University of Virginia Library

9. CHAPTER IX.
The Journey.

The letter left an inscrutable painful mystery. Bertrand's disappointment
and anxiety almost drove him mad. `Why had she closed her communication
so abruptly. What fearful thing had she to reveal? What evil had befallen
her? Why should she subscribe herself wretched and lost!'

These and a hundred other inquiries rushed through his mind as the stage, its
speed quickened by his earnest appeals and offers of reward to the coachman,
rolled swiftly on. The idea that she had been forced into a marriage with the
Baron de Rosselau was uppermost in his mind; but if so how could he account
for certain expressions in the letter showing her deep love for him.

`No, it would not be that Marie would ever wed this man!' he said very
positively; `she should have died first by her own hand! What then, if I reject
this horrible idea, what then has occurred—what great evil has befallen
her?'

In vain attempts to resolve this question to the satisfaction of his own mind,
he passed the day of travel. As the stage approached Boston he learned from
the driver that it would pass along the tunpike part the very gate-way leading to
the avenue of Colonel de Heywode's villa.

This intelligence filled him with joy; as it would bring him sooner to the
knowledge of her fate, and he resolved to leave the stage there and let it take his
baggage on into town. The moon was about half an hour high as, on descending
a hill, the `Vale of Eden' was visible with its numerous villas, gardens,
groves and sparkling brooks. In ten minutes afterwards the coach was traversing
the turnpike before described as passing through this beautiful scene, and
along which Marie had escaped northward three nights before

`I will not go on so far as the avenue gate but alight here,' said Bertrand,
as the stage entered a woodland that bounded Colonel de Heywode's estate.
`And now, my good driver,' he said handing him his purse, take this for your
good speed. And I want another favor of you. I have some business before
me which requiries secrecy. Will you lend me your white coat with the dozen
capes, your brown broad brimmed hat, and your gloves and whip. In exchange
I leave you my cloak, cap, gloves, and this money, till I see you again
at the stage office in the city.'

`You seem to be a nice gentleman, sir, and I am willing to oblige you,' answered
the coachman, preparing to make the exchange. `Some love affair I
reckon, sir, from the way you have wanted to push ahead, and some words I
overheard you talking aloud to yourself! I don't care for your cloak and other
things, sir, unless you want me to take them into Boston!

`I do,' answered Bertrand as he alighted.

In a few minutes the young officer was completely disguised as a stagecoachman.

`Now, if I don't feel like gettin' inside myself, sir, and lettin' you take the
box, for bless me, if you don't look like a regular coachee, begging your pardon,
sir! Vell, I wishes you success; but I hopes you wont get into no out
and outer scrape in them coverin's, coz the name of `Bill Rowley's, writ on em
all inside, and I don't want to be `sponsible for my fixins when I is'nt in 'em!'

Bertrand promised him that they should not bring any discredit upon him;
and hastened on his way first towards the cottage of widow Bray, hoping
faintly, that he might find Marie there; for he was satisfied that she had fled to
some refuge directly after closing the letter he had last read.

The driver putting on an old `weather-coat' that lay upon his box, and mounting
his `storm-cap' instead of the articles he had doffed to oblige his passenger,
once more drove on, satisfied that if he never beheld his apparel again, he had
their full value in the purse which he held safely in his pocket.

Bertrand had been two years before on a visit to Marie a few days, and
he was familiar with the grounds about the estate; for he and the maiden had
often travsrsed them on foot and in the saddle He knew the position of the

cottage and soon reached it by a path through the wood. It was dark, silent
and seemed deserted. He knocked at the door and was answered from within
by the voice of the good dame.

`It is a friend—rise and let me speak with you,' he called to her.

The good dame, who had nothing to fear in her poverty from the cupidity of
thieves, rose, struck a light and opened the door.

`Oh, you are a stage-man,' she exclaimed as the light fell upon his costume;
`have you upset or is any thing the matter?'

`No, madam;' answered Bertrand, entering; and closing the door behind
him, he said, `I am here to ask you if you know whether Miss de Heywode is
still at home! She is a friend of yours, I believe!'

`Miss Marie, is indeed my friend, sir! But for her bounty I should have
been in the alms-house. All these comforts are her gifts. But, ah! sir, you
ask me a sad question! She is not at home! She disappeared three nights ago
very suddenly, and no one has been able to find any clue to where she went!'

`She has then escaped,' ejaculated Edward with a feeling both of relief and
alarm; for if she had escaped he felt she could not have been made de Rosselau's
wife! But he quickly asked, trembling to hear—

`Do you know if she was married.'

`Married! Lord love you, no, Mr. Coachman? You mean to that Frenchified
Count.'

`Yes.'

`Why that is what she run away from, is my opinion. She'll never marry
but one person, and that is the young officer as was here to see her two years
ago and used to ride about and walk about with her! I've heard her speak of
him with tears of love in her eyes; for she used to come and talk with me, and
told me at times much of her young heart.'

`Then she is escaped indeed, if she has escaped from him,' said Bertrand,
forcibly.

`Yes she is escaped; and I didn't know of it till the Colonel came ridin' up
here yesterday noon, to ask me if she wasn't here, or if I hadn't seen her! and
they got down and searched all through my house but didn't discover her;
though, if she wanted shelter with me, I would hide her if I had to lose my life
keeping her from bein' found!'

`You are a faithful good woman. I see I can trust you! I am not what you
think. These garments are only borrowed! I am the young officer who was
here two years ago. If you look at me closely and also at my uniform under
this box-coat you will recognise me, perhaps.'

`Yes, lord love you, and so it is the very face and the very gold on the coat.
And what a pity that Miss Marie is gone.'

`I got a letter from her saying she was about to fly from home. I have hastened
hither and have but just arrived in the stage that passed a few minutes
ago on the turnpike. Before going to the villa I came here, because she wrote
me that possibly she might seek refuge with you. But she has not so.'

`No, sir; and I am very sorry, because, poor dear, she will soon be found,
and I could have kept her safe hid, I know That Count and her father will
have to answer for this,' she said with anger. `She told me when she was
last here, how she wished you were here to free her, and that if her father
pressed the marriage she should escape from it in one way or another. And
poor sweet! she has gone and nobody knows whither.'

`Are you sure that nothing else has occurred to drive her away? Nothing
besides dread of this union with the Frenchman?' asked Bertrand, recalling
the painful evil, which had closed, as well as begun, her last letter to him.

`Nothing, as I have heard, sir. Wasn't that enough, 'deed?'

`Yes, it was,' answered Bertrand with bitter emphasis. `Poor Marie! Where
are you now wandering. What pillow shelters your head. What roof covers
you.'

`Do not give way to despair, young sir. God is over all and the good will
be protected from the wicked. That is my faith.'

`And a very strong and proper faith it is. Can you give me no clue, my dear
madam?'

`No, sir, pity's me I cant.'

At this moment a hand was heard moving the latch without and the door

slowly opened, and in peeped the wooly head and sable countenance of Moses
the African. The widow who had started back with a half cry of terror recovered
her self-possession on recognising him to be the old servant of Colonel
Heywode whom she had often seen accompany his young mistress as bearer of
her bounties.

`It is nobody but uncle Moses sir,' she said, seeing the young officer regard
him with curiosity, and with a look of surprise, at his stealthy mode of entering
the hut.

`I recognize him, now,' answered Bertrand, with an expression of pleasure.
`I am your old friend, lieutenant Bertrand, Moses?'

`But am you massa Frank, sure?' answered Moses, who on seeing the supposed
coachman, had been half disposed to retreat. His face wore a look of
alarm as he entered, and he seemed to be in apprehension of some danger from
without; and as he answered, he bolted the door and stood against it.

`What is that for, master Moses?' asked the dame.

`To keep out any body dat want Mose,' he answered with signs of fear, and
in a trembling tone. `Dar be no place for Mose up to de villy, missy Bray!' he
said, shaking his head. `Ah massa Frank, 'tis you for sartain! I wish you
come sooner!'

`What has just occurred?' demanded Edward.

`Master's gone stark mad and goes 'bout with a pistol cursin' orful! He
shot him favorite horse dead, and den dere's been a funeral!'

`A funeral?' exclaimed Bertrand and the dame in one breath.

`Yes, massa; and dat is no place for dis nigger no longer; so he come here
for hide little while, and morrow he go orf. Now Miss Marie has really escaped?'
asked Edward with deep and painful interest, and putting this question
in hopes of drawing more from him touching her flight.

`It am true, massa. She wait for young massa Frank Bertrand come from
ober de sea and marry her, but he no come in time; and her father say she must
marry de Count, and so she get out ob her winder and escape in de night from
de villy! Den massa he take on like mad when he know it, and de Count he
swear, and dey ride dis way and dat, and for two, three days they done notin'
but ride after her; and now massa has shot his horse and he swear he kill ebery
individual 'bout de place; and 'specially old Mose, coz he spec me know
whar missy Mary gone! De Count am gone orf to Boston, and massa hab de
house to hisself, now de corpse is buried!'

`What corpse?' demanded Bertrand, with surprise and curiosity.

`Why dat ov de strange woman! no body know who she whar! She come
dere 'bout three week ago in a town carriage jest at dark, and hab some dreadful
scene wid master in his lib'ry. Massa know'd who she was, but no body
else didn't. Well, she stay dar most three week, massa keepin' her lock up in
her room and nobody neber see her nor speak to her; massa he carry her all her
viittels and dar she stay; and he all time lookin' awful out ob his eyes when
anybody look at him. Well, she die three day ago, and when she die nobody
wid her but master. We hear her groan but nobody dars'nt stir; coz massa
say if any ob de servants' go to her room he kill em dead!'

`This is a most extraordinary affair,” said Bertram, who had no difficulty in
identifying this person with the female alluded to by Marie in her letter. `Go
on Moses, I would hear all you know.'

Moses, after listening with his ear at the door, to be sure than no one was approaching
the cottage, then resumed:

`After she die, master make de women lay her out in de dinin' hall, and he
had it hung wid black and keep de key. No body go in dere but hissef! Dat
night after she die, Missy Marie get out ob de window and 'scape. Dis mornin'
massa had a grave dug under some tree by de brook and after dark came to
night he had de coffin carried there by four of de servants. De coffin hab a
brack cloth over um, and massa, dressed in brack, walk behind it. He makee me
carry a candle, and when de men lower de coffin in de grave he gave each of
dem two candles and tell em light em by mine. Den he put de seben candles
round de grave and tell us all go 'way. Den we go, but I stop good way off and
see him kneel down and hear him talk as if he was prayin'! By and be he came
back to the house and tell me go fill up de grave. I and Peter went mazin'
frightened, but we darsn't disbey master, and when we got to de grave de candles

was gone and de coffin laying silent and dark in de bottom. We soon
covered it up, and jist as I had got through, one ob de farm people came and
tell me master was mad—had shot him horse dead—walked about wid a loaden
pistol and swear he kill me when I come in, coz he spec' I know whar Miss
Marie be!'

`And do you know?' demanded Bertrand, who had listened with surprise at
the foregoing narrative of Moses.

`True as de lord, massa Frank, I don't. I see her ony to de wood whar she
leab her hosse; and dis I tell my wife Dinah, and I spose she tell some order
one, and oder one tell anoder and so massa guess dat dis nigger know.'

`What wood? what do you know? what did you tell your wife Dinah?' demanded
Bertrand with animation.

`I tell Dinah when she ax me so much I no able to say no, I tell her, coz she
promise she keep 'em secret, I tell her—'

`What did you tell her?' cried Edward with impatience.

`How tedious he is,' exclaimed the dame.

`I tell Dinah, dat after Miss Marie get out ob de window, I go meet her wid
her favorite horse, Browny, at de outside ob de garden gate in de field; and she
get on and I lead him down de hedge to de pike and dere we gets through and
she goes galloping up de pike, which we run after to cotch my horse what I leff
tied under de bridge!'

`Then you were with Marie when she made her escape, Moses?' cried Bertrand
taking the old man's hands in his; `for mercy's sake go on and let me
know all! What bridge? when was this? At what hour? When did she go?
Where is she now?'

`Lor' bress my soul, massa Frank. You knock de poor nigger ober and ober
wid so many 'terrogations one a top ob de oder and all comin in a heap. De
bridge where I leff my horse am de old bridge whar you used to catch trout,'

`And she crossed this bridge northward.'

`Yes, massa. A'ter I'd found my nag I mounted him and galloped a'ter her,
and if she didn't lead Croppy a race he nebber know'd what gallopin' on four
legs was afore in his born days.'

`How far, and where did she ride? what hour was it?'

`It was about nine o'clock, and star-light coz the moon wasn't riz so early
three nights ago.'

`It was three nights ago?'

`Yes, massa Frank. Last night am one, de night afore am two, and de night
afore dat am three.'

`That is four nights instead of three.'

`It will be four nights to-morrow mornin, massa; dis night aint gone yet.—
Nigger know how to count sure.'

`And where did she ride to?'

`Well she kept on de pike about haff an hour or may be less, till you come to
the road that turns off north east, that road you once rode with her when you
went to see the Cambridge colleges.'

`I remember it. It is full four or five miles along the pike to it. And in
this side road how far did you go?'

`About three miles when Croppy guv out, lay down in de road and swear he
no gallop no furder. Mistress then tell me she ony want me to go two miles
furder to bring back Brounny and say she rode on and fasten him to a tree at
de foot ob beach-nut hill. So she rode on, and den I went on after her, and
den Croppy he come too and gallop past me; and when I come to de foot ob de
hill I find Brounny tied and Croppy standin' by him, but I neber seed nothin'
ob young missus. I holler, and I look ebery whar and I ride on a mile, and I
see nothin' ob her. So I took Croppy back, coz she told me I must do so, and
put him in de stable and get to bed afore ma sa could know nothin' about it.—
Dat am all Mose know, massa Frank, and all he tell Dinah; and if massa Heywode
kill me dis am all me know 'bout it sure as de Bible.'

Bertrand had listened to this narrative with an interest that can moe easily

be imagined by the reader than described. Although it did not give him a clue
to her place of refuge, it relieved his mind by dissipating much of the uncertainty
and mystery which enveloped her flight. He, also, hoped to be able by
this description of the course taken by her, to be able yet to ascertain where she
had sought refuge.

`Will you go with me, Moses, if I will protect you?'

`Yes, massa Frank.'

`Will you show just where your young mistress left her horse?'

`Yes; for I know de tree in de dark.'

`Then come with me. At the first Inn I will obtain a conveyance of some
kind, for it is far for you to go on foot, and I am too impatient to walk.'

Taking leave of the good dame, and promising to give her intelligence if he
should hear from the fair fugitive, and receiving from her a promise in return,
that if she heard of Marie she would at once give him information at a place in
town the number of which he left with her, he bade her good night, and followed
by Moses, took his way in the direction of the turnpike.