SEVERAL days have passed, and I am still in dreamland with Miss
Carrover. I manage to attend recitations, but that is all. The tutor’s
instructions fall on an inattentive ear, and his questions receive
random answers. My books are all neglected, and even when I try to
study, my mind is so preoccupied that it proves a perfect Danæan sieve,
and after an hour’s vacant rambling over a page I close the book, with
a more confused idea of its contents than I had before I opened it.
I visit Miss Carrover every other evening, at least, and in the interim
am thinking of a word she spoke, a smile she gave; or am forming
rainbow conjectures as to how she will treat me when I next call.
A week after the events narrated in the last chapter, I received a
letter from my father, saying that he had read my letter with some
surprise, but that, while he feared my horse would prove an hindrance
to study, he did not like to refuse my first request, and had
accordingly started Reuben off with him the morning before; that he
hoped I would not let it deter me from applying myself diligently to my
books, but that my report at the close of the session might be, as it
always had been in my other schools, perfect.
I examined the date of the letter and found that it had been delayed
a day, so that Reuben and Phlegon, starting the day before, ought
to reach the University that day. I made a minute calculation, and
found that they would arrive by one o’clock, and so, with a sigh
of repentance over my dereliction of duty, and a firm resolve to do
better, I determined, as that was Friday, to snap lecture, and watch
for Reuben, waiting for Monday to turn over my new leaf.
Accordingly, when the bell for lecture rung, instead of going with Ned
to the section room, I strolled through the campus and gave myself up
to sweet thoughts of Lillian. It was one of my autumn days. The sun was
shining with a still, mellow light through a golden haze, which seemed
to have fallen on all Nature, so yellow were the leaves on the trees
and the stubble in the fields. The air was still and dreamy, and the
campus, usually so full of noise and life, empty and deserted. I tried
to think of Lillian as the only one in the world besides myself; of the
universe as being made for us two, and of how sweetly we would live
for each other. But somehow my soul would not fall into the delicious
reverie her name usually inspired. For the first time since I had met
her I could not think constantly of her, but my mind was ever and anon
recurring to father’s letter and his admonitions. There was an aching
at my heart, a restless unhappiness I could not understand. I wandered
about for half an hour, then sought out the negro who rang the bell,
obtained the belfry keys from him, and went up in the cupola of the
South Building. Taking my seat on the window ledge, I gazed on the
beautiful scene around. A large extent of country spread out before me,
gently undulating, and specked here and there with lonely white houses
or groups of negro quarters. The haze of the zenith softened down to
a deep shaded violet as it met the horizon, and long lines of smoke
stood stiffly around the verge, like gray sentinels guarding the Great
Beyond. A little way off a herd of cows were grazing, and the hoarse
monotones of their copper bells were just audible enough to be drowsy;
while along the red line of the road that wound out of sight by the
cemetery, a white top wagon, with sluggish horses, was slowly crawling
on to Raleigh.
My mind now easily fell into reverie, but Miss Carrover was not its
burden. Conscience, that had so long been tapping at the door of a
heart too full of love to let it in, now gained a hearing, and told
of wrong after wrong, of duties neglected, of promises of diligence
forgotten, of honors so easily in reach unstriven for, of a doting
father (of whose kind indulgence I was about to receive such a striking
proof) so culpably deceived, of golden opportunities wasted which might
never be retrieved—all for a love which was, perhaps, in vain—till
remorse applied its tortures to my soul and I was miserable. Then came
the struggle. Could I give Lillian up? Could I drive out all those
sweet thoughts of her that had been such pleasant companions for me
while away from her? Could I bear to think of her sighing for me, while
I cruelly kept away? Above all, could I bear to think of her smiling on
others and forgetting me, only because I had forgotten her? No, I could
not do that, but I would go to see her less frequently; I would study
harder; and redeem the lost time; I would gain the first honors; and
yet love Lillian. Like Alan of Buchan, I would win both banners, and
father would smile on my honors and approve my choice.
Patting down my conscience with these good resolutions, I chanced
to look out on the scene again, and saw, coming down the road from
Raleigh, a horse and rider. The horse was blanketed, but I knew by the
lordly bearing and arching neck that it was Phlegon, and I clambered
down from the belfry, and ran down to the hotel to meet him. The bell
rang for the close of lectures at the same time, and the students were
thronging from the various lecture rooms, and many shouted at me as I
hurried through the campus. I reached the hotel just as Reuben rode
up. I had hardly gotten through making inquiries about them all at
home when the students, in large numbers, came down to the hotel, and
commenced making comments on myself and my horse. Some of my friends,
however, coming to me and desiring to see him, I made Reuben take off
his blankets and move him up and down the street, to show his action.
As Reuben stripped the cloth from his glossy hide, and the splendid
form stood revealed in its matchless grace, a murmur of approbation ran
through the crowd. And Phlegon was in every respect worthy. An English
thoroughbred, he possessed the marks of an aristocratic ancestry, lords
of the turf for many generations. The sharp pointed ears, the mild dark
eye, and the tapering mouse colored muzzle, with its red open nostrils,
were a coat of arms as perfect as argent fields and unicorns rampant.
His color was a beautiful claret, and his coat as glossy as if just
washed in the ruby wine. His limbs tapered delicately, but the muscles
were round and full of strength. He had evidently been the pet at home
since I had left, and it was with no little pride that I ordered Reuben
to take him round to the stables I had engaged for him. I went back
to my room, feeling a good deal flattered by hearing some one say, as
Reuben rode off:
“That’s a crack Fresh, to keep a horse the first session.”
That evening, of course, I rode out, and, riding out, of course passed
the house where Miss Carrover was staying. She was on the porch with
DeVare as I swept by. I bowed and said, “To-morrow evening!” and she
kissed her hand at me and said, “Without fail!” I was happy again, and
my good resolutions about such _very_ hard study began to melt.
The next evening found me in the parlor, while Reuben stood at the gate
holding Phlegon and the horse from the livery stable Miss Carrover
usually rode.
As she swept into the room, holding up the long folds of her riding
habit with one gauntleted hand, while the other threatened me with her
pearl and gold riding whip, I thought I had never seen anything half so
lovely, and I playfully bent on one knee as she said:
“You wicked boy, why did you come so late. I have been waiting ever so
long for you?”
I apologised with all meekness, threw the blame on Reuben, and escorted
her out to the block. As soon as she saw my horse she burst into an
ecstacy of admiration, and vowed that I must have the saddles changed;
that she could not allow her escort to ride a prettier horse than she
was on. As I believed him perfectly safe, I ordered Reuben to change
the saddles, then assisted her to mount, took her gaitered little
foot in my hand to adjust it in the stirrup, and then, springing
into my saddle, we galloped away into the evening sunlight. Phlegon
seemed aware of the lovely burden he was bearing, and curvetted and
pranced with a pride that would have made Lucifer seem humble. She was
very much exhilarated, and lost her dreamy air for one of sprightly
vivacity. She flattered me by innuendo, and said sweet things at me
through my horse, till I was perfectly blind in my belief in her love
for me. She gave me a rosebud from her hair, which I solemnly assured
her should be treasured till the heart, over which I pinned it in my
lapel, should be cold and pulseless. She spoke of our engagement to
visit the library and fixed the hour in the afternoon earlier than she
had at first appointed, saying, as she did so, “We will have more time
to be together, you know.”
“Thanks for your consideration of my happiness, Miss Carrover,” I said,
bowing, while my heart fluttered with pleasant surprise to hear her
speak so. “Time always seems to be running a race when I am with you.
The moments fly by only too swiftly when we are with those we—er—” A
good spur and a rearing horse are first rate reliefs for embarrassment
when we hesitate for a word; at least I found them so that afternoon.
She did not make any remark in some time, and I continued:
“You must be very unselfish, Miss Carrover, to confer so much pleasure
on those who visit you, and receive so little in return.”
“Oh no, indeed,” she replied, tapping Phlegon on the ear with her whip,
“it is a very great pleasure to me to meet and converse with friends,
such as I believe you are, Mr. Smith.”
“Indeed I am not your friend, Miss Carrover,” I said, grasping my reins
very tight, and gaining courage from the grasp; “a nearer, fonder word
than friendship must express my feelings for you.”
“No, really?” she said, with that matchless arch of her eyebrows,
looking me full in the face.
When a kettle is about to boil over, add a few drops of cold water, and
it subsides without another bubble. These two words were like ice to
my heart’s fervor, and we rode a long way in silence, I combing out my
horse’s mane with my fingers, she humming the fragments of a song, and
flecking off specks of dust from her skirt with her whip.
When she spoke she changed the subject, and I had scarcely courage to
speak of the beauties of Nature for the remainder of the ride.
When we returned I gave up the horses to Reuben at the gate, and,
bidding Miss Carrover good evening, walked towards my room meditating.
She doubtless loves me, thought I, but of course she is not going to
reveal it till I convince her of my sincerity. She has probably been
annoyed with empty protestations of love from so many that she believes
all men faithless, and my sudden and inappropriate declaration this
afternoon was certainly not calculated to inspire any belief in its
truth. She is a lady of too much tact and experience to discover the
real state of her feelings till I have proved myself in earnest, and
that I mean to do before another sun shall set. My horse, which she
knows I prize so highly, will at least prove that I am not trifling.
I spent that night till bed time writing notes presenting her with
Phlegon, and then tearing them up, till I almost despaired of getting
one to suit me. Towards twelve o’clock, however, I completed one on the
fanciest paper procurable, and, delicately perfuming it, laid it by
till Monday morning, as the next day was the Sabbath.
Monday morning was the time I had appointed for my new leaf, but the
excitement of sending my horse to Miss Carrover made me determine to
put off the reform I had contemplated to next day.
After breakfast I told Reuben to take Phlegon, and go up to Mr.
Pommel’s store and get the saddle I bought there Saturday.
“What chu want wi’ another saddul, Marse John? Dat one ole marse gin
you rides better’n any saddul I ever sot on.”
“Go and do as I told you, and don’t ask so many questions. It is a side
saddle I’ve bought, and I am going to give Phlegon away.”
“Gwine to give ‘way Phregon! What you ‘spect to do wid me, Marse John?”
“You are to attend to him still, and saddle him whenever the lady wants
to use him.”
“Um-umph, dat’s gone by me!” he muttered, as he walked off to obey my
orders.
After he had gone with my note the anxious suspense of waiting for the
answer was immense. I went up in my room and tried to study, but it was
in vain. At the end of half an hour I heard the clatter of hoofs under
the windows, and found Reuben returned on my horse. His teeth were
gleaming to the first molars as he gave me Miss Carrover’s note. I tore
it open hastily, and read:
“MR. SMITH:
“Your unselfish generosity in offering such a superb contribution to
my pleasure forbids that I should return your gift as formally as
etiquette requires. A moment’s reflection, however, will convince
you that I could not accept your beautiful horse; yet I assure you
the motives prompting the offer are fully appreciated, and will be
gratefully remembered. The sentiments of regard you so kindly express
are more than reciprocated, and it will be my greatest pleasure to
continue a friendship which has been so delightful to me, and, I
trust, not unpleasant to you.
“Hoping that this conventional necessity may not wound your feelings,
I remain,
“THE SAME LILLIAN.”
I folded the note with an air of pride and a consciousness of my powers
of conquest I had never felt before. Now I have the written proof of
her esteem. I wonder if Ned will doubt my success.
“What were you laughing at, Reuben, when you gave me this note?” I
said, turning to where he stood, still grinning.
“He-e-e! he!” he snickered, rubbing his nose against the saddle, “dem
young ladies tinks you’s a gone case, Marse John.”
“What did they do when you got there?”
“Dey was at de window when I gallupped up, an’ dey both come out to de
porch, an’ de little one laugh like anything when de purty one told
what you sed in de note, and she pinched her on de arm, and say, ‘he’s
gwine to gib you heself nex’,’ and den dey both laugh. De purty one
say den, ‘I wish he would; I’d keep him.’ An’ while she gone to write
de note de little one asts me sight er questions ‘bout you, an’ I tell
her ‘dun no ‘m’ to everything, ‘cause I d’ want her to marry you, Marse
John. Den de tother one come back, an’ gin me dat little cranksided
invellop, an’ tole me to fetch it to you. Des as I git in de saddle,
I hear one of ’em say, ‘Boot’ful, ain’t it; and so thortless of my
prezure in him.’ But I never stay der, I tell you, Marse John. I lef’,
glad ‘nough to fetch Phregon back ‘gin.”
“Well, take him back to the stable, and rub him off,” I said, turning
to go upstairs.
The case now stands thus, I said to myself, as I walked thoughtfully up
the steps: She evidently loves me. She knows now that I love her; all
that is needed is a mutual confession. When shall it take place? The
very first opportunity.