WHAT CAME NEXT.
Uncomfortable time! why camest thou now
To murder—murder our solemnity?
_—Shakspere._
It was two days before the appointed wedding day, and General Garnet sat
in his library, over his wine, in deep consultation with his lawyer.
“And, you say, sir, that my will might be successfully contested?” he
asked, setting down his empty glass, and looking anxiously, half
angrily, at the attorney.
“I give it, sir, as my best digested legal opinion, that in the event of
your death, should the will by which you bequeath all this vast property
to your adopted daughter be contested, it would probably be set aside in
favor of Alice Chester Hardcastle, the only living representative of the
old Chester family, who have held the land from the first settlement of
the country to the present time—upward of two hundred years. You know,
sir, that the decision of the case would rest finally with the jury, and
such are the prejudices in favor of wealth, rank, hereditary descent,
and——”
“Well! speak out—justice, you would add, I suppose,” said General
Garnet, filling his glass and passing the bottle.
The lawyer bowed.
“Well, sir! what of these prejudices? Finish your sentence.”
“That scarce a jury could be found to give a verdict against your legal
daughter—a Chester—and in favor of your—I beg your pardon—adopted
daughter—a stranger and an alien.”
“Sir, you know nothing of the law. I shall seek better legal advice,”
exclaimed General Garnet, bringing down his glass upon the table with a
force that shivered it, and rising in an excited manner.
“You may seek other, and find more palatable advice, sir. Our
consultation ends here. I wish you good-evening, sir,” said the lawyer,
rising and going to the door.
“Stay!” said General Garnet, going after him.
But the attorney bowed deeply and retired.
General Garnet continued to pace up and down the floor, with a strange,
excited manner, totally at variance with his usual serene
self-possession. Frequently, also, he stopped—poured out and quaffed a
glass of wine. At last, pausing, he struck his forehead, emphatically
exclaiming:
“I have it, now! a deed! To-morrow morning, the first thing I do will be
to have drawn up, sign, seal, and record a deed of conveyance, giving
the whole of this estate to Garnet Seabright, and retaining only a life
interest in it myself. Yes! a deed! There will be no contesting or
setting aside that, I fancy. And whether I die next year, or a hundred
years hence, Nettie, if she lives, becomes possessed of all this
property. Yes! yes! I must revenge myself upon Hardcastle. I must punish
that ungrateful daughter—true scion of the stubborn Chesters. And by all
means, by any means—I must—will!—elevate and aggrandize Nettie—my child,
my darling, my darling, the only thing on earth that loves me. Yes!
elevate and aggrandize her until I force the world to recognize her.
Nettie, my heart’s core! whose thought has power to banish even the
image of my young bride from my mind!—to banish it, because fair and
lovely and loving as she is—her fantastical and selfish passion,
flattering as it is—is a more selfish thing than your sweet affection,
my darling child. Yet she is beautiful, this fervid Ambrosia! And once
this business settled—this deed that secures wealth and rank to my
Nettie, executed and recorded, I shall be free to yield up soul and
senses to this dream of passion. How my thoughts wander! I am giddy. I
am not well. When ever did I talk to myself before? I must stop this. I
will consult a physician to-morrow,” said General Garnet, sitting down,
and drinking great draughts of wine.
The next day, true to his purpose, he rode to Huttontown, and had the
deed of conveyance, giving all the great Mount Calm property to Garnet
Seabright, and reserving only a life interest in it himself, drawn up,
signed, and witnessed with all legal formulæ. Then he rode with it
himself to the county town, and had it recorded. In the course of the
day the slight indications of approaching illness that had visited him
the night before returned, and now, with more marked emphasis. Sudden
vertigo, with failure of sight and confusion of thought, would seize him
an instant, pass away—return again, and again pass. He drew up his horse
at last before a doctor’s office, entered, sat down, and apologizing for
troubling the physician with such a trifling indisposition by saying,
jestingly, that he wished to be in perfect health upon his wedding
day—he related his symptoms.
“It is nothing, sir,” said the physician, after he had felt his pulse,
etc. “It is nothing. Do not be alarmed, I beseech you! Keep a calm mind;
it is of vital importance that you keep a calm mind. I would advise you
to defer your marriage for a few weeks.”
“Do you think, sir, that I am threatened with——”
“No, sir! Oh, no, there is not the least occasion for alarm; these
symptoms must yield to a very little judicious treatment. Abstain from
the use of wine and stimulating food, and, above all things, avoid all
agitation and excitement; keep from all places and persons that have the
least effect upon your nerves. A day or so will set you up again. Stay,
I will write you a little prescription. Here, sir, take this—it is
simply a cooling draught; follow directions, and all will be right.”
General Garnet took the scrap of paper, bowed, and withdrew, with a
contemptuous smile upon his lips, muttering to himself:
“Fool that I am, to seek medical advice of a fellow whose interest it is
to make and keep me ill for a month or so! Shall I take this
prescription, now? No, I feel better already. The fresh air has revived
me. I will go to Point Pleasant and spend the evening with Ambrosia; her
sweet smile and gentle touch will charm this fitful illness.”
And turning his horse’s head, General Garnet took the road to Judge
Wylie’s. The sky was clouding up, but, heedless of the threatened rain,
he rode on rapidly to Point Pleasant. He spent a long, delightful
evening with Miss Wylie, and left, at a late hour, more intoxicated than
ever with the alluring beauty of his promised bride, and repeating, in
an impassioned tone, many times, the words of his parting: “To-morrow!
oh, to-morrow, Ambrosia.”
He faced a cold and driving rain all the way home, and arrived at his
own gate, dripping wet.
Throwing the reins of his horse to an attendant, he hastened into the
house. The voice of Nettie greeted him.
“Here, godfather! come in here to the library; here is a good fire, and
your dressing-gown and slippers all warm, and hot coffee and oysters and
wine. I made them for you.”
Divesting himself of his wet overcoat, cap, leggings, and gloves, he
walked into the library, where he found Nettie presiding over the
comforts she had prepared for him.
“My dear little brownie! Why are you up so late?”
“The rain waked me up, godfather, and then I couldn’t sleep any more for
thinking you were out in it. So I got up and dressed myself, and came
down here to make things comfortable for you.”
“My own Nettie! I have been making things comfortable for you, also! But
where is your granny?”
“Gone to bed these two hours.”
“And now you must go, my dear little one. Come and kiss me close, and
then, good-night.”
The elf sprang to his neck, squeezing him tightly, and rooting herself
into his bosom, as though she would grow there, and then suddenly
springing off, bounded from the room.
The little supper standing before him did not tempt his appetite. With
another retrospective glance of contempt at the physician’s advice, he
turned to the table and poured out and swallowed glass after glass of
wine. Then, without heeding the mail-bag that hung upon the chair, or
ringing for a servant to clear off the things, or even closing up the
house, as was his invariable custom, he arose and retired to his
chamber.
* * * * *
At this same hour, on the turnpike road, about six miles distant from
Mount Calm, plunged on through darkness, mire, and driving rain, a
one-horse chaise, occupied by two travelers—Dr. Hardcastle and Mrs.
Garnet. They traveled on in perfect silence for two hours before
reaching the grounds of Mount Calm. But, upon passing the outer gate and
entering upon the premises, Alice became nervous and uneasy, and at
length she asked:
“Magnus, do you feel positively assured that he has received my letter,
that he is prepared and expecting to see me?”
“Without a doubt, dear Mrs. Garnet, he got your letter to-day at noon;
assuredly, late as it is, he must be now expecting us.”
“I wonder if he really does. I wonder if he has spread the news among
the people of the plantation! It is really necessary to know, dear
Magnus. Else my sudden and unexpected apparition among them will cause a
general alarm and rouse the neighborhood.”
“Very true, and at the first quarter I come to I will alight and find
out.”
They rode on in silence until they came to a solitary quarter on the
outskirts of the plantation. Then Dr. Hardcastle, alighting, gave the
reins to Mrs. Garnet, and trudged through the deep mud and pelting rain
to the cabin from whence a faint light issued, and the low, sweet sound
of a violin was heard. He rapped smartly with the handle of his riding
whip. The music ceased, and a voice, which he recognized as belonging to
Bob, the driver, called out from within:
“Hoo dar, rappin’ at my door dis onseasonable hour o’ de night?”
“Me, Bob! your old friend, Dr. Hardcastle; open the door and show
yourself.”
“Oh, my Gor A’mighty, Marse Magnate, is it you, sure ’nough, come from
forrin parts?” ejaculated the old negro, fumbling at the wooden latch
and wrenching open the door. “Come in, come in—come in, Marse Magnate,
come in. Oh, blessed Lor’! I’m so joyed to see you. How is Miss Elsie!
she long o’ you? Come in!”
“No, Bob, I cannot come in. I am going straight on to the house. Elsie
is not with me; she is at home, and—well, I can’t come in. I only called
by to see you, my old friend, and to ask you if all were well at the
house, and if anything new had happened.”
“All well dar, honey, ’deed dey is, fus’ rate. Nuffin new, honey, ’cept
’tis Marse I’on g’wne be marry to Miss Ambush Wylie to-morrow night.”
“Ah! Well, I wrote to General Garnet to say that I was coming to-night;
is he expecting me, do you know?”
“’Deed he got de letter, honey, caze I fotch it from de pos’ office
myself dis mornin’, an’ de pos’ marser said how it war from out yonder
where you gone to. But I never hear General I’on say nuffin ’bout
’spectin’ no one to de weddin’, ’deed I didn’t, honey. Let me run along
to de house an’ rouse ’em all up and tell ole marse how you’ve come.”
“No, by no means, Bob. Thank you, good-night,” said Dr. Hardcastle,
jumping into the carriage.
“All right, he has received your letter, madam; but has not imparted its
contents to anyone. He is doubtless expecting you momentarily; but as no
one else is, your sudden appearance would strike a panic to the
household, suddenly roused up out of their sleep, or perhaps send them
all shrieking from the plantation.”
“But would not your presence by my side—they know you’re alive—reassure
them?”
“My dear Mrs. Garnet, they assisted at your funeral, twelve months ago,
and seeing us enter at midnight together will sooner believe me to be a
second ghost than you to be a living woman. No, my dear friend, you must
veil yourself closely, and after I have got you into the house, pass
quietly up to General Garnet’s chamber and reveal yourself to him. Here
we are at last,” said Dr. Hardcastle, pulling up before the front door
of the mansion.
All was dark except a fitful light that gleamed and sunk, and gleamed
and sunk, from the upper windows of General Garnet’s chamber—as if a
candle was expiring there in the socket.
“It must be near two o’clock—yet he is still sitting up for me—see
there,” whispered Alice, pointing to the flashing and darkening light.
“He must be alone, and have dropped asleep by that expiring light,”
murmured Magnus, as he led her up the stairs to the front door. “Now,
courage, my dear friend. Remember that in me you have a protector near
you,” whispered Dr. Hardcastle, as he fumbled about in the dark for the
knocker. In doing so the door swung silently open—it had evidently been
left ajar. They entered noiselessly. The hall was perfectly dark and
silent; no sound was heard but the moan of the wind and the heavy fall
of the rain without. “Now, dearest Alice, he has evidently left the door
ajar that you might enter without rousing the servants, and make your
way at once to his chamber, where he awaits you. Go on—yet! stay! I do
not like the looks of this thing, either. No one knows of your
existence—no one knows that you were expected here; he awaits you alone
in the solitude, silence, and darkness of deep night. No, Alice! I
cannot let you go alone to his baleful presence—I must attend you.”
“Not for the world, Magnus. What monstrous thought is in your mind? Does
midnight storm and solitude raise such phantoms of fear in your strong
mind?”
“Alice! bethink you! he is a man of fearful passions, yet of profound
subtlety and secretiveness. He believed you dead and was about to be
married. He finds that he has been deceived in your death, and that his
own marriage is about to be ridiculously broken off. He has imaginary
injuries to revenge, and endangered joys to secure—both ends to be
reached by one means. And, more than all, he has the fearful temptation
of fancied impunity. Alice, take care! This open door—this silent
house—this lonely watcher in the solitary chamber—this deep night
hour—and the expected lonely visitor. Alice, take care!” whispered
Magnus.
“Horrible! most horrible. You make my blood curdle. Not with fear, but
with horror, at the monster in your imagination. You must not enter with
me. I will go in alone. Follow, if you please to do so, at a short
distance. I have no such dreadful fear or doubt. I tremble, it is true;
but I should also tremble if, in broad daylight, a score of people
witnessed our meeting. Come on, and remain upon the landing while I go
in.”
* * * * *
On entering his chamber General Garnet suddenly bethought himself of
something—he could not exactly think what—forgotten. A strange absence
of mind, temporary loss of memory, transient confusion of thought, had
fitfully afflicted him all day long. He put his hand to his forehead,
and walked up and down in doubt and perplexity, then suddenly
recollecting what he wanted, he rang the bell, and when a servant,
half-dressed, appeared, demanded, impatiently:
“Anything from the post office to-day, sir?”
“Yes, marser. Bob, he went to de post office an’ fotch de bag.”
“Then where is it, you scoundrel? and why was it not brought to me?”
stamped the master.
“De-ur-ur——” stammered the negro, in fear and perplexity, scratching his
head for an answer.
“Sir!” thundered General Garnet.
And the reply bolted from the lips of the negro as if thumped out by a
blow between his shoulders:
“Ugh! Yes, sir! You wan’t comed home when it ’riv, marser, an’ I hanged
it on a chair by de liberry table, where you could see it when you
comed.”
“And if I had forgotten all about it, as I did, you scoundrel! Go and
bring it to me. Vanish!”
The man precipitately retreated, and soon reappeared with the mail-bag,
which he placed in the hands of his master, who immediately opened and
turned out its contents.
“Only one letter! And that—— D——!” exclaimed General Garnet, recognizing
the handwriting of Magnus Hardcastle in the superscription of Alice’s
letter. “Here, you sir! Come here!” added he, hastily blotting out the
superscription and re-directing it. “Come here! take this letter! By the
earliest dawn to-morrow take it back to the post office, that it may be
in time for the mail, and tell the postmaster to send it back where it
came from.” He tossed the letter toward the feet of the negro, who
tremblingly approached, picked it up, and retired from the chamber.
Left alone he paced up and down the floor in troubled thought, for about
the space of an hour. All about the house was profoundly still; no sound
was heard but the mournful murmur of the wind, and the dreary beating of
the rain. The clock struck twelve, and the strokes fell through the
awful stillness of the night with preternatural solemnity.
“So late! and I not yet calm enough to sleep—fearing to sleep, almost,
lest I should never wake again. What is this? Why now does the solitude
and silence of my chamber so affect, so appall, me? The truth is, I am
ill! must be, or I should not be so weak. I did not kill her. No, I did
not kill her. I did not take any means to recover her for hours? Well!
what if I did not? That was not murder! I let her die in her fit for
want of assistance? She might have died anyhow. Why does her image haunt
my bed, driving sleep thence? Oh, miserable weakness! Oh, cowardice!
Would my bitterest enemy believe it of me? that I dread to look around
me, lest I see her face? It is this that is my illness. Oh, doctor! can
your drugs banish her thoughts? Pshaw! They say nothing evil can come
into the neighborhood of innocence. Nettie! my Nettie is near me! in the
next room. Surely my reason wanders. What evil could come nigh me? She
was not ‘evil’ on earth. She is not ‘evil’ in heaven. She would not
avenge herself, if she could. Oh, wretched driveling! What am I talking
of? I am ill—I must be. It is illness that raises these phantoms of
dread. And solitude and uncommunicated thoughts and sorrows have caused
this illness. Courage! This is my last lonely night. To-morrow, and ever
after to-morrow, the cheerful face of that fair girl shall banish all
such sickly fancies. To-morrow, and ever after to-morrow. But to-night I
cannot rest at all. I—I will go and look at Nettie, sleeping; the
innocence of slumbering childhood shall disperse the cloud of devils
lowering over me. Nettie! ‘The sins of the father shall be visited upon
the children——’ I dare not. No! I dare not now. No! I dare not.”
He dropped upon a chair—struck both hands to his forehead, whence the
cold sweat oozed. He sat there, heedless, while the wind moaned around
the house, and the rain beat drearily against the windows. He sat there,
motionless, until the clock struck one, and the stroke fell like a
knell. He started then, but relapsed, immediately, into statue-like
stillness. The hour passed on, while the rain still beat, and the wind
still moaned. The candle burned low in its socket, but he did not heed
it. It flashed, filling the room with a strange brilliancy, and sunk,
leaving it in darkness—but he did not heed it. It flashed and
darkened—and flashed and darkened ever—but he did not heed it.
The door swung open—but he did not know it. Alice, his lost wife, stood
within, motionless—pale—but he did not see her. She gazed at him—growing
paler every instant—she glided toward him—she stood over him—where he
sat, with his face buried in his hands—but he gave no sign of
consciousness. Trembling, pale, and cold with fear, she laid her icy
hands upon him, saying, in a voice faint and hollow with exhausted
emotion:
“Aaron, I have come.”
He sprang up as if shot; his face ashy pale, his countenance aghast,
hair bristling, eyes starting with horror, as he exclaimed:
“Then such things are! You have taken form at last! or else—yes—it must
be so—I am mad—mad!”
Dashing his hands against his forehead, as though to shut out a horrible
vision, he sunk back again into his chair.
Astonished, terrified, shuddering, Alice approached again, kneeled by
his side, spoke gently, soothingly, deprecatingly to him.
But ere she ceased speaking his hands dropped from his forehead, his
head sank upon his bosom, his form swayed to and fro an instant, and
then he fell forward, prostrate, at the feet of his wife.
A succession of violent screams from Alice brought Dr. Hardcastle
rushing in at one door, and Nettie, in her nightgown, flying in at the
other.
They gathered around the fallen man. They raised him, set him in his
chair.
General Garnet was dead.
* * * * *
After that the wild shrieks of a distracted child, refusing to be
comforted, filled the house of death.