 17 Another storm at Hurricane Hall. At this Sir Knight grew high in wroth, and lifting hands and eyes up both. Three times he smote on stomach stout. From whence at length, fierce words broke out. Houdebrous. The moon was shining full upon the river and the homestead beyond, when Capitola dashed into the water, and amidst the sparkling and leaping of the foam, made her way to the other bank, and rode up the rugged ascent. On the outer side of the lawn wall the moonbeams fell full upon the little figure of Patti waiting there. Why, Patti, what takes you out so late as this? asked Capitola, as she rode up to the gate. Oh, Miss Caterpillar, I's waiting for you. Old Mars is dreadful he is. Just fit to bust the shingles off in the roof with swearing, so I come out to warn you, so you steal on the back way and go to your room so he won't see you, and I'll go and send wool to put your horse away, and then I'll bring you up some supper, and tell Mars how you've been home ever so long, and gone to bed with a weary bad headache. Thank you, Patti. It is perfectly astonishing how easy lying is to you. You really deserve to have been born in Rag Alley. But I won't trouble the recording angel to make another entry against you on my account. Yes, Miss, said Pitipat, who thought that her mistress was complimenting her. And now, Patti, stand out of my way. I am going to ride straight up to the horse-block, dismount, and walk right into the presence of Major Warfield, said Capitola, passing through the gate. Oh, Miss Caterpillar, don't. Don't. He'll kill you, so he will. Who's a feared, muttered Cap to herself, as she put her horse to his meadow, and rode gaily through the evergreens up to the horse-block, where she sprang down lightly from her saddle. Gathering up her train with one hand, and tossing back her head, she swept along toward the house, with the air of a young princess. There was a vision calculated to test her firmness. Reader, did you ever see a raging lion tearing to and fro the narrow limits of his cage, and occasionally shaking the amphitheater with his tremendous roar? Or a furious bull tossing his head in tail, and plowing up the earth with his hoofs, as he careered back and forth between the boundaries of his pen? If you have seen and noted these mad brutes, you may form some idea of the frenzy of old hurricane, as he stormed up and down the floor of the front pieza. Cap had just escaped an actual danger of too terrible character to be frightened now by sound and fury. Composedly she walked up into the porch, and said, Good evening, uncle. The old man stopped short in his furious strides, and glared upon her with his terrible eyes. Cap stood fire without blanching, merely remarking, Now I have no doubt that in the days when you went battling, that look used to strike terror into the heart of the enemy. But it doesn't into mine somehow. Miss, roared the old man, bringing down his cane with the resounding thump upon the floor. Miss, how dare you have the impudence to face me, much less the, the, the assurance, the effrontery, the audacity, the brass, to speak to me. Well, I declared, said Cap, calmly untying her hat. This is the first time I ever heard it was impudent and a little girl to give her uncle good evening. The old man trotted up and down the Piazza, two or three turns, then stopping short before the delinquent, he struck his cane down upon the floor with a ringing stroke, and thundered. Young woman, tell me instantly, and without prevarication where you've been. Certainly, sir, going to and fro in the earth, and walking up and down in it, said Cap, quietly. Flames and furies, that is no answer at all. Where have you been, roared old hurricane, shaking with excitement? Look here, uncle, if you go on that way, you'll have a fit presently, said Cap, calmly. Where have you been, thundered old hurricane? Well, since you will know, just across the river and through the woods and back again. And didn't I forbid you to do that minion, and how dare you disobey me, you, the creature of my bounty, you, the miserable little vagrant that I picked up in the alleys of New York, and tried to make a young lady of? But an old proverb says, you can't make a silken purse out of a pig's ear. How dare you, you little beggar, disobey your benefactor, a man of my age, character, and position. Eye, eye. Old hurricane turned abruptly, and raged up and down the Piazza. All this time, Capitola had been standing quietly, holding up her train with one hand, and her riding habit in the other. At this last insult she raised her dark gray eyes to his face, with one long, indignant, sorrowful gaze. Then, turning silently away, and entering the house, she left old hurricane to storm up and down the Piazza, until he had raged himself to rest. Reader, I do not defend, far less approve, poor Cap. I only tell her story and describe her as I have seen her, leaving her to your charitable interpretation. Next morning Capitola came down into the breakfast-room, with one idea prominent in her hard little head, to which she mentally gave expression. Well, as I like that old man, he must not permit himself to talk to me in that indecent strain, and so he must be made to know. When she entered the breakfast-room, she found Mrs. Condiment already at the head of the table, with old hurricane at the foot. He had quite got over his rage, and turned around blandly to welcome his ward, saying, Good morning, Cap. Without taking the slightest notice of his salutation, Cap sailed onto her seat. Humpf! Did you hear me say good morning, Cap? Without paying the least attention, Capitola reached out her hand, and took a cup of coffee from Mrs. Condiment. Humpf! Humpf! Good morning, Capitola, said old hurricane, with marked emphasis. Apparently without hearing him, Cap helps herself to a buckwheat cake, and daintily buttered it. Humpf! Humpf! Humpf! Well, as you said yourself, a dumb devil is better than a speaking one, ejaculated old hurricane, as he sat down and subsided into silence. Doubtless the old man would have flown into another passion, had that been possible, but in truth he had spent so much vitality in rage number one that he had none left to sustain rage number two. Besides, he knew it would be necessary to blow up Bill Easy, his lazy overseer before night, and perhaps saved himself for that performance. He finished his meal in silence, and went out. Cap finished hers, and, tempering justice with mercy, went upstairs to his room, and looked over all his appointments and belongings to find what she would do for his extra comfort, and found a job in newly lining his warm slippers and the sleeves of his dressing-gown. They met again at the dinner-table. How do you do, Cap, said old hurricane, as he took a seat. Cap poured out a glass of water, and drank it in silence. Oh well, a dumb devil, etc., exclaimed old hurricane, addressing himself to his dinner. When the meal was over, they again separated. The old man went to his study to examine his farm-books, and Capitola back to her chamber to finish lining his warm slippers. Again at tea they met. Well, Cap, is the dumb devil cast out yet, he said, sitting down. Capitola took a cup of tea from Mrs. Condiment, and passed it on to him in silence. Humpf, not gone yet, eh? Poor girl, how it must try you, said old hurricane. After supper the old man found his dressing-gown and slippers before the fire, all ready for his use. Cap, you monkey, you did this, he said, turning around. But Capitola had already left the room. Next morning at breakfast there was a repetition of the same scene. Early in the forenoon Major Warfield ordered his horses, and attended by Wolve rode up to Tip-Top. He did not return either to dinner or tea, but as that circumstance was not unusual it gave no uneasiness. Mrs. Condiment kept his supper warm, and Capitola had his dressing-gown and slippers ready. She was turning them down before the fire when the old man arrived. He came in quite gaily, saying, Now, Cap, I think I have found a talisman at last to cast out that dumb devil. I heard you wishing for a watch the other day. Now his devils belong to eternity, and have no business with time. Of course the sight of this little timekeeper must put yours to flight. And so, saying, he laid upon the table before the eyes of Capitola, a beautiful little gold watch and chain. She glanced at it as it lay glittering and sparkling in the lamplight, and then turned abruptly and walked away. Humpf! That's always the way the devils do. Fly when they can't stand shot. Capitola deliberately walked back, laid a paper over the little watch and chain, as if to cover its fascinating sparkle and glitter, and said, Uncle, your bounty is large and your present beautiful, but there is something that poor Capitola values more than— She paused, dropped her head upon her bosom, a sudden blush flamed up over her face, and teardrops glittered in her downcast eyes. She put both hands before her burning face for a moment, and then dropping them resumed. Uncle, you have rescued me from misery, and perhaps—perhaps early death. You have heaped benefits and bounties upon me without measure. You have placed me in a home of abundance, honor, and security. For all this, if I were not grateful, I should deserve no less than death. But, Uncle, there is a sin that is worse—at least more ungenerous than ingratitude. It is to put a helpless fellow creature under heavy obligations, and then treat that grateful creature with undeserved contempt and cruel unkindness. Once more her voice was choking with feeling—for some reason or other, Capitola's tears, perhaps because they were so rare, always moved old hurricane to his heart-center. Going toward her softly, he said, Now, my dear, now my child, now my little Cap, you know it was all for your own good. Why, my dear, I never for one instant regretted bringing you into the house, and I wouldn't part with you for a kingdom. Come now, my child, come to the heart of your old uncle. Now the soul of Capitola naturally abhorred sediment. If she ever gave way to serious emotion, she was sure to avenge herself by being more capricious than before. Consequently, flinging herself out of the caressing arms of old hurricane, she exclaimed, Uncle, I won't be treated with both kicks and half-penis by the same person, and so I tell you, I am not a cur to be fed with roast beef and beaten with a stick, nor, nor, nor a Turk slave to be caressed and oppressed as her master likes. Such abuse as you heaped upon me I never heard, no, not even in rag alley. Oh, my dear, my dear, my dear, for heaven's sake, forget rag alley. I won't, I vow will go back to rag alley for a very little more, freedom and peace is even sweeter than wealth and honors. Ah, but I won't let you, my little Cap. Then I'd have you brought up before the nearest magistrate, to show by what right you detained me. Aha, I wasn't brought up in New York for nothing. Whew, and all this because, for her own good, I gave my own niece and word a little gentle admonition. Gentle admonition? Do you call that gentle admonition? Why, Uncle, you are enough to frighten most people to death with your fury. You are a perfect dragon, a griffin, a Russian bear, a Bengal tiger, a Numidian lion. You're all Barnum's beasts in one. I declare, if I don't write and ask him to send a party down here to catch you for his museum, you'd draw, I tell you. Yes, especially with you for a keeper to stir me up once in a while with a long pull. And that I'd engage to do, cheap. The entrance of Mrs. Condiment with a tea tray put an end to the controversy. It was, as yet, a drawn battle. And what about the watch, my little cap? Take it back, Uncle, if you please. But they won't have it back. It has got your initials engraved upon it. Look here, said the old man, holding the watch to her eyes. C-L-N. Those are not my initials, said Capitola, looking up with surprise. Why, so they are not. The blamed fools have made a mistake. But you'll have to take it, Cap. No, Uncle, keep it for the present, said Capitola, who is too honest to take a gift that she felt she did not deserve. And yet too proud to confess as much. Peace was proclaimed for the present. Alas! Twas but of short continuance. During these two days of coolness and enforced quietude, old Hurricane had gathered a store of bad humours that required expenditure. So the very next day something went wrong upon the farm, and old Hurricane came storming home, driving his overseer, poor old meek Bill Easy, and his man Wool before him. Bill Easy was whimpering. Wool was sobbing aloud. Old Hurricane was roaring at them both as he drove them on before him, swearing that Easy should go and find himself a new home, and Wool should go and seek another master. And for this cause old Hurricane was driving them onto his study, that he might pay the overseer his last quarter salary, and give the servant a written order to find a master. He raged past Capitola in the hall, and meeting Mrs. Condomin at the study door, ordered her to bring in her account book directly, for that he would not be imposed upon any longer, but meant to drive all the lazy, idle, dishonest eye servants and time-servers from the house and land. What's the matter now, said Capitola, meeting her? Oh, child, he's in his terrible tantrums again. He gets into these ways every once in a while, when a young calf perishes, or a sheep is stolen, or anything goes amiss. And then he abuses us all, for a pack of loiterers, sluggards, and thieves, and pays us off and orders us off. We don't go, of course, because we know he doesn't mean it. Still, it is very trying to be talked to so. Oh, I should go, but Lord Child, he's a bear. But we love him. Just as she spoke, the study door opened, and Bill Easy came out sobbing, and Wool lifting up his voice and fairly roaring. Mrs. Condomin stepped out of the parlor door. What's the matter, you blockhead? she asked of Wool. Oh, boo-hoo-hoo! Old Marce has gone and done, and gave me a line to find in another boo-hoo-hoo, sobbed Wool, ready to break his heart. Give you a line to find in another boo-hoo-hoo? I wouldn't do it if I were you, Wool, said Capitola. Give me the paper, Wool, said Mrs. Condomin, taking the permit and tearing it up and adding. There, now, you go home to your quarter, and keep out of your old master's sight until he gets over his anger. And then you know very well that it will be all right. There, go along with you. Wool quickly got out of the way, and made room for the overseer, who was sniveling like a whipped schoolboy. And to whom the housekeeper said, I thought you were wiser than to take the so-to-heart, Mr. Easy. Oh, Mum, what could you expect? An old servant as has served the master faithful these forty years to be discharged at sixty-five. Oh-hoo-hoo! whimpered the overseer. But then you have been discharged so often you ought to be used to it by this time. You get discharged, just as Wool gets sold, about once a month. But do you ever go? Oh, Mum, but he is in earnest this time. Indeed he is, Mum, terrible in earnest, and all about that misfortunate bobtail cult getting stole. I know how it were some of Black Donald's gang has done it, as if I could always be on my guard against them devils. And he means it this time, Mum. He's terrible in earnest. Tut, he's always in earnest for as long as it lasts. Go home to your family, and tomorrow go about your business as usual. Here the study bell rang violently, an old hurricane's voice was heard calling, Mrs. Condiment, Mrs. Condiment. Oh, Lord, he's coming, cried Bill Easy, running off as fast as his age and grief would let him. Mrs. Condiment, Mrs. Condiment, called the voice. Yes, sir, yes, answered the housekeeper, hurrying to obey the call. Capitola walked up and down the hall for half an hour, at the end of which Mrs. Condiment came out, with a smile on her lip, and a tear in her eye, and saying, Well, Mrs. Capitola, I'm paid off and discharged also. What for? For aiding and abetting the rebels, in a word, for trying to comfort poor Easy and Wool. And are you going? Certainly not, I shan't budge. I would not treat the old man so badly as to take him at his word. And with a strange smile, Mrs. Condiment hurried away, just in time to escape old hurricane, who came raving out of the study. Get out of my way, you beggar, he cried, pushing past Capitola and hurrying from the house. Well, I declare that was pleasant, thought Cap, as she entered the parlour. Mrs. Condiment, what will he say when he comes back, and finds you all here still, she asked? Say, nothing, after this passion is over, he will be so exhausted that he will not be able to get up, and other rage, into her three days. Where has he gone? To Tip Top, and alone, too, he was so mad with poor Wool, that he wouldn't even permit him to attend. Alone? Has he gone alone? Oh, won't I give him a dose when he comes back, thought Capitola? Meanwhile, old hurricanes stormed along towards Tip Top, lashing off the poor dogs that wished to follow him, and cutting at every living thing that crossed his path. His business at the village was to get bills printed and posted, offering an additional reward for the apprehension of the marauding outlaw, Black Donald. That day he dined at the village tavern, the antlers, by Mr. Mary, and differed, disputed, or quarreled, as the case might be, with every man with whom he came in contact. Toward the evening he set off for home. It was much later than his usual hour for returning, but he felt weary, exhausted, and indisposed to come into his own dwelling, where his furious temper had created so much unhappiness. Thus, though it was very late, he did not hurry. He almost hoped that everyone might be in bed when he should return. The moon was shining brightly when he passed the gate, and rode up to Evergreen Avenue, to the horse-block in front of the house. There he dismounted, and walked up to the pieza, where a novel vision met his surprised gaze. It was Capitola walking up and down the floor with rapid, almost masculine strides, and apparently in a state of great excitement. Oh, is it you, my little cap? Good evening, my dear, he said, very kindly. Capitola pulled up in her striding walk, wheeled around, faced him, drew up her form, folded her arms, threw back her head, set her teeth, and glared at him. What the demon do you mean by that? cried old hurricane. Sir, she exclaimed, bringing down one foot with a sharp stamp. Sir, how dare you to have the impudence to face me, much less the, the, the, the brass, the bronze, the copper, to speak to me? Why, what in the name of all the lunatics and bedlam does the girl mean? Is she crazy? exclaimed the old man, gazing upon her in astonishment. Capitola turned and strode furiously up and down the pieza, and then stopped suddenly, and facing him, with a sharp stamp of her foot exclaimed, old gentleman, tell me instantly, and without prevarication, where have you been? To the demon with you, what do you mean? Have you taken leave of your senses, demanded old hurricane? Capitola strode up and down the floor a few times, and stopping short and shaking her fist exclaimed, didn't you know, you headstrong, reckless, desperate, frantic veteran, didn't you know the jeopardy in which you placed yourself in riding out alone at this hour? Suppose three or four great runaway negruses had sprung out of the bushes and, and, and, she broke off, apparently, for want of breath, and strode up and down the floor, then pausing suddenly before him, with a stern stamp of her foot, and a fierce glare of her eye, she continued, you shouldn't have come back here any more, no dishonored old man should have entered the house of which I call myself the mistress. Oh, I take, I take! Ha, ha, ha! Good cap, good! You were holding up the glass before me, but your mirror is not quite large enough to reflect old hurricane, my dear. I owe one, said the old man, as he passed into the house, followed by his capricious favorite. End of Chapter 17 Oh, her smile! It seemed half holy, as if drawn from thoughts more far, than our common justings are. And if any painter drew her, he would paint her unaware, with a halo round her hair. E. B. Browning On the appointed day, Travers took his way to Willow Heights, to keep his trist, and enter upon his medical studies in the good doctor's office. He was anxious also to know if his patron had as yet thought of any plan by which his mother might better her condition. He was met at the door by little Maddie, the parlor maid, who told him to walk right upstairs into the study, where her master was expecting him. Travers went up quietly, and opened the door of that pleasant study room, to which the reader has already been introduced, and the windows of which opened upon the upper front pieza. Now, however, as it was quite cold, the windows were down, though the blinds were open, and through them streamed the golden rays of the morning sun, that fell glistening upon the fair hair, and white raiment, of a young girl who sat reading before the fire. The doctor was not in the room, and Travers, in his native modesty, was just about to retreat when the young creature looked up from her book, and seeing him arose with a smile, and came forward saying, You were the young man whom my father was expecting, I presume. Sit down, he has stepped out, but will be in again very soon. Now Travers, being unaccustomed to the society of young ladies, felt excessively bashful when suddenly coming into the presence of this refined and lovely girl. With a low bow, and a deep blush, he took the chair she placed for him. With natural politeness, she closed her book, and addressed herself to entertaining him. I have heard that your mother is an infallid. I hope she is better. I thank you, yes, ma'am, miss, stammered Travers, and painful embarrassment. Understanding the mauve is owned of the bashful boy, and seeing that her efforts to entertain only troubled him, she placed the newspapers on the table before him, saying, Here are the morning journals, if you would like to look over them, Mr. Rock, and then she resumed her book. I thank you, miss, replied the youth, taking up a paper, more for the purpose of covering up his embarrassment than for any other. Mr. Rock, Travers was seventeen years of age, and had never been called Mr. Rock before. This young girl was the very first to compliment him with the manly title, and he felt a boyish gratitude to her, and a harmless wish that his well-brushed Sunday suit of black was not quite so rusty and threadbare, tempered by an innocent exaltation in the thought that no gentleman in the land could exhibit fresher linen, brighter shoes, or cleaner hands than himself. But not many seconds were spent in such egotism. He stole a glance at his lovely companion sitting on the opposite side of the fireplace. He was glad to see that she was already deeply engaged in reading, for it enabled him to observe her without embarrassment or offence. He had scarcely dared to look at her before, and had no distinct idea of her beauty. There had been for him only a vague dazzling vision of a golden-haired girl in floating white raiment, wafting the fragrance of violets as she moved, and with a voice sweeter than the notes of the cuchette dove as she spoke. Now he saw that the golden hair flowed in ringlets around a fair rosy face, soft and bright with feeling and intelligence. As her dark blue eyes followed the page, a smile intense with meaning deepened the expression of her countenance. That intense smile it was like her father's, only lovelier, more heavenly. The intense smile it had even on the old doctor's face, an inexpressible charm for Travers. But on the lovely young face of his daughter, it exercised an ineffable fascination. So earnest and so unconscious before the gaze of poor Travers, that he was only brought to a sense of propriety by the opening of the door, and to the entrance of the doctor, who exclaimed, Ah, here already, Travers? That is punctual. This is my daughter Claire, Travers. Claire, this is Travers you've heard me speak about, but I dare say you've already become acquainted, concluded the doctor, drawing his chair up to the reading-table, sitting down and folding his dressing-gown around his limbs. Well, Travers, how is the little mother he presently inquired? I was just telling Miss Day that she was much better, Sir, said Travers. Ah, ha, ha, ha, muttered the doctor to himself. That's kitchen-physic, roast turkey and port wine, and moral medicine, hope, and mental medicine, sympathy. Well, Travers, he said aloud, I have been racking my brain for a plan for your mother, and to no purpose. Travers, your mother should be in a home of peace, plenty, and cheerfulness. I can speak before my little Claire here. I never have any secrets from her. Your mother wants good living, cheerful company, and freedom from toil and care. The situation of a gentleman's or lady's housekeeper in some home of abundance, where she would be esteemed as a member of the family would suit her. But where to find such a place? I have been inquiring, without mentioning her name, of course, among all my friends, but not one of them wants a housekeeper, or knows a soul who does want one. And so I'm at sea on the subject. I'm ashamed of myself for not succeeding better. Oh, Sir, do not do yourself so great in injustice, said Travers. Well, the fact is, after boasting so confidently, that I would find a good situation for Mrs. Rock, lo and behold, I have proved myself as yet only a boaster. Father, said Claire, turning upon him her sweet eyes. Well, my love, perhaps Mrs. Rock would do us the favor to come here and take charge of our household. Eh? What? I never thought of that. I never had a housekeeper in my life, exclaimed the doctor. No, sir, because you never needed one before. But now we really do. Yet Maggie has been a very faithful and efficient manager, although she is a colored woman, but she is getting very old. Yes, and deaf and blind and careless. I know she is. I have no doubt in the world she scours the coppers with the table napkins, and washes her face and hands in the soup-tourine. Oh, Father, said Claire. Well, Claire, at least she wants looking after. Father, she wants rest in her old age. No doubt of it. And Father, I intend, of course, in time to be your housekeeper. But having spent all my life in a boarding school, I know very little about domestic affairs, and I require a great deal of instruction. So I really do think that there is no one needs Mrs. Rock's assistance, more than we do. And if she will do us the favor to come, we cannot do better than to engage her. To be sure, to be sure, Lord bless my soul, to think it should never have entered my stupid old head until it was put there by Claire. Here I was searching blindingly all over the country for a situation for Mrs. Rock, and wanting her all the time more than anyone else. That's the way, Travers. That's the way with us all, my boy. While we are looking away off yonder for the solution to our difficulties, the remedy is all the time lying just under our noses. But so close to our eyes, Father, that we cannot see it, said Clara. Just so, Claire, just so. You were always ahead of me in ideas. Now, Travers, when you go home this evening, you shall take a note to your mother, setting forth our wishes, mine and Clara's. If she assedes to them, she will make us very happy. With a great deal of manly strength in mind, Travers had all his mother's tenderness of heart. It was with difficulty that he could keep back his tears, or control his voice while he answered. I remember reading, Sir, that the young Queen of England, when she came to her throne, wished to provide handsomely for an orphan companion of her childhood, and seeing that no office in her household suited the young person, she created one for her benefit. Sir, I believe you have made one for my mother. Not at all, not at all. If she doesn't come to look after our housekeeping, Old Maggy will be greasing our griddles with tail-o-candle ends next. If you don't believe me, ask Clara. Ask Clara. Not believe him. If the doctor had affirmed that the moon was made of moldy cheese, Travers would have deemed it his duty to stoutly maintain that astronomical theory. He felt hurt that the doctor should use such a phrase. Yes indeed, we really do need her, Travers, said the doctor's daughter. Travers, it made him proud to hear her call him for the first time in his life, Mr. Rock, but it made him deeply happy to hear her call him Travers. It had such a sisterly sound coming from this sweet creature, how he wished that she really were his sister. But then, the idea of that fair, golden-haired, blue-eyed, white-robed angel being the sister of such a robust, rugged, sunburned boys himself, the thought was so absurd, extravagant, impossible, that the poor boy heaved an unconscious sigh. Why, what's the matter, Travers? What are you thinking of so intently? Of your great goodness, sir, among other things. Tut, let's hear no more of that, I pleased myself, said the doctor. And now, Travers, let's go to work decently and in order. But first let me settle this point. If your good little mother determines in our favor, Travers, then, of course, you will live with us also. So I shall have my young medical assistant always at hand. That will be very convenient. And then we shall have no more long, lonesome evenings, Clara, shall we, dear? And now, Travers, I will mark out your course of study and set you to work at once. Shall I leave the room, father? inquired Clara. No, no, my dear, certainly not. I have not had you at home so long as to get tired of the sight of you yet. No, Claire, no, you are not in our way. Is she, Travers? Oh, sir, the idea stammered to Travers, blushing deeply to be so appealed to. In his way, why, a paying head shot through his bosom at the very mention of her going. Very well, then. Here, Travers, here are your books. You are to begin with this one. Keep this medical dictionary at hand for reference. Bless me, it will bring back my student days to go over the ground with you, my boy. Clara took her work box and sat down to stitch a pair of dainty wristbands for her father's shirts. The doctor took up the morning papers. Travers opened his book and commenced his readings. It was a quiet but by no means a dull circle. Occasionally, Clara and her father exchanged words, and once in a while the doctor looked over his pupil's shoulder or gave him a direction. Travers studied conimory and with intelligent appreciation, the presence of the doctor's lovely daughter, far from disturbing him, calmed and steadied his soul into a state of infinite content. If the presence of the beautiful girl was ever to become an agitating element, the hour had not yet come. So passed the time until the dinner bell rang. By the express stipulation of the doctor himself, it was arranged that Travers should always dine with his family. After dinner and hour, which the doctor called a digestive hour, was spent in loitering about, and then the studies were resumed. At six o'clock in the evening Travers took leave of the doctor and his fair daughter and started for home. Be sure to persuade your mother to come, Travers, said Clara. She will not need persuasion. She will be only too glad to come, Miss, said Travers, with a deep bow, turning and hurrying away toward home. With winged feet he ran down the wooded hill and got into the highway, and hastened on with such speed that in half an hour he reached his mother's little cottage. He was agog with joy and eagerness to tell her the good news. End of Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Of the Hidden Hand This day be bread and peace my lot. I'll else beneath the sun. Thou knowest if best be stowed or not, and let thy will be done. Pope Poor Mara Rock had schooled her soul to resignation, had taught herself just to do the duty of each day as it came, and leave the future, where, indeed, it must always remain, in the hands of God. Since the doctor's delicate and judicious kindness had cherished her life, some little health and cheerfulness had returned to her. Upon this particular evening of the day upon which Travers entered upon his medical studies, she felt very hopeful. The little cottage fire burned brightly, the hearth was swept clean, the tea kettle was singing over the blaze. The tiny tea table, with its two cups and saucers, and two plates and knives was set. Everything was neat, comfortable, and cheerful for Travers's return. Mara sat in her little low chair, putting the finishing touches to a set of fine shirts. She was not anxiously looking for her son, for he had told her that he should stay at the doctor's until six o'clock. Therefore she did not expect him until seven. But so fast had Travers walked, that just as a minute hand pointed to half past six, the latch was raised, and Travers ran in, his face flushed with joy. The first thing he did was to run to his mother, fling his arms around her neck and kiss her, then he threw himself into his chair to take breath. Now then, what's the matter, Travers? You look as if somebody had left you a fortune. And so they have, or as good as done so, exclaimed Travers panting for breath. What in the world do you mean? exclaimed Mara, her thoughts naturally flying to old hurricane, and suggesting his possible repentance or remunting. Read that, mother, read that, said Travers, eagerly putting a note into her hand. She opened it and read, Willow Heights, Monday. Dear Madam, my little daughter Clara, fourteen years of age, has just returned from boarding school to pursue her studies at home. Among other things, she must learn domestic affairs, of which she knows nothing. If you will accept the position of housekeeper and matronly companion of my daughter, I will make the terms such as to reconcile you to the change. We shall also do all that we can to make you happy. Travers will explain to you the details. Take time to think of it, but if possible let us have your answer by Travers when he comes tomorrow. If you will cede to this proposition, you will give my daughter and myself sincere satisfaction. Yours truly, William Day. Mara finished reading, and raised her eyes, full of amazement to the face of her son. Mother, said Travers, speaking fast and eagerly, they say they really cannot do without you. They have troops of servants, but the old cook is in her dotage, and does all sorts of strange things, such as frying buckwheat cakes and lamp oil and the like. Oh, hush, what exaggeration! Well, I don't say she does that exactly, but she isn't equal to her situation without a housekeeper to look after her, and they want you very much indeed. And what is to become of your home if I break up? suggested the mother. Oh, that is the very best of it. The doctor says if you consent to come, that I must also live there, and that then he can have his medical assistant always at hand, which will be very convenient. Mara smiled dubiously. I do not understand it, but one thing I do know, Travers. There is not such a man as the doctor appears in this world more than once in a hundred years. Not in a thousand years, mother, and as for his daughter. Oh, you should see Miss Claire, a mother. Her father calls her Claire. Claire Day. How the name suits her. She is so fair and bright, with such a warm, thoughtful, sunny smile that goes right to your heart. Her face is, indeed, like a clear day, and her beautiful smile is a sunshine that lights it up, said the enthusiastic youth, whose admiration was as yet too simple and single-hearted, and unselfish to tie his tongue. The mother smiled at his earnestness, smiled without the least misgiving. For, to her apprehension, the youth was still a boy, to wonder at and admire beauty, without being in the least danger of having his peace of mind disturbed by love. And as yet her idea of him was just. And, mother, of course you will go, said Travers. Oh, I do not know. The proposition was so sudden and unexpected, and is so serious and important that I must take time to reflect, said Mrs. Rock, thoughtfully. How much, time, mother, will until tomorrow morning do? It must, little mother, because I promise to carry your consent back with me. Indeed, I did, mother, exclaimed the impatient boy. Mrs. Rock dropped her head upon her hand, as was her custom when a deep thought. Presently, she said. Travy, I'm afraid that it is only a ruse to cover a scheme of benevolence, and that they don't really want me, and I should only be in their way. Now, mother, I do assure you they do want you. Think of that young girl and elderly gentlemen. Can either of them take charge of a large establishment like that of Willow Heights? Well argued, Travers, but granting that they need a housekeeper, how do I know I would suit them? Why, you may take their own words for that, mother. But how can they know? I'm afraid they would be disappointed. Wait until they complain, mother. I don't believe they ever would. I don't believe they ever would have cause. Well, granting also that I should suit them, the mother paused inside. Travers filled up the blank by saying, I suppose you mean, if you should suit them, they might not suit you. No, I do not mean that. I'm sure they would suit me. But there is one in the world who may one day come to reason and take bitter umbrage at the fact that I should accept a subordinate situation in any household, murmured Mrs. Rock, almost unconsciously. Then that one in the world, whoever he, she, or it may be, had better place you above the necessity, or else hold his, her, or its tongue. Mother, I think that goods thrown in our way by Providence had better be accepted, leaving the consequences to him. Travers, dear, I shall pray over this matter tonight and sleep on it, and he to whom even the fall of a sparrow is not indifferent will guide me, said Mrs. Rock, and here the debate ended. The remainder of the evening was spent in laudation of Clare Day, and in writing a letter to Herbert Grayson at West Point, in which all these laudations were reiterated, and in the cause of which Travers wrote these innocent words. I have known Clare Day scarcely twelve hours, and I admire her as much as I love you, and, O Herbert, if you could only rise to be a major general and marry Clare Day, I should be the happiest fellow alive. Would Travers as willingly dispose of Clare's hand a year or two after this time? I tro not. The next morning after breakfast Mrs. Rock gave in her decision. Tell the doctor, Travers, she said, that I understand and appreciate his kindness, that I will not break up my humble home as yet, but I will lock up my house and come a month, on trial. If I can perform the duties of the situation satisfactorily, well and good, I will remain. If not, why then, having my home still in possession, I can return to it. Wise little mother, she will not cut down the bridge behind her, exclaimed Travers joyfully, as he bade his mother goodbye for the day, and hastened up to Willow Heights with her answer. This answer was received by the good doctor and his lovely daughter with delight, as unfaigned as it was unselfish. They were pleased to have a good housekeeper, but they were far better pleased to offer a poor struggling mother, a comfortable and even luxurious home. On the next Monday morning Mrs. Rock, having completed all her arrangements, and closed up the house, entered upon the duties of her situation. Clare gave her a large, airy bed-chamber for her own use, communicating with a smaller one for the use of her son. Besides this, as housekeeper, she had, of course, the freedom of the whole house. Travers watched with anxious vigilance to find out whether the efforts of his mother really improved the condition of the housekeeping, and was delighted to find that the coffee was clear and finer-flavored, the bread whiter and lighter, the cream richer, the butter fresher, and the beef steak juicier than he had ever known them to be on the doctor's table. That on the dinner table from day to day, dishes succeeded each other in a well-ordered variety and well-dressed style, in a word that, in every particular, the comfort of the family was greatly enhanced by the presence of the housekeeper, and that the doctor and his daughter knew it. While the doctor and his student were engaged in the library, Clare spent many hours in the morning in Mrs. Rock's company, learning the arts of domestic economy, and considerably assisting her in the preparation of delicate dishes. In the evening, the doctor, Clare, Mrs. Rock, and Travers gathered around the fire as one family. Mrs. Rock and Clare engaged in needlework, and the doctor or Travers, in reading aloud for their amusement, some agreeable book. Sometimes Clare would richly entertain them with music, singing and accompanying herself upon the piano. An hour before bedtime the servants were always called in, and general family prayer offered up. Thus passed the quiet, pleasant, profitable days. Travers was fast-falling into a delicious dream, from which as yet no rude shock threatened to wake him. Willow Heights seemed to him paradise, its inmates, angels, and his own life be attitude. The Old Road Inn, described in the dying deposition of poor Nancy Grewill, was situated some miles from Hurricane Hall, by the side of a forsaken turnpike in the midst of a thickly wooded, long and narrow valley, shut in by two lofty ranges of mountains. Once this turnpike was lively with travel, and this inn gay with custom, but for the last twenty-five years, since the highway had been turned off in another direction, both road and tavern had been abandoned, and suffered to fall to ruin. The road was washed and furrowed into deep and dangerous gullies, and obstructed by fallen timber. The house was disfigured by mouldering walls, broken chimneys, and patched windows. Had any traveler lost himself, and chance to have passed that way, he might have seen a little, old, dried-up woman, sitting knitting at one of the windows. She was known by those who were old enough to remember her and her home, as Granny Raven, the daughter of the last proprietor of the inn. She was reputed to be dumb, but none could speak with certainty of the fact. In truth, for as far back as the memory of the oldest inhabitant could reach, she had been feared, disliked, and avoided as one of maligned reputation. Indeed, the ignorant and superstitious believed her to possess the evil eye, and to be gifted with second sight. But of late years, as the old road and the old inn were quite forsaken, so the old building was quite forgotten. It was one evening a few weeks after Capitola's fearful adventure in the forest that this old woman carefully closed up every door and window in the front of the house, stopping every crevice through which a ray of light might gleam, and warned that impossible phenomena, a chance traveler on the old road of life within the habitation. Having, so to speak, her medically sealed the front of the house, she betook herself to a large back kitchen. This kitchen was strangely and rudely furnished, having an extra broad fireplace with the recesses on each side of the chimney filled with oaken shelves, laden with strong pewter plates, dishes, and mugs. All along the walls were arranged rude oaken benches. Down the length of the room was left, always standing, a long deal table, capable of accommodating from fifteen to twenty guests. On entering this kitchen, granny Raven struck a light, kindled a fire, and began to prepare a large supper. Not unlike the ill-omend bird, whose name she bore, did this old bell-dame look, and her close clinging black gown, and flapping black cape and hood, and with her sharp eyes, hooked nose, and protruding chin. Having put a huge sirloin of beef before the fire, she took down a pile of pewter plates, and arranged them along on the sides of the table. Then to every plate she placed a pewter mug, a huge wheat and loaf of bread, a great roll of butter, and several plates of pickles were next put upon the board. And when all was ready the woman sat down to the patient turning of the spit. She had been thus occupied more than twenty minutes, when a hasty scuffling step was heard at the back of the house, accompanied by a peculiar whistle, immediately under the window. That's had long hail for a penny. He never can learn the cat's tread, thought the crone, as she arose and withdrew the bolt of the back door. A little dark-skinned, black-eyed, black- cared, thin and wiry man came hurrying in, exclaiming, How now, old girl, supper ready? She shook her head, pointed to the roasting beef, lifted up both hands with the ten fingers spread out twice, and then made a rotary motion with one arm. Oh, you mean it will be done in twenty turns, but hang me if I understand your dumb show half of the time. Have none of the men come yet? She put her fingers together, flung her hands widely apart in all directions, brought them lowly together again, and pointed to the supper table. Um, that is to say they are dispersed about their business, but we'll all be here tonight? She nodded. Where's the cappin? She pointed over her left shoulder upwards, placed her two hands broad from her temples, then made a motion as of lifting and carrying a basket and displaying goods. Humpf, humpf, gone to tip-top to sell goods disguised as a peddler. She nodded, and before he could put another question, a low, soft mule was heard at the door. There's stealthy Steve, he might walk with hobnailed hylos upon a gravelly road, and you would never hear his footfall, said the man, as the door noiselessly opened and shut. A soft-footed, low-voiced, subtle-looking mulatto entered the kitchen, and gave good evening to its occupants. Ha! I'm devilish glad you've come, Steve, for hang me if I'm not tired to death of trying to talk to this crone, who, to the charms of old age and ugliness, adds that of dumbness. Seen the capon? No, he's gone out to hear the people talk, and find out what they think of him. Hale burst into a loud and scornful laugh, saying, I should think it would not require much seeking to discover that. Here the old woman came forward, and by signs managed to inquire whether he had brought her the tea. Steve drew a packet from his pocket, saying softly, Yes, Mother, when I was in Spicer's store I saw this flying with other things on the counter, and remembering you, quietly put it into my pocket. The old crone's eyes danced. She seized the packet, padded the excellent thief on the shoulder, wagging her head do-writingly at the delinquent one, and hobbled off to prepare her favorite beverage. While she was thus occupied, the whistle was once more heard at the door, followed by the entrance of a man decidedly the most repulsive looking of the whole party, a man when having a full pocket would scarcely like to meet on a lonely road in a dark night. In form he was of Dutch proportions, short but stout, with a large round head covered with stiff, sandy hair, broad, flat face, coarse features, pale, half-closed eyes, and an expression of countenance strangely made up of elements as opposite as they were forbidding, a mixture of stupidity and subtlety, cowardice and ferocity, caution and cruelty. His name in the gang was Demon Dick, a sobriquet of which he was eminently deserving and characteristically proud. He came in sulkily, neither saluting the company nor returning their salutations. He pulled a chair to the fire, threw himself into it, and ordered the old woman to draw him a mug of ale. Dick's in a bad humor tonight, murmured Steve softly. When was he ever in a good one, roughly broke forth hail. Hush! said Steve, glancing at Dick, who with a hideous expression was listening to the conversation. As a ringing footstep sounded outside, followed by the abrupt opening of the door and entrance of the leader, setting down a large basket and throwing off a broad brimmed Quaker hat and broad-skirted overcoat, Black Donald stood roaring with laughter. Black Donald, from his great stature, might have been a giant walked out of the age of fable into the middle of the nineteenth century. From his stature alone he might have been chosen leader of this band of desperados. He stood six feet eight inches in his boots and was stout and muscular in proportion. He had a well-formed stately head, fine aquiline features, dark complexion, strong, steady dark eyes, and an abundance of long, curling black hair and beard that would have driven to despair a Broadway bow, broke in the heart of a Washington bell, or made his own fortune in any city of America as a French count or a German baron. He had decidedly the heir noble and distinguished. While he threw his broad brim in one direction and his broad coat in another, and gave way to peals of laughter, headlong hail said, Captain, I don't know what you think of it, but I think it just as trellish to laugh alone as it is to get drunk in solitude. Oh, you shall laugh, you shall all laugh, wait until I tell you. But first, answer me, does not my broad-skirted gray coat and broad-brimmed gray hat make me look about twelve inches shorter and broader? That's so, Captain, and when I bury my black beard and chin deep down in this drab neck cloth and pull the broad brim low over my black hair and eyes, I look as mild and respectable as William Penn. Yay, verily, friend Donald, said Hale. Well, in this meek guys, I went peddling to-day. Aye, Captain, we knew it, and you'll go once too often. I have gone just once too often. I knew it, we said so. Darn, were some of the ejaculations, as the members of the band sprang to their feet, and handled secret arms. Purshaw, put up your knives and pistols. There is no danger. I was not traced. Our rendezvous is still a secret for which the government would pay a thousand dollars. How then do you say that you went once too often, Captain? It was inaccurate. I should have said that I had gone for the last time. For there it would not be safe to venture again. Come, I must tell you the whole story. But in the meantime let us have supper. Mother Raven dished the beef. Dick, draw the ale. Hale cut the bread. Steve, carve. Be stir yourselves, burn you, or you shall have no story, exclaimed the Captain, flinging himself into a chair at the head of the table. When his orders had been obeyed, and to the men regathered around the table, and the first straw of ale had been coffed by all, Black Donald asked, Where do you think I went peddling to-day? Devil knows, said Hale. That's a secret between the demon and Black Donald, said Dick. Hush, he's about to tell us, murmured Steve. Woodenheads, you'd never guess. I went, I went to. Do you give it up? I went right straight into the lion's not only into the very clutches, but into the very teeth, and down the very throat of the lion, and have come out as safe as Jonah from the whale's belly. In a word I have been up to the county seat where the court is now in session, and sold cigar cases, snuff-boxes, and smoking-caps to the grand and petty jury, and a pair of gold spectacles to the learned judge himself. No, no, no, exclaimed Hale, Steve, and Dick, in a breath. Yes, and more over, I offered a pair of patent-steel-sprink handcuffs to the sheriff, John Keep, in person, and pressed him to purchase them, assuring him that he would have occasion for their use if he ever caught that grand rascal, Black Donald. Ah, the atrocious villain, if I thought I should ever have the satisfaction of springing them upon his wrists, I'd buy them at my own proper cost, said the sheriff, taking them in his hands and examining them curiously. Ah, he's a man of Belial that same Black Donald. He'd better buy the handcuffs, John, said I. Nay, friend, I don't know, and as for Black Donald, we have some hopes of taking the wretch at last, said the simple gentleman. Ah, verily, John, that's a good hearing for peaceful travelers like myself, said I. Excellent, excellent, for when that fellow marauder once swings from the gallows, his neck will be broken, John. Yes, friend, yes, probably, after which honest men may travel in safety. Ah, never have I adjusted a hemp and cravet about the throw of any aspirant for such an honor with less pain than I shall officiate at the last toilet of Black Donald. If they catch him. Exactly, friend, if I catch him. But the additional reward offered by Major Warfield, together with the report that he often frequents our towns and village in disguise, will stimulate people to renewed efforts to discover and capture him, said the sheriff. Ah, that will be a great day for elegany, and when Black Donald is hanged, I shall make an effort to be present at this alumnity myself. Do, friend, to the sheriff, and I will see to getting you a good place for witnessing the proceedings. I have no doubt thee will, John, a very good place, and I assure thee that there will not be one present more interested in those proceedings than myself, said I. Of course, that is very natural, for there is no one more in danger from these marauders than men of your itinerant calling. Good heavens, it was but three years ago a peddler was robbed and murdered in the woods around the hidden house. So, John, said I, and it's my opinion that often when I've been traveling along the road at night, Black Donald hasn't been far off. But tell me, John, so that I may have a chance of earning that thousand dollars. What disguises does the son of Moloch take? My friend, it is said that he appears as a methodist missionary, going about selling tracks, and sometimes as a knife grinder, and sometimes simulates your calling as a peddler, said the unsuspicious sheriff. I thought, however, it was time to be off, so I said, thee had better let me sell thee those handcuffs, John. Allow me. I will show thee their beautiful machinery. Hold out thy wrists, if thee pleases, John. The unsuspicious officer, with a face brimful of interest, held out his wrist for experiment. I snapped the ornaments on them in a little less than no time, and took up my pack, and disappeared before the sheriff had collected his faculties and found out his position. Ha ha ha! Ha ha ha! Ho ho ho! left the outlaws in every key of laughter. And so our captain, instead of being pinioned by the sheriff, turned the tables and actually manacled his honor. Hip hip hurrah! Three times three for the merry captain that manacled the sheriff. Hush, Bernye, there's someone coming, exclaimed the captain, rising and listening. It is Lenore, who was to meet me here to-night on important business. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 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 21, Gabriel Lenore. Not sad, all spent, when our desires are gained without content. Shakespeare. The Colonel exclaimed the three men in a breath, as the door opened, and a tall, handsome and distinguished-looking gentleman, wrapped in a black military cloak, and having his black beaver pulled low over his brow, strode into the room. All arose upon their feet to greet him, as though he had been a prince. With a haughty wave of the hand, he bade them resume their seats, and beckoning their leader said, Donald, I would have a word with you. At your command, Colonel said the outlaw, rising and taking a candle, and leading the way into the adjoining room, the same in which fourteen years before, old Granny Grewal and the child had been detained. Setting the candle upon the mantelpiece, black Donald stood waiting for the visitor to open the conversation. A thing that the latter seemed in no hurry to do, for he began walking up and down the room in stern silence. You seem disturbed, Colonel, at length, said the outlaw. I am disturbed, more than disturbed. I am suffering. Suffering, Colonel, I suffering, from what thank you, the pangs of remorse. Remorse, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, left the outlaw till all the rafters rang. I, man, you may laugh, but I repeat that I am tortured with remorse. And for what do you suppose? For those acts of self-preservation that fanatics and fools would stigmatize as crimes? No, my good fellow, no, but for one unacted crime. I told your honor so, cried the outlaw triumphantly. Donald, when I go to church, as I do constantly, I hear the preacher preying of repentance, but, man, I never knew the meaning of the word until recently. And I can almost guess what it is that has enlightened your honor, said the outlaw. Yes, it is that miserable old woman and babe. Donald, in every vein of my soul, I repent not having silenced them both for ever while they were yet in my power. Just so, Colonel, the dead never come back, or, if they do, are not recognized as property-holders in this world. I wish your honor had taken my advice, and sent that woman and child on a longer journey. Donald, I was younger than them now. I, shrank from bloodshed, said the man in a husky voice. Bah, superstition, bloodshed! is shed every day. We kill to live, say the butchers. So do we. Every creature prays upon some other creature weaker than himself. The big beasts eat up the little ones. Artful men live on the simple. So be it. The world was made for the strong and cunning. Let the weak and foolish look to themselves, said the outlaw, with a loud laugh. While he spoke, the visitor resumed his rapid, restless striding up and down the room. Presently he came again to the side of the robber and whispered. Donald, that girl has returned to the neighborhood, brought back by Old Warfield. My son met her in the woods a month ago, fell into conversation with her, heard her history, or as much of it as she herself knows. Her name is Capitola. She is the living image of her mother. How she came under the notice of Old Warfield, to what extent he has acquainted with her birth and rights. What proofs may be in his possession I know not. All that I have discovered after the strictest inquiry that I was able to make is this, that the old beggar woman that died and was buried at Major Warfield's expense was no other than Nancy Greenwell returned. That night before she died she sent for Major Warfield and had a long talk with him, and shortly afterward the old scoundrel travelled to the North and brought home this girl. Hump, it is an ugly business, Your Honor, especially with Your Honor's little prejudice against. Donald, this is no time for weakness. I have gone too far to stop. Capitola must die. That's so Colonel. The pity is that it wasn't found out fourteen years ago. It is so much easier to pinch a baby's nose until it falls asleep than to stifle a young girl's shrieks and cries. Then the baby would not have been missed. But the young girl will be sure to be inquired after. I know that there will be additional risk, but there shall be the larger compensation, larger than your most sanguine hopes would suggest. Donald, listen, said the Colonel, stooping and whispering low. The day that you bring me undeniable proofs that Capitola lay nor is dead, you finger one thousand dollars. Ha, ha, ha, left the outlaw in angry scorn. Capitola lay nor is a sole heiress of a fortune in land, negroes, coal mines, iron foundries, railway shares, and bank stock of half a million of dollars, and you ask me to get her out of your way for a thousand dollars. I'll do it, you know I will. Ha, ha, ha. Why, the government doesn't value your whole carcass at more than I offer you for the temporary use of your hands, you villain, frowned the Colonel. No ill names your honor. Between us they are like kicking guns, apt to recoil. You forget that you are in my power. I remember that your honor is in mine. Ha, ha, ha. The day black Donald stands at the bar, the honorable Colonel lay nor will probably be beside him. Enough of this, confound you. Do you take me for one of your pales? No, your worship. My pales are too poor to hire the work done, but then they are brave enough to do it themselves. Enough of this, I say. Name the price of this new service. Ten thousand dollars, five thousand in advance, the remainder when the deed is accomplished. Extortioner, shameless, ruthless extortioner. Your honor will fall into that vulgar habit of calling ill names. It isn't worthwhile, it doesn't pay. If your honor doesn't like my terms, you need it employ me. What is certain is that I cannot work for less. You take advantage of my necessities. Not at all, but the truth is, Colonel, that I am tired of this sort of life and wish to retire from active business. Besides, every man has his ambition, and I have mine. I wish to emigrate to the glorious West, settle, marry, turn my attention to politics, be elected to Congress, then to the Senate, then to the cabinet, then to the White House. For success in which career I flatter myself, nature and education have especially fitted me. Ten thousand dollars will give me a fair start. Many a successful politician, your honor knows, has started on less character, and less capital. To this impudence lander the Colonel made no answer. With his arms folded, and his head bowed upon his chest, he walked mootily up and down the length of the apartment. Then muttering, why should I hesitate? He came to the side of the outlaw and said, I agree to your terms. Accomplish the work and the sum shall be yours. Meet me here on tomorrow evening to receive the earnest money. In the meantime, in order to make sure of the girl's identity, it will be necessary for you to get sight of her beforehand, at her home if possible, find out her habits and her haunts, where she walks or rides, when she is most likely to be alone and so on. Be very careful, a mistake might be fatal. Your honor may trust me. And now good-bye, remember tomorrow evening, said the Colonel, as wrapping himself closely in his dark cloak, and pulling his hat low over his eyes, he passed out by the back passage door and left the house. Ha, ha, ha! Why does that man think it needful to look so villainous? If I were to go about in such a bandit-like dress as that, every child I met would take me for, what I am, left Black Donald, returning to his comrades. During the next hour the other members of the band dropped in, until some twenty men were collected together in the large kitchen around the long table, where the remainder of the night was spent in revelry. End of CHAPTER XXI I have lawns as white as snow, silk as black as air was crow, gloves as sweet as damask roses, veils for faces, mask for noses, pins and needles made of steel, all you need from head to heel. Shakespeare! If I am not allowed to walk or ride out alone, I shall gang daft, I know I shall. Was ever such a dull, lonesome, hun-drum place as this same hurricane-hall, complained cap, as she sat sewing with Mrs. Condomin in the housekeeper's room. You don't like this quiet country life, inquired Mrs. Condomin? No, no better than I do a quiet country graveyard. I don't want to return to dust before my time, I tell you, said Cap, yawning dismally over her work. I hear you, Vixen, roared the voice of old Hurricane, who presently came storming in and saying, If you want to ride, go and get ready quickly and come with me. I am going down to the water mill, please the Lord, to warn Hopkins off the premises. Worthless villain, had my grain there since yesterday morning, and hasn't sent it home yet. She ain't stay in my mill another month. Come, Cap, be off with you and get ready. The girl did not need a second bidding, but flew to prepare herself, while the old man ordered the horses. In ten minutes more Capitola and Major Warfield cantered away. They had been gone about two hours, and it was almost time to expect the return. And Mrs. Condomin had just given orders for the tea-table to be set when Wool came into her room and said there was a sailor at the hall door with some beautiful foreign goods which he wished to show to the ladies of the house. A sailor, Wool, a sailor with foreign goods for sale? I am very much afraid he's one of these smugglers I've heard tell of, and I'm not sure about the right of buying from smugglers. However, I suppose there's no harm in looking at his goods. You may call him in, Wool, said the old lady, tampering with temptation. He do look like a smuggler, that's a fact, said Wool, whose ideas of the said craft were purely imaginary. I don't know him to be a smuggler, and it's wrong to judge, particularly beforehand, said the old lady, nursing ideas of rich silks and satins, rented free of duty, and sold at half-price, and trying to deceive herself. While she was thus thinking the door opened, and Wool ushered in a stout, jolly-looking tar, dressed in a white P-jacket, duck trousers, and tarplin hat, and carrying in his hand a large pack. He took off his hat and scraped his foot behind him, and remained standing before the housekeeper, with his head tied up in a red bandana handkerchief, and his chin sunken in a red comforter that was wound around his throat. Sit down, my good man, and rest while you show me the good, said Mrs. Condiment, who, whether he were smuggler or not, was inclined to show the traveler all awful kindness. The sailor scraped his foot again, sat down on a low chair, put his hat on one side, drew the pack before him, untied it, and first displayed a rich, golden hued fabric, saying, Now here, ma'am, is a rich china silk I bought in the streets of Shanghai, where the long-legged chickens come from. Come now, I'll ship it off cheap. Oh, that is a great deal too gay and handsome for an old woman like me, said Mrs. Condiment. Well, ma'am, perhaps there's young ladies in the fleet. Now this would rig out a smart young craft as gay as a clipper. Better take it, ma'am. I'll ship it off cheap. Well, said Mrs. Condiment, turning to the servant. Go down to the kitchen, and call up the house servants. Perhaps they would like to buy something. As soon as well had gone, and the good woman was left alone with the sailor, she stooped and said, I did not wish to inquire before the servant man, but, my good sir, I do not know whether it is right to buy from you. Why so, ma'am? asked the sailor, with an injured look. Why, I am afraid. I am very much afraid you risk your life and liberty in an unlawful trade. Oh, ma'am, on my soul these things are honestly come by, and you have no right to accuse me, said the sailor, with a look of subdued indignation. I know I haven't, and I meant no harm, but did these goods pass through the custom-house? Oh, ma'am, now that's not a fair question. It is as I suspected. I cannot buy from you, my good friend. I do not judge you. I don't know whether smuggling is right or wrong, but I know that it is unlawful, and I cannot feel free to encourage any man in a traffic in which he risks his life and liberty, poor fellow. Oh, ma'am, said the sailor, evidently on the brink of bursting into laughter. If we risk our lives, sure, it's our own business, and if you have no scruples on your own account, you needn't have any on ours. While he was speaking the sound of many shuffling feet was heard along the passage, and the room was soon half-filled with colored people come in to deal with the sailor. You may look at these goods, but you must not buy anything. "'Lore, Mrs. Why,' asked the little pit-a-pat, because I want you to lay out all your money with my friend Mr. Crash at tip-top. But after the good gentleman has had the trouble, said pit-pat, he shall have his supper and a mug availed and go on his journey, said Mrs. Condiment. The sailor arose and scraped his foot behind him, in acknowledgment of this kindness, and began to unpack his wares and displayed them all over the floor. And while the servants in wonder and delay examined these treasures and inquired their prices, a fresh young voice was heard caroling along the hall, and the next moment Capitola, in her green riding-habbit and hat, entered the room. She turned her mischievous gray eyes about, pursed up her lips, and asked Mrs. Condiment if she were about to open fancy bazaar. "'No, my dear, Miss Capitola. It is a sailor with foreign goods for sail,' answered the old lady. "'A sailor with foreign goods for sail? Umpf! Yes, I know. Isn't he a smuggler?' whispered Capitola. "'Indeed, I'm afraid so, my dear. In fact, he don't deny it,' whispered back the matron. "'Well, I think it's strange a man that smuggles can't lie. Well, I don't know, my dear. Maybe he thinks it's no harm to smuggle, and he knows it would be a sin to lie. But where's your uncle, Miss Capitola?' Gone around to the stable to blow gem up for mounting on a lame horse. He swears gem shall find another master before tomorrow's sunsets. "'But now I want to talk to that bold bookeneer. Say, you sir, show me your foreign goods. I'm very fond of smugglers myself.' "'You were right, my dear young girl. You would give poor sailor some little chance to turn an honest penny.' "'Certainly, brave fellows, show me that splendid fabric that shines like a cloth of gold.' "'This, my young lady, this is a real, genuine china silk. I bought it myself in my last cruise in the streets of Shanghai, where the long-legged chickens and fast young men come from. I know the place. I've been along there, interrupt Capitola, her gray eyes glittering with mischief. "'This, you will perceive, young lady, is an article that cannot be purchased anywhere except from the manufacturing of foreign goods in the city of New York, or from their traveling agents. "'Oh, my dear young lady, how you wronged me. This article came from the factory of Miser's Hocus and Pocus, corner of Kant and Comet Street, city of Gotham. "'Oh, my dear young lady, look here, my brave buccaneer. I know all about it. I told you I'd been along there,' said the girl, and turning to Mrs. Condiment, she said. "'See here, my dear good soul, if you want to buy that India silk that you were looking at so longingly, you may do it with a safe conscience. True, it never passed through the custom house, because it was made in New York. I know all about it. All these foreign goods are manufactured at the north and sent by agents all over the country. These agents dress and talk like sailors, and assume a mysterious manner on purpose to be suspected of smuggling, because they know well enough fine ladies will buy much quicker and pay much more if they only fancy they are cheating Uncle Sam and buying foreign goods from a smuggler at half price. So, then, you are not a smuggler after all?' said Mrs. Condiment, looking almost regretfully at the sailor. "'Why, ma'am, you know I told you you were accusing me wrongfully. Well, but really now, there was something about you that looked sort of suspicious. What did I tell you? A look put on on purpose, said Cap. Well, he knows that if he wanted to pass for a smuggler, it didn't take care, said Mrs. Condiment. No, that it didn't, muttered the object of these commentaries. Well, my good man, since you are, after all, an honest peddler, just hand me that silk, and don't ask me an unreasonable price for it, because I'm a judge of silks, and I won't pay more than it is worth, said the old lady. Madam, I leave it to your own conscience. You shall give me just what you think it's worth.' "'Humpf! That's too fair by half. I begin to think this fellow is worse than he seems,' said Capitola to herself. After a little hesitation, a price was agreed upon, and the dress bought. Then the servants received permission to invest their little change in ribbons, handkerchiefs, tobacco, snuff, or whatever they thought they needed. When the purchases were all made, and the peddler had done up his diminished pack, and replaced his hat upon his head, and was preparing to leave, Mrs. Condiment said, "'My good man, it is getting very late, and we do not like to see a traveller leave her house at this hour. Pray, remain until morning, and then, after an early breakfast, you can pursue your way in safety.' "'Thank you kindly, ma'am, but I must be far on my road to night,' said the peddler. "'But, my good man, you are a stranger in this part of the country, and don't know the danger you run,' said the housekeeper. "'Danger, ma'am, in this quiet country?' "'Oh, dear, yes, my good man, particularly with your valuable pack.' "'Oh, my good gracious,' cried the old lady, with an appalled look. "'Indeed, ma'am, you make me sort of uneasy. What danger can there be for a poor, peaceful peddler pursuing his path?' "'Oh, my good soul, may heaven keep you from—' "'Black Donald.' "'Black Donald? Who's he?' "'Oh, my good man, he's the awfulest villain that ever went unhung.' "'Black Donald? Black Donald! Never heard that name before in my life. Why is the fellow called Black Donald?' "'Oh, sir, he's called Black Donald for his black soul, black deeds, and—and also, I believe—for his jet-black hair and beard.' "'Oh, my countrymen, what a following up was there,' exclaimed Capitola, at this anti-climax. "'And how shall I keep from meeting this villain?' asked the peddler. "'Oh, sir, how can I tell you? You never can form an idea where he is or where he isn't. Only think. He may be in our mist any time, and we not know it. Why, only yesterday, the desperate villain handcuffed the very sheriff in the very courtyard, yet I wonder the sheriff did not know him at once. For my own part, I'm sure I should know Black Donald the minute I clapped my two-looking eyes on him. "'Should you, ma'am?' "'Yes, indeed, by his long, black hair and beard. They say it is half a year long. Now a man of such a singular appearance as that must be easily recognized.' "'Of course. Then you never met this wretch face to face?' "'He? Me? Am I standing here alive? Do you suppose I should be standing here if ever I had met that demon? Why, man, I never leave this house, even in the daytime, except with two bulldogs and a servant, for fear I should meet Black Donald. I know if ever I should meet that demon. I should drop dead with terror. I feel I should.' "'But maybe now, ma'am. The man may not be so bad after all. Even the devil is not so bad as he has painted. The devil may not be, but Black Donald is.' "'What do you think of this outlaw, young lady?' asked the peddler, turning to Capitola. "'Why, I like him,' said Cap. "'You do?' "'Yes, I do. I like men whose very name striked terror into the hearts of commonplace people.' "'Oh, Miss Black,' exclaimed Mrs. Condiment. "'Yes, I do, ma'am. And if Black Donald were only as honest as he is brave, I should quite adore him. So there. And if there is one person in the world I should like to see, it is Black Donald.' "'Do you really wish to see him?' asked the peddler, looking intently into the half-earnest, half-satirical face of the girl. "'Yes, I do wish to see him, above all things.' "'And do you know what happened to the rash girl, who wished to see the devil?' "'No, what did?' She saw him. "'Oh, if that's all, I dare it. And if wishing will bring me the sight of this notorious outlaw, lo, I wish it. I wish to see Black Donald,' said Capitola. The peddler deliberately arose, and put down his pack and his hat, then he suddenly tore off the scarf from his neck and the hanger-chief from his head, lifted his chin, and such a clouse, a great rolling mass of black hair and beard, drew himself up, struck an attitude, called up a look, and exclaimed, "'Behold, Black Donald!' With a piercing streak Mrs. Condiment swooned and fell to the floor. The poor Negroes, men and maids, were struck dumb and motionless with consternation. Capitola gazed for one lost moment in admiration and curiosity. In the meantime Black Donald quickly resumed his disguises, took up his pack, and walked out of the room. Capitola was the first to recover her presence of mind. The instinct of the Huntress possessed her. Starting forward she exclaimed, "'Pursue him, catch him, come with me. Cowards, will you let a robber in, murder her escape?' and she ran out and overtook the outlaw in the middle of the hall. With the agile leap of a little terrier she sprang up behind him, seized the thick collar of his p-jacket with both hands, and drawing up her feet, hung there with all her weight, crying, "'Help! Murder! Murder! Help! Come to my aid! I've caught Black Donald!' He could have killed her instantly in any one of a dozen ways. He could have driven in her temples with the blow of his sledgehammer fist. He could have broken her neck with the grip of his iron fingers. He only wished to shake her off without hurting her. A difficult task. For there she hung, a dead weight at the collar of his coat at the back of his neck. Oh, very well he cried, laughing aloud, such adhesiveness I never saw. You stick to me like a wife to her husband. So if you won't let go, I shall have to take you along. That's all. So here I go like Christian with his bundle of sin on his back, and loosing the upper button of his p-jacket so as to give him more breath, and putting down his peddler's pack to relieve him as much as possible. The outlaw strode through the hall door, down the steps, and down the evergreen avenue leading to the woods. Capitola still clinging to the back of his coat collar, with feet drawn up, a dead weight, and still crying, "'Help! Murder! I've caught Black Donald, and I'll die before I'll let him go.' You're determined to be an outlaw's bride, that's certain. Well, I've no particular objection,' cried Black Donald, roaring with laughter as he strode on. It was a thing to see, not hear, that brave, rash, resolute imp, clinging like a terrier, or a crab, or a briar, onto the back of that gigantic ruffian, whom, if she had no strength to stop, she was determined not to release. They had nearly reached the foot of the descent, when a great noise in hallowing was heard behind them. It was the Negroes, who, having recovered from their panic, and armed themselves with guns, pistols, swords, pokers, tongs, and pitchforks, were now in hot pursuit. And cries of Black Donald, Black Donald, Black Donald, filled the air. "'I've got him, I've got him. Help, help! Quick, quick!' screamed Capitola, clinging closer than ever, though still roaring with laughter at the absurdity of his position. Black Donald strode on faster than before, and was in a fair way of escape, when Lo, suddenly coming up the path in front of him, he met, old Hurricane. As the troop of miscellaneously armed Negroes running down the hill, were still making Eve hideous with yells of Black Donald, and Capitola still clinging and hanging on at the back of his neck, continued to cry, "'I've caught him, help, help!' Something like the truth flashed in a blinding way, upon old Hurricane's perceptions. Roaring forth something between a recognition and a defiance, the old man threw up his fat arms, and as fast as age and obesity would permit, ran up the hill to intercept the outlaw. There was no time for trifling now. The army of Negroes was at his heels, the old veteran in his path, the girl clinging a dead weight to his jacket behind. An idea suddenly struck him, which he wondered had not done so before. Quickly unbuttoning and throwing off his garment, he dropped both jacket and capter behind him on the ground. And before Capitola had picked herself up, Black Donald, bending his huge head and shoulders forward, and making a battering ram of himself, ran with all his force and butted old Hurricane in the stomach, pitching him into the horse-pond, leaped over the park fence, and disappeared in the forest. What a scene! What a row followed the escape in flight of the famous outlaw! Who can imagine, far less describe it? A general tempest in which every individual was a particular storm. There stood the baffled Capitola, extricating her head from the pea-jacket, and with her eyes fairly flashing out sparks of anger, exclaiming, "'Oh, wretches, wretches, that you are! If you had been wretzalt, you could have caught him while I clung to him so.' Their well-oiled old Hurricane, spluttering, floundering, half-drowning in the horse-pond, making the most frantic efforts to curse and swear as he struggled to get out. There stood the crowd of Negroes brought to a sudden stand by a panic of horror at seeing the dignity of their master so outraged. And most frenzied of all, there ran wool around and around the margin of the pond, in a state of violent perplexity, how to get his master out without half-drowning himself. Blurr, flitch, flitch, blurr, spluttered and sneezed and strangled, old Hurricane, as he floundered to the edge of the pond. Burr, help me out, you scoundrel. I'll break every bone in your filch body. Do you hear me, ca snish? Fillin' you, filch, filch, ca snish! Oh, wool with his eyes starting from his head, and his hair standing up with terrors of all sorts, plunged at last into the water, and pulled his old master up upon his feet. Ca snish, ca snish, blurr, filch! What are you gaping, therefore, as if you'd raised the devil, you crowd of born fools, bottled hurricane, as soon as he could get the water out of his mouth and nose? What are you standing, therefore? After him, after him, I say, scour the woods in every direction, his freedom to any man who brings me, Black Donald, dead or alive. Wool, yes, sir, said that functionary, who is busying himself with squeezing the water out of his master's garments. Wool, let me alone, take the flatest horse in the stable, ride for your life to the courthouse, tell Keep to have new bills posted everywhere, offering an additional five hundred dollars for the apprehension of that, that, that, for the want of a word strong enough to express himself. Old hurricane suddenly stopped, and for the lack of his stick to make silence emphatic, he seized his gray hair with both hands, and groaned aloud. Wool waited no second bidding, but flew to do his errand. Capitola came to the old man's side, saying, Uncle, hadn't you better hurry home? You'll take cold. Cold? Cold! Demi, I never was so hot in my life, cried the old man. But, Demi, you're right. Run to the house, Capitola, and tell Mrs. Condiment to have me a full suit of dry clothes before the fire in my chamber. Go, child! Every man-jack is off after Black Donald, and there is nobody but you and Condiment and the housemaids to take care of me. Stop, look for my stick first. Where did that black demon throw it? Demi, I'd as well be without my legs. Capitola picked up the old man's cane and hat, and put the one on his head and the other in his hand, and then hastened to find Mrs. Condiment and tell her to prepare to receive her half-drowned patron. She found the old lady scarcely recovered from the effects of her recent fright, but ready on the instant to make every effort in behalf of Old Hurricane, who presently after arrived dripping wet at the house. Leaving the old gentleman to the care of his housekeeper, we must follow Black Donald. Hatless and cultless, with his long black hair and beard blown by the wind, the outlaw made tracks for his retreat, occasionally stopping to turn and get breath, and send a shout of laughter after his baffled pursuers. That same night, at the usual hour, the gang met at their rendezvous, the deserted inn, beside the old road through the forest. They were in the midst of the orgies around the supper-table, when the well-known ringing step of the leader sounded under the black windows without. The door was burst open, and the captain, hatless, cultless, with his dark elf-locks blind, and every sign of haste and disorder rushed into the room. He was met by a general rising and outcry, Hi, hello, what's up? exclaimed every man, starting to his feet and laying hands upon secret arms, prepared for instant resistance. For a moment Black Donald stood with his leonine head turned and looking back over his stalwart shoulders, as if in expectation of pursuit. And then, with a loud laugh, turned to his men exclaiming, Ho, so you thought me followed, so I have been, but not as close as Hound to Heel. In fact, Captain, you look as if you'd but escaped with your skin this time, said Hell. Faith, the captain looks well peeled, said Stefan. Worse than that, boys, worse than that. Your chief has not only lost his pack, his hat, and his coat, but his heart. Not only are the outworks battered, but the citadel itself is taken. Not only has he been captured, but captivated, and all by a little minx of a girl. Boys, your chief is in love, exclaimed Black Donald, throwing himself into a sea at the head of the table, and quaffing off a large straw of Hell. Hip hip hurrah! three times three for the captain's love, cried Hell, rising to propose the toast, which was honored with enthusiasm. Now, tell us all about it, Captain. Who is she? Where did you see her? Is she fair or dark, tall or short, then or plump? What's her name? And is she kind? asked Hell. First, guess where I have been today. You and your demon only know. I guess they also know at Hurricane Hall, for it is there I have been. Well, then, why didn't you go to perdition at once, exclaimed Hell, and a consternation that was reflected in every countenance present? Why, because when I go there I intend to take you all with me and remain, answered Black Donald. Tell us about the visit to Hurricane Hall, said Hell, whereupon Black Donald commenced, and concealing only the motive of his visit, gave his comrades a very graphic, spicy, and highly-colored narrative of his adventure at Hurricane Hall, and particularly of his passage at arms with the little witch, Capitola, whom he described as such a girl slender, petite, lithe, with bright black ringlets dancing around a little face full of fun, frolic, mischief, and spirit, and bright eyes quick and vivacious as those of a monkey, darting hither and thither from object to object. The captain is in love, sure enough, said Steve. Bravo! Here's the excess to the captain's love. She's a brick, shouted the men. Oh, she is, excented their chief, with enthusiasm. Long life to her, three times three for the pretty witch of Hurricane Hall, roared the men, rising to their feet, and waving their full mugs high in the air, before pledging the toast. That is all very well, boys, but I want more substantial compliments than words. Boys, I must have that girl. Who doubts it, captain? Of course you will take her at once if you want her, said Hale, confidently. But I must have help in taking her. Captain, I volunteer for one exclaimed Hale, and I for another, added Stefan. And you, Dick, inquired the leader, turning toward the solemn man, whose greater atrocity had gained for him the name of demon Dick. What is the use of volunteering when the captain has only to command, said this individual, sockily? I, when the enterprise is simply robbing of a male coach, in which you all have equal interest, then indeed your captain has only to command, and you to obey. But this is a more delicate matter of entering a lady's chamber and carrying her off for the captain's arms, and so should only be entrusted to those whose feelings of devotion to the captain's person prompt them to volunteer for the service, said Black Donald. How elegantly our captain speaks, he ought to be a lawyer, said Steve. The captain knows I'm with him for everything, said Dick, sockily. Very well, then, for a personal service like this, a delicate service requiring devotion, I should scorn to give commands. I thank you for your offered assistance, my friends, and shall count on you three. Hale, Richard, and Stefan for the enterprise, said the captain. I, I, I, said the three men in a breath. For the time and place and manner of the seizure of the girl we must reflect. Let us see, there is to be a fair in the village next week, during the session of the court. Old Hurricane will be at court as usual, and for one day at least, his servants will have a holiday to go to the fair. They will not get home until the next morning. The house will be ill guarded. We must find out the particular day and night when this shall be so. Then you three shall watch your opportunity, enter the house by stealth, conceal yourselves in the chamber of the girl, and at midnight, when all is quiet, gag her and bring her away. Excellent, said Hale, and mind, no liberty, except the simple act of carrying her off, is to be taken with your captain's prize, said the leader, with a threatening glare, if his lie in like eye. Oh, no, no, not for the world. She shall be as sacred from insult, as though she were an angel, and we saints, said Hale, both the others assenting. And now, not a word more, we will arrange the further details of this business hereafter, said the captain, as a peculiar signal was given at the door. Waving his hand for the men to keep their places, Black Donald went out, and opened the back passage door, admitting Colonel Lenore. Well, said the latter anxiously, well, sir, I have contrived to see her. Come into the front room, and I will tell you all about it, said the outlaw, leading the way into the old parlor that had been a scene of so many of their conspiracies. Does Capitola Lenore still live? Horsely demanded the Colonel, as the two conspirators reached the parlor. Still live? Yes, twas, but yesterday we agreed upon her death. Give a man time. Sit down, Colonel. Take the sea. We will talk the matter over again. With something very like a sigh of relief, Colonel Lenore threw himself into the offered chair. Black Donald drew another chair up, and sat down beside his patron. Well, Colonel, I have contrived to see the girl as I told you he began. But you have not done the deed, when will it be done? Colonel, my patron, be patient. Within twelve days I shall claim the last installment of the ten thousand dollars I agreed upon between us for this job. But why so long, since it is to be done, why not have it over at once, said Colonel Lenore, starting up and pacing the floor impatiently? Patience, my Colonel, the cat may play with the mouse most delightfully before devouring it. What do you mean? My Colonel, I have seen the girl, under circumstances that has fired my heart with an uncontrollable desire for her. Ha, ha, ha, scornfully laughed the Colonel. Black Donald, the male-raber, burglar, outlaw, the subject of the grand passion. Why not, my Colonel, listen, you shall hear? And then you shall judge whether or not you yourself may not have been fired by the fascinations of such a witch, said the outlaw, whose straight way commenced, and gave his patron the same account of his visit to Hurricane Hall he had already related to his comrades. The Colonel heard the story with many a pish, tush, and pasha, and when the man had concluded the tale he exclaimed, as that all, then we may continue our negotiations. I care not, carry her off, marry her, do as you please with her, only, at the end of all, kill her, hoarsely whispered Lenore. That is just what I intend, Colonel. That will do if the event be certain, but it must be certain. I cannot breathe freely while my brother's heiress lives, whispered Lenore. Well, Colonel, be content, here's my hand upon it. In six days Capitola will be in my power. In twelve days you shall be out of hers. It is a bargain, said each of the conspirators, in a breath, as they shook hands and parted, Lenore to his home, and Black Donald to join his comrades' revelry. Motherwell. While these dark conspiracies were hatching elsewhere, all was comfort, peace, and love in the doctor's quiet dwelling. Under Mara Rock's administration, the business of the household went on with the regularity of clockwork. Everyone felt the advantage of this improved condition. The doctor often declared that for his part he could not for the life of him think how they had ever been able to get along without Mrs. Rock and Travers. Clara affirmed that however the past might have been, the mother and son were a present and future necessity to the doctor's comfort and happiness. The little woman herself gained rapidly both health and spirits and good looks, under favorable circumstances, Mara Rock, even at thirty-six, would have been esteemed a first-rate beauty, and even now she was pretty, graceful, and attractive to a degree that she herself was far from suspecting. Travers advanced rapidly in his studies, to the ardent pursuit of which he was urged by every generous motive that could fire a human bosom, affection for his mother, whose condition he was anxious to elevate, gratitude to his patron, whose great kindness he wished to justify, and admiration for Clara, whose esteem he was ambitious to secure. He attended his patron in all his professional visits, for the doctor said the actual experimental knowledge formed the most important part of a young medical student's education. The mornings were usually passed in reading, in the library, the middle of the day in attending the doctor on his professional visits, and the evenings were passed in the drawing-room, with the doctor, Clara, and Mrs. Rock. And if the morning's occupation was most earnest, and the day's the most active, the evening's relaxation with Clara and music and poetry was certainly the most delightful. In the midst of all this peace and prosperity, a melody was creeping upon the boy's heart and brain, that in his simplicity and inexperience he could neither understand nor conquer. Why was it that these evening fireside meetings with the doctor's lovely daughter, one such unalloyed delight, were now only a keenly pleasing pain? Why did his face burn, and his heart beat, and his voice falter when obliged to speak to her? Why could he no longer talk of her to his mother, or write of her to his friend, Herbert Grayson? Above all, why hid his favorite daydream of having his dear friends, Herbert and Clara married together, grown so abhorrent as to sicken his very soul? Traverse himself could not have answered these questions. In his ignorance of life he did not know that all his strong, ardent, earnest nature was tending toward the maiden by a power of attraction, seated in the deepest principles of being and of destiny. Clara, in her simplicity, did not suspect the truth, but tried in every innocent way to enliven this silent boy, and said that he worked too hard, and begged her father not to let him study too much. Whereupon the doctor would laugh, and bid her not be uneasy about Traverse, that the boy was all right, and would do very well. Evidently the doctor, with all his knowledge of human nature, did not perceive that his protégé was in process of forming an unadvisable attachment to his daughter, Anderes. Mrs. Rock, with her woman's tact and mother's forethought, saw all. She saw that in the honest heart of her poor boy, unconsciously there was growing up a strong, ardent, earnest passion for the lovely girl, with whom he was thrown in such close, intimate, daily association, and who was certainly not indifferent in her feelings toward him, but whom he might never, never hope to possess. She saw this daily growing, and trembled for the peace of both. She wondered at the blindness of the doctor, who did not perceive what was so plain to her own vision. Daily she looked to see the eyes of the doctor open, and some action taken upon the circumstances, but they did not open to the evil ahead, for the boy and girl. For morning after morning their hands would be together, tying up the same vines, or clearing out the same flower bed. Day after day at the doctor's orders, Traverse attended Clara on her rides. Night after night their blushing faces would be bent over the same sketchbook, chessboard, or music sheet. Oh, if the doctor canna, and will not see, what shall I do? What ought I do? said the conscientious little woman to herself, dreading above all things, and equally for her son and the doctor's daughter, the evils of an unhappy attachment, which she, with her peculiar temperament and experiences, believed to be the worst of sorrows, a misfortune never to be conquered or outlived. Yes, it is even better that we should leave the house than that Traverse should become hopelessly attached to Clara, or worse than all, that he should repay the doctor's great bounty by winning the heart of his only daughter, said Mara Rock to herself. And so, screwing her courage to the sticking-place, she took an opportunity one morning, early while Traverse and Clara were out riding, to go into the study and to speak to the doctor. As usual, he looked up with a smile to welcome her as she entered, but her downcast eyes and serious face made him uneasy, and he hastened to inquire if she was not well, or if anything had happened to make her anxious, and at the same time he placed a chair and made her sit in it. Yes, I am troubled, doctor, about a subject that I scarcely know how to break to you, she said, in some considerable embarrassment. Mrs. Rock, you know I am your friend, anxious to serve you. Trust in me and speak out. Well, sirs, said Mara, beginning to roll up the corner of her apron in embarrassment. I should not presume to interfere, but you do not see. Gentlemen, perhaps seldom do until it is too late. She paused, and the good doctor turned his head about, listening first with one ear, and then with the other, as if he thought by a tent of hearing he might come to understand her incomprehensible words. Miss Clara has the misfortune to be without a mother, or an aunt, or any lady relative. Oh, yes, I know what, my dear madam, but then I am sure you conscientiously tried to fill the place of a matronly friend and advisor to my daughter, said the doctor, striving after light. Yes, sir, and it is in view of my duties in this relation that I say, I and Traverse ought to go away. You and Traverse go away? My good little woman, you ought to be more cautious how you shock a man at my time of life. Fifty is a very apoplectic age to a full-blooded man, Mrs. Rock. But now that I've got over the shock, tell me why you fancy that you and Traverse ought to go away. Sir, my son is a well-meaning boy. A high-spirited, noble-hearted lad put in the doctor, I have never seen a better. But granting all that to be what I hope and believe it is, true, still, Traverse Rock is not a proper or desirable daily associate for Miss Day. Why, currently, inquired the doctor. If Miss Clara's mother were living, sir, she would probably tell you that young lady should never associate with any except their equals of the opposite sex, said Mara Rock. Clara's dear mother were she on earth would understand and sympathize with me, and the steam your Traverse is I do, Mrs. Rock, said the doctor, with moist eyes and a tremulous voice. But oh, sir, exceeding kind as you are to Traverse, I dare not in duty look on and see things going the way in which they are, and not speak, and ask your consent to withdraw Traverse. My good little friend, said the doctor, rising and looking beignignantly upon Mara, my good little woman, sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Suppose you and I trust a little in divine providence and mind your own business. But, sir, it seems to me a part of our business to watch over the young and inexperienced that they fall into no snare, and also to treat them with a little wholesome neglect that our over-officiousness may plunge them into none. I wish you would comprehend me, sir. I do and applaud your motives, but give yourself no further trouble. Leave the young people to their own honest hearts and to providence. Clara, with all her softness, is a sensible girl, and as for Traverse, if he is one to break his heart from an unhappy attachment, I have been mistaken in the lad, that is all, said the doctor heartily. Mrs. Rock sighed, and, saying, I deemed it my duty to speak to you, sir, and, having done so, I have no more to say. She slightly curtsied and withdrew. He does not see. His great benevolence blinds him. In his wish to serve us he exposes Traverse to the most dreadful misfortune, the misfortune of becoming hopelessly attached to one far above him in station, whom he can never expect to possess, said Mara Rock to herself, as she retired from the room. I must speak to Traverse himself and warn him against this snare, she said, as she afterward ruminated over the subject. And accordingly that evening, when she had retired to her chamber and heard Traverse enter the little adjoining room where he slept, she called him in and gave him a seat, saying that she must have some serious conversation with him. The boy looked uneasy, but took to the offered chair and waited for his mother to speak. Traverse, she said, a change has come over you recently that may escape all other eyes but those of your mother. She, Traverse, cannot be blind to anything that seriously affects her boy's happiness. Mother, I scarcely know what you mean, said the youth in embarrassment. Traverse, you are beginning to think too much of Miss Day. Oh, mother! exclaimed the boy, while a violent blush overspread and imperpled his face. Then in a little while, and in faltering tones, he inquired, have I betrayed in any way that I do? To no one but to me, Traverse, to me, whose anxiety for your happiness makes me watchful. And now, dear boy, you must listen to me. I know it is very sweet to you, to sit in a dark corner and gaze on Clara, when no one, not even herself, witnesses your joy. And to lie awake and think and dream of her, when no eye but that of God looks down upon your heart. And to build castles in the air for her, and for you, all this I know is very sweet. But Traverse, it is a sweet poison, fatal if indulged in, fatal to your peace and integrity. Oh, my mother! oh, my mother! what are you telling me? exclaimed Traverse bitterly. Unpalatable truths, dear boy, but necessary antidotes to that sweet poison of which you have already tasted too much. What would you have me do, my mother? Guard your acts and words and even thoughts, forbear to look at, or speak to, or think of Clara, except when it is unavoidable. Or, if you do, regard her as she is, one so far beyond your sphere, as to be forever unattainable. Oh, mother! I never once dreamed of such presumption as to think of, of the youth paused and a deep blush again overspread his face. I know you have not indulged presumptuous thoughts as yet, my boy, and it is to warn you against them, while yet your heart is in some measure within your own keeping, that I speak to you. Indulge your imagination in no more sweet reveries about misday, for the end thereof will be bitter humiliation and disappointment. Remember also that in so doing you would indulge a sort of treachery against your patron, who in his great faith in your integrity has received you in the bosom of his family, and admitted you to an almost brotherly intimacy with his daughter, honor his trust in you, and treat his daughter with a distant respect due to a princess. I will, mother, it will be hard, but I will. Oh, an hour ago I did not dream how miserable I should be now, said Travers, in a choking voice. Because I have pointed out to you the gulf toward which you were walking blindfolded. I know it, I know it now, mother, said Travers, as he arose and pressed his mother's hand and hurried to his own room. The poor youth did his best to follow out the line of conduct prescribed for him by his mother. He devoted himself to his studies and to the active service of his patron. He avoided Clara as much as possible, and when obliged to be in her company, treated her with the most respectful reserve. Clara saw and wondered at his change of manner, and began to cast about in her own mind for the probable cause of his conduct. I am the young mistress of the house at Clara to herself, and I know I owe to every inmate of it consideration and courtesy. Perhaps I may have been unconsciously lacking in these towards Travers, whose situation would naturally render him very sensitive to neglect. I must endeavor to convince him that none was intended. And so resolving, Clara redoubled all her efforts to make Travers, as well as the others, happy and comfortable. But happiness and comfort seemed for the time to have departed from the youth. He saw her generous efforts to cheer him, and while adoring her amiability, drew still more reserved. This pained the gentle girl, who taking herself seriously to task said, Oh, I must have deeply wounded his feelings in some unconscious way, and if so, how very cruel and thoughtless of me. How could I have done it, I cannot imagine, but I know I shall not allow him to continue unhappy if I can prevent it. I will speak to him about it. And then in the candor, innocence and humility of her soul, she followed him to the window, where he stood in a moody silence, and said pleasantly, Travers, we do not seem to be so good friends as formerly. If I have done anything to offend you, I know that you will believe me when I say that it was quite unintentional on my part, and that I am very sorry for it, and hope you will forget it. You, you, Miss Day, you say anything to displease anybody? Anyone become displeased with you? exclaimed the youth, in a tremulous enthusiasm, that shook his voice and suffused his cheeks. Then if you were not displeased, Travers, what is the matter, and why do you call me Miss Day, instead of Clara? Miss Day, because it is right that I should. You are a young lady, the only daughter and heiress of Doctor Day of Willow Heights, while I am. His friend, said Clara. The son of his housekeeper, said Travers, walking away. Clara looked after him in dismay for a moment, and then sat down and bent thoughtfully over her needlework. From that day Travers grew more deeply in love and more reserved than before. How could it be otherwise, domesticated as he was, with this lovely girl, and becoming daily more sensible of her beauty, goodness, and intelligence? Yet he struggled against his inevitable attachment as a great treachery. Meantime he made rapid progress in his medical studies. It was well affairs were in this state that one morning the Doctor entered the study, holding the morning paper in his hand. Seeding himself in his leather and armchair at the table, he said, I see, my dear Travers, that a full course of lectures is to be commenced at the medical college in Washington, and I think you are sufficiently far advanced in your studies to attend them, with great advantage. What say you? Oh, sir, said Travers, upon whom the proposition had burst quite unexpectedly. I should indeed be delighted to go if that were possible. There is no if about it, my boy. If you wish to go, you shall do so. I have made up my mind to give you a professional education, and shall not stop halfway. Oh, sir, the obligation, the overwhelming obligation you lay upon me. Nonsense, Travers, it is only a capital investment of funds. If I were a usurer, I could not put out money to a better advantage. You will repay me by and by with compound interest, so just consider all that I may be able to do for you as alone to be repaid when you shall have achieved success. I am afraid, sir, that the time will never. No, you are not interrupted the Doctor, and so don't let modesty run into hypocrisy. Now put up your books, and go and tell your good little mother to get your clothes already for you to go to Washington, for you shall start by the next coach. Much surprise was created in the little household by the news that Travers was going immediately to Washington to attend the medical lectures. There were but two days to repair his wardrobe for the journey. Mrs. Rock went cheerfully to work. Clara lent her willing and skilful aid, and at the end of the second day his clothes and perfect order were all neatly packed in his trunk. And on the morning of the third day Travers took leave of his mother and Clara, and for the first time left home to go into the great world. Dr. Day accompanied him in the old green gig as far as Stoughton, where he took the stage. As soon as they had left the house, Mara Rock went away to her own room to drop a few natural tears over this first parting with her son. Very lonely and desolate the mother felt as she stood weeping by the window, and straining her eyes to catch a distant view of the old green gig that had already rolled out of sight. While she stood thus in her loneliness and desolation, the door silently opened. A footstep softly crossed the floor. A pair of arms was put around her neck, and Clara Day dropped her head upon the mother's bosom and wept softly. Mara Rock pressed that beautiful form to her breast, and felt with dismay that the doctor's sweet daughter already returned her boy's silent love. End of Chapter 23