CHAPTER XI.

THE CAPTOR AND THE CAPTIVE.

Two days have passed since Catherine was made a prisoner. She has seen no one but the old negress. Her room was only lighted by a lamp, every ray of the sun having been carefully shut out. Several times she had thought of attempting to overpower the negress, but, though old, that personage promised no easy victory; and then, though no other person had entered the room, yet the steps of some one were always heard accompanying the colored woman on her journey up the stairs. If Kate should even be successful in the attempt to overpower the negress, she knew not whom she might meet in her flight from the room. Environed by guards, her only resource was to place herself in the hands of Providence and await the end.

Seated by the table, her head resting upon her arms, her mind absorbed in its own misery, Kate scarce heard the noise made by the opening of her door. The sharp click of the bolt as it was shot back to its place by the turning of the key, however, startled her; and when her eyes, all red and swollen from weeping, were raised, they fell upon the form of a man, standing by the door with the key in his hand. At the first glance she did not recognize him, for he was clad in a long cloak, while his hat was drawn down over his eyes; but, when he threw back his cloak, and removed his hat, she exclaimed, in the agony of her surprise, “Captain Preston!”

“Yes, I am he,” said Reginald, taking a seat. “Reginald Preston, at your service, Miss Vale; one who has loved you does now, and always will.”

Perhaps there was something of mockery in his tone as the officer spoke of love; for, at his words, Catherine grew pale, and visibly trembled--her courage, for the moment, gone.

“Do you then guess,” said Preston, seeing that Catherine would not or could not speak, “who it is that has shown himself so solicitous for your welfare? Foolish girl! you reject my offers and think you can toss me off as a child’s plaything; but you shall find me one _not_ to be thwarted.”

A sob was the only answer. Such a sob! It went to the heart even of that unfeeling profligate. Tears sometimes effect what a world in arms could never accomplish. The heart of the British captain was moved--he had not expected tears. But it was only for a moment; then the old flood of passion rushed over him again, and the good angel of pity was driven scornfully away. He grew haughty and bade her be silent. Then burst forth: “Girl, better for you to have died than to have done as you have. Wantoning in beauty as you are, you have led me on till I made a fool of myself--till I was mad enough to actually dream of allying myself to one so far beneath me in rank; then, curses on it, you tell me to leave you, that I can never be beloved, casting me aside with as little ceremony as if I had been an old garment. Now hear me! Mine you are, body and soul. Mine till, tired of you, I throw you aside as recklessly as a worn-out coat. Weep over it. Shed bitter tears; but so it is, and no spark of pity shall show itself. As you had no pity on me, thus it shall be returned; and that tenfold, my country beauty.”

In the man hissing out these sentences, it would have been difficult to recognize the one who had whispered so many soft words in woman’s ear--who seemed, to the casual observer, to be the true gentleman, well-bred and courteous at the heart. He had spoken too much, however. All the trepidation in the heart of the girl was now gone; the true woman had come back to her, and she was now daring enough to encounter a dozen such wretches.

“You tell, sir, what is untrue, when you insinuate that I ever did ought to inspire you with a passion for me. From the first moment I saw you, I feared you, and my forebodings have only proved too true. Urged on by your own perverse passion, you have sought to bend me to your will; but, being foiled when you used fair means, you have descended to foul. But here, as before, you shall not succeed. If needs be, I can die; but, sir, dread the avenging of that death! Whether I go from here alive or not, I tell you I hate and defy you!”

Maddened with anger, Reginald strode forward as though about to strike her. With a quick spring Kate reached the table, and seizing a heavy pitcher, she collectedly waited for him to attempt his worst. This action served to restrain Preston. His arm had not yet recovered from the wound received at the hands of John Vale, and was supported in a sling.

“That proud spirit of yours _shall_ bend, and the fire that sparkles in your eye _shall_ dim, ere many days have flown. For the present rest undisturbed, and while you have time, think whether it be not better to conciliate than to defy.”

He turned away, unlocked the door, and removed his hateful presence from Catherine’s sight.

“By heavens!” he muttered, as he gained the passage; “it were better for me not to attempt a passage-at-arms till this arm of mine gets stronger. I believe she would as soon scatter my brains with that pitcher as wring the neck of a young chicken. Chicken! bah! I’m more than half one, myself, to let her rant on as she did, and then run away for fear of doing something worthy of future repentance! When I should be cool I get into the very white-heat of passion; and if there was any thing to be gained in becoming so, I would be cold as an iceberg! A man has to study hard before he can become a match for a woman’s tongue and fingers.”

A walk of some distance brought the gallant captain to the quarters of the commander-in-chief. Although it was late for a visit, yet as Sir Henry had expressed a desire for an interview, Preston thought it best not to stand on ceremony. Accordingly he knocked at the door, and was admitted by Sir Henry’s black servant, Sampson. He found the general engaged in reading and answering a number of letters.

After salutations and the captain had taken a seat, General Clinton remarked, at the same time picking up a letter, “Well, Captain Preston, I am afraid that your return to England is indeed indefinitely postponed.”

“Then our fears are realized?”

“Do not say _our_ fears, for, to tell the truth, I had not much doubt when I received the first intelligence. Of course, under your present circumstances, you will hardly think of leaving the army, and by letters that I received yesterday, the question as to who are the heirs is completely settled. I have interested myself in this matter as feeling an interest in you, on account of the friendship I bore your father. I did not wish to speak too confidently at first, but, well acquainted as I was with your genealogy, I felt assured that in case any of the Vales were living, they were the heirs.”

“It is bad enough, but the reverse of fortune must be as bravely borne as a defeat. I shall beat a retreat in good order, sir. One thing is certain, though, and that is that Smith, Jones, and the rest of the firm, will have to wait for the repayment of the little loan of a hundred-pound note which they were so kind as to offer me--and which, of course, I accepted. Perhaps next time they will not be quite so eager after clients.”

“They should have been more careful how they excited hopes which were not to be gratified. But something may turn up in your favor before the close of the war. Read that letter, and you will have a clearer view of the case, perhaps.”

Reginald seized the letter that was tossed to him, and gave it an attentive perusal. After he had finished he did not speak for some time; what he had read gave him much food for meditation. His moral sense having been blunted by the life which he had for years been leading, crimes which, even a few months ago, would have appeared most black, now suggested themselves most naturally to his mind; and great as was the wrong which he had perpetrated upon the family of his relations, the Vales, he was laying the plot for another every way as foul. Could Sir Henry have looked into the soul of the man who sat beside him, he would have loathed his very sight. Perhaps it is for some wise purpose that villains stalk through the world, unpublished and unpunished. Divinity uses strange means to work its ends, and the mystery of sin is the mystery of Him who made us. As, from the principle of sin arose the need of redemption for man, mayhap from the success which sometimes waits on evil thinkers and doers, some principle as vastly grand and important is about to be established.

“I see,” said Preston, at length, “no hopes left for me to hang on, after perusing _that_ letter. No doubt but that the money goes to the Vales. The fact of the young man being engaged in rebellion can make no difference; this is a case in which, for the present at least, confiscation would be of no avail. Such has always been my fortune: hopes raised to be dashed down, anticipations indulged which can never be realized.”

What answer the general would have made must be surmised, for he was interrupted by the announcement of Sampson, that Timothy Turner demanded audience.

As the tory entered, he made a low bow to the commander, and then, noticing with a start and a smile the presence of Captain Preston, he bowed to that worthy.

“For what, Mr. Turner, are we indebted to your presence at this rather unseasonable hour?” queried Sir Henry in a tone which implied severity of feeling.

“Why, to come to the point without waste of words, a young man by the name of Vale, a deep-dyed rebel, has been apprehended within the limits of the city, dressed in disguise, and there being some difficulty to decide what should be done with him, I made bold to come to you to state the case, and ask your commands with regard to him.”

A smile of satisfaction played upon the captain’s face as he heard this. The sister he had in his hands, the brother was as good as dead, and all that was requisite now was to prosecute vigorously the attack; the fortune which seemed to have oozed from his fingers would again soon be within his grasp!

General Clinton’s countenance, on the contrary, betrayed an emotion of pain. But he continued his interrogatories: “Are you certain that he is a rebel?”

“No doubt concerning that. He drew a brace of pistols and dangerously wounded two men before we could manage to effect his capture. He is safe enough now, but had he held a sword in his hand, I believe he would have defeated our whole party.”

“Well, I will send an officer to attend to the matter, and meanwhile receive the thanks of the king for having so assiduously aided his cause.”

To stay longer would have been useless; so Turner departed, revolving the pleasing thought in his mind that the harvest of revenge was about to be reaped, and the family of the rebel made to feel the enmity which he had so long cherished against them.

After Turner, at intervals, followed two others. The first Preston, who turned his footsteps toward his lodgings, seeking quiet that he might think over the various events which had occurred that day. The second, Sampson, the patriotic servant of the commander, who played the spy at the risk of his life. His footsteps were turned toward the dwelling of Simon Hunt, and his mission to inform that honest-hearted man of the danger to which John Vale was exposed. Through the darkness of the night, through dark and unfrequented streets, he glided as silently as a shadow, until, at length, he reached the house of the blacksmith.

Although Simon was buried in sleep, the signal of Sampson awakened him, and without hesitation the negro was admitted. When he heard of the capture of the young man who but a few hours before had stood under that very roof, he did not seem surprised, but replied: “A great pity. I was afraid it would turn out so, though he was so well disguised. According to his request I will have to send word some way or other to Nat Ernshaw.”

“Dey keep him berry tight, an’ I ’fraid Masser Vale be done gone dis time,” said Sampson.

“Not if firm friends, stout hearts, and strong arms can get him away. But I must get word to Ernshaw before to-morrow noon, or he may come too late.”

“Now I got somethin’ else to tell you,” responded the negro: and for half an hour the two continued the conversation. At the end of that time they parted, one to hasten home, the other to hasten the news of John’s capture to Ernshaw.