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The lover soon became a family topic, and mother, sister, and brother discussed the affair in all its bearings; all generally expressing themselves against the lieutenant's views, and yet at the same time all willingly granted that he was possessed of many estimable qualities. His manner was frank and open; he was fairly intelligent; his morals were above question; he appeared well related and had fair prospects; but he was an infidel ‐; this was the barrier between them and him.
"Oh, don't say his infidelity," said Lavinia, with some sign of impatience, as they were one day discussing the ever‐present topic. "I am sure Mr. Howell is not an infidel; and it is not fair to speak of him as such."
"No, sister," said William; "he may not be an infidel in the sense that he denies the Bible as in some way a book of history,
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and even of morals; but he does not recognize it as the authority in the matter of faith; nor does he believe in Christ. He cannot be called a Christian in any just sense."
"He confesses to a belief in God; and he believes that people ought to do right," replied Lavinia; "and he is himself perfectly correct, kind, and courteous. I don't know but I would rather have the 'works' any time than the 'profession.' I know many people professing to be Christians who are not so good as Mr. Howell is. I don't find any fault with him; I know he loves sister Hortense here; and I believe sister loves him," said she teasingly, "and when he comes to ask for her I am going to ask him to take me too;" and her silvery laugh rang out in sincere merriment.
Hortense blushed in reply and said,
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"Yes, you may do so when he asks for me. Don't you think so, ma?"
Mrs. Vanross was too close an observer not to know that Leonard was in love with Hortense, and that her daughter was returning his love; and was too good a mother not to be deeply concerned in her heart about it. She had watched the growth of their affection with real solicitude, but had guarded so perfect a silence respecting it that when Hortense appealed to her as above, she little suspected that her mother already shared the supposed secret. Love can never be hid, and is never lost. The heart may be double‐locked and double‐barred, but speak it will.
When Hortense, then, looked up into her mother's face with an attempt at gayety, and queried, "Don't you think so, ma?" Mrs. Vanross saw not the mock gayety that,
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spread itself as the very thinnest veil over her countenance and attitude, but she saw the wounded, struggling heart of her daughter that was crying for sympathy and help which her tongue dared not ask. However, she replied pleasantly:
"Suppose he should ask for the mother, and have both daughters thrown in for good measure. How would that do?"
At this little sally all laughed heartily; and the conversation continued in that tone and was reaching a high degree of merriment, when it was suddenly interrupted by a loud knock at the gate. It was Leonard. He had not overheard the conversation; for although the windows were open, and the house stood high enough from the ground to allow the sound to pass out to the street over the high, tight fence, and the ladies&apos; voices had become quite animated, yet, thanks to the distance ‐ as the
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house sat well back ‐‐ and the unearthly noises made by the venders with their cries of "Sweet taters," "Fresh," and "E‐oisters," Lieutenant Howell had heard from the house only some confused sounds, merry voices, and laughter.
I do not know by what occult force the mind and heart of one person, especially where love is concerned, seem to be able imperceptibly to throw their emanations in advance and set other persons to thinking and talkintg toward the very subject that occupies his own thoughts. Perhaps some day we shall know more about this mystery. How often do we open the door to greet loved ones to say to them truthfully,"Well I have been looking for you all day;" or, "we were just at this moment talking of you."
The thoughts which had been revolving in Lieutenant Howells' mind as he had
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slowly and silently walked from his hotel to the Vanross residence had already gone ahead of him, and had already made their impression upon the dwellers within. The first to respond to their train was the highly spiritual Lavinia. She had been the fairy forerunner preparing the way for him without herslef being aware of it.
Leonard's errand on this early evening was the most serious of all his life. His heart quaked less when detailed with a picket guard to watch some dangerous post than it did on that night as he awaired admission to this plain residence on Rutledge Street. He was to leave Charelston soon and this was to be his last visit to the family for the present. He came not to make a formal proposal to Hortense, for somehow he had begun to feel that he had already won her regard; but he came
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to comply with an honorable custom to which takes rank among the highest of social laws in Charleston, as indeed it should everywhere. He came to ask the consent of Mrs. Vanross to sue for the hand of her daughter. He flattered himself that the heart of Hortense was already on his side, but he desired to obtain the mother's consent and blessing.
Lieutenant Howell entered, recieving the usual cordial greetings, notwithstanding there was a blushing undertone which said as plainly as quiet actions could ‐ "we have been thinking of you." It was understood by the family that his stay in the city was well nigh over and they were expecting his leave‐taking at any time. Soon after his arrival, therefore, the whole family with a few nearby friends assembled in the parlor and on the piazza to do special honor to his visit. The young ladies and their
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brothers were more or less occupied during the early evening in giving attention to callers and to the special friends who had come to join the family in saying goodbye, which circumstance afforded a favorable opportunity for Leonard to engage the attention of Mrs. Vanross. It may be that Mrs. Vanross herself successfully planned the affair so that the desired interview might come as though by the ordinary turn of events. Whether such was the case or not, as soon as Leonard found himself alone with Mrs. Vanross, he summoned up his courage and began:
"Mrs. Vanroos will you permit me to speak with you freely for a moment about a matter of the very highest importance to myself?"
Despite his efforst to be dignified, there were evident signs of embarassment in his
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manner, which Mrs. Vanross perceiving relieved at once with that tact that can only spring from pure ladylike instinct. Turning to him her full view she answered with the utmost assuring cheerfulness:
"Certainly, Mr. Howell; I should only be too glad to have you do so."
Leonard, knowing that the moments were precious, went quite rapidly over the story of his love for Hortense, speaking in low tones, lest other ears might be aroused to listen, and ended it by saying:
"And now, Mrs. Vanross, I have made a clean breast of it, and I thank you for permitting me to say all to you. I love your daughter; I have no titles, honors, or riches; but I offer an honest heart and a true love; and I think enough of this world's goods to insure her a comfortable home; and I pledge upon my honor as a man, that I will do all in my power
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render her happy. I await your approval of my suit; may I hope to have it?"
Mrs. Vanross listened to his story with serious attention, and was fully satisfied as to the frankness and good faith of her would‐be son‐in‐law. In her eyes, he was not at all unworthy as to cultivation and morals; and she was satisfied with his business prospects, and yet she hesitated. She did not wish to oppose, and she was unwilling to favor. On the one side of the problem was a genuine affection which she could not disrespect; on the other an irreligious character which she feared. If she gave her approval she would be encouraging a union between her daughter and a person whose religious views she could not sanction, perhaps to bring great future sorrow to the entire family; if she declined the union nevertheless take place, or the life of her daughter nbe blasted by being denied the love of her heart. Mrs. Vanross, therefore, hesitated and begged for further time, intending to converse more pointedly with Hortense before giving her final answer.
"I must keep my dear girls with me as long as I can," she said. "I suppose I shall never part with them cheerfully; although, I know, I must do so at some time. And William, I do not know what he would do without 'Tonsy'. as he calls her."
"Oh, she will not be far away, and can come home often, and all can see her frequently. It is my purpose to make my home somewhere in this section, quite probably in Georgia," replied Leonard.
"Well, I must withold my answer for the present, at the same time I beg to assure you of my sincere esteem;" and as the young people were now disengaged no
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further opportunity was offered to continue the conversation.
Mrs. Vanross, although a most thorough Southerner, was not afflicted with any prejudices against "Yankees,"’ or Northerners, and was in no sense a narrow‐minded woamn. She thoroughly respected honsest affection&comma, as something almost divine; and she already believed the attachment between Lieutenant Howell and her daughter to be one of genuine love; hence, although she was not a little pained&comma, and would have wished it otherwise, she felt that she had neither the authority nor the power to command love; and she feared to throw herself against it lest she might be fighting against God.
As all present were fully aware of the tender attachment existing between Leonard and Hortense, they with very ppolite consideration allowed the two to share
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each other' society undisturbed during the greater part of the remainder of the evening. I do not think we ought to pry too curiously into what was either said or done by these two young people on that to them most memorable autumnal evening. Love casts over them its spotless darpery and very properly creates for them its world of two. Happy with each other let us not dare intrude.
Suffice it that although no formal engagement, such as it might serve as the basis of a breach‐of‐suit, was entered into, yet when the visit closed Leonard C. Howell knew that he was the accepted lover of Hortense Vanross; and she was both proud and happy to feel herself loved by him, and in her heart admitted an engagement from which there was no retreat. There had indeed been a heart engagement between them for a long time;
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but it had grown up so imperceptibly from beginnings impossible to date, that it had stolen upon them unawares ‐ especially in the case of Hortense. With her the feeling had never been confessed nor fairly recognized hiterto; but on this night it had reached that degree of vigor and maturity that compelled its expression. It asserted itself in such looks, tones, gestures and words, that when these two young people ended their conversation they were more than friends.
When the time for leave‐taking arrived all gave the parting hand except Hortense. All manifested interest and regard, but Hortense accompanied him to the gate. Standing by that gate as he was about to open it to be absent for months, perhaps for years, partly covered by the darkness of the evening, and protected from view by the shrubbery which lined the walks, holding her
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right hand in his, almost without thought his left sought her waist, and she was drawn to him in a loving clasp, her face twoards his, their lips met, and the opening kiss of a new love was born into the world.
Hortense re‐entered the old‐fashioned homestead no longer possessed of a whole heart. One half of her heart had gone with her lover; but more than half of his remained with her. Lieutenant Leonard C. Howell and Hortense Vanross were engaged.
CHAPTER VI.
It was a cool, clear, bracing December Sabbath. One of those rare winter days in Charleston, neither warm nor wet. As a rule the winter days there are either: if clear, unpleasantly warm, or if cloudy, most disagreeably cold and wet. But on this day the weather was at its best&perios; A cool north wind was blowing and the sun was shining brightly.
As usual with the Vanross family when the weather was favorable, all set out at the appointed hour for church. There was some special interest in the service to&hypen;day, growing out of the fact that the church building which had been occupied under military authority by missionaries
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who had come down from the North in the wake of the Union Army, was now turned over to the original congregation; and Dr. Caulfield, the former pastor, would preach his first sermon in it since the surrender. As this was the case generally with the churches of the city, there was a rallying of the local congregations.
Most of the churches were well filled, and the services were quite earnest generally, and in some instances, touchingly pathetic. Empty seats, veiled widows, weeping mothers, and sisters, and sweethearts, with thoughtful and pensive looks, told the sad story of the war. Husbands, brothers, and lovers had gone forth in support of a cause by them held dear, but had not returned. These weeping wives and mothers ‐&hypen; these thoughtful and pensive sweethearts and sisters who could not weep ‐‐ had lost their cause, and lost their loved ones with it.