Part 21 (1/2)
”Why, no; I believe it would be a better plan to dish it out by the quart to the individual tables,” he replied, absently; then seeing a puzzled look sweep over her face, he hastened to add: ”You know it would be more liable to melt if it was in such small quant.i.ties.”
The situation flashed at once upon the keen-eyed lady, and although flirtation, jealousy, music, and ice-cream was a combination sufficient to upset the gravity of a s.e.xton, yet she replied in a tone of perfect suavity while toying with her bracelet of jet and gold:
”A very good plan indeed, Mr. Warlow.”
When evening came, and with its brooding shadows the company dispersed, our hero returned home with a heavy heart. As he pondered over each word and action of Miss Estill, he had to confess that there was nothing in her demeanor towards him but friendly courtesy at all times. The only way that he could interpret her remark on the terrace, regarding their ”flirtation” and ”practicing,” was that she had seen his growing attachment for herself, and she had in that way shown him that it was only a flirtation, and that his case was hopeless. ”Yes; she was too genuinely a lady to encourage his suit, then discard him at the last moment,” he concluded, despondently.
A miserable day followed a sleepless night, and Clifford busied himself with the farm duties, trying vainly to forget the bewitching voice that was ever haunting him, and which, as he drove the reaper over the wild meadow, seemed to be singing above the clang and ring of the sickle the sweet refrain,--
”There blooms no rose upon the plain But costs the night a thousand tears,”--
in the tones of luscious melody that he never--no, never--could forget.
As he swung in the hammock again that evening, while Maud's guitar and the sweet strains of ”Silver Threads” lulled him into a drowsy reverie, he remembered suddenly the incident of the ”Moated Grange” which, Mora laughingly said, had secured her such ”a round scolding” because she had neglected her household duties through too much reading of that affecting poem. Why should she have felt such sympathy for the forlorn Mariana, unless the pathetic cry,
”'He cometh not--he cometh not,' she said,”
had found an echo in her heart also?
”Yes; she was heart-free, and waiting for some one to come and fill its empty chambers with the treasures of his love,” mentally concluded our hero in a flash of joyful conviction. But again the doubt and despondency prevailed; and in no very enviable mood he rode down to Estill's ranch alone the next day, to join the company that were to meet and practice for the coming musical festival, which now was the all-absorbing theme of the colony.
As he rode slowly along, Maud and Ralph pa.s.sed him in a gallop, flinging back some gay badinage--something about ”a laggard in love”--which he affected not to understand; then, as he saw Hugh and Grace cantering up the road behind, he put spurs to his horse, and arrived at the imposing mansion just in time to see young Downels and the military Stork alight from the latter's carriage, and, in the most amicable manner imaginable, both seek the young hostess and rain a shower of compliments upon her gracious head.
While these two devoted cavaliers, or rather charioteers--for they had ridden over in the barouche of Devondale, a vehicle sumptuous and costly--were engaged in a graceful skirmish of wit and verbiage with Miss Estill, our hero, after bowing coldly, pa.s.sed on to the piano, where Mrs. Estill was chatting in a good-natured strain with a group of friends.
”You are late, Mr. Warlow, and we have been waiting for some one to 'break the ice' at the piano,” she said, with her pleasing smile, as she shook hands with Clifford. ”Let's see,” she continued, ”the quartette, 'My Native Hills,' is the first on the programme, I am very eager to hear your tenor since Mrs. Warfield said you made her home-sick when you sang it at the Moreland rehearsal,” concluded the hostess, innocently.
”It would require a large b.u.mp of self-esteem to construe that into a compliment,” thought Clifford; but meeting Mrs. Warfield's amused look, he said, with a smile:--
”I hope her longing for home was not of the same nature as that which a hand-organ inspires, Mrs. Estill.”
”No, indeed, Mr. Warlow; but you will excuse my faulty compliment, and only remember that I've been totally isolated from society for a quarter of a century, and am apt to say the wrong thing in the right place.”
”There she goes again!” the face of Mrs. Warfield seemed to say; but Clifford only answered with polite gravity:--
”Thank you, Mrs. Estill. I shall never forget that you are very kind; and if Mrs. Warfield will promise not to leave at once we will proceed with the singing,” he added, with a twinkle of humor in his blue eyes.
”I will promise to stay as long as you are singing a tenor like an alpine horn,” replied Mrs. Warfield, graciously.
”Well! good-bye, then?” said Clifford, as he joined the singers; and soon his voice was heard, clear and ringing, like the soft tones of a church-bell in some quiet mountain valley--pealing out with soaring, crystal notes, or floating down the wind with a vibrant, thrilling sweetness, that caused even the garrulous major to pause and say at the end:--
”Why, pon honah, Miss Estill, this young Warlow is a wonderful singah; indeed he quite reminds me of Mario, the enchanting, velvet-toned tennah, you know, whom I often have heard at the grand opera--aw--in delightful Paree. What a pity that he is--aw--only a pooah homesteadah, or was until of late, I heah.”
”I am certain he is an earnest, industrious gentleman at all times, Major,” said Miss Estill, with just enough reproof in her tone to cause the dissolute aristocrat to wince; then, pausing, only to see that her arrow had hit the mark, she continued:--
”His father was a wealthy planter who was ruined financially by the war; but we certainly respect the energy that has enabled him to repair his fortunes and found such a delightful home, as you will find the Warlow homestead to be. His example should encourage others to a similar course, instead of remaining in the overcrowded East or South to struggle along, hopelessly, amid the scenes of their misfortune.”
”Ah! indeed--a plantah before the wah? Why, really, that is another mattah, Miss Estill. My fathah was also a plantah; but when the wah began he sold his n.i.g.g.ahs and left Kentuckah, but finally returned and located thah again.”
”You appear so sad, Mr. Downels, that I fear you are not enjoying our rehearsal,” said Mora, ignoring the transaction in ”n.i.g.g.ahs,” and turning with a questioning look to young Downels, who stood by her side yet, but seemingly lost in reverie since the music had ceased.
”Pardon the ungallantry, Miss Estill; but that song carried me back to the Hudson, and I almost fancied myself rambling over the hills and dales of my boyhood's home once again.” But his sadness was seen to melt into an amused smile as Grace sang in a rich brogue:--