_The Stolen Package.--The Midnight Outrage.--The Marriage, and Awful
Discovery._
A very merry party were assembled in the elegant parlor of Mr.
Goldworthy's superb mansion in Howard street about two weeks after the
events described in the last chapter. There was Fanny Aubrey herself,
looking prettier than ever, with her splendid hair tastefully braided,
her graceful, _petite_ form set off to advantage by an elegant dress,
and her lovely countenance radiant with the hues of health and
happiness. Then there was her friend and benefactress, Miss Alice,
looking very beautiful, her face constantly changing from smiles to
blushes--for the next day was to witness her marriage with the Chevalier
Duvall. At her side was seated her lover and affianced husband, his
dark, handsome features lighted up with an expression of proud triumph,
almost amounting to scorn. Then there was Corporal Grimsby, very shabby,
very sarcastic, and very droll; near him sat the Honorable Timothy
Tickels, wearing upon his sensual countenance a look of uneasiness, and
occasionally betraying a degree of nervous agitation that indicated a
mind ill at ease. At intervals he would glance suspiciously and
stealthily at the Chevalier--for that was their first meeting since his
scandalous adventure with the Duchess, and he was not without a fear
that he might be exposed, in the presence of that very respectable
company, in which case his reputation would be forever ruined; but his
fears were groundless--the Chevalier had not the remotest idea of
exposing him, having his own reasons for keeping the affair profoundly
secret; and he saluted and conversed with Mr. Tickels with as much
composure and politeness as though nothing had ever happened to disturb
the harmony of their friendship. Mr. Goldworthy himself was present, and
also a nephew of his--a handsome youth of nineteen, named Clarence
Argyle; he was studying the profession of medicine at a Southern
University, and was on a visit at his uncle's house. It was evident, by
the assiduity of his attentions to Fanny Aubrey, that the mental and
personal charms of the fair maid were not without their effect upon him;
and it was equally evident by the pleased smile with which she listened
to his entertaining conversation--addressed to _her_ ear alone--that the
agreeable young stranger had impressed her mind by no means unfavorably.
Fanny's brother, Charles, completed the party.
It will be necessary to explain here, that the old Corporal had never
exposed the rascally conduct of Mr. Tickels towards Fanny, in
consequence of the young lady's having earnestly entreated him not to do
so. He had never before met the old libertine at the house of Mr.
Goldworthy; and (until informed of the fact by Fanny,) was ignorant that
he (Tickels) was in the habit of visiting there, as a friend of the
family. He treated him with coldness and reserve; but otherwise gave no
indication of the contempt which he felt for the unprincipled old
wretch.
As Mr. Goldworthy surveyed, with a smiling aspect, the sociable group
which surrounded him, little did he suspect that the man who on the
morrow was to become his son-in-law--who was to lead to the altar his
only child, that pure and gentle girl--little, we say, did he suspect
that the Chevalier Duvall was in reality a branded villain of the
blackest dye--a man whose soul was stained by the commission of almost
every crime on the dark catalogue of guilt. And as little did he think
that his warm political and personal friend, the Honorable Timothy
Tickels--the man of ample wealth, of unbounded influence, of exalted
reputation--was at heart an abandoned and licentious scoundrel, who had
basely tried to accomplish the ruin of a poor orphan girl, and was even
at that very moment gloating over an infernal plan which he had formed,
for getting her completely in his power, where no human aid was likely
to reach her.
"To-morrow, my Alice," whispered the Chevalier in the ear of the
blushing object of his villainous designs--"to-morrow, thou are mine!
Oh, the devotion of a life-time shall atone to you for the sacrifice you
make, in wedding an unknown stranger, whose birth and fortunes are
shrouded in a veil of mystery."
"Thy birth and fortunes are nothing to me," responded Alice, softly, as
a tear of happiness trembled in her eyes--"so long as thy heart is
faithful and true."
What wonder that the Chevalier's false heart grew cold in his breast, at
the simple words of the confiding, gentle, unsuspecting creature whom he
designed to ruin? But still he hesitated not; "her father's gold is the
glittering prize which I shall gain by this marriage," thought he; and
the vile, sordid thought stimulated him on, despite the remonstrances of
his better nature.
"When I return to the University, we will write to each other often,
will we not?" said Clarence Argyle to Fanny, in a tone that could not be
overheard by the others of the party; and the fair girl yielded a
blushing consent to the proposal, so congenial to her own inclination.
The whisper and the blush were both observed by old Tickels, who said to
himself--
"Humph! 'tis easy to see that those two unfledged Cupids are already
over head and ears in love with each other. Have a care, Master
Argyle--thy pretty mistress may be lost to thee to-morrow; go back to
thy books and thy studies--for she is not for thee. Ah, the devil! I
like not the look which that impertinent old fellow, who calls himself
Corporal Grimsby, fastens upon me--it seems as if he read the secret
thoughts of my soul! He has once already snatched from my grasp my
destined prey; let him beware how he interferes a second time, for Jew
Mike is in my employ, and his knife is sharp and his aim sure!"
"That d----d scoundrel, Tickels, meditates mischief, I am convinced,"
thought the Corporal, whose keen and penetrating gaze had been for some
time riveted upon the old libertine--"and I feel convinced that my
pretty Fanny is the object of his secret machinations. Beware, old Judas
Iscariot!--you'll not get off so easy the next time I catch you at your
tricks."
"And so, my dear Mr. Tickels, you are again a candidate for Congress,"
remarked Mr. Goldworthy, during a pause in the conversation.
"I again have that distinguished honor," was the pompous reply. "My
party stands in great need of my services and influence in the House at
the present crisis."
"No doubt," dryly observed the Corporal--"I would suggest that your
first public act be the introduction of a bill for the punishment of
seduction, and the protection of poor orphan girls."
Mr. Tickels writhed beneath the sarcasm, and turned deadly pale,
although he and his tormentor were the only persons present who
comprehended the secret meaning of the words--for Fanny was too much
engrossed in conversation with Argyle, to heed the remark.
"And, my good sir," rejoined the Chevalier, who was resolved to improve
so good an opportunity to wound the old reprobate to the quick,
(although he was ignorant of the application of the Corporal's
words,)--"do not, I beseech you, neglect to insert a clause in your
bill, providing also for the punishment of those respectable old
wretches who bring ruin and disgrace upon families, by the seduction of
wives--of daughters--or of _sisters_! I confess myself interested in the
passage of such an act, in consequence of a wealthy old scoundrel having
once dared to insult grievously a near female relative of mine. The name
of this old wretch--"
Tickels cast an imploring look at the Chevalier, and the latter was
silent--but upon his lips remained an expression of withering scorn; for
villain as he himself was, he detested the other for his consummate
hypocrisy. The vicious frequently hate others for possessing the same
evil qualities that characterise themselves. The character of the
Chevalier was doubtless hypocritical in its nature; but _his_ hypocrisy
was, in our opinion, far less contemptible than that of Tickels; the
former was a hypocrite for pecuniary gain; the latter, for the
gratification of the basest and most grovelling propensities that can
disgrace humanity.
"Gentlemen--gentlemen!" cried Mr. Goldworthy, amazed at the turn which
the conversation had taken, and comprehending neither of the
allusions--"I beg you to remember that there are ladies present."
"Blood and bayonets!" exclaimed the Corporal--"you are right: I forgot
the ladies, my worthy host, and crave your pardon and theirs, for my
indiscreet (though I must say, _devilish appropriate_) remarks!"
The Chevalier also apologized, though with less circumlocution than the
worthy Corporal; and nothing further occurred to disturb either the
harmony of the company, or the equanimity of Mr. Tickels, until Mr.
Goldworthy, with a countenance full of astonishment and alarm, announced
to his guests that he had, during the evening, lost from his pocket a
package of bank-notes and valuable papers, amounting to some thousands
of dollars, which he had procured for investment the following day in an
extensive mercantile speculation--for although retired from active
business, he still frequently ventured large sums in operations which
were generally successful.
For half an hour previous to making his fearful discovery, he had been
in private and earnest conversation with the Chevalier, concerning some
arrangements relative to the approaching marriage.
"It is indeed astonishing--what can have become of it?" cried the old
gentleman, searching every pocket in vain for the missing package. "I am
certain that 'twas safely in my possession scarce one hour ago,"
continued he; and summoning a couple of servants, he commanded a
diligent search to be made in every part of the room--but still in vain;
no package was to be found.
Everybody present, with but one exception, expressed their concern and
astonishment; that exception was Fanny Aubrey; she was much agitated,
and pale as death.
It was suggested by the Chevalier and several others, that he must have
dropped the package in the street, as it could not be found in the
house. In reply to this, Mr. Goldworthy said--
"No, no, my friend--I will swear that I lost it in this very room,
within an hour. Plague on it! what particularly vexes me, is, that it
comprised all my present available capital--and to have it disappear in
such a d----d unaccountable, mysterious manner! Why, curse it," cried
the old gentleman, getting more and more angry--"if I didn't know the
thing to be impossible, I should suspect that there was an accomplished
pickpocket in the room!"
"So should I," dryly observed the Corporal; and so said the Hon. Mr.
Tickels, also.
The Chevalier arose, and said, with calm dignity--
"Gentlemen, I conceive that an insinuation has been made, derogatory to
our honor. Mr. Goldworthy, your words indirectly imply a suspicion; I
must request you, sir, to explain your words, and to state distinctly
whether or no you suppose that any person present has robbed you. I also
suggest that all here be carefully searched."
"Good heavens, my dear Chevalier!" cried Mr. Goldworthy, much
excited--"can you think for a moment that I suspect you or these
gentlemen, of an act so base and contemptible? Pardon my hasty words;
vexation at my great loss (a serious one, I assure you,) for a moment
overcame my temper. Let the package go to the devil, sooner than its
loss should occasion the least uneasiness to any of us. Come, my dear
friends, let's say no more about it."
Harmony was once more restored; but still Fanny Aubrey looked so pale
and agitated, that Miss Alice, crossing over to where she sat, anxiously
inquired if she were unwell? The poor girl essayed to reply, but could
not; it was evident to her friend, that she was struggling with feelings
of the most painful nature. She pressed Alice's hand, burst into tears,
and abruptly left the room.
"The poor girl is either very unwell, or very much troubled about
something," whispered Alice to her cousin Clarence--"I will go and
comfort her;" and having made her excuses to the company, she left the
room, and followed Fanny to her chamber.
Her departure was the signal for the guests to take their leave of their
worthy host. Mr. Goldworthy warmly pressed the Chevalier's hand at
parting, and said to him--
"To-morrow, my dear sir, you will be my son-in-law. Be kind to my Alice,
she is a good girl, and worthy of you. God bless you both! I did intend
to advance you a sum of money, sufficient to enable you to begin
housekeeping in handsome style; but the loss of that large sum of money
to-night will, I fear, place it out of my power to assist you much, at
present. However, I shall endeavor to raise a respectable sum for you,
in the course of a few days. Meantime, you and Alice must be my guests;
and I am not sure but that I shall insist upon your continually residing
beneath my roof--for I am a lonely old man, and so accustomed to the
kind attentions and sweet society of my only daughter, that to part with
her would deprive me of half my earthly joys. Farewell--may you and her
be happy together!"
Tears stood in the eyes of the good old man, as he uttered these words;
and again the conscience of the Chevalier upbraided him for his
contemplated villainy--but still he paused not nor faltered in carrying
out his diabolical schemes.
Meanwhile, the following scene occurred in Fanny's chamber, to which
Alice had repaired for the purpose of ascertaining the cause of the
young girl's agitation and tears.
"What is the matter, my dear sister? For such I will call you," said
Alice, clasping her arms around the weeping girl, who had thrown herself
upon the bed without undressing.
"Oh, my friend, my benefactress!" cried Fanny--"how can I help feeling
so distressed, when I know that your happiness is about to be destroyed
forever?"
"My happiness destroyed!" cried Alice, surprised and alarmed--"what mean
you! Do you allude to my marriage to-morrow with the Chevalier Duvall?
Yes, I see you do. Silly girl, that marriage will render me the happiest
of women; what reason have you for supposing otherwise? The Chevalier
loves me, and I sincerely reciprocate his affection; so dry your tears,
for you know you are to be bridesmaid, and smiles better become you than
tears."
These words were spoken in the kindest and gentlest tone; but Fanny
exclaimed--
"Miss Alice, you are cruelly deceived in that man."
"Deceived!" cried the young lady--"what mystery is hidden in your words?
Oh, if you love me, Fanny--and you have often told me that you
did--instantly explain the meaning of your dreadful declaration."
"Listen to me, Miss Alice," said Fanny, with a calmness that strangely
contrasted with her previous agitation--"and I will tell you plainly
what I have seen, and what I think. To you I owe everything: the
comforts of a home, the kindness of a friend, and the benefits of a
superior education, now enjoyed by my brother and myself--two poor
orphans, who, but for your benevolence, would be dependent upon the
world's cold charity. My gratitude I can never express; my heart alone
can feel it--but oh! believe me, I would gladly lay down my life to
promote your happiness. How, then, can I see future years of misery
awaiting you, without tears of anguish--without feeling an intense
anxiety to preserve you from a fate ten times worse than death?"
"Do not interrupt me, I pray you," continued Fanny, seeing that Alice
was about to speak--"To-morrow you are engaged to be married to the man
calling himself the Chevalier Duvall. When I first saw him, I was struck
with his beauty and accomplishments--his brilliant wit, and graceful
manners; and when, in sisterly confidence, you informed me that he was
your affianced husband, you know how warmly I congratulated you on
having won the affections of a man who, as I then believed, was in every
way calculated to make you happy.
"Alice, I tell you that man is a villain!" cried Fanny, with startling
emphasis--"I saw him pick your father's pocket of the money that was
lost; yes, I alone saw him do it; _that_ was the cause of my agitation
and tears. Do not marry him, for he is a robber and a scoundrel!"
"Say no more, Miss Aubrey," said Alice, rising with an air of cold
dignity, which plainly indicated her entire disbelief of the statement
she had just heard--"Say no more: you have mistaken your position, when
you seek to prejudice me against a gentleman whom I am so soon to call
my husband. Nay, not a word more--I will not listen to you. The
Chevalier Duvall is the very soul of honor; and to accuse _him_--how can
I say it?--of the crime of _theft_, is so preposterous that it would be
ludicrous under any other circumstances. Fanny, I can scarcely believe
that you have been actuated by _jealousy_ in telling this dreadful
story; I will try to think that your eyes deceived you, and that you
really _thought_ that you saw the Chevalier do as you have said. But oh!
how mistaken you are, unhappy girl! when you impute such a crime to one
of the noblest and best of men."
"But, Miss Alice," cried Fanny, almost angrily--for she was certain of
the truth of her statement--"I tell you that I am not mistaken; I saw--"
"Silence, I entreat--I command you!" cried the young lady, now
thoroughly indignant at the disgraceful accusation which had been
brought against her lover--"speak not another word to me on this odious
subject, or you forfeit my friendship forever. Good night; learn in
future to be more discreet."
So saying, Alice left the unhappy young girl to her bitter tears. Soon
wearied nature asserted her rights, and she sobbed herself to sleep. But
her slumbers were disturbed by hideous dreams: in fancy she again saw
the magnificent Chevalier dexterously abstract the package of money from
Mr. Goldworthy's pocket--then she thought that the brilliant stranger
stood over her, and surveyed her with an expression of fearful menace.
The scene again changed; she was alone, in a vast and splendid
apartment, reclining upon a sumptuous couch; delicious music, from
invisible minstrels, soothed her soul into a sort of dreamy and
voluptuous trance; an unearthly happiness filled her heart--her senses
were intoxicated with delight. Suddenly, in the dim distance, she saw a
Hideous Object, and the blood went tingling through her veins with
terror; it had the form of a gigantic reptile; slowly it crawled towards
the couch on which she lay; dim grew the light from the sparkling
chandeliers--heavy grew the air with noxious odors; the Hideous Object
crouched beneath the bed; she heard its deep breathing--its heavy sighs;
then it reared its awful form above her, and then approached its ghastly
head to hers; she felt its foul breath upon her cheek--its green
dragon-like eyes penetrated her soul, and made her brain dizzy--it
fanned her by the flapping of its mighty wings. It breathed into her ear
vile whispers, tempting her to crime. It placed its huge vulture's claw
upon her heart, as if to tear it from her breast. She awoke.
Gracious heavens! there--there--at her bed-side, stood a human form, its
countenance dark and threatening--the savage features almost totally
concealed by masses of black and shaggy hair. A rough, hard hand rested
upon her breast, and a pair of fierce, cruel eyes struck terror to her
soul.
She uttered one piercing scream, and fainted. The report of a pistol was
heard; then hasty footsteps descended the stair-case; the hall was
rapidly traversed--the street door was opened and shut with a loud
noise--and all was still.
In a few minutes the affrightened inmates of the mansion, half dressed,
were hastening to the scene of the late tumult; Mr. Goldworthy and his
daughter Alice were among them. What was the astonishment and dismay of
the startled group, on discovering that Fanny Aubrey was nowhere to be
found, while at her chamber door, wounded and bleeding, lay the
insensible form of Clarence Argyle!
They raised the young gentleman, and placed him upon the bed; a
physician, who fortunately resided next door, and was almost instantly
upon the spot, pronounced the wound severe, but not dangerous. He had
been shot in the breast; the ball was with some difficulty extracted,
and the patient rendered as comfortable as possible.
But where was the clue to all this fearful mystery? What had become of
Fanny Aubrey? Who had dared to enter that house at midnight, and after
nearly murdering one of the inmates, carry off a young lady? What was
the _object_ of the perpetrator of the outrage? These were the questions
uttered by everybody present; but no one could answer them.
Both Mr. Goldworthy and Alice watched over the sufferer during that
night. Towards morning, he revived sufficiently to tell them all he knew
of the dreadful occurrence which had taken place. His chamber adjoined
that of Fanny; he had been aroused from his slumbers by her piercing
scream; instantly leaping from his bed, he rushed into the young lady's
apartment, and saw a tall, black-visaged ruffian standing over her
apparently insensible form, in the act of dragging her from the couch.
The villain turned suddenly, drew a pistol upon the young gentleman, and
fired. Clarence fell, severely wounded, and remained unconscious of
everything, until he found himself stretched upon a bed of pain, with
his uncle and cousin watching him with affectionate solicitude.
On learning that poor Fanny had disappeared--undoubtedly carried off by
the ruffian whom he had seen in her chamber--the grief and rage of
Clarence knew no bounds. Regardless of his wound and sufferings, he
would have arisen from his bed and gone in pursuit of the ravisher, had
he not been restrained by his more considerate relatives, who
represented to him the folly and danger of his undertaking such a
hopeless task, in his precarious state of health. Overcome by their
united persuasions, as well as by a consciousness of his own bodily
weakness, he contented himself with his uncle's assurance that every
effort would immediately be made to discover the whereabouts of poor
Fanny, and restore her to her friends.
Early the next morning, Corporal Grimsby, as being the friend and
guardian of the missing girl, was apprised of the fact of her abduction.
It is needless for us to repeat all the singular oaths with which the
eccentric, good old man expressed his honest indignation, when he
received the alarming intelligence; suffice it to say, he swore by the
nose of Napoleon, and by his own whiskers, (an oath which he used only
on very solemn occasions,) never to rest until he had discovered Fanny,
his darling _protege_, and severely punished her rascally kidnapper.
A dark suspicion crossed his mind that the villain Tickels was at the
bottom of the business; acting upon the first impulse of the moment, he
instantly proceeded to the residence of the old libertine, forced his
way into his presence, and boldly accused him of the deed. Mr. Tickels
was perfectly on his guard, for he had expected such a visit; with cool
politeness he assured the Corporal that until that moment he knew
nothing of the matter; he was sorry that his _friend_ should suspect him
of any participation in such a piece of rascality; he had long since
cleansed and purified himself of the wicked and silly passion which he
at one time felt for Miss Aubrey; he sincerely hoped that nothing
unpleasant would befall her; he'd do all in his power to seek her out;
and concluded by coolly inviting the Corporal to breakfast with him.
"Breakfast with the devil!" cried the old man, indignantly--"sooner
would I sit down to table in social companionship with--with _Jew Mike_
himself!" and as he uttered these words, he gazed keenly into the
other's countenance. Tickels started, and turned deadly pale; the
Corporal, with a sarcastic smile, bowed with mock politeness, and
withdrew.
"Swords and carving-knives! I thought so," he muttered, after he had
left the house--"a masterly stroke, that; a masterly stroke! This
villain Jew Mike is the _cher amie_ of Sow Nance, as she is called; and
Nance is in the confidence of Tickels; what wonder that the dirty slut
recommended her _pal_ and paramour to the old libertine, as a fit agent
to abduct my poor Fanny--and what wonder that he was employed to
accomplish that object? But first, I'll hasten to Mr. Goldworthy's
house, and question the young man who was wounded; if his description of
the villain corresponds with the appearance of Jew Mike, then there can
be no further doubt on the subject, and I shall know what course to
pursue. Egad! how old Tickels changed color when I mentioned Jew Mike!
His confusion alone indicated his guilt. 'Sdeath; I have no time to
lose; may heaven preserve and guard that poor, persecuted orphan girl!"
On reaching Mr. Goldworthy's house, he requested to be conducted
immediately to Clarence's chamber. In answer to his inquiries, the young
man stated that the villain who had wounded him was a tall, powerfully
built person, his face almost entirely concealed by a profusion of black
hair. The Corporal rubbed his hands with glee.
"Jew Mike, by the bones of the great Mogul!" he exclaimed--"and now that
I am on the right scent, I shall soon ferret out the ravenous wolves
that have carried my poor lamb to their infernal den. Ah, Corporal
Grimsby, thou art a cunning dog!" So saying, he departed on his
benevolent errand of endeavoring to rescue Fanny Aubrey from the power
of her enemies.
* * * * *
That evening, from every window of Mr. Goldworthy's princely mansion in
Howard street, shone brilliant lights. It was the eve appointed for the
marriage of Alice and the Chevalier Duvall.
In consequence of the melancholy and startling events which took place
in the house on the preceding night--the severe wounding of Clarence,
and the abduction of Fanny--it had been suggested by both Alice and her
father, that it would be proper to defer the performance of the ceremony
for a short time, or until the fate of the missing girl could be
ascertained; the Chevalier, however, strongly opposed this proposition,
and assuming the authority of an accepted suitor, delicately but firmly
insisted that the marriage should take place that evening, as had been
previously arranged "for," said he, "to defer the consummation of our
happiness will not assist in the recovery of Miss Aubrey. When I become
your husband, my Alice, I can with far more propriety aid in seeking the
lost one, for were we to remain unmarried, my interest in the poor young
lady might be imputed to improper or even dishonorable motives."
This reasoning had the desired effect; it was decided that the marriage
ceremony should not be postponed.
Alice had not communicated to the Chevalier the story which Fanny had
told her, concerning the affair of the lost package of money--for as she
utterly disbelieved the tale, (imputing it to the effects of an excited
imagination,) she had no desire to wound the feelings of her lover by
acquainting him with the absurd charge (as she thought) which had been
brought against him. How blind is love to the imperfections, the faults,
and even the crimes of the object of its adoration! We believe it is
Shakespeare who says:
"Love looks not with the eye, but with the mind,
And therefore is wing'd Cupid painted blind."
The folding doors which separated the two spacious parlors in Mr.
Goldworthy's house were thrown open, forming a vast hall, brilliantly
illuminated by superb chandeliers, and decorated with every appliance of
modern elegance and taste. About a dozen relatives and friends of the
family had assembled to witness the ceremony; among them were several of
the wealthiest members of the Boston aristocracy. There was the
gray-headed millionaire, who has made his name famous by the
magnificence of his donations to public institutions which are already
wealthy enough; but then such liberal gifts are heralded in the
newspapers, and his name is blazoned forth as the great philanthropist;
and--it really is so troublesome to give to the suffering poor; besides,
the world seldom hears of deeds of unostentatious charity. Now, we are
one of those plain people who like to look at things in the light of
common reason, without regard to high-sounding titles, or lofty
associations; and it is our unpretending opinion that the God of charity
and mercy looks down with much greater approbation upon the act of
feeding a starving family, or comfortably clothing a few of His naked
little ones, than upon the bestowal of twenty or thirty thousand dollars
on this or that University, for the purpose of endowing a Professor of
Humbugonomy, that he may initiate a class of learned blockheads into the
mysteries of star-gazing, patient-killing, legal fleecing, or cheating
the devil by turning parson.
Besides the gray-headed millionaire, to whom we have thus particularly
alluded, there was the young lady who boasts of being heiress to
hundreds of thousands of dollars; consequently, of course, she is
unanimously voted to be "charming--divine--perfection!" Her beauty is
pronounced angelic; her accomplishments are the theme of universal
admiration. "Oh, she is an unsurpassable creature!" exclaim the whole
tribe of contemptible, sycophantic, brainless calves in broadcloth, who
are ever ready to fall down and worship the golden emblem of themselves.
And yet she is pug-nosed, freckle-faced, and red-headed; insolent to her
equals, coarsely familiar with her inferiors; her vulgarity is without
wit, her affectation is devoid of elegance or grace; ignorant and
stupid, the meanest kitchen wench would suffer by a comparison with
her. In striking contrast with this ludicrous specimen of degraded
aristocracy, there were several young ladies present who were really
lovely and accomplished women. These were the personal friends of Alice;
they had come to witness her nuptials with the magnificent Chevalier.
Precisely as the clock struck eight, Duvall entered the apartment, and
saluted the company with that exquisite and gentlemanly grace for which
he was distinguished. With difficulty could the assembled guests refrain
from expressing their admiration aloud; for his appearance was
singularly grand and imposing. In his dress, not the slightest approach
to foppery could be detected; all was faultless elegance. In his dark
eyes and on his proud features an observer could read the lofty triumph
which he felt; for was not he, an unknown and perhaps penniless
adventurer, about to wed the beautiful and accomplished daughter of one
of Boston's "merchant princes"?
Soon the clergyman arrived, and Alice was summoned to take her part in
the solemn ceremony which was about to be performed. She was dressed in
simple white, her only ornaments consisting of a few natural flowers
among the rich clusters of her shining hair.
She was very beautiful; the flush of happiness suffused her cheeks--her
eyes sparkled with ineffable joy. Oh, terrible sacrifice!
The ceremony proceeds; the solemn words are spoken. 'Tis all
over--friends crowd around with their congratulations--there are smiles,
and blushes, and tears; but a deep sense of happiness pervades every
heart. Alice is the wife of Duvall, by the sacred rites of the church,
in the sight of Heaven, and before men. The Chevalier pressed her madly
to his heart, while
"Unto the ground she cast her modest eye,
And, ever and anon, with rosy red,
The bashful blush her snowy cheeks did dye."
Then came music, and the merry dance--and finally, a repast, that
rivalled in luxury the banquet of an emperor. In the midst of the
supper, in obedience to the secret signal of one of her bridesmaids,
Alice stole away, and was conducted by a charming _coterie_ of her
female friends, to Hymen's sacred retreat, the nuptial chamber--which
nothing should induce us to invade, gentle reader, were it not necessary
to do so in order to develop a scene in our narrative, which cannot
possibly be omitted.
It was an apartment of but moderate size; yet it was a gem of luxurious
comfort. Everything was in the most perfect taste; and it was evident by
a certain refined delicacy in all the arrangements, that the fair Alice
herself had superintended the preparations. Happy the man who should
bestow the first chaste kiss of wedded love, upon the pure lips of a
lovely bride, within that soft bower of voluptuousness!
She is disrobed; from her virgin limbs are removed the snowy garments;
she is coquettishly arrayed in the seductive costume of bewitching
night! She blushes, and is almost painfully embarrassed; for never
before have her glowing charms been contemplated thus, even by female
eyes. She finds herself at last reclining within the luxurious folds of
the magnificent nuptial couch; then her kind friends kiss her--bid her
a smiling good-night--and leave her to await the coming of her husband.
For the first time, her bosom heaves tumultuously with emotions which
she acknowledges to be delightful, though she cannot comprehend them.
But where, meanwhile, is the happy bridegroom? He is at the head of the
splendid board, responding to the many toasts which are proposed in his
honor, and that of his lovely and expectant bride. Again and again he
fills the goblet, and quaffs the foaming champagne. He fascinates
everybody by his rare eloquence--his inimitable wit; Mr. Goldworthy
congratulates himself on his good fortune in having secured so
charming--so talented a son-in-law. The dark eyes of the Chevalier
sparkle almost fearfully; his superb countenance is flushed with wine
and passion. This rosy god of the grape has nearly conquered him; he is
more than half intoxicated. Losing his habitual caution, he launches
forth into the recital of the most brilliant and daring adventures in
intrigue, fraud and robbery, he relates these events with a gusto that
would seem to indicate his having taken a leading part in them himself.
The guests are startled, and view him with an admiration mixed with
fear. The Chevalier drinks deeper and deeper. Wilder and more exciting
grow his narratives; he tells strange tales of the Italian banditti--of
pirates upon the Spanish main--of dashing French pickpockets--of bold
English highwaymen--of desperate American burglars, and of expert
counterfeiters. Mr. Goldworthy, at last, begins to regard him with a
feeling akin to suspicion. "Who can this man be," he mentally asks
himself--"that talks so familiarly of every species of crime and
villainy? Is he a fitting husband for my pure and gentle daughter? Can
he have been a participant in those lawless adventures which he so
eloquently describes? I like not the dark frown upon his brow, nor the
fierce glances of his eyes. But tush! of what am I thinking? I must not
harbor unjust suspicions against the husband of my child; he is merely
somewhat excited by the generous wine, and probably derived his
knowledge of these matters from the romances of the day. 'Tis best that
he should drink no more at present; I will therefore hint to him that it
is high time for a loyal bridegroom to retire to the arms of his
expectant bride. He surely will not disregard so tempting a suggestion,
for my Alice is very like her mother, and egad! on _my_ wedding night,
twenty years ago, I needed no second hint to induce me to fly eagerly to
_her_ arms. Ah, I was young then, and old age plays sad havoc with us!"
The worthy old gentleman whispered a few moments in the ear of the
Chevalier. The latter arose with a flushed cheek and a flashing eye.
"Thanks for the hint, good father-in-law," he cried, draining another
goblet of wine--"I have paid my devoirs to Bacchus; now will I worship
at the shrine of Venus!"
With rather an unsteady gait he left the apartment, and, under the
guidance of two lovely, blushing, tittering damsels, sought the nuptial
chamber. At the door of that sacred retreat, his fair guides left him.
He entered--and the black-hearted villain, stained with a thousand
crimes, stood in the presence of angel purity.
And now, fain would we draw a curtain over what followed--but if we did
so, our task would be incomplete. We therefore pass over the delicate
details with as much rapidity as the nature of the case will admit.
The Chevalier advanced to the couch, and viewed his bride; evading his
ardent gaze, she turned away, her maiden cheek glowing with blushes.
Upon the snowy pillow, in rich masses, lay her luxuriant hair; her
modestly veiled bosom, whose voluptuousness of outline no drapery could
entirely conceal, heaved tumultuously with gushing joy, and holy
happiness, and pure passion, and maidenly fear. Her small, exquisite
hand, on whose taper fore-finger glittered a magnificent diamond ring,
(her husband's gift,) rested upon the gorgeous counterpane, like a
snow-flake upon a cluster of roses.
Still the Chevalier profanes not that pure form with his unhallowed
touch; perchance some unseen power, the guardian of spotless innocence,
restrains him. Placing himself before the splendid mirror, he begins to
remove his superb garments with a deliberation and a composure that
astonishes even himself.
As each article of dress is successively thrown aside, the magnificent
symmetry of that man's unrivalled form becomes more and more apparent.
Though of a build unusually powerful, his limbs possess all the grace
and suppleness of the Apollo Belvedere. He is one of those rare
combinations of strength and beauty, so often represented by classic
statuary, yet so seldom seen in a living model.
His task is at length completed; he is in the primeval costume of
nature. Complacently he surveys his reflection in the mirror; for he is
fully conscious of his great personal advantages, and, in the vanity of
his heart, he wishes to display them to the enraptured gaze of his
bride. And she--who will say that she does not stealthily contemplate
his symmetrical proportions with secret satisfaction--for what woman
could, under such peculiar circumstances, be indifferent to the physical
advantages possessed by the man of her choice?
Alas! how suddenly did poor Alice's golden dream of happiness vanish
forever!
For there--upon her husband's naked breast--in black characters of
damning distinctness--is _branded_ the ghastly, hideous
words--"CONVICTED FELON!!"
Alice uttered one piercing scream, and fainted.
The marriage guests below had not yet departed. They heard that awful
cry, which seemed to be the very concentration of all human anguish. Mr.
Goldworthy started to his feet, and his cheeks grew ashy pale.
"My friends," said he, in a low tone--"there is something wrong with my
child. Remain here, and I will ascertain the cause of this strange
outcry."
Having armed himself with a pistol, he repaired to his daughter's
chamber, which he entered without ceremony; for when does a father stand
on ceremony, when he believes the safety of his only child to be in
danger? There, in the centre of the room, confused and abashed, stood
the nude form of the Chevalier; and there, upon his breast, did Mr.
Goldworthy behold the accursed brand of crime which had horrified his
daughter, and elicited her piercing scream.
"_Convicted felon!_" gasped the old gentleman, almost disbelieving the
evidence of his own senses. "Good God! am I dreaming, or do I actually
behold that awful badge of infamy branded upon the flesh of the husband
of my child! Almighty heaven, thy judgments are inscrutable, but this
blow is too much--too much!"
He buried his face in his hands, and wept bitterly. The Chevalier, by a
powerful effort, recovered his accustomed assurance and presence of
mind.
"Come, my good sir," said he--"don't get in such a bad way about a few
insignificant letters which are stamped upon me. I pledge you my honor
'twas merely done in jest, in a thoughtless moment. Pray retire, and
leave me to console my bride for her silly fright."
"Liar and villain!" cried the old man--"would'st thou, with a red-hot
iron, brand such words as _those_ upon thee, in jest? Thou are a
convicted scoundrel--an impostor--a murderer, for aught I know. Thou
hast no claim upon my poor girl, who now lies there, insensible; the
marriage is null and void!"
"Pooh--nonsense!" said the Chevalier, very coolly--"you make a devil of
a fuss about a very small matter. This brand is but the consequence of a
youthful folly--crime, if you will--of which I have long since repented,
I assure you. A ruffled shirt will always conceal it from the world's
prying gaze; your daughter and yourself are the only persons who will
ever know of its existence; why, then, should it interfere with our
matrimonial arrangements?"
"Dare you parley with me, villain?" cried Mr. Goldworthy, growing more
and more indignant at the other's impudent assurance. "Hark'ee, sir," he
continued, "the mystery which has always surrounded you, has been
anything but favorable to your reputation, for _honest_ men are seldom
reluctant to disclose all that concerns their past career and present
pursuits. But your damnable effrontery, and the accursed fascination of
your manners, overcame all our suspicions relative to you; you were
regarded as an honorable man, and a gentleman. Unfortunately, my Alice
loved you, and in an evil moment I consented to your union. This
evening, at the wine table, when you discoursed so learnedly and
eloquently upon the exploits of daring villains, the thought struck me
that you must have derived your knowledge of them from personal
intimacy; but I instantly discarded the suspicion as unworthy of myself
and unjust to you. But now--now your guilt can no longer be questioned,
for its history is written there, upon your breast! Scoundrel, I might
hand you over to the iron grasp of the law, but I will not; resume your
garments, and leave this chamber--for your vile presence contaminates
the very atmosphere, and 'tis no place for you!"
"No, you will not hand me over to the law, neither will you expose me,"
said the Chevalier, his lip curling with proud disdain. "Listen to me,
old man: you are right--I _am_ a villain--nay, more; I glory in the
title. Am I not candid with you?--and yet you, yourself, will be as
anxious as I can be, to keep the world ignorant of the fact that I am a
villain,--for will the aristocratic Mr. Goldworthy consent that the
public shall know that his beautiful daughter Alice is married to a
branded criminal? Being perfectly safe, what need is there of
concealment on my part? Know, then, that I am an escaped convict from
Botany Bay, to which colony I was transported from England, for an
atrocious crime. This brand upon my breast was placed there as a
punishment for having attempted to murder one of my guards. I have been
a pirate, a robber, a highwayman, a burglar, and (but let me whisper
this word in your ear,) a _murderer_! Ha, ha, ha! how do you like your
son-in-law now?"
"Monster, out of my sight!" cried the old man, shuddering.
"Softly, softly," said the Chevalier, with imperturbable calmness--"you
have not heard all yet; of my skill as a pickpocket, you yourself have
had ample proof, for 'twas I who relieved you of the valuable package
last night; yet you dare not prosecute me--for am I not your son-in-law?
But curses on my own indiscretion, in allowing wine to overcome my
habitual prudence! For had I not been partially intoxicated, think you
this mark of guilt would have been so easily discovered? No, believe
me--"
"Silence, villain!" thundered Mr. Goldworthy, no longer able to contain
his indignation at the cool effrontery of the Chevalier--"I have bandied
words with you too long already; you see this pistol?--you are unarmed;
I give you five minutes to dress yourself and leave the house; if you
are not gone at the end of that time, I swear by the living God to shoot
you through the head."
These last words were pronounced with a calmness that left no doubt of
their sincerity on the mind of the Chevalier. Villain as he was, he was
brave even to desperation; yet he had no particular wish to be hurried
into eternity so unceremoniously. He therefore commenced dressing
himself, while Mr. Goldworthy stood with the pistol cocked and pointed
at his head with a deadly aim.
Meanwhile, the unfortunate Alice recovered from her swoon. Starting up
in bed, she cast a hurried glance at her father and the discomfited
Chevalier. That glance was sufficient to reveal to her the true state of
affairs; and covering her face with her hands, she wept bitterly.
Who can comprehend the depth and devotedness of woman's love? Could it
be possible that there still lingered in her crushed heart a single atom
of affection for that branded villain, who had so cruelly deceived her?
Philosophy may condemn her--human reason itself may scoff at her--but
from her pure heart could not utterly be obliterated the sincere and
holy love which she had conceived for that unworthy object. To her might
have been applied the beautiful words of the poet Campbell:
"Let the eagle change his plume,
The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom,
But ties around that heart were spun
Which would not, could not be undone."
Before the expiration of the prescribed five minutes, the Chevalier was
dressed, and ready to depart. Turning towards Alice, he regarded her
with a look which was eloquently expressive of grief, remorse and
sorrow. His breast heaved convulsively; he was evidently struggling with
the most powerful emotions. A single tear rolled down his cheek--he
hastily wiped it away--murmured, "Farewell, Alice, forever!"--and
reminded by an imperious gesture from her father that the scene could
continue no longer, he turned calmly and walked out of the room. Mr.
Goldworthy followed him to the street door, and saw him depart from the
house; then, with a deep-drawn sigh, he returned to his guests, who were
naturally eager to know the nature of the difficulty. In answer to their
inquiries, the old gentleman said--
"My dear friends, do not, I entreat you, press me for an explanation of
this most melancholy affair. Suffice it for me to say, the Chevalier
Duvall has proved himself to be utterly unworthy of my daughter. The
marriage which has taken place, though not legally void, is _morally_
so. I beg of everyone present to respect my feelings as a father and as
a man, so far as to preserve a strict silence in reference to this
painful matter. The Chevalier Duvall has departed from the house, and
will never see my daughter more."
The required promise was given, and the guests took their leave,
experiencing feelings of a far different nature from those which had
animated them at the commencement of the evening. They had come in the
happy anticipation of witnessing the consummation of a beloved friend's
felicity; they went away oppressed by a painful uncertainty as to the
nature of the difficulty which had arisen in reference to the husband,
and chilled by a fear that the earthly happiness of poor Alice was
destroyed forever.
The Chevalier returned to the Duchess, to apprise her of the total ruin
of his matrimonial schemes, in consequence of the _fatal brand_ upon his
person having been discovered; and we return to Fanny Aubrey, who had
been conveyed by Jew Mike to the "_Chambers of Love_," in obedience to
the directions given him by the Hon. Timothy Tickels.