 | CHAPTER XIII.
THE PLOT THICKENS. Oliver Goldfinch, or, The hypocrite |  |
13. CHAPTER XIII.
THE PLOT THICKENS.
It was an early hour in the morning of
the day which closes the preceding chapter,
and in the same apartment where we
first introduced them to the reader, sat Oliver
Goldfinch and Nathan Wesley. The
former was in fine spirits, if one might
judge from the manner he rubbed together
his hands, and the gleam of fiendish delight
which overspread his countenance.
“And so,” he said, turning to his attorney,
“he is caught at last?”
“At last,” dryly responded Wesley.
“Ha, ha! this does my soul good. Now
he shall feel what it is to beard me. Now
he shall know what is to fall into the
clutches of the tiger he has goaded to
madness. Hypocrite, indeed! Thanks to
fortune, my hypocrisy is of a useful kind,
for by it I can triumph over my enemies,
and crush them that lie in my path. Ay,
and crush them I will!” he cried, with a
hellish gleam of malice darkening his features.
“And him above all others will I
crush! Yes, by—!” he fairly shouted,
uttering a blasphemous oath, “I will extinguish
the race!—and then, and not till
then, will I deem myself safe.”
“And will you then?” quietly asked the
attorney.
“Will I then?” repeated Goldfinch, in
surprise. “Will I then? Certainly—why
not?—what do you mean?”
“O, nothing—merely asked the question.”
“ 'Tis false! I know you well—you
never speak without a meaning. Do you
think to betray me?”
“I!” replied the other, in pretended astonishment.
“I betray you?—betray my
master?—(this last was said with sarcastic
emphasis)—how can you think of such a
gold, you know, would save you.”
“Ha!” cried Goldfinch, with a start, remembering
his words to the other at their
last conference: “Beware, Wesley—beware!
I am not one to be trifled with. I
have already been warned of you: so beware!
Even so much as attempt to turn
traitor, and, by heavens, I will not wait
the slow process of the law! No, by—!
with my own hands will I let out your
heart's blood!”
“And get hung for your trouble,” quietly
returned the other.
“No, I thank you, good Mr. Wesley—I
will make my gold save me,” sarcastically
rejoined the millionaire; and then hastily
added: “But come, a truce to this. It is
all important you and I should be friends,
Wesley.”
“All important,” said the attorney, dryly.
“You must assist me in this affair, Wesley,
and swear point blank to whatever I
dictate.”
“And so perjure myself.”
“Well, what of that? You have already
done darker deeds, you know.”
“Now stop!” cried Wesley, with a terrible
gleam in his small black eyes. “No
more of that! What I did was for selfdefence;
but you mustn't throw it in my
teeth again! It was a bad job, and I've
never had an easy conscience since.”
“Well, well, let it pass, Wesley. You
did well—and for doing well got gold—and
gold, as they say of charity, will cover a
multitude of sins. You have done well
now—only finish your good work. Away,
good Wesley, and take this warrant for
his apprehension. He must be caught
and caged to-night. Away, now—set the
hounds of the law upon him and drag him
forth, though he be kneeling at the altar
of Christ! Once convicted, friend
Wesley, and it shall be the best day's
work you ever performed. Make all safe,
and then let me know;” and as Goldfinch
concluded, the attorney rose, bowed, and
took his leave.
For a few minutes after being left to
himself, the scheming hypocrite paced the
room and rubbed his hands with delight;
and then muttering, “Now for my visitor
below,” he quitted the apartment.
Meantime Wesley, instead of leaving
the mansion at once, ascendéd a flight of
stairs, and carefully opening a door on his
right, entered another elegant apartment,
where stood a young man before his mirror,
carefully arranging his toilet. As the
attorney closed the door, he looked round
carelessly, and disclosed the features of
Acton Goldfinch.
“O, it is you, eh?” he said, yawning.
“Well, Wes, what deviltry is afoot now,
eh?”
“Your own,” answered the other.
“Speak it out, man!”
“You want to get that girl in your power?”
“Yes, yes!” said Acton, hastily, in a low
tone, his eyes brightening with interest.
“I can put you in a way.”
“How? quick! tell me!”
“And if you succeed?”
“The fifty dollars I promised are yours.”
“Do you know who she is?”
“No, and care less, so I once have her
in my power, and no particular friend by
as before.”
“Then come with me.”
“But how will you arrange it?”
“It's fixed already. Come with me and
I'll show you.”
“In a moment;” and completing his
toilet in haste, Acton and Wesley quitted
the mansion together, both bent on the
devil's mission.
While these things were transpiring
above stairs, Clarence Malcolm, of whom
mention has frequently been made, and
Arabella Goldfinch were sitting tete-a-tete
in the magnificent parlor below. The
former was a fine, noble-looking young
man, of commanding appearance, who
seemed, by his erect carriage and lofty demeanor,
to feel himself fully on an equality
with the proud, haughty heiress who sat
by his side, a sort of queenly, breathing
statue, so cold and inflexible she appeared.
In fact it was apparent from her present
manner, that she either cared nothing for
her guest, or that she had taken offence at
something in the conversation preceding
our introduction of the parties.
But whatever the cause of her hauteur,
Clarence was evidently desirous of removing
it; for after two or three ineffectual
attempts to draw her into conversation, he
said:
“If I have offended you in any way,
Miss Goldfinch, it has been done unwittingly,
and I crave pardon!”
“Of course you have it,” she answered,
coldly.
“Thank you!” he rejoined, with slight
sarcasm in his tone. “It is something to
know one is forgiven, albeit one never
learns wherein one has offended.”
To this Arabella deigned no reply; and
after a rather embarrassing silence of a
few moments, the other said, abruptly, fixing
his eyes steadily upon the haughty
beauty:
“You have cousins in town, Miss Goldfinch?”
Arabella started, and her features flushed,
as she replied:
“Not that I am aware of, sir.”
“Indeed! that is very strange!”
“Is it?” dryly responded the other. “And
suppose I have cousins in town, is there
any thing so very remarkable in the fact?”
“No, certainly not, Miss Goldfinch. Your
having cousins in town is not remarkable.
It is that you should know nothing of
them, and, while living in luxury yourself,
they should be literally starving.”
“What mean you?” demanded the other,
haughtily.
“What I say, Miss Goldfinch,” replied
Clarence, in the same haughty vein. “I
never speak with a double meaning.”
“Indeed!” rejoined Arabella, biting her
lips with vexation. “Well, sir, you will
be good enough to be more explicit, or let
the subject drop, for I do not comprehend
the drift of your conversation.”
“A single question, then?”
“Well, sir?”
“Had your father a sister?”
Arabella's face flushed as she replied:
“I have so understood—I never saw
her.”
“She married a Courtly?”
Arabella nodded haughtily.
“And had two children?” continued Clarence.
“So I have heard.”
“The father was lost at sea?”
“Even so.”
“Your father became possessor of his
property?”
“Sir,” rejoined Arabella, indignantly,
rising proudly from her seat, “you are now
touching upon family affairs, with which
you and no other stranger has any business.”
“Nay,” said Clarence, gravely, “I am
not exactly a stranger, Miss Arabella, and
am not yet convinced I have no right to
question as I do.”
“Then question those who will answer
you,” she said, scornfully, preparing to quit
the apartment.
“Stay!” said Clarence, rising and gently
touching her on the arm. “I do not
wish to give offence, Miss Goldfinch—nor
do I ask these questions idly. They are
perhaps all important to you, to me, and
to others. Sit down, I pray you! I will
not detain you long.”
Arabella hesitated, but finally resumed
her seat.
“Your father, I say, became possessed,
by will, of his brother-in-law's property;
and a vast possession it was, which he still
holds; but his sister, after spending the
little bequeathed to herself, removed with
her children to this city, and here died of
starvation and a broken heart.”
“Sir!” cried Arabella, turning pale;
“Mr. Malcolm! do you say this to insult
me?”
“No, Miss Goldfinch; I pride myself on
being a gentleman, and no gentleman will
insult a lady; nevertheless I must tell you
the truth.”
“How know you this?”
“That, begging your pardon, is a secret
I must withhold. Let it suffice, that my information
comes from a worthy source.”
“You speak in riddles to me, Mr. Malcolm:
I cannot comprehend your object.
If I have relatives in town, so poor as you
say, they should have applied to my father
and been relieved. I trust you do not hold
me answerable for their neglect in making
their condition known?”
“But they did make their condition
known to your father, and were refused
starvation from their doors.”
“Hold!” cried Arabella, springing to
her feet, her proud bosom heaving with angry
passions, and her dark eyes flashing defiance:
“I will bear this insolence no longer!
You, Clarence Malcolm, are the first
that has ever so dared to insult me, and I
hate you for it. Ay, were you to become
an emperor and sue at my feet, I would remember
what you have this night uttered,
and scorn you from me. You have said
that my father refused assistance to his
poor relations, knowing them to be destitute.”
“I repeat it,” rejoined Clarence, firmly,
also rising and confronting his angry hostess.
“Yes, Miss Goldfinch, I repeat it;
for I have it from a source entitled to all
confidence—no less than from the parties
themselves. But stay—understand me—I
do not accuse you. A thousand things
may transpire, even in your own mansion,
of which you may be ignorant; and from
your manner and conversation, I sincerely
believe you knew nothing of your cousins;
and that had you known their condition,
your own private purse would have generously
relieved them. So much I will say;
but that your father was not ignorant, and
that he did refuse them means to live until
his sister was in a dying state, I do
boldly assert.”
If Arabella could have withered and annihilated
Clarence Malcolm with a glance,
the glance of hate and scorn she bestowed
upon him, as he concluded, would have
done so. For a few moments her excited
passions would not allow her an answer;
and she stood before him with heaving
breast, expanded nostrils and flashing eyes.
At length, with all the haughty scorn she
could throw into her words, she rejoined:
“Mr. Malcolm, allow me to give you
due credit for having once to-night spoken
the truth; and that when you said, had I
known the condition of my kins-people, I
would have relieved them. But what you
say of my father, begging your pardon for
the unlady-like expression, is false! No
man, sir, is more benevolent than my father;
and that he has given large sums to
benevolent societies, and to the poor, you,
sir, know as well as I; and therefore, I
again repeat, what you have said is false—
a base, willful, malignant slander! Henceforth,
sir, we are strangers; and as I hear
my father's step, perhaps you will have the
audacity to re-speak your slanderous language
to his face.”
Saying this, Arabella walked proudly to
the door, where she was met by Goldfinch,
just come down from his interview with
Wesley to join her, and, if possible, further
his scheme of effecting a union between
herself and Clarence.
“Eh! my daughter—what is this?—what
is this?” he said, hastily, making an effort
to detain her, and glancing at Malcolm as
if for an explanation, who stood proudly
drawn up to his full height where Arabella
had left him, calmly watching her motions.
“Question him!” replied Arabella, with
a gesture of displeasure toward Clarence;
and stepping proudly aside, she passed her
father and disappeared.
“Ah, my dear Malcolm,” continued the
hypocrite, closing the door and approaching
the other with hand extended, “I am
delighted to see you. How is your health
this evening, and that of your good mother?”
“We are well,” answered Clarence,
coldly, barely taking the hand of the millionaire,
and letting it fall without pressure.
“Ah, yes—glad to hear it,” said the
other, affecting not to notice his cool reception.
“So you have had a little love-quarrel,
eh? you and Arabella. O you
lovers!—always fighting and making up
again. Well, well—just so with my wife
and myself before we were joined in holy
wedlock. Ah, me!” he sighed, affecting
to weep: “Poor Fanny! she is gone to
her long home now. Well, such things
must be, you know, in this ever changing
world of sin and death; and we should not
repine, but, like true Christians, be resigned
to the will of our Maker.”
“A truly pious sentiment, Mr. Goldfinch,”
dryly responded Clarence, eyeing
the other closely.
“There is nothing like a Christian's
hope in such hours of affliction,” meekly
face befitting a Godly priest. “When
my dear wife Fanny died, a year ago, I
thought my heart would break; but I looked
to Him for support in my trying hour,
and not in vain; for he filled my soul with
the hope of an eternal meeting beyond the
grave. But I beg pardon, friend Clarence!
I am keeping you standing. Come, let us
be seated, and have a little private conversation.”
“With all my heart,” said Clarence;
“for there is a matter of some little moment
I wish to touch upon.”
“O, yes—exactly—I understand,” returned
Goldfinch, with what he intended
should be thought a knowing smile. “Well,
to come to the point at once—and that is
what all lovers desire, though most of
them are backward enough in doing it
themselves—I must say that, though a little
petulent and proud at times, Arabella
is a dear, sweet girl, with whom I am extremely
loth to part; but then, when I consider
she is to be united to one so highly
esteemed as yourself—”
“Sir,” interrupted Malcolm, with crimson
features, “you mistake. My desired
conversation has no reference to your
daughter.”
“Ah, indeed!” said the worldly man,
seeming to be abstracted, though his cold
blue eye was seeking the while to penetrate
the very soul of his guest. “Indeed,
my young friend, I exceedingly regret that
two persons of such good sense as you and
Arabella possess, should let a trifling love-quarrel
so interfere with your desires.”
“Again you mistake,” rejoined Clarence,
sternly. “We have had no love-quarrel,
as you term it.”
“No? Then I was mistaken in supposing
you offended with each other?”
“No, Mr. Goldfinch, in that you were
not mistaken.”
“Hum! hum! Well, you lovers are mysterious.”
“Nay, sir, be so good as to understand
me, once for all, that we are not lovers!”
said Clarence, indignant at the other's perverse
assumption of what he knew was
false.
“Not lovers? and you visiting her
regularly? Poh, pho—don't tell me
that!”
“True, I have visited her somewhat
regularly of late, and may have had
some serious intentions in so doing—but
they are past now, and this is my last visit.”
“Indeed!” returned Goldfinch, seriously;
“you surprise me! Is not my daughter
good enough for you?”
“Too good, perhaps—at least she would
have me think so—but that is neither here
nor there.”
“Pray tell me the reason of your quarrel?—for
quarreled you have, I see.”
“I will—at least as far as I know.—
What she first took offence at, she better
knows than I—for I had said nothing that
I am aware of to give her cause—but the
last matter in discussion, and at which
she most took fire, was regarding her
cousins and yourself.”
As he said this, Clarence fixed his eyes
upon Goldfinch, and witnessed a most
rapid and fearful change, which convinced
him he was right in the course he was
pursuing. A deadly pallor overspread his
countenance, his brow darkened, his lips
compressed, and a cold, sullen gleam shot
from his blue eyes. For a moment he
gazed sternly upon his guest, without
speaking, and then said, with assumed
composure:
“Well, sir, what of her cousins?”
“Why, in the course of conversation,
I remarked that it was singular she should
be living in splendor, while they were
starving in the same city.”
The millionaire started, and his face
grew darker—more devilish—so much so
that Clarence gazed upon him in astonishment.
“Well, sir?” he said.
“Your daughter denied all knowledge
of the fact,” pursued Clarence, quietly,
still eyeing the other closely, “and said if
such was the case, they should have made
known their condition to you and been relieved.
I replied that they had done so, and
been refused assistance.”
“ 'Tis false!” cried Goldfinch, springing
up in rage, completely thrown off his guard.
“ 'Tis false, I say—false as hell! I gave
“But not until his mother, your sister,
was dying.”
“How know you that, sir?”
“That is my secret.”
“And even if she was dying, what is
that to you?”
“Everything—since their cause has now
become mine.”
“Indeed! and what do you intend to
do?”
“Set the wronged right, and make villainy
tremble.”
“Is it possible! I trust you will have
a pleasant time of it!”
“If I succeed, I doubt not I shall.”
“Take my advice, young man—go home,
and meddle no more with what does not
concern you!”
“But this does concern me, I say; and
since you are free to give advice, Mr.
Goldfinch, take a little of mine, and be
cautious what you do hereafter; for every
action will be watched—every motive
closely scanned.”
“Then I am to have spies upon me,
am I?”
“And have no more than you deserve,
since your former deeds are becoming
known.”
“Ha! what do you know?” quickly interogated
the other, turning very pale.
“Time will show, sir, what I know.—
Again I say, be cautious!”
“Some villainous report of that cursed
nephew of mine. By—! I will have
him hung!”
“Is this your Christian piety?” querried
Clarence. “So, so—the mask is
off sooner than I anticipated; and I now behold
you what you have been represented—
a base hypocrite!”
“Leave my house, sir!” cried Goldfinch,
stamping his foot violently, completely
beside himself with rage.
“I do so with pleasure,” returned Malcolm,
calmly, rising from his seat;” and
promise you, moreover, I will never again
darken your door. And furthermore, I
now tell you to your teeth, I am henceforth
your determined foe, and will spare no
pains to expose your hypocrisy at any and
all times and places; and if I can prove
you have gained your property wrongfully—taken
it unlawfully from the widow
and orphan—I solemnly swear to devote
time, energy and money, to the last cent
I have if necessary, to bring you to the
punishment you so richly merit. There
are so many hypocrites in the world—so
many wolves in sheep's clothing—that it is
not only an act of justice, but a righteous
act, to expose and punish all we can.”
It is impossible to portray the appearance
of Goldfinch as he heard these words.
His usually serene features became almost
haggard with fear and rage, his eyes
glared wildly, and there was a foam and
lividness about the lips, such as madmen
sometimes exhibit. As Clarence ceased,
he clenched his hand and took a step forward
as if to strike him. Then pausing
irresolute, he turned, and casting himself
upon a seat, buried his face in his hands
and groaned.
Gazing sternly upon him for a moment,
Clarence turned upon his heel and left
him to his own bitter reflections.
For the space of ten minutes the
schemer rocked to and fro, like one in
agony, and then started up suddenly.
“Fool! fool!” he exclaimed; “a cursed
fool I am? Foiled again, by—! Why
did I admit that matter of the check? But
he at least shall not escape me! No,
sooner than that, I will bribe a dozen witnesses
to swear him to eternal perdition;”
and with these dark words upon his lips,
Oliver Goldfinch quitted the apartment
to plot new schemes of hell.
| CHAPTER XIII.
THE PLOT THICKENS. Oliver Goldfinch, or, The hypocrite | |