IN WHICH IS A HAPPY MEETING, AND SOMETHING PLEASING.
It is night-Mr. Keepum is seen seated before a table in his
drawing-room, finishing a sumptuous supper, and asking himself: “Who
dares to question me, the opulent Keepum?” Mr. Snivel enters, joins him
over a glass of wine, and says, “this little matter must be settled
tonight, Keepum, old fellow-been minced long enough.” And the two
chivalric gentlemen, after a short conversation, sally into the street.
Yonder, in the harbor, just rounding the frowning walls of Fort
Sumpter, blazes out the great red light of the steamer, on which the
impatient lover fast approaches Charleston city.
“She can do nothing at law—against our influence she is powerless!”
ejaculates Keepum, as the two emerge from the house and stroll along up
Broad street.
Maria, pale and exhausted with the fatigues and excitements of the day,
sits in her solitary chamber, fearing lest each footstep she hears
advancing, may be that of her enemies, or hoping that it may announce
the coming of her lover and rescuer.
“You are richer than me!” still tinkles its silvery music in her ear,
and brings comfort to her agitated heart. The clock strikes ten, and
suddenly her room is entered by Keepum and Snivel. The former, with an
insinuating leer, draws a chair near her, while the latter, doffing his
coat, flings himself upon the cot. Neither speak for some minutes; but
Maria reads in their looks and actions the studied villany they have at
heart.
“Inconsistency adorned!” exclaims Keepum, drawing his chair a little
nearer. “Now, I say, you have stuck stubbornly to this ere folly.” Mr.
Keepum’s sharp, red face, comes redder, and his small, wicked eyes
flash like orbs of fire. “Better come down off that high horse-live
like a lady. The devil’s got Tom, long ago.”
“So you have said before, Mr. Keepum,” rejoins Maria, turning upon him
a look of disdain. “You may persecute me to the death; you may continue
to trample me into the dust; but only with my death shall your lust be
gratified on me!” This declaration is made with an air of firmness Mr.
Keepum seems to understand. “D-n it,” rejoins Mr. Snivel, with a
sardonic laugh, “these folks are affecting to be something.”
Maria raises her right hand, and motions Mr. Keepum away. It does
indeed seem to her that the moment when nature in her last struggle
unbends before the destroyer-when the treasure of a life passes away to
give place to dark regrets and future remorse, is come. Let us pause
here for a moment, and turn to another part of the city.
The steamer has scarce reached her berth at the wharf, when the
impatient lover springs ashore, dashes through the throng of
spectators, and, bewildered as it were, and scarce knowing which way he
is proceeding, hurries on, meeting no one he knows, and at length
reaching Meeting street. Here he pauses, and to his great joy meets an
old negro, who kindly offers to escort him to the distant quarter of
the city where Maria resides. Again he sets out, his mind hung in
suspense, and his emotions agitated to the highest degree. He hurries
on into King street, pauses for a moment before the house of the old
Antiquary, now fast closed, and as if the eventful past were crowding
upon his fancy, he turns away with dizzy eyes, and follows the old
negro, step by step-faint, nervous, and sinking with excitement-until
they reach the cabin of Undine, the mulatto woman, under whose roof
Maria once sought refuge for the night. Ready to exclaim, “Maria, I am
here!” his heart is once more doomed to disappointment. The question
hangs upon his lips, as his wondering eyes glance round the room of the
cabin. Undine tells him she is not here; but points him to a light,
nearly half a mile distant, and tells him she is there! there! The
faithful old negro sets off again, and at full speed they proceed up
the lane in the direction of the light. And while they vault as it were
o’er the ground, let us again turn to the chamber of Maria.
With a sudden spring, Keepum, who had been for several minutes keeping
his eyes fixedly set upon Maria, and endeavoring to divert her
attention, seized her arms, and was about to drag her down, when Snivel
put out the light and ran to his assistance. “Never! never!” she
shrieks, at the very top of her voice. “Only with my life!” A last
struggle, a stifled cry of “never! never!” mingled with the altercation
of voices, rang out upon the air, and grated upon the impatient lover’s
ear like death-knells. “Up stairs, up stairs!” shouts the old negro,
and in an instant he has burst the outer door in, mounts the stairs
with the nimbleness of a catamount, and is thundering at the door,
which gives way before his herculean strength. “I am here! I am here!
Maria, I am here!” he shouts, at the top of his voice, and with an air
of triumph stands in the door, as the flashing light from without
reveals his dilating figure. “Foul villains! fiends in human form! A
light! a light! Merciful heavens-a light!” He dashes his hat from his
brow, turns a revengeful glance round the room, and grasps Maria in his
arms, as the old negro strikes a light and reveals the back of Mr.
Snivel escaping out of a window. Keepum, esteeming discretion the
better part of valor, has preceded him.
Tightly Tom clasps Maria to his bosom, and with a look of triumph says:
“Maria! speak, speak! They have not robbed you?”
She shakes her head, returns a look of sweet innocence, and mutters:
“It was the moment of life or death. Thank heaven-merciful heaven, I am
yet guiltless. They have not robbed me of my virtue-no, no, no. I am
faint, I am weak-set me down-set me down. The dawn of my morning has
brightened.”
And she seems swooning in his arms. Gently he bears her to the cot,
lays her upon it, and with the solicitude of one whose heart she has
touched with a recital of her troubles, smooths her pillow and watches
over her until her emotions come subdued.
“And will you believe me innocent? Will you hear my story, and reject
the calumny of those who have sought my ruin?” speaks Maria, impressing
a kiss upon the fevered lips of her deliverer, and, having regained her
self-command, commences to recount some of the ills she has suffered.
“Maria!” rejoins Tom, returning her embrace, “you, whom I have loved so
sincerely, so quietly but passionately, have no need of declaring your
innocence. I have loved you-no one but you. My faith in your innocence
has never been shaken. I hastened to you, and am here, your protector,
as you have been mine. Had I not myself suffered by those who have
sought your ruin, my pride might be touched at the evil reports that
have already been rung in my ears. Grateful am I to Him who protects
the weak, that I have spared you from the dread guilt they would have
forced upon you.”
Again and again he declares his eternal love, and seals it with a kiss.
His, nature is too generous to doubt her innocence. He already knows
the condition of her father, hence keeps silent on that point, lest it
might overcome her. He raises her gently from the cot and seats her in
a chair; and as he does so, Mr. Snivel’s coat falls upon the floor, and
from the pocket there protrudes four of his (Tom’s) letters, addressed
to Maria.
“Here! here!” says Tom, confusedly, “here is the proof of their guilt
and your innocence.” And he picks up the letters and holds them before
her. “I was not silent, though our enemies would have had it so.”
And she looks up again, and with a sweet smile says: “There truly seems
a divine light watching over me and lightening the burdens of a
sorrowing heart.”
The excitement of the meeting over, Maria rapidly recounts a few of the
trials she has been subjected to.
Tom’s first impulse is, that he will seek redress at law. Certainly the
law will give an injured woman her rights. But a second thought tells
him how calmly justice sits on her throne when the rights of the poor
are at stake. Again, Mr. Keepum has proceeded strictly according to law
in prosecuting her father, and there is no witness of his attempts upon
her virtue. The law, too, has nothing to do with the motives. No! he is
in an atmosphere where justice is made of curious metal.
“And now, Maria,” says Tom, pressing her hand in his own, “I, whom you
rescued when homeless-I, who was loathed when a wretched inebriate, am
now a man. My manhood I owe to you. I acknowledge it with a grateful
heart. You were my friend then-I am your friend now. May I, nay! am I
worthy of retaining this hand for life?”
“Rather, I might ask,” she responds, in a faltering voice, “am I worthy
of this forgiveness, this confidence, this pledge of eternal
happiness?”
It is now the image of a large and noble heart reflects itself in the
emotions of the lovers, whose joys heaven seems to smile upon.
“Let us forget the past, and live only for the future-for each other’s
happiness; and heaven will reward the pure and the good!” concludes
Tom, again sealing his faith with an ardent embrace. “You are richer
than me!” now, for the last time, rings its gladdening music into her
very soul.
Tom recompenses the faithful old negro, who has been a silent looker
on, and though the night is far spent, he leads Maria from the place
that has been a house of torment to her, provides her a comfortable
residence for the night, and, as it is our object not to detain the
reader longer with any lengthened description of what follows, may say
that, ere a few days have passed, leads Maria to the altar and makes
her his happy Bride.