The Lost Hunter

by John Turvill Adams

  CHAPTER XLI.

  'Tis necessity To which the gods must yield; and I obey, Till I redeem it by some glorious way.

  BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER.

  The next morning was beautiful, like most June mornings. Armstrong,who had not closed his eyes during the whole night, rose with the dawnto wander through his garden, which was a favorite resort. His walk,at first rapid and irregular, as if he were trying to work off anervous excitement, gradually slackened, until it became a firm,composed step. With folded arms and compressed, resolved lips, hepaced up and down the paths. He was living in an interior world.He heard not the singing of the birds, which, in great numbers,frequented the spacious gardens and orchards lying around; he saw notthe beautiful flowers, burdening the air with sweetness; nor the youngfruit, whose progress, through the various stages of its growth, hehad once watched with so much pleasure. His mind went back to the timewhen he was a school-boy with his brother George; when they slept inthe same bed, and associated in the same sports; it then advanced totheir college days, and the face of the beautiful girl, who became hiswife, flitted by him. He thought of that fair face now for many along day, mouldering in the grave, into which he had seen the coffinlowered; then his thoughts reverted to his brother George, so brave,so generous, so strong once, but who presented himself to his visionnow, a livid corpse, dripping with water. Next came his mother, ofwhom his recollection was faint; and then his father, with insanity inhis eyes. He felt, as it were, their presence around him, but it was acompanionship which afforded no pleasure. There seemed to be somethingabout himself that invincibly held them off, notwithstanding theirattempts to approach--a sullen sphere, which projected a dark shadow,only to the edge of which the spirits could come, and which they maderepeated efforts to cross.

  While Armstrong was suffering under these strange delusions, Felixapproached, to call him to breakfast. The black beheld him walkingbackwards and forwards, with orderly and composed steps, andcongratulated himself upon the change since the day before. He hadnot, however, ventured to address his master since being ordered away,and uncertain how he would be received, preferred to be spoken tofirst. With this view, he drew nigh one of the flower-beds, whichArmstrong was passing and re-passing, and pretended to busy himselfwith tying up one of the rose bushes, then in full bloom. Armstrongdid not see Felix as he passed, so deep was his reverie, buton retracing his steps, he observed a shadow on the path, whichoccasioned him to lift his eyes, when he discerned the black. Hestopped and spoke.

  "Felix," he said, "I was unkind to you yesterday. I ask your pardon."

  "O, Mr. Armstrong," said Felix, his eyes protruding with astonishment,"there is no 'casion. I say so many foolish things, it is no wonderyou out of patience sometime."

  "No, Felix; it was a fancied superiority that made me speak harshly.You have always been a good and faithful servant," he continued,taking out his pocket-book, which he opened mechanically, as from theforce of habit, "and I wish I had it in my power to express better mysense of the obligation. But why do I open it?" he said, closing atthe same time, and offering it to Felix. "You will find here what maybe of use to you, though I think there is little enjoyment purchasablewith money."

  "Why! Mr. Armstrong," cried Felix, stepping back. "What for do I wantmore money? I have enough, and you will please keep it, sir, to givesome poor man if you wish."

  "You are right to despise it," said Armstrong. "It shows a superiorityof soul. Now here is this poor black," he went on soliloquizing,though all the time Felix stood before him, "who has learned thatlesson of contentment which the generality never learn. Rich in hispoverty here, an inheritor of the skies, I have only insulted him byso contemptible an offer." His head sunk upon his breast, his eyesfell upon the ground, his pocket-book dropped from his unconscioushand, and he resumed his walk. The negro stooped and picked it up,saying, to himself:

  "Very strange! Mr. Armstrong act as if pocket-book chock fullo' bank-bills grow like chick-weed, but I will take him under myprotecshum till I give him to Miss Faith."

  Upon Armstrong's return from the end of the walk, Felix deliveredhimself of his errand, and his master directed his steps towards thehouse.

  He found his daughter with the breakfast apparatus before her, andlooking as fresh and charming as the morning itself.

  "You have shown better taste than I, father," she said. "You have beenenjoying the beauty of nature, while I was lying on a downy pillow."

  "Sleep is sweet to the young and healthy," said Armstrong, "and myselfishness kept you up so late last night, that I do not wonder youare not as early as usual."

  "My late hours have done me no harm. But when shall we take the driveyou promised me?"

  "At any time that is most agreeable to yourself."

  "If you refer it to me, I shall not long hesitate."

  "It will make no difference with me. Choose, yourself, my darling."

  "Then, why not this morning, while the air is fresh with the dews ofnight, and before the roads are filled with dust? I anticipate a greatdeal of pleasure, for it seems to me some mystery hangs about thisdrive, and that you are preparing for me a delightful surprise."

  Armstrong started, and an expression of pain gathered over his face.

  "That was earlier than I intended," he said, "but a few hours can makeno difference."

  "If it is not perfectly convenient; if you have another engagement,put it off later. It was only the loveliness of the morning which mademe select it."

  "I have no other engagement so important," said Armstrong; "it is ofgreat importance to us both: I ought to gratify any request you canmake, but"--

  "Why hesitate, dear father, to make your own choice without regard toa chance expression of mine? I really have no preference contrary toyours."

  "There is no such thing as chance. We will go this morning, mydarling," said Armstrong, with decision. "I have observed, there aresome persons controlled by a heavenly influence, which prevents theirerring. I have felt it sometimes, and, I think I feel it now. You werealways right from infancy. The influence upon us both is the same,and, I am convinced, we should follow it."

  Accordingly, shortly after breakfast, Faith and her father entered thecoach, which was driven by Felix. The route they passed over was thesame taken by the Judge and Armstrong, and we are, therefore, relievedfrom the necessity of a description. Besides, we are now too muchinterested in Armstrong, to allow us to pay much attention to thebeauties of external nature. Of such infinite worth is a human being;so incalculably grand and precious those faculties and powers whichconnect him with his magnificent source; so fraught with mystery thediscipline he endures, a mystery in which each one endowed with thesame nature, has part, that the natural and the visible shrink intoinsignificance in comparison with the unseen and spiritual. Ofwhat consequence is a world of insensate matter, when brought intocompetition with the immortal spirit?

  Vain would be the attempt to describe the tumult of feelings that,like billows of fire, dashed through the soul of the unfortunate man.Sitting, as he supposed, for the last time, by the side of one dearerthan life, his eyes no longer dwelt upon Faith, with that expressionof calm and boundless love, whence she had been accustomed to drink inso much happiness. Yet, was the love all there, but it was a troubledlove, a love full of anguish. What sweetness! what confidence in himhe read in her face! It was like the placid surface of a mountainlake, in which the skies delight to mirror themselves--no emotionhidden, no thought concealed--and, for all this innocent confidence,what was his return? He was entertaining, in his mind, a dreadfulpurpose; carefully concealing it so that it should be beyond thepower of suspicion, and inveigling her into a snare, which, upon beingdiscovered, must fill her young heart with an agony worse than death.But no thought of swerving from his purpose crossed now the mind ofArmstrong. Considerations like these had long been reflected upon, andin connection with others, been able, indeed, to retard the executionof his design, but not, as it seemed, to defeat it. What
ever weightthey might have had, they were obliged to yield to more powerfulantagonists. He was no longer a free agent. A force, as with the gripof a vice, held him fast. A scourge, whose every lash drew blood, asit were, from his heart, drove him on. Beautiful, magnificent, theharmonious and healthy play of the human faculties; horrid, beyondconception, the possible chaos of their diseased action!

  Meanwhile, Faith, ignorant of what was passing in her father'smind, endeavored to interest him in the objects which attracted herattention, but in vain. The moment was nigh which was to accomplisha deed, at the bare contemplation of which his whole being revolted;but, to whose execution he felt drawn by a power, as irresistible byhim as is that force which keeps the worlds in their places, by thoserolling spheres. Engrossed, absorbed by one dominating idea, there wasno room in his mind for another. The musical tones of Faith's voice;the smiles evoked for his sake, that played around those lips sweeterthan the damask rose, clustered inevitably about that one thought.But, he felt them as a swarm of angry bees, that eagerly settle upona living thing to sting it into torture. That living thing was hisburning, sensitive heart, quivering, bleeding, convulsed, longing forthe bliss of annihilation. And thus, in an agony far greater than thatwhich the martyr endures in the chariot of flame which is to waft himto heaven, as the sufferings of the immortal spirit can exceed thoseof the perishable body, the insane man pursued his way. How unendingseemed that road, and yet, how he longed that it might extend on forever! Within the time of each revolution of the wheels, an age oftorment was compressed; yet, how he dreaded when they should stop!

  But this could not last, and, at length, the coach reached a spotwhere Armstrong proposed they should alight. Accordingly, he assistedFaith out, and, preceding her, they took their way across the fields.Faith, unable to resist the attraction of the wild-flowers scatteredbeneath her feet, stooped occasionally to pick them, and soon had herhands full.

  "What a pity it is, father," she said, "that we should step upon thesebeautiful things! They seem little fairies, enchanted in the grass,that entreat us to turn aside and do them no harm."

  "It is our lot, in this world, cursed for our sakes," said Armstrong,hoarsely, "to crush whatever we prize and love the dearest."

  "The flower is an emblem of forgiveness," said Faith. "Pluck it, andit resents not the wrong. It dies, but with its last breath, exhalesonly sweetness for its destroyer."

  "O, God!" groaned Armstrong. "Was this, too, necessary? Wilt thougrind me between the upper and the nether millstone?"

  "What is the matter, father?" inquired Faith, anxiously, catching somewords between his groans. "O, you are ill, let us return."

  "No, my daughter, there is no return. It was a pang like those towhich I am subject. Will they ever pass off?"

  They had reached the open space of ground or clearing made byGladding, and Armstrong advanced, with Faith following, directly tothe pile he had built near the brook.

  "What a beautiful stream!" exclaimed Faith. "How it leaps, as if aliveand rejoicing in its activity! I always connect happiness with life."

  "You are mistaken," said Armstrong. "Life is wretchedness, with nowand then a moment of delusive respite to tempt us not to cast itaway."

  "When your health returns, you will think differently, dear father.Look! how enchanting this blue over-arching sky, in which the cloudsfloat like angels. With what a gentle welcome the wind kisses ourcheeks, and rustles the leaves of the trees, as if to furnish anaccompaniment to the songs of the birds which flit among them, whilethe dear little brook laughs and dances and claps its hands, and tellsus, like itself, to be glad. There is only one thing wanting, father,and that is, that you should be happy. But I wonder why this pile ofwood was built up so carefully near the edge of the water."

  "It is the altar on which I am commanded to sacrifice thee, my child,"said Armstrong, seizing her by the arm, and drawing her towards it.

  There was a horror in the tones of his voice, a despair in theexpression of his face, and a lurid glare in his eyes, that explainedall his previous conduct, and revealed to the unhappy girl the fulldanger of her situation; even as in a dark night a sudden flash oflightning apprises the startled traveller of a precipice over whichhis foot has already advanced, and the gleam serves only to show himhis destruction.

  "Father, you cannot be in earnest," she exclaimed, dreadfully alarmedat being in the power of a maniac, far from assistance, "you do notmean so. Oh," she said throwing herself into his arms, "I do notbelieve my father means to hurt me."

  "Why do you not fly? Why do you throw your arms about me? Do you thinkto defeat the decree? Unwind your arms, I say, and be obedient untodeath."

  So saying, with a gentle force he loosed the hold of the faintinggirl, who with one hand embracing his knees, and the other held up todeprecate his violence, sunk at his feet.

  "God have mercy upon us! Christ have mercy upon us," her pale lipsfaintly gasped.

  "Faith, my precious, my darling," said Armstrong, with a terriblecalmness, as he drew a large knife out of his bosom, "You know Ido not this of myself, but I dare not disobey the command. It mightendanger the soul of my child, which is dearer than her life. Think,dear child, in a moment, you will be in Paradise. It is only one shortpang, and all is over. Let me kiss you first."

  He stooped down, he inclosed her in his arms, and strained her tohis heart--he imprinted innumerable kisses on her lips, her eyes, hercheeks, her forehead--he groaned, and large drops of sweat stood onhis face, pressed out by the agony.

  "You will see your mother and my brother George, Faith. Tell them notto blame me. I could not help it. You will not blame me, I know. Younever blamed me even in a thought. I wish it was for you to kill me.The father, it would seem ought to go first, and I am very weary oflife."

  He raised the knife, and Faith, with upturned and straining eyes, sawit glittering in the sunshine. She strove to cry out, but in vain.From the parched throat no sound proceeded. She saw the point aboutto enter her bosom. She shut her eyes, and mentally prayed for herfather. At that moment, as the deadly instrument approached her heart,she heard a voice exclaim, "Madman forbear!" She opened her eyes:the knife had dropped from her father's hand; he staggered and leanedagainst the altar. A few words will explain the timely interruption.

  When Armstrong and his daughter left the carriage to cross the field,the mind of Felix was filled with a thousand apprehensions. He wouldhave followed had he dared to leave the horses, but this, his fear ofthe consequences if the high-spirited animals were left to themselves,forbade. With anxious eyes he pursued the receding foot-steps of hismaster and young mistress until they were lost to sight, and then,with a foreboding of evil, hid his face in the flowing mane of one ofthe horses, as if seeking comfort from his dumb companion. Some littletime passed, which to the fearful Felix seemed hours, when, whomshould he see but the man whom of all the world he dreaded most. Itwas Holden, bounding along with strides which showed that thehabits of his forest-life were not forgotten. At any other time theapparition of the Solitary would have imparted anything but pleasure,but now it was as welcome as a spar to a shipwrecked sailor. Holdenadvanced straight to the carriage, but before he could speak the blackaddressed him,

  "Oh, Mr. Holden, if you love Mr. Armstrong and Miss Faith, go afterthem quick; don't stop a minute."

  "Where are they?" said Holden.

  "They go in that direcshum," answered Felix, pointing with his chin,across the field.

  "How long ago?"

  "Ever so long; Oh, good Mr. Holden, do hurry," said Felix, whoseanxieties made him magnify the progress of time.

  Holden asked no further questions, but increasing his speed, hastenedon an Indian lope in the direction indicated, following the traces inthe grass.

  As he hurried on, his dream occurred to him. The features of thecountry were the same as of that he had traversed in his sleep:he remembered also, that the day of the week was Friday. As thesethoughts came into his mind, they stimulated him to press on withincreased speed, as
if something momentous depended upon the swiftnessof his motions. It was well he did so. A moment later might have beentoo late; a moment more and he might have seen the fair creature heso loved weltering in her blood. Too late to stay the uplifted handof the deranged man with his own, he had uttered the cry which hadarrested the knife.

  Holden stooped down, and taking into his arms the insensible form ofFaith, bore her to the brook. Here he lavishly sprinkled her face withthe cool water, and sobs and deep drawn sighs began, after a time, toherald a return to consciousness. Armstrong followed, and as he sawthe pale girl lying like a corpse in the arms of Holden, he threwhimself down by her side upon the grass, and took her passive hand,which lay cold in his own.

  "She is not dead, is she?" said he. "O, say to me, she is not dead.I thought I heard a voice from heaven--I expected to hear it--whichcommanded me to forbear. Did I disobey the angel? Was he too late?Too late, too late, too late! Oh, she is dead, dead. My Faith, mydaughter, my darling! O, God, it was cruel in thee!"

  But presently, as we have said, sighs and sobs began to heave thebosom of Faith, and as she opened her languid eyes their soft lightfell upon the face of her father.

  With a cry of delight he sprang from the ground. "She is not dead," heexclaimed, "she is alive! I knew it would be so. I knew it was onlya trial of my faith. I knew God would send his angel. He has angelsenough in heaven. What does he want of Faith yet? My darling," hesaid, getting down and leaning the head of his daughter upon hisbosom, "God did not mean it in earnest. He only meant to try us. It isall over now, and hereafter we shall be so happy!"

  Holden, who, when Faith began to revive, had surrendered her to herfather, stood looking on, while tears streamed down his face. Faithhad now so far recovered as to sit up and look about her, and throwingher arms around her father's neck, she hid her face in his bosom."

  "My brain whirls," she said, "and it seems to me as if I had had adreadful dream. I thought you wanted to kill me, father."

  "No, no, no!" cried Armstrong, "I never wanted to. It was my trial,"he added, solemnly, "and I shall never have another, Faith. God is toomerciful to try a man twice, so."

  "James," said Holden, and his voice sounded with unusual magnificence,"dost thou know me?"

  "Certainly," said Armstrong; "it is a strange question to ask me. Youare Mr. Holden."

  "I am thy brother George."

  Without a doubt, without a misgiving, Armstrong, still holding hisdaughter, extended his hand to Holden.

  "So, George," he said, "you have risen from the dead to save Faith'slife. I knew God would work a miracle if it was necessary."

  "I trust I have risen from the death of sin but I have never been inthe grave of which thou speakest. Know that in veritable flesh andblood, I am thy brother George, who hath never tasted of death."

  But this was an idea which Armstrong was incapable of receiving. Heshook his head, and muttering to himself, "Can the dead lie?" lookedsuspiciously at Holden.

  The announcement of the Solitary struck Faith, at once, as the truth.Her mind was in no condition to reason and compare proofs. She onlyfelt how sweet had been her intercourse with him, and how he hadcontrived to make her love and reverence him. She hoped it was true,he was her long lost uncle, and she believed it because she hoped it.

  "My Uncle George!" she said, as attempting to rise she received hisembrace. She could say no more. The agitation of her feelings chokedher voice and vented itself in a flood of tears.

  "What, crying, my darling?" said Armstrong. "This is no time fortears. You should rejoice, for is not George here, who left his graveto save your life, and has not our faith received its triumphantcrown?"

  "Alas!" exclaimed Holden, by a word and look conveying his meaning."As soon as you are able to walk, dear Faith, we had better return toyour home."

  "I think I am sufficiently restored," she replied, "if you will assistme."

  Holden gave her his arm, and supported her to the carriage, followedwith great docility by Armstrong, who broke out into occasionalsnatches of music, once a common habit, but in which he had not beenknown to indulge for a long time.