Home as Found, James Fenimore Cooper [bookreader txt] 📗

to follow."

 

"Love _is_ a jack-o'-lantern," rejoined Aristabulus sentimentally.

"That I admit; and it is no wonder so many get swamped in following

his lights. Have you ever felt the tender passion, Miss Eve?"

 

Now, Aristabulus had heard this question put at the _soiree_ of Mrs.

Houston, more than once, and he believed himself to be in the most

polite road for a regular declaration. An ordinary woman, who felt

herself offended by this question, would, most probably, have stepped

back, and, raising her form to its utmost elevation, answered by an

emphatic "sir!" Not so with Eve. She felt the distance between Mr.

Bragg and herself to be so great, that by no probable means could he

even offend her by any assumption of equality. This distance was the

result of opinions, habits, and education, rather than of condition,

however; for, though Eve Effingham could become the wife of a

gentleman only, she was entirely superior to those prejudices of the

world that depend on purely factitious causes. Instead of discovering

surprise, indignation, or dramatic dignity, therefore, at this

extraordinary question, she barely permitted a smile to curl her

handsome mouth; and this so slightly, as to escape her companion's

eye.

 

"I believe we are to be favoured with as smooth water, in returning

to the village, as we had in the morning, while coming to this

place," she simply said. "You row sometimes, I think, Mr. Bragg?"

 

"Ah! Miss Eve, such another opportunity may never occur again, for

you foreign ladies are so difficult of access! Let me, then, seize

this happy moment, here, beneath the hymeneal oaks, to offer you this

faithful hand and this willing heart. Of fortune you will have enough

for both, and I say nothing about the miserable dross. Reflect, Miss

Eve, how happy we might be, protecting and soothing the old age of

your father, and in going down the hill of life in company; or, as

the song says, 'and hand in hand we'll go, and sleep the'gither at

the foot, John Anderson, my Joe.'"

 

"You draw very agreeable pictures, Mr Bragg, and with the touches of

a master!"

 

"However agreeable you find them, Miss Eve, they fall infinitely

short of the truth. The tie of wedlock, besides being the most

sacred, is also the dearest; and happy, indeed, are they who enter

into the solemn engagement with such cheerful prospects as ourselves.

Our ages are perfectly suitable, our disposition entirely consonant,

our habits so similar as to obviate all unpleasant changes, and our

fortunes precisely what they ought to be to render a marriage happy,

with confidence on one side, and gratitude on the other. As to the

day, Miss Eve, I could wish to leave you altogether the mistress of

that, and shall not be urgent."

 

Eve had often heard John Effingham comment on the cool impudence of a

particular portion of the American population, with great amusement

to herself; but never did she expect to be the subject of an attack

like this in her own person. By way of rendering the scene perfect,

Aristabulus had taken out his penknife, cut a twig from a bush, and

he now rendered himself doubly interesting by commencing the

favourite occupation of whittling. A cooler picture of passion could

not well have been drawn.

 

"You are bashfully silent, Miss Eve! I make all due allowances for

natural timidity, and shall say no more at present--though, as

silence universally 'gives consent--'" "If you please, sir,"

interrupted Eve, with a slight motion of her parasol, that implied a

check. "I presume our habits and opinions, notwithstanding you seem

to think them so consonant with each other, are sufficiently

different to cause you not to see the impropriety of one, who is

situated like yourself, abusing the confidence of a parent, by making

such a proposal to a daughter without her father's knowledge: and, on

that point, I shall say nothing. But as you have done me the honour

of making me a very unequivocal offer of your hand, I wish that the

answer may be as distinct as the proposal. I decline the advantage

and happiness of becoming your wife, sir----"

 

"Time flies, Miss Eve!"

 

"Time does fly, Mr. Bragg; and, if you remain much longer in the

employment of Mr. Effingham, you may lose an opportunity of advancing

your fortunes at the west, whither I understand it has long been your

intention to emigrate----"

 

"I will readily relinquish all my hopes at the west, for your sake."

 

"No, sir, I cannot be a party to such a sacrifice. I will not say

forget _me_, but forget your hopes here, and renew those you have so

unreflectingly abandoned beyond the Mississippi. I shall not

represent this conversation to Mr. Effingham in a manner to create

any unnecessary prejudices against you; and while I thank you, as

every woman should, for an offer that must infer some portion, at

least, of your good opinion, you will permit me again to wish you all

lawful success in your western enterprises."

 

Eve gave Mr. Bragg no farther opportunity to renew his suit; for, she

curtsied and left him, as she ceased speaking. Mr. Dodge, who had

been a distant observer of the interview, now hastened to join his

friend, curious to know the result, for it had been privately

arranged between these modest youths, that each should try his

fortune in turn, with the heiress, did she not accept the first

proposal. To the chagrin of Steadfast, and probably to the reader's

surprise, Aristabulus informed his friend that Eve's manner and

language had been full of encouragement.

 

"She thanked me for the offer, Mr. Dodge," he said, "and her wishes

for my future prosperity at the west, were warm and repeated. Eve

Effingham is, indeed, a charming creature!"

 

"At the west! Perhaps she meant differently from what you imagine. I

know her well; the girl is full of art."

 

"Art, sir! She spoke as plainly as woman could speak, and I repeat

that I feel considerably encouraged. It is something, to have had so

plain a conversation with Eve Effingham."

 

Mr. Dodge swallowed his discontent, and the whole party soon

embarked, to return to the village; the commodore and general taking

a boat by themselves, in order to bring their discussions on human

affairs in general, to a suitable close.

 

That night, Sir George Templemore, asked an interview with Mr.

Effingham, when the latter was alone in his library.

 

"I sincerely hope this request is not the forerunner of a departure,"

said the host kindly, as the young man entered, "in which case I

shall regard you as one unmindful of the hopes he has raised. You

stand pledged by implication, if not in words, to pass another month

with us."

 

"So far from entertaining an intention so faithless, my dear sir, I

am fearful that you may think I trespass too far on your

hospitality."

 

He then communicated his wish to be allowed to make Grace Van

Cortlandt his wife. Mr. Effingham heard him with a smile, that showed

he was not altogether unprepared for such a demand, and his eye

glistened as he squeezed the other's hand.

 

"Take her with all my heart, Sir George," he said, "but remember you

are transferring a tender plant into a strange soil. There are not

many of your countrymen to whom I would confide such a trust, for I

know the risk they run who make ill-assorted unions--"

 

"Ill-assorted unions, Mr. Effingham!"

 

"Yours will not be one, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, I

know; for in years, birth and fortune, you and my dear niece are as

much, on an equality as can be desired: but it is too often an ill-

assorted union for an American woman to become an English wife. So

much depends on the man, that with one in whom I have less confidence

than I have in you, I might justly hesitate. I shall take a

guardian's privilege, though Grace be her own mistress, and give you

one solemn piece of advice--always respect the country of the woman

you have thought worthy to bear your name."

 

"I hope always to respect every thing that is hers; but, why this

particular caution?--Miss Van Cortlandt is almost English in her

heart."

 

"An affectionate wife will take her bias in such matters, generally

from her husband. Your country will be her country, your God her God.

Still, Sir George Templemore, a woman of spirit and sentiment can

never wholly forget the land of her birth. You love us not in

England, and one who settles there will often have occasion to hear

gibes and sneers on the land from which she came--"

 

"Good God, Mr. Effingham, you do not think I shall take my wife into

society where--"

 

"Bear with a proser's doubts, Templemore. You will do all that is

well-intentioned and proper, I dare say, in the usual acceptation of

the words; but I wish you to do more; that which is wise. Grace has

now a sincere reverence and respect for England, feelings that in

many particulars are sustained by the facts, and will be permanent;

but, in some things, observation, as it usually happens with the

young and sanguine, will expose the mistakes into which she has been

led by enthusiasm and the imagination. As she knows other countries

better, she will come to regard her own with more favourable and

discriminating eyes, losing her sensitiveness on account of

peculiarities she now esteems, and taking new views of things.

Perhaps you will think me selfish, but I shall add, also, that if you

wish to cure your wife of any homesickness, the surest mode will be

to bring her back to her native land."

 

"Nay, my dear sir," said Sir George, laughing, "this is very much

like acknowledging its blemishes."

 

"I am aware it has that appearance, and yet the fact is otherwise.

The cure is as certain with the Englishman as with the American; and

with the German as with either. It depends on a general law which

causes us all to over-estimate by-gone pleasures and distant scenes,

and to undervalue those of the present moment. You know I have always

maintained there is no real philosopher short of fifty, nor any taste

worth possessing that is a dozen years old."

 

Here Mr. Effingham rang the bell, and desired Pierre to request Miss

Van Cortlandt to join him in the library. Grace entered blushing and

shy, but with a countenance beaming with inward peace. Her uncle

regarded her a moment intently, and a tear glistened in his eye,

again, as he tenderly kissed her burning cheek.

 

"God bless you, love," he said--"'tis a fearful change for your sex,

and yet you all enter into it radiant with hope, and noble in your

confidence. Take her, Templemore," giving her hand to the baronet,

"and deal kindly by her. You will not desert us entirely I trust I

shall see you both once more in the Wigwam before I die."

 

"Uncle--uncle--" burst from Grace, as, drowned in tears, she threw

herself into Mr. Effingham's arms; "I am an ungrateful girl, thus to

abandon all my natural friends. I have acted wrong----"

 

"Wrong, dearest Miss Van Cortlandt!"

 

"Selfishly, then, Sir George Templemore," the simple-hearted girl

ingenuously added, scarcely knowing how much her words implied--

"Perhaps this matter night be reconsidered."

 

"I am afraid little would be gained by that, my love," returned the

smiling uncle, wiping his eyes at the same instant. "The second

thoughts of ladies usually confirm the first, in such matters. God

bless you, Grace;--Templemore, may Heaven have you, too, in its holy

keeping. Remember what I have said, and to-morrow we will converse

further on the subject. Does Eve know of this, my niece?"

 

The colour went and came rapidly in Grace's cheek, and she looked to

the floor, abashed.

 

"We ought then to send for her," resumed Mr. Effingham, again

reaching towards the bell.

 

"Uncle--" and Grace hurriedly interposed, in time to save the string

from being pulled. "Could I keep such an important secret from my

dearest cousin!"

 

"I find that I am the last in the secret, as is generally the case

with old fellows, and I believe I am even now _de trop_."

 

Mr. Effingham kissed Grace again affectionately, and, although she

strenuously endeavoured to detain him, he left the room.

 

"We must follow," said Grace, hastily wiping her eyes, and rubbing

the traces of tears from her cheeks--"Excuse me, Sir George

Templemore; will you open----"

 

He did, though it was not the door, but his arms. Grace seemed like

one that was rendered giddy by standing on a precipice, but when she

fell, the young baronet was at hand to receive her. Instead of

quitting the library that instant, the bell had announced the

appearance of the supper-tray, before she remembered that she had so

earnestly intended to do so.