The sky black as night; the sea lashed into a foam as white as snow; the waves running mountain high from south to north; the wind blowing a hurricane from east to west; the ship subjected to this cross action, pitching onward in semicircular jerks, deadly sickening to see and feel.
"I suppose this is what you call a 'twister,'" said Ishmael, reeling towards the old captain, who was already on deck.
"Yes; just as I told you! You see that gale blew from the south for about forty-eight hours and got the sea up running north. And then, before the sea had time to subside, the wind chopped round and now blows from due east. And the ship is rolled from side to side by the waves and tossed from stem to stern by the wind. And between the two actions she is regularly twisted, and that is the reason why the sailors call this sort of thing a 'twister.' And this is not the worst of it. This east wind will be sure to blow up a snowstorm. We shall have it on the Banks."
"This has gone beyond a gale. I should call this a hurricane," saidIshmael.
"Hurricane? hurricane? Bless you, sir, no, sir! capful of wind! capful of wind!" said the old man doggedly.
Nevertheless Ishmael noticed that the ship's captain looked anxious and gave his orders in short, peremptory tones.
The predicted snowstorm did not come on during that short winter's day, however. The "twister" "twisted" vigorously; twisted the ship nearly in two; twisted the souls, or rather the stomachs, nearly out of the bodies of the seasick victims. Even the well-pickled "old salt," Captain Mountz, felt uncomfortable. And it was just as much as Ishmael could do to keep himself up and avoid succumbing to illness. Those two were the last of the passengers that attempted to keep up. And they were very glad when night came and gave them an excuse for retiring.
The predicted snowstorm came on about midnight. When Ishmael dressed and struggled out of his stateroom in the morning, he found it just the nearest thing to an impossibility to go up on deck. The wind was still blowing a hurricane; the sea leaping in the wildest waves; the ship pitching, tossing, and jerking as before; and in addition to all this, the snow was falling thick and fast, and freezing as it fell, and every part of the deck and rigging was covered with a slippery, shining coating of ice.
Those who find it dangerous to walk on a motionless pavement in sleety weather may now imagine what is was to climb the ice-sheathed steps of this pitching ship.
Ishmael managed to get up on deck somehow; but he found the place deserted of all except the man at the wheel and the officer of the watch. Even the old sea lion, Captain Mountz, was among the missing.
There was little to be seen. He stood on the deck of a tossing ship of ice, in the midst of a high wind, a boiling sea, and a storm of snow; he could not discern an object a foot in advance of him.
And so, after a few words with the well-wrapped-up officer of the watch, he went below to look after the companions of his voyage.
Judge Merlin and Mr. Brudenell, like all the other passengers, were so ill as still to hate the sight of a human being. Leaving them in the care of the stateroom steward, Ishmael went to see after his old retainer. The professor was up, clothed, and in his right mind.
"You see I made an effort, Mr. Ishmael, sir, and a successful one, so far as getting on my feet was concerned. When I woke up this morning it occurred to me, like a reproach, that I had come with you, sir, to wait on you and not to be waited on by you—which latter arrangement was a sort of turning things topsy-turvy—"
"I ding sho doo," interrupted the German Jew, whose name was Isaacs.
"And so," continued the professor, "I made an effort to get up and do my duty, and I find myself much better for it."
"I am glad you are well enough to be up, Morris, but indeed, you need have suffered no twinges of conscience on my account," said Ishmael, smiling.
"I know your kindness, sir, and that makes it more incumbent on me to do my duty by you. Well, sir, I've been to your stateroom; but finding you gone, and everything dancing a hornpipe there, I tried to get up on deck to you, but there, sir, I failed. And, besides, while I was doing my best, a stout old gentleman, a sea captain I take him to be, blasted my eyes, and ordered me to go below and not break my blamed neck. And so I did."
"That was Captain Mountz. He meant you well, Morris. You did quite right to obey him."
Soon after this Ishmael went to his stateroom, took a volume of Shakspeare, and then ensconsed himself in a corner of the saloon, where he sat and read until dinner-time.
The progress of the steamer was very slow. The day passed heavily. And again when night came everyone was glad to go to bed and to sleep.
And ever the fitful gusts betweenA sound came from the land;It was the sound of the tramping surf,On the rocks and the hard sea-sand.
The breakers were right beneath her bows,She drifted a dreary wreck,And a whooping billow swept the crewLike icicles from her deck.
She struck where the white and fleecy wavesLooked soft as carded wool,But the cruel rocks, they gored her sides,Like the horns of an angry bull.—Wreck of the "Hesperus."
When Ishmael awoke in the morning he was surprised to find that the motion of the ship was much lessened. And when he went up on deck he was pleased to discover that the wind had fallen and the sea was going down.
There was but one trouble—the thick fog; but that might be expected on the Banks of Newfoundland.
Old Captain Mountz was pacing up and down the deck with the firm tread of a man who felt himself on solid ground.
"Good-morning, captain! A pleasant change this," was Ishmael's greeting.
"Oh, aye, yes! for as long as it will last," was the dampening reply.
"Why, you don't think the wind will rise again, do you?"
"Don't I? I tell you before many hours we shall have a strong sou'wester, that will do its best to drive us ashore on these Banks," was the discouraging answer.
But by this time Ishmael had grown to understand the old sailor, and to know that he generally talked by the "rules of contrary"; for whereas he would not permit the late gale to be anything more than a "capful of wind," he now declared the fine weather to be nothing less than the forerunner of a hurricane.
So Ishmael did not feel any very serious misgivings, but went downstairs to breakfast with a good appetite.
Here another pleasant surprise greeted him: Judge Merlin and Mr. Brudenell, recovered from their seasickness, were both at breakfast; and notwithstanding the weight of care that oppressed their hearts they were both, from the mere physical reaction from depressing illness, in excellent spirits.
They arose to greet their young friend.
"How do you do, how do you do, Ishmael?" began Judge Merlin, heartily shaking his hand. "I really suppose now that you think I owe you an apology? But the fact is you owe me one. Didn't you know better than to intrude on the privacy of a seasick man? Didn't you know that a victim hates the sight of one who is not a victim? And that a seasick man or a rabid dog is better let alone, eh?"
"I beg your pardon, sir; I did not know it; but now that you enlighten me, I will not offend again," laughed Ishmael.
Mr. Brudenell's greeting was quieter, but even more cordial than that of the judge.
Before breakfast was over they were joined by others of their fellow-passengers, whom they had not seen since the first day out.
Among the rest was a certain Dr. Kerr, a learned savant, professor in the University of Glasgow, who had been on a scientific mission to the United States, and was returning home. He was a tall, thin old gentleman, in a long, black velvet dressing-gown and a round, black velvet skullcap. And he entered readily into conversation with our party on the subject of the late gales, and from that diverged into the subject of meteorology. There were no ladies present at breakfast.
The whole party soon adjourned to the deck, and notwithstanding the fog, enjoyed the pleasure of a promenade and conversation as they only can who have been deprived of such privileges for many days.
At dinner the long absent ladies reappeared; among the rest, the wife and daughters of the Scotch professor; and with the freedom of ocean steamer traveling, all well-dressed and well-behaved first- cabin passengers soon became acquainted and sociable, if not intimate.
Mrs. Dr. Kerr had happened to hear of Mr. Worth as one of the most promising young barristers of the time; and finding him in the company of Chief Justice Merlin, and approving him on short acquaintance, and knowing that he was unmarried, and not knowing that his heart, hand, and honor were irretrievably engaged, she singled him out as a very desirable match for one of her four penniless daughters, and paid such court to him as Ishmael, in the honesty and gratitude of his heart, repaid with every attention.
Mrs. Dr. Kerr, complaining of the tediousness of the voyage, and the dullness of her own circle, invited Ishmael and his party to spend the evening and play whist in the ladies' cabin—forbidden ground to all gentlemen who had no ladies with them, unless indeed they should happen, as in this case, to be invited.
All the gentlemen of our party availed themselves of this privilege, and the evening passed more pleasantly than any other evening since they had been at sea.
The fog lasted for three days, during which, as the wind was fair and the sea calm, the passengers, well wrapped up, enjoyed the promenade of the deck during the day, and the social meetings in the dining saloon, or the whist parties in the ladies' cabin during the evening.
And lulled by this deceitful calm, they were happy in the thought that the voyage was nearly half over, and in the anticipation of a prosperous passage over the remaining distance, and a safe arrival in port.
On the evening of the third day of the fog, however, a vague and nameless dread prevailed among the passengers. No one could have told whence this dread arose, or whither it pointed. Those well acquainted with the locality knew that the steamer was upon the Banks of Newfoundland, and that those Banks were considered rather unsafe in a fog.
Some others, who were in the secret, also knew that the captain had not left the quarterdeck, either to eat or to sleep, for forty-eight hours; for they had left him on deck at a late hour at night, and found him there at an early hour of the morning. And they had seen strong coffee carried up to him at short intervals. That was all. For sailors never think of danger until that danger, whatever it might be, is imminent; and never speak of it until it becomes necessary to do so, in order to save life.
Thus the passengers on board the "Oceana," on the night of the 20th of December, were totally ignorant of the real nature of the perils that beset them, although, as I said, an undefined misgiving and a sense of insecurity oppressed their hearts.
At ten o'clock that night the weather was thick, foggy, and intensely cold, with a heavy sea and a high wind.
The captain and first mate were on deck, where a number of the hardier and more anxious passengers were collected to watch.
In the dining saloon were gathered around the tables those inveterate gamblers who seem to have no object, either in the voyage of the ocean or the voyage of life, except the winning or losing of money.
In the ladies' cabin there were two social whist parties, formed of the ladies of the Scotch professor's family and the gentlemen of our set.
They were playing with great enjoyment, notwithstanding that little undercurrent of vague uneasiness of which I spoke, when the Scotchman, who had been on the deck all the evening, came down into the cabin, wearing a long face.
But the whist-players were too much interested in their game to notice the lugubrious expression of the old man, until he came to the table, and in a tone of the most alarming gravity exclaimed:
"Don't be frightened!"
Every lady dropped her cards and turned deadly pale with terror.Every gentleman looked up inquiringly at this judicious speaker.
"What is there to be frightened at, sir?" coldly inquired Ishmael.
"Well, you know our situation—But, ladies, for Heaven's sake, be composed. Your sex are noted for heroism in the midst of danger—"
Here, to prove his words good, one of the ladies shrieked, fell back in her chair, and covered her face with her hands.
"These ladies are not aware of any danger, sir, and I think it quite needless to alarm them," said Ishmael gravely.
"My good young friend, I don't wish to alarm them; I came down here on purpose to exhort them to coolness and self-possession, so necessary in the hour of peril. Now, dear ladies, I must beg that you will not suffer yourselves to be agitated."
"There is really, sir, no present cause for agitation, except, if you will pardon me for saying it, your own needlessly alarming words and manner," said Ishmael cheerfully, to reassure the frightened women, who seemed upon the very verge of hysterics.
"No, no, no, certainly no cause for agitation, ladies—certainly not. Therefore don't be agitated, I beg of you. But—but—don't undress and go to bed to-night. Lie down on the outside of your berths just as you are; for, look you—we may all have to take to the lifeboats at a minute's warning," said the doctor, his long, pale face looking longer and paler than ever under his round, black skullcap.
A half-smothered shriek burst simultaneously from all the women present.
"I trust, sir, that your fears are entirely groundless. I have heard no apprehensions expressed in any other quarter," said Ishmael. And although he never begged the ladies not to be "frightened," yet every cheerful word he spoke tended to calm their fears.
"What cause have you for such forebodings, doctor?" inquired Mr.Brudenell.
"Oh, none at all, sir. There is no reason to be alarmed. I hope nobody will be alarmed, especially the ladies. But you see the captain has not been able to make an observation for the last three days on account of the fog; and it is said that no one accurately knows just where we are; except that we are on the Banks, somewhere, and may strike before we know it. That is all. Now don't be terrified. And don't lose your presence of mind. And whatever you do, don't take off your clothes; for if we strike you mayn't have time to put them on again, and scanty raiment, in an open boat, on a wintry night at sea, wouldn't be pleasant. Now mind what I tell you. I shall not turn in myself. I am going on deck to watch."
And having succeeded in spreading a panic among the women, the old man took himself and his black skullcap out of the cabin. Exclamations of surprise, fear, and horror followed his departure.
There was no more card-playing; they did not even finish their game; they felt it to be sacrilegious to engage in even a "ladies' game" of whist, on the eve of possible shipwreck, perhaps on the brink of eternity.
Ishmael gathered up and put away the cards and set himself earnestly to calm the fears of his trembling fellow-passengers; but they were not to be soothed. Then he offered to go up on deck and make inquiries as to the situation, course, and prospects of the ship; but they would not consent to his leaving them; they earnestly besought him to stay; and declared that they found assurance and comfort in his presence.
At length he took the Bible and seated himself at the table, and read to them such portions as were suited to their condition. He read for more than an hour, and then, hoping that this had composed their spirits, he closed the book and counseled them to retire and take some rest; and promised to station himself outside the cabin door and be their vigilant sentinel, to warn them of danger the instant it should become necessary.
But no! they each and all declared sleep to be impossible under the circumstances. And they continued to sit around the table with their arms laid on its top and their heads buried In them, waiting for— what? Who could tell?
Meanwhile the ship was borne swiftly on by wind and wave—whither?None of these frightened women knew.
Eight bells struck—twelve, midnight; and Ishmael renewed his entreaties that they would take some repose. But in vain; for they declared that there could be no repose for their bodies while their minds were suffering such intense anxiety.
One bell struck, and there they sat; two bells, and there they still sat; and there was but little conversation after this. Three bells struck, and they sat on, so motionless that Ishmael hoped they had fallen asleep on their watch and he refrained from addressing them. Four bells struck. It was two o'clock in the morning, and dead silence reigned in the ladies' cabin. Everyone except Ishmael had gone to sleep.
Suddenly through the stillness a cry rang—a joyous cry. It was the voice of the man on the lookout, and it shouted forth:
"Land ho!"
"Where away?" called another voice.
"On her lee bow!"
"What do you make of it?"
"Cape Safety lighthouse!"
A shout went up from the passengers on deck. A simultaneous, involuntary, joyous three times three.
"Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!"
A devout thanksgiving ascended from Ishmael's heart:
"Thank God!" he fervently exclaimed.
It was indeed an infinite relief.
Then he turned to wake up his wearied fellow-passengers, who had fallen asleep in such uneasy attitudes—arms folded, on the top of the table and heads fallen on the folded arms.
"Ladies! dear ladies! dear Mrs. Kerr! you may retire to rest now. We have made Cape Safety," he said, going from one to another and gently rousing them.
They were a little bewildered at first; and while they were still trying to understand what Ishmael was saying, the Scotch professor burst into the cabin and enlightened them by a coup-de-main.
"You may all undress and go to bed now, and sleep in peace, without the least fear of a shipwreck."
"Eh, pa! is it so—are we safe?" cried the elder daughter.
"Safe as St. Paul's. We know where we are now. We have made Cape Safety Lighthouse. Go to bed and sleep easy. I'm going now. Come along, Jeanie," said the doctor to his old wife.
"Not until I have shaken hands with this good young gentleman. I don't know what would have become of us, doctor, after you frightened us so badly, if it had not been for him. He stayed with us and kept up our hearts. God bless you, young sir!" said Mrs. Dr. Kerr, fervently pressing Ishmael's hands.
Ishmael himself was glad to go to rest; so he only stopped long enough to bid good-night to Judge Merlin and Mr. Brudenell, who had just awakened to a sense of security, and then he went to his stateroom and turned in.
Thoroughly wearied in mind and body, he had no sooner touched his pillow than he fell into a deep sleep—a sleep that annihilated several hours of time.
He slept until he was aroused by a tremendous shock—a shock that threw him, strong, heavy, athletic man as he was, from his stateroom berth to the cabin floor. He was on his feet in a moment, though stunned, confused, and amazed. The poor ship was shuddering throughout her whole frame like a living creature in the agony of death.
Men who had been violently thrown from their berths to the floor were everywhere picking themselves up and trying to collect their scattered senses. Crowds were hurrying from the cabins and saloons to the deck. The voices of the officers were heard in quick, anxious, peremptory orders; and those of the crew in prompt, eager, terrified responses.
And through all came shrieks of terror, anguish, and despair.
"The ship has struck!" "We are lost!" "God have mercy!" were the cries.
Ishmael hurried on his clothes and rushed to the deck. Here all was panic, confusion, and unutterable distress. The fog had cleared away; day was dawning; and there was just light enough to show them the utter hopelessness of their position.
The steamer bad struck a rock, and with such tremendous force that she was already parting amidships; her bows were already under water and the sea was breaking over her with fearful force.
How had this happened, with the lighthouse ahead? Was it really a lighthouse, or was it a false beacon?
No one could tell; no one had time to ask. Everybody was fast crowding to the stern of the ship, the only part of her that was out of water. Some crawled up, half drowned; some dripping wet; some scarcely yet awake, acting upon the blind impulse of self- preservation.
Two of the lifeboats had been forcibly reft away from the side of the ship by the violence of the shock and carried off by the sea. Only two remained, and it was nearly certain that they were not of sufficient capacity to save the crew and passengers.
But the danger was imminent—a moment's delay might be fatal to all on board the wreck; not an instant was to be lost.
The order was quickly given:
"Get out the lifeboats!"
And the sailors sprang to obey.
At this moment another fatality threatened the doomed crew—it was what might have been expected: the steerage passengers, mostly a low and brutalized order of men, in whom the mere animal instinct of love of life and fear of death was predominant over every nobler emotion, came rushing in a body up the deck, and crying with one voice:
"To the lifeboats! to the lifeboats! Let us seize the lifeboats, and save ourselves!"
Everyone else was panic-stricken. It is in crises like this that the true hero is developed. With the bound of a young Achilles Ishmael seized a heavy iron bar and sprang to the starboard gangway, where the two remaining boats were still suspended; and standing at bay, with limbs apart, and eyes threatening, and his fearful weapon raised in his right hand, he thundered forth:
"Who tries to pass here dies that instant! Stand off!"
Before this young hero the, crowd of senseless, rushing brutes recoiled as from a fire.
He pursued and secured his victory with a few words:
"Are you men? If so, before all, let helpless childhood, and feeble womanhood, and venerable age be saved; and then you. I demand of you no more than I am willing to do myself. I will be the last to leave the wreck. I will see you all in safety before I attempt to save my own life."
So great is the power of heroism over all, that even these brutal men, so selfish, senseless, and impetuous a moment before, were now subdued; nay, some of them were inspired and raised a hurrah.
Fear of a possible reaction among the steerage passengers, however,caused old Captain Mountz, Judge Merlin, Mr. Brudenell, Dr. Kerr,Jem Morris, the Jew, and several others to come to the support ofIshmael. Among the rest the captain of the steamer came.
"Young man, you have saved all our lives," he said.
Ishmael slowly bowed his head.
"I hope that God has saved you all," he answered.
The sailors were now busy getting down the lifeboats. It was but the work of a very few minutes.
"Let the ladies and children be brought forward," ordered the captain. And the women and children, some screaming, some weeping, and some dumb with terror, were lowered into one of the boats.
"Now the nearest male relatives of these ladies to the same boat," was the captain's next order.
And Dr. Kerr and about a dozen other gentlemen presented themselves, and were lowered into the boat, where they were received with hysterical cries of mingled joy and fear by the women.
And all this time the sea was dashing fearfully over the wreck, and at every interval the planks of the deck upon which they clung were felt to swell and sway as if they were about to part.
"Now the old men!" shouted the captain.
Ishmael took Judge Merlin by the arm, and with gentle coercion passed them on to the sailors, who lowered him into the boat.
Then Captain Mountz and several other old men, and many who were not old, but were willing to appear so "for this occasion only," followed and were passed down into the boat.
Then Ishmael looked around in concern. The professor was lingering in the background.
"Come here, Morris! You certainly fall under the head of "'old men,'" he said, taking the professor by the elbow and gently pushing him forward.
"No, young Ishmael, no! I cannot go! The boat is as full as it can be packed now—or at least it won't hold more than one more, and you ought to go; and I will not crowd you out," urged the old man, with passionate earnestness.
And all this time the sea was thundering over the wreck and entirely drenching everybody, and nearly drowning some.
"Morris, I shall not in any case enter that boat. There is no time, when scores of lives are in imminent danger, to argue the point. But—as you never disobeyed me in your life before, I now lay my commands on you to go into that boat," said Ishmael, with the tone and manner of a monarch.
With a cry of despair the professor let himself drop into the lifeboat to be saved.
The boat was now really as full as it could possibly be crammed with safety to its passengers. And it was detained only until a cask of fresh water and a keg of biscuit could be thrown into it, and then it gave way for the second lifeboat to come up to the gangway.
This second boat was rapidly filled. But when it was crowded quite full there remained upon the breaking wreck Ishmael and ten of the younger steerage passengers.
"Come! come!" shouted the captain of the steamer, who was in the second boat. "Come, Mr. Worth! There is room for one more! There is always room, for one more."
"If there is room for one more, take one of these young men, my companions," replied Ishmael gravely.
"No! no! if we cannot take all, why take one of their number, instead of taking you, Mr. Worth? Come! come! do not keep us here! It is dangerous!" urged the captain.
"Pass on! I remain here!" answered Ishmael steadfastly.
"But that is madness. What good will it do? Come, quick! climb up on the bulwarks and leap down into the boat! You are young and active, and can do it! quick!"
"Give way! I shall remain here," replied Ishmael, folding his arms and planting himself firmly on the quaking deck, over which the sea incessantly thundered.
"Ishmael! Ishmael! My son! my son! for Heaven's sake—for my sake,— come!" cried Mr. Brudenell, holding out his arms in an agony of prayer.
"Father," replied the young man, in this supreme moment of fate not refusing him that paternal title; "father," he repeated, with impassioned fervor, "father, every one of these men has precedence of me, in the right to be saved. For when I intervened between them and the lifeboats they were about to seize I promised them that I would see every one of them in safety before attempting to save myself. I promised them that I would be the very last man to leave the wreck. Father, they confided in me, and I will keep my word with them."
"But you cannot save their lives!" cried Mr. Brudenell, with a gesture of desperation.
"I can keep my word by staying with them," was the firm reply.
While Ishmael spoke there was a rapid consultation going on among his companions on the wreck. Then one of them spoke for the rest:
"Go and save yourself, young gentleman. We give you back your promise."
Ishmael turned and smiled upon them with benignity, as he replied sweetly:
"I thank you, my friends. I thank you earnestly. You are brave and generous men. But from such a pledge as I have given, you have no power to release me."
"Ishmael! Ishmael, for Bee's sake!" cried Judge Merlin, stretching his arms imploringly towards the young man. "For Bee's sake, Ishmael! Think of Bee!"
"Oh, I do! I do think of her!" said the young man, in a voice of impassioned grief. "God bless her! God forever bless her! But not even for her dear sake must I shrink from duty. I honor her too much to live to offer her the dishonored hand of a craven. Tell her this, and tell her that my last earthly thought was hers. We shall meet in eternity."
"Ishmael, Ishmael!" simultaneously cried Judge Merlin and Mr. Brudenell, as they saw a tremendous sea break in thunder over the wreck, which was instantly whirled violently around as in the vortex of a maelstrom.
"Give way! give way! quick! for your lives! The wreck is going and she will draw down the boats!" shouted Ishmael, waving his arm from the whirling deck.
The sailors on board the lifeboats laid themselves vigorously to their oars, and rowed them swiftly away from the whirling eddy around the settling wreck. The passengers on board the boats averted their heads or veiled their eyes—they could not look upon the death of Ishmael,
But as the boats bounded away, something leaped from one of them with the heavy plunge of a large dog into the water, and the next instant the old gray head of Jim Morris was seen rising from the foaming waves. He struggled towards the deck, clambered up its sides and sunk at Ishmael's feet, embracing his knees, weeping and crying:
"Young Ishmael! master! master! Oh, let me die with you!" Speechless from profound emotion, Ishmael stooped and raised the old man and clasped him to his bosom with one arm, while with the other he waved adieu to the rapidly receding lifeboats.
Why stand ye thus amazed? me thinks your eyesAre fixed in meditation; and all hereSeem like so many senseless statues,As if your souls had suffered an eclipseBetwixt your judgments and affections.—Swetnam
We must return to Claudia, and to that evening when she was accosted by Katie on the stairs.
On that occasion Claudia went down to dinner without feeling the least anxiety on the subject of Katie's promised communication. She supposed, when she thought of it at all, that it was some such idle rumor as frequently arose concerning the discovery of some suspected person implicated in the murder of Ailsie Dunbar.
The dinner that evening happened to be more protracted than usual.
And when they arose from the table Mrs. Dugald, contrary to her custom, immediately retired to her private apartments. Claudia was also about to withdraw, when the viscount said to her:
"Excuse me, Lady Vincent; but I must request the favor of a few moments' conversation with you."
"Very well, my lord," answered Claudia, bowing coldly.
He led the way to the drawing room and Claudia followed. Coffee was already served there, and old Cuthbert was in attendance to hand it around.
"You may go, Cuthbert. We can wait on ourselves." said Lord Vincent, as he led his wife to a seat and took one for himself near her.
When the old servant had left the room the viscount turned toClaudia and said:
"Lady Vincent, I have been obliged to solicit this interview because I have much to say to you, while you give me very few opportunities of saying anything."
Claudia bowed a cold assent and remained silent.
"It is of Mrs. Dugald that I wish to speak to you."
"I am listening, my lord," replied Claudia haughtily.
"Lady Vincent, this arrogant manner towards me will not serve any good purpose. However, it is not on my own score that I came to complain, but on Mrs. Dugald's; that lady's position in this house is a very delicate one."
"So delicate, my lord, that I think the sooner she withdraws from it the better it will be."
"You do! It is the to that end, then, I presume, that you have treated her with so much scorn and contempt?" said his lordship angrily.
"My lord, with all my faults, I am no hypocrite; and with all my accomplishments I am no actress."
"What do you mean by that, my lady?"
"I mean that I have not been able to treat your—sister-in-law—with the respect that I could not feel for her," replied Claudia, with disdain.
"No, madam!" exclaimed Lord Vincent, turning pale with rage. "You have treated that lady with the utmost contumely. And I have demanded this interview with you for the express purpose of telling you that I will not submit to have the widow of my brother treated with disrespect in my own house and by my own wife!"
Claudia arose with great dignity and answered:
"My lord, since you desired this interview for the purpose of expressing your wishes upon this point; and, since you have expressed them, I presume the object of our meeting has been accomplished and I am at liberty to withdraw. Good-night."
"Not so fast, not so fast, Lady Vincent! I have not done with you yet, my lady. The will that I have just spoken must be obeyed. Mrs. Dugald must be treated by you, as well as by others, with the courtesy and consideration due to her rank and position. Many abuses must be reformed. And among them is this—your constant refusal to appear in public with her. Ever since your arrival here Mrs. Dugald has been a prisoner in the house, because she cannot go out alone; and she will not go out, attended by me, unless you are also of the party, for fear that evil-minded people will talk."
Claudia's beautiful lip curled with scorn as she answered:
"Mrs. Dugald's scruples do credit to her—powers of duplicity."
"You wrong her. You always wrong her; but, by my soul, you shall not continue to do so! Listen, Lady Vincent! Mr. and Mrs. Dean, the celebrated tragedians, are playing a short engagement at Banff. Mrs. Dugald and myself wish to go and see them. It will be proper for you to be of the party. I desire that you will be prepared to go with us to-morrow evening."
Claudia's face flushed crimson with indignation.
"Excuse me, my lord. I cannot possibly appear anywhere in public with Mrs. Dugald," she haughtily replied.
"If you fail to go with us, you will rue your scorn in every vein of your heart, my lady. However, I will not take your final answer to- night; I will give you another chance in the morning. Au revoir!" he said, with an insulting laugh, as he lounged out of the room.
Claudia remained where he had left her, transfixed with indignation, for a few minutes. And then she began to walk up and down the room to exhaust her excitement before going upstairs to her dressing room, where she supposed that Katie was awaiting her.
She walked up and down the floor some fifteen or twenty minutes, and then left the saloon and sought her own apartments. She had just reached the landing of the second floor, on which her rooms were situated, when she was startled by a low, half-suppressed cry of "Murd—," which was quickly stopped, and immediately followed by a muffled fall and a low scuffling, and the voice of Lord Vincent muttering vehemently: "Faustina!" and other words inaudible to the hearer.
"Ah! they are quarreling as usual!" said Claudia to herself, with a scornful smile, as she crossed the hall and entered her own suite of apartments.
"I have kept you waiting, Katie; but I could not help it, my good woman," she said cheerfully, as she entered her dressing room. But there was no reply. She looked around her in surprise. Katie was nowhere to be seen; the room was empty. The lamp was burning dimly and the fire was smoldering out.
Claudia raised the light of the lamp, and, seating herself in her easy-chair before the fire, stirred the coals into a blaze and began, to warm her feet and hands.
"'The old creature has grown weary of waiting, I suppose, and has gone down to her supper," she said to herself. And she sat waiting patiently for some time before she rang her bell.
Sally answered it.
"Go down, Sally, and tell Katie that I am here and ready to see her now," said Lady Vincent.
Sally went on this errand, but soon returned and said:
"If you please, ma'am, Aunt Katie aint nowhere downstairs. I s'pects she's done gone to bed."
Claudia suddenly looked up to the ormolu clock that stood upon the mantel shelf.
"Why, yes!" she said, "it is nearly eleven o'clock. I had no idea that it was so late. Of course she has gone to bed."
"Mus' I go call her up, ma'am?"
"No, Sally; certainly not. But there was something that she said she had to tell me. Something, I fancy, it was, about the murder of that poor girl. Has anything new been discovered in relation to that affair, do you know?"
"No, ma'am, not as I has hearn. 'Deed it was only jes now we was all a-talking about it in de servants' hall, and Mr. Frisbie he was a-mentioning how misteerious it was, as we could hear nothing. And jes then your bell rung, ma'am, and I came away."
"Well, Sally, you must help me to disrobe, and then you may go."
The waiting maid did her duty and retired.
And Claudia, wrapped in her soft dressing gown and seated in her easy-chair before the fire, gave herself up to thought.
She was thinking of her meeting with Katie on the stairs. Since it was no new rumor connected with the murder, she was wondering what could be the nature of the communication Katie had to make to her. She recalled the anxious, frightened, indignant countenance of the old woman, and in her memory that expression seemed to have a more significant meaning than it had had to her careless eyes at the time of seeing it.
What could it be that Katie had to tell her? Of course Claudia did not know; she soon gave up trying to conjecture; but felt impatient for the morning, when the mystery should be revealed.
Other anxious thoughts also troubled her; thoughts of the dangers to which she was exposed from the hatred of Lord Vincent, the jealousy of Mrs. Dugald, and the depravity of both; thoughts of her father's long and strange silence; thoughts of the insult she had received that evening in being commanded to chaperon Mrs. Dugald to the theater; thoughts of the mysterious sounds she had heard from Mrs. Dugald's room, and which she was so far from connecting with any idea of Katie that she attributed them solely to a quarrel between her two precious companions; and lastly the ever-recurring thoughts of that mysterious discovery which old Katie had made, and which she was so eager to impart to her lady. Ever Claudia's thoughts, traveling in a circle, came back to this point.
Wearied with fruitless speculation she still sat on, watching the decaying fire and listening to the thunder of the sea as it broke upon the rocks at the base of the castle. At length she got up, drew aside the heavy window curtains, opened the strong oaken shutters and looked out upon the expanse of the gray and dreary sea, dimly visible under the cloudy midnight sky.
At last she closed the window and went to bed. But she could not sleep. She lay wakeful, restless, anxious, through the long hours of the middle night, and through the gray dawn of morning and the early flush of day. A little before her usual hour of rising she rang the bell.
Sally answered it.
"Is Katie up?" she inquired.
"No, ma'am. Mus' I wake her?"
"Certainly not. Let her have her sleep out, poor creature. And do you stop and help me to dress."
And so saying Claudia arose and made an elegant morning toilet; for Claudia, like Mary Stuart, would have "dressed" had she been a lifelong, hopeless captive.
When her toilet was made she directed Sally to bring her a cup of strong coffee; and when she had drunk it she sat down to wait with what patience she could for the awakening of old Katie.
Poor Claudia, with all her faults, was kind to her dependents and considerate of their comforts. And so, anxious as she was to hear the communication old Katie had to make to her, she was resolved not to have the old woman's rest broken.
She sat by the window of her dressing room, looking out upon the boundless sea from which the sun was rising, and over which a solitary sail was passing. She sat there until the breakfast bell rang. And then she went below.
She was the first in the breakfast room, and she remained there standing before the fire full ten minutes before anyone else appeared.
Lord Vincent was the next to come in. And Claudia actually started when she saw the awful pallor of his face. Every vestige of color had fled from it; his brow, cheeks, and even lips were marble white; his voice shook in saying "good-morning," and his hand shook in lifting the "Banff Beacon" from the table.
While Claudia was watching him in wonder and amazement, there came a flutter and a rustle, and Mrs. Dugald entered the room all brightness and smiles.
She gave one quick, wistful glance at the viscount, and then addressed him in a hurried, anxious tone, speaking in the Italian language and saying:
"Rouse yourself! Look not so like an assassin. You will bring suspicion!"
"Hush!" answered the viscount, with a quick glance towards Claudia, which warned La Faustina that the American lady might be supposed to understand Italian.
Claudia did understand it, and was filled with a vague sense of horror and amazement.
They sat down to the table. Lord Vincent followed Mrs. Dugald's advice and tried to "rouse" himself. And after he had two or three cups of coffee he succeeded.
Faustina was as bright as a paroquet and as gay as a lark. She prattled on in a perpetual, purling stream of music. Among other things she said:
"And do we go to see Mr. and Mrs. Dean in 'Macbeth' tonight, mon ami?"
"Yes; and Lady Vincent goes with us," answered Lord Vincent emphatically.
"I beg your pardon, my lord. I have already declined to do so," said Claudia, speaking with forced coolness, though her heart was burning, her cheeks flaming, and her eyes flashing with indignation.
"You will think better of it, my lady. You will go. Cuthbert, pass the eggs."
"I shall not, my lord," replied Claudia.
"Why will you not? Pepper, Cuthbert."
"For the reason that I gave you last night. Your lordship cannot wish me to repeat it here."
"Oh, a very particular reason you gave me! The salt, Cuthbert," said his lordship, coolly breaking the shell of his egg.
"A reason, my lord, that should be considered sufficiently satisfactory to relieve me from importunity on the subject," answered Claudia.
"If miladie does not wish to go, we should not urge her to do so," observed Mrs. Dugald, as she slowly sipped her chocolate.
"Certainly not. And now I think of it, you can send over for Mrs. MacDonald to come and go with us. The old lady enjoys the drama excessively and will be glad to come. So you shall be sure of your intellectual treat, Faustina."
"That will be so nice!" exclaimed Mrs. Dugald, clapping her hands in childish glee.
Claudia arose from the table and withdrew to her own apartments. She was revolted by the fulsome manners of the strange woman who shared her dwelling, and she was drawn toward the secret, whatever it was, that old Katie wished to impart to her.
When she entered the rooms she found them all arranged tidily by the neat hands of Sally, who since the death of poor Ailsie had had the care of them.
"Sally, has not Katie been up yet?" inquired Lady Vincent.
"No, ma'am; I don't think she's awake yet; I reckon she's a- oversleepin' of herself. And I would 'a' waked her up, only, ma'am, you bid me not to do it."
"What, do you mean to say that she has not yet made her appearance?" demanded Claudia, in alarm.
"Nobody aint seen nothing 'tall of her this morning, ma'am."
"Go to her room at once and see if she is ill. She may be, you know. Go in quietly, so that you will not awaken her if she should be asleep," said Claudia, in alarm, for she suddenly remembered that people of Katie's age and habit sometimes die suddenly and are found dead in their beds.
Sally went on her errand, and Claudia stood waiting and listening breathlessly until her return.
"Laws, ma'am, Aunt Katie's done got up, and made her bed up and put her room to rights, and gone downstairs," said Sally, as she entered the room.
"Then go at once, and if she has had her breakfast send her up to me. Strange she did not come."
Sally departed on this errand also, but she was gone longer than on the first. It was nearly half an hour before she returned. She came in with a scared face, saying:
"Ma'am, it's very odd; but the servants say as ole Aunt Katie hasn't been down this morning."
"Hasn't been down this morning? And is not in her room either?" cried Claudia, in amazement.
"No, ma'am!" answered Sally, stretching her big eyes.
Lady Vincent sharply rang the bell.
The housekeeper promptly answered it, entering the room with an anxious countenance.
"Mrs. Murdock, is it true that my servant Katie has not been seen this morning?"
"Me leddy, she has nae been seen, puir auld bodie, sin' last e'en at the gloaming. She didna come to supper, though Katie isna use to be that careless anent her bit and sup, neither."
"Not seen since last evening at dusk!" exclaimed Claudia, in consternation.
"Na, me leddy, ne'er a bit o' her, puir bodie!"
"Go, Mrs. Murdock, and send the maids to look for her in every place about the castle where she is in the habit of going. And send the men outside to examine the premises. She may be taken with a fit somewhere, and die for want of assistance," said Lady Vincent, in alarm.
"And sae she may, me leddy! That is true enough," replied the dame, nodding her head emphatically as she hurried out on this mission.
Claudia sat down before her dressing-room fire and tried to wait the issue patiently. To be sure, she thought Katie might be in the stillroom, or the linen closet, or the bathroom, and there could be no reasonable cause of uneasiness. But why, then, did she not come up? Well, she might have been busy in some one of the above- mentioned places; and she might have been waiting until she thought her mistress should have got through breakfast; and perhaps she might come now very soon; might even enter at any moment. Such were the thoughts that coursed through Claudia's brain, as she tried to sit still before her little fire.
For more than an hour Claudia waited, and then she impatiently rang the bell. It brought Mrs. Murdock into the room.
"Has Katie been found yet?"
"Na, me leddy, not a bit of her. The servants are still seeking her."
"But this is very strange and alarming."
"It just is, me leddy. And I canna but fear that some ill has happened till her, puir soul!"
"I will go down and assist in the search," said Lady Vincent, rising anxiously.
"Na, me leddy, dinna gang, ye canna do ony good. The lasses are seeking in every nook and cranny in the house; and if she is biding in it they will find her. And the lads hae gone outside to seek in the grounds, whilk same is sune done; for the castle yard and grounds are nae that expansive, as your leddyship kens." "But I cannot sit here, waiting in idleness. It drives me half frantic! Who can say what may not have happened to poor Katie?"
"Nae, me leddy, dinna fash yo'sel'! She may e'en just ha' gone her ways over to Banff, or some gait, and may be back sune. I'll gae see if they ha' brought in ony news."
"Go, then, Mrs. Murdock, and let me know the instant you hear anything definite," said Claudia, sinking back in her chair.
Mrs. Murdock left the room, and another hour of suspense passed. And then, uncalled, the housekeeper came up again, and said:
"It is a' in vain, me leddy. The servants have sought everywhere, within and without the castle, and they can na find the auld bodie at a'! And your leddyship's ain footman, Jamie, ha' come fra Banff and brought the morning mail, and he has na seen onything o' his mither on the road."
"Good Heavens! but this is strange and very dreadful. Send Jim up to me at once."
The housekeeper went to obey. And Jim soon stood in the presence of his mistress.
"Any letters from America, Jim?" inquired Lady Vincent anxiously, and for a moment forgetting poor old Katie's unknown fate.
"No, my lady, not one. There was no foreign mail to-day."
"Another disappointment! Always disappointments!" sighed Claudia. And then reverting to the subject of Katie's disappearance, she said:
"What is this about your mother, Jim? When did you see her last? And have you any idea where she can be gone?"
Jim suddenly burst into tears; for we know that he loved his old mother exceedingly; and he sobbed forth the words:
"Oh, my lady, I am afeared as somebody has gone and made way with her as they did with poor Ailsie!"
"Gracious Heaven, Jim, what a horrible idea! and what an utterly irrational one. Who could possibly have any motive for harming poor old Katie?"
"I don't know, my lady. But, you see, my poor mother was always a- watching and a-listening about after his lordship and that strange lady. And I know they noticed it, and maybe they have done made way with mother—My lady! oh! you are fainting! You are dying!" cried Jim, suddenly breaking off, and rushing towards his mistress, who had turned deadly pale, and fallen back in her chair.
"No, no! water, water!" cried Lady Vincent, struggling to overcome her weakness.
Jim flew and brought her a full glass. She quaffed its contents eagerly, and sat up, and tried to collect her panic-stricken faculties. She had received a dreadful shock. Jim's words had given the key to the whole mystery. In one terrible moment the ghastly truth had burst upon her. She understood, now, the whole. She could combine the circumstances: Katie's agitated meeting with her on the stairs; the communication which the poor faithful old creature seemed so eager to make, and which must have related to some discovery that she had made; the mysterious noises heard in Mrs. Dugald's apartments; the guilty paleness of the viscount at the breakfast table; the strange words spoken in Italian by Faustina; the mysterious disappearance of Katie; all, all these pointed to one dreadful deed, from the bare thought of which all Claudia's soul recoiled in horror.
"Jim!" she gasped, in a choking voice.
"My lady!"
"At what hour last evening did you see your mother?"
"Just a little after sunset. The last dinner bell had rung; and I brought some coal up to put on your ladyship's fire, and I set it on the outside of the door, intending to take it in as soon as your ladyship came out to go down to dinner. Well, I was standing there waiting with the coal when I saw my lord's dor open and Mr. Frisbie come out, with such a face! Oh, my lady! I don't know how to describe it; but it had a cruel, cowardly, desperate look—as if he would have cut someone's throat to save himself a shilling! He passed on downstairs without ever seeing me. And the next minute my lord came out of the same room, with—I beg your pardon, my lady—a look of wicked triumph on his face. He was even laughing, like he had done something that pleased him. And he happened to look up and see me, and he growled:
"'What are you doing there, fellow?'
"And I bowed down to the ground a'most, and answered:
"'I have brought up coal for my lady's rooms, my lord.'
"'Very well,' he said, and he went on.
"Next thing, I was tuk right off my feet, by seeing of my own mother come right out'n that same room. And she came out, did the old woman, with her eyes rolled up and her arms lifted high, looking as she a'most always does when she hears anything dreadful; looking just for all the world as she did the day she heard of poor Ailsie's murder. Well, my lady, I felt sure as she had been a-hiding of herself in my lord's room, and had discovered something horrible. And so I called to her in a low voice:
"'Mother!'
"But she shook her head at me, and ran down the stairs, and stood waiting. And just at that minute your ladyship came out of your room. You may remember, my lady, seeing me standing there with the coal as you came out?"
"Yes, Jim, I remember," replied Lady Vincent.
"Well, my lady, I saw mother stop you, and I heard a whispered conversation, in which she seemed to beg you to do something that you hadn't time to attend to, for you went downstairs and left her."
"I was on my way to dinner, you remember; but I bade Katie go into my dressing room and await me there. When I went up after dinner, however, I found that she had not followed my directions. She was not in my apartments, nor have I seen her since."
"I beg pardon, my lady; but, indeed, poor mother did obey your ladyship. She came upstairs again, and she took the coal hod out'n my hands, and said—said she:
"'You go right straight downstairs, Jim, and I'll tend to my ladyship's fires myself.' And I said:
"'Mother,' said I, 'what's the matter?' And she whispered to me:
"'I done hear somethin' awful, Jim; but I must tell my ladyship before I tells anyone else.'
"'Was it about poor Ailsie's death?' said I.
"'Worse 'an dat,' she answered; and then she went in and shut the door in my face. And I come away. And that was the last time as ever I see my poor, dear old mother. She never come down to supper, nor likewise to play cards in the servants' hall in the evening, as she is so fond of doing. And surely, my lady, I was not uneasy, because I knew she often stayed in your ladyship's rooms until late; and as I had seen her go into them myself that evening, I was feeling full sure that she was with you. And so I went to bed in peace. And this morning, as I got up and went to the post office before any of the woman servants were astir, of course I didn't expect to see her. But the first thing as I heard when I come back, was as she was a- missing! And oh, my lady, I'm sure, I'm dead sure, as somebody has made way with her!" exclaimed Jim, bursting into a fresh flood of tears.
"Don't despair, Jim; we must hope for the best," replied LadyVincent, in whose bosom not a vestige of hope remained.
But Jim only answered with his tears.
"Compose yourself, boy; and go and say to Lord Vincent that I request to see him in my boudoir."
Jim went out with a heavy heart to do his errand; but returned with an answer that Lord Vincent was engaged.
"I will not be baffled in this way!" muttered Claudia to herself. Then speaking aloud she inquired: "Where is his lordship, and upon what is he engaged?"
"He is sitting in the library, with a bottle of brandy and a box of cigars on the table by him; he is smoking and drinking."
"'Smoking and drinking' at twelve o'clock in the day!" muttered Claudia to herself, with a motion of disgust. Then speaking up, she said: "Go downstairs, Jim, and assist in the search for your poor mother; I will ring when I want you."