Gifts of Genius | Page 7

faces of some gentlemen who
had been refused, made me smile. When the party was over, Annie
gave me her hand at the foot of the staircase. I saw a triumphant light in
her mischievous eyes, as she glanced at the departing gallants; her rosy
cheeks dimpled, and she flitted up, humming a gay tune.
It is singular how beautiful she is when she laughs--as when she sighs.
Am I falling in love with her? I shall be guilty of no such folly. I think
that my pride and self-respect will keep me rational. Pshaw! why did I
dream of such nonsense!
V.
So--a month has passed.
My coat, it seems, is to be the constant topic of attention.
A day or two since, I was sitting in my chamber, reflecting upon a
variety of things. My thoughts, at last, centred on the deficiencies of
my wardrobe, and I muttered, "I must certainly have my coat mended
soon;" and I looked down, sighing, at the hole in my elbow.... It had
disappeared! There was no longer any rent. The torn cloth had been
mended in the neatest manner; so neatly, indeed, that the orifice was
almost invisible. Who could have done it, and how? I have one coat
only, and--yes! it must have been! I saw, in a moment, the whole secret:
that noise, and the voice of Sarah, the old chambermaid.
I rose and went out on the staircase; I met the good crone.
"How did you find my coat in the dark?" I said, smiling; "and now you

must let me make you a present for mending it, Sarah."
Sarah hesitated, plainly; but honesty conquered. She refused the money,
which, nevertheless, I gave her; and, from her careless replies, I soon
discovered the real truth.
The coat had been mended by Annie!
I descended to the drawing-room, and finding her alone, thanked her
with simplicity and sincerity. She blushed and pouted.
"Who told you?" she asked.
"No one; but I discovered it from Sarah; she was unguarded."
"Well, sir," said Annie, blushing still, but laughing, "there is no reason
for your being so grateful, I thought I would mend it, as I formerly
laughed at it--and I hope it is neatly done."
"It is scarcely visible," I said, with a smile and a bow; "I shall keep this
coat always to remind me of your delicate kindness."
"Pshaw! 'twas nothing."
And running to the piano, the young girl commenced a merry song,
which rang through the old hall like the carol of a bird. Her voice was
so inexpressibly sweet that it made my pulses throb and my heart ache.
I did not know the expression of my countenance, as I looked at her,
until turning toward me, I saw her suddenly color to the roots of her
hair.
I felt, all at once, that I had fixed upon her one of those looks which say
as plainly as words could utter: "I love you with all the powers of my
nature, all the faculties of my being--you are dearer to me than the
whole wide world beside!"
Upon my word of honor as a gentleman, I did not know that I loved
Annie--I was not conscious that I was gazing at her with that look of
inexpressible tenderness. Her sudden blush cleared up everything like a

flash of lightning--I rose, set my lips together, and bowed. I could
scarcely speak--I muttered "pray excuse me," and left the apartment.
On the next morning I begged the squire to release me from the
completion of my task--I had a friend who could perform the duties as
well as myself, and who would come to the hall for that purpose,
inasmuch as the account books could not be removed--I must go.
The formal and ceremonious old gentleman did not ask my reasons for
this sudden act--he simply inclined his head--and said that he would
always be glad to serve me. With a momentary pressure of Annie's cold
hand, and a low bow to the frigid Mrs. Barrington, I departed.
VI.
Five years have passed away. They have been eventful ones to me--not
for the unhoped for success which I have had in my profession, so
much as for the long suffering which drove me, violently as it were, to
seek relief in unceasing toil.
The thought of Annie has been ever with me--my pain, though such a
term is slight, was caused by my leaving her. I never knew how much I
loved her until all those weary miles were thrown between us. My days
have been most unhappy, my nights drearier still; for a long time now, I
have not thought or said "how good a thing it is to live!"
But I acted wisely, and honorably; did I not? I