Is he not approved to the height of a villain, who hath
slandered, scorned, dishonored thy kinswoman. Oh! that I
were a man for his sake, or had a friend who would be
one for mine!
—SHAKESPEARE.
Autumn brought the usual city visitors to Hurricane Hall to spend the sporting season and shoot over Major Warfield's grounds. Old Hurricane was in his glory, giving dinners and projecting hunts.
Capitola also enjoyed herself rarely, enacting with much satisfaction to herself and guests her new role of hostess, and not unfrequently joining her uncle and his friends in their field sports.
Among the guests there were two who deserve particular attention, not only because they had been for many years annual visitors of Hurricane Hall, but more especially because there had grown up between them and our little madcap heroine, a strong mutual confidence and friendship. Yet no three persons could possibly be more unlike than Capitola and the two cousins of her soul, as she called these two friends. They were both distant relatives of Major Warfield, and in right of this relationship invariably addressed Capitola as "Cousin Cap."
John Stone, the elder of the two, was a very tall, stout, squarely built young man, with a broad, good-humored face, fair skin, blue eyes and light hair. In temperament he was rather phlegmatic, quiet and lazy. In character he was honest, prudent and good-tempered. In circumstances he was a safe banker, with a notable wife and two healthy children. The one thing that was able to excite his quiet nerves was the chase, of which he was as fond as he could possibly be of any amusement. The one person who agreeably stirred his rather still spirits was our little Cap, and that was the secret of his friendship for her.
Edwin Percy, the other, was a young West Indian, tall and delicately formed, with a clear olive complexion, languishing dark hazel eyes and dark, bright chestnut hair and beard. In temperament he was ardent as his clime. In character, indolent, careless and self-indulgent. In condition he was the bachelor heir of a sugar plantation of a thousand acres. He loved not the chase, nor any other amusement requiring exertion. He doted upon swansdown sofas with springs, French plays, cigars and chocolate. He came to the country to find repose, good air and an appetite. He was the victim of constitutional ennui that yielded to nothing but the exhilaration of Capitola's company; that was the mystery of his love for her, and doubtless the young Creole would have proposed for Cap, had he not thought it too much trouble to get married, and dreaded the bustle of a bridal. Certainly Edwin Percy was as opposite in character to John Stone, as they both were to Capitola, yet great was the relative attraction among the three. Cap impartially divided her kind offices as hostess between them.
John Stone joined Old Hurricane in many a hard day's hunt, and Capitola was often of the party.
Edwin Percy spent many hours on the luxurious lounge in the parlor, where Cap was careful to place a stand with chocolate, cigars, wax matches and his favorite books.
One day Cap had had what she called "a row with the governor," that is to say, a slight misunderstanding with Major Warfield; a very uncommon occurrence, as the reader knows, in which that temperate old gentleman had so freely bestowed upon his niece the names of "beggar, foundling, brat, vagabond and vagrant," that Capitola, in just indignation, refused to join the birding party, and taking her game bag, powder flask, shot-horn and fowling piece, and calling her favorite pointer, walked off, as she termed it, "to shoot herself." But if Capitola's by no means sweet temper had been tried that morning, it was destined to be still more severely tested before the day was over.
Her second provocation came in this way: John Stone, another deserter of the birding party had that day betaken himself to Tip-top upon some private business of his own. He dined at the Antlers in company with some sporting gentlemen of the neighborhood, and when the conversation naturally turned upon field sports, Mr. John Stone spoke of the fine shooting that was to be had around Hurricane Hall, when one of the gentlemen, looking straight across the table to Mr. Stone, said:
"Ahem! That pretty little huntress of Hurricane Hall—that niece or ward, or mysterious daughter of Old Hurricane, who engages with so much enthusiasm in your field sports over there, is a girl of very free and easy manners I understand—a Diana in nothing but her love of the chase!"
"Sir, it is a base calumny! And the man who endorses it is a shameless slanderer! There is my card! I may be found at my present residence, Hurricane Hall," said John Stone, throwing his pasteboard across the table, and rising to leave it.
"Nay, nay," said the stranger, laughing and pushing the card away. "I do not endorse the statement—I know nothing about it! I wash my hands of it," said the young man. And then upon Mr. Stone's demanding the author of the calumny, he gave the name of Mr. Craven Le Noir, who, he said, had "talked in his cups," at a dinner party recently given by one of his friends.
"I pronounce—publicly, in the presence of all these witnesses, as I shall presently to Craven Le Noir himself—that he is a shameless miscreant, who has basely slandered a noble girl! You, sir, have declined to endorse those words; henceforth decline to repeat them! For after this I shall call to a severe account any man who ventures, by word, gesture or glance to hint this slander, or in any other way deal lightly with the honorable name and fame of the lady in question. Gentlemen, I am to be found at Hurricane Hall, and I have the honor of wishing you a more improving subject of conversation, and—a very good afternoon," said John Stone, bowing and leaving the room.
He immediately called for his horse and rode home.
In crossing the thicket of woods between the river and the rising ground in front of Hurricane Hall, he overtook Capitola, who, as we have said, had been out alone with her gun and dog, and was now returning home with her game bag well laden.
Now, as John Stone looked at Capitola, with her reckless, free and joyous air, he thought she was just the sort of girl, unconsciously, to get herself and friends into trouble. And he thought it best to give her a hint to put an abrupt period to her acquaintance, if she had even he slightest, with the heir apparent of the Hidden House.
While still hesitating how to begin the conversation, he came up with the young girl, dismounted, and, leading his horse, walked by her side, asking carelessly:
"What have you bagged, Cap?"
"Some partridges! Oh, you should have been out with me and Sweetlips! We've had such sport! But, anyhow, you shall enjoy your share of the spoils! Come home and you shall have some of these partridges broiled for supper, with currant sauce—a dish of my own invention for uncle's sake, you know! He's such a gourmand!"
"Thank you, yes—I am on my way home now. Hem—m! Capitola, I counsel you to cut the acquaintance of our neighbor, Craven Le Noir."
"I have already done so; but—what in the world is the matter that you should advise me thus?" inquired Capitola, fixing her eyes steadily upon the face of John Stone, who avoided her gaze as he answered:
"The man is not a proper associate for a young woman."
"I know that, and have cut him accordingly; but, Cousin John, there is some reason for your words, that you have not expressed; and as they concern me, now I insist upon knowing what they are!"
"Tut! it is nothing!" said the other evasively.
"John Stone, I know better! And the more you look down and whip your boot the surer I am that there is something I ought to know, and I will know!"
"Well, you termagant! Have your way! He has been speaking lightly of you—that's all! Nobody minds him—his tongue is no scandal."
"John Stone—what has he said?" asked Capitola, drawing her breath hardly between her closed teeth.
"Oh, now, why should you ask? It is nothing—it is not proper that I should tell you," replied that gentleman, in embarrassment.
"'It is nothing,' and yet 'it is not proper that you should tell me!' How do you make that out? John Stone, leave off lashing the harmless bushes and listen to me! I have to live in the same neighborhood with this man, after you have gone away, and I insist upon knowing the whole length and breadth of his baseness and malignity, that I may know how to judge and punish him!" said Capitola, with such grimness of resolution that Mr. Stone, provoked at her perversity, answered:
"Well, you wilful girl, listen!" And commencing, he mercilessly told her all that had passed at the table.
To have seen our Cap then! Face, neck and bosom were flushed with the crimson tide of indignation!
"You are sure of what you tell me, Cousin John?"
"The man vouches for it!"
"He shall bite the dust!"
"What?"
"The slanderer shall bite the dust!"
Without more ado, down was thrown gun, game bag, powder flask and shot-horn, and, bounding from point to point over all the intervening space, Capitola rushed into Hurricane Hall, and without an instant's delay ran straight into the parlor, where her epicurean friend, the young Creole, lay slumbering upon the lounge.
With her face now livid with concentrated rage, and her eyes glittering with that suppressed light peculiar to intense passion, she stood before him and said:
"Edwin! Craven Le Noir has defamed your cousin! Get up and challenge him!"
"What did you say, Cap?" said Mr. Percy, slightly yawning.
"Must I repeat it? Craven Le Noir has defamed my character—challenge him!"
"That would be against the law, coz; they would indict me sure!"
"You—you—you lie there and answer me in that way! Oh that I were a man!"
"Compose, yourself, sweet coz, and tell me what all this is about! Yaw-ooo!—really I was asleep when you first spoke to me!"
"Asleep! Had you been dead and in your grave, the words that I spoke should have roused you like the trump of the archangel!" exclaimed Capitola, with the blood rushing back to her cheeks.
"Your entrance was sufficiently startling, coz, but tell me over again—what was the occasion?"
"That caitiff, Craven Le Noir, has slandered me! Oh, the villain! He is a base slanderer! Percy, get up this moment and challenge Le Noir! I cannot breathe freely until it is done!" exclaimed Capitola, impetuously.
"Cousin Cap, duelling is obsolete; scenes are passe; law settles everything; and here there is scarcely ground for action for libel. But be comforted, coz, for if this comes to Uncle Hurricane's ears, he'll make mince-meat of him in no time, It is all in his line; he'll chaw him right up!"
"Percy, do you mean to say that you will not call out that man?" asked Capitola, drawing her breath hardly.
"Yes, coz."
"You won't fight him?"
"No, coz."
"You won't?"
"No."
"Edwin Percy, look me straight in the face!" said Cap, between her closed teeth.
"Well, I am looking you straight in the face—straight in the two blazing gray eyes, you little tempest in a teapot—what then?"
"Do I look as though I should be in earnest in what I am about to speak?"
"I should judge so."
"Then listen, and don't take your eyes off mine until I am done speaking!"
"Very well, don't be long, though, for it rather agitates me."
"I will not! Hear me, then! You say that you decline to challenge Le Noir. Very good! I, on my part, here renounce all acquaintance with you! I will never sit down at the same table—enter the same room, or breathe the same air with you—never speak to you—listen to you, or recognize you in any manner, until my deep wrongs are avenged in the punishment of my slanderer, so help me—"
"Hush—sh! don't swear, Cap—it's profane and unwomanly; and nothing on earth but broken oaths would be the result!"
But Cap was off! In an instant she was down in the yard, where her groom was holding her horse, ready in case she wished to take her usual ride.
"Where is Mr. John Stone?" she asked.
"Down at the kennels, miss," answered the boy.
She jumped into her saddle, put whip to her horse and flew over the ground between the mansion house and the kennels.
She pulled up before the door of the main building, sprang from her saddle, threw the bridle to a man in attendance, and rushed into the house and into the presence of Mr. John Stone, who was busy in prescribing for an indisposed pointer.
He looked up in astonishment, exclaiming: "Hilloe! All the witches! Here's Cap! Why, where on earth did you shoot from? What's up now? You look as if you were in a state of spontaneous combustion and couldn't stand it another minute."
"And I can't—and I won't! John Stone, you must call that man out!"
"What man, Cap—what the deuce do you mean?"
"You know well enough—you do this to provoke me! I mean the man of whom you cautioned me this afternoon—the wretch who slandered me—the niece of your host!"
"Whe—ew!"
"Will you do it?"
"Where's Percy?"
"On the lounge with an ice in one hand and a novel in the other! I suppose it is no use mincing the matter, John—he is a—mere epicure—there is no fight in him! It is you who must vindicate your cousin's honor!"
"My cousin's honor cannot need vindication! It is unquestioned and unquestionable!"
"No smooth words, if you please, cousin John! Will you, or will you not fight that man?"
"Tut, Cap, no one really questions your honor—that man will get himself knocked into a cocked hat if he goes around talking of an honest girl!"
"A likely thing, when her own cousins and guests take it so quietly."
"What would you have them do, Cap? The longer an affair of this sort is agitated, the more offensive it becomes! Besides, chivalry is out of date! The knights-errant are all dead."
"The men are all dead! If any ever really lived!" cried Cap, in a fury. "Heaven knows I am inclined to believe them to have been a fabulous race like that of the mastodon or the centaur! I certainly never saw a creature that deserved the name of man! The very first of your race was the meanest fellow that ever was heard of—ate the stolen apple and when found out laid one half of the blame on his wife and the other on his Maker—'The woman whom thou gavest me' did so and so—pah! I don't wonder the Lord took a dislike to the race and sent a flood to sweep them all off the face of the earth! I will give you one more chance to retrieve your honor—in one word, now—will you fight that man?"
"My dear little cousin, I would do anything in reason to vindicate the assailed manhood of my whole sex, but really, now—"
"Will you fight that man? One word—yes or no?"
"Tut, Cap! you are a very reckless young woman! You—it's your nature—you are an incorrigible madcap! You bewitch a poor wretch until he doesn't know his head from his heels—puts his feet into his hat and covers his scalp with his boots! You are a will-o'-the-wisp who lures a poor fellow on through woods, bogs and briars, until you land him in the quicksands! You whirl him around and around until he grows dizzy and delirious, and talks at random, and then you'd have him called out, you blood-thirsty little vixen! I tell you, Cousin Cap, if I were to take up all the quarrels your hoydenism might lead me into, I should have nothing else to do!"
"Then you won't fight!"
"Can't, little cousin! I have a wife and family, which are powerful checks upon a man's duelling impulses!"
"Silence! You are no cousin of mine—no drop of your sluggish blood stagnates in my veins—no spark of the liquid fire of my life's current burns in your torpid arteries, else at this insult would it set you in a flame! Never dare to call me cousin again." And so saying, she flung herself out of the building and into her saddle, put whip to her horse and galloped away home.
Now, Mr. Stone had privately resolved to thrash Craven Le Noir; but he did not deem it expedient to take Cap into his confidence. As Capitola reached the horse block, her own groom came to take the bridle.
"Jem," she said, as she jumped from her saddle, "put Gyp up and then come to my room, I have a message to send by you."
And then, with burning cheeks and flashing eyes, she went to her own sanctum, and after taking off her habit, did the most astounding thing that ever a woman of the nineteenth or any former century attempted—she wrote a challenge to Craven Le Noir—charging him with falsehood in having maligned her honor—demanding from him "the satisfaction of a gentleman," and requesting him as the challenged party to name the time, place and weapons with which he would meet her.
By the time she had written, sealed and directed this warlike defiance, her young groom made his appearance.
"Jem," she asked, "do you know the way to the Hidden House?"
"Yes, miss, sure."
"Then take this note thither, ask for Mr. Le Noir, put it into his hands, and say that you are directed to wait an answer. And listen! You need not mention to any one in this house where you are going—nor when you return, where you have been; but bring the answer you may get directly to this room, where you will find me."
"Yes, miss," said the boy, who was off like a flying Mercury.
Capitola threw herself into her chair to spend the slow hours until the boy's return as well as her fierce impatience and forced inaction would permit.
At tea time she was summoned; but excused herself from going below upon the plea of indisposition.
"Which is perfectly true," she said to herself, "since I am utterly indisposed to go. And besides, I have sworn never again to sit at the same table with my cousins, until for the wrongs done me I have received ample satisfaction."
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