THE WHITE HORSE DISTANCES THE BLACK ONE.
In the exuberance of her spirits, Virginia was delighted with this idea
of a ride, the first that she had thought of taking since her return to
America. So, later in the day, she put on her habit with its garniture
of gold buttons, and the hat with its trailing feather, which made her
resemblance to Cora absolutely startling.
Joshua Hurd brought out the horse, washed white as snow, with his mane
shining like floss silk and his eyes full of genial fire. Proud as a
lord, he lifted Virginia to her saddle, and stood, with his stout arms
folded complacently, and a broad grin on his face, watching her as she
rode off. Every time that beautiful animal tossed his head, or began to
curvette the gravelled road, Josh would give out a mellow chuckle of
delight, and move his great feet on the ground, in an ecstasy of
admiration.
Virginia had refused the escort of a groom. She longed to enjoy her
freedom without even that restraint. As for fear, the girl had scarcely
a remembrance of the time when she had not ridden on horseback. Besides,
who could be afraid of that beautiful animal, whose wildest movements
were full of playful grace without a touch of viciousness in them. So
away she rode, coming out of the grounds at the broad iron gate, just
above the hotel, after which she took the road at a gallop.
Clarence Brooks had received his note just before the hour appointed for
his morning ride with Cora. Joshua had been busy preparing his favorite
for the road and sent the note by another servant, who loitered on the
way, so that Brooks got it just as he was prepared to mount. He went
back into the house and seated himself in the stoop, half resolved to
give up his ride when Virginia went by on her white horse, casting one
shy glance toward the hotel as she went.
Up Clarence Brooks started, knocking over his chair, seized the riding
whip and gloves he had flung aside, and, leaping to his saddle, put his
impatient horse to the top of his speed at once.
Virginia heard the clattering hoofs behind her and spoke softly to her
horse.
“Steady, steady, Snowball; not so fast, not so fast.”
Snowball arched her neck and began to amble, as if she understood the
beating of that young heart and was resolved to humor it, irksome as the
restraint was.
“So I have overtaken you at last,” cried out a happy voice, just behind
her. The next instant that black steed came neck and neck with her white
one, contrasting finely, like the two riders. “Oh, Virginia, this is too
great a happiness! What a glorious day we will make of it!”
“I thought you would see us pass; Snowball, here, almost wanted to stop.
I think the creature knows more than she ought—indeed I do.”
How well she rode; not with the dash and conscious power of Cora. But
with so firm a seat, and that gentle touch of the bridle, there was
little danger that any horse would rear and plunge with her in the
saddle. Away they went, riding off the first glow of animal spirits with
a dash. When the horses took their own course, Brooks rode so close to
Virginia’s bridle rein at times that his hand touched hers, while their
horses walked lazily forward or absolutely stopped under some cool
shade, seeming to know how pleasant the whole affair was to their
riders.
In the fullness of their contentment these two people talked of a
thousand things which drew them closer and closer into sweet sympathy
every moment. He told how his heart had gone out to her on that first
day when they met under the chestnut, how he had struggled against the
feeling, which grew stronger and stronger every hour, because it seemed
like treason against the wishes of his friend, whose great object had
been for a union between himself and the daughter he so devotedly loved.
She was beautiful, he said, and accomplished beyond most women. At first
he had liked her, notwithstanding a shade of disappointment, for Lander
had prepared him for something more feminine—at any rate less
pronounced. Perhaps, had things gone on as they commenced—had he never
found that log cabin in the woods and looked from its little window—Amos
Lander’s last wish might have been carried out. But that day of
chestnuting had played the mischief with all such ideas. He had found
the niece all that the daughter had been described to him—all that he
had loved before seeing either. Still the contest had been a hard one.
Death had sanctified his friend’s wish, and the feelings that were so
surely arising to oppose it seemed to him almost as a crime. He resisted
them bravely for a while, gave himself up to the society of Lander’s
heiress, strove to force his heart into loving her—had admired her
greatly, and did then. But the heart in his bosom was not to be
controlled. Cora Lander was beautiful, brilliant, talented, noble; but
he did not love her, for heart and soul, body and strength, he loved her
cousin.
All this was heavenly language to the fair girl who listened. She
longed, in the fullness of her confidence, to tell him everything, but
the truth was so painful that she put it off. Why dash their happiness
with a subject like that? He loved her, and that was enough. Poor,
wicked Cora, she was welcome to the wealth—welcome, to all the happiness
that could be wrested out of a fraud. Why should she feel a pleasure in
destroying the respect he felt for her? It might be necessary for her to
tell all the truth some time—would be, no doubt—but why trail the
serpent over their flowers just then?
So they talked of nothing that was not pleasant and hopeful. Brooks told
her of Ellen’s visit the night before, and of her strange request, which
he could not yet understand. Virginia listened, smiling—what had she to
fear with this lordly man by her side? Still she had compassion on
Ellen’s terror, groundless as it seemed, and said: “Perhaps it would be
as well to gratify her. Dear girl, all this fear grows out of her great
care; besides, their secret way of love had been so bright, she, for
one, would rather keep in it a while longer.”
“But your mother, dear girl, we must ask her sanction of our love.”
Virginia started at this, and a revulsion swept over her fair face.
“No,” she said, “not yet; I cannot consent to that. Do not ask me why,
but it is impossible.”
Brooks was disturbed by her perturbation, and wondered at it. He saw the
color come and go in her face, leaving it unusually white and serious.
This look of distress, devoid as it was of all temper, touched him with
compassion.
“Why, how have I managed to drive the color from your face like that?”
he said, with a broad smile, which was like sunshine to her. “We need
ask no one’s consent to our love because that cannot be helped, try as
we will. As for your mother—”
“Don’t, don’t, I cannot bear to hear you speak of her in that way!”
“Why, you sensitive darling, what have I said disrespectful?”
“Nothing, nothing; this shade chills one. Shall we ride on?”
For half a mile they went forward at a gallop. When this hot speed was
checked, Brooks turned toward her and said, very gently:
“So, I am not to tell!”
“Give me a little time to think what is right and best,” she answered,
in a low voice.
“I will—I will, an eternity, if you ask it. Now smile upon me once more.
I feel like some poor fellow in a storm while you continue to look so
troubled.”
She looked up and smiled upon him with such sweet trust, that his heart
yearned toward her with a tenderness almost paternal.
“Now,” he said, “we have a fine piece of woods to ride through—on the
other side is the neatest little country tavern you ever saw. There we
will dine.”
Virginia brightened instantly.
“You and I alone,” she said, radiant with the thought. “Oh! that will be
happiness.”
They made a short passage of the woods, sending back storms of dead
leaves along the road, and at length came in sight of a long stone
house, nearly overrun by a Virginia creeper, blood-red, and half bereft
of its foliage, which make the grass around one brilliant carpet of
crimson and green.
This creeper curtained the windows of a little sitting-room, with a
home-made carpet on the floor, a wooden settee with a green cushion,
along one side some upright cane-bottomed chairs standing like sentinels
against the wall, and a round table with a faded cloth in the centre. I
do not think those young people gave much heed of the hardness of that
settee, or were very impatient because that choice little dinner took
some time in the preparation. They took pleasantly to the steel forks
and coarse napkins, for both were exquisitely clean. As for the broiled
chicken, mealy potatoes and home-made bread, I had rather say nothing
about them, because the fragments taken out were by no means so many as
very sensitive people might expect from two persons so thoroughly in
love with each other. A long ride on that glorious October morning had
really deranged the usual course of things, and the romance of eating
their first meal together was scarcely equal to the reality.
They left that shaded room reluctantly after all, and Virginia cast a
wistful look behind her as she passed its threshold. What a happy hour
it had been! Even the rag carpet and that stiff settee looked beautiful
to her.
The ride home was quieter but not less delightful than the morning had
proved. The deep contentment which settled upon them was the delicious
repose which follows joyous excitement. These young persons loved each
other, and every phase of their growing passion was a delight.
Virginia would ride home alone. She was not prepared to brave the
questions and criticism which would follow a bold dash up to the house
with Clarence Brooks by her side. He protested and threatened to rebel,
but she was firm as a little tyrant, and rode away from him before the
argument was half closed. As for the people at the hotel and along the
road, the affair made no comment, for Virginia, in the same style of
dress, was so like her cousin that people only observed, in a careless
fashion, that Miss Lander had changed her horse that day, and, with a
feather in her hat, looked more beautiful than ever. Somehow the black
horse had given her a dashing and fierce air, which did not appear at
all on that snow-white beauty. No wonder Mr. Brooks was in love with the
lady. What a match it would be; both so rich and good-looking—in fact,
they were the finest couple that was ever seen in those parts, and worth
millions between them.
Joshua Hurd was waiting for his favorite when she came up, in a high
state of enjoyment. The white horse had, for once, been fairly placed
upon the road, and the neighbors had been given a chance to see what
sort of animals were kept in the Lander stables; people did not know it,
but Snowball was a full-blooded Arabian, and had been purchased in Egypt
for Mr. Lander’s daughter. Cora had made the wrong choice that time, and
Joshua Hurd chuckled over it. What did she know of a horse?