Chapter 10

"_Duke_.--How's this? The treason's Already at the doors."

VENICE PRESERVED.

"_Amelia_.--I thought I heard a step. _Charles_.--'T is your tyrant coming."

PROCTOR.

Jaspar and De Guy were for a long time closeted in the state-room. On their reäppearance Jaspar felt much easier. The silky-toned attorney had used a variety of arguments to convince him that their schemes were working excellently well, and that everything, notwithstanding the resurrection of the negro, would terminate to his entire satisfaction.

The process of "wooding-up" on a Mississippi steamer, inasmuch as it affords the passengers an opportunity to exercise their locomotive powers on shore, is regarded as an interesting incident. This was particularly true on board the Chalmetta, for she was crowded to nearly double her complement of cabin-passengers, and the space usually devoted to exercise was too much crowded to render it very pleasant.

When, therefore, the Chalmetta touched at a wood-yard, after leaving Baton Rouge, the passengers hurried on shore, to enjoy the novelty of an unconfined promenade. De Guy, on pretence of further private conversation, induced Jaspar to forsake his post as sentinel over Emily, and join him in a walk. For half an hour the attorney in his silky tones regaled the ears of Jaspar with various strange schemes, until the bell of the steamer announced her near departure. Even then De Guy seemed in no haste, and assured his companion the boat would not start without them. But the second bell admonished them that the steamer was already getting under way. The passengers were all on board, and, as they heard in the distance the tinkling of the engineer's bell, they started at a run to reach her. By some accident, De Guy's foot got between Jaspar's legs, and he fell. The attorney stooped, as if to assist him up, but, in reality, struck the fallen man a blow, which rendered him insensible. De Guy hurried towards the boat, leaving the watchful uncle to shift for himself. He reached the landing in season to jump upon the stern of the boat as it swung in shore. Pushing through the crowd which had gathered to witness his exploit of getting on board, he retreated to his state-room, and locked the door.

Jaspar was not immediately missed by Emily, and his absence was too desirable to be the cause of any solicitude. As the tea-hour approached, and the ladies were requested to take their places at table, she was very much surprised to see _Mr. Maxwell_ present himself as her escort to the table. Since the unhappy disclosure of his love in the office, she had regarded him with pity, rather than with the contempt he merited. She could not but feel that he loved her. His eloquent language and forlorn aspect had not been in vain, for they had saved him from her _utter_ contempt. A true woman cannot be conscious of possessing a portion of the love, even of a dissolute man, without feeling some respect for him. To love truly and devotedly is an element of the angelic character; and such love will purify and ennoble even the grossest of human beings. Emily unconsciously arrived at this conclusion; and, discerning some indications of pure love towards her in his gross and earthly mind, she felt that he was entitled to her sympathy. She cherished no affection for him; all that her gentle heart could contain was bestowed upon another. A suspicion had more than once entered her mind that Maxwell was, in some manner, connected with the foul plot which had drawn her into its toils. But, she reasoned, if he loved her, he would not injure her,--no, not even in revenge for her refusal. _She_ could not, and her beautiful nature would not allow her to believe it, even of a man as gross as her better judgment told her Maxwell was.

To her inquiry for her uncle, Maxwell informed her that he had some conversation with him since he came on board at Baton Rouge, and that he had requested him to attend her at tea. He had not seen him since, but supposed he was forward, or in his state-room.

Emily readily accepted his arm, for anything was a relief from the hateful presence of Jaspar. Maxwell used all the art which politeness could lend to render himself agreeable. His ready wit, and the adaptation of his conversation to the unhappy circumstances of her position, in some measure dispelled the misery of the hour. Besides, it was plain the attorney did not believe the statement of the will; for a high-born Southern gentleman would never associate in public with a slave girl. She had, too, a presentiment that he came on some errand to her. Perhaps the good minister, Mr. Faxon, had sent him with good news to her. Perhaps through him the will had been proved false. Such reflections as these imparted more interest to his society than she would otherwise have felt.

During the tea-hour his assiduous courtesy left scarcely a particular in which Henry Carroll, who, as before, occupied a seat opposite to him, could render himself of use. He could hardly address a word to her without interrupting her companion. An introduction, which had before placed the young captain and the attorney on speaking terms, did not prevent the latter from mixing excessively good with excessively bad breeding. He was apparently unwilling that Henry should be heard by Emily. Maxwell had some idea of the relation which subsisted between his two companions; but, of course, knew nothing of the previous night's interview, which had indissolubly bound their hearts together. He seemed determined to keep their sympathies as far apart as possible.

Henry Carroll wondered at the absence of Jaspar and at the sudden appearance of Maxwell, for he had not before seen him. His attentions to her he loved created no jealousy. Emily had satisfactorily acknowledged her affection for him, and to believe her pure nature, especially under the present circumstances, susceptible of coquetry, were infidelity. A single look beaming with love had assured him that his star was still in the ascendant.

At the conclusion, Maxwell, with the same elegant courtesy, conducted her back to the ladies' cabin. Emily repeated her acknowledgments for the attentions, and was about to enter her state-room, when he addressed her.

"May I beg the favor of a few moments' private conversation, Miss Dumont?" said he, in a more business-like manner than that he had assumed at the tea-table.

Emily hesitated. Her supposition concerning his mission was partly verified in this request; but the remembrance of her last interview with him at his office in New Orleans came like a cloud over the bright sky of her hopes. Curiosity and a painful interest prompted her to risk the interview. If this interview was likely to be of an unpleasant nature, she could retire; and, if the worst she apprehended was likely to be realized, she knew that Henry Carroll hovered near her, at all times, like a guardian angel.

"In your legal capacity, I presume?" said she, with a smile and a crimson face.

"Certainly, certainly," replied Maxwell, not a little disconcerted to discover this troublesome caution.

"Will you take a seat, then? I think no one will feel an interest in our conversation beside ourselves."

"Excuse me," replied Maxwell, in his blandest tones, "a few words of our conversation overheard might expose persons we wish not to injure."

"Perhaps it had better be deferred to a more convenient opportunity."

"Delays are dangerous, Miss Dumont. Justice to yourself requires that my communication be made at once. Allow me to attend you to the promenade deck, where we shall be secure from interruption."

Emily, with many doubts, accepted his arm, and they proceeded to the promenade deck.

"Now, Mr. Maxwell," said Emily, in a very serious tone, for she wished to awe the profligate into the most business-like reserve, "be as speedy as possible, for I am fearful of the effects of the night-air upon my health."

Maxwell was disconcerted at this change in the manner of his companion, and vexed to account for it. The remembrance of past events came to his aid, but afforded no satisfactory solution. He could not see why Emily should studiously reject his overtures. His experience of female society had been of the most flattering character. He was perfectly aware of his popularity. His personal attractions always had been a strong recommendation, and he could not see why they should not be in this instance. His family was good, his fortune supposed to be respectable,--everybody did not know the inroads he had made upon it; his business was a pastime--the gate of honor and fame. It was true his character was dissolute, but she did not know this.

Unfortunately for him and his prospects, she did know it, and the fact had all the weight which a virtuous mind attaches to such a circumstance.

"I have been fortunate enough to obtain some information which may be of great value to you, or I should not thus have intruded upon you," said Maxwell, with the air of a man upon whom suspicion rested unjustly.

"Indeed, Mr. Maxwell!" replied Emily, forgetting both the night-air and the character of the man who stood beside her; "pray, tell me all at once!"

"Pardon me," replied he, coldly, "as the story is somewhat lengthy, perhaps it might be deferred till to-morrow, if your health is likely to suffer from exposure at this hour."

Emily was confused; but she could not stoop to the weakness of deception to smooth over her former coldness. She was burning with impatience to be restored, even in imagination, to the position from which she had been degraded by the cruel will. Her companion's language was not calculated to remove her doubts of his intentions. If the communication was of a business character, why should he be offended at her haste to terminate the interview? This reflection strengthened her resolution not to conciliate him. She would trust to Providence and the justice of her cause, rather than make an intimate of a man whom she despised.

"Miss Dumont," said Maxwell, growing desperate at the lady's silence, "perhaps I have offended in some manner. If I have, it was unintentional, and I trust you will forgive me."

"O, no, sir, not at all!" exclaimed Emily, mollified, in spite of herself, by the humility of the attorney. "There is no offence, and no apology is necessary."

"I am greatly relieved by this assurance, and, with your leave, will proceed with my narrative."

Maxwell now entered into a relation of the history of the will, but studiously avoided imparting a single fact with which she was not already acquainted. All this he had related with a lawyer's skill, to awaken her curiosity and interest, and to remove by distance any unpleasant suspicions which might have been awakened in her mind in regard to his motives.

To all he said Emily listened with profound attention, momentarily expecting the development of the foul plot. But thus far Jaspar Dumont is as pure as an angel,--nothing is disclosed. In this manner half an hour passed away, and Emily was no wiser than at first.

Maxwell has now, with an adroitness peculiar to the successful lawyer, made _himself_ the subject of his remarks. He is careful that she shall know how sagacious he has been in discovering the facts he has not yet revealed. He tells her how many weary days and nights he has spent in searching out the truth; what wonderful intelligence of his had converted the shadow of a suspicion into the reality of an incontrovertible conviction; how a single word he casually overheard has been followed through weary days and dismal nights, till he has arrived, with all the evidence in his hands, at the truth!

Emily was certainly grateful for the deep interest he had manifested in her behalf, and she expressed her gratitude with modest earnestness.

"But, Miss Dumont," continued Maxwell, "I could not thus have sacrificed myself for every client. My health and strength, under ordinary circumstances, would have given way, and the case have been lost."

"Indeed, sir, you may rely on the fullest and most substantial acknowledgment for the service you have rendered. My purse shall be entirely at your disposal," responded Emily, warmly and innocently.

"Money, Miss Dumont, would not have tempted me to make the sacrifice of health and comfort which this exertion has required of me. I have done all my humble talents would permit from a higher motive. I look for my reward in the consciousness of having done my duty."

"I trust, Mr. Maxwell, you will receive the great reward which is sure to follow every noble and true action."

Emily was sadly perplexed to understand this new and singular phenomenon.

"The act itself is its own reward," said Maxwell, with an attempt to counterfeit humility, which was very awkward, but which deceived Emily, agitated as she was by hopes and fears.

"But, as I said," continued he, "I would not have done this for every client, and I trust you will pardon me when I say the only reward I look forward to is your smile of approval."

"I certainly cannot but approve of the motives which have actuated you, and your actions perhaps I could better appreciate if my knowledge of them was more extensive," responded Emily, disappointed and displeased, as her suspicions were reawakened.

But a faint smile rested upon her beautiful features, as if to soften, the reproof she had administered, and to conceal her rising emotions. She felt that Maxwell could assist her, but she feared every moment that some allusion to the prohibited subject would compel her to banish him from her presence.

"A smile from you were an ample reward for all my trouble and exertion," said Maxwell, deceived by the smile of Emily. "To be as sincere as your generous nature demands, I cannot conquer the love I have before expressed. I--"

"Excuse me, sir," indignantly interrupted Emily, "I must retire."

"Nay, nay, Miss Dumont! I meant no offence. Hear me but for a moment!"

"Not another instant, sir! You have deceived me."

"Upon my honor, I have not. I possess the evidence by which your birthright and possessions may be restored."

"No more! I had rather die in poverty, with the stain clinging to me, than owe the restoration of my rights to you. You have taken advantage of my unprotected condition to impose upon me."

"You wrong me, Miss Dumont; as, if you will remain but a moment, I will prove to you," said Maxwell, pleading like an injured man.

Maxwell's peculiar tone and penitent air made Emily pause, and perhaps think she had spoken too hastily. All the wrong of which she could accuse him was, that he loved her. She felt that this was not a crime. The remembrance of wrongs she knew he had inflicted upon others, perhaps weak and unprotected like herself, nerved her resolution, and to a word of love from him she could not listen. She wished to conciliate him, if possible, but not at the expense of her self-respect.

"Why have you detained me all this time to listen to a story with which I was before as familiar as yourself? Why have you used the language of love, which a refusal to hear now renders insolent?"

"I have offended you, Miss Dumont," said he, in the humblest tones; "can I hope to be forgiven?"

"Your future conduct alone can secure my forgiveness."

"Then I solemnly promise never again to allude to the admiration with which I have regarded your matchless beauty, or to mention the love which now consumes my heart."

"I trust you are sincere," said Emily, not knowing whether to smile or frown upon this making and breaking the promise in the same breath. The deep anxiety she felt for her future fate made her disposed to forget the past, and in a gentler tone she expressed her forgiveness.

Maxwell imagined that, at last, his star was in the ascendant. His experience of woman-kind only indicated that he had been too precipitate, and that the reserve, even the refusal he had received, were only the accidents of the moment, not the natural expression of an indifferent heart. His assurance increased as he reflected. He was led to believe that he might, now that the ice-barrier was removed, be more unreserved in his wooing. His perseverance had now overcome all obstacles, and the prize was in his grasp.

"I have a plan to propose," said he, "which will immediately secure to you all your rights."

"Pray what is it?" asked Emily, eagerly.

"As you have forbidden me to speak of love, I am placed in a very unfortunate position. In short, you can obtain possession of your estate by returning as my wife."

This last sentence was said in a whisper, and in a tone of assurance, as though he felt she would gladly accept the alternative.

"Sir!" exclaimed Emily, aghast with astonishment and indignation, for the abruptness of the degrading proposition nearly deprived her of the power of speech.

"Even so, Emily. I have the power to restore your rights, and will do so on this condition. The ceremony may be performed at Natchez, where we shall arrive to-night; or, if you fear I promise more than I can perform, I will draw up an agreement, which you shall sign, to the effect that you will accept my hand on the restoration of your rights. I will give you two hours to think of it; and if, at the end of that time, you accept the proposal, I will at once take the necessary steps to regain your fortune, and remove the stigma which rests on your name."

"Never, sir, never! I will die a beggar before I will owe my prosperity to such a contract!" exclaimed Emily, whose indignation now found utterance.

"I beg madam will reflect before she decides," said Maxwell, in a satirical tone.

"Sir, I will die upon the rack, before the hand of a villain shall lead me to the altar!" answered Emily, unable to control her feelings.

"Softly, lady, softly!"

"Leave me, sir! leave me, or I will call upon my uncle to protect me from further insult!"

"Your _uncle_, I fear, was left at the last wood-yard; so I heard my friend De Guy say."

Emily felt herself the victim of a plot, and, rousing all her energies, she said,

"I see it all. The machinations of a villain--for such you are--shall be foiled."

"Miss Dumont," said Maxwell, his passions roused by the severity of her epithet, "do you forget your condition? You are a _slave_! Your supposed uncle is not here. You have no free papers, and are liable to be committed to the next jail."

"But I am not without a friend who is able to protect me," said Emily, with spirit, as she saw Henry Carroll ascend to the deck upon which they stood.

"Your friend is helpless. Another word, and I will proclaim your condition," and he rudely seized her by the arm. "Your friend cannot help you. He has not your free papers."

"But he has a strong arm!" shouted Henry Carroll, as with a single blow he struck the attorney to the deck.

"This way, Emily," said he to the weeping girl, who clung tremblingly to him; "you are safe now."

Emily was conducted by the gallant arm which had protected her from we know not what indignity. She felt secure in his presence from further molestation, and his soothing words and hopeful promises did much to restore her.

Maxwell soon recovered from the effects of the blow he had received, and, boiling with passion, swore vengeance upon the man who had interrupted him. But his passion was of short duration, and was succeeded by sober reflections upon the "position of his case." Emily Dumont was not of that class of women with whom he was accustomed to deal. He had found in her an element with which he had not before been conversant,--of which, indeed, he had read in books of poetry, but did not believe it existed in the material world.