University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.
A Hit and a Miss.

Catalina, a few days, or rather, as I believe, the
very next day after the appearance of the will-o'-the-wisp,
went to Albany on a visit of a week to
one of her friends. It was customary in those days
to make little journeys as well as great ones on
horseback, and Catalina was fond of an exercise in
which she excelled. In returning from this visit
she was caught in a heavy shower, which obliged
her to change her dress, and the maid had placed
the wet garments on an old fashioned high chair,
just before her chamber window, for the purpose of
drying.

“What, you here!” cried Ariel, who had just entered
through the garden, as usual, that he might
have a chance of reconnoitring the kitchen; “you
here!—why I'll swear I saw either you or your
ghost sitting at the window as I came in.”

Catalina smiled, and explained the cause of his
mistake.

“By Jove!” cried Ariel, “I must get your woman
to dress me up a scarecrow for my cornfield, for I
never saw any thing more natural.”

About ten in the evening of that day, as the
whole family, together with Sybrandt and Ariel—
the latter, as usual, fast asleep in his chair—were
sitting around the supper-table, they were startled
by the report of a gun close to the rear of the
house, as it seemed, followed by a loud barking of

the dogs. Sybrandt and Ariel ran out of the back
door to see what was the matter, and found the whole
population of the kitchen in great commotion, talking
all together, each one telling what they knew or imagined.
One declared that the gun was fired from
the little copsewood, another from behind the raspberry
bushes, a third from behind the garden fence,
and a fourth was sure he saw a man jump over the
fence immediately after the report of the gun. As
usual in such cases, it was impossible to come at
the truth, and as no harm seemed to have been
done, most people came to the conclusion that none
was intended. On returning to her room, Catalina
found the old high stuffed damask chair on which
her wet garments had been placed to dry, lying on
the floor. It seemed to have been violently overturned,
but her maid solemnly declared she had not
been in the room since her mistress left it, and the
whole household declared the same. The mystery
therefore remained unexplained.

The next morning, however, when the maid came
to fold up the dress heretofore described, she was astonished
to find it perforated with round holes in two
several places.

“Lord, young missee!” exclaimed she, “what
have you done to your riding-habit? it's all full of
holes, I declare!” Catalina was puzzled to death.
She tried to recollect where and how it was possible
they could have come there, but nothing occurred to
account for them. In examining the old chair to
see if there was any thing there that might throw
light on the matter, Catalina at length observed a
small hole in the damask, about the size of those in
her riding-habit, into which she ran her taper finger,
and feeling something hard, with some little difficulty
drew forth a leaden bullet. The maid shrieked,

and the young lady turned pale at the association of
circumstances that instantly presented themselves
to her mind, accompanied by the recollection of the
strange appearances she had witnessed a few nights
before.

The little maid was eagerly running to exhibit
the bullet to Madam Vancour and the colonel, when
Catalina stopped and directed her to remain where
she was. The young lady then sat down and reflected
on the course it was proper to pursue. She
knew the uneasiness, nay, misery, she would inflict
on her mother especially, by communicating circumstances
which seemed sufficiently to indicate she
had some secret enemy who sought her life; and
doubted whether any measures that might be adopted
to secure the assassin or protect her in future from
his designs would be effectual. At length Sybrandt
occurred to her, as one who might most secretly investigate
this affair, and afford her in the mean time
protection as well as advice. Accordingly she resolved
to communicate the whole affair to him the
first opportunity, enjoining the little maid to silence
at the same time, under penalty of her highest displeasure.
The little maid was sadly mortified at
losing the opportunity of telling such a wonderful
story, but being greatly attached to her young mistress,
to whom she had been given at the moment
of her birth, she obeyed reluctantly.

Sybrandt came over soon after to inquire if any
new discoveries had been made, for he could not
help cherishing certain vague suspicions that there
must be something more than chance or fancy in the
discharge of the gun, and the appearances observed
by Catalina as heretofore described. Catalina invited
him to walk in the garden, and there disclosed
all the particulars as recorded in the preceding pages,

up to the discovery of the bullet, which she exhibited.
The young man shuddered, while at the
same time his eye flashed fire. He could scarcely
restrain himself from catching Catalina in his arms,
and pressing her to his bosom, as mothers do their
babes when they apprehend the approach of danger.
He gazed on her for some moments with the
most intense interest, and then exclaimed:

“Dear Catalina! I will protect and defend you
with my life, and all my life!”

“I know you will, Sybrandt,” replied she, with a
full look of more than gratitude. “I know you
will, for you have risked it once already for me.
But perhaps, after all, it may be accident, the firing
of this gun.”

Sybrandt shook his head. “I would not needlessly
alarm you; but it is plain to me that you
have some secret enemy who is seeking your life.
The appearances you saw that night in the copsewood
are now clearly explained to my mind. The
click you heard, and described as resembling the
opening or shutting of a penknife, was, I have no
doubt, the cocking of a gun; the sparks were those
of the flint; and the flame, the flashing of the pan.
I recollect it was a damp, wet evening, which accounts
for the gun missing fire.”

The explanation was clear; Catalina felt a faintness
come over her, and leaned heavily on his arm.

“Go on,” said she, gasping for breath; “go on;
let me know the worst I am to expect.”

“I will; for it is necessary to your future safety.
No doubt the villain, whoever he is, mistook the
clothes on the back of the chair, which you say was
standing directly before the window, for you, and—
and—” Here the increasing weight of Catalina arrested
his attention, and looking in her face, he saw

her pale as death. In a moment after her strength
forsook her, and she sank in his arms overpowered
by the sense of past as well as future probable
dangers. Sybrandt placed her softly upon a little
grass terrace, hid from view by a wilderness of
flowering shrubs, and supporting her head on his
bosom, waited in wild perturbation her recovery.
In a little while she opened her eyes, blushed, and
raised herself from his arms.

At length she said, with a languid smile, “You
must forgive me, I am but a woman.”

“And I am but a man,” said Sybrandt warmly;
“yet here I swear never to rest till I have dragged
this secret villain to light and punishment. And if
you, my dear cousin, will allow me, I here solemnly
devote myself to your safety from this time forward.
When I am not by your side, I will be hovering
around you unseen, watching every being that approaches
you, or searching every secret corner
where man or beast might conceal himself. Henceforward
it is the business—the duty—the painful,
solemn pleasure of my existence to live for your
safety, and, if necessary, to die in your defence. Do
you—do you value me sufficiently to trust me with
the precious charge?”

The soft and swelling bosom of Catalina heaved
with emotions of gratitude, confidence, and gentle
tenderness as she looked in his face with glistening
eyes, and answered,

“I do value you sufficiently, and I will trust my
cousin. Who else can I trust? I dare not tell the
story of this bullet to my father and mother; for it
would plant thorns in their pillow, and destroy their
happiness. I must trust you,” added she, with a
smile of languid, tender meaning; “and if I were
not obliged to do it, still I believe I should trust you.”

“Dear Catalina! but you know me—that is
enough.”

“Yes, we know each other, I trust,” replied she,
with a look of unbounded confidence and affection.
Sybrandt did not take advantage of this moment to
tell a tale of love. There was something too solemn
and affecting in the circumstances that gave
rise to this interview. The idea of the danger and
death that seemed hovering over her; of the secret
midnight murderer who was besetting her steps
wherever she went, and watching her sleeping and
waking, communicated to her an air of sanctity,
and gave to her glowing beauty, her confiding words,
and tender looks, a holy innocence, which, while it
melted the soul in unutterable tenderness, repressed
every selfish wish and every sensual desire. It
was settled ere they separated, that Catalina should
refrain from going out in future alone, or in the dusk
of the evening, and never show herself at the window
after dark, until Sybrandt had taken every
measure to investigate this mysterious affair, and
detect the meditating murderer. To this object he
was now about to devote his exclusive attention,
animated by his love, as well as by the hope that,
guided as he should be by a latent suspicion which
had risen up in his mind, he might succeed in the
attempt.

“What the d—I have you two been doing all this
while in the garden?” cried Ariel, who had arrived
during their absence, and looked very knowing as
he asked the question.

“Picking flowers,” answered Catalina, blushing
and then turning pale.

“Picking a quarrel, I should rather suppose, by
your looks,” and then he began to banter them a
little; but seeing the pain it gave them both, he was

too good-natured to pursue the amusement. Honest
Ariel never uttered a maxim in his life, but he acted
upon a very good one, to wit, never to carry jesting
to the verge of malignity, as many people do. When
he saw he gave pain, he desisted in a moment.
Perhaps he might have been a little influenced in
his self-denial on this occasion by a sly retort of
Catalina, who, in reply to an assertion that he overheard
their whisperings, observed, with some of her
wonted arch significance, that “it was only the humming
of the bees.”

Sybrandt soon after took his leave, declining an
invitation from Ariel to go and see the great ox the
good man visited every day, and on whose fat sirloin
he banqueted in glorious anticipation. The young
man pursued his way homeward in deep meditation,
of a mingled character of pleasure and pain. The
delight of having, as he could not but hope, gained
an interest in the heart of Catalina thrilled through
his frame. Yet the cup was dashed with black and
bitter ingredients. The treasure which he hoped
one day to make his own was in danger of being
torn from him by some unseen and unknown hand,
against which it behooved him to guard with sleepless
vigilance. The dark idea of death mingled
with the bright visions of hope, and gave a character
of deep, intense solemnity to his love. His
anticipations seemed like flowers blooming on the
verge of the grave, and the grim spectre of mortality
stalked hand in hand with the smiling cherubs Love
and Hope. Out of these conflicting feelings arose,
however, a fixed determination to devote his time,
his talents, and his life, if necessary, to the great
purpose which now took possession of his whole
soul.