"Do you smoke out of a tobacco pipe, Mr Moreland?" enquired Margaret
in her flute-like tones.
Moreland stared; he had a vague idea that he had got himself into a
scrape, but his straightforward honesty prevented him from
prevaricating, and he blurted out--"Sometimes, miss."
I thought the sensitive creature would have swooned away at this
admission; and I had just laid my arm over the back of her chair to
support her, when Arthurine entered the room. She gave a quick glance
to me; it was too late to draw back my arm. She did not seem to
notice any thing, saluted the company gaily and easily, tripped up to
Moreland, wished him good evening--asked after his bets, his ships,
his old dog Tom--chattered, in short, full ten minutes in a breath.
Before Moreland knew what she was about, she had taken one of his
hands in both of hers. But they were old acquaintances, and he might
easily have been her grandfather. Meanwhile Margaret had somewhat
recovered from the shock.
"He smokes out of a pipe!" lisped she to Arthurine, in a tone of
melancholy resignation.
"Old Hickory is very popular in Pennsylvania," said Richards,
resuming the conversation that had been interrupted, and perfectly
unconscious, as Moreland would have said, of the shoals he was
sailing amongst. "A Bedford County farmer has just sent him a present
of a cask of Monongahela."
"I envy him that present," cried Moreland. "A glass of genuine
Monongahela is worth any money."
This second shock was far too violent to be resisted by Margaret's
delicate nerves. She sank back in her chair, half fainting, half
hysterical. Her maids were called in, and with their help she managed
to leave the room.
"Have you brought her a book?" said Arthurine to me.
"Yes, one of Walter Scott's."
"Oh! then she will soon be well again," rejoined the affectionate
sister, apparently by no means alarmed.
Now that this nervous beauty was gone, the conversation became much
more lively. Captain Moreland was a jovial sailor, who had made ten
voyages to China, fifteen to Constantinople, twenty to St Petersburg,
and innumerable ones to Liverpool and through his exertions had
amassed the large fortune which he was now enjoying. He was a
merry-hearted man, with excellent sound sense on all points except
one--that one being the fair sex, with which he was about as well
acquainted as an alligator with a camera-obscure. The attentions paid
to him by Arthurine seemed to please the old bachelor uncommonly.
There was a mixture of kindness, malice, and fascination in her
manner, which was really enchanting; even the matter-of-fact Richards
could not take his eyes off her.
"That is certainly a charming girl!" whispered he to me.
"Did not I tell you so?" said I. "Only observe with what sweetness
she gives in to the old man's humours and fancies!"
The hours passed like minutes. Supper was long over, and we rose to
depart; when I shook hands with Arthurine, she pressed mine gently. I
was in the ninety-ninth heaven.
"Now, boys," cried worthy Moreland, as soon as we were in the
streets, "it would really be a pity to part so early on so joyous an
evening. What do you say? Will you come to my house, and knock the
necks off half a dozen bottles?"
We agreed to this proposal; and, taking the old seaman between us,
steered in the direction of his cabin, as he called his magnificent
and well-furnished house.
"What a delightful family those Bowsends are!" exclaimed Moreland, as
soon as we were comfortably seated beside a blazing fire, with the
Lafitte and East India Madeira sparkling on the table beside us. "And
what charming girls! 'You're getting oldish,' says I to myself the
other day, 'but you're still fresh and active, sound as a dolphin.
Better get married.' Margaret pleased me uncommonly, so I"--
"Yes, my dear Moreland," interrupted I, "but are you sure that you
please her?"
"Pshaw! Five times a hundred thousand dollars! I tell you what, my
lad, that's not to be met with every day."
"Fifty years old," replied I.
"Certainly, fifty years old, but stout and healthy; none of your
spindle-shanked dandies--your Stauntons"--