THE BALL—THE UNEXPECTED GUEST.
There was a sound of revelry by night.
... and bright
The lamps shone o’er fair women and brave men;
A thousand hearts beat happily, and when
Music arose with its voluptuous swell,
Soft eyes looked love to eyes that spoke again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell!
But hush! hark!
_—Byron._
The day of the ball arrived. People had been invited for twenty miles
around. Apartments had been prepared for the guests who, coming from a
distance, would be likely to remain all night. From an early hour in the
afternoon carriages began to arrive, and the men-servants had enough to
do in stabling the horses and putting away the vehicles; while the
maid-servants were employed in showing the company to their dressing
rooms, and attending upon them there.
Magnus came early in the afternoon, in order to have a private
conversation with Mrs. Garnet, to whom he intended to open his heart
fully.
He asked for her as soon as he arrived, and was immediately shown up
into her bed chamber, into which both Alice and her daughter had been
crowded by the incoming of their guests. As he entered, Alice came
forward with a smile to meet him. Elsie started violently, colored
brightly, and, ere anyone could prevent her, even if they had wished,
flew from the room.
As she flew by him, Magnus fixed one passionate reproachful look upon
her, and said, in a hurried voice:
“Fear nothing, Elsie! I will never trouble you.”
Alice, still smiling, pointed him to a chair. He sat down, dropped his
forehead upon his hands for a moment, sighed heavily, looked up, and
opened his story. He told Alice that he had discovered, to his eternal
sorrow, that Elsie did not love him, that though to resign her was like
resigning his hope of heaven, yet every principle of justice and honor
obliged him to do so; he concluded by asking her opinion as to the best
manner of breaking this affair to General Garnet, so as to shield Elsie
from his indignation.
“And so you wish to give Elsie up?”
“Wish!” and Magnus dropped his forehead into his palms with a groan that
might have started all the house, had they been listening. Then, lifting
his head up again, he said sternly, almost fiercely:
“Listen! If Elsie loved me, not all the power of earth or of hell—or—God
forgive me!—I had nearly said of heaven—should sever her from me! not
you—not her father—not herself—if only she loved me! But she does not,
and it is all over.”
“And who told you she did not love you?” inquired Alice, smiling at his
vehemence, and sighing as her thoughts flew back to the past, when she
was resigned in spite of herself. “Who told you that Elsie did not
return your love?”
With a gesture of despair Magnus recounted all that had passed between
himself and Elsie, and ended, as he had begun, with a groan, dropping
his head upon his hands.
“Puir human bodies are sic’ fules,
Wi’ a’ their colleges and schules,
That when nae real ills perplex ’em,
They mak eno’ themsel’s to vex ’em,”
sang Alice; then said:
“Oh, Magnus! with all your knowledge—with your classic, and mathematic,
and philosophic, and metaphysic learning—with all your knowledge, not to
know a young girl’s heart better than that! Oh, Magnus! ‘with all your
getting, get wisdom, get understanding.’”
“Alice, Cousin Alice! Do you mean to intimate what sometimes I have
madly hoped—that I have been mistaken, that Elsie does——”
“That Elsie loves you a thousandfold more now, that she avoids you, than
she did while she laughed, and talked, and romped with you. Oh, man! you
should have found this out for yourself, and not have put me to the
shame of betraying my child. And now, never let me hear another word of
your self-sacrificing resignation of Elsie’s hand, or I shall take you
at your word, as she would do now, for I don’t believe in it. I have
more faith in the cruelest demonstrations of a downright, honest,
sincere, human passion than in all the self-martyrizing resignation in
the world!” said Alice, with a strange asperity, for her thoughts flew
back again to the past. “Go, Magnus! You will find Elsie in the
ballroom. Go, Magnus; I love you, or I never would have said all that I
have said to you.”
Magnus seized the hand of Alice, pressed it to his heart, to his lips,
and darted from the room in search of his betrothed.
He found her in the large saloon, described in the beginning of this
story as occupying the whole of the righthand wing of the house. She was
standing at a table, arranging a large bouquet in a marble vase. He
stole softly up behind her, and, restraining the impetuous force of his
emotions, passed his arm gently around her waist, and drew her—so
gently!—to his heart. And Elsie’s head sank upon his shoulder. He raised
her chin and kissed her—still so gently!—as fearing to startle her shy
trust and again frighten her away. So gently, and trembling all over,
for in his bosom he held a young tornado in check. At last she moved to
withdraw herself from his arms; he pressed her once more to his bosom,
printed one more kiss upon her lips, and let her go. So quiet and so
silent was their reconciliation.
He stood there where she left him in a happy trance, until the company
began to drop in one by one, and in couples, and trios, and in small
parties.
And then he wandered on by himself. He strolled down the shaded avenue,
and through the gate, and over the burnished hills, now brown with the
sear wind of November, under the cold deep-blue starlit skies, wrapped
in a blissful dream, until the sudden peal of music from the house awoke
him.
He turned to retrace his steps, and now saw the whole south wing blazing
with light, and the sprite-like figures of the dancers as they flitted
by the illuminated windows. He hastened back, entered the house, hurried
to the little room always kept sacred to his use, arranged his toilet,
and went below.
He entered the ballroom, which was resplendent and joyous with light,
and music, and gay and brilliant company. Magnus slowly made his way
through the crowd in search of his ladylove, but nodding, smiling,
shaking hands, according to the degree of his acquaintance with the
individuals that made up the company.
Judge Jacky was there in great force—superb in a blue velvet coat, white
satin vest, and smallclothes.
And Ambrosia Wylie was there, too. Miss Ambush, as the colored folk
perverted her pretty name. Oh, well named both ways, for she had grown
up the most alluring _ignis-fatuus_ that ever drew men on an elf chase
through brambles and quagmires.
She had already drawn General Garnet on to ask her to dance! General
Garnet, the proud, the stern, the majestic, the unbendable, is actually
bending over her with his most seraphic smile, and a gaze that might
melt all the icebergs in the Northern Ocean—and she has raised her
languishing eyes, with the look of a gratified angel, and she has given
her hand, and he, still shining upon her with that sunlike smile, is
leading her to the head of the cotillion.
In the meantime, Magnus found his ladylove. She was sitting at the
farthest extremity of the room, the center of a circle of sprightly
young people, who were eagerly engaged in asking her questions
concerning her residence abroad, London, the court, the king, etc.,
etc., and as eagerly listening to her replies. As Magnus gently broke
through this circle, and approached her side, with a smile, her eyes
fell and her color rose.
Her young friends, with a smile, a laugh, or an arch glance, dropped
off, one by one, leaving the lovers alone.
And now Elsie’s eyes were dropped to the ground, and her color mounted
to her temples.
At the same moment a young gentleman came up and asked the pleasure of
her hand in the next quadrille.
Elsie, with a start, and a sigh of relief, suffered him to lead her
forth to the head of the cotillion.
I am sure Dr. Hardcastle was unconscious of the angry flush and fierce
glance with which he followed the meanderings of the young couple
through the mazes of the dance.
Not so Elsie. With many a swift, furtive glance she detected the angry
passion of her lover’s face, and felt self-reproach enough to bewilder
her movements. Never had beautiful Elsie danced with less grace, and
never had she been so glad when the set was over.
Her partner led her to a seat, distant from the one he had taken her
from, took his seat by the side of her, and held her in conversation
that made her more fidgety than before.
Poor Elsie was at length relieved by Judge Jacky, who, seeing her
distress and embarrassment, came up, and taking my gentleman by the arm,
and saying to him: “There is a very lovely woman who would not be averse
to dancing the next set with you; come, let me introduce you to her,”
marched him off to dance with a tall, thin young lady of sixty-five.
Dr. Hardcastle now left his position across the room, and, walking
leisurely, came up to Elsie, and dropped slowly into the seat just
vacated.
And at that very instant, as if to try his patience to the utmost, up
came Ulysses Roebuck, and holding out his hand, in quite a confident
way, informed Elsie that he intended to confer upon her the glory and
the joy of being his partner in the next set.
Elsie glanced at Magnus, shook her head, and laughed lightly.
Ulysses persisted, affirming that indeed he was in earnest, and did not
mean to humbug her; that he really had reserved the honor and the
pleasure of his hand in the next cotillion for her, and her alone. That
his uncle had selected a very charming partner for him, whom he had
declined, in consideration of her.
Elsie laughed a little, and told him she feared “the honor and the
pleasure” was only offered to her in order to pique Ambrosia.
Whereupon Roebuck began to vow and protest, but in the midst of his
vociferous asseverations, he happened to spy Ambrosia sitting down,
quite exhausted, quite alone, apparently quite disengaged, for the first
time during the evening, and Ulysses suddenly sped off toward her, in
order to secure her at once—for the dance?—no, for a good, rousing
quarrel.
“Why did you not dance with Ulysses?” inquired Magnus of Elsie.
She threw a swift glance to his face, then dropped her eyes, and
replied, in a low tone:
“I shall not dance again to-night.”
“Why?” he asked, taking her hand, and seeming to study its deep beauty.
“Why will you not dance again to-night?”
But she colored so deeply, and looked so distressed, that he desisted
from questioning her.
At last Elsie of herself said, in a very low voice:
“Mother told me not to dance, unless it were to make up a set that could
not otherwise be completed.”
“But I do not understand why you should have been warned against your
favorite amusement, Elsie?”
“Why, lest by filling up one place in the cotillion, I might keep some
young lady from dancing,” replied she. But then, as though spurning
disingenuousness, she added: “But that was not the only reason I refused
Ulysses.” Then pausing, and making a great effort over herself, she
added, in a very low and tremulous voice: “It was because you looked so
annoyed while I was dancing with Mr. Brent.”
The light of an unutterable joy shone on the face of Magnus. He caught
her hand with a strong, almost crushing clasp—his bosom heaved—his eyes
kindled and smoldered. He stooped his lips near Elsie’s ear to whisper
something, but her cheek blazed.
And just then a slight bustle at the other extremity of the room
attracted their attention. Exclamations of astonishment, joy, and wonder
were intermingled with many words of cordial greeting, and of hearty
welcoming. Above all noises were heard the jocund tones of old Mr.
Hardcastle. The bustle widened in the crowd, like eddies in the water
where a stone had just been cast, and the crowd seemed to be swayed
toward the place where our lovers sat. The center of this crowd was a
young man of rather effeminate, but exceeding personal beauty, tall, and
slightly, but elegantly proportioned, with Grecian features, a fair,
roseate complexion, golden hair, and light, soft, hazel eyes. He was
receiving, and gracefully and graciously acknowledging, the _devoirs_ of
all around him, who were also moving with him towards Magnus and Elsie.
As he drew near, they both simultaneously exclaimed:
“My Cousin Lionel!”
“Lionel Hardcastle!”
And both eagerly started forward, holding out their hands, in joyful
welcome, before even thinking of the miracle of his advent.
Lionel at first shook hands with Magnus, then, seeming to yield to a
sudden and irresistible impulse, folded him to his heart in a close
brotherly embrace.
He then took Elsie’s hand, bowed over it gracefully, raised it tenderly
to his lips, when Elsie exclaimed:
“Oh, my dear old playmate, I am so glad! so glad! that you were not lost
after all!” threw herself into his arms.
The youth’s eye and cheek kindled with a hectic flush, as he pressed the
innocent, affectionate girl for an instant to his bosom, and released
her to turn and see Magnus grasp her arm with no very gentle hand, and
lead her away. To the many eager questions of “When did you arrive?”
“Where from?” “How did you escape?” “Where have you been all this time?”
put to him by the astonished crowd as soon as they recovered sufficient
strength, Lionel replied:
“To-morrow, to-morrow, I will tell you all about it.”
“That you shan’t! you shan’t tell for a week. It is enough, good Heaven,
to have you among us. No more questions shall be asked or answered for a
week!” exclaimed Judge Wylie, in a magisterial tone, and the company
understood that they had been wearying a fatigued traveler, and
desisted.
It was late when the ball broke up. And Judge Jacky, who seemed
possessed with a spirit of jollity, resolved to follow up this party by
one of his own. Accordingly, that very night, he improvised the “time,
place, and circumstance” of a ball, and availed himself of the
opportunity afforded by the presence of so many of his familiar friends,
to give out rather informal verbal invitations. When all the company had
departed, a cloud remained upon the brow of General Garnet. He spoke
coldly to Magnus, in reply to his “good-night,” as the latter left the
house. Alice looked deeply distressed. Elsie glanced from father to
mother with a vague presentiment of impending evil.