What had she done to draw down that stern, yet sorrowful rebuke?
"The look you wear
A heart may heal or break."
Her pillow was damp that night.
Mr. Thornton had obtained a signal victory in his first important cause. Already, his legal acumen and oratorical powers marked him in the public eye for usefulness and fame; and on the evening after the delivery of the verdict, he called together a band of select spirits to rejoice with him. The banquet was well ordered; comprising the rarities of the season, and a variety of wines, varied by the introduction of agreeable non-intoxicants, coffee, tea, iced sherbet, etc. These unwonted accompaniments of a bachelor supper were looked upon with an evil eye by some of the guests. They were jealous of innovations which might end in puritanical abstinence; and their fears were further excited that three of their small number preferred the less stimulating beverages. That Mr. Lacy's example should be copied by Mr. Compton, a fellow-student, was not surprising, as they were intimate, and known as members of the same church; but at Charles Dana's rejection of the social glass, there was a hum of exclamations and inquiries, which was calmed by his imperturbability, and the polite tact of the host. Morton could not unriddle the conduct of his friend, for he knew that his most trivial action was not meaningless. "Not a convert, Charley?" he said, when the rest were in full cry after some inspiring subject.
"Unfortunately, no. It is from a motive of expediency that I abstain to-night."
They sat together, and as he spoke, Mr. Lacy chanced to remark Lynn, who was opposite. He drank deeply, but his potations had not had time to ignite the fire that burned in his eyes and checks. His talk was a volcanic eloquence, reckless as to course and consequence; and his laugh had the peal of a maniac's yell. In real alarm, Morton turned to his neighbor. Charley was on the alert; not outwardly—he might have been more grave and taciturn than common, but there were no evidences of anxiety. Morton divined his feelings, by a glance he saw exchanged between him and his heated friend; a look of warning and appeal on one side,—of anguish, scornful in its bitterness, on the other,—and the torrent rolled on as before.
During the giving of toasts, Mr. Lacy and Charley fell into a quiet chat, only pausing to lift their glasses in courtesy to the authors, ignorant, most of the time, of the sentiment proposed. Lynn was more sedate; from delirium he was relapsing into a comatose state, when he was brought to his feet by a toast to his art, coupled with a neatly turned compliment to himself, from Mr. Thornton. His unpremeditated reply was beautiful and touching. He was under the very spur of genius; rich metaphors, apt classical allusions, and delicate pathos poured from his lips, as thoughts from his brain; his rapt hearers scarcely conscious that he employed the machinery of words. The applause that succeeded the last musical echo was deafening. For a moment, the wild glare that had distressed Morton, disappeared, and with a happy, grateful smile, he bowed his thanks for this spontaneous tribute of approbation and regard.
"Egad!" said Pemberton, "you have mistaken your calling, Holmes—you had better burn up your canvass, and take to stump-speaking, you'd make more money by it."
Angry frowns and rebuking eyes were directed to the drunken speaker.
"If stumps and blockheads claim kindred, I shall not need to go far to exercise my vocation," said Lynn, hotly.