« AnteriorContinuar »
“That I will willingly do,” said Arthur. “It cannot be denied.” “Then now we part,” said Clinton. “I will no more trouble you with my presence. You have undoubted reason to wish my absence from the valley, and I can no longer be happy in it. But before we separate I must give you a paper signed with my name, which contains a statement of the mutiny of the crew and mate of the Antelope vessel, commanded by one Captain Barry, who was murdered by them on ship board, while entering the St. Lawrence river; several emigrants were on board beside myself, and might be found to substantiate my statement.” Clinton here handed to Arthur a small roll of paper, and resumed, “A mariner is in the lodge now, and intends, I hear, to set out on his return to his ship this morning. That is the mate of the Antelope.” “What! the Pirate to exclaimed Arthur, in amazement. “No doubt a pirate,” said Clinton, “although he passes for a common sailor.” ** “The father of Jane Anderson '' exclaimed Arthur, incautiously. Clinton echoed his words in surprise. Arthur was extremely grieved with himself; he had betrayed the secret of his betrothed. “Sir,” said he, “I have said what I should not have said. As a man of honour, impart not to any living being, I entreat you, the disgraceful relationship.” “I will not,” said Clinton. “The knowledge of such a fact shall never pass my lips, without Miss Anderson or yourself gives me a release from the promise I now make you. But vou will see, Mr. Lee, that the man I have named, be he mate, or pirate, o, common sailor, does not escape you. It is, of course, a case which requires the sacrifice of any personal feelings you may have towards Miss Anderson. His life is forfeit to justice, and he ought not to be left at large.” “I hope,” said Arthur, “no personal feelings will deter me from sulfilling my duty. I shall, of course, take care that the mariner be in safe confinement, if my grandfather determines to commit him upon the credit of your written statement.” “Hold him safe on that,” said Clinton: “I shall make my way to the Lieutenant-Governor, from whom you may expect to hear. He will require the prisoner from you.” They parted with constrained respect, and cold politeness. Clinton taking one of the most unfrequented paths that led up by a difficult ascent to the top of a mountain, and Arthur returning leisurely to the lodge. The Pastor had not slept in the night; fears for his grandson agitated him every hour, and as soon as he heard Arthur leave the house, he arose, and walked into the garden. So happy was the old gentleman to see the latter return safe and uninjured, that he grasped him by the hand and shook it repeatedly, as though Arthur had but just arrived to his home after a seven year's absence. “I feared, my grandson, that you would not be firm enough,” said he “I know how difficult it is for a young man to bear the least imputation on his personal courage. But, thank the Lord, you have been strengthened for the trial.” “I am thanksul that the trial is over, and I hope that I may never be subjected to such another,” said Arthur; “ and now, grandfather, oblige me by mentioning this occurrence mo more, for, whenever it is alluded to, I shall certainly be tempted to wish that I had met Clinton in his own temper.” • The Pastor shrank from the sight of the swords, and said, “I deem it a mercy indeed, that they are not stained with the blood of one of you rash young men.” Clinton's account of the mutiny of the Antelope was put into the Pastor's hands by Arthur, without any explanation. “I wish you particularly to read it throughout,” said Arthur, “as soon as you can, and then I will speak to you on a subject of some importance to me, which is connected with it.” “Must I read it this forenoom ''' asked the Pastor, “because I have some writing in hand which I am rather anxious to finish.” “Not only in the forenoon, but during the earliest part of it, if you please,” “Very well, I shall betake myself to the perusal im
mediately after morning prayers,” said the Pastor, who presently retired into his library. Arthur went to the door of Jane's room, and knocked several times. As there was no answer from within, he concluded that she had risen, although it was not yet five o’clock; accordingly, he stepped softly down stairs to the kitchen, the house-door was open, and the mariner was just preparing to set out. Jane weeping, hung on his breast, while he was urging her to go with him to his ship, speaking in a low entreating voice. As Arthur came near, the mariner said— “You will not, you say, Jenny ?–did I ever expect to hear my darling say so 2 Would her mother have so left me if I had entreated her to go with me for my good? You will not be a blessing and a comfort to your father You will not ? Well, I go back without having accomplished my errand. When you hear of my death, Jenny, perhaps an evil death—and when you hear of the crimes I shall have committed, after having been refused by my daughter my supplication to her, you will think of this. But I dare not stay longer. That young Clinton was on board the vessel of Captain Barry, and he is dangerous to me. I havé hazarded my life in staying here so long— and why have I hazarded it ! that I might gain my child back to my heart; but she tells me I am a Pirate— she will not dwell with me.” “No-no–no; I did not say that ; you mistook my meaning, dear father. I said that I was afraid to go again in a pirate-ship. I suffered so dreadfully formerly.” “It is all the same meaning. You will not go with me. But my heart so clings to hope, I will ask you once more. Will you, Jenny Anderson, forsake me now for ever?” Jane wept most agonisingly, and her answer was unintelligible. “I have done,” said the Pirate, pushing her from him; “I go, and whatever becomes of me henceforward I care not.” He was turning to depart, and adjusting his fur cap on his head, when Arthur appeared close to the door. Jane started, and the Pirate frowned, clutching the handle of a knife which had been concealed in the sash of his waist, and drawing it half cut to view.
“ Unintentionally, I have heard your words to your daughter,” said Arthur, nothing daunted by the look of the mariner; “and, though against my will, have received in them confirmation of a statement which has this morning been made by that young Clinton you have named ; he asserts that you are the murderer of Captain Barry, and the robber of the contents of his ship. Yield yourself, therefore, a prisoner to the laws you have violated.” “ No-do not detain him, Mr. Lee (’’ entreated Jane, using all her influence with Arthur for her father's sake. “He never was—he never could have been guilty of murder! Do not believe Clinton. He falsely accused the Settler's son; he is, therefore, capable of falsely accusing another. I have told you the worst of my father; he has been a Pirate—but not a murderers’ “And so you have betrayed me Jane l’ exclaimed the Pirate. - “ Let him not think so, Mr. Lee,” said Jane; “remember that you sought my confidence, and that you bade me rely on your secresy and friendship.” “I have not forgotten it, my dear Jane,” said Arthur, “ and nothing that you have said to me shall hurt him in the least. I arrest him as a murderer, not as a Pirate.” “Mr. Lee, my father is no murderer!” said Jane, with more spirit than she had ever shown before. Her youthful figure was again encircled by her father's arm, and a warm energy was added to the usually quiet expression of her face Tere is such a thing among virtuous people, as the pride of virtue, which some imagine (we think errone