OBED STANDS AT BAY.
On leaving Marseilles all Zillah's troubles seemed to return to her
once more. The presence of Windham had dispelled them for a time; now
that he was present no longer there was nothing to save her from
sorrow. She had certainly enough to weigh down any one, and among all
her sorrows her latest grief stood pre-eminent. The death of the
Earl, the cruel discovery of those papers in her father's drawer by
which there seemed to be a stain on her father's memory, the
intolerable insult which she had endured in that letter from Guy to
his father, the desperate resolution to fly, the anguish which she
had endured on Hilda's account, and, finally, the agony of that lone
voyage in the drifting schooner--all these now came back to her with
fresher violence, recurring again with overpowering force from the
fact that they had been kept off so long. Yet there was not one
memory among all these which so subdued her as the memory of the
parting scene with Windham. This was the great sorrow of her life.
Would she ever meet him again? Perhaps not. Or why should she? Of
what avail would it be?
Passing over the seas she gave herself up to her recollections, and
to the mournful thoughts that crowded in upon her. Among other
things, she could not help thinking and wondering about Windham's
despair. What was the reason that he had always kept such a close
watch over himself? What was the reason why he never ventured to
utter in words that which had so often been expressed in his eloquent
face? Above all, what was the cause of that despairing cry which had
escaped him when they exchanged their last farewell? It was the
recognition on his part of some insuperable obstacle that lay between
them. That was certain. Yet what could the obstacle be? Clearly, it
could not have been the knowledge of her own position. It was
perfectly evident that Windham knew nothing whatever about her, and
could have not even the faintest idea of the truth. It must therefore
be, as she saw it, that this obstacle could only be one which was in
connection with himself. And what could that be? Was he a priest
under vows of celibacy? She smiled at the preposterous idea. Was he
engaged to be married in England, and was he now on the way to his
bride? Could this be it? and was his anguish the result of the
conflict between love and honor in his breast? This may have been the
case. Finally, was he married already? She could not tell. She rather
fancied that it was an engagement, not a marriage; and it was in this
that she thought she could find the meaning of his passionate and
despairing words.
Passing over those waters where once she had known what it was to be
betrayed, and had tasted of the bitterness of death, she did not find
that they had power to renew the despair which they once had caused.
Behind the black memory of that hour of anguish rose up another
memory which engrossed all her thoughts. If she had tears, it was for
this. It was Windham, whose image filled all her soul, and whose last
words echoed through her heart. For as she gazed on these waters it
was not of the drifting schooner that she thought, not of the hours
of intense watchfulness, not of the hope deferred that gradually
turned into despair; it was rather of the man who, as she had often
heard since, was the one who first recognized her, and came to her in
her senselessness, and bore her in his arms back to life. Had he done
well in rescuing her? Had he not saved her for a greater sorrow?
Whether he had or not mattered not. He had saved her, and her life
was his. That strange rescue constituted a bond between them which
could not be dissolved. Their lives might run henceforth in lines
which should never meet, but still they belonged henceforth to one
another, though they might never possess one another. Out from among
these waters there came also sweeter memories--the memories of
voyages over calm seas, under the shadow of the hoary Alps, where
they passed away those golden hours, knowing that the end must come,
yet resolved to enjoy to the full the rapture of the present. These
were the thoughts that sustained her. No grief could rob her of
these; but in cherishing them her soul found peace.
Those into whose society she had been thrown respected her grief and
Her reticence. For the first day she had shut herself up in her room;
but the confinement became intolerable, and she was forced to go out
on deck. She somewhat dreaded lest Obed Chute, out of the very
kindness of his heart, would come and try to entertain her. She did
not feel in the mood for talking. Any attempt at entertaining her she
felt would be unendurable. But she did not know the perfect
refinement of sentiment that dwelt beneath the rough exterior of
Obed. He seemed at once to divine her state of mind. With the utmost
delicacy he found a place for her to sit, but said little or nothing
to her, and for all the remainder of the voyage treated her with a
silent deference of attention which was most grateful. She knew that
he was not neglectful. She saw a hundred times a day that Obed's mind
was filled with anxiety about her, and that to minister to her
comfort was his one idea. But it was not in words that this was
expressed. It was in helping her up and down from the cabin to the
deck, in fetching wraps, in speaking a cheerful word from time to
time, and, above all, in keeping his family away from her, that he
showed his watchful attention. Thus the time passed, and Zillah was
left to brood over her griefs, and to conjecture hopelessly and at
random about the future. What would that future bring forth? Would
the presence of Hilda console her in any way? She did not see how it
could. After the first joy of meeting, she felt that she would
relapse into her usual sadness. Time only could relieve her, and her
only hope was patience.
At last they landed at Naples. Obed took the party to a handsome
house on the Strada Nuova, where he had lodged when he was in Naples
before, and where he obtained a suite of apartments in front, which
commanded a magnificent view of the bay, with all its unrivaled
scenery, together with the tumultuous life of the street below. Here
he left them, and departed himself almost immediately to begin his
search after Hilda. Her letter mentioned that she was stopping at the
"Hotel de l'Europe," in the Strada Toledo; and to this place he first
directed his way.
On arriving here he found a waiter who could speak English, which was
a fortunate thing, in his opinion, as he could not speak a word of
any other language. He at once asked if a lady by the name of Miss
Lorton was stopping here.
The waiter looked at him with a peculiar glance, and surveyed him
From head to foot. There was something in the expression of his face
which appeared very singular to Obed--a mixture of eager curiosity
and surprise, which to him, to say the least, seemed uncalled for
under the circumstances. He felt indignant at such treatment from a
waiter.
"If you will be kind enough to stare less and answer my question,"
said he, "I will feel obliged; but perhaps you don't understand
English."
"I beg pardon," said the other, in very good English; "but what was
the name of the lady?"
"Miss Lorton," said Obed.
The waiter looked at him again with the same peculiar glance, and
then replied:
"I don't know, but I will ask. Wait here a moment."
Saying this, he departed, and Obed saw him speaking to some half a
dozen persons in the hall very earnestly and hurriedly; then he went
off, and in about five minutes returned in company with the master of
the hotel.
"Were you asking after a lady?" said he, in very fair English, and
bowing courteously to Obed.
"I was," said Obed, who noticed at the same time that this man was
regarding him with the same expression of eager and scrutinizing
curiosity which he had seen on the face of the other.
"And what was the name?"
"Miss Lorton."
"Miss Lorton?" repeated the other; "yes, she is here. Will you be
kind enough to follow me to the parlor until I see whether she is at
home or not, and make her acquainted with your arrival?"
At this information, which was communicated with extreme politeness,
Obed felt such immense relief that he forgot altogether about the
very peculiar manner in which he had been scrutinized. A great weight
seemed suddenly to have been lifted off his soul. For the first time
in many weeks he began to breathe freely. He thought of the joy which
he would bring to that poor young girl who had been thrown so
strangely under his protection, and who was so sad. For a moment he
hesitated whether to wait any longer or not. His first impulse was to
hurry away and bring her here; but then in a moment he thought it
would be far better to wait, and to take back Miss Lorton with him in
triumph to her sister.
The others watched his momentary hesitation with some apparent
anxiety; but at length it was dispelled by Obed's reply:
"Thank you. I think I had better wait and see her. I hope I won't be
detained long."
"Oh no. She is doubtless in her room. You will only have to wait a
few minutes."
Saying this, they led the way to a pleasant apartment looking out on
the Strada Toledo, and here Obed took a seat, and lost himself in
speculations as to the appearance of the elder Miss Lorton. In about
five minutes the door was opened, and the master of the hotel made
his appearance again.
"I find," said he, politely, "that Miss Lorton is not in. She went
out only a few minutes before you came. She left word with her maid,
however, that she was going to a shop up the Strada Toledo to buy
some jewelry. I am going to send a messenger to hasten her return.
Shall I send your name by him?"
"Well," said Obed, "I don't know as it's necessary. Better wait till
I see her myself."
The landlord said nothing, but looked at him with strange
earnestness.
"By-the-way," said Obed, "how is she?"
"She?"
"Yes; Miss Lorton."
"Oh," said the landlord, "very well."
"She recovered from her illness then?"
"Oh yes."
"Is she in good spirits?"
"Good spirits?"
"Yes; is she happy?"
"Oh yes."
"I am glad to hear it. I was afraid she might be melancholy."
"Oh no," said the landlord, with some appearance of confusion; "oh
no. She's very well. Oh yes."
His singular behavior again struck Obed rather oddly, and he stared
at him for a moment. But he at last thought that the landlord might
not know much about the health or the happiness of his guest, and was
answering from general impressions.
"I will hasten then, Sir," said the landlord, advancing to the door,
"to send the messenger; and if you will be kind enough to wait, she
will be here soon."
He bowed, and going out, he shut the door behind him. Obed, who had
watched his embarrassment, thought that he heard the key turn. The
thing seemed very odd, and he stepped up to the door to try it. It
was locked!
"Well, I'll be darned!" cried Obed, standing before the door and
regarding it with astonishment. "I've seen some curious foreign
fashions, but this here _I_talian fashion of locking a man in is a
little the curiousest. And what in thunder is the meaning of it?"
He looked at the door with a frown, while there was that on his face
which showed that he might be deliberating whether to kick through
the panels or not. But his momentary indignation soon subsided, and,
with a short laugh, he turned away and strolled up to the window with
an indifferent expression. There he drew up an arm-chair, and seating
himself in this, he looked out into the street. For some time his
attention and his thoughts were all engaged by the busy scene; but at
length he came to himself, and began to think that it was about time
for the return of Miss Lorton. He paced up and down the room
impatiently, till growing tired of this rather monotonous employment,
he sought the window again. Half an hour had now passed, and Obed's
patience was fast failing. Still he waited on, and another half hour
passed. Then he deliberated whether it would not be better to go back
to his rooms, and bring the younger Miss Lorton here to see her
sister. But this thought he soon dismissed. Having waited so long for
the sake of carrying out his first plan, it seemed weak to give it up
on account of a little impatience. He determined, however, to
question the landlord again; so he pulled at the bell.
No answer came.
He pulled again and again for some minutes.
Still there was no answer.
He now began to feel indignant, and determined to resort to extreme
measures. So going to the door, he rapped upon it with his stick
several times, each time waiting for an answer. But no answer came.
Then he beat incessantly against the door, keeping up a long,
rolling, rattling volley of knocks without stopping, and making noise
enough to rouse the whole house, even if every body in the house
should happen to be in the deepest of slumbers. Yet even now for some
time there was no response; and Obed at length was beginning to think
of his first purpose, and preparing to kick through the panels, when
his attention was aroused by the sound of heavy footsteps in the
hall. They came nearer and nearer as he stood waiting, and at length
stopped in front of the door. His only thought was that this
was the lady whom he sought so he stepped back, and hastily composed
his face to a pleasant smile of welcome. With this pleasant smile he
awaited the opening of the door.
But as the door opened his eyes were greeted by a sight very
different from what he anticipated. No graceful lady-like form was
there--no elder and maturer likeness of that Miss Lorton whose face
was now so familiar to him, and so dear--but a dozen or so gens
d'armes, headed by the landlord. The latter entered the room, while
the others stood outside in the hall.
"Well," said Obed, angrily. "What is the meaning of this parade?
Where is Miss Lorton?"
"These gentlemen," said the landlord, with much politeness, "will
convey you to the residence of that charming lady."
"It seems to me," said Obed, sternly, "that you have been humbugging
me. Give me a civil answer, or I swear I'll wring your neck. Is Miss
Lorton here or not?"
The landlord stepped back hastily a pace or two, and made a motion to
the gens d'armes. A half dozen of these filed into the room, and
arranged themselves by the windows. The rest remained in the hall.
"What is the meaning of this?" said Obed. "Are you crazy?"
"The meaning is this," said the other, sharply and fiercely. "I am
not the landlord of the Hotel de l'Europe, but sub-agent of the
Neapolitan police. And I arrest you in the name of the king."
"Arrest _me_!" cried Obed. "What the deuce do you mean?"
"It means, Monsieur, that you are trapped at last. I have watched for
you for seven weeks, and have got you now. You need not try to
resist. That is impossible."
Obed looked round in amazement. What was the meaning of it all? There
were the gens d'armes--six in the hall, and six in the room. All
were armed. All looked prepared to fall on him at the slightest
signal.
"Are you a born fool?" he cried at last, turning to the "agent." "Do
you know what you are doing? I am an American, a native of the great
republic, a free man, and a gentleman. What do you mean by this
insult, and these beggarly policemen?"
[Illustration: "Don't Move, Or I'll Blow Your Brains Out!"]
"I mean this," said the other, "that you are my prisoner."
"I am, am I?" said Obed, with a grim smile.
"A prisoner! My friend, that is a difficult thing to come to pass
without my consent."
And saying this, he quietly drew a revolver from his breast pocket.
"Now," said he, "my good friend, look here. I have this little
instrument, and I'm a dead shot. I don't intend to be humbugged. If
any one of you dare to make a movement I'll put a bullet through you.
And you, you scoundrel, stand where you are, or you'll get the first
bullet. You've got hold of the wrong man this time, but I'm going to
get satisfaction for this out of your infernal beggarly government.
As to you, answer my questions. First, who the deuce do you take me
to be? You've made some infernal mistake or other."
The agent cowered beneath the stern eye of Obed. He felt himself
covered by his pistol, and did not dare to move. The gens d'armes
looked disturbed, but made no effort to interfere. They felt that
they had to do with a desperate man, and waited for orders.
"Don't you hear my question?" thundered Obed. "What the deuce is the
meaning of this, and who the deuce do you take me for? Don't move,"
he cried, seeing a faint movement of the agent's hand; "or I'll blow
your brains out; I will, by the Eternal!"
"Beware," faltered the agent; "I belong to the police. I am doing my
duty."
"Pooh! What is your beggarly police to me, or your beggarly king
either, and all his court? There are a couple of Yankee frigates out
there that could bring down the whole concern in a half hour's
bombardment. You've made a mistake, you poor, pitiful concern; but
I'm in search of information, and I'm bound to get it. Answer me now
without any more humbugging. What's the meaning of this?"
"I was ordered to watch for any one who might come here and ask for
'_Miss Lorton_,'" said the agent, who spoke like a criminal to a
judge. "I have watched here for seven weeks. You came to-day, and you
are under arrest."
"Ah?" said Obed, as a light began to flash upon him. "Who ordered you
to watch?"
"The prefect."
"Do you know any thing about the person whom you were to arrest?"
"No."
"Don't you know his crime?"
"No. It had something to do with the French police."
"Do you know his name?"
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"_Gualtier_," said the agent.
"And you think I am Gualtier?"
"Yes."
"And so there is no such person as Miss Lorton here?"
"No."
"Hasn't she been here at all?"
"No; no such person has ever been here."
"That'll do," said Obed, gravely, and with some sadness in his face.
As he spoke, he put back his revolver into his pocket. "My good
friend," said he, "you've made a mistake, and put me to some
annoyance, but you've only done your duty. I forgive you. I am not
this man Gualtier whom you are after, but I am the man that is after
him. Perhaps it would have been better for me to have gone straight
to the police when I first came, but I thought I'd find her here.
However, I can go there now. I have a message and a letter of
introduction to the prefect of police here from the prefect at
Marseilles, which I am anxious now to deliver as soon as possible.
So, my young friend, I'll go with you after all, and you needn't
be in the least afraid of me."
The agent still looked dubious; but Obed, who was in a hurry now, and
had got over his indignation, took from his pocket-book some official
documents bearing the marks of the French prefecture, and addressed
to that of Naples. This satisfied the agent, and, with many
apologies, he walked off with Obed down to the door, and there
entering a cab, they drove to the prefecture.