"The hypocrite had left his mask, and stood
In naked ugliness. He was a man
Who stole the livery of the court of Heaven
To serve the devil in."
—POLLOCK.
Three hours after his interview and rejection by Erminie, Judge Lawless alighted at the inn-door in Judestown. The obsequious landlord came out all bows and smiles to greet the grand seignor of this rustic town, and ushered him into the parlor with as much, and considerably more, respect than he would have shown to the king of England, had that gentleman condescended to visit the "Judestown House," as the flaming gilt sign-board announced it to be.
"Glass wine, sir? brandy water, sir? s'gar, sir? anything you want, sir?" insinuated mine host, all in a breath.
"No, my good man, I want nothing," said the judge, with a pompous wave of his jeweled hand; "I have come on important business this afternoon. Is there a somewhat dissipated character, a sailor, called Black—Black—really I—"
"Bart, sir? Yes, sir. Here five minutes 'go sir," breathlessly cut in the landlord.
"Ah!" said the judge, slowly, passing his hand over his mustache; "can you find him for me? I wish to see him. I have reason to believe he can give me some information concerning these smugglers who of late have alarmed the good people around here so much."
"Yes, sir, hunt him up five minutes sir." And off bustled the host of the Judestown House in search of Black Bart.
Judge Lawless arose with knit brows and began pacing excitedly up and down the room when alone. He knew this Black Bart well, knew all about the smugglers, too, as his well-stocked cellar could testify. Judge Lawless found them very useful in various ways and having a remarkably elastic conscience of his own was troubled with no scruples about cheating the revenue, so long as his wine-bin was well supplied. But this was abduction—something more dangerous, something that required all his wounded self-love, and disappointed passion, and intense mortification to give him courage for. But his plans were formed. For money he knew Black Bart and his comrades would do anything, and money Judge Lawless had in plenty.
Half an hour passed. The judge began to cast many an impatient glance toward the door, when a bold, vigorous knock was heard. Knocks are very expressive to those who understand them; they speak as plainly as words; and this one was given with a loud, surly independence, that said, just as plainly as lips could speak: "I am as good a man as you are, Judge Lawless, and I don't care a curse for you or all the revenue officers from here to Land's End." Judge Lawless understood it, and throwing himself into a chair, he called out, blandly:
"Come in."
The door opened, and a short, thick-set, weather-beaten, grim-looking old sea-dog made his appearance, and giving his head a slight jerk to one side, by way of acknowledging the judge's presence, walked straight up to the fireplace, and deliberately spit a discharge of tobacco-juice right into the eyes of an unoffending cat, by way of commencing business. Then turning his back to the mantel, he put his hands behind him, crossed his feet, and stood ready to commence operations.
"Well, square, what's in the wind now?" demanded the new-comer, at length, seeing the judge did not seem inclined to speak.
"Bart," said the judge, in a low, cautious tone, "I have a job for you."
"All right—I'm there! what's it, square? Anything in the old line?"
"No; this is something quite different. How long do you remain here this time?"
"Can't say for certain, boss. The schooner's off a-repairin' and we're tryin' the land dodge till she's ready again! no telling though, yet, when that may be."
"Is that woman who accompanies you here likewise?"
"Cap'n's wife? Well, yes, square, I reckon she is. What do you want of her?"
"I want her to take charge of a young girl that you must carry off. Do you understand?"
"Forcible 'duction, 'saultin' and batterin.' Come, square, you're goin' it strong."
"Speak lower, for heaven's sake! Will you undertake to do this for me?"
"If you make it worth while! Fork over the needful, and I'm there!"
"Money you shall have; but do you think this woman will undertake to look after the girl?"
"See here, square; don't say 'this woman.' Call her the cap'n's lady—sounds better. Oh, she's got nothing to do with it; she's got to mind the cap'n. Who's the gal?"
"Sh-sh! not so loud, man! Do you know the cottage on the Barrens, between Dismal Hollow and Heath Hill?"
"Like a book. Why, square, it's not that beauty they talk about here: Miss—Miss—danged if I don't forget the name?"
"Never mind the name—it's of no consequence. She's the girl. Do you know her?"
"Hain't the honor; but one of our crew, a sort of dry-water sailor, knows her; I'll bring him along, and everything will go off like a new broom."
"You must be careful to not mention my name—not even to her; because it would be a dreadful thing for me if this were found out."
"Don't be scary, square, I'll be as close as a clam at high water. When do you want us to captivate the little dear?"
"To-night—any time—the sooner the better!"
"Will you be on hand yourself, square?"
"No! To avoid the faintest shadow of suspicion—though such is not likely to rest on me in any case—I will start for Baltimore immediately, within the very hour, and there remain till all the hubbub her disappearance causes has passed away. You will keep her securely in your hidden cave all the time; and when the excitement has died out I will come and relieve you of your charge."
"You're a brick, square—you are, by Lord Harry! What will be your next dodge, then?"
"That's as may be; most probably I shall take her with me to England. That's to be thought of yet, however; but I'll find a way, never fear."
"Square, they ought to 'lect you to the Senate—dang my buttons if they oughtn't! When I get unseaworthy I'm going to set up for myself; can lie and fight, and roar at 'tagonists like a brick; and got all the other qualifications, too numerous to mention."
And with this slander on senators in general, Black Bart clapped half a plug of tobacco in the other cheek, and indulged in a quiet chuckle.
"Well, that's all, I believe," said the judge, rising. "You think you will know this girl when you see her?"
"I won't—t'other one will—trust me, square; I'll go off and see him now, and him and me will take a stroll round that way."
"If she could be inveigled from the house after night it would be the best time and way," said the judge, musingly.
"Leave all them particulars to me, square: I'll fix things up about the tallest. When's the needful to come?"
"When I return. You know me. Now, Bart, remember, to-night if you can; in three or four weeks at the furthest, I will return."
The judge turned and left the room, mounted his horse and rode off. Black Bart hitched up his pantaloons, and then fell back in a chair, snapping his fingers, flourishing his heels, and indulging in such tremendous roars of laughter that the landlord rushed in, in deadly alarm, to see what awful calamity had happened.
But still Black Bart gave vent to such appalling laughter-claps, without speaking, throwing himself back as if his spine was made of steel springs, and then jerking himself straight again, kicking his heels, snapping his finger and thumb, and indulging in such extraordinary antics of delight, that Boniface, completely at a loss, stood staring at him in silent wonder, thinking the judge's communication, whatever it might have been, had completely turned his brain.
"There, Bart, be quiet now," said the host, soothingly. "You're scaring the people in the shop out of their wits. What's the matter with you, anyway?"
"Nothing!" replied Black Bart, going off into another roar, more deafening, if possible, than the first.
"Well, I must say 'nothing' seems to be rather funny," said the puzzled landlord. "Was the judge pumping you about the smugglers?"
"Oh, Lord, don't!" shouted the sailor with such a yell of laughter, and putting himself into such frightful contortions of delight that the startled host stepped back and grasped the handle of the door with an alarmed glance toward his strange customer.
"I'm off now," said Bart at length, as soon as he had recovered from this last paroxysm; and wiping the tears from his eyes, he started at a Flora Temple pace down the street, pausing, however, now and then, as his lively sense of the ridiculous overcame him, to indulge in another terrifying peal of laughter, till affrighted pedestrians fled from him in horror, thinking a dangerous lunatic had somewhere broken loose.
He reached a low, smoky, obscure drinking den, near the end of the town, at last, and passing through the bar-room he entered another low, dirty, dingy apartment, where the first individual on whom his eyes rested, was our some-time friend, Mr. Rozzel Garnet.
"Well, Bart," asked that gentleman, eagerly, "what did Judge Lawless want of you in such haste?"
"Oh! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!" roared Black Bart, in a perfect agony of enjoyment. "If it isn't about the best fun I've ever heard tell on. Why, man alive, you'd never guess if you were to try from this to doomsday. Judge Lawless, the saint, the angel, the parson, has fell in love, and wants the girl carried off! Oh! ha! ha! ha! ha! I'll split my sides!"
Mr. Rozzel Garnet did not join in Black Bart's merriment. He opened his eyes to their widest extent, and indulged in a long, low whistle, expressive of any amount of astonishment.
"Who's the girl?" he asked, at length.
"That wonderful beauty at Old Barrens Cottage—nothing shorter. Everything arranged, and the square will come down like a prince—or if he doesn't, we'll make him. I don't know her; so you're to come with me, and together we'll carry off the girl the first chance. The judge has gone to Baltimore to keep out of harm's way, and won't be back for three or four weeks. Ain't it beautiful? The old judge in love! Ha! ha! ha!"
Like lightning there flashed a project of revenge across the mind of Rozzel Garnet. None of the smugglers knew either Erminie or Pet Lawless—why not carry off Pet instead of the other, and thus gratify his own passions, disappoint the judge, and have revenge. The blood flashed fiercely and hotly to his face as he thought of it; and he rose and walked to the window to hide his emotion from the keen eyes of his fellow-smuggler—for Garnet had joined them in their roving life after leaving the judge's.
"Well, old fellow, what do you say to it?" asked Black Bart.
"I'm your man!" exclaimed Garnet, turning from the window, all his customary cool composure restored. "We will start immediately, and keep watch until night; it is more than probable we will see her before then, and, as the judge says, the sooner the better. Come along."
Had Petronilla's lucky star set? had her good angel deserted her? had Satan come to the assistance of his earthly myrmidons? had the Fates willed it, that her pony "Starlight" should on that eventful day cast a shoe, lame himself, and so be unfit to ride?
Pet rambled restlessly about the house, one minute terrifying rooks, and bats, and swallows from their homes in the eaves and chimneys, by banging away at some new polka on the piano; the next, seizing the bellows for a partner, and going waltzing round the room; the next, rushing like a mad thing as she was, up stairs, and then sliding down the banisters.
"For," said Pet, "exercise is good for the health; and as Aunt Deb won't let me ride the clothes-horse, I'm going to try this."
And try it she did, till she tore the dress nearly off her back; and then, getting tired of this, she determined to go over to the Old Barrens Cottage, and see Erminie.
The day was beautiful; so Pet determined to walk. Throwing a light muslin cape over her shoulders, and pulling a broad straw flat down over her eyes, the dark-eyed "heiress, beauty, and belle," set out, singing as she went.
Somehow, since the return of Ray, Pet had visited the cottage much less frequently than usual and in all probability would not have gone now, only she knew he had gone to Judestown that morning and was not expected back until the next day. Pet saw that he shunned and avoided her: and no matter how easy and natural he had been a moment before, the instant she entered he wrapped himself in his very coldest mantle of reserve, and looked more like a banished prince than common Christian. Pet saw this; and her own heart, as proud as his in another way, swelled with wounded feeling and indignation; and she inwardly vowed to let him see that she cared just as little for him as he could possibly care for her. Poor Pet! this conviction and resolution cost her the first bitter tears she had ever shed in her whole sunshiny life; but as she felt them falling warm and fast, she sprung quickly up, dashed them indignantly away, as if ashamed to own even to her own heart how much she cared for him.
"No; he shall never know that I cared two pins about him!" exclaimed Pet, with flashing eyes and flushing cheeks. "He dislikes me; I can see that plainly enough; and if he was a prince of the blood royal, I would not stoop to sue for his favor. I don't care for him; I won't care for him. I just hate him—a stiff, haughty, young Turk—there now!"
And then having relieved her mind by a "real good cry," Pet got up and whistled to her dogs, and set off for a scamper round the yard, to the great detriment of her gaiters, and the alarming increase of her appetite. Pet wasn't sentimental; so she neither took to sighing nor star-gazing, nor writing poetry; but pursued the even, or rather uneven, tenor of her way, and inwardly vowed that, "if nobody cared for her, she would care for nobody."
Little did Pet know the real cause of Ray's avoidance. High-spirited and proud, almost morbid in his pride at times, and loving this dazzling, sparkling vision of beauty and brightness more and more every time he saw her, he felt it his duty to shun her as much as possible. To know this star-eyed, dazzling, dancing fay without loving her was a simple impossibility; and Ray Germaine, with his passionate admiration of beauty, and fiery gipsy blood, loved her with an intensity that only hot, passionate, Southern natures like his can feel. And with this mad love was the certain conviction that he might as well love a "bright, particular star," and hope to win it, as the wealthy heiress of Judge Lawless, who was soon destined to make her début in the gilded salons of Washington city, where all the lions of the capital would soon be in adoration at her feet. And he—what was he? The grandson of a gipsy woman, educated by the bounty of a stranger. What was he that he should dare to lift his eyes to this peerless beauty and belle? Proud, as we have said he was, to excess, he shunned and avoided her for whom he would have given up the wide world and all it contained, has he possessed it, lest in some unguarded moment he should divulge the one secret of his fierce and daily increasing love.
And in this unpleasant way matters stood on the day when Pet set out from Heath Hill to Old Barrens Cottage. Pet was a good walker; but, owing to the intense heat, she was completely tired out by the time she reached the cottage. Erminie alone was there, ready to welcome her friend with her own peculiar sunshiny smile.
It was very pleasant, that cool, breezy sitting-room, that scorchingly hot day, with its plain straw matting, its cool, green, Venetian blinds, its plump, tempting, cushioned rocking-chairs, and fragrant bouquets of flowers in glasses of pure, sparkling water. But the prettiest, pleasantest sight of all was its lovely young mistress in her simple, beautifully-fitting dress of blue gingham, with its snowy collar and little black silk apron boasting the cunningest pockets in the world; her shiny hair floating twined in broad damp braids round her superb little head; and where the sunshine lingered lovingly upon it, seeming like a shining glory over her smooth white brow. Yes, it was very pleasant—the pretty cottage-room; the lovely cottage maiden; and yet the dark, bright, dazzling brunette in her glancing shot silk, with her flashing jetty curls, her lustrous, splendid Syrian eyes, of midnight blackness; her whole vivacious, restless, glittering, entrancing face and form lost nothing by contrast with any one in the world.
"Well, I declare, Ermie, I don't know any place in the wide world half as cool and pleasant as this cottage of yours. Now, at Heath Hill it's enough to roast an African. Goodness! how hot I am!" said Pet, commencing to fan herself vigorously.
"The sea-breeze makes this cool," said Erminie; "that is the reason. I am so glad you came over this afternoon, for Ray, you know, is not coming home to-night. It is really too bad, I think, that he should leave us and go back again to that tiresome New York so soon."
"Ah! when is he going?" said Pet, still violently fanning herself, though her bright bloom of color was far less vivid then it had been a moment before.
"The day after to-morrow, he says; and not to return for perhaps a year. I will feel dreadfully lonesome, I know, and grandmother will miss him so much. But young men are so headstrong and self-willed that there is no doing anything with them—don't you think so, Pet?" said Erminie, smiling.
"Never thought on the subject as I know of; but I dare say they are. They're not to be blamed for it, though; it runs in man's wretched nature. Ah! I never was properly thankful for not being a man till one day I went and dressed myself in a suit of their clothes. Such wretchedly feeling things as they were, to be sure! I've never been in the stock, or the pillory, or stretched on a rack, or walking through a treadmill, or any of those other disagreeable things; but even since then I've a pretty good notion of what they must be like. It was a regular martyrdom while I had them on, and how the mischief anybody ever can survive in them is more than I know. Think of descending to posterity in a pair of pants!"
Erminie laughed, and Pet rattled on till tea was ready. Then they drank Lucy's fragrant black tea, and ate her delicate nice waffles, and praised her jam; and then, when the sun had long set, and the dark, cool, evening shadows began to fall, Pet got up, put on her hat, kissed Erminie, and set out on her return to Heath Hill.
"You ought to have told some of the servants to come for you," said Erminie. "It is rather far for you to go alone."
"Oh, there is no danger," said Pet; "on the forest road and the shore there may be; but here on the heath all is safe enough. Good night." And Pet started off at a brisk walk.
Two men, crouching behind a clump of stunted spruce bushes, were watching her with lynx eyes, as her slight, graceful form approached. It was not quite dark, but what the Scotch call "the gloaming," and the bright draped figure was plainly conspicuous on the brown, bare heath.
"There she comes at last," whispered the younger of the two, in a quick fierce tone, breathing hotly and quickly while he spoke; "I will spring out as she passes and throw this shawl over her head, while you tie her hands and feet."
"All right," said the other, in the same low tone. "Jupiter! how she goes it! Can't she walk Spanish, though! I tell you, Garnet, she's a regular stunner, and no mistake."
The other made no reply. His lurid, burning eyes were fixed on the dark, brilliant face of Petronilla.
All unconscious she passed on. Scarcely had she done so when, with the quick, noiseless spring of a panther, Garnet darted from behind the bushes, and flung a large plaid over the head of Pet, and grasped her firmly in his arms. With equal agility the other followed; and Pet was securely bound hand and foot before she had sufficiently recovered from her surprise to make the slightest struggle.
"Mine! Mine! at last!" whispered a voice she knew too well, as his arms enfolded her in a fierce embrace. "Beautiful eaglet, caged at last!"
In vain she struggled—in vain she strove to cry out for help. Feet and hands were securely bound; the heavy shawl was half-smothering her, and her captor's arms held her like a vise.
"Now for the cave! On! on! there's no time to lose!" cried Garnet, with fierce impatience, starting forward as though he were carrying an infant over the heath.