Part 18 (2/2)
She led the way to the bier, where the body, with the frost hardly yet thawed from it, lay under the dim light of the chandelier. Turning up the burners it was revealed in its relentless, though not unhappy, expression--a large and powerful man, bearded and with ta.s.sels of gray in his hair.
The young man in his coa.r.s.e sailor's garb, m.u.f.fled up for concealment and disguise, placed his arm around Agnes, and his knees were unsteady as he gazed down on the remains and began to sob.
”Dear,” she murmured, also weeping, ”I know you loved him!”
The young man's sobs became so loud that Agnes drew him to a chair, and as she sat upon it he laid his head in her lap and continued there to express a deep inward agony.
”I loved him always,” he articulated at last, ”so help me G.o.d, I did!
And a _parricide_! Can you survive it?”
”Andrew,” she replied, ”I have taken it all to heaven and laid the sin there. Forever, my darling, intercession continues for all our offences only there. It must be our recourse in this separation every day when we rise and lie down. Though blood-stained, he can wash as white as snow.”
”I will try, I will try!” he sobbed; ”but your goodness is my reliance, dearest. I have always been disobedient to my father, but never thought it would come to this.”
”Nor I, Andrew. Poor, rash uncle!”
”Agnes,” whispered Andrew Zane, rising with a sudden fear, ”I hear people about the house--on the pavement, on the doorsteps. Perhaps they are suspecting me. I must fly. Oh! shall we ever meet again under a brighter sky? Will you cling to me? I am going out, abandoned by all the world. Nothing is left me but your fidelity. Will it last? You know you are beautiful!”
”Oh, sad words to say!” sighed Agnes. ”Let none but you ever say them to me again. Beautiful, and to the end of such misery as this! My only love, I will never forsake you!”
”Then I can try the world again, winter as it is. Once more, oh, G.o.d!
let me ask forgiveness from these frozen lips. My father! pursue me not, though deep is my offence! Farewell, farewell forever!”
He disappeared down the cellar as he had come, and Agnes heard at the outer window the sound of his escaping. When all was silent she fell to the floor, and lay there helplessly weeping.
CHAPTER III.
THE DEAF MAN.
The inquest was held, and the jury p.r.o.nounced the double crime murder by persons unknown, but with strong suspicion resting on Andrew Zane and an unknown laborer, who had left Pett.i.t's or Treaty Island, at night, in an open boat with William Zane and Sayler Rainey. A reward was offered for Andrew Zane and the laborer.
The will of the deceased persons made Andrew Zane full legatee of both estates, and left a life interest in the Queen Street house, and $2000 a year to ”Agnes Wilt, my ward and housekeeper.” The executors of the Zane estate were named as Agnes Wilt, Rev. Silas Van de Lear, and Duff Salter. The two dead men were interred together in the old Presbyterian burial-ground, and after a month or two of diminis.h.i.+ng excitement, Kensington settled down to the idea that there was a great mystery somewhere; that Andrew Zane was probably guilty; but that the princ.i.p.al evidence against him was his own flight.
As to Agnes, there was only one respectable opinion--that she was a superb work of nature and triumph of womanhood, notwithstanding romantic and possibly awkward circ.u.mstances of origin and relation. All men, of whatever time of life and for whatsoever reason, admired her--the mean and earthy if only for her mould, the morally discerning for her beautiful quality that pitied, caressed, encouraged, or elevated all who came within her sphere.
”Preachers of the Gospel ought to have such wives,” said the Rev. Silas Van de Lear, looking at his son Calvin, ”as Agnes Wilt. She is the most handy churchwoman in all my ministration in Kensington, which is now forty years. Besides being pious, and virtuous, and humble before G.o.d, she is very comely to the eye, and possesses a house and an independent income. A wife like that would naturally help a young minister to get a higher call.”
Young Calvin, who was expected to succeed his father in the venerable church close by, and was studying divinity, said with much cool maturity:
”Pa, I've taken it all in. She's the only single girl in Kensington worth proposing to. It's true that we don't know just who she is, but it's not that I'm so much afraid of as her, her--in short, her piety.”
”Piety does not stand in the way of marriage,” answered the old man, who was both bold and prudent, wise and sincere. ”In the covenant of G.o.d nothing is denied to his saints in righteousness. The sense of wedded pleasure, the beauty that delights the eye, love, appet.i.te, children, and financial independence--all are ours, no less as of the Elect than as worldly creatures. The love of G.o.d in the heart warms men and women toward each other.”
”Oh, as to that!” exclaimed Calvin, ”I've been warmed toward Miss Agnes since I was a boy. I think she is superb. But she is a little too good for me. She looks at me whenever I talk to her, whereas the proper way of humility would be to look down. She has been in love with Andrew Zane, you know!”
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