by Mayne Reid
CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT.
MY FORLORN HOPE.
It was pleasant escaping from that hot hell into the cool night air--into the soft light of a Southern moon. It would have been pleasantunder other circumstances; but then the sweetest clime and loveliestscene would have made no impression upon me.
My companion seemed to share my bitterness of soul. His words ofconsolation were not without their influence; I knew they were theexpressions of a real sympathy. His acts had already proved it.
It was, indeed, a lovely night. The white moon rode buoyantly throughfleecy clouds, that thinly dappled the azure sky of Louisiana, and asoft breeze played through the now silent streets. A lovely night--toosweet and balmy. My spirit would have preferred a storm. Oh! for blackclouds, red lightning, and thunder rolling and crashing through the sky.Oh! for the whistling wind, and the quick pattering of the rain-drops.Oh! for a hurricane without, consonant to the storm that was ragingwithin me!
It was but a few steps to the hotel; but we did not stop there. Wecould think better in the open air, and converse as well. Sleep had nocharms for me, and my companion seemed to share my impulses; so passingonce more from among the houses, we went on towards the Swamp, caringnot whither we went.
We walked side by side for some time without exchanging speech. Ourthoughts were running upon the same theme,--the business of to-morrow.To-morrow no longer, for the tolling of the great cathedral clock hadjust announced the hour of midnight. In twelve hours more the _vente del'encan_ would commence--in twelve hours more they would be bidding, formy betrothed!
Our steps were towards the "Shell Road," and soon our feet crunched uponthe fragments of unios and bivalves that strewed the path. Here was ascene more in unison with our thoughts. Above and around waved the darksolemn cypress-trees, fit emblems of grief--rendered doubly lugubriousin their expression by the hoary _tillandsia_, that draped them like acouch of the dead. The sounds, too, that here saluted our ears had asoothing effect; the melancholy "coowhoo-a" of the swamp-owl--thecreaking chirp of the tree-crickets and cicadas--the solemn "tong-tong"of the bell-frog--the hoarse trumpet-note of the greater batrachian--andhigh overhead the wild treble of the bull-bat, all mingled together in aconcert, that, however disagreeable under other circumstances, now fellupon my ears like music, and even imparted a kind of sad pleasure to mysoul.
And yet it was not my darkest hour. A darker was yet in store for me.Despite the very hopelessness of the prospect, I still clung to hope. Avague feeling it was; but it sustained me against despair. The trunk ofa taxodium lay prostrate by the side of our path. Upon this we satdown.
We had exchanged scarce a dozen words since emerging from the hell. Iwas busy with thoughts of the morrow: my young companion, whom I nowregarded in the light of an old and tried friend, was thinking of thesame.
What generosity towards a stranger! what self-sacrifice! _Ah! littledid I then know of the vast extent_--_the noble grandeur of thatsacrifice_!
"There now remains but one chance," I said; "the chance that to-morrow'smail, or rather to-day's, may bring my letter. It might still arrive intime; the mail is due by ten o'clock in the morning."
"True," replied my companion, seemingly too busy with his own thoughtsto give much heed to what I had said.
"If not," I continued, "then there is only the hope that he who shallbecome the purchaser, may afterwards sell her to _me_. I care not atwhat price, if I--"
"Ah!" interrupted D'Hauteville, suddenly waking from his reverie; "it isjust that which troubles me--that is exactly what I have been thinkingupon. I fear, Monsieur, I fear--"
"Speak on!"
"I fear there is no hope that he who buys her will be willing to sellher again."
"And why? Will not a large sum--?"
"No--no--I fear that he who buys will not give her up again, _at anyprice_."
"Ha! Why do you think so, Monsieur D'Hauteville."
"I have my suspicion that a certain individual designs--"
"Who?"
"Monsieur Dominique Gayarre."
"Oh! heavens! Gayarre! Gayarre!"
"Yes; from what you have told me--from what I know myself--for I, too,have some knowledge of Dominique Gayarre."
"Gayarre! Gayarre! Oh, God!"
I could only ejaculate. The announcement had almost deprived me of thepower of speech. A sensation of numbness seemed to creep over me--aprostration of spirit, as if some horrid danger was impending and nigh,and I without the power to avert it.
Strange this thought had not occurred to me before. I had supposed thatthe quadroon would be sold to some buyer in the ordinary course; someone who would be disposed to _resell_ at a profit--perhaps an enormousone; but in time I should be prepared for that. Strange I had neverthought of Gayarre becoming the purchaser. But, indeed, since the hourwhen I first heard of the bankruptcy, my thoughts had been running toowildly to permit me to reflect calmly upon anything.
Now it was clear. It was no longer a conjecture; most certainly,Gayarre would become the master of Aurore. Ere another night her bodywould be his property. Her soul--Oh, God! Am I awake?--do I dream?
"I had a suspicion of this before," continued D'Hauteville; "for I maytell you I know something of this family history--of Eugenie Besancon--of Aurore--of Gayarre the avocat. I had a suspicion before that Gayarremight desire to be the owner of Aurore. But now that you have told meof the scene in the dining-room, I no longer doubt this villain'sdesign. Oh! it is infamous."
"Still further proof of it," continued D'Hauteville. "There was a manon the boat--you did not notice him, perhaps--an agent for Gayarre insuch matters. A negro-trader--a fit tool for such a purpose. No doubthis object in coming down to the city is to be present at the sale--tobid for the poor girl."
"But why," I asked, catching at a straw of hope,--"why, since he wishesto possess Aurore, could he not have effected it by private contract?--why send her to the slave-market to public auction?"
"The law requires it. The slaves of an estate in bankruptcy must besold publicly to the highest bidder. Besides, Monsieur, bad as may bethis man, he dare not for the sake of his character act as you havesuggested. He is a thorough hypocrite, and, with all his wickedness,wishes to stand well before the world. There are many who believeGayarre a good man! He dare not act openly in this villainous design,and will not appear in it. To save scandal, the negro-trader will besupposed to purchase for himself. It is infamous!"
"Beyond conception! Oh! what is to be done to save her from thisfearful man? to save me--"
"It is of that I am thinking, and have been for the last hour. Be ofgood cheer, Monsieur! all hope is not lost. There is still one chanceof saving Aurore. There is one hope left. Alas! I have known thetime,--I, too, have been unfortunate--sadly--sadly--unfortunate. Nomatter now. We shall not talk of my sorrows till yours have beenrelieved. Perhaps, at some future time you may know me, and my griefs--no more of that now. There is still one chance for Aurore, and she andyou--both--may yet be happy. It must be so; I am resolved upon it.'Twill be a wild act; but it is a wild story. Enough--I have no time tospare--I must be gone. Now to your hotel!--go and rest. To-morrow attwelve I shall be with you--at twelve in the Rotundo. Good night!Adieu."
Without allowing me time to ask for an explanation, or make any reply,the Creole parted from me; and, plunging into a narrow street, soonpassed out of sight!
Pondering over his incoherent words--over his unintelligible promise--upon his strange looks and manner,--I walked slowly to my hotel.
Without undressing I flung myself on my bed, without a thought of goingto sleep.