 | CHAPTER VI.
THE TWO INTERVIEWS. The cruiser of the mist |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
THE TWO INTERVIEWS.
We now return to Randolph, whom we
last saw in his little boat rapidly disappearing
from the eyes of his brother down
the Raritan Bay. He had taken leave of
Arthur, and hurried from him to his boat,
without having formed any definite plan
of action. His mind was confused, and
his soul agitated by deep and passionate
emotions. He felt himself the victim of
the wicked devices of one who, instead of
being his enemy, should have been in the
place of a mother to him. Yet from his
childhood he had been persecuted by her
with singular vindictiveness, and now,
through her subtlety and craft, he had, in
his manhood, been defrauded not only of
his father's affection and dying blessing,
but of his patrimony. He felt that he had
endured more than his human spirit could
patiently bear. His pride forbade him to
seek legal redress, by breaking the will,
and equally indisposed him from accepting
at Arthur's hands the gift of what was
rightfully his own. He was sick at heart
with the duplicity and wrongs which had
been practised upon him, and felt as if the
world would henceforward have no charm
for him. Fondly loving his unworthy
father, his heart was filled with grief that
he should have died believing him undeserving
either of his blessing or his love.
With these bitterly painful reflections, intruded,
in spite of himself, cold and hard
thoughts against Arthur, although his good
sense and generous nature reproved them
as unjust.
With his bosom as tumultuous as the
ocean in a storm, he leaped into his boat—
his own pleasure boat, in which he had
taken with Arthur many a happy sail—
and hoisting the light canvass, darted
away from the beach, trusting he should
never set foot upon it more. After he had
got half a mile from it, he turned to look
back, and beholding his brother waving
his handkerchief to him, he returned the
signal, while his eyes filled with tears at
parting with one so well beloved.
“Fare thee well, brother! I have loved
you as myself—nay, as one dearer than
self. But perchance we shall see each
other no more! I leave with you that
happiness which will never more visit my
bosom. You are rich and good, and all
the path of life before you is fair and
pleasant. To me the future seems obscured
with clouds, and gloomy with impenetrable
night. Be happy, brother!
Gladly, I know, you would have shared
with me that which your wicked mother
has wrested from me to bestow upon you;
but what thou hast keep as thine, for thine
it now is! Were it seventy times bestowed
upon me by thee, I should never feel
that it was mine. No, I am too proud to
be a dependent even upon thee. Thy
mother shall never say that I lived an almoner
upon her son's bounty! Rather do
I choose, as I now do, to wander an exile
from home, and carve out with my own
hands that fortune, whatever it may be,
which is before me. One day, brother,
we may meet again under better auspices.
But for the present we have need to part.
My presence with you would be a constant
restraint upon you in the possession
of your inheritance. I will not be in your
sight to reproach you. Farewell! Farewell!”
Thus speaking, he again waved his
hand in reply to Arthur's repeated signals
of affection, and then firmly turned his face
away, and directed his attention to the
management of his little bark. His general
design was to sail round to New York,
which he could reach, with the wind as it
then was, in five or six hours, there dispose
of his boat, and take passage in some vessel
bound to France, where he resolved to
enlist as an adventurer; for France was
then the field of military glory.
The light vessel skimmed along with
rapid wing over the surface of the sparkling
bay, and shortly doubling the southernmost
point of Staten Island, passed out
he was exiling himself, or, rather, from
which the crimes and injustice of an evil
woman had banished him. Tears of manly
regret and indignant feeling rushed to
his eyes as he looked upon the departing
scene of his birth, the theatre of such painful
events as had just transpired. But
dashing them away with his hand, he
cried, with an air of resolute defiance of
his evil fate,—
“This is no time for tears! Let Fate
do her worst! I am prepared for whatever
is prepared for me by inexorable
lestiny, however dark and stern it may
prove to be! One thing I have to sustain
me, and that is that I am innocent. No
man have I wronged. No evil have I ever
put my hand to. I am not a criminal
escaping from crime, thank God! I am
free in heart and spirit! Whatever lies
before me, I will maintain my integrity.
I will do nothing that shall cause me to
blush for myself, or the beautiful and beloved
Olive to blush for me. Alas, must
I leave her also! Must I depart without
bidding her adieu! In the great weight
of my griefs and wrongs, I have scarce
thought of her who is dearer than all else
on earth. I will see her! If she is generous,
she will not despise me in my
poverty. I will see her and unfold to her
all that has passed. By landing near
yonder forest-covered point, I shall be within
a league of her abode! I will see her
ere I depart from these scenes forever!”
With this mental determination he steered
his boat in the direction of a wooded
promontory about a mile distant, and soon
landed upon a beach upon which grew a
clump of low trees. Here he secured his
boat, and springing to the land, hastened
along the sands until he came to the
verge of the woodlands. He found a path
by which he entered them, and was soon
lost in their depths.
The seat of Colonel Oglethorpe was
situated diagonally opposite the villa of
Lenafe Manor, upon Staten Island. The
two houses, though two miles and a half
distant from each other, and on opposite
sides of the Raritan Strait, were in sight
one of the other. The place where Randolph
landed was on the east side of the
island, which was here three miles broad,
and which he had to cross on foot to reach
the villa.
Colonel Oglethorpe was a man of fortune
and a widower, with an only daughter.
This maiden was about nineteen,
and surpassingly fair. She was a brunette,
with large oriental eyes and a
figure commandingly tall, yet full of
grace. She was intelligent, witty, and
possessed that peculiar fascination which
bewilders, ensnares, and takes captive at
will.
She was passionately loved by the ardent
Randolph, and silently worshipped
by the gentle Arthur. Her preference
was for the former, although, if a maiden
can possess two hearts, she had one for
each of them. Her love for Arthur was,
however, more sisterly than passionate;
and as such Randolph looked upon it.
Neither brother was jealous of the other,
for though both loved her, they each loved
her after a different manner. Although
Randolph would have been miserable to
see her Arthur's bride, Arthur could have
given her away to him in wedlock without
emotion, and loved her afterwards precisely
as he loved her before; for his
feeling with regard to her was independent
of and superior to all ideas of marriage.
Randolph had been betrothed to the
lovely Olive Oglethorpe only a few days
prior to his father's return from the field;
and since then, events had transpired with
such rapidity, he had not seen her. His
chief feeling of regret at having his patrimony
wrested from him was, that it menaced
his happiness with her; and this reflection
added bitterness to his emotions of
grief and indignation. He had too much
pride of character to retain her pledged
hand now that he was pennyless and
homeless. He, therefore, now resolved to
see her and take leave of her, not merely
and restore her that freedom which she
had transferred to him when he was regarded
as the wealthy heir of General
Ledyard. At first, when he fled to his
boat to leave his home, his intention was to
depart without seeing her, feeling that she
would treat him with coldness; and he
did not feel in the mood to have his feelings
more keenly wounded than they were.
But, as he reflected while he sailed down
the bay, it occurred to him that it would
be the most manly and honorable course
for him to see her, state to her his fallen
condition, restore her her promise of betrothal,
and then fly from her, also, forever.
It cannot be denied that secret hope
whispered to the ear of his heart that she
might not regard so seriously as he himself
did, the change in his fortunes, and
would generously refuse to receive back
her pledge of affiance.
Olive Oglethorpe was seated at her harp,
near an open window that commanded a
view of the Raritan straits and the villa
of Lenafe Manor, two miles distant on the
opposite side, with the town of Perth Amboy
farther away to the south. She was
alone, and practising a piece of music
which, instead of being printed, was exquisitely
executed with the pen, as if the
composition of an amateur. At the bottom
of the last page were the initials, in very
small letters, “R. L.” She went through
the composition, and then pausing for a
moment, lifted her eyes towards the view
from the open window. As she did so, a
glow of pleasure lighted up her beautiful
face, and leaving her harp, she quickly
went out upon the piazza.
The object that drew her attention was
a small skiff that a single oarsman was
propelling rapidly across the water from
the direction of Lenafe Manor. It was
about half a mile off, and the person of the
rower was not easily recognizable. She
took down a small telescope from a rack
in the hall, and opening it, placed it to her
eye and directed it upon the approaching
boat.
“It is Arthur, as I thought!” she said
to herself: “Randolph would have been in
his sail boat! I will go and meet him at
the shore.
She delayed an instant to take a sunhat
from a large arm-chair in the hall, and
then hastened to the water-side, followed
by a very large and magnificent Newfoundland
dog, who had risen from the
mat to attend her, as was his wont. An
elegant grey-hound, with the agile motions
of a deer, also bounded after her footsteps.
Sometimes he would leap far ahead, then
turn, like a bird on the wing, and crouch
at the feet of his mistress for a glance of
admiration or affection; when, receiving
it, he would rise and make a graceful
bound high over the back of the stately
Romeo, as if mocking his graver movements.
The Newfoundland, however,
paid no regard to the erratic sports of his
companion, but kept closely behind the
lovely girl with the air of a protector.
The skiff soon reached the green mound
of the lawn, and Arthur, leaping to the
shore, pressed in silence the hand of the
lovely girl. His face was pale and his
looks full of sadness.
“What has happened, dear Arthur?”
she asked with solicitude. “Why did
not Randolph come with you? But why
should I ask, when you have but just followed
to the tomb your dear father! yet
there is an anxiety, not springing from
grief for the dead, in your face, that leads
me to fear some evil has happened!”
“There has an evil happened. My
brother has fled forever from home!”
“Fled?”
“Yes, Olive. But let us walk together
here beneath these trees and I will tell
you all!”
They turned aside into a path that
wound along the shore, and as they walked
Arthur related to her all that had transpired
at Lenafe Manor. He did not even
spare his mother, for his eyes were fully
open to her guilty duplicity, but freely
told all that she had done, and its fatal
consequences upon the happiness of his
interest, with the most painful attention.
She truly loved Randolph, and appreciated
truly all the noble qualities of his mind
and heart. Her bosom bled for him.
“Oh that I had known this all before
he fled!” she cried with emotion. Oh
that he had come to me and made me a
confidant of his griefs and deep wrongs.”
“You know his proud spirit. There is
no doubt that his sensitiveness at his condition
has prevented him from approaching
you.”
“It should not have done so, Arthur.
Randolph ought to have known me well
enough to extend to me his confidence at
such an hour. Can it be possible that he
has gone! gone without a word of farewell!
gone without giving me an opportunity
of sympathising with him. He has
acted wrong—he has acted foolishly. He
has done me injustice. Did I not pity him
for his misfortunes, I could be angry with
him. And you offered to restore him his
patrimony?” she asked impressively.
“Yes, Olive, I even was ready to surrender
all to him!”
“And he refused?”
“Most firmly!”
“And left you precipitately?”
“He bade me a hurried farewell and
the next moment was upon the water. I
would have detained him—I clung to him,
as I told you, and he threw me off to escape!”
“And your wicked mother dared accuse
him of striking you down!”
“God forgive my mother!”
“Nay, I will not say an `Amen' to that
prayer. Your mother has been Randolph's
evil spirit ever since he was a
child! She is the cause of his wretchedness
now, and must answer to God's bar
for whatever crime or errors his present
despair may drive him to!”
“My mother has been very cruel to
him!”
“Cruel is no word to express her guilt.
But I spare her, Arthur, for your sake. I
am glad he still loves you, though to you
he has been sacrificed. I am glad he turned
not against you! it is so like his noble
nature! Where, think you, has he gone?”
“I know not. Doubtless he has steered
his boat towards the city, as I saw it disappear
in that direction.”
“And how long ago?”
“About two hours!”
“He cannot have gone far as yet. The
wind does not blow strong. My riding
horse is in the stable, and you know he is
as fleet as an eagle. Do not delay, Arthur.
Come with me to the house and I will order
him at once. Ride with the speed of
love and pity along the road, the length of
the island if need be, till you see his boat
upon the water. There are points along
the road that will give you views of the
bay. If you ride with a free rein you
will overtake him ere he gets to the head
of the Island. Anywhere you will find
fishermen to take you off to him in their
wherries. You cannot fail to overtake him
—say to him that I must see him! command
him to return to me!”
“Your wishes and my own are one,
dear Olive! In obeying you, I follow the
impulses of my own affection!”
In a few moments afterwards Arthur
was riding like the wind along the highway
that extended from the southern end
of the Island to its northern extremity,
now winding its way over wooded hills,
now traversing pleasant vales, now over-hanging
the shores of New York bay.
Olive ascended a slight eminence that
commanded the road, and followed his
course, with prayers for his success, until
he was lost to sight. She then turned to
descend, when, as she was passing a
clump of larch trees, Randolph suddenly
stood before her. She was so surprised
at his unexpected appearance that she
shrieked and retreated from him.
“Nay, hast thou so soon heard the news,
and am I a monster in thy sight too,” he
said in the bitter words that his wounded
heart dictated. “Well, I will not detain
you long, lady! I have sought thee to say
that I give thee back thy troth!”
“Randolph!” said the maiden, recovering
her self-possession, and approaching
him with a look of sympathy and
love, while she laid her hand upon his
proudly folded arms: “Randolph, I know
all. I feel for you with all my heart!”
“Yes, I know you know all. I saw
my brother with you but now. Doubtless
he thought ill news grows cold with keeping,
and so he hastened hither to tell thee
that I am a beggar and he is the heir!”
“You do Arthur a wrong, Randolph,”
answered Olive with surprise. “He came
to tell me you had gone and to consult
with me what to do. He is at this moment
flying on the wings of love to endeavor
to overtake your boat, which we
supposed was steering along the Island
towards the city. You have much to
make you feel bitterly, Randolph, but you
have no right to accuse those who are innocent!”
You speak warmly in the boy's defence!
I doubt not he will supplant me in
your love, as he has done in my patrimony.
Be it so! He is handsomer than I.—You
love him in a sisterly way, and this is near
akin to passion's wilder love.—He is rich
and—”
“No more!—I forgive you, Randolph,
because you have had much to embitter
your soul. But I will not listen to words
so unworthy of yourself—so unjust to
me!”
“Well, then, I will be silent! I am not
myself, I feel. I have been deeply wronged.
The dwelling upon it maddens my
brain. But let that pass. I came here,
Olive, to tell thee I was a beggar and to
give thee back thy troth! But rumor,
swifter-winged, came with the news before
me. Take thy troth.—I am henceforth
nought to thee. Wed with my
brother! he loves thee! I did mark his
eye's passion as he kissed thy hand and
left thee but now!”
The offended maiden's face became
flushed with an indignant hue, and she
stood for a moment regarding her lover
with an expression of intense displeasure.
“Randolph, you show me a dark shade
in your character I knew not was in it!
This jealousy is unmanly and unworthy of
yourself!”
“Well, it may be so, it may not be so.
Time will show. Thou and Arthur will
yet wed, mark me! That there may be
no bar to your happiness, that Randolph
the penniless may not mar it, I here give
thee back thy pledge!”
As he spoke he placed in her hand a
ring. She received it passively, as if she
took it not, and with a face as colorless as
snow. He did not look upon her, but
turning away with a gloomy brow and
haughty step, the next moment disappeared
in the forest at the foot of the hill from
which he had a few minutes before issued.
The maiden remained for several minutes
motionless where he parted from her.
Her affection had received a shock that
almost paralysed her. She could scarcely
realise what had passed. It seemed a
painful dream. At length her eyes fell
upon the ring, which had fallen from her
hand to the ground.
“And this is all real! Randolph has
been here and gone again! What an
interview! He seemed no longer himself.
The blow he has received must
have unsettled his reason. What cause
had he for quarrel with me? He seems
to have sought me out to insult me, and
to pour forth his bitterness upon me!
Miserable himself, he would make me so
also! I pity him. I forgive him! How
darkly his brow was overcast! How suspiciously
he looked upon me! Is it possible
he truly believes I despise him! It
may be, for one's own heart gives its hue
to everything around it. He says Arthur
loves me! Is it possible that this is
true?”
The maiden was silent. She seemed
to be thinking upon something that confused
her cheek and brought an expression
of gentle joy into her dark eyes. “Is it
possible Arthur loves me?” again fell unconsciously
from her lips.
| CHAPTER VI.
THE TWO INTERVIEWS. The cruiser of the mist | |