Chapter 2

THIS IS THE WAY OF LOVE

Cornelia lingered in the garden, because she had suddenly, and as yet
unconsciously, entered into that tender mystery, so common and so
sovereign, which we call Love. In Hyde's presence she had been suffused
with a bewildering, profound emotion, which had fallen on her as the
gentle showers fall, to make the flowers of spring. A shy happiness, a
trembling delightful feeling never known before, filled her heart. This
handsome youth, whom she had only seen twice, and in the most formal
manner, affected her as no other mortal had ever done. She was a little
afraid; something, she knew not what, of mystery and danger and delight,
was between them; and she did not feel that she could speak of it. It
seemed, indeed, as if she would need a special language to do so.
"I have met him but twice," she thought; "and it is as if I had a new,
strange, exquisite life. Ought I tell my mother? But how can I? I have
no words to explain--I do not understand--I thought it would break my
heart to leave the good Sisters and my studies, and the days so calm and
holy; and now--I do not even wish to go back. Sister Langaard told me it
would be so if I let the world come into my soul--Alas! if I should be
growing wicked!"
The thought made her start; she hastened her steps towards the large
entrance door, and as she approached it a negro in a fine livery of blue
and white threw the door wide open for her. Answering his bow with a
kind word, she turned quickly out of the hall, into a parlour full of
sunshine. A lady sat there hemstitching a damask napkin; a lady of
dainty plainness, with a face full of graven experiences and mellowed
character. Purity was the first, and the last, impression she gave. And
when her eyes were dropped this idea was emphasized by their beautiful
lids; for nowhere is the flesh so divine as in the eyelids. And Ava
Moran's eyelids were full of holy secrets; they gave the impression of a
spiritual background which was not seen, but which could be felt. As
Cornelia entered she looked up with a smile, and said, as she slightly
raised her work, "it is the last of the dozen, Cornelia."
"You make me ashamed of my idleness, mother. Have I been a long time
away?"
"Longer than was unnecessary, I think."
"I went to Embree's for the linen thread, and he had just opened some
English gauzes and lute-strings. Mrs. Willets was choosing a piece for a
new gown, for she is to dine with the President next week, and she was
so polite as to ask my opinion about the goods. Afterwards, I walked to
Wall Street with her; and coming back I met, on Broadway, Lieutenant
Hyde--and he gave me these flowers--they came from Prince's nursery
gardens--and, then, he walked home with me. Was it wrong? I mean was it
polite--I mean the proper thing to permit? I knew not how to prevent
it."
"How often have you met Lieutenant Hyde?"
"I met him for the first time last night. He was at the Sylvesters', and
I danced three times with him."
"That was too often."
"He talked with father, and father did not oppose my dancing."
"Your father thinks of nothing, now, but the Capital question. I dare
say, after he had asked Lieutenant Hyde how he felt on that subject he
never thought of the young man again. And pray what did Lieutenant Hyde
say to you this afternoon?"
"He gave me the flowers, and he told me about a beautiful opera, of
which I have never before heard. It is called Figaro. He says, in
Europe, nothing is played, or sung, or whistled, but--Figaro; that
nobody goes to any opera but--Figaro; and that I do not know the most
charming music in the world if I do not know--Figaro. He asked
permission to bring me some of the airs to-night, and I said some
civilities. I think they meant 'Yes.' Did I do wrong, mother?"
"I will say 'no,' my dear; as you have given the invitation. But to
prevent an appearance of too exclusive intimacy, write to Arenta, and
ask her and Rem to take tea with us. Balthazar will carry the note at
once."
"Mother, Arenta has bought a blue lute string. Shall I not also have a
new gown? The gauzes are very sweet and genteel, and I think Mrs. Jay
will not forget to ask me to her dance next week. Mr. Jefferson is sure
to be there, and I wish to walk a minuet with him."
"Your father does not approve of Mr. Jefferson. He has not spoken to him
since his return from France. He goes too far--IN HIS WORDS."
"But all the ladies of distinction are proud to be seen in his company;
and pray what is there against him?"
"Only his politics, Cornelia. I think New York has gone mad on that
subject. Madame Barens will not speak to her son, because he is a
Federalist; and Madame Lefferts will not speak to HER son, because he is
NOT a Federalist. Mr. Jefferson, also, is thought to favour Philadelphia
for the capital; and your father is as hot on this subject as he was on
the Constitution. My dear, you will find that society is torn in two by
politics."
"But women have nothing to do with politics."
"They have everything to do with politics. They always have had. You are
not now in a Moravian school, Cornelia; and Bethlehem is not New York.
The two places look at life from different standpoints."
"Then, as I am to live in New York, why was I sent to Bethlehem?"
"You were sent to Bethlehem to learn how to live in New York,--or in any
other place. Where have you seen Mr. Jefferson?"
"I saw him this afternoon, in Cedar Street. He wore his red coat and
breeches; and it was then I formed the audacious intention of dancing
with him. I told Mrs. Willets of it; and she said, 'Mr. Jefferson
carried the Declaration on his shoulders, and would not dare to bow;'
and then with such a queer little laugh she asked me 'if his red
breeches did not make me think of the guillotine?' I do not think Mrs.
Willets likes Mr. Jefferson very much; but, all the same, I wish to
dance once with him. I think it will be something to talk about when I
am an old woman."
"My dear one, that is so far off. Go now, and write to Arenta. Young Mr.
Hyde and Figaro will doubtless bring her here."
"I hope so; for Arenta has an agreeableness that fits every occasion."
She had been folding up, with deliberate neatness, the strings of her
bonnet, as she talked, and she rose with these words and went out of the
parlour; but she went slowly, with a kind of hesitation, as if something
had been left unsaid.
About six o'clock Arenta Van Ariens made a personal response to her
friend's message. She was all excitement and expectation. "What a
delightful surprise!" she cried. "To-day has been a day to be praised.
It has ticked itself away to wonders and astonishments. Who do you think
called on me this afternoon?"
"Tell me plainly, Arenta. I never could guess for an answer."
"No less a person than Madame Kippon. Gertrude Kippon is going to be
married! She is going to marry a French count! And madame is beside
herself with the great alliance."
"I heard my father say that Madame Kippon had 'the French disease' in a
dangerous form."
"Indeed, that is certain. She has put the Sabbath day out of her
calendar; and her daughter's marriage is to be a legal one only. I
wonder what good Dr. Kunz will say to that! As for me, I lost all
patience with madame's rigmarole of philosophies--for I am not inclined
to philosophy--and indeed I had some difficulty to keep my temper; you
know that it is occasionally quite unmanageable."
Cornelia smiled understandingly, and answered with a smile, "I hope,
however, that you did not put her to death, Arenta."
"I have, at least, buried her, as far as I am concerned. And my father
says I am not to go to the marriage; that I am not even to drink a cup
of tea with her again. If my father had been at home--or even Rem--she
would not have left our house with all her colours flying; but I am
good-natured, I have no tongue worth speaking of."
"Come, come, Arenta! I shall be indeed astonished if you did not say one
or two provoking words."
"I said only three, Cornelia. When madame finally declared--'she really
must go home,' I did answer, as sweetly as possible, 'Thank you,
madame!' That was something I could say with becoming politeness."
Cornelia was tying the scarlet ribbon which held back her flowing hair,
but she turned and looked at Arenta, and asked, "Did madame boast any
afterwards?"
"No; she went away very modestly, and I was not sorry to see the angry
surprise on her face. Gertrude Kippon a countess! Only imagine it! Well,
then, I have no doubt the Frenchman will make of Gertrude--whatever can
be made of her."
"Our drawing-rooms, and even our streets, are full of titles," said
Cornelia; "I think it is a distinction to be plain master and mistress."
"That is the truth; even this handsome dandy, Joris Hyde, is a
lieutenant."
"He was in the field two years. He told me so this afternoon. I dare
say, he has earned his title, even if he is a lieutenant."
"Don't be so highty-tighty, Cornelia. I have no objections to military
titles. They mean something; for they at least imply, that a man is
willing to fight if his country will find him a quarrel to fight in. In
fact, I rather lean to official titles of every kind."
"I have not thought of them at all."
"But I have. They affect me like the feathers in a cock's tail; of
course the bird would be as good without them, but fancy him!" and
Arenta laughed mirthfully at her supposition. "As for women," she
continued, "lady, or countess, or Marquise, what an air it gives! It
finishes a woman like a lace ruff round her neck. Every woman ought to
have a title--I mean every woman of respectability. I have a fancy to be
a marquise, and Aunt Jacobus says I look Frenchy enough. I have heard
that there is a title in the Hyde family. I must ask Aunt Jacobus. She
knows everything about everybody. Lieutenant Hyde! I do wonder what he
is coming for!"
The words dropped slowly, one by one, from her lips; and with a kind of
fateful import; but neither of the girls divined the significance of the
inquiry. Both were too intent on those last little touches to the
toilet, which make its effectiveness, to take into consideration
reflections without form; and probably, at that time, without personal
intention.
Then Arenta, having arranged her ringlets, tied her sash, and her
sandals, began to talk of her own affairs; for she was a young lady who
found it impossible to be sufficient for herself. There had been trouble
with the slaves in the Van Ariens' household, and she told Cornelia
every particular. Also, she had VERY NEAR had an offer of marriage from
George Van Berckel; and she went into explanations about her diplomacies
in avoiding it.
"Poor George!" she sighed, and then, looking up, was a trifle dismayed
at the expression upon Cornelia's face. For Cornelia was as reticent, as
Arenta was garrulous; and the girls were incomprehensible to each other
in their deepest natures, though, superficially, they were much on the
same plane, and really thought themselves to be distinctly sympathetic
friends.
"Why do you look so strangely at me, Cornelia?" asked Arenta. "Am I not
properly dressed?"
"You are perfectly dressed, Arenta. Women as fair as you are, know
instinctively how to dress." And then Arenta stood up before the mirror
and put her hand upon Cornelia's shoulder, and they both looked at the
reflection in it.
A very pretty reflection it was!--a slender girl with a round, fair
face, and a long, white throat, and sloping shoulders. Her pale brown
hair fell in ripples and curls around her until they touched a robe of
heavenly blue, and half hid a singular necklace of large pearls:--pearls
taken from some Spanish ship and strung in old Zierikzee, and worn for
centuries by the maids and dames of the house of Van Ariens.
"It is the necklace!" said Cornelia after a pause, "It is the pearl
necklace, which gives you such an air of mystery and romance, and
changes you from an everyday maiden into an old-time princess."
"No doubt, it is the necklace," answered Arenta. "It is my Aunt
Angelica's, but she permits me to wear it. When she was young, she
called every pearl after one of her lovers; and she had a lover for
every pearl. She was near to forty years old when she married; and she
had many lovers, even then."
"It would have been better if she had married before she was near to
forty years old--that is, if she had taken a good husband."
"Perhaps that; but good husbands come not on every day in the week. I
have three beads named already--one for George Van Berckel--one for Fred
De Lancey--and one for Willie Nichols. What do you think of that?"
"I think, if you copy your Aunt Angelica, you will not marry any of your
lovers till you are forty years old. Come, let us go downstairs."
She spoke a little peremptorily--indeed, she was in the habit, quite
unconsciously of using this tone with her companion, consequently it was
not noticed by her. And it was further remarkable, that the girls did
not walk down the broad stairs together, but Cornelia went first, and
Arenta followed her. There was no intention or consideration in this
procedure; it was the natural expression of underlying qualities, as yet
not realized.
Cornelia's self-contained, independent nature was further revealed by
the erect dignity of her carriage down the centre of the stairway, one
hand slightly lifting her silk robe, the other laid against the
daffodils at her breast. Her face was happy and serene, her steps light,
and without hesitation or hurry. Arenta was a little behind her friend.
She stepped idly and irresolutely, with one hand slipping along the
baluster, and the other restlessly busy with her curls, her ribbons, the
lace that partially hid her bosom, and the pearls that made a moonlight
radiance on her snowy throat. At the foot of the staircase Cornelia had
to wait for her, and they went into the parlour together.
Doctor Moran, Rem Van Ariens, and Lieutenant Hyde were present. The
girls had a momentary glance at the latter ere he assumed the manner he
thought suitable for youth and beauty. He was talking seriously to the
Doctor and playing with an ivory paper knife as he did so, but whatever
remark he was making he cut it in two, and stood up, pleased and
expectant, to receive Beauty so fresh and so conspicuous.
He was handsomely dressed in a dark-blue velvet coat, silver-laced, a
long white satin vest and black satin breeches. His hair was thrown
backwards and tied with the customary black ribbon, and his linen and
laces were of the finest quality. He met Cornelia as he might have met a
princess; and he flashed into Arenta's eyes a glance of admiration which
turned her senses upside down, and made her feel, for a moment or two,
as if she could hardly breathe.
Upon Arenta's brother he had not produced a pleasant impression. Without
intention, he had treated young Van Ariens with that negative politeness
which dashes a sensitive man and makes him resentfully conscious that he
has been rendered incapable of doing himself justice. And Rem could
neither define the sense of humiliation he felt, nor yet ruffle the
courteous urbanity of Hyde; though he tried in various ways to introduce
some conversation which would afford him the pleasure of contradiction.
Equally he failed to consider that his barely veiled antagonism
compelled from the Doctor, and even from Cornelia and Arenta, attentions
he might not otherwise have received. The Doctor was indeed much annoyed
that Rem did not better respect the position of guest; while Mrs. Moran
was keenly sensitive to the false note in the evening's harmony, and
anxious to atone for it by many little extra courtesies. So Hyde easily
became the hero of the hour; he was permitted to teach the girls the
charming old-world step of the Pas de Quatre, and afterwards to sing
with them merry airs from Figaro, and sentimental airs from Lodoiska,
and to make Rem's heart burn with anger at the expression he threw into
the famous ballad "My Heart and Lute" which the trio sang twice over
with great feeling.
Fortunately, some of Doctor Moran's neighbours called early in the
evening. Then whist parties were formed; and while the tables were being
arranged Cornelia found an opportunity to reason with Rem. "I never
could have believed you would behave so unlike yourself," she said; and
Rem answered bluntly--"That Englishman has insulted me ever since he
came into the room."
"He is not an Englishman," said Cornelia.
"His father is an Englishman, and the man himself was born in England.
The way he looks at me, the way he speaks to me, is insulting."
"I have seen nothing but courtesy to you, Rem."
"You have not the key to his impertinences. To-morrow, I will tell you
something about Lieutenant Hyde."
"I shall not permit you to talk evil of him. I have no wish to hear ill
reports about my acquaintances, Their behaviour is their own affair; at
any rate, it is not mine. Be good-tempered, Rem; you are to be my
partner, and we must win in every game."
But though Cornelia was all sweetness and graciousness; though Rem
played well, and Lieutenant Hyde played badly; though Rem had the
satisfaction of watching Hyde depart in his chair, while he stood with a
confident friendship by Cornelia's side, he was not satisfied. There was
an air of weariness and constraint in the room, and the little stir of
departing visitors did not hide it. Doctor Moran had been at an unusual
social tension; he was tired, and not pleased at Rem for keeping him on
the watch. Cornelia was silent. Rem then approached his sister and said,
"it is time to go home." Arenta looked at her friend; she expected to be
asked to remain, and she was offended when Cornelia did not give her the
invitation.
On the contrary, Cornelia went with her for her cloak and bonnet, and
said not a word as they trod the long stairway but "Oh dear! How warm
the evening is!"
"I expected you would ask me to stay with you, Cornelia." Arenta was
tying her bonnet strings as she made this remark, and her fingers
trembled, and her voice was full of hurt feeling.
"Rem behaved so badly, Arenta."
"I think that is not so. Did I also behave badly?"
"You were charming every moment of the evening; but Rem was on the point
of quarrelling with Lieutenant Hyde. You must have seen it. In my
father's house, this was not proper."
"I never saw Rem behave badly in my life. Suppose he does quarrel with
that dandy Englishman, Rem would not get the worst of it. I have no fear
for my brother Rem! No, indeed!"
"Bulk does not stand for much in a sword game."
"Do you mean they might fight a duel?"
"I think it is best for you to go home with Rem. Otherwise, he might, in
his present temper, find himself near Becker's; and if a man is
quarrelsome he may always get principals and seconds there. You have
told me this yourself. In the morning Rem will, I hope, be reasonable."
"I thought you and I would talk things over to-night. I like to talk
over a new pleasure."
"Dear Arenta, we shall have so much more time, to-morrow. Come to-
morrow."
But Arenta was not pleased. She left her friend with an air of repressed
injury, and afterwards made little remarks about Cornelia to her
brother, which exactly fitted his sense of wounded pride. Indeed, they
stood a few minutes in the Van Ariens' parlour to exchange their
opinions still further--
"I think Cornelia was jealous of me, Rem. That, in plain Dutch, is what
it all means. Does she imagine that I desire the attentions of a man who
is neither an American nor a Dutchman? I do not. I speak the truth
always, for I love the truth."
"Cornelia does desire them; I think that--and it makes me wretched."
"Oh, indeed, it is plain to see that she has fallen in love with that
black-eyed man of many songs and dances. Well, then, we must admit that
he danced to perfection. One may dislike the creature, and yet tell the
truth."
"Do you truly believe that Cornelia is in love with him?"
"Rem, there are things a woman observes. Cornelia is changed to-night.
She did not wish me to stay and talk about this man Hyde--she preferred
thinking about him--such reveries are suspicious. I have felt the
symptom. But, however, I may be wrong. Perhaps Cornelia was angry at
Hyde, and anxious about you--Do you think that?"
Rem would not admit any such explanation; and, indeed, Arenta only made
such suppositions to render more poignant those entirely contrary.
"Ever since she was a little girl, twelve, eleven years old, I have
loved her," said Rem; "and she knows it."
"She knows it; that is so. When I was at Bethlehem, I read her all your
letters; and many a time you spoke in them of her as your 'little wife.'
To be sure, it was a joke; but she understood that you, at least, put
your heart in it. Girls do not need to have such things explained. Come,
come, we must go to our rooms; for that is our father I hear moving
about. In a few minutes he will be angry, and then--"
She did not finish the sentence; there was no necessity; Rem knew what
unpleasantness the threat implied, and he slipped off his shoes and
stole quietly upstairs. Arenta was not disinclined to a few words if her
father wished them; so she did not hurry, though the great Flemish clock
on the stair-landing chimed eleven as she entered her room. It was an
extraordinarily late hour, but she only smiled, as she struck her pretty
fore-fingers together in time with it. She was not disposed to curtail
the day; it was her method, always, to take the full flavour of every
event that was not disagreeable.
"And, after all," she mused, "the evening was a possibility. It was a
door on the latch--I may push it open and go in--who can tell? I saw how
amazed he was at my beauty when I first entered the parlour--and he is
but a man--and a young man who likes his own way--so much is evident."
She was meanwhile unclasping her pearl necklace, and at this point she
held it in her hands taking the fourth bead between her fingers, and
smiled speculatively.
Then she heard her brother moving about the floor of the room above her,
and a shadow darkened her face. She had strong family affections, and
she was angry that Rem should be troubled by any man or woman, living:
"I have always thought Cornelia a very saint," she muttered; "but Love
is the great revealer. I wonder if she is in love--to tell the truth,
she was past finding out. I cannot say that I saw the least sign of it--
and between me and myself, Rem was unreasonable; however, I am not
pleased that Rem felt himself to be badly used."
It was to this touch of resentment in her drifting thoughts that she
performed her last duties. She did not hurry them. "Very soon there will
be the noise of chairmen and carriages to disturb me," she thought; "and
I may as well think a little, and put my things away."
So she folded each dainty blue morocco slipper in its separate piece of
fine paper, and straightened out her ribbons, and wrapped her pale blue
robe in its holland covering, and put every comb and pin in its proper
place, all the time treading as softly as a mouse. And by and by the
street was dark and still, and her room in the most perfect order. These
things gave her the comfort of a good conscience; and she said her
prayers, and fell calmly asleep, to the flattering thought, "I would not
much wonder if, at this moment, Lieutenant Hyde is thinking about me."
In reality, Lieutenant Hyde was at that moment in the Belvedere Club,
singing the Marseillaise, and listening to a very inflammatory speech
from the French Minister. But a couple of hours later, Arenta's "wonder"
would have touched the truth. He was then alone, and very ill satisfied;
for, after some restless reflections, he said impatiently--
"I have again made a fool of myself. I have now all kinds of unpleasant
feelings; and when I left that good Doctor's house I was well satisfied.
His daughter is an angel. I praise myself for finding that out. She made
me believe in all goodness; yes, even in patriotism! I, that have seen
it sold a dozen times! Oh, how divinely shy and proud she is! I could
not get her one step beyond the first civilities; even my eyes failed me
to-night--her calm glances killed their fire--and she barely touched my
hand, though I offered it with a respectful ardour, she must have
understood:"--then he looked admiringly at the long, white hand and
thoroughbred wrist which lay idly on the velvet cushion of his armchair;
an exquisite ruffle of lace just touched it, and his eyes wandered from
the ruffle to the velvet and silver embroidery of his coat; and the
delicate laced lawn of his cravat.
"I have the reputation of beauty," he continued; "and I am perfectly
dressed, and yet--yet--this little Beauty seemed unconscious of my
advantages. But I cannot accept failure in this case. The girl is
unparagoned. I am in love with her; sincerely in love. She fills my
thoughts, and has done so, ever since I first saw her. It is a pure
delight to think of her."
Then he rose, threw off his velvet and lace, and designedly let his
thoughts turn to Arenta. "She is pretty beyond all prettiness," he said
softly as he moved about, "She dances well, talks from hand to mouth,
and she gave me one sweet glance; and I think if she has gone so far--
she might go further." At this reflection he smiled again, and lifting a
decanter slowly poured into a goblet some amber-coloured sherry; saying--

"I dare not yet drink to the unapproachable Cornelia; but I may at least
pour the wine to the blue-eyed goddess, with the pearl necklace, and the
golden hair;" and as he lifted the glass, a memory from some past
mirthful hour came into his remembrance; and he began to hum a strain of
the song it brought to his mind--
                 "Let the toast pass,
                   Drink to the lass
     I'll warrant, she'll prove an excuse for the glass."
It was remarkable that he did not take Arenta's brother into his
speculations at all, and yet Rem Van Ariens was at that very hour
chafing restlessly and sleeplessly under insults he conceived himself to
have received, in such fashion and under such circumstances as made
reprisal impossible. In reality, however, Van Ariens had not been
intentionally wounded by Hyde. The situation was the natural result of
incipient jealousy and sensitive pride on Rem's part; and of that calm
indifference and complaisance on Hyde's part, which appeared tacitly to
assert its own superiority and expect its recognition as a matter of
course. Indeed, at their introduction, Rem had affected Hyde rather
pleasantly; and when the young Dutch gentleman's opposition became
evident, Hyde had simply ignored it. For as yet the thought of Rem as a
rival had not entered his mind.
But this is the way of Love; its filmiest threads easily spin themselves
further; and a man once entangled is bound by that unseen chain which
links the soul to its destiny.