CHAPTER XIV.
THE ARREST.
It was about nine o'clock in the evening, that Edgar and Virginia sat together before a cheerful fire, recalling the events of the day. There was an air of gladness on the features of each, mingled with a slight shade of gloom, like the first breaking forth of the sun upon a late stormy landscape, which made them appear very interesting. The dark habiliments of mourning now worn by each, contrasting with their pale, expressive features, gave them a sort of classic interest, if we may be permitted the phrase, over which an artist would have lingered with delight. "And what is he to do with your poems, dear Edgar?" asked Virginia, with her beautiful hand resting gracefully on his shoulder, and her soft, blue eyes looking tenderly and earnestly into his, while around the half parted lips lingered a sweet though rather melancholy smile, as if the sorrow of the past and the joy of the present were commingling in her soul. "Indeed, sweet sister, I do not know," replied Edgar, turning to her his manly, noble countenance, and imprinting on her lips a kiss of fraternal love. "As I told you before, he spoke something of a magazine and newspaper, and of giving me the charge of either; but I more than half suspect he made the poetry an excuse to put in my possessisn the money I had refused as a loan. Generous soul! how noble in him to do this! and what a contrast he forms to our selfish, avaricious, hypocritical uncle, who, though he gave me something at last, did it as if he feared to do otherwise—fancying, methought, I had a clue to some dark secret, that, if known, would be his undoing. And this, by the way, reminds me I must not fail to call on Davis to-morrow. Perchance he may be in a condition to explain his mysterious words. But ah! why do I think of man's baseness now, at a time when my hear' is made glad by the nobleness of disinterested friendship and generous gratitude! No, banished be all from my thoughts! I will think of an angel I this day for the first time beheld." "Of Edith Morton," quoth Virginia, with an arch smile. "Of one, dear Virginia, you shall love as a sister. O, that to-morrow were come, that you might behold her!" Virginia sighed. "I, too," she said, pretending to search for something at her feet, "will think of—" "Dudley," added Edgar, as she paused. "Ay, think of him, sister, for he is worthy of your thoughts." "Nay, I said not him, Edgar," cried Virginia, quickly, now showing a face deeply flushed—possibly caused by bending forward— possibly by the fire—or, possibly— by what you will, reader. "Hark!" exclaimed Edgar, suddenly; "there are heavy steps on the stairs, and rough voices without. What can be the meaning?" Virginia drew close to him in alarm. The next moment there came a heavy double-knock on the door, as if struck with a club, and a voice without said hoarsely: "Guard the windows, and see he don't escape by t'other door!" "Who are you, and what is wanted?" demanded Edgar, rising and taking a step forward, while Virginia clung tremblingly to him. "Open, in the name of the commonwealth! I'm an officer of the police." "No, no—do not!" cried Virginia, intercepting her brother as he was about to comply with the demand. "This is some plot to murder you." "Be firm, Virginia, and reach me yonder knife," said Edgar, in a low tone, with deathly pale features and compressed lips. "Should they prove to be impostors, it shall go hard with some of them. Quick, the knife! and then retire into the other apartment." "Open, or I'll split down your door!" said the voice without. "Do so, and you are a dead man!" returned Edgar. "Quick, Virginia! There, now hasten into the other apartment." "But, Edgar, dear," began Virginia, in trembling tones. "Nay, away, before violence is done!" interrupted her brother. "Fly, and close the door!" and as Virginia complied with his entreaty, he turned the key in the other and threw it open. Two figures at once advanced into the apartment—one the villainous person of Wesley, and the other a stout, coarse-featured, red-faced individual, partly muffled in a rough over-coat, who carried in one hand a paper, and in the other a heavy hickory club. "That's him," nodded Wesley toward Edgar. "Edgar Courtly," said the other, advancing and placing his brawny hand on his shoulder, "you're my prisoner." "For what?" demanded Edgar, calmly, while Virginia, uttering a wild shriek, came bounding forward. "For forgery," gruffly replied the officer. "Great Heaven! I arrested for forgery! You must be mocking me!" "There's the document; and if you think there's any mockery in that, why you're welcome to think so, that's all," replied the constable, showing Edgar the writ for his apprehension. "'Tis even so," said Edgar, clasping the almost fainting Virginia to his beating heart. "Great God! are we never to know the end of our misery! Must one affliction tread upon another till they crush us into our graves! Oh, God of the orphans!" he cried, wildly, clasping his hands and looking upwards, "bid death be speedy and summon us to a better world!" Then turning fiercely to the officer, he continued: "Who hath done this, sir!—who dares accuse me of the crime you have named? In the presence of my Maker, sir, I swear I am innocent!" "Yes, yes," screamed Virginia, wildly, "he is innocent—he never did any wrong— and you shall not tear him from me! Go! go!—you shall not take him!" "Come, come, pretty Miss, it's no use to whine," returned the officer; "because, you see, now, I've got to do my duty whether or no. I've no doubt the young man'll be able to prove his innocence—but with that I've nothing to do. There's my paper, which says arrest Edgar Courtly, and I've got to do it. So, (to Edgar) come along! for it's time we's a-moving." "I see it all!" exclaimed Edgar, as a thought flashed through his brain. "It is a damnable plot of my uncle to put me out of his way: but I will triumph yet, and then let him beware! Cheer up, Virginia! I have friends, and shall not long be kept in durance; and then let them that have done this beware! Cheer up, sweet sister— stay here to-night—and early in the morning hasten to Calvin Morton and tell him all. Farewell!" "No! no!" screamed Virginia, clinging tightly to him; "you shall not go! I will not let you go—they will murder you! Oh God! oh God! to come to this! You shall not go!" "Nay, dearest Virginia," said Edgar, in an agony of mind better conceived than described, pressing his lips to hers, and straining her to his heart in a fond embrace, "I must go; the officer is waiting; you must not detain me!" "Then I will go with you—they shall imprison us both—we will not part!" "That cannot be," spoke up Wesley. "The rules of the prison won't allow it. Better stay where are you are, lady, and I'll bring you any information you desire. Although I'm here with the police officer, yet I'm your brother's friend, and will do all in my power to render this disagreeable business bearable. You spoke of Calvin Morton, the lawyer: do you know him, Mr. Courtly?" "Thank Heaven, I do!" replied Edgar. "I did him some service, for which he is grateful, and will stand my friend. Oh, sir, if you are friendly toward us, as you say, will you not hasten to him at once, and tell him the condition in which we both are placed? It is the greatest favor I can ask of you at present, and you shall have gold for your trouble." "I'll do it," said Wesley, with a singular gleam in his small, black eyes—"that is, if you'll persuade your sister to remain, so that if they send after her, as I know they will, she can surely be found." "Do you hear, Virginia? Now, sweet sister, stay where you are till this gentleman returns, or sends some one to take you among friends; and in this way you will both hasten my release and relieve my mind." "Then farewell, brother!" cried Virginia, throwing her arms around his neck and bursting into tears. "Farewell, Edgar!— I—I will do as you say. God bless you!—adieu!" and as if fearful to longer test her resolution by remaining, she sprang away from him and into the adjoining apartment. "Lead on!" said Edgar to the officer; and with a firm step, but with a deathly, sickening sensation at heart, he left the house, accompanied by Wesley and the constable. As the party reached the foot of the stairs, two figures approached them, and a voice said: "Why, Gus, I d begun to think you wasn't a-coming. What in thunder kept you so long?" "Why, the chap's got a sister up there," answered the other, "and she, woman like, wouldn't let him go till she'd cried a few— that's all." "Well, I 'spose we can push ahead now;" and the speaker came along side of Edgar, while the fourth personage drew aside and was joined by Wesley. As Edgar now moved away between the two officers, he noted, with considerable misgiving, that the other two persons loitered about the premises, conversed i
n low tones, and occasionally pointed toward the apartments of his sister. Could it be possible, he mused, that they meditated treachery! And then like lightning the remembrance came over him, of how strenuous Wesley had been in urging his sister to remain. Perhaps this was some devilish plot to remove him and get her in their possession! and he felt his blood run chill and his brain reel at the thought. Halting abruptly and looking back, he said to the officers: "Before I go with you to prison, I must return to my sister: I have something important to tell her." "Can't do it," replied one, gruffly, placing his hand heavily on Edgar's shoulder. "You've kept us bothering too long already, and must come now whether or no." As the other spoke, Edgar saw the two figures slowly depart in an opposite direction, and watching them disappe ar, he strove to banish from his mind all suspicion of wrong, and turning, signified his readiness to proceed. With a heavy step and heavier heart, Edgar moved through the streets, bitterly reflecting upon his hard destiny, in having the only cup of happiness he had possessed for years dashed suddenly from his lips at the very moment his wearied and thirsty soul was about to take a refreshing draught. And what could be the meaning of the accusation for which he was now held a prisoner! He strove to recollect what he had done, to bring himself even under the curse of suspicion; but for a long time he puzzled his brain without success, when suddenly the truth flashed upon him with almost overwhelming force. His uncle— his base, inhuman uncle—was at the bottom of it! Yes, this was the cause of that liberality which had so surprised him— this the cause of that gleam of triumph which he had marked at the time, but without a suspicion of what it imported. And to what extent had he power to carry his villainy? He would of course attempt to prove the check he had given him a forged one. But would he succeed? Doubtless he already had witnesses bribed to swear falsely; but notwithstanding, Edgar knew himself innocent, and could not but believe that all would turn out right in the end, and that the black-hearted baseness of his uncle would recoil upon himself and his tools with overwhelming force. As he came in sight of the Egyptian Tombs, rearing its massive walls high in the starlight air, and standing out vague, and dim and gloomy from its murky background, the same cold, sickening shudder he had twice before experienced, passed over his frame, and he knew it now a strange omen of evil. And what singular feelings were his, as, ascending the steps, he walked over the very spot whither he had borne the lovely Edith, then an unknown female just rescued from peril, but now an object in his eyes of no little interest! And with what peculiar emotions he recalled the plans he had laid for the morrow, in each of which she held a part, only to know them all swept away by the strong hand of destiny, and himself a prisoner, on his way to the dungeon of the criminal! And with what a sinking heart, a sense of loathing and utter desolation, he entered the cheerless, noisome cell apportioned him, and heard the harsh grating of the iron door as it swung to on its rusty hinges, shutting him from light, and air, and seemingly the world forever! And lastly, when all were gone and all was silent, save the dull sound of his feet, as to and fro he paced the rocky floor of his present narrow abode, what a whirlwind of thought, what a chaos of ideas, crowded his feverish brain, straining it to the verge of madness, and making his very soul seem like a thing of flesh and blood, filled with barbed irons dipped in rankling poison! But with all his misery--his mental anguish— Edgar had an easy conscience; and with this we leave him, while we return to those who were even now taking the preliminary steps to a fearful retribution.
Bennett, Emerson - Oliver Goldfinch Page 13