Rutledge

by Miriam Coles Harris

"But, my young friend, how do you make that view of the subject agree with your patriotism as an American, and your veneration for Washington? Were there no carcasses of deceased obedience and loyalty under his chariot-wheels?"

"Grâce à Dieu!" I cried, eagerly, "it was Liberty, but Liberty with a different cap on, and marching under very different colors, that Washington fought for; no more the same deity that Cromwell and Robespierre acknowledged, than the idol of the Hindoo is the God we worship!"

Mr. Rutledge shrugged his shoulders, and begged me to explain the difference to him. And with a vehement mixture of enthusiasm, ignorance and anger, I tried to explain my meaning to him, but, as was not difficult to foresee, made but little headway in my argument, every moment adding to my adversary's coolness and my own impatience. I altogether forgot my diffidence and alarm; I was too angry and excited to think who it was I was talking to; I only knew he was opposing and tripping me up, and saying the most hateful things in the coolest way, and exasperating me to the highest degree, and not being a bit exasperated with all my saucy replies; and it was not till I had exhausted all my combined wrath and logic, that I caught a lurking smile about his mouth, that flashed upon me the conviction that I was entirely the victim of his wit, and that he had just been arguing on the wrong side for the sake of argument and amusement.

"After all," I exclaimed, "I believe you think just as I do, and have only been talking so, to draw me out!"

"Why, mademoiselle! How can you suspect me of such duplicity?" he said, with his peculiar short laugh.

And seizing a book, I sank down on the sofa to hide my burning cheeks behind its pages. How angry, frightened and mortified I felt, no words can tell, and every stealthy glance I obtained of my neighbor but added to my vexation. Wholly absorbed in his paper, he seemed to have forgotten all about me and my indignation; and having furnished him with half an hour's amusement, I was to be pushed aside to make way for a more serious train of thought, such as was now knitting his brow, and fixing his attention over some political debate or Congressional transaction. I might smooth my ruffled temper at my leisure; no danger of interruption or observation; I might solace myself with what consolation was to be found in the reflection, that whatever I had said savoring of exaggeration or absurdity, was by this time doubtless entirely forgotten by my companion. But it was a slim comfort, and could not displace the angry thought—what business had he to catechise me so; make me stand there, and tell him what books I had read, and then lead me on to say all manner of foolish things? My cheeks glowed at the recollection. There was one comfort; I knew enough now, never to let him have the amusement of making me angry again; he should never hear anything but monosyllables from me henceforth; I would be ice and marble when he was by.

Presently there came a low knock at the door, and Kitty appeared, very fresh and rosy from her walk, and entering, laid upon the table some papers and a couple of letters.

"Ah!" said the master, in a tone of satisfaction, reaching out his hand for them, "the mail is late to-night. You may send tea up; we will take it here this evening."

Kitty looked in great astonishment to see me downstairs, but the etiquette of the place forbade anything more on my part than a glance of recognition, and Kitty retired to order tea sent up. Till that refreshment arrived, and was arranged upon the table, Mr. Rutledge devoted himself to the newly-arrived papers, of whose contents he possessed himself with surprising celerity; and before the servant announced that tea was ready, I had watched his eyes scan rapidly every column of every paper; and looking up from the last one as Thomas made his announcement, he laid it aside, and turned toward the table, asking me, with a smile, if I should mind the trouble of pouring out tea. It was an attention, he said, that he was generally obliged to pay to himself, but it would make it much more agreeable if I would take the trouble.

I took my place behind the heavy silver service, and with fingers that trembled very visibly, proceeded, for the first time in my life, to fill that womanly office. Mr. Rutledge looked on silently, and without note or comment received and drank his tea. The toast and cake were unpatronized; Mr. Rutledge, I am inclined to think, forgot them, so absorbed did he appear in his own thoughts; and I, for my part, shrinking behind the urn, considered myself sufficiently taxed in swallowing a cup of tea, which almost choked me, as it was. It was not till the tea-things were removed that Mr. Rutledge allowed himself to open his letters, doing this, as everything else, at great disadvantage, and with some effort, with his left hand. I resumed my book, and did not raise my eyes, till some time having elapsed, Mr. Rutledge, rising, handed me a letter, which he said had come inclosed to him in one he had just received from my aunt. I opened it with considerable interest, and looking up from the reading of it with a smile, met Mr. Rutledge's eye, who said: