The Last of the Foresters Part 30

Verty felt the dog lick his hand, and rose from his rec.u.mbent posture.

"Yes, yes, Longears," he murmured, "I can't help showing it--even you know that I am not happy."

And with listless hands he took up the old violin which lay upon his desk and touched the strings. The sound died away in trembling waves--Roundjacket continued writing.

Verty, without appearing to be conscious of what he was doing, took the bow of the violin, and placing the instrument upon his shoulder, leaned his ear down to it, and drew the hair over the strings. A long, sad monotone floated through the room.

Roundjacket wrote on.

Verty, with his eyes fixed on vacancy, his lips sorrowfully listless, his frame drooping more and more, began to play a low, sad air, which sounded like a sigh.

Roundjacket raised his head, and looked at the musician.

Verty leaned more and more upon his instrument, listening to it as to some one speaking to him, his eyes closed, his bosom heaving, his under lip compressed sorrowfully as he dreamed.

Roundjacket was just about to call upon Verty to cease his savage and outrageous conduct, or Mr. Rushton, who was in the other room, would soon issue forth and revenge such a dreadful violation of law office propriety, when the door of that gentleman's sanctum opened, and he appeared upon the threshold.

But far from bearing any resemblance to the picture of the poet's imagination--instead of standing mute with rage, and annihilating the musician with a horrible scowl from beneath his s.h.a.ggy and frowning brows, Mr. Rushton presented a perfect picture of softness and emotion. His head bending forward, his eyes half closed and filled with an imperceptible mist, his whole manner quiet, and sad, and subdued, he seemed to hang upon the long-drawn sighing of the violin, and take a mournful pleasure in its utterances.

Verty's hand pa.s.sed more and more slowly backward and forward--the music became still more affecting, and pa.s.sing from thoughtfulness to sadness, and from sadness to pa.s.sionate regret, it died away in a wail.

He felt a hand upon his shoulder, and turned round. Mr. Rushton, with moist eyes and trembling lips, was gazing at him.

"Do not play that any more, young man," he said, in a low tone, "it distresses me."

"Distresses you, sir?" said Verty.

"Yes."

"What? 'Lullaby?'"

"Yes," muttered the lawyer.

Verty's sad eyes inquired the meaning of so singular a fact, but Mr.

Rushton did not indulge this curiosity.

"Enough," he said, with more calmness, as he turned away, "it is not proper for you to play the violin here in business hours; but above all, never again play that music--I cannot endure the memories it arouses--enough."

And retiring slowly, Mr. Rushton disappeared, closing the door of his room behind him.

Verty followed him with his eyes until he was no longer visible, then turned toward Mr. Roundjacket for an explanation. That gentleman seemed to understand this mute interrogation, but only shook his head.

Therefore Verty returned to his work, sadly laying aside the two sketches of Redbud, and selecting another sheet to copy the record upon. By the time he had finished one page, Mr. Roundjacket rose from his desk, stretched himself, and announced that office hours were over, and he would seek his surburban cottage, where this gentleman lived in bachelor misery. Verty said he was tired, too; and before long had told Mr. Roundjacket good-bye, and mounted Cloud.

With Longears at his side, soberly walking in imitation of the horse, Verty went along toward his home in the hills, gazing upon the golden west, and thinking still of Redbud.

CHAPTER XXV.

A YOUNG GENTLEMAN, JUST FROM WILLIAM AND MARY COLLEGE.

Instead of following Verty, who, like most lovers, is very far from being an amusing personage, let us go back and accompany Mr. Ralph Ashley, on his way to the Bower of Nature, where our young friend f.a.n.n.y awaits him; and if these scenes and characters also fail to entertain us, we may at least be sure that they are from the book of human nature--a volume whose lightest chapters and most frivolous ill.u.s.trations are not beneath the attention of the wisest. If this were not true, the present chronicler would never be guilty of the folly of expending his time and ink upon such details as go to make up this true history; it would be lost labor, were not the flower and the blade of gra.s.s, the very thistle down upon the breeze, each and all, as wonderful as the grand forests of the splendid tropics. What character or human deed is too small or trivial for study? Never did a great writer utter truer philosophy than when he said:

"Say not 'a small event!' Why 'small?'

Costs it more pains than this, ye call A 'great event,' shall come to pa.s.s, Than that? Untwine me from the ma.s.s Of deeds which make up life, one deed Power shall fall short in, or exceed!"

And now after this philosophical dissertation upon human life and actions, we may proceed to narrate the visit of Mr. Ralph Ashley, graduate of Williamsburg, and cousin of Miss f.a.n.n.y, to the Bower of Nature, and its inmates.

f.a.n.n.y was at the door when he dismounted, and awaited the young gentleman with some blushes, and a large amount of laughter.

This laughter was probably directed toward the somewhat dandified costume of the young gentleman, and he was not long left in the dark upon this point.

"How d'ye do, my dearest f.a.n.n.y," said Mr. Ralph Ashley, hastening forward, and holding out his arms; "let us embrace!"

"Humph!" said f.a.n.n.y; "indeed you shan't!"

"Shan't what--kiss you?"

"Yes, sir: you shall do nothing of the sort!"

"Wrong!--here goes!"

And before Miss f.a.n.n.y could make her retreat, Ralph Ashley, Esq., caught that young lady in his arms, and impressed a salute upon her lips, so remarkably enthusiastic, that it resembled the discharge of a pistol. Perhaps we are wrong in saying that it was imprinted on his cousin's lips, inasmuch as Miss f.a.n.n.y, though incapacitated from releasing herself, could still turn her head, and she always maintained that nothing but her cheek suffered. On this point we cannot be sure, and therefore leave the question undecided.

Of one fact, however, there can be no doubt--namely, that Mr. Ralph Ashley received, almost immediately, a vigorous salute of another description upon the cheek, from Miss f.a.n.n.y's open hand--a salute which caused his face to a.s.sume the most girlish bloom, and his eyes to suddenly fill with tears.

"By Jove! you've got an arm!" said the cavalier, admiringly. "Come, my charming child--why did you treat me so cruelly?"

"Why did you kiss me? Impudence!"

"That's just what young ladies always say," replied her cavalier, philosophically; "whatever they like, they are sure to call impudent."

"Like?"

"Yes, like! Do you pretend to say that you are not complimented by a salute from such an elegant gentleman as myself?"

"Oh, of course!" said Miss f.a.n.n.y, satirically.

"Then the element of natural affection--of consanguinity--has its due weight no doubt, my dearest. I am your cousin."

"What of that, man?"

"Everything! Don't you know that in this reputable province, called Virginia, blood goes a great way? Cousins are invariably favorites."

"You are very much mistaken, sir," said f.a.n.n.y.