by Mayne Reid
Rowland, it was hard to believe youguilty of ingratitude and crime; but your long absence, unexplained asit was, gave colour to what has been alleged against you. You havenever written to us: and it will be nearly impossible for you to beagain reinstated in the good opinion of my mother."
"In yours, Lenore?"
She blushingly held down her head, without making reply.
"Will you tell me of what I am accused?" I asked.
"I will," she answered. "And, Rowland, before I hear one word ofexplanation from you learn this; I cannot believe you guilty of anywrong. I have been too well acquainted with you to believe that youcould possibly act, under any circumstances, as you have been accused ofdoing. It is not in your nature."
"Thank you, Lenore!" said I, with a fervour I could not restrain myselffrom showing. "You are now as you have ever been, more beautiful thananything in the world, and wise as you are beautiful."
"Do not talk thus, Rowland! Nothing but your own words can ever changethe opinion I had formed of your character--long ago, when we were bothchildren. I will tell you why my mother is displeased with you. Thereare more reasons than one. First, when my father died in New Orleans,Mr Adkins brought back the ship; and you did not return in it. We weresurprised at this; and called Mr Adkins to account for not bringing youhome. He did not appear willing to give us any satisfaction concerningyou; but we would insist on having it; and then, with apparentreluctance, he stated that he had not wished to say anything againstyou--fearing that from our known friendship for you, it might beunpleasant for us to hear it. He then told us, that you had not onlyneglected, and proved cruel to my father--when on his death-bed--but,that, as soon as it became certain there was no hope of his recovery,you behaved as though you thought it no longer worth while to troubleyourself with a man, who could not live to repay you. He said that youhad previously deserted from the ship, and left my father--notwithstanding his earnest entreaties that you should remain with him.It cannot be true. I know it cannot be true; but so long as my motherthinks there is a particle of truth in Mr Adkins' statement, she willnever forgive you. Your accuser has also stated that when you left theship, you took with you what was not your own; but this he did not tellus until several months had elapsed, and there appeared no probabilityof your returning."
"What has become of Mr Adkins now?" I asked.
"He is on a voyage to New Orleans in the `Lenore.' He obtained mymother's confidence, and is now in command of the ship. Lately he hasbeen trying to make himself more disagreeable to myself--by professingfor me--what he, perhaps, believes to be an affection. Oh! it is toounpleasant to dwell upon. My mother listens, I fear, too consentingly,to all he has to say: for she is grateful to him for his kindness to myfather before he died--and for the interest he appears ever since tohave taken in our welfare. His manner towards us has greatly changed oflate. Indeed, he acts as if he were the head of our family, and theowner of the vessel. I believe he is expected to return to Liverpool atany time: as the time for the voyage has expired, and the ship has beendue for some days."
"I wish he were in Liverpool _now_" said I. "When he does arrive, Iwill make him prove himself a liar. Lenore! I have ever been treatedwith the greatest kindness by your father and mother. It is not in mynature to be either ungrateful or dishonest. Your father's ship was myhome, I did not leave that home without good reason. I was turned outof it by the very villain who has accused me. I shall stay in Liverpooluntil he returns; and when I have exposed him, and proved myself stillworthy of your friendship, I shall again go forth upon the world with alight heart, as I can with a clear conscience."
Requesting Lenore to tell her mother that she had been deceived--andthat I should stay in Liverpool till I proved that such was the case--Iarose to take my departure. I lingered only to add: that I would notagain annoy them with my presence until the return of the ship--when Ishould challenge Adkins to appear before them, and prove him guilty ofthe very crimes he had charged against myself--ingratitude anddishonesty.
With this promise did I close my interview with Lenore.
Volume One, Chapter XI.
ON THE TRACK OF MR LEARY.
After leaving Mrs Hyland's house, I had much to occupy my thoughts.The principal subject that engaged their attention was the wonderfulbeauty of Lenore.
She was beautiful; and she professed to be my friend. But while I felta consoling pride in possessing the friendship of one so lovely, therewas much that was unpleasant in the thought that her mother could, evenfor an instant, have believed me guilty of the grave charges broughtagainst me by Adkins.
To be thought ungrateful by one who had treated me with so muchkindness, and more especially one who was the mother of Lenore, was areflection full of bitterness.
Adkins had now done enough to make me his deadly enemy. He had neverused me well aboard ship; and would have caused me still more troublethere had he not been restrained by his fear of Captain Hyland. He hadturned me out of the ship in New Orleans. He had returned to Liverpool,and accused me of the basest of crimes.
But what was still more unpleasant to dwell upon; he was endeavouring todeprive me of what was of almost equal consequence with my character--ofher whom I had hoped might one day become my wife. Yes, there could beno doubt of the fact. He was trying to win Lenore.
This last I could scarce look upon as a crime on his part. To aspire towin one so lovely was no crime; and one who should do so would only beacting as Nature commanded.
But at that time, I did not view it in this light; and the idea ofEdward Adkins aspiring to the hand of Lenore Hyland was proof to me thathe was the vilest wretch that ever encumbered the earth.
For a while, I forgot my hatred for Mr Leary in my dislike to MrAdkins.
Hatred with me had never before reached a thirst for revenge; but tothis degree of hostility had it attained, within an hour after leavingLenore.
But what could I do? When my enemy returned, I could confront him inpresence of Lenore and her mother. I could make one statement, which hewould certainly contradict by making another. I was in a country wherethe laws do not allow a man any chance of obtaining redress for thecruellest wrong, or insult, he may suffer.
I passed that night, as the preceding one, without sleep.
The day after that on which I had addressed my letters to the saddle andharness-makers of Liverpool, I received answers from two of them--bothmen who had been acquainted with Mr Leary.
I lost no time in calling upon these correspondents.
One of them frankly informed me that Mr Leary's time, as an apprentice,had been served in his shop, that he did not think him exactly honest;and had been only too glad to get rid of him. He had not seen or heardanything of Mr Leary for seven years; and hoped never to behold thatindividual again. He had taken Leary, when a boy, from the work-house;and believed he had no relatives, who would know where he was to befound.
I called on the other saddler, and learnt from him that Mr Leary, afterhaving served his time, had worked in his establishment as a journeyman,though only for a very short while. Leary had left him to go to Dublin;but had returned three or four years afterwards, and had again beenemployed by him for a few days. On leaving the second time, Mr Learyhad engaged to go out to New South Wales, with a saddle andharness-maker from that colony, who, as the Liverpool tradesmanlaughingly stated, had been so foolish as to pay for Leary's passage, inthe hope of being repaid by his services after he got there.
With painful interest, I inquired, whether Mr Leary had taken alongwith him to Australia a wife and family.
"No," said the saddler, "nothing of the kind. He was not able to dothat: since he had to tell a thousand lies to induce the saddler to takehimself. But I remember, there was a woman from Dublin inquiring forhim after he had sailed; and she, poor creature, appeared well nighheart-broken, when she learnt that he had gone without her. I supposeshe must have been his wife."
The saddler had heard nothing since from either Leary or
the woman.
A part of this intelligence was very satisfactory. My mother had _not_found Mr Leary in Liverpool, and that wretch was now far away.
But where was my mother? Where had she and her youngest children beenfor the last five years? How should I learn their fate?
Surely I had plenty of work before me. My relatives were to be found;and this would be no easy task: since I had not the slightest clue toguide me in the search. I had to convince Mrs Hyland that I was stillworthy of her friendship. I had to obtain revenge on my enemy Adkins;and a greater task than all would still remain. I had to win, or forgetLenore.
My last interview with her, had revived within my mind the sweetremembrances of the past, along with thoughts of the present, and dreamsof the future--thoughts and dreams that would not again sleep. A mentalvision of her loveliness was constantly before me.
What was I to do first? I had but little money in my
