CHAPTER LXVII.

OUR FIRST VISITOR.

"Mr. Dennison descended from his carriage and came forward with more haste and animation than was usual to him. He was evidently delighted to see his guest.

"'Why, Lawrence, is it you; when and how did you reach us?' he said, extending his hand.

"'Half an hour ago, by rail and steamer,' answered the gentleman, meeting Mr. Dennison half-way, and shaking hands with him.

"'Made the acquaintance of my wife, I see?'

"As he spoke, Mr. Dennison glanced smilingly toward me.

"'Oh, yes, I think so; if this young lady is your wife.'

"The gentleman hesitated in some confusion. I think he had taken me for Mr. Dennison's daughter.

"The old gentleman turned suddenly red, and laughed a little unnaturally.

"'My wife, yes, almost a bride yet, but we are making her blush. My love, this is Mr. Lawrence, of New York, one of the best friends I have. You must take him into especial favor for your husband's sake.'

"I am sure there was color enough in my face then. Why will Mr. Dennison constantly drag that odious word, husband, into everything he says? Does he think I can ever forget it?

"We sat down in company, enjoying the cool shadows of the veranda. All my pleasure was at an end; the conversation turned upon stocks, railroads, and mining. I gathered from it that Mr. Lawrence was a stock-broker or something of that kind, and that Mr. Dennison was connected with him in an enterprise for which money was to be supplied. Once or twice I caught the stranger looking at me while my husband conversed, but I was occupied with my embroidery, and did not seem to notice him; perhaps he was admiring the contrast between the pure white of my dress and the gorgeous richness of the worsteds in my lap.

"While they were talking, Mr. Dennison insisted that I should sit closer to him, and more than once he placed his hand on my work and prevented me going on with it, as if I had been a child. This annoyed me. After all, one does not care to be so obviously exhibited as 'the old man's darling.' It is embarrassing when the fine eyes of a man like that are upon you.

"After dinner that day, Mr. Dennison stole off to a low divan in the library for his half-hour of sleep. I usually occupied my own room at this hour, but as I went that way, our guest came in from the veranda, where he had been smoking a cigar, and laughingly entreated that I should not leave him alone.

"I ran up-stairs, threw a black lace shawl over my head, Spanish mantilla fashion, and joined him. It was sunset, and all the beautiful landscape lay wrapped in a veil of purplish mist, through which trembled a soft golden glow that brightened all the west, and shimmered through the tree-tops like flashes of fire.

"We walked on through the delicious atmosphere, to which the perfume of innumerable flowers gave forth their sweetness, as they brightened under the soft dews that had just began to fall.

"Unconsciously, we turned out of the oak-avenue and walked toward a pretty pond, or miniature lake, which lay to our right, sheltered by one live-oak and a cluster of magnolia-trees, from which the blossoms brought to me that morning had been cut. A shrub-like species of the magnolia grew around the pond, hedging it in with great white blossoms, and the sedgy borders were aglow with wild flowers. It was not yet time for the water-lilies to be in blossom, but in some places their large green pads covered the lake with patches of glossy greenness, while a light wind rippled through them, stirring the waters like ridges of diamonds between the trembling leaves.

"How beautiful it was! The birds were no longer musical, but we watched them fluttering through the leaves and settling down in safe places among the rushes, while the sweet stillness of the closing day fell upon them.

"My hand rested on the arm of our guest; he was talking earnestly, and his eloquence thrilled me with sensations unlike anything I had felt before. There was unmeasured poetry in every word he uttered. We had, I do not know how, got on to the subject of that book again, and he was defending it in language warm, fervid, and startling, as the story itself. My hand shook on his arm; a new idea had seized upon me, and against my own will I spoke.

"'You wrote the book,' I said, 'I know it by your language. I can read the fact in this defence.'

"'And you will like me no longer. You will condemn me as you have that poor volume,' he answered, turning suddenly, and looking into my eyes with the glance of an eagle.

"'Condemn you!' I said. 'What, I?'

"'But you condemn my book?'

"'No, I did not. To question a thing, is not to condemn it.'

"'But the doubt wounds me. You might have found sympathy for much that the book contains. It should appeal to a heart like yours.'

"He held my hand firmly in his clasp. How it got there, I do not know. I struggled a little to free it, but his fingers closed around mine like a vice.

"'Say that you will read my book again.'

"'I will. Nothing could prevent me now.'

"'And you will read it with a new inspiration?'

"'After this conversation, yes.'

"'That is, for one day you will think my thoughts, and give them fresh beauties as they pass through your own vivid imagination.'

"'I will read them, and remember all that you have said.'

"'Sweet woman, I thank you. If my poor words can touch a heart like yours, it is enough.'

"He bent and kissed my hand, thus releasing it from his clasp. It seemed as if some of my strength went out as he did this. The intense eloquence of this man had inspired me for the time, now I was weak and silent.

"'Tell me,' he said, 'what particular passages you disliked in my poor volume.'

"I could not answer; the book itself had gone out of my mind. I had only power to think of the man who stood before me, with that earnest protest burning on his lip, and those eyes, dark and luminous, bent upon me. I think that he did not observe my trepidation. He was carried away by a wish to protect the offspring of his brain from misconception or censure. I had read the volume hastily, and found it too brilliantly intense for the idle lassitude of my humor. It had startled me into more thought than I cared to exercise. The quiet of my home seemed like dulness after reading it. Now this man, its author, had come and completed the discontent his book had engendered. I had never seen a man of his class before, and to me the charm of novelty and romance surrounded him with a sort of glory.

"'Tell me,' he repeated, 'in what a thought of mine could have offended a creature so lovely and so rich in talent.'

"Was he mocking me because of my absurd criticism? I looked up suddenly, and met the full glance of those eyes. The blood rushed to my face, and my eyelids drooped.

"'You will not help me to amend a fault,' he said, in a tone of reproach.

"'Because I cannot. It was no particular thought--no description in itself that disturbed me; but, if I may so express it, the entire atmosphere of the book. It made me unhappy.'

"I was driven to desperate frankness by his persistency, and spoke out almost with tears in my eyes.

"'Then some thought in the volume, or the narrative itself, struck upon your heart, or disturbed your conscience?' he answered, in a low voice.

"I started. Was this true?

"'Perhaps some points of the story were not unlike your own experience?' he continued.

"I felt the tears starting to my eyes. Yes, he was right. It was a sense of the barrenness of my own future that had made me so restless. If the volume had produced this effect, how much greater was the disturbance when its author stood by my side, with looks and voice more eloquent than his writings. He waited in silence for my answer; it only came in low sobs.

"'Forgive me; I have wounded you unthinkingly.'

"His voice was like that of a penitent man in prayer; his face grew earnest and sad.

"'Look on me, and say that I am forgiven.'

"I did look at him, and met the tender penitence in his eyes with a thrill of pain. How had the man won the power of arousing such feelings in a few brief hours? Was it because I had been familiar with his thoughts so long? I could not answer; but the very presence of this stranger disturbed me. Sensations never dreamed of in my previous existence rose and swelled in my bosom. The impulse to flee from his presence seized upon me. I did turn to go, but he walked quietly forward at the same time.

"The sunset was now fading into soft violet and pale gray tints. Dew was falling thickly in the grass, and fire-flies began to sparkle all around us. In the stillness and beauty of coming night, we walked on together almost in silence. I had no words for conversation, and our guest seemed to have fallen into deep thought. As we drew near the house, Mr. Dennison came out to meet us. He had been smoking a cigar in the veranda, and flung it away as he drew near us. How heavily he walked. How dull his eyes seemed as he bent them upon me, after the passion and feeling I had read so clearly in those of our guest.

"Mr. Dennison took my hand and placed it on his arm, laughing pleasantly, as he asked Lawrence how far we had been walking. Lawrence did not answer. He was regarding us with an earnest questioning look, from which I turned away half in anger. Was he reading me and my position so closely as that?

"Why should I think of this man so much? Has the isolation in which we have been living made the advent of a stranger of so great importance that his presence must fill all my being? The first thing this morning I looked out of my window, wondering if he would be visible anywhere in the grounds. Yes, there he was standing by Mr. Dennison, admiring a blood-horse that a colored groom had brought from the stable. It was a beautiful animal, coal-black, wonderfully symmetrical and full of graceful action. Mr. Dennison had bought him only the week before, and this groom had been ordered to break him for my use as a saddle-horse. The gentlemen seemed to be examining him critically, as the groom led him to and fro upon the lawn. For the first time I took an interest in the beautiful animal. Being up to that time a timid and inexperienced rider, my husband's purchase had afforded me little pleasure. He had long since given up horseback exercise, and a solitary ride, followed perhaps by a groom, did not hold forth much promise of happiness for me, so I had allowed his new purchase to stand in the stable unnoticed. But now I looked upon the creature with interest, as he stood restlessly, with the sun shining upon his glossy coat, and shimmering like quicksilver down his arched neck.

"All at once, I saw Lawrence spring upon the horse and dash off across the lawn, sitting bravely as if he and the beautiful animal were one creation. The horse was restive at first and plunged furiously, for they had put a sharp curb in his mouth, and Lawrence was bringing him to subjection with a heavy hand. I shrieked aloud at the first plunge, but there was little need of fear. The next moment horse and rider were in full career over the lawn. That day week I rode my new purchase for the first time."