THE CURSE OF AN ACCOMPLISHED VOW.
Now the fell curse which yours have nurst
Full on her spoiler’s head shall burst,
And all her wrong, and shame, and pain
Burn fiercely on his heart and brain.—_Whittier._
An hour later, as Orville Deville sat at tea, with his wife and their
two adopted children, in the private parlor of their apartments, there
was heard a sound of several footsteps, approaching along the passage
towards their room, accompanied by whisperings, and followed by a rap at
their door.
“See who is there, John,” said the master to the servant.
The man opened the door. Several persons were seen without, among whom
was a deputy sheriff, Mr. Murdock, who advanced into the room, but,
seeing ladies at the table, retreated a step, saying:
“Mr. Deville, I have business with you, which I would like to
communicate alone.”
Well could Orville Deville surmise the nature of that business. As he
arose from the table, a cold paleness overspread his face. Men can
confront instant death with more courage than they can stand face to
face with disgrace.
“Well?” he asked in a husky tone, as he met the officer of justice.
“It is a warrant, sir! I beg your pardon, a _very_ disagreeable affair!
Between ourselves, I think the poor lady is mad, though I should not
express an opinion,” said the officer, deprecatingly.
“When do we go?”
“Immediately, if you please, sir. The magistrate thought that at this
hour the examination would not be so likely to attract notice as at an
earlier one, and that it would be therefore less unpleasant to
yourself.”
“I am indebted to his consideration!” said Mr. Deville haughtily,
adding: “Do not alarm the children. Let me speak to my wife, and in a
moment I will be with you.”
The officer bowed and withdrew into the passage. Mr. Deville went back
to the table, where he saw Lady Adelaide, pale and still, but resolutely
controlling her emotions. He attempted no deception; indeed, it would
have been useless. He said:
“It is as I anticipated, Adelaide. But it is a bailable case. I shall
send for my friend, Colonel Bingham, and however the examination shall
terminate I shall be with you again to-night.”
“I shall spend the interval in prayer to Heaven,” murmured the lady.
Again he pressed her hand, and going to the door opened it, and
addressing the deputy, said:
“Now, sir, I am ready.”
And the party left the house together.
“Where has he gone, mamma?” inquired Perdita.
“He has accompanied those persons out, on very important business, my
dear,” returned Lady Adelaide, in that tone of reserve that warned her
hearers that they were to ask no more questions.
And rising from the table, Lady Adelaide retired to her closet, leaving
the young people to spend their evening together—the girl at her
embroidery frame—the boy reading aloud for her amusement.
Meanwhile, Orville Deville, in custody of the sheriff, arrived at the
house of the magistrate, a highly respectable, exceedingly grave old
citizen, whose staid propriety, accustomed though he was to criminal
cases, was shocked beyond measure by this shameful charge brought by the
most celebrated woman of the day, against one of the most distinguished
men of the time. From a solemn sense of propriety he had chosen the
shades of evening to cover the shame of this examination.
He was sitting in his office-chair, behind his office-table, attended by
his assistants.
Lionne, the accuser, was there, dressed in her usual color—black, and
closely vailed and seated at his right hand.
Mr. Deville stepped forward, raised his hat, and stood before the
Justice.
The magistrate acknowledged his presence with a nod, saying:
“I am sorry to see a gentleman of your high position before me, to
answer such a charge, sir.”
Mr. Deville bowed gravely, took the seat that was offered him, and
begged that the business might proceed.
I will not weary my reader with this examination. It is enough to say
that the accuser gave her testimony with a stern exactness and precision
of detail, that completely baffled all attempts to confuse or to
cross-question her. The evidence was considered sufficiently strong to
warrant the magistrate in holding the accused to bail for his appearance
at the next term of the court.
Colonel Bingham, summoned in haste by a messenger from Mr. Deville,
hastened to the scene of action, where, astounded by the seeming
monstrous charge brought against his friend, he at once became his
surety. The two gentlemen then together left the magistrate’s office. On
their way to the hotel Mr. Deville gave his shocked companion a candid
history of that youthful folly which had now resulted in such bitter
misery.
Compassionating while blaming his friend, Colonel Bingham promised to do
all in his power to bring the wretched business to a successful issue.
They parted at the hotel door. Mr. Deville hastened up to his
apartments, where, in the parlor, he found his adopted son and daughter
innocently amusing themselves. Passing quickly through the room, he
entered the inner room, where his Christian wife had passed the time of
his absence in literally watching and praying. He told her the result of
the trial.
“It is not yet too late! I will go to that woman! I will speak to her
again! I made some impression upon her while she was here this
afternoon! I will try and prevail on her to withdraw the prosecution!”
said Lady Adelaide, hopefully.
“Too late, dear love!—too late! She cannot withdraw; even she cannot
pause in the vengeful work she has begun!”
“Ah, heaven! how is that?”
“It is easy to set a city on fire, but very hard to extinguish the
conflagration. The _documents_ are in the hands of justice. She, also,
is bound to appear against me.”
“Then our only hope is in the forgiving and protecting mercy of God!”