The ways of the hour

by James Fenimore Cooper

“I thought our opinions was vorth something more than nothing, sir,” answered the gratified coachman—“a body doesn’t ride at all hours, day and night, year arter year, and come out where he started. I vishes you to keep that ’ere paper, ’Squire, a little carefully, for it may be wanted in the college where they reads all sorts of things, one of these days.”

“It shall be cared for, my friend—I hear some one at the street-door bell.—It is late for a call; and I fear Peter has gone to bed. See who is there, and good night.”

Stephen withdrew, the ringing being repeated a little impatiently, and was soon at the street-door. The fellow admitted the visiters, and went ruminating homeward, Dunscomb maintaining a very respectable reputation, in a bachelor point of view, for morals. As for the lawyer himself, he was in the act of reading a second time the precious opinion expressed in the journals, when the door of his library opened, a little hesitatingly it must be confessed, and two females stood on its threshold.[threshold.] Although his entirely unexpected visiters were so much muffled in shawls and veils it was not possible to distinguish even the outlines of their persons, Dunscomb fancied each was youthful and handsome, the instant he cast his eyes on them. The result showed how well he guessed.

Throwing aside the garments that concealed their forms and faces, Mary Monson and Anna Updyke advanced into the room. The first was perfectly self-possessed and brilliantly handsome; while her companion, flushed with excitement and exercise, was not much behind her in this important particular. Dunscomb started, and fancied there was felony, even in his hospitality.

“You know how difficult it is for me to travel by daylight,” commenced Mary Monson, in the most natural manner in the world; “that, and the distance we had to drive, must explain the unseasonableness of this visit. You told me once, yourself, that you are both a late and an early man, which encouraged me to venture. Mr. Timms has written me a letter which I have thought it might be well to show you. There it is; and when you have cast an eye over it, we will speak of its contents.”

“Why, this is very much like a conditional proposal of marriage!” cried Dunscomb, dropping the hand that held the letter, as soon as he had read the first paragraph. “Conditional, so far as the result of your trial is concerned!”

“I forgot the opening of the epistle, giving very little thought to its purport; though Mr. Timms has not written me a line lately that has not touched on this interesting subject. A marriage between him and me is so entirely out of the way of all the possibilities, that I look upon his advances as mere embellishment. I have answered him directly in the negative once, and that ought to satisfy any prudent person. They tell me no woman should marry a man she has once refused; and I shall plead this as a reason for continued obduracy.”

This was said pleasantly, and without the least appearance of resentment; but in a way to show she regarded her attorney’s proposal as very much out of the beaten track. As for Dunscomb, he passed his hand over his brows, and read the rest of a pretty long letter with grave attention. The purely business part of this communication was much to the point; important, clearly put, and every way creditable to the writer. The lawyer read it attentively a second time, ere he once opened his mouth in comments.

“And why is this shown to me?” he asked, a little vexed, as was seen in his manner. “I have told you it is felony to assist a prisoner in an attempt to escape.”

“I have shown it to you, because I have not the remotest intention, Mr. Dunscomb, to attempt anything of the sort. I shall not quit my asylum so easily.”