"'Anne of Geierstein' (pronounced Jeersteen) or the 'Maiden of the
Mist, by the author of Waverley.'" Then turning the page, he began
sonorously--"The course of four centuries has well-nigh elapsed since
the series of events which are related in the following chapters took
place on the Continent." He pronounced the last truly admirable word
with the accent on the last syllable, not as unaware of vulgar usage,
but feeling that this novel delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty which
his reading had given to the whole.
And now the servant came in with the tray, so that the moments for
answering Mrs. Waule's question had gone by safely, while she and
Solomon, watching Mr. Trumbull's movements, were thinking that high
learning interfered sadly with serious affairs. Mr. Borthrop Trumbull
really knew nothing about old Featherstone's will; but he could hardly
have been brought to declare any ignorance unless he had been arrested
for misprision of treason.
"I shall take a mere mouthful of ham and a glass of ale," he said,
reassuringly. "As a man with public business, I take a snack when I
can. I will back this ham," he added, after swallowing some morsels
with alarming haste, "against any ham in the three kingdoms. In my
opinion it is better than the hams at Freshitt Hall--and I think I am
a tolerable judge."
"Some don't like so much sugar in their hams," said Mrs. Waule. "But
my poor brother would always have sugar."
"If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so; but, God
bless me, what an aroma! I should be glad to buy in that quality, I
know. There is some gratification to a gentleman"--here Mr.
Trumbull's voice conveyed an emotional remonstrance--"in having this
kind of ham set on his table."
He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale and drew his
chair a little forward, profiting by the occasion to look at the inner
side of his legs, which he stroked approvingly--Mr. Trumbull having
all those less frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the
predominant races of the north.
"You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth," he observed,
when Mary re-entered. "It is by the author of 'Waverley': that is Sir
Walter Scott. I have bought one of his works myself--a very nice
thing, a very superior publication, entitled 'Ivanhoe.' You will not
get any writer to beat him in a hurry, I think--he will not, in my
opinion, be speedily surpassed. I have just been reading a portion at
the commencement of 'Anne of Jeersteen.' It commences well." (Things
never began with Mr. Borthrop Trumbull: they always commenced, both in
private life and on his handbills.) "You are a reader, I see. Do you
subscribe to our Middlemarch library?"