University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.
Our Hero loses his character for morals and gallantry.

The next day the miserable cabin which the captain
had built for himself was found shut up and
deserted. The Indian had been seen at daylight,
with his gun and his pack, wending his course to the
northward, as was supposed, on his way to Canada.
His departure freed Catalina from the load of cares,
fears, and anxieties which had oppressed her for
months past. This depression of Catalina, and the
total cessation of her rural rides and rambles had affected
the health of that young lady, and attracted the
notice of her parents. They frequently questioned
her on the cause, but she either denied the effect,
or passed the subject off with evasions, which only
excited increased anxiety as well as curiosity. They
continued to urge her in vain to resume her usual
amusements and exercises, until now that being
freed in a great measure from her apprehensions of
Captain Pipe, she soon gathered courage and spirits
to smile and be happy again.

It was not so with Sybrandt. He could not conquer
his suspicions that the captain was lurking
somewhere in the woods not far off. He had traced
him about three miles on the road towards the north,
and there lost sight of him; nor could he find, by
the most minute inquiries, that he had been seen on
any other road leading from the neighbourhood.
But he thought it would be cruel to mention these

suspicions to Catalina. He contented himself with
being with her wherever she went, and perambulating
about the mansion-house the better part of
every night. Honest Dennis took him to task more
than once for the nightly dissipations in which it
was suspected he now indulged, and Sybrandt had
the painful mortification of seeing that he was daily
offending his benefactor almost past forgiveness. The
news of his having become such a rake soon spread
abroad; for what secret was ever kept in a country
neighbourhood? It reached the mansion-house, with
divers handsome additions, such as that of gambling,
drinking, and seduction. The colonel and Madam
Vancour began to behave coolly towards him; Catalina
only reproached him with her looks and increasing
paleness. She withdrew herself gradually
from his society, and seldom came into the room
when he happened to be on a visit.

Sybrandt was half-distracted with perplexing anguish.
He asked of himself whether he should
poison the happiness of Catalina and her parents,
by telling them the cause of his nocturnal rambles
from home; or leave the poor girl in ignorance and
unprotected; or sacrifice himself, his character, and
his happiness. “It is better that she should believe
me a sot and a profligate,” thought he, “than to
wither and fade, as she did before, in the nightly
apprehension of being murdered. If there must be
a victim, it shall be myself.” He continued his
course of watchfulness, and by degrees the supposed
irregularities of his conduct banished him
from the society of her he most loved on earth.
Catalina refused any longer to see him, and now
seldom went abroad, except once in a great while
to Albany with her mother.

Observing the increasing paleness and depression
of spirits in their daughter, the colonel and
Madam Vancour, after consulting together, and
combining various circumstances, finally agreed in
the suspicion that Catalina was attached to her
cousin, whose ill-conduct had occasioned her unhappiness.
In that case each agreed it was best to
separate the young people for some time; and accordingly
it was resolved to accept an invitation
from a near relative of Catalina, to come and spend
the winter with her in New-York. “The sooner
the better,” said the colonel; “it is now late in
autumn, and I will take her to town immediately.”

The proposal was made to Catalina, who offered
no objections, and the preparations were soon made.
It was not customary to travel with so many trunks
and bandboxes as young ladies do in these days.
The next time Sybrandt called at the mansion-house
with a message from his benefactor, Catalina
said to herself she would see him once, only
once, before she went away for so many months.
“I owe him for a life which he has rendered of little
worth; but I will see him once more,” said she to
herself.

She went down stairs, where she found Sybrandt
alone. The old people had gone out to pay a
morning visit. Sybrandt started at the alteration a
few weeks had produced in Catalina, and she shrunk
at his hollow cheeks and sunken eyes. “It is remorse
and dissipation,” thought she. Rallying the
pride and dignity of virtuous woman, she, however,
addressed him with a frank kindness that went to
his heart.

“I am going,” said she, “to spend the winter in
New-York. We set out the day after to-morrow.”

“Thank God! thank God!” exclaimed Sybrandt,
with clasped hands.

Indignation swelled at the heart of the young
lady at this ungallant, nay, insulting exclamation.
A sudden paleness was instantly succeeded by a
flush of rosy red, and a flash of her bright blue eye.
This too passed away, and a paleness still more
deadly succeeded.

At length she rallied again. “So you are glad
I am going,” she said, with a languid smile.

“O yes, rejoiced beyond measure.”

“Indeed!” said she; the tears gathering in her
eyes. “Indeed—you—you—but I cannot help admiring
your frankness. I see you are no hypocrite
now at least.”

Sybrandt all at once recollected himself, and
coloured at the sudden perception of the apparent
rudeness of his conduct.

“Forgive me, dear Catalina. I did not know
what I was saying, or rather I was not conscious at
the moment of the strange appearance my words
would have. Forgive me.”

“I do; but,” added she, swallowing the mingled
bitterness of wounded pride and affection. “But
may I ask, cousin Sybrandt, if you really meant
what you said?”

“I did; but”—

“Enough. Farewell. Since you are so happy,
it is needless for me to wish your happiness. But
I do wish it with all my soul. It will be long before
we meet again. Farewell.”

“Stay, dear cousin, dear Catalina.”

“Dear Catalina,” said she, with bitter scorn.
“Do we thank God when we part with those who
are dear to us? Spare your hypocrisy, sir, and
take my last farewell.”

“Catalina, before you go I will account for my
conduct. Permit me to see you to-morrow; then
all shall be explained.”

“All is explained already. I am now satisfied,
quite satisfied;” and she moved slowly towards the
door.

“You will one day be sorry for this. O, hear
me, I beseech you, now, since I am not to see you
again;” and he placed himself between her and the
door.

“Let me pass, sir,” cried she, passionately. “I
say again I want no explanations. Your words
and actions have both been sufficiently expressive
of late. Let me pass.”

He obeyed her, bowing lowly and sorrowfully.
At the door she turned full upon him, and, clasping
her hands, exclaimed with fervour, “Thank
God, I am going.”