Doubly false

In the exuberance of her spirits, Virginia was delighted with this idea of a ride, the first that she had thought of taking since her return to America. So, later in the day, she put on her habit with its garniture of gold buttons, and the hat with its trailing feather, which made her resemblance to Cora absolutely startling.

Joshua Hurd brought out the horse, washed white as snow, with his mane shining like floss silk and his eyes full of genial fire. Proud as a lord, he lifted Virginia to her saddle, and stood, with his stout arms folded complacently, and a broad grin on his face, watching her as she rode off. Every time that beautiful animal tossed his head, or began to curvette the gravelled road, Josh would give out a mellow chuckle of delight, and move his great feet on the ground, in an ecstasy of admiration.

Virginia had refused the escort of a groom. She longed to enjoy her freedom without even that restraint. As for fear, the girl had scarcely a remembrance of the time when she had not ridden on horseback. Besides, who could be afraid of that beautiful animal, whose wildest movements were full of playful grace without a touch of viciousness in them. So away she rode, coming out of the grounds at the broad iron gate, just above the hotel, after which she took the road at a gallop.

Clarence Brooks had received his note just before the hour appointed for his morning ride with Cora. Joshua had been busy preparing his favorite for the road and sent the note by another servant, who loitered on the way, so that Brooks got it just as he was prepared to mount. He went back into the house and seated himself in the stoop, half resolved to give up his ride when Virginia went by on her white horse, casting one shy glance toward the hotel as she went.

Up Clarence Brooks started, knocking over his chair, seized the riding whip and gloves he had flung aside, and, leaping to his saddle, put his impatient horse to the top of his speed at once.

Virginia heard the clattering hoofs behind her and spoke softly to her horse.

“Steady, steady, Snowball; not so fast, not so fast.”

Snowball arched her neck and began to amble, as if she understood the beating of that young heart and was resolved to humor it, irksome as the restraint was.

“So I have overtaken you at last,” cried out a happy voice, just behind her. The next instant that black steed came neck and neck with her white one, contrasting finely, like the two riders. “Oh, Virginia, this is too great a happiness! What a glorious day we will make of it!”

“I thought you would see us pass; Snowball, here, almost wanted to stop. I think the creature knows more than she ought—indeed I do.”

How well she rode; not with the dash and conscious power of Cora. But with so firm a seat, and that gentle touch of the bridle, there was little danger that any horse would rear and plunge with her in the saddle. Away they went, riding off the first glow of animal spirits with a dash. When the horses took their own course, Brooks rode so close to Virginia’s bridle rein at times that his hand touched hers, while their horses walked lazily forward or absolutely stopped under some cool shade, seeming to know how pleasant the whole affair was to their riders.

In the fullness of their contentment these two people talked of a thousand things which drew them closer and closer into sweet sympathy every moment. He told how his heart had gone out to her on that first day when they met under the chestnut, how he had struggled against the feeling, which grew stronger and stronger every hour, because it seemed like treason against the wishes of his friend, whose great object had been for a union between himself and the daughter he so devotedly loved. She was beautiful, he said, and accomplished beyond most women. At first he had liked her, notwithstanding a shade of disappointment, for Lander had prepared him for something more feminine—at any rate less pronounced. Perhaps, had things gone on as they commenced—had he never found that log cabin in the woods and looked from its little window—Amos Lander’s last wish might have been carried out. But that day of chestnuting had played the mischief with all such ideas. He had found the niece all that the daughter had been described to him—all that he had loved before seeing either. Still the contest had been a hard one. Death had sanctified his friend’s wish, and the feelings that were so surely arising to oppose it seemed to him almost as a crime. He resisted them bravely for a while, gave himself up to the society of Lander’s heiress, strove to force his heart into loving her—had admired her greatly, and did then. But the heart in his bosom was not to be controlled. Cora Lander was beautiful, brilliant, talented, noble; but he did not love her, for heart and soul, body and strength, he loved her cousin.

All this was heavenly language to the fair girl who listened. She longed, in the fullness of her confidence, to tell him everything, but the truth was so painful that she put it off. Why dash their happiness with a subject like that? He loved her, and that was enough. Poor, wicked Cora, she was welcome to the wealth—welcome, to all the happiness that could be wrested out of a fraud. Why should she feel a pleasure in destroying the respect he felt for her? It might be necessary for her to tell all the truth some time—would be, no doubt—but why trail the serpent over their flowers just then?

So they talked of nothing that was not pleasant and hopeful. Brooks told her of Ellen’s visit the night before, and of her strange request, which he could not yet understand. Virginia listened, smiling—what had she to fear with this lordly man by her side? Still she had compassion on Ellen’s terror, groundless as it seemed, and said: “Perhaps it would be as well to gratify her. Dear girl, all this fear grows out of her great care; besides, their secret way of love had been so bright, she, for one, would rather keep in it a while longer.”

“But your mother, dear girl, we must ask her sanction of our love.”

Virginia started at this, and a revulsion swept over her fair face.

“No,” she said, “not yet; I cannot consent to that. Do not ask me why, but it is impossible.”

Brooks was disturbed by her perturbation, and wondered at it. He saw the color come and go in her face, leaving it unusually white and serious. This look of distress, devoid as it was of all temper, touched him with compassion.

“Why, how have I managed to drive the color from your face like that?” he said, with a broad smile, which was like sunshine to her. “We need ask no one’s consent to our love because that cannot be helped, try as we will. As for your mother—”

“Don’t, don’t, I cannot bear to hear you speak of her in that way!”

“Why, you sensitive darling, what have I said disrespectful?”

“Nothing, nothing; this shade chills one. Shall we ride on?”

For half a mile they went forward at a gallop. When this hot speed was checked, Brooks turned toward her and said, very gently:

“So, I am not to tell!”

“Give me a little time to think what is right and best,” she answered, in a low voice.

“I will—I will, an eternity, if you ask it. Now smile upon me once more. I feel like some poor fellow in a storm while you continue to look so troubled.”

She looked up and smiled upon him with such sweet trust, that his heart yearned toward her with a tenderness almost paternal.

“Now,” he said, “we have a fine piece of woods to ride through—on the other side is the neatest little country tavern you ever saw. There we will dine.”

Virginia brightened instantly.

“You and I alone,” she said, radiant with the thought. “Oh! that will be happiness.”

They made a short passage of the woods, sending back storms of dead leaves along the road, and at length came in sight of a long stone house, nearly overrun by a Virginia creeper, blood-red, and half bereft of its foliage, which make the grass around one brilliant carpet of crimson and green.

This creeper curtained the windows of a little sitting-room, with a home-made carpet on the floor, a wooden settee with a green cushion, along one side some upright cane-bottomed chairs standing like sentinels against the wall, and a round table with a faded cloth in the centre. I do not think those young people gave much heed of the hardness of that settee, or were very impatient because that choice little dinner took some time in the preparation. They took pleasantly to the steel forks and coarse napkins, for both were exquisitely clean. As for the broiled chicken, mealy potatoes and home-made bread, I had rather say nothing about them, because the fragments taken out were by no means so many as very sensitive people might expect from two persons so thoroughly in love with each other. A long ride on that glorious October morning had really deranged the usual course of things, and the romance of eating their first meal together was scarcely equal to the reality.

They left that shaded room reluctantly after all, and Virginia cast a wistful look behind her as she passed its threshold. What a happy hour it had been! Even the rag carpet and that stiff settee looked beautiful to her.

The ride home was quieter but not less delightful than the morning had proved. The deep contentment which settled upon them was the delicious repose which follows joyous excitement. These young persons loved each other, and every phase of their growing passion was a delight.

Virginia would ride home alone. She was not prepared to brave the questions and criticism which would follow a bold dash up to the house with Clarence Brooks by her side. He protested and threatened to rebel, but she was firm as a little tyrant, and rode away from him before the argument was half closed. As for the people at the hotel and along the road, the affair made no comment, for Virginia, in the same style of dress, was so like her cousin that people only observed, in a careless fashion, that Miss Lander had changed her horse that day, and, with a feather in her hat, looked more beautiful than ever. Somehow the black horse had given her a dashing and fierce air, which did not appear at all on that snow-white beauty. No wonder Mr. Brooks was in love with the lady. What a match it would be; both so rich and good-looking—in fact, they were the finest couple that was ever seen in those parts, and worth millions between them.

Joshua Hurd was waiting for his favorite when she came up, in a high state of enjoyment. The white horse had, for once, been fairly placed upon the road, and the neighbors had been given a chance to see what sort of animals were kept in the Lander stables; people did not know it, but Snowball was a full-blooded Arabian, and had been purchased in Egypt for Mr. Lander’s daughter. Cora had made the wrong choice that time, and Joshua Hurd chuckled over it. What did she know of a horse?