At the dead of the night, when all others were at rest, Michael Rust
glided out of his office. It was a strange hour, but he had become a
strange man. Through the silent streets he stole, with a step so noiseless
that it awoke no echo. Along Broadway, passing where the city ended and
the fields began, mile after mile he went. He met no one. Every house that
he passed was as silent as the grave; excepting a solitary one, standing
by itself, with a light shining through an upper window, as if some one
kept watch at a sick bed. Sometimes the road ran between high trees, whose
skeleton outlines stood grimly up between him and the stars, stiff and
motionless. At other times, it coursed along dreary wastes; then again, it
was buried in dense shadow; now ascending, now descending. At times he
caught a glimpse of the distant gray river, gleaming in the darkness, with
here and there the light on board some vessel at anchor, glittering like a
star. In some places, where it was shut in by high banks, the road seemed
inky black; and parts of it were so solitary, that even a stout heart
might have shrunk from traversing it at that dreary hour. But Rust thought
not of fear. What had _he_ to do with that feeling, who sought only
revenge and a grave?
It was yet night, when he reached a house in the upper part of the island,
and near the river. Little except its dim outline was visible in the
obscurity; and as he opened the gate, and passed beneath an avenue of tall
trees which led to it, the darkness was such that he could scarcely see.
But he was familiar with the ground, and without hesitation went directly
to the door of the house. It was locked. He drew a key from his pocket,
unlocked it, went in, and closed it after him. He groped his way along the
entry, until he came to the door of a room, which he opened. A few embers
were smouldering on the hearth, sufficient to throw out a dim light.
Lighting a candle, which stood on a table, he drew a chair to the fire and
sat down. The chamber was large, fitted up as a library, and filled with
massive book-cases of dark wood, elaborately carved, which gave a sombre
appearance to the room. Nothing that money could buy had been spared; for
this was the home of Rust's daughter, and that hard, reckless, griping man
had been alive but to one feeling--love to his child. In _her_ were
garnered up all his affections, and upon her he had lavished all that his
means could obtain.
For a long time he sat without changing his position, his eye fixed, his
mouth compressed, his brow knit, not a sound escaping him. At last he
started from his fit of abstraction, with a slight shiver; passed his hand
once or twice before his eyes, as if to dispel something that clouded his
sight; and said, in a whisper. 'Can all this be real?' The clock struck
three. He rose, cast a stealthy glance over his shoulder, and taking the
candle in his hand, held it up over his head, examining the room with a
suspicious look, as if he momentarily expected some form to start from
behind the heavy furniture. As his eye was wandering round the room, it
rested upon a picture in a carved frame, which hung against the wall. He
went to it, and held the light so that its rays fell full upon it. It was
the portrait of a girl of about seventeen. Could the child-like, innocent
face which gazed out from the canvass upon that fierce, passion-worn old
man, be that of _his_ child? Could aught so pure and beautiful have sprung
from such as him? And worse than all, could she have lost that purity
which was stamped on every line of her face?
With fixed and rigid features; with a hand that did not tremble, with a
heart that scarcely beat, he contemplated the picture; and then, slowly,
as if in a dream, replaced the candle, and took his seat. There was that
at work within him, however, which banished bodily repose; for in one
minute afterward, he was up and pacing the room, muttering and
gesticulating to himself; the _next_, he went to a mirror, and looked at
his own face. He started as he did so; for he had not seen it in a week;
and in that time so altered and wasted had it become, with its long
unshorn beard, and ghastly white complexion, that he could scarcely
recognize it.
'What a bird of prey the mind is!' muttered he; 'how it devours the body!'
He turned away, and once more his eye rested on the picture which hung
against the wall. Some strange feeling seemed to spring into existence as
he did so; for his breath came thick and hard; his heart beat, until its
pulsations could be heard, loud and strong like the blows of a hammer; his
hand shook, but at the same time, his brow darkened, and its look of
anxious and half-wandering thought gave place to an expression that was
perfectly fiendish. He muttered a few words; then taking the light,
cautiously opened the door, and stole up the broad flight of stairs which
led to the upper story. At the head of it was a door; he tried it; it was
not locked but yielded to his push. It opened into a bed-room, luxuriously
furnished with mirrors, and various nick-nacks, and articles of taste,
such as a young and wealthy female gathers about her; and in the bed lay a
beautiful girl, the original of the picture below, sound asleep, her long
hair, which had become unbound as she slept, lying in loose tresses upon
the pillow. How bright and beautiful she was! How gentle and calm her
breathing was! And well might the stern old man, as he looked at her angel
face, have misgivings as to the truth of Grosket's tale. Rust's hard
features worked convulsively as he stood over his child, as if powerful
feelings were tugging at his heart-strings; but it was only for a moment,
for he choked them down; and going out, in the cautious manner in which he
had entered, he closed the door and descended to the room below.
He resumed his seat; and although hour after hour elapsed, until day-light
stole in the room, his attitude remained the same; until a servant came in
to light the fire, and uttered an exclamation of surprise at seeing him.
This aroused him; and rising hastily, he said, 'I'm going out. Tell your
mistress that I'll be here at ten o'clock.' He left the house; and after
wandering up and down the road, he crossed the fields, until he came to
the edge of the river, and when he had sauntered along it for some time,
he sat down upon a rock, and commenced casting pebbles in the water.
How long a time he passed in this way, he could not tell, but it must have
been several hours; for on looking at his watch, he found that it was late
in the day. Suddenly, recollecting his message to his daughter; he rose
and went directly to the house. He crossed the lawn in front of it; but
before he had time to reach the door, a light figure sprang out, and his
child's arms were about his neck.
'Dear father! it's a very long time since I saw you!' said she, putting
back the hair which hung over his face, and pressing her lips to his
cheek. 'I'm very happy at having you here once more. But you are ill--very
ill! What ails you?' said she, suddenly, as she observed the inroads which
the last few days had made in his whole form. Rust withdrew himself from
her embrace, and without answering her question, said in a cold tone:
'Come in the house.'
Though his words were simple, there was that in his manner (or it might
have been the consciousness of guilt on the part of the girl) which caused
her cheek to grow pale, and her step to falter; and she accompanied him to
the library, with the silent and downcast look of a criminal. He took a
chair, drew it to the fire, and pointing to another, said in the same cold
tone: 'Be seated.'
The girl obeyed without a word. At that moment a servant opened the door,
and told Rust that a man was inquiring for him.
Rust got up, and went out. In the entry were two men. One of them, a
powerfully-built fellow, of about five-and-thirty, with light hair and a
prominent eye, asked, 'Are you Michael Rust?'
Rust scanned him from head to foot. He suspected his errand; for he had
seen him before, and he replied simply: 'I am.'
'Then, Sir, we've come for you.' At the same time, the man produced a slip
of paper, and tapped Rust on the shoulder. 'Here's the warrant, if you'd
like to look at it, and the vehicle's in the road there.' He gave a nod in
the direction.
Rust evinced neither surprise nor trepidation. He merely said, in a musing
tone, 'I should have stipulated for a longer time, for the lawyer has lost
none.' Then addressing the officer, he added: 'My daughter is in the room.
Before going with you, I should like to speak with her in private. You may
examine the room, to see that there are no means of escaping from it.'
The man took him at his word; went in the room; glanced round without
noticing the girl, who regarded him with some surprise; then went to an
inner door, locked it, and put the key in his pocket.
'Are you satisfied?' asked Rust.
The other again stared round the room: went to the window; looked out to
see how high it was from the ground; said that he was, and then inquired:
'How long?'
'Ten minutes,' was the reply.
'Good!' said the man; and with a knowing look at Rust, and a shambling bow
to the girl, he went out, and seated himself on a chair in the hall,
having taken the precaution to send his companion to keep an eye on the
windows, which were within leap of the ground.
Rust returned to his seat. 'Come hither, Ellen,' said he.
His daughter rose, and came to him; but in dead silence.
'Look at me. Am I much altered?' inquired Rust.
The girl raised her eyes to his. They quailed before his stern, searching
glance; but she replied in a low voice: 'You're very much altered; you're
wearing yourself out.'
A smile of strange meaning crossed Rust's face. He turned, and pointed to
the picture which hung against the wall.
'Was that ever a good likeness of you?' asked he.
His daughter glanced at it, with some surprise at the sudden question, and
then replied: 'I've often been told so, father--a very good one.'
'They told you the truth. It _was_ a good one; and now,' said he, turning
to her, and fixing his eyes on her face: 'Do you think I am as much
changed from what _I_ was, as you are from what _you_ were, when that
picture was painted? Mark it well!' said he, speaking quickly and
earnestly, and leaning forward until his face almost touched hers. 'Look
at every feature. See what innocence, what purity of soul and thought is
in every line of that face. An angel might have envied its innocence.
There is a mirror,' said he, pointing to the looking-glass; 'Now look at
yourself.' He half rose, and his voice was cold and cutting as he
concluded.
The girl grew red; then deeper and deeper crimson; then deadly, ghastly
pale; the perspiration stood upon her forehead, and her eyes were blinded
with tears; but she could not meet his glance.
His voice sank almost to a whisper, as he asked 'Then what I have heard is
true?'
The girl seemed absolutely stunned.
'Be it so. Now you know the cause of my illness. Look at me. Look at this
face, scored with wrinkles; these hollow cheeks, and this frame, broken
down by premature old age. Look at them, I say, and you will see but a
faint image of the utter, hopeless waste that has been going on in my
heart.'
The girl made an attempt to speak; sank on the floor; and clasping his
knees, pressed her head against them, and sobbed aloud. But Rust moved
not. There was no trace of compassion in either tone or manner, as he
continued: 'From your childhood, until you were grown up, you were the
person for whose welfare I toiled. I labored and strove for you; there was
not a thing that I did, not a thought that I ever harbored, which had not
your happiness for its aim; and to your love and devotion I looked for my
reward; and as I brooded over my own guilty life, blackened as it was with
the worst of crimes, I thought that it was some palliation to be the
parent of one pure and spotless as you were. Well, you turned out as
hundreds of others have done, and my labor was lost. I loved you as never
child was loved; and in proportion as my love once was great, so now is my
hate and scorn!'
'Oh! my God!' gasped the girl. She sank down as if crushed. Rust looked at
her unmoved, and did not stir to assist her. She raised her hands to him,
and said in a supplicating tone: 'Father! as you hope for mercy, hear me!'
'If I received not mercy from my own child,' said Rust, sternly, 'to whom
can I look for it? I hope for it no where; I ask for it no where; I am at
bay to the whole world.'
One of those dark, withering expressions which had once been so common to
his features, but which his anguish had for the last few days in a great
measure banished from them, swept across his face.
The girl wrung her hands, as she received his harsh answer. At last she
said, in a broken voice: 'Father, I am sadly guilty; but hear me, for
GOD'S sake, _do_ hear me!'
At that moment, the door was opened, and the officer's head was thrust in.
'Time's up.'
'I must have ten minutes more,' said Rust.
'You can't.'
'I must, I _will_,' exclaimed Rust, sternly.
He tossed him a dollar, which the man caught in his hand with professional
dexterity; and then, with a grin, said: 'Well, if you're so very anxious,
of course you must be accommodated;' and disappearing, shut the door.
'You said that you were guilty,' resumed Rust, turning to his daughter. 'I
know it. There's but one more so. You know to whom I allude. What is his
name?'
The girl grew very pale, and hung down her head in silence.
'Who is he?' again demanded her father, seizing her arm with a strong
grasp.
Still she made no reply.
'Be it so,' said Rust flinging her hand from him. 'Perhaps silence is
best. Now, one other question. _Where_ is he?'
She shook her head, and replied in a scarcely audible tone that she did
not know.
'When was he last here?'
'About a week since.'
'And when did he promise to return?'
'On the same day,' answered the girl, in a low tone.
'And he has not kept that promise. The first of a series of black-hearted
lies!' exclaimed Rust, bitterly, speaking more to himself than to her. 'In
these cases, lies come first, and the truth last.' He again addressed her:
'Does he speak of marriage? and do _you_ urge it upon him?'
'I _do_, indeed I _do_!' replied the girl, apparently anxious to hit upon
something to conciliate the stern mood of her parent. 'Often and often, I
beg him to do it, and remind him of his promise.'
'And what is his answer?' demanded Rust, with a half-mocking smile.
'He says that he cannot marry me just now, but that he will soon. He
wishes to obtain the consent of his father, who is very ill, and cannot be
spoken to about it; but that he will soon be better, and that then it will
all be settled.'
'How long has he been making these excuses?'
'A very long time--a very long time,' said the girl, sadly: 'A month and
more.'
'How often did he come here at first?'
'Every day,' said the girl.
'And now?'
His daughter was silent; for she began to see the drift of this cold
examination, and it sent a chill to her heart.
Rust was satisfied; and he said in a half-musing tone: 'The same stale,
hackneyed story. She is on her way to where the first misstep always
leads. Already he is wearied, and wants but an excuse to fling her off;
and I--I--_I_--her avenger,' exclaimed he with a burst of fierce
impatience, '_I_ am shackled; a prisoner, and can do nothing!'
He made a hasty step to the door, opened it, and beckoned to the officer
to come in. As he did so, he shut it after him, took the man by the arm,
and drew him to one end of the room:
'I want a week,' said he, in a quick tone. 'I'll give a thousand dollars
to gain one week; and at the end of that time will surrender myself a
prisoner.'
The man shook his head: 'It can't be done, Sir,' said he.
'What's the reward offered for my apprehension?'
'A cool five hundred,' replied the officer.
'I'll double it to escape,' said Rust, 'or to gain a week, but a single
week.'
The man shook his head. 'Too many knows that we're arter you. It wouldn't
do.'
'But at the expiration of that time I would surrender myself, and you
could secure the reward too.'
The man gave vent to a low chuckle; and placed his finger on the side of
his nose, accompanying the motion with a sly expression, signifying an
utter disbelief in Rust's promises.
Rust gnawed his lip with fierce impatience, then taking the man by the
arm, he led him into the hall, and shut the door.
'I must speak out,' said he, 'and trust to your honor not to betray me. A
villain has seduced my child. I want time to find him, and to compel him
to make her his wife. Now you know why I ask a week.'
The officer at first whistled, then muttered something about its being a
hard case; but concluded by saying, in a positive tone: 'It can't be did,
Sir; I'm sorry for it; upon my word, I am; but I must keep you now that
I've got you. I wish you'd given me the slip at first; but I can't let you
go now. It's impossible--quite.'
Rust eyed the man, as if endeavoring to find in his hard features some
loop-hole to his more kindly feelings; but apparently he met with no
success.
'Well, if it can't be done, there's an end of it,' said he, abruptly
terminating his scrutiny. 'I've some other matters to speak of, and want a
few moments more. I'll not detain you long, and will call you when I'm
ready.'
'I'll give you all the time I can,' said the man, civilly.
Rust turned to enter the room, but as he did so he heard a quick step
behind him; and looking round, found himself face to face with a young man
of two or three and twenty, elegantly dressed, who eyed him carelessly,
and then passing him, entered the room with the air of one perfectly at
home. A suspicion of who he was flashed across Rust's mind. That he
himself was unknown to the other was not strange, for he had been so much
absent, and when he visited his child it was at such irregular intervals,
and for such short periods, that a person might have been even a frequent
visitor at his house, without encountering him. Nor was there any thing in
the outward appearance of the slovenly, haggard old man to attract
attention. But the indifference of the other was not reciprocated; for
Rust followed him, and closed the door after him, with feverish haste, as
if he feared his prey might escape him. He observed the deep blush that
sprang to the cheek of his daughter, at the entrance of the stranger; her
guilty, yet joyous look as he addressed her; and above all, he perceived
_his_ careless, cold, indifferent reply to her warm salutation; and a
feeling of revenge, the deadliest that he had ever felt, sprung up in his
heart against that man; not so much because he had blasted the happiness
of his child, as because he had torn from _him_ all that he had clung to
in life.
Rust walked to the fire-place, turned his back to it, and without uttering
a word, faced the stranger, who eyed him from head to foot with a cool,
supercilious stare; then looked at the girl, as if seeking an explanation.
The pause, however, was broken by Rust himself, as he pointed with his
thin finger to their visitor, and inquired of his daughter: 'Is _that_ the
man?'
The girl's face became ghastly pale; her lips moved, but she dared not
raise her eyes; for she could not encounter the keen, inquiring look which
she knew was fixed upon her.
'Answer my question,' said he, sternly. 'This is no time for tampering
with my patience.'
His daughter attempted to speak. She trembled from head to foot; but not a
word escaped her. So intense was her anguish, that it awoke a spark of
better feeling in the young man; for confronting Rust, he said in a bold
voice: 'If you have any questions to ask respecting me, address them to
_me_, not to _her_.'
'I will,' replied Rust, fixing upon him an eye that fairly glowed; 'for
you should best know your own character. Are you the cold-blooded
scoundrel who, taking advantage of that girl's confiding disposition, of
the absence of her father, stole like a thief into his house; by lies, by
false oaths, and damning hypocritical professions of love, won her
affections; blighted her, and then left her what I blush to name? You wish
the question addressed to you; you have it. I'll have your reply.'
Withering like a parched leaf; shrinking as if a serpent were in his path;
with a face which changed from white to red, from red to white, the
stranger met these questions. But Rust's eye never left his face. There
was no trace of anger nor emotion, in his marble features. He merely said:
'I want your answer.'
With a face heavy with guilt; with a voice that shook even while it
assumed a tone of boldness; the stranger demanded: 'Who are you? and what
right have you to question me thus?'
'Not _much_ right,' replied Rust; 'I'm not even a rival suitor; I'm _only_
this girl's father. Perhaps you will answer me now.'
The other was silent. Rust turned to his daughter, and said: 'This man has
suddenly become dumb. Is this he of whom we spoke? An answer I must have,
and a true one. Do not add a lie to the infamy which already covers you.'
The girl hesitated, and then uttered something in a voice so low as to be
scarcely audible; but faint as it was, Rust caught the words, '_It is!_'
'It is well,' replied he, facing the stranger, and drawing his person up
erect. 'I have no time to waste in words, and will state what I have to
say as concisely as possible, and will act as promptly as I speak. This is
my only child. She was once unsullied, and I was proud of her: that she is
not so _now_, is your fault. There is but one mode of repairing what
you've done. Will you marry her?'
'I certainly intend to do so,' said the young man, with a guilty look,
which gave the lie to his words.
'I want _deeds_, not _intentions_,' replied Rust. 'What you do must be
done _now_--before you leave this room. A clergyman resides within a mile.
In half an hour he can be here.'
The girl clasped her hands joyfully, and looked eagerly at him; but there
was nothing responsive in the expression of his face; and he answered:
'I can't see the necessity of this haste; beside, it would ruin all my
prospects.'
'_You_ can't see the necessity of this haste!' exclaimed Rust, in a voice
of thunder. 'Ruin _your_ prospects! What has become of _her_ prospects?
What--what---- But no matter,' added he, choking down a fierce burst of
passion, and suddenly assuming a tone so unnaturally calm that it might
have been a warning to the other that it was but a lull in the storm.
'Michael Rust presents his compliments to his unknown friend, and begs to
know if he will do him the honor of marrying, on the spot, his daughter
whom he has polluted?'
He paused for an answer; his lips were deadly white, and quivering; and
his eye glowed like a serpent's. The young man quailed before it; but
apparently he was only waiting for an opportunity to throw off the mask;
for he answered boldly: 'No, I will not.'
'You had better,' said Rust, in a low, warning tone. 'Think of it again.'
'You have my answer,' was the reply.
'Then take Michael Rust's thanks!' A flash and report followed; and when
the smoke cleared away, the seducer was lying on the floor, stone dead. A
bullet had passed through his head. The policeman rushed in the room.
'If I could have had a week, I might have avoided this,' said Rust,
coldly. 'As it was, I had no alternative.'
He rang the bell, and a servant came in. He pointed to his daughter, who
was lying senseless at his feet.
'Look to your mistress!'
Turning to the police men who stood by with blanched faces, he said: 'Now
then, I am ready!'