The Greatest Works of Anna Katharine Green. Анна Грин

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СКАЧАТЬ knowing what to expect, anticipating almost to be met by her shade, Thomas followed the direction of his brother’s lifted hand, and beheld, where but a minute before that dismal curtain had hung, a blaze of light, in the midst of which he saw a charming, but tragic, figure, such as no gallery in all Europe had ever shown him, possibly because no other limned face or form had ever appealed to his heart. It did not seem a picture, it seemed her very self, a gentle, loving self that breathed forth all the tenderness he had vainly sought for in his living relatives; and falling at her feet, he cried out:

      “Do not look at me so reproachfully, sweet Evelyn. I was born to avenge you, and I will. John Poindexter shall never go down in peace to his tomb.”

      A sigh of utter contentment came from the direction of the bed.

      “Swear it!” cried his father, holding out his arms before him in the form of a cross.

      “Yes, swear it!” repeated Felix, laying his own hand on those crossed arms.

      Thomas drew near, and laid his hand beside that of Felix.

      “I swear,” he began, raising his voice above the tempest, which poured gust after gust against the house. “I swear to win the affections of Eva Poindexter, and then, when her heart is all mine, to cast her back in anguish and contumely on the breast of John Poindexter.”

      “Good!” came from what seemed to him an immeasurable distance. Then the darkness, which since the taking of this oath had settled over his senses, fell, and he sank insensible at the feet of his dying father.

      Amos Cadwalader died that night; but not without one awful scene more. About midnight he roused from the sleep which had followed the exciting incidents I have just related, and glancing from Thomas to Felix, sitting on either side of the bed, fixed his eyes with a strange gleam upon the door.

      “Ah!” he ejaculated, “a visitor! John Poindexter! He comes to ask my forgiveness before I set out on my dismal journey.”

      The sarcasm of his tone, the courtesy of his manner, caused the hair to stir on the heads of his two sons. That he saw his enemy as plainly as he saw them, neither could doubt.

      “Does he dread my meeting with Evelyn? Does he wish to placate me before I am joined to that pathetic shade? He shall not be disappointed. I forgive you, John Poindexter! I forgive you my daughter’s shame, my blighted life. I am dying; but I leave one behind who will not forgive you. I have a son, an avenger of the dead, who yet lives to—to——”

      He fell back. With these words, which seemed to seal Thomas to his task, Amos Cadwalader died.

Chapter III.

       Eva

       Table of Contents

      Felix had not inherited his father’s incapacity for making money. In the twenty years that had passed since Thomas had been abroad he had built up a fortune, which he could not induce his father to share, but which that father was perfectly willing to see devoted to their mutual revenge. There was meaning, therefore, in the injunction Felix gave his brother on his departure for Montgomery:

      “I have money; spend it; spend what you will, and when your task is completed, there will still be some left for your amusement.”

      Thomas bowed. “The laborer is worthy of his hire,” was his thought. “And you?” he asked, looking about the scanty walls, which seemed to have lost their very excuse for being now that his father had died. “Will you remain here?”

      Felix’s answer was abrupt, but positive. “No; I go to New York to-morrow. I have rented a house there, which you may one day wish to share. The name under which I have leased it is Adams, Felix Adams. As such you will address me. Cadwalader is a name that must not leave your lips in Montgomery, nor must you forget that my person is known there, otherwise we might not have been dependent on you for the success of our revenge.” And he smiled, fully conscious of being the handsomer man of the two. “And now how about those introductions we enjoined you to bring from Paris?”

      The history of the next few weeks can best be understood by reading certain letters sent by Thomas to Felix, by examining a diary drawn up by the same writer for his own relief and satisfaction. The letters will be found on the left, and the diary on the right, of the double columns hereby submitted. The former are a summary of facts; the latter is a summary of feelings. Both are necessary to a right comprehension of the situation.

FIRST LETTER.	FIRST ENTRY.
Dear Felix: I am here; I have seen her. She is, as you have said, a pale blonde. To-morrow I present my credentials to John Poindexter. From what I have already experienced I anticipate a favorable reception. Yours aff., Thomas.	I could not write Felix the true story of this day. Why? And why must I write it here? To turn my mind from dwelling on it? Perhaps. I do not seem to understand my own feelings, or why I begin to dread my task, while ardently pressing forward to accomplish it. I have seen her. This much I wrote to Felix, but I did not say where our meeting took place or how. How could I? Would he understand how one of Poindexter’s blood could be employed in a gracious act, or how I, filled with a purpose that has made my heart dark as hell ever since I embraced it, could find that heart swell and that purpose sink at my first glimpse of the face whose beauty I have sworn to devote to agony and tears? Surely, surely Felix would have been stronger, and yet—— I went from the cars to the cemetery. Before entering the town or seeing to my own comfort, I sought Evelyn’s grave, there to renew my oath in the place where, nineteen years ago, my father held me up, a four-year-old child, in threat, toward John Poindexter’s home. I had succeeded in finding the old and neglected stone which marked her resting-place, and was bending in the sunset light to examine it, when the rustle of a woman’s skirts attracted my attention, and I perceived advancing toward me a young girl in a nimbus of rosy light which seemed to lift her from the ground and give to her delicate figure and strangely illumined head an ethereal aspect which her pure features and tender bearing did not belie. In her arms she carried a huge cluster of snow-white lilies, and when I observed that her eyes were directed not on me, but on the grave beside which I stood, I moved aside into the shadow of some bushes and watched her while she strewed these flowers—emblems of innocence—over the grave I had just left. What did it mean, and who was this young girl who honored with such gracious memorials the grave of my long-buried sister? As she rose from her task I could no longer restrain either my emotion or the curiosity with which her act had inspired me. Advancing, I greeted her with all the respect her appearance called for, and noting that her face was even more beautiful when lifted in speech than when bent in gravity over her flowers, I asked her, in the indifferent tone of a stranger, who was buried in this spot, and why she, a mere girl, dropped flowers upon a grave the mosses of whose stone proved it to have been dug long before she was born. Her answer caused me a shock, full as my life has lately been of startling experiences. “I strew flowers here,” said she, “because the girl who lies buried under this stone had the same birthday as myself. I never saw her, it’s true, but she died in my father’s house when she was no older than I am to-day, and since I have become a woman and realize what loss there is in dying young, I have made it a custom to share with her my birthday flowers. She was a lily, they say, in appearance and character, and so I bring her lilies.” It was Eva Poindexter, the girl I—And she was strewing flowers on Evelyn’s grave.
LETTER II.	ENTRY II.
Dear Felix: I have touched the СКАЧАТЬ В начало < 175 176 177 178 179 180 181 182 183 184 > В конец