The Demon Trapper of Umbagog.
A THRILLING TALE
OF THE MAINE FORESTS.
BY
D. P. THOMPSON, ESQ.
[Illustration]
PHILADELPHIA
COLUMBIAN PUBLISHING COMPANY
35 NORTH TENTH STREET.
1890
COPYRIGHT
BY COLUMBIAN PUBLISHING CO.
1890.
CONTENTS.
Page
CHAPTER I. 1
Town and Country contrasted, in relation to Vice and Crime.--A
Display Party to avoid Bankruptcy.--Gaut Gurley, and other
leading Characters, introduced as Actors in this scene of City
Life
CHAPTER II. 15
Retrospect of the life of the Country Merchant, in making Money,
to become a “Solid Man of Boston.”--Humble Beginnings.--Tempted
into Smuggling from Canada in Embargo times, and
makes a Fortune, by the aid of the desperate and daring Services
of Gaut Gurley.--A Sketch of the Wild Scenes of Smuggling
over the British line into Vermont and New Hampshire.--Removal
to the City
CHAPTER III. 27
Gambling (an allegory) invented by the Fiends, and is proclaimed
the Premium Vice by Lucifer.--A Gambling Scene between Gaut
Gurley and the merchant, Mark Elwood.--The Failure of the
latter.--The Refusal of his brother, Arthur Elwood, to help him.--The
Surprise and Distress of his Family
CHAPTER IV. 38
The Downward Path of the Habitual Gambler.--His Family sharing
in the Degradation, and becoming the suffering Victims of his
Vices.--The Sudden Resolve to be a Man again, and remove to an
unsettled Country, to begin Life anew in the Woods
CHAPTER V. 51
The moral and intellectual Influences of Forest Life.--Scenery of
Umbagog.--Description of Elwood’s new Home in the Woods.--The
Burning of his first _Slash_.--His House catches Fire, and he
and his Wife engage in extinguishing it, praying for the return of
their Son, Claud Elwood, to help them in their terrible strait
CHAPTER VI. 60
Claud Elwood and his Forest Musings.--Dangerous Assault, and slaying
of a Moose.--Rescue of Gaut’s Daughter from the enraged
animal.--Strange Developments.--Incipient Love Scene.--Trout-catching.
--Return of Claud and Phillips (the Old Hunter here first introduced),
to aid in saving the Elwood Cottage from the fire.--The Thunder-shower
comes to complete the conquest of the fire.--The destruction of the
King Pine by a Thunderbolt
CHAPTER VII. 76
Journey up the Magalloway, to bring home the slaughtered Moose.--Love
and its entanglements; its Sunshine now, its Storms in the distance
CHAPTER VIII. 87
Jaunt of Claud and Phillips over the Rapids to the next Great Lake,
for Deer-hunting and Trout-catching.--Rescue of Fluella, the Indian
Chief’s Daughter, from Drowning in the Rapids.--Her
remarkable Character for Intellect and Beauty
CHAPTER IX. 108
The Logging Bee.--The introduction of a New Character in Comical
Codman, the Trapper.--The Woodmen’s Banquet.--The
forming of the Trapping and Hunting Company, to start on an
Expedition to the Upper Lakes
CHAPTER X. 124
Developments of the dark and designing character of Gaut
Gurley.--Tomah, the college-learned Indian
CHAPTER XI. 137
Mrs. Elwood’s Bodings, on account of the connection of her Husband
and Son with Gaut and his Daughter.--Her Interview with
Fluella.--Claud’s Interview with Fluella and her Father, the
Chief.--The Chief’s History of his Tribe
CHAPTER XII. 154
Adventures of the Trappers the first day of their Expedition up the
Lakes.--Bear-hunt, Trout-catching, etc.--Introduction of Carvil,
an amateur Hunter from the Green Mountains
CHAPTER XIII. 175
The Trappers’ Central Camp on the Maguntic Lake.--Three
Stories of most remarkable Adventures in the Woods, told at the
Camp-fire by three Hunters and Trappers
CHAPTER XIV. 200
The Voyage to Oquossak, the farthest large Lake.--The stationing
of the Trappers at different points on the Lake.--The appointment
of Gaut as Keeper of the Central Camp, on the Lake below.--The
Results of their Fall’s Operations, and Preparations to return
Home
CHAPTER XV. 211
The Trappers overtaken by a terrible Snow-storm.--Their Suffering
before reaching Central Camp.--The discovery that this Camp
had been Burnt, and Robbed of their whole Stock of Furs.--Their
Providential Escape from Death
CHAPTER XVI. 235
The Legal Prosecution to Recover their Furs, or punish Gaut, the
supposed Criminal.--The unsatisfactory Result, and Gaut’s dark
menaces of Revenge
CHAPTER XVII. 246
Gaut’s Efforts to get the old Company off into the Forest, on a
Spring Expedition.--All refuse but Elwood and Son, who conclude
to go.--Love Entanglements, and the boding Fears of Mrs. Elwood
CHAPTER XVIII. 260
Opening of Spring in the Settlement.--The Trappers fail to
Return.--Gaut comes without them.--The Alarm and Suspicions of the
Settlers that he has Murdered the Elwoods.--The Circumstantial
Evidence
CHAPTER XIX. 275
The attempt to Arrest Gaut.--His retreat to a Cave in the
Mountain.--His final Dislodgement and Capture, for Trial and
Examination
CHAPTER XX. 299
Retrospect of the Adventures of Gaut and the Elwoods.--The
Murder of Mark Elwood, and the Wounding of Claud, by Gaut.--Claud’s
life saved by Fluella
CHAPTER XXI. 324
Gaut’s Trial, Sentence, and Imprisonment.--General Denouement
of the Story.--Gaut breaks Jail, escapes, and becomes a desperate
Pirate-leader
SEQUEL. 350
Awful Fate of a Pirate Ship.--Gaut’s Death
THE DEMON TRAPPER OF UMBAGOG.
CHAPTER I.
“God made the country and man made the town.”
So wrote the charming Cowper, giving us to understand, by the drift of
the context, that he intended the remark as having a moral as well as
a physical application; since, as he there intimates, in “gain-devoted
cities,” whither naturally flow “the dregs and feculence of every
land,” and where “foul example in most minds begets its likeness,” the
vices will ever find their favorite haunts; while the virtues, on the
contrary, will always most abound in the country. So far as regards the
virtues, if we are to take them untested, this is doubtless true. And
so far, also, as regards the mere _vices_, or actual transgressions
of morality, we need, perhaps, to have no hesitation in yielding our
assent to the position of the poet. But, if he intends to include in
the category those flagrant crimes which stand first in the gradation
of human offences, we must be permitted to dissent from that part of
the view; and not only dissent, but claim that truth will generally
require the very reversal of the picture, for of such crimes we believe
it will be found, on examination, that the country ever furnishes the
greatest proportion. In cities, the frequent intercourse of men with
their fellow-men, the constant interchange of the ordinary civilities
of life, and the thousand amusements and calls on their attention that
are daily occurring, have almost necessarily a tendency to soften or
turn away the edge of malice and hatred, to divert the mind from the
dark workings of revenge, and prevent it from settling into any of
those fatal purposes which result in the wilful destruction of life,
or some other gross outrage on humanity. But in the country, where,
it will be remembered, the first blood ever spilled by the hand of a
murderer cried up to Heaven from the ground, and where the meliorating
circumstances we have named as incident to congregated life are almost
wholly wanting, man is left to brood in solitude over his real or
fancied wrongs, till all the fierce and stormy passions of his nature
become aroused, and hurry him unchecked along to the fatal outbreak.
In the city, the strong and bad passions of hate, envy, jealousy, and
revenge, softened in action, as we have said, on finding a readier
vent in some of the conditions of urban society, generally prove
comparatively harmless. In the country, finding no such softening
influences, and no such vent, and left to their own workings, they
often become dangerously concentrated, and, growing more and more
intensified as their self-fed fires are permitted to burn on, at length
burst through every barrier of restraint, and set all law and reason
alike at defiance.
And if this view, as we believe, is correct in regard to the operation
of this class of passions, why not in regard to the operation of those
of an opposite character? Why should not the same principle apply to
the operation of love as well as hate? It should, and does, though not
in an equal degree, perhaps, apply to them both. It has been shown to
be so in the experience of the past. It is illustrated in many a sad
drama of real life, but never more strikingly than in the true and
darkly romantic incidents which form the groundwork of the tale upon
which we are about to enter.
It was on a raw and gusty evening in the month of November, a few
years subsequent to our last war with Great Britain, and the cold and
vapor-laden winds, which form such a drawback to the coast-clime of
New England, were fitfully wailing over the drear and frost-blackened
landscape, and the wayfarers, as if keenly alive to the discomforts
of all without, were seen everywhere hurrying forward to reach those
comforts within which were heralded in the cheerful gleams that shot
from many a window, when a showy and conspicuous mansion, in the
environs of Boston, was observed to be lighted up to an extent, and
with a brilliancy, that betokened the advent of some ambitious display
on the part of the bustling inmates. Carriages from different parts
of the city were successively arriving, discharging their loads of
gaily-dressed ladies and gentlemen at the door, and rattling off again
at the crack of the whips of the pert and jauntily equipped drivers.
Others on foot, and from the more immediate neighborhood, were, in
couples and singly, for some time constantly dropping in to swell the
crowd, witness, and perhaps add to, the attractions of the occasion,
which was obviously one of those social gatherings that have been
sometimes, in conventional phrase, not inaptly denominated a _jam_;
where people go to be in the fashion, to see, be seen, and try as hard
as they can to be happy; but where the aggregate of happiness enjoyed
is probably far less, as a general rule, than would be enjoyed by the
same company at home in the pursuit of their ordinary avocations.
Meanwhile, as the guests were assembling and being conducted to the
withdrawing rooms, through the cash-bought and obsequious politeness
of some of the troop of waiters hired for the occasion, the master of
the mansion had taken his station in the nook of a window commanding
the common entrance, and was there stealthily noting, as the company,
severally or one group after another, mounted the doorsteps, who had
honored his cards of invitation whom he wished to see there, and who
had come whom he wished to have stayed away. He was a well-favored man,
somewhat past the middle age of life, with regular features, and a
good general appearance, but with one of those unsettled, fluctuating
countenances which are usually found in men who, while affecting,
perhaps, a show of independence, lack self-reliance, fixed principles,
or some other of the essential elements of character. And such indeed
was Mark Elwood, the reputedly wealthy merchant whom we have thus
introduced as one of the leading personages of our story. Though often
moved with kind and generous impulses, he yet was governed by no
settled principles of benevolence; though often shrewd and sagacious,
he yet possessed no true wisdom; and, though often bold and resolute in
action, he yet lacked the faith and firmness of true courage. In short,
he might be regarded as a fair representative of the numerous class
we are daily meeting with in life,--men who do many good things, but
more questionable ones; who undertake much, accomplish little; bustle,
agitate, and thus contrive to occupy the largest space in public
attention; but who, when sifted, are found, as Pope maliciously says of
women, to
“have no character at all.”
After pursuing his observations a while, with an air of disappointment
or indifference, Elwood was about to turn away, when his eye caught
a glimpse of an approaching group of guests, whose appearance at
once lighted up his countenance with a smile of satisfaction, and
he half-ejaculated: “There they come!--the solid men of Boston. The
presence of these, with the others who will all serve as trumpeters
of the affair, will quell every suspicion of my credit till some new
strike shall place me beyond danger. Yes, just as I calculated, the
money spent will be the cunningest investment I have made these six
months. But who is that tagging along alone after the rest?” he added,
his countenance suddenly changing to a troubled look, and slowly,
and with a strange emphasis, pronouncing the name, “GAUT GURLEY!” he
hurried away from his post of observation.
The person whose obviously unexpected appearance among the arriving
guests had so much disturbed our host, having leisurely brought up
the rear, now paused a few paces from the door, and took a deliberate
survey of all that was visible through the windows of the scene
passing within. He was a man of a personal appearance not likely to be
forgotten. His strong, upright, well-proportioned frame, full, rounded
head, and unexceptionable features, were unusually well calculated to
arrest the attention, and, at a little distance especially, to secure
the favorable impressions of others; but those impressions faded away,
or gave place to opposite emotions, on a nearer approach, for then
the beholder read something in the countenance that met his, which
made him pause,--something which he could not fathom, but which at
once disinclined him to any acquaintance with the man to whom that
countenance belonged.
Perhaps it should be viewed as one of the kindest provisions
of Providence, made in aid of our rights and instincts of
self-preservation, that man should not be able wholly to hide the
secrets of his heart from his fellow-men,--that the human countenance
should be so formed that no schooling, however severe, can prevent it
from betraying the evil thoughts and purposes which may be lurking
within. It is said that God alone can read the secrets of the heart;
but we have often thought that He has imparted to us more of this
attribute of His omniscience than that which is vouchsafed us in any
one of our other faculties; or, in other words, that, to the skill
we may acquire by practice in reading the countenance, He has added
something of the light of intuition, to enable us to pierce into the
otherwise impenetrable recesses of the bosom, and thus guard ourselves
against the designs which may there be disclosed, and which, but for
that, the deceptions of the tongue might forever conceal. All this, we
are aware, may pass as a mere supposition; yet we think its correctness
will be very generally attested by officers of justice, policemen,
jailers, and all those who have had much experience in the detection of
crime.
But, whether the doctrine is applicable or not in the generality
of cases, it was certainly so in that of the unbidden guest whose
appearance we have attempted to describe. Unlike Elwood, he had
character, but all those who closely noted him were made to feel that
his character was a dark and dangerous one.
After Gaut, for such he was called among his acquaintance, had
leisurely run his eye from window to window of the many lighted
apartments of the house, and scanned, as he did, with many a sneering
smile, the appearances within, as long as suited his pleasure, he
boldly walked in, and, with all the assurance of the most favored,
proceeded to mingle with the company.
On quitting his lookout, Elwood repaired to the reception-room, where
Mrs. Elwood, the mistress of the mansion, was already in waiting,
nerving herself to perform, as acceptably as she could, her part of
the stereotyped ceremony of receiving the guests, and exchanging with
them the salutations and commonplaces of the evening. Mrs. Elwood,
though not beautiful, nor even handsome, was yet every way a comely
woman; and the quiet dignity and the unpretending simplicity of her
manner, together with a certain intelligent and appreciating cast of
countenance, which always rested on her placid features, seldom failed
to impress those who approached her with feelings of kindness and
respect. She looked pale and fatigued, from the labors and anxieties
she had gone through in the preparations for the present occasion; and,
in addition to this, which is ever the penalty to the mistress of the
house in getting up a large party, there was an air of sadness in her
looks that told of secret sorrows which were not much mitigated by all
the show of wealth that surrounded her.
By this time the company, having mostly arrived and divested themselves
of hats, gloves, bonnets, shawls, together with all other of the
loose etceteras of dress then in vogue, and carefully consulted the
confidential mirrors to secure that adjustment of collars, curls,
smirks, and smiles which are deemed most favorable for effect in
public, were now shown into the suit of apartments where the host and
hostess were waiting to receive them.
But it is far from our purpose to attempt a detailed description of
the thousand little nothings which go to make up the character of one
of these great fashionable parties. Who ever came from one the wiser?
Not one guest in ten, probably, is found engaged in a conversation
in which the ordinary powers of the speaker are exercised. A forced
glee and smartness seem everywhere to prevail among the company,
who are continually sacrificing their common sense in their eager
attempts to appear gay and witty. Who was ever made really happier by
being in such an assemblage? Although the participants may exhibit to
casual observation the semblance of enjoyment, yet a close inspection
will show that they are only _acting_, and that, as we have already
intimated, their apparent enjoyment is no more deserving the name
of social happiness than that which is often represented as enjoyed
by a company of stage actors, in the harassing performance of the
fictitious scenes of some genteel comedy. Who was ever made any better?
Any rational discussion tending to exalt or purify the mind would be
deemed out of place; and any moral teachings would be ridiculed or
find no listeners. And, finally, who was ever made healthier? In the
bad air generated among so many breaths in confined apartments, the
high nervous excitement that usually prevails among the company, and
the exposure to cold or dampness to which their unprepared systems
are often subjected in returning home, Death has marked many a victim
for his own; while, at the best, lassitude and depression are sure to
follow, from which it will require days to recover.
In these strictures on overgrown parties, we would not, of course, be
understood as intending to include the smaller social gatherings, where
men and women do not, as they are prone to do in crowds, lose their
sense of personal responsibility, in deporting themselves like rational
beings; for such doubtless often lead to pleasing and instructive
interchange of thought, and the cultivation of those little amenities
of life which are scarcely less essential than the virtues themselves
in the structure of good society.
But it is time we had returned from this digression to the characters
and incidents immediately connected with the action of our tale.
A short time after the frosts of formality, which usually attend the
introductory scenes of such assemblages, had melted away and given
place to the noisy frivolities of the evening, and while the bustling
host, and pale, anxious-looking hostess, were together taking their
rounds among their three hundred guests, bestowing their attentions
on the more neglected, calling out the more modest, and exchanging
civilities with all,--while this was passing, suddenly there arose from
without a confused noise, as of quick movements and mingling voices,
which, from its character and the direction whence it came, obviously
indicated some altercation, or other disturbance, at the outer door.
This attracting the quickened attention of Mr. and Mrs. Elwood, the
former left his companion, and was threading his way through the
throng, when he was met by a servant, who in a flurried under-tone said:
“There is out here at the door, Mr. Elwood, a sort of a countryfied,
odd-looking old fellow, in rusty brown clothes, that has been insisting
on coming in, without being invited here to-night, and without telling
his business or even giving his name. And he pressed so hard that we
had to drive him back off the steps; but he refused to go away, even
then, and kept asking where Mark was.”
“Mark! why, that is my given name: didn’t you know it?” said Elwood,
rebukingly.
“No, sir, I didn’t,” replied the fashionable _pro tempore_ lackey. “And
if I had, my orders has always been on sech occasions not to admit any
but the invited, who won’t send in their names, or tell their business.
And I generally calculate to go by Gunter, and do the thing up genteel.”
“Well, well,” said Elwood, impatiently cutting short the other in the
defence of his professional character, and leading the way to the door,
“well, well, we had better see who he is, perhaps.”
When they reached the front entrance, they caught, by means of the
reflected light of the entry and chambers, an imperfect view of the
object of their proposed scrutiny, walking up and down the bricked
pathway leading to the house. But, not being able to identify the
new-comer with any one of his acquaintances, at that distance, Elwood
walked down and confronted him; when, after a momentary pause, he
seized the supposed intruder by the hand, and, in a surprised and
agitated tone, exclaimed:
“My brother Arthur! How came you here?”
“By steam and stage.”
“Not what I meant: but no matter. We were not expecting you; and I fear
the waiters have made a sad mistake.”
“As bad an one as I did, perhaps, in declining to be catechized at my
brother’s door.”
“No, _you_ were right enough; but the waiters, being only here
for the extra occasion,--the bit of flare-up you see we have here
to-night,--and not knowing you, thought they must do as others do at
such times. So overlook the blunder, if you will, and walk in.”
Mark Elwood, much chagrined and discomposed at the discovery of such
an untoward first reception of his brother, now ushered him into the
brilliantly-lighted hall, where the two stood in such singular contrast
that no stranger would have ever taken them for brothers,--Mark
being, as we have before described him, a good-sized, and, in the
main, a good-looking man; while the other, whom we have introduced as
Arthur Elwood, was of a diminutive size, with commonplace features,
and a severe, forbidding countenance, made so, perhaps, by intense
application to business, together with the unfavorable effect caused by
a blemished and sightless eye.
“Well, brother,” said Mark, after a hesitating and awkward pause,
“shall I look you up a private room, or will you go in among the
company,--that is, if you consider yourself in trim to join them?”
“Your rooms must all be in use, and I should make less trouble to go in
and be lost in the crowd. My trim will not kill anybody, probably,” was
the dry reply to the indirect hint of the other.
In all this Mark’s better judgment coincided; but he had no moral
courage, and, fearing the cut and color of his somewhat outre-looking
brother’s garments might excite the remarks of his fashionable guests,
he would have gladly disposed of him in some private manner till the
company had departed. Finding him, however, totally insensible to
all such considerations, he concluded to make the best of it, and
accordingly at once led the way into the guest-crowded apartments.
Here, contrary to his doubting brother’s expectation, Arthur Elwood,
whose character appeared to be known to several of the wealthier
guests, was soon treated with much respect, for, in addition to what
a previous knowledge of him secured, Mrs. Elwood had promptly come
forward to greet him, and be cordially greeted in return, and, unlike
her husband, had not hesitated to bestow on him publicly the most
marked attentions. As soon, however, as she had thus testified her
sense of the superiority of worth over outward appearance, and thus, by
her delicate tact, given him the consideration with the company which
she thought belonged to the brother of her husband, she gracefully
relinquished him to the latter; when the two, by tacit mutual consent,
sought a secluded corner, and seated themselves for a private
conversation.
“As I said, I did not expect you, Arthur,” commenced Mark Elwood, in
the unsteady and hesitating tone of one about to broach a matter in
which he felt a deep interest. “I was not looking for you here at all,
these days; but presumed, when I wrote you, that, if you concluded to
grant the favor I asked, you would transact the business through the
mail.”
“Loans of money are not always favors, Mark,” responded the other,
thoughtfully; “and when I make them, I like to know whether they
promise any real benefit. I could, as you say, have transacted the
business through the mail, but I confess, Mark, I have lately had some
misgivings and doubts whether your commercial fabric here in Boston was
not too big and broad for the foundation; and I thought I would come,
see, and judge for myself.”
“But I only asked for the loan of a few thousands,” said Mark, meekly.
“The fact is, Arthur, that, owing to some bad luck and disappointments
in money matters, I am, just now, a little embarrassed about meeting
some of my engagements; and I trust you will not refuse to give me a
lift. What say you, Arthur?”
“I don’t say, but will see and decide,” replied the other. “But, Mark,”
he added, after a pause, “Mark, what will this useless parade here
to-night cost you?”
“O, a mere trifle,--a few hundreds, perhaps.”
“And you think hundreds well spent, when you are wanting thousands to
pay your debts, do you?”
“O, you know, Arthur, a man, to keep up his credit, must _display_ a
little once in a while.”
“No, I did not know that, Mark. I did not know that the throwing
away of hundreds would help a man’s credit in thousands, especially
with those whose opinion would be of any use to him. But go,” added
the speaker, rising, “go and see to your company: I can take care of
myself.”
The brothers, rising from an interview in which they had felt, perhaps,
nearly an equal degree of secret embarrassment,--the one believing that
his last hope hung on the result, and the other feeling conscious
of entering on a most ungracious duty,--now separated, and mingled
with the gay throng, who, swaying hither and thither, and, seemingly
without end or aim, moving round and round their limited range of
apartments, like the froth in the circling eddies of a whirlpool,
continued to laugh, flirt, and chatter on, till the advent of the last
act of the social farce,--the throwing open of a suit of hitherto
sealed apartments, and the welcome disclosure of the varied and costly
delicacies of the loaded refreshment tables, which the company, by
their strong and simultaneous rush thitherward, the rattling of
knives and forks, spoons and glasses, the rapid popping of champagne
corks, and the low, eager hum of gratified voices that followed,
evidently deemed the best, as well as the closing, act of the evening’s
entertainment.
While this scene was in progress, Gaut Gurley, who had been for some
time in vain watching the opportunity, caught Mark Elwood unoccupied in
one of the vacated apartments, and abruptly approached and confronted
him.
“Well, what now, Gaut?” exclaimed Elwood, with an assumed air of
pettishness, after finding there was no further chance of escaping an
interview which he had evidently been trying to avoid; “what would you
have now?”
“I would just know whether you intend to keep your engagement,” replied
Gurley, fixing his black, quivering eyes keenly on the other.
“What engagement?”
“To give me a chance to win back that money.”
“Which you demand when you have taken from me an hundred to one!”
“And who had a better right? Through whose means did you make your
fortune? Besides this, haven’t I always given you a fair chance to win
back all you could?”
“I want no more of such chances.”
“But you promised; and I want to know whether you mean to keep that
promise or not.”
“Supposing I do, you would not have me leave home to-night, would you?”
“Yes, to-night.”
“But my brother, as you have already discovered, I presume, has just
arrived on a visit; and you know I can’t decently leave him.”
“And what do _I_ care for that? Say whether you will meet me at the old
room, or not, as soon as your company have cleared out?”
“You are unreasonable, cruel, Gaut.”
“Then say you will _not_ go, and see what will come of it, Mark Elwood!”
“I must go--I _will_ go, Gaut,” replied Elwood, turning pale at the
last intimation. “As soon as I get rid of the company, I will start
directly for the place.”
“Well, just as you can afford,” said Gaut, doggedly, as he turned on
his heel, and made his way out of the house.
Mark Elwood drew a long breath as he was thus relieved of the other’s
presence, and was leaving the room, when Mrs. Elwood, who had felt much
disturbed at discovering among her guests one of whose questionable
character and connection with her husband she was already apprised, and
who, from an adjoining apartment, had caught a slight glimpse of the
meeting just described, and enough of the conversation to enable her to
guess at its import, hurriedly came forward, and, in a voice tremulous
from suppressed emotion, said:
“You surely are not going out to-night, Mr. Elwood?”
“No--that is--only for a short time,” he said, hesitating, and a little
confused at the discovery of his design, which a second thought told
him she had made; “only for a short time. But don’t stop me to talk
now; you see the company are retiring. I must see the gentlemen off.”
“Mr. Elwood, I must be heard,” persisted the troubled and anxious
wife. “I cannot bear to have you go off, and leave your only brother,
whom you have not seen for years, and for such company! O Mr. Elwood,
how can you let that bad man----”
“Hush! don’t get into such a stew. I shall soon be back,” interrupted
the other. “You can excuse my absence. There, I hear them inquiring
for me. I must go,” he added, abruptly breaking away, and leaving his
grieved companion to hide her emotions as she best could from the
guests who were now seen approaching for their parting salutations.
In a few minutes the company had dispersed for their respective homes,
and with them, also, had unnoticed slipped away their infatuated host.