Part 9

"What a sentiment for a poet! Do you know, Mr. Gildersleeve; that I never fail to read your verses in the _Sentinel_?"

"Do you, really? You are a true friend, indeed, Miss Heath, to sacrifice yourself to that extent. What an exertion it must be!"

"Indeed, I think some of them very nice. Mr. Abbott, who prides himself on his literary taste, endeavored to be very witty criticising some of your poetry, but Aunt Susan--that's Mrs. Applegate--Mercedita, and I defended you with our utmost ability, and we three decided that it was very nice indeed," said Edna earnestly.

Mark thought that "very nice indeed" was not exactly the verdict he craved, nor were Aunt Susan and Mercedita critics whose judgment would likely bias public opinion, and be considered final. Edna's good opinion was certainly worth having, however; and as for the Rev. Mr. Abbott's attempts at facetiousness, they were undoubtedly prompted by jealousy, and to say the least of it, were very unbecoming in one of his profession, and a disgrace to the cloth.

"Mr. Abbott, though, is a very fine reader," continued Edna, "but I must say I have not a very great opinion of his taste. Would you believe it, he is forever reciting 'Airy, fairy Lillian,' and says it's the finest thing Tennyson ever wrote? Now I think it's very flat, don't you?"

Mark agreed with her, and said it was very flat, very flat indeed. She certainly has taste, thought he, great critical acumen, but I wish she wouldn't call my verses nice.

"You must know," said Edna, who talked on unreservedly, "I'm a very romantic girl in spite of my matter-of-fact way, and read every bit of poetry I come across. In saying that I don't mean to disparage your productions, for as I said, I think some of them real nice and pretty. It may be that my opinion is not worth much, but one piece I read lately struck me as being full of beautiful ideas and similes. I mean those lines addressed to 'Eunomia,' the 'violet-engarlanded' person in 'purple cincture,' who, 'enthroned in the propylon of the temple of Fate, sweeps the lyre with skilful plectrum.' I believe that's the image, is it not?"

"I am afraid you are disposed to amuse yourself by ridiculing my poor efforts," said Mark, puzzled to know whether she were in earnest or not.

"Oh dear me, no. I haven't wit enough to be ironical, and am therefore always compelled to be downright and blunt. Do you know, too, that my ignorance is such that I had to look in the dictionary to find out what plectrum and propylon meant. Do, please, the next time you use such hard words, add explanatory notes at the foot, and oblige all such unlearned people as I."

She said this with a bantering smile that again perplexed Mark and set him reflecting. Now the shortest way to the Cliff was to turn off at Mill Street, which led to the foot-bridge over the falls; but when they came to the corner of that street, instead of turning off Edna kept on, taking the longer way home, and thus prolonging the walk, from which circumstance Mark augured favorably. At least, thought he, she is not tired of my company as yet. Their promenade took them across the public square, a pretentious little triangle of grass-plats inclosed by posts and chains. At one end of this park fronted a fine large old mansion, whose low eaves, broad heavily-panelled door, and ponderous brass knocker denoted work of the last century. It was the homestead of the Hull family, and on the door-jambs were still visible hacks made by the sabres of Knyphausen's Hessians. Mark and his companion had just passed the house when the old Judge came out on the porch to look at the thermometer hanging by the side of his door. How could he fail to notice the youthful couple? Old as he was, and long past the age of frivolity, they interested him, and he stood contemplating the pair until they were out of his sight. As he turned to reënter the house he gave a sigh of regret. How barren seemed all his fame and honors! He would have bartered them all for the return of one hour of the sweet hallucinations of youth so irrevocably passed away. Meanwhile our young people continued their discussion on poetry in general, and Mark's productions in particular, until the young man, assuming a serious expression, said, "You were speaking about the lines to Eunomia. As regards the spirit or intention in which they are composed, I must certainly be credited at least with sincerity. Every line, every thought is an exponent of the author's feelings. They may be awkward, inelegant, or halting, but the words are nevertheless the earnest utterances of the heart."

All this was said fervently, and Edna replied: "I haven't any doubt of it at all. You poets all have some ideal lady-love, I believe, gifted with every possible quality; some ethereal paragon whom you never permit to touch the earth; consequently, I presume you are very much dissatisfied with young ladies as you find them."

"Permit me to say you are much mistaken. My verses were addressed to no imaginary being. Eunomia lives and breathes."

"Indeed! why, now that you have so excited my curiosity, I am afraid I shall not rest satisfied until I learn who this interesting damsel is--this purple-cinctured Eunomia."

"I can gratify you in that respect very readily, if you wish it."

"Well--but--I wouldn't for the world be indiscreet. If it's perfectly permissible. Otherwise, let me remain in ignorance, please." She said this hesitatingly, as if perhaps she had gone too far; or was it Mark's admiring gaze that embarrassed her? For the young man seemed to be oblivious of all but the being beside him, and who could blame him? for Edna, animated by the walk and conversation, looked more beautiful than ever. She wore a round hat wreathed about with a blue veil which contrasted charmingly with her fair complexion, and the satin sheen of her lustrous blonde hair. Mark watched the blithe face, and endeavored to analyze, and impress its beauty indelibly on his memory. What charmed him most was the virginal grace of lips and chin, the pure cheek, and the exquisite contour of the slender white throat. So absorbed was he in his admiration, that the promenade seemed to him incredibly short, in spite of the circuit they had made, for the entrance to Mr. Heath's residence was now near at hand. It was time to part. "I am hesitating," said he, "whether to reveal--if you will not think me presumptuous--after all, no one is better entitled to know the name of the one addressed as 'Eunomia,' than you."

"No one better entitled to know than I?" repeated Edna, as a sudden enlightenment suffused her face with a blush.

"No one; for Eunomia is but another name for Edna. Forgive me, if in seeking for inspiration from your beauty and goodness, I have been too bold in my admiration; but Edna," he added, taking her hand and gazing at her with appealing ardor, "I have loved you so long and earnestly!"

She lowered her eyes at this declaration, but her hand lingered in his. There was nobody near; he pressed her hand gently to his lips, when she quickly withdrew it, and with a bow, disappeared through the gateway. Mark stood for a moment as if amazed at his audacity, and then, joyful and happy, walked away as if treading on air, bewitched by the delightful anticipations of newly implanted hope. Sweet anticipation! How full art thou of brilliant illusions and blissful glamour! And yet, without thee, what an insupportable burden would life become! Precious Jack-o'-lantern, that transports the lover, nerves the warrior, cheers the student, and inspires poet and painter!

X.

"Bet you hundred to eighty--hundred dollars to eighty--eighty--old man's 'lected!" were Jack Heath's exclamations, as he stood rather unsteadily in the bar-room of the Obershaw House, thumping his fist on the counter. It was the night before election day, and of course the bar-room of the Obershaw House, the headquarters of Mr. Heath's party, was thronged with politicians and loungers, drinking, smoking, and discussing the chances of the candidates for office; for we should state that the Hon. Rufus Heath had succeeded in his efforts to obtain the nomination for the governorship, as the numerous posters on the dead walls of Belton, headed "CONSERVATIVE UNION NOMINATIONS," staringly announced.

Jack Heath had been for a week on what he called a "tare," and had but just "brought up" at the hotel. He was still a little "sprung," as the bar-tender qualified it, but had an eye to business nevertheless, as he seemed anxious to secure bets on his father's election. "A hundred to eighty--bet any man hundred to eighty old man's 'lected. Come, I'll make it hundred to fifty--fifty, who'll take that?"

"I will--just for a flyer," responded a short red-whiskered man, who kept a livery stable in the town; "I'll take it."

"Put up the ducats, Hank--put 'em up! Here, Bangs, old fel, hold stakes, will you? All right--hundred to fifty more! Who's next man?"

"Here you are," said another individual. "Going to vote for the old man too, but I'll take your offer for the fun o' the thing."

Jack fumbled away at his pocket-book, drawing out the bank-notes and laying them in Bangs the landlord's hand with drunken solemnity and slowness. He found no lack of takers, and soon stripped himself of money to back his father's chances. Then a little contention arose about the count, and Jack indulged in a good deal of abuse and swearing. However, the party being in good humor, coaxed him, and vowed he was the best fellow alive; so Jack, mollified, ordered a basket of champagne to be opened, and "Here's to our next Governor, Rufus Heath!" was drunk with three times three and a "tiger." Then Jack, a little more inebriated, withdrew to play billiards, at which game he was an adept, and in spite of his condition he made some excellent caroms, better than many sober players could achieve; but he also missed some easy shots, and his anger rising at that, he dashed his cue savagely at the table, ripping up the green cloth so that Bangs had it down on the bill against him in no time. Then Jack ordered more wine, telling Bangs to charge it to the old man's account for "'lection spenshes," and again the company were called upon to toast the future Governor of the "Jersey Blues," which they did vociferously.

Now Jack, pulling out his watch, stared at it stupidly for some time, until a dim notion coming to him that he was too tipsy to discriminate between the hands, he requested somebody to tell him the time. "Pas' twelve, eh? Time I was home--mus' go home early--got work to do to-morrow morning--old man's 'lection day."

"Better stay here to-night, Mr. Heath," said the hotel-keeper, who was familiar with Jack's habits. "We'll take good care of you. I've got a nice room all ready and comfortable for you, and you'll be fresh and fine for to-morrow's work."

"All right, Tommy Bangs, old fel. Let's have night-caps all round 'fore we turns in, eh? Whiskey-skins, Bangsey. Stiff, and not too sweet. Charge old man 'lection spenshes."

The whiskey-skins being disposed of, Mr. Bangs and his bar-tender led Jack tenderly up the stairs, and put him away comfortably to bed.

About the time he awoke the next morning the election was in full blast. The population were entirely given over to the business, and Belton was emblazoned with multi-colored placards, calling upon the citizens to "awake," to "arouse," and above all to "rally." Wagons decorated with long muslin strips bearing the name of a prominent candidate, and some watchword of uncertain application, such as "No monopoly," "Working-men's Rights," and the like, were driven about gathering voters, who were stimulated to exercise the right of suffrage in the right direction by the stirring notes of a fish-horn, blown by an active partisan alongside of the driver.

The polls were surrounded by a motley crowd of fellow-citizens, who beset the wayfarer with importunities to vote for this or that candidate; and as each wagon drove up and deposited its load of voters the new-comers were received with hurrahs and friendly hustlings. The master of the Archimedes Works was conspicuous and ubiquitous, shouldering his burly frame through the thickest crowds, jeering his opponents, joking with his friends, and airing his wallet on the slightest provocation. Jack Heath, owing to his exertions on the previous evening, did not make his appearance on the scene of action until mid-day, but his presence infused new vigor in the contest. A crowd of henchmen were at his heels, and the bar of the Obershaw House dispensed strong waters and tobacco, galore and gratuitous, to all the supporters of the "Heath ticket" who chose to partake. And as many so chose, the bar-tender and his assistants had their hands full, you may depend, for the thirst of people who appease it at another's expense is sufficient to appall the stoutest stomach.

As the day waned, the fellow-citizens merry with potations deep disported themselves with antics gay. Individuals were bonneted; ballots, those executors of the freeman's will, were scattered to the winds; and the ticket-distributors who were unlucky enough to be caught in their boxes found themselves suddenly in a topsy-turvy position, heels in the air, and kicking wildly to extricate themselves, to the intense enjoyment of the hilarious and playful electors. At sunset the polls closed, and the citizens who had rallied so nobly repaired to their homes, with the exception of some zealous politicians who remained to learn the result of the voting. The bar-rooms were still tumultuous with the wrangling of excited partisans, and Jack Heath lorded it at the Obershaw House, but he soon succumbed to the fatigues of the day, and was kindly put to bed by considerate Mr. Bangs at an early hour.

* * * * *

The Hon. Rufus Heath remained at home during the eventful day. He had no doubt as to the result of the election, and felt certain that he would carry it. Candidates always feel so. The amazing self-conceit that induces every ticket-holder in a lottery to expect a prize would permit no other supposition than one of success. Still, being a cautious man, he was anxious to have his belief corroborated. Meanwhile so confident was he of the issue, that he employed himself in preparing a draught of his inaugural address, and revolving in his mind a proper disposition of his affairs preparatory to a removal of his home to the capital of the State. He anticipated, too, no little gratification in teaching his opponent a lesson, for he deemed it no less than a piece of impertinence that an obscure village lawyer, who had acquired some cheap fame by vulgar appeals as a stump speaker, should presume to cross swords with him in a contest for position. At length night came, and towards ten o'clock a messenger brought various returns that had been announced, almost all indicating majorities in his favor. He went to bed, but found it difficult to court slumber with such a stake still weighing in the balance. The next morning he became rather uneasy as the minutes passed and no friend came to congratulate him on the result. Mumbie, he certainly expected would have been on hand betimes. The newspaper, too, did not arrive at the usual hour, delayed probably to give the latest results of the canvassing. At length it came, and he saw at a glance from the returns of certain decisive counties that he was defeated.

The editor endeavored to depreciate the importance of these indications by stating that the final result was still in doubt; that later news might alter the complexion of things, etc. But Mr. Heath was not to be deluded by such assertions, and was convinced that he and his party had lost. As the first check in a career of uninterrupted prosperity, it proved a bitter disappointment; so bitter, that he lost his temper--an unusual occurrence for him--swore at James for some trivial offence, snarled at Mrs. Applegate, and snubbed poor Mumbie, who had come rather blunderingly to sympathize with him. To one unaccustomed to obstacles and reverses they come with double severity, and Mr. Heath took his defeat deeply to heart. Friends, to be sure, proffered condolences, advising him to try again; that in the next attempt he would certainly be successful, etc., etc.; but a sense of discouragement had taken possession of him which no sympathy or counsel could remove. Probably the bitterest pill to swallow was the discovery that his own county and town had given a large majority against him. He was much surprised at this, being utterly unconscious of his personal unpopularity. Small comfort he got too from George Gildersleeve, who never spared a beaten adversary, and gripping the patrician's hand when he met him a few days after, bade him be of good cheer in such words as these: "Sorry for you, Heath, but it couldn't be helped. I could have told you how it would be. Too much of the old Democratic leaven about here. This county cooked your mutton, and I carry it in my breeches pocket. Liked to have helped you--you're an old friend; but you can't expect us to desert our life-long principles, scratch our ticket, and go for outsiders when the woolly-heads are getting so rampant. There is no safety in these times but sticking to the old ship. But I wouldn't be down in the mouth about it. If you'll only come round to our side of the house, I'll engage to send a good-looking man of about your size to Trenton or Washington. You ought to be there; you've got the brains, and have forgotten more than half those fellers ever knew; but you ain't the right stripe, that's the trouble, and you're on the wrong track."

Mr. Heath endeavored to take this advice good-humoredly, and attempted a smile at the blunt sallies; but the smile was a forced one, or a "yellow laugh," as the French express it.

XI.

It was long past midnight, and between the small hours that usher in the light of a new day, when the stillness of the mansion on the cliff was broken by a piercing shriek. It was an appalling cry of distress that awoke the slumberers and froze the timid ones to their couches with fear. Mr. Heath sprang from his bed, and ran precipitately to his daughter-in-law's apartment, whence the cry proceeded. Poor Mercedita met him at the door in her night-dress, and in answer to his inquiries pointed in speechless horror at the floor of her dressing-room, where lay stiff and stark the body of her husband!

Jack Heath had come home the previous night for the first time since his fortnight's debauch. He was in a shocking condition, with filthy clothes, and a bad bruise over one eye, resulting, doubtless, from a fall. His wife, incensed at his conduct, refused to speak or notice him; and Jack, still tipsily stupid, threw himself on a lounge in the dressing-room to sleep. During the night he awoke; tormented by the "horrors," and thirsting for some stimulating liquid, he seized a crystal flask of cologne that lay on the toilet-table, and drank it to appease the infernal craving that possessed him. The congested condition of his brain, super-excited by this fiery draught, induced apoplexy, and the stroke was fatal. His wife, asleep in the adjoining room, awoke soon after, and not hearing his usual heavy breathing, was much surprised. She imagined he must have left the room, and after waiting awhile, arose from her bed, went into the dressing-room, where there was a dim light burning, and found that he had fallen from the lounge and lay on the floor. She shook him without effect; raised his arm--it fell rigidly. She tried to arouse him, called him loudly, but the dull ear heard not, for the sleep that bound him knew no waking; and then, as the truth flashed on her, with a shriek she summoned the household. They led her away, agitated, probably, more by terror than grief, but Mr. Heath remained gazing at the corpse of his only son. What a spectacle to meet a father's eye was this inert bulk, repulsive with the stigmas of dissipation fresh upon it! In the middle ages the heir of the house fell in battle, killed perhaps by the shot of an arquebuse or the blow of a partisan; or he met his death in some midnight encounter, and was brought home with a broken rapier and doublet dripping with blood--there is romance in that. But now he falls a victim to the bottle, and furnishes but a vulgar theme. Nevertheless the drama is none the less real. Mr. Heath's contemplation was sad, but full of worldly reasoning. The curse of unearned wealth, he mused, has fallen on my son. Had he been the child of a bricklayer or born to labor, he would have been alive now; or had not the blood of the Obershaws with its coarse appetites, predominated, he might have been an honor to me. Unmoved remained Mr. Heath as he philosophized thus, until the sight of his daughter's emotion, as she covered her dead brother's face with tears and kisses, stirred the parent within him, and his eyes clouded and cold features relaxed.

* * * * *

Another funeral, another solemn procession to the tolling of the bell of St. Jude's, and the body of John Peter Heath was laid beside that of his grandsire in the family vault, in the yard of the little church.

XII.

Six months passed away.

The young widow had left Belton, which had never possessed any charms for her, to visit her maternal relatives in the island of Cuba. It was doubtless a relief, as she had never known any happiness during her wedded life. Her departure increased the sense of loneliness that pervaded her former home, for it now seemed enveloped in an atmosphere of gloom. Mr. Heath was rigid in all the observances of mourning. The entrance gates to his grounds, which were formerly always kept hospitably wide open, were now as constantly closed, and the domestics wore black. As for Mr. Heath, he had lapsed into a singular state of taciturnity, and sought seclusion. It was evident that he no longer possessed the energetic and elastic spirit of his younger days. Then disappointment would have spurred him to increased exertion, but now the repeated blows dealt at him by destiny and the approach of old age, though hardly perceptible in his still erect and vigorous frame, were telling on the springs of action.