"_Duke_.--How's this?
The treason's
Already at the doors."
VENICE PRESERVED.
"_Amelia_.--I thought I heard a step.
_Charles_.--'T is your tyrant coming."
PROCTOR.
Jaspar and De Guy were for a long time closeted in the state-room. On
their reäppearance Jaspar felt much easier. The silky-toned attorney had
used a variety of arguments to convince him that their schemes were
working excellently well, and that everything, notwithstanding the
resurrection of the negro, would terminate to his entire satisfaction.
The process of "wooding-up" on a Mississippi steamer, inasmuch as it
affords the passengers an opportunity to exercise their locomotive
powers on shore, is regarded as an interesting incident. This was
particularly true on board the Chalmetta, for she was crowded to nearly
double her complement of cabin-passengers, and the space usually devoted
to exercise was too much crowded to render it very pleasant.
When, therefore, the Chalmetta touched at a wood-yard, after leaving
Baton Rouge, the passengers hurried on shore, to enjoy the novelty of an
unconfined promenade. De Guy, on pretence of further private
conversation, induced Jaspar to forsake his post as sentinel over Emily,
and join him in a walk. For half an hour the attorney in his silky tones
regaled the ears of Jaspar with various strange schemes, until the bell
of the steamer announced her near departure. Even then De Guy seemed in
no haste, and assured his companion the boat would not start without
them. But the second bell admonished them that the steamer was already
getting under way. The passengers were all on board, and, as they heard
in the distance the tinkling of the engineer's bell, they started at a
run to reach her. By some accident, De Guy's foot got between Jaspar's
legs, and he fell. The attorney stooped, as if to assist him up, but, in
reality, struck the fallen man a blow, which rendered him insensible. De
Guy hurried towards the boat, leaving the watchful uncle to shift for
himself. He reached the landing in season to jump upon the stern of the
boat as it swung in shore. Pushing through the crowd which had gathered
to witness his exploit of getting on board, he retreated to his
state-room, and locked the door.
Jaspar was not immediately missed by Emily, and his absence was too
desirable to be the cause of any solicitude. As the tea-hour approached,
and the ladies were requested to take their places at table, she was
very much surprised to see _Mr. Maxwell_ present himself as her escort
to the table. Since the unhappy disclosure of his love in the office,
she had regarded him with pity, rather than with the contempt he
merited. She could not but feel that he loved her. His eloquent language
and forlorn aspect had not been in vain, for they had saved him from her
_utter_ contempt. A true woman cannot be conscious of possessing a
portion of the love, even of a dissolute man, without feeling some
respect for him. To love truly and devotedly is an element of the
angelic character; and such love will purify and ennoble even the
grossest of human beings. Emily unconsciously arrived at this
conclusion; and, discerning some indications of pure love towards her in
his gross and earthly mind, she felt that he was entitled to her
sympathy. She cherished no affection for him; all that her gentle heart
could contain was bestowed upon another. A suspicion had more than once
entered her mind that Maxwell was, in some manner, connected with the
foul plot which had drawn her into its toils. But, she reasoned, if he
loved her, he would not injure her,--no, not even in revenge for her
refusal. _She_ could not, and her beautiful nature would not allow her
to believe it, even of a man as gross as her better judgment told her
Maxwell was.
To her inquiry for her uncle, Maxwell informed her that he had some
conversation with him since he came on board at Baton Rouge, and that he
had requested him to attend her at tea. He had not seen him since, but
supposed he was forward, or in his state-room.
Emily readily accepted his arm, for anything was a relief from the
hateful presence of Jaspar. Maxwell used all the art which politeness
could lend to render himself agreeable. His ready wit, and the
adaptation of his conversation to the unhappy circumstances of her
position, in some measure dispelled the misery of the hour. Besides, it
was plain the attorney did not believe the statement of the will; for a
high-born Southern gentleman would never associate in public with a
slave girl. She had, too, a presentiment that he came on some errand to
her. Perhaps the good minister, Mr. Faxon, had sent him with good news
to her. Perhaps through him the will had been proved false. Such
reflections as these imparted more interest to his society than she
would otherwise have felt.
During the tea-hour his assiduous courtesy left scarcely a particular in
which Henry Carroll, who, as before, occupied a seat opposite to him,
could render himself of use. He could hardly address a word to her
without interrupting her companion. An introduction, which had before
placed the young captain and the attorney on speaking terms, did not
prevent the latter from mixing excessively good with excessively bad
breeding. He was apparently unwilling that Henry should be heard by
Emily. Maxwell had some idea of the relation which subsisted between his
two companions; but, of course, knew nothing of the previous night's
interview, which had indissolubly bound their hearts together. He
seemed determined to keep their sympathies as far apart as possible.
Henry Carroll wondered at the absence of Jaspar and at the sudden
appearance of Maxwell, for he had not before seen him. His attentions to
her he loved created no jealousy. Emily had satisfactorily acknowledged
her affection for him, and to believe her pure nature, especially under
the present circumstances, susceptible of coquetry, were infidelity. A
single look beaming with love had assured him that his star was still in
the ascendant.
At the conclusion, Maxwell, with the same elegant courtesy, conducted
her back to the ladies' cabin. Emily repeated her acknowledgments for
the attentions, and was about to enter her state-room, when he addressed
her.
"May I beg the favor of a few moments' private conversation, Miss
Dumont?" said he, in a more business-like manner than that he had
assumed at the tea-table.
Emily hesitated. Her supposition concerning his mission was partly
verified in this request; but the remembrance of her last interview with
him at his office in New Orleans came like a cloud over the bright sky
of her hopes. Curiosity and a painful interest prompted her to risk the
interview. If this interview was likely to be of an unpleasant nature,
she could retire; and, if the worst she apprehended was likely to be
realized, she knew that Henry Carroll hovered near her, at all times,
like a guardian angel.
"In your legal capacity, I presume?" said she, with a smile and a
crimson face.
"Certainly, certainly," replied Maxwell, not a little disconcerted to
discover this troublesome caution.
"Will you take a seat, then? I think no one will feel an interest in our
conversation beside ourselves."
"Excuse me," replied Maxwell, in his blandest tones, "a few words of our
conversation overheard might expose persons we wish not to injure."
"Perhaps it had better be deferred to a more convenient opportunity."
"Delays are dangerous, Miss Dumont. Justice to yourself requires that my
communication be made at once. Allow me to attend you to the promenade
deck, where we shall be secure from interruption."
Emily, with many doubts, accepted his arm, and they proceeded to the
promenade deck.
"Now, Mr. Maxwell," said Emily, in a very serious tone, for she wished
to awe the profligate into the most business-like reserve, "be as speedy
as possible, for I am fearful of the effects of the night-air upon my
health."
Maxwell was disconcerted at this change in the manner of his companion,
and vexed to account for it. The remembrance of past events came to his
aid, but afforded no satisfactory solution. He could not see why Emily
should studiously reject his overtures. His experience of female society
had been of the most flattering character. He was perfectly aware of his
popularity. His personal attractions always had been a strong
recommendation, and he could not see why they should not be in this
instance. His family was good, his fortune supposed to be
respectable,--everybody did not know the inroads he had made upon it;
his business was a pastime--the gate of honor and fame. It was true his
character was dissolute, but she did not know this.
Unfortunately for him and his prospects, she did know it, and the fact
had all the weight which a virtuous mind attaches to such a
circumstance.
"I have been fortunate enough to obtain some information which may be of
great value to you, or I should not thus have intruded upon you," said
Maxwell, with the air of a man upon whom suspicion rested unjustly.
"Indeed, Mr. Maxwell!" replied Emily, forgetting both the night-air and
the character of the man who stood beside her; "pray, tell me all at
once!"
"Pardon me," replied he, coldly, "as the story is somewhat lengthy,
perhaps it might be deferred till to-morrow, if your health is likely to
suffer from exposure at this hour."
Emily was confused; but she could not stoop to the weakness of deception
to smooth over her former coldness. She was burning with impatience to
be restored, even in imagination, to the position from which she had
been degraded by the cruel will. Her companion's language was not
calculated to remove her doubts of his intentions. If the communication
was of a business character, why should he be offended at her haste to
terminate the interview? This reflection strengthened her resolution not
to conciliate him. She would trust to Providence and the justice of her
cause, rather than make an intimate of a man whom she despised.
"Miss Dumont," said Maxwell, growing desperate at the lady's silence,
"perhaps I have offended in some manner. If I have, it was
unintentional, and I trust you will forgive me."
"O, no, sir, not at all!" exclaimed Emily, mollified, in spite of
herself, by the humility of the attorney. "There is no offence, and no
apology is necessary."
"I am greatly relieved by this assurance, and, with your leave, will
proceed with my narrative."
Maxwell now entered into a relation of the history of the will, but
studiously avoided imparting a single fact with which she was not
already acquainted. All this he had related with a lawyer's skill, to
awaken her curiosity and interest, and to remove by distance any
unpleasant suspicions which might have been awakened in her mind in
regard to his motives.
To all he said Emily listened with profound attention, momentarily
expecting the development of the foul plot. But thus far Jaspar Dumont
is as pure as an angel,--nothing is disclosed. In this manner half an
hour passed away, and Emily was no wiser than at first.
Maxwell has now, with an adroitness peculiar to the successful lawyer,
made _himself_ the subject of his remarks. He is careful that she shall
know how sagacious he has been in discovering the facts he has not yet
revealed. He tells her how many weary days and nights he has spent in
searching out the truth; what wonderful intelligence of his had
converted the shadow of a suspicion into the reality of an
incontrovertible conviction; how a single word he casually overheard has
been followed through weary days and dismal nights, till he has arrived,
with all the evidence in his hands, at the truth!
Emily was certainly grateful for the deep interest he had manifested in
her behalf, and she expressed her gratitude with modest earnestness.
"But, Miss Dumont," continued Maxwell, "I could not thus have sacrificed
myself for every client. My health and strength, under ordinary
circumstances, would have given way, and the case have been lost."
"Indeed, sir, you may rely on the fullest and most substantial
acknowledgment for the service you have rendered. My purse shall be
entirely at your disposal," responded Emily, warmly and innocently.
"Money, Miss Dumont, would not have tempted me to make the sacrifice of
health and comfort which this exertion has required of me. I have done
all my humble talents would permit from a higher motive. I look for my
reward in the consciousness of having done my duty."
"I trust, Mr. Maxwell, you will receive the great reward which is sure
to follow every noble and true action."
Emily was sadly perplexed to understand this new and singular
phenomenon.
"The act itself is its own reward," said Maxwell, with an attempt to
counterfeit humility, which was very awkward, but which deceived Emily,
agitated as she was by hopes and fears.
"But, as I said," continued he, "I would not have done this for every
client, and I trust you will pardon me when I say the only reward I
look forward to is your smile of approval."
"I certainly cannot but approve of the motives which have actuated you,
and your actions perhaps I could better appreciate if my knowledge of
them was more extensive," responded Emily, disappointed and displeased,
as her suspicions were reawakened.
But a faint smile rested upon her beautiful features, as if to soften,
the reproof she had administered, and to conceal her rising emotions.
She felt that Maxwell could assist her, but she feared every moment that
some allusion to the prohibited subject would compel her to banish him
from her presence.
"A smile from you were an ample reward for all my trouble and exertion,"
said Maxwell, deceived by the smile of Emily. "To be as sincere as your
generous nature demands, I cannot conquer the love I have before
expressed. I--"
"Excuse me, sir," indignantly interrupted Emily, "I must retire."
"Nay, nay, Miss Dumont! I meant no offence. Hear me but for a moment!"
"Not another instant, sir! You have deceived me."
"Upon my honor, I have not. I possess the evidence by which your
birthright and possessions may be restored."
"No more! I had rather die in poverty, with the stain clinging to me,
than owe the restoration of my rights to you. You have taken advantage
of my unprotected condition to impose upon me."
"You wrong me, Miss Dumont; as, if you will remain but a moment, I will
prove to you," said Maxwell, pleading like an injured man.
Maxwell's peculiar tone and penitent air made Emily pause, and perhaps
think she had spoken too hastily. All the wrong of which she could
accuse him was, that he loved her. She felt that this was not a crime.
The remembrance of wrongs she knew he had inflicted upon others,
perhaps weak and unprotected like herself, nerved her resolution, and to
a word of love from him she could not listen. She wished to conciliate
him, if possible, but not at the expense of her self-respect.
"Why have you detained me all this time to listen to a story with which
I was before as familiar as yourself? Why have you used the language of
love, which a refusal to hear now renders insolent?"
"I have offended you, Miss Dumont," said he, in the humblest tones; "can
I hope to be forgiven?"
"Your future conduct alone can secure my forgiveness."
"Then I solemnly promise never again to allude to the admiration with
which I have regarded your matchless beauty, or to mention the love
which now consumes my heart."
"I trust you are sincere," said Emily, not knowing whether to smile or
frown upon this making and breaking the promise in the same breath. The
deep anxiety she felt for her future fate made her disposed to forget
the past, and in a gentler tone she expressed her forgiveness.
Maxwell imagined that, at last, his star was in the ascendant. His
experience of woman-kind only indicated that he had been too
precipitate, and that the reserve, even the refusal he had received,
were only the accidents of the moment, not the natural expression of an
indifferent heart. His assurance increased as he reflected. He was led
to believe that he might, now that the ice-barrier was removed, be more
unreserved in his wooing. His perseverance had now overcome all
obstacles, and the prize was in his grasp.
"I have a plan to propose," said he, "which will immediately secure to
you all your rights."
"Pray what is it?" asked Emily, eagerly.
"As you have forbidden me to speak of love, I am placed in a very
unfortunate position. In short, you can obtain possession of your estate
by returning as my wife."
This last sentence was said in a whisper, and in a tone of assurance,
as though he felt she would gladly accept the alternative.
"Sir!" exclaimed Emily, aghast with astonishment and indignation, for
the abruptness of the degrading proposition nearly deprived her of the
power of speech.
"Even so, Emily. I have the power to restore your rights, and will do so
on this condition. The ceremony may be performed at Natchez, where we
shall arrive to-night; or, if you fear I promise more than I can
perform, I will draw up an agreement, which you shall sign, to the
effect that you will accept my hand on the restoration of your rights. I
will give you two hours to think of it; and if, at the end of that time,
you accept the proposal, I will at once take the necessary steps to
regain your fortune, and remove the stigma which rests on your name."
"Never, sir, never! I will die a beggar before I will owe my prosperity
to such a contract!" exclaimed Emily, whose indignation now found
utterance.
"I beg madam will reflect before she decides," said Maxwell, in a
satirical tone.
"Sir, I will die upon the rack, before the hand of a villain shall lead
me to the altar!" answered Emily, unable to control her feelings.
"Softly, lady, softly!"
"Leave me, sir! leave me, or I will call upon my uncle to protect me
from further insult!"
"Your _uncle_, I fear, was left at the last wood-yard; so I heard my
friend De Guy say."
Emily felt herself the victim of a plot, and, rousing all her energies,
she said,
"I see it all. The machinations of a villain--for such you are--shall be
foiled."
"Miss Dumont," said Maxwell, his passions roused by the severity of her
epithet, "do you forget your condition? You are a _slave_! Your supposed
uncle is not here. You have no free papers, and are liable to be
committed to the next jail."
"But I am not without a friend who is able to protect me," said Emily,
with spirit, as she saw Henry Carroll ascend to the deck upon which they
stood.
"Your friend is helpless. Another word, and I will proclaim your
condition," and he rudely seized her by the arm. "Your friend cannot
help you. He has not your free papers."
"But he has a strong arm!" shouted Henry Carroll, as with a single blow
he struck the attorney to the deck.
"This way, Emily," said he to the weeping girl, who clung tremblingly to
him; "you are safe now."
Emily was conducted by the gallant arm which had protected her from we
know not what indignity. She felt secure in his presence from further
molestation, and his soothing words and hopeful promises did much to
restore her.
Maxwell soon recovered from the effects of the blow he had received,
and, boiling with passion, swore vengeance upon the man who had
interrupted him. But his passion was of short duration, and was
succeeded by sober reflections upon the "position of his case." Emily
Dumont was not of that class of women with whom he was accustomed to
deal. He had found in her an element with which he had not before been
conversant,--of which, indeed, he had read in books of poetry, but did
not believe it existed in the material world.