Summer came, and Edna went off with the Mumbies on a long tour through the White Mountains and Canada. During her absence, how desolate and dreary the world seemed to Mark! Belton became unbearable, and he wandered about its streets in a frame of mind compared to which Marius' feelings amid the ruins of Carthage were bliss. It was in one of these melancholy fits that he composed his elegiac stanzas, entitled Love's Coronach, and commencing with these lugubrious lines:
Shadows from the pluméd pall,
Enwrap my soul in woe,
My life, my hope, my all
Is gone! And every poignant throe
etc., etc., etc.
But when she returned, the world seemed to recover its glory, life its spice, and he was happy in being near her, even if he did not see her. When autumn came, and the grove near the Falls and the maples along the river road were gorgeous with brilliant hues, Mark took long walks along the Passaic-side, chiefly to meet Miss Heath, who rode often on horseback, and went dashing along at a pace that the groom in attendance had difficulty in keeping up with. She always found time, however, to acknowledge Mark's salute, as he stood staring in respectful admiration at the lithe, graceful figure, so smart in dark riding habit, small white collar and blue silk cravat. He was selfish enough to wish at those times that her horse would bolt over the bank into the river, or do something that would give him a chance to rescue her life at the peril of his own, and so prove his devotion. Fortunately, perhaps, for the young lady, no such opportunity occurred, and our hero was obliged to content himself with less demonstrative worship and vent his passion in scribbling poetic numbers.
The shortened days and inclement weather of winter curtailed Mark's rambles, and his evenings were spent with his piano and books at home, or with his briar-wood pipe and chess at Dr. Wattletop's.
One evening as he sat down to tea in the little basement dining-room, his sister-in-law, with a significant smile, laid an elegant envelope by the side of his plate. "There, Mark," said she, "there is something that will please you, I've no doubt."
He opened the envelope with a little trepidation, and found it to contain, as he had half-suspected, an engraved request from Miss Heath, for the pleasure of his company at "The Cliff," on a certain evening.
"When it came this afternoon," said Mrs. Gildersleeve, "I was in such a flutter. Bridget was out to see her sick sister, and I was washing the dinner things when the bell rang. I just took time to dry my hands and ran to the door, for I expected as much as could be that it was one of the men from the Works that your brother said he would send to fix the grate, and I was so confused when I saw it was a stranger—the young man with a cockade on his hat that follows Miss Heath when she goes out horseback riding—I don't know whether you have ever noticed him or not?"
Mark said he thought he had; and his brother remarked that it was another of those English liveried flunkeys that that old aristocrat, Rufe Heath, had imported to demoralize our democratic institutions.
"George," said Mrs. Gildersleeve, reproachfully, "you shouldn't talk in that way, my dear. Mr. Heath does a great deal of good—a great deal; and as for the young man, I'm sure he was very respectful and well-behaved, indeed. I don't know, though, what he must have thought, for I must have looked very untidy, and I was so confused and flushed that I never once thought of asking him whether he would walk in and sit down, which wasn't a bit polite or hospitable on my part. I hope, Mark, you will accept this invitation, for you should certainly go out in society more than you do. I do wish you had been with us the other evening at Mrs. Sniffen's tea-party. I don't know when I have had such a delightful time. Bishop White was there, and the new minister who has been stationed lately at the Furnaces—the Rev. Mr. Rousemup. His wife has a beautiful voice, and she sang 'Plunged in a Gulf of Dark Despair' so sweetly, that I'm sure there couldn't have been a dry eye present. I know you would have enjoyed it. But lately you have taken to staying in your room too much; you seem to have given up the Debating Society altogether and never go anywhere, except it is to Dr. Wattletop's, and I must confess that I don't half like it. The doctor, to be sure, is one of the kindest and best souls in the world, but he has such very queer notions. They even go so far as to say that he is a freethinker. Now I would be very sorry to believe that of any one; but he says such very strange things, if the reports are true, and Brother Close told me that Mrs. Slocum told him, that her nephew, James Cudlipp, said that when he lived at old Mrs. Bradbury's, and her brother died, he heard the doctor with his own ears say at the funeral, that when people became more civilized, they would burn the remains of the dead and preserve their ashes in marble urns, instead of burying them in the earth. Now, I do think such an idea as that is shocking and perfectly dreadful."
"Well, Maggie," put in her husband, as he buttered a fresh biscuit, "every man to his trade. Dr. Wattletop ain't no dominie, and don't pretend to be, but his head's level on physic, and he's no slouch of a sawbones, either. When he cut off Sammy Tooker's leg I timed him, and he had it all done clean in ten minutes and fourteen seconds by my stop-watch, and Sammy's brother said it was the best job of the kind he ever saw done; and he ought to know, being a butcher himself. Why, Pokemore, that you think is the greatest doctor in the world, I'll bet would have taken hours to do it, and made a botch of it after all. The only fault I have to find with Wattletop is, that he's such a pig-headed John Bull."