Horse-Shoe Robinson: A Tale of the Tory Ascendency

by John Pendleton Kennedy

  CHAPTER XXXV.

  MILDRED IN GRIEF.--SHE IS NEAR MAKING A DISCLOSURE.--A VISITOR ARRIVESAT THE DOVE COTE.

  "Then in that hour remorse he felt, And his heart told him he had dealt Unkindly with his child."--_Rogers._

  On the following day Mildred confined herself to her chamber. She hadpassed a sleepless night, and the morning found her a pale, anxious, anddistressed watcher of the slow approach of light. Her thoughts were busywith the fate of Butler. This topic overwhelmed all other cares, andstruck deep and unmitigated anguish into her mind. The hints that hadbeen so indiscreetly dropped by her father, more than if the whole talehad been told, had worked upon her imagination, and conjured up to herapprehension the certain destruction of her lover. In her interview withLindsay, her emotions had been controlled by the extreme difficulty ofher situation. The fear of rousing in her father that deep and solemntone of passion, which had now become the infirmity of his mind, andalmost threatened to "deprive his sovereignty of reason," and of whichshe was painfully aware, had subdued the strength of her ownfeelings--so far, at least, as to inculcate a more seeming moderationthan, in other circumstances, she could have exhibited. It was thestruggle between filial affection and duty on the one side, and anardent, though tremblingly acknowledged, attachment on the other. Thecourse that she had previously determined to pursue, in reference to themany earnest and assiduous efforts of Lindsay to persuade her from herlove, was steadily to persevere in the open acknowledgment of herplighted vow, and endeavor to win her father's favor by a calm andgentle expostulation; or to seek, in a respectful silence, the means ofaverting the occasion of that gusty and moody outbreak of temper, whichthe peculiar exacerbation of his mind was apt to make frequent. Shewould have resorted to this silence in the late communion with Lindsay,if he had not, with an unusual bitterness, denounced Arthur Butler asthe author of a hateful crime; a crime which she knew had been foullyinsinuated against him by a man of whose subtle wickedness she waspersuaded, and whom, of all others, she most heartily execrated. Shewas, therefore, led indignantly, though temperately, to repel theslander by which her father's hatred had been artfully envenomed. Butwhen, in the fierce fervor of his displeasure, Lindsay had announced toher the danger that had befallen Butler, the disclosure opened to hermind a world of misery. The late silence of her lover had alreadyalarmed her fears, and this announcement suggested the worst of the manyanxious conjectures which her brooding spirit had imagined as the causeof that absence of tidings. Her emotions upon this disclosure were thoseof a bursting heart that dared not trust itself with words; and when herfather, seeing the unlooked-for mischief he had done, sought to temperhis speech, and retract some of the harshness of his communication, byan explanation, the only effect was, for the moment, to take off theedge of her keenest grief. But when she left his presence, and recoveredherself sufficiently to recall all that had passed, the dreadful thoughtof disaster to Butler, came back upon her imagination with all thehorrors which a fond heart could summon around it. A weary hour wasspent in sobs and tears; and it was only by the blandishments of herbrother Henry's kind and earnest sympathy, when the youth found her inthe parlor thus whelmed in sorrow, and by his manly and cheeringreckoning of the many chances of safety that attend the footsteps of aprudent and a brave man, that she began to regain that resoluteequanimity that was a natural and even predominating attribute of hercharacter.

  When Lindsay came into the parlor with the tidings of the victory atCamden, such was the state in which he found her; and whilst heannounced to her that event which had given him so much joy, he was notunheedful of the pang he had previously inflicted, and now endeavored tomake amends by throwing in some apparently casual, though intentional,reference to the condition of Butler, who, he doubted not, would now bedisposed of on easy terms. "Perhaps," he continued, "as the war wasdrawing to a close, and the royal clemency had been singularlyconsiderate of the mistaken men who had taken arms against their king,he would in a little while be discharged on his parole." This reluctantand forced crumb of comfort fell before one who had but little appetiteto take it, and Mildred received it only in cold silence. Henry,however, made better use of the event, and by that assiduity which, intrue and gentle friendships, never wearies, and never misses its aim,when that aim is to revive a sinking hope, succeeded in lifting both hisfather and sister into a kindlier climate of feeling. But solitude andher pillow ravelled all this work of charity. Fancy, that stirringtormentor of acute minds, summoned up all its phantoms to Mildred'swaking fears, and the night was passed by her as by one who could not becomforted. In the morning she was ill, and therefore, as I have said,remained in her chamber.

  Lindsay, ever solicitous for the happiness of his children, and keenlysensitive to whatever gave them pain, now that the turbid violence ofhis passion had subsided into a clearer and calmer medium, appliedhimself by every art which parental fondness could supply, to mitigatethe suffering of his daughter. Like a man who, in a reckless andungoverned moment, having done an injury which his heart revolts at, andhaving leisure to contemplate the wrong he has inflicted, hastens toadminister comfort with an alacrity which even outruns the suggestionsof ordinary affection, so did he now betake himself to Mildred'schamber, and, with sentiments of mixed alarm and contrition, seek herforgiveness for what he acknowledged a rash and unbecoming assault uponher feelings.

  His soothing did not reach the disease. They could give her no assuranceof Butler's safety; and on that point alone all her anguish turned. "Mydear, dear father," she said, with a feeble and dejected voice, "how doyou wrong me, by supposing I could harbor a sentiment that might causeme to doubt the love I bear you! I know and revere the purity of yournature, and need no assurance from you that your affection itself haskindled up this warmth of temper. But you have opened a fountain ofbitterness upon my feelings," she added, sobbing vehemently, "in whatyou have divulged relating to a man you loathe, and one, dearfather--take it from me now, as the expression of a sacred duty--onethat I must ever love. Call it fate--call it infatuation; say that itdoes not befit my womanly reserve to avow it--but if misfortune anddeath have fallen upon the head of Arthur Butler, there is that bondbetween us, that I must die. Oh, father--"

  As Mildred pronounced these words she had gradually raised herself intoa sitting posture in her bed, and, at the conclusion, fell backexhausted upon her pillow. The enthusiasm, the violence and theintensity of her emotions had overborne her strength, and for somemoments she lay incapable of speech.

  "Mildred, Mildred! daughter!" exclaimed Lindsay, in alarm, "I forgiveyou, my child. Great heaven, if this should be too much for hersensitive nature, and she should die before my eyes! Dear Mildred," hesaid in a softer accent, as he kissed her pale forehead, "but look up,and never, never more will I oppose your wish."

  "Father," she uttered, in a scarce audible whisper.

  "Thank God, she revives! Forbear to speak, my love; that is enough. Donot exhaust your strength by another effort."

  "Father!" she repeated in a firmer accent.

  "There, there, my child," continued Lindsay, fanning the air before herface with his hand.

  "Father," again uttered Mildred, "tell me of Arthur."

  "He is safe, my love--and thou shalt yet be happy. Daughter--no more;compose yourself--nor attempt again to speak." And saying these words,Lindsay stole out of the chamber and summoned one of the domestics toadminister a cordial to the exhausted patient; and then gave orders thatshe should be left to recruit her strength by sleep.

  Mildred by degrees revived. Jaded by mental affliction, she had sunkinto repose; and when another morning arrived, the lustre had returnedto her eye, and her recovery was already well advanced. She did not yetventure from her chamber, but she was able to leave her bed and take thefresh air at her window.

  Whilst she sat in the loose robe of an invalid, towards noon, lookingout upon the green forest and smiling fields around her, with Henryclose by her side, seeking to soothe and amuse her mind, they wereenabled to descr
y a horseman, attended by a single servant, making hisway up the hill from the ford, by the road that led directly to thedoor.

  "As I live, sister," ejaculated Henry, "there is Tyrrel, covered withdust, and his horse all but worn down by travel."

  "Heaven forbid that it should be Tyrrel indeed!" said Mildred, growingpaler, and trembling as she spoke. "Oh, what ill fortune brings himhither?"

  "I'll be bound," replied Henry, "that he comes with a whole budget oflies and foul thoughts. He has a knavish look, sister, and has beenhatching mischief with every step of his horse. I, for one, will not seehim; unless I can't help it. And you, sister, have an excuse to keepyour room: so, he is like to have cold comfort here, with his rascallynews of victory. We shall hear enough of Camden now. By-the-by, sister,I should like much to see our account of that business. I would bet itgives another face to the matter. These Tories do so bespatter hislordship with praises, and tell such improbable things about theirvictories! I will not see Tyrrel, that's flat."

  "Nay, brother, not so fast. You must see him, for my sake. He hassomething to tell of Arthur. Persuade my father to ask him: tell him, ifneed be, that I requested this. And, Henry, if he says that Arthur issafe and well, if he has heard anything of him, knows anything of him,fly to and tell me it all. And, remember, brother," she said earnestly,"tell me all--whether it be good or bad."

  "This is a new view of the case," said Henry. "Mildred, you are a wisewoman, and think more ahead than I do. I did not reflect that thisfellow might know something of Major Butler, though I am pretty sure hekept as clear of the major as a clean pair of heels would allow him.And, moreover, I take upon me to say, that he will bring as little goodnews of our Arthur in this direction, as he ever did of a good act inhis life. But I will spy him out, sister, and report like a--likea--forty-two pounder, or the dispatch of a general who has won a fight.So, adieu, sister."

  By the time that Henry had reached the porch, Tyrrel was already there.He had dismounted, and his weary steed stood panting on the grave walk,while the servant stripped him of his baggage.

  "Well met, good master Henry!" said Tyrrel approaching, and offering theyouth his hand, "I am somewhat of a soiled traveller, you see. Is yourfather at home? And your sister, how is she?"

  "My father is at home," replied Henry, dropping the proffered hand ofthe visitor, almost as soon as it had touched his own. "I will send himto you, sir."

  "But you have not asked me the news, Henry," said Tyrrel, "and, seeingthat I have come from the very theatre of war, I could tell yousomething good."

  "I have heard my father speak of your good news," answered Henry,carelessly, "I do not serve under the same colors with you, sir."

  And the youth left the porch to announce the arrival of the traveller toLindsay.

  "There spoke the rebel Mildred," muttered Tyrrel, as Henry left hispresence.

  In an instant, Lindsay hastened from the library and received his guestwith a warm welcome.

  The first cares of his reception, and some necessary order relating tohis comfort, being despatched, Tyrrel began to disburden himself of hisstock of particulars relating to the great and important movements ofthe opposing armies in the south. He had left Cornwallis a few daysafter the battle, and had travelled with post haste to Virginia, on aleave of absence. He described minutely the state of things consequentupon the recent victory; and it was with a tone of triumphant exultationthat he frequently appealed to his predictions as to the course ofevents, when last at the Dove Cote. The conversation soon became tooconfidential for the presence even of Henry, who sat greedily devouringevery word that fell from the lips of the narrator, and the furtherinterview was transferred to the library.

  Henry hastened back to Mildred.

  "The fellow is so full of politics, sister," said the eager scout, "thathe has not dropped one solitary word about Butler. He talks of theprovince being brought back to a sense of its duty, and public sentimentputting an end to this unnatural war forsooth! And his majesty reapingfresh laurels on the fields of Virginia! Let his majesty put in hissickle here--he shall reap as fine a crop of briers to bind round hisbrow, as ever grew in a fence-corner! But Butler! Oh, no, he has nothingto say of Butler. He is a cunning man, sister, and keeps out of themajor's way, take my word for that."

  "Brother, get you again to my father, and say to him that I desire toknow what tidings Mr. Tyrrel brings us. Say it in his ear privately,Henry."

  The young emissary again took his leave, and, without apology, enteredthe library.

  Mildred, in the meantime, restless and impatient, applied herself to theduties of the toilet, and, with the assistance of her maid, was soon ina condition to leave her chamber. She had, almost unwittingly, and inobedience to her engrossing wish to know something of Butler, made thesepreparations to appear in the parlor, without thinking of her repugnanceto meet Tyrrel. And now, when she was on the point of going forth, herresolve changed, and she moved through the chamber like a perturbedspirit, anxiously waiting the return of Henry. She walked to the window,whence, looking out towards the terrace she perceived that her fatherand his guest had strolled out upon the lawn, where they were movingforward at a slow pace, whilst their gesticulations showed that theywere engaged in an earnest conference.

  Henry's footsteps at the same moment were heard traversing the longpassage, and Mildred, no longer able to restrain her eagerness, hastilyleft her room and met her brother, with whom she returned to the parlor.

  "My news, upon the whole, is good," said Henry, as he put his arm roundMildred's waist. "When I entered the library, and took a seat by myfather, he suddenly broke up some long talk that was going on, in whichhe looked very grave, and, as if he knew what I came for--he is anexcellent, kind father, sister, for all his moping and sad humors, andloves both you and me."

  "He does, Henry, and we must never forget it."

  "I would fight for him to the very death, Mildred. So, seeing that Ilooked as if you had sent me to him, he turned, in a kind of carelessway, and asked Tyrrel if he had heard anything lately of Butler."

  "Well--brother."

  "'I scarce thought to mention it, answered Tyrrel, 'but the man'--thinkof that way of speaking of Major Butler--'the man had the temerity topush himself amongst the loyal troops, and was made a prisoner; he wassuspected to be a spy, and there was, as I have understood, an idea oftrying him by court-martial for it, and for other misdemeanors, of whichI wrote you some particulars. I believe indeed, he was tried, and would,perhaps, have been shot.'"

  "Oh, heaven! brother, can this be true?" exclaimed Mildred, as the colordeserted her cheek.

  "I give you exactly Tyrrel's words," replied Henry, "but the court wereattacked, said he, by some bands of Whigs who stole a march upon them."

  "And Arthur escaped? Kind heaven, I thank thee!" almost screamedMildred, as she clasped her hands together.

  "So Tyrrel thinks," continued Henry. "At all events they did not shoothim, like a pack of cowardly knaves as they were. And as some Toryprisoners were taken and dragged away by our good friend GeneralSumpter, who was the man, Tyrrel says, that set upon them, it isconsidered good policy--these were his words, sister--to spare theunnecessary effusion of blood on both sides. And then my father askedTyrrel if Cornwallis knew of these doings, and he answered, not--that itwas the indiscreet act of some mountain boys, who were in the habit ofburning and slaying, against the wish of his Lordship: that the regularofficers disapprove of harsh measures, and that peace now reigns allthrough the province."

  "When they make a desert of the land, they call it peace," said Mildredthoughtfully, quoting a translation of the beautiful passage of Tacitus."This war is a dreadful trade."

  "For us, sister, who stay at home," replied Henry. "But God is good tous, and will favor the right, and will protect the brave men who drawtheir swords to maintain it."

  "From treachery, ambuscade, and privy murder--I thank you, brother, forthat word. Heaven shield us, and those we love! But these are fearfultimes."