 42. Cap rests on her laurels, and spoils for a fight. Tis hardly in a body's power, to keep at times from being sour, to see how things are shared, how best of childs are wiles and want, while coofs on countless thousands rant, and canna how to wear it. 43. Leaving Clara Day and Mara Rock in a home of safety, plenty, and kindness, in the old Doctor's house, we must run down to Hurricane Hall to see what mischief Cap has been getting into since we left her. In truth, none. Cap had had such a surfer of adventures that she was feigned to lie by and rest upon her laurels. Besides, there seemed just now nothing to do—no tyrants to take down, no robbers to capture, no distressed damsels to deliver. And Cap was again in danger of spoiling for a fight. And then Herbert Grayson was at the hall. Herbert Grayson, whom she vowed always did make a miss Nancy of her. And so Cap had to content herself for a week, with quiet mornings of needlework at her workstand, with Herbert to read to, or talk with her, sober afternoon rides, attended by Herbert and old Hurricane, and home-drum evenings at the chessboard, with the same Herbert, while Major Warfield dozed in a great sleepy hollow of an armchair. One afternoon, when they were out riding through the woods beyond the demon's run, a sheriff's officer rode up, and bowing to the party, presented a suspicious-looking document to Capitola, and a similar one to Herbert Grayson. And while old Hurricane stared his eyes half out, the party's most interested opened the papers, which they found to be rather pressing invitations to be present at a certain telemonety at Stoughton. In a word, they were subpoenaed to give testimony in the case of Williams v. Lenore. Here's a diabolical dilemma, said old Hurricane to himself, as soon as he learned the purport of these documents. Here I shall have to bring Cap into court, face to face with that demon to bear witness against him. Suppose losing one word, he should lay claim to another. Ah, but he can't, without foully discriminating himself. Well, well, we shall see. While old Hurricane was cogitating, Cap was exalting. Oh, won't I tell all I know? Yes, and more to, she exclaimed in triumph. More to? Oh, hoity-toity, never say more to, said Herbert, laughing. I will, for I'll tell all I suspect, said Cap, galloping on ahead, and her eagerness to get home and pack up for her journey. The next day old Hurricane, Herbert Grayson, Capitola, Pitipa, and Wohl, went by stage to Stoughton. They put up at the planter's and farmer's hotel, when Herbert Grayson and Capitola soon sailed forth to see Clara and Mrs. Rock. They soon found the doctor's house, and were ushered into the parlor in the presence of their friends. The meeting between Capitola and Clara, and between Mrs. Rock and Herbert, was very cordial. And then Herbert introduced Capitola to Mrs. Rock, and Cap presented Herbert to Clara. And they all entered into conversation upon the subject of the coming lawsuit. And the circumstances that led to it. And Clara and Capitola related to each other all that had happened to each after their exchanging clothes and parting. And when they had left over their mutual adventures and misadventures, Herbert and Capitola took leave and returned to the hotel. Herbert Grayson was the most serious of the whole family. Upon reaching the hotel he went to his own room, and fell into deep reflection. And this was the course of his thought. Ira Warfield and Mara Rock are here in the same town, brought hither upon the same errand, to-morrow to meet in the same courtroom. And yet not either of them suspects the presence of the other. Mrs. Rock does not know that in Capitola's uncle she will behold Major Warfield. He does not foresee that in Clara's matronly friend he will behold Mara Rock. And Lenore, the cause of all their misery, will be present also. What will be the effect of this unexpected meeting? I'll tell you not to warn one or the other. Let me think. No, for were I to warn Major Warfield he would absent himself. Should I drop a hint to Mara she would shrink from the meeting. No, I will leave it all to Providence. Perhaps the sight of her sweet pale face and soft appealing eyes, so full of constancy and truth, may touch that stern old heart. Heaven grant it may, concluded Herbert Grayson. The next day the suit came on. At an early hour Dr. Williams appeared, having in charge Clara Day, who was attended by her friend Mrs. Rock. They were accommodated with seats immediately in front of the judge. Very soon afterward Major Warfield, Herbert Grayson and Capitola entered, and took their places on the witness's bench, at the right side of the courtroom. Herbert watched old hurricane, whose eyes were spellbound to the bench where set Mrs. Rock and Clara. Both were dressed in deep mourning, with their veils down and their faces toward the judge. But Herbert dreaded every instant that Mara Rock should turn her head and meet that fixed, wistful look of old hurricane. And he wondered what strange instinct it could be that riveted the old man's regards to the unrecognized woman. At last, to Herbert's gray uneasiness, Major Warfield turned and commenced questioning him. Who is that woman in mourning? That one with the flaxen curls under her bonnet is Miss Day. I don't mean the girl, I mean the woman sitting by her. That is him, that is Dr. Williams sitting—old hurricane turned abruptly around, and favored his nephew with a severe, scrutinizing gaze, demanding— Herbert, have you been drinking so early in the morning? Demi, sir, this is not the season for mint-jewel eps before breakfast. Is that great stout, run-bodied, red-faced old Dr. Williams a little woman? I see him sitting on the right of Miss Day. I didn't refer to him. I referred to that still, quiet little woman sitting on her left, who has never stirred hand or foot since she sat down there. Who is she? That woman? Oh, she? Yes, let me see. She is, uh, Miss Day's companion, Falter Herbert. To the demon with you. Who does not see that? But who is she? What is her name? Abruptly demanded old hurricane. Her name is, uh, uh, did you ever see her before, sir? I don't know. That is what I'm trying to remember. But, sir, will you answer my question? You seem very much interested in her. You seem very much determined not to let me know who she is. Hang it, sir. Will you, or will you not tell me that woman's name? Certainly, said Herbert, her name is. He was about to say Mara Rock, but moral indignation overpowered him, and he paused. Well, well, her name is what? Impatiently demanded old hurricane. Mrs. Warfield, answered Herbert doggedly. And just at that unfortunate moment Mara turned her pale face and beseeching eyes around and met the full gaze of her husband. In an instant her face blanched to marble, and her head sank upon the railing before her bench. Old hurricane was too dark to grow pale, but his bronzed cheek turned as gray as his hair, which fairly lifted itself on his head. Grasping his walking stick with both his hands, he tottered to his feet, and muttering, I'll murder you for this, Herbert. He strode out of the courtroom. Mara's head rested for about a minute on the railing before her, and when she lifted it again, her face was as calm and patient as before. This little incident had passed without attracting attention from anyone, except Capitola, who, sitting on the other side of Herbert Grayson, had heard the little passage of words between him and her uncle, and had seen the latter start up and go out, and who now, turning to her companion, inquired, What is the meaning of all this, Herbert? It means Satan, and now attend to what is going on. Mr. Souter has stated the case, and now Stringfellow, the attorney for the other side, is just telling the judge that he stands there in the place of his client, Lieutenant Colonel Lenore, who being ordered to join General Taylor in Mexico is upon the eve of setting out, and cannot be here in person. And is that true? Won't he be here? It seems not. I think he is ashamed to appear after what has happened, and just takes advantage of a fair excuse to absent himself. And is he really going to Mexico? Oh yes, I saw officially announced in this morning's papers. And by the by, I am very much afraid he is to take command of our regiment, and be my superior officer. Oh, Herbert, I hope and pray not. I think there is wickedness enough packed up in that man's body to sink a squadron or lose an army. Well, Cap, such things will happen. Attention, there's Souter ready to call his witnesses. And in truth, the next moment Capitola Black was called to the stand. Cap took her place and gave her evidence, connamore, and with such vim and such expressions of indignation, that Stringfellow reminded her that she was there to give testimony and not to plead the cause. Cap rejoined that she was perfectly willing to do both, and so she continued not only to tell the acts, but to express her opinions, as to the motives of Lenore, and give her judgment as to what should be the decision of the court. Stringfellow, the attorney for Colonel Lenore, evidently thought that in this rash, reckless, spirited witness he had a fine subject for sarcastic cross-examination. But he reckoned without his host. He did not know Cap. He, too, caught a tartar. And before the cross-examination was concluded, Cap's apt and cutting replies had overwhelmed him with ridicule and confusion, and done more for the cause of her friend than all her partisans put together. Other witnesses were called to corroborate the testimony of Capitola, and still others were examined to prove the last expressed wishes of the late William Day in regard to the disposal of his daughter's person during the period of her minority. There was no effect of rebutting evidence, and after some hard arguing by the attorneys on both sides the case was closed, and the judge deferred his decision until the third day thereafter. The parties then left the court and returned to their several lodgings. Old Hurricane gave no one a civil word that day. Wool was an atrocious villain, an incendiary scoundrel, a cutthroat, and a black demon. Cap was a beggar, a vagabond, and a vixen. Herbert Grayson was another beggar, besides being a nave, a fob, and an impudent puppy. The innkeeper was a swindler, the waiter's thieves, the whole world was going to rune where it well deserved to go, and all mankind to the demon, as he hoped and trusted they would. And all this tornado of passion and invective arose, just because he had unexpectedly met in the courtroom the patient face and beseeching eyes of a woman, married and forsaken, loved and lost, long ago. Was it strange that Herbert, who had so resented his treatment of Mara Rock, should bear all his fury, injustice, and abuse of himself and others with such compassionate forbearance? But he not only forbore to resent his own affronts, but also besought Capitola to have patience with the old man's temper, and apologize to the host by saying that Major Warfield had been very severely tried that day, and when Comer would be the first to regret the violence of his own words. Mara Rock returned with Clara to the old doctor's house. She was more patient, silent, and quiet than before. Her face was a little paler, her eyes softer, and her tones lower. That was the only visible effect of the morning's unexpected encounter. The next day but one all the parties concerned assembled at the courthouse to hear the decision of the judge. It was given, as had been anticipated, in favour of Clara Day, who was permitted, in accordance with her father's approved wishes, to reside in her patrimonial home under the care of Mrs. Rock. Colonel Lenore was to remain trustee of the property, with directions from the court immediately to pay the legacies left by the late Dr. Day to Mara Rock and Trevers Rock, and also to pay to Clara Day in quarterly instalments from the revenue of her property, an annual sum of money sufficient for her support. This decision filled the hearts of Clara and her friends with joy. For getting time and place she threw herself into the arms of Mara Rock and wept with delight, all concerned in the trial then sought their lodgings. Clara and Mrs. Rock returned to the cottage to make preparations for removing to Willow Heights. Dr. Williams went to the agent of the property to require him to give up the keys, which he did without hesitation. Old Hurricane and his party packed up to be ready for the stage to take them to Tip Top the next day. But that night a series of mysterious events were said to have taken place at the deserted house at Willow Heights that filled the whole community with superstitious wonder. It was reported by numbers of gardeners and farmers who passed that road, on their way to the early market, that a perfect witch's Sabbath had been held in the empty house all night, that lights had appeared, flitting from room to room, that strange weird faces had looked out from the windows, and wild screams had pierced the air. The next day when this report reached the ears of Clara, and she was asked by Dr. Williams whether she would not be afraid to live there, she laughed gaily and bade him try her. Cap who had come over to take leave of Clara, joined her in her merriment, declared that she for her part doted on ghosts, and that after Herbert Grayson's departure she should come and visit Clara, and help her to entertain the specters. Clara replied that she should hold her to her promise, and so the friends kissed and separated. That same day saw several removals. Clara and Mrs. Rock took up their abode at Willow Heights, and seized an hour even of that busy time to write to Traverse and apprise him of their good fortune. Old Hurricane and his party set out for their home, where they arrived before nightfall. And the next day but one, Herbert Grayson took leave of his friends, and departed to join his company on their road to glory. END OF CHAPTER XIV CHAPTER XIII BLACK DONALD. Feared, shunned, belied ere youth had lost her force. He hated men too much to feel remorse, and thought the vice of wrath a sacred call, to pay the injuries of some on all. There was a laughing devil in his sneer, that caused emotions both of rage and fear. And where his frown of hatred darkly fell, hope withering fled, and mercy sighed farewell. Byron. Herbert Grayson had been correct in his conjecture concerning the cause of Colonel Lenore's conduct in absenting himself from the trial, or appearing there only in the person of his attorney. A proud, vain, conceited man, full of Joseph's surpassesms, he could better have borne to be arraigned upon the charge of murder than to face the accusation of baseness that was about to be proved upon him. Being reasonably certain as to what was likely to be the decision of the orphan's court, he was not disappointed in hearing that judgment had been rendered in favor of his ward and her friends. His one great disappointment had been upon discovering the flay of Clara. For when he had ascertained that she had fled, he knew that all was lost, and lost through Capitola, the hated girl for whose destruction he had now another and a stronger motive, revenge. In this mood of mind, three days before his departure to join his regiment, he sought the retreat of the outlaw. He chose an early hour of the evening as that in which he should be most likely to find Black Donald. It was about eight o'clock when he wrapped his large cloak around his tall figure, pulled his hat low over his sinister brow, and set out to walk alone to the secret cavern in the side of the demon's punch-bowl. The night was dark and the path dangerous, but his directions had been careful, so that when he reached the brink of that awful abyss he knew precisely where to begin his descent, with the least danger of being precipitated to the bottom. And by taking a strong cold upon the stunted saplings of pine and cedar that grew down through the clefts of the ravine, and placing his feet firmly upon the points of projecting rocks, he contrived to descend to the inside of that horrible abyss, from which the top seemed to be fraught with certain death to anyone daring enough to make the attempt. When about halfway down the precipice he reached the clump of cedar bushes growing in the deep cleft and concealing the hole that formed the entrance to the cavern. Here he paused, and looking through the entrance into a dark and apparently fathomless cavern, he gave the peculiar signal whistle, which was immediately answered from within by the well-known voice of the outlawed chief, saying, All right, my colonel, give us your hand. Be careful now. The floor of this cavern is several feet below the opening. Lenore extended his hand into the darkness within, and soon felt it grasped by that of Black Donald, who muttering, slowly, slowly, my colonel, succeeded in guiding him down the utter darkness of the subterranean descent, until they stood upon the firm bottom of the cavern. They were still in the midst of a blackness that might be felt, except that from a small opening in the side of the rock a light gleamed. Toward the second opening, Black Donald conducted his patron, and stooping and passing before him led him into an inner cavern well-lighted and rudely fitted up. Upon a large natural platform of rock occupying the center of the space were some dozen bottles of brandy or whiskey, several loaves of bread, and some dried venison. Around this root's table seated upon fragments of rock, lugged thither for the purpose, were some eight or ten men of the band, in various stages of intoxication. Along the walls were piles of bearskins, some of which served as couches for six or seven men, who had thrown themselves down upon them in a state of exhaustion or drunken stupor. Come, boys, we have not a boundless choice of apartments here, and I want to talk to my colonel. Suppose you take your liquor and bread and me into the outer cavern, and give us the use of this one for an hour, said the outlaw. The men solemnly obeyed, and began to gather up the viands. Demon Dick seized one of the lights to go after them. Put down the glim. Satan sends your skin for you. Do you want to bring a hue and cry upon us? Don't you know a light in the outer cavern can be seen from the outside? roared Black Donald. Dick salkily set on the candle and followed his comrades. What are you glummering about, confound you? You can see to eat and drink well enough and find your way to your mouth in the dark, you brute, thundered the captain. But as there was no answer to this, and the men had retreated and left their chief with his visitor alone, Black Donald turned to Colonel Lenore and said, Well, my patron, what great matter is it that has caused you to leave the company of fair Clara Day for our grim society? Ah, then, it appears you are not aware that Clara Day has fled from us, has made a successful appeal to the Orphans court, and has been taken out of our hands, angrily replied Colonel Lenore. Weeew! My Colonel, I think I could have managed that matter better. I think if I had had that girl in my power as you had, she should not have escaped me. Bah, bah, bah, stop boasting, since it was through your neglect, yours, yours, that I've lost this girl. Mine exclaimed Black Donald in astonishment. I, yours, for if you had done your duty, performed your engagement, kept your word, and delivered me from this fatal Capitola. I had not lost my word, nor my son his wealthy bride, exclaimed Lenore angrily. Capitola, Capitola again, what on earth had she to do with the loss of Clara Day? cried Black Donald in wonder. Everything to do with it, sir, by cunning artifice she delivered Clara from our power, actually set her free, and covered her flay until she was in security. That girl again, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ho, ho, ho, ho, ho, laughed and roared Black Donald, slapping his knees. Lenore ground and gnashed his teeth in rage, muttering hoarsely. Yes, you may laugh, confound you, since it is granted those who win to do so. You may laugh, for you have done me out of five thousand dollars, and what on earth have you performed to earn it? Come, come, my Colonel, fair and easy, I don't know which is the vulgarest, to betray loss of temper or love of money, and you are doing both. However, it is between friends. But how the demon did that girl, that capital Capitola, get Clara off from right under your eyes? By changing clothes with her, confound you, I will tell you all about it, replied Lenore, who thereupon commenced and related the whole stratagem by which Capitola freed Clara, including the manner in which she accompanied them to the church, and revealed herself at the altar. Black Donald threw himself back and roared with laughter, vigorously slapping his knees and crying, that girl, that capital Capitola, I would not sell my prospect of possessing her for double your bribe. Your prospect, your prospect is about as deceptive as a phatomorgana. What have you been doing, I ask you again, toward realizing this prospect and earning the money that you have already received? Fair and easy, my Colonel, don't let temper get the better of justice. What have I been doing toward earning the money you have already paid me? In the first place, I lost time and risked my liberty watching around Hurricane Hall. Then, when I had identified the girl and the room she slept in by seeing her at the window, I put three of my best men in jeopardy to capture her. Then when she, the witch, had captured them, I sacrificed all my good looks, transmogrifying myself into a frightful old field preacher, and went to the camp meeting to watch, among other things, for an opportunity of carrying her off. The sorceress, she gave me no such opportunity. I succeeded in nothing except fooling the wise-acres and getting admitted to the prison of my comrades, who I furnished with instruments by which they made their escape. Since that time, we have had to lie low—yes, literally to lie low—to keep out of sight, to burrow underground, in a word, to live in this cavern. And since which you have abandoned all intention of getting the girl and earning the five thousand dollars, sneered Lenore. Earning the remaining five thousand, you mean, Colonel, the first five thousand I consider I have already earned. It was the last five thousand that I was to get when the girl should be disposed of. Well? Well, I have not given up either the intention of earning the money, or the hope of getting the girl. In truth, I had rather loosed the money than the girl. I have been on the watch almost continually, but though I suppose she rides out frequently, I have not yet happened to hit upon her in any of her excursions. At last, however, I have fixed upon a plan for getting the witch into my power. I shall trust the execution of my plan to no one but myself, but I must have time. Time, perdition, sir, delay in this matter is fraught with danger. Listen, sir, how Warfield got possession of this girl or the knowledge of her history I do not know, except that it was through the agency of that accursed hag Nancy Grewell. But that he has her, and that he knows all about her is but too certain. That he has not at present legal proof enough to establish her identity and her rights before a court of justice, I infer from the fact of his continuing inactive in the matter. But who can foresee how soon he may obtain all the proof that is necessary to establish Capitola's claims, and rest the whole of this property from me? Who can tell whether he is not now secretly engaged in seeking and collecting such proof? Therefore I repeat that the girl must immediately be got rid of. Donald, rid me of that creature, and the day that you proved me her death I will double your fee. Agreed, my Colonel, agreed, I have no objection to your doubling, or even quadrupling my fee. You shall find me in that, as in all other matters, perfectly amenable to reason. Only I must have time, haste would ruin us. I repeat that I have a plan by which I am certain to get the girl into my possession, a plan the execution of which I will entrust to no other hands but my own. But I conclude as I began, I must have time. And how much time? exclaimed Lenore, again losing his patience. Easy, my patron, that I cannot tell you. It is imprudent to make promises, especially to you, who will take nothing into consideration when they cannot be kept, replied Black Donald Cooley. But sir, do you not know that I am ordered to Mexico and must leave within three days? I would see the end of this before I go, angrily exclaimed Lenore. Softly, softly, my child, the Colonel, slow and sure, fair and easy goes far in a day. In a word, will you do this business for me and do it promptly? Surely, surely, my patron, but I insist upon time. But I go to Mexico in three days. I'll honor go with you, my Colonel, who would keep his friend from the path of glory? Perdition, sir, you trifle with me. Perdition, certainly, Colonel, there I perfectly agree with you. But the rest of your sentence is wrong. I don't trifle with you. What in the fiend's name do you mean? Nothing in the name of any absent friend of ours. I mean simply that you may go to Mexico. And my business can be done just as well, perhaps better without you. Recollect, if you please, my Colonel, that when you were absent with Harrison in the West, your great business was done here without you, and done better for that very reason. No one even suspected your agency in that matter. The person most benefited by the death of Eugene Lenor was far enough from the scene of his murder. Hush, perdition sees you. Why do you speak of things so long past, exclaimed Lenor, growing white to his very lips? To jog your worship's memory, and suggest that your honor is the last man who ought to complain of this delay, since it will be very well for you to be in a distant land serving your country at the time that your brother's heiress, whose property you illegally hold, is got out of your way. There is something in that, mused Lenor. There is all in that. You have a good brain, Donald. What did I tell you? I ought to have been in the Cabinet, and mean to be too. But Colonel, as I mean to conclude my part of the engagement, I should like, for fear of accidents, that you conclude yours, and settle with me before you go. What do you mean? That you should fork over to me the remaining five thousand. I'll see you at the demon first, passionately exclaimed Lenor. No you won't, for in that case you'd have to make way with the girl yourself, or see old Hurricane make way with all your fortune. Wretch that you are. Come, come, Colonel, don't let's crawl. The kingdom of Satan divided itself cannot stand. Do not let us lose time by falling out. I will get rid of the girl. You, before you go, must hand over the tin, lest you should fall in battle, and your heirs dispute the debt. Shell out, my Colonel. Shell out, and never fear. Capitola shall be a wife, and black Donald a widower, before many weeks pass. I'll do it. I have no time for disputation, as you know, and you profit by the knowledge. I'll do it, though under protest, muttered Lenor, grinding his teeth. That's my brave and generous patron, said black Donald, as he arose to attend Lenor from the cavern. That's my magnificent Colonel of Calvary. The man who runs such risks for you should be very handsomely renumerated. Within three days after his settlement with black Donald, Colonel Lenor left home to join his regiment, ordered to Mexico. He was a company by his son Cravenly Nor, as far as Baltimore, from which port the reinforcements were to sail for New Orleans, and rout for the Sea of War. Here at the last moment, when the vessel was about to weigh anchor, Cravenly Nor took leave of his father, and set out for the hidden house. And here Colonel Lenor's regiment was joined by the company of new recruits, in which Herbert Grayson held a commission as lieutenant. And thus the young man's worst forebodings were realized, and having for a traveling companion, and superior officer, the man of whom he had been destined to make a mortal enemy, Colonel Lenor. However, Herbert soon marked out his course of conduct, which was to avoid Lenor as much as was consistent with his own official duty, and when compelled to meet him, to deport himself with a cold ceremony of a subordinate to a superior officer. Lenor, on his part, treated Herbert with an arrogant scorn, amounting to insult, and used every opportunity afforded him by his position to wound and humiliate the young lieutenant. After a quick and prosperous voyage they reached New Orleans, where they expected to be further reinforced by a company of volunteers who had come down the Mississippi River from St. Louis. These volunteers were now being daily drilled at their quarters in the city, and were only waiting the arrival of the vessel to be enrolled in the regiment. One morning, a few days after the ship reached Harbour, Herbert Grayson went on shore to the military rendezvous to see the new recruits exercised. While he stood within the enclosure, watching their evolutions under the orders of an officer, his attention became concentrated upon the form of a young man in the rank and file who was marching in a line with many others, having their backs turned toward him. That form and gait seemed familiar, the circumstances in which he saw them again, painfully familiar, and yet he could not identify the man. While he gazed, the recruits, at the word of command, suddenly wheeled and faced about, and Herbert could scarcely repress an exclamation of astonishment and regret. That young man in the dress of a private soldier was Claire a days betrothed, the widow's only son, Traverse Rock. While Herbert continued to gaze in surprise and grief, the young recruit raised his eyes, recognized his friend, flushed up to his very temples, and cast his eyes down again. The rapid evolution soon wheeled them around, and the next order sent them into their quarters. Herbert's time was also up, and he returned to his duty. The next day Herbert went to the quarters of the new recruits, and sought out his young friend, whom he found blottering about the grounds. Again Traverse blushed deeply as the young lieutenant approached. But Herbert Grayson, letting none of his regret appear, since now it would be worse than useless, and only serving to give pain to the young private, went up to him cordially, and shook his hand, saying, Going to serve your country, eh, Traverse? Well, I am heartily glad to see you at any rate. But heartily sorry to see me here, enlisted as a private and company of raw recruits, looking now unlike Falstaff's ragged regiment. Nay, I did not say that, Traverse. Many a private in the ranks has risen to be a general officer, replied Herbert, encouragingly. Traverse laughed, good-humoredly, saying, It does not look much like that in my case. This dress, he said, looking down at his course, ill-fitting uniform, cowhide shoes, et cetera. This dress, this drilling, these close quarters, coarse food, and mixed company, are enough to take the military ardor out of anyone. Traverse, you talk like a petty-maider, which is not at all your character. E-feminacy is not your vice. Nor any other species of weakness, do you mean? Ah, Herbert, your aspiring, hopeful, confident old friend is considerably taken down in his ideas of himself, his success and life in general. I went to the West with high hopes, six months of struggling against indifference, neglect, and accumulated debts lowered them down. I carried out letters and made friends, but their friendship began and ended in wishing me well. While trying to get into profitable practice, I got into debt. Meanwhile, I could not hear from my betrothed in all those months. An occasional letter from her might have prevented this step. But troubles gathered around me, debts increased, and creditors were cruel. It is the old story, my poor boy. No, my only creditors were my landlady and my laundress, two poor widows who never willingly distressed me, but who occasionally asked for that little amount so piteously that my heart bled to lack it to give them. And as victuals and clean shirts were absolute necessaries of life, every week my debts increased. I could have faced a prosperous male creditor, and might, perhaps, have been provoked to bully such in one, had he been inclined to be cruel. But I could not face poor women, who, after all, I believe, are generally the best friends a struggling young man can have. And so, not to bore a smart young lieutenant with a poor privates and descendants. Oh, Travers! I will even make an end of my story. At last there came a weary day when hope and faith beneath the weight gave way. And hearing that a company of volunteers was being raised to go to Mexico, I enlisted, sold my citizen's wardrobe, and my little medical library, paid my debts, made my two friends, the poor widows, some acceptable presents, sent the small remnant of the money to my mother, telling her that I was going farther south to try my fortune. And here I am. You did not tell her that you had enlisted? No. Oh, Travers, how long ago was it that you left St. Louis? Just two weeks. Ah, if you had only had patience for a few days longer, burst unaware from Herbert's bosom. In an instant he was sorry for having spoken thus. For Travers, with all his soul in his eyes, asked eagerly, Why? Why, Herbert? What do you mean? Why, you should know that I did not come directly from West Point, but from the neighborhood of Stoughton and Hurricane Hall. Did you? Oh, did you? Then you may be able to give me news of Clara and my dear mother, exclaimed Travers, eagerly. Yes, I am. Pleasant news, said Herbert, hesitating in a manner which no one ever hesitated before in communicating good tidings. Thank heaven! Oh, thank heaven! What is it, Herbert? How is my dear mother getting on? Where is my best Clara? They are both living together at Willow Heights, according to the wishes of the late Dr. Day. A second appeal to the orphan's court, made in behalf of Clara, by her next friend Dr. Williams, about a month ago, proved more successful. And if you had waited a few days longer before enlisting and leaving St. Louis, you would have received a letter from Clara to the same effect, and one from Dr. Williams, apprising you that your mother had received her legacy, and that the thousand dollars left to you by Dr. Day had been paid into the agricultural bank, subject to your orders. Oh, heaven! Had I but waited three days longer, exclaimed Travers, in such acute distress, that Herbert hastened to console him by saying, Do not repine, Travers. These things go by fate. It was your destiny. Let us hope it will prove a glorious one. It was my impatience, exclaimed Travers. It was my impatience. Dr. Day always faithfully warned me against it. Always told me that most of the errors, sins, and miseries of the world arose from simple impatience, which is want of faith. And now I know it. And now I know it. What had I, who had an honourable profession, to do with becoming a private soldier? Well, well, it is honourable at least to serve your country, said Herbert, soothingly. If a foreign foe invaded her shores, yes, but what had I to do with invading another's country, and listing for a war of the rights and wrongs of which I know no more than anybody else does? Growing impatient because fortune did not at once empty her cornucopia upon my head. Oh, fool! You blame yourself too severely, Travers. Your act was natural enough and justifiable enough, much as it is to be regretted, said Herbert cheerfully. Come, come, sit on this plank bench beside me, if you are not ashamed to be seen with a private, who is also a donkey, and tell me about it. Show me the full measure of the happiness I have so recklessly squandered away, exclaimed Travers desperately. I will sit beside you and tell you everything you wish to know. On condition that you stop berating yourself in a manner that fills me with indignation, replied Herbert, as they went to a distant part of the dusty enclosure and took their seats upon a rude bench. Oh, Herbert, bear with me, I could dash my wild impatient head against a stone wall. That would not be likely to clear or strengthen your brains, said Herbert, who thereupon commenced and told Travers the whole history of the persecution of Clara at the Hidden House, the interception of the letters, the attempt made to force her into a marriage with Craven Lenore. Her deliverance from her enemies by the address and courage of Capitola, her flight to Stoughton and refuge with Mrs. Rock, her appeal to the court, and finally her success and her settlement under the charge of her matronly friend at Willow Heights. Travers had not listened patiently to this account. He heard it with many bursts of irrepressible indignation, and many involuntary starts of wild passion. Toward the last he sprang up and walked up and down, chafing like an angry lion in his cage. And this man, he exclaimed, as Herbert concluded, This demon, this beast, is now our commanding officer, the colonel of our regiment. Yes, replied Herbert. But as such you must not call him names. Military rules are despotic. And this man, who knows your person and knows you to be the betrothed of Clara Day, whose hand and fortune he covets for his son, will leave no power with which his command invests him, untried, to ruin and destroy you. Travers, I say these things to you that being forewarned, you may be forearmed. I trust that you will remember your mother and your betrothed, and for their dear sakes, practice every sort of self-control, patience, and forbearance, under the provocations you may receive from our colonel. And in advising you to do this, I only counsel that which I shall myself practice. I, too, am under the ban of Lenore, for the part I played in the church and suckering Capitola, as well as for happening to be the nephew of my uncle, Major Warfield, who is his mortal enemy. I, will I not be patient after the lesson I have just learned upon the evils of the opposite? Be easy on my account, dear old friend. I will be as patient as Job, meek as Moses, and long suffering as, my own sweet mother, said Travers earnestly. The drum was now heard beating to quarters, and Travers, wringing his friend's hand, left him. Herbert returned to his ship, full of one scheme, of which he had not spoken to Travers, lest it should prove unsuccessful. This scheme was to procure his free discharge before they should set sail for the Rio Grande. He had many influential friends among the officers of his regiment, and he was resolved to tell them as much as was delicate, proper, and useful for them to know of the young recruits' private history, in order to get their cooperation. Herbert spent every hour of this day and the next, went off duty in the service of his friend. He found his brother officers easily interested, sympathetic, and propituous. They united their efforts with his own to procure the discharge of the young recruit. But in vain, the power of Colonel Lenore was opposed to their influence, and the application was per empty relief refused. Herbert Grayson did not sit down quietly under this disappointment, but wrote an application embodying all the facts of the case to the Secretary of War, got it signed by all the officers of the regiment, and dispatched it by the first mail. Simultaneously, he took another important step for the interest of his friend. Without hinting any particular motive, he had begged Travers to let him have his photograph taken, and the latter, with a laugh at the loverlike proposal, had consented. When the likeness was finished, Herbert sent it by express to Major Warfield, accompanied by a letter describing the excellent character and unfortunate condition of Travers, preying the Major's interest in his behalf, and concluding by saying, You cannot look upon the accompanying photograph of my friend and any longer disclaim your own express image in your son. How this affected the action of old hurricane will be seen hereafter. Travers, knowing nothing of the efforts that had been, and were still being made for his discharge, suffered neither disappointment for failure of the first, nor anxiety for the issue of the last. He wrote to his mother in Clara, congratulating them on their good fortune, telling them that he, in common with many young men of St. Louis, had volunteered for the Mexican War, that he was then in New Orleans, and wrote for the Rio Grande, and that they would be pleased to know that their mutual friend, Herbert Grayson, was an officer in the same regiment of which he himself was at present a private, but with strong hopes of soon winning his epilates. He endorsed an order for his mother to draw the thousand dollars left him by Dr. Day, and he advised her to re-deposit the sum in her own name for her own use in case of need. Praying God's blessing upon them all, and begging their prayers for himself, Travers concluded his letter, which he mailed the same evening. And the next morning the company was ordered on board, and the whole expedition set sail for the Rio Grande. Now, we might just as easily as not, accompany our troops to Mexico, and relate the feats of arms there performed with the minuteness and fidelity of an eyewitness. Since we have sat at dinner tables, where the heroes of that war have been honored guests, and where we have heard them fight their battles o'er till thrice the foe was slain, and thrice the field was won. We might follow the rising star of our young lieutenant, as by his own merits and others mishaps, he ascended from rank to rank, through all the grades of military promotion. But need not, because the feats of Lieutenant, Captain, Major, and Colonel Grayson, are they not written in the Chronicles of the Mexican War? We prefer to look after our little domestic heroine, our brave little cap, who, when women have their rights, shall be a lieutenant colonel herself. Shall she not, gentlemen? In one fortnight from this time, while Mrs. Rock and Clara were still living comfortably at Willow Heights, and waiting anxiously to hear from Travers, whom they still supposed to be on practicing his profession at St. Louis. They received his last letter written on the eve of his departure for the seat of war. At first the news overwhelmed them with grief, but then they sought relief and faith, answered his letter cheerfully, and commended him to the infinite mercy of God. End of Chapter 44. Chapter 45 of The Hidden Hand. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain, recording by Bridget, The Hidden Hand, by E.D.E.N. Southworth, Chapter 45. Cap captivates a craven. He knew himself a villain, but he deemed, the rest no better than the thing he seemed, and scorned the best as hypocrites who hid, those deeds the bolder spirits plainly did. He knew himself detested, but he knew, the hearts that loathed him crouched and dreaded too. The unregenerate human heart is perhaps the most inconsistent thing in all nature, and in nothing is it more capricious than in the manifestations of its passions, and in no passion is it so fantastic as in that which it miscalled love, but which is really often only appetite. From the earliest days of manhood Craven Lenore had been the votary of vice, which he called pleasure. Before reaching the age of twenty-five he had run the full course of dissipation, and found himself ruined in health, degraded in character, and disgusted with life. Yet in all this experience his heart had not been once agitated with a single emotion that deserved the name passion. It was colder than the coldest. He had not loved Clara, though for the sake of her money he had courted her so assiduously. Indeed, for the doctor's orphan girl he had from the first conceived a strong antipathy. His evil spirit had shrunk from her pure soul, with a loathing a fiend might feel for an angel. He had found it repugnant and difficult, almost to the extent of impossibility, for him to pursue the courtship, to which he was only reconciled by a sense of duty, to his pocket. It was reserved for his meeting with Capitola at the altar of the Forest Chapel, to fire his clammy heart, stagnant blood, and sated senses with the very first passion that he had ever known. Her image, as she stood there at the altar, with flashing eyes, and flaming cheeks, and scathing tongue defying him, was ever before his mind's eye. There was something about that girl so spirited, so pecain and original, that she impressed even his apathetic nature, as no other woman had ever been able to do. But what most of all attracted him to Capitola was her Diablore. He longed to catch that little savage to his bosom, and have her at his mercy. The aversion she had exhibited toward him only stimulated his passion. Craven Lenore, among his other graces, was gifted with inordinate vanity. He did not in the least degree despair of overcoming all Capitola's dislike to his person, and inspiring her with a passion equal to his own. He knew well that he dared not present himself at Hurricane Hall, but he resolved to waylay her in her rides, and there to press his suit. To this he was urged by another motive, almost as strong as love, namely, avarice. He had gathered, thus much from his father, that Capitola Black was supposed to be Capitola Lenore, the rightful heiress of all that vast property in land, houses, iron, and coal mines, foundries and furnaces, railway shares, etc., and bank stocks, from which his father drew the princely revenue that supported them both in their lavish extravagance of living. As the heiress, or rather the rightful owner, of all this vast fortune, Capitola was a much greater catch than poor Clara, with her modest estate had been. And Mr. Craven Lenore was quite willing to turn the tables on his father by running off with the gray heiress, and step up from his irksome position of dependent upon Colonel Lenore's, often ungracious bounty, to that of the husband of the heiress, and the master of the property. Added to that was another favorable circumstance, namely, whereas he had had a strong personal antipathy to Clara, he had a strong an attraction to Capitola, which would make his course of courtship all the pleasanter. In one word he resolved to woo, win, and elope with, or forcibly abduct Capitola Lenore, marry her, and then turn upon his father, and claim the fortune in right of his wife. The absence of Colonel Lenore in Mexico favored his projects, as he could not fear interruption. Meanwhile our little madcap remained quite unconscious of the honors designed her. She had cried every day of the first week of Herbert's absence, every alternate day of the second, twice in the third, once in the fourth, not at all in the fifth, and the sixth week she was quite herself again, as full of fun and frolic and as ready for any mischief or deviltry that might turn up. She resumed her rides, no longer followed by wool, because old hurricane, partly upon account of his misadventure and having had the misfortune inadvertently to lose sight of his mistress, upon that memorable occasion of the metamorphosis of Cap into Clara, and partly because of the distant absence of Lenore, did not consider his favor in danger. He little knew that a subtle and unscrupulous agent had been left sworn to her destruction, and that another individual, almost equally dangerous, had registered a secret vow to run off with her. Neither did poor Cap, when rejoicing to be free from the dogging attendance of wool, imagine the perils to which she was exposed. Nor is it even likely that if she had she would have cared for them in any other manner than his promising piquant adventures. From childhood she had been inured to danger, and had never suffered harm. Therefore, Cap, like the cheveler Bayard, was without fear and without reproach. Craven Lenore proceeded cautiously with his plans, knowing that there was time enough, and that all might be lost by haste. He did not wish to alarm Capitola. The first time he took occasion to meet her in her rides he merely bowed deeply, even to the flaps of his saddle, and with a melancholy smile, passed on. Miserable wretch, he is a mean fellow to want to marry a girl against her will, no matter how much he might have been in love with her, and I am very glad I balked him. Still, he looked so ill and unhappy that I can't help pitying him, said Cap, looking compassionately at his white cheeks and languishing eyes, and little knowing that the illness was the effect of dissipation, and that the melancholy was assumed for the occasion. A few days after this Cap again met Craven Lenore, who again, with a deep bow and sad smile, passed her. Poor fellow, he richly deserves to suffer, and I hope it may make him better, for I am right down sorry for him. It must be so dreadful to lose one we love. But it was too basing him to let his father try to compel her to have him. Suppose now, Herbert Grayson was to take a fancy to another girl, would I let uncle go to him and put a pistol to his head, and say, Cap is fond of you, you varlet, and demi-sir, you shall marry none but her, or receive an ounce of lead in your stupid brains. No, I'd scorn it, I'd forward the other wedding, I'd make the cake and dress the bride, and, then maybe I'd break. No, I'm blamed if I would, I'd not break my heart for anybody. Set them up with it indeed. Neither would my dear, darling, sweet, precious Herbert treat me so, and I'm a wretch to think it, said Cap, with a rich, inimitable unction, as rejoicing in her own happy love, she cheered Jip and rode on. Now Cravenly Nor had been conscious of their elenting and compassionate looks of Capitola, but he did not know that they were only the pitying regards of a noble and victorious nature, over a vanquished and suffering wrongdoer. However, he's still determined to be cautious, and not ruin his prospects by precipitate action, but to hasten slowly. So the next time he met Capitola, he raised his eyes with one deep, sad, appealing gaze to hers, and then, bowing profoundly, passed on. Poor man, said Cap to herself, he bears no malice toward me for depriving him of his sweetheart, that certain. And, badly as he behaved, I suppose it was all for love, for I don't know how anyone could live in the same house with Clara and not be in love with her. I should have been so myself, if I'd been a man, I know. The next time Cap met Craven and saw again that deep, sorrowful, appealing gaze as he bowed and passed her, she glanced after him, saying to herself, poor soul, I wonder what he means by looking at me in that piteous manner. I can do nothing to relieve him, I'm sure if I could I would. But the way of the transgressor is hard, Mr. Lenore, and he who sins must suffer. For about three weeks, their seemingly accidental meetings continued in this silent manner. So slowly did Craven make his advances. Then, feeling more confidence, he made a considerable long step forward. One day, when he guessed that Capitola would be out, instead of meeting her as here to four, he put himself in her road, and riding slowly toward a five-barred gate allowed her to overtake him. He opened the gate and bowing, held a open until she had passed. She bowed her thanks and rode on. But presently, without the least appearance of intruding, since she had overtaken him, he was at her side. And speaking with downcast eyes and deferential manner, he said, I have long desired an opportunity to express the deep sorrow and mortification I feel for having been hurried into rudeness toward an estimable young lady at the forest chapel. Miss Black, will you permit me now to assure you of my profound repentance of that act and to implore your pardon? Oh, I have nothing against you, Mr. Lenore. It was not I whom you were intending to marry against my will. And as for what you said and did to me, ha-ha! I had provoked it, you know, and I also afterward paid it in kind. It was a fair fight, in which I was the victor. And victors should never be vindictive, said Cap, laughing, for though knowing him to have been violent and unjust, she did not suspect him of being treacherous and deceitful. Or imagine the base designs concealed beneath his plausible manner. Her brave, honest nature could understand a brute or a despo, but not a traitor. Then, like Frank enemies who have fought their fight out, yet bear no malice toward each other, we may shake hands and be friends, I hope, said Craven, replying in the same spirit in which she had spoken. Well, I don't know about that, Mr. Lenore. Friendship is a very sacred thing, and its name should not be lightly taken on our tongues. I hope you will excuse me if I decline your proffer, said Cap, who had a well of deep, true, earnest feeling beneath her effervescent surface. What, you will not even grant a repentant man your friendship, Miss Black? asked Craven, with a sorrowful smile. I wish you well, Mr. Lenore. I wish you a good, and therefore a happy life, but I cannot give you friendship, for that means a great deal. Oh, I see how it is. You cannot give your friendship where you cannot give your esteem. Is it not so? Yes, said Capitola. That is it. Yet I wish you so well, that I wish you might grow worthy of higher esteem than mine. You are thinking of my—yes, I will not shrink from characterizing that conduct as it deserves—my unpardonable violence toward Clara. Miss Black, I have mourned that sin from the day that I was hurried into it, until this. I have bewailed it from the very bottom of my heart, said Craven, earnestly, fixing his eyes with an expression of perfect truthfulness upon those of Capitola. I am glad to hear you say so, said Cap. Miss Black, please hear this impaleation. I would not presume to say in defense of my conduct. I was driven to frenzy by a passion of contending love and jealousy, as violent and maddening as it was unreal and transient. But that delusive passion has subsided, and among the unmarrieded mercies for which I have to be thankful, as that, in my frantic pursuit of Clara Day, I was not cursed with success. For all the violence into which that frenzy hurried me, I have deeply repented. I can never forgive myself. But cannot you forgive me? Mr. Lenor, I have nothing for which to forgive you. I am glad that you have repented toward Clara, and I wish you well. And that is really all that I can say. I have deserved this, and I accept it, said Craven, in a tone so mournful that Capitola, in spite of all her instincts, could not choose but pity him. He rode on, with his pale face, downcast eyes, and melancholy expression, until they reached a point at the back of Hurricane Hall, where their paths diverged. Here Craven, lifting his hat, and bowing profoundly, said in a sad tone, Good evening, Miss Black, and turning his horse's head, took the path leading down into the hidden hollow. Poor young fellow, he must be very unhappy down in that miserable place, but I can't help it. I wish he would go to Mexico with the rest, said Cap, as she pursued her way homeward. Not to excite her suspicion, Craven Lenor avoided meeting Capitola for a few days, and then threw himself into her road, and as before, allowed her to overtake him. Very subtly he entered into conversation with her, and guarding every word and look, took care to interest without alarming her. He said no more a friendship, but a great deal of regret for wasted years, and wasted talents, in the past and good resolutions for the future. And Cap listened good humorously. Capitola, being of a brave, hard, firm nature, had not the sensitive perceptions, fine intuitions, and true insight into character that distinguished the more refined nature of Clara Day. Or at least, she had not these delicate faculties in the same perfection. Thus her undefined suspicions of Craven's sincerity were overborn by a sort of noble benevolence which determined her to think the best of him which circumstances would permit. Craven, on his part, having had more experience, was much wiser in the pursuit of his object. He also had the advantage of being in earnest. His passion for Capitola was sincere, and not, as it had been in the case of Clara, simulated. He believed, therefore, that when the time should be ripe for the declaration of his love, he would have a much better prospect of success, especially as Capitola, in her ignorance of her own great fortune, must consider his proposal the very climax of disinterestedness. After three weeks more of writing and conversing with Capitola, he had, in his own estimation, advanced so far in her good opinion as to make it perfectly safe to risk a declaration, and this he determined to do upon the very first opportunity. Chance favored him. One afternoon, Capitola, riding through the Pleasant Woods, skirting the back of the mountain range that sheltered Hurricane Hall, got a fall for which she was afterwards inclined to cuff wool. It happened in this way. She had come to a steep rise in the road, and urged her pony into a hard gallop, and tending, as she said to herself, to storm the height, when suddenly, under the violent strain, the girth, ill-fastened, flew apart, and Miss Cap was on the ground, buried under the fallen saddle. With many a blessing upon the carelessness of Grooms, Cap picked herself up, put the saddle on the horse, and was engaged in drawing under the girth. When Cravenly Nor wrote up, sprang from his horse, with anxiety depicted on his conscience, ran to the spot inquiring, What is the matter? No serious accident, I hope and trust, Miss Black. No, those wretches and uncle's stables did not half-buckle the girth, and as I was going in a hard gallop up the steep, it flew apart, and gave me a tumble. That's all, said Cap, desisting a moment from her occupation to take a breath. You were not hurt? inquired Craven, with deep interest in his tone. Oh no, there is no harm done, except to my riding skirt, which has been torn and muddied by the fall, said Cap, laughing and resuming her efforts to tighten the girth. Pray, permit me, said Craven, gently taking the end of the strap from her hand. This is no work for a lady, and besides, it is beyond your strength. Capitola, thanking him, withdrew to the side of the road, and seating herself upon the trunk of a fallen tree, began to brush the dirt from her habit. Craven adjusted and secured the saddle with great care, padded and soothed the pony, and then, approaching Capitola, in the most deferential manner, stood before her and said, Miss Black, you will pardon me, I hope, if I tell you that the peril I had imagined you to be in has so agitated my mind as to make it impossible for me longer to withhold a declaration of my sentiments. Here, his voice, that had trembled throughout this disclosure, now really and utterly failed him. Capitola looked up with surprise and interest. She had never in her life before heard an explicit declaration of love from anybody. She and Herbert somehow had always understood each other very well, without ever a word of technical love-making passing between them. So Capitola did not exactly know what was coming next. Craven recovered his voice, and encouraged by the favorable manner in which she appeared to listen to him, actually threw himself at her feet, and seizing one of her hands, with much ardour and earnestness, and much more eloquence than anyone would have credited him with, poured forth the history of his passion and his hopes. Well, I declare, said Cap, when he had finished his speech, and was waiting in breathless impatience for her answer. This is what is called a declaration of love and a proposal of marriage, is it? It is downright sentimental, I suppose, if I had only sense enough to appreciate it. It is as good as a play, pity it is lost upon me. Cruel girl, how you mock me! cried Craven, rising from his knees and sitting beside her. No, I don't. I'm in solemn earnest. I say it is first rate. Do it again, I like it. Sarcastic and merciless one, you glory in the pain you give. But if you wish again to hear me say I love you, I will say it a dozen, yes a hundred times over, if you will only admit that you could love me a little in return. Don't, that would be tiresome. Two or three times is quite enough. Besides, what earthly good could my saying I love you do? It might persuade you to become the wife of one who will adore you to the last hour of his life, meaning you? Meaning me, the most devoted of your admirers. That isn't saying much, since I haven't got any but you. Thank fortune for it, then I am to understand charming Capitola, that at least your hand and your affections are free, cried Craven joyfully. Well, now I don't know about that. Really, I can't positively say. But it strikes me, if I were to get married to anybody else, there somebody would feel queerish. No doubt there are many whose secret hopes would be blessed, for so charming a girl could not have passed through this world without having won many hearts who would keenly feel the loss of hope in her marriage. But what if they do my enchanting, Capitola? You are not responsible for anyone having formed such hopes. Fudge, said Cap, I'm no bell, never was, never can be. Have neither wealth, beauty, nor coquetry enough to make me one. I have no lovers nor admirers to break their hearts about me, one way or another. But there is one honest fellow, hem, never mind. I feel as if I belonged to somebody else, that's all. I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Lenore, for your preference, and even for the beautiful way in which you have expressed it. But I belong to somebody else. Miss Black, said Craven, somewhat abashed, but not discouraged. I think I understand you. I presume that you refer to the young man who is your gallant champion in the Forest Chapel. The one that made your nose bleed, said the incorrigible Cap. Well, Miss Black, from your words it appears that this is by no means unacknowledged but only an understood agreement, which cannot be binding upon either party. Now a young lady of your acknowledged good sense. I never had any more good sense than I have had admirers, interrupted Cap. Craven smiled. I would not hear your enemy say that, he replied. Then, resuming his argument, he said, you will readily understand, Miss Black, that the vague engagement of which you speak, where there is want of fortune on both sides, is no more prudent than it is binding. On the contrary, the position which it is my pride to offer you is considered an enviable one, even apart from the devoted love that goes with it. You are aware that I am the sole heir of the Hidden House Estate, which, with all its dependencies, is considered the largest property, as my wife would be the most important lady in the county. Cap's lip curled a little, looking a scant at him, she answered. I am really very much obliged to you, Mr. Lenore, for the distinguished honour that you designed for me. I should highly appreciate the magnanimity of the young gentleman, the heir of the wealthiest estate in the neighbourhood, who deigns to propose marriage to the little beggar that I acknowledge myself to be. I regret to be obliged to refuse such dignities. But I belong to another, said Capitola, rising and advancing toward her horse. Craven would not risk his success by pushing his suit further at this sitting. Very respectfully lending his assistance to put Capitola into her saddle, he said he hoped at some further and more propitious time to resume the subject. And then, with a deep bow, he left her, mounted his horse, and rode on his way. He did not believe that Capitola was more than half an earnest, or that any girl in Capitola's circumstances would do such a mad thing as to refuse the position he offered her. He did not throw himself in her way often enough to excite her suspicion that their meetings were preconcerted on his part. And even when he did overtake her, or suffer her to overtake him, he avoided giving her a fence by pressing his suit until another good opportunity should offer. This was not long in coming. One afternoon he overtook her and rode by her side for a short distance. When finding her in unusually good spirits and temper, he again renewed his declaration of love and offer of marriage. Cap turned around in her saddle and looked at him with astonishment for a full minute before she exclaimed, Why, Mr. Lenore, I gave you an answer more than a week ago. Didn't I tell you no? What on earth do you mean by repeating the question? I mean, bewitching Capitola, not to let such a treasure slip out of my grasp if I can help it. I was never in your grasp that I know of, said Cap, whipping up her horse and leaving him far behind. Days passed before Craven thought it prudent again to renew and press his suit. He did so upon a fine September morning when he overtook her riding along the banks of the river. He joined her and in the most deprecating manner besought her to listen to him once more. Then he commenced in a strain of the most impassioned eloquence and urged his love and his proposal. Capitola stopped her horse, wheeled around and faced him, looking him full in the eyes while she said, Upon my word, Mr. Lenore, you remind me of an anecdote told of young Sheridan. When his father advised him to take a wife in subtle, he replied by asking whose wife he should take. Will nobody serve your purpose but somebody else's sweetheart? I have told you that I belong to a brave young soldier who is fighting his country's battles in a foreign land while you are lazing here at home, trying to undermine him. I am ashamed of you, sir, and ashamed of myself for talking with you so many times. Never do you presume to accost me on the highway or anywhere else again. Craven by name and Craven by nature, you have once already felt the weight of Herbert's arm. Do not provoke its second descent upon you. You are warned. And with that Capitola, with her lips curled, her eyes flashing, and her cheeks burning, put whip to her pony and galloped away. Craven Lenore's thin, white face grew perfectly livid with passion. I will have her yet, I have sworn it, and by fair means or by foul I will have her yet. He exclaimed as he relaxed his hold upon his bridle and let his horse go on slowly, while he sat with his brows gathered over his thin nose, his long chin buried in his neck-cloth, and his nails between his teeth, gnawing like a wild beast, as was his custom when deeply cogitating. Presently he conceived a plan so diabolical that none but Satan himself could have inspired it. This was to take advantage of his acquaintance and casual meetings with Capitola so to malign her character as to make it unlikely that any honest man would risk his honor by taking her to wife. That thus the way might be left clear for himself, and he resolved, if possible, to affect this in such a manner, namely by jests, innuendos, and sneers, that it should never be directly traced to a positive assertion on his part, and in the meantime he determined to so govern himself in his deportment toward Capitola as to arouse no suspicion, give no offense, and if possible win back her confidence. It is true that even Cravenly Nor, base as he was, shrank from the idea of smirching the reputation of the woman whom he wished to make a wife. But then he said to himself that in that remote neighborhood the scandal would be of little consequence to him, who as soon as he married would claim the estate of the hidden house in the right of his wife, put it in charge of an overseer, and then with his bride start for Paris, the paradise of the Epicurean, where he designed to fix the principal residence. Cravenly Nor was so pleased with his plan that he immediately set about putting it in execution. Our next chapter will show how he succeeded. Oh, that I were a man for his sake, or had a friend who would be one for mine. Shakespeare. Autumn brought the usual city visitors to Hurricane Hall to spend the sporting season and shoot over major warfields' grounds. Old Hurricane was in his glory, giving dinners and projecting hunts. Capitola also enjoyed herself rarely, enacting with much satisfaction to herself and guests her new role of hostess, and not unfrequently joining her uncle and his friends in their field sports. Among the guests there were two who deserved particular attention, not only because they had been for many years annual visitors of Hurricane Hall, but more especially because there had grown up between them and our little madcap heroine, a strong mutual confidence and friendship. Yet no three persons could possibly be more unlike than Capitola and the two cousins of her soul, as she called these two friends. They were both distant relatives of major warfield, and in right of this relationship invariably addressed Capitola as cousin Cap. John Stone, the elder of the two, was a very tall, stout, squarely built young man with a broad, good humored face, fair skin, blue eyes, and light hair. In temperament he was rather flugmatic, quiet, and lazy. In character he was honest, prudent, and good-tempered. In circumstances he was a safe banger with a notable wife and two healthy children. The one thing that was able to excite his quiet nerves was the chase of which he was as fond as he could be of any amusement. The one person who agreeably stirred his rather still spirits was our little Cap, and that was the secret of his friendship for her. Edwin Percy, the other, was a young West Indian, tall and delicately formed, with a clear olive complexion, languishing dark hazel eyes, and dark bright chestnut hair and beard. In temperament he was ardent as his climb. In character, indolent, careless, and self-indulgent. In condition he was the bachelor heir of a sugar plantation of a thousand acres. He loved not the chase, nor any other amusement requiring exertion. He doted upon swans down sofas with springs, French plays, cigars, and chocolate. He came to the country to find repose, good air, and an appetite. He was the victim of constitutional ennui that yielded to nothing but the exhilaration of Capitola's company. That was the mystery of his love for her, and doubtless the young Creole would have proposed for Cap, had he not thought at too much trouble to get married, and dreaded the bustle of a bridal. Certainly Edwin Percy was as opposite in character to John Stone, as they both were to Capitola. Yet great was the relative attraction among the three. Cap impartially divided her kind offices as hostess between them. John Stone joined Old Hurricane and many a hard day's hunt, and Capitola was often of the party. Edwin Percy spent many hours on the luxurious lounge in the parlor, where Cap was careful to place a stand with chocolate, cigars, wax matches, and his favorite books. One day Cap had had what she called a row with a governor, that is to say a slight misunderstanding with Major Warfield. A very uncommon occurrence, as the reader knows, in which that tempera old gentleman had so freely bestowed upon his niece the names of beggar, foundling, brat, vagabond, and vagrant. That Capitola, in just indignation, refused to join the birding party, and taking her game-bag, powder flask, shot-horn, and fouling-piece, and calling her favorite pointer, walked off as she termed it, to shoot herself. But if Capitola's by no means sweet temper had been tried that morning, it was destined to be still more severely tried before the day was over. Her second provocation came in this way. John Stone, another deserter of the birding party, had that day be taken himself to tip-top, upon some private business of his own. He dined at the antlers in company with some sporting gentleman of the neighborhood. And when the conversation naturally turned upon field sports, Mr. John Stone spoke of the fine shooting that was to be had around Hurricane Hall. When one of the gentlemen, looking straight across the table to Mr. Stone, said, Ahem, that pretty little huntress of Hurricane Hall, that niece or ward, or mysterious daughter of old Hurricane, who engages with so much enthusiasm in your field sports over there, is a girl of very free and easy manners, I understand, a Diana in nothing but her love of the chase. Sir, it is a base-columny, and the man who endorses it is a shameless slanderer. There is my card. I may be found at my present residence, Hurricane Hall, said John Stone, throwing his pace board across the table, and rising to leave it. Nay, nay, said the stranger, laughing and pushing the card away. I do not endorse the statement. I know nothing about it. I wash my hands of it, said the young man. And then upon Mr. Stone's demanding the author of the columny, he gave the name of Mr. Craven Lenore, who, he said, had talked in his cups at a dinner party recently given by one of his friends. I pronounce publicly, in the presence of all these witnesses, as I shall presently to Craven Lenore himself, that he is a shameless miscreant, who has basely slandered a noble girl. You, sir, have declined to endorse those words, henceforth declined to repeat them, for after this I shall call to severe account any man who ventures by word, gesture, or glance to hint this slander, or in any other way deal lightly with the honorable name and fame of the lady in question. Gentlemen, I am to be found at Hurricane Hall, and I have the honour of wishing you a more improving subject of conversation, and a very good afternoon, said John Stone, bowing and leaving the room. He immediately called for his horse and rode home. In crossing the thicket of woods between the river and the rising ground in front of Hurricane Hall, he overtook Capitola, who, as we have said, had been out alone with her gun and dog, and was now returning home with her game-bag well-laden. Now, as John Stone looked at Capitola, with her reckless free and joyous air, he thought she was just the sort of girl, unconsciously, to get herself and friends in trouble, and he thought at best to give her a hint to put an abrupt period to her acquaintance, if she hid even the slightest, with the heir apparent of the hidden house. While still hesitating how to begin the conversation, he came up with the young girl, dismounted, and leading his horse, walked by her side, asking carelessly, What have you bagged, Cap? Some partridges. Oh, you should have been out with me and Sweetlips. We've had such sport. But anyhow, you shall enjoy your share of the spoils. Come home, and you shall have some of these partridges boiled for supper, with current sauce, a dish of my own invention for Uncle Sekino. He's such a gourmand. Thank you, yes. I'm on my way home now. Him and Capitola, I counsel you to cut the acquaintance of our neighbour Cravenly-Nor. I have already done so, but what in the world is the matter that you should advise me thus, inquired Capitola, fixing her eyes steadily upon the face of John Stone, who avoided her gaze as he answered. The man is not a proper association for a young woman. I know that, and have cut him accordingly, but Cousin John, there is some reason for your words, that you have not expressed, and as they concern me, now I insist upon knowing what they are. Tut, it is nothing, said the other evasively. John Stone, I know better, and the more you look down and whip your boots, the sureer I am that there is something I ought to know, and I will know. Well, you termagant, have your way. He has been speaking lightly of you. That's all. Nobody minds him. His tongue is no scandal. John Stone, what has he said, asked Capitola, drawing her breath hardly between her closed teeth. Oh, now, why should you ask? It is nothing. It is not proper that I should tell you, replied that gentleman, in embarrassment. It is nothing, and yet it is not proper that you should tell me? How do you make that out? John Stone, leave off lashing the harmless bushes and listen to me. I have to live in the same neighborhood with this man, after you have gone away, and I insist upon knowing the whole length and breadth of his baseness and the dignity that I may know how to judge and punish him, said Capitola, with such grimness of resolution that Mr. Stone, provoked at her perversity, answered. Well, you willful girl, listen, and commencing, he mercilessly told her all that had passed at the table. To have seen our cap, then, face, neck, and bosom were flushed with the crimson tide of indignation. You are sure of what you tell me, cousin John? The man vouches for it. He shall bite the dust. What? The slanderer shall bite the dust. Without more ado, down was thrown gun, game-bag, powder-flask, and shot-horn, and bounding from point to point over all the intervening space, Capitola rushed into Hurricane Hall, and without an instance delay ran straight into the parlor, where her Epicurean friend, the young Creole, lay slumbering upon the lounge. With her face now livid with concentrated rage, and her eyes glittering with that suppressed light peculiar to intense passion, she stood before him and said, Edwin, Craven Lenore has defamed your cousin. Get up and challenge him. What did you say, Cap? said Mr. Percy, slightly yawning. Must I repeat it? Craven Lenore has defamed my character. Challenge him. That would be against the law, because they would indict me sure. You, you, you lie there and answer me in that way? Oh, that I were a man. Compose yourself, sweet cousin, and tell me what all this is about. Yo! Really, I was asleep when you first spoke to me. A sleep, had you been dead and in your grave, the words that I spoke should have roused you like the trump of the archangel, exclaimed Capitola, with the blood rushing back to her cheeks. Your entrance was sufficiently startling, cousin, but tell me over again. What was the occasion? That Catef, Craven Lenore, has slandered me. Oh, the villain, he is a base slanderer. Percy, get up this moment and challenge Lenore. I cannot breathe freely until it is done, exclaimed Capitola, impetuously. Cousin Cap, dueling is obsolete. Scenes are passe. Law settles everything. And here there is scarcely ground for action for libel. But be comforted, because, for if this comes to Uncle Hurricane's ears, he'll make mincemeat of him in no time. It is all in his line. He'll traw him right up. Percy, do you mean to say that you will not call out that man, asked Capitola, drawing her breath hardly? Yes, Cousin. You won't fight him? No, Cousin. You won't? No. Edwin Percy looked me straight in the face, said Cap, between her closed teeth. Well, I am looking you straight in the face, straight in the two blazing gray eyes, you little tempest in a teapot. What then? Do I look as though I should be an earnest in what I am about to speak? I should judge so. Then listen, and don't take your eyes off mine until I am done speaking. Very well, but don't be long, though, for it rather agitates me. I will not, hear me then. You say that you declined to challenge Lenore. Very good. I, on my part, here renounce all acquaintance with you. I will never sit down at the same table, enter the same room, or breathe the same air with you, never speak to you, listen to you, or recognize you in any manner, until my deep wrongs are avenged in the punishment of my slanderer, so help me. Hush! Don't swear, Cap. It's profane and unwomenly, and nothing on earth but broken oaths would be the result. But Cap was off. In an instant she was down in the yard, where her groom was holding her horse, ready in case she wished to take her usual ride. Where is Mr. John Stone, she asked. Down at the kennel's miss, answered the boy. She jumped into her saddle, put whip to her horse, and flew over the ground between the mansion house and the kennel's. She pulled up before the door of the main building, sprang from her saddle, threw the bridle to a man in attendance, and rushed into the house and into the presence of Mr. John Stone, who was busy prescribing for an indisposed pointer. He looked up in astonishment, exclaiming. Hello! All the witches! Here's Cap. Why, where on earth did you shoot from? What's up now? You look as if you were in a state of spontaneous combustion and couldn't stand it another minute. And I can't, and I won't. John Stone, you must call that man out. What man, Cap? What the deuce do you mean? You know well enough, you do this to provoke me. I mean the man of whom you cautioned me this afternoon, the wretch who slandered me, the niece of your host. Whooo! Will you do it? Where's Percy? On the lounge with an ice in one hand and a novel in the other. I suppose it is no use mincing the matter, John. He is a mere epicure. There is no fight in him. It is you who must vindicate your cousin's honor. My cousin's honor cannot need vindication. It is unquestioned and unquestionable. No smooth words if you please, cousin John. Will you or will you not fight that man? Tot, Cap. No one really questions your honor. That man will get himself knocked into a cock-tat if he goes around talking of an honest girl. A likely thing when her own cousins and guests take it so quietly. What would you have them do, Cap? The longer an affair of this sort is agitated, the more offensive it becomes. Besides, chivalry is out of date. The knights' errands are all dead. The men are all dead, if any ever really lived, cried Cap in a fury. Heaven knows I am inclined to believe them to have been a fabulous race, like that of the mastodon or the censure. I certainly never saw a creature that deserved the name of man. The very first of your race was the meanest fellow that ever was heard of, eight of the stolen apple, and when found out laid one half of the blame on his wife and the other on his maker. The woman whom thou gaveest me did so and so. Pa, I don't wonder the Lord took a dislike to the race and sent a flood to sweep them all off the face of the earth. I will give you one more chance to retrieve your honor. In one word now, will you fight that man? My dear little cousin, I would do anything in reason to vindicate the assailed manhood of my whole sex. But really now, will you fight that man? One word, yes or no. Tot Cap, you are a very reckless young woman. You, it's your nature. You are an incorrigible madcap. You be which a poor wretch until he doesn't know his head from his heels, puts his feet in his hat, and covers his scalp with his boots. You are the will of the wisp who lures a pure fellow on through the woods, bogs and briars, until you land him in the quicksands. You whirl him round and around until he grows dizzy and delirious and talks at random, and then you'd have him called out. You bloodthirsty little vixen. I tell you, cousin Cap, if I were to take up all the curls your Hoidonism might lead me into, I should have nothing else to do. Then you won't fight? Can't, little cousin. I have a wife and family, which are powerful checks upon a man's dueling impulses. Silence! You are no cousin of mine, no drop of your sluggish blood stagnates in my veins. No spark of the liquid fire of my life's current burns in your torpid arteries, else at this insult would it set you in a flame. Never dare to call me cousin again. And so, saying, she flunk herself out of the building and into her saddle, put whip to her horse, and galloped away home. Now Mr. Stone had privately resolved to thrash Cravenly Nor, but he did not deem it expedient to take Cap into his confidence. As Capitola reached the horse-block, her own groom came up to take the bridle. Gem, she said, as she jumped from her saddle, put chip up, and then come to my room. I have a message to send by you. And then, with burning cheeks and flashing eyes, she went to her own sanctum, and after taking off her habit, did the most astounding thing the ever a woman of the nineteenth or any former century attempted. She wrote a challenge to Cravenly Nor, charging him with falsehood, and having maligned her honor, demanding from him the satisfaction of a gentleman, and requesting him as the challenged party to name the time, place, and weapons with which he would meet her. By the time she had written, sealed, and directed this warlike defiance, her young groom made his appearance. Gem, she asked, do you know the way to the hidden house? Yes, Miss, sure. Then take this note that there, ask for Mr. Lenore, put it into his hands, and say that you are directed to wait for an answer. And listen, you need not mention to any one in this house where you are going, nor when you return where you have been, but bring the answer you may get directly to this room, where you will find me. Yes, Miss, said the boy, who was off like a flying mercury. Capitola threw herself into her chair to spend the slow hours until the boy's return, as well as her fears and patience, and forced inaction would permit. At tea time she was summoned, but she excused herself from going below, upon the plea of indisposition. Which is perfectly true, she said to herself, since I am utterly indisposed to go, and besides, I have sworn never to sit again at the same table with my cousins, until for the wrongs done me I have received ample satisfaction. Chapter 47 Capitola caps the climax. Oh, when she is angry she is keen and shrewd. She was a vixen when she went to school, and though she is but little she is fierce. Shakespeare. It was quite late in the evening when Jem, her messenger, returned. Have you an answer? She impetuously demanded, rising to meet him as he entered. Yes, Miss, here it is, replied the boy, handing a neatly folded, highly perfumed little note. Go, said Cap, curtly, as she received it. And when the boy had bowed and withdrew, she threw herself into a chair, and with little respect for the pretty device of the pierced heart with which the note was sealed, she tore it open and devoured its contents. Why did Capitola's cheeks and lips blanch white as death? Why did her eyes contract and glitter like stilettos? Why was her breath drawn hard and laboriously through clenched teeth and livid lips? That note was couched in the most insulting terms. Capitola's first impulse was to rent the paper to Adams, and grind those Adams-du-Powder beneath her heel. But a second inspiration changed her purpose. No, no, no, I will not destroy you, precious little note. No legal document involving the ownership of the largest estate. No cherished love-letter filled with vows of undying affection shall be more carefully guarded. Next to my heart shall you lie. My shield and buckler you shall be, my sure defence and justification. I know what to do with you, my precious little jewel. You are the warrant for the punishment of that man, signed by his own hand. And so, saying, Capitola carefully deposited the note in her bosom. Then she lighted her chamber lamp, and taking it with her, went downstairs to her uncle's bedroom. Taking advantage of the time when she knew he would be absorbed in a game of chess with John Stone, and she should be safe from interruption for several hours if she wished. She went to Major Warfield's little armory, in the closet adjoining his room, opened his pistol case, and took from it a pair of revolvers, closed and locked the case, and withdrew and hid the key that they might not chance to be missed until she should have time to replace them. Then she hurried back into her own chamber, locked the pistols up in her own drawer, and wearied out with so much excitement, prepared to go to rest. Here a grave and unexpected obstacle met her. She had always been accustomed to kneel, and offer up to heaven her evening's tribute of praise and thanksgiving for the mercies of the day, and prayers for protection and blessing through the night. Now she knelt as usual, but thanksgiving and prayer seemed frozen on her lips. How could she praise or pray with such a purpose as she had in her heart? For the first time Capitola doubted the perfect righteousness of that purpose, which was of a character to arrest her prayers upon her lips. With a start of impatience and a heavy sigh she sprang up and hurried into bed. She did not sleep, but lay tossing from side to side and feverish excitement the whole night, having, in fact, a terrible battle between her own fierce passions and her newly awakened conscience. Nevertheless she arose by daybreak in the morning, dressed herself, went and unlocked her drawer, took out the pistols, carefully loaded them, and laid them down for service. Then she went downstairs, where the servants were only just beginning to stir, and sent for her groom, Gem, whom she ordered to saddle her pony, and also to get a horse for himself, to attend her in a morning ride. After which she returned upstairs, put on her riding habit, and buckled around her waist a Morocco belt, into which she stuck the two revolvers. She then threw around her shoulders a short circular cape that concealed the weapons, and put on her hat and gloves, and went below. She found her little groom already at the door with the horses. She sprang into her saddle, and bidding Gem follow her, took the road toward Tip Top. She knew that Mr. Lenore was in the habit of riding to the village every morning, and she determined to meet him. She knew from the early hour of the day that he could not possibly be ahead of her, and she rode on slowly to give him an opportunity to overtake her. Probably Craven Lenore was later that morning than usual, for Capitola had reached the entrance of the village before she heard the sound of his horse's feet approaching behind her. She did not wish that their encounter should be in the streets of the village, so she instantly wheeled her horse and galloped back to meet him. As both were riding at full speed, they soon met. She first drew rain, and standing in his way, accosted him with, Mr. Lenore, you are most obedient, Miss Black, he said, with a deep bow. I happen to be without father or brother to protect me from a front, sir, and my uncle is an invalid veteran whom I will not trouble. I am therefore under the novel necessity of fighting my own battles. Yesterday, sir, I sent you a note demanding satisfaction for a heinous slander you circulated against me. You replied by an insulting note. You do not escape punishment so. Here are two pistols. Both are loaded. Take either one of them. For, sir, we have met, and now we do not part until one of us falls from the horse. And so, saying, she wrote up to him and offered him the choice of the pistols. He laughed, partly in surprise, and partly in admiration, as he said, with seeming good humor. Miss Black, you are a very charming young woman, and delightfully original, and peckaint in all your ideas. But you outrage all the laws that govern the duel. You know that, as the challenged party, I have the right to the choice of time, place, and arms. I made that choice yesterday. I renew it today. When you accede to the terms of the meeting, I shall endeavor to give you all the satisfaction you demand. Good morning, Miss. And with a deep bow, even to the flaps of his saddle, he rode past her. That base insult again, cried Capitola, with the blood rushing to her face. Then, lifting her voice, she again accosted him. Mr. Lenore. He turned, with a smile. She threw one of the pistols to the ground near him, saying, Take that and defend yourself. He waved his hand in negation, bowed, smiled, and rode on. Mr. Lenore. She called in a peremptory tone. Once more he turned. She raised her pistol, took deliberate aim at his white forehead, and fired. Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang, bang. Six times, without an instant's intermission, until her revolver was bent. When the smoke cleared away, a terrible vision met her eyes. It was Craven Lenore, with his face covered with blood, reeling in his saddle, from which she soon dropped to the ground. In falling, his boot remained in the hanging stirrup. The well-trained Calvary horse stood perfectly still, though trembling in a panic of terror, from which he might at any moment start to run, dragging the helpless body after him. Capitola saw this danger, and not being cruel, she tempered justice with mercy, threw down her spent pistol, dismounted from her horse, went up to the fallen man, disengaged his foot from the stirrup, and, taking hold of his shoulders, tried with all her might to drag the still-breathing form from the dusty road, where it lay in danger of being run over by wagons, to the green bank, where it might lie in comparative safety. But that heavy form was too much for her single strength, and calling her terrified groom to assist her, they removed the body. Capitola then remounted her horse, and galloped rapidly into the village, and up to the lady's entrance of the hotel, where, after sending for the proprietor, she said, I have just been shooting cravenly nor for slandering me, he lies by the roadside at the entrance of the village, you had better send somebody to pick him up. Miss! cried the astonished innkeeper. Capitola distinctly repeated her words, and then, leaving the innkeeper, transfixed with consternation, she crossed the street, and entered a magistrate's office, where a little old gentleman, with a pair of green spectacles resting on his hooked nose, sat at a writing-table, giving some directions to a constable, who was standing, hat in hand, before him. Capitola waited until his functionary had his orders and a written paper, and had left the office, and the magistrate was alone, before she walked up to the desk, and stood before him. Well, well, young woman, well, well, what do you want? Enquired the old gentleman, impatiently looking up from folding his papers. I have come to give myself up for shooting cravenly nor, who slandered me, answered Capitola quietly. The old man let fall his hands full of papers, raised his head, and stared at her over the tops of his green spectacles. What did you say, young woman? he asked, and the tone of one who doubted his own ears. I say that I have forestalled an arrest by coming here to give myself up for the shooting of a dastard who slandered, insulted, and refused to give me satisfaction, answered Capitola, very distinctly. Am I awake? Do I hear a rite? Do you mean to say that you have killed a man? asked the dismayed magistrate. Oh, I can't say as to the killing. I shot him off his horse, and then sent Mr. Mary and his men to pick him up, while I came here to answer for myself. Unfortunate girl, and how can you answer for such a dreadful deed? exclaimed the utterly confounded magistrate. Oh, as to the dreadfulness of the deed, that depends on the circumstances, said Cap, and I can answer for it very well. He made addresses to me. I refused him. He slandered me. I challenged him. He insulted me. I shot him. Miserable young woman, if this is proved true, I shall have to commit you. Just as you please, said Cap, but bless your soul, that won't help cravenly nor a single bit. As she spoke, several persons entered the office in a state of high excitement, all talking at once, saying, That is the girl. Yes, that is her. She is Miss Black, old Warfield's niece. Yes, he said she was. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. What is all this, neighbors? What is all this? Inquired the troubled magistrate, rising in his place. Why, sir, there's been a gentleman, Mr. Cravenly Nor, shot. He has been taken to the antlers, where he lies in articulate smartness, and we wish him to be confronted with Miss Capitola Black, the young woman here present, that he may identify her, whom he accuses of having shot six charges into him before his death. She needn't deny it, because he is ready to swear to her, said Mr. Mary, who constituted himself spokesman. She accuses herself, said the magistrate, Indus May. Then, sir, had she not better be taken at once to the presence of Mr. Lenore, who may not have many minutes to live? Yes, come along, said Cap. I only gave myself up to wait for this, and as he is already at hand, let's go and have it all over, for I have been writing about in this frosty morning air for three hours, and I have got a good appetite, and I want to go home for breakfast. I am afraid, young woman, you will scarcely get home to breakfast this morning, said Mr. Mary. We'll see that presently, answered Cap, composedly, as they all left the office, and crossed the street to the antlers. They were conducted by the landlord to a chamber on the first floor, where upon a bed lay stretched, almost without breath or motion, the form of craven Lenore, his face was still covered with blood, that the bystanders had scrupulously refused to wash off until the arrival of the magistrate. His complexion, as far as it could be seen, was very pale. He was thoroughly prostrated, if not actually dying. Around his bed were gathered the village doctor, the landlady, and several maid-servants. The squire has come, sir. Are you able to speak to him? asked the landlord, approaching the bed. Yes, let him swear me, feebly replied the wounded man, and then send for a clergyman. The landlady immediately left to send for Mr. Goodwin, and the magistrate approached the head of the bed, and speaking solemnly, exhorted the wounded man, as he expected soon to give an account of the works done in his body, to speak the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, without reserve, malice, or exaggeration, both as to the deed and its provocation. I will, I will, for I have sent for a minister, and I intend to try to make my peace with heaven, replied Lenore. The magistrate then directed Capitola to come and take her stand at the foot of the bed, where the wounded man, who was lying on his back, could see her without turning. Cap came as she was commanded, and stood there with some irrepressible and incomprehensible mischief, gleaming out from under her long eyelashes, and from the corners of her dimpled lips. The magistrate then administered the oath to Craven Lenore, and bade him look upon Capitola, and give his evidence. He did so, and under the terrors of a guilty conscience, and of expected death, his evidence partook more of the nature of a confession than an accusation. He testified that he had addressed Capitola, and had been rejected by her. Then under the influence of evil motives, he had circulated insinuations against her honor, which were utterly unjustifiable by fact. She, seeming to have heard of them, took the strange course of challenging him, just as if she had been a man. He could not, of course, meet a lady in a duel, but he had taken advantage of the technical phraseology of the Challenge Party as do time, place, and weapons, to offer her a deep insult. Then she had waylaid him on the highway, offered him his choice of a pair of revolvers, and told him that, having met, they should not part until one or the other fell from the horse. He had again laughingly refused the encounter, except upon the insulting terms he had before proposed. She had then thrown him one of the pistols, bidding him defend himself. He had laughingly passed her when she called him by name. He turned, and she fired, six times in succession, and he fell. He knew no more until he was brought to his present room. He said in conclusion he did not wish that the girl should be prosecuted, as she had only avenged her own honor, and that he hoped his death would be taken by her and her friends as a sufficient expiation of his offenses against her. And lastly, he requested that he might be left alone with the minister. Bring that unhappy young woman over to my office, Ketchum, said the magistrate, addressing himself to a constable. Then turning to the landlord, he said, Sir, it would be a charity in you to put a messenger on horseback and send him to Hurricane Hall for Major Warfield, who will have to enter into a recognizance for Miss Black's appearance at court. Stop, said Cap. Don't be too certain of that. Be always sure you're right. Then go ahead. Is not anyone here quill enough to reflect that if I had fired six bullets at that man's forehead and every one head struck I should have blown his head to the sky? Will not somebody at once wash his face and see how deep the wounds are? The doctor, who had been restrained by the others, now took a sponge and water, and cleaned the face of Lenore, which was found to be well peppered with split peas. Cap looked around, and seeing the astonished looks of the good people, burst into an irrepressible fit of laughter, saying, as soon as she had got breath enough, upon my words, neighbors, you look more shocked, if not actually more disappointed, to find that, after all, he is not killed, and there will be no spectacle, than you did at first when you thought murder had been done. Will you be good enough to explain this young woman? said the magistrate severely. Certainly, for your worship seems as much disappointed as others, said Cap, then turning toward the group around the bed, she said. You have heard Mr. Lenore's last dying speech and confession, as he supposed it to be, and you know the maddening provocations that inflamed my temper against him. Last night, after having received this insulting answer to my challenge, there was evil in my heart, I do assure you. I possessed myself of my uncle's revolvers, and resolved to wailay him this morning, and force him to give me satisfaction, or if he refused. Well, no matter, I tell you, there was danger in me. But before retiring to bed, it is my habit to say my prayers. Now the practice of prayer, and the purpose of red-handed violence, cannot exist in the same person at the same time. I couldn't sleep without praying, and I couldn't pray without giving up my thoughts of fatal vengeance upon Cravenly Nor. So at last I made up my mind to spare his life, and teach him a lesson. The next morning I drew the charges of the revolvers, and reloaded them with poor powder, and dried peas. Everything else has happened just as he has told you. He has received no harm, except in being terribly frightened, and in having his beauty spoiled. And as for that, didn't I offer him one of the pistols, and expose my own face to similar damage? For I'd scorn to take advantage of any one, said Cap, laughing. Cravenly Nor had now raised himself up in a sitting posture, and was looking around with an expression of countenance, which was a strange blending of relief at this unexpected respite from the grave, and intense mortification at finding himself in the ridiculous position which the address of Capitola and his own weak nerves, cowardice, and credulity had placed him. Cap went up to him and said, in a consoling voice, Come, thank heaven that you are not going to die this bout. I'm glad you repented, and told the truth, and I hope you may live long enough to offer heaven a truer repentance than that which is the mere effect of fright. For I tell you plainly that if it had not been for the grace of the Lord, acting upon my heart last night, your soul might have been in Hades now. Cravenly Nor shut his eyes, groaned, and fell back overpowered by the reflection. Now, please, your worship, may I go home? asked Cap, demerly popping down a mock curtsy to the magistrate. Yes, go, go, go, go, said the officer, with an expression as though he considered our Cap an individual of the animal kingdom, whom neither Buffon nor any other natural philosopher had ever classified, and who, as a creature of unknown habits, might sometimes be dangerous. Cap immediately availed herself of the permission, and went out to look for her servant and horses. But Jem, the first moment that he found himself unwatched, had put out as fast as he could fly to Hurricane Hall to inform Major Warfield of what had occurred. And Capitola, after losing a great deal of time in looking for him, mounted her horse, and was just about to start, when who should ride up in hot haste, but old Hurricane, attended by wool. Stop there, he shouted, as he saw Cap. She obeyed, and he sprang from his horse, with the agility of youth, and helped her to descend from hers. Then drawing her arm within his own, he led her into the parlor, and putting an unusual restraint upon himself, he ordered her to tell him all about the affair. Cap sat down, and gave him the whole history from beginning to end. Old Hurricane could not sit still to hear. He strode up and down the room, striking his stick upon the floor, and uttering inarticulate sounds of rage and defiance. When Cap had finished her story, he suddenly stopped before her, brought down the point of his stick with a resounding thump upon the floor, and exclaimed, Demi, you New York newsboy, will you never be a woman? Why the demon didn't you tell me, Sara? I would have called the fellow out, and chest ties him to your heart's content. Hang it, miss. Answer me, and say. Because you are on the invalid list, and I am in sound condition, and capable of taking my own part. Then answer me this, while you are taking your own part, why the foul fiend didn't you pepper him with something sharper than dried peas? I think he is quite as severely punished in suffering from extreme terror, and intense mortification, and public ridicule, said Cap. And now, uncle, I have not eaten a single blessed mouthful this morning, and I am hungry enough to eat up chip or to satisfy patty. Old Hurricane, permitting his excitement to subside, and a few expiring grunts, rang the bell, and gave orders for breakfast to be served. And after that meal was over, he sat out with his niece for Hurricane Hall. And upon arriving at home, he had dressed a letter to Mr. Lenore, to the effect that as soon as the letter should be recovered from the effect of his fright and mortification, he, Major Warfield, should demand and expect satisfaction. End of Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Who can express the horror of that night, when darkness lent his robes to monster fear, and heaven's black mantle, banishing the light, made everything in fearful form appear? Brandon Let it not be supposed that Black Donald had forgotten his promise to Colonel Lenore, or was indifferent to its performance. But many perilous failures had taught him caution. He had watched and waylaid Capitola in her rides, but the girl seemed to bear a charmed safety, for never once had he caught sight of her, except in company, with her groom, and with Craven Lenore. And very soon by eavesdropping on these occasions, he learned the secret design of the sun to forestall the father and run off with the heiress. And as Black Donald did not foresee what success Craven Lenore might have with Capitola, he felt the more urgent necessity for prompt action on his own part. He might indeed have brought his men and attacked and overcome Capitola's attendance and open day, but the enterprise must needs have been attended with great bloodshed and loss of life, which would have made a sensation in the neighborhood that Black Donald, in the present state of his fortunes, was by no means ambitious of daring. In a word had such an act of unparalleled violence been attempted, the better it succeeded, the greater would have been the indignation of the people, and the whole country would probably have risen and armed themselves and hunted the outlaws as so many wild beasts with horses and hounds. Therefore Black Donald preferred quietly to abduct his victim, so as to leave no trace of her taking off, but to allow it to be supposed that she had eloped. He resolved to undertake this adventure alone, though to himself personally this plan was even more dangerous than the other. He determined to gain access to her chamber, secrete himself anywhere in the room, except under the bed, where his instincts informed him that Capitola every night looked, and when the household should be buried in repose, steal out upon her, overpower, gag, and carry her off in the silence of the night, leaving no trace of his own presence behind. By means of one of his men who went about unsuspected among the Negroes, buying up mats and baskets, that the latter were in the habit of making for sale, he had learned that Capitola occupied the same remote chamber in the oldest part of the house, but that a guest slept in the room next, and another in the one opposite hers, and that the house was besides full of visitors from the city, who had come down to spend the sporting season, and that they were hunting all day and carousing all night, from one week's end to another. On hearing this, Black Donald quickly comprehended that it was no time to attempt the abduction of the maiden, with the least probability of success. All would be risked, and most probably lost in the endeavor. He resolved therefore to wait until the house should be clear of company, and the household fallen into their accustomed carelessness and monotony. He had to wait much longer than he had reckoned upon, through October and through November, when he first heard of and left over Cap's duel with Cravenly Nor, and congratulated himself upon the fact that the rival was no longer to be feared. He had also to wait through two-thirds of the month of December, because a party had come down to enjoy a short season of fox hunting. They went away just before Christmas. And then at last came Black Donald's opportunity, and a fine opportunity it was. Had Satan himself engaged to furnish him with one to order, it could not have been better. The reader must know that throughout Virginia the Christmas week, from the day after Christmas until the day after New Year, is the negro Saturnalia. There are usually eight days of incessant dancing, feasting, and frolicking from quarter to quarter, and from barn to barn. Then the banjo, the fiddle, and the bones are heard from morning until night, and from night until morning. And nowhere was this annual octave of festivity held more sacred than at Hurricane Hall. It was the will of Major Warfield that they should have their full satisfaction out of their seven days' carnival. He usually gave a dinner party on Christmas day, after which his people were free until the third of January. Demi-mum, he would say to Mrs. Condiment, they wait on us fifty-one weeks in the year, and it's hard if we can't wait on ourselves the fifty-second. Small thanks to Old Hurricane for his self-denial. He did nothing for himself or others, and Mrs. Condiment and Capitola had a hot time of it in serving him. Mrs. Condiment had to do all the cooking and housework, and Cap had to perform most of the duties of Major Warfield's valet, and that was the way in which Old Hurricane waited on himself. It happened, therefore, that about the middle of the Christmas week, being Wednesday, the twenty-eighth of December, all the house servants and farm laborers from Hurricane Hall went off in a body to a banjo breakdown given at a farm five miles across the country. And Major Warfield, Mrs. Condiment and Capitola were the only living beings left in the old house that night. Black Donald, who had been prowling about the premises evening after evening, watching his opportunity to affect his nefarious object, soon discovered the outward bounce stampede of the Negroes and the unprotected state in which the house, for that night only, would be left, and he determined to take advantage of the circumstance to consummate his wicked purpose. In its then defenseless condition he could easily have mustered his force and carried off his prize without immediate personal risk. But, as we said before, he eschewed violence as being likely to provoke after-effects of a too fatal character. He resolved rather at once to risk his own personal safety in the quieter plan of abduction which he had formed. He determined that as soon as it should be dark he would watch his opportunity to enter the house, steal to Cap's chamber, secrete himself in a closet, and when all should be quiet, in the dead waste and middle of the night, he would come out, master her, stop her mouth, and carry her off. When it became quite dark he approached the house and hid himself under the steps beneath the back door leading from the hall into the garden to watch his opportunity of entering. He soon found that his enterprise required great patience as well as courage. He had to wait more than two hours before he heard the door unlocked and opened. He then peered out from his hiding-place and saw old Hurricane taking his way out towards the garden. Now was his time to slip unperceived into the house. He stealthily came out from his hiding-place, crept up the portico stairs to the back door, noiselessly turned to the latch, entered and closed it behind him. He had just time to open a side door on his right hand and conceal himself in a wood quasi under the stairs, when he heard the footsteps of old Hurricane returning. The old man came in, and Black Donald laughed to himself to hear with what caution he locked, bolted, and barred the doors to keep out housebreakers. Ah, old fellow, you are fastening the stable after the horse has been stolen, said Black Donald to himself. As soon as old Hurricane had passed by the quasi in which the outlaw was concealed, and had gone into the parlor, Black Donald determined to risk the ascent into Capitola's chamber. From the description given by his men, who had once succeeded in finding their way thither, he knew very well where to go. Noiselessly, therefore, he left his place of concealment, and crept out to reconnoiter the hall, which he found deserted. Old Hurricane's shawl, hat, and walking stick were deposited in one corner. In case of being met on the way, he put the hat on his head, wrapped the shawl around his shoulders, and took the stick in his hand. His forethought proved to be serviceable. He went through the hall and up the first flight of stairs without interruption. But on going along the hall of the second story, he meant Mrs. Condiment coming out of old Hurricane's room. Your slippers are on the hearth, your gown is at the fire, and the kettle is boiling to make your punch, Major Warfield, said the old lady in passing. Oomph, oomph, oomph! grunted Black Donald in reply. The housekeeper then bade him good night, saying that she was going at once to her room. Oomph! assented Black Donald, and so they parted, and this peril was passed. Black Donald went up the second flight of stairs, and then down a back passage, and a narrow staircase, and along a corridor, and through several untenent rooms, and into another passage, and finally through a side door leading into Capitola's chamber. Here he looked around for a safe hiding place. There was a high bedstead curtain, two deep windows also curtained, two closets, a dressing bureau, workstand, washstand, and two armchairs. The forethought of Little Pitipat had caused her to kindle a fire on the hearth, and place a waiter of refreshments on the workstand, so as to make all comfortable before she had left with the other Negroes to go to the banjo breakdown. Among the edibles, Pitipat had been careful to leave a small bottle of brandy, a pitcher of cream, a few eggs, and some spice, saying to herself, long as it was Christmas time, Miss Caterpillar might want a sup of eggnog quiet to herself, just as much as Old Mars did his whiskey punch, and never fancying that her young mistress would require a more delicate lunch than her old master. Black Donald laughed as he saw this outlay, and remarking that the young occupant of the chamber must have an appetite of her own, he put the neck of the brandy bottle to his lips, and took what he called a heavy swig. Then vowing that old hurricane knew what Goodlicker was, he replaced the bottle, and looked around to find the best place for his concealment. He soon determined to hide himself behind the thick folds of the window curtain, nearest the door, so that immediately after the entrance of Capitola he could glide to the door, lock it, withdraw the key, and have the girl at once in his power. He took a second swig at the brandy bottle, and then went into his place of concealment to wait events. That same hour Capitola was her uncle's partner in a prolonged game of chess. It was near eleven o'clock before Cap, heartily tired of the battle, permitted herself to be beaten in order to get to bed. With a satisfied chuckle, Old Hurricane arose from his seat, lighted two bed-chamber lamps, gave one to Capitola, took the other himself, and started off for his room, followed by Cap as far as the head of the first flight of stairs, where she bade him good night. She waited until she saw him enter his room, heard him lock his door on the inside, and throw himself down heavily into his armchair, and then she went on her own way. She hurried up the second flight of stairs, and along the narrow passages, empty rooms, and steep steps, and dreary halls, until she reached the door of her own dormitory. She turned the latch and entered the room. The first thing that met her sight was the waiter of provisions upon the stand, and at this fresh instance of her little maid's forethought, she burst into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. She did not see a dark figure glide from behind the window curtains, steel to the door, turn the lock, and withdraw the key. But still retaining her prejudice against the presence of food in her bed-chamber, she lifted up the waiter in both hands to carry it out into the passage, turned and stood face to face with Black Donald.