CHAPTER XXV.
AFFAIRS IN THE CRAWFORD FAMILY IN NEW YORK--THE TWO BROTHERS--MARIONHOBART THE ENIGMA--NIAGARA BY WAY OF THE CENTRAL PARK.
It has been already said that John Crawford, wounded, and with the poorlittle Virginian orphan-girl in his company, reached New York on theevening of the Fourth of July--the same evening, it will be remembered,on which Tom Leslie and Josephine Harris left the city, the one forNiagara and the other for her matrimonial operations at West Falls. Itis just possible that their not arriving earlier was a lucky event, asJoe Harris, had she once set eyes on the delicate and singular-lookingVirginian girl, would have been almost certainly attracted towards her,and in that event her pet hobby for the time might have beenneglected--her departure for the North might have been delayed for a dayor two--and Mary Crawford might have been left to meet her fate inhelplessness and ignorance.
And yet all this is an array of "mights" that have no real propriety,for events occur but once in the world, and they only occur in one mode.Human will is free, and human responsibility is never to be ignored; andstill no human hand changes in any degree the inevitable. "Oh, if Ihad!" and "Oh, if I had not!" are very common exclamations, and thosewho have committed terrible errors or met with severe misfortunes willcontinue to make them until the whole course of human existence is run;and yet they are none the less _follies_. The events of yesterday werepart of that general plan on which the world was first formed and onwhich it may have been conducted through all the hundreds of centurieswhich puzzle Agassiz and frighten the theologists. The downfall of anempire and the picking up of a basket of chips by a ragged child in aship-yard, may each have equally formed part of it, and each beenequally impossible to avert. Human will seemed to move each event, andhuman responsibility certainly attached to each; but the event itself,unknown until accomplished, moved in its appointed course and could nomore be jarred from it than one of the planets from its orbit.
But all this by the way. Joe Harris had her own odd work to do, hundredsof miles away, and there was no hindrance in the way of heraccomplishing it, from any new ties suddenly added to bind her to thecity.
Of course that strange and unexpected arrival from the seat of war (forJohn Crawford had not even taken the precaution to telegraph fromFortress Monroe or Washington) created a sensation in the Crawfordhousehold. A mixed sensation--for while both the brothers were heartilyglad to meet, each had a cause for sorrow on meeting the other. Richardwas naturally sorry to see John, who had passed through so many fightswithout harm, wounded at last and disabled for an indefinite period; andJohn was correspondingly sorry to see Richard, whom he had left in suchhigh health and spirits, a broken-down and house-ridden invalid. Notlong before he had another cause for anxiety; for in the first half hourof private conference which ensued, on the very evening of theirarrival, in response to a question from John, as to the health of thefamily at West Falls and the progress of his expected marriage withMary, Richard revealed the unaccountable state of coldness which hadsprung up, Mary's neglect to answer his late letters, and the fact thatEgbert remained all the visiting-link between the city and countrybranches of the family.
"Egbert, eh?" asked John, whose service at looking out for skulkingenemies when on picket-duty, might have made him more watchful andsuspicious than he would have been under other circumstances. "Egbert,eh? Well, all I can say is that I don't like the link!"
Richard Crawford started, as he lay reclining upon the sofa. He wasdecidedly better than he had been a week before, and kept his littleroom less closely, though he was fearfully weak and the racking pain hadnot entirely left his system. "You never liked Egbert," he said.
"No," said John, "I never liked him, a bit more than Dean Swift likedDoctor Fell, though perhaps I could not tell _why_, any better than theDean."
"No, I suppose not," said Richard, musingly. And here the conversationdropped, on that point. Whatever may have been Richard Crawford'ssuspicions of his cousin, forced on him by circumstances and by theyoung girl who had so strangely volunteered to disenchant him--he had nointention of communicating them even to his brother.
If there was a mixed feeling in the meeting of the brothers, there wasone quite as complicated in that of Isabel Crawford and MarionHobart--two total strangers so unexpectedly flung together. BellCrawford was better fitted to receive and care for the orphan girl, thanshe would have been a month before, when the mysterious turning-point ofher existence had not been reached; and there had been no time since shehad become the mistress of her brother's mansion, when she would nothave used every exertion to make one comfortable and happy who had beenso strangely recommended to her sympathy. What she would before havelacked, was discipline and thoughtfulness. These she had attained tosome degree, in a manner which she could not much more comprehend thanthose who surrounded her. But it was impossible that she could be ableat once to supply the double want of sister and mother to one who hadbeen so differently nurtured and educated as Marion Hobart; and the verydesire to be even kinder than she would have cared to be to one who hadmore claims upon her, necessarily placed her in embarrassment which wasvery likely to produce the opposite effect. The young Virginian girlcould not do otherwise than receive those attentions with gratitude, andyet her very desire not to be obtrusive and not to seem to demand moreattention than was necessary, placed her in an equally anomalousposition. The two girls consequently became much less intimatelyacquainted within the first few days, than they might have done ifthrown together under different auspices.
Marion Hobart was, as her conversation and conduct on the night of hergrandfather's death so plainly indicated, a most singular person, andone who might have been studied for years without being fullyunderstood. She talked but little, and yet her silence seemed to be morethe result of having nothing to say and no sympathy with the ordinarytopics of conversation, than from dislike or inability to converse. Whenshe did speak, the same childlike curtness and immobility wereobservable, that had been shown by the couch of her dying relative. Sheseemed to be repeating set words, that did not affect her heart or makeany change in the expression of her face; even though she may have beendeeply moved in reality. She received kindnesses with thankfulness, andyet that thankfulness was generally too set and formal in its phrase tocreate the impression of gushing warm from the heart, and to give thatexquisite pleasure that a simple "Thank you!" will often convey when itseems to leap out unbidden.
Of course in the double disaster of the fire and the death, the poorgirl found herself almost entirely unprovided with clothes. Isabel, withthoughtful care, the next day after her arrival, spoke of makingarrangements for procuring the services of a dressmaker at once.
"Yes, thank you, I have no clothes. I shall want some," answered theyoung girl.
"Excuse my touching upon your grief," said Bell, "but I suppose that youwill wish black? You will wear mourning?"
"No, if you please," was the reply. "My family never wear mourning. Mygrandmother never did. I have been told so. I do not remember mygrandmother. I do not know why we never wear mourning. But if youplease, I wish to do as grandmother did."
Here was the same peculiarity again, that had been shown at the bedsideof the dying grandfather--the grandmother spoken of, but no mention of a_mother_. Bell Crawford noticed the fact, as her brother had not done;but she could no more have asked that strange girl for an explanation,and risked the possible opening of some family wound, than she couldhave gone to the stake.
Nothing more was said upon the subject of the mourning; and BellCrawford made the necessary arrangements for procuring her clothing thatsuggested no remembrance of her recent loss.
John Crawford had not forgotten the words of the old man, as to money inhis granddaughter's name, lying in one of the city banks. He suggestedthe matter to her, aware that she would be anxious to rid herself fromany feeling of absolute dependence,--and she answered him at once. Sheknew the name of the bank, and nearly the amount that should be standingto her credit, which was, as her grand
father had said, quite enough tomake her comfortable for an ordinary life, ranging closely upon fiftythousand dollars. He procured her some checks, and she filled up one ina hand of crow-quill lightness, which looked indescribably like herself,but with a readiness which showed that she must have been beforefamiliar with banking business. He presented the check, and it washonored without enquiry, this fact proving that her signature was known;and thus all anxiety on the pecuniary question was set at rest.
The young girl had said, in that dreadful hour by the death-couch, whenspeaking of her grandfather's fervent Union sentiments, "I do not knowanything about politics, myself!" The truth that she had no knowledge orno feeling on the subject of the struggle between the two sections, wasmade manifest before she had been twenty-four hours an inmate of RichardCrawford's house. John continued to fight, mentally, though wounded andabsent from the army. Richard was an ardent loyalist, as we have seen.The brothers naturally ran into warm denunciations of rebellion, andconfident prophecies of the success of the Union cause, in spite of allpast disasters. Bell and Marion were both present when they launchedinto the first of these; but before the conversation had lasted manyminutes, the young Virginian girl rose and left the room with a word ofapology. Both the brothers noticed the act and her manner. It did notindicate anger or dissatisfaction--simply a total want of interest.
The next morning something still more conclusive on this subjectoccurred. Richard Crawford had been much in the habit, during hisillness, of being read to by his sister, Joe Harris, or any other friendwho would take the trouble to amuse him in that manner. As he began torecover, he did not lose the relish for that description of lazy luxury.On the morning in question, John had gone out, Bell was busy, and Marionand her host happened to be alone in the room, when the morning paperswere brought in.
"Miss Hobart, will you be so kind as to read the news to me?" suggestedthe invalid.
"If you wish, Mr. Crawford," she said at once. "I do not read very wellaloud. But I will do my best." She picked up one of the papers andcommenced reading. European news--news from Central and SouthAmerica--railroad accidents--dramatic notices--everything except thenews from Washington and the war, which happened to be all that he caredto hear at all! He looked at her in some surprise, but watched herclosely and saw that she did not do this by chance, but that shecarefully avoided the columns containing the news from the army.Directly Bell entered the room, and _she_ began, at his request, to readthe war news. Then Marion left the room, with an apology, as she haddone the day before.
When John returned, his brother related the incident to him. In returnJohn informed him of her words on the first night of their meeting, andthe two agreed that she had an unaccountable antipathy to everythingconnected with the war, and that nothing more should be said to her onthe subject.
"What if she should be a little secesh?" asked Richard, very much atrandom.
"She?" said John. "The granddaughter of that man? Not a bit of it! Sheis a little of an oddity, and a very _pretty_ little oddity--don't youthink so, Richard?" and so the conversation dropped.
The young girl had evidently had a fine musical education. She playedvery sweetly, though only upon request. Once she sang an English ballad,upon still more urgent request, but she seemed to do so with suchunwillingness that she was not pressed again. Her voice, as shown onthat occasion, was mournfully sweet and pure, and highly cultivated. Shespoke French with singular facility and unusual correctness for anAmerican. Bell and the brothers hoped that when the novelty of herposition had worn away, she would more fully enter into their tastes andhabits, and become less impracticable, if not happier.
A very neat little chamber on the second floor, which adjoined Bell'sand had been standing empty except when occupied by chance visitors, wasarranged for the young girl as soon as she entered the household, andshe took possession of it with apparent satisfaction. And what a little"box" she made of it at once. The very next day she went into thestreet, without any consultation with Bell, and made purchases of notless than a hundred dollars worth of pictures and articles of _vertu_,to ornament it. It was not difficult to see, at once, that though shemight be indolently content without the surroundings of luxury, yet itwas only _with_ them, and with them in somewhat aristocratic profusion,that she could be spiritedly happy. When she had added her purchases tothe comforts and even luxuries already in her chamber, she ran intoBell's room with something approaching to excitement upon her face, andcalled her in to see the arrangement. Bell literally clapped her handsin delight, the young Virginian girl had shown such exquisite taste andmade the little room look so much like a cross between the sleepingchamber of a very young princess, a museum, and an art gallery. She hadimagination enough to fancy how the scene would appear, with the room soornamented, the light turned low and filtering through the whiteporcelain shade of the burner, and that singularly beautiful little headlying in sleep on the white pillow, the calm, childlike features inrepose, and the blonde hair a little dishevelled and insensibly fadingaway into the white upon which it rested.
There were some articles of _vertu_, a very small statue of Washingtonamong them, lying on the bureau and not yet arranged. Bell Crawford wentup to the bureau and examined them, while Marion was arranging adifferent loop to the curtains of her bed, which would enable her tolook out, before she rose, on a handsome little steel engraving of thewhite-plumed Henry the Fourth at the battle of Ivry, which she had justplaced in position on the wall. Among the articles on the bureau lay alocket, in gold with a band of blue enamel crossing it diagonally. Itwas unclasped, and almost without a thought whether she was doing rightor wrong, Bell (as woman, and even _man_, will often do in such cases)took it up in her hand, threw open the case and looked at the face ofthe miniature within. This was simply the head from an admirable _cartede visite_, artistic enough to have been made by Gurney or Fredericks,and showing that it must have been taken within a very few months,--cutout in a circle and placed within the glass. The face was that of a manwho might have been thirty years of age, dark complexioned but_strongly_ handsome, indicating size and sinew in figure, with thecheek-bones a little high, fiery dark eyes under heavy brows, heavyblack hair worn long and curling, and a very heavy and yet graceful darkmoustache. In the picture he had a broad white collar turned down underthe velvet of his dark coat, giving him a peculiar look which may havebeen Southern or South-western and was certainly not of the North andthe "great citie." Bell Crawford had only a moment to notice thepicture, and though she supposed it to be the portrait of some nearrelative of the young girl, she could not help thinking how completelyand exactly her opposite it was in every particular--black hair forblonde, strength for fragility, and the fire of those dark eyes for thecalm, childlike innocence of Marion Hobart's.
Only a moment sufficed to make these observations: the next instant theyoung girl saw the picture in her hand and sprung down from the chairupon which she had been standing, with an agitation entirely differentfrom anything which she had before exhibited. Her pale face was for theinstant deeply flushed--Bell Crawford was sure of it--and there wassomething more passionate than usual in the sad eyes. Her lips trembled,and her hostess grew both pained and alarmed in the belief that she wasabout to utter harsh and angry words. But if the eyes of Bell had notbeen mistaken, and there had really been such an agitation raging in thebreast of the young girl, certainly a most remarkable change had comeover her before she had taken the two or three steps forward and reachedthe bureau where Miss Crawford was standing. She was herself again,completely; and her words, when they came, were such as might have beenexpected of her from previous observation.
"Please do not look at that!" she said, reaching out her hand to takeit. Then she instantly added: "But you _have_ seen it. It was my ownfault. I should not have left it lying open in that manner. I did notwish you to see it, or any one."
"I am really sorry," said Bell. "I took it up without thinking, and Ihope that you will not think that I wished to pry into any secret ofyours." S
he was a little ashamed at her slight breach of etiquette, anda good deal pained; and her strange guest seemed to be at once aware ofboth feelings. Before Bell knew what she was about to do, Marion hadthrust the locket into her bosom, then laid (not _thrown_) her armsaround her neck, and kissed her on the cheek.
"Please do not be hurt or angry with me," she said, her voice very lowand her whole manner childlike. "It was not wrong for you to look at thepicture. It was wrong in me to pain you. It is the picture of a verydear friend--of my family." There was the least instant of hesitationbefore adding the last three words. "If you do not wish very much, Iwill not tell you his name, for--for reasons that you would notunderstand." Another slight instant of hesitation in the middle of thesentence.
"Oh, by no means--do not tell me the name. You would pain me if you didso," answered Bell. "Now let us forget all about it, and only think ofthe wilderness of pretty things that you have been buying, to make thisroom the very neatest in the house."
"Do you think so?" said Marion. "I am very glad if you like them. I amvery glad when I please any one, and very unhappy when I do not. I donot quite know how to arrange them all. Will you help me?" and in amoment more the episode of the picture seemed to be quite forgotten inthe bestowal of the remainder of Marion's "art-treasures."
Saturday afternoon saw a marked event in the history of the Crawfordfamily, in the crossing by Richard of the threshold of the outer door,for the first time in so many weeks. He was weak, faint and feeble, butthe racking pains of his disease seemed hourly to leave him morecompletely. He had no more thought of leaving the house, however, thanof flying, until the tempter appeared in the shape of his brother. Johnhad been reading over the morning paper, a little late; and after thenews had been thoroughly exhausted, he had happened upon the programmeof the music at the Central Park.
"Hallo!" he said. "Here, Dick! Dodworth's Band at the Central Park thisafternoon. I have heard plenty of what they _called_ music, all thewhile that I have been gone; but not Dodworth. Let's go up and hear it!Besides, I want to see how much more they have wasted on the Park."
"I!" answered Richard Crawford, astounded. "You are not very kind,brother John, to speak of _my_ going out, when you know that I have notleft the house for months."
"No," said John, "indeed I did not think of that! But now that I dothink of it, all the more reason why you should go."
"Why, I could not sit up to ride a block!" said Richard.
"Don't believe a word of it!" said John, gayly. "You never know what youcan do, until you try. You are better--you _say_ that you arebetter--and the more you stay within the house, the more you may. In myopinion, to get well rapidly, you should be out of the house more thanhalf the time, regaining the strength you have lost."
Just then there was a ring at the bell, and Dr. Thompson, the old familyphysician who had attended both the brothers since boyhood, came in tolook at Richard and after the dressing of John's wounded arm. John hadmade a personal call upon him that morning, and the genial, gray-haired,but young-hearted old doctor had been very glad to see him returned,with no worse wound than that in his arm.
"See here, Doctor," said John, the moment he entered, "I have beengiving Richard good advice, and I wish you to bear me out in it."
"Advising me to kill myself, he means!" said Richard.
"Humph! let's hear what it is all about, and see how much you are bothwrong!" answered the doctor, who had made that advance in philosophywhich recognizes that neither side in an argument is at all likely torepresent the whole truth.
"I have been telling him that he should go out, and bantering him toride with me to the Central Park," said John.
"And I have been telling him that I had not strength enough to ride asingle block, much less to the Central Park," said Richard.
"Let me see," said the doctor, taking the invalid's hand in his,examining his pulse, and subjecting him to a general scrutiny. "Theproposal is a bold one, but I fancy that it is sensible, after all.Yes, when you _can_ go out, you can go out to advantage, and I believethat time has come. You had probably better accept your brother'sproposal."
The result of all which was, that the carriage was ordered between threeand four o'clock, and that in spite of the insufferable heat of the daythe two invalids (so very differently disabled) were driven to theCentral Park, were driven around it, heard Dodworth's Band perform halfa dozen operatic selections as only that cornet-band can perform them,saw the loungers on the grass, the promenaders on the walks, the boatson the pond which is called a lake, and all the picturesque features ofthat Saturday-afternoon gathering which within the past two years hasbecome a pleasant feature of summer in the metropolis.
Richard Crawford did not experience the fatigue he had expected. On thecontrary he felt new life and vigor flowing in with every breath of theyet early summer; and when they drove back to the house an hour beforesunset, he had the sensations of a school-boy whose play-hour is overand who is just going back to school and his books. He was not onlybetter, but he was nearly well. He felt and realized the fact for thefirst time. The wide, glorious, open world, with its flowers, itswaters, its sunshine, and its smiling human faces worth them all, hadonce more called the man who had so lately believed himself shut awayfrom life and enjoyment forever; and he was answering the call.
Not that Richard Crawford was happy, even while the music was soundingover the lake and nature was wooing him with her midsummer smile. He hadloved--he yet loved--truly and devotedly; and without his realizing whatevil influence could have fallen like a blight upon all his hopes, thosehopes were destroyed. He was not broken-hearted, as he had believedhimself to be while laboring under more serious bodily illness: he wasonly _sad_; but that sadness, he believed, would remain during life. Ah,well!--if life and health were still to be his, he must nerve himself tomeet whatever of sorrow or disappointment might come, and bear what hecould not conquer. So thought he as they rode homeward, when John for atime ceased that constant stream of chat for which a wounded arm didnot in the least disable him. He little knew how a lumbering stage wasat the same hour setting down a dusty little woman in a graytravelling-dress, at a country village hundreds of miles away, whoseacts and words were to produce so marked an effect on his own destiny.
These details of very ordinary events in the Crawford family, whichfollowed the re-union of the two brothers, may seem very uninterestingand common-place; and yet they are necessary for the possibleunderstanding of what so soon followed. For the letting in of sunshineon a dark place may not only warm and illumine that place for a time butmake the continuance of sunshine a necessity. And going out into thesunshine may have the same effect. The school-boy, once let out for his"play-spell," may have great objection to spending so many hours,thereafter, over his books in the dusky school-room; and Nature, after atime, may develop the fact that he needed the reviving and strengtheningeducation of the outer world, much more imperatively than the additionaleducation of the brain which he would have acquired within the sound ofthe teacher's voice. Nature's hygiene is very little understood, but itis at the same time very simple and very powerful. The _sun_ containsthe great mystery of health and hardihood, and the man who carefullyshuts himself away from its rays is arranging for the same kind ofexistence which the unfortunate plant is forced to experience, growingunder the shelter of a rotten log, succulent, tender and perishable. Thefire-worship of the Ghebers was founded upon common-sense; and no doubtthe first kneeling adoration of the sun-worshippers both of Persia andPeru, was paid by some poor fellow who had been sick, attenuated andmiserable, who had finally crawled out into the sunshine after longconfinement, and who believed that there must be some supernaturalinfluence in the life radiating from the great orb and bounding throughevery half-chilled vein. The inventor of parasols and sun-shades shouldhave been executed immediately on the announcement of his invention, forhe has been the means of shutting away the faces of more than half theworld, and especially the fairer portion, from their best inanimatefriend, the s
un, of making sallow complexions and lack-lustre eyes, andof causing a demand for cosmetics that would never have been known hadthe sun-god been allowed to steal kisses from the cheek of beauty andleave there the ruddy glow of health as a compensation for theprivilege.
To induce a belief on the part of Richard Crawford that he was wellenough and strong enough to leave the house to which he had been so longconfined, had been found a little difficult. The ice once broken, thenext adventure into the summer sunshine would need far less inducement.So it proved. And so it happened that within four days from the timewhen he believed that he was committing suicide by adventuring to theCentral Park, he permitted himself to be persuaded, under the sanctionof the doctor, into taking a step which was certain to test his powersof endurance pretty thoroughly--nothing less than _going to NiagaraFalls_.
Of course this movement originated with John Crawford the Zouave, whoseoriginal restlessness had not been a whit quieted by the ever-movingadventure of a year in the army. The city was growing unendurably hot,he said, so that he every day expected to find the paving-stonessplitting to pieces with the heat, and the fish boiling in the NorthRiver. It was ten degrees worse, he averred, than he had experienced inVirginia either season; and such a thing as a hot day had never beenknown at Niagara, even by the oldest inhabitant. (Perhaps the young manaltered his opinion on that point, visiting it especially during theearly days of July, 1862!) Dick would grow worse again--he knew hewould--and lose the little strength he had gained, sweltering in such anunventilated pig-stye as the city. Come!--there were to be no more wordsabout it!--they should all go to Niagara!
Richard Crawford was at first alarmed--then puzzled--then a littledelighted. Bell, who did not often fall into the peculiarly girlishweakness of clapping her hands, did so on this occasion. She had missedNiagara for the previous two years; and this season, owing to theserious illness of her brother, she had expected to be debarred theprivilege of exhibiting her unimpeachable summer wardrobe (which shehad not _quite_ forgotten) at any of the watering-places. Richard'srapid improvement and this restless suggestion of John, seemed like agod-send. _She_ voted for Niagara, if Richard felt that he could endurethe fatigue of the journey. His citadel surrounded on two sides in thatmanner, and the genial old doctor faithless, there was little else leftthan a surrender, and Richard Crawford surrendered.
Stop!--there was something of which neither had thought for a moment!They had a guest, whose wishes should be consulted the more religiouslybecause she would make no parade of them. Would Marion Hobart, whomourned in heart if not in the sombre hue of her garments, for her lastrelative so lately dead--would _she_ be pleased to go into the gay worldof a fashionable watering-place? Not _content_, but _pleased_? If shewould not, the project must be abandoned, whatever the temptations to goforward. Bell, who had the moment before been about commencing heraction as a committee of one to overhaul Richard's laid-away wardbrobeand discover what additions would be necessary, had the sphere of heroperations suddenly changed by being sent up-stairs to sound theinclinations of the young Virginian girl on the subject.
She found Marion Hobart half _en deshabille_, lying upon the bed in herown little chamber, busily reading and comparing the letter-press withthe coats-of-arms, in a copy of the English Peerage which she had foundin Dick's little library, and to which she had exhibited a scandalouslyaristocratic taste by paying more attention than to all the other booksin the house.
"Have you ever been at Niagara, Marion?" asked Bell Crawford, leaningover her with a sisterly caress.
"No," answered the young girl, looking away from her book, but withoutany indication of rising or any sign of that anxious agitation whichinevitably brightens the faces of most American girls who have not seenthe world's-wonder, when that magic word is uttered in their presence."Father and some friends were at Saratoga once, when I was a very littlegirl. But father was drowned at sea. Grandfather never came North."
"Would you like to see Niagara?" was Bell's second question.
"I do not know," answered the young Virginian girl, with strangecoolness and candor. "I think I should like to see it as well asanything else. I have not seen many waterfalls. I once saw the Falls ofthe Black Fork of Cheat; and I saw the Natural Bridge. They are both inVirginia. I do not know whether I should like Niagara or not."
"Would you like to go there. Suppose brother and myself were going toNiagara and should ask you to go with us--would you be pleased to go?"
"I would as lief go as stay here or go anywhere else," said the singulargirl.
"I thought you might possibly have objections to going, because there isso much company at Niagara, and because you have so lately lost yourgrandfather--that is why I asked," explained Bell.
"I do not mind the company. They are nothing to me. I do not mourn formy poor grandfather _aloud_. But you are very kind to think of me,"answered the little enigma. And with that very unenthusiasticendorsement of the Niagara project, Bell Crawford was compelled todescend the stairs and make report of the event of her embassy. But theresult was held to be rather satisfactory than otherwise, and thehastily-devised arrangements for Niagara went forward.
To pass rapidly over that movement, the manner of which does not in anydegree affect the progress of this narration, let it be said that onWednesday, the 9th of July, the two brothers, the sister and theirguest, with the proper array of the "great North River travelling-trunks"and other baggage, took the steamer Daniel Drew for a sail by daylightup the Hudson, as the mode of making half the journey least fatiguing tothe recovering invalid. That the three New Yorkers, to whom the sceneryof that noble river was thoroughly familiar, clapped hands and shoutedtheir joy once more, nearly all day, at the flashing blue of the river,the rafts of steamboats, sloops and tows that continually came sweepingdown it, the rugged frowning of the Palisades, the narrow-passes andrugged peaks of the Highlands, and the long, blue, uneven line of theCattskills, with the white glimmering of the Mountain House,--while theyoung Virginian girl, introduced to that scenery for the first time in herlife, seemed to maintain her calmness and comparative insensibility. Thatthey rested for the night at Albany, out of respect to the comfort of theinvalid--John Crawford submitting under protest, and declaring Albany,after Washington, the most unendurable "one-horse town" in the universe.That they took the cars of the Central Road in the morning, Richard beingso pillowed among cloaks and blankets and shawls, that he had quite thecomfort of lying in an ordinary bed; and that on Thursday night, the Tenthof July, when the full moon had risen so high in heaven as to make thecoming midnight a very mockery of day, they rolled into the village ofNiagara Falls, and found a resting-place at the still wide-awake andever-lively Cataract.