From the face of his cousin the gaze of Richard wandered to the table, which was covered with letters, packets, and newspapers; then to the apartment and all it contained.
On the bed there was the impression that had been made by a human form, but the coverings were unmoved, and everything indicated that the occupant of the room had passed a sleepless night.
The candles had burned to the sockets, and had evidently extinguished themselves in their own fragments Marmaduke had drawn his curtains, and opened both the shutters and the sashes, to admit the balmy air “of a spring morning; but his pale cheek, his quivering lip, and his sunken eye presented altogether so very different an appearance from the usual calm, manly, and cheerful aspect of the Judge, that the sheriff grew each moment more and more bewildered with astonishment.
At length Richard found time to cast his eyes on the direction of the letter, which he still held unopened, crumpling it in his hand.
“What! a ship-letter!” he exclaimed; “and from England, ha!
‘Duke, there must be news of importance! indeed!”
“Read it,” said Marmaduke, pacing the floor in excessive agitation.
Richard, who commonly thought aloud, was unable to read a letter without suffering part of its contents to escape him in audible sounds.
So much of the epistle as was divulged in that manner, we shall lay before the reader, accompanied by the passing remarks of the sheriff:
“‘London, February 12, 1793.’
What a devil of a passage she had! but the wind has been northwest for six weeks, until within the last fortnight.
Sir, your favors of August 10th, September 23d, and of December 1st, were received in due season, and the first answered by return of packet.
Since the receipt of the last, I’ “—here a long passage was rendered indistinct by a kind of humming noise by the sheriff—” ‘I grieve to say that ‘—hum, hum, bad enough to be sure—’ but trusts that a merciful Providence has seen fit’—hum, hum, hum seems to be a good, pious sort of a man,
‘Duke; belongs to the Established Church, I dare say; hum, hum—’ vessel sailed from Falmouth on or about the 1st September of last year, and’—hum, hum, hum, ‘If anything should transpire on this afflicting subject shall not fail’—hum, hum; really a good-hearted man, for a lawyer—‘but Can communicate nothing further at present’—hum, hum.
‘The national convention’—hum, hum—‘unfortunate Louis’—hum, hum—‘example of your Washington’—a very sensible man, I declare, and none of your crazy democrats.
Hum, hum—‘our gallant navy’—hum, hum—‘under our most excellent monarch’—ay, a good man enough, that King George, but bad advisers: hum, hum—‘I beg to conclude with assurances of my perfect respect.’—hum, hum—‘Andrew Holt. ‘—Andrew Holt, a very sensible, feeling man, this Mr. Andrew Holt—but the writer of evil tidings.
What will you do next, Cousin Marmaduke?”
“What can I do, Richard, but trust to time, and the will of Heaven?
Here is another letter from Connecticut, but it only repeats the substance of the last.
There is but one consoling reflection to be gathered from the English news, which is, that my last letter was received by him before the ship sailed.”
“This is bad enough, indeed!
‘Duke, bad enough, indeed! and away go all my plans, of putting wings to the house, to the devil.
I had made arrangements for a ride to introduce you to something of a very important nature.
You know how much you think of mines—”
“Talk not of mines,” interrupted the Judge: “there is a sacred duty to be performed, and that without delay, I must devote this day to writing; and thou must be my assistant, Richard; it will not do to employ Oliver in a matter of such secrecy and interest.”
“No, no, ‘Duke,” cried the sheriff, squeezing his hand,
“I am your man, just now; we are sister’s children, and blood, after all, is the best cement to make friendship stick together.
Well, well, there is no hurry about the silver mine, just now; another time will do as well.
We shall want Dirky Van, I suppose?”
Marmaduke assented to this indirect question, and the sheriff relinquished all his intentions on the subject of the ride, and, repairing to the breakfast parlor, he dispatched a messenger to require the immediate presence of Dirck Van der School.
The village of Templeton at that time supported but two lawyers, one of whom was introduced to our readers in the bar-room of the “Bold Dragoon.” and the other was the gentleman of whom Richard spoke by the friendly yet familiar appellation of Dirck, or Dirky Van.
Great good-nature, a very tolerable share of skill in his profession, and, considering the circumstances, no contemptible degree of honesty, were the principal ingredients in the character of this man, who was known to the settlers as Squire Van der School, and sometimes by the flattering though anomalous title of the “Dutch” or “honest lawyer.”
We would not wish to mislead our readers in their conceptions of any of our characters, and we therefore feel it necessary to add that the adjective, in the preceding agnomen of Mr. Van der School, was used in direct reference to its substantive. Our orthodox friends need not be told that all the merit in this world is comparative; and, once for all, we desire to say that, where anything which involves qualities or characters is asserted, we must be understood to mean, “under the circumstances.”
During the remainder of the day, the Judge was closeted with his cousin and his lawyer; and no one else was admitted to his apartment, excepting his daughter.
The deep distress that so evidently affected Marmaduke was in some measure communicated to Elizabeth also; for a look of dejection shaded her intelligent features, and the buoyancy of her animated spirits was sensibly softened.
Once on that day, young Edwards, who was a wondering and observant spectator of the sudden alteration produced in the heads of the family, detected a tear stealing over the cheek of Elizabeth, and suffusing her bright eyes with a softness that did not always belong to their expression.
“Have any evil tidings been received, Miss Temple?” he inquired, with an interest and voice that caused Louisa Grant to raise her head from her needlework, with a quick ness at which she instantly blushed herself.
“I would offer my services to your father, if, as I suspect, he needs an agent in some distant place, and I thought it would give you relief.”
“We have certainly heard bad news,” returned Elizabeth, “and it may be necessary that my father should leave home for a short period; unless I can persuade him to trust my cousin Richard with the business, whose absence from the country, just at this time, too, might be inexpedient.”
The youth paused a moment, and the blood gathered slowly to his temples as he continued:
“If it be of a nature that I could execute-”
“It is such as can only be confided to one we know—one of ourselves.”
“Surely, you know me, Miss Temple!” he added, with a warmth that he seldom exhibited, but which did some times escape him in the moments of their frank communications.
“Have I lived five months under your roof to be a stranger?”
Elizabeth was engaged with her needle also, and she bent her head to one side, affecting to arrange her muslin; but her hand shook, her color heightened, and her eyes lost their moisture in an expression of ungovernable interest, as she said:
“How much do we know of you, Mr. Edwards?”
“How much!” echoed the youth, gazing from the speaker to the mild countenance of Louisa, that was also illuminated with curiosity; “how much Have I been so long an inmate with you and not known?”
The head of Elizabeth turned slowly from its affected position, and the look of confusion that had blended so strongly with an expression of interest changed to a smile.
“We know you, sir, indeed; you are called Mr. Oliver Edwards.
I understand that you have informed my friend Miss Grant that you are a native—”