University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

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—Purcell

“I give you a most hearty welcome.
my old comrades, to your new abode in
the forest of my red brethren,” said Moody,
with mock cordiality, as he approached
the captives, waving his hand in a salutary
manner, and smiling hypocritically.

“Ah, my dear brother, how fare you?”
he continued, coming up to Clifton, and
extending his hand, apparently unmindful
that the other could not return the compliment.
“I am so delighted to see you—
upon my word I am. What! won't you
shake hands with your brother?” he added,
in pretended reproach, stepping back a
pace, and sighing sorrowfully. “Well,
well, such is the way of the world—this
wicked world. Ah, me! ah, me!” and
he shook his head, and sighed again.

“Taunt on—taunt on!” replied Clifton.
“I know I am in your power, and
of course I expect no mercy at the hands
of so base a coward.”

“Now you wrong me, dear brother—
upon my word you do,” rejoined Moody,
laying his hand in mock humility upon
his heart. “I mean you well, I assure you.”

“Cut these cords, then, and let me go,”
said the other.

“Ah! now you touch a tender point.
Really, nothing would delight me more—
but, pardon me, you see I have to consult
my friends yonder (here he pointed toward
the Indians), whom I am sorry to
say you have injured—doubtless unintentionally—to
quite an alarming extent.”

“Two of them. I doubt not, have been

slightly injured by my hand,” returned
Clifton, pointedly, with a curl of his lip.

“Ah! yes—true. Really, I am delighted
to perceive you comprehend my
meaning—indeed I am,” pursued Moody,
with the gravity of a parson.

“You're a devil in human shape, if
ever there was one,” called out David,
from a neighboring tree, where he had
overheard the taunts of Moody.

“Better keep us safe while you've got
us,” put in another: “for if ever we get
clear agin, with you in our power, I
swear to you the nearest tree shall serve
you for a gallows.”

“Really, gentleman,” replied the outcast,
turning to them, smiling maliciously,
but continuing his hypocritical cant;
“you do me too much honor—indeed you
do. All I fear is, that you will not beable
to carry your sage plans into execution.
It is true, I will assist you all I can; but
then, you know, I am only a poor, weak,
human being after all, and am liable to
fail.”

A few muttered maledictions was the
only response to these taunting gibes; and
turning again to Clifton, Moody resumed:

“Time wears, my dear brother, and I
have come to speak with you on matters of
the most grave importance, touching your
welfare.”

“Say on,” replied Clifton.

“There stands one yonder,” continued
Moody, pointing to Kate, who still remained
where he had left her, motionless
as if rooted to the spot; “whom, I doubt
not, you highly esteem. There, there,
dear brother, do n't contradict me—I may
say, I know you prize her highly. Well,
in that you are certainly right, for she is
worthy of much esteem, and I assure you
she has mine to the full. Now life, I
have been led to believe, is sweet to every
one; and I venture to say you are
not an exception to this rule. In consideration
of this, I have been making some
proposals to yonder fair maiden, which,
if she accept, I trust, by my influence, to
save yours—although, as you are well
aware, it has been forfeited by your imprudent
conduct, in killing two of my friends.”

“Ha! well, what did you propose?”
asked Clifton, quickly.

“Why, dear brother—and in consideration
that you are my brother—which I
verily believe, otherwise you could not
be so good and amiable—as I wish to
have no secrets that you cannot share
with me, I will tell you. Know then,
and therefore, that my former passion for
yonder fair maiden—which I believe is
antecedent to yours, and consequently
righteous by priority—has again revived
in a wonderful degree, and I am extremely
anxious to call her mine by marriage.
Now as an inducement for her to take
this step—to yield her consent freely, and
espouse me through life as her lawful
husband—I have promised to save your
life, and set you free.”

“Villain!” cried Clifton, his features
glowing with proud indignation; “base,
cowardly, doubly damned villain! Sooner
would I suffer death a thousand times,
than have her united, or even think of
uniting herself with such as you!”

As Clifton uttered these words, in a
fierce, loud tone—which distinctly reached
Kate, roused her from her revery, and
decided her course of action—Moody
started, a terrible expression passed over
his countenance, his eyes gleamed like
an angry serpent's, and instinctively his
hand sought a weapon in his belt. The
next moment, by a sudden and powerful
effort, he partially succeeded in suppressing
this show of passion, and resuming
his former hypocritical look and cant.
We say partially; for so much of passion
was mingled with the effort to appear
perfectly serene and unmoved, as to render
his appearance somewhat ridiculous.

“You forget, dear brother,” he said,
with something between a sneer and a
smile, “that the death you so nobly speak
of suffering, will be attended with considerable
inconvenience, not to say pain; for
the death at the stake, which I assure you
will be yours, is not the easiest imaginable,
as doubtless you are well aware.
Besides, it is a dreadful thing to die so
young, and with such brilliant prospects
before you; for I see, by your glittering
uniform, you are already on the road to
fame. If the words of Blind Luther be
true, fortune, and some great name, are
perhaps within your grasp also; and is

it not a pity to exchange all these for the
burning stake—to have your ashes scattered
to the winds—simply for a trifling
matter of will, or because you cannot
deny yourself the charms of one simple
maiden? as though the world could not
substitute thousands more fair and
lovely.”

“What is it you aim at? what would
you have?” asked Clifton, angrily.
“Have you not the girl, as well as myself,
in your power?”

“True, but I wish your consent. I
know, by force, I can do with you both
whatsoever I please; but I do not wish
to resort to compulsion. A few words
from you can persuade Kate to become
my wife; and I swear to you the marriage
shall be solemnized by a priest.”

“I thought,” said Clifton, fastening his
eye sternly upon Moody, “I thought, at
first, that you were simply trying to taunt
me with the words you have uttered; but
I feel convinced now, that you are in
earnest. Therefore, listen! I have
weighed the matter fully, while you have
been speaking, and this is my decision:
Sooner than ask, or allow Kate Clarendon
to become your wife, I would suffer
patiently all the tortures you, or the red
heathen yonder, can inflict—so help and
support me God! Go! you are answered,
and your presence offends my
sight.”

“Ernest, dear Ernest,” now cried the
sweet voice of Kate, who had silently
approached the party, unseen by either
Moody or Clifton; and rushing forward
as she spoke, she threw her arms around
the neck of her lover, and burst into
tears.

“God bless you, dearest!” said the
young officer, with emotion, pressing his
lips to her brow, and making a bold but
vain attempt to free his arms. “God
bless you, dear Kate, for this! though I
am pained to meet you here.”

The face of Moody, who now stood
glaring upon the two, grew black with
passion. At length he spoke, in a husky
voice.

“I have yet to hear your decision,” he
said, striding up to the grief-stricken
maiden, and laying his hand somewhat
roughly upon her shoulder.

Kate started, looked around, trembled,
grew deadly pale, and then turned her
eyes inquiringly upon Clifton.

“You will not yield to his base proposal?”
said the latter, eagerly.

“It is to save your life, dear Ernest.”

“Not if I had ten thousand lives to
lay down in such a cause,” exclaimed
Clifton, vehemently. “I should hold life
as utterly worthless, gained at such a
sacrifice, dear Kate. For God's sake!
do not yield to such a monster!”

“But the torture, dear, dearest Ernest?”

“The torture—the rack—any thing
—every thing—I would bear all a thousand
times, rather than hear you answer
so base a villain in the affirmative.”

“Then my decision is made.”

“Your answer!” cried Moody, almost
fiercely.

“I refuse, sir! I never will be yours!
God shield the right, and help me
through!”

“God bless you for those cheering
words, Kate!” exclaimed Clifton, joyfully.
“Now let the monsters do their
worst; I can die content.”

The countenance of Moody now assumed
the look of a foiled demon. No
hypocritical smile was there now—no
cant upon his lips.

“Away!” he shouted, fiercely, his
eyes gleaming with rage, stamping his
foot upon the ground, and fairly foaming
at the mouth. “Away! and meet the
doom you seek!”

As he spoke, he rudely tore the arms
of Kate from around the neck of Clifton,
and half dragged her to a neighboring
tree, to which he hurriedly bound her
delicate limbs—she uttering no scream,
nor a single word of complaint. When
done, Moody turned abruptly around,
and strode directly toward the Indians,
who, their ceremony being over, were
now engaged in the solemn rite of
burying their dead forever from their
sight.