"You are not moulded after the philanthropic model. But may I ask, what book was entertaining you so much?"
"Napier's Life of Montrose."
"And do you like it?"
"Indeed I do."
"And you like Montrose?"
"Certainly I like him."
"I could have sworn it. Do you remember his verses to the lady of his heart?"
"That I do," said Fanny Euston—
| "'Like Alexander I will reign, And I will reign alone; My heart shall evermore disdain A rival on my throne. He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, Who puts it not unto the touch, To win or lose it all. "'But if thou wilt be constant then, And faithful of thy word, I'll make thee famous by my pen, And glorious by my sword; I'll serve thee in such noble ways Was never heard before; I'll dress and crown thee all with bays, And love thee evermore.'" |
"Admirable! I thought I had a good memory, but you beat me hollow. You repeat the lines as if you liked them."
"Who would not like them?"
"And yet his fashion of wooing would be a little peremptory for the nineteenth century."
"There are no Montroses in the nineteenth century."
"They are out of date, like many a good thing besides. Not long ago, I saw some verses in a magazine—a kind of ballad on Montrose's execution."
"Can you repeat it?"
"I cannot compete with you; but I think I can give you a stanza or two:—
| "'The morning dawned full darkly, The rain came flashing down, And the jagged streak of the levin bolt Lit up the gloomy town: The thunder crashed across the heaven, The fatal hour was come; And ay broke in, with muffled beat, The 'larum of the drum. There was madness on the earth below, And anger in the sky, And young and old, and rich and poor, Came forth to see him die. "'But when he came, though pale and wan, He looked so great and high, So noble was his manly front, So calm his steadfast eye— The rabble rout forbore to shout, And each man held his breath, For well they knew the hero's soul Was face to face with death.'" |
Fanny Euston's eye kindled, as if at a strain of warlike music.
"Go on."
"I have forgotten the rest."
"Then pray find the verses and send them to me. Why is it that, as you say, such men are out of date?"
"What place, or what career, could they find in a commercial country?"
"Then why were we born in a commercial country?"
"You seem to make an ideal hero of Montrose."
"Not I. I am not the school girl you take me for. I have no ideal hero. I do not believe in ideal heroes. Montrose was a man, with the faults of a man; full of faults, and yet not a bad man either."
"Very far from it."
"He had great faults, but grand qualities to match them—worth a thousand of the small, tame, correct virtues that one sees hereabouts."
"Dangerous ideas, those, Mrs. Primrose would tell you."
"Deliver me from Mrs. Primrose!" ejaculated Fanny.
They rode in silence for a few minutes, Morton's companion murmuring to herself fragments of the lines which he had just repeated.
"Look!" she cried, suddenly. "How slowly our horses have been walking! The rest are almost out of sight. We had better join them. Will you race with me?"
"Any thing you please."
"Come on, then."
She touched her horse with the whip, and they set forward at full speed. Fanny, who was by far the better mounted, soon gained the day.
"Rein up," cried Morton, as they came near the party, "or your horse will startle the others."
Fanny drew the curb, but not quite successfully; and her rapid arrival produced some commotion. Stubb's horse, in particular, began to prance and curvet in a manner which greatly disturbed his rider's equanimity.
"Whoa! Whoa, boy!" said Stubb. "Steady, now! steady, sir! Whoa!"
Fanny's eyes twinkled with malicious delight. She had a great contempt for Stubb, who, on his part, was mortally afraid of her.
"That's a good horse of yours," pushing close to his side.
"Yes, a very fine horse, indeed. Steady, boy! Steady, now!"
"A capital horse; but he needs a spirited hand like yours to manage him."
"Whoa! Quiet, now!—poor fellow!"
This last endearing address was checked by a sudden jolt, produced by a spasmodic movement of the horse, which shook the cavalier to his very centre.
"Punish him well with your spurs, Mr. Stubb, and let him run; that's the way to cure him of his tricks. Suppose we try a race together."
"Thank you, Miss Euston, but the fact is—Whoa, boy! whoa!—I mean, the stableman told me that he is rather short of breath."
"O, never mind the stableman. Come, let's go."
"Thank you, Miss Euston, I believe not to-day."
"You astonish me. I will lay any bet you like—you shall name the wager—any thing you please."
"Really, this is a little too bad!" soliloquized the horrified Mrs. Primrose. "Miss Euston, I entreat of you—I beg—that we may have no more racing. It is very dangerous, besides being——"
"What is it besides being dangerous, Mrs. Primrose?"
"Very indecorous."
"I am very sorry, for I have set my heart on a race with Mr. Stubb."
"Mr. Morton," said the distressed lady, aside to that young gentleman, "you are a prudent and sober-minded person; pray use your influence."
She was interrupted by a most uncanonical ejaculation from the author of her embarrassments, which, though couched in a foreign language, petrified her into silence. A sharp gust of wind had blown away Fanny's veil, and she was on the point of dashing off in pursuit of it.
"Stop!" cried Morton, "you'll break your neck. Let me get it for you."
The veil sailed away before the wind, and Morton spurred in pursuit, delighted to display his horsemanship before ladies, though it had no other merit than a tenacious seat and a kind of recklessness, the result of an excitable temperament. The ground was rough and broken, and studded with rocks and savin bushes, and as he galloped at a breakneck speed down the side of the hill, in a vain attempt to catch the veil flying, even Fanny held her breath. He secured his prize, as it caught against a bush, and returned to the road.
"Now, Miss Euston," said Mrs. Primrose, looking folios at the offender, "I trust we shall be allowed to go on in peace."
There was an interval of repose. Stubb regained his peace of mind. Miss Primrose, with whom he fancied himself in love, smiled upon him, and his self-conceit, before shaken in its stronghold, was returning in full force, when Fanny, who nourished a peculiar spite against this harmless blockhead, and whom that afternoon a very Satan of mischief seemed to possess, again rode to his side, and renewed her solicitations for a race.
"Miss Euston," said Mrs. Primrose, "I am certain you would do nothing so unladylike as to force Mr. Stubb to race against his will. Consider the example you would set to Georgiana Gosling, who always imitates what she sees you do."
The words were mild and motherly; but the countenance of the outraged matron had an uncompromising look of reprehension, which exasperated Fanny's wayward