“‘Earth gapes, Hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,To have him suddenly carried away;Cancel his bond of life, dear God; I prayThat I may live to say the dog is dead.’
“‘Earth gapes, Hell burns, fiends roar, saints pray,To have him suddenly carried away;Cancel his bond of life, dear God; I prayThat I may live to say the dog is dead.’
“I trust that my good friends will pardon me for using such strong language—I have borrowed it from Shakespeare’s ‘Richard III.’ It was suggested to my mind by the striking resemblance between the bloody King and this diabolical monster—this lapper up of innocent blood—this destroyer of confiding virtue—this cruel fiend whose hands are red with blood—whose soul is stained with perjury. This false, bloody villain is named Benjamin Bowles, and here he stands.”
As quick as thought she sprang forward before the sentence had been half uttered and tearing away Napoleon’s mask, there stood Ben Bowles, pale but defiant as ever, while anger and hate blazed from his eyes. Half a dozen ladies fainted, others fled to their state-rooms, while the men stood still, perfectly stupefied with astonishment. Henry of Navarre then slowly moved round and confronting Bowles, while his arms were folded across his breast.
“Mr. Bowles! you and I have met before to-day. A duty which I owe to society and the laws of my country compels me to take a step which will somewhat interfere with yourpleasure excursion. The grand jury at Memphis have decided that you committed a cruel murder upon a little boy named Bramlett. Now you will have to abandon your little pleasure trip and go with me back to Memphis. If they do not hang you for the murder of young Bramlett, you can then stand your trial for your cowardly attempt to assassinate Mrs. Demar. You know we can take the train at Vicksburg, and return to Memphis.”
“I know you very well, Harry Wallingford, and am always glad to meet you. You would be glad to create the impression that you are a man of courage, but I happen to know that that you are a coward. I despise and defy you, and am sorry I cannot employ words sufficiently insulting to induce you to fight.”
“I have too much self-respect, Mr. Bowles, to resent an insult offered by men of your sort. The fact is, I pity you, for the awful situation in which you are placed, and so far as I am individually concerned, I mean to place you in the hands of the law, and leave you to deal with God and your own conscience.”
“Indeed, sir, that is exceedingly kind in you; but I must be permitted to make some disposition of you, since you have been so mindful of my comfort. You say you are going to place me in the hands of God—the law—my conscience, and the grand jury, and how many other distinguished individuals have you chosen to act as my guardian. I flatter myself that I shall be able to make a better disposition of you, than you have promised to make of me; because I have concluded to make hell a present of your cowardly soul, so you will not be annoyed with so many masters. I think I shall be able to make a better job this time than I did when I clipped your left wing at Memphis.”
As Bowles uttered the last sentence, he snatched a large navy revolver from under his coat, and cocking it as he brought it round, leveled it at Wallingford’s breast; but the lady in the black domino, who was standing near, seized his arm and instantly jerked it round; a short scuffle ensued—the loud report of the pistol rang out through the saloon—a cloud of blue smoke gushed up—a column of red flame blazed out—a loud scream escaped the mysterious woman’s lips, andshe fell bleeding into Navarre’s arms. As the body of the lady dropped forward against Navarre’s breast, he saw a crimson stream gush out from her left side and trickle over his vest. As her head fell back across his arm her mask fell off, and her dark brown hair dropped unconfined about his shoulders.
“Merciful God!” exclaimed Wallingford, “it is Viola, and the cruel villain has killed her!”
As soon as Bowles fired the pistol he darted quickly through a side door, and ran rapidly toward the front end of the boat, evidently intending to leap into the river and effect his escape by swimming to the shore.
When Wallingford made the startling discovery that it was Miss Bramlett’s blood that spurted against his breast, thoughts of revenge instantly filled his mind. Gently laying the bleeding girl on a sofa, he dashed through the saloon, reaching the head of the stairs that led from the middle to the lower deck, just as Bowles arrived on the lower floor. Making a tremendous spring, he leaped down in season to catch the fugitive before he had time to leap overboard.
As soon as Wallingford leaped on the lower deck, he seized hold of the sleeve of Bowles’ coat, and called the deck hands to assist in arresting the murderer. A stalwart Irishman hurried forward intending to render the aid, but Bowles, who still held the pistol in his hand, leveled it at the man’s head and fired. The bullet grazed the man’s temple, knocking him down, which induced the other deck hands to believe that their comrade was killed; consequently they all beat a precipitate retreat, leaving Wallingford to fight it out alone.
Bowles knew that his only chance to effect his escape was to disable his adversary and leap into the river before assistance could come from the saloon; hence he attempted to shoot Wallingford, which he would have succeeded in doing but his hand was knocked up just as his finger touched the trigger, which caused the ball to fly harmless overhead.
The instant Bowles succeeded in disengaging himself from Wallingford’s grasp, and just as Demar reached the floor, the fugitive leaped into the river and began to swim toward the shore, leaving the pistol on the floor. Wallingford seized the pistol and commenced firing at Bowles, who kept divingunder the water in order to dodge the bullets which were whistling in close proximity to his head.
“The White Rose” at that time was running close to the shore. Bowles was an expert swimmer, and it was very plain that, unless prevented, he would easily effect his escape. He had reached a point at least thirty yards from the boat before Wallingford became convinced that all of his shot had missed his man. Throwing off his coat and boots, still holding the pistol in his hand, Wallingford plunged into the water, and set out in pursuit of the escaping outlaw.
“Turn her head in toward the shore, Mr. Haliman, as quick as you can!” cried Captain Quitman, who stood on the hurricane deck; “don’t lose a moment; that foolish boy will be drowned if he attacks that huge villain in the water.”
“It is somewhat dangerous, captain, to attempt to land her there,” replied Mr. Haliman; “we might get her aground.”
“Let her get aground, Mr. Haliman; I had rather sink her than to see that boy drowned by such a monster as Bowles. Go ahead on the starboard, and hold steady on the larboard; point her head toward that tall tree yonder, and stick her nozzle in that sand-bank—quick, quick, Mr. Haliman!”
After Demar had done all he could to dissuade the rash young man from venturing to tackle such a giant while in the water, and being unable to recall him, he threw off his coat and plunged into the river, determined to save the life of his kinsman, or perish with him.
The passengers crowded the hurricane deck and watched the approaching struggle with breathless anxiety.
Wallingford continued to gain on his hated foe, while thoughts of revenge crowded all prudence or fear from his breast. He was thinking of the blood that had spouted against his breast from Viola’s side.
Mr. Haliman, owing to the treachery of the current, was encountering some difficulty in bringing his boat round to the shore, and, despite his vigorous efforts to drive her nozzle on the sand-bank, she swung round and began to drift further down.
Demar soon became convinced that he would not be able to overtake Harry in time to render any assistance. Consequentlyhe began to call to Wallingford, begging him to wait until he could get to him; but the imprudent boy dashed forward without heeding the call. He might as readily have checked a tornado with a lady’s fan as Harry Wallingford, by reminding him of the danger into which he was rushing.
When Bowles became convinced that he would be overtaken before he could reach the shore, he slackened his efforts, and merely exerted sufficient motion to keep himself on the surface, being, no doubt, conscious of the great advantage which his superior strength would give him over his adversary in a duel fought in the water.
When Wallingford had arrived within twenty feet of his enemy, he began to move obliquely to the left, so as to come up where he would have the advantage of the current. Bowles turned round and leisurely floated on the surface of the water, eying his pursuer as if he were anxious to get hold of him; but Wallingford began to swim round the desperado. When he came up within six feet of him, he made a sudden dash forward and attempted to strike him on the head with the pistol which he still held in his hand, but at that instant the bright blade of a long dagger gleamed in the rays of the setting sun, as the arm of the outlaw descended toward Wallingford’s body.
A suppressed scream escaped the lips of a dozen ladies who witnessed the strange duel from the hurricane deck of the “White Rose,” as they saw the glittering steel being driven into Wallingford’s body.
Then commenced a hand-to-hand struggle, one using the pistol as a club, the other striking rapidly with the dagger; every now and then both parties would for a moment disappear under the water, then rise to the surface, grappling each other in a deadly embrace. Stains of blood began to appear on Wallingford’s shirt, and blood was streaming over his face.
Demar, finding that his efforts to render aid by swimming were fruitless, turned his course and went toward the yawl. Leaping into it, he urged the four men to pull for dear life, promising a handsome reward to the oarsmen if they could get to the combatants in time to save Wallingford’s life. After the combat had been continued for two or three minutes theparties separated for a moment, as if by mutual consent, in order to get a little breath, and to maneuver for advantage. Only a few seconds elapsed, however, before Bowles began to advance toward his antagonist, being anxious, no doubt, to end the combat before the yawl could come to Wallingford’s assistance, which was now not very far away. The two men now began to swim round each other, each seeking to get the benefit of the current. A scuffle then ensued, but here Wallingford’s activity stood him in good stead, for he managed to give a sudden twist, disappearing under the water, while Bowles swam round, watching the spot where Harry had gone under. But no little amount of astonishment was that which Bowles felt when he saw his wily foe rise up at least twenty feet away. Wallingford was up the stream, which circumstance would enable him to make a successful plunge, as he would be coming with, instead of against, the strong current.
The pilot had by this time succeeded in driving the nozzle of his boat against the bank, but in consequence of the treachery of the current, he had been compelled to strike the shore nearly a hundred yards below the point first designated by the commander.
The spectators were horrified to see that Wallingford’s face was covered with blood, and when he raised his body above the water they could see the blood spouting from a dozen wounds on his neck, face and shoulders. For several seconds he paused, as if endeavoring to take a little breath; then, giving his head a sudden shake as if to dash the bloody hair back from his face, he raised his body high up out of the water, and, quick as lightning, darted on his adversary, dealing him a tremendous blow on the back of the head with the butt end of the pistol. The sharp point of the hammer went crashing like a bullet through the villain’s skull, and the body of Ben Bowles sank, never to rise again until it and his soul were separated. The lifeless body of the desperate outlaw was found ten days afterward, floating in the water thirty miles from the spot where it and the soul parted. Wallingford, being completely overcome with fatigue and the loss of blood, was incapable of making any further exertion. He fell off of the piece of timber and disappeared under the water, but as he came up a few seconds afterward, Demar seized himby the wrist, as he was sinking the second time, and lifted him into the yawl, when he fell insensible on the floor. The lifeless body of the rash young man was hurriedly conveyed to a state-room on the “White Rose,” where Doctor Plaxico was instantly summoned to take charge of the case.
“There is where the danger lies,” said Plaxico. “The dagger that inflicted that wound penetrated the cavity of the lungs, and internal hemorrhage has resulted.”
Lottie, who had at all times been famous for her courage and self-possession under adverse circumstances, was now completely mastered by her grief. As soon as she recovered her self-possession, she implored the doctor to tell her the very worst.
“You need not be afraid to tell me the truth, doctor. Tell me candidly, is my brother mortally wounded or not?”
“Mrs. Demar, it is impossible for me to give anything like a reliable opinion just now, but, to be frank with you, I fear we may expect a fatal result.” Then, addressing Demar, he said, “Go to Miss Bramlett without delay and examine her wound, and see if anything can be done for her.”
“What a pity it is that such a pretty girl should be murdered by such a fiend as Ben Bowles!” observed George Woodburry, in a whisper to Captain Burk.
“Yes,” replied the captain; “she has lost her life in the attempt to save Wallingford.”
“Were they not engaged to be married?”
“Yes, though it was thought by Miss Bramlett’s friends that she had committed suicide in New York nearly a year ago. There appears to be some strange mystery connected with this business.”
“I wonder if she knew that Navarre was Harry Wallingford in disguise?”
“I am inclined to think she did; but I am of the opinion that he did not know that the lady of the black domino was Miss Bramlett.”
“What a strange and fatal coincidence it is that they should have met here, to die at the same time and place, both murdered by the same desperate villain!”
“Indeed it is!”
“Is Miss Bramlett dead?” inquired Captain Quitman, who was watching attentively near the door.
“No,” replied Demar, “and I am exceedingly glad to be able to inform you that she is not going to die from any cause now existing. Her wound is not at all of a serious character, though she has received a very severe shock; she has entirely recovered from its effect, and is now soundly sleeping, under the influence of an opiate, and I think it is safe to predict that she will be as well as ever in less than a week. The ball struck a rib, glancing round and making its exit just to the left of the spine, inflicting merely a slight flesh wound.”
“Heaven bless you, Demar, for this good news!” exclaimed Captain Quitman, as he seized the surgeon’s hand.
“Go in and see Wallingford immediately, and I pray to God to enable you to bring us such good news from him!”
As soon as Demar went into the room he inquired of Plaxico the condition of the patient.
“Bad enough, Heaven knows!” was the answer. “He is totally unconscious—fever rising—respiration difficult—left lung gorged with blood, and every symptom most unfavorable. That stab under the shoulder-blade is the dangerous one. Demar, you must get some reliable nurse to remain with Miss Bramlett all the time, and let it be distinctly understood that she is to be closely watched—if your wife would undertake the task, I should be very glad.”
“What do you mean, Plaxico? have I not just told you that Miss Bramlett is scarcely hurt at all—she will be able to get up by to-morrow morning. Where is the necessity of such vigilant nursing.”
“That poor girl will commit suicide if Wallingford dies. I think the chances are about a thousand in favor of a fatal result, to one of recovery. You must not lose sight of the fact that Miss Bramlett did on a former occasion contemplate suicide, when she thought Wallingford was hopelessly ill; and you may be assured she will again make the attempt if he dies, which I honestly believe he will do inside of forty hours! It would be advisable to keep her in ignorance of his condition until we know exactly what is to be the result; and I shall depend on you and your wife to do it.”
“I think you will find that rather a difficult task, for the very first word she uttered after she recovered from the swoon was an inquiry about Wallingford; and she will be sure to ask about him as soon as she awakes.”
“We must resort to strategy; and a little deception, under the circumstances, would be perfectly justifiable—you may tell her that I say Wallingford is not dangerously hurt; and if the recording angel has no worse crimes set down against me in the great Day of Judgment, I shall not fear the result.”
Demar and Lottie watched by Miss Bramlett’s bedside during the night, while Plaxico, at his own earnest request, was left alone with Harry, where he sat during the whole night, watching with an anxious eye every movement of his patient.
Soon after breakfast Miss Bramlett announced her determination to see Wallingford, and no amount of remonstrance which Doctor Plaxico and Demar could bring to bear against the step could prevent it.
“Lottie, help me down on my knees, and I will pray for strength and courage to sustain me under this trying ordeal.”
Lottie gladly rendered the assistance requested, and both girls knelt and prayed in silence for a long time; and when they rose up, an expression of calmness was visible on the pale, beautiful face of Miss Bramlett.
“Lottie dear, you can trust me now, and I fear you will think me superstitious when I tell you that our prayers have been answered; he will not die, and we shall all be happy again. You may let me see him now, without any fears as to my actions; if you will let me lean on your shoulder, I can walk very well.”
The door of Wallingford’s room was thrown open, and a chair placed near his bed. As Miss Bramlett was led to it the pallor of her cheeks increased, but no other signs of emotion were to be seen. The wounded man was muttering continually in a rambling way, and every now and then thrustinghis arms out as if striking at an imaginary enemy; and it was plain to be seen that his mind was still on the combat he had had with Bowles.
“He is exhausting his strength very rapidly,” said Plaxico, “and I have been as yet unable to quiet him; I believe if I could keep him still that the internal hemorrhage would cease.”
Just at that moment Harry made a sudden spring, and would have leaped out of the bed, but Miss Bramlett caught and gently laid him down and began to rub his brow with her hand, when he instantly became quiet, and in three minutes was sound asleep.
“Did you see that, Demar?” said Plaxico, in a low whisper.
“See what?”
“How quick he became quiet when she put her hand on his brow?”
“Yes; I suppose it is mesmerism, magnetism, or something of the sort.”
“If we were to live a thousand years, we might learn something new every day; this is a most wonderful occurrence! See, he is sleeping soundly; the respiration is less labored, and his pulse much better. Now, I imagine this strange phenomenon would furnish material for an article in theLancet, and I think I shall undertake to write it.”
The very instant Miss Bramlett removed her hand from the wounded man’s brow, he awoke and began to move restlessly from side to side; but she immediately replaced it and he was again quiet.
“Well!” observed Demar, “I must say that this is the strangest occurrence that I ever saw. I believe their souls are communing intelligently with each other, and that, notwithstanding Wallingford’s reason is dethroned, he is in some way made to know that Miss Bramlett is near him.”
“I have often read about two souls melting into one,” replied Plaxico, “but this is the first occular demonstration of the process that has ever been witnessed by me. There is more mystery in the anatomy of the human body than is generally believed to exist, anyway.”
“Yes,” rejoined Demar; “especially does that remark apply to the human heart. I speak from experience, to someextent, and I dare say that the hearts of Miss Bramlett and Wallingford are at this very moment conversing intelligently with each other. A sort of telegraph which love has erected is now conducting sweet messages from one heart to the other.”
Wallingford continued to slumber undisturbed for four hours, except when Miss Bramlett would remove her hand from his brow, and then he would begin to show signs of restlessness, which never failed to disappear as soon as she would replace it. The burning fever that had been raging began to subside, and the hemorrhage ceased, curiously, while all the symptoms took a favorable turn.
“Demar,” whispered Plaxico, after he had held his finger on the patient’s pulse for a long while; “I think Miss Bramlett’s treatment has saved our friend’s life; the fact is, she has performed a most wonderful miracle.”
It was late in the evening when Wallingford opened his eyes and began to stare in a bewildered way at the beautiful face that hovered near him, while evidences of restored reason unmistakably appeared in his movements. For two or three minutes he gazed earnestly at Miss Bramlett, then placing his hand on her head, he gently stroked her hair, and then ran his hand over her face, and then took hold of her arm.
“Yes,” he whispered; “it is her, and it was all a dream; and such a horrible one, too; I thought she was dead, and I dreamed that Bowles had killed her, and then drowned me in the river. Why do you not speak to me, Viola? Am I mistaken in thinking I see you?”
As he uttered the last words, he placed his arm round her neck and drew her head down until her cheek touched against his.
“Come away, Demar,” said Plaxico, as he plucked him by the sleeve; “I shall shout with joy if I remain here another moment. That scene is enough to make the angels weep with delight.”
It was on the morning of the fourth day after Wallingford received his wounds, that he made his appearance in the saloon supported by Miss Bramlett and Lottie, each one with a shoulder under his arm, fairly lifting him along by main strength.
Harry Wallingford was lazily reclining in a large cushioned armchair on the hurricane-deck, listening to Lottie, who was reading Mazeppa to him, while Miss Bramlett sat near him, gazing vacantly at the rolling waves that dashed up behind the boat. A long pause ensued when Lottie laid the book down and began to fondle her brother’s dark-brown hair.
“Viola,” said Harry, “I want you to tell me what induced you to give your friends in New York the dodge, leaving them to conclude that you had committed suicide; in fact, I want you to tell me all about everything connected with your history from the time we parted, until the present moment.”
“There is but very little to tell, I assure you, and as I have nothing better to do, and being anxious to amuse you, I suppose I must undertake the task; but before I begin, you must allow me to express my thanks for the beautiful monument you caused to be erected over my grave in New York. Your generosity in that instance, indeed deserves my profound gratitude, and it has convinced me that you did really care something for me.
“But let me leave that subject for future discussion while I proceed with my little history. When I was, by the dishonesty of the trustees who had control of my money, reduced to a pauper, I felt that it was my duty to seek some means of earning an honest living. That there were many friends and relatives of mine ready and anxious to offer me a home, I very well knew, but I could not for a moment bear the idea of being dependent on relatives for support. Above all things I abhor anything like gilded bondage or idle dependence; consequently, I resolved to seek employment. I knew very well that this step would be bitterly opposed by my aristocratic relations, especially if I should dare to seek employment in New York; therefore, I concluded to give them the slip and hunt a distant home. Disguising myself completely, I went to Cincinnati and had the good fortune to secure a position as governess in the family of Mr. Gaterine, the kind-hearted old gentleman who is accompanying me on this trip.
“One evening I was passing along one of the principal streets of Cincinnati, when I was overwhelmed with astonishment to meet Benjamin Bowles. He was disguised, but notwithstanding that I recognized him, and I knew in an instant,from his manner, that he was aware of the fact that I had penetrated his deception. I hurried to the Chief of Police and imparted the information, hoping to have him arrested; but he must have immediately fled, as the officers could not find him. I hired a detective to look for him, but after working a month nothing was accomplished. But when I tell you to whom I am indebted for the discovery of Bowles’ hiding-place I know you will be greatly astonished. Do you see that little, pale-faced, sickly-looking boy yonder, leaning over the bannisters?”
“Yes.”
“Very well, it is to that little hero that I owe the great obligation. His name is Robert Spratt, son of a widow woman residing in Memphis; you doubtless remember him, though he has changed very much in his personal appearance since he left Memphis. They used to call him haunch-back Bob, for his spine was diseased, causing an ugly hump to appear between his shoulders, and seriously affecting his general health, and as I think, greatly retarded his growth. You will notice that he is quite a child in stature, but I can tell you he has the heart, brain and soul of a man. He is a real gallant hero, and you could not find another such a good detective anywhere. He is much older, though, than his little body would indicate.
“I prevailed on him to let me send him to an infirmary at Cincinnati, where he was effectually cured, for which I paid one thousand dollars; and as good luck would have it, I met my little protege on the streets not more than ten minutes after I had met Bowles. I was delighted to see that the ugly hump had disappeared and that my little friend was effectually cured. I hurriedly gave him a description of Bowles, and told him in which direction the murderer had gone, requesting him to follow and try to find him. I did not see Robert any more, or hear a word from him for two months, and I concluded that he had returned to his home in Memphis; but not so, the noble little hero was tracking the great outlaw.
“I cannot command language to describe the surprise as well as joy I felt when I received a telegram from my little hero, informing me that Bowles was on his way to Mexico,and would probably stop a few days at New Orleans, and advising me to come down there as soon as I could. He also requested me to inquire for a dispatch that he would send to Memphis, which would meet me there on my way to New Orleans. He was at Friar’s Point, Mississippi, where Bowles had stopped to wait for one of his pals who had agreed to meet him there.
“Mr. Gaterine kindly consented to go with me to New Orleans, and when I arrived at Memphis I found the promised telegram, which informed me that Bowles was still at Friar’s Point. The ‘White Rose’ being the first boat that would start for New Orleans, we concluded to take passage on her, but learning that Lottie and Edward had been married on the day before I reached Memphis, and that they were going on a bridal tour to the Crescent City, I at once procured a black domino and mask to wear in order to keep them from knowing me. I am sure that I could not have sufficiently disguised my voice to have enabled me to deceive Lottie, had it not been for a severe cold, which, although quite painful, I was glad to endure as long as it would aid me in the accomplishment of my purpose. It was my intention to leave the boat at Friar’s Point, but soon after the ‘White Rose’ landed I was delighted to see my little detective come aboard. He informed me that Bowles had just come aboard, and was going to New Orleans on the ‘White Rose.’ I was overjoyed at this information. You doubtless remember that we landed at Friar’s Point in the night; if I remember correctly, it was about three o’clock in the morning, and you must know how bitter was my disappointment next morning, when, after a diligent search, we failed to find Bowles. I soon ascertained from inquiries made, that the ‘White Rose’ had not landed since we left Friar’s Point, which led me to believe that our man was concealed somewhere on the boat. My little detective was of the same opinion, and I knew that if it was as we suspected, that he would soon discover where the murderer was hidden. I do not know what it was that caused Robert to suspect Napoleon, but nevertheless I soon learned from him that he did suspect him of being the man we were after. It was some time before he succeeded in convincing himself that his suspicions were well founded. By some means which I did not care toknow, he succeeded in effecting an entrance to the state-room occupied by Napoleon, when, sure enough, he discovered that it was Bowles. All the stolen money and other property was found hidden in an old boot under the bed, and when I found out that it was stolen property, I instructed my little friend to bring it to me, which he did.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Wallingford, “and I promise you now, Viola, that your brave little friend shall never know what it is to want for anything as long as he lives.”
“Thank you, Harry, a thousand times I thank you,” replied Miss Bramlett, as fresh tears began to trickle down her cheeks, “but you must let me finish my story. Well, my little friend ascertained that Bowles had paid fifty dollars to the gentleman who originally personated the Emperor Napoleon, for his uniform and mask, and you must not blame that gentleman for selling his costume to Bowles, because he did not know he was aiding a cruel murderer to escape, but he was tired of the nonsense, as he was pleased to call it, and finding a chance to get his money back, he at once closed the trade, believing that the purchaser merely wished to enjoy a little innocent sport by deceiving the ladies. As soon as I ascertained the fact that the money, and other valuable things had been stolen, I resolved to restore them to their owners, but before I could carry out my intentions in that respect, Captain Quitman inaugurated his plans to make a search, the result of which you already know.”
“Yes,” said Harry, “that is all very well explained, but how did the dead woman happen to have my ring?”
“I think I can explain that also,” replied Miss Bramlett. “Soon after I arrived in New York, I engaged a young Irish woman to serve me as waiting maid, and soon after she entered my service, I began to miss little articles, which I at first supposed were accidentally lost or mislaid, but it was not long before I became convinced that they were stolen. One of my dresses, a drab silk, mysteriously disappeared, then my ring, and various other valuable articles were missing, and when I became convinced that my maid was a thief I discharged her. It is clear to my mind that the unfortunate woman was wearing my dress and ring when she was drowned.”
“Viola!” said Wallingford in a voice choking with deep emotion, “did you recognize me in my Navarre costume?”
“Yes, indeed I did.”
“How could you remain near me so long without speaking to me? Do you not know that I would have swum through lakes of fire to have found you?”
Viola’s voice now for the first time refused to obey her will, and she was unable to make any reply. Her eyes were bent on the ground, while the violent throbbings of her heart could be distinctly heard by Lottie, who sat near her.
“Viola,” continued Wallingford, “will you not try to love me a little?”
“No!” she replied in a trembling tone which seemed to be uttered with an effort.
“Why?”
“Because I do not think it would be good for me to love any one more than I have loved you for the last ten years.”
“Now stop that, Harry,” exclaimed Demar, as he approached the group. “You may embrace Miss Bramlett if you wish, but to have two women in your arms at once is a little too much. I think you are very selfish; you may embrace Miss Bramlett as often as she will allow it, but you must not be quite so familiar with my wife.”
“Leave me alone with Viola immediately, I beseech you, Ed,” Wallingford whispered as he placed his mouth close to his ear. “Pray, go quick and take Lottie with you. I think Viola is now in the notion to pardon the past errors, and I hope and believe she will promise to marry me.”
“Come, Lottie!” said Demar, endeavoring to assume an indifferent tone, “let us take a little stroll together, as I have a little secret to tell you. I suppose Miss Bramlett can take care of your brother while we are away.”
As soon as Demar and his wife were gone, an embarrassing pause ensued while Harry and Miss Bramlett silently inspected the floor. Each one could distinctly hear the violent throbbings of the other’s heart.
“Viola!” Harry said, after a full five minutes had been spent in silence, “dare I ask you to forgive the great wrong that I have done to you?”
No answer. “I know that I do not deserve, nor have Ithe right to expect your pardon, yet I am very unhappy in thinking that you must entertain a very unfavorable opinion of the contemptible part I played in that unfortunate affair at Memphis.”
“Harry, how could you ask me to forgive you, when you must know that my heart is overflowing with gratitude to you for the valuable assistance you rendered in that affair? You must indeed have a poor opinion of me, if you could for a moment suppose that I could ever forget your noble, generous exertions in my behalf. If I were to live a hundred years I would remember you and your sweet sister with sentiments of the deepest gratitude. It is I who should seek forgiveness, and I do here, now, most sincerely declare that no act that I have ever committed has caused me half the pain, shame, and mortification that my hateful temper caused me to feel by inducing me to insult you that day in jail. If you can forget and forgive me for that despicable conduct, you are indeed the most generous, noble-hearted man living.”
“Viola, you and I have had many trials and much trouble, and suffered much sorrow since we first met, and we have no doubt learned some valuable lessons, which I have reason to believe will prove a blessing in the end. The hand of a kind Providence seems to have guided our destinies. He first used me as His instrument in saving your life many years ago, and then enabled you to save mine, the other day. Therefore let us agree to let by-gones be forgotten, while we endeavor to profit by the sad lessons taught us by experience.”
“I say amen to that with all my heart.”
“Now, darling, knowing as you do the numerous faults and imperfections that unfortunately belong to my nature, are you willing to trust your happiness to me? Will you confirm my hopes of happiness by promising to be mine?”
“Are you willing to marry a pauper?”
“Don’t mention the money question, I implore you.”
“Yes, but I must mention it, because I owe at least ten thousand dollars, and have no money to pay with.”
“I wish it was five times ten thousand, then I would have the more pleasure in paying it.”
“Are you willing to take such a pauper, with all her faults and debts together?”
“I am willing to take the best, the noblest, the prettiest, and the most charming girl in America, if she is not afraid to trust her fate to my humble self.”
“Harry, there is my hand, and you have been the sole owner of my heart ever since we rolled down the embankment together, when you broke your leg to save my life. One promise I shall require you to make, and then I am yours forever. When you were so badly wounded a few days ago, I most solemnly promised God that if He would spare your dear life, that I would love and serve Him all the days of my life, and that I would endeavor to induce you to do the same. Now I promise to be your wife, if you will promise to make good the vow I made to God.”
“I do most willingly make the promise, and may the great Creator help me to fulfill it.”
“Did you not hear the gong sounding the summons to supper?” shouted Lottie, as she surprised her brother in the act of embracing Miss Bramlett. “Come along, and let us go down to supper; everybody is anxious to have the table cleared away so the dance can begin.”
Three years after the “White Rose of Memphis” had accomplished her memorable pleasure trip, two elegantly dressed ladies were leisurely strolling along the graveled walks in Court Square, Memphis, Tennessee, engaged in an earnest conversation; while two mulatto girls were pushing a couple of silver-mounted baby carriages along just behind the two ladies. Each one of the handsome vehicles contained a very small specimen of sleeping humanity, richly attired in expensive and stylish clothes.
One of the children, a bright, blue-eyed boy, about two years old, with bright, brown curly hair, woke up, and when he saw a large number of pretty pet squirrels hopping about near his carriage, he became greatly excited. Hurriedly clambering out, he hastened to where the little girl lay soundly sleeping, and tried to wake her.
“Dit up, Ottie,” said he, as he began to tug at her gown; “see petty pet.”
The little girl did not respond, for she was sleeping very soundly; but he was determined to make her get up. When he found that he could not accomplish his object by gentle means, he resorted to those of a more vigorous nature. Seizing her left ear between his finger and thumb, he gave it a violent twist that caused the little sleeper to start up with a loud scream.
“You, Harry!” exclaimed one of the ladies, as she hurried toward the carriage; “what on earth have you been doing to Lottie?”
She then lifted the little girl out of the vehicle and placed her on the ground.
The little boy made no answer, but went dashing after one of the squirrels, and the little girl soon joined in the chase, while their joyful shouts rang out on the air.
“Ah, ha! here we come,” exclaimed Doctor Dodson, as he came rapidly across the park, and seizing the little boy he tossed him up and down a dozen times. “Ah, ha! Lottie, this boy is the very image of his mother, don’t you see? yes, that is Viola’s nose to a T.”
“Where did you leave Harry and Eddie, Doctor?” said Mrs. Viola Wallingford.
“Ah, ha! yes; they went by the post office and made me wait for them here—yonder they come now. Ah, ha! Eddie, old boy, it took you a long time to go to the post office.”
“We were detained at Mr. Rockland’s office,” replied Demar.
“Yes,” said Harry, “that is true, Doctor, and here is a packet of letters for you; and here, Lottie, is one for you.”
“O! Viola, this is from Scottie; I know her hand.”
“Read it,” said Viola; “I am anxious to hear what she has to say.”
Lottie tore off the envelope hurriedly, and read as follows:
“‘Jackson, Miss., May 4th.“‘DEARLOTTIE—I received your dear letter yesterday, and hasten to reply. I am too happy to write a long letter. Papa has at last become reconciled with Ralleigh, and has given his consent to our marriage, which is to be solemnized next Thursday.Ralleigh is such a dear, good old fellow, and I do believe he loves me with all his heart. My dear, good old papa did not like Ralleigh at first, but he has gotten over his prejudice, and they are now the best of friends. Ralleigh has quit politics, and is doing well at the law; and, oh! Lottie, how I do love him. I know we shall be very happy, for I have got my temper completely subdued, and I mean to make him a good, devoted wife. Ralleigh told me that your daughter was the prettiest little darling in the world. I am glad you named it Lottie, because you know how I adore that sweet name. Ralleigh says that Viola’s boy is the very image of his mother; he also tells me that Viola and Harry were the happiest couple he had ever seen, except you and Eddie. Well, I am delighted to hear it. If ever people deserved to be happy you and Viola do; because you have suffered more than your share. I think your husband is one of the noblest specimens of humanity I ever saw. This is saying a great deal, but I mean it, and Ralleigh agrees with me.“‘I must tell you what a pretty joke was put upon me by the Rev. C. K. Marshall, a celebrated minister of Vicksburg. He had been holding a series of meetings here, and was a frequent visitor at our house. He is an eloquent orator, and much admired and beloved by all who know him. My darling old papa is a member of his church, and would swim a river any time to hear him preach. When Mr. Marshall was about to start to his home in Vicksburg, he invited me to accompany him. “If you will go with me,” he said, “I will insure you to hear one of the most eloquent sermons that you ever listened to, from a mere boy, who has lately been licensed to preach.” Of course I went, as my curiosity was aroused; and Mr. Marshall took me to church the same night we arrived at Vicksburg. Now, I had neglected to ask the name of the boy preacher, so intent was I engaged in drawing his picture in my mind. The church was a very large one, and when Mr. Marshall led me in, the house was crowded, but he succeeded in securing me a seat in one corner, some distance from the pulpit. The music was splendid; the choir sang with deep feeling. Then a pause, and I riveted my eyes on the pulpit, intently watching for the appearance of this wonderful boy. After gazing until I was tired and impatient, I picked up a hymn book, and began to turn the leaves over, when the sweet, solemn tones of a familiar voice fell on my ears. Looking up at the pulpit, there I saw Harry Wallingford reading his text. If a whizzing cannon-ball had come crashing through the house I would have been less startled. I had never heard an intimation that Mr. Wallingford was a preacher. I remembered him as a proud, passionate man of ungovernable temper and rather wickedly inclined. I was shedding tears like rain, and it cost me a great struggle to keep from shouting aloud. Now, I mean exactly what I say when I assert that it was the most charming, eloquent sermon that I ever heard. His voice fell on my ears like sweet music, a feeling of delicious joy stole over me, and I was overcome with happyemotions. He closed his sermon with an invitation to sinners to come forward and seek salvation, and I was one among many who accepted the invitation, and oh! my darling friend, I do believe that God, in His great mercy, has pardoned my sins. Mr. Wallingford delivered five sermons here, and the result was one hundred new members to the church.“‘Mr. Marshall thinks the world and all of Mr. Wallingford. He says that Viola is entitled to the credit of making a preacher of her husband, for she made him promise to serve God before she married him. Well, how could anybody fail to go to Heaven with such an angel to guide as Viola? Do you know that I think she is the best woman on the earth, except one? And you know who that is, of course. If you do not, just look into a mirror, and you will see the one I allude to.“I have given my hand and heart to a (so-called) rebel, and I mean to show him that a Yankee heart can and will love him; and I wish all the people of the North and South loved each other as well as I love Ralleigh; what a great and glorious nation would ours be! Now good-by, Lottie dear, until we meet, which will be immediately after my marriage. To visit you will be bridal tour enough for me. Yours lovingly,“‘KATEDARLINGTON.’”
“‘Jackson, Miss., May 4th.
“‘DEARLOTTIE—I received your dear letter yesterday, and hasten to reply. I am too happy to write a long letter. Papa has at last become reconciled with Ralleigh, and has given his consent to our marriage, which is to be solemnized next Thursday.Ralleigh is such a dear, good old fellow, and I do believe he loves me with all his heart. My dear, good old papa did not like Ralleigh at first, but he has gotten over his prejudice, and they are now the best of friends. Ralleigh has quit politics, and is doing well at the law; and, oh! Lottie, how I do love him. I know we shall be very happy, for I have got my temper completely subdued, and I mean to make him a good, devoted wife. Ralleigh told me that your daughter was the prettiest little darling in the world. I am glad you named it Lottie, because you know how I adore that sweet name. Ralleigh says that Viola’s boy is the very image of his mother; he also tells me that Viola and Harry were the happiest couple he had ever seen, except you and Eddie. Well, I am delighted to hear it. If ever people deserved to be happy you and Viola do; because you have suffered more than your share. I think your husband is one of the noblest specimens of humanity I ever saw. This is saying a great deal, but I mean it, and Ralleigh agrees with me.
“‘I must tell you what a pretty joke was put upon me by the Rev. C. K. Marshall, a celebrated minister of Vicksburg. He had been holding a series of meetings here, and was a frequent visitor at our house. He is an eloquent orator, and much admired and beloved by all who know him. My darling old papa is a member of his church, and would swim a river any time to hear him preach. When Mr. Marshall was about to start to his home in Vicksburg, he invited me to accompany him. “If you will go with me,” he said, “I will insure you to hear one of the most eloquent sermons that you ever listened to, from a mere boy, who has lately been licensed to preach.” Of course I went, as my curiosity was aroused; and Mr. Marshall took me to church the same night we arrived at Vicksburg. Now, I had neglected to ask the name of the boy preacher, so intent was I engaged in drawing his picture in my mind. The church was a very large one, and when Mr. Marshall led me in, the house was crowded, but he succeeded in securing me a seat in one corner, some distance from the pulpit. The music was splendid; the choir sang with deep feeling. Then a pause, and I riveted my eyes on the pulpit, intently watching for the appearance of this wonderful boy. After gazing until I was tired and impatient, I picked up a hymn book, and began to turn the leaves over, when the sweet, solemn tones of a familiar voice fell on my ears. Looking up at the pulpit, there I saw Harry Wallingford reading his text. If a whizzing cannon-ball had come crashing through the house I would have been less startled. I had never heard an intimation that Mr. Wallingford was a preacher. I remembered him as a proud, passionate man of ungovernable temper and rather wickedly inclined. I was shedding tears like rain, and it cost me a great struggle to keep from shouting aloud. Now, I mean exactly what I say when I assert that it was the most charming, eloquent sermon that I ever heard. His voice fell on my ears like sweet music, a feeling of delicious joy stole over me, and I was overcome with happyemotions. He closed his sermon with an invitation to sinners to come forward and seek salvation, and I was one among many who accepted the invitation, and oh! my darling friend, I do believe that God, in His great mercy, has pardoned my sins. Mr. Wallingford delivered five sermons here, and the result was one hundred new members to the church.
“‘Mr. Marshall thinks the world and all of Mr. Wallingford. He says that Viola is entitled to the credit of making a preacher of her husband, for she made him promise to serve God before she married him. Well, how could anybody fail to go to Heaven with such an angel to guide as Viola? Do you know that I think she is the best woman on the earth, except one? And you know who that is, of course. If you do not, just look into a mirror, and you will see the one I allude to.
“I have given my hand and heart to a (so-called) rebel, and I mean to show him that a Yankee heart can and will love him; and I wish all the people of the North and South loved each other as well as I love Ralleigh; what a great and glorious nation would ours be! Now good-by, Lottie dear, until we meet, which will be immediately after my marriage. To visit you will be bridal tour enough for me. Yours lovingly,
“‘KATEDARLINGTON.’”
Doctor Dodson died in 1879. He was one of the heroic victims who sacrificed his life while battling in the ranks of the noble Howards, during the yellow fever epidemic.
Mrs. Dodson expired thirty minutes before death won the victory over her husband. She died in a room adjoining the one in which the doctor lay, and they endeavored to conceal her death from him. His mind was as clear as a cloudless sky, and when death began to lay his cold, icy finger on his body, he took hold of Lottie’s hand with his right, and Viola’s with his left.
“Ah, ha! my darlings, God says I must leave you for a while—yes, I go on before you, and I shall meet you all again, ah, ha! don’t you see? Eddie, my boy, good-by; you are sure to come to Heaven—Lottie would fetch you, anyway—Viola, she has put Harry on the right road. You are all safe, ah, ha!—yes, you are all safe now.”
Then he became quiet for a few moments, and they thought he was dead, but he began to mutter strange words.
“Ah, ha! here we come, Dolly; wait for me a moment—we will go to Heaven together, don’t you see, ah, ha! Dollary, I am coming. There she is, Lottie, don’t you see her;she is beckoning for me to come. Yes, Dollary, I am coming—ah, ha! Dolly, here we come—here we come!”
Then the noble soul stepped out and went with Dolly to Heaven.
The day that Dodson and his wife died, was to have been their golden wedding; but God had prepared for them a wedding feast of a different sort. They were buried in one grave, over which fragrant flowers bloom every spring, where friendly tears bedew the soil.
If any one should be disposed to think that this world is full of cold-hearted, selfish people, let him go and investigate the inward history of the great epidemics of 1878 and 1879, and he will soon see his great error. Look at the long list of those heroic physicians who fell in the fore-front of the battle, fighting to protect suffering humanity. Remember the large number of Protestant clergymen and Catholic priests who walked day after day, in the very jaws of death, comforting the sick; wrestling with the dreadful foe; and yielding up their lives, that others might live. Historians have written, and poets sung, about Leonidas, and his heroic band; but if I were a poet, I would find a band of heroes at Memphis, whose brave deeds should be the theme of my song. It is a slander to say that the world is full of selfish men; and any one who will investigate the history of those awful times, will admit it.
Harry Wallingford purchased a handsome residence, situated in the midst of a beautiful grove of native poplars, just east of Mr. Rockland’s, and not more than two hundred yards from it. Viola had her flower garden laid off, so as to adjoin Lottie’s, and they were only separated by a clean gravel walk. Those two devoted friends would often seat themselves on a rustic bench in the garden, spending long hours watching the two little children as they frolicked like young lambs on the green turf of the lawn.
“Viola,” said Lottie, “I think your boy has a disposition very much like brother Harry’s used to be.”
“Well, you ought to pity his mother,” replied Viola, “for that boy is never satisfied unless he is doing something where there is danger of being hurt.”
“By the by, Viola, yonder comes Harry and Edward; I wonder what brought them home so early?”
“Ah! Lottie,” replied Viola, “they wanted to be with us; don’t you think we have got the best husbands in the world?”
“Indeed, I do; and we ought never to forget our obligations to God for His goodness to us.”
“I shall never do that as long as life lasts.”
Doctor Demar lifted his pretty little daughter from the ground as she came running to meet him, and seated her on his shoulder and began to dance round with her, while Harry began to romp with his boy, who was galloping about astraddle of a stick which he was lashing with a whip.
“Edward,” said Lottie, as she ran her hand under his arm, “how did you manage to get here so soon? We did not expect you for two hours yet.”
“Because we were both in love with our pretty wives, and wanted to be with them; and because we knew that our wives were in love with their ugly old husbands. Now, darling, I demand toll for coming so early; give me a kiss.”
“Take it, old Barbarian Chief, and hand Lottie to me.”
Mr. Rockland, whose hair had grown very white, was sitting on an easy chair on the front portico, watching the happy group on the green lawn.
“I thank God,” he muttered, “because He was so good as to send Lottie Wallingford to direct my steps toward Heaven, and to be my guardian angel on earth.”