The Youth of Jefferson Part 38

"Because--because--you call me an inexperienced youth; and--and--Ernest, it is not friendly in you!--no, it is not!--it is unjust--to treat me so!"

And Hoffland turned away like a child who is about to "have a cry."

Mowbray looked at the averted face for a moment, and saw two large tears clinging to the long dusky lashes. He experienced a strange sensation in the presence of this boy which he could not explain; it was half pity for his nervous weakness of temperament, half regret at having uttered he knew not what, to move him.

"Well, well, Charles," he said, "yours is a strange character, and I never know how to shape my discourse in your presence. You fly off at every thing, and I believe you are really shedding tears----"

"No, no," said Hoffland, hastily brus.h.i.+ng away the pearly drops; "don't look at me."

"I was wrong."

Hoffland sobbed.

"Forgive me, Charles--I will endeavor in future to avoid these occasions of dispute; forgive my harshness."

"You are forgiven," murmured Hoffland; and his sad face became again cheerful.

"I am not a very pleasant companion, I know," said Mowbray, smiling; "my own thoughts oppress me; but if I cannot be merry with you, I may at least forbear to wound your feelings."

"My feelings are not wounded, Ernest," Hoffland said, with a bright glance which shone like the sun after an April shower; "I only--only--thought you were not right in abusing Rosalind; and--and calling me 'an inexperienced youth!' I am not an inexperienced youth,"

he laughed; "but let us dismiss the subject. What oppresses you, Ernest? I can't bear to see you sad."

"My thoughts," said Mowbray.

"That is too general."

"It is useless to particularize."

And Mowbray's head drooped. As the pleasant May breeze raised the locks of his dark hair, his face looked very pale and sad.

"The subject of our discourse in the fields some days since?" asked Hoffland in a low tone.

"Yes," said Mowbray calmly.

A long silence followed this reply. Then Hoffland said:

"Why should that still annoy you? Men should be strong."

"Yes, yes."

"And yet you are weak."

"In my heart, very weak."

"You love her still?"

"Yes, yes; deeply, pa.s.sionately, far more than ever!" said Mowbray, unable to repress this outburst.

Hoffland seemed to be frightened by the vehemence of his companion, for he turned away his head, and colored to the temples.

"Can you not conquer your feelings?" he said at length.

"No."

"Make the attempt."

"I have made it."

"Why not go and see her again then? You will lose nothing."

"Go and see her? What! after being repelled with so much insult and coldness!--after being charged with base and mercenary motives!--after having my heart struck by a cruel and unfeeling accusation--my pride humbled by a misconception as humiliating as it was unjust! Never, Charles! My heart may break--I may feel through life the bitterness of the fate which separates us for ever--I may groan and rebel and struggle with my heart--but never again will I address one syllable to that proud girl, who has trampled on me, as she would upon a worm, and told me how degraded a being I was in her eyes--no, never!"

And pale, his forehead bathed with perspiration, his frame agitated, his eyes full of fire and regret, Mowbray turned away his head and rose.

Hoffland was silent, and yet the deep color in his cheeks betrayed the impression which his companion's pa.s.sionate words had made upon him.

In a few moments Mowbray had regained his calmness.

"Pardon me, Charles, for annoying you with these things," he said, with a last tremor in his voice; "but your question prompted me to speak. Let us not return to this subject; it afflicts me to speak of it, and there is no good reason why I should revive my sufferings. Let us go back, and endeavor in the pleasant suns.h.i.+ne to find some balm for all our grief. I do not despair of conquering my pa.s.sion, for all things are possible to human energy--this far at least. Come, let us return."

Calmly b.u.t.toning his coat, Mowbray took Charles's arm, and they bent their way back to town.

As for Hoffland, he seemed overcome by the vehemence of his companion, and for some time was completely silent. He seemed to be thinking.

As they approached the town, however, his spirits seemed to regain their customary cheerfulness, and he smiled.

"Well, well, Ernest," he said, "perhaps your grief may be cured in some other way than by strangulation. Let us not speak further of it, but admire the beautiful day. Is it not sweet?"

"Very," said Mowbray calmly.

"It is getting warm."

"Yes, Charles; summer is not far distant."

"Summer! I always liked the summer; but we have not then those beautiful blossoms--look how they cl.u.s.ter on the boughs, and what a sweet perfume!"

"Very sweet."

"Then another drawback of summer is its dust. I hate dust; and it is already beginning to invade my hands."

"Wear gloves then, Charles," said Mowbray, smiling at the boyish _navete_ of his companion's tone.

"I'd like to know how I can, without the money to buy them," said Hoffland; "you are very unreasonable, Mr. Mowbray!"

Mowbray smiled.

"Have you none?" he said.