Chapter 29

AT ROSELAND, IN THE EVENING.

Seated on the vine-embowered porch of the cottage, with the pleasant airs of evening blowing from the flowers their rich fragrant perfume, the inmates of Roseland and their guests passed the time in very pleasant converse.

From time to time Hoffland and Miss Lucy exchanged confidential smiles, and on these occasions Mr. Jack Denis, whose love-sharpened eyes lost nothing, felt very unhappy. Indeed, throughout the whole evening this gentleman displayed none of that alacrity of spirit which usually characterized him; his whole manner, conversation, and demeanor betraying unmistakable indications of jealous dissatisfaction.

Lucy had always been very kind and gentle to him before; and though her manner had not changed toward him, still her evident preference for the society and conversation of the student Hoffland caused him a bitter pang. Denis sincerely loved the bright-faced young girl, and no one who has not loved can comprehend the sinking of the heart which preference for another occasions. The last refinement of earthly torture is assuredly jealousy--and Denis was beginning to suffer this torture. More than once Lucy seemed to feel that she was causing her lover pain; and then she would turn away from Hoffland and gladden poor Denis with one of her brilliant smiles, and with some indifferent word, nothing in itself, but full of meaning from its tone. Then Hoffland would laugh quietly to himself, and touching the young girl's arm, call her attention, to some beauty in the waning sunset, some quiet grace of the landscape; and Denis would sink again into gloom, and look at Hoffland's handsome face and sigh.

Mowbray was reading in the little sitting-room, and from time to time interchanged words with the party through the window. Perhaps _studying_ would be the proper word; for it was a profound work upon politics which Ernest Mowbray, with his vigorous and acute intellect, was running through--grasping its strong points, and throwing aside its fallacies. He needed occupation of mind; in study alone could he escape from the crowding thoughts which steeped his brow in its habitual shadow of melancholy. He had lost a great hope, as he had told Hoffland; and a man does not see the woman whom he loves devotedly pass from him for ever without a pang. He may be able to conceal his suffering, but thenceforth he cannot be gay; human nature can only control the heart to a certain point; we may be calm, but the sunshine is all gone.

Thus the hours passed, with merry laughter from Hoffland and Lucy, and very forced smiles on the part of Denis. Mowbray observed his silence, and closing the volume he was reading, came out and joined the talkers.

"What now?" he said, with his calm courtesy. "Ah, you are speaking of the ball, Lucy?"

"Yes, Ernest; and you know you promised to take me."

"Did you?" asked Hoffland; "I am afraid this is only a ruse on cousin Lucy's part to get rid of me."

"Are you not ashamed, sir, to charge me with untruth?" said Lucy, nearly bursting into laughter.

"Untruth!" cried Hoffland; "did any body ever! Why, 'tis the commonest thing in the world with your charming sex, Miss Lucy, to indulge in these little ruses. There must be a real and a conventional code of morals; and I hope you don't pretend to say, that if a lady sends word that she is gone out when a visitor calls, she is guilty of deception?"

"I think she is," said Lucy.

"Extraordinary doctrine!" cried Hoffland; "and so Ernest has really engaged to go with you?"

"Yes, sir; it was my excuse to Mr. Denis, who very kindly offered to be my escort."

And Lucy gave Jack Denis a little smile which elevated that gentleman into upper air.

"Well," said Hoffland, "I suppose then I am to go and find somebody else--a forlorn young man going to find a lady to take care of him. Come, Miss Lucy, cannot you recommend some one?"

"Let me see," said Lucy, laughing gleefully; "what acquaintances have you?"

"Very few; and I would not escort any of those simpering little damsels usually seen at assemblies."

"What description of damsel do you prefer?" asked Lucy, smiling.

"A fine, spirited, amusing young lady like yourself," said Hoffland; "the merrier and more ridiculous the better."

"Ridiculous, indeed! Well, sir," said Lucy mischievously, "I think I have found the very one to suit you."

"Who is it, pray?"

"Miss Philippa----"

"Stop!" cried Hoffland. "I never could bear that name. I am determined never to court, marry, or even escort a _Philippa_. Dreadful name! And I hope you won't mention this Miss Philippa Somebody again!"

With which words Hoffland laughed.

"Very well," said Lucy; "suppose you come and amuse me at the ball--going thither alone?"

"Oh! myself and Mr. Denis will certainly pay our respects to you, Miss Lucy. But do not expect me until about twelve."

Lucy smiled, and said:

"Do you think the ball will be handsome, Ernest?"

"I think so."

"Well, now, I am going to enslave all hearts. I shall wear my pink satin."

"Ah!" laughed Mowbray; "that is very interesting to myself and these gentlemen."

"Well, sir," said Lucy, pretending to be angry, "just as you please; but you are a very unfeeling brother. Isn't he, Mr. Hoffland?"

"A most unreasonable person, and a disgrace to our sex," said Hoffland. "To tell a young lady that the manner in which she proposes appearing at a ball is uninteresting, sounds like Ernest."

Mowbray smiled; the pleasant banter of the boy pleased him, and diverted his thoughts.

"But Ernest is not such a perfect ogre, Mr. Hoffland," said Lucy; "are you, Ernest? He is very kind, and is going to spend all day to-morrow with me."

Mowbray shook his head.

"Now, brother!" said Lucy; "you know you can."

Mowbray hesitated.

"Won't you?"

"Well, yes, Lucy," said Mowbray, smiling; "I can refuse you nothing."

"Good!" cried Hoffland, with the sonorous voice of a man-at-arms; "when ladies once determine to have their own way, it is nearly impossible to stop them; is it not, Mr. Denis?"

"I will answer for Mr. Denis, and repel your assault, sir," said Lucy, smiling; "I think that there is nothing very wrong in what I ask, and why then should I not have my way?"

"Excellent!" cried Hoffland, with a well-satisfied expression, and a glance of intelligence directed toward Lucy. "I believe that we men may study all our lives and break our heads with logic before we can approach the acuteness of one of these ladies. Study is nothing compared with natural instinct and genius!"

Denis rose with a sigh.

"You remind me, Mr. Hoffland," he said, "that I have a long chapter in Blackstone to study; and it is already late."

"And I also have my studies," said Hoffland; "I think I will return with you, Mr. Denis."

"You came to stay, Charles! You shall both stay," said Mowbray, "and I will give you Blackstone's----"

"No, really, Ernest," said Hoffland, with a business air which made Lucy laugh.

"And indeed I must return," said Denis, sighing.

"Ah, gentlemen, gentlemen!" said Mowbray, "you pay a fashionable call. Why, Charles, you absolutely promised to stay."

"Yes, but I have changed my mind," said the boy, looking toward Lucy; "and if Mr. Denis will ride with me in your curricle, or whatever it is, you might ride his horse in, in the morning.

"Very well," said Mowbray.

"Willingly," said Denis.

"Then it is all arranged; and I return. Don't press me, Ernest, my good fellow. When duty calls, every man must be at his post. I can't stay."

And Hoffland laughed.

In fifteen minutes the vehicle was brought round, and the two young men rose.

Denis bowed with some constraint to Lucy; but she would not see this expression, and holding out her hand bade him good-bye with a smile which lighted his path all the way back to town.

Hoffland shook hands with Lucy too; and a laughing glance of free masonry passed between them.

Then, entering the vehicle, the two young men set forth toward Williamsburg, over which a beautiful moon was rising like a crimson cart-wheel. Ernest Mowbray stood for a moment on the porch of the cottage following the receding vehicle with his eyes. At last it disappeared--the sound of the wheels was no longer heard, and Mowbray entered the cottage.

"Strange!" he murmured, "that memory still haunts me. What folly!"

And pressing his lips to Lucy's forehead, he retired to his study.