Dalhousie felt the full weight of Mr. Faxon's rebuke, and acknowledged the justice of the punishment he had received. Uncle Nathan heard with astonishment the wickedness of which the uncle of Emily had been guilty, and his simple New England heart was sorely perplexed by it. He had no "idea" of such depravity, and he was tempted, even in spite of the Scripture injunction to the contrary, to "thank God that he was not like other men."

In the course of the conversation to which the incidents of the evening had given rise, the honest farmer found an opportunity to broach the subject of his mission; and the time was occupied, until a late hour, in discussing the means of doing justice to the injured, in restoring to Bellevue its rightful mistress.



CHAPTER XXVIII.

"To do a great right, do a little wrong."

SHAKSPEARE.

Emily Dumont remained a close prisoner in the rear apartment of Maxwell's office. Dido, the old negress, was her only attendant during her incarceration; for, though the room was supplied with every luxury the most pampered appetite could desire, her confinement deserved no better name. She recognized the place, and doubted not she should be again subjected to the infamous persecution of her old enemy. She wondered that he had not already presented himself, and concluded he could not yet have returned from his up-river journey, or he would have done so. No one visited her but the negress, whose conversation, in her eagerness to serve the liberal proprietor of the office, was disgusting to her refined sensibilities. Not oven De Guy came, to give her any intimation of the nature of the fate which awaited her.

Maxwell's mind, she was satisfied, was fixed upon the possession of her estates. She could not now entertain the belief which once, in her weak pity, she had countenanced, that the attorney could love her. O, no! God forbid that even the human heart can love, and, at the same time, persecute the object of its affections! It was her estates; and she half resolved to compromise with her tormentor by yielding him one-half of her property, on the condition of his restoring the other half, for she doubted not that he was able to do so. But there was something so debasing to her sentiment of truth and justice in the fact of bargaining with so base a man, that she could not conquer her prejudice, and finally determined to suffer everything rather than succumb to the villain.

Hope had not yet abandoned her. She had too much confidence in the omnipresent justice of an overruling Providence to doubt that all would yet end well.

Dido was her jailer, and she scarcely left the office, through which alone egress was had from the apartment of Emily. There she dozed away the day and night, freely indulging in the fashionable habit of "imbibing," to chase away the ennui of the heavy hours. Her liberal perquisites enabled her to gratify her appetite without stint or measure, though a sort of demi-consciousness of her responsibility deterred her from an entire abandonment to the pleasures of the cup.

The apartment in which Emily was confined was lighted by windows of stained glass, opening into the main office, so that there was no immediate connection with the open air. This fact rendered the room so secure that Dido rested perfectly easy from the fear of interruption, save from the front of the building.

The colored guardian, having imbibed rather inordinately one day, was disposed to court the favor of the sleepy god, and stretched herself at full length upon one of the easy lounges of the office. Her eyelids opened and closed languidly, as though she was about to sink away into dreamy unconsciousness, when she was startled by a loud knocking at the door.

"Who's dar?" shouted Dido, springing to her feet; for a visit to the office, at this season of the year, was of rare occurrence.

"Open the door, Max," responded a voice from the outside.

"Mr. Maxwell not here, sar," said the colored lady, partly opening the door.

"Not here!" returned the visitor, pushing into the office in spite of the negress, who was disposed to prevent his entrance. "Isn't Max in town?"

"No sar; he went away to de Norf about a monf ago."

"Look here, you black imp," said the stranger, in a severe tone, "do you mean to say that Max is not in town?"

"I do, for sartin, sar."

"And he has left you to practise law for him in his absence?" returned the visitor, with a grin.

"No sar, I takes care ob de buildin."

"Fudge! Maxwell always shuts up his room when he leaves town;" and the stranger walked round the room towards the private apartment, much to the consternation of Dido.

"No, Massa, he tell me, monf ago, to keep de room in order."

"No doubt he did," returned the stranger, placing his hand on the handle of the door, and attempting to open it, which, by Dido's precaution, was ineffectual.

"Is there no one in this room?" asked the gentleman.

"No sar, de room is locked, and Massa Maxwell hab carry off de key."

The stranger walked several times round the room, and thoroughly scrutinized everything; after which, to the entire satisfaction of the colored lady, he took his departure. Passing out of the building, he crossed the street and entered a coffee-room, at the front window of which he seated himself, as if with the intention of watching Maxwell's office.

This person was the reader's old acquaintance, Vernon,—or, more properly, Jerome Vaudelier, whose intervening history we are now called upon to relate. It will be remembered that, at the request of his father, and at the earnest desire of Henry Carroll, as well as by the promptings of his own wish to do justice to the heiress, he had gone to Vicksburg, for the purpose of keeping an eye on the movements of Maxwell. On his arrival at the hotel, he found the attorney, and dined With him; but after dinner he suddenly and mysteriously disappeared. All Vernon's inquiries were of no avail. The landlord said he had paid his bill, and that was the last he had seen of him. Vernon was perplexed, and on learning that no boat had left since dinner, he was at a loss which way to proceed. Late in the afternoon he obtained, as he thought, some clue to him; and he departed, without loss of time, to Jackson, whither the attorney was supposed to have gone. His search, however, was futile, and he returned to Vicksburg by the morning train. Much disheartened, he was compelled to go to Cottage Island with the intelligence that his efforts had been foiled. On his arrival, he learned, to his astonishment, that Emily had just gone to Bellevue in company with De Guy—a person of whom he had no knowledge.

Though Dr. Vaudelier and Henry Carroll had been satisfied with the evidences brought by De Guy, Vernon was not. He knew better than they the character of Maxwell, and it was determined that he should proceed immediately to New Orleans, to guard against the possibility of any evil to which Emily might be subjected.

On the morning after De Guy's departure, he proceeded down the river, and landed in the vicinity of Bellevue, to which he immediately made his way. Without a direct application to any one, he learned that Emily had not yet arrived. He waited in the vicinity another day, but obtained no tidings of her. His worst fears were now confirmed. De Guy had deceived them.

This De Guy, then, was an emissary of Maxwell. To his mind, now animated by a high purpose, the reflection was annoying. To the fate of Emily his new destiny seemed to be attached. His greatest error—at least, the one most troublesome to his awakened conscience—was the act of oppressing Emily. He felt that the washing of the stains from his character depended upon securing her rights.

The ci devant desperado, as we have before indicated, was radically changed at heart, and he now felt more interest in the welfare of Emily than he had ever before harbored for any human being.

His position was full of embarrassments. He learned, while at Bellevue, that Jaspar was not, and had not been, sick. This information decided his future course. The mission of De Guy had only been a decoy, to lure her into the hands of Maxwell.

Hatchie was with her; but, alas! what could a slave do against the powerful machinations of such a villain as Maxwell?

After obtaining the information which satisfied him of the imposture, he proceeded to New Orleans. Knowing the name of the steamer in which De Guy had taken passage from Vicksburg, he hastened to the levee, to gain what tidings he might from the officers of the Montezuma. He found that a lady and gentleman answering to his description had taken a carriage on the morning of their arrival, and this was all they knew. In answer to his inquiries for Hatchie, he learned that a servant had been handed over to the police, to be imprisoned in the calaboose till called for.

This was scanty information upon which to continue his search. His first step was to go to the calaboose, where he managed to obtain an interview with Hatchie. The poor fellow was in an agony of grief,—not on his own account, but on that of his mistress, for he well understood the reason of this imprisonment.

Hatchie, of course, could give him no information of the whereabouts of Emily, nor offer any suggestion; and Vernon was compelled to leave the disheartened mulatto, with only a promise of speedily effecting his deliverance.

Vernon's next step was to ascertain the present abiding place of Maxwell, if, indeed, he was in the city; and for this purpose he had gone to his office. The open room did not verify the statements of the negress. He knew that Maxwell always closed up his rooms when he left the city, and the fact of their being open now tended to fix suspicion upon him, or rather to confirm the suspicions before entertained. He had made the visit to the attorney's rooms to gain information; and, being partly convinced, by the manner of the negress, that the rear chamber was occupied, he retired to the coffee-room to digest the knowledge, and, if possible, arrive at some conclusion through it, as well as at the same time to keep watch of the movements at the office.

Who was this De Guy, who had been the agent of Maxwell?—for such he determined to believe him, until convinced to the contrary. He canvassed their mutual acquaintances, but could remember no such person. Intimate as he had been with all the associates of Maxwell, he could not identify this bold and cunning confederate.

He had not long deliberated, when, to his surprise,—albeit it was not an event at all remarkable,—Maxwell entered the coffee-room.

Before Vernon had time to decide whether or not he should charge the lawyer with the abduction of Emily, that worthy approached his chair, and, with much cordiality,—more than he had formerly bestowed upon him,—extended his hand, and expressed his happiness at again meeting him in the city.

Undecided as yet how to proceed, Vernon returned his salutations with an appearance of equal cordiality.

"My dear fellow," said Maxwell, "I am rejoiced to see you in town again. I was afraid you would quite desert us."

This language was new and strange to Vernon. It sounded like the days in which he had been respectable—before his vices had found him out.

"Indeed! why did you think so?" replied Vernon.

"Why, Vernon, there was some kind of a ridiculous story current at Vicksburg, to the effect that you had joined the church, or something of that sort."

"Ha, ha! funny!" said Vernon, adopting the free and easy style, which had formerly distinguished his colloquial efforts. "Where did you pick up the story?"

"O, it was quite current when I left Vicksburg."

"A good joke, hey?" said Vernon, musing.

When Maxwell left Vicksburg, it was impossible that any such story could have been extant. Of his reformation no one but the people of Cottage Island could have known anything. It seemed a little mysterious that Maxwell should know of it; but the fact of De Guy's visit to the house of his father came to his assistance, and the mystery was solved. De Guy had communicated this information to Maxwell, and thus he was enabled to establish conclusively the connection between them.

Vernon's plan for the future was adopted; and manifesting no surprise, he denied the fact of his reformation, however strong the circumstances might be against him. He had often been implicated in fouler deceptions than this in a worse cause, and, in spite of his great resolves, he did not hesitate in this instance.

"Quite a sell, wasn't it, this reformation? The old gentleman has a fine place up there,—money in the bank,—hey, boy? I saw through the whole of it, as soon as I heard the absurd story," said Maxwell, who, to do him justice, did not believe the tale. It was too much for his credulity, that a thing like Vernon could be animated by a good motive,—could, by any possibility, abandon the error of his ways.

"Just so, Max. The fact is, I found the old fellow had plenty of money, and no one but me to leave it to; so I thought it would be a devilish pity to have it all go to found a hospital, an orthodox college, or some such absurdity, and I could not resist the temptation to become a little saintly, just for a few days."

"Bravo, Vernon! You will yet be a rich man. You did it well. The old fellow swallowed it all, didn't he?"

"As an alderman does turtle-soup. But, Max, where did you slip to from Vicksburg?"

"To tell you the truth, I was a little afraid of your penitence, and thought it was not safe to be in the same coach with you; so I gave you the slip, by going down the river by land a few miles, and then taking the boat."

"But you didn't know I had reformed then,—ha, ha, ha!"

"Yes. I heard something about it before I left the island,—I overheard that Jerry Swinger and the mulatto boy speaking of it. But I own, Vernon, I was too hasty, to judge you unheard."

"Max, who is this De Guy?"

"De Guy," said Maxwell, with feigned astonishment; "don't know him."

"Bah, Max! don't you know that you cannot wool me? By the way, that was a clumsy trick of yours, sending this De Guy after the girl. When he had gone, the captain would have chased him, if I had not come and assured them that the terrible Maxwell could not possibly be concerned in the affair."

"Indeed! did you do me this essential service?" said Maxwell, forgetting that he had denied his connection with De Guy.

"I did. If you had left the matter with me, I could have done it better."

"Well, Vernon, I see you are all right yet; but the thing worked to a charm. De Guy is the cleverest fellow out. The girl is safe."

"So I suppose," said Vernon, with an assumption of indifference.

"But all the sport is yet to come."

"Indeed," said Vernon, burning with anxiety, but striving to maintain his accustomed easy and reckless air.

"Yes, Vernon, all the hard work we did up the river shall not be in vain. I shall win the prize!" and Maxwell rubbed his hands at the pleasant anticipation.

"Wish you joy, Max! But you don't mean to marry the girl?"

"Certainly."

"What! a quadroon?"

"Pshaw! that story is all blown through. Her old uncle, up the river, got up that abstraction, so as to finger her property," said Maxwell, forgetting, in his candor, the scruples which his companion had expressed on a former occasion with relation to persecuting a white woman,—scruples which Vernon did not seem disposed to press upon the attorney's memory.

"You helped him through with his scheme?" answered Vernon, with a bold, careless air.

"'Pon honor, I had nothing to do with it. Old Jaspar did it all himself," replied Maxwell, with an oath.

"Looks a little like you, though," said Vernon, with a nonchalance which provoked Maxwell, whose temper was not of the mildest tone.

"Nevertheless, it is none of mine, though the plan was a creditable one. But it has brought old Jaspar into a wasp's nest."

"How's that?"

"I had my eye on the girl, ever since the colonel died. I saw through Jaspar's plot, and a little bravado made him tell me all about it."

"Good!"

"Just so; and, as they are old clients of mine, why, I could not do less than get them out of the scrape, and remove the stain from the name of the fair heiress."

"How can you do it?"

"That's the point."

"Looks rather complicated."

"Exactly so; but energy and skill will accomplish wonders."

"Very true," replied Vernon, in his usual quiet manner, well knowing that Maxwell would take the alarm if he appeared in the least inquisitive,—so he contented himself with this simple ejaculation.

"Can I trust you still?" said Maxwell, in a low tone, and with an anxious look, after a pause of several minutes.

"I care not whether you trust me or not," replied Vernon, with characteristic indifference.

"Are you the man you were two months ago? If you are, I need ask no more questions."

"I am. And now let me tell you, if you have work for me, the pay must be liberal. I have reformed in one respect, and that is from low prices to high ones. I have done too many of your little chores for nothing. Good pay is my motto now."

"Be it so," replied Maxwell, whose suspicions, as Vernon had intended, were diverted by this by-talk. "I will pay you well. If my plan succeeds, three thousand."

"Good! that sounds liberal. But suppose it fail?"

"It cannot fail."

"What is the plan? You mean to help old Jaspar out of the scrape, and save the girl too. How can you do it?"

"There is only one way—marry the girl!"

"Just so," replied Vernon, with an indifference it was hard to assume.

"Here are the whole details of the plan. I have Jaspar's consent to my marriage with the girl, but I dare not attempt to consummate the scheme in the city. She is so cursed obstinate, that it is a hard matter to manage her. I saw Jaspar last night, and we concluded to have the ceremony performed at Bellevue, as soon as possible, or that fiery son of Mars and your worthy patriarch will be down upon us, and spoil the whole."

"Never fear them," said Vernon. "You will not proceed for a week or two?"

"A week or so will make no difference. But I am afraid it will take more time than that to induce her to consent. The difficulty which has troubled me more than any other is to get her to Bellevue. She tells Dido that she will not go alive. She fears Jaspar more than she does me, and rightly suspects that if she yields she will have to encounter both. She has not seen me since the row at the wood-yard, and I intend to transact all business with her through De Guy."

"She is a difficult case," suggested Vernon, to fill up a pause in Maxwell's speech.

"Now, it has occurred to me," continued Maxwell, "that you could manage her like a young lamb."

"I!" exclaimed Vernon.

"Certainly. You stand well with her, do you not?"

"Like a saint."

"You can get up a rescue, or something of that sort, you know."

"To be sure," replied Vernon, thoughtfully.

"Pretend that you are going to effect her escape."

"Capital!" said Vernon, suddenly; "I will pretend to effect her escape. But there is one difficulty—" and he suddenly checked his apparent zeal, and assumed a thoughtful air.

"A difficulty?"

"Ay. I must be at Baton Rouge to-morrow night, or all my hopes up the river are lost."

"And you will return—"

Vernon reflected, and then replied,

"In four days."

"That will do. Don't let it be more than four days."

"No."

"And, Vernon, you had better write to the military lover that the lady is doing well—that Jaspar's health is improving, &c. They won't hurry down, then."

"A good thought. I will write to him."



CHAPTER XXIX.

"Here is my hand for my true constancy."

"There is a fair behavior in thee, captain; I will believe thou hast a mind that suits With this thy fair and outward character." SHAKSPEARE.

"Villain!" muttered Vernon, as Maxwell left the coffee-room, "your work of iniquity is nearly done. If from the depths of my seared heart can come up one single good impulse to guide me, I will bring the guilty and the innocent to their just desert."

He had told Maxwell that he should go to Baton Rouge, and prudence required him to go. He had certain intelligence that a boat would leave in an hour, and he hastily wrote the letter to Captain Carroll. This letter was not exactly of the tenor Maxwell had bargained for, inasmuch as the object of it was to request the immediate presence of his father and Henry at Bellevue, which promised soon to be the theatre of war. With this letter in his pocket, he made his way to the levee, and departed for Baton Rouge.

It was with some compunction that he took this seemingly inconsistent step. It was, for the time, turning his back upon the object to which he had devoted himself. It was necessary for him to gain time, even at the sacrifice of Emily's feelings, for a short season, so that his father and Henry Carroll might reach Bellevue as soon as Emily. He had written them all the details of the plan. His own purpose was to have Emily's strongest friends at hand on her arrival at Bellevue, so as effectually to foil the machinations of Jaspar and Maxwell. His own visit to Baton Rouge was only a feint to avoid a meeting with Maxwell in the interim, thus keeping the appearance in unison with the pretension.

The river had risen some three or four feet, and the large and rapid steamers had commenced running. The "Raven," to the clerk of which he had intrusted the letter for Cottage Island, was a remarkably fast boat, and he had every reason to hope that his plan would be successful.

Three days he remained at Baton Rouge, in a state of impatience and inactivity, rendered doubly uncomfortable by the fear that Maxwell might change his plan in his absence.

A downward steamer was approaching the city, and he hastened on board. His letter had been faithfully delivered, for almost the first person he discovered on board the boat was Henry Carroll, and Dr. Vaudelier was close at hand. This was excellent, and he congratulated himself on the bright prospect before him.

It was arranged that the doctor and his late patient should remain in the vicinity of Bellevue until the following day, when Vernon would convey Emily to her home. They were accordingly landed at the Red Church, and Vernon proceeded to New Orleans.

Maxwell greeted him with a cordiality which showed the interest he felt in the scheme, the consummation of which would realize his dreams of luxurious indulgence. They wended their way, without loss of time, up the street, deciding that Vernon should at once broach the proposition to Emily of going up to Bellevue. The attorney, when they had arrived within a short distance of the office, directed Vernon to proceed alone, agreeing to meet him at a coffee-room in the neighborhood.

On reaching the office, a new difficulty was presented. The inflexible guardian of Emily refused to allow Vernon to see her, stoutly persisting that De Guy would not permit it. Vernon was obliged to resort to Maxwell in this dilemma, who, affirming that he did not wish Emily to know of his presence in town, had kept the secret from the negress. So what could he do? But, bidding Vernon wait, he left the coffee-room, and soon returned with an order signed by De Guy, whom, Maxwell affirmed, he had been so fortunate as to meet at the Exchange.

"But of what use is this paper? The girl cannot read. Shall I take the keys from her?" asked Vernon.

"The note will be sufficient. Show it to her; she will pretend to read it, and would, if it were in Hebrew or Sanscrit," said Maxwell, who then repeated the caution he had before given, not to betray the fact of his presence in the city.

Vernon presented the note to the negress, who, with a business-like air, opened it; and, though he could perceive that she held it up-side down, she examined it long and attentively, sputtering with her thick lips, as though actually engaged in the to her impossible operation of reading it.

"Dis alters de case, Massa. Why you no show dis paper before?" said Dido, with an air of huge importance, which would have done credit to the captain of a country company of militia.

"Open the door, and don't stop to chatter!" replied Vernon.

"Yes, Massa, I have read de letter, and now I knows dat Massa Guy wants you to see de leddy. Dat alters de case. I has nussin furder to say," muttered Dido, as she unlocked the chamber door.

Emily was seated on a sofa, reading a book she had taken with her to while away the time on board of the steamer.

"Missus, a gemman, who hab brought a letter from Massa Guy," said Dido, as she opened the door.

"Bring the letter, then," replied Emily, scarcely raising her eyes from the book.

"No, Missus, de letter am for me, and I hab read it. It orders me to 'mit dis gemman."

"That is sufficient," said Vernon, pushing the attendant back, and closing the door.

Emily rose; and great was her surprise at perceiving the son of her late benefactor. An avalanche of doubt rushed through her mind, and she could not conjecture the occasion of this visit. She had left him at his father's house. Had he forsaken his new-born repentance? Was he again the minister of Maxwell's evil purposes? She had been a prey to the most distressing anticipations, and had now settled down into the calmness of resignation. Resolved to die rather than become the bride of Maxwell, she had spent the hours and days of her imprisonment in nerving herself to meet whatever bitter fate might await her, in maintaining her purity and her principle.

The appearance of Jerome Vaudelier caused her a thrill of apprehension, but it was quickly supplanted by a feeling of interest in the individual himself. Her own gloomy position seemed divested of its sombreness, as she felt that the penitence of the erring soul had not been a reality.

"Jerome Vaudelier, are you, too, the minister of a villain's wishes?"

"Nay, Miss Dumont—"

"Say that you are yet true to yourself; that you have not forgotten those solemn vows you made in the home of your father; say that you are not the tool of the vile Maxwell—say it before you speak your business with me!"

"Miss Dumont, I acknowledge that the present appearance is against me; but I assure you I have come only as the minister of good to you."

"Bless you for the words! I feared you had again been tempted."

"So I have, lady, and apparently have yielded; but it was only to save you. Listen to me, and I will disclose all the details of the plots which are even now ripening to ensnare you,"—and Vernon, in a low tone, briefly narrated everything, and the means which were in operation to secure her safety.

"You must go to Bellevue to-morrow, there to meet my father and Captain Carroll," said he.

The color came to her pale cheek, at the mention of her lover's name. She felt that Vernon meant to be true to her, and true to himself. And it required no persuasion to induce her to acquiesce in the arrangements.

"But, Hatchie—must I leave him in prison? It is not a meet reward for his fidelity."

"It cannot be avoided, Miss Dumont. I will see him to-day, and when his honest heart knows that you are in safety, he will be just as happy in a prison as in a palace. He shall be set at liberty in a few days."

"I hope he may. Does this De Guy accompany you?"

"No; but Maxwell says he will reach Bellevue as soon as we do."

"Why is this? Why does not Maxwell present himself, and urge his infamous proposals?"

"I know not, unless it be that De Guy is the more artful of the two."

* * * * *

Let us change the scene to the next day, at the abode of Mr. Faxon.

Dalhousie and his wife, by the kind attentions of their host, were restored to a comparatively healthy state. The lady had suffered much in her physical and mental constitution, and a shade of deep melancholy rested upon her handsome features. She could not forget the horrors of the dungeon in which she had been confined. It seemed a great epoch in her life; all before it was strange and undefined, while every trivial incident since was a great paragraph in her history.

Mr. Faxon was seated in his library, surrounded by his guests. The affairs of the Dumont family had again been discussed, for to them they were full of interest.

The good minister feelingly expatiated upon the bitterness of the heiress' lot, brought up as she had been amid all the refinements of polished society, whose sensibilities were rendered doubly acute by nature and the circumstances which environed her, to be thus degraded into the condition of a base-born, despised being,—to be so suddenly hurled from honor and opulence,—it was a dreadful blow! So feelingly did he narrate the particulars, so tenderly did he describe the loneliness of her position, that his hearers were deeply affected, and Delia shed a flood of tears.

"I too have been a wanderer, though a voluntary one, from the home of my father," said she.

"Nay, Delia," said Dalhousie, tenderly; "do not revert to your own experience. Remember you are not strong enough to bear much excitement."

"I did not intend to speak of my own experience; but the sufferings of poor Miss Dumont call to my mind the remembrance of similar feelings."

"I presume the company are not desirous of hearing the story of an elopement," said Dalhousie, with a smile.

"Nor I to relate one. The pure devotion of Miss Dumont to the memory of her father recalls the affection, the fond indulgence, of my own father. I have not, as she has, the consciousness of having never wilfully abused his confidence."

"If you have erred, madam," said Mr. Faxon, "your father still lives, does he not? Perhaps it is not yet too late to atone for the fault."

"Alas! I know not whether he is living or not. I wrote to him several times, but never received an answer."

"Who was your father, madam?" said Mr. Faxon, with much sympathy in the tones of his voice.

"I dread even to mention the name I bore in the innocent days of childhood."

"Fie, Delia!" said Dalhousie, with a pleasant laugh, "what have you done to sink yourself so far in your own estimation? You and your father differed as to the propriety of our marriage; to you, as a true woman, your course was plain. This is the height and depth of your monstrous sin."

The conversation was here interrupted by the announcement that a gentleman waited to see Mr. Faxon.

The good clergyman had a habit of promptness in answering all calls upon him. This custom had been acquired by the reflection that a poor dying mortal might wait his blessing, ere he departed on his endless journey; that, sometimes, a moment's delay could never be atoned for; therefore he rose on the instant, and hastened to the parlor, where the visitor waited.

"Ah! is it possible—Captain Carroll!" said he, as he grasped Henry's hand; "I am glad to see you. But how pale and thin you look!"

"Good reason for it, my dear sir. I was on board of the Chalmetta."

"Were you, indeed! Thank God, you escaped with life! Were you much injured?"

"I was, but, thanks to the care of a good physician, I am nearly restored again."

"But our poor lady—Miss Dumont—have you any tidings of her? Report said she was lost in the catastrophe."

"She is safe, though, unfortunately, at present in bad hands;" and Henry related to the astonished minister the events of Emily's history since her departure from Bellevue, not concealing even the details of his present relations with her.

"And now, my dear sir," said he, rising to depart, "the crisis has come. Dr. Vaudelier waits close by, and we are ready to witness the denouement of this climax of plots. It is already time for Jerome and Emily to arrive, and we desire your immediate presence at the mansion-house."

"I will attend you. But I have in the house several friends of Miss Dumont—"

"Bring them all with you," interrupted Henry, looking at his watch. "The more witnesses the better, especially if they be friends."

"But wait till I tell you who they are."

"Excuse me, Mr. Faxon, I must not tarry longer. I will meet them at the mansion."



CHAPTER XXX.

"What devil's here, dragging the dead to life, To overthrow me?"

"Who art thou? Speak! speak!"

"The features all are changed, But the voice grows familiar on my ears."

LOVELL

Jaspar Dumont was seated in the library. The ravages of care and vice were growing more plainly visible on his face. His countenance was haggard, and his complexion seemed to be a struggle between the wanness of care and the redness of intemperance.

Near him sat De Guy, who had but just arrived.

"The lady has come," said the attorney, adjusting his green spectacles; "and I am here to claim the fulfilment of our contract."

Jaspar looked up from the floor, upon which his eyes had been fastened, and gazed with a fixed stare upon his companion.

"You do not understand me," insinuated De Guy.

"I do," said Jaspar, sternly; "I do; you have come to plunder me."

"You do me injustice, my kind friend; I come to save you from the doom of a felon."

"To put your foot upon my neck, and leap out of the pit your villany has dug!"

"Very well, my dear sir, if you are of this mind, my course is plain. Did you not agree to this arrangement?" said De Guy, with a smile, which was meant to soften the hard question.

"True, I did," replied Jaspar, with a whining sullenness. "What would you have of me now?"

"Only that you fulfil the stipulations of the bargain."

"Can I fulfil them? Can I marry you, even if the girl were willing?"

"You can give your commands. Will she not obey them?"

"Fool if she does!" muttered Jaspar, in a low tone.

"She will be so glad to be restored to her home, I fancy she will not think the terms are hard."

"I don't know," said Jaspar, eying the attorney from head to foot. "I consent to the marriage. I can do no more."

"Perhaps you will be willing to use a little gentle force, to save your own neck," said the attorney, with something like a sneer.

"Anything, anything, that will silence your damning tongue, and rid me of your teasing!"

"Now, sir, you are reasonable."

"Summon the girl," said Jaspar, impatiently. "I will say all I have to say in a few words. But, if she foils you, it is not my fault."

"True sir; but Miss Dumont, at this critical juncture of her affairs, will have respect for your counsels;" and the attorney withdrew to call her.

Emily entered the abode of her early years, and the memories of the past came crowding thick upon her. She seemed to realize that her sorrows were near an end, but the hope which such a pleasant thought inspired could not entirely overcome the gloom which the scene around her was calculated to produce. It was here she had often rambled with her father, and a thousand trivial incidents presented themselves to remind her of him.

As she entered the house, she clung to the arm of Vernon, as though she was entering the abode of evil spirits; for, with all the memories of the past, she could not forget that the home of her childhood was inhabited by her inhuman uncle.

She had been but a short time seated in the old, familiar drawing-room, like a stranger now, when De Guy entered, to request her presence in the library. She rose, and looked at Vernon, who, understanding the glance, approached, as if to bear her company.

"This gentleman had better remain here," suggested De Guy.

"I prefer that he should attend me," said Emily, firmly, even while her heart rose to her throat, at the thought of meeting her uncle.

"But really, madam, his presence would embarrass the business of the interview."

"He is a friend," stammered Emily, "and is acquainted with all the circumstances of this affair."

"I will attend her, sir," said Vernon, who had before remained silent.

"Pardon me," said the attorney, looking sharply at Vernon, "but it will be impossible to transact any business in presence of others."

"Lead on," said Vernon, sternly; "I will attend the lady, in spite of all objections."

"Sir, you are insolent!" said the attorney, tartly, though without the loss of his self-possession.

"The gentleman will not in the least retard the business. Pray pass on," interposed Emily, fearful of a collision between the parties.

"It is impossible, madam. I must insist that he remain here. Such is Mr. Dumont's express order."

"Will you say to Mr. Dumont that the lady demands my attendance? Perhaps he will yield the point," answered Vernon.

"I will see him, but it is useless. I know his views;" and De Guy left the room.

"Do not hesitate to go with him, Miss Dumont; I will be close at hand; but no violence will be offered you. I see my father and Captain Carroll coming up the road," said Vernon, looking out the window. "Yield, if necessary, and fear nothing."

"Mr. Dumont persists in his purpose of meeting the lady alone," said De Guy, as he reentered the drawing-room.

"The lady, in your absence, has concluded to dispense with my attendance," replied Vernon.

"This way, madam,"—and the attorney, with punctilious politeness, led the way.

Vernon threw himself upon a sofa, as they were leaving; but no sooner had the door closed, than he rose in haste, and left the apartment. Reaching the veranda of the house, he met Dr. Vaudelier and Henry Carroll, who followed him back to the drawing-room.

"This way, silently, if you please," said he, and then closed the door. A moment sufficed to inform the new comers of the position of affairs; then Vernon left the room, and went to the library door, which he found, by Henry's direction. Stationing himself in a recess behind some coats, he waited till his presence should be needed.

The meeting between Emily and her uncle was not embarrassed by any formal greetings. Jaspar did not even raise his eyes from the floor, as she entered. He heard the door close, and being aware by the silence of the parties—for De Guy had judged an announcement unnecessary—that they were ready to hear him, he said, in a gentle tone,

"Emily, I have sent for you to receive a proposition, which will finally terminate the unfortunate circumstances that have shrouded our family in hostility and misery."

"Indeed, uncle, I have no feeling of hostility towards you. God forbid!" replied Emily, upon whose agitated senses Jaspar's mild words had fallen like promises of peace.

Jaspar was astonished. He had lost much of the severity of his disposition in the miseries which had overtaken him. He was humiliated, his spirit broken, and he could not understand why his victim did not upbraid him, as he expected, for the wrongs he had inflicted. A momentary hope of reconciliation on better terms crossed his mind; but there stood the attorney, who would permit no other compromise.

"I restore your fortune," said Jaspar, with a shudder, as he raised his head for the first time from the floor to look upon his niece,—"I restore it, on one condition."

"Name not the fortune, uncle; your peace and happiness are far dearer to me than all the wealth of the world. You have wronged me, but I freely forgive you; and Heaven will also forgive you, if you sin no more. O, uncle, I beseech you dismiss this evil man, and let me be to you as a daughter!"

"Let us attend to business, if you please, Mr. Dumont," said the attorney, in a whining tone; for, it must be confessed, the conversation had assumed a different turn from what he had anticipated.

"I must state the business for which I requested your presence," said Jaspar, not a little moved by the words of Emily. Human nature is a strange compound of inconsistencies. This man, whose life had been stained with crime, was now disposed to regard the past with contrition. We have seen him scorning even an allusion to the higher life of the soul,—but success was then within the reach of his crime-stained hand! Now, failure on every hand awaited him, and all those bravadoes with which he had kept down his better nature deserted him. Not one scornful thought came to banish the good angel from his presence. But the feeling was of short duration. It was but a momentary contrition, which a selfish hope or a burst of passion could dissipate.

"I will restore your fortune, on one condition," said he. "You can accept or reject it, at your option."

"I beg your pardon," suggested the attorney, "these were not exactly the terms of our contract."

"Name the condition, uncle," added Emily, indifferently; for she was anxious to have the business, whatever it might be, finished, so that she could again plead with Jaspar for his personal reformation, for she was a little encouraged by the appearance of humiliation he had manifested.

"I restore your fortune, on condition that you give your hand to this gentleman in marriage;"—and Jaspar again fixed his eyes on the floor, as if he dreaded the outbreak of a storm.

"This gentleman!" exclaimed Emily, indignantly. "This gentleman!"—and she gazed upon him with a proud look of contempt, from which the attorney would fain have hid his head. Her surprise was equal to her indignation. Vernon had told her that Maxwell was to be the suppliant for her hand, and she could not see why his menial had the presumption to claim her.

"This gentleman!" repeated Emily. "I had rather die a thousand deaths!"

"Then, madam, we shall be obliged to compel you to this step," replied De Guy, stung by the scorn of Emily, and distrusting the energy of Jaspar.

"Sir, your impertinence deserves a severer rebuke than I can administer!" said Emily, the blood mounting to her face.

"But it must be even so, madam," returned the attorney coolly. "Fate has so decreed. Your good uncle's circumstances imperatively demand it."

"Is this so, uncle?"

"It is, Emily. You must submit to your fate, unpleasant though it may be," said Jaspar, looking at her with an absent stare.

"No, uncle, it shall not be so. I never will submit to such a fate. What circumstances do you refer to?"

"I am in this man's power."

"God be with you, then! But I understand it all. He seeks my fortune, not myself. I would rather he had the whole of it, than become such a thing as to marry that man!"

"Nay, lady, you are of more worth to me than your fortune, large as it is. I have contracted with your uncle for your hand, and he must pay the price," said De Guy.

"He speaks truly, Emily. I have sold you to him," replied Jaspar, vacantly.

Emily was stung to the quick. This remark, she supposed, was in allusion to her alleged condition; and the tears rose to her eyes, while the indignant blood mounted to her cheek.

"Uncle, do not brand your soul with infamy!" she said, quickly.

"What!" exclaimed Jaspar, roused to a burst of passion.

"Be not a villain!" returned Emily, whose good-nature was sorely tried.

"Girl, beard not the lion in his den! I had half relented, but now I feel strong again!" and he rose and tottered to the table, on which his brandy-bottle stood. After taking a deep draught, he reseated himself.

"You must marry this man!" said he, fiercely striking the table with his fist.

"I never will!" replied Emily, trembling at Jaspar's violence, but firm in her purpose.

"Remember! girl, remember what you are!" said Jaspar, passionately.

"Enough of this," said Emily. "I leave you for—"

"Stay, lady! You must not leave the room," interrupted De Guy, laying his hand upon her arm.

"Remove your hand, villain, nor dare to pollute me with your touch!" exclaimed Emily, shaking off his hand as though it had been contamination.

The hitherto placid features of the attorney darkened into a scowl of malignity, as he said,

"Madam, we have been too long subject to your caprice. Here let it end. Know that mighty interests depend upon the union this day to be consummated, and we refuse longer to submit to your whims."

"Yes, Emily, the honor and safety of your family name depend upon your acquiescence in this plan," said Jaspar, whose passion had moderated a little.

"I will never countenance any of your unhallowed plots," replied Emily, and she again moved towards the door.

"You leave not the room till you consent to this union," interposed De Guy.

"Stand from my path, or I will summon assistance!"

"Your summons would be in vain."

With a proud step and a curling lip, Emily attempted to advance; but De Guy seized her by the arm, and restrained her. She struggled to free herself from the villain's grasp, without success. Knowing that Vernon was within hearing of her, she called "Jerome," at the top of her voice.

"No use, madam. The gentleman whose name you utter is a friend of mine," said the attorney. "He conveyed you here as an emissary of mine. Haven't you known him before?" said De Guy, with a mixture of sarcasm and triumph in the tones of his squeaky voice.

The door-handle was at this moment seized on the outside. The door was wrenched and pushed, but it did not yield, for De Guy had taken the precaution to lock it.

"Who is there?" shouted the attorney, alarmed at the intrusion.

"Open," said Jerome, "or I force the door!"

"What does this mean?" asked Jaspar, who had remained a quiet spectator to the violence offered his niece.

"I will soon ascertain," said De Guy, dragging Emily after him, towards a large closet on the other side of the room.

"Help! help!" again screamed Emily; and, ere she had the second time uttered the word, a crash was heard, the library-door splintered, and Vernon stood in the room.

"How is this? Villain! traitor!" shouted De Guy, drawing from his pocket a revolver.

"Unhand the lady!" said Vernon, in a severe tone, as, at the same time, he drew from his pocket a pistol. "Unhand her!" and he approached the lawyer.

"Back, traitor, or you die!" said De Guy, in a voice which suddenly lost its silky tone, and was firm and round.

"Then I die like a man!" responded Vernon, still advancing.

Jaspar's ferocious nature, stimulated to activity by the prospect of a fight, now promised to revive his spirits and nerve his arm. He advanced behind Vernon, and, ere he was aware, had clasped both hands around him. Vernon tried to free himself from the bearish hug, and they both fell to the floor. Jaspar still held tight, and the struggle promised to be a severe one.

De Guy perceived the movement of Jaspar, and, as soon as the combatants had fallen to the floor, he restored the pistol to his pocket, so that, unembarrassed, he might convey Emily to a place of security, until this unlooked-for contest was ended. Scarcely was the pistol in his pocket, when the window behind him flew open, and the attorney was in the iron grip of a powerful arm! Emily, freed from her assailant, retreated to the other side of the room, where, glancing in terror upon the new assault, she saw De Guy thrown violently upon the floor by her ever-present and ever-faithful slave, Hatchie!

The mulatto, having been allowed the liberty of the yard early in the evening before, had contrived to effect his escape from the calaboose, and had walked the whole distance from Now Orleans.

Henry Carroll and Dr. Vaudelier had heard the confusion, and judged that the conflict had begun with something more than the war of words. Hatchie had scarcely done his work when Henry reached the library, and rescued Vernon from the hands of Jaspar.

The contest was ended, and the victors and vanquished stood contemplating each other in mute astonishment. Dr. Vaudelier, who had followed Henry into the room, assisted Jaspar to rise, and conducted him to a chair. The courage of the vanquished seemed entirely to have oozed out, and they remained doggedly considering the new state of things.

Hatchie bent over his fallen foe, and, drawing from his pocket the revolver and bowie-knife which rendered him a formidable person, he loosed his firm hold of him, as if it was an acknowledgment of weakness to hold him longer a close prisoner. Seizing the prostrate lawyer by the hair, he bade him rise, at the same time giving a sharp twist to the ornamental appendage of his cranium. But the hair yielded to the motion of his hand, and the entire scalp scaled off, bringing with it the huge parti-colored whiskers, and revealing a beautiful head of black, curly hair, where the mixed color had before predominated!

"What does this mean? Methinks I have seen that head of hair before," said Henry Carroll.

"The face is not of the natural color," added Dr. Vaudelier, remarking that the skin of the forehead, which the wig had concealed, was very white, and almost transparent, while the face was besmeared with the color that composed the florid complexion of the attorney.

"Take off his spectacles, Hatchie," said Henry.

The glasses were removed, and a pair of piercing black eyes glared upon them.

"It is Maxwell, by ——," shouted Jaspar, who had in some measure recovered from the exhaustion of his struggle with Vernon, and had watched with much anxiety the "unearthing" of his confederate.

"It is Maxwell," responded Hatchie, tearing open the vest which encircled the attorney's portly form, and displaying the cushion that had been used to extend his corporation.

"Merciful Heaven! how narrowly have I escaped!" exclaimed Emily, laying her head in giddy faintness upon the shoulder of Henry, who, at the moment he was at liberty, had flown to her side.

At this moment Mr. Faxon entered, and saw, with astonishment, the evidence of the recent fray.

"Justice is triumphant, I see," said he, taking Emily by the hand, and affectionately congratulating her upon her return to Bellevue.

"Heaven has been more indulgent to me than I deserve,—has preserved me from a thousand perils I knew not of; and has, at last, placed me again in this haven of repose!" replied Emily.

"Bless His holy name, my child; for, though we forget Him, He can never forget us!" said the minister, devoutly.

"Well, gentlemen," interrupted Jaspar, with a bitter scowl, "I trust, when you have finished your cant, you will depart, and leave me in peace."

"We will, at this lady's pleasure," said Dr. Vaudelier.

"Hell! would you trifle with me?" roared Jaspar, rising in a passion. "Would you turn me out of my house?"

"Never yours, Mr. Dumont! Heaven has restored the innocent and oppressed to her rights," answered Mr. Faxon, calmly.

"Uncle," said Emily, earnestly, "let me entreat you to lay aside the terrible aspect you have worn, and be again even as you once were. The past shall be forgotten, and I will strive to make the future happy."

Jaspar gazed at her with a vacant stare, and, muttering some unintelligible words, sunk back into his chair, and buried his face beneath his hands. The consciousness of the utter failure of the plan he had cherished for years, and the terrible obloquy to which his crime subjected him, rushed like an earthquake into his mind. He was completely subdued in spirit, and groaned in his anguish.

"The way of the transgressor is hard," remarked Mr. Faxon, in pitying tones.

These words were heard by Jaspar. They touched his pride. He could not endure the notes of pity. He raised his head, and his eyes glared with the fury of a demon.

"Leave the house, sir!" gasped he, choking with passion. "Leave my house, or I will tear you limb from limb! I can do it, and I dare do it!" and he started suddenly to the floor. "Yes, I dare do it, if you mock me with your canting words!"

His eyes rolled like a maniac's, and he gasped for breath, as he continued,

"I am a murderer already!—a double murderer! Dalhousie and his wife have felt my vengeance. They have starved like dogs! Their prison is their tomb!"

"Compose yourself, Mr. Dumont," said Mr. Faxon; "your soul is still free from the heavy burden of such a guilt. Dalhousie and his wife live."

"You lie, canting hypocrite! No mortal arm can save them. They have been eight days in my slave jail. Here are the keys," gasped Jaspar, drawing them from his pocket.

"You shall see; I will call them," said Mr. Faxon.

Dalhousie and his wife, followed by Uncle Nathan and Pat Fegan, entered the room.

Jaspar fixed his glaring eyes upon those whom he supposed were rotting within the precincts of his Inquisition. His power of speech seemed to have deserted him, and he shook all over like an aspen-leaf.

To Jaspar alone on the estate was the secret of Dalhousie's imprisonment known. He had not approached the jail, and if any other person was aware that it had been undermined, they had not communicated the fact to him.

As the last party entered, Dr. Vaudelier turned to look upon the new comers. Starting suddenly from his chair, he approached them, and gazed with earnestness into the face of Delia.

"Is it possible!" said he.

"My God,—my father!" and father and daughter were locked in each other's embrace.

Maxwell, stripped of his disguise, and ruined in his own opinion, and in the opinion of everybody else, had watched all the proceedings we have narrated in silence. Ashamed of the awkward appearance he made in his undress, and confused by the sudden change in his affairs, he was at a loss to know which way to turn.

Henry Carroll realized the sense of embarrassment that pervaded all parties, and was desirous of putting an end to the state of things which promised nothing but strife and confusion. So he directed Hatchie to fasten Maxwell's hands together, and keep him secure. This step the attorney seemed not inclined to permit, and a struggle ensued.

"Mr. Dumont," said he, "is this by your order?"

"No," replied Jaspar, anxious to secure at least one friend. "No! I am still in my own house, and the law will protect me."

"Certainly," returned Maxwell; "this is all a farce. There is not a single particle of evidence to disprove the will."

"Well, now, I reckon there is a leetle grain," said Uncle Nathan, stepping forward and producing the will, which had been intrusted to him on board the Chalmetta. "This will set matters about right, I rayther guess."

"What mean you, fellow?" said Jaspar. "What is it?"

"The genuine will," replied Hatchie, still holding Maxwell. "I gave it into his hands. To explain how I came by it, I need only call your attention to a certain night, when I surprised you and this honorable gentleman in this very apartment."

"It is all over!" groaned Jaspar.

"This is a forgery!" exclaimed Maxwell.

"Ay, a forgery!" repeated Jaspar, catching the attorney's idea. "Who can prove that this is a correct will, and the other false?"

"I can," said Dalhousie. "Here is a duplicate copy, with letters explaining the reason for making it, in the testator's own hand-writing."

Dalhousie candidly stated the means by which he had obtained possession of the papers, and trusted his indiscretion would be overlooked. Dr. Vaudelier frowned, as his son-in-law related the unworthy part he had performed, and perhaps felt a consciousness of the good intentions which had years before induced him to refuse his consent to the marriage of his daughter.

Jaspar yielded the point; but Maxwell, in the hope of gaining time, boldly proclaimed all the papers forgeries.

"It matters not; we will not stop to discuss the matter now. Tie his hands, Hatchie," said Henry Carroll, and, with the assistance of others, he was bound, and handed over to a constable, upon the warrant of Mr. Faxon, who was a justice.

The party separated,—Henry and Emily seeking the grove in front of the house, to congratulate each other on the happy termination of their season of difficulty. The meeting between Dr. Vaudelier and his son and daughter was extremely interesting, and the hours passed rapidly away, in listening to the experience of each other. The meeting concluded with the making of new resolves, on the part of Dalhousie, to seek "the great purpose of his life" by higher and nobler means.

As the dinner-hour approached, the happy parties were summoned by Mr. Faxon to visit his house, and partake of his hospitality. The good man was never happier in his life than when he said grace over the noon-day meal, surrounded by the restored heiress of Bellevue, and her happy friends.



CONCLUSION.

"From that day forth, in peace and joyous bliss, They lived together long, without debate; Nor private jars nor spite of enemies Could shake the safe assurance of their states."

SPENSER.

Our story is told. It only remains to condense the subsequent lives of our characters into a few lines.

Jaspar Dumont lingered along a few weeks after the return of Emily; but his life had lost its vitality. Continued devotion to the demon of the bottle laid him low,—he was found dead in the library, having been stricken with an apoplectic fit.

After the death of Jaspar, Maxwell was tried for a variety of crimes, and sentenced to the penitentiary for ten years.

Dr. Vaudelier, accompanied by Dalhousie and his wife, removed to New Orleans, where they spent many happy years, devoted to those pure principles of truth and justice which the events of our history contributed not a little to create and strengthen.

Vernon,—or, as he has changed his character, we may venture to change his name,—Jerome Vaudelier, went to California in the first of the excitement; where, amid the temptations of that new and dissolute land, he yet maintains the integrity he vowed to cherish on the night of the attack upon Cottage Island.

Uncle Nathan and Pat Fegan spent a few days at Bellevue, and then started for the North. The honest yeoman, either on account of the many adventures they had passed through together, or because Pat was a true convert of his, had taken quite a fancy to the Hibernian, and insisted that he should accompany him home. Pat became a very worthy man, after abandoning the "critter," which had been his greatest bane. For three years he served our New Englander faithfully on the farm, at the end of which period his desire to get ahead prompted him to take a buxom Irish girl to his bosom, and go to farming on his own hook. A visit of Henry and Emily, about this time, to the worthy farmer, contributed to forward this end; for Pat, with Celtic candor and boldness, stated to them his views and purposes. Before the heiress left, Pat's farm was bought and paid for, besides being well stocked, by her princely liberality.

Jerry Swinger and his wife, who had rendered such important services to Emily, were not forgotten. The honest woodman disdained to receive compensation for any service he or his good wife had rendered, but Emily found a way to render them comfortable for life, without any sacrifice of pride on their part.

One year after the events which close our history the great mansion at Bellevue was the scene of gay festivities. Dr. Vaudelier and his daughter, and Dalhousie, and Jerry Swinger and all his family, were there, because, in the hour of its owner's greatest happiness, she could not be without those who had been her friends in the season of adversity. All the country round was there,—New Orleans was there,—everybody was there, to witness the nuptials of the fair heiress and the gallant Captain Carroll.

The great drawing-room was brilliantly illuminated. The happy couple entered the room, and stood up before Mr. Faxon. A step behind Emily, watching the proceedings with as much interest as a fond father would witness the espousal of a beloved daughter, stood Hatchie. Race and condition did not exclude him from the proud and brilliant assemblage that had gathered to honor the nuptials of his mistress.

They were married, and, ere the good minister had concluded his congratulations, the huge yellow palm of the faithful slave was extended to receive the white-gloved hand of the bride. Nor did she shrink from him. With a sweet smile, and a look which told how deep were her respect and admiration, she gave him her hand, heedless of the proud circle which had gathered around her to be first in their offering of good wishes.

"God bless you, Miss Emily! Bless you!" said he, and the tear stole into his eye, as he withdrew from the crowd.

THE END