As I was sitting in my library, late one evening, rather more than a
month after the events recorded in the last chapter, a hasty ring came
at the street door.
'Who can be calling so late?' said Kate. 'Had _you_ not better go?'
Drawing on my boots, I went to the door. As I opened it, my hand was
suddenly seized, and a familiar voice exclaimed:
'What about Selly? How is she?'
'Lord bless you, Frank! is this you? How did you get here?'
'How is Selma! Tell me!'
'Safe and well--in Mobile with Joe.'
'Thank GOD! thank GOD for _that!_'
'How did you get here?'
'By the Africa; she's below. I managed to get up by a small boat. I
_couldn't_ wait.'
'Well, go up stairs. Your mother is in the library.'
After the first greeting had passed between Kate and the newcomer, he
plied me with questions in regard to Selma, I told him all, keeping
nothing back. Meanwhile, he walked the room, struggling with contending
emotions--now joy, now rage, now grief. He said nothing till I mentioned
Hallet's connection with the affair; then he spoke, and his words came
like the rushing of the tornado when it mows down the trees.
'That is the _one_ thing too much. I have held back till now. Now he
_dies_!'
'Don't say that, my son!' exclaimed Kate. 'Leave him to his conscience,
and to GOD. 'Vengeance is mine, I will repay, saith the
LORD!''
'Vengeance is MINE! Don't talk to me mother! I want no sermons
now!'
She looked at him sadly through her tears, and said:
'Have I deserved this of _you_, Frank?'
'Forgive me! forgive me, my mother!' and he buried his face in her
dress, and wept--wept as he never did when a child.
A half hour passed, and no one spoke. Then he rose, and said to me:
'When did you hear from her last?'
'_I_ had a letter yesterday; here it is,' said Kate. 'You see, she is
expecting you.'
He took it, and read it over slowly. All trace of his recent emotion had
gone, and on his face was an expression I had never seen there before.
For the first time I noticed his resemblance to his father!
'When will you go!' continued Kate.
'I don't know. I cannot _now_.'
'Why not _now_? What is there to prevent?'
'I must go home first. I must see Cragin.'
'Cragin does not expect you for a fortnight,' I said; 'you can be back
by that time.'
'But I _cannot_ go now!' and again he rose, and walked the room. 'I'm
not ready yet. My mind isn't made up.' After a pause, he added: 'Would
you have me marry a slave--a woman of negro blood?'
'I would have you do as your feelings and your conscience dictate.'
'You cannot love her, if you ask that question,' said Kate, kindly, but
sorrowfully.
'I _do_ love her. I love her better than man ever loved woman; but can I
make her my _wife_? A negro wife! negro children!--ha! ha!' and he
clasped his hands above his head, and laughed that bitter, hollow laugh,
which is the sure echo of fearful misery within.
'I cannot advise you, my son. You must act, _now_, on your own judgment.
I will only say, that through it all--when put at slave work--when bound
to the whipping stake--when she stood on the auction block for two long
hours--she was sustained _only_ by trust in _you_. It is true--she told
me so; and if you forsake her now, it will'----
'Kill her! I know it! I know it, O my GOD! my GOD!'
and he groaned in agony--such agony as I never before saw rend the
spirit of mortal man.
* * * * *
The next morning he started for Mobile. Ten days afterward, the
following telegram was handed me:
'Selma is dead. Frank is here, raving crazy. Come on at once.
JOSEPH PRESTON.'
* * * * *
That night I was on my way, and that day week I reached Mobile. The
first person I met, as I entered Joe's warehouse, was Larkin.
'Where is Joe?'
'Ter th' plantation. He's lookin' fur ye. I'll tote ye thar ter onst.'
In half an hour we were on the road. We arrived just before dark, and
at once I entered the mansion. Joe's hand was in mine in a moment.
'What caused this terrible thing?' I asked, hastily, eagerly.
'I don't know. When he arrived, Frank was low-spirited and moody, but
very glad to see me. I brought him up here at once. He seemed overjoyed
at meeting Selma, and would not let her go out of his sight for a
moment. Still he appeared excited and uneasy, till I met him at the
supper table. Then he was more like himself. I went with them into the
parlor, and there conversed with Frank on business matters for fully two
hours. We planned some shipments to Europe, and talked over sending
Larkin to Texas to buy cattle for the New Orleans market. We agreed on
it. I was to provide means, by keeping ninety-day drafts afloat on them
(I'm short, just now, having paid out so much for the negroes), and they
and I were to divide the profits with Larkin. Frank's head was as clear
as a bell. I had no idea he was so good a business man. Well, about
eight o'clock I left them together, and, a little after nine, went to
bed. Selma's room is next to mine, and it couldn't have been later than
eleven when I heard her go to it.
'The next morning she didn't come down as usual. I had a servant call
her. She made no reply; but I thought nothing of it, till half an hour
afterward. Then I went up myself. I rapped repeatedly, but got no
answer. Becoming alarmed, I sent a servant for an axe. Frank brought it
up, and I battered down the door, and found her lying on the bed,
dressed as usual, a half-empty bottle of laudanum beside
her--DEAD!'
'My GOD! And Frank made her do it!'
'Don't say that. If he _did_, he is fearfully punished; he has suffered
terribly.'
'Where is he?'
'In the front room. He has raved incessantly. At first four men couldn't
hold him. Somehow, he got a knife, and cut himself badly. I got it away,
but he threw me in the struggle, and nearly throttled me. He's calmer
now, and I've had him untied; but old Joe has to stay with him night and
day. Nobody else can manage him.'
We went into the room. Frank sat in one corner, pale, haggard, only the
shadow of what he was but ten days before. His head was leaning against
the wall, and he was gazing out of the window.
As I entered, 'Boss Joe' came forward and greeted me, but neither of us
spoke. Approaching Frank, I laid my hand on his shoulder.
'My boy, I have come for you.'
He rose, and looked at me, a wild glare in his eyes.
'Well, it's high time; I've waited long enough. I'm ready. I don't deny
it--I killed her. Make short work of it. I'd have saved you the trouble,
but this infernal nigger told me I'd go to hell if I did it; and I know
_she_ isn't there. I want to see her again! I want her to forgive me--to
forgive me! Oh! oh!' and he sank into his chair, and moaned piteously.
'He tinks you'm de sheriff, massa Kirke,' whispered Joe.
I leaned over him. The tears started from my eyes, and fell on his face,
as I said:
'You _will_ see her again. She does pity and forgive you.'
He sprang from his seat, and clutched my hands. 'Do you believe it? Joe
says so; but Joe is a nigger, and what does a _nigger_ know?' Then,
putting his mouth close to my ear, he added: 'They told me _she_ was
one. It was false--false as hell; but'--and he threw his arms above his
head, and groaned the rest--'but it made me say it. O my GOD!
my GOD! it made me say it!' His head sank on my shoulder, and
again he gave out those piteous moans.
'Have comfort, my boy. I know she loves and pities you, _now_!'
He looked up. 'Say that again! For the love of God say that again!'
'It is so! As sure as there's another life, it is so!'
He gazed at me fixedly for a few moments--then again commenced pacing
the room.
'I wish I could believe it. But _you_ ought to know; you look like a
parson. You are a parson, aren't you?'
'Yes; I'm a parson. I _know_ it is so!'
'Well, tell them to hurry up. I want to go to her at once--_now_! I
can't live another week in this way. Tell them to hurry up.'
'Yes, I will; and you'll go with me to-morrow, won't you?'
He gave me again, a long, scrutinizing look. 'You're the sheriff, aren't
you?'
'Yes.'
'Well, then, I'll go with you. But you must promise to make short work
of it.'
'Yes, yes; I'll promise that. But lie down now, and be quiet. I'll be
ready for you in the morning.'
'Well, well, I'll try to be patient;' and he threw himself on the small
cot in one corner of the room. 'But you'll let old Joe stay with me,
won't you?'
'Yes; certainly.'
'Thank you, sir. Joe, bring me a cigar--that's a good fellow. You're the
decentest nigger I ever knew. It's an awful pity you're black. They told
me _she_ was black. 'Twas an infernal lie! I know it, for I saw her last
night, and she was whiter than any woman you ever saw. Black! Pshaw!
nobody but the devil's black; and _she_--she's an angel NOW!'
As we passed out of the room, Joe said to me:
'Would you like to see Selma?'
'Have you kept the body?'
'Yes; I knew you would want to see her.'
He led the way up stairs to her chamber. In a plain, air-tight coffin,
lay all that was left of the slave girl. Her hands were crossed on her
bosom; her long, glossy, brown hair fell over her neck, and on her face
was the look the angels wear. She seemed not dead, but sleeping!
As I turned away, Joe took my hand, and, while a nervous spasm passed
over his face, he said:
'She was all that I had; but I--I forgive him!'
'And for that, GOD will forgive _you_!'
The next day we buried her.
* * * * *
'Boss Joe' accompanied us to the North. We reached home just after dark.
When we entered the parlor, Frank gazed around with an eager, curious
look, as if some familiar scene was returning to him. In a few moments
Kate entered. She rushed to him, and clasped him in her arms. He took
her face between his two hands, and looked long and earnestly at her.
Then, dropping his head on her shoulder, and bursting into tears, he
cried:
'My mother! O my mother!'
He had awoke. The terrible dream was over. From that moment he was
himself.
What passed between him and Selma on that fatal evening, I never knew.
He has not spoken her name since that night.