Hatchie, the Guardian Slave Part 35

"That mought be true, for's aught I know; but it's mighty strange you never thought of that sarc.u.mstance before."

"Never was in limbo before."

"That's the go, is't? Look-a-here, stranger, is it the darbies, or the crime, which brings the disgrace upon the family? Accordin' to my notion,--and I believe I've got something besides nits and lice in my head,--it's the deed, and not the punishment, that fotches the disgrace.

But whar does your family live?"

"In New Orleans," replied Vernon, who knew nothing to the contrary, though we are not sure that, if he had, it would have made any difference in his reply.

"And your name is Vernon?"

"It is."

"Is that your family name, or only a borried one?"

"It is my real name," replied Vernon, not a little perplexed by the coolness and method of the woodman's queries.

"I rather guess not," suggested Jerry, mildly.

"'Pon my honor--"

"Think again,--maybe you mought fotch the real one to your mind."

Vernon, whose temper was not particularly gentle under contradiction, was nettled, and disposed to be angry.

"Perhaps you know best," said he, conquering his pa.s.sion, and a.s.suming one of those peculiarly convincing smiles, which must be an hereditary possession in the family of the "father of lies."

"Perhaps I do," replied Jerry. "If you don't know any better than that, why, then, I do know best. It arn't Vernon."

"It is not manly, captain, to insult a prisoner," replied Vernon, with an air of dignity, which came from the same source as the liar's smile.

"I don't mean to insult you, stranger; but facts is facts, all over the world," said Jerry, untouched by the other's rebuke.

"What mean you?"

"Nothin', stranger, only I know you. Your mother arn't livin'."

"No," returned Vernon, with a start; for, with all his vices and his crimes, a sense of respect for the name and honor of his family had outlived the good principles imbibed upon a mother's knee. Although a villain in almost every sense of the word, there were many redeeming traits in his character, which the reader will be willing to believe, on recalling his expressions of conscientiousness uttered to Maxwell.

Family pride is often hereditary, and the reverses and degradations of a lifetime cannot extinguish it. It was so with Vernon. His real name was unknown, even among his most intimate a.s.sociates. He had early taken the precaution--not in deference to the feelings of his father--to a.s.sume a name; it was from pride of birth, which shuddered more at the thought of a stain upon the family escutcheon than at all the crimes which may canker and corrode the heart.

"My mother is not living," continued he; "but how know you this?"

"It don't matter, stranger. Have you seen your father lately?"

"Not for many years. I am an outcast from his presence," replied Vernon, with some appearance of feeling.

"That's onfortunate; does he know what sort of a lark you are?"

"I hope not," replied Vernon, with a sickly smile.

"But he does; he knows all about this onG.o.dly sc.r.a.pe you got into last night."

"What mean you?" said the ruffian, sternly.

"Mean? Why, just exactly what I say, Mr. Vaudelier! Don't start! I know you as well as you know yourself."

Vernon bit his lips; he was confounded at hearing his name uttered,--a name which had not greeted his ears for many years. His pa.s.sion was disarmed before the rude but cutting speech of the woodman, whose knowledge of human nature, bred in the woods as he had been, was remarkable. There are men in the world, supposed to be entirely intractable, who, when rightly approached, prove as gentle as lambs.

There is no evil without its antidote, however deeply it may be hid from the knowledge of man; and there is no man so vile that he cannot be reformed. The image of G.o.d, marred and disfigured as it may be, exists in every man, as the faultless statue exists in the rough block of marble; from which, when the fas.h.i.+oning hand, aided by the magic of genius, touches it, the imago of beauty shall come forth. So, when man, in whom always exists the elements of the highest character, shall be approached by the true reformer,--the highest and truest genius,--the bright ideal shall a.s.sume the actual form.

The woodman had touched a chord in the heart of the gambler which vibrated at his touch. It was not the words, but the genuine sympathy with which they were laden, that overcame the indifference of the vicious man. Perceiving his advantage, the woodman followed it up, repeatedly disarming the bolt of pa.s.sion, which was poised in the mind of his auditor.

"Your father," said Jerry, "is a good man, and you mought go round the world without finding a better."

"Very true!" replied Vernon, moved to a degree he was unwilling to acknowledge.

"Now, if you jest turn over a new leaf in the book of life, and try to fotch out right in the end, I believe the old man would cry quits on the old score."

"Send those men away, captain! I will not attempt to escape."

Jerry complied, and the watchers took their departure.

"Where is my father?"

"Close by, stranger. May be you'd like to see him?"

"On no account!"

"That's a good sign, anyhow," muttered Jerry. "You will have to see him, I am afraid. You are under his ruff."

Vernon, completely overcome, staggered to a chair, and covered his face with his hands.

"Not so bad a boy as one mought suppose," soliloquized Jerry, as he went to the door, and requested the servant to summon Dr. Vaudelier. "The fellow has fed on husks long enough, and, as the scripter says, he is goin' to rise and go to his dad."

"Do not let my father see me,--anything, rather than that!" exclaimed Vernon, rising, and grasping the woodman's arm. "I am a great villain!"

"That's very true, stranger; but you have got into the sc.r.a.pe, and the best thing you can do is to get out on't."

"How can I!"

"Be an honest man."

"I fear I never can be that."

"Try it! There is something left of you."

At this moment Dr. Vaudelier entered the room. His aspect was stern and forbidding, and the son buried his face in his hands after the first glance at him.

"Jerome," said he, "you will bring my gray hairs with sorrow down to the grave."

"Easy with him, doctor, easy! He is a little touched, and, if you manage him right, you can fotch him over. He is under conviction now. Don't let on yet!"