University of Virginia Library

21. CHAPTER XXI.

The feelings of Henry Beckford on overhearing
all this, and on the instant seeing his cousin enter,
and the warm greeting they gave him, may be easier
imagined than described. He closed his door, and
tore his hair in an agony of revengeful despair. He
snatched his dagger from his breast, and determined
to rush into the ladies' cabin and deal death to all,
but his purpose failed him. He then plunged the
weapon deep into the side of the berth beside him,
and vowed he would plunge it as deep into the heart
of his cousin. The next moment he drew it out as
if he would strike it into his own bosom, but he had
not the nerve.

“No, no!” said he, unwilling to confess, even to
himself, his cowardly purpose, “why strike myself?
What! have them believe that—have my body
stretched out here under a coroner's inquest—and
have them believe that their happiness drove me to
a suicidal revenge? No—the revenge shall fall upon
them. I will not gratify Helen Murray by such a
deed. She might think it was done for love of her
—love of her, when I hate her even more than the
miser's son. Yes, Murrel and Banks must join me
in this revenge, and then I'll join them, but not till
then.”

Meanwhile night set in, and Henry still remained
in his state-room. The sky above grew cloudy
and dark, and threatened rain, if not a storm. Henry
looked out upon it through the window with a
congeniality of feeling, and whenever the sound of
the happy voices reached his ear from the cabin, he
would throw his eye that way with the glance of a
demon.

At supper he heard one of his companions ask
loudly “Where Beckford was,” and he overheard
Helen say to Ruth—for they sat at the head of the
table, and near the state-rooms—

“Beckford! he can't mean Master Henry surely.”

“I should not be surprised if he did,” said Ruth.

“Well, if he is here,” rejoined Helen, “I do not
wonder at his not showing his face. He has good
and sufficient reasons therefor, though he had as
many faces as Janus, for each of us could put one
of them to the blush. That's not a wise remark
though, for if he were Janus-faced he could deceive
us.”

When the ladies entered their cabin from the supper
table, with the gentlemen, they had the door of
it closed. On observing it, Henry Beckford threw
a cloak around him, in which to muffle his face,
should Mr. Lorman, Davidson, or his cousin enter
the gentleman's cabin, and entered it himself.

“Beckford,” said one of his associates, “where
have you been?”

“Asleep!” replied Henry, gruffly; and advancing

to a tall and rather slim man, with a striking, but
bad countenance, he said, “Murrel, step here a moment,
will you? I wish to say a word to you.”

As Henry spoke, he lead the way to the guards
behind the wheel-house, and the person whom he
addressed as Murrel followed him.

“This is a chilly night,” said Murrel, with an
oath, as he closed the door leading to the guards
after him. “What do you want with me?”

“Why, if you expect me to have anything to do
in this scheme of yours, you must assist me in getting
revenge out of persons on board this boat, who
have done me the deepest injuries. You can manage
it for me easily.”

“Well, wait till I get my cloak, and we'll talk
about it.”

As Murrel entered the cabin to get his cloak,
Henry walked along the guards to the door of the
ladies' cabin, which opened on to them, for the purpose
of looking at those against whom he meditated
the most diabolical deeds. He saw them plainly.
Ralph was seated by Ruth with Billy beside his
knee; Mr. Davidson sat by his bride, and Mr. Lorman
was playing with the children. Almost unconsciously
Henry raised his clenched hand to the glass
as he gazed through it. At this moment Ralph arose
from his chair, and Henry started with the fear that
his cousin had seen and recognised him. Henry
stepped so suddenly back that his foot caught in his
cloak, and he pitched against the guards so violently

as to lose his balance. As he fell overboard he
gave a fearful cry for help; but the wind blew the
cape of his cloak over his face, and amidst the
noise of the wind and the steamer, and in the
darkness, no one heard or saw him. The boat
dashed on her way. Henry's hands became entangled
in his cloak, so that he could not assist himself;
and in a few moments the dark and rapid
waters of the Mississippi rolled over the lifeless
body of Henry Beckford.

Alike unconscious of the fearful revenge Henry
meditated against them, and of his fate, the happy
party were borne upon their way. They soon
reached the place of their destination in safety. Mr.
Lorman, assisted by Mr. Davidson, and with Ralph
a joint purchaser, entered prosperously upon their
plantation, where a few weeks afterwards, Ruth and
Ralph were united.

Though Helen loved her lord, and he doted on
her to idolatry, and threw in her lap princely wealth;
perhaps there were times, as she beheld the deep
and abiding love of Ralph and Ruth, so superior to
all worldly considerations, when a cloud would for
a moment pass over her lovely countenance, a
vague regret may be o'er something of the past,
which she herself could not clearly have defined.
Helen was childless, and she sought in magnificent
entertainments and display, for it suited her husband's
habits, that enjoyment which Ruth found in her domestic

circle, which promised, like Hearty's, to be a
large one.

Not long after Ruth left Perryville, Dr. Julius Cake
was bound in the silken bonds of Hymen to the amiable
Miss Elizabeth Judson, formerly of —, New
Jersey, as the marriage-notice stated, which was
published in the Perryville Champion. The morning
after the bridal announcement, the bride sent
“Wash-ing-ton” to the Champion-office for several
of the papers containing it. Every one of these
papers Mrs. Bongarden asserted were dropped into
the post-office immediately, directed to —,
New Jersey.

“Yes,” exclaimed Mrs. Bongarden, in speaking
of it to Mrs. Moore, “one of the papers had come
undone, there, I declare to you, Mrs. Moore, you
could see the marriage-notice—stuck under that
picture of a naked boy with an arrow, and marked
all round and round with a pen. I suspect we shall
have some more old maids trotting out here to get
husbands. I wonder who could have writ this
notice! a'n't it foolsome?—`silken bonds,' `amiable
Miss Judson'—I reckon the Doctor—what a fool he
is—will wish he could break his `silken bonds' some
of these days.”

Could there have been any of the spirit of prophecy
in this last remark of Mrs. Bongarden? It
is certain some weeks after his marriage Doctor
Cake was frequently observed to quit his home very
impulsively at different times, and he had been overheard

asking William Bennington, though he evidently
tried to put the question like one moved
merely by an idle curiosity, upon what grounds
divorces were granted in Kentucky—and whether
an awful wilfulness of temper on the part of a woman,
were good and sufficient reason to break the
bonds. The Doctor said nothing of the texture or
material of the bonds. He could not, of course,
therefore, have alluded to the “silken bonds” that
bound himself to the “amiable Miss Judson,” though
William Bennington was heard to observe, after a
long conversation with the Doctor on this subject—
“That he feared the Doctor's matrimonial cake,
though not all dough, was, like pie-crust, made to
be broken.”

Helen and Ruth, with their lords and the Lormans,
became daily more and more attached to their new
homes. Their chivalrous and friendly neighbours
had greeted them on their arrival with every courtesy,
which ripened almost instantly into the interchange
of the most friendly hospitality—a hospitality
which the writer of these idle pages, though but a
sojourner of a few brief days upon their shores,
can bear testimony is as abundant and free as the
waves of their own mighty river.