University of Virginia Library

13. CHAPTER XIII.

“I now found the full benefit of the advantage
Montague had given me over him. It entitled me
to entire credence in the history I gave, and I received
it. The kind old lady left me in tears, and
presently her husband returned with features working

with emotion, to say what he could not say.
He could but take my hand, press it in silence, and
leave me.

“I tell you these things because you will know
how I was affected by them, and your kind heart
will rejoice that comfort has found its way to mine,
But to my tale.

“The next day Montague reappeared. As
soon as he was announced I sent for Major Swann,
and when that gentleman came admitted him. I
had not yet sufficiently rebuked the insolence of
triumph to repress something of a sneer, as I told
him that after what had passed the day before,
he would see the impropriety of my meeting him
again except in the presence of a witness.

“`I have no objection, madam,' said he; `I
don't care how many witnesses are present. I
am come to demand my property, and I am glad
Mr. Swann is here, because if you don't give it up
I shall appeal to him.'

“`I am not conscious that I have anything of
yours, sir. The only article that I ever received
at your hands you gave me to do with as I pleased.
Is it your purpose to reclaim that?'

“`It is my purpose,' said he, `to reclaim the
packet you have kept from me so long.'

“`Be pleased,' said, I, `to say how long, and
how I came by it.'

“`It makes no difference,' he replied. `It is a
packet of valuable papers belonging to the estate
of Mr. Raby, and if Mr. Swann has a proper care

of the interest of his employer, he will not suffer
them to be secreted in this very house.'

“`When I need to be instructed, sir,' said the
spirited old gentleman, `in my duty to my employer,
I shall be glad to learn of you. In the
mean time, Miss Mary, I have no doubt you will
inform me what all this means.'

“`I will tell you,' said I, `all I know.'

“Accordingly, I gave him an account of so much
of the affair as it was necessary he should know.
He heard me through, and then said that it seemed
that the papers must be of small value, as it appeared
that Montague had been totally indifferent
to their destruction. To this he remarked that he
had not then known their value.

“`If you did not then know what they were,'
asked the major, `how have you found out since?'

“`I did know what they were,' said he, `but it is
only of late that I have been made acquainted with
their importance.'

“`And where do you suppose them now to be?'

“`In this house. In her possession, or in that of
old Amy.'

“`What reason have you for thinking so?'

“`Her own letter.'

“`Where is that?'

“`I have been robbed of it,' said Montague,
after hesitating a while.

“`This is a strange affair,' said the major.

“`Strange or not strange,' said Montague, `I
tell you it is so, and that the secreting of those

papers is of the utmost importance to the interest
of Mr. Raby. Now, sir, if you do not choose,'
added he, petulantly, `to use your authority for his
benefit, so far as to search his own house for his
stolen property, I shall be under the necessity—'

“He paused as he caught the eye of the major,
who said coldly,

“`To do what, sir?'

“`To get a search warrant, sir,' said Montague,
after taking a second thought.

“`You shall have one, sir, on making the proper
affidavit. I am a justice of the peace. I will send
for the constable to-night; and though I have no
right, as master here for the time being, to outrage
Miss Scott's feelings by searching her apartment,
on your bare suggestion, yet, as an officer of the
law, I am no respecter of persons. Call in the
morning, sir,' added he, with an air of lofty politeness,
`and you will find it so.' Montague took
the hint and disappeared.

“The next morning I felt somewhat indisposed.
I had been the day before invited to consult my
ease more than I had done; and as Mammy Amy
was now well enough to attend to some trifling
duties, I kept my bed until ten o'clock. Before I
left it I was told a gentleman wished to see me.

“`Was it Montague?'

“`No.'

“I described you. No. It was a young man
of dark complexion; a stranger. I excused myself
to him, and he went away, leaving a packet

hastily folded up, and directed, in pencil, `To Miss
Scott, with the compliments of James Brown.' I
opened it, and found a letter to him, the seal of
which was broken. Of course it was meant that
I should read it. It proved to be from a gentleman
of the name of Napier, and contained the history
of the machinations of Montague against you and
James. I was somewhat relieved, because it explained
the poor boy's absence; and though it
showed that the arts of Montague had placed you
both in an unpleasant predicament, I saw that no
danger was apprehended. But I need not tell you
what you know. I now for the first time understood
the nature of this mysterious packet, and the
drift of Montague's strange conduct regarding it.
Knowing him as I do, it was all made plain to me.
He is at once the wickedest and the most superstitious
wretch on earth, and I doubt whether avarice
itself, or even mortal fear (his two master passions)
could make him swear to a literal falsehood.
I remember, too, that at the critical moment when
his work of fraud was to be accomplished, he was
overtaken by one of those visitations which such
as he are apt to mistake for the workings of the
spirit of God. I remember the awful writhings of
his remorse; and that his mind ran much on the
subject of perjury; though he always spoke of it
with abhorrence, and seemed to seek consolation
in the thought that of that crime he was free. I
now see that at that very time the wretch was
contriving a scheme to cheat not only man but
God. I suppose he was unwilling to trust any one
capable of becoming a knowing accomplice in his
villany, and I see the motive of the pains he took
to establish such an intercourse with me, as would
give countenance to his request that I would take
charge of the packet. His strange behaviour on
the occasion, and the art he used after having got
it lodged in my custody, to beguile me of what I
should deem equivalent to an oath, left no doubt
of this.

“My first thought was to hand the letter and
packet to Major Swann, but it presently occurred
to me that, by doing so, I might place him in a
delicate situation between his duty to his employer
and his duty as a man. I resolved, therefore, to
let things take their course, but at the same time
to use effectual measures to keep the packet from
falling into Montague's hands.

“Before I gave it to Mammy Amy, I had put
it into a small toy trunk, which I locked, keeping
the key myself. Near the hearth was a place
where a hole had been burned in the floor, and
here a short plank had been laid down. This was
loose. I took it up, put down the trunk, and, with
the broom handle, pushed it away to the wall. I
had taken the precuation to tie a bit of tape to the
handle, the end of which I left in reach, but too
far under to be seen without stooping low and
putting the face to the hole. I did this while my
nurse was out, so that I alone knew where it was.

Having thus completed my arrangements, I awaited
patiently the approach of the enemy.

“About noon Montague arrived. The constable
was already there. Montague was a long time
closeted with the major, I supposed engaged in
coining a suitable affidavit. At length they all
came together to my room. The kind old gentleman
apologized with the utmost courtesy and
deference to my feelings for what he was about to
do, and handed me Montague's affidavit. This
testified that six years ago he had left at my mother's
a packet which he described by external
marks and seals; that he had reason to believe
and did believe that I had got possession of it, and
that it was secreted somewhere in the house. The
search was now commenced, and every corner of
the room was ransacked. Montague took little part
in it, but kept his eyes on me, and pointed out suspected
places. I became at last impatient of his
insolent gaze, I felt my spirit rise, and was conscious
of that flash of the eye before which his
always quails, even when he sees it in the face of
a woman. I now kept my eye on him, and his
avoided it, though he occasionally stole a furtive
glance. At length, walking across the floor, he
felt the loose plank move under his feet. He
stooped and raised it. I felt my courage give way,
and as he lifted himself up after his short and fruitless
search, our eyes met, and I was conscious that
mine had blenched. I felt that thick throbbing of
the heart which always displays itself in the countenance,

and again stole a look at him to see if he
had observed me. He had replaced the plank,
and looked on the protracted search with less apparent
interest than before. I saw, indeed, that
he was weary of its continuance, and he soon expressed
himself satisfied. They now left the room;
Montague last of all. There is no fastening to the
door, but a large bar inconveniently heavy, and a
slight latch. This caught as he closed the door
after him, and I was once more alone. I listened
a moment, and heard the trampling of many feet,
and the sound of many voices die away along the
passage. My uneasiness now took its natural
course. I ran to the hole and lifted the plank. At
the moment the door opened, and Montague reappeared.
The sagacity of the cunning wretch had
taught him to expect what I would do under the
influence of my alarmed and excited feelings. He
had stopped at the door while the rest went on,
and came in suddenly as soon as he had allowed
time for nature to do her work. He now sprang
forward, while I, powerless with alarm, sank into
a chair. He stooped down, and looked eagerly
along the dark hole, and finally, groping, got hold
of the end of the string. He drew it out, and I
heard the little trunk come grating along over the
laths below. I screamed and sprang to him. He
pushed me back, drew out the trunk, crushed it
with his heel, and seizing the packet flung it into
the fire.

“It was a mild October day, and there was just

so much fire as an old woman needs to comfort her
rheumatic limbs. I rushed to it to rescue the
packet. He seized and held me back, and I struggled,
still screaming. The major, who had missed
Montague, and was returning to look for him,
alarmed at my cries, hurried back. As soon as I
saw him I exclaimed,

“`In the fire! In the fire!'

“He understood me and approached the hearth.
Montague flung me across the room to my bed,
on which I fell half insensible. But I saw Montague
rudely seize the major around the waist, and
jerk him back, when, at the moment, Charles, my
foster-brother, entered. He darted at Montague,
and with one blow of his fist felled him to the
floor. The major, disengaged, rescued the packet
from the fire, where its surface only was scorched,
and turned to confront Montague, who slowly
recovered his feet.

“`What means this, Mr. Montague?' said he.
`Is this the way you treat valuable papers belonging
to your employer and mine?'

“The stunning blow that Montague had received
gave him an excuse for not answering immediately,
and he stood the picture of rage, alarm,
and perplexity. At length he replied that he knew
his duty to Mr. Raby, and that gentleman's wishes,
and had therefore sought to destroy the packet.
He added that he was not accountable to any one
but his principal, and demanded to have the papers
delivered up.

“`You forget that he is my principal, too, sir,'
rejoined the major. `I am not sure that I am at
liberty to permit the destruction of anything I find
under this roof.'

“Montague puzzled a while, and then said, that
having obtained the packet under a search warrant,
he had a right to demand it.

“`Pardon me, sir,' said the major; `having
been found under a search warrant, it is in the
custody of the law until the title is proved.'

“`Is it not proof enough,' said Montague, `that
I have described it in my affidavit? Look at it,
sir, and you will see that I have given an accurate
account of the impressions of the seals, from a
memorandum made when it was sealed up.'

“`It may have been so, sir,' said the major;
`but I should rather suspect the impressions to
have been different from those described, judging
by your impatience to obliterate them. There is
nothing here, sir, but melted wax, with no impressions
at all.'

“You, who know Montague, need not be told
how he looked at the discovery of this effect of his
own impatience. I do think the keenest self-reproach
he ever feels is when his villany is baffled
by his own blunders. After a short pause the
major added,

“`There is a simple test of property here, Mr.
Montague. Describe the papers in this packet—
you say you know what they are—I will then

open it, and if they answer the description, you
shall have them.'

“To this Montague replied, that he was not at
liberty to disclose his patron's secrets.

“`Perhaps not,' said the major; `I have no wish
to pry into them. But the papers are, I presume,
endorsed, and I only ask such a description as is
commonly found in an endorsement.'

“This proposition also being declined by Montague,
the major said,

“`Well, sir, the only remaining doubt in this
case is, whether there is enough proved to entitle
me to detain this parcel from Miss Scott another
moment. There is certainly not enough to justify
me in putting it out of the custody of the law into
any hand but hers. But as I may be better able
than she to secure it against ruffian violence, I
will with her approbation get rid of this difficulty,
by keeping it for her, or you, or Mr. Raby, or any
person who may show title to demand it.'

“To this proposition I joyfully assented. At
this moment Charles caught the major's eye.

“`Charles, my good boy,' said he, `you have
done me good service, and I thank you. And you,
sir,' turning to Montague, `having received the
chastisement of your insolence from a hand more
fit to touch your person than mine, may be thankful
that I dismiss you without any further punishment.
Go, sir. If you have occasion to call on
me in the way of business, I will attend you at

some other place. Here you come no more while
I retain authority here.'

“This put an end to the scene and to Montague's
visit. I have neither seen nor heard of him
since. I suppose it often happens that there are
men who seize upon such occasions as that of a
constable's search, to thrust themselves where
they have no business. This was the case in this
instance. My room was invaded by a promiscuous
rabble of men and boys, some of whom,
judging by their dress, should have had more
respect for decorum. But there they were during
the search; and having heard the uproar which
afterward took place, they had all returned.
Among the number, I now remarked a very genteel-looking
young man, who, approaching me with
great courtesy, asked if I had that morning received
a packet. On my answering in the affirmative,
he informed me that he was the bearer. The
recollection of his manner, which was marked by
the most delicate respect, reminds me to thank
you, George, for the kind terms, in which, as I
gathered from Mr. Napier's letter, you had spoken
of me to him. Oh! is it possible that I am yet to
be permitted to show myself among the good and
wise, to enjoy their society, to witness their virtues,
and even be blessed with their friendship,
after having so long been a `hissing and a byword,'
even for the low and vile? Can I be ever grateful
enough to you, George? Yet how little do I show
my gratitude, when I have forgotten, in the hurry

of my own story, to express the pleasure with
which I also learned that you are blessed with a
wife every way worthy to bear your name and to
share your fortune. Dear George, may you both
be happy.

“But to return to Mr. Brown. He said as soon
as he heard what was passing, he had hastened to
afford me any aid in his power, but arrived only in
time to witness the closing scene. I now returned
him his letter, and he was about to go away when
Major Swann said,

“`I perceive, sir, you are an acquaintance of
Miss Scott's. I shall always be happy to see her
friends here, and hope you will not think of leaving
us before dinner.'

“The invitation was pressed and accepted, and
they left the room. Was it possible that I had
heard aright? Was my friendship a passport to
the notice of a gentleman, who, though fallen in his
fortunes, possessed as much delicacy, refinement,
and honour as any man on earth? Judge my surprise,
when, as I asked myself this, he turned back,
and coming up to me, took my hand, and said, in
the gentlest tone of entreaty,

“`Won't you dine with us to-day? Pray do.
It will so much oblige us.'

“What could I do, George, but burst into tears,
and weep like a child? He seated me, and stood
by me until I found words to say, `I will—I will.'
It was all I could say.

“I went to dinner, and behaved as well as I

could after thirteen years of banishment from society.
This movement was followed up. I was
beguiled by kindness from my resolution, and since,
except that I am privileged to breakfast in my
room, I take my meals at the table of this highly
finished specimen of that most honourable race of
men, the ancient gentry of Virginia. I find, too,
that my keys are wiled away from me, and by
degrees I have been made to feel that no service
of any kind is expected of me. On my expressing
my unwillingness to be thus a tax on Mr. Raby,
whom I did not know, I was told that Major Swann
had stipulated for the right to introduce into his
family a companion for his wife, and that they
would be delighted to entertain me in that character.
My objections thus overcome, I was transferred
to a neat and well-furnished apartment, my
mammy's bed placed in a little room adjoining, and
a new housekeeper being fixed on, the good old
woman was discharged from all duty but that of
attending on me. Hence my leisure to inflict on
you this tedious narrative.

“The day after the search, the major, returning
from the post office, brought me your letter. It
may have been there a week. I had no one to
send, and it was a new thing to have a friend to
think of me when asking for his own letters. The
kind old gentleman had observed the postmark,
and, having understood that James was in Missouri,
supposing it to be from him, inquired of his
health, &c. I answered that he was well, but that

the letter was from you. He immediately recollected
the name, and spoke of you with the kindness
of an old and partial friend. I was delighted
to hear this, and told him you had given me reason
to expect that you would be at Craiganet in a few
weeks. He expressed a great desire to see you,
and requested that I would write to you there and
beg you to visit him as soon as practicable. He
added, that he would at once have a room prepared
for you and your friend Mr. Napier, and
one for James; and charged me to say that as the
days are short, and the distance almost too long
for a day's ride, and no convenient stopping-place
by the way, you must not mind coming at any
hour of the night as if to your own home. You
cannot have forgotten the ways about this neighbourhood;
the approach and grounds around the
house are all unchanged, and the handle of the
door bell is just where it was when Raby Hall was
your home. Then, too, it was mine!
Oh, that I could add,
But this can never be. All on which memory
could delight to dwell is shut out by that which
`eternity forbids me to forget.' But why do I
speak thus repiningly? By comparison, my present
condition is one of bliss. And does not hope
now dawn on me, even on this side of the grave?
The hope of such pleasures as my heart has ever
yearned after; the pleasure springing from the
approbation of the good, the conversation of the
wise, the society of the refined and polite? Oh!
how my heart, at the thought of seeing you again,
leaps up, and then falls humbled in the dust, at the
recollections with which your name is associated.
But I will not offend you by prating about my
feelings. One only you must give me leave to
express in such language as I can command: the
devoted, heartfelt gratitude of—will you permit
me to say?—your friend,

“M. S.”