University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

“The next morning, just as breakfast was over, Mr. Eckhardt
rose and buttoned his coat.

“ `Rachel, my child,' said he, `I shall now leave you. It will
be perhaps some time before I see you again. For that matter, I
may never see you again. But I have fulfilled my promise to
your dear father. You are the wife of a good man—a gentle
and kind-hearted man. He will make you a good husband, I believe
and hope. You, I know, will make him a good wife. The
seeds of goodness and happiness are here in this cottage—may
they grow to fruits. Kiss me, my child! Kiss me! It may be
for the last time!'

“ `No!' said she; `oh, no!' and she caught and she clung to
him. It was a time to bring tears, stranger, not to talk. There
was a good many words said by all of us, but not much talking.
It was a cry and an exclamation like, with poor Rachel, and
then she sunk off in the arms of Mr. Eckhardt. I was monstrous
frightened; but he carried her into the room and laid her on the
bed. `She will soon get over it,' said he, `and in the mean time
I'll steal away. When she recovers follow me. You will find
me—' He told me where to find him—at the place where
we had played together on the dead horse—but the sentence he
finished in a whisper. Then he stooped and kissed her, gave her
one long look, and his lips moved as if he was speaking a blessing
over her. After this he turned from me hurriedly, as if to
conceal the tear in his eye. But I saw it. It couldn't be concealed.
It was about the largest tear I ever did see in the eye of
a man, but I reckon there was only that one. He was gone before
Rachel come to herself. Till that happened I was about the
most miserable creature on earth. When she opened her eyes
and found that he was already gone, her troubles somewhat softened;
and when I found that, I set off to follow Mr. Eckhardt,
as he had directed me. I found him at the place appointed, but

he had no horse and no cloak, and didn't appear to have made
any of the usual arrangements for travelling. I expressed my
surprise. `Where's your horse?' I demanded.—`I shall need
none. Besides, I have none. You seem to forget, Rayner, that
the horse is yours.'—`Mine!'—`Yes! you won him!'—`But
you can't mean, sir—' I was beginning to expostulate,
when he put his hand on my mouth. `Say no more, Rayner.
You are a good fellow. The horse is yours, whether you
have him by your skill or my generosity. Did I not tell you that
I intended to make you my heir?'

“I looked bewildered, and felt so, and said, `Well, you don't
intend to leave us then?'—`Yes I do.'—`How do you mean to
go—by water?' Remember, the river was pretty near us, and
though I didn't myself expect any steamboat, yet I thought it
likely he might have heard of one. `Very possible,' he answered,
with something of a smile upon his countenance. He
continued, after a short pause, `It is difficult to say by what conveyance
a man goes when he goes out of the world, Rayner.
The journey I propose to take is no other. Life is an uncertain
business, Rayner. Uncertain as it is, most people seem never to
have enough of it. I am of a different thinking. I have had
only too much. I am neither well in it, nor fit for it, and I shall
leave it. I have made all my arrangements, settled my concerns,
and, as I promised, you shall be my heir.' I began to speak and
expostulate with him, but he stopped me. `Rayner, you are a
good fellow, but you shouldn't interrupt me. As I have but little
time for talking, you should let me enjoy it all. You can
say what you have to say when I am gone, and I promise you I
shall never interrupt you then. You have heard me, you understand
my words.'

“ `I think I do,' was my answer; `you mean to take your
own life!'

“ `True, Rayner! but you speak as if it was yours I were
about to take!'

“I told him I felt almost as bad as if it was, and asked him
why he should think of such a deed.

“ `It's a long story, Rayner, and you would probably understand
it as thoroughly in ten words as in ten thousand. Perhaps

I should say enough in telling you that I am sick of life, and
that life sickens me. Every moment that I live humbles and degrades
me. I have been the master of three princely fortunes;
and now I have only the means to carry me on my last journey.
I have had the reputation of talents, wit, and wisdom in high
degree, but lack the strength to forbear the companionship of the
basest, and the wit to keep from being the victim of the vilest.
Had I been the only victim, Rayner! But that poor child, now
your wife—the child of a dear relative and friend—entrusted to
my guardianship in the confidence of love, which, at dying, demanded
of me no pledge, but that which it fancied was speaking
through my eyes—that child has been the victim also! Start
not! The child is pure as any angel. It was the robbery of
her fortune of which I speak. I squandered hers with my own.
I did not bring her to beggary, Rayner. No! But I have lived
in perpetual dread that I should do so! Now that she is yours,
I have no such fears. I know that she is safe—that she will do
well—that you will both do well. Do not fancy, my good fellow,
when I tell you this, that I have been seeking in vain for a husband
for the child. The thing is otherwise. Husbands have
sought for her. Men of rank and substance, for whose attentions
the mothers of most daughters would have worked their wits and
fingers to the bone. But if I squandered Rachel's fortune—mark
me—I was resolved that she should not be sacrificed. I resolved
that I would do her justice, at least in that one respect—that she
should never be yielded, if I could help it, to the shallow witling,
the profligate, or the brute—let their social rank and worldly
possessions be what they might. I knew her, and fancied I
could tell what sort of person would suit her. I have found
that person in you—so I believe—and my work is ended. The
labourer knocks off when his work is done, and so will I. There
is one thing, Rayner—'

“He took from his pocket the buckskin roll which contained
his pack of cards.

“ `Do you see these? I will not say that they have been my
bane. I were a fool to say so. My own weakness was my
bane. They were only the unconscious instruments in my
hands, as innocent as the dirk or pistol in the hands of the assassin.

But they have their dangers, Rayner; and I would
protect you against them. Take them; I promised you should
be my heir. Take them, but not to play them. Keep them in
your eyes as an omen. Show them to your children as a warning.
Tell them what I have told you; and while you familiarize their
eyes with their forms, familiarize their hearts with their dangers.
There! do not lose sight of them. Leave me now. Farewell!
You see I am at the bottom of my box.'

“He thrust the cards into my hands, and as he spoke, he drew
out his little silver box, and took from it the only pill which remained.
This he swallowed, and then handed me the box also.
I refused to take it. `Pshaw!' said he, `why not? your refusal
to take it can have no effect on my determination! Take it and
leave me!' But I still refused. He turned from me, saying:
`You're a foolish fellow, Rayner;' and walked down the road
leading to the river. I followed him closely. He turned half
round, once or twice, muttered and seemed discontented. I still
kept close with him, and began to expostulate. But he interrupted
me fiercely, and I now perceived that his eyes began to
glisten and to glare very wildly. It had not escaped my observation,
that the last pill which he had taken was greatly larger
than any he had used before; and I then remembered, that before
the marriage ceremony was performed, on the previous
night, he had opened the box more than once, in my presence,
and I noted that it contained a good many. By this time we
reached the banks of the river. He turned full upon me.
`Rayner,' said he, `you're a good fellow, but you must go home
to your wife.'—`It's impossible,' said I, `to leave you.'—`We'll,
see to that,' said he, and he turned towards the river. I took it for
certain he was going to plunge in, and I jumped forward to seize
him, but, just as my arms were extended to embrace him, he
wheeled about and clapped a pistol to my head. I started back,
quickly enough, as you may suppose; and he exclaimed—`Ah!
Rayner, you are a good fellow, but you cannot prevent the
journey. Farewell!' With these words he flung me the pistol,
which I afterwards found was unloaded, and, before I could speak
or think, he sprang from the bluff into the stream. It appeared
to me as if I heard the splash before I saw the motion. I ran up

the bluff where he had stood, as soon as I could recover myself,
and saw where the water-rings were spreading in great circles
where he had gone down. I didn't give myself a moment after
that. I could swim like a duck and dive like a serpent, and had
no fear of the water for myself; so in I jumped, and fished about
as long as I could stand it underneath; but I could find nothing
of him. He had given himself up to the currents so entirely,
that they whirled him out of sight in a minute. When I rose and
got to the shore, I saw his hat floating among some bushes on
the other shore. But as for poor Mr. Eckhardt, he was gone,
sure enough, upon his last journey!

“You see our little family. The boy is very much like him
in looks, and I reckon in understanding. He's very thoughtful
and smart. We are happy, stranger, and I don't believe that
Mr. Eckhardt was wrong in his notion that I would make Rachel
happy. She tells me she is, and it makes me happy to believe
her. It makes her sad to see the cards, and sad to hear of them,
but she thinks it best for our boy that he should hear the story
and learn it all by heart; and that makes her patient, and patience
brings a sort of peace along with it that's pretty much like
happiness. I could tell you more, my friend, but it's not needful,
and your eyes look as if they had kept open long enough for
one sitting. So come with me, and let me show you where you
are to lie down!”

These words roused me! I half suspect that I was drowsing
in my chair. I can hardly suppose, dear reader, that you could
be capable of an act of like forgetfulness.