A Virginia cavalier

by Molly Elliot Seawell

And blank looked the life before him. He had suffered himself to dwell upon the thought of a naval or military career until it had become a part of his life. He foresaw that the same strange weakness on his mother’s part which kept him from joining the navy might keep him out of the army. True, if there should be war between the French and English in the Northwest it would be his duty to defend his country, and no pleadings could keep him back then; but that was only a contingency. And, in any event, he could not again ask the help, in getting a commission, of the only persons who could serve him—his brother Laurence and Lord Fairfax—after this unfortunate ending of his first attempt. And, worst of all, he was not sure that he was right, and he was very sure his mother was wrong. That of itself was a staggering blow. He had always fancied his mother perfect, and her weakness, her blind partiality for him over the rest of her children, at once shattered his ideal. She was a true and devoted mother, but in a great emergency she showed a tender unwisdom that seemed foreign to her character. George did not love her any the less for this, but he realized that after this he must think and act for himself. She had not thought of how far he was committed in the matter, or that his brother Laurence might be justly offended at his course—she only thought of the anguish of giving him up. It was all hard and inscrutable to the boy, sitting with rigid face and dry eyes, gazing before him and seeing nothing. He did not know how long he sat there. He heard Betty’s light step and lighter tap upon the door, and she called him, softly, through the keyhole.

“Go away, dear Betty,” answered George; “I can’t see anybody just now.”

It seemed to him days, not hours, before he heard the bell for dinner. He gathered himself together and went down-stairs. Betty almost cried out when she saw him, he was so haggard. His mother saw it too, and it made her heart ache; but in her heart she felt that it was better to have him as he was than to say good-bye to him forever, which she was firmly persuaded would be the case had he gone in the navy. Madam Washington, being naturally a woman of great integrity, was not at ease in her mind. She had not forgotten the light in which she would appear before Laurence Washington and Lord Fairfax. She read again and again that letter from Joseph Ball, which George had appalled her by calling both ignorant and foolish. She had been taught to think brother Joseph a monument of wisdom; but she was not so sure of it after having acted on his advice in this great event.

At dinner both George and his mother were perfectly composed and polite. Neither the children nor the servants knew that anything was the matter until Betty betrayed it. But little Betty’s heart was so full for George’s disappointment that she could not eat her dinner, and tears dropped upon her plate. Towards the last of the dinner one of the little boys suddenly exclaimed:

“Brother, I saw you in your uniform this morning; are you going to wear it every day?”

At this Betty burst into a loud sob, and, getting up from the table, rushed to George and threw her arms about him. George rose and led the weeping girl out of the room. Usually such an infraction of discipline and table manners as George and Betty leaving the table without permission would have been strictly prohibited. But their mother saw that these two young souls were wrought up to the keenest distress, and as she had gained her victory she could afford to be magnanimous.

“Betty,” said George, hurriedly, when they got out of the room, “put on your hood, and let us go into the woods. It makes one feel better, when one is sad, to go into the woods.”

The day was dull and overcast as the boy and girl, hand in hand, tramped across the fields to where the fringe of cedars formed the advance guard of the woodlands. George held Betty’s hand very tightly in his. She understood him, at least.

They said but little until they were well in the heart of the woods, and had sat down upon a fallen tree. Then George, laying his head on Betty’s shoulder, burst into tears, and cried as if his heart would break.

No creature was ever better formed to feel for others than sweet little Betty. She had never seen George weep like that; but she was not frightened or disconcerted. She only laid her wet cheek against George’s, and sighed so deeply that he knew that his burden lay as heavy on her heart as on his. Presently, when he had become more composed, Betty spoke: