When Mr. Mandeville returned home in the evening, he found the maid in
great trouble on account of Eveline's long continued absence, and he
himself became alarmed on learning that she had not been seen since early
in the forenoon. He knew that she often recreated in the grove, and, after
finding her in no more likely place, he proceeded thither. No Eveline was
there, and no voice answered to his repeated calls; but in his search he
found two billets of paper, and hastening to the house, for it was too dark
to read them in the woods, he eagerly perused them.
One of the two was the letter to Eveline, purporting to be from her lover,
which she had accidentally lost in her agitation, at the moment of setting
out on her at first hopeful but sadly terminated errand; its contents are
already known to the reader; and the other read as follows:
"MR. MANDEVILLE:--Being aware of your dislike to me, and having
learned that you charge me with a crime of great magnitude--no less than
that of stealing your horse, (of which, permit me to say, I am as innocent
as yourself,) and feeling assured, from these circumstances, that there was
no hope for me ever to gain your consent to wed Eveline, I have taken the
only alternative left me in the premises--that of persuading your daughter
to elope with me. She has consented; and ere you read this note, will be my
wife. I hope you may find it in your heart to pardon us for taking this
step, as it appears to us the only way in which our ardent wishes can be
accomplished; but if you cannot pardon me, at least forgive Eveline, who
has had a hard struggle between filial affection, duty and regard, and the
strong pleadings of her heart; though her deep love at last conquered.
"But as we feel certain you will be highly exasperated at the first on
receiving this intelligence, we have deemed it best to absent ourselves for
a time. You will not be able to find us, if you choose to institute a
search, until such time as we please to show ourselves; hence you need not
put yourself to the trouble of looking after us. So soon, however, as you
feel a willingness to receive us as your children, we will gladly return to
you. To ascertain your feelings on this subject, we will voluntarily open a
correspondence with you at some period in the future, perhaps in a month,
when you can communicate to us your wishes and commands.
"With sentiments of high esteem, and deeply pained feelings that I am
compelled to take this step, I am, my very dear sir,
"Your obedient servant,
"CHARLES HADLEY."
Mandeville read this letter a second time to assure himself that its
contents were what they seemed, and when satisfied on this point, he stood
mute for a brief space of time, as if to fully take in the astonishing
truth that Eveline, his only, his beloved child, had so far forgotten her
duly and her promise, yes, her solemn promise, as to leave her home and
_his_ care, for the love of a stranger! At last the great reality seemed to
enter his soul in all its crushing force, tearing from his heart the
affections that had clustered around his only child for years, from his
bosom the hopes of a lifetime, and leaving him a desolate, smitten,
soul-chilled being, with all the beauty and brightness of life departed!
Oh, ye children of affectionate parents! beware how you crush the hearts
that have "nourished and cherished" you as only parents' hearts can do! God
will smite the undutiful child with a curse! Bear and forbear, even if the
commands of those appointed over you should seem to be unjust. Remember
their labor, and toil and suffering in your behalf, and spare, oh! spare
them in their old age, when their bodies are ripening for the grave, and
their spirits for the skies. Let not their gray hairs go down to the
chambers of the dead in sorrow, nor their failing strength be suddenly
brought low by the anguish _you_ have inflicted upon their spirits; but
spare them as you would be spared!
Several minutes elapsed before Mr. Mandeville could collect his scattered
and stunned thoughts together. The blow was so sudden, the shock so
terrible, they almost prostrated him. He walked up and down the room, with
paleness on his cheeks, and a load in his bosom. The only evidence he
manifested of the great grief that was consuming him was an occasional
groan, which came up from the great deep of his heart, as though they were
forced out by some unseen or over-mastering power. He was like the tall oak
of the forest when blasted by the fiery thunderbolt! What a sad picture!
At length the exclamation burst forth from his lips, as though the
overcharged heart would relieve itself in words:
"Oh, my God, pity me!" and he clasped his hands, and pressed them upon his
laboring breast, as if to still its tumult. Then came another groan,
accompanied by a deep, soul-desponding "Oh!"
And the strong man was calm. But such a calmness! It seemed as if years of
suffering had stamped their impress upon his brow, and in his face, in
those brief moments of agony! Ah, how true it is, that the soul may grow
old in a day!
After a time he again took up the letters and perused them.
"How artful!" he mused to himself, as he read the one to Eveline. "Every
word is written with studied care, and every sentence conceals a
temptation. Then the last, the postscript, so much to tell her, to excite
her curiosity, as well as operate upon her affections!--The villain! But
she ought not to have yielded to his solicitations; even in her great love
I can find no adequate excuse for her. She knew he was accused of a crime,
and pledged me her solemn word that she would never see him until the
accusation was proved false. But she is gone--_gone_! Oh, what desolation
in the thought! And I am left alone and forsaken in my woe! Ungrateful
child! may heaven reward you as you have dealt by me! No, no, God forbid!
Heaven be merciful to her! But on _him_, on the miscreant who is at the
bottom of all this undutiful conduct, of all the pain it inflicts, may the
fierce lightning of God's vengeance descend in burning wrath, and as a
consuming fire! God of heaven! thou who beholdest the anguish of a stricken
parent's heart, smite him with a curse; aye, pour out upon his forsaken
head the vials of thy hot anger! Give him no rest to his soul, day or
night, until the hour of reckoning shall come!"
Amen! Let that prayer enter the ear of Him who sitteth upon the Throne; and
may He commission the angels of wrath to bear the curse, and heap it upon
the head of the guilty author of all this wretchedness, and of the
unutterable pain inflicted upon _another_ heart!
* * * * *
Bill and Dick proceeded with their prisoner through the denser portions of
the wilderness for two or three miles on foot, when they met Duffel, who
had prepared horses for their flight, as it was a good long way to the
cave. The villain approached Eveline, and said:
"I hope you will pardon the seeming rudeness which necessity compels me to
manifest toward you in the present emergency. I hope soon to find you a
pleasant resting-place, where I shall have leisure and opportunity to make
explanations and amplify on this brief apology."
To this insulting speech Eveline made no reply, but she cast a defiant and
piercing look upon the miscreant, which made him quail with cowardly fear,
and took from his manner much of its bold assurance. He saw in that one
glance of her eye an unconquerable resolve to meet him as a foe, and _never
to be vanquished_; the victory he had flattered himself as being nearly
won, he now saw afar off, unless the most beastly violence should be
resorted to. But without a moment's delay, she was placed upon a horse,
himself and accomplices mounted on others, and, he by her side, with Bill
and Dick in the rear, the whole party pushed forward for the cave, where
they arrived a little past the middle of the afternoon without any serious
adventure.
Duffel placed his captive in the Captain's room, with the bed-room to
retire to at her pleasure.
"I trust," said he, "you will find this a comfortable place; and be assured
I shall strive to do all in my power to make your stay here as agreeable as
possible. Books you shall have whenever you desire them; there are a number
in the case yonder, and any others you may wish for shall be procured. The
length of time you will remain my guest depends upon your own choice, with
one condition annexed, of which I will speak to you more fully to-morrow.
At present I have urgent business to attend to elsewhere, which cannot be
delayed; I regret to leave you so soon; I hope you will pardon me, and I
will endeavor to make amends in the future for any apparent neglect at the
present. You will find the key to the bed-room in the lock on the inside;
make yourself easy during my absence. I shall lake the precaution to lock
the door of egress and ingress to this room, so that you may rest in
perfect security that no one can harm you. And now good evening, for I must
be off, and may pleasant dreams attend your slumbers."
With this mockingly polite address and adieu he left the room and the cave,
securing the door after him, and was soon on his way back.
Eveline had sustained herself with the most determined and heroic fortitude
during all the trying scenes of the day, and until Duffel was gone. By a
great effort of the will to seem calm, she had kept herself from betraying
any emotions of fear while her enemies were near to observe her bearing;
but now that she was alone, the unwonted tension to which her powers of
endurance had been subjected, caused a reaction to take place; she was
overwhelmed by the flooding tides of thought and despair that rushed in
upon her. What a day of calamity it had been! What a night of rayless
darkness was before her!
She knew that she was in the hands and at the mercy of an unscrupulous
villain, who was incapable of performing a noble or magnanimous act, but
base enough to resort to any means in the use of which to carry an end, or
gain a point. She but too well knew the fate before her, if no means of
resistance were placed in her hands; and where to find these she knew not.
She was, as we said, overwhelmed with dismay. But gradually, as she had
time to reflect, to collect her thoughts, and form resolves, she began to
grow calm. There was a strength in firmness of will which could surmount
many difficulties. It was, indeed, a kind of wall of defense about her,
which might materially aid her in the contest she clearly saw before her,
with her unprincipled enemy. He was, she knew, like all villains, a coward,
and she determined, among other things, to operate upon his fears.
It might be supposed that she would feel little like sleep under the
circumstances by which she was surrounded; but having overheard part of an
aside conversation between Duffel and his confederates, in which he
mentioned meeting them at some place designated, and about something to be
done on the morrow, she felt assured of what she could not have been
certain on his own word merely, that he had business which would detain him
until the next day, and, consequently, would not return to molest her for
the present. She retired to the inner room, locked and bolted the door,
(she had not expected to find a bolt on the inside, and the fact that there
was one gave her a feeling of greater security,) then knelt down and
offered up a fervent prayer to heaven for protection, for shielding care
and final deliverance; after which she laid down, and composed herself to
rest. Her slumbers were peaceful and undisturbed, attended with pleasant
dreams; and she awoke, in the morning, as she supposed--for the light of
day never visited the dark recesses of her abode, which were lighted by
artificial means alone--much refreshed, with her spirits quite restored to
their former elasticity.
She went out into the other room, and selected a book for perusal; it
chanced to be a work on metaphysics, and after poring over its abstruse
pages for some time, she became drowsy, and finally fell into a dreamy
sleep. In her fitful slumbers, she was visited by a dream or vision of
extraordinary vividness, which made an indelible impression upon her mind,
because she felt personally interested in the characters that appeared
before her, and by alluding to the scenes, she might alarm the guilty soul
of her persecutor; so, at least, she hoped and believed; with what reason
we shall see hereafter.
* * * * *
After leaving the cave, Duffel hastened back to Mr. Mandeville's as fast as
his fleet steed could bear him. It was after dark before he drew up in
front of that gentleman's house, his horse covered with sweat and foam, and
well-nigh exhausted. It was his wish to be there before the father should
institute any search for his missing daughter, that he might succeed in
throwing the blame upon Hadley, in case the letters dropped for the purpose
of implicating him should not have fallen into the hands of the parent; and
with this view he had a story already made up, to the effect that some one
had seen the fugitives in their flight. As was his custom, he paused on the
outside of the house to listen, hoping by that means to obtain a knowledge
of affairs, and of the feelings of Mr. Mandeville relative to his
daughter's desertion or abduction as the case might be. He soon heard the
hurried footsteps of that gentleman, as, in his deep distress, he paced the
floor--heard, also, his broken exclamations and heavy groans, and the only
sentiment all these things awakened in his callous soul was expressed in
the unfeeling words spoken to himself, in thought:
"The old man takes it hard."
It was a very extraordinary thing for Mr. Mandeville to express his
thoughts aloud, but he did so on this occasion, and Duffel heard his
comments on the letters, and his execration of the writer, as also his
reflections upon his daughter's conduct; then there was a crumpling sound
like that of paper, as though the sheets were crushed in the hand of the
reader. All this was music to the crime-stained soul of the guilty
listener, who exulted in the success of his scheme, and felt additional
assurance of ultimately triumphing in all his undertakings. But when the
spirit-bowed father, in his hopeless agony, called down the curse upon the
head of the author of the wrong, and appealed to Heaven for vengeance, the
villain cowered as if truly smitten with a bolt; and the bare thought that
the fate prayed for _might_ be his, sent a cold chill to his heart and
forced out great drops of perspiration on his brow. He trembled in every
limb, like one in an ague fit, and it was some seconds before he could
regain command of his faculties. At last he felt something like himself
again, and not wishing to hear anything more of the same kind, he knocked
at the door, and the next minute stood face to face with Mr. Mandeville.
Black as his corrupt heart had become, he could not look unmoved upon that
countenance, and behold the ravages made in a short hour by the pains of
soul _he_ had inflicted.
"Are you sick, Mr. Mandeville?" was his first inquiry.
"No, sir; but worse, much worse than sick."
"Indeed! How is that?"
"Eveline is gone!"
"Gone?"
"Yes, gone forever!"
"What!" and the miscreant evinced the utmost surprise and astonishment.
"You do not mean to say she is dead?"
"No, no! Would to God she was! I would a thousand times rather have
followed her to the grave! But read, read, and know for yourself what has
happened." Saying which, he placed the letters in the hypocrite's hands,
and then, while he was reading them, buried his face in his own hands, and
sat in mute but agonized grief.
Duffel read the letters with secret delight, repeating to himself at every
particular place where it suited him best, "Glorious!" and at the close of
all, "I must reward Bill for this. He's a perfect gem of a devil for such
work."
But to Mandeville, in well-feigned amazement, he exclaimed:
"Charles Hadley!"
"Yes," said the afflicted parent, lifting his bowed head, "of all the
world, _him_! a criminal and vagabond, who had fled from justice to hide
himself from the face of man! Oh, my God! to think that she would forsake
home, friends, a good name, and trample upon a parent's love for such a
villain!"
"Perhaps it is not yet too late to save her?" suggested Duffel.
"How? what?" ejaculated the other, catching at the words as a drowning man
would at a straw.
"I say it may be possible that the marriage-rites have not yet been
performed. This may be written for a blind to prevent pursuit."
"No, no; I cannot doubt its truth, and would not have a hope raised in my
heart to be crushed out again by despair. Beside, whither should I go in
pursuit of them?"
"I see you are in hopeless despondency, but I do not feel like giving over
without a struggle--I have too much to lose in Eveline. Shall I try to
rescue her?"
"Oh! yes, if you wish to do so."
"And if, by any means, I can circumvent this Hadley, and prevent their
union, I have your consent to make her my wife?"
"Certainly."
"And will you interpose parental authority in my behalf?"
"Yes, after this I will."
"I have still one request more to make, and that is, that you will permit
me to act in my own way, and according to my own judgment in this matter."
"Do so; I have no advice to give."
"Very well; I am to understand, then, that if by _any means_ I can rescue
Eveline from Hadley, she is to be my wife?"
"Yes."
"Then I will try. I will follow them to the end of the world if need be.
Perhaps you may hear from me soon, perhaps not for a month. Good-by."
In a few moments he was galloping away at full speed, as if to impress his
recent host with the idea that he was in great haste to be after the
fugitives.
Mr. Mandeville had been too deeply absorbed with his own feelings to pay
very strict attention to what Duffel was saying; but the words _by any
means_ now rose vividly up in his mind, and like a flash came the thought--
"He may intend to _murder_ Hadley!"
Starting to his feet, he hastened out for an explanation; but Duffel was
already gone, and turning back, he entered his dwelling with the
expression in his thoughts--
"Let him die: it matters not!"
Ah, had he known the true state of the case, and the devilish import of
those words in the mind of the abominable wretch who had uttered them, how
suddenly would he have aroused himself to action. But now he cared not.
"If," thought he, "Eveline is so ungrateful, if she thinks so little of a
father's love, let her go! Why need I seek to force her to stay with me
when she prefers the society of another? Oh, if I had not loved her so
tenderly, I could endure this trial better. But why mourn and lament? No,
rather let me forget her, as she has forsaken me."
But he could not forget her with all his resolving, and we will leave him
with his sorrow.