IX.

The next morning his jaded face told plainly of the mental struggle he

had undergone. He took up Edna's handkerchief, pressed it to his lips

reverentially, as if it had been a shred from the robe of a saint, and

then reflected how he should return it to its owner without exciting

suspicion or betraying his impertinent freak. "She's a seraph and I'm an

idiot!" was his pithy conclusion, "An egregious and presumptuous idiot!

If she knew all, what a laughing-stock I should be to her! I will not

think of her again, but as one to worship. What am I, or what have I

done to merit any favor from her? What could she ever possibly see in

me? I must and shall try to forget her. No--I would be very ungrateful

to do that. But I must only esteem, respect, and worship her at a

distance; and if she prefers that tall, girlish, dancing-Jack, why--no,

I have no right to think that. Well, I must return the handkerchief in

some way, and then we shall be henceforth as strangers--not exactly

strangers--but I will only think of her as an acquaintance."

He held to this resolution for at least a week, rigidly schooling his

heart to submission; but alas, this resolve met the fate of its kind,

for on the eighth day he accidentally saw the disturber of his peace,

and away to the four winds of heaven went all humility and

self-abnegation. And he met her of all places--in a workshop. Edna

happened to be passing the Archimedes Works on her return from the

stationer's, when the proprietor, who was looking out of the window of

his counting-room, caught a glimpse of her, and going out accosted the

young lady, much to her surprise, with a request to walk into his office

a moment as he wanted to consult her. She good-naturedly complied, and

went into the room, where the old book-keeper bustled about to dust a

chair for her, and the junior clerks were rather distracted from their

labors by the apparition of such a visitor.

"What I wanted was to ask your opinion of a new cart I've been getting,

Miss Heath," said George Gildersleeve.

"A cart, Mr. Gildersleeve?" repeated Edna.

"Yes, a cart de visit."

"Oh, a photograph," said Edna.

"Yes. Mrs. Gildersleeve's sister, Mrs. Roberts, who lives in Trenton,

hasn't got one of mine, and I promised to send her one; so I've been

getting some struck off. Now here are the proofs of three different

kinds. Snopple got 'em up; and as you're a young lady of taste, the

thought struck me, as I saw you go by, that you'd be a capital judge and

I want your opinion as to which is the best."

Edna, rather amused, scrutinized the pictures that represented George

looking like a comely bulldog, and said that she thought they were all

fair likenesses.

"But which is the best? This one's a new attitood for me. I never had

one taken in that way before. Suppose you were picking one out for

yourself, which would you choose?"

To please him, Edna gave the preference to one over the others.

"Well--I don't know but you're right," said George reflectively, as he

admired the one selected. "I'll have a lot of these struck off, and when

they're finished, I won't forget to send you one, unless you prefer one

of these full faces."

Edna said no--that the first one mentioned would do, and thanked him.

Noticing the horse-shoe over the fire-place, she inquired whether it

were hung there to keep off witches, or for good-luck.

"Good-luck?--no, not exactly, although I shouldn't wonder if it had

brought us good-luck. As for the witches, you see yourself it don't keep

off the most dangerous kind--the young and beautiful ones," replied

George, with an attempt to be gallant.

"Oh thank you, Mr. Gildersleeve; you're very flattering indeed," replied

Edna with a smile.

"I wouldn't take five hundred dollars for that horse-shoe, Miss Heath,"

resumed George proudly.

"Indeed," said Edna.

"No, nor a thousand. That there shoe that you see there, came off

Gineral George Washington's horse just afore he fought the great battle

of Trenton. My grandfather shod him anew himself, and kept this old

shoe. The forge was right here, and that chimney-stack was part of it.

That's the story, Miss Heath; and at that time your great-grandfather,

old Whitman Obershaw, ran a saw-mill just along by the head of the

rapids, ten rods beyond the foot-bridge, and I've heard my father say

often enough that the old man was a pretty hard case, and tight about

half the time."

Edna, though nettled and confused for a moment at these free reflections

on her maternal ancestor, could not refrain from smiling at the

unconcerned way in which they were imparted.

"To think how you've grown lately, Miss Heath," continued the blunt

iron-master; "why, it seems to me but last week that you and Ada Mumbie

and Judge Hull's granddaughter, were little bits of things, stopping, as

you came from school with your arms full of books, to peep in at the

foundry, half-scared, with your eyes as big as saucers. Well, time

passes, and things change, and the Works are different now from what

they was then. We've enlarged them considerable. Have you been through

them lately? No--well, would you like to go? Without bragging a great

deal, I don't think we can be beat much in our line in the world."

George's world, by the bye, was bounded by New York and Trenton, and

consisted chiefly of Belton.

Edna said she had been in Mr. Mumbie's paper-mill, and had been much

interested, and thought she would like to see the Works, if convenient.

The establishment was a model one of its kind. In extent and

completeness it had no superior, if a rival, in the country, and the

owner took a justifiable pride in showing it. It covered several acres,

and the buildings were fine ones of brick, with slate roofs, and some

pretensions to architectural beauty. Gildersleeve led Edna first to a

detached room well lighted, neat, and quiet as a boudoir, with a vine

trailing over the glass roof. This was the engine-room, where tireless

monsters of polished steel and brass, with gigantic fly-wheels and

darting pistons, worked noiselessly and exactly as a chronometer, and

enabled the proprietor to be consistently independent of the water-power

if he chose.

Then they went to the foundry--a fearful place, where begrimed men,

hideous in the glare of furnace flames, ran dragging pots of molten iron

like Cyclops, while the ground trembled beneath the titanic blows of

trip-hammers; next to the boiler-shop, where Edna was almost deafened;

and to the machine-shop, a long room filled with whirling shafts,

gearing, and lathes innumerable, where she was greatly amazed at the

wonderful planes that sliced off glossy ribbons of steel, and the

powerful shears and punches that cut the tough metal like pasteboard.

Edna was much impressed by what she saw. She was struck with the many

evidences around her of human skill and power. The admirable adaptation

and complete control of superhuman forces seemed to her sublime, and she

wondered that the presiding genius of such a marvellous palace of art

could be the ordinary mortal beside her. Had Edna been an older judge of

human nature, she would have discovered that George Gildersleeve was

anything but an ordinary man. True, he was uneducated, rough,

overweeningly vain, without tact; his fibre coarse and vigorous as a

buffalo's, but his tenacity of will, love of order, vigilance, and

business shrewdness were remarkable, and capable of conquering success

in almost any department of life. His vigilance and love of order had

not escaped Edna's notice, for as they went along, she remarked that his

searching glances were directed everywhere, and she was amused to see

him pick up a nail from the floor, and at another time reprimand an

apprentice severely because a small bit of cotton waste had been left on

the bright oil-cloth of the engine-room.

"Who suggested the name of your Works, Mr. Gildersleeve?" said Edna.

"Oh! that was Mark's notion. When we rebuilt them, I wanted to name them

the George Washington Works, but I concluded that that would be too

personal, so I let Mark have his own way, and he named them after Archy

Medes. This Archy Medes was an engineer of ancient times, who discovered

something in a bath-tub, I don't exactly remember what, but Mark can

tell you if you want to know. There he is over there. See him, Miss

Heath?"

They were in the finishing-shop at the time, and George pointed to the

farther end, where Mark was, but with his back towards them so that Edna

had not recognized the young man. He was standing with his coat off and

a plan in his hand, giving directions to a group of workmen.

"He's setting up an improved lathe for driving wheels--a new idea of his

own," explained George.

Edna stood watching Mark. He was very intently occupied moving hither

and thither, now stooping and scrutinizing, then, with rolled-up

sleeves, dexterously wielding hammer and chisel. His dark, delicate

features reflected the keen concentrated play of the faculties, and

revealed an expression of intellectual beauty that Edna had not before

noticed. She thought she had never seen so handsome a young man. Mark

unconsciously had made a more favorable impression in his homely guise

than he ever could have done in a ball-room. At length he perceived her,

and could not repress a look of confusion. Giving a few orders to the

workmen, he drew on his coat and came forward to meet Edna with an

embarrassed air.

"An unexpected pleasure, Miss Heath," he said, with a feeble attempt to

be distant in accordance with the noble resolves he had recorded.

"The pleasure is with me, I'm certain, for I've been very much delighted

and instructed. I know all about locomotives, and steam, and boilers,

and I am indebted for it all to your brother, who was kind enough to

invite me to see the Works, and explain everything. But I am very much

afraid that I have interrupted you."

"A very pleasant interruption; for it's so seldom we are favored with

the presence of ladies here, that we appreciate their visits

correspondingly," replied Mark gallantly. Her pleasant, winning way had

disarmed him completely, and he was at her mercy at once. Edna then bid

the brothers good-by, remarking that she had tarried too long and must

return home.

Of course Mark begged to be permitted to escort her, as evening was

approaching, to which request she graciously assented. The most

attractive trait, perhaps, in our heroine's character was her frankness

of speech and manner proceeding from a nature singularly free from

affectation. We say singularly, as it is well known that the best of our

young ladies are not entirely exempt from little artificial airs and

graces especially, if like the subject of these remarks, they occupy a

position in society somewhat analogous to that of a duke's daughter

among gentry. This artlessness was the more remarkable in the child of

a family noted for its intense pride and pretensions. Edna was the

exception; simple in her tastes, and ignoring the deference conceded to

wealth to an extent that would have amazed her father, could he have

spared enough attention from state affairs to study his daughter's

character. Naturally, when a young lady of position remains unimpressed

by people's purses, and is as courteous to the poor as to the rich, she

cannot fail to become a favorite with all; and it is no wonder that the

master of the Archimedes Works remarked to Gregg, the old book-keeper,

after she was gone, that if he were a young man seeking a wife, she'd be

just the girl he'd pick out, and that Gregg said she would be his choice

too; nor that Knatchbull, the foreman, concurred, and added, that she

was a "natty lass," to which George said, "That's so, and

thorough-bred," and told Gregg to make a minute to remind him to send

one of his "carts," a three-quarter face, to the young lady, as he had

promised, and wouldn't disappoint her for the world.

Meanwhile Mark and Edna were walking on in silence towards the street

that led to the latter's home; Mark, in his elation, scarcely knowing

how to broach the conversation. Finally he recollected that it would be

in order to thank Edna for the invitation she had sent him, and he did

so, expressing his great regret at not having been able to avail himself

of it, and his appreciation of the intended compliment.

"I think you would have enjoyed yourself," said Edna, "for I believe

they all did. There were quite a number of charming young ladies

present. Some of them, I think, you would have been pleased to meet."

"Name them, if you please?"

"Well--Miss Carver, from Boston, for one; pretty, accomplished--"

"And wealthy?"

"Pray, why do you ask such a question?"

"Is not that the supreme attraction?"

"What a sentiment for a poet! Do you know, Mr. Gildersleeve; that I

never fail to read your verses in the _Sentinel_?"

"Do you, really? You are a true friend, indeed, Miss Heath, to sacrifice

yourself to that extent. What an exertion it must be!"

"Indeed, I think some of them very nice. Mr. Abbott, who prides himself

on his literary taste, endeavored to be very witty criticising some of

your poetry, but Aunt Susan--that's Mrs. Applegate--Mercedita, and I

defended you with our utmost ability, and we three decided that it was

very nice indeed," said Edna earnestly.

Mark thought that "very nice indeed" was not exactly the verdict he

craved, nor were Aunt Susan and Mercedita critics whose judgment would

likely bias public opinion, and be considered final. Edna's good opinion

was certainly worth having, however; and as for the Rev. Mr. Abbott's

attempts at facetiousness, they were undoubtedly prompted by jealousy,

and to say the least of it, were very unbecoming in one of his

profession, and a disgrace to the cloth.

"Mr. Abbott, though, is a very fine reader," continued Edna, "but I must

say I have not a very great opinion of his taste. Would you believe it,

he is forever reciting 'Airy, fairy Lillian,' and says it's the finest

thing Tennyson ever wrote? Now I think it's very flat, don't you?"

Mark agreed with her, and said it was very flat, very flat indeed. She

certainly has taste, thought he, great critical acumen, but I wish she

wouldn't call my verses nice.

"You must know," said Edna, who talked on unreservedly, "I'm a very

romantic girl in spite of my matter-of-fact way, and read every bit of

poetry I come across. In saying that I don't mean to disparage your

productions, for as I said, I think some of them real nice and pretty.

It may be that my opinion is not worth much, but one piece I read lately

struck me as being full of beautiful ideas and similes. I mean those

lines addressed to 'Eunomia,' the 'violet-engarlanded' person in 'purple

cincture,' who, 'enthroned in the propylon of the temple of Fate, sweeps

the lyre with skilful plectrum.' I believe that's the image, is it not?"

"I am afraid you are disposed to amuse yourself by ridiculing my poor

efforts," said Mark, puzzled to know whether she were in earnest or not.

"Oh dear me, no. I haven't wit enough to be ironical, and am therefore

always compelled to be downright and blunt. Do you know, too, that my

ignorance is such that I had to look in the dictionary to find out what

plectrum and propylon meant. Do, please, the next time you use such hard

words, add explanatory notes at the foot, and oblige all such unlearned

people as I."

She said this with a bantering smile that again perplexed Mark and set

him reflecting. Now the shortest way to the Cliff was to turn off at

Mill Street, which led to the foot-bridge over the falls; but when they

came to the corner of that street, instead of turning off Edna kept on,

taking the longer way home, and thus prolonging the walk, from which

circumstance Mark augured favorably. At least, thought he, she is not

tired of my company as yet. Their promenade took them across the public

square, a pretentious little triangle of grass-plats inclosed by posts

and chains. At one end of this park fronted a fine large old mansion,

whose low eaves, broad heavily-panelled door, and ponderous brass

knocker denoted work of the last century. It was the homestead of the

Hull family, and on the door-jambs were still visible hacks made by the

sabres of Knyphausen's Hessians. Mark and his companion had just passed

the house when the old Judge came out on the porch to look at the

thermometer hanging by the side of his door. How could he fail to notice

the youthful couple? Old as he was, and long past the age of frivolity,

they interested him, and he stood contemplating the pair until they

were out of his sight. As he turned to reenter the house he gave a sigh

of regret. How barren seemed all his fame and honors! He would have

bartered them all for the return of one hour of the sweet hallucinations

of youth so irrevocably passed away. Meanwhile our young people

continued their discussion on poetry in general, and Mark's productions

in particular, until the young man, assuming a serious expression, said,

"You were speaking about the lines to Eunomia. As regards the spirit or

intention in which they are composed, I must certainly be credited at

least with sincerity. Every line, every thought is an exponent of the

author's feelings. They may be awkward, inelegant, or halting, but the

words are nevertheless the earnest utterances of the heart."

All this was said fervently, and Edna replied: "I haven't any doubt of

it at all. You poets all have some ideal lady-love, I believe, gifted

with every possible quality; some ethereal paragon whom you never permit

to touch the earth; consequently, I presume you are very much

dissatisfied with young ladies as you find them."

"Permit me to say you are much mistaken. My verses were addressed to no

imaginary being. Eunomia lives and breathes."

"Indeed! why, now that you have so excited my curiosity, I am afraid I

shall not rest satisfied until I learn who this interesting damsel

is--this purple-cinctured Eunomia."

"I can gratify you in that respect very readily, if you wish it."

"Well--but--I wouldn't for the world be indiscreet. If it's perfectly

permissible. Otherwise, let me remain in ignorance, please." She said

this hesitatingly, as if perhaps she had gone too far; or was it Mark's

admiring gaze that embarrassed her? For the young man seemed to be

oblivious of all but the being beside him, and who could blame him? for

Edna, animated by the walk and conversation, looked more beautiful than

ever. She wore a round hat wreathed about with a blue veil which

contrasted charmingly with her fair complexion, and the satin sheen of

her lustrous blonde hair. Mark watched the blithe face, and endeavored

to analyze, and impress its beauty indelibly on his memory. What charmed

him most was the virginal grace of lips and chin, the pure cheek, and

the exquisite contour of the slender white throat. So absorbed was he in

his admiration, that the promenade seemed to him incredibly short, in

spite of the circuit they had made, for the entrance to Mr. Heath's

residence was now near at hand. It was time to part. "I am

hesitating," said he, "whether to reveal--if you will not think me

presumptuous--after all, no one is better entitled to know the name of

the one addressed as 'Eunomia,' than you."

"No one better entitled to know than I?" repeated Edna, as a sudden

enlightenment suffused her face with a blush.

"No one; for Eunomia is but another name for Edna. Forgive me, if in

seeking for inspiration from your beauty and goodness, I have been too

bold in my admiration; but Edna," he added, taking her hand and gazing

at her with appealing ardor, "I have loved you so long and earnestly!"

She lowered her eyes at this declaration, but her hand lingered in his.

There was nobody near; he pressed her hand gently to his lips, when she

quickly withdrew it, and with a bow, disappeared through the gateway.

Mark stood for a moment as if amazed at his audacity, and then, joyful

and happy, walked away as if treading on air, bewitched by the

delightful anticipations of newly implanted hope. Sweet anticipation!

How full art thou of brilliant illusions and blissful glamour! And yet,

without thee, what an insupportable burden would life become! Precious

Jack-o'-lantern, that transports the lover, nerves the warrior, cheers

the student, and inspires poet and painter!