United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
Heavy at heart, Stephen climbed the stairs, thanking heaven that he had
not been drawn into the controversy. A partial comprehension of Mr.
Hopper was dawning upon him. He suspected that gentleman of an aggressive
determination to achieve wealth, and the power which comes with it, for
the purpose of using that power upon those beneath him. Nay, when he
thought over his conversation, he suspected him of more,--of the
intention to marry Virginia Carvel.
It will be seen whether Stephen was right or wrong.
He took a walk that afternoon, as far out as a place called Lindell's
Grove, which afterward became historic. And when he returned to the
house, his mother handed him a, little white envelope.
"It came while you were out," she said.
He turned it over, and stared at his name written across the front in a
feminine hand In those days young ladies did not write in the bold and
masculine manner now deemed proper. Stephen stared at the note, manlike,
and pondered.
"Who brought it, mother?"
"Why don't you open it, and see?" asked his mother with a smile.
He took the suggestion. What a funny formal little note we should think
it now! It was not funny to Stephen--then. He read it, and he read it
again, and finally he walked over to the window, still holding it in his
hand.
Some mothers would have shown their curiosity. Mrs. Brice did not,
wherein she proved herself their superiors in the knowledge of mankind.
Stephen stood for a long while looking out into the gathering dusk. Then
he went over to the fireplace and began tearing the note into little
bits. Only once did he pause, to look again at his name on the envelope.
"It is an invitation to Miss Carvel's party," he said.
By Thursday of that week the Brices, with thanksgiving in their hearts,
had taken possession of Mr. Brinsmade's little house.
CHAPTER XII
"MISS JINNY"
The years have sped indeed since that gray December when Miss Virginia
Carvel became eighteen. Old St. Louis has changed from a pleasant
Southern town to a bustling city, and a high building stands on the site
of that wide and hospitable home of Colonel Carvel. And the Colonel's
thoughts that morning, as Ned shaved him, flew back through the years to
a gently rolling Kentucky countryside, and a pillared white house among
the oaks. He was riding again with Beatrice Colfax in the springtime.
Again he stretched out his arm as if to seize her bridle-hand, and he
felt the thoroughbred rear. Then the vision faded, and the memory of his
dead wife became an angel's face, far--so far away.
He had brought her to St. Louis, and with his inheritance had founded his
business, and built the great double house on the corner. The child came,
and was named after the noble state which had given so many of her sons
to the service of the Republic.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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