MATTERS AT STRING BANK.
It had been a bright, pleasant day in March, when ’Lina was expected
home, and in honor of her arrival the house at Spring Bank wore its most
cheery aspect; not that any one was particularly pleased because she was
coming, unless it were the mother; but it was still an event of some
importance, and so the negroes cleaned and scrubbed and scoured,
wondering if “Miss ’Lina done fotch ’em anything,” while Alice arranged
and re-arranged the plainly-furnished rooms, feeling beforehand how the
contrast between them and the elegancies to which ’Lina had recently
been accustomed, would affect her.
Hugh had thought of the same thing, and much as it hurt him to do it, he
sold one of his pet colts, and giving the proceeds to Alice, bade her
use it as she saw fit.
It was astonishing how far Alice made the hundred dollars go. Hugh had
no idea it would buy so much, and in blissful ignorance that Alice
herself had supplied many articles from her own funds, he assisted in
nailing down carpets and oil-cloths, and putting up curtains, while he
even ventured to try his hand at painting, succeeding admirably, but
spoiling an entire suit of clothes, and leaving more than one mark of
his brush on Alice’s black dress. Spring Bank had never looked one-half
so well before, and the negroes were positive there was no where to be
found so handsome a room as the large airy parlor, with its new Brussels
carpet and curtains of worsted brocatelle.
Even Hugh was somewhat of the same opinion, but then he only looked at
the room with Alice standing in its centre, so it is not strange that he
should judge it favorably. Ad would be pleased, he knew, and he gave
orders that the carriage and harness should be thoroughly cleaned, and
the horses well groomed, for he would make a good impression upon his
sister.
Alas, she was not worth the trouble,—the proud, selfish creature, who,
all the way from Lexington to the Big Spring station had been hoping
_Hugh_ would not take it into his head to meet her, or if he did, that
he would not have on his homespun suit of grey, with his pants tucked in
his boots, and so disgrace her in the eyes of Mr. and Mrs. Ford, her
traveling companions, who would see him from the window. Yes, there he
was, standing expectantly upon the platform, and she turned her head the
other way, pretending not to see him until the train moved on, and Hugh
compelled her notice by grasping her hand and calling her “sister
’Lina.”
She had acquired a certain city air by her sojourn in New York, and in
her fashionably made traveling dress and hat was far more stylish
looking than when Hugh last parted from her. But nothing abashed he held
her hand a moment while he inquired about her journey, and then
playfully added,
“Upon my word, Ad, you have improved a heap, in looks I mean. Of course
I don’t know about the temper. Spunky as ever, eh?” and he tried to
pinch her glowing cheek.
“Pray don’t be foolish,” was ’Lina’s impatient reply, as she drew away
from him, and turned, with her blandest smile, to a sprig of a lawyer
from Frankfort, who chanced to be there too.
Chilled by her manner, Hugh ordered the carriage, and told her they were
ready. Once alone with him, ’Lina’s tongue was loosened, and she poured
out numberless questions, the first of which was, “What they heard from
Adah, and if it were true, as her mother had written, that no one at
Terrace Hill knew of her acquaintance with Spring Bank.”
“Yes, he supposed it was, and he did not like it either. Ad,” and he
turned his honest face full toward her, “does that doctor still believe
you rich?”
“How do I know?” ’Lina replied, frowning gloomily. “I’m not to blame if
he does. I never told him I was.”
“But your actions implied as much, which amounts to the same thing. It’s
all wrong, Ad, all wrong. Even if he loves you, and it is to be hoped he
does, he will respect you less when he knows how you deceived him.”
“Hadn’t you better interfere and set the matter right?” asked ’Lina, now
really roused.
“I did think of doing so once,” Hugh rejoined, but ere he could say
more, ’Lina grasped his arm fiercely, her face dark with passion as she
exclaimed, “Hugh, if you meddle, you’ll rue the day. It’s my own affair,
and I know what I’m doing.”
She was very angry, and her black eyes fairly blazed as they glanced at
Hugh, who once would have returned her scorn for scorn. But Hugh was
learning to govern his hot temper. The diamond was polishing; besides
that, he would not quarrel with her on this first day of her return, so
he answered in the same kind tone of voice he had assumed toward her.
“I do not intend to meddle, though I encouraged Adah in her wild plan of
going to Terrace Hill, because I thought they would learn from her just
how rich we are. But Adah foolishly says nothing of Spring Bank. I don’t
like it, neither does Miss Johnson. Indeed, I sometimes think she is
more anxious than I am.”
“Miss Johnson,” and ’Lina spoke disdainfully, “I’d thank her to mind her
own business. She’s only jealous and wants the doctor herself.”
Hugh made her no reply, and they proceeded on in silence, until they
came in sight of Spring Bank, when ’Lina broke out afresh, “Such a
tumble-down shanty as that! It was not fit for decent people to live in,
and mercy knew she was glad her sojourn there was to be short.”
“You are not alone in that feeling,” came dryly from Hugh, who could not
forbear that remark.
’Lina said he was a very affectionate brother; that she was glad there
were those who appreciated her, even if he did not, and then the
carriage stopped at Spring Bank, where the family stood waiting for her
upon the long piazza. Mrs. Worthington was hearty in her welcome, for
her mother heart went out warmly towards her daughter, who, as
bride-elect of a Richards, was, in her estimation, a creature of more
importance than plain ’Lina had been, with nothing in prospect. Oh, what
airs ’Lina did put on, and what pains she took to appear _cityfied_,
merely noticing the expectant negroes with a “how dye,” offering the
tips of her fingers to good Aunt Eunice, trying to patronize Alice
herself, and only noticing Densie Densmore with a haughty stare.
“Upon my word,” ’Lina began, as she entered the pleasant parlor, “this
is better than I expected. Somebody has been very kind for my sake. Miss
Johnson, I am sure it’s you I have to thank,” and with a little flush of
gratitude she turned to Alice, who replied in a low tone, “Thank your
brother. He made a sacrifice for the sake of surprising you.”
Whether it was a desire to appear amiable in Alice’s eyes, or because
she really was touched with Hugh’s generosity, ’Lina involuntarily threw
her arm around his neck, and gave to him a kiss which he remembered for
a long, long time.
Swiftly the days went by, bringing callers to see ’Lina, Ellen Tiffton,
who received back her jewelry, and who was to be bridesmaid, inasmuch as
Alice preferred to be more at liberty, and see that matters went on
properly. This brought Ellen often to Spring Bank, and as ’Lina was much
with her, Alice was left more time to think. Adah’s continued silence
with regard to Dr. Richards had troubled her at first, but now she felt
relieved. ’Lina had stated distinctly that ere coming to Kentucky he was
going to Terrace Hill, and Adah’s last letter had said the same. She
would see him then, and—if he were George—alas, for the unsuspecting
girl who fluttered gaily in the midst of her bridal finery, and wished
the time would come when “she could escape from that hole, and go back
to dear, delightful Fifth Avenue Hotel.”
The time which hung so heavily upon her hands was flying rapidly, and at
last only a week intervened ere the eventful day. Hugh had gone down to
Frankfort on an errand to the dressmaker’s for ’Lina, and finding that
he must wait some time, it occurred to him to visit the Penitentiary,
where he had not been for a long time. The keeper, a personal friend of
Hugh’s, expressed much pleasure at meeting him, and after a moment, said
laughingly,
“We have no _lions_ to show just now, unless it be Sullivan, the negro
stealer. You have never seen him, I think, since he was sent to us. You
know whom I mean, the man who ran off Uncle Sam.”
Yes, Hugh knew, but he was not especially interested in him. Still he
followed the keeper, who said that Sullivan’s time expired in a few
days.
“We’ll find him on the rope-walk,” he continued. “We put our hardest
customers there. Not that he gives us trouble, for he does not, and I
rather like the chap, but we have a spite against these Yankee
negro-stealers,” and he led the way to the long low room, where groups
of men walked up and down—up and down—holding the long line of hemp,
which, as far as they were concerned, would never come to an end until
the day of their release.
“That’s he,” the keeper whispered to Hugh, “the one with that mark upon
his forehead,” and he pointed to one of the convicts advancing slowly
towards them.
With a start and a shudder Hugh grew cold and sick, for it needed but a
glance to assure him that he stood in the presence of Adah’s guardian,
whose sudden disappearance had been so mysterious. Hugh never knew how
he kept himself from leaping into that walk and compelling him to tell
if he knew anything of Willie Hastings’ father. He did, indeed, take one
forward step, but the next moment he controlled himself as he remembered
where he was, and knew it was no place for a scene. “But I must see
him,” he thought, “I must talk with him and compel him to tell me what
he knows of Adah Hastings.”
Hastily quitting the spot, he explained to the keeper that there was a
particular reason for his talking with Sullivan, and asked permission to
do so. At first the keeper hesitated, but finally consented, and an hour
later, when the convicts left their work, Hugh Worthington was
confronting the famous negro-stealer, who gave him back glance for
glance, and stood unflinchingly before him as if there were upon his
conscience no Adah Hastings, who, by his connivance, had been so
terribly wronged. At the mention of _her_ name, however, his bold
assurance left him. There was a quivering of the muscles about his
mouth, a humid moisture upon his eyelids, and his whole manner was
indicative of strong emotion as he asked if Hugh knew aught of her, and
then listened while Hugh told what he knew, and where she had gone.
“To Terrace Hill—into the Richards family, this was no chance
arrangement,” and the convict spoke huskily asking next for the doctor,
was he at home? had he met Adah yet? and still Hugh did not suspect the
magnitude of the plot, and answered by telling how Dr. Richards was
coming soon to make ’Lina his wife.
Hugh was not looking at his companion then, or he would have been
appalled by the fearful expression which for an instant flashed on his
face, and then quickly passed away, leaving there a look of terror and
concern. Accustomed to conceal his feelings, the convict did so now, and
asked calmly when the wedding would take place. Hugh named the day and
hour, and then asked impatiently, if Sullivan knew aught of Adah’s
husband.
“Yes, everything,” and the convict spoke vehemently, for he, too, saw
the keeper consult his watch, and knew that he must hasten.
“Young man, I cannot tell you now—there is not time, but wait and you
shall know the whole. You are interested in Adah. You have been kind to
her. You never will be sorry. The wedding, you say, is Thursday night.
My time expires on Wednesday.
“Don’t say that you have seen me, or that I shall be present at that
wedding. I shall only come for good, but I shall surely be there.”
He wrung Hugh’s hand and went to his lonely cell, while Hugh turned
away, haunted by some presentiment of evil, and hearing continually the
words, fraught with far more meaning than he supposed, “I shall surely
be there.”