CHAPTER XVI AN EVENING AT JOEL LEVERING'S HE next afternoon the young lawyer went around to Singleton's livery and hired "Selim," Ham's finest saddle-horse. "Thort y'd quit hossback roidin', Mistuh Simonson," said the loquacious liveryman, "an' become uh kunfuhm' p'dust'naruh'n, seein' thut yo' walk s' much. W'ich way yo' gwine? Ef to'hd Springhaven Ah mout g' 'long." "No, Mr. Singleton; I'm going out the Serepta road, possibly as far as Troas-will be back by evening, however." "All roight, Mistuh Simonson. Ol' Selum's feelin' moight' peart; skuttish uz th' duvul t'day. Yo'll huv t' look out fuh 'im. S' long." The young lawyer went "out the Serepta road," but as soon as possible made a wide detour and after a canter of six or eight miles might have been seen riding toward New Richmond. Strange to say, now he did not seem to be at all interested in Nature. The short-billed marsh wren, the warbling flycatcher, the Bohemian chatterer, and other birds common to that section sent cascades of song, rippling and trilling, through the woods; from the zenith came the clarion boom of the belated wild migrating swan pursuing with unerring flight its pathless way to summer climes; rabbits raced across the road; chipmunks playfully scampered among the leaves; and squirrels barked and whisked from tree to tree-but to all these he was oblivious. He was a confirmed nimrod, but no sanguinary passion was awakened 239 by the sight of a pair of wild turkeys not a hundred yards away. There had been music to his ears in the sound of falling nuts, the distant caw of crows, the long low cry of the titlark, and the high clear note of the robin redbreast; but now they were all unheeded. His horse leaped across a narrow stream; he saw it but did not think to apostrophize it-its poetry and music had vanished with the naiads and dryads with which only the day before he had held high communion. No; he had not lost his love of Nature, or his passion for the beautiful, the unique, the sui generis, the mysterious and inexplicable, but he had found all these elements, plus intelligence, plus articulate speech, plus emotion, plus fascination, plus a something men have always recognized but which no man ever has been able to analyze or explain he had found all these in one marvelous composite personality. He had no appointment with Vergie Culpepper-he rather thought she would not come; and yet-maybe she would. It was a bare possibility and he acted upon it. Presently he left the highway and rode to a certain buckthorn trec. No, she hadn't been there. Gladly he recalled all that had occurred the day before and was thankful that he had hadpened to pass that way when he did-glad, of course, wholly on the young lady's account. He was sorry he had used profanity, and had seemed callous and hard-hearted, but was glad that at last she had yielded and permitted him to rescue her from her painful position and entanglement. There was a slight thrill when he recalled that, for a brief moment, she had put her arms about him; and that, for another brief moment, he had actually held her in his arms. Of course, it had meant nothing, for they were not lovers, not so much as friends-she herself had said so most emphatically, had even given cogent reasons why they never could be friends. And did a Culpepper, once having taken a position, ever change? The whole world answered, "Never!" Nevertheless he could not keep from recalling her face, her lithe and supple form so tall and graceful, her wealth of brilliant blue-black hair, her rich oriental complexion, and her milk-white teeth laughing through a pair of cupid-bow, cherry-red lips, her wonderful eyes, her shapely hands and arms, a dainty foot roguishly peeping out from a billowy foam of skirts, her rich dark-green riding habit, fitting her perfectly, and the jaunty hat she wore with its dash of red and green, and a snow-white aigrette. Lost in meditation, he was brought back to sentient realities by the sound of a horse's hoofs, and a voice saying, "When holy and devout religious men Are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence; "Is that 'Quoth Horace,' Miss Culpepper?" the young lawyer, turning, laughingly inquired. "No, that's quoth a greater than Horace, though I suspect you'd have hard work convincing Papa. Don't you recall your Richard the Third?" Vergie, after a little badinage, said: "I'll be honest with you; I came on purpose, and I should have been greatly disappointed had I not found you here. You see, I so much wanted to know if you had heard from Harold, and yesterday I was so excited I forgot to ask you." For some reason the elation excited by the first part of her speech had entirely subsided by the time she had reached the end of the latter part. However, he reflected, that she had come at all, regardless of the reason, was something. It indicated that, to some extent at least, there was between them an entente cordiale; and it was a pleasure to be with her again. He was sorry he was unable to give her any 4 241 tidings of her brother, but tried to assure her by reminding her that he had been gone only a trifle over a month; also that he might have written to her, indeed probably had, and the letter in transmission had been lost. The interview was brief, and to the young lawyer unsatisfactory. Still among the many reasons she urged why she could not remain longer there was one reason that had in it a measure of comfort: "If we are to have these little tête-àtêtes we must exercise great caution; for I, on the one hand, in having anything to do with you, am a very disobedient daughter; and you, on the other hand, in associating with a Culpepper, are running a very great risk." Simonson regretted that he was under the ban at The Elms, for which, however, he could not blame her father, though her father was entirely in error regarding his complicity in influencing his son to espouse the Union; but he could not understand what peril he encountered in associating with whomsoever he pleased. Indeed, he declared that he would joyfully welcome any peril that would enable him to prove how sincerely he prized her friendship and how much he desired to possess it. Vergie did not seem to note the latter part of his speech, but to the first part replied: "Ah, Mr. Simonson, you do not know your Union friends as well as we do. Papa is bold and outspoken, so they call him a 'fire-eater.' Nosses and Blaveys, though velvet-mouthed and satinBut your voiced, at heart are just as bitter, and possibly even more determined. Cæsar was not afraid of the 'fire-eaters,' but of certain men who were very silent and circumspect; and when he fell it was not at the hand of a 'fire-eater,' open and above board like Papa, but by the hand of a certain Mr. Brutus, who had always exercised the greatest discretion, and was Rome's most lauded mirror of fashion. I never could read Cæsar's 'et tu Brute' without weeping, and wishing I had been there to hold in my lap the dying man's head and whisper in his ears a woman's word of comfort, or—to have avenged his death! Mr. Simonson, is a word to the wise sufficient? But lest one of my words would not be sufficient to convince you I have been prodigal with words, foolishly so perhaps." She was laughing now, and the young lawyer could not refrain from laughing with her. She gathered up the reins to depart, when, as an afterthought, she said, "This is not 'Addio,' Mr. Simonson, as it seemed to be yesterday, but 'A rivederci'; not 'Adieu,' but 'Au revoir,' not 'Farewell forever,' but 'Good-bye, I shall see you again soon."'" The young lawyer looked puzzled, and she added, "Of course, I shall see you at Uncle Joel Levering's this evening." "But I thought you no longer went out, Miss Vergie; besides I'm sure I shall not be invited to the Levering's." "Uncle Joel Levering's," she replied, "is the one place in New Richmond to which all creeds and political faiths can go without prejudice and with safe conduct both ways." "You see, Mr. Simonson," she continued, "he is one of those Lord Brougham characters, able to bring together under one roof the most violent opposing factions, yet by the force of his character and personality prevent an outbreak. Papa thinks he ought to be made President of the Heaven and Hell Amalgamation Society, should such a society ever be organized. "Oh, yes, Uncle Joel is a rebel, through and through, else Papa wouldn't allow me to go there, but of the broad-minded, diplomatic sort-sort of a political tight-rope walker. Then he's free from all alarms. His eyes are defective, so he's under no obligation to enlist and in no danger of being drafted; he's rich and is immune from want; he's a highminded gentleman and as such is above suspicion as spy or |
