Hearts Afire (5 page)

Sir Edward was intensely angry, and his dark eyes
glowed beneath their dropped lids with a passionate hate. But he left his
father with an assumed coldness and calmness which made him mutter as he
watched Sir Edward down the road. For the elder, judging his son by the
impetuosity of his own youthful temper, expected him to go directly to
Charlotte Morgan's house. But there were qualities in Sir Edward which his
father forgot to take into consideration, and their influence was to suggest to
the young man how inappropriate a visit to Charlotte would be at that time.
Indeed, he did not much desire it. He was very angry with Charlotte. He was
sure that she understood his entire devotion to her. He could not see any
necessity to set it forth as particularly as a legal contract, in certain set
phrases and with conventional ceremonies.

But his father's sarcastic advice annoyed him, and he wanted time to fully
consider his ways. He was no yellow coward; he was a fine swordsman, and he
felt that it would be a real joy to stand with a drawn rapier between himself
and his rival. But what if revenge cost him too much? What if he slew
Harleigh
, and had to leave his love and his home, and his
fine business prospects? To win Charlotte and to marry her, in the face of the
man whom he felt that he detested, would not that be the best of all
“satisfactions”?

He walked about the streets, discussing these points with himself, till the
shops all closed, and on the stoops of the houses in Brooklyn there were merry
parties of gossiping belles and beaux. As he returned to home. Half a dozen
gentlemen were standing before the King's Arms Tavern, discussing some
governmental statement in the “Weekly Mercury;” but though they asked him to
stop, and enlighten them on some legal point, he excused himself for that
night, and went toward
Harleigh
Daly's. He had
suddenly resolved upon a visit. Why should he put off until the tomorrow what
he might begin that night?

Still debating with himself, he came to a narrow road which ran to the
street, along the southern side of
Harleigh
Daly's
house. It was only a trodden path used by locals, and made by usage through the
unenclosed ground. But coming swiftly up it, as if to detain him, was
Harleigh
Daly. The two men looked at each other defiantly;
and Sir Edward said with a cold, meaning emphasis,—

“At your service, sir.”

“Sir Edward, at your service,”—and touching his sword,—“to the very hilt,
sir.”

“Sir, yours to the same extremity.”

Harleigh
Daly yawned delicately and took a pinch
of snuff.

“I fear you not; I very much fear you not. I would advise you to stay away
from Charlotte Morgan.” Sir Edward leaned toward
Harleigh
.

“Sir Edward, you are a little late;” and
Harleigh
pushed aside his embroidered coat in order to exhibit to Sir Edward the bow of
orange ribbon beneath it.

“I will stain it crimson in your blood,” said Sir Edward, passionately.

“Until that day, I have the felicity of wearing it;” and with an offensively
deep salute,
Harleigh
terminated the interview.

 
“
Love and a crown no
rivalship
can bear.
Love, love! Thou sternly dost thy power maintain
,
And wilt not bear a rival in thy reign
.”

The next morning Sir Edward's first emotion was not so much one of anger as
of exultation. The civilization of the Van
Heemskirk's
was scarce a century old; and behind them were generations of fierce men, whose
hands had been on their daggers for a word or a look. “I shall have him at my
sword's point;” that was what he kept saying to himself as he headed toward
Charlotte Morgan's house. The front-gate stood open; and he walked through it
to the back-stoop, where
Joris
Morgan was smoking.

Charlotte sat upon the steps of the stoop. Her head was in her hand, her
eyes red with weeping, her whole attitude one of desponding sorrow. But, at
this hour, Sir Edward was indifferent to adverse circumstances. He was moving
in that exultation of spirit which may be simulated by the first rapture of
good wine, but which is only genuine when the soul takes entire possession of
the man, and makes him for some rare, short interval lord of himself, and
contemptuous of all fears and doubts and difficulties. He never noticed that
Joris
was less kind than usual; but touching Charlotte, to
arouse her attention, said, “Come with me down the garden, my love.”

She looked at him wonderingly. His words and manner were strange and potent;
and, although she had just been assuring herself that she would resist his
advances on every occasion, she rose at his request and gave him her hand.

Then the tender thoughts which had lain so deep in his heart flew to his
lips, and he wooed her with a
fervour
and nobility as
astonishing to himself as to Charlotte. He reminded her of all the sweet
intercourse of their happy lives, and of the fidelity with which he had loved
her. “When I was a lad ten years old, and saw you first in your mother's arms,
I called you then my little wife. Oh, my Charlotte, my sweet Charlotte! Who is
there that can take you from me?”

“Sir Edward, like a brother to me you have been. Like a dear brother, I love
you. But your wife to be! That is not the same. Ask me not that.”

“Only that can satisfy me, Charlotte. Do you think I will ever give you up?
Not while I live.”

“No one will I marry. With my father and my mother I will stay.”

“Yes, till you learn to love me as I love you, with the whole soul.” He drew
her close to his side, and bent tenderly to her face.

“No, you shall not kiss me, Sir Edward,—never again. No right have you, Sir
Edward.”

“You are to be my wife, Charlotte?”

“That I have not said.”

She drew herself from his embrace, and stood leaning against an elm-tree,
watchful of Sir Edward, full of wonder at the sudden warmth of his love, and
half fearful of his influence over her.

“But you have known it, Charlotte, ay, for many a year. No words could make
the truth-plight truer. From this hour, mine and only mine.”

“Such things you shall not say.”

“I will say them before all the world. Charlotte, is it true that good for
nothing scoundrel is wearing a bow of your ribbon? You must tell me.”

“What mean you?”

“I will make my meaning plain. Is
Harleigh
Daly
wearing a bow of your orange ribbon?”

“Can I tell?”

“Yes. Do not lie to me.”

“A lie I would not speak.”

“Did you give him one? Yes an orange one!”

“Yes. A bow of my Christmas ribbon I gave him.”

“Why?”

“Me he loves, and him I love.”

“And he wears it at his breast?”

“On his breast I have seen it. Sir Edward, do not quarrel with him. Do not
look so angry. I fear you. My fault it is; all my fault, Sir Edward. Only to
please me he wears it.”

“You have more Christmas ribbons?”

“That is so.”

“Go and get me one. Get a bow, Charlotte, and give it to me. I will wait
here for it.”

“No, that I will not do. How false, how wicked I would be, if two lovers my
colors wore!”

“Charlotte, I am in great earnest. A bow of that ribbon I must have. Get one
for me.”

“My hands I would cut off first.”

“Well, then, I will cut
my bow
from
Harleigh's
breast. I will, though I cut his heart out with it.”

He turned from her as he said the words, and, without speaking to
Joris
, passed through the garden-gate to his own home. His
mother and Mrs. Gordon, and several young ladies and gentlemen were sitting on
the stoop, arranging for a turtle feast on the East River; and Sir Edward's
advent was hailed with ejaculations of pleasure. He affected to listen for a
few minutes, and then excused himself upon the “assurance of having some very
important writing to attend to.” But, as he passed the parlor door, his father
called him. The elder was casting up some kirk accounts; but, as Sir Edward
answered the summons, he carefully put the extinguisher on one candle, and
turned his chair from the table in a way which Sir Edward understood as an
invitation for his company.

A moment's reflection convinced Sir Edward that it
was his wisest plan to accede. It was of the utmost importance that his father
should be kept absolutely ignorant of his quarrel with
Harleigh
;
for Sir Edward was certain that, if he suspected their intention to fight, he
would invoke the aid of the law to preserve peace, and such a course would
infallibly subject him to suspicions which would be worse than death to his
proud spirit.

“Well, Sir Edward, my dear lad, you are early home. Where were you the
night?”

“I have just left Charlotte, sir, having followed your advice in my wooing.
I wish I had done so earlier.”

“Ay, ay; when a man is seventy years old, he has read the book of life,
specially the chapters about women, and he knows all about them. A bonnie lass
expects to have a kind of worship; but the service is
na
unpleasant, quite the contrary. Did you see
Harleigh
Daly?”

“We met near Broadway, and exchanged civilities.”

“A good thing to exchange.

“I see you are casting up the kirk accounts. Can I help you, father?”

“I have everything ready for the consistory. Sir
Edward, what is the good of us speaking of this and that, and thinking that we
are deceiving each other? I am very anxious about affairs between
Harleigh
Daly and yourself; and I'm afraid you'll be coming
to hot words, maybe to blows. My lad, my dear lad! You are the Joseph of my
sons; you are the joy of your mother's life. For our sake, keep a calm soul,
and don’t let a fool provoke you to break our hearts, and maybe send you into
God's presence uncalled and unblessed.

“Father, put yourself in my place. How would you feel toward
Harleigh
Daly?”

“Well, I'll allow that, I would not feel kindly. I
dont
feel kindly to him, even in my own place.”

“As you desire it, we will speak plainly to each other about this subject.
You know his proud and hasty temper; you know also that I am more like yourself
than like Moses in the way of meekness. Now, if
Harleigh
Daly insults me, what course would you advise me to adopt?”

“I wouldn’t give him the chance to insult you. I would keep out of his way.
There is nothing unusual or discreditable in taking a journey to Boston, to
look after the welfare of your brother Alexander.”

“Oh, indeed, sir, I cannot leave my affairs for an
insolent
and ungrateful fool! I ask your advice for the ordinary way of life, not for
the way that cowardice or fear dictates. If without looking for him, or
avoiding him, we meet, and a quarrel is inevitable, what then, father?”

“Ay, well, in that case, God prevent it! But in such a strait, my lad, it is
better to give the insult than to take it.”

“You know what must follow?”

“Who doesn’t know? Blood, if not murder. Sir Edward, you are a wise and
prudent lad; now, is not the sword of the law sharper than the rapier of
honor?”

“Law has no remedy for the wrongs men of honor redress with the sword. A man
may call me every shameful name; but unless I can show some actual loss in
money or money's worth, I have no redress. And suppose that I tried it, and
that after long sufferance and delays I got my demands, pray sir, tell me, how
can offences which have flogged a man's most sacred feelings be atoned for by
something to put in the pocket?”

“Society, Sir Edward”—

“Society, father, always convicts and punishes the man who takes an insult
on
view
, without waiting for his indictment or trial.”

“There ought to be a law, Sir Edward.”

“No law will administer itself, sir. The statute-book is a dead letter when
it conflicts with public opinion. There is not a week passes but you may see
that for yourself, father. If a man is insulted, he must protect his honor; and
he will do so until the law is able to protect him better than his own
strength.”

“There is another way—a more Christian way”—

“I am to turn the other cheek.”

“I didn’t say the like of that, Sir Edward. But I'm in such strait. But I'll
trust you to your prudence.”

“That is a good consolation, father.”

“It is all that I can do.”

“In such comfortable assurance, sir, I think we may say good-night. I have
business early in the morning, and may not wait for your company, if you will
excuse me so far.”

“Right; very right, Sir Edward. The dawn has gold in
its hand. I used to be an early worker myself; but I'm an
ald
man now, and may claim some privileges. Good-night, Sir Edward, and a
good-morning to follow it.”

Sir Edward then lit his candle; and, not forgetting that courteous salute
which the young then always rendered to honorable age, he went slowly upstairs,
feeling suddenly a great weariness and despair. If Charlotte had only been true
to him! He was sure, then, that he could have fought almost joyfully any
pretender to her favor. But he was deserted by the girl whom he had loved all
her sweet life. He was betrayed by a man who had crept in unaware, compelled to
hazard a life opening up with fair hopes of honor and distinction.

In the calm of his own chamber, through the silent, solemn hours, when the
world was shut out of his life, Sir Edward reviewed his position; but he could
find no Honorable way out of his predicament. Physically, he was as brave as
brave could be; morally, he had none of that grander courage. He was quite
sensible that his first words to
Harleigh
Daly that
night had been intended to provoke a quarrel, and he knew that he would be
expected to redeem them by a formal defiance. However, as the idea became
familiar, it became imperative; and at length it was with a fierce satisfaction
that he opened his desk and without hesitation wrote the decisive words: