_ CHAPTER XLVII. IN WHICH IS A HAPPY MEETING, AND SOMETHING PLEASING
IT is night-Mr. Keepum is seen seated before a table in his drawing-room, finishing a sumptuous supper, and asking himself: "Who dares to question me, the opulent Keepum?" Mr. Snivel enters, joins him over a glass of wine, and says, "this little matter must be settled tonight, Keepum, old fellow-been minced long enough." And the two chivalric gentlemen, after a short conversation, sally into the street. Yonder, in the harbor, just rounding the frowning walls of Fort Sumpter, blazes out the great red light of the steamer, on which the impatient lover fast approaches Charleston city.
"She can do nothing at law--against our influence she is powerless!" ejaculates Keepum, as the two emerge from the house and stroll along up Broad street.
Maria, pale and exhausted with the fatigues and excitements of the day, sits in her solitary chamber, fearing lest each footstep she hears advancing, may be that of her enemies, or hoping that it may announce the coming of her lover and rescuer.
"You are richer than me!" still tinkles its silvery music in her ear, and brings comfort to her agitated heart. The clock strikes ten, and suddenly her room is entered by Keepum and Snivel. The former, with an insinuating leer, draws a chair near her, while the latter, doffing his coat, flings himself upon the cot. Neither speak for some minutes; but Maria reads in their looks and actions the studied villany they have at heart.
"Inconsistency adorned!" exclaims Keepum, drawing his chair a little nearer. "Now, I say, you have stuck stubbornly to this ere folly." Mr. Keepum's sharp, red face, comes redder, and his small, wicked eyes flash like orbs of fire. "Better come down off that high horse-live like a lady. The devil's got Tom, long ago."
"So you have said before, Mr. Keepum," rejoins Maria, turning upon him a look of disdain. "You may persecute me to the death; you may continue to trample me into the dust; but only with my death shall your lust be gratified on me!" This declaration is made with an air of firmness Mr. Keepum seems to understand. "D-n it," rejoins Mr. Snivel, with a sardonic laugh, "these folks are affecting to be something."
Maria raises her right hand, and motions Mr. Keepum away. It does indeed seem to her that the moment when nature in her last struggle unbends before the destroyer-when the treasure of a life passes away to give place to dark regrets and future remorse, is come. Let us pause here for a moment, and turn to another part of the city.
The steamer has scarce reached her berth at the wharf, when the impatient lover springs ashore, dashes through the throng of spectators, and, bewildered as it were, and scarce knowing which way he is proceeding, hurries on, meeting no one he knows, and at length reaching Meeting street. Here he pauses, and to his great joy meets an old negro, who kindly offers to escort him to the distant quarter of the city where Maria resides. Again he sets out, his mind hung in suspense, and his emotions agitated to the highest degree. He hurries on into King street, pauses for a moment before the house of the old Antiquary, now fast closed, and as if the eventful past were crowding upon his fancy, he turns away with dizzy eyes, and follows the old negro, step by step-faint, nervous, and sinking with excitement-until they reach the cabin of Undine, the mulatto woman, under whose roof Maria once sought refuge for the night. Ready to exclaim, "Maria, I am here!" his heart is once more doomed to disappointment. The question hangs upon his lips, as his wondering eyes glance round the room of the cabin. Undine tells him she is not here; but points him to a light, nearly half a mile distant, and tells him she is there! there! The faithful old negro sets off again, and at full speed they proceed up the lane in the direction of the light. And while they vault as it were o'er the ground, let us again turn to the chamber of Maria.
With a sudden spring, Keepum, who had been for several minutes keeping his eyes fixedly set upon Maria, and endeavoring to divert her attention, seized her arms, and was about to drag her down, when Snivel put out the light and ran to his assistance. "Never! never!" she shrieks, at the very top of her voice. "Only with my life!" A last struggle, a stifled cry of "never! never!" mingled with the altercation of voices, rang out upon the air, and grated upon the impatient lover's ear like death-knells. "Up stairs, up stairs!" shouts the old negro, and in an instant he has burst the outer door in, mounts the stairs with the nimbleness of a catamount, and is thundering at the door, which gives way before his herculean strength. "I am here! I am here! Maria, I am here!" he shouts, at the top of his voice, and with an air of triumph stands in the door, as the flashing light from without reveals his dilating figure. "Foul villains! fiends in human form! A light! a light! Merciful heavens-a light!" He dashes his hat from his brow, turns a revengeful glance round the room, and grasps Maria in his arms, as the old negro strikes a light and reveals the back of Mr. Snivel escaping out of a window. Keepum, esteeming discretion the better part of valor, has preceded him.
Tightly Tom clasps Maria to his bosom, and with a look of triumph says: "Maria! speak, speak! They have not robbed you?"
She shakes her head, returns a look of sweet innocence, and mutters: "It was the moment of life or death. Thank heaven-merciful heaven, I am yet guiltless. They have not robbed me of my virtue-no, no, no. I am faint, I am weak-set me down-set me down. The dawn of my morning has brightened."
And she seems swooning in his arms. Gently he bears her to the cot, lays her upon it, and with the solicitude of one whose heart she has touched with a recital of her troubles, smooths her pillow and watches over her until her emotions come subdued.
"And will you believe me innocent? Will you hear my story, and reject the calumny of those who have sought my ruin?" speaks Maria, impressing a kiss upon the fevered lips of her deliverer, and, having regained her self-command, commences to recount some of the ills she has suffered.
"Maria!" rejoins Tom, returning her embrace, "you, whom I have loved so sincerely, so quietly but passionately, have no need of declaring your innocence. I have loved you-no one but you. My faith in your innocence has never been shaken. I hastened to you, and am here, your protector, as you have been mine. Had I not myself suffered by those who have sought your ruin, my pride might be touched at the evil reports that have already been rung in my ears. Grateful am I to Him who protects the weak, that I have spared you from the dread guilt they would have forced upon you."
Again and again he declares his eternal love, and seals it with a kiss. His, nature is too generous to doubt her innocence. He already knows the condition of her father, hence keeps silent on that point, lest it might overcome her. He raises her gently from the cot and seats her in a chair; and as he does so, Mr. Snivel's coat falls upon the floor, and from the pocket there protrudes four of his (Tom's) letters, addressed to Maria.
"Here! here!" says Tom, confusedly, "here is the proof of their guilt and your innocence." And he picks up the letters and holds them before her. "I was not silent, though our enemies would have had it so."
And she looks up again, and with a sweet smile says: "There truly seems a divine light watching over me and lightening the burdens of a sorrowing heart."
The excitement of the meeting over, Maria rapidly recounts a few of the trials she has been subjected to.
Tom's first impulse is, that he will seek redress at law. Certainly the law will give an injured woman her rights. But a second thought tells him how calmly justice sits on her throne when the rights of the poor are at stake. Again, Mr. Keepum has proceeded strictly according to law in prosecuting her father, and there is no witness of his attempts upon her virtue. The law, too, has nothing to do with the motives. No! he is in an atmosphere where justice is made of curious metal.
"And now, Maria," says Tom, pressing her hand in his own, "I, whom you rescued when homeless-I, who was loathed when a wretched inebriate, am now a man. My manhood I owe to you. I acknowledge it with a grateful heart. You were my friend then-I am your friend now. May I, nay! am I worthy of retaining this hand for life?"
"Rather, I might ask," she responds, in a faltering voice, "am I worthy of this forgiveness, this confidence, this pledge of eternal happiness?"
It is now the image of a large and noble heart reflects itself in the emotions of the lovers, whose joys heaven seems to smile upon.
"Let us forget the past, and live only for the future-for each other's happiness; and heaven will reward the pure and the good!" concludes Tom, again sealing his faith with an ardent embrace. "You are richer than me!" now, for the last time, rings its gladdening music into her very soul.
Tom recompenses the faithful old negro, who has been a silent looker on, and though the night is far spent, he leads Maria from the place that has been a house of torment to her, provides her a comfortable residence for the night, and, as it is our object not to detain the reader longer with any lengthened description of what follows, may say that, ere a few days have passed, leads Maria to the altar and makes her his happy Bride. _