HOW HOFFLAND FOUND THAT HE HAD LEFT HIS KEY BEHIND.
They entered the town in silence, and both of the young men seemed
busy with their thoughts. Mowbray's face wore its habitual expression
of collected calmness; as to Hoffland, he was smiling.
Mowbray at last raised his head, and chasing away his thoughts by a
strong effort, said to his companion:
"You have no dormitory yet, I believe--I mean, that you are not
domiciled at the college. Can I assist you?"
"Oh, thank you; but I am lodged in town."
"Ah?"
"Yes; Doctor Small procured permission for me."
"Where is your room, Charles?--I shall come and see you."
"Just down there, somewhere," said Hoffland dubiously.
"On Gloucester street?"
"No; just around there," replied the student, pointing in the
direction of the college.
"Well," said Mowbray, "we shall pass it on our way, and I will go up
and see if you are comfortably fixed. I may be able to give you some
advice--I am an old member of the commissary department.
"Oh, thank you," said Hoffland quickly; "but I believe every thing is
very well arranged."
"Can you judge?" smiled Mowbray.
"Yes, indeed," Hoffland said, turning away his head and laughing;
"better than you can, perhaps."
"I doubt it."
"You grown lords of the creation fancy you know so much!" said
Hoffland.
Mowbray caught the merry contagion, and smiling, said:
"Nevertheless, I insist upon going to see if my new brother Charles is
comfortably established."
Hoffland bit his lip.
"This is the place, is it not?" asked Mowbray.
Hoffland hesitated for a moment, and then replied with an embarrassed
tone:
"Yes--but--let us go on."
"No," Mowbray said, "I am very obstinate; and as Lucy will not expect
me now until tea-time, I am determined to devote half an hour to
spying out your land. Come, lead the way!"
Hoffland wrung his hands with a nettled look, which made him resemble
a child deprived of its plaything.
"But--" he said.
"Come--you pique my curiosity; go on, Charles."
A sudden smile illumined the boy's face.
"Well," he said, "if you insist, so be it."
And he led the way up a staircase which commenced just within the open
door of the house. The lodging of Sir Asinus was in one of those
buildings let out to students; this seemed more private--Hoffland
alone dwelt here.
The student searched his pockets one after the other.
"Oh me!" he cried, "could I have left my key at the college?"
"Careless!" said Mowbray, with a smile.
"I think I am very unfortunate."
"Well, then, my domiciliary visit is rendered impossible. Come,
Charles, another time!"
And Mowbray descended, followed by the triumphant Hoffland, who,
whatever his motive might be, seemed to rejoice in the accident, or
the success of his ruse, whichever the reader pleases.
"Come! I am just going to see Warner Lewis a moment," said Mowbray,
"and then I shall return to the 'Raleigh Tavern,' get my horse, and go
to Roseland----"
"Roseland! Is that your sister's home?"
"Yes, we live there--no one but Lucy and myself; that is to say,
except one single servant reserved from the estate."
"Roseville?" murmured Hoffland; "I think I have passed it."
"Very probably; it is just yonder, beyond the woods--a cottage
embosomed in trees, and with myriads of roses around it, which Lucy
takes great pleasure in cultivating."
"I think I should like to know your sister," said Hoffland.
"Why, nothing is easier: come with me this evening."
"This evening?"
"Why not?"
"How could I?" laughed Hoffland; "your house is so small, that without
some warning I should probably incommode you."
"Oh, not at all--we have a very good room for you. You know in
Virginia we always keep the 'guest's chamber,' however poor we are."
"Hum!" said Hoffland.
"Come!" said Mowbray.
Hoffland began to laugh.
"How could I go?" he asked.
"Why, ride."
"Ride?"
"Certainly."
"In what manner, pray?"
"On horseback," said Mowbray; "I can easily procure you a horse."
Hoffland turned his head aside to conceal his laughter.
"No, I thank you," he said.
"You refuse?"
"Point-blank."
Mowbray looked at him.
"You are a strange person, Charles," he said; "you seem half man, half
child--I might almost say half girl."
"Oh, Ernest, to hurt my feelings so!" said the boy, turning away his
face.
Mowbray found himself reflecting that he had uttered a very unkind
speech.
"I only meant that there was a singular mixture of character and
playfulness in you, Charles," he said; "you are as changeable as the
wind--and quite as pleasant to my weary brow," he added, with a smile;
"you smooth its wrinkles."
"I'm very glad I do," said Hoffland; "but do not again utter such
unfeeling words--_I_ like a girl!"
"No, I will not--pray pardon me," replied Mowbray.
Hoffland's lip was puckered up, until it resembled a rose-leaf rumpled
by the finger of a school-girl.
"Then there is another objection to my going out this evening,
Ernest," he said: "you see I return to the subject."
"What objection?"
"You ought to tell your sister what a fascinating young man I am, and
put her upon her guard----"
"Charles!" cried Mowbray, with a strong disposition to laugh; "you
must pardon my saying that your vanity is the most amusing I have ever
encountered."
"Is it!" asked Hoffland, smiling; "but come, don't you think me
fascinating?"
"Upon my word," said Mowbray, "were I to utter the exact truth, I
should say yes; for I have never yet found myself so completely
conciliated by a stranger. Just consider that we have not known each
other a week yet----"
"But four days!" laughed Hoffland; "be accurate!"
"Well, that makes it all the stronger: we have known each other but
four days, and here we are jesting with every word--'Charles' here,
'Ernest' there--as though we had been acquainted twenty years."
"Such an acquaintance might be possible for you--it is not for me,"
Hoffland said, laughing; "but I find you very generous. You have not
added the strongest evidence of my wayward familiarity--that I advised
you to put your sister on her guard against my fascinations. Let her
take care! Else shall she be a love-sick girl--the most amusing
spectacle, I think, in all the world!"
With which words Hoffland laughed so merrily and with such a musical,
ringing, contagious joy, that Mowbray's feeling of pique at this
unceremonious allusion to his sister passed away completely, and he
could not utter a word.
They passed on thus to the college, conversing about a thousand
things; and Mowbray saw with the greatest surprise that his companion
possessed a mind of remarkable clearness and justness. His comments
upon every subject were characterized by a laughing satire which
played around men and things like summer lightning, and by the time
they had reached Lord Botetourt's statue, Mowbray was completely
silent. He listened.