Matilda Montgomerie Or The Prophecy Fulfilled Part 22

Gerald, you know not what sad agency I attached to that insidious American from the first moment of her landing on this sh.o.r.e--you know not how much I have disliked, and still dislike her--but what are all these considerations when my brother's happiness is at stake? Gerald, marry her--and be happy."

"Impossible," returned the sailor, in a feeble voice, and again his heart sank upon the open palm of his hand.

"Do you no longer love her, then?" eagerly questioned the astonished youth.

Once more Gerald raised his head, and fixed his large, dim eyes full upon those of his brother. "To madness!" he said, in a voice and with a look that made Henry shudder. There was a moment of painful pause. The latter at length ventured to observe:

"You speak in riddles, Gerald. If you love this Miss Montgomerie to madness, and are, as you seem to intimate, loved by her in return, why not, as I have urged, marry her?"

"Because," replied the sailor, turning paler than before, and almost gasping for breath, "there is a condition attached to the possession of her hand."

"And that is?" pursued Henry, inquiringly, after another long and painful pause--

"My secret," and Gerald pointed significantly to his breast.

"True," returned Henry, slightly coloring; "I had forgotten--but what condition, Gerald (and here he spoke as if piqued at the abrupt manner in which his brother had concluded his half confidence), what condition, I ask, may a woman ent.i.tled to our respect, as well as to our love, propose, which should be held of more account than that severest of offences against the Divine will--self-murder? Nay, look not thus surprised; for have you not admitted that you had guiltily attempted to throw away your life--to commit suicide, in short--rather than comply with an earthly condition?"

"What if in this," returned Gerald, with a smile of bitterness, "I have preferred the lesser guilt to the greater?"

"I can understand no condition, my brother, a woman worthy of your esteem could impose, which should one moment weigh in the same scale against the inexpiable crime of self-destruction. But, really, all this mystery so startles and confounds me, that I know not what to think--what inference to draw."

"Henry," observed the sailor, with some show of impatience, "considering your promise not to urge it further, it seems to me you push the matter to an extremity."

The youth made no reply, but, raising himself from his knees, moved towards the door, which he again unbolted. He then walked to the window at the further end of the apartment.

Gerald saw that he was deeply pained; and, impatient and angry with himself, he also rose and paced the room with hurried steps. At length he stopped, and putting one hand upon the shoulder of his brother, who stood gazing vacantly from the window, pointed with the other towards that part of the apartment in which both their parents had breathed their last.

"Henry, my kind, good Henry," he said, with a voice faltering with emotion, "do you recollect the morning when, on our return from school, we found our young holiday joy changed into heart-breaking and mourning by the sight of our dying mother?"

"Remember it, Gerald! aye, even as though it had been yesterday. Oh, my brother, little did I think at the moment when, with hands closely clasped together, we sank, overcome with grief, upon our bended knees, to receive that mother's blessing, a day would ever arrive when the joy or sorrow of the one should form no portion of the joy or sorrow of the other."

"It was there," pursued Gerald, and without noticing the interruption, "that we solemnly pledged ourselves to do the will and bidding of our father in all things."

"Even so, Gerald, I remember it well."

"And it was there," continued the sailor, with the emphasis of strong emotion, "that, during my unfortunate absence from the death-bed of our yet surviving parent, you gave a pledge for _both_, that no action of our lives should reflect dishonor on his unsullied name."

"I did. Both in your name and in my own, I gave the pledge--well knowing that, in that, I merely antic.i.p.ated your desire."

"Most a.s.suredly; what then would be your sensations were you to know that I had violated that sacred obligation?"

"Deep, poignant, ceaseless regret, that my once n.o.ble and high-spirited brother should have been so lost to respect for his father's memory and for himself." This was uttered not without deep agitation.

"You are right, Henry," added Gerald, mournfully; "better, far better, is it to die than live on in the consciousness of having forfeited all claim to esteem."

The young soldier started as if a viper had stung him. "Gerald," he said, eagerly, "you have not dishonored yourself. Oh no--tell me, my brother, that you have not."

"No," was the cold, repulsive answer; "although my peace of mind is fled," he pursued, rather more mildly, "my honor, thank heaven, remains as pure as when you first pledged yourself for its preservation."

"Thanks, my brother, for that. But can it really be possible, that the mysterious condition attached to Miss Montgomerie's love involves the loss of honor?"

Gerald made no answer.

"And can _you_ really be weak enough to entertain a pa.s.sion for a woman, who would make the dishonoring of the fair fame of him she professes to love the fearful price at which her affection is to be purchased?"

Gerald seemed to wince at the word "weak," which was rather emphatically p.r.o.nounced, and looked displeased at the concluding part of the sentence.

"I said not that the condition attached to her _love_," he remarked, with the piqued expression of a wounded vanity; "her affection is mine, I know, beyond her own power of control--the condition relates not to her heart, but to her hand."

"Alas, my poor infatuated brother. Blinding indeed must be the delusions of pa.s.sion, when a nature so sensitive and so honorable shrinks not from such a connexion. My only surprise is, that, with such a perversion of judgment you have returned at all."

"No more of this Henry. It is not in man to control his destiny, and mine appears to be to love with a fervor that must bear me, ere long, to my grave. Of this, however, be a.s.sured--that, whatever my weakness, or infatuation, as you may be pleased to call it, _that_ pa.s.sion shall never be gratified at the expense of my honor. Deeply--madly as I doat upon her image, Miss Montgomerie and I have met for the last time."

Overcome by the emotion with which he had thus expressed himself, Gerald could not restrain a few burning tears that forced their way down his hollow cheeks. Henry caught eagerly at this indication of returning softness, and again essayed, in reference to the concluding declaration of his brother, to urge upon him the unworthiness of her who had thus cast her deadly spell upon his happiness. But Gerald could ill endure the slightest allusion to the subject.

"Henry," he said, "I have already told you that Miss Montgomerie and I have parted for ever; but not the less devotedly do I love her. If, therefore, you would not farther wring a heart already half broken with affliction, oblige me by never making the slightest mention of her name in my presence--or ever adverting again to our conversation of this morning. I am sure, Henry, you will not deny me this."

Henry offered no other reply than by throwing himself into the arms that were extended to receive him. The embrace of the brothers was long and fervent, and, although there was perhaps more of pain than pleasure, in their mutual sense of the causes which had led to it in the present instance--still was it productive of a luxury the most heartfelt. It seemed to both as if the spirits of their departed parents hovered over, and blessed them in this indication of their returning affection, hallowing, with their invisible presence, a scene connected with the last admonitions from their dying lips. When they had thus given vent to their feelings, although the sense of unhappiness continued undiminished, their hearts experienced a sensible relief; and when they separated for the morning, in pursuit of their respective avocations, it was with a subdued manner on the part of Gerald, and a vague hope with Henry, that his brother's disease would eventually yield to various influences, and that other and happier days were yet in store for both.

CHAPTER XXII.

Meanwhile the preparations for the departure of the expedition for the Miami were rapidly completing. To the majority of the regular force of the two garrisons were added several companies of militia, and a considerable body of Indians, under Tec.u.mseh--the two former portions of the force being destined to advance by water, the latter by land. The spring had been unusually early, and the whole of April remarkably warm; on some occasions sultry to oppressiveness--as for instance on the morning of the tempest. They were now in the first days of the last week of that month, and everywhere, quick and luxuriant vegetation had succeeded to the stubborn barrenness and monotony of winter. Not a vestige of that dense ma.s.s of ice which, three months previously, had borne them over lake and river, was now to be seen. The sun danced joyously and sportively on the golden wave, and where recently towered the rugged surface of the tiny iceberg, the still, calm, unbroken level of the mirroring lake was only visible. On the beach, just below the town, and on a line with the little fleet, that lay at anchor between the island and the main, were drawn up numerous batteaux, ready for the reception of the troops, while on the decks of two gun-boats, that were moored a few yards without them, were to be seen the battering train and entrenching tools intended to accompany the expedition. Opposite to each batteau was kindled a fire, around which were grouped the _voyageurs_ composing the crew, some dividing their salt pork or salt fish upon their bread, with a greasy clasped knife, and quenching the thirst excited by this with occasional libations from tin cans, containing a mixture of water and the poisonous distillation of the country, miscalled whiskey. In other directions, those who had dined sat puffing the smoke from their dingy pipes, while again, they who had sufficiently luxuriated on the weed, might be seen sleeping, after the manner of the Indians, with their heads resting on the first rude pillow that offered itself, and their feet close upon the embers of the fire on which they had prepared their meal. The indolence of inactivity was more or less upon all, but it was the indolence consequent on previous exertion, and a want of further employment. The whole scene was characteristic of the peculiar manners of the French Canadian boatmen.

Since the morning of the long and partial explanation between the brothers, no further allusion had been made to the forbidden subject.

Henry saw, with unfeigned satisfaction, that Gerald not only abstained from the false excitement to which he had hitherto had recourse, but that he apparently sought to rally against his dejection. It is true that whenever he chanced to surprise him alone, he observed him pale, thoughtful, and full of care, but, as he invariably endeavored to hide the feeling at his approach, he argued favorably even from the effort.

Early on the day previous to that of the sailing of the expedition, Gerald asked leave for a visit of a few hours to Detroit, urging a desire to see the family of his uncle, who still remained quartered at that post, and whom he had not met since his return from captivity. This had been readily granted by the Commodore, in whom the change in the health and spirits of his young favorite had excited both surprise and concern, and who, anxious for his restoration, was ready to promote whatever might conduce to his comfort. He had even gone so far as to hint the propriety of his relinquis.h.i.+ng his intention of accompanying the expedition, (which was likely to be attended with much privation and exposure to those engaged in it), and suffering another officer to be subst.i.tuted to his command, while he remained at home to recruit his health. But Gerald heard the well meant proposal with ill disguised impatience, and he replied with a burning cheek, that if his absence for a day could not be allowed without inconvenience to the service, he was ready to submit; but, as far as regarded his making one of the expedition, nothing short of a positive command should compel him to remain behind. Finding him thus obstinate, the Commodore good humoredly called him a silly, wilful, fellow, and bade him have his own way; however he felt confident that, if he accompanied the Miami expedition in his then state of health, he never would return from it.

Gerald submitted it was probable enough he should not, but, although he deeply felt the kindness of his Commander's motive in wis.h.i.+ng him to remain, he was not the less determined, since the matter was left to his own choice, to go where his duty led him. Then, promising to be back long before the hour fixed for sailing the ensuing day, he warmly pressed the cordially extended hand, and soon afterwards, accompanied by Sambo, whose skill as a rider was in no way inferior to his dexterity as a steersman, mounted a favorite horse, and was soon far on his road to Detroit.

Towards midnight of that day, two men were observed by the American tanner to enter by the gate that led into the grounds of the cottage, and, after lingering for a few moments, near the graves to which tradition had attached so much of the marvellous, to disappear round the angle of the building into the court behind. Curiosity induced him to follow and watch their movements, and, although he could not refrain from turning his head at least a dozen times, as if expecting at each moment to encounter some dread inhabitant of the tomb, he at length contrived to place himself in the very position in which Gerald had formerly been a witness of the attempt at a.s.sa.s.sination. From the same window now flashed a strong light upon the court below, and by this the features of the officer and his servant were distinctly revealed to the astonished tanner, who, ignorant of their return, and scarcely knowing whether he gazed upon the living or the dead, would have fled, had he not, as he afterwards confessed, been rooted by fear, and a species of fascination, to the spot. The appearance and actions of the parties indeed seemed to justify, not only the delusion, but the alarm of the worthy citizen. Both Gerald and Sambo were disguised in large dark cloaks, and as the light fell upon the thin person and pale, attenuated, sunken countenance of the former, he could scarcely persuade himself this was the living man, who a few months before, rich in beauty and in health, had questioned him of the very spot in which he now, under such strange circ.u.mstances, beheld him. Nor was the appearance of the negro more a.s.suring. Filled with the terror that ever inspired him on approaching this scene of past horrors, his usually dark cheek wore the dingy paleness characteristic of death in one of his color, while every muscle, stiff, set, contracted by superst.i.tious fear, seemed to have lost all power of relaxation. The solemnity moreover of the manner of both, was in strict keeping with their personal appearance, so that it can scarcely be wondered that in a mind not the strongest nor the most free from a belief in the supernatural, a due quantum of awe and alarm should have been instilled. Fear, however, had not wholly subdued curiosity, and even while trembling to such a degree that he could scarcely keep his teeth from chattering, the tanner followed with eager eye the movements of those he knew not whether to look upon as ghosts or living beings. The room was exactly in the state in which we last described it, with this difference merely, that the table, on which the lamp and books had been placed now lay overturned, as if in the course of some violent scuffle, and its contents distributed over the floor.

The bed still remained, in the same corner, unmade, and its covering tossed. It was evident no one had entered the apartment since the night of the attempted a.s.sa.s.sination.

The first act of Gerald, who bore the light, followed closely by Sambo, was to motion the latter to raise the fallen table. When this was done he placed his lamp upon it, and sinking upon the foot of the bed, and covering his eyes with his hands, seemed utterly absorbed in bitter recollections. The negro, meanwhile, an apparent stranger to the scene, cast his eyes around him with the shrinking caution of one who finds himself in a position of danger, and fears to encounter some terrific sight, then, as if the effort was beyond his power, he drew the collar of his cloak over his face, and shuffling to get as near as possible to the bed as though in the act he came more immediately under the protection of him who sat upon it, awaited, in an att.i.tude of statue-like immobility, the awakening of his master from his reverie.

Gerald at length withdrew his hands from his pallid face, on which the glare of the lamp rested forcibly, and, with a wild look and low, but imperative voice, bade the old negro seat himself beside him still lower on the bed.

"Sambo," he inquired abruptly--"how old were you when the Indian ma.s.sacre took place near this spot. You were then, I think I have heard it stated, the servant of Sir Everard Valletort?"

The old negro looked aghast. It was long since direct allusion had been made to his unfortunate master or the events of that period. Questioned in such a spot, and at such an hour, he could not repress the feeling of terror conjured up by the allusion. Scarcely daring to exceed a whisper, he answered.

"Oh Ma.s.sa Geral, for Hebben's sake no talkee dat. It berry long time ago, and break poor n.i.g.g.e.r heart to tink ob it----"

"But I insist on knowing," returned Gerald loudly and peremptorily; "were you old enough to recollect the curse that poor heart-broken woman, Ellen Halloway, uttered on all our race, and if so what was it?"

"No, Ma.s.sa Geral, I no sabby dat. Sambo den only piccaninny, and Sir Ebbered make him top in he fort--oh berry bad times dat, Ma.s.sa Geral.