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Broken Vow;
}H, THE FORCED MARRIAGE,
BY ANNA aEAOE CIRISTIAN.
WI]SrCH,SPHILADEJ.PHIA.
rjjEED v^oordiiig to Act of Con^res«, In tlio year ISG \ by "Wm. J. Bunce, in Iho
CIcrk'8 Office of tlie District Court of the Uniteil Slatvs
for the Soulliiirn District of Novv-Vorl<.
vma
THE
BEOKEI^ VOW;
OB
THE FOECED MAEPJAGE,
BY ANNA GRACE CHRISTIAN.
W 1 1. LI AM J. BXjNCE,
68 Bowery, near Canal St.
1860.
Altered accordjag to Act of Ocnigress, in «be Year 1866, hj
WM. J. BUNCE,
In the Clerk's Office of the Di^frici Co-ir' of the Unit -d States, for tlw
Soutb^n S&liict of New York.
WnxiAM B. Smith, Printer,
4i Chaiham-gL,N. T,
I — -
1 S'6
BEOKEJS^ YOW; V >c-
OR
"THE rORCED MAEEIAGE.
CHAPTER I.
Near the village of Lenox, one of the most charming of
mountain towns in Massachusetts, amid the wildest luxuri-
ance of scenery, sunny slopes, upon whose side the " spangled
meadows green," pleasantly invite the eye ; hills, upon whose
gentle slopes patches of cultivated fields contrast with the dark
foliage of the old woods which the axe has spared, and the whole
surrounded, in the misty distance, by looming eminences, among
which, Bald Mountain raises his majestic head, stands a snug
farm house. A mountain rill murmurs pleasantly before the
door, and all around, the voice of birds and drowsy humming of
bees, fall musically on the ear. The house is nearly hid from
view by graceful, drooping elms, and around its porch the
honey-suckle and rose unite their blossoms and their perfume.
IV The owner of this pretty place, is Hiram Dalton, a farmer
well to do. His wife sleeps in the village cemetery, and he
lives here with his son Foster, and his aged mother, who has
long since seen her three score years and ten. A jDustling
young woman, named Nancy Peabody, the daughter of one of
the poorer farmers of the neighborhood, and Elijah, or Lige
Bates, a brisk, active, young fellow, who assists Hiram about
the farm, complete the household.
IVI508448
4 bunce's ten cent novels.
On a beautiful morning in August, as the sun was just peep-
ing over the distant hills and throwing his beams through the
tangled branches of the old elms on to the floor of the best
room, the windows of which being opened, betokened some-
thing unusual going on. Miss Nancy Peabody, in a terrible
state of " flusteration " and impatience, might have been seen
flying in and out of the house, rushing up stairs and down,
and doing fifty different things in as many minutes, as if she
had backed herself to perform some wonderful feat of house-
wifery within an impossible time.
The breakfast, ready cooked, stood simmering on the stove,
in the kitchen, while a large table, in the same room, groaned
with a gorgeous and tempting display of all sorts of pies,
cakes, doughnuts, and various country delicacies, all of
them the result of the skill, taste and industry of Miss Nancy
herself. The best room was decorated in grand style with
bouquets of fresh flowers, and sprigs of ever-green ; the broad,
old fashioned fire-place had been converted into a bower of
feathery asparagus, and the ancient mahogany chairs, table
and side-board, shone, by dint of hard scrubbing, to such an
extent, that you might have seen your face in any of them.
The old lady, Hiram Dalton's mother, or " Granny," as she
was universally called, not only by her own household, but by
the whole jjopulation for miles around, among whom she was
generally honored and loved, had not yet risen, and Hiram
Dalton stood at the turn of the road, a short distance below
the house, looking anxiously towards the village, as if he were
waiting, with no very great amount of patience, for some one
to appear in that direction. He was dressed in his best Sun-
day suit, with the color and cut of which, the congregation of
the village church, where he worshiped, were well acquainted,
he having worn it Sunday after Sunday for an almost forgot-
ten number of years, and as he never put it on except on such
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 6
H sacred occasions and at the town meetings, where his voice
" was as potential as the next man's, the fact of his having
I donned it on this morning, is proof positive that something of
more than ordinary importance is afoot.
He kept peering through his spectacles, into the far dis-
tance, and occasionally he would stump up and down the road,
^ muttering to himself, " The scape-grace ! The good-for-nothing,
shift-less, orinary cuss, to act so at such a time ! I swan to
man it is too bad. But I'll fix him." He had been doing this
H ever since day-light very much to the annoyance of Nancy,
who was anxious for him to come in and have his breakfast, in
order that she might get her " chores" done and out of the
way ; and now, that young lady, out of all patience, at last had
resolved to let things take their chance, and after giving a
glance all round, to see if there was not just one more thing to
I be done, and not being able to discover anything to which she
could possibly turn her busy hands to advantage, she had gone
up stairs to her room, from which she shortly emerged dressed
I in the most amazing " store clothes," and, as she thought, au
rigeur, with the exception of her neckerchief, which could not
be properly adjusted without the aid of the large looking-glass,
which hung in the best room.
Thither, then, she repaired, and standing on tip-toe, for she
was not tall and the mirror hung high, so as to take in as
much of herself at a glance as she could, she surveyed her ap-
Ipearance, with which she seemed to be perfectly satisfied. And
well she might, for a plumper, more buxom, brighter-eyed,
smarter looking girl, it would have been hard to find.
The clock which stood in the corner sounded six, from its
tall coffin-like case, as she commenced the adjustment of the
handkerchief, which was to give, in her opinion, the coup de
grace to her finery.
" Sake's alive," she said, speaking to herself, " six o'clock as
6 bunce's ten cent novels.
I'm a sinner, and breakfast not over yet ! Well, they do say
that time flies quicker on a day like this, than any other in the
world. Confomid it, I've forgot the pins, what a chuckle-head
I be I" and she turned away to go up stairs again after the ar-
ticles she needed.
But, half way between the mirror and the door, she met an
unexpected obstacle to her progress, in the person of a spruce,
brown faced, broad-shouldered, young countryman, about two
and twenty, who, putting out both arms as she approached,
seized her by her round, plump shoulders, the amazing attrac-
tiveness of which, the troublesome handkerchief was design-
ed to cover, and endeavored to snatch a kiss from her pouting
lips, as he exclaimed, " Mulasses and Honey ! I'm dod rotted if
you don't look killinger than ever."
The attempt, however, was a rash one, and his compliments
were illy received, for a smart slap in the face, from the not
very delicate hand of the fair Nancy, made his cheek tingle,
and a good, hearty push sent him flying into the corner, while
throwing her handkerchief over her shoulders, she stood in the
defensive.
"Persimmons!" exclaimed the baffled youth, rubbing his
cheek, " but I'm deuced if that ain't a rouser ! Seems to me
you're riled."
" Then keep. your distance. Mister lige Bates, and don't be
maulin' folks before you know whether they like it or not."
" Well, I swow," he replied, gradually getting nearer to her,
till he caught hold of the corner of her neck handkerchief,
and by a sudden jerk, snatched it off her shoulders — " You're
puttin' on airs ain't you ? Had to come into the keepin' room
to fix yourself, 'cause there's a big looking-glass in it."
" And what is that your business, you pesky imp ? You'd
better be out doors attendin' to your chores and feedin' the
cattle. Give me my handkerchief."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 7
" It's mighty peart, ain't it ?" he said tauntingly, keeping
out of arms-reach, and shaking the handkerchief up and down,
}*' Scissors, when they see you looking so all-j&red fine, folks'!
think that you're the bride. Jerusalem ! don't I wish you
was!"
And if I was, I shouldn't be yours, so you needn't feel so
anxious."
" Well, whose would you be, then ? There ain't no other fel-
ler that's a sparkin' ye, be there ?"
" You give me my handkerchief and mind your business—
I vow I needn't go a beggin'," she said with a pout, snatching
her handkerchief, and throwing it once more over her plump
shoulders, " There's as good lish in the stream as ever was
caught."
" Yes, but the trouble is to catch 'em. May be they won't
bite at your bait. But Nancy," he said, softening, and look-
ing at her lovingly, " Don't let's be snappish. What's the use o'
being cross ?"
** Give me a pin, then, if you want to see me good-natured."
" A dozen of 'em, if you want 'em," he said, taking half a
dozen out of the lapel of his coat, which she took, and return-
ing to the glass, again commenced the completion of her toil-
et, while Lige followed her and standing by her side, asked,
coaxingly, " Say, Nancy, you didn't mean what you said jist
now, did ye."
" What, that I wouldn't marry you ?"
*'Yes."
" Be I in the habit of teKing fibs ?"
*' Well, if you did mean it, who would you marry ?"
« Nobody."
*' What I Be an old maid ? You git out."
" How do you like me now ?" she said, after she had adjusted
the handkerchief to her taste. " Does it look scrumptious ?'*
8 bunce's ten cent notels.
" Well, you look purty enough to make a feller's head swiiii.
But "
"But what? What are you looking sour about ?"
" Well, I feel kinder streaked — I -v^-ish you was as ugly as
thunder, as ill-natured, cross-grained, and cantankerous, as —
as — well, as Peleg Bryce."
" Ugh ! The old sarpent. What on airth do you want to
speak of ]tira for in a day like this. It's sure to bring ill-luck,
and it's perfectly awful to think of him, even on a wedding-
day."
" Well, I don't care, if you was as ugly as be is, I shouldn't
love you as I do, and then I'd be a deuced sight better off."
''Well, then, just imagine I am old and wrinkled, and mean
and ugly, and as cross as the old satan, and you won't feel bad
any more. But you'll have to imagine it, for I ain't a going to
be a bit wuss looking, nor wuss natured than I be, to please
you, so there."
"And, I wouldn't have you. See here, Xancy, I swow I
was only jokin' — say," he continued, getting by degrees his
a?m round her waist. " 'Spose we kill two birds with one
stone, and when the minister comes to marry Foster Dalton to
Mary Maythorne, let's get him to make you and I bone of one
bone and flesh of oBe flesh. Won't ye, say ?"
" Lige Bates, it akit no use for you to coax," she answered,
looking up at him coquettishly, and not offering to disturb his
arm, which enclosed her very closely by this time, " cause you
see I aiat a going to leap before I look. Marriage is a pesky
serious business. It is mighty easy to get.into the noose, but
it is derned irksome to git eout of it. It is all very well to
say, let's git married to-day, but it's just as well to think a
little about to-morrow. We can't always tell ahead. Now spose
I should marry Foster Dalton, instead of Mary Maythorae, I
don't reckon I'd git much of a catch. It would make me feel
i
BEOKEN VOW, OS THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 9
mighty uncomfortable to hear what's said agin him all over, I
tell you. I'm a going to look before I jump."
" What do they say of Foster Dalton ?"
" Well, in the first place, they say he gambils ; and a man
that gambils is a lost critter. Satan '11 git him, sure. They
say he goes down to Lenox and gambils every night, with a.
hull lot of wild fellers, and that he loses every red cent he gits
hold of, and they say besides that "
" I know," interrupted Lige Bates, " I know, and it was that
demed old, pizin rhinoceros, Peleg Bryce, who circulated them
stories, and I jist believe it was him that fust led him into
them ways."
"Jest as like as not," said Nancy, "jest as like as not, the
hatchet-faced cuss. You know what happened last year and
how his marriage was broken off?"
" Well, I did hear somethin' about it, but I didn't git all the
facts."
"Well, the old hunks wanted to marry Mary Haythorne,
himself."
"Do tell?"
" Tes, and they say that she'd a had him on account of the
old folks, cause he was so rich, but a'fore he got the thing set-
tled, along comes Foster Dalton and cuts him out, so that when
Peleg asked her to marry him, she just up and refused him,
point blank."
" And its mighty lucky for her she did," said Lige, " the old
oak burr."
" After a while, Peleg, he seed how the cat had jumped, and
ver since he's owed a grudge against Foster Dalton, who is
going to be married to-day, here, in his father's house. She
and her folks give theirconsent that the marriage should come
off here, in place of the bride's house, all on account of old
Granny Dalton, who is too old to travel so far, and who would
10 bunce's ten cent novels.
have died if she had not been by her grandson when the cere-
monv was done,"
*' Well, I wish 'em both luck," said Lige, " it will make the
old house different though, having a young wife in it. How
will you like that ?"
" Oh, she and I will git along. She's a nice gal, and as long
as she don't interfere with my ways. 111 endure her ! But
come," she said, relieving herself of the arm of Lige, which all
this time had kept its place around her buxom form, " we aint
got any time to lose. The wedding is to be at twelve o'clock
so as to give the bride's folks a chance to git home before
night, and here breakfast aint over yit. There stands the old
man watching for his son. The confounded fool, what did he
want to stay out all night for, when he knew he was going to
be married in the morning ? He "11 be late."
• " I know one who won't be late for the wedding one of these
fine days — when — when "
" When what ?"
" Why, when yours and mine comes off, to be sure. I ain't
going to take you at your word."
" Won't you ?"
" No. Because you don't mean it. Do you ? Won't you
marry me some day ?"
" Perhaps."
" Perhaps !" exclaimed Lige, seizing her quickly and giving
her a hearty kiss, for which he did not get his face slapped
this time, " Oh, pumkins, that's jist as good as yes ! When
you are my wife I shall be your husband, and "
" But I only said perhaps."
" Well, perhaps ; that's all right. Perhaps will do for mo
now. Perhaps means yes, and I'm as happy as a pig among
acorns."
" There," said the blushing Nancy, getting away from him.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 11
" I hear my milk boiling over, and there's the old man a'call-
ing you ; so clear !" and they both left the room, she to rim
into the kitchen to look after the milk, and Lige to answer
Hiram Dalton, who was shouting for him at the top of his
voice.
*' "Why don't you answer when I call ?" asked Hiram, crossly,
when Lige made his appearance on the porch of the house.
"Are you deaf? Run down and put the sorrel colt in the
wagon, and then come into breakfast."
Lige went to obey the old man's wish without paying any
attention to his ill-humor, because he knew he was vexed at
the absence of his son, and Hiram went into the kitchen where
Xancy was already putting breakfast on the table. " Run in,"
he said, " and bring out Granny, she must be ready by this
time, and let us have breakfast. You have seen nothing of
my son ? He has not come in the back way ?"
" !N"o," answered Nancy, going to call Granny. " Have you
Been him coming ?"
" No," answered Hiram, angrily, " If I had I should not ask
you where he was. But go ! you know what you have to do."
Nancy bounced out of the room in a huff, for she was in-
dependent, as her class generally are, and didn't put up quietly
with cross words from anybody.
"The ymng villain!" Hiram muttered, as the clock struck
seven. " Not here yet. To go away at such a time and for
such a purpose. He is a bad son, and will, I fear, make a bad
husband. I ought to be thrashed for ever giving my consent
to the marriage. If Granny finds it out, it will kill her ;" and
the old man paced the room, full of grief and anger.
In a moment or two Granny entered the apartment, sup-
ported by Nancy.
She was over eighty years of age, but her form was erect,
and her eye looked as bright as it had fifty years before, while
12 bunce's ten cent novels.
her face, though wrinkled, was a goodly one to look on, for it
beamed with benevolence, piety, and sympathy.
*' Ha ! Good morning, Hiram," she said. " Good morning,
boy. I give you a great deal of trouble, Nancy ! Ah , ray old
limbs, they are not as nimble as they used to be. Good morn-
ing, Elijah. You have all been waiting for old Granny, I sup-
pose."
Lige having returned, they took their places at the table.
The old lady sitting by the side of her son, and asking a bless-
ing.
'' I feel very happy to-day," she said, sipping her coffee, " and
I am glad to see you all looking so well. I am not very hun-
gi-y. I don't feel like eating my breakfast. I am so full of
joy. Ha, this is a great day ! I have not seen such a day
since you got man-ied, Hiram. I have been dreaming of it all
night. But what is the matter with you ? You don't seem
easy, Hiram. What troubles you ? You don't eat your break-
fast, and you look as cross as "
"Oh, there is nothing the matter with me, nothing," said
Hiram, quickly. ** Nothing at all, I am like you, the thought of
what is going to happen has taken away my appetite. That is
all, I shall be as jolly as anybody, soon."
Little more was said until the meal was finished. Hiram
rose, and after conducting his aged mother to her favorite seat
by the window, from which she could enjoy the beautiful pros-
pect which surrounded the house, he went to the door, and
going into the road, once more looked to see if he could yet
perceive any signs of his absent son.
" Who are you looking for ?" asked Granny, when he came in.
" Never mind," answered Hiram, " I am looking for — for — "
and then turning to Lige, he said, " Why don't you give me
my pipe ? You know I've been looking for it for the last two
houra."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 13
Lige shrugged his shoulders as he turned to Nancy, and said
in a low voice, " He's as mad as a hornet."
" Then get his pipe, and let him stop his mouth with it,"
said Nancy, pushing him away.
" Good Gracious ! Hiram, exclaimed the old lady, looking at
him sharply through her spectacles, " What is the matter with
you this morning ? How contrary and cross you are. What
has gone wrong ?" , ^
" Nothing, nothing, nothing. You know I cannot help it.
It is my disposition. The least thing ruffles me. Do not pay
any attention to me. Then turning away, " Tlie mean cuss !"
he muttered to himself, " Oh, I'll talk to him !"
" But, bless me," asked Granny — as if for the first time she
had missed her grandson. " Where is Foster ? Hasn't he
come down yet ?"
" No, not yet," his father answered. " Not yet."
" Sake's alive !" the old lady ejaculated, " but it takes him a
long while to dress himself on his wedding morning. Elijah,
won't you go and tell him to hurry down ? I want to see him,
to bid him good day, and wish him joy, the dear fellow. Nancy,
I hope you have got everything in order. Everybody will be
here, and we must not look shiftless. Hiram, have you asked
Peleg Bryce to come to the wedding?"
" Yes, mother. I could not very well get out of it."
" Well, you was right. You was right. It wouldn't do to
take any notice of what has happened. It would look as if
we wanted to slight him. Oh, by the way, come here Nancy,
I want to speak to you. Have you," she whispered, when
Nancy had gone over to her, " have you done as I asked you ?
Is it there ?"
" What do you mean ?" asked Nancy.
" Why, the present, the surprise ? Have you put it in his
room, where he will be sure to have seen it as soon as he en-
tered the door ?"
14 bunce's ten cent novels.
" Oh, yes, Granny, I have put it just over his looking-glass.
He'll be sure to see it there."
" Do you think it will please him, eh ?" asked Granny, her
old face beaming with affection, " will he like it ? Ah ! she
is a beautiful watch, girl. She cost me fifty dollars in goold.
But we don't have a grandson married every day, and so long
as it makes him happy, the dear boy, I would'nt have begrudg-
ed a hundred. No, no, not I."
" Poor old woman," thought Nancy, " she little thinks he
has not been home all night, and has not perhaps thought of
her for a week."
" Ah, well, have you sent for him, why don't he come ? He
is a long while "
Lige, who had been'standing on the porch, here entered the
room, and going stealthily up to Hiram Dalton, whispered in
his ear :
" He is coming ; I saw him just now slip round the house
and go in the back way."
" Well, and why do you whisper it ?" asked Hiram, petulantly,
'* What on earth do you want to make a mystery of it for ?"
" I thought," commenced the young man, pointing to Gran-
ny, " that the old lady might be kinder put out if she know'd
that "
" Right, boy — right," answered Hiram, taking his hand and
shaking it warmly. " It was thoughtful of you," and he walk-
ed towards the window, by the foot of the stairs, which led to
the chamber occupied by his son.
In a minute or two, Foster Dalton came in at the back
door. Seeing his father's face turned, and hoping to reach
his room without being observed or questioned, he shut the
door quietly after him, and walking on tip-toe, noiselessly ap-
proached the foot of the stairs ; but just as he had placed his
foot upon the bottom step, Hiram turned and regarded him
with a stern look.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 15
" Ah, is it you, at last ?" he asked.
The young man, finding himself thus detected, started, and
a blush of shame suffused his face ; but, in a moment, his au-
dacity returned, and holding out his hand, he said, with an air
of affected frankness :
" Yes, father ! Good morning."
But Hiram threw back his proffered hand and uttering an
angry exclamation, broke his pipe across it.
The noise caused Granny to turn her head, and perceiving
Foster she said :
" Ha, boy ! you have crawled out at last have you ? Come
and give me a kiss."
The young man did as she requested, and stooping, kissed
her wrinkled forehead, while his father turned away with a dis-
turbed and angry look.
" You would not forget your old Granny, would you ?" she
said, caressing him, and twining her thin fingers in his beauti-
ful clustering curls. " In your excitement and joy, you still
keep a corner of your heart for her, eh ?"
" Of course, dear grand-mother."
" But you look very pale this morning, lad, and your face is
anxious and worried — you look tired."
" Yes," said Hiram, turning towards her quickly, " I suppose
he has not slept much, and perhaps," he continued, more stern-
ly, and looking at his son in a reproachful manner, " perhaps
he has not slept at all !"
" Ah ! yes, yes, I understand. He has been thinking of her
all night. Have you not, boy ? Thinking of to-day, of your
joys, your hopes, your future, your happiness. Well, well,
sleep will come by-and-by. It will get to be an old stoiy. But
you are very pale. Have you eaten anything this morning ?"
" No, dear Granny^ — not yet. I do not wish any breakfast."
" But you must eat something, and you have not much time
16 bunce's ten cent novels.
to lose. You know yon have to go with your father to bring
Mary over."
" Yes, yes, I know."
"I suppose you are all impatience. The minister will be
here at twelve o'clock. It was very good of them to have the
wedding here. It aint the custom for a girl to leave her father's
house to be married. But what could they do ? I couldn't go
there with these poor old limbs, and I should never have got
over it if I had not been jDresent at your happiness, boy. No,
no."
" I know it, Granny — I know it."
" But it is time you were dressing yourself, Granny," Nancy
suggested. " The folks will be coming soon, and I won't get a
chance to help you, if you don't begin pretty quick."
" Pshaw ! child, don't bother, I have plenty of time. But I
say, Nancy, he has not spoken of the watch," whispered the
old lady in her ear. " I say, Foster," she continued, aloud,
paying no attention to Nancy's head shaking, with which she
tried to stop her. " Tell me, Foster, boy, how do you like her ?
Does she suit your fancy ?"
" Oh, certainly. Exceeds all I could wish."
" Ha, ha ! And is she not got up in very good taste ?"
" Excellent ! Granny, excellent 1"
" Ha ! I knew you would say so."
" Poor old woman," said Nancy quietly to Lige, " she is
speaking of the watch, and he thinks she is talking about his
intended. I'd like to warm his wool for him, the denied
pump !"
" Yes, yes. I knew she would please you," the old lady
went on, with a chuckle," and I have had . the surprise in my
head for a long time."
" Ah, you thought then "
" Yes, and though there were several to choose from "
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 17
" Then you, yourself, selected her for me, eh ?"
" To be sure I did, and I selected the richest, because "
'* But it is not her wealth that I sought, you know, Granny.
I love her for herself."
" To be sure ; but though she is a gold one, I have no doubt
that a silver one would have pleased you quite as well, so long
as I "
" Gold !" asked Foster, not understanding what the garru-
lous old woman meant.
" Gold ! to be sure she's gold. The shopkeeper warranted
her to be gold, and that her works would not get out of order
in a year."
" How ?" exclaimed Foster, now fairly mystified, " What do
you mean ?"
But Nancy, though she would have delighted in teasing the
young man still more, here came to the rescue, and for fear
that his grand-mother would discover his fault, she whispered
in his ear, " It is a watch she sjoeaks of ; a present, a sui-prise,
for you."
" Oh, yes, ah," said Foster, seeing at once the mistake he had
made, " To be sure, and I have not yet thanked you for it."
" Never mind thanks, keep it for my sake. Never part with
it, and when its hands point to the hour when your poor old
Granny shall bid you good-bye for the last time, you will think of
this, and remember that she laid her old hands upon your young
head, and asked her Heavenly father to be ever mindful of the
happiness of her dear boy, and to bless you and your dear wife."
" The scoundrel !" thought Hiram, " if he has a conscience,
how it must prick him."
" But come," said the old lady, " I must be getting ready !
Come, Nancy, Child, and help me to my room, and put on my
best gown. We must all look our best to-day. Come, come,
be quick, Child. Go and get ready too, Foster."
18 bunce's ten cent novels.
" I will," the young man replied, going to the stairs.
But his father, placing his hand on his shoulder, stopped him,
saying quietly, " Eemain ! I've got something to say to you,"
and then turning to the old lady, he said, " Go and dress, moth-
er, Forster and I will be ready in time."
" All right," said Granny, rising, " all right."
" Will you take hold o' me ?" asked Lige, offering his shoul-
der for her to rest upon.
" What do I want of you, eh ?" she asked. " What should
I want to lean on your shoulder for ? I'm as strong as you are,
if I am not so young. Look !" and the old lady strutted out
of the room as straight as a grenadier.
" Well," said Lige to himself, " I don't know but I'd better
git eout too. There's a storm a' coming up and I'll clear till
it blows over ;" and he left the room, leaving Hiram Dalton
and his son alone.
r'f
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 19
CHAPTER 11.
Foster Dalton was about twenty-three years of age. He was
an only son, and had been the idol of his mother, and the spoiled
pet of his grand-mother. His father, too, though he had en-
deavored to hide his feelings, under a rough, though not harsh
manner towards him, had performed his share in the work of
making him, what he had been from infancy, a spoiled child.
At an early age, he had been sent to school at a distance
from home, and from which he was recalled to weep over the
death-bed of his mother, who died in giving birth to a daugh-
ter, who only survived her a few hours.
After this, he remained at home for a few years, occasionally
assisting his father on the farm, but he was by no means fond
of labor, and at last, Hiram Dalton yielded to his solicitations,
in which his grand-mother joined, to send him to College, and
he entered Yale, in his eighteenth year.
Here he did not distinguish himself by his application and
scholarship, although his natural abilities, and quickness of
perception, relieved him from much of the severe drudgery of
study, so that he was, in spite of all his recklessness, enabled
to hold his own with those in his class who were more indus-
trious. He soon acquired a reputation for being forward in all
kinds of mischief, and he was frequently brought to task for
his delinquencies. Among other vices to which he was ad-
dicted, that of gambling was the worst, and his passion for
games, of chance earned him to such extremes, that he sacri-
ficed every thing to its indulgence. Night after night he spent
20 bunce's ten cent novels.
at the gaming-table, sometimes winning, but more frequently
losing eveiy penny that he could command.
His father, although he considered him extravagant, and often
expostulated with him upon the sums of money he spent, had
no thought of the truth, and continued to supply him with the
means of indulging in his fatal weakness.
By dint of hard " cramming " and lenity, he managed to grad-
uate, and he left College in his twenty-second year, an indiffer-
ent scholar, but a confirmed and reckless gambler.
On his return home he entered upon the study of the law,
-in the town of Lenox, and still continued his habit of gam-
bling, until at last, his father, whose purse was continually de-
pleted to supply his losses, had his suspicions aroused, and, on
inquiry, learned the painful truth.
He took him severely to task, and for a time refused to as-
sist him in any way ; but upon his solemn promise to reform,
oft-times repeated, he had forgiven him, and given his consent
to his marriage with Mary Maythorne, the daughter of a worthy
farmer, who resided in the neighborhood.
Just before the wedding-day, Hiram Dalton began to suspect
that his son had continued to deceive him, and that he was
still a slave to the dreadful fascination of his fatal vice.
He had remonstrated, threatened, implored, in vain. He had
painted the misery which a continuance in such a course would
bring down on the head of the woman he was about to swear
to love and cherish, in the vain hope of arousing in him a de-
termination to break the chains which bound him to the gaming-
table, and now, when he found that all would do no good, he
had made a stern resolve to pursue the only course left for him,
•''^•and to do his duty, let the consequences be what they might.
f But the father did not know all the errors of his misguided
son. He fancied that gambling was his only besetting sin, and
that once redeemed from rt, his boy might yet live to be an
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 21
honor and a comfort to his declining days. Alas ! had he
known that, besides his passion for play, he had conceived
another, the indulgence of which had not only plunged his
soul deeper in sin, but had forever blighted the peace and hap-
piness of one whose only fault had been a deep, abiding tr*ist-
fulness in him, had he known this ! But we will not an-
ticipate.
When Hiram Dalton found himself alone with his profligate
son, his long pent up rage and indignation found vent, and
turning upon him, he asked, " When and where is this to end ?
How long will you continue your dissolute life.
" But, father " Foster began.
" Don't (jail me father !" the old man exclaimed, " You have
forfeited the right. What new excuse were you about to offer ?
Where were you all the night ?"
The young man stamped his foot angrily, but made no reply.
*' Where were you ? I say," Hiram repeated, '' do you think
your angry stamping and fuming will close my mouth ? Do
you think that your conduct does not make me suffer ? Oh,
when I think that last night — even last night — ^you could not
keep away from that damnable place, when I think you had so
little heart or feeling as to go, though your presence there
might have been disclosed to the family of which you were so
soon to become a member, my face burns with shame for you.
What if they should know of your conduct ? A pleasant thought
for your intended wife, that her husband spent the night befpre .^
his marriage in a gambling hell." \s
"But "
" But, but ! Did you not see the fear I was in but now, lest
your grand-mother should suspect the truth ? Poor old womaij^*
would she not have died, if she had known what a wretch you ,
were ? If I had not hid from her "
" But listen !" ^
22 bunce's ten cent novels.
" Silence, Sir, and listen you."
" Go on, Sir." .
" Thank you for your kind permission ! I will go on. Do
you think you can impose silence upon me ? How have you
dared, since your sworn promise — but hold ! I will talk no
more. The time has come for me to act. I have a duty to
perform. Do you think I will allow this marriage to proceed ?
Do you imagine I will allow you to practice a base deception
upon the honest people and the loving hearts, who, in their
confidence in you and me, intrust their daughter's happiness to
your care ? No, I will inform them of all. I will tell them
that you are without heart, principle, or honor. I will tell them
you are a gambler, and that they had better see their daughter
in her grave, than place her in your amis. In the arms of a
man who would " Hiram continued, lowering his voice so
as not to be heard by Granny, " who would not hesitate to
break the heart of his poor old grand-mother, and who has dis-
sipated at the gaming-table, nearly all his father ever acquired
by honest industry."
" No, no, father. You will not — ^must not — do this ; hear
me !" The young man urged.
" I will not hear you. I have said it, and may I never see
Heaven if I do not do as I have said."
" But they will not listen to you."
" Not listen to me. Sir. What do you think I am ? A liar,
like you ?"
"A liar! But you are my father," said Foster, turning
deadly pale, and trembling in every limb.
" Yes, a liar. Have you kept the promises you made to me
^—promises of reformation and good conduct ? Have you
kept the oaths you have made to the same purpose ? And
you turn pale with anger when I call you liar. What are you
else ?"
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 23
" But, father !"
" Well, what answer can you make ?"
" Only one word. I love Mary Maythorne, and nothing in
the world shall separate me from her."
" It is false I" the old man said. " You do not love her.
Had you loved her, for her sake if not for mine, you would
have led a different life long ago. True love makes a man vir-
tuous and honest."
" But what will the world say ?"
"What will it say ?" repeated Hiram, throwing himself into
a chair, " What can it say, if I consent to this wicked thing ?
They will say that I, Hiram Dalton, allowed my son to marry
Mary Maythorne, because she was rich, and that her fortune
would repair the breach made in mine by my dissipated son !
That is what the world will say, and it would bow my head in
shame. No. I will not suffer it !" And the old man rose
and went towards the door.
" Stop, father. Do not take this rash step without hearing
me ; without giving me an opportunity to justify myself," ex-
claimed the young man, making after him, and seizing him by
the hand.
"Justify yourself! What impudence!" he said, coming
back to his seat.
" Listen to me a moment," the young man continued, " and
after I have spoken, judge me. But let me speak all that I
feel."
" Well, speak. What have you to say ?"
" First, let me ask your pardon for the anger I have display-
ed towards you. Sir. One cannot always be master of his
feelings, and you have borne heavily upon me. I am sorry.
And now, I will explain my absence last night. I will not
try to palliate the faults of which I am guilty, but last night, I
went to liquidate a sacred debt— a debt of honor. I acknow-
24 bunce's ten cent novels.
ledge tliat for a long time my fatal passion has carried me
away, but I have, at last, broken the spell and am once more
free ; for from the day upon which I swore to you that I would
be worthy of my Mary's love, I have played no more. But my
companions had claims upon me — claims which compromised
my honor, and I determined before I led her to the altar, I
would cancel them. Should I not pay the money whicli I
owed, I knew that the curse of my folly would follow me day
after day, and perhaps lead to the discovery of my former
habits by my wife, and I determined to banish this fear. It
was to complete my enfranchisement that I was absent last
night. I have accomplished my object. I am free. And now,
I ask you whether I did not perform an act of duty by guard-
ing against any sad effects of my evil course in the future ?"
" Ah, Foster ! Foster !" said Hiram Dalton, half convinced,
" Could you know how wickedly you have acted. How I have
suffered."
" But you believe what I have said ?"
" Should you deceive me still !"
" Ah, you little know how this love has changed me."
*' And are you really free ? Can no one in the world some
day tax you "
" Father, I have told the truth."
** One more question," said the old man, rising, " I must be
well assured. Tell me, do you really and sincerely love this
girl?"
'' Nothing shall ever separate me from her."
" But have you not felt or said the same before, in other
cases ? Is this the first woman you ever swore to love eter-
nally?"
" Great Heaven ! can he suspect !" thought Foster, turning
away his head and biting his lip. Then summoning fresh
courage, he asked, " What mean you ?*'
BROKEN- VOW, OR THE FORCED >rARRIAGE. 26
*' Is there uo woman who can accuse you of falsehood, as
there is no man who can accuse you of dishonor ?"
" No, father, no. But come," he added, as if anxious to
change the subject, '' it is time you were on your way. So,
now that you are calm, and have, I trust, forgiven me, please
precede me to Mr. Maythorne's and inform them I will be
there immediately. I have to dress, and we must return, you
know, by twelve o'clock."
" May I trust you ?"
" Believe me, you may. You shall never have cause to re-
pent your confidence."
" Ah, should you practice upon my affection and credulity,
to deceive me again, Heaven will punish you. You have told
me the truth ? The whole truth ? I do not speak to you now
as your father, nor ask you to answer as a son, but as between
two friends, two men of honor, I ask you have you spoken
truth ?"
" I have."
" Then give me your hand, and I will do all that you desire.
Now hand me my hat and cane, and I'll be off."
Foster shook hands with his father, upon whose face a smile
of happiness once more beamed, and gave him his hat and cane.
When the old man reached the door, before which the sorrel
colt was standing ready hitched to the wagon, he shook hands
with him again, and jumping into the vehicle, said :
'* Dress yourself as soon as you can, and follow me directly.
And I say boy, I was pretty hard on you just now. But don't
let it make you unhappy."
" No, no, father," said Foster, going to the side of the
wagon, and once more taking the old man by the hand, " I
know you meant it only for my good, and I shall remember it
only to profit by it."
" That's right, (jood-bye." And Hiram Dalton was just
about to start the colt, when Peleg Bryce came up.
26 bunce'e ten cext novels.
He was a thin, spare man, of about fifty years of age. But
his lanteni jaws, beak-like nose and protruding chin, together
with the wrinkles which crossed his face in all directions, like
lines upon a rail-road map, made him look older than he was.
His eyes were small, cold, grey, and shark4ike in their expres-
sion, while a long crane neck, in which every cord and vein
was visible, red coarse hair, and very large ears, completed as
disagreeable a picture as any one need look upon.
" Good day. Good day, neighbors," he said, a sickly smile
making his sinister looking face more wicked than ever in its
expression, and holding out a thin, dirty looking hand, so co-
vered with freckles that it looked like some nasty sort of scaly
fish. "How do you find yourselves this morning? this happy
morning, I should say. You are going off in grand style neigh-
bor Dalton. Going for the fair young bride, I suppose, eh ?"
" With your consent. If you have no objection, Peleg
Bryce," answered Hiram, with ill-concealed irritation.
" Oh, I wouldn't stop you for the world. Don't mind me.
Don't stand on any ceremony with me. I did not know ex-
actly what time this here marriage was to take place, and so
I thought I'd come early and find out, 'case you see it's all'ers
best to be in time."
" Ah, well, Peleg, Foster will tell you all about it. I must
go, now." Then turning once more to his son, he said, in an
undertone, as Peleg moved towards the door of the house,
" If I have been too narsh, fori^ive me, boy. I am rough some-
times."
His son made no anssver, but once more pressed his hand,
and Hiram giving the sorrel colt a fillip with his whip, was
soon whirled out of sight, and Foster followed Peleg into the
house.
" I don't like that hand-shaking," thought Peleg to himself.
It does not suit my plan. It is a bad sfgn just at this time."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 27
Then, as Foster entered the house he said, rubbing his horrid
hands, " Well, Mr. Foster Daltou, it will soon be over, eh ?"
" I hope so," said Foster, going up the stairs which led to
his room. " I hope so."
" Yes, but we can't always tell, you know. There's many a
slip 'twixt the cup and the lip, Mr. Foster, and we are never
sure of a thing, until we have it."
*' No," answered the young man, stopping on the stairs, and
turning round, " you ought to know that, Peleg."
If he could have seen the expression of Peleg's face when
he heard his words, he would have been sorry for his remark,
for it betokened a malignant hate, which any man might have
feared.
" Well, well," he said, quietly, suppressing his anger, " We
shall see. You may find it out, too, Foster Dalton. Not that
I wish you any ill-luck. Heaven forbid ! but a marriage bro-
ken off, always leaves a broken heart. Yes," he said, fixing
his eye on Dalton ; " allways, always !"
" What do you mean, Peleg ?" asked the young man, de-
scending the stairs, and going to him.
" Oh, nothing. ' I was just thinking, that was all."
" But why do you use such words to-day, particularly ?"
" Because, Foster Dalton, I remember that — but never mind,
never mind. "What had I to do with a wife ? Why maiTy ?
To frighten her to death with_my ugliness ? No, no ; it is
better after all, that I should re^u single. I can amuse my-
self with my money But I am detaining you, and your father
may be obliged to wait for you, perhaps. What time does the
ceremony take place ?"
" At noon."
" Here ?"
" Yes. Here."
«' Thank von. I shall be back in time."
28 bunce's ten cent novels.
Foster turned away and went to his room, and after a short
time left the house ; as he did so, he ejaculated, mentally,
" Thank Heaven, in an hour all will be over."
Peleg stood watching him as he rode away, and as Foster turn-
ed the corner of the road and disappeared from his sight, he
mbbed his hands and grinned maliciously, as he muttered to
himself — " Go your ways — go your ways, my innocent lambs,
you little dream what is in store for you ! I am an ugly old
serpent, with fiery hair and yellow skin, am I ? Well, well, I have
sharp teeth, too, and you shall find that Peleg Biyce can bite
as well as snarl. Yes, yes, Mr. Foster Dalton, I don't forget
the debt I owe yon, and I'll pay it, with interest. Yes, laugh,"
he growled, as sounds of mirth issued from the room where
Granny was completing her toilet, and, with the assistance of
Nancy, making herself grand for the great occasion. " Laugh
away, laugh while you may. It won't be long. I have a nice
little scheme in my head which will make you laugh on the
other side of your mouths soon. She would not have me, the
fair, delicate, little Mary Maythorne ! Old Peleg Bryce would
not do for her ; he was not gay and handsome enough ; but if
I am not a fool, she would rather marry me, ugly and old as I
am, than you, Mr. Foster Dalton, when she shall know the
little secret I can whisper in her ear. Ha ! ha ! ha ! I can
see her now ; when her eyes are opened, how surprised she will
be ; and her handsome intended, and his self-satisfied old father,
and the old woman — ha ! ha ! — ^how they will all stare and take
on 1 Ha ! here comes that young devil, Lige Bates, I'll whet
my appetite on him. Patience, Peleg, patience ! Your time
will come."
'' I say, Nancy, Nancy !" exclaimed Lige, entering the room,
and not seeing Peleg. " They are coming. I see a hull lot of
folks coming over the hill. Hurry up !" then turning and seeing
Peleg, hia countenance fell, and he said : " Hillo I old Peleg, I
didn^t know you was hisfe."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 29
" Yes, here I am, in time, you see. How are you, Lige ?"
" Oh ! I'm all right. As happy as a colt in a ten acre lot."
" So much the better for you."
" And how be you ? You don't look very jolly. You look
more like going to a funeral than a wedding."
" You are wrong, Lige, wrong. I never was half so happy
in my life," said Peleg, rubbing his big ears.
" Well, so much the better for you !"
" I am happier than you even."
*' Well, I'm derned if you look it," thought Lige. " To judge
from your face, I should say that you was about as miserable
an old cuss as ever felt bad because other people felt good."
" Yes, I am happier than you," Peleg went on. '' You know
I always enjoy seeing other people contented."
"Then you are really glad Foster Dalton is going to git
married, be you ?"
" To be sure ! when he is married I shall dance for joy."
" The mean, ornary, lying, old Belzebub !" Lige thought to
himself. " He's jist about as happy as if he had sot on a hor-
net's nest."
" What a happy time it will be, wont it, Lige," Peleg com-
menced again, with a hideous grimace, " when they are man and
wife ? They are both so young, so handsome ! And with such
a future before them ! I should like to have been the grooms-
man to such a pair !"
" Well, why didn't you propose it to the groom ? He'd a
jumped at the chance. It would a' been a strong contrast."
" AVould it, Mr. Lige ? Thank you. I am much obliged to you."
" Yes. You look as if you was a swelling and choking like an
old turkey cock. You know you'r as mad as pisen."
*' No, I'm not, Lige. Everybody has his joke on old Peleg,
but I don't mind it. I understand that Creighton Herbert is
the chosen man."
L
30 bunce's ten cent novels.
" Yes, so I hear," said Lige. " He is one of Foster Dalton's
best friends, though he hasn't been in Lenox long. He's awful
rich, they say. Got lots of housen in York, owns hull squares
on 'em."
" He's a doctor, I hear, but I havn't heard of his being so
dreadful rich, Lige."
" Oh, yes," said Lige, " he's handsume, rich, and smart. I've
hearn tell he was a doctor, but only practices for fame. Hell
make a splendid groomsman,"
" People exaggerate sometimes, Lige. All is not gold that
shines, and Mr. Herbert may "
" Oh, git eout ! you are always trying to pick a hole in some-
body's coat. You can't bear to think that anybody should be
more thought of than you. Everybody thinks a heap of Mr.
Herbert, and everybody knows that he's got more money
than you have, twice over, and that he's a ripping good doctor
among the poor folks !"
** A doctor for groomsman ! That's not a bad idea. They
may need him. The bride might faint, or something might
happen, and it would be handy to have a doctor around," said
Peleg, rubbing his hands and grinning.
" I reckon if anybody gits sick at this wedding it'll be yon,
old Peleg. You'r bursting with wrath now. You'd better
keep cool, and go and soak that red head o' your'n," said Lige,
as he left the room, and went out into the road.
" Gro on. Go on," old Peleg muttered, " I'll pay you all at
once. But I must be gone, or I shall not be back in time to
see the sport. When I do come back to this house, Mr. Dalton,
it will be a sorry hour for you," and creeping into his ricketty
chaise, which stood near the house, he whipped up his skeleton
of a nag, and went away muttering.
It was not long before the guests began to arrive, and as the
first of them were seen by Lige approaching the house, he went
I
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 31
in and informed Nancy, who had just finished assisting Granny
Dalton to put on her best cap, and within a few moments she
was seated in grand state in the best room.
"Take a good look at me, Nancy," she said, smoothing her
carefully kept bhick silk gown, '' and see if everything is right.
Are you sure my cap is on straight ? It 'pears to me, that its
just a leetle on one side. No ? well, you know best, but I want to
look as nice as I can, in honor of the dear boy. Bless him, and
flis pretty little wife. Oh how happy I shall be when it's all over !"
Assured by Nancy that she never looked better, and that
everybody else would say the same thing, the old lady became
perfectly satisfied, and, as the guests came in, received them
with stately kindness, and seemed the happiest old wouian in
the world. When the minister arrived, who was a patriarchal
looking old gentleman, nearly as aged as herself, she seemed
more delighted than ever, and as he took his seat by her side,
after having kindly shaken hands with everyl)ody present, she
entered into a cosy conversation with him, and told him a hun-
dred times, if she told him once, that it was " the happiest day
of her life."
AVithin a few minutes of the appointed time, Hiram Dalton
and Crelghton Herbert arrived, followed in a moment or two,
by the fair young bride, her parents, and he who was sliortly to
be her husband. They were received with a joyous welcome,
and while Mary Maythorne retires with Nancy and her brides-
maid, to make a few necessary additions to her toilet, we will
take occasion to give a brief description of her and Creighton
Herbert, who will occupy a somewhat prominent place in this
narrative.
To begin, then, with the bride elect : Mary Maythorne waa
about eighteen years of age ; tall and slight though well de-
veloped and graceful in figure ; with a mild, sweet face which
attracted sympathy and kindly feeling the moment you looked
32 bunce's ten cent novels.
upon it. Her eyes were blue and large, shaded by long droop-
ing lashes, and her hair was of a beautiful golden hue, and
hung in glistening ringlets over her fair shoulders. Her mouth
was small, and her teeth white and delicate. No one could
look at her, without seeing at a glance, that she was confiding
in her disposition, and that her heart was capable of the
strongest and most enduring affection. Foster Dalton was
her first love. She had met him within a few months of his
return from College, and though it cannot be said that at first
she felt any particular interest in him, she had, at last, learned
to love him, and had listened to his proposals with a heart
brimful of joy and affection. She knew nothing of her lover's
evil habits, nor did she for a moment dream that deceit or
wickedness could dwell in his heart. Full of confidence and
trust, she was about to resign her fate into his hands, without
one foreboding thought, or a suspicion that he could render
her life ought but a happy one.
Creighton Herbert, who, at the solicitation of Foster Dalton,
was about to officiate as groomsman, was all that Lige Bates
had described him. Rich, handsome, intellectual and good.
He was the only son of wealthy j)arent3, who dying soon after
he attained his majority, had left him a large fortune, consist-
ing principally of real estate in the city of New York. He
bad been educated to the profession of medicine, for which he
had a strong predilection, and though his circumstances reii-
dered the practice of his profession for gain unnecessary, he
devoted nearly all his time by relieving, by bis skill, and often
by his purse, the distresses of the poor. There was no roof
so humble, no man or woman so poor, as not to be worthy of
the young physician's care and skill, and though he had been
but a short time in Lenox, his name was already a household
word in many a cottage and poor man'rf home.
He usually resided in the metropolis, but visiting Lenox,
BROKEN VOW, OK THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 33
the summer before, in company with a young artist, whose
patron and friend he was, he had remained some time in the
neighborhood, and liad formed the acquaintance of Mary May-
thorne, for whom there soon sprang up in his heart a warm and
ardent passion. He was not long in discovering, however, that
her affections were ah-eady engaged, and though he hid his
real sentiments under the cold and formal guise of friendship,
and often met her with a mere look of recognition, he would
have given all his wealth to have thrown himself at her feet
and declared his love.
Foster Dalton had no suspicion of this passion, when he
asked Creighton Herbert to take part in the ceremony which
should make him the happy possessor of a treasure the latter
would have been too happy to call his own; nor did Creighton,
by word, look or act, give him the slightest hint of the truth,
but with a noble generosity, gave his hearty assent, and, in
accordance with his promise, was here, present at a ceremony
which was to wreck his every hope, and widow his heart forever.
But there was no cloud upon his brow, no unkind feelings in his
heart, he only prayed that Mary might be happy, and that
Foster Dalton might prove worthy of wearing such a jewel,
While they were waiting the appearance of Mary, previous to
the ceremony, Foster approached Creighton Herbert, and tak-
ing his hand, said, " I cannot resist thanking you again for
your kindness, in acting as my friend on this occasion. I
shall always remember it with gratitude and pleasure."
" You owe me no thanks, Mr. Dalton. Believe me, I take
pleasure in adding to your happiness, and that of your lovely
intended wife."
" To be sure. Doctor, I know it," said Hiram, coming up
and taking him warmly by the hand. " You are a good fellow,
Doctor. Ha, Foster, my boy, you ought to be a happy man.
I never thought your little wife was half so pretty. Isn't she
beautiful, Doctor, eh V
34 buxce's ten cent novels.
" Slie is, indeed, Sir," replied Herbert, smothering a sigh in
a smile. " I congratulate you both."
" And when are you going to be married, eh. Doctor ?" old
Hiram asked. " It is time you began to look about you. But
I suppose you will choose a city wife, eh ?"
" I have no idea of marrying any one at present," answered
Herbert. " In fact, I do not think I shall ever marry at all."
" What ! not marry ? Pshaw ! A man like you, rich, hand-
some, smart, and alone in the world, not marry ! Ah, you will
tell a different story soon."
Further conversation was interrupted by the appearance of
Nancy, who summoned Foster to come and wait upon the
bride.
Accordingly, young Dalton and Herbert joined Mary May-
tliorne and the young bridesmaid at the foot of the stairs, and
the next moment, the bridal party entered the room, followed
by Nancy and Lige, all smiles and excitement.
" Come here, my dear children, come h-ere," exclaimed
Granny Dalton, as soon as they came in. " Come here and let
me kiss you both before you are married. Oh, I am so happy I"
and as a proof of it, the old lady burst into tears.
" Bless you both," she said, " bless you ! Don't mind my cry-
ing. I aint crying because I am unhappy, but my poor old
heart is so full."
" There, there," exclaimed Hiram Dalton, coming forward,
" don't cry any more, mother, the minister is waiting, and time
flies. It is past twelve o'clock, already."
Thus appealed to, the old lady dried her eyes, and after kiss-
ing the bride on her smooth white forehead, she permitted her
grand-son to lead her away, and the bridal party ranged them-
selves at the farther end of the room, under the direction of
the venerable clergyman, who, as is customary in most coun-
try places, before commencing the ce^'emony, improved the oo-
I
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 35
casion by making a lengthy exordium, in which he spoke of
the solemnity of the rite about to be performed, and gave
all present a great deal of good advice.
Then turning to Foster, he asked the usual question, " Will •
you, Foster Dalton, take this woman to be your wedded wife,
&c. r
"■ I will !" answered Foster in a clear voice.
"And will you, Mary, take this man for your wedded husband ?"
She was about to reply, but ere the words had formed them-
selves upon her lips, there was a noise in the hall, then a loud
and piercing scream, and a woman's voice exclaimed, " Xo, no !
I forbid it in the name of Heaven ! stop ! stop !"
All rose. The minister paused and turned towards the door,
on which all eyes were iixed.
There was a trampling of feet, the crowd around the door
gave way, and Peleg Bryce entered the room supporting on his
arm a pale, delicate young woman, who held an infant to her
breast.
" Lucy Thornton !" all cried, starting back in amazement,
while a demoniac grin of satisfaction covered the hideous face
of Peleg, as the woman, raising her right arm, exclaimed :
" Foster Dalton, I forbid this marriage to go on ! You have
no right to marry her. I have a prior claim, which I assert
before God and all here, and in the name of Heaven, and in
the name of Justice, I demand my right I"
" What mean you ?" exclaimed Hiram.
" I mean that he has sworn to marry me ; that he has sworn
to do justice to the mother of his child !"
" His child !" all exclaimed.
" Speak, Foster, is this true ? Speak and give the lie to this
mad woman ! Say that she raves."
" Ha, ha ! He can't— he can't," Peleg almost screamed. " He
knows it is true, and let him deny it if he dai-e !"
36 BUXCE's TEX CENT XOVEf^S.
"Speak, Foster Dalton, speak!'' thundered the old man,
*' and if you can, deny this dreadful thing'."
But Foster spoke not. Turning away his head, he hissed a
curse between his teeth.
" Then it is true !" shouted Hiram. " True ! stand from him
all ! Away ! Touch him not ! there is a taint upon him !" and
the old man rushed towards his son, and seizing him by the
arm, dragged him to the centre of the apartment.
All was confusion. Mary Maythorne, overcome with fear
and grief, fainted in the arms of Creighton Herbert, and was
borne from the room, followed by her parents and her brides-
maid, while the woman who had been the cause of this sudden
change of scene, stood motionless, holding her child, by Peleg
Bryce's side.
" Once more !" asked Hiram, seizing his son by the shoulder,
and looking him in the face, with an expression of dreadful de-
termination, " once more I ask you, is this true ?"
" It is ! It is ! exclaimed Lucy Thornton. " Oh, believe me !"
" Silence, woman ! Answer, boy !"
" Yes, it is," said Foster, in a dogged way.
" Then, as there is a God of justice above us, you shall do
her justice. You shall marry her."
'* Marry her !" exclaimed Foster. " Never."
" You shall ! Here, now, before these witnesses, or, if you
do not, 111 have you dragged away to prison. By the law of
this State, and you know it, this is a crime punishable severely,
and as I live, unless you consent to take this injured woman as
your wife, the rigor of the law shall fall on you."
"Here, Mr. Woodly," he continued, addressing the minister,
" Make this man and woman, man and wife, and let the words
be short and few."
It was done, and while Mary Maythorne lay all insensible in
her bridal state, above. Foster Dalton became the husband of
Lucy Thornton.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 37
CHAPTER III.
A LITTLE over a year after the events related in the last
chapter, Lucy Thornton, the wife of Foster Dalton, sat by the
side of her sick infant, watching for the return of her truant
husband. For two days she had not seen him ; for more than
a week he had not spoken to her, save in terms of anger or
reproach, and her heart was well nigh broken.
" Alas !" she murmured, while the big tears coursed down
her pale and care-worn cheeks, " what have I done that he
should treat me thus ? What can it be that keeps him from
his home and from his poor sick child ? /am used to neglect,
for since the day when he yielded to the command of his stern
father, and in fear of the law, made me his wife, he has not
given me one kind look or one kind word. Oh, Heaven !
what have I done, that I should suffer so ? My punishment is
greater than I can bear. If I did wrong in loving him as I
did, and listened with too credulous ears to his vows and prom-
ises, I have repented in tears and sorrowing. But this poor
ifcild, this innocent darling. Oh, turn its father's heart towards
it, and let its gentle influence bring the wanderer back."
"Drink, mamma, drink," the infant moaned, through its
parched lips, and making a feeble effort to raise its head.
" There, darling, there," said its mother, soothingly, giving
the poor little sufferer what it asked for. " Alas, the fever
does not abate. It is nearly time for me to give the medicine
the doctor ordered, and I must go to the village for it — yet there
is no one to remain here while I am gone. Nancy promised
to come before this. I wish she Avould hasten, for I dare not
leave the little angel alone."
As Lucy uttered these words she rose,, and leavings the era-
38 bunce's ten cent novels.
die, in which her child lay tossing restlessly, she went to the
door and looked out. But Nancy was not in sight. As she
passed a looking-glass which hung against the wall, she paused
for a moment, and surveyed her emaciated face.
" How pale I am ! The roses he used to praise so, have all
faded from my cheeks. The poor beauty which once attracted
him has passed away forever. If I should fall sick too, what
would become of my poor child ? Alas ! alas ! what shall I
do?"
As she resumed her place by the side of the cradle, a knock
was heard at the door. She rose at once and opened it, ho-
ping it might be her husband, but she was disappointed by
the sight of Lige Bates, who stood outside with a very deject-
ed expression upon his face.
" Good morn'n, Miss Dalton," said Lige, entering, hat in
hand, and holding out one of his rough paws in a friendly
way ; '' be you alone ?"
" Yes, Mr. Bates, I am alone."
" Don't call me Mister Bates ; call me Lige, or Lijah, if you
please. It sounds more kindly. Ye see, I've come to see you,
in the first place on my own hook ; cause Nancy and me felt-^-a
kinder anxious about you and the sick baby, and then when*E
was coming away, old Hiram Dalton, he thought he would
come too ; so we left Nancy, who said she had promised to
come over herself, to take care of the old lady, and me and
the old man come together across lots. He's outside yonder
now. He wouldn't come in 'till I had sort o' reconoitered
first, as he don't want to meet that pesky cuss — . I beg your
pardon. Ye see, the fact is, he don't care about seeing your
husband just now."
" Yes, yes ; I understand. Tell him to come in at once,
please. Tell him I am alone, and shall be so'happy to see him."
Lio-e went to the door and shouted to Hiram Dalton, who
BEOKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 39
I
was standing a short distance down the road, and who no
sooner heard his voice than he started on a round trot for
the house, the door of which he soon entered out of breath.
" This is kind of you," said Lucy, taking him by the hand,
and leading him to a seat. " Very kind."
" Bless 5'our pale face," said Hiram, kissing her on both
cheeks, and making her sit upon his lap. " I was so anxious
P' about you, that I could not stay away any longer."
" Thanks, thanks, you are ever good."
" Well, I 'spose," said Lige, moving towards the door, " I'd
better clear, hadn't I ?"
P " No ; stay, Lige," the old man replied, " you may be wanted."
" All right."
" And how is the little one ?" asked the old man. " Better,
I hope."
" No, no better. Worse, I fear. The poor darling suffers
dreadfully," she answered, going to the cradle. " She sleeps
now, but she will wake soon. She cannot sleep for pain."
" Poor little thing," said Hiram, leaning over the cradle, and
watching the child as it lay in a feverish sleep. " It looks
. very bad."
" I am afraid it will be taken from me," said Lucy, the tears
streaming down her cheek.
" Come, come," said Hiram, soothingly. *' You must not
cry, daughter ! You must not cry. Hope for the best. Don't
look at the black side of things. Your fears exaggerate the
danger. Have you a good doctor ?"
" I think so. He gives me hope, and seems to be kind and
skillful."
" Ah, there is a Doctor I wish you could get, but "
k " Oh, I will send for any one, you think '*
B l " Yes, but he is not here. He has gone to New York, and
will not be back for sometime."
40 bunce's ten cent novels.
" Oh, you mean Doctor Herbert ?"
" Yes, I wish he were here."
" I heard," said Lige, with a knowing look, that he would be
back to-day. But you would not know him he is changed so.
He used to be as glum as a disappointed politician, and looked
as miserable as a blighted squash ; but now, he's just as full of
fun as a sucking pig, and looks as happy as a pedlar arter a
good trade. He is going to be "
" Shut up," said old Hiram aside to Lige, and giving him a
poke in the ribs with his elbow, " AVhat do you want to be
blabbing that out for ?"
" Perhaps, when he returns, he will come in and see the
baby, and he and Doctor Parker might consult together," said
Lucy, anxiously.
" To be sure he will," said Hiram. " He has a heart as big
as all out-doors. He'd come if he broke his neck. But I
doubt his return very soon. He is gone to York on very im-
portant business. But if the child gets no better, we shall
have to try and get him here. Don't look so sad. The little
darling will get along without him, never fear. So don't be
frightened."
"I cannot think that Heaven will take from me the only
happiness and comfort I have left."
♦' No, no. Heaven is ever merciful. So cheer up. But I
must be going now. I only came to stay a moment."
" So soon I"
" Well, you see, Lucy, child, I have a sick patient at home,
myself. Poor Granny is very bad."
" Does she get no better ?"
" Xo, and never will I fear. The poor old woman has never
recovered from the shock of that dreadful day. The thought
of it never leaves her mind. I believe she mourns over it even
in her sleep. She loved that boy so. Her whole soul seemed
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 41
to be centered in him. She looked upon him as a model of
truth and goodness, and would have died to render him happy.
The knowledge of his wickedness fell upon her like a thunder-
bolt, and she has never held up her head since. Heigh ho !
her grey hairs will, I fear, be brought down with sorrow to the
grave."
" Alas !" exclaimed Lucy, " It was all my fault. Had I
not acted so wickedly, she might have still been happy. I
broke her heart, and robbed her of her darling child, and now
Heaven punishes me by taking mine. Would that I had died
when 1 lay in my cradle."
" Tush ! Tush ! Lucy. Don't talk that way. You were the
dupe of a wretched, heartless, disobedient, ungrateful son.
You sinned through your love and your blind faith in his truth.
Heaven has pardoned you, and your child will be spared, I
hope, to make its mother happy."
" But, but — " said Lucy — " even if it lives "
" Well, well, what more can you desire ? You have told mo
that Foster makes you happy. That he is good and kind, and
that you have nothing to complain of."
" I do not complain."
" Is it not true ? Does he not make you happy ?"
" Oh, yes, yes ; very — very happy."
" Well, then, you have no right to wish you had died in your
cradle. You ought to wish to live to make him happy in re-
turn. You are both young — life is all before you, and you
must be contented to take the evil with the good. Now were
it I — I might wish to be gone, for I have nothing left to live for."
" You forget your old mother."
" No, no ; 1 do not forget her. But her grief and mine is
one, and when I say I am alone," Hiram exclaimed mournfully,
"you forget, perhaps, that I still love ray poor, misguided,
wicked boy."
42 bunce's ten cent novels.
" But since our mamage he has been so much with you, he
has visited you often, and "
" He !" exclaimed the old man, rising from the chair into
which he had sank. " He ? He has not put his foot across the
threshold of my door, not even to see his poor old Granny !"
" How ? He has told me a hundred times in leaving the
house, that he was going to see you."
" Then he has lied !" cried the old man, angrily. " Lied ! He
has never been near me. But I don't care, I shall never ask
him. If it pleases him to remain away, it pleases me. If he
is proud, I am proud too, and I shall not run after him. We
shall see who holds out the longest."
" But," exclaimed Lucy, anxiously, " if he does not go to your
house, where does he stay so often and so long ?"
" I know not," answered Hiram, angrily, " I only know that
he has lied — for the mere sake of lying, I suppose. He loves
me no more, because I would not encourage him in his wicked-
ness ; because I opposed my will to his, and because I forced
him, as an act of simple duty, to give his child a name and
keep his oaths to you. Well, the worst has happened. He
cannot wound his poor old Granny's heart, or mine, more than
he has, and we must bear it all as best we may."
Lucy turned away. Her heaii; was full. She had comforted
herself with the idea that her husband, though he loved her
not, had not deceived her ; that he passed the time he spent
away from her, at home with his father, and now that the
dreadful truth broke upon her, she could no longer restrain her
feelings, and sitting by her sick child, she gave way to her teare.
The old man gazed upon her for a moment, and then shaking
his head and sighing, he went to her, and laying his hands
upon her shoulders, said,
'•' Lucy. Tell me the truth."
Slie looked up through her tears, and hesitated for a mo-
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 43
ment, ere she rose, and throwing herself into the ohl man's
arms, exclaimed, " He has deceived me ! He will break my
heart."
" Lucy !" said the old man, half reproachfully, " You, too,
you have deceived me. You have not spoken the truth, when
you said just now, your husband made you happy."
" Forgive me," she said. " Yes, I have deceived you, for I
would have deceived myself. But I can do so no longer. The
truth is too plain and I can no more resist it. I must tell you
all, though it kill me. You can understand, for you loved him
too, and know how he has wrung your heart. You will know
how he has wrung mine, when I tell you, tliat since the day I
became his wife, Foster has made me the most wretched of
women. Not a word, not a look of affection ; nothing but
indifference or anger."
'' The scoundrel !" exclaimed Hiram, striking his cane upon
the floor with energy. " The cold-hearted villain !"
" Say, old man," said Lige, who had stood by, an excited
looker-on ; " Say, Mr. Dalton, a good licking would do him
good. Just you let me have one chance at him, and I'll
knock a little goodness into him, or a deuced sight of badness
out of him."
'< Hush, Lige, hush !"
ft" Would that you had not forced him into this marriage. I
fear "
If" Go on, go on," interrupted the old man, " tell me all, all."
" You will believe that I am wretched, when I tell you that
for eight days together, he has remained away from me, with-
out my hearing anything of him, and that now, here before you
came in, I had been sitting, watching and weeping, over my
poor child, for two entire days and nights, without once seeing
him."
" This is dreadful. But I'll see about it. So far as I am
I
44 buxce's ten cent novels.
concerned, I would never have spoken to him again. So long
as his conduct affected only me. I should have remained si-
lent. I was resigned to his ingratitude, but since he is acting
thus, since he makes you the victim of his wicked nature, I
will see to it. Yes, yes, he shall find I have not forgotten the
duty of a father."
" No, no !" exclaimed Lucy. " You must not ! You do not
know the consequences of interfering with him. Foster is so
violent, and, then, besides, it would do no good. It would only
exasperate him."
*' Exasperate him ! I ought to cane him. It is no use to al-
low him to go o%in this way. It is wicked, and I will put a
stop to it. You cannot live so, Lucy."
*' But do not," Lucy went on, " do not interfere. Perhaps
in time he will change."
" He ? Never ! The scoundrel. He will go on from bad to
worse. God help me ! I never come here I do not have fresh
cause of unhappiness."
" It's a denied shame," exclaimed Lige, as he rocked the
cradle in a fearful manner, " Gol darn him ! I'd like to have the
doctoring of his case. Ef I wouldn't "
"Yes, yes, Lige," said Lucy. "I know you mean well
enough — but you must not speak so."
" I can't help it ! I feel as though I had a saw mill in my
head — and my fingers itch to git hold on him, the mean, cow-
ardly cuss. It's none o' my bisiness, but "
" Then shut up !" said the old man, walking up and do\vn.
" I can't shut up ! It makes me mad. It riles all the man there
is in me, to hear of a bullet-hearted, cowardly, sap-headed, card-
playing, jack-turning critter, like he is, abusing his wife — a
poor, mis'abul, milk-faced, slinky thing ; rich as you be, I tell
you I can't shut up — 1 feel as though I'd been apinted a com-
mittee of one to give him a rasping ! There. I've had my
BROKEN VOW, OK THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 45
say, and now go in ! I'm dumb — and all I've got to say further,
is, that I think, old man, you'd better keep your finger out o'
the pie, unless you make up your mind to lick him, or let me
do it for you. That will be the best way, and will save all
further trouble."
" No, no ! Elijah, you must not interfere. It woiUd be dread-
ful," said Lucy.
" Leave him to me !" exclaimed Hiram, " I won't budge, till
-isee him."
i™" Leave his punishment to God !" said Lucy, leaning over
the cradle. " My darling is awake again, see how her poor
little cheeks burn with this dreadful fever. And the medicine,
it is time to give it to her, and "
I" I'll git it. Where is it ?" asked Lige.
" Ah, I fear it is too late !" she exclaimed. " See, see, it
sps for breath ! Oh, God, my poor child is dying !"
" No, no," said Hiram, raising the child in his arms, " on the
contrary it looks better ; see, its little forehead is quite moist.
Give it a drink. It is better, I know it is !" and he gave the
child to its mother, and walked up and down, exclaiming :
" The hard-hearted wretch, to leave his child in a condition
like this ! Ah, he was a bad son, how could he be any thing
but a bad father ?"
As he uttered these words the door opened and Foster Dal-
ton entered the room.
His face bore marks of recent dissipation ; his dress was
slovenly, and his whole appearance was that of a reckless and
abandoned man.
He started on seeing his father, and then, recovering him-
self, he said, without a word of salutation :
" If you speak of me, you are blunt, to say the IcEist."
pr< So it is you at last, boy, is it ?"
" Yes, it is me," he replied, doggedly, sitting and lighting a
ar, which he smoked in a cool and nonchalant manner.
46 bunce's ten cent novels.
" Promise me you will not quarrel v/ith him," said Lucy in a
low voice, appealing- to the old man. " Do promise me."
"• AVell," said Hiram, with an efiPort at self-control, " if I do
not speak, I must go. I will not answer for myself if I remain.
Perhaps, now that I see him, it will be better for me to be si-
lent. I will go, and take another opportunity. Good-by,
daughter, ' he said, kissing her, " good-by, I will send Nancy
over to you." Then going to his son, he said, " Foster Dal-
ton !"
" Well, Sir !" exclaimed the young man, rising and looking
at his father in a defiant manner. " Well ?"
A burst of indignation was on the old man's lips, and he
was on the eve of giving vent to it, but an imploring look
from Lucy, checked him, and suppressing his anger, he said,
'• I would not smoke if I were you, your child will suffer from
it. Come, Lige, let us be gone."
** Hold on," exclaimed Lige. " Hold on a minute. I can't
go yet. I can't go till I have had my say ;" whereupon he
walked up to Foster, and doubling his fist, which looked
like an over-sized ham, and shaking it in the face of the young
man, he said, " See, here, Foster Dalton !"
" Well, Sir. What do you want ?"
. " What do I want ?" he repeated ; " I want to " but
'ere he could finish the sentence Lucy placed herself between
him and her husband, and Hiram taking him by the shoulders,
half-pushed, half-pulled him to the door.
" I'll attend to you some other time," he shouted, as he stood
upon the threshold. " What I've got to give you, won't be
none the worse for keeping," and shaking his fist in the air,
he allowed himself to be dragged away, muttering impreca-
tions both loud and deep.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 47
CHAPTER IV.
For some time after Hiram and Lige Bates had left the
lOuse, neither Lucy or her husband spoke a word. Foster
resumed his seat, and continued to smoke his cigar in silence,
then laying it down he rose and paced the room with unsteady
steps. At last Lucy placed the infant, whom she had hushed
once more to sleep, in its cradle, and turning to her hus-
band, said,
" You look tired and worried, dear. Is there anything you
want ? Shall I prepare something to eat for you ?"
" No. I need nothing. But you are mistaken, I am neither
fatigued or worried."
" But you look so pale, so "
" It is very likely."
'*' You are not sick ?"
" No. I am not. Is my paleness a crime ?"
" Crime ! no. But I feared "
" You need have no fears of me. I never was better in all
my life," said Foster, curtly, taking up a paper and glancing
over its contents.
There was silence again for some moments, and then Lucy
going to him and placing her hand upon his shoulder, said, " I
am so glad you have come home, Foster. I have been so anx-
ious for our child."
"Has not Doctor been here? He told me sh 3 was get-
ting better."
" Yes, but within the past two days, she has grown worse."
m " Is that my fault ?"
*' And I have been all alone, for two days I "
48 bunce's ten C'rxt novels.
" Well, I heard you. You need not repeat it. I know I
have been away for two days. What then ?"
" I feared, Foster, that our child might die, ai;d you away."
" Pshaw ! What was my father doing here ?" he asked,
removing her hand from his shoulder, and turning towards her
sharply.
" He merely stepped in to see me, as he passed."
*• And you were sj^eakiug of me, were you not ? I inter-
rupted a pleasant conversation, I fear."
" You know your father is one of the best of men."
" You ought to say nothing against him, at any rate. I sup-
pose I caught it, did I not ?"
" You heard the worst that he said, as you entered the room.
He said you had been — a — but "
" A bad son and must be a bad husband. Yes, I heard it.
You need not be ashamed to repeat it, if you could listen to it?"
" Do not be angry, Foster. You know he is hasty."
" And, I suppose, he told you I had not been to see him
since our marriage, did he not ? Well, he spoke the truth, I
have not. AVhat had I to do there ? I should have liked to
have seen the old lady, if I could have done so without seeing
him ; but why should I go to his house to hear nothing but re-
proaches or curses ? I don't fancy either."
" Why have you told me so often then, that you went there ?"
" Because — because," he said, hesitating at first, and then
with a reckless air, " because it suited my purpose. I might
as well tell you that as anything else. But what has he been
doing here for the past two hours. He has been saying some-
thing — and that low-lived lout, Lige Bates, too, — what was it ?"
" Nothing of moment ; besides, he has not been here more
than half an hour." ^
" Well, then, half an hour ; what did he say ?"
" Nothing bad of you."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 49
** Bad or good, lie shall come here no more," exclaimed Fos-
ter, rising angrily. " I won't have him here. You understand
me. Tell him so."
^* I cannot, Foster. Will not."
"Won't you? then I will, and plainly, too. I won't have
anybody interfering in my domestic affairs. No third party
has a right to do so. It always makes trouble. Let him mind
his own business. He has tampered too much with mine al-
ready. I suppose he has called me this, that, and the other, —
everything he could lay his tongue to — a scoundrel, a knave, a
wretch ! A villain — that is his favorite word — a villain !
What does he want ? He insisted upon our being married —
and we are married. He insisted that I should do you justice.
I have done you justice. I have done everything he wished.
What does he want more I
"Nothing, dear Foster, nothing! He has called you no-
names — he has said nothing, except "
" Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed Foster. '• Nothing bad — nothing
Ulcept compliments. Oh, yes. Do you take me for a fool ?"
" Oh, Foster, do not speak so. Pray do not. You make-
me shudder. You will kill me !" she exclaimed, falling into a
chair, and weeping bitterly.
" Bah !" he ejaculated. " Tears again ! Always tears !"
» " How can I restrain them ?"
i^i. Then you should not have married me. It is not a pru-
dent thing to fly in the face of Destiny, and Destiny did not
intend us for each other !"
Just as he finished speaking, the door opened, and old Peleg-
Biyce popped his villainous red head into the room. He was
uglier than ever, and as his quick eye seemed to perceive the
true state of affairs at a glance, it lit up with an expression
; which would have done justice to the fiend of discord.
Neither Lucy or her husband saw him at first, and it was
60 bunce's ten cent notels.
not until he spoke, that either of them became aware of his
presence,
" I hope I don't intrude," he whined, as be edged himself
into the room, through the smallest possible opening between
the door and the wall. " The door was open, and so I took
the liberty of coming in, just to see how you both were."
" We are both well, if it is any satisfaction to you to hear
it," said Foster, brusquely.
" Ha ! I am glad to hear it, very glad ; because I should not
have thought it by your looks. You look sort o' queer, both
of you."
" The baby is sick, you know, Peleg," said Lucy, " and that
makes us look anxious."
" Yes, yes. I suppose so. It can't be anything else, I am
sure. I just called upon my old friend and your father, Hiram
Dalton, but I saw no one but old Granny. He had gone out,
they said."
"Then you have missed him twice," said Foster, " for he has
just left here."
" What !" exclaimed Peleg, looking at Lucy. " Just left
here ?"
" Yes," answered Lucy. " He has just paid us a visit."
" Indeed ! What a pleasure it must have been to him to see
his two children, and find them so happy together. What a
comfort it must be to him. And how beautiful it is to think
that the loving father and son are once more united. And
what a comfort it must be to you both, eh ?"
" You forget that the dangerous illness of our child — " Lucy
began to say —
" Ah, it will get better ! It will be well soon, and happy,
too, like its father and mother. Everybody is happy now-a-
days. Even Mary Maythorne."
" Mary Maythorne !" muttered Foster Dalton, while a dark
cloud overshadowed his face.
« BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 51
I" Mary Maythorne," asked Lucy. " What of her ?"
[" Why, haven't you heard the news ? Yes, even Mary^
taythorne, poor thing, has found consolation, and forgotten
her first unhappy love in the arms of "
" Who ? Who ?" asked Foster, turning quickly round, and
speaking in an agitated manner,
" Why, can't you guess ?" said Pelcg, maliciously, rubbing
his ugly hands, and grinning like a hyena. " To a rich gentle-
man, from New York ; to a handsome, smart fellow, and is
going to live in a big house in the city, among grand folks."
" You don't mean to say." Foster interrupted, " that "
" Why are yon so agitated, Foster ?" asked Lucy. " This^
seems to interest you very much."
" Not at all, not at all — ^but I am curious."
" Why, who should she marry ?" Peleg continued. " WhO'
but the handsome groomsman at your first marriage. I say
first you know, because, it would have been, but for a little ac-
cident."
" Do you mean Creighton Herbert ?" asked Foster.
" To be sure. He was in love with her then, and this morn-
ing he came back suddenly from Now York, went right to her
house, and in half an hour afterwards, to the wonder of every-
body, they were married, as fast as parson Woodly could jine-
'em. They leave for the city this afternoon, as happy as two-
turtle doves. Oh, dear ! Oh, dear ! how strange things do>
come about, to be sure."
^^" Married, and to him !" exclaimed Foster to himself.
"** She could not have done better, you know ; and she is
so handsome, that rich as he is, he could not have found a
wife that would do him more credit, could he ?" asked old Pe-
leg with the malice of a demon.
t" I am glad of it, I am sure," said Lucy. "I hope she may
happy."
52 bunce's ten cent novels.
" Well," said Peleg, " I hardly know how it will turn out un-
der the circumstances. You see "
" You are right, Peleg — ^right !" said Foster. There is no
telling whether she will be happy or not." Then turning away,
he muttered to himself : " Married, and to him !"
" If Mr. Creighton Herbert," Peleg went on, " should hap-
pen to be a jealous man, well, then, there might^may-be, be
trouble, and she might be very miserable after all. 'Specially
if she didn't git over her first love before she took up with
the new."
" Bah, man !" exclaimed Foster, " she is rich. She will
live in New York, among the rich and gay. How can she be
otherwise than happy ?"
" Well, you see, you aint always sure, Mr. Foster."
Foster made no reply, but turning away, he took a seat in
a chair near the table, and seemed to be lost in sad reflections.
Lucy watched him for a moment or two, and then going to
where he sat, and standing by his side, she asked :
" Foster, of what are you thinking so geriously ?"
Foster looked up, and, with evident embarrassment, said :
" I — oh, nothing !"
" Oh, Mrs. Dalton," said Peleg, with his hon-id whine, " it is
very natural that he should be surprised, for after all it is a
strange thing, this marriage. Don't you remember, Foster
Dalton, what I said, when I told you that we are never sure of
anything until we've got it. I said," he went on whispering
in Foster ear, " that a marriage broken off, always left one
broken heart behind, eh ?"
'• I remenjber one thing, Peleg Bryce," said Foster angrily.
" And what is that ?"
" That you were always known for a meddlesome old fool,
and that you never fail of making yourself unpleasant and
disagreeable."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 53
" AVhat do you mean, Foster ? I'm sure "
" I mean that you are unwelcome — you and your news !"
" But I had no bad intentions "-
" Do not be angry with him, Foster," said Lucy. " He
means no harm."
" Then let him be quiet, if he would remain. I will not
listen to his taunts."
" As you please," whined Peleg. " ^s you please, Foster
Dalton. I sha'nt say another word, except to wish you good
day. I only stopped to see how you were, and I must go
home. I wish you joy — both of you — joy and happiness.
Good day !" and he wormed himself out of the room, mutter-
ing, as he gained the open air :
" Well, I have sown the seed. Now to wait for the fruit.
It will appear in good time."
As soon as Peleg had left the room, Lucy went up to her
husband, and looking him in the face, said :
" Foster Dalton, shall I tell you why you were so agitated
just now, when Peleg Bryce told you that Mary Maythorne
had married Creighton Herbert?"
*' What mean you ?''
" It was because you still love her, and because you are jeal
ous of her husband !"
" 0, you have no right to say so. Why should I be jealous
of him ?"
" You are ! I am sure of it !"
" You are mad."
" No, Foster, I am not mad. I was mad the day I believed
your false oaths of love to me, and dearly have I expiated my
folly. I see now the motive of your conduct, of your neglect,
of your abandonment, your indifference, and your crime. I
say crime ; for it is one, to betray a loving heart as you have
betrayed mine, without leaving it even the shadow of a hope.
Yes, this is a crime ; and you are guilty of it, '
54 bunce's ten cent novels.
"Lucy!"
" And I, who regret that wliich has taken place — I, who re-
pent this forced marriage — I, who have loved you with an un-
divided heart, who have sworn more than devotion, and have
sacrificed my every wish and hope to you — what is left to me ?
How have you treated me ? With insult and contempt ! But,
be it so. I do not regret that which I have done. I have but
demanded a right which was my due after all. A right which
^rou acceeded to me, and which I took — a small portion of
your existence for the whole of mine."
" Lucy !" he exclaimed, with a shout of rage. " Peace. I
Bay !"
*' I will not be peaceful ! I have no fear of you. I am
stronger than you ! What can you do more than you have
done ? There is no new torture you can inflict upon me !"
" Beware, Lucy, beware ! Tamper not with my wrath."
" You are right I" I should beware, for of what may not a
man be capable, who, as a son, has lied to his father, as a hus-
band, degraded his wife, and as a father, abandoned and neg-
lected his child ?"
" Silence !" he shouted, raising his hand and making a
movement towards her.
" Kill me !" she exclaimed. " Kill, but I will not be silent I
Though I die, I will die with the truth upon my lips !"
" Hold !" he cried, still threatening her. " I warn you. Re-
tract that which you have said, or you have destroyed the only
scruple which has bound me here. This hour I leave you,
never, never to return to you again !"
" What !" she exclaimed. " No, no. You will drive me
mad. Do not go ! I beg your forgiveness for all that I have
said. Oh, Foster, listen to me. If there remains yet, in some
corner of your heart, one thought of love for me, let it plead
for me now. If every spark of affection has not died out in
f
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 55
your soul, if you can but conjure up one kindly thought of me,
left in the world alone, listen ! Leave me not, for pity ! I
shall die if you go from me. I love you. I have spoken only
from my love ; because I am jealous — yes, jealous of this
woman ! Because I could not endure the agony which preyed
upon me. Oh, I alone am to blame ! With me lies all the
fault ! Speak to me, Foster. Husband ! Do not turn away
from me, as if I inspired you with hate. Listen to me 1 See.
I am on my knees, supplicating one word of pardon, but one
look of love !"
He stood immovable as a statae, while she knelt there in
tears.
A cry of pain from the little one in the cradle, brought her
to her feet, as she exclaimed :
'* My child, my darling !" and rushing to the cradle, she togk
the infant in her arms. " See how pale she is," she cried.
" Ah ! she is dying even now, perhaps, and you stand there
like a stone, a block — without a word of consolation !"
'' What shall I do," he asked. " AVhat can I do ?"
" Do ? Oh, I am mad. The medicine. I must get it. Yes,
yes — but where is the pre-scription ? I have it. Remain here
till I return. Oh, God ! if she should die 'ere I get back."
And Lucy rushed from the house, leaving Foster Dalton
alone with his child.
For a few moments he walked up and down, a prey to varied
feelings of anger and remorse. Stopping for a moment beside
the cradle where the little sufferer lay tossing restlessly, he
gazed upon it, and a dark shadow veiled his face.
" What if I should dash its brains out against the wall !" he
muttered. " Perhaps it would be the kindest thing I could do
after all." Then sitting in a chair by the table, and letting his
chin rest upon his breast, he remained for some time in deep
thought.
56 bunce's ten cbnt novels.
" Well, well," at last lie muttered. " Poor Lucy, slie said
some hard things to me, but she is right, after all She must
be very unhappy. But is it my fault ? Am I to blame if I
cannot love her ? Is it my fault if I -cannot tear the love of
Mary from my heart, this love upon which T built all my future
life? Yes, dear Mary, you would have v/ooed me back to
virtue, you would have reclaimed me from my evil ways, and
you were snatched from me. They tore thee from my side,
but they could not tear thy image from ray heart. And now,
now, you are anothers ! Another has taken the place which
Miouldhave been mine, and Lucy was right, when she said that
I was jealous. I am ! Peleg said they were going to New
York — well, I will go there. I will see her. Yes, yes, I will
leave to-morrow — to-day, this very hour. I will see her ! I
■cannot resist the impulse ! I know not what I shall do, but
Bee her I must, and will. But Lucy, what will become of her ?
No matter w^hat."
Again he gave himself up to reflection, and after a few mo-
ments he drew nearer to the table, and while his compressed
•lip bespoke the determination of his heart, he seized a pen and
wrote in a hasty, nervous manner, as follows :
" Lucy, — I have gone. Do not seek for me, it will be use-
lees ; I shalt never return "
Then, after a moment or two, he exclaimed : " No, no ; I
<cannot do it ; I cannot tell her the dreadful truth ;" and he
tore the letter into fragments and cast it away. Seizing the
pen again, he wrote :
" Lucy, — I have gone ! Do not seek for me, I am very un-
happy. Foster Dalton."
He put it in an envelope, sealed and directed it, and then,
hurrying his face in his hands, burst into tears.
As he sat thus overwhelmed by his emotions, the door softly
opened, and a good natured face, lit up by a pair of bright,
BROKEN TOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 57
miscliievous eyes, peeped in, and the next instant the comely
face of Nancy Peabody was in the room. AVithout seeing
Foster she called out, " Lucy ! Lucy ! Gracious sakes where
be ye ? Be ye deaf, or what ?"' then looking round hastily,
she exclaimed, " What ! not to hum ? Hello, Mr. Foster, be
ye keeping house ?"
" Yes, for the present. Lucy has gone out for a moment or
two."
" Well, you see, I promised to trot round and help her do up
her chores and things, and here I be. Where's she gone ?"
'• To the village for medicine. Is the child asleep ?"
" No," said Nancy, going to the cradle, " it's a squirming
round like every thing !"
" Well, well, Lucy will soon return, she will bring something
to quiet it. Remain here, I must go out too. Stay ! When
Lucy comes in, give her this note. It is a prescription. Give
it to her as soon as she comes in. Do not forget it."
He handed Nancy the note which he had written and turn-
ed to leave the house. But ere he reached the door, he stop-
ped, and rushing back, seized the infant in his arms, kissed it,
replaced it in its cradle, and, without uttering a word, left the
house.
" Well, Wijat on airtli is the matter with him ?" exclaimed
Nancy, as she busied herself about the room. " He seems to
be in a bad way. What in creation made him act so, I wonder ?
He looked as pale as a ghost, and shook like a rag in a gale.
'Skeered about the child, I 'spose. 'Fraid it's goin' to die.
Well, I am blamed if I thought he had as much heart into
him. Where can Lucy be stayin' I wonder ? Poor little critter,
it's orful sick. Looks as slim as a match. Well, I'm concerned
if some folks don't move like snails," she exclaimed, as she
went to the door, and looked out for the twentieth time in the
course of a quarter of an hour, " Ha ! here she comes, down
the road."
58 BUNCE's TEX CENT NOVELS.
In a moment or two, poor Lucy, pale, out of breath, and
bathed in tears, rushed in, and without seeing Nancy, went to
the cradle, and falling on her knees by the side of her child,
she scanned its pale face anxiously, and exclaimed, " Thank
Heaven, I have arrived in time !" Then rising, she poured
some of the medicine into a spoon and taking the child into
her arras, she murmured :
" Oh, merciful and pitying father, spare my child ! Spare
my poor sick baby !"
" Foster, Foster ! Look ! Do you think it grows worse ?■"
Then glancing round and seeing he was not there, she exclaim-
ed, " What, gone ? Not here ! Where can he be ?"
" Well, I don't know where he is," said Nancy: coming for-
ward, " but he went just as soon as I came in."
" You here, Nancy ! How kind, how good of you."
" Yes," said Nancy. " I thought I would just run over to
see if I could be of any use. Foster went away as soon as I
came, and left this here note for you, and told me to give it to
you as soon as you came."
Lucy took the note, and after turning it over in her hands
once or twice, was about to open it, when all at once, a dread
fear seized her. A horror of g'omething dreadful ; a presenti-
ment of some impending sorrow took possession of her, and
she murmured, " No, no ! I dare not open it ! I am sure
there are some evil words in it, which I dare not read."
" What's the use of being 'skeered at a note ?" exclaimed
Nancy. " It can't bite. He said it was a prescription. You'd
better open it and see."
Thus urged, Lucy tore open the envelope and read the fatal
announcement. As she did so, her face turned deadly pale. A
violent tremor shook her frame, then, uttering a piercing cry,
the agonized expression of a grief-stricken heart — she fell back
inanimate in her chair.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 59
CHAPTER T.
With the reader's permission, we will now change the
scene to the city of New York, and enter the drawing-room
of one of the most magnificent houses in one of the most fashion-
able streets of the metropolis. The apartment, or rather se-
ries of apartmeiits, is furnished sumptuously, yet with a chaste
elegance which cannot fail of pleasing the most exacting
taste, and around the walls and scattered about the room, are
pictures and objects of art, which bespeak the refined culture
of the wealthy owner. All that can please the eye or minis-
ter to the gratification of the senses, is gathered there, and
nothing is wanting to complete a picture of luxury, refinement,
and cultivation.
Pacing up and down, with quick and nervous strides, is a
young and handsome man, whose contracted brow and troubled
look, as well as the half-uttered ejaculations which occasion-
ally escape him, bespeak the presence of some great grief, of
strong, though partially suppressed emotion.
He pauses occasionally before the picture of a beautiful
woman which hangs upon the wall, at the side of the room,
and gazes upon it with an expression full of affection, shadow-
ed by a vague and anxious doubt ; then resuming his walk up
and down the room, he mutters to himself :
*' Would I were satisfied ! Oh, that I could shut this dread-
ful fear out of my heart and rest contented in my confidence
forever more. She loves him still 1 She does, she must !
although she has given me her hand and permitted me to call
her by the sacred name of wife, something whispers me her
heart is not mine. That look of regret which sometimes steals
over her lovely face, those sighs which escape her, involunta-
60 buxce's ten cent novels.
rily, even in her happiest seeming moments, and the restraint
which is evident in her manu«r when I press her for the cause,
all confirm my sad suspicion. Can she be false to me ? Oh,
God ! the very thought will drive me mad."
He was interrupted by a knock at the door, and a servant
entered, bearing a dirty, carelessly folded note, upon a silver
salver.
" If you please, Mr. Herbert," said the domestic, approach-
ing, " a man just left this note at the door, and said I was to
give it to you immediately."
Creighton Herbert, for it was he, took the note, and after
dismissing the servant, he broke the envelope and read it, as
follows :
" Mr. C. Herbert — 8i7' : An old friend, who is anxious to
do you a kindness, and impart some information which may
be of the greatest service to you, will be on the Ramble in
the Central Park, this afternoon, at tli7^ee o'clock. Do not
fail to come, as what I have to say, concerns your honor, as
well as your happiness. Feleg Bryce."
" Peleg Bryce !" exclaimed Herbert*. " Peleg Bryce ! What
is he doing here, and what information can he have to impart
to me ? I will not go ! But stay !" he exclaimed, looking
over the note once more. '' He says, that what he has to com-
municate, concerns my honor, as well as my happiness. What
can he mean ? Is it possible that he has something to relate
which will confirm the dreadful suspicions which prey upon
my peace ? No, no. It cannot be. And yet, it may be pos-
sible, and if he should have it in his power to give me infor-
mation, should I not listen to it, and thus end this torturing
suspense ? I will go ! Yes, I will go !" he exclaimed again,
pacing the room. " Three o'clock;" he murmured, shortly, " it
is near the hour. I will start at once," and ringing the bell,
he ordered the servant to inform Mrs. Herbert that he was
going out, and might not return till late, and left the house.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 61
It was a beautiful afternoon, and as Oreighton Herbert
stepped from the carriage on the summit of the Central Park,
and gazed around him, the sight which met his eye, would
have charmed him by its loveliness, were he not absorbed by
the dark and tempestuous thoughts which agitated him.
In the distance lay the great city, with its spires and cupo-
las glittering in the summer sun, and the rumble of the ten
thousand v/heels, which rolled over its paved streets, fell upon
the ear with a dull monotonous sound. Nearer, the workmen
were busy upon the yet unfinished grounds, and close at hand,
and all around, throngs of gaily dressed and happy looking
people, gave animation and cheerfulness to the scene. Chil-
dren were rushing here and there and playing at hide-and-seek
among " the shaded walks and alleys green," and everything
combined to make the place one wliere those who sought en-
joyment and repose from the turmoil and bustle of the city
might find it.
Creighton Herbert v/andered amid the throng without think-
ing of the beauties of the place. He sought alone the man
whose words might blight his hopes and render him a wretch-
ed being for evermore. After seeking for him. in vaia for som,e
time, he took his place near the summit of the Ramble, and
waited the appearance of old Peleg.
Within a few feet of where he sat, but hidden from his sight
by a turn in the path, sat a man, still youthful, but upon whose
face dissipation and vice had already stamped premature wrin-
kles. He was pale, and his clothes, which had been originally
stylish in pattern and make, were soiled and in rags. His hat
was crushed over his face, and he seemed to have fallen asleep,
either from fatigue or from the effects of a late debauch. The
passers by looked upon him with feelings of pity and disgust,
^but none spoke to him or disturbed him in his deep shimber.
B As Creighton Herbert sat waiting for the appearance of
62 bunce's ten cent novels.
Peleg Bryce, hiS impatience manifested itself in various ways,
and once he felt inclined to go away without listening to the
promised revelation. But after a moment or two he resumed
his seat, thinking, *' No ! spite of every thing I will hear what
he has to say ! I must, for I fear the worst. Mary has known
this man ; was betrothed to him ; loved him ; stood by his side
to wed him. How can she love me, or why should she not
Btill love him ? That she has not forgotten him, I feel assured,
and she married me, perhaps, through interest rather than
from love. Would I were satisfied ! Oh that I knew the
worst, dreadful though the certainty of her falsehood would
be."
He took out his watch ; the hands pointed to the hour of
three, and as he replaced it in his pocket, Peleg Bryce ap-
proached him.
There was no difference in his appearance, save that he was
a little more carefully dressed than when in the country, but
the same wicked, mischievous expression was upon his face,
and he looked uglier than ever by contrast with the faces by
which he was surrounded,
" Well, Mr. Herbert, you see I am here punctual to the
hour. See," he went on, lugging out a silver watch, large and
heavy enough to serve as a weapon, " three to a second. Bujt
you are more punctual than I, for you have been waiting.
Well, well, I don't wonder. You are anxious."
'' What do you want with me, Mr. Bryce ?" asked Herbert,
as the whining hypocrite took a seat by his side. " What in-
formation have you to impart to me ?"
" Don't be so impatient, Mr. Herbert ; all in good time, you
know. Let me see. It is a lonp- while since I had the pleas-
ure of seeing you. But yon are looking well ; a little care-
worn, perhaps, but well — very well, considering."
**yes, yes, I am well," said Herbert, impatiently. " But — "
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 63
" It is six months, this very day, since you were married.
How time flies, to be sure ! I am right, aint I ? It is six
months to a day."
"It is," answered Herbert, with a sigh.
" Yes, my memory is good. Well, on the day you were
married ; yes, on the very day, I called upon Foster Dalton
and found him in the midst of a dispute with his wife. His
poor little wife, that his father forced him to marry. I knew
it would end in trouble. Yes, yes ; and I told him so."
" Well, well."
" Oh, it was dreadful, the way he treated her. He used to
stay away whole weeks together, and when he did go near her,
it was only to abuse her. You see he did not love her. He
loved his first intended, Mary Maythorne. He never got over
the breaking off of his marriage with her."
** Are you sure of that ?"
" Listen, and judge for yourself. Well, as I was saying, on
the day you took everybody by surj^rise by marrying Mary
Maythorne, I called at Foster's house and told him and his
wife all about it. He heard it as he would have heard his
death warrant."
" Indeed !" exclaimed Herbert. " Go on !"
" He turned pale, and sank into a chair, as if he had been
shot, and then abused me, and ordered me out of the house for
telling him of it. Well, that very day, he left his poor heart-
broken wife and sick baby — who came very near dying, but is
well now — he left them both and came to New York on the
same day that you and your wife came here, and what is more,
has been here ever since. Now, when you put this and
this together," Peleg went on, chuckling inwardly, and rub
biiig his hands, •' when you remember that your wife was Ids
intended wife, and how she took on when the marriage was
broken off, and how he was most killed when he heard that she
64 BUNCE'S ten CENt NOVELS.
had married you, and liow he left and followed her on to New
York that very day, why "
" No more, no more," exclaimed Herbert, rising. " Are you
sure of this — sure that he is here ?"
" Am I sure ? It's hard to fool old Peleg Bryce, I can tell you.
Sure ? As sure as I have eyes and ears, for I have seen him and
heard him speak. Now, Mr. Herbert, or Doctor Herbert — I
'spose I otight to say. TJnderstaird me — I don't want to make
any fuss, you know, or make you jealous ; but Foster Dalton
is capable of everything, and though I do not say a word
against your wife — because I don't know that she has seen
him — still you know I thought it would be as well for you to
be on the look out, for women folks is strange critters, some-
times. I should be drefful miserable if any thing should be
wrong, and so "
" Do you know whether this man has seen my wife ?"
" No. I tell you, I don't. But I believe he came here for
that purpose. You may judge of the man by what he has
done. Why should he abandon his wife and child, or why "
" Say no more," said Herbert turning away his face, to
hide the strong feelings which his looks betrayed. " Say no
more !" Then he thought, " Can this man have some sinister
object in thus filling my mind with suspicion ? He once of-
fered himself to Mary, and she refused him for Foster Dal-
ton "
" Peleg Brj'ce," he said once more turning towards him,
" tell me frankly, what motive are you serving in this matter,
and why have you sought me for the purpose of relating these
things ?"
" With what object ? Why ?" answered Peleg, " Because
I love honesty and despise treachery. I don't take any pleas-
ure in making you uneasy in your mind. But you are a good
honest man, and it aint right you should be abused. I wanted
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 65
to do you a good turn, and I hope you will take the will for
the deed. When you have need of me or of my eyes and
ears, you can send for me again. I am going to stay in York
awhile. I am tired of living about home. Folks around
there don't kind o' like me, and I thought I'd come down to
York for a change of scene, and to ses the sights."
" He seems honest," thought Herbert. " I do not know why
I should suspect his motives. But I will not act too precipi-
tately. I will watch and learn more. Oh, God, should she
have deceived me all this time !" Then turning to Peleg, he
said, " I am obliged to you, and will ask you to keep your eye
upon this man. When you learn anything more of him or of
his movements, let me know, and — but I must leave you now.'*
" Well, I won't press you to stay," said Peleg, holding out
his hand, which Herbert took mechanically in his. " Remem-
ber what I have said, and think over it. Women are smart,
you know, and I will keep my eyes open, too, and let you know
when I hear or see anything."
" Well, well. Good-bye, now," said Herbert. " But stay,"
he said, taking out his purse, " I cannot ask you to remain
here at your own expense to serve me. " Let me "
" Not a cent, Mr. Herbert. Not a cent. Sir. Peleg Bryce
has got more money than he'll ever live to spend — 1 don't do
this for pay."
" As you please. Adieu." And Creighton Herbert walked
away, a prey to the most poignant feelings of fear and distrust.
While this conversation was taking place between Peleg
and Herbert, a man dressed in a gay and rather flashy manner,
Jiad passed and repassed them several times, and as Herbert
^w^ent away, he followed him at a distance, and watched him
until he entered the carriage and was driven off; then, return-
ing, he paused in front of the man who sat asleep, and after
atisfying himself that he still slumbered, he strolled off and
66 bunce's ten cent novels.
lighting a cigar, leaned against one of the benches and watch-
ed the passers by, with a dull, languid air.
Left to himself, old Peleg Bryce wandered up and down the
path, rubbing his hands and smiling at his thoughts, which
must have been wicked, or they would not have pleased him.
" A pretty good day's work," he muttered, as he turned his
steps towards home, " a pretty good day's work ! I have done
Mr. Herbert a favor, and paid two debts together. Pretty
Mary will be no happier for what her husband knows, and Mr.
Foster Dalton will be foiled at any rate. Ha ! ha ! You de-
spised me, rejected me, but after all, perhaps, you'll find, my
good girl, that you would have been quite as well off as the wife
of old Peleg !"
As he walked on and was about turning the corner of a path,
a young countryman, who was gaping about, approached him
from a side path, and speaking behind him, asked :
" I say. Mister, won't you tell a feller where the cave is ?"
Old Peleg turned round and found himself standing face to
face with Lige Bates.
The astonishment written in both their faces evidenced their
mutual surprise at the unexpected meeting.
Lige was the first to speak.
" Git eout !" he exclaimed, taking a step back, and surveying
Peleg from head to foot. " You dont mean to say it's you,
you derned old red wolf?"
" The devil take him," thought Peleg, but he held out his
hand, saying : " Well, who would have thought of seeing you
Lige Bates ? Why what has brought you to York ?"
" Well, I reckon that is my business," replied Lige, declining
the proffered hand. I recon I aint responsible to you for my
comings and goings, be I ?"
" Well, you needn't be so short. You are not the first smart
young man who came to the city to find out he was a fool !" said
Peleg, with a sneer.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 67
" Well, what are you doin' here, if 't comes to that. No
good, I'll bet a fo 'pence ?"
" As you say to me, that is my business, Lige. Don't you
mix yourself with my affairs."
" Well, I caliate," responded Lige, putting his hands in his
pocket, and looking Peleg steadily in the face, " that will de-
pend on circumstances. I kind o' allow, that if you are dab-
blin' in certain matters, you'll find me pretty close on your
heels the hull time. Kind o' 'pears to me, that a sort o' special
providence chucked you in my way, any how."
" What do you mean by that ?"
" Well, I mean a heap ! Gol darn that viperous looking
face of your 'n, it sets my blood to bilen' all over, and if I don't
tell you what's into my mind, I shall bust. I've been a hank-
ering to spit it out for a long time, and I reckon I'll improve
the occasion, as parson Woodly says. You know I don't like
you, Peleg. I recon you aint surprised at that, for there
ain't many that does. You're a deuced treacherous, two-faced,
pisonous, mischievous old cuss ! I know you, and what you
have done, and being so well posted in you, I'm going to keep
my eye skinned for you all the time."
" What do you mean ?"
" Well, you'll find out if you live long enough. I owe you
one for all the mischief you've done in the Dalton family. Oh,
you needn't look so black. I kin catologue your works !" Lige
exclaimed, as Peleg moved away, and following him up closely.
*' I know all you've done ! You was mad because Mary May-
thorne wouldn't have you, and ever since. you've made nothing
but mischief. You made Foster Dalton run away. You set
him on and stirred up the devil in him. I've heered on it, and
you're a followin' him up now, for some ornery reason or an-
other !"
They were standing just opposite to the man who sat sleep-
68 bunce's ten cent novels.
ing on the bench, and as Lige uttered these last words, the
sleeper awoke, and rubbing his eyes, looked wildly about him,
while Lige went on without seeing him.
" What on earth would she have done with you ? Do you
suppose, if I had been a young girl, I wouldn't a thousand
times rather have married Foster Dalton than you, you derued
old red rhinoceros ?"
The man, who had been asleep, half rose, here, as if he
would have slunk away, but seemed to change his mind, for
he sat down again and pulled his hat further over his brow>
and folding his arms, remained motionless.
" Bah !" ejaculated Peleg. " Tou snarl like a dog. But
barking dogs never bite. What do you mean by quarreling
with me in this way ?"
"Can't you understand? Lucy has let me into all your
tricks, both before her marriage and after. She has told the
secret to me, but I aint afraid to tell it to you, 'cause I know
you'll keep it."
" Peace, fo<A !" cried Peleg. Peace, I say ! I won't bear
this ! I won't listen to you ! I'll choke you !"
" You can't help yourself. I aint afraid of you. If I am a
barking dog, I aint skeered of a hissing snake '"
" If you go on you'll see," exclaimed Peleg, almost beside
himself with rage.
" See ? See what? You can't skeer any body. You were
the cause of breaking off Mary Maythorne's marriage because
she rejected you, and you threw Lucy Thornton in the way of
Foster Dalton, and plotted her ruin and his villainy."
" It's a lie !" exclaimed Peleg, trembling with rage. " It's
a lie !" and raising his cane, he advanced to strike Lige, who
stood ready to spring upon him. But just as the cane was
about to descend, the man whom we have spoken of, started to
his feet and threw himself between the two beligerants, ex-
claiming, " Hold !"
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 69
Both Lig-e and Peleg - started back in friglit and astonish-
ment, for there, between them, pale, emaciated, in dirt and
rags, stood Foster Dalton.
" Foster Dalton !"' they exclaimed together, when the first
shock of surprise had passed away.
Foster looked first at one, and then- at the other for a mo-
ment, then in a hoarse, husky voice, said : " Peleg Bryce, all
that this honest fellow has said is true, and you know that it
is ! You dare not deny it before me. Many a time have I
thought to pay you for the treacherous part you have acted
towards me. I know you for a cogging, malicious, designing
scoundrel, and new that we meet here — now that I am so lost
and degraded that I can no longer disgrace myself by a quar-
rel with you, I intend to punish you. Yes, you white hearted
craven, your time has come !" and, with a sudden spring, he
leaped forward and seized Peleg by the throat.
But with the exertion his strength deserted him, his grasp
relaxed, and he fell forward to the earth.
"You would not kill old Peleg would you?" Bryce exclaim-
ed, as he stepped aside.
" Kill you ? aye ! if my strength had not failed me," said
Foster, as Lige picked him from the ground and supported
him to the bench upon which he had been sleeping. " I would
• " but e're he could finish the sentence, he fainted, and fell
fell back senseless.
" Why, Foster ! Foster Dalton !" exclaimed Lige, " what's
the matter? Sake's alive, he's fainted!"
" I wish he was killed," muttered Peleg. Then, as a num-
ber of people began to gather round, he cast a malicious gaze
upon Foster, and mixing with the crowd, soon disappeared.
By the aid of one or two kindly persons, Lige succeeded in
restoring Foster to consciousness. He no sooner recovered
his senses, than raising himself and looking round, he asked,
" Where is he ? Where has he gone ?"
I
70 bunce's ten cent novels.
" Oh, he's sneaked off, like a mean cuss, as he is !" answered
Lige, " and I'm glad of it. He aint worth killing, anyhow.
But how do you feel .? Better ?"
" Yes, better, better. A vertigo seized me. But how is it
I find you in New York ?"
" Oh, me ?" said Lige, evidently much embarrassed by the
question. " Well, I tho't I'd just run down for a day or two.
Harvest is over, and it was kind o' dull, and as I'd never been
to York, I cal'iated I'd take a little mite of a trip. But you,'
you, Foster. How is it I see you in such a fix as this ? I
recon things don't go very peart with you, do they ?"
*• Alas, no !"
" Are you contented ? Be you hapyy ?"
" How can I be happy again on earth ?" exclaimed Foster."
'* But leave me Lige, I am better. I do not reqiure your as-
sistance any more."
" But have you no questions to ax about "
" Whom ?" asked Foster, interrupting him.
" Well, of the— the folks ?"
" What of them ?"
*• She is very wretched "
" And so am I."
" He's as tough about the gizzard as ever," thought Lige.
" Are you not cold ?" asked Foster, shivering. " I am."
" Cold ? Why it's as hot as pepper. I'm perspiring like
an ox."
" I am cold even to my marrow !"
" Poor cuss, he's sick, I recon," Lige thought to himself.
" But it's no use for me to stop talking to him here. I'd bet-
ter run and tell the old man and Lucy all about it. I'll find
out where he lives first if I can, though. Well, I've got to
clear," he said, aloud. " But I'd like to see you again. Where
do you hang eout ?"
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 71
" I have no lodging place. Here ! the streets — ^they are my
home now !"
" I don't believe it," thought Lige. '' But I'll keep on the
look out for him. The old man has a clue to his place any
how." " Well," he said, aloud, " I live in Bowery street, No.
866, up three pair of stairs, room No. 25, if you want to see
me, you kin hear of me there, if I aint to hum. If I can
help you, let me know. You aint got no message nor nothing,
have you ?"
" No, but stop ! Here !" and he wrote something with an
unsteady hand on a piece of dirty paper, which he took from
his pocket. " If you do not hear from me within three days,
look for me in the place I have indicated, and now leave me."
" Well, good-bye," said Lige, putting the paper in a large
yellow wallet, with as many straps to it as you would find in a
double harness. " Good-bye, 111 see you again."
Foster made no reply — and Lige, after giving him a look of
commisseration and shaking his head mournfully — turned on
his heel, and made the best of his way towards the city.
" How weak I am," muttered Foster, still sitting on the
bench where we found him. " Curse on my shattered nerves I
A moment since, I held my evil genus, the curse of my life,
by the throat, and he escaped from my grasp ! It was he who
has been the cause of all my misery. I would have choked
the life out of his pestiferous carcase, had I but one-half the
strength I used to have. But my rage rendered me powerless.
No wonder ! I have eaten , nothing in three days, and I am
starving. Yes, starving, dying, I fear. But why fear it?
What is there left for me but to die, and the means are ready ?
A little courage, and all will be over !"
He sat a moment in deep thought, and then compressing
his lips, with an expression of desperate determination, he
took a pistol from his breast, and cocking it, raised it partially
72 bunce's ten cent novels.
to his mouth : but midway, his hand paused, and then fell by
his side.
" Why should I fear ?" he muttered. " I am poor, weak,
and wretched. In six mouths I- have squandered everything
— not a penny is left to me in the world, not a friend — oh,
Mary, Mary — ^you are the cause of all ! But for this fatal
passion — 1 cannot die without seeing you. I will wait one
day longer, and then all will be over." Keplacing Che pistol
in his breast, he continued to reflect, in silence, and in the
meantime, the man who had followed Creighton Herbert to
his carriage, and who had watched Foster Dalton as he slept,
had advanced silently to within a few paces, and stood watch-
ing him. As Foster put away the pistol, a look of satisfac-
tion stole over his face, and walking stealthily towards him,
he placed his hand gently upon his shoulder.
Foster started at the touch, and rising, confronted the new
comer.
" Well, tempter !" he exclaimed, " have you not abandoned
me yet ?"
" No," responded the man. " Eight days ago, just about
this hour, I saw you sitting before the green cloth of the Faro
table. You played like a madman, blindly, recklessly, and you
lost your last dollar. Ever since you have been flat broke —
entirely without resources, no money, nor friends, I doubt
whether you have had enough to buy your food."
" Well, I have not begged of you, Wharton, have I ? I have
not whined."
" No," answered the man, '* not to me. But you were going
to blow your brains out, just now, because you have not the
means of going to the gambling-table once more."
" You are mistaken, Wharton, I play no more. Would play
no more, if I had millions. I have played — ^it has been my
passion, my ruin. I played not to win, but to distract my
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 73
thoughts. I hoped one passion would drive out another. I
tried it. It failed, and there is an end of it."
" I do not understand you," said the man whom Foster had
called Wharton. " Just now you were going to raise your
hand against your own life. That was folly. I was glad to
see you thought better of it. Don't give way to such weak-
ness again. Why should you die ? Eather commence a new
existence. It is easy, if you will follow my advice, and take
advantage of the means I offer you."
" I will not listen to you. Leave me !"
" You are ungenerous, Dalton, to refuse the kind offers of a
friend."
" You my friend, you ! Do you take me for a fool ?"
'* Certainly, I am your friend. Did I not take you by the
hand, when you first arrived in the city ? Was I not your
guide and counsellor ? Did I not introduce you to the gay
world, to all the charms and pleasing dissipations of the town ?'^
" Yes, and to my present misery and degradation."
" You are ungrateful."
" Again, I say, leave me, Wharton. I will not hear you.
You would tempt me to greater disgrace, to deeper ruin !"
" Pshaw ! man, don't be a coward. Come, follow the road I
point out ! You know what it is, and to what it will lead..
There is not one chance in a hundred against you. I have
given you the idea, execute it. I will be the head, and youi
(he arm of our enterprise."
\ " What is it you wish me to do ?"
I " It is very simple ; it is only to demonstrate to a man whom
' met here this very afternoon, and whom I will point out ta
you, that the goods of this world are unequally distributed,
ad that you should possess a share of what he has."
" But this is robbery. Theft !"
" Mere words ! The man who takes a kingdom is a hero ;
e man who takes a purse is a thief."
74 bunce's ten cent novels.
" I will have nothiug to do with it ; I refuse now and for-
ever. Leave me !"
" As you please. I needed help, you needed money. I thought
we could strike a bargain. If you refuse, so much the worse
for you, and I must look somewhere else. You prefer to starve.
Well, each to his taste, and I bow with profound respect to
your exhalted honesty. I am sorry for you, however. Good
day !" and the man walked off.
For a moment Foster stood hesitating, then, as if impelled
by some new impulse, he called out :
"Ho! Wharton— a word !"
" Have you changed your mind ?" asked Wharton, returning
to him, " I thought you would not play the child."
" I have not accepted yet."
" No, but you will. Come, let us go away together, and dis-
cuss the matter over a good supper. That will put a little
pluck in you. Then, if you agree to seize the prize Fortune
holds out to you, meet me at midnight, on the corner of Twen-
ty-fourth street and Madison avenue, and I'll show you a way
to live like a prince for a year to come. Come !" and, without
a word, Foster allowed him to lead him away.
They went a short distance towards the summit of the Park
where Wharton summoned the driver of a coach that stood
near, the door of which being opened, he pushed Foster in, and
following himself, gave the driver his directions, and in a few
moments they were on their way to the city.
'',' h
4
J
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 75
CHAPTER YL
On the evening of the day, next to that upon which the
events described in the last chapter took place, Creighton
Herbert sat alone in a small apartment of his elegant house.
It was the one usually occupied by his wife during the day,
and being situated at the back of the building, was retired
and quiet. The furniture, though costly, was plain, and the
place bespoke the presence of a woman who preferred comfort
to show. At one end of the room stood a toilet, before a
large mirror, beside which, a window extended nearly to the
floor. A door on one side led into the principal hall, and an-
other opened into a sleeping apartment.
Herbert occupied a large, easy chair, in the centre of the
room, and sat rocking himself unquietly to and fro. At last he
rose and rung the bell. A waiting woman made her appear-
ance, of whom he enquired whether his wife had yet gone
down into the drawing-room.
" Not yet. Sir," answered the domestic.
" Say that I await her here."
" Yes, Sir," and the girl left the room, while Herbert once
more gave himself up to his sad thoughts.
" I cannot mix with our guests, I fear," he murmured, " with-
out betraying myself. Ah, they little think, that surrounded
as I am, by all that wealth can procure ; by every exter-
nal means of happiness and enjoyment, what a wretched
heart beats within my breast. I would give all this luxury and'
wealth for one sincere, loving smile from her. Oh that I
could banish the past from my remembrance ! But, after all,,
may I not be wrong ? What is it to me, even if Foster Dal-
ton is here ? If he does not see Mary, what harm to me ?
76 bu>x'e's ten cent novels^
The fact that he loves her still, proves nothing against her.
No, noiT I ought not to doubt her !"
At this moment Mary entered the room. If she was beau-
tiful when we first saw her, about to plight her vows to Fos-
ter Dalton, how much more so was she now, that two years
had served to develope lier beauty and mature the charms
v/hich then were but buddiiig ? The elegant, though modest,
dress she wore, set off her magnificent figure to the very best
advantage, and she looked fit to reign the queen of a palace.
She looked pale, and wore, in spite of her apparent efibrts to
seem tranquil, an anxious look, and as she entered the room, a
gentle sigh escaped her.
" You have asked for me," sh-e said.
"Yes, yes, Mary," Herbert replied. "Is it not time yoa
were in the drawing-room ? Your guests will soon be here,"
" I am not well to-night."
" Indeed ! One would not think so to look at you. You
seem more beautiful than ever."
" You always flatter me," she replied, taking a seat and play-
ing with the plain gold ring which encircled her finger.
" I wish we were to be alone, to-night," she went on. I
dread the task of appearing to be gay. I much prefer this
quiet little room, to all the splendors down stairs."
" You love solitude, Mary."
" Am I wrong for doing so ?"
" No, but to sit alone, nursing gloomy thoughts "•
" My tlioughts are not gloomy, always, Creighton, though I
am happier out of the gay world, particularly when I feel as
I do to night. I received a letter from my father this morning."
'Indeed! You didn't mention it before. What is the
news ? Are they all well in the country ?"
" Father is very unhappy."
'* Mary, I have observed that whenever you receive new?
. BROKEN VOW, OR THE JFORCED MARRIAGE. 7*7
from home, you seem as you are to-night, thoughtful and sad.
Does the result of a letter from home, call up unpleasant re-
membrances ?"
" Creighton !"
■" Oh, do not deny it, Mary. You know that I am resigned."
" I assure you, that the only reason for my sadness is, that
my poor father is unhappy."
" Why, then, does he not come to live with us ? Twenty
times I have asked him, and he stiU refuses."
" He is old, you know, and does not like change."
" And, why do you not add, he does not like me ?" He
never looked upon our union with pleasure. You are right ;
he does not like change I"
■*' You have promised not ^o refer to this subject."
-. "I cannot help it. It is your indifference which calls it up,
and which makes me continually regret having forced this
marriage upon you."
" You are cruel to speak thus. Why do you think I am not
satisfied ?"
'• Satisfied ! Y^es, as well as with any one, perhaps, except
Foster Dalton."
" Foster Dalton ! Never mention that name again to me,
€reighton Herbert, if you respect me."
^' See ! See !" he exclaimed. " What can I think when even
the mention of his name flushes your cheek, and makes you
weep ? What ! Weep before the eyes of your husband, at the
mention of your old lover's name ! You love him still, Mary.
You do! You do!"
" 'Tis false !" she cried, rising. " I do not. Have not since
that terrible day I"
" Why, then, do you sigh and weep ? Why do you seem so
wretched, under such restraint ?"
■^' Because you make me weep ; you put this restraint upon
78 bunce's ten cent novels.
me. Because you are continually reminding me of what I
would fain forget. I weep, because, knowing you to be the
most worthy of men, I would love you as you deserve to be
loved, and you throw my love back upon me."
" Forgive me !" he cried. " Pardon me ! Weep no more, but
listen ! I am not so culpable as you think. I love you so much
that, I confess it, I am jealous ! Oh, if you knew what joy it
would be to me, to hear you say, * I love you !' 0, how happy,
how rich I should be then ! But I have been mad. Mad to
dream that you had for me more than a cold esteem ! I
thought I could blot out from your heart the remembrance of
your first passion — this fatal love which will kill us both. Him
«
and me, for as I live, I will kill this man !"
" No, no, Creighton !" she cried. " Do not speak so. Ban-
ish this horrid thought from your mind, and banish with it
every fear of me. Do not commit an act which would destroy
your peace of mind forever, but live on peacefully, trusting in
me and in my love. Listen ! You reproached me just now,
with being sad. Do you know its cause ? It is my absorb-
ing love for you, which banished every other thought from
the heart which you fill entirely. Your sadness has made me
think you loved me not, and this thought, and this alone, has
made me wretched. Come, let us date from this hour our per-
fect happiness. Let us have faith in one another ! You will
see how the assurance of your love shall drive away all gloom
;and sadness from my face. Let us live in the present and the
future, and never again give a thought to the past !"
" Do you, indeed, speak the feelings of your soul ? Is this,
indeed, the truth ?"
" Ah, Creighton, falsehood can never spring from love."
" True, true !" he exclaimed, taking her to his heart, " We
will forget all ! We will live in the present and in the future.
Henceforth, I banish every doubt and fear. Oh, Mary, Mary,
BROKEN VOW, OB THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 79
you have raised ray soul from the depths of despair to the pin-
acle of joy and hope !"
It would have been like a daj^ger in the heart of Peleg Bryce,
could he have seen the smile which lit up both their faces ;
could he have seen the kiss of love with which Creightou
Herbert sealed this happy compact, and have heard the words
of mutual forgiveness which fell from their lips during the
next five minutes. At the end of which time, the waiting
woman came in to inform Mary that her guests were already
arriving.
" Will you wear your new necklace, madame ?" she asked.
"What necklace?"
" Oh, never mind to-night, Rose — not to-night. Some other
time," said Herbert., somewhat embarrassed.
" What is it ? What new necklace ?" Mary enquired.
" A mere bagatelle," Herbert replied. " A trifle I took a
fancy to the other day. I thought you might like it "
" What ! a present from you ? Oh, let me see it. Bring it
to me. Wliere is it. Rose ?"
" In your room, madame."
*' Then come, Rose, come. Let us look for it. Thanks,
Creighton, thanks. You called me beautiful, just now. I
would be more beautiful for your sake. Come, Rose, come."
And she left the room gaily, followed by the waiting woman.
" This is like a dream," exclaimed Herbert, when left alone.
" How wicked of me even to doubt her."
In a short time she returned with the brilliant bauble glis
tening on her lovely neck, and going to Herbert, she placed
her hand in his, saying : " From this hour my life begins."
He made no reply, but drawing her to him, he pressed her
to his heart, imprinted a warm kiss upon her fair brow, and
drawing her arm through his, led her to the drawing-room.
Among all her guests that night, and there were many there
80 bunce's ten cent novels.
who were called beautiful, none were so lovely, so joyous, so
happy as Herbert's fair wife ; and after all bad departed, and
they were left once more alone, Herbert, addressing her, said,
" I should not have known you, dear Mary. You were a dif-
ferent being. '
" You see what mutual confidence will do," she answered.
" Let us be ever thus, and earth will be a heaven to both."
Previous to this, and while they were still in the drawing-
room, where a few guests still lingered, a man, who made his
appearance late in the evening, and who had stood aloof from
the rest, taking no part either in the conversation or the va-
rious festivities, remained alone in the dressing-room. Her-
bert had noticed him, once or twice, during the evening as
being a stranger to him, but had thought nothing of the cir-
cumstance, believing him to have been brought there by some
friend, who had neglected to introduce him, and once or twice
he had been on the point of addressing him, but something
had as often prevented it.
He sat quietly in the dressing-room for some moments, and
then opening the door, he listened. All was still, and ho
came out into the hall on tip-toe, and proceeded cautiously to
the room in which we found Herbert sitting early in the eve-
ning.
Entering stealthily, he looked around : " This is the room
where she keeps her jewels, and the plate is not far off. All
right." Then going to the window he looked out, and gave a
low whistle, to which, however, there was no response.
*' Confound the fellow, he is not there !" he muttered. " I
hope he won't get chicken-hearted just at the very pinch.
However, here goes to prepare the way, at any rate." And
taking a ladder of small, yet exceedingly strong silken rope
from his pocket, he fastened one end, by means of a powerful
clamp, to the sill outside, and allowed the other to fall into
the vard below.
I
SUDKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 81
The right length to a foot !" he muttered. " A good
measurement. Now to get out of this and stir up that fellow
to the sticking point."
He left the room as noiselessly as he had entered it, and
passing the servants in the hall, went into the street and pro-
ceeded to th« corner above, where anotlier person stood, evi-
dently waiting for him.
" I have changed my mind, Wharton," said Foster. " I will
liave nothing to do with this affair. The very thought of it
drives me almost mad."
" Pshaw ! man," urged Wharton ; " don't be a fool. Every-
thing is prepared, and the thing may be done without a risk.
You have only to climb the ladder, seize the jewels and plate,
and before any alarm can be given, be off. Once in the street,
you are all right."
But it was some time 'ere Wharton succeeded in remov-
ing the scruples from the mind of his companion. He suc-
ceeded at last, however, and the two moved away together.
Mary sat in her own room, alone. She had removed the
necklace and the other brilliant and costly gems, which she had
worn that evening, and placed them near a handsome jewel
casket, which stood upon the table near the window.
Her face was radiant with happiness, for the most cherished
wish of her heart had been gratified. She felt confident that
she possessed the undivided heart of her husband, and knew
that every doubt of her had passed from his soul.
" I can scarcely realize the joy I feel," she thought. '* It
seems like a dream. A moment has sufficed to change the
whole aspect of my life. What misery we have both endured
in thus foolishly doubting the loyalty of each other's hearts.
Poor Creighton, how he must have suffered under this dread-
ful suspicion. But he will suffer no more, my whole life shall
be devoted to making him happj. How beautiful those diar
82 bunce's ten cent novels.
monds are. How kind of him to bring them to me, even
when he thought I did not love him !"
" A slight noise outside of the window startled her, and she
rose nervously, and went towards the door. Then pausing,
she smiled at her own fears, and coming back, resumed her
seat. " What a coward I am !" she murmured. " Every little
noise makes me tremble like a leaf. Surely no evil can hap-
pen to me to-night."
She was sitting with her back to the window, which was
open, and as she uttered the last words, Foster Dalton placed
Ms foot upon the sill, and glided noiselessly into the room.
His quick eye glanced round the apartment, and he seemed
surprised to see it occupied. His first impulse seemed to be
to retreat, but in a moment he altered his mind, and raising
his hand to the gas-burner by the side of the mirror, he turned
out th-e light ; and snatching the diamonds and the casket from
the table, as he did so, placed them in his breast.
Mary uttered a quick, sharp cry, and, as if by instinct, seized
the robber by the arm.
" Call not," Foster said, in a hoarse whisper. " Do not giv«
the alarm ! I will go ! Yes, yes, I thought I could commit
this deed, but I cannot. Speak not, and no harm shall befall
you."
" Oh, Heavens ! Help, help !" she cried. " Oh, Creighton !
Husband ! quick. Quick !"
" Great God ! that voice !" Foster exclaimed. ** Where am I ?"
As he spoke, Creighton Herbert, followed by the servants,
bearing lights, burst open the door, and entered the apartment.
" What is this ?" he cried.
" Great Heaven !" Mary exclaimed," starting back in fear.
" Foster !"
" What !" shouted Creighton, " Foster Dalton !" and taking
a pistol from his breast, pointed it at Foster's heart.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 83
" Oh, do not kill him, husband ! Spare him !" cried Mary,
seizing Herbert's arm.
" Spare him, madam ! Spare him, your lover ; alone in your
apartment in the dead of night?"
" Great Heaven !" Mary exclaimed. " Ha ! I see it all. Oh,
have mercy on me ! Do not kill h'm, let him speak and ex-
onerate me from this dreadful charge !" and with a desperate
effort, she grasped the pistol which her husband held, and
snatching it from him, threw it to the further end of the
apartment.
In the meantime, Foster had stood as if struck motionless
and dumb. His face gradually lost all expression, and he looked
around him with a vacant stare. Then, as Mary snatched the
pistol, his eye lit up for a moment, and he exclaimed : "Where
am I ? Ah ! I know. I am a robber, a thief !" and taking
the diamonds which he had thrust into his bosom, he cast
them on the floor, as he exclaimed, " Yes, I am a thief; but I
knew not who I came to rob. There are the jewels ! Take
them ! Ha ! I choke ! I burn ! I suffocate ! Ha ! ha ! ha !"
and wuth a maniacal laugh, he rushed to the window, and, 'ere
(h'eighton could seize him, disappeared.
'' Follow him by the back door — quick !" shouted Herbert,
rushing from the room. " But do not injure him upon your
lives !"
" Oh, Herbert, stay ! Hear me !" screamed Mary. " I — I
" but her energies failed her, and she sank on the floor
fainting.
CHAPTP]R VII.
LiGK Bates, after having imparted to Lucy, who had accom-
panied him to the city in hopes of finding and reclaiming her
misguided husband, the account of his interview with him, had
gone once more in search of Foster Dalton, and while the events
just related were taking place, he was returning dejected and
weary from his fruitless errand.
Entering a large house, in the upper part of the Bowery, he
climbed with slow steps, the various flights of stairs, until he
reached the apartment which he occupied, and opening the
door, he flp*""' himself into a chair, exclaiming, "Well. 1 kin
do no more . vYou might jist as well try to find a needle in a
haystack as t to find anybody in this derned overgrown town.
What on earth shall I say to Lucy ? I thought 1 should fetch
84 BUNOE*S TEN CENT NOVELS.
]her good news. Well, there's no use talking, she's got to know
the worst, and she might as well know it fust as last !"
He rose from his chair and going into the hall knocked at the
door of a neighboring room, and in answer to his summons Lucy
appeared.
" Well, Lige, you have returned. Not alone I hope ?"
'• Yes, Miss Dalton, alone ; replied Lige, entering the room
and taking a'seat, " I can't find nor hear nothing of him. I went
to the place he wrote down, and they had never heard of sich a
person. I spose he must a' changed his name. I have axed all
sorts o' questions, of all sorts o' people. Some laughed at me ;
some sent me on a fool's errants to the wrong places, and some
seemed to think I was crazy. I chaced all the w^ay up to the
Central Park, where I saw him the other day, but it warnt of
no use, and then I tried to find that pesky old villain, Peleg
Bryce, but I couldn't find him neither, and I've cum back just
as wise as I left, and as tired as a mill-horse !"
*' My last hope is then gone !" said Lucy, dejectedly. '* All
is over now! I shall never see him again."
"Oh, I don't mean to give it up ! I'll take another look to-
morrow. Trust in Providence, Miss Dalton."
" Alas I I have lost all trust. My heart tells me he is lost to
me forever. I shall go home to-morrow, and, if I can, forget
him. But his poor father, he returned too, but a short time
ago, from an unsuccessful search for his son, and has gone to
bed nearly heart-broken !"
" Well, I recon I'd better do the same thing," said Lige, " for
I can't hardly stand on my legs, I am so tired. You kin call
me, you know, if anything happens."
*' Yes, yes, Lige, go to bed. You have been very good to
me. I shall never forget how kind you are."
" Don't say nothing about it," said Lige, " I'd do aheep more
for you than I have, and I'm going to find Foster yet. So keep
a stiff upper lip up, and good night."
Entering his room once more, he threw himself upon the bed
without removing his clothes. Five minutes had not elapsed,
however, and he had hardly began to lose himself in sleep, 'ere
the sound of footsteps ascending the stairs, caused him to start
up in bed and listen. The sounds came nearer and nearer.
Some one was coming up stairs, at the top of his speed.
At last the person, whoever it was, stopped upon the landing,
and then footsteps approached his door. In anotlier moment
it opened with a crash, whicli brought Lige to his feet, and
seizing a chair, hastily, he raised it above his head, just as a man
bounded into the room. Lige was about to fell the intruder to
BROKEN Tow, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 85
the floor, when in the miserable frightened being before him,
he recognized Foster Dalton, and started back in surprise.
" What. Foster!" he exclaimed, putting down the chair and
going to him.
" Yes, yes. Hide me, quick. Quick ! They will be here
soon, hide me, for pity's sake."
« Hide you ?"
" Yes, yes, quick, or I am lost ! Hush ! do not speak loud,
or they will hear and find me. Talk in whispers."
" What is the matter ? What have you done ?"
" I do not hear them," Foster said, going to the door softly,
and looking out wildly. " They have got off my track."
" Who ? What ? What in thunder has happened ?"
" Hush ! I will tell you by-and-by," said Foster, still listen-
ing at the door.
" He's as crazy as a loon," thought Lige. " I never saw
such eyes in any crittur's head. It won't do to let Lucy see
him in this fix, it would kill her. What in the name of the
Constitution, be I going to do with him ?"
" You are astonished to see me, eh, Lige ?" whispered Fos-
ter, with a grin, which showed reason Avas fast deserting him,
" Yes, I be." said Lige. " But I am glad to see you, too.
Though what in the name o' thunder I'm going to do with you,
I'm derned if I know."
*' I'll tell you, Lige. Hide me I I must stay here till the
search is over."
" The sarch ! Who's a sarching you and what fur ?"
" Yes, yes ; they are looking fffb me. But they must not find
me. You must keep me quiet, hush ! Hark. I hear some one
coming. Do you not hear their footsteps on the stairs ?. There
are several of them. They are coming this way !"
" I hear somebody that's a fact," said Lige, closing the door
and placing his back against it. " But there aint but one man."
" Oh, hide me, quick, or I am lost," exclaimed Foster, in pite-
ous accents. " If they come in and find me they will take me
to prison. To prison ! do you hear?"
B " To prison ! but. what for ? What on earth shall I do ? There
aint room to hide a cat here," said Lige, perplexed in the ex-
l^reme.
IV " Ha ! it is too late !" Foster exclaimed, as some one knock-
ed at the door. " Too late. They are here."
K " I must," said Lige to himself, " here, git under the bed, and
'" e quick about it. *' Who's there ?" he asked, as the knocking
at the door was repeated. "What do you want?"
M " Open quickly !" said a voice from the outside.
li
86 bunce's ten cent novels.
" I can't, I'm abed and fast asleep !" Lige replied, hardly
knowing what he said, and keeping his broad shoulders more
firmly against the door.
" Open ! it is a friend ! I come to save him !"
" A friend !" said Lige to himself. " Whether it is or not,
it aint no use to resist !" and he stepped away from the door,
which yielding to the pressure outside, opened, and Creighton
Herbert entered the room.
Foster was standing by the bed pale with fear, and when he
saw Herbert he made an effort to get away, but as he passed
the young physician, he was grasped by the arm, while Herbert
said, " have no fear, I do not come to harm you !"
At this moment, and while Foster still struggled in the arms
of Herbert, Lucy, who had been alarmed by the noise, entered
the room, and as her gaze fell upon her husband, she uttered a
cry of recognition, and rushed towards him.
" What means this ?" she asked. " Why do I find you thus ?"
" Hush !" said Herbert, listening. " I was fearful some one
had pursued him beside myself."
" Pursued ?" asked Lucy. " Why ? What has he done ? Oh,
Foster, speak to me, or I shall die of fear and suspense !"
" Don't speak so loud, they will hear you and take me to
prison," said the wretched man in a hoarse whisper.
" To prison !" exclaimed Lucy, " for what crime ?"
" I do not know," answei*ed Foster, distractedly. " You
would betray me. But no, poor woman, you look pale too.
You have been suffering." ^
"Yes, yes; cruelly — but nevermind that. We will be happy
now. Happy with our child. How could you leave us so ?"
"A child! have you a child?' asked Foster, with a vacant
look.
" Yes, yes ! our child, our little Marie !"
" He's as crazy as a hen with her head off," said Lige to
Herbert. " What will the old man do when he sees him ?"
" Where is he ?"
" He's gone to bed."
" I will see him, and break the dreadful news to him," said
Herbert.
Lucy meanwhile had led Foster to the bed, and made him
git down, taking her place by his side. He made no resist-
ance, and seemed to be unconscious of where he was.
" Do you not remember our little child ?" she asked.
'* No, no ; leave me ! I have no child, and I am glad of it.
for she would curse ber father. If I hud a child I would kill
it. Yes, I would kill it, for it's father would be a thief, a
midnight robber."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 87
" Oh, Heavens, he is mad !" exclaimed Lucy, bursting into
tears. Mad ! Mad !"
" Don't cry, madam," said Foster, soothingly. Don't cry !
You are good and will not denounce me. Let me stay here ?
You can say that I am your brother, and they will believe you,"
" And is it thus, that he returns to me ?" exclaimed Lucy.
" Listen !" Foster went on. " I will tell you something- I
have been a very wicked man. I ioved Mary Maythorne.
Oh, you should have seen her ! She was very beautiful, and I
loved her. My love for her colored ray whole life, but they
separated me from her. Then I became desperate. Despair
made me mad, and I became a thief !"
" Oh, Heaven ! have mercy on him."
" You weep. That is kind of you. You are sorry for me.
Let me see, what was I saying ? Oh, yes — I remember now,
there was a woman who loved me. My wife ! I abandoned
her, and made her wretched and unhappy."
" Yes, yes ; very unhappy !" sobbed poor Lucy.
" Don't cry, it hurts me. I am sorry I abandoned her. I
have repented of it from my heart. Her name was Lucy,
Lucy Thornton. She loved me, and I betrayed her, and she
will never pardon me the deep wrong I did her. But I love
her now ! I shall love her while I live."
At this moment old Hiram Dalton entered the room. He
started back in amazement, at the scene before him, and then
approaching the bed, he caught Foster in his arms, and ex-
claiming, " My son, my poor boy !" burst into tears.
'* Have a care," said Creighton, drawing Hiram gently away.
" Too strong an emotion might be fatal to him."
" Look at me," said Lucy. " I am your wife ! do you not
remember me ? I love you Foster, I pardon you."
" You will not denounce me ? Swear you will not !" he ex-
claimed, rising, and then perceiving Herbert, he turned upon
her, saying, " Ah ! you have deceived me. You have betray-
ed me. See, you have brought him to take me to prison. It
was him I robbed. Yes, yes, I remember now. It wa^ in his
house. But I did not know it. I did not know it."
" I believe you," said Herbert, " and forgive you. I must go
now," he continued, addressing Fosters father, •* But I will
return soon. It is day-light. He is safe here, but he must be
removed to the country. Perhaps the associations of home
may restore his shattered mind. I have hopes of him since
he has recognized me."
" Oh, Sir," exclaimed Foster. " Have pity upon me. Take
^me to prison, kill me if you will, but do not tell my father of
my crime. He would die of shame and grief "
^^ bunce's ten -cext novels.
^ " Alas ! he does not know me," cried Hiram. « God has
Indeed punished him severely."
" God has punished him, and God alone can save him," said
Herbert, as he hastened away to seek the forgiveness of his
wife for his fresh suspicion of her trutk
CHAPTER VHI.
The next day, punctual to his promise, Creighton Herbert
visited the house were Lucy was stopping, and, by his advice,
and with his assistance, Foster Dalton was taken home, accom-
panied by his wifb and father, and Lige Bates, who was not
sorry to leave the city, especially as his thoughts began to wan-
der more and more towards Miss Nancy, who, though she had
consented to become his wife on the coming Thanksgiving, he
feared might change her mind, if he staid too long among the
temptations of the wicked city.
Herbert gave Hiram strict instructions as to the course of
treatment to be pursued towards his wretched son, and buoyed
up the old man's heart, with hope, by speaking confidently of
his final recovery. He also wrote letters to Parson Woodly
and Doctor Parker, asking their assistance, and giving the latter
such information in regard to the case as he thought necessary
for his guidance, promising to visit Lenox, from time to time,
and watch the indications of the mental abberation under
which Foster suffered.
On their arrival at home, poor Granny Dalton. who was eve?y
day drawing nearer and more near to her grave, was overwhelmed
with grief to see the sad condition of her grandson.
Weeks rolled by and still no change took place in Foster
Dalton. He was mild and easily managed, and submitted to
the care lavished upon him with a stolid indifference, being
subject, however, to occasional outbursts of grief and passion
whenever the subject of his child was mentioned. At these
times none could calm or soothe him save Lige Bates, who
treated him as he would a baby, and by means of his vast
strength, and a sort of moral power he had by some means ob-
tained over the mind of the patient, always succeeded in quiet-
ing him.
His mind would sometimes light up with a remembrance of
the past, but he always spoke of his wife and father, as dead,
and would frequently shed tears at the thought of seeing ttieni
no more. His greater grief being, that Lucy had died with-
out forgiving hiio.
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 89
The case sadly puzzled poor Doctor Parker, who would have
given up all hope, but for the continual assertions of Creigh-
tou Herbert, that he would eventually recover, and the favora-
ble opinions expressed by one or two physicians of note, whom
Herbert had brought from New York on the occasions of his
visits.
At last Herbert came up from the city, it being midsummer,
when all who can, desert the town for the country, and took
up his residence at the house of his wife's father, so that not
a day passed without a visit from him at the Dalton farm.
Under his continual care, a slight improvement soon began
to be visible, and at last, as these signs of gradual returning
mental strength began to show themselves, he formed a plan
wliich he hoped would bring about the desired reaction at once.
Accordingly, he presented himself at the house of Hiram
Dalton one morning, and taking Lucy aside, the following con-
versation ensued.
" You say," he commenced, as soon as they had left the
house and stood in the door-yard, under the shade of the grand
old elms which surrounded the place, " that since your return
he has never consented to see the child ?"
" Never, and whenever I have mentioned it before him, he
became violent, and such an expression came over his face, that
I trembled lest he should commit some fearful act."
" And you think that if you should bring her into his pres-
ence "
" Oh, no, no ; Doctor Herbert ! I would not dare. He would
kill her ! I have thought of sending the child away, lest by
some accident he should see it, but I could not bear the
thought of parting with the little one."
" I have heard him, more than once," said Herbert, " pro-
nounce the name of Peleg Bryce.^'
" Yes, he attributes all his crime, all his sorrows, to him." .
" Has he ever explained in what way Peleg influenced his
fate ?"
" Oh yes, he often speaks of it. It was this Peleg who first
prompted him to leave me, and it was he who continually
fanned his fatal passion for Mary, and made him jealous of
you. It was through his means that he fell among the asso-
ciates he did while in New York, and a man by the name of
Wharton, who prompted the robbery, was set on by Peleg."
" Great Heaven !" exclaimed Herbert. This is dreadful.
But listen to me and do not be frightened at what I shall say.
Listen with calmness, and summon all your fortitude and faith
in Heaven. There are moments when our Heavenly Father
90 bunce's ten cent novels.
inspires us wit>i a thought which is made the instrument of
his will, and when we have such thoughts, our hearts are full
of confidence and hope. You believe in my devotion, do you
not ?"
« How can I doubt it ?"
" I think that I can save your husband, but the means may
strike you as being fearful, when the dreadful indications of his
malady are taken into consideration. May I ask you to trust
me?"
" I will do all you ask ?"
" Then, I believe, that under the blessing of Heaven, to-day,
your husband will be restored to you, that he will recover his
reason, and embrace you as his wife, and take his child to his
heart."
Oh, no, no. I cannot think it ! His child ? I cannot, I
dare not trust him !"
" It must be. No harm shall happen to her."
" You make me quake wi?th fear. But I will do as you wish."
" Bravely spoken ! Put your trust in God whose humble in-
strument 1 am. But I perceive Foster coming this way, ac-
companied by Lige. Leave us for the present. Go, and ask
Heaven to bless our efforts."
" I will, I will !" she murmured, as she hurried into the house.
Foster, accompanied by Lige, now approached with down-
cast step and listless slip.
As he came close to him, Herbert called him by name. He
started and raised his head ; then, as he recognised him, he
made a step backward as if in fear. Herbert, however, spoke
kindly to him again, and extending his hand, advanced towards
him looking him full in the eye. The traces of fear gradually
gave way in Foster's looks, and his eye brightened slightly, as
he took the extended hand of Herbert's in his own.
" You know that I am your friend, do you not ?" Herbert
asked, at the same time making a sign for Lige to leave them
alone, a hint he took by going at once.
" Yes, yes, perhaps !" he replied, looking timidly around him.
" You need not be alarmed, we are alone."
" Is there no one here to arrest me, to drag me to prison ?"
asked the poor maniac, with a trembling voice.
" No, no ; why should any one arrest you ?"
" Do you not know ?"
•' What do you mean ?"
*' Hush, speak low ! The diamonds I"
« Well, what of them ?"
" I stole them ! Hush ! Do not betray me."
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 91
'oil are mistaken ; it was not you."
" Yes, yes ; it was ! " He is mad !" he said, looking at him
piteously ; " mad !"
" No, no ; you were a dupe, a tool ! A miserable scoundrel
whom justice will one day overtake, took advantage of your
distress, your desperation, to lead you into temptation. But
you did not complete the wicked deed. Conscience stricken,
you threw down your booty, and "
" You are wrong, I tell you. I stole the diamonds in the house
of — of — I forget now, where it was, but I stole them !"
'• Where are they, then ?"
" Ha, ha ! I have hid them ! Hush ! Hid them ! They were
so beautiful! I was hungry, starving! and I became a thief,
dishonored ! Thank God I have no family to share my disgrace 1
The shame falls on me alone."
" You have a father, have you not ?" asked Herbert, taking
his patient kindly by the hand.
'* No. I have none. He died of a broken heart on my account."
* A grand-mother ? You remember your old Granuv."
" Dead ! dead !"
" But your wife, who loved you so ; she still lives ?"
" I tell you no ; they are all dead. My poor Lucy ! she died
without pardoning me. I have wept to think of it. I wish I
had died with her, or I wish she had lived until I could have
made her happy. I would have made her forget the past. But
alas, she is gone forever !"
" And you have no one left in all the world ?"
" No one ; not one to love me ; not one to pity me."
"Yes," yes; there is one. Believe me there is one!" said
Herbert, impressively.
" I tell you no !"
" There is ! Marie — ^your child and Lucy's !"
* " No. I have no child."
" You have ! I know it. I have seen her — embraced her."
" If she lives she is far from here, or if she is not, take her
away."
" Why?"
" Because I will not see her, she will know all. She would
read my infamy in my looks. She would fly from me — curse me.
Oh, I would rather kill her than see her blush for her father."
" Kill her ! oh, shame ! shame !"
" Yes ; I would kill her ! She shall never know her father —
never see him."
" But, Foster "
" Say no more !" he cried, fiercely. " I will not hear you !"
92 bunce's ten cent novels.
" But suppose Providence should place this child near you,
if your little Marie should be made an instrument for changing
the whole future of your existence, and once more light up your
soul with joy and happiness. If she should come to you in her
loveliness and purity, and say to you, " Father I'love you ?"
" No, no ; she cannot love me ! But you deceive me, I have
no child,"
At a sign from Herbert, between whom and Hiram, a pre-
vious understanding had taken place, the old man advanced
from the house, leading Lucys child by the hand, followed by
Lucy and poor old Granny, supported by Lige Bates and Nancy.
^' See !" exclaimed Herbert, pointing to the child, " I do
not deceive you, she is there !"
Every breath was hushed, and not a sound disturbed the
scene, save the sweet voices of the birds flitting in the branches
among the elms, as Foster looked in the direction indicated.
He gazed for a moment curiously, and then turning to Her-
bert, while a terrible cloud overshadowed his face, he exclaimed:
" If you speak truth, take her away, quick, and hide me
from her sight, or let me fly ! She will read that dreadful
name upon my brow ! She will hear that I am — — Oh, I
am going mad !,'
" I speak the truth ! Behold your child ! Go take it in
your arms !"
^' No, no. Hence with it."
" Heaven smile upon me now !" Herbert prayed, mentally,
as seizing the child from Herbert's arms, he took it to it's
father, saying, " Marie, speak to your father !"
The little thing held out it's tiny hands, and in childish ac-
cents, muttered, " Poor father sick ?"
" That voice !" cried Foster. " That voice ! It comes upon
me like a dream of the past. Yes, yes. It is my child. Then
she will learn all. She will read that horrid word which burns »
upon my brow. No, no — rather let her die in ignorance of all."
With a bound, he leaped from Herbert's side, and rushing
to the shed near by, seized an axe, and with his eyes, gleaming
like burning coals, he precipitated himself towards the child.
Lige Bates stood ready to seize and hold him fast, but Fos-
ter had not taken half a dozen steps before he stopped. Then
he started back as if in horror, and dropped the axe upon the
ground. A strange light seemed to flit across his face, and
the tears streamed from his eyes.
" Pray ! pray all !" Herbert said, in a low voice, as taking
the child by the hand, he led her once more to her father.
''-Oh, God I" shrieked Lucy. " Protect them botL"
BROKEK VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 93
"My son ! My son !" Hiram cried, going to where Foster
knelt and wept.
" See," said Herbert. " See, Foster, again your child puts
out her little hand to you, and asks you to embrace her."
He looked up, and a smile curled the corners of his mouth,
as he gazed upon her with a fixed and earnest look. " Is it —
can it be ?" he said, in a low mild voice, " Is it, indeed, my
child ?"
'• Poor father !" said the little one again, on a sign from
Herbert.
" You will not fly from me ? You do not curse me ? No,
no. You will help me. Kiss me. Will you not ?"
" Yes, father, I kiss you," and the child moved towards him.
He caught her in his arms, he hugged her to his heart, he
covered her with kisses — then holding her off from him, he
murmured, " My daughter ! Still — still a daughter ! Ah,
what new sensations come over me ? I have never felt as I
feel now. Where am I ?" Then seeing Herbert, he rose, and
extending his hand, exclaimed, " Mr. Herbert ! Oh, God ! I
am very happy," and again burst into tears. " Yes," he went
on, after a moment, looking Herbert in the face. " I remem-
ber — I remember !" Then hugging his child to his heart once
more, he put her down, and turning, saw his father.
A blush overshadowed his face, as he removed his hat from
his head, and bowed to him with reverence.
The old man could not speak at first, but seizing his hand,
he shook it warmly, and said aloud, in a voice choked by emo-
tion, " My son was lost but he is fomid !"
During this time Lucy stood aloof, weeping. Joy, fear,
love, all filled her heart to overflowing. As Foster raised his
head once more, his eye fell upon her, and he bowed himself
as if in shame, then taking the little child in his arms, he said,
in a low voice. *' Marie, my child ! ask your mother to for-
give your father."
These words broke the spell, with a cry of joy, poor Eucy
sprang forward, and in loving w ords and many sobs, forgave
him all.
Poor old Granny, too, with a heart overflowing with grati-
tude, once more embraced her long lost favorite, as rasing her
trembling hands to Heaven, she murmured, " And now. Lord,
lettest thou thy servant depart in peace !"
Lige Bates and Nancy were not forgotten, and Creighton
Herbert stood with swelling heart, surveying the happy scene.
94 BUNCE's TEX CENT NOVELS.
CHAPTER IX.
Notliing now remains but to bring tlie incidents we liave
related to a close.
The recovery of Foster' s physical as well as mental health,
was slow but certain, and in the course of a few months, the
bloom once more returned to his cheeks, and the strength to
his arm,
He was in all respets a changed man. He showed, by the
warm affection which he evinced towards his long suffering
wife and his lovely child, that his repentance was sincere, and
that the resolution lie had made to cause Lucy to forget the
dreadful past in a happy future, should be religiously kept.
He never tired of talking to her and begging her forgiveness.
All the harshness of his nature seemed to have passed away,
and he was in all respects a different being indeed.
For a long time he did not go abroad or mingle with the
world, but at last, his delicacy in this regard wore off", and as
none knew the crime of which he had been guiltv, and all re-
marked the miraculous change for the better which had taken
place in him, he gradually re-established himself in the confi-
dence of his aa^j^uaintances, and his step once more became
firm, and his eye bold, as he went about on business or on
pleasure.
By the advice of Creighton Herbert, he relinquished the
practice of the law, as likely to over-task his somewhat shaken
faculties, and accepted a lucrative situation, which Herbert's
influence procured for him, in a large manufacturing establish-
ment, in tiie vicinity of Lenox, while he, his wife and child,
continued to reside at the old Homestead, with his father.
Lucy too, changed. Her pale cheeks once more reflected
the joy in her heart. Her eyes so long filled with tears, were
lit up with animated pleasure, and her lips, so long unused to
smiles, were never seen without one.
Never again has a cloud darkened the happy lot of Creigh-
ton and Mary Herbert. Confident in each other's love, and
mutually regretful for the sad suspicions of the past, they live
surrounded by everything which can render them happy. Be-
loved and honored by all who know them, and quoted as models
of domestic purity and worth, they shed a ray of happiness
BROKEN VOW, OR THE FORCED MARRIAGE. 95
upon all with whom they come in contact, while their children,
living in the light of their parent's example, and nurtured in
all purity and truth, have proved the dearest of all the bless-
ings which Heaven has showered upon them. Mary and Fos-
ter never meet, but Lucy is always a welcome guest of Mary's
whenever she pays a visit to her fathers house.
Nancy kept her word with Lige, and the next Thanksgiving
eve, became his wife. They were married by good old parson
Woodly, in the very room where we first met them, and a hap-
pier wedding was never seen in all New England.
Mary Herbert took care that the bride shuuld lack no finery,
and if ever there was a warm hearted, good-natured, strong-
minded Yankee girl, who considered herself " scrumptious"
on her wedding day, that girl was Nancy Peabody, when she
stood by the side of Lige, to be converted into Mrs. Nancy
Bates.
As for honest Lige, he was the envy of all the boys for
miles around, and the heartiness with which he dispensed the
cider, after he had been " hitched too," as he called it, and the
way he laughed and joked, and kissed his blushing bride and
every other girl he could lay his hands on, proved that he felt
as happy as he looked.
Herbert offered to buy a farm and stock it for him, out
West, if he would go and settle on it, but old Hiram would
not listen to the idea, but insisted upon his staying with him,
and working the old Dalton farm on shares. This suited
Lige, and his wife too, better than going West, and in a snug
cottage, which Hiram built for him, close by the old home-
stead, they live as happy as the day is long. He working the
farm and she nursing the fat, chubby- faced baby, and attending
to the cares of her dairy, which has the reputation of turning
out the best cheese and butter, of any dairy in the county.
Poor old Granny lived about a year after the return of her
grandson, and died happy in seeing him so , leaving him the
bulk of her property in trust for little Marie, who was a great
pet of the good old woman..
Some two years after the marriage of Lige and Nancy,
Peleg Bryce returned to the neighborhood. He had come
back once or twice before, but only to remain for a few days,
for the purpose of disposing of his property. When he finally
returned, he did so penniless, and shattered in strength and
intellect by liquor. His money, which had been the only thing
which had ever entitled him to consideration, being gone; dis-
sipated, as it turned out to be afterwards, in swindling specu-
ons practised upon him by his associates in New York, no
9B BUNCE'S TEN CENT NOVELS.
one cared even to recognize him, and for some months, he led
a vagabond sort of a life, going from tavern to tavern, trying,
by various means, to gratify his beastial appetite for liquor.
At last he disappeared, and was missing for some weeks. At
the end of that time, some persons, who were letting out the
water from a mill-pond in the vicinity^ discovered his body,
embeded in the slime and filth of the pond, and half devour-
ed by the fishes and reptiles with which the water abounded.
As no one appeared to claim the hideous mass which once
was Peleg Bryce, it was hurried in Potter's Field, and no stone
marks the spot where it turned to earth.
Some papers, half destroyed, which were found in an old
wallet, in a barn where he had been in the habit of sleeping,
proved his connection with a man named AVharton, in several
questionable transactions, and a news paragraph, cut from the
police reports of a daily New York paper, showed that this
Wharton had been sentenced to the State's Prison for life, for
robbery and forgery.
Hiram Dalton is now a hale old man. The evening of his
life is happy, and as each Thanksgiving day returns, he sits,
the centre of a loving circle, honored and revered, and as he
dandles his grand-children on his knee, he thanks Heaven for
all its mercies to him, but more than all for the kind Provi-
dence which led his son back to the paths of virtue, and for-
gave the errors which were the bitter fruits of his " Broken
Vow."
The End.
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