Confession; Or, The Blind Heart Part 37

"Edgerton, my wife has planned a little ramble for this afternoon. She wishes to show you some of the beauties of landscape in our new abode.

She commissions me to ask you to join us."

"Ah! did SHE?" he demanded eagerly, with a slight emphasis on the last word.

"Ay, did she! Will you come?"

"Certainly--with pleasure!"

He need not have said so much. The pleasure spoke in his bright eyes--in the tremulous hurry of his utterance. I turned away from him, lest I should betray the angry feeling which disturbed me. He did not seek to arrest my departure. He had few words. It was sufficiently evident that he shrunk from my glance and trembled in my presence. How far otherwise, in the days of our mutual innocence--in our days of boyhood--when his face seemed clear like that of a pure, perfect star, shining out in the blue serene of night, unconscious of a cloud.

Kingsley was already at my office when I reached it, and soon after came Mr. Wharton, followed by two of our opponents. We were engaged with them the better part of the morning. When the business hours were consumed, our transactions remained unfinished, and another meeting was appointed for the ensuing day. I invited Wharton as well as Kingsley to join us in our afternoon rambles, which they both promised to do. I went home something sooner to make preparations, and only recollected, on seeing Julia, that I had thrown the letter from her mother, with other papers, into my desk. When I told her of the letter, her countenance changed to a death-like paleness which instantly attracted my notice.

"What is the matter--are you sick, Julia!"

"No! nothing. But the letter--where is it?"

"I threw it on my table, or in my desk, with other papers, to have them out of the way; and hurrying home sooner than usual, forgot to bring it with me. I suppose there's nothing in it of any importance?"

"No, nothing, I suppose," she answered faintly.

I told her what I had done with respect to our guests.

"I am very sorry," she answered, "that you have done so. I do not feel like company, and wished to have you all to myself."

"Oh, selfish; but of this I will believe moderately! As for company, with the exception of Wharton, they are old friends; and it would not do to take a pleasure ramble, with poor Edgerton here, and not make him a party."

There was an earnest intensity of gaze, almost amounting to a painful stare, in Julia's eyes, as I said these words. She really seemed distressed.

"But really, Edward, our pleasure ramble is not such a one as would make it a duty to invite your friends. How difficult it seems for you to understand me. Could not we two stroll a piece into the woods without having witnesses?"

"Why, is that all? Why then should you have made a formal appointment for such a purpose? Could we not have gone as before--without premeditation?"

The question puzzled her. She looked anxious. Had she answered with sincerity--with truth--and could I have believed her to have been sincere, how easy would it have been to have settled our difficulties.

Had she said--"I really wish to avoid Mr. Edgerton, whose presence annoys me--who will be sure to come--when you are sure to be gone--and whom I have particular reasons to wish not to meet--not to see."

This, which might be the truth, she did not dare to speak. She had her reasons for her apprehension. This, which was reasonable enough, I could not conjecture; for the demon of the blind heart was too busy in suggesting other conjectures. It was evident enough that she had secret motives for her course, which she did not venture to reveal to me; and nothing could be more natural, in the diseased state of my mind, than that I should give the worst colorings to these motives in the conjectures which I made upon them. We were destined to play at cross-purposes much longer, and with more serious issues.

Our friends came, and we set forth in the pleasant part of the afternoon. We ascended our hill, and resting awhile upon the summit, surveyed the prospect from that position. Then I conducted the party through some of our woodland walks, which Julia and myself had explored together. But I soon gave up the part of cicerone to Wharton, who was to the "MANOR BORN." He was a native of the neighborhood, boasted that he knew every "bosky dell of this wild wood" and certainly conducted us to glimpses of prettiest heights, and groves, and far vistas, where the light seemed to glide before us in an embodied gray form, that stole away, and peeped backward upon us from long allies of the darkest and most solemn-sighted pines.

"But there is a finer spot just below us," he said--"a creek that is like no other that I have ever met with in the neighborhood. It is formed by the Alabama--is as deep in some places, and so narrow, at times, that a spry lad can easily leap across it."

"Is it far?"

"No--a mile only."

"But your wife may be fatigued, Clifford?" was the suggestion of Kingsley. She certainly looked so; but I answered for her, and insisted otherwise. I met her glance as I spoke, but, though she looked dissatisfaction, her lips expressed none. I could easily conjecture that she felt none. She was walking with Edgerton--and while all eyes watched the scenery, he watched her alone. I hurried forward with Kingsley, but he immediately fell behind, loitered on very slowly, and left Wharton and myself to proceed together. I could comprehend the meaning of this.

My demon made his suggestion.

"Kingsley suspects them--he sees what you are unwilling to see--he is not so willing to leave them together."

We reached the stream, and wandered along its banks. It had some unusual characteristics. It was sometimes a creek, deep and narrow, but clear; a few steps farther and it became what, in the speech of the country, is called a branch; shallow, purling soft over a sand-bed, limpid yellow, and with a playful prattle that put one in mind of the songs of thoughtless children, humming idly as they go. The shrubbery along its (sic) seemed to follow its changes. Where the bluffs were high, the foliage was dense and the trees large. The places where its waters shallowed, were only dotted with shrub trees and wild vines, which sometimes clambered across the stream and wedded the opposing branches, in bonds as hard to break as those of matrimony. The waters were sinuous, and therefore slow. They seemed only to glide along, like some glittering serpent, who trails at leisure his silvery garments through the woods quietly and slow, as if he had no sort of apprehension.

When we had reached a higher spot of bluff than the rest, Wharton, who was an active rather than an athletic man, challenged me to follow him.

He made the leap having little s.p.a.ce to spare. I had not done such a thing for some years. But my boyhood had been one of daring. The school in which I had grown up had given me bodily hardihood and elasticity; at all events I could not brook defiance in such a matter, and, with moderate effort, succeeded in making a longer stride. I looked back at this moment and saw Julia, still closely attended by Edgerton, just about emerging into view from a thick copse that skirted the foot of a small hill over which our course had brought us. I could not distinguish their features. They were, however, close together. Kingsley was on their right, a little in advance of them, but still walking slowly. I pointed my finger toward a shallow and narrow part of the stream as that which they would find it most easy to cross. A tree had been felled at the designated point, and just below it, in consequence of the obstructions which its limbs presented to the easy pa.s.sage of the water, several sand bars had been made, by which, stepping from one to the other, one might cross dryshod even without the aid of the tree.

Kingsley repeated my signal to those behind him, and led the way. I went on with Wharton, without again looking behind me.

But few minutes had elapsed after this, when I heard Julia scream in sudden terror. I looked round, but the foliage had thickened behind me, and I could no longer see the parties. I bounded backward, with no enviable feelings. My apprehensions for my wife's safety made me forgetful of my suspicions. I reached the spot in time to discover the cause of her alarm.

She was in the midst of the stream, standing upon one of the sandflats, steadying herself with difficulty, while she supported the whole form of William Edgerton, who lay, seemingly lifeless, and half buried in one of the sluices of water which ran between the sandrifts. I had just time to see this, and to feel all the pangs of my jealousy renewed, when Kingsley rushed into the water to his rescue. He lifted him out to the banks as if he had been an infant, and laid him on the sh.o.r.e. I went to the relief of Julia, who, trembling like a leaf, fainted in my arms the moment she felt herself in safety.

The whole affair was at that time unaccountable to me. It necessarily served to increase my pangs. Had I not seen her with my own eyes tenderly supporting the fainting frame of the man whom I believed to be my rival--whom I believed she loved? Had I not heard her scream of terror announcing her interest in his fate--her apprehensions for his safety? His danger had made her forgetful of her caution--such was the a.s.surance of my demon--and in the fullness of her heart her voice found utterance. Besides, how was I to know what endearments--what fond pressure of palms--had been pa.s.sing between them, making them heedless of their course, and consequently, making them liable to the accident which had occurred. For, it must be remembered, that the general impression was that Edgerton's foot had slipped, and, falling into the stream while endeavoring to a.s.sist Julia, he had nearly pulled her in after him. His fainting afterward we ascribed to the same nervous weakness which had induced that of Julia. On this head, however, Kingsley was better informed. He told me, in a subsequent conversation, that he had narrowly observed the parties--that, until the moment before he fell, the hands of the two had not met--that then, Edgerton offered his to a.s.sist my wife over the stream, and scarcely had their fingers touched, when Edgerton sank down, like a stone, seemingly lifeless, and falling into the water only after he had become insensible.

All was confusion. Mine, however, was not confusion. It was commotion--commotion which I yet suppressed--a volcano smothered, but smothered only for a time, and ready to break forth with superior fury in consequence of the restraint put upon it. This one event, with the impressive spectacle of the parties in such close juxtaposition, seemed almost to render every previous suspicion conclusive.

Julia was soon recovered; but the swoon of Edgerton was of much longer duration. We sprinkled him with water, subjected him to fanning and friction, and at length aroused him. His mind seemed to wander at his first consciousness--he murmured incoherently. One or two broken sentences, however, which he spoke, were not without significance in my ears.

"Closer! closer! leave me not now--not yet."

I bent over him to catch the words. Kingsley, as if he feared the utterance of anything more, pushed me away, and addressing Edgerton sternly, asked him if he felt pain.

"What hurts you, Mr. Edgerton? Where is your pain?"

The harsh and very loud tones which he employed, had the effect which I have no doubt he intended. The other came to complete consciousness in a moment.

"Pain!" said he--"no! I feel no pain. I feel feeble only."

And he strove to rise from the ground as he spoke.

"Do not attempt it," said Kingsley--"you are not able. Wharton, my good fellow, will you run back to town, and bring a carriage?"

"It will not need," said Edgerton, striving again to rise, and staggering up with difficulty.

"It will need. You must not overtask yourself. The walk is a long one before us."

Meantime, Wharton was already on his way. It was a tedious interval which followed before his return with the carriage, which found considerable difficulty in picking a track through the woods. Julia, after recovery, had wandered off about a hundred yards from the party. She betrayed no concern--no uneasiness--made no inquiries after Edgerton, of whose condition she knew nothing--and, by this very course, convinced me that she was conscious of too deep an interest in his fate to trust her lips in referring to it. All that she said to me was, that "she had been so terrified on seeing him fall, that she did not even know that she had screamed."

"Natural enough!" said my demon. "Had she been able to have controlled her utterance, she would have taken precious good care to have maintained the silence of the grave. But her feelings were too strong for her policy."

And I took this reasoning for gospel.

The carriage came. Edgerton was put into it, but Julia positively refused to ride. She insisted that she was perfectly equal to the walk and walk she would. I was pleased with this determination, but not willing to appear pleased. I expostulated with her even angrily, but found her incorrigible. Chagrin and disappointment were obvious enough on the face of William Edgerton.

I took my seat beside him, and left Kingsley and Wharton to escort my wife home. We had scarcely got in motion before a rash determination seized my mind.

"You must go home with me, Edgerton. It will not do, while you are in this feeble state, to remain at a public tavern."

He said something very faintly about crowding and inconveniencing us.