Town and Country contrasted, in relation to Vice and Crime.--A Display
Party to avoid Bankruptcy.--Gaut Gurley, and other leading Characters,
introduced as Actors in this scene of City Life.
CHAPTER II.
Retrospect of the life of the Country Merchant, in making Money, to become
a "Solid Man of Boston."--Humble Beginnings.--Tempted into Smuggling from
Canada in Embargo times, and makes a Fortune, by the aid of the desperate
and daring Services of Gaut Gurley.--A Sketch of the Wild Scenes of
Smuggling over the British line into Vermont and New Hampshire.--Removal to
the City.
CHAPTER III.
Gambling (an allegory) invented by the Fiends, and is proclaimed the
Premium Vice by Lucifer.--A Gambling Scene between Gaut Gurley and the
merchant, Mark Elwood.--The Failure of the latter.--The Refusal of his
brother, Arthur Elwood, to help him.--The Surprise and Distress of his
Family.
CHAPTER IV.
The Downward Path of the Habitual Gambler.--His Family sharing in the
Degradation, and becoming the suffering Victims of his Vices.--The Sudden
Resolve to be a Man again, and remove to an unsettled Country, to begin
Life anew in the Woods.
CHAPTER V.
The moral and intellectual Influences of Forest Life.--Scenery of
Umbagog.--Description of Elwood's new Home in the Woods.--The Burning of
his first _Slash_.--His House catches Fire, and he and his Wife engage
in extinguishing it, praying for the return of their Son, Claud Elwood, to
help them in their terrible strait.
CHAPTER VI.
Claud Elwood and his Forest Musings.--Dangerous Assault, and slaying of a
Moose.--Rescue of Gaut's Daughter from the enraged animal.--Strange
Developments.--Incipient Love Scene.--Trout-catching.--Return of Claud and
Phillips (the Old Hunter here first introduced), to aid in saving the
Elwood Cottage from the fire.--The Thunder-shower comes to complete the
conquest of the fire.--The destruction of the King Pine by a Thunderbolt.
CHAPTER VII.
Journey up the Magalloway, to bring home the slaughtered Moose.--Love and
its entanglements; its Sunshine now, its Storms in the distance.
CHAPTER VIII.
Jaunt of Claud and Phillips over the Rapids to the next Great Lake, for
Deer-hunting and Trout-catching.--Rescue of Fluella, the Indian Chief's
Daughter, from Drowning in the Rapids.--Her remarkable Character for
Intellect and Beauty.
CHAPTER IX.
The Logging Bee.--The introduction of a New Character in Comical Codman,
the Trapper.--The Woodmen's Banquet.--The forming of the Trapping and
Hunting Company, to start on an Expedition to the Upper Lakes.
CHAPTER X.
Developments of the dark and designing character of Gaut Gurley.---Tomah,
the college-learned Indian.
CHAPTER XI.
Mrs. Elwood's Bodings, on account of the connection of her Husband and Son
with Gaut and his Daughter.--Her Interview with Fluella.--Claud's Interview
with Fluella and her Father, the Chief.--The Chief's History of his Tribe.
CHAPTER XII.
Adventures of the Trappers the first day of their Expedition up the
Lakes.--Bear-hunt, Trout-catching, etc.--Introduction of Carvil, an amateur
Hunter from the Green Mountains.
CHAPTER XIII.
The Trappers' Central Camp on the Maguntic Lake.--Three Stories of most
remarkable Adventures in the Woods, told at the Camp-fire by three Hunters
and Trappers.
CHAPTER XIV.
The Voyage to Oquossah, the farthest large Lake.--The stationing of the
Trappers at different points on the Lake.--The appointment of Gaut as
Keeper of the Central Camp, on the Lake below.--The Results of their Fall's
Operations, and Preparations to return Home.
CHAPTER XV.
The Trappers overtaken by a terrible Snow-storm.--Their Suffering before
reaching Central Camp.--The discovery that this Camp had been Burnt, and
Robbed of their whole Stock of Furs.--Their Providential Escape from Death.
CHAPTER XVI.
The Legal Prosecution to Recover their Furs, or punish Gaut, the supposed
Criminal.--The unsatisfactory Result, and Gaut's dark menaces of Revenge.
CHAPTER XVII.
Gaut's Efforts to get the old Company off into the Forest, on a Spring
Expedition.--All refuse but Elwood and Son, who conclude to go.--Love
Entanglements, and the boding Fears of Mrs. Elwood.
CHAPTER XVIII.
Opening of Spring in the Settlement.--The Trappers fail to Return.--Gaut
comes without them.--The Alarm and Suspicions of the Settlers that he has
Murdered, the Elwoods.--The Circumstantial Evidence.
CHAPTER XIX.
The attempt to Arrest Gaut.--His retreat to a Cave in the Mountain.--His
final Dislodgement and Capture, for Trial and Examination.
CHAPTER XX.
Retrospect of the Adventures of Gaut and the Elwoods.--The Murder of Mark
Elwood, and the Wounding of Claud, by Gaut.--Claud's life saved by
Fluella.
CHAPTER XXI.
Gaut's Trial, Sentence, and Imprisonment.--General Denouement of the
Story.--Gaut breaks Jail, escapes, and becomes a desperate Pirate-leader.
SEQUEL.
Awful Fate of a Pirate Ship.--Gaut's Death.
CHAPTER I.
"God made the country and man made the town."
So wrote the charming Cowper, giving us to understand, by the drift of the
context, that he intended the remark as having a moral as well as a
physical application; since, as he there intimates, in "gain-devoted
cities," whither naturally flow "the dregs and feculence of every land,"
and where "foul example in most minds begets its likeness," the vices will
ever find their favorite haunts; while the virtues, on the contrary, will
always most abound in the country. So far as regards the virtues, if we are
to take them untested, this is doubtless true. And so far, also, as regards
the mere _vices_, or actual transgressions of morality, we need, perhaps,
to have no hesitation in yielding our assent to the position of the poet.
But, if he intends to include in the category those flagrant crimes which
stand first in the gradation of human offences, we must be permitted to
dissent from that part of the view; and not only dissent, but claim that
truth will generally require the very reversal of the picture, for of such
crimes we believe it will be found, on examination, that the country ever
furnishes the greatest proportion. In cities, the frequent intercourse of
men with their fellow-men, the constant interchange of the ordinary
civilities of life, and the thousand amusements and calls on their
attention that are daily occurring, have almost necessarily a tendency to
soften or turn away the edge of malice and hatred, to divert the mind from
the dark workings of revenge, and prevent it from settling into any of
those fatal purposes which result in the wilful destruction of life, or
some other gross outrage on humanity. But in the country, where, it will be
remembered, the first blood ever spilled by the hand of a murderer cried up
to Heaven from the ground, and where the meliorating circumstances we have
named as incident to congregated life are almost wholly wanting, man is
left to brood in solitude over his real or fancied wrongs, till all the
fierce and stormy passions of his nature become aroused, and hurry him
unchecked along to the fatal outbreak. In the city, the strong and bad
passions of hate, envy, jealousy, and revenge, softened in action, as we
have said, on finding a readier vent in some of the conditions of urban
society, generally prove comparatively harmless. In the country, finding no
such softening influences, and no such vent, and left to their own
workings, they often become dangerously concentrated, and, growing more and
more intensified as their self-fed fires are permitted to burn on, at
length burst through every barrier of restraint, and set all law and reason
alike at defiance.
And if this view, as we believe, is correct in regard to the operation of
this class of passions, why not in regard to the operation of those of an
opposite character? Why should not the same principle apply to the
operation of love as well as hate? It should, and does, though not in an
equal degree, perhaps, apply to them both. It has been shown to be so in
the experience of the past. It is illustrated in many a sad drama of real
life, but never more strikingly than in the true and darkly romantic
incidents which form the groundwork of the tale upon which we are about to
enter.
It was on a raw and gusty evening in the month of November, a few years
subsequent to our last war with Great Britain, and the cold and vapor-laden
winds, which form such a drawback to the coast-clime of New England, were
fitfully wailing over the drear and frost-blackened landscape, and the
wayfarers, as if keenly alive to the discomforts of all without, were seen
everywhere hurrying forward to reach those comforts within which were
heralded in the cheerful gleams that shot from many a window, when a showy
and conspicuous mansion, in the environs of Boston, was observed to be
lighted up to an extent, and with a brilliancy, that betokened the advent
of some ambitious display on the part of the bustling inmates. Carriages
from different parts of the city were successively arriving, discharging
their loads of gaily-dressed ladies and gentlemen at the door, and rattling
off again at the crack of the whips of the pert and jauntily equipped
drivers. Others on foot, and from the more immediate neighborhood, were, in
couples and singly, for some time constantly dropping in to swell the
crowd, witness, and perhaps add to, the attractions of the occasion, which
was obviously one of those social gatherings that have been sometimes, in
conventional phrase, not inaptly denominated a _jam_; where people go to be
in the fashion, to see, be seen, and try as hard as they can to be happy;
but where the aggregate of happiness enjoyed is probably far less, as a
general rule, than would be enjoyed by the same company at home in the
pursuit of their ordinary avocations.
Meanwhile, as the guests were assembling and being conducted to the
withdrawing rooms, through the cash-bought and obsequious politeness of
some of the troop of waiters hired for the occasion, the master of the
mansion had taken his station in the nook of a window commanding the common
entrance, and was there stealthily noting, as the company, severally or one
group after another, mounted the doorsteps, who had honored his cards of
invitation whom he wished to see there, and who had come whom he wished to
have stayed away. He was a well-favored man, somewhat past the middle age
of life, with regular features, and a good general appearance, but with one
of those unsettled, fluctuating countenances which are usually found in men
who, while affecting, perhaps, a show of independence, lack self-reliance,
fixed principles, or some other of the essential elements of character. And
such indeed was Mark Elwood, the reputedly wealthy merchant whom we have
thus introduced as one of the leading personages of our story. Though often
moved with kind and generous impulses, he yet was governed by no settled
principles of benevolence; though often shrewd and sagacious, he yet
possessed no true wisdom; and, though often bold and resolute in action, he
yet lacked the faith and firmness of true courage. In short, he might be
regarded as a fair representative of the numerous class we are daily
meeting with in life,--men who do many good things, but more questionable
ones; who undertake much, accomplish little; bustle, agitate, and thus
contrive to occupy the largest space in public attention; but who, when
sifted, are found, as Pope maliciously says of women, to
"have no character at all."
After pursuing his observations a while, with an air of disappointment or
indifference, Elwood was about to turn away, when his eye caught a glimpse
of an approaching group of guests, whose appearance at once lighted up his
countenance with a smile of satisfaction, and he half-ejaculated: "There
they come!--the solid men of Boston. The presence of these, with the others
who will all serve as trumpeters of the affair, will quell every suspicion
of my credit till some new strike shall place me beyond danger. Yes, just
as I calculated, the money spent will be the cunningest investment I have
made these six months. But who is that tagging along alone after the rest?"
he added, his countenance suddenly changing to a troubled look, and slowly,
and with a strange emphasis, pronouncing the name, "GAUT GURLEY!" he
hurried away from his post of observation.
The person whose obviously unexpected appearance among the arriving guests
had so much disturbed our host, having leisurely brought up the rear, now
paused a few paces from the door, and took a deliberate survey of all that
was visible through the windows of the scene passing within. He was a man
of a personal appearance not likely to be forgotten. His strong, upright,
well-proportioned frame, full, rounded head, and unexceptionable features,
were unusually well calculated to arrest the attention, and, at a little
distance especially, to secure the favorable impressions of others; but
those impressions faded away, or gave place to opposite emotions, on a
nearer approach, for then the beholder read something in the countenance
that met his, which made him pause,--something which he could not fathom,
but which at once disinclined him to any acquaintance with the man to whom
that countenance belonged.
Perhaps it should be viewed as one of the kindest provisions of Providence,
made in aid of our rights and instincts of self-preservation, that man
should not be able wholly to hide the secrets of his heart from his
fellow-men,--that the human countenance should be so formed that no
schooling, however severe, can prevent it from betraying the evil thoughts
and purposes which may be lurking within. It is said that God alone can
read the secrets of the heart; but we have often thought that He has
imparted to us more of this attribute of His omniscience than that which is
vouchsafed us in any one of our other faculties; or, in other words, that,
to the skill we may acquire by practice in reading the countenance, He has
added something of the light of intuition, to enable us to pierce into the
otherwise impenetrable recesses of the bosom, and thus guard ourselves
against the designs which may there be disclosed, and which, but for that,
the deceptions of the tongue might forever conceal. All this, we are aware,
may pass as a mere supposition; yet we think its correctness will be very
generally attested by officers of justice, policemen, jailers, and all
those who have had much experience in the detection of crime.
But, whether the doctrine is applicable or not in the generality of cases,
it was certainly so in that of the unbidden guest whose appearance we have
attempted to describe. Unlike Elwood, he had character, but all those who
closely noted him were made to feel that his character was a dark and
dangerous one.
After Gaut, for such he was called among his acquaintance, had leisurely
run his eye from window to window of the many lighted apartments of the
house, and scanned, as he did, with many a sneering smile, the appearances
within, as long as suited his pleasure, he boldly walked in, and, with all
the assurance of the most favored, proceeded to mingle with the company.
On quitting his lookout, Elwood repaired to the reception-room, where Mrs.
Elwood, the mistress of the mansion, was already in waiting, nerving
herself to perform, as acceptably as she could, her part of the stereotyped
ceremony of receiving the guests, and exchanging with them the salutations
and commonplaces of the evening. Mrs. Elwood, though not beautiful, nor
even handsome, was yet every way a comely woman; and the quiet dignity and
the unpretending simplicity of her manner, together with a certain
intelligent and appreciating cast of countenance, which always rested on
her placid, features, seldom failed to impress those who approached her
with feelings of kindness and respect. She looked pale and fatigued, from
the labors and anxieties she had gone through in the preparations for the
present occasion; and, in addition to this, which is ever the penalty to
the mistress of the house in getting up a large party, there was an air of
sadness in her looks that told of secret sorrows which were not much
mitigated by all the show of wealth that surrounded her.
By this time the company, having mostly arrived and divested themselves of
hats, gloves, bonnets, shawls, together with all other of the loose
etceteras of dress then in vogue, and carefully consulted the confidential
mirrors to secure that adjustment of collars, curls, smirks, and smiles
which are deemed most favorable for effect in public, were now shown into
the suit of apartments where the host and hostess were waiting to receive
them.
But it is far from our purpose to attempt a detailed description of the
thousand little nothings which go to make up the character of one of these
great fashionable parties. Who ever came from one the wiser? Not one guest
in ten, probably, is found engaged in a conversation in which the ordinary
powers of the speaker are exercised. A forced glee and smartness seem
everywhere to prevail among the company, who are continually sacrificing
their common sense in their eager attempts to appear gay and witty. Who was
ever made really happier by being in such an assemblage? Although the
participants may exhibit to casual observation the semblance of enjoyment,
yet a close inspection will show that they are only _acting_, and that, as
we have already intimated, their apparent enjoyment is no more deserving
the name of social happiness than that which is often represented as
enjoyed by a company of stage actors, in the harassing performance of the
fictitious scenes of some genteel comedy. Who was ever made any better? Any
rational discussion tending to exalt or purify the mind would be deemed out
of place; and any moral teachings would be ridiculed or find no listeners.
And, finally, who was ever made healthier? In the bad air generated among
so many breaths in confined apartments, the high nervous excitement that
usually prevails among the company, and the exposure to cold or dampness to
which their unprepared systems are often subjected in returning home, Death
has marked many a victim for his own; while, at the best, lassitude and
depression are sure to follow, from which it will require days to recover.
In these strictures on overgrown parties, we would not, of course, be
understood as intending to include the smaller social gatherings, where men
and women do not, as they are prone to do in crowds, lose their sense of
personal responsibility, in deporting themselves like rational beings; for
such doubtless often lead to pleasing and instructive interchange of
thought, and the cultivation of those little amenities of life which are
scarcely less essential than the virtues themselves in the structure of
good society.
But it is time we had returned from this digression to the characters and
incidents immediately connected with the action of our tale.
A short time after the frosts of formality, which usually attend the
introductory scenes of such assemblages, had melted away and given place to
the noisy frivolities of the evening, and while the bustling host, and
pale, anxious-looking hostess, were together taking their rounds among
their three hundred guests, bestowing their attentions on the more
neglected, calling out the more modest, and exchanging civilities with
all,--while this was passing, suddenly there arose from without a confused
noise, as of quick movements and mingling voices, which, from its character
and the direction whence it came, obviously indicated some altercation, or
other disturbance, at the outer door. This attracting the quickened
attention of Mr. and Mrs. Elwood, the former left his companion, and was
threading his way through the throng, when he was met by a servant, who in
a flurried under-tone said:
"There is out here at the door, Mr. Elwood, a sort of a countryfied,
odd-looking old fellow, in rusty brown clothes, that has been insisting on
coming in, without being invited here to-night, and without telling his
business or even giving his name. And he pressed so hard that we had to
drive him back off the steps; but he refused to go away, even then, and
kept asking where Mark was."
"Mark! why, that is my given name: didn't you know it?" said Elwood,
rebukingly.
"No, sir, I didn't," replied the fashionable _pro tempore_ lackey. "And if
I had, my orders has always been on sech occasions not to admit any but the
invited, who won't send in their names, or tell their business. And I
generally calculate to go by Gunter, and do the thing up genteel."
"Well, well," said Elwood, impatiently cutting short the other in the
defence of his professional character, and leading the way to the door,
"well, well, we had better see who he is, perhaps."
When they reached the front entrance, they caught, by means of the
reflected light of the entry and chambers, an imperfect view of the object
of their proposed scrutiny, walking up and down the bricked pathway leading
to the house. But, not being able to identify the new-comer with any one of
his acquaintances, at that distance, Elwood walked down and confronted him;
when, after a momentary pause, he siezed the supposed intruder by the hand,
and, in a surprised and agitated tone, exclaimed:
"My brother Arthur! How came you here?"
"By steam and stage."
"Not what I meant: but no matter. We were not expecting you; and I fear the
waiters have made a sad mistake."
"As bad an one as I did, perhaps, in declining to be catechized at my
brother's door."
"No, _you_ were right enough; but the waiters, being only here for the
extra occasion,--the bit of flare-up you see we have here to-night,--and
not knowing you, thought they must do as others do at such times. So
overlook the blunder, if you will, and walk in."
Mark Elwood, much chagrined and discomposed at the discovery of such an
untoward first reception of his brother, now ushered him into the
brilliantly-lighted hall, where the two stood in such singular contrast
that no stranger would have ever taken them for brothers,--Mark being, as
we have before described him, a good-sized, and, in the main, a
good-looking man; while the other, whom we have introduced as Arthur
Elwood, was of a diminutive size, with commonplace features, and a severe,
forbidding countenance, made so, perhaps, by intense application to
business, together with the unfavorable effect caused by a blemished and
sightless eye.
"Well, brother," said Mark, after a hesitating and awkward pause, "shall I
look you up a private room, or will you go in among the company,--that is,
if you consider yourself in trim to join them?"
"Your rooms must all be in use, and I should make less trouble to go in and
be lost in the crowd. My trim will not kill anybody, probably," was the dry
reply to the indirect hint of the other.
In all this Mark's better judgment coincided; but he had no moral courage,
and, fearing the cut and color of his somewhat outre-looking brother's
garments might excite the remarks of his fashionable guests, he would have
gladly disposed of him in some private manner till the company had
departed. Finding him, however, totally insensible to all such
considerations, he concluded to make the best of it, and accordingly at
once led the way into the guest-crowded apartments.
Here, contrary to his doubting brother's expectation, Arthur Elwood, whose
character appeared to be known to several of the wealthier guests, was soon
treated with much respect, for, in addition to what a previous knowledge of
him secured, Mrs. Elwood had promptly come forward to greet him, and be
cordially greeted in return, and, unlike her husband, had not hesitated
to bestow on him publicly the most marked attentions. As soon, however, as
she had thus testified her sense of the superiority of worth over outward
appearance, and thus, by her delicate tact, given him the consideration
with the company which she thought belonged to the brother of her husband,
she gracefully relinquished him to the latter; when the two, by tacit
mutual consent, sought a secluded corner, and seated themselves for a
private conversation.
"As I said, I did not expect you, Arthur," commenced Mark Elwood, in the
unsteady and hesitating tone of one about to broach a matter in which he
felt a deep interest. "I was not looking for you here at all, these days;
but presumed, when I wrote you, that, if you concluded to grant the favor I
asked, you would transact the business through the mail."
"Loans of money are not always favors, Mark," responded the other,
thoughtfully; "and when I make them, I like to know whether they promise
any real benefit. I could, as you say, have transacted the business through
the mail, but I confess, Mark, I have lately had some misgivings and doubts
whether your commercial fabric here in Boston was not too big and broad for
the foundation; and I thought I would come, see, and judge for myself."
"But I only asked for the loan of a few thousands," said Mark, meekly. "The
fact is, Arthur, that, owing to some bad luck and disappointments in money
matters, I am, just now, a little embarrassed about meeting some of my
engagements; and I trust you will not refuse to give me a lift. What say
you, Arthur?"
"I don't say, but will see and decide," replied the other. "But, Mark," he
added, after a pause, "Mark, what will this useless parade here to-night
cost you?"
"O, a mere trifle,--a few hundreds, perhaps."
"And you think hundreds well spent, when you are wanting thousands to pay
your debts, do you?"
"O, you know, Arthur, a man, to keep up his credit, must _display_ a little
once in a while."
"No, I did not know that, Mark. I did not know that the throwing away of
hundreds would help a man's credit in thousands, especially with those
whose opinion would be of any use to him. But go," added the speaker,
rising, "go and see to your company: I can take care of myself."
The brothers, rising from an interview in which they had felt, perhaps,
nearly an equal degree of secret embarrassment,--the one believing that his
last hope hung on the result, and the other feeling conscious of entering
on a most ungracious duty,--now separated, and mingled with the gay throng,
who, swaying hither and thither, and, seemingly without end or aim, moving
round and round their limited range of apartments, like the froth in the
circling eddies of a whirlpool, continued to laugh, flirt, and chatter on,
till the advent of the last act of the social farce,--the throwing open of
a suit of hitherto sealed apartments, and the welcome disclosure of the
varied and costly delicacies of the loaded refreshment tables, which the
company, by their strong and simultaneous rush thitherward, the rattling of
knives and forks, spoons and glasses, the rapid popping of champagne corks,
and the low, eager hum of gratified voices that followed, evidently deemed
the best, as well as the closing, act of the evening's entertainment.
While this scene was in progress, Gaut Gurley, who had been for some time
in vain watching the opportunity, caught Mark Elwood unoccupied in one of
the vacated apartments, and abruptly approached and confronted him.
"Well, what now, Gaut?" exclaimed Elwood, with an assumed air of
pettishness, after finding there was no further chance of escaping an
interview which he had evidently been trying to avoid; "what would you have
now?"
"I would just know whether you intend to keep your engagement," replied
Gurley, fixing his black, quivering eyes keenly on the other.
"What engagement?"
"To give me a chance to win back that money."
"Which you demand when you have taken from me an hundred to one!"
"And who had a better right? Through whose means did you make your fortune?
Besides this, haven't I always given you a fair chance to win back all you
could?"
"I want no more of such chances,"
"But you promised; and I want to know whether you mean to keep that promise
or not."
"Supposing I do, you would not have me leave home to-night, would you?"
"Yes, to-night."
"But my brother, as you have already discovered, I presume, has just
arrived on a visit; and you know I can't decently leave him."
"And what do _I_ care for that? Say whether you will meet me at the old
room, or not, as soon as your company have cleared out?"
"You are unreasonable, cruel, Gaut."
"Then say you will _not_ go, and see what will come of it, Mark Elwood!"
"I must go--I _will_ go, Gaut," replied Elwood, turning pale at the last
intimation. "As soon as I get rid of the company, I will start directly for
the place."
"Well, just as you can afford," said Gaut, doggedly, as he turned on his
heel, and made his way out of the house.
Mark Elwood drew a long breath as he was thus relieved of the other's
presence, and was leaving the room, when Mrs. Elwood, who had felt much
disturbed at discovering among her guests one of whose questionable
character and connection with her husband she was already apprised, and
who, from an adjoining apartment, had caught a slight glimpse of the
meeting just described, and enough of the conversation to enable her to
guess at its import, hurriedly came forward, and, in a voice tremulous from
suppressed emotion, said:
"You surely are not going out to-night, Mr. Elwood?"
"No--that is--only for a short time," he said, hesitating, and a little
confused at the discovery of his design, which a second thought told him
she had made; "only for a short time. But don't stop me to talk now; you
see the company are retiring. I must see the gentlemen off."
"Mr. Elwood, I must be heard," persisted the troubled and anxious wife. "I
cannot bear to have you go off, and leave your only brother, whom you have
not seen for years, and for such company! O Mr. Elwood, how can you let
that bad man--"
"Hush! don't get into such a stew. I shall soon be back," interrupted the
other. "You can excuse my absence. There, I hear them inquiring for me. I
must go," he added, abruptly breaking away, and leaving his grieved
companion to hide her emotions as she best could from the guests who were
now seen approaching for their parting salutations.
In a few minutes the company had dispersed for their respective homes, and
with them, also, had unnoticed slipped away their infatuated host.