The Maid of Maiden Lane | Page 4

this time. But now I must go back to
Federal Hall; the question of the Capital makes me very anxious. Every
man of standing must feel so."
"And I must go to my tan pits, for it is the eye of the master that makes
the good servant. You will vote for New York, Van Heemskirk?--that is
a question I need not to ask?"
"Where else should the capital of our nation be? I think that
Philadelphia has great presumptions to propose herself against New
York:--this beautiful city between the two rivers, with the Atlantic
Ocean at her feet!"
"You say what is true, Van Heemskirk. God has made New York the
capital, and the capital she will be; and no man can prevent it. It was
only yesterday that Senator Greyson from Virginia told me that the
Southern States are against Philadelphia. She is very troublesome to the
Southern States, day by day dogging them with her schemes for

emancipation. It is the way to make us unfriends."
"I think this, Van Ariens: Philadelphia may win the vote at this time;
she has the numbers, and she has 'persuasions'; but look you! NEW
YORK HAS THE SHIPS AND THE COMMERCE, AND THE SEA
WILL CROWN HER! 'The harvest of the rivers is her revenue; and she
is the mart of nations.' That is what Domine Kunz said in the House
this morning, and you may find the words in the prophecy of Isaiah, the
twenty-third chapter."
During this conversation they had forgotten all else, and when their
eyes turned to the Moran house the vision of youth and beauty had
dissolved. Van Heemskirk's grandson, Lieutenant Hyde, was hastening
towards Broadway; and the lovely Cornelia Moran was sauntering up
the garden of her home, stooping occasionally to examine the
pearl-powdered auriculas or to twine around its support some vine,
straggling out of its proper place.
Then Van Ariens hurried down to his tanning pits in the swamp; and
Van Heemskirk went thoughtfully to Broad Street; walking slowly,
with his left arm laid across his back, and his broad, calm countenance
beaming with that triumph which he foresaw for the city he loved.
When he reached Federal Hall, he stood a minute in the doorway; and
with inspired eyes looked at the splendid, moving picture; then he
walked proudly toward the Hall of Representatives, saying to himself,
with silent exultation as he went:
"The Seat of Government! Let who will, have it; New York is the
Crowning City. Her merchants shall be princes, her traffickers the
honourable of the earth; the harvest of her rivers shall be her royal
revenue, and the marts of all nations shall be in her streets."
CHAPTER II
THIS IS THE WAY OF LOVE
Cornelia lingered in the garden, because she had suddenly, and as yet
unconsciously, entered into that tender mystery, so common and so

sovereign, which we call Love. In Hyde's presence she had been
suffused with a bewildering, profound emotion, which had fallen on her
as the gentle showers fall, to make the flowers of spring. A shy
happiness, a trembling delightful feeling never known before, filled her
heart. This handsome youth, whom she had only seen twice, and in the
most formal manner, affected her as no other mortal had ever done. She
was a little afraid; something, she knew not what, of mystery and
danger and delight, was between them; and she did not feel that she
could speak of it. It seemed, indeed, as if she would need a special
language to do so.
"I have met him but twice," she thought; "and it is as if I had a new,
strange, exquisite life. Ought I tell my mother? But how can I? I have
no words to explain--I do not understand--I thought it would break my
heart to leave the good Sisters and my studies, and the days so calm
and holy; and now--I do not even wish to go back. Sister Langaard told
me it would be so if I let the world come into my soul--Alas! if I should
be growing wicked!"
The thought made her start; she hastened her steps towards the large
entrance door, and as she approached it a negro in a fine livery of blue
and white threw the door wide open for her. Answering his bow with a
kind word, she turned quickly out of the hall, into a parlour full of
sunshine. A lady sat there hemstitching a damask napkin; a lady of
dainty plainness, with a face full of graven experiences and mellowed
character. Purity was the first, and the last, impression she gave. And
when her eyes were dropped this idea was emphasized by their
beautiful lids; for nowhere is the flesh so divine as in the eyelids. And
Ava Moran's