University of Virginia Library

33. XXXIII.
ABNER PROFITS BY PELT'S LESSONS.

HE was hastening to overtake her, when a person
who had been searching for him on the summit
ran down across the rocks, and intercepted him.
The said person had a fawning manner, and exceedingly red
hair.

“Hope I don't interrupt any thing,” he said, standing
immediately in Guy's way.

“What do you want?” demanded Guy, tempted to kick
him from his path.

“I have been to call on Miss Lucy Arlyn; and, at her
request,” — red-head rubbed his freckled hands, — “I have
come to make some very important statements to you.”

“What business have you with Lucy?”

“Oh, you needn't be jealous, needn't be jealous, I — I assure
you!” simpered Abner. “Purely professional, I protest.
She is a wronged, a deeply injured woman; which I
very much regret that it is the case.”

Guy's brows blackened formidably. “What does the
meddling fool mean?” his look said.

“Oh, no implication against you, sir!” — Roane hastened
to explain, — “but one which you wouldn't suspect, — one
which is a villain of the most hardened specie: I mean” —
with theatrical emphasis — “Squire Elphaz Pelt!” And he
went on to specify villanies. Guy regarded him searchingly.

“These are serious charges, Abner.”

“I guess I know enough of law to know that they be serious
charges; and there's another, which concerns you, and
which you will be surprised! About the farm. Pelt is
hoaxing ye.”

“Hoaxing — me? He dares not!”

“The man which da's to rob and burn letters, da's do
a'most any thing. He has a spite against you, for some
reason; and, when he found you wanted to realize money on
that estate, he said he meant to play with you as I would with
a trout I'd got well hooked, — his very words.”

Guy turned pale. All this he had secretly felt in his
heart, as one often feels intuitively the truth of a thing which
the will and understanding refuse to acknowledge. But now
the hidden bud of suspicion, blown upon by this breath of
Abner's, blossomed openly into conviction.

“But the farm is to be sold: how is that?”

“The colonel, 'stead of conveying over the deed to you,
just gives Pelt the power of attorney; and he's going to sell,
and leave you to think you're to have the money till he gits
it: then the colonel is going to conclude you can't have it for
any such purpose which you want it for; for if there's any

thing the colonel hates, next to Ben Arlyn, it's spiritualism
and spiritualists, I s'pose you know.”

White and astounded stood Guy. The absolute necessity
of the money; his honor pledged; the malignity of the
fraud; not himself only, but honest poor men and their families,
to be the victims of it, — all this throbbed in his brain;
and his fingers knotted up, as if already they clutched the
lawyer's neckcloth.

“Come with me!”

“Where? What for?”

“To confront Pelt.”

Abner looked scared. “I have to request that you
shouldn't mention my name in this affair for a day or two.
He has threatened me.”

“No matter if he has,” Guy laughed cruelly.

“What!” — Roane stared aghast, — “you consider my life
of no value?”

“What's animal existence? Look at Pelt! There's
plenty of such vermin infesting the earth. I'll rake this villany
to the bottom, though in doing it I dig a pit for you
both!”

Guy hurried down the mountain. Abner regarded him
with awe and terror; walking behind him down the steep,
crooked path, through the darkening woods, in silence, with
dreadful forebodings, and wishing he hadn't meddled.

They reached Biddikin's. There Guy had left his horse;
but it was gone.

“She took it,” said Mad.

“Who? Christina?”

“Yes. She tumbled out her things, piled 'em into the
buggy, got Murk by the nose, and off they drove, not three
minutes ago.”

“We must walk, then,” said Guy.

His vigorous strides put Roane's legs to a severe test, and
gave him an excruciating side-ache.

“Slack up a little; I can't stand it!” he wheezed.
“'Tain't probable we shall find him to the office;” at least,
Abner hoped so.

“We'll find him somewhere,” said Guy.

“I don't see why you need to drag me in,” whined red-head.
“I thought I was doing you a favor; and now you act
as if I was to blame, somehow.”

“And so you are. You have known of Pelt's villanies
for months, and made yourself responsible by concealing
them.”

“I know enough of the law to know it's dangerous to meddle
in such cases: so I kep' still, not being quite sure Pelt
was a villain.”

“And what makes you sure now?”

“If you'll promise not to drag me in, I'll tell you. I'll
give you all the proof you want. I'm in his confidence, and
I can be of great use to you if I keep so. I can inform you
of all his plans, and help a great deal more than if you expose
me to him.”

“If you are faithful to me, you sha'n't suffer: that's all I
can promise. I am to circumvent a traitor; and I shall act
as exigencies may require.”

It was quite dark when they came in sight of the office.

“There's no light there,” said Abner. “We'll go in;
and if you'll remember your promise, that I sha'n't suffer, I'll
give you proofs, and help you put this business through, right
up to the handle.”

“In, then!” said Guy.

They mounted the stairs. Abner unlocked the office-door,
lighted a candle, and sat down to breathe.

“To business!” said Guy, standing with the sallow glare
of the candle on his determined face; and he tapped the table
impatiently.

Then Roane reluctantly unlocked a drawer, and took out
a letter, which he passed to Guy with one hand, pushing the
candle towards him across the table with the other.

“You see, he's in New York, and will be here next week.
The other letters was in the same handwriting; and them initials,
`B. A.,' is what has convinced me they was from Arlyn,
and not from Joe Prince, as Pelt pretended.”

As red-head spoke, he watched Guy's countenance, which
grew sweaty and perturbed over the unopened letter: red-head
could guess why.

Guy sat down, wiped his forehead, and drew a deep
breath.

“Did you tell Lucy?”

“I thought it might be too much of a shock for her to
know all at once,” fawned Abner.

“And you were afraid of shocking me too?”

“Wal, no; though I didn't know but it would be a leetle
agitating for you to hear her father was coming so sudden.”

Guy's silence was so portentous, and his brows gloomed so
sultry and thunderous, that Roane was sorry he had said that,
and began to compute the distance to the ground from the
window behind him.

“What do you say confirmed your suspicions of Pelt?”
asked Guy.

“Them initials — in the same handwriting as the other
letters — that convinced me!”

Guy struck the table with his clinched hand.

“Let me say what convinced you! The speedy coming
of Ben Arlyn to right his wrongs convinced you. You were
leagued with Pelt when it was for your interest to be; but now
you see it is safer to come over to the other side. You meant
to keep back from us this letter, in order to disguise your motive
for changing.”

Roane's features writhed in the candlelight, as if groping
for the grin they had been startled into dropping, and couldn't
find again, and couldn't be easy till they did.

“You seem to think you can read a man's motives better'n
a man can himself,” he said, sending the freckled fingers to
assist in fixing the grin in place.

“I can read them better than you dare read them aloud.

As long as Arlyn was away, you didn't see clearly how you
were to share Pelt's plunder, except by making terms with
him. But Arlyn's return changes all that. He is Sophy's
uncle. You expect to marry Sophy. He is well off now,
and will probably give her a handsome dowry if she chooses
a man faithful to the family interests, but not if she takes a
rascal in league with the enemy. You weighed all that with
the cunning of a half-fledged lawyer. That sent you to Lucy,
then to me. So far I read pretty well, don't I?”

The features twisted terribly, and the fingers helped; but
it was utterly impossible to get the poor scattered grin into
respectable shape again as long as the eyes opposite pierced
through and through every thing so.

“Now mark me,” said Guy. “Tell all you know of
Pelt's perfidy and your own, from first to last, and you are
safe; but keep back one word that will be of service to me
or to Lucy, and down you go in the whirlpool which is at this
moment sucking Pelt to destruction. Decide quickly!”

Abner, after much suffering and struggle, decided to speak;
and, having commenced, he found that, though a law-student,
he was no match for Guy's powerful and searching cross-questionings.
These drew from him an acknowledgment of
his first important discovery, when he opened the express
company's letter containing the notification to Pelt that
Arlyn's assignment awaited his order.

“That must have been about the time you offered yourself
to Lucy.”

Roane was forced to admit that it was about that time.

“But of course,” said Guy, “that had nothing to do with
your wishing to marry her; and your long silence on a subject
of such importance to her was not occasioned by chagrin
at your rejection.”

“I wan't obleeged to commit myself and injure my prospects
here, was I?” — rubbing the bloodless hands.

“And how much did Pelt give you to hold your tongue?”

“Never a cent!”

“Take care, young man!” Guy shook his warning finger.

“Wal — I own — he did give me twenty dollars: that
was for some new clo'es, though, 'cause he had tore my collar
in a squabble.”

Guy leaned his chin upon his clinched hand. He had
much to weigh and decide. How to deal with Pelt? The
more gigantic fraud he would leave to Arlyn, of whose return
he charged Abner to give no intimation, and to withhold the
letter, in order that the lawyer might be taken unprepared.
Then with regard to his own affair. He felt that to appeal
to his father would avail nothing, and that to charge Pelt
with his perfidy would only serve to put him on his guard;
whereas, with Abner's help, he might catch him in his own
net. He had in view one paramount object; namely, to possess
himself of the money which was not only his by right,
but which had been so solemnly promised him: and this he
resolved to accomplish at all hazards, if not by strategem, —

for there was little craft in his nature, — then by such bold,
swift action as was more congenial to his character.

Accordingly, he left Abner in charge to watch Pelt vigilantly,
and to report promptly to him. “And now,” said he,
“to satisfy myself, I am going to find him, and hear what he
has to say. Will you come?”

“I don't know but I will. If he has seen you with me,
that'll be the best way. I'll tell him you're anxious to know
about the deed!” And Abner succeeded in catching it this
time, — the grin, as fresh and perfect as ever.

Arrived at the tavern, Guy stopped outside while Abner
went into the bar-room, where Pelt was talking, and whispered
to him that he was wanted. The lawyer came out upon the
piazza, and in his most cordial manner greeted his client.
Roane followed them, greedily listening, as they walked up
and down.

“Have you acted quite diligently and honorably in my
behalf?” he heard Guy say.

“My dear sir,” replied Pelt, “it would not be possible for
a man to do more. I have the business in my own hands
now; and I engage that you shall have the money by Tuesday,
or Wednesday at the very latest.”

“Be it so; REMEMBER!” said Guy, with a stern warning
in his tones.

Then, when he was gone, Pelt drew Abner aside. He
did not say any thing for a minute or two, but laughed. Indeed,
the lawyer seemed to be so full of fun on that pleasant

occasion, that it bubbled and gurgled out of him as if he had
been a jug.

“Abner, you'll learn a thing or two by this little transaction:
don't ye think so?”

“Oh, I'm learning fast!” and Abner bubbled and gurgled
too, as if he had been another jug.

“I don't let every man into my little schemes; and 'tain't
every man I'd select to be my pardner,” said Pelt, laying his
arm over Roane's shoulders, in a manner so very friendly
and flattering, that it made him almost regret his treachery.
But, if Abner felt any hot coals on his head, what the lawyer
immediately added proved a refreshingly cool application.
“When you've a grudge against a man, my young friend,
don't break with him out and out. You can do him ten times
as much harm by pretending to be his friend.”

“Yes, I see: much obleeged for the lesson,” answered
red-head.

Guy yearned to see Lucy; and he felt, that, after her interview
with Abner, she would desire to consult with him.
But his cares, his disappointments, and, more than all, his
last experience with Christina, which had seemed to verify
Lucy's judgment of her, and which had left in his own bosom
an uneasy sense of guilt, deterred him. He resolved to send
her a letter. He went home to his father's house: he entered
the library. There he sat writing when the bell rang, and he
heard Pelt's voice inquire for his father.

The colonel was in bed in the next room. The lawyer
was admitted to see him; and there Guy overheard words
which more than confirmed Abner's story, and which sealed
Pelt's fate.

The next morning, he despatched Ann Maria with the letter
to Lucy. In the mean time, what a night he had passed!
What memories and wrongs beset him! — the difficulties of
the association; the shameful desertion of its supporters;
Pelt's villanies; Christina; poor Lucy and her babe, and
her father so suddenly returning.

And now was the sabbath come, — day of rest; sweet season
of peace; a spring-time sabbath, when heavenly mists
are on the hills, and the orchards are pink and white with
blossoms, and a thousand perfumes scent the air, and Paradise
and the happy garden are restored, with all things fair
and calm inviting to holy communion. Ah! man of law,
busy with the world's craft; incurable paralytic, near the
close of an ill-spent life; troubled men and women all, —
make the most of this day's beauty and seclusion; bask in
the glory of the celestial gates, now open; drink the divine
waters that flow down thence softly into the soul, — this day;
for ye know not what a week may bring forth.