MR. CLIFTON’S RESOLUTION.
Full many a storm on this gray head has beat
And now on my high station do I stand,
Like the tired watchman in rocked tower,
Who looketh for the hour of his release.
I’m sick of worldly broil, and fain would be
With those who strive no more.—JOANNA BAILLIE.
“Well, old two pence ha’penny, how d’ y’ do? Family all well at last,
eh?” said Major Cabell, advancing to meet Mr. Clifton, as he entered the
parlor.
The old gentleman extended his hand gravely, and welcomed his visitor to
White Cliffs. Then he rung the bell and ordered refreshments, but Major
Cabell declined the latter and inquired after the ladies.
“My family are all in affliction! D—n it, Charley, you know it! Curse
that Indian war! My dear Carolyn scarcely recovered from the effects of
that loathsome pestilence, before here comes the news of that hideous
massacre of poor Fairfax and his men, and just overwhelms my little
Zuleime!”
“Zuleime? My dear little wife? I trust that nothing has been permitted
to afflict _her_?”
“The news of Fairfax’s horrible death shocked her into a sort of
appalled ecstacy, which lasted for twelve hours! And from which she was
only roused to break into such tears and sobs, as I never heard before,
and hope never to hear again.”
The old man wished to prepare Major Cabell, gradually, for the
announcement he intended to make of the marriage about to be broken off.
He wished to touch his heart, to excite his sympathy, to awaken his
generosity. He even hoped—for people will have wild hopes in
extremity—that Major Cabell might anticipate his wish, and resign his
claims. He never was more mistaken in his life!
Major Cabell listened in grave silence to his speech, and then in high
displeasure, exclaimed—
“By my soul, sir! this is a very astonishing and most offensive thing,
you tell me! Why should Zuleime grieve thus immoderately over the death
of this young officer. Will you explain that?”
“Yes! I _might_ say—because he was her intimate companion in her own
home all the summer—and was soon after leaving it, so barbarously
slaughtered. That is quite a sufficient reason for the tender-hearted
child to grieve excessively. But I will not deceive you, Major Cabell.
She loved this poor young man!”
“Sir! Mr. Clifton! By Heaven, sir!”
“It cannot be helped, Charley! Hearts cannot be bound by parchment and
red tape! She loved this poor Frank Fairfax—and her heart is broken by
his sudden, dreadful loss. Her grief, poor thing, must have its way! She
shall not be troubled!”
“And pray, sir,” began Major Cabell, speaking with deliberate scorn—“how
long shall this faithless girl be permitted to weep over the memory of
that fellow, before she is required to give her hand to one who might
have claimed it as his right long ago?”
“_Charles Cabell_,” said the old man, speaking slowly and sadly, “is it
_possible_ that you _can_—that _any_ man could wish to marry a
broken-hearted girl, mourning over the grave of her freshly murdered
lover!”
“_Wish_ to marry her? Wish to marry Zuleime? Give her to me! Give me
Zuleime! Only give her to me, and then see! She is my right! I claim her
by your promise—and I would take her _now_!”
“But you are certainly mad! You would be miserable with her!”
“_Should I?_ That is my affair! Only give her to me! Come! let me have
her to-day, or to-morrow, and I will take her home to Richmond with me,”
said Major Cabell vehemently, almost fiercely.
Old Mr. Clifton looked up at him in surprise, amounting almost to fear.
Have I ever described Major Cabell to you? He was a small man, with
clear cut, sharpened features, and pale face, surrounded by light brown
hair and whiskers, with very handsome dark brown eyes, but with a
certain latent ferocity in the eyes, and grimness about the thin, set
lips. Somehow or other he irresistibly reminded you of a
hyena—especially when he happened to laugh that thin, ungenial laugh.
The old man looked at him in surprise, almost amounting to fear, and
then he said—
“But she does not love you _now_! She cannot love you _yet_! She loves
Frank in his shroud better than any one left alive!”
“I do not care! She must forget Frank, and love me! Women can be made to
feel or feign anything, by one who understands them.”
“But her heart is breaking, I tell you!”
“It must stop breaking, and nerve itself to life.”
“She is weeping her life away! She is a Niobe, I tell you! A living
fountain of tears!”
“She shall dry them and smile! See if I do not make her do it! Pooh! it
is baby love, all this! Do you think a girl of her age, can feel any
lasting love, or grief, or enduring passion of any sort at all? Pooh,
pooh! I tell you if her lap-dog were killed, she would blubber and weep
as much over its death, as she does over this other puppy’s fate! But,
once for all, Mr. Clifton, I tell you I do not intend to be put off, or
in any way annoyed by this girl’s grief and petulance. It is not well
for you, her, or myself, that it should be indulged. Give her to me at
once, according to your promise, and afterward I shall know how to deal
with her—far better than you seem to know.”
“And you really wish to marry her in her present state, and take her
home with you?”
“Yes! What objection? A wedding-party is not an indispensable accessory
to the ceremony. A bridal journey from here to Richmond would be a very
good substitute. Indeed, since the catastrophe of the last wedding-party
at Clifton, I think the bridal journey would be in the best taste.”
“Umph! And you would marry her so, and so take her away?”
“Certainly.”
“_Brute!_”
“Sir?”
“BRUTE, I say! She would rather lie down with Frank in his bloody grave
than marry you! And _I_ would rather lay my child there—ALIVE—than give
her to you! There, it is said! Now, I hope you understand me?”
Major Cabell brought his two fierce brown eyes to bear upon Mr. Old
Gentleman, and gazed as if he thought him bereft of his senses. Then he
spoke in a peculiarily thin, smooth, distinct voice—
“Do you mean what you say, sir?”
“Yes I do! There!”
“And have you duly considered this, sir?”
“Yes I have! There!”
“And you know and are prepared to meet the consequences?”
“Yes! Do your worst! There!” said the old man, setting down his foot.
Major Cabell arose and walked up and down the floor in deep, perplexed
thought. To say that he was surprised at this sudden, unexpected
rebellion and daring on the part of Mr. Clifton would not be sufficient.
He was just _astounded_, and could not surmise where the strength of the
old man to oppose him, with his claims and his power, could come from!
He thought some external aid had been given! He never guessed that it
was the internal victory of conscience over cowardice.
Old Mr. Clifton also arose and stretched himself, expanding his chest,
and taking a long, deep breath of intense relief and satisfaction,
saying—
“Thank Heaven, I feel better. Feel more like a man than I have felt for
ten years. Now let the worst come, I can meet it!”
Major Cabell glanced sideways at him, and continued his thoughtful
pacing up and down the floor. He was possessed with a sort of ferocious
passion for Zuleime, a passion fanned to fury by opposition. He was not
one to bend his pride to sue. And yet he must have her! Soon, too!
Old Mr. Clifton, now feeling and looking so much better and franker, and
remembering that Major Cabell was his guest as well as his relative,
went up to him and held out his hand, saying, heartily—
“Charley, give me your hand! I do not know what you are going to do, but
I know that I am ready to meet what comes! In olden times mortal foes
shook hands before they entered upon a deadly combat. In our times the
executioner and his victim exchange courtesies. And the humanity of it
is a touching comment upon the cruel necessities of our legal and social
code. Let us not be more ungracious adversaries than they. Give me your
hand. You are welcome to Clifton as long as you please to give us your
company. Sport is good now on the mountains, and you can amuse yourself
as you please.”
Major Cabell paused in his walk, and placed his hand in the open palm of
Mr. Clifton, saying—
“I will take you at your word, sir! I will remain your guest for a few
days. I will hope that what you have said in regard to the marriage of
myself and your daughter, has been spoken in haste, and under the
influence of anger. I trust that you will review your words. To-day you
speak from excitement—to-morrow I hope that judgment will dictate your
reply. You will remember that _I, too_, had something to complain of in
the fact that my affianced bride, or one that I considered such, should
have been so ill guided, or so illy guided herself, as to suffer her
affections to fall into this entanglement. But we will say no more about
it now, for I see Mrs. Clifton about to enter.”
Georgia entered indeed, smiling.
Old Mr. Clifton seized the opportunity, and while Major Cabell was
paying his devoirs to the beauty, excused himself and left the room to
go and see how Zuleime was getting on, and to reassure her if necessary.
As soon as he had left the room, Georgia drew Major Cabell off to a
distant sofa. And they sat down and entered upon a long, confidential
conversation. And when it was ended, they arose and separated with looks
of great satisfaction.