NEW HOPE
Hereward was suffering from terrible excitement. We said a little while
since that his soul seemed dead within him. And as resuscitation is
always more distressing than asphyxia, so the infusion of a ray of hope
that gave new life to his spirit caused much anguish.
It required all his recovered power of mind to control his emotion.
“Adah!” he said, “what you tell me is so strange, so startling, so
incredible, that I have the greatest difficulty in receiving it! What
good reason have you for believing—believing that?”
Again Hereward broke down.
“Dat de ’mains foun’ in de crik wor not doze ob my dear young mist’ess,
but wor doze ob dat young gal wot wor made way wid by her man? Yer see I
kin ’lude to dem ’mains d’out lozin’ ob my head ’caze I knows dey wor
doze ob dat po’ murdered gal. Ef I eben s’picioned as dey wor doze ob my
dear young mist’ess I couldn’ speak ob dem, no, no mo’ dan yer can
yerse’f, Marse Tudor.”
“Yes; but what proof—what proof have you?” breathlessly inquired
Hereward.
“I’s gwine to tell yer, Marse Tudor, ef yer will on’y ’pose yerse’f an’
hab patience. ’Deed, I ’spects as Mrs. Jab’ll take de head offen my
shou’ders fo’ ’citin’ ob yer so.”
“Yes; but what proof? what proof?”
“I’s gwine to tell yer, Marse Tudor, ’deed I is. Yer ’member dat mornin’
w’en yer come ’quirin’ at my cabin ’bout Miss Lilif?”
“Yes, yes; you asked me that question some time back.”
“So I did, Marse Tudor; an’ I ax ob yer pardon fo’ axin’ it ag’in. It
wor on’y to ’mind yer of de day, marse. Yer ’member as I tole yer how de
young mist’ess had gib dat po’ gal lots ob wittles an’ drink, an’ close,
an’ money, fo’ herse’f an’ me, too? Yer ’member dat, young marse?”
“I do.”
“An’ likewise as I tole yer how her man come in unexpected dat same
night, an’ eat up all de good wittles, and drunk up all de good licker,
an’ tuk all de money, an’ ’pelled her to go ’way ’long o’ him dat same
night?”
“Yes, I remember. Go on.”
“Well, Marse Tudor, I tole yer all dat; but I didn’t fink ob tellin’ ob
yer all de little trifles w’ich ’peared no ’count—sich as he makin’ ob
her dress herse’f in her close to go ’long ob him—dose berry close wot
Miss Lilif gib her—dat warm cashy gown, an’ de nice unnerclose, an’ de
pooty French boots, an’ de little hat—all wot was tied up in de
bundle—did he make her take out an’ put on to go ’long ob him genteel.
No, I didn’t tell yer dat; nor likewise as how she ’beyed him in ’spect
ob de close, but ’posed him when he tuk ebberyfin’ out’n de house an’
lef me nuffin’. An’ dey bofe went ’way quarrelin’—quarrelin’ werry
bitter, an’ I yeard ’em at it till dey got out ob yearin’—an’ next minit
I heerd an awful screech, an’ den anoder, an’ anoder. An’ I say: ‘Dere,
now,’ I say, ‘he’s beatin’ ob her, de brute!’ An’ den dere was silence.
An’ I nebber t’ought no wuss ob it, dan it wor bad ’nuff, but not so
uncommon as to keep me ’wake.”
Old Adah paused for breath, while Hereward waited for her next words
with intense anxiety. At length she resumed:
“I nebber tole yer ’bout dese las’ mentioned fings, ’caze I t’ought den
dey was on’y trifles; but, Lor’, who kin tell wot is trifles, or wot
trifles is gwine to mount up to ’fo’ dey’s done wid yer? It wor dem
berry trifles, w’ich I t’ought ob no ’count, as would indentified dem
’mains wot was foun’ in de crik for doze ob dat po’ young gal, ef on’y I
hed been sent fer to edify de Cow’s Quest. Dere! My Lor’! now what is I
done?” cried the old woman, rising in alarm and peering into the face of
the young master, who had fallen back into his seat in what seemed to be
a dead swoon.
She took up the hand-bell, and was about to sound an alarm for help,
when her wrist was feebly grasped, and her name faintly called.
“Adah—no—don’t ring! Wait—I shall recover presently. Give me—time,”
whispered Hereward, making a great effort to rally.
After a little while he said:
“If what you tell me is true—and I have no reason to doubt your
word—then it was really the body of that poor girl which was found in
the creek, and your mistress is still living. But, Adah, I commend your
discretion in keeping silent so long; and I advise you to the same
course. Speak to no one of this matter. Let it remain for the present a
secret between you and me.”
Old Adah, highly flattered by the thought of having a secret in common
with her master, kept from all the rest of the world, warmly responded:
“I kep’ dat secret to myse’f all dis time, waitin’ fo’ yer to be well
’nuff to hear it, an’ I will keep on keepin’ it, marster, an’ red hot
pinchers shouldn’ pull it out’n me till yer say so.”
“I do not want any more neighborhood gossip or excitement over this
matter. I do not want the sacred name of my wife bandied about from
mouth to mouth in speculating as to what has become of her. I must
confer with my own tried and trusty friends and the local authorities,
and we must take counsel together. You understand, Adah?”
“Surely, surely, young marster, I unnerstan’s so puffect dat dat wor de
reason w’y I kep’ wot I kno’d to myse’f till I could tell it to yo’,
Marse Tudor.”
“Very well. Now I think I must be alone for a little while. Do you go
into the kitchen and tell Nancy or Cassy to give you—whatever you would
like in the way of refreshments.”
“Tank yer, Marse Tudor; I will go. Yer was allers so ’siderate to de
po’,” gratefully replied the woman, as she stooped and picked up her
stick, slowly arose and hobbled away towards the rear of the house.
Hereward, left alone, pressed his hands to his head.
“Am I dreaming?” he asked himself. “Is this one of those delirious
visions that tortured or delighted me during the progress of my fever?
Lilith—not dead? Lilith living? Oh, Heaven! can such a happiness be
really still possible to me, that I should see Lilith again in the
flesh? Oh, Heaven! that this could come to pass! All evils of life would
be nothing if only Lilith could, peradventure, be restored to me living.
I would no longer care for all the fame and glory that this world could
give me, if only my child-wife could be returned to me! But can this be
possible? What balance of proof is there in favor of her continued life,
in the face of the verdict of that coroner’s jury? I do not know; I
cannot weigh evidence to-day! I am weak! I am weak! Kerr will be here
soon. I will ask him what he thinks about the matter. I will tell him
all and I will take his opinion.”
As Hereward communed with himself in this manner the door opened, and
Mrs. Jab Jordon came out on the piazza, bringing in her hands a silver
waiter upon which was arranged a china plate of chicken jelly, another
plate of delicate biscuits, a small decanter of port wine, and a wine
glass.
She set the waiter with its contents upon the little stand beside
Hereward’s chair, and then, looking at the invalid critically, she
inquired:
“What is the matter with you? You have been worrying and exciting
yourself about something. And you know that is not good for you. Come,
now, I want you to eat all this jelly and drink at least two glasses of
wine, and then, as the sun is coming around this way and it is getting
warm, I want you to come in and take your noon sleep.”
Hereward smiled faintly and tried obediently to do as the lady bade him;
but it is doubtful whether he would have accomplished the task before
him had not Mrs. Jab drawn up a chair and drilled him into compliance.
When he had finished his light meal she took his arm and led him into
the house and upstairs to the new room that had been prepared for him,
and made him lie down on his bed.
Meanwhile, old Adah had gone into the kitchen, where she found Nancy
superintending the preparations for dinner, while Cassy and the two
younger negro women were engaged in paring potatoes, shelling peas, and
capping strawberries.
“Mornin’, chillun! How does all do dis fine mornin’?” said the old
woman, as she slowly and stiffly lowered herself into the nearest chair
and laid her stick on the floor.
“Mornin’, Aunt Adah!” returned a chorus of voices, as the three women
stopped their work and came around her.
“Glad to see de young marster out ag’in!” said Adah.
“Yes, he is out ag’in—wot’s lef’ ob him! ’Deed it’s awful! Makes me fink
ob my latter en’,” said Nancy, with a deep sigh.
“Yes, it’s a warnin’! It’s a warnin’!” put in Cassy, without exactly
defining what “it” meant.
“’Deed I gwine look out an’ see ef I can’t j’in some more s’ieties. I
’longs to sebben or eight now, but I ain’t satisfied in my own mine
w’ich is de yight one, or eben ef any ob dem I ’long to is de yight one.
An’ dere can’t be but one yight one, no way.”
“Chile Nancy, I fink as yer ’longs to too many s’ieties. Now, one is
’nough for me, w’ich dat is de Rebbernt Marse Parson Cave’s s’iety,
w’ich is good ’nough for me, ’caze arter all it is de Lord I trus’ in
and not de s’iety,” humbly suggested old Adah.
“G’way f’om yere, ole ’oman! Yer dunno wot yer talkin’ ’bout! In dese
yere drefful times I want to be on de safe side; so I j’ines all de
s’ieties I kin fine so as to get de yight one! I done hear ob two more
s’ieties way out yonder some’ars, w’ich I mean to j’in soon’s ebber I
get de chance.”
“Two more s’ieties, A’n’ Nancy!” exclaimed Cely opening her eyes to
their widest extent.
“Yes, honey; yes, chillun! W’ich one is—le’ me see now—wot’s deir names
a’gn? One is called de Shakin’ Quakers. An’ dat s’iety would suit me
good, leastways in some fings; ’caze I doan beliebe in marr’in an’
gibbin’ in marridge no mo’ dan dey do; an’ as fer de res’ ob it, w’y,
ebbery time I gets de fever’n’ ager I ken shake an’ quake wid de bes’ ob
’em! An’ dere’s dat oder s’iety, ’way out yonder som’ers, as is called
de More-men. But I misdoubts as dat one kin be de yight one, ’caze dey’s
just opposide to de oder one, an’ beliebes in a doctrine called
Pulliginy, an’ libs up to it, to be sure, w’ich is mo’ dan some s’ieties
do deir doctrines.”
“Wot’s Pulliginy, Nancy, chile?” inquired old Adah.
“Pulliginy is de More-men perswashun. It means as a ’oman may marr’ as
many husband’s as she kin take care ob! An’ marster knows dat wouldn’t
suit me at all. I never could hab patience ’nuff wid de po’ he-creeturs
to marr’ one husban’, much less a whole pulliginy ob ’em. No—I can’t say
as I ’mire de More-men doctorine. Dough I is much exercise in my mine
fear it might be de on’y yight one. Sure ’nuff, it must hab crosses
’nuff in it ef dat would sabe a soul.”
“Nancy, chile, w’y can’t yer trus’ in de Lord, an’ not trouble so much
’bout de s’ieties?” inquired old Adah.
“’Caze I wants to be zactly yight an’ sabe my soul an’ go to Glory. But
as for you, Aunt Adah, wot do you expec’ as nebber goes inside ob any
church?” demanded Nancy.
“Honey, I hum’ly hopes de dear Lord will sabe my soul, ’caze I can’t go
to church in my ’streme ole age—ninety-nine years old las’ Can’lemas
Day. Can’t walk nigh so far, honey, an’ can’t sit so long; but I trus’
in de Lord.”
“An’ you, ’lectin’ de s’ieties as you do s’pects to go to Glory?”
demanded Nancy, full of righteous indignation.
“No, honey, no—not to Glory. I nebber ’sumed to fink ob sich a fing as
dat. But I do hope as de dear Lord will let me in to some little place
in His kingdom—some little house by some little crik running up out’n de
Ribber ob Life, whey I can lib in lub ’long ob my dear ole man an’ our
chillun wot all went home so many years ago. Dat’s wot I hum’ly trus’ in
de Lord to gib me.”
“A’n’ Adah, wouldn’ yer like a bowlful of beef soup?” inquired Cassy,
breaking in upon this discussion.
“Yes, chile, I would, w’ich de young marster said as I might hab a
tumbler ob b’andy toddy, too.”
“All yight. So you shall. An’ yer’d better stay all day wid us an’ get
bofe a good dinner an’ a good supper, an’ Cely an’ Mandy ’ill take you
home.”
“T’anky, kindly, Cassy, chile, so I will,” concluded the aged woman,
settling herself comfortably for a whole day’s enjoyment.
Early in the afternoon the Rev. Mr. Cave and Dr. Kerr drove over
together to see Tudor Hereward.
They were shown at once to his chamber, where they found him reclining
on a lounge near the open window.
“You have been sitting out on the piazza this morning, I hear,” said the
doctor, after the first greetings were over.
“Yes, for two hours,” replied Hereward.
“Too long for a first effort. You have overtasked yourself.”
“No, it is not that, doctor. Please lock the door, to prevent
interruption, and draw your chairs up to me, both of you. I have some
strange news to communicate, which I received this morning,” said
Hereward, in some nervous trepidation.
“Yes! and that is just what has excited and exhausted you,” said Dr.
Kerr, as he complied with Hereward’s request, sat down beside him and
felt his pulse.
“And yet it was good news, if I can judge by the expression of your
face, Tudor,” put in the rector, wondering, meanwhile, what good news
could possibly have come to this awfully bereaved man.
“Yes, it was good news, if true; and there lies the great anxiety,”
replied Hereward.
And then to these two oldest of old friends and neighbors, the pastor of
the parish and the physician of the family, Tudor Hereward told the
story that had been told him by old Adah.
The two gentlemen were not so much amazed as the narrator had expected
them to be, yet they were most profoundly interested.
“There must always be a doubt in these cases where the proof of
identification seems to be in the clothing only, and not in the person,”
said the doctor.
“That is certainly so. Clothing may have changed hands, as in this
instance,” added the rector.
“I want your decided opinion, if you can give it to me, on this subject.
It is no exaggeration to say that if it can be shown that the remains
identified before the coroner’s jury as those of my wife, were in
reality not hers, but of another person, I should be lifted from death
and despair to life and hope. For look you, my friends, in all the long
and dreary days and in all the long and sleepless nights, I say to
myself, that whoever struck the fatal blow, I, and I only, am the
original cause of Lilith’s death,” said Hereward.
“You are so morbid on that subject that I despair of ever bringing you
to reason,” sighed the rector.
“At least until I have brought him to health! The body and mind are so
nearly connected that when one is weakened or diseased, the other is apt
to be so too,” added the doctor.
“You are both mistaken. My remorse and despair have nothing to do with
health of body or mind. They are both normal and natural. Listen to me.
If I, in the madness of the moment, had not insulted, outraged, and
driven my young wife from my side, she would never have gone forth that
bitter winter night to meet the cruel death at the hands of some
midnight marauder—according to the verdict of the coroner’s jury.”
“But you did not send her to the creek,” said the doctor.
“No! but I might as well have done so! Oh! I knew how it was—or might
have been—for I will still hope that it was not so. She knowing that she
was about to leave the Cliffs for an indefinite time, thought of the
poor old woman who might suffer in her absence, and determined that she
would pay her a last visit and leave with her provision—in money, which
could be easily carried—to last her for a long time. In her feeling of
mortification at having been cast off by her husband, she chose to go
alone, so as not to expose her distress to any one—not even to a
faithful servant. So, before setting out on her long journey, she
started to visit old Adah, at the creek cabin, and met her fate—through
me.”
“If she did meet her fate! But, Hereward, I am inclined to believe the
old woman’s story,” said the doctor.
“And so do I,” added the rector.
“There is only one doubt,” replied Hereward, “and it is this: The
identification by the clothing only must still be unsatisfactory. Lilith
was in mourning for my father. Her dress was always black, and of one
pattern—that is, her ordinary dress, I mean, of course. It seems that
she gave a suit of her clothing to that poor girl. What of that? She had
other suits of the same sort of clothing, and wore one of those that
same night, for she wore no other sort on common occasions. And the fear
is that when she set out to visit old Adah at the creek cabin, she was
met, robbed and murdered by this tramp and his girl, and that it was her
screams that old Adah heard. For remember, that Lilith’s watch and purse
have never been found, nor any trace of Lilith herself, unless that
found——” Hereward’s voice broke down, and his head fell back upon his
pillow.
Dr. Kerr went to a side table and poured out a glass of wine, which he
brought and compelled his patient to drink.
“At any rate, Tudor, there is a very reasonable hope that Lilith still
lives. Let this hope sustain and not exhaust you. Leave the matter in
the hands of Divine Providence, first of all, and in the hands of your
two friends as his servants and instruments. Say nothing of this to any
one else. It would not be well to open up such a subject of discussion
in this neighborhood. Wait until we have used every human means of
discovering the whereabouts of your Lilith,” said the rector, earnestly.
“Yes, that’s it! Leave the affair to us, under Providence! We have no
certainty; but the new hope is better than despair,” added the doctor.
And to support moral teaching by physical means, he made up a sedative
draught and left it with his patient.
The doctor and the rector went away together, much wondering at the new
aspect given to the Cliff Creek tragedy by the revelations of old Adah.
They kept this revelation to themselves, and went about secretly trying
to get some clew, either to the whereabouts of Lilith, or of the young
girl to whom she had given a suit of her own clothes.
They visited old Adah in her cabin, and using her young master’s, Tudor
Hereward’s, name, questioned her closely on the subject of the events
that had transpired in her cabin on the night of the murder. They
cross-questioned her with a skill and perseverance that Hereward, in his
weakened condition, could never have shown. And old Adah answered them
by revealing freely all she knew and all she suspected.
They came away from that interview thoroughly convinced that the body
found in the creek was that of the gypsy girl to whom Lilith had given a
suit of her clothes.
They were again together to Cloud Cliffs, and told the suffering master
of the house of their new and strong convictions on the subject.
“Lilith lives! Be sure of that! No stone shall be left unturned to
discover her, and her restoration to your arms is only a question of
time, and of a very little time also,” said the doctor.
“Bear up, Tudor! It rests with yourself, under the Lord, to recover your
former health and strength of body and mind. Rouse yourself! Be the
calm, strong, firm man that you have heretofore shown yourself,” added
the rector.
And Hereward grasped their hands and thanked them warmly for their
sympathy and services.
“But though we feel sure that Lilith lives, and that we shall find her
before many days, yet still, to avoid giving rise to a sensational
report, we have determined to continue our first policy of reticence
until we shall really have found Lilith and restored her to her home. Do
you not approve our plan, Hereward?” inquired the doctor.
“Yes, certainly, that is the best,” answered the young man.
The two friends took leave of the patient and departed.
“All the same,” said the doctor, as they walked out together and
re-entered their gig, “if Lilith is not soon recovered, Tudor must die.
The strain upon him is too great to be borne.”
“Let us trust in the Lord,” said the rector, “and hope for a happier
issue.”