THE WIDOWED BRIDEGROOM.
"One fatal remembrance, one sorrow which throws
Its bleak shade alike o'er our joys and our woes,
To which life nothing darker or brighter can bring,
For which joy has no balm, and affliction no sting."--MOORE.
And where, meantime, was he, whose headstrong passions had brought
about this catastrophe? Where was Willard Drummond?
In his far-off Virginia home, he had seen the last remains of his
only surviving parent laid in the grave, and found himself the sole
possessor of an almost princely fortune. And now, in deepest
mourning, and with a brow on which rested still the sad shadow of
that newly closed grave, he turned his face, once more toward the
house of Sibyl Campbell.
A complete change--a total revulsion of feeling had taken place
within him during the last few days. The awful presence of death had
hushed the clamorous voices of passion and ambition, and awoke within
him the deepest feelings of remorse for the unmanly part he had acted.
All his sophistries and specious reasonings were swept away by that
dying-bed; and he felt, in its fullest force, how base and unworthy
had been his conduct. He felt it was his imperative duty, in spite
of love and wounded honor, to renounce Sibyl Campbell forever; and,
let the consequences be what they might, to tell her all. It would
be a bitter humiliation to him, it would bring life-long sorrow to
her, but there was no alternative. He shrank from the thought of the
terrible outburst of passion his confession would be received with;
but better this than the shame and disgrace of wedding the husband of
another.
Christie was his wife--his patient, loving little wife--and, as such,
must be acknowledged before the world; and with the resolution of
following the promptings of his better nature, despite all obstacles,
he reached Westport, one lowering autumn day, and, weary and
travel-stained, entered the "Westbrook House."
The first person on whom his eyes rested, as he went in, was Captain
Guy Campbell, sitting at a table sipping his coffee and glancing over
the morning paper.
The noise of his entrance made Captain Guy look up; and, starting to
his feet, he caught his hand and shook it heartily, while he
exclaimed:
"Drummond, my old friend! delighted to have you here with us again.
Here, sit down. Have you breakfasted?"
"No, I have only just arrived. How are all my friends--your sister
and the Brantwells?" said Willard, taking the proffered seat.
"All well; though Sibyl has been worrying herself to a skeleton about
that sad affair on the island. You have heard of it, I suppose?"
"No; what sad affair?" said Willard, with a start.
"Why, the death of little Christie, to be sure! It is very singular
you have not heard of it. The papers are all full of it; but--good
heavens! my dear fellow--what is the matter? are you ill?" said
Captain Campbell, rising in alarm.
Reeling, as though he had received a spear-thrust through his heart,
Willard Drummond sprang to his feet, and with a face deadly white,
grasped his friend by the arm, and said, in a choking voice:
"_Dead_, did you say? Christie dead? How? when? where? Of what did
she die?"
"Really, Drummond, this agitation is most unaccountable," said
Captain Campbell, slowly, and in extreme surprise.
"Dead! dead!" said Drummond, unheeding his words. "Great
Heaven!--speak and tell me--how was it? when was it? Where did she
die?"
"On the island. This is most extraordinary," replied Captain
Campbell, looking at the pale, agitated face before him, in still
increasing surprise.
"Oh, Captain Campbell!" exclaimed Willard, in bitter sorrow, "if you
call yourself my friend, do not keep me in suspense now--tell me all.
How did she die?"
"It is very extraordinary, all this!" said the astonished young
captain, who was quite unprepared for such an outburst of feeling
from the usually gay, nonchalant Willard Drummond. "Then you have
not heard she was--"
"What?"
"Murdered!" said Captain Campbell.
"Murdered! Oh, Heaven!"
And with a deep groan that seemed tearing its way up through his
anguished heart. Willard sank into his chair and buried his face in
his hands.
Captain Campbell looked at him with the most unbounded amazement.
"Well, upon my soul!" he broke out at length, "if this doesn't
surpass anything I ever dreamed of! I can understand feeling sorry
and horrified at so atrocious a deed--I felt all that myself; but to
take on in this way, is something beyond me, I must confess. Waiter,
more coffee."
"Campbell, tell me all," said Willard, springing up and fiercely
dashing back his long, black hair. "Who could have committed so
base, so atrocious a deed? Oh! can there exist a being on earth,
capable of committing so infernal a crime? Who is it?--speak and
tell me; and may Heaven's heaviest curses rest upon him, now and for
all eternity! Who had the heart to hurt one hair of her gentle head?"
"Drummond, my dear fellow, what means all this violent agitation?
What was little Christie to you?"
The keen, searching look, the meaning tone, and probing question,
brought him from his fierce outburst of remorse and anguish to a
sense of the presence in which he stood. This was not the time or
place for the revelation; nor was it to Captain Guy Campbell, that
revelation was destined to be made. Controlling his agony of bitter
sorrow, and still more bitter remorse, and feeling the necessity of
calmly hearing all, by a tremendous effort, he subdued his fiercely
excited feelings, and dropped in his seat, and said, while he shaded
his face with his hands:
"To me--to me? Nothing; yet I felt toward her almost as if she were
my sister. When last I left her she was full of life, and youth, and
vigor; and now, now to hear so suddenly that she is dead--and
murdered! She--sweet, fair, and gentle as an angel, to meet such a
fate! Oh, Campbell! is it not enough to drive one mad to think of
it?"
"It is a sad thing, I must confess," said Captain Campbell, who,
being the most unsuspicious of human beings, received this
explanation as perfectly satisfactory; "and no one but a demon in
human form could have perpetrated the deed!"
"Who is the murderer?" said Drummond, in a deep, hollow voice.
"That cannot be discovered. The island, and every place else, I
believe, has been searched; but no clew to his hiding-place can be
found. Regards have been offered, the police put on the track, but
all in vain."
"When was the diabolical crime committed?"
"The very night you left N----. You remember the terrific storm of
that night! Somewhere about midnight, it is supposed, poor Christie
was assassinated. The deed was committed somewhere near the shore;
and as the tide was very high, the body, if left on the rocks, must
have been swept away. What could have brought Christie from the
house at such an hour, and in such a storm, unless she had been
forcibly carried out, is a mystery still unsolved."
In spite of all his efforts, another anguished groan broke from the
tortured heart of Willard Drummond. The thought of his note
appointing that fatal meeting! Oh, too well he knew what had brought
her there; and a pang, keener than death, pierced his soul as he
thought of that slight, delicate girl plunging through all that
howling tempest to meet him!
"Who was on the island at the time?" he asked, after a pause.
"No one but Mrs. Tom and Carl and one or two negroes; and--yes, now I
think of it, Sibyl was there too."
"Sibyl?" said Willard, with a start.
"Yes; she went over shortly after you went away. Poor Christie, it
seems, wanted her for something, and sent her a note. What it
contained I cannot say; but it seemed to agitate Sibyl as I have
seldom seen her agitated before; and the result of it was that she
insisted, despite the gathering storm, on going to the island that
night."
What was the thought that made Willard Drummond turn so ghastly at
that moment?
Had Christie, in that note, revealed their marriage? and had Sibyl,
in a fit of passion--he shrank in horror, in loathing of himself at
the terrible thought that the arch-fiend suggested at that moment.
Wild, vindictive, passionate, frenzied in her rage, he knew her to
be; but, oh! never, never could even her terrific passion carry her
so far away as to raise her hand against that gentle child's life.
But who could have done it? Christie, the unknown island-girl, had
not an enemy in the world except Sibyl; and she, in violent
agitation, had braved storm, and danger, and death to reach the
island that night. Oh, horrible thought! With his brain reeling
with conflicting emotions, he felt for the moment as if his very
reason was leaving him.
Captain Campbell, sitting placidly before him, sipping his coffee,
saw nothing of what was passing in Drummond's thoughts; and setting
his unexpected emotion down, partially, to the morbid state of his
mind since his father's death, and the want of rest, arose and said:
"My dear Drummond, you must be tired and worn out with your journey.
You had better retire at once. I will call here this afternoon
again. When do you intend visiting N----?"
"Any time, to-day, to-morrow, immediately," answered Drummond,
incoherently, scarcely conscious of what he said.
"I am going there to-morrow. What say you to going then?" said his
companion, with a stare of surprise.
"I shall be at your service," said Drummond, striving to rally
himself. "What with fatigue and all, I am rather bewildered as yet;
but I trust by that time to be far enough recruited to pay my
_devoirs_ to the ladies at the parsonage."
"Very strange, I must say!" mused Captain Campbell, as he ran down
the steps and entered the crowded street. "Very strange, indeed,
that the news of little Christie's death should so affect him. I had
some notion once that Sibyl was a little jealous of Christie; and,
faith, I begin to think she may have had some cause for it. But,
perhaps, I wrong Drummond after all. He is not very excitable
usually, I know; but his mind being unusually troubled, Christie's
dreadful death may have given him a shock. He dare not trifle with
Sibyl; if he does, he will feel the weight of a Campbell's vengeance!"
Willard meantime had secured a private room, and was pacing up and
down, and striving to collect his thoughts. The first shock was
over--the first thrill of horror at the news was past; and though
sorrow for her fate, and bitter remorse for what he himself had done
still remained, he could not suppress something very like a feeling
of relief.
Alas for all his good resolutions! Gone were they now, as the fading
sunlight flies before the approach of night; and his love, his hopes,
his desires are in the ascendant again. Perhaps he was not
altogether to blame for the fickleness of his nature. Perhaps most
of it might be owing to his education, to those with whom he had
mingled, and the world for which alone he had ever lived.
He thought of Sibyl. That momentary suspicion was quiet, and he
hated himself for having indulged it an instant. No; terrific as he
knew her to be, when her deep passion was roused, he felt that not on
Christie--guileless, inoffensive Christie--would fall her vengeance,
but on him, who rightly deserved it. His glorious, high-spirited
Sibyl, the descendant of a daring, chivalrous race, would not stoop
to slay a weak, unprotected girl like this. There was no obstacle
now to prevent his marriage; she might lawfully become his wife, when
his period of mourning was past. There was a thrill of secret joy in
his heart at the thought; but the sad, reproachful face of Christie
rose like a vision before him, and with a shudder he sat down, while
remorse again tugged at his heart-strings.
So passed the morning; and when Captain Campbell entered his room
again, he found him, though outwardly calm and composed, pale, with
many conflicting emotions.
Before he left, it was arranged that they should set out together the
following day for N----.
And the next morning the two young men started for the residence of
the Brantwells.
They reached it late the same afternoon, and were warmly welcomed by
good Mrs. Brantwell. Sibyl, thinner and paler than Willard had ever
beheld her, flushed with pleasure as he embraced her, and took a seat
by her side.
He looked earnestly in her face; but he read nothing there save deep,
subdued sadness; no guilt lingered on that broad, queenly brow, or in
those clear, bright eyes.
As a matter of course, the conversation first turned on Christie, and
her melancholy fate.
"You have heard it, no doubt, Mr. Drummond," said Mrs. Brant well.
"From my friend Captain Campbell--yes, madam," he answered, gravely,
but calmly.
Sibyl's keen eyes were bent with ill-concealed anxiety upon him, and
she drew a deep breath of relief as she noted his quiet gravity, as
if a heavy load had been lifted off her breast.
"Poor Mrs. Tom!" sighed the minister's wife, "she is indeed to be
pitied. I urged her to quit that lonesome island, and we would
provide for her somewhere here, but she refused; and says that the
only comfort she has now is in watching the waves under which her
darling Christie is buried."
A faint shudder passed over Drummond's frame, in spite of himself, at
her words.
"By the way, Mr. Brantwell," said Captain Campbell, "where are the
Courtneys? They were speaking of going away somewhere when last I
was here."
"Yes, they have gone home. Mr. Courtney was in very poor health; and
even Mrs. Courtney, poor thing! seemed to have lost most of her high
spirits, and was glad to be on the wing again," replied Mrs.
Brantwell.
During this short dialogue, Sibyl and Willard were conversing
together in low tones.
"And so your resolution is really to go abroad?" said Sibyl, lifting
her dark eyes anxiously to his face.
"Yes--but for some months only; and the project gives me pleasure in
the thought alone that, in so doing, I will not be separated from
you."
"No! and how?" she said, in surprise.
"Then you are not aware that your brother, having completed all his
business, and refitted his vessel, is about to take you with him
again to England?"
"I was really quite ignorant of that fact."
"Well, so it is. We all start together in three weeks' time, I
believe."
A flush of pleased surprise passed over Sibyl's pale face.
"Then, in that case, I shall have an opportunity of accomplishing my
long-cherished wish of visiting Italy. I have long and ardently
desired to see that beautiful land."
"And after that, fairest Sibyl?"
"I shall return home."
"And what then, beautiful one?"
"'Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,'" quoted Sibyl, with a
smile. "Who knows what the future may bring forth?"
"Let me tell you, beautiful Sibyl," said Drummond, in the low,
musical tones that had so often thrilled to her inmost heart. "After
that may I claim this little hand as mine? Say, fairest Sibyl, may I
look forward to our return to claim my bride?"
She lifted her eyes to the handsome face bending over her, so full of
perfect love and devotion now; and, like the frank glorious creature
she was, she laid her hand in his, and said:
"Yes."
"Why, Sibyl, my dear," broke in the voice of Mrs. Brantwell at this
interesting juncture, in tones of deepest dismay, "do you know what
Guy says? All three of you are to start off on a wild-goose chase to
Europe, instead of settling down and behaving yourselves, as sensible
Christians should. It's really quite abominable, and I, for one,
have set my face against it; and I am sure, Sibyl, you'd agree with
me."
"Really, my dear Mrs. Brantwell," said Sibyl, smiling, "I am afraid I
cannot. I wish to go quite as much as Guy."
"You do?" exclaimed the minister's wife. "Well, upon my word, if
this is not too provoking! It all comes of having a taste for
rambling, and being male and female sailors, the whole of you! I
always thought sailors were vagabonds on the face of the earth,
without any settled place of abode, and I'm sure of it now. You
don't expect to be able to go in three weeks, I should hope?"
"Yes, of course, I do. What's to hinder?" said Sibyl. "I am not a
fine lady, you know, and don't require two or three dozen trunks
packed before I start. So, Captain Campbell, though you did not do
me the honor of consulting me before all your arrangements were made,
I shall reserve my wounded pride and indignation to another season,
and be ready to go with you at a moment's warning."
Mrs. Brantwell expostulated in vain. Sibyl would go; but promised
faithfully to return within nine months, at farthest.
And so, three weeks later, our trio stood on the deck of the Evening
Star, "outward bound."