University of Virginia Library

15. CHAPTER XV.
THE PLOT AND THE TRAITOR.

“I tell you, Acton,” said Wesley to his
companton, as they stood before the lodgings
of Edgar and Virginia, “it's no use
to think of venturing there now, for she'll
know it's some trick to deceive her: so
come away, leave all to me, and I'll make
my plan succeed.”

“Why, Wesley, you see we are here
now, and the bird is caught.”

“But surely, Acton Goldfinch, you're
not fool enough to attempt force with a
woman, when stratagem will succeed better.
If she should scream, we'd have the
whole town upon us.”

“O, I would only attempt the gentlest
persuasion.”

“Pshaw! what would your persuasion
do with her? And see,” continued Wesley,
pointing toward Edgar, “that young
scape-grace has stopped. He likely suspects
something, and if we stand here
much longer, we'll have him back upon us.
Come! we must leave, if only for policy's
sake.”

Acton grumblingly consented, and the
two worthies moved away together. Entering
the Bowery, they shaped their course
to one of the many grogeries surrounding
the theater, and passing through the barroom
into a more private apartment, called
for a couple bottles of wine, over which,
in low tones, they discussed the matter uppermost
in their minds.

“But, Wesley, how will you manage
it?” asked Acton.

“As I said before, leave that to me and
you'll see. But I say, where'll you take
her to, Acton?—have you got that fixed?”

“Why, not exactly: I must take her
where I'm acquainted, for there might be
trouble with strangers. Ha! by Jove, I
will do it!” he added, with flashing eyes,
striking his fist on the table with a force
that made the bottles and tumblers ring
again. “Yes, she shall go there,” he continued,
rather to himself than his companion.
“She has dared to threaten me to
my teeth and cast me off, and I will show
her that I can console myself with the society
of one more beautiful still. And
then, peradventure, she'll get in a passion
and do some rash act—for of course she'll
be jealous of her rival. Well, so much
the better; for if she but break the law in
one iota, I will have her dragged to prison,
where I'll manage to keep her until my
wedding is over. Yes, by—! I'll do it!”

“And who is this person you're speaking
of?” asked Wesley, carelessly.

Acton gave a start of surprise.

“Well, that is my business,” he answered,
sharply, now for the first time
aware he had been thinking aloud. “You
do your part, sir, and leave mine to me.”

Wesley made no reply, but there was a
peculiar cunning expression on his ugly
features, and a malicious gleam in his
small, black eyes, as stealthily he watched
the countenance of the other. Then he
said, in a careless tone:

“By-the-by, Master Acton, have you
that fifty handy?”

“Insolent dog!” returned the other, angrily;
“do you want your pay before you
do your work? Don't intrude mercenary
affairs upon me, when you see I am busy
with weighty matters.”

“So, so,” grumbled Wesley to himself—
“he calls me an insolent dog, eh?—and
his father will make his money save him,
eh! O ho, my good masters—we shall see
—we shall see.”

“What do you think, Wes,” said Acton,
in a familiar, patronising tone, intended
perhaps to allay any harsh feelings
his previous language might have excited,

and throwing off as he spoke a tumbler of
wine: “think the little jade will be refractory,
when she finds there is no backing
out of the matter, eh?”

“Hardly,” answered Wesley.

“Sewing girls, you know,” continued
the other, on whom the wine already began
to take effect, “are not apt to be troublesome—at
least I—ha, ha—I never found
them so. But then you know,” he added,
with assumed gravity, stroking his chin
complacently, “there is every thing in the
looks of the person—eh! Wesley?”

“Every thing,” rejoined the other, quietly,
eyeing him closely.

A few more turns at the bottle made
Acton very loquacious, and he began to
talk of his own private plans with less and
less reserve. Urging the liquor upon him,
but taking care to keep a cool brain himself,
Wesley watched his opportunity, and
when he found the other in the right mood
to be communicative, said:

“Between friends, you know, Master
Acton, there should be no reserve!”

“That's fact,” hiccupped the other;
“that's a fact, by —! What do you
wan't to know, Wes? Eh! what is it?”

“Know? O, nothing in particular—
only I was just thinking how — touchy
you were about that little matter of the
female.”

“Ha! ha!—yes, I see. Ah, you're a
sly dog, Wes—by Jove, you are! Well,
now, I'll tell you—for as you say, there
should be no reserve among friends—and
we're friends—eh! Wesley?”

“We're friends,” grinned the other.

“Well that, you see, was my wife. Stop,
now—that is, you see, she would have
been my wife, but the priest or minister
that married us, didn't happen to be either
a priest or minister. You take, Wes, eh?
—ha, ha, ha!”

“I take,” quietly rejoined the other; and
then added, carelessly, sipping his wine:
“A good joke—a capital joke. But, by-the-by,
who is this female? and where does
she live?”

“O, she?—why, her name's Ellen Douglas,
and she lives in Mott street.”

“And so she's going to interfere in some
wedding of yours, eh?”

“Ha! ha! yes; and that's the richest
joke of all. Come, I'll tell you about it.
You must know I have been paying my
addresses to the fair, and lovely, and angelic
Edith Morton, and—But stop—her
health first, Wesley, and then to proceed.”

And having drank her health, as he termed
it, with drunken gravity, Acton proceeded
to give the other a short history of
Ellen Douglas, and of the most important
events which had occurred during their acquaintance,
up to the time when he was
commanded from her presence, all of which
the reader has a knowledge. And then he
said, in conclusion, with somewhat awakened
energy:

“But she must not interfere in this affair
of Edith! No, by —! she must not
interfere there! Is there not some way to
prevent it, Wesley?” and he gave his confederate
a peculiar look.

“Some way,” nodded Wesley, catching
the other's dark meaning.

“Yes,” pursued Acton, slowly, eyeing
the other steadily, “there is a way, and I
may yet need your services. If she attempt
what she has threatened, I—”

“May put her out of the way,” chimed
in Wesley, in a low tone, as the other
paused.

Acton started, his eyes gleamed darkly,
and reaching across the table, he seized
Wesley's hand and shook it heartily.

“You are a clever fellow,” he said; “you
see things at a glance that others might
never see. By Jove! I was getting drunk
just now—but the thought of this affair
has made me sober again. Come, as it is
not far from here, by Jove, I'll show you
where Ellen lives, and on the way we will
talk over the matter.”

No proposition, at the moment, could
have suited Wesley better; for he had
deep schemes of his own to concoct; and
to know the abode of Ellen, was one of the
most important steps towards their campletion;
therefore he quickly arose and signified
his readiness to depart immediately.
Acton had more than once insulted him—
but he had passed it by, simply because he
had scen no opportunity to revenge himself
compatibly with his devilish nature.
To-night he had called him an insolent

dog; and now that he fancied there was a
chance for deep and lasting retaliation, he
had sworn in his heart to execute it. To
what extent he succeeded will presently
be seen.

By the time Acton and Wesley reached
the abode of Ellen, the former had become
perfectly sober—owing, doubtless, to the
weakness of the wine and the excited
state of his feelings—and already began
to regret having made the other his confident;
but it was too late now to repent,
and so he determined, if possible, to profit
by a sorry mistake.

“That is the house,” he said, pointing
to the building from the opposite side of
the street.

“And you design taking the girl there,
eh?” queried Wesley.

“Why, that was my intention—but, by
Jove, I hardly know what to think of it.
Ellen has a high temper, and may prove
troublesome.”

“Pshaw! cannot you manage a woman?”
sneered Wesley.

“By —! it shall be so!” cried the
other, taking fire at the thought. “I will
take her there; and when she is fairly
mine, I will set them face to face, and
show the haughty Ellen another triumph.
I hate her—for twice has she made a coward
of me—and I would have her see that
I have regained the courage of a man, and
dare urge her to do her worst. If she attempt
to harm me, by —! I'll kill her
on the spot, and get off by proving it self-defence—though
I would rather avoid so
bold a measure, for it would of course
make a talk and reach the ears of Edith.
But better even that,” he added, in the
next breath, “than have her go there in
person; for I could easily trump up some
story to screen myself, particularly as
money can buy all kinds of evidence. Yes,
it's settled—I'll do it!” he concluded abruptly.

“Right,” rejoined Wesley. “Now I'll
tell you how to proceed. You must go
back to the place and reconnoiter till I
come with a coach, and then I'll manage,
with your assistance, to entice the girl into
it, and give you farther instructions.”

“Good!” said Acton, approvingly. “Be
quick, Wesley, and you shall find me on
hand;” and the two worthies separated,
going opposite directions.

Wesley managed, however, to keep his
eye on Acton till he had completely disappeared,
and then hastening to the abode of
Ellen, he requested to see her on business
admitting of no delay. He was kept some
time in waiting, but finally gained admission,
and was conducted to her apartment.
Although a rather advanced hour, Ellen
had not yet retired, but was partly reclining
on an elegant sofa, guitar in hand,
singing a plaintive song, the following
words of which sounded mournfully in the
ear of Wesley, as, full of astonishment
and admiration, both of the apartment and
singer, he halted just within the door,
gazed around, and listened.

She ceased, and laying aside her instrument,
arose and advanced to Wesley, who
was still so much amazed at what he saw,
as almost to forget his errand. Her pale
features, viewed by the soft light of the
apartment, he fancied the most beautiful
he had ever beheld; and he was already
pondering how to address her, when she
relieved him by saying:

“Well, sir, I understand you wish to see
me on important business!”

“I—I—do,” stammered Wesley.

“Say on, then—for it must be important
that calls you here at this late hour.
If you have much to say, perhaps we had
better be seated.”

“Not—not much to say,” rejoined Wesley,
in his blandest tone. “Madam—
Miss Ellen, I mean—I hardly know how

to begin. I suppose you know Acton
Goldfinch?”

Ellen started, her eyes flashed, and her
form towered aloft, as she replied, haughtily:

“If you bring a message from him, sir,
our conference is ended.”

“I bring no message from him, Miss
Ellen—but I've come to speak of him.
He's a villain!”

“How know you that?” rejoined the
other, quickly.

“Because I know him well, and have
known him long, and because it's of meditated
villainy on his part I've come to see
you.”

“Say on, sir!”

“He's about to bring a lady here, to this
house, this night, whom he'll entice away
by treachery.”

“Indeed, sir! and how know you this?”
inquired Ellen, eagerly, changing color
and breathing hard.

“Because he told me so himself—or rather,
because I overheard him laying the
plan.”

“Bring her here!—brave me to my face
again!” muttered Ellen, striving to keep
down her excited passions: “Let him—
let him, if he dare!” And then to Wesley:
“Well, sir, do you know this female?
and who is she? and why come you to me,
when you should be doing her a service by
warning and defending her as becomes a
man?”

“I'll answer your questions as you've
asked them,” replied Wesley. “This female
I know—she's poor, but virtuous—
and I come to you, that you may render
her a good service and get her honest
thanks for it. She'll be enticed away,
thinking she's going to another place—
but she'll be brought here, and the rest I
leave to you. If you want to revenge
yourself on a black-hearted villain, now
is your chance to do it by protecting her.”

“But why do you think I desire revenge?
Do you know any thing of my
history?”

“If I did'nt,” replied Wesley, “I'd
never been here on this errand. I know
all, Miss Ellen—and I know you've been
shamefully abused and wronged, by one
who has abused and wronged me! (and his
eyes gleamed maliciously,) for which I'll
be revenged, if it hangs me!”

“And so he has made a boast of my
disgrace, has he?” rejoined Ellen, in a low,
deep tone, eyeing the other intently.

“Yes, time and again, over his cups;
and he laughs at your threats, and drinks
toasts to your speedy passage to another
world.”

For a few moments Ellen stood speechless,
gazing upon Wesley with an expression
that seemed to freeze his blood,
and made him fearful for what he had
said. Then she slowly sank upon an
ottoman, bowed her face upon her hands,
and groaned as one suffering the extreme
of bodily pain. Wesley did not venture
another remark, till again looking up, with
truly haggard features, she broke the
gloomy silence, by saying:

“And who is this new victim? You
have not yet told me who she is.”

“Why she's a poor orphan girl thatcame
to this city, some time ago, with her mother
and brother, expecting to get money
from a rich uncle here. But she and they
were disappointed, I believe, and the old
woman took on and died about it; and she
and her brother, as I understand, have
had a rather hard time to get along. Not
more than three hours ago, her brother
was arrested for forgery—and of the peril
she's in, I've already told you.”

“Her name?” almost shrieked Ellen,
springing up so suddenly that Wesley involuntarily
took a step backwards.—
“Her name?” she cried again, starting
forward and seizing the astonished attorney
by the arm, who looked as if he
doubted her sanity. “Speak!” she continued,
vehemently: “tell me the name of
this girl!”

“Why, perhaps I should be—”

“Nay, her name? her name?” interrupted
Ellen, stamping her foot impatiently.
“Is it Courtly? Do you speak of Edgar
and Virginia Courtly?”

“What! you know them?” rejoined
Wesley, all amazement.

“Ha! it is so—it is so!” cried Ellen, almost
frantic with passion. “The wretch!
the villain! the monster!—and he dares assail

her virtue—his own flesh and blood,
as it were! Ham like, he should be
cursed to all posterity, and die the death
of a brute—unwept, unpitied, and unremembered,
save with loathing! O, I
could tear him in pieces for the thought!
Let him but harm a hair of her innocent,
unprotected head, and by the Justice Seat
of Heaven, I swear to follow and drag him
to an early grave, and to endless perdition!
His own cousin!—his father's sister's
child! O, Heaven! what a wretch!”

“But he don't know she's his cousin,”
put in Wesley, as the other paused.

“Indeed! are you sure?” cried Ellen,
catching at the thought.

“Sure,” answered the other.

“And do you think this knowledge
would make any difference with him?”

“Think it would.”

“I have it, then!” said Ellen, triumphantly.
“Let him bring her here, and if he
have one iota of a man's soul in his breast,
he shall, ere he leave this house, be made
to curse himself as the meanest thing
that walks the face of the earth. And
Edgar dragged to prison!” she continued,
looking straight at Wesley: “Oh, there
is foul wrong somewhere, which the guilty
shall yet tremble for! God help the right,
and shield the innocent from hell's own
dire inventions! And how soon will Virginia
be here?”

“Soon,” was the answer.

“Go, then, sir; and if you have aught to
do with this dark scheme, help it to succeed.
Your part—if, as I fancy, you have
one in the game—shall be winked at, for
the important information you have given
me.”

“I've told you before,” replied Wesley,
“I scek revenge on Acton Goldfinch; and
besides, the girl is a sweet creature to
look at, she never wronged me, and I'd save
her from harm.”

“Go, then, and rest satisfied, that once
here with his fair cousin, you shall be revenged
on Acton, and Virginia shall escape
scathless. Go, now—for I have plans
of my own to perfect, and would be alone.”

“I obey, Miss Ellen,” answered the
attorney, respectfully; and bowing he departed.

So soon as she was once more by herself,
Ellen rang a bell; and to the domestic
who answered it, she said, in a commanding
tone:

“I would speak with Madame Costellan.”

The servant withdrew, and in a few
minutes Ellen was joined by the person
whose presence she desired—a handsome
female, richly dressed, and scarce turned
of thirty years. With her, Ellen held a
short but eager conference, the nature of
which it is needless for us here to disclose.