If there was any truth in David’s having thought of taking legal proceedings, his sudden death seemed to have silenced his intended witnesses, for no person came forward. All, therefore, on which Mrs. Montgomery could decide was, that Henry’s profession should not be the church, as had been intended; and that she would settle some little pension on David Park’s widow.
[CHAPTER XV.]
“Fruits, abundant as the southern vintage,
O’erspread the board, and please the wand’ring eye,
As each, from its moist and globular side,
Reflects a ray, varied by its native hue;
And all, through shelt’ring foliage shine, so placed,
To give them tempting freshness: while Flora,
Dispensing fragrance in the gayest forms,
And brightest tints, that once fair Paradise
Adorned, flings all the loveliness of spring
O’er autumn’s ripen’d richness.”
A social party of relatives, friends, and neighbours, were seated round the dinner-table at Lodore House. They have, it would seem, just dispatched the first two courses, and all important business thus concluded, they appear to be, at the present moment, trifling most agreeably with a summer dessert, consisting of clustering grapes, golden pines, velvet-cheeked peaches, &c. &c. These, crowning costly dishes, and decked with fresh leaves and gay flowers, resembled, as the shining surface of the board reflected each inverted heap, so many isles of plenty, scattered on a glassy sea. While, to keep up our simile, we may add, that cruising fleets of wine decanters sailed smoothly round and round, dispensing, wherever they passed, the sparkling juice of the foreign grape, with wit and gaiety as sparkling. The busy hum of voices still went on, some in the low murmur of flirtation, some in the loud debate of politics; while others, in medium tones, discussed the merits of the last new novel, opera, or play.
Mr. Jackson, who sat next to Mrs. Montgomery, addressing Henry, said—“Pray, Mr. St. Aubin, if the question is not an impertinent one, who might the man be, whom I saw part from you last evening, at the end of the wood leading into the shrubbery walks between this and my little place? I was much struck with his figure, and the insolence, I had almost said, of his step and carriage.”
Henry, at first, affected not to hear; but, on the question being repeated, answered, with over-acted indifference—“The fellow has been, I believe, a sailor. Begging, I fancy, is his present calling.”
“He doubted then,” rejoined Mr. Jackson, “either my ability, or my will to be charitable; for he did not beg of me. Indeed, he seemed disposed to get out of my way as fast as he could.”
“Possibly,” said Henry, “he feared that, as a magistrate, you might put into force the laws against vagrants.”