“Is she so very beautiful?” was the question surmised from the haughty girl.
“Passing beautiful, I think, Carolyn, and this it is that makes the country gentlemen jest so about the matter. They give a far different motive than benevolence to the kindness of Captain Clifton to his lovely charge. I know that they do him gross injustice! But this thing should not go on. It is a dangerous relation—dangerous to Archer’s own fidelity, dangerous to your peace, and most dangerous of all, to the poor girl’s reputation. I advise you to speak to Archer. I would do so myself, but it is too delicate a matter for me to speak to a young gentleman about. Now in these palmy days of courtship, he may listen to you as he never would, perhaps, afterwards, and you will be able to prevail with him to send this dangerous young beauty, his protégé, away. Yes! and you may tell Archer that I advise this, for the good of all parties. Tell him that the whole neighborhood is ringing with gossip that may become slander. Tell him that I say the parties most concerned in this rumor, or in any rumor, will be ever the last to hear it. Tell him that I, his friend, Georgia, venture to do him this service, informing him through you. Let there be no concealments. Let all be open candor. I did feel afraid, when I began to tell you this—but now it is out, I feel relieved—I have more courage.”
“Madam!” said Carolyn, more haughtily than before—“Captain Clifton is quite capable of directing his own conduct! And if he were not, I should never resign to him the future control of mine! And, farthermore, madam!” she added, sarcastically, “I too highly honor the man about to become my husband—I have too much self-respect and delicacy, to inquire into the nature of Captain Clifton’s individual and private amusements, whether they relate to hounds, horses, or beggar girls! I leave such investigations to——the daughter of the sign-painter!” and with an air of the greatest possible scorn and arrogance, she arose, and left the room. Yet under that proud, disdainful bearing, a thousand scorpions, of doubt and jealousy, maddened her soul. She went at once into her own room, and having locked the door, that no rash intruder should look upon her weakness, gave herself up to the anguish of her emotions—now pacing up and down the floor, wringing her hands in distraction—now throwing herself, face downward, upon the bed, in despair. And yet she had no confidence in Mrs. Clifton’s honesty of purpose either.
In the meantime, the party assembled at Hardbargain were enjoying themselves and the hospitalities of their hostess, to the fullest extent.
The late dinner was over; the ladies were lounging about in arm-chairs, or on sofas, in the breezy parlor—dozing, reading, or chatting in low tones, all serenely enjoying that pleasant feeling of home freedom and repose, into which Mrs. Clifton ever charmed her guests.
The gentlemen had left their wine, and in parties of two and three were strolling about the shady yard, or out through the fields and orchards, to cool their heads, previous to joining the ladies at the tea-table.
Archer Clifton, with his cousin, Major Charles Cabell, and Frank Fairfax, took the wooded path leading down the South side of the ridge to a fine spring in the hollow. They came to a log cabin, half hidden by surrounding and overhanging elms—and literally covered with climbing and creeping vines. Before the door sat a girl, spinning on a little wheel, who, at the first glimpse of strangers, instantly arose, and taking up her wheel, retired into the house. Captain Clifton left his companions, and going up to the door, called, saying—
“Catherine, my good girl, bring me a gourd here.”
Kate Kavanagh came, and with her eyes fixed upon the ground, and her face suffused with a deep blush, handed the required article, and instantly disappeared within.