"You know your own interest too well to do otherwise."
"I am not to be intimidated," replied Maxwell, who despised his companion most heartily, and did not relish his tyrannical manner. "Your confidence, I repeat, is safe. _Honor_ will keep your secret,--threats will not compel me to do so."
"_Honor_! ha, ha, ha!" chuckled Jaspar. "Do you know, Maxwell, that you are a ---- fool, to talk to me of your honor?"
"Would you insult me, sir?" said, Maxwell, with vehemence.
"O, no, my fine fellow! _Your_ honor!--ha, ha!" returned Jaspar, taking from his pocket a little slip of paper. "Look here, my _honorable_ worthy, do you know this check?"
Maxwell"s face a.s.sumed a livid hue, and a convulsive tremor pa.s.sed through his frame, as he read the check.
In a moment of temporary embarra.s.sment he had been tempted to forge the name of Colonel Dumont to this check, for five hundred dollars, to liquidate a debt of honor, not doubting that he should be able to obtain it again before the day of settlement at the bank, by means of a dissolute teller, a boon companion at the gaming-table. But Colonel Dumont, in arranging his affairs for their final settlement, had sent Jaspar for a statement of his bank account at an unusual time. Jaspar, who, in the illness of his brother, had managed all his business, immediately discovered the forgery. Without disputing its genuineness, he ascertained who had presented it, and traced the deed to the attorney, and thus obtained a hold upon him which was peculiarly favorable to the execution of his great purpose.
"You see I have not laid myself open to your fire without fortifying my position," said Jaspar, enjoying, with hearty relish, the discomfiture of the lawyer. "Now, no more of _honor_ to me. I have kept your secret for my own interest, and now you will keep mine from the same motive."
"But I _dare_ not do this thing," replied Maxwell, keenly sensitive to the weakness of his position; "I lack the ability."
"You have signed the colonel"s name once very well; perhaps you can do it again," sneered Jaspar, who had no mercy for an unwilling servant.
"It will not be for your interest or mine that I should do it," returned Maxwell, determined, if possible, to avoid committing himself.
"Why not?" said Jaspar.
"My frequent visits to Bellevue would subject me to suspicion. I am known. Another would not be suspected. If I clear myself, I shall clear you at the same time. I can procure a person who will accomplish all in safety."
"Think you I will trust another man with the possession of the secret?"
"I shall compromise my own safety by writing the will, as you propose."
"True,--who is this person?"
"His name is--" and Maxwell hesitated; then a severe fit of coughing apparently prevented his uttering the name--"his name is Antoine De Guy."
"Do I know him?"
"You do, I think,--a kind of _street_ lawyer,--you must have met him at the Exchange."
"What looking man is he?"
"About fifty years of age," replied Maxwell, more thoughtful than the simple description of a person would seem to require,--"rather corpulent, black hair and whiskers, intermixed with gray,--dresses old-fashioned, and always looks rusty."
"I do not remember him,--De Guy--De Guy," said Jaspar, musing; "no, I do not know him. Are you confident he can be trusted?"
"Perfectly confident. I pledge my own safety on his fidelity," replied Maxwell, not a little satisfied at gaining his point,--for he had a point, and a strong one, as the reader may yet have occasion to know.
"Very good,--I will inquire about him."
"And expose us both!" replied Maxwell, in much alarm.
"True,--on reflection, it would not be wise, and it would be best for you and I not to be seen together. But finish the will; the colonel will not relish my long absence. A word more: do not say anything about _this_ will. The colonel has a fancy to keep it secret, and this fancy will be the salvation of our scheme."
But we will not follow the conversation any further. The reader has obtained a sufficient knowledge of these worthies from their own mouths, to believe them capable of any villany they may be called upon to perpetrate.
The plot was further arranged in all its details. A meeting with De Guy was fixed for the next day, when all parties were to be prepared to act their parts.
CHAPTER IV.
"He is a man, setting his fate aside, Of comely virtues; Nor did he soil the fact with cowardice, But with a n.o.ble fury and a fair spirit He did oppose his foe."
Shakespeare.
Colonel Dumont"s melancholy forebodings proved to be too well grounded, for in ten days after the departure of Henry Carroll he breathed his last, not fully ripe in years, but mature in the stature of a good man.
His worldly affairs had all been arranged, and with his mind at peace with G.o.d and man he bade a final adieu to his weeping daughter and dissembling brother, and calmly resigned his spirit to its Author.
The mansion of Colonel Dumont had been the abode of happiness.
Cheerfulness and contentment--rare visitors at the home of opulence--dwelt gracefully amid the luxurious splendor of this house.
But now a heavy stroke of affliction had come upon the devoted Emily.
The ruthless hand of death had struck down her father in the midst of prosperity and happiness. She felt that she was alone in the world. Her unsympathizing uncle seemed not to feel the loss, but appeared even more cold and churlish than ever. She could not expect from him the offices of kindness and sympathy. She was an orphan, but not till she was prepared to combat with the trials of life. Recognizing the hand of Providence in this visitation of the Angel of Death, she bowed meekly and submissively to the Master Will, and was even cheerful and happy in her tears.
It was about ten o"clock on the night succeeding the funeral of Colonel Dumont that a small canoe, containing a single individual, touched at the bank of the river near the now gloomy mansion. Leaping from the canoe, which was nearly swamped by the act, the person it had contained drew the frail bark beyond the reach of the rapid current, and ascended the steep bank. Following the smooth sh.e.l.l road through the long vista of negro huts, he reached the little grove of tropical trees which surrounded the proprietary mansion. Casting an anxious glance around him, to satisfy himself that he was not watched, he cautiously approached the only illuminated window on that side of the house, upon which, after a close scrutiny of the interior of the room, he gave several light taps. This signal was answered by Jaspar Dumont, who, with a word of caution, opened the window. The stranger, with a light spring which belied his apparent years, gained the interior of the room, which was the library of the late owner.
The person who had thus obtained admission was the lawyer, Antoine De Guy, whom Maxwell had suggested as a fit agent for the execution of Jaspar"s scheme. He was certainly an odd-looking man. His face was of a very dark red color, much like that which is produced by the united effects of exposure and intemperance, and was encircled by a pair of black whiskers, intermixed with gray. His cranium was ornamented with a huge ma.s.s of the same parti-colored hair. His fiery red nose was placed in strange contrast with a pair of green spectacles, which entirely concealed the color and expression of his eyes. His clothes were of a most primitive cut, and had probably been black once, but were now rusty and white from long service. His form was portly, a little inclined to corpulency. His hands were most unprofessionally dirty; but this might have been occasioned by contact with the canoe in his pa.s.sage. On one of his fingers glittered a diamond ring, which, considering the lack of ornaments in other respects, but ill accorded with the apparent parsimony of the man. It might, however, have been obtained in the way of trade, for Maxwell had hinted that he did business under the sign of the "three golden b.a.l.l.s." He was apparently in the neighborhood of five-and-forty, and looked like the debauchee in the face, while his dress indicated the penurious man of business.
"Did any one see you?" asked Jaspar, whose teeth were chattering with apprehension, notwithstanding his natural boldness.
"Not that I am aware of," replied De Guy, in a silky tone, which, proceeding from such a form, would have astonished the listener.
"You met no one?" interrogated the anxious Jaspar.
"Not a soul! Everything was still."
"Let us be sure of it. Step into this room for a moment. I will see that all the servants have retired," said Jaspar, pushing his confederate into an adjoining apartment.
A light pull at the bell-rope brought to the library the body-servant of the late planter.
This "boy," who was known by the name of _Hatchie_, was a mulatto. He was about forty years of age, and, having never been reduced to labor in the cane-fields, bore his age remarkably well. He was about six feet in height, very stout built, and was endowed with immense physical strength. His brow was a little wrinkled, and his head was a little bald upon the top,--and these were the only evidences of his years. His expression was that of great intelligence. In his countenance there was a kind of humility, to which his demeanor corresponded, that might have resulted from his condition, or have been inherent in his nature. He was a man who, even in a land of slavery, would be instinctively respected.
He had been a great favorite with his late master, in whose family he had spent the greater part of his life. By being constantly in attendance upon him and his guests, he had acquired a much greater amount of information than is often found in those of his condition. He could read and write, and by his intelligence and singular fidelity had proved a valuable addition to his master"s household. Possessing his confidence, and regarded more as a friend than a slave by Emily, he was a privileged person in the house,--a confidence which in no instance did he abuse, and which in no degree abated his affection or his fidelity.
Hatchie was not a phrenologist, but he had long ago acquired a perfect knowledge of Jaspar"s character,--a knowledge which his master or Emily had never obtained.
Hatchie considered Emily, now that her father was dead, as his own especial charge, and he watched over her, in the disparity of their stations, very much as a faithful dog watches over a child intrusted to its keeping. Towards her he entertained a sentiment of the profoundest respect as his mistress, and of parental affection as one who had grown up under his eye.
"Hatchie," said Jaspar, as the mulatto entered the library, "are the hands all in?"