CHAPTER III.

THE DREAM-ELIXIR.

The Twenty-Fourth of December was a happy day with Randolph Royalton. One happy day, after a long month devoted to agony and despair! Early morning light, found him in an upper chamber of the mansion, near the window, his form half concealed among the curtains, but his pale countenance, fully disclosed. There was thought upon his broad white forehead, relieved by the jet-black hair, an emotion of unspeakable tenderness,--passion,--in his large, clear blue eyes, and all the while upon his lips, an expression in which hatred mingled with contempt. For three images rose before him,--his future, and that was hard to read, and buried him in thought,--Eleanor, young and beautiful, and willing to become his own, and that filled his eyes with the light of passion,--his Brother, whom he had left helpless and insensible in a distant chamber, and who had met all his offers of fraternal love with withering scorn, and that thought curled his lip with mingled hatred and contempt.

In his hand he held a letter, which had just been delivered by Mr. Hicks, and before him were two huge trunks, one bearing the name of "Randolph Royalton, Heidelberg," and the other the name of "Esther Royalton, Hill Royal, S. C." These trunks which had just arrived in a mysterious manner, had been placed in his room by the hand of a servant.

On his way south, about a month before, Randolph had left his trunk in Washington, and hurried home, eager to see his father. When Esther was brought to Washington, by her brother and her purchaser, her trunk was brought with her from Royalton. And when Randolph and Esther escaped from Washington, they took their trunks with them as far as Philadelphia, where they left them in their eagerness to escape from their pursuers.

And now these trunks,--containing all that they were worth in the world,--had by some unknown person, been brought to the house in Broadway, and delivered into the servant's hands, accompanied by the note which Randolph held.

"Brother!" ejaculated Randolph, thinking of Harry Royalton, whom he had left weak and helpless in a distant chamber,--a chamber which Randolph had given up to him--"Brother! I am afraid our accounts draw to a close. I'm afraid that your nature cannot be changed. Shall I have to fight you with your own weapons? Last night I saved your life,--I brought you to my own home; I laid you on my own bed; I watched over you, and when you woke, held out to you a brother's hand. That hand you struck down in scorn! So much the worse for you, dear brother. Your condition will not allow you to leave this house for a day or two,--at least not until _to-morrow_ is over. And _to-morrow_ past, brother, you will forfeit all interest in the Van Huyden Estate."

Randolph was a generous and a noble man, but there were desperate elements within, which the events of the last month had begun to develop. He now felt that his fate would be decided and forever, by the course of the next twenty-four hours. And every power of his soul, all the strength, the good,--shall we say evil?--began to rise within him to meet the crisis. There was energy in his look, danger in his eye.

"And Eleanor,--" he breathed that name and paused, and for a moment he was enveloped in the atmosphere of an intense but sinless passion. "Eleanor loves me! She will be mine!"

But how should his marriage with Eleanor be accomplished, without the fatal disclosure, that instead of being the legitimate child of John Augustine Royalton, he was simply--the White Slave of his own brother?

The thought was madness, but Randolph met it, and rousing every power of his soul, sought to pierce the clouds which hung upon his future.

He opened the letter, which Mr. Hicks had delivered to him, and recognized the hand of his unknown protector,--his friend of the Half-Way House. It was dated "Dec. 24th," 1844, and these were its contents:--

"TO RANDOLPH ROYALTON:--

"When first I met you and your sister at the house near Princeton, and heard the story of your wrongs, in you I recognized the children of an old and dear friend, John Augustine Royalton. I determined to protect you. You know how my plans were laid. Your brother, also your persecutor, was delivered to punishment. Yourself and sister were brought to New York, and placed in the mansion which you now occupy. Last night, wishing to know whether there yet remained in your brother one throb of a better nature--conscious that if his feelings to you were unchanged, you would at no moment be safe from his vengeance,--I arranged your meeting with him and his instrument, in the den below Five Points. From old Royal (whom I first met in Philadelphia, and who told me of your story before I saw you at the half-way house,) I have learned all that occurred last night,--the attack made on you by your brother,--your magnanimous conduct,--the awful, although richly deserved death of Bloodhound, his atrocious tool. And although I know not what became of your brother after you bore him from the den, I doubt not but that you have placed him where he will be watched over with affectionate care.

"Yesterday I encountered Mr. Bernard Lynn, who seemed to take a great interest in you. I directed him to your house,--treat him as your guest in your own house,--for I especially desire you to regard the house and all it contains as yours, until the 25th of December has passed. Until then be perfectly at your ease. Await the developments of the 25th of December. In the meantime, if you want money, you will find it in the drawer of the desk (of which I inclose the key,) which you will find in your bed-room. Your trunks, which you lost in Philadelphia, I have recovered and send to you. Make no effort to see me, until I call upon you.

"Your friend,

"EZEKIEL BOGART."

In the letter there was much food for thought.

"So far all well," thought Randolph,--"but _to-morrow_ once passed, what then?" He unlocked his trunk, and after a careful examination, found that its contents remained the same as when he had left it in Washington. It was very large, and divided into various compartments, and contained his wardrobe, his choicest books, and most treasured letters, together with numerous memorials of his student life in Heidelberg. Opening a small and secret drawer, he drew forth a package of letters, held together by a faded ribbon.

"Ah! letters from my father!" and he untied the package,--"What is this? I never saw it before!"

It was a letter directed to him in his father's hand, and sealed with his father's seal. To his complete astonishment the seal was unbroken.

"How came this letter here? My father's seal and unbroken,--this is indeed strange!"

He regarded the letter carefully, weighed it in his hand, but paused, in hesitation, ere he broke the seal. For the first time, written around the seal, in his father's hand, he beheld these words, "_Not to be opened until my death._"

Tears started into Randolph's eyes, and for a moment, as he knelt there, he rested his forehead on his hand.

Then, with an eager hand, he broke the seal. The contents of the letter were bared to the light.

"HEIDELBERG, _September_ 23, 1840.

"DEAREST SON:--

"You have just left me, and with the memory of our late conversation fresh in my mind, I now write this letter, which you will not read until I am dead. Randolph, I repeat the truth of that which I have just disclosed to you,--your mother was not my mistress, but my lawful wife. Yourself and Esther are legitimate. By my will I make you, with Harry, joint inheritors of my estate, and of my share in the Van Huyden estate.

"Your mother, Herodia, was not the child of Colonel Rawdon, but the dearly beloved daughter of ---- ----, who never acknowledged her to the world. He communicated, however, the secret of her paternity to Rawdon, and left her in his charge, intrusting him with a sealed packet, which he directed should be delivered to Herodia's son, in case a son was ever born to her. A packet which contained a commission, upon whose fulfillment by that son, the happiness, the destiny of all the races on the American continent, might depend. Worshiping the memory of this great man, Rawdon treated Herodia (known as a slave) as his own child and would not transfer her to me, until I had made her my wife in a secret marriage.

"A sealed copy of my will I gave you a few moments since; and this letter contains an original letter of ---- ----, written to Colonel Rawdon, and recognizing Herodia as his child.

"When I am dead, you will find the packet in a secret closet behind the fourth shelf of my library, at Hill Royal. There you will also find a large amount of gold, which may be useful to you in some unforeseen hour of adversity, and which I hereby give to you and Esther.

"This letter I inclose in the package of letters which you left for my perusal.

"Your father,

"JOHN AUGUSTINE ROYALTON,

"_of Hill Royal_."

Randolph read this letter with signs of emotion not to be mistaken. Rising from his knees, he walked slowly up and down the room, his eyes shaded by his uplifted hand. As he drew near the window, his pale face was flushed, his eyes radiant with new light.

"So! I am then the elder brother, the real lord of Hill Royal! My mother was a slave, but she was the lawful wife of my father." His brow clouded and his lips curved. "It seems to me this younger brother has given us trouble enough,--let him have a care how his shadow crosses my way for the future."

He stood erect in every inch of his stature, his eyes dilating, and his hand extended, as though,--even like a glorious landscape, rich in vine-clad mountains and grassy meadows, smiling in the sun,--he beheld his future stretch clear and bold before him.

"Harry, I have given you my hand for the last time," he said, in a significant voice.

A piece of paper, carefully folded and worn by time, slipped from the letter which he held. Randolph seized it eagerly, and opening it, beheld a few lines traced in a handwriting which had long become historical. It was dated many years back, and was addressed to Colonel Rawdon.

"MY ESTEEMED FRIEND:--

"I am glad to hear the girl, HERODIA, whom, many years ago, I placed in your care, (acquainting you with the circumstances of her birth and paternity,) progresses toward womanhood, rich in education, accomplishments and personal loveliness. While nominally your slave, you have treated her as a daughter,--accept her father's heartfelt gratitude. In consequence of her descent, on her mother's side, she cannot (with safety to herself) be formally manumitted, nor can she be publicly recognized as the equal of your own daughter, or the associate of ladies of the white race. But it is my last charge to you, that she be honorably (even although secretly) married; and that the inclosed sealed packet which I send to you, be given to her eldest son, in case a son is born to her. That packet contains matters which, carried into action by such a son, would do much, yes, everything, to establish the happiness of all the races on this continent. Kiss for me, that dear daughter of mine, whom, in this life, I shall never behold.

"Yours, with respect and gratitude,

"---- ----."

A very touching,--an altogether significant letter.

Randolph pressed it to his lips in silence. Then inclosing it within his father's letter, he placed them both in a secret compartment of his trunk.

He seated himself, and folding his arms, gave himself up to the dominion of a crowd of thoughts, which flooded in upon his soul, like mingled sunshine and lightning through the window of a darkened room.

* * * * *

Bending over his trunk, he was examining, with an absent gaze, certain memorials of his old student brothers of Heidelberg. A small casket contained them all.

"This ring was given to me by poor Richmond, the English student. He was killed in a duel. And here is the watch of Van Brondt,--poor fellow! he died of consumption, even as his studies were completed, and a youth of poverty and hardship seemed about to be succeeded by a manhood of wealth and fame. And this,"--he took up a small vial, whose glass was incased in silver,--"this, Van Eichmer, the enthusiastic chemist, gave me. I wonder whether his dreams of fame, from the discovery embodied in this vial, will ever be realized? A rare liquid,--its powers rivaling the wonders of enchantment. He gave it to me under a solemn pledge not to subject it to chemical analysis, until he has time to mature his discovery, and make it known as the result of his own genius. He called it (somewhat after the fanciful fashion of the old alchemists) the 'Dream-Elixir.' I wonder if it has lost its virtues?"

Removing the buckskin covering which concealed the stopple, he then carefully drew the stopple, and applied the vial for a moment to his nostrils. The effect was as rapid as lightning. His face changed; his eyes grew wild and dreamy. His whole being was pervaded by an inexpressible rapture,--a rapture of calmness, (if we may thus speak) a rapture of unutterable repose. And like cloud-forms revealed by lightning, the most gorgeous images swept before him. He seemed to have been suddenly caught up into the paradise of Mahomet, among fountains, showering upon beds of roses, and with the white-bosomed houris gliding to and fro.

In a word, the effect of the vial, applied but for an instant to his nostrils, threw into the shade all the wonders of opium, and rivaled in enchantment the maddening draught of oriental story,--_the Hashish_,--which the Old Man of the Mountain gave to his devotee Assassins,[1] intoxicating them with the odors of paradise, even as their hands were red with their victims' blood.

[1] The order of the Assassins prevailed in Asia, in the days of the Crusades, and the history of their power and terrible influence is strangely connected with the history of the Knights Templars. The founder of the order, Hassan Sabah, rewarded his devotees for their deeds of murder, by a draught (called as above, the HASHISH,) whose powers of enchantment consoled them for a lifetime of hardship and danger.

Like one awaking from a trance, Randolph slowly recovered from the effect of the Dream-Elixir, and once more saw the winter light shining through his window. The vial was in his hand,--he had taken the precaution to replace the stopple, the moment after he had applied it to his nostrils.

"It has lost none of its virtues. Held to the nostrils, or a few drops on a kerchief, applied to the mouth, its first effect is rapture; the second, rapture prolonged to delirium; its third, rapture that ends in death."

Randolph replaced the buckskin covering around the stopple of the vial, and then placed the vial in his vest pocket.

At this moment the door opened and the quiet Mr. Hicks entered the room, clad in his gray livery, turned up with black. He bowed and said,--

"Master, Mr. Lynn sends his compliments and desires to see you in the parlor."

"Tell Mr. Lynn that I will attend him presently," said Randolph rising from his knees.--"How is our patient, Mr. Hicks?"

"I left him asleep. He is very weak, though quite easy."

"Mr. Hicks, I desire that you will attend him throughout the day, or place him in the care of some trustworthy servant. If he asks for any one, send for me. Admit no one into his room,--you understand, he is a dear friend of mine,"--he placed his finger on his forehead,--"a little touched here, and I do not wish his misfortune to be known, until all the means of recovery, which I have at my command, prove hopeless. Mr. Hicks, you will remember."

"I will remember, and attend to your commands, master," and Mr. Hicks bowed like an automaton.

"Have this trunk removed to Miss Royalton's room," said Randolph, and leaving Mr. Hicks, he descended to the parlor.

Through the rich curtains of the eastern and western windows of that magnificent apartment, the morning light was dimly shining. The lofty walls, the pictures, the statues, the carpet, the mirrors, all looked grand and luxurious in the softened light.

Bernard Lynn sat on the sofa, in the center of the parlor, his arms folded and his countenance troubled. As he raised his gaze and greeted Randolph, in a kindly although absent way, Randolph saw that his bronzed visage, (above which rose masses of snow-white hair) was traced with the lines of anxious thought, and his dark eyes were feverish with restlessness and care.

"Sit by me, Randolph," he said in a serious voice, and he grasped Randolph's hand and gazed earnestly in his face.--"I wish to speak with you. I have traveled much, Randolph, and when matters press heavily on my mind, I am a blunt man,--I use few words. I desire you to give all imaginable emphasis to what I am about to say."

Randolph took his hand and met his gaze; but he felt troubled and perplexed at Bernard Lynn's words and manner.

"Briefly, then, Randolph,--when can you leave the city?"

Without knowing how the words came to his lips, Randolph replied,--"The day after to-morrow."

"Can you go with us, by steamer, to Charleston? I wish to visit the scene,--" he paused as if unable to proceed,--"the scene,--you understand me? And then, after a week's delay, we will go to Havana and spend the winter there. Will you go with us?"

It is impossible to describe the emotions which these words aroused. Hopes, fears, a picture of his father's home, the consciousness there was a taint upon his blood,--all whirled like lightning through his brain. But he did not stop to analyze his thoughts, but answered again,--as though the word was given to him,--in a single word, earnest in tone, and with a hearty grasp,--

"Willingly," he said.

A ray of pleasure flitted over the bronzed face of Bernard Lynn. But in an instant he was sad and earnest again. "Randolph, I have been thinking, and most seriously,--I beg you to listen to the result of my thoughts. Nay, not a word,--fewest words are best, and a plain answer to a plain question will decide all.--I have been thinking of the desolate condition in which Eleanor will be left, in case her father is suddenly taken away. She will need a friend, a protector, a husband."

He paused; Randolph, all agitation, awaited his next word in breathless suspense.

"I have long known her feelings,--she tells me that she knows yours. You are aware of my fortune and position,--I am aware of yours. Plainly, then, do you love her,--do you desire her hand?"

For a moment Randolph could not reply.

"O, my dearest friend, can you ask it?" he exclaimed, taking both hands of Mr. Lynn in his own,--"Do I desire Eleanor's hand? It is the only wish of my life,--"

"Enough, my friend, enough," replied Bernard, as a tear stole down his cheek. "In serious matters, I am a man of few words,--I fear that I may be suddenly taken away--I feel that there is no use of delay. Shall it take place this evening in your house?"

Randolph could only reply by a silent grasp of the hand.

"In presence of your sister, myself and the clergyman? And then, the day after to-morrow we leave for Charleston--"

"You speak the dearest wish of my soul," was all that Randolph could reply.

Bernard Lynn arose,--"I will go out and buy a bridal present for my child," he said, "and your sister and myself will take charge of all the details of the marriage. God bless you, my boy! What a load is lifted from my heart!"

How over his bronzed visage, a look cordial and joyous as the spring sunshine played, even while there were tears in his eyes!

Randolph felt his heart swell with rapture, but instantly,--growing pale as death,--he rose, and resolved to make a revelation, which would blast all his hopes to ashes.

"I will not deceive this good old man. I will tell him my real condition, tell him that there is the blood of the accursed race in my veins."

This was his thought, and feeling like a criminal on the scaffold, he prepared to fulfill it,--

"Ah, you and I are agreed," cried Bernard, with his usual jovial laugh.--"but you must ask this child what she says of the matter," and dropping Randolph's hand, he hurried from the room.

Even as the first word of the confession was on his lip, Randolph beheld Eleanor, who had entered unperceived, standing between him and the light, on the very spot which her father had just left.

She looked very beautiful.

Clad in a dark dress, which, fitting closely to her arms and bust, and flowing in rich folds, around her womanly proportions, from the waist to the feet, she stood before him, one finger raised to her lip, her eyes fixed upon him in a gaze, full of deep and passionate light. Her face was cast into faint shadow, by her hair, which was disposed about it, in brown and wavy masses. But through the shadow her eyes shone with deep and passionate light.

A very beautiful woman, now unable to utter a word, as with heaving breast, she confronts the man whom she knows is destined to be her husband.

Why does all thought of confession fade from Randolph's mind?

O, the atmosphere of the presence of a pure, and beautiful woman, whose eyes gleam upon you with passionate love, carries with it an enchantment, which makes you forget the whole universe,--everything,--save that she is before you, that she loves you, that your soul is chained to her eyes.

Randolph silently stretched forth his arms. She came to him, and laid her arms about his neck, her bosom upon his breast.

"My wife!" he whispered.

And she raised her face, until their lips and their eyes, met at once, whispering--"My husband."

* * * * *

Certainly, this was a happy day for Randolph Royalton.

Talk of opium, _hashish_, dream-elixir! Talk of their enchantment, and of the Mahomet's paradise which they create! What enchantment can rival the pressure of a pure woman's lips, which breathe softly, "husband!" as she lays them against your own?

But at least a dozen gentlemen who have divorce cases on hand, will curse me bitterly for writing the last sentence. And all the old bachelors who, having never known the kiss of a pure wife, or any wife at all, and having grown musty in their sins, will turn away with an "umph!" and an oath. And all the young libertines, who, deriving their opinion of women, merely from the unfaithful wives, and abandoned creatures with whom they have herded, and having expended even before the day of young manhood, every healthy throb, in shameless excess, they, too, will expand their faded eyes, and curl their colorless lips, at the very mention of "a pure woman," much less, a "pure woman's kiss." The "fast," the very "fast" boys!

But there are some who will not utterly dislike the allusion to a pure woman, or a pure woman's kiss.

That quiet sort of people who, having no divorce cases on hand, know that there are such things as pure women in the world, and know that a good wife, carries about her an atmosphere of goodness, that brings heaven itself down to the home.

And you, old bachelor,--a word in your ear,--if you only knew the experience of returning from a long journey late at night,--of stealing quietly into a home, your own home, up the dark stairs, and into a room, where a single light is shining near a bed,--of seeing there, blooming on the white pillow, the face of a pure wife, your own wife, rosy with sleep, and with her dark hair peeping out from her night-cap----, why, old bachelor, if you had only an idea of this kind of experience, you'd curse yourself for not getting married some forty years ago!--

* * * * *

The day passed quickly and happily, in quiet preparation for the bridal ceremony.

* * * * *

Eleanor was seated in a rocking-chair, her feet crossed and resting on a stool, her head thrown back, and her dark hair resting partly on her bared shoulders, partly on the arm of Esther, who stood behind her. The beams of the declining sun came softened through the window-curtains, and lit up the scene with mild, subdued light. It was a beautiful picture. There stood Esther, the matured woman, rich in every charm of voluptuous and stately beauty; and her gaze, softened by her long eyelashes, was tenderly fixed upon the upturned countenance of Eleanor,--a countenance radiant with youth, with abounding life, with passionate love. The habit of dark green cloth which Esther wore, contrasted with the robe of white muslin which enveloped Eleanor, its flowing folds girdled lightly about her waist and its snowy whiteness, half hidden by her unbound hair; for that hair which was soft brown in the sunlight and black in the shadow, fell in copious waves over her neck, her bosom, and below her waist. Eleanor was beautiful, Esther was beautiful, but their loveliness was of contrasted types; you could not precisely define how they differed; you only saw that they were beautiful, and that the loveliness of one, set off and added to, the charms of the other.

And as Esther was arranging the hair of the bride, for the marriage ceremony, they conversed in low tones:

"O, we shall all be so happy!" said Eleanor--"the climate of Havana, is as soft and bland as Italy, and it will be so delightful to leave this dreary sky, this atmosphere all storm and snow, for a land where summer never knows an end, and where every breeze is loaded with the breath of flowers!"

Esther was about to reply, but Eleanor continued,--and her words drove the life-blood from Esther's cheek.

"And on our way we will stop at the old mansion of Hill Royal, the home of Randolph's ancestors. How I shall delight to wander with you through those fine old rooms, where the associations of the past meet you at every step! Do you know, Esther, that I am a great aristocrat,--I believe in race, in blood,--in the perpetuation of the same qualities, either good or evil, from generation to generation? Look at Randolph, at yourself, for instance,--your look, your walk, every accent tell the story of a proud, a noble ancestry!"

"Or, look at yourself," was all that Esther could say, as she bent over the happy bride, thus hiding her face,--grown suddenly pale,--from the light. "Shall I tell her all?" the thought flashed over her, as she wound her hands through the rich meshes of Eleanor's hair,--"shall I tell this beautiful girl, who is as proud as she is beautiful, that in the veins of her husband there is--negro blood?"

But the very thought of such a revelation appalled her.

"Better leave it to the future," she thought, and then said aloud, "Tell me, Eleanor, something about Italy."

And while Esther, with sisterly hands, arrayed her for the bridal, the proud and happy bride, whose every vein swelled with abounding life and love, spoke of Italy,--of its skies and its monuments,--of the hour when she first met Randolph, and also of the moment when, amid the Apennines, he saved her life, her honor.

"O, sister, do you think that a love like ours can ever know the shadow of change?"

Happy Eleanor!

* * * * *

Meanwhile Randolph, standing by the parlor window apparently gazing upon the current of life which whirled madly along Broadway, in the light of the declining day, was in reality abstracted from all external existence, and buried in his own thoughts,--thoughts delicious and enchanting. Was there no phantom in the background, to cast its fatal shadow over the rich landscape which rose before his mental eye?

He was attired for the marriage ceremony, in a severely plain costume, which well became his thoughtful face and manly frame,--black dress coat, vest of white Marseilles, open collar and black neckerchief. As he stood there, noble-featured, broad-browed, his clear blue eyes and dark hair, contrasting with his complexion whose extreme pallor indicated by no means either lack of health or vigor, who would have thought that there was--negro blood in his veins?

"In an hour Eleanor will be my wife!" he muttered, and his brow grew clouded and thoughtful, even while his eyes were filled with passionate light. "But there is no use of reflecting now. I must leave that fatal disclosure, with all its chances and consequences, to the future. Eleanor will be my wife, come what will."

His meditations were interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Hicks, who wore his usual imperturbable look, which seemed as much a part of him as his livery of gray turned up with black.

"How has our _patient_ been since I left him an hour ago?" asked Randolph.

"He is no longer delirious," answered Mr. Hicks. "About a half an hour ago, he asked me the time of day, in a tone, and with a look, that showed that he had come to his senses."

"You conversed with him?"

"No, sir. He fell into a quiet sleep, and I left him in charge of a faithful servant. Don't you think we had better change the bandages on his back, after awhile? He has been sadly abused----"

"And I came to the scene of conflict just in time to save his life, and bear him to my home,--I will see him at once, and then tell you when to dress his wounds."

He moved toward the door.

"Has Mr. Lynn returned?" he said, turning his head over his shoulder.

"About half an hour since, he went up stairs to his room," returned Mr. Hicks.

Randolph left the parlor and hastened toward his own chamber, determined to make one more effort to change the hard nature, the unrelenting hatred of his brother. As he passed along the corridor, conscious that the most important crisis, if not the all-important crisis, of his life was near, his thoughts mingling the image of Eleanor with the proud memory of his lineage on the father's side, were intense and all-absorbing. For the time he forgot the taint in his blood.

He arrived before the door of the chamber in which his brother lay. It was near the foot of a broad staircase which, thickly carpeted, and with bannisters of walnut, darkened by time, was illumined by light from the skylight far above. The door of the chamber was slightly open,--Randolph started, for he heard his brother's voice, speaking in rapid, impetuous tones. And the next instant, the voice of Bernard Lynn, hoarse with anger. Randolph, with his step upon the threshold, drew back and listened.

He did not pause to ask himself how Bernard Lynn came to be a visitor in the chamber of his brother,--he only listened to their voices,--with all his soul, he tried to distinguish their words.

It was the moment of his life. It required a terrible exertion of will, to suppress the cry of despair which rose to his lips.

"A negro!" he heard the voice of Bernard Lynn, hoarse with rage,--"and to my daughter! Never!"

And then the voice of Harry Royalton, whose life he had spared and saved,--"I heard of this marriage from one of the servants, and felt it my duty to set you on your guard. Therefore, I sent for you. I can give you proof,--proof that will sink the slave into the earth."

Once more the voice of Bernard Lynn,--"A negro! and about to marry him to my daughter! A negro!"

There was the hatred of a whole life embodied in the way he pronounced that word,--"a negro!"

Randolph laid his hand against the wall, and his head sank on his breast. He was completely unnerved.

The hopes of his life were ashes.

Once more, with a terrible exertion, he rallied himself, and with the thought,--"There remains, at least, revenge!"--he advanced toward the threshold.

But there was a footstep on the stair. Turning, Randolph beheld Eleanor, who was slowly descending the stairs. She was clad in her bridal dress. The light shone full upon her; she was radiantly beautiful. She wore a robe of snow-white satin, girdled lightly to her waist by a string of pearls, and over this a robe of green velvet, veined with flowers of gold, and open in front from her bosom to her feet. Her hair was disposed in rich masses about her face, and from its glossy blackness, and from the pure white of her forehead, a circlet of diamonds shone dazzlingly in the light. She saw Randolph, and her eyes spoke although her lips were silent.

That moment decided her fate and his own.

As she was halfway down the stairs, he sprang to meet her.

"Randolph! how pale you are," and she started as she saw his face.

"Dearest, I must speak with you a moment," he whispered.--"To the library."

He took her by the hand and led her up the stairs, and along a corridor; she noticed that his hand was hot and cold by turns, and she began to tremble in sympathy with his agitation.

They came to the door of the library. The lock was turned from the outside by a key, but when the door was closed it locked itself. Randolph found the key in the lock; he turned it; the door opened; he placed the key in his pocket; they crossed the threshold. The door closed behind them, and was locked at once. Eleanor was ignorant of this fact.

The library was a spacious apartment, with two windows opening to the east, and a ceiling which resembled a dome. The light came dimly through the closed curtains, but a wood-fire, smouldering on the broad hearth, which now flamed up, and as suddenly died away, served to disclose the high walls, lined with shelves, the table in the center overspread with books and papers, and the picture above the mantle, framed in dark wood. Two antique arm-chairs stood beside the table; there was a sofa between the windows, and in each corner of the room, a statue was placed on a pedestal. The shelves were crowded with huge volumes, whose gilt bindings, though faded by time, glittered in the uncertain light. Altogether, as the light now flashed up and died away again, it was an apartment reminding you of old times,--of ghosts and specters, may be,--but of anything save the present century.

"What a ghost-like place!" said Eleanor.

Randolph led her in silence to the sofa, and seated himself by her side.

"Eleanor, I am sadly troubled. I have just received a letter which informs me of a sad disaster which has happened to a friend,--a friend whom I have known from boyhood."

Eleanor took his hand. As the light flashed up for an instant, she was startled at the sight of his face.

"Compose yourself, Randolph," she said, kindly.--"The news may not be so disastrous as you think."

"I will tell you the story in a few words," and he took her hand as he continued: "A month ago, I left my friend in Charleston. Young, reputed to be wealthy, certainly connected with one of the first families of South Carolina, he was engaged in marriage to a beautiful girl,--one of the most beautiful that sun ever shone upon,--" he paused,--"as beautiful, Eleanor, as yourself."

And he fixed his ardent gaze upon that face which the soft shadow, broken now and then by the uncertain light, invested with new loveliness.

Eleanor made no reply in words; but her eyes met those of her plighted husband.

"The day was fixed for their marriage,--they looked forward to it with all the anticipations of a pure and holy love. It came,--the bride and bridegroom stood before the altar, in presence of the wedding-guests,--the priest began the ceremony, when a revelation was made which caused the bride to fall like one dead at the feet of her abashed and despair-stricken lover."

"This was, indeed, strange," whispered Eleanor, profoundly interested; "and this revelation?"

Randolph drew her nearer to him; his eyes grew deeper in their light, as in a voice, that grew lower at every word, he continued,

"The bridegroom was, indeed, connected with one of the first families in the State, but even as the priest began the ceremony, a voice from among the guests pronounced these words, 'Shame! shame! a woman so beautiful to marry a man who has negro blood in his veins!'"

"And these words,--they were not true?" eagerly asked Eleanor, resting her hand on Randolph's arm.

"They were true," answered Randolph. "It was their fatal truth which caused the bride to fall like a corpse, and covered the face of the bridegroom with shame and despair."

Eleanor's bosom heaved above the edge of her bridal robe; her lips curled with scorn; "And knowing this fatal truth, this lover sought her hand in marriage? O, shame! shame!"

"But hear the sequel of the story," Randolph continued, and well it was for him, at that instant, that no sudden glow from the hearth lit up his livid and corrugated face,--"What, think you, was the course of the plighted wife, when she came to her senses?"

"She spurned from her side this unworthy lover,--she crushed every thought of love--"

"No, dearest, no! Even in the presence of her father and the wedding-guests, she took the bridegroom by the hand, and although her face was pale as death, said, with a firm eye and unfaltering voice, 'Behold my husband! As heaven is above us, I will wed none but him!'"

"O, base and shameless! base and shameless!" cried Eleanor, the scorn of her tone and of her look beyond all power of words,--"to speak thus, and take by the hand a man whose veins were polluted by the blood of a thrice accursed race!"

Randolph raised his hand to his forehead; what thoughts were burning there, need not be told. Shading his eyes, he saw Eleanor before him, beautiful and voluptuous, in her bridal robe, her bosom swelling into view; but with unmeasured scorn in the curve of her proud lip, in the lightning glance of her eyes.

And after that gaze, he said in a low voice, the fatal words,--

"Eleanor, what would you say, were I to inform you, that my veins are also polluted by the blood of this thrice accursed race?"

She did not utter a cry; she did not shriek; but starting from the sofa, and resting for support one hand against the wall, she turned to him her horror-stricken face, uttering a single word,--"You?"

"That I, descended from one of the first families of Carolina, on my father's side, am on the mother's side, connected with the accursed race?"

"You, Randolph, _you_!"

"That knowing this, I fled from Florence, when first I won your love; but to-day, dazzled by your beauty, mad with love of the very atmosphere in which you breathe, I forgot the taint in my blood, I saw our marriage hour draw nigh, with heaven itself in my heart--"

"O, my God, why can I not die?"

"That even now your father knows the fatal secret, and breathes curses upon me, as he pronounces my name; resolves, that you shall die by his hand, ere you become my wife--"

She saw his face, by the sudden light,--it was impressed by a mortal agony. And although the room seemed to swim around, and her knees bent under her, she rallied her fast-fading strength, and advanced toward him, but with tottering steps.

"You are either mad, or you wish to drive me mad," she said, and laid her hand upon his shoulder,--"there is no taint upon your blood! The thought is idle. You, so noble browed, with the look, the voice, the soul of a man of genius,--you, that I love so madly,--you, one of the accursed race? No, Randolph, this is but a cruel jest--"

Her eyes looked all the brighter for the pallor of her face, as she bent over him, and her hair, escaping from the diamond circlet, fell over his face and shoulders like a vail.

He drew her to him, and buried his face upon her bosom,--"Eleanor! Eleanor," he groaned in very bitterness of spirit, as that bosom beat against his fevered brow, and that flowing hair shut him in its glossy waves,--"It is no jest. I swear it. But you will yet be mine! Will you not, Eleanor,--in spite of everything,--spite of the taint in my blood, spite of your father's wrath--"

As with the last effort of her expiring strength, she raised his head from her bosom, tore herself from his arms, and stood before him, her hair streaming back from her pallid face, while her right hand was lifted to heaven--

"It is true, then?" and her eyes wore that look, which revealed all the pride of her nature,--"you are then, one of that accursed race," she paused, unable to proceed, and stood there with both hands upon her forehead. "If I ever wed you, may my mother's curse--"

Randolph rose, the anguish which had stamped his face, suddenly succeeded by a look which we care not to analyze,--a look which gave a glow to his pale cheek, a wild gleam to his eyes. "You are faint, my love," he said, "this will revive you."

Seizing her by the waist, he placed her kerchief upon her mouth,--a kerchief which he had raised from the floor, and moistened with liquid from the silver vial which he carried in his vest pocket.

"Away! Your touch is pollution!" she cried, struggling in his embrace, but the effect of the liquid was instantaneous. Even as she struggled her powers of resistance failed, and the images of a delicious dream, seemed to pass before her, in soft and rosy light.

The tall wax candles were lighted in the parlor, and upon a table covered with a cloth of white velvet was placed a bible and a wreath of flowers.

It was the hour of sunset, but the closed curtains shut out the light of the declining day, and the light of the wax candles disclosed the spacious apartment, its pictures, statues and luxurious furniture. It was the hour of the bridal.

Two persons were seated near each other on one of the sofas. The preacher who had been summoned to celebrate the marriage,--a grave, demure man, with a sad face and iron-gray hair. Of course he wore black clothes and a white cravat. Esther arrayed in snow-white, as the bridesmaid,--white flowers in her dark hair, and her bosom heaving dimly beneath lace which reminded you of a flake of new-fallen snow.

They were waiting for the father, the bridegroom, and the bride.

"It will be a happy marriage, I doubt not," said the preacher, who had been gazing out of the corners of his eyes, at the beautiful Esther, and who felt embarrassed by the long silence.

But ere Esther could reply, the door was flung abruptly open, and Bernard Lynn strode into the room. His hat was in his hand; his cloak hung on his arm. His face was flushed; his brow clouded. Not seeming to notice the presence of Esther, he advanced to the clergyman,--

"Your services will not be needed, sir," he said, with a polite bow, but with flashing eyes. "This marriage will not take place."

Esther started to her feet, in complete astonishment.

Turning to Mr. Hicks, who had followed him into the room, Bernard Lynn continued, as he flung his cloak over his shoulders, and drew on his gloves,--

"Has the carriage come?"

"Yes, sir,--"

"Are our trunks on behind?"

"Yes, sir,--"

"Have you called my daughter, and told her that I desired her to put on her bonnet and cloak, and come to me at once?--"

"I have sent one of the maids up to her room," said Mr. Hicks, whose countenance manifested no small degree of astonishment, "but your daughter is not in her room."

Mr. Lynn turned his flushed face and clouded brow to Esther,--

"Perhaps you will tell my daughter," he said, with an air of insolent _hauteur_ as though speaking to a servant,--"that I desire her to put on her things and leave this house with me, immediately--"

How changed his manner, from the kind and paternal tone, in which he had addressed her an hour before!

Esther keenly felt the change, and with her woman's intuition, divined that a revelation of the fatal truth had been made. Disguising her emotion, she said, calmly,--

"You will direct one of the servants to do your bidding. Your daughter is doubtless in the library. I saw her going there, with Randolph, only a few minutes since,--"

At the name of Randolph, all the rage which shook the muscular frame of Bernard Lynn, and which he had but illy suppressed, burst forth unrestrained.

"What!" he shouted, "with Randolph! The negro! The negro! The slave!"

"With Randolph, her plighted husband," calmly responded Esther.

"Negress!" sneered Bernard Lynn, almost beside himself, "where is my daughter? Will no one call her?"

"Eleanor is coming," said a low deep voice, and Randolph stood before the enraged father. He was ashy pale, but there was a light in his eyes which can be called by no other name than--infernal.

Even Esther, uttered a cry as she beheld her brother's face.

"Negro!" muttered Bernard Lynn, regarding Randolph in profound contempt.

"Well?" Randolph folded his arms, and steadily returned his gaze.

"I have, learned the secret in time, sir, in time," continued Bernard Lynn, "I am about to leave this house--"

"Well?" again exclaimed Randolph.

"I have saved her from this horrible match,--"

"Well?" for the third time replied Randolph, in complete _nonchalance_, and yet with that infernal light in his eyes.

A step was heard. Can this be Eleanor, who comes across the threshold, her dress torn, her bosom bared, her disheveled hair floating about that face which seems to have been touched by the hand of death?

Her hands clasped, her eyes downcast, she came on, with unsteady step, and sank at her father's feet. She did not once raise her eyes, but clasped his knees and buried her face on her bosom.

"Eleanor! Eleanor!" cried Bernard Lynn, "what does all this mean, my child?" and he sought to raise her from the floor, but she resisted him, and clutched his knees.

"It means that the honor of your daughter was saved once in Italy, by Randolph Royalton,--she was grateful, and would have manifested her gratitude by giving him her hand in marriage, but she could not do that, for there was_--negro blood_ in his veins. So, as she could not marry him, she showed her gratitude in the only way left her,--by the gift of her person without marriage."

As in a tone of Satanic triumph, Randolph pronounced these words, a silence like death fell upon the scene.

Bernard Lynn stood for a moment paralyzed; but Esther came forward with flashing eyes,--"O, you miserable coward!" she cried, and with her clenched hand struck her brother,--struck Randolph on the forehead.

And turning away from him in scorn, she raised Eleanor in her arms.

Ere he could recover from the surprise which this blow caused him, Bernard Lynn reached forward, his hands clenched, his dark face purple with rage.

"Wretch! for this you shall die,"--and crushed by the very violence of his rage, his agony, he sank insensible at Randolph's feet.

"Our marriage ceremony is postponed for the present,--good evening, sir!" said Randolph, turning to the preacher, who had witnessed this scene in speechless astonishment. "Mr. Hicks, take care of my friend, Lynn, here, and have him put to bed; and you, Esther, take care of Eleanor: and as for myself,"--he turned his back upon them all, and left the room,--"I think I will go and see my dear brother."

Up-stairs, with the tortures of the damned in his heart,--up-stairs, with the infernal light in his eyes,--a moment's pause at the door of his brother's room,--and then he flings it open and enters.

Harry Royalton, sitting up in bed, his back against the pillows, was reading, by a lamp, which stood on a small table, by the bedside. He was reading the parchment, addressed to his father, as one of the seven. The light shone on his face, now changed from its usual robust hue, to a sickly pallor, as with his large bulging eyes, fixed upon the parchment, he quietly smoked a cigar, and by turns passed his hands over his bushy whiskers and through his thick curling hair. Weak from pain and loss of blood, he still enjoyed his cigar. There was a pleasant complacency about his lips. To-morrow was the twenty-fifth of December, and to-day--he had foiled all the plans of his slave brother. Harry was satisfied with himself The smoke of the Havana floated round him and among the curtains of the bed. It was, take it all in all, a picture.

It was in this moment of quiet complacency, that Randolph appeared upon the scene. Harry looked up,--he caught the glare of his eyes,--and at once looked about him for a bowie-knife or pistol. But there were no weapons near. With a cry for help, Harry sprang from the bed, clad as he was, only in his shirt and drawers. He cried for help, but only once, for ere he could utter a second cry, there was a hand upon his throat.

"I'm not a brother now,--only a slave,--it was as a brother, last night, I spared and saved you,--now I'm only a slave, a negro! But as a slave and negro, I am choking you to death!"

Harry might as well have battled with a thunderbolt. Randolph, with the madman's fire in his eyes, hears him to the floor, puts his knee upon his breast, and tightens his clutch upon his throat. And as a gurgling noise sounded in the throat of the poor wretch, Randolph bent his face nearer to him, and (to use an all-expressive Scotch word) _glowered_ upon him with those madman's eyes.

"This time there must be no mistake, brother. The world is large enough for many millions of people, but not large enough for us two. You must go, Harry,--_master_! You are going! Go and tell your father and mine how you treated the children of Herodia! Go!"