GOING TO ROSELAND.
As the unfortunate lover entered Williamsburg, his hands hanging down,
his eyes dreamy and fixed with hostile intentness on vacancy, his
shoulders drooping and swaying from side to side like those of a
drunken man,--he saw pass before him, rattling and joyous, a brilliant
equipage, which, like a sleigh covered with bells, seemed to leave in
its wake a long jocund peal of merriment and laughter.
In this vehicle, which mortals were then accustomed to call, and
indeed call still, a curricle, sat two young men who were conversing;
and as the melancholy Jacques passed on his way, the younger
student--for such he was--said, laughing, to his companion:
"Look, Ernest, there is a man in love!"
Mowbray raised his head, and seeing Jacques, smiled sadly and
thoughtfully; then his breast moved, and a profound sigh issued from
his lips: he made no reply.
"Why!" cried Hoffland, "you have just been guilty, Ernest, of a
ceremony which none but a woman should perform. What a sigh!"
Mowbray turned away his head.
"I was only thinking," he said calmly.
"Thinking of what?"
"Nothing."
"I see that you think one thing," said Hoffland, with a mischievous
twinkle in his eye; "to wit, that I am very prying."
"No; but my thoughts would not interest you, Charles," said Mowbray.
And a sigh still more profound agitated his lips and breast.
"Suppose you try me," his companion said; "speaking generally, your
thoughts do interest me."
"Well, I was thinking of a woman," said Mowbray.
"A woman! Oh! then your time, in your own opinion at least, was thrown
away."
"Worse," said Mowbray gloomily; "worse by far."
"How?"
"It is useless, Charles, to touch upon the subject; let it rest."
"No; I wish you to tell me, if I am not intrusive, what woman you were
at the moment honoring with a sigh."
Mowbray raised his head calmly, and yielding like all lovers to the
temptation to pour into the bosom of his friend those troubled
thoughts which oppressed his heart, said to his companion:
"The woman we were speaking of the other day."
"You have not told me her name," said Hoffland.
"It is useless."
"Why?"
"Because she is lost to me."
"Lost?"
"For ever."
And after this gloomy reply, Mowbray looked away.
Hoffland placed a hand upon his arm, and said:
"Upon what grounds do you base your opinion that she is lost to you?"
"It is not an opinion; I know it too well."
"If you were mistaken?"
"Mistaken!" said Mowbray; "mistaken! You think I am mistaken? Then you
know nothing of what took place at our last interview; or you did not
listen rather--for if my memory does not deceive me, I told you all."
"I did listen."
"And you now doubt that she is lost to me?"
"Seriously."
"Charles, you are either the most inexperienced or the most
desperately hopeful character that has ever been created."
"I am neither," said Hoffland smiling. "I am rational, and I know what
I say."
Mowbray suppressed an impatient gesture, and said:
"Did I not tell you that she made me the butt for her wit and
sarcasm----"
"Are you sure?"
"Yes; and more! She scoffed at me, as a mere fortune-hunter, and gave
me the most ironical advice----"
"You are convinced it was ironical?"
"Convinced? Have I eyes--have I ears? Truly, if I had failed to be
convinced, I should have verified the scriptural saying of those who
have eyes and see not--who have ears and do not hear."
"Are the eyes always true?" said Hoffland, smiling.
"No: you have not succeeded, nevertheless, in showing me that I saw
wrong."
"Are the ears invariably just?"
"For Heaven's sake, cease worrying me with general propositions!" said
Mowbray.
Then, seeing that his companion was hurt by his irritated tone, he
added:
"Forgive me, Charles! I lose my equanimity upon this subject; let us
dismiss it."
"Very well," said Hoffland, smiling mischievously; "but remember what
I now say, Ernest, and remember well. The eyes are deceptive--the ears
worse than deceptive. You truly have eyes and see not, ears and hear
not! I think it highly probable that your lady-love, who is an
excellent-hearted girl, I am convinced, intended merely to apply a
last test; and if you have bounded like an impulsive horse under the
spur, and tossed from her, the blame does not rest with her. And
remember this too, Ernest," Hoffland went on sadly; for one of the
strange peculiarities of this young man was his habit of abrupt
transition from merriment to sadness, from smiles to sighs; "remember,
Ernest, that your determination to see her no more has probably
inflicted on this young girl's heart a cruel pang: you cannot know
that she is not now shedding bitter tears at the result of her trial
of your feelings! Oh! remember that it is not the poor and afflicted
only who weep--it is the rich and joyous also; and the hottest tears
are often shed by the eyes which seem made to dispense smiles alone!"
Mowbray listened to the earnest voice in silence. A long pause
followed, neither looking at the other; then Mowbray said:
"You deceive yourself, Charles, if you imagine that this beautiful and
wealthy young girl spends a second thought upon myself. I was to her
only a passing shadow--another name to add to her long list of
captives. Well! I gave her the sincere love of an honest heart, such a
love as no woman has the right to spurn. She did spurn it. Well! I am
not a child to sob and moan, and go and beg her on my knees to love
me--no! I love her more than ever, Charles; all my boasting was mere
boasting and untrue--I love her still--but that heart, and it shall
not issue forth but with my life. I love her! but I will never place
myself in the dust before a woman who has scorned me. Silence and
self-control I have, and these will sustain me."
"Oh, Ernest! Ernest!"
"You seem strangely moved by my words," said Mowbray; "but you should
not fancy my love so fatal. It is a delirium at times, but Heaven be
thanked, it cannot drive me mad. Now let us stop speaking of these
things. When I think of that young girl, all my calmness leaves me.
Oh, she was so frank and true a soul, I thought!--so sincere and
bold!--so lovely, and with such a strength of heart! I was deceived.
Well, well--it seems to be the fate of men, to find the ideal of their
hearts unworthy. Let us speak of it no further."
And suppressing his emotion by a violent effort, Mowbray added in a
voice perfectly calm and collected:
"There is our cottage, Charles--Roseland; and I see Lucy waiting for
us under the roses on the porch--she always looks for me, I believe."