A Virginia Cousin, & Bar Harbor Tales — John Shaqi
A Virginia Cousin, & Bar Harbor TalesHarrison, Burton, Mrs.
General
A Virginia Cousin, & Bar Harbor Tales
Harrison, Burton, Mrs.
Bar Harbor (Me.) -- Fiction
Claggett, dismissed with a _douceur_, the liberality of which consoled
that worthy countryman for an early reunion with the lady who would
not allow him to tell stories of the war, took an affectionate leave
of his employer. In his manner Vance detected more satisfaction in the
vindication of Virginia customs than regret at the severance of their
relation. The little triumph Claggett might readily have derived from
the incident of the wayfarer's meeting, in spite of himself, with his
relations was heroically suppressed. And before Townsend had turned
upon his pillow the morning after his arrival, a telegram had gone to
the town where his luggage had been left, ordering it to be sent by
train that day.
Vance had been told that breakfast would be at nine; and, awakened at
half-past seven by a bird on the bough in his window, he abandoned
himself to a lazy review of his impressions of the family. Of his
Cousin Eve he had seen little more than what has already been told.
After filling her place at a bounteous supper-table, where the talk
was chiefly absorbed by the three gentlemen, she had vanished, in
company with the widowed cousin, and was invisible thereafter--the men
sitting together till midnight in the large, raftered hall, with a
fire in its wide chimney, that served the old bachelor for a general
living-room.
Vance could not remember to have seen a face of finer lines, a manner
of finer courtesy, than that of his seventy-year-old host, who, in
spite of the rust of desuetude in worldly ways, carried his inbred
gentility where all who approached him might profit by it.
That he was a politician went without saying; and, indeed, the talk
once directed in the channel of national government had kept there
until they separated. On a claw-footed table holding a lamp beside Mr.
Lloyd's easy chair, covered with frayed haircloth, Vance saw lying a
crisp new Review of English publication, and all about were piled
newspapers and magazines, while shelves displayed row upon row of the
antique, tawny volumes that had made up the complete library of a
country gentleman in the days of old Josephus's grandfather.
Around the hearth, coming and going with every opening of many doors,
gathered dogs of fine and varied breeds. One old patriarch of a St.
Bernard, who attached himself particularly to the stranger, had
remained close to Vance's feet, and gravely escorted him to bed.
In his kinsman, Guy Carlyle, a handsome man of fifty odd years, who in
a military youth had been noted for deeds of daring that rang through
the army of Northern Virginia, but had long since resigned himself to
the peaceful pursuits of agriculture, Vance saw the origin of Eve's
rare beauty. He also became aware that, of a large family of sons and
daughters born to the now widowed Colonel, Eve was the sole survivor;
and it did not need the expression that irradiated her father's face
when her name was touched upon to show in what estimation she was held
by him.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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