THAT NIGHT.
"Come, madness! come with me, senseless death!
I cannot suffer this! Here, rocky wall,
Scatter these brains, or dull them!"--DE MONTFORD.
About an hour before the storm burst upon the island, Edgar Courtney,
the victim of his own diabolical passions, reached it unseen and
unobserved. "You will await my return here," he said, as he was
moving away. "I must be back in N---- before morning."
"Don't know 'bout that," said the boy who had taken him over;
"there's an awful storm rising; but if you ain't afeared to venture,
I ain't."
Mr. Courtney glanced at the dark, sullen sky, but what was the storm
without compared with the storm within? Leave the island he must
before morning, so he replied:
"I must go back, let it storm as it will. You can remain here
sheltered under these rocks till I come back."
And wrapping his cloak around him, he moved swiftly away, and
concealed himself behind some overhanging trees to await the result.
The spot where he stood commanded a view of the sea on all sides.
And, therefore, when in the deepening gloom, some hours after, he saw
a boat approach the isle, containing the form of a woman, he had not
a single doubt as to who that woman was.
Oh, the demoniac look that his face wore at that instant! His face
upturned to the bleak light was that of a fiend.
Blinded by his passions, he did not observe, as in a calmer moment he
might have done, even in the gloom, the difference between this tall
figure and that of his wife. He only saw a woman landing on the
isle, springing up the rocks, and disappearing in the darkness, and
who but Laura would have ventured to the isle that stormy night.
When the night fell in more than Egyptian darkness, accompanied by
wind, and lightning, and rain, he made his way blindly through it all
to the trysting-place; and, sheltered behind a friendly rock, he
crouched down like a panther waiting for its prey.
"She will not come in this storm--she cannot; you will wait in vain,"
said the voice of Reason, faintly trying to make itself heard.
"She will come--she will!" said Jealousy. "She has braved the storm
to come to the island; and, though fire should fall from heaven, she
will keep her tryst. Wait! wait! and you will have your revenge."
And the demon voice conquered.
* * * * *
Meantime, how went the night in the widow's cottage?
When--wet, dripping, soaked through--Carl reached the cottage, his
first care was to change his wet clothes, and seat himself at the
table, where a smoking supper awaited him.
Mrs. Tom held up her hands in wonder and amazement when she heard
that Sibyl had braved all that furious storm to come to the isle.
"The girl must be clean crazy," she ejaculated, "to venture on the
stormy sea such a night! I do wonder, though, what brought Miss
Sibyl here to-night?"
"Dunno," said Carl, speaking with his mouth full of griddle-cake.
"She was talking sort o' crazy in the boat. 'Spect' she thought that
Mr. Drummond was here."
Christie, whose white fingers were, as usual, flying busily, as she
plied her needle, suddenly flushed to the temples, and then grew
paler than before. She knew what had brought Sibyl to the island,
though she had hardly fancied she would have ventured out in such a
storm.
"Oh, I wish it had been clear to-night!" she thought, lifting her
head, and listening anxiously to the howling tempest.
Lem, true to his promise, had faithfully delivered Drummond's note to
Christie unobserved. But would he come in all this storm?
Some vague rumor had reached her ear that Miss Campbell, the beauty
and heiress, was soon to be the bride of Willard Drummond. She did
not believe it; it was too monstrous, too dreadful; the bare
possibility of such a thing was maddening. But Sibyl loved him, and
might cherish hopes that could never be realized; and Christie felt
it her duty, despite her promise, to put an end to all these hopes,
once and forever, by proclaiming their marriage. Therefore, she had
seized the first opportunity, and sent the note before mentioned by
Captain Campbell.
By this time Carl Henley had dispatched his supper; and laboring
under a vague impression that some one would be in presently to carry
him off by force, as Mr. Drummond had done on a previous occasion, he
made a hasty exit up the ladder to bed, firmly resolving not to go
out again, though Aunt Tom should pull every hair out of his head.
And when he was gone, Mrs. Tom, having secured the windows and doors,
drew up her wheel, and sat down to spin. And Christie, with cheeks
flushed, and eyes bright with anxiety and impatience, sewed on in
silence, replying vaguely and at random to the stream of smalltalk
kept up by Mrs. Tom.
There were many anxious thoughts passing through the mind of the
young girl. Why had Willard been absent for so long a time?--why had
he appointed this strange midnight meeting?--would he venture on the
sea in night and storm; and, if he came, what could his visit and
note portend? His manner had changed so of late, that, in spite of
herself, the conviction that he already repented of his hasty
marriage forced itself upon her with a pang like the bitterness of
death.
"Oh, I might have known," was her inward cry, "that he, so rich, so
handsome, possessing the love of one so beautiful as Sibyl Campbell,
could never be content with poor little me! Oh, I might have known
he would tire of me; but I was crazed, and believed all he told me.
Something warned me it would, sooner or later, come to this; but now
that it _has_ come, it does not make it any easier to bear."
"Well," said the voice of Mrs. Tom, at this instant breaking upon her
reverie, as she stopped her wheel with a jerk and looked sharply into
Christie's face--"I would like to know what's got into you to-night!
Here I've asked you three blessed times to hand me that there gownd,
an' you don't mind me any more than if I was the cat. S'pose it's
the latest fashion not to answer your elders when they speak to you?
What is the matter with the gal?"
"I didn't hear you," faltered Christie, turning scarlet; "my head
aches. Please excuse me; I didn't mean to offend."
"Better go to bed, then, if you head aches. Time we was all in bed,
for that matter. No use sittin' up a-wastin' of candles, when we can
get up airly in the morning jist as well. Gemimi! how it blows!"
said Mrs. Tom, as she slipped the bands off her wheel and carried it
over to its accustomed corner.
Glad of the permission, Christie arose and began arranging her bed on
the wooden settle in the kitchen, where she slept. And Mrs. Tom, who
preferred sleeping by herself, sought her own couch, where, by the
combined effects of a light heart and a clear conscience, she was
soon in the land of dreams.
Relieved of the presence of the inquisitive old lady Christie wrapped
herself in her mantle, tied on her hood, and softly opened the door.
The storm was at its height, and the sudden entrance of a rush of
wind and rain, sent all the loose articles lying about, whirling
through the room.
It was awful to venture out in such a storm; but, had the tempest
raged twice as wildly, the faithful, loving child-wife would have
braved it all, to meet him, she loved.
Exerting all her strength, she closed the door after her without
arousing the sleepers, and quitted the house she was never destined
to enter more.
On--through the falling rain, the driving wind, the vivid
lightning--she plunged, making her way blindly through it all. It
was well she knew the road she was traversing, and could pursue her
way as well at midnight as at noonday, or she would never have been
able to follow that tortuous, rocky path.
But, shrinking, and blinded by the rain, at times she was forced to
stop and cover her face in her mantle; and anon, at some more furious
blast that would have whirled her away as though she had been a
feather, she grasped some projecting rock or tree, to protect herself
from being blown over the crags; but still she toiled on to her
destination.
"Will he be there?" she said, wildly. "Oh, if after all he should
not come! It seems madness, for me to expect him in such a storm;
but, if he should, it would never do for me to be absent. Oh, saints
in heaven! what lightning," she said, as pale with terror, she hid
her face in her hands.
But there was no time to pause--even now, he might be waiting for
her, on the beach; and still, on through night, and rain, and storm
she pressed, until at last, drenched, dripping, and totally
exhausted, she gained the wet, slippery beach.
Half dead, with cold and exhaustion, she sank on a rock, and cowered
beneath the pitiless blast. The dull booming of the waves near sent
a thrill of nameless awe and horror, into her very soul.
She could not long sit there, exposed to the peltings of the storm;
so, wrapping her mantle still more closely around her, she rose with
a shiver, and strove to pierce through the thick darkness, in search
of that loved form.
In vain! The gloom of Hades could not be deeper than that which
enveloped every object.
But, at that instant, there came a flash of lightning, illuminating,
for a single moment, with a blue, unearthly glare, the bleak,
slippery shingle, and revealing the black, heaving sea, with its
foam-crested billows. Nothing more. As far as she could strain her
eyes, no living thing but herself, stood on the shore.
"Oh, why does he not come?" was her heart's agonized cry. "Does he
not know, in spite of storm and tempest, I am awaiting him here?"
Another flash of lightning, revealing the dark, deserted beach, the
wildly shrieking ocean, and a pair of gleaming, serpent-like eyes,
watching from behind a rock, revealing the slight, delicate form of a
female standing alone on the shore.
"Oh, he will not come! I know it! Shall I stay here longer, or
shall I go home!" thought Christie, in an agony of doubt.
Still another lurid blaze of flame! And now, looking up, she uttered
a cry of joy; for the tall figure of a man, wrapped in a cloak, was
seen descending the rocks, coming toward her.
"Oh, he is here! he is here!" was her joyful cry. "Dearest, dearest
Willard! I knew you would come!" And springing forward she threw
herself into his arms.
He did not speak--he did not move--only he drew a step back and
folded his arms over his breast.
"Dearest Willard! I feared you would not come; but, oh! I am so
glad you are with me once more!" And her encircling arms clasped him
closer, while her sunny head sank on his breast.
With the storm within and the storm without, he heard not, heeded not
the name of Willard. But another flash of heaven's fire showed him a
slight, slender form, with the shining, golden hair of his faithless
wife.
And now, for the first time, she noticed his strange silence; and
lifted her sweet face in surprise, saying:
"What is the matter? Why do you not speak to me? What have I done?
Oh, I am so sorry, if I have angered you. What, what have I done?
Oh, indeed, I love you more than life!"
His teeth closed together with a galvanic snap, his eyes were like
two living coals set in a ghastly skull, and his hand clutched
something within the folds of his cloak with a convulsive grasp.
And still she clung to him, and still he maintained that strange
silence.
"Tell me what I have done? Speak to me, or I shall die!" she cried
out, in anguish and terror. "Oh, indeed, I love you better than any
one in the world! I would die sooner than offend you!"
"Die, then!" fairly shrieked the maddened man; "die, since your own
lips have proclaimed your guilt!" And clutching her fiercely by the
throat, he plunged the hidden knife into her side.
One piercing, terrific shriek, and she sank writhing, quivering at
his feet in mortal agony. And the wretched maniac above her unable
to speak, or move, or think, with distending eyeballs, glazing
eyes--his ghastly face like that of the dead--his trembling hands red
with her life-blood--stood rooted to the ground, caring not, feeling
not the furious storm now.
Was she dead? Would that wild, appalling shriek be repeated? He
listened, palsied with horror. Naught met his ear but the shrieking
of the warring elements.
Just at that instant there came a blaze of lightning, as though
heaven and earth were on fire, and he beheld that little, child-like
form lying stiff and rigid at his feet, the head fallen back; the
blue lips parted, as if from them the quivering soul had taken its
flight; the arms lying limp and lifeless by her side; the bright,
golden hair, half shading, the cold, beautiful face, on which the
pitiless rain wildly beat.
All his jealousy, his hatred, passed away with that pitiful sight;
and the passionate love, the adoring worship his heart had first felt
for her returned like a swelling flood. The memory of the time when
she had left home, and friends, and all, to fly with him--when she
had first been his loved and loving bride--bright, happy, and
beautiful--came back in overwhelming force. And now she was
dead--dead by his hand!
"Oh, Heaven! what have I done? Oh, my wife! my wife! my beautiful
murdered Laura! Oh, what have I done? My love! speak--look up! live
for me once more! Oh, she is dead! and I am her murderer!" And with
a shriek of agony, the wretched man fell prone on his face beside her.
But now there came another sound more terrible than all else.
Swollen by the heavy rain, the sea was rising on the island.
With the roar of a beast of prey, the furious waves, lashing
themselves into foam, rushed upon the shore. It recalled the
miserable assassin from his frenzy of despair; and with the instinct
of self-preservation that never deserts us while life remains, he
seized the cold, stark form, and fled wildly up the beach.
But just then--had the infernal regions yielded up their hosts to
pursue him?--a human form, bearing tin figure of a woman, revealed by
the quick flashes of lightning, came flying toward him, her uncovered
hair streaming in the gale---her wild eyes glaring with the fires of
madness.
Her eyes fell upon him and his bleeding burden at the same instant;
and throwing up her arms, with a piercing cry of "Murder! murder!"
that pealed high above the raging of the storm, she fled in the
direction of Campbell's Lodge.
That appalling cry, that awful apparition, drove the last spark of
reason from his maddening brain. With a perfect yell of terror, he
flung his lifeless burden on the rocks, and fled from the spot as if
pursued by the avenger of blood.