 | XXXVII.
RUMORS. Neighbor Jackwood |  |
37. XXXVII.
RUMORS.
“Daughter,” said Squire Greenwich, crossing his legs and saddling
his spectacles upon his knee, “this Sabbath morning appears
a fitting occasion, and we will proceed to a settlement.” The smack
of his precise lips was an awful sound to poor Etty. She came
forward, trembling and weeping.
“The child is down sick, this morning!” interceded the
mother.
“Mrs. Greenwich!” said the paternal head, “your assistance
is not called for. Put down your hands, daughter.” Etty's right
hand dropped by her side. “I said, put down your hands!”
Down went the left, and up went the right. “D-a-u-gh-t-e-r!”
pronounced the squire's warning voice. After a violent struggle
with herself, Etty uncovered her pale face and inflamed eyes.
“Look at me, daughter!”
Etty raised a timid glance to her father's face; but a glimpse
of Robert's threatening visage opposite immediately put her out
of countenance.
“The poor child has such a cold in her head and eyes!” interposed
the mother.
“Mrs. Greenwich! how many times have I to request that you
will not interfere with my discipline? Daughter, innocence is
never afraid to look justice in the face; but guilt is fearful and
downcast. We cannot proceed until that I have your eye.”
A painful scene followed, during which the affrighted child endeavored
to obey. Her father's discipline was strict as mathematics;
and she could no more escape from its laws, than she
could make an equilateral triangle with four sides.
“That will do,” he said, at length, as, with a powerful effort of
will, she fixed her burning gaze upon the end of his nose. “Now
I will have your motive for visiting Mr. Dunbury's people, without
permission.”
“I was at cousin Charles', — Robert was playing chess with
cousin Josephine, — nobody minded anything about me; and, as I
wanted to see Miss Woods —” Etty looked down again. She
felt Robert's piercing gaze, and forgot to keep her eyes fixed on
the paternal nose.
“Go on, daughter. Your eye!”
“That is all. I am sorry I disobeyed you, but —”
“It remains,” said the paternal head, inhaling a pinch of snuff,
“that you should show sufficient cause for taking so unusual and
unladylike a step. We might imagine circumstances which, by
their apparent necessity, would palliate the offence, and abate
somewhat of the punishment. Have you anything of that sort to
advance?”
Robert looked daggers into the child's very soul, and she was
silent.
“Daughter, hold up your right hand!”
“Don't be too severe, Mr. Greenwich! Consider, the poor
child is down sick —”
“Mrs. Greenwich!”
“I beg pardon!” and Mrs. Greenwich shrank again into appropriate
insignificance.
“The sentence is this: you, daughter Henrietta, for the faults
committed and confessed by you, are condemned to solitary confinement
at home for nine days and an equal number of nights,
commencing from this hour. During this time, you are to partake
of no nutriment but bread and water; and speak to no one person
but the paternal head. For each transgression of these regulations,
one day shall be added to your term of punishment.”
Etty burst into tears. The punishment seemed greater than she
could bear.
“Still, if you can advance any sufficient reason for walking
through the wet snow to Mr. Dunbury's house, and perilling your
health, I shall be gratified to hear it.”
Etty gave an appealing look to Robert. He knew all; for, on
returning home the night before, and telling where she had been
and what she had seen, he had seized her as an eagle a lamb, and
torn out the heart of her secret. But he was merciless; he held
her with his terrible eye, and opened not his mouth. She would
not have wished him to convict himself, to spare her; she chose
to suffer, rather than see his guilt exposed; but she felt that a
word from him might soften her father's severity, and turn aside
the sharpness of the penalties.
“You 're a brave girl!” he muttered, passing by her; “only
go through with it as you have begun!”
He stepped to the door to admit a visitor. It was cousin
Charles Creston, a chatty little man, who had called to discuss
the occurrences which — to quote his phrase — were agitating the
whole village!
“Etty brought us the news last night,” said Robert, carelessly.
“Bless you!” cried the chatty little man, “then you have n't
heard the tragical termination!” Robert, with evident alarm, said
he had not. “It 's distressing! I dropped into the tavern, just
now,” said the voluble Charles; “the slave-hunters had just come
in, and all the talk was about Charlotte 's being drowned last
night. There can't be any mistake,” he added, eagerly; “for
one of the men passed the night at Mr. Jackwood's. Charlotte
was hid in a stack, when the creek broke up, and the valley was
flooded.”
“O, Robert!” burst forth Etty.
“One day more added to the nine, my daughter,” pronounced
the paternal head.
“Pshaw!” said Robert, with an incredulous air, — but his face
grew deadly pale, — “I don't believe the story! If 't was true,
the men would not be so ready to report it.”
“Why not, since they would wish to give their version first?”
cried Mr. Creston. “They throw all the blame upon Mr. Jackwood;
and they are doing all they can to make themselves popular,
by treating every loafer in the village who will drink with
them. But 't won't do; there 's a tremendous excitement against
rode out of town on rails. I 'd delight to see it!” chuckled
Charles.
“Son Robert!” called the squire, — Robert had seized his hat,
— “where are you going? If to the tavern, listen to the paternal
counsel, and forbear. Son Robert, do you hear?”
Son Robert gave no heed. “Remember!” he muttered, as he
passed by Etty's chair. He left the house; hastened to the tavern;
moved for a few minutes amid the excited crowd; then,
mounting a horse, galloped down the splashy road, with his fierce
eye fixed upon the lake that spread over the valley.
Throwing himself from the saddle at Mr. Jackwood's door, he
knocked for admittance; but Phœbe and Abimelech were alone,
locked up, as in a fortress. Only Rover's sharp bark answered
from within. Robert walked around to the back door; and
Phœbe, observing him from the window, ran, with a fluttering
heart, to admit him.
“Are you alone, Phœbe?” asked Robert, in a hollow voice.
“The folks have gone to meeting; but Bim is here,” replied
Phœbe, with extreme coldness of manner. “Come in, — if you
like.” It was his first visit since his desertion of her, some months
before; and the memory of her wrongs swelled up within her. He
did not stop to flatter her, or excuse himself; but broke forth at
once with inquiries for Charlotte. Phœbe burst into tears.
“I 'd give my life,” he said, — and remorse and despair were
gnawing at his heart, — “to know that she was safe! She was
an angel, Phœbe; and she was your best friend.”
“I know it now!” sobbed Phœbe. “But you made me believe
she was not! Why did you?” And she went on to tell the tragic
tale. Robert's soul smote him, as he listened; and when it was
finished, without a word he staggered to the door, mounted his
horse, and rode back, gnashing his teeth, to the village.
O, noble heart of woman! how little thou art known to selfish
man! How little, stooping to low ends of worldly advantage or
pleasure, thou, fairest spirit of God's visible universe, knowest the
sovereignty of thine own power! Be thyself! Come up from
love shine through thy purer image into the heart of man, and
thou shalt see him rise into new being; thou shalt see his soul,
expanding, burst its chains of passion and take wings; thou shalt
see thine own true mission then begun, if not fulfilled.
Hector, baffled and impatient, was waiting in Mobile for the
steamer to sail that was to take him on his homeward journey.
But for the influence of woman soothing and restraining him, his
racked mind could scarce have borne its suffering and suspense.
How could he have lived through those torturing hours (he afterwards
wondered within himself), had it not been for her who encouraged
him to wait, and trust, and to meet all things by heaven
ordained to discipline and teach us, with a calm and patient faith,
believing in the good! Mrs. Graves, who had before been Charlotte's
friend, was now his. On the evening of the day following
that of his transactions with Dr. Tanwood, they sat together in
the parlor of Mr. Copliff's house. In the midst of their conversation,
Helen entered, and, taking an ottoman, seated herself at
their feet.
“I have n't told you about the ball,” she began, in her joyous
tones. “I had the honor of dancing with Robinson Crusoe, Sancho
Panza, and the Wandering Jew. That saucy Count of Monte
Christo had the impudence to offer me his hand! Do you remember”
— her voice changed, and she looked up with glistening eyes
into Hector's face — “how often I used to sit with you so, a
year ago, and make you talk to me? But you do not talk to me
any more now!”
“Ah, Helen! you will know some day what a mountain rests
on my heart!” said Hector.
Helen dropped her face upon her cousin's lap, and sat for a
long time very quiet and still; but at length, sad thoughts stealing
over her, she began to weep, and, ashamed of her emotion,
she sprang to her feet, and hurried from the room.
“Helen is a good girl,” said Mrs. Graves, with thoughtful tenderness.
“Your friend Joseph thinks it the one great mistake of
your life, that you did not marry her.”
“O, Joseph is kind! Had I looked only for beauty, for wealth,
Helen would have been everything I could desire,” said Hector.
“But what are all those attributes, compared with such a soul
as —”
“Speak the name! I love to hear it from your lips.”
“I am very weak,” said Hector.
“No, I think you strong! Your devotion to poor Camille
gives me an inspiration as when I read of heroic deeds. In my
experience in this groping world, I had almost abandoned the hope
of finding a man who could penetrate with the clear glance of truth
the thick walls of prejudice and conventionality, which shut us out
from the realities of existence. This appears all the more glorious
in one who possesses a great power over the human heart, for evil
or for good, — like you.”
“O, could I but feel that I have always used that power for
good!” said Hector.
“Your whole life moves like a panorama before my eye,” resumed
the other, after a pause. “It is pure, compared with the
world's. But you have attained luminous heights, from which,
looking down, the paths you lately trod appear all dark and
soiled. It is well to contemplate them at times; for the sight,
repelling you, gives you a nobler impulse to ascend.”
A sudden spasm convulsed Hector's features. “She calls to
me!” he said, faintly. “Just now her cry of anguish shot through
me, — nothing could be more terribly real!”
The door opened; he looked up, with a start, as Joseph Spalding
entered. “What news?”
“Have you heard from your telegraphic despatch?” asked
Joseph, drawing him aside.
“No; but you have something for me!” cried Hector.
“You are right,” faltered Joseph, with a painfully embarrassed
manner. “I received this evening a request to call on Dr. Tanwood.”
“Speak out!” exclaimed Hector. “What has been done?”
“After our previous interview, you can imagine that a polite
note from the doctor took me by surprise. My suspicions were
aroused, and I went prepared —”
“For heaven's sake, omit details, and come to the point!”
“I found the doctor extremely civil; he brought out his decanter,
we drank, and came to business,” said Joseph. “On reflection,
he had concluded to accept our offer. `On reflection,' said I,
`we have concluded to withdraw it.'”
“Withdraw it?” echoed Hector.
“Certainly,” said Joseph; “for I was sure that if he would
take any sum, he would take less.”
“What have you there?” demanded Hector. “A letter, —
for me!”
“You shall have it presently,” remonstrated Joseph, more and
more troubled; “but hear my story!”
“Give it me!” cried Hector, alarmed and impatient. There
was a struggle, and he seized it. Mrs. Graves ran to Joseph,
who gave her an appealing look.
“It will kill him!” he said. “There is a telegraphic despatch.”
“From Camille?”
“From the hunters of Camille; it came to Dr. Tanwood. It
is terrible! Hector!” said Joseph.
“Drowned!” gasped Hector, clutching the paper. “They have
killed her!” He tore away from his friends, and rushed out in
the direction of Dr. Tanwood's house, furious to know the truth,
and to confront the author of his calamity. Joseph ran after him;
but neither force nor entreaty could restrain the frenzied man.
Fierce and rapid strides brought him to the doctor's door; Joseph
still clinging to his arm, and urging unheeded words of counsel
and consolation.
The doctor was gone from home.
| XXXVII.
RUMORS. Neighbor Jackwood | |