FATHER AND DAUGHTER--DUFFEL.
A few days after the transactions recorded in the preceding chapter, the
fever left Eveline, and consciousness was restored to its empire and reason
to its throne. But alas! what a wreck of her former self she was! Mr.
Mandeville could scarcely restrain his tears while gazing upon her pallid
countenance and wasted form. She was helpless as a child, and so weak it
was feared the recuperative powers were exhausted, and she must die from
prostration; but a day or two of careful nursing, aided by cordials and
tonics, produced a change for the better, and in the course of ten days,
she was able to walk in the open air and happy sunshine, supported by her
father. How lightly his heart beat in his bosom, as the child of his pride
and affection leaned upon his arm, as he gently led her whither she desired
to go.
She had a little arbor in the garden, the vines about which had been
carefully trained by her own hands; it had always been a favorite resort,
and of late had become a thousand times more dear, because it was there
that she and Hadley had spent most of their happy hours. So soon as she had
sufficient strength to bear the fatigue, she requested to be taken there,
and her wish was granted. What a throng of memories came crowding through
her mind as she once more sat in that verdant bower! Every flower had a
tongue and a reminiscence, and the entire place and scene spoke of the past
in language mute but eloquent. How her heart beat with excitement, as the
many associations of other days rushed over her spirit with the lightening
wings of thought, and awakened emotions of joy and grief. While with the
past she was happy; but when the cheerless present occupied her mind,
sadness filled her heart, while shadows gathered upon her brow, and tears
in her eyes.
The father saw all this, for he watched the changes of her countenance with
the deepest solicitude. When he noted the saddened expression that came
over it, his heart was heavy, for he divined the cause. How his feeling of
bitterness toward Hadley increased, as he saw the wreck of happiness he had
made; and how he longed to expose the blackness of his character to his
infatuated daughter! He felt certain that his child would cease to regard
him as she had done, the moment she was put in possession of the facts
which so clearly established his guilt. But it would cost her a severe
struggle, and he feared she was yet too weak to sustain the shock.
At length, however, as he perceived that internal grief was preying upon
her spirits, it occurred to him that the evil resulting from this eating
sorrow, which was brooded over in secret, would be greater in the end than
the quick pang, though it should be sharp and powerful for an hour or a
day. Approaching her affectionately, and with great tenderness of manner,
he said:
"You are sad, Eveline; you are not happy, I know you are not; and yet you
do not confide your sorrow to me. Is this kind, my dear?"
"Oh, father!" and she burst into tears. He drew her head upon his bosom,
and for a short period permitted sorrow to have its way, then inquired:
"May I share my daughter's grief?"
"Father, father, do not wound my heart afresh! I fear me now it will never
heal!"
"Eveline, child, you misunderstand me. God forbid that I should add to your
sorrow; my only desire is to relieve and heal!"
"May I indeed trust in my father? Oh, what a question to ask myself! Yet--"
"Yet what? Speak fully, and let us for once open our hearts to each other
without reserve."
"Yet I fear I have had cause to make the inquiry."
"I fear so too, my dear; but let us now understand each other. I hope much
from such an understanding."
"What would you draw from me?"
"The secret of your unhappiness."
"Do you not know it already?"
"I surmise the cause."
"And you think--"
"I _fear_ it is because you love Charles Hadley."
"Why do you _fear_ that is the cause?"
"Because he is unworthy of your love."
"Oh, do not say so! Is poverty a mark of unworthiness?"
"No, it is not; if he was only poor I would give my consent to your union
to-day; but I am sorry to say he is wicked as well as poor."
"What mean you? You surely can allege nothing against one so noble, and
possessed of such pure principles, as Charles Hadley?"
"Alas, my daughter, he has basely deceived you."
"Father!"
"I would not say so on slight grounds, but it is too sadly true."
"I must have proof, strong proof, ere I can believe that he is false."
"Could you bear such an exposure?"
"Yes."
"Then you shall have the evidence of his guilt at once."
Saying this, he produced the letter before spoken of, and placed it in her
hands for perusal.
It would be impossible to describe Eveline's feelings while examining the
contents of the letter. At first, the evidence appeared so conclusive and
overwhelming her strong faith in her lover was shaken; but a second reading
and second thoughts restored her confidence, yet she could hardly account
for the change in her feelings and judgment, the evidence was just as
strong as before, and she could not help acknowledging the fact; she only
knew that she _felt_ Hadley was innocent; and she would trust this
intuitive conviction in preference to any anonymous communication that
could be produced against him. But what should she say to her parent? How
could she impress him with her own feelings, or even fix a doubt of
Hadley's guilt in his mind? While she was revolving these things in her
mind, Mr. Mandeville kept his eye upon her, and noted every change of
expression that passed over her face. At length he said:
"What do you think of that?"
The question found her still in doubt as to what she should say in defense
of her lover, but with the query came decision of purpose, and she readily
replied:
"I think it is a forgery."
"A forgery?"
"Yes, so far as Hadley is concerned. I do not believe he has ever seen it."
"You surely do not believe I would be guilty of such baseness as your words
imply."
"Oh! no, no; I do not for a moment doubt your good faith and perfect
sincerity; but I think you are deceived. How did you get possession of this
document?"
"Well, I must confess, not in the most upright manner, or rather, my
knowledge of that portion of its contents which is intelligible, was
obtained ignobly; but I cannot blame myself for the act, since it has
placed such important facts at my disposal."
Here he related the circumstance of finding and reading the letter, and
then added:
"You see the whole train of circumstances renders it impossible that Hadley
should not be the one to whom the letter was addressed. I found it just in
the place where he was in the habit of coming, a spot that no one else
frequented, and so secluded as to forbid the idea of a casual passenger
dropping it. Beside, where is there another person of the same name?"
"I frankly own there is a mystery connected with the subject which I cannot
explain, but that mystery does not convince me of Hadley's guilt."
"What incredulity! What stronger evidence do you want to convict him?"
"I desire positive assurance that the letter was actually written to and
for him; at present I do not believe that it was."
"Love is truly blind!"
"Love?"
"Yes."
"What has that to do with the case under consideration?"
"It is not worth while for you to disguise the fact that you have loved
Hadley; I know that you do or did, and your own heart knows full well how
much it has suffered through that love. Alas, that I, your own father,
should have caused you so much anguish!"
"Does my father really say that?"
"Yes, Eveline, and much more. If you only knew how deeply I have suffered,
what anguish I endured, as your fevered and broken exclamations fell upon
my ear while watching by your bedside, I think you could find it in your
heart to forgive me for the unintentional wrong, it was my misfortune, and
not my wish, to inflict upon you."
"Father, I have wronged you," said she, leaning forward and winding her
arms about his neck. "Forgive me for accusing you of cruelty and unkindness
in my thoughts."
"You had cause for such accusation, though it was farthest from my thoughts
to injure you. I did, however, once think of forcing you to wed Duffel, and
this is the only real wrong I meditated against you, and I was persuaded it
was for your good; but I see differently now--you shall never be coerced
into a union with any man against your will."
"Thank you for that assurance; it relieves me from one source of disquiet."
"I am entitled to no thanks; it is not a parent's prerogative to use
violence in such cases, though I once held differently. And let me here say
to you, that in all I have done my _motives_ were pure. I desired your good
above all else, and that I was endeavoring to procure happiness for you in
the wrong way was only an error of judgment, the incorrectness of which I
now see clearly."
"How much I have misunderstood you, and how much you have misconceived your
own heart."
"True; the world, and the opinions of worldly men, had almost buried up the
good that was in me; but the light of Heaven has shone into my spirit, the
fog is dispelled, and I see where I have departed from the right way."
"Thank Heaven for that!"
"I hope, now that we understand each other, I may dare to make a request of
you, which you may or may not feel free to grant."
"Name it."
"It is this, that you will hold no communication with Hadley until this
matter is satisfactorily cleared up, or until he can show that he is
innocent of the crimes this letter would fasten upon him."
"If it is your wish I will do so, though I should be pleased to know what
he could say in his own favor. I feel strongly confident he will be able to
prove himself innocent of all and any participation in the many thefts and
other villainies which have of late become so common. Where is he now?"
"Ah, there it is again! I have not told you that Tom was stolen some time
ago."
"Tom stolen!"
"Yes; he was taken very soon after this letter came into my possession, and
Hadley has never been seen or heard of since!"
"How?"
"On the very night that Tom was taken from the stable, Hadley disappeared,
and neither he nor the horse have been heard of since! Have I not strong
reasons for believing him guilty, as held out in this letter?"
"I must confess, this last piece of intelligence staggers my faith."
"You will now begin to understand why I took such decided steps toward him,
as a visitor here, on that memorable occasion which resulted so
disastrously. I had the strongest assurance of his being associated with
bad men for bad purposes, ere I forbid him the house. I only regret that I
acted so precipitately. I hope, however, all will come right in the end."
"God grant that it may."
Here their intercourse was interrupted by the announcement that Duffel had
called and inquired for Mr. Mandeville.--They returned to the house, and
the two gentlemen had a private interview to the following effect:
"How is Eveline?" inquired Duffel.
"I am happy to say she is very much better."
"I am truly glad to hear that she is convalescing. What do you think is the
state of her feelings in certain delicate matters?"
"I am persuaded her good opinion of Hadley has received a shock from which
it will never recover. That letter, in connection with his present
disappearance, was too much for her faith."
"And well it might be! I do not see how any one could doubt his guilt in
the face of such evidence."
"Yet I think Eveline does doubt; but that the doubt will soon give place to
full conviction, I am quite sure. Once you can fix a partially formed
belief of crime in the mind, and if the evidence continues, especially if
it accumulates, there is a moral certainty of its producing the effect we
desire in the present instance."
"How long do you suppose it will take Eveline to forget any preference she
may have had for Hadley?"
"I do not know."
"Do you not think the exercise of a little paternal authority would
accelerate the accomplishment of your wishes? I hope you will pardon me if
the suggestion is ill-timed or out of taste; it is made in accordance with
a declaration to that effect you will remember to have made to me a short
time previous to your daughter's illness."
"I have not forgotten the declaration to which you allude; it was made in
the heat of a moment of excitement; but I am frank to own that it was then
my determination to use parental authority toward Eveline, in case it
became necessary to do so, in order to bend her will to my purposes. This
intention I have entirely abandoned. I have reflected more dispassionately
on the subject; and I now see clearly that my daughter has rights as well
as myself, and that first in importance among these, is the right to bestow
herself in marriage to whom she chooses. I will continue to give you my
influence, but I have already pledged her my word that she shall be free to
make her own selection of a husband."
"You are right, sir, right. I see wherein we have both erred in our former
views; but then we were blinded, at least I was; for you know love has
always been blind. I must crave your pardon, as I would the forgiveness of
Eveline, were she present, for having entertained so unjust a thought
toward her for a single moment. Be assured, if she cannot be won by
gentleness and love, I shall never consent to make her my wife, though she
is dearer to me than life itself."
"Very well; I still feel that all will come out right, and that a peaceful
calm of sunshine will succeed the season of storm and clouds; but we must
not hurry matters; time will do more for us than we can for ourselves,
whereas haste might defeat all our hopes. At present, I do not think it
would be advisable for you to urge your suit to her; her mind is not yet
prepared to receive you with that degree of favor desirable."
"I shall act in the matter as your better judgment and clearer perception
shall dictate, and hope for the best."
And thus the interview ended. How strange that Mr. Mandeville should be so
easily deceived in regard to Duffel! and how debasingly hypocritical was
the dissembling villain! Will he never be overtaken by his crimes?