} 
 
\ 
 
VIOLA; 
 
 0B» 
 
 ADVENTURES IN THE FAR SOUTH-WEST 
 
 BY EMERSON BENNETT, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "CLARA MORELAND," "THE FORGED WILL," "THK 
 PIONEER'S DAUGHTER," " WALDE- WARREN/' ETC., ETC. 
 
 "We consider this altogether the best fiction which Mr. Bennett has yet written. In 
 Baying this, we pay him the highest possible compliment, as he has long been one of the 
 most popular of American novelists. His publisher has done every thing that was possi- 
 ble to add to the public desire for the work, having issued it in a very handsome style, so 
 that its dress might not disgrace its merits. Viola is destined to have an immense sale " 
 — Ladies' National Magazine. 
 
 " It is written with a great deal of spirit ; it abounds in stirring incidents and adven- 
 tures, has a go'd love-plot interwoven with it, and is a faithful representation of Life in 
 the Far South- West. Mr. Bennett is destined to great popularity, especially at the South 
 and West. His publisher has issued tliis book in a very handsome style." — Philaddphia 
 Svening BulUtin. 
 
 |) I) X I a b ie I p f) i a : 
 T. B. PETERSON AND BROTHERS, 
 
 306 CHESTNUT STREET. 
 
Ektewd aGCO>dmg:to A-Ct-of dongreaSv in the year 1852, by 
 
 EMERSON BENNETT, 
 
 In the Clork's Office of the District Court of the United States, 
 in aud for the Eastern District of Pennsylvania. 
 
TO 
 
 JAMES W. NEWLIN, ESQ., 
 
 OF PHILADELPHIA, 
 
 THIS STORY, " 
 
 IS SINCERELY INSCRIBED, 
 
 (7; 
 W69512 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 Mtbelt, 11 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 A Strange Companion, and a Startling Incident, - 18 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 Ludicrous and Mtsterious, 32 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 Hablet, 44 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 Viola, 52 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 Perplexity and Mystery, 62 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 The Disguise, 75 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 Incidents, 83 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 In Love, 91, 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 Thb By-boad lOS 
 
 1* (9) 
 
10 CONTENTS. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 More Mystery, 112 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 Suspicions and Certainties, 120 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 D'ESTANG ViLLE 128 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 Mistress Anne, 140 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 Mysteries of the Tower, 150 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 A Noble Prisoner, 166 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 A Disclosure, 180 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 The Escape, 193 
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 The Attack 204 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 Conclusion, 214 
 
VIOLA; 
 
 ADVENTURES IN THE FAR SOUTH-WEST. 
 
 CHAPTER L . 
 
 MYSELF. 
 
 " Away ! away ! away ! three cheers for freedom ! and 
 ho for the sunny South !" 
 
 Such was my mental exclamation, as I stood on the 
 hurricane deck of one of the finest and fastest of those 
 grand " floating palaces" of the West, and beheld the 
 beautiful city of Louisville, Kentucky, receding from my 
 view. I could have shouted aloud for joy — I felt such ar- 
 dent exultation. I was just in the prime of life, full of 
 romance, in good health, in glorious spirits, and bound for 
 adventure. I was free, free as the winds of heaven, to 
 roam wheresoever my fancy inclined. More than a month 
 had elapsed since I had bidden adieu to my friends iu the 
 Old Dominion, and the first keen pang of separation was 
 now over. Not that I had forgotten those I had left be- 
 hind me — oh, no — memory of them could only cease with 
 death ; but the pain of parting was beginning to be dulled 
 by absence, and I felt like enjoying the present with my 
 
 (11) 
 
12 VIOLA. 
 
 whole soul, and trusting to God for the future. That 
 future ! that unrecorded point of time ! shut in by a veil 
 through which no mortal eye can penetrate ! — could I then 
 have seen it — could I then have known — But let me not 
 anticipate. 
 
 From my youth up, I had longed for novelty — to travel — - 
 to go abroad and see the world for myself — and now the 
 great desire of my life was being gratified. And so it 
 would have been years before, could I have had my own 
 way ; but I was under age, and my father inexorable. 
 
 "Wait, sir!" he would say, whenever I advanced the 
 pj-oposition.: .*vyx)U .are a boy yet — a foolish boy — and 
 don't know your own mind. Wait, sir, till you have at- 
 tained ycur majority ; and then you will be your own 
 master, and can do as you please." 
 
 "And depend upon it, father," I would reply, not alto- 
 gether in the most amiable mood — " depend upon it, I shall 
 make good use of my freedom !" 
 
 And here, reader, as I trust we are to make a pleasant 
 pilgrimage together, it may be as well that you know some- 
 thing of one who is to be your companion. I know nothing 
 of you, it is true ; but I see no good reason why you should 
 be alike ignorant of myself — more especially as I am ex- 
 tremely anxious to get into your good graces at the start. 
 I will not detain you long, for I abhor a family yarn, spun 
 out to the length and with the minuteness of the log of a 
 three years' cruiser ; and besides, we shall have amusement 
 and adventure enough on our journey, to fully occupy our 
 time. Without more circumlocution, consider yourself 
 seized by the button. 
 
 In the first place, let me tell you, that we in the " Old 
 Dominion," have a certain affinity to the moon — insomuch 
 as, in no small degree, we shine by reflected light — or, in 
 other words, our standard of respectability is established 
 
MYSELF. 13 
 
 by our ancestors ; and as the gre^t majority of us are all 
 of the ^' first families," the precedence of superiority is 
 only accorded to the longest lineage. In this regard, if in 
 no other, I am about as respectable an acquaintance, of 
 home production, as you will be likely to find. I genea- 
 logically belong to that honorable class of individuals, 
 known as the Cavaliers, who migrated to this country in 
 the time of Cromwell ; and therefore, when at home, I 
 boast of the best blood of Old Virginia — though abroad I 
 find it just as well to say nothing about it. 
 
 My father inherited the name of Walton, and, at the 
 death of his father, an estate worth fifty thousand dollars, 
 exclusive of blacks enough to work the plantation — so that 
 in the good things of this world, it may be said he had a 
 very fair share at the start. He married- an estimable and 
 accomplished lady, who bore him three children — two 
 daughters, and your humble servant. Alas ! to give me 
 life, her own was sacrificed, and therefore I never enjoyed 
 the blessing of beholding my lamented mother. My infancy 
 was taken charge of by a black nurse ; and as I grew in 
 years and knowledge, my afi'ections were pretty equally 
 divided between Old Moll, as we termed her, and my near- 
 est kin. If I was in trouble, who so ready to listen to my 
 childish sorrows as Old Moll ? and who so ready with kind 
 and soothing words ? If I wanted a particular favor of 
 my father. Old Moll was the medium through which I ob- 
 tained it. If I was guilty of a wrong action, and my 
 father sought to correct me, you should have seen Old 
 Moll interpose her black, burly figure between me and my 
 paternal ancestor, and beg me off" with some such words as 
 these : 
 
 " N-n-now don't please, Massa Wal'on, dis time, don*t ! 
 Little Hal not well : 'deed and 'deed he berry sick, massa !-^ 
 he cotch eber so much cold all last night, de poor chile !— 
 
14 VIOLA. 
 
 'sides, massa, he got 'flammatory information of de stomach, 
 de bowels, de congections ; and he neber do so agin, no 
 more, I pledge you my word 'n honor, true as gospel I" 
 and seeing the least relentment on the part of my father, 
 she would generally establish a peace, by catching me up 
 into her arms and beating a hasty retreat from the seat of 
 war. 
 
 I did not always escape unscathed, it is true; for some- 
 times the ridiculous pleadings of Molly made me laugh out- 
 right ; and then I generally got the punishment I deserved. 
 Poor Old Moll ! how I loved her ! and even now I recall 
 her good-natured ebony visage, with tears in my eyes. 
 
 As the reader has, doubtless, anticipated, I was christened 
 Henry ; but for a long time I answered to no other appel- 
 lation than Hal, generally with the adjective, little, pre- 
 fixed ; and to this day, with a stature of nearly six feet, 
 and a weight of thirteen stone, the elder citizens of Swans- 
 down would never think of greeting me save as Little Hal. 
 Among ray playmates and schooll-fellows, I was sometimes 
 termed Harry ; but they generally adopted the shortest 
 nick-name ; and as for Henry, I never heard myself ad- 
 dressed so but once, and then by a very staid, precise, and 
 venerable Methodist preacher. For the matter of being 
 called Henry,^I might as well have been christened Bar- 
 tholomew, Nicodemus, or Nebuchadnezzar. 
 
 As for my education, it was tolerably fair, as the world 
 goes. I was never much of a book-worm : but I could 
 fence, box, wrestle, dance, run, jump, ride a horse, shoot 
 a rifle, and play whist or the fiddle, billiards or the banjo, 
 with the best of them, I fear the reader will think none 
 the better of me for these " vanity- fair" accomplishments ; 
 but I must speak the truth, and console myself with the 
 reflection, that if he don't like me as I am, it is a very 
 easy matter for him to cut my acquaintance. As to per- 
 
MYSELF. .15 
 
 sonal appearance, Old Moll always asseverated, that "young 
 Massa Wal'on was jest de hamsomest buck in all Wargin'a," 
 which was equivalent to saying in all the world, for her 
 geographical knowledge extended not beyond the limits of 
 the Old Dominion. As I never disputed her on this point 
 when at home, I see no good reason for quarrelling with her 
 opinion now that we are separated. 
 
 My twenty-first anniversary, I flatter myself, was cele- 
 brated in a style worthy of my ancestors and their de- 
 scendants. The next day I felt unwell, and kept my bed ; 
 the second I was convalescent, much to my own delight 
 and Old Moll's, who, out of pure kindness, would have 
 killed me in a week with soups and gruel. My father now 
 called me into the library, and said : 
 
 " Well, Hal, you are free ; and at my banker's, in Rich- 
 mond, you will find ten thousand dollars deposited to your 
 order. Is that satisfactory ?" 
 
 *' It will do for the present," I answered. 
 
 " Well, what do you intend to set yourself about first ?" 
 
 " Packing my trunks ; paying my score, and takijig leave 
 of my friends." 
 
 "You are determined to go abroad, then?" 
 
 " With your permission." 
 
 " I have no control over you now. But for what part 
 of the world are you bound?" 
 
 " I have not yet decided." 
 
 " Well, my son, may the good God watch over, and 
 heaven's blessings attend you!" and my father walked out 
 of the library at a quicker pace than usual. 
 
 In a week every thing was prepared for my jourrtey, and 
 one fine morning I found myself taking leave of my friends. 
 The trial was more severe than I had anticipated — but I 
 was not one to falter in my resolution. I shook hands all 
 round, and spoke the parting words in as strong a voice as 
 
l6 VIOLA. 
 
 I could command. I felt a choking in my throat, and I 
 tried to choke it down, but that only made it worse. My 
 father hemmed, coughed, tried to sneeze, and finally ended 
 by applying his handkerchief to his nasal organ, and mut- 
 tering something about having caught a severe cold. My 
 sisters wept — the blacks generally blubbered — but as for 
 poor Old Moll, she yelled outright with hysterical emotion, 
 and declared her old heart was " just broke into twenty 
 hundred pieces," and that "she'd die 'trait off 'fore de broke 
 of 'nudder day." 
 
 At last I was off; and the rumble of the vehicle, that 
 bore me swiftly away from the scenes of boyhood — from 
 the scenes that I loved — from home and its associations — 
 seemed to strike on my heart like a death knell. I lay 
 back in the carriage ; and now that there were none to 
 witness my emotion, I gave full vent to my pent up feel- 
 ings, and paid a tribute to the past, and the friends behind 
 me, in a flood of tears. 
 
 On quitting my native land, I took with me one living 
 remembrancer of by-gones, in the shape of a stout, healthy, 
 good tempered negro servant. I had selected Tom for 
 several reasons. In the first place, he was about my own 
 age, and had long served a*- as a valet de chamhre ; we 
 had become mutually attached; and though some may 
 smile to hear the assertion, yet it is no less true, we loved 
 each other as brothers, but without overstepping the nicely 
 drawn line of distinction between master and slave. In 
 the second place, Tom was shrewd, intelligent, though 
 negrofied, and knew exactly how to humor me. In the 
 third place, he was not unlike myself, bold, daring, fear- 
 less, and had besides a rich vein of humor running through 
 his ebony composition. In the fourth place, like the law- 
 yer's sixteen reasons, each one of which was conclusive, I 
 30uld not do without him. 
 
MYSELF. 17 
 
 And now, having introduced myself to you, reader, with 
 such little etcetera as I have deemed proper, if you like 
 me well enough to accept me for a travelling companion, 
 rest assured it shall not be my fault if we do not part 
 friends at the end of the journey. 
 
CHAPTER 11. 
 
 A STRANGE COMPANION, AND A STARTLING INCIDENT. 
 
 As I have said in the opening of this narrative, that more 
 than a month had elapsed since bidding farewell to my 
 friends, I have not thought best to trouble the reader with 
 any detail of my journey thus far, more especially as no 
 incidents occurred on my way hither worthy of note. Con- 
 sider me therefore still on the hurricane deck of the Nep- 
 tune, and bound for a southern clime. 
 
 It was a clear, delightful ^morning, in the beginning of 
 September, in the year of our Lord 1845. The sun had 
 risen in golden splendor, and now shone brightly down 
 upon the glassy bosom of La Belle Riviere, whose surface 
 was like a mirror, save where the rushing steamer threw 
 up a silvery spray, and sent a hundred tiny wavelets danc- 
 ing to the shore. A soft south breeze, sweeping over the 
 green hills of old Kentucky, gently fanned my brow, and 
 gave me invigorating relief from the recent heats of sum- 
 mer. I was, as I have said, in an exulting mood ; and as 
 I stood and gazed upon the green shores, and beheld here 
 and there a picturesque hamlet, on either land, I felt as if 
 I could love every body, and every thing ; and I poured 
 forth my gratitude in a silent prayer to the great Giver of 
 all good. 
 
 At length I turned to descend to the cabin, when I espied 
 my servant approaching me, accompanied by a very gen- 
 teel young man, dressed in black. 
 
 " Dat massa," said Tom, pointing to me ; and then, as 
 
 (18) 
 
A STRANGE COMPANION. 19 
 
 if his mission were finished, he made a low bow, and dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 The stranger approached me with a smile, a slight in- 
 clination of the head, and holding out his hand, said ; 
 
 " Mr. Walton, I hope you will allow me the pleasure of 
 renewing our acquaintance;" and then perceiving by my 
 look and. manner that he was not recognized, he added; 
 " You have forgotten me, I see ; but we have met before, 
 far away from this. My name is Harley — Morton Harley, 
 at your service." 
 
 I now remembered that one night at a ball in Swans- 
 down, I had been introduced to a stranger of that name ; 
 and I cheerfully made known my recognition, and cordially 
 shook his hand ; for the very fact that he had been once 
 in the village of my nativity, made him appear to me like 
 an old and valued friend. 
 
 " But how did you learn of my being aboard ?" I in- 
 quired. 
 
 " I saw your name on your baggage below, and made in- 
 quiry of your servant ; and it is with no affectation that I 
 say, I am rejoiced to meet you here. But tell me, Mr. 
 Walton, whither are you bound ?" 
 
 " That the future can alone determine," I replied, gaily ; 
 " my present destination is New Orleans." 
 
 " Then you have fixed on nothing beyond the Crescent 
 city." 
 
 " Not positively, though I have a leaning toward Mex- 
 ico. But I am free to go whithersoever my will inclines ; 
 and so I have plenty of adventure, I little care in what 
 part of the world I find it." 
 
 "Your hand, Mr. Walton !" said Harley almost enthu- 
 siastically. " I trust we shall ever be friends, and long 
 be travelling companions, I too am for adventure — for 
 novelty — for seeing strange places — strange faces — in 
 
20 VIOLA. 
 
 short, for anything that will drive from my mind — " He 
 stopped suddenly, a strange, dark, melancholy expression 
 swept over his pale features, and merely saying, "Excuse 
 me ! I am not well," he wheeled on his heel, and disap- 
 peared down the stairs leading to the oabin-guard. 
 
 I was so surprised by his singular manner, that I stood 
 staring after him for several moments, before the idea re- 
 curred to me that perhaps he was really ill, and that it was 
 my duty to follow and tender my services. I hurried down 
 to the cabin, and looked eagerly among the passengers, but 
 nowhere beheld the object of my search. Perceiving my 
 servant seated on a trunk, I hurried up to him. 
 
 " Tom," I said, " did that gentleman you conducted to 
 me, just now, enter the cabin ?" 
 
 " Didn't see him, massa." 
 
 " Go out on the guards, and see if you can find him ! 
 Make haste, and let me know, for the gentleman is ill." 
 
 Tom hurried away to execute my orders, but soon re- 
 turned, and in his peculiar way reported the gentleman 
 was not to be found, 
 
 " This is strange !" I mused — "very strange !" 
 
 An idea struck me ; and hastening to the clerk's oiSce, 
 I requested to know the number of Morton Harley's state- 
 room. The clerk looked over the register, and replied 
 that there was no such name entered on the book. Still 
 more surprised than ever, I went down stairs, and care- 
 fully searched the deck from bow to stern, but found no 
 trace of Morton Harley. I returned to the cabin, and sent 
 Tom to the hurricane deck, thinking it not improbable 
 Harley had gone back to find me. But all search proved 
 vain, my new acquaintance had suddenly and mysteriously 
 disappeared, and there was none to give me the least clue 
 to his whereabouts. I felt vexed and uneasy — vexed, that 
 he should leave me so abruptly — uneasy, lest something 
 
A STRANGE COMPANION. 
 
 serious had befallen him. Perhaps he has fallen overboard 
 and been drowned, I said to myself; and my spirits, but 
 now so buoyant, became greatly depressed in consequence. 
 At dinner I noted every man that took his seat at the ta- 
 ble — at supper I did the same — but the face of Harley was 
 not among them. I then questioned the steward and other 
 servants, if there were any one sick about the boat — but 
 all my answers were in the negative. 
 
 This completely quenched the last faint spark of hope I 
 had of ever beholding Harley again ; and seating myself 
 b; me of the now cleared tables, in the forward part of 
 tlj. cabin, I rested my head upon my hand, and gave way 
 to a gloomy reverie. 
 
 How long I sat there, lost to everything around me, I 
 do not know ; but I was finally aroused to a consciousness 
 of passing events, by some one touching me on the shoul- 
 der, and saying, in a bland tone : 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir, for disturbing you — but we have just 
 made up a party of whist, and all the tables forward are 
 occupied." 
 
 I started, as if suddenly awakened from a dream, and, 
 by a hasty glance around, perceived that the eyes of seve- 
 ral gentlemen were fixed upon me. Understanding more 
 from their looks, than the words of the speaker — which I 
 had heard, but only partially comprehended — that they re- 
 quired the table for their game, I arose, made a slight in- 
 clination of the head, and passed out of the cabin upon 
 the guards. 
 
 The night was clear and serene, and the azure vault of 
 heaven was sparkling with thousands on thousands of those 
 bright, mysterious luminaries of other worlds. I say mys- 
 terious, for none living have yet been able to soar to their 
 far ofi" abodes, on the wings of science, and make known 
 their organization and design. — Poets have imagined, phi- 
 
 2* 
 
22 VIOLA. 
 
 losophers have reasoned, and theologians have asserted, 
 these worlds to be what was most in accordance with their 
 varying idiosyncrasies; but neither the imagination of the 
 first, the reasoning of the second, nor the assertions of the 
 third, have established a single fact in regard to them. 
 There they shine, as they have shone for centuries — for 
 ages — the great, incomprehensible work of Him that was 
 before chaos, that will be forever. Science, which mea- 
 sures the sun, the moon, the earth, and all the planets — ■ 
 which tells us their distance from us and each other — the 
 time of their revolutions — the velocity with which they 
 travel through space — is utterly futile when brought to 
 bear upon them ; and man, with all his boasted knowledge, 
 when he seriously contemplates them, becomes bewildered 
 and lost in the boundless region of speculation. What 
 they are, and what their design, we shall never know in 
 time — eternity, perhaps, will reveal the great secret. 
 
 I turned my eyes to the starry firmament, and gazed up- 
 on it for more than an hour, in that peculiar frame of mind 
 I have attempted to describe. A cool night-breeze fanned 
 my heated temples, and gave relief to my aching brow ; 
 and the hoarse steam-notes of the rushing vessel, and the 
 rippling of the waters beneath, fell on my ear with a kind 
 of monotonous melody, that at length made me drowsy. I 
 arose, and after glancing at the placid river, the lights 
 here and there dancing on its dark bosom, the dim and un- 
 defined shores, I sought my state room, and a sweet sleep, 
 and a dream of home, proved a happy oblivion to the mor- 
 bid excitement of the day. 
 
 I arose on the following morning, greatly refreshed in 
 body and mind. As I was about sitting down to break- 
 fast, a hand was laid familiarly on my shoulder. I turned, 
 and judge of my astonishment, on beholding Harley stand- 
 ing by my side. For a moment or two I was too much 
 
STRANGE COMPANION. 23 
 
 surprised to speak ; and in that short space of time I sur- 
 veyed his person and features more minutely than ever 
 before. As he is destined to figure conspicuously in my 
 narrative, a brief description of his appearance and cha- 
 racteristics may not here be deemed improper. 
 
 In person he was slender, and slightly made — though in 
 reality he possessed a muscular power that belied his looks. 
 His stature was about five feet ten inches, and his age 
 some three or four and twenty, with an almost beardless 
 chin, that made him appear boyish and effeminate. His 
 features were regular and intellectual, but lacked what may 
 be termed manly beauty. His face was long and thin, 
 with a prominent nose, that was neither Roman, Grecian, 
 nor aquiline, and yet to a certain degree partook of each. 
 His mouth and chin were beautiful, and his bluish gray 
 eyes had in general a winning, fascinating expression, 
 though there were times when they exhibited a restless- 
 ness and wildness really painful to behold. His forehead 
 was high, full, and expansive, from which his light brown 
 hair was carefully brushed back, in the most approved 
 mode. He dressed well and richly, was very precise in his 
 toilet, and altogetheij^had a very distingue air. 
 
 Such is the tout ensemble of one who was destined to 
 exercise no trifling influence on my future career. Whether 
 he may be considered my good or evil genius, I leave the 
 reader to determine by the sequel. 
 
 That he was, in a great degree, a marked character, the 
 reader will readily credit from the specimen given. The 
 versatility of his mind exceeded that of almost any being 
 with whom it has ever been my fortune to come in contact. 
 That he was always sane, I very much question — though 
 if ever insane, there was a method in it. He was a natu- 
 ral musician — could sing delightifully, and play on almost 
 any instrument. He was also a poet by nature, and a 
 
24 VIOLA. 
 
 scholar by education. He was at times lively to excess, 
 and moody to misanthropy. He was by turns a humorist, 
 a practical joker, a sentimentalist, a satirist, a moralist, an 
 enthusiast, and always a fatalist. The more I saw of him, 
 the more difficult I found it to comprehend him. Nature 
 had made him a genius, but had never established a har- 
 monious equilibrium between his different faculties. How 
 one so eccentric in almost everything else, could be so pre- 
 cise in his toilet, was a matter that puzzled me to under- 
 stand as much as any other. 
 
 In short, he was a peculiarity — an oddity — a none-such 
 — and one every way calculated to suit me for a travelling 
 companion, inasmuch as I should never lack variety, never 
 die of ennui. 
 
 I will only add, that, as regarded his own history, he 
 was for sometime incommunicative ; and when I chanced 
 to touch on the subject, ever enshrouded himself in a veil 
 of mystery, that excited, while it baffled, my curiosity. 
 For the rest, I shall let him speak and act for himself. 
 
 "My dear sir," said Harley, gaily, smiling at my sur- 
 prise, " I am delighted to see you ! — how do you find your- 
 self this morning ?" and he seized and shook my hand with 
 as much heartiness as if we had just met after a year's 
 separation. 
 
 "In the name of the seven wonders," replied I, " where 
 have you been hiding for the last twenty-four hours ? for I 
 see and feel it is you, and no ghost, though I was just on 
 tlie point of ordering Tom to tie crape round my hat." 
 
 " But you thought it best to mourn on a full stomach, 
 eh?" pointing to the breakfast, which' was now ready. 
 " Come, sit down — the first table is better than the second, 
 to say nothing of the looks of the thing. There, now, we 
 can do two things at once — talk and eat. Waiter, a piece 
 of that steak, rare. So, Harry — excuse me I bat I muist 
 
A STRANGE COMPANION. 25 
 
 call you Harry, or I shall fancy I am talking to a stranger 
 — so you made a regular search for me, eh ! and then sat 
 down and said, ' I^oti est inventus V AYhy, man alive, I 
 ■was in my state-room, rolled up snug in the blankets, and 
 snoring away with a forty horse power. Coffee, boy — 
 strong — none of your dish-water now. Harry, I'll trouble 
 you for that omelet ; and while your hand is in, you may 
 pass those mashed potatoes, and the bread — these woolly- 
 headed servants are so confounded lazy. Ah ! excuse me I 
 I forgot that Tom was behind your chair ; but of course he 
 is an exception. By Jove ! it is glorious to eat — particu- 
 larly after a fast of twenty-four hours. Eh ! did you 
 speak?" 
 
 " Yes ! I was going to say, I made inquiry of the clerk 
 for your state-room, and he said there was no Morton Har- 
 ley on the register." 
 
 " Very likely — but you will find a Smith Jones there, or 
 a Jones Smith, I forget which." 
 
 "Do you then travel incognito?" 
 
 " I travel any way, but do not feel bound to write my 
 name in every old musty book, for a set of jackasses to 
 stare at. Besides, if this floating machine should blow up, 
 and I get killed, perhaps my name would be paraded in the 
 newspapers, to the grief of my friends and the joy of my 
 enemies; and some old woman would say, 'Poor fellow! 
 so he's dead at last.' Blown up in a steamboat ! think of 
 that, Harry ! What glory is there in such a death as that ? 
 Bah ! I would sooner not die at all." 
 
 "But why did you leave me so abruptly yesterday?" 
 
 " I was ill — one of my spells. When you see me in that 
 way, just let me alone ; nature is my best physician — for 
 the simple reason, that I am not ready to die yet — when I 
 am, I shall send for the faculty, and employ at least three, 
 to hasten the crisis. ' x\fter all, your doctors are a useful 
 
26 \^IOLA. 
 
 class ; for without them the world would get peopled too fast 
 — they are the safety-valves to a surplus population. Tom, 
 hand round my cup to that hlack imp yonder for some more 
 coffee, and give him a slight hint not to be all day about it. 
 Harry, I'll trouble you for that omelet once more. Thank 
 you ! By-the-bye, do you ever write ?" 
 
 " I have scribbled a little, though nothing to my credit," 
 I replied. " However, I have some thoughts of keeping a 
 journal of my adventures — that is, if I have any worth 
 recording." 
 
 " Good ! a capital idea ! excellent ! and I'll take care 
 you have something to write about. But, entre nou8, you 
 must make a character of me ! I must figure there, if only 
 to play second fiddle. You shall be Don Quixote, and I'll 
 be Sancho Panza, your chosen squire. On state occasions 
 I'll be your prime minister. Capital thing this writing, 
 and having the whole public to laugh at your jokes, smile 
 at your follies, and weep at your misfortunes. I had some 
 thoughts of turning author myself once ; but then it's such 
 a bore to write ; and besides, if you please yourself, ten to 
 one you don't any body else. Then if you publish, there 
 is a set of carping critics to come pouncing down upon you, 
 like a hawk upon a chicken ; and the more merit you have, 
 the greater fool they'll make you appear. They'll turn 
 your most honied words into gall, and all your eloquent 
 passages into rhodomontade. Your original ideas they'll 
 swear point blank are plagiarisms, and bring in the ghost 
 of some Greek, A^andal, or Goth, to prove it. If you make 
 one grammatical slip, they'll prove your ignorance in some- 
 thing less than a column ; and after destroying all your 
 good things, or ascribing them to some unheard of author, 
 they'll collect all your faults into a heap, like a cart-load of 
 old rubbish, and pile them upon your devoted head. Ossa 
 upon Pelion. If your sentences are all correct, smooth, 
 
A STRANGE COMPANION. 27 
 
 and beautiful, with well-rounded periods, they'll cry you 
 tame, monotonous, prosy; if you dash out in a bold, vigor- 
 ous manner, they'll make fun of your style, and give you 
 credit for being a lunatic. In short, say what you will, do 
 what you will, you are sure to be done for by these literary 
 Harpies, who will plunder you, mentally, as their name- 
 sakes did of old the table of Phineus. Bah ! I hate critics ; 
 for they dine on worm-wood, take nut-gall for dessert, and 
 use vinegar as a beverage." 
 
 Thus my new acquaintance rattled on, from one thing 
 to another, apparently at home on every topic ; and so 
 mingled humor, satire, and sentiment, that I never wearied 
 of listening to his conversation. Breakfast over, we re- 
 paired to the hurricane deck, to enjoy in freedom the 
 morning air. Some twenty of the passengers were already 
 before us, and were standing, sitting, or sauntering about, 
 as best suited their several inclinations. Harley selected 
 the most marked among them, and soon gave proof, by his 
 remarks, that he was a great adept in human nature. He 
 would look at a man a few moments, and then tell you all 
 his prominent characteristics, and even penetrate his very 
 thoughts, as he more than once convinced me by address- 
 ing the individual on the subject uppermost in his mind. I 
 might cite several instances, but I must pass on to more 
 important matters. 
 
 Whoever has travelled much on the "Western waters, 
 needs not to be told that gambling on the boats is a very 
 prominent feature ; and that, as a consequence, scenes 
 sometimes occur of a nature to make one's blood run chill 
 with horror. I will record one that came under my own 
 observation, and which, as the sequel will prove, had a 
 slight bearing on my subsequent history. 
 
 Among the passengers who, by some peculiarity of look 
 or manner, more particularly attracted our attention, (I say 
 
28 VIOLA. 
 
 ours, for Harley and I soon became almost inseparable,) was 
 a young man, of a wan, sallow, cadaverous countenance, who 
 seemed to be laboring under a disease which preyed more 
 or less upon his vitals. I had often remarked him stand- 
 ing near some one of the card-tables, and watching the game 
 with an intensity of look, I may term it eagerness of ex- 
 pression, which for one who had no interest in the stakes, 
 one who was merely a spectator like myself, seemed very 
 remarkable. I asked my friend what he thought of it. 
 
 " Sir," he replied, '' that young man has a natural pas 
 sion for gaming ; he has tried it more than once and lost ; 
 and he has secretly sworn never to touch another card. 
 Yes, sir, it is as diflBcult for him to resist the temptation 
 here offered, as it is for the habitual drunkard to push 
 back the poisonous stimulant held to his lips by the hand 
 of one he esteems his friend. God aid him in his virtuous 
 struggle ! for if he touches a card now, he is forever 
 ruined." 
 
 As he spoke, Harley approached the stranger, and shak- 
 ing his head, said, gravely, in one of his blandest tones : 
 
 "No, no, my friend, it will not do." 
 
 The invalid started, and turned upon Harley a look in 
 which surprise and gratitude were strangely blended. 
 
 "You are right," he replied, "and I thank your for the 
 caution ;" and turning upon his heel, he retired to a dis« 
 tant part of the saloon. 
 
 An hour later I again saw him by one of the tables — his 
 ruling passion was stronger than his will and reason. 
 From this moment I watched him more closely than ever ; 
 and I noted, with a feeling of commiseration, the painful 
 struggle going on in his mind. I had a presentiment that 
 his evil genius would ultimately triumph — and it did. It 
 was with pain I saw him marked out as a victim by more 
 than one professional gambler in the garb of a gentlemaa 
 
A STRANGE COMPANION. 29 
 
 For a day or two, however, all the overtures of these 
 gentry were met by a decided refusal ; and I had just be- 
 gun to indulge the hope that he would escape the fatal 
 snare, when, alas ! to my great regret, I saw him yield. 
 He sat down to the table, played almost recklessly for a 
 couple of hours, and arose winner to no inconsiderable 
 amount. His pale features were now flushed with triumph, 
 and his dark eyes had a wild, unsettled look, that showed 
 how powerfully his feelings were excited by the result. 
 He clutched his winnings with the eagerness of a mioer, 
 and, as if afraid to trust himself longer in such company, 
 darted away to his state-room. 
 
 "Alas !" said Harley, "he is lost; his success to-night 
 will be his ruin to-morrow ; it is the bait of the fowler." 
 
 The next night I saw the invalid take his place among 
 the gamblers at an early hour. As if expecting some ter- 
 rible catastrophe, those who had been in the habit of 
 playing at the different tables, now gathered around the 
 fated young man, and stood anxious spectators of the 
 scene in which he was taking a part. Not a word waa 
 spoken, and the silence was ominous and oppressive. I 
 stood where I could watch the countenance of the invalid, 
 as well as that of his adversary. The former was unusually 
 pale and haggard, with a nervous twitching of the muscles 
 about the mouth, and a glaring wildness of the eyes, that 
 was painful to bshold. Occasionally a deep flush would 
 pass over his thin, wasted features, and then, retreating 
 suddenly, leave them of a ghastly hue, with the exception 
 perhaps of a bright red spot on either cheek. It was an 
 awful sight to behold this battling of disease and the pas- 
 sions with the broken constitution of one already doomed ! 
 and I watched the game with a painful interest I had 
 never before eixperienced. In contradistinction to his 
 victim the professional gambler was cool, calm, collected, 
 
 3 
 
30 VIOLA. 
 
 and seemingly indifferent to all that was taking place. He 
 "knew his power and was using it with fatal precision. 
 Oh ! how I abhorred him from my very soul ! 
 
 The game commenced, and continued for an hour, with 
 success alternating between the two players. Then the 
 gambler began to win, and then the struggle of life and 
 death began with his victim, who, at the loss of every 
 stake, seemed to grow more and more desperate, till at last 
 his eyes glared and rolled horribly, and he exhibited all the 
 frenzy of a maniac. Another hour, and he was ruined — 
 his last cent was gone. 
 
 For a moment or two he glared at the pile of money, 
 which the gambler was already beginning to transfer to his 
 pocket; and then uttering a thrilling cry, something 
 between a shriek and a groan, he sprang to his feet and 
 dashed his hands violently against his temples, exclaiming, 
 
 " Oh ! my God ! my God ! what have I done V Ruined 
 my poor old mother ! gambled away her only dependence ! 
 Oh ! sir ! sir ! (to the gambler) give me back that money ! 
 it was not mine, it was not mine, sir ! I had no right to use 
 it — it was my mother's. Oh ! sir ! give it back to me, and 
 on my knees I will bless you, and pledge my soul's salva- 
 tion that I will never touch a card again ! If you will not 
 give me all, give me a part, for I am ruintd ;" and ao if 
 the word " ruined" conjured up madness, he made a spring 
 at the money, when the unfeeling wretch, who had won his 
 all, repulsed him with a blow, that staggered him back 
 against the wall. 
 
 I was too much excited to consider consequences, but 
 acting on the impulse of the moment, I raised my hand and 
 felled the gambler to the ground. I was about following 
 up my advantage, to give him a severer chastisement, when 
 a cry of horror from the crowd arrested my attention. I 
 sprang forward to ascertain the cause, and saw the invalid 
 
A STRANGE COMPANION. 3x 
 
 reclining against the wall, the most horrible spectacle I 
 had ever beheld. The excitement and the blow had caused 
 him to burst a blood-vessel, and the warm current of life 
 was now gushing from his mouth and nose, and he was 
 actually weltering in his own gore. A single moment he 
 sat thus ; and then gurgling forth, " My moth-er !" fell 
 over on his side a corpse. 
 
 I bent down to ascertain if he were dead, and the action 
 probably saved my life ; for at that moment the report of a 
 pistol startled the crowd ; and a ball, passing just over my 
 head, lodged in the side of the saloon. It was the work of 
 the gambler, who thus sought to take his revenge on me 
 for my interference. There was a general cry of, 
 
 "Lynch him! Lynch him !" But he had already 
 escaped — for the boat at the time was lying against the 
 shore to wood. 
 
 I made .inquiry of the clerk, and with the little he 
 knew, and the examination of some letters found in his 
 trunk, I learned the name of the young man, and that his 
 mother resided at a small village in Texas. I made a note 
 of all, and resolved, if I chanced in that vicinity, to visit 
 her, break the sad news of her son's death, and, should she 
 need, give her pecuniary aid. 
 
 The next day the victim was buried at a small island, 
 where we again stopped to wood. We followed him to his 
 humble grave ; and over his mortal remains I took a 
 solemn oath, that I would never gamble again. I had 
 been taught a lesson, that, to the latest day of my exis- 
 tence, I could never forget. 
 
CHAPTER III. 
 
 LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS. 
 
 Arrived at New Orleans, I decided on taking rooms at 
 the St. Charles, and making a short sojourn, in order to see 
 the city. My friend acquiesced in my decision, but said 
 that for himself there could be nothing new here, as he had 
 visited the city divers times before. 
 
 " But I can the better act as guide to you, therefore," 
 he concluded ; " so my dear Harry, leave all to me. I 
 will select the rooms, register the names, order everything, 
 and, if you like, be your private secretary." 
 
 " I do not understand you in the latter particular," I 
 answered. 
 
 *' No ? Well, no matter ; do you follow my counsel, 
 when I give any, and all will be well." 
 
 I had no reason to complain of the rooms my friend 
 selected, for they were among the best in that famous 
 hotel ; but one little incident that occurred shortly after my 
 establishing myself in them, I may as well relate, 
 en passant. 
 
 It was after nightfall when the Neptune arrived at the 
 landing ; and it might have been a couple of hours later, 
 that I found myself seated in a splendidly furnished parlor, 
 which had been assigned me, scanning the news of the day 
 from the columns of one of the local journals. I was 
 alone, for Harley had made some excuse to go out by him- 
 self. Presently a waiter entered, and bowing very obse- 
 quiously, said : • 
 (32) 
 
LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS. 33 
 
 " Will your lordship come down to supper, or have it 
 served here ?" 
 
 "^ will come down.*' 
 
 The waiter bowed and withdrew, and immediately after 
 :he gong sent its crashing notes through all the house. 
 
 At supper I could not but observe that very particular 
 attention was paid to me ; but I only thought to myself, 
 the proprietors of the St. Charles know how to make a 
 stranger feel at his ease and at home. On returning from 
 the table to my private parlor, Tom met me, and said, with 
 a grin : 
 
 "Massa Hal, I tink you got to be great man all a 
 sudden." 
 
 "What do you mean, Tom ?'* 
 
 " In dar, you see ;" and Tom pointed to my private 
 rooms, and grinned again. 
 
 I went in, and was somewhat surprised to find several 
 gentlemen apparently awaiting my return, for they all 
 rose on my entrance, and bowed obsequiously. Then the 
 foremost, or the one nearest me, advanced, and said, placing 
 his hand on his heart, and inclining his body to a bend he 
 intended should appear the height of politeness : 
 
 " My nam' is Jean Perouse. I sail have le grand 
 honeur to measure your lordship for one syit a la mode." 
 
 " Sir, I do not understand you ! this is some mistake," 
 I replied. 
 
 " No meestake your lordship, I do assure. I sail have 
 done in one little mineet;" and the man out with his 
 measuring tape, and began to apply it to my person, 
 adding : " It is all be right, your lordship — it is all be 
 right." 
 
 He was very expeditious, and said, as he finished, and 
 bowed himself out : 
 
 3* 
 
S4 VIOLA. 
 
 " To-morrow night, I sail have le grand honeur for to 
 send your lordship suit, a la mode. Adieu." 
 
 "Well, that is cool," thought I, as I stared after the 
 tailor. 
 
 " My name is Bantam, at your lordship's service," said 
 a voice at my elbow. 
 
 I turned, and beheld another of my visitors, a well- 
 dressed man, just in the act of making a low bow. 
 
 "My dear sir — " I began. 
 
 "It is all right, your lordship," he interrupted. " I am 
 a hatter, your lordship, and have called to take the mea- 
 sure of your lordship's head ;" and forthwith he proceeded 
 to cast a band around my cranium. 
 
 "But, sir— " 
 
 " Twenty-three inches," he interrupted again ; " all 
 right, your lordship. I will send round the hat to-morrow. 
 Meantime, I am your lordship's very humble servant;" 
 and with another low bow, he went out. 
 
 " Confound the fellows ! what do they mean ?" was my 
 mental exclamation ; but I had not time to say anything, 
 when up came the third, and, with the same obsequious air, 
 proceeded : 
 
 " My name is Smith, your lordship I am, by pro- 
 fession, a gentleman bootmaker. If ^ your lordship will 
 only be seated for a moment, I shall have the honor to 
 take the measure of your lordship's foot." 
 
 " My dear sir," I replied, beginning to get perfectly be- 
 wildered, " you shall have the honor of measuring both 
 feet, if you will only explain what all this means." 
 
 " It is all right, I do assure your lordship. Will your 
 lordship please to be seated, till I draw your lordship's 
 boot ?" 
 
 "But, sir! Mr. Jones — " 
 
 " Smith, sir-— Smith is my name, your lordship. Pray 
 
LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS. 35 
 
 don't confound me with the Jones's ! — the Jones's in my 
 line are only snobs." 
 
 " Well, Smith or Jones, snob or no snob, it is all one ko 
 me," I rejoined, half-angrily, though a good deal amused 
 in spite of myself. " But, sir, — Mr. Smith — there is some 
 error here." \ 
 
 " Oh ! no, your lordship ; it is all right, I do assure 
 
 you." 
 
 "But I do assure you it \¥not all right," I replied, 
 " and I think I ought to know best. In the first place, I 
 am no lord." 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Smith; "very good! clever! 
 very clever ! ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 "Are you a fool ? or a madman?" cried I, growing in- 
 dignant. 
 
 "Neither, your lordship," answered Smith, gravely, 
 " but only a gentleman boot-maker, at your lordship's ser- 
 vice. Will your lordship do me the honor to sit?" 
 
 " My lordship will do you the honor to kick you down 
 stairs, directly, if you persist in this foolery !" cried I. 
 
 " Nay, your lordship, on that, in this country, I could 
 found an action," answered Smith, quietly. 
 
 " Faith, man," said I, " I think you would find it an 
 action already /owwc^efi.- But tell me, now, seriously — who 
 do you take me for ?" 
 
 "A gentleman, your lordship," replied Smith. 
 
 " But why do you wish to measure my foot ?** 
 
 "To make your lordship a pair of boots." 
 
 "But I do not want any boots." 
 
 " All right, your lordship, if your lordship will please to 
 sit; I will scarcely detain your lordship a minute." 
 
 "Well, these fellows are either mad or I am," was my 
 reflection, as I threw myself on a sofa, and held out my 
 
36 VIOLA. 
 
 foot to Mr. Smith, who drew the boot and took the mea- 
 sure with great expedition. 
 
 There were two others still in the room, who had thus 
 far kept quietly back and said nothing ; but the moment 
 the gentleman boot-maker took his leave, one of these, a 
 small man, advanced rather timidly to where Iwas sitting. 
 
 ^' Well, sir ?" cried I, so savagely, that he started, and 
 took a step or two backward ; but seeming to gather new 
 resolution, he again venxured forward, and said, softly, 
 bobbing his head like a tip-up : 
 
 *' May it please your lordship, my name is Doty, at your 
 lordship's very humble service ; and understanding that 
 your lordship would like a carriage — " 
 
 The men are either mad, or they mean to insult me, I 
 thought ; and I sprung to my feet just as the word ' car- 
 riage' was trembling on Mr. Doty's lips; who, divining 
 no doubt from my looks that I intended to make an ex- 
 ample of him, left his speech unfinished, and broke for the 
 hall, which was the last I ever saw of hiuL. There was 
 still one remaining, and as I turned upon him, I saw he 
 looked very pale and uneasy, and began to edge toward 
 the door. I stood and watched him, till he got the door 
 between me and him, when, seeming to feel more at hia 
 ease, he ventured : 
 
 "Your lordship — " 
 
 But he ventured no further ; for seizing a chair, I made 
 at him, when, turning, he fled, with a yell of terror I shall 
 never forget. The last I saw of him, he was going down 
 stairs, three at a time, to the imminent danger of his legs 
 and neck, which fortunately all got off safe, at least I never 
 heard to the contrary. I now espied Tom, leaning against 
 the balustrade, and holding his sides ; and putting down 
 the chair, I walked up to him, and taking him by the arm, 
 led him quietly into my parlor. Then closing the door, I 
 
LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS. 37 
 
 grasped both arms, and shaking him till my own arms 
 ached, I exclaimed : 
 
 " So, boy, this is some of your doings, eh ? I'll teach 
 you to play pranks on your master, you rascal !" 
 
 "No, no, no," cried Tom, who by this time had found 
 his tongue ; " I neber did um, Massa Hal — trute — 'fore de 
 angels it is, massa." 
 
 " Who did do it then, you black imp ?" 
 
 " Don' know, Massa "Wal'on — 'less — 'less Massa Harley 
 do um." 
 
 The truth now flashed upon me ; and throwing ofif Tom, 
 with a force that sent him spinning round the room, I ex- 
 claimed : 
 
 " Yes, Harley is at the bottom of it — dunce that I am 
 not to have thought of him before." 
 
 As I said this, I heard a suppressed yell in my bed- 
 room, which adjoined tlie parlor; and hastily throwing 
 open the door, I there beheld Morton Harley, rolling over 
 and over on the bed, with both hands upon his sides, ap- 
 parently in the last agonies of convulsions. The moment 
 he saw me, he gave vent to such screams of laughter, that 
 I really began to fear he would burst a blood-vessel and 
 alarm the house, though neither event happened. 
 
 "My dear sir, you deserve a horse-whipping," said I, 
 as soon as I could make myself heard. 
 
 "Don't! your lordship — don't!" groaned Harley, 
 catching his breath for another fit. " Oh ! my poor sides ! 
 Oh ! my poor sides !" and off he went again, till he began 
 to grow black in the face. 
 
 Meanwhile, my anger subsiding, I began to view the 
 whole affair as a capital joke, though rather too much at 
 my expense for me to appreciate it as I would had another 
 been the victim. However, by the time that Harley had 
 recovered so as to sit up and talk soberly, I had forgiven 
 
38 VIOLA. 
 
 him in so much as my angry feelings were concerned, 
 though I had determined to pay him off in his own coin 
 sooner or later. I rang the bell, and ordered champaigne; 
 and as we filled our glasses — 
 
 " Here's to the genius of Morton Harley !" said I. 
 
 *' Thank you ! here's to your lordship !" he returned. 
 
 " To his lordship, then, for the first and last time," I 
 rejoined, and emptied my glass. 
 
 "Not so fast," said Harley, draining his cup; "you 
 must not dismiss your nobility so soon, and resolve your- 
 self into plain mister. You have begun your part well, 
 considering — pray carry it out — nothing like making a 
 sensation. True, I think you can improve upon it — for in 
 your debut, you rather over-acted, and were too choleric — 
 but then you know, my dear fellow, one cannot arrive at 
 perfection immediately." 
 
 "No, no, Harley — a joke is a joke, and so let it end. 
 But tell me how you succeeded in making the other cha- 
 racters play their parts so well ; for no matter what I said 
 or did, they seemed not in the least astonished, but to take 
 it all as a matter of course, declaring it was all right. 
 Were they really tradesmen ?" 
 
 " To be sure they were, and they really believe you to 
 be an English nobleman, very eccentric, and slightly 
 touched here;" and Harley tapped his forehead. " I got 
 them all together, and told them exactly how to proceed, 
 and not to seem surprised at anything you might say or 
 do ; and that even if you denied your rank, or asked what 
 it all meant, or in any way became refractory, to persist 
 in their purpose, and only answer you by saying it was all 
 right." 
 
 "But the waiter," said I, " when he came to know if 1 
 would have my supper here, or would go below, he ad- 
 dressed me in the same style." 
 
LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS. 39 
 
 " Very likely, for you are registered as Lord Harcourt, 
 England." 
 
 " By Jove ! this must not be !" cried I: " I will not pass 
 for other than I am." 
 
 " Very well, my dear Harry, I will right it, since you 
 do not like it : and perhaps it will be as well, now that I 
 have had my joke and champaigne." 
 
 *'Do it now, then — this instant." 
 
 Harley went out, and was gone some quarter of an 
 hour. 
 
 " Well ?" said I, on his return. 
 
 " I have done it, and saved your credit. I told the 
 clerk you wished h> remain incog., and were very much 
 offended because I tiioughtlessly made known your rank ; 
 60 he crossed out Lord Harcourt, and wrote under it plain 
 Henry Walton. I hope now you are satisfied." 
 
 *' But this tailor, hatter, and gentleman bootmaker V* 
 said I. 
 
 '* Oh, if you do not want the articles, I will counter- 
 mand the orders." 
 
 " Very well, see that you do it, or else take them your- 
 self ! it is right you should have a little trouble for being 
 80 officious." 
 
 I spent several days in New Orleans, and was delighted 
 with the city, its sights, and the climate. The weather 
 was beautiful, just warm enough to be comfortable, and as 
 everything was new to me, I enjoyed myself beyond my 
 anticipation. I generally rode out through the day, and at 
 night visited some theatre, ball, or masquerade. 
 
 Thus had passed my time for a week, when, one morn- 
 ing, feeling rather the worse for wear, to use a common 
 phrase, I kept my bed, refused my breakfast, and declined 
 a walk with my friend, who went out alone. I was not 
 j[ll, only slightly indisposed, and fasting and resting soon 
 
4C VIOLA. 
 
 set me right. I arose about one, and having perused the 
 daily journals, was just in the act of dressing for dinner, 
 when Harley burst into my room, pale, excited, out of 
 breath, and covered with dust from head to foot. 
 
 "Good Heavens!" cried I, in alarm: "what is the 
 matter? what has happened ?" 
 
 "I have seen her !" he exclaimed, wildly : "I have seen 
 her ! I have seen her ! Oh ! that I had known she was 
 here before !" 
 
 " Seen whom ?" asked I, all amazement. 
 
 "Yes ! yes ! yes !" he cried, pressing his temples with 
 both hands, and fixing his eyes upon the ceiling, with an 
 abstracted gaze. " Yes, it is so — it should be so — it shall 
 be so ! Yes, it was not for nothing I saw her — there is 
 fate in it: Heaven wills, fortune smiles, and I will follow 
 the beck of destiny, though all the fiends of darkness con- 
 spire against me!" 
 
 "Are you mad?" cried I, grasping his arm: "if not, 
 speak to me, and answer my question ! Whom have you 
 seen : 
 
 " Eh ?" he answered, turning his gaze — cold, icy cold, 
 and vacant — full upon me, with a look that tL*illed me 
 "with horror. 
 
 " Speak !" I exclaimed ; " put ^ speculation' in those 
 eyes, or I shall deem you mad ! Harley, my deai friend — 
 Morton Harley — speak to me, rationally, in the name of 
 Heaven !" 
 
 "Well," he answered, as the intellect, as we t^ometiraes 
 see the blood, seemed to rush into his face, lighting his 
 whole countenance in an instant : " Well, Harry, you need 
 not speak so loud, and get so excited; for, if absent minded, 
 I am not deaf." 
 
 " Pardon me, my friend ! I was alarmed, and did not 
 regard the tone in which I spoke. But do tell me wb** 
 
LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS. 41 
 
 this strange conduct means ! I hope you are playing no 
 more jokes !" I added, rather severely. 
 
 " Joke ! do you think I could joke on such a subject ? 
 Pshaw ! the man is a knave — " 
 
 '' Do you apply that term to me, Mr. Harley ?" 
 
 — " Who could joke on a matter so near his heart," pur- 
 sued Harley, finishing the sentence, which another flight 
 absence of mind, or aberration of intellect, had apparently 
 interrupted. " No, no, Hany," he continued — " I did not 
 apply the term to you." 
 
 " But, my dear friend, do, for Heaven's sake, tell me 
 what all this means ! Are you mad or sane ?" 
 
 " Sane, Harry — sane ! Ah, ha, ha ! they wa.nted to 
 make me out mad, but could not — I was too sane for tkom 
 -^though I may be driven mad yet in consequence." 
 
 " Well, then, if you are sane, my friend, prove it, by 
 answering my questions !" 
 
 ''Speak!" 
 
 " Where have you been V 
 
 " In the streets." 
 
 "What doing?" 
 
 " Running." 
 
 " And why did you run ?" 
 
 " To keep up with the carriage." 
 
 " What carriage ?" 
 
 " The one that contained her." 
 
 "Who?" 
 
 "Viola." 
 
 " And pray who is Viola ?" 
 
 "An angel ! my blessing and my bane." 
 
 "Pray, drop metaphor, and give me straightforward 
 answers." 
 
 "Harry, you are my friend," said Harley, abruptly — 
 " at least I hope so." 
 
 4 
 
42 VIOLA. 
 
 "I am, sincerely, your friend." 
 
 " Thank you ! give me your hand. There ! yes, I know, 
 by that pressure, you speak from your heart. Well, being 
 my friend, I will make bold to beg of you a favor." 
 
 " You have only to name it." 
 
 " Ask no more questions now, but leave me here alone 
 for a couple of hours. I wish to lie down : I am fatigued, 
 and a little excited. There, go ! not a word ! you can 
 make your toilet in the parlor ;" and he gently pushed 
 me from the room, adding, as he closed the door and locked 
 it : "I shall not be down to dinner." 
 
 I remembered what my friend had said on the Neptune, 
 that when I saw him in one of his peculiar moods, to leave 
 him alone ; and therefore I felt less anxiety about him now 
 than I should otherwise have done. But who was Viola ? 
 Was she a reality ? or a phantom of the brain, that 
 haunted him at times like a living thing ? There seemed, 
 as I have elsewhere remarked, something mysterious about 
 my friend, as if something had occurred in his history 
 which he wished to banish from his mind. I had never 
 succeeded in getting him to go back and touch upon his 
 early life. Whenever I broached the subject, he had 
 always adroitly changed it. In every other respect, he 
 seemed frank and communicative — but on this point he 
 would say nothing, or speak so vaguely, that I learned 
 nothing definite. Was he what he seemed ? was his real 
 name Morton Harley ? where did he belong ? what were 
 his prospects in life ? why was he thus roaming about, 
 apparently without other object than a desire for travel ? 
 had he parents living ? — all these were questions I often 
 asked myself, but could not answer. Money he had in 
 abundance ; and he spent it freely ; spent much of it in 
 charity ; spent it like a man who wished to enjoy the pre- 
 
LUDICROUS AND MYSTERIOUS. 43 
 
 Bent, and let the present drive both the future and the 
 past from his mind. 
 
 But who was Viola ? " his blessing and his bane." I 
 pondered upon it, as a man always ponders upon mere 
 conjecture — coming out in the end exactly where I set 
 out — knowing no more when I had done than when I be- 
 gan. Sometimes I thought she was real, sometimes ideal ; 
 and if the former, that my friend was sane, but troubled; 
 if the latter, that he was not always in his right mind. 
 This was the first time I had ever heard him speak of her, 
 and I felt I would give much to have the mystery solved. 
 
 Thus I mused till summoned to dinner. 
 
CHAPTER lY. 
 
 HARLEY. 
 
 NoTWiTHSTANDiNQ Harley had intimated he should be 
 himself again in a couple of hours, I saw no more of him 
 that day. I rapped on the door about nine o'clock in the 
 evening, but getting no answer, concluded not to disturb 
 him. As he had taken mj room, I took his, which ad- 
 joined it. Once or twice, in the course of the night, I 
 fancied I heard him moan — but it might have been only 
 fancy. I gave Tom orders to be at his door by daylight, 
 and if he came forth, to let me know immediately. I arose 
 at a rather earlier hour than usual, but found Harley's 
 door still locked, and Tom informed me that he had heard 
 no sound within. Then I was tempted to rouse him at 
 once ; but finally resolved to wait till noon, in the hope he 
 would ere that time make his" appearance. To while away 
 the hours, for I did not feel like going out, I procured 
 Nicholas Nickelby, and had just got deeply interested in 
 that beautiful production of Dickens, when suddenly I be- 
 came aware that some one was looking over my shoulder. 
 I turned, and, to my great relief, beheld Harley. 
 
 " You think my two hours have been rather long, eh ?" 
 he said, with a smile, all traces of wildness and excitement 
 having disappeared. 
 
 " Rather long, truly, my friend ; but I am rejoiced to 
 see you yourself once more," I answered. " Pray tell me 
 what was the matter with — " 
 
 " How do you like Dickens ?" he interrupted. 
 
 (44) 
 
HARLET. 45 
 
 " Much : in fact, so far as I have read, I am delighted." 
 
 " And how many of his works have you read ?" 
 
 "This is the first I have ever seriously attempted." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 " Yes ! I glanced over a few pnges of Oliver Twist, some 
 years ago, but threw it down in disgust." 
 
 " Why so?" he asked in surprise. 
 
 " Because I thought it trash." 
 
 " Ah ! my dear Harry, that was because you did not 
 read far enough to discover, that below that light, trifling, 
 superficial surface, lay a mine of rich, pure, earnest thought. 
 Your error consisted in mistaking the froth for the sub- 
 stance. And in this regard you are not alone. There are 
 very many who do not like Dickens, for the reason that 
 they do not understand him. They take up one of his 
 books as you did, read a little here and a little there, throw 
 it down, and pronounce the writer silly. Why? Because, 
 in nine cases out of ten, they mistake the language of one 
 of his foolish characters for his own. And Dickens intro- 
 duces foolish characters for a purpose ; he does it for con- 
 trast ; he does it to show society as it is ; he does it to ridi- 
 cule certain customs, manners, personages, and institutions, 
 which are obnoxious to every sensible mind. Suppose he 
 attempted this in essays — who would read them ? Of the 
 millions who now mentally devour his every thought — 
 liking what he likes — abhorring what he abhors — so that 
 his ideas frame public opinion, the strongest law of all 
 laws, — how many, think you, »vould have heard of him, had 
 he attempted logic only ? instead of sketching with his pen, 
 quaint, homely, life-pictures, which do not clog the brain 
 with abstruse metaphysics, but hang up in the mind's vision, 
 to be seen at all times without an efi"ort ? I like Dickens, 
 Harry, for several reasons. His power over the human 
 mind has been used to effect a noble purpose, that of ame- 
 
 4* 
 
46 VIOLA. 
 
 lioratinff the condition of thousands of his fellow creatures. 
 He has brought home to the rich and tided, the sufferings, 
 the miseries, of those poor, oppressed, down-trodden beings, 
 whom they have been taught as a virtue to scorn and de- 
 spise ; and he has done this in a w^ay that has told upon 
 their hearts and consciences. He has shown them that 
 vice may be wrapped in silks and broadcloths, and virtue 
 in rags ; he has shown them that under the poorest gar- 
 ments may beat hearts great and noble — may live affec- 
 tions pure, true and holy ; that the roughest casements 
 may enclose intellects grand, gigantic, god-like. All this 
 Las he done — for this I like him — and for this he deserves 
 his fame. He has his faults — who has not ? They say in 
 private life he is an aristocrat — what of that ? His private 
 life belongs to himself — with that we have no business ; his 
 public sayings are ours — they belong to the masses — the 
 whole human race — and they are purely democratic." 
 
 "Well," replied I, " after this, I shall read Dickens with 
 a new interest — an interest aside from mere amusement. 
 If his productions are what you represent them, I have 
 done him great injustice." 
 
 " Read, Harry, and judge for yourself," replied Harley. 
 
 *' Well, my friend, since you have expressed your opinion 
 thus freely in regard to one author, pray give me your 
 views of authors in general." 
 
 " Why, my dear fellow, I scarcely know how or where to 
 begin ; in fact, I am not sure I understand what you re- 
 quire." 
 
 " I mean that you take up one author after another, and 
 say what you think of their writings." 
 
 "Novelists?" 
 
 " Ay, and poets also." 
 
 " The task is too tedious for the present, Harry ; and, 
 besides, I do not profess to be a critic." 
 
HARLET. 47 
 
 " And if you did, I should not care for your opinion ; for 
 then you would harp upon their faults, merely to show 
 your own superiority. But, letting that pass, what do you 
 think of novels collectively ? their effect upon society ?" 
 
 "Good in the main, though liable to abuse, both by 
 writers and readers. A novel, if properly written, is a 
 true picture of life as it exists, or did exist, at the time and 
 place where the scene is laid ; and though professing to be 
 fiction, it is as much a living fact as a painted landscape 
 is a fac-simile of nature. History gives us only the skele- 
 ton of great events — often erroneous ones at that — while 
 historical fiction not only presents the skeleton to our view, 
 but clothes upon it flesh and blood and soul, till it warms 
 into being, and shadows forth the ' form and body of the 
 time.' In it we see the dead resuscitated, and, endowed 
 with life and passion, reacting their several parts, with all 
 their wonted peculiarities. We see not men in the ab- 
 stract, but living, breathing, human beings, walking the 
 earth as of old, with all their ancient fancies and prejudices, 
 surrounded by the circumstances of their period ; and in- 
 stead of their being brought forward to our time, we go 
 back to theirs; and by the force of imagination find our- 
 selves ever by their side — in city, in forest, in castle — 
 taking part in their pleasures and their griefs, their loves 
 and their hates ; and thus do we understand them, as in 
 no other manner we could. For instance, should I say to 
 you, there was one Napoleon Buonaparte, a native of Cor- 
 sica, who, by the force of circumstances, rose from ob- 
 scurity to be the Emperor of France, and went forth with 
 great armies, and made war upon all the nations of Europe, 
 shook kingdoms, made monarchs tremble, became a great 
 conqueror, only to be overthrown and die in exile — you 
 would only know that there had been such a being, who 
 performed such deeds ; and the only conception you would 
 
48 VIOLA. 
 
 have of him, would be such as you would naturally asso- 
 ciate with an emperor and a conqueror ; but should I, after 
 telling you this, proceed to describe the personal appear- 
 ance of this emperor — his manners, his habits, his feelings, 
 his hopes, his fears — relate what he said on this occasion 
 and on that — in fact, lay bare to you all the secrets of his 
 soul — portray his virtues, his vices, his greatness, his little- 
 ness — the emperor, the conqueror, the myth, would be lost 
 in the man, and you would behold only a breathing, sen- 
 tient being like yourself. The former, comparatively 
 speaking, would be history — the latter, fiction — so from 
 this you can judge how ..limited would be the ideas of the 
 masses concerning the past, were fiction altogether de- 
 stroyed. 
 
 " Again, much fiction is not historical, but relates to so- 
 ciety as we see it around us ; but in many instances it com- 
 presses society into so small a space, that we can look upon 
 it in our closet, as upon a correct miniature of a familiar 
 or unfamiliar face. If the novelist is true to his mission, 
 and 'holds the mirror up to nature,' he has tke power of 
 doing much good — for he reaches a class which sermons 
 never reach — who read for amusement — but who by this 
 means may be made to imbibe good sentiments and noble prin- 
 ciples — may be taught to love virtue and hate vice, and even 
 to put their faith and trust in the Divine Creator ; whereas, 
 should one attempt to ding these matters into their ears by 
 abstruse theories, he would be met with ridicule and scorn. 
 Again, much fiction is bad, and has a bad tendency, and 
 this should be condemned, and always is by the discriminat- 
 inor reader, who marks his author as he marks a friend or 
 enemy. The good lives, the bad dies ; but nothing that is 
 good in itself should be condemned because it is abused. 
 The man who condemns all novels, because some are bad, 
 is like a man condemning all religion, because a priest or 
 
HARLEY. 49 
 
 minister has proved recreant to the faith he professes. 
 Discrimination in reading is worth all the sermons ever 
 preached against reading ; and if you can have this well 
 taught, understood, and acted upon, you need not fear the 
 result." » 
 
 " You put novel reading before me in a new light," I re- 
 plied ; " for I have been always taught to regard it merely 
 as a source of amusement, not as a benefit." 
 
 " Suffer me to correct you, Harry. All rational amuse- 
 ment is beneficial both to mind and body ; for mind and 
 body are so dependent on each other, that what affects one 
 affects both. Were we to take an infant, put it in chains, and 
 confine it in a narrow prison, it would either wither and 
 die, like a blasted flower, or grow up a weak, sickly, feeble 
 thing, of no use to itself or others ; and so, if we chain and 
 imprison the mind to the nairow circle of visible facts, 
 giving it no chance to soar and expand itself in the glorious 
 field of imagination, we render it apathetic and imbecile, 
 and perhaps reduce it below the limited range of a mere 
 brute. God never designed this ; for the more healthy, 
 robust, and expansive the mind, the greater its knowledge; 
 the greater its knowledge, the greater its comprehension ; 
 and the greater its comprehension, the more will it reve- 
 rence and glorify its Creator, who is seen in all His works 
 The body must have exercise, the mind amusement ; and if 
 the one be healthy and judicious, the other moral and ra- 
 tional, the effect will be to render the man b'^tter, wiser, 
 and happier. And now, my dear Harry, what do you 
 think of my sentiments?" 
 
 " That they are sensible and correct. But gvi on ! I 
 am anxious to hear you still further." 
 
 •'Pardon me, my friend, not now," returned Harley, 
 gravely. " I may at some future period, but not now; for, 
 
50 VIOLA. 
 
 to tell you the truth, a very weighty matter lays upon my 
 mind." 
 
 " Indeed ! then why did you not mention it before ?" 
 
 ** For the simple reason, that I wished first to convince 
 you I am calm and sane." 
 
 ''But, my friend, I have not questioned your sanity." 
 
 " Not to day, perhaps ; but you did yesterday, and 1 
 was too much excited to explain. Now, then, you see 1 
 am calm and rational; and I come to you as a friend, to 
 know if you will enlist yourself in my service, and be m^ 
 companion on a journey prescribed by the hand of fate?" 
 
 "Alas !" thought I, " my friend is a little touched ;" for 
 the very method he appeared to have taken to convince 
 me of his sanity, now led me to fear his mind was not alto- 
 gether right. But I determined to satisfy myself on this 
 point by further questions. 
 
 "Whither would you have me go ?" I asked. 
 
 "First to Texas." 
 
 " And why to Texas ?" 
 
 " I wish to meet again with Viola." 
 
 "And pray who is Viola ?" 
 
 " An angel ! — But stop ! I will drop metaphor, and 
 speak understandingly ; for, my dear Harry, I again per- 
 ceive you doubt of my being all right here;" and he tap- 
 ped his forehead. 
 
 " I doubt ? — why, my dear Harley — " 
 
 " There, do not deny it," he interrupted ; " you know 1 
 profess to read the passing thought of almost any mind, 
 and it is certainly not diflBcult to read one so legibly writ- 
 ten on the lineaments of the face as yours." 
 
 " Well, then, frankly, I own to the fact," I returned. 
 "I did really begin to fear you were non compos mentis." 
 
 " I like your candor, Harry ; but I regret I have given 
 
HAELET. 51 
 
 you cause to think me of unsound mind," replied my friend, 
 with a sorrowful air. 
 
 '' But your manner was so strange yesterday, Harley ?" 
 
 " I know it : I was troubled, excited, but not mad, 
 Harry ; no, believe me, I was not mad. I could forgive 
 you for so thinking yesterday, because you have known me 
 but a short time — but what cause have I given you for the 
 same opinion to-day ?" 
 
 •• No other than the simple fact, that you have talked 
 gravely here for some time, merely, as you acknowledge, to 
 convince me you are sane, as if you had some doubts of it 
 yourself." 
 
 " Ah ! that is true. Well, let it pass. But now, seri- 
 ously and candidly — do you, or do you not, think I am in 
 my right mind at the present moment?" 
 
 " I see no reason to doubt it, other than I have men- 
 tioned ; in short, I will take your word for it ; if you say 
 you are, I will believe you." 
 
 " Then, positively, I assert I am." 
 
 " Enough ! I am satisfied." 
 
 " I will then proceed in so rational a manner, that you 
 shall have no reason to doubt again. You ask who is 
 Viola ? It is no more than right, since I wish you to be 
 my companion on an adventure in which she is concerned, 
 that you should know something of her ; but you will par- 
 don me, if I only give you an outline sketch now, and leave 
 the detail, the filling up, to some future period." 
 
 My friend paused a few moments, as if to collect hia 
 thoughts, and then proceeded with the following story 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 VIOLA. 
 
 " Viola St. Auburn is the only daughter of a wealthj 
 gentleman, who has of late years resided in the city of 
 Mexico. Previous to his removal thither, he owned and 
 worked a large cotton plantation in the State of Georgia, 
 on which estate Viola was born, some eighteen or nine- 
 teen years ago. In youth my father and St. Auburn 
 were friends ; but unfortunately both loved the same lady, 
 grew jealous of each other, quarrelled, fought, and my 
 father was carried from the field, as it was supposed at the 
 time, mortally wounded. St. Auburn fled ; but learning 
 afterward that my father was likely to recover, he returned, 
 and subsequently married the lady who had innocently 
 been the cause of this rivalry and estrangement. My 
 father never forgave him ; and to this day the name of St. 
 Auburn — no matter where, by whom, nor how casually 
 mentioned in his hearing — always puts him in a sort of 
 frenzy, which threatens the most serious consequences. In 
 our family it is a prohibited word, and is never spoken in 
 the pres-ence of my father, who, though not exactly insane, 
 is judged to be of unsound mind by those who know him 
 best ; and this slight aberration of intellect is thought to 
 date from his recovery and the loss of his first love. 
 Some say that I inherit my father's failings — but of that 
 anon. As to St. Auburn, though the successful rival of 
 my father, I believe he still hates the latter as much as on 
 the day he lodged a bullet in his side — at least he never 
 (52) 
 
VIOLA. 53 
 
 made any overtures of reconciliation, and ever since has 
 been known to shun, with a kind of horror, all persons 
 bearing the name of Harley. With this little prelude, 
 Harry, you will better understand what follows. 
 
 " It is about three years since I first saw Viola 
 St. Auburn. I had finished my collegiate course, and was 
 on a visit to a cousin of mine in Virginia. In the place 
 where he resided was a female seminary ; and in the rear 
 of this seminary, was a rather wild, romantic wood, through 
 which, over a rocky bed, dashed a little stream of pure 
 water. I am rather of a romantic turn at times ; and one 
 of my chief delights, during the short stay with my kins- 
 man, had been to steal off by myself, and angle in this 
 stream for trout. There was a quiet, picturesque beauty 
 about this retreat, that pleased me more than any spot I 
 had ever seen ; and never had my enjoyment been greater 
 and purer, than when seated on my favorite rock, with a 
 leafy canopy above my head, a warm, clear blue sky over 
 that, and the flashing, leaping, murmuring waters at my 
 feet. Here, pole in hand, and line in water, I used to sit 
 for hours, alone, undisturbed, and lost in a kind of poetic 
 reverie. 
 
 *' Well, it chanced one day, while seated on my favorite 
 rock, that I heard a footstep behind me. I turned my 
 head, without changing my position, and behjcld what 
 seemed to me, in my peculiar frame of mind, a Peri just 
 dropped from Paradise. But to speak more directly to 
 the point, I saw a beautiful maiden, over whose fair, sunny 
 countenance some fifteen or sixteen summers had passed. 
 To her personal appearance I cannot do justice, even now ; 
 therefore, suffice it to say, it was such as to rivet my gaze, 
 enchant me, hold me spell-bound, magnetize me, or what 
 YOU will. I saw before me an airy, floating form, a 
 heavenly face, all guileless and innocent, around which 
 4 
 
54 VIOLA. 
 
 dangled golden curls, and eyes whose softness and lustre 
 exceeded my most perfect ideal creations ; and I saw and 
 thought of nothing else. In one hand she carried a col- 
 lection of bright flowers, and to one arm her bonnet or 
 hood was attached by the strings. She did not see me, 
 for her eyes were mostly bent on the earth : she was look- 
 ing for more flowers. I dared not speak nor move, lest I 
 should break the spell, and cause her to vanish like a 
 spirit — for I could not at the moment call up sufficient 
 reason to satisfy myself that she was only mortal. .^ 
 
 " Gradually she drew near the rock, and at last stood ■ 
 at its very base. It was high ; and as I was sitting below 3 
 its summit, on the opposite side, I could not now see her" 
 without changing my position. I attempted to do so with- 
 out noise ; but my pole slipped, and splashed in the water, 
 just as I had brought my eyes once more to bear upon her. 
 She heard it — it startled her — and taking a step or two 
 backward, she looked up timidly. Our eyes now met for 
 the first time ; and with a cry of alarm, she turned to flee. 
 
 "'Stay, beautiful creature! one moment stay!' cried 
 I, leaping from the rock, intending to give chase ; for I 
 was so excited and bewildered, I knew not what I did. 
 
 "She stopped; and turning toward me, pale and trem- 
 bling, exclaimed, in tones of fear ; 
 
 " ' Oh, sir, do not harm me !' 
 
 " ' Harm thee, sweet angel !' cried I : * when I do, may ' 
 Heaven desert me ? Harm thee ? If ever such a thouf^ht 
 enters my brain, I will instantly send my soul to judgment !* 
 
 " ' Oh, sir,' she rejoined, still trembling, and as much 
 alarmed as ever, for my wild manner was not very well 
 calculated to reassure her : ' Oh, sir, if you do not intend 
 to harm me, let me go ! For I do not know you- -and — 
 and — and I am afraid.' 
 
 " * Oh, do not go yet ! not just yet !' I pleaded. ' Stay, 
 
VIOLA. 5 
 
 n 
 
 if only for a few minutes, and let me tell you how much 1 
 love you! No, no,' pursued^ I, beginning to gather my 
 senses once more, as I saw her start, draw herself up 
 proudly, and blush to the temples : ' No, no, I did not 
 mean '^ou — pardon me ! — 1 meant Jiowers : let me tell you 
 how much I love flowers ! and these you have are so very, 
 very beautiful.' 
 
 " Had they been weeds, noxious weeds, they would 
 have seemed beautiful to me then. 
 
 '' She now appeared less alarmed ; and casting her eyes 
 — those large, soft, lustrous eyes — upon the ground, repHed, 
 with the most perfect naivete : 
 
 " ' /, too, love flowers.' 
 
 " Had she spoken for an hour, with an eloquence never 
 equalled, I could not have been more charmed than by 
 that simple sentence — those four little words — ' /, too, love 
 flowers.' Methinks I hear them now, as they dropped in 
 silvery melody from her ruby lips. Yes, I do hear them 
 now, and shall evet hear them, till this heart has 
 ceased to beat. Her whole soul spoke in those words — 
 a soul pure, guileless, true. It is useless to attempt to 
 describe my feelings then ; they cannot be described ; 
 you might as well attempt to paint the sun's heat. I 
 can only say, I felt I could worship the ground she stood 
 on. It was some time ere I could add anything to what 
 I had already said ; not, in fact, till, with an embarrassed 
 look, she turned to leave me ; then again I found my 
 
 *' ' Stay, thou mortal spirit ! thou fairy thing of earth V 
 I began ; and then bethinking myself, I changed my 
 language and manner, and added : ' Stay, lady ! I beseech 
 you 1 I wish to speak of flowers ;' and forthwith I summoned 
 all my floral knowledge to my aid, and went oflf in a strain of 
 passionate, poetic fervor — speaking, to the best of my recol- 
 
56 VIOLA. 
 
 lection, on the subject named — but surely thinking of no- 
 thing but the living subject before me — the flower which 
 must eventually bloom in Paradise. 
 
 " How long I thus went on — or how long I might have 
 continued, had I been left to finish of my own accord — I 
 cannot say; but I was interrupted in a silvery voice, 
 which said : 
 
 " You must excuse me, sir ! I have already overstayed 
 my time, and fear to remain here a moment longer.' 
 
 " ' But tell me,' said I, ^ who you are, and where you 
 belong ! for we must meet again.' 
 
 " * My father is a merchant, in the city of Mexico,' she 
 replied, ' and I am here attending the seminary. There ! 
 hark ! I hear the bell. Oh, sir, I must fly ! and I shall 
 even then be too late.' 
 
 " 'But you will come here again for flowers? I shall 
 meet you again here !' I said, earnestly. ' Oh, do not 
 hesitate ! — say yes — and I will have prepared for you a 
 beautiful bouquet !' 
 
 " ' I do not know,' she replied, hurriedly, changing 
 color. ' I fear it would not be right ; my teacher — I- 
 that is — perhaps — I will think of it. There, I must go ; 
 good-bye, sir ;' and she bounded away, with an airy fleet- 
 ness which soon took her from my sight. 
 
 " As for me, my first impulse was to follow her ; but for 
 once 'propriety came to my aid ; and I remained, gazing on 
 the spot where her form was last seen, and wondering if 
 ever so bright a thing would cross my vision again. How 
 I passed the day, I never knew ; but I did not return to 
 my cousin's till night ; and was then so absent-minded as 
 to answer his question concerning my success in such a 
 "^ray as to lead him to fear I was sufi*ering under partial 
 derangement. 
 
 " I had forgotten to ask the fair unknown her name ; 
 
VIOLA. 57 
 
 but I remembered my promise, and thought it must be 
 Flora, and so fixed it in my mind. The next day I was up, 
 bright and early, culling flowers, while yet the dew lay 
 n the grass. 
 
 " But not to weary you, let it suffice, that the maiden 
 ind I met on the same spot ; and so continued to meet for 
 more than a month ; but it was not till the fourth meeting 
 that we exchanged names, and I learned that she was 
 called Viola St. Auburn. A few hurried questions and 
 answers, now put us both in possession of the painful truth 
 that our fathers were deadly enemies. But we learned it too 
 late. Both loved ; and the very fact that we now knew we 
 might never be allowed to meet again, should our secret 
 become known to the friends of either party, only served to 
 fim the flame, and make our attachment little less than a 
 frenzied passion. A slave to impulse, I would have 
 married Viola at once, and braved the consequences ; but 
 she, more rational than I, would not consent to a step 
 so rash. 
 
 " * Morton,' she replied, one day, on my making the 
 proposition to her, ' that I love you with my whole soul, I 
 do not deny ; but what you propose is folly. I am young, 
 and perhaps do not know my own mind. We must wait ; 
 a misstep now might render us both miserable for life. 
 Know this, I will wed no other ; but without my father's 
 consent, which you are not very likely to obtain, I will not 
 consent to become yours, till I have seen my eighteenth 
 birth-day.' 
 
 " ' And then, Viola ?' exclaimed I. 
 
 " * Well, then — if — that is — but we will speak of that 
 another time,' she answered. 
 
 " I have said that we met daily for more than a month ; 
 and during this time the secret of our meeting remained 
 undiscovered. But at length it was found out, and r^ach**-! 
 
08 VIOLA.. 
 
 the ears of Viola's preceptress. She, being a prudish old 
 maid, was filled with indignant horror ; and the father of 
 Viola arriving in the village about the same time, to see 
 his daughter, the matter was communicated to him, with 
 false and exaggerated details. You can judge of his rage, 
 on learning that Viola had met, clandestinely, the son of 
 his most bitter enemy. He sought me out, and scrupled 
 not to insult me in the grossest manner. Had he been 
 other than Viola's father, he would never have lived to re- 
 peat his words. As it was, I bore all in the best manner I 
 could. He said that rather than his daughter should wed 
 me, a detested Harley, he would see her consigned to the 
 tomb. Not satisfied with this, he wrote an insulting letter 
 to my father, which put him in a rage, and rendered him 
 a raving maniac for several weeks. Viola was then re- 
 moved, I knew not whither, and I went home. Our brief 
 period of happiness seemed passed, to return no more. 
 
 " I will pass over the interview between my father and 
 myself, on the return of his reason. Enough to say, it 
 was terrible. I will not repeat the remarks of my rela- 
 tions, who considered themselves disgraced through me ; 
 for I am of a race who clan by blood, subscribe to family 
 feuds, nurse revenge, to be glutted b}^ their posterity on 
 the posterity of their enemies, and who regard an insult 
 to one of their name, as an insult to all, and no disgrace 
 equal to that of settling a quarrel other than by blood. 
 
 " Picture to yourself, Harry, how I was received, when 
 it became known that I had ever seriously thought of unit- 
 ing myself by marriage to the daughter of my father's 
 enemy ! Why, would you believe it, my friend, I was actu- 
 ally afraid of assassination — for they would sooner have 
 killed me, than had me wed Viola ; and it w^as only by 
 accident I discovered a plot, whereby I was to be trapped 
 into such peculiarity of speech, (they understood my nature 
 
VIOLA. 59 
 
 and how to work on it,) that two physicians in attendance 
 would be able to give the necessary papers for my commit- 
 ment to a mad-house. But I knew their kind intent in 
 time to foil them ; and foil them I did, to their chagrin and 
 dismay ; for I turned the tables on them ; and had I fol- 
 lowed up my advantage, they would have found the con- 
 sequences very serious. 
 
 " Well, to pass on, I made an arrangement with my 
 father, to giro me my portion in money. This sum I 
 safely invested ; and the interest, which is paid me semi- 
 annually in this city, is sufficient for all my expenses. 
 
 " Six months after leaving home — which I did with the 
 hope that travelling, change of scene, and amusement of 
 various kinds, would tranquillize my mind — I again saw 
 Viola. You, Harry, would say we met by accident ; so 
 would most persons. But, sir, it was not by accident. 
 No, so "surely as there is a Power above us, I believe our 
 meeting was by the hand of destiny ; there is a fate divid- 
 ing and uniting us. It happened thus : I was passing 
 through an inland town in Tennessee, where there was a 
 large female seminary. I stopped beside the gate, which 
 opened into a beautiful enclosure, to look at the building 
 and admire the surrounding scenery. A female brushed 
 past me, and put her hand upon the gate. In the act of 
 opening it, she turned her head. Our eyes met. It was 
 Viola. What followed, beyond her fainting in my arms, I 
 must tell you some other time — at least not now. Suffice 
 it, for the present, that I promised to leave her, and not 
 to seek her again till she had passed her minority. She 
 said that, should her father learn we had met again, it 
 might cost her her life — that was argument enough for 
 me. 
 
 " Well, since then, I have been an unhappy wanderer — 
 gay at times, to the height of folly — gloomy, *at times, to 
 
60 VIOLA. 
 
 a depth of despair bordering on madness. But, Harry, 
 you know what I am ; though, my dear friend, I must in 
 justice say, I have been more like myself during our brief 
 companionship, than for a long time previous. I look upon 
 you as a friend — you must remain my friend. Yes, I read 
 you aright — you will. God bless you ! I will make you 
 ray confidant : I am doing so now : you are the first. 
 Pardon me these tears ! Do not think me weak because I 
 weep ; but you know not what a blessing it is to have a 
 friend to whom you can unbosom yourself — into whose 
 sympathizing soul you can pour your pent up griefs, and 
 take counsel in return. You do not know the value of 
 such a friend, because you have never felt the need of one : 
 your life has been sunshine — mine storm. 
 
 " Ere you and I met on the boat at Louisville, I had 
 resolved on going to Mexico. For two reasons. That I 
 might have some wild, exciting adventures, and again see 
 Viola. I had not seen her since we parted in Tennessee ; 
 and I doubted not, her education finished, she had gone 
 home to her father. I knew she was now of age ; and, if 
 such a thing were possible, I was resolved on seeing her, 
 and leaving the rest to fate. 
 
 " But fate has favored me. I saw her yesterday, when 
 I least expected it. Do you wonder I was excited ? 
 Were you me, would you have been less so ? She passed 
 me in a carriage. It was going fast, and I only caught a 
 bare glimpse of her features as she went by. But two 
 years had not altered them beyond my recognition, though 
 time has done much in her favor. She is more mature — 
 more in bloom — is paler, and more spiritual. 
 
 " Well, I followed that carriage, — how ? — let my gar- 
 ments, soiled with dust and mud, answer. It stopped on 
 the Levee ; and I saw the idol of my dreams — the object 
 of my hopes and fears — escorted on board a steamer by 
 
VIOLA. 61 
 
 her father. I went aboard. Fate still favored me. Her 
 father left her side for a couple of minutes, and I made 
 myself known. She almost fainted, but recovered. 
 
 " * Not a word,' she gasped, * or we are lost ! Go — my 
 father — Galveston.' 
 
 " She could articulate no more. I saw her father re- 
 turning ; and merely saying, I will be there, I turned 
 away. 
 
 " Harry, my friend, another steamer goes out to-day at 
 four o'clock. I leave on that. Will you go with me ?" 
 
 " I will," cried I. 
 
 " God bless you ! your hand !" and as my friend wrung 
 it heartily, I saw his eyes fill with tears. 
 
 Two hours later, Morton Harley and your humble ser- 
 vant, reader, were steaming it down the Mississippi to the 
 Gulf— bound for Galveston, Texas — and, as the sequel 
 proved, for some rather strange and thrilling adven- 
 tures. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 PERPLEXITY AND MYSTERY. 
 
 It Avas on a fine, beautiful morning, that we landed at 
 Galveston, .ni'l had our luggage transferred to one of its 
 most flourishing hotels. The place seemed lively ; and 
 there were two or three companies of soldiers parading 
 the streets, prior to their departure to join the Army of 
 Occupation, at Corpus Christi, under Taylor. Citizens 
 were abroad in large numbers, and a good deal of enthusi- 
 asm prevailed, as was natural there should, considering 
 thatJTexas, after a hard, bloody, and lonely struggle of 
 years, had recently been annexed to our great American 
 Republic, and these soldiers were on the eve of joining 
 Taylor's gallant band, now on her southern frontier, to 
 protect her against the hostile invasion of her bitter foes, 
 the Mexicans. 
 
 On our way hither, much of the conversation between 
 ILirley and myself had been concerning Viola ; in fact, 
 she was the subject which ever lay uppermost in his mind; 
 and now, the ice being broken, he spoke with unreserved 
 fueedom, made me his confidant in everything, sought my 
 advice, and I became a participator in all his hopes and 
 fears. But one thing troubled both of us. If she had 
 come to Galveston, as he inferred from her broken language 
 on the boat she intended to do, how were we to find her ? 
 Had she relations here? She might have, but Harley 
 knew of none, and therefore was at a total loss for any 
 clue to her present wliereabouts. The more we pondered 
 
PERPLEXITY AND MYSTERY. 63 
 
 upon the matter of finding her, the more perplexing it 
 grew, till at last Harley declared it was useless to spend 
 our breath in mere conjecture, and that we must leave all 
 to Fate, in which, as I have shown, he was a firm believer. 
 " Well, my friend," said 1, as we arrived at the hotel 
 alluded to, " we are here at last ; and now what do you 
 propose ? Shall we sit quietly down, and trust to Fate to 
 accomplish our desires ? Or shall we begin an active 
 search for the object of our solicitude ?" 
 
 "Ay, Harry, there is the difficulty; how, where, or in 
 what manner can we begin a search for her ?" 
 
 '* Well, an idea has struck me. It is not improbable 
 that, if Viola and her father have come hither at all, they 
 have put up at some of the hotels ; and it would perhaps 
 be as well to begin with the registers, and make inquiries." 
 "By Jove, Harry, you are right I" cried Harley, grasp- 
 mg my hand; "how dull I am not to have thought of it 
 before. Come, let us begin at once;" and we did so ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 Our first inquiry, of course, was at the hotel where we 
 were stopping. The clerk remembered no such persons, 
 and there was no St. Auburn on the register. We re- 
 paired to another, and met with like success. At the third, 
 to our great joy, we found recorded Henry St. Auburn 
 and daughter. 
 
 "Harry," said Harley, grasping my arm, his face pale 
 with emotion. " you must find out if they are now here ; 
 and if not, whither they have gone. I will sit down — I 
 feel faint." 
 
 A few minutes sufiBced to get all the knowledge concern- 
 ing the St. Auburns which the obliging landlord possessed. 
 Such persons had been there, stopped one day, and had gone 
 North, but whither he could not say. I reported to 
 Harley. 
 
64 VIOLA. 
 
 " So, being gone, I am a man again," he replied, in the 
 language of Macbeth. " Harry,'' he continued, starting 
 up almost wildly, '^1 feared they were here ; and now that 
 they are not, I would give a handsome sum they were — - 
 so inconsistent are we human puppets. Well, we must fol- 
 low them ; it is something to be on their trail, as the 
 hunters say ; and see Viola again, I must ; and. Heaven 
 help me ! I will." 
 
 "But how are we to follow," I rejoined, "when we 
 know not which way they went ?" 
 
 " Man, we do know they went to the North — did not the 
 landlord tell you so ? and, by my hopes of earthly happi- 
 ness ! I will search the North, though it be to the ice- 
 bound pole, but I will find Viola !" 
 
 " Now, Harley, you are getting excited again. I pray 
 you be calm." 
 
 " Well, and so I am — but what would you have me do ? 
 Sit quietly here, when, for aught I know, she needs my 
 protecting arm? She bade me come to this city: I have 
 done so : and by that same token, she bids me follow till I 
 find her " 
 
 " But what do you propose to do ?" 
 
 " Set off northward, and use my tongue. Zounds ! 
 Harry, what were tongues made for but to ask questions ? 
 legs but to run? and arms but to fight? all of which I will 
 use in the cause of her I love, if necessary, so help me 
 Heaven ! Why, my dear fellow, you, who not an hour 
 since counselled me to activity, would surely not gainsay 
 your advice now?" 
 
 " By no means ; but I counselled you to begin hyste- 
 matically ; you did so, and the result is that we have found 
 a trace of her we seek." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 "Well, let us continue as we have begun." 
 
PERPLEXITY AND MYSTERY. 65 
 
 "What have I asked for else ?" 
 
 "Why, from your manner, I inferred you were about to 
 set off, madman like, to hunt the country over, as if in 
 Bearch of a lost animal." 
 
 " Come, come," replied Harley, good humoredly, " a 
 joke is a joke; *but no more of that, Hal, an thou lovest 
 me.' Now tc begin seriously. They left for the North — 
 good — consequently have gone up the Bay, or crossed over 
 to the mainland by ferry. Now I wager you what you 
 dare, that I find out which, ere I quit this hotel." 
 
 " Well, now at least you are talking rationally, and con- 
 ducting yourself in a sensible manner. Come, here is the 
 landlord — let us settle the matter." 
 
 The latter, on being requestioned, replied that, at the 
 time the parties left, he was absent ; but the porter, who had 
 the handling of the luggage, would probably know some- 
 thing of- them. The porter was called ; and from him we 
 learned that persons answering the description Harley gave 
 of Viola and her father, had left two days before, in a 
 private carriage, and crossed over to the mainland; but 
 what direction they had taken thence, or what place was 
 to be their destination, he could not say. 
 
 " You see," said Harley to me, triumphantly, " we have 
 the right starting point, and that is everything in a case 
 like this. Of what color were the horses and carriage, 
 porter?" 
 
 " Well, sir, the horses were sorrel, sir, with two white 
 Btars right in front of their foreheads, sir." 
 
 "And the carriage ?" 
 
 " Was a big, lumbering thing, so'thing like a hackney, 
 sir, only it wasn't a hackney." 
 
 "But the color?" 
 
 "It was painted dark green, and had yaller streaks 
 round it, and on the doors was painted two picters." 
 
 6 
 
66 VIOLA. 
 
 ^''What were the pictures like ?" 
 
 " Well, thej wasn't like anything J ever seen afore, sir ; 
 there was a heap o' things all kind o' jumbled up 
 together." 
 
 " Were the pictures alike ?" 
 
 '' Yes, sir, I reckon they was." 
 
 ''Should you judge them to be a coat-of-arms ?" 
 
 " Well, they mought be — though I don't exactly know 
 how a coat-of-arms looks." 
 
 " It was a private carriage, then ?" 
 
 "Yes, sir, I said so; and the owner was with it, I 
 reckon : leastways there was a gentleman inside, as got 
 out and helped the lady in, and then got in agin with the 
 tother gentleman." 
 
 " The lady, you say, was young ?" 
 
 " Yes, sir, and so handsome ! I've seen a good many 
 handsome ladies, one time and another, but she beat 'em 
 all. Poor thing ! I pitied her, I did." 
 
 "Pitied her? why so?" 
 
 "'Cause she looked so sad and troubled, and seemed to 
 feel so bad." 
 
 "Indeed?" exclaimed Harley, beginning to grow very 
 much excited. " Indeed ? say you that ? Did she not 
 seem pleased at leaving with the strange gentleman?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no, sir — quite the contrary : she kept look- 
 ing all round, as if she was thinking about gitting away — 
 leastways I thought so ; and arter she'd got in, I seen her 
 cover her face with her handkercher." 
 
 " By my hopes ! this is strange !" exclaimed Harley. 
 " What do you think of it, Harry ?" 
 
 "I do not know what to think," I replied. 
 
 "Perhaps her father is about forcing her to marry some 
 one she detests," returned my friend, uneasily. "Let 
 him, if he dare !" he pursued, setting his teeth hard, and 
 
PERPLEXITY AND MYSTERY. 67 
 
 hissing out the words, while his eyes shone with a wild 
 light. " Ay, sir, let him ! he shall find another Harley 
 as implacable a foe as the first. If he wrong her, though 
 he be her father, he shall answer for it wdth his heart's 
 blood !" 
 
 "Morton !" cried I, perceiving that my friend was fast 
 working himself into a frenzy ; "remember where you are, 
 and control your passion! You may be all wrong in your 
 conjectures." 
 
 " More likely right, Harry ; though I will take your ad- 
 vice, and be calm now, for it is necessary to my purpose. 
 But only let me know he has misused her, and he will find 
 that he who bore his insults for her sake once, will remem- 
 ber old scores in the final settlement. Well, porter, this 
 carriage — have you no idea to whom it belongs, and where 
 it came from ?" 
 
 "No, sir — never saw it afore." 
 
 " Did it stop here any time ?"• 
 
 " Not more'n ten or fifteen minutes, sir. It was driv up 
 by a white chap in livery ; and the gentleman as had the 
 young lady, 'pear*d to be looking for't ; for he went right 
 up to the door, and spoke to him that was inside ; then he 
 hurried back into the house ; and a little arter the young lady 
 came down stairs, and got in, as I told you ; while I put on 
 the baggage-, two trunks and a carpet-bag." 
 
 But little more of importance was elicited from the por- 
 ter; and Harley, putting a half-dollar in his hand, dismissed 
 him. 
 
 "Harry," said my friend, grasping my hand, as we 
 gained the street — " can I depend on you ?" 
 
 "To the death." 
 
 " Again I repeat, God bless you ! You know I pro- 
 mised you adventure ; and now, methinks, we are about to 
 have it, though of a difi*erent kind to that I then antici- 
 
68 VIOLA. 
 
 pated. Hark you! lam satisfied there is some dark plot 
 against Viola ; I am convinced her father is base enough 
 for anything ; and I am determined to find and bear hei 
 ofi*, in spite of him or aught human." 
 
 "And you may count on my assistance," replied I, 
 already taking a deep interest in one I had never seen. 
 " But, Morton, we have much to do, I think, and something 
 must be done first — what shall it be ?" 
 
 ** The first thing to be done, Harry, is to find Viola." 
 
 " True — but how shall we set about it ?" 
 
 " We must trace that carriage by inquiry." 
 
 " True again ; but shall we ride, or set off afoot ?" 
 , "Well, as to that, give me your advice." 
 
 "Then," said I, "I think we had better leave our lug- 
 gage where it is for the present, and take only such things 
 as can be put into a vahse or carpet-bag, which Tom can 
 carry, and begin our search on foot. We shall thus be 
 more likely to get the information we want ; and when ob- 
 tained, if direct and important, we can always hasten our 
 progress, by hiring such conveyance on the road as will 
 best accelerate it — and this plan will leave us without 
 other care than for ourselves." 
 
 " You are right, Harry ; your advice is good, and I will 
 act upon it. But when shall we set out ? I am impatient, 
 you see." 
 
 " In an hour, if you like. I am ready, and, truth said, 
 impatient also to be on the road." 
 
 My friend grasped my hand again, and wrung it 
 heartily. 
 
 " Harry," he said, tears starting into his eyes, "it was 
 a blessed day for me on which Fate brought us together. 
 I am not ungrateful — as, if we both live, I will some time 
 prove to you. Oh, Viola! if I could have received one 
 word from her relative to this mystery ! But I will solve 
 
PERPLEXITY AND MYSTERY. 69 
 
 it, or die in the attempt. How unfortunate, Harry, there 
 was no way of getting here sooner than we did ; but per- 
 haps it is all for the best ; though^ could I have had one 
 minute's uninterrupted conversation with her — " 
 
 My fi'iend stopped suddenly ; his eyes dilated, grew wild, 
 and became fixed on some distant object ; a singular look 
 of hope and fear lighted his pale countenance ; and merely 
 adding, "Wait for me !" he bounded away down the street, 
 as if life and death depended on his fleetness. 
 
 As much as I had seen of his strange manner, this 
 proceeding, I must confess, startled me, while it excited my 
 curiosity ; and I started after him — not to overtake him — 
 but, if possible, to keep him in sight. I soon lost trace of 
 him in a crowd that was collected before a public building, 
 which I ascertained was the ppst-office. After vainly 
 searching for him some ten or fifteen minutes, I concluded 
 to return to our hotel, thinking I should be likely to find 
 him there sooner than elsewhere. On reaching the steps 
 that led up to the portico, what was my surprise, to see 
 Harley come bounding down to meet me. His eyes glared 
 like a madman's, and his features were distorted with ex- 
 citement. 
 
 " Quick, Harry !" he cried, grasping my arm — " I have 
 been nearly wild to see you. Why did you not stay whore 
 I left you? Up stairs, quick ! to a private chamber." 
 
 "In Heaven's name ! what has happened? what is the 
 matter ?"exclaimed I, as I rushed up stairs with him, two 
 at a time, leaving a crowd behind to stare after us, and 
 wonder at our excitement. 
 
 "Inhere!" cried Harley, darting into a bed-chamber; 
 and as I crossed the threshold, he shut the door and locked 
 it. 
 
 "Are you really mad, Harley ?" cried I, growing alarmed 
 in earnest. 
 5 
 
70 VIOLA. 
 
 " Ko, no, Harry — not mad — but terribly excited. I can 
 hardly contain myself. Joy and rage are strange feel- 
 ings to clash in one's breast. Ah, fate ! fate ! triumphant 
 to the last ! It was a happy thought — blessed thought ! 
 and I could shout for joy, and at the same time say, ' Let 
 him beware !' But I am keeping you wondering, when this, 
 this, this, will explain the mystery;" and Harley thrust 
 into my hand a letter, and throwing himself upon the bed, 
 added: "Read! read!" 
 
 I was not long in following his injunctions, as the 
 reader will readily believe. One glance at the epistle and 
 I comprehended all. It ran thus : 
 
 " Dear Morton — We meet strangely — we have from 
 the first — and since I saw you on the boat at New Orleans, 
 I have thought there may be such a thing as a special Provi- 
 dence. Oh, Morton, if you love me — if you ever loved 
 me — forsake me not now ! Till I saw you last, despair had 
 for months sat like an incubus upon my heart. Hope had 
 fled me, and in vain I labored to lure her back. She came 
 with you ; and since then has fluttered in sight, but ready 
 to take wing and leave me forever. You, Morton, and 
 hope, are so united, that neither can come alone. Oh, 
 misery ! misery ! how well I know the meaning of the term ! 
 What shall I say of the past ? I could pour out my soul 
 to you in words, were we together ; but I can say nothing 
 on paper. Yet something I must say. My mother is dead. 
 My father — oh ! that he better deserved the name ! — what 
 fihall I say of him ? Morton, to be brief, my father has 
 sold me to a man I detest, and is now on his way to de- 
 liver me to m^ purchaser. In other words, and to speak 
 without enigma, my father, having failed in business, is re- 
 solved to retrieve his fortune by disposing of my hand to 
 ft French count, who boasts of a distant connection with 
 
PERPLEXITY AND MYSTERY. 71 
 
 Louis Philippe. He is rich, and owns a country seat some- 
 where near the Brazos ; but I cannot direcfr you to it, nor 
 do I even know the vicinity. I only know it is called 
 D'Estang Ville. You may perhaps find it from the name 
 — that is, should you care to trouble yourself about it. 
 Thither I am to be transported ; and once there, my father 
 has solemnly sworn I shall become the wife of D'Estang, 
 or take the alternative of ending my days in a convent, in 
 the interior of Mexico. Of the two, my choice is already 
 made. I will never wed this count. Morton, my hope is 
 in you, or death. If you fail me, the latter may not. 1 
 would not die now — but can I live a life of misery ? I 
 have knelt and prayed to my father to forego his terrible 
 resolve. In vain. He is inexorable. Oh ! how he has 
 changed of late ! He is another being. Mother and 
 wealth were his idols. One is dead — the other lost ; and 
 now he would rebuild his fortune! on the crushed hopes and 
 broken heart of his only child. He cannot love me, Mor- 
 ton, and I have learned to fear him. Could he have loved 
 /ny mother ? If so, why am I treated thus ? Of M. 
 D'Estang — he once visited my father in the city of Mexico. 
 I was then a child — but it seen.is he conceived a passion 
 for me even then, which yenrs have strengthened rather 
 than weakened. I say pnssion; for had he ever loved, he 
 would not huy me like a slave now. How he and my fa- 
 ther met within a year, and how one bought and the other 
 sold me, I cannot tell you now — perhaps I may when we 
 meet, should God permit us to meet again on earth. My 
 hand trembles, and tears dim my eyes. Morton, dear 
 Morton, I cannot write more. I have stolen away to do 
 this. Will it ever reach you ? and can you assist me if it 
 does ? Oh, Morton, by the sweet past ! by our then happy 
 hopes of the future ! I conjure you to come to my aid ! 
 But you must come disguised. If seen and recognised, I 
 
72 VIOLA. 
 
 verily believe your life will be taken. It is fearful to think 
 80, Morton — it is terrible ! No more. 
 
 " Your own, VIOLA. 
 
 " P. S. — Since writing the foregoing, I have seen my 
 father, and learned that M. D'Estang is to meet us here, 
 and that we are to leave in his private carriage. May 
 Heaven help me ! V." 
 
 This letter was written in a neat, but trembling hand, 
 and it seemed as if the writer had often paused to give vent 
 in tears to the grief of her overcharged soul. In fact, in 
 more than one place, there was a slight stain, as if tears 
 had fallen on the papei| Poor Viola ! from my soul I 
 pitied her ; and I silently vowed I would save her or perish 
 in the attempt. 
 
 " Well," cried Harley, the moment I had finished its 
 perusal — " what think you now ? You see my conjecture 
 was right. Ah, sir, the heart is often before reason in its 
 own affairs. Well, Harry, do you blame me now for being 
 excited ?" 
 
 " No," said I ; " but how came you by this letter ?" 
 
 " I will tell you in a word. While I stood talking with 
 you, my eye chanced to light upon the post-office ; and, 
 blessed idea ! I thought it possible Viola had written. 
 That thought was almost maddening ; I could not stop to 
 explain ; I rushed away, and you know the rest. But 
 come ! come ! we waste time here. We now have a clue to 
 Viola's whereabouts ; and I solemnly swear to set her free, 
 or leave my bones upon the soil of Texas ! Poor Viola ! 
 what has she not suffered ! And such di. father ! 'Sdeath ! 
 Harry, I must not think, or I shall unfit myself to act. 
 Come, now to the purpose. We must change our first plan 
 of travelling as gentlemen, and take to an humble calling. 
 
PERPLEXITY AND MYSTERY. ^ 73 
 
 What say you to an itinerant occupation ? what say you to 
 that of a peddler ?" 
 
 I agree to anything, Harley, that will enable as to 
 accomplish our design. As to turning peddler, I like the 
 idea ; for in this capacity, our real motives will not only 
 be effectually concealed, but we can travel in what manner 
 we please, without exciting impertinent curiosity, and can 
 force ourselves among rich and poor, high and low, and see 
 society exactly as it is." 
 
 "You are right in that, Harry; and I have oft<*n 
 thought that but for the name of it, I should like the call- 
 ing ; for instead of beholding society continually from one 
 point of view, as one beholds the representations of the 
 stage, we could thus, as it were, step behind the scenes, 
 and see the actors as they really are. Of all men, to 
 understand human nature, give me the humble itinerants ; for 
 where we, as gentlemen, see society already made up, they 
 see the making up ; and what from our point of observa- 
 tion looks gold and silver, they, from a closer inspection, 
 know to be only tinsel. The man or woman who would 
 greet us with smiles and flattery, in our proper characters, 
 would perhaps turn from us wuth scorn, should we present 
 ourselves to them as peddlers ; and yet we and they would 
 be the same individuals, with the same souls, the same 
 thoughts and feelings, hopes and fears — the only difference 
 being in position — to them the all important consideration 
 of life ; and as you observe, we should see them as they 
 are, for the simple reason that before objects so humble 
 there would be nd^necessity of wearing masks. Oh ! the 
 mockeries, mummeries, trickeries, and deceits of mankind, 
 Harry, would make misanthropes of such as you and I, 
 when once initiated into the secret extent of hypocrisy, 
 were it not that in finding out the bad, where we looked for 
 Bomething better, we discover by the same means so much 
 
74 yiOLA. 
 
 that is good and deserving, which else had remained 
 unknown, like flowers that struggle upward among weeds, 
 but never reach the sunshine. But come ! come ! we must 
 not stop now to indite homilies or moralize. We have 
 work before us — let us be up and doing." 
 
 And forthwith we set about preparing for our new 
 vocation. 
 
CHAPTER Vn. 
 
 THE DISGUISE. 
 
 Notwithstanding -we were very diligent, employing 
 every moment, it was late in the day when we were ready 
 to set out on our journey. By this time, however, every 
 thing was prepared ; and having donned a plain suit, and 
 packed our more costly wearing apparel in our trunks, 
 which we consigned to the care of our landlord ; and 
 having procured a couple of peddler's boxes for jewelry, 
 and laid in a tolerably fair stock for trade or show, which 
 we gave in charge of Tom, together with a well-filled valise 
 of clothing necessary to a change ; we procured a convey- 
 ance to a small village on the mainland, which we reached 
 just as the setting sun was streaming across Galveston 
 Bay, and turning its waters to gold. "We drove to the 
 principal inn of the village, ordered supper, and put up for 
 the night. 
 
 " To-morrow," said Harley, gaily, as together we sat at 
 the tea-table : " To-morrow, Harry, we begin our adven- 
 tures in reality ; at least we begin a new business ; and I 
 am as impatient to be on the road, as ever a child was to 
 see new toys. By my faith, Harry, I sometimes think we 
 are as much children at five-and-twenty as at five — the only 
 difference being, that we are older, and larger, and require 
 bigger play-things. I wonder what kind of a salesman I 
 shall make. Faith ! I see myself at it now. ' Some very 
 «xtra fine jewelry, madam — earrings, brooches, chains, finger 
 rmgS' — very beautiful, I assure you — will you have the 
 
 (75) 
 
76 VIOLA. 
 
 goodness to look at them ?' Ha, ha, ha ! what do you 
 think of that, Harry, eh ! for a commencement ? Come, a 
 wager ! a wager ! if you dare !" 
 
 "Name it." 
 
 " A week's keeping on the roaa, that I beat you in to- 
 morrow's profits !" 
 
 "Done!" returned I, laughing at the idea that already 
 we were beorinninor to be ambitious to excel in our new 
 
 o o 
 
 vocation. " But, Morton, you will not forget Viola ? 
 Remember that profit is less an object with us than speed 
 in our search." 
 
 "Ay, true; but I do not forget that. It may be 
 necessary, in order to succeed in our design, that we under- 
 stand the business we profess, and practice alone will make 
 us perfect. Nor is speed so very important as you might 
 at first thought suppose ; for they will not use force with 
 Viola — they dare not ; and, without force, she will not wed : 
 no, Harry, nor can she be forced to wed him ; she says so 
 much in her letter ; and I know her well enough, to feel 
 assured she will keep her word. But still there must be 
 no unnecessary delay ; and could my design be accom- 
 plished without the means I am about to use — could it 
 in fact be accomplished by speed merely — I would mount 
 the fastest horse in the country, and ride as if for life. 
 Do not think, Harry, because I seem indifferent, that I am 
 not impatient to see her ; but my experience in life has 
 taught me the value of prudence; and now that I am 
 about to do battle for a great stake, I feel the need of hav- 
 ing all my weapons about me and in good order. Speaking 
 of weapons — do not let us forget, when we retire, to put 
 our revolvers in proper order — for one never knows, in this 
 country, how soon he may want to use them. Yes, Harry, 
 I have a plan — not fully matured, it is true — but when it is, 
 I will make it known to you — by which I hope to outwit two 
 
THE DISGUISE. 77 
 
 cunning knaves, and steal the greatest prize our earth 
 contains. If I do succeed, and you ever write that book 
 you were speaking of, I bespeak a prominent place in it for 
 my chef-d'oeuvre of stratagem. By-the-by, I believe you 
 do not speak French ?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " I am sorry for that. But then — stop ! let me see ! — 
 yes, that will do as well ; you can be a Yankee." 
 
 "I do not understand to what you allude." 
 
 "You will in good time, never fear;" and Harley re- 
 lapsed into a reverie, and did not speak again for five 
 minutes, notwithstanding I asked him several questions 
 meantime. His first words were : " But how to dispose 
 of Tom ! for he must go with us." 
 
 " Oh, Tom will take care of himself ; he is easily satis- 
 fied," I replied. 
 
 " You do not understand me^ Harry. I mean in what 
 capacity he is to travel with us ; for if as a servant, will 
 people not think it singular that — " 
 
 "Not at all," I interrupted; "or if they do, what of 
 it? We may be peddlers ; but it does not follow, you know, 
 we must be poor ; and why not have a black to carry our 
 boxes ? Some may think us a little too aristocratic for 
 our profession — but that will do us no harm." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right — consider it settled so at 
 all events," replied Harley. " And now, Harry, let us 
 retire to our room. Or, by-the-bye, I wish you would 
 make inquiry concerning that carriage ; and if you can 
 find out which course it went from here, I think we shall 
 have no great diflScuIty in tracing it home." 
 
 It was perhaps an hour later, that I repaired to the 
 apartment assigned us for the night. The door was locked. 
 I rapped several times ; but receiving no answer, I came to 
 the conclusion that Harley had stepped out, and taken tli« 
 
 7 
 
78 VIOLA. 
 
 key with him. And I was further confirmed in this belief, 
 when, on inquiring at the bar, I was told that my friend 
 had gone up stairs about an hour since, and that some one, 
 no doubt himself, had come down and gone out within a 
 few minutes. I seated myself and took up a newspaper 
 to while away the time till his return. I was just in the 
 middle of a vituperative article on Mexico, in which the 
 "writer boldly prophesied the consequences to thai dis- 
 tracted country, should she dare go to war with the gi-eat- 
 est Nation in the world — that is to say, the Yankee Nation, 
 — when, chancing to turn my head a little, I became a^are 
 that some one was looking over my shoulder ; and another 
 glance showed me that the new comer was a stranger. 
 Indignant at such vulgar rudeness, I started to my feet, 
 and confronted him with : 
 
 "Well, sir, what is it?" 
 
 He seemed astonished and alarmed, and instantly stam- 
 mered out : 
 
 "Pardonnez moi ! I want not'ing. I was just look at 
 de papeer : vairee sorree I was deesturb monsieur." 
 
 I looked him full in the eye, as he spoke, and became 
 satisfied, from its contrite expression, he had erred through 
 ignorance rather than design. He was a young man, ap- 
 parently under thirty ; though his face, lips, and chin were 
 so covered with a black, matted beard, that it was difficult 
 to fix upon his age with any degree of' certainty. His 
 skin was as dark as that of a Spaniard ; and long, black, 
 matted hair fell down around his shoulders, and completely 
 hid his neck. His eyes were light, I noticed, and had an 
 intelligent expression ; and his dress, I did not fail to per- 
 ceive, was something like my own. He seemed so penitent 
 for having disturbed me, as he expressed it, that I felt my 
 anger vanish in a moment ; but still I thought it best not 
 to appear too easily pacified. 
 
THE DISGUISE. 79 
 
 "You are a Frenchman, I perceive ?" I said. 
 
 " Oui, monsieur, at your sarvais." 
 
 " The French," I rejoined, " are considered a very po- 
 lite people ; how is it that, being one of them, you could 
 be so rude as to look over a gentleman's shoulder while he 
 was reading ?" 
 
 " Ten million pardone, monsieur ! I was forgeet. I was 
 look at ze papeer, to geet ze nam." I do zo not ageen, 1 
 do assure. I not would mak' my contree asham' — but I 
 av not mooch breed a la mode. I was a poor pedleer." 
 
 "Ah ! so you are a peddler?" returned I, suddenly be- 
 coming much interested in my brother chip. " Sit down ! 
 never mind what is past : I was a little hasty." 
 
 The sudden change in my manner, seemed to make my 
 new acquaintance rather suspicious ; for he eyed me cu» 
 riously ; and though he so far complied with my request 
 as to seat himself, yet he managed to leave quite a space 
 between us ; and I observed he put his hands in his pock- 
 ets, as if he feared I might, by some hocus pocus, abstract 
 his money without his knowledge. In order to reassure 
 him, I informed him that I was on the point of adopting 
 his vocation. 
 
 " You, monsieur ?" he exclaimed ; " you was become one 
 pedleer ? By gar ! I was so mooch astonish nevare. I 
 shall shook your hand off;" and faith I thought he would; 
 for he squeezed and shook it for something less than five 
 minutes : in fact, until I withdrew it, and begged him to 
 reseat himself. "I was so mooch happee, I forgeet," he 
 said, by way of apology. 
 
 " What do you sell ?" I inquired. 
 
 "Jewelry, and sooch tings." 
 
 " Jeweh-y, eh ? Why, then, we are both in the same 
 line.* 
 
 " You sell him, eh ? ha ! By gar ! I was like to shook 
 
80 YIOLA. 
 
 your hand ageen, for say zo. But no — I do him not — I 
 might forgeet ze leetle stop." 
 
 *' Which way are you travelling ?" I inquired. 
 
 *' I was just come from Galveston : I was for to try ze 
 contree up to Brazos riviere." 
 
 " Ever been this route ?" 
 
 " Nevare. I was coome from Nouvelle Orlean on ze 
 boat, one, two day gone by." 
 
 " Where do you put up for the night ?" 
 
 "In zis hotel with monsieur." 
 
 " Hum ! yes. How do you carry your jewelry ?'* 
 
 " In one leetle box, with strop — zo — under de arm.** 
 
 *' Where is your box ?" 
 
 " Up stairs. Will monsieur look at him ?" 
 
 " With pleasure," I answered. 
 
 " Will monsieur geet ze light ? I show him with mooch 
 delight." 
 
 I procured the light, and we went up stairs. To my 
 surprise, the Frenchman stopped at my door ; and taking 
 a key from his pocket, applied it to the lock. 
 
 "Not here," I said; "you have made a mistake; this 
 is my room." 
 
 The Frenchman looked at the number, and replied, with 
 a shrug : 
 
 " If meestake, monsieur was mak' him : zis be my lodg- 
 ing, where I keep ze box : Ze key say zo — see !" and with 
 the last word, he threw open the door, adding : " Will 
 monsieur step in, please ?" 
 
 I went in, looked all around, and assured myself I was 
 not mistaken. It was my apartment: and there, before 
 me, proof positive, were my box and Harley's. 
 
 " Well," I said, rather sternly, " are you satisfied now^ 
 I told you it was my room before you entered it ; now I 
 trust you are convinced." 
 
THE DISGUISE. 81 
 
 " But I say zis be my lodging," replied the other ; " and 
 see ! dare was my varee box ;" and going up to one, he 
 commenced fumbling at the key hole. 
 
 I was never a person to be trifled with ; and suddenly 
 becoming indignant — for I felt my new acquaintance was 
 presuming on my good nature — I seized him by the collar, 
 dragged him back from the box, and exclaimed : 
 
 " Sir ! what do you mean by persisting in this foolery ? 
 Begone ! leave the room instantly, or I will throw you 
 down stairs !" 
 
 "Why, Harry, you needn't work yourself into such a 
 passion about nothing ; I suppose I have a right here as 
 well as you; and that box is mine!" said my French ac- 
 quaintance, in the voice of Morton Harley. 
 
 I never was so thunderstruck in my life ; I was perfectly 
 dumb with amazement ; and for nearly a minute I stood 
 speechless, gazing upon the person before me, but almost 
 doubting still it could be Harley. 
 
 " Is it you, Morton ?" I inquired, at length. 
 
 "Well, Harry, it's nobody else," he answered, in a 
 phrase peculiar to the West ; " and if you longer doubt, 
 see here ;" and he forthwith removed his wig, whiskers, and 
 moustaches, and stood before me Morton Harley indeed, 
 but with his skin discolored by the liquid he had used to 
 change his complexion. 
 
 " What shall it be ?" I inquired; " I see I am in for it 
 again." 
 
 " Oh, never mind the wine this time, Harry. I forgive 
 you a little rough usage, and some harsh words, and you 
 must forgive me the joke. In fact, Harry, it was not 
 intended for a joke ; but the most serious earnest ; and on 
 its success depended the prosecution of my design. Do 
 you comprehend me ?" 
 
 7* 
 
82 VIOLA. 
 
 " I think I do. But tell me ; where and when did you 
 procure this disguise ?" 
 
 '* It was made for me some years ago, and first used 
 while at college, to steal a march on the Faculty. It has 
 been lying in my trunk ; but I never showed it to you, for 
 the reason that I wished first to test its virtue, and have 
 some harmless fun at your expense. Henceforth, with 
 Heaven's aid, I dedicate it to a service of momentous 
 importance ! I shall not fail to deceive them — eh ! 
 Harry?" 
 
 " You could deceive your own mother : I never saw an 
 illusion so real." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! I could now shout for joy. Let them have 
 a care ! let them have a care ! But the carriage, Harry — 
 you made the inquiry ?" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " At first I could get no trace of it — could find no one 
 who had seen it ; but at last I met a stable-boy, leading a 
 horse, who assured me such a carriage had passed him 
 about a mile from here, on the road running northward." 
 
 "Bravo! As Bulwer says, Hhe night is passing.* 
 Ob, that I knew the future ! Come, Harry, let us turn in 
 — for we must be up betimes. Remember the wager!" 
 
 " I hope to take some pleasure in reminding you of it 
 to-morrow eve," I replied. 
 
 That night I had confused dreams of distressed damsels 
 and French peddlers. 
 
CHAPTER VIIL 
 
 INCIDENTS. 
 
 The morning rose bright and glorious; and the sun, 
 which here in this delightful climate shines a perpetual 
 summer, now poured a golden flood over awakened nature, 
 making everything look joyous. We are all, in a greater 
 or less degree, the children of nature; and our hearts are 
 apt to feel buoyant when she smiles, and depressed when 
 she frowns or looks gloomy, as the infant prattler takes its 
 cue from its mother. 
 
 Harley and I were up betimes ; and after breaking our 
 • fast, we set out upon our journey, our hearts swelling with 
 ''a secret, inward exultation, which is at times felt by all, 
 but which language cannot describe. 
 
 We had resolved not to begin our new vocation till we 
 were two miles on the road ; and Tom was accordingly 
 ordered to follow us at a respectable distance with our 
 boxes. We passed several fine-looking houses, and at 
 length came to a deep wood ; when, retiring into a thicket, 
 Harley donned his disguise, which he was determined hence- 
 forth to wear, lest some accident might betray him to his 
 enemies. 
 
 We now for the first time slung our boxes under our 
 arms ; and if we did not look foolish, I certainly for one 
 felt so. I found it was one thing to turn peddler in imagi- 
 nation, and another to be so in reality. Still I braced 
 myself up with the reflection, that it was not for paltry 
 gain I "had taken to the road," but to accomplish a great 
 
 iSS) 
 
84 VIOLA. 
 
 purpose ; and by dint of much reasoning with myself to 
 this effect, I had almost " screwed my courage to the stick- 
 ing point," when I chanced to espy Tom, with his back 
 toward me, shaking as if with the ague. 
 
 " What is the matter with you ?" cried I. 
 
 Tom started, turned around, and tried with all his might 
 to look grave and serious ; but the desire to laugh over- 
 coming his fear of punishment, he, after displaying sundry 
 contortions of countenance, burst forth in one regular 
 negro "yah! yah!" that might have been heard half-a- 
 mile. 
 
 "You — you can lik dis chile, Massa Hal," he said — 
 " bu-but I can't help it — dat de fac' — yah ! yah ! yah !" 
 
 " Well, what in the name of common sense ar^ you 
 laughing at ?" 
 
 " Why, I was tinking how you look, ef Massa Wal'on, 
 or old Moll seed you now. I neber tink young Massa 
 Harry, de greatest buck in ole Wargin'a, come down to 
 dis." 
 
 " I may come down to something worse for you, if you 
 are not careful," I replied, sternly. " Hark ye, boy ! laugh 
 your laugh out now ; and mind you never betray, by word, 
 look, or sign, that Harley or I are other than we seem, or 
 I will break every bone in your body !" 
 
 " Come, Harry," said my friend, " never mind Tom ; I 
 know he will be true — or" — and he gave the black a 
 significant look, and pointed to one of his revolvers, 
 which had an instantaneous effect in bringing about a 
 silence. " Come, Harry, let us forward — for I long to be 
 playing my part." 
 
 " Ay, and your part is an easy one, compared to mine, 
 Morton." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 " Because you will act behind a mask, and so conceal 
 
INCIDENTS. 85 
 
 both your own face and your blushes; while I shall be 
 obliged to expose, to the rude gaze of all I meet, an open, 
 honest, modest countenance, which I fear will be perpetu- 
 ally blushing for what its owner does." 
 
 *'Well, there is some truth in that," laughed Harley ; 
 " but you must console yourself with the reflection, that no 
 one here will know you, and that you will never see your 
 kind patrons but once. Come, the wager ! the wager ! 
 Faith ! I see I shall win without an eflfort." 
 
 "Be not too sanguine," said I, now thinking of nothing 
 but victory ; for, from a child up, I was always ambitious to 
 excel in whatever I undertook. " The first house shall be 
 yours, the second mine; and so we will continue, alter- 
 nately, till we tire of the sport." 
 
 "And fail not," returned Harley, "to make inquiry of 
 all you see concerning the carriage, and the location of 
 D'Estang Ville; for some one perchance may know of it; 
 and once discovered, away with all thoughts but those of 
 love and happiness, or despair and revenge." 
 
 It was a rich, beautiful country over which we were 
 now passing ; and at regular intervals were the dwellings 
 of wealthy planters. At the first of these — a pleasant look- 
 ing mansion, standing ofif to the right of the road — Harley 
 stopped ; and bidding Tom loiter behind, I went forward 
 to try my luck and test my assurance at the next. The 
 distance between the two was about half a mile ; and so 
 occupied was I with thinking of how I should feel and act, 
 and what I should say, that the beauties of a splendid land- 
 scape, reposing in the soft sunshine of a lovely day, were 
 unnoticed ; and the silvery warblings of hundreds of gay- 
 plumed songsters were unheard. 
 
 At length I found myself opposite a modest, genteel 
 residence ; but when, after gazing upon it a few minntes, I 
 desperately turned my steps into the neat enclosure in front 
 6 
 
86 VIOLA. 
 
 thereof, I felt just as I always fancied a man must feel 
 when caught in the act of robbing a neighbor's hen-roost. 
 I kept on, however — at least my feet did — though my 
 heart seemed all the while going backward — and I really 
 debated with myself, whether there would not be a separa- 
 tion between the two by the time I should get there. A 
 couple of negro children were playing near the house ; and 
 advancing to them, I inquired, in a tolerably even tone of 
 voice, considering the state of my nerves, if their mistress 
 was at home. The reply was in the affirmative ; and sum- 
 moning all my fortitude for the awful trial, like a man 
 who is going to be hung, I found myself at the door — 
 though to this day I have no distinct recollection of how 
 I got there. 
 
 I knocked. 
 
 " Come in," said a sharp voice ; and the next moment, 
 trembling from head-to foot, with perspiration standing all 
 over me in drops, I found myself in a neat, genteel apart- 
 ment, where a pale, thin-lipped, sharp-featured, starchy- 
 looking lady sat tying a ribbon around a sombrero. 
 
 I remember this distinctly ; and how I wondered, at the 
 time, if that would ever shade such a sneaking, hangdog- 
 looking countenance, as I fancied a.ndfelt mine at that mo 
 ment must be. 
 
 " Well ?" said the woman, sharply, eyeing me suspi- 
 ciously from head to foot. 
 
 « Madam, I—" 
 
 "We don't v/ant to buy anything, sir." 
 
 " You mistake me," I stammered, feeling the hot blood 
 of shame and confusion rush to my face, till I thought the 
 heated veins would burst. I — I — called, madam — foi? — a 
 drink of water." 
 
 " Oh ! ah ! I beg your pardon, sir ! — pray be seated. 
 Dinah, (to a negress in an adjoining room,) a glass of water 
 
INCIDENTS. 87 
 
 bere for this gentleman. You must excuse me ! I thought, 
 from seeing your box, you were a peddler ; and I detest the 
 lazy drones, who go strolling about to cheat honest, indus- 
 trious citizens." 
 
 "Yes, madam, so do I," I replied. " Of all professions 
 on earth, I think that of peddling the most detestable ;" 
 and I spoke from my heart. Here Dinah brought the 
 water ; and having drank, I rose to go. " Could you direct 
 me to D'Estang Ville ?" I inquired. 
 
 " D'Estang Ville !" repeated the other, musingly. "I 
 think I have heard the name before. It is not in this vici- 
 nity, I think." 
 
 " I believe not, madam ; at least I have heard it is near 
 the river Brazos." 
 
 " Well, no, I could not direct you to it ; but if you take 
 the road to your left, a mile or two beyond here, you will 
 be right for the Brazos." 
 
 *'* Thank you, madam ; I wish you good- day ;" and I de- 
 camped, feeling something like an escaped convict. 
 
 Having got out of sight of the house, I sat down by the 
 road side, to wait for Harley. In about ten minutes he 
 made his appearance. 
 
 "Well, Harry," he said, "what success? Ah! I read 
 failure in your countenance." 
 
 I gave him the particulars of my first attempt ; and after 
 a hearty laugh, he rejoined, gravely : 
 
 "I was afraid of this, Harry. You must try again, 
 and — " 
 
 " No, I thank you," I interrupted ; " I am satisfied I 
 was never intended for a peddler. Fortunately, I am not 
 obliged to adopt the profession ; and as to the wager, why, 
 I will consider myself the loser." 
 
 " Nay, Harry, this will not answer my purpose. You 
 must try your hand at this business, till you can pass for a 
 
88 VIOLA. 
 
 salesman — otherwise you will be ignorant of what you pro- 
 fess ; and this may accidentally be discovered, at a time 
 when discovery will be fatal to my project." 
 
 "I shall never succeed, I assure you, if all my custo- 
 mers are like yonder shrew." 
 
 "You will hardly find two alike, Harry; though from 
 what I understand of this shrew, as you term her, I doubt 
 not she is the one to trade liberally, if you only touch her 
 right. Mankind is a great organ, on which, in order to 
 play any tune, you have only to be master of the keys and 
 stops. Come, I will go back and trade with this woman, 
 just to convince you of the truth of what I say." 
 
 " Better not try her, Harley ; she will set her dogs on 
 you." 
 
 "No fear of that — shrews do their own dogging," said 
 Harley, laughing. " Stay you here till I return. I will 
 not be long away." 
 
 "No longer than to go and come," rejoined I. 
 
 But my friend did not return so soon as I expected : in 
 fact, it was a full half-hour ere I saw him again. 
 
 " Well," said I, " were you turned out of the house ?" 
 
 "No," he answered, " I was politely bowed out, with four 
 dollars and sixty-two cents more in my pocket than when I 
 entered. Ah ! my dear fellow, nothing like touching them 
 right." 
 
 " And did the old woman really want to trade, after 
 all ?" 
 
 " Why, she said not ; but I knew better ; and I stayed 
 till I sold her the amount named." 
 
 " Well, I have only to say, then, that if you can make 
 all the world believe the moon is made of green cheese, I 
 can make somebody. I will try again." 
 
 I did try, and succeeded beyond my expectations ; and 
 
INCIDENTS. 89 
 
 each new trial gave me fresh assurance ; till at last Harley 
 said he thought me properly trained for his purpose. 
 
 It was now considerably past noon ; and as neither of U3 
 had eaten since morning, we resolved to push forward to a 
 small village, some two miles distant, and there put up for 
 the night. 
 
 On our way thither, we came to a fine-looking d^\el]ing, 
 from which issued the sweetest, most melodious music 1 
 had ever heard. It appeared to be a female voice, accom 
 panied by a guitar. 
 
 "Beautiful!" whispered Harley, as breathlessly wa 
 listened to the rich, clear, full notes. "■ Divine !" 
 
 I cannot tell why ; but an irresistible desire possessed 
 me to see the singer ; and grasping my box, as the last soft 
 tones seemed to melt away into "thin air," I resolutely 
 said to myself — 
 
 " I will, and here is my letter of introduction." 
 
 "Where are you going, Harry?" inquired my compa- 
 nion, as I turned my steps toward the mansion, which stood 
 half-embowered in a beautiful enclosure, that might not in- 
 appropriately be likened to ancient Eden. 
 
 "Going to make love," I replied. 
 
 " Better do it on a full stomach," he rejoined, with some- 
 thing more in the way of remonstrance, to which I paid no 
 attention. 
 
 I entered the enclosure, and passing through an orange 
 grove, along a walk fragrant with the rarest and most de- 
 lightful flowers of a southern clime, approached the man- 
 sion. One idea now filled my soul. Should I see the un- 
 known songstress ? and should I find her person as beauti- 
 ful as I knew her voice to be melodious ? Tell me not there 
 is no such thing as animal magnetism — a something which 
 draws together souls, and unites them, like loadstone and 
 steel. I know better — I know it from experience. Else 
 
 8 
 
90 * VIOLA. 
 
 "why went I to seek out the fair warbler, without reflecting 
 on the consequences ? Had I been guided by reason, or 
 by judgment, I should not have gone ; but I acted from 
 an impulse stronger than reason or judgment; and if this 
 impulse was not in itself magnetism, I know not what it 
 was, and willingly leave the subject, with the fact, for the 
 further investigation of the curious. 
 
 I reached the vine-covered portico of the mansion, in a 
 very peculiar frame of mind, and rang the bell. A negro 
 woman answered my summons, and invited me to enter. I 
 did so ; and was shown into a very elegant parlor, where I 
 seated myself on a rich sofa, with the air of a lord. 
 
 " Is your mistress at home ?" I now inquired. 
 
 "No, massa — she gwine down to Ga'veston. 
 
 *' Ah ! then it was not her I heard sing ?" 
 
 " Oh, bless ye, no, massa — missus neber sing — dat was 
 young Missee Clara, I guess you hearn." 
 
 " And pray who is Miss Clara ?" 
 
 "At your service," said a rich, silvery voice ; and a 
 beautiful young lady, robed in white, glided gracefully into 
 the room, and advanced toward me. 
 
 I rose, bowed, and then recollecting I could ofier no ex- 
 cuse for being there but ray jewelry, I suddenly grew con- 
 fused and abashed, and would have given half I was worth 
 to have been anywhere else just at that moment. But my 
 confusion ended in rapturous astonishment, when the lovely 
 being before me suddenly bounded forward, threw her arms 
 around my neck, and embraced me in the most aff'ectionate 
 manner. I returned her embrace — for the temptation was 
 too strong to resist ; but for the life of me, I could not tell 
 whether I was being hugged for myself, or for somebody 
 else : at all events, I thought there would be no harm in 
 improving the time — and, as I have said, I did so. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 IN LOVE. 
 
 The first words of my fair hostess increased my per- 
 plexity and amazement. 
 
 " So, truant, I have you at last !" she exclaimed, with 
 animation, stepping back a pace, resting a hand on each 
 shoulder, and letting her soft, bright eyes look full into 
 mine. I was bewildered. 
 
 " Good heavens !" cried I, — " do you know me ?" 
 
 " To be sure I do : did you think two years would efface 
 your image from my remembrance ? Ah ! I would have 
 known you had we met accidentally in a strange city ; how 
 much more then here, when I knew you were coming. 
 You look well," she continued, while I stood dumb with 
 astonishment ; " better than I ever saw you before ; travel 
 has improved you; you are right handsome." 
 
 Here she turned her head aside, and I could perceive a 
 nervous twitching of the muscles around her mouth, as if 
 she. were trying to repress the exhibition of some deep 
 emotion. But in vain her effort ; and the next moment 
 she lay heavily against my breast, and her tears flowed 
 freely. 
 
 "Chide me not!" she murmured; "chide me not! I 
 promised not to weep ; but I cannot help it ; I am so glad 
 to see you." 
 
 "This must be some mistake," I now ventured to say, 
 hardly knowing whether to regard what I saw and felt aa 
 
 (91) 
 
92 VIOLA. 
 
 real, or as some vision of the brain — a dream from which 
 all too soon I must wake. 
 
 "How a mistake?" she inquired, looking up. 
 
 *' Why, who do you take me for, fair lady ?" 
 
 " Come, come — no more of your jokes — at least not now. 
 You cannot play upon me. I tell you I know you. I re- 
 cognized your voice, when you so innocently inquired who 
 is Miss Clara ; but I thought I Avould be sure, ere I made 
 any demonstrations of joy. But where is aunt ? and how 
 is it you come alone ? Ah ! some mischievous plot of 
 yours, I'll be bound." 
 
 "Miss Clara," replied I — "since such I understand is 
 your name — this appears to be a very singular mistake, 
 which, on your account, I regret exceedingly. You are ex- 
 pecting some one, between whom and myself there must 
 be a very extraordinary resemblance ; but I do assure you, 
 most sincerely, I am not the person you take me for ; and 
 that never, till within this hour, had I the pleasure of look- 
 ing upon your countenance." 
 
 " Ah, brother," she said, pouting her rosy lips, " why 
 will you persist in teasing me in this way ? Come ! I shall 
 get angry, if you do not instantly acknowledge that you 
 are Walter Moreland, my own dear brother, and then give 
 me such a kiss as a sister ought to have." 
 
 "Moreland!" repeated I: "Moreland! surely that 
 name is familiar to me — where have I heard it before ? 
 Ha ! yes — it must be the same !" exclaimed I ; and hastily 
 producing my pocket-book, I took from it a memorandum 
 of facts gathered from the letters of the young man who 
 perished the victim of a gambler on the Neptune. "TAo- 
 mas Moreland J of Oentreville, Texas, — Son of a Widow 
 Moreland,'' I read. " May I ask. Miss Clara, if you 
 know the individuals mentioned? and if they are con- 
 nected with your family ?" 
 
IN LOVE. 93 
 
 " Brother, "why will you tease me so?" cried my fair 
 companion, with a vexed expression* " You know Thomaa 
 is our cousin." 
 
 " Miss Moreland," said I, gravely, "saking her hand, " 1 
 see you still persist in calling me brother ; but you must 
 be undeceived, as you soon will be. I solemnly give you 
 ray word of honor, as a gentleman, that I am not your 
 brother — that my name is not Walter Moreland — and that, 
 till yesterday, I never set foot on the soil of Texas." 
 
 Miss Moreland looked at me incredulously, for a moment 
 or two, and then, starting back, alarmed, exclaimed : 
 
 "If not Walter Moreland, my brother, then who on 
 earth are you ?" 
 
 " My name is Henry Walton, and I am from Virginia." 
 
 " Oh ! what have I said and done ?" she cried, hiding 
 her blushing face. " Stay ! one test !" and suddenly 
 springing to me, she lifted the hair from my right temple. 
 "Ah ! no," she said ; " I am wrong ; the scar is not here. 
 Oh ! sir, ten thousand pardons ! I am overwhelmed with 
 confusion. Hetty, (to the servant, who had all this time 
 been a silent spectator,) did you not think this gentleman 
 my brother ?" 
 
 " Didn't know, Missee Clara ; rader tink so when I seed 
 you kiss him." 
 
 " Go and attend to your duties, Hetty !" said Miss 
 Moreland, sternly, fresh color mounting to her temples, 
 till her face glowed like a coal of fire. Then, turning to 
 me again : " Ah, sir, I shall never forgive myself for mak- 
 ing such a ridiculous mistake." 
 
 I felt I could forgive her a hundred such ; and so no 
 doubt would you, reader, of the sterner sex, had you been 
 in my place. Had she been old and ugly, the case might 
 have been different ; but it seems a very easy matter to 
 
 8* 
 
94 VIOLA. 
 
 forgive a young and beautiful woman, when her only crime 
 is that of being a little too affectionate. 
 
 And here let me pause to say that Clara Moreland was 
 both young and beautiful. Her age was about eighteen, 
 and her form well developed and symmetrical. Every mo- 
 tion combined grace and dignity, with a sort of winning, 
 affectionate ease, if I may be permitted such a term, which 
 made her very charming. Her complexion was light, and 
 her skin soft and clear. She had sunny hair, and mild, 
 liquid blue eyes, which beamed upon you, through their 
 long lashes, a soul of intellect and tenderness. Her face 
 was full, almost round, with a kind of radiant expression, 
 which even in repose gave her an animated appearance. 
 Her lips were full, and slightly pouting, and just suffi- 
 ciently open to display a row of pearly teeth. A warm 
 tint, of rosy health, rested on her cheeks ; and her color 
 came and went in keeping with her feelings — presenting, 
 not unfrequently in the same moment, the varying shades 
 of an Aurora Borealis. Nothing could exceed in beauty 
 the plumpness of her arms — which were now bare to the 
 elbow — and the lady-like taper of her hand and fingers. 
 Her smile was the most bewitching I had ever seen, and 
 her laugh the most musical I had ever heard. In short, 
 she surpassed the ideal picture I had formed from hearing 
 her sing ; and as I intend to be candid with you, reader, 
 I must frankly confess, that from the first I felt myself 
 most desperately in love with her. 
 
 In reply to what she had said in the way of apology, I 
 stammered out something about being too happy in know- 
 ing that I resembled one so dear to her ; and was going 
 on in this strain — which would have brought me up, I know 
 Qot where — when it suddenly occurred to me, that I was 
 taking unwarrantable liberties with a mistake ; and I in 
 
IN LOVE. 95 
 
 turn became confused and embarrassed, and finally ended 
 with : 
 
 *' I crave pardon, Miss Moreland ! I know not what I 
 am saving." 
 
 A dead silence ensued, and we both stood blushing and 
 abashed. I would have given no small sura, to have ex- 
 tricated myself in a polite and dignified manner; but if 
 my life had depended on it, I would not have ventured 
 another sentence, for fear of making a fool of myself. Oh, 
 the humiliating agony of that moment ! I shall never for- 
 get it. I have been in some very perilous and trying situ- 
 ations since ; I have seen death staring me in the face in 
 various forms ; but candidly, I confess, I do not know that 
 I ever felt rnore^ in the same space of time, in my life. 
 You may laugh, reader — you that have never been simi- 
 larly tried ; but I appeal to all of experience in such mat- 
 ters, to say if they doubt the truth of my assertion. Talk 
 about bayonets and batteries I I have since faced both, 
 like a man, when the battle was raging, and death was 
 doing its work on every side ; but it was nothing to stand- 
 ing before the battery of the lovely Clara Moreland's eyes. 
 I could think, reason, speak and act on the battle-field ; 
 here I could do neither ; all my intellectual faculties 
 seemed jumbled into chaos ; and poor I standing there, a 
 kind of *' wreck of matter." 
 
 Woman, by a peculiar gift, is generally the first, at such 
 times, to recover herself; and it was so in the present 
 instance : for Clara, accidentally resting her eyes on my 
 box, said, timidly : 
 
 " I believe you called to — " 
 
 " Oh, yes," I interrupted, speaking the first clear idea 
 that entered my head, and which I gathered from following 
 her eyes to the box : " Yes, I called to sell you some 
 
96 VIOLA. 
 
 jewelry ; have some very fine, I assure you ;" and I made 
 a motion toward the box, when her language arrested me. 
 
 *' Jewelry ?" she repeated, with a look of surprise. 
 " Oh, then you are a peddler ?" and I fancied she drew her- 
 self up a little proudly. "I was about to observe, I thought 
 you called to learn something concerning my cousin, 
 Thomas Moreland, as you mentioned the name." 
 
 Reader, did you ever, in a dream, fancy yourself in a 
 glorious region of beatitude ? and then, by a blunder of 
 the foot, feel yourself pitched headlong down, far down, 
 into a quagmire ? If you ever did, you no doubt felt some- 
 what "fallen from your high estate ;" but even then, your 
 feelings were bliss compared to mine, when I fully compre- 
 hended what a mercenary blockhead I had made of myself. 
 If what I had previously experienced may be termed the 
 torture of bashfulness — what I now underwent must be 
 denominated the quaintessence of meanness. 
 
 What ! seek to sell jewelry to the divinity before me ? 
 I, of the best blood of old Virginia — a descendant of the 
 Cavaliers — the son of a wealthy planter — a gentleman of 
 independent fortune ? I, Harry Walton, to seek to dispose 
 of my gew-gaws, for a profit, to the only being I had ever 
 seen that I loved ? Oh, I could have cut my tongue out 
 for uttering the words ; I would have torn myself with red- 
 hot pincers, to have had them unsaid ; and as for the box 
 of vile trinkets, if my wishes'on that had been granted, it 
 would long since have been in a place where I hope I shall 
 never be. It has been said of the lamented Davy Crocket, 
 that when he wanted to crawl through a hole one-half the 
 size of his body, he thought of the meanest thing he ever 
 did, and went through easily ; and on the same principle, 
 I believe, just then, I could have crawled through a gimlet 
 hole. " Well," thought I, with an old motto, " 'desperate 
 diseases require desperate remedies ;' and something must 
 
IN LOVE. 97 
 
 be done now, Harry, to regain your footing, or you will 
 never be able to hold your head up again." For the 
 time it would take one to count ten, I thought intensely, 
 lesperately, agonizingly; and then I had settled on my 
 ■-jourse. 
 
 "Miss Moreland," I began, with a courtly ease that, 
 three minutes before, I would almost have sacrificed my 
 right hand to possess : " Miss Moreland, in judging by 
 appearances, we often judge wrongly. I am not what I 
 seem. I am not a peddler. True, this is a box of jewelry; 
 and on the road hither I have stopped at several dwellings^ 
 and effected several sales. But in doing so I had a pur- 
 pose, which at present I cannot explain to you. And now, 
 pardon me for speaking candidly, and saying why I am 
 here. I was passing this house with a friend, when we 
 were both arrested by hearing sounds of melody that 1 
 fancied could proceed from no ordinary being. To behold 
 that being I felt an irresistible desire ; and without think- 
 ing further, than that I could make my adopted vocation 
 an excuse for my intrusion, I made bold to enter here, and 
 you know what has followed." 
 
 My fair companion again blushed, and seemed more em- 
 barrassed than ever ; but finally stammered out : 
 
 " This — this is quite singular — very strange !" 
 
 " It is strange, Miss Moreland ; for everything appears 
 strange to us, that we cannot give a reason for ; but what 
 seems most singular of all, is, that in me you should 
 behold such a likeness to your brother, and that in you I 
 should find so near a relative of one who, a stranger to. 
 me. I chanced to see die, and consigned to a stranger's 
 grave, in a strange land. It seems more than accident, 
 Miss Moreland ; and I am fain to believe that Providence 
 has brought us together." 
 
 " I do not understand you, sir," she said, turning pale. 
 
98 VIOLA. 
 
 " Thomas Moreland, your cousin, is no more." 
 
 " Dead ?" she almost shrieked. 
 
 " Alas ! that I must say yes." 
 
 *' IIow ? where ? when ? Oh ! this is terrible news ! 
 You are not deceiving me, sir?" 
 
 '' He that could trifle with your feelings on such a sub- 
 ject. Miss Moreland," I replied, gravely, " is a vile wretch 
 — and I trust you do not think me such." 
 
 " Oh, no, sir — no — forgive me ! I knew not what I 
 said — this news came so sudden. Oh, tell me how it 
 happened !" 
 
 '^ Calm yourself. Miss Moreland," I said ; and I pro- 
 ceeded to give her all the particulars I knew concerning the 
 gambler's victim — how he died and where he was buried — 
 the which, being known to the reader, I need not here 
 repeat. 
 
 She burst into tears, and wept like a child. 
 
 " Poor Thomas !" she exclaimed; " what a terrible fate ! 
 Alas ! alas ! his poor mother ! this blow, I fear, will kill 
 her — for he was all her hope ;" and she wept anew. 
 
 I did not offer anything in the way of consolation — for 
 well I knew there is no solace for grief equal to tears. At 
 last, becoming somewhat tranquilized, she proceeded to 
 answer my inquiry concerning the unfortunate young man, 
 by giving me a brief history of his family, which was in 
 substance as follows : 
 
 Frederick Moreland, the father of Thomas, had removed 
 to Texas, from Kentucky, during the early struggles of 
 the late Republic for independence. He had a wife and 
 four children, the youngest of whom, Thomas, was then an 
 infant. He had purchased a tract of land near the 
 Brazos, and been settled upon it only about six months, 
 when a gang of Mexicans came to his house one night, 
 killed him ind three cliildren, plundered the dwollinir. nnd 
 
IN LOVE. 99 
 
 set it on fire. Just previous to the attack, Mrs. Moreland, 
 with her youngest born in her arms, had stepped out ; and 
 hearinc' the murderous assault, she concealed herself in a 
 thicket, and so escaped the massacre. This terrible blow 
 had nearly proved fatal to her ; but she had survived it, to 
 concentrate all her thoughts, affections, hopes, and fears, 
 upon the only remaining child. He grew up a wayward 
 youth, was over-indulged, and had squandered her fortune 
 in drinking and gambling. For the last two years, how- 
 ever, he had been a reformed man ; but, alas ! his early 
 dissipation had planted the seeds of a disease that bade'fair to 
 make him its victim. His mother, with whom he lived, 
 could not bear the thought that he should die so young, 
 and advised him to travel ; and, to give him the means, 
 was about to sell the little all she possessed, when it was 
 accidentally discovered, that Frederick Moreland, the 
 husband and father, had a claim on the United States 
 Government for services rendered, as surveyor on the Red 
 River, previous to his removal to Texas. This claim, 
 with interest, amounted to between one and two thousand 
 dollars ; and Thomas, to see the country and improve his 
 health, had gone to Washington, to petition Congress to 
 settle it. Since then, Clara had heard nothing of him, 
 till I informed her of his death. We were now led to 
 believe, from what I had heard him utter, that he had 
 succeeded in getting the money, and was on his return, 
 when the desire of gaming getting the better of his reso- 
 lution, he had yielded to the temptation, and so shortened 
 his days. What an awful destiny was his ! and oh ! how 
 terribly must the intelligence of his doom fall upon the ear 
 of his poor mother ! I shuddered at the thought. 
 
 My narration of the death and burial of Miss More- 
 land's cousin — her brief story of his history, and the 
 causes that led to his untimely end — together with the 
 
100 VIOLA. 
 
 uniting of our sympathies on the same objects, living and 
 dead — established at once a feeling of intimacy between 
 her and myself, that months might not have effected, had 
 we met under other circumstances ; and as for myself, I 
 coul 1 hardly realize that we had known each other less 
 than two hours — or rather, perhaps, correctly speakinrr, 
 that we hardly knew each other yet. 
 
 In further conversation she spoke freely of her own 
 history — said she resided in Houston — that her father was 
 one of the early pioneers of the country — was a personal 
 friend of General Houston — had fought under him for the 
 independence of Texas — had risen to the rank of Colonel 
 — was a member of the Texan Congress, and had been a 
 strenuous advocate for annexation. She had one brother 
 older, and one sister younger than herself, and a mother — 
 all now living. Her brother — who bore a remarkable re- 
 semblance to myself, and who, as nigh as I could judge, 
 was quite an original in his w^ay — had been absent two 
 years in Europe, and was now on his return. A letter had 
 been received from him, dated at New Orleans, in which 
 he stated he expected to reach Galveston by a certain 
 steamer, which was now due. She, Clara, had come down 
 to stay a day or two with her aunt — her mother's sister — 
 who, with her children, three in number, had gone to meet 
 her brother at the boat. As there was not convenient room 
 in the carriage for more, she had preferred awaiting his 
 arrival here. 
 
 Thus conversing, happy beyond wish of change, I "took 
 no note of time," till I chanced to hear a clock strike the 
 fifth hour from noon. This suddenly brought to recollec- 
 tion where I was, and in what manner 1 had left my friend. 
 I sprang to my feet. 
 
 "You are not going ?" said Miss Moreland, in a tone of 
 bewitching sweetness. 
 
IN LOVE. . .>., .101 
 
 " I must — I must ! — heavens ! how the time has flown ! 
 I cannot realize we have been three hours together." 
 
 " To me it seems as if we had been much, very much, 
 longer acquainted," replied my fair companion, with the 
 utmost naivete. " But perhaps," she added, quickly, 
 blushing at the thought of the construction I might put 
 upon her words — " perhaps it is because of your striking 
 likeness to my brother. But surely, Mr. Walton, you can 
 dtop to tea? My aunt would be delighted to see you; and 
 my brother also, if he comes." 
 
 *' And no one could be more delighted at my accepting 
 your kind invitation, than your humble servant, Miss 
 Moreland," I replied; "and accept it I would, I assure 
 you, had I only myself to consult. But there are others 
 in the case. I have a friend awaiting me, and must there- 
 fore decline. But, Miss Moreland — " here I ventured to 
 take her hand, which trembled, as did my voice, while her 
 respiration changed, the color deepened on her beautiful 
 features, and her soft bewitching eyes sought the ground, 
 and their long lashes drooped over them : " Miss More- 
 land — " here I really began to grow embarrassed, with 
 excess of emotion, and my brain to grow clouded : " Miss 
 Moreland — I — that is — will you — may I hope — this is not 
 — our last — meeting — and that I — " 
 
 " Dar's a nigger out here, says as how his name's Tom, 
 and wants to know ef his Massa Walloon's in dis house !" 
 cried Hetty, at this moment bursting into the room. 
 
 Reader, you must fancy what followed — or if you can- 
 not, you may console yourself with the reflection, that you 
 know just as much about it as I do. I have an indistinct 
 recollection, however, of seeing something white disappear, 
 and something black take its place ; and Tom has since 
 assured me, in a sorrowful way, that the black was him- 
 self, and that on that memorable occasion he was nearly 
 7 
 
lOS VIOLA. 
 
 shaken to death. I am rather inclined to think he had 
 some foundation for his assertion — from the fact, that the 
 first thing I do distinctly remember, I was standing in the 
 middle of the road, and had the collar of his coat closely 
 compressed between two thumbs and several nervous 
 digits. 
 
CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE BY-ROAD. 
 
 On quitting my hold of Tom, which I did the moment I 
 had fairly regained my senses, I demanded to know what 
 had become of Harley, who was nowhere to be seen. 
 
 '^ He gone, Massa Hal — two, four, seven, ten hours ago,'* 
 replied Tom, who had no very extended knowledge of nu- 
 merals. 
 
 " Gone ?" echoed I. 
 
 " Yes, Massa Hal : he wait 'bout short time, and den 
 he tell me to tole you you find him at de tabern. I wait, 
 and wait, and wait — till, golly ! I tink mebby you gone to 
 — and den I go and 'quire ; bu-bu-but — " 
 
 Here Tom stopped, rubbed his head, looked significantly 
 at me, and concluded to let the sentence end thus. 
 
 "Well, boy, never mind," I snid: " I abused you with- 
 out cause, I know, and you shall be paid for it. Come ! 
 take up the box, and let us hasten forward — there is no 
 telling in what mood we shall find Harley." 
 
 In less than half an hour, I stood upon the piazza of the 
 only inn of a small but pleasant villagfe. 
 
 "Is it possible you have arrived, Harry?" exclaimed 
 Harley, coming out to meet me. " Well, this is indeed 
 surprising ! Why, I thought you had married your un- 
 known nightingale, and had flown away, to have a honey- 
 moon of air and melody. How's your stomach ? By-the- 
 bye, some fine cold fricasseed chicken, ham, venistn-steak, 
 and apple-dumplings in here — would have been hot, had 
 
 (103) 
 
104 VIOLA. 
 
 you come in time. I thought I might as well order seve^ 
 ral dishes, seeing you are to defray the expenses. No fine 
 old port here, or champaigne ; but never mind — we may 
 find something better yet. Well, how did you get on, any 
 how? But, joking aside, I have learned something im- 
 portant. No one here knows anything of D'Estang Ville ; 
 but a stranger, who overheard me making inquiry about 
 the carriage, politely informed me that he saw such an one 
 stop at a road-side inn, some five miles from here; and 
 that two gentlemen, and a very beautiful lady, alighted 
 from it. I doubt not they were those we seek ; and as 
 soon as you have eaten, Harry, I am for pushing on, and 
 learning more about them to-night. Come ! what do you 
 say?" 
 
 " I am somewhat fatigued, Morton, with this day's work ; 
 but I understand your anxiety, and will go." 
 
 " Hasten, then, with your dinner — for I wish to get 
 there before night. The inn is on a by-road ; and though 
 I have inquired out the way thither, so that I think I shall 
 have no difficulty in finding it, yet I would rather do so by 
 daylight. And now," he added, " it suddenly strikes me, 
 as something singular, that they should take a by-road, 
 and stop at so obscure a place. Eh ! Harry — what do you 
 think of it ?" 
 
 "I cannot say that I altogether like it," I replied; 
 " though the by-road you speak of may be the nearest way 
 to D'Estang Yille ; and their simply stopping at the inn 
 proves nothing sinister." 
 
 " Well, we shall see," was Harley's reply. 
 
 While engaged with my meal, I gave him an account of 
 my remarkable adventure in the way of love and romance ; 
 and laughing heartily at the ludicrous opening, and still 
 more ludicrous finale, he said : 
 
THE BY-ROAD. 105 
 
 "Why, Harry, you begin about as romantically as I 
 did; but you end — " 
 
 *' The end is not yet, my de<ar fellow," I interrupted. 
 
 " Well, success to your affaire de coeur, since I see it 
 has assumed that importance, and may it never cost you 
 the misery mine has me. By Jove ! Harry, fate and lova 
 seem to be at work for you as well as me. How singular 
 that, in the musical unknown, you should find the cousin 
 of the poor fellow we saw die on the Neptune ! and how 
 little you thought then, that the unselfish interest you took 
 in his welfare, would eventually lead to the happiest, as 
 well as most important, result of your life !" 
 
 " Stop, my dear fellow ; you are going into futurity a 
 little too fast ; it has led to nothing as yet, but a few hours 
 of very agreeable conversation — and — we may never meet 
 again." 
 
 Harley burst into a hearty laugh ; and then with a deep 
 sigh, a grave face, and doleful shake of the head, repeated 
 my words : 
 
 " And — we may never meet again. Poor fellow ! I see 
 it is all over with you. Cupid has done his work. Well, 
 you must assist me in my project now — and then if I can 
 do you a good turn, rest assured I will." 
 
 From the little village where we were now stopping, 
 which for various reasons I shall not name, we took the 
 road leading almost due west ; and having pursued this a 
 couple of miles or so, we came to a rather obscure by-road, 
 which branched off" to the left, into a deep, dark forest. 
 
 " This is our way," said Harley, pointing to it. 
 
 " You must be mistaken, I think," I replied : " that is not 
 a carriage road — it is only a road for mules and horses." 
 
 *'I am right, nevertheless,'* rejoined my friend, "for I 
 made particular inquiry. And see !" he added, pointing 
 
 9* 
 
106 VIOLA. 
 
 to the ground ; " a carriage has passed along here, for here 
 are the marks of wheels." 
 
 " Well, then, if you are sure you're right, let us push 
 ahead ; but truth compels me to say, I am not pleased with 
 „he route." 
 
 " Nor I," said Harley, looking troubled. " Why should 
 they take Viola over such a lonely way as this ? Harry, I 
 repeat, I do not like it ; to me there seems something dark 
 and mysterious about it ; I fear all is not as it should be." 
 
 " Of that you may be certain," I replied; "else they 
 would not, in the first place, have taken Viola away against 
 her will." 
 
 " Eight, Harry — right ; they may prove villains enough 
 for anything. Heavens ! I grow uneasy at the thought ! 
 Not till now have I looked upon the affair in this startling 
 light. Oh, by my hopes hereafter ! if they do wrong her, 
 they shall pay dearly for it. Ha ! what a cut-throat look- 
 ing place !" continued Harley, as we advanced deeper and 
 deeper into the woods. "Let us stop and examine our 
 weapons, Harry ;" and as each drew forth a pair of Colt's 
 revolvers, and saw that everything was right, he added: 
 " Well, after all, we have no great deal to fear, while we 
 have such powerful friends as these to stand by us. And 
 there are three of us," he continued, nodding to Tom, who 
 stood respectfully back, with a box under each arm. 
 " I suppose we can depend on him — eh ! Harry ?" 
 
 "To the death," replied I: "a braver fellow never 
 lived." 
 
 " Well, he must have one of these instruments of death. 
 Can you shoot, Tom ?" 
 
 "Never tried um, massa," answered the black. 
 
 " Come here ;" and Harley explained to him how to use 
 the revolver — which, as most of my readers know, simply 
 
THE BY-ROAD. 107 
 
 consists, when charged, in pulling the trigger. " Well, 
 Tom, what do you think now ?" 
 
 " Spec' I could do dat, massa,*' grinned Tom. 
 
 " Well, take it, conceal it about your person, and mind, 
 boy, you do not lay a hand on it again till we bid you, or 
 you find it absolutely necessary to send a ball through 
 some villain's head ! Do you hear ?" 
 
 " Yes, massa — I do just as you tell um ;" and Tom trans- 
 ferred the revolver to a side-pocket, with a feeling of pride 
 at the confidence reposed in him, wiiich I had seldom seen 
 expressed in his honest countenance. 
 
 About a mile further on, we came to a creek, or small 
 stream, which crossed the narrow road we were travelling. 
 There being no bridge, we were obliged to ford it ; which we 
 did, without other inconvenience than wetting our feet — it 
 being about knee deep in the most shallow part. Thus far 
 the ground had been nearly level, but very heavily wooded ; 
 and since turning into this by-path — for it hardly deserved 
 the name of road — we had seen no trace of a habitation. 
 Every thing looked sombre and gloomy ; and to add to the 
 dreariness of our journey, the day was nearly spent, and 
 we knew that night must soon overtake us. The marks of 
 wheels were here visible, and had been all the way hither ; 
 but what was somewhat' singular — or perhaps I should say 
 suspicious — was the fact, that we could no where discover 
 the trace of more than one carriage having passed over this 
 route — thus showing, conclusively, it was not frequented by 
 conveyances of this description. From the creek, as small 
 streams are usually termed here, we ascended a slight emi- 
 nence, and beheld, with any thing but pleasant feelings, 
 the path we were pursuing descend into a swampy look- 
 ing wood, between two walls of dense undergrowth, whose 
 spreading branches, meeting overhead, almost shut out day- 
 light, and made our way appear dismal enough. 
 
108 VIOLA. 
 
 On perceiving this, Harlej looked more troubled and 
 anxious ; but compressing his lips, and knitting his brows, 
 as one whose mind is made up for the worst, he merely 
 said : 
 
 " Come, Harry, let us quicken our pace." 
 
 AYe did so, and pushed forward in silence — each experi- 
 encing that intense, gloomy depression of spirits, which in- 
 clines one to commune with himself rather than with another 
 — when one feels that the human voice, even his own, must 
 prove discordant with his feelings. 
 
 We kept on perhaps a mile further — our road changing 
 not for the better, and still without sign of habitation — 
 when the sun went down, and the shadows of approaching 
 night fell upon our lonesome way, making it impossible to 
 distinguish objects at more than a couple of rods from the 
 eye. As if to increase the disagreeableness of our jour- 
 ney, we now occasionally heard the hideous howl of some 
 hungry wolf, the hooting of neighboring owls, the chirping 
 and humming of night insects, an^ the whirring, flapping 
 sound of bats, which began to cross our path in numbers, 
 before and behind, whirling round us, sometimes almost 
 brushing our faces, as if indignant that human foot should 
 intrude upon a territory that nature had marked as their 
 own. Night, too, came down upon- us so fast, that in five 
 minutes more we found it impossible to keep the path, only 
 by fixing our eyes upon the narrow streak of light that 
 was dimly visible through the meeting branches overhead. 
 
 '• Well," spoke Harley, at length, gloomily, " this is 
 more than I bargained for. Were it not that — " 
 
 *' Hello I" said a gruff voice, so close to us that both in- 
 Toluntarily started, and laid our hayds on our revolvers. 
 
 ^'Who are you?" demanded Harley, sharply and 
 quickly. 
 
 " Wall, stranger, first, who ar' you ?" returned the voice, 
 
THE BY-ROAD. 109 
 
 in that broad, strong accent peculiar to the backwoods- 
 men of the West and South ; and we now became aware, 
 rather by sound than sight, that the speaker was directly 
 in front of us 
 
 " We are travellers," I hastened to answer. 
 
 " Ha ! another voice," said the unknown ; " how many 
 are ye ?" 
 
 " By what right do you question, sir ?" I demanded, be- 
 ginning to grow indignant. 
 
 " Wall, no partikler right," answered the other — " only 
 I'm a traveller too, and this arn't the safest place in the 
 world to run agin strangers." 
 
 " You have nothing to fear from us, if you are peaceably 
 disposed," said Harley. 
 
 *' Oh, as to that matter, reckon thar arn't much skeer 
 'bout me," replied the voice, in a careless, off-hand tone. 
 "I'm for peace or fight, just which happens to be trumps." 
 
 *' Well, do you know the country round here ?" inquired 
 Harley. 
 
 *' Hev seed some on't in ray time, expect," was the an 
 Bwer. 
 
 " Is there a tavern on ahead ?" 
 
 •' Two on *em ef you like." 
 
 *' How far is it to the first ?" 
 
 " You mean the best ?" 
 
 "No, the nearest." 
 
 " Wall, a good mile'n a half '11 fetch you thar." 
 
 " Is it a respectable house ?" 
 
 " Better ax old Mike Browes, the lan'ord, that thar 
 question — he'll tell ye, stranger, — ha, ha, ha ! But, 
 jokin' aside, it's a rum place for them as has the rhino. 
 'Spect you've got the tin, eh ?" 
 
 " None to boast of, though perhaps enough to pay for a 
 
110 VIOLA. 
 
 night's lodging," replied Harley. "But is the road from 
 here there all the way like this ?" 
 
 " Why, some'at so — leastways till you strike a cl'aring, 
 a piece this side." 
 
 " Then there is a clearing in this part of the world ?" 
 rejoined Harley, ironically. 
 
 " Al'ays, stranger, when you come to em," was the 
 ready and characteristic reply. 
 
 " Thank you — we will now set forward : good evening, 
 sir." 
 
 " Good-night," replied the stranger ; and still keeping 
 his place in the centre of the road, he managed to touch 
 each of us, as if by accident, as we passed by him ; and 
 then we heard him mutter to himself, but could not 
 distinguish what he said. 
 
 " I do not like it," said Harley to me, in a low tone, 
 when we had got beyond earshot of the stranger. " There 
 is something wrong here, depend upon it ; but we are in 
 for it now, and must take our chance. Keep close, Tom, 
 and let us all be wary." 
 
 " What do you apprehend?" inquired I. 
 
 " I do not know; we are in a part of the world where 
 all sorts of crime abound, and should be on our guard for 
 the worst." 
 
 Our progress through the wood was now necessarily 
 slow, by reason of the darkness ; but in less than half-an- 
 hour we reached the opening, with no other incident worth 
 recording, than the howl of one or two wolves a little 
 nearer than was agreeable. On gaining the clearing, we 
 could see our way much better ; and soon after we found 
 ourselves in front of a large, rough-looking, two-story build- 
 ing, which proved to be the inn of which we were in search. 
 
 There was a light in the lower room, and we heard the 
 Bound of many voices. 
 
THE BY-ROAD. Ill 
 
 " Is it not singular, Harry," said Harlej, after listening 
 a short time, "that there should be so many persons 
 assembled in this out-of-the-way place ?" 
 
 "What do you infer from it?" I inquired. 
 
 "Why, to tell you the truth, I am apprehensive it is 
 a haunt of robbers." 
 
 " I must admit I am much of the same opinion — at least 
 •things look suspicious." 
 
 " Well, we can judge better after having seen the 
 interior. Let us keep together, and be civil, and we 
 may meet with no diflSculty ; but should they attempt to 
 molest us, we know who are our true friends ;" and Harley 
 tapped the butt of a revolver. "I shall assume my 
 French character while here ; and if you have occasion to 
 address me by name, remember it is Jacques. Tom, you 
 will keep ever with us ; and mind you do not allow your- 
 self to get separated. And, Harry, make no inquiry about 
 the carriage or its occupants — leave all that to me." 
 
 Saying this, Harley boldly advanced to the door, opened 
 it, and entered — I keeping close to his heels, and Tom 
 bringing up the rear with the boxes. 
 
CHAPTER XI. 
 
 MORE MYSTERY. 
 
 We now found ourselves in a large room, poorly lighted, 
 poorly furnished, and strong Vy^ith the fumes of tobacco. 
 In one corner was a pantry-like bar, with a few shelves 
 along the wall, garnished with bottles and tumblers, and a 
 wooden grating in front, a portion of which belonged to 
 the door opening into it. There were three or four small 
 tables standing along the wall farthest from the door ; and 
 at two of these, on stoola and benches, sat some half-a- 
 dozen rough-looking fellows, playing cards by the light of 
 two tallow candles. They all looked up on our entrance, 
 and stared at us a moment or two ; and then, as the 
 majority resumed their games, one of their number arose, 
 and handing his cards to his nearest companion, said : 
 
 "Here, Bill, take my hand;" and he added something 
 in a whisper. He then advanced to us, and continued : 
 " Good evening, gents ; travellers, I reckon ?" 
 
 " Yes," I answered — " peddlers, who wish to get a night's 
 lodging." 
 
 "Well, I can 'commodate you, expect," replied the 
 landlord, for such the speaker was, as he took a rather 
 close survey of our persons. "Want supper, 'spose ?" 
 
 " No, we dined rather late, and having none too muck 
 money, must try and get along without the expense of 
 another meal," I replied. 
 
 Again the host — who was a stout, heavily built man, of 
 about forty, with black hair and beard, large bushy ey# 
 (112) 
 
MOEE MYSTERY. 113 
 
 brows, that met at the line of the nose, and a countenance 
 otherwise strongly marked — examined us with an air of 
 some curiosity, and then rejoined, pointing to Tom : 
 
 " This nigger — is he a peddler, too ?" 
 
 "No, he merely carries our boxes." 
 
 " Wall, must say you travel rayther stiff, to be so short 
 of the rhino." 
 
 " If we pay for all we call for, I suppose that is nobody's 
 business but our own," I replied, a little sharply, begin- 
 ning to grow indignant at what I considered a species of 
 insolence. 
 
 *' Oh, certainly," replied the host, with a confused 
 laugh: ''meant no harm, stranger. You're right — no- 
 body's business. Come, sit down ;" and he pointed to 
 some vacant benches near. " Shall I take care of your 
 boxes for you ?" 
 
 " No, thank you — will not put you to that trouble — Tom 
 can do that, for that is all he has to do," I replied, 
 carelessly. 
 
 "Wall, please yourselves, gents. If you don't want 
 anything, why I'll just finish my hand. By-the-by, 
 would you like a game to yourselves? — plenty of cards." 
 
 "No, I never play," I replied. 
 
 " Sometime, monsieur, I was play in Nouvelle Orlean," 
 now spoke Harley for the first time ; " and I lose six, ten, 
 seven dollare ; and, by gar ! I play no not agin, nevare." 
 
 "A cheap bought experience, my French friend," said 
 the host, with a laugh ; and he returned to the table and 
 resumed his game. 
 
 The company seemed in good spirits — for they laughed, 
 cracked rough jokes, swore some, drank, smoked, and 
 continued playing, paying no attention to us beyond a 
 glance now and then, such as frequenters of bar-rooms of 
 a like character to this usually bestow upon strangers, 
 
 10 
 
114 VIOLA. 
 
 We sat and watched them for about an hour, when I 
 signified to the landlord that we would retire for the night. 
 
 *' Sleep together ?" he inquired. 
 
 " Yes ; and if you have something to throw on the 
 floor, Tom will occupy the same apartment." 
 
 The host called a drowsy-looking negro, handed him a 
 light, gave him some private instructions, and bade us 
 follow him. We quitted the room by a flight of stairs at 
 the end opposite the players ; and as I looked back, I saw 
 the whole company, the host not excepted, busy with 
 their cards. No one seemed to think it worth his while to 
 look after us ; and this, I must confess, lessened my 
 uneasiness, and lightened my suspicions. Still, I by no 
 means felt satisfied that all was right. I did not altogether 
 like the looks of the persons here assembled ; and I could 
 not divest myself of the idea, that they had a motive in 
 meeting here, so many of them, beyond the mere excite- 
 ment of playing cards. Had there been dwellings along 
 the road in the immediate vicinity, I should have thought 
 less of it ; but unless they lived here, which was not 
 probable, they must have come from a distance. 
 
 Thus I reflected, as we followed our black guide up the 
 stairs. We entered a large apartment, which ran along 
 the front of the house, over the bar-room, and whose only 
 furniture consisted of half-a-dozen squalid-looking beds, 
 and two or three benches. From this we passed into 
 another room of small dimensions, which contained a de- 
 cent looking bed, a small mirror, a wash-stand, a tin basin, 
 a towel, and a couple of old, rickety chairs. The black 
 put down the light, and going into the other room, re- 
 turned with a dirty-looking mattress, which he threw on 
 the floor for Tom. He then inquired if we wished for 
 anything more; and being answered in the negative, he 
 groped his way down stairs, leaving us to ourselves. We 
 
MORE MYSTERY. 115 
 
 closed the door, and saw that its only fastening was an iron 
 latch. 
 
 "Well, Harry, what do you think of it?" inquired my 
 friend in a whisper. 
 
 " I cannot say I am very well pleased — but I think they 
 meditate no harm to us." 
 
 "I agree with you, Harry — but also think it best to be 
 on our guard. We must not all sleep at the same time, 
 and this door must be fastened by placing the bed against 
 it. And now let us examine the room carefully." 
 
 We did so — ceiling, walls, and floor — no part, not even 
 a crack, escaping a keen scrutiny. But save that the win- 
 dow was not large enough to allow a person to jump out — 
 and that the partition, in which the door was hung, did not 
 quite reach to the ceiling above — we discovered nothing 
 calculated to increase our uneasiness or suspicion. I now 
 opened the door, and setting the candle behind it, peered 
 into the larger apartment. There were two windows in 
 front, next to the road, and one of these was just suffi- 
 ciently open to admit the gentle play of a cool, pleasant 
 night-breeze. I took off my boots, advanced to it softly, 
 and looked out. It was dark, very dark ; but I could see 
 a few of the brighter stars through a hazy atmosphere; and 
 all around appeared quiet, as if nature were taking a calm 
 repose — not even the howl of a wolf, or the hoot of an 
 owl, broke the stillness — nothing, in fact, but the voices 
 and occasional laughter of the persons below. Chancing 
 to cast my eyes to the ceiling, I perceived a spot of light 
 thereon, about the size of a dollar. I naturally looked 
 down to find its source, and saw it came through a knot- 
 hole in the floor. With great care, lest my feet should be 
 heard, I approached this, and placing my eye to it, had a 
 full view of the party underneath. They were still intent 
 on their jrames as when I left them : and after watchins 
 
116 VIOLA. 
 
 them a few minutes, I returned to my room, and reported 
 to Harley what I had seen. 
 
 "Well," he replied, in a whisper, *'this confirms me in 
 my belief, that we have nothing to fear ; but a little extra 
 caution can do us no harm. Come, let us place the bed 
 and turn in." 
 
 We were on the point of doing so, when we heard a 
 clattering sound, as of a horse coming at full speed. We 
 listened. It drew nearer and nearer, and in less than 
 three minutes seemed to halt at the door. I hastened to 
 the window, and was just in time to see a figure spring 
 from its back, and advance quickly toward the house. I 
 hurried to the aperture in the floor, and though I could 
 not see him enter, I saw him a moment after, approaching 
 the tables where the players sat. His step was quick and 
 elastic, and his bearing lordly. He wore a kind of blue 
 uniform, and had a black mask on his face. His person 
 ■was instantly recognized, and I was struck with the defer- 
 ence which all paid him. Each man rose to his feet, threw 
 down his cards, and uttering the single word " Captain," 
 stood in respectful silence till addressed. 
 
 " Any strangers here, Mike ?" inquired the new-comer 
 of the landlord, in a rapid tone, with a slight foreign 
 accent. 
 
 " Two peddlers and a nigger, but they are gone to bed," 
 was the answer. 
 
 The new-comer now removed his mask, and I saw that 
 he was a rather good-looking gentleman of five-and-thirty, 
 with a moustache on his lip, fine, sharp, pale features, and 
 eyes black, sparkling, and intense. 
 
 " I want another horse, Mike," he continued ; " the 
 best blood you have, and a hasty lunch. In ten minutes I 
 must be on the road, for I intend to reach home by sun- 
 rise." 
 
MORE MYSTERY. 
 
 lit 
 
 " It's a long journey, Cap'en, to be got over in tha* 
 time ; but Black Bess can do her part to Ned Long's ; and 
 that's a cool twenty-five miles ; and thar you must git 
 another critter to take you through to your Ville. I believe 
 one animal can do it from thar — though it's been so long 
 since I rid it, I most forgit." 
 
 "You are right; but you forget something else— the 
 horse and lunch." 
 
 "In a twinkling, Cap'en;" and the landlord withdrew 
 in haste, to execute his orders. 
 
 "Well, my good fellows," continued the Captain, (as 
 for convenience I will call him,) " what success with the 
 last ? good — eh ?" 
 
 "Yes, Cap'en — yes, your honor," answered all at once. 
 
 "No trouble in sliding now, eh ?" 
 
 " Goes easy, Cap'en." 
 
 "What are you doing here?" 
 
 "Why," answered one, "we're just on our way out, 
 and thought we'd stop and have a jolly parting cup with 
 old Mike." 
 
 "Well, right; you deserve to enjoy yourselves. But 
 in a lower tone) these peddlers — did you trade ?" 
 
 "Didn't try, Cap'en — too near home." 
 
 " Ah ! yes — a good idea — it is as well. They suspect 
 nothing, eh ?" 
 
 "If I thought they did, I'd—" 
 
 " No, no. Bill — none of that ; do nothing rash, for so 
 slight a cause ; there are always cases enough of necessity. 
 Were they proving troublesome, then — " and the Captain 
 ended by laying his finger on his lips. 
 
 Here the landlord returned, and the Captain withdrew 
 with him, first telling the others to resume their games, 
 which they did. About five minutes after, the front door 
 opened, and a negro, thrusting his head in, said : 
 
lis VIOLA: 
 
 " Hoss ready for gemman." 
 
 Soon after I heard the Captain say : 
 
 " Good night, friends, and have a care." 
 
 " Good-night, Cap'en ! Good-night, your honor ! Long 
 life to ye !" were the several replies. 
 
 I now heard the door open, and hastened to the window. 
 Harley was already there. 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha!" we heard the host laugh: "she's coy, 
 Cap'en, I know — I seen it ; and she's got speret too — hut 
 she'll tame powerful under your hands." 
 
 "I bring a little experience to the trial," laughed the 
 other ; " and I have a way of my own in such matters. 
 But remember — not a word to the others." 
 
 " Oh, trust me ! I'm nobody's fool — no !" 
 
 " Well, au revoir ! I ride to beauty's bower," rejoined 
 the other ; and mounting a horse held by the negro, he 
 added : " Next time, Mike, I hope to tell you more ;" and, 
 with the last word, he touched the fiery beast with his spur, 
 and was instantly lost in the darkness, speeding away like 
 an arrow. 
 
 I felt a pressure on my arm ; and turning to Harley, I 
 became aware that he was in a fainting condition. Placing 
 an arm around his waist, I raised and bore him to our 
 room, laid him on the bed, and wet his forehead with cold 
 water. In a minute or so he revived, and sat up, support- 
 ing himself against my shoulder. 
 
 " My dear fellow," I whispered, for I did not care to 
 Bpeak aloud, " what is the matter ? Are you ill ?" 
 
 " I am better now, thank you," he whispered in reply, 
 " I did feel ill for the moment — intense and painful though* 
 seemed to make my brain dizzy. Harry, tell me, candidly, 
 am I a fool, or am I not ?" 
 
 " Why such a question, my friend ?" • 
 
MORE MTSTERT. 119 
 
 "Because I am unaccountably impressed with the idea, 
 that he who just now rode away is Count D'Estang." 
 
 '* Then if that make you a fool, I am another, for I am 
 of the same opinion, though I can give no good and suffi- 
 cient reason therefor." 
 
 " Ah ! I felt it in my soul, as one feels a barb in his flesh. 
 Harry, tell me not that the human mind possesses not that 
 faculty called instinct. We do have it ; and it is mightier 
 than reason, and surer than reflection. Tell me what you 
 saw and heard." 
 
 I did so. 
 
 " That word * Ville,' strengthens me in my suspicion," 
 he said, as I repeated the language of the host. 
 
 "It first excited mine," I replied. 
 
 " What does he here ? and what means his connection 
 with these men? Oh, that the morrow were come! The 
 plot thickens, Harry; and if it go on thus to the end, we 
 shall make ourselves heroes of a living romance. Oh, 
 Viola ! Viola ! would I were with thee, to guard thee from 
 peril, or perish in thy defence ! Heaven help me ! I shall 
 sleep none to-night. Sleep you, Harry : I will watch. Oh, 
 that the morrow were come ! I am miserable." 
 
 Thus Harley went on for some five or ten minutes, when 
 he grew calmer, and began to tell me over his plans with 
 regard to her he loved. I was fatigued and drowsy ; and get 
 ting the bedstead moved against the door, I turned in, and 
 was soon fast asleep — the monotonous whispering of my 
 friend being the last sound I heard. 
 
 He talked of Viola St. Auburn — I dreamed of Clara 
 Moreland. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 SUSPICIONS AND CERTAINTIES. 
 
 In the small hours of the morning, I was awakened by 
 my friend, who said that if I would watch the remainder of 
 the night, he would try and get some rest. I did so. 
 Nothing, however, occurred to alarm us ; and a little after 
 day-light we rose, dressed, and went below. As we passed 
 through the larger chamber, I saw that the majority of the 
 beds were occupied — but we passed on, disturbing no one, 
 and without being ourselves disturbed. 
 
 In the bar-room we found the landlord, who met us with 
 a cheerful countenance. 
 
 " Hope you slept well," he said. 
 
 " Like logs," was my answer ; and Tom, who was yawn- 
 ing and rubbing his eyes, seemed confirmation of the as- 
 sertion. 
 
 " Rayther poor country for your business," said the 
 host. 
 
 "Why, it seems rather thinly peopled along here," I re- 
 joined. 
 
 " By-the-bye, what have you got to sell?" 
 
 " Jewelry." 
 
 " Umph ! not much of them trinkets wanted around 
 here : we rough, back-wood's fellows go in for things more 
 useful." 
 
 " How far is it to the next tavern ?" 
 
 " Wall, ef you turn up on to the main road — But which 
 way are you travelling?" 
 (120) 
 
SUSPICIONS AND CERTAINTIES. 121 
 
 "West." 
 
 "Wall, on the main road — which you must have left 
 back here 'bout three or four mile — you'll come to a tavern 
 in about ten mile ; but along this, you'll have to travel 'bout 
 twenty-five." 
 
 "Any houses on this road?" 
 
 " None to speak on — leastways none whar you'll be 
 likely to sell much." 
 
 "I was want to find one Monsieur D'Estang," now 
 chimed in Harley. " Somebody was tell me he was leeve 
 in zis contree — but I was coome several mile, and I no see 
 him." 
 
 " Ha ! do you know him ?" queried the host, quickly, with 
 awakened interest, looking at us more keenly. 
 
 "I was hear of him," replied Harley, with a significant 
 shrug : " him one countreeman." 
 
 "Yes, both French." 
 
 " You was know him, eh ?" 
 
 "I didn't say so — but the name's French.'* 
 
 " Oui, monsieur — one grande nam' Fran9ais." 
 
 "You want to see him on pertickler business V 
 
 Harley answered by another significant shrug. 
 
 "A little in the" — and the landlord made a peculiar 
 sign. 
 
 Harley smiled, with another shrug. 
 
 " So, aha ! why didn't you make this known last 
 night ?" 
 
 " I mak' not'ing known, monsieur — not I — aha !" 
 
 " I see — very shrewd : sell jewelry — capital ! Take so* 
 thing ?" and the host nodded toward the bar. 
 
 "You was be one, eh ?" and Harley winked knowingly, 
 and gave another shrug, which in a Frenchman always 
 Bays so much. 
 
 " You shall see ;" and the landlord seized the hand of 
 
122 VIOLA. 
 
 mj friend, squeezed it in a peculiar way, pressing his thumb 
 strongly on one of the knuckles. 
 
 *'Aha ! was convince — oui — varree rejoice I learn you: 
 I was drink you health." 
 
 " You should have made yourselves known last night," 
 pursued the host, as he entered the bar, and set a bottle of 
 brandy on the counter. "You mought hev got into 
 trouble." 
 
 We drank to each other's future success ; and then Har- 
 ley said : 
 
 " But you was not tell me where Monsieur D'Estang ?" 
 
 " True, thar, gents ;" and the communicative host pro- 
 ceeded to put us in possession of the very important fact, 
 with such particulars as left us no doubt about finding our 
 way thither. "Ef I'd only known you last night," he 
 said, in conclusion, " I mought perhaps have saved you a 
 journey." 
 
 *'How so ?" inquired I. 
 
 " Why, the Cap'en was here." 
 
 " Indeed ! here V echoed I, with a look of amazement ; 
 *' how unfortunate we did not know it !" 
 
 " All your own fault ; you oughter knowed Mike Browse, 
 anyhow. By-the-by, I forgot to ax who sent you here." 
 
 " We was coome accidental," answered Harley, quickly, 
 lest I should get confused — a very timely precaution. 
 "We was just in zis contree from Nouvelle Orlean." 
 
 " From New Orleans ?" repeated the other, musingly. 
 Then suddenly : " Surely, you are not the — " 
 
 " Oui," replied Harley, at a venture, as he paused. 
 
 " Give us your hand again," cried the landlord, joyfully. 
 ** Glad to see you, as ef I'd trod on a nail. I know'd he'd 
 send some one — ^but I mistook your business. The Cap'en 
 '11 be glad to see you, too — though he's got a good work- 
 
SUSPICIONS AND CERTAINTIES. 123 
 
 man since he writ ; but that's no matter ; al'ays plenty to 
 do in our profession — ha, ha, ha !" 
 
 **Where, when, and how, will this mystification end?" 
 thought I. I knew Harley must be as much perplexed as 
 myself — though his air and look was that of one who un 
 derstood the whole matter perfectly. 
 
 Happening to glance at Tom, who stood back, with a box 
 under each arm, the host continued, knowingly, nodding 
 toward the black : 
 
 "Have the tools thar, expect?'' 
 
 " Oui," said Harley ; " some jewelry, and de tool.'* 
 
 " Could I just look at them ?" 
 
 " I was like oblige — but, pardonnez moi ! it was with me 
 one grande secrete ?" 
 
 " Yes, I understand. Well, come in and take breakfast ; 
 and as I hear our friends stirring overhead, I'll introduce 
 you to some good fellows." 
 
 "Pardonnez moi!" returned Harley: "I was like to 
 mak* acquaint with gentilhomme — but I was not speak to 
 only Capitaine. I was maybe do wrong speak to you, 1 
 do assure : you see, eh ?'* 
 
 "Oh, never mind, then — mum — you shall eat private." 
 
 During our meal, the landlord continued his mysterious 
 inquiries ; but Harley, by a peculiar run of good luck, an- 
 swered each to his satisfaction ; and while my friend and I 
 were puzzling our brains to know what it all meant, the 
 host seemed to pride himself on the valuable discovery he 
 had made. When we came to settle our bill, he refused to 
 take a cent ; and on leaving, he whispered in our ears the 
 pass-word, as he called it. 
 
 " Well, what does all this mean ?" said I, when we were 
 once more alone upon the road. 
 
 " Really, 1 felt like asking that question myself," re- 
 
124 yiOLA. 
 
 plied Harlej. "But it means something — there is no 
 doubt about that." 
 
 " These men are banded together for some secret par- 
 pose, and at the head of them is Monsieur D'Estang," said 
 I ; "so much we know — the only question being as regards 
 the purpose." 
 
 " What say you to counterfeiters, Harry ?" 
 
 ' Faith ! you might have been more unlikely in your 
 surmise — for supposing them such, I can see a meaning in 
 nearly everything that was said." 
 
 " Can you not in quite everything, Harry?" 
 
 * Why, the tools — what could he mean by them V* 
 
 " Can dies and plates be made without tools ?" 
 
 " Ha ! true : and so he believes us — " 
 
 " Perhaps die-sinkers or engravers." 
 
 " But not knowing this, how dared you venture to an- 
 swer his questions in the way you did ?" 
 
 " Why, I knew I must venture something, after the con- 
 versation had opened as you know how ; and I thought I 
 might as well risk much as little : the result proved me 
 right ; besides, I was anxious to draw him on, in order to 
 get some special information concerning D'Estang. So 
 then I was not wrong in my surmise ! and it was he, the 
 scoundrel, that was here last night, boasting of his power 
 over his prisoner, who of course is none other than Viola ! 
 Oh, it is well I no more than suspected him last night ! for 
 had I been certain of his identity, I do not know what rash 
 thing, under a sudden, wild impulse, I might not have 
 done. I verily believe I should have attempted his life ; 
 and whether I succeeded or failed, I should have got my- 
 self and you into most serious difficulty. I am rejoiced 
 all has happened as it has ; for now I know where to look 
 for him, and am prepared to fight him invisibly, with the 
 subtle weapons of cunning and stratagem. And now, 
 
SUSPICIONS AND CERTAINTIES. 125 
 
 Harry, Tve must make our way, as fast as possible, to the 
 inn on the main road, wbere, if horses can be procured, 
 we will set forward at such speed as money can purchase. 
 I feel there is no time to delay : in the hands of such a 
 villain, Viola is not safe a day. Oh, that I had wings to 
 fly to her rescue ! What if he should force her into a 
 marriage, Harry ?" 
 
 " He will not venture so much, so soon, I think, Mor- 
 ton." 
 
 *'I pray he may not!" said Harley, in a tone of sup- 
 pressed passion, his eyes gleaming with a wild, fearful 
 light ; " I pray he may not ! earnestly pray he may not ! 
 for her sake, his sake, my own ; — but if he do thus wrong 
 her, Harry, by that awful, dread eternity to which we are 
 hastening ! I solemnly swear, not to rest, day nor night, till 
 she is avenged — terribly, bloodily avenged !" 
 
 About a mile beyond the inn where we had spent the 
 night, the narrow road we were pursuing, forked. We took 
 the right, and were glad to perceive the carriage of D'Es- 
 tang had done the same. A mile, or perhaps a little more 
 than a mile, still further on, we again struck the main 
 road, much to our delight — for though neither of us were 
 cowards, to fear each bush and shadow, yet there was some- 
 thing extremely unpleasant in travelling a solitary path, 
 through a dense, dark wood, in a section of country which 
 we had good reason for believing was infested by those who 
 would stop at no crime which might stand between them 
 and the object they sought, whatever that might be. 
 
 Some two hours after reaching the main road, we arrived 
 at a very genteel way-side inn, where we succeeded in pro- 
 curing a conveyance to the next village, some ten miles 
 distant. Here we fortunately secured fast horses and a 
 guide, which set us forward some twenty-five miles in three 
 hours. Our next and last stage was performed in a four- 
 
 11 
 
126 VIOLA. 
 
 wheeled vehicle. We crossed the Brazos about dark, and 
 an hour later had arrived at our destination for the day. 
 
 We were now within three miles of D'Estang Ville; and 
 at the inn where we put up for the night, we made casual 
 inquiries about the surrounding country — the general cha- 
 racter of the inhabitants — and of course, among the rest, 
 did not neglect to question concerning him with whom we 
 expected to have most to do. What we gathered of the 
 latter, was in substance, that Captain — or, as he was here 
 generally termed. Count D'Estang — was a French noble- 
 man, of great wealth, who owned and worked one of the 
 largest cotton plantations on the Brazos. D'Estang Ville, 
 his private residence, was said to be the most charming and 
 magnificent in all Texas ; and here, when at home, for he 
 was much abroad, he lived in a style of sumptuous 
 splendor. He not unfrequently held revels at his man- 
 sion ; but only here and there a neighbor attended — most 
 of the guests being from a distance, and strangers to all 
 but the host. When questioned as to the moral character 
 of Count D'Estang, our informants shook their heads sig- 
 nificantly, and said that there were strange reports abroad 
 that his gains were not all honestly come by, though none 
 dared accuse him of crime. He was considered a roue ; 
 and some hinted that tales might be told of innocence 
 wronged, hopes blasted, and hearts broken — only that those 
 who could speak, had their lips sealed by self-interest and 
 fear. He was regarded as a dark man, rich and powerful, 
 and more to be feared than loved. At present, rumor was 
 busy concerning a new victim, who had mysteriously ar- 
 rived in the night, in a close carriage ; but further than 
 this, no one knew anything; and even this was rather 
 guessed at, we found, than positively known. 
 
 Such was the substance of what we learned from the 
 citizens of But the place shall be nameless. When 
 
SUSPICIONS AND CERTAINTIES. 127 
 
 alone with me, Harley groaned in anguish of spirit, and 
 then knit his brows, and ground his teeth with rage. 
 
 '' Oh ! Harry," he said, " think of the latest victim ! — 
 who can it be but Viola ? Oh ! it is terrible ! terrible 1 
 The monster fiend ! May the sure justice of Eleaven 
 speedily overtake him ! One night more of miserable sus- 
 pense, and then to know the worst ; and if the worst has 
 befallen her — then, in the presence of the Omnipotent, do 
 I consecrate .this life to avenge her." 
 
 I endeavored to tranquilize him, but for a long time in 
 vain. At last he grew calmer, and we discussed our plana 
 for the morrow. 
 
 Though greatly fatigued, we slept but little that night. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 D ESTANG VILLE. 
 
 It was a beautiful morning, toward the close of Sep- 
 tember, that our eyes were first greeted with a view of 
 D'Estang Ville ; and never had I beheld a combination of 
 nature and art so superbly charming, so supremely en- 
 chanting. From our point of observation, a very slight 
 eminence, we saw a large, angular mansion, with its por- 
 ticoes, piazzas, colonnades, balconies, turrets, roofs, and 
 chimneys, lifting itself above a level landscape, in the cen- 
 tre of a charming grove, and surrounded also by vines, 
 and flowers, and arbors, and statues, and sparkling foun- 
 tains, and winding walks, that led from sunshine to shade, 
 and from shade into darker recesses, which, from where we 
 were, our gaze could not penetrate. The mansion itself 
 stood back from the road some quarter of a mile, and 
 could be approached, in a direct line, along a bowery foot- 
 way, lined with statuary, and banked with the rarest, 
 brightest and sweetest of flowers, whose perfume regaled 
 the olfactory sense almost to satiety, and where all the ex- 
 ternals, including the gay-plumed warblers fluttering and 
 singing among the green branches overhead, made it seem 
 enchanted ground — or it could be approached by a carriage 
 road, scarcely less delightful, which made a circuit from 
 one gate of the front enclosure to the other, a distance of 
 nearly a mile. In the rear of the mansion was a group of 
 picturesque outbuildings, in the same fancy style of archi- 
 tecture, half embowered in a level park, that stretched far, 
 
 a28) 
 
d'eSTANG VILLE. 129 
 
 far away, reminding me of the world-renowned Eljsian 
 Fields. No description can do justice to the scene, as it 
 burst upon our view under the rich light of a morning sun 
 jhining through a soft, clear, cloudless atmosphere of ce- 
 rulean blue ; and I must leave the reader to fill out the 
 picture with all he can imagine of the beautiful, assuring 
 him he is more likely to fall short of, than to exceed, the 
 reality. 
 
 For ten minutes, to say the least, we stood and gazed 
 upon the bright landscape before us, without speaking; 
 and then turning to me : 
 
 "What poet could dream of more?" sighed Harley : 
 "it ravishes the sight; and oh! to think that yonder 
 lovely retreat is the present abode of an angel and a 
 devil !" 
 
 "Had Eden been more than this, methinks our first 
 parents could not have survived the loss," returned I. 
 
 " With that and Viola, my Heaven would begin on 
 earth," said Harley. 
 
 " With that and Clara, amen !" thought I 
 
 " Come," pursued Harley, " while we stand idly here, 
 we accomplish nothing. You know my plan — so let ua 
 forward." 
 
 " I fear you will find it less easy to execute than you 
 thought," I rejoined ; " but I am yours to command." 
 
 As we were about to descend to the road, which ran 
 along before us at the distance of a hundred yards or so, 
 our attention was arrested by the appearance of a horse- 
 man, who suddenly emerged from among the trees near the 
 mansion, and advanced along the graveled path toward one 
 of the gates at an easy canter. We stopped to note his 
 movements, and as he drew nearer, 
 
 " How is it, Harry — do my eyes deceive me — or is that 
 D'Estang himself?" said Harley. 
 
130 VIOLA. 
 
 " I would not be positive at this distance," I replied. 
 *<but I think it is the Count." 
 
 " If it is he, and he about to leave, in so much are we 
 fortunate," replied my friend. 
 
 The horseman rode down to the gate ; and after passing 
 a few words with the porter, who gave him exit, he dashed 
 away, and soon was out of sight. 
 
 *' Come, Harry, now is our time." 
 
 We took a short circuit, and came round to the gate 
 through which the horseman had passed, with our boxes 
 slung under our arms, in the most approved mode of 
 pedestrian itineracy. As to Tom, by-the-way, we had 
 thought it advisable to leave him behind us at our last 
 stopping place. 
 
 A strong wall of masonry, about ten feet in height, 
 enclosed the grounds of D'Estang Ville on every side; 
 and this wall, where it fronted on the road, had three 
 gates, with a porter's lodge and tower to each, in which as 
 regular a watch was kept as if it were a fortified place. 
 Without permission of some one of these sentries, there- 
 fore, no one could enter or leave the grounds ; and to get 
 this permit, as mere strolling peddlers, we feared might be 
 no easy matter. 
 
 " Money is the Archimedean lever of the present 
 century," said Harley, as we discussed the matter on our 
 way thither ; " and with a foothold by yon gate, we will 
 test its power." 
 
 The porter, Harley at once perceived, was a Frenchman ; 
 and he addressed him very politely, asking permission for 
 us to enter and ofier our wares for sale to such as we 
 might find within, either lord or dependant. 
 
 " His lordship has just ridden away," replied the man, 
 " and it is against the rules to admit strangers during his 
 ab!=rTico." 
 
d'estang ville. 131 
 
 " How long will his lordship be away ?" inquired my 
 friend. 
 
 '* Till to-morrow morning, doubtless." 
 
 " Well, can you not give us a chance to turn an honest 
 penny ?" 
 
 '' I would like to oblige — but — " 
 
 "Here," interrupted Harley, reaching a gold coin 
 through the wicket — " say no more, my good fellow, but 
 let us pass." 
 
 The man hesitated, looked at the coin wistfully, rubbed 
 his chin thoughtfully, and finally said, as his fingers closed 
 upon it : 
 
 " Well, to oblige you, I will let you in ; but do not stay 
 too long — for should his lordship return and find you here, 
 I fear it would be the worse for all of us." 
 
 " Oh, we will not remain longer than is necessary for 
 our purpose," replied Harley, blandly, as we passed through 
 the gate, and set off for the mansion. " How fortunate for 
 us," he added to me, when out of ear-shot of the porter, 
 *' that the Count is away ! Ah ! Harry — fate ! fate ! it 
 favors us still." 
 
 " But should the Count unexpectedly return ?" I sug- 
 gested. 
 
 " Ah ! should he, Harry — should he — there is no telling 
 what might be the consequences. But we will hope for the 
 best, Harry, and we must improve our time. If Viola is 
 within that mansion^ I must see her ; and oh I the very 
 thought of accomplishing my purpose, makes me tremble ! 
 I feel we are playing a bold, desperate game — ^but then 
 look at the stakes ! If I win, happiness and life — if I 
 lose, misery and perchance death. Harry, (and Harley 
 grasped my hand,) you will stand by me, let what will 
 happen ?" 
 
 *^To the death, Morton." 
 
132 VIOLA. 
 
 His fingers closed upon mine like a vice. 
 
 " Thank you ! thank you !" he said, hurriedly, brushing 
 away a tear. ''You are indeed a true friend, and I bless 
 the hour that brought us together. I may be compelled to 
 try you to the full extent of your generous offer — though 1 
 hope not — I pray not. Oh ! Harry, you do not know my 
 feelings at this moment — you cannot realize the awful con- 
 flict going on in my breast, between hope and fear. But I 
 must see Viola ; and if beneath yonder roof I will, or they 
 shall bear me hence a corpse. Fail ! fail ! oh ! I must not 
 fail ! — we must not fail, Harry ! — oh ! great Heaven grant 
 we do not fail !" 
 
 Under any other circumstances, we could not have 
 passed through those beautiful grounds, without stopping to 
 admire the green, shady, cooling groves — the bright beds of 
 flowers — the pellucid fountains, sending up jets of silver in 
 the sunshine — the life-like statuary — and the natural 
 melody of a thousand feathered warblers — the whole form- 
 ing a scene of beauty and enchantment rivalled only by 
 the magnificent homes of foreign nobility; but now we had 
 other matters to occupy our thoughts, and w^e only paid 
 them the tribute of a passing glance. 
 
 At length we reached a vine-covered portico, and 
 beheld, through the open door, a lofty, magnificent 
 hall, hung round with paintings, aud furnished in a man- 
 ner at once unique, sombre, and grand. Harley rang 
 the bell ; and immediately a French porter appeared, 
 dressed in livery, who, with an air of surprise, eyed us from 
 head to foot. 
 
 *' We have called to show the lady of this beautiful 
 mansion some very fine jewelry," said Harley, tapping his 
 box, and touching his hat with an air of respect. 
 
 " How do you know there is a lady to show your wares 
 to ?" returned the man, with a self-important air. 
 
d'estang ville. 133 
 
 ** Oh, I take it for granted that such a palace as this is 
 lot "without its queen. Come, come — do not be too hard 
 on us poor fellows.; we must live, you know, as well as 
 others. There, now, I see a kindly look in your handsome 
 face, and I know you will procure us an interview with your 
 mistress." 
 
 "You are out there, my jolly tinkers," replied the man, 
 good-humoredly, for he was very susceptible of flattery. 
 "You are out there, now, about my mistress." 
 
 "How so?" 
 
 "Because I have none." 
 
 " Ha ! no mistress ?" 
 
 "Not yet." 
 
 " Not yet ? Ah I that implies you are about to have ?" 
 
 " Well, one cannot say what may happen in that way, 
 with a good-looking-master." 
 
 "Very true. So, then, there is no lady within the 
 mansion ?" 
 
 "I didn't say that," replied the porter, with a peculiar 
 smile, that made the heart of Harley beat violently — 
 though he mastered himself, so as outwardly to appear 
 calm and almost indiflferent : " I didn't say there was no 
 lady within ; I only said I had no mistress." 
 
 "Yes, I see! good joke ! capital! ha, ha, ha!" re- 
 joined Harley, affecting to perceive no small amount of 
 wit in the other's remark, which tended not a little to in- 
 crease the man's favorable opinion of ourselves. " Well, 
 come, now," pursued Harley, " can you not procure us an 
 interview with this lady ? — doubtless she would like some* 
 thing in our line." 
 
 " Rather difficult to do, I'm afraid," answered the other. 
 
 " Oh, give me you for difficult undertakings — especially 
 "when a lady is concerned — I can see it in your eye," 
 laughed Harley. " Come, try now, my good fellow, and 
 9 
 
134 VIOLA. 
 
 here is a trifle to compensate you for your trouble ;" and 
 Bay friend slipped a half-dollar into the porter's hand. 
 
 " I see you understand your business," smiled the other. 
 *' Well, I will do my best for you. I will see Mistress 
 Anne, who has charge of the lady. Walk in, and amuse 
 yourselves with the paintings and curiosities here, if you 
 like, till I return." 
 
 " Thank you ! we will do so," returned Harley ; and 
 the porter departed, leaving us to ourselves. 
 
 Under different circumstances, we might have spent a 
 day, agreeably, in gazing upon the works of art which that 
 magnificent hall contained ; but now we scarcely bestowed 
 Mpon them a single glance. 
 
 "Do you think the lady in question is Viola?" I 
 whispered. 
 
 "My heart tells me so," was the reply. 
 
 After a painful suspense of some five or ten minutes, the 
 porter reappeared. 
 
 "Well?" said Harley. 
 
 " I saw Mistress Anne — but she is in a bad humor and 
 I could do nothing with her," replied the porter 
 
 " What did she say ?" 
 
 " Why," answered the other, hesitating, " when I told 
 her your business, she said — but you musn't get offended 
 now !" 
 
 " Go on !" 
 
 " Why, she said the young lady was not a going to be 
 disturbed with any such strolling vagabonds as peddlers." 
 
 " Umph ! she is complimentary, certainly," said Har- 
 ley. " So the lady herself is young, eh ?" 
 
 " Yes, and so beautiful !" 
 
 " And had she nothing to say in the matter?" 
 
 " I didn't see her ; we are not allowed : all business with 
 ber must pass through Mistress Anne." 
 
DESTANG VILLE. 135 
 
 *' Ah, indeed ! Well, and who is this lady you speak of 
 that is so beautiful — what is her name ?" inquired my 
 friend, carelessly. 
 
 "Why, that's more than I can say," answered the 
 porter, looking round him mysteriously ; " though I have 
 heard," he added, in a low tone, " that she is soon to be- 
 come the wife of his lordship." 
 
 " Aha ! so-so ! How long has she been here ?" 
 
 " Only two or three days ; but not a word of this to 
 any one, or I may lose my ears." 
 
 " Ha ! it is a secret, then ?" 
 
 *' Yes, my lord wouldn't have it known ; in fact, he don't 
 like to have anything concerning any of his affairs known ; 
 very secret in everything is his lordship." 
 
 "Did the lady come here by herself?" 
 
 " Oh, no : her father came with her, I believe.' 
 
 " Is he here now ?" • 
 
 " Can't say — have never seen him but twice, and the last 
 time was the day after they arrived." 
 
 " But you have seen the lady ?" 
 
 " Once — only once. I stood in the hall as she passed 
 through, leaning on a strange gentleman's arm, that I've 
 since heard was her father. Her veil was a little aside, 
 and I had a glimpse of her face." 
 
 " And have you only seen her that once ?" 
 
 " Only that once." 
 
 "How is that?" 
 
 " She doesn't leave her apartments, and we gentlemen 
 are not allowed to enter there." 
 
 *'Is she a prisoner ?" 
 
 "I don't know," said the porter, again looking cau 
 tiously round ; " but some of us think that may-be she's 
 refractory, and that his lordship is taming her." 
 
 "Oho! I see !" returned Harley, with a significant 
 
loG VIOLA. 
 
 smile. " Well, I wish we could see her — perhaps we could 
 prevail upon her to trade with us — she may like our wares 
 to amuse herself with." 
 
 " Well, the thing can't be done without the consent of 
 Mistress Anne, and that I'm satisfied I can't obtain." 
 
 "And could we not see Mistress Anne, whoever she is?" 
 
 " Oh, yes." 
 
 " Very well," said Harley, slipping another silver coin 
 into the hands of the porter, — " pray procure us an inter- 
 view with Mistress Anne." 
 
 " Follow me, then," returned the latter. 
 
 He led the way to a broad flight of winding stairs, 
 which we ascended to the second story, when, turning to 
 the right, we entered a narrow corridor, which meandered 
 through the mansion, and conducted us to a sort of tower, 
 which was connected with the main building by a narrow 
 bridge that passed over a portion of an inner court. This 
 tower, as for convenience I shall term it, stood in the cen- 
 tre of a grass-plot — which was itself completely sur- 
 rounded by the main buildings of the Ville — and could 
 only be entered, apparently, by means of the bridge, 
 which could be raised by machinery at the pleasure of the 
 owner — so that a person confined therein, could be made 
 almost as safe a prisoner, as in the castle-towers of the 
 olden time. I say this tower could only apparently be 
 entered and left by the bridge in question — for there was 
 in reality a secret passage under ground, which I shall 
 have occasion to refer to hereafter. There were no win- 
 dows in this tower below the second story ; and these, and 
 those of the third story — for it was three stories in height 
 —were long and narrow, resembling those I have seen in 
 a State's prison. 
 
 After crossing the draw-bridge, we entered a circular 
 apartment, furnished in a style of magnificence I have 
 
d'estang ville. 137 
 
 seldom seen equaled. A rich Turkey carpet covered the 
 floor, on which stood sofas, ottomans, and centre-tables, 
 loaded with books and shells, and the walls were adorned 
 with full-length mirrors and exquisite paintings. Here, 
 on a sofa, with a book in her hand, sat Mistress Anne, as 
 she was termed, bedecked with more finery, in the way cf 
 silks and jewelry, than was in good taste. Her hair and 
 eyes were very black, and the latter shrewd and piercing 
 in expression. She was apparently about twenty years 
 of age, and many would term her beautiful ; but her fea- 
 tures were too narrow and pointed, her lips too thin and 
 compressed, her skin too pale, save where art had bestowed 
 a color, to come up to my standard of female beauty. 
 
 On our entrance, she looked up in surprise, threw down 
 her book, rose from her seat, and advancing to us with a 
 hasty step, exclaimed, in a quick, sharp, angry tone : 
 
 "What means this intrusion of strangers?" 
 
 "Ah, Mistress Anne," said the porter, coaxingly, 
 "these are the peddlers I was speaking to you about." 
 
 " Well, did I not tell you the young lady would see no 
 such strolling vagabonds ?" she indignantly and scornfully 
 rejoined, turning sharply upon our conductor, her eyes 
 flashing fire. 
 
 " But they asked to see you, and I could hardly do less 
 than grant them that happiness," replied the other, with 
 a sort of covert irony. 
 
 " And did your master tell you to do this ?" she de- 
 manded, almost fiercely, crossing her arms on her breast, 
 and bestowing upon the porter a withering look. 
 
 "No, his lordship didn't, but politeness did," returned 
 the other. 
 
 " And think you, Pierre, politeness will save you from 
 his lordship's anger ?" she cried, with a contemptuous 
 curl of her thin lips. 
 
 12 
 
138 VIOLA. 
 
 " But surely, Mistress Anne, you will not inform on 
 tne !" said Pierre, beginning to grow alarmed for the first 
 time 
 
 " Won't I, though ?" she rejoined ; ^' wait till he comes, 
 and see." 
 
 "Ah, Mistress Anne, now surely I meant no harm," 
 pleaded the other, turning pale. 
 
 '' You meant no good, I'll be bound. This is not the 
 first time you have been remiss in your duty ; and come 
 w^hat will of it, his lordship shall know of it. What ! 
 force a couple of strolling vagabonds upon my privacy, 
 without my leave ! I am astonished at your audacity. 
 Go ! get you hence ! and take these fellows with you — or 
 you shall learn, and that quickly, what it is to brave my 
 displeasure ;" and she drew herself up with queenly 
 haughtiness. 
 
 " Say what you will of us, fair lady," interposed Harley, 
 in a bland tone — " but do not be too hard on Pierre, who 
 is far less to blame than we." 
 
 " But he had no business to bring you here without my 
 consent," said the indignant damsel, turning to my friend, 
 and speaking in a modified tone. 
 
 *'He may have done wrong in that, fair lady," replied 
 Harley, in the same bland, respectful manner; "but we 
 were so anxious to see you, that we hardly gave him a 
 choice." 
 
 "Well, now that you do see me, pray state your 
 business !" returned the other, in a tone greatly softened, 
 showing that the flattering term of "fair lady," so cleverly 
 introduced, was not without its effect upon one as vain as 
 she was arrogant. 
 
 " I would prefer siating my business to you alone, fair 
 damsel," rejoined Harley, glancing significantly at the 
 porter. 
 
d'estang ville. 139 
 
 "You may go, Pierre," she said, with a courtly wave of 
 ber white arm and hand. 
 
 " But, Mistress Anne, you will not tell his lordship V* 
 returned Pierre, hesitating. 
 
 "No — in compliment to these gentlemen, I will over- 
 look this offence," she answered, graciously. " There ! go !" 
 
 As the porter went out. Mistress Anne threw herself 
 upon a sofa, with an air, saying : 
 
 " Seats, gentlemen." 
 
 " I see Pierre has left the door slightly ajar," said 
 Harley ; *' and with your kind permission, ma'm'selle, I 
 will close it." 
 
 " Certainly ;" and Anne bowed a gracious acquiescence. 
 
 The key was in the lock ; and, by a dexterous move- 
 ment, Harley shot the bolt and withdrew it, without being 
 perceived by Anne. 
 
 She was a prisoner without knowing it. 
 
CHAPTER XIV 
 
 MISTRESS ANNE. 
 
 " The truth is," resumed Harley, seating himself near 
 the damsel, "we have some very fine jewelry in our 
 boxes ; and learning from Pierre that there is a young and 
 beautiful lady within the mansion, who is about to become 
 the wife of his lordship, we felt a great desire to see her, and 
 lay before her our fine assortment of gold and diamonds." 
 
 "And is this your business with me?" cried Anne, her 
 pale features again flushing, and her black eyes fla?hing. 
 
 " Pray do not get angry, ma'm'selle ; we are not the per- 
 sons to forget what is due to one in your station," 
 pursued Harley. " If we see the lady herself, it will be 
 through the kindness of one who has no reason, perhaps, 
 to be envious of her beauty ; and for this kindness, we shall 
 pray you to accept a slight token of our regard." While 
 speaking, Harley opened his box, and selecting a gold ring 
 of exquisite workmanship, and presenting it to Anne, 
 continued : " Pray honor us by placing this on your beau- 
 tiful finger." 
 
 Anne took the ring, and fixing her eyes on it, and turn 
 ing it over and over, said, in pursuance of her thoughts as 
 it were : 
 
 " And so that gossiping porter told you this lady, whom 
 I condescend to wait upon, just to please my lord, is about 
 to become his lordship's wife ?" 
 
 " He either said or intimated as much, ma'm'selle — or, 
 at all events, I inferred that from what he did say." 
 (140) 
 
MISTRESS ANNE. 141 
 
 "Pierre is a fool!" cried Mistress Anne, indignantly, 
 stamping her little foot upon the soft carpet. " A fool ! 
 a gossiping fool ! that he is ; and this meddling with affairs 
 that do not concern him, will cost him dear, or I know not 
 Count D'Estang." 
 
 "But I beg you will not get him into trouble on our 
 account," returned Harley, soothingly. " I assure you 
 that what he said to us, will go no further ; and whether 
 true or not, I can see no harm in his lordship's wishing to 
 be wedded to a suitable personage." 
 
 "But I can," cried Anne, starting to her feet, and 
 beginning to pace the room with hurried steps. " But I 
 can see harm in it ;" and her eyes displayed a glare of 
 fierceness that denoted the workings of a dark, vindictive 
 spirit. "Besides," she continued, "this girl is wo^ a fit 
 C'!ri<ort for his lordship ; and by all the powers that be, 
 good or evil, he shall never wed her !" and the words rang 
 out with a wild, startling vehemence. 
 
 "Who will prevent it?" ventured Harley. 
 
 "I will !" cried Anne, suddenly confronting my friend ; 
 "do you doubt it?" 
 
 " Why should I ?" he answered, evasively. " But come ! 
 tell us more of your mistress." 
 
 " She is not my mistress — the proud, scornful upstart — 
 nor shall she ever be." 
 
 " Then she is proud and scornful?" 
 
 " Ay ; but I will humble her ; she had better not put on 
 too many airs with me." 
 
 " And does she fancy his lordship ?" 
 
 '' Who cares whether she does or not ? what is that to 
 you?" 
 
 " Oh, I merely asked the question, as our conversation 
 led to it." 
 
 "Our conversation has led too far," returned Anne, 
 12* 
 
142 VIOLA. 
 
 coldly, the idea apparently striking her that she had heen 
 too communicative to utter strangers. " I should not have 
 said so much," she pursued; "but I forgot myself." 
 
 " Well, since you have said so much, suppose you go on 
 and give us the whole story," suggested Harley. 
 
 " Umph ! that you may retail the gossip as you do your 
 •wares." 
 
 " No, upon my honor, if you will state the whole case to 
 me, I will tell you how best you may rid yourself of this 
 lady — since I see, from your remarks, that such is your 
 desire." 
 
 "And who are you, that are so ready to interfere in 
 other people's affairs ?" said Anne, a slight shade of 
 suspicion apparently crossing her mind, that we might be 
 other than we seemed. 
 
 " Do you not see who we are ?" returned Harley, 
 pointing to our boxes. 
 
 " I see what you profess to be ; but why do you take bo 
 much interest in this matter ?" 
 
 " Could we do otherwise, after what you have said?" 
 
 " I see — I have said too much." 
 
 "But cannot unsay it now, ma'm'selle." 
 
 "Heavens!" exclaimed Anne, in some trepidation; 
 " perhaps you are friends of his lordship !" 
 
 Harley saw he had gained an advantage over the girl, 
 through her own suspicions and imprudent admissions, and 
 he determined on making the most of it, by working on 
 her fears. 
 
 "Well, whatever we are," he answered, "one thing is 
 certain — you are in our power." 
 
 " Heavens ! what have I done ?" cried the damsel, si;ak- 
 ing upon a seat, pale and trembling. 
 
 " I will tell you what you have done," returned Harley, 
 
MISTRESS ANNE. 143 
 
 Sternly; "you have spoken words that, if reported to his 
 Iciship, may cost you dear." 
 
 " Do you know him ?" gasped Anne. 
 
 " We do." 
 
 *• Oh ! mercy on me ! then I am ruined." 
 
 " That depends upon how you conduct yourself hereafter." 
 
 " Who are you ?" 
 
 "Do you not see?" 
 
 "But you are not what you seem !* 
 
 " So much the worse for you." 
 
 " Oh ! gracious Heaven ! what shall I do !" 
 
 " First tell us all you know of this lady, and what treat- 
 ment she has received at your hands." 
 
 "Do you know her, too*^" 
 
 " I can answer best when I have heard the name." 
 
 " Oh, gentlemen, if you are i eally friends of his lord- 
 ship, promise not to get me into trouble !" 
 
 " I will only promise, that if you do not answer my 
 questions, it shall be the worse for you. Come ! give us 
 this lady's name !" 
 
 " I only know her as Ma'm'selle Yiola," replied the now 
 really frightened damsel ; " but oh ! gentlemen — " 
 
 "Hush!" interrupted Harley, sternly — "and confine 
 yourself to straightforward answers ! How came she 
 here ?" 
 
 " She was brought here by his lordship. But if you were 
 sent by him, you knew this before." 
 
 " No matter what we know, but mind you give direct 
 answers. Did she come here alone with Count D'Estang ?" 
 
 " No, a gentleman came with her, that I have heard was 
 her father." 
 
 "Where is he now ?" 
 
 "I do not know." 
 
 "Nay, speak the truth!" 
 
144 VIOLA. 
 
 " Upon my soul, I do not know ! I have not seen him 
 since the morning after." 
 
 '' Well, why is this lady kept within this tower, and not 
 allowed to leave ?" 
 
 " My lord so commanded — and who dare disobey him ?" 
 
 " And you, I suppose, are her keeper ?" 
 
 " I am forbidden to let her leave her apartment." 
 
 " And where is that ?" 
 
 "Overhead." 
 
 " And does the Count really intend to marry her ?" 
 
 "So he says." 
 
 " Well, has she consented to wed the Count ?" 
 
 "No, and that is why she is confined — he has told her 
 she shall only go forth as his bride." 
 
 "But you say she shall never wed him !" 
 
 " Ah ! sir, I was only jesting ; how could a poor girl like 
 me oppose so powerful a gentleman as my lord?" 
 
 " Girl !" said Harley, sternly, fixing his keen eyes 
 searchingly upon her — "you have been meditating harm 
 to this lady!" 
 
 Anne shrank back, terrified. 
 
 " Oh ! sir—" 
 
 " The truth !" interrupted Harley — " and nothing but 
 the truth !" 
 
 " Oh ! sir, how could you for a moment think that I — " 
 
 " The truth, I say !" stamped Harley. "I tell you, girl, 
 you have meditated harm to her ! — perhaps you have 
 thought to poison her !" 
 
 Anne uttered a faint cry of terror, and covered her face 
 with her hands. 
 
 " Confess the fact !" pursued Harley: " It will be better 
 for you, I assure you !" 
 
 " I could not bear that she should wed the Count," sob- 
 bed Anne. 
 
MISTRESS ANNE. 145 
 
 " And why ? what is it to you whom she weds V* 
 
 " I care not whom she weds, so it is not my lord." 
 
 " And why do you object to him ?" 
 
 "Because I love him !" cried Anne, hysterically. 
 
 "And so you have looked to become mistress cf D'Es- 
 tang Ville yourself, eh ?" 
 
 " I have been mistress — I was mistress till she came," 
 cried the other, with a passionate burst. 
 
 *' And so you have aspired to be the wife of his lord- 
 ship ?" 
 
 " He promised me I should be," pursued the excited 
 damsel ; " and why has he broken his promise ?" 
 
 " Come, come — softly, now — calm yourself." 
 
 " Calm myself !" echoed Anne, looking up with a strange, 
 wild, peculiar expression: "yes, I will calm myself — in the 
 grave.*' 
 
 "What mean you by those words ?" 
 
 " Do you think I'll live disgraced, and out of favor with 
 my lord? No! never! never!" she cried, with wild ve- 
 hemence. " I have told so much, I will now tell all," she 
 continued. " I did intend to kill this lady, if she con- 
 sented to wed my lord, and then myself. My plan was well 
 laid ; and here (producing a small vial) I have a poison, as 
 quick as lightning in its operations. Since I am detected 
 through my own foolishness, I will not live disgraced and 
 degraded both. Sir ! Count D'Estang deceived me with 
 false promises — but, notwithstanding, I have ever loved 
 him ; and, strange as it may seem, I do so still. Tell him 
 this ; and say I died with his name upon my tongue, bless- 
 ing him in my heart." 
 
 As she ceased speakirg, she raised the vial to her lips; 
 but with a cry of horror, Harley sprung forward, just in 
 time to dash it to the ground. The next moment a dagger, 
 hitherto concealed, was gleaming in her hand, and would 
 
146 VIOLA. 
 
 instantly have been buried in her heart — for Harley's eyea 
 had followed the vial, and were not observing her — had I 
 not rushed forward and caught the uplifted arm. She 
 struggled violently to free herself; but I succeeded in 
 wrenching the weapon from her grasp, when she sunk back 
 hysterically upon the sofa. 
 
 " Calm yourself, lady," I said ; "we will do you no harm ; 
 you mistake us and our purpose." 
 
 She glared upon me fiercely, exclaiming : 
 
 " You triumph now ; but I warn you I will find a way to 
 put an end to myself before his lordship returns ; you shall 
 not drag me living before him." 
 
 "You mistake us," we both said in the same breath. 
 " We are not spies upon you," I continued. " Our pur- 
 pose here is to liberate this lady ; and if you will assist us, 
 his lordship shall know of nothing that has passed between 
 us." 
 
 " Are you friends of Ma'm'selle Viola ? and were you 
 not sent here by his lordship?" she cried, eagerly. 
 
 " We are friends of Ma'm'selle Viola, and were not sent 
 hither by his lordship," we both hastened to assure her. 
 
 " Oh, thanks !" she cried : " thanks ! double thanks for 
 this news, and the saving of my life !" 
 
 " Will you assist us to liberate Viola, ere his lordship 
 returns ?" inquired Harley. 
 
 " I will do what I can ; but I fear it cannot be done," 
 she answered. 
 
 " Will you follow our directions in everything ?" pursued 
 Harley. 
 
 " So they do not lead to exposing me to the Count, I 
 will," she replied. 
 
 "Swear it!" 
 
 " As I hope for the favor of my lord, and one moment's 
 
MISTRESS ANNE: 147 
 
 happiness in this world or the next, I swear !" she said, 
 solemnly. 
 
 " Enough ! now tell us how many servants there are about 
 the mansion V" 
 
 "Ten here at present." 
 
 " I have seen only the porter — how is that 
 
 " They are probably out in the park, or in the rear build- 
 ings," she answered. 
 
 "Perhaps we have been overheard?" suggested Harley, 
 a new thought striking him. 
 
 Anne cast her eyes hurriedly around the circular apart- 
 ment, to the four narrow windows which were placed in the 
 four points of compass, and rejoined : 
 
 "No, fortunately, the windows were all closed — and the 
 door being shut, nothing short of a scream could reach the 
 ear of any without." 
 
 " 'Tis well ; then you only know our secret ; and with 
 your assistance, if uninterrupted, we may accomplish won- 
 ders in a very short time. Viola, you say, is above us ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Can she have heard anything that has passed between 
 us?" 
 
 " No," replied Anne ; " for these apartments are so con- 
 structed, that sound will not pass from one to the other." 
 
 " And for what purpose was this tower built ?" I in 
 quired. 
 
 "That I do not know," answered the damsel. "It has 
 an observatory on the top ; and his lordship, who is a gen- 
 tleman of science, often amuses himself there, at night, 
 looking at the heavens." 
 
 " Is there any way to leave this tower save by the 
 bridge ?" inquired Harley. 
 
 " I believe there is one other way — but it is a secret 
 only known to his lordship," replied the girl. 
 
148 VIOLA. 
 
 "That other way we must discover," said Harley, 
 glancing round the apartment. " But first we must see 
 VJola. Show us the way to her chamber, Anne I" 
 
 The damsel advanced to a large painting, that came 
 down near the ground, touched a Secret spring, when it 
 swung slowly back, disclosing a kind of closet, with steep, 
 narrow, winding stairs leading to the story above. Harley 
 pressed my arm, made a significant gesture, and said 
 iloud : 
 
 " On further reflection, you shall go first, Harry, and 
 explain all to her — for should she recognise me suddenly, 
 St might overcome her. I will remain here with this lady 
 lill you return." 
 
 I knew Harley less feared a recognition — for he was 
 etill disguised, in the manner previously described to the 
 reader — than that the girl might change her mind, if left 
 to herself, and manage some way to secure us in a trap ; 
 but I replied, carelessly : 
 
 " Ah, perhaps it would be better, for me she has never 
 seen." 
 
 "When you reach the top stair," said Anne, who made 
 no objection to this arrangement, " if you place your hand 
 to the right, you will find an aperture just large enough 
 for your fingers, and in there you will feel a spring — press 
 that hard, and a door will open." 
 
 I ascended the narrow, winding stairs in twilight dark- 
 ness, with singular feelings, as the reader will readily be- 
 lieve. I was about to behold the fair being that had so 
 enraptured my friend, of whom I had heard so much, and 
 whose singular history I knew was in itself a living ro- 
 mance. At length I stood upon the upper stair, in almost 
 total darkness — for the only light here was what had 
 struggled up through the half open door below. I placed 
 my hand against the wall to the right, found the aperture, 
 
MISTRESS ANNE. 149 
 
 and in it the secret spring. I pressed hard against the 
 spring, a portion of the wall seemed slowly to give way, a 
 bright light shone in upon me, and taking, a step or two 
 forward, I stood in the upper chamber ot the tower, and in 
 the prison of Viola St. Auburn. 
 
 10 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 
 
 The apartment I had so unceremoniouslj entered, with- 
 out giving its fair tenant any warning of my approach, 
 was small and circular, like the one below, with its four 
 long narrow windows looking to the four points of the 
 compass, and was furnished, carpeted, and decorated in 
 the same style, with sofas, ottomans, tables, mirrors and 
 paintings. The windows here were open, and were withal 
 so high above the ground, that a goodly portion of the park 
 could be seen over the angular roofs of the surrounding 
 buildings ; and the summit of the tower, one story higher 
 still, commanded a view, not only of the grounds of D'Es- 
 tang Ville, but of the adjacent country for miles around. 
 
 I glanced around the Ciiamler; but of all I saw, only 
 one object arrested my attention, and this enchained it. It 
 was a beautiful female, just in the bloom of life, whoso 
 attitude was that of one startled to her feet by the abrupt 
 and unexpected intrusion of a stranger. I had only time 
 to note that she was robed in white, with golden ringlets 
 flowing carelessly down around her face and neck, and over 
 a portion of her snowy garments — that her eyes were 
 bright and sparkling — that her features were very pale, 
 but radiant with no common intellect — when, advancing a 
 step or two, with lady-like grace, she said, in a clear, sil- 
 very voice, which, though soft, had a peculiar ring of 
 courtly pride, if I may so express myself; 
 (150) 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 151 
 
 " May I know why I am honored with this unexpected 
 visit of a stranger ?" 
 
 "Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Viola St. 
 Auhurn ?" I said, in reply. 
 
 " That is my name, sir," she answered, with a courtly 
 bow, and an air of condescension. 
 
 " Then permit me to say, Miss St. Auburn, I bring you 
 good tidings." 
 
 " They could never come in a time more needed," she 
 rejoined, with something like a sigh ; " for good tidings 
 have of late been strangers to me. Am I honored with 
 the visit of an emissary of Count D'Estang's ?" she in- 
 quired ; and I fancied there was a certain degree of irony 
 in her tone. 
 
 "No, Miss St. Auburn," I replied, "I come from one 
 whom I have reason to know is an enemy of his lordship, 
 and a true friend of the lady I address." 
 
 A change like lightning came over her countenance — a 
 bright ray of hope animated her features, making them 
 beautiful beyond description — and slightly raising her 
 hands, and taking a quick step or two forward, with her 
 eyes fixed intently on mine, she exclaimed, in a tone of the 
 deepest anxiety : 
 
 " Speak ! his name ?" 
 
 " Morton Harley." 
 
 " God be praised ! — at last !" she ejaculated ; and drop- 
 ping her head upon her heaving bosom, and sinking upon 
 a seat near, she covered her face and burst into tears. 
 
 If the mere mention of my having come from one sht 
 BO dearly loved, could excite such deep emotions in the 
 breast of Viola, I felt that Harley had acted with his usua. 
 wisdom in not disclosing himself to her too suddenly. As 
 soon as she could in any degree regain composure, she 
 looked up quickly, fixed her eyes piercingly upon me — with 
 
152 VIOLA. 
 
 an expression of hope, and fear, and doubt — and exclaimed, 
 eagerly : 
 
 " You are not deceiving me, sir ?'* 
 
 "Upon my honor, as a gentleman, no, Miss St. Au- 
 burn," I replied; and I felt there was something convincing 
 in my look that my words were words of truth. " Morton 
 Harley and I are friends," I went on to say : " my name 
 is Henry Walton ; we first met in Virginia, my native 
 place — afterward on the Ohio ; we have ever since been 
 companions ; he has honored me with his confidence ; and 
 we have come hither expressly in search of yourself, with 
 a view to reHeve you from captivity." 
 
 " Thanks ! sir — thanks ! Oh, I could bless you on my 
 knees !" she cried, hurriedly, coming forward and taking 
 my hand. " You must excuse my weakness and doubt, 
 Mr. Walton ; but oh, sir, could you know what I have suf- 
 fered ! You said we^ Mr. Walton : Is he — is Morton — is 
 Mr. Harley then with you ?" 
 
 "In the room below," I answered. 
 
 "Oh, Heavens! so near?" she exclaimed. "But how 
 did you obtain access to this prison ? for I can call it by 
 no milder term." 
 
 I hurriedly gave her the particulars, alluded to her let- 
 ter, mentioned the disguise of my friend, and concluded 
 by saying : 
 
 " And for the rest, Miss St. Auburn, you shall have it 
 from the lips of Morton Harley himself, whom I will im- 
 mediately send to you." 
 
 I then bowed myself out, leaving her seated upon a 
 8ofa, pale and agitated. 
 
 "Well," exclaimed Harley, as I entered the chamber 
 below, " have you seen her ?" 
 
 " I have, Morton, and have prepared her to see you." 
 
 He grasped my hand, pressed it hard, and without a 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 153 
 
 word, but with a look I understood, disappeared up the 
 narrow winding stairs. A moment or two after, I heard a 
 joyful crj, and then all became still. That the lovers 
 might have no listeners, other than themselves, I now 
 closed the secret door, and found myself alone in the 
 apartment with Anne. 
 
 She was standing by a large painting, a few feet distant; 
 and as she turned her face toward me, I saw that she was 
 more pale than usual, and very much agitated. 
 
 " Oh, sir, I am terrified !" she said, in a low, tremulous 
 tone. 
 
 "Any new cause of alarm?" I inquired. 
 
 *'I have reflected on what I have done, and am doing," 
 she replied ; " and should my lord unexpectedly return, 
 what will become of us ?" 
 
 "AVe will not borrow trouble," I rejoined, "but face the 
 evil only when there is no alternative." 
 
 " Oh ! sir, you do not know his lordship so well as I," 
 she pursued, " or you w^ould tremble at the bare thought 
 of meeting him in an angry mood ! He is terrible in his 
 anger ! and he is all-powerful to execute whatever he 
 wills !" 
 
 "He is only a man," I said; "and though I would 
 rather not meet, I do not fear him." 
 
 " But you know him not, sir — you know him not, I see. 
 He is only a man himself — but he is at the head of — " 
 
 "Of a band of outlaws," I rejoined, as Anne stopped, 
 probably bethinking herself that she was on the point of 
 betraying a secret. " I suspected as much " 
 
 " I did not say that — I did not mean — " 
 
 "Never mind," I interrupted: " at present we will not 
 discuss the matter. But if his lordship is so powerful, and 
 80 dreadful in his anger," I continued, "there is so much 
 
154 VIOLA. 
 
 tne more necessity that we find a speedy way to get 
 Ma'm'selle Viola out of his clutches." 
 
 " Ah, sir, I fear it cannot be done — in fact, I am certain 
 of it — and therefore I think it best that you and your 
 friend depart ere an exposure takes place." 
 
 '* And do you think we have ventured thus far, to be 
 turned from our purpose now ?" I rejoined, sternly. " You 
 must have a very poor opinion of our courage and manly 
 qualities, if, after having found the lady we came to seek, you 
 can for a moment suppose we will go quietly away, and 
 leave her .in the hands of a villain, and a victim to your 
 jealousy !" 
 
 " But I will swear, most sacredly, never to injure a hair 
 of her head." 
 
 " It is useless to talk, girl — we are determined upon our 
 course." 
 
 " And what is that ?" she asked, in an excited tone. 
 
 *'Not to quit D'Estang Ville, unless Viola St. Auburn 
 goes with us." 
 
 "But if I convince you she cannot escape?" 
 
 " Then we shall remain to brave the anger of this terrible 
 Count." 
 
 " But in his rage he may kill you !" 
 
 " We take our chance, of course." 
 
 " Heavens ! I tremble at the consequences ! Will no- 
 thing induce you to depart without her ?" 
 
 "No, nothing." 
 
 " But suppose I summon my lord's domestics, and have 
 you forcibly ejected ?" 
 
 " What ! after the oath you have taken to assist us ?*' 
 
 "But circumstances may compel me to break that oath !'* 
 
 " It shall be our care, then, you do not have an opportu- 
 nity. Since you have hinted at treachery, therefore, I 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 155 
 
 feel justified in telling you, you are yourself a prisoner in 
 this tower." 
 
 "Indeed!" returned the damsel, with flashing eyes. 
 " Since you talk thus, I feel justified in testing your 
 assertion ;" and she sprung away to the door. " Locked !" 
 she cried, in a tone of alarm, recoiling in dismay. 
 
 " You see, girl, I have not made any vain boast." 
 
 "Oh ! Heavens ! Heavens! what shall I do?" she cried. 
 
 " Find a way for us to escape with Ma'm'selle Viola ; 
 and do not again attempt it yourself," I replied, severely, 
 " or we shall be compelled to adopt harsh measures." 
 
 " But I know of no way for you to escape," she re- 
 joined, much alarmed. 
 
 " What of the secret passage ?" 
 
 " I do not know where it is ; your friend and I have 
 been searching for it ; and even if found, it may not lead 
 out of the mansion, and certainly not beyond the 
 enclosure." 
 
 " Well," I returned, a new idea striking me, "with your 
 approval, could we not take the porter into our confidence, 
 and be let out through the mansion, without being dis- 
 turbed?" 
 
 " How would you leave the grounds ?" 
 
 " Through one of the gates." 
 
 " But suppose the porter should refuse to let you pass ?" 
 
 " Our demand to be allowed to pass, might be backed by 
 such authority as this," I replied, producing one of my 
 revolvers. 
 
 " But if I connive at your escape, what will become of 
 me, when his lordship returns and learns all ?" 
 
 "You are the best judge of that yourself; you shall go 
 with us if you like: one thing is certain, however — youi 
 fate cannot be worse than you had planned for yourself, if 
 he succeeded in wedding this lady." 
 
156 
 
 YIOLA. 
 
 Anne remained thoughtful for a few moments ; and then 
 brightening at a new idea, exclaimed: 
 
 " I have it ! I have it ! You can perhaps effect an 
 escape with the lady, and at the same time save me from 
 disgrace. My plan is this : I will call in Pierre ; we will 
 frighten him, for he is* timid, into compliance with our 
 wishes ; and you shall leave us both gagged and bound — 
 BO that if not liberated by the other servants, (and if so, 
 they can testify to the fact,) vre can, when his lordship 
 returns, give out that we were overpowered, and our 
 condition will be proof of our assertion." 
 
 "Not a bad plan," I said, approvingly. 
 
 " Then let us hasten its execution," said the damsel, 
 eagerly. " I can soon summon Pierre, and we ought to 
 lose no time." 
 
 " I must consult my friend," I replied. 
 
 " Oh, hasten to him, then !" 
 
 " I would rather await his return," I answered ; "doubt- 
 less he will soon rejoin us." 
 
 I did not like to disturb Harley, for I knew that he and 
 Viola had a thousand things to say to each other, which could 
 only be said in the absence of a third party. I seated 
 myself, therefore, in no very patient mood, for I felt that 
 every moment was precious. Minute followed minute, but 
 no Harley came. I grew restless and uneasy, and listened 
 to every sound, hoping it would prove to be his footsteps on 
 the stairs. Had he forgotten where he was, and the 
 business that brought him here ? Perhaps so — for when 
 were lovers, alone together, ever known to act rationally 
 and prudently, in an emergency like the present? At 
 length I got up, and paced the room to and fro. 
 
 "Had you not better speak to your friend ?" suggested 
 Anne. 
 
 " Not yet — he will soon be here." 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 157 
 
 A half hour passed away, and my patience became 
 exhausted. 
 
 " This will never do," I said. 
 
 I opened the secret door, and called my friend loudly 
 by name. No answer. I called again. No answer. 
 
 " Come," I said to my companion, " we will go up to 
 them — for I feel with you that delay is dangerous." 
 
 "I will remain here," she replied, "till you return." 
 
 " No," rejoined I, bluntly, " I cannot trust you ; remem- 
 ber you have made one attempt at escape already." 
 
 She colored deeply, made no further objection, but 
 reluctantly, I thought, complied with my request. We 
 ascended to the third story chamber, the secret door of 
 which I found closed. I knocked. No answer. Again I 
 knocked. No answer. I listened, but could hear n^ 
 sound. Half indignant that Harley could so forget him 
 self at such a time, I pressed the spring and pushed the 
 door open. 
 
 " I am sorry to be obliged to disturb you, but — " 
 
 I had got thus far in my speech, and my body cleverly 
 into the chamber, when I arrested my tongue and my 
 steps, and looked around me with an astonished and half 
 bewildered air. The room was apparently tenantless — no 
 Morton or Viola was visible. 
 
 " Harley !" I called, thinking he might be hiding behind 
 some of the furniture. " Come ! this is no time for 
 practical jokes — where are you ?" 
 
 No answer. I looked at Anne, who had entered the 
 apartment behind me. She was very pale, and seemed 
 agitated by a kind of superstitious fear — at least I fancied so. 
 
 " What means this ?" I demanded. 
 
 " I do not know," she answered, in a hushed tone, with 
 quivering lips, looking timidly around her. 
 
 " Come with me, and let us search the apartment," 1 
 
158 VIOLA. 
 
 said ; and I took her trembling hand, and retained it, for I 
 was fearful she might attempt another escape and succeed. 
 
 We looked behind the sofas and ottomans, and under 
 everything, but found nothing. Some crimson curtains 
 hung before a small recess, which, drawn aside, disclosed a 
 bed on which Viola had reposed of nights during her 
 imprisonment. We looked under this, but found no traces 
 of those of whom we were in search. Again I called 
 Harlej, loudly, some two or three times — but still received 
 no answer. 
 
 " Girl !" I cried, grasping tightly the hand of my fright- 
 ened companion — "what means this ? where are they?" 
 
 " Upon my soul ! I know no more than yourself, sir," she 
 replied. 
 
 *' There is a secret passage out of this chamber, other 
 than the one by which we entered — show it to me !" 
 
 "If you were to kill me this minute," she replied, with 
 ashy lips, and a cold tremor running through her frame, 
 " I could not. for I know of none. Perhaps — " she hesi- 
 tated, looked wildly around, and then added, pressing 
 closer to me : " Oh ! sir, this has been called the haunted 
 chamber." 
 
 I saw she was really frightened, and I withheld the 
 angry rejoinder that was upon my tongue. I was just be- 
 ginning to feel very strangely myself, when I saw a paint- 
 ing, on the side we had entered, swing back, and lo ! there 
 stood Morton and Viola. 
 
 "This way, Harry! this way!" he said: "I was just 
 coming down for you." 
 
 " Have you found the secret passage ?" I exclaimed, 
 springing forward. 
 
 " One leading up, but not down," he replied; "but 1 
 have found something else you may as well look at " 
 
 "What is it?" 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 159 
 
 " Viola will show you. Go with her, Harry, and I will 
 remain here with Anne." 
 
 " And I may as well inform you," I rejoined, " that Mis- 
 tress Anne has made one attempt at escape already." 
 
 ** Ha ! indeed I" said Harley, fixing his eyes keenly upon 
 her — " I was afraid of this. Well, so much the more ne- 
 cessity for keeping close guard over her. And I have 
 heard other things," he added, still keeping his eyes upon 
 her, while hers sought the ground in confusion, " that do 
 not reflect any great credit upon their author. However, 
 a reckoning day must come for all. Go, Harry, and return 
 soon, for we have no time to lose. Viola, dear, you can 
 speak to him as if he were myself." 
 
 Viola meantime was standing in a small recess, disclosed 
 by the swinging back of the painting just mentioned ; and 
 as she remained perfectly still, looking out upon us, robed 
 in white, she resembled a beautiful statue in a niche. On 
 my joining her, she impulsively seized my hand, and with 
 tears in her eyes, exclaimed : 
 
 *' Oh, Mr. Walton, Heaven grant the time may soon 
 come when I can show you my gratitude for all you have 
 done for me !" 
 
 I was quite taken by surprise, and in some embarrass- 
 ment replied, looking alternately at her and my friend for 
 explanation : 
 
 " Really, I am not aware what I have done, to — " 
 
 " Generous natures seldom are," interrupted Harley. 
 *' There — go now. I have merely been speaking of our 
 friendship, and the interest you have taken in every thing 
 that concerns me, and you see its effect upon one who is as 
 grateful as she is true and affectionate. But go ! go ! and 
 return soon." 
 
 Viola turned as Harley ceased speaking, asid saying, 
 *' Thi« way, I^Tr. Walton," pointed to a spiral stairway, so 
 
160 VIOLA. 
 
 steep and narrow that it was with no little difficulty we 
 could ascend it. At the top of this we emerged through a 
 trap door into a small, round apartment, that seemed in- 
 tended to be shut out from observation, even by persons 
 visiting the summit of the tower — which was still a few 
 feet higher — for there appeared to be no way to pass from 
 one to the other. There were no windows to this secret 
 retreat ; but a large, heavy, iron lamp, depending from the 
 ceiling by an iron chain, which Viola informed me she had 
 found lighted a few minutes before, made sombrously visible 
 the objects in the apartment. 
 
 One hasty glance around, and I understood why Harley 
 had wished me to come hither. In one corner stood a 
 small, but very solid press, for steel or copperplate printing 
 — in another a machine for die-sinking, or stamping coin ; 
 while scattered about in a careless manner, were tools of 
 various kinds — dies — plates — "bogus," stamped and un- 
 stamped — bank notes signed and unsigned — and a hundred 
 other things unnecessary to be mentioned. 
 
 " Well," exclaimed I, taking a rapid survey of the 
 apartment — " so monsieur my lord is at the head of a gang 
 of counterfeiters, as Morton and I more than suspected 
 before we came here?" 
 
 " So it seems," replied Viola. 
 
 " But how did you find this out ?" 
 
 " The Count has more than once visited me in the night, 
 much to my alarm," she replied, in a low, quick, excited 
 tone ; " but he always treated me respectfully, with the ex- 
 ception of telling me I could never go forth again but as 
 his bride — that he had sworn this, and that he was one to 
 keep his oath. My reply, of course, has always been a 
 firm, decided negative — though my very heart has shrunk 
 within me when I have so spoken. Well, several times, 
 for hours after he had left me, I heard strange noises in 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 161 
 
 this direction — and once I questioned him as to the cause. 
 His answer, doubtless intended to frighten me, was that the 
 room I occupied was termed the haunted chamber, and he 
 jad no other explanation for the sounds I heard. I sus- 
 y.ected more natural causes, however ; and the last time he 
 was here, I determined, unknown to him, to watch his exit. 
 I succeeded ; and discovered that, instead of leaving the 
 chamber by the secret door through which you entered, as 
 had previously been my impression, he, after going to 
 that, cast a Ininied glance around, and glided to another 
 painting, which immediately opened and closed behind him. 
 In my conversation with Morton, I mentioned this to him ; 
 and approaching this painting, and making a careful exami- 
 nation, he soon discovered the spring which commanded 
 the door ; and opening the latter, we found our way 
 hither." 
 
 " And did the Count always return through your cham- 
 ber ?" I inquired. 
 
 " Never, to my knowledge," answered Viola — " and from 
 this Morton argues that there is a secret passage from here 
 down through the tower. And besides, I have heard these 
 strange noises at times when the Count had not previously 
 visited me." 
 
 "He is a villain of the darkest dye, I fear," I rejoined. 
 
 " I have from the first regarded him as a bold, bad 
 man," returned Viola, shuddering ; " but I was not aware 
 of the extent of his criminality, till I came hither — in fact 
 I knew not of this till w^ithin the hour — though I can- 
 not say I am surprised at it." 
 
 " I wonder you ever permitted yourself to be brought 
 here at all," I said. 
 
 *' My father insisted on it — and what could I do ? — though 
 never would I have sufi'ered it, had I known what I now 
 know ; but I was told that, after visitin;:: the Count's rosi- 
 
 1 I 
 
162 VIOLA. 
 
 dence, if I woidd not consent to wed him, I should have a 
 choice between him and a convent; and in the hope that 
 my father would eventually relent from his stern determina- 
 tion, should I in part comply with his whim, I reluctantly 
 assented to the arrangement — though not, I must confess, 
 without some dark forebodings of the troubles that have 
 come upon me." 
 
 '' And could your father be so cruel as to forfeit his 
 word after you came here, and no longer give you a choice, 
 save between becoming the wife of this villanous Count 
 and being a close prisoner in this tower ?" 
 
 " Alas ! I know not how to answer you," replied Viola, 
 in a dejected tone ; " for I have not seen my father since 
 the morning after my arrival ; and then he came and de- 
 parted with Count D'Estang. He seemed in a sadder mood 
 than usual ; and ere they left the apartment, some words 
 passed between them, that I fancied, for I could not dis- 
 tinguish what was said, were not of the most amicable na- 
 ture. Morton is apprehensive he has met with foul play ; 
 but, oh Heaven ! I hope not — for much as he has wronged 
 me, he is still my father, and I would have no harm befall 
 him. Besides, the Count has always assured me that he is 
 well, and that on the day I consent to become his wife, he 
 shall reappear to congratulate me. This positive assurance, 
 coupled with his absence, and the fact that neither the 
 porter nor this girl, as Morton tells me, have seen him 
 since that morning — leads me to think he may perhaps, like 
 myself, be a prisoner within this very tower." 
 
 " But why, Viola, (if you will permit me as a friend to 
 make use of the name most familiar to me) — why, think 
 you, does this Count persist in wishing to marry you against 
 your inclination ?" 
 
 " I really cannot say, unless it is because he has said he 
 
 Wnnltl t]n if. sw.un ]\^' von^d do it. and is dp+orpi^nofl to 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE TOWER. 163 
 
 make his word good, let the consequences be what thej 
 may. Oh, merciful Heaven ! that we were all safely out of 
 his clutches !" 
 
 "And, Heaven aid us! we soon shall be," I rejoined. 
 " Cheer up, Viola — you are now with friends, who will 
 only quit you with life, or when you are again in safety." 
 
 "Oh, how can I suflSciently thank you!" she again ex- 
 claimed, her soft, dark eyes filling with tears of gratitude. 
 " I can understand why dear Morton has ventured so much 
 — but you are, comparatively speaking, a stranger." 
 
 " Say no more, Viola — say no more — but know that 
 your safety shall henceforth be as much my care as his 
 who is our mutual friend." She would have again replied, 
 but I hastened to add : " Come ! with your permission, we 
 will rejoin Morton — for I have a plan to lay before him, 
 by which I hope to effect a speedy escape." 
 
 We found Harley busy with another painting, nearly 
 opposite our place of entrance, with Mistress Anne seated 
 near, sobbing half hysterically. 
 
 "Well, Harry, you saw!" he exclaimed. 
 
 "What proves you right in your surmise," I rejoined. 
 
 " We may, if we get away in time, make this discovery 
 rather troublesome to his lordship;'' and there was a sar- 
 castic emphasis on the last word. 
 
 " And I have a plan which may give us speedy release," 
 I replied ; and I hurriedly put Harley in possession of the 
 conversation held with Anne regarding our escape. 
 
 "I like it," he rejoined, "for it is more likely to be 
 successful than the other, and will save us the trouble of 
 looking for this secret passage. You consent to this, 
 Anne?" 
 
 " So you will leave me gagged and bound," she an- 
 swered. 
 
 "Oh, never fear but we will do that," said Harley, with 
 
164 VIOLA. 
 
 a comical expression, that, serious as I felt, forced me to 
 smile. 
 
 ^' But my father !" now interposed Viola : " he must 
 not be left here a prisoner !" 
 
 "If your father is a prisoner here, dear Viola," replied 
 Harley, a dark frown settling on his brow, *' he owes it to 
 himself — to the scheme of villany he attempted to practise 
 against you — and I have no sympathy with him whatever." 
 
 "But still, Morton, dear Morton, he is my father," said 
 Viola, gently, approaching him she addressed, resting her 
 soft white hand upon his shoulder, and letting her bright 
 dark eyes, all eloquent with love, beam tenderly and plead- 
 ingly upon his. " He is my father, dear Morton ; and 
 were he to suffer, even for his own misdeeds, your Viola 
 could not be happy." 
 
 "Pardon me, if I doubt he is your father," returned 
 Harley ; "for no father could so misuse a child as he has 
 you, my own fair flower ;" and throwing an arm around 
 her slender waist, he drew her fondly to him. 
 
 " But you will forgive and forget all for my sake, dear 
 Morton, and try to liberate him, will you not ?" and again 
 the soft pleading eyes of Viola spoke more than her lips. 
 
 "Were I certain of his being a prisoner within this 
 tower, as you seem to think he is, dearest, I would do much 
 for your sake ; but I tell you frankly, I would neither risk 
 my own life, nor yours, to set him free. And why should 
 I ? Do I owe him any gratitude for the misery he has 
 made you and I suffer ? Oh, Viola ! Viola ! you know 
 not, you can never know, the anguish, the tortures, I have 
 endured since the hour we first met on the bank of that 
 romantic stream in old Virginia. When I look back over 
 the intervening time, it seems as if I could number a thou- 
 sand years of grief and agony, with only here and there a 
 day of happiness. And who caused me all this suffering ? 
 
MYSTERIES OF THE T0T7ER. 165 
 
 — who but the man you term your father, whom you would 
 now have me peril my life to rescue from a just punish- 
 ment ! But come, dearest, we must talk of this elsewhere 
 — for now my only care is to get you safely, if not secretly, 
 away from here, before the Count returns." 
 
 "Oh, Heavens! we are lost! we are lost!" now cried 
 Anne, in a tone of the utmost alarm, clasping her hands 
 wildly. 
 
 She was standing by the southern window, looking out 
 upon the park, over the front building. 
 
 "What is it ?" cried Harley and I in a breath, spring- 
 ing to her. 
 
 " The Count ! the Count ! See ! . he has returned," she 
 almost shrieked. 
 
 It needed but a single glance toward the left hand gate, 
 to convince us she spoke the truth — for there, sure enough, 
 coming leisurely up the avenue, was the very same horse- 
 man we had seen ride away an hour or two since. The 
 next moment he spurred his gallant animal ; and the roof 
 of the building before us soon shut him from our view, as 
 he drew near and nearer to the mansion. 
 
 Harley now turned to me, and I to him, and we read 
 in each other's looks, the stern resolve of men who were 
 determined to face the worst with unflinching firmress. 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A NOBLE PRISONER. 
 
 "Well, Harry, what are we to do ?" said Harley, who 
 was the first to speak. 
 
 " Flj ! fly ! — oh ! fly, and save yourselves !" cried 
 Viola, springing to us. 
 
 " And leave you in the hands of a villain, dearest ?" re- 
 plied Harley, throwing' an arm around her and drawing 
 her to him. " We should be cowards indeed to do that, 
 my pretty flower !" 
 
 " But he will kill you, if you stay here, Morton ! Oh, 
 fly ! fly ! for my sake !" 
 
 " You forget, my dear Viola, we could not escape — foi 
 this terrible lord is already here." 
 
 "But you came as peddlers, you tell me — depart as 
 such, and he will not molest you. This lady, I am sure, 
 will keep the secret, for her own sake ;" and she appealed 
 to Anne with her eyes. 
 
 " Yes, yes — I will — I swear it !" cried Anne, in alarm. 
 " Oh ! gentlemen, go ! go ! — do as this lady bids you, and 
 all may yet be well." 
 
 " What do you think of their advice, Harry?" inquired 
 Harley, looking at me. ^ 
 
 " That it is meant for our good, perhaps, but should not 
 be followed," I replied. 
 
 He grasped my hand. 
 
 "Were there twenty terrible lords, instead of one, I 
 i^ould not stir an inch," he said. 
 (166) 
 
A NOBLE PRISONER. 167 
 
 "Nor I," I rejoined. 
 
 "You see," he continued, turning to Viola, "we are 
 not to be moved — so spare us your entreaties, and be firm, 
 and we will save you, or perish in the attempt. Here, 
 seat yourself here, dearest, on this sofa, and do not stir 
 from here, nor speak. Will this Count seek to enter the 
 tower?" he continued, addressing Anne, who stood wring- 
 ing her hands, the picture of despair. 
 
 " Doubtless he will," she answered, in tremulous tones. 
 " Oh, go ! gentlemen — go ! — in mercy to yourselves, and 
 us, go !" 
 
 " Hush ! not a word. If I had a rope !" 
 
 "I saw one in the room above," I hastened to say. 
 
 " Ah, ha, ha ! Fate again ! Quick, Harry, and get it ! 
 there is no time to lose." 
 
 I bounded away, and in less than a minute returned 
 with a good-sized coil. 
 
 " Now, Harry — and you, Anne — follow me to the room 
 below." 
 
 " Oh ! sir, I — " began Anne, drawing back. 
 
 " Girl!" cried Harley, interrupting her, seizing her by 
 the wrist, and producing a revolver : " this is no time to 
 trifle. You have sworn to obey us, and you shall ! or 
 take the consequences ! "VYe are armed, and desperate — 
 come .'" and he dragged her toward the door by main 
 force. 
 
 " Kill me !" she cried — " kill me ! I deserve death, for 
 my unintentional treachery to my lord." 
 
 " Would you ^ave his life ?" demanded Harley, fiercely. 
 
 "Yes ! yes ! even at the sacrifice of my own." 
 
 " Then follow us, and give no alarm ! or, I swear to you, 
 I will send the first ball through his head !" 
 
 " Oh ! then," pleaded Anne, " bind me ! bind me ! that 
 he may think me overpowered, not treacherous." 
 
168 VIOLA. 
 
 "If we have time, I will. Come ! quick ! quick !" 
 
 "We all now hurried down to the chamber below, but 
 none more eagerly than Anne. 
 
 "There is time!" she cried; "quick now, with your 
 cord ! — and oh ! for Heaven's sake, good gentlemen, do 
 not harm him !" 
 
 It was the work of less than a minute to bind fast the hands 
 and feet of Mistress Anne, who aided us all she could ; and 
 leaving her lying upon the ground, we hastened to the 
 window that commanded a view of the bridge. 
 
 " Now, then, if he would only enter by the door here," 
 began Harley ; but interrupted his speech with the exclama- 
 tion, " Ha ! he comes ! Quick ! Harry — here ! stand by 
 me, ready to spring upon him!" and hurriedly unlocking 
 the door, he placed himself, so that while open it would 
 cover him, and I hastily took my position beside him. 
 
 Scarcely had I done so, when the door was thrown 
 quickly open, and a voice, which we instantly recognized, 
 exclaimed, angrily : 
 
 "Where are these thieving — " 
 
 The sentence was cut short by a heavy blow from the 
 fist of Harley, which staggered the speaker forward, and 
 brought him to his knees ; and before he could recover 
 himself, we were upon him ; and, working like men whose 
 lives depended on their exertions, we had him fast bound 
 almost in the time it has taken me to record the fact. 
 
 On finding himself a prisoner, in his own strong-hold, 
 the rage of the Count knew no bounds. His pale face 
 grew livid with passion — his eyes shot gleams like fire — he 
 ground his teeth, and foamed, and rolled, and worked him- 
 self in his cords like a giant and poured forth a volley of 
 oaths in French, that I would not repeat even had they 
 been spoken in my mother tongue. 
 
 Harley, after relocking the door, that we might have no 
 
A NOBLE PRISONER. 169 
 
 more to contend with, coolly took a seat along side of his 
 prisoner, and quietly waited till the first burst of fury was 
 over. It lasted much longer, however, than one would 
 have thought likely — denoting the Count to be a man of 
 the most ungovernable passions, who was now under 
 physical restraint, with his mental powers terribly active, 
 perhaps for the first time in his life. It was really painful 
 to witness the workings of the demon within him ; and I 
 believe that, for a time, he was as much insane as ever was 
 a chained inmate of Bedlam. Oh! such writhing — such 
 gnashing of teeth — such rolling of the eyes, and such 
 contortions of the countenance — I hope never to witness 
 again ! Truly had Anne said, he was terrible in his anger ; 
 and I verily believe, had it been in his power, he would 
 have put us beyond the pale of mortality, with as little 
 compunction as he would have felt for a serpent or a 
 mad dog. 
 
 Gradually, at length, he grew calmer, and finally ceased 
 his struggles altogether, fixing his keen, black eyes upon 
 Harley, with a malignant intensity that seemed to pene- 
 trate to the very soul. He was, as I have previously 
 described him, a finely formed man, of medium size, and 
 some five-and-thirty years of age. He was, setting passion 
 aside, by no means an ill-looking individual — though his fea- 
 tures generally were too sharp and pale for any great manly 
 beauty. His lips were thin and close, and on the upper 
 one was a fine, black mustache, that contrasted forcibly 
 with his pale countenance — the more so, that all the rest 
 of his beard was kept closely shaved. His forehead was 
 high, broad, and intellectual; and he had a look of firm- 
 ness, decision, and command, that accorded with his real 
 character. His most remarkable feature, however, was his 
 eye ; it was the blackest and most piercing I had ever 
 beheld ; and as I noted its fiery, snake-like appearance, I 
 
170 VIOLA. 
 
 did not wonder he could make himself feared by those over 
 -whom he could exercise authority in any degree, or by 
 those whom fortune had placed within the limits of his evil 
 influence. 
 
 Ilarley fixed his eye upon the Count, and, by the thought- 
 ful earnestness of his look, I knew he was seeking to read 
 the character of his enemy, that he might the more readily 
 accomplish the purpose he had in view. For some time 
 neither spoke ; but silently regarded each other, like two 
 combatants who have only ceased hostilities that they may 
 the more readily close in the death-gripe. 
 
 My friend was the first to break the silence ; and his 
 language was altogether diiferent from what I had antici- 
 pated, considering the occasion, and the recent exciting 
 events. 
 
 "Well, Monsieur le Capitaine," he said, with a quiet 
 smile, " if I were in your plafie, and you in mine, I think 
 I would give it up as an unforeseen disaster, and endeavor 
 to effect a compromise — of course making it as favorable 
 to myself as I could under the circumstances — but at the 
 same time resolving to yield some knotty points, with a 
 very good show of grace — more especially if convinced, by 
 certain demonstrations of my adversary, that I must yield 
 them, nolens volens. What say you to this, good my lord ?" 
 
 " Who are you ?" demanded the Count, with an air of 
 surprise. 
 
 " Why, I am what you can hardly have the pretence to 
 be, my lord — an honest man." 
 
 The Count writhed, and his black eyes flashed. 
 % " Villain !" he muttered through his shut teeth — " if I 
 were only free of these cords, I would teach you how to 
 address yourself to me." 
 
 " Why, there it is again, good my lord," returned Harley, 
 smiling ; " if you were free, of course ; but you are not. 
 
A NOBLE PRISONER. 171 
 
 you see, and you are not likely to be at present — therefore 
 I think we had better come to an amicable understanding. 
 Now if if is to be the word, why, I can but repeat, that if 
 I were in your place, and you in mine — you understand?" 
 
 "Who are you?" cried the other, fiercely; "and what 
 do you seek here ?" 
 
 "There now, the 'last is quite a sensible question, all 
 things considered, and I may as well answer it. In the 
 first place, I seek the liberation of Viola St. Auburn ; in 
 the second place, I wish to know what you have done with 
 her worthy father ? in the third place, I would ask you, if 
 you think counterfeiting an honest and profitable specu- 
 lation?" 
 
 At these last words the Count turned deadly pale, and 
 for the first time exhibited signs of alarm. 
 
 " I do not understand your allusions to count'erfeiting," 
 he replied, with ashy, quivering lips. 
 
 " No ? then if you will follow me to a certain small 
 apartment above us, I will explain it to you in an unmis- 
 takable way." 
 
 " Ha ! I have been betrayed !" groaned the other, 
 setting his teeth hard. 
 
 " You are known, at all events," replied Harley, 
 coolly ; " and since you are completely in our power, I 
 would advise you to make a virtue of necessity, and con 
 cede us all we ask." 
 
 " Oh ! my lord, I did not betray you !" now cried Anne, 
 in a tone of despair. 
 
 "Ha ! you here?" cried the Count, working himself in 
 his cords, till he brought his eyes to bear upon her- -for 
 not having seen her on his entrance, this was the first 
 intimation he had of her being in the chamber. 
 
 " Oh ! my lord," she exclaimed, " I did not betray 70U I 
 — indeed, indeed I did not ! — these villains — " 
 
172 VIOLA. 
 
 " Hold !" interrupted Harley ; *' I will permit no such 
 language. Do not speak again, Mistress Anne, till I ad- 
 dress you, or you will be sorry for it." 
 
 Anne was dumb, through fear that all might be revealed 
 to him she both loved and feared. 
 
 "And now," pursued Harley, turning to the Count, with 
 a stern look, " as time is precious to myself and friends, if 
 not to you, let us come to an understanding at once." 
 
 " Who are you, sir?" again demanded D'Estang. 
 
 " Well, thinking it not unlikely you have heard of me 
 before, I will honor you with my name. I am called Mor- 
 ton Harley." 
 
 " Ha !" ejaculated the Count, with anything but a pleas- 
 ing expression ; and he bit his nether lip till the blood 
 showed through. 
 
 " Now that you know who I am, and probably divine my 
 business here, let us see if we can come to any understand- 
 ing," pursued Harley. 
 
 " Well, name your demands !" 
 
 " I will. Monsieur ; and endeavor not to be unreasonable, 
 considering the advantage I have over you." 
 
 "You are a coward," sneered the Count, " to make your 
 boast over a gentleman in fetters ! Set me free, sir, and 
 see who gets the advantage then !" 
 
 " Ay, ay — or shoot myself through the head," returned 
 Harley, ironically — " I suppose that would answer equally 
 as well. But as I intend to do neither. Monsieur le Capi- 
 taine, suppose we come to the point at once. I may as 
 well remark, en passant, that, having the advantage, I in- 
 tend to make good use of it ; and as to the epithet of coward 
 — why, should it ever be my misfortune to be reduced to the 
 level of your lordship, I will leave it to a gang of counter- 
 feiters and thieves to decide which is the most cowardly, 
 to kidnap an unprotected lady, with the assistance of her 
 
A NOBLE PRISONER. 173 
 
 own father, and shut her up in a tower — or to go boldly 
 into the fortress of an enemy, make him a prisoner, and 
 set the aforesaid lady at liberty, in defiance of his power. 
 Now, Monsieur D'Estang, lest you should mistake my cha- 
 racter, from my free and easy way of speaking, let me im- 
 press upon your mind, that I am not a person to be trifled 
 with — that I value life only for the use I can make of it — 
 that I fear death as little as yourself, perhaps less — and 
 that once determined upon a course, I cannot be changed. 
 And I would furthermore observe in this connection, that 
 it is very fortunate for you that Viola St. Auburn has sus- 
 tained no further injury than irksome imprisonment — for 
 had it been otherwise — had you, in short, laid a rude hand 
 upon her — I swear to you. Count D'Estang, I would have 
 pitched you headlong from the top of this tower, though 
 I died for it the next minute ! Now, then, do you begin 
 to understand me ? Eh ?" 
 
 " Go on, sir — I am in your power at present — but — " 
 
 " There, there. Monsieur," interrupted Harley — " that 
 will do — never mind the rest. You are in our power for 
 the present; exactly so; that will do for the present; and 
 of the future we know juat as much as yourself. Well, now 
 to be brief, I wish you to state, in the first place, what has 
 become of the father of Viola ?" 
 
 " Well, sir, suppose I refuse to do so ?" 
 
 " Then you will leave the impression on our minds that 
 he has been foully dealt with — or, in plainer language, 
 murdered !'* 
 
 *' Well?" said the Count, making an effort to appear 
 calm and indifferent. 
 
 "Well," replied Harley, *' in that case, though he was 
 my enemy, I shall take every means in my power to hare 
 you brought to justice." 
 
 "But suppose I tell you he is imprisoned?" 
 
 15 
 
174 VIOLA, 
 
 " Then you must inform us how he can be liberated." 
 
 " Well, let us understand each other," pursued the Count. 
 *' Suppose I comply with all your demands — what am I to 
 get in return?" 
 
 "Your liberty." 
 
 " When ? and in what manner ?" 
 
 " You shall be set free after we are gone. This, Sir 
 Count, is much better than you deserve ; but as it would be 
 rather troublesome to bring you to justice, and remain as a 
 witness myself, if you will comply with all our demands, 
 and take a solemn oath not to seek to molest us after we 
 are gone, you shall be restored to liberty." 
 
 "And if I refuse ?" 
 
 " You will be kept here a prisoner ; and one of us, at 
 least, shall remain as your jailor." 
 
 " But I cannot long remain a prisoner here — for my 
 servants, if no others, when once they learn the outrage 
 that has been perpetrated upon me, will break in, over- 
 power you, and set me free." 
 
 " But we will take care, my dear sir, that your servants 
 learn nothing of the kind," said Harley. 
 
 " You cannot keep the knowledge from them ; they will 
 suspect there is something wrong, if I do not make my ap- 
 pearance in the course of the day." 
 
 " Then to settle the matter in a few words," returned 
 Harley, producing his revolver, "let me assure you, M. 
 D'Estang, that we are armed to the teeth — that the first 
 that enters will be shot down like a dog — and that the mo- 
 ment we have reason to think we may be overpowered, that 
 moment a ball shall be lodged in your lordship's brain !" 
 
 The Count bit his lip again, and seemed to reflect. 
 
 "Well," he said at length, "I like your candor, at all 
 events : now say what you require of me ?" 
 
A NOBLE PRISONER. 175 
 
 " First, that Mr. St. Auburn, if imprisoned, shall be set 
 at liberty : secondly, that you shall suffer yourself to take 
 his place till after our departure : thirdly, that you will 
 give written orders to your servants to furnish us with four 
 good horses, and permit us to leave your grounds unmo- 
 lested : and fourthly, that you will swear, by all you hold 
 sacred, never again to molest us." 
 
 Again the Count reflected ; but he evidently saw no bet- 
 ter way of getting out of a bad predicament ; while the 
 idea probably occurred to him, that by assenting to Harley's 
 proposals, something might happen to give him the ascen- 
 dency ; he therefore rejoined : 
 
 "Well, sir, as I cannot do better, I concede your de- 
 mands, — but first tell me in what manner I shall gain my 
 liberty ?" 
 
 "After we have been gone a reasonable time," replied 
 Harley, " I will despatch a note to one of your porters, 
 informing him of your confinement." 
 
 " But what security have I that you will not play me 
 false?" 
 
 " The word of a gentleman." 
 
 "Well," sneered the Count, "that may do very well in 
 some cases ; but even you, sir, must admit, it is not tau" 
 gible security." 
 
 "It is all I have to offer," returned Harley, haughtily; 
 " and if you do not choose to accept of it — why, we will en- 
 deavor to manage the business without your assistance." 
 
 "Nay, my friend — " 
 
 "Hold!" cried Harley, almost fiercely; "do not presume, 
 sir, to apply the term of friend to me — I detest such hy- 
 pocrisy ! I am your enemy, henceforth and forever, and 
 will trouble you to bear it in mind." 
 
 The pale features of the Count flushed, his eyes flashed. 
 
176 VIOLA. 
 
 he bit his lips, and would doubtless have burst forth in a 
 torrent of invectives, had not policy kept him silent. 
 
 "Do you agree to ray conditions?" demanded Harley, 
 at length ; " yes or no ?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the Count. 
 
 " Very well — let us proceed directly to business. First 
 :.n order are the written directions to your servants." 
 
 " Yes, if you will permit me to send for pen, ink, and 
 paper." 
 
 " It is unnecessary, sir, even if the articles were not to 
 be found in your cabinet of curiosities up stairs ; for I have 
 paper in my box, and a pencil will answer our purpose as 
 well as a pen;" and going to his box, Harley produced a 
 torn blank sheet. 
 
 "I must have the use of my arms," said the Count. 
 
 " One will do, sir ; but first we will ascertain what other 
 arms you have;" and Harley proceeded to search the 
 Count — finding on his person a brace of pistols, and a 
 "Bowie," which he took from him. 
 
 We then released the Count's right arm, and, placing him 
 on a sofa, drew a table up to him, so that he could write 
 without difficulty. He affected no hesitation; but taking 
 the pencil of my friend, wrote some three or four lines in 
 French, signed his name at the bottom, and handed the 
 paper to Harley. The moment the latter glanced over it, 
 a dark, malignant expression, such as I had never before 
 seen him exhibit, swept over his countenance ; and slowly 
 producing one of the Count's pistols, he pointed it at the 
 head of his lordship, and said, in a deep, severe tone : 
 
 " Villain ! I have a mind to make this treachery your 
 last!" 
 
 Anne uttered a scream of terror. 
 
 " Hold ! Morton !" I cried, in a tone of alarm ; while the 
 Count fairly turned livid with fear, and, with his eyes sink- 
 
A NOBLE PRISONER. 177 
 
 ing under Harley's fierce gaze, trembled in every limb : 
 " Hold ! Morton ! — for the love of Heaven do no murder 
 here !" I continued, taking the weapon from his hands, 
 though he still kept his eyes fixed piercingly on the Count. 
 *' What has he done, Morton ? Speak ! what has he done ?" 
 and I repeated the question several times before I got an 
 answer. 
 
 "Done?" cried Harley, at length, fiercely, — "read for 
 yourself, Harry ?" and he held forth the paper. " But I 
 forgot," he added — "you do not understand French — so 1 
 will translate it." 
 
 And he read : 
 
 " / aw a prisoner in the tower ; secure the hearers of 
 this; let no one leave the Ville, on pain of death, and 
 come instantly to my release, 
 
 " D'ESTANG." 
 
 " He fancied, the knave ! that neither of us understood 
 French," added Harley. 
 
 I gave vent to my indignation in no very measured 
 terms. 
 
 " He will rewrite the order," pursued Harley, sternly, 
 again fixing his eyes piercingly on the Count ; " and the 
 very next time he attempts to play us false, will be the last. 
 In English, Monsieur D'Estang !" he added, pushing the 
 paper to him. 
 
 The Count again wrote; but, in spite of himself, his 
 hand trembled. The second note, after perusing, Harley 
 handed to me. It read : 
 
 " Let the hearers of this, my particular friends, he pro* 
 vided with four good horses, and he permitted to leave the 
 Ville without question or hindrance. D'ESTANG." 
 
 15* 
 
178 VIOLA. 
 
 " That will do, I think," I said. 
 
 "Now, then," said Harlej, "for Mr. St. Auburn. 
 Where is he. Sir Count ?" 
 
 "He is imprisoned in this tower, below us," replied 
 D'Estang. 
 
 " You must show us the way, sir." 
 
 The Count looked down at his limbs. 
 
 " We will refasten your arms, and release your legs," 
 pursued Harley. " I can do this, Harry — will you favor 
 me by calling Viola?" 
 
 I hastened to the chamber above. 
 
 "Well?" cried the beautiful maiden, eagerly. "Oh! 
 Mr. Walton, I have been so terrified !" 
 
 "Be not so any longer then, fair lady," I replied — "for 
 we have succeeded beyond our expectations." 
 
 "Is Morton safe?" 
 
 "Yes, and the Count a prisoner;" and I hurriedly nar- 
 rated what had happened, adding ; " Come, we are about 
 to visit your father, and set you all free." , 
 
 She wept for joy. 
 
 On reaching the lower chamber, Viola flew to Harley, 
 threw her arms around his neck, and sobbed upon his breast. 
 
 " Cheer up, my love!" he said: "God is with us, and 
 we triumph. — Come, dearest — we will free you, and your 
 father, from the clutches of a demon incarnate ; and then 
 if he does not sanction our union, he is incapable of grati- 
 tude, and we must act without him." 
 
 As soon as Viola could subdue her emotions, so as to 
 appear composed, Harley bade her follow with me ; and 
 then placing his hand on the Count's shoulder, who was 
 now standing by, with his arms bound, but his legs un- 
 fettered, he said : 
 
 " Now, sir, show us the secret passage to your prisoner." 
 
 " But Anne," I interposed — " shall we leave her here?" 
 
A NOBLE PRISONER. 179 
 
 " Ah ! I had nearly overlooked her ! No, she must go 
 with us." 
 
 I soon cut the cords that bound her feet ; and then the 
 Count, without a word, proceeded to the secret passage 
 leading to the upper chamber, Harlej keeping close to 
 him, with a revolver in his hand. 
 
 " Here," said the count, on reaching the foot oi the 
 stairway ; " underneath me is a trap door ; and a little to 
 the right, there, you will find a spring — press that, and it 
 will open." 
 
 Harley stooped down, the count stepped aside, and in a 
 moment the trap was raised, and a blast of cool air came 
 up from the darkness below. 
 
 " We must have a light," said Harley. ^ 
 
 1 had seen a lantern in the little room above, and I 
 hastened to get it. Harley took it, and after peering down 
 into the darkness, swung it on his arm, fixed his left hand 
 firmly in the cords that bound the count, and placing his 
 revolver to the breast of the latter, said, in a determined 
 tone : 
 
 " A single attempt at treachery. Count, and you are a 
 dead man." 
 
 He then began to descend the steep, narrow stairs, keep- 
 ing a firm hold of D'Estang — Viola followed next — and I 
 brought up the rear with. Anne. 
 
 So we went down to the dungeon of the tower. 
 
CHAPTER XVII 
 
 A DISCLOSURE. 
 
 We descended two long, narrow flights of stairs, which 
 brought us one story below the level of the earth. What 
 the ground apartment of the tower contained, I do not 
 know, for we did not enter it, but kept outside in the secret 
 passage. At the foot of the second descent, we came to 
 an iron door, which, on being opened by the Count's di- 
 rections, admitted us to a small apartment, walled in with 
 heavy stones, and paved with flags. An iron lamp was 
 attached to the ceiling by a chain, so as to be lowered or 
 raised. We lowered and lighted it, which enabled us to 
 see very distinctly. Nothing particularly attracted our 
 attention, save three iron doors, two of which were close 
 together on the side opposite our entrance, and the other 
 occupied a central position in the wall to the right. While 
 looking around us, we heard something like a groan, 
 though either distant, muffled, or feeble, we could not tell 
 which. 
 
 " Come," said Harley, who still retained his hold upon 
 the Count, " I suppose that sound proceeds from your vic- 
 tim — show us to him !" 
 
 " This way ;" and the Count advanced to one of the two 
 doors near together, while we all eagerly followed, Viola 
 faintly murmuring ; 
 
 " My father ! my poor father !" 
 
 " The key hangs by the door," said the Count. 
 
 Harley found it, and soon had the door open, disclosing 
 
 (180) 
 
A DISCLOSURE. 181 
 
 a small crypt, with a grated door between us and the pri- 
 soner. The open space between the two doors had some 
 connection with the chamber above, and was doubtless con- 
 trived to admit air to the tenant of the cell, for there 
 appeared to be no other means of ventilation. 
 
 " Here, Harry," said Harley, " take charge of the 
 Count, while I set free the prisoner." 
 
 I laid my hand on D'Estang, and Harley entered the 
 crypt with his lantern. The grated door was secured by 
 bolts, that could easily be removed from without. In less 
 than a minute, I heard my friend say : 
 
 "Henry St. Auburn, you are free." 
 
 " What means this ? to whom am I indebted for this 
 liberation ?" said a voice from within. 
 * "Your daughter will explain all," replied Harley ; " she 
 is without here — come;" and the next moment Harley 
 reappeared, followed by a man some forty-five or fifty 
 years of age, with iron-gray hair, a rather robust frame, 
 and strongly marked features. 
 
 I had only time to observe this much, when Viola, with 
 a cry of "Father! dear, dear father!" sprang forward, 
 threw her arms around his neck, and wept upon his breast. 
 
 " Will some one be so good as to explain the meaning 
 of all this ?" said St. Auburn, looking from one to the 
 other, with an air of perplexity, but exhibiting less affec- 
 tion for his daughter than was consonant with my feelings. 
 
 "It means, dear father," replied Viola, looking up into 
 his face, with her beautiful arms still clasped around his neck, 
 " that the man you have thought your friend, has proved 
 himself your enemy ; and that the man you have considered 
 your enemy, has proved himself your friend." 
 
 " I know who has proved himself my enemy," rejoined 
 St, Auburn, looking fiercely at the Count, who stood pale 
 
 12 
 
182 VIOLA. 
 
 and silent, biting his lips ; " but who is he that has proved 
 himself my friend, in this hour of need ?" 
 
 "Behold him!" said Viola, pointing to Harley, M'ho, 
 with his arms folded on his breast, stood near, calmly, but 
 somewhat sternly, regarding St. Auburn. 
 
 " Sir, you are a stranger to me, but — " began St. 
 Auburn, looking at Harley, who interrupted : 
 
 " Nay, sir, I am no stranger, but one too well known ;" 
 and with the words he removed his wig, mustache, and whis- 
 kers, adding: "You recognize me now, Mr. St. Auburn?" 
 
 " Ha I Harley !" cried St. Auburn, with a start, chang- 
 ing countenance. 
 
 *' Yes, a despised Harley,*' returned my friend, with not 
 a little asperity. 
 
 "I do not understand this," said St. Auburn, with an 
 air of wonder. 
 
 " This way, father, I will explain all," returned Viola, 
 quickly ; and she drew St. Auburn aside, and spoke to him 
 hurriedly, for a few minutes, in a low tone. 
 
 The Count regarded the two, while they were conversing 
 apart, with a peculiar expression. His brows contracted, 
 a sneer played around his mouth, and once or twice he 
 seemed on the point of speaking, but withheld the utter- 
 ance and remained silent. 
 
 At length St. Auburn advanced to Harley, and proffered 
 his hand. 
 
 "Sir! Mr. Harley," he said, "I feel I have done you 
 great injustice. My daughter — " 
 
 " Bah !" sneered D'Estang : " Speak the truth and 
 ehame the Father of Lies ! — you know she is not your 
 daughter." 
 
 "Not his daughter ?" exclaimed Harley, catcbing at the 
 word: "Not his daughter. Count D'Estang?'' 
 
 "No ! she is not his daughter." 
 
A DISCLOSURE. 183 
 
 " Silence !" interposed St. Auburn, fiercely. 
 
 "Nay, speak !" cried Harley, while we all stood breath- 
 less with surprise. " Speak ! Count — you shall be heard. 
 I know he has not treated her as a father should treat a 
 daughter — but still I knew not that she is not his own flesh 
 and blood." 
 
 "Look at the two — do you see any resemblance?" 
 said D'Estang, with another sneer. 
 
 " But that goes for nothing, Count, unless you have 
 other proof," replied Harley. 
 
 " Silence, villain !" cried St. Auburn, looking fiercely at 
 the Count. " Dare to open your vile lips — " 
 
 " Hold !" interrupted Harley ; " I am master nere, and 
 the Count shall have a hearing." 
 
 " Oh ! what new and fearful mystery in this ?" nOTf 
 cried Viola, looking from one to the other for explanation. 
 
 " She is not his daughter," persisted D'Estang, " and he 
 knows it. The secret he made known to me for a consi- 
 deration ; but since I am foiled, he shall no longer have the 
 advantage of it." 
 
 " Is this true, father ? is this true ?" cried Viola, ad- 
 dressing St. Auburn. 
 
 " Believe it not, Viola — it is an invention of his own," 
 replied St. Auburn, not a little agitated. 
 
 "Look at his face, and be your own judges," rejoined 
 D'Estang. 
 
 Harley now took Viola aside, and held a short confer- 
 ence with her ; then he returned to the group, and she 
 remained apart. 
 
 " This is all very strange, and I should like a clearing up 
 of the mystery," he said, addressing the Count. 
 
 "And I can give it in a few words," replied D'Estang. 
 ** Henry St. Auburn had a daughter — " 
 
 " Mr. Harley," interrupted St. Auburn, " that he who 
 
184 VIOLA. 
 
 passes for Count D'Estang is a villain of the worst type, 1 
 think jou have already had sufficient evidence ; and if the 
 tale of my disgrace must be told, let it come from my lips." 
 
 " Say on then !" returned Harley. 
 
 *'Not here, Mr. Harley — not here. Set me at liberty, 
 and I swear to you, you shall have the truth, and the 
 benefit of the truth. D'Estang knows only what I have 
 told him, and he has already abused my confidence. Since 
 matters have gone so far, I may as well state, that she 
 who is called Viola St. Auburn, is not my daughter, and 
 that whoever weds her will wed an heiress of great wealth. 
 This is the true reason why Monsieur D'Estang has sought 
 to force her into an alliance with himself." 
 
 " To accomplish which vile measure, you scrupled not to 
 lend your assistance," rejoined Harley. 
 
 *'In part, Mr. Harley, I confess; but that I refused 
 to second all his base plans, my imprisonment here is proof 
 sufficient." 
 
 *' Did you not force her to come hither, with no other 
 motive than to marry her to D'Estang?" 
 
 "I persuaded her to come, in the hope that I could 
 prevail upon her to give him her hand in marriage, though 
 I was not then aware of his being such a villain," replied 
 St. Auburn. 
 
 "As for villany, I fear there is not much to choose 
 between you," replied Harley, sternly. " You, at least, I 
 know of old ; and it will require much at your hands, 
 to cause me to overlook your treatment of my father, or 
 your insults to me personally — more especially, since your 
 own lips have informed me you are not the father of Viola." 
 
 "I trust, Mr. Harley," replied St. Auburn, with a penitent 
 look, " you will not recall the past ; and for the future — " 
 
 "He will be as great a villain as ever." chimed in 
 D'Estang, interrupting him. "Put no faith in what h^ 
 
A DISCLOSURE. 185 
 
 says, Mr. Harley — for the penitence he now exhibits, 
 proceeds from fear, not regret. He is a villain, without 
 manhood — a base, paltry coward, who will fawn when he is 
 in your power, and bite when you are in his." 
 
 On hearing this, St. Auburn raised his clenched hand, 
 and aimed a blow at the Count, which I parried. 
 
 " Would you strike a defenceless man ?" cried I, indig- 
 nantly ; " do you not see that D'Estang is bound ?" 
 
 '* Attempt the like again," said Harley, fiercely, grasping 
 the ;rm of St. Auburn, " and you shall back to your 
 dungeon." 
 
 "I crave pardon I I was rash," returned St. Auburn, 
 cowering. 
 
 "You see !" said D'Estang— "I spoke the truth." 
 
 *' Silence !" commanded Harley; "and let recrimination 
 cease ! And now, Mr. St. Auburn, speak the truth, and 
 say for what reason you were imprisoned here." 
 
 "I was about to do so," replied the other. "It was 
 because I would not consent to force Viola to wed this 
 man," pointing to D'Estang. "Base as I am, I never in- 
 tended to exercise over her any power beyond earnest 
 entreaty. I told her she might choose between him and a 
 convent ; and I would have made my word good, and re- 
 moved her ere this, had I not been decoyed to this dungeon, 
 and thrust into that cell by force. I will not deny that 
 my motive in bringing her here was so far base, that I was 
 to receive a certain sum of money the moment she should 
 become his bride ; but when, after getting her here, I 
 found how repugnant it was to her feelings to think of 
 wedding such a man, even to be mistress of all he owns, 
 I resolved to take her away at any sacrifice. The world 
 has not gone well with me, Mr. Harley. Not long since I 
 lost a fortune, and a wife that I prized above every thing 
 earthly. Circumstances made me desperate. In an evil 
 
 16 
 
186 VIOLA. 
 
 hour I met Monsieur D'Estang, and the bargain and sale 
 was consummated, in so much that it only required the con- 
 sent of Viola to make the contract effective. That I 
 acted right in doing as I have done, I do not pretend to say 
 — but I am not more guilty than I have made appear." 
 
 " But why did you wish Viola to marry the Count in the 
 first place ?" inquired Harley. 
 
 " Because I then thought him a gentleman ; and because, 
 also, he pledged himself to pay me twenty thousand doUara 
 on her wedding-day. I had a contract to this effect, which 
 he has since taken from me." 
 
 " And when this contract was entered into, did he know 
 that she is not your daughter?" 
 
 *' Yes, I had previously told him the secret of her 
 parentage." 
 
 "And who, sir, are my parents?" cried Viola, in no 
 little agitation, she having drawn close to the speaker 
 without being observed. 
 
 " I thank Heaven that St. Auburn is not one of them !" 
 rejoined Harley. " But, dearest Viola, you were to remain 
 apart," he continued, chidingly. 
 
 "But think you, Morton, I have no interest in this 
 matter?" 
 
 " Great interest, my dear Viola ; but I would have 
 reported all to you." 
 
 *' Nay, Morton, I pray you let me hear for myself." 
 
 Harley assented, and again addressed himself to St. 
 Auburn. 
 
 " What motive had the Count for binding himself to give 
 you so large a sum on the day that Viola should become 
 his wife?" • 
 
 " I have said that she is an heiress to great wealth,'* 
 was the reply. 
 
 " Well, and if so, why did you sell her for such a sum ? 
 
A DISCLOSURE. 187 
 
 Why did you not make known to her her history, and trust 
 to her generosity to reward you?" 
 
 " To tell you the plain truth, Mr. Harley, I knew she 
 was engaged to you ; and I feared, if she became possessed 
 of the secret of her birth, she would spurn my control, and 
 place herself and fortune wholly in your hands." 
 
 " Ah ! sir, (I cannot call you father, since you disown 
 the tie of consanguinity,) how much you mistake my 
 nature," returned Viola, her eyes filling with tears. " Had 
 you made me a confidant instead O'f another, and consented 
 to my wedding the man of my choice, I would have placed 
 my fortune, whatever it may be, at your disposal." 
 
 "It is only another instance of villany overreaching 
 itself," rejoined Harley, in a severe tone. 
 
 "But tell me, sir — oh! tell me who I am?" pursued 
 Viola, with great emotion. " Oh ! I am bewildered — I 
 know not what to think, or how to act ! And is it possible 
 that she I so loved, and called by the endearing title of 
 mother — is it possible she was no kin of mine ? and could 
 she have known this, and never have told me ?" 
 
 "My poor Mary!" returned St. Auburn, not a little 
 aflfected : " She was indeed no kin to you, Viola ; but she 
 knew it not ; she believed to the last you were her daughter." 
 
 " Oh ! this is a fearful mystery, sir !" continued Viola ; 
 " I pray you make it clear ! Tell me — oh ! sir, tell me — 
 who are my parents ? are they living ? and* how came I 
 estranged from them ? Perhaps — " 
 
 She paused — a wild troubled expression swept over her 
 beautiful features — a cold shudder seemed to pass through 
 her frame — and placing her hand upon her heart, as if to 
 still its throbbings, she fairly gasped for breath. 
 
 "Viola! dear, dearest Viola !" cried Harley, springing 
 to and supporting her with his arm; "what means this 
 agitation ?" 
 
188 VIOLA. 
 
 "You at least have nothing to blush for," said St. 
 Auburn, who appeared to understand what she wished yet 
 feared to know. 
 
 On hearing this, Viola drew a long breath of relief, and 
 murmured : 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! thank Heaven !" 
 
 ** Come !" said Harlej, gently drawing her aside again — 
 " you must no longer be a listener, Viola — the subject 
 too deeply interests you. Leave all to me, dearest— leave 
 all to me ;" and after a few more words with her, he 
 returned to St. Auburn, and said, in a low tone : " I beg, 
 sir, that you will put me in possession of the facts of this 
 business at once !" 
 
 "Not here," was the reply: "set me at liberty, and I 
 will." 
 
 "But you may break your word, when you no longer 
 have anything to gain by the disclosure. I might have 
 known nothing now, only for the Count." 
 
 "You would in time, Mr. Harley; but I should have 
 made my own terms for the secret." 
 
 "And what would have been your terms ?" 
 
 " The same as agreed to by this treacherous Frenchman.'* 
 
 " It is a large sum, but I do not wish to take any undue 
 advantage of you. Prove what you have asserted, and, I 
 pledge you the honor of a gentleman, you shall have the 
 amount named." 
 
 "Ah! sir," cried St. Auburn, rapturously, "you are a 
 true gentleman, I see ; I was mistaken in you ; your hand, 
 Mr. Harley." 
 
 " Pardon me !" returned my friend, drawing himself up 
 with an air of reserve. " I am a little peculiar in some 
 respects ; and one of my peculiarities is, that I only give 
 my hand where I can give my heart. This is merely a 
 
A DISOCLSURE. 189 
 
 business transaction, Mr. St. Auburn. There is not, there 
 never can be, any friendship between us." 
 
 The countenance of St. Auburn fell ; while the Count 
 chimed in, with a curl of his thin lips : 
 
 ** Ay, keep him at a safe distance, Mr. Harley." 
 
 "Well, free me from this hateful confinement," rejoined 
 St. Auburn, quickly — " take me from the presence of my 
 treacherous confederate here, (pointing to D'Estang, who 
 only smiled scornfully,) and T will keep my word with you." 
 
 " I owe you this much," said Harley ; " because, however 
 vile your intentions were, you used no actual force with 
 Viola. Were it otherwise, sir, you should now be punished 
 according to your deserts." 
 
 " Give not to so vile a man the sum named," interposed 
 D'Estang. " As to his secret, it is in my possession, Mr. 
 Harley ; and if you wish, you shall have it for the asking. 
 I would at least do this much to revenge myself on him 
 for his insults — since, at present, it is not in my power to 
 do more." 
 
 " But he has not the proofs," said St. Auburn, eagerly; 
 " and what is the secret without proof to support it ? I 
 can prove Viola to be what I assert — but — " 
 
 " And where are these proofs ?" interrupted Harley. 
 
 " Not here, I assure you. No, I determined, for fear of 
 treachery, to retain a hold upon the interest of D'Estang, 
 till he should fulfil his part of the agreement." 
 
 " Bah ! what matters proofs, when the secret is divulged ?" 
 sneered the Count. 
 
 " Hold !" said Harley. " To save further discussion of 
 the matter, let me assure you both that I shall keep my 
 word. If St. Auburn does what he says he will do, he 
 shall have the amount named, whether the secret is divulged 
 by another or not. I have pledged my honor to this, and 
 I trust I am too much of a gentleman not to redeem it." 
 
 IB* 
 
190 VIOLA. 
 
 " You can do as you like," returned D'Estang, tartly, 
 biting his lips. 
 
 " Thank you for the permission,'* rejoined my friend, 
 drily. " And now, Monsieur le Capitaine, I will trouble 
 you to tell me what the door next to this cell conceals ?" 
 
 "Another cell like it." 
 
 "Very good; then there is one for you, and one for 
 Mistress Anne here." 
 
 " Oh ! sir, are you going to imprison me also ?" cried 
 Anne. 
 
 "Yes," replied Harley, abruptly; and going to the door 
 in question, he took down the key which hung by it, and 
 opened it. Then approaching Anne, he whispered some- 
 thing in her ear ; and without a word, she followed him in- 
 to the inner cell. "Be not alarmed," I heard him say to 
 her ; "your kind master will doubtless release you the mo- 
 ment he regains his own liberty;" and coming out, he 
 locked the heavy iron door, and returned the key to its 
 place. " And now," he added, addressing the Count, 
 " your lordship will be so good as to take the place of your 
 late prisoner. It is very unpleasant, I doubt not ; but no 
 frowns, good my lord, for it must be so." 
 
 The Count bit his lip ; and as he turned to enter the dun- 
 geon, muttered something in a low tone. 
 
 " By-the-by," said Harley, tapping him on the shoulder, 
 " I suppose that other door, yonder, opens into the secret 
 passage under ground, by which you sometimes enter and 
 leave this very agreeable abode ?" 
 
 " Well ?" said D'Estang, turning upon him quickly, his 
 black eyes gleaming with suppressed rage. 
 
 " Oh, that is all," returned Harley, coolly. "If I had 
 time, I should like to explore it, but shall put off that plea- 
 sure for the present. Be a little cautious, Monsieur le 
 Capitaine, or I may take the liberty to return with a few 
 
A DISCLOSURE. 191 
 
 individuals who will be even more curious in looking over 
 your Ville than I have been." 
 
 *' But I thought," said the Count, turning pale, "that 
 there was a certain agreement between us, that — " 
 
 " Oh, never fear, sir, but I will keep my word," inter- 
 rupted Harley. " I am only giving you a little caution, 
 lest you should break yours. Remember, you are not to 
 seek to molest us ;" and Harley fixed his eyes upon D'Es- 
 tang with an expression that said more than his language. 
 " That will do," he continued : " we understand each other, 
 I think. Be kind enough to step in there now — for time 
 passes, and we would be on the road without more delay." 
 
 Having secured the Count as it were in his own trap, 
 locked both doors, and returned the key to its place, Har- 
 ley approached St. Auburn, and said : 
 
 " Now, sir, as I am about to set you free, which is more 
 than you deserve, and as it is very uncertain what may 
 happen after you regain your liberty, I wish you to state 
 who are the parents of Viola — where they can be found, if 
 living — how she came to be brought up as your daughter — 
 in short, say all you know concerning her, as also when and 
 where I can have the proofs to which you have alluded." 
 
 "The story is long," replied St. Auburn, with some 
 hesitation ; " but I think I can satisfy you in a few words ;" 
 and drawing my friend aside, the two conversed togetiier 
 for a few minutes in a low tone. 
 
 My curiosity was excited to learn the secret also ; but 
 perceiving it was not intended for my ear as yet, I ap- 
 proached Viola, whom I found in tears. 
 
 " Oh ! Mr. Walton, this mystery makes me very un- 
 happy," she said. 
 
 I was saying what I could to console her, when Harley 
 rejoined us. His countenance was bright and animated, 
 and I knew by this he had heard good news. 
 
192 VIOLA. 
 
 "Pardon me, my friends," he said, taking each of us by 
 the hand, " that I do not now make you my confidants. For 
 a certain time I have promised secrecy in regard to what 
 I have just heard; but should it prove true, I am the hap- 
 piest of mortals. Cheer up, dear Viola ! all, I trust, will 
 yet be well ; but whether true or false, my dear Viola, I 
 can never be unhappy while we are together. Come, let 
 us leave this place at once, ere any thing occurs to pre- 
 vent." 
 
 And he forthwith led Viola up the stairs, St. Auburn and 
 I following 
 
CHAPTER XVIIL 
 
 THE ESCAPE. 
 
 On reaching the second story of the tower, Harley said 
 if I would see to having the horses got ready, he would 
 remain with Viola till my return. I first examined my 
 weapons, and then went out across the drawbridge, he 
 locking the door after me. In passing through the mansion, 
 I met Pierre, and another servant, whom, from his livery, 
 I supposed to be the Count's valet de chamhre. 
 
 " I wish four of his lordship's best horses saddled for 
 the road immediately, one for a lady to ride," I said, in a 
 positive tone. " Come, why do you hesitate ?" I continued, 
 as both looked at me with an air of surprise. 
 
 " It is usual for my lord to give his own orders," re- 
 plied the valet. 
 
 "And so he does now," I rejoined, handing him the note 
 "written by the Count. 
 
 He read it carefully through a couple of times, turned 
 it over, examined every part, as if looking for some pri- 
 vate mark, and then said : 
 
 " This appears to be correct — but — " 
 
 " Is it usual for you to hesitate, in this manner, to obey 
 a command of his lordship ?" interrupted I, sternly. " If 
 so, perhaps I had better let his lordship know it ;" and I 
 turned as if to go back to him. 
 
 *' Stay I" returned the valet, quickly, evidently convinced 
 by my manner that all was right. " Stay ! the horses 
 Bhall be got ready instantly : do not report me to his lord- 
 
 (193) 
 
194 VIOLA. 
 
 ship, — I will hasten, to give the groom orders ;" and turn- 
 ing on his heel, he quickly disappeared. 
 
 " I will return to the bridge — let me know when the 
 horses are ready," I said to Pierre; and immediately sta- 
 tioned myself at the place mentioned, to prevent any one 
 approaching the tower. 
 
 In about a quarter of an hour I heard the trampling of 
 horses ; and a few moments after the valet himself ap- 
 pcared to announce that the animals were ready. 
 
 As 1 turned to cross the bridge, he added: 
 
 " I will accompany you to my lord." 
 
 " No," said I, " he will see no one at present — he is in a 
 private apartment." 
 
 " Ah ! very well — then I will ilot intrude upon him. 
 You may mention, if you see him, that the gentleman he 
 expects, will be here to dinner." 
 
 " If I see him again, I will," I replied ; and the valet 
 went away, apparently satisfied. 
 
 Harley, who had watched my approach from the window, 
 met me at the door. 
 
 " Well," he said, hurriedly and anxiously, " is all right ?" 
 
 "Sol think," I replied. 
 
 " The horses ?" 
 
 "Are waiting their riders. But, my friend," I added, 
 seriously, '^ I think there is no time to lose. I do not 
 know that the servants are suspicious ; but I do think that 
 the sooner we get away the better." 
 
 " Ah I yes ! yes ! Here" he added in a whisper, nodding 
 toward St. Auburn, " remain by the door here, and keep an 
 eye on him. Viola is above — I will call her. All is ready. 
 I have secured our most valuable jewelry about me — the 
 boxes and the rest we will leave where they are." 
 
 Saying this, Harley quitted the chamber, and after an 
 absence of two or three minutes, returned with Viola, who 
 
THE ESCAPE. 195 
 
 had donned her bonnet, and a riding-habit which she 
 chanced to have in one of her trunks. The latter, toge- 
 ther with most of their contents, in reality quite valuable, 
 jhe was forced to leave — but we thought not of such trifles 
 at a moment when our very safety depended on a chain of 
 fortunate events. When we were all ready to leave the 
 tower — 
 
 " Now," said Harley, " we must appear to be in good 
 spirits, lest the servants suspect something wrong. If they 
 make any inquiries, leave me to answer them. Courage, 
 dearest — courage ! You must not tremble so ! Drop your 
 veil, and that will conceal your blanched cheeks and quiver- 
 ing lips. Take Harry's arm. There! are you ready?" 
 
 "One moment," said Viola, faintly, and a shudder 
 passed through her frame. " There," she added, imme- 
 diately after, "my nerves are still again: I am ready 
 now." 
 
 As we left the tower, we paused a moment near the door, 
 to give Harley an opportunity to lock it without being ob- 
 served, for we were aware that several eyes were upon us. 
 We entered the mansion, moved along the corridor, went 
 down the stairs, and passed out of the hall, without other 
 incident occurring than being met and escorted by Pierre 
 and the valet. Harley seemed in glorioux^ spirits — talk- 
 ing, laughing, and joking all the way — and I imitated his 
 nonchalance as much as lay in my power. He had not 
 resumed his disguise ; and Pierre, I noticed, eyed him a 
 little curiously ; but, fortunately for us, the porter was not 
 too sharp-sighted, and the other servants now beheld him 
 for the first time. 
 
 We found four fine-spirited horses standing in front of 
 the mansion, in charge of the groom, ready for mounting, 
 and all the servants, even to the cook, gathered together, 
 to see us depart. 
 
196 VIOLA. 
 
 " A beautiful day for a ride," observed my friend, care- 
 lessly. " By-the-bye, I did not ask his lordship his hour 
 of dining?" 
 
 " It is three, sir, usually, when he has guests," replied 
 the valet. 
 
 " Ah ! yes— a very good hour. Well, tell his lordship 
 that that time will suit us as well as any other, as it is not 
 probable we shall return before two." 
 
 *' Did his lordship send any message concerning the din- 
 ner ?" inquired the valet. 
 
 "No, none — please yourselves — we are not particular 
 about the fare." 
 
 " Could I not see him a moment?" again inquired the 
 valet. 
 
 " No, you had better not disturb him for an hour or 
 two ; he is in privacy, and has some weighty matters un- 
 der consideration." 
 
 The valet, who w^as a keen, shrewd fellow, did not, I 
 fancied, appear altogether satisfied ; but he said nothing 
 more, and I thought it best not to seem to notice him. 
 Harley now assisted Viola to mount ; and then springing 
 lightly upon the back of another animal, took his place 
 beside her, and the two moved slowly down the avenue. 
 St. Auburn and I also mounted, and followed at the same 
 leisurely pace. 
 
 After proceeding a short distance, I looked back, and 
 saw the servants collected in a group ; they were evidently 
 discussing the matter of his lordship not appearing to see 
 us depart. So I thought, at least, and felt uneasy ; and 
 the moment we were hidden from them by the shrubbery, 
 I comnmnicated my idea to Harley, and advised him to 
 quicken his pace. He did so ; and in a few minutes we 
 reached the gate, through which we had that morning en- 
 tered D'Estang Yille as peddlers. The porter eyed us a 
 
THE ESCAPE. 197 
 
 little curiously, I thought; but opened the gate, without 
 asking any questions ; and with an indescribable feeling of 
 relief, we found ourselves once more upon the highway. 
 
 For a quarter of a mile or more, or until a bend of the 
 road shut from us a view of D'Estang Ville, we rode along 
 at a slow pace; and then putting our horses to a fast 
 canter, we did not draw rein till we reached the inn of the 
 village where Harley and I had passed the night. 
 
 Tom came running out as we rode up, and appeared as 
 delighted to see me as if we had been separated four 
 months, instead of four hours. In fact, the poor fellow 
 wept tears of joy — for he had been much concerned lest 
 something serious had happened to me. 
 
 We all dismounted, entered the inn, and had refresh- 
 ments served to us in a private apartment. While eating, 
 we held a sort of council of war, as to what course was 
 best for us to pursue, to escape the revenge of the Count; 
 for notwithstanding his oath not to molest us, we felt al- 
 most certain he would break it the moment it should be in 
 his power to do so. 
 
 " It is very necessary," said Harley, " for more reasons 
 than one, that we return to Galveston immediately — the 
 only question is, in what way it shall be done. Shall we 
 cross the country over the route by which we came hither? 
 or shall we take a steamer down the Brazos, and so round 
 by the Gulf?" 
 
 " The latter, by all means," said St. Auburn, quickly. 
 " We might get safely through by land, g,nd we might 
 not." 
 
 "Why, what do you apprehend?" asked Harley. 
 *I have reason to think that the country between her© 
 and Galveston is infested with a gang of desperadoes, at 
 the head of which is this same wicked D'Estang." 
 
 " Oh! by all means, let us return by water !" said Viola. 
 13 17 
 
198 VIOLA. 
 
 "Your wish is law, dearest,'* rejoined Harley, smiling: 
 *' by water let it be." 
 
 This settled, Harley, true to his promise, dispatched a 
 messenger with the key of the tower and a note to the 
 porter, with another enclosed for the Count himself, in 
 which he thanked his lordship for his kindness and hospi- 
 tality, and intimated that he would find his horses at a 
 certain landing, subject to his order. We then rode briskly 
 down to the landing in question, Tom keeping us company 
 on foot. But here a sad disappointment awaited us. The 
 only boat that was to go out that day, was disabled ; and 
 we must perforce remain over night, or ride across the 
 country. We dared not think of remaining in such close 
 proximity to a man that we feared would scruple not to 
 employ the vilest means to revenge himself upon us — and 
 that his power was great to employ such means, we had 
 good reason for believing. 
 
 " How unfortunate," said Harley, "that I have sent to 
 release the Count! for we might have kept him in durance 
 till we reached a place of safety. But it cannot be helped 
 now, and we must act while we have the power." 
 
 "How unfortunate indeed!" exclaimed Viola; "for 
 somehow I have a presentiment that we shall meet with 
 trouble." 
 
 "And I," said St. Auburn, gloomily. 
 
 " Fear not, dearest — but rely on us to protect you," 
 said Harley, in reply to Viola. " We are four, counting 
 Tom, and we are all well armed." 
 
 "But not invulnerable," rejoined Viola — "and oh! 
 Morton, if anything should happen to you !" 
 
 " Do not be apprehensive, dearest — but put your trust 
 in a higher Power — that Power which has aided us so far 
 in all our difficulties. And now, Harry," he added, turn- 
 
THE ESCAPE. 199 
 
 ing to me, " we must have a horse for Tom, and the sooner 
 we are on the road the better." 
 
 We succeeded, after a little delay, in purchasing a swift- 
 footed animal ; and crossing the Brazos, we took the most 
 direct route for Galveston, and dashed away at such speed 
 as we thought our horses would bear without giving out. 
 
 I shall not weary the reader with a detail of our pro- 
 gress on that memorable day. Suffice it to say, that when 
 the sun went down, not much more than half of our 
 journey had been accomplished, and already our animals 
 were beginning to show signs of fatigue, and we ourselves 
 felt much in need of refreshment and rest. From where 
 we now were, to the nearest village, was about six miles ; 
 and our road, none of the best, lay through a dense, dark 
 wood, which was only broken in one or two places by a 
 small clearing around the log- cabin of some late settler in 
 this region. As if to increase the gloominess of our 
 journey, a black, heavy cloud began to loom up in the 
 west, from which issued flashes of lightning, followed by 
 the rumbling sound of distant thunder, warning us that a 
 shower was approaching, an event that was anything but 
 agreeable in our situation. 
 
 " Come," said Harley, *' unles^we quicken our present 
 speed, this storm will surely overtake us before we reach 
 the village, the only place where I should like to trust my- 
 self to pass the night in this part of the country." 
 
 '^Yes! yes!" returned St. Auburn, anxiously; ''and I 
 would we were far beyond that — for, from all I know and 
 have heard, there are some desperate characters in this 
 vicinity." 
 
 We accordingly spurred on our jaded horses, St. Auburn 
 and I riding in advance, Harley and Viola coming next, 
 and Tom bringing up the rear. We had advanced perhaps 
 a mile furtner. when we found ourselves about central way 
 
200 VIOLA. 
 
 of a long strip of dense wood, and, save when relieved by 
 the flashes of the storm behind us, in a darkness impene- 
 trable to the eye. We could see nothing, in fact, except 
 when it lightened ; and then the bright flash so blinded us, 
 that, for a short time after, the darkness appeared doubled. 
 Nothing was said, for each was occupied with thoughts of 
 our situation, and felt too deeply anxious for the result to 
 give voice to them. Save that we were mounted, traveling 
 over a known road, and had the evanescent light of the 
 approaching storm to guide us, I felt our situation to be in 
 every respect as gloomy as on the night when we sought 
 the wayside inn. 
 
 " And perhaps," I thought to myself, " the peril is even 
 greater ; for our late proceedings must of course have 
 made us a powerful enemy in the person of Count D'Es- 
 tang, who is, if released, at this very moment doubtless 
 pursuing us ; and we now have one to protect, who can, in 
 the event of an assault, render us no assistance whatever." 
 
 While such thoughts as these were yet passing through 
 my mind, I was startled by hearing a monotonous, deadened 
 sound behind us. I made no remark, but turned my head 
 aside, and inclined it in a listening attitude. At this 
 moment a bright flash lit up the wood, and revealed my 
 position to Harley, who was riding near with Viola, and 
 who instantly called out, in an anxious tone : 
 
 " What is it, Harry ? what is it ?" 
 
 I just caught a glimpse of his features, and saw that 
 they were deadly pale. 
 
 " Perhaps it is nothing — but I thought — " 
 
 " Hark !" interrupted St. Auburn, reining in his horse. 
 
 We all came to a halt and listened. 
 
 The sound, whatever it was, drew nearer; and as it 
 became more audible, I fancied I could distinguish the 
 
THE ESCAPE. 201 
 
 patter of horses* feet. We waited breathlessly another 
 minute, and all doubts were removed. 
 
 "We are pursued, I fear," said Harley, in a low, detei- 
 mined tone. " The sound draws nearer every moment — it 
 is made by several horses. Let us ride into the wood here? 
 and remain quiet — they may pass us. Courage ! dearest — 
 courage ! we will protect you." 
 
 Viola replied in a tone too low for me to distinguish what 
 she said, and at the same moment we all beheld each other 
 by another flash of lightning. Harley, taking advantage 
 of the light, pointed to the wood to the right, and 
 exclaimed : 
 
 " This way — quick !" and the next moment I heard the 
 sound of his horse's feet in that direction, and a rustling 
 among the bushes. 
 
 We all instantly followed him, as best we could ; and 
 riding back a few rods from the road, we again came to a halt. 
 The distant, rumbling sound, as first heard, had by this 
 time become an unmistakable clatter of horses* hoofs, 
 urged over the ground at no ordinary speed. They were 
 now evidently at no great distance, and I at least was con- 
 gratulating myself, that, if in pursuit of us, they would be 
 likely to pass us in the darkness, and so give us time for 
 further preparation, even if they found us at all, when the 
 sounds began to grow less audible, and gradually to die away, 
 till at last nothing but the sighing of the breeze among the 
 trees, and the now loud and increasing thunder, broke the 
 stillness of the forest. 
 
 " What can be the meaning of this ?" said Harley, in a 
 low tone. 
 
 " Perhaps there is another road, which we have passed 
 in the darkness, and they have taken !" I suggested. 
 
 ""iou are right — there is another road — I remember it 
 17* 
 
202 VIOLA. 
 
 now," rejoined St. Auburn ; *" and this convinces me that 
 they are D'Estang's men." 
 
 *' But why did they take that road, think you ?" inquired 
 Harley. 
 
 " It is a nearer way, I am told, across the country," 
 replied the other ; " and knowing that I am with you, they 
 may have thought that we have taken it — or again, believ- 
 ing us to be further advanced on our journey, they may 
 have done so with a view to heading us, or overtaking us 
 sooner." 
 
 " And does the road you speak of come into this, between 
 here and the village?" 
 
 " I think not, nor for several miles beyond." 
 
 "Then we will resume our journey," said Harley, "and 
 hasten forward to this village, where we will. Heaven 
 willing, spend the night." 
 
 We accordingly picked our way back to the road, and, 
 nr^ed forward by our fears and the approaching storm, set 
 oflf with what speed we could. The cloud in the west had 
 by this time loomed half way to the zenith, the lightning 
 had become more frequent and vivid, and the thunder now 
 rolled heavily over our heads, occasionally with that crash- 
 ing sound which tells that the fiery bolt has passed from 
 heaven to earth, and rent some object at no great distance. 
 
 "Oh! what a gloomy journey !" said Viola; "and we 
 shall soon be at the mercy of this storm, I fear." 
 
 " It will overtake us, I think," replied Harley; "but we 
 can ride no faster, without endangering our safety. Cou- 
 rage ! dearest — courage ! I am with you, and we will brave 
 the storm together. Or perhaps," I heard him add a 
 moment after, " we can find some shelter on the way till 
 the storm is past." 
 
 "No, no, Morton — do not let us trust ourselves among 
 any of the settlars here — for I fear them more than the 
 
THE ESCAPE. 203 
 
 Btorm. Oh ! I have such a foreboding of evil — pray 
 Heaven avert it !" 
 
 " Nerve yourself, dearest — give not way to your fears, 
 and all may yet be well." 
 
 He said something more, which I did not overhear, and 
 Viola apparently became quieted. 
 
 We rode on at a brisk trot, and had advanced a mile or 
 two further, when the rain began to fall in large drops, and 
 we could hear the roar of the storm sweeping up the forest 
 behind us. At this moment, by the light of another vivid 
 flash, I saw, or fencied I saw, the figure of a man standing 
 beside the road, partly concealed by some bushes, not half- 
 a-dozen paces distant. St. Auburn apparently beheld the 
 same object — for he reigned his horse up to mine, laid his 
 hand upon my arm, and was in the act of saying somethings 
 when I felt my bridle-rein rudely seized, a pistol flashed 
 before me, and a ball, passing through my hat, slightly 
 grazed the crown of my head. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE ATTACK. 
 
 Instantly all was confusion. I heard Viola scream, 
 Harley shout, and voices all around me, many of them 
 strange to my ears. I knew we were attacked by numbers, 
 and that our only chance of escape lay in immediate 
 and desperate action. Quick as thought, I drew my 
 revolver, and bending over my horse's neck, I reached for- 
 ward, till I felt it touch some object, and fired. A groan 
 and an oath succeeded, the grasp upon my bridle-rein 
 was released, and I once more had my steed at my own 
 command. 
 
 I now heard Viola shriek for help in tones of despair, 
 and at the same moment a flash of lightning showed me 
 the positon of each party. Viola, in the grasp of two men, 
 with masks on their faces, was in the act of being dragged 
 from her horse; Tom, a little way behind, was dis- 
 mounted, and had one of the assailants by the throat — but 
 I felt confident, if unmolested by others, he would not 
 come out second best ; Harley, seated on his horse, had a 
 revolver pointed at the breast of another mask, who 
 seemed in the act of striking him witTi a long knife ; and 
 St. Auburn, a little in advance of me, was contending 
 with a couple of assailants, with what chance of success I 
 could not tell. It was a startling, awful picture, which 
 Was only seen for a moment, and was succeeded by impe- 
 netrable darkness, by reports of- pistols, by groans, shrieks, 
 (204) 
 
THE ATTACK. 205 
 
 shouts, and horrid oaths, and by a crash of thunder that 
 made the earth tremble under us. 
 
 My first care was for Viola — for she, poor girl ! I felt 
 most needed assistance ; and instantly leaping from my 
 horse, I hastened to the spot where I had seen her — for 
 now I could see nothing. I ran against some object, and, 
 putting out my hand, felt it to be a man. 
 
 " Who are you?" he cried. 
 
 These words, perhaps, were his last ; for I knew by the 
 voice he was none of our party ; and pushing my revolver 
 against his breast, I fired again. There was a deep groan, 
 and I heard him fall. By the dim light of the discharge, 
 I caught a glimpse of Viola, now close to me, on her feet, 
 struggling in the grasp of another ruffian, who was doubt- 
 less endeavoring to drag her to one side of the road and 
 into the bushes. She called loudly on my name and Har- 
 ley's for assistance. I threw the hand which held the 
 revolver around her slender form, and as the weapon cama, 
 in contact with some other object, I again pulled the 
 trigger. 
 
 There was a yell of pain, and the next moment I felt 
 her released, and reclining heavily against my breast. I 
 thought it likely she had fainted, but could not tell. 
 Another vivid flash now lighted for an instant the scene 
 of strife, and by it I saw Harley still seated on his horse, 
 pale and bloody, and looking wildly around him. He was 
 only a few paces distant ; and lifting Viola from the 
 ground, I ran to him. 
 
 "Morton!" I cried, — " Morton! are you safe?" 
 
 " God be praised !" he ejaculated — "it is the voice of 
 Harry. But Viola?" 
 
 " Here ! here ! quick ! take her ! — and ride ! away I 
 away !" and while speaking, I lifted her senseless form 
 upon the horse and into his arms. 
 
206 VIOLA. 
 
 " My poor Viola ! Heavens ! she is not dead, 
 Harry?" 
 
 "No, only fainted," I said at random — for in truth I 
 knew not but that the ruffians had killed her. " Away ! 
 away ! escape while you have an opportunity." 
 
 " But you—" 
 
 " Away !" I interrupted, with a shout of frenzy : " mind 
 me not ! away !" and I struck the horse a heavy blow with 
 my weapon. 
 
 The animal leaped forward, and was gone — for I could 
 hear the sound of his hoofs growing distant in the dark- 
 ness. All I have mentioned had been the work of a few 
 moments ; but the storm was now roaring and howling 
 around us, and the rain was falling in torrents. "With a 
 silent prayer for the safety of my friend and Viola, I 
 turned to grope my way to the assistance of Tom, when I 
 felt a rough grasp upon my shoulder, and a sharp pain in 
 my right thigh, while a hoarse voice sounded in my ear : 
 
 " Take that, you villain ! and that !" and I felt myself 
 wounded in the arm, and the warm blood trickling down 
 my leg. 
 
 I sprang backward, and my heel striking something in 
 the road, I fell ; and my opponent, still keeping his hold 
 upon me, was brought down with me. In the fall I lost 
 my revolver ; and as my adversary did not immediately 
 stab me again, I conjectured he had also dropped his knife. 
 This gave me a gleam of hope ; and grasping him by the 
 throat, I exerted all my remaining strength to turn him, 
 and get him under. But I labored in vain ; for he was a 
 powerful man, and being already fairly upon me, he had 
 by position much the advantage. I now bethought me of 
 my own knife ; and letting go my grasp upon him, I en- 
 deavored to thrust my hand under my waistcoat and draw 
 it forth ; but the moment I released his throat, he clutched 
 
THE ATTACK. 207 
 
 mine with both hands, and, bearing down with all his weight, 
 choked me till my eyes appeared to be starting fiom their 
 sockets. I now felt myself to be in the agonies of death ; 
 and with my strength fast going from me, I said a mental 
 prayer, " God have mercy on my soul!" and gave myself 
 up for lost. At this critical instant, I thought I saw some- 
 thing like a flash, and heard something like a crash of 
 thunder ; but my senses were so confused and wandering, 
 that I was certain of nothing save that I was in a dying 
 condition. I think from this point of time I must have 
 lost consciousness for a few moments ; for the next thing 
 I remember, my head was being raised from the wet clay, 
 and I heard a familiar voice crying : 
 
 " Oh ! Massa Hal, is ye dead ? • Oh ! Massa Hal, is ye 
 dead ? Oh ! oh ! oh ! my poor Massa Hal ?" 
 
 "Is it you, Tom ?" I said, faintly. 
 
 " Oh, bress God ! you 'libe ! Oh, tank God ! my poor 
 killed massa 'libe !" cried the poor fellow, with a choking 
 sob of grief and joy ; and lifting me from the earth, as if 
 I were a child, he bore mc quickly into the wood, and sat 
 me carefully down about a hundred yards from the road, 
 adding, in a low, excited tone : " Speak 'gin, Massa Hal — 
 quick — dat dis child know you 'libe !" 
 
 "Yes, Tom," I said, "I am still alive, thank God! 
 But I feel strangely, and very weak and faint." 
 
 " Oh ! my poor massa, mebby you die 'gin now, in all 
 dis rain !" sobbed the noble fellow; and almost tearing off 
 his coat, he threw it around my shoulders, as the only pro- 
 tection he could give me against the beating storm, which 
 was now raging at its height. 
 
 For a few minutes I sat and pondered ; while Tom, on 
 his knees by my side, sobbed aloud his grief; for he was 
 now under the impression that I would die, and he knew 
 liis inability to do anything for me. At first my mind wa8 
 
208 VIOLA. 
 
 BO confused and bewildered, that I could recall nothing dis- 
 tinctly. I knew that we had been assailed, and that there 
 had been some kind of a skirmish — but all the particula; 
 incidents of that skirmish I had forgotten. Gradually, 
 one by one, they came to me ; and I remembered, with 
 tears of joy, how I had rescued Viola, and placed her in 
 the arms of my friend, and how they had ridden away ; 
 and if ever in my life I uttered a sincere prayer, it was 
 that they might be permitted to escape unharmed. 
 
 "Tom!" I said, at length, and the poor fellow uttered 
 a cry of joy. 
 
 "Dat like you'seff, Massa Hal," he said: " You no die 
 dis time, I tink, bress Heaven !" 
 
 " No, my worthy fellow, I feel my strength returning, 
 and I must thank you for my life ;" and I grasped his 
 honest hand, while he wept anew for joy. "But tell me, 
 Tom, how did you come out in the affray ? and how hap- 
 pened it that you so timely rescued me from an awful fate ?" 
 
 " I can't tell much trait trufh, case I don't much know 
 how um was," replied Tom. "Some rascal grab me, and 
 I git from my boss and grab him ; and den I git out my 
 r'olver, and do just Massa Harley tole me ; and bang it 
 go, and away he go, hollering. Den I look all around, but 
 see not'ing, case um so dark. Eym-by um lighten ; and 
 den I tink I seed you, wid Missee Veeler, and I gwine to 
 go to you ; and den I seed not'ing 'gin, till bym-by um 
 lighten 'gin ; and den I tink I seed you on de ground, and 
 big villain top ; den I run up and feel in dark, and git hold 
 on him, and put r'olver 'gin he head, and pull de little ting 
 'gin, and he let go ; and den I git you up, and you 
 speak, and I take you here, and dat all I know 'bout um, 
 massa." 
 
 " You saved my life, Tom, and I am not one to forget 
 it," I rejoined. " But now what is to be done? It is not 
 
THE ATTACK. 209 
 
 prudent to return to the scene of strife for our horses, and 
 so we must try and reach the village on foot." 
 
 " I tink so, massa — bu-bu-but can you go 'foot you'seff ?" 
 
 '•I will try, with your assistance, Tom." 
 
 I did try, but at first found myself too weak to succeed. 
 I had been wounded in the arm and thigh ; and though 
 only flesh wounds,' the blood was still flowing freely. I sat 
 down again, and ripping up the leg of my trowsers, and 
 the sleeve of my coat, succeeded, with the aid of Tom, in 
 putting a bandage round each, which in a great measure 
 stanched the blood ; but it was at least an hour before I 
 found myself able to walk, even by leaning on Tom for 
 support. 
 
 The storm meantime had raged with unabated fury. The 
 wind blew a hurricane, bending the largest trees like withes 
 — in some cases uprooting them, or twisting them from their 
 trunks — while the rain fell m torrents, the lightning came 
 like broad sheets of fire, that left a sulphurous smell and 
 a sense of burning, and the thunder crashed and roared 
 with a deafening eflfect. At last the storm began to abate, 
 or at least to pass onward ; and leaning on Tom for sup- 
 port, I set off slowly for the village, now about three miles 
 distant. 
 
 We entered the road some quarter of a mile beyond the 
 place of skirmish, but found it in a wretched condition. 
 The ground was low and level, and the soil a moist clay, 
 which the late rain had converted into a substance more 
 resembling paste than any thing else I can liken it to ; and 
 as the foot went down with ease, in many places about 
 knee deep, and came up with much labor, the reader can 
 form some idea of the length those three miles appeared 
 to me, in my weak, wounded, fatigued, and excited state. 
 
 We had progressed about half a mile, when we heard 
 horses approaching us from the direction of the village. 
 
 18 
 
210 VIOLA. 
 
 Not knowing whether thej were friends or enemies, we 
 turned aside into the wood till they had passed, and then 
 resumed our journey. So slowly did we travel, that it 
 was a good hour and a half, after first reaching the road, 
 ere we came in sight of the lights of the village. We 
 were now startled again by hearing a body of horsemen be- 
 hind us. We drew aside, and they passed us, talking ear- 
 nestly, but in tones so low that I could not overhear what 
 was said. 
 
 Half-an-hour later, completely worn out, I dragged my- 
 self up to the door of a very genteel looking inn of the vil- 
 lage in question. There appeared to be something unusual 
 going on within ; for the bar-room was crowded, several 
 horses stood hitched around the door, and I could see per- 
 sons standing in groups, and all talking earnestly. 
 
 The moment we entered, all eyes were turned upon us, 
 and some voice exclaimed : 
 
 " Here they are now ;" and then a genteel-looking young 
 man, in a kind of military undress, approached me, and 
 said : 
 
 "Do I address Mr. Henry Walton ?" 
 
 "That is my name, sir," I replied. 
 
 "Quick, some one," he said, turning to the others— 
 "hasten and inform the young gentleman, Mr. Harley, 
 that his friend has arrived." 
 
 " Harley ?" cried I : " then he is safe ?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 "And Viola?" 
 
 " If you mean the young lady who is with him, she is 
 also safe." 
 
 " Thank God ! thank God !" I ejaculated, sinking upon 
 a chair ; for I was nearly overcome with fatigue, loss of 
 blood, and emotions of joy. 
 
 " They are now with another of your party, who has 
 
THE ATTACK. 211 
 
 just been brought in, badlj wounded," continued the young 
 officer, for such he really was. 
 
 "Ah! St. Auburn I" I said. 
 
 "Yes, I think that is the name." 
 
 *' Is he dangerously wounded ?" I inquired, with a de- 
 gree of interest the reader will readily understand. 
 
 "Mortally, it is thought," replied my informant: "in 
 fact, we picked him up for dead — but he still lives." 
 
 " It was your party, perhaps, then, that met and passed 
 me on the road ?" 
 
 " We have been only a short time returned from the 
 spot where you were assailed by the robbers," answered 
 the other. 
 
 I now heard the voice of Harley, fairly shouting: 
 
 " Where is he ? where is he ?" and the next moment, as 
 the crowd near me gave way, he came bounding through, 
 and throwing his arms around my neck, sobbed forth : " God 
 be praised ! God be praised ! But you are pale and bloody !" 
 he cried, starting back. " Heavens ! you are wounded ! you 
 are ill besides ! Quick, here, some brandy ! and call the 
 Burgeon, somebody !" 
 
 "Do not be alarmed, Morton," I said: "my wounds are 
 mere scratches. If these kind friends will stand back a 
 little, and give me air, I shall do very well." 
 
 " But how did you get here, Harry ? We could not find 
 you, nor Tom, and thought the ruffians had dragged you 
 away, and murdered you. Oh, Heaven ! what were my 
 feelings then ! But, God be praised ! you are here now, 
 and I have you once more ;" and again throwing his arms 
 around my neck, he wept tears of joy. 
 
 But not to prolong my story with unnecessary detail, I 
 will state in a few words all that is of any importance to 
 the reader. Harley had succeeded in reaching the village 
 with Viola, who on the way had recovered her senses, to 
 
212 VIOLA. 
 
 find herself in the arms of him she loved. In the affray, 
 he had received a cut across the forehead, which accounted 
 for his face being bloody at the moment I beheld it by the 
 lightning ; but as the wound was not serious, he had no 
 sooner deposited Viola in safety at the inn, than he told 
 his story, and asked assistance to go to the rescue of his 
 friends. A recruiting officer, who chanced to be passing 
 the night at the village, with a small party of his men, gal- 
 lantly volunteered his services ; and, with some ten or fif- 
 teen recruits, repaired to the scene of the attack, Harley 
 acting as guide. They carried with them a couple of 
 torches, which, on reaching the place of strife, they lighted, 
 and made a careful search for the dead and wounded — ex- 
 pecting, as Harley told me, with tears in his eyes, to find 
 Tom and myself among the number. But save the body 
 of St. Auburn, they found very little indication of the san* 
 guinary fight which had so recently taken place there. 
 The desperadoes were all gone, and the storm had oblite- 
 rated nearly all traces of their ever having been there. 
 St. Auburn was discovered lying with his face to the 
 ground, and was picked up in a senseless condition, with 
 two deep wounds in his breast, and several cuts and stabs 
 on other parts of his person. It was supposed at the time 
 that he was dead ; but on their way back to the village, he 
 had exhibited signs of life ; and on reaching the inn, he 
 had been laid upon a bed, and a physician summoned to 
 dress his wounds. The latter was now with him ; but had 
 given it as his opinion, that the wounds were mortal, and 
 that the probability was he would not survive the night. 
 As yet he had not spoken ; but at the moment of my arri- 
 val, there were slight indications of returning conscious- 
 ness ; and Harley was in hopes he might, ere the fatal mo- 
 ment, be able to glean some further important knowledge 
 concernino: Viola. 
 
THE ATTACK. 213 
 
 Such was the substance of what mj friend communicated 
 to me, as I rested myself for a few minutes in the bar 
 room, and drank off some kind of a cordial which the land 
 lord meantime prepared for me. 
 
 "Do you think we were attacked by D'Estang's men ?"' 
 I inquired, in a low tone, when Harley had finished bi.-^ 
 Btory, and I had given him some particulars of my ov.ii 
 providential escape. 
 
 "I do," he replied, compressing his lips and frowning. 
 
 " Then let us make this country too hot to hold him, the 
 perjured villain !" returned I. 
 
 " Not now, Harry — not now — you forget I have Viola 
 to protect ! I must first get her out of a country where 
 she is not safe an hour ; and then — But further is an after 
 consideration. Come, let me conduct you to a private 
 apartment, and have your wounds dressed at once." 
 
 "No," returned I, "since drinking this cordial I feel 
 much revived, and I am anxious to see St. Anburn ere 
 all is over." 
 
 " Well, at least you shall change your wet garments for 
 dry ones," rejoined Harley. 
 
 "I did so, the landlord supplying me with the necessary 
 articles. Meantime, Harley repaired to the apartment of 
 the wounded man ; but ere I was ready to do so, he burst 
 into the room where I was, exclaiming : 
 
 " Quick ! Harry — hasten ! there are strong signs of re- 
 turning consciousness, which the doctor thinks will precede 
 speedy dissolution, and I would have you present, in case 
 he makes any further revelation concerning Viola." 
 
 I hurried on my clothes, and accompanied my friend to 
 the chamber of the dying St. Auburn. 
 
 14 18* 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 I FOUND him stretched upon a bed, breathing heavily, 
 and slightly moving his head from side to side. His face 
 ■was pale and ghastly, and he was much sunken about the 
 eyes, cheeks, and mouth. On one side stood the surgeon, 
 with his hand upon his pulse ; and on the opposite side 
 stood Viola, weeping. There were several other persons in 
 the room, and among them a minister of the Gospel, who 
 had called in to see the sufferer, and perchance to speak 
 words of holy hope in his last moments. On seeing me, 
 Viola at once came forward, and taking my hand, said, 
 earnestly, with tearful eyes : 
 
 " God bless you, Mr. Walton ! I owe my life to you, 
 and more. This is a sad scene ; for though I have been 
 wrongly dealt with by him who now lies dying, yet I can- 
 not forget I have ever called him father ; and from my 
 heart I forgive him — may Heaven do likewise." 
 
 It was indeed a sad scene, and all present were more or 
 less affected. For some minutes St. Auburn remained as 
 I have described him ; and then opening his eyes, and 
 looking around, said, in a feeble tone: 
 
 " Water — give me water." 
 
 These were the first intelligible sounds that had issued 
 from his lips since being brought hither. The doctor took 
 a glass of water, poured in a few drops of mixture from a 
 vial, and gave him to drink. This seemed to revive him in 
 a wonderful degree; and partly raising himself on his 
 (214) 
 
CONCLUSION. 215 
 
 elbow, and looking curiously around, he again spoke, in a 
 stronger tone than before : 
 
 " Where am I ? Ah ! my breast — my head — let me 
 think ! Yiola, my child, is that you ? Ah ! I seem to 
 remember now : I was riding — we were trying to escape, 
 and we were attacked. Yes, yes ; and they were too much 
 for us — for me at least — I think so — were they not ?" 
 
 "You were badly wounded, father," said Yiola, taking hia 
 hand. 
 
 " Father !" he repeated — " father ! No, no — you must 
 not call me father — I do not deserve the title. Oh, Yiola, 
 how deeply have I wronged you !" 
 
 " But I forgive you, father — for father I must still call 
 you — and oh ! pray Heaven to forgive you also !" 
 
 " I cannot pray — I never prayed in my life," he rejoined, 
 with a look of anguish I shall never forget ; " and if I did, 
 God would not accept my petition at the last moment." 
 
 " It is never too late to repent in this life," interposed 
 the divine, in a mild tone, approaching the bed, " Remem- 
 ber the thief on the cross !" 
 
 " And who are you that speak these words of consola- 
 tion?" inquired St. Auburn, with a brightening of the 
 countenance, as he fixed his eyes upon the minister. 
 
 *' I profess to be an humble follower of Him who said 
 to the thief, * This day shalt thou be with me in Paradise," 
 was the reply. 
 
 St. Auburn extended him a hand, and then fell back on 
 his pillow, apparently exhausted. He closed his eyes, and 
 seemed to be pondering upon what he had just heard. 
 Suddenly he looked up and said : 
 
 " Am I dying ?" 
 
 "We fear you have not long to live," replied the 
 Burgeon. 
 
 "Are you a physician ?" inquired the sufferer. 
 
216 VIOLA. 
 
 "lam." 
 
 " Then I ask you to tell me, honestly, whether there is 
 or is not, a chance for me to recover ?" 
 
 " You cannot recover." 
 
 A painful expression swept over St. Auburn's counte- 
 nance, and he uttered a deep groan. 
 
 " Tell me," he continued, " and use no deception — how 
 long can I survive ?" 
 
 " The chances are that you will never belold the light of 
 another sun." 
 
 "lam justly punished," rejoined the sufferer. And 
 then, after another pause, he pursued, addressing the 
 divine : " Is it not the first duty of a repentant man to 
 right those he has wronged ?" 
 
 " If you have wronged any one, and can repair the wrong, 
 it is certainly your first duty to do so," was the reply. 
 
 *' I have wronged many, sir, and it is beyond my power 
 to right them ; but there are those here present, who have 
 had cause to curse my existence, that it may still be in my 
 power to serve, for which I will hope for their forgiveness ;" 
 and his eyes now rested on Viola, and on Harley, who 
 stood by her side. 
 
 " I forgive you all — everything," said Viola, in a tremu- 
 lous tone ; " and for my sake, if for no other consideration, 
 I feel assured Morton will also ;" and she appealed to .him 
 with her eyes. 
 
 "I do forgive you, Mr. St. Auburn," said Harley; 
 " not alone for the sake of Viola, but because it is not in 
 my nature to harbor malice against one who is doomed by 
 the irrevocable decree of Fate to go hence to a speedy and 
 final judgment." 
 
 " Thank you ! thank you ! Oh ! you know not what a 
 relief your generous words afford me ! But my time is 
 ehort, and I must do you and Viola the little service that 
 
CONCLUSION 21' 
 
 lies in my power. The secret of her parentage, God 
 willing, I will now disclose. Something I have told you, 
 if my memory serves me right — but there is much more to 
 be told. Bear witness all," he continued, solemnly, rolling 
 his eyes slowly over the bystanders : *' Bear witness all 
 of you, to the words of a dying man I — This young lady 
 (extending his hand to Viola, who clasped it in both of 
 hers) has ever been known as Viola St. Auburn, my daughter. 
 But she is not akin to me, and has been most deeply wronged 
 by me, as have her parents also, for which may Heaven for- 
 give me ! Bear witness all, that in the presence of Almighty 
 God, before whom I must shortly appear, to render up a strict 
 account of all the deeds done in the body, I solemnly pro- 
 nounce her to be the daughter of Don Juan Gomez Alverda, 
 a Spanish gentleman now living in the city of Mexico !" 
 
 *' Alverda !" exclaimed Viola, in her astonishment letting 
 fall the hand of St. Auburn, and clasping her own together. 
 " Alverda, say you ? Don Juan Gomez Alverda ? did I 
 hear aright? am I indeed his daughter ?" 
 
 " You are, Viola," replied the sufferer, "as I hope for 
 mercy hereafter." 
 
 " Oh ! this is so strange ! it bewilders me !" she rejoined. 
 
 " Do you know him, Viola ?" inquired Harley, 
 
 " Oh, well, Morton — well — as well indeed, if not better, 
 than I know you. A kinder, nobler-hearted gentleman 
 does not live ; and many and many a time have I heard 
 him speak of the loss of his infant daughter, and wonder 
 if she were living, while tears of grief rolled down his 
 manly face. And to think that I, who have so often sat 
 and sympathised with him, should prove to be that lost 
 daughter ! Oh, it is so singular — so strange — that I can 
 hardly believe it true !" 
 
 "It is indeed very strange," said Harley. 
 
 " But it IS as true as strange," pursued St. Auburn. "And 
 18* 
 
218 VIOLA. 
 
 now, ere my voice fails me, listen, and you shall learn the 
 gecret of the mystery. 
 
 " Some eighteen months after my marriage with the lady 
 concerning whom your father, Mr. Harley, and myself once 
 had a quarrel, I spent the winter with my wife in New 
 Orleans. I went there partly on business and partly on 
 pleasure, expecting to remain but a few days, or a month at 
 the farthest — but was detained there the whole season by 
 the illness of my wife. During this period she gave birth 
 to a daughter, who survived but a week. My wife being 
 in a very weak, nervous condition, was so affected by the 
 loss, that she became deranged, and continually called for 
 her child, which she declared we had secreted for the pur- 
 pose of taking its life. Nothing could be said to console 
 her ; and the physician privately stated to me, that unless 
 another infant, about the same size and age, could be sub- 
 stituted, and she be brought to regard it as her own, he 
 feared she would never recover her reason." 
 
 Here St. Auburn paused, apparently exhausted, al- 
 though he had spoken in a very low tone. The surgeon 
 gave him to drink of the mixture again ; and after lying 
 with his eyes shut, and breathing heavily for a few 
 moments, he revived a little, made an effort, and resumed : 
 
 " My friends, I must be brief, for I feel that my minutes 
 are numbered. May God spare me to relate my story, 
 and give me time to repent of my many sins ! For days 
 I sought in vain for an infant suited to my purpose. At 
 length one morning, on visiting one of the asylums, I 
 learned that a child had just been brought there, whose 
 parents, entire strangers in the city, were both lying at 
 the point of death, from an attack of something resembling 
 ship fever. I asked to see the child, and, on beholding it, 
 was struck with its resemblance to my own. I subse- 
 quently learned that its father was a wealthy Spanish gen- 
 
CONCLUSION. 219 
 
 tleman, who had just arrived from the West Indies, 
 where he had held an office under the Spanish Government, 
 and that this child, and the one I had lost, were both born 
 on the same day. To possess myself of this child, and 
 rear it as my own, I was now determined, let the conse- 
 quences be what they might. To effect this object, I 
 thought over various plans, and at length adopted one, 
 which was successfully carried out. I procured a stylish 
 conveyance, and bribed two worthless fellows to dress in 
 livery, drive to the asylum, represent themselves as Don 
 Alverda's servants, and say that the parents of the child, 
 being in a fair way of recovery, wished it to be taken away, 
 and conveyed to a certain place, a few miles out of town, 
 where special provision had been made for its reception. 
 As I have said, my plan was successful. That night I re- 
 ceived the child from the hands of my accomplices, to whom 
 I readily paid a large sum, and advised them to leave the 
 country, which they did. I took the little infant home, 
 had my daughter's clothes put upon it, and presented 
 It to my wife. For several days, however, no change for 
 the better was perceptible, and I was beginning to despair 
 of ever seeing her restored to reason, when, with a degree 
 of joy which words cannot express, I saw her take notice 
 of the child. A week from that time she had become per- 
 fectly rational, and was fondling the pretty infant, thinking 
 it her own. Poor Mary ! sweet, confiding, gentle Mary ! 
 She never knew otherwise ; and died, believing that the 
 child she had reared as her own, was of her own flesh and 
 blood. That child, which we named Viola, is the lady 
 that now stands by the dying bed of him who so vilely 
 wronged her and her parents." 
 
 St. Auburn here uttered a deep groan, and again became 
 silent. All present seemed. amazed at the disclosure, and 
 Viola was deeply affected. For some moments the heav^ 
 
220 YIOLA. 
 
 breathings of the dying man alone broke the solemn still- 
 ness of the chamber. Then Harley ventured the question: 
 
 *'But the parents of Viola — made they no inquiry for 
 her?" 
 
 "Yes," replied the sufferer, speaking with great diffi- 
 culty ; " on recovering from their sickness, and learning in 
 what manner she had been taken away, they became nearly 
 distracted ; and besides setting the police to work in every 
 direction, her father offered an immense reward to any one 
 who would give any information concerning her. The 
 affair, too, got into the papers, and for a time created great 
 excitement — no one being able to advance a satisfactory 
 reason for her mysterious disappearance. If any one sus- 
 pected me of a hand in the matter, they kept it to them- 
 selves. I have sometimes thought that our attending 
 physician did ; but he was a man who paid particular at- 
 tention to his own business, and not a word ever passed his 
 lips to me on the subject. I had but two confidants; and 
 those were my cousin and his wife, at whose house we were 
 staying. They never betrayed me — though it has ever 
 been in their power to do so — for the clothes worn by 
 Viola, when taken from the asylum, are still in their pos- 
 session ; and are, in fact, the proofs to be brought forward 
 to substantiate this, my dying confession." 
 
 "This I believe to be true, Morton," said Viola, in a 
 low, tremulous, excited tone ; " for often have I heard Don 
 Alverda tell how he once had a daughter just my own age, 
 stolen from him in the manner related ; while his good 
 lady — my mother as I must now term her — sat by and 
 listened, weeping bitter tears of grief for the lost one ; 
 but oh ! little then did I think, or little did they dream, 
 that I was that lost one — that they were pouring their 
 griefs into a daughter's ear." 
 
 "It is very strange I" remarked the surgeon: "a tale 
 
CONCLUSION. 221 
 
 savoring more of the romance of the novelist than of 
 reality." 
 
 " Reality often exceeds in romance the inventions of the 
 brain," I replied ; *' and I, with but little experience, 
 speak from experience." 
 
 " Yes, is it not very singular," resumed St. Auburn, 
 " that the very man I had so deeply wronged, should after- 
 ward become one of my most intimate friends ? "We be- 
 came acquainted in the city of Mexico ; and for a long 
 time the bare mention of his name made me tremble with 
 guilt ; and when he first related to me the story of his 
 bereavement, I was so affected that he called for help, 
 thinking I had suddenly been taken ill. Had it not been 
 for my lamented wife, whom I dearly loved, and whose 
 happiness was paramount with me to every other consider- 
 ation, I should then have told him the story, and restored 
 him a long lost daughter. But this feeling of guilt and 
 remorse gradually wore away; and when at last I con- 
 signed to dust the earthly remains of my beloved Mary, 
 and saw my fortune a wreck, and myself little better than 
 an outcast, I suddenly became embittered against the 
 world, and resolved to retrieve my fortune by the basest 
 means — no less than the selling of this poor girl and her 
 secret to a villain. But Heaven has punished me, and, I 
 acknowledge, justly punished me, for my baseness. Had 
 I acted uprightly, I should not be here now, whatever 
 other fate had been mine. *' Sir," he said, turning to the 
 minister, "can a man be saved that dies without forgiving 
 his enemies?" 
 
 " We are strictly commanded, in God's holy Word, to 
 forgive our enemies," replied the divine, solemnly. 
 
 " Then," rejoined St. Auburn, " I will try to forgive 
 him — I will pray for aid from on high to forgive him." 
 
 19 
 
222 VIOLA. 
 
 " Such is the fruit of a true repentance," responded 
 the clergyman. 
 
 "Whom do you mean?" inquired Harley. 
 
 " Our mutual foe, the Count." 
 
 " Do you think it was his men that assailed us ?" 
 
 " I do, Mr. Harley. But I will try and forgive him. 
 There is none other against whom I hold any hard feel- 
 ings. Ask your father, Morton, to forgive me, when I am 
 gone ; and oh ! Viola, if you ever loved me, on your knees 
 crave pardon of your kind parents for the wrong I have 
 done them. Come nearer, Mr. Harley — give me your 
 ear;" and the dying man made a private communication, 
 which I subsequently learned related to the recovery of the 
 articles worn by Viola on leaving the asylum. " These," 
 he said, aloud, "may be of much importance to you." 
 
 "I will follow your instructions," replied my friend; 
 " and had you been permitted to go with us, I would have 
 kept my word with you." 
 
 " I know you would, for you are honorable, noble, and 
 generous ; but I do not need it now, and it was wrong in 
 me to ask it. And now," he added, after a pause, "give 
 me your hands." 
 
 Harley and Viola complied with his request, each plac- 
 ing a hand in one of his. He with an effort joined them, 
 
 " Suffer me to make one request more," he said. 
 
 "Name it," returned Harley. 
 
 " That you will permit this gentleman (glancing at the 
 divine) to perform the sacred ceremony of marriage in my 
 presence, that I may see you united ere I go." 
 
 " It accords with my own desire — shall it be so, dear 
 Viola?" said Harley, in a low tone. 
 
 She drooped her head, and murmured something only 
 caught by her lover's ear. 
 
CONCLUSION. 223 
 
 « Will you fulfill the request of Mr. St. Auburn ?" said 
 Harley to the divine. 
 
 The latter nodded assent ; and after a brief but appro- 
 priate prayer, proceeded with the ceremony, which made 
 them one by the most sacred of earthly ties. 
 
 It was solemn, very, very solemn, and deeply impressive, 
 to witness a wedding by a bed of death — to see the living 
 so strangely grouped around the dying — to behold that 
 pair in the bloom of life, taking upon them those holy 
 vows, in the presence of one whose spirit was about to 
 wing its flight to the other world, as if to bear the intelli- 
 gence into the awful realm of eternity. It was solemn — 
 sadly, mournfully solemn — and left an impression upon the 
 minds of all present that time could never erase. 
 
 When the last words of the ceremony had been said, a 
 deep silence followed, broken only by the quick, heavy 
 respirations of the sufferer. Then with an effort he ex- 
 tended a hand to the newly wedded pair, and said, in a 
 voice husky with conflicting emotions : 
 
 " May you live long and be happy ! I somehow feel that 
 you have forgiven me, and I can die more contentedly. 
 Go, now, my friends — go all — I would be alone with this 
 man of God. Farewell !" 
 
 Morton and Yiola each took his hand, gave it a farewell 
 pressure, and retired in silence, deeply affected with the 
 parting scene. I followed the example, and a minute later 
 the room was cleared of all save the sufferer and the 
 divine. 
 
 The surgeon now attended to dressing my wounds ; and 
 being greatly fatigued by my recent exertions and excite- 
 ment, and weak from loss of blood, I retired for the night. 
 I soon fell into a calm, refreshing sleep ; and when I awoke, 
 tne cloudlesss sun of another day was streaming into my 
 chamber. The dark night of strife, and blood, and storm, 
 
224 VIOLA. 
 
 was past, and all nature was smiling as sweetly as if such 
 things had never been. 
 
 I arose with some difficulty, for I was far from feeling 
 well and strong ; but my wounds proving rather painful, I 
 returned into bed. In a few minutes Harley entered my 
 apartment, looking pale and serious. 
 
 "Well, what of St. Auburn?" was my first question. 
 
 " He is at rest," he replied, solemnly. " A little before 
 day-light his spirit took leave of its mortal tenement, and 
 is now with its Maker. He died calmly ; and the reverend 
 gentleman, who was with him in his last moments, was led 
 to believe that he had made his peace with God." 
 
 "And Viola?" I inquired, after a pause. 
 
 " She is as well as can be expected after such a night of 
 excitement, fatigue, and alarm. But you, Harry — how do 
 you find yourself this morning ?" 
 
 "Not so well as I had hoped." 
 
 " Ah ! I am sorry to hear it. Do you feel ill ?" 
 
 " I feel bruised and lame, and am in some pain. But 
 give ypurself no alarm, Morton — it is nothing very seri- 
 ous. If my wounds were dressed again, I think I should 
 be able to be about." 
 
 "I will send the surgeon to you at once." 
 
 Harley went out, and in a few minutes the doctor made 
 his appearance. An hour later I found myself able to get 
 down stairs, though advised by tbe physician to keep my- 
 self quiet for a day or two at least. As I had anticipated, 
 the events of the night had caused quite a commotion in 
 the village, and the inn was thronged all day with visi- 
 tors. Every thing, however, passed ofi" without further 
 disturbance ; and the day following we consigned to earth 
 the mortal remains of Henry St. Auburn — his body being 
 accompanied to its last resting place by a large number of 
 citizens. 
 
CONCLUSION. 225 
 
 Early on the third morning we set out for Galveston, 
 travelling slovr, by a four-wheeled conveyance. We reached 
 ovr destination before nightfall, without the occurrence v. 
 my incident worthy of note. 
 
 It was the intention of my friend to proceed at once to 
 Kew Orleans with his bride, and have me accompany them ; 
 but not having fully recovered my strength, I pleaded indis- 
 position, and finally persuaded him to leave me behind. The 
 truth was, reader, I had resolved to see Clara Moreland, 
 once more at least, before leaving the country; but this 
 was a secret which I did not even disclose to Harley, though 
 I somehow fancied he more than suspected it. 
 
 Viola having repeatedly urged me to accompany them, 
 finally took leave of me, with tearful eyes, but looking 
 more sweet and beautiful than ever. 
 
 " Harry," said Harley, as he held my hand at parting, 
 " we both owe you a heavy debt of gratitude, which, if we 
 live, must be repaid, in one way or another. But, at all 
 events, if you will not go with us, I must see you again 
 shortly. As soon as the articles we are in quest of are in 
 our possession, we will return to this place, and then you 
 must accompany us to the city of Mexico, to the home of 
 Viola." 
 
 " I will take the matter into consideration," I replied. 
 
 " Nay, it must be so — 1 will taue no denial," he rejoined, 
 earnestly. " There — God bless you ! Adieu." 
 
 ******* 
 
 And here, kind reader, we must also part, at least for a 
 season ; for here terminates that portion of my narrative 
 which I have thought proper to record under the title of 
 "Viola." If I come before you again, it will be in new 
 scenes, and with new actors — though all that I have intro- 
 duced upon the stage, must again appear, ere the curtain 
 falls upon the close of my drama of life. It has been my 
 
 19* 
 
226 VIOLA. 
 
 fortune, in a brief period of time, to pass through many ad* 
 ventures — some pleasing, and some vexatious — some trying, 
 and some thrilling — and some perilous in the extreme. — A 
 portion of these — a small portion, it is true — are before 
 you : those untold, I flatter myself, are not less interesting. 
 Shall I go on ? or will you rest satisfied with what you have 
 seen ? It is for you to decide, and for me to abide by your 
 decision. 
 
 Publisher's Note. — Having thus brought "Yiola" to 
 an end, we have just issued the sequel and conclusion to 
 it, under the title of " Clara Moreland^'' which is of far 
 more interest than the foregoing. 
 
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