“Cease all this parlance about hills and dales.
None listen to thy scenes of boyish frolic.
Fond dotard! with such tickled ears as thou dost
Come to thy tale.”
--Duo.
Mr. Jones arose on the following morning with the sun, and, ordering
his own and Marmaduke's steeds to be saddled, he proceeded, with a
countenance big with some business of unusual moment to the apartment
of the Judge. The door was unfastened, and Richard entered, with the
freedom that characterized not only the intercourse between the cousins,
but the ordinary manners of the sheriff.
“Well, 'Duke, to horse,” he cried, “and I will explain to you my meaning
in the allusions I made last night. David says, in the Psalms--no, it
was Solomon, but it was all in the family--Solomon said there was a time
for all things; and, in my humble opinion, a fishing-party is not the
moment for discussing important subjects. Ha! why, what the devil ails
you, Marmaduke? Ain't you well? Let me feel your pulse; my grandfather,
you know--”
“Quite well in the body, Richard,” interrupted the Judge, repulsing his
cousin, who was about to assume the functions that rightly belonged to
Dr. Todd; “but ill at heart. I received letters by the post last night,
after we returned from the point, and this among the number.”
The sheriff took the letter, but without turning his eyes on the
writing, for he was examining the appearance of the other with
astonishment. From the face of his cousin the gaze of Richard wandered
to the table, which was covered with letters, packets, and newspapers;
then to the apartment and all it contained. On the bed there was the
impression that had been made by a human form, but the coverings were
unmoved, and everything indicated that the occupant of the room had
passed a sleepless night. The candles had burned to the sockets, and had
evidently extinguished themselves in their own fragments Marmaduke had
drawn his curtains, and opened both the shutters and the sashes, to
admit the balmy air “of a spring morning; but his pale cheek, his
quivering lip, and his sunken eye presented altogether so very different
an appearance from the usual calm, manly, and cheerful aspect of the
Judge, that the sheriff grew each moment more and more bewildered with
astonishment. At length Richard found time to cast his eyes on the
direction of the letter, which he still held unopened, crumpling it in
his hand.
“What! a ship-letter!” he exclaimed; “and from England, ha! 'Duke, there
must be news of importance! indeed!”
“Read it,” said Marmaduke, pacing the floor in excessive agitation.
Richard, who commonly thought aloud, was unable to read a letter without
suffering part of its contents to escape him in audible sounds. So much
of the epistle as was divulged in that manner, we shall lay before the
reader, accompanied by the passing remarks of the sheriff:
“'London, February 12, 1793.' What a devil of a passage she had!
but the wind has been northwest for six weeks, until within the last
fortnight. Sir, your favors of August 10th, September 23d, and of
December 1st, were received in due season, and the first answered by
return of packet. Since the receipt of the last, I' “--here a long
passage was rendered indistinct by a kind of humming noise by the
sheriff--” 'I grieve to say that '--hum, hum, bad enough to be sure--'
but trusts that a merciful Providence has seen fit'--hum, hum, hum seems
to be a good, pious sort of a man, 'Duke; belongs to the Established
Church, I dare say; hum, hum--' vessel sailed from Falmouth on or about
the 1st September of last year, and'--hum, hum, hum, 'If anything should
transpire on this afflicting subject shall not fail'--hum, hum; really a
good-hearted man, for a lawyer--'but Can communicate nothing further at
present'--hum, hum. 'The national convention'--hum, hum--'unfortunate
Louis'--hum, hum--'example of your Washington'--a very sensible man,
I declare, and none of your crazy democrats. Hum, hum--'our gallant
navy'--hum, hum--'under our most excellent monarch'--ay, a good man
enough, that King George, but bad advisers: hum, hum--'I beg to conclude
with assurances of my perfect respect.'--hum, hum--'Andrew Holt.
'--Andrew Holt, a very sensible, feeling man, this Mr. Andrew Holt--but
the writer of evil tidings. What will you do next, Cousin Marmaduke?”
“What can I do, Richard, but trust to time, and the will of Heaven? Here
is another letter from Connecticut, but it only repeats the substance of
the last. There is but one consoling reflection to be gathered from the
English news, which is, that my last letter was received by him before
the ship sailed.”
“This is bad enough, indeed! 'Duke, bad enough, indeed! and away go
all my plans, of putting wings to the house, to the devil. I had
made arrangements for a ride to introduce you to something of a very
important nature. You know how much you think of mines--”
“Talk not of mines,” interrupted the Judge: “there is a sacred duty to
be performed, and that without delay, I must devote this day to writing;
and thou must be my assistant, Richard; it will not do to employ Oliver
in a matter of such secrecy and interest.”
“No, no, 'Duke,” cried the sheriff, squeezing his hand, “I am your man,
just now; we are sister's children, and blood, after all, is the best
cement to make friendship stick together. Well, well, there is no hurry
about the silver mine, just now; another time will do as well. We shall
want Dirky Van, I suppose?”
Marmaduke assented to this indirect question, and the sheriff
relinquished all his intentions on the subject of the ride, and,
repairing to the breakfast parlor, he dispatched a messenger to require
the immediate presence of Dirck Van der School.
The village of Templeton at that time supported but two lawyers, one
of whom was introduced to our readers in the bar-room of the “Bold
Dragoon.” and the other was the gentleman of whom Richard spoke by
the friendly yet familiar appellation of Dirck, or Dirky Van. Great
good-nature, a very tolerable share of skill in his profession, and,
considering the circumstances, no contemptible degree of honesty, were
the principal ingredients in the character of this man, who was known to
the settlers as Squire Van der School, and sometimes by the flattering
though anomalous title of the “Dutch” or “honest lawyer.”
We would not wish to mislead our readers in their conceptions of any
of our characters, and we therefore feel it necessary to add that the
adjective, in the preceding agnomen of Mr. Van der School, was used in
direct reference to its substantive. Our orthodox friends need not be
told that all the merit in this world is comparative; and, once for
all, we desire to say that, where anything which involves qualities
or characters is asserted, we must be understood to mean, “under the
circumstances.”
During the remainder of the day, the Judge was closeted with his cousin
and his lawyer; and no one else was admitted to his apartment, excepting
his daughter. The deep distress that so evidently affected Marmaduke was
in some measure communicated to Elizabeth also; for a look of dejection
shaded her intelligent features, and the buoyancy of her animated
spirits was sensibly softened. Once on that day, young Edwards, who was
a wondering and observant spectator of the sudden alteration produced
in the heads of the family, detected a tear stealing over the cheek of
Elizabeth, and suffusing her bright eyes with a softness that did not
always belong to their expression.
“Have any evil tidings been received, Miss Temple?” he inquired, with an
interest and voice that caused Louisa Grant to raise her head from her
needlework, with a quickness at which she instantly blushed herself.
“I would offer my services to your father, if, as I suspect, he needs an
agent in some distant place, and I thought it would give you relief.”
“We have certainly heard bad news,” returned Elizabeth, “and it may be
necessary that my father should leave home for a short period; unless
I can persuade him to trust my cousin Richard with the business, whose
absence from the country, just at this time, too, might be inexpedient.”
The youth paused a moment, and the blood gathered slowly to his temples
as he continued:
“If it be of a nature that I could execute-”
“It is such as can only be confided to one we know--one of ourselves.”
“Surely, you know me, Miss Temple!” he added, with a warmth that he
seldom exhibited, but which did some times escape him in the moments of
their frank communications. “Have I lived five months under your roof to
be a stranger?”
Elizabeth was engaged with her needle also, and she bent her head to
one side, affecting to arrange her muslin; but her hand shook, her
color heightened, and her eyes lost their moisture in an expression of
ungovernable interest, as she said:
“How much do we know of you, Mr. Edwards?”
“How much!” echoed the youth, gazing from the speaker to the mild
countenance of Louisa, that was also illuminated with curiosity; “how
much Have I been so long an inmate with you and not known?”
The head of Elizabeth turned slowly from its affected position, and the
look of confusion that had blended so strongly with an expression of
interest changed to a smile.
“We know you, sir, indeed; you are called Mr. Oliver Edwards. I
understand that you have informed my friend Miss Grant that you are a
native--”
“Elizabeth!” exclaimed Louisa, blushing to the eyes, and trembling like
an aspen; “you misunderstood me, dear Miss Temple; I--I--it was only a
conjecture. Besides, if Mr. Edwards is related to the natives why should
we reproach him? In what are we better? at least I, who am the child of
a poor and unsettled clergyman?”
Elizabeth shook her head doubtingly, and even laughed, but made no
reply, until, observing the melancholy which pervaded the countenance of
her companion, who was thinking of the poverty and labors of her father,
she continued:
“Nay, Louisa, humility carries you too far. The daughter of a minister
of the church can have no superiors. Neither I nor Mr. Edwards is quite
your equal, unless,” she added, again smiling, “he is in secret a king.”
“A faithful servant of the King of kings, Miss Temple, is inferior to
none on earth,” said Louisa; “but his honors are his own; I am only the
child of a poor and friendless man, and can claim no other distinction.
Why, then, should I feel myself elevated above Mr. Edwards,
because--because--perhaps he is only very, very distantly related to
John Mohegan?”
Glances of a very comprehensive meaning were exchanged between the
heiress and the young man, as Louisa betrayed, while vindicating his
lineage, the reluctance with which she admitted his alliance with the
old warrior; but not even a smile at the simplicity of their companion
was indulged in by either.
“On reflection, I must acknowledge that my situation here is somewhat
equivocal,” said Edwards, “though I may be said to have purchased it
with my blood.”
“The blood, too, of one of the native lords of the soil!” cried
Elizabeth, who evidently put little faith in his aboriginal descent.
“Do I bear the marks of my lineage so very plainly impressed on my
appearance? I am dark, but not very red--not more so than common?”
“Rather more so, just now.”
“I am sure, Miss Temple,” cried Louisa, “you cannot have taken much
notice of Mr. Edwards. His eyes are not so black as Mohegan's or even
your own, nor is his hair.”
“Very possibly, then, I can lay claim to the same de scent It would be a
great relief to my mind to think so, for I own that I grieve when I see
old Mohegan walking about these lands like the ghost of one of their
ancient possessors, and feel how small is my own right to possess them.”
“Do you?” cried the youth, with a vehemence that startled the ladies
“I do, indeed,” returned Elizabeth, after suffering a moment to pass in
surprise; “but what can I do--what can my father do? Should we offer the
old man a home' and a maintenance, his habits would compel him to refuse
us. Neither were we so silly as to wish such a thing, could we
convert these clearings and farms again into hunting grounds, as the
Leather-Stocking would wish to see them.”
“You speak the truth, Miss Temple,” said Edwards. “What can you do
indeed? But there is one thing that I am certain you can and will do,
when you become the mistress of these beautiful valleys--use your wealth
with indulgence to the poor, and charity to the needy; indeed, you can
do no more.”
“And That will be doing a good deal,” said Louisa, smiling in her turn.
“But there will, doubtless, be one to take the direction of such things
from her hands.”
“I am not about to disclaim matrimony, like a silly girl, who dreams of
nothing else from morn till night; but I am a nun here, without the vow
of celibacy. Where shall I find a husband in these forests?”
“There is none, Miss Temple,” said Edwards quickly; “there is none who
has a right to aspire to you, and I know that you will wait to be sought
by your equal; or die, as you live, loved, respected, and admired by all
who know you.”
The young man seemed to think that he had said all that was required
by gallantry, for he arose, and, taking his hat, hurried from the
apartment. Perhaps Louisa thought that he had said more than was
necessary, for she sighed, with an aspiration so low that it was
scarcely audible to herself, and bent her head over her work again.
And it is possible that Miss Temple wished to hear more, for her eyes
continued fixed for a minute on the door through which the young man had
passed, then glanced quickly toward her companion, when the long silence
that succeeded manifested how much zest may be given to the conversation
of two maidens under eighteen, by the presence of a youth of
three-and-twenty.
The first person encountered by Mr. Edwards, as he rather rushed than
walked from the house, was the little square-built lawyer, with a large
bundle of papers under his arm, a pair of green spectacles on his nose,
with glasses at the sides, as if to multiply his power of detecting
frauds by additional organs of vision.
Mr. Van der School was a well-educated man, but of slow comprehension,
who had imbibed a wariness in his speeches and actions, from having
suffered by his collisions with his more mercurial and apt brethren who
had laid the foundations of their practice in the Eastern courts, and
who had sucked in shrewdness with their mother's milk. The caution of
this gentleman was exhibited in his actions, by the utmost method
and punctuality, tinctured with a good deal of timidity; and in his
speeches, by a parenthetical style, that frequently left to his auditors
a long search after his meaning.
“A good-morning to you, Mr. Van der School,” said Edwards; “it seems to
be a busy day with us at the mansion-house.”
“Good-morning, Mr. Edwards (if that is your name [for, being a stranger,
we have no other evidence of the fact than your own testimony], as I
understand you have given it to Judge Temple), good-morning, sir. It
is, apparently a busy day (but a man of your discretion need not be told
[having, doubtless, discovered it of your own accord], that appearances
are often deceitful) up at the mansion-house.”
“Have you papers of consequence that will require copying? Can I be of
assistance in any way?”
“There are papers (as doubtless you see [for your eyes are young] by the
outsides) that require copying.”
“Well, then, I will accompany you to your office, and receive such as
are most needed, and by night I shall have them done if there be much
haste.”
“I shall always be glad to see you, sir, at my office (as in duty bound,
not that it is obligatory to receive any man within your dwelling
unless so inclined), which is a castle, according to the forms of
politeness, or at any other place; but the papers are most strictly
confidential (and, as such, cannot be read by any one), unless so
directed (by Judge Temple's solemn injunctions), and are invisible to
all eyes; excepting those whose duties (I mean assumed duties) require
it of them.”
“Well, sir, as I perceive that I can be of no service, I wish you
another good-morning; but beg you will remember that I am quite idle
just now, and I wish you would intimate as much to Judge Temple,
and make him a ten der of my services in any part of the world, \
unless--unless--it be far from Templeton.”
“I will make the communication, sir, in your name (with your own
qualifications), as your agent. Good morning, sir. But stay proceedings,
Mr. Edwards (so called), for a moment. Do you wish me to state the offer
of travelling as a final contract (for which consideration has been
received at former dates [by sums advanced], which would be binding), or
as a tender of services for which compensation is to be paid (according
to future agreement between the parties), on performance of the
conditions?”
“Any way, any way,” said Edwards; “he seems in distress, and I would
assist him.”
“The motive is good, sir (according to appearances which are often
deceitful] on first impressions), and does you honor. I will mention
your wish, young gentleman (as you now seem), and will not fail to
communicate the answer by five o'clock P.M. of this present day (God
willing), if you give me an opportunity so to do.”
The ambiguous nature of the situation and character of Mr. Edwards had
rendered him an object of peculiar suspicion to the lawyer, and the
youth was consequently too much accustomed to similar equivocal and
guarded speeches to feel any unusual disgust at the present dialogue. He
saw at once that it was the intention of the practitioner to conceal the
nature of his business, even from the private secretary of Judge Temple;
and he knew too well the difficulty of comprehending the meaning of Mr.
Van der School, when the gentleman most wished to be luminous in his
discourse, not to abandon all thoughts of a discovery, when he perceived
that the attorney was endeavoring to avoid anything like an approach to
a cross-examination. They parted at the gate, the lawyer walking with
an important and hurried air toward his office, keeping his right hand
firmly clinched on the bundle of papers.
It must have been obvious to all our readers, that the youth entertained
an unusual and deeply seated prejudice against the character of the
Judge; but owing to some counteracting cause, his sensations were
now those of powerful interest in the state of his patron's present
feelings, and in the cause of his secret uneasiness. He remained gazing
after the lawyer until the door closed on both the bearer and the
mysterious packet, when he returned slowly to the dwelling, and
endeavored to forget his curiosity in the usual avocations of his
office.
When the Judge made his reappearance in the circles of his family, his
cheerfulness was tempered by a shade of melancholy that lingered for
many days around his manly brow; but the magical progression of the
season aroused him from his temporary apathy, and his smiles returned
with the summer.
The heats of the days, and the frequent occurrence of balmy showers, had
completed in an incredibly short period the growth of plants which
the lingering spring had so long retarded in the germ; and the woods
presented every shade of green that the American forests know. The
stumps in the cleared fields were already hidden beneath the wheat that
was waving with every breath of the sum mer air, shining and changing
its hues like velvet.
During the continuance of his cousin's dejection, Mr. Jones forebore,
with much consideration, to press on his attention a business that each
hour was drawing nearer to the heart of the sheriff, and which, if any
opinion could be formed by his frequent private conferences with the man
who was introduced in these pages by the name of Jotham, at the bar-room
of the Bold Dragoon, was becoming also of great importance.
At length the sheriff ventured to allude again to the subject; and
one evening, in the beginning of July, Marmaduke made him a promise of
devoting the following day to the desired excursion.