CAP CAPTIVATES A CRAVEN.
"He knew himself a villain, but he deemed
The rest no better than the thing he seemed;
And scorned the best as hypocrites who hid
Those deeds the bolder spirits plainly did.
He knew himself detested, but he knew
The hearts that loathed him crouched and--dreaded, too."
The unregenerate human heart is, perhaps, the most inconsistent thing
in all nature; and in nothing is it more capricious than in the
manifestations of its passions; and in no passion is it so fantastic as
in that which it miscalls love, but which is really often only
appetite.
From the earliest days of manhood Craven Le Noir had been the votary of
vice, which he called pleasure. Before reaching the age of twenty-five
he had run the full course of dissipation, and found himself ruined in
health, degraded in character and disgusted with life.
Yet in all this experience his heart had not been once agitated with a
single emotion that deserved the name of passion. It was colder than
the coldest.
He had not loved Clara, though, for the sake of her money, he had
courted her so assiduously. Indeed, for the doctor's orphan girl he had
from the first conceived a strong antipathy. His evil spirit had shrunk
from her pure soul with the loathing a fiend might feel for an angel.
He had found it repugnant and difficult, almost to the extent of
impossibility, for him to pursue the courtship to which he was only
reconciled by a sense of duty to--his pocket.
It was reserved for his meeting with Capitola at the altar of the
Forest Chapel to fire his clammy heart, stagnant blood and sated senses
with the very first passion that he had ever known. Her image, as she
stood there at the altar with flashing eyes and flaming cheeks and
scathing tongue defying him, was ever before his mind's eye. There was
something about that girl so spirited, so piquant and original that she
impressed even his apathetic nature as no other woman had ever been
able to do. But what most of all attracted him to Capitola was her
diablerie. He longed to catch that little savage to his bosom and have
her at his mercy. The aversion she had exhibited toward him only
stimulated his passion.
Craven Le Noir, among his other graces, was gifted with inordinate
vanity. He did not in the least degree despair of over-coming all
Capitola's dislike to his person and inspiring her with a passion equal
to his own.
He knew well that he dared not present himself at Hurricane Hall, but
he resolved to waylay her in her rides and there to press his suit. To
this he was urged by another motive almost as strong as love--namely,
avarice.
He had gathered thus much from his father, that Capitola Black was
supposed to be Capitola Le Noir, the rightful heiress of all that vast
property in land, houses, iron and coal mines, foundries and furnaces,
railway shares, etc., and bank stocks, from which his father drew the
princely revenue that supported them both in their lavish extravagance
of living.
As the heiress--or, rather, the rightful owner--of all this vast
fortune, Capitola was a much greater "catch" than poor Clara, with her
modest estate, had been. And Mr. Craven Le Noir was quite willing to
turn the tables on his father by running off with the great heiress,
and step from his irksome position of dependent upon Colonel Le Noir's
often ungracious bounty to that of the husband of the heiress and the
master of the property. Added to that was another favorable
circumstance--namely, whereas he had had a strong personal antipathy to
Clara he had as strong an attraction to Capitola, which would make his
course of courtship all the pleasanter.
In one word, he resolved to woo, win and elope with, or forcibly
abduct, Capitola Le Noir, marry her and then turn upon his father and
claim the fortune in right of his wife. The absence of Colonel Le Noir
in Mexico favored his projects, as he could not fear interruption.
Meanwhile our little madcap remained quite unconscious of the honors
designed her. She had cried every day of the first week of Herbert's
absence; every alternate day of the second; twice in the third; once in
the fourth; not at all in the fifth, and the sixth week she was quite
herself again, as full of fun and frolic and as ready for any mischief
or deviltry that might turn up.
She resumed her rides, no longer followed by Wool, because Old
Hurricane, partly upon account of his misadventure in having had the
misfortune inadvertently "to lose sight of" his mistress upon that
memorable occasion of the metamorphosis of Cap into Clara and partly
because of the distant absence of Le Noir, did not consider his
favorite in danger.
He little knew that a subtle and unscrupulous agent had been left sworn
to her destruction, and that another individual, almost equally
dangerous, had registered a secret vow to run off with her.
Neither did poor Cap when, rejoicing to be free from the dogging
attendance of Wool, imagine the perils to which she was exposed; nor is
it even likely that if she had she would have cared for them in any
other manner than as promising piquant adventures. From childhood she
had been inured to danger, and had never suffered harm; therefore, Cap,
like the Chevalier Bayard, was "without fear and without reproach."
Craven Le Noir proceeded cautiously with his plans, knowing that there
was time enough and that all might be lost by haste. He did not wish to
alarm Capitola.
The first time he took occasion to meet her in her rides he merely
bowed deeply, even to the flaps of his saddle and, with a melancholy
smile, passed on.
"Miserable wretch! He is a mean fellow to want to marry a girl against
her will, no matter how much he might have been in love with her, and I
am very glad I balked him. Still, he looks so ill and unhappy that I
can't help pitying him," said Cap, looking compassionately at his white
cheeks and languishing eyes, and little knowing that the illness was
the effect of dissipation and that the melancholy was assumed for the
occasion.
A few days after this Cap again met Craven Le Noir, who again, with a
deep bow and sad smile, passed her.
"Poor fellow! he richly deserves to suffer, and I hope it may make him
better, for I am right-down sorry for him; it must be so dreadful to
lose one we love; but it was too base in him to let his father try to
compel her to have him. Suppose, now, Herbert Greyson was to take a
fancy to another girl, would I let uncle go to him and put a pistol to
his head and say, 'Cap is fond of you, you varlet! and demmy, sir, you
shall marry none but her, or receive an ounce of lead in your stupid
brains'? No, I'd scorn it; I'd forward the other wedding; I'd make the
cake and dress the bride and--then maybe I'd break--no, I'm blamed if I
would! I'd not break my heart for anybody. Set them up with it, indeed!
Neither would my dear, darling, sweet, precious Herbert treat me so,
and I'm a wretch to think of it!" said Cap, with a rich, inimitable
unction as, rejoicing in her own happy love, she cheered Gyp and rode
on.
Now, Craven Le Noir had been conscious of the relenting and
compassionate looks of Capitola, but he did not know that they were
only the pitying regards of a noble and victorious nature over a
vanquished and suffering wrong-doer. However, he still determined to be
cautious, and not ruin his prospects by precipitate action, but to
"hasten slowly."
So the next time he met Capitola he raised his eyes with one deep, sad,
appealing gaze to hers, and then, bowing profoundly, passed on.
"Poor man," said Cap to herself, "he bears no malice toward me for
depriving him of his sweetheart; that's certain. And, badly as he
behaved, I suppose it was all for love, for I don't know how any one
could live in the same house with Clara and not be in love with her. I
should have been so myself if I'd been a man, I know!"
The next time Cap met Craven and saw again that deep, sorrowful,
appealing gaze as he bowed and passed her, she glanced after him,
saying to herself:
"Poor soul, I wonder what he means by looking at me in that piteous
manner? I can do nothing to relieve him. I'm sure if I could I would.
But 'the way of the transgressor is hard,' Mr. Le Noir, and he who sins
must suffer."
For about three weeks their seemingly accidental meetings continued in
this silent manner, so slowly did Craven make his advances. Then,
feeling more confidence, he made a considerably long step forward.
One day, when he guessed that Capitola would be out, instead of meeting
her as heretofore, he put himself in her road and, riding slowly toward
a five-barred gate, allowed her to overtake him.
He opened the gate and, bowing, held it open until she had passed.
She bowed her thanks and rode on; but presently, without the least
appearance of intruding, since she had overtaken him, he was at her
side and, speaking with downcast eyes and deferential manner, he said:
"I have long desired an opportunity to express the deep sorrow and
mortification I feel for having been hurried into rudeness toward an
estimable young lady at the Forest Chapel. Miss Black, will you permit
me now to assure you of my profound repentance of that act and to
implore your pardon?"
"Oh, I have nothing against you, Mr. Le Noir. It was not I whom you
were intending to marry against my will; and as for what you said and
did to me, ha! ha! I had provoked it, you know, and I also afterwards
paid it in kind. It was a fair fight, in which I was the victor, and
victors should never be vindictive," said Cap, laughing, for, though
knowing him to have been violent and unjust, she did not suspect him of
being treacherous and deceitful, or imagine the base designs concealed
beneath his plausible manner. Her brave, honest nature could understand
a brute or a despot, but not a traitor.
"Then, like frank enemies who have fought their fight out, yet bear no
malice toward each other, we may shake hands and be friends, I hope,"
said Craven, replying in the same spirit in which she had spoken.
"Well, I don't know about that, Mr. Le Noir. Friendship is a very
sacred thing, and its name should not be lightly taken on our tongues.
I hope you will excuse me if I decline your proffer," said Cap, who had
a well of deep, true, earnest feeling beneath her effervescent surface.
"What! you will not even grant a repentant man your friendship, Miss
Black?" asked Craven, with a sorrowful smile.
"I wish you well, Mr. Le Noir. I wish you a good and, therefore, a
happy life; but I cannot give you friendship, for that means a great
deal."
"Oh, I see how it is! You cannot give your friendship where you cannot
give your esteem. Is it not so?"
"Yes," said Capitola; "that is it; yet I wish you so well that I wish
you might grow worthy of higher esteem than mine."
"You are thinking of my--yes, I will not shrink from characterizing
that conduct as it deserves--my unpardonable violence toward Clara.
Miss Black, I have mourned that sin from the day that I was hurried
into it until this. I have bewailed it from the very bottom of my
heart," said Craven, earnestly, fixing his eyes with an expression of
perfect truthfulness upon those of Capitola.
"I am glad to hear you say so," said Cap.
"Miss Black, please hear this in palliation--I would not presume to say
in defense--of my conduct: I was driven to frenzy by a passion of
contending love and jealousy as violent and maddening as it was unreal
and transient. But that delusive passion has subsided, and among the
unmerited mercies for which I have to be thankful is that, in my
frantic pursuit of Clara Day, I was not cursed with success! For all
the violence into which that frenzy hurried me I have deeply repented.
I can never forgive myself, but--cannot you forgive me?"
"Mr. Le Noir, I have nothing for which to forgive you. I am glad that
you have repented toward Clara and I wish you well, and that is really
all that I can say."
"I have deserved this and I accept it," said Craven, in a tone so
mournful that Capitola, in spite of all her instincts, could not choose
but pity him.
He rode on, with his pale face, downcast eyes and melancholy
expression, until they reached a point at the back of Hurricane Hall,
where their paths diverged.
Here Craven, lifting his hat and bowing profoundly, said, in a sad
tone:
"Good evening, Miss Black," and, turning his horse's head, took the
path leading down into the Hidden Hollow.
"Poor young fellow! he must be very unhappy down in that miserable
place; but I can't help it. I wish he would go to Mexico with the
rest," said Cap, as she pursued her way homeward.
Not to excite her suspicion, Craven Le Noir avoided meeting Capitola
for a few days, and then threw himself in her road and, as before,
allowed her to overtake him.
Very subtly he entered into conversation with her, and, guarding every
word and look, took care to interest without alarming her. He said no
more of friendship, but a great deal of regret for wasted years and
wasted talents in the past and good resolutions for the future.
And Cap listened good humoredly. Capitola, being of a brave, hard, firm
nature, had not the sensitive perceptions, fine intuitions and true
insight into character that distinguished the more refined nature of
Clara Day--or, at least, she had not these delicate faculties in the
same perfection. Thus, her undefined suspicions of Craven's sincerity
were overborne by a sort of noble benevolence which determined her to
think the best of him which circumstances would permit.
Craven, on his part, having had more experience, was much wiser in the
pursuit of his object. He also had the advantage of being in earnest.
His passion for Capitola was sincere, and not, as it had been in the
case of Clara, simulated. He believed, therefore, that, when the time
should be ripe for the declaration of his love, he would have a much
better prospect of success, especially as Capitola, in her ignorance of
her own great fortune, must consider his proposal the very climax of
disinterestedness.
After three more weeks of riding and conversing with Capitola he had,
in his own estimation, advanced so far in her good opinion as to make
it perfectly safe to risk a declaration. And this he determined to do
upon the very first opportunity.
Chance favored him.
One afternoon Capitola, riding through the pleasant woods skirting the
back of the mountain range that sheltered Hurricane Hall, got a fall,
for which she was afterwards inclined to cuff Wool.
It happened in this way: She had come to a steep rise in the road and
urged her pony into a hard gallop, intending as she said to herself, to
"storm the height," when suddenly, under the violent strain, the girth,
ill-fastened, flew apart and Miss Cap was on the ground, buried under
the fallen saddle.
With many a blessing upon the carelessness of grooms, Cap picked
herself up, put the saddle on the horse, and was engaged in drawing
under the girth when Craven Le Noir rode up, sprang from his horse and,
with anxiety depicted on his countenance, ran to the spot inquiring:
"What is the matter? No serious accident, I hope and trust, Miss
Black?"
"No; those wretches in uncle's stables did not half buckle the girth,
and, as I was going in a hard gallop up the steep, it flew apart and
gave me a tumble; that's all," said Cap, desisting a moment from her
occupation to take breath.
"You were not hurt?" inquired Craven, with deep interest in his tone.
"Oh, no; there is no harm done, except to my riding skirt, which has
been torn and muddied by the fall," said Cap, laughing and resuming her
efforts to tighten the girth.
"Pray permit me," said Craven, gently taking the end of the strap from
her hand; "this is no work for a lady, and, besides, is beyond your
strength."
Capitola, thanking him, withdrew to the side of the road, and, seating
herself upon the trunk of a fallen tree, began to brush the dirt from
her habit.
Craven adjusted and secured the saddle with great care, patted and
soothed the pony and then, approaching Capitola in the most deferential
manner, stood before her and said:
"Miss Black, you will pardon me, I hope, if I tell you that the peril
I had imagined you to be in has so agitated my mind as to make it
impossible for me longer to withhold a declaration of my sentiments----"
Here his voice, that had trembled throughout this disclosure, now
really and utterly failed him.
Capitola looked up with surprise and interest; she had never in her
life before heard an explicit declaration of love from anybody. She and
Herbert somehow had always understood each other very well, without
ever a word of technical love-making passing between them; so Capitola
did not exactly know what was coming next.
Craven recovered his voice, and encouraged by the favorable manner in
which she appeared to listen to him, actually threw himself at her feet
and, seizing one of her hands, with much ardor and earnestness and much
more eloquence than any one would have credited him with, poured forth
the history of his passion and his hopes.
"Well, I declare!" said Cap, when he had finished his speech and was
waiting in breathless impatience for her answer; "this is what is
called a declaration of love and a proposal of marriage, is it? It is
downright sentimental, I suppose, if I had only sense enough to
appreciate it! It is as good as a play; pity it is lost upon me!"
"Cruel girl! how you mock me!" cried Craven, rising from his knees and
sitting beside her.
"No, I don't; I'm in solemn earnest. I say it is first rate. Do it
again; I like it!"
"Sarcastic and merciless one, you glory in the pain you give! But if
you wish again to hear me say I love you, I will say it a dozen--yes, a
hundred--times over if you will only admit that you could love me a
little in return."
"Don't; that would be tiresome; two or three times is quite enough.
Besides, what earthly good could my saying 'I love you' do?"
"It might persuade you to become the wife of one who will adore you to
the last hour of his life."
"Meaning you?"
"Meaning me; the most devoted of your admirers."
"That isn't saying much, since I haven't got any but you."
"Thank fortune for it! Then I am to understand, charming Capitola, that
at least your hand and your affections are free," cried Craven,
joyfully.
"Well, now, I don't know about that! Really, I can't positively say;
but it strikes me, if I were to get married to anybody else, there's
somebody would feel queerish!"
"No doubt there are many whose secret hopes would be blasted, for so
charming a girl could not have passed through this world without having
won many hearts who would keenly feel the loss of hope in her marriage.
But what if they do, my enchanting Capitola? You are not responsible
for any one having formed such hopes."
"Fudge!" said Cap, "I'm no belle; never was; never can be; have neither
wealth, beauty nor coquetry enough to make me one. I have no lovers nor
admirers to break their hearts about me, one way or another; but there
is one honest fellow--hem! never mind; I feel as if I belonged to
somebody else; that's all. I am very much obliged to you, Mr. Le Noir,
for your preference, and even for the beautiful way in which you have
expressed it, but--I belong to somebody else."
"Miss Black," said Craven, somewhat abashed but not discouraged. "I
think I understand you. I presume that you refer to the young man who
was your gallant champion in the Forest Chapel."
"The one that made your nose bleed," said the incorrigible Cap.
"Well, Miss Black, from your words it appears that this is by no means
an acknowledged but only an understood engagement, which cannot be
binding upon either party. Now, a young lady of your acknowledged good
sense----"
"I never had any more good sense than I have had admirers," interrupted
Cap.
Craven smiled.
"I would not hear your enemy say that," he replied; then, resuming his
argument, he said:
"You will readily understand, Miss Black, that the vague engagement of
which you speak, where there is want of fortune on both sides, is no
more prudent than it is binding. On the contrary, the position which it
is my pride to offer you is considered an enviable one; even apart from
the devoted love that goes with it. You are aware that I am the sole
heir of the Hidden House estate, which, with all its dependencies, is
considered the largest property, as my wife would be the most important
lady, in the county."
Cap's lip curled a little; looking askance at him she answered:
"I am really very much obliged to you Mr. Le Noir, for the
distinguished honor that you designed for me. I should highly
appreciate the magnanimity of a young gentleman, the heir of the
wealthiest estate in the neighborhood who deigns to propose marriage to
the little beggar that I acknowledge myself to be. I regret to be
obliged to refuse such dignities, but--I belong to another," said
Capitola, rising and advancing toward her horse.
Craven would not risk his success by pushing his suit further at this
sitting.
Very respectfully lending his assistance to put Capitola into her
saddle, he said he hoped at some future and more propitious time to
resume the subject. And then, with a deep bow, he left her, mounted his
horse and rode on his way.
He did not believe that Capitola was more than half in earnest, or that
any girl in Capitola's circumstances would do such a mad thing as to
refuse the position he offered her.
He did not throw himself in her way often enough to excite her
suspicion that their meetings were preconcerted on his part, and even
when he did overtake her or suffer her to overtake him, he avoided
giving her offense by pressing his suit until another good opportunity
should offer. This was not long in coming.
One afternoon he overtook her and rode by her side for a short distance
when, finding her in unusually good spirits and temper, he again
renewed his declaration of love and offer of marriage.
Cap turned around in her saddle and looked at him with astonishment for
a full minute before she exclaimed:
"Why, Mr. Le Noir, I gave you an answer more than a week ago. Didn't I
tell you 'No'? What on earth do you mean by repeating the question?"
"I mean, bewitching Capitola, not to let such a treasure slip out of my
grasp if I can help it."
"I never was in your grasp, that I know of," said Cap, whipping up her
horse and leaving him far behind.
Days passed before Craven thought it prudent again to renew and press
his suit. He did so upon a fine September morning, when he overtook her
riding along the banks of the river. He joined her and in the most
deprecating manner besought her to listen to him once more. Then he
commenced in a strain of the most impassioned eloquence and urged his
love and his proposal.
Capitola stopped her horse, wheeled around and faced him, looking him
full in the eyes while she said:
"Upon my word, Mr. Le Noir, you remind me of an anecdote told of young
Sheridan. When his father advised him to take a wife and settle, he
replied by asking whose wife he should take. Will nobody serve your
purpose but somebody else's sweetheart? I have told you that I belong
to a brave young soldier who is fighting his country's battles in a
foreign land, while you are lazing here at home, trying to undermine
him. I am ashamed of you, sir, and ashamed of myself for talking with
you so many times! Never do you presume to accost me on the highway or
anywhere else again! Craven by name and Craven by nature, you have once
already felt the weight of Herbert's arm! Do not provoke its second
descent upon you! You are warned!" and with that Capitola, with her
lips curled, her eyes flashing and her cheeks burning, put whip to her
pony and galloped away.
Craven Le Noir's thin, white face grew perfectly livid with passion.
"I will have her yet! I have sworn it, and by fair means or by foul I
will have her yet!" he exclaimed, as he relaxed his hold upon his
bridle and let his horse go on slowly, while he sat with his brows
gathered over his thin nose, his long chin buried in his neckcloth and
his nails between his teeth, gnawing like a wild beast, as was his
custom when deeply cogitating.
Presently he conceived a plan so diabolical that none but Satan himself
could have inspired it! This was to take advantage of his acquaintance
and casual meetings with Capitola so to malign her character as to make
it unlikely that any honest man would risk his honor by taking her to
wife; that thus the way might be left clear for himself; and he
resolved, if possible, to effect this in such a manner--namely, by
jests, innuendos and sneers--that it should never be directly traced to
a positive assertion on his part. And in the mean time he determined to
so govern himself in his deportment toward Capitola as to arouse no
suspicion, give no offense and, if possible, win back her confidence.
It is true that even Craven Le Noir, base as he was, shrank from the
idea of smirching the reputation of the woman whom he wished to make a
wife; but then he said to himself that in that remote neighborhood the
scandal would be of little consequence to him, who, as soon as he
should be married, would claim the estate of the Hidden House in right
of his wife, put it in charge of an overseer and then, with his bride,
start for Paris, the paradise of the epicurean, where he designed to
fix their principal residence.
Craven Le Noir was so pleased with his plan that he immediately set
about putting it in execution. Our next chapter will show how he
succeeded.