University of Virginia Library

20. CHAPTER XX.

Gordon's wife, Catharine, was, shortly after her
visit to Miss Atherton, instituted as her maid. Miss
Atherton had formed an attachment for her, which
arose in some measure from some slight similarity of
character which had once existed between them.
Now it was no longer apparent, for Catharine's love
for Gordon and long consequent suffering had entirely
erased the spirit of coquetry and love of dominion
which had once possessed her.

Happy in abundant spirits, and, in her situation near
one she loved and respected, Catharine was wont to
assist at her mistress's toilet, which she delighted to expatiate
upon the number of the lady's triumphs to a
not unpleased ear. While Miss Atherton was not
averse to the recital of her own conquests, it pleased
her to draw forth her maid upon her own, and, in
this way, she learned the depth of Catharine's affection
for Gordon.

After Gordon married Catharine she left the service
of Miss Atherton, and the narrative which she
gave her of her leaving Europe and finding Gordon
in the United States, is precisely as it occurred.
Miss Atherton had not been forgetful of her promise
to Catharine. She got Langdale to employ Mr.
Mason in his case—that gentleman, however, remarking
in the spirit of candour, that he did not believe

that any professional service, whatever, would be of
any avail in rescuing him from what he could not but
say would be merited punishment.

Miss Atherton told Catharine what Mason said,
but it only increased her sadness of spirits, and she
begged her mistress to suffer her to see Gordon. To
this Miss Atherton reluctantly consented, and Catharine
took a seat in a stage which went to Springdale
every other day promising to return with it.

Catharine's feelings were so absorbed in her interest
for Gordon that she noticed nothing on her way, except
the lagging paces of the horses up the rough unpaved
hills. She bore a letter from Mr. Mason to
the sheriff, requesting him to admit her to the cell of
Gordon. She found an immense concourse of people
in Springdale who had convened for the purpose of
holding a political meeting. With great difficulty, in
the afternoon she gained the ear of the sheriff, who
had given orders, on learning that Bronson had visited
Gordon, to admit no one to him without his written
permit. Bearing the mandate of the executive officer
of the law, she repaired to the prison door whence she
had been roughly driven by Pike, and on showing
him the sheriff's order, was most graciously admitted.

Pike's domestic cares restrained his garrulity; and,
opening the cell of Gordon just sufficiently for Catharine
to enter, without saying a word he turned the
keys on her, and hastened to the side of his wife.

Gordon lay upon his mattrass on his prison floor in
a state of partial intoxication. Through the window
where Bobby had conversed with Pompey, as our
readers may remember when his grandmother's
funeral went by, an accomplice, Tom Fenton, who
had secreted himself in the woods, and who had been
met by Bronson on his visit to Elwood, and informed

of Gordon's situation, had conveyed to him brandy,
and tools wherewith to effect his escape. Fenton
was induced to do this at great risk to himself, from
the fear that Gordon would inform upon them; and
from the fact that he was without any of their booty
himself and was entirely destitute, and with the hope that
through Gordon he might be supplied. Bronson had
given him a few dollars, pretending it was a charitable
relief, though they both understood each other—
and that the money was in aid of Gordon's escape.

Gordon's stillness since he had obtained the liquor
had induced Pike to believe that he had become more
reconciled to his situation, which made the jailor less
wary. Instead, however, of instantly setting about
preparing the means of escaping, Gordon, as soon as
the brandy was given him, drank deeply, and had
been partially intoxicated ever since.

As Gordon lay in drunken sensuality in a dark
corner of his cell, his wife could not see him, owing
to the contrast of the little light within to the glare
without which she had just left. Several times she ejaculated:
“John! dear John!” before she spoke to him.

He had observed her, however, from the first; and
had his eye fixed on her in sullen anger.

“Come at last, have you?” he growled out, raising
himself upon his arm, and frowning on her with a
ferocious stare.

“John, I came as soon as I could. How are you,
John—dear John, aint you well.”

“Well; by God! Do you expect a man to be well
here? have you got any money?”

“Yes, John; here's five dollars.”

“Is it counterfeit?”

“No, John; no.”

“Then give it to me. I'll have no counterfeits;
you've ruined me by counterfeits. That's the way
Ross got me.”

“John, Mr. Mason, the lawyer, will attend to your
case. I've seen him and talked to him about you.”

Ha! will he—that's right; ask him to come and
see me.”

“I think, John,” she continued; “that I can interest
Mr. Pinckney for you, too.”

“Blast him!” exclaimed Gordon; come closer—
let me whisper to you.”

Catharine submissively took a seat by Gordon on
the edge of his mattrass.

“He's the chap, if you must know it, who had my
twin brother punished for robbing him—my twin
brother—he just made him deliver in the streets one
night—never touched a hair of his head—but, no matter,
I'll do for him yet if I get out of this scrape.”

“Yes, John; and was that the reason?” replied
Catharine, “that you made me take his likeness from
Miss Clara.”

“No; I got that for that Italian woman who loved
him; she paid me well for it, but what's it to you.
What about the locket, hey?”

“Nothing, John, nothing; I thought I'd ask you.
I think Miss Clara Atherton would do something for
you, too, John.”

“Would she, ah! do you think she would?” exclaimed
the prisoner, eagerly catching at the thought.
“Tell me—I know it, she's privately married to Mr.
Ashley, she ran off to this country; she don't want it
known, hey?”

“Never, John; never!” exclaimed Catharine.

“I heard so,” rejoined Gordon; “I called to see her
to sell a horse to her, and meant to talk round, but
she seemed not to know what to make of me, and I
left her. Think she will help me? There was something
wrong there.”

“Mr. Ashley fought with another gentleman on
her account, and was killed, that's all, John; but,

John, I wish, O! I do wish, that you could get out of
this. She says—”

“You've seen her?” said Gordon, in a low, compressed
tone.

“I have, John.”

“What did she say?” he replied, in manner meant
to be insinuating.

“Why, John—O God! but I'll tell the truth—that Mr.
Mason says there's not much chance for you, John—
but there is, there is; I'll see them all, and beg for
you—court, jury, all.”

“No chance! where do you live? you're dressed
well; see how I look. Where do you live?”

“I live with Miss Clara, John,” replied his wife,
in a deprecating tone, alarmed at the angry earnestness
with which he asked his questions.

“Live with her, and she my enemy; and I here!”
he exclaimed, grasping her wrist with manacled
hands, and maddened with drunkenness and rage.

“John,” she said, imploringly, in a low voice, “do
me no wrong here, it will only injure you. John;
they'll know it, it will make your case worse.”

“Worse! you have betrayed me; you told your
Miss Clara about the locket.”

“John, but it was for your sake.”

“Ha! for my sake, my sake!” he muttered, pressing
her to the floor with his hand upon her throat.

“John, when, O God! don't kill me, John. I—I!
help—I—for the love of mercy.”

As Catharine ejaculated her mortal terror, Gordon
pressed her throat the tighter; the fear that she would
be overheard giving vigor to his revenge.

She gathered her whole strength, and succeeded
in disengaging his hand from her throat:

“John, this is not hanging matter, this counterfeiting
you may escape if you don't murder me, John.”

As she spoke she half arose, and got her body from

the bed. He seized her at this instant by the arm,
and jerked her down with such violence as to strike
her head with stunning force upon the floor. Gnashing
his teeth with demoniac hate, and with a momentary
supernatural strength, arising from his fury and
the brandy he had swallowed, he twisted the ironbar
which joined together the manacles on his wrists
round her throat, and, palzied by the effort, fell prostrate
by her side.

The scene of that horrible night, when, in his excited
fancy, he sold himself to the evil one, now
revived like a fearful reality in the brain of Gordon,
and he heard Ross laugh, and the tempter claim him.

In accents almost inarticulate from intoxication and
guilt, he called on his wife again and again to look
at him and smile; and he tried to loosen the bar from
her throat, and he begged her to pray for him; and
he put his ear to her lips, and heard no voice, and felt
no breath. Cursing her again, he twisted the bar
closer, and sank senseless on her bosom; that bosom
which had always cherished him, and where he lay
her murderer.