Blanche Delaware looked up in Burrel's face with one of those sparkling smiles--as brilliant and more precious than a diamond--the beaming approbation of a good heart at the sight of a good action.
Now, the good-natured world may say, if it list, that this chapter is all about blushes and smiles; but let me tell it, that, rightly valued and rightly read, there are not such beautiful or interesting things on the earth. A dimple is fair enough on a fair face, but it means little or nothing; but the smiles and the blushes of a fine and bright mind are lovely in all their shades and expressions: they are the first touching tones of nature in her innocence--the sweet musical language of the heart.
And Blanche Delaware's smile was the sweetest that it is possible to conceive, and none the less so because it beamed upon as fair a countenance as the eye of man ever rested upon. Altogether, it was like the sunshine upon a beautiful country--lovely in itself, and lovely by that over which it played. "I thought it was the same, Margaret," she replied to the widow; "I thought it was the same, because--because--there was no other stranger at the fire--that I heard of, at least."
Burrel might well ask his heart what it was about!--though it was a day too late; for by this time it was determined to have its own way. However, he knew more of the world than Blanche Delaware, and the knowledge of good and evil has always the same effect that it had at man's first fall. "And they knew that they were naked," says the Book of Genesis; and in that simple record, the main motive and hidden cause of all that class of weaknesses and follies is to be found which teach man to conceal his actions, his thoughts, and his feelings--to shrink from public censure, or fear the opinion of the world. The knowledge of the good and evil that is in the world teaches even the noblest mind to know the proneness of all nature to wickedness, and makes it hasten to clothe itself in a seeming not its own. Burrel knew the world and its evil, and felt that, however pleasant it might be to stay where he was, and enjoy the conversation of Blanche Delaware for an hour, for her sake it would be better for him to refrain; and therefore, after visiting the young sailor, who was in bed in the next room, and bidding his mother ask frankly for every thing that was necessary for his comfort or recovery, he took leave of Miss Delaware, telling her that he would bend his steps homeward, in the hope of meeting her brother.
Ere he had crossed the bridge, his hand was clasped in that of Captain Delaware, who was, in fact, infinitely glad of an opportunity of drawing closer the acquaintance which he formed with his stage-coach companion. He thanked him animatedly and warmly for his gallant conduct in saving his sister, and apologized for the fact of his father not calling on him that night, on account of slight indisposition, adding, however, that it was his purpose to do so on the following morning.
To the latter annunciation Burrel merely bowed; but to the first he replied with a smile, that he believed he owed Miss Delaware an apology more than she owed him thanks, for having so impudently walked into her room in the middle of the night; although, he believed, they would have been both burned if he had paused much longer to consider of proprieties or improprieties.
Captain Delaware laughed. "Blanche," said he, "though even I, her brother, can not help owning that she is a very witching little person in her way, when she likes it, has no great desire to pass through such a fiery ordeal as that from which you relieved her; but if you will come with me to widow Harrison's cottage she will thank you herself."
"I have already had the pleasure of seeing her and have been thanked far more than necessary," replied Burrel; "for I certainly did no more than I would have done to serve any lady in similar circumstances; though I can not deny that the merit of the action was greatly decreased by the object of it being Miss Delaware."
Captain Delaware paused for a moment, and then catching his companion's meaning, replied, smiling at his momentary dullness, "Oh, I understand you!--oh, I understand you! but indeed, my dear sir, you must give me notice the next time you intend to leave the complimentary part of your speech implied rather than understood; for, at first, I understood your meaning to be, that you would rather have served any other person than my sister."
"Quite the contrary," replied Burrel. "The pleasure I felt in serving your sister, took away all merit from the act--but compliments at all times are very foolish things, so I will have done with them; and only say most truly, that I was delighted to serve your sister."