ANOTHER KNIGHT APPEARS
The processes of law were at length complete, and Mr. Arnot found
himself in a prison cell, with the prospect that years must elapse
before he would receive a freedom that now was dreaded almost more than
his forced seclusion. After his conviction he had been taken from
Hillaton to a large prison of the State, in a distant city.
"I shall follow you, Thomas, as soon as I can complete such arrangements
as are essential," Mrs. Arnot had said, "and will remain as near to you
as I can. Indeed, it will be easier for Laura and me to commence our new
life there than here."
The man had at last begun to realize the whole truth. True to his
nature, he thought of himself first, and saw that his crime, like a
great black hand, had dragged him down from his proud eminence of power
and universal respect, away from his beloved business, and had shut him
up in this narrow, stony sepulchre, for what better was his prison cell
than a tomb to a man with his tireless mind? The same mind which like a
giant had carried its huge burden every day, was still his; but now
there was nothing for it to do. And yet it would act, for constant
mental action had become a necessity from a lifetime of habit.
Heretofore his vast business taxed every faculty to the utmost. He had
to keep his eye on all the great markets of the world; he had to follow
politicians, diplomats, and monarchs into their secret councils, and
guess at their policy in order to shape his own business policy. His
interests were so large and far-reaching that it had been necessary for
him to take a glance over the world before he could properly direct his
affairs from his private office. For years he had been commanding a
small army of men, and with consummate skill and constant thought he had
arrayed the industry of his army against the labors of like armies under
the leadership of other men in competition with himself. His mind had
learned to flash with increasing speed and accuracy to one and another
of all these varied interests. But now the great fabric of business and
wealth, which he had built by a lifetime of labor, had vanished like a
dream, and nothing remained but the mind that had constructed it.
"Ah!" he groaned again and again, "why could not mind and memory perish
also?"
But they remained, and were the only possessions left of his great
wealth.
Then he began to think of his wife and Laura. He had beggared them, and,
what was far worse, he had darkened their lives with the shadow of his
own disgrace. Wholly innocent as they were, they must suffer untold
wretchedness through his act. In his view he was the cause of the broken
engagement between his niece and the wealthy Mr. Beaumont, and now he
saw that there was nothing before the girl but a dreary effort to gain a
livelihood by her own labor, and this effort rendered almost hopeless by
the reflected shame of his crime.
His wife also was growing old and feeble. At last he realized he had a
wife such as is given to but few men--a woman who was great enough to be
tender and sympathetic through all the awful weeks that had elapsed
since the discovery of his crime--a woman who could face what she saw
before her and utter no words of repining or reproach.
He now saw how cold and hard and unappreciative he had been toward her
in the days of his prosperity, and he cursed himself and his unutterable
folly.
Thus his great powerful mind turned in vindictive rage against itself.
Memory began to show him with mocking finger and bitter jibes where he
might have acted more wisely in his business, more wisely in his social
relations, and especially more wisely and humanely, to say the least, in
his own home. It seemed to take a fiendish delight in telling him how
everything might have been different, and how he, instead of brooding in
a prison cell, might have been the most honored, useful, wealthy, and
happy man in Hillaton.
Thus he was tortured until physical exhaustion brought him a brief
respite of sleep. But the next day it was the same wretched round of
bitter memories and vain but torturing activity of mind. Day after day
passed and he grew haggard under his increasing mental distress. His
mind was like a great driving wheel, upon which all the tremendous
motive power is turned without cessation, but for which there is nothing
to drive save the man himself, and seemingly it would drive him mad.
At last he said to himself, "I cannot endure this. For my own sake, for
the sake of my wife and Laura, it were better that an utter blank should
take the place of Thomas Arnot. I am, and ever shall be, only a burden
to them. I am coming to be an intolerable burden to myself."
The thought of suicide, once entertained, grew rapidly in favor, and at
last it became only a question how he could carry out his dark purpose.
With this definite plan before him he grew calmer. At last he had
something to do in the future, and terrible memory must suspend for a
time its scorpion lash while he thought how best to carry out his plan.
The suicide about to take the risk of endless suffering is usually
desirous that the intervening moments of his "taking off" should be as
painless as possible, and Mr. Arnot began to think how he could make his
exit momentary. But his more tranquil mood, the result of having some
definite action before him, led to sleep, and the long night passed in
unconsciousness, the weary body clogging the wheels of conscious
thought.
The sun was shining when he awoke; but with returning consciousness came
memory and pain, and the old cowardly desire to escape all the
consequences of his sin by death. He vowed he would not live to see
another day, and once more he commenced brooding over the one question,
how he would die. As he took up this question where he had dropped it
the previous night, the thought occurred to him what a long respite he
had had from pain. Then like a flash of lightning came another thought:
"Suppose by my self-destroying act I pass into a condition of life in
which there is no sleep, and memory can torture without cessation,
without respite? True, I have tried to believe there is no future life,
but am I sure of it? Here I can obtain a little rest. For hours I have
been unconscious, through the weight of the body upon my spirit. How can
I be sure that the spirit cannot exist separately and suffer just the
same? I am not suffering now through my body, and have not been through
all these terrible days. My body is here in this cell, inert and
motionless, painless, while in my mind I am enduring the torments of the
damned. The respite from suffering that I have had has come through the
weariness of my body, and here I am planning to cast down the one
barrier that perhaps saves me from an eternity of torturing thought and
memory."
He was appalled at the bare possibility of such a future; reason told
him that such a future was probable, and conscience told him that it was
before him in veritable truth. He felt that wherever he carried memory
and his present character he would be most miserable, whether it were in
Dante's Inferno, Milton's Paradise, or the heaven or hell of the Bible.
There was no more thought of suicide. Indeed, he shrank from death with
inexpressible dread.
Slowly his thoughts turned to his wife, the woman who had been so true
to him, the one human being of all the world who now stood by him. She
might help him in his desperate strait. She seemed to have a principle
within her soul which sustained her, and which might sustain him. At any
rate, he longed to see her once more, and ask her forgiveness in deep
contrition for his base and lifelong failure to "love, honor, and
cherish her," as he had promised at God's altar and before many
witnesses.
The devoted wife came and patiently entered on her ministry of love and
Christian faith, and out of the chaos of the fallen man of iron and
stone there gradually emerged a new man, who first became in Christ's
expressive words "a little child" in spiritual things, that he might
grow naturally and in the symmetry of the enduring manhood which God
designs to perfect in the coming ages.
Mrs. Arnot's sturdy integrity led her to give up everything to her
husband's creditors, and she came to the city of her new abode wherein
the prison was located almost penniless. But she brought letters from
Dr. Barstow, Mr. Ivison, and other Christian people of Hillaton. These
were presented at a church of the denomination to which she belonged,
and all she asked was some employment by which she and Laura could
support themselves. These letters secured confidence at once. There was
no mystery--nothing concealed--and, although so shadowed by the disgrace
of another, the bearing of the ladies inspired respect and won sympathy.
A gentleman connected with the church gave Laura the position of
saleswoman in his bookstore, and to Mrs. Arnot's little suburban cottage
of only three rooms kind and interested ladies brought sewing and
fancy-work. Thus they were provided for, as God's people ever are in
some way.
Mrs. Arnot had written a long letter to Haldane before leaving Hillaton,
giving a full account of their troubles, with one exception. At Laura's
request she had not mentioned the broken engagement with Beaumont.
"If possible, I wish to see him myself before he knows," she had said.
"At least, before any correspondence takes place between us, I wish to
look into his eyes, and if I see the faintest trace of shrinking from me
there, as I saw it in Mr. Beaumont's eyes, I will never marry him, truly
as I love him."
Mrs. Arnot's face had lighted up with its old-time expression, as she
said:
"Laura, don't you know Egbert Haldane better than that?"
"I can't help it," she had replied with a troubled brow; "the manner of
nearly every one has changed so greatly that I must see him first."
Haldane did not receive Mrs. Arnot's first letter. He was at sea with
his regiment, on his way to the far Southwest, when the events in which
he would have been so deeply interested began to occur. After reaching
his new scene of duty, there were constant alternations of march and
battle. In the terrible campaign that followed, the men of the army he
was acting with were decimated, and officers dropped out fast. In
consequence, Haldane, who received but two slight wounds, that did not
disable him, was promoted rapidly. The colonel of the regiment was
killed soon after their arrival, and from the command of the regiment he
rose, before the campaign was over, to command a brigade, and then a
division; and he performed his duties so faithfully and ably that he was
confirmed in this position.
Mrs. Arnot's first letter had followed him around for a time, and then
was lost, like so many others in that time of dire confusion. Her second
letter after long delay reached him, but it was very brief and hurried,
and referred to troubles that he did not understand. From members of his
old regiment, however, rumors reached him of some disaster to Mr. Arnot,
and wrong-doing on his part, which had led to imprisonment.
Haldane was greatly shocked at the bare possibility of such events, and
wrote a most sympathetic letter to Mrs. Arnot, which never reached her.
She had received some of his previous letters, but not this one.
By the time the campaign was over one of Haldane's wounds began to
trouble him very much, and his health seemed generally broken down from
exposure and overexertion. As a leave of absence was offered him, he
availed himself of it and took passage to New York.
Three or four letters from his mother had reached him, but that lady's
causeless jealousy of Mrs. Arnot had grown to such proportions that she
never mentioned her old friend's name.
The long days of the homeward voyage were passed by Haldane in vain
conjecture. Of one thing he felt sure, and that was that Laura was by
this time, or soon would be, Mrs. Beaumont; and now that the excitement
of military service was over, the thought rested on him with a weight
that was almost crushing.
One evening Mr. Growther was dozing as usual between his cat and dog,
when some one lifted the latch and walked in without the ceremony of
knocking.
"Look here, stranger, where's yer manners?" snarled the old gentleman.
Then catching a glimpse of the well-remembered face, though now obscured
by a tremendous beard, he started up, exclaiming,
"Lord a' massy! 'taint you, is it? And you compared yourself with that
little, peaked-faced chap that's around just the same--you with
shoulders as broad as them are, and two stars on 'em too!"
The old man nearly went beside himself with joy. He gave the cat and dog
each a vigorous kick, and told them to "wake up and see if they could
believe their eyes."
It was some time before Haldane could get him quieted down so as to
answer all the questions that he was longing to put; but at last he drew
out the story in full of Mr. Arnot's forgery and its consequences.
"Has Mr. Beaumont married Miss Romeyn?" at last he faltered.
"No; I reckon not," said Mr. Growther dryly.
"What do you mean?" asked Haldane sharply.
"Well, all I know is that he didn't marry her, and she ain't the kind of
a girl to marry him, whether he would or no, and so they ain't married."
"The infernal scoundrel!" thundered Haldane, springing to his feet.
"The--"
"Hold on!" cried Mr. Growther. "O Lord a' massy! I half believe he's got
to swearin' down in the war. If he's backslid agin, nothin' but my
little, peaked-faced chap will ever bring him around a nuther time."
Haldane was stalking up and down the room in strong excitement and quite
oblivious of Mr. Growther's perplexity.
"The unutterable fool!" he exclaimed, "to part from such a woman as
Laura Romeyn for any cause save death."
"Well, hang it all! if he's a fool that's his business. What on 'arth is
the matter with you? I ain't used to havin' bombshells go off right
under my nose as you be, and the way you are explodin' round kinder
takes away my breath."
"Forgive me, my old friend; but I never had a shot strike quite as close
as this. Poor girl! Poor girl! What a prospect she had a few months
since. True enough, Beaumont was never a man to my taste; but a woman
sees no faults in the man she loves; and he could have given her
everything that her cultivated taste could wish for. Poor girl, she must
be broken-hearted with all this trouble and disappointment."
"If I was you, I'd go and see if she was," said Mr. Growther, with a
shrewd twinkle in his eyes. "I've heerd tell of hearts bein' mended in
my day."
Haldane looked at him a moment, and, as he caught his old friend's
meaning, he brought his hand down on the table with a force that made
everything in the old kitchen ring again.
"O Lord a' massy!" ejaculated Mr. Growther, hopping half out of his
chair.
"Mr. Growther," said Haldane, starting up, "I came to have a very
profound respect for your sagacity and wisdom years ago, but to-night
you have surpassed Solomon himself. I shall take your most excellent
advice at once and go and see."
"Not to-night--"
"Yes, I can yet catch the owl train to-night. Good-by for a short time."
"No wonder he took the rebs' works, if he went for 'em like that,"
chuckled Mr. Growther, as he composed himself after the excitement of
the unexpected visit. "Now I know what made him look so long as if
something was a-gnawin' at his heart; so I'm a-thinkin' there'll be two
hearts mended."
Haldane reached the city in which Mrs. Arnot resided early in the
morning, and as he had no clew to her residence, he felt that his best
chance of hearing of her would be at the prison itself, for he knew well
that she would seek either to see or learn of her husband's welfare
almost daily. In answer to his inquiries, he was told that she would be
sure to come to the prison at such an hour in the evening since that was
her custom.
He must get through the day the best he could, and so strolled off to
the business part of the city, where was located the leading hotel, and
was followed by curious eyes and surmises. Major-generals were not in
the habit of inquiring at the prison after convicts' wives.
As he passed a bookstore, it occurred to him that an exciting story
would help kill time, and he sauntered in and commenced looking over the
latest publications that were seductively arranged near the door.
"I'll go to breakfast now, Miss," said the junior clerk who swept the
store.
"Thank you. Oh, go quickly," murmured Laura Romeyn to herself, as with
breathless interest she watched the unconscious officer, waiting till he
should look up and recognize her standing behind a counter. She was
destined to have her wish in very truth, for when he saw her he would be
so surely off his guard from surprise that she could see into the very
depths of his heart.
Would he never look up? She put her hand to her side, for anticipation
was so intense as to become a pain. She almost panted from excitement.
This was the supreme moment of her life, but the very fact of his coming
to this city promised well for the hope which fed her life.
"Ah, he is reading. The thought of some stranger holds him, while my
intense thoughts and feelings no more affect him than if I were a
thousand miles away. How strong and manly he looks! How well that
uniform becomes him, though evidently worn and battle-stained! Ah! two
stars upon his shoulder! Can it be that he has won such high rank? What
will he think of poor me, selling books for bread? Egbert Haldane,
beware! If you shrink from me now, even in the expression of your eye, I
stand aloof from you forever."
The man thus standing on the brink of fate, read leisurely on, smiling
at some quaint fancy of the author, who had gained his attention for a
moment.
"Heigh ho!" he said at last, "this stealing diversion from a book
unbought is scarcely honest, so I will--"
The book dropped from his hands, and he passed his hands across his eyes
as if to brush away a film. Then his face lighted up with all the noble
and sympathetic feeling that Laura had ever wished or hoped to see, and
he sprang impetuously toward her.
"Miss Romeyn," he exclaimed. "Oh, this is better than I hoped."
"Did you hope to find me earning my bread in this humble way?" she
faltered, deliciously conscious that he was almost crushing her hand in
a grasp that was all too friendly.
"I was hoping to find _you_--and Mrs. Arnot," he added with a sudden
deepening of color. "I thought a long day must elapse before I could
learn of your residence."
"Do you know all?" she asked, very gravely.
"Yes, Miss Romeyn," he replied with moistening eyes, "I know all.
Perhaps my past experience enables me to sympathize with you more than
others can. But be that as it may, I do give you the whole sympathy of
my heart; and for this brave effort to win your own bread I respect and
honor you more, if possible, than I did when you were in your beautiful
home at Hillaton."
Laura's tears were now falling fast, but she was smiling nevertheless,
and she said, hesitatingly:
"I do not consider myself such a deplorable object of sympathy; I have
good health, a kind employer, enough to live upon, and a tolerably clear
conscience. Of course I do feel deeply for auntie and uncle, and yet I
think auntie is happier than she has been for many years. If all had
remained as it was at Hillaton, the ice around uncle's heart would have
grown harder and thicker to the end; now it is melting away, and
auntie's thoughts reach so far beyond time and earth, that she is
forgetting the painful present in thoughts of the future."
"I have often asked myself," exclaimed Haldane, "could God have made a
nobler woman? Ah! Miss Laura, you do not know how much I owe to her."
"You have taught us that God can make noble men also."
"I have merely done my duty," he said, with a careless gesture. "When
can I see Mrs. Arnot?"
"I can't go home till noon, but I think I can direct you to the house."
"Can I not stay and help you sell books? Then I can go home with you."
"A major-general behind the counter selling books would make a sensation
in town, truly."
"If the people were of my way of thinking, Miss Laura Romeyn selling
books would make a far greater sensation."
"Very few are of your way of thinking, Mr. Haldane."
"I am heartily glad of it," he ejaculated.
"Indeed!"
"Pardon me, Miss Romeyn" he said with a deep flush, "you do not
understand what I mean." Then he burst out impetuously, "Miss Laura, I
cannot school myself into patience. I have been in despair so many years
that since I now dare to imagine that there is a bare chance for me, I
cannot wait decorously for some fitting occasion. But if you can give me
even the faintest hope I will be patience and devotion itself."
"Hope of what?" said Laura faintly, turning away her face.
"Oh, Miss Laura, I ask too much," he answered sadly.
"You have not asked anything very definitely, Mr. Haldane," she
faltered.
"I ask for the privilege of trying to win you as my wife."
"Ah, Egbert," she cried, joyously, "you have stood the test; for if you
had shrunk, even in your thoughts, from poor, penniless Laura Romeyn,
with her uncle in yonder prison, you might have tried in vain to win
me."
"God knows I did not shrink," he said eagerly, and reaching out his hand
across the counter.
"I know it too," she said shyly.
"Laura, all that I am, or ever can be, goes with that hand."
She put her hand in his, and looking into his face with an expression
which he had never seen before, she said:
"Egbert, I have loved you ever since you went, as a true knight, to the
aid of cousin Amy."
And thus they plighted their faith to each other across the counter, and
then he came around on her side.
We shall not attempt to portray the meeting between Mrs. Arnot and one
whom she had learned to look upon as a son, and who loved her with an
affection that had its basis in the deepest gratitude.
Our story is substantially ended. It only remains to be said that
Haldane, by every means in his power, showed gentle and forbearing
consideration for his mother's feelings, and thus she was eventually led
to be reconciled to his choice, if not to approve of it.
"After all, it is just like Egbert," she said to her daughters, "and we
will have to make the best of it."
Haldane's leave of absence passed all too quickly, and in parting he
said to Laura:
"You think I have faced some rather difficult duties before, but there
was never one that could compare with leaving you for the uncertainties
of a soldier's life."
But he went nevertheless, and remained till the end of the war.
Not long after going to the front he was taken prisoner in a disastrous
battle, but he found means of informing his old friend Dr. Orton of the
fact. Although the doctor was a rebel to the backbone, he swore he would
"break up the Confederacy" if Haldane was not released, and through his
influence the young man was soon brought to his friend's hospitable
home, where he found Amy installed as housekeeper. She was now Mrs.
Orton, for her lover returned as soon as it was safe for him to do so
after the end of the epidemic. He was now away in the army, and thus
Haldane did not meet him at that time; but later in the conflict Colonel
Orton in turn became a prisoner of war, and Haldane was able to return
the kindness which he received on this occasion. Mrs. Poland resided
with Amy, and they both were most happy to learn that they would
eventually have a relative as well as friend in their captive, for never
was a prisoner of war made more of than Haldane up to the time of his
exchange.
Years have passed. The agony of the war has long been over. Not only
peace but prosperity is once more prevailing throughout the land.
Mr. and Mrs. Arnot reside in their old home, but Mrs. Egbert Haldane is
its mistress. Much effort was made to induce Mr. Growther to take up his
abode there also, but he would not leave the quaint old kitchen, where
he said "the little peaked-faced chap was sittin' beside him all the
time."
At last he failed and was about to die. Looking up into Mrs. Arnot's
face, he said:
"I don't think a bit better of myself. I'm twisted all out o' shape. But
the little chap has taught me how the Good Father will receive me."
The wealthiest people of Hillaton are glad to obtain the services of Dr.
Haldane, and to pay for them; they are glad to welcome him to their
homes when his busy life permits him to come; but the proudest citizen
must wait when Christ, in the person of the poorest and lowliest, sends
word to this knightly man, "I am sick or in prison"; "I am naked or
hungry."
THE END
End of Project Gutenberg's A Knight of the Nineteenth Century, by E. P. Roe