stevenson.</p> + +<p><b>Hurricane Island.</b> H. B. Marriott-Watson.</p> + +<p><b>Indifference of Juliet, The.</b> Grace S. Richmond.</p> + +<p><b>Infelice.</b> Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> + +<p><b>In the Name of a Woman.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>Lady Betty Across the Water.</b> C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</p> + +<p><b>Lane That Had No Turning, The.</b> Gilbert Parker.</p> + +<p><b>Leavenworth Case, The.</b> Anna Katharine Green.</p> + +<p><b>Lilac Sunbonnet, The.</b> S. R. Crockett.</p> + +<p><b>Lin McLean.</b> Owen Wister.</p> + +<p><b>Long Night, The.</b> Stanley J. Weyman.</p> + +<p><b>Maid at Arms, The.</b> Robert W. Chambers.</p> + +<p><b>Man from Red Keg, The.</b> Eugene Thwing.</p> + +<p><b>Marathon Mystery, The.</b> Burton Egbert Stevenson.</p> + +<p><b>Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes.</b> A. Conan Doyle.</p> + +<p><b>Millionaire Baby, The.</b> Anna Katharine Green.</p> + +<p><b>Missourian, The.</b> Eugene P. Lyle, Jr.</p> + +<p><b>My Friend the Chauffeur.</b> C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</p> + +<p><b>My Lady of the North.</b> Randall Parrish.</p> + +<p><b>Mystery of June 13th.</b> Melvin L. Severy.</p> + +<p><b>Mystery Tales.</b> Edgar Allen Poe.</p> + +<p><b>Nancy Stair.</b> Elinor Macartney Lane.</p> + +<p><b>None But the Brave.</b> Hamblen Sears.</p> + +<p><b>Order No. 11.</b> Caroline Abbot Stanley.</p> + +<p><b>Pam.</b> Bettina von Hutten.</p> + +<p><b>Pam Decides.</b> Bettina von Hutten.</p> + +<p><b>Partners of the Tide.</b> Joseph C. Lincoln.</p> + +<p><b>Phra the Phoenician.</b> Edwin Lester Arnold.</p> + +<p><b>President, The.</b> Alfred Henry Lewis.</p> + +<p><b>Princess Passes, The.</b> C. N. and A. M. Williamson.</p> + +<p><b>Private War, The.</b> Louis Joseph Vance.</p> + +<p><b>Prodigal Son, The.</b> Hall Caine.</p> + +<p><b>Queen’s Advocate, The.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>Quickening, The.</b> Francis Lynde.</p> + +<p><b>Richard the Brazen.</b> Cyrus Townsend Brady and Edward Peple.</p> + +<p><b>Rose of the World.</b> Agnes and Egerton Castle.</p> + +<p><b>Sarita the Carlist.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>Seats of the Mighty, The.</b> Gilbert Parker.</p> + +<p><b>Sir Nigel.</b> A. Conan Doyle.</p> + +<p><b>Sir Richard Calmady.</b> Lucas Malet.</p> + +<p><b>Speckled Bird.</b> Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> + +<p><b>Spoilers, The.</b> Rex Beach.</p> + +<p><b>Sunset Trail, The.</b> Alfred Henry Lewis.</p> + +<p><b>Sword of the Old Frontier, A.</b> Randall Parrish.</p> + +<p><b>Tales of Sherlock Holmes.</b> A. Conan Doyle.</p> + +<p><b>That Printer of Udell’s.</b> Harold Bell Wright.</p> + +<p><b>Throwback, The.</b> Alfred Henry Lewis.</p> + +<p><b>Trail of the Sword, The.</b> Gilbert Parker.</p> + +<p><b>Two Vanrevels, The.</b> Booth Tarkington.</p> + +<p><b>Up From Slavery.</b> Booker T. Washington.</p> + +<p><b>Vashti.</b> Augusta Evans Wilson.</p> + +<p><b>Viper of Milan, The</b> (original edition). Marjorie Bowen.</p> + +<p><b>Voice of the People, The.</b> Ellen Glasgow.</p> + +<p><b>Wheel of Life, The.</b> Ellen Glasgow.</p> + +<p><b>When I Was Czar.</b> Arthur W. Marchmont.</p> + +<p><b>When Wilderness Was King.</b> Randall Parrish.</p> + +<p><b>Woman in Grey, A.</b> Mrs. C. N. Williamson.</p> + +<p><b>Woman in the Alcove, The.</b> Anna Katharine Green.</p></div> + +<p class="fint"><b>A. L. BURT CO., Publishers, 52-58 Duane St., New York City</b></p> + +<div class="footnotes"><p class="cb"><a id="FOOTNOTES"></a>FOOTNOTES:</p> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Proverbs xxxi. 22.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> In November, 1829, twenty-five years later, Judge Lansing +left his hotel in New York to take steamboat for Albany, and was never +seen or heard of afterward.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> This marvellous production remained on the Bowling Green +until 1843, when the city’s art critics had advanced so far as to allege +the brilliant statue was not a work of art; and in deference to their +opinion it was sold to a collector of antiquities, who kept it forty +years. Then he died, and it was sold at auction for $300. It is now in a +cigar store on One Hundred and Twenty-fifth Street, where it fills the +position usually given to the wooden Indian. These facts are noticed in +the hope that the millionaire patriots congregating round the Bowling +Green may find it in their hearts not only to release the historic +statue from its degrading position, but also to place upon the empty +pedestal a statue of Washington worthy of the situation and of the great +city it appeals to.</p></div> +</div> + +<div class="trans"><p class="c"><a id="transcrib"></a>Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:</p> + +<p>but it any one=> but if any one {pg 17}</p> + +<p>Three hours after luck=> Three hours after lunch {pg 27}</p> + +<p>But Judge Bloomaert=> But Judge Bloommaert {pg 36}</p> + +<p>and Mrs. Bloomaert=> and Mrs. Bloommaert {pg 40}</p> + +<p>The perparations for this=> The preparations for this {pg 41}</p> + +<p>with envy and jealously to-night=> with envy and jealousy to-night {pg +51}</p> + +<p>she did not life her eyes=> she did not lift her eyes {pg 54}</p> + +<p>themeselves before=> themselves before {pg 62}</p> + +<p>New York and Lousiania=> New York and Lousiana {pg 105}</p> + +<p>having bought Louisiania=> having bought Louisiana {pg 106}</p> + +<p>camillas and voilets=> camillas and violets {pg 135}</p> + +<p>take any interst=> take any interest {pg 153}</p> + +<p>greater populalation=> greater population {pg 200}</p> + +<p>rose tree was in gloom=> rose tree was in bloom {pg 208}</p> + +<p>Convice him he is wrong=> Convince him he is wrong {pg 212}</p> + +<p>will unmistakable decision=> with unmistakable decision {pg 242}</p> + +<p>opening the doors=> opening of the doors {pg 247}</p> + +<p>door was nosielessly opened=> door was noiselessly opened {pg 323}</p> + +<p>with the Blooommaert=> with the Bloommaert {pg 150}</p> + +</div> + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/back.jpg" width="341" height="550" alt=""> +</div> + +<hr class="full"> +<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 76576 ***</div> +</body> +</html> + diff --git a/76576-h/images/back.jpg b/76576-h/images/back.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..31900d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/back.jpg diff --git a/76576-h/images/barra.png b/76576-h/images/barra.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f1e035 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/barra.png diff --git a/76576-h/images/colophon.png b/76576-h/images/colophon.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..23b63d5 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/colophon.png diff --git a/76576-h/images/cover.jpg b/76576-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e053e24 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/cover.jpg diff --git a/76576-h/images/frontispiece.jpg b/76576-h/images/frontispiece.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..27d01ac --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/frontispiece.jpg diff --git a/76576-h/images/ill_001.jpg b/76576-h/images/ill_001.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..b7feeef --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ill_001.jpg diff --git a/76576-h/images/ill_002.jpg b/76576-h/images/ill_002.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a4bc412 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ill_002.jpg diff --git a/76576-h/images/ill_003.jpg b/76576-h/images/ill_003.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5f66c2 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ill_003.jpg diff --git a/76576-h/images/ltr_A.png b/76576-h/images/ltr_A.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..3cb8d33 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ltr_A.png diff --git a/76576-h/images/ltr_E.png b/76576-h/images/ltr_E.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..29e92fe --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ltr_E.png diff --git a/76576-h/images/ltr_I.png b/76576-h/images/ltr_I.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ca41259 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ltr_I.png diff --git a/76576-h/images/ltr_L.png b/76576-h/images/ltr_L.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..9563b97 --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ltr_L.png diff --git a/76576-h/images/ltr_O.png b/76576-h/images/ltr_O.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..fe1700b --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ltr_O.png diff --git a/76576-h/images/ltr_T.png b/76576-h/images/ltr_T.png Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f1e5dff --- /dev/null +++ b/76576-h/images/ltr_T.png diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d935dca --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for eBook #76576 +(https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/76576) |
