"I thank you for all the hospitality I have received at your hands. Enclosed you will find my hotel bill receipted, also five dollars for the use of such dresses as I have worn. With best wishes for your mother's restoration to health and for your own welfare, I bid you good by. P. B." The three women now passed through a side entrance to the street where the carriage was in waiting; and before half an hour had elapsed, Clara was established in the blue room of the house in Lafayette Square, the invalid lady had seen her and approved, and Esha, like a faithful hound, was following her steps, keeping watch, as Ratcliff had directed, though for other reasons than he had imagined. Hardly had Clara left the hotel, before Vance called. He had come, fully resolved to wring from her, if possible, the secret of her trouble. Much to his disappointment, he learned she had gone and would not return. He called a second time, and saw Miss Tremaine. That young lady, warned and threatened by her father, now displayed such a ready and facile gift for lying, as would have highly distinguished her in diplomacy. "Only think of it, Mr. Vance," said the intrepid Laura, "it turns out that Miss Brown has been having a love affair with one of her father's clerks, a low-born Yankee. He followed her to New Orleans, managed to send a letter to her at Mrs. Gentry's, — Clara went forth to find him, but, failing in her search, came to claim hospitality of me. This morning her father a very decent man he seems to be arrived from Mobile and took her, fortunately before she had been able to meet her lover." The story was plausible. Vance, however, looked the narrator sharply and searchingly in the face. She met his glance with an expression beaming with innocence and candor. It was irresistible. The strong man surrendered all suspicion, and gave in "beat." CHAPTER XXXII. A DOUBLE VICTORY. "Whence it is manifest that the soul, speaking in a natural sense, loseth nothing by Death, but is a very considerable gainer thereby. For she does not only possess as much body as before, with as full and solid dimensions, but has that accession cast in, of having this body more invigorated with life and motion than it was formerly."- Henry More, A. D. 1659. 66 "I "No, sure, 't is ever youth there! Time and Death Beaumont and Fletcher. SHALL be jealous of this little lady if you go on at this rate," said Madame Volney to Mrs. Ratcliff, a week after Clara had been established in the house. "Never fear that I shall love you less, my dear Josephine," replied the invalid. Then, pointing to her heart, she added: "I've a place here big enough for both of you. I only wish 't were in better repair." "Have you had those sharp throbbings to-day?" "Not badly. You warn me against excitement. I sometimes think I'm better under it. Certainly I've improved since Esha and Darling have been here. What should I do now without Darling to play and read to me? What a touch she has! And what a voice! And then her selection of music and of books is so good. By the way, she promised to translate a story for me from the German. I wonder if she has it finished. Go ask her." The answer was brought by Clara herself, and Josephine left. the two together. Yes, Clara had written out the story. It was called Zu Spat, or "Too Late," and was by an anony mous author. Clara read aloud from it. She had read about ten minutes, when the following passage occurred: "Selfish and superstitious, the Baroness put out of her mind the irksome thought of making her will; but now, struck speechless by disease, and paralyzed in her hands, she was impotent to communicate her wishes. Her agonized effort to say something in her last moments undoubtedly related to a will. But she died intestate, and all her large estate passed into the hands of a comparative stranger. And thus the humble friends whose kindness had saved and prolonged her life were left to struggle with the world for a meagre support. If in the new condition to which she had passed through death she could look back on her selfishness and its consequences, what poignant regrets must have been hers!" "Read that passage again,” said Mrs. Ratcliff; adding, after Clara had complied, "You need n't read any more now." That evening the wife summoned the husband to an interview. Somewhat surprised at the unusual command, Ratcliff made his appearance and took a seat at her side. His manner was that of a man who thinks no woman can resist him, and that his transparent cajoleries are the proper pabulum for her weak intellect, poor thing! "Well, my peerless one, what is it?" he asked. "I wish to talk with you, Ratcliff, about this white slave of yours. What do you think of her?” "Think of her? Nothing! I've given no thought to the subject. I've hardly looked at her." "Lie Number 1," thought the invalid, looking him in the face, but betraying no distrust in her expression. The truth was, that Ratcliff, for the first time in his life, was under the power of a sentiment which, if not love, was all that there was in his nature akin to it. Even at political meetings his thoughts would stray from the public business, from the fulminations of "last-ditch" orators and curb-stone generals, and revert to that youthful and enchanting figure. True, Josephine rigidly exacted conformity to the conditions that kept him aloof from all communication with the girl. But Ratcliff, through the window-blinds, would now and then see her, in the pride of youth and beauty, walking with Esha in the garden. He would hear her songs, too. And once, when he thought no one knew it, though the quadroon had her eye on him, he overheard Clara's conversation. "She has mind as well as beauty," thought he. And that brilliant and dainty creature was his, his! He could, if he chose, marry her to the blackest of his slaves. Of course he could! There was no indignity he could not put upon her, under the plea of upholding his rights as a master. Had he not once proved it in another case, on his own plantation? And who had ever dared raise a voice against the just assertion of his rights? Truly, any such rash malcontents, opening their lips, would have been in danger of being ducked as Abolitionists! Patience! Yes, Josephine was right in her scheme of keeping the young girl secluded from his too fascinating society. Not a hint must the maiden have of the favor with which he regarded her, not an intimation, until the present Mrs. Ratcliff should considerately "step out." Then Well, what then? Why, then an end to hopes deferred and desires unfulfilled! Then an immediate private marriage, to be followed by a public one, after a decent interval. Every secret device and cherished anticipation, meanwhile, of that imperious nature was understood and analyzed by the quadroon. She felt a vindictive satisfaction in seeing him riot in calculations which she would task her best energies to baffle. Esha's stories of his conduct to Estelle had withered the last bloom of affection which Josephine's heart had cherished towards him. "I'm glad you're so indifferent to this white slave," said Mrs. Ratcliff to her husband. "And why should you be glad, my pet?" "Because, Ratcliff, I want you to give her to me." Staggered by the suddenness of the request, and puzzled for an answer, he replied: "But she may prove a very valuable piece of property. There's many a man who would pay ten thousand dollars for her, two or three years hence." "Well, if you don't want to give her, then sell her to me. I'll pay you twenty thousand dollars for her.” "You shall have her for nothing, my dear," said Ratcliff, after reflecting that the slave would still be virtually his, inasmuch as no conveyance of her could be made by his wife without his consent. Detecting the trap, the wife at once replied: "Thank you, dear husband. This generosity is so like you! Can she be freed?" "No. There are recent State laws against emancipation. It was found there were too many weak-minded persons, who, in their last moments, beginning to have scruples about slaveholding, would think to purchase heaven by emancipating their slaves. The example was bad, and productive of discontent among those left in bondage." Well, then, Ratcliff, there's one little form you must consent to. The title-deed must be vested in Mr. Winslow." Ratcliff started as if recoiling from a pitfall. The remark brought home to his mind the disagreeable consideration that there was nearly half a million of dollars which ought to come to his wife, but which was absolutely in the keeping and under the control of Simon Winslow. It happened in this wise: The father of Mrs. Ratcliff, old Kittler, not having that entire faith in his son-in-law which so distinguished a member of the chivalry as the South Carolinian ought to have commanded, gave into the hands of Winslow a large sum of money, relying solely upon his honor to use it in loco parentis for the benefit of the lady. But there were no legal restrictions imposed upon Simon as to the disposition of the property, and if he had chosen to give or throw it away, or keep it himself, he might have done it with impunity. Winslow acted much as he would have done if Mrs. Ratcliff had been his own daughter. He invested the money solely for her ultimate benefit and disposal, seeing that her husband already had millions which she had brought him. Ratcliff, however, regarded as virtually his the money in Winslow's hands, and had several angry discussions with him on the subject. But Simon was impracticable. The only concession he would make was to say, that, in the event of Mrs. Ratcliff's death, he should respect any requests she might have made. There had consequently been an informal will, if will it could be called, made by her a year before, in Ratcliff's favor. Wanting money now to carry out his speculations in slaves, Ratcliff had again applied to Winslow for this half a million, had tried wheedlings and threats, both in vain. He had even threatened to denounce Simon before the Committee of Safety, to denounce him as a "damned Yankee and Abolitionist.” To which Simon had replied by taking a pinch of snuff. |