Say and Seal, Volume II. Warner Susan

sha'n't?" he said bending down by her, as they reached the door,—"your face has no idea of being cold!—I'll take care of Jerry, child—if I don't forget him in my own pleasant thoughts."

      Faith threw off her cloak and furs on the hall table where some others lay, and pulled off one glove.

      "Keep them both on!" Mr. Linden said softly and smiling,—"enact Portia for once. Then if you are much urged, you can gracefully yield your own prejudices so far as to take off one."

      She looked at him, then amusedly pulled on her glove again; and the door was opened for them into a region of warmth and brightness; where there were all sorts of rejoicings over them and against the cold night. Mr. Linden was by force persuaded to wait till after coffee before braving it again; and the Judge and his daughter fairly involved Faith in the meshes of their kindness. A very mouse Faith was to-night, as ever wore gloves; and with a little of a mouse's watchfulness about her, fancying cat's ears at every corner. A brown mouse too; she had worn only her finest and best stuff dress. But upon the breast of that, a bunch of snowy Laurustinus, nestling among green leaves, put forth a secret claim in a way that was very beautifying. The Judge and Miss Sophy put her in a great soft velvet chair and hovered round her, both of them conscious of her being a little more dainty than usual. Sophy thought perhaps it was the Laurustinus; her father believed it intrinsic.

      The coffee came, and the doctor.

      "I have something better for you than Portia to-night"—he said as he dealt out sugar,—"though not something better than muffins."

      "Faith, my dear child," said Miss Sophy,—"you needn't be so ceremonious—none of us are wearing gloves."

      Faith laughed and blushed and pulled off one glove.

      "You are enacting Portia, are you?" said Dr. Harrison. "Even she would not have handled wigs with them. I see I have done mischief! But the harm I did you last night I will undo this evening. Ladies and Gentlemen!—I will give you, presently, the pleasure of hearing some lines written expressive of my wishes toward the unknown—but supposed—mistress of my life and affections. Any suggestions toward the bettering of them—I will hear."

      "The bettering of what?" said Mrs. Somers,—"your life and affections?"

      "I am aware, my dear aunt Ellen, you think the one impossible—the other improbable. I speak of bettering the wishes."

      "'Unknown but supposed'"—said Mr. Linden. "'Item—She hath many nameless virtues'."

      "That is not my wish," said the doctor gravely looking at him, "I think nameless virtues—deserve their obscurity!"

      "What do you call your ideal?"

      "Psyche,—" said the doctor, after a minute's sober consideration apparently divided between Mr. Linden's face and the subject.

      "That is not so uncommon a name as Campaspe," said Mr. Linden, with a queer little gesture of brow and lips.

      "Who is Campaspe?" said the doctor; while Faith looked, and Miss Essie's black eyes sparkled and danced, and everybody else held his coffee cup in abeyance.

      "Did you never hear of my Campaspe?" said Mr. Linden, glancing up from under his brows.

      "We will exchange civilities," said the doctor. "I should be very happy to hear of her."

      Laughing a little, his own cup sending its persuasive steam unheeded, his own face on the sparkling order—though the eyes looked demurely down,—Mr. Linden went on to answer.

         "'Cupid and my Campaspe played

      At cards for kisses; Cupid payed;

      He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,

      His mother's doves, and teame of sparrows;

      Loses them too; then down he throws

      The coral of his lippe, the rose

      Growing on's cheek, (but none knows how)

      With these, the crystal of his browe,

      And then the dimple of his chinne;

      All these did my Campaspe winne.

      At last he set her both his eyes,—

      She won, and Cupid blind did rise.

      O Love! has she done this to thee?

      What shall, alas! become of me!'"

      There was a general little breeze of laughter and applause. The doctor had glanced at Faith;—her colour was certainly raised; but then the old Judge had just bent down to ask her "if she had ever heard of Campaspe before?" The doctor did not hear but he guessed at the whisper, and saw Faith's laugh and shake of the head.

      "Is that a true bill, Linden?"

      "Very true,—" said Mr. Linden, trying his coffee. "But it is not yet known what will become of me."

      "What has become of Campaspe?"

      "She is using her eyes."

      "Are they those eyes, Mr. Linden?" said Miss Essie coming nearer and using her own.

      "What was the colour of Cupid's?"

      "Blue, certainly!"

      "Miss Derrick!"—said the doctor,—"let us have your opinion."

      Faith gave him at least a frank view of her own, all blushing and laughing as she was, and answered readily,—"As to the colour of Cupid's eyes?—I have never seen him, sir."

      The doctor was obliged to laugh himself, and the chorus became general, at something in the combination of Faith and her words. But Faith's confusion thereupon mastered her so completely, that perhaps to shield her the doctor requested silence and attention and began to read; of a lady who, he said he was certain, had borrowed of nobody—not even of Cupid.—

         "'Whoe'er she be,

      That not impossible she,

      That shall command my heart and me.'"

      "I believe she is impossible, to begin with," said Miss Essie. "You will never let any woman command you, Dr. Harrison."

      "You don't know me, Miss Essie," said the doctor, with a curiously grave face, for him.

      "He means—

      'Who shall command my heart—not me.'"

      said Mr. Linden.

      "If she can command my heart—what of me is left to rebel?" said the doctor.

      "Sophy," said Mrs. Somers, "how long has Julius been all heart?"

      "Ever since my aunt Ellen has been all eyes and ears. Mr. Somers, which portion of your mental nature owns the supremacy of your wife? may I inquire, in the course of this investigation?"

      "Ha!" said Mr. Somers blandly, thus called upon—"I own her supremacy, sir—ha—in all proper things!"

      "Ha! Very proper!" said the doctor.

      "That is all any good woman wants," said the old Judge benignly. "I take it, that is all she wants."

      "Then you must say which are the proper things, father!" said MissSophy laughing.

      "You'll have to ask every man separately, Sophy," said Mrs. Somers,—"they all have their own ideas about proper things. Mr. Somers thinks milk porridge is the limit."

      "Mr. Stoutenburgh," said the doctor, "haven't you owned yourself commanded, ever since your heart gave up its lock and key?"

      "Yes indeed," said the Squire earnestly,—"I am so bound up in slavery that I have even forgotten the wish to be free! All my wife's things are proper!"

      "O hush!" his wife said laughing, but with a little quick bright witness in her eyes, that was pretty to see. Dr. Harrison smiled.

      "You see, Miss Derrick!" he said with a little bow to her,—"there is witness on all sides;—and now I will go on with my not impossible she."—

      He got through several verses, not without several interruptions, till he came to the exquisite words following;—

         "'I