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EVELINE MANDEVILLE.
By ALVIN ADDISON,
Author of "The Rival Hunters."
CINCINNATI:
PUBLISHED BY U. P. JAMES,
167 WALNUT STREET.
1837
EVELINE MANDEVILLE:
OR,
THE HORSE THIEF RIVAL.
[CHAPTER I.]
[CHAPTER II.]
[CHAPTER III.]
[CHAPTER IV.]
[CHAPTER V.]
[CHAPTER VI.]
[CHAPTER VII.]
[CHAPTER VIII.]
[CHAPTER IX.]
[CHAPTER X.]
[CHAPTER XI.]
[CHAPTER XII.]
[CHAPTER XIII.]
[CHAPTER XIV.]
[CHAPTER XV.]
[CHAPTER XVI.]
[CHAPTER XVII.]
[CHAPTER XVIII.]
[CHAPTER XIX.]
[CHAPTER XX.]
[CHAPTER XXI.]
[CHAPTER XXII.]
CHAPTER I.
"Why do you persist in refusing to receive the addresses of Willard Duffel, when you know my preference for him?"
"Because I do not like him."
"'Do not like him,' forsooth! And pray, are you going to reject the best offer in the county because of a simple whim? the mere fancy of a vain-headed, foolish and inexperienced girl? I did not before suppose that a daughter of mine would manifest such a want of common sense."
"Whether my opinions of men are made up of that rare article so inappropriately called 'common sense' or not, is a question I shall not attempt to decide; it is sufficient for me to know that I have my 'likes and my dislikes,' as well as other folks, and that it is my right to have them."
"Oh, yes! you have rights, but a parent has not, I suppose!"
"You know very well, father, that I do not deserve an insinuation of that kind from you: I have always regarded your wishes, when expressed, save in this one instance, and I have too much at stake, in so serious a matter, to lightly throw aside my own opinions."
"Yes, yes, you have been the most obliging of daughters, to hear your own story; but no sooner does a point of any moment come up, upon which we happen to disagree, than my wishes are as nothing—a mere school-girl whim is set up in opposition to them, and that, too, without even a shadow of reason! A very dutiful child, truly."
"Father, how can you talk so? You surely are but trying me; for you know I do not merit the rebuke conveyed by your words and manner."
"Why not?"
"Why do I?"
"Because you are willfully disobedient."
"No, not willfully but sorrowfully disobedient to your wishes. Glad, indeed, would I be if I could comply with them, but I cannot. Nor should you expect me to, until you show some good grounds why you entertain them."
"Have I not already done so repeatedly? Have I not told you that Duffel's prospects are fairer than those of any other young man of your acquaintance? Is he not wealthy? Has he not one of the best farms in the country? What more do you want?"
"A man of principle, not of property."
"And is not Duffel a man of principle? Is he not strictly honorable in all his dealings?"
"He may or may not be honest in his dealings; I do not allude to business, but moral principle, and in this I think he is decidedly wanting."
"Why do you think so?"
"His actions and manners impress me with such a belief; I feel it more than see it, yet I am as fully satisfied on that point as if he had told me in so many words that he had no regard for the restraints of morality and religion, save such as a decent respect for the customs and opinion of society enjoins."
"Mere fancy again! I'd like to know if you expect to live in any of the air-castles you are building?"
"I think there is not quite as much probability of my inhabiting one of them as there is of Duffel's incarceration in the penitentiary."
"What do you mean, girl?"
"To be plain, I do not believe Duffel's wealth was honestly obtained, or is honestly held. You have heard of the Secret Gang of Horse Thieves, I suppose. Well, I overheard this immaculate Duffel of yours, without any intention on my part, conversing with a 'hale fellow well met,'—no other than the stranger you yourself suspected of being a villain—and from the tenor of their remarks, they belong to some clique of rascals. I could not gather a very distinct idea as to what the organization was formed to accomplish, for I could not hear all that was said; but I learned enough to satisfy myself that all was not right. I had not mentioned the circumstance before, for the simple reason that I wished to obtain stronger evidence against the parties, but you have my secret—act upon it as you think best."
This conversation will sufficiently explain itself. A father desires his daughter to marry against her will, because a wealthy suitor proposes for her hand, but she cannot accede to his wishes, because, we presume, she has a romantic notion that love ought to have something to do, in making matrimonial connections.
The father was somewhat taken aback by the revelations of the daughter at the close of their interview, and left her to ponder on the subject, and, if possible, to ascertain the truth as to the guilt or innocence of the parties suspected.
Duffel, from some source, obtained an inkling of how matters stood, and seeing the father, had a long interview with him in private. What was the purport of his part of the conference, and the object he had in view, may be gathered from the following passage between father and daughter.
"So, ho, my girl, you thought to deceive me concerning young Duffel, did you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You would have me believe him a horse-thief and a bird for the penitentiary?" he went on, without seeming to notice her interposition. "Well, your well-devised scheme has failed of its object, and I have at once revealed to me its purpose and end, and its originator."
"I do not understand you, sir!"
"Oh, no! very ignorant all of a sudden! You forgot one of the most material portions of your revelation to me the other day, and that was the name of your confederate in concocting that story of the guilty associations of Willard Duffel."
"I had no associate, and I have never mentioned the circumstance to a living soul except yourself. Now, please be equally frank, and tell who your confederate is in this plot to make your daughter out a hypocrite and a liar?"
The father was startled by this bold demand, which, indeed, opened his eyes to the enormity of his child's wickedness, if his charges against her were true; but he had set his face to one point, and not being easily turned aside from a purpose, proceeded:
"I am not to be deceived by a show of indignation and virtue, when it is assumed for effect. You need not put yourself to the trouble of a denial or confession; I know who is associated with you to traduce Duffel; it is no other than the one who stands between you and the man of my choice—a poor beggarly fellow, to whom you have taken a fancy because of his worthlessness, I suppose. You understand who I mean. Well, he shall stand between me and my wishes—or rather between you and good fortune—no longer."
Indignation, surprise, wonder, fear, resentment, and a hundred other emotions filled the mind of the daughter during the delivery of this address; but amid them all, there was a purpose as fixed as that of her sire's to have a voice in the matter of her own disposal. But before anything further transpired, the father cast his eyes out of the open window, and seeing a gentleman approaching, said:
"There comes that beggarly dog now! I must go and meet him."
And without further ceremony or explanation, he immediately left the house.
It would be a difficult task to portray the feelings of the daughter at this moment. She saw that her father was incensed, but the sorrow that this circumstance would otherwise have engendered in her bosom, was lost in the feeling that an outrage had been perpetrated upon her rights and sensibilities, and she felt the blood of indignation coursing through her veins, and mounting her temples and brow. How could she help these emotions, when she knew that injustice had been done—that she had been insulted by an implication of falsehood, when she was conscious of a free, full and honorable rectitude of purpose, and that, too, by her own father! These thoughts rushed through her mind with lightning speed, and the tears forced themselves to her eyes—tears half of sorrow, half of anger.
But now a new source of anxiety, mixed with alarming apprehensions, took possession of her distracted mind. Her father had left the house abruptly, and looking in the direction he had taken, she beheld him in violent conversation with Charles Hadley, the only man for whom she had ever entertained sentiments of tender regard, the only one to whose "tale of love" she had listened with quickened pulses and beating heart, the only one to whom she had plighted her faith, with whom exchanged vows of love and constancy. And her parent had just termed him beggarly! What could be the cause of his dislike? and for what purpose had he sought the young man in so strange and unaccountable a mood? and what was the nature of the interview between them?
Such were the thoughts that hurried across the mind of the young girl; and, hardly knowing what she did, she stole up to her chamber-window, which was in full view of the gentlemen, and placing her ear in a listening attitude, bent all her energies to gain a knowledge of what was said; and, having so much at stake, we must excuse the exceptionable act.
"It is not worth while for you to deny it, Hadley, as I have the most positive proof of your designs."
These were the first words that greeted the daughter's ears, and they sent a chill to her heart. She knew that her lover was impetuous, and feared the charge made against him, which she could not but perceive was a grave one, would cause him to commit some rash or unguarded act, the results of which, in the existing state of affairs, would be unfortunate. His reply, however, was calm, and his manner cool and self-possessed, and she listened to the remainder of the conversation with breathless attention and intensely absorbed interest.
"Pray, sir, will you be so kind as to give me the name of the individual who has dared to accuse me of a base plot? You certainly cannot refuse so small a request, and yet of such great importance to me, as it gives me the only possible chance of clearing myself from the groundless charges preferred against me so invidiously."
"I do not feel disposed to reveal the name of my informant, as it would lead to an unpleasant rencounter, and result in no good. Suffice it to say, he enjoys my entire confidence, and that I give to his words the fullest credit."
"Sir, I must consider this a very strange course for a gentleman to pursue. You are evidently laboring under a serious mistake, and it would give me the greatest pleasure to convince you of the fact, would you allow me to do so; but as I cannot do that, will you permit me to hold a moment's conversation with your daughter?"
"Why, sir, it was to prevent that very thing that I met you here. No, I cannot grant your request; and hereafter you will please consider my daughter as a stranger, and my door as closed against you! Not a word, sir; not a word—my resolution is taken unchangeably. I can not and will not permit my child to associate with those whom I know to be unworthy. Sir, I will hear no word of explanation! Go!"
Hadley felt the unkindness and injustice of Mandeville's remarks, and had he merely consulted his own feelings, he would have retired at once, and never again intruded himself upon the society of one who could show himself so destitute of the characteristics of a gentleman. But there was another than himself that must suffer should he go, as his feelings prompted, from the premises of her father forever. Love was all-powerful in his breast at that hour, and choking down the rising emotions of anger and excitement, he attempted to reason with the stern man before him.
"But you surely," he commenced, "do not mean to drive me from your door without a hearing? You certainly are too much of a gentleman for that."
"I mean, sir, that I will allow no base, thieving miscreant to enter my house; nor will I permit a daughter of mine to hold intercourse with such villains! And more than that, I will tell you, sir, that I am not to be dictated to, as to whose company I shall keep, or whom admit to my house, by any such worthless, gallows-deserving scamp as yourself!"
This was more than Hadley could bear. He had resolved not to become excited, but anger rose in his bosom in spite of his will, and he answered in deep, excited tones:
"Sir, no man can apply such epithets to me and go unchastised. I demand a recantation of your unfounded charges, and an apology for their utterance."
And as he spoke he assumed a menacing attitude. Rage at once filled the breast of Mandeville, and instantly rendered him altogether ungovernable. He raised his clenched fist, as if to strike the young man, and hissed savagely between his set teeth:
"Insolent villain! do you dare to insult me thus at my own door! Away in a moment, or I'll smite you to the earth without another word!"
Hadley stood still.
"Go, vile dog! I say; go!" and he drew back his arm to strike.
At this moment, a piercing shriek arrested the attention of both gentlemen. It was a deep wail of agony, as though it came from a crushed heart. It emanated from the house, and the first motion of the two in conversation was to start forward in that direction; but recalling the words of the proprietor, that he was never to enter his dwelling again, Hadley paused and turned away, but loitered about the premises till he saw the father ride off in great haste toward the nearest village, and speedily return, quickly followed by a physician; then he left, with a vague feeling of dread laboring at his heart.
CHAPTER II.
THE EAVESDROPPER.
As Eveline Mandeville had mentioned the circumstance of having overheard the conversation between the two worthies, related, in the first chapter, to no one but her father, it becomes a matter of curiosity to know how Duffel had come in possession of the secret. A very few words will explain the matter. Like most persons who feel a consciousness of want of rectitude of purpose, he felt desirous to learn what other people thought of him, fearing his evil intentions might possibly manifest themselves in some manner unnoticed by himself; and as he had most at stake with the Mandevilles, he was proportionally more interested in the opinions they might entertain respecting his life and character, than in those of any others. He accordingly resorted to the mean and cowardly expedient of eavesdropping, in order to gain a knowledge of the standing he occupied in the estimation of this family, particularly with regard to the father and daughter. He would approach the house unobserved and listen at some point, to overhear the conversations that took place in the family circle!
He was thus occupied during the conference of parent and child, above referred to, and learned, to his great joy, that in the father he had a warm advocate, but with equal chagrin that the daughter had no good-will toward him; a fact, however, that he had more than suspected before; but, having taken a fancy to her, and the prospect of obtaining with her hand a good property being a still stronger motive, he had set his heart upon making her his bride, even though she might detest him as a companion.
But when he heard the revelation made by the daughter to her father, at the close of their interview, concerning his association with the suspicious stranger and probable connection with some secret body of villains, and perceived the marked effect it had upon the latter, he became alarmed for the success of his schemes, and seeing the conversation was ended, hastened away, ere he should be discovered, to invent some plan whereby to counteract the effects likely to produce a permanent feeling against him.
After long and deep thought, during which scheme after scheme was suggested to his mind, turned over, examined, and abandoned, he finally hit upon an expedient that suited his purpose exactly, and at once resolved to act upon it. For this purpose he sought and obtained a private interview with Mr. Mandeville, as already intimated, in which he began the development of his plot as follows:
"I have sought this interview with no idle purpose, Mr. Mandeville," he began. "You are already aware of the deep interest I feel in your daughter, and how intimately my future happiness is interwoven with her good opinion. That good opinion, I have the best of evidence to believe, is being undermined by one to whom you have ever been kind, but who, I am sure, you would not wish to become your son-in-law, though he has the audacity—if I may be allowed so strong an expression—to aspire after your daughter's hand! Having nothing of his own to recommend him, and knowing that I am in his way, he does not cease to traduce me to your daughter on every occasion, and I fear the insidious poison of his oily tongue has already had a serious effect on her mind, which, if not put an end to, will turn her good opinion of me into dislike or even aversion. Why it was but a few days ago that he and another fellow, a stranger in these parts, and a very suspicious-looking chap, had a conference in private, of, to say the best of it, a very sinister character; and, would you believe it, this fellow disguised himself so as to appear the very personation of myself?
"I was struck dumb, sir, when these facts were put in my possession by one of my workmen, who happened to see the villains and overhear a part of their talk. But the worst of the story remains to be told. Either by chance or design—and with the facts in the case I leave you to determine which—these confederates placed themselves near a bower to which your daughter had resorted but a few minutes previously, so that she, however unwillingly, must have heard a good portion of what passed between them! Only think of it! She for whom I would sacrifice all else, beholding me, as she must suppose, under such criminal aspects!"
This most artfully told tale was not without its effect upon the father. He believed it: how could he help it when so strongly corroborated by what his daughter had previously told him? At the conclusion of it, he demanded, with something of vehemence in his manner:
"Who was the despicable villain that thus dared to plot against the interest of my family?"
"Ah, there is the difficulty," said Duffel, craftily. "I fear to divulge names for several reasons. In the first place, I know you cannot but feel highly indignant, and will desire to punish the criminal as he deserves; but I have no proof that will stand in law, and—!"
"Will not the testimony of my daughter added to yours be sufficient to convict the rascal, I'd like to know?"
"You forget that your daughter's testimony would criminate me—that she must fully believe it was I, and no other, that was in conversation with the stranger; for I am told that the disguise was perfect, so much so that it is impossible your daughter should not be deceived."
"I see the difficulty."
"Well, as I was going to say, being unable to substantiate my charges, I would lay myself liable to prosecution for slander, which must be far from pleasant, beside giving my adversary a decided advantage over me. In the next place, my name would be coupled with those of blacklegs and secret villains, a circumstance far more to be dreaded than the other. But I have a still higher motive for wishing this affair to be kept quiet—your daughter's welfare and fair name. Pardon me for being compelled to speak of her in this connection; it is, I assure you, sorely afflicting to me; but I shall strive to do my duty, even with the fear of offending before my eyes. As already shown, your daughter's evidence, either publicly or privately given, must lay upon me the weight of crime; in addition to this, I must now undertake the formidable task of informing you that my enemy, who I have already told you has an eye to your daughter's hand, is regarded by her with favor. Do not be startled; I am but telling you the plain truth, which, unless a stop can be put to the plotting now on foot, you will but too soon find out to your sorrow. This fellow, who desires to rival me in the affections of your daughter, has been pouring into her ear tales of every sort to prejudice her against me—and I fear with but too much success. Lately, she avoids me whenever it is convenient to do so, while she often walks out with my—no, he is too contemptible to be called a rival.
"You now see the state of the case; you see on what a slippery place I stand, and how much need there is of being wary and cautious where and how I step. My fair name is in danger of being tarnished; my prospects for life blighted; my hopes destroyed and myself suspected of being the associate of villains. And all this has been so artfully contrived, I find myself in the meshes of the net woven to entrap me, ere I had become aware of any designs being formed against me, or that I had enemies who were endeavoring to compass my ruin; and, worse than all, when these overwhelming truths are made manifest to me, and my very soul burns to extricate myself from the difficulties that surround me, and fasten the crime where it belongs, and crush the miscreant with his own guilt, I am tied. So encircled am I, that every attempt I might make to escape the toils of the cowardly foe who has laid his plans so deep and darkly, will only add to the horrors of my situation. Pardon me, then, for withholding the name of him who is striving to rum me; but oh, if possible, save your daughter from his grasp!"
"How can I without knowing his name? Eveline has much company and many admirers; but of all the number, I can fix upon no one to suspect."
"There it is again! My God! what am I to do?"—and with these words, Duffel paced up and down in the greatest apparent distress.
"You surely can trust me with his name?" suggested Mr. Mandeville.
"True, I can trust you with anything, only that I fear your indignation will betray me."
"Never fear; for once I will keep cool at all hazards."
"I make one solemn condition: you must never, under any circumstances, reveal the name of your informant to either your daughter or my enemy."
"Why this restriction?"
"I have already explained why as far as he is concerned."
"But Eveline?"
"Oh, I have a different reason for desiring her to be kept ignorant of my connection with her friend's exposure,"—and as he said this, the fellow actually blushed and seemed much embarrassed.
"I do not understand you."
"Well, you see this friend of hers—I must again ask pardon for associating her name with his so frequently, be reassured I do it with pain—as I have already remarked, has ingratiated himself into her good opinion, and knowing me to be in the way of the accomplishment of his wishes, he has prejudiced her against me, and done so in such a manner as to induce the belief in her mind that I am his bitterest enemy, and would use any means to do him an injury or blacken his character. Hence, if she were to know that anything came through me, she would at once set it down as false and slanderous, which would drive her farther from me and nearer to the other, thereby hastening the very calamity we would avert."
"I see you are right, having given more attention to the subject than I have. I will never mention your name in connection with this matter, to either my daughter or any other, without your permission."
"Thank you. Leaving all after action on your part to be as your judgment shall dictate, I have nothing more left me to do in this trying interview, than to reveal the name of the intriguer—it is Charles Hadley."
"Charles Hadley!" exclaimed the father in astonishment.
"It is none other than he."
"I could hardly have believed it of him."
"Nor I. Such depth of depravity is truly inconceivable to an honorable mind."
"I remember now, he has been somewhat familiar with Eveline; but I had no idea the beggarly dog would dare think of marrying her. I must see to this immediately."
"Remember to be cautious for my sake."
"Don't fear on that ground."
Thus the interview ended, Duffel having accomplished more by it than he had expected. The more Mr. Mandeville thought on the subject, the more thoroughly he became convinced of Hadley's guilt. Did not Duffel's statement correspond precisely with that of his daughter? and how could it be so without being true? It was an impossibility. The more he reflected, the deeper became his conviction of the guilt of Hadley and of the existence of a plot to defame Duffel. Another idea suggested itself: "Was his daughter an intentional or an unintentional party to these transactions? Might not her dislike of Duffel and her preference for Hadley induce her to seek for some means to accomplish the disgrace of the former?" While he was weighing this supposition in the balance of his mind, he chanced to see his daughter walking with Hadley, and their manner of conversation and the evident good-will existing between them, led him, in his bewildered state, to conclude that Eveline was not as free from implication as she might be. After harboring this thought for a day or two longer, he charged her with the crime of confederating to injure Duffel, as already related. Had he known that Duffel's story was made so fitly apt, simply because he had basely eavesdropped and sacrilegiously listened to the sanctitude of a conversation at the domestic hearth, how different would have been the result!
CHAPTER III.
THE INVALID.
When Mr. Mandeville entered the house, as related at the close of the first chapter, he found Eveline lying on the floor of her room, in a state of insensibility. All his efforts to arouse her were unavailing, and leaving her in the care of the distracted housemaid, he hastened off for the doctor. When the stunning influence was removed, Eveline was still unconscious. A burning fever was in her veins, and delirium in her brain. All night long the doctor remained by her bedside, and when morning at length compelled him to visit other patients, he left with an expression on his countenance, which caused anything but a hopeful sensation in the father's breast.
Days of anxiety and nights of sleepless watching passed away, and yet the father, with pale cheeks and heavy heart, sat by the bedside of the afflicted. No mother had she, that kind parent having several years before been laid in the cold grave; and the father strove to make up for the loss as far as he could understand the necessities of a sick-room; and, indeed, he became wonderfully gentle in his attentions. His touch was trained to be light and soft as a woman's, his step quiet, and his manner subdued. He would leave the room only for a few minutes at a time, and then return with an air of impatience, but it often happened that for hours together he would allow no one to share the duties of nurse with him, though the best of aid was always at hand. And he had a reason for this singular course of conduct. Eveline frequently raved in her delirium, and words would then fall from her lips which he would not have others to hear for the wealth of India. Why? Listen for a few moments:
"Oh, how dark! all dark! Nothing but clouds! No sun, no moon, no stars! When will morning come? Who made it dark? Oh, God! that my father, my own father, should do this!"
Thus would the unconscious child talk into the very ear of her parent, often wringing her hands and manifesting the utmost distress. Then her thoughts would take another direction, on this wise:
"What a load is on my heart; oh, so heavy! It weighs me down to the earth. Who will take it away? Alas, there is no one to pity me! No one will come to me and lift this great burden from my bosom; and it is crushing the life-blood from my heart! Hark! don't you hear the drops fall as they are pressed out? Patter, patter, patter! Well, it will soon be over; they will see the blood; yes, and he, my once good, dear, kind father; oh, may he never know that his hand wrung it out and wrenched my heart in twain! Poor father! he knew not that he was killing me—me his only daughter. May he never be wiser! Ah, I am going."
She would sink down exhausted, and lay sometimes for hours in a stupor, after these paroxysms of excitement, and the heavy-hearted father often feared she would never rouse again. But a higher stage of fever would awaken her from the state of lethargy, and then the ears of the agonized parent would be greeted and his heart pierced by words like these:
"Oh, hear him, father, hear him! I know he can explain it to your satisfaction. How can Charles bear such charges? I wonder at his patience and self-command. Father, father! How unjust! How cruel! Do let him speak! Convinced! Yes, on what grounds? Whose word is entitled to more credit than that of Charles? That's it! The name—the name of the base slanderer. I know it is some villain. Father! how can you deny him the only means of defense? 'Unpleasant rencounter!' yes, to the vile miscreants, no doubt. 'Confidence!' My life! isn't Charles worthy of confidence, too? His word alone is worth a thousand oaths of such heartless slanderers as those that stab in the dark! Don't get angry, Charles, he's my father. Nobly done! How respectfully he acts when so abused and insulted! All will yet be right. Ah! I'll tell him how I spurn the accusation! How my soul burns with indignation that his fair name should be assailed! I am so glad he is coming; I know he feels deeply the wrong—What!"
At this point the startled look of the poor girl alarmed the father. She bent her head, in a listening attitude, as if eager to catch every word that was spoken by some one in the distance. Ah, too well the wretched parent knew on what her thoughts were running. Too well he knew where and when the blow had fallen that smote his child to the dust—perhaps had opened to her the gate of death. A deep, stifled, half sigh, half groan escaped from her lips, and she murmured in a hoarse whisper:
"Father, father! you will kill your child. Oh, God! this is too much! Turned from our door! without a word of comfort! How deadly pale he is! My own parent to call him 'unworthy!' and then forbid him to speak!"
At this point a shriek from her lips would lift the father to his feet, the cold drops of agony on his brow. That soul-rending cry he had heard before, but it lost none of its horrors by being repeated. Alas, it told but too plainly of the wreck his cruel words had made, and he trembled lest only the beginning of sorrows was upon him. How he blamed himself for being so rash and precipitate; and, as Eveline sunk back in exhaustion, the awful thought kept forcing itself into his mind:
"If she dies, I am her murderer!" What a reflection for a parent over an almost dying child! Who can measure the anguish it created in his breast?
There lay his precious child before him, prostrated by his own act, hovering on the very brink of the grave, life trembling on a breath—and he, oh, he might never whisper a word of comfort in her ear! Poor man! For all this there was no repentance in his soul; it was only regret and remorse—but oh, remorse how bitter! Not that his belief was changed as to the guilt and innocence of the parties, for he still had confidence in Duffel, and was fully persuaded of Hadley's evil intentions. He was glad that the designs of the latter had been frustrated, but blamed himself for the manner in which it had been done.
But the reflections of the unhappy man, whether of reproach, sorrow, or regret, were ended for the time by another phase in the ever-changing condition of the invalid. In tones expressive of the deepest wretchedness, the daughter, once more arousing from the stupor of exhaustion, would piteously exclaim, in low, sad accents, whose inexpressible woe pierced the afflicted watcher's heart as with scorpion daggers:
"Gone! gone!—gone without a parting word or look! Gone, and my aching eyes shall behold him no more! Gone, and the darkness comes over me! Oh, this horrid gloom!—this load on my heart! Father! Charles! why do you both leave me in this dreadful place?"
"Eveline, Eveline, my dear; your father is here; he has not left you; see, I am by you; give me your hand."
"Did somebody call me? Who is there?"
"It is I, my child, your father. Come with me; let me lead you from this place."
"Ah, it's a strange voice! I hoped it was dear father or Charles; but, no, no, Charles was driven away; he is gone forever! Oh, my poor heart!—and father, he has left me too: they are gone, and I shall die here. Oh, what will father say when he finds me dead? Well, it is best that he is away, for now he will not know that he has killed me. Poor, dear, kind father! I would so much like to say farewell before I go. It might be some consolation for him to know when I am gone that I love him still!"
Every word of these last sentences went to the father's heart. How strong must be that affection which could still cling to him so tenderly, though he had committed such an outrage upon her feelings with regard to another! The distressed sire bowed his head and smote his breast. Then he knelt down by the bedside and prayed. It was the first prayer he had offered up for years; but, oh! how earnestly he suplicated that his child might be spared to him. In his agonized pleading, so great was the commotion in his spirit and the emotions of his heart, that tears, the first that had bedewed his eyes since the death of his wife, streamed down his face. May we not hope that his prayer was heard? But the horrors of the sick room were not yet over. Eveline kept sleeping and waking, or rather, she lay in a state of stupor or raved in a delirium of fever, with occasional intervals of quiet, which sometimes lasted for hours, and excited delusive hopes in the heart of the father, that she was better, only to plunge him again into doubt and fear when the fever fit returned. He arose from his knees, and bending over his child, imprinted kiss after kiss, "with all a mother's tenderness," upon her brow and lips. O, how rejoiced would he have been could those kisses have conveyed to her an understanding of his feelings at that moment! How a knowledge of his affection would have gladdened her heart! But, no; for all the return manifested, he might as well have pressed his lips to cold marble. After a time, the fever returned in violence, and she resumed her distempered and broken discourse:
"Never! never! I will stay with you, if you wish me to; but marry Duffel, I never will! Force me to? No, father, you cannot! You may drive me from your house; you may turn me off and disown me, but you cannot make me perjure myself before God at the altar. No, father, I will obey you in all else; in this I cannot, and will not. If I were to go and forswear my soul in the solemn rites of marriage, my adored mother would weep over me in sorrow, if angels can weep in heaven. No, never, never!"
"My child, my dear Eveline," said the father, tenderly endeavoring to quiet her, "you need not fear that your father will be so cruel"—and he laid his hand gently upon her, to assure her of his presence; but it had a contrary effect from that he intended; she seemed to apprehend violence, and cried out:
"Help! help! They are dragging me away to marry a villain! Will no one help me? Where is Charles? Leave me! help!" She began to scream very loudly, and Mr. Mandeville knew not what to do. The doctor, however, opportunely came at this moment, and administered a soothing potion, and she became quiet.
This was the recurring succession of events in the sick chamber for the first ten days of Eveline's illness; then there was a change; the violent symptoms of disease were reduced, and a state of dreamy languor succeeded, with rare intervals of excitement, and those of the mildest type; but consciousness did not return, and the father had the satisfaction of knowing that the secrets of the place were his own. He had now but little fear that others would learn them, but this gleam of comfort was overshadowed by the increased apprehensions that his child's sickness must prove fatal. Indeed, hope had almost fled from his bosom, but he clung with a death-grasp to the desire for her recovery, if for nothing else, that a good understanding might exist between them. He could not endure the thought of her leaving the world under a wrong impression of the motives by which he had been actuated in the course he had pursued. As his long and continued watching had worn him down, he now left the bedside frequently to snatch a little rest, and recuperate his exhausted powers.
And where was Hadley all this time? No fond mother ever hovered about the cradle of her sick darling with deeper solicitude, than did he about the residence of his beloved. He made friends of the nurse and maid, and from them and the doctor kept himself advised of her condition. Oh, how his heart ached to be by the bedside of the sufferer! How, at times, his spirit rebelled at the injustice of the father! But when he was told of his devoted attention, tireless care, and deep distress, he forgave him in his heart and blessed him for his devoted kindness to the invalid.
But where was Duffel? Let the sequel tell.
CHAPTER IV.
DUFFEL—THE SECRET CAVE AND CLAN.
For the first few days of her illness, Duffel came to inquire after Eveline. Finding that she was likely to remain sick for a length of time, if she ever recovered, he excused himself from further attentions by pleading the necessity of a previous engagement, which would probably require his absence for a week or possibly a fortnight. With apparently the deepest solicitude for the recovery of Eveline and of sympathy for Mr. Mandeville, he took his leave.
When a little way from the house, he muttered to himself:
"Well, I am free from the necessity of keeping up appearances here any longer. Now for the cave!"
In a short time, he was threading his way through the forest, mounted on a fine animal. A narrow path lay before him, which he followed for some miles, and then turned into the untrodden wilderness and wound his way through its trackless wastes. There were no signs indicating that the foot of man or domesticated beast had ever pressed the earth in those solitary wilds; yet Duffel seemed familiar with the place, as was evident from his unhesitating choice of ways and careless ease. He knew by marks, to others unseen, or, if seen, their significance unknown, that he was moving in the right direction. Having traveled several miles in this way, he at length came to a beaten path, at right-angles with the course he had been going, into which he guided his noble beast. After pursuing this latter course at a rapid rate for more than an hour, he again turned off into the woods, and, guided by the same mystic signs as before, shaped his course with unerring precision, notwithstanding the forest was so dense and overgrown with underbrush as to render it almost impervious to sight, and to an utter stranger a bewildering labyrinth, from whose mazes he might labor in vain to extricate himself, unless, indeed, he possessed the almost instinctive tact of the Indian, or the thorough knowledge of the most experienced backwoodsman.
Why Duffel was so obscurely careful in selecting his way, will presently be seen. In the direction last taken, he traveled on until the sun was bending to the western horizon, when he came to a thicket of bushes and vines, so compact in growth it seemed an impossibility to enter it, even in a crawling position, without the aid of an ax and pruning-knife. Glancing this way and that, as if to assure himself that no one was near, a precaution that might almost be set down as a useless exhibition of timidity in that wild out-of-the-way place, so far from the habitation of civilised man. Duffel, when satisfied that no human eye was upon him, dismounted, and leading his steed by the bridle a short distance to the left, paused, looked around him again, and then lifting a pendant prong of a bush, with a very slight exertion of strength, he moved back a large mass of vines and branches, which had been with great care and ingenuity, and at the expense of much labor, wrought into a door or gate of living durability.
Through this gate-way he first sent his horse, then entered and passed through himself, carefully shutting the verdure-hidden door behind him, and no eye could discover the place where he had disappeared.
From this entrance, a road, some five or six feet wide had been cut out into the middle of the thicket, which was a large open area covered with grass and shaded by bushy trees, of small altitude, with wide-extended branches. Arrived at this spot, Duffel unsaddled his horse and turned him loose to crop the luxuriant grass. A dozen others were there before him, and as it was impossible that they should get there unaided, their riders were no doubt somewhere near. But this was something expected by the new-comer, as he manifested no surprise thereat, but appeared well pleased at the discovery.
After looking about to see that all was well, Duffel bent his steps toward a certain point in the environing thicket, and lifting a small bough, opened another verdant door, but this time of such small dimensions as to barely admit a single person. A narrow path led away from this artfully-contrived entrance into the dark and tangled recesses beyond. It was now growing late; twilight was over the world, but it was quite dark where the intertwined foliage of vines and branches wove their impenetrable net above and at the sides of the lonely path, and Duffel was obliged to feel his way with care. A few minutes' walk, however, brought him to the border of a stream of some considerable size, the banks of which formed the boundary of the thicket. Precisely at the spot where he reached the stream, was a projecting rock, covered with a luxuriant growth of underwood, vines and flowers, which overhung its outer edge and draped down, like a thick curtain, to the depth of eight or ten feet. This rock extended some fifty yards up the stream from the place where Duffel stood, and outwardly about an average of four feet. Its peculiar formation, however, was hid from view by carefully trained bushes at its lower extremity. This care had been taken to hide a secret passage, which led along the bank, under the table-leaf rock just described.
Duffel again took the precaution to cast wary looks about him, in all directions; then parting the bushes at its opening, he entered the secret passage under the rock and groped his way along. About midway, he came to a pillar-like rock, which entirely blocked up the path. Turning sharply to the left, he felt his way a short distance, and came to an aperture in the wall-like stone. Here he paused a moment, and bent his ear in a listening attitude; then gave three distinct raps upon some substance that filled up the gap.
"Who is there?" was demanded in a stern voice from within.
"A friend," was the reply.
"The pass-word."
"Death to traitors!"
"Enter!"
And a massive door was thrown back, through which Duffel passed and found himself in a dimly-lighted and damp entrance-way, which pursuing for a short distance led him to a spacious cave, which was now brilliantly illuminated by many lights that were reflected from a thousand polished surfaces of crystalline rock. So soon as he entered, a sentinel-watchman, whose duty it was to proclaim the names of all new-comers, announced him thus:
"Lieutenant Duffel!"
"Welcome to the Secret Cave!
"Welcome is a brother brave!" was the greeting he received from a score of voices whose owners came forward and took him cordially by the hand.
Most of the band there assembled were rather good looking men; but there were a few dare-devil marked fellows, whose sinister countenances bore the imprint of crime and an expression of anything but honesty or goodness; hard-featured and hard-hearted, they had doubtless committed deeds entitling them to a familiar acquaintance with the halter.
Duffel had been in the cave but a short time, when the attention of all was arrested by the announcement:
"The captain! Let the brethren of the Secret League do him honor."
Every one present immediately uncovered his head and stood up, observing the most profound silence.
The captain did not enter at the place that had given ingress to Duffel, but made his appearance from an inner chamber, which communicated with the outer or large cave by a narrow passage between two pillars of rock. A door was nicely adjusted to work upon one and fasten upon the other of these pillars. When shut, the most experienced eye, unless by the closest scrutiny, could not detect its existence, so perfect was the workmanship, and so exactly perfect in match of color with the surrounding walls of the cavern. This inner room was set apart for the captain's special use, and no one dared to enter it, except by his permission or invitation. More of it hereafter.
The captain wore the same dress as the other genteel portion of the band, and there was nothing to distinguish him from the rest, except the military hat and epaulets which he wore, or omitted to wear, as circumstances or inclination dictated. As he advanced from the door of his chamber, he was respectfully saluted by all his followers, and then, by two officials, escorted to a carved seat, on a raised platform, at one end of the cave. There was very little form or ceremony used on ordinary occasions, as it was an established custom among the members of the Secret Clan to conduct all their affairs on the most republican plan. In certain cases, the captain's word was law, and the penalty of disobedience to it, death; but all the laws, rules, and regulations of the order were passed by a vote of the clan.
The captain himself was a full-sized and rather good looking man, with the exception of a sinister expression of countenance, which instantly conveyed the impression:—beware of him! Had Eveline been present, she would instantly have recognized him as the stranger whom she had seen and heard in conversation with Duffel.
After he had taken his seat, Duffel was placed in one at his right, and another of the staff in one at his left hand.
"Is there any unfinished business before the order to-night?" demanded the captain.
"None," replied an individual who acted as secretary.
"Any reports from committees?"
"I have one from the committee appointed to investigate the charge preferred against Mayhew, of treason to the order. It is brief, as follows: The committee, on whom was imposed the duty of investigating the charges entered against Philip Mayhew, beg leave to report, that they have had his case under strict advisement, and after a careful examination of all the evidence, and a patient hearing of his own allegations, found him guilty as charged. He will give the order no more trouble—his tongue is silenced!
"B. Hubbel, Ch'n."
The report was accepted, and the committee discharged. No other written report was made, and the captain said:
"The secretary will burn the parchment containing the report just read, in the presence of all the brethren, that they may know nothing remains on record, which, under any possible contingency that might arise, could be used against them."
The paper was burned, as directed, in accordance with the usages of the order.
"What success have the brethren had in the way of business since our last meeting?"
"I have taken two horses," said one; "they are both in the stable of the order."
"I have taken one horse and fifty dollars," said another; and as he spoke, he walked up and laid down a pile of money on a salver, prepared for the purpose, in front of the captain. All moneys were placed there for distribution.
"Well done, Simon! How did you get the money? No foul play, I hope?"
"No, your honor; I was at Louisville, and saw the money paid to a 'subject.' I kept an eye on him, followed him into a crowd, and—put the money in my pocket."
This brief history of rascality brought smiles to the faces of all present.
"Here are five hundred dollars," said a third, bringing forward the cash; "it was won at the 'table.'"
Twenty others made similar reports, and when all the funds were handed over, there was more than seven thousand dollars for distribution and twenty horses in the "stable" of the clan.
"An unusually profitable month's work," said the captain, when this branch of the night's proceedings was finished. "I hope the brethren will not weary in their efforts. What other business have we to transact? Are there any cases of delinquency to report?"
"If your honor please," said one of the hard-featured fellows before mentioned, "I perceive Amos Duval is not with us to-night. Can any of the brethren give an excuse for his absence?"
In response to this inquiry, another of these ill-looking customers arose, and made known his belief, that the said Amos was not to be relied on—that, in his opinion, he was a traitor at heart, and would betray the order at the first opportunity.
"Are you aware," said the captain, "of the grave nature of the accusation you have made? Permit me to remind you, gentlemen, one and all, that it is made a crime by our laws, punishable by death, for one brother to accuse another falsely."
"I am well aware of our wholesome laws on this subject," said the insinuating accuser; "I do not charge Duval with being certainly disaffected, but I have my suspicions that all is not right, and suggest, that your honor and the brethren will do well to watch his movements. If in my over-zeal for the good of the order I go too far in this matter, I crave the forgiveness of the brethren."
"We appreciate your motives, but advise great care and the possession of very strong evidence of guilt, by the accuser, ere charges are preferred against a member of our order. The rule on this subject must and shall be enforced. Our worthy lieutenant, who often meets with our brother Duval, will see him and ascertain the cause of his absence, as, also, his feelings toward the order."
The captain was evidently not well pleased with the course pursued by these men in regard to Duval; most likely, he suspected there was a conspiracy between them, having its foundation on some ill will these desperadoes had conceived against the absentee. This was really the case, whatever were the leader's thoughts. The two had sworn to stand by each other, in all times of need and in all matters of rascality. Duval had unintentionally insulted one of them, hence the insinuation against him in the order. Perhaps their case will come up again in the course of our story. So soon as this matter was disposed of, the captain inquired:
"Are there any applications for admission into our order?"
"One, if you please," replied the secretary. "Abram Hurd wishes to become a member with us."
"Has he been adequately examined, as to his qualifications to be numbered with us?"
"He has, your honor, and the result is eminently satisfactory."
"Will the order pass upon the application of Abram Hurd?"
Voted affirmatively.
"The tellers will attend to their duty." Two men came forward; each received a box from the captain. One was empty; the other contained white and black balls. These boxes were passed to every member; that containing the balls first.
"White balls elect; black ones reject," said the captain.
When the voting was over, the result was announced: "All white."
"Abram Hurd is then elected to become a member of our order, and will be initiated at our next regular meeting. Let the brethren bear this in mind. Is there any other business to be transacted?"
"None."
"The order then stands adjourned until the first Friday night of next month."
CHAPTER V.
CONSPIRACIES.
After the adjournment of the clan, the members collected together in various little squads about the cave, and engaged in conversation, some in a loud, braggadocio, swaggering tone, others in low, murmuring voices, audible only to themselves, and still others in confidential whispers. Of those who have figured heretofore in the incidents of this story, we may mention the hard-featured, desperado-looking fellows who had conceived a dislike to Duval, as being very earnestly engaged in some matter among themselves, doubtless of a vile character; it would seem, too, from their manner, that others than themselves were not to be admitted into their counsels, or to know the nature of their scheme, be it what it might, for they kept casting wary glances about on all sides, as if with the intention of guarding their circle from intrusion, and their words from being heard by ears for which they were not intended. All the clan, however, were too busily engaged in concerns of their own, to notice others. This fact was observed by the ruffians, and they became less reserved and cautious in their movements. Had one been near them at the closing of their confab, he would have heard this fragment of a conversation among them:
"League or no League he's got to die!"
"Better be careful, or you'll have the cap'n down on you."
"—— the cap'n!"
"Beware what you say! that is treason!"
"Treason be it then! When Bill Mitchel says he'll do a thing he does it, and all the Leagues and captains in or out of h—l can't stop him!"
"Come, come! be cool and don't make a fool of yourself; it can all be done without so much bluster."
But, as we are not so deeply interested in the proceedings of these fellows as in some other of our characters, we will pass from them and their villainous plot, whatever it may be, and look after Duffel and the captain.
These two worthies had drawn aside, and were deeply absorbed in confidential intercourse. As their conversation is of considerable interest, we give a part of it:
"Well, Duffel, how is that affair with Miss Mandeville prospering?"
"Not so well as I could wish. The truth is I shall have a pretty hard time, if my suit wins at all."
"Indeed! I am sorry for that; for I was strongly in hopes of receiving a little assistance from you in the way of cash. I have been at great expense the past few months, and need a little aid just now, to finish the necessary fixtures for our south-western branch. You know it takes a mine to fit up a cave such as that was and is to be."
"I am really sorry that things have turned out as they have. I expected, when I mentioned this matter before, that ere this time I should have consummated the affair; but I am far less sanguine of success now than at any previous time. Mr. Mandeville favors my suit, but the daughter has taken a dislike to me and—"
"Ho, ho! I thought you were always victorious with the women."
"So I have been until now, and I am by no means vanquished yet, in this instance; but I have a rival in the way, one, too, that had possession of the citadel of her heart, ere I became a candidate for her hand; that makes a great difference, you know; then, to make the matter worse, I knew nothing about the state of the case until I had spent a length of time in wooing, all to no purpose, because of my ignorance. But enough of this. If worst comes to worst, rivals must be got out of the way."
"Be guarded there, Duffel; a resort to foul means must never be had until every other method has been 'tried and found wanting.' Remember that. One murder will do more against us than fifty thefts or robberies."
"I know all that, captain, and shall not peril the existence of our organization, or even the safety of one of its members, except necessity compels to the act; but I think there will be no need of adopting extreme measures in the present case. I have a different plan of operations marked out, which, with your assistance and approval, I will first act upon, and if it fails, then something else afterward."
"Well, proceed; I am all attention, and will not fail to render such assistance as shall be in my power, though you know my time is limited."
"I shall not draw upon you for much aid; an hour is all the time it will require for your part of the performance. But before you can appreciate the merits of my scheme, it is necessary that I should make some explanations. You remember the conversation we held in old Marshall's garden?"
"Yes."
"Well, it turned out that Miss Mandeville was in the arbor and overheard a part of what passed between us."
"The devil she did!"
"Yes, but only enough to excite her suspicions that there was something in the wind—nothing definite or satisfactory, so that we may consider ourselves safe on that score."
"But, between you and me, Duffel, I don't like these suspicions; they are apt to lead to something worse."
"True; but in this instance I think such will not be the result. However, I must be frank with you, and I hope, if I have gone too far in any point, you will pardon me, for I did the very best that could be done under the circumstances, I think. As I said, Miss Mandeville heard a few words that passed between us at the time referred to, and when, a short time afterward, her father urged upon her the propriety of accepting me as a suitor for her hand, she must needs tell him of this little incident!"
"Worse and worse!"
"Not so fast. I know it is bad, and I knew then that something of a decisive kind must be done in order to relieve myself from the dilemma into which this little untoward circumstance had placed me. I remembered that on that occasion you were somewhat disguised, so that in your natural state, or in any other disguise you might wish to assume, it would be impossible to identify you as the same individual. Well, after long deliberation, and the formation and abandonment of many projects, I finally had to settle upon one, which, in your then appearance, compromised your character to some degree; but I hope the course I pursued, notwithstanding this unpleasant part connected with it, will meet your entire and cordial approbation. Indeed, had I not felt certain of this, I should not have adopted the measures I did."
Here Duffel gave the captain a history of the events narrated in chapter second. When he finished his recital, the captain said:
"Why, Duffel, you are the very devil at a plot! I had no idea you could act the part so well—I shall certainly use you hereafter. But now for the rest of your scheme; if it is half as well matured as the first part, I shall certainly join you in it with all my heart."
"Well, you see, I have already deceived the old gentleman, but he must be kept deceived; it will not do to let first impressions wear off, or all will be lost. From all that I can learn, he is very tender toward his daughter since her illness, and it is not unlikely will yield to her wishes, if she recovers, more than he has done heretofore; but in order to keep his suspicions of Hadley excited, while he still retains his good opinion of your humble servant, his mind must be plied and his prejudices kept alive, so as to counteract the effect likely to be produced by a father's feelings for a suffering child. In other words, the growing sympathy for his daughter, must be met by a countervailing distrust and aversion toward Hadley. To accomplish this I have hit upon the following plan."
Here he drew the captain still further from the others, and, in low and smothered tones, imparted to him his scheme, which was no doubt a villainous one, as it drew from his auditor and confidant an exclamation to this effect:
"By my soul, Duffel, you are an adept in these matters! I never dreamed of your being so deep a plotter! The world and your friends, also, have done you injustice by not giving you credit for so ample a development of such rare ability to deceive. Success to your plans. I will gladly second them, as far as the part allotted to me is concerned, with a hearty good will. But what think you I had best do?"
"Taking everything into consideration, I think the best thing you can do for us all is to go down south, or to St. Louis, and remain for a length of time, perhaps till I send you word of what is transpiring in this part of the world."
"What will be done about our next meeting? You know we have an application on hand."
"Let the meeting be postponed; or, if you see fit, I will attend to the initiation in your absence. Choose yourself between the two measures."
"I will let you preside at the meeting, then; we have need of a few additions to our number, when we can find the right kind of fellows; and from all I can learn, this Hurd is made of the right stuff. See that everything is done strictly in order."
"I will attend to that. But had you not better announce this arrangement to the members present? They are all here yet, I believe."
In accordance with this suggestion, those of the clan present were notified of the captain's probable absence at their next meeting, and that Lieutenant Duffel would act in his place in the interim, to whom all reports must be made, and from whom all orders must emanate and be obeyed. After this was arranged, Duffel, who was highly pleased at the working of things, again drew his superior aside, and said:
"I have now a request to make of you, captain, which, if compatible with your wishes and convenience, I hope you will see fit to grant."
"I shall be most happy to grant anything in my power, be assured of that fact."
"I know your good will and generosity are great, or I should not ask the favor I am about to crave, which is, that you will allow me the use of your private room here during your absence. I have a particular reason for desiring this favor."
"I perceive so by your earnestness. I hardly know how to grant your request, without delaying my departure."
"Oh, never mind, then, I can manage to get along without it."
"No, you shall have it. I mind now of a method by which all necessary arrangements can be made to-night; and you may find it a very convenient place to tame some obstinate fair one. Oh, not a word; I understand these matters. Excuse me for a couple of hours, and I will bring you the key."
With these words, the captain went to his room, into which he had no sooner entered, than Duffel sought the presence of the desperadoes, two of whom—the ones that had taken a dislike to Duval—he engaged in conversation. When assured that no one was sufficiently near or attentive to hear what passed between them, he said:
"My good fellows, I see we are alone, and I should be pleased to have a little private and confidential conversation with you."
"We shall be happy to hear anything Lieutenant Duffel may be pleased to communicate, and feel highly flattered by his confidence," replied one of them, speaking for both.
"Thank you. I presume it is not necessary for me to pledge you to secrecy in regard to any transactions that may take place, either in word or deed, as you will feel bound by honor to look upon all confidential communications and proceedings as sacredly and faithfully to be kept in your own bosoms."
"You but do us justice in entertaining such opinions, and, without the asking on your part, we most solemnly pledge our word, even unto death, that what your honor may please to say to us shall be kept a most inviolable secret, which nothing shall extort from us."
"I have always found you faithful, and have no hesitation in trusting you again; but this time I have a peculiar request to make of you, one that may lead to business out of the ordinary line of operations to which you have been accustomed. Can I rely on you in any emergency?"
"Yes, to the very death."
"Are you easily moved by the tears and prayers of persons in distress?"
"Do we look tender-hearted, your honor?"
"Well, no; I can't say that you do; but then the looks are not always a true criterion by which to judge of the heart. A smooth face and a hard heart may go together, so may a rough visage and warm sympathies."
"You may rely on us in that particular."
"Even if the suppliant be a helpless and beautiful woman?"
"Well, I must confess, I don't fancy meddling with feminines much. What do you say to it, Dick; shall we pledge?"
"Dang the women! It allers looked kinder cowardly to me to see men turn agin' the weak things and abuse 'em; it don't seem nateral, but 'pears like a feller didn't remember his mother, or his sisters, if he had any. But if the lieutenant has any work to do, we'll do it, women or no women. Them's my sentiments, Bill, exactly."
"Give us your hand on it, then," said Bill. "And now, give us yours, lieutenant, and the thing's settled."
With this, they all shook hands in token of agreement, and thus their faith was pledged. But what a rebuke Dick inadvertently administered to Duffel in his quaint remarks! How his vicious heart, bad as it was, must have felt the blow, and all the more severely that it came from such a source! However, the villain was not to be turned from his purpose, and so, pocketing the unintentional affront, he proceeded:
"As you have already heard, our most worthy captain will be absent on important business for some time to come, and during the period of his absence the duties of command will devolve on me. I have long been contemplating a measure, which, if carried out, will be of great and lasting benefit to our order. In order to conduct the affair to a successful termination, it may become necessary to imprison a female, a young lady of great beauty and accomplishments, in this cave. I do not know that it will require such extreme measures as this, I hope it will not, but should it become needful to go to this extreme, I shall desire your aid in carrying her off."
"We'll be with you, as we have already pledged ourselves; but we must ask, as a favor in return, that you allow us to settle a personal affair with Amos Duval."
"Of what nature? You know he is a member of the League, and that it is a crime to lift a hand against him."
"We know all about that; but Duval is a traitor at heart, and we can prove him such."
"Then proceed against him in the order, and I will stand by you."
"That's just what we want; first to prove him worthy of death by our laws, and secondly, to be allowed to execute the sentence pronounced against him."
Duffel could not but see that there was a discrepancy between the first and last request of these fellows, though they tried to make them appear as one, and he knew there was personal enmity at the bottom of the whole affair. His duty, as a member of the order, made it obligatory for him to discourage any ill feeling among the members; but he needed the services of these two rascals, and so forbore to reprove them.
"I will aid you as far as my duty to the League will permit, provided you will do me still another service."
"Name it."
"There is a fellow standing in my way in the prosecution of a scheme for the benefit of our order, and I would like to have him removed. I understand you with regard to Duval; you wish to be revenged upon him for some injury or insult, and that revenge looks to his death. You need not say, yea or nay; well, we will stand by each other all around. I will give you further instructions at another time. Hold yourselves in readiness at any moment to aid me. Meet me in the forest by the old oak, on the path to the 'Swamp,' every day, and be always prepared for either of the services I may require at your hands."
Thus these worthies parted. What a series of villainous conspiracies had been developed in this one night, in that secret den of iniquity! Will these murderers succeed in all their plans? Alas! the wicked often triumph.
The captain soon returned, and placed the key of his room in Duffel's possession—and then the clan dispersed.
CHAPTER VI.
PLOTS DEVELOPING.
"Charles, Charles! Where is Charles?"
This name and inquiry were often repeated by Miss Mandeville as she still lay "between life and death," on her couch of fever, pain and unconsciousness, and the tones of her voice were so full of sorrow, the father's heart melted at last, and he began to relent. And when, after a pause, his daughter would continue:
"He is gone! gone!—gone forever!—ah, my poor heart!"—in accents more sadly plaintive than any words that had over fallen upon the parent's ear, he said to himself:
"It must not be! Hadley shall be, sent for; she loves him, and his voice may call her back to consciousness. I cannot bear to think of her leaving the world in ignorance of her father's good will; better a thousand times that Hadley should be with her for a few hours. He may not be guilty after all. Why ought I to believe Duffel's word before his? Yes, and before that of my own daughter, too? and that without a word of explanation! No, it is unnatural. I wonder I have been blinded so long! Yes, Hadley shall be heard, and if he can show a clean hand, Eveline shall no longer mourn over his absence and my rashness."
This was going a step farther than Mr. Mandeville had ever gone before: for he had never been known to recede from a position once taken or to change an opinion once formed, unless the most positive evidence compelled him to do so, and then it was a silent acquiescence to the right rather than a willing change of opinion.
But a long continuance in the sick room, and the great distress of his child, had had an effect upon his mind, which no amount of reasoning could have produced—he was constrained to acknowledge himself in error, and brought his mind up to that point where he was willing to confess the wrong he had perpetrated, by "undoing what he had done amiss." This was a great achievement for one of his temperament—a conquest over self in a very selfish and stubborn nature—which gave evidence that there was yet an under strata of good, a foundation to the character of the man, which, though covered up by the rubbish and rank growth of pride and other unamiable dispositions, still existed, and was capable of exciting to good and noble deeds.
Having once gained the consent of his mind and formed a resolution to retract, he was not long in taking the initiatory step toward amendment.
He inquired of the maid and nurse if Hadley had been seen, and learned from them that he had been in the daily practice of asking after the condition of Eveline, and that for this purpose he came to a certain designated spot, where one of the two met him to impart such information as he desired. No sooner was Mr. Mandeville put in possession of this piece of news, than he resolved to meet Hadley at the place of conference himself, and then and there recall his words and invite him to the house, from which he had been excluded so unjustly. Verily this was a change!
Acting upon this resolve, he walked out in the direction of the place where Hadley was expected to make his appearance. As he leisurely sauntered down the path and neared the spot, his eye fell upon a piece of paper folded up in the shape of a letter. He picked the document up and examined it. It was directed in a bold hand to
"Charles Hadley, —— ——, ——."
On the back of the letter and above the seal were the words: "Private and strictly confidential," placed in such a manner as to catch the eye at a first glance on either side of the letter. The seal was broken and the letter bore ample evidences of having been carefully and repeatedly read.
An irresistable desire to examine the contents of this paper took possession of Mr. Mandeville, and in spite of the breach of good manners, and the violation of every principle of honor, he retired to an obscure corner of his garden, opened and read so much of the epistle as was intelligible to him, which ran as follows:
"Dear Hadley:—According to agreement, as entered into by us at our conference in old Marshall's garden, I now impart to you the following information, which you will receive at the hands of one of our most trustworthy associates. You will please note the contents of this communication, so as not to fail in the execution of that part of the transaction assigned to you, and then burn the letter immediately, that you may prevent the possibility of its falling into other hands, which would lead to the most disastrous consequences—perhaps to the destruction of our organization. When taken, bring the horses at once to the rendezvous, with such other valuables as may come in your possession; and be sure that everything is done secretly, and in such a manner as to avoid detection. Be bold and determined in resolution, but cautious and guarded in action. Yours, —— ——, Capt."
The captain's name was written in characters, as well as all the body of the letter, which Mr. Mandeville did not understand, and which were evidently to be intelligible only to the members of some band of villains, by whom the signs had been adopted as mediums of communication. At the bottom of all was a line to this effect:
"P.S. What will the old man say when he is gone? It will be using him right for the scaly trick he served you so recently; eh!"
What a change the perusal of this document brought about in the mind of Mr. Mandeville! The softened expression of benevolence, which had lit up his countenance with a glow, left it in a moment. A dark frown settled upon his brow and clouds of blackness over his face.
All his former prejudice against Hadley returned in ten-fold strength; for had he not the most positive proof of his villainy? Not a moment longer waited he for an interview, but with the letter carefully stowed away in a side pocket for future reference and use, he bent his steps back to his house, revolving in his mind how to proceed in the present emergency. That some great scheme of theft and robbery had been planned, with a design to be speedily executed, was evident from the contents of the letter; but where and when the act or acts were to be committed, it was impossible to tell, and consequently, a very difficult matter to decide upon a course of policy likely to thwart the designs of the rogues. After much reflection, Mr. Mandeville concluded it was best to lay the case before the magistrate and take legal advice how to proceed He did so. In a private conference with that functionary, they talked over the matter. The justice was a worthy man and a friend to Hadley, and though the evidence was overwhelming and nearly positive of his guilt, yet he could not find it in his heart to condemn the young man without a hearing, and was equally unable to get the consent of his mind to make the matter public, thereby injuring the reputation of his friend, until he could see and converse with him on the subject. He advised Mr. Mandeville thus:
"I think the best thing we can do is to keep an eye on the movements of this young man, Hadley, as well as upon others who may be associated with him, if he is the villain he is here made to appear. If we institute proceedings against him, we have only this letter to rely upon, which is not sufficient to convict him, as there is no legible name at the bottom of it, and no witness to corroborate the statements. If he is guilty, premature action will give him all advantages, and enable him to clear himself; whereas, by instituting a strict surveillance over his acts, we may be able to get at the truth of the matter, and can then act understandingly in the case."
Mr. Mandeville coincided with the magistrate, and then they agreed to keep the matter strictly to themselves for the present.
"Shall I retain the letter?" inquired the justice.
"No, I wish to use it, first, and will then leave it with you," was the reply—and thus the matter was settled between them.
While the events just related were transpiring, and at the very hour when Mr. Mandeville was consulting the man of law, Duffel was engaged with his two ruffian associates in a plot of villainy, which, for deep cunning and calculation, was superior to anything he had yet conceived and carried out, though it was but a link in the chain of criminal acts he had forged out and was about to follow up. The two held their consultation in the tongueless and earless solitude of a dense swamp, where none could hear their words or learn the purport of their schemes and give warning.
"You understand about the horses, do you?" queried Duffel, after he had been explaining some intended operation, in which horses were to be stolen.
"Yes, fully," was the reply.
"Well, the horses will be missed, and, of course, it will be known that somebody has taken them. I have a measure to propose which will throw suspicion on the wrong track and relieve us from any fear of being charged with the theft or even suspected of guilt."
"That's the sort! do the killing and get the halter around some other rascal's neck. Let us hear your proposition, lieutenant."
"You have not forgotten that I mentioned to you in the cave the other evening, that I might need your services in getting rid of a troublesome fellow who was in my way. I did not then expect to need your services so soon, if at all, in this branch of our agreement; but, as the horse business is agreed upon, and as the fellow may possibly be something of a hindrance to my plans of operation in the future, I think this will be a first-rate occasion on which to dispose of him. As I said, somebody will be accused of stealing the horses, and as it is known that you, gentlemen, have recently been in these parts, and as suspicion has long since pointed to you as having had a hand in several transactions held to be unlawful, you will, as a matter of certainty, be designated as the thieves in this instance, unless, by some master-stroke of policy, you can fairly show that you are not guilty. Do you see this?"
"It all looks mighty likely, certain."
"Don't it look more than likely? Don't it look just as if it could not be otherwise?"
"Why, yes; it does look so, that's a fact."
"Of course you would like to cast the blame somewhere else?"
"We would, that's certain."
Well, you can do it. I have already prepared the way, and if you will follow my instructions to the letter, the thing is done?"
"Give us our parts and we will act them to the life," said Bill, who had been spokesman for both, as was usual at such times.
"Ay," said Dick, "and to the death, too, I guess."
"Quite likely, quite likely!" rejoined Duffel. "Do you think you will have the nerve to perform this extreme act Should it become necessary?"
"Does Lieutenant Duffel take us to be cowards, that he makes such a white-livered insinuation?"
"By no means; I only wished to know if you were now prepared for any emergency that might come up?"
"Yes, any time and always. Go on."
"My plan is this: So soon as the horses are in our possession, we must convey them to the middle of the 'Swamp,' and be back by morning, or noon at furthest, and show ourselves. If we are about early, say as soon as possible after the animals are missed, and take part in the search, few, if any, will think of us as being the thieves, as they are pleased to term such operators, while we can, at the same time, turn the hunt after the horses in the direction in which they are not to be found, if we can do so without exciting suspicions of our aims. Mark that! we must be cautious and not overdo the thing, or it will be worse for us than to do nothing."
"We understand."
"Well, that is all on that point; but there is something more to be done; we must direct suspicion to some one else; some one must be accused, and he must not be about. You comprehend?"
"Perfectly."
"Well, I have the sheep already prepared for the sacrifice."
"Who is he, and where will we find him?"
"Charles Hadley is the man, and you will find him just in the right place—the dark passage in the road to C——; he passes that point every night about nine or ten o'clock. You know what to do with him."
"Would it not be as well to carry him to the save and imprison him? You know, it would not be murder, then."
"I had thought of that; but if we take him there, it will not do to let him out again, for, if we did, it would be the end of us all; so we should have to both imprison and murder him in the end, which would be much worse than to put him out of the way at once, let alone the risk attending the plan you suggest."
"Right."
"You see, then, we will have some one on whom to lay the theft?"
"Exactly! Huzza for Lieutenant Duffel!"
"Silence!"
"I beg pardon."
"Remember the time, next Thursday night, and don't fail to be at the 'dark passage' in time."
"We'll be there, don't fear; and the thing shall be done up handsomely."
"But what's to be done with the feller's body when he's dead, I'd like to know?" interposed Dick.
"Sure enough," replied Duffel; "I had forgotten to instruct you on that point. Take him to the sink in that black swamp, and be sure to make him stay under. We want no tell-tale carcasses showing themselves."
"You need have no fears on that point; once there and he'll never see the light again, nor the light him."
"I will now leave you to make such arrangements between yourselves as may be necessary for the work before you. Leave nothing incomplete, and be punctual to the very minute in every instance."
With this parting injunction, Duffel left his villainous companions, who began at once to prepare themselves for the dastardly business their superior had allotted to them in his schemes of rascality and black-hearted crime. This was Monday, in the afternoon, and consequently, but three days until Hadley was to be waylaid and slain, and immediately afterward somebody's horses stolen and run off, the crime of stealing which was to be laid upon the murdered man. This was a plot worthy of the wretch who conceived it, and, with the aid of villains as unscrupulous as himself, was about to be put in execution.
From the moment the command of the "Order of the League of Independents" (it ought have been named the Order of the League of Murderers and Horse-Thieves) was vested in him, during the captain's absence, he had resolved to make the most of his time and authority to bring all his plans to a crisis and an issue. Hadley was to be disposed of; Mandeville was to be blinded, his daughter, through him, forced to wed the rascal, or, failing in this, she was to be forced into measures, by fair means or foul, of which hereafter.
Friday morning was ushered in amid clouds and storm. The heavens were shrouded in a pall of darkness and the rain came down in torrents. Mr. Mandeville had spent most of the night with his daughter, and did not retire until some hours past midnight. Having been deprived of so much rest, during the previous two weeks and more, his slumbers were unusually heavy, and it was a late hour in the morning when he awoke, and the dismal weather adding to his drowsiness, he continued to lay and rest after consciousness had returned. His half-waking, half-dreaming meditations were broken in upon by a gentle tap at his bed-room door. In a moment he was wide awake, care for his child having quickened his senses, and demanded if Eveline was any worse.
"No, sir," was the reply, "it is only Mr. Duffel, who has called and inquired for you."
"Tell him I will be down in a few minutes."
Wondering what could bring his visitor at such an early hour, Mr. Mandeville hastily dressed and went into the parlor, where he met and was saluted by Duffel in the most cordial manner.
"I reached home at a late hour last night," said the hypocrite, "and felt so great an anxiety to hear from you and your daughter, I could not wait for the storm to abate, but hastened at this unseasonable hour to inquire after her welfare and yours. I hope I have not intruded so far but that you will pardon my unfashionable call and seeming impatience. How is Eveline?"
"You are always welcome, come at what hour you may. I can hardly answer your last question; I think Eveline is better in some respects, but she is greatly reduced, and when the fever leaves, will, doubtless, be very weak.—I both hope and fear for her. The fever will run its course, and if she has constitution enough to outlive it and recuperate, she will recover; otherwise the result will be fatal."
"It is impossible, then, for the most skillful and far-seeing to foretell the issue?"
"Quite impossible. Will you now excuse me for a short time? I have not looked after my stock this morning."
"With pleasure."
Mr. Mandeville left his guest around whose mouth a peculiar smile was playing as he passed out at the door. That smile had a meaning.
After a brief absence the host returned, and in some consternation announced that his best horse had been stolen during the night.
"Is it possible!" said Duffel, feigning the utmost surprise. "What villain could take advantage of the sickness of your daughter, to plan and execute such a cowardly act?"
"I am persuaded there are more than one connected with these thefts; indeed, I may say, I know there are numbers of thieves infesting the country. They are regularly banded together; and, would you believe it, that Hadley, of whom we were once speaking, is an officer in the band, as I have every reason to believe."
"That will exactly correspond with what I told you in the interview to which you allude."
"True."
"Have you seen him lately?"
"I have not."
"Can he be found this morning?"
"Ah, I perceive your thoughts are running in the same direction as my own. We will inquire after him."
The inquiries were instituted, but no Hadley was to be found; he had left the day previous, but no one could tell whither he had gone, or what had called him away. When these facts were ascertained, Mandeville and Duffel exchanged a significant glance, as much as to say: "Just as we expected!"
The horse stolen was one of great value, and Mr. Mandeville was resolved to make a desperate effort to recover him; and he was the more fixed in this determination, because the horse was intended as a gift to Eveline on her recovery, in case she did recover, and, also, because, as he believed, the detection of the culprit would expose the baseness of her lover to his daughter, and cause her to discard him at once from her thoughts.—Full of these thoughts, he offered a handsome reward for the horse, and a very large one for the apprehension of the thief. In prospect of obtaining these rewards, as well as to render a service to community, some six individuals banded themselves together with the avowed intention of ferreting out the matter, and immediately set out for that purpose.
CHAPTER VII.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER—DUFFEL.
A few days after the transactions recorded in the preceding chapter, the fever left Eveline, and consciousness was restored to its empire and reason to its throne. But alas! what a wreck of her former self she was! Mr. Mandeville could scarcely restrain his tears while gazing upon her pallid countenance and wasted form. She was helpless as a child, and so weak it was feared the recuperative powers were exhausted, and she must die from prostration; but a day or two of careful nursing, aided by cordials and tonics, produced a change for the better, and in the course of ten days, she was able to walk in the open air and happy sunshine, supported by her father. How lightly his heart beat in his bosom, as the child of his pride and affection leaned upon his arm, as he gently led her whither she desired to go.
She had a little arbor in the garden, the vines about which had been carefully trained by her own hands; it had always been a favorite resort, and of late had become a thousand times more dear, because it was there that she and Hadley had spent most of their happy hours. So soon as she had sufficient strength to bear the fatigue, she requested to be taken there, and her wish was granted. What a throng of memories came crowding through her mind as she once more sat in that verdant bower! Every flower had a tongue and a reminiscence, and the entire place and scene spoke of the past in language mute but eloquent. How her heart beat with excitement, as the many associations of other days rushed over her spirit with the lightening wings of thought, and awakened emotions of joy and grief. While with the past she was happy; but when the cheerless present occupied her mind, sadness filled her heart, while shadows gathered upon her brow, and tears in her eyes.
The father saw all this, for he watched the changes of her countenance with the deepest solicitude. When he noted the saddened expression that came over it, his heart was heavy, for he divined the cause. How his feeling of bitterness toward Hadley increased, as he saw the wreck of happiness he had made; and how he longed to expose the blackness of his character to his infatuated daughter! He felt certain that his child would cease to regard him as she had done, the moment she was put in possession of the facts which so clearly established his guilt. But it would cost her a severe struggle, and he feared she was yet too weak to sustain the shock.
At length, however, as he perceived that internal grief was preying upon her spirits, it occurred to him that the evil resulting from this eating sorrow, which was brooded over in secret, would be greater in the end than the quick pang, though it should be sharp and powerful for an hour or a day. Approaching her affectionately, and with great tenderness of manner, he said:
"You are sad, Eveline; you are not happy, I know you are not; and yet you do not confide your sorrow to me. Is this kind, my dear?"
"Oh, father!" and she burst into tears. He drew her head upon his bosom, and for a short period permitted sorrow to have its way, then inquired:
"May I share my daughter's grief?"
"Father, father, do not wound my heart afresh! I fear me now it will never heal!"
"Eveline, child, you misunderstand me. God forbid that I should add to your sorrow; my only desire is to relieve and heal!"
"May I indeed trust in my father? Oh, what a question to ask myself! Yet—"
"Yet what? Speak fully, and let us for once open our hearts to each other without reserve."
"Yet I fear I have had cause to make the inquiry."
"I fear so too, my dear; but let us now understand each other. I hope much from such an understanding."
"What would you draw from me?"
"The secret of your unhappiness."
"Do you not know it already?"
"I surmise the cause."
"And you think—"
"I fear it is because you love Charles Hadley."
"Why do you fear that is the cause?"
"Because he is unworthy of your love."
"Oh, do not say so! Is poverty a mark of unworthiness?"
"No, it is not; if he was only poor I would give my consent to your union to-day; but I am sorry to say he is wicked as well as poor."
"What mean you? You surely can allege nothing against one so noble, and possessed of such pure principles, as Charles Hadley?"
"Alas, my daughter, he has basely deceived you."
"Father!"
"I would not say so on slight grounds, but it is too sadly true."
"I must have proof, strong proof, ere I can believe that he is false."
"Could you bear such an exposure?"
"Yes."
"Then you shall have the evidence of his guilt at once."
Saying this, he produced the letter before spoken of, and placed it in her hands for perusal.
It would be impossible to describe Eveline's feelings while examining the contents of the letter. At first, the evidence appeared so conclusive and overwhelming her strong faith in her lover was shaken; but a second reading and second thoughts restored her confidence, yet she could hardly account for the change in her feelings and judgment, the evidence was just as strong as before, and she could not help acknowledging the fact; she only knew that she felt Hadley was innocent; and she would trust this intuitive conviction in preference to any anonymous communication that could be produced against him. But what should she say to her parent? How could she impress him with her own feelings, or even fix a doubt of Hadley's guilt in his mind? While she was revolving these things in her mind, Mr. Mandeville kept his eye upon her, and noted every change of expression that passed over her face. At length he said:
"What do you think of that?"
The question found her still in doubt as to what she should say in defense of her lover, but with the query came decision of purpose, and she readily replied:
"I think it is a forgery."
"A forgery?"
"Yes, so far as Hadley is concerned. I do not believe he has ever seen it."
"You surely do not believe I would be guilty of such baseness as your words imply."
"Oh! no, no; I do not for a moment doubt your good faith and perfect sincerity; but I think you are deceived. How did you get possession of this document?"
"Well, I must confess, not in the most upright manner, or rather, my knowledge of that portion of its contents which is intelligible, was obtained ignobly; but I cannot blame myself for the act, since it has placed such important facts at my disposal."
Here he related the circumstance of finding and reading the letter, and then added:
"You see the whole train of circumstances renders it impossible that Hadley should not be the one to whom the letter was addressed. I found it just in the place where he was in the habit of coming, a spot that no one else frequented, and so secluded as to forbid the idea of a casual passenger dropping it. Beside, where is there another person of the same name?"
"I frankly own there is a mystery connected with the subject which I cannot explain, but that mystery does not convince me of Hadley's guilt."
"What incredulity! What stronger evidence do you want to convict him?"
"I desire positive assurance that the letter was actually written to and for him; at present I do not believe that it was."
"Love is truly blind!"
"Love?"
"Yes."
"What has that to do with the case under consideration?"
"It is not worth while for you to disguise the fact that you have loved Hadley; I know that you do or did, and your own heart knows full well how much it has suffered through that love. Alas, that I, your own father, should have caused you so much anguish!"
"Does my father really say that?"
"Yes, Eveline, and much more. If you only knew how deeply I have suffered, what anguish I endured, as your fevered and broken exclamations fell upon my ear while watching by your bedside, I think you could find it in your heart to forgive me for the unintentional wrong, it was my misfortune, and not my wish, to inflict upon you."
"Father, I have wronged you," said she, leaning forward and winding her arms about his neck. "Forgive me for accusing you of cruelty and unkindness in my thoughts."
"You had cause for such accusation, though it was farthest from my thoughts to injure you. I did, however, once think of forcing you to wed Duffel, and this is the only real wrong I meditated against you, and I was persuaded it was for your good; but I see differently now—you shall never be coerced into a union with any man against your will."
"Thank you for that assurance; it relieves me from one source of disquiet."
"I am entitled to no thanks; it is not a parent's prerogative to use violence in such cases, though I once held differently. And let me here say to you, that in all I have done my motives were pure. I desired your good above all else, and that I was endeavoring to procure happiness for you in the wrong way was only an error of judgment, the incorrectness of which I now see clearly."
"How much I have misunderstood you, and how much you have misconceived your own heart."
"True; the world, and the opinions of worldly men, had almost buried up the good that was in me; but the light of Heaven has shone into my spirit, the fog is dispelled, and I see where I have departed from the right way."
"Thank Heaven for that!"
"I hope, now that we understand each other, I may dare to make a request of you, which you may or may not feel free to grant."
"Name it."
"It is this, that you will hold no communication with Hadley until this matter is satisfactorily cleared up, or until he can show that he is innocent of the crimes this letter would fasten upon him."
"If it is your wish I will do so, though I should be pleased to know what he could say in his own favor. I feel strongly confident he will be able to prove himself innocent of all and any participation in the many thefts and other villainies which have of late become so common. Where is he now?"
"Ah, there it is again! I have not told you that Tom was stolen some time ago."
"Tom stolen!"
"Yes; he was taken very soon after this letter came into my possession, and Hadley has never been seen or heard of since!"
"How?"
"On the very night that Tom was taken from the stable, Hadley disappeared, and neither he nor the horse have been heard of since! Have I not strong reasons for believing him guilty, as held out in this letter?"
"I must confess, this last piece of intelligence staggers my faith."
"You will now begin to understand why I took such decided steps toward him, as a visitor here, on that memorable occasion which resulted so disastrously. I had the strongest assurance of his being associated with bad men for bad purposes, ere I forbid him the house. I only regret that I acted so precipitately. I hope, however, all will come right in the end."
"God grant that it may."
Here their intercourse was interrupted by the announcement that Duffel had called and inquired for Mr. Mandeville.—They returned to the house, and the two gentlemen had a private interview to the following effect:
"How is Eveline?" inquired Duffel.
"I am happy to say she is very much better."
"I am truly glad to hear that she is convalescing. What do you think is the state of her feelings in certain delicate matters?"
"I am persuaded her good opinion of Hadley has received a shock from which it will never recover. That letter, in connection with his present disappearance, was too much for her faith."
"And well it might be! I do not see how any one could doubt his guilt in the face of such evidence."
"Yet I think Eveline does doubt; but that the doubt will soon give place to full conviction, I am quite sure. Once you can fix a partially formed belief of crime in the mind, and if the evidence continues, especially if it accumulates, there is a moral certainty of its producing the effect we desire in the present instance."
"How long do you suppose it will take Eveline to forget any preference she may have had for Hadley?"
"I do not know."
"Do you not think the exercise of a little paternal authority would accelerate the accomplishment of your wishes? I hope you will pardon me if the suggestion is ill-timed or out of taste; it is made in accordance with a declaration to that effect you will remember to have made to me a short time previous to your daughter's illness."
"I have not forgotten the declaration to which you allude; it was made in the heat of a moment of excitement; but I am frank to own that it was then my determination to use parental authority toward Eveline, in case it became necessary to do so, in order to bend her will to my purposes. This intention I have entirely abandoned. I have reflected more dispassionately on the subject; and I now see clearly that my daughter has rights as well as myself, and that first in importance among these, is the right to bestow herself in marriage to whom she chooses. I will continue to give you my influence, but I have already pledged her my word that she shall be free to make her own selection of a husband."
"You are right, sir, right. I see wherein we have both erred in our former views; but then we were blinded, at least I was; for you know love has always been blind. I must crave your pardon, as I would the forgiveness of Eveline, were she present, for having entertained so unjust a thought toward her for a single moment. Be assured, if she cannot be won by gentleness and love, I shall never consent to make her my wife, though she is dearer to me than life itself."
"Very well; I still feel that all will come out right, and that a peaceful calm of sunshine will succeed the season of storm and clouds; but we must not hurry matters; time will do more for us than we can for ourselves, whereas haste might defeat all our hopes. At present, I do not think it would be advisable for you to urge your suit to her; her mind is not yet prepared to receive you with that degree of favor desirable."
"I shall act in the matter as your better judgment and clearer perception shall dictate, and hope for the best."
And thus the interview ended. How strange that Mr. Mandeville should be so easily deceived in regard to Duffel! and how debasingly hypocritical was the dissembling villain! Will he never be overtaken by his crimes?
CHAPTER VIII.
THE "DARK PASSAGE"—THE THEFT.
On the appointed night, the two ruffians, Bill and Dick, repaired to the "dark passage," according to arrangement, and with daggers and pistols (the latter only to be used in case of necessity, as the report of firearms might lead to detection,) awaited the arrival of their victim. About nine o'clock, the sound of horses' feet, approaching at a rapid gait, gave them to understand the hour of their deadly work was at hand. Taking their stand, one on either side of the road, they silently awaited the horseman's coming.
It was a dismal place, a low, wet valley, densely shaded and overgrown by trees, whose thick foliage scarcely admitted a single sunbeam to penetrate to the earth beneath. This gloomy passage was about half a mile in extent, and at its dark center the villains had posted themselves. Their plans were all fully matured, even down to the minute details. They were both to spring out and seize the horse by the bridle; then, while Bill held the animal, Dick was to strike the fatal blow to the heart of the rider. Not a word was to be spoken. As the man entered the passage, his pace was slackened, and he kept his eye about him, as if in fear of an attack. When within about a hundred yards of the concealed assassins, Bill whispered to his companion across the road:
"Now, Dick, make sure work of it; let the first blow tell the tale, while it silences his tongue!"
"Never fear for me; take care of your own part, and I'll do the same by mine," was Dick's reply.
In a few seconds, the horseman came abreast of the ambuscaders, both of whom sprang out at the same moment, and seizing the bridle-reins, checked the horse so suddenly as to throw him back on his haunches, to the imminent peril of the rider, who was nearly thrown from his seat. In a moment, the glittering blade of steel was at his breast. Just then, the moon broke through a rift in the clouds, and being directly in a line with the road, shone fully on the group and into the face of the traveler.
"By Jove! it's the wrong man!" exclaimed Dick, as he lowered his blade and looked at Bill inquiringly.
"So it is!" said Bill; and then, addressing the stranger, continued: "Beg pardon, sir, for our interruption. We have mistaken you for a notorious villain, thief, and robber, who was to pass this way to-night, and who, as the laws are too weak to protect us, we have determined to punish ourselves. The fact is, these, horse-thieves must be dealt with, and that speedily, too, or there will be no such thing as safety for our stock. For our parts, we have resolved to defend our property at all hazards, and others will have to do the same thing, or keep nothing of their own, for these thieves are banded together, and they are so numerous, and some of them so respectable, it is impossible to convict them before a jury; they swear each other off. Hope you will not think evil of our plans."
"To tell the truth, gentlemen, (for I take you to be gentlemen in disguise,) there is too much reality in what you say. I fear we shall have to take the law into our own hands, for these depredators are becoming so numerous and bold, there is no telling to what length their wickedness may run. These thieving operations must be stopped, cost what it may; but it seems to me this is a bad place to commence the work; it looks too much like secret murder. When I have recourse to the last resort in defense of my property it will be upon my own promises, and while the villains are in the act of crime."
"That is doubtless the best method in all ordinary cases; but the rascal whom we were expecting to pass this way to-night is too cunning to be caught at his work. He is well known to be guilty, and has more than once been arrested and tried; but always with the same result; his friends have sworn him clear; and now, we've sworn he shall go free no longer."
"Well, be careful, and don't kill the wrong man."
"We'll take care. Excuse the manner in which our introduction was made."
"Certainly, gentlemen, certainly; but don't miss your man again."
"We'll not."
"Good night."
"Good night, and a pleasant journey for you."
The man rode on and was soon out of hearing. He was the more easily deceived as to the character of his assailants, because he knew that the sentiments they expressed were held almost universally by the honest portion of the community, and already several thieves had been shot at, some of whom were known to have been wounded, though not fatally. The miscreants knew this state of public feeling, and hence their ruse. When the man was beyond hearing, Bill said, exultingly:
"Didn't I wool the fellow's eyes beautifully?"
"It was well done, Bill, well done—the best job you ever bossed. But say, do you know the man?"
"No, not from the devil."
"Well, sir, it's 'Squire Williams, sure's I'm a living son of my mother!"
"'Squire Williams?"
"Yes, it is. I've known him ever since I had such hard work to get off from him; I tell you, when I thought of the trial, I felt mightily like payin' him off for his advice on that occasion, after I was cleared; but, think's I, it won't do."
"It's well you come to that conclusion; we don't want over one dead man on our hands at once. But say, what shall we do?"
"Wait a while longer for that Hadley, and if he don't come, then go to meet Duffel."
This suggestion was accordingly acted upon. After remaining nearly three hours longer for their victim, who came not, they repaired to the place of rendezvous, to report to their employer and superior, and finish up the other branch of the night's business.
Arrived at the spot, they found Duffel pacing up and down in a state of impatience and disquietude. So soon as he was cognizant of their presence, he inquired:
"How now? What has kept you so late? Is all right?"
"If your honor will take breath a moment between the questions, we will endeavor to answer them," replied Bill.
"Well, proceed. Did you do the job?"
"No, not exactly as laid down in the bill, but—"
"What! did you let him go?"
"Why, no, your honor, we didn't let him go, for the very good reason that he didn't give us a chance to show him so much mercy."
"How?"
"You see the fellow didn't come himself, but sent a substitute!"
"The deuce, he did! How's that?"
"That's what we can't tell; we only know, that instead of young Hadley, we came within an ace of killing 'Squire Williams!"
"'Squire Williams!"
"Yes, sir. He came along at the precise hour that should have brought the other, and it being too dark to distinguish one man from another, or from old Nick for that matter, we fell on to him, and but for the merest chance would have finished him."
Here the enactment of the early part of the evening was rehearsed in full.
"It is well you got off so easily, and I must give you credit for your ingenuity; but I am exceedingly sorry the bird we were after has escaped. However, as that cannot be helped or amended just now, we will proceed with the rest of our work."
"What hour of the night is it?"
"About one o'clock; and that reminds me of the fact that we will not have time to take all the stock to-night; we shall, therefore, confine our operations to a single item—the taking of Mandeville's horse."
"Mandeville's?"
"Yes; why not?"
"I thought your honor was playing for another stake in that quarter?"
"And if I am?"
"Why, I just thought it was a queer way of gaining the old gentleman's good will—that thing of taking his horse."
"Not so queer as you might think for."
"Oh! I remember now; excuse me; this Hadley was to be made the scapegoat; you were to get a horse and have the blame of the theft thrown on a rival, whose non-appearance should condemn him. I see it all now, though I did not perceive this delicate undercurrent in the plan of affairs. Lieutenant Duffel against the world, I say!"
"Silence! Dick, you are familiar with Mr. Mandeville's premises, I believe?"
"Yes, tolerably so."
"Well, I want you to bring Tom here in about half an hour; and do the job up nicely, too."
"I'll try, sir."
"You must do it. Be quick; it is going to rain soon, and we must get him away before the tracks will show; but don't so much as disturb the sleeping grasshoppers by your noise."
"All right."
"Go now, and be here again in the shortest possible time. Bill and I will arrange matters for future operations while you are gone."
Dick hastened away to do the bidding of his master, and Duffel communicated to Bill the following piece of intelligence:
"I was very much in hopes the whole of our plan for to-night would succeed, though I heard that in the evening which caused me to have misgivings on the subject. I learned that Hadley received intelligence that his mother and uncle were both sick and not expected to recover.—They live in Philadelphia: the uncle, his mother's brother, a bachelor, by the way, with whom she is living, is reputed wealthy, and, it is said, has willed his property to young Hadley. The news of these events was brought to him yesterday, and he made immediate preparations to go east, but did not expect to get off until this morning. I presume, however, he must have started yesterday in the after part of the day; but be this as it may, I wish you and Dick to follow after him, and don't fail to finish him somehow and somewhere. If you could only manage to get ahead of him and waylay him at some point in the mountains, it would be the best place for you to do the deed and conceal the commission of the act."
"Yes, if he should be alone."
"Which will most likely be the case, at least a portion of the time. But should no such opportunity occur, or should you fail to get beyond him on the way, you must watch for him in the city; follow him as closely as his shadow, and in some dark alley, or at some unseasonable hour, put him out of the way."
"Exactly."
"You understand that this must be done, do you?"
"If Lieutenant Duffel says so."
"Well, I do say so, most emphatically. I am more anxious than ever to have him settled, since this new phase of affairs has come up."
"I understand; but when are we to start?"
"Early in the morning. We will find out as soon as possible whether he started yesterday; then you must show yourselves for a little while, as was before determined; and as soon afterward as possible be off. Be sure to get on the right track, and don't lose it."
"Never fear on that head. We will follow him as the lion does his prey."
"Well, I leave the matter with you; see that you acquit yourself as a good soldier. Give Dick such instruction as may be needed.—Here he comes."
Dick rode up on the horse he had stolen, and they all immediately repaired to the swamp, where the scheme of villainy had been planned, in the middle of which the horse was concealed for the present, as they were unable to take him further then without incurring great risk of detection.
The next morning after mingling awhile with the indignant crowd of citizens, who were collected together on hearing of the theft, and pouring out invectives on the "villain of a thief" in no measured quantity, the two ruffians, Bill and Dick, set out on their errand of death? Learning that Hadley had started the previous afternoon, they followed after him on two of the fleetest horses in the possession of the clan.
It might be well enough to remark, that in those early days most of the traveling was done on foot or on horseback.
CHAPTER IX.
On the evening of the second day of their pursuit, Dick and Bill found themselves in the immediate presence of their victim, they having reached the same inn at which he had already put up for the night. The meeting was unexpected to them, and at first they feared it might frustrate their designs; but as they had taken the precaution to throw off their usual habiliments and character, and to assume the dress and address of gentlemen, Hadley did not recognize them, though the impression fastened itself on his mind, that he must have seen them and heard their voices before, but where and when he could not remember.
The villains, from his musing manner, half suspected that he was trying to call to mind who they were, and one remarked to the other that they had better go out and see after their horses; but it was more for the purpose of consulting about the affair they had in hand than for the good of their beasts, that they wished to leave the house. When assured that they were beyond hearing distance, said Bill to Dick:
"Well, we have treed the game at any rate."
"Yes, but I don't see as it signifies much if we have, for we can't keep him treed, nor bring him down neither, in this place."
"But we know where he is, and that is something."
"I take it, it's but little. What can we do with him?"
"Why, we can get ahead of him and select our place for the next meeting, and then—"
"How do you know that? We can't tell which road he will take."
"We'll find out, though."
"How?"
"By asking him."
"And exciting his suspicions. Yes, a pretty way of doing, certain."
"Never do you mind; leave that to me; and if we don't know all we want to know by morning, you may call Bill Mitchel a fool; and the fellow won't suspect anything, either."
"Well, go ahead, but don't make a fool of yourself, nor spoil the job we have in hand, neither."
"I'll take care for that; only you be cautious, and don't say too much, and when you do speak, throw off your rough manners and talk and act like a gentleman. I am afraid you will forget yourself, and instead of being Mr. Richard, will act the part of ruffian Dick."
"Never do you fear; 'ruffian Dick' knows what he's about, and you'll see how handsomely he can act 'Mr. Richard' to-night."
"Very well."
With this understanding between them, they returned to the inn, which, by the way, was a very primitive establishment, not only in construction, but also in the character of the entertainment.
Bill worked his card so as to draw Hadley into conversation, and incidentally, but designedly, remarked that they (himself and his companion) had passed through C—— two days before.
"Indeed!" said Hadley; "I am well acquainted in C——. Did you hear any news there?"
"Well, no, not in C——, but a little way beyond the town a horse had been stolen the night previous, which caused considerable excitement in the neighborhood."
"How far beyond was it?"
"About five or six miles, I should think."
"Did you learn any of the particulars?"
"Why, yes, pretty much all of them, I think."
"I know pretty much everybody in that region, and it may be that it was some of my friends from whom the horse was stolen. What was the owner's name, if you heard it?"
"Mandeville, I think; yes, Mandeville."
"Mandeville! I know him well. Has he any idea who took the horse?"
"I think he suspects some one for the theft—a young man that had been in the neighborhood, but disappeared the same night of the theft, and no one knew where he had gone."
"In the neighborhood," repeated Hadley, musingly, as if thinking aloud. "It must have been the stranger; and yet I thought he was gone some time ago."
"I don't think it was a stranger; they told us his name, but I do not know whether I can call it to mind or not. Let me see, I think it was Hardy or Hartly, or some such name."
At this juncture, Dick caught Bill's eye, and gave him a look, as much as to say: "What the d——l do you mean?—Are you going to excite his suspicions and send him back home to clear himself from imputation?" And Bill as plainly replied by looks: "Never do you mind. I'll fix it up right."
While these magnetic looks were exchanged between the murderous reprobates, Hadley was engaged in trying to think if there was anybody by either of the names mentioned in the vicinity where Mandeville lived, but he could remember no one. All at once the thought struck him that he himself might be the person accused, and the bare idea that such might be the case sent the blood to his heart and a cold shudder through his frame.—He was pale as marble, for a moment, and the rascals saw it. Mastering his emotions, he inquired calmly:
"The name you heard wasn't Hadley, was it?"
"No, that wasn't it. I heard his name mentioned, but they said he had started for Philadelphia the day before the theft."
At this announcement, in spite of himself, Hadley drew a sigh of relief, and as he did so Bill gave Dick a knowing look. Hadley replied:
"Perhaps the name was Huntly?"
"That's it!" said Bill; "that's the name; I remember it now."
"I should hardly have thought him capable of such a crime."
"Just what the people said, exactly."
"And to take advantage of the sickness of Mandeville's daughter, at that; I can hardly believe it of him."
"You talk precisely as his neighbors talked."
"I do not believe he is guilty; no, I am sure he is not. There are others I would suspect a thousand times of such an act before I would him."
"Well, I am sure I can't tell as to that. But, to change the subject, may I be so bold as to inquire which way you are traveling?"
"Certainly, sir; I am on my way to Philadelphia."
"I was in hopes you were going the same way as ourselves; perhaps you are; we are bound for Wheeling, Virginia.—Do you go that way?"
"No, I go by way of Pittsburgh."
"Do you tarry long at Pittsburgh? We may have to go there before we return."
"No sir. My mother is very sick at her brother's house in Philadelphia, and I shall hasten to her with all dispatch."
"Then, I perceive, we shall have to part company."
"I am sorry for that, as I should be pleased to have companionship on my lonely journey."
Having found out all that concerned his purpose, Bill changed the conversation, and all of them being fatigued with hard riding throughout the day, the three soon retired for the night. Bill and Dick roomed together, and when alone the former said:
"Didn't I do it up about the right way, Dick?"
"Better than I expected; but, —— me, if I didn't think you'd got on the wrong track once."
"I knew what I was at all the time; but I saw you were scared."
"Well, what's to be done next?"
"We must get ahead of him, and do the thing up while he is crossing the mountains, as Lieutenant Duffel suggested, and as I told you before."
"We can do that easy enough; but what do you think; shan't we make Duffel side with us in the Duval affair for putting us to so much trouble?"
"Yes, and that is one reason why I wish to get through with this job as soon as possible. We must get back in time for the League meeting somehow."
"We'll have to ride like the d——l, then; for the meeting is on Friday night week."
"Well, we must be there if it is next Friday night, and we must finish our work before we go."
"I'm with you."
"And then, if Duffel don't assist us to fix Duval, or at least, if he don't let us have our own way in the matter, we will raise Hadley's ghost before his eyes, and threaten to 'blow' on him."
"He'll do it."
"He shall do it."
"Well, as that's settled, let's go to sleep."
"Yes, for we have a hard day's ride before us to-morrow."
The shades of evening were gathering over the rugged steeps and deep dells of the Alleghanies, as two horsemen, leaving the summit of the mountains, descended to a deep, dark valley, shaded and environed by a dense growth of pine and other wood, on the eastern slope leading to the Atlantic. As they entered this dismal looking spot, one of them broke the silence by remarking:
"This is the place."
"Shall we rob him after he is dead?" inquired the other.
"Certainly. He has a pile about him; and it was for this I was trying, when he accused me of attempting to rob him, and resenting the accusation brought on the quarrel, and with it the insult. Yes, I must have his life and his money, too."
"I'm with you. But hold! What's that? Horses' feet, as I'm alive. He's coming; we must be quick to our place of concealment."
In the briefest possible time their horses led out of sight of the road, and hid away among the bushes, while the two murderers took their stand at the side of the road in ambush, to await the arrival of their victim.
They had only a few minutes to wait, when other two horsemen made their appearance, and took their stations exactly as they had done, but about a hundred yards further up the mountain.
"What the d——l does this mean?" inquired one of the other.
"I don't know, unless some others have an eye on the gold, as well as ourselves."
"That's it, I'll warrant. Good! They may do the murdering, and we'll rush up in time to secure the booty, by frightening them away. Then we can take the body to the next tavern, and tell how we came upon the robbers and murderers, just as they had finished their work.—Good! Let us get our horses nearer at hand, and be ready to dash upon them."
While the first two villains were preparing for the new phase the affair in which they were engaged had taken, as they supposed, the two who had arrived last busied themselves in making ready for some damnable work which required darkness and that secluded spot to hide it from the sight of man. We will look after them.
"Well, here we are at last," said Bill to Dick, for it was these that had arrived last. "How soon will he be here, think you?".
"In a few minutes. When I last saw him, I don't think he was to exceed half a mile behind us."
"He is coming now. Be sure of your aim."
"Better take that advice yourself."
"I intend to, for I don't want any botch work of the job."
"Think those men have got ahead far enough?"
"Yes, they were more than a mile ahead of us, and they will ride like Satan was after them through these wild glens."
"Yonder's Hadley!"
"Prepare! put your pistol close to his heart when you fire!"
"All right; do the same."
And the other two concealed villains were equally ready for action.
"There he comes!" said one. "Their attention will be taken up that way now: let us mount, and as soon as they fire, put spurs for the scene."
"Perhaps they will not use pistols," suggested the other.
"Then, as soon as they strike or spring upon him."
In a few seconds, Hadley came abreast of the villains who were lying in wait for him.
"Now!" said Bill in a hoarse whisper, and the two at once sprang upon the lone rider, and fired the contents of their pistols into his breast. He fell from his seat, with a deep groan. The murderers were about to rifle his pockets, when they were arrested in their work of robbery by the approach of the other two horsemen, and seeing their danger, hastened to mount, and left the scene of their bloody deed, at the top of their horses' speed. The others pursued for a mile or more, and then returned to look after the slain man and their booty.
"By heavens, it's not the man!" they exclaimed in a breath, as they knelt by the side of Hadley.
"As I live, it is our acquaintance of yesterday! Poor fellow, he deserved a better fate."
"He did, indeed. Let us return his kindness by seeing that he is decently buried; we owe him this much at least."
"So we do. If I had known it was him he should not have died in this way."
"Shall we go back or forward with him?"
"Forward; it is nearest that way to a hamlet."
"No; he is quite dead."
Gathering up the body of Hadley, they bore it along in silence toward the nearest habitations of men, some five miles ahead.
The two had proceeded with their burden but a short distance, when they were suddenly startled by a groan from the wounded man, who they had supposed was dead. They laid him down carefully, and one of them produced a flask, from which he poured a little brandy on his lips, and the stimulant penetrating his mouth, revived Hadley, and this, with the aid of other restoratives, soon brought him to consciousness. Seeing he was not dead, his companions now dressed his wounds as well as they could, under the circumstances. It was soon perceived that they were not of a very dangerous order. One bullet had struck a button and glanced off, leaving only a bruise on the breast; the other had penetrated the chest, but not in a fatal direction. The fall from his horse had stunned Hadley; there was also a mark on the side of his head, indicating that the horse had struck him with his foot, adding materially to the effect of the fall. After his wounds were properly dressed, he was assisted into his saddle, and, supported by his benefactors, was enabled to ride to the next village, where he received every attention, and was so far recovered in a week as to proceed on his journey. His escape was almost miraculous, and seemed a direct interposition of Providence. On the previous day he had assisted the two men out of a difficulty before a magistrate, where they were accused of the crime of setting fire to a man's house on the previous night. It so happened that they were not guilty of the act as charged, but had passed the night in question at the same inn with Hadley, who, fortunately for them, heard of the affair, and went before the magistrate and testified to the facts in the case, and by so doing cleared them. This kindness, volunteered on his part, was repaid by the men, as we have seen, though they were desperate characters, and ought to have been in the penitentiary, and, as we have noticed, went out to kill and rob some man at whom they had become offended.
Had not this train of circumstances led to the result we have chronicled, there would have been but one fate for Hadley, death; for even if the ruffians had left life in him, ere the lapse of three hours he would have been devoured by wild beasts, a pack of which, howling dismally, and thirsting for blood, crossed the road where he had lain, and licked up the few drops that had run from his bosom!
Bill and Dick were pursued, but escaped without the slightest clue to their whereabouts or identity being ascertained.
Perhaps we had as well remark, at this point, that Hadley's departure was known to but two personal friends and their families, in the Mandeville settlement, and by them was to be kept a secret, as he did not wish Duffel, or any of his supposed companions, to know of his absence until he had been gone long enough to reach his destination, for he believed Duffel was bad enough at heart to stop short of no wickedness to carry his ends, and felt fearful he might send some of his minions to waylay him. How nearly he guessed the truth! He, however, gave another reason for wishing the fact kept among his friends and though they thought a little singular of the request, they acted as desired.
Duffel overheard a part of the conversation between him and a young friend—hence his knowledge of Hadley's movements. Mandeville did not know anything about the matter until some time afterward, and this ignorance led him to suspect Hadley of the theft, as already recorded.
He and Duffel agreed to keep their suspicions to themselves, until they could get at some tangible evidence to prove Hadley guilty. This exactly suited Duffel's purpose, as it gave him just the time and advantage he desired, in order to perfect his own schemes.
How easily a few words would have exonerated Hadley in the eyes of Mandeville: and had he made a confidant of the magistrate in this second instance, those words would have been spoken, to his enlightenment, and the great relief and joy of his daughter. But, by an unfortunate combination of circumstances, the reverse was the case.
CHAPTER X.
When Duffel learned that Mr. Mandeville would not interpose parental authority to compel his daughter to acquiesce in his wishes for her in regard to marriage, he set his scheming wits to work for the purpose of devising some means whereby to accomplish his ends. As we have already said, Duffel had taken a fancy to Miss Mandeville, with whom he was better pleased than with any other lady of his acquaintance. He called his passion love, but it was too sordid and selfish to be worthy of a name so sacred. More than once he called to see Eveline, and though she treated him civilly, he saw plainly that she had an aversion for his society, and that it cost her an effort to treat him with politeness, even though it was formal; so, as we were saying, he endeavored to hit upon some more successful mode of furthering his wishes.
"If Bill and Dick were only here," he thought to himself, "the matter could be easily come at; but, as it is, I don't see my way exactly. I should not like to trust every one, even of the League, with my secret, much less with the execution of such a difficult undertaking as that of placing her there. I wish I had not sent them after Hadley; I might have accomplished all without that; and it is not the pleasantest thing in the world to have a murder laying on one's conscience. But then, I thought other means would succeed: I had no idea that old Mandeville was becoming so tender-hearted. The old devil himself must have been playing mischief with my calculations. Well, let him play away; once Bill and Dick return, and I'll try my hand at heading his sulphurous majesty, and all others that oppose me."
In this mood, Duffel found himself when the duties of his office, in the absence of the captain, required his presence at the cave, to preside over the League at the regular meeting, as already known to the reader. The night of the meeting came, and found him undecided as to the course of action to pursue. Time was short; the captain might return any day and resume command; and what was to be done must be done soon.
In this state of uncertainty, he repaired to the cave, with the vague and indefinite hope that his associates in crime might be there also. Arrived there, he began pacing up and down in a state of uneasy and restless disquiet, looking expectantly At every new-comer, but with the same result—disappointment. It was but a few minutes until the hour for business, and he retired to the captain's room to make such preparations as were necessary for the occasion.
When he returned, the members present were all masked, a rule of the order making this a duty at initiating meetings, and he could not tell whether Bill and Dick were among the number or not.
The business proceeded until the question was asked:
"Is there any one who, having knocked at the door of our order, is now waiting for admission?"
"There is, your honor, Abram Hurd, who has been found worthy of a place among us."
"Is he present?"
"He is in waiting, your honor."
"Let him be conducted into the presence of the order."
It is not our intention to enter into all the details attending the ceremony of initiation into the order, as we apprehend that a few of the leading features in the process of villain-making will be more entertaining and acceptable to the reader.
When the candidate for admission entered the cave, he found himself vis-a-vis with fifty masks, of all shapes, forms and appearances; some horrible, some odd, some commonplace, and some fantastical, and altogether, a medley of strange, undecipherable, yet impressive combination of devices, well calculated to excite a feeling of awe, and, with the timid, of terror, in the mind of the beholder. Into this singular assemblage Hurd was ushered, a wilderness of confused images before him. He was taken through a course introductory to the more serious parts of the formula of induction into the order, which were intended to increase the first bewildered impressions on entering the cave, and was then led up in front of the captain, who addressed him thus:
"Abram Hurd! by your presence here, I am to understand that you desire to become a member of our order?"
"I do."
"Have you considered well before taking this step? The duties of members are often laborious, and their performance attended with the most imminent danger! We want no unwilling hands; are you ready to incur the risks?
"Suppose the requirements exacted at your hands should cause you to look the penitentiary in the face, have you the courage to do so?"
"I have."
"But further yet; should the good of our order require you to take the life of a fellow-being, would you, in obedience to the commands of your superior, perform that extreme act?"
"I was not aware that murder was included in the catalogue of duties imposed upon members of the order."
"Nor do I say that it is; I only wish to know if you are willing to go any lengths for the preservation or advantage of the order, in case of necessity? You will mark the difference between murder and killing in self-defense. With this explanation, are you willing to take the required obligation?"
"I am."
"With the understanding, then, that you may have to face imprisonment or death and obligate yourself to do all that shall be required of you for the good of the order, even to the taking of life, including all other acts that are held criminal among men, are you still willing to proceed?"
"I am!"
"I must furthermore inform you, that if you falter in the discharge of any duty imposed upon you, or manifest the least disposition to betray the order, your life will fall an immediate sacrifice for such delinquency. Are you prepared for this?"
"I am!"
"Will you take upon yourself these obligations in the form of an oath?"
"I will!"
"The oath is a most solemn and binding one; perhaps you may consider it horrible, and we want no faltering."
"I will take it."
"It involves life and death."
"I am prepared if it does."
"You cannot release yourself from its binding force; it is for life; and whether you abide with us or not, it binds you to secrecy. No after-thought, no change of feeling, no repentance can unchain its iron links from your soul. Are you still resolved?"
"I am!"
"Let me here advise you, that one more step will place you beyond the pale of retreat. Consider well what you are about to do. Until the oath is administered, you are at liberty to retire, and, blindfolded as you came, will be escorted to a place of safety to yourself and us, where we will leave you as we found you; but once you have taken upon yourself the obligations of the oath, all is fixed and immutable. Are you yet willing to take this last step?"
"I am!"
"Enough! you are worthy to become a member of our order. Lay your right hand upon your heart, your left upon the Book, and receive the oath."
The Oath.
"I, Abram Hurd, calling heaven, earth and hell to witness, do most solemnly swear, in presence of these, my fellow-beings, and into the ears of the spirits of the invisible world, that I now take upon myself the obligation of a member of the Order of the League of Independents, as laid down in the rules ordained for the government of said Order, and explained to me this night; and I also obligate myself to obey the officers of the League who shall be appointed over me for the good government of the same, in the performance of all and singular the duties that shall be required at my hands; and I furthermore obligate myself to advance the interests of the Order to the utmost of my ability, in all things and in all ways, even to the taking of property and life, if need be; and in so doing will use all the means of aid in my reach, including fire, steel and powder. And I most solemnly swear, in the presence aforesaid, of the visible and invisible worlds, that I will faithfully keep the secrets of the Order, and of all the members of the same that shall be intrusted with me, and no torture of body or mind shall extort them from me. And I hereby bind myself, in the same solemn manner, and in the same presence, that I will defend the members of the Order in all circumstances and places, us far as in me lies, even to the giving up of my own life, if such a sacrifice shall be required—that I will stand by them one and all in every emergency, and, if occasion require, will not hesitate to give false testimony in courts of justice, to clear them in suits at law, or in criminal prosecutions, choosing rather to brave the penalties of perjury than violate this my most solemn oath. And as I faithfully perform this my oath to the Order, in whole and in part, may I prosper; but if I willfully fail in anywise, to fulfill all that I have herein obligated myself to perform, may the heavens become black above me, may the earth become thorns and thistles, and a curse to me in body and in soul; may my life be devoid of peace, and harassing care be my portion, with blight and mildew on all my hopes, and all that my hand shall touch; may my friends desert me, and my own blood rise up and curse me; may I become an outcast, among men, a wanderer and a vagabond on the face of the earth, a prey to fear, and to the lashings of conscience: and, finally, when death comes, may he send me from the tortures of this life, to those of endless perdition hereafter."
After taking this horrible and blasphemous oath, the initiated was required to sign a compact with his own blood, when he was duly pronounced a member of the Order, which might truly be termed hellish. This done, the captain said:
"Brethren of the Order, remove your masks, and welcome your brother!"
In a minute the fifty masks were cast aside, and Hurd looked around him in amazement, for in that company were more than a dozen of his acquaintances and neighbors, who passed in society—most of them—for honest men; but most of all was he surprised to see Duffel there, in the character of first officer.
All came and shook him by the hand, and to their friendly greeting he could reply to many:
"Why, A., B., C., D., are you here? and here's 'Squire F., and Constable H., as I'm alive!" and such like expressions of recognition.
When the masks were removed, Duffel had the satisfaction of seeing Bill and Dick among those present, and so soon as the League adjourned, he drew them one side, and began a confidential conversation with them; but fearing that they might be overheard, before entering upon the secrets of their own, he conducted them into the captain's room.
This room was a curious structure. Its walls were solid rock, naturally of a brownish-gray color, but had been painted in a tasteful style of art, with graceful nymphs, winged cupids, vases of flowers, and many other embodiments of fancy, or representations from nature. The effect on the beholder was pleasant and cheering at first view, but a more critical observation would lead to the conclusion that there was too much of the voluptuous in the design and execution of the penciling. In one corner of the room was a door which opened into an inner room of small dimensions, in which was a downy couch, and all the paraphernalia of a luxurious and elegant bed-room. It was a place that contrasted very strangely with the misery and crime it had sheltered—with the tears of unavailing agony that had been wrung from eyes that sparkled above once happy hearts—alas! no longer the abode of peace, hope or joy. Ah! had those walls the power of speech, what tales of horror they could rehearse! what anguish reveal! what eloquent pleadings for mercy disregarded! what silencing of hope in despair! But they reveal not the secrets of the place, which are known to but One, from whose eye no dark dells or earth-emboweled caves can hide the transgressor; and the tears, the sighs, the blood—aye, the blood—of that solitary cavern are all known to Him, are all put down by the recording angel in the archives of heaven. But we digress.
When the three confederates were securely to themselves, Duffel inquired:
"How did you succeed in that affair. Well, I hope, as you are so soon back."
"Yes, better than we expected. We passed Hadley and awaited him in the mountains. Two pistol balls were sent through his heart, and in less than an hour his body was devoured by howling and hungry wolves, from a ravenous pack of which we escaped ourselves with difficulty, so fierce had a taste of blood rendered them!"
It will be noticed that Bill drew largely upon his imagination in this brief account of their adventures, and that he never once hinted at the real truth of the matter, and how they were driven away, and had to flee for their lives. He knew that his story had the characteristics of probability; and he had an object in view in imposing on his superior, though he had no doubt at all of Hadley's fate, believing him to be certainly dead.
"So far good," replied Duffel; "but are you sure the act was undiscovered and undiscoverable?"
"Quite sure, your honor; it was dark at the time, and no one near, and therefore impossible that any one should know of the transaction."
"Very well, I am pleased with your promptness and dispatch in the execution of this plot. You shall have your reward for the diligence and faithfulness of your labors. But just now I have another affair on hand, in which I shall need your aid."
"We are your men."
"I know I can rely upon you, and that is the reason I have chosen you from among all the other members of the League to assist me."
"And you shall never regret the choice. What is the nature of the work you would have us perform?"
"I have heretofore spoken to you concerning its principal feature. It relates to a lady, and you may remember what was formerly said in regard to the matter."
"Oh, yes, perfectly well."
"Well, I wish the young lady to be taken—kidnapped—and brought to this place. Can I rely upon you to do the deed?"
"We have already pledged ourselves to that effect."
"So you did, I had forgotten. I shall soon need your services, if all things proceed as present appearances indicate that they will. When everything is ripe for action, I will inform you of particulars, and give you the necessary instructions. Till, then, meet me every day in the 'swamp,' for I may wish your aid at any moment."
"All right; we'll be there."
And thus the conference of the villains ended.
CHAPTER XI.
THE INTERVIEW—THE PLOT—THE ABDUCTION.
Before proceeding to extremities, Duffel resolved to try the effect of smooth words and persuasive eloquence on the mind of Eveline. For this purpose he called upon her with the express intention of urging his claims to her hand in a personal interview. She received him, as she had been accustomed to do of late, with cold politeness. Had he been a real lover, actuated by pure motives, he would have been deterred from prosecuting his suit, or even mentioning the object of his visit, for he could not but perceive that he was not warmly received. But he had resolved upon a course of action, and was determined that nothing should influence him to turn aside from the line of conduct he had marked out for himself. After a little conversation on commonplace matters, he attempted to introduce the subject uppermost in his thoughts, but finding no encouragement, addressed his companion thus:
"Why this coldness, Miss Mandeville? would that I dared to call you, Eveline! You have ears for others, for me you have none; you have smiles for others, but on me you never bestow a gladdening look; and yet, of all the world, I most long for a smile, for the privilege to talk to you as a friend."
"I hope I have always treated you with kindness; it has certainly been my intention to do so."
"No, Miss Mandeville, not with kindness, pardon me, but it has only been with cold civility. I am sure that if you only knew how my heart yearns for a gentle and hopeful word from your adored lips, how it bleeds and recoils within my bosom when your cold words pierce it as with an arrow, you would certainly relent."
"The heart, Mr. Duffel, is not master of its own emotions; they come unbidden often, and not unfrequently remain when we would gladly have them depart."
"May I trust that in those words there is hope for me—that you would really banish old memories and old prejudices, and receive me as my heart continually pleads to be received?"
"I am not aware that any such changes as those of which you speak have taken place in my mind or memory. I have no old and dear memories that I wish to banish; and I believe my feelings toward you have not materially changed."
"Oh, what crushing words! Surely your heart cannot be so hard as to drive me away in despair, when my spirit is bleeding at the wounds your cruel words have made."
"As I was saying, when you were so impetuous as to interrupt me, a few moments ago, we cannot bid our feelings go and come as we would. The heart will not love this one or that, at the dictates of cold, calculating intellect, and the more it is urged to do so, the farther it is from yielding, especially when harsh means or commands are used to bend it. If you have permitted your feelings to rest upon me as you say they do, it is your misfortune, not my fault; and because I cannot reciprocate your feelings and wishes, you have no right to task me with cruelty or hard-heartedness; and I hope you will not forget this in any future remarks you may have to make on the subject."
"Pardon me, my dear Miss Mandeville, if, in the bitterness of my disappointment, I have spoken harsh or unguarded words. When we are in deep distress and anxiety we are apt to say and do things that we should not. It was farthest from my design to wound your gentle heart, or say one ungenerous word to you, the best beloved of my friends. Should you ever have the misfortune to endure the pangs of unrequited love, which may Heaven forbid, you will know how to feel for me, and to appreciate my situation."
"Perhaps it would be well for you to cease conversing on a subject so painful."
"Ah, there it is. Great sorrows are uppermost in the mind, and though every word brings a tear to the eye, and sends a pang to the heart, we must talk about them."
"I was always impressed with the idea that such griefs as lay hold upon the soul, were too deep for utterance."
"Yes, when the last ray of hope is gone, and the night of despair settles upon the soul. But, oh, must I go out into that unillumed darkness, forever shut out from light and hope? Is there no hope that I may some day call you more than friend? that in time, even though it be years in the future, I may be able to awaken emotions of tenderness in your heart?"
"I think I have answered that question often enough and plain enough. I do not know why you wish to put me to the unpleasant necessity of repeating that answer. But if I have, by any misconception of the use of words, and the meaning of language, failed to be sufficiently definite in my speech, please now, once for all, understand me distinctly. I cannot bid you hope for any change in my feelings toward you so far as love is concerned. I never can look upon you as an accepted suitor for my hand, nor will it ever be in my power to love you."
"Perhaps you may think differently hereafter."
"Never!"
"Then my purpose is fixed. You shall not wed another! You, too, shall feel what it is to be disappointed. You love Charles Hadley. Ah, I knew you did! but mark me, you shall never wed him—never! I would sooner imbrue my hands in his blood, than that you should! But he is a guilty culprit, a wandering fugitive from justice, and will never dare return."
"Mr. Duffel, I have heretofore borne your persecutions with patience; I will do so no longer. You, sir, are more guilty this day than Charles Hadley. Look at the blood spots on your hand."
"What! ha! said the villain, taken aback by the bold remark.
"Yes, you may well flush and turn pale when your crimes stare you in the face!"
"Crimes? Who dares to accuse me of crimes?"
"I do, sir!"
"You will repent it, madam."
"I do not fear your threats any more than I regard your hypocritical protestations of esteem."
"I will make you fear, then," and with the words he left the house in a rage.
While together, Eveline and Duffel were both defiant, though they felt internal fear of each other, she at his threats, and he in alarm lest she should know something of his secret villainies; and when alone each gave way to the feelings uppermost in the mind; she after this manner:
"God grant that no harm come to Charles from this wicked plotter! And yet I fear he has already contrived to do him mischief. How he was agitated when I threw out the accusation. Oh, my God! if his hands really are stained with innocent blood! Charles is no where to be found; what if he has fallen by the hands of his enemy? What a terrible suspicion! Would to Heaven I knew the truth!"
But the more she thought the more she feared, until the subject became so painful she tried to banish it from her mind.
Infuriated and alarmed, Duffel raged on this wise when alone:
"It's all over now! this palaver about love and money! I shall never win my way to the old man's purse in that manner; but I'll try my skill at taming that proud, free spirit! Blast the girl! I wonder if she knows anything? But pshaw! what a thought! How could she?—What a fool I was to be so startled!—Well she is shrewd, and I give her credit for her penetration; but she must not be left to surmise and publish her suspicions: I've too much on hand just now to be set upon by spies; and so the sooner I get her out of the way the better. Once in my power I'll see that she tells nothing to my hurt.—Oh, but won't I have a glorious time!—But enough of anticipation; I must be up and doing lest the captain return and spoil all my calculations; so now for my precious rascals, Bill and Dick—and then!—" And with this he started for the "swamp."
When Duffel reached the place of meeting, his accomplices were not there, and he sat himself down on the trunk of a fallen tree to ruminate until they should come. As was customary with him under such circumstances, his thoughts commenced running on schemes of villainy; and he became so deeply absorbed in fitting out the details of his present all-absorbing operation, as to be scarcely conscious of anything else, either as regarded time or place. At length his corrugated brow relaxed, a kind of sardonic smile of joy spread over his countenance, and he exclaimed in gleeful elation of spirit:
"I have it! By Jove! it's the crowning cap on the climax! I have been afraid of the consequences until now, for I know old Mandeville will raise earth and hell when he finds his daughter is missing. But now I have him! What a glorious idea! But it is a wonder I had not thought of it before. Well, it will not be the first time a dead man has served a good purpose!"
At this moment Bill and Dick made their appearance, and he immediately opened business with them.
"Well, you are here at last! I have been waiting on you this half-hour!"
"If it please your honor we are here at the appointed time. You must have some urgent business to be done that you are in such haste?"
"I have. The time has come that I shall need your service in the matter on hand. Miss Mandeville is in the habit of visiting the spot I pointed out to you, daily. To-morrow her father is going to C—— and there will be no one at home but the daughter and the house girl. You must be in waiting as agreed upon. You, Bill, must cautiously approach her and represent yourself as the friend of Hadley, for whom you must be the bearer of a message. If that does not succeed, then you must have recourse to the other means, as already arranged. So soon as you get her fairly in your possession and secured, bear her to the cave, with all dispatch, by the secret route. I will meet you on the way."
"All right. We understand the plan, and will take good care that it be properly carried out; but afterward we shall expect your aid, or at least your non-interference in a little affair of our own."
"Oh, certainly. Go ahead; but don't make a fuss about it. Who is she?"
"Oh, dang the women, we don't meddle with them; it is with Duval that we have an account to settle."
"Be careful there! Remember your oath to the order!"
"We do; but he is a traitor, and if you expect us to work for you in such life-taking business as we have lately been engaged in, you must let us have our way in this instance."
"Very well; if you will be cautious and commit no others but yourselves I shall not oppose you."
"We'll take care on that point."
"Remember to-morrow."
"Never fear. She shall be yours before the setting of the sun."
Again the villains parted; but Duffel was not well pleased with the demand the ruffians had made of him, until a new thought struck him, and he said to himself:
"That will do. I will get all I want out of them; and then to save trouble and to be sure of my own secret, I will have them arraigned before the Order for killing a member, and they shall suffer the penalty, death. I will then be free from fear. Capital! Everything is working to suit my purposes!"
Exulting wretch! would to heaven the vengeance of an angry God could overtake you, ere your schemes of fiendish crimes and dark murders are completed. But, alas for the innocent, crime is yet in the ascendant!
In a pleasant grove, a part of the old forest yet standing near to the dwelling of the Mandevilles, sat Eveline, beneath the shade of a friendly tree, in a spot rendered sacred to her by endearing associations and holy memories, musing on the past with heart cheering pleasure, on the present with sadness, and the future with hope. So absorbed had she become in her own meditations, time fled unheeded, and the world was forgotten—forgotten all, save only two beings, the loved and absent Charles—with whose well-being or misfortunes her own fate was strangely blended—and herself; but of herself in the single light in which the mysterious ties of love united her to him.
How long she had thus remained absorbed in her own reflections she knew not, when her attention was drawn from her own thoughts to outward things by the approach of a very neatly dressed gentleman, who, addressing her in the most respectful manner, inquired:
"Does Mr. Mandeville live in this vicinity?"
"Yes, sir," she replied, at the same time rising to her feet. "That is his residence yonder, which you can just distinguish through the surrounding trees."
"A beautiful place!—May I be so bold as to inquire if you know whether I will find him at home to-day?"
"No, sir, he is not at home."
"Perhaps I might still presume on your kindness, and inquire if he has not a daughter that is or has been afflicted, and if she is already convalescent, or is likely so to be soon."
"His daughter has been very sick, but has recovered."
"Would she—? But perhaps you do not know her history? Has she any friend now absent, from whom she would be pleased to hear, do you know?"
"What is the object of the question, sir?"
"I hope you will excuse me, if I should presume too far; but I am the bearer of a message from one who esteems her above all the world beside, and—"
"How! do you know Charles Hadley?" she inquired, with deepened interest.
"Ah, I perceive you are not unacquainted with the history of the young lady. Perhaps I am addressing Miss Mandeville in person?"
"Your supposition is true, my name is Mandeville. But you have not answered my question yet."
"Pardon me, fair lady, for my seeming rude neglect. Yes, I know Mr. Hadley well, and a better man does not live. He is my near and dear friend."
"Do you say so much? Then it is from him you have a message?"
"It is."
"Oh! tell me, is he well?"
"He is, but is longing to hear from you, to see you, to know that you are still spared by the hand of death."
"You speak as though he were near. Is it indeed so?"
"It is, fair lady; he awaits your presence, or such word as you may be pleased to send him, a short way from here, in the denser portion of the forest, not wishing to transgress your father's commands contrary to your wishes, or to expose himself to the displeasure of your parent, lest it bring trouble and disquiet to your own heart. But please read the note he commissioned me to bear to you; it probably explains the matter better than I can, as he only confided to me such facts as were essentially necessary for me to know, in order to an intelligent performance of the part he has allotted to me as his friend."
Saying this he presented a letter, which Eveline received with a joy-beaming countenance, and read with a wildly-throbbing heart. It ran as follows:
"Dearest Eveline: For some weeks past, I have been in a distant city, at the urgent call of duty, to attend the bedside of a sick mother. I left while you were yet very ill, and bore with me the heavy fear that you might never recover to bless me with a kind word or gentle look. So terrible has been the suspense, and so deep the anxiety of mind under which my spirit has labored, I could only perform my duties to a beloved mother by resolutely bending my energies to the task, and with the first hour of assured convalescence hastened to learn your fate. Oh, best beloved, may I not hope to see you again? I have learned that you are better, and the first great burden is removed, but I so long to behold you once more,—to hear you speak—to know that I am not forgotten. But you know I dare not come to you without incurring your father's deep displeasure; and I have been in doubt and perplexity how to act. This note will be borne to you by my most confidential friend, who will not betray us. If you can come to me, even if it be but for a few brief moments, I beseech you to do so; but do in this matter as your own better judgment shall determine. If you cannot come, send me a note, even though it be but a line, that I may have some precious token of remembrance to gaze upon. I am but a short distance from your home, and a few steps will bring you to me; if you come, place yourself under the guidance of my friend. Leaving you to act as prudence and your own heart shall dictate, I remain, impatiently,
"Yours, most faithfully,
"Charles."
"P.S. Do permit me to entreat you to come if you can. I have a thousand things to tell you, and some of them are cheering. I have not time to write more now."
As we have said, Eveline read this letter with the wildest emotions thrilling through her heart. A tumult of joy was in her bosom—joy more exquisite than had gladdened her spirit since the hour when her young heart knew that its deep love was reciprocated. Hadley was near her—he had been falsely accused, and instead of the vile criminal he was represented, he was a loving and dutiful son, fleeing to the bedside of a sick mother! What a consolation to her heart! Without a moment's hesitation, she resolved to see him, and turning to the gentleman, from whom she averted her face, while reading, to conceal her feelings, she said, deeply blushing as she did so:
"Mr. Hadley wishes me to see him, and directs me to place myself under your guidance. Will you be so kind as to show me the way to him?"
"With the greatest pleasure; for I know he will be but too happy to behold you. Pardon me, if, in my zeal for my friend, I should say aught that may be out of place."
He led the way into the deeper recesses of the forest, and she followed him. All this had been done in a moment, as it were, and without time for the slightest consideration. Under other circumstances, or with a little reflection, Eveline might have acted differently.
The two had proceeded a quarter of a mile or more, when Eveline, in passing a large tree, was suddenly seized by rude hands, and ere she had time to scream, a covering was placed over her mouth, and her hands secured. In these operations her recent guide took an active part, and when they were completed, he said:
"You shall not be injured by us, fair lady, and we only regret that we are compelled, by the force of circumstances, to put you to the inconvenience of a journey on so short a notice. You must go with us; but we will deal tenderly with you so long as you are peaceable and quiet; but you must beware how you attempt to make any noise; for we will not suffer ourselves to be betrayed by such means."
With these remarks the two kidnappers, one on each side of their captive, started off through the wilderness at as rapid a rate as their fair prisoner could move.
To attempt a description of Eveline's feelings at this hour would be a vain task. In a moment, she was brought down from the pinnacle of hope to the depths of despair; for she saw in all this that had passed the hand of Duffel, her avowed enemy; and, indeed, as the reader has doubtless already concluded, she was in the hands of none others than Bill and Dick, who were bearing her off to the cave.
CHAPTER XII.
When Mr. Mandeville returned home in the evening, he found the maid in great trouble on account of Eveline's long continued absence, and he himself became alarmed on learning that she had not been seen since early in the forenoon. He knew that she often recreated in the grove, and, after finding her in no more likely place, he proceeded thither. No Eveline was there, and no voice answered to his repeated calls; but in his search he found two billets of paper, and hastening to the house, for it was too dark to read them in the woods, he eagerly perused them.
One of the two was the letter to Eveline, purporting to be from her lover, which she had accidentally lost in her agitation, at the moment of setting out on her at first hopeful but sadly terminated errand; its contents are already known to the reader; and the other read as follows:
"Mr. Mandeville:—Being aware of your dislike to me, and having learned that you charge me with a crime of great magnitude—no less than that of stealing your horse, (of which, permit me to say, I am as innocent as yourself,) and feeling assured, from these circumstances, that there was no hope for me ever to gain your consent to wed Eveline, I have taken the only alternative left me in the premises—that of persuading your daughter to elope with me. She has consented; and ere you read this note, will be my wife. I hope you may find it in your heart to pardon us for taking this step, as it appears to us the only way in which our ardent wishes can be accomplished; but if you cannot pardon me, at least forgive Eveline, who has had a hard struggle between filial affection, duty and regard, and the strong pleadings of her heart; though her deep love at last conquered.
"But as we feel certain you will be highly exasperated at the first on receiving this intelligence, we have deemed it best to absent ourselves for a time. You will not be able to find us, if you choose to institute a search, until such time as we please to show ourselves; hence you need not put yourself to the trouble of looking after us. So soon, however, as you feel a willingness to receive us as your children, we will gladly return to you. To ascertain your feelings on this subject, we will voluntarily open a correspondence with you at some period in the future, perhaps in a month, when you can communicate to us your wishes and commands.
"With sentiments of high esteem, and deeply pained feelings that I am compelled to take this step, I am, my very dear sir,
"Your obedient servant,
"Charles Hadley."
Mandeville read this letter a second time to assure himself that its contents were what they seemed, and when satisfied on this point, he stood mute for a brief space of time, as if to fully take in the astonishing truth that Eveline, his only, his beloved child, had so far forgotten her duly and her promise, yes, her solemn promise, as to leave her home and his care, for the love of a stranger! At last the great reality seemed to enter his soul in all its crushing force, tearing from his heart the affections that had clustered around his only child for years, from his bosom the hopes of a lifetime, and leaving him a desolate, smitten, soul-chilled being, with all the beauty and brightness of life departed!
Oh, ye children of affectionate parents! beware how you crush the hearts that have "nourished and cherished" you as only parents' hearts can do! God will smite the undutiful child with a curse! Bear and forbear, even if the commands of those appointed over you should seem to be unjust. Remember their labor, and toil and suffering in your behalf, and spare, oh! spare them in their old age, when their bodies are ripening for the grave, and their spirits for the skies. Let not their gray hairs go down to the chambers of the dead in sorrow, nor their failing strength be suddenly brought low by the anguish you have inflicted upon their spirits; but spare them as you would be spared!
Several minutes elapsed before Mr. Mandeville could collect his scattered and stunned thoughts together. The blow was so sudden, the shock so terrible, they almost prostrated him. He walked up and down the room, with paleness on his cheeks, and a load in his bosom. The only evidence he manifested of the great grief that was consuming him was an occasional groan, which came up from the great deep of his heart, as though they were forced out by some unseen or over-mastering power. He was like the tall oak of the forest when blasted by the fiery thunderbolt! What a sad picture!
At length the exclamation burst forth from his lips, as though the overcharged heart would relieve itself in words:
"Oh, my God, pity me!" and he clasped his hands, and pressed them upon his laboring breast, as if to still its tumult. Then came another groan, accompanied by a deep, soul-desponding "Oh!"
And the strong man was calm. But such a calmness! It seemed as if years of suffering had stamped their impress upon his brow, and in his face, in those brief moments of agony! Ah, how true it is, that the soul may grow old in a day!
After a time he again took up the letters and perused them.
"How artful!" he mused to himself, as he read the one to Eveline. "Every word is written with studied care, and every sentence conceals a temptation. Then the last, the postscript, so much to tell her, to excite her curiosity, as well as operate upon her affections!—The villain! But she ought not to have yielded to his solicitations; even in her great love I can find no adequate excuse for her. She knew he was accused of a crime, and pledged me her solemn word that she would never see him until the accusation was proved false. But she is gone—gone! Oh, what desolation in the thought! And I am left alone and forsaken in my woe! Ungrateful child! may heaven reward you as you have dealt by me! No, no, God forbid! Heaven be merciful to her! But on him, on the miscreant who is at the bottom of all this undutiful conduct, of all the pain it inflicts, may the fierce lightning of God's vengeance descend in burning wrath, and as a consuming fire! God of heaven! thou who beholdest the anguish of a stricken parent's heart, smite him with a curse; aye, pour out upon his forsaken head the vials of thy hot anger! Give him no rest to his soul, day or night, until the hour of reckoning shall come!"
Amen! Let that prayer enter the ear of Him who sitteth upon the Throne; and may He commission the angels of wrath to bear the curse, and heap it upon the head of the guilty author of all this wretchedness, and of the unutterable pain inflicted upon another heart!
Bill and Dick proceeded with their prisoner through the denser portions of the wilderness for two or three miles on foot, when they met Duffel, who had prepared horses for their flight, as it was a good long way to the cave. The villain approached Eveline, and said:
"I hope you will pardon the seeming rudeness which necessity compels me to manifest toward you in the present emergency. I hope soon to find you a pleasant resting-place, where I shall have leisure and opportunity to make explanations and amplify on this brief apology."
To this insulting speech Eveline made no reply, but she cast a defiant and piercing look upon the miscreant, which made him quail with cowardly fear, and took from his manner much of its bold assurance. He saw in that one glance of her eye an unconquerable resolve to meet him as a foe, and never to be vanquished; the victory he had flattered himself as being nearly won, he now saw afar off, unless the most beastly violence should be resorted to. But without a moment's delay, she was placed upon a horse, himself and accomplices mounted on others, and, he by her side, with Bill and Dick in the rear, the whole party pushed forward for the cave, where they arrived a little past the middle of the afternoon without any serious adventure.
Duffel placed his captive in the Captain's room, with the bed-room to retire to at her pleasure.
"I trust," said he, "you will find this a comfortable place; and be assured I shall strive to do all in my power to make your stay here as agreeable as possible. Books you shall have whenever you desire them; there are a number in the case yonder, and any others you may wish for shall be procured. The length of time you will remain my guest depends upon your own choice, with one condition annexed, of which I will speak to you more fully to-morrow. At present I have urgent business to attend to elsewhere, which cannot be delayed; I regret to leave you so soon; I hope you will pardon me, and I will endeavor to make amends in the future for any apparent neglect at the present. You will find the key to the bed-room in the lock on the inside; make yourself easy during my absence. I shall lake the precaution to lock the door of egress and ingress to this room, so that you may rest in perfect security that no one can harm you. And now good evening, for I must be off, and may pleasant dreams attend your slumbers."
With this mockingly polite address and adieu he left the room and the cave, securing the door after him, and was soon on his way back.
Eveline had sustained herself with the most determined and heroic fortitude during all the trying scenes of the day, and until Duffel was gone. By a great effort of the will to seem calm, she had kept herself from betraying any emotions of fear while her enemies were near to observe her bearing; but now that she was alone, the unwonted tension to which her powers of endurance had been subjected, caused a reaction to take place; she was overwhelmed by the flooding tides of thought and despair that rushed in upon her. What a day of calamity it had been! What a night of rayless darkness was before her!
She knew that she was in the hands and at the mercy of an unscrupulous villain, who was incapable of performing a noble or magnanimous act, but base enough to resort to any means in the use of which to carry an end, or gain a point. She but too well knew the fate before her, if no means of resistance were placed in her hands; and where to find these she knew not. She was, as we said, overwhelmed with dismay. But gradually, as she had time to reflect, to collect her thoughts, and form resolves, she began to grow calm. There was a strength in firmness of will which could surmount many difficulties. It was, indeed, a kind of wall of defense about her, which might materially aid her in the contest she clearly saw before her, with her unprincipled enemy. He was, she knew, like all villains, a coward, and she determined, among other things, to operate upon his fears.
It might be supposed that she would feel little like sleep under the circumstances by which she was surrounded; but having overheard part of an aside conversation between Duffel and his confederates, in which he mentioned meeting them at some place designated, and about something to be done on the morrow, she felt assured of what she could not have been certain on his own word merely, that he had business which would detain him until the next day, and, consequently, would not return to molest her for the present. She retired to the inner room, locked and bolted the door, (she had not expected to find a bolt on the inside, and the fact that there was one gave her a feeling of greater security,) then knelt down and offered up a fervent prayer to heaven for protection, for shielding care and final deliverance; after which she laid down, and composed herself to rest. Her slumbers were peaceful and undisturbed, attended with pleasant dreams; and she awoke, in the morning, as she supposed—for the light of day never visited the dark recesses of her abode, which were lighted by artificial means alone—much refreshed, with her spirits quite restored to their former elasticity.
She went out into the other room, and selected a book for perusal; it chanced to be a work on metaphysics, and after poring over its abstruse pages for some time, she became drowsy, and finally fell into a dreamy sleep. In her fitful slumbers, she was visited by a dream or vision of extraordinary vividness, which made an indelible impression upon her mind, because she felt personally interested in the characters that appeared before her, and by alluding to the scenes, she might alarm the guilty soul of her persecutor; so, at least, she hoped and believed; with what reason we shall see hereafter.
After leaving the cave, Duffel hastened back to Mr. Mandeville's as fast as his fleet steed could bear him. It was after dark before he drew up in front of that gentleman's house, his horse covered with sweat and foam, and well-nigh exhausted. It was his wish to be there before the father should institute any search for his missing daughter, that he might succeed in throwing the blame upon Hadley, in case the letters dropped for the purpose of implicating him should not have fallen into the hands of the parent; and with this view he had a story already made up, to the effect that some one had seen the fugitives in their flight. As was his custom, he paused on the outside of the house to listen, hoping by that means to obtain a knowledge of affairs, and of the feelings of Mr. Mandeville relative to his daughter's desertion or abduction as the case might be. He soon heard the hurried footsteps of that gentleman, as, in his deep distress, he paced the floor—heard, also, his broken exclamations and heavy groans, and the only sentiment all these things awakened in his callous soul was expressed in the unfeeling words spoken to himself, in thought:
"The old man takes it hard."
It was a very extraordinary thing for Mr. Mandeville to express his thoughts aloud, but he did so on this occasion, and Duffel heard his comments on the letters, and his execration of the writer, as also his reflections upon his daughter's conduct; then there was a crumpling sound like that of paper, as though the sheets were crushed in the hand of the reader. All this was music to the crime-stained soul of the guilty listener, who exulted in the success of his scheme, and felt additional assurance of ultimately triumphing in all his undertakings. But when the spirit-bowed father, in his hopeless agony, called down the curse upon the head of the author of the wrong, and appealed to Heaven for vengeance, the villain cowered as if truly smitten with a bolt; and the bare thought that the fate prayed for might be his, sent a cold chill to his heart and forced out great drops of perspiration on his brow. He trembled in every limb, like one in an ague fit, and it was some seconds before he could regain command of his faculties. At last he felt something like himself again, and not wishing to hear anything more of the same kind, he knocked at the door, and the next minute stood face to face with Mr. Mandeville. Black as his corrupt heart had become, he could not look unmoved upon that countenance, and behold the ravages made in a short hour by the pains of soul he had inflicted.
"Are you sick, Mr. Mandeville?" was his first inquiry.
"No, sir; but worse, much worse than sick."
"Indeed! How is that?"
"Eveline is gone!"
"Gone?"
"Yes, gone forever!"
"What!" and the miscreant evinced the utmost surprise and astonishment. "You do not mean to say she is dead?"
"No, no! Would to God she was! I would a thousand times rather have followed her to the grave! But read, read, and know for yourself what has happened." Saying which, he placed the letters in the hypocrite's hands, and then, while he was reading them, buried his face in his own hands, and sat in mute but agonized grief.
Duffel read the letters with secret delight, repeating to himself at every particular place where it suited him best, "Glorious!" and at the close of all, "I must reward Bill for this. He's a perfect gem of a devil for such work."
But to Mandeville, in well-feigned amazement, he exclaimed:
"Charles Hadley!"
"Yes," said the afflicted parent, lifting his bowed head, "of all the world, him! a criminal and vagabond, who had fled from justice to hide himself from the face of man! Oh, my God! to think that she would forsake home, friends, a good name, and trample upon a parent's love for such a villain!"
"Perhaps it is not yet too late to save her?" suggested Duffel.
"How? what?" ejaculated the other, catching at the words as a drowning man would at a straw.
"I say it may be possible that the marriage-rites have not yet been performed. This may be written for a blind to prevent pursuit."
"No, no; I cannot doubt its truth, and would not have a hope raised in my heart to be crushed out again by despair. Beside, whither should I go in pursuit of them?"
"I see you are in hopeless despondency, but I do not feel like giving over without a struggle—I have too much to lose in Eveline. Shall I try to rescue her?"
"Oh! yes, if you wish to do so."
"And if, by any means, I can circumvent this Hadley, and prevent their union, I have your consent to make her my wife?"
"Certainly."
"And will you interpose parental authority in my behalf?"
"Yes, after this I will."
"I have still one request more to make, and that is, that you will permit me to act in my own way, and according to my own judgment in this matter."
"Do so; I have no advice to give."
"Very well; I am to understand, then, that if by any means I can rescue Eveline from Hadley, she is to be my wife?"
"Yes."
"Then I will try. I will follow them to the end of the world if need be. Perhaps you may hear from me soon, perhaps not for a month. Good-by."
In a few moments he was galloping away at full speed, as if to impress his recent host with the idea that he was in great haste to be after the fugitives.
Mr. Mandeville had been too deeply absorbed with his own feelings to pay very strict attention to what Duffel was saying; but the words by any means now rose vividly up in his mind, and like a flash came the thought—
"He may intend to murder Hadley!"
Starting to his feet, he hastened out for an explanation; but Duffel was already gone, and turning back, he entered his dwelling with the expression in his thoughts—
"Let him die: it matters not!"
Ah, had he known the true state of the case, and the devilish import of those words in the mind of the abominable wretch who had uttered them, how suddenly would he have aroused himself to action. But now he cared not.
"If," thought he, "Eveline is so ungrateful, if she thinks so little of a father's love, let her go! Why need I seek to force her to stay with me when she prefers the society of another? Oh, if I had not loved her so tenderly, I could endure this trial better. But why mourn and lament? No, rather let me forget her, as she has forsaken me."
But he could not forget her with all his resolving, and we will leave him with his sorrow.
CHAPTER XIII.
THE INTERVIEW.
Faithful to his wicked intentions, Duffel presented himself before Eveline on the day succeeding the one in which she was placed in confinement at the cave, and having no choice in the matter, she was obliged to become a participator in the conversation he was pleased to introduce and force upon her. She was seated on an elegant sofa—for the apartment was luxuriously furnished—when he entered; and with all the assurance of an accepted friend, he walked up and took a seat by her side. She was reading at the time, and when he entered she barely raised her eyes from the pages of the book, as if to assure herself who it was that intruded, and then, without further notice or any sign of recognition, continued to peruse the work in hand. This unexcited, cool and self-possessed conduct was not what the villain seemed to expect or desire; he hoped to find a suppliant in tears, instead of a calm and apparently unconcerned woman; he was prepared for such a subject, but for the one before him he was not, and he was at a loss how to proceed; indeed, just at that moment he was the most uneasy of the two. But he must do something, and so opened the interview on this wise:
"You seem to be deeply absorbed in the contents of that book, Miss Mandeville, and I am pleased to see you so well entertained in this rather solitary abode."
As this remark did not positively require a reply, Eveline continued to read without opening her mouth; Duffel bit his lip in vexation, but after a pause of some duration continued:
"I am very sorry to interrupt you when so agreeably employed, but necessity often compels us to do things abhorrent to our feelings; and as I have some important communications to make, which it is best for you to know immediately, I must beg to be permitted to disturb you for a few minutes. Perhaps it will be some compensation for the brief interruption to give you the latest intelligence from your father and former home."
At these words Eveline for the first time raised her eyes to the face of the villain, as if to ascertain the expression of his countenance, and learn whether he was in a serious or mocking humor. He went on:
"I had the pleasure of a long interview with Mr. Mandeville last evening. He was in much distress at your absence, and thought you were very undutiful to leave him in his old age without even a parting word."
At this unfeeling recital, Eveline cast upon the heartless wretch a look of indignation, and her dark eyes fairly shot fire; he quailed under the scathing rebuke of those orbs, as he had often done before, but was chagrined that he had been unable to draw a single word from her lips, and mentally resolving to bring her to the speaking point, he proceeded:
"But sorry and indignant as he was at your conduct, he was far more deeply exasperated at Hadley."
"Hadley!" repeated she, in the first moment of surprise.
"Yes; that very loving letter he addressed to you fell into your parent's hands, together with another one from the same writer, directed to himself wherein Hadley asks forgiveness for himself, and especially for you, fair lady, whom he represents to be in deep distress, that love irresistibly draws you to him and away from home."
"Villain!" ejaculated Eveline, with flashing eye.
"Be careful of your words, my dear; you are not now in your father's house, and it may not suit my purpose to allow you the use of such epithets, as applied to myself."
With this remark, Eveline at once turned to her book and commenced reading again, as much as to say:—"Have the conversation all to yourself, then!" and the miscreant so understood and interpreted the act, and felt that he was outgeneraled by the superior tactics of his opponent, notwithstanding the immense advantage he was master of in the contest.
"Nay, fair lady," he said, "I did not intend to cut you off from the privilege of speech, but only to advise you to be a little careful in the use of terms and epithets."
"Sir, if after forcing a conversation upon me on your own terms, and at an advantage of your own choosing, you are too cowardly to hear what I please to say, you must talk to yourself. When I speak at all I select my own words. I do not belong to that class of contemptible poltroons, who slink behind others to hide themselves and their crimes, basely exposing the innocent to the censures and punishment that should fall upon their own guilty heads. No, sir; woman as I am I would scorn to stoop to such a low depth of infamy to screen myself from any position, even from death itself; and if you, with all this littleness of mind and cringing cowardice of soul, expect to intimidate me by any menaces, all I have to say is, you have 'reckoned without your host.' And permit me to tell you that there are no words in any language half adequate to express my contempt of you as a man, or my abhorrence of your acts as a criminal, of whom, thus far, the gallows has been shamefully cheated."
This bold speech fairly took the rascal out of himself. He ground his teeth in rage and seemed on the point of committing some desperate deed, but those unquailing and flashing eyes were fixed upon him with a look that seemed to burn into his innermost soul, and penetrate its dark recesses of guilt. He was again conquered by that look; there was a magnetic power about it he could not withstand; and swallowing his rage as best he could, replied after this manner:
"I perceive you have that implement for which your sex is so distinguished, a ready tongue, and I must confess it points words sharply and drives them home with force, and under some circumstances I might feel like retaliating; but here, as my guest, I shall not presume to do so; it will accord much better with my wishes to proceed with the matter in hand,—As I was saying, your father fully believes that Hadley has persuaded you to leave home and elope with him, and he is so shocked by your want of filial affection, as to be totally disqualified for acting with his usual energy; beside, he says if you care so little for him as to desert him and the home of your childhood for a horse-thief and a vagabond, he cares not to seek after you, but says you may go."
At the first, Eveline felt like weeping, and for a moment buried her face in her hands; but then she felt it would not do to give way to feelings of tenderness and sorrow in her present situation, and choking down the great grief that swelled up in her bosom on her father's account, she suddenly assumed a commanding attitude, and addressed the calculating human fiend as follows:
"Inhuman monster! how long do you expect thus to dare the vengeance of heaven? You have stained your soul with crimes that would darken the pit of night; you have committed robberies, and thefts, and murder! Ay, start and turn pale when your crimes stare you in the face, you have done so before, and you will again. You thought there was no eye to witness your plotting deeds, no ear to hear your murderous plans except those of your vile confederates, but you see I am aware of your crimes."
"Who told you these things?" he demanded, breaking in upon her discourse.
"That is a question I shall not take the trouble to answer; it is enough for you to understand that I know what you are, and that long-delayed justice will overtake you, perhaps, sooner than you deem it possible your secret acts can be brought to light; for you seem to have forgotten that there is One, whose eye never slumbers, whose ear is always open to the prayer of the distressed and to the voice of the blood of the innocent, which crieth from the ground as did the blood of Abel."
"Ah, what a pity it is you are not a parson, or at least a parson's wife! You really talk like a preacher; but I fear your discourse has produced little more effect upon your auditory than do the polished words of a fashionable divine upon his; all very fine, but fancy sketches are not apt to effect as much with sober, common-sense people, as is the truth."
This was said with something of returning assurance, Duffel having tried to work himself into the belief that all was guess-work on the part of Eveline, so far as her accusations were concerned. She saw this, and in a moment the remembrance of her dream that morning flashed across her mind, and she determined to try the effect a reference to the scenes which passed in review before her mental vision would have upon him:
"Sir, your assumed assurance would soon leave you if you were in a court-room, and the evidence of your guilt, as I have it, detailed by witnesses. When your secret conference with those vile instruments—not yet so vile as yourself—whom it has pleased you to use as tools, were made known before a court and jury, your brazen impudence would depart, and the specter of a gibbet in the distance—and but a short distance, too—would pale your unblushing cheek and palsy your false tongue, skillful as you may have been in casting blame upon others by deceptive and lying words. When it was proved that you stole my father's horse; that you are responsible for the absence of Mr. Hadley; that you pointed the knife and the pistol at his heart, and then mendaciously represented him as the thief and kidnapper who is found in your own person; then, sir, would you vail your face and go out no more among men, but upon your forehead, as now upon your soul, would be the brand of thief, robber, murderer! Ay, well may you cower! well may the cold sweat force itself out upon your brow! Did it never enter into your debased mind that the villain who is degraded enough to sell himself to crime for a little sordid dust, will, for a larger sum, betray his employer? Do you suppose that when you meditate vengeance upon your tools, they will idly await your pleasure and plans, and lift no hand in their own defense?"
At this point Duffel actually sprang to his feet, the great drops oozing from every pore! How had his secret thoughts become known to her?—thoughts that no mortal ear had ever heard him utter?
"Girl! girl!" he shouted, "who and what are you? demon, witch or spirit?"
Then he paused a moment, as if to collect himself, and decide upon a course of action. Becoming a little more composed, he continued:
"If you are in league with hell, then are we of one family if you have not belied me, and I shall take it upon myself to strengthen the affinity by—"
"Sir!" she said, with a commanding look which awed him into silence, (for his superstitious feelings were already in the ascendant, and he began to fear her) "I have no connection with the household of his Satanic majesty, nor do I intend to have, albeit you have intimated to the contrary."
"Don't be too sure of that," he interrupted. "You must know that when I set my heart upon a measure, I never allow myself to be defeated in its accomplishment; and just now the darling object I have in view is a union with yourself."
This was said with much of his usual assurance, though the expression of his face gave indications of internal uneasiness, and a trembling of soul, which belied the ostensible bravery put on for the occasion.
"You speak as though there was but one will in the world, of which you were the fortunate possessor; permit me to disabuse your overweening confidence and selfishness on this point. I have no wish to pass words with such an unmanly representative of mankind as you, sir, but let me assure you it is my very calm and fixed determination to show you that all your intentions cannot be carried out."
"We will see, then," he said, with something of aroused indignation, "whose will is the stronger, or, rather, who has the advantage in this contest. You seem to forget your situation at the present moment, and that you are entirely and completely in my power."
"I forgot nothing, sir: I am in the hands of One, before whom you are as a grasshopper; and His justice does not always slumber."
"Turning parson again! It is all very well; but just now that high authority seems to be engaged in some one else's behalf, and, much to my satisfaction, has left you to take care of yourself. I, on the contrary, having an immediate interest in your welfare, have undertaken to care for you; and inasmuch as your very powerful ally has given you into my hands, I esteem it my interest and privilege to find a home and provide for you."
These words of derision were spoken with mock politeness, and the manner of the speaker indicated that much of his wonted assurance had returned.
"May that God you impiously defy, whose attributes you daringly and deridingly blaspheme, let fall upon your guilty head the just punishment for your crimes; I ask for you no greater curse—Heaven knows that will be dreadful enough!"
"There, that will do! We have had enough preaching for one day; let us now proceed to business. I was just remarking how completely you are in my power, and a glance at your situation will at once reveal to you the fact that I have you where I can compel a compliance with my wishes; but I do not propose to use force, unless compelled to do so by your own obstinacy and willfulness. I have already, on former occasions, spoken to you of my deep and unquenchable love for you, and it is not my purpose to repeat the declarations made at those several interviews farther than to say, that my feelings toward you remain unchanged; I regard you too highly to permit another to wed you; I may be selfish, but that is a natural result of love; no one ever loved but he desired to possess the object of his affection. In this respect I do not claim for myself any superior excellence; my love is human in kind, it only differs from others by being stronger in degree; and the deeper the love, the more ardent the desire to win the beloved. This is my only apology for bringing you here; and, as it is a very flattering one, I hope you will accept it, and pardon the act to the performance of which I was irresistibly driven by this strongest passion of the human heart."
Seeing the direction he was giving the conversation, Eveline took up her book and commenced reading. Duffel was exceedingly vexed, but this time he was not to be balked in his designs, and so took the book from her hands, saying as he did so.
"I beg pardon, but now I must and will be heard. I have already informed you of your father's feelings toward yourself and Charles Hadley: I have now another piece of intelligence to communicate to you; and that is, that your parent gave you to me in case I should be able, by any means, to save you from a union with Hadley."
"It is false! My parent gave me his solemn promise never to interpose his authority to compel me to marry against my will."
"Very well: you at the same time gave him your word never to see Hadley until he was cleared of the crime imputed to him; he believes you have been unfaithful on your part, and that he, therefore, is no longer bound to observe the compact entered into between you."
"Again you are guilty of misrepresentation. My father's word was pledged to me before he had even asked me not to see Mr. Hadley, and there was, consequently, no compact between us, but a voluntary promise on either side."
"Which you violated by going to meet Hadley, as you supposed."
"No, sir, I did not. My word was given to be observed so long only as Mr. Hadley appeared to be guilty. I know him to be innocent, and that knowledge absolves me."
"As you please on that point; for it matters but little, and does not change the view taken of the subject by Mr. Mandeville, who, as I said, has given you to me on the one condition of preventing a union between you and Hadley; and I am at liberty to act just as I see fit in order to accomplish this end. Don't you see that I have everything my own way, and your father's sanction, also, to any measures I may adopt?"
"What you say may be true, though I have no evidence whatever that it is; for if you would lie to my parent, you would lie to me also. One thing, however, I do know, and that is, that you have not yet obtained my consent to your proposed measures, and being of age, I have the legal right to make such disposition of my hand as I may see proper; and be assured I will never bestow it upon you! Sir, I would prefer to wed the vilest wretch in the Penitentiary of any State before you."
"You may repent the use of such words, fair lady; and, indeed, but for my merciful feelings toward you, ere this you would have been glad to beg the boon I now offer and you reject."
"Infamous villain! never!"
"We shall see."
"And we shall see!"
She fixed upon him that look from which he had so often shrunk before, and again he quailed beneath it.
"From what you have already said," he replied, avoiding her gaze, "I am led to suppose you suspect me of crimes in the eyes of the law, which it would not be pleasant for the world to know. This is an additional reason why I cannot permit you to leave this place except as my wife; for I am not prepared just yet to enter the court-room. I am persuaded that one of your strongest reasons for refusing to marry me, has its foundation in a former preference, and is kept active by the hope of a union with the object of that preference; if so, permit me to say to you that Charles Hadley is dead!"
"Perhaps, but I must have better evidence of the fact than your simple, unsupported word, or I will not believe it. I know you bargained to have him killed, but I hope God overruled your wicked intentions."
"Your hope is vain, and I will bring you the necessary witnesses to-morrow to prove my words; at present I will state the fact, and add; for your benefit, that, whether true or false, your destiny is the same, and from it you cannot, shall not escape. I will now lay down the unalterable decree of fate, which you may as vainly attempt to avoid, as to pluck down the stars of heaven, or to blot out the sun from the firmament!"
"Perhaps."
"I give you one week in which to con the matter over in your mind; if at the end of that time you willingly consent to become my wife, well and good; if not, then I will make you mine whether you will or not!"
"Perhaps."
"Girl! don't presume too far on my patience. I warn you it is not the most enduring in the world."
"I am not so sure of that. Cowards are generally very patient when there is no danger at hand."
"You will repent this, girl!"
"And you, sir! what will you do when the rope dangles in your face?"
"Kiss my pretty wife and commend her to the compassion of her friends."
"You will never have a wife, sir. God in His infinite mercy, will spare all my sex from such a fearful calamity."
"Enough words for this time. To-morrow I will bring the witnesses of Hadley's death, as I promised you; and this day week I will receive your final answer to my last offer of a peaceable marriage."
So saying, he left the room and the cave.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE EVIDENCE—DUFFEL THWARTED.
It would be difficult to tell which of the two, Eveline or Duffel, was most uneasy, or least alarmed, during the progress of the conversation recorded in the last chapter. Duffel feared that Bill and Dick had played him false, and he also saw that his antagonist was too much for him in a fair contest. Eveline felt an internal dread of her adversary, though she gave no outward manifestation of fear, having firmly resolved to withstand his every attack, and if need be die in defense of her virtue. When alone, however, the feelings uppermost in her mind were those of distress and apprehension; and as she took a survey of the position in which she was placed, and contemplated the hopelessness of her situation, a tide of emotions, long suppressed, swept over her spirit, and yielding to her feelings, she bowed her head, and wept.
When Duffel was alone, he called up all that had passed, and as he dwelt on the revelation of his plots as made to him by Eveline, he came to the conclusion that the sooner he could get rid of Bill and Dick the better; for it must have been through them that she came in possession of the secrets known only to themselves.
"I'll teach them a lesson!" he said, "and once clear of these fellows I will never trust rascals again. I wish they would, hurry and make way with Duval; I would then have them! However, I must have an interview now, and use them awhile longer."
He proceeded to the "swamp," where his associates were to meet him. They were already in waiting when he arrived, and without ceremony or circumlocution, he accosted them as follows:
"So, then, you have turned traitors, have you?"
"Traitors!"
"Yes, and been developing my secrets."
"If any tongue but yours should dare make the accusation, it would be silenced forever," replied Bill, in much excitement. "Who dares to make such a charge against us? We demand to know, and his lying lips shall be sealed with his own blood!"
"There, that will do. It was only a woman that intimated to me that you were unfaithful; and I thought then, as I think now, that it was all guess-work with her."
Here he narrated so much of the interview with Eveline as related to themselves, and concluded by asking if they had held any private conversation that she could by any possibility have overheard.
"Not a word, your honor; we did not so much as make a sign by which she might suspect us or you."
"Very well, I am satisfied; but it seems she either knows or suspects something, and we must be more than ever on our guard. What I wish to say to you now, is, that this lady, either for willfulness or out of disbelief, affects to discredit my statement concerning Hadley's death, and I wish you to accompany me to the cave to-morrow, and confirm my statements. You need not implicate yourselves, but give the facts as you saw them transpire."
"All right we'll be there; and I guess we can fix up the right kind of a story for the occasion."
"And to-morrow night you must make a descent upon 'Squire Williams' pasture-field, and save a little of his grass by removing a part of his stock. You understand?"
"Perfectly. We will try, but it's getting to be rather a dangerous business of late. Since Mandeville's horse was stolen, the men have taken it into their heads to defend their property. Only a few nights ago, two of our men went over with the intention of taking Thompson's fine bay; but he was on hand, and shot one of them through the arm; and they were glad to get off without the horse."
"Indeed! that's bad news, for we must make a raise somehow. I don't want the captain to come back and find we have done nothing in his absence."
"Well, we will do the best we can; but it is about time we were leaving this part of the country, at least for awhile. I don't think we can effect much, and we run great risks of being detected."
"Do you think suspicion rests on any of our members?"
"Well I can't say as to that. People are beginning to suspect everybody they don't know, and some that they do. If a man hasn't any particular occupation, he is pretty certain to be suspected of getting his living by dishonest means."
"We must get away from here. I will be ready to look out some other location within the next fortnight. In the meantime, do the best you can, and all that you can; but be very cautious. Remember to-morrow."
"We will be there, be assured."
With this the villains departed.
Eveline continued to weep for some length of time and then, arousing herself, she summoned all the courage of which she was master, and braced herself to meet the fate in store for her, be it what it might.
In passing through the room, her eye fell upon a strip of paper, which lay in such a position as to indicate that it had been brushed from a table which was sometimes used by Duffel to write upon. She listlessly took it up and glanced over it, when her eye caught a few lines penciled upon it. Seating herself, she examined the writing more closely, and in a moment became interested. On the paper were some characters, the meaning of which she could not comprehend, though she recognized them in a moment, as being the same in form and character as those on the letter which had fallen into her father's hand, purporting to be from some one to Hadley, as related in the former part of this story, and in connection with these were clearly traced the following words:
"And then Bill and Dick! They are first rate fellows in their way, and have been very serviceable to me; but I don't think it is best to have too many confidants. I must get rid of them in some way, either by fair or foul means. Then I shall feel safe and at ease."
These few lines, it seemed to Eveline, had been written unintentionally, as a man would unconsciously "think aloud;" and she was persuaded in her own mind, that Duffel knew not of their existence, or he would have destroyed them. And this was the fact. He had written a letter to the captain on the day previous to Eveline's abduction, the first draft of which was now in her hand. This paper was on the table at his side, and after finishing the letter, he sat for some moments in deep thought, the burden of which was his own situation. His pencil was in his hand, and in the course of his secret communion, the words we have quoted were spoken to himself, and recorded with the pencil—his mind the while too completely absorbed in the current of his reflections to note the act or be aware of the mechanical action of his hand.
It instantly flashed across her mind that this document might be made serviceable to her, if, on the morrow, unperceived by Duffel, she could find an opportunity of slipping it into the hand of one of his confederates. She turned it over, and wrote on the other side:
"I found this paper in the room where I am confined. You will know whether or not the writing is in the hand of your employer; should it prove to be, as I suspect it is, you will at once perceive his intentions toward you, and can act accordingly. If, in this new phase of affairs, you feel willing to desert his service, and aid me to escape out of his hands, and from this place, you shall be abundantly rewarded, and I will ever be your debtor.
"E. Mandeville."
She then folded the note into as small a compass as possible, and placed it about her person for future use.
The next day, Duffel visited the cave in company with Bill and Dick, whom he introduced into the captain's room for the purpose already named.
"You have not forgotten our conversation yesterday, Eveline," said he, "nor have I my promise. In these gentlemen you have the witnesses of Hadley's death, which, for your own good, I have taken this pains to establish beyond a doubt. My friends will now speak for themselves."
Bill at once addressed himself to her as follows:
"It is with much pain, fair lady, that we are before you as witnesses of the sad occurrence referred to by Mr. Duffel; but as circumstances have placed us in this unpleasant situation, we crave your pardon most heartily, and the more so, if what we have to say should be a source of grief to you. It so happened that my friend and myself were crossing the mountains, a short time since, and being somewhat belated, were urging our passage through a dark and gloomy valley, in some apprehension, when we suddenly came upon two villains, who had just slain a man, and were about to rob him. We rushed to the spot before their work was completed, and they fled from the scene of murder in the greatest alarm. We dismounted, and found that the individual was Mr. Charles Hadley, with whom we had been acquainted some years before. He was not yet quite dead, and spoke a few words about his mother and some other lady; but his articulation was so indistinct and his words so broken, we could not gather the import of what we supposed to be his dying messages to those of whom he spoke. He expired in a few moments, and we then hastened to the nearest hamlet for assistance. I would fain stop here, lady, for the rest of the recital is very shocking; but I have been requested to tell all, and must do so. It was something over an hour before we, with some four or five others, who had accompanied us, returned, when, oh, horror! what were our feelings on beholding a pack of hungry wolves devouring the body of Mr. Hadley! We lighted torches and drove them away, but nothing remained of the dead man but his bones! God grant that I may never witness another such a sight!"
Eveline, who was much shocked at this story, lest it might be true, though she was by no means certain it was not made up for the occasion, appeared to be much more deeply affected than she really was, and made appear as though she was about to faint, seeing which, Duffel stepped up with the intention of supporting her. She sprang from him, and, in great apparent agitation, seized Bill by the arm, and demanded of him if what he had said was the actual truth, and at the same time pressed the note in his hand, giving him an intelligent look. He very dextrously transferred the little billet to his left vest pocket, as though he was simply laying his hand upon his heart to give greater solemnity to his reply, and said:
"I assure you, madam, what I have told you is the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and my friend will confirm the statement I have made."
"Yes," said Dick, thus appealed to, "the sad story is but too true; I wish for your sake it was not."
This was said with some feeling, and it had more effect upon Eveline than even the horrid recital given by Bill, but she felt the necessity of crushing down all tender feelings, and with a masterly effort succeeded in doing so, then replied:
"You will pardon me, gentlemen, for having seemed to express a doubt on the subject of your narrative; we are apt to judge persons by the company they keep, and knowing your friend here," (pointing to Duffel,) "is very much given to telling falsehoods, I thought it possible you might have formed that detestable habit through his example; I trust, however, it is not the case."
Duffel boiled with internal rage at this remark; but suppressing his anger, he conducted his allies out of the room, gave them some directions, and then returned to impose his unwelcome presence and conversation upon Eveline, who had no means of avoiding him, but was compelled to hear his words.
"I hope," said he, "you are now satisfied of the truth of my declaration, that Hadley is dead."
"He may be; but I say now, as I said before, I do not know that he is; but admitting that he is dead, what difference does it make?"
"Why not much, it is true, and I think I took the liberty of saying so yesterday. I only wish, by proving the certainty of this event, to show you the folly of continuing longer to set your affections upon him, provided you have been doing so heretofore."
"And suppose I should cease to remember him, what would that avail you?"
"I would then hope to be able to convince you of my own deep love, and in so doing of exciting a kindred sentiment in your own bosom."
"Have you the presumption to believe that I could be brought to such a state of degradation of feeling, now that I know who and what you are, when I rejected you under far more favorable circumstances? If you have, let me at once tell you, that in this instance, as in many others, your vanity has led you to entirely over-estimate your ability to please. Perhaps some of my sex might be silly enough to listen to your well-turned speeches, but I can assure you the less you speak to me of love the better."
"People often change their minds."
"So they do; but I think you have pretty good reason to believe that I am not particularly liable to be charged with that failing."
"Well, no, I believe I cannot charge you with that weakness; but I am sure you are very obstinate for one of your sex, which is not usually adjudged to be among the amiable characteristics of a lady."
"A lady that has no mind of her own is no credit to the sex; but I am sorry to say there are too many of that class, at least we might readily suppose so by the easy manner in which they are taken captive with soft, silly nonsense, and smooth, flattering words. If you admire such, the best thing you can do is to go and make love to them; you will progress much faster than you do here."
"There now, by my troth, I like that! I wouldn't give a cent for a girl that had no spirit about her. If you keep on at such a rate, I shall be more madly in love with you than ever! Come, be a good girl, and give us a little more of that kind of spice!"
"You like it, do you? Very well, I will change the key a little then, just a little, and let you have a peep at yourself. You pretend to entertain sentiments of regard for me; but you know, and I know also, that it is my father's wealth of which you are enamored."
"No, I swear to you, I love you!"
"And I know that is a false oath. You base hypocrite! do you think for a moment that I cannot and do not see through your flimsy gauze of deception? I can read your guilty soul as a book; I know your motives, and I know that a pure, generous, or noble sentiment never had a lodgment in your breast. You are base, corrupt, cowardly and unmanly in every sense of the word. There is not a redeeming trait in your character. You are false to your friends, you cajole your enemies, and prey upon community. You know this is a true picture of yourself, only that 'the half has not been told;' and yet you have the unblushing audacity to talk to me of love!"
"Yes; and what is more, I am going to wed you."
"Sir! never dare to utter such a word in my presence again!"
"Ha, ha, ha! That is rich, any how! Ha, ha! A weak prisoner to dare a mighty captor in that way! You certainly must forget where you are, my pretty little defiant beauty! Why I could just as easily compel a compliance with my wishes, as make you a listener to my discourse."
"Not quite, sir; you might possibly find yourself slightly mistaken should you attempt too much, and I give you fair warning to beware what you do!"
"Ha, ha, ha! Why, my love, I could conquer you with one hand."
"You had better not try it, sir!"
"I certainly would make an effort had I not already allowed you a week to make up your mind. But to show you how completely you are in my power, I will just plant a kiss on your ruby lips—"
"Never, sir; never!" said she, with flashing eye. "Dare to touch me with your polluted hand, and you die on the spot!"
"Ha! what's that I hear? Talk of killing, do you? Well, we shall see."
And he took a step toward her, with the intention of carrying out his threat.
"Stop, sir!" she said; and there was that in the tone of her voice which arrested him as suddenly as would a bar of iron interposed across his way. "Know," she continued, "that lips polluted as yours are can never come in contact with mine! I would sooner press mine to the slimy carcass of a decaying animal, than permit them even to touch yours! and I would far rather inhale the atmosphere from putrid flesh, aye, from the vilest carrion, than that your foul breath should enter my nostrils! This, sir, will give a faint idea of the utter detestation, the inexpressible loathing, I feel for you."
"By heavens! you shall repent of this in sackcloth and ashes! Detest and loathe as you please, you shall feel my lips upon your own! and that now!"
With this, the infuriated villain stepped forward and made a pass, intending to encircle Eveline in his arms, but she eluded his grasp, and placing the sofa between them, drew from the folds of her dress a small dagger, and pointing it at his heart, said:
"One step, one movement toward me, and your life pays the forfeit!" and she pressed the point of the weapon against his breast.
The cowardly wretch was taken aback, and the moment he felt the instrument touch him sprang away, as if the sharp steel was truly entering his flesh.