CHAPTER XXVII.
Morning dawned, and yet no sleep had visited the eyes of GeraldGrantham. The image of Matilda floated in his mind, and to therecollection of her beauty he clung with an aching eagerness of delight,that attested the extent of its influence over his imagination. Hadthere been nothing to tarnish that glorious picture of womanlyperfection, the feelings it called up would have been too exquisite forendurance; but, alas! with the faultless image came recollections,against which it required all the force of that beauty to maintainitself. One ineffaceable spot was upon the soul of that fascinatingbeing; and though, like the spots on the sun's disk, it was hidden inthe effulgence which surrounded it, still he could not conceal fromhimself that it _did_ exist, to deface the symmetry of the whole. It washis knowledge of that fearful blemish that had driven him to seek indrunkenness, and subsequently in death, a release from the agonizingtortures of his mind. Virtue and a high sense of honor had triumphed sofar, as not merely to leave his own soul spotless, but to fly from herwho would have polluted it with crime; yet, although respect andlove--the pure sentiments by which he had originally beeninfluenced--had passed away, the hour of their departure had been thatof the increased domination of passion, and far from her whose beautywas ever present to his mind, his imagination had drawn and lingered onsuch pictures that, assured as he was they could never be realized, hefinally resolved to court death wherever it might present itself.
Restored thus unexpectedly to the presence of her who had been theunceasing subject of his thoughts, and under circumstances so wellcalculated to inflame his imagination, it cannot appear wonderful thatGerald should have looked forward to his approaching interview withemotions of the intensest kind. How fated, too, seemed the reunion. Hehad quitted Matilda with the firm determination never to behold hermore, yet, by the very act of courting that death which would fully haveaccomplished his purpose, he had placed himself in the position he mostwished to avoid. Presuming that Major Montgomerie, who had never alludedto Frankfort as his home, was still with his niece, a resident in thedistant State in which he had left them, he had gladly heard ColonelForrester name the Kentucky capital as the place of his destination;for, deep and maddening as was his passion for Matilda, no earthlyconsiderations could have induced him voluntarily to have sought her.Even since his arrival in Frankfort, it had been a source of consolationto him to feel that he was far removed from her who could have made himforget that, although the heart may wither and die, while self-esteemand an approving conscience remain to us, the soul shares not in thesame decay--confesses not the same sting. Could he even have divinedthat in the temple to which his curiosity had led him, he should havebeheld the being on whose image he doted, even while he shunned it, hewould have avoided her as a pestilence.
The result of this terrible struggle of his feelings was a determinationto see her once more--to yield up his whole soul to the intoxication ofher presence, and then, provided she should refuse to unite her fate tohis, unhampered by the terrible condition of past days, to tear himselffrom her for ever.
Strong in this resolution, Gerald, to whom the hours had appeared asdays since his rising, quitted Frankfort about his usual time, and, inorder to avoid observation, took the same retired and circuitous routeby which he had reached the valley the preceding evening. As hedescended into the plain, the light from the window of the temple wasagain perceptible. In a few minutes he was in the room.
"Gerald--my own Gerald," exclaimed Matilda, as, carefully closing thedoor after her lover, she threw herself into his embrace. Alas, weakman! Like the baseless fabric of a dream, disappeared all the latelyformed resolutions of the youth.
"Yes, Matilda--your own Gerald. Come what will, henceforth I am yours."
A pause of some moments ensued, during which each felt the beating ofthe other's heart.
"Will you swear it, Gerald?" at length whispered Matilda.
"I will--I do swear it."
There was a sudden kindling of the dark eye of the American, and anoutswelling of the full bust, that seemed to betoken exultation in thepower of her beauty; but this was quickly repressed, and, sinking on thesofa at the side of her lover, her whole countenance was radiant withthe extraordinary expression Gerald had, for the first time, witnessedwhile she lingered on the arm of his uncle, Colonel D'Egville.
"Gerald," she said tenderly, "confirm the oath which is to unite usheart and soul in one eternal destiny. Swear upon this sacred volume,that your hand shall avenge the wrongs of your Matilda--of your wife.Ha! your wife--think of that," she added with sudden energy.
Gerald caught the book eagerly to his lips. "I swear it Matilda,--heshall die."
But scarcely had he sworn, when a creeping chill passed through hisframe. His features lost all their animation, and, throwing away thebook on which the impious oath had been taken, he turned away his facefrom Matilda, and sinking his head upon his breast, groaned and weptbitterly.
"What! already, Gerald, do you repent? Nay, tell me not that one thusinfirm of purpose, can be strong of passion. You love me not, else wouldthe wrongs of her you love arm you with the fiercest spirit of vengeanceagainst him who has so deeply injured her. But if you repent, it is butto absolve you from the oath, and then the deed must be my own."
The American spoke in tones in which reproach, expostulation, andwounded affection, were artfully and touchingly blended, and as sheconcluded, she too dropped her head upon her chest and sighed.
"Nay, Matilda, you do me wrong. It is one thing to swerve from theguilty purpose to which your too seductive beauty has won mysoul,--another, to mourn as man should mourn, the hour when virtue,honor, religion, all the nobler principles in which my youth has beennurtured, have proved too weak to stem the tide of guilty passion. Yousay I love you not!" and he laughed bitterly. "What greater proof wouldyou require than the oath I have just taken?"
"Its fulfilment," said Matilda impressively.
"It shall be fulfilled," he returned quickly; "but at least deny me notthe privilege of cursing the hour when crime of so atrocious a dyecould be made so familiar to my soul."
"Crime is a word too indiscriminately bestowed," said Matilda, after amomentary pause. "What the weak in mind class with crime, the strongterm virtue."
"Virtue! what, to spill the blood of a man who has never injured me; tobecome a hired assassin, the price of whose guilt is the hand of her whoinstigates to the deed? If this be virtue, I am indeed virtuous."
"Never injured you!" returned the American, while she bent her dark eyesreproachfully upon those of the unhappy Gerald. "Has he not injured_me_?--injured beyond all power of reparation, her who is to be thepartner of your life?"
"Nay, Matilda," and Gerald again passionately caught and enfolded her tohis heart, "that image alone were sufficient to mould me to your will,even although I had not before resolved. And yet," he pursued, after ashort pause, "how base, how terrible to slay an unsuspecting enemy!Would we could meet in single combat--and why not? Yes it can, it shallbe so. Fool that I was not to think of it before. Matilda, my own love,rejoice with me, for there is a means by which your honor may beavenged, and my own soul unstained by guilt. I will seek this man, andfasten a quarrel upon him. What say you, Matilda--speak to me, tell methat you consent." Gerald gasped with agony.
"Never, Gerald!" she returned, with startling impressiveness, while thecolor, which during the warm embrace of her lover had returned to itonce more, fled from her cheek. "To challenge him would be but to ensureyour own doom, for few in the army of the United States equal him in theuse of the pistol or the small sword; and, even were it otherwise," sheconcluded, her eye kindling into a fierce expression, "were he theveriest novice in the exercise of both, my vengeance would beincomplete, did he not go down to his grave with all his sins on hishead. No, no, Gerald, in the fulness of the pride of existence must heperish. He must not dream of death until he feels the blow that is aimedat his heart."
The agitation of Matilda was profound beyond anything she had ever yetex
hibited. Her words were uttered in tones that betrayed a fixed andunbroken purpose of the soul, and when she had finished, she threw herface upon the bosom of her lover, and ground her teeth together with aforce that showed the effect produced upon her imagination by the verypicture of the death she had drawn.
A pause of some moments ensued. Gerald was visibly disconcerted, and thearm which encircled the waist of the revengeful woman dropped, as if indisappointment, at his side.
"How strange and inconsistent are the prejudices of man," resumedMatilda, half mournfully, half in sarcasm; "here is a warrior--a spillerof human life by profession; his sword has been often dyed in theheart's blood of his fellow man, and yet he shudders at the thought ofadding one murder more to the many already committed. What child-likeweakness!"
"Murder! Matilda--call you it murder to overcome the enemies of one'scountry in fair and honorable combat, and in the field of glory?"
"Call _you_ it what you will--disguise it under whatever cloak youmay--it is no less murder. Nay, the worst of murders, for you but do theduty of the hireling slayer. In cold blood, and for a stipend, do youput an end to the fair existence of him who never injured you in thoughtor deed, and whom, under other circumstances, you would perhaps havetaken to your heart in friendship."
"This is true, but the difference of the motive, Matilda! The oneapproved of heaven and of man, the other alike condemned of both."
"Approved of man, if you will; but that they have the sanction ofheaven, I deny. Worldly policy and social interests alone have drawn thedistinction, making the one a crime, the other a virtue; but tell me notthat an all-wise and just God sanctions and approves the slaying of hiscreatures, because they perish, not singly at the will of one man, butin thousands and tens of thousands at the will of another. What is theremore sacred in the brawls of kings and potentates, that the blood theycause to be shed in torrents for some paltry breach of etiquette, shouldsit more lightly on their souls than the few solitary drops, spilt bythe hand of revenge, on that of him whose existence is writhing under asense of acutest injury?"
The energy with which she expressed herself, communicated acorresponding excitement to her whole manner and person. Her eyesparkled and dilated, and the visible heaving of her bosom told howstrongly her own feelings entered into the principles which she hadadvocated. Never did her personal beauty shine forth more triumphantlyor seducingly than at the moment when her lips were giving utterance tosentiments from which the heart recoiled.
"Oh Matilda," sighed Gerald, "with what subtlety of argument do you seekto familiarize my soul with crime. But the attempt is vain. Although myhand is pledged to do your will, my heart must ever mourn its guilt."
"Foolish Gerald," said Matilda; "why should that seem guilt to you, aman, which to me, a woman, is but justice; but that unlike me you havenever entered into the calm consideration of the subject. Yes," shepursued with greater energy, "what you call subtlety of argument is butforce of conviction. For two long years have I dwelt upon the deed,reasoning, and comparing, until at length each latent prejudice has beenexpelled, and to avenge my harrowing wrongs appeared a duty asdistinctly marked as any one contained in the decalogue. You saw meonce, Gerald, when my hand shrank not from what you term the assassin'sblow, and had you not interfered then, the deed would not now remain tobe accomplished."
"Oh, why did I interfere? why did my evil genius conduct me to such ascene. Then had I lived at least in ignorance of the fearful act."
"Nay, Gerald, let it rather be matter of exultation with you that youdid. Prejudiced as you are, this hand (and she extended an arm soexquisitely formed that one would scarce even have submitted it to thewinds of Heaven) might not seem half so fair, had it once been dyed inhuman blood. Besides who so proper to avenge a woman's wrongs upon herdestroyer, as the lover and the husband to whom she has plighted herfaith for ever? No, no, it is much better as it is and fate seems tohave decreed that it should be so, else why the interruption by yourselfon that memorable occasion, and why, after all your pains to avoid me,this our final union, at a moment when the wretch is about to return tohis native home, inflated with pride and little dreaming of the fatethat awaits him.--Surely, Gerald, you will admit there is something morethan mere chance in this?"
"About to return," repeated Grantham shuddering. "When, Matilda?"
"Within a week at the latest--perhaps within three days. Someunimportant advantage which he has gained on the frontier, has beenmagnified by his generous fellow citizens into a deed of heroism, and,from information conveyed to me, by a trusty and confidential servant, Ifind he has obtained leave of absence, to attend a public entertainmentto be given in Frankfort, on which occasion a magnificent sword is to bepresented to him. Never, Gerald," continued Matilda, her voice droppinginto a whisper, while a ghastly smile passed over and convulsed herlips, "never shall he live to draw that sword. The night of his triumphis that which I have fixed for mine."
"An unimportant advantage upon the frontier," asked Gerald eagerly andbreathlessly. "To what frontier, Matilda, do you allude?"
"The Niagara," was the reply.
"Are you quite sure of this?"
"So sure that I have long known he was there," returned Matilda.
Gerald breathed more freely--but again he questioned:
"Matilda, when first I saw you last night, you were gazing intently uponyon portrait, (he pointed to that part of the temple where the picturehung suspended), and it struck me that I had an indistinct recollectionof the features."
"Nothing more probable," returned the American, answering his searchinglook with one of equal firmness. "You cannot altogether have forgottenMajor Montgomerie."
"Nay, the face struck me not as his. May I look at it?"
"Assuredly. Satisfy yourself."
Gerald quitted the sofa, took up the light, and traversing the roomraised the gauze curtain that covered the painting. It was indeed theportrait of the deceased Major, habited in full uniform.
"How strange," he mused, "that so vague an impression should have beenconveyed to my mind last night, when now I recal without difficultythose well remembered features," Gerald sighed as he recollected underwhat different circumstances he had first beheld that face, and droppingthe curtain once more, crossed the room and flung himself at the side ofMatilda.
"For whom did you take it, if not for Major Montgomerie?" asked theAmerican after a pause, and again her full dark eye was bent on his.
"Nay, I scarcely know myself, yet I had thought it had been the portraitof him I have sworn to destroy."
There was a sudden change of expression in the countenance of Matilda,but it speedily passed away, and she said with a faint smile,
"Whether is it more natural to find pleasure in gazing on the featuresof those who have loved, or those who have injured us?"
"Then whose was the miniature on which you so intently gazed, on thateventful night at Detroit?" asked Gerald.
"That," said Matilda quickly, and paling as she spoke--"that was_his_--I gazed on it only the more strongly to detest the original--toconfirm the determination I had formed to destroy him."
"If _then_," returned the youth, "why not _now_--may I not see thatportrait, Matilda? May I not acquire some knowledge of the unhappy manwhose blood will so shortly stain my soul?"
"Impossible," she replied, "The miniature I have since destroyed. WhileI thought the original within reach of my revenge, I could bear to gazeupon it, but no sooner had I been disappointed in my aim, than it becameloathsome to me as the sight of some venomous reptile, and I destroyedit." This was said with undisguised bitterness.
Gerald sighed deeply. Again he encircled the waist of his companion andone of her fair, soft, velvet hands was pressed in his.
"Matilda," he observed, "deep indeed must be the wrong that would promptthe heart of woman to so terrible a hatred. When we last parted, yougave me but an indistinct and general outline of the injury you hadsustained. Tell me now all--tell me everything," he continued withenergy
, "that can infuse a portion of the hatred which fills your soulinto mine, that my hand may be firmer--my heart more hardened to thedeed."
"The story of my wrongs must be told in a few words, for I cannot bearto linger on it," commenced the American, again turning deadly pale,while her quivering lips and trembling voice betrayed the excitement ofher feelings. The monster was the choice of my heart--judge how much sowhen I tell you that, confiding in _his_ honor, and in the assurancethat our union would take place immediately, I surrendered to him_mine_. A constant visitor at Major Montgomerie's, whose brother officerhe was, we had ample opportunities of being together. We were lookedupon in society as affianced lovers, and in fact it was the warmest wishof Major Montgomerie that we should be united. A day had even been fixedfor the purpose, and it wanted, but eight and forty hours of the time,when an occurrence took place which blasted all prospect of our unionfor ever.
"I have already told you, I think," resumed Matilda, "that this littletemple had been exclusively erected for my own use. Here however myfalse lover had constant ingress, and being furnished with a key, was inthe habit of introducing himself at hours when having taken leave of thefamily for the evening, he was supposed by Major Montgomerie and theservants to have retired to his own home. On the occasion to which Ihave just alluded, I had understood from him some business, connectedwith our approaching marriage, would detain him in the town to anhour too advanced to admit of his paying me his usual visit. Judge mysurprise, and indeed my consternation, when at a late hour of the nightI heard the lock of the door turn, and saw my lover appear at theentrance."
There was a short pause, and Matilda again proceeded.
"Scarcely had he shown himself, when he again vanished, closing the doorwith startling violence. I sprang from the sofa and flew forth afterhim, but in vain. He had already departed, and with a heart sinkingunder an insurmountable dread of coming evil, I once more entered thetemple, and throwing myself upon the sofa, gave vent to my feelings inan agony of tears."
"But why his departure, and whence your consternation?" asked Gerald,whose curiosity had been deeply excited.
"I was not alone," resumed Matilda, in a deep and solemn voice. "When heentered, I was hanging on the neck of another."
Gerald gave a half start of dismay, his arm dropped from the waist ofthe American, and he breathed heavily and quickly.
Matilda remarked the movement, and a sickly and half scornful smilepassed over her pale features. "Before we last parted, Gerald, I toldyou, not only that I was in no way connected with Major Montgomerie byblood, but that I was the child of obscure parents."
"What then?"
"The man on whose neck I hung was my own father."
"It was Desborough!" said the youth, with an air and in a voice ofextreme anguish.
"It was," returned Matilda, her face crimsoning as she reluctantlyacknowledged the parentage. "But how knew you it?"
"Behold the proof!" exclaimed Gerald, with uncontrollable bitterness, ashe drew from his bosom the portrait of a child which, from its strikingresemblance, could be taken for no other than her to whom he nowpresented it.
"This is indeed mine," said Matilda, mournfully. "It was taken for me,as I have since understood, in the very year when I was laid an orphanand a stranger at the door of that good man, who, calling himself myuncle, has been to me through life a more than father. Thank God," shepursued, with great animation, her large, dark eyes upturned, andsparkling through the tears that forced themselves upwards, "thank God,he at least lives not to suffer through the acts of his adopted child.Where got you this, Gerald?" she proceeded, when, after a short struggleshe had succeeded in overcoming her emotion.
Gerald, who in his narrative of events, had purposely omitted allmention of Desborough, now detailed the occurrence at the hut, andconcluded what the reader already knows, by stating that he had observedand severed from the settler, as he slept heavily on the floor, theportrait in question, which, added to the previous declaration ofMatilda as to the obscurity of her birth, connected with othercircumstances on board his gun-boat, on his trip to Buffalo, had left animpression little short of certainty that he was indeed the father ofthe woman whom he so wildly loved.
For some minutes after this explanation there was a painful silence,which neither seemed anxious to interrupt. At length Gerald asked:
"But what had a circumstance, so capable of explanation, to do with thebreaking off of your engagement, Matilda? or did he, more proud--perhapsI should say less debased--than myself, shrink from uniting his fatewith the daughter of a murderer?"
"True," said Matilda, musingly; "you have said, I think, that he slewyour father. This thirst for revenge, then, would seem hereditary._That_ is the only, because it is the noblest, inheritance I would oweto such a being."
"But your affair with your lover, Matilda--how terminated that?"demanded Gerald, with increasing paleness and in a faltering tone.
"In his falsehood and my disgrace. Early the next morning I sent to him,and bade him seek me in the temple at the usual hour. He came, but itwas only to blast my hopes--to disappoint the passion of the woman whodoated upon him. He accused me of vile intercourse with a slave, andalmost maddened me with ignoble reproaches. It was in vain that I sworeto him most solemnly, the man he had seen was my father--a being whommotives of prudence compelled me to receive in private, even though myheart abhorred and loathed the relationship between us. He treated myexplanation with deriding contempt, bidding me either produce thatfather within twenty-four hours, or find some easier fool to persuade,that one wearing the hue and features of the black, could by humanpossibility be the parent of a white woman. Again I explained theseeming incongruity, by urging that the hasty and imperfect view he hadtaken was of a mask, imitating the features of a negro, which my fatherhad brought with him as a disguise, and which he had hastily resumed onhearing the noise of the key in the door. I even admitted as an excusefor seeing him thus clandestinely, the lowly origin of my father and thebase occupation he followed of a treacherous spy, who, residing in theCanadas, came, for the mere consideration of gold, to sell politicalinformation to the enemies of the country that gave him asylum andprotection. I added that his visit to me was to extort money, under athreat of publishing our consanguinity, and that dread of his (mylover's) partiality being decreased by the disclosure, had induced me tothrow my arms, in the earnestness of entreaty, upon his neck, andimplore his secresy; promising to reward him generously for his silence.I moreover urged him, if he still doubted, to make inquiry of MajorMontgomerie, and ascertain from him whether I was not indeed the nieceof his adoption, and not of his blood. Finally, I humbled myself in thedust, and, like a fawning reptile, clasped his knees in my arms,entreating mercy and justice. But no," and the voice of Matilda grewdeeper, and her form became more erect; "neither mercy nor justice dweltin that hard heart, and he spurned me rudely from him. Nothing short ofthe production of him he persisted in calling my vile paramour, wouldsatisfy him; but my ignoble parent had received from me the reward ofhis secresy, and he had departed once more to the Canadas. And thus,"pursued Matilda, her voice trembling with emotion, "was I made thevictim of the most diabolical suspicion that ever haunted the breast ofman."
Gerald was greatly affected. His passion for Matilda seemed to increasein proportion with his sympathy for her wrongs, and he clasped herenergetically to his heart.
"Finding him resolute in attaching to me the debasing imputation,"pursued the American, "it suddenly flashed upon my mind that this wasbut a pretext to free himself from his engagement, and that he was gladto accomplish his object through the first means that offered. Oh,Gerald, I cannot paint the extraordinary change that came over myfeelings at this thought! much less give you an idea of the rapiditywith which that change was effected. One moment before, and, althoughdegraded and unjustly accused, I had loved him with all the ardor ofwhich a woman's heart is capable: _now_ I hated, loathed, detested him;and had he sunk at my feet, I would have spurned him from me withindign
ation and scorn. I could not but be conscious that the very act ofhaving yielded myself up to him, had armed my lover with the power toaccuse me of infidelity, and the more I lingered on the want ofgenerosity such a suspicion implied, the more rooted became my dislike,the more profound my contempt for him, who could thus repay so great aproof of confidingness and affection.
"It was even while I lay grovelling at his feet," pursued Matilda, aftera momentary pause, during which she evinced intense agitation, "thatthis sudden change (excited by this most unheard-of injustice) came overmy mind--I rose and stood before him; then asked, in a voice in which noevidence of passion could be traced, what excuse he meant to make toMajor Montgomerie for having thus broken off his engagement. He startedat my sudden calmness of manner, but said that he thought it might be aswell for my sake to name what I had already stated to him in regard tothe obscurity of my birth, as a plea for his seceding from theconnexion. I told him that, under all the circumstances, I thought thismost advisable, and then, pointing to the door, bade him be gone, andnever, under any pretext whatever, again to insult me with his presence.When he had departed, I burst into a paroxysm of tears; but they weretears shed not for the loss of him I now despised, but of wild sorrow atmy unmerited degradation. That conflict over, the weakness had for everpassed away, and never, since that hour, has tear descended cheek ofmine, associated with the recollection of the villain who had thus daredto trifle with a heart the full extent of whose passions he has yet tolearn."
There was a trembling of the whole person of Matilda which told how muchher feelings had been excited by the recollection of what she narrated,and Gerald, as he gazed upon her beautiful form, could not but wonder atthe apathy of the man who could thus have heartlessly thrown it from himfor ever.
"Had the injury terminated here," resumed Matilda, "bitter as myhumiliation was, my growing dislike for him who had so ungenerouslyinflicted it, might have enabled me to endure it. But, not satisfiedwith destroying the happiness of her who had sacrificed all for hissake, my perfidious lover had yet a blow in reserve for me, comparedwith which his antecedent conduct was mercy. Gerald," she continued, asshe pressed his arm with a convulsive grasp, "will you believe that themonster had the infamy to confide to one of his most intimateassociates, that his rupture with me was occasioned by his havingdiscovered me in the arms of a slave--of one of those vile beingscommunion with whom my soul in any sense abhorred? How shall I describethe terrible feeling that came over my insulted heart at that moment.But no, no--description were impossible. This associate--this friend ofhis--dared on the very strength of this infamous imputation, to pollutemy ear with his disrespectful passion, and when, in a transport ofcontempt and anger, I spurned him from me, he taunted me with that whichI believed confined to the breast, as it had been engendered only in thesuspicion, of my betrayer. Oh! if it be dreadful to be accused by thosewhom we have loved in intimacy, how much more is it to know that theyhave not had even the common humanity to conceal our supposed weaknessfrom the world. From that moment revenge took possession of my soul, andI swore that my destroyer should perish by the hand of her whoseinnocence and whose peace he had blasted for ever.
"Shortly after this event," resumed Matilda, "my base lover was orderedto join his regiment, then stationed at Detroit. A year passed away, andduring that period my mind pondered unceasingly on the means ofaccomplishing my purpose of revenge; and so completely did I devotemyself to a cool and unprejudiced examination of the subject, that whatthe vulgar crowd term guilt, appeared to me plain virtue. On the warbreaking out, Major Montgomerie was also ordered to Detroit, and thitherI entreated him to suffer me to accompany him. He consented, for knowingnothing of the causes which had turned my love into gall, he thought itnot improbable that a meeting with my late lover might be productive ofa removal of his prejudices, and our consequent reunion. Little did hedream that it was with a view to plunge a dagger into my destroyer'sfalse heart, that I evinced so much eagerness to undertake so long andso disagreeable a Journey.
"Little more remains to be added," pursued Matilda, as she fixed herdark eyes with a softened expression on those of Gerald, "since with theoccurrences there you are already sufficiently acquainted. Yet there isone point upon which I would explain myself. When I first became yourprisoner, my mind had been worked up to the highest pitch ofdetermination, and in my captor I at first beheld but an evil genius whohad interposed himself between me and my just revenge, when on the veryeve of its consummation. Hence my petulance and impatience while in thepresence of your noble General."
"And whence that look, Matilda, that peculiar glance, which you bestowedupon me even within the same hour?"
"Because in your frank and fearless mien I saw that manly honor andfidelity, the want of which had undone me."
"Then if so, why the cold, the mortifying reserve, you manifested whenwe met at dinner at my uncle's table?"
"Because I had also recollected that, degraded as I was, I ought not toseek the love of an honorable man, and that to win you to my interestwould be of no avail, as, separated by the national quarrel, you couldnot by any possibility be near to aid me in my plans."
"Then," said Gerald reproachfully, "it was merely to make me aninstrument of vengeance that you sought me. Unkind Matilda!"
"Nay, Gerald--recollect, that then I had not learnt to know you as I donow--I will not deny that when first I saw you, a secret instinct toldme you were one whom I would have deeply loved had I never loved before;but betrayed and disappointed as I had been, I looked upon all men witha species of loathing--my kind, good, excellent more than father,excepted--and yet, Gerald, there were moments when I wished even himdead" (Gerald started)--"yes! dead--because I knew the anguish thatwould crush his heart, if he should ever learn that the false brand ofthe assassin had been affixed to the brow of his adopted child." Matildasighed profoundly, and then resumed. "Later, however, when the absenceof its object had in some degree abated the keenness of my thirst forrevenge, and when more frequent intercourse had made me acquainted withthe generous qualities of your mind, I loved you, Gerald, although Iwould not avow it, with a fervor I had never believed myself a secondtime capable of entertaining."
Again the countenance of Matilda was radiant with the expression justalluded to by her lover. Gerald gazed at her as though his very beinghung upon the continuance of that fascinating influence, and again heclasped her to his heart.
"Matilda! oh, my own betrothed Matilda!" he murmured.
"Yes, your own betrothed," repeated the American, highly excited, "thewife of your affection and your choice, who has been held up to calumnyand scorn. Think of that, Gerald; she on whose fond bosom you are torepose your aching head, she who glories in her beauty only because itis beauty in your eyes, has been betrayed, accused of a vile passion fora slave; yet he--the fiend who has done this grievous wrong--he who hasstamped your wife with ignominy, and even published her shame--stilllives. Within a week," she resumed in a voice hoarse from exhaustion,"yes, within a week, Gerald he will be here--perhaps to deride andcontemn you for the choice you have made."
"Within a week he dies," exclaimed the youth. "Matilda, come what will,he dies. Life is death without you, and with you even crime may sitlightly on my soul. But we will fly far from the habitations of men. Theforest shall be my home, and when the past recurs to me you shall smileupon me with that smile, look upon me with that look, and I will forgetall. Yes," he pursued, with a fierce excitement snatching up the holybook, and again carrying it to his lips, "once more I repeat my oath. Hewho has thus wronged you, my own Matilda, dies--dies by the hand ofGerald Grantham--of your affianced husband."
There was another long embrace, after which the plan of operations wasdistinctly explained and decided upon. They then separated for thenight--the infatuated Gerald, with a load of guilt at his heart noeffort of his reason could remove, returning by the route he hadfollowed on the preceding evening to his residence in the town.
Matilda Montgomerie; Or, The Prophecy Fulfilled Page 27