University of Virginia Library

6. CHAPTER VI.

For nearly a week from the interview,
just narrated, no allusion was made in the
presence of May to the dreaded subject of
a marriage with Gow; and in the respite
thus allowed her she began to hope that
her peace would no more be disturbed by
any further recurrence of those scenes
which had lately caused her so much distress
and perplexity. And this hope, added
to the cheering expectation she now
daily entertained of receiving a letter from
Ashley, imparted a new impulse to her
feelings, and was fast obliterating the remembrance
of her late trials from her mind.
But this happy quiet was not long to continue;
and like the deceitful calm of the
elements, which often precedes the fearful
tempest, soon proved to be but the prelude
to new and aggravated sorrows.

`May,' said Mrs Martin one day, as
glancing through the window she saw her
husband approaching the house in company
with Gow; `May, did Mr Martin
bring you any letter yesterday from the
village?'

`Any letter!' replied May in surprise;
`bring me a letter! no; did be go to the
village yesterday? I knew nothing of
it.'

`Yes, he went,' said the other with an
affected common place air, `and I thought
likely he might have found a letter for you
there by this time—but here he comes
himself, and can tell you whether he enquired
for one—I'll warrant he did not
though, he is such a forgetful creature—
say, Mr Martin,' she continued, turning
to her husband, as he now entered the
room; `did you enquire at the post office
yesterday for a letter for May?'

`There now!' exclaimed Martin with a
seeming abashed and self-condemning
manner; `Well, if that don't beat all! I

should not blame May for scolding now—
for, of all forgetful fellows I believe I must
be the worst.—Yes, I did call at the office,
and got her a letter from Ashley, I conclude,
and here I have carried it in my
pocket ever since!'

`O, how could you!—but where is it
—O where is it?' eagerly exclaimed the
animated girl, starting up and advancing.

`Here!' replied Martin, pulling out the
letter and presenting it; `here it is; and
now we shall see no more of you till that
is read and re-read a dozen times over, I
suppose.'

As the hungry bird darts upon the luscious
grape accidentally revealed to his
sight while wandering weary and famished
for food, so did May upon the valued
prize before her; and scarce was it within
her eager grasp before she bore it off,
with eyes sparkling with joy and triumph,
to another room, there to feast on its anticipated
contents which, in fancy, were
to thrill her own bosom with delight, and,

at the same time, to furnish an ample refutation
of the unjust and ungenerous surmises
of Martin concerning the fidelity of
her beloved Ashley. No sooner was she
alone, than with trembling haste she tore
open the seal and read in the well known
hand of her lover, as she thought, as follows:—

`Knowing you would expect a letter
from me about this time, and considering
it a duty to apprize you of some changes
relative to myself, I have thought best to
write you briefly. On my arrival at my
old residence, I there met with one with
whom I once had considerable intimacy,
which was broken off by a misunderstanding
between us, and I supposed the separation
to be final.—That misunderstanding
is now, however, satisfactorily cleared
up, and with a renewal of acquaintance,
feelings which, when with you, I supposed
dead, have revived. I presume you
would not wish to marry a man who entertains

a preference to another—I think
I know you too well to believe you would
for a single moment endure the thought
of such a union. And therefore it is extremely
doubtful whether I return at all to
Vermont. I have luckily found a man
here who has taken my land contract in
the settlement off my hands. Do not
think I shall ever entertain any other feelings
towards you than those of sincere
friendship and the highest respect.

During the perusal of the first part of
this unloverlike epistle, the countenance
of May exhibited a surprised and disappointed
expression, produced seemingly
by the formal and unaccustomed introductory
address, as well as not meeting
with anything she expected to find. But
this expression, as she continued, soon
changed into a look of blank bewilderment,
like that of one utterly at loss to
comprehend the meaning of the writer;
and it was not till she reached the concluding

line that the painful truth, which
the writer, with apparent reluctance,
seemed impelled by a sense of duty, to
communicate, flashed for the first time
across her mind—then it was that the ashy
paleness of dismay spread over the quivering
muscles of her face; and with a hurried
mechanical kind of motion she again
commenced reading, trembling more and
more violently as she proceeded, till her
agitation becoming too great to continue
the perusal, she dropped the fatal paper
on the table, and, lifting up her hands
with a look of utter hopelessness and misery
indistinetly murmered, `Oh! may not
this be some dreadful dream from which
I shall awake?' And she pressed her
hand hard upon the swelling veins of her
forehead, as if to recover her consciousness.
`No, no,' she at length more audibly
uttered in a tone of despairing grief,—
`no, no! wretched, O wretched, lost,
wrecked and ruined! and all but Heaven
has now deserted me.' Tears now gushed
and fell in a shower from her eyes,
and, covering her face with both hands,
heart-rending sobs alone gave further utterance
to the agony of feeling with which
her burt ing bosom was laboring.

At this moment Martin followed by Gow,
entered the room.

`Why! what is all this now?' exclaimed
the former, in affected surprise; `What
is the matter?—what can have happened
May?—O, something in the letter—but do
let us see what dreadful news it contains.'
So saying, he officiously bustled up to the
table, where May was sitting in the posture
above described with the letter open before
her, without moving, or offering any
resistance to Martin's taking it, and seemed
busily to run over the contents. `There!'
he presently exclaimed, turning to his
friend—`There! this is just what I always
expected—that fellow, Ashley, has cast
May aside for an old sweetheart, and has
had the impudence here to tell her so—
though it is scarcely three weeks since he

was vowing and cooing round her like all
the world.—The false-hearted scoundrel!
But May had fair warning how the fellow
would treat her; and now I hope she will
put a proper value on the offer s of those
who really love her, and are worth a thousand
such fellows to-boot.'

`Yes, May,' said Gow in a low soothing
tone as he approached and leaned over the
table by her side, while Martin, under pretence
of further examining the letter,
moved off to an opposite window; `Yes,
May, now this great obstacle to your marrying
another is entirely removed, I hope
you will no longer refuse to hear my offer.

`O, do not torment me,' she replied in
broken utterance, her face still buried in
her hands; `O, leave me alone I beseech
you.'

`May!' interrupted Martin sternly, remember
your promise—you recollect—if
Ashley deserted you! Have you forgotten
it so soon?

The wretched girl groaned aloud,

`You are silent?' continued her interrogator,
`and well you may be; for you
will hardly deny the solemn promise you
made me not a week since; and now I
call on you to fulfil it—do you consent?'

`O have mercy—some mercy,' she
cried, rising and moving towards the door,
`some mercy, on a poor broken hearted
girl!'

`Do you consent, I say again,' sternly
demanded Martin rising and endeavoring
to intercept her retreat.

`Do what you will with me—sell me
for a slave—kill me if you please, but let
me go now—O do let me go!' was the
beseeching reply, as with streaming eyes
and convulsive sobs she escaped from her
inquisitors, and fled to her own apartment.

`Let her go, Martin,' said Gow, hastily,
as the other was about to follow or command
her back, `let her go—let the matter
rest just where it is.—Silence gives
consent of itself—besides have you not
her express leave to do with her just as

you please? What more do you want?'

`Why true, Gow, replied the other, hesitating
under the twinges of some remains
of conscience, which still lingered in spite
of all the trainings it had lately received`true,
she all but consented—and did consent
in a sort—but—but you see she is no
more willing now than before—and how
would you manage it?'

`Manage it! why, there is nothing to
do but go a-head—you saddle your horse,
and go directly to the parson; tell him to
publish the bans next Sunday, and be on
hand to tie the knot on some day you and
your wife shall fix on, as soon as your
laws will allow; for I mean to go by Gunter
in this business.'

`Yes, but—'

`But what?—You are thinking about
raising the hundred dollars I conclude, or
you would not hesitate to go on, your
chance is so much better than ever to save
it—I tell you, man, one thing or the other
must be done soon.'

The last hint was sufficient for a man
of the disposition of Martin, and he at
once forgot his qualms of conscience, and
tamely promised obedience to the commands
of the other.

`Well, then,' said Gow, `go on as I told
you, the game is now within certain reach,
if all is kept still.—We will let the girl
alone pretty much till the day arrives, and
in the mean while we will drive hard at
our business at the mountain; for I should
like amazingly to have a few of those jinglers
in my pocket for wedding music.'

`Amen to that,' said Martin, as he left
his friend for the business more immediately
before him.

`Dirty miscreant!' soliloquized Gow, after
his friend had left the room,—`what a
precious scoundrel, but for your pussillanimous
fears which only make you hesitate
here, or any where!—But with all your
duplicity and good will to play false with
me, I can keep the knave in you straight
by means of the miser and the coward.

Rogue as I am, I despise you for your
meanness to this noble girl, whom you
should protect; and had I not a greater
object in view than you can have in this
affair, I would hang myself before I, who
have no such duties towards her, would
be guilty of even the part I am taking,
though a thousand times more decent than
yours. It will do me good to see you
punished, as you will be with a vengeance,
for this shuffling to me, and baseness to
her. Hah! you little think that while
you are helping me to a fortune with one
hand you are twisting a rope for your
own neck with the other.'