THE WRIT OF HABEAS CORPUS
Abel Force began to peruse the document and frowned as he went on. And
well he might!
For it was no less than a writ of _habeas corpus_, issued by a judge of
the Supreme Court of the District of Columbia, ordering Abel Force to
produce the body of Odalite Anglesea, otherwise Odalite Force, before
him the next morning, April 2, at 10 o’clock.
Abel Force, as has been seen, was a law-abiding man. On this trying
occasion, under this galling insult, he commanded himself with wonderful
power.
“Very well,” he said. “You have done your duty. I will obey the order.
Take that man away with you. He has committed a gross breach of the
peace; but let that pass for the present.”
At this moment Col. Anglesea came up and said:
“I will meet you before the judge to-morrow morning. For the present,
having seen the writ of _habeas corpus_ served upon you, I withdraw.
Good-evening, sir. Ladies, good-evening.”
And with as courtly a bow as if he were leaving the drawing room of a
duchess, Col. Anglesea went out, followed by the policemen.
“Now be still, Le! This shall be settled equitably to-morrow. For the
present nothing more can be done,” said Mr. Force, as with a long breath
of relief he at length released his prisoner.
But Le was no sooner free than he dashed out of the room and out of the
house in pursuit of his enemy.
“Let him go!” said Abel Force, in desperation. “Let him go. But I do not
think he will catch Anglesea. He has probably taken a carriage, for I
heard wheels roll away from the door before I released Le.”
“Sir, can I be of any further service here?” inquired the aged minister,
coming forward.
“No, reverend sir, you cannot; but you will perhaps take some
refreshments before you leave,” replied Mr. Force.
“Not any, I thank you. This has been a most agitating evening. If I can
serve you in any manner, at this trying crisis, pray command me.”
“We thank you very much.”
“If my presence to-morrow can avail in any way——”
“I do not think it can, yet I should be glad to have you come.”
“I will meet you,” said the rector. And after shaking hands all around
he left the room.
Mr. Force stepped quickly over to where his wife sat by his daughter’s
easy-chair, holding her hand.
Odalite’s violent paroxysm of distress was over, but she still sobbed
with a low, gasping breath as she lay back in a state of exhaustion.
He looked at the girl and sighed. He would have spoken to her, but his
wife raised her hand in warning and said, in a low tone:
“Leave her alone for a little while. She is very much prostrated, but
will rally presently.”
“Elfrida,” he said then, bending over the lady’s chair, “Elfrida! can
there be any truth in that man’s pretended claim to our child? Not that
it will make any difference in the end, for I swear by all that is
sacred, he shall never possess her! But you remember when we read that
sketch of his life in the Angleton _Advertiser_, we noticed that the
date of the death of his first wife, as given there, was some weeks
later than the date of his marriage with the California widow.”
“I remember,” said the lady, faintly, for her heart, her mother heart,
seemed dying within her.
“And such being the case, we should be thankful that Odalite’s marriage
with Le was stopped just where it was. It would have been most
disastrous if the man had reappeared and set up his claim to Odalite
weeks or months after the marriage had been consummated.”
“Indeed it would!” replied the lady. “And yet, Abel, it may all be a
fraud. He may have no claim on her whatever. If he could contrive to
have published a false obituary of himself, could he not even more
easily have inserted in the sketch of his life attached to it a false
date of the death of his wife?”
“Indeed he could. The whole question of his right to Odalite hangs upon
the true date of Lady Mary Anglesea’s demise. If she died before his
Californian marriage, then is the Californian woman his lawful wife, and
Odalite is free. If, on the contrary, as is made to appear in that
fraudulent obituary notice, Lady Mary Anglesea died since the marriage
with the Californian, then was that second marriage a felony, laying him
liable to prosecution for bigamy, and to imprisonment at hard labor in
the State’s prison, and his third incomplete marriage ceremony with our
daughter only an awkward entanglement, which affords him a false excuse
to lay claim to her, and which it may require the wisdom of the law
courts to unravel. I have no doubt as to the final issue. We must be
prepared to meet the villain in court to-morrow. We must prove the
arrest of the marriage ceremony at All Faith Church, three years ago, by
the appearance of the would-be bridegroom’s wife. Fortunately we have ‘a
cloud of witnesses’ to that fact. Besides ourselves, all the young
people who are our guests were present at the church on that occasion.
Cheer up, my love!” he said, going over to the other side of Odalite’s
chair, and bending over her. “Your perfect freedom and happiness is but
a question of time. And meanwhile you will remain under my protection.”
“Dear papa! I cause you much trouble, do I not?” she inquired, tenderly,
putting her hand in his.
“No, dearest! You never caused me any trouble in all your life! A
scoundrel has given us both trouble; but it cannot last long. If the
hearing should not be decisive to-morrow, I must ask for time and get
the California lady up here. Also, later, that will take more time, I
must send a trusty messenger over to England to ascertain from parish
registers and tombstones the exact date of the death of Lady Mary
Anglesea. But through all, as you are a minor, you must and shall remain
under my protection. Take courage, love!”
“There is Le!” exclaimed Mrs. Force, as the hall doorbell rang, and the
door opened, and a hurried step was heard approaching the drawing room.
Mr. Force started up, and went to meet the midshipman.
“I could not find the poltroon! He has run away, as he did on that first
occasion, when I sent Roland to him!” exclaimed the youth. “But yet he
shall not escape me!”
“Come here, Le,” said Odalite, in a gentle voice.
And the boy crossed the room and knelt before her, placing both his
hands in hers.
It was the old, instinctive, knightly gesture of allegiance and loyalty.
“What is it, Odalite?” he inquired.
She bent and kissed his forehead, and then she said:
“My lover and husband, you would do anything for me to-night? Would you
not?”
“Anything, Odalite! my love and queen! anything! I would live or die for
you! I would forego the dearest wish of my heart for you!” he exclaimed,
lifting her hands and pressing them to his lips, and then placing them
on his head—another old knightly gesture of allegiance and loyalty.
“Kiss me, Le! Kiss me with the kiss that seals our marriage vows,” she
said.
He started up, and caught her to his bosom, and kissed her fondly,
fervently, reverentially.
“Now, Le, I wish you to promise me to forego vengeance on your ‘dearest
foe.’ To use no violence toward the wicked man who has caused all our
trouble; because, dearest dear, there can be no violence without
lawbreaking, and no lawbreaking without such consequences as would
inflict the deepest sorrow, the fiercest anguish on me. And I have
already suffered so much, you would not have me suffer more. You will
promise me, Le?”
“Yes, my best beloved! Yes, my sovereign lady! I will promise all you
ask—even to the renouncing of my just vengeance and the leaving of that
incarnate fiend to the law. I wish it could hang him! I hope, at the
least, it will send him to the State prison! I will do all that my
queen——”
“Your wife, Le.”
“My angel wife requires me to do. And I will endure all that she
requires me to endure.”
“Meantime—although we must have patience until this case is decided, as
it must be decided, in our favor—we are husband and wife. Never dream
that I can consider myself in any other light than as your wife, or that
I could think of you in any other way than as my husband. We shall not
be separated, but remain, as lately, members of the same family, inmates
of the same house; living as a betrothed couple, or as brother and
sister, until this cloud from the depths of Tartarus has been cleared
away from between us. Do you promise, Le?”
“Everything! Everything you wish, Odalite.”
“That is my dear, brave, loyal Le!”
There was something in this interview—that had been held in the sight
and hearing of all the little company—that so touched all hearts that
the boys and girls gathered around the young couple with looks of
heartfelt sympathy. The girls kissed Odalite and pressed the hands of
Le. The boys shook hands with Le, and looked “unutterable things” at
Odalite.
“My dear,” said Mr. Force to his wife, “I think you had better take our
daughter off to your own apartment. It grows late, and she is tired. And
we have a trying day before us to-morrow.”
This was the signal for the dispersion of the little group. And they all
bade good-night and retired.
So ended Odalite’s second wedding day.