_Thirty-five_
At the same time that the colonel, dry-eyed and heavy-hearted, hadreturned to his empty house to nurse his grief, another series ofevents was drawing to a climax in the dilapidated house on Mink Run.Even while the preacher was saying the last words over little Phil'sremains, old Malcolm Dudley's illness had taken a sudden and violentturn. He had been sinking for several days, but the decline had beengradual, and there had seemed no particular reason for alarm. Butduring the funeral exercises Ben had begun to feel uneasy--someobscure premonition warned him to hurry homeward.
As soon as the funeral was over he spoke to Dr. Price, who had beenone of the pallbearers, and the doctor had promised to be at Mink Runin a little while. Ben rode home as rapidly as he could; as he went upthe lane toward the house a Negro lad came forward to take charge ofthe tired horse, and Ben could see from the boy's expression that hehad important information to communicate.
"Yo' uncle is monst'ous low, sir," said the boy. "You bettah go in an'see 'im quick, er you'll be too late. Dey ain' nobody wid 'im but oleAun' Viney."
Ben hurried into the house and to his uncle's room, where MalcolmDudley lay dying. Outside, the sun was setting, and his red rays,shining through the trees into the open window, lit the stage for thelast scene of this belated drama. When Ben entered the room, the sweatof death had gathered on the old man's brow, but his eyes, clear withthe light of reason, were fixed upon old Viney, who stood by thebedside. The two were evidently so absorbed in their own thoughts asto be oblivious to anything else, and neither of them paid theslightest attention to Ben, or to the scared Negro lad, who hadfollowed him and stood outside the door. But marvellous to hear, Vineywas talking, strangely, slowly, thickly, but passionately anddistinctly.
"You had me whipped," she said. "Do you remember that? You had mewhipped--whipped--whipped--by a poor white dog I had despised andspurned! You had said that you loved me, and you had promised to freeme--and you had me whipped! But I have had my revenge!"
Her voice shook with passion, a passion at which Ben wondered. Thathis uncle and she had once been young he knew, and that theirrelations had once been closer than those of master and servant; butthis outbreak of feeling from the wrinkled old mulattress seemed asstrange and weird to Ben as though a stone image had waked to speech.Spellbound, he stood in the doorway, and listened to this ghost of avoice long dead.
"Your uncle came with the money and left it, and went away. Only heand I knew where it was. But I never told you! I could have spoken atany time for twenty-five years, but I never told you! I havewaited--I have waited for this moment! I have gone into the woods andfields and talked to myself by the hour, that I might not forget howto talk--and I have waited my turn, and it is here and now!"
Ben hung breathlessly upon her words. He drew back beyond her range ofvision, lest she might see him, and the spell be broken. Now, hethought, she would tell where the gold was hidden!
"He came," she said, "and left the gold--two heavy bags of it, and aletter for you. An hour later _he came back and took it all away_,except the letter! The money was here one hour, but in that hour youhad me whipped, and for that you have spent twenty-five years inlooking for nothing--something that was not here! I have had myrevenge! For twenty-five years I have watched you look for--nothing;have seen you waste your time, your property, your life, yourmind--for nothing! For ah, Mars' Ma'colm, you had me whipped--_byanother man_!"
A shadow of reproach crept into the old man's eyes, over which themists of death were already gathering.
"Yes, Viney," he whispered, "you have had your revenge! But I wassorry, Viney, for what I did, and you were not. And I forgive you,Viney; but you are unforgiving--even in the presence of death."
His voice failed, and his eyes closed for the last time. When she sawthat he was dead, by a strange revulsion of feeling the wall ofoutraged pride and hatred and revenge, built upon one brutal andbitterly repented mistake, and labouriously maintained for half alifetime in her woman's heart that even slavery could not crush,crumbled and fell and let pass over it in one great and final floodthe pent-up passions of the past. Bursting into tears--strange tearsfrom eyes that had long forgot to weep--old Viney threw herself downupon her knees by the bedside, and seizing old Malcolm's emaciatedhand in both her own, covered it with kisses, fervent kisses, theghosts of the passionate kisses of their distant youth.
With a feeling that his presence was something like sacrilege, Benstole away and left her with her dead--the dead master and the deadpast--and thanked God that he lived in another age, and had escapedthis sin.
As he wandered through the old house, a veil seemed to fall from hiseyes. How old everything was, how shrunken and decayed! The sheen ofthe hidden gold had gilded the dilapidated old house, the neglectedplantation, his own barren life. Now that it was gone, things appearedin their true light. Fortunately he was young enough to retrieve muchof what had been lost. When the old man was buried, he would settlethe estate, sell the land, make some provision for Aunt Viney, andthen, with what was left, go out into the world and try to make aplace for himself and Graciella. For life intrudes its claims eveninto the presence of death.
When the doctor came, a little later, Ben went with him into the deathchamber. Viney was still kneeling by her master's bedside, butstrangely still and silent. The doctor laid his hand on hers and oldMalcolm's, which had remained clasped together.
"They are both dead," he declared. "I knew their story; my father toldit to me many years ago."
Ben related what he had overheard.
"I'm not surprised," said the doctor. "My father attended her when shehad the stroke, and after. He always maintained that Viney couldspeak--if she had wished to speak."
The Colonel's Dream Page 35