After spending some days in the metropolis we started home, and then I was happy to sit by Carlotta’s side in the train, whose very rattle made our conversation private, and talk of our future! There is no period so fraught with pleasure to lovers as that when, the first extravagance of the proposal and acceptance over, they sober down into conversation about their plans and prospects; when they talk of the home they are going to have, and how it will be furnished; when they tell of how they will live, and what they will have for dinner; when they make little confidences of their foibles of disposition and temper, that they may know how never to hurt each other’s feelings; when they each draw pictures of their everyday life, that is to be, and dwell like epicures at a feast on the details; she telling of the nice cosy breakfast, with just two cups and saucers; of the fine cigars she will light for him, as she kisses him goodbye till dinner; of the pretty key basket she will carry on her arm, all the “long, dreary morning,” till he comes back; of the afternoon nap, while she fingers his hair; of the evening drive, of the slippers ready for him after tea, of the “hateful newspaper” taken out of his hands that he may talk with her! Bright little heart! is there no tear, no frown, no headache in your picture? He telling of his compliments to her rolls and coffee, of his invariable kiss at parting, of his constant thought of her during the hours of business, of his haste to return, of his often pretending to be sick that she may nurse him in her sweet way, of the many thoughtful gifts he will bring her, of his helping to keep house and stealing her sugar, of his leaning on the piano while she sings his favorite songs, of her head upon his shoulder and his arm around her waist, as they sit together under the moonlight in their little porch, with all the necessary vines and flowers. When they both are thinking, yet carefully avoid speaking, of another tender phase of the picture—when something, not a chair, is rocking in their chamber, and a rack at the fire is full of white cloths, when the gifts he brings now are gutta percha and coral, and, instead of the moon the lamp is kept burning all night.
When we got back to Wilmington I found a letter for me from Ben, inviting me up to his wedding.
It was a characteristic epistle, and went on to tell me that as he “had laid by his crap” and was “outer the grass” he had concluded to take unto himself as an helpmeet, Miss Viny Dodge, though he frankly stated that his “daddy” said he “hadn’t no more business with a wife than er oyshter has for gluves.”
As the letter was dated two weeks back I knew that Miss Viny was already Mrs. Bemby, so I sent my congratulations, and regrets that I could not have been present, and a bridal gift for Mrs. B.
Our own arrangements were, that I was to return to Chapel Hill, complete my senior year, and be married to Carlotta immediately after my graduation; and then we were to go to Germany, that I might complete my law course at Heidelberg.
When Ned and I met again in our old room at the University, we both had so much to tell that we devoted several nights to the rehearsal of our adventures. Ned had spent his vacation at the White Sulphur Springs, and was, of course, well charged with news of himself. As each of us was more anxious to talk than to listen, our conversation was a series of mutual interruptions, and this difficulty of communication, perhaps, aided us in our studies.
When we finally got to work in earnest we found our position as Seniors very pleasant in every way. Our studies, though deeper and more comprehensive, were not so tedious, and allowed us more time for general reading. Ned was striving hard for the Valedictory, while I looked forward with some hope to the same honor; our rivalry, however, was always pleasant. With my studies and readings, and, above all, with Carlotta’s sweet letters, I found time did not drag so heavily as I had expected when I parted from her, and almost before I knew the summer was gone the winter vacation came on. I went home and spent the time in one bright dream of happiness. I was with Carlotta!
I returned to college again in January, full of ambitious visions. Five more months and, with a brow burdened with honors, I would stand upon the rostrum of the University, and while the crowded hall was breathless with my eloquence, I would meet the light of Carlotta’s eyes, and in their raptured gaze find my best applause. Then would come our wedding, arranged with all the splendor wealth could command; then a term of honor at Heidelberg; and then, with Fame’s temple before me, I would climb until I stood upon its very dome. But across these bright visions there drifted now the red cloud of war, and in its murky bosom muttered our impending ruin.
I found the University, as I had left Wilmington, all ablaze with excitement over the secession of South Carolina. The number of students was much smaller than usual, and many of those who came returned to their homes, as State after State left the Union. Our noble Commonwealth, with her resinous nature, stuck tenaciously to the Union, and when she tore herself loose at last, adhered as closely to the flag of the Confederacy.