"Whenyou was at our house, talking to par, I heard purty much all that was said, and should a heard it all if it hadn't been for the squalling of the young uns. Now he didn't know a circumstance to what I did. Justdriving a person down to a sloop don't amount to nothing, if you can't tell where she was a going."
"True enough, my young friend; but what more can you tell me?"
"Well now, if you'll promise not to laugh or poke fun at me, I'll up and tell."
"Well, I promise that."
"And you wont be mad, nor nothing?"
"I think not."
"And—and—" Here Tom grew red as a winter apple, and stammered most unmerciful.
"Well, and what? I dare say you can ask nothing which I will not promise."
"Well, you wont set yourself agin me and Rose when we've grown up, and—and—"
The stranger started, and his countenance changed.
"What can you know of my—of Rose?" he said, sharply.
"Oh, now you're getting mad!"
"No, no; but you tell me nothing."
Tom withdrew his hand and buttoned up the pocket with emphasis.
"Besides that, I aint a going to. How far is it back to Bungy? I can foot it there afore dark, and no harm done."
"But you had something to tell me."
"Yes, sir. Come all this way a purpose to tell it. Now I'm going back agin—no damage to nobody."
The captain grew pale with anxiety.
"Tell me what you desire, and speak out," he said.
"Well, I don't desire nothing of nobody. Ask our doctor if I'm that sort of chap; but you come to our house and asked questions about a lady that I know, ina sort of mealy-mouthed way, as if you didn't like to speak out and say to old neighbors, 'She's gone off and I don't know where.' Par didn't know, and consequently couldn't tell. I kinder did; but with the old folks by, and the baby squalling, what could a feller do?"
"Where—where are they?"
"Now there's the question. I want to make a bargain with you."
"Boy, boy, this is too much."
Tom Hutchins looked at him earnestly.
"I'll trust you!" he exclaimed, unbuttoning his pocket in breathless haste, and drawing forth a tiny letter, folded after the peculiar fashion that school-girls affect. "Perhaps you know that ere writing—scrumptious fine hand, aint it? Jest look on the outside—Mr.Thomas Hutchins—don't it look splendid?"
As Tom uttered these words, he unfolded the dainty little epistle, and held it forth.
The captain's hand shook as he received the paper, and a mist came over his eyes before it was read through.
"Mr. Thomas Hutchins:"Dear Friend:—I take up my pen to inform you that I am in good health, and hope you are enjoying the same blessing. I have got a nice gentleman and lady to live with, and am learning French like any thing. There is a colored man called Jube, and a young gentleman named Paul. They know French, and help me to speak it. I have got your robins' eggs yet, and mean to keep them all my life. Please do not let any one see this letter. I promised you to write the minute we got anywhere; but it was a long time before I knew how people sent letters; besides, I didn't know how to writefine hand then. Direct your letter to Miss Rose Mason, Bays Hollow. It will reach me; for since mother went away, there isn't any Miss Mason but me."
"Mr. Thomas Hutchins:
"Dear Friend:—I take up my pen to inform you that I am in good health, and hope you are enjoying the same blessing. I have got a nice gentleman and lady to live with, and am learning French like any thing. There is a colored man called Jube, and a young gentleman named Paul. They know French, and help me to speak it. I have got your robins' eggs yet, and mean to keep them all my life. Please do not let any one see this letter. I promised you to write the minute we got anywhere; but it was a long time before I knew how people sent letters; besides, I didn't know how to writefine hand then. Direct your letter to Miss Rose Mason, Bays Hollow. It will reach me; for since mother went away, there isn't any Miss Mason but me."
There seemed to be some trouble about ending the letter, for two attempts at erasure with a penknife were visible; but it finally concluded with the girlish signature of
"Your loving friend,"Rose Mason."
"Your loving friend,
"Rose Mason."
The captain read this letter over and over again, till the tears rose to his eyes and his chest began to heave.
"Will you give me this letter, boy?" he said, in a broken voice.
"Couldn't," said Tom. "Money hasn't got power to buy it. You'd think so if you only knew how much time it took for me to write the answer."
"And you think Rose is in this place now?"
"Think! Don't I know it. Haven't I reckoned up how much it would cost to get there fifty times! Only to think of hearing her talk French! My!"
The captain reached forth his hand, and shook that of Tom, with deep emotion.
"What can I do for you, my boy?" he said.
"Nothing; only if you go to the Hollow, don't forget to give my best respects to Miss Rose Mason, and tell her—no, you needn't say nothing about it—what's the use?"
"I will tell her that you are a brave, generous boy, and that I am eternally indebted to you," said the captain.
"That's very kind of you captin; but if you could only say man—now a generous man—I should be muchobliged. You haven't no idea how much too short my winter trowsers are!"
"I will say any thing to prove how happy you have made me. The dear child—and this is her writing?" answered the captain, reading the letter a third time.
Tom watched him keenly, till the blood mounted into his fine face. Some great struggle was going on in his heart, that at last burst forth in words.
"Take it," he said; "keep the letter. I give it up; but when you see her remember that it bust my heart to do it. Good-by, captain. Some time or another I shall want something of you, but wait till I've stopped growing. There's all the world afore us. Good-by."
The captain called after him. Tom refused to look back, but marched off at a quick pace, waving his hand. The truth is, our youngster's face was bathed in tears. It really had almost broken his heart to give up the letter—the first and dearest epistle of his life.
Mr. Nelsonhad placed a Nemesis in his household, and she gave him full measure of retribution. The few days of sunshine which he had purchased, soon faded away; and he was left to wander to and fro in that splendid house, more desolate than the pauper whom his wife sent haughtily from his door.
Step by step, the woman for whom he had sacrificedevery thing, became a very tyrant in his house. Indifferent at first, then arrogant, and at last insufferably insolent, she scarcely gave him breathing room in his own home. The very tread of his foot in the vestibule filled her with a sort of resentment, as if he had no right, in any degree, to disturb the luxury of her existence. Nothing but her insatiable vanity won for him even a gleam of favor. That was the strong passion of her nature, and in its complete gratification she sometimes condescended to endure his presence with some show of cheerfulness.
True, Mrs. Nelson was now comparatively independent. A few short weeks of coquetry—for that is really the name by which her attempts at affection should be given—had won this much from her infatuated victim; but it often happens that a woman who scatters her husband's money with recklessness, proves parsimonious where her own is concerned. This was the case with Mrs. Nelson; she had no fancy for diminishing her own resources; on the contrary, she had, without consulting Nelson, placed them in a way to command more than the usual interest, at the inevitable result of more than ordinary risk.
Thus the demands of unlimited extravagance made it important that something like marital cordiality should be maintained with her husband, and from this necessity, gleams of coquettish affection would sometimes break upon his loneliness, which she foolishly believed would always prove sufficient to keep him at her feet.
It is generally the dregs of poor wine that become sour. That love can turn to hate, no one who ever felt the true passion will believe. But there are mixed feelings that combine with affection in evil natures, like foreigningredients in the wine, and these yield to circumstances as that does to the atmosphere, turning to indifference, contempt, or hate, as the case may be.
This change was going on with Nelson. His wife did not see it, for, with a good deal of cleverness, she had not the intellect to comprehend a character like his. Her reign over him had been so complete—he had received her slightest favors with such gratitude—that any idea of revolt never entered her mind. A few blandishments had always obtained power over him to any extent, and these she had always at command.
But she too was setting up a Nemesis in the household, not the less powerful that it was slow to come.
This woman's life had become one wild commotion—nothing contented her. The desire of one day was flung off by the caprice of the next. The house was one thoroughfare of fashion. Her position once acknowledged in that world which every one talks of, but which, in a republic like ours, is never permanently defined—her hold upon it became complete; but it was maintained at great cost; morning breakfasts, evening parties, and those exquisite little suppers which are the gems of a sumptuous establishment, came and went in endless succession. Her life was a triumph of vanity—her ambition fulfilled. She had no character for higher aspirations, and only aimed at something new, something that would sweep all social competition aside.
This was altogether opposed to Nelson's ideas of domestic life. His ambition was of a sterner nature. He wanted power abroad, and domestic love at home. But the woman he had chosen overshadowed him with her dashing frivolity—put him aside with her insolent pretension. His strong nature revolted at last. Monthafter month he had walked through her magnificent festivities like a stranger, scarcely recognized by her guests, or approached by herself, unless the great need of money brought her smiling to his presence, and all this time one fact was brooding in his mind—for all his love the woman had given him nothing.
These thoughts hardened the rich man against the woman he had almost adored. He grew sombre and stern as a rock. No one ever saw him smile, or if he did, the gleam of a serpent stole into his eyes, revealing the venom within. This state of things might have gone on for months, perhaps years, but for a new source of excitement which the lady had searched out for herself. Hitherto the expense and ostentation of her life had been its chief objection. But display requires great genius in its arrangement not to become monotonous, and of all things on earth the routine of a merely fashionable life is the least interesting. Mrs. Nelson began to feel this. Even the triumphs of her vanity grew sickly; she wanted new fields for display. This feeling led her to the very verge of a precipice. There was one corner in Nelson's heart in which a sleeping serpent lay coiled, which even she must not dare to arouse. But with her usual audacity she trampled even there.
In New York there is always a floating population of foreigners whose business it is to be amused, and who have, with the aid of liberal travel abroad, introduced many customs into our republican society which a New Englander of any class is not quite prepared to accept.
Now Mrs. Nelson began to weary of her fashionable dissipation—the attentions of those very men made one of the chief attractions of her life. They were invitedto her house; she received with pleasure their exaggerated flatteries, and gradually her whole mode of thought became so changed that the woman was scarcely to be recognized.
What Nelson suffered at first is beyond the power of description; although it wounded his pride terribly, he gave these troubles no utterance, and had scarcely expressed a word of disapproval, but his brow grew heavy with frowns and an iron pressure of the mouth became habitual. He never sought his wife's presence now, and even passed her, if they chanced to meet, with lowering avoidance.
With this new caprice Mrs. Nelson's extravagance had somewhat abated, and having no special favors to ask, she treated her husband's frowns with the utmost disdain, if for a moment they excited her attention. He took no pains to enforce his displeasure upon her, but with stolid firmness went on his way.
During her married life this woman had made many efforts to find out the sources of her husband's wealth, but except that all her expenditures were supplied in foreign gold, she could form no real idea of his resources. But this fact convinced her that he must have made vast investments abroad, and the strongest desire she had left was to ascertain the exact position and amount of these investments, which, in the end, must, she was certain, become her own, either by depletion or bequest.
But for the fixed conviction of his wife's indifference, the art of this woman would, in the end, have gained the information she craved; but Nelson felt that in this secret lay his entire hold on her. In fact he dared not trust her or divide the corroding anxieties of his existence with any human being.
At length, in the pauses of a foreign flirtation, for with her these things never approached a point beyond that of gratified vanity, she began to reflect on the persistent silence of her husband, and viewing him as the source of all her luxuries, became vaguely uneasy, as she had done once before, lest he should escape her control.
One evening, when it chanced that she had no visitors, this doubt came across her, and under its influence she went in search of her husband.
Thrasherwas sitting alone in the room we have spoken of, reading or appearing to read, a large book that lay open on the library table. The rustle of a purple brocaded dress as it swept over the tessellated floor, disturbed him. He raised his head and looked steadily in his wife's face as she approached, but without a sign either of gladness or anger.
"Always alone," she said, playfully leaning over his shoulder—"always studying and leaving his poor wife to her solitude."
He looked at her keenly, turning his head with a gesture of avoidance, but still reading her with his eyes.
"What do you want now, madame?"
She absolutely turned pale to the lips. There was no anger in his tone, but it cut through her flippancy like a sword.
"What do I want, Nelson?" she faltered.
"Yes, how much?"
The tones were sharp with sarcasm; she winced under them, and slowly removed her arm from his shoulder. The massive bracelets she wore jingled faintly with the motion. Nelson glanced at them with a bitter sneer.
"Those things were not among the jewels I gave you."
She flushed to the temples.
"No," she said, with some truth; "you always seemed anxious and troubled, so——"
"So you accepted these from some one else?"
"No, I bought them. Who would give me any thing that I cannot purchase for myself? The jeweller imported them expressly to tempt me."
She resumed all her confidence now. This allusion to the jewels soothed her into the idea that it was only a spasm of jealousy which had influenced his words. She leaned her white arm on his shoulder again, and touched his cheek with her own, glancing down on the book he had been reading.
He closed the volume suddenly, and leaned his arm upon it.
"And you wont let me read?"
"No."
"Want me out of the way, perhaps?"
"Yes!"
The woman rose to her full height, and in her haughty anger would have swept from the room, but on second thought she drew a chair, and sat down opposite him, leaning her arm on the table.
"Nelson," she said, in her clear, rich voice, which, spite of herself, shook with suppressed passion, "youare angry because I have had so little time to give you of late."
He looked her steadily in the face.
"No, Ellen, I am not angry at any thing."
"Then why are you so stern with me?"
"Because I am myself again."
The woman was really frightened; the impolicy of her late conduct forced itself upon her; for a moment she sat biting her lips in silence.
"You had better go to your room," he said, quietly; "the marble floor is cold."
"Not half as cold as your heart," she answered, with a burst of tears. "Ah, Nelson, how can you treat me so cruelly? Me, who—who——"
"Who love me so dearly," he said, with one of the most cutting sneers that ever disfigured a man's countenance.
These were the very words she had been trying to utter, but they lodged in her throat. He had anticipated the falsehood with a sneer. She arose haughtily. Tears rolled down her flushed cheeks. She was really a beautiful woman; but her loveliness had no effect on him then. In her reckless vanity she had wounded him almost beyond repair, and his bosom serpent crested itself fiercely.
"I did not expect this," she said, in pale anger. "You shall never have a chance to insult me again."
"I did not seek it now. It is not my wish that you should ever come here."
"Why, what great secret do you keep in this room?" she said, speaking at random, in her anger. "One would think you had a hidden treasure here."
The sudden pallor that spread over his face struckher dumb; what had she said to arouse this white rage? The words escaped her memory as they were uttered, but they had given him a blow on the heart. Nelson recovered himself promptly.
"Well," he said, with less of bitterness in his voice, "you have chosen to seek me without invitation and without motive, so far as I can understand. If you have any business, let me know it?"
"Cannot a woman visit her husband without special business?" retorted the wife.
"Her husband?" he repeated, in a low, sneering voice.
She burst into tears.
"Nelson, this is cruel."
"Cruel; I thought you did not understand the term!"
She could control her passion no longer, but stamped angrily on the marble floor with her foot.
"Nelson Thrasher, this is too much, after persecuting me with your attentions, begging me upon your knees to become your wife. I am insulted in my own house, sneered at almost before my own servants, neglected, trampled on——"
"Be silent, madame! these complaints are false. It is I who have been outraged and insulted; set at naught under my own roof; left to solitude, when my heart ached for the company of my wife; and all because I brought to you a devotion more perfect than man ever gave to woman; because I loved you well enough to deserve the contempt which you rain upon me."
Mrs. Nelson began to cry and wring her hands at this, and, after the fashion of widows who marry a second time, sobbed out: "It was no more than she deserved. Oh, if her first husband had only lived—never in hiswhole life had he spoken a harsh word to her. Alas, what a fool she had been!"
Nelson heard her impatiently; the mention of Captain Mason did not soften his heart, but closed it even against her tears and the beauty that they brightened, as dews refresh a rose.
She paused in her grief, and looked at him from under her wet eyelashes. The tears rendered her glance very tender and sorrowful. His countenance softened. She saw it; and, going round the table, leaned over his chair, fanning his cheek with her breath.
"Nelson, have you really ceased to love me?"
There was truth in the bottom of the man's heart, and he could not answer "Yes;" so he was silent, and sat beneath her caresses with downcast eyes. At last he looked up. There was forgiveness in his face, but it was stern and pale.
"Ellen, I did love you—I bought you at a fearful price. How much I gave, how much I risked, you will never know. How miserable I have been, you can never guess. All I asked was a little love and some show of respect. You gave me neither. I could not win them with entreaties or buy them with gold. You never loved me. You never liked me, Ellen."
She moved closer to him. The dew upon her cheek cooled his anger. He could not hate her quite yet. The time might come; but it was sweet to put it off, even for a little while.
"But I love you now."
As this soft whisper fell upon his heart, the serpent that had lifted his crest so angrily settled down, and went to sleep stupidly, as if it never would uncoil again.
The woman bore her triumph with caution, and wouldnot seem elated. She sank to his side on one knee, forcing him to support her head with his hand, which yielded to the guidance of her soft touch, as the stern heart had given way to her caressing speech.
"You have been very harsh with me," was her sweet reproach; "and all because I cannot be happy when you will not trust me."
"Trust you?"
"Yes; you keep secrets from me. You are jealous because other men admire me."
"No, Ellen; I am jealous because you have no value for my admiration, not because others think you beautiful."
"But you keep secrets from me."
"What secrets?" he faltered.
"Oh, a great many."
She dared not come to the point at once for his face was growing dark again.
She watched his face keenly—it lowered like a thunder cloud. That pretence of jealousy was only a decoy subject—she cared nothing for his early love, but was painfully intent on gaining his secret of the treasures. Without that knowledge she must be forever at his mercy—always going through scenes like the one which had just passed, or sink back into comparative poverty by abandoning him altogether. The partial independence which he had bestowed only made her more eager for new concessions.
"Then you have other secrets. Where is all the great wealth you told me of. I never saw it. I have no proof that it exists."
She spoke very naturally, but he understood her drift, and knew, in the depths of his heart, that it wasthis secret which chained her in that loving position at his knee. Still, with his softened feelings, it was pleasant to have her there at any cost, so he played with the question as a good angler trifles with his fly on the surface of a lake.
"You have the best of all proof, Ellen—that of spending the money."
"Yes, I know; but what is that compared to the confidence of one's husband?"
He smiled almost pleasantly, leaned forward, and opening the book which had been closed from her inspection, pointed out a page with his finger.
"What—the Bible!" she exclaimed, astonished at the nature of his studies.
"Yes," he said, quietly. "I was reading the history of Sampson."
She looked at him a moment, and the blood mounted slowly to her forehead. He saw the flush, and turned away his eyes.
Not another word was spoken. She arose from her half kneeling posture, and he stood up.
"You will not trust me now," was her gentle leave-taking, "because you think I do not love you, but time will show how mistaken you are."
She reached up her mouth to be kissed, but he touched her forehead with his lips, and she went away as she came, rustling her silks luxuriously along the mosaic floor.
He followed her with his eyes till she disappeared, then sat down, supporting his forehead with one hand.
"Ah, what a creature she is," he murmured. "If one could only buy her in selling himself to perdition, what man would shrink from the price? But who can saythat he possesses her? My secret! No, Ellen Mason! that is your chain!—the shackle that keeps you here! I will never break it—never!"
A noise at the door caused him to look up. She had come back, and stood smiling upon him.
"You defy me—you liken me to that woman in the Bible, and keep secrets from me—this is a good reason for amusing myself elsewhere. I will not do that any more. Keep your secret, and hoard your treasures. I will not trouble you concerning them. Only let us be friends. There will be no happiness for either of us without that."
The woman offered her kisses again, and this time he did not avoid her lips—still she could not feel that her victory was complete.
After she had gone, Nelson cast his eyes on the floor, and started with an exclamation of dismay. When his wife fell into her passion she had stood directly over the centre ornament in the massive floor, a secret spring had yielded to the stamp of her foot, the stone had whirled from its place, leaving an opening of some inches, circling half around the centre ornament like a crescent.
"Had the woman seen this?"
The thought made him wild; great drops started to his forehead, while he fell upon his knees, and strove to replace the stone. It shot back to its groove, completing the Mosaic pattern. When all was secure, he sat down and fell into thought. A feeling of insecurity seized upon him; would this woman wrest his secrets from him after all—not by her fascinations, but through craft and watchfulness?
No; he would make sure against that. The ornament might give way again, but it should tell no secrets.
LittlePaul was standing under the apple tree, with Rose Mason close by. The thick grass under their feet was littered with golden apples, streaked with rosy red, which Jube had shaken from the boughs.
"Here, little missus," cried the negro, looking down through the thick leaves, and balancing a noble apple in his hand. "Hold up your apron, little missus, and down it will come so pretty into the white nest, so."
Rose lifted her little apron of ruffled dimity, and held it up, laughing and shaking her golden curls in the sunbeams, the happiest little creature alive.
"Be careful," cried Paul, looking fondly on the beautiful creature. "Don't you drop it on her head, Jube; it would almost kill her."
Jube laughed, and dropped the apple, which fell plump into the apron, but with a force that tore it from the grasp of those tiny hands; so, after all, the apple rolled away into the grass.
Both Paul and Rose made a plunge. The boy seized upon the apple first, and held it over his head, tempting Rose, with his bright eyes laughing pleasantly. She leaped after it, and danced up and down like a fairy, for her little feet scarcely trampled the grass.
Paul was taller, by a whole foot, than the little girl, so he held the fruit out of reach, smiling with his lips, and laughing with his eyes, at her graceful efforts. Jube gotastride a huge limb of the apple tree, and looked down upon the fun, showing his teeth through the leaves. The minister stood at his study window, benignly regarding them, drawn from his manuscript sermon by their riotous shouts of laughter; while his wife, who was sewing on the back porch, sat with her needle half suspended, smiling brightly on the scene.
It was a pleasant sight, and the whole family enjoyed it with all the zest of innocent hearts. The good housewife loved those two children almost as if they had been her own, and as for Jube, the heart must have been hard indeed which did not turn kindly to the good negro, who brought his huge bodily strength to the aid of every thing that required it, and who was good-natured as a Newfoundland dog.
The housewife was so occupied with the pretty strife under the apple tree that she did not hear a knock at the front door, and was quite taken by surprise when the help flung open that leading to the porch, and revealed two strange men standing in the hall behind her.
When the door was opened, shouts of laughter swept through it from the orchard, and one of the men, without heeding the lady, passed by her, saying:
"Excuse me! It is my child—my little daughter!" and with quick strides he advanced toward the apple tree, leaving his companion behind.
"Don't be skeered nor nothing, marm," said Rice, looking eagerly toward the apple tree. "It's his little darter, and he's just found out where she is, arter a tough siege among the niggers in St. Domingo, where we thought he was left dead. I seed him fall down like an ox with the blow of an axe, among a hull swarm of 'em in the cellar of one of them St. Domingo houses,and arterward I saw 'em carry him off to be buried. They took him up into the mountains, marm, and his goodness saved his life arter all; for one of the niggers that he'd saved from a flogging once knew him, and when the rest wanted to kill him over agin, this 'ere chap jest begged him off and took him away to his own hut and kinder nussed him up, you see; but it was a good while afore he got well, and he had a tough time getting away—had to take a vessel going 'round the Horn."
The minister had been disturbed by the knock which his wife had failed to hear, and now stood in the back door listening to this rapid narrative with a look of wonder in his face, while his wife sat with her breath suspended, and the color dying gradually from her cheek, appalled by the first glimpse of a crime in which she felt almost like a participant.
Meanwhile, Captain Mason reached the apple tree, and paused a few feet from Rose, with his arms extended, striving to call out, "My daughter, my daughter," but the words died on his lips, and broke up in tears; thus he stood before the child trembling like a criminal, and with his noble features all in a tumult of tender agitation.
Rose had just succeeded in coaxing the apple from Paul, and tossing it into the air, was intent on catching it with her hands, but her eyes fell upon the stranger, and the sight seemed to harden her into stone. The apple fell through her half-lifted hands, the laughter froze on her lips, and her blue eyes opened wide and wild.
"Rose, my own little Rose, have you forgotten me so soon?"
The child uttered a faint wail; her hands fell down; she stood before him like a flower withering at the stalk.
"Father! oh, father!"
The words came forth in a cry of pain, yet joy shone in her face.
He knelt down on the grass and folded her close to his heart, raining kisses on her forehead, her hair, and her pretty hands. "My child, my child," he murmured, with eager tenderness. "She is frightened. She believed me dead. She has not had time to be glad. Oh, Rose, it is your father; kiss me, kiss me, little Rose."
The child trembled in his arms, but reached up her lips and kissed him over and over again.
"Now," said Mason, putting her away from his bosom, and examining her with tears of proud fondness in his eye, "now, my little Rose, go with me to your mother; is she in the house?"
Again that shiver came over the child; she bent her eyes to the earth, and seemed to wither under his look.
"Oh, father, father, don't."
"What is the matter, Rose—why are you afraid? Come, come, go with me to your mother."
"Mother isn't here," faltered the child.
A look of keen disappointment swept Mason's face. "Not here! Not with her child! Then, where is she?"
"I don't know, father, indeed I don't; she would marry Captain Thrasher, and go away. I begged and begged her not to; but she would do it."
Rose began to cry bitterly, in the midst of these words. Captain Mason put her away with horror.
"Would marry Captain Thrasher! Captain Thrasher!" He spoke in a hoarse whisper, as if the words chilled him.
"Oh, I couldn't help it!" pleaded poor Rose, dropping on her knees, and holding up both hands like an infant Samuel.
"No, sir; Rose tells the truth. She tried and tried, but madame would go," said Paul, dropping on one knee by Rose, and pleading for her with his eyes. "That bad man came after madame, and put my mother's jewels on her neck. It was them which carried her away from Rose."
"Married to Captain Thrasher!" The words came forth hoarsely from his white lips. "My wife!"
Rice came up at the moment, looking fierce and agitated.
"Come away, captin, come away; this isn't no place for us," he said. "I will search the rascal out, though he were hid away in the icebergs of the frozen ocean. I'll neither eat nor sleep till he's handcuffed and shackled down in jail."
"Is this thing true, Rice?" inquired Mason, in a deadly whisper.
"True as the gospel, captin. He married 'em both—your wife and my sister. Oh!"
The sailor ground his teeth, and clenched his hand until it looked like a mass of iron.
"Married to your sister?"
"Yes, captin; it was his name she wouldn't give up. She sot there on the gallows with that marriage writing in her bosom, and let the women sneer at her without a word, all to save that villain from disgrace. When she fainted away in my arms after they took her down, the old woman found this a lying agin her heart. I took it out, and swore an oath to search the sarpent out; but his father told me that he'd gone off on a whaling shipafore she was took up, and didn't know nothing about it, so I waited. But I'm on his track now. He's on this 'ere continent, and I'll find him, or die on the hunt. Don't look so skeered, little Paul; you haint got nothing to do with this; so you needn't look at a chap in that 'ere pitiful way, no how. I aint mad with you, if I didn't shake hands."
"But Rose, poor Rose," pleaded the boy.
Rice looked kindly on the little girl. "Poor gal, poor little critter," he muttered, shaking his head; "but what is her suffering to his'n, I should like to know. If his heart isn't broke, I don't know the signs. Come, captin, don't look so down in the mouth; we've both got a job afore us, and had better be a doing uv it."
Mason stood with his back to the group, gazing heavily on the earth.
"She thought I was dead; he told her so; and, perhaps, believed it. The wretch persecuted her before she was married. She was alone and destitute—a widow—very proud, and so helpless. Poor Ellen."
"Come, captin, my heart burns like a live coal. I long to be after the villain," said Rice.
"Be after him—oh, yes; but where? He is your sister's husband—that paper proves it. Legally married—and yet—and yet——"
He paused—cold shudders crept through his frame—tears of agony heaved his chest—then the might of his grief broke forth, and covering his face with both hands, he wept like a little child.
"Captin—Captin Mason, I say, look up—don't, don't—I can't stand it," cried Rice. "It's bad enough to see a woman cry; but this 'ere is more than I can bear, darn me if it aint."
Captain Masonremoved his hands, and turned his face, white and tear-stained, upon his friend.
"Rice, I loved that woman."
"True enough, captin; but don't think about that; there are as good fish in the sea as ever were taken out. Jest let us get hold of that scoundrel. We've got him tight now. This 'ere thing of marrying two wives is biggermy, and all the lawyers in Connecticut couldn't keep a man from State's prison if that 'ere crime is brought agin him. Come on, captin, I'll expose him."
"And Ellen—the mother of my child!" said Mason, sadly.
Rice took off his hat, and began to brush it with the sleeve of his coat.
"Yes, captin, I'm afeard we couldn't do one without the other; but the woman desarves it."
"Rice, Rice, her child is looking at you."
"And my sister is moaning her heart out in Simsbury Mines—my innocent sister. If the court had known that she was a married woman it wouldn't have been so hard with her. It was to get rid of her disgrace, they said, that she killed her child. If they had but known that there wasn't no disgrace she wouldn't have been sent to that prison. Mebby, if I was to show this certificate to the governor now, he'd let her out, and put Thrasher in her place."
Mason looked at him with heavy eyes.
"His guilt would do nothing to prove her innocent; and she, the woman who was my wife, had no share in this guilt; but the disgrace will fall on her. She believed herself a widow."
"And was in a mighty hurry to get clear of the name," muttered Rice, under his breath.
Mason did not hear him, but had relapsed into the pain of his thoughts. Meantime, Jube had come slowly down from the apple tree, and stood before them, smiling and softly rubbing his hands. This cheerful unconsciousness of every thing but joy, at seeing his best friends, in the negro, was a new pang to Mason. He spoke kindly to the poor fellow, and that was all. In a moment he had relapsed into gloom again. Paul pulled Jube by his garments, and drew him on one side. When the two came back Jube's face was sombre like the rest. He could not comprehend the entire case, but knew that some wrong had been done to his benefactor, and this wounded his heart to the core.
Rice came closer to Mason, and drew him aside.
"Captin, will it make you happier if I let this villain go, and never say a word about it?"
Mason started.
"I don't know, Rice. I am so bewildered nothing seems real; not even my child there."
"I can search him out. He's in this country, that I feel sure about. They must be living together somewhere, either in York State or——"
Mason started as if an adder had stung him.
"Living together!"
There was fire enough in his heart then. It flashed from his eyes, and made every nerve in his body tremble.
"Living together!" he repeated, with sickening pain. "Tear them apart, Rice. She has no moral guilt now, but it may come to that. Tear him from her side. He is your sister's husband—shewasmy wife! Drag them asunder! I could not see her living with that man, without tearing him all to pieces! No, no; if the choice is guilt or disgrace, let the shame come. I can bear it. My little girl—God help us—she can bear it."
Rose began to cry, and creeping up to her father, nestled her little hand in his.
"Don't, father; she'll come back again, if you only ask her!"
Mason grasped the little hand till Rose almost cried out with the pain, but she was a brave child, and gave no sign that she was hurt.
At last Mason addressed Rice more composedly, but still in a trembling voice.
"Where was this thing done, Rice?"
"In that house. The minister himself married them. All the family saw it, Jube and Paul among the rest."
"Is there a register?"
"Yes, you can read it."
"I will."
They went into the house together, slowly, like men walking at a funeral. Jube and the children followed with downcast looks, wondering what terrible thing had happened, when Rose ought to be so glad now that her father had come back.
The minister and his little wife were in great trouble when their guests came back to the house, she had evidently been weeping, and really felt as if some inevitable disgrace had fallen upon the sacred character of her husband. He was terribly bewildered, and with the fragmentsof a half finished sermon in his head, found great difficulty in comprehending the true state of the case. When it really got fastened on his intelligence, the shock was powerful in its effects; he could not be persuaded that some stain might not rest upon him, and that he ought not on the very next Sunday to acknowledge himself a grave sinner before the entire congregation.
It was a sad visit, both to the father and child. At the moment they sprang to eachother'sembrace, this fearful intelligence had thrust them apart, and after this, all their endearments were given in tears. Rose felt as if there were something wrong in claiming the caresses of her own father, and it seemed as though her little heart would break when he put her aside, afraid that she would be terrified by the groans that no effort of his could entirely suppress.
They parted in sadness, for years, if not for ever. During all her sweet girlhood, the minister's wife was all the mother Rose must henceforth know; as for the father, how bitterly did he regret the kindness which had spared his life, and healed his wounds among the negroes of St. Domingo. What was he now but a wronged, desolate man, worse than widowed, worse than childless, for to him the very memory of affection had become a pain.
As they went from the house, Rice wrung his captain's hand. "You will let me punish the man?" he said, pleading for the justice that was his by right.
"Punish him, but spare her—spare my child. Separate them quietly; and if it must be—if she is not willing to leave him—tell her that I am alive. If she falls dead at your feet, tell her the truth. But if she gives him up, leave her in peace."
Theresult of Mrs. Mason's latest reconciliation with the man she honestly believed to be her husband, was soon made visible in more lavish expenditure, and a display in her entertainments never attempted before.
An exuberant taste kept her always on the alert. The constant suggestion of some extravagant novelty became an habitual stimulant, now that home affection had become a hopeless thing with her.
During the season of moroseful discontent which we have described, Nelson had checked this wanton craving for display by less liberal supplies of money; but now that he was grateful and generous again, the fever burst forth in new vigor. One of her fashionable friends had just given a fancy ball, where the flowers alone cost a little fortune. Mrs. Nelson was not to be distanced thus in extravagance. She would give an entertainment before which that of her rival should wither into insignificance, like the roses swept from her banqueting hall the morning after that great triumph. This had been a leading motive for the interview described in another chapter. With a few smiles and caressing words she had won a new hold upon the purse, which opened grudgingly only when she grew neglectful or insolent by a repletion of her wishes.
Mrs. Nelson's rival had given a fancy ball at one of the principal watering-places, which certainly had proved the great success of the season. She would do somethingbetter than that. Her ball should rival royalty. It should be quoted in our republican society as the charming entertainments of Maria Antoinette, in her little palace in the Park at Versailles, became the conversation of all France.
The weather was lovely. Summer had just melted into the golden autumn. The atmosphere was delicious with fruity odors, in which the breath of late flowers mingled in sensuous richness. This was the season for her grand effort. Society had just come back from the springs and the fashionable watering-places, eager for something new. Her friends should be gratified; nay, astonished. She would throw that entire mansion open. Its rich draperies, its statues and bronzes, the frescoed ceilings, and rare pictures. All should flash upon the world at once. She would illuminate the grounds, weigh down the old forest trees with a fruitage of lights, build pavilions and rustic bridges. Nothing should be omitted to turn her residence into a paradise.
This was all accomplished. As if to crown her triumph, a moon, just swelling from its crescent, came out among the bright stars, and shone with peculiar radiance that evening. Every thing smiled upon this woman. Officious menials in livery crowded her halls—her supper room was one bower of blossoms; delicious fruits nestled in them, and mingled still more ruddy tints with their bloom; cut-glass shone through their leaves like gushes of water; silver glittered through them like frost work; and heavy garlands clambered up the pillars that supported the frescoed ceiling, forming light colonnades on each side, where mirrors reflected every thing, as lovely landscapes are seen sleeping in a lake—the shadows more beautiful than the substance.
Down from her dressing-room, rustling in white silk, embroidered with silver flowers, that shimmered like moonlight among the heavy folds, came the mistress of this festival, superb in her own beauty, with jewels flashing on her bare neck and arms, and lighting up her heavy tresses like clustering stars.
Nelson met her on the broad staircase. He was grave and sad. These ostentatious entertainments were against his taste, and always displeased him. This evening a heavier weight than usual fell upon his spirits; even the rare loveliness of his wife failed to win a smile to his lips.
She held out her hand, smiling radiantly upon him. Her triumph was certain. Nothing like the scene that broke upon her through the open door had met her eye before. She could afford to smile on the man whose gold had opened this paradise to her ambition. He made no response, but sighing heavily, turned at her request and walked by her side through the sumptuous rooms. She was exultant; the effect surpassed her expectations. The tread of her silken-clad feet on the marble floor and moss-like carpets was like that of an empress, but it annoyed her that Nelson took no part in her joy. She observed that he turned away with uneasiness whenever she lifted her arm to point out a beautiful object or some peculiar effect. She did not know that the flash of those jewels which clasped her snow-white arm was like the glitter of a serpent to him. A thousand times he had wished those diamonds at the bottom of the ocean.
Those jewels reminded him of so much that he would have given worlds to forget. They brought to his mind that palace home at Port au Prince, where he had stolenat night in search of the treasures which, in the end, tempted that woman to become his wife. He remembered the horrid scene in that cellar. He remembered the descent of Captain Mason upon him just as he was breaking open the vault where the wealth of many a rich man lay buried—the honest indignation of that noble face—the cold protest. Then the crowd of negro fiends that rushed upon them, reeling with drunkenness, gnashing their white teeth, and emitting gleams of hatred from their bloodshot eyes. He remembered how the crowbar had fallen from his hands, and felt anew the thrill with which he had pointed out Captain Mason to the vengeance of these demons.
No wonder he shuddered and turned away sick with loathing of the jewels. By eternal tortures, such as pressed upon him now, he had bought them, and, through them, the woman whose cold beauty they adorned.
They were the embodiment of his crimes. Why would she wear them? Could she not guess that every rainbow flash that came from her person filled his brain with pictures of blood? Would she never permit him to forget the riot of that awful night, when the brave man, whose wife she had been, was dragged lifeless along the muddy floor of the cellar, and carried off to be flung in the heaps of slain humanity which blocked up the streets of Port au Prince after the carnage which makes men shudder yet, even in remembrance?
She wanted him to be happy, and yet persisted in wearing those things. True, he had never dared to object, they were hers. He had bought her with them; what excuse could he make for the loathing with which he regarded their display?
She saw the pallor of his countenance and laughed.
"How strange," she said, surveying herself in a mirror, and changing one of the ornaments in her hair, "how strange, Nelson, that you never can accustom yourself to society. The very expectation of doing the honors of your own house to a fashionable crowd makes a coward of you; while I—well, it is true we ladies do adapt ourselves to circumstances better than men. Confess this, husband, and I will permit you to tie the laces of this slipper; see, they have broken loose."
Nelson, still grave and sad, dropped on one knee, and tied the laces around that exquisitely turned ankle. She laughed at his awkwardness, and spurned him playfully with her foot when the task was done.
"Come, now, I hear a carriage. It is early, but our guests are impatient, I suppose. No wonder; it is not often they will see any thing like this. Come, you must help me receive, or people will think I am ashamed of my husband."
Shewas very playful and charming that night. He looked into her eyes as they flashed down upon him, and forgot the jewels. They walked together into the vast drawing-rooms, and waited for the guests, whose footsteps could be heard plainly on the marble floor of the entrance hall. The steps were heavy, and seemed outof place in that dwelling. The master of all that splendor was strangely impressed by the sound of those footsteps. His breath came slowly and his restless eyes sought the door with a species of vague dread in their glance.
His wife stood careless and smiling, always graceful and ready to enjoy the surprise of her first guests. They came forward slowly, the heavy footsteps smothered in the carpets, and looking around in vague wonder, as if frightened at finding themselves in the midst of such splendor.
"Who can they be, dressed in that fashion?" muttered the lady. "I do not know them!"
Nelson watched the two men anxiously as they approached. They were strangers, and certainly could not be invited guests. The men saw him, and advanced up the room.
"Is your name Nelson?" inquired the foremost, speaking almost in a whisper, for he was awed by the splendor around him.
"Yes," answered Nelson; "that is my name."
"Nelson Thrasher?"
The woman by his side gave a little scream as the words fell on her ear, but controlled herself instantly, though the smile left her lips, and the gorgeous fan trembled in her grasp.
"Yes," said a third person, coming up the room with a heavy, rolling gate, such as seafaring men attain in long voyages. "It is Nelson Thrasher. Arrest him here and now."
Every vestige of color left Thrasher's face—he stood trembling before the two men like a coward. But the woman by his side drew her magnificent figure to its proudest height, and turned scornfully upon them.
"You are mistaken; his name is not Thrasher. This gentleman is my husband!"
The seafaring man looked at her steadily; there was nothing in her words or appearance to excite compassion, so he spoke out bluntly.
"No, marm,youare mistaken. His name is Thrasher, and he is not your husband, having been married to another woman long before you left the pine woods."
The color fled from her proud face, till the jewels, flashing their light across it, gave her features the appearance of marble. She turned upon Thrasher with deadly hate in her eyes.
"Is this thing true?" The words hissed through her white lips.
He did not answer, but stood before her dumb and sullen.
"Is this thing true?" she repeated, turning to the sailor.
"True as judgment, marm."
"And the woman, her name, I say!"
"His wife is my own sister, Katharine Allen."
"His wife!" she cried, fiercely turning upon Thrasher again. "Man, have you nothing to say?"
Thrasher lifted his eyes, heavy and sad as death. "I loved you, Ellen."
"Loved me!"
The bitter scorn in her voice made him shrink like a hound when it feels the lash.
"It is the truth. God only knows how I loved you, how I do love you."
Her face fairly contracted with the loathing that had slept in her bosom so long.
"And God only knows how I hate you—how I hated you then, and shall forever and ever."
"But you married me."
"No, I married these, and these, and these!"
She dashed one hand against the jewels on her bosom, hair, and arms, then pointed to the supper room, with its flowers, and the long vista of saloons opening into each other.
Thrasher shrunk into himself, standing before her white and cold. She had no mercy on his wretchedness; no control over her own rage.
"Take him away," she said, addressing the men. "If you have a warrant, use it quickly. Drag him from my sight, anywhere, so that he is taken far enough, and buried deep enough."
"Ellen! Ellen!"
The cry of his anguish would have touched a stone with mercy, but she only drew a sob, and went on, bitter as death, and sharp as steel. He knew that venomous truth was spiking up through her rage, and while she was treading him to the earth, the viper in his nature crested itself against her.
"You married me for these," he said, pointing to her bosom, which heaved with rage under its flaming ornaments. "I may be guilty, but not more guilty than you are, Ellen."
"Take him away—take him away," she cried, "or I shall die."
"One moment," exclaimed Thrasher, desperately; "Ellen speak to me alone. It may be my last request."
Had she been alone, I think the woman would have refused him—but with all those eyes turned upon her, she could only step aside to one of those little boudoirs that his wealth had fitted up for her.
"Well?" she said, haughtily turning upon him as he stood before her, pale and shrinking.
"Ellen—Ellen, do not be so cruel to me; if I have sinned, it was from the love that made me desperate. If I have wronged you, think what I gave up for your sake—how much I risked—how much I have endured."
"Well?" she repeated, growing hard and stern with each word, "what more?"
"Oh, Ellen," he pleaded, "unsay those cutting words, they pierce me to the heart—never loved me—hate—oh, do not strike me so hard!"
"Hate!" sneered the woman. "No, no, that is not the word, it does not express enough; I want a stronger language, something that will combine loathing, detestation, and scorn, all in one word, that I may fling it at you, and go!"
"Ellen, Ellen!"
She took no heed of this agonized cry, but went on, her cheeks blanched, and her eyes aflame with passion. "The only drop of comfort I have," she raved, "is, that I can for once speak out, and throw off the load of hate that has fevered every drop of blood in my veins since the day I married you."
He did not attempt to answer her now. The scathing words she had uttered seemed to freeze the life from his whole system. He stood looking upon her with wild, dreary eyes, his whole face so coldly white that she paused, drawing a sharp breath, even in the headlong passion that possessed her.
At last he spoke, but the hollow sound of his voice made her shiver.
"You hate me—and I, who loved you better than truth, better than honor, better than my own soul—hate you, Ellen Mason!"
She was petrified. The fearful violence of her passion had borne her too far—fallen as he was, the man possessed power. There was his secret; with all her patient craft she had failed to win that, and now it would be buried with him in the prison to which he must inevitably go. She looked keenly in his face; it was hard as granite, and his eyes seemed scarcely human from the fire that smouldered in them, giving dusky force to the circles underneath. She knew that at last her power had been wholly swept away. She saw this with a pang. The whole scene had come upon her so suddenly, that she could not yet realize her true position—that he was not, and never had been her husband; that before the world she was a disgraced woman. She remembered, with a thrill of terror, how the measures taken only to protect her pride, and save her from the intrusions of Thrasher's family, would now tell against her. The name partially suppressed, the false history of her position, all would go to prove complicity with the criminal whom she had just exasperated into a bitter enemy.
Stung with this conviction, she stood before Thrasher in the full humiliation of a haughty spirit overthrown.
A stern sneer crept to his lips as he looked upon her. He turned and moved toward the door.
"Where are you going?" she questioned, in a hoarse whisper.
"I am going to proclaim myself a criminal, and you Captain Mason's widow!" he said.
"To whom?"
"To your guests as they come in!"
"You will not be so cruel!"
He laughed like a fiend.
"Cruel!"
"So base, then!"
"Base! I bought you with money; sold myself for love—both were cheated!"
He passed out of the room, smiling upon her as he went. She was a sharp-willed woman, crafty and prompt. The danger was imminent, but she had the intellect to meet it. Quick as lightning her plan was matured. She followed him out, and touching one of the officers on the arm, whispered:
"A hundred dollars in gold if you get that man clear of the house in ten minutes."
"Can't be done, marm. Mr. Rice has gone for more help. No moving a peg till he comes back."
"But you can lock him up; put a guard over him; do something to save us from this disgrace! If one hundred is not enough you shall have five!"
"But where shall we put him—every room in the house seems turned into a garden?"
"In the south wing, along that hall, you will find a room. It has but one door. Iron shutters are concealed under the ornamental work. Secure them, and it is impossible for him to escape. Hark! that is a carriage! A thousand dollars if you get him off before it reaches the entrance!"
She was pale as death, and her whispers sounded like the hiss of a reptile.
The two men consulted together a moment, and directly one of them touched Thrasher on the arm.
"Come, go with us into another room."
"What room?"
"That in the south wing, with iron shutters and only one door. It will do."
"No," he said, doggedly; "my house isn't a prison.You have a warrant, execute it. I will pass those people as they come in."
The men began to expostulate. Ellen Mason trembled with terror, for the carriage was already setting down its burden at her door.
One of the men came to her for counsel.
"Shall we take him away by force, marm?"
"Yes, if it must be—quick."
To her surprise, Thrasher came forward. The expression of his face had changed—there was a gleam of malicious triumph in it.
"Madame," he said, "I consent to remain your guest a little longer." Then, turning to the men, he said: "How many hours shall I be detained in this room with one door and iron shutters?"
"All night," replied the man.
"All night?" There was something more than a question in his voice.
"Yes, yes; we shan't run the risk of taking you out in a crowd—depend on it. Too smart a chap for any risks of that sort."
"No chance of getting off before morning?" he questioned again, very earnestly.
"Not the ghost of one—even if Rice himself comes back. We have all the responsibility."
"Well, I am ready. Farewell, madame."
Ellen Mason followed him, with affrighted looks. Her guests were coming up the entrance hall in groups. Thrasher stood immovable, smiling maliciously upon her. This exasperated the two officers, and they seized him each by an arm. He shook them off at once, and moved close to the lady.
"Ellen Mason, if I leave you one more night of triumph,it is because the blow that I strike shall be for life, not for an hour."
She drew back, and stood, with a forced smile in her eyes, looking toward the advancing guests. He, too, smiled, and walked on, bowing low as he passed the groups of revellers that now half filled the entrance hall. The two officers rushed eagerly after him, and seized him by the arms in the midst of his guests. Again he shook them off, and, turning toward the south wing, disappeared.
With a wild glitter in her eyes, the mistress of the mansion watched him till he was lost in the incoming crowd. Then drawing a heavy breath, she turned to receive the brilliant throng that surged into her rooms.