118. CXVIII.
WHICH SOLVES THE WHOLE MYSTERY.
I Approached the old mansion with mingled sensations—a
hundred conflicting surmises and emotions.
What was the meaning of that summons from May Beverley?
Was her engagement broken off? What could have produced a
consummation so devoutly to be wished? Not Baskerville's
Union opinions. They were fully known to Colonel Beverley,
but had not induced him—fiery as his Southern feeling was—to
refuse compliance with his promise. He had regarded his word
to Baskerville's father as binding, despite these proclivities of
the young man: and thus I was completely at sea for an explanation
of my apparent good fortune.
Such was the puzzled frame of mind in which I approached
The Oaks; and, as a man condemned to death, but hoping for a
pardon, rushes to the prison door to learn his fate, so now the
unfortunate Surry, burning with suspense, put spur to his horse,
and rapidly ascended the grassy hill, upon whose slopes the
fresh spring grass and the first flowers of April were beginning
to peep forth.
The eyes of a girl had seen the rapidly approaching figure
from the window of her chamber, I afterward knew; and as I
entered the wide hall, she stood before me, as bright and beautiful
as a vision of the spring.
Before, the beloved form had glided onward by my side like a
dream of autumn—some dear illusion of the fading days when
the fingers of the wind strip, one by one, the leaves from the
trees, the blooms from the rose, the glory from the landscape of
the mountains. Now she stood before me—with her violet eyes,
her chestnut hair, her form as tall and flexible as the water-flag
upon the margin of the Shenandoah. No longer like a dream—
no more an illusion; but warm and loving, with the deep, fond
blushes, and rosy smiles of a Virginia girl—far better, to my
thinking, than the fairest forms of Dreamland!
“You sent for me?”
“Yes.”
“Kiss me first, May!”
Did the old portraits look down laughing, with their curious
eyes, at the spectacle of a woman in a man's embrace? I think,
sometimes, that these “old people” see the drama of to-day as
they saw the tragedy or the comedy of the past; that they hear
the sighs or the laughter, see the smiles and tears—are not dead
at all, but ever present with us!
No one but May Beverley had seen me arrive—all the rest
were busy somewhere—and, in a moment, we were seated upon
the portico, and she was showing me some papers—with a deep
flush in her cheeks.
As I am growing old now, my dear reader, and like to “come
to business,” I proceed to lay before you the contents of these
highly interesting documents, without further delay. You will
see that they solved all those puzzling questions which I had
been asking myself upon the road, in a manner—see the novelists—“as
curious as it was unexpected.”
Here is Document No. 1, in the handwriting of Baskerville—
with all the italics preserved:
“Baskerville Villa,
“April 15th, 1863.
“Miss Beverley:
“For some time now it has been plain to me that our engagement
is distasteful to you, and that you wish to be released from
it. Considering the fact that you gave me ample encouragement,
and never, until you met with a person whom I need not name,
showed any dissatisfaction at the prospect of becoming Mrs.
Baskerville, I might be justified in demanding the fulfilment of
your engagement. But I do not wish to coerce the action of
any young lady, however my feelings may be involved, and I scorn
to take advantage of a compact made in good faith by my late
father and myself. I therefore release you from your engagement.
“Hoping that this will meet your approbation, I request that
you will return
the bracelets—turquoise—the
diamond ring, and
a
breast-pin. In concluding, Miss Beverley, I am willing to bury
all animosity, and to be your friend—and if I can serve you in
any way, it will give me pleasure. I hear that the Union soldiers
have carried off all your servants, which must be
a heavy blow
at this time—and as I know personally the officer commanding
in this district, I may be able to get some of them back for you.
If agreeable to you, I will make the attempt—but
not otherwise.
“Please reply by the bearer, who has orders to wait until he
gets an answer.
“I am
“Yours respectfully,
“Frederick Baskerville.”
There is Document No. 1. Here is Document No. 2—of which
the young lady had kept a copy:
“The Oaks,
“April 16th, 1863.
“Mr. Baskerville:
“I received your note. Thank you, sir! If I could have induced
you to write that letter by kneeling before you, I should
have knelt to you.
“I am not angry at the terms in which you address me, or the
accusations you bring against me. But do you think it was
manly, sir, to charge me with bad faith, and with `encouraging'
you? I was almost a child when I formed that engagement—
years ago I repented of it, but you would not consent to have it
terminated. You availed yourself of my father's point of
honor in adhering to his word, and you cruelly refused to release
me from a contract which had become absolutely hateful to me,
until—shall I tell you when, sir? You had determined to force
me into this revolting marriage, and remained so determined
until—my property was gone. You compel me to tell you that,
sir—I know your motive as perfectly as though you had expressed
it in the plainest language.
“Your information in regard to the loss of the servants left
me by my uncle, is entirely correct—not one is left—no, not one,
sir. I am absolutely penniless; and papa, I believe, owes a great
deal of money—so my portion of The Oaks will be absolutely
nothing. You see, sir, I am poor—very poor.
“Do not give yourself any trouble about the servants, I beg.
I am afraid the institution of slavery is unscriptural, and nothing
could induce me to receive them back. Poor things! they did
not know the trouble they caused me, and, doubtless, cannot
understand my heartfelt joy at seeing them safely under the
protection of your friend, the `officer commanding in this district.'
“I return the bracelets, ring, and breast-pin, with some other
little articles, which are your property.
“You are willing, you say, to bury all animosity, and remain
my friend. Yes, a thousand times, sir! Thank you for your
letter, Mr. Baskerville! I am your friend for life.
There is the “correspondence,” my dear reader. What is
your opinion of it? For my part, I would rather charge three
tiers of breastworks, manned with infantry, and flanked by
cannon, than receive such a letter from a woman like May
Beverley. The serene contempt of the production, and the
entire absence of any thing like anger, would have made me rage,
I think.
After reading Baskerville's letter, I had an ardent desire to go
and cut that gentleman's throat. After reading the young lady's
reply, I experienced a good Samaritan inclination to seek him
and bind up his wounds. Why should I force a quarrel on this
best of friends, who had so completely fulfilled my most cherished
wishes? Why should I find fault with those little hasty expressions
which escaped him in the heat of composition? Under
other circumstances, I might have vented all my spleen upon
the affiancé of Miss Beverley; but Baskerville no longer figured
in that character—another individual occupied that relation to
the young lady—and that individual was too well satisfied to mar
the festive scene with blood.
I had just finished reading the young lady's letter when a
step behind me suddenly attracted my attention, and Colonel
Beverley, erect and smiling, issued forth and pressed my hand.
“I see May has shown you that very discreditable and insulting
letter, and her reply,” said the old gentleman smiling.
“Yes, Colonel; and I hope it changes every thing?”
“Completely!”
And the old cavalier laughed heartily, as a young lady, with
a face all smiles and blushes, flitted through the door, and disappeared.
