"To do a great right, do a little wrong."
SHAKSPEARE.
Emily Dumont remained a close prisoner in the rear apartment of
Maxwell's office. Dido, the old negress, was her only attendant during
her incarceration; for, though the room was supplied with every luxury
the most pampered appetite could desire, her confinement deserved no
better name. She recognized the place, and doubted not she should be
again subjected to the infamous persecution of her old enemy. She
wondered that he had not already presented himself, and concluded he
could not yet have returned from his up-river journey, or he would have
done so. No one visited her but the negress, whose conversation, in her
eagerness to serve the liberal proprietor of the office, was disgusting
to her refined sensibilities. Not oven De Guy came, to give her any
intimation of the nature of the fate which awaited her.
Maxwell's mind, she was satisfied, was fixed upon the possession of her
estates. She could not now entertain the belief which once, in her weak
pity, she had countenanced, that the attorney could _love_ her. O, no!
God forbid that even the human heart can love, and, at the same time,
persecute the object of its affections! It was her estates; and she half
resolved to compromise with her tormentor by yielding him one-half of
her property, on the condition of his restoring the other half, for she
doubted not that he was able to do so. But there was something so
debasing to her sentiment of truth and justice in the fact of
bargaining with so base a man, that she could not conquer her prejudice,
and finally determined to suffer everything rather than succumb to the
villain.
Hope had not yet abandoned her. She had too much confidence in the
omnipresent justice of an overruling Providence to doubt that all would
yet end well.
Dido was her jailer, and she scarcely left the office, through which
alone egress was had from the apartment of Emily. There she dozed away
the day and night, freely indulging in the fashionable habit of
"imbibing," to chase away the _ennui_ of the heavy hours. Her liberal
perquisites enabled her to gratify her appetite without stint or
measure, though a sort of demi-consciousness of her responsibility
deterred her from an entire abandonment to the pleasures of the cup.
The apartment in which Emily was confined was lighted by windows of
stained glass, opening into the main office, so that there was no
immediate connection with the open air. This fact rendered the room so
secure that Dido rested perfectly easy from the fear of interruption,
save from the front of the building.
The colored guardian, having imbibed rather inordinately one day, was
disposed to court the favor of the sleepy god, and stretched herself at
full length upon one of the easy lounges of the office. Her eyelids
opened and closed languidly, as though she was about to sink away into
dreamy unconsciousness, when she was startled by a loud knocking at the
door.
"Who's dar?" shouted Dido, springing to her feet; for a visit to the
office, at this season of the year, was of rare occurrence.
"Open the door, Max," responded a voice from the outside.
"Mr. Maxwell not here, sar," said the colored lady, partly opening the
door.
"Not here!" returned the visitor, pushing into the office in spite of
the negress, who was disposed to prevent his entrance. "Isn't Max in
town?"
"No sar; he went away to de Norf about a monf ago."
"Look here, you black imp," said the stranger, in a severe tone, "do you
mean to say that Max is _not_ in town?"
"I do, for sartin, sar."
"And he has left you to practise law for him in his absence?" returned
the visitor, with a grin.
"No sar, I takes care ob de buildin."
"Fudge! Maxwell always shuts up his room when he leaves town;" and the
stranger walked round the room towards the private apartment, much to
the consternation of Dido.
"No, Massa, he tell me, monf ago, to keep de room in order."
"No doubt he did," returned the stranger, placing his hand on the handle
of the door, and attempting to open it, which, by Dido's precaution, was
ineffectual.
"Is there no one in this room?" asked the gentleman.
"No sar, de room is locked, and Massa Maxwell hab carry off de key."
The stranger walked several times round the room, and thoroughly
scrutinized everything; after which, to the entire satisfaction of the
colored lady, he took his departure. Passing out of the building, he
crossed the street and entered a coffee-room, at the front window of
which he seated himself, as if with the intention of watching Maxwell's
office.
This person was the reader's old acquaintance, Vernon,--or, more
properly, Jerome Vaudelier, whose intervening history we are now called
upon to relate. It will be remembered that, at the request of his
father, and at the earnest desire of Henry Carroll, as well as by the
promptings of his own wish to do justice to the heiress, he had gone to
Vicksburg, for the purpose of keeping an eye on the movements of
Maxwell. On his arrival at the hotel, he found the attorney, and dined
With him; but after dinner he suddenly and mysteriously disappeared.
All Vernon's inquiries were of no avail. The landlord said he had paid
his bill, and that was the last he had seen of him. Vernon was
perplexed, and on learning that no boat had left since dinner, he was at
a loss which way to proceed. Late in the afternoon he obtained, as he
thought, some clue to him; and he departed, without loss of time, to
Jackson, whither the attorney was supposed to have gone. His search,
however, was futile, and he returned to Vicksburg by the morning train.
Much disheartened, he was compelled to go to Cottage Island with the
intelligence that his efforts had been foiled. On his arrival, he
learned, to his astonishment, that Emily had just gone to Bellevue in
company with De Guy--a person of whom he had no knowledge.
Though Dr. Vaudelier and Henry Carroll had been satisfied with the
evidences brought by De Guy, Vernon was not. He knew better than they
the character of Maxwell, and it was determined that he should proceed
immediately to New Orleans, to guard against the possibility of any evil
to which Emily might be subjected.
On the morning after De Guy's departure, he proceeded down the river,
and landed in the vicinity of Bellevue, to which he immediately made his
way. Without a direct application to any one, he learned that Emily had
not yet arrived. He waited in the vicinity another day, but obtained no
tidings of her. His worst fears were now confirmed. De Guy had deceived
them.
This De Guy, then, was an emissary of Maxwell. To his mind, now animated
by a high purpose, the reflection was annoying. To the fate of Emily his
new destiny seemed to be attached. His greatest error--at least, the one
most troublesome to his awakened conscience--was the act of oppressing
Emily. He felt that the washing of the stains from his character
depended upon securing her rights.
The _ci devant_ desperado, as we have before indicated, was radically
changed at heart, and he now felt more interest in the welfare of Emily
than he had ever before harbored for any human being.
His position was full of embarrassments. He learned, while at Bellevue,
that Jaspar was not, and had not been, sick. This information decided
his future course. The mission of De Guy had only been a decoy, to lure
her into the hands of Maxwell.
Hatchie was with her; but, alas! what could a slave do against the
powerful machinations of such a villain as Maxwell?
After obtaining the information which satisfied him of the imposture, he
proceeded to New Orleans. Knowing the name of the steamer in which De
Guy had taken passage from Vicksburg, he hastened to the levee, to gain
what tidings he might from the officers of the Montezuma. He found that
a lady and gentleman answering to his description had taken a carriage
on the morning of their arrival, and this was all they knew. In answer
to his inquiries for Hatchie, he learned that a servant had been handed
over to the police, to be imprisoned in the calaboose till called for.
This was scanty information upon which to continue his search. His first
step was to go to the calaboose, where he managed to obtain an interview
with Hatchie. The poor fellow was in an agony of grief,--not on his own
account, but on that of his mistress, for he well understood the reason
of this imprisonment.
Hatchie, of course, could give him no information of the whereabouts of
Emily, nor offer any suggestion; and Vernon was compelled to leave the
disheartened mulatto, with only a promise of speedily effecting his
deliverance.
Vernon's next step was to ascertain the present abiding place of
Maxwell, if, indeed, he was in the city; and for this purpose he had
gone to his office. The open room did not verify the statements of the
negress. He knew that Maxwell always closed up his rooms when he left
the city, and the fact of their being open now tended to fix suspicion
upon him, or rather to confirm the suspicions before entertained. He
had made the visit to the attorney's rooms to gain information; and,
being partly convinced, by the manner of the negress, that the rear
chamber was occupied, he retired to the coffee-room to digest the
knowledge, and, if possible, arrive at some conclusion through it, as
well as at the same time to keep watch of the movements at the office.
Who was this De Guy, who had been the agent of Maxwell?--for such he
determined to believe him, until convinced to the contrary. He canvassed
their mutual acquaintances, but could remember no such person. Intimate
as he had been with all the associates of Maxwell, he could not identify
this bold and cunning confederate.
He had not long deliberated, when, to his surprise,--albeit it was not
an event at all remarkable,--Maxwell entered the coffee-room.
Before Vernon had time to decide whether or not he should charge the
lawyer with the abduction of Emily, that worthy approached his chair,
and, with much cordiality,--more than he had formerly bestowed upon
him,--extended his hand, and expressed his happiness at again meeting
him in the city.
Undecided as yet how to proceed, Vernon returned his salutations with an
appearance of equal cordiality.
"My dear fellow," said Maxwell, "I am rejoiced to see you in town again.
I was afraid you would quite desert us."
This language was new and strange to Vernon. It sounded like the days in
which he had been respectable--before his vices had found him out.
"Indeed! why did you think so?" replied Vernon.
"Why, Vernon, there was some kind of a ridiculous story current at
Vicksburg, to the effect that you had joined the church, or something of
that sort."
"Ha, ha! funny!" said Vernon, adopting the free and easy style, which
had formerly distinguished his colloquial efforts. "Where did you pick
up the story?"
"O, it was quite current when I left Vicksburg."
"A good joke, hey?" said Vernon, musing.
When Maxwell left Vicksburg, it was impossible that any such story could
have been extant. Of his reformation no one but the people of Cottage
Island could have known anything. It seemed a little mysterious that
Maxwell should know of it; but the fact of De Guy's visit to the house
of his father came to his assistance, and the mystery was solved. De Guy
had communicated this information to Maxwell, and thus he was enabled to
establish conclusively the connection between them.
Vernon's plan for the future was adopted; and manifesting no surprise,
he denied the fact of his reformation, however strong the circumstances
might be against him. He had often been implicated in fouler deceptions
than this in a worse cause, and, in spite of his great resolves, he did
not hesitate in this instance.
"Quite a sell, wasn't it, this reformation? The old gentleman has a fine
place up there,--money in the bank,--hey, boy? I saw through the whole
of it, as soon as I heard the absurd story," said Maxwell, who, to do
him justice, did not believe the tale. It was too much for his
credulity, that a thing like Vernon could be animated by a good
motive,--could, by any possibility, abandon the error of his ways.
"Just so, Max. The fact is, I found the old fellow had plenty of money,
and no one but me to leave it to; so I thought it would be a devilish
pity to have it all go to found a hospital, an orthodox college, or some
such absurdity, and I could not resist the temptation to become a little
saintly, just for a few days."
"Bravo, Vernon! You will yet be a rich man. You did it well. The old
fellow swallowed it all, didn't he?"
"As an alderman does turtle-soup. But, Max, where did you slip to from
Vicksburg?"
"To tell you the truth, I was a little afraid of your penitence, and
thought it was not safe to be in the same coach with you; so I gave you
the slip, by going down the river by land a few miles, and then taking
the boat."
"But you didn't know I had reformed then,--ha, ha, ha!"
"Yes. I heard something about it before I left the island,--I overheard
that Jerry Swinger and the mulatto boy speaking of it. But I own,
Vernon, I was too hasty, to judge you unheard."
"Max, who is this De Guy?"
"De Guy," said Maxwell, with feigned astonishment; "don't know him."
"Bah, Max! don't you know that you cannot _wool_ me? By the way, that
was a clumsy trick of yours, sending this De Guy after the girl. When he
had gone, the captain would have chased him, if I had not come and
assured them that the terrible Maxwell could not possibly be concerned
in the affair."
"Indeed! did you do me this essential service?" said Maxwell, forgetting
that he had denied his connection with De Guy.
"I did. If you had left the matter with me, I could have done it
better."
"Well, Vernon, I see you are all right yet; but the thing worked to a
charm. De Guy is the cleverest fellow out. The girl is safe."
"So I suppose," said Vernon, with an assumption of indifference.
"But all the sport is yet to come."
"Indeed," said Vernon, burning with anxiety, but striving to maintain
his accustomed easy and reckless air.
"Yes, Vernon, all the hard work we did up the river shall not be in
vain. I shall win the prize!" and Maxwell rubbed his hands at the
pleasant anticipation.
"Wish you joy, Max! But you don't mean to marry the girl?"
"Certainly."
"What! a quadroon?"
"Pshaw! that story is all blown through. Her old uncle, up the river,
got up that abstraction, so as to finger her property," said Maxwell,
forgetting, in his candor, the scruples which his companion had
expressed on a former occasion with relation to persecuting a white
woman,--scruples which Vernon did not seem disposed to press upon the
attorney's memory.
"You helped him through with his scheme?" answered Vernon, with a bold,
careless air.
"'Pon honor, I had nothing to do with it. Old Jaspar did it all
himself," replied Maxwell, with an oath.
"Looks a little like you, though," said Vernon, with a nonchalance which
provoked Maxwell, whose temper was not of the mildest tone.
"Nevertheless, it is none of mine, though the plan was a creditable one.
But it has brought old Jaspar into a wasp's nest."
"How's that?"
"I had my eye on the girl, ever since the colonel died. I saw through
Jaspar's plot, and a little bravado made him tell me all about it."
"Good!"
"Just so; and, as they are old clients of mine, why, I could not do less
than get them out of the scrape, and remove the stain from the name of
the fair heiress."
"How can you do it?"
"That's the point."
"Looks rather complicated."
"Exactly so; but energy and skill will accomplish wonders."
"Very true," replied Vernon, in his usual quiet manner, well knowing
that Maxwell would take the alarm if he appeared in the least
inquisitive,--so he contented himself with this simple ejaculation.
"Can I trust you still?" said Maxwell, in a low tone, and with an
anxious look, after a pause of several minutes.
"I care not whether you trust me or not," replied Vernon, with
characteristic indifference.
"Are you the man you were two months ago? If you are, I need ask no more
questions."
"I am. And now let me tell you, if you have work for me, the pay must be
liberal. I have reformed in one respect, and that is from low prices to
high ones. I have done too many of your little chores for nothing. Good
pay is my motto now."
"Be it so," replied Maxwell, whose suspicions, as Vernon had intended,
were diverted by this by-talk. "I will pay you well. If my plan
succeeds, three thousand."
"Good! that sounds liberal. But suppose it fail?"
"It cannot fail."
"What is the plan? You mean to help old Jaspar out of the scrape, and
save the girl too. How can you do it?"
"There is only one way--marry the girl!"
"Just so," replied Vernon, with an indifference it was hard to assume.
"Here are the whole details of the plan. I have Jaspar's consent to my
marriage with the girl, but I dare not attempt to consummate the scheme
in the city. She is so cursed obstinate, that it is a hard matter to
manage her. I saw Jaspar last night, and we concluded to have the
ceremony performed at Bellevue, as soon as possible, or that fiery son
of Mars and your worthy patriarch will be down upon us, and spoil the
whole."
"Never fear them," said Vernon. "You will not proceed for a week or
two?"
"A week or so will make no difference. But I am afraid it will take more
time than that to induce her to consent. The difficulty which has
troubled me more than any other is to get her to Bellevue. She tells
Dido that she will not go alive. She fears Jaspar more than she does me,
and rightly suspects that if she yields she will have to encounter
both. She has not seen me since the row at the wood-yard, and I intend
to transact all business with her through De Guy."
"She is a difficult case," suggested Vernon, to fill up a pause in
Maxwell's speech.
"Now, it has occurred to me," continued Maxwell, "that _you_ could
manage her like a young lamb."
"I!" exclaimed Vernon.
"Certainly. You stand well with her, do you not?"
"Like a saint."
"You can get up a rescue, or something of that sort, you know."
"To be sure," replied Vernon, thoughtfully.
"Pretend that you are going to effect her escape."
"Capital!" said Vernon, suddenly; "I _will_ pretend to effect her
escape. But there is one difficulty--" and he suddenly checked his
apparent zeal, and assumed a thoughtful air.
"A difficulty?"
"Ay. I must be at Baton Rouge to-morrow night, or all my hopes up the
river are lost."
"And you will return--"
Vernon reflected, and then replied,
"In four days."
"That will do. Don't let it be more than four days."
"No."
"And, Vernon, you had better write to the military lover that the lady
is doing well--that Jaspar's health is improving, &c. They won't hurry
down, then."
"A good thought. I _will_ write to him."