Wild Western Scenes Part 32

"Oh, she's dead!" said Mary.

"Dead? I know better!" said he, emphatically.

"Indeed she is, brother," repeated Mary, in tears.

"When did she die?" he continued, in a musing att.i.tude.

"A long time ago--when you were away," said she.

"I wasn't gone away long, was I?" he asked, with much simplicity.

"Oh, very long--we thought you were dead."

"He was a very bad Indian to steal me away without asking mother. But where's father? Is he dead, too?" he continued, lifting his eyes and beholding Roughgrove attired in a suit of velvet, and wearing broad silver knee buckles. "Father! father!" he cried, eagerly clasping the old man in his arms.

"My poor boy, I will be your father still!" said Roughgrove.

"I know you will," said the youth, "for you always loved me a great deal, and now that my poor mother's dead, I'm sure you will love sister and me more than ever."

"Indeed I will, poor child! But you must not go back to the naughty savages any more."

The youth gazed round in silence, and made no reply. He was evidently awakening to a consciousness of his condition. A frown of horror darkened his brow as he contemplated the scenes of his wild abode among the Indians; and, when he contrasted his recent mode of life with the Elysian days of his childhood, now fresh in his memory, mingled emotions of regret, fear, and bliss seemed to be contending in his bosom. A cold dampness settled upon his forehead, his limbs trembled violently, and distressful sighs issued from his heaving breast. Gradually he sank down on a couch at his side, and closed his eyes.

When some minutes had elapsed, during which a death-like silence was maintained, Mary approached lightly to where her father stood, and inquired if her brother was ill.

"No," said Roughgrove, in a whisper; "he only sleeps; but it is a very sound slumber."

"Now let us take off his Indian dress," said Glenn, "and put on him some of my clothes." This was speedily effected, and without awaking the youth, whose senses were benumbed, as if by some powerful opiate.

"Now, Mary," said Roughgrove, "you must likewise have repose. You are almost exhausted in body and mind. Sleep at your brother's side, if you will, poor girl." Mary laid her head on William's pillow, and was soon in a deep slumber.

For several moments Roughgrove stood lost in thought, gazing alternately at the reposing brother and sister, and Glenn. He looked also at Sneak and Joe reclining by the fire; both were fast asleep. He then resumed his seat, and motioned Glenn to do likewise. He bowed his head a brief length of time in silence, apparently recalling to mind some occurrence of more than ordinary import.

"My young friend," said he, at length, while he placed his withered hand upon Glenn's knee, "do you remember that I said there was _another_ secret connected with my family?"

"Distinctly," replied Glenn; "and I have since felt so much anxiety to be acquainted with it that I have several times been on the eve of asking you to gratify my curiosity; but thinking it might be impertinent, I have forborne. It has more than once occurred to me that your condition in life must have been different from what it now is."

"It has been different--far different. I will tell you all. I am a native of England--a younger brother, of an ancient and honourable family, but much decayed in fortune. I was educated for the ministry.

Our residence was on the Thames, a few miles distant from London, and I was early entered in one of the inst.i.tutions of the great city.

While attending college, it was my practice twice a month to visit my father's mansion on foot. I was fond of solitary musings, and the exercise was beneficial to my weak frame. It was during one of those excursions that I rescued a young lady from the rude a.s.saults of two ruffians. After a brief struggle, they fled. I turned to the one I had so opportunely served, and was struck with her unparalleled beauty.

Young; a form of symmetrical loveliness; dark, languishing eyes, a smooth forehead of lily purity, and auburn hair flowing in glossy ringlets--it was not strange that an impression should be made on the heart of a young student. She thanked me for my generous interposition in such sweet and musical tones, that every word thrilled pleasantly through my breast. She prevailed upon me to accompany her to her mother's cottage, but a few hundred paces distant; and during our walk thither, she hung confidingly on my arm. Her aged mother overwhelmed me with expressions of grat.i.tude. She mildly chid her daughter for wandering so far away in quest of flowers, and then withdrawing, left us alone. Again my eyes met those of the blushing maiden--but it is useless to dwell upon the particulars of our mutual pa.s.sion. Suffice it to say that she was the only child of her widowed mother, in moderate but independent circ.u.mstances, and being hitherto secluded from the society of the other s.e.x, soon conceived (for my visits were frequent) an affection as ardent as my own. At length I apprized my father of the attachment, and asked his consent to our union. He refused to sanction the alliance in the most positive terms, and commanded me never to mention the subject again. He said that I was poor, and that he would not consent to my marriage with any other than an heiress. I returned to London, resolved to disobey his injunction, for I felt that my happiness entirely depended upon my union with the lovely Juliet. But I had never yet definitely expressed my desire to her. Yet there could be no doubt from her smiles that my wishes would willingly be acceded to. I determined to arrange every thing at our next interview, and a few weeks afterwards I repaired to the cottage for that purpose. Instead of meeting me with her ever blissful face, I found my Juliet in tears! She was alone; but in the adjoining chamber I heard a man's voice, and feared that it was my father. I was mistaken. Juliet soon brushed away her tears, and informed me that she had been _again_ a.s.sailed by the same ruffians, and on the lawn within sight of the cottage. She said that the gentleman in the next room was her deliverer. I seized her hand, and when about to propose a plan to secure her against such annoyances for ever, her mother entered and introduced the stranger to me. His name was Nicholson, and he stated that he was a partner in a large banking establishment in Lombard Street. He was past the bloom of youth, but still his fine clothes and his reputed wealth were displeasing to me. I was especially chagrined at the marked attention shown him by Juliet's mother. And my annoyance was increased by the frequent lascivious glances he cast at the maiden. The more I marked him, the more was my uneasiness. It soon occurred to me that I had seen him before! He resembled a person I had seen driving rapidly along the highway in a chariot, on the morning that I first beheld my Juliet. But my recollection of his features was indistinct. There was a condescending suavity in his manners, and sometimes a positive and commanding tone in his conversation, that almost roused my enmity in spite of my peaceful calling and friendly disposition. It was my intention to remain at the cottage, and propose to Juliet after he had departed. But my purpose was defeated, for he declared his intention to enjoy the country air till evening, and I returned, disappointed and dispirited, to the city.

"A few days afterwards I visited the cottage again. What was my surprise and vexation to behold Mr. Nicholson there! He was seated, with his patronizing smile, between Juliet and her mother, and presenting them various richly bound books, jewels, &c., which seemed to me to be received with much gratification. I was welcomed with the usual frankness and pleasure by Juliet, but I thought her mother's reception was less cordial, and Mr. Nicholson regarded me with manifest indifference. I made an ineffectual effort at vivacity, and after an hour's stay, during which my remarks gradually narrowed down to monosyllables, (while Mr. Nicholson became excessively loquacious,) I rose to depart. Juliet made an endeavour to accompany me to the door, where I hoped to be a.s.sured of her true affection for me by her own lips, but some pointed inquiry (I do not now recollect what) from Nicholson, which was seconded in a positive manner by her mother, arrested her steps, and while she hesitated, I bad her adieu, and departed for the city, resolved never to see her again.

"It was about a month after the above occurrence that my resolution gave way, and I was again on the road to the cottage, with my mind made up to forgive and forget every thing that had offended me, and to offer my hand where my heart seemed to be already irrevocably fixed.

When I entered who should I see but the eternal thwarter of my happiness, the ever-present Nicholson! But horror! he was now the wedded lord of Juliet! The ceremony was just over. There were but two or three strangers present besides the clergyman. Bride, groom, guests, and all were hateful to my sight. The minister, particularly, I thought had a demoniac face, similar to that of one of the ruffians who had tested the quality of my cane. Juliet cast a look at me with more of sadness than joy in it. She offered me her hand in silent salutation, and it trembled in my grasp. The deed was done. Pity for the maiden who had been thus sacrificed to secure a superabundance of wealth which could never be enjoyed, and sorrow at my own forlorn condition, weighed heavily, oh, how heavily! on my heart. I returned to my lonely and desolate lodgings without a malicious feeling for the one who had robbed me of every hope of earthly enjoyment. I prayed that he might make Juliet happy.

"But, alas! her happiness was of short duration. Scarce six months had pa.s.sed before Mr. Nicholson began to neglect his youthful and confiding bride. She had still remained at her mother's cottage, while, as she stated, his establishment was being fitted up in town for their reception. He at first drove out to the cottage every evening; but soon afterwards fell into the habit of visiting his bride only two or three times a week. He neither carried her into society nor brought home any visitors. Yet he seemed to possess immense wealth, and bestowed it upon Juliet with a liberal, nay, profuse hand.

My young friend, what kind of a character do you suppose this Mr.

Nicholson to have been?" said the old man, pausing, and turning to Glenn, who had been listening to the narrative with marked attention.

"He was an impostor--a gambler," replied Glenn, promptly.

"He _was_ an impostor! but no adventurous gambler, as you suppose. I will proceed. About seven months after his marriage, he abandoned Juliet altogether! Yet he did not forget her entirely. He may have felt remorse for the ruin he had wrought--or perhaps a slight degree of affection for his unborn--; and costly presents, and many considerable sums of money, were sent by him to the cottage. But neither the aged mother nor the deserted wife found the consolation they desired in his prodigal gifts. They sent me a note, informing me of their distressful condition, and requesting me to ascertain the locality of Mr. Nicholson's establishment, and, if possible, to find out the cause of his unnatural conduct. I did all in my power to accomplish what they desired. I repaired to the cottage, unable to give the least intelligence of Mr. Nicholson. I had not been able to find any one who had ever heard of him. Juliet became almost frantic.

She determined to seek him herself. At her urgent solicitation, I accompanied her to the city in an open curricle. A pitying Providence soon terminated her insupportable suspense. While we were driving through Hyde Park, we were forcibly stopped to permit, among the throng, the pa.s.sage of a splendid equipage. The approaching carriage was likewise an open one. Juliet glanced at the inmates, and uttering a wild piercing shriek, fainted in my arms. I looked, and saw her quondam husband! He was decked in the magnificent insignia of ROYALTY.

n.o.bles were bowing, high-born ladies smiling, and the mult.i.tude shouted, 'There comes his royal highness, the Prince of--'

"Man cannot punish him," continued Roughgrove, "but G.o.d can. HE will deal justly, both with the proud and the oppressed. But to return. He saw Juliet. A few minutes after the gorgeous retinue swept past, one of the prince's attendants came with a note. Juliet was insensible. I took it from the messenger's hand, and started when I looked the villain in the face. He had been the parson! He smiled at the recognition! I hurled my cane at his head, and hastened back to the cottage with a physician in attendance. Juliet soon recovered from her swoon. But a frenzied desperation was manifest in her pale features. I left her in her mother's charge, and returned in agony to my lodgings.

That night a raging fever seized upon my brain, and for months I was the victim of excruciating disease. When convalescent, but still confined to my room, I chanced to run my eye over one of the daily papers, and was petrified to see the name of Mrs. Nicholson, in the first article that attracted my attention, in connection with an attempt upon the life of the king! She had been seized with a fit of temporary insanity, and driving to town, sought her betrayer with the intention of shedding his blood. She waited at the gate of St. James's palace until a carriage drove up in which she expected to find the prince. It was the king--yet she did not discover her error until the blow was made. The steel did not perform its office, as you are aware from the history of England, in which this event is recorded. The king humanely pardoned her on the spot. A single word she uttered acquainted him with her history, and her piteous looks made an extraordinary impression on his mind. He too, had, perhaps, sported with innocent beauty. And now the spectre of the weeping maniac haunted his visions. Soon he became one himself. The name of Juliet fortunately was not published in the journals. It was by some means incorrectly stated that the woman who attacked the king was named _Margaret_ Nicholson, and so it remains on the page of history.

"As soon as I was able to leave my chamber, I repaired to the cottage.

Juliet was a _mother_. Reason had returned, and she strove to submit with Christian humility to her pitiable lot. She received me with the same sweet smile that had formerly beamed on her guileless face. Her mother, the promoter of the fancied advantageous alliance, now seemed to suffer most. They both clung to me as their only remaining friend, and in truth I learned that all other friends had forsaken them. I looked upon the deceived, outraged, but still innocent Juliet, with pity. Her little cherub twins--"

"Twins!" echoed Glenn.

"Ay, twins," replied Roughgrove, "and they lie behind you now, side by side, on yonder bed."

Glenn turned and gazed a moment in silence on the sleeping forms of William, and Mary.

"Her poor little ones excited my compa.s.sion. They were not blamable for their father's crime, nor could they enjoy the advantages of his exalted station. They were without a protector in the world. Juliet's mother was fast sinking under the calamity she had herself in a great measure wrought. My heart melted when I contemplated the sad condition of the only female I had ever loved. It was not long before the fires of affection again gleamed brightly in my breast. Juliet had committed no crime, either in the eyes of man or G.o.d. She did not intend to err.

She had acted in good faith. She had never designed to transgress either the laws of earth or heaven, and although the disguised prince did not wholly possess her heart, yet she deemed it a duty to be governed by the advice of her parent. These things I explained to her, and when her conscience was appeased by the facts which I demonstrated, her peace in some measure returned, but she was still subject to occasional melancholy reflections. Perhaps she thought of me--how my heart had suffered (for, young as I was, the occurrence brought premature gray hairs; and even now, although my head is white, I have seen but little more than forty years)--and how happy we might have travelled life's journey together. I seized such a moment to renew my proposals. She declined, but declined in tears. I returned to the city with the intention to repeat the offer the next time we met.

Not many weeks elapsed before her aged mother was consigned to the tomb. Poor Juliet's condition was now immeasurably lamentable. She had neither friend nor protector. I again urged my suit, and was successful. But she required of me a promise to retire from the world for ever. I cheerfully agreed, for I was disgusted with the vanity and wickedness of my species. We came hither. You know the rest."

When Roughgrove ceased speaking, the night was far advanced, and a perfect silence reigned. Without uttering another word, he and Glenn rose from their seats, and repairing to the remaining unoccupied couch, ere long yielded to the influence of tranquil slumber.

CHAPTER XIV.

William's illness--Sneak's strange house--Joe's courage--The bee hunt--Joe and Sneak captured by the Indians--Their sad condition --Preparations to burn them alive--Their miraculous escape.

Just before the dawn of day, Roughgrove and Glenn were awakened by Mary. She was weeping at the bed-side of William.

"What's the matter, child?" asked Roughgrove, rising up and lighting the lamp.

"Poor brother!" said she, and her utterance failed her.

"He has a raging fever!" said Glenn, who had approached the bed and placed his hand upon the young man's temples.

"True--and I fear it will be fatal!" said Roughgrove, in alarm, as he held the unresisting wrist of the panting youth.

"Fear not," said Glenn; "G.o.d directs all things. This violent illness, too, may in the end be a blessing. Let us do all in our power to restore him to health, and leave the rest to Him. I was once an ardent student of medicine, and the knowledge I acquired may be of some avail."

"I will pray for his recovery," said Mary, bowing down at the foot of the bed.

"Dod--I mean--Joe, it's most daylight," said Sneak, rising up and rubbing his eyes.