I gave the pledge required, and I was immediately released from the grasp of the Commonwealth; her chivalric man of law professing himself satisfied of my innocence, complimenting me on being a gentleman, and wishing me good night with a profound and dignified bow. I was in no humor to moralize on this singular scene; yet I could not forbear to smile at this strangest of all paradoxes—that he who was prepared to enforce the duelling law, should be so far elevated above its vulgar penalty, that he could at pleasure either neutralize its severity, or trample on its express ordinances, lending a credulous heart to the dreamy nonsense of chivalry, and a deaf ear to the trumpet-tongued voice of Be it enacted. Such is public opinion, and such are laws; when in conflict, a Mezentian union—when acting in harmony, the firmest and most durable base for the fabric of government.
Pursuing my course, I fortunately encountered Scipio, who was going to the college with his accustomed budget of letters, and dismounting him, with orders to go and attend the sick couch of Arthur, I took his horse, and rode rapidly on to Chalgrave. The night wore sullenly and gloomily away, and ere morning, one of those fast, yet light snow-storms, which rush on with a momentary though softened fierceness, had thrown a spotless mantle around the trees, the hills and plains of Virginia. I passed two or three of our negroes on the skirts of the plantation, standing with slouched hats and folded arms, like so many statues of ebony on a marble floor. 'Tis then that melancholy spreads its deepest gloom over a Virginian farm—a solitude fearful, still, and echoless—while all nature bows to its stern influence. The cattle are gathered to the farm-pen, to ruminate over a rasping shuck, or a marrowless corn-stalk. From a pool in the stable yard, a dense and curling vapor overshadows a motley group of ducks and geese, who are quarrelling and floundering in undisputed possession of their odorous empire; while the lengthened face of the prisoned plough-horse takes a more pallid hue from the sympathy of melancholy, and is protruded on the scene like that eternal spectre of death which is ever flitting athwart the path of life. Within the house there is a confused hurrying to and fro of menials in search of wood, carpets, and rugs, while the mistress fairly frets herself into philosophy amid the snow, mud, and her own contradictory orders. A glance from the window will disclose a crowd of negroes collected around the wood-yard, waiting to carry the logs cut by one, who with a heavy whirl of his ponderous axe, and a loud moan, scatters his wounded chips at every stroke. He is then on the crest of the highest wave of vanity, and will ever and anon rest his axe to tell of the broad clearings which have opened beneath his giant arm. I looked on this quiet and familiar scene with an aching eye and a throbbing heart; yet I was soothed into peace by that witching spell which spreads its empire from "Indus to the Pole." It was home—that spot over whose fairy circle my heart, like the gnomon, had dialled all its sunlit hours of joy and happiness; and in the gushing memory of childhood's romance, I almost forgot that the stain of blood was on my hands.
I did not disturb the family until they were seated at breakfast; and in reply to my mother's inquiries concerning Arthur's health, I hesitated not to relate to her the whole detail of the tragic meeting. Lucy entered the room ere I had finished my sad narrative, and catching the truth of my tale, suddenly stared at me with a full and lustreless eye, and looking up for a moment, fell with an hysteric shriek on the floor. My mother's stern pride subdued her swelling feelings, and rising from her seat, with a starting tear in her eye, she led Lucy from the room. Frederick remained cold and unmoved, throwing his fork into his plate, and playing with his tea-spoon with an air of frigid indifference. My uncle alone advanced to me, and seizing my hand, exclaimed in a generous though quivering voice, "I will not forsake you, my dear boy! You have been indiscreet and passionate, but your honor is untainted! I knew that you could not wilfully kill Arthur. Come with me; an express shall be sent to the college instantly. The odds are greatly in favor of his recovery. I have in the library a table of fifty duels, prepared by my pen, and strengthened by my experience. Out of that number but four were killed, and ten wounded. There is only one bad sign in the whole affair, and that is the fact that Arthur fell too soon. I have known many a man carry two balls in his body before he would droop. No wadding entered his body, for my pistols do not bear it; and you may hope for the best."
My uncle's plan of sending an express to the college was approved by the whole family, and in a short time the house re-echoed to repeated calls for the ostler. He soon made his appearance, and in reply to my mother's directions, he gave the usual stable diary of a Virginian farm.
"Why, ma'am, there is not a horse on the land fit to ride. Mass Charles sent the mare out of the county on yesterday to Col. C.'s for a pointer puppy, and as the boy did not come back in time, he has sent another on the black horse to look for him. The chariot horses Mass Charles sent to the court house, with a barrel of cider royal to Capt. R.; and Miss Lucy's pony has not got a shoe to his foot."
"Where is the overseer?" said my mother, who was too much accustomed to scenes of this character to lose any of the calmness of her temper.
"Oh, he went to the warrant-trying yesterday evening to dispute the blacksmith's account; and I heard him say that he would stay at the shop till he could have the beards of two of Mass Charles' Levier fishing hooks altered. Now, if mistress must send, I will get one of the blooded plough-horses, and he will make out as well as any."
This ready auxiliary of a Virginian hurry was necessarily adopted; and in a short time the old servant, encased in a pair of ponderous boots, enveloped in an overcoat which fitted him like a shroud, and mounted on a plough-horse—the gaunt anatomy of poverty—wended his way to fulfil a mission of charity and repentance.
The return of the messenger brought the agreeable tidings of Arthur's convalescence; and when, at the expiration of a week, Scipio delivered me a letter from Arthur, full of undiminished friendship, the spirits of our whole household rose to unusual elevation. They were satisfied that he was now secure from every burst of my dangerous temper; and when I told them that I was guiltless of his blood, I found my recompense in the blush of mingled pride and gratitude which mantled over the cheek of Lucy. My misfortune, in humbling my pride, had the happy effect of silencing that "fearful felicity" of elocution (as Sir Philip Sidney terms it) which made my uncle the zealous annalist of duels, pistols, chivalry, and arrangements.
How naturally does the heart, when oppressed by disease, or humbled by misfortune, turn, like the wounded deer, to the silent refuge of solitude—invoking, under its peaceful shade, that balm of life—woman's love—that rare medicinal, which pours its rosy health into the wounds of manhood's fretted existence. Ambition—the quick pulse of bloated avarice—the rotten pageantry of the world—and the fret and faction of life, may for a while lure us from its sacred altar; yet in our moments of despair, we turn to its holy shrine with renewed devotion, and ever find its radiance, like the brightness of the tropic-lights, flitting its steady blaze around the darkness of our destiny. I was so deeply cursed by temper, and depraved by its exercise, that the love which commonly cheats us into happiness, or obliterates ennui, brought no relief to my lacerated spirit. Romance no longer culled its flattering trophies from the memory of Isa Gordon. I looked on her as one who was too proud to bow to my despotic love, while I had gained by absence from her at college a spirit of freedom and independence. She was my first love; and, despite the dictates of common sense, I was almost compelled to believe that such love was of the purest and firmest character, merely because I had fallen into it in the ignorance and inexperience of boyhood. What a paradox! and how fondly does stupidity cherish it! The boy's heart is a tablet on which is shadowed the outline of an April day—a gorgeous sunshine plays around his imagination, and the fleeting clouds which disturb it, never dim the horizon before him. He loves from nature—he is ever a poligamist—and mistakes the fervor of passion for the truth of love; while his youth, which cures every disease, soon cicatrizes the wound of despised affection. 'Tis manhood's destiny to writhe under the slow and searching poison of unrequited constancy. He lays all the powers of his heart, mind, and education, at the foot of woman; and the blow which prostrates him, shakes to its base a granite fabric. He knows the value of the priceless feeling which he offers, and demands in return a heart which must make him the god of its idolatry. I was egotistical and selfish in my reasoning; yet that very reasoning, in teaching me to forget Isa Gordon, made my heart loiter with a holy enthusiasm around the memory of Ellen Pilton. She had written to me in a style of affectionate and confiding attachment; and though I did not answer her letters, she still continued to write, and wondered why I did not receive them. No dream of my treachery ever entered her guileless heart, and she knew not that her letters were the harvest of my revenge. Suddenly I ceased to hear from her, and I then found that the darkest passion of our nature loses its poisoned fang when struck by the magic wand of love. Could I forget her purity and gentleness of character—the impassioned tenderness with which she had entrusted the destiny of her life—the aspirations of her untainted youth—and all the faith and fervor of her virgin innocence—to whom? to one who had gained this unique gem, as the plaything of a fiend.