Constance Woolson - Jupiter Lights

He then ate some plum-cake, and paid Eve compliments even more handsome than these.

After a while he imparted the news; he had been down to the landing to meet the afternoon steamer, which brought tidings from the outside world. “Melton is dead,” he said. “You know whom I mean? Melton, the great stockbroker; one of the richest men living, I suppose.”

“Oh! where is his soul now ?” said Mrs. Singleton. Her emotion was real, her sweet face grew pallid.

“Why, I have never heard that he was a bad man, especially,” remarked Eve, surprised.

“He was sure to be – making all that money; it could not be otherwise. Oh, what is his agony at this very moment!”

But Rupert did not sympathize with this mournfulness; when three ladies were present, conversation should be light, poetical. “Miss Bruce,” he said, turning towards Eve – he was so broad that that in itself made a landscape – “have you ever noticed the appropriateness of ‘County Guy’ to this neighborhood of ours?”

“No,” Eve answered. But the words brought her father to her mind with a rush: how often, when she was a child, had he beguiled a dull walk with a chant, half song, half declamation:

She looked at her host, but she did not hear him; a mist gathered in her eyes.

began the colossus, placing his plum-cake on his knee provisionally.

“The orange flower perfumes the bower; here we have the orange flower and the lea, the bower and the sea; and it’s very rarely that you find all four together. ‘The lark his lay who trilled all day’ – what music it is! There’s no one like Scott.”

His lameness prevented him from accompanying his guests on their walk back to the boat; he stood in the doorway leaning on his cane and waving a courtly farewell, while the chicken, with slowly considering steps, crossed the veranda and entered the drawing-room again.

“Miss Sabrina, please tell me what you know of Ferdinand Morrison,” Eve began, as soon as a turn in the road hid the old house from their view.

Miss Sabrina had expected to talk about the Singletons. “Oh, Mr. Morrison? we did not see him ourselves, you know.”

“But you must have heard.”

“Certainly, we heard. The Singletons are delightful people, are they not? So cultivated! Their house has always been one of the most agreeable on the Sound.”

“I dare say. But about Ferdinand Morrison?” Eve went on. For it was not often that she had so good an opportunity; at Romney, if there was no one else present, there were always the servants, who came in and out like members of the family. “Cicely met him first in Savannah, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” answered Miss Sabrina (but giving up the Singletons with regret); “she went to pay a visit to our cousin Emmeline; and there she met him. From the very beginning he appeared to be much in love with her, Cousin Emmeline wrote. And Cicely too – so we heard – appeared to care for him from the first day. At least Cousin Emmeline received that impression; Cicely, of course, did not take her into her confidence.”

“Why of course?”

“At that early stage? But don’t you think that those first sweet uncertainties are always private? Mr. Morrison used to come every day, and take her out for a drive; I have been in Savannah myself, and I have often thought that probably they went to Bonaventure — so delightful! At last, one evening, Cicely told Cousin Emmeline that she was engaged. And the next day she wrote to us. She did not come home; they were married there at Emmeline’s.”

“And none of you went to the wedding?”

“There were only father and I to go; we have not always been able to do as we wished,” replied Miss Sabrina, gently.

“Mr. Morrison had money, I suppose?”

“I think not; we have never been told so.”

“Didn’t you ask?”

“That was for Cicely, wasn’t it? I dare say she knows. We could only hope, father and I, that she would be happy; but I fear that she has not been, ah no.” And Miss Sabrina sighed.

“But we must not give it up so, she is still so young. Why don’t you write to Mr. Morrison yourself, and tell him, command him, to come back?” suggested Eve, boldly.

“But – but I don’t know where he is,” answered Miss Sabrina, bewildered by this sudden attack.

“You said South America.”

“But I couldn’t write, ‘Ferdinand Morrison, Esquire, South America.’”

“Some one must know. His relatives.”

“Yes, there is his brother, and a most devoted brother, we are told,” responded Miss Sabrina, speaking more fluently now that she had launched upon family affection. “Yes, indeed – from all we have heard of Paul Tennant, we are inclined to think him a most excellent young man. He may not have Ferdinand’s beauty (we are told that Ferdinand is remarkably handsome); and it is probable, too, that he has not Ferdinand’s cultivation, for he is a business man, and has always lived at the North. – I beg your pardon, my dear, I am sure,” said the Southern lady, interrupting herself in confusion.

“It doesn’t matter; the North won’t die of it. If you know where this brother is – But why has he a different name?”

“The mother, Mrs. Tennant, who was a widow with this one boy, Paul, married one of the Maryland Morrisons – I reckon you know the family. Ferdinand is the child of this second marriage. His father and mother are dead; his only near relative is this half-brother, Paul.”

“Write to Paul, then, and find out where Ferdinand is.”

“This is a plot, isn’t it?” answered Miss Sabrina, smiling. “But I like it; it’s so sweet of you to plan for our poor Cicely’s happiness.”

“You needn’t thank me! Then you will write?”

“But I don’t know where Mr. Tennant is either. – I dare say Cicely knows.”

“But if you ask her, she will suspect something. And if I ask her, it will be worse still! Doesn’t anybody in the world know where this Paul Tennant is?” said Eve, irritably.

“I think we heard that it was some place where it is very cold – I remember that. It might have been Canada,” suggested Sabrina, reflectively.

“Canada and South America – what a family!” said Eve, in despair.

The wind had risen, the homeward voyage was rough. They reached Romney to find little Jack ill; before morning he was struggling with an attack of croup.

“CICELY, what did you say to those people, that they stared at us so when they passed?”

“Oh, they asked me if you were the man who went round with the panorama – to explain it, you know. So I told them that you were the celebrated Jessamine family – you and Miss Leontine; and that you were going to give a concert in Gary Hundred to-night; I advised them to go.”

“Bless my soul! – the celebrated Jessamine family? What possessed you?”

“Well, they saw the wagon, and they thought it looked like a panorama. They seemed to want something, so I told them that.”

Eve broke into a laugh.

But the judge put on his spectacles, and walked round the wagon with indignant step. “It is an infernal color,” he declared, angrily.

“Our good Dickson had that paint on hand – he told me about it,” explained Miss Leontine. “It was left over” – here she paused. “I don’t know what you will think, but I believe it really was left over after a circus – or was it a menagerie? At any rate, the last thing that was exhibited here before the war.”