"Why should my curiosity excite me
To search and pry into the affairs of others,
Who have to employ my thoughts so many cares
And sorrows of my own?" LILLO.
Jaspar Dumont sat in the library at Bellevue. It was the evening after
his return from Vicksburg. Near him, engaged in examining a heap of
papers, was his new overseer, Dalhousie.
Jaspar was musing over the late turn his affairs had taken; and, while
he congratulated himself on his present triumphant position, he could
but regard with apprehension the future, which seemed to smile only to
lure him on to certain destruction. The trite saying, "There is no peace
for the wicked," is literally and universally true. The lowering brow,
the threatening scowl, the suspicious glance, of the wicked uncle, were
as reliable evidences of his misery as his naked soul, torn with doubt
and anguish, could have been. Every new paper the overseer turned over
produced a start of apprehension, lest it might contain evidence of his
villany. His nerves had suffered terribly beneath the vision of guilt
and punishment that constantly haunted him. His new overseer, whom he
had partially admitted to his bosom as a confidant, had secured a strong
hold upon his fears. His presence seemed necessary to cheer him in his
lonely hours, to chase away the phantoms of vengeance that pursued him.
Harassed by doubts and fears, his constitution was, in some degree,
impaired, and his mind, losing the pillar upon which it rested, was
prone to yield also.
Dalhousie examined with minuteness the papers to which his attention had
been directed. Before him was a heap of documents of various kinds, all
in confusion,--bills and bonds, letters and deeds, were thrown
promiscuously together. His purpose was to sort and file them away for
future reference. This confusion among the papers was not the work of
Colonel Dumont; he had been strictly methodical and accurate in all his
business affairs. This fact was attested by the occasional strips of
pasteboard, on which were marked various descriptions of papers, as well
as by bits of red tape that had secured the bundles.
Dalhousie perceived that the labyrinth he was engaged in exploring had
not been the labor of the former owner of Bellevue, and he was perplexed
to understand why Jaspar had taken such apparent pains to disarrange
them. But Jaspar did have a motive; he had produced the disorder in his
careless search for any paper which might be evidence against him. So
heedlessly, however, had he ransacked the drawers, that, if any such
were there, they must have escaped his notice. He was too much excited
to do the work with the attention his own safety demanded.
Dalhousie continued to examine the papers, and Jaspar still trembled
lest something might turn up which would give the overseer a
confirmation of the opinions he had expressed at Vicksburg. Still Jaspar
had not the courage to undertake the task himself. He allowed the
overseer to perform it, in the very face of the danger he wished to
escape.
The overseer seemed to Jaspar's troubled vision perfectly indifferent.
He could discover no anxiety in his features, to indicate that he had
any other purpose than to do his employer's bidding. A more close
inspection would have developed a slight twinkle, as of anticipation, in
the marble face of Dalhousie.
As he turned paper after paper, his eye rested upon a packet enclosed
in a blank envelope. His curiosity was aroused, and, glancing
indifferently at Jaspar, he saw that his piercing eye regarded him with
intense scrutiny. Continuing his labor without disturbing the mysterious
packet, he waited until the sharp eye of his companion was removed from
him.
On the table by the side of Jaspar was a bottle of brandy, at which, at
short intervals, the miserable man paid his devoir. Dalhousie did not,
therefore, have to wait long before the keen watcher left his chair,
and, with his back to him, took a long draught of the exciting beverage.
The overseer, seizing the favorable opportunity, slipped the packet into
his pocket. As indifferently as before, he completed the task, and
Jaspar was relieved when he saw the papers again filed away.
Dalhousie sought his room, and, scarcely heeding the salutation of his
wife, he seated himself, and drew forth the packet. Removing the blank
envelope, he found it was a letter, directed to "Emily Dumont," with a
request to Mr. Faxon that it might be delivered to her after the
writer's decease. This seemed to imply that the writer had intended the
clergyman as the keeper of the letter; but with this surmise the
overseer did not trouble himself. He turned the letter over and over,
examined the seal of Colonel Dumont, which was upon it, and, at last, as
though he had satisfied the warning voice of conscience, he snapped the
wax, and opened it. The letter was quite a lengthy one, yet, without
raising his eyes, he completed the reading of it. A faint smile of
satisfaction played upon his lips, as he re-folded the paper, and
returned it to the envelope.
"You have a letter, Francois?" said his wife, who had watched him in
silence as he read, and who noticed the complacent smile its contents
had produced.
"Yes, Delia, and our fortune is at last come," replied Dalhousie,
rising, and bestowing a kiss upon the fair cheek of the lady.
"Is it from France?"
"No, dear; it is from the land of spirits!" answered Dalhousie, with a
good-natured laugh.
"Indeed! I was not aware that you had a correspondent there."
"But I have; and I am exceedingly obliged to him for putting me in
possession of such useful information as this letter contains."
"Pray, who is your ghostly correspondent?"
"Colonel Dumont,--a deceased brother of the worthy Jaspar, in whose
employ we now are."
"Do not jest, Francois!" said the lady, as a feeling akin to
superstition rose in her mind.
"Jest or not, the letter was written by him," continued her husband,
still retaining his playful smile.
"To you?"
"Not exactly; but I presume he meant it for me, or it would not have
slipped so easily through Mr. Dumont's fingers into mine."
"To whom is it directed, Francois?"
"You grow inquisitive, Delia. I will tell you all about it in a few
days. I must go now and see that the hands are all in their quarters;"
and Dalhousie, to avoid unpleasant interrogatories, left the room.
The overseer went the rounds of the quarters, more as a matter of form
than of any interest he felt in his occupation. A gentleman by birth and
education, these duties were extremely distasteful to him,--embraced
because necessity compelled him. His mind seemed far away from his
business, for a party of negroes passed him on his return, upon whom he
did not bestow the usual benediction the boys receive when found out
after hours.
"Strike while the iron is hot," muttered he, as he entered the house,
and gave his lantern to a servant. "If I don't do it to-night, it may be
too late another time. The letter is in safe hands; and, as to the
other traps, I must get them if I can. At any rate, I will try."
Approaching the door of the library, he knocked, and was requested to
enter. Under pretence of receiving directions for his next day's
operations upon the plantation, he entered, and opened a conversation
with Jaspar. Walking carelessly up and down the room while his employer
issued his commands, he occasionally cast a furtive glance at the
secretary. Then, narrowing down his walk, he approached nearer and
nearer to it, until his swinging arm could touch it as he passed.
Finally he stopped, and leaned against the secretary, with his hands
behind him. He appeared very thoughtful and attentive, while Jaspar,
glad to find a theme he could converse upon, expatiated upon his
favorite methods of managing stock and crops. The overseer listened
patiently to all he said, occasionally interrupting with a word of
approbation. The enthusiastic planter, suspecting nothing of the
overseer, labored diligently in his argument, and did not notice that,
when the attentive listener carelessly put his hands into his pockets,
he conveyed with them the key of one of the drawers.
Dalhousie, having effected the object which brought him to the library,
soon grew tired of the planter's arguments, and edged towards the door,
through which he rather rudely made his exit.
Jaspar again relapsed into the moody melancholy from which the presence
of the overseer had roused him. Sinking back into his chair, he again
was a prey to the armed fears that continually goaded him. Occasionally
he roused from his stupor, and, driven by the startling apparition of
future retribution, paced the room in the most intense nervous
excitement. Frequent were the stops he made at the brandy-bottle on the
table; but, for a time, even the brandy-fiend refused to comfort
him,--refused to excite his brain, or pour a healing balm upon his
consuming misery. Again he sunk into his chair, overcome by the torture
of his emotions, and again the gnawing worm forced him to the bottle,
until, at last, nearly stupefied by the liquor, he slumbered uneasily in
his chair. But the terrible apparition, which seldom left him when
awake, was constant in his dreams; and, just as he was about to plunge
into the awful abyss that always yawned before him, he awoke, and
staggered to the bottle again. A gleam of consciousness now visited his
inebriated mind, and he bethought himself of retiring. With a dim sense
of his usual precaution, he reeled to the secretary, and attempted to
lock the drawers. He discovered that one key was missing; but, too much
intoxicated to reason upon the circumstance, he took another draught of
brandy, and ambled towards his sleeping-room. He was too far gone to
effect a landing at the head of the stairs, and fell full-length upon
the floor when he released his hold of the banister.
Dalhousie was still up, and his knowledge of Jaspar's habits enabled him
to judge the occasion of the noise he heard, and he immediately hastened
to the rescue. "Lucky!" muttered he, as he lifted the fallen man. "He
must have been intoxicated when he examined those papers, or he would
have seen that letter."
Jaspar, who had not entirely lost his senses, muttered something about
an accident, and clung closely to his companion, who soon deposited him
on his bed.
The overseer, instead of returning to his room, descended to the
library, where the light was still burning. Locking the door, he seated
himself in the large stuffed chair, and drew from his pocket the letter
he had purloined from the secretary. Opening it, he proceeded to a
re-perusal of it. The letter was as follows:
"MY DEAR CHILD:--When you read this letter, your father will be no
more. The last act of affection will have been performed, and the
ground closed over your only earthly protector. I am aware that you
will be exposed to many trials and temptations. The latter you are,
I trust, prepared to resist; the former must come to all. I feel
that I have done my duty to you, not only in bestowing an abundance
of this world's goods, but that I have not entirely failed to
implant in your mind the treasure 'which neither moth nor rust can
corrupt.' I have done all that I could do, and in a short time I
must lay my body in the grave, and leave you an orphan. But you are
in the hands, and under the protection, of a Father who is
infinitely more able to take care of you than I have been. Into His
hands, with my ransomed spirit, I undoubtingly commit you.
"As I write this letter, I feel the hand of death upon me. In a few
short days, it may be only hours, I must go. I am the less ready to
bid you the everlasting adieu when I think of the dangers that may
surround you. In my last hours I am doomed to the torments of
suspicion. I pray God they may be groundless. Perhaps they are only
idle fancies, the dotings of an over-anxious father. I feel, as the
sands of life are fast ebbing out, that some great calamity is
lowering over you. I know not that a remark I accidentally
overheard should thus haunt me; but it has roused my suspicions,
and the presage of calamity will not depart from me. I cannot, with
the warning voice ever ringing in my mind, help taking steps to
guard you against the worst that may befall you.
"My dear child, if I should disclose my suspicions, and they should
prove unreasonable, I shall have done a grievous wrong to him I
suspect. Although you cannot save me from the misery of doubting in
my last hour, you can save me from injuring another in your good
opinion. If I have wronged him, let the injury die with me. If my
suspicions are not groundless, I offer you the means of saving
yourself from the calamity that impends.
"Should any event occur after my death which deprives you of any of
your inheritance, follow the directions I now give you.
"In the back of the lower drawer of the secretary you will find a
secret aperture. The back of the drawer is a thick board, upon
which is screwed, on the lower side, a thin slat. Take out the
screws and remove the piece they secure, and the aperture will be
seen. It contains a sealed packet, the contents of which require no
explanation.
"If nothing happens after my decease, and you peaceably obtain all
your rights, burn the packet without opening it. My unjust
suspicions, then, cannot influence you, or injure the person to
whom they refer.
"This letter you will receive from Mr. Faxon, to whom I recommend
you for counsel and consolation in every trial.
"And now, my child, I must bid you farewell. I feel my end
approaching. May God forever bless and preserve you!
"Your dying father,
"EDGAR DUMONT."
Dalhousie perused and re-perused this letter, until its contents were
fixed in his mind. He had many doubts and scruples, both prudential and
conscientious, in regard to the step he was about to take: but the
chimera of fortune prompted him to risk all in the great project he had
matured. Taking from his pocket a small screw-driver, with which he had
prepared himself, he opened the drawer designated in the letter, the key
of which he had secured. Emptying the drawer of its contents, he turned
it over, and, to his great delight, perceived the slat as described in
the letter. Removing the screws, he soon had the satisfaction of holding
in his hand the packet which, he doubted not, would restore the heiress
of Bellevue to her home and her estates, if she were still alive; or
which would give him a hold upon Jaspar, by means of which he could make
his fortune.
Dalhousie was not a natural-born villain. It was the pressure of
necessity, the almost unconscious yielding of a weak resolution, which
had led him thus far in his present illegal and dishonorable course. Of
the heiress he knew nothing; and the thought of restoring her had never
entered his head, much more his heart. The great purpose of his life
was to make his fortune, and it was this idea alone which influenced him
in the present instance. He had entered upon his duties at Bellevue only
the day before; but so impatient was he to realize the hope which had
brought him there, that every hour seemed burdened with the weight of
weeks.
Carefully depositing its contents as he had found them, he locked the
drawer, and put the key upon the floor.