University of Virginia Library

12. CHAPTER XII.

“Things remained in this state, when one day
coming in from the dairy, I saw a man enter the
house. I supposed his visit to be to the major, and
quietly entered by the private door and went to

my room. As I approached the door, I heard the
voice of the old woman, saying,

“`Sit down if you please, master. Did you say
you wanted to see me, sir?'

“`Yes,' was the answer, in a voice that did not
sound entirely new to me. `I have a message for
you.'

“`A message, sir! And who's it from, master?'

“`It is from a lady.'

“`A lady! I'm sure I don't know what lady
it can be, unless it's Miss Ann, poor thing! and
I reckon she don't hardly remember the old
woman.'

“`It is a lady,' said the voice, now sounding
husky and choking, `who put something in your
hands to keep a long time ago, and she has sent me
for it.'

“I now perceived that the speaker was Montague,
and nothing but my abhorrence of him prevented
my rushing into the room to ask him about
my brother. I restrained myself, and the old woman
made no answer.

“`You don't understand me, I believe,' said
Montague.

“`Maybe I don't,' said she, with some sharpness
of tone.

“`You know,' said he, `that the thing I speak
of was a bundle of papers, and that you were to
keep it until she came or sent for them.'

“No answer.

“`I suppose you are waiting to see the token
that she sent.'

“`I don't know what you call a token,' said the
old woman.

“`Well,' said Montague, `you know you and
she broke a ring in two, and you have one half and
she the other. Whoever she sent for the bundle
was to bring it.'

“`You talk like you got something to show me,
master,' said the wary old woman. `Will you let
me see what it is, sir?'

“`I have lost it,' was the reply.

“`Well, I reckon it don't make no odds,' said
she, carelessly.

“Startled at this answer, which, however, I
totally misunderstood, I entered the room. Montague
was sitting opposite the door. He obviously
did not recollect me at first, and rose with a slight
salutation, such as he doubtless deemed appropriate
to my humble apparel. Before he resumed his
seat, however, his eye met mine, and he sunk into
it overwhelmed with trepidation and dismay. My
own agitation was scarcely less than his. I first
found my voice, and inquired for James. He hesitated,
faltered, and stammered out that he had
parted with him on the way, and expected him in
a few days.

“`Where did they separate?'

“`In Missouri.'

“I inquired for you, and was told that you and
James would come together.

“The manner in which this was said, indeed,
his whole deportment, would have filled me with
distrust, even if I had never known him. But when
I reflected on his habitual baseness, and remembered
his uneasy tone while speaking with the old
woman, and then the utter discomfiture with which
my appearance overwhelmed him, I had no doubt
that he had been guilty of some new villany. My
alarm was excessive, and I could scarcely command
it so far as to continue the conversation.
He now turned to the old woman, who told him
with great composure, that if his message was
from me, I was present to speak for myself. Having
taken up this position, she remained perfectly
impracticable to all his attempts to draw her into
a discussion. With me he saw that his case was
hopeless for the present. Still he could not at
once desist from endeavouring to get me to talk of
the packet, but I had taken my cue from the old
woman, and resolutely imitated her obstinate silence.
At length he went away, and left me in a
state of anxiety and alarm for my poor boy which
I have no words to express.

“The next day he again made his appearance,
and, suppressing his impatience to get hold of the
packet, made a display of great interest in my
welfare, was full of concern for the humble and
dependant situation in which he saw me, and
hoped that James's return would place me in a
more desirable and suitable condition. To all
this I only answered that in my condition James's

return could make no difference. This baffled him
again by showing that I was not to be approached
on the side of pecuniary interest.

“He now lamented in pathetic terms his misfortune
in not being permitted to contribute, in any
way, to the happiness of one whose happiness
was so dear to him; and he dropped many distant
hints which made me see that there was no depth
of hypocrisy, at least, perhaps no sacrifice, to
which he would not descend to carry his point. I
was therefore but the more resolved to maintain
mine, and at all events to hold the packet as a hostage
for the safe appearance of James. Accordingly,
when, after speaking me fair during a long
glozing conversation, he concluded with expressing
a hope that I would give up the packet, seeing
that he had complied to the letter with all your requirements,
I coldly said that I should await the
return of James.

“`But,' said he, `you may assure yourself that
your brother will certainly be here in a few days.'

“`There can be the less inconvenience, then,'
said I, `in waiting for him.'

“This disconcerted him excessively: he muttered
something about the urgency of his affairs,
to which I answered,

“`I know nothing about your affairs, sir, and am
resolved to know nothing about your business with
me until I see my brother.'

“He now became silent, mused a while, and
again began to talk in a strain of great respect,

with distant and guarded expressions of kindness.
I saw his drift, and let him go away without obtaining
any further satisfaction, or giving him more
insight into my thoughts than I had already done.

“The next day he appeared again with a handsome
equipage, and dressed with studied care.
The topics of the preceding day were resumed.
He spoke of his departure from Virginia, of losses
and difficulties, which had embarrassed his affairs,
and rendered that measure necessary; of the pain
it had cost him to think of the situation in which I
had been left, and of his inability to afford me relief;
of his subsequent successful enterprises, and
of the prosperous condition of his affairs at this
time; of his respect for my mother, his sorrow for
her death; and his deep regret that he had not
been so fortunate as to effect the arrangements
designed to provide for her comfort before she
was beyond the reach of human aid. My poor
mother! You will hardly wonder that this allusion
to her wretched life and recent death brought
tears into my eyes. The hypocrite saw and misunderstood
them. He had found me, as he supposed,
in melting mood, and closed his long discourse
of protestation and profession with an offer
of marriage.

“Humiliation has subdued my spirit, George; and
the duty of bearing myself meekly under the scorn
and scoffs of the world, (of which, though unjust, I
have no right to complain, for the world's injustice
is but a rod in the hands of Him whose chastenings

I have so well deserved,) has taught me
self-command. But though you will see that
such is the natural effect of past events upon my
character, you will hardly believe that I bore this
insult calmly. But I did. I quietly turned to the
little negro girl, and said,

“`Go to Major Swann, and ask him if he pleases
to come here.'

“She went out, and he remained completely
disconcerted. I have neglected to mention that
the old woman was out. As to the girl, she was
a mere child, to whom all she had heard was without
meaning. I now turned to Montague, and
said, with perfect composure,

“`After what has passed between us formerly,
sir, you cannot wonder that I should deem it necessary
to ask you to repeat, in the presence of a
witness, what you have just said.'

“This added to his perplexity. The struggle
of contending passions was dreadful. I saw that
he deemed himself taken in a trap; that his first
thought was to break away by retracting what he
had said, and escaping before the major's appearance,
and that he finally determined to yield to
necessity, and go through with what he had begun.
I did not interrupt his cogitations, but amused myself
in silence with tracing in his countenance those
workings of his mind. At length the major appeared.
He looked surprised at the sight of a
well-dressed man in the housekeeper's room, and
stood a moment as if waiting for an introduction.

But waiving this ceremony, I respectfully begged
him to be seated, saying that I had sent for him to
be a witness of what should pass between that
gentleman and myself. Then turning to Montague,
I said, `I will trouble you now, Mr. Montague,
to repeat precisely and distinctly the proposition
which you just now made me.'

“He looked every way, and turned all colours,
and at length made out to say, that he had just
made me, and now repeated an offer of his hand in
marriage.

“It was sinful, George, the triumph of my feelings
at that moment. What had I to do with insolent
exultation, even over the wretch to whom I
owed all the miseries of my wretched life? But I
did not then ask myself that question. All my
overmastered feelings broke loose from my control.
I felt my frame dilate, and my features
swell with abhorrence and disdain, as I fixed my
eye upon him, and said,

“`And I spit my scorn at you, vile betrayer of
trusting innocence!'

“I never in my life expected to behold such a
tumult of rage, perplexity, and dismay as Montague's
countenance now exhibited. I cannot describe
anything that he did, or repeat anything that
he said. It was all spasm, tumult, and interjection,
horrible to behold or hear.

“At length he went away, leaving the kind old
gentleman lost in amazement. He now spoke to
me, and with a good deal of hesitancy and embarrassment

intimated to me that the words I had
used to Montague required explanation.

“`I am sensible of it, my dear sir,' said I; `and
if the disclosure of what those words imported has
been delayed to this day, it has not been the effect
of duplicity, or a wish to deceive, but of a feeling
of delicacy. I beg you to remember that I cautiously
declined all those proposals which might
have given me more of the countenance and society
of your kind lady than I had a right to expect.
Even in my present humble condition I fear I may
be deemed a furtive intruder, and have long wished
to make known the whole truth. To you I cannot
speak it. Will you give me an opportunity of
conversing with Mrs. Swann, that she may have
it in her power to judge whether I am a proper inmate
of this family?'

“`I will send her to you,' said he.

“`I thank you sir, and beg that you will prepare
her for what I have to say by telling her what has
just passed.'

“He did so. The good old lady came; and I
disclosed to her what, until then, was known to
none on earth but Montague and you. I did not
expect any harshness from her; but I was unprepared
for her kindness. She wept over me, she
comforted me, she even praised me. Oh, what a
relief! To find myself in the presence of a highminded
and delicate matron, who, knowing the
worst of me that I knew of myself, yet did not
spurn me, nor look on me with loathing, but regarding

me as one `more sinned against than sinning,'
gave me her sympathy, and with all a mother's
tenderness poured the balm of consolation
into my heart. Since the day that you so far
overcame the repugnance of outraged love, as to
let me feel that, though fallen, I was neither hateful
nor despicable to you, I have experienced no
such comfort as in that interview. The gratitude
I have owed you ever since has now a second
object. But not the less are my acknowledgments,
my thanks, my prayers, due to the generous effort
you then made, to spare the heart of her who had
placed a dagger in your own.”