"This is no place, Richard, to talk of ourselves, or I would try to convince you that I am incapable of speaking lightly of your feelings, or betraying them to a human being, even to Mrs. Linwood; but let us speak of something else now. Do you not feel very happy that you are free,—no more a slave to hours or rules; free to come and go, when and where you please, with the whole earth to roam in,
"Heart within and God o'erhead?"
"No! I am sad. After being at anchor so long, to be suddenly set drifting, to be the sport of the winds of destiny, the cable chain of habit and association broken, one feels dizzy and bewildered. I never knew till now how strong the classmate bond of union is, how sacred the brotherhood, how binding the tie. We, who have been treading the same path for four long years, must now diverge, east, west, north, and south, the great cardinal points of life. In all human probability we shall never all meet again, till the mysterious problem of our destiny is solved."
He paused, impressed by the solemnity of this idea, then added, in his natural, animated manner.
"There is one hope, Gabriella, to which I have looked forward as the sheet-anchor of my soul; if that fails me, I do not care what becomes of me. Sometimes it has burned so brightly, it has been my morning and evening star, my rising, but unsetting sun. To-night the star is dim. Clouds of doubt and apprehension gather over it. Gabriella,—I cannot live in this suspense, and yet I could not bear the confirmation of my fears. Better to doubt than to despair."
"Richard, why will you persist in talking of what cannot be explained here? Shall we not meet hereafter, and have abundant opportunities for conversation, free and uninterrupted? Look around, and see how differently other people are conversing. How lightly and carelessly their words come and go, mingled with merry laughter! Edith is at the piano. Let us go where we can listen, we cannot do it here."
"I am very selfish!" said he, yielding to my suggestion. "I have promised my classmates to introduce them to you. I see some of them, bending reproachful glances this way. I must redeem my character, so as not to incur disgrace in the parting hour."
Then followed introductions pressing on each other, till I was weary of hearing my own name, Miss Lynn. I never did like to be called Miss. Still it was an unspeakable relief to me, to be released from the necessity of repressing the feelings of others, and guarding my own. It was a relief to hear those unmeaning sayings which are the current coin of society, and to utter without effort the first light thought that came floating on the surface. The rest of the evening I was surrounded by strangers, and the most exacting vanity might have been satisfied with the incense I received. I knew that the protection of Mrs. Linwood gave a prestige to me that would not otherwise have been mine, but I could not help perceiving that Edith, the heiress, all lovely as she was, was not half as much courted and admired as the daughter of the outcast. I was too young, too much of a novice, not to be pleased with the attention I attracted; but when the heart is awakened, vanity has but little power. It is a cold, vapory conceit, that vanishes before the inner warmth and light, which, like the sun in the firmament, "shineth brighter and brighter to the perfect day."
After Edith retired from the instrument there was a buzz, and a sensation, and Miss Melville, or Meg the Dauntless, as I could not help mentally calling her, was escorted to the piano by Ernest. What a contrast she presented to the soft, retiring, ethereal Edith, whose every motion suggested the idea of music! Though her arm was linked in that of Ernest, she walked independently of him, dashing through the company with a brave, military air, and taking a seat as if a flourish of trumpets had heralded her approach. At first I was startled by the loud crash of the keys, as she threw her hands upon them with all her force, laughing at the wild dissonance of the sound; but as she continued, harmony, if not sweetness, rose out of the chaos. She evidently understood the science of music, and enjoyed it too. She did not sing, and while she was playing the most brilliant polkas, waltzes, and variations with the most wonderful execution, she talked and laughed with those around the instrument, or looked round the apartment, and nodded to this one and that, her great black eyes flashing like chain lightning. Her playing seemed to have a magical effect. No one could keep their feet still. Even the dignified president patted his, marking the measure of her prancing fingers. I could have danced wildly myself, for I never heard any thing so inspiring to the animal spirits as those wizard strains. Every countenance was lighted with animation, save one, and that was Ernest's. He stood immovable, pale, cold, and self-involved, like a being from another sphere. I remembered how differently he looked when he wooed me to the garden's moonlight walks, and how the warm and gentle thoughts that then beamed in his eyes seemed frozen and dead, and I wondered if they were extinguished forever.
"How stupid!" exclaimed Miss Melville, suddenly stopping, and turning round on the pivot of the music stool till she commanded a full view of the drawing-room. "I thought you would all be dancing by this time. There is no use in playing to such inanimate mortals. And you," said she, suddenly turning to Ernest, "you remind me of the prince, the enchanted prince in the Arabian Nights, only he was half marble, you are a whole statue. You do not like music. I pity you."