 Chapter 29 The Victory over Death Glory to God, to God, he saith, Knowledge by suffering entereth, and life is perfected in death. E. B. Browning One morning in the gladness of his heart, Dr. Day mounted his horse and rode down to Stoughton, gaily refusing to impart the object of his ride to anyone, and bidding Trevor stay with the woman until he should return. As soon as the doctor was gone, Trevor's went into the library to arrange his patron's books and papers. Mrs. Rock and Clara hurried away to attend to some little mystery of their own invention, for the surprise and delight of the doctor and Trevor's. For the more secret accomplishment of their purpose they had dismissed all attendance and were at work alone in Mrs. Rock's room. And here Clara's sweet, frank, and humble disposition was again manifest. For when Mara would arise from her seat to get anything, Clara would forestall her purpose and say, "'Tell me, tell me, tell me to get what you want, just as if I were your child, and you will make me feel so well. Do now.' "'You are very good, dear Miss Clara, but I would rather not presume to ask you to wait on me,' said Mara gravely. "'Presume? What a word from you to me. Please don't ever use it again, nor call me Miss Clara. Call me Clara, or child.' "'Do, Mama,' said the doctor's daughter, then suddenly, pausing, she blushed, and was silent. Mara gently took her hand and drew her into a warm embrace. It was while the friends were conversing so kindly in Mara's room, and while Trevor's was still engaged in arranging the doctor's books and papers, that one of the men-servants wrapped at the library door, and without waiting permission to come in, entered the room with every mark of terror in his look and manner. "'What's the matter?' inquired Trevor's, anxiously rising. "'Oh, Mr. Trevor, sir. The doctor's horse has just rushed home to the stables, all in foam, without his rider. "'Good heaven!' exclaimed Trevor's, starting up and seizing his hat. Follow me immediately. Hurry to the stables and saddle my horse, and bring him up instantly. We must follow on the road the doctor took to see what has happened. Say, on your life breath not a word of what has occurred. I would not have mis-day alarmed for the world,' he concluded, hastening downstairs, attended by the servant. In five minutes from the time he left the library, Trevor's was in the saddle, galloping towards Dotton, and looking attentively along the road as he went. Alas, he had not gone far. When in descending the wooded hill, he saw lying doubled up helplessly on the right side of the path, the body of the good doctor. With an exclamation between a groan and a cry of anguish, Trevor's threw himself from his saddle, and kneeled beside the fallen figure, gazing in an agony of anxiety upon the closed eyes, pale features, and contracted form, and crying, "'Oh, heaven have mercy! Doctor Day! Oh, Doctor Day! Can you speak to me?' The white and quivering eyelids opened, and the faltering tongue spoke. "'Traverse, get me home. That I may see Clara before I die. Oh, must this be so? Must this be so? Oh, that I could die for you, my friend! My dear, dear friend!' cried Traverse, wringing his hands in such anguish as he had never known before, then feeling the need of self-control and the absolute necessity of removing the sufferer. Traverse repressed the swelling flood of sorrow in his bosom, and cast about for the means of conveying the doctor to his house. He dreaded to leave him for an instant, and yet it was necessary to do so, as the servant whom he had ordered to follow him had not yet come up. While he was bathing the doctor's face with water from a little stream beside the path, John the groom came riding along, and seeing his fallen master, with an exclamation of horror, sprang from his saddle and ran to the spot. "'John,' said Traverse, in a heartbroken voice, mount again and ride for your life to the house. Have a cart. Yes, that will be the easiest conveyance. Have a cart got ready instantly, with a feather-bed placed in it, and the gentlest horse harnessed to it, and drive it here to the roadside at the head of this path. Hasten for your life. Say not a word of what has happened, lest it should terrify the ladies. Quick, quick, on your life!' Again as the man was hurrying away, the doctor spoke, faintly murmuring, "'For heaven's sakes, do not let poor Clara be shocked.' "'No, no, she shall not be. I warned him, dear friend. How do you feel? Can you tell where you are hurt?' The doctor feebly moved one hand to his chest and whispered, "'There, and in my back.' Traverse, controlling his own great mental agony, did all that he could to soothe and alleviate the sufferings of the doctor, until the arrival of the cart that stopped on the road at the head of the little bridal path where the accident happened. Then John jumped down from the driver's seat and came to the spot, where he tenderly assisted the young man in raising the doctor and conveying him to the cart and laying him upon the bed. Notwithstanding all their tender care in lifting and carrying him, it was but too evident that he suffered greatly in being moved. Slowly as they proceeded, at every jolt of the cart, his corrugated brows and blanched and quivering lips told how much agony he silently endured. Thus at last they reached home. He was carefully raced by the bed and borne into the house and upstairs to his own chamber. Where being undressed, he was laid upon his own easy couch. Trevor sent off for other medical aid, administered a restorative, and proceeded to examine his injuries. It is useless, dear boy, useless all. You have medical knowledge enough to be as sure of that as I am. Cover me up and let me compose myself before seeing Clara. And while I do so, go you and break this news gently to the poor child, said the doctor, who being under the influence of the restorative, spoke more steadily than at any time since the fall. Trevor's almost heartbroken, obeyed his benefactor, and went to seek his betrothed, praying the Lord to teach him how to tell her this dreadful calamity, and to support her under its crushing weight. As he went slowly, wringing his hands, he suddenly met Clara with her dress and disorder, and her hair flying, just as she had run from her room while dressing for dinner. Hurrying toward him, she exclaimed, Trevor's what has happened? For the good Lord's sake tell me quickly, the house is all in confusion, every one is pale with a fright. No one will answer me. Your mother just now ran past me out of the storeroom, with her face as white as death. Oh, what does it all mean? Clara, love, come and sit down. You are almost fainting. Oh, heaven, support her, murmured Travis, as he led the poor girl to the hall-sofa. Tell me, tell me, she said, Clara, your father. My father? No, no, no, do not say any harm has happened to my father. Do not, Travers, do not. Oh, Clara, try to be firm, dear one. My father, oh, my father, he is dead, shrieked Clara, starting up wildly to run, she knew not with her. Travers sprang up and caught her arm, and drawing her gently back to her seat, said, No, dear Clara, no, not so bad as that. He is living. Oh, thank heaven for so much. What is it, then, Travers? He is ill? Oh, let me go to him. Stay, dear Clara, compose yourself first. You would not go and disturb him with this frightened and distressed face of yours. Let me get you a glass of water, said Travers. Starting up and bringing the needed sedative from an enjoining room. There Clara, drink that and offer a silent prayer to heaven to give you self-control. I will. Oh, I must for his sake, but tell me, Travers, is it, is it as I fear? As he expected? A poplexy? No, dear love, no. He rode out this morning, and his horse got frightened by the van of a circus-company that was going into the town, and ran away with him and threw him. Oh, heaven! Oh, my dear father! exclaimed Clara, once more clasping her hands wildly and starting up. Again, Travers promptly but gently detained her, saying, You promised me to be calm, dear Clara, and you must be so, before I can suffer you to see your father. Clara sank into her seat, and covered her face with her hands, murmuring in a broken voice. How can I be? Oh, how can I be when my heart is wild with grief and fright? Travers, was he? Was he? Oh, I dread to ask you. Oh, was he much hurt? Clara, love, his injuries are internal. Neither he nor I yet know their full extent. I have sent off for two old and experienced practitioners from Stoughton. I expect them every moment. In the meantime, I have done all that is possible for his relief." Travers said Clara very calmly, controlling herself by an almost superhuman effort. Travers, I will be composed. You shall see that I will. Take me to my dear father's bedside. It is there that I ought to be. That is my dear, brave, dutiful girl. Come, Clara, replied the young man, taking her hand and leading her up to the bedchamber of the doctor. They met Mrs. Rock at the door, who tearfully signed them to go in as she left it. When they entered and approached the bedside, Travers saw that the suffering but heroic father must have made some superlative effort before he could have reduced his haggard face and writhing form to its present state of placid repose, to meet his daughter's eyes and spare her feelings. She on her part was no less firm. Kneeling beside his couch, she took his hand and met his eye composedly as she asked, Dear Father, how do you feel now? Not just so easy, love, as if I had laid me down here for an afternoon's nap, yet in no more pain than I can very well bear. Dear Father, what can I do for you? You may bathe my forehead and lips with cologne, my dear, said the doctor, not so much for the sake of the reviving perfume, as because he knew it would comfort Clara to feel that she was doing something, however slight for him. Travers stood upon the opposite side of the bed fanning him. In a few minutes Mrs. Rock re-entered the room, announcing that the two old physicians from Stoughton, Dr. Dawson, and Dr. Williams had arrived. Show them up, Mrs. Rock. Clara, love, retire while the physicians remain with me, said Doctor Day. Mrs. Rock left the room to do his bidding, and Clara followed and sought the privacy of her own apartment to give way to the overwhelming grief which she could no longer resist. As soon as she was gone the doctor also yielded to the force of the suffering that he had been able to endure silently in her presence, and writhed and groaned with agony that wrung the heart of Travers to behold. Presently the two physicians entered the room and approached the bed, with expressions of sincere grief at beholding their old friend in such a condition and a hope that they might speedily be able to relieve him. To all of which the doctor, repressing all exhibitions of pain and holding out his hand in a cheerful manner, replied, I am happy to see you in a friendly way, old friends. I am willing also that you should try what you, what you can do for me. But I warn you that it will be useless, a few hours or days of inflammation, fever and agony, than the ease of mortification, than dissolution. Tot, tot, said Dr. Williams cheerfully, we never permit a patient to pronounce a prognosis upon his own case. Friend, my horse ran away, stumbled and fell upon me, and rolled over me and getting up. The viscera is crushed within me, breathing is difficult, speech painful, motion agonizing. But you may examine and satisfy yourselves, said Dr. Day, still speaking cheerfully, though with great suffering. His old friends proceeded gently to the examination, which resulted in their silently and perfectly coinciding in opinion with the patient himself. Then with Dr. Day and Travers, they entered into a consultation and agreed upon the best palliatives that could be administered. And begging that, if in any manner, professionally or otherwise, they could serve their suffering friend, at any hour of the day or night, they might be summoned, they took leave. As soon as they had gone, Clara, who had given way to a flood of tears, and regained her composure, rapped for admittance. Presently, dear daughter, presently, said the doctor, who then beckoning Travers to stuplo, said, Do not let Clara set up with me to-night. I foresee a night of great anguish which I may not be able to repress, and which I would not have for witness. Promise you will keep her away. I promise, faltered the almost broken-hearted youth. You may admit her now, said the doctor, composing his convulsed countenance as best he could, lest the sight of his sufferings should distress his daughter. Clara entered and resumed her post at the side of the bed. Travers left the room to prepare the palliatives for his patient. The afternoon waned, as evening approached, the fever, inflammation and pain arose to such a degree that the doctor could no longer forbear betraying his excess of suffering, which was, besides momentarily increasing. So he said to Clara, My child, you must now leave me and retire to bed. I must be watched by Travers alone to-night. And Travers, seeing her painful hesitation, between her extreme reluctance to leave him, and her wish to obey him, approached and murmured, Dear Clara, it would distress him to have you stay. He will be much better attended by me alone. Clara still hesitated, and Travers beckoning his mother to come and speak to her, left her side. Mrs. Rock approached her and said, It must be so, dear girl, for you know that there are some cases in which sick men should be watched by men only, and this is one of them. I myself shall sit up to-night in the next room, within call. And may I not sit there beside you, pleaded Clara. No, my dear love, as you can do your father no good, he desires that you should go to bed and rest. Do not distress him by refusing. Oh, and am I to go to bed and sleep while my dear father vise your suffering? I cannot, oh I cannot! My dear, yes you must, and if you cannot sleep you can lie awake and pray for him. Here the doctor, whose agony was growing unendurable, called out, Go, Clara, go at once, my dear. She went back to the bedside, and pressed her lips to his forehead, and put her arms around him and prayed. Oh, my dear father, may the blessed Savior take you in his pitying embrace and give you ease to-night. Your poor Clara will pray for you as she never prayed for herself. May the Lord bless you, my sweet child, said the doctor, lifting one hand painfully, and laying it in benediction on her fair and graceful head. Then she arose and left the room, saying to Mrs. Rock as she went, Oh Mrs. Rock, only last evening we were so happy. But if we have received good things at the hand of God, why should we not receive evil? Yes, my child, but remember nothing is really evil that comes from his good hand, said Mrs. Rock, as she attended Clara to the door. His daughter had no sooner gone out of hearing than the doctor gave way to his irrepressible groans. At a sign from Traverse Mrs. Rock went and took up her position in the adjoining room. Then Traverse subdued the light in the sick chamber, arranged the pillows of the couch, administered a sedative, and took up his post beside the bed, where he continued to watch and nurse the patient with unwearyed devotion. At the dawn of the day, when Clara wrapped at the door, he was in no condition to be seen by his daughter. Clara was put off with some plausible excuse. After breakfast his friends the physicians called, and spent several hours in his room. Clara was told that she must not come in while they were there, and so by one means and another the poor girl was spared from witnessing those dreadful agonies, which had she seen them must have so bitterly increased her distress. In the afternoon, during a temporary mitigation of pain, Clara was admitted to see her father, but in the evening, as his sufferings augmented, she was again, upon the same excuse that had been used the preceding evening, dismissed to her chamber. Then passed another night of suffering, during which Traverse never left him for an instant, toward morning the fever and pain abated, and he fell into a sweet sleep. About sunrise he awoke quite free from suffering. Alas! it was the ease that he had predicted, the ease preceding dissolution. It is gone forever now, Traverse, my boy. Thank God my last hours will be sufficiently free from pain to enable me to set my house in order. Before calling Clara in, I would talk to you alone. You will remain here until all is over? Oh, yes, sir, yes. I would do anything on earth, anything for you. I would lay down my life, this hour, if I could do so to save you from this bed of death. Nay, do not talk so. Your young life belongs to others, to Clara and your mother. God doeth all things well. Better the ripened ear should fall than the budding germ. I do not feel it hard to die, dear Traverse. Though the journey has been very pleasant, the goal is not unwelcome. Earth has been very sweet to me, but heaven is sweeter. Oh, but we love you so, we love you so. You have so much to live for, exclaimed Traverse, with an irrepressible burst of grief. Poor boy, life is too hopeful before you to make you a comforter by a deathbed. Yes, Traverse, I have much to live for, but much more to die for. Yet not voluntarily would I have left you, though I know that I leave you in the hands of the Lord, and with every blessing and promise of his bountiful providence. Your love will console my child. My confidence in you makes me easy in committing her to your charge. Oh, Dr. Day, may the Lord so deal with my soul eternally, as I shall discharge this trust, said Traverse earnestly. I know that you will be true. I wish you to remain here with Clara and your mother for a few weeks, until the child's first violence of grief shall be over. Then you had best pursue the plan we laid out. Leave your good mother here to take care of Clara, and you go to the West, get into practice there, and at the end of a few years return and marry Clara. Traverse, there is one promise I would have of you. I give it before it is named, dear friend, said Traverse fervently. My child is but seventeen. She is so gentle that her will is subject to that of all she loves, especially to yours. She will do anything in conscience that you ask her to do. Traverse, I wish you to promise me that you will not press her to marriage until she shall be at least twenty years old, and— Oh, sir, I promise. Oh, believe me, my affection for Clara is so pure and so constant, as well as so confiding in her faith, and so solicitous for her good, that with the assurance of her love and the privilege of visiting her and writing to her, I could wait many years if needful. I believe you, my dear boy, and the very promise I have asked of you is as much for your sake as for hers. No girl can marry before she is twenty, without serious risk of life, and almost certain loss of health and beauty, that so many do is one reason why there are such numbers of sickly and faded young wives. If Clara's constitution should be broken down by prematurely assuming the cares and burdens of matrimony, you would be as unfortunate in having a sickly wife as she would be in losing her health. Oh, sir, I promise you that, no matter how much I may wish to do so, I will not be tempted to make a wife of Clara until she has attained the age you have prescribed. But at the same time I must assure you that such is my love for her, that if accident should now make her an invalid for life, she would be as dear—as dear, yes, much dearer to me, if possible—on that very account. And if I could not marry her for a wife, I should marry her only for the dear privilege of waiting on her night and day. Oh, believe this of me, and leave your dear daughter with an easy mind to my faithful cares, said Traverse, with a boyish blush suffusing his cheeks and tears filling his eyes. I do, Traverse, I do, and now to other things. Are you not talking too much, dear friend? No, no, I must talk while I have time. I was about to say that long ago my will was made. Clara, you know, is the heiress of all I possess. You, as soon as you become her husband, will receive her fortune with her. I have made no reservation in her favor against you, for he to whom I can entrust the higher charge of my daughter's person, happiness and honor, I can also entrust her fortune. Dear sir, I am glad for Clara's sake that she has a fortune. As for me, I hope you will believe me that I would have gladly dispensed with it, and worked for dear Clara all the days of my life. I do believe it, but this will was made, Traverse, three years ago, before any of us anticipated the present relations between you and my daughter, and while you were both still children. Therefore I appointed my wife's half-brother, Clara's only male relative, Colonel Lenore, as her guardian. It is true we have never been very intimate, for her paths in life widely diverged, nor has my Clara seen him within her recollection, for since her mother's death, which took place in her infancy, he has never been at her house. But he is a man of high reputation and excellent character. I have already requested Dr. Williams to write for him, so that I expect he will be here in a very few days. When he comes, Traverse, you will tell him that it is my desire that my daughter shall continue to reside in her present home, retaining Mrs. Rock as her matronly companion. I have also requested Dr. Williams to tell him the same thing, so that in the mouths of two witnesses my words may be established. Now Traverse had never in his life before heard the name of Colonel Lenore, and therefore was in no position to warn the dying father, who placed so much confidence in the high reputation of his brother-in-law that his trust was miserably misplaced, that he was leaving his fair daughter and her large fortune to the tender mercies of an unscrupulous villain and a consummate hypocrite. So he merely promised to deliver the message with which he was charged by the dying father for his daughter's guardian, and added that he had no doubt but Clara's uncle would consider that message a sacred command and obey it to the letter. As the son was now well up, the doctor consented that Mrs. Rock and his daughter should be admitted. Mara brought with her some wine-way that her patient drunk, and from which he received temporary strength. Clara was pale but calm, one could see at a glance that the poor girl was prepared for the worst, and had nerved her gentle heart to bear it with patience. Come hither, my little Clara, said the doctor, as soon as he had been revived by the way. Clara came and kissed his brow and sat beside him, with her hands clasped in his. My little girl, what did our savior die for? First to redeem us, and also to teach us by his burial and resurrection that death is but a falling asleep in this world, and an awakening in the next. Clara, after this, when you think of your father, do not think of him as lying in the grave, for he will not be there in his vacated body, no more than he will be in the trunk with his cast off clothes. As the coat is the body's covering, so the body is the soul's garment, and it is the soul that is the innermost and real man. It is my soul that is me, and that will not be in the earth, but in heaven. Therefore do not think of me gloomily as lying in the grave, but cheerfully as living in heaven, as living there with God and Christ and His saints, and with your mother, Clara, the dear wife of my youth, who has been waiting for me these many years. Think of me as being happy in that blessed society. Do not fancy that it is your duty to grieve, but on the contrary, know that it is your duty to be as cheerful and happy as possible. Do you heed me, my daughter? Oh, yes, yes, dear father, said Clara, heroically repressing her grief. Seek for yourself, dear child, a nearer union with Christ and God. Seek it, Clara, until the Spirit of God shall bear witness with your spirit that you are as a child of God. So shall you, as you come to lie where I do know, be able to save your life and death, as I say with truth of mine. The journey has been pleasant, but the goal is blessed. The doctor pressed his daughter's hand and dropped suddenly into an easy sleep. Mrs. Rock drew Clara away, and the room was very still. Sweet, beautiful, and lovely, as is the deathbed of a Christian, we will not linger too long beside it. All day the good man's bodily life ebbed gently away. He spoke at intervals, as he had strength given him, words of affection, comfort, and counsel to those around him. Just as the setting sun was pouring his last rays into the chamber, Dr. Day laid his hand upon his child's head and blessed her. Then closing his eyes he murmured softly, Lord Jesus, into thy hands I resign my spirit. And with that sweet, deep, intense smile that had been so lovely in life, now so much lovelier in death, his pure spirit winged its flight to the realms of eternal bliss. CHAPTER XXXXXX, THE ORPHAN. Let me die, Father, I fear, I fear, to fall in earth's terrible strife. Not so, my child, for the crown must be won in the battlefield of life, life and death. He has gone to sleep again, said Clara, with a sigh of relief. He has gone to heaven, my child, said Mara Rock, softly. The orphan started, gazed wildly on the face of the dead, turned guestly pale, and with a low moan and suffocating sob, fell fainting into the motherly arms of Mrs. Rock. Mara beckoned Travers, who lifted the insensible girl tenderly in his arms, and proceeded by his mother, bore her to her chamber, and laid her upon the bed. Then Mara dismissed Travers to attend to the duties owed to the remains of the beloved departed, while she herself stayed with Clara, using every means for her restoration. Clara opened her eyes at length, but in reviving to life also returned to grief. Dreadful to witness was the sorrow of the orphan girl. She had controlled her grief in the presence of her father, and while he lingered in life, only to give way now to its overwhelming force. Mara remained with her, holding her in her arms, weeping with her, praying for her, doing all that the most tender mother could do to soothe, console, and strengthen the bleeding young heart. The funeral of Dr. Day took place the third day from his decease, and was attended by all the gentry of the neighboring town and county, in their own carriages, and by crowds who came on foot to pay the last tribute of respect to their beloved friend. He was interred in the family burial ground, situated on a wooded hill, up behind the homestead, and at the head of his last resting place was afterwards erected a plain oblisk of white marble, with his name and the date of his birth and death, and the following inscription, He is not here, but is risen. When dear Clara comes to weep at her father's grave, these words will send her away comforted, and with her faith renewed, had been Traverse Rock's secret thought when giving directions for the inscription of this inspiring text. On the morning of the day succeeding the funeral, while Clara, exhausted by the violence of her grief, lay prostrate upon her chamber-couch, Mrs. Rock and Traverse sat conversing in that once pleasant, now desolate, morning reading-room. You know, dear mother, that by the doctor's desire, which should be considered sacred, Clara is still to live here, and you are to remain to take care of her. I shall defer my journey west until everything is settled to Clara's satisfaction, and she has in some degree recovered her equanimity. I must also have an interview, and a good understanding with her guardian, for whom I have a message. Who is this guardian of whom I have heard you speak more than once, Traverse? asked Mara. Dear mother, will you believe me that I have forgotten the man's name? It is an uncommon name that I never heard before in my life, and in the pressure of grief upon my mind. Its exact identity escaped my memory, but that does not signify much, as he is expected hourly, and when he announces himself, either by card or word of mouth, I shall know, for I shall recognize the name the moment I see it written, or hear it spoken. Let me see. It was something like Day Moyne, Day Vaughn, Day Saul, or something of that sort. At all events, I am sure I shall know it again the instant I see or hear it. And now, dear mother, I must ride up to Stoughton to see some of the doctor's poor sick that he left in my charge for as long as I stay here. I shall be back by three o'clock. I need not ask you to take great care of that dear suffering girl upstairs to Travers, taking his hat and gloves for a ride. I shall go and stay with her as soon as she awakes, answered Mrs. Rock, and Travers satisfied went his way. He had been gone perhaps an hour when the sound of a carriage was heard below, in the front of the house, followed soon by a loud rapping at the hall door. It is dear Clara's guardian, said Mara Rock, rising and listening. Soon a servant entered and placed a card in her hand, saying, The gentleman is waiting in the hall below, and asked to see the person that was in charge here, ma'am, so I fetched the card to you. You did right, John, show the gentleman up here, said Mara, and as soon as the servant had gone she looked at the card, but failed to make it out. The name was engraved in old English text, and in such a complete labyrinth, thicket and network of ornate flourishes that no one who is not familiar at once with the name and the style could possibly have distinguished it. I do not think my boy would know this name at sight, was Mara's thought, as she twirled the card in her hand and stood waiting the entrance of the visitor, whose step was now heard coming up the stairs. Soon the door was thrown open, and the stranger entered. Mara, habitually shy in the presence of strangers, dropped her eyes before she had fairly taken in the figure of a tall, handsome, dark complexioned, distinguished-looking man, somewhat past middle age, and a raid in a rich military cloak, and carrying in his hand a military cap. The servant who had admitted him had scarcely retired when Mara looked up and her eyes and those of the stranger met, and Mara rocked. Colonel Lenore burst simultaneously from the lips of each. Lenore first recovered himself, and holding out both hands, advanced torture with a smile as if to greet an old friend. But Mara, shrinking from him in horror, turned and tottered to the farthest window, where leaning her head against the sash, she moaned, �Oh, my heart, my heart, is this the wolf to whom my lamb must be committed?� As she moaned these words, she was aware of a soft step at her side, and a low voice murmuring, �Mara rock, yes, the same beautiful Mara that, as a girl of fifteen, twenty years ago, turned my head, led me by her fatal charms into the very jaws of death, the same lovely Mara, with her beauty only ripened by time, and exalted by sorrow. With one surprised, indignant look, but without a word of reply, Mrs. Rock turned and walked composably toward the door, with the intention of quitting the room. Colonel Lenore saw and forestalled her purpose by springing forward, turning the key, and standing before the door. �Forgive me, Mara, but I must have a word with you before we part,� he said, in those soft, sweet, persuasive tones he knew so well how to assume. Mara remembered that she was an honorable matron and an honored mother, that, as such, fears and tremors, and self-distrust in the presence of a villain, would not well become her. So calling up all the gentle dignity lay in in her nature, she resumed her seat, and, signing to the visitor to follow her example, she said composably, �Speak on, Colonel Lenore, remembering if you please, to whom you speak. I do remember, Mara, remember but too well. They call me Mrs. Rock, who converse with me, sir. Mara, why this resentment? Is it possible that you can still be angry? Have I remained true to my attachment all these years, and sought you throughout the world to find this reception at last? Colonel Lenore, if this is all you had to say, it was scarcely worthwhile to have detained me, said Mrs. Rock, calmly. But it is not all, my Mara. Yes, I call you mine by virtue of the strongest attachment man ever felt for woman. Mara Rock, you are the only woman who ever inspired me with the feeling worthy to be called a passion. Colonel Lenore, how dare you blaspheme this house of mourning by such sinful words! You forget where you stand, and to whom you speak. I forget nothing, Mara Rock, nor do I violate the sanctuary of sorrow. Here he sank his voice below his usual low tones. When I speak of the passion that maddened my soul, and withered my manhood, a passion whose intensity was its excuse for all extravagances, and whose enduring constancy is its final, full justification. Before he had finished the sentence, Mara Rock had calmly arisen and pulled the bell-rope. What do you mean by that, Mara, he inquired? Before she replied a servant in answer to the bell, came to the door and tried the latch, and finding it locked, wrapped. With a blush that mounted to his forehead, and with a half suppressed imprecation, Colonel Lenore went and unlocked the door and admitted the man. The servants had Mrs. Rock quietly, show Colonel Lenore to the apartment prepared for him, and wait his orders. And with a slight nod to the guest, she went calmly from the room. Colonel Lenore, unmindful of the presence of the servant, stood gazing in angry mortification after her. The flush on his brow had given way to the fearful pallor of rage or hate as he muttered inaudibly. Insolent beggar! Contradiction always confirms my half-formed resolutions. Years ago I swore to possess that woman. And I will do it if it be only to keep my oath and humble her insolence. She is very handsome still. She shall be my slave. Then perceiving the presence of John, he said, lead the way to my room, Sura, and then go and order my fellow to bring up my poor manteau. John devoutly pulled his forelocks as he bowed low, and then went on, followed by Colonel Lenore. Mara Rock, meanwhile, had gained the privacy of her own chamber, where all her firmness deserted her. Putting herself into a chair, she clasped her hands and sat with blanched face and staring eyes, like a marble statue of despair. Oh, what shall I do? What shall I do while this miscreant remains here? This villain whose very presence desecrates the roof and dishonours me. I would instantly leave the house, but that I must not abandon poor Clara. I cannot claim the protection of Traverse, for I would not provoke him to wrath or run him into danger. Nor indeed would I even permit my son to dream such a thing possible, as that his mother could receive insult. Nor can I warn Clara of the unprincipled character of her guardian, for if she knew him as he is, she would surely treat him in such a way as to get his enmity, his dangerous fatal enmity. Doubly fatal since her person and property are legally at his disposal. Oh, my dove, my dove, that you should be in the power of this vulture. What shall I do? Oh, heaven! Mara Rock dropped on her knees and finished her soliloquy with prayer. Then feeling composed and strengthened she went to Clara's room. She found the poor girl lying awake and quietly weeping. Your guardian has arrived, love, she said, sitting down beside the bed and taking Clara's hand. Oh, must I get up and dress to see a stranger, said Clara, wearily? No, love, you need not stir until it is time to dress for dinner. It will answer quite well if you meet your guardian at table, said Mara, who had particular reasons for wishing that Clara should first see Colonel Lenore with other company, to have an opportunity of observing him well and possibly forming an estimate of his character, as a young girl of her fine instincts might well do. Before she should be exposed in a tete-a-tete to those deceptive blandishments he knew so well how to bring into play. That is a respite. Oh, dear Mrs. Rock, you don't know how I dread to see anyone. My dear Clara, you must combat grief by prayer, which is the only thing that can overcome it, said Mara. Mrs. Rock remained with her young charge as long as she possibly could, and then she went downstairs to oversee the preparation of the dinner. And it was at the dinner-table that Mara, with a quiet and gentle dignity for which she was distinguished, introduced the younger members of the family to the guest. And these words, your ward, Miss Day, Colonel Lenore. The Colonel bowed deeply and raised the hand of Clara to his lips, murmuring some sweet, soft, silvery and deferentially inaudible words of condolence, sympathy, and melancholy pleasure, from which Clara, with a gentle bend of her head, withdrew to take her seat. Colonel Lenore, my son, Dr. Rock, said Mara, presenting Traverse. The Colonel stared superciliously, bowed with ironical depth, said he was much honored, and turning his back on the young man placed himself at the table. During the dinner he exerted himself to be agreeable to Miss Day and Mrs. Rock, but Traverse he affected to treat with supercilious neglect or ironical deference. Our young physician had too much self-respect to permit himself to be in any degree affected by this rudeness, and Mara, on her part, was glad, so that it did not trouble Traverse that Lenore should behave in this manner, so that Clara should be able to form some correct idea of his disposition. When dinner was over Clara excused herself and retired to her room, whether she was soon followed by Mrs. Rock. Well, my dear, how do you like your guardian, said Mara, in a tone as indifferent as she could make it? I do not like him at all, exclaimed Clara, her gentle blue eyes flashing with indignation through her tears. I do not like him at all, this scornful, arrogant, supercilious. Oh, I do not wish to use such strong language, or to grow angry when I am in such deep grief, but my dear father could not have known this man, or he never would have chosen him for my guardian. Do you think he would, Mrs. Rock? My dear, your excellent father must have thought well of him, or he never would have entrusted him with so precious a charge. Whether your father's confidence in this man will be justified as far as you are concerned, time will show. Meanwhile, my love, as the guardian appointed by your father, you should treat him with respect. But so far as reposing any trust in him goes, consult your own instincts. I shall, and I thank heaven that I have not got to go and live with Colonel Lenore, said Clara, fervently. As Rock sighed, she remembered that the arrangement that permitted Clara to live at her own home with her chosen friends was but a verbal one, not binding upon the guardian and executor unless he chose to consider it so. Their conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a servant, with a message from Colonel Lenore expressing a hope that Miss Day felt better from her afternoon's repose, and desiring the favor of her company in the library. Clara returned an answer pleading in disposition and begging upon that account to be excused. At tea, however, the whole family met again. As before, Colonel Lenore exerted himself to please the ladies, and treated the young physician with marked neglect. This conduct offended Miss Day to such a degree that she, being a girl of truth in every thought word indeed, could only exhibit toward the guest the most freezing politeness that was consistent with her position as hostess, and she longed for the time to come that should deliver their peaceful home and loving little circle from the unwelcome presence of this arrogant intruder. How can he imagine that I can be pleased with his deference and courtesy and elaborate compliments when he permits himself to be so rude to Traverse? I hope Traverse will tell him of our engagement, which will perhaps suggest to him the propriety of reforming his manners while he remains under a roof of which Traverse is destined to be master, said Clara to herself, as she arose from the table, and with a cold bow, turned to retire from the room. And will not my fair ward give me a few hours of her company this evening, inquired Colonel Lenore, in an insinuating voice, as he took and pressed the hand of the doctor's orphaned daughter? Excuse me, sir. But except at mealtimes I have not left my room since. Here her voice broke down, she could not speak to him of her bereavement, or give way in his presence to her holy sorrow. Besides, sir, she added, Dr. Rock, I know, has expressed to you his desire for an early interview. My fair young friend, Dr. Rock, as you style the young man, will please to be so condescending as to tarry the leisure of his most humble servant, replied the Colonel, with an ironical bow in the direction of Traverse. Perhaps, sir, when you know that Dr. Rock is charged with the last uttered will of my dear father, and that it is of more importance than you are prepared to anticipate, you may be willing to favor us all by granting this young man an early audience, said Clara. The last uttered will, I had supposed that the will of my late brother-in-law was regularly drawn up and executed and in the hands of his confidential attorney at Stoughton. Yes, sir, so it is, but I refer to my father's last dying wishes, his verbal directions entrusted to his confidential friend Dr. Rock, said Clara. Last verbal directions, entrusted to Dr. Rock, hump, hump, this would require corroborative evidence, said the Colonel. Which corroborative evidence can be had, sir, said Clara coldly, and as I know that Dr. Rock has already requested an interview for the sake of an explanation of these subjects, I must also join my own request to his, and assure you that by giving him an early opportunity of coming to an understanding with you, you will greatly oblige me. Then undoubtedly, my sweet young friend, your wishes shall be commands. A. you, sir, doctor, what's your name? Meet me in the library at ten o'clock tomorrow morning, said Lenore, insolently. I have engagement, sir, that will occupy me between the hours of ten and three. Before or after that period I am at your disposal, said Traverse, coldly. Padoe, it seems to me that I am placed at yours, replied the Colonel, lifting his eyebrows, but as I am so placed by the orders of my fair little tyrant here, so be it. At nine tomorrow I am your most obedient servant. At nine then, sir, I shall attend you, said Traverse, with a cold bow. Clara slightly curtsied and withdrew from the room, attended by Mrs. Rock. Traverse, as the only representative of the host, remained for a short time, with his uncourteous guest, who totally regardless of his presence, threw himself into an armchair, lighted a cigar, took up a book, and smoked in red. Whereupon Traverse, seeing this, withdrew to the library to employ himself with finishing the arranging and tying up of certain papers, left to his charge by Dr. Day. End of CHAPTER XXXI We met ere yet the world had come, to wither up the springs of youth, amid the holy joys of home, and in the first warm blush of youth, we parted as they never part, whose tears are doomed to be forgot. Oh, by what agony of heart, forget me not, forget me not! Anonymous At nine o'clock the next morning Traverse went to the library to keep his trist with Colonel Lenore. Seated in the doctor's leather chair, with his head thrown back, his nose erect, and his white and jeweled hand caressing his mustached chin, the Colonel awaited the young man's communication. With a slight bow Traverse took a chair, and drew it up to the table. Seated himself, and, after a little hesitation, commenced, and in a modest and self-respectful manner, announced that he was charged with the last verbal instructions from the doctor to the executor of his will. Colonel Lenore left off caressing his chin for an instant, and with a wave of his dainty hand, silently intimated that the young man should proceed. Traverse then began and delivered the dying directions of the late doctor, to the effect that his daughter, Clara Day, should not be removed from the parental mansion, but that she should be suffered to remain there, retaining as a matronly companion her old friend Mrs. Mara Rock. Um, um, very ingenious upon my word, commented the Colonel, still caressing his chin. I have now delivered my whole message, sir, and have only to add that I hope, for Miss Day's sake, there will be no difficulty thrown in the way of the execution of her father's last wishes, which are also, sir, very decidedly her own, said Traverse. Um, doubtless they are, and also yours and your worthy mothers. Sir, Miss Day's will in this matter is certainly mine. Apart from the consideration of her pleasure, my wishes need not be consulted. As soon as I have seen Miss Day made comfortable, I leave for the far west, said Traverse, with much dignity. Um, and leave Mama here to guard the golden prize until your return, ay, sneered the Colonel. Sir, I do not wish to understand you, said Traverse, with a flushed brow. Possibly not my excellent young friend, said the Colonel, ironically. Then, rising from his chair and elevating his voice, he cried. But I, sir, understand you and your mother and your pretty scheme perfectly. Very pretty plan to entrap an heiress. But it shall not avail you, adventurers, that you are. This afternoon, Souter, the confidential attorney of my late brother-in-law, will be here with the will, which shall be read in the presence of the assembled household. If these last verbal directions are also to be found duplicated in the will, very good, they shall be obeyed. If they not, shall be discredited. During the speech Traverse stood with kindling eyes and blazing cheeks, scarcely able to master his indignation. Yet to his credit be it spoken, he did rule his own spirit, and replied with dignity and calmness. Colonel Lenore, my testimony in regard to the last wishes of Dr. de Kien, if necessary, be supported by other evidence. Though I do not believe that any man who did not himself act in habitual disregard of truth would wantonly question the veracity of another. Sir, this to me, exclaimed Lenore, growing white with rage and making a step toward the young man. Yes, Colonel Lenore, that to you, and this in addition, you have presumed to charge my mother, in connection with myself, with being an adventurous, with forming dishonorable schemes, and in so charging her, Colonel Lenore, you utter a falsehood. Sirra, cried Colonel Lenore, striding toward Traverse, and raising his hand over his head, with a fearful oath, retract your words o'er. Traverse calmly drew himself up, folded his arms, and replied coolly, I am no brawler, Colonel Lenore. The pistol and the bowie-knife are as strange to my hands as abusive epithets and profane language are to my lips. Over the lusts, instead of retracting my words, I repeat and reiterate them. If you charge my mother with conspiracy, you utter a falsehood. As her son I am in duty bound to say as much. Villain, gasped Lenore, shaking his fist, and choking with rage, Villain, you shall repent this in every vein of your body. Then seizing his hat, he strode from the room. Boester, said Traverse to himself, as he also left the library by another door. Laura was waiting for him in the little parlor below. Well, well, dear Traverse, she said, as he entered, you have had the explanation with my guardian, and he makes no objection to carrying out the last directions of my father and her own wishes. He is willing to leave me here? My dear girl, Colonel Lenore defers all decision until the reading of the will, which is to take place this afternoon, said Traverse, unwilling to add to her distress by recounting the disgraceful scene that had just taken place in the library. Oh, these delays, these delays! Heaven give me patience! Yet I do not know why I should be so uneasy. It is only a form. Of course he will regard my father's wishes. I do not see well how he can avoid doing so, especially as Dr. Williams is another witness to them, and I shall request the doctor's attendance here this afternoon. Dear Clara, keep up your spirits. A few hours now, and all will be well, said Traverse, as he drew on his gloves, and took his hat to go on his morning rounds of calls. An early dinner was ordered, for the purpose of giving ample time in the afternoon for the reading of the will. Owing to the kind forbearance of each member of this little family, their meeting with their guests at the table was not so awkward as it might have been rendered. Mrs. Rock had concealed the insults that had been offered her. Traverse had said nothing of the efferents put upon him, so that each, having only their private injuries to resent, felt free and forbearing. Nothing but this sort of prudence on the part of the individuals rendered their meeting around one board possible. While they were still at the table, the attorney, Mr. Souter, with Dr. Williams and Dawson, arrived, and was shown into the library. And very soon after the dessert was put upon the table, the family left it, and accompanied by Colonel Lenore, ed adjourned to the library. After the usual salutations they arranged themselves along each side of an extension table, at the head of which the attorney placed himself. In the midst of a profound silence the will was opened and read. It was dated three years before. The bulk of his estate, after the paying a few legacies, was left to his esteemed brother-in-law, Gabriel Lenore, in trust for his only daughter, Clara Day, until the latter should attain the age of twenty-one, at which period she was to come into possession of the property. Then followed the distribution of the legacies. Among the rest the sum of a thousand dollars was left to his young friend, Traverse Rock, and another thousand to his esteemed neighbor, Mara Rock. Gabriel Lenore was appointed sole executor of the will, trustee of the property, and guardian of the heiress. At the conclusion of the reading, Mr. Souter folded the document and laid it upon the table. Colonel Lenore arose and said, The will of the late Doctor Day has been read in your presence. I presume you all heard it, and that there can be no mistake as to its purport. All that remains now is to act upon it. I shall claim the usual privilege of twelve months before administering upon the estate or paying the legacies. In the meantime I shall assume the charge of my ward's person and convey her to my own residence, known as the Hidden House. Mrs. Rock, he said, turning toward the latter, your presence and that of your young charge is no longer required here. Be so good as to prepare Miss Day's traveling trunks as we set out from this place tomorrow morning. Mrs. Rock started, looking wistfully in the face of the speaker, and seeing that he was in determined earnest, turned her appealing glances toward Traverse and Dr. Williams. As for Clara, her face, previously blanched with grief, was now flushed with indignation. In her sudden distress and perplexity she knew not at once what to do, whether to utter a protest or continue silent, whether to leave the room or remain. Her embarrassment was perceived by Traverse. Who's stooping? whispered to her. Be calm, love, all shall be well, Dr. Williams is about to speak. And at that moment, indeed, Dr. Williams arose and said, I have Colonel Lenore to endorse a dying message from Dr. Day and trusted to my young friend here to be delivered to you, to the effect that it was his last desire and request that his daughter, Miss Clara Day, should be permitted to reside during the term of her minority in this her patrimonial home, under the care of her present matronly friend, Mrs. Mara Rock. Dr. Rock and myself are here to bear testimony to these, the last wishes of the departed, which wishes, I believe, also expressed the desires of the heiress. Oh, yes, yes, said Clara earnestly, I do very much desire to remain in my own home, among my old familiar friends. My dear father only consulted my comfort and happiness when he left these instructions. There can be therefore no reason why Miss Day should be disturbed in her present home, said Travers. Colonel Lenore smiled grimly, saying, I am sorry, Dr. Williams, to differ with you, or to distress Miss Day. But if, as she says, her lamented father consulted her pleasure in those last instructions, he certainly consulted nothing else, not the proprieties of conventionalism, the opinion of the world, nor the future welfare of his daughter. Therefore as a man of Dr. Day's high position and character, in his sane moments never could have made such a singular arrangement. I am forced to the conclusion that he could not, at the time of giving those instructions, have been in his right mind. Consequently, I cannot venture to act upon any verbal instructions, however well attested, but shall be guided in every respect by the will, executed while yet the testator was in sound body and mind. Dr. Rock and myself are both physicians competent to certify that, at the time of leaving these directions, are respected friend was perfectly sound in mind, at least, said Dr. Williams. That, sir, I repeat, I contest, and acting upon the authority of the will, I shall proceed to take charge of my ward, as well as of her estate, and as I think this house, under all the circumstances, a very improper place for her to remain, I shall convey her without delay to my own home. Mrs. Rock, I believe I requested you to see the packing of Miss Day's trunks. Oh, heaven, shall this wrong be permitted, ejaculated Mara. Mrs. Rock, I will not go unless absolutely forced to do so by a decree of the court. I shall get Dr. Williams to make an appeal for me to the orphan's court, said Clara, by way of encouraging her friend. My dear Miss Day, that I hope will not be required. Colonel Lenore acts under a misapprehension of the circumstances. We must enter into more explanations with him. In the meantime, my dear young lady, it is better that you should obey him for the present, at least so far as retiring from the room, said Dr. Williams. Clara immediately rose, and requesting Mrs. Rock to accompany her, withdrew from the library. Dr. Williams then said, I advised the retirement of the young lady, having a communication to make the hearing of which, in a mixed company, might have cost her an innocent blush. But first I would ask you, Colonel Lenore, what are those circumstances to which you allude which render Miss Day's residence here, in her patrimonial mansion, with her old and faithful friends, so improper, inquired Dr. Williams courteously? The growing intimacy, sir, between herself and a very objectionable party, this young man, Rock, replied Colonel Lenore. Ah! And is that all? It is enough, sir, said Colonel Lenore, loftily. Then suppose I should inform you, sir, that this young man, Dr. Rock, was brought up and educated at Dr. Day's cost, and under his own immediate eye. Then, sir, you would only inform me, that an eccentric gentleman of fortune had done, what eccentric gentleman of fortune will sometimes do, educate a popper. At this approbrious epithet, Travers, with a flushed face, started to his feet. Sit down, my boy, sit down, leave me to deal with this man, said Dr. Williams, forcing Travers back into his seat. Then turning to Colonel Lenore, he said, but suppose, sir, that such was the estimation in which Dr. Day held the moral and intellectual worth of his young protege, that he actually gave him his daughter. I cannot suppose an impossibility, Dr. Williams, replied Colonel Lenore, haughtily. Then, sir, I have the pleasure of startling you a little by a prodigy that you denominate an impossibility. Claire Day and Travers Strach were betrothed with full knowledge and cordial approbation of the young lady's father. Impossible! Preposterous! I shall countenance no such ridiculous absurdity, said Colonel Lenore, growing red in the face. Miss Day, Dr. Rock, Mrs. Rock, and myself are witnesses to that fact. The young lady and the young man are parties immediately concerned. They cannot be received as witnesses in their own case. Mrs. Rock is too much in their interest for her evidence to be taken. You, sir, I consider the dupe of these cunning conspirators. Father and son, replied Colonel Lenore, firmly. Tut! said Dr. Williams, almost out of patience. I do not depend upon the words of Miss Day and her friends, although I hold their veracity to be above question. I had Dr. Day's dying words to the same effect, and he mentioned the existing betrothal as the very reason why Claire should remain here in the care of her future mother-in-law. Then, sir, that the doctor should have spoken and acted thus as only another and a stronger reason for believing him to have been deranged in his last moments. You need give yourself no farther trouble. I shall act upon the authority of this instrument which I hold in my hand, replied Colonel Lenore, haughtily. Then as the depository of the dying man's last wishes, and as the next friend of his uninjured daughter, I shall make an appeal to the orphan's court, said Dr. Williams, coldly. You can do as you please about that, but in the meantime, acting upon the authority of the will, I shall tomorrow morning set out with my ward for my own home. There may be time to arrest that journey, said Dr. Williams, arising, and taking his hat to go. In the passage he met Mrs. Rock. Dear Dr. Williams, said Mrs. Rock earnestly, pray come up to poor Claire's room and speak to her, if you can possibly say anything to comfort her. She is weeping herself into a fit of illness at the bare thought of being, so soon after her dreadful bereavement, torn away from her home and friends. Tot-tot, no use in weeping. All will yet be right. You have persuaded that man to permit her to remain here then, said Mara, gladly. Persuaded him, no, nor even undertaken to do so. I never saw him before to-day, yet I would venture to say, from what I have now seen of him, that he was never persuaded by any agent except his own passions and interests, to any act whatever. No, I have endeavored to show him that we have law as well as justice on our side. But even now I am afraid I shall have to take the case before the orphans' court, before I can convince him. He purposes removing Clara to-morrow morning. I will endeavour to see the judge of the orphans' court tonight, take out a habeas corpus, ordering Lenore to bring his ward into court, and serve it on him as he passes through Stoughton on his way home. But is there no way of preventing him from taking Clara away from the house to-morrow morning? No good way. No, ma'am. It is best that all things should be done decently and in order. I advise you, as I shall also advise my young friends, Traverse and Clara, not to injure their own cause by unwise impatience or opposition. We should go before the orphans' court with the very best aspect. Come then, and talk to Clara. She has the most painful antipathy to the man who claims the custody of her person, as well as the most distressing reluctance to leave her dear home and friends. And all this, in addition to her recent heavy affliction, almost overwhelms the poor child, said Mrs. Rock, weeping. I will go at once and do what I can to soothe her, said Dr. Williams, following Mrs. Rock, who led him up to Clara's room. They found her prostrate upon her bed, crushed with grief. Come, come, my dear girl, this is too bad. It is not like the usual noble fortitude of our Clara, said the old man, kindly taking her hand. Oh, Doctor, forgive, forgive me, but my courage must have been very small, for I fear it is all gone. But then indeed everything comes on me at once. My dear, dear father's death, then the approaching departure and expected long absent of Travers. All that was grievous enough to bear, and now to be torn away from the home of my childhood, and from the friend that has always been a mother to me, and by a man from whom every true good instinct of my nature teaches me to shrink. I, who have always had full liberty in the house of my dear father, to be forced away against my will by this man, is if I were his slave, exclaimed Clara, bursting into fresh tears of indignation and grief. Clara, my dear, dear girl, this impatience and rebellion is so unlike your gentle nature that I can scarcely recognize you for the mild and dignified daughter of my old friend. Clara, if the saints in heaven could grieve at anything, I should think your dear father would be grieved to see you thus, said the old man in gentle rebuke, that immediately took effect upon the meek and conscientious maiden. Oh, I feel, I feel that I am doing very wrong, but I cannot help it. I scarcely know myself in this agony of mingled grief, indignation and terror. Yes, terror, for every instinct of my nature, teaches me to distrust and fear that man, in whom my father must have been greatly deceived, before he could have entrusted him with the guardianship of his only child. I think that quite likely, said the old man. Yet my dear, even in respect to your dear father's memory, you must try to bear this trial patiently. Oh, yes, I know I must. Dear father, if you can look down and see me now, forgive your poor Clara, her anger and her impatience. She will try to be worthy of the rearing you have given her, and to bear even this great trial, with the spirit worthy of your daughter, said Clara, within her own heart. Then speaking up, she said, you shall have no more reason to reprove me, Dr. Williams. That is my brave girl, that is my dear Clara Day. And now, when your guardian directs you to prepare yourself for your journey, obey him, go with him without making any objection. I purpose to arrest your journey at Stoughton, with a habeas corpus, that he dare not resist, and which shall compel him to bring you into the orphan's court. There our side shall be heard, and the decision will rest with the judge. And all will be well, oh, say that, sir, to give me the courage to act with becoming docility, pleaded Clara. I have not a doubt in this world that it will be all right, for however Colonel Lenore may choose to disregard the last wishes of your father, as attested by myself and Young Rock, I have not the least idea that the judge will pass them over. On the contrary, I feel persuaded that he will confirm them by sending you back here to your beloved home. Oh, may heaven grant us, said Clara, you do indeed give me new life. Yes, yes, be cheerful, my dear, trust in providence, and expect nothing short of the best. And now I dare not tarry longer with you, for I must see the judge at his house this night. Goodbye, my dear. Keep up a good heart, said the old man cheerfully, pressing her hand and taking his leave. Mrs. Rock accompanied him to the hall door. My dear madam, keep up your spirits also for the sake of your young charge. Make her go to bed early. Tomorrow, when she thinks she is about to be torn from you forever, remind her in her ear that I shall meet the carriage at Stoughton with the power that shall turn the horse's heads. And so, saying, the worthy old gentleman departed. As Mara Rock looked after him, she also saw with alarm that Colonel Lenore had mounted his horse and galloped off in the direction of Stoughton, as if impelled by the most urgent haste. She returned to the bedside of Clara and left her no more that night. As the Colonel did not return to supper, they, the family party, had their tea in Clara's room. Late at night Mrs. Rock heard Colonel Lenore come into the house and enter his chamber. Poor Clara slept no more that night. Anxiety, despite all of her efforts, kept her wide awake. Yet though anxious and wakeful, yet by prayer and endeavor, she had brought her mind into a patient and submissive move. So that when a servant knocked at her door in the morning, with the message from Colonel Lenore that she should be ready to set forth immediately after breakfast, she replied that she should obey him, and without delay she arose and commenced her toilet. All the family met for the last time around the board. The party was constrained. The meal was a gloomy one. On rising from the table, Colonel Lenore informed his word that his traveling carriage was waiting and that her baggage was already on, and requested her to put on her bonnet and mantle, and take leave of her servants. Clara turned to obey. Traverse went to her side and whispered, Take courage, dear love. My horse is saddled. I shall ride in attendance upon the carriage, whether that man likes it or not, nor lose sight of you for one moment, until we meet Williams with his habeas corpus. Nor even then, dear Traverse, nor even then, you will attend to me to the court and be ready to take me back to this dear, dear home, murmured Clara in reply. Yes, yes, dear girl, there be cheerful, whispered the young man, as he pressed her hand and released it. Colonel Lenore had been a silent but frowning spectator of this little scene, and now that Clara was leaving the room, attended by Mrs. Rock, he called the latter back, saying, You will be so kind as to stop here a moment, Mrs. Rock, and you also, young man. The mother and son paused to hear what he should have to say. I believe it is the custom here in discharging domestics to give a month's mourning, or in lieu of that, to pay a month's wages in advance. Their woman is the money. You will oblige me by leaving the house to-day, together with your son, and all your other trumpery, as the premises are put in charge of an agent, who will be here this afternoon, clothed with authority to eject all loiterers and intruders. While the Colonel spoke, Mara Rock gazed at him in a panic, from which she seemed unable to rouse herself. Until Traverse gravely took her hand, saying, My dear mother, let me conduct you from the presence of this man, who does not know how to behave himself toward woman. Leave me to talk with him. And do you, dear mother, go to Miss Day, who I know is waiting for you. Mara Rock mechanically complied and allowed Traverse to lead her from the room. When he returned, he went up to Colonel Lenore, and standing before him, and looking him full and sternly in the face, said as sternly, Colonel Lenore, my mother will remain here and abide the decision of the orphan's court. Until that has been pronounced, she does not stir at your or any man's morning. Villain out of my way, sneered Lenore, endeavoring to pass him. Traverse prevented him, saying, Sir, in consideration of your age, which should be venerable, your position which should prove you honorable, and of the sacred house of mourning in which you stand, I have endeavored to meet all the insults you have offered me with forbearance, but, sir, I am here to defend my mother's rights and to protect her from insult, and I tell you plainly that you have affronted her for the very last time. One more word or look of insult, leveled at Mara Rock, and neither your age, position, nor the sacred roof, shall protect you from personal chastisement at the hands of her son. Lenore, who had listened in angry scorn, with many an ejaculation of contempt, not at the conclusion which so gelled his pride, broke out furiously, with, Sir, you are a bully, if you were a gentleman I would call you out. And I should not come out if you did, sir, dueling its un-Christian, barbarous, and abominable in the sight of God and all good men. For the rest you may call me anything you please, but do not again insult my mother, for if you do I shall hold it a Christian duty to teach you better manners, said Traverse, coolly taking his hat and walking from the room. He mounted his horse, and stood ready to attend Clara to Stoughton. Colonel Lenore ground his teeth in impotent rage, muttering, take care, young man, I shall live to be revenged upon you yet for these affronts. And his dastard heart burned with the fiercer malignity that he had not dared to meet the eagle eye, or encounter the strong arm of the upright and stalbert young man. Nashing his teeth with ill-suppressed fury, he strode into the hall, just as Mrs. Rock and Clara, in her travelling dress, descended the stairs. Clara threw her arms around Mrs. Rock's neck, and weeping said, Good-bye, dear best friend, good-bye, heaven grant it may not be for long. Oh, pray for me, that I may be sent back to you. May the Lord have you in His holy keeping my child. I shall pray until I hear from you, said Mara, kissing and releasing her. Colonel Lenore then took her by the hand, led her out, and put her into the carriage. Just before entering Clara had turned to take a last look at her old home. All friends and servants noticed the sorrowful, anxious, almost despairing look of her pale face, which seemed to ask, Ah, shall I ever, ever return to you, dear old home, and dear familiar friends? In another instant she had disappeared within the carriage, which immediately rolled off. As the carriage was heavily laden, and the road was in a very bad condition, it was a full hour before they reached the town of Stoughton. As the carriage drew up for a few moments before the door of the principal hotel, and Colonel Lenore was in the act of stepping out. A sheriff's officer, accompanied by Dr. Williams, approached and served the Colonel a writ of habeas corpus, commanding him to bring his ward, Clara Day, into court. Colonel Lenore left scornfully, saying, And do you imagine this will serve your purposes? Ha, ha! The most that it can do will be to delay my journey for a few hours until the decision of the judge, which will only serve to confirm my authority beyond all future possibility of questioning. We will see to that, said Dr. Williams. Drive to the courthouse, ordered Colonel Lenore. And the carriage, attended by Traverse Rock, Dr. Williams, and the sheriff's officer, each on horseback, drove thither. And now, reader, I will not trouble you with the detailed account of this trial. Clara, clothed in deep mourning, and looking pale and terrified, was led into the courtroom on the arm of her guardian. She was followed closely by her friends, Traverse Rock and Dr. William, each of whom whispered encouraging words to the orphan. As the court had no pressing business on its hands, the case was immediately taken up. The will was read and attested by the attorney, who had drawn it up, and the witnesses who had signed it. Then the evidence of Dr. Williams and Dr. Rock was taken concerning the last verbal instructions of the deceased. The case occupied about three hours, at the end of which the judge gave a decision in favor of Colonel Lenore. This judgment carried consternation to the heart of Clara and of all her friends. Clara herself sank fainting into the arms of her old friend, the venerable Dr. Williams. Traverse and bitterness of spirit approached and bent over her. Colonel Lenore spoke to the judge. I deeply thank your honor for the prompt hearing and equally prompt decision of this case. And I will beg your honor to order the sheriff and his officers to see your judgment carried into effect, as I foresee violent opposition, and wish to prevent trouble. Certainly, Mr. Sheriff, you will see that Colonel Lenore is put in possession of his word, and protected in that right until he shall have placed her in security, said the judge. Clara, on hearing these words, lifted her voice from the old man's bosom, nerfed her gentle heart, and in a clear, sweet, steady voice said, It is needless precaution, your honor. My friends are no lawbreakers. And since the court has given me into the custody of my guardian, I do not dispute its judgment. I yield myself up to Colonel Lenore. You do well, young lady, said the judge. I am pleased, Miss Day, to see that you understand and perform your duty. Believe me, I shall do all that I can to make you happy, said Colonel Lenore. Clara replied by a gentle nod, and then, with a slight blush mantling her pure cheeks, she advanced a step and placed herself immediately in front of the judge, saying, But there is a word that I would speak to your honor. Say on, young lady, said the judge. And as she stood there in her deep morning dress, with her fair hair unbound and floating softly around her pale, sweet face, every eye in that court was spellbound by her almost unearthly beauty. Before proceeding with what she was about to say, she turned upon Traverse a look that brought him immediately to her side. Your honor, she began, in a low, sweet, clear tone. I owe it to Dr. Rock here present, who has been sadly misrepresented to you. To say, while under less serious circumstances my girl's heart would shrink from avowing so publicly, that I am his betrothed wife, sacredly betrothed to him by almost the last act of my dear father's life, I hold this engagement to be so holy, that no earthly tribunal can break or disturb it. And while I bent to your honor's decision, and yield myself to the custody of my legal guardian for the period of my minority, I here declare to all who may be interested that I hold my hand in my heart irrevocably pledged to Dr. Rock, and that as his betrothed wife I shall consider myself bound to correspond with him regularly, and to receive him as often as he shall seek my society, until my majority, when I and all that I possess will become his own. And these words I force myself to speak, your honor, both in justice to my dear lost father, and his friend, Traverse Rock, and also to myself, that hereafter no one may venture to accuse me of clandestine proceedings, or distort my actions into improprieties, or in any manner cull and question the conduct of my father's daughter, and with another gentle bow Clara retired to the side of her old friend. You are likely to have a troublesome charge in your ward, said the sheriff, apart to the colonel, who shrugged his shoulders by way of reply. The heart of Traverse was torn by many conflicting passions, emotions, and impulses. There was indignation at the decision of the court, grief for the loss of Clara, and dread for her future. One instant he felt a temptation to denounce the guardian as a villain, and to charge the judge with being a corrupt politician, whose decisions were swayed by party interests. The next moment he felt an impulse to catch Clara up in his arms, fight his way through the crowd, and carry her off. But all these wild emotions, passions, and impulses he succeeded in controlling. Too well he knew that to rage due violence, or commit extravagance as he might, the law would take its course all the same. While his heart was torn in this manner, Colonel Lenore was urging the departure of his ward. Then Clara came to her lover side, and said, gravely and sweetly, The law you see has decided against us, dear Traverse. Let us bend gracefully to a decree that we cannot annul. It cannot at least alter our sacred relations, nor can anything on earth shake our steadfast love in each other. Let us take comfort in that, and in the thought that the years will surely roll round at length, and bring the time that shall reunite us. Oh, my angel girl, my angel girl, your patient heroism puts me to the blush, for my heart is crushed in my bosom, and my firmness quite gone, said Traverse, in a broken voice. You will gain firmness, dear Traverse. Patient, I patient, you should have heard me last night. I was so impatient that Dr. Williams had to lecture me. But it would be strange if one did not learn something by suffering. I have been trying all night and day to school my heart to submission, and I hope I have succeeded, Traverse. Bless me, and bid me good-bye. The Lord for ever bless and keep you, my own dear angel Clara, burst from the lips of Traverse. The Lord abundantly bless you. And you, said Clara, good-bye, good-bye, good-bye, and thus they parted. Clara was hurried away and put into the carriage by her guardian. No one but the Lord knew how much it had cost that poor girl to maintain her fortitude during that trying scene. She had controlled herself for the sake of her friends. But now, when she found herself in the carriage, her long-stranged nerves gave way. She sank exhausted and prostrate into the corner of her seat, in the utter collapse of woe. But leaving the travelers to pursue their journey, we must go back to Traverse. Almost broken-hearted, Traverse returned to Willow Heights to convey the sad tidings of his disappointment to his mother's ear. Mara Rock was so overwhelmed with grief at the news that she was for several hours incapable of action. The arrival of the house agent was the first event that recalled her to her senses. She aroused herself to action, and assisted by Traverse, set to work to pack up her own and his wardrobe and other personal effects. And the next morning Mara Rock was re-established in her cottage. And the next week, having equally divided their little capital, the mother and son parted, Traverse by her expressed desire keeping to his original plan, set out for the far west. End of CHAPTER XXXII The crimson that suffused his face to deepest purple now gave place. Who can describe the frenzy of old hurricane upon discovering the fraud that had been practiced upon him by Black Donald? It was told him the next morning in his tent, at his breakfast table, in the presence of his assembled family, by the reverend Mr. Goodwin. Upon first hearing it, he was incapable of anything but blank staring, until it seemed as though his eyes must start from their sockets. Then his passion, not loud but deep, found utterance only in emphatic thumbs of his walking stick upon the ground. Then as the huge emotion worked upward, it broke out in grunts, groans, and inarticula exclamations. Finally it burst forth as follows. Ugg, ugg, ugg, fool, dolt, blackhead, brute that I've been, I wish somebody would punch my wooden head. I didn't think the demon himself could have deceived me so. Ugg, nobody but the demon could have done it, and he is the very demon himself. He does not disguise, he transforms himself. Ugg, ugg, ugg, that I should have been such a donkey. Sir, compose yourself. We are all liable to suffer deception, said Mr. Goodwin. Sir, broke forth old hurricane in fury. That wretched Ian at my table. Has drunk wine with me. Has slept in my bed. Ugg, ugg, ugg. Believing him to be what he seemed, sir, you extended to him the rites of hospitality. You have nothing to blame yourself with. Demi, sir, I did more than that. I've coddled him up with neguses. I've pampered him up with posits, and put him to sleep in my own bed. Yes, sir, and more. Look there at Mrs. Condiment, sir. The way in which she worshipped that villain was a sight to behold, said old hurricane, jumping up and stamping around the tent in fury. Oh, Mr. Goodwin, sir, how could I help it when I thought he was such a precious saint, whimpered the old lady. Yes, sir, when his reverence would be tired with delivering a long winded midday discourse, Mrs. Condiment, sir, would take him into her own tent, make him lie down on her own sacred cot, and set my niece to bathe in his head with cologne, and her maid to fanning him, while she herself prepared an iced sherry cobbler for his reverence. Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Mrs. Condiment, mum? That old hurricane, suddenly stopping before the old woman, in angry scorn. Indeed, I'm sure if I'd known it was Black Donald, I'd no more have suffered him inside of my tent than I would Satan. Demi, mum, you had Satan there as well. Who but Satan could have tempted you all to disregard me, your lawful lord and master, as you every one of you did for that wretched sake? Hang it, parson, I wasn't the master of my own house, nor head of my own family. Precious Father Gray was. Black Donald was. Oh, you shall hear, cried old hurricane, in a frenzy. Pray, sir, be patient, and do not blame the woman for being no wiser than you were yourself, said Mr. Goodwin. Ta, ta, ta! One act of folly is a contingency to which any man may for once in his life be liable. But folly is the woman's normal condition. You shall hear, you shall hear. Hang it, sir, everybody had to give way to Father Gray. Everything was for Father Gray. It was Father Gray, excellent Father Gray, saintly Father Gray. It was Father Gray here and Father Gray there, and Father Gray everywhere and always. He ate with us all day, and slept with us all night. The coolest ca in the driest nook of the tent at night, the shadiest sea at the table by day, were always for his reverence. The nicest titbits of the choicest dishes, the middle slices of the fish, the breast of the young ducks, and the wings of the chickens, the meeliest potatoes, the juiciest tomatoes, the tenderest roasting-ear, the most delicate custard, and freshest fruit always for his reverence. I had to put up with the necks of poultry and the tails of fishes, watery potatoes, specked apples, and scorched custards, and if I dared to touch anything better before his precious reverence had eaten and was filled, Mrs. Condiment, there, would look as sour as if she had bitten an unripe lemon, the cap would tread on my gouty toe. Mrs. Condiment, mum, I don't know how you can look me in the face at Old Hurricane Savagely. A very unnecessary reproach, since poor Mrs. Condiment had not ventured to look anyone in the face since the discovery of the fraud of which she, as well as others, had been an innocent victim. Come, come, my dear major, there is no harm done to you or your family. Therefore, take patience, said Mr. Goodwin. Demme, sir, I beg you pardon, parson, I won't take patience. You don't know. Hang it, man, at last they got me to give up one half of my own blessed bed to his precious reverence, the best half which the fellow always took right out of the middle, leaving me to sleep on both sides of him, if I could. Think of it. Me, Ira Warfield, sleeping between the sheets, night after night, with black Donald, ugg, ugg, ugg, oh, for some lethian draught that I might drink and forget. Sir, I won't be patient. Patience would be a sin. Mrs. Condiment mum, I desire that you will send in your account and supply yourself with a new situation. You and I cannot agree any longer. You'll be putting me to bed with Beeslebub next, exclaimed old hurricane, beside himself with indignation. Mrs. Condiment sighed and wiped her eyes under her spectacles. The worthy minister, now seriously alarmed, came to him and said, My dear, dear major, do not be unjust. Consider. She is an old, faithful domestic, who has been in your service forty years, whom you could not live without. I say under advisement, whom you could not live without. Hang it, sir, nor live with. Think of her helping to free the prisoners, actually taking black Donald, precious Father Gray, into their cell and leaving them together to hatch their, beg your pardon, horrid plots. Hang it, sir, instead of punishing the innocent victim of his deception, let us be merciful and thank the Lord, that since those men were delivered from prison they were freed without bloodshed, for remember that neither the warden, nor any of his men, nor anyone else, has been personally injured. Hang it, sir, I wish they had cut all our throats to teach us more discretion, broke forth old hurricane. I am afraid that the lesson so taught would have come too late to be useful, smiled the pastor. Well, it hasn't come too late now, Mrs. Condiment, mom, mind what I tell you. As soon as we return to Hurricane Hall, send in your accounts and seek a new home. I am not going to suffer myself to be said it not any longer, exclaimed old hurricane, bringing down his cane with an emphatic thump. The sorely troubled minister was again about to interfere. When, as the worm if trodden upon will turn, Mrs. Condiment herself spoke up, saying, Lord Major Warfield, sir, there were others to be saved besides me, and as for myself, I never can think of the risk I've run without growing cold all over. Serves you right, mom, for your officiousness and obsequiousness, and toadying too. Precious Mr. Gray, serves you doubly right for famishing me at my own table. Uncle, said Capitola, honor bright, fair play as a jewel. If you and I, who have seen Black Donald before, fail to recognize that stalwart athlete and a seemingly old and sickly man, how could you expect Mrs. Condiment to do so, who never saw him but once in her life, and then was so much frightened that she instantly fainted? Pa, pa, pa. Cap Hush, you, all of you, disgust me, except Black Donald. I begin to respect him, confound if I don't take in all the offers I've made for his apprehension, and at the very next convention of our party I'll nominate him to represent us in the National Congress. For of all the fools that I ever have met in my life, the people of this county are the greatest, and fools should at least be represented by one clever man, and Black Donald is the very fellow. He's decidedly the ablest man in this congressional district. Accept yourself, dear uncle, said Capitola. Accept nobody, Miss impudence, least of all me. The experience of the last week has convinced me that I ought to have a cap and bells awarded me by public acclamation, said old Hurricane, stamping about in a fury. The good minister, finding that he could make no sort of impression upon the irate old man, soon took his leave, telling Mrs. Condiment that if he could be of any service to her in her trouble, she must be sure to let him know. At this, Capitola and Mrs. Condiment exchanged looks, and the old lady, thanking him for his kindness, said that if it should become necessary, she should gratefully avail herself of it. The day the camp meeting broke up. Major Warfield struck tense, and with his family and baggage returned to Hurricane Hall. On their arrival, each member of the party went about his or her own particular business. Capitola hurried to her own room to take off her bonnet and shawl. Pit-a-pat, before attending her young mistress, lingered below to astonish the housemaids with accounts of Brack Donald, dress up like an old person, and see even everybody, even old Mars. Mrs. Condiment went to her storeroom to inspect the condition of her newly put up preserves and pickles, lest any of them should have worked during her absence. And old Hurricane, attended by Wool, walked down to his kennels and his stables to look after the well-being of his favorite hounds and horses. It was while going through this interesting investigation that Major Warfield was informed, principally by overhearing the gossip of the grooms with Wool, of the appearance of a new inmate of the hidden house, a young girl who, according to their description, must have been the very pearl of beauty. Old Hurricane pricked up his ears. Anything relating to the hidden house possessed immense interest for him. "'Who is she, John?' he inquired of the groom. "'Deed, I don't know, sir. Only they say she's a bootiful young creature, fair as any lily, and dressed in deep mourning.' "'Humpf, humpf, humpf! Another victim! Ten thousand chances to one another victim! Who told you this, John?' "'Why, Mars, you see Tom Griffith, the Reverend Mr. Goodwin's man, he's very thick long of Davy Hughes, Colonel Lenore's coachman. And Davy he told Tom how one day last month his Mars ordered the carriage and went to her three days' journey up the country beyond Stoughton. There he stayed a week and then came home, fetching along with him in the carriage this lovely young lady, who is dressed in the deepest mourning, and wept all the way. They specs how she's an orphan, and has lost all her friends, by the way she takes on. Another victim! My life on it! Another victim! Poor child! She had better be dead than in the power of that atrocious villain and consummate hypocrite, said Old Hurricane, passing on to the examination of his favorite horses, one of which, the swiftest in the stud, he found galed on the shoulders, whereupon he flew into a towering passion, abusing his unfortunate groom by every appropriate epithet blind fury could suggest, ordering him, as he valued whole bones, to vacate the stable instantly, and never dared to set foot on his premises again as he valued his life, and order which the man meekly accepted, and immediately disobeyed, muttered to himself. Humpf! If we took Old Mars at his word, there'd never be a man or omen left on the state, knowing full well that his tempetuous old master would probably forget all about it, as soon as he got comfortably seated at the supper table of Hurricane Hall, toward which the old man now trotted off. Not a word did Major Warfield say at supper in regard to the new inmate of the hidden house, for he had particular reasons for keeping Cap in ignorance of a neighbor, lest she should insist upon exchanging visits and being sociable. But it was destined that Capitola should not remain a day in ignorance of the interesting fact. That night when she retired to her chamber, Pit-a-Pat lingered behind, but presently appeared at her young mistress's room door, with a large waiter on her head, laden with meat, pastry, jelly, and fruit, which she brought in, and placed upon the workstand. Why, what on the face of earth do you mean by bringing all that load of victuals into my room tonight? Do you think I am an ostrich or a coromant, or that I am going to entertain a party of friends, as Capitola, in astonishment, turning from the wash stand, where she stood bathing her face? Deed, I'd a no-miss, whether use an ostracen or not, but I know I don't tend for to be abused any more about widdles, after finding out how cross-empty people can be. Darda is, you can eat them or leave them alone, Miss Caterpillar, said little Pit-a-Pat, firmly. Capitola laughed. Patti, she said, you are worthy to be called my waiting-maid. And Lors knows, Miss Caterpillar, if it was de-widdles you was a fret and ardor, you ought to have told me before. Lors knows there's widdles enough. Yes, I much obliged you, Patti, but now I am not hungry, and I do not like the smell of food in my bedroom. So take the waiter out, and set it on the passage-table until morning. Patti obeyed, and came back smiling, and sang, Miss Caterpillar, has you heard any news? What news, Patti? How us has got a new neighbor, a bootiful young gal, as bootiful as a pitcher in a gill-edged Christmas book, with a snowy skin, and sky-blue eyes, and glistenin' goldy hair, like the princess you was a-readin' me about, all in deep mornin' and a weepin' and a weepin', all alone down there in that wicked, lonesome, unlawful, old-haunted place, the hidden house, a long- of old Colonel Lenore, an old, dorky night, and the ghost as draws people's curtains of a night, just for all the world like that same princess in the Ogre's Castle. What on earth is all this rigamole roll about? Are you dreaming or romancing? I'm a-tellin' on you, de-brested truth, there's a young lady a-livin' at the hidden house. Eh? is that really true, Patty? True is preaching, Miss. Then I'm very glad of it. I shall certainly ride over and call on the stranger, said Capitola Gailey. Oh, Miss Cap! Oh, Miss, don't you do no such thing! Oh, Mars kill me! I heard him tre-in' all de-men and maids, how if they tell'd you anything about de-new neighbor, how he'd skinned them alive. Won't he skin you, est Cap? No, Miss, not lest you form again me, case he didn't tell me not to tell you, case you see he didn't think how I'd know'd. But least ways. I know from what I heard. Old Mars wouldn't have you to know nothing about it. No, not for de-whole whirl. He does not want me to call at the hidden house. That's it. Now why doesn't he wish me to call there? I shall have to go in order to find out. And so I will, thought Cap. End of CHAPTER 32 CHAPTER 33 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 33, CAP'S VISIT TO THE HIDDEN HOUSE. And such a night she took the road in, as near-poor center was abroad in. The wind blew as twad-blown its last. The rattling showers rose on the blast. The speedy gleams the darkness swallowed, loud, deep and long the thunder bellowed. That night a child might understand. The dell had business on his hand. BURNS A week passed before Capitola carried her resolution of calling upon the inmate of the Hidden House into effect. It was, in fact, a hot, dry, oppressive season, the last few days of August, when all people, even the restless Capitola, preferred the coolness and repose of indoors. But that she should stay at home more than a week was a moral and physical impossibility. So on Thursday afternoon, when Major Warfield set out on horseback to visit his mill, Capitola ordered her horse settled, and brought up, that she might take an afternoon's ride. Now please, my dear child, don't go far, said Mrs. Condiment. For besides that your uncle does not approve of your riding alone, you must hurry back to avoid the storm. Storm, Mrs. Condiment, why bless your dear old heart, there has not been a storm these four weeks, said Capitola, almost indignant that such an absurd objection to a long ride should be raised. The more reason, my child, that we should have a very severe one when it does come, and I think it will be upon us before sunset, so I advise you to hurry home. Why, Mrs. Condiment, there is not a cloud in the sky. So much the worse, my dear, the blackest cloud that ever gathered is not so ominous of mischief as this dull, coppery sky and still atmosphere, and a forty years observation of weather signs goes for anything. I tell you that we are going to have the awfulest storm that ever gathered in the heaven. Why look out of that window, the very birds and beasts know it, and instinctively seek shelter. Look at that flock of crows flying home. See how the dumb beasts come trooping toward their sheds. Capitola you had better give up going altogether, my dear. There I thought all this talk tended to keeping me within doors, but I can't stay, Mrs. Condiment. Good Mrs. Condiment, I can't. My dear, if you should be caught out in the storm. Why, I don't know, but I should like it. What harm could it do? I'm not soluble in water. Rain won't melt me away. I think upon the whole I rather prefer being caught in the storm, said Cap, perversely. Well, well, there is no need of that. You may ride as far as the river's bank and back again in time to escape, if you choose, said Mrs. Condiment, who saw that her troublesome charge was bent upon the frolic. And Cap, seeing her horse approach, led by one of the grooms, ran upstairs, donned her riding-habit, hat, and gloves, ran down again, sprang into her saddle, and was off, galloping away toward the river before Mrs. Condiment could add another word of warning. She had been gone about an hour, when the sky suddenly darkened, the wind rose, and the thunder rolled and prelude to the storm. Major Warfield came scurrying home from the mill, grasping his bridle with one hand and holding his hat with the other. Getting poor old Easy in the shrubbery he stormed out upon him with, What are you lounging there for, you old idiot? You old sky-gazing lunatic? Don't you see that we are going to have an awful blow? Be gone with you, and see that the cattle are all under shelter. Off I say, or—he rode toward Bill Easy, but the old man exclaiming, Yes sir, yes sir, and course sir, ducked his head and ran off in good time. Major Warfield quickened his horse's steps and rode to the house, and mounted and threw the reins to the stable-boy, exclaiming, My beast is dripping with perspiration. Rub him down well, you nave, or I'll impale you. Striding into the hall, he threw down his riding-whip, pulled off his gloves, and called, Wool, Wool, you scoundrel, close every door and window in the house, Call all the servants together in the dining-room. We're going to have one of the worst tempests that ever raised. Wool flew to do his bidding. Mrs. Condiment, mum, said the old man, striding into the sitting-room. Mrs. Condiment, mum, tell Mrs. Black to come down from her room until the storm is over. The upper chambers of this old house are not safe in a tempest. Well, mum, why don't you go, or send to Pitipat? Major Warfield, sir, I'm very sorry, but Mrs. Black has not come in yet, said Mrs. Condiment, who for the last half-hour had suffered extreme anxiety upon account of Capitola. Not come in yet? Demi, mum, do you tell me she has gone out? cried old Hurricane, in a voice of thunder, gathering his brows into a dark frown, and striking his cane angrily upon the floor. Yes, sir, I am sorry to say she wrought out about an hour ago, and has not returned, said Mrs. Condiment, summoning all her firmness to me old Hurricane's roused wrath. Ma'am, you venture to stand there before my face, and tell me composably that you permitted Mrs. Black to go off alone in the face of such a storm as this, word old Hurricane. Sir, I could not help it, said the old lady. Demi, mum, you should have helped it. A woman of your age, do you stand there, and tell me that she could not prevent a young creature like Capitola from going out alone in the storm? Major Warfield, could you have done it? Me? Demi, I should think so, but that is not the question. You? He was interrupted by a blinding flash of lightning, followed immediately by an awful peel of thunder, and a sudden fall of rain. Old Hurricane sprang up as though he had been shot off his chair, and trotted up and down the floor, exclaiming, and she, she out in all the storm, Mrs. Condiment, mum, you deserve to be ducked. Yes, mum, you do. Wool, wool, you diabolical villain. Yes, Mars, yes, sir, here I is, exclaimed that officer, intrepidation, as he appeared in the doorway. The windows and doors, sir, is all fast and close, and the maids are all in the dining-room, as you ordered, and hang the maids in the doors and the windows too, who the demon cares about them? How dared you, you knave, permit your young mistress to ride, unattended, in the face of such a storm, too? Why didn't you go with her, sir? Deed, Mars, don't deed, Mars, me, you atrocious villain. Saddle a horse quickly, inquire which road your mistress took, and follow, and attend her home safely, after which I intend to break every bone in your skin, Sura, so, again, he was interrupted by a dazzling flash of lightning, accompanied by a deafening roll of thunder, and followed by a flood of rain. Wool stood up hailed at the prospect of turning out in such a storm, upon such a fruitless errand. Oh, you may stare and roll up your eyes, but I mean it, you varlet, so be off with you. Go, I don't care if you should be drowned in the rain, or blown off the horse, or struck by lightning, I hope you may be, you knave, and I shall be rid of one villain. Off you, varlet, or old hurricane lifted a bronze statuette to hurl at Wool's delinquent head, but that functionary dodged, and ran out in time to escape a blow that might have put a period to his mortal career. But let no one suppose the honest Wool took the road that night, he simply ran downstairs, and hid himself comfortably in the lowest regions of the house, there to tarry until the storms, social and atmospheric, should be over. Meanwhile the night deepened, the storm raged without, and old hurricane raged within, the lightning flashed, blaze upon blaze, with blinding glare. The thunder broke, crash upon crash, with deafening roar. The wind gathering all its force, cannonated the old walls, as though it would batter down the house. The rain fell and floods. In the midst of all the demon's run, swollen to a torrent, was heard like the voice of a roaring lion, seeking whom he might devour. Old hurricane strode up and down the floor, groaning, swearing, threatening, and at each fresh blast of the storm without, breaking forth into fury. Mrs. Condiment sat crouched in a corner, praying fervently every time the lightning blazed into the room, longing to go and join the men and maids in the next apartment, yet fearful to stir from her seat, lest she should attract old hurricane's attention, and draw down upon herself the more terrible thunder and lightning of his wrath. But to escape old hurricane's violence was not in the power of mortal man or woman. Soon her very stillness exasperated him, and he broke forth upon her with, Mrs. Condiment, Mum, I don't know how you can bear to sit there so quietly and listen to the storm, knowing that the poor child is exposed to it. Major Warfield, would it do any good for me to jump up and draw up and down the floor, and go on as you do, even supposing I had the strength? inquired the meek old lady, thoroughly provoked at his injustice. I'd like to see you show a little more feeling. You are a perfect barbarian. Oh, Cap, my darling, where are you now? Heaven's what a bless that was. Enough to shake the house about our ears. I wish it would. Blamed if I don't. Oh, Major, Major, don't say such awful things, nor make such awful wishes, said the appalled old lady. You don't know what you might bring down upon us. No, nor care. If the old house should tumble in, it would bury under its ruins a precious lot of good-for-nothing people, unfit to live. Heaven's what a flash of lightning. Oh, Cap, Cap, my darling, where are you in the storm? Mrs. Condiment, Mum, if any harm comes to Capitola this night, I'll have you indicted for manslaughter. Major Warfield, if it is all on Miss Black's account that you are raving and raging so, I think it is quite vain of you. For any young woman caught out in a storm would know enough to get into shelter, especially would Miss Black, who is a young lady of great courage and presence of mind, as we know. She has surely gone into some house to remain until the storm is over, said Mrs. Condiment, soothingly. This speech, so well intended, exasperated, old hurricane more than all the rest. Stopping and striking his cane upon the floor, he roared forth, Hang it, Mum, hold your foolish old tongue. You know nothing about it. Capitola is exposed to more serious dangers than the elements. Perils of all sorts surround her. She should never, rain or shine, go out alone. Oh, the little villain, the little wretch, the little demon, if I ever get her safe in this house again, won't I lock her up and keep her on bread and water, until she learns to behave herself? Here again, of blinding flash of lightning, a deafening peel of thunder, a terrific blast of wind and flood of rain, suddenly arrested his speech. Oh, my cap, my dear cap, I needn't threaten you. I shall never have the chance to be cruel to you again. Never. You'll perish in this terrible storm. And then, and then my tough old heart will break. It will, it will, Cap. But Demi, before it does, I'll break the necks of every man and woman in this house, old and young. Here it heaven and earth, for I'll do it. All things must have an end. So as the hours passed on, the storm, having spent all of its fury, gradually grumbled itself into silence. Old Hurricane also raged himself into a state of exhaustion, so complete that when the midnight hour struck, he could only drop into a chair and murmur. Novel clock, and no news of her yet. And then unwillingly he went to bed, attended by Mrs. Condomin and Pitipat, instead of Wool, who was supposed to be out in search of Capitola, but who was in fact, fast asleep on the floor of a dry cellar. Meanwhile, where did this midnight hour find Capitola? End of Chapter 33 Chapter 34 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 34, The Hidden Hollow. On every side the aspect was the same, all ruined, desolate, forlorn and savage. No hand or foot within the precinct came, to rectify or ravage. Here Echo never mocked the human tongue. Some weighty crime that heaven could not pardon. A secret curse on that old building hung, and its deserted garden. Hoods Haunted House Cap was a bit of a Don Quixote. The stirring events of the last few months had spoiled her. The monotony of the last few weeks had bored her, and now she had just rode out in quest of adventures. The old Hidden House, with its mysterious traditions, its gloomy surroundings, and its haunted reputation, had always possessed a powerful attraction for one of Cap's adventurous spirit. To seek and gaze upon a somber house, of which, and of whose inmates such terrible stories had been told or hinted, had always been a secret desire and purpose of Capitola. And now the presence there of a beautiful girl near her own age was the one last item that tipped the balance, making the temptation to ride thither outweigh every other consideration of duty, prudence and safety, and having once started on the adventure, Cap felt the attraction drawing her toward the frightful hollow of the Hidden House, growing stronger with every step taken thither. She reached the banks of the demon's run, and took the left-hand road down the stream, until she reached the left point of the Horseshoe Mountain. And then going up around to the point, she kept close under the back of the range, until she had got immediately in the rear of the round bend of the Horseshoe, behind Hurricane Hall. Well, said Cap, as she drew rain here, and looked up at the lofty ascent of grey rocks that concealed Hurricane Hall. To have had to come such a circuit around the outside of the Horseshoe, to find myself just at the back of our old house, and no farther from home than this, there's as many doubles and twists in these mountains as there are in a lawyer's discourse. There, Jip, you needn't turn back again and pull at the bridle, to tell me that there is a storm coming up, and that you want to go home. I have no more respect for your opinion than I have for Mrs. Condiments. Besides, you carry a damsel-errant in quest of adventures, Jip, and so you must on, Jip, you must on, said Capitola, forcibly pulling her horses head around, and then taking a survey of the downward path. It was a scene fascinating from its very excess of gloom and terror. It was a valley so deep and dark as to merit the name of the hollow, or whole, but for its great extent, and its thick growth of forest, through which spectral-looking rocks gleamed, and moaning waters could be heard but not seen. Now, somewhere in that thick forest in the bottom of that vale stands the house, well called the Hidden House, since not a chimney of it can be seen from this commanding height. But I suppose this path that leads down into the valley may conduct me to the building. Come along, Jip, you needn't turn up your head and pull at the bed. You've got to go. I am bound this night to see the outside of the Hidden House, and the window of the haunted chamber, at the very least, said Cap, throwing her eyes up defiantly toward the darkening sky, and putting whip to her unwilling horse. Once the path wound down into the valley, the woods were found deeper, thicker, and darker. It occupied all Cap's faculties to push her way through the overhanging and intervacing branches of the trees. Good gracious, she said, as she used her left arm rather vigorously to push aside the obstructions to her path. One would think this were the enchanted forest containing the castle of the Sleeping Beauty, and I was the night destined to deliver her. I'm sure it wouldn't have been more difficult. All deeper fell the path, thicker grew the forest, and darker the way. Jip, I'm under the impression that we shall have to turn back, said Cap, dolefully stopping in the midst of a thicket so dense that it completely blockaded her further progress in the same direction. Just as she came to this very disagreeable conclusion, she spied an opening on her left, from which a bridal path struck out. With an exclamation of joy she immediately turned her horse's head and struck into it. This path was very rocky, but in some degree clearer than the other, and she went unquickly, singing to herself. Until gradually her voice began to be lost in the sound of many rushing waters. It must be the devil's punch-bowl, I am approaching, she said to herself, as she went on. She was right. The roaring of the waters grew deafening, and the path became so rugged, with jagged and irregularly piled rocks, that Cap could scarcely keep her horse upon his feet in climbing over them. And suddenly, when she least looked for it, the great natural curiosity, the devil's punch-bowl burst upon her view. It was an awful abyss, scooped out as it were from the very bowels of the earth, with its steep sides rent to open in dreadful chasms, and far down in its fearful depths a boiling whirlpool of black waters. Urging her reluctant steed through a thicket of stunted thorns and over a chaos of shattered rocks, Capitola approached as near as she safely could to the brink of this awful pit. So absorbed was she in gazing upon this terrible phenomenon of natural scenery that she had not noticed in the thicket on her right, a low hut that with its brown-green, moldering colors fell so naturally in with the hue of the surrounding scenery as to easily escape observation. She did not even observe that the sky was entirely overcast, and the thunder was muttering in the distance. She was aroused from her profound reverie by a voice near her asking, Who are you that dares to come without a guide to the devil's punch-bowl? Capitola looked around and came nearer screaming than she ever had been in her life upon seeing the apparition that stood before her. Was it man, woman, beast, or demon? She could not tell. It was a very tall, spare form, with a black petticoat tied around the waist, a blue coat buttoned over the breast, and a black felt hat tied down with a red handkerchief, shading the darkest old face she had ever seen in her life. Who are you, I say, who comes to the devil's punch-bowl without leave or license, repeated the frightful creature, shifting her cane from one hand to the other? I am Capitola Black from Hurricane Hall, but who, in the name of all the fates and furies, are you, inquired Capitola, who, in getting over the shock, had recovered her courage? I am Harriet the Cirrus of Hidden Hollow, replied the apparition, in a melodramatic manner, that would not have discredited the Queen of Tragedy herself. You have heard of me? Yes, but I always heard you called old hat, the witch, said Cap. The world is profane. Give me your hand, said the beldame, reaching out her own to take that of Capitola. Stop! Is your hand clean? It looks very black. Cleaner than yours will be when it is stained with blood, young maiden. Tut! If you insist on telling my fortune, tell me a pleasant one, and I will pay you double, laughed Cap. The fates are not to be mocked. Your destiny will be that which the stars decree. To prove you that I know this, I tell you that you are not what you have been. You have hit it this time, old lady, for I was a baby once, and now I am a young girl, said Cap, laughing. You will not continue to be that which you are now, pursued the hag, still attentively reading the lines of her subject's hand. Right again, for if I live long enough I shall be an old woman. You bear a name that you will not bear long. I think that quite a safe prophecy, as I haven't the most distant idea of being an old maid. This little hand of yours, this dainty woman's hand, will be red with blood. Now do you know I don't doubt that either. I believe it altogether probable that I shall have to cook my husband's dinner, and kill the chickens for his soup. Girl beware, you deride the holy stars, and already they are adverse to you, said the hag, with a threatening glare. Ha, ha! I love the beautiful stars, but did not fear them. I fear only him who made the stars. Poor butterfly, listen and beware! You were destined to imbrew that little hand in the life-current of one who loves you the most of all on earth. You were destined to rise by the destruction of one who had shed his heart's best blood for you, said the bell-dame, in an awful voice. Capitola's eyes flashed. She advanced her horse a step or two nearer the witch, and raised her riding whip, saying, I protest! If you were only a man, I should lay this slash over your wicked shoulders until my arms ached. How dare you! Faith! I don't wonder that in the honest old time such pests as you were cooled in the ducking-pond. Good gracious! That must have made a hissing and spluttering in the water, though. Blast, femur! Pay me and be gone. Pay you? I tell you I would if you were only a man. But it would be sinful to pay a wretched old witch in the only way you deserve to be paid, said Cap, flourishing her riding whip before a creature tall enough and strong enough to have doubled up her slight form together and hurled it into the abyss. Gold! Gold! said the hag, curtly, holding out black and talon-like fingers, which she worked convulsively. Gold! Gold, indeed, for such a wicked fortune! Not a penny, said Cap. Oh, you're stingy! You do not like to part with the yellow demon that has bought the souls of all your house. And I, you shall see. There, if you want gold, go fish it from the depth of the whirlpool, said Cap, taking her purse and casting it over the precipice. This exasperated the crone to frenzy. Away be gone! She cried, shaking her long arm at the girl. Away be gone! The fate pursues you. The badge of blood is stamped upon your palm. Fee-fah! Fawm! said Cap. Scorn her beware. The curse of the crimson hand is upon you. I smell the blood of an Englishman, continued Cap. The rider of the fates you are foredoomed to crime. Be he alive or be he dead, I'll have his brains to butter my bread, concluded Cap. Be silent, shrieked the bell-ding. I won't, said Cap. Because you see, if we are in for the horrible, I can beat you hollow at that. I'll vaunt and quit my sight. Let the earth hide thee, thy bones are merriless, thy blood is cold, thou hast no speculation in thy eyes, which thou dost glare with. Be gone! You're doomed, doomed, doomed, shrieked the witch, retreating into her hut. Cap laughed and stroked the neck of her whore, saying, Jip, my son, that was old Nick's wife, who was with us just this instant. And now indeed, Jip, if we are to see the hidden house this afternoon, we must get on. And so, saying, she followed the path that wound half way around the punch-bowl, and then along the side of a little mountain torrent called the spout, which rising in an opposite mountain, leaped from rock to rock, with many a sinuous turn, as it wound through the thicket that immediately surrounded the hidden house, until it finally jetted through a subterranean channel into the devil's punch-bowl. Capitola was now, unconsciously, upon the very spot, where seventeen years before the old nurse had been forcibly stopped and compelled to attend the unknown lady. As Capitola pursued the path that wound lower and lower into the dark valley, the gloom of the thicket deepened. Her thoughts ran on all the horrible traditions connected with the hidden house, and hallow, the murder and robbery of the poor peddler, the mysterious assassination of Eugene Lenore, the sudden disappearance of his youthful widow, the strange sights and sounds reported to be heard and seen about the mansion, the spectral light at the upper gavel window, the white form seen flitting through the chamber, the pale lady that in the dead of night drew the curtains of a guest that had once slept there. And above all Capitola thought of the beautiful strange girl, who was now an inmate of that sinful and accursed house. And while these thoughts absorbed her mind, suddenly, in a turning of the path, she came full upon the gloomy building.