For a single instant Herbert remained seated in the same desponding attitude. Then rousing himself, he turned to his guest, saying: "Come, taste the wine again. It is but sour stuff this Rhenish wine at the best, but this is as good as any."
"It is better than any that I have ever tasted here," answered Algernon; "and I do not dislike these wines. One does not feel as if one were drinking molten fire, as with the heady grape of Burgundy, after which the blood seems to go tingling in fever to the fingers' ends. One more glass, then, to the health of the fair lady who has left us."
"Yes, she is fair," answered Herbert, thoughtfully, after drinking his wine,--"Beautiful as her mother, and as good--more gay, but not less thoughtful.--Now, my young friend," he continued, "there is one thing puzzles me in you. That you should think the child lovely does not surprise me, for she is so: I know it, and am accustomed to hear others say so; but she sets so little store by her beauty, that it gives me no pain. There is a difference between admiration and love. It is evident enough that the blind god has nought to do in the case between you and her; but yet you have more than once gazed at her long, and with a sad and serious countenance, as if there were deep thoughts regarding her silently busy at your heart. If you mind not telling them, I would fain hear what those thoughts were."
"I caught myself so gazing," said Algernon, with a smile, "not long before she left the room. It was when she spoke of the horrors and evils of war; and that theme connected itself in my mind with what had passed before. I asked myself, if these bright scenes are destined to be visited by strife and pillage and desolation, what will be the fate of that young fair being, and many others like her. Hardships and rude alarms and the daily peril of life is what men are habituated to from boyhood; but what can woman do at such a season? She can but sit still and weep, awaiting her destiny, whatever it may be. The clang of the trumpet, or the roll of the drum, gives her no inspiring occupation to while away the hours of suspense; and, the rude captor's prey in a town taken by assault, death, and worse than death, may be her portion.--Such were the thoughts which moved me on this last occasion. If I stared at her so rudely at any other time, I have forgotten the cause."
"It will be long, I trust," answered Herbert, "very long, before the storm rolls hither, even at the worst; and till it comes, here she is safe enough. But yet, methinks, good friend, your thoughts take a gloomy turn, and somewhat strange for the youth of the present day. With nine men out of ten in every court of Europe--France, England, Germany--we should have nought but gallant speeches, courtly discourses of small hands and beautiful feet, and eyebrows marvellously turned, or lectures upon bravery, what colours suit with what complexions, what ribands and what laces best harmonize, what dress becomes the gay and young, the tall, the short--with an intermixture of sighs and smiles, and some slight touch of roses and other flowers, to give an Arcadian glow to the whole. But here you have been as grave as a judge over a long cause which makes his dinner wait; speaking with all calm solemnity, as if you had never been taught to laugh.--Why so sad, my friend? Time enough for sadness, when real sorrow comes."
Algernon Grey's brow became graver than before; not that he looked hurt, or pained, but there was a sort of stern and serious earnestness upon his face, as he replied with brief, slow, pointed words: "Most men have some sad secret in their bosom."
"So young!" said Herbert, musing. "Nay, I think not most men; though some few may."
"Have not you, yourself?" asked Algernon Grey, fixing his eyes upon him steadfastly, "and none can say what will be the hour for the poisoning of all life's streams;" and he paused and fell into thought.
"I knew not that the lady was your niece," he continued after a time; "nor certainly did I expect to meet her here. I seek not dangerous companionships; and, methinks, her society might well be so to any one whose heart is not a stone. However, she is too free and happy, too tranquil in her thoughts and her soul, to be easily won; and I do trust, when she is won, that she may meet a person well worthy of her."
"Oh, she will do well enough," answered Herbert. "Women always choose ill; but, perhaps, she may not choose at all; and I believe the gross amount of happiness would be on that side, from all I know of men.--We are strange beings, Master Grey--boys unto the last, we covet eagerly each glittering toy we see; and then misuse it, when we have it safe."