THE DEVOTION OF LOVE.
"I know not, I ask not,
If guilt's in thy heart;
I but know that I love thee
Whatever thou art."--MOORE
It would be impossible to depict or describe the consternation that
reigned now within the church.
Mrs. Tom, in a deadly swoon, was borne from the sacred edifice.
The book had dropped from the hand of the clergyman, and dumb with
amazement and incredulity, he stood staring at the official.
Mrs. Brantwell, pale, and almost fainting at so monstrous a charge,
made at such a time, and in such a place, hid her shuddering face in
her trembling hands.
The bride-maids, like a flock of frightened birds, had clustered
together, gazing around with vague, terror-stricken eyes.
And the people, after the first shock of horror and amazement, became
mute as the grave, listening, with breathless interest, for the
_denouement_ of this astounding interruption, with the eager, morbid
curiosity a crowd will always listen to anything of the sort.
But the group around the altar; _they_ were the focus of all eyes.
Captain Guy Campbell, his dark eye blazing, his brow corrugated, his
lips white with passion, stood gazing on the sheriff, as if he would
spring upon him and rend him limb from limb on the spot, for making
so terrible a charge against a sister of his.
That gentleman stood calm, stern, and unmoved, upheld by the
consciousness that he was doing his duty, however painful, and
keeping his eyes fixed, with something like pity, on the face of the
bride.
Willard Drummond, fearing she might faint or fall, had encircled her
waist with his arm; and, though his own face was perfectly colorless
with horror and indignation, stooped and whispered:
"My bride--my wife--my dearest one, be calm! This monstrous
accusation will be explained."
Be calm! There was little need to tell her to be calm. After the
first involuntary shock, she stood like an outraged empress before
them, her regal form drawn up to its full height, her noble brow
expanded, her dark, magnificent eyes blazing with insulted pride and
unutterable scorn, her full lips curled with a contempt too profound
for words, her whole face and form irradiated with the light of
insulted majesty.
There was one instant's death-like pause, broken at last by the voice
of Mr. Lawless, saying politely:
"I am very sorry that painful necessity compels me to thus break up
the festivities of this day. This charge against the lady may be
groundless--I hope it is. But I have a duty to perform, however
unpleasant it may be to me, and to all of you."
"On whose charge is my sister arrested for this deed?" said Captain
Campbell, in a deep, stern voice.
"On that of Mr. Edgar Courtney, I believe," answered the sheriff.
"Edgar Courtney!" rang from every lip, in tones in which amazement
had completely mastered every other feeling. Even Sibyl looked
bewildered.
"Yes; and in support of his deposition he has brought to bear such a
strong chain of circumstantial evidence, that even in the face of the
proof being brought against a young lady so wealthy, high-born, and
distinguished as Miss Campbell, it was found necessary to issue a
warrant for her immediate apprehension."
"Heaven of heavens! this is maddening! Oh! for the thunderbolt of
Heaven to blast that double-dyed perjurer where he stands!" exclaimed
Captain Campbell, passionately.
Without heeding this indignant outburst, the sheriff turned to Sibyl
and said, courteously;
"Miss Campbell, this duty is exceedingly unpleasant to me; but I
regret to say you must go with me now!"
"Where?" said Sibyl, in a tone of such supernatural calmness, that
every one was startled.
"Miss Campbell, I am very sorry; but it is my duty to convey you to
the county jail, to await your trial."
"The county jail!" exclaimed Sibyl, losing her powerful self-control
for the first time during this trying scene; and with a convulsive
shudder hiding her face on Willard's shoulder.
He clasped her closer to his side, as if he defied earth and heaven
to tear her from him; but still he spoke not a word. Was it the
impossibility of the charge? Was it his indignation and horror? or
was it this awful confirmation of his first doubts, and the vivid
recollection the scene at the astrologer's that held him dumb.
But Captain Campbell, losing all self-control, all remembrance of
where he stood, once more passionately and impetuously broke forth:
"To the county jail! So help me Heaven!--never! Never will Sibyl
Campbell submit to such a degradation! Sooner will I shoot her dead
with my own hand where she stands! Oh, 'tis
monstrous!--outrageous!--that any one should dare to accuse a
Campbell of such an infernal deed and live!" he exclaimed, clenching
his hands and teeth in his impotent, fiery wrath.
"My dear Guy, be calm; remember where you are," interposed Mr.
Brantwell, soothingly. "If Mr. Lawless wants bail to any amount,
whatever you may name----"
"Parson Brantwell, I should like to oblige you, but you must be aware
that I cannot listen to you; unfortunately, the charge is not a
bailable one. And I trust," added the sheriff, glancing half
threateningly, half pityingly at Captain Campbell, "no resistance
will be offered me in the discharge of my solemn duty; for, painful
as the announcement is, there is no help for it. The young lady
_must_ come with me."
"A bride to spend her wedding-day in a prison-cell! Oh, saints in
heaven!" shudderingly exclaimed Mrs. Brantwell.
"I am ready," said Sibyl, lifting her pale, beautiful face, and
speaking in tones of supernatural calmness. "I will go with you,
sir, and there will be no resistance offered. Guy, dearest brother,
be calm; this violence will not aid me, and will lower yourself.
Mrs. Brantwell, may I trouble you to bring me my mantle from the
carriage?"
"Oh, must you go?" exclaimed Mrs. Brantwell, wringing her hands.
"Unfortunately, dear madam, there seems to be no alternative."
"But not in that dress--not in that dress! Sir, may she not return
to the parsonage and change her dress?"
"Madam, I am very sorry, but I cannot lose sight of my prisoner."
A circle of white flamed round the eyes of Captain Campbell, and he
clenched his hands and groaned in his bitter degradation.
"Then I am quite ready to go. Mrs. Brantwell, dearest friend,
farewell for a short time only, I trust. Guy, brother, do not feel
this so deeply; in a few days I trust to return to you all again.
Willard"--her clear, full voice choked for the first time as she
turned to him--"dearest Willard, I must bid you good by."
"Oh, Sibyl! Sibyl! Oh, my wife! do you think I will leave you
thus?" he cried, passionately, as, unheeding the many eyes upon him,
he strained her to his bosom as if he would have drawn her into his
very heart beyond their reach. "Oh, my bride! my beautiful one!
never will I leave you--_never_!"
A radiant glance, a look, a smile, rewarded him, while every heart
thrilled at his anguished tones.
"Your own, in life or death, in shame, disgrace, and misery--ever
your own!" she said, looking up in his face with deep, earnest,
undying love.
There was not a dry eye in the church; every one was sobbing--Mrs.
Brantwell so convulsively that the sheriff, who was really a
kind-hearted man, was deeply distressed.
"Miss Campbell, will you accept my arm?" he said, feeling the
necessity of bringing this scene at once to an end. "My carriage is
at the door to convey you to----"
"The county jail! Oh, Sibyl! oh, my sister! Would to Heaven you had
died before you had seen this day!"
"Brother, brother! be calm. Mr. Lawless, I attend you," said Sibyl,
advancing a step, as if to take the arm he offered.
But Willard Drummond intercepted the movement, and drew her arm
within his own, saying, with a fierce, threatening glance toward the
sheriff:
"I will attend you, Sibyl; I alone have the right. Lead on, sir"--to
the sheriff--"we attend your pleasure. No one on earth shall
separate me from my bride!"
"Mr. Drummond, the--the ceremony was not finished when the
interruption occurred," stammered the minister, looking deeply
distressed.
But a scornful smile was Willard Drummond's sole reply, as he clasped
the arm he held closer within his own.
"I, too, will go!" cried Captain Campbell. "Sheriff Lawless, your
strict sense of duty will not, I trust, prevent your allowing me to
accompany my sister to the county jail."
"Captain Campbell is quite welcome to a seat in my carriage," said
the officer of the law, with a grave bow, and without heeding his
bitter sneer.
"Farewell, Mrs. Brantwell--my more than mother, farewell!" said
Sibyl, as the whole party, preceded by the sheriff, advanced down the
aisle.
Mrs. Brantwell strove to reply, but her voice was choked. Taking her
husband's arm, she followed them out.
The whole assembly arose _en masse_, and started for the door,
casting threatening looks toward the sheriff, as though half
meditating a rescue on the spot.
A plain, dark-looking coach, with a mounted policeman on either side,
stood near the gate.
The sheriff paused when he reached it, and signified that they were
to enter. Mr. Drummond handed Sibyl in and took his seat beside her;
Captain Campbell, with a stern, gloomy look, followed; and then the
sheriff sprang in, closed the door, and gave the order to drive on.
Sibyl bent from the carriage window to wave a last adieu to Mrs.
Brantwell; and the crowd standing on the church-steps and court-yard
caught a momentary glimpse of her pale, beautiful face, with its sad,
twilight smile, her dark, proud eyes more scornful than ever in their
humiliation. That haunting face, so perfectly colorless, with its
bright, jetty ringlets, its floating, mist-like vail, its orange
blossoms--could it be the face of a murderess?
The next moment she fell back, the blinds were closed, the driver
cracked his whip, the policemen put spurs to their horses, and the
sad cavalcade moved rapidly away.
Hushed into the silence of death, the crowd stood breathlessly gazing
after it, until the sound of the carriage wheels had died away--the
last cloud of dust raised by the horses' feet vanished. Then pale,
and awe-struck, they drew a deep breath and looked with tearful eyes
into each other's pale faces, wondering if it were not all a dream.
Whispering in low, hushed tones beneath their breath, they separated,
and wended their way to their respective homes; and in half an hour
the church was as still, silent and deserted as the tomb.
Like wild-fire spread the news; and before night it was not only
known to all the county round, but for many a mile distant. The
whole community was electrified by a catastrophe so unheard-of.
Children quit their play, women their work, lovers their whispers,
and laborers their daily toil, to talk over the astounding arrest.
The wealth, the respectability, the youth, the beauty, the sex, the
well-known arrogance and pride of the race from which the accused had
sprung, all tended to heighten and deepen the breathless interest.
And the time and place--the occasion of occasions on which the arrest
had taken place--that, more than all, sent a thrill of horror through
every heart. Each circumstance of the interview in the church was
exaggerated, and people listened and swallowed everything with
avidity.
In the parsonage, meantime, a cloud of the deepest gloom had settled
over its lately joyous inmates.
Mr. and Mrs. Brantwell, with the three bride-maids and Will Stafford,
had immediately, upon the departure of Sibyl, entered their carriage
and driven to the minister's house.
And the bride-maids, in great agitation, not to say deep
disappointment at losing the ball in the evening, dressed themselves
and went immediately home.
Mrs. Brantwell sat weeping in a perfect abandon of grief, in the
parlor below, and would not be comforted. Mr. Brantwell and Mr.
Stafford, themselves in deep distress, strove to console her in vain.
Poor Will Stafford! it was not without a struggle he had seen Sibyl
given up to another; but hiding the sharp, dreary pain at his heart
under a gay exterior, he had resolutely determined to be gay, and
conquer his ill-starred passion. From the first moment he had seen
Willard Drummond, an uneasy consciousness that he had beheld him
somewhere before was ever upon him. He thought of the secret
marriage he had long ago beheld, and he _thought_ Mr. Drummond looked
suspiciously like the bridegroom on that occasion; but he
"pooh-poohed" the notion as preposterous, and strove to forget it.
It was nearly dark when he had beheld that "run-away pair," as he
called them; and he could not distinctly see the face of the
man--their general appearance was alike, but not sufficiently so to
warrant his speaking on the subject; and, of course, it could not
have been Mr. Drummond, the betrothed of Sibyl Campbell. So he had
hitherto scouted the idea until he had nearly forgotten it; but now,
strange to say, it came back to him more vividly than ever.
While many suspicious thoughts of Willard Drummond, but not one of
Sibyl, were passing through his mind, Mrs. Brantwell was still
sobbing on the sofa, in passionate grief.
"Now, really, Harriet, this is wrong--this is sinful. You know,"
said Mr. Brantwell, fidgetting uneasily, "such violent grief is
forbidden. We should be resigned to the dispensations of Providence,
no matter in what shape they come."
"Oh, Mr. Brantwell, go away! I don't believe this is a dispensation
of Providence; it is all the villainy of that miserable wretch,
Courtney! And to think we should have kept him here, too. Oh,
Sibyl! Sibyl!" concluded Mrs. Brantwell, with a fresh burst of grief.
"My dear madam, let us hope for the best. This absurd, this
monstrous, this horrible charge will soon be explained, and Sibyl set
at liberty," said Stafford, soothingly.
"Oh, I know all that--I have not the slightest doubt but she will be
discharged, soon--very soon! But think of the horrible injustice of
this deed! that she, my beautiful, high-minded, proud-spirited Sibyl,
should ever set foot within a prison cell, much less be brought there
as a prisoner--and on her wedding-day, too! Oh, it is cruel! it is
most unjust! I have no words to express the unspeakable wrong it
inflicts upon her. That her name should be bandied on every
tongue--should be proclaimed as a felon's in all the papers--should
be the topic of every tavern far and near! Oh, Heaven! why is this
monstrous injustice permitted?" cried Mrs. Brantwell, in
still-increasing sorrow and indignation.
"Now, really, Mrs. Brantwell," began the more moderate spouse.
"Mr. Brantwell," sobbed his wife, looking indignantly at him through
her tears, "if you can stand there, looking so cool and unmoved, it's
no reason why others should be equally heartless. Oh, Mr. Stafford!
won't you ride to Westport and learn the issue of this arrest, or I
shall die of suspense!"
"Most certainly, madam; I shall go immediately," said Stafford,
standing up. "I was about to propose it myself when you spoke."
"You will return as soon as possible?" called Mrs. Brantwell, after
him, as he left the room.
"I shall not lose a moment," said the young man, as he ran down
stairs, sprang on his horse and dashed furiously toward the town.
As it was impossible with the utmost expedition, for him to return
before the next day, Mrs. Brantwell prepared herself for a night of
lingering torture--the torture of suspense. To the anxious,
affectionate heart of the good old lady, that long, sleepless night
seemed endless; and she hailed the sunlight of the next morning with
joy, as the precursor of news from Sibyl.
As the morning passed, this anxiety and suspense grew almost
unendurable. Unable to sit down for one moment, Mrs. Brantwell paced
up and down, wringing her hands, and twisting her fingers, and
looking every other moment down the road, whence Stafford must come.
But, with all her anxious watching, the hours passed on; and, it was
almost noon before the welcome sound of a rapid gallop met her ear,
and brought her eager, palpitating, and trembling, to the door. Yes,
it was Stafford, but the hope that had sprung up in her breast, died
away at sight of his face. His horse was reeking with foam, his
clothes were disordered and travel-stained, his hair disheveled, his
face pale and haggard, as if from sleeplessness and sorrow, and his
eyes gloomy and excited.
"Oh, Mr. Stafford, what news of Sibyl?" gasped Mrs. Brantwell,
faintly.
"Oh, it is just as I feared it would be! Sibyl is fully committed
for trial," said Stafford, leaping off his horse, and entering the
parlor excitedly.
Mrs. Brantwell, faint and sick, dropped into a chair, and bowed her
face in her hands, unable to speak; and her husband took up the
inquiry.
"Have you seen Sibyl?"
"Oh, yes; I saw her in her prison cell, behind an iron grating, as if
she were some undoubted criminal," replied Stafford, bitterly.
"How does she bear this blow?"
Oh, when one is talking to her, she is calm, and proud, and scornful
enough; but, as she lifted her head when I first went in, there was
such fixed, utter anguish and despair in her eyes, that I hope I may
never see the like again."
"Poor Sibyl! When does this trial take place?"
"Next week. It seems there are not many cases occupying the court
now; and hers occurs among the first, at the special request of her
friends."
"Have they engaged counsel?"
"Yes, Mr. P----, the best lawyer in the State."
"And her brother and Drummond, how do _they_ bear this?"
"Oh, Captain Campbell swears, and threatens, and looks as much like a
maniac as any one I ever want to see. Mr. Drummond is calm; but
there is something in his very calmness more indicative of grief than
all Guy's more violent sorrow. They have engaged lodgings at
Westport, and will remain there until after the trial."
"Is there any doubt, any fear, about the issue?"
"None in the least; there _cannot_ be, you know. It is impossible,
utterly impossible, there can be an instant's doubt about her
acquittal. The trial, therefore, will be nothing but a serious
farce; but it is the infernal injustice, begging your reverence's
pardon, of making Sibyl Campbell a principal actor in it, to stand
before the gaze of hundreds in the prisoner's dock, that is so
inhuman. Oh, there does not, there _cannot_ exist a human being on
the face of the earth, so lost to reason as to believe she could be
guilty of such a crime."
"On what day next week does the trial take place?" asked Mr.
Brantwell.
"It opens next Tuesday, I believe. And Mrs. Brantwell, I have heard
that you are to be subp[oe]naed as a witness."
"Oh, I would have gone in any case," said Mrs. Brantwell, faintly.
"My poor Sibyl!" and with another burst of tears her head fell on the
table again.
"Really, Mrs. Brantwell, you will make yourself ill by this foolish
indulgence of grief," said her husband, uneasily.
"And there is no real necessity for it," said Stafford, feeling it
his duty to say something consoling. "Sibyl will most certainly be
acquitted."
"Oh, don't talk to me, either of you," said Mrs. Brantwell,
petulantly. "You are men, and can't understand how this will darken
all Sibyl's future life. I feel, I know she will never recover from
it."
There was an embarrassing pause, and then Mr. Brantwell said:
"I will go to Westport the day before the trial comes on, and stay
there until Sibyl is discharged, poor girl! I suppose she and Mr.
Drummond will immediately sail for Europe until this unhappy affair
is forgotten."
"Most likely. And now I must bid you both good-morning!"
"Why! will you not wait for dinner? Where are you going?"
"To Westport. Not to leave it again until this miserable trial is
Over. Good-by." And Stafford hurried from the house, and mounting
his still reeking horse, rode rapidly away.