Vashti's fate

Front matter

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Chapter I. Tragedy

It was a glorious morning in early June. In the great, wide doorway at Everleigh, stood two children, little girls. One, Lenore Everleigh, had a round, roguish face, large, brown, laughing eyes, sparkling and bright ; short chestnut curls disported themselves over her white dimpled shoulders, and her round, plump arms were flung carelessly over the shaggy coat of a splendid New Foundland dog.

Her sister, Vashti Everleigh, leaned against a column of the porch, beautiful as a little queen. Lenore looked about eight, while Vashti was evidently older, perhaps eleven. She had a pure oval face, clear and pale, eyes slumbrous, shadowy, mournful ; thick, long, black hair, that was put plainly back, and depended in silken braids below her waist, tied at the ends with gay bows of ribbon. She was slender and thin, quite too much so for beauty, but there was a certain shapeliness in her proportions, and a grace in her movements, that gave a promise of redemption, at no distant day, from all trace of awkwardness.

Nora, as the younger of the two was commonly called,

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had been romping with the dog, and, with her pretty flushed cheeks, was resting. Suddenly she started up again, and with her curls, and her pink sash streaming behind, went off at a run down the road, calling, “Bute* Bute.”

The dog shook his shaggy sides, and looked with his almost human eyes up at Vashti, wistfully, who seemed to understand him. There crossed her lips a faint, sweet smile that gladdened her whole face, and as Nora called, "Come, Vashti, ” she bounded down the steps, Bute following with long, graceful leaps, shaking his handsome head, and making frantic demonstrations of joy. Now in the front of them, now back, down this walk, up that, the two girls scampering like mad away from him, and laughing till the whole air rang with melody.

Too much engaged to notice anything but their fun, they did not see a gentleman in sportsman’s dress, who was coming, at a swift run, up the road, his gun in his hand, and an empty game-bag by his side.

He had a dark, handsome face like Vashti’s — the same wide, high, pale brow, shaded by heavy masses of jetty hair — a small, almost womanish, hand and foot ; but his eyes — his great black eyes — were luminous with wild, fiery excitement, as he fled at that headlong pace up the road to the house, looking, at almost every step, over his shoulder.

The dog crossed his path ; he stumbled and almost fell over him, and regaining his feet, gave the poor animal a kick with his heavy-booted foot.

With a low growl like distant thunder, Bute crouched in the path, as though about to spring on his master, his fierce teeth gleaming savagely, and his eyes like two coals of fire. A moment he crouched, quivering in every muscle, but as the gentleman, with a muttered oath, kept on his swift way, Bute straightened himself again, and with his eyes still

TRAGEDY.

ii fiercely glowing, his ears flung back, he stood looking after his master, at the same time giving a loud, prolonged howl, that sounded like the warning wail of a Banshee. Poor Bute ! he had not looked upon his master s face for naught.

Vashti had seen that face too; and gasping for breath, stood transfixed with indefinable terror; while Nora, all her roguish, laughing beauty eclipsed by sudden anger, her eyes flashing through tears, looked after her father, shaking her dimpled fist, and crying :

“I’d be ashamed to kick a dog! Bute, poor Bute, why didn’t you bite him?” with her arms about the dog’s neck.

Bute never noticed her, save with another dismal howl, and another flinging back of his silky, drooping ears.

Suddenly there was a sound like the distant tramp of many feet, which grew on the ear, nearer and nearer, till a small band of men came in sight, followed at no great distance by another assemblage of men and boys. The first band marched with glittering bayonets in line, stern and silent ; the latter seemed a noisy rabble. Bute shook his head vengefully as they approached ; Nora cowered close to him, and Vashti, with one look, fled like a wounded fawn to the house.

They came steadily on — tramp, tramp. Bute shook off the child’s arm, and, with his great, savage jaws distended, began to pace to and fro in the road, glancing with livid eyes at the band of armed men, who came to a full stop at sight of him, looking irresolutely at their leader.

“Forward!” cried the captain, putting himself a pace back, however.

With the word, before the men could move, Bute, with a fierce bound and a noise between a howl and a bark.

TRAGEDY.

sprang directly at the captain's throat. In an instant fifty guns were raised and aimed at the dog, but their fire was withheld, lest they might hit the captain also.

The poor man struggled in the dogs vengeful hold, and vainly endeavored to speak.

At this juncture little Nora Everleigh flew to the rescue, crying :

“ Don’t hurt him ! don’t 1 I'll take him off, but don’t hurt him. He thinks you have no right here.”

At the sight of her pretty, innocent face every gun dropped ; and, putting her bit of a hand on Bute, she said, sharply :

“Down, Bute! down, sir — down, I say!”

The brave fellow slowly, and with evident reluctance, released his prisoner.

“Come, Bute!” called Nora.

He followed her, looking back at every step ; and as the captain said, in a very mild voice, “Forward,” he came to a full stop, and faced toward him with a warning snap of his white teeth.

“Here, Bute ! here, sir ! I am ashamed of you !”

He turned again at her bidding, and in the same instant there was the sound of a shot, and Nora’s brave playfellow fell with a cry that was almost human, both his forelegs dangling.

“Oh, Bute, dear Bute! have they killed you?” cried poor Nora, flinging herself down by him.

Bute uttered a low whine, which deepened to such a vindictive howl as the armed band, after an instant’s delay, defiled swiftly by him, that the brave captain raised his gun again to shoot.

“Leave him alone, sir! Don’t you see he can’t stir?

Leave him alone. I wish I had let him kill you/' said Nora, angrily, her pretty lip curling with defiance.

The man bit his lip and frowned, but lowered his gun and walked on.

Meanwhile Roscoe Everleigh, as he crossed the threshold of the wide doorway, came face to face with his wife — a lovely, delicate-looking woman, with long fair curls and soft blue eyes. At sight of his wild face she stopped aghast.

“What has happened, Roscoe ?"

“No matter what ! Where's Margery? I'm wounded myself, I believe."

He leaned heavily against the wall as he spoke, flinging down his gun, and loosening his coat with hands that twitched nervously, and fell away from his vest dripping with his own blood.

With a piercing scream Mrs. Everleigh fell fainting on the floor. Margery Gresham was not far away ; she appeared almost instantly — a tall, majestic-looking woman, not beautiful, but far from plain, with bands of braided hair about her head. She glanced with a pair ot keen gray eyes at her sister, and from her to the wounded man, seeing, without further ado, that he was .most in need — that something terrible had happened.

“Ho, Philip! Elise !" she called, in clear, loud tones, supporting Everleigh, who looked ready to fall.

He smiled wanly at Margery, saying, with short gasps :

“I've — done it — at last — Margery — the very thing — you said — I would; and the blood-hounds are after me — already. "

She glanced sharply at the door ; her quick ear caught the sound of the approaching commotion, and with Philip's

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help she lifted him bodily, and hurried him off up stairs, while Elise attended to her fallen mistress.

They were not an instant too soon. As they laid Roscoe Everleigh upon his bed in a dead swoon, the hall below was filled with armed men, the house surrounded, or an attempt made to surround it and guard every possible avenue of escape — a vain precaution if Everleigh had attempted to escape — a needless one, certainly, under the circumstances.

The captain of the band marched pompously up and down, giving orders to his men to turn the house inside out, if necessary, till one of them came to tell him that a woman above stairs guarded the door of a room, and refused them entrance.

A woman ! He was just man enough to bully a woman, and he marched straight up the stairs, his long sword trailing behind him.

Margery Gresham was no woman to endure bullying. She was a perfect grenadier of a woman — large, strong, masculine in her appearance, with a snarl on her lip and a scowl on her brow that made the valiant captain shake in his boots. He made a show of bravado, however, demanding entrance, but never moving from the stairway.

Margery Gresham's tall figure seemed to acquire additional stature at his demand, and she smiled grimly.

“Off with you," she said, “and send your lieutenant. I won't treat with you. "

The soldiers, a few steps down the stairway, evidently enjoyed the scene amazingly ; and when the doughty captain hesitated about obeying the female grenadier, and that personage, seizing him by the neck of his coat, dropped him delicately over the banisters, the laugh that went round was irrepressible.

TRAGEDY.

The captain made a great effort to recover his dignity, strutted and swore, and foamed to and fro, and at last declaring that he would not fight with a woman, dispatched his lieutenant above stairs.

At his approach Margery flung wide the door, saying, as she pointed to a still inner room :

“There he is, in there ; but he's got his death-wound, I believe. Small chance of his being able to be moved at present. ”

She waved her hand majestically for the officer to pass, and with a respectful inclination of his head he did so.

Roscoe Everleigh lay upon a snowy couch, his handsome face white as the pillow it pressed. Philip was endeavoring to stanch the blood, which flowed darkly over the counterpane, from a wound by his side, and two or three other servants were busy about him, doing whatever they could, which was little enough, till the physician arrived. He had already been sent for, and the messenger must have found him near at hand, for he followed close upon the officer's step into the room. He was a small man, with keen, bright, humorous eyes, a large nose, and a shuffling gait; a man about forty. He proceeded immediately to the bedside, examining the wounded man attentively, without appearing to notice anybody else in the room.

Everleigh was still unconscious, but as the doctor proceeded with his ministrations, he opened his eyes feebly, looked, and closed them again with a deep sigh.

The lieutenant stood by till the doctor had finished, and then followed him silently from the room.

“Can that man be moved to-night without risk of his life ?" he asked.

“No, sir!" was the emphatic reply.

“Will he live, think you?"

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“I couldn’t tell you, sir. What do you want of him?”

The officer turned upon the doctor a look of surprise at the question.

“I know what folks say; that Roscoe Everleigh is a murderer; but I don’t believe it, sir. What were the circumstances?”

“Very aggravating ones,” said the lieutenant, pausing before he reached the door that led into the hall. “He picked a quarrel with a young fellow down here, (Neil Roque they call him, I believe,) and shot him as he would a fox. ”

“ Nonsense ! he’s shot himself. ”

“One of our men shot after him as he was escaping. We were just passing when the fray took place ; and when we saw the young fellow fall, one of our men, a brother of Neil’s, fired after Everleigh as he was running away. ”

“And then you must needs march your whole troop up here, frightening the family almost to death, and rousing the whole neighborhood. You must be brave men if it takes so many of you to catch one, and he wounded. ”

“That was the captain’s doings,” said the lieutenant, with a significant shrug of his shoulder; “but, doctor, it strikes me as a little singular that this man, if he is so bad as you say he is, was able to get home. ”

“Nothing singular at all. Excitement kept him up till he got here, and he dropped then from the reaction and loss of blood. I judge you have never been in action, sir. When you have once seen a battle you will see stranger things than this. I knew a man once to run twenty paces after he was shot through the heart. ”

The officer bowed, but looked incredulous.

“Fact, sir,” said the doctor, taking out his snuff-box |

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offering it to the lieutenant, and coolly taking a pinch himself.

The officer bowed again, and proceeded down stairs to report to the captain, who chafed a good deal at his account, but concluded finally to have a guard at the house, till the sheriff himself should arrive.

Among the men stationed outside the house, was a young, broad-chested fellow, with a boyish, handsome face, and frank, fearless eye. He stood down the road from the house, near where little Nora Everleigh sat, unconscious of the troubles indoors, with poor Bute’s shaggy head upon her lap, crying and caressing her wounded playmate with loving words.

The young soldier looked with sympathetic eyes at the child, and gradually approaching, spoke to her :

“Is he very much hurt, little one?"

She lifted her head angrily at first, but his kindly tone reassured her, and as he put his hand upon the head of her favorite, without any sign of displeasure from the dog, she smiled tremulously at him, saying :

“ Oh, sir, can’t you do something for him ?”

“I don’t know; perhaps I can; I’m a bit of a doctor. Can you get me some scraps of linen, and some nice pine stick?"

“Oh, yes, sir. Is there anything else?"

‘ ‘ A basin of water. ”

He tenderly lifted the bleeding paws from her lap onto a pillow of grass, and she fled away on her errand. Entering by the servants’ hall, those whom she met were too busy to ask her any question, and having obtained what she came for, she hurried back without being hindered by any one.

The young doctor proceeded very scientifically to wash i8

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and set, first one limb and then the other, Bute watching him, with a strangely human expression — and giving occasionally a long, low whine.

‘'Can you keep him still now, do you suppose, till it gets well ?”

“Oh, yes, sir, that I can. He’s the best dog you ever saw. He always does just as I tell him. I never saw him act as he did to-day. He understands what I say almost as well as you do. See how pleased he looks when I praise him. ”

The dog tried to lift his head from the grass, with a soft bark, rubbing it against the little hand that caressed him, and looking as though he did in truth understand her.

“Yes, I see; he’s a very nice dog, and I hope he’ll be as well as ever again before long, ” said the young soldier.

Nora did not reply, save with a tearfully eloquent look. He stood looking at her, wondering that she did not ask why the soldiers had come to Everleigh. Presently she raised her head, looking at him wistfully.

“ Well,” said he, with a smile, “what is it?”

She blushed prettily.

“Only, sir, I would like to know what your name is, very much, you’ve been so kind to me and Bute.”

He blushed, too, very boyishly, saying, laughingly :

“The boys call me Dr. Leonidas. They call me Leon Brownlee at home. ”

His eyes were dashed with tears as he said “at home,” and he turned his young face away, lest Nora should see how those tender words moved him.

With a rare delicacy she affected not to see his agitation, repeating half to herself:

‘ ‘ Leon Brownlee — Leon Brownlee ! It is a very nice name, I think. I should like to have a brother Leon,”

TRAGEDY.

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“Haven't you any brother?"

“Yes, I've a brother; he's bigger than I am, but his name is Francis Roscoe Everleigh. Roscoe is after papa and grandpapa, you know. "

“And what is your name?"

“Leonore. They always call me Nora, though."

Here was an interval of silence, and then Nora said ;

“I want to ask you something else, but mamma says I am always too curious, and she would scold me if she knew I asked you anything so rude. But I want to ask you so much."

“You may ask me anything you like, Nora," said he, gravely.

“May I? Thank you. What have you and all these soldiers come here lor? Papa often has the soldiers come here to eat fruit ; but I don't think he knew of these. "

“Why don't you think he knew we were coming?"

“Because he went up the walk before you came in sight ; and he was cross, and kicked Bute for being in the way. No, I don't think he knew you were coming."

“Well, he did, Nora. I am very sure he did."

Nora longed to ask him more, but notwithstanding the permission just accorded her, something in his face deterred her.

When the company, with its gallant captain, departed, Leon was left with the lieutenant and three others. Leon staid by the little girl, amusing himself with her lively chat and piquant expressions, and she so far forgot her trouble as to join in the laugh ere long, when suddenly her sister Vashti came out of the house, and ran down the road to her.

“Come away, Nora, come away," she whispered; “papa is very ill."

TRAGEDY.

“Papa very ill said Nora, incredulously, resisting her sisters efforts to lead her away.

“Yes, very ill — somebody shot him; and Dr. Gracie has been with him this long time.”

“Now, Vashti,” pouted Nora, “who told you that? I saw papa go in only a little while ago, as well as I am. ”

“He was bleeding then,” replied Vashti, “and it was as much as he could do to get to the house. Come away, Nora — come right away ; mamma is asking for you.”

“I don’t believe it,” said Nora, resentfully; but she looked white and frightened, and, forgetful of Bute or Leon, hurried away without a word to either.

As they entered the hall, which was empty, Vashti pointed silently, with averted face, at a little pool of blood by the door, and Nora’s terrified eyes followed the ensanguined trace plashed here and there across the hall and up the stairs. Wrenching her hand away from Vashti, she crept cowering and trembling away toward the stairs, her face pitiful to look upon, with sudden horror.

Vashti followed her, scarcely less appalled, saying, in a frightened whisper :

“Not there, sister — you mustn’t go there; come to mamma’s room ;” and, with arms flung round each other, the two children went shuddering down the hall.

Mrs. Everleigh reclined, bolstered with pillows, upon a couch near an open window, and Elise was fanning her. The room, gorgeous with hangings of crimson and gold, the crimson-draped window and couch framed in her lovely, pallid face with a startling contrast that made her look something ghostly. A strikingly beautiful boy was hanging over the back of her couch, trying hard to keep back the tears that would force themselves through his black-lashed eyes.

JUSTICE BAFFLED.

As the little girls opened the door, Elise raised her hand as if to warn them back ; but Mrs. Everleigh turned her wan face toward them, saying, feebly :

“Come in, dears; poor things! come and stay with mamma. ”

Chapter II. Justice Baffled

Meanwhile Roscoe Everleigh, in the hands of the doctor and Margery Gresham, vibrated between consciousness and delirium.

Dr. Gracie remained with him through the afternoon and night. The next day he was no better, nor the next. A week he lay in the most precarious state, and all that while a sheriff s posse was in the house. The soldiers had gone long before. Poor Bute, well cared for, was already beginning to limp about ; but Roscoe Everleigh seemed likely to fall from the greedy grasp of justice into the no less covetous clutches of the mysterious “monarchs of Plutonian realms.” Margery Gresham looked grim and forbidding, and guarded him alike from friend and foe. The children and wife even were relentlessly banished from the sick-room. Whatever Margery needed was taken by Philip or Elise to an ante-room, where she took her meals, never leaving the sick-room for an instant, except in the doctor's care, which was most assiduous.

One week from the day of the alleged murder, the sheriff s men were dismissed with bitter words by Margery Gresham. Roscoe Everleigh was dead ’ she told them, and with scarce a warning.

A SHOCK.

The sheriff was permitted to see him — ghostly, cold, and stiff — there was some legal formula gone over with, and then the posse comitatus took itself off.

It was rumored among people that he had taken his own life to escape the ignominious and terrible fate of a murderer.

However that was, the preparation for the funeral went on with remarkable expedition. The public was strictly excluded from all participation in the grave ceremonials thereof, and, like a justly incensed public, revenged itself by talking.

There were mourning habiliments at Everleigh — a new mound in the little burial ground sacred to the Everleighs — a somber cloud of mystery, seclusion, and gloom shrouding all approach to the unhappy subject, and the sad episode was filed away among the records of the past.

Mrs. Everleigh from that bitter time became a confirmed invalid, and Margery Gresham grew several shades grimmer and sterner, and time went on.

Chapter III. A Shock

Three years ! Three sorrowful years had left their shadows at Everleigh, and now “Octobers leaf was brown and sere.” The road and the pretty wild-wood paths were strewn with golden and russet-hued leaves, and here and there a little scentless, white-faced blossom smiled wanly on the still autumnal day. Now and then the fingers of the autumn winds fluttered a little coyly, and a shower of gorgeous hues floated softly to the earth.

A SHOCK.

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Margery Gresham stood a little away from the house, her stately head uncovered, her bonnet in one hand, the other idly smoothing the banded hair from her wearylcoking face. . Her gray eyes dwelt contemplatively upon the wooded vistas ; her ear gathered up the low refrain of the fluttering leaves, and, with serene thoughts touching up the somber hues of her face, she slowly tied her bonnet, and went with folded hands along a secluded walk. She was returning, after an hours absence, when a shadow flung across her path caused her to raise her eyes. A man in soldiers attire stood in the way, touching his cap respectfully, and saying :

“Miss Margery/'

She paused, waiting for him to tell his errand, her eyes dwelling almost impatiently on him.

He looked confused, touched his cap again, and said :

“If you please, ma’am, I’m Neil Roque."

The misty gray eyes had wandered away from him, but at these words they flashed back upon him haughtily.

“What do you mean ?"

“That I am Neil Roque, the man it was thought Mr. Everleigh shot."

She surveyed him sternly, every vestige of color going slowly out of her face. She put both her excited hands upon his shoulders, turning him to the light that came brightly through a vista in the trees.

“Oh, it’s me, ma’am, and nobody else. Mister Everleigh didn’t kill me, but he hurt me pretty bad, and my brother helped me off, and pretended I was killed, for fear he should be arrested himself for shooting Mister Everleigh. You see, he thought they wouldn’t be so apt to touch him if they thought I was dead, so he smuggled me off, and himself too, and he got a friend to fool the offlcers with a ‘ cock-and-bull 9 story about me falling off the cliff into the lake when I was shot. We laid low till we heard the mister was dead, and then we joined the army again. My brother was killed at Plattsburg; and, thinking maybe the family ’d be glad to know there wasn’t any murder done at all, I came right away, as soon as I could, to tell ’em. I’d come afore, if I hadn’t been afeared they’d string my brother right up. That’s all, ma’am. I’m staying at Tim Jarvy’s; he’s my sister’s husband; if you should want anything of me, you’ll find me there.”

He touched his cap again, and went swiftly away.

Margery Gresham’s nerveless hands dropped heavily to her side, and, as she leaned against a tree, her face darkened with a shadow like unto death’s. Gradually she slipped away from that support, and, unable to stand, sat down upon the ground. With shuddering fingers she untied and took off her bonnet, and, dipping her hand into a little spring that bubbled from the root of a tree, she moistened her pallid lips, and face, and head mechanically, forcing the tide of life to surge up again from her benumbed heart.

“ Oh!” she moaned, “l must not die now. Father of mercy, help me to live and work out my fate ! Oh, life ! fail me not now.”

She sat with her head resting upon her hands till the evening shadows gathered close about her, and then, struggling to her feet, she went slowly and painfully to the house.

In her own room, she rang for a servant, bidding her send Philip Bryce to her, with some wine. Philip came, and stood aghast at the deadly pallor of her face. He poured her a glass of wine without a word. She took it,

A SHOCK.

*5 sat a few moments with weary, folded hands, looking drearily upon the floor, then rising, said :

“I think I am strong enough now. I must go to Mrs. Everleigh. She must not hear this from awkward lips. "

“What is it, Miss Margery? What has happened?" asked Philip, with the liberty which his long service warranted.

She lifted her heavy eyelids, and looked at him.

“Our bitter calamity, Philip, is all for naught. Neil Roque is as living as you and I. ”

“Miss Margery !” exclaimed the man, throwing up his hands, “it is impossible."

“I have seen this man, this very afternoon, with my own eyes — I have heard him with my own ears. There is no mistake about it — we may as well face the fact. But for Heaven's sake, Philip, be careful. When I am calmer,

I will tell you what particulars I know. We ought to be thankful there was no murder done, but I am so miserable I don't know whether I am thankful or not. It is bitter, bitter to think it was all for naught. My poor Roscoe !"

She sank into her chair again, sighing heavily, and wiping beaded drops from her forehead.

Philip approached close to her, his eyes dim with tears.

“Don't take on so, Miss Margery — don't," he said, in a low voice, touching her bowed head with his hand. “It seemed for the best then, and it can't be helped now. The same fate always overtakes the Everleighs, I've heard. It's an unhappy house, doomed to this inheritance. It's not your fault, nor mine. We could neither help nor hinder."

She got up again, pushing back her braided hair as though it oppressed her, and went out with those words dwelling upon her lips like a wail — “For naught !"

In Mrs. Everleigh’s room she found the three children — Vashti reading by the window, and Nora romping with her brother. Mrs. Everleigh from her easy-chair smiled upon them.

Miss Gresham peremptorily sent the children out of the room, and drawing a chair near to her sister, said :

“How are you this evening, Eva?”

“Better than usual, Margery; I haven't felt so lighthearted in a long while.”

A lovely smile broke over her wan face, as she lifted her soft eyes to her sister s face.

Margery sat with her back to the lamp, else Mrs. Everleigh could scarce have failed to be startled by the expression of her countenance.

“ Lay your head on my shoulder, Eva, as you used to do when we were little girls; I have some news to tell you.”

“News?” said Mrs. Everleigh, yielding to Margery's embrace. “What can it be? Is it good, sister?”

“Yes,” broke from Margery’s lips, with an energy that startled the invalid. Resuming her former tone, she continued : “At least it is not bad — certainly not — it is good, Eva. Roscoe is — Roscoe was not a murderer ! Neil Roque did not die. I saw him to-day. It was all a cheat — an imposition from beginning to end.”