Part 51 (1/2)
”How is he now?” asked Miss Ellstowe.
”Better--much better,” answered he, cheerfully; ”but very wild and distracted in his manner--alarmingly so, in fact. He clung to my hand, and wrung it when we parted, and bid me good bye again and again, as if it was for the last time. Poor fellow! he is frightened at that hemorrhage, and is afraid it will be fatal; but there is not any danger, he only requires to be kept quiet--he will soon come round again, no doubt. I shall have to ask you to excuse me again,” said he, in conclusion; ”I must go and see my daughter.”
Mr. Bates was rising to depart, when George Stevens gave Miss Ellstowe a significant look, who said, in a hesitating tone, ”Mr. Bates, one moment before you go. My friend, Mr. Stevens, has a communication to make to you respecting Mr. Garie, which will, I fear, cause you, as it already has me, deep distress.”
”Indeed!” rejoined Mr. Bates, in a tone of surprise; ”What is it? Nothing that reflects upon his character, I hope.”
”I do not know how my information will influence your conduct towards him, for I do not know what your sentiments may be respecting such persons. I know society in general do not receive them, and my surprise was very great to find him here.”
”I do not understand you; what do you mean?” demanded Mr. Bates, in a tone of perplexity; ”has he ever committed any crime?”
”HE IS A COLOURED MAN,” answered George Stevens, briefly. Mr. Bates became almost purple, and gasped for breath; then, after staring at his informant for a few seconds incredulously, repeated the words ”Coloured man,” in a dreamy manner, as if in doubt whether he had really heard them.
”Yes, coloured man,” said George Stevens, confidently; ”it grieves me to be the medium of such disagreeable intelligence; and I a.s.sure you I only undertook the office upon the representation of Miss Ellstowe, that you were not aware of the fact, and would regard my communication as an act of kindness.”
”It--it _can't_ be,” exclaimed Mr. Bates, with the air of a man determined not to be convinced of a disagreeable truth; ”it cannot be possible.”
Hereupon George Stevens related to him what he had recently told Miss Ellstowe respecting the parentage and position of Clarence. During the narration, the old man became almost frantic with rage and sorrow, bursting forth once or twice with the most violent exclamations; and when George Stevens concluded, he rose and said, in a husky voice--
”I'll kill him, the infernal hypocrite! Oh! the impostor to come to my house in this nefarious manner, and steal the affections of my daughter--the devilish villain! a b.a.s.t.a.r.d! a contemptible black-hearted n.i.g.g.e.r. Oh, my child--my child! it will break your heart when you know what deep disgrace has come upon you. I'll go to him,” added he, his face flushed, and his white hair almost erect with rage; ”I'll murder him--there's not a man in the city will blame me for it,” and he grasped his cane as though he would go at once, and inflict summary vengeance upon the offender.
”Stop, sir, don't be rash,” exclaimed George Stevens; ”I would not screen this fellow from the effects of your just and very natural indignation--he is abundantly worthy of the severest punishment you can bestow; but if you go in your present excited state, you might be tempted to do something which would make this whole affair public, and injure, thereby, your daughter's future. You'll pardon me, I trust, and not think me presuming upon my short acquaintance in making the suggestion.”
Mr. Bates looked about him bewilderedly for a short time, and then replied, ”No, no, you need not apologize, you are right--I thank you; I myself should have known better. But my poor child! what will become of her?” and in an agony of sorrow he resumed his seat, and buried his face in his hands.
George Stevens prepared to take his departure, but Mr. Bates pressed him to remain. ”In a little while,” said he, ”I shall be more composed, and then I wish you to go with me to this worthless scoundrel. I must see him at once, and warn him what the consequences will be should he dare approach my child again. Don't fear me,” he added, as he saw George Stevens hesitated to remain; ”that whirlwind of pa.s.sion is over now. I promise you I shall do nothing unworthy of myself or my child.”
It was not long before they departed together for the hotel at which Clarence was staying. When they entered his room, they found him in his bed, with the miniature of little Birdie in his hands. When he observed the dark scowl on the face of Mr. Bates, and saw by whom he was accompanied, he knew his secret was discovered; he saw it written on their faces. He trembled like a leaf, and his heart seemed like a lump of ice in his bosom.
Mr. Bates was about to speak, when Clarence held up his hand in the att.i.tude of one endeavouring to ward off a blow, and whispered hoa.r.s.ely--
”Don't tell me--not yet--a little longer! I see you know all. I see my sentence written on your face! Let me dream a little longer ere you speak the words that must for ever part me and little Birdie. I know you have come to separate us--but don't tell me yet; for when you do,” said he, in an agonized tone, ”it will kill me!”
”I wish to G.o.d it would!” rejoined Mr. Bates. ”I wish you had died long ago; then you would have never come beneath my roof to destroy its peace for ever. You have acted basely, palming yourself upon us--counterfeit as you were! and taking in exchange her true love and my honest, honourable regard.”
Clarence attempted to speak, but Mr. Bates glared at him, and continued--”There are laws to punish thieves and counterfeits--but such as you may go unchastised, except by the abhorrence of all honourable men. Had you been unaware of your origin, and had the revelation of this gentleman been as new to you as to me, you would have deserved sympathy; but you have been acting a lie, claiming a position in society to which you knew you had no right, and deserve execration and contempt. Did I treat you as my feelings dictated, you would understand what is meant by the weight of a father's anger; but I do not wish the world to know that my daughter has been wasting her affections upon a worthless n.i.g.g.e.r; that is all that protects you! Now, hear me,” he added, fiercely,--”if ever you presume to darken my door again, or attempt to approach my daughter, I will shoot you, as sure as you sit there before me!”
”And serve you perfectly right!” observed George Stevens.
”Silence, sir!” rejoined Clarence, sternly. ”How dare you interfere? He may say what he likes--reproach me as he pleases--_he_ is _her_ father--I have no other reply; but if you dare again to utter a word, I'll--” and Clarence paused and looked about him as if in search of something with which to enforce silence.
Feeble-looking as he was, there was an air of determination about him which commanded acquiescence, and George Stevens did not venture upon another observation during the interview.
”I want my daughter's letters--every line she ever wrote to you; get them at once--I want them now,” said Mr. Bates, imperatively.
”I cannot give them to you immediately, they are not accessible at present.
Does she want them?” he asked, feebly--”has she desired to have them back?”
”Never mind that!” said the old man, sternly; ”no evasions. Give me the letters!”
”To-morrow I will send them,” said Clarence. ”I will read them all over once again,” thought he.