Out of the Hurly-Burly; Or, Life in an Odd Corner

by Charles Heber Clark

  CHAPTER XIV.

  A DELAWARE LEGEND--A STORY OF THE OLD TIME--THE CHRISTMAS PLAY--A CRUEL ACCUSATION--THE FLIGHT IN THE DARKNESS ALONG THE RIVER SHORE--THE TRIAL AND THE CONDEMNATION--ST. PILLORY'S DAY SEVENTY YEARS AGO--FLOGGING A WOMAN--THE DELIVERANCE.

  While the scenes at the whipping-post on flogging-day are fresh in mymind, I have written down the story of Mary Engle. It is a Delawarelegend, and the events of which it speaks occurred, I will say,seventy-odd years ago, when they were in the habit of lashing women inthis very town of New Castle.

  It was on Christmas day that a little party had assembled in the oldNewton mansion to participate in the festivities for which, at thisseason of the year, it was famous all the country over. The house stoodupon the river bank, three miles and more from New Castle, and in thatday it was considered the greatest and handsomest building in the wholeneighborhood. A broad lawn swept away from it down to the water's edge,and in summer-time this was covered with bright-colored flowers andbounded by green hedges. Now the grass was bleached with the cold; thehedges were brown and sere, and the huge old trees, stripped of theirfoliage, moaned and creaked and shivered in the wind, rattling theirbranches together as if seeking sympathy with each other in theirdesolation.

  Inside the mansion the scene was as cheerful as life and fun and highspirits could make it.

  Old Major Newton, the lord and master of all the wide estates, was oneof the race of country gentlemen who introduced to this continent themanners, habits and large hospitality of the better class of Englishsquires of his day. He was a mighty fox-hunter, as many a brush hung inhis dining-hall could attest. A believer in the free use of the goodthings of life, his sideboard always contained a dozen decanters, fromwhich the coming, the remaining and the parting guests were expected tofollow the major's example in drinking deeply. His table was alwaysprofusely supplied with good fare, and dining with him was the greatduty and pleasure of the day. He was a gentleman in education, and tosome extent in his tastes; but his manners partook of the coarseness ofhis time, for he swore fierce oaths, and his temper was quick, terribleand violent. His forty negro slaves were treated with indulgent kindnesswhile they obeyed him implicitly, but any attempt at insubordinationupon their part called down upon their heads a volley of oaths and thatsavage punishment which the major considered necessary to discipline.

  To-day the major had been out of spirits, and had not joined heartily inthe hilarity of the company, which, despite the gloom of the master,made the old house ring with the merriment and laughter due to thehappiness of Christmas time.

  At five o'clock dinner was done; and the ladies having withdrawn, thecloth was removed, the wine and whisky and apple-toddy, and a halfdozen other beverages, were brought out, and the major, with his maleguests, began the serious work of the repast. The major sat at the headof the table; Dr. Ricketts, a jolly bachelor of fifty, who neglectedmedicine that he might better spend his fortune in a life of ease andpleasure, presided at the lower end of the board, upon the flanks ofwhich sat a dozen gentlemen from the neighboring estates, among them TomWillitts, from the adjoining farm, and Dick Newton, the major's onlyson.

  The conversation languished somewhat. The major was as gloomy as he hadbeen earlier in the day. Dick seemed to sympathize with his father. TomWillitts was impatient to have the drinking bout over, that he might goto the parlor, where his thoughts already wandered, and where his_fiancee_, Mary Engle, the fair governess in the major's family, awaitedhim. The guests at last began to be depressed by the want of spirits intheir host; and if it had not been for Doctor Ricketts, there would havebeen a dull time indeed. But the doctor was talkative, lively and whollyindifferent to the taciturnity of his companions. His weakness was afondness for theorizing, and he rattled on from topic to topic, heedlessof anything but the portly goblet which he replenished time and againfrom the decanter and the punch-bowl.

  At last he exclaimed, in the hope of rousing his host from his apparentdespondency, "And now let's have a song from the major. Give us the'Tally Ho!' Newton."

  "I can't sing it to-day, gentlemen," said the major; "the fact is I am agood deal out of sorts. I have met with a misfortune, and I--"

  "Why, what's happened?" exclaimed the whole company.

  "Why," said the major, with an oath, "I've lost my famous old diamondbrooch--a jewel, gentlemen, given to my father by George II.--a jewelthat I valued more than all the world beside. It was the reward given tomy father for a brave and gallant deed at the battle of Dettingen, andits rare intrinsic value was trifling beside that which it possessed asthe evidence of my father's valor."

  "How did you lose it, major?" asked the doctor.

  "I went to my desk this morning, and found that the lock had beenpicked, the inside drawer broken open and the brooch taken from itsbox."

  "Who could have done it?"

  "I can't imagine," replied the major; "I don't think any of thoseniggers would have done such a thing. I've searched them all, but it'sof no use, sir--no use; it's gone. But if I ever lay hands on thescoundrel, I'll flay him alive--I will, indeed, even if it should beDick there;" and the old man gulped down a heavy draught of port, as ifto drown his grief.

  "My theory about such crimes," said the doctor, "is that the personscommitting them are always more or less insane."

  "Insane!" swore the major, fiercely. "If I catch the man who did this,I'll fit him for a hospital!"

  "We are all a little daft at times--when we are angry, in love, inextreme want, or excited by intense passion of any kind," said thedoctor. "Extreme ignorance, being neglect of one's intellectualfaculties, is a kind of insanity, and so is the perversion of the moralperceptions of those who are educated to a life of crime from theirchildhood. My theory is that punishment should be so inflicted as torestore reason, not merely to wreak vengeance."

  "And my theory is that every vagabond who breaks the laws ought to beflogged and imprisoned, so that he may know that society will nottolerate crime. Hang your fine-spun theories about the beggars who preyupon the community!" said the major, rising and kicking back his chairill-naturedly.

  The doctor had nothing more to say, and the company withdrew to theparlor.

  There, gathered around the great fireplace, sat Mrs. Newton, herdaughters--both children--Mary Engle, their tutor, Mrs. Willitts and thewives of the gentlemen who had come from the dinner-table.

  They rose as the men entered the room, and greeted them cordially. TomWillitts went quickly to Mary's side, and while the others engaged inlively conversation he took her hand gently and, as was their privilege,they walked slowly up the room and sat by the window alone, Mary's facebrightening as she thanked Tom heartily for the beautiful present he hadsent her the day before.

  "Why don't you wear it now, Mary?" asked Tom.

  "Do you want me to? I will get it and put it on, then, when I go to myroom," said Mary.

  Mary Engle was the daughter of a widow in humble circumstances wholived in the village. Talented and well-educated, she had determined nolonger to be a burden upon her mother, but to support herself. She hadchosen to become a governess in Major Newton's family. Young, beautifuland of good social position, she was a valuable acquisition to thathousehold, and was a universal favorite, although the major could neverquite rid himself of the notion that, as she was a dependant and anemploye, he was conferring a favor upon her by permitting such intimaterelations to exist between her and his family. But he treated herkindly, as all men must a pretty woman. She was a girl with whom any manmight have fallen in love upon first acquaintance. Dick Newton loved herpassionately before she had been in his father's house a month. But shehad chosen rather to favor Tom Willitts, a constant visitor at theNewton mansion, and as fine a fellow as ever galloped across the countrywith the hounds. Dick had not had time to propose before the game was upand Tom called the prize his own. But Dick nursed his passion andsmothered his disappointment, while he swore that he would possess thegirl or involve her and her lover in common ruin with
himself. Tom hadbeen engaged for three months before this Christmas day. He was to bemarried in the coming spring.

  There was to be a theatrical exhibition in the Newton mansion thisChristmas evening, in which the young people were to participate. Atemporary stage had been erected at one end of the long room, and at anearly hour seats were placed in front of the curtain, and the gueststook their places, conversing with much merriment and laughter until thebell gave the signal for the performance to begin.

  It was a little play--a brief comedy of only tolerable merit, and itdevolved upon Mary Engle to enter first.

  She tripped in smiling, and began the recitation with a vivacity andspirit that promised well for the excellence of her performancethroughout. Upon her throat she wore a diamond brooch which blazed andflashed in the glare of the foot-lights.

  There was an exclamation of surprise on the part of the gentlemenpresent, and the sound startled Mary. She paused and looked around herinquiringly. Just then Major Newton caught sight of the brooch. With anugly word upon his lips, he sprang from his seat and jumped upon thestage.

  "Where did you get that?" he demanded, fiercely, pointing at thediamonds, his hand trembling violently.

  There was absolute silence in the room as Mary, pale and calm, replied:

  "Why do you ask, sir?"

  "Where did you get that, I say? It was stolen from me. You are a thief!"

  In an instant she tore it from her dress and flung it upon the floor.

  The major leaped toward it and picked it up quickly.

  Mary covered her face with her hands, and the crimson of her cheeksshone through her fingers.

  "Where did you get it?" again demanded the major.

  "I will not tell you, sir," said she, dragging down her hands with aneffort and clasping them in front of her.

  "Then leave this house this instant, and leave it for ever!" said themajor, wild with passion.

  Tom Willitts entered just as the last words were uttered. Mary seemedfainting. He flew to her side as if to defend her against her enemy. Hedid not know the cause of her trouble, but he glared at the major as ifhe could slay him. But as he tried to place his arm around Mary, sheshrank away from him; and giving him one look of scorn and contempt andhatred, she ran from the room.

  From the room to the great door in the hall, which, with franticeagerness, she flung open, and then, without any covering upon her fairhead, hot with shame and disgrace, and maddened with insult, she fledout into the cold and dark and desolate winter's night.

  Scarcely heeding the direction, she reached the river's shore; andchoosing the hard sand for a pathway, she hurried along it. The tideswept up in ceaseless ripples at her feet, the waves breaking upon theicy fringe of the shore, each with a whisper that seemed to tell of herdishonor. The wind rustled the sedges upon the banks and filled themwith voices that mocked her. The stars that lighted her upon her madjourney twinkled through the frosty air with an intelligence they hadnever before possessed. The lights, far out upon the river and in thedistant town, danced up and down in the darkness as if beckoning her tocome on to them and to destruction.

  Her brain was in a whirl. At first she felt an impulse to end her miseryin the river. One plunge, and all this anguish and pain would be buriedbeneath those restless waters. Then the hope of vindication flashed uponher mind, and the awful sin and the cowardice of self-destruction rosevividly before her. She would seek her home and the mother from whom sheshould never have gone out. She would give up happiness and humanity,and hide herself from the cold, heartless world for ever. She would haveno more to do with false friends and false lovers, but would shutherself away from all this deceit and treachery and unkindness, andnevermore trust any human being but her own dear mother.

  And so, over the sandy beach, through mire and mud, through the highgrass and the reeds of the water's edge, tangled and dead, and full ofperil in the darkness, with her hair disheveled and tossed about by theriotous wind, but with not a tear upon her white face, she struggledonward through the night, until, exhausted with her journey, her wildpassion and her misery, she reached her mother's house, and entering,clasped her arms about her mother's neck, and with a sob fell faintingat her feet.

  * * * * *

  There was an end to merriment at the Newton mansion. When Mary ran fromthe room, the company stood for a moment amazed and bewildered, whilethe major, raging with passion, yet half ashamed of his furious conduct,walked rapidly up and down the stage, attempting to explain the theft tohis guests and to justify his conduct. But Tom Willitts, shocked at thecruel treatment he had received from Mary, yet filled with righteousindignation at the major's violence, interrupted his first utterance.

  "You are a coward and a brute, sir; and old as you are, I will make youanswer for your infamous treatment of that young girl."

  And before the major could reply he dashed out to pursue Mary and giveher his protection. He sought her in vain upon the highway; and filledwith bitterness, and wondering why she had so scorned him, he trudged onthrough the darkness, peering about him vainly for the poor girl forwhom he would have sacrificed his life.

  "Perhaps it was merely a jest," suggested Mrs. Willitts. "I think Marywholly incapable of theft. She never could have intended seriously tokeep the brooch."

  "A pretty serious jest," said the major, "to break into my desk threedays ago. It's the kind of humor that puts people in jail."

  "My theory about the matter," said the doctor, "is this: She either wasmade the victim of a pretty ugly practical joke, or else some one stolethe jewel from you and gave it to her to get her into trouble."

  "I don't believe anything of the kind," said the major.

  "It must be so. If she had stolen it, she certainly would not have wornit in your presence this evening. It is absurd to suppose such a thing.Taking this theory--"

  "Hang theorizing!" exclaimed the major, seeing the force of thissuggestion, but more angry that he was driven to admit it to his ownmind. "She is a thief, and as sure as I live she shall either confess,tell how she got the jewel or go to prison."

  "And as sure as I live," said the doctor, grown indignant and serious,"I will unravel this mystery and clear this innocent girl of this mostinfamous and wicked imputation."

  "Do it if you can!" said the major, and turned his back upon himcontemptuously.

  The doctor left the house, and the company dispersed, eager gossips,all of them, to tell the story far and wide throughout the communitybefore to-morrow's noon.

  * * * * *

  When Mary had revived and told, in broken words, the story of her miseryand disgrace, her mother soothed and comforted her with the assurancethat she should never leave her again; and while she denounced MajorNewton's conduct bitterly, she said he would find that he had made amistake and would clear her of the charge.

  "But he will not find it out, mother."

  "Why? Where did you get the brooch, Mary?"

  "Do not ask me, mother; I cannot, cannot tell you."

  "Had you merely picked it up and put it on in jest?"

  "No, no," said Mary, "it was given to me, I cannot tell by whom, and Ithought it was mine. It was cruel, cruel!" and her tears came again.

  "And who was it that did so vile a thing?" asked her mother.

  "Mother, I cannot tell even you that."

  "But, Mary, this is foolish. You must not, for your own sake, for mine,hide the name of this criminal."

  "I will never, never tell. I will die first."

  "Was it Tom Willitts?"

  "You must not question me, mother," said Mary, firmly. "If the personwho betrayed me is cowardly enough to place me in such a position, andthen to stand coldly by and witness my shame, I am brave enough and trueenough to bear the burden. I would rather have this misery than hisconscience."

  Tom Willitts knocked at the door.

  "If it is Tom Willitts, mother," said Mary, rising, "tell him I will notsee him. Tell him never to
come to this house again. Tell him," shesaid, her eyes glowing with excitement, and stamping her foot upon thefloor, "tell him I hate him--hate him for a false, mean villain!" andshe fell back upon the chair in a wild passion of tears.

  Mrs. Engle met Tom at the door. He was filled with anxiety and terror,but he rejoiced that Mary was safe. Mrs. Engle told him that Maryrefused to see him. He was smitten with anguish, and begged for a singleword with her.

  "Do you know anything about this wicked business, Mr. Willitts?" askedMrs. Engle, suspicious, because of Mary's words, that Tom was thecriminal.

  "Upon my honor I do not. I heard Major Newton's language, and saw thebrooch upon the floor; and when Mary fled from me, I pursued her,wondering what it all meant."

  "She evidently suspects you of having been the cause of the trouble.Prove that you were not. Until then she will not see you. I beg you, foryourself and her, to tell the truth about this, if you know it, or atleast to persist till you discover it."

  Tom went away distressed and confounded. She suspected him. No wonder,then, she had spurned him so rudely. He thought the matter over, andcould arrive at no solution of the difficulty. He had sent her abracelet which she had promised to wear, but she had not worn it. It wasimpossible that this brooch could have been substituted. No, his ownservant had given it to her, and brought her thanks in return. Besides,who could be base enough to play such a dastardly trick upon a prettyyoung girl? He could not master the situation; and in his trouble hewent the next morning to Dr. Ricketts.

  The doctor was equally puzzled, but he was certain that there was foulplay somewhere. He had pledged himself to unravel the mystery, and hebegan the work by visiting Mary. Alone, he went to her house. He foundit in strange commotion. Mrs. Engle was sitting upon the sofa, cryingbitterly; Mary, with pale, sad face, but with an air of determination,confronted an obsequious man, who, with many apologies and a manner thatproved that he was ashamed of his business, extended a paper toward her,and requested her to accompany him.

  It was a constable with a warrant for her arrest.

  Nearly five weary months were to pass before the cruel time of thetrial. Dr. Ricketts busied himself examining every one who couldpossibly have been connected with the affair of the brooch, but with noresult but a deeper mystery. Tom's servant swore that he had given thebracelet into Mary's own hand. Two of the house servants at MajorNewton's were present at the time, and they were certain the package wasnot broken. Mary's thimble had been found under the broken desk in whichthe brooch was kept, and the housemaid had discovered a chisel secretedbehind some books in the bookcase in her room.

  The evidence, slight though it was, pointed to Mary as the criminal,despite the absurdity of the supposition, in view of the manner in whichshe had worn the jewel. Mary herself preserved an obstinate silence,refusing to tell how or where or from whom she procured the fatalbrooch. The doctor was bewildered and confounded, and he at last gave uphis inquiries in despair, hoping for a gracious verdict from the jury atthe trial.

  Through all the weary time Mary kept closely at home, secluded fromfriends and acquaintances. Indeed, visitors were few in number now. Shewas in humble circumstances, and she was in disgrace. Society alwaysaccounts its members guilty until their innocence is proved. There werepeople in the town who had been jealous of her beauty, her popularity,her place in the affections of rich Tom Willitts, and these did nothesitate to hint, with a sneer, that they had always doubted thereported excellence of Mary Engle, and to assert their belief in herguilt.

  Tom Willitts was nearly crazed about her treatment of him and theignominy that was heaped upon her. With Dr. Ricketts and Dick Newton,who professed intense anxiety to help solve the matter, he strovevaliantly to clear her of the charge, but without avail.

  The day of the trial came. The court-room was crowded. Able lawyers onboth sides sparred with each other, as able lawyers do, but the heart ofthe prosecuting attorney was evidently not with his work. His duty wasclear, however, and the evidence was overwhelming. The defence hadnothing to offer but Mary's good character and her appearance before thecompany with the brooch upon her person.

  The judge was compelled to instruct the jury against the prisoner. Anhour of anxious suspense, and they returned a verdict of "guilty."

  Mrs. Engle began to sob violently. Mary drew her veil aside from a facethat was ashen white, but not a muscle quivered until the judgepronounced the sentence:

  "Costs of prosecution, a fine of one hundred dollars, twenty lashes uponthe bare back on the Saturday following, and imprisonment for one year."

  Mary fell to the floor insensible, and Dr. Ricketts, raising her in hisarms, applied restoratives. She was removed to the jail to await herpunishment.

  The doctor mounted his horse and sped away in hot haste forty miles toDover. He had influence with the governor. He would procure a pardon,and then have Mary taken away from the scene of her tribulation--whereher suffering and disgrace would be forgotten, and she would be atpeace. He was unsuccessful. The governor was a just, not a merciful,man. The law had been outraged. Twelve good men and true had said so.If people committed crimes, they must submit to the penalty. Societymust be protected. The intelligence and social position of the criminalonly made the demands of justice more imperative. If he pardoned MaryEngle, men would rightly say that the poor and friendless and weak werepunished, while the influential and rich escaped the law. He must do hisduty to Delaware and to her people. He could not grant the pardon.

  But there was to be another appeal to executive mercy. It was the nightbefore the punishment. The doctor sat in his parlor, before the glowingfire in the grate, and with his head resting upon his hand he thoughtsadly of the pitiful scene he had witnessed in the jail from which hehad just come--of Mary, in the damp, narrow cell, bearing herself like aheroine through all this terrible trial, and still keeping a secretwhich the doctor felt certain would give her back her freedom and hergood name if it could be disclosed; of Mrs. Engle, full of despair andterror, crying bitterly over the shame and disgrace that had come uponher child, and which would be increased beyond endurance on the morrow.

  As the doctor's kind old heart grew heavy with these thoughts, and fromthe bewildering maze of circumstances he tried to evolve some theorythat promised salvation, Dick Newton entered.

  He was haggard and pale, and his eyes were cast down to the floor.

  "Why, Dick, what's the matter?" asked the doctor.

  "Dr. Ricketts, I have come to make a shameful confession. I--"

  "Well?" said the doctor, suspiciously and impatiently, as Dick's voicefaltered.

  "I will not hesitate about it," said Dick, hurriedly; "I am afraid it iseven now too late. I stole the diamond brooch."

  "What?" exclaimed the doctor, jumping to his feet in a frenzy ofindignant excitement.

  "I am the cause of all this trouble. It was my fault that Mary Engle wasaccused and convicted, and it will be my fault if she is punished. Oh,doctor, cannot something be done to save her? I never intended it shouldgo so far."

  "You infamous scoundrel!" said the doctor, unable to restrain his scornand contempt; "why did you not say this before? Why did you permit allthis misery and shame to fall upon the defenceless head of a woman forwhom an honest man should have sacrificed his very life? How was thisvillainy consummated? Tell me, quickly!"

  The poor wretch sank upon his knees, and with a trembling voiceexclaimed,

  "I loved her. I hated Tom Willitts. He sent her a bracelet. I knew itwould come. I broke open father's cabinet and took his brooch. Withthreats and money I induced Tom's servant to lend me the box for a fewmoments before he entered the house. I placed the brooch in it. Shethought it came from Tom, and she resolved to die rather than betrayhim, although she thinks him the cause of her ruin. It was vile and meanand wicked in me, but I thought Tom would be the victim, not she; andwhen the trouble came, I could not endure the shame of exposure. But youwill save her now, doctor, will you not? I will fly--leave thecountry--kill myself--anything
to prevent this awful crime."

  The miserable man burst into tears. Dr. Ricketts looked at him a momentwith eyes filled with pity and scorn, and then said,

  "So my theory was right, after all. Come, sir, you will go to thegovernor with me, and we will see if he will grant a pardon upon yourconfession."

  "What, to-night?" asked Dick.

  "Yes, to-night--now; and it will be well for you and your victim iffleet horses carry us to Dover and back before ten to-morrow morning."

  In five minutes the pair were seated in a carriage, and through theblack night they sped onward, the one with his heart swelling with hope,joy and humanity, the other cowering in the darkness, full of misery andself-contempt, and of horrible forebodings of the future.

  * * * * *

  Saturday morning--a cold, raw, gusty morning in May.

  The town was in a small uproar. Men lounged on the porches of thetaverns, in front of which their horses were hitched, talking politics,discussing crop prospects, the prices of grain, the latest news by coachand schooner from Philadelphia. Inside the bar-room men were readingnewspapers a month old, drinking, swearing and debating with loudvoices.

  But the attraction that morning was in another quarter. In the middle ofthe market street there was a common--a strip of green sod twenty feetwide fringed on either side with a row of trees. In the centre of thisstood the whipping-post and pillory.

  The hour of ten tolled out from the steeple down the street. It was thesame bell that called the people together on Sunday to worship God andto supplicate his mercy. It was a bell of various uses. It summoned thesaints to prayer and the sinners to punishment.

  At its earliest stroke the jailer issued from the prison with aforlorn-looking white man in his clutches. He hurried his prisoner upthe ladder, and prepared to fasten him in the pillory. The boys belowcollected in knots, and fingered the missiles in their hands. The jailerdescended. A boy lifted his hand and flung a rotten egg at the pilloriedwretch. It hit him squarely in the face, and the feculent contentsstreamed down to his chin. That was the signal. Eggs, dead cats, mud,stones, tufts of sod and a multitude of filthy things were showered uponthe prisoner, until the platform was covered with the _debris_. Heyelled with pain, and strove vainly to shake from his face the bloodthat streamed forth from the cut skin and the filth that besmeared it.The crowd hooted at him and laughed at his efforts, and called him vilenames, and jested with him about his wooden collar and cuffs, and nohuman heart in all that assembly had any pity for him. For an hour hestood there, enduring inconceivable torture. When the steeple clockstruck eleven, he was taken out in wretched plight, almost helpless andsorely wounded. No more pillory that day. It was the turn of thewhipping-post now. There were two women to be whipped, one of themwhite, the other black. We know who the white woman was.

  The negro was to suffer first. She was dragged from the jail wild withfright and apprehension. Around her legs a soiled skirt of calicodangled. About her naked body, stripped for the sacrifice, a fragment ofcarpet was hung. The jailer brought her by main force to the postthrough the jeering crowd, and while she begged wildly, almostincoherently, for mercy, promising vague, impossible things, the officerof the law clasped the iron cuffs about her uplifted hands, so thatshe was compelled to stand upon her toes to escape unendurable agony.The blanket was torn from her shoulders, and with dilated eyesglistening with terror, she turned her head half around to where thesheriff stood, ready to execute the law.

  A FLOGGING SEVENTY YEARS AGO.]

  This virtuous officer felt the sharp thongs of his "cat" complacently ashe listened with dull ear to the incessant prayers of the woman; andwhen the jailer said, "Forty lashes, sheriff," the cat was swung slowlyup, and the ends of the lashes touched the victim's back, bringing bloodat the first blow.

  The crowd laughed and applauded. The sheriff accepted the applause withthe calm indifference of a man who feels the greatness of his office andhas confidence in his own skill.

  As the lashes came thick and fast, the skin swelled up into thick purpleridges, and then the blood spurted out in crimson streams, flowing downupon the wretched skirt and staining it with a new and dreadful hue. Thewoman's piercing screams rang out upon the air and filled some kindhearts with tender pity. But as it was a "nigger," the tendency to humankindness was smothered.

  Beneath the blows she writhed and contorted and shrank forward, until atlast, faint with loss of blood, with terrible pain and nervousexhaustion, she sank helplessly down and hung by her arms alone. Atfirst the sheriff thought he would postpone the rest of the punishmentuntil she recovered. But there were only five more lashes to be given,and he concluded that it would be as well to finish up the job. Theywere inflicted upon the insensible form, and then the jailer cameforward with a pair of shears. The sheriff took them coolly and clippedaway a portion of the woman's ears. Her hands were then unshackled; andbleeding, mutilated, unconscious, she was carried into the prison.

  Her agonized cries had penetrated those walls already and brought awhiter hue to the pale cheeks of the woman who by this ignominy hadlearned her sisterhood with the poor black. There were two other womenin the cell, Mrs. Engle and Mrs. Willitts. The former controlled herselffor her daughter's sake, but dared speak no word to her. Mrs. Willitts,through her tears, tried to comfort Mary as with hesitating hands shedisrobed her for her torture:

  "The day will come, Mary dear, when you will be vindicated, and thesewicked men will hide their heads with bitter shame and humiliation. Butbear up bravely, dear. Have good courage through it all. Perhaps it willnot be so hard. 'Though there be heaviness for a night, joy cometh inthe morning.' We will all be happy together yet some day."

  Mary Engle stood there, speechless, statue-like, immovable, as they tookaway her garments, and her fair white skin glistened in the dim light.

  It was almost time. The black woman was being dragged through the doorto the next cell. The murmur of the crowd came up from the street. Mrs.Willitts placed the blanket upon those ivory shoulders, and Mary,turning to her mother, flung her arms about her and kissed her. In awhisper she said,

  "I shall die, mother. I will not live through it. I will never see youagain."

  But there was not a tear in her eye. Wrapping the blanket tightly abouther, with the calmness of despair she prepared to step from the cell atthe call of the impatient jailer.

  A great commotion in the streets. The noise of horse's hoofs. A din ofvoices; then a wild cheer.

  Dr. Ricketts dashed in, flourishing a paper in his hand.

  "She is pardoned! pardoned!" he shouted; "go back! take her back!" hesaid as the jailer laid his hand upon Mary. "See this!" and he flung thepaper open in his face.

  The long agony was over, and the reaction was so great that Mary Engle,hardly conscious of the good thing that had happened to her, and notfully realizing the events by which her innocence was proved, stoodstupefied and bewildered. Then she felt faint, and laying her upon thelow bed, they told her all the story; and when the doctor said that Tomwas not a guilty man, she turned her face to the wall to hide theblinding tears, and she muttered:

  "Thank God! thank God for that!"

  As she came out of the prison doors, leaning on the doctor's arm, thecrowd, now largely increased, hailed her with a hurrah, but Mary drewher veil over her face and shuddered as she thought how these verypeople had assembled to see her flogged.

  "It is my theory, my dear," said the doctor, "that human beings areequally glad when their fellow-creatures get into trouble and when theyget out of it."

  Back once again in her old home, Mary was besieged by friends whoseregard had suddenly assumed a violent form, and who were now eager tocongratulate her upon her vindication.

  Tom Willitts came to the door and inquired for Mrs. Engle.

  "Can I come in now?" he inquired, with a glow upon his face.

  He did go in, and there, before them all, he clasped Mary in his arms,while she begged him to forgive her for all the suffe
ring she had causedhim.

  But Tom wanted to be forgiven, too; and as both confessed guilt,repentance and an earnest wish to be merciful, they were soon betterfriends than ever.

  "I used to love you," said Tom, "but now I worship you for your heroismand your sacrifice for me."

  There was another visitor. Old Major Newton entered the room, hat inhand, and with bowed head. The lines in his face were deeper and harderthan usual, but he looked broken and sad.

  He went up to Mary and said as he stood before her with downcast eyes:

  "I have come to ask pardon for my brutality and cruelty. The injuryI did to you I can never atone for. I shall carry my remorse to thegrave. But if you have any word of pity for an old man whose son hasfled from home a scoundrel and a villain, and who stands before youbroken-hearted, ready to kiss your feet for your angelic goodness andyour noble self-sacrifice, say it, that I may at least have that comfortin my desolation."

  And Mary took the old man's hard hands in hers and spoke kind andgentle words to him; and with tears coursing down his rough cheeks, hekissed her dainty fingers and went out, and back to his forlorn andwretched home.

  There was another Christmas night a few months later, and this time themerry-making was going on in the Willitts mansion. There were two bridesthere. Mary and Tom Willitts were busy helping the children with theirChristmas games, and keeping up the excitement as if no sorrow had evercome across their path; while seated at the upper end of the room, Dr.Ricketts and his wife (Mrs. Engle that had been), looking upon theyounger pair with pride and pleasure, touched only now and then with asad memory of the troubled times that were gone by for ever.

  And when the games were all in full progress, Tom and his wife watchedthem for a while, and then he drew her arm through his, and they went tothe porch and looked out upon the river beating up against the ice-boundshore, just as it did on that night one year ago. But it had a differentlanguage to Mary's ears now. It was full of music, but music that seemedin a minor key, as the remembrance of that wild flight along the shorecame up vividly in her mind.

  Neither spoke for a while, but each knew that the thoughts of the otherwent over all the misery and terror of the past, only to rest satisfiedwith the calm, sweet happiness of the present. Mary, clasping herhusband's arm tighter in her grasp, looked with unconscious eyes outover the broad river, while her lips slowly repeated that grand old hymnof comfort and hope:

  "There is a day of peace and rest For sorrow's dark and dreary night; Though grief may bide an evening guest, Yet joy shall come with morning light.

  "The light of smiles shall beam again From lids that now o'erflow with tears, And weary days of woe and pain Are earnests of serener years."