CHAPTER XVII.
THE HAPPY DELIVERANCE.
Not more astonished was Virginia at the sudden entrance of Dudley and the officers of police, than was Ellen herself— for these new-comers formed no share in her plot, which only concerned a few inmates of the house, with whom she had so arranged, that, at a given signal, they were to rush in and witness the chagrin, rage and disappointment of Acton; and, in case he meditated violence, prevent him doing injury. In fact Dudley did not appear by any preconcerted arrangement, but by one of those singular yet common-place accidents, which, happening at an unlooked for and important crisis, seem strange and mysterious, and almost force one into the belief of a special Providence. He had been in the lower part of the city on business, and was on his return home at a rather advanced hour, when the fancy struck him that he wished to see Edgar— we will not say that he did not think of Virginia, but leave the reader to his own inference—and he therefore shaped his course accordingly, trusting to good fortune to find the party he sought still astir. As he came in sight of the house, a coach was standing before the door; and almost at the same moment a female entered it, followed by a gentleman,and then it drove away, leaving a third party behind. Dudley would have thought nothing of this, but that he somehow fancied the female was Virginia Courtly, and that the manner of Wesley—whom he well knew as a sort of attorney of Goldfinch, and whom the light of a lamp under which he now passed enabled him to recognize— had something in it calculated to arrest attention; for he shook his fist after the carriage, and muttered words, the import of which Dudley could only judge from his actions was of a threatening nature. To say the least, there was something very singular in all this, time and place considered; and perceiving a man standing in the door of the lower story, Dudley hastened to him, and inquired if he knew the persons who had just driven off in the carriage. The man replied that the lady was a tenant of his, whose brother had just been arrested for forgery and taken to the Tombs; but that the gentleman who accompanied her was one he had never before seen. As a matter of course, the intelligence of Edgar's arrest for so startling a crime as forgery, fell upon Dudley with stunning force, and for a few moments he stood as one bewildered. Then bethinking himself of Wesley, who he fancied must know all about it, he darted away to overtake him, leaving his informant to stare after him and wonder whether or no he was in his right senses. Turning the corner where he had last seen Wesley disappear, Dudley hastened on for a square or so, when he again came in sight of him, moving along at a very leisure pace. As he drew near, and was in fact about to accost him, he discovered that the attorney was in one of those deep reveries, when the mind, turned upon itself, takes no cognizance of outward things, and was muttering, but loud enough for Dudley to overhear: "Yes, by heavens! I'll do it; and then he may make his money save him if he can. I've had this matter on my conscience long enough; and after I've forced him to buy my silence, I'll to —" Here the words became indistinct, though the speaker grumbled to himself for some time afterwards. At length Dudley heard him say, as if in conclusion: "But first to see this madcap fairly caught in his own trap." The effect of this on Dudley was to alter his first determination, and, without letting himself be seen, keep the attorney in sight, rightly judging from his words and manner there was some dark scheme afoot, a knowledge of which he might never gain by showing himself too soon. Accordingly when Wesley stoped in Mott street, before the house where Ellen resided, Dudley screened himself, so that he could, unseen by the other, not only watch all his his motions, but note every thing taking place around him. Here his patience was much tried by long waiting, and he was just on the point of throwing up his office of spy and accosting the attorney as to the meaning of his singular manoeuvers, when the carriage, containing Acton and Virginia, halted nearly abreast of him, and he heard the dialogue between them as they entered the house. There was no longer doubt in his mind as to who they were—for well he knew them both—and remembering their first meeting, when he had interfered to save Virginia from insult, he felt almost certain the latter was now the victim of some damnable plot. His first impulse was to spring forward to her rescue, but prudence counselled the wiser course of being positive he was not mistaken in the matter, and then going armed with the strong majesty of the law. He therefore turned on his heel, and the next instant stood confronting the astonished Wesley, who would scarcely have been more surprised had a specter arose in his place. Seizing the attorney with a grip that both pained and startled him, he said, in a low, eager, emphatic tone, pointing with his other hand toward the house opposite: "Who are those I have just seen enter?" "How should I know?" replied Wesley, trembling. "Villain! you do know!" rejoined Dudley, firmly, but still in a low, deep tone; "and if you do not tell me on the instant, I will have you arrested by the night-watch and dragged to prison!" "By what authority?" asked Wesley, attempting to assume an easy assurance he was far from feeling. "By the authority of that law, sir, which punishes most severely a foul conspiracy like this. Nay, do not seek to evade me by inventing falsehood. It will not pass. I have long been watching you, and know enough already to put you in limbo. Speak quick, make a clean breast of it, and you may go—otherwise I will give you into custody." Thus menaced, fearful of the consequence s if he remained obdurate, anxious to escape and at the same time deepen his revenge on Acton, the trembling attorney only stipulated that he should not be called in question, and then in a few words hurriedly put Dudley in possession of the whole scheme of his confederate, his designs upon Virginia, and the part he had himself played to prevent the accomplishment of his fell purpose. So eagerly spoke both, that the time consumed was scarce five minutes, ere Dudley had gained all be then cared to know; and bidding Wesley go home, as he valued his own safety, he turned away to seek means for punishing the offender, and rescuing one who had, for some time, occupied no small share of his thoughts. As chance would have it, the coach was still in waiting, and the driver, who had delayed departure on some business of his own, was just in the act of mounting his box. Hailing him, Dudley bade him remain a few minutes; and then hurrying away, he summoned a couple of the watch, informed them what had transpired, and requested their assistance—which being readily granted, he, in their company, appeared upon the scene of action at what time and in what manner the reader has already seen. Thither let us again repair. Overcome with astonishment, fear and rage, it was not until Virginia, half-fainting, had been placed on a seat by Dudley, and the room been tolerably well filled with the inmates of the house, drawn hither by alarm and curiosity, that Acton found sufficient command over his voice to render his words intelligible. "Villian!" he cried at last, addressing himself to Dudley; "this is the second time you have crossed my path, and, by—! you shall rue it!" "Keep your threats for those who fear you," retorted Dudley in a calm tone; "and beware what villainies you attempt in future, or it will not be the last time you will find me a stumbling block in your guilty course." "O, that I were free!" shouted Acton, making as if he would spring upon Dudley, were he not restrained by the officers. "If so you like, gentlemen," returned Dudley, addressing the latter, "set him free; and if he want justice and chastisement at my hands, he shall have both, to his full satisfaction—I only protesting, that if I am forced to soil my fingers on so mean a coward as one who has sought by the basest arts to degrade a lady to his own level—that lady his lawful cousin—I do it merely to show him he now stands in the presence of his master and superior." Saying which, Dudley folded his arms on his breast, and fixing his eyes steadily upon Acton's, gave him such a look of cool, calm, resolute defiance, that the gaze of the latter quailed before it and fell. "No, no, gentlemen—we can't have any quarreling here!" now spoke up one of the watch. "Have no fear," replied Dudley, sarcastically; "the youth is perfectly harmless among his own sex;" and he turned away to speak with Virginia. "By my soul, you shall eat your words some day!" replied Acton, fiercely, whose courage, like that of many others, always rose as the danger diminished. "Look at him!" cried Ellen, taunt
ingly, pointing at Acton with her finger, and addressing those around her. "Is he not a brave youth and proper, to steal away his own cousin by treachery, for his own foul ends? Look at him—mark him— that is Acton Goldfinch—son of the great millionaire, Oliver Goldfinch—who is, I have learned, the first in his profession of a hypocritical villain. By my faith! he has a hopeful pupil in his own son;" and she concluded with a hysterical laugh, that thrilled the nerves of all who heard it. Even Acton himself, who was gnashing his teeth in rage at her taunts, suddenly changed countenance when he heard that laugh, and glanced toward her a startled expression, in which something like pity could be traced. As he did so, he saw her stagger, and fall, and heard the females around her cry that Ellen Douglas had fainted. Mortified, abashed, ashamed of himself, Acton now quitted the room in company with the officers; and as he did so, he saw Ellen borne behind him to her own apartment, in a state of unconsciousness. As slowly he threaded his way to the gloomy Tombs—reflecting upon his past career, his disolute course and deeds of villainy—the pale specter of Ellen Douglas seemed to rise up before him,with a wobegone visage, and point to him as the author of her misery—her sad voice, in humble entreaty, seemed sounding in his ear—and for the first time in his life, perhaps, Acton felt the bitter stings of a conscience touched with remorse. "Are you able to ride, Virginia?" asked Dudley, in a low, tender voice, as soon as the room had become partially vacated. "If so, we will at once away, for this is no place for such as you." "But whither shall I go?" interrogated Virginia, bursting into tears. "I have no home now; and my poor brother, God help him! is in prison." "Nay, do not weep, Virginia—I pray you, do not!" pleaded Dudley, in soothing tones. "Your brother shall soon be restored to you—for he has friends more powerful than he thinks—and like you, I believe him innocent. He is doubtless the victim of some foul conspiracy; and rest assured he shall yet triumph, while his enemies plunge into the pit they have dug for him. I have my suspicions of the author of this black scheme; and if I find them verified, he shall wish he had never been born. But come! if you feel able to ride, we will no longer tarry here." "But whither will you take me?" "To the widow Malcolm's, or Calvin Morton's, whichever you prefer; and I, being acquainted with both parties, will insure you a warm reception at either place." "To the latter, then," said Virginia, "if it will not incommode them and you too much—for thither dear Edgar bade me repair." "Speak not of incommoding, Virginia," said Dudley, earnestly, while a warm, enthusiastic glow overspread his features, "for I would go to the ends of the earth to serve you!" "I thank you!" faltered Virginia, blushing and giving the other one sweet look from her soft blue eyes, that thrilled his soul as never look had done before. And then she added quickly, as if to cover a rising embarrassment: "But I must see Ellen before I go, and thank her for her kindness in protecting me!" In this Virginia was disappointed; for on inquiry, she learned that Ellen, having partially recovered from her swoon, was now delirious, and would not recognize her. "Poor child of grief and misfortune!" sighed Virginia, as she turned away, and, accompanied by Dudley, quitted the house. The coach which had borne her hither was still standing at the door, and entering it again, but with a very different companion, Virginia rode away, with a heart much lightened by a strong feeling of protection and hope, the first she had experienced since Edgar's arrest. On their way to the Mortons, Dudley and Virginia conversed freely--he detailing the manner he had been brought to her rescue— and she, all she knew of the imposition which had caused her to need his assistance. "That rascally attorney had more to do with this affair than I thought," said Dudley, as Virginia explained the stratagem he had used to entice her away; "but he only serves a master whom I may yet make tremble for his black-hearted deeds. The very fact of his being there at the time of arrest, shows plainly that Oliver Goldfinch is the master-worker of the plot, doubtless contrived to ruin you and Edgar, so that none may be left to bring his former villainies to light. But he has over-shot himself in this matter; and will find, to his cost, that he has roused a spirit that can and will be as bold in the cause of right as he dare be in that of wrong!" It was past midnight when the coach drove up before the door of Calvin Morton. Save a light in the hall, all appeared dark and gloomy; and Dudley, as he boldly rang the bell, doubted not that all the inmates were locked in slumber. But in this he was mistaken; for scarcely had the echoes of the bell died away, ere he heard quick footsteps along the hall, and the next moment the door was thrown open, and Calvin Morton himself, with a book in his hand and a pen in his mouth, stood before him. "Why, bless my soul! is this you?" he said, in his rapid, impetuous manner.— "Come in—come in! Heaven save us all! I trust nothing alarming has occurred? Your mother is well, eh?" "Quite well, I thank you, Mr. Morton," replied Dudley, glancing at the coach significantly. "Eh! what!" said Morton, following the other's glance with his own. "Who is in there, eh?" "One who needs your kindest protection, as she amply deserves it." "God bless her, then, she shall have it!" rejoined Morton, emphatically. "A word in private first," said Dudley; and drawing the other aside, out of earshot of Virginia, he hurriedly narrated the leading events of the night, beginning with Edgar's arrest, and ending with his own rescue of Virginia from her cousin. "So, so--the foul fiend seize them that play the devil's game, say I! The old one plans, and the young one executes. A hopeful pair, truly. Heaven help and God bless him! poor Edgar has been sent to prison! Well, well, it shall work out his own salvation; for when the devil prompts too much, you know his pupils often lose most where most they think to win. I am glad to see you on the right side, Cla—-" "Hush! a word in your ear!" interrupted the other. "O, yes--certainly, Mr. Dudley—any thing to oblige. I see you are sly; but no matter; we all have our whimsicalities. Why, bless my soul! here I am rattling away, and yonder sits the maiden, waiting as patiently as a bird in a cage;" and he darted down the steps to the carriage, exclaiming, as he reached out his hand to Virginia: "My dear Miss Courtly, I don't know that we ever met befo re--but I knew your lamented father, and a gentlemen he was— I know your brother, and a most noble young man he is--I have heard of you; and so pardon me, if I eschew all formality, consider ourselves acquainted, and welcome you here as I would a long absent daughter." "I can but thank you," replied Virginia, her eyes moist and voice faltering, at the frank and hearty kindness with which the other received her. "Why, Heaven bless you, sweet creature!" pursued Morton, as he assisted her to alight and conducted her up the steps of his dwelling, "what more could one ask than thanks from such pretty lips, unless it were a taste of their sweetness!— But pshaw! compliments are not in my line; and so I'll leave them and you to my friend Ma—Dudley here, while I go and call Edith." "Stay!" said Virginia, earnestly, touching his arm as he was moving away; "do not, I beg of you, disturb any one tonight, on my account! I fear I have proved too troublesome already." Why, Lord bless your modest soul!" replied Morton, with warmth, smiling cheerfully upon his guest, "I see you don't know us yet, or you wouldn't talk of being troublesome to those who are indebted to your noble brother that this house is not decked in the sable weeds of mourning. Why, Edith has done nothing but talk about you all day, and would grieve herself sorely, should I let you sleep here without her knowledge. Conduct her into the parior—a--Dudley—you know the way--and I will soon join you." Saying which, Mr. Morton hastened forward, threw open the parlor door as he passed, and disappeared up a flight of stairs at the far end of the hall. Scarcely had Dudley complied with his request, and seated his fair charge and himself, ere the other again made his appearance, saying Edith would soon be with them. "And now," he concluded, "as I have important business that must be attended to before I sleep, I trust to your good sense to excuse me. Good night, Virginia," he added, taking her hand and pressing it warmly; "I shall see you, I trust, at breakfast, and will immediately take what steps I can to release your brother, who, I doubt not, is in prison by means of a foul plot. Dudley, let me see you early, to concert our plan of operations. Good night again—God guard us all!" and bowing he withdrew. I
n a few minutes Edith glided into the parlor, with a step so light that neither of her guests heard her till she stood before them. With a graceful bow and smile of recognition to Dudley, she at once sprang to Virginia, and seizing her hand, kissed her affectionately, and bade her welcome to her new home, which she trusted would always be one to her. In return, Virginia thanked her warmly, with tearful eyes; and in a moment, as it were, these two artless beings felt they were friends for life. "No one—not even yourself, dear Virginia," said Edith, naively , "can feel more deeply grieved for your noble brother than I; but father says the charge against him is false, and I believe him; for surely, if ever a man was incapable of crime, it is he." Virginia, unable to repress her emotion longer, burst into tears; while Edith, with true affection, hastened to console her. "Grieve not, my dear sister," she said,— "for you shall be a sister to me,—to-morrow, trust me, will set all right. "And Acton, too—I have heard of his baseness, and have torn him from my heart as I would a viper from my bosom. Oh, the wickedness of those to whom we look for ennobling virtues!—but they will not always prosper; and Retribution, with a heavy hand, will surely overtake them at last. Let us put our trust in a Higher Power, and with an easy conscience, fear not the machinations of the evil minded. Sin ever carries its own punishment, and sooner or later the guilty must feel it." "Nobly spoken!" chimed in Dudley, rising to take his leave; and then, motion ing Edith aside, he whispered a few words in her ear. Edith smiled, glanced slyly toward Virginia, and rejoined: "I will remember, Mr. Dudley." "Do so," said Dudley, "and put me under an obligation. Cheer up your fair guest, Edith, and count on seeing me early in the morning. Good night to both, and pleasant dreams;" and bowing he departed, sprang into the coach and was driven home. "You are fatigued, dear Virginia," said Edith, as Dudley left, "and need repose. Come, you shall be my guest for the night;" and she conducted the latter to her own splendid apartment, where for the present we leave them both.
Bennett, Emerson - Oliver Goldfinch Page 16
