University of Virginia Library

30. XXX.
THE ARREST.

ACROSS the prairie, sobbing mournfully now in the
chill, autumn wind—under the bare boughs of the
forest, studded here and there with evergreens,
which only looked more cheerless from the surrounding
desolation—through the sparkling waves of the
Shenandoah, and into the rugged defile of the Fort Mountain,
George passed at a rapid gallop, his eyes full of gloom,
and his brow contracted.

Lord Fairfax had informed him that on this day “Old
Powell,” as he was called, would be arrested on the charges
made against him by a justice named Hastyluck, and the
officials would probably go early.

George had received this information on the night before,
with utter horror and astonishment, and had besought Lord
Fairfax, if the charge were witchcraft, to dismiss it as absurd
and ridiculous. His lordship had replied coolly that
this was quite out of his power, even if consistent with his
convictions; all he could promise was, that no act of oppression
should be performed; and with this George was
compelled to be content.

He scarcely slept, and at daybreak was on his way to the
mountain.

Never moderating the speed of his horse, whose mouth
was filled with foam, he rapidly ascended the steep bridle-path
and reached the door of the little mansion.

The scene which greeted him made his cheek flush and
his eyes flash fire.

The officers of the law had already arrived, and placed the
old man under arrest. One of them was curiously examining
the strange coin which George had seen on a former occasion,
and which the man had picked up from among some
books on a table—the other was about to place upon the
wrists of old Powell a pair of iron hand-cuffs, in spite of the
tearful and trembling prayers of little Cannie, who had
clasped the arm of his shaggy overcoat, and begged him,
crying, not to use them.

George advanced quickly into the apartment, and confronting
the officer, said sternly:

“That is quite unnecessary, sir! Mr. Powell cannot escape
from you!'

The officer turned hastily, and said with an insolent
scowl:

“Who are you, pray?”

“My name is of no importance,” George returned, with
a hauteur in strong contrast to his democratic opinions; “it
is enough, sir, that I command you in the name of Lord
Fairfax to conduct the prisoner unfettered to Van Doring's
Ordinary.”

And putting his hand into his breast he extended toward
the person whom he addressed a slip of paper, upon which
was written:

George's foresight had led him to ask this favor of the
Earl, which had been readily granted—and the vulgar
official had no courage to resist. He scowled at the young
man, whose cold, fixed look cowed him in spite of himself,
and putting the hand-cuffs in his pocket, growled:

“Well it's nothing to me; and you, old fellow, just come

along with you? You'll have a hard time of it, cuffs or no
cuffs.”

“It'll be harder'n he thinks,” here put in the other worthy
with a sneer. “If I ain't mistaken, this is a counterfeit
—he's a coiner, as I've heard hinted.”

A flash darted from beneath the shaggy white brows of the
old man, and he reached forth to take the coin from the
hands of the speaker. But the hand fell at his side. An
expression of scorn which might have become a royal prince,
passed over his features, and he turned away.

“Mr. George,” he said, bowing with courtly gravity to the
young man, “I need not say that I thank you from my heart
for this kind and thoughtful action. Of the result of this
foolish business I have no manner of fear. I commit my
child to you, in my absence—it is enough, to so honest a
gentleman.”

Then adding calmly to the officials, who were evidently
impressed in spite of themselves, by the dignity and coolness
of his bearing,—“I will be ready in a few moments to attend
you,”—the old man entered the inner apartment. He soon
returned wrapped in a comfortable overcoat, which reached
beneath the knee, and issuing forth, mounted the spare
horse which had been brought for him. How those intelligent
gentlemen, the constables, had expected him to hold
the bridle with his hands secured remains a mystery to this
day—but the obstacle no longer existed—and with a tender
kiss upon Cannie's tremulous lips, and another bow to
George, the prisoner set forward, between the two officers.

We shall pass over the scene between George and Cannie
—such distressing pictures are not to our taste. He consoled
her with every possible assurance calculated to
calm her emotion—but all was in vain. The girl begged
him, with tears in her eyes, and nervous sobs, to take her to
her grandfather, and it was one of the hardest tasks which
George had ever undertaken, to resist these moving entreaties.
He did resist, however, by an immense exertion of will,

for he knew that to yield would be to add to the child's unhappiness
by showing her the old man, formally arraigned
for trial—and all Cannie could procure from him was a
promise that he would go at once and see that her grandfather
was not treated cruelly.

“That should never be!” George said, with that flash of
the eye which betrayed the depth of his character, and
the strength of will lying beneath the calm exterior—“he
would go at once! there was nothing to fear!”

And leaping on his horse, he put spur to the animal, and
galloped at full speed down the mountain.

Cannie followed him with her eyes, which the tears almost
blinded, and prayed inaudibly for strength and protection
from One in whom she was accustomed to place all her trust.
She saw George disappear, in the forest—than reappear in
the open space, galloping violently as before: and finally, on
the banks of the river, saw him join the officers and their
prisoner.

Then the whole cavalcade disappeared, and Cannie fell
upon the bench of the little porch, covering her face with
her hands, and uttering sobs so passionate that her bosom,
and the long, fair hair, which had fallen, and now rested
upon her shoulders, were shaken, as by a convulsion.