Chapter XXX

"O, why should Heaven smile
On deeds of darkness--plots of sin and crime?
I cannot tell thee why,
But this I know, she often doeth so."

While the bright summer passed over Wimbledon, matters apparently moved on as usual in the quiet little village.

The Woman's Rights Reform lagged somewhat with the thermometer at eighty, as is frequently the case with benevolent organizations; perhaps because their zealous warmth, when increased by a high-temperatured atmosphere, mounts to spirits' boil and evaporates.

Mrs. Pimble and Mrs. Lawson sat on their respective piazzas, in nankin pants and open waistcoats, and flapped great peacocks' tails to and fro, to cool their feverish, perspiring brows.

Mr. Pimble, in his wife's sun-bonnet, clappered his heelless slippers at mid-day along the garden paths, in the vain hope of warming his laggard blood to a brisker flow. Mrs. Dr. Simcoe was still harassed by those snarling, ill-tempered brats, "Simcoe's children," who seemed contagiously disposed to all the "ills which flesh is heir to," as if to test the skill and try the patience of the lady M. D.

One of the most brilliant moons that ever showered its silvery light over a flower-covered earth, rode in the liquid zenith of a summer heaven. The splendid grounds of Major Howard's princely mansion never slept, in their luxuriant beauty, beneath a lovelier sky. Thick trailed the heavy vines in their leafy exuberance of foliage over arbors and green-houses. Whole parterres of brilliant flowers loaded the air with fragrance, and nightingales sang among the boughs of the lindens that waved against the wrought-iron palings of the terraces.

Was there aught save the breath of love and peace abroad on the air to-night? Dared a vile vulture of sin to brush with polluting wing over the vines and flowers of these odor-breathing, beam-lighted gardens?

There were low voices in one of the most obscure alcoves, and a man and woman stood in close proximity in its dimmest recess.

A low sigh or sob now and then escaped the woman, as though she struggled to suppress some choking emotion.

"Come," said the man at length, impatiently, "this blubbering will not aid your purpose."

"O, Herbert!" she exclaimed, in a tone which entreated compassion, "you have ceased to love me."

"Ceased to love you?" repeated he, with a low, ironical laugh, "I never yet began."

"You told me so," said she.

"What if I did?" returned he; "is my veracity so immaculate that my slightest word is received as an oath of probity? But I came not here to keep a lover's tryst. You know, or at least I thought you knew, the bond that unites us; and I ask you again if you will do my bidding and serve my interests?"

"I have done both," said the woman; "but you have not fulfilled your promises to me."

"Do you not see the boy when you choose?"

"I see him, but he does not recognize me."

"The better for you that he does not," returned the man. "Do you suppose, with his position and prospects, he would acknowledge a low serving-woman for a mother? He would kick her from his presence and cover her with curses."

"And do you never intend to tell him who is his mother?" asked the woman, in a trembling tone.

"Certainly not," answered he; "'tis not necessary the boy should know his own disgrace; but when the proper moment arrives, there are those who shall learn his parentage to their everlasting shame and mortification."

"I see no prospect of that moment's ever arriving," said the woman. "Here's the girl and her father gone off, the Lord knows where, or whether they will ever return, and all things left unfinished and incomplete. I must say you manage as an idiot."

"I will judge of my own management," said the man, fiercely. "There has been sickness in my family, and other things have indisposed me to hurry a revenge which will be the sweeter the longer 'tis delayed."

"But it may be so long delayed as to fail altogether," suggested the woman.

"I'll take care of that," answered he. "I fancy I am not so great a bungler as to overshoot my purposes and baffle my own designs; and, woman," said he, raising his arm threateningly above her head, "I caution you to beware. I believe you have already let drop some unguarded words; else why is your mistress so averse to this engagement, as I have learned she is, by the boy?"

The woman was silent. He seized her arm fiercely. "Have you blabbed?" he hissed in her ear.

"No," answered she faintly, and struggling to free herself from his grasp.

"Has she no suspicions of my proximity?" he demanded.

"None," returned the woman; "as I live she has none."

"Then I would look on her a moment to-night."

"That you can easily do," said she. "I left her sitting in a cushioned seat, drawn close before an open casement, with the full moon shining on her face."

"A lucky position! I will show myself to her in a few minutes," he remarked, as the twain parted. Hannah Doliver proceeded rapidly up the garden avenue to the mansion, and hurried to the apartment of her mistress.

The invalid lady was sitting in the same position in which she had left her an hour before.

"You have been absent a long time, Hannah," she observed in a languid tone.

"I went as far as Col. Malcome's to learn if they had any recent intelligence of Florence and her father," returned the woman, divesting herself of bonnet and shawl.

"Well, had he any tidings of them?" inquired the invalid.

"At last accounts they were at Saratoga, intending in a few days to start on a tour up the Hudson and St. Lawrence, to Quebec, and thence to the mountain region of New Hampshire," answered the woman.

"Florence wrote to me from Niagara," remarked the lady; "she seemed in fine spirits. I wonder if she corresponds with Rufus Malcome?"

"Of course," said Hannah; "a young lady would write to her affianced husband, if she neglected all others." The invalid turned uneasily in her chair at these words, and her waiting-woman went into an adjoining apartment under pretence of performing some duty.

The lady sat listlessly gazing on the lovely scene without, when a dark object moving up the garden path attracted her notice, and directly the figure of a man in black, with cap removed from a head of closely-trimmed auburn hair that clustered in short, thick masses of luxuriant curls around a high, pale brow, appeared before the casement, and fixed a bold stare upon her face. No sooner did her eyes encounter those that glared so fiercely upon her, than she uttered a piercing shriek, and fell back in her chair with the appearance of one from whom all life had departed.

Hannah rushed into the room and bore the insensible form of her mistress to the bed, where she commenced chafing her temples and pouring reviving cordials down her throat. At length the frightened lady opened her eyes and stared wildly around.

"Secure that casement," said she, pointing to the still open window; "and shut all the doors and lock them."

"You will stifle without a breath of fresh air this oppressive night," grumbled Hannah, as she proceeded to execute the orders of her mistress.

"Better I should stifle," answered the excited and still trembling lady, "than ever behold again the monster I have seen to-night."

"Heavens! what do you mean?" exclaimed the attendant, appearing to experience the greatest emotion.

"I have seen _him_, Hannah Doliver," said the invalid, shuddering as she spoke.

"Who?" asked the hypocritical woman, breathlessly.

"The destroyer of my happiness and your good fame," answered the lady.

"Impossible!" said Hannah, glaring on the excited features of the prostrate form before her.

"I tell you I have seen him!" returned the invalid, shaking like an aspen on her couch. "I cannot be mistaken. 'Twas his face; the high, colorless brow, surrounded by thick, short auburn curls. He stood at that casement, and gazed fiercely on me from his large, dark eyes."

"Pshaw!" said Hannah, "'twas but a hideous dream, or a sudden attack of apoplexy. The man you fancy you have seen to-night, has not been heard of these fifteen years, and is probably in his grave."

"Then it was his ghost that I saw," said the lady.

"May be it was," returned Hannah, smiling strangely; "though I don't know why it should have honored you with a visit. I am glad I was not deemed worthy his ghostship's regards."

The affrighted lady after a while grew calmer, and Hannah retired to her own apartment, which joined that of her mistress.

In a few days, a letter was despatched to Major Howard by the invalid, informing him of the strange appearance which had alarmed her, and urging his immediate return.

The letter never reached its destination.