CHAPTER IX.
DR. POMEROY'S PURPOSED PURSUIT--A PLAIN QUAKER WHO USED VERY PLAIN LANGUAGE--ALMOST A FIGHT--HOW MRS. BURTON HAYLEY CONSOLED HER DAUGHTER, AND HOW MARGARET REVEALED THE PAST--A COMPACT--DR. POMEROY'S CANINE ADVENTURE--OLD ELSPETH ONCE MORE--A SEARCH THAT FOUND NOTHING.
It will be noticed that with the exception of the somewhat extended glanceat the earlier fortunes of Eleanor Hill, all the occurrences thus farrecorded, and affecting the after lives of so many different people, haveoccupied not more than two or three hours of a single June day. The Parcaewere evidently very busy on that day of June, repaying the past andarranging the future; and not less than three scenes of this veritablehistory yet remain, occurring on the same day, a little later, but withinthe same space as to distance, that has been covered by those preceding.
The first of these is that presented in the house of Dr. Pomeroy, tenminutes after he had entered it, and when two or three sharp inquiriesafter his "ward," whom he failed to find in her room, had elicited from oneof the frightened servants the information not only that she had left thehouse, through the garden, with hat and mantle and in great haste,--but inthe company of the man of all the world towards whom the medical gentlemanentertained that deadliest hatred which would have made his drugs safe andreliable had he been attending him in a dangerous sickness! He might nothave known the fact quite so soon, from any of the other servants, as hecertainly would not have discovered the truth under a twelvemonth from theone who had acted as Eleanor's sentinel on the watch tower; but it chancedthat he possessed one creature of his own, who had been in the habit ofplaying spy around the house generally and making very considerableadditions to her wages from the "appropriation for secret service"; andfrom that open-mouthed person, who seemed to see with that organ as well aswith the eyes, he had no difficulty in extracting all the truth that couldbe known, in an inconceivably minute fraction of time.
The rage which broke out in the face of Dr. Philip Pomeroy and set his eyesablaze, at about that period, would not have been a pleasant thing to lookupon, for any person liable to the penalties and inflictions which thatrage denoted. For he was a sharp, keen, calculating man, jumping to aconclusion with great rapidity, and seldomer missing the fact than most menunder corresponding circumstances. Eleanor Hill was gone--had left hishouse forever, so far as her own will had any power: he knew the factintuitively. She would never have dared to cross the threshold with CarltonBrand, knowing the hatred which he held against that man of all others, ifshe had intended to place herself again in a position where she could feelhis displeasure. Then the doctor knew, as the reader may by this time beinclined to suspect, reasons why the young girl would have been much morelikely to leave his house forever, that day, than at any previous time ofher sojourn, if aid and protection chanced to offer themselves. They _had_offered themselves, in the shape of the lawyer: they had been embraced; andthe good physician, hurling a few outward curses at the servant who hadafforded him the intelligence, at all the other servants, at the house andevery thing within it,--mentally included in his malediction every patientwho had assisted in luring him away from his home that day, while such aspoil was being made of his "domestic happiness."
The worst of the affair--and the doctor saw it--was that Eleanor Hill hadattained her majority years before, and that he had no power whatever tocompel her return, except that power still existed in the impending threatof public shame. But he was wronged--robbed--outraged! He would pursue thefugitive--find her--force her to abandon her new protection--drag her bymain force from any arm that dared to interpose! If he failed, he wouldmake such a general desolation in family peace, in the quiet neighborhoodlying beyond that side the Schuylkill, as had never been known within thememory of the "oldest inhabitant"--such an expose, convulsion and generalexplosion as would put out of countenance any thing in the power of theadvancing rebel Lee!
All this in the two minutes following the knowledge of Eleanor's flight.The ostler had just led round his heated horse to the stable, before thediscovery; and that functionary had orders shot at him from the backpiazza, in a very loud and commanding voice, to throw the harness onanother of his fastest trotters, and have him round at the gate in lessthan half a minute, before his double-seated buggy, on pain of being flayedalive with his own horse-whip. It may be supposed that under suchincitement the stable official handled strap and buckle with unusualdexterity; and in very little more time than that allowed by theregulation, the vehicle dashed round to the gate, and the enraged ownerstood whip in hand, ready to leap into it and urge a pursuit yet madderthan had been the elopement. But Dr. Philip Pomeroy, having prepared toride at once and with all diligence, found an unexpected hindrance, and didnot pursue his journey until a much more advantageous start had beenallowed to the fugitives.
For while the doctor was preparing to spring into his vehicle, down thelane from the Darby road dashed the buggy and pair of Nathan Bladesden,which had so lately taken that direction--dashed down, driven at such speedas flung the fine horses into a lather of foam, and utterly belied the calmreputation of the Quaker merchant. Nor was there any thing of thedeliberation of the sect in the jerk with which he brought up the flyingteam by throwing them both back upon their haunches, or the suddenness withwhich he sprang from the buggy, leaving the horses unfastened, and strodeto the open gate.
The rencontre was most inopportune and vexatious to the doctor, to whomminutes just then were hours; and he may have had motives for wishing, thatday, not to be placed beneath an eye so sharpened by age and experience.But Nathan Bladesden was a man of wealth and a power in the city, and noteven Dr. Pomeroy could afford to treat him with rudeness by driving away atthe very moment of his arrival. He smoothed his bent brows, therefore, andaccosted him with every demonstration of interest.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Bladesden! You seem to have been driving fast! Butyou come just in time, for I was about starting in a hurry to--to see apatient."
Had Dr. Pomeroy been aware of all the circumstances connected with themorning call of the merchant--the shameful revelations made in the littleroom overhead--the agony of spirit in which the Quaker had forced himselfaway from the presence of Eleanor Hill, deserting her utterly and leavingher in such a state of suffering as made suicide very possible--and thecontinued and ever-deepening conflict which had since been going on in hismind, as he dashed along roads that led him nowhere, his horses foaming inthe heat but the heat in his brain a thousand times more intense, until atlast he had driven back determined to drag the young girl, at every hazardand sacrifice, from that moral pest-house which must be sure infection anddeath to her soul,--had Dr. Pomeroy known all this, we say, not even hishardy spirit might have been willing to brave the encounter. But he knewnothing, and some of the perilous consequences of ignorance followed.
"I did not come to see _thee_, Dr. Philip," replied the Quaker to hissalutation, passing on meanwhile towards the front door, and somethingshort and choppy in his words indicating that he did not wish to open hismouth at full freedom. "I saw thy ward, Eleanor Hill, this morning, and Iam going to see her again."
"Ah, you have been here to-day, then, before? And you are going to see heragain, after--." It was surprising, for a man of his age and experience,how near he came to saying a word too much!
"After receiving _thy letter_?--yes!" answered the Quaker, turning shortand confronting his quondam host, the restraint on his utterance removed.
"_My_ letter? What do you mean by my letter?" Had any one told PhilipPomeroy, half an hour before, that there was a man living who in five wordscould change the color on his cheek, he would have reckoned the informant aliar and grossly insulted him. Yet so it was; and the flush, though it wasalready growing into that of defiant anger, had not been such when it beganto rise.
"Thee does not seem to understand me, Dr. Philip," said the Quaker, hiswords still slow and no point of the sectarian idiom lost, but eachdropping short and curtly as if a weighty substance falling heavily. "Bu
tthee will understand me before I am done. Thee wrote me a letter, signed 'ATrue Friend'--"
"You lie!" A terrible word, to be flung into the teeth of any man; anddoubly terrible as hurled from lips then ashy white. For just one instantthe Quaker's large hands clutched, and he might have been moved to advanceupon his insulter and avenge Eleanor Hill, himself and all the world, bychoking the insult from his throat. But if such a thought really moved him,he controlled it and merely smote on with his words.
"Thee wrote me a letter, signed 'A True Friend,' and thee shall have myopinion of it, before I go into that house and remove from thee, at anyperil that may be necessary, the poor girl thee has disgraced."
"Set a foot nearer that house, if you dare!" was the reply.
"Thee is a base, miserable coward, Dr. Philip!--a scoundrel, a seducer, alying slanderer, the offspring of a female dog of the cur species, adisgrace to thy country and thy profession; and if thee knows any morehard words that I forget, thee may put them all in on my account."
"Nathan Bladesden, do you think that you will leave this spot alive, afterusing such words to _me_!" and the hands of Philip Pomeroy were clutchingat his wristbands as if rolling them up to put them out of the way ofblood! The purpose of attack was reversed: he seemed to be about to spring,tiger-like, at the Quaker's throat.
"_Thee_ will not kill me, Dr. Philip, if I do not!" the latter said. "I amstronger than thee, and have a better cause. I think I will not touch thee,but leave thee to thy Maker, if thee keeps thy hands off; but I have madeup my mind, if thee touches me, to beat thee until thee has no shape of aman--until thee is dead as yonder gate-post. If thee thinks that I willnot, thee had better try it!"
Dr. Pomeroy did not believe himself a poltroon, nor was he one in thatsense relating to purely physical courage. And had there been merelyinvolved a conflict with that larger, stronger and better-preserved man, inwhich one or the other might suffer severe injury and disfigurement, hewould have carried out his thought and sprung upon him, beyond a question.But something in those slow dropping pellets of compressed rage fallingfrom the Quaker's lips, told the medical man (seldom too angry to be subtleand cunning), that in the event of a struggle, and the merchant getting theupper hand, he would probably carry out his threat and actually beat him todeath with those heavy fists before any human aid could interpose. And tobe mangled into a corpse by a Quaker--bah! there was really something inthe idea, likely to calm blood quite as hot with rage as that of Dr.Philip--apart from the slight objection he may have had to being hurriedinto eternity in any way, at that moment. Then another thought struckhim--a double one: how completely the Quaker would be at fault, searchingthrough the house for Eleanor Hill; and how he was himself losing time, inthat miserable quarrel--time that could never be regained. His horse andbuggy stood all the while just within the opened gate, where the ostlerhad left it and gone back to his care of the blown animal at the stable;and as that important reflection forced itself upon his mind, he turned hisback short upon the Quaker, strode to his buggy, stepped into it and dashedaway, only pausing to hurl at his tormentor this one verbal bolt:
"You infernal, snuffling, hypocritical ruffian! I will settle with you forall this, when I have more time!"
"Thee had better let the account stand as it does, Dr. Philip, if thee isnot a fool as well as a scoundrel!" was the reply of the Quaker, but it isvery doubtful whether the doctor heard half the words. He was alreadyflying past the garden palings, at the full speed of his trotter, towardsthe causeway and the Market Street road, on his errand of reclamation andperhaps of vengeance. Then Nathan Bladesden pursued his way into the house,looking for the lost sheep, with that ill success rendered certain byEleanor's flight, and that disappointment which often attends nobleresolutions embraced one moment too late.
* * * * *
The second of the supplementary scenes of that day was presented in theparlors of the residence of Mrs. Burton Hayley--that parlor into which thereader had only a doubtful glance a few hours earlier, when events whichseemed likely to affect the life-long interests of some of the residents ofthat house, were occurring on the piazza.
Rich furniture in rosewood and purple damask; a piano of modernmanufacture, the open bank of keys showing the soft coolness ofmother-of-pearl; carpets of English tapestry; pier glasses that might havegiven reflection to the colonel of a Maine regiment or one of the sons ofAnak; tables and mantels strewn but not overloaded with delicate bronzes,gems in porcelain and Bohemian glass, and articles of fanciful bijouterie;on one of the mantels--that of the front room--Cleopatra in _ormolu_upholding the dial of a clock with one hand, but with the other applyingto her voluptuously-rounded bosom the asp so soon to put a period to allher connection with time;--what need of more than this to indicate the homein which Margaret Hayley had passed the last few years of her young lifeand approached that crisis so momentous to her future happiness? Yet onething more must be noticed--the stand of rosewood elaborately carved, setnot far from the centre of the front parlor, and bearing on it a largeBible in the full luxury of russet morocco and gold, with massive goldclasps and a heavy marker in silk and bullion dependent from amid theleaves,--the whole somewhat ostentatiously displayed to the sight of anyone who first entered the room, as if to say: "There may seem to be pompsand vanities in this house, but any such impression would be a mistake:this book is the rule by which every thing within it is squared."
On the sofa, wheeled into that corner of the luxurious parlor upon whichthe closed shutter threw the deepest and coolest shadow, lay MargaretHayley, her head buried in the white pillow which some careful hand hadbrought for her, and her thrown-up hands drawing the ends of that pillowaround her face as if she desired to shut away every sight and every sound.Her slight, tall figure seemed, as she lay at length, to be limp andunnerved; and there was that in the whole position which seemed to indicatethat the mental energies, if not the vital ones, had recoiled after beingcruelly overtasked, and left her alike incapable of thought and motion.
She was not alone, for beside her sat a lady dressed in very thin and lightbut rich and rather showy summer costume, rolling backward and forward inher Boston rocker, waving a feather fan of such formidable dimensions thatits manufacture must have created a sudden rise in the material immediatelyafter, and talking all the while with such stately volubility as if shebelieved that the hot air of the June afternoon would be less unendurableif kept constantly in motion by the personal windmill of the tongue. Thiswas Mrs. Burton Hayley, mother of Margaret, widow of the late Mr. BurtonHayley, railroad-contractor, snugly jointured with eight or ten thousandper annum, and endowed (as she herself believed, and as we will certainlyendeavor to believe with her, in charity) with so many of those highergifts and graces of a spiritual order that her wealth had become dross andher liberal income rather a thing to be deplored than otherwise. (It may bethe proper place, here, to say that the gilt Bible on the stand was thepeculiar arrangement of this lady, and the sign--if so mercantile a wordmay be applied to any thing really demanding all human respect anddevotion--of that peculiar mental stock in trade which she was to be foundmost ready in exhibiting on all occasions.)
Mrs. Burton Hayley was tall--even taller than her daughter; and her formhad assumed, with advancing years, a fulness which the complimentary wouldhave designated as "plump," the irreverent as "stout," and the vulgar as"fat." Her face, moulded somewhat after the same fashion as that ofMargaret, must have been undeniably handsome in youth, though now--thetruth must be told--it was not a specially lovable face to the acuteobserver. Her dark eyes had still kept their depths of beautiful shadow,and her intensely dark hair (though she had married late in girlhood andwas now fifty) showed neither thinness nor any touch of gray. But the longand once classical features had become coarsened a little in the secondaryformation of adipose particles; the possible paleness of girlhood had givenplace to a slight red flush (especially in that tropical weather) that wasnot by any means becoming to her; and there were all
the while twoconflicting expressions fighting for prominence in her face, so differentin themselves and so really impossible of amalgamation, that the most rabiddisciple of "miscegenation" could not have arranged a plan for blendingthem both into one. The outer expression, which seemed somehow to lie as athin transparent strata over the other, indicated pious and resignedhumility--that feeling which passes by the ordinary accidents and troublesof life as merely gentle trials of faith and of no consequence in view ofthe great truth rooted within. The second and inner, which would persist inobtruding itself through the transparent mask, was _pride_--pride in itsmost intense and concentrated form--pride in blood, wealth, personalappearance, position, every thing belonging to and going to make up thatmarvellous human compound, Mrs. Burton Hayley. The eyes were trained to bevery subdued and decorous in their expression; but they did so want toflash out authority, if not arrogance! The nose was kept always (orgenerally) at the proper subservient level; but it did so itch and tinglefor the privilege of lifting itself high in air and taking a nasal view,from that altitude, of all the world lying below it! It was very evident,to any one observing the mother after having examined the daughter's facein the clear light of physiognomy, that the latter had derived from hermaternal progenitor most of that overweening pride which youth and beautyyet wore as a crown of glory but age might wear as something much lessattractive,--and that she must have inherited from her dead father thatsoftness, frankness, and that better-developed love-nature which toned downin her own all the more decided features of the mother's face and made herworthy of affection as well as admiration.
As we have said, Mrs. Burton Hayley was using her tongue with greatvolubility at the moment of her introduction to the attention of thereader, though really the mode in which her single auditor kept her headburied in the pillow and drew the soft folds around her ears with bothhands, did not indicate that desire for steady conversation which couldhave made such a continual verbal clatter a thing of necessity. There isthe more occasion for giving Mrs. Burton Hayley her full opportunity forspeech, as she has occasion to utter but little hereafter, in thisconnection.
"You should be very thankful, my child, for all that has occurred," thevoluble woman was saying. "A Power higher than ourselves overrules allthese affairs much better than we could do; and it is flying in the face ofProvidence to cry and go on over little disappointments."
A pause of one instant, and one instant only, as if in expectation thatsome reply would be vouchsafed; and then the band was again thrown upon thedriving-wheel--as one of the machinery-tenders in a factory might say,--andthe human buzz-saw whirled once more.
"I have told you, child, time and again, that you would be punished forsetting your affections on any person who had not given evidence of achanged heart--a man who had not passed from death unto life, but who stillran after the pomps and vanities of the world--those pomps and vanitieswhich religion teaches us to despise and put away from us." (Oh, Mrs.Burton Hayley, why did you not catch a glance, at that moment, of the roomin which you were sitting, redolent of every luxury within the reach of anyordinary wealth, and of your own stately and still comely person, arrayedin garments the least possible like those with which people contentthemselves who have really eschewed the "pomps and vanities of the world,"either from conscientious humility or that other and much commonermotive--the lack of means to continue them!) "You should be very glad thatyou have been providentially delivered from your engagement with anunbeliever and a man of the world--a man without principle, I dare say, asyou have discovered that he is without courage; and all the money there isin his family (and they _do_ say that the Brands have not much and neverhave had much!)--all their money, I say, acquired in the disreputablepractice of the law, so that if this thing had not happened and you hadbeen left to depend for subsistence upon his fortune, you might have foundit all melting away in a moment, as money dishonestly acquired is certainto do; for does not the blessed book that I try to make my rule of life,say, my child, that moth is certain to corrupt and thieves break throughand steal whatever has been wrung from the widow and the orphan?"
Margaret Hayley had not replied a word during the whole application of thatverbal instrument of torture, though it seemed evident from the contextthat some conversation employing the tongues of both must have passed at anearlier period of the interview. She had merely writhed in body and groanedin spirit, as every moment told her more and more distinctly that in herdark hour she had no mother who could understand and sympathize withher--that cant phrases and pious generalizations were to be hurled againsther at that moment when most of all she needed to be treated by that motherlike a wearied child, drawn home to her bosom and cradled to sleep amidsoothing words and loving kisses.
But Margaret Hayley did something else than writhe when the accusation ofhaving acquired his wealth by dishonesty was cast upon the man whom she hadworshipped--yes, the man whom she worshipped still, in spite of the oneterrible defect which seemed to draw an eternal line of separation betweenthem. She started up from her recumbent position, her hair dishevelled, hereyes red with weeping, and her whole face marked and marred by the anguishshe had been suffering,--sprang up erect at once, with all her mother'spride manifest in voice and gesture, and said:
"Mother, are you a rank hypocrite, or have you neither sense nor memory?"
A strange question, from a daughter to her mother! The reply was not quiteso strange, and it seemed to have much more of earnest in it than anyportion of the long tirade she had before been delivering:
"Margaret Hayley, how _dare_ you!"
"We can dare a good many things, when we do not care whether we live ordie!" was the reply. "And though I have loved and respected you as mymother, I do not know that I have ever been afraid of you. Now listen. Youhave hated Carlton Brand, ever since he first came to this house, becausehe did not treat your religious assumptions with quite as much deference asyou considered proper. He may have been right, or wrong: no matter now, ashe is out of the way! But you have hated him, and you know it--because Iloved him--I am not ashamed to own it!--loved him with my whole soul, as Ibelieved that he deserved--as any woman _should_ love the man whom sheexpects to take her to his heart!"
"Well, what if I did dislike him? I had a right to do that, I suppose!"answered the mother, her voice no longer religiously calm, but rough andquerulous.
"Do not interrupt me!--hear me out!" said the young girl. "You liked HectorColes for a corresponding reason--because he pretended to fall into allyour notions, and complimented you on your 'piety' and 'Christian dignity,'when he was all the while laughing at you behind your back. You would havebeen pleased to see me discard the man I loved, and marry the man I couldnever love while I lived,--because your own likes and dislikes were in theway, and because you believed that in the position of mother-in-law youcould manage the one and could _not_ manage the other."
"Well, what else, to your mother, Miss Impertinence!" broke in the lady whohad been so voluble.
"Oh, a great deal more!" answered Margaret, with a manner not verydifferent from a sneer. "To-day, since you have known that for one spot ona character otherwise so noble, I have broken off all relations withCarlton Brand, you have done nothing but sit here and preach me Christianresignation in words that your own heart was as steadily denying. When atrue mother would have tried to console, you have tortured. And you haveended all by alleging that Carlton Brand and his father have acquired theirmoney dishonorably, because they have both been lawyers,--and that suchmoney must be accursed in the hands of any one who holds it."
"I have said so, and I have a right to say so!" echoed the mother. "You maylet loose your ribald tongue against the author of your being, ungratefulgirl; but the truth is from heaven, and must be told--wealth obtained inany manner by day, upon which a blessing cannot be asked at night, isitself accursed, and curses every one who partakes in the use of it."
"And every dollar that has been dishonestly obtained, then, should at oncebe restored to the rightful ow
ner, I suppose--in order to escape thecurse?" suggested Margaret.
"Every dollar, and at once; for, as the Bible says, the spoiler cometh as athief in the night, and no one can say how soon the judgment may fall!"answered the mother, triumphantly and in full confidence that she had atlast silenced her refractory child by a strictly orthodox quotation.
"How much are we worth, mother?" was the singular question which followedthis supposed annihilation of all argument.
"Why, you know as well as I do that we have eighty thousand in stocks andin bank; and this property and that at Pottsville is believed to be worthtwenty or thirty thousand more. We are worth, as you call it, more than ahundred thousand, and the whole of it will be yours some day--not very longfirst, when I have gone, as I hope and trust I may say, to my reward. Youare rich, my child, and I am glad to see that you think of these things atlast, as you may be kept from throwing yourself away _again_."
The voice and whole manner of the mother were much more amiable than theyhad been at any time since the rising of her daughter from the sofa; fornothing seemed to restore the tone of her agitated feeling like references,from whatever source, to her wealth and position.
"A hundred thousand. There is not nearly enough, then!" The words were halfmuttered, but Mrs. Burton Hayley distinctly heard them. And she sawsomething on the face of the young girl which she by no means understood,as the latter drew from her bosom the lower ends of the gold chaindepending there, and unclasped the back of a rather large and very thicklocket, the front of which presented a miniature in ivory of the handsome,well-whiskered and pleasant-looking Mr. Burton Hayley, her deceased father.Though she raised the locket to her lips and kissed it reverently, thatsomething on the face had not changed when she took from its unsuspectedconcealment a small slip of newspaper, neatly folded and of size enough tocontain some twenty or thirty lines of small type. The mother's eyes wereby this time wide open with astonishment and partial fear that her daughterhad lost her wits in the agitation of that day. The paper looked old andyellow. Margaret unrolled it and said:
"Mother, here is something that I have carried with me night and day forfive years past. I found it at that time, when clipping old newspapers inthe attic, for my scrap-book. I marked the date on the back--it is eighteenyears old, and the paper was a Harrisburgh one of that time. Have you yourglasses with you, or shall I read it?"
"Why, child, are you crazy? What has that slip of paper to do with thesubject of which we were talking?"
"Perhaps you can tell quite as well as myself, after I read it," answeredMargaret. And she moved nearer to the one unshuttered window of the parlor,to secure a better light for the small type and dingy paper, the face ofher mother gradually changing, meanwhile, from the surprise which hadfilled it, to a whiteness which seemed born of terror. Margaret read:
"SOUTTER AND OTHERS VS. HAYLEY AND OTHERS.--This somewhat remarkable railroad case closed yesterday, and the complaint was dismissed. Judge L----, in granting the motion for a dismissal, took occasion to remark that he had seldom performed a more painful duty. That the railroad company had been defrauded to the extent of not less than eighty thousand dollars by Burton Hayley, the contractor, was one of the conclusions--the learned judge said--in which all would unfortunately agree. But the operation had been managed with great skill, and legal evidence of what was morally certain had not been produced. He should therefore grant the motion, with the regret expressed, and with the hope that in a future prosecution the evidence which was certainly demanded might be forthcoming, and the defrauded company at least find themselves in a position to punish the wrong-doer. We hear it stated, upon authority which seems reliable, that Hayley has heretofore been known as a reliable man, and that he has undoubtedly been urged to steps which he must regret during his whole life, even if justice does not reach him, or conscience compel him to make restitution,--by the demands made upon him in behalf of a ruinously expensive family, and by evil advice which he has no doubt received from the same quarter. Hayley will probably leave Harrisburgh at once, to enjoy what may be left of his ill-gotten gains in some locality where his antecedents are less fully understood."
Mrs. Burton Hayley had sunk back into her chair at the moment when Margaretread the first words, and she remained silent till the close. Her face waswhite, except that a single red spot burned in the very centre of eithercheek. Her daughter looked steadily upon her for an instant after she hadconcluded. Still neither spoke. The mother's eyes had in them something ofthat baleful light shown by the orbs of a wild beast when driven to itscorner; and they, with the crimson spotted cheeks, were not pleasant thingsto look upon. At last Margaret asked:
"Did you ever hear of this before? Was that man my father?"
"What of it? Yes!" The words were nearer spat out than spoken. Margaretglanced, perhaps involuntarily, at the ostentatious Bible on its carvedstand.
"Was that money ever repaid to the railroad company?"
For just one instant the lips of Mrs. Burton Hayley moved as if she wasabout to utter a falsehood little less black than the original crime hadbeen. If she had for that instant intended to do so, she thought better ofit and jerked out: "How should I know? I suppose there is no use in tellinga lie about it, to _you_! No!"
"So I thought!" said Margaret Hayley. "That eighty thousand dollars, then,has been standing for fifteen years, and the interest upon it would nearlydouble the sum. We owe that railroad company, or so many members of theoriginal company as may be yet alive, not less than one hundred and fiftythousand dollars. We have only an hundred thousand or a very little more,but that will be something. Of course, after what you have just said of thecurse that clings to ill-gotten gain, you will join me in paying over everydollar in our possession, at once."
Mrs. Burton Hayley sprang up from her chair with more celerity than she hadbefore exhibited. "Margaret Hayley, are you a born fool?" she almostscreamed.
"No, nor a born _hypocrite_!" the young girl replied. Again her eyes wentround to the Bible, and those of the mother followed hers as if they werecompelled by a charm. Then those of the latter drooped, and they did notrise again as she said, in a much lower voice:
"You know the secret. I am in your power. But I am your mother, and it maybe quite as well for you to be merciful to me as well as to yourself. Uponwhat terms will you give me that paper and promise never to speak of it orof the affair to any one without my consent?"
"I will not give you the paper upon _any_ terms!" was the answer. "That hasbeen my shame and my torture for five years, and must still accompany me.But I will be your accomplice in crime and make the promise you require, onthree conditions and those only. _First_, that you drop all hypocrisy whenspeaking to _me_, whatever you may do before the world. _Second_, that younever speak one disrespectful word of Carlton Brand, again, in my hearing.He is dead to me: let your hatred of him die with him, or at least let mehear no word of it. _Third_, that you urge no person upon me as a husband.Present me whom you please--throw me into any company you wish; but say notone word to force me into marriage with Hector Coles or any other person.This will not break my heart--I know it. I shall marry some time, no doubt,when I find the man who can supply that place in my heart which has to-daybeen left empty,--without any foible or weakness to make him an unfit matchfor my own _stainless_ blood!"
There was a bitter emphasis upon the penultimate word, and Mrs. BurtonHayley distinctly recognized it. She recognized, too, the somewhat singularprophecy made by a young girl on the very day of her final parting with theman she had loved so dearly--that _she would yet find another to fill herheart more completely_. Most young persons think very differently at themoment of the great first sorrow, believe that the vacant niche can neverbe filled, and make painful promises of hopeless lives and celibacy, tocancel those promises some day amid blushes of regret or peals of laughter.Mrs. Burton Hayley recognized the singularity then, and she may hav
e hadreason to recall that prophecy at another day in the near future.
But there was yet something that she must do, to seal that treaty of whichher daughter was the dictator. Her own compact was to be made: she made it.
"I will do as you wish, Margaret. They are hard terms to set, to _yourmother_; but I accept them."
"Very well, then. We understand each other, now; and I hope there willnever be another painful word between us. I will try to speak none, and forboth our sakes I hope you will be as careful. Now leave me, please. I willdraw to this other shutter, for I need darkness, silence and rest--yes,rest!"
The closed blind left the room in almost total dusk. The mother left theroom, stepping slowly and appearing to bear about with her a dimconsciousness that within the past half-hour her relative position with herdaughter had been most signally changed. Margaret Hayley threw herself oncemore on the sofa, buried her fevered brow and her dishevelled hair in thesoft, cool, white pillow, and sought that wished-for "rest." Alas! notyrant ever invented a torture-bed so full of weary turnings and agonizedprayers for deliverance or oblivion, as the softest couch whereon younglove, suddenly and hopelessly bereft, reaches out its arms in vain, findsemptiness, and falls back despairing--moaning for the lost twin of itssoul! The agony may be all forgotten to-morrow, in the sunshine, and theintoxication of music, and the voices of friends, and the far-off dawningof a new passion; but oh, what is the martyrdom of to-night.
* * * * *
The third and last of these supplementary scenes, occurring at nearly thesame period in the afternoon as the second, has its location at the houseof Robert Brand, and a part of it in the same room where we have beforeseen the testy invalid while receiving the news of his son's defection anddisgrace.
Robert Brand was once more back in his easy-chair, his injured limb againpropped on the pillows, and his face showing all those contortions ofextraordinary pain likely to be induced by his imprudent ride and theagitation attending it. Satisfied, now, that his son was not dead, thetender father had again died out in him; but made aware by a succession offacts, which he could neither understand nor doubt, that that son, justcharacterized, even by himself, as a hopeless coward, had since that timebeen fighting, and fighting without any evidence of cowardice, in a speciesof hand-to-hand conflict likely to try the courage quite as seriously asthe shock of any ordinary battle,--he was mentally in a state of confusionon the young man's account, altogether unusual with him and not a littlepainful. He did not curse any more, or at least no more of his curses wereaimed at the head of his son.
Poor little Elsie had been left without a hope of reconciliation betweenher father and her brother, after the hurling of that wild and wicked curseand the exile from his home which it involved. But the episode of thesupposed death had made a diversion in Carlton's favor; her father hadreturned from the search for his son's body, worried and unsettled if notmollified; and the affectionate soul thought that the opportunity might bea favorable one for securing the reversal of the cruel sentence, withconcealment from her brother that any such words had ever been uttered, andhis eventual return home as if nothing painful or unpleasant had occurred."Blessed are the peace-makers!" says very high authority; and most blessedof all are those who, like little Elsie, ignoring their own suffering andill-treatment, strive to bring together the divided members of a once happyhousehold!
But the little girl was not half aware how stubborn was the material uponwhich she was trying to work, or how deeply seated was the feeling ofmortification which had embittered the whole nature of the man who heldcowardice to be the most unpardonable of vices.
"Hold your tongue, girl!" was the severe reply to her suggestion that theremight be some mistake, after all--that poor Carlton had enemies, and theyhad no doubt labored to place him in a false position--and that he would besorry, to the last day he lived, if when Carlton returned home, as heprobably would do that night if nothing serious had really happened to him,he should say one word to drive him away again, to leave himself without ason, and her without a brother. "Hold your tongue, girl! You are a littlefool, and do not know what you are talking about. If you do not wish tofollow your brother, you had best not meddle any more in the relationswhich I choose to establish with a son who has disgraced himself and me!"
"But suppose poor Carlton _should_ be dead, after all, father? Who knowsbut some stranger may have come by in a wagon, seen the body lying on theground, picked it up and carried it away to the Coroner's?"
"Eh! What is that you say?" For the instant Robert Brand was startled bythe suggestion and his heart sunk as well as softened at the recurringthought that his son might indeed be dead. But the thought was just asinstantaneous, how general was the objection to touching an unknown deadbody, and how unlikely that any such course should have been adopted bystrangers, while any acquaintance, removing the body at all, wouldcertainly have brought it home to his own house. No--he was alive; andthat belief was once more full in the mind of Robert Brand as he said:
"What do I care if he _is_ dead! I believe I could forgive him better, if Iknew that he was, and that I should never again set eyes on the likeness ofa man with the soul of a cat or a sheep! If he is alive, as I believe heis, let him never come near this house again if he does not wish to hearwords said that he will remember and curse the last thing before he dies!"
A sharp spasm of pain concluded this unhallowed utterance, and wordsfollowed that have no business on this page. Elsie Brand fired again, whenshe found all her pleading in vain, and broke out with:
"You are a miserable heartless old wretch, and I have a great mind to goout of this house, this very moment, and never come into it again as longas I live, unless you send for me to come back with my brother!"
"Go, and the quicker the better!" writhed the miserable man, in the midstof a spasm of pain. "If I hear one more impertinent word out of you, you_will_ go, whether you wish to go or not, and you will never come backagain unless you come on your knees!"
What might have been the next word spoken by either, and whether that nextword might not indeed have wrought the separation of father and daughter,no one can say. For at that moment came a fortunate interruption, in thesound of carriage wheels coming rapidly up the lane, and easily heardthrough the open doors--then the furious barking of a dog, the yell of awoman's voice, and a volley of fearful curses poured out from the rougherlips of a man. Elsie, alarmed, but perhaps rather glad than otherwise tohave the threatening conversation so suddenly ended, rushed out of theroom, through the parlor, to the front piazza, where she joined the generalconfusion with a scream of affright, hearing which, the invalid, who hadbefore, more than once that day, proved how superior the mind could be tothe disablements of the body, hurled one more oath at the people who wouldnot even allow him to suffer in quiet, started again from his chair,grasped his heavy cane and stumped hurriedly to the door, writhing in agonyand half crazed with pain and vexation. There the sight which had theinstant before met the eyes of his daughter, met his own, though the effectproduced by it upon himself was so very different that instead of screaminghe dropped against the lintel of the front door in a loud explosion oflaughter.
There was a horse and buggy in the lane, very near the gate--the horseunheld, rearing and squealing, but making no attempt to run away as mighthave been expected. Close beside the vehicle, a man easily recognizable asDr. Philip Pomeroy, was engaged in a hand-to-hand (or is ithand-to-_mouth_?) conflict with Carlo, the big watch-dog, using the butt ofhis whip, the lash of it, his boots, and any other weapon of offence in hispossession, against the determined assaults of the powerful brute thatreally seemed disposed to make a meal of the man of medicine. The doctorfought well, in that new revival of the sports of the Roman arena, but hewas terribly bested (by which it is only intended to use an old word of thedays of chivalry, and not to make an atrocious pun upon _beast-ed_;) andjust at the moment when Robert Brand's eyes took in all the particulars ofthe scene, the human combatant, follow
ing up a temporary advantage, lungedahead a little too far, lost his balance or caught his foot, and wentheadlong on the top of the dog, the contest being thereafter conducted onthe ground and in the partial obscurity of the fence. At the same instant,too, the tall, bare-headed and bare-armed figure of old Elspeth Graemeappeared from behind the corner of the house, and the voice of thatCaledonian servitor was heard screaming out:
"Here, Carlo! Here, lad! coom awa, ye daft deevil! Here! here! coom awa,lad!"
Elsie joined with a feeble "Here, Carlo!" from the piazza; and RobertBrand, if he could have found voice, would probably have assisted incalling off the dog; but Carlo, a formidable animal in size, black, with afew dashes of white, compounded of the Newfoundland and the Mount St.Bernard, with a surreptitious cross of the bull-dog (such immorality hasbeen known even in canine families, to the great regret of precisiandog-fanciers)--Carlo had no idea whatever of "throwing up the sponge,"(which with a dog consists, we believe, in dropping his tail), and mighthave fought on until death, doomsday, or the loss of his teeth from oldage, arrived to stop him--had not Elspeth closed in with a "Hech! ye borndeevil! Ye'll aye be doin' more than ye'r tauld!" grasped the huge animalby the nape of the neck, and dragged him away very much as if she had beendealing with a kitten.
Thus relieved, the doctor recovered his feet; but he was--as Elspethdescribed him in a communication made not long after--"a sair lookin'chiel!" He had lost his hat, dusted his coat, and found a sad rent in oneleg of his nether garments, not to mention the rage which flashed in hiseye and almost foamed from his mouth. For the first moment after the rescuehe seemed to have a fancy for "pitching into" old Elspeth, unreasonable assuch a course would have been after her calling off the dog and finallylugging him off by main force; and he did hurl after her an appellation ortwo which might have furnished a rhyme to the name of the Scottish nationaldisease; but the stout serving woman quelled him with this significantthreat, and went on her way, dragging the dog towards his kennel in thebackyard:
"'Deed, if ye can't keep a ceevil tongue in yer heid, I'll no be holdin'the tyke awa from ye a bit langer, and he'll eat ye up, I doubt!"
At that juncture the discomfited doctor caught sight of Robert Brand andhis daughter, in the door and on the piazza, and he strode in to themwithout further ado, whip still in hand, rage still in his face, andthreatening enough in his manner to indicate that he intended to cowhide somany of the family as he could find, male and female.
"Who let out that infernal dog?" was his first salutation, without firstaddressing either the old man or his daughter by name.
"He must have broken loose, himself. Indeed, Doctor, we are so sorry--"began little Elsie, who had really been frightened out of her wits, and whohad that organ unknown to the phrenologists, called Hospitality, verylargely developed.
"Hold your tongue, girl, and let me attend to my own business!" was thesurly interruption of the invalid father, who had stopped laughing, and whohad at that juncture a very low development of the corresponding organ. "Weare not sorry at all. Dr. Pomeroy, I told you this morning, when I orderedyou out of this house, never to come near it again; and you had better paidattention to the order."
"Then _you_ had that dog set loose!"
"That is a lie!" was the response. The doctor, who had used the sameexpression in a still more offensive form, not long before, was getting thechalice returned to his lips at very short notice. And the old man, indenying the act, intended to tell the exact truth--he had not turned thedog loose, or set him upon the doctor, except secondarily. Some hoursbefore, when the medical man had just been dismissed for the first time, hehad told the Scottish woman that 'he would bundle her out, neck and crop,if she did not set the dog on that man if he ever came near the houseagain!' and she had promised to obey his orders: that was all! Carlo, adear friend of his young master, had always hated the doctor, who was hisenemy, and never passed without snapping and growling at him; and the oldwoman well knew the fact. Consequently, when she saw the buggy dashing upthe lane, and recognized it, she had religiously kept her promise, dartedround to the kennel, unloosed the dog and directed his attention to theobnoxious individual, with a "Catch him, laddie!" that sent him flying atthe doctor's throat just as he stepped to the ground. And it was only whenthe old woman believed the punishment going a little too far and thevictim likely to be eaten up in very deed, that she had interposed anddragged the enraged brute from his prey. All this was unknown to bothfather and daughter, who merely supposed that the dog had broken loose atthat awkward moment; and Robert Brand's disclaimer, though a veryuncourteous one, had the merit of truth. But the doctor, just then enragedbeyond endurance, literally "boiled over" at the word.
"I lie, do I?" he foamed. "If you were not a miserable cripple, I wouldhorse-whip you on your own door-step, old as you are!"
"Oh, Doctor! oh, father!" pleaded the frightened Elsie, who did not knowwhat might be coming after this.
"Hold your tongue, girl!" again spoke Robert Brand, who still stood leaningagainst the lintel of the door. "Horsewhip me, would you, you poisoningCopperhead! If I could not beat out your brains with this stick, I couldset a woman at you who would take you across her knee and spank you tillyou were flat like a pancake!"
Dr. Pomeroy thought of the woman who had dragged off the dog, and had somedoubts whether she could not indeed do all that her master promised. Heseemed to have the luck, that day, to fall into the way of people sturdy ofarm and strong of will!
"What do you _want_ here?" was the inquiry of the old man, before thedoctor could answer again, and remembering that there might be some specialerrand upon which he had a right to come.
"You have remembered it, have you?" was the response. "Well, then, I wantyour thief of a son! Is he in this house?"
"Oh, he was a coward this morning: now he is a thief, is he? What do youwant of him?"
"He committed theft at my house not more than an hour ago; and I am goingto find him if he is in the State. Once more--is he here?"
"What did he steal?" asked the father with a sneer, while poor Elsie stoodnearly fainting and yet unable to move from the spot, at that new chargeagainst her brother.
"A woman." Elsie felt relieved; the old man sneered.
"Well, I can only say that if he took away any woman belonging to _you_, hemust have a singular taste!"
"Robert Brand"--and the doctor spoke in a tone of low and concentratedpassion--"once more and for the last time I ask you whether your son is inthis house, with Eleanor Hill, my--my adopted daughter, in his company."
"Eleanor Hill!" gasped Elsie, but no one heard her.
"Dr. Pomeroy," answered Robert Brand, "you do not deserve any answer excepta blow, but I will give you one. My son, as you call him, Carlton Brand, isnot here, and will never be here again while I live, unless to be thrustout like a dog. How many girls he has, or where he conceals them, is noneof my business, or _yours_! Now go, if you know when you are well off, foras sure as God lets me live, if I ever see you approaching this houseagain, I will shoot you from the window with my own hand."
Something in the tone told Dr. Pomeroy that both the assertion and thethreat were true. He turned without another word, stepped to his buggy,mounted into it and drove away.
"He is alive, father--thank God!" said Elsie Brand, reverently, when theunwelcome visitor had disappeared and she was assisting the invalid back tohis chair of suffering. That one assurance had been running through herlittle head, putting out all other thoughts, since the remark of the doctorthat Carlton had been at his house not an hour before.
"He is as dead to me as if he had been buried ten years!" was the reply ofthe implacable father, who stood in momentary peril of the grave from somesudden turn of his disease, and yet who had not even taken that first steptowards preparation for the Judgment, comprised in pity and forgiveness!
The Coward: A Novel of Society and the Field in 1863 Page 11
