University of Virginia Library

19. CHAPTER XIX.

Aunt Agnes stopped more than half an hour below
stairs, after she left Fanny, talking with Peggy Gammon,
who, with her Cousin Bobby, had been since
the death of their grandmother inmates of Holly.

When she left Peggy the night had set in, which
was nothing to her who had traversed the spot and
neighbourhood so often, and furthermore it was a
bright evening. With her mind absorbed in interest
for Sarah she took her way to Elwood's. She had
not advanced more than a quarter of a mile when
she was overtaken by Bobby, who, as fast as his
lameness would admit, come hastening breathless to
her side.

“Good-night, Aunt Agnes,” said Bobby, as he
limped up to her. “Cousin Peggy sent me after you
to be company home for you.”

“Bobby, that was not necessary; I have walked
these woods at all times. My boy, go back again;
with your lameness it must fatigue you.”

“Indeed, it don't,” said Bobby, quickly. “Aunty,
what did you tell me that for; I have been gunning
through the woods all the afternoon, and I don't feel
tired at all.”

“Bobby, I spoke in good feeling towards you, my
boy. I'm always fond of company. Did you get
much game?”

“Yes, aunty, considerable—eight quails and two
rabbits, and only missed two shots—yes, an' I saw a
big bird, he, he! that I like to ha' shot one day—and
he don't like me nor Cousin Peggy neither.”

“Who's that Robert; no mischief, I hope?”

“No, aunty; it was only Mr. Bronson, who told
granny once about my laughing in meeting. I saw
him skulking round Mr. Elwood's just about dark.
He's brooding some deviltry, I'll bet.”

“Skulking about Mr. Elwood's! Did you speak to
him?”

“O, yes! we spoke together, an' he soft-soaped
me considerable; an' advised me to go home 'cause
the night dews—he, he, he! might harm me.”

“What else did he say?”

“I overheard him tell Tom, who was just going
home from wood-chopping, to tell his master that he
wanted to see him there. I stopped behind a tree to
fix my gun, an' he thought I had gone ahead.”

“I wonder,” said Aunt Agnes, “when Sidney Fitzhurst
will be home.”

“Home! he's just come as I left there—I just had
time to shake hands with him, and hurry after you,
aunty.”

“Then, child!” exclaimed Agnes, “we will turn
back.”

She accordingly returned, speaking not a word to
Bobby except an occasional yes, or no, in answer to
him, which were more than once misplaced.

Without any ceremony Aunt Agnes entered the
room where Sidney sat with his sister on his knee,
and his father and aunt beside him, welcoming him
home.

“Mr. Sidney!” exclaimed Agnes, with deep emotion,
“do you feel an interest in Sarah Grattan.”

Startled by her manner, Sidney looked earnestly
at her, and replied:

“Yes, Aunt Agnes—the deepest interest.”

“Then fly and save her!” There is a plot between
Elwood, her uncle, and Bronson, to compel her to
marry Bronson.”

“Impossible!” exclaimed Sidney, gently, but quickly
removing Fanny from his knee, and springing to his
feet.

“Far, far, from impossible!” exclaimed Agnes,
“Sarah thinks you feel no interest in her—and to save
her uncle from the consequence of disclosures which
Bronson can make, and from perjuries which he will
dare, she has been forced to consent to marry Bronson.
Young man, if you love her, fly now to Elwood's
and save her.”

“Love her!” screamed Miss Rachellina; “think
of our family.”

“Son!” ejaculated Mr. Fitzhurst—but it was of
no avail—Sidney sprung to the door, seized his hat,
and in a minute more was speeding to Elwood's as
fast as steed could bear him.

Bobby's remark was true. Bronson was indeed
after some “deviltry.” When Agnes left his store he
awaited most impatiently the return of his clerk, to
whom he stated that business would probably prevent
his returning that day, and if any one enquired for
him, to say that he had gone to the city. He accordingly
left his store, and went directly to Elwood's,
but, instead of entering the house, he lurked about in
the confines of the woods until he saw Tom, whom
he ordered, as Bobby stated, to tell his master that he
wanted to see him.

It was sometime before Elwood joined Bronson;
his guilty fears, after an internal resistance, at last
predominated, and he sought him in the woods.

“Ah, my friend!” said Bronson, with great effected
cordiality, advancing to meet Elwood, “I sent for
you on this matter of which we discoursed this morning—to

have a little private talk with you. Despatch
is the word—your neice has consented, hey?”

“Yes,” replied Elwood, “to-morrow.”

“I knew she would. You have a great influence
over her, and you ought to have—but despatch is the
word. Now, while she's just thinking of it—now,
we'll send Tom for Squire Norris, and have the matter
ended at once. “I've business that will take me
away to-morrow, and I wish to make all square and
right before I go.”

Elwood stammered out something about his neice
not being well; but Bronson replied she might be
worse to-morrow, and that he had made up his mind
to marry her that night. Elwood then reluctantly
led the way to the house. Bronson stopped suddenly,
and asked:

“Is that old woman, Agnes, there?”

“No,” said Elwood.

“Ay, that's right—she is an old hag—and must
be kept away; we must see to that.”

On arriving at the house Elwood went to Sarah's
chamber, and communicated to her his interview with
Bronson, and implored her to yield to his wishes.

Stupified, Sarah could say nothing. Taking the
silence for the consent, Elwood told her that he would
send for the squire who could perform, according to
law, the ceremony as well as a clergyman. He then
withdrew, and despatched Tom to the village for the
magistrate, after which he joined Bronson, who acted
the amiable with all his might, but whose restless
impatience would not let him sit still a moment.

When her uncle left her, Sarah sat motionless, and
as if unconscious of her own existence. On her
maid's entering with Fanny's letter, which Pompey
had brought, she started up, and glared at her wildly,
and then laughed hysterically, as she received it.

Sarah tore open the note: Fanny asked her to

come and see her, and stated that the enclosed she
had received from her brother the day before, with
the request that it should be handed to Sarah immediately.
Fanny further said, that by some neglect
or other in the post-office, the letter in which that
was enclosed had been detained some time, and that
it was only by accident she got it by her aunt's seeing
it among the list of advertised letters.

A flash of unutterable joy broke over Sarah's
features as she opened and glanced over Sidney's
letter. It was a declaration of the most ardent and
devoted attachment, expressed with all the fervor of
his noble and manly heart. He said that, contrasting
her with the fashionable worldlings around him,
he felt impelled to write to her, and say what she had
no doubt seen, in his manner, when they were together,
that he loved her with his whole soul. He trusted
she was not entirely indifferent to him; and he begged
her, if she was not, to write to him instantly and
cure the disquietude of mind which he could not but
feel in the loss of her society. He said she was the
only woman he had ever loved, and all he asked,
was to devote his life to her.

Wildly Sarah pressed the letter to her lips, while
tears of love and joy and pride fell thick and fast
upon it. She read it again and again; and, when
night closed around her, she placed it in her bosom,
and forgot all else but that it was there, and that he
who wrote it was still closer.

These emotions, which so few are capable of feeling
in their intensity, were interrupted by the entrance
of a servant, who said that her uncle wished her to
come down stairs. Without hesitating a moment
Sarah complied.

As she entered the room where her uncle and
Bronson sat together, timidity, which was her greatest

characteristic, seemed entirely to have left her.
There was a dignity in her manner, and a something
in her eye, that startled both of them.

Bronson rose with the evident intention of offering
her his hand, but Sarah folded her arms, and, looking
towards Elwood, said:

“Well, uncle?”

“Niece,” said Elwood, without the capability of
lifting his eye from the carpet, “I have sent for you
that we might all speak together of your marriage
with our friend here.”

“That, uncle, can never be!”

“Never be!” ejaculated Elwood, glancing at Bronson,
who eyed him like a beast of prey.

“Never be, uncle! When no one's happiness but
my own, as I thought, was to be involved in this connexion,
I yielded for your sake, but with the conviction
that I could not long survive it. I was willing
to die to save you from the cupidity of this man. I
will give him whatever title I may have to any property
to be silent, but my hand—never.”

“I see it!” ejaculated Bronson, almost choked with
rage; “that Pompey has brought some message from
that fellow Fitzhurst.”

“Is that true, niece?”

“Uncle, you have a right to an answer: it is
true.”

“I knew it, by God!” shouted Bronson, in the agony
of his rage, forgetful of his violation of the commandment.

“Has he made love to you, Sarah?” A blush of
the deepest crimson mantled, for a moment, the pale
cheek and brow of Sarah Grattan ere she replied:

“He has, uncle. I knew not his regard for me
until this hour, though I have loved him long. Not to
save any one from the consequences of their rash impulses
have I a right to do such irrevocable violence

to his confidence and affection as marry this man—
for, O, God!” exclaimed Sarah, with an emotion
which she could not control, “if he knew but half my
love, no earthly consideration could induce him so to
crush me in heart and hope forever and forever.”

“I know it all—all—Sarah!” exclaimed Sidney
Fitzhurst, springing into the room, and folding her to
his heart. Sarah uttered a faint cry of joy, and fell
lifeless in her lover's arms. Sidney bore his gentle
burden to the sofa, and, while he was doing all he
could to reinstate her, Bronson touched Elwood on
the shoulder, and they stole out of the house together.