A YOUNG HEROINE.
A lamp faint lit the cell,
Feebly upon her iron bed,
Feebly upon her drooping head,
Its sickly quiverings fell:
The silent watchers sat apart,
What passed in that poor bleeding heart
Their cold hearts naught could tell.—_Michell._
The first thing Malcolm Montrose did the next morning was to go over to
Allworth Abbey to fetch the small sky-terrier that had been Eudora’s
only pet.
He found the poor little creature rambling disconsolately about the
grounds, where the servants told him she always wandered, as if in
search of her lost mistress.
He took her with him in the chaise and drove to the prison.
He was admitted at once to the condemned cell, where he found Eudora
reclining upon the bed, from which she seldom now arose, for her
strength seemed hourly waning, and it was a question whether she could
survive till the day appointed for the execution, to undergo the
sentence of the law. She was attended by the stern-faced woman who
alternately, with Mrs. Barton, kept guard over the prisoner.
She arose upon her elbow to welcome Malcolm, but before she could speak,
Fidelle, with a quick bark of joy, had recognized her mistress, and
sprang from the arms of Malcolm to the bosom of Eudora, where she
nestled, trembling with delight.
The poor young prisoner smiled faintly as she put one hand caressingly
around her favorite, and held out the other to her visitor, saying:
“I thank you very much, dear Malcolm, for fetching her so soon. Poor
little thing, I’m glad _she_ does not know,” she added, tenderly
caressing her pet.
Ah, but Fidelle _did_ know—if not the nature and particulars of the
heavy misfortune—at least that something had gone wofully wrong with her
mistress, upon whose faded, wasted, hollow-eyed countenance she gazed
with the touching mute eloquence of a dog’s love and sympathy.
Malcolm seated himself beside Eudora, and watched her uneasily as she
lay dimly smiling and softly caressing her little dumb friend, and
apparently forgetting for the time being her own awful position. And as
he noticed her, his heart ached with the foreboding fear that her mind
as well as her body was giving way and sinking into imbecility under the
pressure of her heavy calamity.
He wished to test the truth of his suspicion by conversing with her upon
some subject more serious than that of her little dog, who seemed for
the present to engage all her attention; yet he hesitated to disturb the
transient peace that seemed to have descended upon her bruised spirit
like a blessing.
“I wonder if they would let me keep her? she could do no harm, you know,
poor little beast, and it would be almost a comfort to have something
here that loves me through the sleepless nights,” said Eudora, raising
her eyes with pleading inquiry to Malcolm’s face.
“I think they will, if you so much desire it. I think they will give you
every indulgence the rules do not absolutely forbid,” answered Malcolm.
“It is only a few days, so they might not mind, you know. Why, even the
cruel men of the French Revolution let Marie Antoinette keep her little
dog, though they took crown and kingdom, husband and children, and even
life away from her, and surely—”
“I will see to it, love; there can be no possible objection to granting
you so harmless an indulgence,” interrupted Montrose.
Malcolm’s order for admission comprised only one hour of each day. It
was supposed that longer or more frequent visits would only distract the
prisoner’s mind from the solemn duty of preparation for death, for which
so short a time had been granted her.
Punctually, therefore, at the end of the stipulated hour, the turnkey
unlocked the door of the cell, and informed Mr. Montrose that his time
was up.
Eudora held her little dog towards him, saying:
“You had better take her down and get permission before you venture to
leave her with me, Malcolm.”
Montrose silently received the little animal, but when Fidelle perceived
that she was to be carried off, she set up such a piteous howling and
struggling, that even the stern heart of the female warder, callous to
human suffering, was touched with compassion, and she said.
“I think as how you may venture to leave her, sir. You can ask the
governor about it when you go down stairs, and then, if so be objections
are made, it will be time enough to come and force her away.”
“Thank you; I think you are quite right,” said Malcolm, restoring the
little creature to her mistress. Then stooping, he pressed his lips to
the forehead of Eudora, promised to repeat his visit the next day at the
usual hour, took his leave, and left the cell.
In the hall below he met the governor and preferred his request. And Mr.
Anderson, really pleased with the opportunity of granting any indulgence
to the unhappy young prisoner not inconsistent with the duties of his
office, readily consented, and he himself went to the cell to assure
Eudora that she might keep her little four-footed friend as long as she
liked.
Malcolm Montrose left the prison wondering that he had not encountered
Annella Wilder there, or on the road. He felt extremely anxious again to
see and speak with that mad girl, who, he much feared, was rushing
headlong into some frantic enterprise which, without helping Eudora,
might ruin herself. He vainly looked out for her on his way back to
town, and vainly expected her during the remainder of the morning.
The whole day passed without his seeing or hearing anything of the
admiral’s grand-daughter.
The next morning, however, as he was sitting over an untasted breakfast,
impatiently waiting for the hour that he might visit Eudora, the door
was suddenly pushed open, and unannounced, Annella stood before him.
He positively started with dismay at her appearance.
She was dressed in black as on the previous days, and her face had
always been pale and wasted from the effects of the long continued slow
starvation of her childhood’s years. But now two crimson spots burned in
the hollows of her cheeks, and her eyes glowed like fire in their sunken
sockets. She seemed consuming with some hidden fever or restrained
frenzy.
Malcolm took her hand, and made her sit down in the easy-chair, while he
said:
“I did not see you at the prison yesterday. I hope that illness did not
keep you away?”
“It could not have done so. No; they would not admit me yesterday, and
they will not to-day. They say that so many visits disturb the
prisoner’s mind, and draw off her thoughts from the duty of preparing
for death. They say that from this time no one is to see her, except the
officers of justice, the ministers of the Gospel, and yourself, as her
nearest living relative!” answered Annella.
“They say—who say, my dear child?”
“Why, the sheriff and the gaoler, and even the chaplain, who stood my
friend at first, but who now says that my daily visits will do the
prisoner more harm than good.”
“This will interfere with your hopes of saving Eudora,” said Malcolm,
only with the view of drawing her out; “for, of course, if you are not
permitted to see her, you can do nothing for her?”
“Yes I can! besides, I shall see her once more. The sheriff promised
that, to get rid of me, I am to be allowed one parting interview with
her the day before she is to die—‘_To die!_’ as if he thought I was
going to let her die!” exclaimed Annella, feverishly, while the crimson
spots in her hollow cheeks burned more brightly, and the smoldering fire
in her sunken eyes flashed more fiercely.
“What are your plans, Annella?” inquired Malcolm, with as much calmness
as he could assume, secretly hoping that she might have forgotten her
former refusal to confide in him, and would now, as a matter of course,
inform him.
But Annella had a good memory and a firm will. She replied:
“I repeat that I will not tell you! I will not tell any one! I will act
alone! If my act be a felony, my person only shall pay for it! If it be
a sin, my soul only shall answer for it! If the plan fail—as it shall
not—I only will bear the blame! If it succeed—as it shall—you only shall
gain the honor!”
“The honor, from whom?”
“From Eudora, of course, for saving her life! from no one else, for none
but her, you, and myself shall ever know that she is saved! All else
shall believe that she has perished!”
“My dear, dear child, you talk wildly!” said Malcolm, uneasily.
“I do not, even when I reiterate that Eudora shall be saved, while all
the world, except us three, shall believe that she has perished!”
“Annella, you speak of impossibilities!”
“You will find before three days shall have passed over our heads, that
I have converted those impossibilities into certainties.”
Malcolm Montrose bowed his head upon his breast, and remained a few
moments in deep and anxious thought. Then looking up he said:
“I have been vainly taxing my brain to discover what your scheme may be;
but I cannot find it out; I cannot even imagine what it is.”
“No, I presume not,” replied Annella.
“You are not perhaps dreaming of such an impracticability as taking her
place and dying in her stead?” inquired Malcolm, dubiously.
Annella laughed a low, weird, unnatural laugh, as she replied:
“No, for that, indeed, would be impossible; though, could it be
otherwise, I would gladly attempt it, since it is so much easier to die
one’s self than to see a dear friend die! But such is not my plan, for
it would be, as you say, impracticable. I should be found out in an
hour. Besides, even to attempt such a plan would require the connivance
of her warders, which you know cannot be gained for love or money. No,
Mr. Montrose, what I do shall be accomplished without the assistance,
connivance, or even knowledge of any soul within or without the prison!
It shall be accomplished by myself singly!” said Annella, proudly.
Again Malcolm dropped his head upon his breast, and fell into profound
and troubled thought. At length he raised his head, and said, very
gravely:
“I have discovered your scheme, Annella; and I am glad that I have done
so in time to save you from attempting to put it into practice.”
Annella started violently, and gazed upon him anxiously.
“For the very attempt would be a crime.”
“Well, it would be _my_ crime, not yours. _I_ should have to answer for
it, not you! And if _I_ choose to peril my life, liberty, and honor
here, and my salvation hereafter, in the service of Eudora, it is not
_your_ hand or voice that should be lifted to hinder me!” exclaimed
Annella, indignantly, rising and pacing the floor. Presently she paused
before him, and sharply demanded:
“Why do you, of all men in the world, seek to hinder me from attempting
to save Eudora?”
“Because, dear girl, in the first place, the very attempt to save her by
such means would be, as I said before, a crime; and because in the
second place it would never succeed!”
“Why should it not succeed?” demanded Annella, abruptly.
“Because, dearest girl, the physician of the prison is a man of science,
skill, and experience, and he would detect the trick in a moment.”
“The physician of the prison?” inquired Annella, with a puzzled look.
“Yes; Dr. Nelson would understand and expose the _ruse_ in an instant.”
“But why should he more than others? May I die, if I know what you are
driving at!” exclaimed Annella, looking more and more perplexed.
“Why, at this fact, that Dr. Nelson would certainly be summoned; that
his knowledge of narcotics and their effects would enable him to
comprehend the case at the first glance, and so your scheme would fail.”
While he spoke Annella was watching him attentively. When he ceased, she
said:
“I am astonished at your perspicacity, Mr. Montrose; but tell me what
you suppose the plan to be which the medical attendant of the prison
will be so quick to detect?”
“Why, of course, when you assure me that Eudora Leaton shall be saved,
at the very time that all the world, except our three selves, shall
believe her to have perished, I can come but to one of two conclusions
in respect to your purposed course.”
“And what may those be?”
“The _first_ I have already mentioned; that perhaps you insanely propose
to take her place, in the mad hope that your person might possibly be
mistaken for hers and yourself permitted to suffer in her stead, so as
to deceive the world into the belief that she had perished, while in
reality she would be safe and free.”
“You know that I have denied and repudiated that course as impracticable
and even unthought of by me. But the _other_! What is the other
conclusion to which your wisdom has arrived in regard to my purposed
course?”
“Or else—” said Malcolm, hesitatingly.
“Or else?—Yes! What else? What is that _second_ conclusion—that other
scheme which is to be a crime, and which the physician of the gaol is to
detect and expose? I am anxious to know what you suppose that to be, if
you will tell me?” said Annella, mockingly.
Malcolm hesitated for a moment, and then said:
“You intend surreptitiously, to administer some powerful narcotic
sedative to Eudora, which shall plunge her into a sleep, trance, or
coma, so profound as to simulate death. And then, when she shall be
supposed dead, you propose to have her body claimed by me, as her
nearest relative, ostensibly for the purpose of Christian burial, but
really for that of being conveyed to some safe and secret place and
restored to consciousness. A very ingenious plan, Annella, which, if it
could be made to succeed, would certainly deliver our dearest one from
captivity and death, while it would, at the same time, mislead the
public into the belief that she had perished in prison. But, dear
Annella, for the reasons I advanced just now, it must not be attempted.
The very administration of such a drug would seriously endanger Eudora’s
life, and therefore constitute a crime. Besides, it could not succeed
for a moment. The physician who would be called would immediately
recognize the presence of the drug and apply antidotes. So the only
effect of your scheme, my poor Annella, would be to entail useless
suffering upon that sweet victim; therefore—”
He was interrupted and astonished by a peal of weird laughter from
Annella, who, as soon as she recovered herself, exclaimed:
“I do so much admire your perspicacity, Mr. Montrose, and also your
ingenuity in imagining such a plan! And I likewise perfectly agree with
you that it could never succeed, as the science and experience of the
prison doctor would detect and expose the fraud in an instant. But I
never even dreamed of such a _ruse_, Mr. Montrose. I know nothing
whatever of ‘narcotic sedatives’ or any other drugs, or their effects;
and even if I did, I would not for the world risk Eudora’s life by
administering them to her. And even if I were wicked enough to do so, I
should never have the opportunity afforded me, because of the sharp eyes
of those female turnkeys that are never removed from me while I am in
the cell. No, Mr. Montrose, you are very clever indeed, but you have not
discovered my plan. My scheme involves no such risk of life to Eudora,
nor of discovery by the physician! No; for if my scheme succeeds, as it
must, Eudora shall leave the prison in full possession of her life,
health, and faculties! Excuse my having laughed, but I could not help
it. I was so tickled by your positiveness, so delighted to find, after
all, that you had not detected my plot! And if _you_, with _your_
perspicacity, have not discovered it, who will?—why, no one!” exclaimed
Annella, triumphantly.
“Then, in the name of Heaven, since neither of my conjectures were
right, what is your most inexplicable scheme?” demanded Malcolm, in
amazement.
“I have already several times assured you that I shall not tell you; and
I mean to keep my word!” replied Annella, firmly.
“Let me consider for a moment,” said Malcolm reflectively. “You propose,
without the assistance, connivance, or even knowledge of any other
single soul within or without the prison, except our three selves, to
place Eudora Leaton, free and safe, outside the prison walls, while all
the world except ourselves shall believe her to have perished?”
“Yes, that is just exactly what I undertake to do!” said Annella,
exultingly.
“But why not confide to me the mode by which you propose to do all
this?” inquired Malcolm, gravely.
“Because I won’t!” said Annella, giving him the “woman’s reason” without
an instant’s hesitation.
“Miss Wilder,” began Malcolm, in a grave, sorrowful tone, “I greatly
fear that in your beautiful devotion to Eudora, your zeal in her behalf,
and your total inexperience of the world, you are about to rush into
some ruinous enterprise that may destroy yourself without saving that
poor, sweet girl.”
“Well?” inquired Annella, looking up anxiously and defiantly.
“Under these circumstances, I doubt whether it is not my duty to go to
the Anchorage, and advise your friends there to take better care of you
than they seem to be doing,” answered Montrose, gravely.
Annella jumped to her feet with a rebound that wrung like steel springs
on the floor, confronted him, and flashed-sheet-lightning from her eyes,
as she exclaimed:
“If you dare! If you _dare_, Mr. Montrose! I will do you some deadly
mischief! I will, as the Lord in Heaven hears me; for I am not good, I
tell you! I am bad! I have black blood in my veins, wherever I could
have got it!”
While Malcolm gazed in astonishment upon her, her mood suddenly changed.
The fire died out of her eyes, her arms dropped by her sides, and her
voice lowered, as she said:
“But—pshaw! I am a fool to threaten you; you would not mind what
mischief anyone might do you. But I will give you a reason for your
silence that you must mind—Eudora’s safety! Mr. Montrose, I was wrong to
boast so much to you of my own secret certainty of success, especially
as I refused to confide to you the grounds of that certainty.”
“Will you confide them to me now, Annella?” inquired Montrose, kindly.
“No! and a thousand times no! but still—”
“Still you expect me to believe in them?”
“Yes; and when you are inclined to doubt, because of the humble
instrument of this success, please to remember that a mouse once freed a
lion from a net, and a goose saved imperial Rome! and think that poor
Annella Wilder may not have boasted vainly when she promised to deliver
Eudora Leaton from death! And so, if you really do love Eudora, and
desire her deliverance, you will take no step to hinder my plans! Nay,
you must promise me to take none!”
“You ask much of me, Annella!”
“Not more than you will grant for Eudora’s sake.”
“But your plans are totally inexplicable; and your object, by your own
single act to set the prisoner free and safe outside the prison walls,
and make all the world believe that she has perished, seems quite
impossible of attainment.”
“I shall accomplish it.”
“It is a riddle to me.”
“Let it remain so for a few days longer. But I did not come here to
propound or expound riddles; I came to tell you that as they have
refused me admittance to Eudora until the evening before the appointed
execution, it will be well to make some little change in our
arrangements.”
“How?”
“Why, as I cannot get into the prison before Tuesday evening, of course
I cannot get Eudora out before that time.”
“And what then?”
“Why, then it will be perfectly useless for you to keep the fast horse
tied every night in the thicket, or lose your own rest by watching near
the prison. And it would not only be useless, but indiscreet, as it
might attract attention, and endanger the success of my plot.”
“Then what is it you wish of me?” inquired Malcolm, rather with the
design of acquiring some little knowledge of her plan than with any hope
of its success.
“Before I tell you what I wish, I want to know if you have already done
what you engaged to do?”
“You mean to ask—”
“If you have hired the vessel to take her away, when she is safe outside
the prison walls?”
“I have not yet.”
“You promised to do that! You dare not break your pledged word!”
exclaimed Annella, between alarm and defiance.
“I have no purpose to break faith with you, dear Annella. It can do no
manner of harm to hire the vessel you speak of; and it is my intention
to look out for one to-day. What next?”
“Why, after you have hired the vessel to hover near the coast, and
arranged to have the little boat always tied and floating at the beach,
then I advise you to keep as quiet and get as much rest as you can
between now and Tuesday night; for I assure you you will need all your
health, and strength, and nerve, and presence of mind for that occasion.
Then, on Tuesday night, about eleven o’clock, have your fast horse ready
in the thicket, and you yourself wait near the gate, and, as I said
before, when you find Eudora Leaton in your arms, never stop to ask a
question, or to look behind you, but fly as Lot fled from burning
Sodom!”
“Mystery of mysteries—all is mystery!” exclaimed Montrose, involuntarily
paraphrasing the Scripture proverb, as he gazed like one in a dream upon
the thin, flashing face of the excited girl.
“And now promise me that you will not go to the Anchorage to do what you
threatened, or even attempt to hinder me in any way.”
“I promise,” answered Malcolm, “though I do so in blind confidence.”
“Your faith shall be justified, if ever faith was.”
“I promise,” repeated Malcolm, like one under the influence of a spell.
“That will do; I know that you will keep your word; and now that I have
your pledge, I will tell you—”
“Your plan?”
“No! But why it is I cannot confide that plan to you, Mr.
Montrose;—because if I were to impart to you or to any other human being
the nature of my plan, it could never be accomplished, and Eudora would
be left to die.”
“But look at the clock! the hour of your daily visit to the prison is
approaching, and I will not detain you any longer. Give my love to
Eudora, and explain to her why I cannot come to her. Good-bye.
Remember!”
And so saying, Annella seized and dropped his hand, and vanished from
the room, leaving Montrose still under her spell.