University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.
THE ARREST.

It was about nine o'clock in the evening,
that Edgar and Virginia sat together
before a cheerful fire, recalling the events
of the day. There was an air of gladness
on the features of each, mingled with a
slight shade of gloom, like the first breaking
forth of the sun upon a late stormy landscape,
which made them appear very interesting.

The dark habiliments of mourning
now worn by each, contrasting with their
pale, expressive features, gave them a sort
of classic interest, if we may be permitted
the phrase, over which an artist would have
lingered with delight.

“And what is he to do with your poems,
dear Edgar?” asked Virginia, with her
beautiful hand resting gracefully on his
shoulder, and her soft, blue eyes looking
tenderly and earnestly into his, while
around the half parted lips lingered a sweet
though rather melancholy smile, as if the
sorrow of the past and the joy of the
present were commingling in her soul.

“Indeed, sweet sister, I do not know,”
replied Edgar, turning to her his manly,
noble countenance, and imprinting on her
lips a kiss of fraternal love. “As I told
you before, he spoke something of a magazine
and newspaper, and of giving me the
charge of either; but I more than half
suspect he made the poetry an excuse to
put in my possessisn the money I had
refused as a loan. Generous soul! how
noble in him to do this! and what a contrast
he forms to our selfish, avaricious,
hypocritical uncle, who, though he gave
me something at last, did it as if he feared
to do otherwise—fancying, methought, I
had a clue to some dark secret, that, if
known, would be his undoing. And this,
by the way, reminds me I must not fail to
call on Davis to-morrow. Perchance he
may be in a condition to explain his mysterious
words. But ah! why do I think of
man's baseness now, at a time when my
hear' is made glad by the nobleness of
disinterested friendship and generous
gratitude! No, banished be all from my
thoughts! I will think of an angel I this
day for the first time beheld.”

“Of Edith Morton,” quoth Virginia,
with an arch smile.

“Of one, dear Virginia, you shall love
as a sister. O, that to-morrow were
come, that you might behold her!”

Virginia sighed.

“I, too,” she said, pretending to search for
something at her feet, “will think of—”

“Dudley,” added Edgar, as she paused.
“Ay, think of him, sister, for he is worthy
of your thoughts.”

“Nay, I said not him, Edgar,” cried Virginia,
quickly, now showing a face deeply
flushed—possibly caused by bending forward—possibly
by the fire—or, possibly—
by what you will, reader.

“Hark!” exclaimed Edgar, suddenly;
“there are heavy steps on the stairs, and
rough voices without. What can be the
meaning?”

Virginia drew close to him in alarm.
The next moment there came a heavy double-knock
on the door, as if struck with
a club, and a voice without said hoarsely:

“Guard the windows, and see he don't
escape by t'other door!”

“Who are you, and what is wanted?”
demanded Edgar, rising and taking a step
forward, while Virginia clung tremblingly
to him.

“Open, in the name of the commonwealth!
I'm an officer of the police.”

“No, no—do not!” cried Virginia, intercepting
her brother as he was about to
comply with the demand. “This is some
plot to murder you.”

“Be firm, Virginia, and reach me yonder
knife,” said Edgar, in a low tone, with
deathly pale features and compressed lips.
“Should they prove to be impostors, it
shall go hard with some of them. Quick,
the knife! and then retire into the other
apartment.”

“Open, or I'll split down your door!”
said the voice without.

“Do so, and you are a dead man!” returned
Edgar. “Quick, Virginia! There,
now hasten into the other apartment.”

“But, Edgar, dear,” began Virginia, in
trembling tones.

“Nay, away, before violence is done!”
interrupted her brother. “Fly, and close
the door!” and as Virginia complied with
his entreaty, he turned the key in the
other and threw it open.

Two figures at once advanced into the
apartment—one the villainous person of
Wesley, and the other a stout, coarse-featured,
red-faced individual, partly muffled
in a rough over-coat, who carried in one
hand a paper, and in the other a heavy
hickory club.

“That's him,” nodded Wesley toward
Edgar.

“Edgar Courtly,” said the other, advancing
and placing his brawny hand on his
shoulder, “you're my prisoner.”

“For what?” demanded Edgar, calmly,
while Virginia, uttering a wild shriek,
came bounding forward.

“For forgery,” gruffly replied the officer.

“Great Heaven! I arrested for forgery!
You must be mocking me!”

“There's the document; and if you
think there's any mockery in that, why
you're welcome to think so, that's all,”
replied the constable, showing Edgar the
writ for his apprehension.

“'Tis even so,” said Edgar, clasping the
almost fainting Virginia to his beating
heart. “Great God! are we never to know
the end of our misery! Must one affliction
tread upon another till they crush us
into our graves! Oh, God of the orphans!”
he cried, wildly, clasping his hands and
looking upwards, “bid death be speedy and
summon us to a better world!” Then turning
fiercely to the officer, he continued:
“Who hath done this, sir!—who dares accuse
me of the crime you have named?
In the presence of my Maker, sir, I swear
I am innocent!”

“Yes, yes,” screamed Virginia, wildly,
“he is innocent—he never did any wrong
—and you shall not tear him from me!
Go! go!—you shall not take him!”

“Come, come, pretty Miss, it's no use
to whine,” returned the officer; “because,
you see, now, I've got to do my duty
whether or no. I've no doubt the young
man'll be able to prove his innocence—but
with that I've nothing to do. There's my
paper, which says arrest Edgar Courtly,
and I've got to do it. So, (to Edgar) come
along! for it's time we's a-moving.”

“I see it all!” exclaimed Edgar, as a
thought flashed through his brain. “It is
a damnable plot of my uncle to put me
out of his way: but I will triumph yet, and
then let him beware! Cheer up, Virginia!
I have friends, and shall not long be kept
in durance; and then let them that have
done this beware! Cheer up, sweet sister
—stay here to-night—and early in the
morning hasten to Calvin Morton and tell
him all. Farewell!”

“No! no!” screamed Virginia, clinging
tightly to him; “you shall not go! I will
not let you go—they will murder you! Oh
God! oh God! to come to this! You shall
not go!”

“Nay, dearest Virginia,” said Edgar, in
an agony of mind better conceived than
described, pressing his lips to hers, and
straining her to his heart in a fond embrace,
“I must go; the officer is waiting;
you must not detain me!”

“Then I will go with you—they shall
imprison us both—we will not part!”

“That cannot be,” spoke up Wesley.
“The rules of the prison won't allow it.
Better stay where are you are, lady, and
I'll bring you any information you desire.
Although I'm here with the police officer,
yet I'm your brother's friend, and will do
all in my power to render this disagreeable
business bearable. You spoke of Calvin
Morton, the lawyer: do you know him,
Mr. Courtly?”

“Thank Heaven, I do!” replied Edgar.
“I did him some service, for which he is
grateful, and will stand my friend. Oh,
sir, if you are friendly toward us, as you
say, will you not hasten to him at once,
and tell him the condition in which we
both are placed? It is the greatest favor
I can ask of you at present, and you shall
have gold for your trouble.”

“I'll do it,” said Wesley, with a singular
gleam in his small, black eyes—“that
is, if you'll persuade your sister to remain,
so that if they send after her, as I know
they will, she can surely be found.”

“Do you hear, Virginia? Now, sweet
sister, stay where you are till this gentleman
returns, or sends some one to take
you among friends; and in this way you
will both hasten my release and relieve
my mind.”

“Then farewell, brother!” cried Virginia,
throwing her arms around his neck
and bursting into tears. “Farewell, Edgar!—I—I
will do as you say. God bless
you!—adieu!” and as if fearful to longer
test her resolution by remaining, she sprang
away from him and into the adjoining
apartment.

“Lead on!” said Edgar to the officer;
and with a firm step, but with a deathly,
sickening sensation at heart, he left the

house, accompanied by Wesley and the
constable.

As the party reached the foot of the
stairs, two figures approached them, and a
voice said:

“Why, Gus, I d begun to think you
wasn't a-coming. What in thunder kept
you so long?”

“Why, the chap's got a sister up there,”
answered the other, “and she, woman like,
wouldn't let him go till she'd cried a few—
that's all.”

“Well, I 'spose we can push ahead
now;” and the speaker came along side of
Edgar, while the fourth personage drew
aside and was joined by Wesley.

As Edgar now moved away between the
two officers, he noted, with considerable
misgiving, that the other two persons loitered
about the premises, conversed in low
tones, and occasionally pointed toward the
apartments of his sister.

Could it be possible, he mused, that they
meditated treachery! And then like lightning
the remembrance came over him, of
how strenuous Wesley had been in urging
his sister to remain. Perhaps this was
some devilish plot to remove him and get
her in their possession! and he felt his
blood run chill and his brain reel at the
thought.

Halting abruptly and looking back, he
said to the officers:

“Before I go with you to prison, I must
return to my sister: I have something important
to tell her.”

“Can't do it,” replied one, gruffly, placing
his hand heavily on Edgar's shoulder.
“You've kept us bothering too long already,
and must come now whether or no.”

As the other spoke, Edgar saw the two
figures slowly depart in an opposite direction,
and watching them disappear, he
strove to banish from his mind all suspicion
of wrong, and turning, signified his
readiness to proceed.

With a heavy step and heavier heart,
Edgar moved through the streets, bitterly
reflecting upon his hard destiny, in having
the only cup of happiness he had possessed
for years dashed suddenly from his lips
at the very moment his wearied and thirsty
soul was about to take a refreshing
draught. And what could be the meaning
of the accusation for which he was now
held a prisoner! He strove to recollect
what he had done, to bring himself even
under the curse of suspicion; but for a long
time he puzzled his brain without success,
when suddenly the truth flashed upon him
with almost overwhelming force. His uncle—his
base, inhuman uncle—was at the
bottom of it! Yes, this was the cause of
that liberality which had so surprised him
—this the cause of that gleam of triumph
which he had marked at the time, but without
a suspicion of what it imported. And
to what extent had he power to carry his
villainy? He would of course attempt to
prove the check he had given him a forged
one. But would he succeed? Doubtless
he already had witnesses bribed to swear
falsely; but notwithstanding, Edgar knew
himself innocent, and could not but believe
that all would turn out right in the end,
and that the black-hearted baseness of his
uncle would recoil upon himself and his
tools with overwhelming force.

As he came in sight of the Egyptian
Tombs, rearing its massive walls high in
the starlight air, and standing out vague,
and dim and gloomy from its murky background,
the same cold, sickening shudder
he had twice before experienced, passed
over his frame, and he knew it now a
strange omen of evil. And what singular
feelings were his, as, ascending the steps,
he walked over the very spot whither he
had borne the lovely Edith, then an unknown
female just rescued from peril, but
now an object in his eyes of no little interest!
And with what peculiar emotions
he recalled the plans he had laid for the
morrow, in each of which she held a part,
only to know them all swept away by the
strong hand of destiny, and himself a prisoner,
on his way to the dungeon of the
criminal! And with what a sinking heart,
a sense of loathing and utter desolation,
he entered the cheerless, noisome cell apportioned
him, and heard the harsh grating
of the iron door as it swung to on its rusty
hinges, shutting him from light, and air,
and seemingly the world forever! And
lastly, when all were gone and all was silent,
save the dull sound of his feet, as to

and fro he paced the rocky floor of his present
narrow abode, what a whirlwind of
thought, what a chaos of ideas, crowded
his feverish brain, straining it to the verge
of madness, and making his very soul
seem like a thing of flesh and blood, filled
with barbed irons dipped in rankling
poison!

But with all his misery—his mental anguish—Edgar
had an easy conscience; and
with this we leave him, while we return
to those who were even now taking the
preliminary steps to a fearful retribution.