XV
THE WEB THAT SEEMED TO BE WOVEN
The fancy pleased Father Orin, and he spoke jestingly to Toby about it,reminding him, however, seriously enough, that it was only in visionsthat there could be any such direct passing from earth to heaven.
"For you see, old man, there's a place on the way where most of us musttarry a while. Maybe you might be able to pass by and go straight on. Iam afraid there wouldn't be much of a chance for me."
But they were both still far from their long, hard journey's end on thatgloomy November evening. They were merely turning a little aside fromtheir usual broad path for a still wider service to humanity. They hadnot seen the doctor that day, and there was always reason to fear thathe might at any moment fall a victim to the epidemic which he wasceaselessly fighting, so that they were now going in some anxiety to seewhat had kept him away from the places in which they were used to seeinghim. They were both very tired, yet Toby, nevertheless, quickened hisweary pace at a gentle hint from Father Orin, and they got to thedoctor's house just as the sun went down behind the cottonwoods on theother shore.
The cabin stood near the river bank. It was a single room of logs, roughwithout and bare within. The doctor was not very poor, as poverty andriches were considered in the wilderness, having inherited a modestfortune. But he was generous and charitable, and had gone from Virginiainto Kentucky with an earnest wish to serve his kind. And then hisacquaintance with Father Orin had brought him in close contact with wantas well as suffering, and would have given him good uses for largermeans than his own. Yet rude and empty as the cabin was, there weretraces of refinement here and there, as there always must be wherevertrue refinement dwells. A miniature of his mother, whom he could notremember, hung against the logs at the head of his bed. There were a fewgood books on a rough shelf, and a spray of autumn leaves lay on thetable. The beauty of the leaves had drawn him to break the spray fromthe bough and bring it home. But he had forgotten it as soon as he hadlaid it down on the table, and the leaves were withering as he satbeside them with his head bowed upon his hands.
The man of conscience, who cares for the bodies of his kind, bearsalmost as heavy a burden as he who cares for their souls. He musteverywhere, and unrestingly, fight ignorance and prejudice with onehand, while he strives to heal with the other, and this double strifewas fiercer in the wilderness, just at that time, than almost anywhereelse within the furthest reach of science. On first coming he had foundmore people being killed by calomel and jalap than by the plague. Atevery turn he encountered this bane of the country which was calledcallomy-jallopy, and at that moment he was utterly worn out, body andsoul, by a struggle to save the life of a man who had ignorantlypoisoned himself by drinking some acid after taking the dose. This wasnot his first experience of the kind; but he had met the other trialswith the high courage of a light heart and a free mind. It was onlywithin the last two days that he had been weighed down bydiscouragement, by heaviness of heart, and depression of mind. He was soweary and absorbed now in disheartened thought, that he did not hearToby's approach, and he was startled when Father Orin appeared in theopen door. He greeted him with a warmly outstretched hand, but did notsay that he was glad to see him; they were too good friends for emptyphrases, such good friends that they sat down silently, neither needinga word to know the other's sadness. It was the priest who finally brokethe silence.
"You are troubled, my son," he said, quietly and gently. "I see there issomething besides the trouble which touches us all--this terror of whatis coming on the other side of the river. I see that there is somethingelse--some closer trouble of your own. If you wish to tell me about it,I will do what I can to help you; but you know this without being told."
He had spoken at the right moment, for there are moments in the lives ofthe most reserved and self-reliant when the heart must speak to ease themind. Paul Colbert was a Protestant, and so firm and strong in his faiththat he was ready at all times to defend it, to fight for it; yet thismoment, which has nothing to do with any creed, had come to him, and hespoke as one man speaks to another whom he trusts and knows to be hisfriend. He told what he was suffering, and the cause of hiswretchedness. He spoke of his first meeting with Ruth, and of the lovefor her that had leapt up in his heart at the first glimpse of her face,before he had heard her voice, before he knew her name. He said howhappy he was when chance put her in his arms through that wild night'sride. He described his visit to her on the next day, and said how far hewas from suspecting that William Pressley was more than a member of thesame family. He went on to speak of the other visits which he had paidto Ruth, telling how fast his love had grown with every meeting. Heended with the revelation at the dance in the woods.
"But it wouldn't have made any difference had I known sooner. Itcouldn't have made any difference in my loving her," he said. "I musthave loved her just the same no matter when or how we might have met.Nothing ever could have altered that. I am afraid that I couldn't havehelped loving her had she been another man's wife. I am keeping nothingback, you see, Father. I am telling you the whole truth. But perhaps itwouldn't have been quite so hard to bear, had I known at the very first.It can hardly be so hard to give up happiness when we have never daredlong for it. And I knew no reason why I might not try to make her loveme. As it is, from this time on, every thought of her must be likeconstantly trying to kill some suffering thing that can never die!"
He dropped his head on his arm which lay on the table. The priest gentlylaid his hand on the thick, brown hair.
"My son," he murmured.
"If the man that she is to marry were only different," Paul groaned. "Ifhe were only more worthy, if I could only think that she would behappy."
He did not know that he was merely saying what every unfortunate loverhas thought since love and the world began; and it was a sad smile thattouched the sympathy of Father Orin's face.
"William Pressley is not a bad young fellow," the priest said. "He meanswell. He lives uprightly according to his dull, narrow ideas of right.And none of us can do any better than to live up to our own ideals.It's a good deal more than most of us do. I am afraid he is selfish,"with the hesitation which he always felt in pronouncing judgment uponany one; "but then most of us men are, and maybe he will not be selfishtoward her, for he must be fond of her. Everybody loves the child."
"But about her--is she fond of him? How can she be?"
"I can't answer for that. There's no telling about a girl's fancy; infact, I have never given the engagement a thought. It was all settled;it seemed a good, suitable arrangement--"
"Arrangement!" groaned Paul.
Father Orin shook his head. "It was most likely Philip Alston whobrought it about. He doubtless thought it a wise choice for both theyoung people. He certainly never would have consented if he had notbelieved it to be for Ruth's happiness--that always comes first with himin everything."
Paul Colbert sat up suddenly, throwing back his hair, and looked at thepriest with a clearing gaze. All the questions which he had been wishingto ask now rushed to his lips. What was Ruth's relation to PhilipAlston? What right had he to choose her husband? What was his influenceover William Pressley? What was his hold upon Judge Knox? What was thispower that he wielded over the whole family of Cedar House?
"He is no relation to her, is he? He isn't even her guardian. AndWilliam Pressley is an honest man, isn't he, even though such a solemn,pompous prig? He can hardly be a confederate of counterfeiters, forgers,robbers, and murderers. And a single look at the judge's face shows himto be the most upright of men; his open, unswerving honesty of thoughtand deed, cannot be doubted. How is it, then, that Philip Alston canmove all these honorable and intelligent people to suit his villanouspurposes, as if they were pawns in a game of chess?"
"Ah, you don't know much about Philip Alston. You have met him onlyonce--yet that must have made you feel the wonderful charm of the man,his singular power. You have seen how he looks," laughing at somerecollection. "Sometimes when he has talked to
me, looking me straightin the face with his clear, soft, gentle, blue eyes, I have doubtedeverything that I ever had heard against him. Things that I know to amoral certainty to be true seemed a monstrous slander. You must havefelt something of this, though you have seen him but once; and the morefrequently you meet him the more you will feel it. The power of the manis past words and past understanding. Did you know that he once held ahigh office under Spain? Oh, yes, for years he controlled the arrogant,treacherous, local government of Spain as absolutely as he controls thesimple family of Cedar House. He was living in Natchez then, and wasapparently a very devout Catholic, too, about this time. But the churchwhich he attended was mysteriously robbed; its altar was stripped ofeverything precious,--gold, jewels, paintings,--when none but himselfhad had access to the church unobserved. That is the story. I do notvouch for its truth. There was no evidence against him--only suspicionsin this as in everything else. It was shortly afterward that he suddenlyappeared in this country a stanch Protestant; and then almostimmediately the present reign of crime began. Yet he has never been seenin the company of any known law-breakers. Many mysterious visitors aresaid to come to his house over the Wilderness Road, and to go asmysteriously as they come. But no one claims to know who or what theyare, where they come from, or where they go. It is said that these menwho carry out his orders hardly know him by sight, that he sees only theleaders, and that they never dare go to his house unless they are sentfor. It is believed that he rarely goes into detail, and does not wishto know what they do in carrying out his wishes. It is said that he issickened by the slightest mention of bloodshed or cruelty, like anydelicate, sensitive woman, but is perfectly indifferent to all sorts ofatrocity that go on out of his sight and knowledge. There is, indeed, ageneral opinion that he actually does not know half of the time whathis tools are guilty of; that he purposely avoids knowing. I have heardit said that the boldest of the band would no more venture to tell himof the crimes they commit while executing orders, than he would put hishead in a lion's mouth. It is understood that Alston simply points to athing when he wants it done, leaving all shocking details to his tools.But this is mere hearsay. No one really knows anything about him; thatis to say, no one outside his band--if he actually has one. It is verygenerally believed, however, that he has only to blow a single blast ona horn at any hour of the day or night, and that from fifty to a hundredarmed men will instantly appear, as if they had sprung out of the earth.It is also generally believed that he makes all the fine counterfeitmoney with which this country is flooded, and that he does the work withhis own delicate, white hands. Yet not a dollar has ever been traced tohim, although its regular sale goes steadily on at a fixed rate ofsixteen bad dollars for one good dollar. It is generally believed, too,that he keeps his money, both the good and the bad, buried somewhere inthe forest near his house, presumably for the double purpose of guardingagainst robbery by his tools and against surprise by the officers of thelaw. This, of course, is also mere speculation; nobody really knowsanything about what he does. I only know that his house is a bare loghut, which is singular enough, seeing what a fine gentleman he is, andwhat luxury he has surrounded the girl with. But I know that to be true,because accident once took me to his house, and greater courtesy I neverfound anywhere, though I was not invited to come again. It is known thathe owns a fleet of flatboats, and one of them is usually seen waitingnear Duff's Fort when horses are stolen, and it is always gone beforethe dawn of the next day; but there is no proof of this, either. Boatsbelonging to other people have a hard time getting past Duff's Fort.More often than not, they are never seen or heard of after reaching thatfatal point, and the passengers vanish off the face of the earth. Thatis what happened to Ruth's parents, as nearly as any one but Alstonknows. Most likely he knows nothing more."
"And knowing this, she loves him, and the judge and his nephew trusthim?"
"The child doesn't know anything about it. Who would tell her? He islike her father--he could not have been more tender of her had she beenhis own child. There is nothing strange in her loving him; it would befar more strange if she did not. She is a gentle, loving nature, and hehas done everything to win her love, and you know what he is."
"How can any creature in human form be so utterly unnatural--so whollya monster? How can he endure to see her, much less profess fondness forher, knowing what he has done?"
"I have thought a good deal about that, and I have never been able tomake up my mind. You see we don't know that he has done anything wrong.Yet it may be an unconscious expiation. Who knows? The human heart is amysterious thing. But it is most likely that he simply began to love herwhen she was a baby, just because she was so lovely that he couldn'thelp it. She won all hearts in her cradle--the little witch. I remembervery well how she used to keep me from my work, by curling her rose leafof a hand around one of my rough fingers, before she could talk."
"But why--loving her--should he wish to marry her against her will?"
"We do not know that it is against her will. That is to say, I knownothing of the kind, and I have no reason even to think it."
There was a silence after this. Paul Colbert was suddenly realizing thathe also had no reason to think her unwilling; but this did not comforthim or change his feeling. It is the delight and misery of love never tohave anything to do with reason.
"It is not likely that Alston would approve anything that he did notbelieve was for her happiness," Father Orin went on after a briefsilence. "But there may have been other inducements. With the judge'snephew under his thumb, he need not have much fear of the law or thecourt. That was the reason most generally assigned for his patronage ofWilliam Pressley in the first place, before there was any engagementbetween the young man and Ruth. But that will, as a matter of course,bind him closer to Alston's interests, through her fondness for him. Andon yesterday I heard of a scheme to put Pressley in Joe Daviess' place.It has been kept quiet, but is said to be well on foot, and I should notbe surprised if it were true. Pressley is politically ambitious aboveanything, so that there are several reasons why he and Alston shouldhold together. In the event of Pressley's securing the appointment,there would not be much danger of the law's interference with anyunlawful plans that Alston might have. Mind you, I don't say that he hasany. I don't know that he has, and I am not even sure that I am right intelling you these things, which are merely rumor, after all. Well, atall events he has his good points. He is very generous, and alwaysready, open-handed, to help any good work of the Sisters. I have hadscruples about letting them accept his gifts, but I have hesitated tospeak for they know nothing against him, and there is always danger ofdoing injustice. We have no right to accuse anyone of anything that wecannot prove."
Paul was not listening to his friend's scruples. He had risen from hischair, and was walking up and down the room. Presently he paused andfaced the priest with the air of a man who sees his way and has made uphis mind. His voice rang clear with decision.
"Then this is the net that has been woven about her--the innocent,helpless little thing! She is to be made a victim through her tenderestand most natural affections. It's like seething a kid in its mother'smilk. And how utterly unprotected she is! Think of her father! Look atthe judge--for all his kindness! What is there to expect from him? AndPhilip Alston, who pretends to love her? He is using her affection forhimself to bring about this marriage, so that she may bind this dulltool--this pompous fool, Pressley--to the service of an organized bandof robbers and assassins."
"You are rushing to conclusions, my son. There is no reason, is there,to think that she doesn't love the young man? We haven't the slightestright to assume that. I certainly have not--have you?"
Father Orin spoke with a keen look at the pale, agitated young face,which flushed painfully. Seeing this the priest went on more gentlywithout waiting for any reply.
"And I must again remind you that we do not know that Philip Alston hasanything to do with the lawlessness of the country,--we merely suspecthim. Suspicion and evidence are
different things; so widely different,indeed, that I may have done grave wrong in even mentioning the first toyou."
"Then we must try to find out the truth--try to lay our hand on theevidence which will prove Alston's innocence or his guilt. Doing thatcannot harm her--if she is happy in this engagement," with a strongeffort, "and it may help her--if she is not."
The priest shook his head. "You forget that many able men have alreadytried hard to do what you suggest, and that every attempt has failed."
"That hasn't a straw's weight with me. I shall not fail, because I amgoing to try harder than any one else ever can have tried," with theconfidence and courage that belong to love. "I think I can do somethingto aid the officers in gathering evidence. My work, carrying me over thewhole region where these villains do theirs, gives me opportunities toknow what is going on. I shall speak to the attorney-general earlyto-morrow morning. Every honest man owes it to the state to give suchhelp as he can in this extremity."
"Take care," said Father Orin, gently. "I am doubting more and more thewisdom and right of having told you these stories about Philip Alston.Remember, they are merely rumors, widespread and generally believed, itis true, yet still wholly unsupported by evidence. We must be careful.There is a bare possibility that we may be wrong, that we may be doinga terrible injustice to an innocent man. I do not believe that anythingcan be long believed by a great many honest people unless there is sometruth underneath for it to rest upon; and this about Philip Alston hasbeen believed by the best men of this country for a good many years. Butthe fact that it hasn't been proven remains, nevertheless. There hasnever been a shadow of real evidence, and we, as fair-minded men, arebound to remember that." He hesitated for a moment, and looked at theyoung doctor as if uncertain whether to say something else that was inhis kind, wise thoughts. "There is another thing that you would do wellto bear in mind, my son. Any one bringing any charges, supported orunsupported, against Philip Alston, will break that little girl's heart.She would never credit the strongest proof. A woman like that,--atender, soft, clinging, unreasoning little thing,--who is all affectionand trust, could not be reached by testimony that would convince anyjury. That is one of the merciful dispensations; that is one of thereasons why men get so much more mercy here below than they deserve.This gentle girl not only would never believe, but she would never,never forgive you for breathing a word against Philip Alston. That isthe way with women of her kind. And you would not wish to hurt her, eventhough--"
"No! No--no!"
"And then you must not forget that the young man whom she is to marryis also more or less involved. And you must remember that he isessentially an upright, well-meaning, well-trained young fellow. Thereis no reason to think she doesn't love him. His conceit is the onlything against him, and she may not mind that. A gentle, yielding naturelike hers is often attracted by a dominant, overbearing one like his. Ihave often noticed it. Maybe it is intended by nature and providence tokeep the balance of things. What would become of the world if all thestrong ones or all the good ones were to come together, and leave allthe weak ones or all the bad ones by themselves? You can see at oncethat that would never do--everything would be at once unbalanced. It'shard on the good and the strong; but then, many of nature's provisionsare hard on the individual, and yet they all work for the welfare ofcreation."
He said this with a smile and a chuckle, hoping to win his friend to thehalf-earnest, half-jesting talk with which they sometimes tried tolighten the heavy burdens that both were constantly bearing. But he sawthat Paul could not respond, and he went back at once to the gravesympathy with which he had been speaking.
"At all events, this young couple have chosen one another for better orworse, and we, as honest men, and Christians, cannot allow ourselves todiscuss, or even think of anything else. I wish I could help you, myson, but I can only beg you to hold to your own road in life, to pressstraight on upward as steadily and as bravely as you can. And you mustput all thought of Philip Alston, too, out of your mind. You and I mustwork for the saving of men's bodies and souls--we have nothing to dowith their punishment. Work, my son! Work, work for others, that is thesecret of happiness! And if we work hard enough for the help and thehealing of others, it may be that after a while we will be allowed tofind help and healing for ourselves."
And the young man looking sadly in the face of the old man promised thathe would try--that he would do his best.
Round Anvil Rock: A Romance Page 15