University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

—Old Play.

—Ibid.

“Liar!” again shouted Luther,
raising his tremendous frame to its
full height, and looking ferociously
down upon Moody, who stood trembling
like a timid culprit before his
august judge: “Liar and coward!
how durst thou so blaspheme, as to
say the Almighty could not save
yonder dove from thy buzzard
claws? Down with ye to repentance!”
and with the back of his
hand, Luther struck Moody a blow
in the face, that started forth a
stream of blood, and sent him reeling
backward upon the rock.

“Is she alive—is she safe?—great
God! is she safe?” cried the voice
of Clifton at this moment coming
up, followed closely by his companions.

“Ernest,” screamed Kate, wildly,
and she attempted to rise; but
overcome with emotions of joy, she
failed, and sank back upon the
ground.

“Ha! that voice—that voice!”
almost shrieked Clifton. “My God,
I thank thee! Kate, Kate!—my
dearest, darling Kate!” and the next
moment he was by her side, and

his lips were glued to hers, in the
holy kiss of love. “Kate,” he continued,
raising her up to a sitting
posture “Kate, are you safe and
well?”

Kate could not speak for joy;
but she nodded in the affirmative,
and then her head sunk against his
breast, and she wept freely.

“The happiest moment of my
life,” marmured Clifton, pressing
her close to his heart—a noble and
true heart, that beat only for her,
and would do so until it ceased to
beat forever.

The balance of the party had by
this time come up and gathered
around the lovers in joyful silence,
their faces expressive of the satisfaction
they felt on seeing them
meet again so happily. Luther
stood a little apart, with folded
arms and stern countenance, apparently
engaged in deep thought of
a nature not pleasing.

“Let me thank my deliverers, as
well as you, dear Ernest,” whispered
Kate, at length.

“Ay, do, dearest; and first, here,”
and Ernest pointed to the tall, athletic
form of the Necromancer,
who—standing, as we have said,
with folded arms, from one hand of
which projected the burning torch,
its flickering light casting a ruddy
glow upon his harsh features—seemed
the personification of some
prophet of old, about to utter words
that should cause a world to tremble.

As Kate advanced toward him,
he suddenly turned in an opposite
direction, and exclaimed:

“Beware, villain—you have done
enough!”

This was addressed to Moody,
who, having been left unnoticed by
all save Luther, had regained his
feet, and drawn his knife, preparatory
to executing some diabolical
act; but the words and manner of
Luther arrested and caused him to
shrink back in dismay.

“By heavens!” cried Ernest,
springing forward, “in the excess
of my joy I had forgotten there
was a renegade villain to punish;”
and drawing his sword, he was
rushing upon his antagonist, when
Luther grasped him by the arm,
and exclaimed:

“Hold, Ernest, it is not for thee—
`Vengeance is mine, saith the Lord,
and I will repay.' ”

“It's for me, then,” cried Ichabod,
who had been waiting an opportunity
to greet his pet, and who now
remembered his words to Clifton,
on the death of Clarendon: “It's
for me, for I've sworn to kill him
whenever I found him;” and before
any one could interfere, he bounded
toward Moody, who, sullen and
ferocious as a wild beast at bay,
now turned upon him a look of
scorn, as if he considered him beneath
his notice. He had, however,
mistaken the character of Ichabod
entirely, as he soon found to
his cost; for the next moment a
bright light flashed in his eyes, and
the crack of a pistol was heard
echoing through the cavern.

“Ah! I am shot,” exclaimed
Moody, gnashing his teeth in fury,
and placing his hand to his shoulder,
from which a stream of blood
could now be seen trickling down
over his garments. “But I yet live
to be revenged,” he cried; and at the
same moment he made a step forward,
and drew from his belt his
undischarged pistol. Before he
could use it, however, the hand of
Luther was upon his throat, and
the pistol wrenched from his hand
and sent bounding upon the rock
to the furthermost part of the cave.
His knife and tomahawk shared
the same fate, and Moody stood

trembling and unarmed, while the
rest looked on in silence.

“Wretch!” cried Luther, raising
himself to his full height, and casting
upon Moody a look of scorn:
“Wretch! I am tempted to crush
thee where thou standest, for thy
villiany and blasphemy; but I
spare thee now, and now only. Remember—remember!”

“Nay,” interposed Clifton, “why
spare him for other deeds of villiany?
Is not his base life already
forfeited!”

“Ernest Clifton, methinks I have
rendered thee and thine some service,”
answered Luther.

“You have—you have, sir—beyond
our power to repay!” returned
Clifton, vehemently.

“Then perhaps I am not wrong
in asking a boon?”

“Anything in my power to grant,
or that of my comrades, I pledge
you my honor you shall have.”

“Enough! 'tis here;” and Luther
tapped Moody on the shoulder. “I
ask his life, to do with him as I may
see proper.”

“What say you, comrades?”
asked Clifton, appealing to the
others.

There was some demurring, but
all at length consented to the request
of Luther. Then turning to
Moody, the latter said:

“I await thy answer,” added
Luther, in conclusion.

“Set me free, is all I ask,” growled
Moody.

“And thou wilt seek my aid no
more!” returned Luther.

“I never did seek it,” grumbled
Moody; “and once free again, I
will ask no odds of any.”

“Be it so!” rejoined Luther, musingly.
“Yet stay,” he added, laying
hold of Moody as he turned to
depart. “I am ever loth to yield
up human nature to the foul fiend—
the arch-enemy of mankind. One
trial more, and perhaps thou wilt
repent and be reclaimed—if not,
farewell forever!

Then pausing for a few moments,
as if to collect his thoughts, he resumed,
in a grave voice:

“The stream,” continued the
Necromancer, looking alternately
at Moody and Clifton, and addressing
himself to both, “is typical of
your ancestors; the rock is a quarrel,
by which they became estranged—the
meeting of the waters, the
meeting of the brothers, the last of
a noble line.”

“Good Heavens!” exclaimed
Clifton, as some strange thoughts
flashed through his mind; “what
do these words import?”

“That Ernest Clifton and Rashton
Moody are twin brothers.”

“'Tis false!” cried Moody. “This
is some trick—some device!”

“The proof is under the left arm
of each,” returned Luther, quietly.
“Look there, and you will find my
words have not been lies.”

An examination was instantly
made, and the result verified the
words of Luther; for under the left
arm of each was found, faintly

traced in blue lines, a coat of arms,
which being compared one with the
other, proved to be exactly alike.
A murmur of surprise and astonishment
now ran around the excited
group, while Kate elasped
her hands together in a kind of
dreamy bewilderment.

“This is very strange—very
strange!” said Clifton, fixing his
eyes steadily upon Luther. “And
pray, sir, who are you?”

“A man that is born of woman,
whose days are short and full of
trouble,” answered Luther, waving
his hand in his usually majestic
manner, and turning his eyes from
Clifton to Moody, who stood grating
his teeth, with an angry frown
upon his brow.

“And so he is my brother, then?”
pursued Clifton, musingly, turning
also toward Moody.

“Brother be d—d!” roared
Moody. “If I am, I'll live to triumph
over you yet, Mr. Clifton.”

“Nay,” interposed Luther, sternly,
approaching and laying his hand
upon Moody: “Nay, be not too fast!
I was wrong to think that he who
could so act the villian and miscreant,
had any right to the ties of
kindred and home. His sentence
rests with me, does it not?” he added,
appealing to the rest.

“It does—it does,” cried all.

“Hear me then,” rejoined Luther,
raising his hands in a menacing attitude.
“ `As ye sow, so shall ye
reap.' I banish thee, Albert Bel
lington—alias, Rashton Moody—
forever from among the race of
civilized men. I curse and send
thee forth, a murderer upon the face
of the earth—a companion for the
savage and wild beast—never to
hear the sweet voice of sympathy
more! All trace that thou wert
nobly born is hereby removed.”

As Luther spoke, he took from
his knapsack some thongs of deerskin,
and, in spite of the resistance
of Moody, bound him fast, hand
and foot. Then casting him upon
his side, he drew his knife, and deliberately
cut the tattooed skin from
under his arm.

“Now go!” he cried, releasing
him: “Go! be a murderer and mendicant
upon the face of the earth,
and let the knowledge of thy
crimes, of what thou hast lost, and
thy guilty conscience be thy punishment!
Cross never my path
again—or I will deliver thee up to
justice. Farewell! Farewell!—
Henceforth I know thee no more—
no more!” and waving his hand, he
turned away his face, as if to shut
the other from his sight.

For a moment Moody stood like
a goaded tiger, gnashing his teeth
in fury; then muttering, “I will
yet be revenged!” he darted swiftly
away.

“He will trouble us again, I
fear,” said Danvers.

“Then the consequences rest
with himself,” rejoined Luther. “I
have done, and shall not interfere
again between him and justice.”

“Who are you, mysterious being?”
exclaimed Ernest, approaching
Luther; “and whence come
you? I am all amazement.”

Luther drew his tall, ungainly
person up to its full height, and
quietly folding his arms upon his
breast, replied:

“Like vain, presumptious mortals,”
continued Luther, you seek
to know too much.

As he concluded, Luther placed
in the hands of Ernest a small silver
box, on which were wrought
some strange characters.

“This is all very mysterious,”
said Clifton, gazing first at the box,
and then at the donor. “I cannot
comprehend it.”

“It is like a beautiful dream,”
whispered Kate, stealing up to the
side of Ernest, and laying her soft,
white hand on his arm, with a look
of affection. “It is—” She was
about to continue her remarks, but
stopped suddenly, uttered a frightful
scream, and threw herself in
front of Ernest, as if to shield him
from danger.

Each started, and looked for the
cause of her alarm, when crack
went a pistol just in front of Clifton,
the ball of which slightly grazed
his cheek.

“Perdition seize ye!” cried the
voice of Moody, hoarse with passion;
and at the same moment his
form was seen disappearing thro'
the narrow passage leading out of
the cave. On his former retreat,
he had found the pistol discharged
by Kate, had loaded it, and returned
to take his last revenge.

“I 'spected as much,” said Ichabod,
snatching up a rifle. “If I
failed afore, it's no sign I will this
time;” and he darted away in pursuit
of Moody, followed by most of
the others, Clifton himself remaining
by the side of Kate.

A short silence succeeded the
tramping of feet on the floor of the
cavern, and then came the report
of a rifle. Presently Danvers joined
the party in the cave.

“Well?” said Clifton, addressing
him as he entered.

“He will never trouble us again,
I think,” answered Danvers.

“Is he dead?” asked Ernest,
gravely.

“It is hard to say; but hear and
judge for yourself. He had just
reached the rock arching the stream,
and was turning to ascend the rocky
bank, when Ichabod, with a hasty
aim, fired. For a moment Moody
paused, balanced in the air, and
then, with a horrible yell, disappeared
over the verge of the abyss.
A dull, hollow sound came up from
below, and then all was still.”

A brief silence succeeded this
announcement, when Ernest said,
solemnly:

“So perish the wicked.”

“Amen!” responded a deep,
heavy voice, that seemed to descend
from the ceiling of the cave.

Clifton and his companions started,
and looked upward, but saw
nothing save the bare rock.

“Why, where is Luther?” exclaimed
Kate, at this moment, looking
round her in astonishment.

“Heavens! he has disappeared
again!” rejoined Clifton, pointing to
the burning torch, one end of which
was sticking fast in a crevice of the
rock: “I could have sworn he was
standing here when I spoke.”

“And so could I,” returned Kate,
shuddering, and pressing closer to
the side of Clifton, who threw his
arms around her slender form, and
drew her to his heart, with all the
fond affection of an ardent lover.

“Never fear, sweet one,” he
whispered, bending down and stealing
a kiss: “whatever he may be
in reality, he seems a being ordained
by Heaven to stand between
thee and harm; and for that I bless

him now and ever will hereafter.”

Great was the wonder and excitement
of the rest of the party,
when, returning into the cave, they
were informed of the sudden and
mysterious disappearance of Luther;
for none had seen him, and
all were willing to swear he had
not passed out the way he entered.
Ichabod declared, however, that the
smoke of his rifle, when he fired at
Moody, had assumed a terrible
shape; and now he remembered it
strangely resembled the Necromancer;
though how the smoke and
that singular personage could be in
any wise alike, or connected, exceeded
his comprehension.

The mystery now became a matter
of grave discussion; some declaring
that Luther was an evil
spirit, whose term on earth expired
with the death of Moody; and others,
among whom were Clifton and
Kate, contending that both were
bona fide beings of flesh and blood,
though the former was a very
strange character, whom they could
not comprehend. One observation
brought another, and the discussion
seemed likely to be protracted all
night, when Clifton ordered a sentinel
to be stationed in the passage
before spoken of, and the rest to retire
to rest, that they might be prepared
for their return on the following
day.

What took place during the night
we shall now proceed to relate.