CAP FREES THE CAPTIVE.
Hold, daughter! I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate, which we would prevent
And if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy!
Hold, then! go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris! Wednesday is to-morrow!
--Shakespeare.
As the autumn weather was now very pleasant, Capitola continued her
rides, and, without standing on ceremony, repeated her visit to the
Hidden House. She was, as usual, followed by Wool, who kept at a
respectful distance, and who, during his mistress' visit, remained
outside in attendance upon the horses.
Capitola luckily was in no danger of encountering Colonel Le Noir, who,
since the night of the mysterious tragedy, had not returned home, but
had gone to and settled in his winter quarters in Washington city.
But she again met Craven Le Noir, who, contrary to his usual custom of
accompanying his father upon his annual migrations to the metropolis,
had, upon this occasion, remained home in close attendance upon his
cousin, the wealthy orphan.
Capitola found Clara the same sweet, gentle and patient girl, with this
difference only, that her youthful brow was now overshadowed by a heavy
trouble which could not wholly be explained by her state of orphanage
or her sorrow for the dead--it was too full of anxiety, gloom and
terror to have reference to the past alone.
Capitola saw all this and, trusting in her own powers, would have
sought the confidence of the poor girl, with the view of soothing her
sorrows and helping her out of her difficulties; but Miss Day, candid
upon all other topics, was strangely reserved upon this subject, and
Capitola, with all her eccentricity, was too delicate to seek to
intrude upon the young mourner's sanctuary of grief.
But a crisis was fast approaching which rendered further concealment
difficult and dangerous, and which threw Clara for protection upon the
courage, presence of mind and address of Capitola.
Since Clara Day had parted with her betrothed and had taken up her
residence beneath her guardian's roof, she had regularly written both
to Traverse at St. Louis and to his mother at Staunton. But she had
received no reply from either mother or son. And months had passed,
filling the mind of Clara with anxiety upon their account.
She did not for one moment doubt their constancy. Alas! it required but
little perspicacity on her part to perceive that the letters on either
side must have been intercepted by the Le Noirs--father and son.
Her greatest anxiety was lest Mrs. Rocke and Traverse, failing to hear
from her, should imagine that she had forgotten them. She longed to
assure them that she had not; but how should she do this? It was
perfectly useless to write and send the letter to the post-office by
any servant at the Hidden House, for such a letter was sure to find its
way--not into the mail bags, but into the pocket of Colonel Le Noir.
Finally, Clara resolved to entrust honest Cap with so much of her story
as would engage her interest and co-operation, and then confide to her
care a letter to be placed in the post-office. Clara had scarcely come
to this resolution ere, as we said, an imminent crisis obliged her to
seek the further aid of Capitola.
Craven Le Noir had never abated his unacceptable attentions to the
orphan heiress. Day by day, on the contrary, to Clara's unspeakable
distress, these attentions grew more pointed and alarming.
At first she had received them coldly and repulsed them gently; but as
they grew more ardent and devoted she became colder and more reserved,
until at length, by maintaining a freezing hauteur at variance with her
usually sweet temper, she sought to repel the declaration that was ever
ready to fall from his lips.
But, notwithstanding her evident abhorrence of his suit, Craven Le Noir
persisted in his purpose.
And so one morning he entered the parlor and, finding Clara alone, he
closed the door, seated himself beside her, took her hand and made a
formal declaration of love and proposal of marriage, urging his suit
with all the eloquence of which he was master.
Now, Clara Day, a Christian maiden, a recently bereaved orphan and an
affianced bride, had too profound a regard for her duties toward God,
her father's will and her betrothed husband's rights to treat this
attempted invasion of her faith in any other than the most deliberate,
serious and dignified manner.
"I am very sorry, Mr. Le Noir, that it has at length come to this. I
thought I had conducted myself in such a manner as totally to
discourage any such purpose as this which you have just honored me by
disclosing. Now, however, that the subject may be set at rest forever,
I feel bound to announce to you that my hand is already plighted," said
Clara, gravely.
"But, my fairest and dearest love, your little hand cannot be plighted
without the consent of your guardian, who would never countenance the
impudent pretensions which I understand to be made by the low-born
young man to whom I presume you allude. That engagement was a very
foolish affair, my dear girl, and only to be palliated on the ground of
your extreme childishness at the time of its being made. You must
forget the whole matter, my sweetest love, and prepare yourself to
listen to a suit more worthy of your social position," said Craven Le
Noir, attempting to steal his arm around her waist.
Clara coldly repelled him, saying:
"I am at a loss to understand, Mr. Le Noir, what act of levity on my
part has given you the assurance to offer me this affront!"
"Do you call it an affront, fair cousin, that I lay my hand and heart
and fortune at your feet?"
"I have called your act, sir, by its gentlest name. Under the
circumstances I might well have called it an outrage!"
"And what may be those circumstances that convert an act
of--adoration--into an outrage, my sweet cousin?"
"Sir, you know them well. I have not concealed from you or my guardian
that I am the affianced bride of Doctor Rocke, nor that our troth was
plighted with the full consent of my dear father," said Clara, gravely.
"Tut, tut, tut, my charming cousin, that was mere child's play--a
school-girl's romantic whim. Do not dream that your guardian will ever
permit you to throw yourself away upon that low-bred fellow."
"Mr. Le Noir, if you permit yourself to address me in this manner, I
shall feel compelled to retire. I cannot remain here to have my honored
father's will and memory, and the rights of my betrothed, insulted in
my person!" said Clara, rising to leave the room.
"No--stay! forgive me, Clara! pardon me, gentlest girl, if, in my great
love for you, I grow impatient of any other claim upon your heart,
especially from such an unworthy quarter. Clara, you are a mere child,
full of generous but romantic sentiments and dangerous impulses. You
require extra vigilance and firm exercise of authority on the part of
your guardian to save you from certain self-destruction. And some day,
sweet girl, you will thank us for preserving you from the horrors of
such a mesalliance," said Craven Le Noir, gently detaining her.
"I tell you, Mr. Le Noir, that your manner of speaking of my betrothal
is equally insulting to myself, Doctor Rocke and my dear father, who
never would have plighted our hands had he considered our prospective
marriage a mesalliance."
"Nor do I suppose he ever did plight your hands--while in his right
senses!"
"Oh, sir, this has been discussed before. I beg of you to let the
subject drop forever, remembering that I hold myself sacredly betrothed
to Traverse Rocke, and ready--when, at my legal majority, he shall
claim me--to redeem my plighted faith by becoming his wife."
"Clara, this is madness! It must not be endured, nor shall not! I have
hitherto sought to win your hand by showing you the great extent of my
love; but be careful how you scorn that love or continue to taunt me
with the mention of an unworthy rival. For, though I use gentle means,
should I find them fail of their purpose, I shall know how to avail
myself of harsher ones."
Clara disdained reply, except by permitting her clear eye to pass over
him from head to foot with an expression of consuming scorn that
scathed him to the quick.
"I tell you to be careful, Clara Day! I come to you armed with the
authority of your legal guardian, my father, Colonel Le Noir, who will
forestall your foolish purpose of throwing yourself and your fortune
away upon a beggar, even though to do so he strain his authority and
coerce you into taking a more suitable companion," said Craven Le Noir,
rising impatiently and pacing the floor. But no sooner had he spoken
these words than he saw how greatly he had injured his cause and
repented them. Going to Clara and intercepting her as she was about to
leave the room, he gently took her hand and, dropping his eyes to the
floor with a look of humility and penitence, he said:
"Clara, my sweet cousin, I know not how sufficiently to express my
sorrow at having been hurried into harshness toward you--toward you
whom I love more than my own soul, and whom it is the fondest wish of
my heart to call wife. I can only excuse myself for this or any future
extravagance of manner by my excessive love for you and the jealousy
that maddens my brain at the bare mention of my rival. That is it,
sweet girl. Can you forgive one whom love and jealousy have hurried
into frenzy?"
"Mr. Le Noir, the Bible enjoins me to forgive injuries. I shall
endeavor, when I can, to forgive you, though for the present my heart
is still burning under the sense of wrongs done toward myself and those
whom I love and esteem, and the only way in which you can make me
forget what has just passed will be--never to repeat the offence." And
with these words Clara bent her head and passed from the room.
Could she have seen the malignant scowl and gesture with which Craven
Le Noir followed her departure, she would scarcely have trusted his
expressions of penitence.
Lifting his arm above his head he fiercely shook his fist after her and
exclaimed:
"Go on, insolent girl, and imagine that you have humbled me; but the
tune shall be changed by this day month, for before that time whatever
power the law gives the husband over his wife and her property shall be
mine over you and your possessions. Then we will see who shall be
insolent; then we shall see whose proud blue eye shall day after day
dare to look up and rebuke me. Oh! to get you in my power, my girl! Not
that I love you, moon-faced creature, but I want your possessions,
which is quite as strong an incentive."
Then he fell into thought. He had an ugly way of scowling and biting
his nails when deeply brooding over any subject, and now he walked
slowly up and down the floor with his head upon his breast, his brows
drawn over his nose and his four fingers between his teeth, gnawing
away like a wild beast, while he muttered:
"She is not like the other one; she has more sense and strength; she
will give us more trouble. We must continue to try fair means a little
longer. It will be difficult, for I am not accustomed to control my
passions, even for a purpose--yet, penitence and love are the only
cards to be played to this insolent girl for the present.
Afterwards!--" Here his soliloquy muttered itself into silence, his
head sank deeper upon his breast, his brows gathered lower over his
nose and he walked and gnawed his nails like a hungry wolf.
The immediate result of this cogitation was that he went into the
library and wrote off a letter to his father, telling him all that had
transpired between himself and Clara, and asking his further counsel.
He dispatched this letter and waited an answer.
During the week that ensued before he could hope to hear from Colonel
Le Noir, he treated Clara with marked deference and respect.
And Clara, on her part, did not tax his forbearance by appearing in his
presence oftener than she could possibly avoid.
At the end of the week the expected letter came. It was short and to
the purpose. It ran thus:
Washington, Dec. 14, 18--
MY DEAR CRAVEN--You are losing time. Do not hope to win the girl by
the means you propose. She is too acute to be deceived, and too
firm to be persuaded. We must not hesitate to use the only possible
means by which we can coerce her into compliance. I shall follow
this letter by the first stage coach, and before the beginning of
the next month Clara Day shall be your wife. Your Affectionate
Father,
GABRIEL LE NOIR,
C. LE NOIR, ESQ., Hidden House.
When Craven Le Noir read this letter his thin, white face and deep-set
eyes lighted up with triumph. But Craven Le Noir huzzaed before he was
out of the woods. He had not calculated upon Capitola.
The next day Colonel Le Noir came to the Hidden House. He arrived late
in the afternoon.
After refreshing himself with a bath, a change of clothing and a light
luncheon, he went to the library, where he passed the remainder of the
evening in a confidential conference with his son. Their supper was
ordered to be served up to them there; and for that evening Clara had
the comfort of taking her tea alone.
The result of this conference was that the next morning, after
breakfast, Colonel Le Noir sent for Miss Day to come to him in the
library.
When Clara, nerving her gentle heart to resist a sinful tyranny,
entered the library, Colonel Le Noir arose and courteously handed her
to a chair, and then, seating himself beside her, said:
"My dear Clara, the responsibilities of a guardian are always very
onerous, and his duties not always very agreeable, especially when his
ward is the sole heiress of a large property and the object of pursuit
by fortune hunters and maneuverers, male and female. When such is the
case, the duties and responsibilities of the guardian are augmented a
hundredfold."
"Sir, this cannot be so in my case, since you are perfectly aware that
my destiny is, humanly speaking, already decided," replied Clara, with
gentle firmness.
"As--how, I pray you, my fair ward?"
"You cannot possibly be at a loss to understand, sir. You have been
already advised that I am betrothed to Doctor Rocke, who will claim me
as his wife upon the day that I shall complete my twenty-first year."
"Miss Clara Day! no more of that, I beseech you! It is folly, perversity,
frenzy! But, thanks to the wisdom of legislators, the law very properly
invests the guardian with great latitude of discretionary power of the
person and property of his ward--to be used, of course, for that ward's
best interest. And thus, my dear Clara, it is my duty, while holding
this power over you, to exercise it for preventing the possibility of
your ever--either now or at any future time, throwing yourself away
upon a mere adventurer. To do this, I must provide you with a suitable
husband. My son, Mr. Craven Le Noir, has long loved and wooed you. He
is a young man of good reputation and fair prospects. I entirely
approve his suit, and as your guardian I command you to receive him for
your destined husband."
"Colonel Le Noir, this is no time 'for bated breath and whispered
humbleness.' I am but a simple girl of seventeen, but I understand your
purpose and that of your son just as well as though I were an old man
of the world. You are the fortune hunters and maneuverers! It is the
fortune of the wealthy heiress and friendless orphan that you are in
pursuit of! But that fortune, like my hand and heart, is already
promised to one I love; and, to speak very plainly to you, I would die
ere I would disappoint him or wed your son," said Clara, with
invincible firmness.
"Die, girl! There are worse things than death in the world!" said
Colonel Le Noir, with a threatening glare.
"I know it! and one of the worst things in the world would be a union
with a man I could neither esteem nor even endure!" exclaimed Clara.
Colonel Le Noir saw that there was no use in further disguise. Throwing
off, then, the last restraints of good breeding, he said:
"And there are still more terrible evils for a woman than to be the
wife of one she 'can neither esteem nor endure!'"
Clara shook her head in proud scorn.
"There are evils to escape which such a woman would go down upon her
bended knees to be made the wife of such a man."
Clara's gentle eyes flashed with indignation.
"Infamous!" she cried. "You slander all womanhood in my person!"
"The evils to which I allude are--comprised in--a life of dishonor!"
hissed Le Noir through his set teeth.
"This to my father's daughter!" exclaimed Clara, growing white as death
at the insult.
"Aye, my girl! It is time we understood each other. You are in my
power, and I intend to coerce you to my will!"
These words, accompanied as they were by a look that left no doubt upon
her mind that he would carry out his purpose to any extremity, so
appalled the maiden's soul that she stood like one suddenly struck with
catalepsy.
The unscrupulous wretch then approached her and said:
"I am now going to the county seat to take out a marriage license for
you and my son. I shall have the carriage at the door by six o'clock
this evening, when I desire that you shall be ready to accompany us to
church, where a clerical friend will be in attendance to perform the
marriage ceremony. Clara Day, if you would save your honor, look to
this!"
All this time Clara had neither moved nor spoken nor breathed. She had
stood cold, white and still as if turned to stone.
"Let no vain hope of escape delude your mind. The doors will be kept
locked; the servants are all warned not to suffer you to leave the
house. Look to it, Clara, for the rising of another sun shall see my
purpose accomplished!"
And with these words the atrocious wretch left the room. His departure
took off the dreadful spell that had paralyzed Clara's life; her blood
began to circulate again; breath came to her lungs and speech to her
lips.
"Oh, Lord," she cried, "oh, Lord, who delivered the children from the
fiery furnace, deliver thy poor handmaiden now from her terrible foes!"
While she thus prayed she saw upon the writing table before her a small
penknife. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightened as she seized it.
"This! this!" she said, "this small instrument is sufficient to save
me! Should the worst ensue, I know where to find the carotid artery,
and even such a slight puncture as my timorous hand could make would
set my spirit free! Oh, my father! oh, my father! you little thought
when you taught your Clara the mysteries of anatomy to what a fearful
use she would put your lessons! And would it be right? Oh, would it be
right? One may desire death, but can anything justify suicide? Oh,
Father in heaven, guide me! guide me!" cried Clara, falling upon her
knees and sobbing forth this prayer of agony.
Soon approaching footsteps drew her attention. And she had only time to
rise and put back her damp, disheveled hair from her tear-stained face
before the door opened and Dorcas Knight appeared and said:
"Here is this young woman come again."
"I declare, Miss Day," said Cap, laughing, "you have the most
accomplished, polite and agreeable servants here that I ever met with!
Think with what a courteous welcome this woman received me--'Here you
are again!' she said. 'You'll come once too often for your own good,
and that I tell you.' I answered that every time I came it appeared to
be once too often for her liking. She rejoined, 'The colonel has come
home, and he don't like company, so I advise you to make your call a
short one.' I assured her that I should measure the length of my visit
by the breadth of my will---- But good angels, Clara! what is the matter?
You look worse than death!" exclaimed Capitola, noticing for the first
time the pale, wild, despairing face of her companion.
Clara clasped her hands as if in prayer and raised her eyes with an
appealing gaze into Capitola's face.
"Tell me, dear Clara, what is the matter? How can I help you? What
shall I do for you?" said our heroine.
Before trusting herself to reply, Clara gazed wistfully into Capitola's
eyes, as though she would have read her soul.
Cap did not blanch nor for an instant avert her own honest, gray orbs;
she let Clara gaze straight down through those clear windows of the
soul into the very soul itself, where she found only truth, honesty and
courage.
The scrutiny seemed to be satisfactory for Clara soon took the hand of
her visitor and said:
"Capitola, I will tell you. It is a horrid, horrid story, but you shall
know all. Come with me to my chamber."
Cap pressed the hand that was so confidingly placed in hers and
accompanied Clara to her room, where, after the latter had taken the
precaution to lock the door, the two girls sat down for a confidential
talk.
Clara, like the author of Robin Hood's Barn, "began at the beginning"
of her story, and told everything--her betrothal to Traverse Rocke; the
sudden death of her father; the decision of the Orphans' Court; the
departure of Traverse for the far West; her arrival at the Hidden
House; the interruption of all her epistolary correspondence with her
betrothed and his mother; the awful and mysterious occurrences of that
dreadful night when she suspected some heinous crime had been
committed; and finally of the long, unwelcome suit of Craven Le Noir
and the present attempt to force him upon her as a husband.
Cap listened very calmly to this story, showing very little sympathy,
for there was not a bit of sentimentality about our Cap.
"And now," whispered Clara, while the pallor of horror overspread her
face, "by threatening me with a fate worse than death, they would drive
me to marry Craven Le Noir!"
"Yes, I know I would!" said Cap, as if speaking to herself, but by her
tone and manner clothing these simple words in the very keenest
sarcasm.
"What would you do, Capitola?" asked Clara, raising her tearful eyes to
the last speaker.
"Marry Mr. Craven Le Noir and thank him, too!" said Cap. Then, suddenly
changing her tone, she exclaimed:
"I wish--oh! how I wish it was only me in your place--that it was only
me they were trying to marry against my will!"
"What would you do?" asked Clara, earnestly.
"What would I do? Oh! wouldn't I make them know the difference between
their Sovereign Lady and Sam the Lackey? If I had been in your place
and that dastard Le Noir had said to me what he said to you, I do
believe I should have stricken him dead with the lightning of my eyes!
But what shall you do, my poor Clara?"
"Alas! alas! see here! this is my last resort!" replied the unhappy
girl, showing the little pen-knife.
"Put it away from you! put it away from you!" exclaimed Capitola
earnestly, "suicide is never, never, never justifiable! God is the Lord
of life and death! He is the only judge whether a mortal's sorrows are
to be relieved by death, and when He does not Himself release you, He
means that you shall live and endure! That proves that suicide is never
right, let the Roman pagans have said and done what they pleased. So no
more of that! There are enough other ways of escape for you!"
"Ah! what are they? You would give me life by teaching me how to
escape!" said Clara, fervently.
"The first and most obvious means that suggests itself to my mind,"
said Cap, "is to--run away!"
"Ah! that is impossible. The servants are warned; the doors are all
locked; I am watched!"
"Then the next plan is equally obvious. Consent to go with them to the
church, and when you get there, denounce them and claim the protection
of the clergyman!"
"Ah! dear girl, that is still more impracticable. The officiating
clergyman is their friend, and even if I could consent to act a
deceitful part, and should go to church as if to marry Craven and upon
getting there denounce him, instead of receiving the protection of the
clergyman I should be restored to the hands of my legal guardian and be
brought back here to meet a fate worse than death," said Clara, in a
tone of despair.
Capitola did not at once reply, but fell into deep thought, which
lasted many minutes. Then, speaking more gravely than she had spoken
before, she said:
"There is but one plan of escape left, your only remaining chance, and
that full of danger!"
"Oh, why should I fear danger? What evil can befall me so great as that
which now threatens me?" said Clara.
"This plan requires on your part great courage, self-control and
presence of mind."
"Teach me! teach me, dear Capitola. I will be an apt pupil!"
"I have thought it all out, and will tell you my plan. It is now eleven
o'clock in the forenoon, and the carriage is to come for you at six
this evening, I believe?"
"Yes! yes!"
"Then you have seven hours in which to save yourself! And this is my
plan: First, Clara, you must change clothes with me, giving me your
suit of mourning and putting on my riding habit, hat and veil! Then,
leaving me here in your place, you are to pull the veil down closely
over your face and walk right out of the house! No one will speak to
you, for they never do to me. When you have reached the park, spring
upon my horse and put whip to him for the village of Tip Top. My
servant, Wool, will ride after you, but not speak to you or approach
near enough to discover your identity--for he has been ordered by his
master to keep me in sight, and he has been forbidden by his mistress
to intrude upon her privacy. You will reach Tip Top by three o'clock,
when the Staunton stage passes through. You may then reveal yourself to
Wool, give my horse into his charge, get into the coach and start for
Staunton. Upon reaching that place, put yourself under the protection
of your friends, the two old physicians, and get them to prosecute your
guardian for cruelty and flagrant abuse of authority. Be cool, firm and
alert, and all will be well!"
Clara, who had listened to this little Napoleon in petticoats with
breathless interest, now clasped her hands in a wild ecstasy of joy and
exclaimed:
"I will try it! Oh, Capitola, I will try it! Heaven bless you for the
counsel!"
"Be quick, then; change your dress! provide yourself with a purse of
money, and I will give you particular directions how to make a short
cut for Tip Top. Ha, ha, ha! when they come for the bride she will be
already rolling on the turnpike between Tip Top and Staunton!"
"But you! Oh, you, my generous deliverer?"
"I shall dress myself in your clothes and stay here in your place to
keep you from being missed, so as to give you full time to make your
escape."
"But--you will place yourself in the enraged lion's jaws! You will
remain in the power of two men who know neither justice nor mercy! Who,
in their love or their hate, fear neither God nor man! Oh, Capitola!
how can I take an advantage of your generosity, and leave you here in
such extreme peril? Capitola, I cannot do it!"
"Well, then, I believe, you must be anxious to marry Craven Le Noir!"
"Oh, Capitola!"
"Well, if you are not, hurry and get ready; there is no time to be
lost!"
"But you! but you, my generous friend!"
"Never mind me. I shall be safe enough! I am not afraid of the Le
Noirs. Bless their wigs; I should like to see them make me blanch. On
the contrary, I desire above all things to be pitted against these two!
How I shall enjoy their disappointment and rage! Oh, it will be a rare
frolic!"
While Capitola was speaking she was also busily engaged doing. She went
softly to the door and turned the key in the lock, to prevent any one
from looking through the keyhole, murmuring as she did it:
"I wasn't brought up among the detective policemen for nothing!"
Then she began to take off her riding-habit. Quickly she dressed Clara,
superintending all the details of her disguise as carefully as though
she were the costumer of a new debutante. When Clara was dressed she
was so nearly of the same size and shape of Capitola that from behind
no one would have suspected her identity.
"There, Clara! tuck your light hair out of the way; pull your cap over
your eyes; gather your veil down close; draw up your figure; throw back
your head; walk with a little springy sway and swagger, as if you
didn't care a damson for anybody, and--there! I declare no one could
tell you from me!" exclaimed Capitola in delight, as she completed the
disguise and the instructions of Clara.
Then Capitola dressed herself in Clara's deep mourning robes. And then
the two girls sat down to compose themselves for a few minutes, while
Capitola gave new and particular directions for Clara's course and
conduct, so as to insure as far as human foresight could do it, the
safe termination of her perilous adventure. By the time they had ended
their talk the hall clock struck twelve.
"There! it is full time you should be off! Be calm, be cool, be firm,
and God bless you, Clara! Dear girl! if I were only a young man I would
deliver you by the strength of my own arms, without subjecting you to
inconvenience or danger!" said Cap, gallantly, as she led Clara to the
chamber door and carefully gathered her thick veil in close folds over
her face, so as entirely to conceal it.
"Oh, may the Lord in heaven bless and preserve and reward you, my
brave, my noble, my heroic Capitola!" said Clara, fervently, with the
tears rushing to her eyes.
"Bosh!" said Cap. "If you go doing the sentimental you won't look like
me a bit, and that will spoil all. There! keep your veil close, for
it's windy, you know; throw back your head and fling yourself along
with a swagger, as if you didn't care, ahem! for anybody, and--there
you are!" said Cap, pushing Clara out and shutting the door behind her.
Clara paused an instant to offer up one short, fervent prayer for her
success and Capitola's safety, and then following her instructions,
went on.
Nearly all girls are clever imitators, and Clara readily adopted
Capitola's light, springy, swaying walk, and met old Dorcas Knight in
the hall, without exciting the slightest suspicion of her identity.
"Humph!" said the woman; "so you are going! I advise you not to come
back again!"
Clara threw up her head with a swagger, and went on.
"Very well, you may scorn my words, but if you know your own good
you'll follow my advice!" said Dorcas Knight, harshly.
Clara flung up her head and passed out.
Before the door Wool was waiting with the horses. Keeping her face
closely muffled, Clara went to Capitola's pony. Wool came and helped
her into the saddle, saying:
"Yer does right, Miss Cap, to keep your face kivered; it's awful windy,
ain't it, though? I kin scarcely keep the har from blowing offen my
head."
With an impatient jerk after the manner of Capitola, Clara signified
that she did not wish to converse. Wool dropped obediently behind,
mounted his horse and followed at a respectful distance until Clara
turned her horse's head and took the bridle-path toward Tip Top. This
move filled poor Wool with dismay. Riding toward her, he exclaimed:
"'Deed, Miss Cap, yer mus' scuse me for speakin' now! Whar de muschief
is yer a-goin' to?"
For all answer Clara, feigning the temper of Capitola, suddenly wheeled
her horse, elevated her riding whip and galloped upon Wool in a
threatening manner.
Wool dodged and backed his horse with all possible expedition,
exclaiming in consternation:
"Dar! dar! Miss Cap, I won't go for to ax you any more questions--no--not
if yer rides straight to Old Nick or Black Donald!"
Whereupon, receiving this apology in good part, Clara again turned her
horse's head and rode on her way.
Wool followed, bemoaning the destiny that kept him between the two
fierce fires of his old master's despotism and his young mistress's
caprice, and muttering:
"I know old marse and dis young gal am goin' to be the death of me! I
knows it jes' as well as nuffin at all! I 'clare to man, if it ain't
nuf to make anybody go heave themselves right into a grist mill and be
ground up at once."
Wool spoke no more until they got to Tip Top, when Clara still closely
veiled, rode up to the stage office just as the coach, half filled with
passengers, was about to start. Springing from her horse, she went up
to Wool and said:
"Here, man, take this horse back to Hurricane Hall! Tell Major Warfield
that Miss Black remains at the Hidden House in imminent danger! Ask him
to ride there and bring her home! Tell Miss Black when you see her that
I reached Tip Top safe and in time to take the coach. Tell her I will
never cease to be grateful! And now, here is a half eagle for your
trouble! Good-by, and God bless you!" And she put the piece in his hand
and took her place in the coach, which immediately started.
As for Wool! From the time that Clara had thrown aside her veil and
began to speak to him he had stood staring and staring--his consternation
growing and growing--until it had seemed to have turned him into
stone--from which state of petrefaction he did not recover until he saw
the stage coach roll rapidly away, carrying off--whom?--Capitola, Clara
or the evil one?--Wool could not have told which! He presently
astounded the people about the stage office by leaving his horses and
taking to his heels after the stage coach, vociferating:
"Murder! murder! help! help! stop thief! stop thief! stop the coach!
stop the coach!"
"What is the matter, man?" said a constable, trying to head him.
But Wool incontinently ran over that officer, throwing him down and
keeping on his headlong course, hat off, coat-tail streaming and legs
and arms flying like the sails of a windmill, as he tried to overtake
the coach, crying:
"Help! murder! head the horses! Stop the coach! Old marse told me not
to lose sight of her! Oh, for hebben's sake, good people, stop the
coach!"
When he got to a gate, instead of taking time to open it, he rolled
himself somersault-like right over it! When he met man or woman,
instead of turning from his straight course, he knocked them over and
passed on, garments flying and legs and arms circulating with the
velocity of a wheel.
The people whom he had successively met and overthrown in his course,
picking themselves up and getting into the village, reported that there
was a furious madman broke loose, who attacked every one he met.
And soon every man and boy in the village who could mount a horse
started in pursuit. Only race horses would have beaten the speed with
which Wool ran, urged on by fear. It was nine miles on the turnpike
road from Tip Top that the horsemen overtook and surrounded Wool, who,
seeing himself hopelessly environed, fell down upon the ground and
rolled and kicked, swearing that he would not be taken alive to have
his eyelids cut off!
It was not until after a desperate resistance that he was finally
taken, bound, put in a wagon and carried back to the village, where he
was recognized as Major Warfield's man and a messenger was despatched
for his master.
And not until he had been repeatedly assured that no harm should befall
him did Wool gain composure enough to say, amid tears of cruel grief
and fear:
"Oh, marsers! my young missus, Miss Black, done been captured and
bewitched and turned into somebody else, right afore my own two looking
eyes and gone off in dat coach! 'deed she is! and ole marse kill me!
'deed he will, gemmen! He went and ordered me not to take my eyes offen
her, and no more I didn't! But what good that do, when she turned to
somebody else, and went off right afore my two looking eyes? But ole
marse won't listen to reason. He kill me, I know he will!" whimpered
Wool, refusing to be comforted.