CHAPTER XIII.
THE PLOT THICKENS.
It was an early hour in the morning of the day which closes the preceding chapter, and in the same apartment where we first introduced them to the reader, sat Oliver Goldfinch and Nat han Wesley. The former was in fine spirits, if one might judge from the manner he rubbed together his hands, and the gleam of fiendish delight which overspread his countenance. "And so," he said, turning to his attorney, "he is caught at last?" "At last," dryly responded Wesley. "Ha, ha! this does my soul good. Now he shall feel what it is to beard me. Now he shall know what is to fall into the clutches of the tiger he has goaded to madness. Hypocrite, indeed! Thanks to fortune, my hypocrisy is of a useful kind, for by it I can triumph over my enemies, and crush them that lie in my path. Ay, and crush them I will!" he cried, with a hellish gleam of malice darkening his features. "And him above all others will I crush! Yes, by—!" he fairly shouted, uttering a blasphemous oath, "I will extinguish the race!—and then, and not till then, will I deem myself safe." "And will you then?" quietly asked the attorney. "Will I then?" repeated Goldfinch, in surprise. "Will I then? Certainly—why not?—what do you mean?" "O, nothing—merely asked the question." " 'Tis false! I know you well—you never speak without a meaning. Do you think to betray me?" "I!" replied the other, in pretended astonishment. "I betray you?—betray my master?—(this last was said with sarcastic emphasis)—how can you think of such a thing? Besides, supposing I did? Your gold, you know, would save you." "Ha!" cried Goldfinch, with a start, remembering his words to the other at their last conference: "Beware, Wesley—beware! I am not one to be trifled with. I have already been warned of you: so beware! Even so much as attempt to turn traitor, and, by heavens, I will not wait the slow process of the law! No, by—! with my own hands will I let out your heart's blood!" "And get hung for your trouble," quietly returned the other. "No, I thank you, good Mr. Wesley—I will make my gold save me," sarcastically rejoined the millionaire; and then hastily added: "But come, a truce to this. It is all important you and I should be friends, Wesley." "All important," said the attorney, dryly. "You must assist me in this affair, Wesley, and swear point blank to whatever I dictate." "And so perjure myself." "Well, what of that? You have already done darker deeds, you know." "Now stop!" cried Wesley, with a terrible gleam in his small black eyes. "No more of that! What I did was for selfdefence; but you mustn't throw it in my teeth again! It was a bad job, and I've never had an easy conscience since." "Well, well, let it pass, Wesley. You did well—and for doing well got gold—and gold, as they say of charity, will cover a multitude of sins. You have done well now—only finish your good work. Away, good Wesley, and take this warrant for his apprehension. He must be caught and caged to-night. Away, now—set the hounds of the law upon him and drag him forth, though he be kneeling at the altar of Christ! Once convicted, friend Wesley, and it shall be the best day's work you ever performed. Make all safe, and then let me know;" and as Goldfinch concluded, the attorney rose, bowed, and took his leave. For a few minutes after being left to himself, the scheming hypocrite paced the room and rubbed his hands with delight; and then muttering, "Now for my visitor below," he quitted the apartment. Meantime Wesley, instead of leaving the mansion at once, ascendéd a flight of stairs, and carefully opening a door on his right, entered another elegant apartment, where stood a young man before his mirror, carefully arranging his toilet. As the attorney closed the door, he looked round carelessly, and disclosed the features of Acton Goldfinch. "O, it is you, eh?" he said, yawning. "Well, Wes, what deviltry is afoot now, eh?" "Your own," answered the other. "Speak it out, man!" "You want to get that girl in your power?" "Yes, yes!" said Acton, hastily, in a low tone, his eyes brightening with interest. "I can put you in a way." "How? quick! tell me!" "And if you succeed?" "The fifty dollars I promised are yours." "Do you know who she is?" "No, and care less, so I once have her in my power, and no particular friend by as before." "Then come with me." "But how will you arrange it?" "It's fixed already. Come with me and I'll show you." "In a moment;" and completing his toilet in haste, Acton and Wesley quitted the mansion together, both bent on the devil's mission. While these things were transpiring above stairs, Clarence Malcolm, of whom mention has frequently been made, and Arabella Goldfinch were sitting tete-a-tete in the magnificent parlor below. The former was a fine, noble-looking young man, of commanding appearance, who seemed, by his erect carriage and lofty demeanor, to feel himself fully on an equality with the proud, haughty heiress who sat by his side, a sort of queenly, breathing statue, so cold and inflexible she appeared. In fact it was apparent from her present manner, that she either cared nothing for her guest, or that she had taken offence at something in the conversation preceding our introduction of the parties. But whatever the cause of her hauteur, Clarence was evidently desirous of removing it; for after two or three ineffectual attempts to draw her into conversation, he said: "If I have offended you in any way, Miss Goldfinch, it has been done unwittingly, and I crave pardon!" "Of course you have it," she answered, coldly. "Thank you!" he rejoined, with slight sarcasm in his tone. "It is something to know one is forgiven, albeit one never learns wherein one has offended." To this Arabella deigned no reply; and after a rather embarrassing silence of a few moments, the other said, abruptly, fixing his eyes steadily upon the haughty beauty: "You have cousins in town, Miss Goldfinch?" Arabella started, and her features flushed, as she replied: "Not that I am aware of, sir." "Indeed! that is very strange!" "Is it?" dryly responded the other. "And suppose I have cousins in town, is there any thing so very remarkable in the fact?" "No, certainly not, Miss Goldfinch. Your having cousins in town is not remarkable. It is that you should know nothing of them, and, while living in luxury yourself, they should be literally starving." "What mean you?" demanded the other, haughtily. "What I say, Miss Goldfinch," replied Clarence, in the same haughty vein. "I never speak with a double meaning." "Indeed!" rejoined Arabella, biting her lips with vexation. "Well, sir, you will be good enough to be more explicit, or let the subject drop, for I do not comprehend the drift of your conversation." "A single question, then?" "Well, sir?" "Had your father a sister?" Arabella's face flushed as she replied: "I have so understood—I never saw her." "She married a Courtly?" Arabella nodded haughtily. "And had two children?" continued Clarence. "So I have heard." "The father was lost at sea?" "Even so." "Your father became possessor of his property?" "Sir," rejoined Arabella, indignantly, rising proudly from her seat, "you are now touching upon family affairs, with which you and no other stranger has any business." "Nay," said Clarence, gravely, "I am not exactly a stranger, Miss Arabella, and am not yet convinced I have no right to question as I do." "Then question those who will answer you," she said, scornfully, preparing to quit the apartment. "Stay!" said Clarence, rising and gently touching her on the arm. "I do not wish to give offence, Miss Goldfinch—nor do I ask these questions idly. They are perhaps all important to you, to me, and to others. Sit down, I pray you! I will not detain you long." Arabella hesitated, but finally resumed her seat. "Your father, I say, became possessed, by will, of his brother-in-law's property; and a vast possession it was, which he still holds; but his sister, after spending the little bequeathed to herself, removed with her children to this city, and here died of starvation and a broken heart." "Sir!" cried Arabella, turning pale; "Mr. Malcolm! do you say this to insult me?" "No, Miss Goldfinch; I pride myself on being a gentleman, and no gentleman will insult a lady; nevertheless I must tell you the truth." "How know you this?" "That, begging your pardon, is a secret I must withhold. Let it suffice, that my information comes from a worthy source." "You speak in riddles to me, Mr. Malcolm: I cannot comprehend your object. If I have relatives in town, so poor as you say, they should have applied to my father and been relieved. I trust you do not hold me answerable for their neglect in making their condition known?" "But they did make their condition known to your father, and were refused assistance, even so much as would drive starvation from their doors." "Hold!" cried Arabella,
springing to her feet, her proud bosom heaving with angry passions, and her dark eyes flashing defiance: "I will bear this insolence no longer! You, Clarence Malcolm, are the first that has ever so dared to insult me, and I hate you for it. Ay, were you to become an emperor and sue at my feet, I would remember what you have this night uttered, and scorn you from me. You have said that my father refused assistance to his poor relations, knowing them to be destitute." "I repeat it," rejoined Clarence, firmly, also rising and confronting his angry hostess. "Yes, Miss Goldfinch, I repeat it; for I have it from a source entitled to all confidence—no less than from the parties themselves. But stay—understand me—I do not accuse you. A thousand things may transpire, even in your own mansion, of which you may be ignorant; and from your manner and conversation, I sincerely believe you knew nothing of your cousins; and that had you known their condition, your own private purse would have generously relieved them. So much I will say; but that your fath er was not ignorant, and that he did refuse them means to live until his sister was in a dying state, I do boldly assert." If Arabella could have withered and annihilated Clarence Malcolm with a glance, the glance of hate and scorn she bestowed upon him, as he concluded, would have done so. For a few moments her excited passions would not allow her an answer; and she stood before him with heaving breast, expanded nostrils and flashing eyes. At length, with all the haughty scorn she could throw into her words, she rejoined: "Mr. Malcolm, allow me to give you due credit for having once to-night spoken the truth; and that when you said, had I known the condition of my kins-people, I would have relieved them. But what you say of my father, begging your pardon for the unlady-like expression, is false! No man, sir, is more benevolent than my father; and that he has given large sums to benevolent societies, and to the poor, you, sir, know as well as I; and therefore, I again repeat, what you have said is false— a base, willful, malignant slander! Henceforth, sir, we are strangers; and as I hear my father's step, perhaps you will have the audacity to re-speak your slanderous language to his face." Saying this, Arabella walked proudly to the door, where she was met by Goldfinch, just come down from his interview with Wesley to join her, and, if possible, further his scheme of effecting a union between herself and Clarence. "Eh! my daughter—what is this?—what is this?" he said, hastily, making an effort to detain her, and glancing at Malcolm as if for an explanation, who stood proudly drawn up to his full height where Arabella had left him, calmly watching her motions. "Question him!" replied Arabella, with a gesture of displeasure toward Clarence; and stepping proudly aside, she passed her father and disappeared. "Ah, my dear Malcolm," continued the hypocrite, closing the door and approaching the other with hand extended, "I am delighted to see you. How is your health this evening, and that of your good mother?" "We are well," answered Clarence, coldly, barely taking the hand of the millionaire, and letting it fall without pressure. "Ah, yes—glad to hear it," said the other, affecting not to notice his cool reception. "So you have had a little lovequarrel, eh? you and Arabella. O you lovers!—always fighting and making up again. Well, well—just so with my wife and myself before we were joined in holy wedlock. Ah, me!" he sighed, affecting to weep: "Poor Fanny! she is gone to her long home now. Well, such things must be, you know, in this ever changing world of sin and death; and we should not repine, but, like true Christians, be resigned to the will of our Maker." "A truly pious sentiment, Mr. Goldfinch," dryly responded Clarence, eyeing the other closely. "There is nothing like a Christian's hope in such hours of affliction," meekly rejoined the dissembler, with a sanctimonious face befitting a Godly priest. "When my dear wife Fanny died, a year ago, I thought my heart would break; but I looked to Him for support in my trying hour, and not in vain; for he filled my soul with the hope of an eternal meeting beyond the grave. But I beg pardon, friend Clarence! I am keeping you standing. Come, let us be seated, and have a little private conversation." "With all my heart," said Clarence; "for there is a matter of some little moment I wish to touch upon." "O, yes—exactly—I understand," returned Goldfinch, with what he intended should be thought a knowing smile. "Well, to come to the point at once—and that is what all lovers desire, though most of them are backward enough in doing it themselves—I must say that, though a little petulent and proud at times, Arabella is a dear, sweet girl, with whom I am extremely loth to part; but then, when I consider she is to be united to one so highly esteemed as yourself—" "Sir," interrupted Malcolm, with crimson features, "you mistake. My desired conversation has no reference to your daughter." "Ah, indeed!" said the worldly man, seeming to be abstracted, though his cold blue eye was seeking the while to penetrate the very soul of his guest. "Indeed, my young friend, I exceedingly regret that two persons of such good sense as you and Arabella possess, should let a trifling lovequarrel so interfere with your desires." "Again you mistake," rejoined Clarence, sternly. "We have had no love-quarrel, as you term it." "No? Then I was mistaken in supposing you offended with each other?" "No, Mr. Goldfinch, in that you were not mistaken." "Hum! hum! Well, you lovers are mysterious." "Nay, sir, be so good as to understand me, once for all, that we are not lovers!" said Clarence, indignant at the other's perverse assumption of what he knew was false. "Not lovers? and you visiting her regularly? Poh, pho—don't tell me that!" "True, I have visited her somewhat regularly of late, and may have had some serious intentions in so doing—but they are past now, and this is my last visit." "Indeed!" returned Goldfinch, seriously; "you surprise me! Is not my daughter good enough for you?" "Too good, perhaps—at least she would have me think so—but that is neither here nor there." "Pray tell me the reason of your quarrel?— for quarreled you have, I see." "I will—at least as far as I know.— What she first took offence at, she better knows than I—for I had said nothing that I am aware of to give her cause—but the last matter in discussion, and at which she most took fire, was regarding her cousins and yourself." As he said this, Clarence fixed his eyes upon Goldfinch, and witnessed a most rapid and fearful change, which convinced him he was right in the course he was pursuing. A deadly pallor overspread his countenance, his brow darkened, his lips compressed, and a cold, sullen gleam shot from his blue eyes. For a moment he gazed sternly upon his guest, without speaking, and then said, with assumed composure: "Well, sir, what of her cousins?" "Why, in the course of conversation, I remarked that it was singular she should be living in splendor, while they were starving in the same city." The millionaire started, and his face grew darker—more devilish—so much so that Clarence gazed upon him in astonishment. "Well, sir?" he said. "Your daughter denied all knowledge of the fact," pursued Clarence, quietly, still eyeing the other closely, "and said if such was the case, they should have made known their condition to you and been relieved. I replied that they had done so, and been refused assistance." " 'Tis false!" cried Goldfinch, springing up in rage, completely thrown off his guard. " 'Tis false, I say—false as hell! I gave Edgar Courtly a check for a thousand dollars." "But not until his mother, your sister, was dying." "How know you that, sir?" "That is my secret." "And even if she was dying, what is that to you?" "Everything—since their cause has now become mine." "Indeed! and what do you intend to do?" "Set the wronged right, and make villainy tremble." "Is it possible! I trust you will have a pleasant time of it!" "If I succeed, I doubt not I shall." "Take my advice, young man—go home, and meddle no more with what does not concern you!" "But this does concern me, I say; and since you are free to give advice, Mr. Goldfinch, take a little of mine, and be cautious what you do hereafter; for every action will be watched—every motive closely scanned." "Then I am to have spies upon me, am I?" "And have no more than you deserve, since your former deeds are becoming known." "Ha! what do you know?" quickly interogated the other, turning very pale. "Time will show, sir, what I know.— Again I say, be cautious!" "Some villainous report of that cursed nephew of mine. By—! I will have him hung!" "Is this your Christian piety?" querried Clarence. "So, so—the mask is off sooner than I anticipated; and I now behold you what you have been represen
ted— a base hypocrite!" "Leave my house, sir!" cried Goldfinch, stamping his foot violently, completely beside himself with rage. "I do so with pleasure," returned Malcolm, calmly, rising from his seat;" and promise you, moreover, I will never again darken your door. And furthermore, I now tell you to your teeth, I am henceforth your determined foe, and will spare no pains to expose your hypocrisy at any and all times and places; and if I can prove you have gained your property wrongfully— taken it unlawfully from the widow and orphan—I solemnly swear to devote time, energy and money, to the last cent I have if necessary, to bring you to the punishment you so richly merit. There are so many hypocrites in the world—so many wolves in sheep's clothing—that it is not only an act of justice, but a righteous act, to expose and punish all we can." It is impossible to portray the appearance of Goldfinch as he heard these words. His usually serene features became almost haggard with fear and rage, his eyes glared wildly, and there was a foam and lividness about the lips, such as madmen sometimes exhibit. As Clarence ceased, he clenched his hand and took a step forward as if to strike him. Then pausing irresolute, he turned, and casting himself upon a seat, buried his face in his hands and groaned. Gazing sternly upon him for a moment, Clarence turned upon his heel and left him to his own bitter reflections. For the space of ten minutes the schemer rocked to and fro, like one in agony, and then started up suddenly. "Fool! fool!" he exclaimed; "a cursed fool I am? Foiled again, by—! Why did I admit that matter of the check? But he at least shall not escape me! No, sooner than that, I will bribe a dozen witnesses to swear him to eternal perdition;" and with these dark words upon his lips, Oliver Goldfinch quitted the apartment to plot new schemes of hell.
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