THE BEGINNING OF RETRIBUTION.
The seaman and his young companion were seated together in a little room
overlooking the sea, on the evening succeeding the events we have
related. It was one of those calm, lovely evenings when summer, seeming
loth to give over her reign to the approaching fall, exerts herself to
display her utmost beauty, and withholds her scorching heat. The
declining sun gave a rose colored tint to the landscape, and the vessels
passing to or from the modern Babylon added animation to the scene. The
mariner was gazing at the distant horizon, lost in thought. That
memories of other days were recalled to his mind, was evident from the
working of his features; that it required a strong effort to restrain
his emotion, was perceivable from the compression of his lips. There was
a massive grandeur in his aspect as he sat, well befitting the scene.
His young companion had his thoughts also, and they were not the usual
ones of his age. The meeting with the seaman and subsequent events had
roused him from his usual listless, wayward fancies, and he was going
back in memory to past scenes--shadowy and indistinct--but all in some
way mixed with the locket he wore suspended, unseen, around his neck.
That the time had now arrived when he was to receive an explanation of
the past, he felt sure; for his aunt had often told him that when Walter
arrived he should know all: and from the seaman's manner he conjectured
that the long wished for hour was come.
'Edward,' said the mariner, 'I wish you to tell me all that you
recollect--not of your life at your aunt's, but before that.'
'And then,' said the boy, 'in return you promise to tell me of my
parentage?'
'You shall know all.'
The boy paced the floor for a few moments. His figure was slender, but
lithe and active, of medium stature; and there was a restlessness about
his movements that told of a wild spirit within. His face was remarkably
handsome; features chiselled in a form that would have served a Grecian
sculptor for a model--and his long dark hair fell in glossy locks even
over his shoulders. He stood holding the back of a chair, and looking
more to seaward than at his companion, began:
'It was not in this country, I am sure, that I first recollect myself,
in a handsome house, but built different from these. There were
cocoa-nut trees growing near it; and other trees that do not grow here;
but I have seen something like them in the Earl's green house. There
were luscious fruits, but not English ones--oranges and bananas I am
sure. The people around us too were black. I remember I was frightened
when I came here first at seeing so many white people and no blacks.'
Walter regarded him steadily--but the young man's eye was seaward. He
seemed to see before him the scenes he was depicting.
'There was a piazza round the house, where I used to play, and a sweet
lady, very like poor Mary, but dark-haired, whom I used to call mother.'
There was powerful emotion depicted on the listener's face, but he said
nothing. 'I remember a handsome gentleman, but he was not there often.
He wore a uniform, but not like the officers here. I think now he must
have been in the navy. I used to call him papa. I am sure he must have
been my father, and he was a sailor; for my mother was always looking
out to sea when he was absent, and he took me onboard a man of war ship
once, where, from the deference every one showed to him, I judge, now
that I am older, that he must have been the Captain of. These things
seem to me like shadows, for I was not more than five years old then.'
'True,' said his auditor, 'your memory is good.'
'There was a party. I think my father was not there, but I was
handsomely dressed, and ladies caressed me, and the negroes were
dancing. I think it must have been my birth-day. I remember a servant
bringing in a letter, and my mother fainting, and talk about a great
fight at sea, and my father's name mentioned--I have forgotten it--but
ladies told me not to cry, and I knew that he was dead; but I did not
know what it meant. After this another gentleman used to come there,
very handsome too, but not like my father, for he had a dark face and
dark hair, and my father's hair was light. I did not like him, for he
spoke very stern to my mother, and she used to weep, and was very much
frightened by him. It was some paper he wanted from her, and he offered
her gold once. I saw him, for I hid myself and watched him. Then my
mother got sick--they said she was getting better, and I remember being
much surprised one morning, when the old nurse came down and told me she
was dead. She had died suddenly in the night, they said, and yet she had
been better the evening before.'
A deep groan burst from the seaman's lips, and his face was ashy pale.
The young man trembled as he proceeded.
'The dark gentleman came and took me away from the house, and I never
saw it again. My old nurse went with me. I was six years old then, and I
lived with her, in a poorer place than before, and not close to the old
house, for we went a long way in a carriage to reach it. We lived
together so till I was near eight years old. The dark gentleman never
came near us--but one day a man came, and said he had bought her, I
think, and she must go with him; and they took her away from me. I clung
to her, but they beat me away. Unseen by them she tied this ribbon with
the locket to it round my neck, and telling me never to part with it,
for it had been my mother's, and would one day bring me rank and
fortune, she went with her new master. A kind old colored woman, who
used to say she was free, took me to her house, and I remember nothing
more until you found me there, but that I hid the locket even from her,
for I was afraid she would take it away, and that the man who took Nurse
away, said, looking at me, "What a pity he is white!"'
The youth had been so intent upon collecting the reminiscences of his
childhood, that he had failed to perceive the effect it had upon his
companion, and the darkness now prevented his face from being seen--but
the agonized sobs that broke from him now and then told that the
fountains of his heart were stirred, and his very soul harrowed up, and
memory had conjured up a series of terrible recollections. Lights were
brought into the room, but all traces of agitation had disappeared, and
his countenance bore only the look of stern, implacable resolve.
'Edward, tell me one thing more. Have you ever seen the dark-haired man
since?'
'Daily, for these ten years almost. I knew him instantly.'
'His name?'
'De Montford! It was by accident I discovered the secret of the picture
in the justice-room, and I have availed myself of it to play spirit to
him and his base agent sometimes.'
'It was a boyish trick--but you have sterner work now in hand than
playing ghost--you have to avenge a murdered mother!'
'Ah! then my mother's sudden death, when she was recovering--'
'Was the work of poison!'
'I see it all!' said the young man. 'The papers he wanted, and she
refused--but I will kill him!' He started up, and was rushing to the
door. The iron grasp of the seaman arrested him.
'You must be calm, Edward. He shall die, but he must not perish by your
hand. He is your uncle. But he shall first be stripped of his assumed
rank and title, and his proud spirit humbled. Then he shall answer in a
court of justice for the murder of your mother.'
'Who, then, was my father?'
'The eldest lawful son of the late Earl De Montford!'
Edward gazed proudly around him for a moment, then sank into a chair,
and burying his face in his hands, burst into tears. Walter did not
disturb him, but sat regarding him with a look in which affection was
strangely mingled with his stern resolve. At length Edward raised his
head.
'I am composed now,' said he, 'and will be guided by you, for I am
convinced you have been a true friend to me. But there must be no
reservation--you must tell me all.'
'Or you will doubt me. It was never my intention to keep you in the dark
or in leading strings longer than necessary. I am above the petty spirit
which, to magnify its importance, keeps to itself half a secret, to be
told at another time. You shall know all, and we will concert our
measures together as man and man, for I can easily guess from this
moment you have put off the boy for ever.'
It was true. Even in that short time a marked change had come upon him,
and it was with the resolved air of a man prepared to hear, determine,
and to act, if need be, with firmness and deliberation, that he pushed
his chair from the table, and folding his arms upon his chest, sat
waiting for the mariner to proceed in his tale. That burst of tears
which followed the announcement of his rank was a last farewell to
boyhood, and his firm attitude and handsome features looked worthy to
uphold the proud motto of his house, "Nulli Secundi."