22. CHAPTER XXII.
TREACHERY UNMASKED.
He has profaned the sacred name of friend,
And worn it into vileness:
With how secure a brow and specious form
He gilds the secret villain! Sure, that face
Was meant for honesty, but Heav'n mismatch'd it;
And furnish'd Treason out with Nature's pomp,
To make its work more easy.
Dryd. All for Love.
About three months previous to the foregoing
event, Fleming received letters advising him that
the agent, to whose fraudulent conduct he imputed
the sudden reduction of his fortune, had emigrated,
with immense wealth, to America, and
was settled in some part of Pennsylvania, near
Philadelphia. As Fleming had many reasons for
wishing to obtain an interview with this man, he
resolved upon making a journey to that state; and
it was agreed that Catharine should accompany
him as far as Pittsburg, on a visit to a female relation,
with whom she was to remain until her
father's return. At New-Lisbon, however, he
learned that this relation was dead, and her children
removed to Philadelphia; he therefore altered
his plan, and, without stopping at Pittsburg,
took his daughter with him to Philadelphia.
At Lancaster, where they rested two days, he
obtained some information of the object of his
journey. Patrick Dobson had lately sold a considerable
farm on the banks of the Susquehanna,
and become a commission merchant in one of the
southern cities; but in which of them, his informant
could not tell.
After a short stay in Philadelphia, they travelled
to Baltimore, and from thence to Norfolk,
where Fleming learned that Dobson was then in
Richmond, to which place they immediately returned.
Here terminated their fruitless journey,
for Dobson had sailed for the Indies a few days
before their arrival.
For several days after the disastrous event
which had confined Fleming to his chamber,
Sandford was punctual in his visits, and affected
the greatest solicitude for his indisposition. During
these interviews, he let slip no opportunity
of acting the “diffident lover,” when unobserved
by Fleming; and so great an adept was he in
dissimulation, that a less artless girl than Catharine
might have been deceived. She possessed
too much discernment to misunderstand the silent
language of love, which is most eloquent when
least audible; but she knew too little of the
world to detect a counterfeit, or to distinguish it
from a genuine passion. She perceived with
pain, that in her preserver's bosom was kindling
an attachment which she could not return. She
owed her life to his intrepidity, but could never
repay the debt with that heart which she had
long reserved for another. Although no express
declaration or engagement had ever been interchanged
by George and Catharine, yet their
dove-like affection for each other hand produced
in both a kind of intuitive idea of obligation—a
sympathy in sentiment which absence had only
tended to heighten, while its reciprocity was admitted
as a matter of course.
With this sentiment in her bosom, it would be
embarrassing to hear the professions of another,
and painful in the extreme, if that other should
be the man to whom she was under such immense
obligations. She trembled to think of it, and
ardently prayed that her father's returning health
might speedily enable him to take her from Richmond,
and save her the painful trial she anticipated.
Her prayer was not answered.
Fleming slowly recovered; but, before his
health was sufficiently re-established for him to
commence so long a journey, Sandford had laid
a regular siege to the citadel of Catharine's
heart. Mistaking her gratitude for affection, he
persevered with a zeal deserving a better cause,
notwithstanding her prompt rejection of his overtures,
and positive refusal to capitulate.
Fortunately for Catharine, the impatience and
impetuosity of the assailant defeated his own
plans, and shortened the period of contest. He
grew unguarded and daring, and made movements
(too openly for their object to be mistaken)
against the fortress of virtue. Catharine felt
shocked and degraded by the discovery, but
reaped an advantage from it which she could not
otherwise have acquired. All obligation was, in
one moment, absolved by the villany of his intentions.
The wretch was entitled to no gratitude
for preserving life, who could rob its possessor of
all that renders life desirable—innocence and
happiness. The debt was cancelled, and she
forbade him her sight, in terms that he durst not
disobey. Although he wore an epaulet, he was
too great a coward to run the risk to which Catharine's
complaint to her father would have inevitably
exposed him; he therefore took the hint she
gave, and discontinued his visits. She soon
after left Richmond with her father, and arrived
home in health and safety, a few days before
major Willoughby reached Mulberry-Grove, who
immediately communicated the circumstance to
his anxious son.
But Sandford had acquired a secret which made
him resolve to persevere (at a more convenient
opportunity) in his iniquitous pursuit. In one of
his interviews with Fleming, the name of Willoughby
was mentioned, and a few inquiries convinced
him that his daughter was that very Catharine
Fleming whose name, connected with the
tenderest sentiments, had been confided to his
treacherous bosom by the unsuspecting George.
The disgrace of a blow, yet unatoned for, rankled
in his breast, and he still smarted under the indignity,
which he had not the courage openly to
resent. But to seduce the affections of his adversary's
mistress, enjoy her charms, and then
abandon her to infamy and misery, would be a
sweet revenge! a triumph worthy of Sandford!
Thus urged on by a double impulse, he became
too ardent in his advances, and, as before
intimated, was dismissed in disgrace.
Revenge alone now took entire possession of
his soul, and he swore that no obstacle, time, or
circumstance, should prevent its final gratification.
“May Heaven's curses blast me,” he exclaimed
as he traversed his chamber alone, the
wretched victim of passions which he had never
yet undertaken to subdue; “may hell's fiercest
lightnings consume me, if I do not humble this
proud Hibernian, with all her affected virtue, and
mar the anticipated banquet of her sighing savage
lover. He may wear the flower, after I have
sipped its sweets, and engendered a venomous
canker in its bosom. Yes! I will seek her in
the wilds of Ohio, or follow her to the end of the
world; and when we do meet, whether it be
sooner or later, whether she be single or married,
young or old, I will enjoy her; nor shall Heaven,
earth, or hell, prevent me!”
With this terrible oath on his lips, and such
tempestuous passions in his heart, the wretched
Sandford dared address himself to sleep.
