Copperhead Gore: Benjamin Wood's Fort Lafayette and Civil War America

CHAPTER IX

[ 136 ] CHAPTER IX. The following morning was warm and springlike, and Arthur was suf¤ciently strong and well to walk out a little in the open air. He had been seated upon the veranda conversing with Beverly and Harold, when the latter proposed a stroll with Beverly, with whom he wished to converse in relation to his proposed marriage. As the beams of the unclouded sun had already chased away the morning dew, and the air was warm and balmy, Arthur walked out into the garden and breathed the freshness of the atmosphere with the exhilaration of convalescent freed for the ¤rst time from the sickroom . Accidentally, or by instinct, he turned his steps to the little grove which he knew was Oriana’s favorite haunt; and there, indeed , she sat, upon the rustic bench, above which the drooping limbs of the willow formed a leafy canopy. The pensive girl, her white hand, on which she leaned, buried among the raven tresses, was gazing ¤xedly into the depths of the clear sky, as if she sought to penetrate that azure veil, and ¤nd some hope realized among the mysteries of the space beyond. The neglected volume had fallen from her lap, and lay among the bluebells at her feet. Arthur’s feeble steps were unheard upon the sward, and he had taken his seat beside her, before, conscious of an intruder, she started from her dream. “The ¤rst pilgrimage of my convalescence is to your bower, my gentle nurse. I have come to thank you for more kindness than I can ever repay, except with grateful thoughts.” She had risen when she became aware of his presence; and Fort Lafayette by Benjamin Wood [ 137 ] when she resumed her seat, it seemed with hesitation, and almost an effort, as if two impulses were struggling within her. But her pleasure to see him abroad again was too hearty to be checked, and she timidly gave him the hand which his extended palm invited to a friendly grasp. “Indeed, Mr. Wayne, I am very glad to see you so far recovered.” “To your kind of¤ces chie¶y I owe it, and those of my good friends, your brother and Harold, and our excellent Miss Randolph. My sick-room has been the test of so much friendship, that I could almost be sinful enough to regret the returning health which makes me no longer a dependent on your care. But you are pale, Miss Weems. Or is it that my eyes are unused to this broad daylight? Indeed , I trust you are not ill?” “Oh, no, I am quite well,” she answered; but it was with an involuntary sigh that was in contrast with the words. “But you are not strong yet, Mr. Wayne, and I must not let you linger too long in the fresh morning air. We had best go in under shelter of the veranda.” She arose, and would have led the way, but he detained her gently with a light touch upon her sleeve. “Stay one moment, I pray you. I seem to breathe new life with this pure air, and the perfume of these bowers awakens within me an inexpressible and calm delight. I shall be all the better for one tranquil hour with nature in bloom, if you, like the guardian nymph of these ¶oral treasures, will sit beside me.” He drew her gently back into the seat, and looked long and earnestly upon her face. She felt his gaze, but dared not return it, and her fair head drooped like a ¶ower that bends beneath the glance of a scorching sun. “Miss Weems,” he said at last, but his voice was so low and tremulous that it scarce rose above the rustle of the swinging willow boughs, “you are soon to be a bride, and in your path the kind Destinies will shower blessings. When they wreathe the orange blossoms in your hair, and you are led to the altar by the hand to Copperhead Gore [ 138 ] which you must cling for life, if I should not be there to wish you joy, you will not deem, will you, that I am less your friend?” The fair head drooping yet lower was her only answer. “And when you shall be the mistress of a home where Content will be shrined, the companion of your virtues, and over your threshold many friends shall be welcomed...