A complete set of the novels of Walter Scott will be sent to any one, to any place, free of postage, for Ten Dollars; or another edition of Waverly Novels, in five volumes, in cloth, for $12.00; or the Complete Prose and Poetical Works of Sir Walter Scott, in ten vols, cloth, for $24.00.
"There are two things, to know which I'd give the world," said Henry Appleton, in a tone that marked the earnestness of his feelings.
"What are they?" inquired his friend Jasper.
"The result of this lawsuit, for one thing," replied Appleton. "Suspense; how terrible it is! If I only knew what was before me, my mind would be at rest. If I'm to have a fortune, let me know it--if not, not. I prefer certainty, even if it be a certainty of evil."
"Then, with a daring, or, I might say, impious hand, you would life the veil that hides the doubtful future?"
"Show me the cords that draw those curtains, and my hand will clutch them instantly. I am not afraid to know the hidden mysteries of the coming time."
"Mysteries wisely withheld," said Jasper.
"Wisely for those who choose to believe in such wisdom," returned Appleton, evincing some impatience in his manner. "I am not of so cool and passive temperament."
"Wisely for all," gravely replied Jasper.
"It is well, perhaps, for you to think so, my friend.
"But you forget that our knowledge of future events, were such knowledge given, could not hinder these events from transpiring. How could we avoid an evil that was actually going to occur? The fact is, my friend, in seeking for reasons to justify your wishes, your mind falls into a temporary confusion of ideas. Don't you see this?"
"In what way do I manifest confusion of ideas?"
"I have just said. You spoke of foreknowledge giving the ability to avoid a coming evil. That could not be an approaching evil to you, which it was in your power to avoid."
"I don't see that so clearly."
"Suppose you are to lose this lawsuit?"
"Well?"
"Your knowledge of the fact could not affect the occurrence. The disastrous result would as certainly take place as if you were in suspense up to the final moment when the court rendered a decision."
"All that is true. But, if I knew that I was going to lose this suit, I would make no further dependence on the result. Instead of this, I would turn all my thoughts into my profession, and make that the basis of a fortune."
"On the other hand, if you knew that the result would be favorable, you would shut your books, and throw physic to the dogs."
"That I would!"
"Yet, you have a fondness for the study of medicine;
"With a fortune of sixty thousand dollars, what need would there be for me to wear out my life in the severe duties of a profession?"
"The same need that would exist under any other circumstances."
"I do not see your meaning."
"The public want would remain as before."
"The public want?"
"Yes; and on your ability to supply that want society would have a claim equally strong as before."
"Give me the sixty thousand dollars' worth of property now in suit, and I'll snap my fingers in the face of society in answer to any claim it may set up against me," replied Appleton.
"The wisdom of that Providence which regards the good of the whole, as well as the good of each individual, in drawing an impenetrable veil between the present and the future, is clearly apparent in your case," said Jasper. "The very uncertainty hanging over your lawsuit, causes you, as a prudent man, to store your mind with medical facts, in order that you may use them for your own support in the world, should not the expected fortune come into your hands. This knowledge will give you the ability to serve the common good as you pass through life."
"Providence is very kind to me in particular," replied Appleton, lightly.
"The Father of all is good to all, and kind even to the unthankful," said the friend, in answer. "Having made man, He knows what is in man, and what is best for him. In concealing from him what lies in the future, He has provided for his rational freedom. With a knowledge of
"If I see it at all, it is but dimly."
"In men's purposes, lies the motive power of their lives; and all success, seemingly, depends on human prudence. The very uncertainty in which the future lies enshrouded, and the living consciousness in each man's mind that upon active exertion alone he must depend for the temporal good desired, nerves hand and heart with untiring energy. Thus, each man's peculiar ability to serve society is developed while he is seeking his own ends. Each man, because all the future is to him a hidden things, and because he believes that he can make his own future condition prosperous or otherwise, according as he wisely improves the present time, labors in the common cause of establishing the social well-being. Thus, the good of the whole is attained through the efforts of individuals to secure a personal good. But, unveil the future--show to each man the temporal good or evil that is before him, and you rob him of his motive power. He has no longer an end impelling him to action."
"Not a very flattering doctrine that of yours, friend Jasper," said Appleton.
"Why do you say this?"
"You make every man a kind of a common servant; a hod-carrier, or working mason on the great edifice of human society."
"You express the truth in a homely way."
"That
"No man really works for himself. All that we do is a service to others. In fact, as you said, every man is a sort of common servant. Are you poring over this dry pathology in order to learn the nature of disease, that you may cure your own ailments?"
"Of course not. Yes; there is truth in what you say; but it is a truth that I don't exactly relish. A common servant! Henry Appleton a social hod-carrier! Humph!"
"No, not a hod-carrier," smilingly replied Jasper. "Nor even a mason. But a mender of cracked walls and impaired foundations."
"Flattering idea, isn't it? Ah, me!"
"To know that all our actions result in good to others," replied the friend, "should produce in our minds an unalloyed pleasure."
"Perhaps so. But I'm not so generous as all that. My business is to take care of myself, and I'll see that it is well done, if I keep in my present mind. But to come back to this matter of the future. There are two things, as I said in the beginning, that I'd give almost the world to know. One I have mentioned; the other you may guess at, if you happen to feel curious."
"A love affair, probably."
"Perhaps. Now, tell me, candidly, whether you think it possible, in any case, to life the veil that conceals the future?"
"There have been prophetic indications of coming events, if we are to believe sacred as well as profane history."
"There have, undoubtedly. But has the time of seers and prophets gone by?"
"I think so."
"Why?"
"The necessity for an evidence to man's very senses, so to speak, that a spiritual world exists, no longer remains."
"Upon what do you base this opinion?"
"Upon the fact that mankind, in returning to the state of innocence lost in the first declension from good,
"Then you do not apply the term superstition, opprobriously, to the ignorant in former times, who believed in things supernatural, as they are called. That is, you do not think their superstition was an idle fancy."
"It was not, I am well satisfied, mere fancy in all cases, as some profess to believe. It did not arise from the credulity inseparable from ignorance."
"Philosophers of the present time attempt an explanation, upon natural grounds, of the alleged spiritual phenomena of the days of ignorance and superstition," said Appleton.
"I know; but the philosophy of the present time bases itself upon a foundation that almost abnegates such a thing as a spiritual world. This is seen in the fact, that an attempt is made to account for every thing on natural principles. And yet, even the germination of a seed, or the development of a flower, cannot be explained except on the admission of a spiritual and invisible cause."
"Did I not understand you to say," remarked Appleton, "that a period in the history of the world had arrived, when the mind could comprehend, rationally, the fact that there was a spiritual as well as a natural world? If so, why is the philosophy you speak of at fault?"
"Because it is a philosophy that seeks, in the pride of human intelligence, an answer to all its questions in the natural world, aided by the powers of the natural
Appleton mused for some time, and then said: "Ancient oracles were not, in your opinion, all a priestly trick, to overawe and control the people."
"They may have been, to a great extent, so far as the priests were concerned; or, at least, some of the priests. But that auguries and predictions were even as the idle winds that played among the tree-tops, I do not believe. The future was unveiled, in some cases, just enough to show the darkened mind of the nation that there was an invisible world and a supreme Power, with whom the destinies of the people resided. By this ever-present consciousness, the direful evil residing in the debased will of the idolatrous and corrupt nations was kept so far in chains that it did not break forth and utterly destroy all of the truly human that yet remained, and which Providence was seeking to save and elevate by all means possible."
"Then, admitting your views to be correct, there have been given to the people of some ages glimpses into the future."
"Yes; and to people of all ages."
"What?"
"And to some people of all ages."
"Then of the present age?" quickly remarked Appleton.
"Yes, even in the present age, to minds so constituted as to require this low evidence on the subject of a spiritual
"There has," said Appleton, after again reflecting for some moments, and he spoke as if his mind were both abstracted and oppressed with the thoughts it entertained, "there has arrived in the city a man who calls himself an Astrologer. In the aspect of the heavens he reads men's destinies. By means of these aspects,he retrospects, as well as predicts. In a word, he casts a man's nativity, and lo, his whole life, past, present, and to come, is spread out as a map before him. This people say of him. You know Bartram?"
"Yes."
"He consulted him."
"Ah!"
"And came away frightened. I saw him on the next day, and he was still agitated. 'Appleton,' said he, 'that man has completely unhinged my mind. In his review of my past life he was mainly correct; and he told me things that it was impossible for him to know, except through supernatural agency. Can, I then, doubt as to the truth of what he has predicted?' Two or three other acquaintances have also visited this seer, and all have come away wonder-stricken. Have you heard of him?"
"You mean the fellow who calls himself Zadac?"
"Zadac--yes, that is his name. But from all I hear, you speak of him too lightly. I hardly think him an impostor."
"All such fellows are impostors," replied Jasper. "If the truth were known, Zadac would most probably turn out to be plain John Thompson, or Tom Johnson, recently from the shop or bench. Too lazy to earn his bread in a useful calling, he has set up the trade of fortune-telling, as easier and more profitable."
"How is it that a lazy impostor can unveil the hidden secrets of a man's life, and draw the curtain of the future?" inquired Appleton.
"I am not so sure that he can do all that you allege?"
"Facts are stubborn things. Seeing is believing."
"We will admit that Zadac is able to make some pretty good guesses; nay, even in particular instances to hit the very truth," said Jasper. "But this makes him no less an impostor. In his heart he knows that he possesses not prescience--for that gift is bestowed upon no mortal. Therefore, when he gives forth predictions, he does it as an impostor. He merely opens his mouth, like the Pythoness of old on her tripod, and utters dark sayings, that have in them little meaning that he comprehends. He speaks, in fact, from evil spirits, whom his infernal calling has brought into association with his mind. He is, for the time, a medium through which they seek to communicate with the natural world. But, as even they have not the gift of foreknowledge, they cannot speak the truth, only by what some might call an accident, but which, in reality, is a permission of Providence for some good end. What I think that end is I have already stated."
"To keep alive in the mind an idea of a spiritual world?"
"Yes."
"Why do you speak of Zadac's calling as infernal?"
"Because in it he seeks to violate Divine order, which, to the end that man may be kept in rational freedom, wisely conceals from him a knowledge of future events."
"I begin to comprehend this matter more clearly," said Appleton, still very thoughtful. "Occasionally a glance into the future is permitted for special ends; and men like Zadac are the mediums by which the revelation is made."
"Admit this; and at the same time remember, that the state of mind which leads any one to seek for future revealings is a perverted state; and, in itself, shows the intellect not to be well balanced."
"As to its being a perverted state," remarked Appleton, "that may or may not be. In my case, the desire to know how two important matters, involving most deeply my future happiness, will eventuate, exists; and the means of acquiring the knowledge I seek seems to be within my reach. I said, that if I could find the cords that drew the veil of the future, I would fearlessly clutch them. I think, now, that I have found these cords. I will see Zadac."
Jasper shook his head, disapprovingly.
"You cannot dissuade me, Jasper."
"Beware!" said the friend, solemnly.
"Beware of what?"
"That you are not made the sport of lying spirits. Whoever seeks to penetrate the future, comes within the sphere of evil, because he voluntarily goes beyond the sphere of order. Unhappiness is the sure result of this."
"I am not afraid."
"Many a man has said that, who afterward found, to his sorrow, that there was cause of fear."
"I am not afraid," repeated the young man.
"There is a time coming, Henry Appleton," said Jasper, "when, if you take the step you propose, you will repent of it bitterly. Be advised by me, and let Zadac and his companions in falsehood and evil alone."
"Who are his companions?"
"Lying and deceiving spirits."
"You talk strangely."
"There may come a time, when you will painfully regret not having paid a due regard to my strange language--
"I am content to abide that time, Jasper. At present, I am going to consult the Astrologer."
"You are a free man, Appleton. God has given you reason for a guide through life. If that, in your moments of calm reflection, advises the consultation of a pretended seer, follow its dictate. But I doubt exceedingly this self- approval."
"Whether reason approve or not," replied Appleton, "I shall do as I say. My present suspense is intolerable. Any thing but this hanging on the tender-hooks of hope and fear."
"Beware! I repeat again."
"And I repeat, as before, I am not afraid," said Appleton, firmly.
After some further conversation on the subject, the young men separated.
CHAPTER II. THE ASTROLOGER.{smaller text}In a narrow street, but little frequented, was a small, old-fashioned house, which had seen the passage of at least a century. With its gable end to the street, sharply pitched roof, and small, prison-like windows, it stood, a relic of earlier times, attracting the eye of the stranger who happened to wander near, by its contrast with the more modern buildings around.
This was the place chosen by Zadac, the Astrologer, who had but recently made his appearance in the city. During his brief sojourn, his reputation as a seer had
Twilight had deepened into concealing darkness, when Henry Appleton, true to his resolution, raised the heavy knocker on the Astrologer's door. He did not come in the broad daylight, for he wished to shun observation. After waiting for nearly a minute, and just as he was about lifting his hand to the knocker again, the door was opened by a young girl, and he stepped in quickly.
"Can I see Zadac?" he asked, as the door closed.
The girl merely inclined her head, and then went noiselessly before him along the passage, and up a flight of stairs into a room in the second story. Pointing to a chair, on entering this room, and looking, rather than speaking, an invitation for him to occupy it, she turned quickly and glided away with footsteps scarcely heard.
There was something stifling to Appleton in the atmosphere of the room. His breast labored in respiration. Yet the air of the apartment was pure and cool. The constriction he felt came from an interior, and not an exterior cause. On a table burned a single dim lamp, made after an antique fashion, and it was so placed as to throw many parts of the room into deep shadow. On the walls hung a few old pictures; but the feeble light that fell upon their surface was absorbed, rather than reflected. The scanty furniture was also of ancient date.
The stillness of the whole house was oppressive. There came not from any part a sound--not even so much as the ticking of a clock.
For at least ten minutes, Appleton remained seated. Then, without the sound of approaching footsteps having met his ears, another door from the one by which he had entered turned on its silent hinges, and a small, sharp-featured old man, bearing in his hand a lamp of the same
Appleton arose, instinctively, at his entrance, a feeling in his heart akin to awe.
"Zadac?" said he, in a tone half affirmation, half inquiry.
The seer gravely inclined his head.
"Then I wish to consult you."
Zadac again moved his head, and, turning, motioned with his hand toward the room from which he had just come.
Appleton followed, and as he passed through the door it closed behind him, moved as by an invisible hand. The walls of the apartment in which he was now alone with the seer, were covered with hieroglyphical forms and astronomical diagrams. On a table stood a planetarium in motion, beside which were many old books in heavy clasps and sombre binding. One of these books was open, and Appleton saw that it was in black letter, and the page covered with illuminations.
"You wish to consult Zadac," said the old man, after Appleton was seated, and he had taken a chair before him.
"I have come for that purpose," was replied.
"In the stars man's destiny is written," returned the seer, "and it has been given to Zadac to read the stars. By long years of patient study, shut out from association with men, Zadac has fathomed the mysteries of the ancient times, and made the occult sciences his own."
"And Zadac can read the future?"
"He can. But for every one to look into the future is not good."
"I am ready to meet the good or the evil," said the
"Do you know the day and hour of your birth?" asked Zadac, after he had fixed for some time, in silence, his small, glittering eyes upon the face of Appleton.
"I can give you the day," replied the young man.
"The hour is of importance. A knowledge of the aspect of the heavens at the very moment of birth is requisite, if we would read the future accurately. Is there not a family record?"
"Yes; and now I remember that my birth took place, according to this record, at four o'clock in the morning."
"That is well," briefly remarked the Astrologer.
He then placed before him, on the table, a square piece of paper, on which was a circular figure, marked with the signs of the Zodiac, and divided into twelve compartments by lines meeting at the centre. Next he consulted, with evident care, an old volume, now and then making certain astronomical signs upon the paper. This occupied him for some time. Then looking gravely at his visitor, he said, oracularly:
"Jupiter, lord of the ascendant, in the Seventh House, and the Part of Fortune right. Thus it was at your birth."
"Does that portend good or evil?" inquired Appleton.
"Good. You have come to consult me on two matters in which your future well-being and happiness are deeply involved?"
"True; and now you must read for me the heavens in their present aspect. I have two important suits pending. Shall I gain them? I state plainly my business; for I want no guess-work in the matter. I have an inward dictate that constrains a belief in your science, and, therefore, I give you freely all information that will
Zadac immediately erected another figure of the heavens, this time consulting an ephemeris. After doing so, he read off the result in astrological terms, which was all so much unmeaning jargon to the querist.
"Give it to me in plain English, Zadac! I want it in plain English," said Appleton, impatiently.
"Both suits will prosper," replied Zadac, "but Saturn in conjunction indicates a malignant influence, and the existence of difficulties."
"Difficulties are of no account where success lies in the future. Then I am to gain the suit at law?"
"You are."
"And that in the court of hymen, also?"
"So the stars affirm, and they never lie."
"Thanks, Zadac, for this trial of your skill in penetrating the future. I feel as if a mountain were removed from my breast."
The Astrologer appeared not in the least affected by this enthusiasm of his visitor, but maintained his solemn, occult dignity.
"Will that compensate for the important information you have given?" And Appleton handed the keen-eyed old man half an eagle.
"This more than compensates me," replied Zadac.
"Keep it," quickly returned the young man. "It is a small sum to pay for so great a good."
"To know the future is not always good," said Zadac.
"I am content to receive all the evil this foreknowledge will bring."
"Do not forget," said Zadac, "the malignant influence of Saturn. That star has power over your destiny. Upon your own acts, remember, also, that much of your future will depend."
"I am to gain these suits?"
"Already I have told you as much," returned Zadac.
"Enough. Let Saturn glare upon me with an evil eye; that star does not
And the young man arose, and after again thanking the old Astrologer for his services, withdrew from the house. New, and strange as new, were the feelings that agitated his bosom while walking hurriedly homeward. The process through which his mind had come--as well in the conversation with Jasper as in his interview with Zadac--had made him credulous to a degree that would have surprised even himself, had he not lost, to some extent, the power of rational thought. Blindly and implicitly did he believe what he had heard. In seeking the Astrologer, his mind became freed from doubts as to astral influences, which had arisen naturally when first revolving the subject, and he reposed now in the lap of certainty.
It is not a matter of surprise that Appleton slept but little during the night, nor that his mind on the ensuing day was so excited that he could not comprehend a sentence in the medical books he attempted to study, or in the lectures he vainly tried to bring within his mental perceptions. He was to be successful in his two suits; what else was there in life worth caring for?
CHAPTER III. AN EVIL INFLUENCE.{smaller text}Six months previous to the time when our story opens, Henry Appleton, a young student of medicine, with an income barely sufficient to meet, with close
On first commencing this suit, his mind was so occupied with the subject that he found it impossible to continue his professional studies; but, warned by the uncertainty attending all legal proceedings, he, after the lapse of a few months, was able to bring his thoughts back again to his books, and was pressing forward with eagerness and rapidity, when a weak desire to penetrate the future completely unhinged his mind again.
About this time there came to the city a beautiful young girl, named Marion Hale, and Appleton was among the first to whom she was introduced after her arrival. An hour in the charmed circle of her presence was sufficient to captivate his heart. When he parted with her, it was only a bodily parting. She still remained visible to the eyes of his mind in all her captivating loveliness. He thought of her--he dreamed of her. In a word, he was deeply enamored of the gentle maiden, and felt that, if he could win her love, he would be of all men the happiest.
And well worthy to be loved was Marion Hale. A mind richly stored, a heart full of good affections, and accomplished in every way to develop these qualities of the soul, she was just the one to bless another by her unselfish devotion. Her love would be pure and fertilizing as the dews of Hermon.
At his first interview with Marion, Appleton, as we have said, was captivated. Each subsequent interview entwined new cords around his heart; and no long time passed ere he was sobered by the conviction that his
In a word, regard was mutual. Moreover, there was a fitness in the parties for a happy union. Thus it was, yet had not the young man ventured to breathe a word of his love in Marion's ear. Ah, if he could have known how willingly that ear would have listened! Thus it was, yet Appleton continued to worship at a distance, and vex his soul with painful doubts. Thus doubting and fearing, he had gone to the old Astrologer, and Zadac predicted a favorable issue, as we have seen.
A few days after this occurrence, a young friend of Marion Hale said to her, in a light and playful tone,
"So your future destiny is sealed."
"Ah!" returned the maiden, smiling. "And how came you into a knowledge of my destiny?"
"Accidentally; but not the less certainly. You are to be the wife of Henry Appleton."
Marion felt the blood going rapidly to her face. But she struggled for self-possession, and prevailed in the struggle.
"I am?" said she, in a composed voice.
"Certainly you are. Zadac has said it."
"Zadac!"
"Yes, the old Astrologer has been consulted, and he declares that you are to be the wife of young Appleton."
"Who consulted him?" Marion spoke in a quick, firm voice.
"Who? Why Appleton, of course!" replied the thoughtless girl.
"Anna, are you really in earnest in what you are
"Certainly I am," was replied. "Mr. Appleton mentioned in confidence to a friend what he had done. That friend told my brother, and he told me."
The eyes of Marion fell to the floor, and she remained for some time silent. Upon this silence her friend broke by saying, still in a playful tone,
"How highly flattered you must be, Marion! Just to think of your lover's consulting an astrologer to know if you would favor his suit? Why didn't he come to you at once? The process would have been more direct, cheaper, and quite as certain."
"And far more sensible," returned Marion.
"Lovers are not famed for their sensible modes of doing things, I believe," said Anna.
Marion did not reply. Her young friend ventured upon a few words of light raillery, but perceiving that they rather gave pain than pleasure, she checked herself, and, half regretting that she had alluded to the subject, sought to change the theme of discourse.
A few days were permitted by Appleton to elapse, after he had seen Zadac, before he ventured to call upon Marion Hale. This visit was made on the evening of the day on which Marion had been informed of his astrological experiment.
A little to his surprise he found her reserved, and, he thought, absent-minded. When she spoke, her voice was lower than usual, and he detected a slight sadness in its tones. He had come to lay his heart at her feet; but something repelled him and prevented the offering.
In parting with her that evening, Appleton felt disappointed, but not troubled. That she was to become his wife he felt sure. The stars predicted this, and, according to Zadac, the stars never lied.
Marion, so soon as the young man went away, retired to her room, feeling oppressed and sad. In learning the fact that Appleton had felt sufficient interest in her to consult the Astrologer, she became fully aware of what she had only inferred from external signs before. It was plain, now, that he loved her. But with the knowledge came a drawback. She had no faith in Zadac, nor in any of his deluding or self-deluded class; and to know that Appleton had been weak enough to consult the pretended seer lessened the high respect she had entertained for him.
And she was to be his wife! This was the prediction. Moreover, Appleton had imparted his secret to another, and it was now floating about from lip to lip, that he would lead her to the altar. With a loss of respect for the young man came a sense of humiliation. Still, her mind was tenderly affected toward him, and pleasing emotions mingled with the troubled feelings of her heart.
On the next morning she thought on the subject more calmly. Sleep had given clearness to her mind and tranquility to her feelings. In reflecting on what Appleton had done, she permitted herself to make excuses for him. He lover her--that was now plain--and love was a mantle broad enough to cover a multitude of sins. He had manifested a weakness in consulting the Astrologer; but weakness was not a crime. Who was free from weakness? Marion Herself? No--no. Sincere was her heart's acknowledgment of its own want of strength.
Thus she turned toward and excused her lover; and ere the day had passed, his error was forgiven. Evening brought him again to her side, and she received him with a gentle, subdued manner, in which he was quick to perceive an unusual tenderness.
Since parting with Marion, on the previous evening, Appleton had changed his mind in the matter of a present
This second interview, since the favorable prediction of Zadac, had the effect to confirm his belief in the truth of Astrology. Yes, Marion was to be his lovely bride. All doubt on the subject was removed.
And other confirmations followed. A day or two afterward he received a note from his legal adviser, and, on repairing to his office, learned that the defendant in the suit had made overtures for a compromise.
"What do they propose?" asked the young man.
"To pay you twenty thousand dollars, and meet all costs that may have accrued on both sides, if you will abandon the prosecution."
"They're generous!" was the half contemptuous reply of Appleton. "Sixty thousand dollars for twenty is a bargain worth having. I don't wonder they are ready to make so fair an arrangement."
The lawyer shrugged his shoulders and arched his eyebrows.
"We shall gain our suit," said Appleton, confidently.
"Nothing is absolutely certain in this world, my young friend; and of all uncertain things, law is the most uncertain," replied the counsellor.
"We have law and right on our side."
"And the other parties have money," said the lawyer, significantly.
"Is money all powerful in a court of justice?"
"It is powerful," was the lawyer's simple response.
"But we shall gain our suit, and they know it. If not sure of this they would never have offered to settle the matter for twenty thousand dollars."
"I had a long interview with their counsel yesterday," replied the lawyer, "and learn from him that the parties sued have carefully investigated the nature of your demand, and admit that it is, to a certain extent, a just one. That your father's title to the property in question was never fairly extinguished. But they say that this property, in their hands, has much increased in value, and that it would be a greater wrong for you to gain possession of the whole than for them to retain the portion of value to which you may equitably lay claim."
"Why didn't they see this before? Why did they withhold what they now admit to be justly my due?" said Appleton.
"Some men only see an obligation when held so close to their eyes that they cannot look beyond it. This, I presume, is their case."
"Twenty thousand dollars for my interest in that estate! I think I know my rights better than to throw them away after this fashion. I might take forty thousand; but will not look at twenty."
"You may get the whole?" said the lawyer.
"I can get it. That the suit will terminate in my favor, spite of all the uncertainties of law, I am well satisfied--so well that I shall reject this offer, and proceed with the case. How soon can you get it to trial?"
"Not before the next term of the court."
"Four months from this time?"
"Yes."
"Is it not possible to bring it forward at the present term?"
"No. Too many cases precede it on the docket. Shall I say that you will settle for forty thousand?"
Appleton reflected for some time before replying. He had already been looking into the future, and arranging his plans, which were all based upon an income derived from sixty thousand dollars. He was to wed Marion, and start immediately on a tour through Europe. At least three years were to be spent abroad. What was to be his life-pursuit on returning had not yet been settled. On less than an income of three or four thousand dollars per annum, he felt that it would be impossible to meet the expense of this European tour, or to maintain the style of living on his return that his fancy had shadowed out. He was not prepared, therefore, to think favorably of any proposition from the defendants. He could get the whole. Why, then, accept a part? Had there been a doubt in his mind as to the issue, then he might have been willing to accept a liberal compromise. But there was not a doubt. He had read the future, so far as this suit was concerned.
"Why should I take less than the law will give me?" said he, in reply to the questions of his counsel.
"The law has yet given you nothing, Mr. Appleton," was answered, "and may give you nothing."
"As I have already said, I have no fears on this subject. The law will assuredly make the just award I claim."
There was a tone of confidence and an elation of feeling about the young man, that surprised and rather annoyed his lawyer, who was a cool-headed matter-of-fact person, possessed of much legal knowledge.
"A little deeper acquaintance with the law would, perhaps, make you less certain in your dependence on the
"Are you not satisfied that my claim is well grounded?" inquired Appleton, as the lawyer ceased speaking.
"Oh, yes. Had I not seen this in the beginning, I never would have advised you to enter suit."
"Have your further investigations weakened or strengthened your confidence in the legal grounds we have taken?"
"Rather strengthened them."
"Enough! I will abide the issue," replied Appleton. "Press the matter vigorously. On gaining the case, your fee, as agreed upon, will be five thousand dollars."
"Very well! You are the party most interested," said the lawyer. "It shall be as you desire."
The effect of this overture was, as we have seen, confirmatory, in Appleton's mind, of Zadac's prediction.
Not long after this, an offer of thirty thousand dollars was made; but Appleton positively refused to accept of any thing short of his legal rights, and the suit went on.
In the meantime, he had abandoned his books, and left his classes in the very midst of a course of lectures. For him to study longer was impossible. What motive for study remained? His bride was chosen, and a large fortune was ready to come into his hands.
Was he happier than previous to this certainty? No. Before, the restlessness of hope was subdued by the devotion of his mind to the acquirement of medical knowledge; but now, this pressure was removed. He no longer had an end in view, requiring earnest thought as the
To add to his uneasy state of mind, came the daily-felt conviction that it was wrong for him to abandon the study of medicine. He reasoned upon the uselessness of one with his prospects toiling to gain professional knowledge, when he had no intention of submitting himself to the drudgery of its practice in after life. Thus he reasoned, but such arguments did not quiet his mind, nor produce a state of self-satisfaction. He felt that he was committing an error, and such a consciousness always troubles the heart.
Thus, foreknowledge in this case, small and indistinct as that knowledge was, brought its measure of unhappiness, and, at the same time, disturbed the orderly progression of events in the present, that were to exercise a most important bearing on the future.
"I called at Dr. B---'s office to see you a week ago," said the friend, named Jasper, before introduced, on meeting Appleton some short time after their last interview.
"But didn't find me there?" returned Appleton.
"No. I was surprised to hear that you had abandoned the study of medicine. Can this be true?"
"It is."
"What are you going to do?"
"Wait until this suit terminates, and I get my fortune."
"You cannot be in earnest," said the friend, evincing much surprise.
"Never was more so in my life."
"But you are not certain that the suit will go in your favor."
"I know that I will gain it."
"How is it possible for you to have such knowledge?"
"Through orderly means. I have seen the old Astrologer of whom we spoke. He consulted the stars for me, and their answer was favorable."
"And you believe that answer to be the true one?"
"Undoubtedly."
"I thought you less credulous, Appleton," said his friend. "What evidence have you to rest upon in receiving the Astrologer's prediction as true?"
"I may not be able to present evidence that your mind would approve. But, with me, there rests not the shadow of a doubt. Zadac, let me tell you, is no common man--no impostor. See him for yourself, and you will agree with me, at least in this. He practices an occult science, of which he is perfect master; and he fully believes in its power to do all that it professes."
"He is the minister of a disorderly, and therefore an evil influence; and all who put faith in him, will but sow the wind, and reap the whirlwind. Such, I fear, will be your sad experience."
"He said that I would gain my suit; and, already, the defence has made overtures for a settlement. Does not that look as if Zadac were a true prophet? And will the gaining of fifty or sixty thousand dollars be reaping the whirlwind?"
"I despair, Appleton," replied Jasper, "of making you comprehend me. You mind is bent from its former state, and reflects, obliquely, all the light that falls upon it. You have obtained, or believe that you have, a glance into the future. Already the knowledge thus acquired is cursing you."
"You seem to be laboring under some hallucination," said Appleton, in answer to this remark.
"I wish, for your sake, that I were," returned Jasper.
"Ah, now you come to that old matter of the hod-carrier and common servant in society. No, no, my friend, I am not to be a mender of broken walls and impaired foundations; another destiny awaits me."
"No higher destiny than that of a minister to the common good can await you," replied Jasper; and now, mark my words, you may get this fortune; the Astrologer's prediction may come true; but, if you receive it and use it in your present spirit, it will prove a curse rather than a blessing; you will become that social monster of which Carlyle speaks, an idle man, and all idle men are miserable."
"An idle man! That I can never be. I have a mind far too active."
"If not idle, aimless; and, therefore, the more wretched. Without a useful calling in life, Appleton, no man can be happy; for true happiness comes only as the consequence of good done to others."
"Oh, well, I shall have plenty of money, and can do good with it on the right hand and on the left."
"It is not in acts of almsgiving that happiness is found," said Jasper, "for happiness is not given as a reward, but comes as a consequence. All the wealth in the world cannot make an idle, aimless man happy."
"From whence, in your philosophy, does happiness come?" inquired Appleton.
"I have already said that it comes only as the consequence of good done to others, good in the orderly uses of society. Unless a man serve society in some useful employment, he cannot be happy."
"Are all men, usefully employed, happy?" asked
"Far from it; but they are less unhappy than if they were idle. There are thousands in society who, if not forced by a providential arrangement of circumstances to be constantly employed, would become so wretched as to seek relief in self-destruction."
"But why does not your panacea of work cure their mental disease? Why does it not make them happy?"
"Because they work only under compulsion, and even while serving others, cherish in their hearts a spirit of dislike and hatred. They would rather injure their neighbor than impart to him a benefit. With such feelings no one can be happy. Thus it is, that men who cherish evil in their hearts against society, are forced to work in sustaining the common good, while, in doing so, they rob themselves of the best portion of the reward to which such service entitles them. As for you, in abandoning the study of a profession, you are depriving yourself of an important source of mental quietude in the future. The time will come when you will bitterly repent of this present waste of golden opportunities. Knowledge is not only a foundation for the mind to rest upon, but an anchor to it when afloat and amid storms. It is that by which it grows into a well developed and healthy stature, whether that stature be large or small. You have a strong mind, and you need a liberal portion of nutritious mental food; deprive yourself of this, and your mind, like an empty stomach, will exhaust itself in a vain activity, a state of disease will follow as a natural result; and I need not say to you, that all departure from health is a departure from happiness."
"Appleton felt, to some extent, the force of these remarks, and to his mind was dimly shadowed, for a few
"I don't comprehend your abstractions, Jasper. Give me the fortune that is about to come into my hands, and I'll trust to the rest. As to becoming a professional slave--a doctor is nothing else--I shall not commit that folly now. While there was a doubt as to the result of this suit, a wise forethought led me to prepare for the worst. That doubt being removed, I have changed my views in regard to the future entirely."
Perceiving that argument was useless, Jasper abandoned the attempt to make the error he was committing apparent to his friend's mind.
CHAPTER IV. THE TWO LETTERS.{smaller text}A YEAR has passed, and Henry Appleton has not gained his suit, nor is Marion Hale his bride. It has been an unhappy year, the most unhappy of his life; spent in chasing the shadow of a good, under the vain belief that it was the substance.
All overtures for a settlement by the parties holding the property in litigation having been refused, the suit was pressed with ardor. But the owners of sixty thousand dollars' worth of real estate are not, as a general thing, disposed to give up its possession without a struggle; and this fact the over-confident young man discovered. Advantage was taken of all the delays afforded by the legal constructions to keep back the trial of the suit, and thus exhause, if possible, not only his patience, but his means of continuing the prosecution; and when,
The position of affairs with Marion was little better. After it was a settled point in the young man's mind that she was to be his wife, he became constant in his attentions, but avoided a declaration of his sentiments, leaving her, in consequence, on the troubled waters of doubt. Thus she remained unpledged.
Only a few weeks went by after she had been informed of the old Astrologer's prediction touching herself and Appleton, ere the story came to her again, and in a way that was by no means agreeable.
"So you're Appleton's property," said a young man, named Ashton. He was a cousin, with whom she had become intimate and familiar since her arrival in the city.
"Appleton's property!" What do you mean?" she replied, coloring.
"I believe he claims you as such," said Ashton.
"On what does he base this claim?" Marion spoke with a slight expression of indignation in her tone of voice.
Ashton shrugged his shoulders, and replied:
"Oh, as to that, I suppose you know best."
"Leonard, I wish you would explain yourself," said Marion, seriously.
"I will, provided you answer me one question."
"What is it?"
"You'll promise not to be offended."
"Certainly. It's a weak mind that takes offence where none is designed."
"Are you engaged to Henry Appleton?"
"No."
"And yet he is bold enough to say that you are so far
"Rather a bold assertion."
"So it strikes me. And, moreover, I understand this assumption of his to be based on some old fortune-teller's prediction. On the same veritable authority, he takes it for granted that he's going to get, by means of the law, an estate valued at fifty or a hundred thousand dollars. And I'm told that, relying upon this, he has actually abandoned his studies, and is idling about in taverns and other public places, and making himself little better than a vagabond."
"You are surely in error," said Marion, in answer to this, speaking in a troubled voice.
"I believe not," replied Ashton. "That he's abandoned the study of medicine, I learn from one of his most intimate friends, who blames him in no measured terms."
"On the ground you allege?"
"Yes. The moment the fortune-teller gave him a favorable answer, he closed his books and left the office where he was a student."
"And I am to be his wife?" said Marion, compressing her lips, while a bright spot burned on her cheek.
"So the seer foretells."
The effect of this on Marion was to produce a state of mental disturbance. The fact that Appleton had been influenced by the Astrologer's prediction, was not so disagreeable to her as the liberty he had taken to speak of her in connection with himself in a way that was offensive. But soon after, being alone again, her heart turned with a feeling of tender interest toward the young man, and she forgave him for the weakness his conduct had manifested.
Month after month, things went on as little satisfactorily
At length Marion began to have doubts as to her lover's intentions. Moreover, she frequently heard him spoken of lightly, and the causes alleged had influence in her mind. Hope deferred maketh the heart sick. This sickness was felt ere long by Marion; who, having prolonged her visit to the city far beyond the time originally intended, and this on Appleton's account, though the fact she would not, even to herself, acknowledge, began to look toward her home, and make preparations for returning.
When she spoke of this to Appleton, she saw that it affected him unpleasantly; and from that time until she left the city, he seemed, whenever he visited her, to be laboring under an oppression of feeling. In fact he was more reserved than ever he had been, and let her depart without the change in his manner for which she looked anxiously.
The meaning of this she did not comprehend. If his intentions were such as he had given out, why did he not speak of them? Why had he visited her regularly for a whole year without so much as breathing a word that could be taken as an avowal of love?
Marion went back from the city soberer in feeling than when she came. Spite of all she had heard spoken against Appleton, and spite of his strange conduct, her
A few weeks after Marion arrived at home, and while the waves of doubt and hope were still sweeping to and fro in her mind, she received two letters. One was from her cousin, Leonard Ashton, and contained, among other things, this sentence:
"Our friend who considers you his property, is thought by his friends here to be getting demented. Do you know that he was offered thirty-five thousand dollars if he would abandon his suit against the Mercer family, who will be beggared if he succeeds? He was, and no mistake. But he declined the offer with contempt. 'I can get all, and I'll have all,' was his magnanimous reply! I happen to know something about this business. Old Mr. Mercer, who died two years since, bought a piece of property a long time ago for eighteen thousand dollars; bought it, and paid down the hard cash at the time of the purchase. His many improvements, which cost about eighteen thousand more, and the ordinary rise in the price of real estate, have increased its value to something like sixty thousand dollars. It now appears that Appleton's father had a legal claim upon this very piece of property, and Appleton is pressing the claim to an issue. His claim is just enough, I believe; but it is, for all that, a very hard case for the Mercers, who gave value for what they possess. Under these circumstances, a generous mind, or I would say, a mind that had a simple regard for justice, would have accepted the offer of twenty thousand dollars first made by the Mercers when a legal question was made. This would have been all gain to him, and all loss to them. But no--'all or none' was his motto. Thirty thousand was then offered, and as promptly declined. Five thousand was at last added to this, previous to an appeal to a higher court, after a decision
The reading of this did not tend in any way to tranquillize the feelings of Marion. The other letter referred to, which was received on the day following, threw them into a state of strong excitement. It came from Mr.Paulding, the individual to whom her cousin had referred, and, to her surprise, contained an offer of marriage.
Mr. Paulding, Marion had met frequently while she was in the city, and he had been very attentive to her during the last few months that she remained there. He was a young man of good family, well educated, and in tolerably fair circumstances. Marion had liked him well enough as a friend, but never thought of him as a lover. His offer, therefore, took her wholly by surprise. Her first impulse was to return an immediate negative, and this, it is probable, would have been done, but for the letter received from her cousin on the day before. The
Many days passed before Marion replied to the letter of Mr. Paulding. In calmly reflecting on the subject, she saw that she could not decline his offer on the ground of an engagement with another as a reason satisfactory to herself. Nor, indeed, could she predicate any thing as to the intentions of Appleton. He had visited her constantly for nearly a year, but, in all that time, had never spoken to her on the subject of marriage, although she felt that he loved her, and saw a hundred little tokens of that love manifested whenever they met. Moreover, he had given out that she was destined to be his wife. Yet, for all this, there was nothing certain to rest upon. He had carefully avoided committing himself; and she held, therefore, no claim upon him. Both were yet free.
The strange conduct of Appleton in giving a practical belief to the old Astrologer's predictions; in abandoning his profession; and in referring publicly to her as his bride to be, without approaching her on the subject, gave weight to the intimation of Ashton, that his friends thought him partially deranged. Added to this was the unfeeling selfishness with which he was prosecuting his claim against the Mercer family. All these considerations, as they came up, one after another, caused her to turn from him in spirit. Yet, in doing so, an interior distress was experienced. In trying to hide his image, the form remained distinctly seen through the veil cast over it.
When, at length, she replied to Mr. Paulding, she wrote but briefly, neither accepting nor declining his offer.
"Your proposal is altogether unexpected," said she,
"I ask not a hurried decision," he replied to this letter. "View the subject on every side, and take time for reflection; believe me, that I am sincerely attached to you, and that if you can reciprocate my feelings it will be the purpose of my life to render you happy."
This was a long letter, and varied with a hundred tender expressions. It had its effect upon Marion's heart. For two or three months this correspondence was continued, during which period of time not a single communication was received from Appleton. Then, under the advice of friends, yet in violence to her own feelings, Marion accepted the proffer of marriage. Up to the very hour when she despatched the answer that was to seal her fate, had Henry Appleton sent her a single line, in which were the words, "I love you," she would have rejected the suit of Paulding without a moment's hesitation. This being her state of mind, she erred in consenting to marry Paulding, for in giving him her hand it would be impossible to give him her heart also. But the position in which Appleton had placed her was one that left her mind in a state of obscurity.
CHAPTER V. THE DISAPPOINTED HOPE.{smaller text}A YEAR of idleness, excitement, and restless anticipation, had completely disturbed the healthy tone of Appleton's mind. It was true that thirty-five thousand dollars had been offered him if he would abandon his suit, and it was also true that he had replied,
"All or none."
Although his lawyer had repeatedly warned him that he must not expect a speedy settlement of his heavy claim, the appeal to a higher court, after a decision had been made in his favor, was a severe shock. Confiding with a sort of insane trust in the Astrologer's prediction, he had looked with certainty to the abandonment of the cause, as hopeless, by the Mercer family, after the first adverse result. But he was greatly mistaken in this. Had his mind been properly balanced, he would have seen the weakness of such a conclusion; but having placed himself within the sphere of a disorderly influence, his perceptions had lost, in consequence, their rational clearness, and some of his actions savored more of insanity than wisdom.
Had not an appeal at once been made, Appleton would have sprung to the side of Marion and eagerly claimed her hand. But the appeal was made; it threw his fortune as far beyond his grasp as ever. Sick with disappointment, he rather turned away from than toward Marion, and the maiden, while she felt the change, did not comprehend its cause. Little more than a beggar, as he mentally termed himself, his pride would not let him make an offer of marriage.
Oh how unhappy he was! Restless and impatient, the days passed wearily, and the nights in troubled sleep, or wakefulness, from the pressure of unwelcome thought.
One day, a few months after Marion had gone back to her friends, Appleton left the office of his attorney, after receiving the discouraging intelligence that four or five years might elapse before another decision in the case. He was moving slowly along, with his eyes upon the ground, when a hand was placed on his arm, and a voice said lightly,
"How now, my friend! You look as gloomy as winter. I hope you haven't lost your suit at law also!"
"What do you mean by 'also?'" quickly interrogated Appleton, turning with a start as he spoke.
"You've lost the lady-love your kind old friend the Astrologer gave you."
Appleton's face instantly became pale as the face of a corpse.
"Jasper, what do you mean?" he exclaimed, seizing his friend's arm with a fierce grip. "Don't trifle on this subject."
"Pardon me," said Jasper, becoming serious, "I did not think to disturb your mind after this fashion."
"But what do you mean?" repeated Appleton, eagerly. "What do you mean, I say?"
"Are you not aware," replied Jasper, "that Miss Hale is under an engagement of marriage with Paulding?"
"Madness! No!"
"It is true; and they are to be wedded in two or three months."
"It is false! I tell you, Jasper, it is false! Who says this?"
"Paulding himself."
"He lies!"
"No."
"I tell you he lies!" returned Appleton, wildly.
"I am to be his groomsman at the marriage."
"With Marion Hale?"
"Yes."
"Oh heavens!" was the young man's low, despairing exclamation, as, forgetting that he was in the public street, he clasped his hands across his forehead.
"Henry! Henry!" said Jasper, "recollect that people are all around you, and that such conduct attracts observation. Come to my office. We are only a square distant."
Passively Appleton walked by the side of Jasper until
"I shall go mad! I shall go mad! But no--no. It cannot be! It shall not be! Marion is mine! This, heaven itself has decreed, and she shall not be wrested from me!"
"Compose yourself, my friend," said Jasper. "No good ever comes from over excitement on any subject."
"Talk to a man on the wheel about composure!" replied Appleton, making a gesture of impatience.
"If heaven have decreed, as you say, that Marion shall be yours, why so excited on the subject?"
"Have you not said that she is under contract of marriage with Paulding?"
"I have. And such, you may be assured, is the case."
"I will break the contract," said Appleton, resolutely.
"Have you a right to interfere?"
"I have."
"Does a previous engagement exist?"
"Not a verbal one."
"Did you ever inform Miss Hale that, in visiting her, your ultimate purpose was marriage?"
"I did not wish to do that until, with my hand, I could also tender a fortune."
"Confident in Zadac's prediction, you had no fear that, while you delayed to secure the prize, another might step in and carry it off. So much for a weak and blind faith in an old Astrologer. So much for knowing the future! I speak plainly."
"My faith is not destroyed, Jasper," said the young man, erecting his head with an air of confidence. "Marion is yet unwedded by another. She shall be mine. I will compass heaven and earth to gain this end. Life without her would not be worth the endurance. I was mad not to have provided against this contingency."
"So much for folding your hands in a blind confidence in the future, instead of acting in the present from the clear dictate of reason. Your foreknowledge, so far, has been, as I predicted, not a blessing but a curse."
"Spare me these remarks, if you please. They are worse than useless," said Appleton, contracting his brows. "If I have erred, I will soon repair the error."
"What will you do?"
"I'll answer that question some other time," replied Appleton, starting up and gliding from the door.
Jasper called after him, but he heeded not his voice.
Zadac, the old Astrologer, was sitting in his dimly-lighted room, poring over an old volume, when the door was suddenly thrown open, and Appleton, unannounced, stepped in.
"Zadac!" he exclaimed, in a quick, agitated voice.
There was a brighter gleam in the old man's sunken eyes, as he raised them to the face of his unexpected visitor; but no sign of emotion passed over his features, that were icy in their immovable calmness.
"Zadac! You have deceived me!" And the young man threw his hands wildly over his head as he spoke.
"Zadac has never deceived a living mortal," replied the old man, slowly and confidently, while no sign of emotion was visible. "Man's destiny is written in the heavens, and I read the starry records for all who come to me. I read only what is written, and what is written is true."
"You said I would gain my suit!"
"Have you not gained it?"
"No!"
"The decision was in your favor."
"But the parties appealed."
"Nevertheless, you gained your suit. That the stars predicted, and that came true."
"I have not gained it!" said Appleton, in a passionate manner. "It is false! The whole matter is still pending."
"And I say," replied the Astrologer, still in his waveless tone of voice, and with his sharp eyes fixed steadily on the young man's face--"I say that the suit was gained according to the prediction. The appeal was another matter. I warned you at the time that Saturn was in conjunction, with his balific influence; did I not?"
"You said, moreover, that I would be successful in another suit?"
"In the court of hymen. Well?"
"I have just learned that she, in regard to whom I consulted you, is engaged in marriage to another."
"But not wedded?"
"No."
"Then the prediction is not falsified. How many engagements have been broken off? Young man! I forewarned you that the future depended on your present. As you work in the present, so will be the reward of your labor in the future. The ground must be tilled, the seed sown, and the growing crop receive a proper culture, else no fruitful harvest time will come. Have you sought to win the maiden's love? Have you offered her your hand in marriage?"
"I was not prepared for this formality."
"And so you let your sickle rust, while another stepped in to reap the golden grain."
"But you said that she was to be mine."
"If the stars said so, it is true. The time at which she was to become yours depended on yourself. In neglecting your opportunities, charge not the stars nor their interpreter with blame for your disappointment. The cause is not with them."
"Zadac! If you deceive me I will be revenged," cried
Without replying, the Astrologer made a figure of the heavens, and, after making in it certain astronomical signs, turned to the young man and said,
"Your horoscope is not a good one."
"It was good before; at least so you pronounced it."
"You will marry the lady."
"That is certain?"
"It is."
"And the property for which I am contending?"
"On this point I see no clear indication. The good and bad stars are in equal power."
"Before you said I would gain the suit."
"And I said truly. You did gain the suit."
"Old man! You have been making sport of me! Impostor! I will--"
And Appleton, mad with excitement, advanced a step or two toward the Astrologer. Zadac made only a slight movement, and that was to let a portion of his outer garment fall open, by which the silver hilt of a dagger was distinctly visible. Not a muscle of his face moved; but the fire of his eyes was intense, as he fixed them with something like fascination on the young man.
Appleton stopped suddenly, as if charmed by the glittering orbs of a serpent. A clammy perspiration started from every pore; his knees trembled; a faintness came over him. For a moment or two his head reeled, and he seemed about falling. Then, recovering himself, he turned from the Astrologer and hurriedly left the house.
FROM the Astrologer's, Appleton repaired to his home and shut himself up for many hours. The time thus passed was a period of sober reflection. Scales dropped from his eyes, and he saw in a new and better light. Much that his friend Jasper had said to him in previous conversations came up from his memory, and there was in the sentiments uttered a force of truth not previously seen. Of many things he repented, and first of all, that he had ever been weak enough to consult the future, which had been to him like opening the box of Pandora. Next he saw his folly in abandoning his profession; in not formally avowing to Marion his love; and in not accepting the liberal overtures for a settlement that were made to him by the Mercers. From one evil many are born, and they cohere by a sort of elective affinity--this fact was painfully experienced by the young man.
"I have acted like a madman!" said he to himself. "Was there ever such folly? But all may not yet be too late. I will retrace the path of error with hurried steps."
After coming to this conclusion, the young man called upon his legal adviser.
"I think," said he, in a subdued voice, on meeting the lawyer, "that I will accept a compromise. It will be better than contending for years."
"Far better. I gave you this advice before; and I approve it now."
"Will you see the parties and make the arrangement?"
"Yes. For what sum do you propose to compromise?"
"Thirty-five thousand dollars were offered."
"You will accept that?"
"I have concluded to do so."
"Suppose they fall back from this offer."
"I hardly think there is danger."
"Perhaps not. But it is natural in all propositions of this kind for the parties to whom the proposal is made to seek for a greater advantage than the one tendered. Most probably they will make a question about costs, or offer the clear sum of thirty thousand dollars. In either case, I think it will be impolitic to refuse to meet them; for then negotiations close, and if you afterward renew them and accept the terms declines, they may be led to hope for something better. My advice is to take thirty or even twenty-five thousand, if they offer it. Settle upon the first arrangement assented to, and then the matter becomes definite and certain."
"I leave it with you," replied Appleton, humbly. "Do for me the best you can. I am worn out and sick with the whole business."
"Very well. You may depend on my doing by you as I would by myself were the interest to be looked after mine."
This course of proceeding settled, Appleton felt that a heavy pressure was removed from his feelings. There was now to be a speedy realization of a handsome sum of money, and though he sighed at the thought of losing some thirty thousand dollars in the approaching negotiations, the emotion from which the sigh was born proved not to be very painful.
His next act was to write to Marion, which he did in these terms:
"My Dear Marion:--I now address you in terms that I should have used long and long ago; but circumstances seemed to forbid my doing so previous to this time. Still
Three days passed, and then there came a reply. It was in these brief but passionate terms:
"It is too late, Henry Appleton! Too late! Heaven be merciful to us both!"
For some moments after this was read by the lover his respiration was suspended, and when the motion of his
"It is never too late, Marion! Recall that declaration. Is not your hand free? I swear before heaven that no one shall wrest you from me. Your heart is mine. Do I not read this as plainly in your letter as if you had written it in words. Let no mortal come between us to seal the bond of wretchedness. Pause ere, by your own act, you plunge both yourself and me into hopeless misery."
Appleton read this over two or three times, until his mind was completely bewildered, and then sent it on its mission. A few hours afterward he received a note from his lawyer, asking to see him.
"Have they accepted my compromise?" he inquired, on meeting the attorney. The excitement in his manner showed how anxious he had become on the subject.
"No," was the reply.
"What!" the face of Appleton grew instantly pale.
"They now decline all negotiation."
"On what ground?"
"On the ground of new evidence, by which they expect to sustain their title to the property."
"Did you learn the nature of this evidence?" asked the young man, in a husky voice.
"I did!"
"Is it of any value?"
"I fear so."
For a time Appleton seemed stupefied by this intelligence. At length he said:
"Then there is a doubt resting on the final issue?"
"A very strong doubt, it seems to me."
"This being the case, I am willing to settle on the
"If any terms can be made with the defence, I would advise you to accept them."
"I am prepared to do so," said the young man, in a humbled tone of voice.
Two days afterward he called upon the attorney.
"What have you done?" he inquired, anxiously.
"Nothing," was replied.
"Have you seen them?"
"Yes."
"Did they reject every advance toward a settlement?"
"Yes, declaring that they would not give even a thousand dollars in consideration of having the suit withdrawn. Moreover, they said that they were ready to have the question tried at the earliest possible moment, and would do all in their power to bring it to a speedy issue."
"All we can do, then, is to press the suit?" said Appleton.
"That is all."
"But, do you despair of success?" asked the young man, in a quivering voice.
"No--far from it. Your claim, it seems to me, is yet good in law. But new questions have arisen and will bear upon the decision."
"Do all you can for me, and press the matter to an early trial. Long enough have I been in suspense. I want something certain to rest upon."
"You may rely upon it, Mr. Appleton, that all shall be done for you in my power to accomplish," said the lawyer. "Not by any means am I satisfied that their new evidence is going to defeat us. The time may come when they will regret having declined our present offer to settle."
"And when that time comes--"
Appleton did not finish the sentence; but his lowering brow pictured what was in his heart.
Day after day went by, yet there came no further sign from Marion of what was in her heart.
"One word, Marion! one word!" he wrote to her; but there was no response. Not even a faint and far-off echo told him that his voice had reached her.
The days and weeks came and went, but they brought no relief to the disappointed, unhappy young man. At times, the agony of his feelings drove him almost to desperation; and, on several occasions, there was suddenly thrown into his mind the thought of violence against his rival in the affections of Marion Hale. But this thought he instantly rejected, and turned from it with a shudder.
The fear, too well grounded, as he was now willing to admit, that nothing would be gained by his suit against the Mercers, naturally led him to look at his future prospects in life, independent of the high expectations so sanguinely cherished. This only increased the pain he felt. More than a year had been wasted, which, with proper application, would have brought him to the period of graduation as a student of medicine. But from the thought of resuming his studies he now turned away impatiently. To bring his mind back again to that interest in books which medical science required, he felt would be impossible. But what was he to do if the suit went against him? Alas! he could not answer the question.
A BEAUTIFUL day in October was about drawing to a close. As the sun went down, a few light clouds came up from the west, and spreading themselves along and above the horizon, received the parting rays, and reflected them in varied and brilliant hues. It was one of those splendid sunsets occasionally witnessed in this country. From the zenith to where the hills throw up their dark masses, all was in a blaze of glory. Here and there, between golden and purple clouds, reposing like happy islands in a summer sea, the pure sky gleamed forth, pellucid as crystal. There was a wonderful beauty in the heavens, and below, the earth lay calm and silent as a sleeping infant.
On such an evening were assembling at the pleasant dwelling of Mr. Hale, in the town of Bellville, a large company of young men and maidens, old men and children, to witness the nuptial ceremonies between Mr. Paulding and Marion, about to be celebrated.
While the guests came in and filled the drawing-rooms below, Marion was in her chamber above, all dressed for the espousals, alone with a single friend. Her face was almost as pale as her bridal robes. She sat near the window, looking out upon the brilliant sky. But the light and beauty of nature were not reflected from her heart. That lay in deep shadow.
"How beautiful this sunset," remarked her friend, seeking to draw out her thought, and awaken a passing interest in her mind. "It reminds me of those beautiful lines of Pinckney--
"'Like happy islands of the sky,
The gleaming clouds reposed on high;
Each fixed, sublime, deprived of motion,
A Delos to the airy ocean;
And on the stirless shore; no breeze
Shook the green drapery of the trees,
Or rebel to tranquillity
Awoke a ripple on the sea.'
"I have often admired them," replied Marion, without any interest apparent in her voice.
"You should be happier than this, dear, on your wedding day," remarked her companion.
"I am wretched!" sighed Marion, "wretched! Ah, Jenny, may your wedding day never find you with as sad a heart as that which now beats so heavily in my bosom! I was just wishing that I could die."
"Marion!" ejaculated her friend, in surprise. "What can you mean by this?"
Instead of replying, Marion hid her face upon the bosom of Jenny. But she did not weep. Her emotions were too far below the surface for tears.
"Marion," said Jenny, after thinking hurriedly for a few moments, "there must be something wrong, or you would not be thus disturbed on an occasion like this. What is it? Confide in me, as a tender, sympathizing friend."
As the maiden said this, Marion lifted herself up from her bosom, and turning her pale face toward her, replied:
"My hand is to be given this night, Jenny. But my heart goes not with it!"
"Oh Marion, Marion! That you should say this!" exclaimed her friend.
"The beautiful sky you so admired a little while ago is fading, Jenny. All its brightest hues are gone. Thus
"If this be so," said the friend, firmly, "why give your hand?"
"I cannot break my promise."
"Better do so than make both yourself and Mr. Paulding wretched."
"We are betrothed, Jenny. I cannot break the solemn pledge I gave him."
"Is he aware of your feelings?"
"How can he help being aware of them? For me to assume a disguise would be impossible."
"And yet he urges a fulfilment of the contract?"
"No; both are silent on that subject, and both of us are unhappy."
"What madness, then, to consummate an engagement which must end in wretchedness to both."
"It is little less than madness, Jenny. But he claims a fulfilment of my promise, and the sacrifice shall be made."
The entrance of a third party produced silence and an effort on the part of Marion to conceal the anguish of mind she was suffering. But she could not restore, by any effort, the color to her pale face.
From the moment Appleton's passionate declarations of love were made, Marion's heart sunk heavily and fainting in her bosom, though her purpose to fulfil her contract with Paulding never for a moment wavered. He had come forward and offered her his hand, and, after due deliberation, she had accepted the offer, and bound herself to him in a marriage contract. Could she violate this? No! She could suffer and be silent--she could
Vainly she strove to shut out the image of Appleton from her mind--to turn from it, and thus throw it behind her. But it could not be hidden from her sight. Oh! if she had but known his real sentiments! If he had only spoken of his love while she was free to listen! Why did he come too late?
For all this conflict, Marion kept true to her promise, nor once meditated its violation. Several times Appleton addressed her letters, but since the first brief answer, not a word of reply did she make.
The hour at length arrived when the marriage rite was to be performed, and the bride descended to the crowded rooms below, and stood by the side of him who was to be pronounced her husband, and in the presence of God's minister. Many who looked upon her face, blanched to an ashy paleness, wondered at its strange expression. The ceremony began, and had proceeded to that part where it is asked if any one present can show cause why the parties shall not be joined in holy wedlock, when a voice broke the deep silence that followed, and said, not loud, but distinctly, and in tones tremulous with feeling:
"I forbid the banns!"
Instantly all eyes turned to the part of the room from whence the voice proceeded, and there, standing near the door, was a young man, a stranger, whose wild looks betokened a wandering mind. Marion did not raise her eyes from the floor; but her person inclined forward, and she was evidently hearkening with an eager attention.
"If you know cause," said the minister, in a solemn and impressive voice, fixing, at the same time, his eyes upon the intruder, "why this man and woman should not be joined in holy wedlock, speak now, or forever after hold your peace."
"I forbid the banns!" repeated the stranger, in the same low, distinct, tremulous voice.
The father of the bride now passed hurriedly across the room, with the evident intention of removing the intruder, but the minister checked him with a word, and again called upon the young man to show cause for his untimely opposition. But--
"I forbid the banns!" was all the wild-looking stranger said, while his eyes remained fixed upon the face of the bride.
"Then we will go on with the ceremony."
And the minister resumed the marriage service, which was completed without further interruption, the stranger remaining fixed in his position near the door.
When, at length, in a deeply impressive voice, the minister pronounced the parties on the floor husband and wife, there came from the breast of the stranger a low, despairing groan, or rather cry, and he disappeared from the room. At the same time, Marion fell, swooning, into the arms of her father.
CHAPTER VIII. AN UNHAPPY MARRIAGE.{smaller text}FIVE years have passed since the memorable evening of Marion's wedding. We cannot pause to detail the events which have transpired during this long period of time. It will be enough for our purpose to glance at them briefly.
The unhappy bride, when startled by a voice forbidding the banns, did not lift her eyes from the floor. She needed not the evidence of sight to tell her that Henry
Many hours elapsed ere she recovered from the state of insensibility into which both mind and body subsided so soon as the trying ordeal was passed; and for several days she remained in a kind of stupor. Out of this she came slowly; and nearly two weeks passed before her friends would consent to her leaving them, in company with Mr. Paulding, to go to their new home.
Whatever were her feelings toward her husband, Marion exhibited no repugnance. For his character, she entertained a high respect; but, alas, she did not, for she could not, love him. Toward another her heart's best affections had gone forth, and to restrain or control them was impossible.
What she suffered none knew. Daily and hourly she sought to quiet the troubled pulsations of her aching heart, and to school her feelings into a calm submission to her lot. As a wife, wedded by her own consent, sacred duties devolved upon her, and her purpose was to discharge all those duties, as far as lay in her power, faithfully and conscientiously. All that she could do to shut out Appleton's image, and to turn from it when presented, was done; but he was ever too present to her mind, and it seemed as if she could never cease hearing his low voice of anguish, that thrilled through her heart on her wedding night with a pain that came near extinguishing her very life.
As for Paulding, he understood Marion's state of mind far better than she believed. At the time he sought to win her affections, he was fully aware that Appleton visited her constantly and had even gone so far as to say that he feared no one's power over her. Charmed by the graces of her mind and person, and seeing in her
In replying to her letter, he went beyond the truth in the ardor of his expressions. Of a cool, and equable temperament, he was rarely excited to enthusiasm. It was a strong will that gave life to all his purposes. Whatever he felt to be desirable, he sought to gain with a directness of effort that wavered not to the right hand nor to the left. After resolving upon a thing, he rarely paused in the pursuit for reconsideration, or to weigh things collateral that were subsequently presented, but pressed on to the end without a question as to consequences.
Thus he acted in the case of Marion, when writing to her and urging his claims to a place in her affections.
Several of these ardent letters were received by Marion before she met Paulding again. It required but this meeting to satisfy her heart that she had committed a sad error in consenting to become his wife. His letters, as a transcript of his character and feelings, were one thing, and his personal expression another. In writing, he had assumed something beyond what Marion could find either in his face, tones, or manner. His letters were a beautiful ideal; himself the cold and unattractive reality.
So it was felt by the maiden, and her heart shrunk from him, with a sense of repulsion. But she had accepted his offer of marriage--she was his affianced bride. There was now no looking back; and she did not attempt to look back, but resolutely turned her eyes upon the future.
Accurate in his observation, and with some knowledge of human nature, Paulding was not deceived in regard to Marion's state of mind. He saw that the warmth with which she received him at their first meeting, subsequent to the engagement, did not continue, and that she was far from being in a state of mental tranquility.
But he flattered himself that this would all change, and he was willing that time should be given for change. Time was given; but, at each new interview, Paulding saw that she was unhappy. Her letters became briefer, and more and more formal; and there were few warm responses to his continued expressions of ardent attachment. When the time came that had been appointed for the nuptial rites, and he met her, after a month's absence,
It pained Mr. Paulding to see this, for it foreshadowed to his heart a coming evil to both. By every little tender attention he strove, during the few days that preceded the wedding, to awaken in her mind some pleasant impulses; but he strove in vain. Then it came into his thoughts to say to her, that he released her from her engagement if she wished to be free again. But this was only entertained for a moment.
"It is the last struggle of her feelings," said he to himself. "When all is over, there will come upon her spirit a deep peace. She sees, as well as her friends, that a union with this idle, half-insane fellow, Appleton, would be little less than an act of madness. Her judgment approves of what she is about doing, but some natural claims of the heart are now making their final appeals. The act by which she is bound to me for life will cancel all these claims, and they will rise up no more to trouble her."
Thus he reasoned; but he was in error. Thus he reasoned, even while Marion lay white and pulseless as the dead, after the closing of the marriage service. It was the last struggle--so he thought. But he erred. It was not the last struggle.
Years afterward he understood this better. Partially he understood it ere the first few months of their wedded life went by. Kind, gentle, and dutiful in all that was required of her as a wife, Marion performed, in act, all that she had solemnly bound herself to perform at the marriage altar. But her heart was not with her husband.
Love sends its light to the countenance. Where real affection exists it comes spontaneously into expression. The heart cannot hide its emotions. And Mr. Paulding was not really deceived, though he sought refuge in attempted self-deception. The great change in Marion continued. Her former life came not back, as he had hoped. Her spirits did not spring again with the buoyancy that marked the years of her maidenhood. No more was her merry laugh heard, waking the delighted echoes. Oh, how Mr. Paulding did long to see the old light in her still sweet and beautiful face; to hear the old sounds of her voice, so full of the heart's own music! He loved her--tenderly loved her. But with all his earnest efforts to awaken a reciprocal feeling, he failed entirely; and, moreover, he was conscious of his failure.
Still, this consciousness did not make him turn away, either coldly or angrily, from the pure-minded woman he had wronged in leading to the altar. To him she was faithful in all her relations; gentle in all her intercourse with him; and devoted in all her actions to his happiness. That she could not love him, was not her fault--and few men would have blamed her less for this than did Mr. Paulding. Grieved, deeply grieved, was he to see her passing on in her way through life, unblessed by the beauty and perfume of flowers that grew along her path--undelighted by the melody of birds singing around her.
Marion perceived her husband's state of mind, and was grateful for his kindness and unwearied devotion. After the passage of two or three years, she began to lean upon him more heavily, as failing health and drooping spirits
No children blessed their union, coming to fill their hearts with a common interest, and warm them with a common love. But at length the spirit of Marion, that, like a caged bird, had long bruised itself with fluttering against the bars of its prison, sunk down exhausted, and yielded to the hand, which from the first, had been reached forth caressingly. Then, as we have said, a sense of weakness caused her to lean upon her husband, and his arm, while it supported, drew her gently to his side. In the pressure of that arm she perceived a low thrill of affection, that awakened an answering throb in her almost pulseless bosom. Then she laid her head in tears upon his breast.
Grateful for her husband's unwavering care and tender solicitude, maintained for years, Marion was able from this time to return some portion of the love which had been so long lavished upon her in vain. Such briefly is the history of five years--the five first years of Marion's wedded life. As a heart history, how exquisitely painful.
FIVE years had passed, and the heart of Marion was beginning to feel the emotions of a warmer life. In all that time she had not seen Appleton, nor had any one mentioned his name in her presence. How much she had thought of him, none but herself knew. Ah! with what earnest efforts had she striven to banish his presence from her mind--vainly striven.
Every summer, since their marriage, Mr. Paulding had endeavored to prevail on his wife to accompany him to the sea shore, or to some one of the many inland watering places. But she had always preferred, instead of this, to expend a few weeks with her parents in the old home of her earlier years. Now, however, their physician strongly recommended for her the bracing effects of mountain air, and advised a trip to the Bedford Springs.
"I think I shall gain my point this summer," said Mr. Paulding, as he entered his wife's room, on returning home at the close of a day in July. He spoke with a smile on his face and an air of playful triumph in his voice.
"Gain it in what?" asked Marion, smiling faintly in return.
"You are going to the Springs this season."
"Oh, no!" she replied, and shook her head in a positive way.
"Won't you go, just to gratify me?"
"If it will be a source of gratification to you, I will go, certainly. But--"
The objection was not uttered, though a shadow came over her face.
"I'm sure, Marion," said Mr. Paulding, kindly, "that if you would seek to overcome this reluctance to going abroad, and mingle more in society, you would be happier. Your mind needs excitement, and Doctor Melleville agrees with me in this. I met him to-day, and we had a long talk about you. I did not mention the Springs, but he referred to the subject himself, and said he knew of nothing that promised to be of so much real benefit as a few weeks among the mountains. 'Take her to Bedford Springs,' said he; 'it will put new life into her veins.' And you know that if Doctor Melleville says this, he believes it."
"I'd much rather go up to father's," replied Marion.
She said this with some earnestness, yet forced a smile as she spoke.
"What is most agreeable is not always best for us," returned Mr. Paulding. "This is something that we are always learning, yet it seems that we never can arrive at a practical knowledge of the truth."
He spoke very gently and very kindly. This had been his uniform manner toward his wife during the whole of the long period through which they had come.
"And so Doctor Melleville thinks the mountain air would do me good," said Marion, lifting her eyes from the floor, to which they had fallen, and speaking as if she had not heard the last remark of her husband.
"Yes; I think so too."
"If I consulted my own feelings, I certainly would not go. But it is not always right to yield to our mere inclinations. Perhaps I have done so too much."
"I'm afraid you have, Marion," said Mr. Paulding, in a voice which conveyed more than he had wished to express.
"I will try to be more reasonable in the future," replied Marion.
The tone in which this was uttered indicated that she had perceived something like rebuke in her husband's tones.
"I did not mean to say that you were unreasonable," quickly answered Mr. Paulding. "I think few women are more governed by reason than you, Marion."
The wife shook her head and smiled; but the light of her smile was feeble.
"Your kind and partial feelings make you see excellencies where others would perceive only glaring faults," said she, leaning toward her husband and looking earnestly into his face. "Ah! I wish that I were more fitted to make you happy."
Tears came into her eyes, and her voice quivered, as she added:
"You have borne much from me, and always with a patient tenderness, for which I have ever felt grateful. In future I will try better to deserve your love."
Her head sunk upon the breast of her husband, who bent over and kissed her fervently.
For some minutes there was silence.
"You will go with me to the Springs?" at length said Mr. Paulding.
"Oh, yes," whispered Marion, who lay with her eyes closed.
"I know it will do you good."
"Perhaps so." A faint sigh followed this admission.
"The pure, bracing air of the mountains will impart a new vigor to your frame, and this will give your mind a more cheerful impulse. Yes, dear, this trip to Bedford will be of great service. I am so glad you are willing to go."
"Will it give you so much pleasure?"
"Whatever increases your pleasure will add to mine," returned Mr. Paulding, with much feeling.
Marion felt a lightness of spirit not experienced for a long time, after this visit to the Springs was decided upon, and in the subsequent preparations she took a pleasant interest.
In due time, all being ready, Mr. Paulding and his wife started for Bedford. The journey proved to be a very fatiguing one for Marion, and she was really ill on arriving at the Springs. But the mountain air soon revived her, and in a day or two she was well enough to leave her room and walk out. By the end of the week, her system was braced up wonderfully, and she had made two or three interesting lady acquaintances, in whose society she found a real pleasure. With one of these ladies, a Miss Caroline Everett, from Baltimore, Marion was particularly pleased, and felt drawn toward her as to a sister. After they came to know each other well, they were together a good portion of their time every day, and frequently rambled off into the woods and among the hills alone, so much interested in a mutual interchange of thought as to forget the quick passage of time.
Thus, nearly two weeks glided away. Already was a warmer tinge coming back to the cheek of Mrs. Paulding, and her step had acquired a firmness to which it had long been a stranger. Her spirits, too, had a buoyancy about them that indicated a mental as well as a bodily improvement.
Soon after breakfast, one morning, Marion and Miss Everett rambled away, and did not return for a couple of hours. As they approached the hotel, Mr. Paulding came out to meet them.
"Are you not well?" asked Marion, looking earnestly into her husband's face, as he joined them.
"Oh, yes," he replied, but the expression of his countenance contradicted his words.
"You cannot be well," returned Marion, in an anxious voice. "How pale you are!"
"Merely a slight indisposition. I shall be better in a little while."
Marion drew her hand within her husband's arm, and said:
"Let us go back to the hotel. You really look sick."
In silence they walked back. Parting from Miss Everett at the door, Mr. Paulding and his wife went up to their room. As soon as they were alone, Marion said to her husband, with much anxiety in her voice:
"You are seriously ill! What does ail you? Has any thing happened? Are you hurt in any way?"
"Oh, no, no!" replied Mr. Paulding, evasively. "But I received a letter, this morning, which will probably make it necessary for me to return home immediately."
The color instantly fled from Marion's cheeks.
"Is any one dead?" she asked, in husky tones.
"No, no; nothing of that kind, dear. Only a little business matter."
"It cannot be a little matter, if it so troubles you," replied Marion, laying her hand upon his arm, and looking with tender concern into his face.
"Slight causes, sometimes, have power to disturb us seriously. It is because I will have to go back to the city that I am troubled. You are improving so much, and enjoying yourself so well, that I am really pained at the thought of taking you from here."
"Don't think of that for a moment. I am ready to return with you at an hour's notice."
"The stage goes through late this afternoon. I would like to start then, if you think you can bear the fatigue of riding all night."
"I am so much stronger and better than I was when I came up, that I will not suffer from the ride."
"How sorry I am to take you away from here!" said Mr. Paulding. "It is really unfortunate. Every thing was going on so well. Health and spirits both returning. Ah, me!"
The last words were breathed forth with a deep sigh, while a still more troubled expression came over his countenance.
"I'm really afraid, dear, that something serious has occurred," said Marion. "Don't be afraid to tell me if it is so."
"Nothing to create anxiety, I do assure you," was quickly replied. "What most grieves me is the necessity for leaving here immediately."
"Think nothing of that. I am ready to go home. The only regret I shall have will be in leaving the pleasant society of Miss Everett. She is a charming girl! I don't know when I have met any one with whom, on a short acquaintance, I have been so much delighted!"
"She resides in Baltimore, I believe?"
"Yes."
"You must invite her to make you a visit."
"It would be to me a source of real pleasure, if she were to do so. I must see her before I leave, and get her consent to spend a few weeks with us this fall or winter."
Still the troubled expression of Mr. Paulding's countenance did not subside, but rather increased. He became, moreover, restless; moving about the room, sometimes in an absent, hurried manner, and then, as if his feelings had attained a sort of crisis, throwing himself into a chair, and uttering a long, deep sigh. Marion never remembered to have seen him so much disturbed.
"Something must have happened that you are trying to conceal from me," said she, approaching the subject again. "Do not fear to tell me. Am I not your wife? Whatever rests heavily upon you should bear upon me also."
Though entreated thus earnestly, Mr. Paulding still evaded the subject; saying that his main concern grew out of his reluctance to remove her from a place where she was receiving so much benefit. This, however, did not satisfy Marion; and her heart began to sink under the pressure of approaching, but unknown evil. She understood her husband's character too well to be satisfied with his explanation of his state of mind. Light causes had never disturbed him, and, she was sure, could not disturb him now.
Seeing the effect produced on her mind, Paulding made an effort to rally himself and appear cheerful. But he did not deceive his wife. She saw that his cheerful air was only assumed.
They had been alone in their room for about an hour, when there came a tap at the door. Paulding, who sat near a window, lost in thought, started, while an anxious expression went over his face. As Marion arose and went toward the door, he half arose also, as if to anticipate the action himself, and then sat down again, evidently in a state of great suspense and even fearful anticipation.
The voice that addressed his wife was that of Miss Everett, who had come to inquire if he were better. Paulding did not hear the reply of Marion, for she passed out into the entry, and closed the door after her. As this occurred, he started to his feet and took two or three strides across the room, with the purpose of following his wife. But he paused suddenly, checked by some counteracting thought, and stood, statue-like, bending toward the door, in a listening attitude. The murmur
"Oh dear!" he sighed, or rather groaned, as the distant murmur died, clasping his hands together, and wringing them violently, "all will be lost! Heaven help us!"
Three or four minutes passed, and Paulding yet remained standing where he had checked himself, when the door was flung open, and Marion, with a face like ashes, rushed in. She did not utter a word, but threw herself on the breast of her husband, who clasped his arms tightly around her, and pressed his lips to her white forehead.
The meaning of this we will briefly explain. On going from her room and joining Miss Everett, Marion informed her that in consequence of letters received from home, it would be necessary to leave the Springs immediately, and that they would take the stage in the afternoon. Of course, the friend expressed lively regret at this. Placing her arm within that of Mrs. Paulding, she drew her along the entry, and, on arriving at the stairway, said--
"Come, let us walk in the garden. If you are going so soon, I must have you all to myself for, at least, half an hour more. Oh, I shall be so sorry to part with you!"
Mrs. Paulding moved along by the side of the young lady without resistance. They had descended the stairs, and passed into the piazza, along which they were moving, when Miss Everett said--
"Here is a gentleman who came up from Baltimore this morning. He is an intimate friend of mine, and, as he is coming directly toward us, I will take the liberty of introducing him, if you will permit me to do so."
"To know your friend will--"
So much fell from the lips of Mrs. Paulding. But there she suddenly paused. In speaking, she turned her eyes
"Doctor Appleton, Mrs. Paulding," said the young lady, as they came up to the person just mentioned.
There was a dead silence for a few seconds, during which time the eyes of Marion and the young man were fixed upon each other as by a spell. In that brief space, each noted the sad change which heart-corroding pain and disappointment had occasioned. The face of Appleton was as pale and thin as that of Marion, and as deeply marked with lines of suffering. Neither of them bowed, nor spoke, nor gave the smallest sign of recognition, but stood looking at each other as if under the influence of some strange fascination.
Suddenly, Mrs. Paulding turned and glided away with the swiftness of an arrow.
It was from this encounter that she came back pale, trembling, and overcome with agitation to her husband. He needed no explanation. Already he had become aware of Appleton's arrival at the Springs, and this was his reason forwishing to leave the place as speedily as possible. In order to have a reason for returning home, he deceived Marion in regard to having received letter--he had no need to affect concern; of that, enough was in his heart.
While lying with her head laid against her husband's breast, Mrs. Paulding strove, with an effort that was agonizingly intense, to withdraw the eyes of her spirit from the pale face of Appleton, upon which her bodily eyes had just rested. But for a time it was a vain effort. As distinctly as a living face was it before her, and there was in it something so sad and rebuking, that it affected her with exquisite sorrow.
To let that image remain in her heart, Marion felt to be sin, and in the anguish of her spirit, as she still rested
A little while afterward, Marion raised her head, and drawing her arms around her husband's neck, pressed fervently, her lips to his.
This was all that passed between them on that subject; but they fully understood each other. On the same day they left the Springs and commenced their journey homeward.
CHAPTER X. BURIED IN OBLIVION.{smaller text}ONE evening, about a week previous to the time fixed upon for the marriage of Mr. Paulding and Marion, the young man named Jasper, sat reading, when there came a quick, loud rap at his door.
"Come in," he cried.
The door swung open, and Henry Appleton, his face haggard and troubled, stepped into the room.
"How are you, my friend?" said Jasper, meeting him with a cheerful smile, and grasping his hand at the same time. "How are you?"
"Wretched!" was replied in a deep, emphatic voice; "wretched!"
"Don't look so gloomy!" said Jasper, as he still held his friend's hand. "Sit down, and let us talk together. Perhaps, I can say something that will cheer you up."
"It is to talk to you that I have come. Ah, me! I wish I had paid more heed to what you said over a year ago. How mad we are sometimes. Curse that lying old Zadac! That I should have been such a consummate fool!"
"Calm yourself, Henry," said Jasper. "Excitement ever leaves the mind more unhappy than it was before. But come, sit down, sit down. What is it you wish to say to me?"
Appleton took the chair his friend proffered, and as he seated himself, said--
"I want to ask you a simple question, and I wish a direct answer."
"Say on," returned Jasper.
"Is Paulding to be married next week?"
"Yes."
"To Marion Hale?"
"Yes."
"Jasper," said Appleton, with the calmness of suppressed feeling--"that sacrifice must not be!"
"Why do you call it a sacrifice? There is no compulsion."
"Because it is such. Marion does not love him."
"A mere assumption on your part."
"No! I tell you no! She does not love him."
"Your evidence?"
"That!" And the young man drew a crumpled letter from his pocket, and thrust it toward Jasper. "Read that!"
Jasper unfolded the letter and read--
"It is too late, Henry Appleton! Too late! Heaven be merciful to us both! {centered, same line as above, small caps} MARION."
"When did you get this?" he inquired.
"You see the date."
"Months ago?"
"Yes. When you informed me that she was engaged to Paulding, I wrote immediately, and this was my answer. She was engaged, and would not violate her engagement, though her heart broke. Am I not right? Is not her marriage to be a sacrifice? But it must not be."
"It cannot now be prevented, Henry."
"It can; and it must be. I place this letter in your hands. Take it to Paulding, and if he have the heart of a man, he will release her."
"No, my friend, I cannot do that," said Jasper, shaking his head.
"Why not?"
"Such an act might be fraught with the worst consequences."
"No consequences are half so much to be dreaded as those which will flow from this marriage," said Appleton. "I am sure its consummation will break her heart, and goad me on to madness."
"Hearts do not break so easily," said Jasper, with a smile, "and as for madness, that I believe rarely happens with those who anticipate the event."
"I'm in no mood for trifling," remarked Appleton, sternly, "will you, or will you not, do as I wish?"
"I cannot do it, Henry," replied Jasper.
"Then I will see Paulding myself; he shall not take this step without sufficient warning."
"You will only produce pain; as for hindering the marriage, that is out of the question."
"Do you think Paulding would take for his wife a woman who had written to another man, as Marion has written to me?" asked Appleton, in a half exultant tone.
"Poorly as I esteem him, I do not believe he is so lost as that to all independent feeling and true sensibility."
"He will not believe you," said Jasper.
"I will let the writing speak for itself."
"He will deem it a mere forgery."
"And charge the forgery on me!" exclaimed Appleton, his eyes flashing fire.
"He may not do that orally; though to the conclusion he will doubtless come."
"Be that as it may, he shall see the letter. I owe it both to myself and Marion, to prevent this marriage, if possible. And, if I can prevent it, the time is not far off when even Paulding will thank me for the act."
"Appleton," said Jasper, speaking in a deliberate and serious voice, "to your own folly is all this chargeable. When Marion was free to accept your offer of marriage, you maintained toward her, on the subject, the most entire silence. You visited her regularly, yet breathed not to her a word of your intentions, although you did not hesitate to affirm in the hearing of others, that she was destined to become your bride. Moreover, your conduct in some things was of a character to make any sensible woman turn her thoughts from you, no matter how much you had interested her feelings; you abandoned the study of a profession on the mere declaration of an old Astrologer, that you were to obtain a fortune; what no man in his right senses would have done, and in various other ways produced the common impression that your reason was impaired. No wonder, then, taking into consideration the fact that you maintained toward Miss Hale an entire reserve on the subject of marriage, that she should have accepted an offer from another direction. And now, that she has done so, pray take my advice and do not distress her with your persecutions; bear the evil you have called down upon your own head, and bear it like a man. Here your path and that of Marion diverge, go each, your different ways in life, and think
"You will not do as I wish?" was all the reply that Appleton made.
"No, Henry, I cannot."
"Very well; then I must do it myself. Good night!"
Before Jasper could speak, Appleton was passing through the door. He called after him, but the young man paid no heed to his words.
On emerging into the street, Appleton moved hurriedly along for the distance of a block or two, and then paused suddenly, as if arrested by a thought. For more than a minute he stood in the spot where he had checked his footsteps, and then started forward again, walking as rapidly as before. Pausing at length before a dwelling-house, he ascended the steps and rung the bell.
"Is Mr. Paulding at home?" he inquired of the servant who came to the door.
"No, sir," was replied.
"How soon do you expect him home?"
"Not for a couple of weeks."
"What, is he not in the city?"
"No, sir."
"Has he gone to Belleville?" was the next eagerly asked question.
"Yes, sir. He left for there to-day."
Appleton turned and walked slowly from the door, stood for a few moments before the house, and then moved away with lingering steps. His mind was confused, and his thoughts undeterminate. He was as if stunned by a blow.
Of what transpired during the next ten days, Appleton never had any thing more than a very indistinct recollection. When again conscious, he found himself lying upon a bed, in a small room, through the window
In the effort to comprehend his position, his mind became cloudy, and all his ideas thrown into a tangled mass, and some moments elapsed before he emerged again from this bewildered state.
"Where am I? What does this mean?" he said, at length, partly raising himself up. But he was so weak that he could not support the weight of his body, and sunk back in the bed with a groan.
Almost immediately the door of the room was opened, and a man, beyond the prime of life, whose dress and aspect indicated his calling to be that of a clergyman, came in.
"I am glad to find you better, my young friend," said this person, in a mild voice, as he sat down by the bedside and took Appleton's hand in his own.
"But where am I? and what does this mean? I do not understand it," returned the young man, fixing his eyes with a look of earnest inquiry upon the stranger.
"You are too weak now to bear explanations," replied the minister--for such was his calling. "Every thing will depend on your remaining perfectly quiet."
"But, answer me one question. Where am I?"
"You are in the village of Belleville."
"Belleville!" Appleton started up, and then fell back with a groan upon his pillow. For nearly five minutes he lay almost motionless, with closed eyes and contracted brow, while the minister sat by his side gazing anxiously upon his face. Then looking up, he said--
"Answer me one more question."
The minister shook his head, and placed his finger on his lip.
"Have I been guilty of any act of violence?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Thank God!" was breathed audibly.
"One more question."
Again the minister sought to enjoin silence.
"What day of the month is this?"
The date was mentioned:
"Can this be so? Where have I been for ten days? What has happened? How came I here?"
"My dear young friend," said the minister, "your life depends on a perfect freedom from excitement. You have been dangerously ill, and are now just over the crisis. A relapse will be fatal. In a few days you will be stronger; then I will tell you all that I know."
"Belleville--Belleville," murmured Appleton, seeking to comprehend the meaning of his position.
"One more question; just one more."
"Have I not said that your life depends on freedom from all excitement?" said the minister. "Ask no more questions now."
"Marion Hale! Is she married?"
"Let me beg of you not to commit self-murder! Be quiet now. A few days more and--"
"I wish that question answered now," replied Appleton, in a calm voice, interrupting the minister. "The appointed time has gone by. Was she married?"
"Yes. I performed the sacred rite."
"Enough! It is over! Hush, hush! Be still, my trembling heart," said the young man, speaking to himself, as he closed his eyes, while a more death-like paleness overspread his face.
The minister, alarmed for the effect of his extorted communication, sat anxiously watching the countenance of the invalid for several minutes, during which time his
"Mr. Appleton," at length said the minister, in a low, anxious voice.
The eyes of the invalid flew open instantly, and the surprise he felt at hearing his name uttered was visible in his countenance.
"May the God of peace send you comfort," breathed, fervently, the minister, as he laid his hand gently on the young man's forehead. May He give strength equal to the day of trial, and hope when the night seems darkest."
"Amen," sighed Appleton, glancing upward with a quick motion of the eyes, and then letting the lids fall tightly over them.
CHAPTER XI. THE KIND ADVISER.{smaller text}THE clergyman who officiated at the marriage of Mr. Paulding and Marion, was named Warwick. He was a man of fine intelligence, liberal feelings, and a warm heart. Though past the meridian of life, and with his emotions schooled to submission by a well applied Christian philosophy, the sudden appearance of Appleton at the wedding party, accompanied by his interruption of the service, caused him to feel a deeper disturbance than he had known for years. At the conclusion of the rite, and after Marion had been carried, fainting, from the room, he drew aside Mr. Jasper, who officiated as groomsman on the occasion, and said to him, in an agitated voice:
"Who was that? Do you know?"
"His name is Appleton. He is from P-----" and is a former lover of Marion's."
"Have they been under engagement of marriage?"
"No. But--"
And Jasper then related, briefly, the particulars of their intimacy, and some portions of Appleton's history already known to the reader.
"He is evidently in a state of mental derangement," said Mr. Warwick, in a troubled voice, when Jasper closed his relation.
"The fear you express is too well grounded. Unhappy young man! How heavy a penalty is he paying for a single error."
"Alone, at night, in a strange place, and in his condition," said the clergyman. "This will not do. We must go after him and extend the protection needed by one in his unhappy state."
"You are right," responded Jasper, rising as he spoke. "Marion is cared for by her friends. Toward Appleton let all my thoughts be turned."
"You are a stranger in Belleville, as well as this unhappy young man," said the minister. "I will select two or three to aid you in the search. If you find him, take him to my house. As soon as I can be spared from this habitation of weeping rather than joy, I will return home and be ready to receive you."
Accompanied by three men, familiar with all the localities, Jasper started off immediately in search of Appleton. Since the sun went down in all the brilliancy of purple and gold, heavy clouds had come up from the West, and were spreading in black masses over the sky, hiding the stars, and veiling all below in thick darkness. From these clouds came forth, now and then, a gleam of lightning, succeeded by a distant jar of thunder.
First of all, inquiry was made for Appleton at the
It was past eleven o'clock at night, and the lowering clouds had begun to pour down a torrent of rain, accompanied by broad, intense flashes of lightning and the crash of thunder, when Mr. Warwick, who was pacing the floor of his little parlor, too much disturbed in mind to think of retiring to bed, paused suddenly, and listened. Something like the sound of a human voice had reached his ear amid the discordant roaring of the mad elements. After a few moments, as a heavy peal of thunder died away in distant mutterings, he distinctly heard the sound again. Quickly opening the door, he sought to penetrate with his eager eyes the darkness that hung as a thick veil before him. But he could perceive no object. He stood, however, only a few seconds before a human figure presented itself. It was that of a man. At a glance Mr. Warwick recognized Appleton, who was drenched with rain.
"Let me come in. I am wet and cold," said the young man, in a humble, pleading voice, crouching against the lintel of the door, and shrinking with fear as the vivid lightning blazed around him.
"Yes, yes. Come in quickly," replied Mr. Warwick, taking hold of him and drawing him within the door. "Why did you remain out in this dreadful storm?"
"I was afraid they would kill me," said Appleton, looking fearfully around him. "I know it was wrong. But I can't help it now. You won't tell them that I'm here. I stood and looked at you through the window, walking backward and forward, and, every time your
"No--no--certainly not. I will protect you against everybody," replied Mr. Warwick, meeting the humor of the unhappy young man, from the throne of whose mind reason had fallen.
By every mode in his power, the minister sought to quiet his agitation, and, in a little while, succeeded in doing so. Then he induced him to go up-stairs and into one of the chambers, change his wet clothes for dry ones, and, finally, to go to bed. In a little while he was sleeping, though not soundly. He tossed himself about, moaned and talked incoherently. On placing his hand upon his forehead, he found his skin hot and dry. Fever had set in.
Through the greater part of the night, Mr. Warwick watched in the chamber of Appleton. On the next morning the young man was so ill, that a physician was called in. By this time his body was entirely prostrated, and he was insensible to all surrounding objects. He remained in this state for three or four days, passing through a dangerous crisis, and then suddenly regaining his lost senses and perceptions as has been seen.
During this time, Jasper called frequently to see Appleton, and had many conversations with the clergyman touching the peculiarities of his case. He left of P----- on the very day of his restoration to reason, and previous to the occurrence of that circumstance.
After the brief conversation between Mr. Warwick and Appleton, given at the close of the preceding chapter, the latter lay for a long time with closed eyes. Sometimes his lips moved, and sometimes there was a slight quivering of the lids. Beyond this there was no
On the next morning, when the clergyman called in to see Appleton, he found him with his mind clear and his feelings tranquil. In body, he remained very feeble. This favorable state continued. In a few days, he was able to sit up, and soon after to walk about his room. At the end of another week, he was so far recovered that he proposed to leave for home. Since the first interview not a word more had passed between him and the minister about the recent exciting circumstances.
"You are yet too weak, my young friend, to bear the fatigue of a journey," said Mr. Warwick, in reply to this proposition, "remain where you are quietly for a little while longer."
"I cannot think of trespassing on you an hour longer than is absolutely necessary," replied Appleton. "Your kindness and true hospitality have saved my life, and I shall bear you in remembrance, with grateful emotions, while my heart has power to give a single pulsation."
"I have done nothing more than my duty nor beyond what my feelings prompted," said Mr. Warwick; "but we will not talk of that. For the present, at least, you must remain here. Body and mind both need a longer period of rest in which to recover their strength."
Thus urged, Appleton sojourned for a few days longer beneath the hospitable roof of the minister, and then spoke again of leaving. Mr. Warwick opposed his doing so, as before.
"I can remain here no longer," said the young man, after nearly four weeks had elapsed. "It is wrong thus to trespass on the hospitality of a kind-hearted stranger."
"I have kept you here," replied Mr. Warwick, "in
Appleton's eyes were fixed upon the minister, but no change was visible in his countenance.
"You doubtless understand me. Shall I go on?" said Mr. Warwick.
"I am ready to hear," calmly answered the young man.
"The subject may be too painful."
"Not if introduced by you."
"This present experience," said the minister, "is dependent, mainly, I have been told, on a serious error committed within the last two years. An error grounded in the natural impatience of the human heart to know the hidden secrets of the future. In a word, you sought to penetrate the veil that limits our view to the present."
"It is as you say," replied Appleton, without apparent emotion.
"You lifted your voice and cried into the future; you cried, and there came back a feeble echo."
"And that echo I believed to be the voice of an oracle."
"Do you believe it now?"
"Ah sir! I was most cruelly deceived!" said Appleton, for the first time showing signs of feeling, "Cruelly deceived."
"Self-deceived. Is not that the real truth?"
"Perhaps so. Yes, yes; self-deceived."
"The future is wisely hidden by the Creator. Having made us, He loves us, and seeks our good. In love, therefore, He veils the future. A knowledge of coming events, whether good or evil, would take away our power.
"Yes--yes."
"From the day you sought the old Astrologer, you may date the beginning of your unhappiness."
"Ah, if I had never seen him," said Appleton, in a mournful voice.
"You turned aside into forbidden paths, and your feet were wounded with thorns."
"If foreknowledge to man be an evil, Mr. Warwick, why are any permitted to penetrate the future?"
"This power is given to no mortal, my friend."
"Is it not possible to read nativities in the stars? Many learned and good men have believed in Astrology."
"No wise man ever had faith in this pretended science. Men learned in mere human knowledge, too often grounded in the pride of opinion or the conceit of superior intelligence, may have put faith in astral influences. But he who has power to think abstractly--who has even the smallest portion of spiritual intelligence, must see that inert bodies of matter, moving in space, and governed by merely physical laws, cannot have any relation whatever to the soul of man, which is a spiritual substance, governed by spiritual laws, and having an eternal destiny."
"And yet many authentic instances are on record, in which, by means of the stars, the future events in a man's life have been foretold."
"All things," said Mr. Warrick, "are overruled by a
"Alas! have I not proved the truth of that saying," replied Appleton. "If I had only been content to do my work faithfully and patiently in the present, trusting that all would come out right in the end, how much happier would I be this day; and what a light would come through the veil of the future, showing me that the sun was there! Now, all is darkness!"
"That admission, Mr. Appleton," said the minister, "proves the wisdom and goodness of Providence, which, even out of evil, educes good. Your errors, or, I will say, the reaction upon your errors, has been the means of opening your mind interiorly, so that it can see a truth of the first importance to know. Out of your sufferings, I trust you will come purified--a wiser and a better man; and, if wiser and better, happier."
"Happier!" exclaimed the young man, quickly. "Happier! No, Mr. Warwick!--that is impossible. I will not believe it."
"It is only through a knowledge of the truth that we arrive at happiness," said the minister. "There is no other way. But truth in the understanding alone does not produce this desirable state; it is truth made a principle
"And my lesson?" said Appleton, lifting his eyes to the countenance of the minister, that seemed to glow with light; "how am I to understand it? It is a hard lesson for the learner."
"If we live what we know, we open our minds to the influx of truth," replied Mr. Warwick.
"I do not clearly see your meaning."
"Perform, in the present, faithfully, the work your hands find to do, because it is right to be engaged in some employment useful to others. This brings you within the orderly sphere of God's providence toward his creatures, and in the way of receiving light."
"I now perceive your meaning, dimly," replied Appleton. "But, the truth is too high for me. I cannot comprehend it fully."
"You will, I trust, in time. For all trouble and affliction there is but one genuine panacea, and that is, useful work. If you have relief from present pain, use this panacea, and use it daily."
"Work? work?" said the young man, as if he did not comprehend what was meant.
"By work, I mean useful employment. Providence, in its infinite regard for man's well-being, has so arranged
Appleton sat with his head bent toward the speaker, and his eyes upon the ground, listening intently.
"Forgive my freedom and plainness of speech," said Mr. Warwick, after a pause. "It is because I feel concern for your welfare that I venture to say what I do."
"Your kindness I can never forget," replied Appleton, with emotion. "It saved my life; and, now that you go still further, and seek to impart a knowledge of those true principles by which men attain happiness, shall I be hurt by any plainness of speech? Oh, no sir. For what you have said I thank you most sincerely. It points me to past errors, while it throws a light upon the future. For a year my mind has been tossing from billow to billow,
"Engage earnestly in some calling, prosecute some study with an end to eminence and usefulness in a profession," said Mr. Warwick, "and this will interest your mind and keep it from preying upon itself."
"Nothing else will sustain me; deeply do I feel that," replied the young man.
"You were engaged in the study of medicine, I believe?"
"I was," replied Appleton.
"Do you like the profession?"
"Yes, better than any other."
"Then let me advise you, by all means, to resume it on your return to P-----. It is a calling in which you may render most important service to your fellow men; and society has a claim upon you for this service. For every comfort you enjoy you are indebted to the labor of others, and shall you not give back to the common stock the product of your own peculiar ability?"
"My dear sir," replied Appleton, grasping the hand of the minister, "you are pouring a flood of light upon my mind. Ah, if I could have seen all this a year ago as clearly as I see it now, how different would all have been?"
"You erred, and have suffered deeply for your error; but you are still young; time heals the deepest wounds. Look not back upon the past; spend no time in vain regrets, but perform diligently in the present the work your hands find to do, and all will be well in the future."
"The future," sighed Appleton. "Ah! how gloomy is all before me."
"Right action in the present," replied Mr. Warwick,
"I believe this, but ah, to make belief a practical principle, there lies the difficulty."
"Yes, that is the difficulty which all experience; that is thedifficulty you will experience. But it is more an imaginary difficulty than a real one. Make the first effort, and after that, like the continued action of machinery, all will move on at an expenditure of force comparatively small."
"With so much at stake, I must compel myself to act from reason's dictate," said Appleton.
"It is only by self-compulsion that any one acts right in the beginning, for all our naturaltendencies are too evil, and it requires often a strong effort to arrest the current of these tendencies. But, when the current begins to set the other way, how great the reward that is given. Do not despond, Mr. Appleton; do not look along the vista of the future with a fainting heart. All will come out right in the end--all must come out right in the end."
"Ah! if I could only quiet the feverish pulsations of my heart? If I could only forget!" sighed the young man.
"True forgetfulness, in which there is a real peace of mind, will only come to you, as I have already said, while engaged in some useful employment. Do not forget this."
"I will try to keep it ever in remembrance."
"Do so; and, as you move on in life, you will find the rough way becoming plainer and the crooked paths straight," was the earnestly spoken reply of the minister.
APPLETON remained a few days longer under the hospitable roof of Mr. Warwick, who sought in every way to fill his mind with correct principles in order that he might stand self-sustained, so to speak, when he went back again into the world. Then he returned to P-----, so changed in appearance from what he was when he left, that his friends hardly knew him.
The loss of Marion took away the eager desire he had felt to gain his suit against the Mercer estate. He had an income, sufficient, with strict economy, to meet his expenses, and, as he now looked forward with no ardent anticipations, he was less anxious about the result. The tendency in his feelings was to sink down into a passive, gloomy state;--to sit and brood idly over the wreck of his fondest hopes in life. But the truth, so earnestly and clearly presented to him by Mr. Warwick, came to save him. He saw that to act thus would be little less than madness. Deliberately he resolved to begin again the study of his profession, and to prosecute it diligently to the end. But, in order to do this, it would be necessary to remove to another city, for to remain where he was liable, every day, to come in contact with Marion, would be risking too much. If he would forget her, he must not see her. To this end, after making all necessary arrangements with his counsel for prosecuting his suit to a final issue, he removed to Baltimore and entered the office of a physician there as a student.
After the long diversion of his thoughts and late wild
Still, fresh in his thoughts remained the words of wisdom uttered by Mr. Warwick, and, in the anguish of his mind, he was driven to let them rule his conduct. As an antidote to mental pain, he gave, for a time, a forced application to books, and continued it until an interest in medical science was again awakened. It so happened that his preceptor held the office of professor of chemistry in one of the medical colleges, and as the winter course of lectures was in progress when Appleton entered his office, he frequently engaged his assistance in making experiments in his own laboratory. In these experiments Appleton soon became interested, and, before the spring opened, was pursuing them with some eagerness.
This sustained him from the beginning, and kept his mind in a just equipoise.
While in the office among his books, in the laboratory or lecture-room, Appleton's feelings were tranquil; but, when his thoughts turned from his profession, gloom settled over all. He could not banish the image of Marion from his heart; he could not hide her face from view, strive as he would.
Time went on, and Appleton completed his course of studies and received a diploma. This was two years after his removal to Baltimore. Up to that time, he had lived a solitary life, resisting all the efforts of the few friends he made to draw him into any social circle. About this time, greatly to his surprise, the suit against
On coming into possession of this large amount of property, Appleton determined to go abroad for a few years, instead of commencing the practice of medicine as he had purposed; and this determination was acted upon immediately.
Two years he remained in Europe, and then returned to Baltimore. No marked change was visible in his appearance. His face was thin and pale as when he left, his brow thoughtful, and there was about him a dreamy, absent air. He did not, as before, however, shut himself out from society, but entered the social and family circle whenever opportunities of introduction were presented. This brought him into company with many young ladies, and at length an interest was awakened in his feelings for one, a Miss Everett. Perhaps the reason why he was attracted to her more than to others was the fact that, in many things, she reminded him of the one he had lost. There was something in her face, but more particularly in the tones of her voice, that awakened a thought of Marion. By slow degrees her image began to form itself in his mind, and to hide that of her who had so long filled it. Without a purpose in his thoughts, he sought her company more and more frequently, and in every interview felt the gradual kindling of a warmer interest.
Such was the state of his feelings, when he visited the Bedford Springs, attracted thither by the presence of Caroline Everett. His meeting there with Marion has already been mentioned. Its effect upon his feelings was less strongly marked by visible emotion than the effect upon Marion. This was because he exercised a greater
Miss Everett marked, in utter astonishment, the effect produced upon Appleton and Mrs. Paulding. Before she had recovered from this state of mute surprise, the young man said:
"Excuse me, if you please," and, turning from her, went hurriedly to his room. Soon after, without communicating to any one his design, he left for Baltimore, in the private conveyance by which he had come up to Bedford. When Miss Everett returned home, two weeks afterward, she learned, with a feeling of pain, that Appleton had gone back to Europe.
CHAPTER XIII. CONCLUSION.{smaller text}FIVE more years have passed.
In the office of the United States Legation in Paris, sat a man with a file of American newspapers before him. Though he turned leaf after leaf, and let his eyes run over column after column, yet he did not appear to be in search of any definite item of intelligence. Suddenly his attention was arrested, and he bent eagerly down, and read:
"Died, in this city, on the 2d instant, James Paulding, in the 34th year of his age. He leaves a widow, but no children."
Referring quickly to the date of the paper containing this announcement, he found that the event recorded took place in P----- more than a year before. Then, shading
This man was Doctor Appleton. For the greater part of the preceding five years he had resided in Paris, leading a solitary life, and spending most of his time in scientific investigations. During that period the surface of his feelings had hardened, and he was undisturbed by the waves of emotion which, through all the previous five years, had moved constantly over his heart. But now, the light congealation was swept away, and the waters were heaving again in strong undulations, though not, as before, beneath a midnight sky. The sun had arisen, and light was flashing back from every crest that lifted itself in the air.
A month from this time, Mrs. Paulding, who had passed through the period of mourning for her husband, and laid aside the weeds of widowhood, was sitting in the vine-covered portico of her father's house in Belleville, gazing upon a sky as brilliant in its sunset glory as that which marked the evening of her marriage. But how different were her thoughts and feelings! After the death of Mr. Paulding, the image of her first love, over which she had thrown a veil, came once more into view, and she could look upon it without a rebuking consciousness that it was sin; and now that image was ever distinctly present.
As she sat gazing into the brilliant west, her mind was more than usually occupied with thoughts of Appleton. She had heard of his immediate departure for Europe after the meeting at Bedford Springs, and was not mistaken as to the reason. Since that time she had not heard of him. He might be dead; or he might be living happily in union with some one who had become
"Marion!" fell from the stranger's lips, as he gazed intently upon her face, while he partly extended his hands. "Marion!" There was a thrilling eagerness in his voice.
No word did Marion utter in reply. But a sudden light gleamed over her countenance, as she arose to her feet. For a few moments she stood looking at him, and then sank forward, with tears gushing from the very well springs of joy, upon the bosom from which she had been held back for so many, many years.
In less than a week, another marriage contract was sealed in the house of Mr. Hale, and old Mr. Warwick performed the rite.
After spending a short time in Belleville, Dr. Appleton returned to P-----, with his bride, where he located himself, and commenced the practice of his profession. He was sitting in his office one day, when an old man, bent with age, came in and asked for medical advice.
"Zadac!" said the physician in a quick, emphatic voice, after he had looked steadily at his visitor for a few moments.
"You know me, then?" replied the old man.
"I have cause to know you!" said Appleton,sternly.
"But for you, I would have escaped ten years of misery."
"It is not with me to make any man happy or miserable," returned the old Astrologer. "That power
"You deceived me by your lying art, when I was weak enough to consult you."
"I have deceived no man," said Zadac, calmly. "I believed in my art, and practiced it sincerely."
"It is a lying art, and you know it."
"No, Doctor."
"It lied in my case. You prophesied--"
"And time has brought, or will bring the fulfilment," said Zadac, interrupting him.
"Time--time!" murmured Appleton, in a subdued voice. "Time! Oh, what a long and weary time! Accursed art!"
"You wished to know the future," said Zadac, "and unwisely sought to gain the desired knowledge. You came to me, and I read for you what I found written in the stars. Such knowledge is not good for man, and therefore his Creator has withheld it. But, to such as impatiently seek to lift the veil that hides the future, and who use certain means for attaining this end, imperfect glimpses of things to come are sometimes given. You obtained such glimpses, and the sight disturbed your present life. Unhappiness followed as a certain consequence. Do not blame me, then. Blame yourself. You made use of me as an instrument to gain a certain end, and I am blameless as a mere instrument."
The manner, as well as the words of the Astrologer, had the effect to subdue the sudden excitement of Doctor Appleton.
"Zadac," said he, after thinking more calmly for a few moments, "you speak of your art as a true art. How far is it true? Or, to what extent is your faith involved?"
The Astrologer did not reply. The question caused
"In a word, Zadac," continued Appleton, "do you believe in such a thing as astral influence reaching to man's moral life? The stars are mere bodies of matter, while man is a spirit. Can any aspect of such bodies foreshadow the destiny of a spiritual existence?"
"I can scarcely believe it," replied Zadac, lifting his eyes from the floor.
"This from you!" ejaculated the physician, evincing surprise.
"There is a mystery connected with the whole matter," said Zadac, seriously, "that puzzles me at times. It is not to be denied that the astrological aspects of the heavens, as compared with the lives of certain individuals, show remarkable indications and coincidences. Moreover, in hundreds of instances in which I have cast nativities and answered questions touching future events by means of the stars, the replies have been strangely verified; but, as in your case, never to the satisfaction of the interrogator. There has always been some drawback in the fulfillment--something to leave the mind in painful disappointment. Something to show that only a partial glimpse can ever be had into the future, and that even such glimpse is only given for the correction of an impatient heart that is not willing to work and wait for the future, believing that all will come out right in the end."
"You have doubtless uttered the truth, Zadac. Yes, yes--you have unveiled the mystery. But one question more. Will not the same result follow, if you consult the future through other means than the stars? Fortune-tellers use cards, and even the sediment in a coffee or teacup."
"One mode is about as good as the other," replied the
"Then why did you give up the easier method of cards?"
"When I told fortunes by cards, I was plain Abram Jones, and poor at that. But, as Zadac, the Astrologer, I soon acquired importance, and became rich."
"Do you still consult the stars?"
"No. I abandoned this work some years since."
"You have done harm in your time, Zadac, or Mr. Jones, by whichever name you are now called," said Doctor Appleton, gravely.
"We all do evil," was replied to this. "I had some faith in my art of fortune-telling when I practiced it, and more in astrology, when I consulted the stars. Men wanted a certain service, and asked me to perform it for them. I did my part, but with them rested the consequences. As to the harm of which you speak, I must be permitted to differ with you. The surgeon does not harm his patient when he cuts off a mortified limb, or extirpates a tumor; but, though he is the instrument of the great pain in the present, he becomes the medium of good in the future. In something of the same relation have I stood to my morally-diseased patients."
"Rather a broad assumption," said Appleton.
"It may appear so. But of one thing you may be sure, doctor; no such disorderly work as I have been engaged in would be permitted, if there were not dark and evil statesin some men, requiring its reaction in order to make their states apparent. Except for your experience in astrology, you would not be as wise a man as you are to-day. But happy are they who choose some other road to wisdom!"
For some time after the old man said this,Appleton
"Yes, yes," he murmured to himself, after his patient departed, "Zadac said truly: Happy are they who choose some other road to wisdom."
THE END.{centered}