Ellen Walton Part 2

"Thanks! thanks! May I but prove worthy of your friendship!"

Thus terminated his first attempt to win Ellen. His fall from the lover to a friend was the first step in a plot already matured. As a friend, he could ever have access to the heiress, and be received more familiarly than in any other capacity, save as an acknowledged lover. This familiarity would give him the opportunity of ingratiating himself into her affections, of which, finally, he felt certain.

He became a constant and frequent visitor at the mansion of the Waltons, and was ever received with cordiality. He let no opportunity pa.s.s unimproved to carry out his design. Goodness, benevolence, charity, were counterfeited most adroitly, until even Ellen began to think she had done him injustice by her suspicions. This is a favorable moment for a lover.

Prove that you have been dealt with unjustly, and a woman's heart is opened by sympathy to let you in. It was well for Ellen that her heart was already occupied, or this might possibly have been her fate. As it was, she became, insensibly and unintentionally, kind to Durant. He did not fail to notice the change, and his heart exulted in the prospect of complete success.

When he thought the proper time had arrived, he prepared the way, and again declared himself a lover, with more eloquence than before. Again his suit was gently declined; but this time he persevered until his importunities became unbearable, and with them, all Ellen's old prejudices returned, strengthened ten-fold. If he could and would force himself for weeks and months upon an unwilling victim of his importunities, and attempt by such means to force her to accept his hand, he was depraved enough for any other wickedness. So she plainly told him she could not and would not submit longer to his unreasonable conduct; that he must consider himself as finally, fully and unrecallably dismissed.

"And give up all hope--the hope that has sustained and given me life so long? Oh, think, Ellen, think of my misery, of the untold wretchedness into which you plunge me, and let your heart, your kind, generous heart, relent!"

"Mr. Durant, I have told you often and often that it was impossible for me to love you, and that it was kindness to tell you so. If you have disregarded my oft repeated declaration, the truth of which you must long ere this have been convinced, the fault is yours, not mine."

"I know you have so spoken often, but still I have dared to hope. I loved too fervently for the pa.s.sion ever to die before you denied me hope. Think of all these things, and then recall your words."

"You have repeated them so frequently, that I could not well avoid thinking of them whether I chose to or not. Let me now say, once for all, that importunities are utterly useless, and can prove of no avail."

"Then I am to understand you as casting me off from your presence; and this being the _end_ of your kindness, may I ask what was the _object_ of that kindness?"

"I always endeavor to do unto others as I would have them do to me. If you think such a course wrong, I cannot help it."

"Then you would wish some person, who had the power, to show you all manner of good will, until your affections were won, and so firmly fixed as to be unalterable, and then cast you off?"

"No, I should be far from desiring such conduct on the part of any one."

"And yet that is your way of 'doing as you would be done by!'"

"I am not aware of ever having done so; if I have been the unwitting instrument of such acts, I am truly sorry for it."

"Then let your sorrow work repentance."

"Tell me how, and I will try to do so."

"You cannot be ignorant of my meaning."

"I am totally at a loss to know how your remarks can apply to me, in any way."

"Then I will speak plainly. Your actions for the last few months have been such as to bid me hope for a return of my love, and allured by that hope, founded on those actions, I have placed my affections so strongly, that I fear it will be death to tear them away. As you have caused me to love, is it demanding more than justice that I should ask you to at least _try_ to love me in return?"

"Mr. Durant, you know that your accusations are untrue. Did you not just tell me that you loved before you ever spoke to me on the subject? and have you not repeatedly, aye, a hundred times, told me I was cold toward you, ever evincing a want of cordiality? How, then, can you have the face to ask a return of love on this score? Since you have been at such pains to make out so contradictory a case, I will say that you but lessen yourself in my esteem by the attempt!"

"I see, alas, you are a heartless coquette!"

"Because I will not place the half of my father's wealth in your possession. I have read your motive from the beginning, sir, and have only refrained from telling you my mind, because I make it a rule to have the good will of a dog, in preference to his ill will, when I can. But as your conduct to-day has removed the last thin screen from your real character, and revealed your naked depravity of heart, I care not even for your friendship. You know, you _feel_, that you are a degraded wretch, and that you are unworthy of the society of the virtuous."

"Madam, those words just spoken have sealed your fate! Dog as I am, I have the power to work your ruin, and _I will do it_! I go from your presence a bitter and unrelenting foe! The love you have rejected has turned into bitterness, and the dregs of that bitterness you shall drink till your soul sickens unto death! I will never lose sight of you! Go where you may, I will follow you! Hide in what corner of the world you may, I will find you!

When you meet me, remember I am an implacable enemy, seeking revenge!"

"Go, vile miscreant, from my presence! Think not to intimidate me. Better an 'open enemy than a secret foe.' I am glad you have unmasked yourself so fully. Now I know that I have escaped the worst fate on earth."

"Not the worst! To be the wife of even a villain is better than to be his victim!"

"Leave my presence, sir, or I will call a slave to put you out! Infamous wretch! The curse of G.o.d be upon you!"

He went, quailing under the flash of her indignant eye, which made his guilty soul cower in abas.e.m.e.nt.

When he was fairly gone, her high strung energies relaxed, and the reaction prostrated her strength. She sunk upon a lounge, and, giving way to her feelings, exclaimed:

"That man may yet work the ruin of my happiness! Oh, G.o.d, pity me, and let not the wicked triumph! In Thee I put my trust. Let thy watchful eye be over me, and thy power protect me. Oh, let me not fall into the hands of my enemy; but preserve me by thy right hand, and keep me lifted up!"

Prayer gave her strength, and renewed her courage. Relying, with firm faith, on the goodness and watchful care of her Father in heaven, she became cheerful and composed.

She very seldom saw or heard anything of Durant, but when she did, it always awakened fear. For a year she heard nothing of him, and, at last, the old dread had pa.s.sed from her heart, when her father prepared to go to the West.

As for Durant, he went from her presence muttering curses and threatening vengeance, among which was distinguished by a slave, grated out between his clenched teeth, "I'll make her repent this day's work in 'sack-cloth and ashes!' aye, if all h--ll oppose!"

CHAPTER III.

THE VILLAIN AND HIS VICTIM.

The reader has, doubtless, arrived at the conclusion that Durant was planning the destruction of Ellen Walton when he so earnestly desired the a.s.sistance of Miss Fleming; and it will now be perceived how false were his statements in relation to the _character_ of the expected guest. Though unseen himself, he had taken every precaution to make certain of the party at the Fleming Hotel; and just at the close of day he had the satisfaction of seeing his efforts crowned with success. General Walton, influenced by the tales his daughter's foe had whispered to him in confidence, pa.s.sed by the more elegant houses, which, but for defaming reports, he would have preferred making his abode during his short stay in the place, and took lodgings at the "Fleming."

Eliza Fleming made the acquaintance of her young female guest, and every fresh insight into Miss Walton's character made her regret the hard necessity she was under of doing her an injury. She had a hard struggle in her mind, but at length her determination was fixed. To procure the ruin of the innocent guest, (for she had thoroughly satisfied herself that Miss Walton _was_ innocent and virtuous,) whom every obligation of hospitality required her to protect, was indeed d.a.m.nable; but to forfeit the hand of Durant under the circ.u.mstances was impossible, and not to be thought of.

Poor Ellen! Heaven shield thee!

Durant was not seen by any of the Waltons, as it was his object to keep them in entire ignorance of his proximity until such time as he chose to reveal himself. Miss Fleming knew where to find him; and, according to agreement, met him during the evening, to arrange some matters connected with the plot.

"Louis, you have required too much at my hands in this affair. I fear I shall not be able to comply with the terms of agreement."

"Then return my written promise of marriage, and live to be despised and a by-word among men! I thought the matter was definitely settled, and that you had resolved to save your own honor and name at every hazard."

"But is this my only hope?"

"Yes, as true as there is a G.o.d in heaven, it is. I will forsake you forever unless you comply with my wishes in this affair."

"Then I must name some conditions, to which I shall demand the strictest compliance on your part."

"Name them."

"In the first place, then, to avoid the possibility of noise or mishap, I will give the lady a potion, which will stupefy her faculties, and cause a deep sleep to lock up all her senses for the s.p.a.ce of three or four hours.

I will so arrange it, that these hours shall be from eleven to three o'clock, and what is done must be accomplished between those periods of time. You shall, therefore, not enter number seventeen until after eleven o'clock, and you must positively leave it before three; and you shall not let your victim know what transpires at this house until after the Waltons have left the city. Do you consent to these terms?"

"I suppose I must."

"Then the matter is settled. Remember the hours; I shall know if my injunctions are disregarded, and you will fare the worse for it."