Part 16 (1/2)

”Life is all a wariorum, And we cares not how it goes!”

”You will frighten the horses presently. Can't you behave yourself with common decency?” exclaimed Valentine, shaking off the hand that had been laid upon his shoulder.

”Let them talk about decorum, As has characters to lose,”

sang the inebriate, chuckling and slapping the boy upon the back.

”If you do not be quiet, I'll get out of this buggy, and leave you to drive home as you can,” said Valentine, impatiently.

This seemed to amuse the other very much; he burst out into a peal of laughter, falling back, and clasping his knees, and rolling with the tipsy enjoyment of the joke. When he had laughed himself into a fit of the hiccoughs, and hiccoughed himself into comparative calmness, he still seemed to enjoy the drollery of the idea, and recommenced laughing and singing by fits, and slapping Valentine upon the back.

”I tell you, if you do not quit this, I will get out!” exclaimed the boy, angrily. ”You a gentleman!”

This language, instead of rousing Oswald to anger, seemed to strike him as the drollest of speeches, for he fell back into another peal of laughter; and when he had recovered himself he began, not in displeasure, but in a maudlin, jesting way, and with a very thick utterance, to taunt Valentine:

”Why, you ins'lent f'low, do you know who you're talking to? You're a spoiled negro--that is what you are! Now, don't you know, if I wa'n't the most forgivin' f'low in the world, that I'd have you tied up and whipt for such language?”

”Me?”

It is utterly impossible to convey in words any idea of the fierce, savage, almost demoniac glare of hatred and defiance with which that single monosyllable was uttered. But it was lost upon the tipsy master, who replied, nodding and chuckling:

”Yes, you, my little fellow! and I think it will have to be done, too, to bring you to a sense of your condition. Sit down, sir! What the devil do you mean by standing up and looking at me in that way?”

Valentine had risen to his feet, still unconsciously holding the reins, but no longer guiding the horses, who went on their own way, while he stood and glared at his master, with an almost maniacal light blazing from those pale-gray eyes.

”Sit down, sir, I say! What the h--ll do you mean? Sit down, I say, or, by the Lord Harry! I'll do as I've threatened!”

This is not a proper scene to go on with. Both were mad with wine, and one also with rage. The master, though not angry, nor by any means disposed to punish, grew every moment, from very wantonness, more taunting in his manner--the man became each instant more insolent; words rose higher between them; Valentine grew frenzied, dashed his clenched fist with all his strength into his master's face, and sprang from the buggy, leaving him to his fate.

CHAPTER IV.

AN HUMBLE WEDDING.

Habitual evils change not on a sudden, But many days must pa.s.s, and many sorrows; Conscious remorse and anguish must be felt, To curb desire, to break the stubborn will, And work a second nature in the soul, Ere virtue can resume the place she lost.--ROWE'S ULYSSES.

Valentine awoke the next morning with a heavy weight upon his heart and a thick cloud over his brain.

The first fact that attracted his attention was the circ.u.mstance that he was not in his own apartment, but in his mother's bedchamber. A small wood fire was burning in the fireplace, and a teakettle was hanging over the blaze; the red hearth was neat and bright, and the only window was darkened by the lowered paper blind.

Phaedra sat in her flag-bottomed elbow-chair, at the chimney corner; her work was on her lap, but she sat with her hands clasped upon it in idleness, and in an att.i.tude of deepest grief. Such was the picture immediately before him.

He could not tell the hour, but supposed it to be near midday. He strove, through the aching of his head and heart, to recall the latest events of his waking consciousness, before he had fallen into the sleep or the insensibility from which he had just recovered. And, as memory came back in a rus.h.i.+ng flood, bringing the hideous phantoms of the previous night's history, overcome with shame and sorrow, he groaned aloud, and buried his face in the pillow. Still he was in ignorance of what had occurred after he had sprung from the buggy; and in terror for what might have happened to Mr. Waring, whom he had left there to guide as he could, in a state of extreme intoxication, the frightened and rearing horses.

Phaedra arose and approached the bed.

”Mother! tell me what has happened, for I remember nothing after getting home,” said the boy, in a voice half smothered in emotion.

But Phaedra sank down by the bedside, buried her face in the coverlid, and sobbed.