“Well, Julietta,” said the uncle to the niece, after they were left alone, “how likest thou this new instrument, now that thou hast run the fingers of thy fancy over his stops?”
“The instrument is a handsome instrument enough,” replied Juliet. “The strings sound melodiously too. But much of mine affection must rest on the gold with which it may be enriched, and the value of the case which may contain it. Is this Stewart wealthy, I pray thee; and are his possessions ample enough for my desires?”
“I know that thy desires are ample enough,” replied Rogers; “but report speaks well of the wealth and possessions of this Sir Walter.”
“Some where in the bleak north, are they not?” said Juliet. “By all the saints, the cold and barren sod of this northern clime had hardly ever been pressed by my foot at all, had I not hoped to have mated me with some of its most wealthy nobles!”
“Thou hadst little chance of any such noble match where thou wert, Julietta,” replied Rogers; “and, let me tell thee, the fates are quite as much against any such chance for thee here. These proud and dogged Scottish nobles scorn to grace a court, where the King makes so little account of them. And truly there is little wonder that they should thus take offence, seeing that the places in the royal favour, which by inheritance belong to them, should be filled by such beasts as Leonard—Torfefan—Hommil—Andrew—aye, and that prince of brutes, Cochran, too.”
“They are all beasts, as thou sayest, uncle,” replied Juliet; “though, if I were obliged to choose among them, I should rather tie myself to that coarse, clumsy elephant whom thou hast last named as king of these brutes, than to any of the others. He is the man, depend on’t, who hath the true and proper art to raise the edifice of his own fortunes; and, by using his broad shoulders as a scaffold, a bold woman might thereby mount, methinks, to wealth and honours.”
“He is a pestilent, pushing, proud, overbearing, ignorant, vulgar beast, I tell thee,” replied her uncle, much excited. “The brute despises music! Depend upon it, he will never rise to any thing but to the garret story of one of his own buildings, from which, if some kind devil would but throw him down, to the dislocation of that accursed bull neck of his, I should cheerfully compose an especial jubilate. Oh, Apollo and Terpsichore! that a man of my musical science and learning, should be compelled to associate with so vile a piler of stones, and compounder of mortar!”
“I have a shrewd suspicion, that the measure of thy rage against Cochran, is but that of thy fears for his outstripping thee in thine ascent of the lofty tower of ambition,” replied Juliet. “But spurn him not, good uncle, if thou art wise; for his ladder is long, and strong; and might, with proper management, be useful to thee.”
“I should be right glad to see it so, July, could I but kick down both the ladder and its owner, after I should have so used them,” said Rogers. “But methinks thou wouldst fain carry ladder, hod and mortar and all, to the very top of the tower, on thine own shoulders, rather than lose the man they belong to.”
“Thou art grievously mistaken, uncle,” replied Juliet, keenly. “To rise into a high and wealthy station, and the higher and wealthier the better, would certainly be my desire; but I should much prefer youth, and beauty, and accomplishment, in the instrument which I might use for the gratification of mine ambition. If fate denies me all these indeed, then would I embrace age, and deformity itself, rather than fail of mine object. Nay, thou canst hardly as yet guess to what means I should resort to secure its completion. As for Cochran, I know he loves me; for, in his great condescension, he hath vouchsafed to tell me so. Nor have I altogether kept the bear aloof. To wed myself to him would be to speculate, and that too with but an ungainly and unloveable subject. But if I could read the book of his fate, and find fortune and honours therein, it would not be the coarse edifice of his body, supported as it is upon such rustic pillars, and crowned by so vulgar and heavy a capital, that would deter me from embracing it. Yet ’tis but a speculation; and, being so, I must confess that I am disposed, rather to grasp at this handsome Corinthian column of the Stewart, than to tie myself to that clumsy Cochran, whose clay image might, after all, crumble to pieces, and suffocate me in its dirty dust.”