One Of Them

“There! – look there! – the whole question is decided already,” said Agincourt, as he drew the other towards the window and pointed to the street below. “There go the two girls together; they have driven off in that carriage, and Clara has her home once more in the midst of those who love her.”

“I’m bound to say, sir,” said Quackinboss, after a moment’s pause, “that you Britishers are a fine people. You have, it is true, too many class distinctions and grades of rank among you, but you have a main hearty sympathy that teaches you to deal with human sufferin’ as a thing that makes all men kindred; and whenever it’s your lot to have to do a kindness, you double the benefit by the delicacy you throw into it.”

“That’s a real good fellow,” said O’Shea, as Quackinboss quitted the room.

“Is he not?” cried Agincourt. “If I ever harbor an ungenerous thought about Yankees, I know how to correct it, by remembering that he ‘s ‘One of Them.’”

CHAPTER XII. CONCLUSION

Most valued reader, can you number amongst your life experiences that very suggestive one of revisiting some spot where you had once sojourned pleasantly, with scarcely any of the surroundings which first embellished it? With all the instruction and self-knowledge derivable from such an incident, there is a considerable leaven of sorrow, and even some bitterness. It is so very hard to believe that we are ourselves more changed than all around. We could have sworn that waterfall was twice as high, and certainly the lake used not to be the mere pond we see it; and the cedars, – surely these are not the cedars we were wont to sit under with Marian long ago? Oh dear! when I think that I once fancied I could pass my life in this spot, and now I am actually impatient for day-dawn that I may leave it!

With something of this humor three persons sat at sunset under the old beech-trees at the Bagni di Lucca. They were characters in this true history that we but passingly presented to our reader, and may well have lapsed from his memory. They were Mr. and Mrs. Morgan and Mr. Mosely, who had by the merest accident once more met and renewed acquaintance.

“My wife remembered you, sir, the moment you entered the table d’hôte room. She said, ‘There ‘s that young man of Trip and Mosely’s, that we saw here – was it three years ago?’”

“Possibly,” was the dry response. “My memory is scarcely so good.”

“You know I never forget a face, Tom,” broke in the lady.

“I constantly do,” said Mosely, tartly.

“Yes, but you must see so many people every day of your life, such hordes passing in and passing out, as I said to Morgan, it’s no wonder at all if he can’t remember us.”

Mr. Mosely had just burned his finger with a lucifer-match, and mattered something not actually a benediction.

“Great changes over Italy – indeed, over all Europe – since we met last here,” said Morgan, anxious to get discussion into a safer region.

“Yes, the Italians are behaving admirably; they ‘ve shown the world that they are fully capable of winning their liberty, and knowing how to employ it.”

“Don’t believe it, sir, – bigoted set of rascals, – it’s all pillage, – simple truth is, the Governments were all too good for them.”

“You’re right, Tom; perfectly right.”

“He ‘ll not have many to agree with him, then; of that, madam, be well assured. The sympathies of the whole world are with these people.”

“Sympathies! – I like to hear of sympathies! Why won’t sympathies mend the holes in their pantaloons, sir, and give them bread to eat?”

Mosely arose with impatience, and began to draw on his gloves.

“Oh, don’t go for a moment, sir,” broke in the lady. “I am so curious to hear if you know what became of the people we met the last time we were here?”

“Which of them?”

“Well – indeed, I’d like to hear about all of them.”

“I believe I can tell you, then. The Heathcotes are living in Germany. The young man is married to Miss Leslie, but no great catch either, for she lost about two-thirds of her fortune in speculation; still, they’ve got a fine place on the Elbe, near Dresden, and I saw them at the Opera there a few nights ago.”

“And that young fellow – Layton, or Leighton – ”

“Layton. He made a good thing of it. He married the girl they called Miss Hawke, with a stunning fortune; their yacht is waiting for them now at Leghorn. They say he’s the first astronomer of the day. I can only tell you, that if his wife be like her picture in this year’s Exhibition, she ‘s the handsomest woman in England. I heard it all from Colonel Quackinboss.”

“And so you met Quackinboss?”

“Yes, he came out from England in Layton’s schooner, and is now gone down to join Garibaldi. He says, ‘Come si fa?’ is n’t such a poor devil as he once thought him; and if they do determine to strike a blow for freedom, an American ought to be ‘One of Them.’”

THE END