Lucy Arlyn :: :: University of Virginia Library

alone you valued me — went before. I lost it when I lost
myself. It will return to me only when my tranquillity returns;
which can never be with you. I loved you, Guy
Bannington. There, take my heart; tread it beneath your
proud feet. I neither hate nor love you now. I am ice.
The universe wails around me; but I hear it with dull ears.
Farewell! I am weary, and wish to sleep.”

The letter bore no signature: but well enough he knew
what hand had written it; well enough he knew from what
heart had come this desolate broken cry.

And now he had lost her too; the gifted, the glorious one,
who had led him by her shining influence to this peak of difficulty,
and vanished. Surely, he thought, he would never
have been here but for her. The desertion of all the rest he
could better bear than this. It was a stunning stroke; and
for a moment he felt dizzy, alone, disheartened, unsupported.

Then he remembered the crown she had plaited for him
with bleeding hands. He took it from a casket, and placed
it once more upon his temples, groaning in spirit.

“This is the one true prophecy!” he said. “O Christina!
you have crowned, not my head only with thorns, but
my soul also, and pierced it cruelly!” — how cruelly, he
knew not yet.

At a knock upon the door, he put away the crown, and,
with a start of disagreeable surprise, admitted Abner. He
knew by the comer's face that the time to act had arrived, —
the dreaded, imperative time.

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“He has gone over the mountain,” said Roane; “or
rather around, by the South Road: for I suppose he was
afraid of meeting you if he had come this way. The Dutchman
which is going to buy don't understand English; and the
conveyance of the property will be made and the money paid
— all in gold — over there, where his friends are, this
afternoon. I was in the office when Dutch Peter came for
him. He went an hour ago. He can't get the money into
the bank to-day; for he won't be back much 'fore evening,
if at all.”

Guy put a few questions to assure himself; then waved his
hand: “That will do! — go!” As soon as he was alone, he
drew a diagram of the two roads. By one of them, Pelt
would return: by which? Had Guy known that, his plan
of action would have been as clear and direct as his resolution
was. But now he was much in doubt. Suddenly the
room grew gloomy; the day was darkening with clouds:
a shadow fell upon the diagram. Upon his mind also fell a
shadow, it might be of the clouds, or it might be of his own
misgivings, — one cannot say, the mind is so sympathetic
with Nature, and is so easily affected by its changes.

Guy was studying the problem when Mr. Murk came in,
who said he was impressed that his assistance was necessary.
Guy regarded him searchingly; considering well before he
spoke.

“A thing is to be done that involves risk, and requires
nerve. I ask no one's help.”

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“I am impressed,” said the philanthropist, “that I am to
help;” and he smiled dryly, — the stolid, big-nosed man.
Guy perceived how important it might be to have such an
auxiliary. He stated his purpose, and the difficulty. Murk
nodded with half-closed sapient eyes, and pronounced judgment,
— “What is necessary to be done, must be done,” —
and promised his support.

Guy named a rendezvous in the woods, and departed,
leaving the philanthropist to follow. Then the latter communed
silently with Socrates and Swedenborg for some
minutes; both arms wagging, strangely enough, there in the
solitary room: for whatever you, profound reader, may think
of him, it is plain that he was not a hypocrite in his own
eyes; as few men, probably, ever are. No doubt, Murk
really thought he had a “mission,” as so many others have
thought they had, on equally reasonable grounds; and, when
his fists jerked, no doubt he believed it was the wise Athenian
and the mystical Swede that did it.

“Yes, the time has come,” he said with a dull gleam of
satisfaction.

He walked to the kitchen, where he found Mad cleaning a
pistol. The young man had been restless and sullen since
Christina's departure; muscles averse to work; volcano mutinous,
missing the thumb. His ambition now was to shoot
something. “Birds,” he told Mr. Murk.

“You have a precious soul, brother: did you ever think
of it?” the philanthropist solemnly inquired.

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“Two of 'em!” said Mad, sprawling in a chair, and showing
the bottoms of his boots.

“A precious immortal soul, brother: how can you desecrate
it by killing the innocent birds? Poor brother!” added
Murk with a pitying groan.

Little jets of the volcanic flame began to shoot from Mad's
eyes.

“Look here, old Peppermint! it's my opinion that kind
of humbug is about played out. She is gone; and, by thunder!
she was worth all of ye. I've worked, because she
wanted me to; and I'd have done any thing she asked. But
what are you working for? That's what I'd like to know.”

“For humanity,” Murk answered.

“For your granny!” Mad irreverently responded.

“For humanity,” repeated the philanthropist with dull,
grim visage. “It is a great work. She is gone, and others
will go. They were instruments. The chief is but an instrument:
he will go too. Then the real chief — the God-sent
leader — will appear.”

Mad stared. “And that is you!”

Murk gave a solemn nod.

“It is a great truth. You are one of the first to recognize
it. I have my commission from the Lord. Will you
be my disciple? For the time has come when I must choose
my own.”

Mad stared again, astounded by the tone of deep religious
conviction in which these words were uttered, and which gave

398

him a new glimpse of Murk's character. Where he had
hitherto seen only fathomless thick mud of stupidity, a rock-like
purpose now reared itself, bare and grand. For, even
in the man we laugh at as a fanatic, a stupendous claim, supported
by immobile, granitic earnestness, produces an imposing
effect. We know that he is wrong; yet the zeal with
which he believes himself right impresses the imagination.
A child may be terrified by a mask which he has seen put
on. It is therefore not surprising that Mad, who did not of
course really believe in Murk any more at this time than at
any other, should have been a little awe-struck by him.
The philanthropist perceived his advantage, and was persuaded
that he had secured a disciple.

“Important truths bearing upon this subject shall be
revealed as you are prepared to receive them; but, for
the moment, a secular matter requires attention. Money
which is necessary to the association is in the hands of a
brother, from whom I foresee it must be forcibly taken. The
chief claims the money as his own, and will seize it on these
grounds. That may be expedient: but, with me and my disciples,
all things are lawful; and what is necessary to be
done, we are divinely authorized to do.”

The ethics of these remarks Mad did not particularly understand;
but when the name of the auriferous brother was
mentioned, and the nature of the enterprise definitely stated,
he understood perfectly well. And never did disciple more
eagerly enlist in a master's service than he on this occasion

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accompanied Murk, — not so much for the love of humanity
as for the love of adventure; not because he reverenced the
philanthropist, but because he hated Pelt.

Guy had by this time reached the rendezvous in the woods,
where he waited, revolving his plans. The day was sultry
for the season, the sky was thunderous, the forest breathless,
the air heavy with gloom. Overhead, seen through the
thinly leaved branches, the massy clouds blackened and
rolled. Through the hollow silence the wild brook ran,
prophesying doleful things; and night was coming on.

At length, Guy heard feet approaching; and, looking out
from the bushes, frowned angrily at sight of Murk's companion.

“What have you brought this fellow for?” he muttered.

“The brother will be of use,” replied the philanthropist.
“I have taken the responsibility.”

“That was not for you to do; but no matter now:” for
Guy saw that it was too late to raise objections, and that
there was no way now but to trust Mad, and to make use of
him. Mad, who had heard what was said, grinned a malevolent
grin; while Guy hurriedly sketched his plan for the
reception of Pelt, who might now shortly be expected at any
moment, on either of the two roads.