My efforts were of little avail, being greeted by a renewal of the attack, which came on with redoubled force. So, having heard that such disorders might be quelled by distracting the mind of the victim to some interesting topic foreign to the cause of the convulsion, I began a description of the catacombs.
Again I failed to calm her. She cried out some words too indistinct for interpretation, but by her pitiful gesticulations I made out that she desired me to speak no farther upon either subject, and to leave her for a time, while she endeavored to compose herself.
Therefore, I retired to the end of the veranda, where I remained while she arose, and, with feeble steps, paced up and down the path to the gate in the cool starlight. Ever and anon the symptoms of her malady broke out afresh, but the outbursts recurred with less and less violence, until, after the 66 lapse of half an hour, or thereabouts, she was enabled to rejoin me.
She offered some embarrassed apologies; but I spared her maidenly confusion by ordering my bearing as if nothing unusual had occurred, promptly resuming the description of the catacombs where I had left off. This I followed with one of those disquisitions formerly made for Mr. Gray, one which the follies of Fentriss had prevented her from hearing; and it was not long before she was completely restored, and her features resumed their previous aspect of distress.
During the four or five delightful hours that followed — in brief, throughout the remainder of our interview — the signals of her color increased, until, knowing that they must be visible, and unable to conceal her agitation, she excused herself and withdrew.
After such an evening who can wonder that I was fearful lest she break down altogether when it came to the farewells of the following afternoon? However, my apprehensions wronged that power of dissimulation, in the presence of third parties, of which her sex so invariably shows itself mistress, and at the final moment she contrived to bear up with surprising fortitude and courage.
But Mr. Gray — that good old man, Mr. Gray! Ah, there was a parting indeed! The tears stood in his eyes; he said “goodbye” a thousand times, murmuring under his breath words which I could not catch, growing more mixed and incoherent every moment, and finally quite giving way to his emotions.
Ah, how wonderfully, little by little, do the seeds of affection grow! Thus, at the beginning of that summer, Mr. Gray and I were nothing to each other. But, drop by drop, I had watered the simple herb of his attachment till it spread and blossomed into a beautiful and wondrous flower. There was not much in common between us; often I felt his mind unable to accompany mine to those higher pinnacles of thought whereunto my own desired to flee, and, after arrival, perch; nor can I say that I ever gave him my whole confidence or friendship; yet the good old mans devotion touched me.
His fingers worked convulsively, so that he had to clinch them tight to hide it. And one of the clearest and most vivid pictures which memory brings of my youth is that which comes before me now, as fresh as though it all happened yesterday: of the good old man (when I turned and looked back from the road) standing there by the steps, his right hand outstretched to wave me farewell, his fingers still clinched to conceal his emotion.
His arm dropped to his side as I turned, and confusion overspread his countenance; for men do not willingly exhibit their deepest feelings. So I left him there in his trouble, with his mouth open.
CHAPTER VII. THE INTERVIEW
I FOUND WILLIAM Fentriss already arrived at Nassau Hall. Although we rarely met, and had little to do with each other, I made out that, so far as his manner in public was an exponent of his condition, his downfall had no improving effect upon him. To all appearances he had recovered every whit of his pristine jauntiness; he was no less impertinent and easy, betraying a consciousness of the disgrace of his wrong-doing by neither those attitudes of shame to which his uncle had alluded nor by visible contrition of the countenance — not he! — nor by moral conduct and a diligent energy at his books. Nevertheless, I learned that he was indifferent to that society he had formerly sought with eagerness in the surrounding country, for now he shunned the ladies, to spend his time dawdling about the country-side on long, lonely rambles, wearing, in spite of the gay exterior he presented in company, a face as long and as lonely as his peregrinations. The demonstration of his true condition, affording ample proof that his gayety covered a secretly gnawing chagrin, was revealed to me through an accident.
On late afternoons, when the bright, declining rays of the sun announced that the day’s work was over, and the idler spirits might have been observed playing at toss behind the imposing pile of Nassau, the more dissolute risking the tutor’s detection at pitch-the-penny in their chambers, it was my habit to repair to the burying-ground for the purpose of varying my mental activities and preparing my faculties for the night’s study by contemplation of the headstones and speculations concerning the eternal punishment of many whose bones reposed beneath.
Seated upon a slab in that soothing spot one pleasant evening, toward twilight, I was occupied in thus recuperating my energies, when my meditations were disturbed by a long-drawn, mournful sigh, of such profundity it almost might have been designated sonorous. The sound, emanating as it did from an unseen source, bore with it, in those surroundings, some measure of alarm, especially as I had believed myself quite solitary. Hence I sat quite still for several moments, while the slab became cold enough to chill my spine, when the sigh fell upon my ears a second time. At that, summoning my temerity, I got to my feet and, moving cautiously, parted some bushes in front of me and peeked through. What was my astonishment to be rewarded by the sight of William, leaning on the fence with an air of complete dejection, his eyes as vacant and troubled as those of a strayed animal.
He retained his dolorous posture for a long time; then, without having been aware of my presence, he departed, sighing as he went, and bending his steps in the direction of Rocky Hill, instead of returning to the village, although it was now the hour for the evening meal and the gloom of dusk was settling down. Often, afterwards, being now on the lookout, I saw him pass that way (always fondly believing himself unobserved), with the same crestfallen and melancholy look, his head bowed on his breast.
The knowledge in this wise afforded me, that his public demeanor was but the mask of a proud trickster, presented me a topic for some not unpleasant reflections. ’Tis well for impudence to realize that, hide as it may under the finest surface, it is no continuing rival for true merit and intelligent attainment.
The term wore on; the holidays were at hand. It was late of a windy night in December, and I had almost completed my preparations for retiring, when there came a knock at the door. Candle in hand, I drew the bolt, and there, to my astonishment, stood William Fentriss.
I gazed upon him forbiddingly, and inquired his pleasure.
He coolly entered, and, dropping at halflength into my easy-chair, crossed his legs in an attitude of foppish languor, placed the tips of the fingers of his two hands lightly together, and looked at me quaintly, with the faint apparition of a smile in his eyes and on his lips.
“I petition for a word with the master of all learning,” he said, assuming a cheerfulness which well I knew he could not feel. “What a charming nightcap you wear! Faith, there’d be conquests a-plenty if you wore it by day! Ah, if only the ladies—”
I interrupted him. “I think the subject of conquests may be a sore one for you in my presence. You exhibit a praiseworthy fortitude in referring to it.”
He stared at me a moment. “You give me my just deserts,” he rejoined, slowly. “That was well said. We will leave conquests out of our conversation, then, if you please. And may I suggest that you shut the door before you take a cold in that light, though becoming, drapery of yours, Mr. Sudgeberry?”
I took a comfort from my bed, and, folding it round me, at the same time eying him sternly, again requested his business with me.
“I thought it possible that you might consent to my company on the journey home for the holidays,�
�� he answered. “I suppose you are going?”
“Certainly, sir,” I said.
“If I may make so bold, Mr. Sudgeberry, are you going by coach?”
“No, sir; I shall travel upon the back of a horse my father sends for the purpose.”
“Good! You will travel upon the back of a horse your father sends for the purpose. Now, I live with my uncle, as you may have been so kind as to notice, and my uncle is to send up one of my horses for the same purpose, as regards the back, you observe, that your father designs yours. Well, the roads are vile, the weather is treacherous, and Dr. Finley has ordained that no one, under horrid penalties, may depart until noon of the 24th. Therefore, to reach home for Christmas, we shall be compelled to leave here immediately upon the stroke of twelve; and, the roads and weather being what they are, we stand a chance of riding late into the night, or even of being detained at some way-side tavern until morning. In this, or any case, I offer you my poor company. And also,” he continued, with a twinkling glance at me, “we might encounter some gentlemen who would be glad to relieve us of our purses, mayhap cut our invaluable throats. We should add to our safety by making the trip together. Do you think you could bear with me for the dozen hours or so?”
I turned the proposition over in my mind, all my inclinations naturally urging me to return a peremptory and decided refusal. On the other hand, I shrank from the contemplation of the journey, short though it was, in winter, without the assurance of company; and it should be borne in mind that Will and I were the only students who would be going that way. The thought of meeting rough fellows was exceedingly discomforting, the vision of a night attack in the lonely wastes presenting itself to me with horror; while my companion’s easy reference to a throat - cutting sent the very chills to my vitals.
I debated the matter carefully, but the considerations I have mentioned finally determined me to close with the offer, though with much reluctance, and I so informed him.
“Splendid! Splendid!” cries he, waving his hand to me. “Splendid, Mr. Sudgeberry! Have your saddle-bags packed and your nag waiting by noon of the 24th, and then, faith! — sola, for home!”
His gayety sprang tip suddenly, then as suddenly fell and passed out of him, so that in the same instant he turned a white, tired face upon me, one much older than he had worn in June. He went to the door, bidding me good-night in a melancholy voice:
“Sleep without dreams, Mr. Sudgeberry. Pray for me! Nymph, at thine orisons remember—’ Good-night, sir!”
It was long before I slept that night; not only because William Fentriss’s remarks had aroused an uneasiness and fear of misadventure by the way, which insisted upon recurring to my wakeful intellect, loath as I was to dwell upon such a subject, but I feared I had been hasty in my decision, and I was much disturbed to think that I might be seen, perchance by folk from our parts, with this wild, reputationless fellow for my companion.
There was one contingency which I deemed too remote to cause me any anxiety. Mr. Gray and his daughter were in New York, and meant to return — as my advices from home let me know — the day before Christmas. William and I should be several hours ahead of them, and our chance of meeting was so exceedingly slight that, though I had no mind the Grays should see me riding in such company, I dismissed the possibility from my meditations.
I resolved, moreover, that when we came into our own neighborhood I would make some excuse to drop behind and ride separately; and I hoped that whoever might see us together would put the best construction on my conduct, and judge that I accompanied the prodigal in the hope of improving his courses and directing the irregular channels of his mind.
I was the more tranquil because of my assurance that William had no inkling of the information I possessed — that is, of the present whereabouts and intended journey of Mr. Gray and Miss Sylvia. My own family wrote me that it had come to them by accident, and, since the night of Vawter’s visit, there had been no communication between the households of Fentriss and Gray. Mr. Gray had gone off suddenly to New York on an errand of business, taking his daughter with him, and setting his return for Christmas Eve.
Deliberating upon these and other matters, and repeating to myself fragments connected with the morrow’s scholarly duties, I finally closed mine eyes in profound slumber.
CHAPTER VIII. THE JOURNEY
PROMPTLY AT NOON of the 24th I was cantering down Nassau Street on the good Jeremiah, and looking about for William Fentriss, who was nowhere to be seen. I may state here that my observation seldom has been in fault, and I have often remarked that those who most emphatically impress upon others the necessity for promptitude are most apt themselves to be dilatory. I was internally commenting on this fact with appropriate severity, when I caught sight of Dr and Mrs. Finley coming up the street, and beside them, chatting merrily, William Fentriss, clad, with his usual worldliness, in a long, white great-coat, open at the throat to show a heavy fall of lace. Beholding me, he waved his hat, and, turning to Mrs. Finley, kissed her hand in farewell with all the outlandish airs of a man of fashion. Nevertheless, the doctor only laughed.
Will mounted a large, black horse, held in waiting at the corner, and, sending a loud view-halloo ringing on the winter air, set his steed in motion to join me; so we presently left the village at a lively gait. Once out on the country road, however, we were forced to pull into a mild canter, and by the time we crossed Stony Brook settled down to a dull jog-trot.
The day was frosty, the sky overcast; rain had fallen all the previous night, but a chill wind, springing up and whistling about our ears uncomfortably, stiffened the mud to that intolerable heaviness through which rapid progress is impossible for the stoutest beast. Presently a thin, damp snow began to fall, and I thought the prospect of reaching our destination that evening blank indeed; certainly we should be upon the road till after nightfall.
These considerations had little effect upon the liveliness of my companion, which had come up in him extraordinarily. He seemed to be in the most cheerful spirits, carolling and singing, and hailing everybody we met with some frivolity or nonsense in regard to Christmas cheer; and especially was this the case when the person happened to be a carter or farmer with a rosy-cheeked lass alongside. At such times William would never leave off calling out compliments till they were fairly out of hearing, while I, inexpressibly mortified, would muffle my face in the cape of my great-coat, hoping to escape identification.
At the very start I had a feeling — nay, a strong presentiment — that this reckless fellow would disgrace me permanently ere our journey were done; and my impression grew stronger at the tavern in Trenton, where we were forced to stop to warm our numbed limbs, and where I overheard him commanding hot toddy for all the loungers of the bar, and, immediately after, leading the stentorian chorus of a wassail song-which made me shudder to the bone.
As if that were not enough, after having wasted half an hour in such a fashion, when we once more set off on our way a score or more of disreputable, red-nosed idlers paraded out in front of the tavern and cheered us, to my supreme embarrassment. Simultaneously, my companion publicly chucked a young maid under the chin.
At that I covered my face completely, and, clapping spurs to my horse’s sides, galloped away as fast as could be, for I had acquaintances in Trenton that I would liefer beheld me dead than in such society, or connected with these scandalous goings-on.
The wind had increased to such velocity (shifting its quarter till it blew now in our faces), and we had squandered so much time in the town, that it was after three o’clock of the afternoon when we reached the ferry. Finding ourselves again in motion, on the other side of the Delaware, it came on to snow very hard; and the earth being soon covered with white the roads became more difficult than before» the drifts rendering the footing treacherous. Nevertheless, we urged forward as fast as able.
I stuck my chin in my collar, and settled upon many improving subjects for the conversations which I would have by Mr. Gray’s fireside. I
also selected the terms in which to couch my declaration to Miss Sylvia.
These matters determined, I should have turned from my musings, and, despite the unfruitfulness of the soil for good seed, should have essayed an endeavor to inculcate moral principles in the youth beside me; but whenever I opened my mouth to speak the wind flew in so quickly as to take the words back into my throat before they were uttered.
Indeed, the storm had grown fierce to such degree that Fentriss now rode in silence, his face muffled up so that only his eyes showed, though ever and anon he slapped his arms about for warmth, and gave vent to ejaculations the tenor of which I gathered to be anathematical of the weather. Dusk closing in early, our journey became the more difficult, our progress slower and slower. We were nearly overcome with cold, and quite exhausted, when we reached the King George Inn, and, seeking a temporary refuge, thawed our extremities in the tap-room. The landlord warned us against continuing our journey on such a night, but we ventured again into the tempest, deciding to go on to Hoag’s Tavern, some five miles distant, where, in case there was no abatement of the external violence, we could spend the night.
It had by this time grown so bitter that no covering afforded protection from the blast, and our horses stumbled wearily as they picked their way through the drifts and over the uneven ground. Darkness fell upon us with a malevolent solidity, like a black bag cast over the head; the wind howled across the fields and shrieked dismally among the trees. The loneliness of the sound, in those terrifying solitudes, would have given rise to a tremor in the stoutest heart, and caused all the idle tales of travellers waylaid and murdered to recur, with appalling force, to the most serious and scholarly mind.
Collected Works of Booth Tarkington Page 39
