CHAPTER XVI.
THE ABDUCTION.
Hurrying to the nearest coach-stand, Wesley sprang into the first vehicle he came to, and bade the driver urge his horses to Elizabeth street, as if life and death depended on his speed. When the carriage stopped at the place designated, he leaped out in haste, and was immediately joined by Acton, who said, in a low tone: "Curses on your laziness, Wes! I have been waiting till the marrow of my bones seems froze. Had you delayed five minutes longer, I should have been cosily making love to that pretty seamstress up there, and warming myself by her cheerful fire." "And you'd have spoiled all by doing so," replied the other; "and my plan wouldn't have been worth repeating." "I don't know about that. I think the girl would have been perfectly satisfied with such a good looking gallant by her side;" and again he stroked his chin, as was his wont when egotism led him to compliment himself. "But I didn't do it, Wesley, you know; and so for the plan at once—for I am very impatient to be off." "Well, you must remember and follow my instructions to the letter, or all's up with us. In the first place, you must be very civil to the girl—must not even ask her her name—and only speak when she questions you, and then only to answer her." "What! and must I not make love, eh?" "Pshaw! be done with your nonsense. The girl thinks she's going to be taken to a friend's house, a long ways off, which she never saw nor the friends either." "Good! I like that—it is capital. But what is her name, Wes?" "Hush! You must of course take a long ride before you come to Mott street; and no matter what she asks or asserts, you must pretend you know all about it, and answer to please her." "Good again—that I can do." "May be she'll think she knows the place, and that it isn't her friend's house; but you must swear it is, you know, and say the resemblance is great and so on." "I understand." "And then, when you've once got her under cover, why you know what to do better than I can tell you." "Right there, my diamond!" "Your own name, for the present, is Mr. Wallace, and you're a particular friend of the Mortons." "What Mortons?" inquired Acton, quickly, in an altered tone. "O, hang it! any Mortons to suit her." "Bravo!—ha, ha!—I take." "And that's all. Now I'll go and bring her down to you, and you can tell the driver where to go." Saying which, Wesley separated from Acton, and ascending the stairs, knocked at Virginia's door. In a moment it cautiously opened, and the latter, all pale, and tearful, and seemingly heart-broken, stood before him. A sight of her disconsolate appearance, and the remembrance of its being caused by his own villainy, somewhat touched the callous heart of even Nathan Wesley, and he muttered to himself: "If it wasn't I know no harm 'll come to her—curse me if I'd go on with this affair any farther! As it is, she'll think me a scoundrel, and so will Ellen. But no matter; I've been so considered all my life, and might as well have the game as the blame." Then addressing her: "Well, Miss Courtly," he said, "the coach is at the door, and Mr. Wallace waits with it to conduct you to the Mortons, who'll be happy to see you as soon as possible." "You have seen them, then?" said Virginia, eagerly. "Have seen them." "And what said they of my brother?" "Why, that you needn't give yourself any uneasiness, Miss Courtly—that he'd soon be free." "Thanks! thanks, sir, for your kindness! Oh, poor Edgar! how much he has to suffer! And then to sleep in a prison!" "I beg pardon, ma'am," interrupted Wesley, who was fearful of a scene, and impatient to take himself off: "I beg pardon— but the coach is waiting, and Mr. Wallace bade me ask you would hurry, as it is already late." "I will be ready in a moment," returned Virginia; and hastily covering the fire, putting on her bonnet and shawl, she blew out the light, locked the door, and accompanied Wesley down stairs. The coach was standing ready, with the door open; and assisting Virginia into it, Wesley motioned Acton, who stood at a little distance, to approach, when he simply introduced him as Mr. Wallace.— Then seeing him seated by Virginia, he shut the door and sung out to the driver that all was right. Crack went the whip, and away rolled the carriage, to the great satisfaction of the attorney, who, watching it out of sight, shook his fist after it, and muttered: "You called me an insolent dog to-night did you, Master Acton?—and your father says he'll make his money save him! By my soul! I'm neither a dog nor a fool, as you both shall find out to your cost before many days;" and chuckling inwardly at some schemes of his own, he turned away and directed his steps to Mott street. Stationing himself nearly opposite the lodgings of Ellen, Wesley rather impatiently awaited the arrival of the vehicle containing the cousins. And sorely was his patience tried; for it was a cold night, and a full hour before the carriage made its appearance. But it came at last, stopped at the right place, and immediately the figure of a man sprang from it and assisted a female to alight. The latter looked around curiously, and then Wesley heard her say: "Why, is this Calvin Morton's?" "Calvin Morton's!" exclaimed Acton, in astonishment; and then remembering Wesley's instructions, he quickly added: "Ah—yes—O, I had forgot. Yes, this is the place—this is Morton's. "Strange!" said Virginia, glancing round and over the way, to the very spot where her poor mother had breathed her last. "It all looks very familiar to me, and I could almost make oath I stand in Mott street." "Yes," said Acton, hurriedly, and rapping heavily on the door—"there is some resemblance, I own. How tardy servants are," he continued, for the purpose of engaging the other's attention till he could get her within the house. "I am sometimes completely out of patience, waiting their slow motions. Ah, here ls one at last!" he added, as he heard the rattling of bolts and chains; and almost at the same moment the door opened slightly, and a voice from within said: "Who's there?" "It is I—Mr. Wallace," answered Acton, loudly; and then in a hurried whisper, too low to reach the ears of Virginia, added: "Acton Goldfinch, with a lady. Open quick, and call me Wallace!" The door immediately swung open, and Mr. Wallace was politely invited to enter. "This is the lady of whom I went in quest," he continued, slyly winking at the attendant. "Show us up stairs, and (winking again) send Mrs. Morton to us at once." Then watching his opportunity, he whispered in the attendant's ear: "Conduct us to the Green Room, as we call it, and send your mistress after a little, and tell her my name is Wallace, and hers Morton. I have a beauty to tame, you see. Isn't she pretty?" The other nodded and smiled. "And how is Ellen?" "Not well." "Curse her! she always was getting sick, and so I've picked up something better. But mum! Not a word to her of this!" Then joining Virginia, Acton said he had just been giving the servant a few instructions, and forthwith conducted her into a very handsomely furnished apartment, though possessing nothing of the gorgeousness of Ellen's, from which a door opened into a bed-room, of which this was the ante-room or parlor. On the center-table stood a globe lamp, which sent forth a soft, pleasant light, and a cheerful fire was burning in the grate. Placing a couple of chairs before the latter, Acton requested Virginia to remove her bonnet and shawl and be seated. Scarcely had she done so, when the door opened,and the mistress of the house, familiarly known as Madame Costellan, entered. Acton rose and introduced her to Virgina as Mrs. Morton, but did not introduce Virginia to her, for the simple reason he did not know her name himself, owing to the cunning precaution of Wesley, who rightly judged such knowledge would ruin his scheme; for base as Acton Goldfinch was, he had a family pride, and would just as soon have meditated the cutting of his own throat as treating his kinswoman in this scandalous manner. But circumstances had completely deceived him in this matter. In the first place, his plotting father had never told either of his children that the Courtlys were in the city—in fact, he never at any time mentioned the name of Courtly in their presence—and hence, neither dreamed of having indigent relations so near. In the nextplace, Acton had seen Virginia for the first time when she was procuring work, as already recorded; and struck with her beauty, and believing her an ordinary seamstress, had made the insulting advances which were checked by Dudley, whom he knew as an honorable young man, and therefore little cared to meet under such humiliating circumstances.— He had apparently departed an entirely different course to the one pursued by Dudley and Virginia, but, notwithstanding, had kept them in view and traced the latter to her own qua
rters. Returning home, he had related his adventure to Wesley, whom he had long before discovered an adept in the arts of villainy, and offered him fifty dollars if he would find a way to place this girl in his power. Wesley, ever ready to gain money without any scruples as to honesty, soon reconnoitered the premises, and found, much to his surprise and gratifi cation, it was the abode of Edgar and Virginia, for whom he had been searching since their removal from Mott street. This fact he at once made known to the millionaire, but concealed from Acton, well aware that to inform him the girl was his own cousin, would be to lose himself the fifty dollars, besides a little quiet revenge, which he had determined on from the first, in order to wipe out old scores. As chance would have it, and as he partially expected, Wesley was enabled to kill two birds with one stone; for the arrest of Edgar gave him an opportunity to entrap Virginia, in what manner the reader has already seen. At first Wesley had thought of nothing more than to gain his reward and revenge, by getting Acton to abduct his cousin, and leaving him to his own chagrin, mortification and disappointment when he should become aware of the fact, which he doubted not would occur in time to avoid serious consequences. But when Acton again insulted him, he determined to be more deeply revenged, and therefore, guided by circumstances, took the course already described. Wearing different habiliments—never having scanned his features closely, and her mind, too, being otherwise occupied— Virginia had not as yet recognized in Acton the individual who once insulted her. Having thus, we trust, explained every thing to the satisfaction of the reader, we will again take up the thread of our story. On being introduced as Mrs. Morton, Madame Costellan bowed to her guest, eyeing her closely the while, and then advancing, offered her her hand and bade her welcome. But she had a part of her own to play, under the directions of Ellen; and turning to Acton, she whispered a few words in his ear, and both left the apartment together. Scarcely had the door closed behind them, when it again opened quickly, and Ellen Douglas, entering in haste, flew to Virginia, her features very pale and her step nervous with excitement. Surprised, yet pleased to see her where she least expected, Virginia started to her feet, with a smile of recognition, and extending her hand, exclaimed: "You here, Ellen Douglas?" "Rather let me say, you here, Virginia Courtly!—alas! poor girl! you little dream where!" said the other, hurriedly. "What mean you?" asked Virginia, alarmed at Ellen's tone and manner. "That you are in the snares of a villain, who, but for the treachery of a confederate, might soon have had another damning sin added to his long catalogue, already stretched beyond God's mercy." "You alarm me!—you speak in riddles— I cannot comprehend!" "Poor girl! you little know you are beneath a roof which covers none but guilty heads." "And are the Mortons, then, so base?" "The Mortons!" cried Ellen, in her turn astonished; "what Mortons?" "Is not this the house of Calvin Morton, to which my brother, who has just been dragged to prison for a crime he never committed, bade me instantly repair?" "Calvin Morton!" exclaimed Ellen, still more astonished: "Are you then acquainted with him or his family?" "I am not—but Edgar is. Good heavens! what do you mean, Ellen? Am I not beneath his roof?" "I would to God you were! No! you are beneath the roof that has long sheltered me—within a stone's throw of where your poor mother died." "Merciful God!—do you speak truth?— you set my poor brain in a whirl of bewilderment!" "No wonder, girl, if you fancied yourself secure at Calvin Morton's. You have been deceived, Virginia—wofully deceived— and by the same villain who first deceived me—whom I once loved but now hate— your own cousin—Acton Goldfinch." "Impossible!" gasped Virginia, too much astonished, alarmed and bewildered to say more. "All true as holy writ! It was Acton Goldfinch that brought you here—but by what juggler's art I know not. Tell me how it chanced, and I in return will tell you what I know. Be quick, or we may be interrupted before my plans are completed!" and hurriedly Virginia and Ellen related to each other the prominent events of the night. "You are supposed," said Ellen, in conclusion, "to be a poor, unprotected girl, and are brought here for the worst of purposes— that Acton Goldfinch may triumph over me. But I have him, and he shall sneak from this house like a whipped cur!— or," she added, with a wild, vindictive glare, "he shall hence on a journey that sends no travellers back. Calm your agitation — act as though nothing had occurred to annoy you--let him draw himself into his own devilish snare. Fear not; all is arranged; no harm shall come to you. He knows you not yet— but he shall, and to his sorrow. I will be near you--so fear not! Hark! I hear steps. I must conceal myself. Remember! be calm and firm!" and Ellen sprang into the adjoining apartment, leaving Virginia half frightened out of her senses, just as the other door opened and admitted Acton Goldfinch. "I beg pardon for keeping you so long waiting alone!" he said, blandly, searching in vain on both sides of the lock for the key, which the wise precauton of Ellen had removed. "Curse it!" he muttered to himself, as he closed the door and sprung a bolt, which might prevent ingress if not egress; and then turning to Virginia, he added, with a smile, and in the softest tone he could assume: "Mrs. Morton wished to see me on a little private business--but I fear my absence has made the time tedious. Ha!" he ejacuulated, for the first time marking the agitation of Virginia, and coming close to her; "what has happened to make you tremble so, and look so pale?" "I am not well," she answered, shuddering and turning away her head. "Nay, sweet girl," he said, placing one hand carelessly on her shoulder, "do not turn away from one who loves you." With the bound of a tiger springing upon its prey, Virginia leaped from her seat, and with heaving bosom and flashing eyes boldly confronted her cousin. As she did so, she for the first time became aware that he who now stood before her was the same who had once insulted her. "Ha! I know you now," she said, indignantly. "This is not the first time we have met. Go! I would not see your face again. Go! and send my friends to me." "I am your friend," rejoined Acton; "the best friend you have in the world.— See here," and he proffered her a well filled purse. Crimson with shame and indignation, Virginia looked him defiantly in the eye for a moment, and then said, with assumed composure, and in a tone peculiar for its determined distinctness: "Go, sir, ere I call those here who will chastise you for a scoundrel!" Acton laughed. "Do not think to intimidate me, my pretty one," he said: "I have tamed many a one as wild as you. Come! let me swear to you I love you." "And swear falsely, villain!" "No, on my honor, truly! I love you, and you alone; and it was to tell you my love I brought you here." "Here!" echoed Virginia, in pretended surprise, carrying out the instructions of Ellen. "Did I not come here at my own request?" "Not exactly." "How so? Is not this the house of Calvin Morton?" "Calvin Morton!" exclaimed Acton, turning pale, and his whole manner changing. "Do you then know Calvin Morton or his family?" "O, no!" answered Virginia; "but I have understood he is a great lawyer, and my brother wished me to see him." "O, yes," rejoined Acton, greatly relieved, "he is a great lawyer, and to-morrow I will take you to him, and will go bail for your brother besides—that is," he added, "if you will not treat my love with disdain. I have deceived you in bringing you here, I admit; but then you will recollect it was done for love and forgive me— will you not, my little beauty?" Virginia replied not; and Acton, fancying he had made some impression, proceeded in a still softer and more musical strain: "O, if you did but know how ardently I love you—how I have pined for your sweet presence ever since I first beheld you— how I have sworn to prize and adore you above all others—I am sure you would let your beautiful eyes, in which there is a heaven of blue, look pityingly upon me and bid me hope! Come, dearest, sit thee down, and let me breathe my tale of holy love into, I trust, a not unwilling ear!" and he approached to take her hand. "Off!" cried Virginia, playing her part; "you do not love me!" "By heavens, I do! By all things bright and beautiful, on earth or above earth— by all the beaming stars, which are no match for your sparkling eyes—I swear to you I love you, and only you—that I never loved before, and never will again!" "Then if you love me, you will do what I command." "Any thing, my angel!—only name it, and it shall be done." "Stand aside, then, and let me pass,
and do not attempt to follow," returned Virginia, resolutely, taking a step or two toward the door, as if to quit the apartment. "Nay, not that—any thing but that!" cried Acton, springing forward and intercepting her. "You must not leave here so soon." "What, sir!—dare you stop me? Begone, I tell you, or I will alarm the house!" "Well, then," answered Acton, with a smile of triumph, "I may as well inform you, that your alarming the house, as you call it, will avail you nothing, since it is well understood here that you and I are lovers. None, I assure you, will interfere, even should you cry your lungs hoarse; so make your calculations accordingly." "But I will pass!" persisted Virginia. "Nay, you shall not!" cried Acton, catching hold of her; "and for the attempt, even, I will have a kiss, if I die for it." Virginia gave a piercing scream, and struggled violently to escape—but in vain. "Be quiet, do!" said Acton: "I tell you I will have a kiss, and resistance is useless;" and as he struggled to make good his boast, Virginia screamed again. At this moment a third figure, unseen by Acton, glided swiftly to his side, and the voice of Ellen sounded in his ear. "Wr etch!" she cried; "guilty wretch! what do you with the innocent more?— Have you not damned your soul enough already?" "Ha!" exclaimed Acton, turning fierceupon the intruder, almost overpowered with surprise and rage: "What do you here, interfering with my affairs?" "I come to protect the unprotected—to guard the innocent—to right the wronged and curse the guilty! For shame, vile wretch that you are—base miscreant—for shame! Down on your knees and sue for the pardon of her who is your equal in birth, as she is your superior in virtue so much as Heaven is of Hell! Is it not enough that you would wrong and have wronged those who are no akin to you, but you must bring your hellish deeds home upon your own relation--your father's sister's child? "What is the meaning of this?" cried Acton, all amazement. "It means, vile dog! that you have this night enticed away, for a base purpose, your own poor cousin, Virginia Courtly; and that but for a more honest villain than yourself, you might have been guilty of a crime for which slow death on the rack were the only adequate punishment!" "My cousin!" exclaimed Acton, looking at Virginia. "Impossible! This is some trick to deceive me! I have no cousins in the city—the Courtlys are in Baltimore." "On my part," returned Virginia, "there is no deceit. As sure as your name is Acton Goldfinch, mine is Virginia Courtly; and as sure as you are the son of Oliver Goldfinch, I am the child of his late sister, and your own cousin by nature, though I shame to own it, and would to Heaven I could sunder the tie of consanguinity." "Hear you that, most monstrous of monsters?" hissed Ellen in bis ear. "Go! take your worthless body hence!—crawl away like a thrice-beaten cur!—and the next time you attempt to triumph over me, entice your own sister to be your companion, and be sure you have neither confidants nor confederates!" "By —! there is such a thing as goading me too far, Ellen Douglas; and though I played the coward twice to you— mark me! I will never do it again: so beware, ere you crowd a desperate man too far!" "You fancy yourself desperate and no coward?" asked Ellen, quickly, with a singular, almost unearthly gleam in her dark eye, which she fixed piercingly upon Acton's. "I fancy myself both," replied Acton: "so be careful!" "Now will I prove you," she cried, triumphantly. "Here are two vials, (holding one in each hand) both alike, and both contain the deadliest of poison. If you are desperate, and not a coward, now is the time to wipe out your disgrace. I dare you to the trial! Drain you one, I will the other;" and she reached both toward him, that he might take his choice. At first Acton turned pale and took a step back, as if aghast at the idea. The next moment a malicious smile of triumph flashed over his features and sparkled in his eyes; and seizing one of the vials, he threw out the cork suddenly, and crying, "I accept your challenge," placed it to his lips. Quick as lightning Ellen imitated the movement, and would have drank, but for Virginia, who, with a scream of terror, sprang forward and dashed the poison to the floor. "Here is the other," said Acton, coolly, reaching his own vial toward Ellen. "I was only trying to see if you were in earnest." Ere Ellen could reply, there came a heavy rap on the door; and springing for ward she threw it open. To her surprise, a fine, noble-looking gentleman, accompanied by two roughly clad individuals, entered, one of which latter stepping up to the astonished Acton, laid a hand heavily on his shoulder, saying gruffly: "Acton Goldfinch, I arrest you!" At the same time the foremost, approaching Virginia, breathed her name in a low, tender voice. She started, looked at him eagerly, blushed, hesitated, and then yielding to a powerful impulse, threw herself forward, and was caught half fainting in the arms, and tenderly strained to the wildly beating heart of—Dudley.
Bennett, Emerson - Oliver Goldfinch Page 15