CHAPTER XXVIII.
CONSEQUENCES OF MISS SALLIANNA'S PASSION FOR VERTY.
When Verty made his appearance at the office in Winchester, on the morning of the day which followed immediately the events we have just related, Roundjacket received him with a mysterious smile, and with an expression of eye, particularly, which seemed to suggest the most profound secrecy and confidence. Roundjacket did not say anything, but his smile was full of meaning.
Verty, however, failed to comprehend;—even paid no attention to his poetical friend, when that gentleman put his hand in his breast-pocket, and half-drew something therefrom, looking at Verty.
The young man was too much absorbed in gloomy thought to observe these manoeuvres; and, besides, we must not lose sight of the fact, that he was an Indian, and did not understand hints and intimations as well as civilized individuals.
Roundjacket was forced, at last, to clear his throat and speak.
"Hem!" observed the poet.
"Sir?" said Verty, for the tone of Roundjacket's observation was such as to convey the impression that he was about to speak.
"I've got something for you, my dear fellow," said the poet.
"Have you, sir?"
"Yes; now guess what it is."
"I don't think I could."
"What do you imagine it can be?"
Verty shook his head, and leaned upon his desk.
"It has some connection with the subject of numerous conversations we have held," said Roundjacket, persuasively, waving backward and forward the ruler which he had taken up abstractedly, and as he did so, indulging in a veiled and confidential smile; "now you can guess—can't you?"
"I think not, sir."
"Why, what have we been talking about lately?"
"Law."
"No, sir!"
"Havn't we?"
"By no means—that is to say, there is a still more interesting subject, my dear young savage, than even law."
"Oh, I know now—"
"Ah—!"
"It is poetry."
"Bah!" observed the poet; "you're out yet. But who knows? Your guess may be correct. It may be poetry."
"What, sir?"
"This letter for you, from a lady," said Roundjacket, smiling, and drawing from his pocket an elegantly folded billet.
Verty rose quickly.
"A letter for me, sir!" he said, blushing.
"Yes; not from a great distance though," Roundjacket replied, with a sly chuckle; "see here; the post-mark is the 'Bower of Nature.'"
Verty extended his hand abruptly, his lips open, his countenance glowing.
"Oh, give it to me, sir!"
Roundjacket chuckled more than ever, and handing it to the young man, said:
"An African of small dimensions brought it this morning, and said no answer was required—doubtless, therefore, it is not a love-letter, the writers of which are well-known to appreciate replies. Hey! what's the matter, my friend?"
This exclamation was called forth by the sudden and extraordinary change in Verty's physiognomy. As we have said, the young man had received the letter with a radiant flush, and a brilliant flash of his fine eye; and thus the reader will easily comprehend, when we inform him, that Verty imagined the letter to be from Redbud. Redbud was his one thought, the only image in his mind, and Roundjacket's words, "post-mark, the Bower of Nature," had overwhelmed him with the blissful expectation of a note from Redbud, with loving words of explanation in it, recalling him, making him once more happy. He tore open the letter, which was simply directed to "Mr. Verty, at Judge Rushton's office," and found his dream dispelled. Alas! the name, at the foot of the manuscript, was not "Redbud"—it was "Sallianna!"
And so, when the young man's hopes were overturned, the bright flash of his clear eye was veiled in mist again, and his hand fell, with a gesture of discouragement, which Roundjacket found no difficulty in understanding.
Verty's face drooped upon his hand, and with the other hand, which held the letter, hanging down at the side of his chair, he sighed profoundly. He remained thus, buried in thought, for some time, Roundjacket gazing at him in silence. He was aroused by something pulling at the letter, which turned to be Longears, who was biting Miss Sallianna's epistle in a literary way, and this aroused him. He saw Roundjacket looking at him.
"Ah—ah!" said that gentleman, "it seems, young man, that the letter is not to your taste."
Verty sighed.
"I hav'nt read it," he said.
"How then—?"
"It's not from Redbud."
Roundjacket chuckled.
"I begin to understand now why your face changed so abruptly when you recognized the handwriting, Mr. Verty," said the poet; gently brandishing the ruler, and directing imaginary orchestras; "you expected a note from your friend, Miss Redbud—horrid habit you have, that of cutting off the Miss—and now you are unhappy."
"Yes—unhappy," Verty said, leaning his head on his wrist.
"Who's the letter from?"
"It's marked private and confidential, sir; I ought not to tell you—ought I."
"No, sir, by no means," said Roundjacket; "I would'nt listen to it for a bag of doubloons. But you should read it."
"I will, sir," Verty said, sighing.
And he spread the letter out before him and read it carefully, with many varying expressions on his face. The last expression of all, however, was grief and pain. As he finished, his head again drooped, and his sorrowful eyes were fixed on vacancy.
"I'll tell you what it is, Verty, my friend," said Roundjacket, chuckling, "I don't think we make much by keeping you from paying a daily visit to some of your friends. My own opinion is, that you would do more work if you went and had some amusement."
"And I think so, too," said a rough voice behind the speaker, whose back was turned to the front door of the office; "it is refreshing to hear you talking sense, instead of nonsense, once in your life, Roundjacket."
And Mr. Rushton strode in, and looked around him with a scowl.
"Good morning, sir," said Verty, sadly.
"Good morning, sir?" growled Mr. Rushton, "no, sir! it's a a bad morning, a wretched, diabolical morning, if the sun is pretending to shine."
"I think the sunshine is very pretty, sir."
"Yes—I suppose you do—I have no doubt of it—everything is pretty, of course,—Roundjacket!"
"Well?"
"Did you get exhibit 10?"
"I did, sir," replied Roundjacket, sighting his ruler to see if it was straight. "Have you had your breakfast, sir?"
"Yes, sir; why did you ask?"
"Oh, nothing—you know I thought you uncommonly amiable this morning."
Mr. Rushton scowled, and the ghost of a smile passed over his rigid lips.
"I am nothing of the sort! I'm a perfect bear!" he growled.
"Not inconsistent with my former observation that you were better than usual," observed Roundjacket, with an agreeable smile. "I can prove to you quite readily that—"
"You are a ninny—I have no doubt of it—if I would listen to your wretched jabber! Enough! if you talk any more I'll go home again. A fine state of things, truly—that I am to have my mind dissipated when I'm in working trim by the nonsense of a crack-brained poet!"
Roundjacket's indignation at this unfeeling allusion to his great poem was so intense, that for the moment he was completely deprived of utterance.
"And as for you, young man," said Mr. Rushton, smiling grimly at Verty, "I suppose you are following the ordinary course of foolish young men, and falling in love! Mark me, sir! the man that falls in love makes a confounded fool of himself—you had better at once go and hang yourself. Pretty people you are, with your 'eyes' and 'sighs'—your 'loves' and 'doves'—your moonlight, and flowers and ecstacies! Avoid it, sir! it's like honey-water—it catches the legs of flies like you, and holds you tight. Don't think you can take a slight sip of the wine, sir, and there leave off—no, sir, you don't leave off, you youngsters never do; you guzzle a gallon! The consequence is intellectual drunkenness, and thus you make, as I said before, confounded fools of yourselves! Bah! why am I wasting my time!—a vast deal of influence we people who give good advice possess! Young men will be fools to the end—go and see your sweetheart!"
And with a grim smile, the shaggy lawyer entered his sanctum, and banged the door, just as Roundjacket, still irate about the slur cast upon his poetry, had commenced reading in a loud voice the fine introductory stanzas—his hair sticking up, his eyes rolling, his ruler breaking the skulls of invisible foes. Alas for Roundjacket!—nobody appreciated him, which is perhaps one of the most disagreeable things in nature. Even Verty rose in a minute, and took up his hat and rifle, as was his habit.
Roundjacket rolled up his manuscript with a deep sigh, and restored it to the desk.
"Where are you going, young man?" he said. "But I know—and that is your excuse for such shocking taste as you display. As for the within bear," and Roundjacket pointed toward Mr. Rushton's apartment, "he is unpardonable!"
"Well, good-bye."
These latter words were uttered as Verty went out, followed by
Longears, and closed the door of the office after him.
He had scarcely heard or understood Mr. Rushton's extraordinary speech: but had comprehended that he was free to go away, and in the troubled state of his mind, this was a great boon. Yes! he would go and suffer again in Redbud's presence—this time he would know whether she really hated him. And then that passage in the letter! The thought tore his heart.
What could the reason for this dislike possibly be? Certainly not his familiar ascent to her room, on the previous day. Could it have been because she did not like him in his fine clothes? Was this latter possible? It might be.
"I'll go to Mr. O'Brallaghan's and get my old suit—he has not sent them yet," said Verty, aloud; "then I'll go and see Redbud just as she used to see me in old times, at Apple Orchard, when we were—ah!—so happy!"
The "ah" above, represents a very deep sigh, which issued from Verty's breast, as he went along with the dignified Longears at his heels. Longears never left his master, unless he was particularly attracted by a small fight among some of his brethren, or was seized with a desire to thrust his nostrils against some baby playing on the sidewalk, (a ceremony which, we are sorry to say, he accompanied with a sniff,) throwing the juvenile responsibility, thereby, into convulsions, evidenced by yells. With these exceptions, Longears was a well-behaved dog, and followed his master in a most "respectable" manner.
Verty arrived at the fluttering doorway of O'Brallaghan's shop, and encountered the proprietor upon the threshold, who made him a low bow. His errand was soon told, and O'Brallaghan entered into extensive explanations and profuse apologies for the delay in sending home Mr. Verty's suit left with him. It would have received "attinshun" that very morning—it was in the back room. Would Mr. Verty "inter?"
Verty entered accordingly, followed by the stately Longears, who rubbed his nose against O'Brallaghan's stockings as he passed, afterwards shaking his head, as if they were not to his taste.
Verty found himself opposite to Mr. Jinks, who was driving his needle as savagely as ever, and, with a tremendous frown, chaunting the then popular ditty of the "Done-over Tailor." Whether this was in gloomy satire upon his own occupation we cannot say, but certainly the lover of the divine Miss Sallianna presented an appearance very different from his former one, at the Bower of Nature. His expression was as dignified and lofty as before; but as to costume, the least said about Mr. Jinks the better. We may say, however, that it consisted mainly of a pair of slippers and a nightcap, from the summit of which latter article of clothing drooped a lengthy tassel.
On Verty's entrance, Mr. Jinks started up with a terrific frown; or rather, to more accurately describe the movement which he made, uncoiled his legs, and raised his stooping shoulders.
"How, sir!" he cried, "is my privacy again invaded!"
"I came to get my clothes," said Verty, preoccupied with his own thoughts, and very indifferent to the hero's ire.
"That's no excuse, sir!"
"Excuse?" said Verty.
"Yes, sir—I said excuse; this is my private apartment, and I have told O'Brallaghan that it should not be invaded, sir!"
These indignant words brought Mr. O'Brallaghan to the door, whereupon Mr. Jinks repeated his former observation, and declared that it was an outrage upon his dignity and his rights.
O'Brallaghan displayed some choler at the tone which Mr. Jinks used, and his Irish blood began to rise. He stated that Mr. Verty had come for his clothes, and should have them. Mr. Jinks replied, that he had'nt said anything about Mr. Verty; but was contending for a principle. Mr. O'Brallaghan replied to this with an observation which was lost in his neck-handkerchief, but judging from as much as was audible, in defiance and contempt of Jinks. Jinks observed, with dignity and severity, that there were customers in the store, who were gazing at Mr. Verty, just as he was about to disrobe. O'Brallaghan muttered thereupon to himself some hostile epithets, and hastily returned to wait upon the customers, leaving Mr. Jinks dodging to avoid the eyes of the new-comers, but still preserving an expression of haughty scorn.
Meanwhile Verty had descried his old forest suit lying upon a shelf, and, laying down his rifle, had nearly indued his limbs therewith. In fifteen minutes he had completed the change in his costume, and stood before Mr. Jinks the same forest-hunter which he had been, before the purchase of the elegant clothes he had just taken off. Instead of rosetted shoes, moccasins; instead of silk and velvet, leather and fur. On his head, his old white hat had taken the place of the fashionable chapeau. Verty finished, by taking off the bow of ribbon which secured his hair behind, and scattering the profuse curls over his shoulders.
"Now," he sighed, looking in a mirror which hung upon the wall, "I feel more like myself."
Jinks gazed at him with dignified emotion.
"You return to the woods, sir," he said; "would that I could make up my mind to follow your example. This man, O'Brallaghan, however—"
And Mr. Jinks completed his sentence by savagely clipping a piece of cloth with the huge shears he held, as though the enemy's neck were between them.
Verty scarcely observed this irate movement.
"I'll leave the clothes here," he said; "I'm going now—good-bye."
And taking up his rifle, the young man went out, followed by Longears, who, to the last, bent his head over his shoulder, and gazed upon Mr. Jinks with curiosity and interest.
Jinks, with a savage look at O'Brallaghan, was about to return to his work, when a letter, protruding from the pocket of the coat which Verty had just taken off, attracted his attention, and he pounced upon it without hesitation.
Jinks had recognized the handwriting of Miss Sallianna in the address, and in an instant determined to use no ceremony.
He tore it open, and read, with savage scowls and horrible contortions of the visage, that which follows. Unfortunate Jinks—reading private letters is a hazardous proceeding: and this was what the hero read:
"BOWER OF NATURE, AT THE MATIN HOUR.
"CHARMING, AND, ALAS! TOO DANGEROUS YOUNG MAN:
"Since seeing thee, on yester eve, my feelings have greatly changed in intensity, and I fluctuate beneath an emotion of oblivious delight. Alas! we young, weak women, try in vain to obstruct the gurgling of the bosom; for I perceive that even I am not proof against the arrows of the god Diana. My heart has thrilled, my dearest friend, ever since you departed, yester eve, with a devious and intrinsic sensation of voluminous delight. The feelings cannot be concealed, but must be impressed in words; or, as the great Milton says, in his Bucoliks, the o'er-fraught heart would break! Love, my dear Mr. Verty, is contiguous—you cannot be near the beloved object without catching the contagion, and to this fact I distribute that flame which now flickers with intense conflagration in my bosom. Why, cruel member of the other sex! did you evade the privacy of our innocent and nocturnal retreat, turning the salubrious and maiden emotions of my bosom into agonizing delight and repressible tribulation! Could you not practice upon others the wiles of your intrinsic charms, and spare the weak Sallianna, whose only desire was to contemplate the beauties of nature in her calm retreat, where a small property sufficed for all her mundane necessities? Alas! but yester morn I was cheerful and invigorating—with a large criterion of animal spirits, and a bosom which had never sighed responsible to the flattering vows of beaux. But now!—ask me not how I feel, in thinking of the person who has touched my indurate heart. Need I say that the individual in question has only to demand that heart, to have it detailed to him in all its infantile simplicity and diurnal self-reliance? Do not—do not—diffuse it!
"I have, during the whole period of my mundane pre-existence, always been troubled with beaux and admirers. I have, in vain, endeavored to escape from their fascinating diplomas, but they have followed me, and continued to prosecute me with their adorous intentions. None of them could ever touch my fanciful disposition, which has exalted an intrinsic and lofty beau—idle to itself. I always had to reply, when they got down upon their knees to me, and squeezed my hands, that I could not force my sensations; and though I should ever esteem them as friends, I could not change my condition of maiden meditation and exculpation for the agitation of matrimonial engagements. I need not say that now my feelings have changed, and you, Mr. Verty, have become the idle of my existence. You are yet young, but with a rare and intrinsic power of intellect. In future, you will not pay any more intention to that foolish little Reddy, who is very well in her way, but unworthy of a great and opprobrious intelligence like yours. She is a mere child, as I often tell her, and cannot love.
"Come to your devoted Sallianna immediately, and let us discurse the various harmonies of nature. I have given orders not to admit any of my numerous beaux, especially that odious Mr. Jinks, who is my abomination. I will tell Reddy that your visit is to me, and she will not annoy you, especially as she is in love with a light young man who comes to see Fanny, her cousin, Mr. Ashley.
"Come to one who awaits thee, and who assigns herself
"Your devoted,
"SALLIANNA."
Jinks frowned a terrible frown, and ground his teeth.
For a moment, he stood gazing with profound contempt upon the letter which he had just read; then seizing his shears, snipped the unfortunate sheet into microscopic fragments, all the while frowning with terrible intensity.
The letter destroyed, Jinks stood for a moment with folded arms, scowling and reflecting.
Suddenly he strode to the other side of the room, kicking off his slippers as he went, and hurling his night-cap at the mirror.
"Yes!" he cried, grinding his teeth, "I'll do it, and without delay—perfidious woman!"
In ten minutes Mr. Jinks had assumed his usual fashionable costume, and buckled on his sword. A savage flirt of his locks completed his toilette, and in all the splendor of his scarlet stockings and embroidered waistcoat, he issued forth.