 | CHAPTER XV. The forsaken |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
But once in's life may sin beside his nature,
Nay, perhaps, contrary: this is a deed
I must abhor to justify.
—Marmyon's Fine Companion.
Jones, having secured the horses for the night, returned
to the spot where he had left Jurian, and desired
him to follow him. They walked some distance in
silence, when Jurian, at a loss to comprehend the manœuvring
of his guide, inquired which way he was
going.
“Trust to me,” was the laconic reply.
“And be led blindfold?”
“That's unnecessary, sir; for I dare swear you
know every corner of the town as well blindfold as with
your eyes open.” Jones affected to smile.
“Then explain your movements.”
“That is also unnecessary.”
“Then not a step farther will I go.”
“As you please, sir. Good night.”
“Villain, have you dared to trifle with me?”
“Trifle! I am not much given to that sort of amusement,
sir,” replied Jones, carelessly.
“Then why was I brought here?”
“Follow me, and you shall learn; but ask no questions.”
“Yes, one; and I must be answered.”
“Well, sir, what is it?”
“Am I to see Miss Morton?”
“I have said you shall, and I always perform my
promises—when convenient. But you must submit to
my guidance.”
“How can I credit you, when every step we take is
in an opposite direction from the house?”
“You are right,” said Jones, with provoking indifference,
“but if you are dissatisfied with me, procure
another guide.”
This alternative was proposed, because the countryman
knew that it could not be accepted, and perhaps
for the purpose of awakening the young man to a sense
of Jones's importance on the present occasion. Jurian
hesitated for a moment; he felt that he was in the toils,
but knew not how to extricate himself. Did Jones mean
to play him false? What object could he have in view?
The fact of betraying to the enemy an obscure individual,
could benefit the cause but little. His dilemma
assumed different aspects in an instant, but he found it
impracticable to avert even the most unfavourable by
leaving his guide; nay, by taking this step, he would
run the risk of being apprehended as a spy, but by remaining,
Jones might possibly redeem his pledge; at
all events, if discovered, the countryman's testimony
would explain the object of his visit. He resolved to
follow Jones, though his views with regard to his conduct
were by no means distinct.
“Move on,” said Jurian, “I will see what object
you have in view; but if you have dared to deceive
me”—he touched his sword significantly.
“Oh! certainly,” replied Jones, coolly; and had it
not been for the obscurity of the night, the other might
have seen something like a smile of contempt on the
harsh ruddy features of the countryman.
They again moved on in silence, and turning into a
small street, Jones finally stopped in front of a house
was pacing to and fro on the pavement.
“Here we will halt for the present,” said Jones.
Jurian looked around to see if he could recognise the
place; another soldier, similarly equipped with the former,
appeared at the entrance to the house. He was
evidently on guard. Jurian perceived that he had been
betrayed, and drawing his sword, exclaimed—
“Villain, you shall not triumph in your treachery!”
He rushed on the countryman, who seized his sword-arm
in his iron grasp, and coolly took the weapon from
him, which he again returned, saying—
“Sheathe your spit, I beseech you, but not in me.
Mark my words, young man; you cannot spare me yet.
Have patience a little longer, and I shall prove myself
your best friend, though you now imagine me your
worst enemy.” Then approaching the sentinel in the
entry, he said, in an undertone, “Inform his lordship
that Paul Gordon awaits his commands.”
This, though intended only for the ear of the sentinel,
did not escape Jurian, who involuntarily ejaculated
“Paul Gordon!” in such a tone as plainly indicated
that he was not prepared for a development of this nature.
“Yes,” rejoined his companion, “I am Gordon. It
is now unnecessary to deny myself to you, Mr. Hartfield,
and though my public character, like that of all
public men, has been painted in dirty colours, I'll make
bold to say, you'll find me quite the thing as a private
gentleman.”
This was spoken in a tone partaking more of irony
than earnest, and approaching the young man, he familiarly
extended his hand, while Jurian, with his arms
folded, remained stationary, and fixed his penetrating
eyes full upon the countenance of Gordon, who for an
instant felt abashed and awed by the rebuff, but as he
had not been in the habit of paying much respect to any
regained his self-possession, and said—
“I perceive that your pride has taken the alarm, but
unnecessarily; for when you know me better, you will
find that our ways of thinking dovetail it to a shaving.
Your mind may be compared to the forest-tree, rendered
more beautiful by culture and being transplanted, and
mine to the same tree in all its rudeness and vigour,
fast rooted on its native mountain.”
The sentinel now announced to Gordon that his presence
and that of his companion were required in the
council-room. They entered the house, and were
ushered into a chamber, where several officers were
seated around a table strewn with writing implements.
Gordon made his obeisance, and Jurian acknowledged
their presence by a slight inclination of the head, as he
stood awaiting the result of this mysterious interview.
At length one of the officers addressed Gordon. He
wore a pair of gold epaulettes, was of spare habit, thin
and dark visage, which was rendered more forbidding
by a pair of black eyes that ogled each other.
“So, I perceive you have accomplished what you
promised. This is the young officer concerning whom
you spoke to me?”
“The same, my lord,” replied Gordon.
“A comely youth,” continued the officer, “and
doubtless well qualified to perform the duty we shall
impose upon him.” The other officers assented to this
remark, and the first continued to address Gordon:—
“You have acquainted him with the nature of his employment?”
“Not I, my lord,” was the reply.
“And why not?”
“I was thinking he would have been loath to come
if he knew all, and so I kept dark, your honour, knowing
that if a man is to be wheedled into the performance
of a dirty job, fine words must be made use of, and
so I did not venture to broach the subject.”
“And he is ignorant of the object of bringing him
here?”
“As the sucking babe,” replied Gordon, and left the
room shortly afterwards. The officer turned towards
Jurian, and said—
“There has been a mistake here, sir. I was in
hopes that we fully understood each other, but I find it
otherwise; however, a few words will make us acquainted
with each others views. Your name is—”
“Jurian Hartfield.”
“You are attached to the continental army?”
“So I consider myself.”
“You but lately joined it?”
“True; but lately.”
“Your father is in the service?”
“That, indeed, I know not.”
“I was led to believe so.” Jurian made no reply.
The officer continued—“You are an American by
birth?”
“That point I am neither prepared to refute nor
establish.”
“Then you know not the place of your birth?”
“True; I know it not.”
“You then may be looked upon as a citizen of the
world?”
“Ay; of the world.”
“Viewing each spot with like indifference?” continued
the officer.
“No; that connected with my earliest associations,
the scene of my purest enjoyments, must ever be distinguished
from the rest of the globe.”
“Enjoyments! I have been told that you are a joyless
being.”
“Indeed! Perhaps your informant did not know me,”
replied Jurian, forcing a smile.
“Possibly not. Admitting that you were born in
Britain as though you were a native of the fast anchored
isle?”
“Assuredly, as long as I am treated as a subject.”
“Then how is it that we find you in the ranks of the
rebels?”
“Human institutions are established for the accommodation
of the human family, and as soon as they become
burdensome they should be cast off. The power
that created has the power to destroy.”
“Is this then your political creed? An obligation
as soon as it becomes burdensome may be cancelled
by one of the parties without the consent of the other?”
“Precisely so, where the consideration is all on one
side, which I take to be the case in relation to the colonies
and Great Britain.”
“When I desired to see you, I supposed you entertained
different sentiments on this subject.”
“Desired to see me! This is to me all very mysterious,
how a British officer, as high in rank as you appear
to be, should ever have heard of so obscure an
individual as myself.”
“And yet, obscure as you esteem yourself,” continued
the officer, “you have it in your power to render
an essential service to your king.”
“Indeed.”
“And permit me to remind you that he is a master
who never suffers his servants to go unrewarded. You
may depend upon wealth and distinction.”
“You speak in parables.”
“You are acquainted with the condition of the colonial
forces?”
“I am.”
“And have it in your power to become informed respecting
their plans and resources?”
“True, to a certain extent.”
“That information,” continued the officer, “if communicated
service, and be paid for liberally.”
“In plain language, you wish me to become a spy.”
“You use too harsh an epithet, say a loyal subject.”
“A traitor to his fellow man can never be a loyal
subject. You have mistaken me, sir.”
“Ha! do you spurn the offer?”
“Yes; and him who makes it. Elsewhere I might
not so passively have confined myself to mere words.”
“Right; I admire your spirit, but since you are
among us, you had better accept my proffered friendship
instead of throwing down the gauntlet of defiance.
You are involved in pecuniary difficulties; some of
your obligations are of a nature that call upon you by
every tie of honour to discharge, and the means are
now within your grasp, but you refuse to avail yourself
of them.”
“You appear to be familiar with my circumstances,”
replied Jurian. “True, I am under obligations that I
am bound by the most sacred ties of honour to discharge,
but not at the sacrifice of honour itself.”
At this moment young Morton entered the room.
He affected astonishment at seeing Jurian, and approaching
him, extended his hand.
“My friend,” said he, “I rejoice to see you, and it
affords me greater satisfaction to meet you here than
in any other place.”
“And I am pleased to see you, Morton,” returned
Jurian, “although we have met under happier auspices
than at present.”
“But if my presentiments do not mislead me,” replied
Morton, “this interview may lead to others, but,
under present circumstances, I question whether that
would add to your happiness.”
“Perhaps not, but why do you question it?”
“I believe you still so much my friend as to be concerned
at beholding my misery,” returned Morton.
“Never shall I be otherwise.”
“If so, we should meet as seldom as possible.”
“I do not comprehend your meaning.”
“It is well you do not.”
“Nay, explain yourself.”
“Do not ask me; it is out of your power to relieve
me, and the knowledge will only distress you.”
“I must insist on knowing.”
“Well then, you see me on the verge of ruin,” said
Morton, in a tone that only reached the ears of his
friend.
“I am petrified. What has led to this fatal result?”
The young men moved to a distant part of the room,
and the conversation was carried on in an undertone.
Jurian repeated his question.
“Gaming!” exclaimed Morton, “the worst fiend that
ever hell let loose to tempt man to destruction! In the
royal army there are many who, born in affluence, and
reared in extravagance and dissipation, have brought
all their vices with them across the Atlantic. With
such I daily associate, and, knowing my propensities,
you need not wonder that I was easily induced to imitate
their example. It would have been a miracle had
I avoided it; the consequence is, I have squandered
large sums, am in debt beyond the power of repayment,
am in hourly dread of being exposed and disgraced,
and fear to apply to my father for assistance, for I have
already taxed his generosity beyond his patience.”
“Have you determined yet what course to pursue?”
“No; I am incapable of thinking on the subject.
You see me literally in despair.”
“Despair! ruin! and disgrace! Morton, you are
my friend. The truest I have ever had. You served
me at a time when but one other would have served me,
and I am still your debtor.”
“Why mention that now? It wounds me, for it appears
as if I imparted my distresses by way of reproach.
Think not of it, and dismiss the subject, I beseech
you.”
“Think not of it! It is impossible for me to think
of any thing else. Answer me, Morton, would the sum
that I am indebted to you relieve you from your embarrassments?”
“You wound me.”
“I insist on knowing, as a matter of right.”
“This is idle, for if out of your power to return it, a
knowledge of the fact would answer no other end than
to augment your distress.”
“Then it would relieve you?”
“Do not misinterpret my words; I said not so.”
“But meant it. Be more explicit. If it will be of service,
it shall be returned without delay.”
“You astonish me!”
“It shall, by heavens!”
“Then I confess it would silence the immediate demand
upon me, and afford me time to make arrangements
to meet my other difficulties.”
“Enough; you shall be saved at any sacrifice.”
“What is it you mean?”
“No matter. My honour is pledged to you, and I
will fulfil my promise, though I forfeit the pledge.” Jurian
now approached the officers, and stood beside the
table in silence for some moments. The eyes of all
were turned upon him. At length he said, in a low
collected voice—
“My lord, I have reflected on your proposition, and
after the conversation I have had with my friend, I am
disposed to view it in a more favourable light.”
“I rejoice to hear it, and I assure you, you will never
have cause to repent of your resolution.”
“That point I alone will be able to answer,” replied
Jurian.
“To satisfy you,” continued the officer, “that the
services you are capable of rendering are duly appreciated,
here is an earnest of what will follow.” Saying
which, he placed a well filled purse in his hand. Jurian
experienced so acute a sense of degradation.
“Right,” he exclaimed, forcing a smile, “it is at
times necessary to bribe men even to be honest, and
you could not expect to make a villain at a less price.
Our negotiation being concluded, my lord, I now humbly
take my leave, assuring you that we shall meet
again, upon the honour of a traitor.” He then turned to
Morton, and handing him the purse, said, “There, take
it, and relieve me of one half the odium that I have
drawn upon myself.”
“How is this? What have you done?”
“No matter what. Saved my friend! Forfeited my
honour to redeem his!” The last part of the exclamation
was uttered in a low tone, that escaped the ears of
Morton. “Farewell.”
“Whither are you going?”
“To any other spot than this. Elsewhere I may
be more calm. It is hell to the guilty to linger in the
scene of their shame.”
“Shall I accompany you?”
“No; I would be alone. I am now only fit to be
alone.” He left the apartment, and as he passed
through the door, Balcarras entered. Their eyes met,
and kindled with mutual defiance. The place they
were in, however, prevented an immediate explosion.
“We shall meet again,” said Balcarras.
“Possibly we may,” replied the other, “but in the
mean time, take my advice and read little æsop.”
“No more folly; we must meet again.”
“As you please, but I imagined that our last interview
would have spoiled your appetite for another. Remember
the raven and the serpent.” This was accompanied
with a smile of derision. Balcarras entered the
room without making a reply, and Jurian passed out into
the street. When he had disappeared, Morton had time
to reflect upon the disgraceful part he had played, and
received with an ill grace the congratulations of the
Morton could not disengage his mind from the fact that
Jurian had sacrificed every hope of future happiness to
his friendship; and had yielded up honour itself in order
to fulfil what he was in honour bound to perform. He
knew that he was capable of working up his mind to
the execution of any deed, but he also knew, that such
was the texture of that mind, that it could not exist
under a sense of degradation. Morton seriously repented
that he had participated in the artifice; true, he
wished to see his friend on the royal side, but not in the
dangerous and disgraceful station which had been allotted
to him.
Jurian had not proceeded far from the scene of his
defection, before he was accosted by name. He turned
and beheld the colossal figure of Gordon.
“I am proud to salute Mr. Hartfield as one of us,
and before we go any farther, let us enter into a compact”—
“A compact! of what nature?”
“A very straight-forward one, of mutual advantage.
Keep my secret, and yours is safe also, that's all.”
A full sense of Jurian's situation now flashed upon
his mind. Thrown from the proud standing that he had
hitherto maintained, and reduced to companionship with
the unprincipled menial who stood before him. His life
and honour too were in the keeping of such a creature,
and feeling this, the young man lost the energy to repulse
the familiarity of his companion. He merely replied—
“Your secret's safe.”
“I do not doubt it,” replied Gordon, “as it rests
with a gentleman of honour.”
Jurian shrunk at the reply, for he could not tell from
the manners of Paul, whether he spoke in irony or earnest.
They moved on in silence until they came in
front of a large mansion, where they paused.
“After what has passed,” said Jurian, “the question
I am about to ask may appear idle. You have trifled
know any thing concerning my father?”
“No more than the man in the moon, sir,” replied
Paul.
“Fool that I have been, to suffer myself to be thus
easily duped!”
“Though I have failed in that promise,” continued
Gordon, “I have performed another, which is doing
pretty well, as the world goes. Never impeach a man's
honesty, who fulfils half of his promises.”
“What other promise do you refer to?”
“I said that I would use my exertions to discover
farmer Fairfield,” replied Paul, gravely, “and I have
succeeded.” Jurian made no reply, and Paul continued—“There
was a third promise, sir, which I will also
perform, and then consider our accounts as fairly balanced.
The object of your visit to the city was to see
Miss Morton, and if your mind still holds that way, I
will bring you together.”
Jurian expressed his desire to obtain an interview,
and Gordon bade him remain where he was until he
reconnoitred to see whether the coast was clear, for
they were in front of 'squire Morton's house. The
lamps were still burning. It may be asked why Gordon
was so officious in bringing the lovers together.
He knew that the magnitude of his reward would be in
proportion to his success in securing the services of
Jurian, and he also knew that there is more persuasive
eloquence in woman's eyes, than ever flowed from rhetorician's
tongue. He imagined that one interview with
Miss Morton, while contending with his present feeling,
would render his destiny irrevocable, and in that
case Miriam would no longer be remembered.
Gordon entered the house, and proceeded directly
to the parlour, where he discovered Miss Morton alone.
The room bore marks of a recent entertainment. Several
of the half-burnt candles were extinguished, and a
large table in the middle of the floor was strewed with
was some moments in the room before Agatha discovered
that any person had entered, nor did she raise
her head until he addressed her—
“Miss Morton, with your permission, I have something
of consequence to communicate.”
“Jones, is that you? well, what is it you have to
say?”
“During my absence from the city I have seen Mr.
Hartfield.”
“I trust he is in health.”
“More so in body than in mind,” replied Paul; “he
appears to be greatly changed, since he last visited the
village.”
“And I too am changed!” thought Agatha. “Well,
Jones, is that all you have to say?”
“He expressed a wish to see you, and a determination
to effect an interview at all hazards.”
“Not here, good heavens! not here, he cannot be
mad enough to attempt it,” she exclaimed in alarm.
“He insisted,” continued Paul, “on my getting him
past the sentries, and accompanying him to your place
of residence.”
“What is it you say?”
“He is here, and begs permission to see you,” continued
the other, in a cold tone of voice, that fell like a
death-knell upon the ear of Miss Morton. She fell back
in her seat, and exclaimed—
“Oh! mad man! to run into the toils, from which
there is no escape!” and a few moments afterwards,
turning to Paul, who stood eyeing her in silence, added,
“I will not—I must not see him; you can bear my determination
to him, and heaven grant that he may escape
in safety.”
“I will bear your message,” replied Paul, “although
it is a cold one to deliver on such a night as this.”
“Stay then.” It would be inhuman to treat him
thus, thought Agatha, when he has hazarded both life
surround us on all sides; that for his sake, for my
own, we must not meet.”
“It shall be done,” replied the other, “but had you
not better tell him so yourself?”
“Convey the refusal,” she continued, “as delicately
as possible, for I would not wound his feelings, and
more particularly at such a time as this.”
“If that be the case,” said Paul, “permit me to suggest
that a refusal from your own lips would give less
offence than from the lips of another. And I am the
dullest fellow at these matters, imaginable.”
Miss Morton remained silent; doubtful how to act.
“If I suffer him to depart without seeing me,” she
mentally said, “he will mistake my motives, and with
reason consider me destitute of feeling; and on the
other hand, as he is already here, an interview will not
increase his danger, although the doors of my father's
house are closed against him.” And then turning to
Paul, she said aloud—“I will see him, if it is but to
reprove him for the imprudence of his conduct, and
caution him against a repetition of it.”
“A very charitable determination,” thought Paul, as
he withdrew to fulfil his mission.
| CHAPTER XV. The forsaken | |