"Has it ever struck you—have you ever heard anything about Lieutenant Marshall's being in love with Virginia?" I asked, when I had overtaken Ellen.
"A long time ago I heard it talked about a little, but nothing has been said about it for the last year or two. I have always thought, though, that Virginia cared more about him than any one else."
"It is strange she never has alluded to him to me," said I; and I was inexpressibly pained at this want of confidence on her part, revealed at a time when I thought every feeling of her heart was laid bare to me. Nor could I reconcile the clandestine way in which they had carried on their love-affair, with the previous high opinion I had formed both of Virginia and Mr. Marshall, as persons of the highest integrity and principle. An indistinct feeling of annoyance at having been used as a blind, and of disappointment at the tarnish which had suddenly obscured, in my eyes, the bright purity of Virginia's character, prevented me for a time from enjoying my ride. But deeper griefs than mine would not long have been proof against the exhilaration produced by rapid motion, through southern woods, on a cool and balmy afternoon in early spring.
Nature has no secrets in that genial clime. She does not elaborate her delicate buds and leaflets within the closely enveloping bark until they burst suddenly upon you, full-formed and perfect, but her workshop is the open air, and one might almost fancy he could see her dainty fingers patiently adding, day by day, one touch after another, until her work is complete. I have watched the slow development of an oak, from the first red tassel to its full leaved glory, till I have felt quite sure that if, by any of those marvellous metamorphoses we read of in the old mythology, I should ever feel myself taking root and shape like it, I should know exactly what would be expected of me. And so, my eye caught and charmed by one beauty after another, of flower, or tree, or cloud, I had regained all my cheerfulness by the time we halted at the plantation, to allow the lovers to overtake us.
They had loitered so far behind, that we had to wait at least half an hour before they joined us, but we were forbearing, and said nothing to remind them of their want of consideration, though I am afraid my silence was as much owing to wounded feeling as anything else.
We were most cordially welcomed by Nancie and Bettie Buckley, but I was so surprised at the house and its furniture, that I hardly noticed our reception. Was it possible, thought I, that those gorgeously apparelled women came out of those low, poorly furnished rooms, with their stiff, old-fashioned chairs, and no carpets, no sofas—no silver forks at tea—in short, few of those little luxuries that long use makes almost necessaries. Virginia explained the incongruity to me by saying that cousin Tom, as she called old Mr. Buckley, refused to allow the least change to be made in their household arrangements. His daughters might travel and spend as much money as they pleased, but not one of their new-fangled notions were allowed to be introduced into the family. To make up for every other deficiency, there was a most bewildering number of servants of all ages and sizes. They ran about the house like tame kittens. Two accompanied me to my room at night, and three assisted, to my great embarrassment, at my morning toilet.
Mr. Buckley was a stout, uneducated, kind-hearted sort of a man, with a high appreciation of a mint-julep and a good cigar, and an intense dislike of Yankees. This was so much a part of his nature that he could not help expressing it even to me, and it was so genuine, that, notwithstanding my natural pride in my birthright, I caught myself insensibly sympathizing. Towards me personally, as a woman and a stranger, he evidently felt nothing but a sort of tender pity and concern. This he showed in the only way he could think of, by mixing me a very strong mint-julep, and urging me to drink it. I tried to please him—in fact, I had watched the process of making it, and thought I should like it; but the very first attempt I made, gave me such a fit of coughing, and came so near strangling me, that I gave up; after that, we all sat down on the porch together until tea was ready, while Mr. Buckley smoked his cigar and looked hopelessly at me.
After tea, we returned to the porch and our conversation, and Mr. Buckley to his cigar. In the course of the evening, I missed Virginia and my recreant knight, and they did not appear until we were about separating for the night. Virginia and I were to occupy the same room; and hardly were we alone before she turned to me, exclaiming, with a vivacity and eagerness very unusual to her—
"Dear Pauline, how strange you must think my conduct has been lately, after what you have seen to-day! But let me explain it to you. I would have spoken openly to you weeks ago, if I had had anything to tell; but I have been kept as much in the dark as any one until to-day. When we were children, Philip—Mr. Marshall—and I were constantly together, and became very much attached to each other; so that when he went to West Point, though I was but about eleven years old, we were regularly and solemnly engaged. He did not return to Louden until he had graduated; for, you know, his father is poor, and they could not afford him the money for the journey. Then he came, he says, with the full intention of renewing our childish engagement, if he found me so disposed; but he thought he ought first to speak to my father about it, as I was still so young, and father objected so decidedly to anything of that kind being said to me then, that Philip consented to wait a little while. He came back in a year, and, as soon as father heard of it, he sent me down to New Orleans on a visit to my aunt. I don't know how I discovered the truth; but I did know very well the reason I was sent off so hastily, and felt very badly about it. Then father and Philip had another long talk, and Philip promised to wait until I was eighteen before he made any other attempt to speak to me about what father calls our ridiculous engagement."
"Oh," said I, "you were eighteen the day of Mrs. Simmons's party—last Wednesday."