Part 15 (1/2)

Clara's gentle eyes flashed with indignation.

”Infamous!” she cried. ”You slander all womanhood in my person!”

”The evils to which I allude are--comprised in--a life of dishonor!”

hissed Le Noir through his set teeth.

”This to my father's daughter!” exclaimed Clara, growing white as death at the insult. ”Aye, my girl! It is time we understood each other. You are in my power, and I intend to coerce you to my will!”

These words, accompanied as they were by a look that left no doubt upon her mind that he would carry out his purpose to any extremity, so appalled the maiden's soul that she stood like one suddenly struck with catalepsy.

The unscrupulous wretch then approached her and said:

”I am now going to the county seat to take out a marriage license for you and my son. I shall have the carriage at the door by six o'clock this evening, when I desire that you shall be ready to accompany us to church, where a clerical friend will be in attendance to perform the marriage ceremony. Clara Day, if you would save your honor, look to this!”

All this time Clara had neither moved nor spoken nor breathed. She had stood cold, white and still as if turned to stone.

”Let no vain hope of escape delude your mind. The doors will be kept locked; the servants are all warned not to suffer you to leave the house. Look to it, Clara, for the rising of another sun shall see my purpose accomplished!”

And with these words the atrocious wretch left the room. His departure took off the dreadful spell that had paralyzed Clara's life; her blood began to circulate again; breath came to her lungs and speech to her lips.

”Oh, Lord,” she cried, ”oh, Lord, who delivered the children from the fiery furnace, deliver the poor handmaiden now from her terrible foes!”

While she thus prayed she saw upon the writing table before her a small penknife. Her cheeks flushed and her eyes brightened as she seized it.

”This! this!” she said, ”this small instrument is sufficient to save me! Should the worst ensue, I know where to find the carotid artery, and even such a slight puncture as my timorous hand could make would set my spirit free! Oh, my father! oh, my father! you little thought when you taught your Clara the mysteries of anatomy to what a fearful use she would put your lessons! And would it be right? Oh, would it be right? One may desire death, but can anything justify suicide? Oh, Father in heaven, guide me! guide me!” cried Clara, falling upon her knees and sobbing forth this prayer of agony.

Soon approaching footsteps drew her attention. And she had only time to rise and put back her damp, disheveled hair from her tear-stained face before the door opened and Dorcas Knight appeared and said:

”Here is this young woman come again.”

”I declare, Miss Day,” said Cap, laughing, ”you have the most accomplished, polite and agreeable servants here that I ever met with!

Think with what a courteous welcome this woman received me--' Here you are again!' she said. 'You'll come once too often for your own good, and that I tell you.' I answered that every time I came it appeared to be once too often for her liking. She rejoined, 'The colonel has come home, and he don't like company, so I advise you to make your call a short one.' I a.s.sured her that I should measure the length of my visit by the breadth of my will--But good angels, Clara! what is the matter?

You look worse than death!” exclaimed Capitola, noticing for the first time the pale, wild, despairing face of her companion.

Clara clasped her hands as if in prayer and raised her eyes with an appealing gaze into Capitola's face.

”Tell me, dear Clara, what is the matter? How can I help you? What shall I do for you?” said our heroine.

Before trusting herself to reply, Clara gazed wistfully into Capitola's eyes, as though she would have read her soul.

Cap did not blanch nor for an instant avert her own honest, gray orbs; she let Clara gaze straight down through those clear windows of the soul into the very soul itself, where she found only truth, honesty and courage.

The scrutiny seemed to be satisfactory for Clara soon took the hand of her visitor and said:

”Capitola, I will tell you. It is a horrid, horrid story, but you shall know all. Come with me to my chamber.”

Cap pressed the hand that was so confidingly placed in hers and accompanied Clara to her room, where, after the latter had taken the precaution to lock the door, the two girls sat down for a confidential talk.

Clara, like the author of Robin Hood's Barn, ”began at the beginning”