Love's Labor Won by Mrs. E. D. E. N. Southworth - HTML preview

CHAPTER XV.
 NIGHT AND ITS ONE STAR.

Two years had elapsed since the disappearance of Margaret Helmstedt.

Major Helmstedt had caused secret investigations to be set on foot, that had resulted in demonstrating, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Margaret Helmstedt and William Dawson had embarked as passengers on board the bark Amphytrite, bound from Norfolk to Liverpool. From the day upon which this fact was ascertained, Margaret’s name was tacitly dropped by all her acquaintances.

It was about twelve months after the disappearance of Margaret that old Mr. Wellworth died, and his orphan daughter Grace found a refuge in the home of Nellie Houston.

Ralph Houston was then at home, considering himself quite released by circumstances from his rash vow of forsaking his father’s house.

Grace, the weak-hearted little creature, permitted herself to mistake all Ralph’s brotherly kindness for a warmer affection, and to fall incontinently in love with him.

When the clergyman’s daughter had been their inmate for six months, Mrs. Houston astounded the young man by informing him that unless his intentions were serious, “he really should not go on so with the poor fatherless and motherless girl.”

Captain Houston did not love Grace—but he rather liked her. He thought her very pretty, gentle, and winning; moreover, he believed her soft, pliable, elastic little heart capable of being broken!

Since Margaret was lost to him forever, perhaps he might as well as not make this pretty, engaging little creature his wife. The constant presence of Grace was an appeal to which he impulsively yielded. Then—the word spoken—there was no honorable retreat.

Christmas was the day appointed for the wedding. Clare Hartley consented to officiate as bridesmaid; Frank Houston agreed to act as groomsman, and Dr. Hartley offered to give the fatherless bride away.

The twenty-fifth day of December dawned clear and cold. The whole bridal company that had assembled the evening previous set out at the appointed hour for the church.

They reached the church a few minutes before nine o’clock. Dr. Simmons, the pastor, was already in attendance. The bridal party passed up the aisle and formed before the altar. Amid the solemn silence that ever precedes such rites the marriage ceremony commenced.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this company, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony; which is commended of Saint Paul to be honorable among all men; and therefore is not by any to be entered into unadvisedly or lightly; but reverently, discreetly, advisedly, soberly, and in the fear of God. Into this holy estate, these two persons present come now to be joined. If any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak, or else, hereafter, forever hold his peace——”

Here the minister made the customary pause; and then, just as he was about to resume his reading, there was the sound of an opening door, and a clear, commanding voice, exclaiming:

“Stop, on your lives! The marriage must not proceed!”

At the same moment all eyes were turned in astonishment, to see a gentleman, with a veiled lady leaning on his arm, advancing toward the altar.

The minister laid down his book; the bridegroom turned, with a brow of stern inquiry, upon the intruder; the bride stood in trembling amazement. Colonel Houston alone had the presence of mind to demand, somewhat haughtily:

“Pray, sir, what is the meaning of this most offensive conduct? By what authority do you venture to interrupt these solemnities?”

The young stranger turned and bowed to the questioner, smiling good-humoredly as he answered:

“Faith, sir! by the authority conferred upon me by the ritual, which exhorts that any man who can show any cause why these two persons may not be united in matrimony, forthwith declare it. So adjured, I speak—happening to know two causes why these two persons may not be lawfully joined together. The fair bride has been for two years past my promised wife, and the gallant bridegroom’s betrothal ring still encircles the finger of Margaret Helmstedt!”

“And who are you, sir, that ventures to take these words upon your lips?” now asked Ralph Houston, deeply shaken by the mention of his Margaret’s name.

“I am,” replied the young man, speaking slowly and distinctly, “William Daw, Earl of Falconridge, the half-brother of Margaret Helmstedt by the side of our mother, Marguerite De Lancie, who, previous to becoming the wife of Mr. Philip Helmstedt, had been the wife and the widow of Lord William Daw. Should my statement require confirmation,” continued the young man, “it can be furnished by documents in my possession, and which I am prepared to submit to any person concerned.” Bowing to the astounded party, he retraced his steps.

The silence of amazement bound all the hearers; nor was the spell broken until the young lady who leaned upon the arm of Lord Falconridge drew aside her veil, revealing the pale and lovely countenance of Margaret Helmstedt, and crossed over to the side of Major Helmstedt, saying:

“Father, the labor of my life is accomplished; my mother’s name is clear forever!” and overpowered by excess of emotion, she sank fainting at the feet of her astonished parent.

“Margaret! my Margaret!” exclaimed Ralph Houston, forgetting everything else, and springing forward. Tenderly lifted in the arms of Ralph, Margaret was conveyed to the parsonage, and laid on the bed in the best chamber. Here efforts to restore her to consciousness were vainly pursued for a long time.

When at last a change came, returning life was scarcely less alarming than apparent death had been. For weeks she wandered in a most distressing delirium.

It was about this time that Major Helmstedt and Lord Falconridge had a long business conversation. The major, being perfectly assured in regard to his identity and his claims, delivered up into his lordship’s hands such portion of his mother’s estate as he would have legally inherited. After the transfer was made, Lord Falconridge executed an instrument, conveying the whole disputed property to his sister, Margaret Helmstedt, “and her heirs forever.”

Not until Margaret was fully restored to health was the whole secret history of her mother’s most unhappy life revealed. The facts, obtained at intervals, were, in brief, these:

Marguerite De Lancie, tempted by inordinate social ambition, had consented to a private marriage with Lord William Daw.

His lordship’s tutor, the Rev. Mr. Murray, became a party to the plan, even to the extent of performing the marriage ceremony. His lordship’s valet was the only witness. The certificate of marriage was left in the hands of the bride. The ceremony took place at Saratoga, in the month of July.

Two months after, early in September, Lord William Daw, summoned by his father to the bedside of his declining mother, sailed for England.

Marguerite received from him one letter, dated at sea, and in which he addressed her as his “beloved wife,” and signed himself, boy-loverlike, her “adoring husband.” This letter was directed to Lady William Daw, under cover to Marguerite De Lancie. It was the only one that he ever had the opportunity of writing to her. It arrived about the time that the wife first knew that she was also destined to become a mother.

In the January following the receipt of this letter, Marguerite went with the Comptons to the New Year’s evening ball at the Executive Mansion. It was while standing up in a quadrille that she overheard two gentlemen speak of the wreck of the bark Venture off the coast of Cornwall, with the loss of all on board.

Marguerite fainted; and thence followed the terrible illness that brought her to the borders of death—of death, for which indeed she prayed and hoped; for what a wretched condition was hers! She, one of the most beautiful, accomplished, and high-spirited queens of society, found herself fated to become a mother, without the power of proving that she had ever possessed the right to the name of wife.

As soon as she was able to recollect, reflect, and act, she felt that the only hope of recognition as the widow of Lord William Daw rested with the family of the latter; and she determined to go secretly to England. She made her preparations and departed.

She reached London, where, overtaken by the pangs of maternity, she gave birth to a son, and immediately fell into a long and dangerous fever. Upon recovering, she sought the Yorkshire home of her father-in-law, and revealed to him her position.

Marguerite was prepared for doubt, difficulty, and delay, but not for the utter incredulity, scorn, and rejection, to which she was subjected by the arrogant Marquis of Eaglecliff. Marguerite exhibited the certificate of her marriage, and the sole letter her young husband had ever had the power to write to her, and pleaded for recognition.

Now the old marquis knew the handwriting of his son, and of his chaplain; but, feeling outraged by what he chose to consider artifice on the part of Marguerite, disobedience on that of William, and treachery on that of Mr. Murray, he contemptuously put aside the certificate as a forgery, and the letter, beginning “My beloved wife,” as the mere nonsense of a boy-lover writing to his mistress.

Indignant and broken-hearted, Marguerite took her son and returned to her native country; put the boy out to nurse, and then sought her home in Virginia, to reflect, amid its quiet scenes, upon her future course.

Marguerite’s confidential consultations with various eminent lawyers had resulted in no encouragement for her to seek legal redress; she determined to rear her boy in secrecy; and watch if, perchance, some opportunity for successfully pushing his claims should occur. Further, she resolved to remain unmarried, and to devote herself to the welfare of this unacknowledged son, so that, should all his rights of birth be finally denied, she could at last legally adopt him, and make him her sole heir. Somewhat quieted by this resolution, Marguerite De Lancie became once more the ascendant star of fashion. The greater part of each year she spent in the hamlet in the State of New York where she had placed her son at nurse, accounting for her long absences by the defiant answer, “I’ve been gypsying.”

Thus three years slipped away, when at length Marguerite De Lancie met her fate in Philip Helmstedt, the only man whom she ever really loved.

The tale she durst not tell her lover, she insanely hoped might be successfully concealed, or safely confided to her husband. Ah, vain hope! Philip Helmstedt, to the last degree jealous and suspicious, was the worst man on the face of the earth to whom to confide her questionable story.

They were married; and for a time she was lost in the power that attracted, encircled, and swallowed up her whole fiery nature.

From this deep trance of bliss she was electrified by the receipt of a letter, advising her of the sudden and dangerous illness of the unowned child. Here was an exigency for which she was totally unprepared. She prayed Philip Helmstedt to permit her to depart, for a season, unquestioned. This strange petition gave rise to the first misunderstanding between them. With the terrible scenes that followed the reader is already acquainted. She was not suffered to depart.

A subsequent letter informed her of the convalescence of her son.

A superficial peace, without confidence, ensued between herself and husband. They went to Richmond, where Marguerite, filled with grief, remorse, and terror, so distractedly overacted her part as queen of fashion, that she brought upon herself, from wondering friends, the suspicion of partial insanity.

It was at this time that she received a third letter, advising her of the nearly fatal relapse of her child.

Knowing from past experience how vain it would be to hope for Philip Helmstedt’s consent to her unexpected absence, she secretly departed, to spend a few weeks with her suffering child. She reached the hamlet, nursed her boy through his illness, and then placed him to be reared and educated in the family of the poor village pastor, to whom, for his services as tutor, she offered a liberal salary.

The Rev. John Braunton was a man past middle age, of acute intellect, conscientious principles, and benevolent disposition. From his keen perceptive faculties it was impossible to hide the fact that the mysterious lady, who took such deep and painful interest in this child, was other than the boy’s mother.

Having arranged a system of correspondence with the clergyman, and paid a half year’s salary in advance, Marguerite Helmstedt departed for her Virginia home, full of intense anxiety as to the reception she would meet from her husband. We know what that reception was. Philip Helmstedt must have sacrificed her life to his jealous rage but that she was destined to be the mother of his child. He kept his wife from her son for fifteen years.

In the meantime Mr. Braunton, who regularly received his salary, wondered that he received no more visits from the guardian or mother of his pupil. As the years passed he expostulated by letter. Marguerite wept, but could not go.

Some time after this, Braunton suddenly appeared before her on the island to inform her that her boy, grown restive in his rustic residence, had run away from home. Nothing could be discovered in relation to the missing youth, and from this time Marguerite Helmstedt’s health rapidly declined.

Once more Marguerite saw her son. In the spring of 1814 he suddenly appeared before her in the uniform of a British soldier—claimed her assistance, and adjured her to reveal to him his birth and parentage. His miserable mother evaded his question, besought him to return to the protection of Mr. Braunton, and, promising to write, or to see him again, dismissed him.

That visit was the deathblow from which Marguerite never recovered. She died, and, dying, bequeathed to her daughter the legacy of this secret.

Having vindicated her mother’s honor, Margaret would now withhold the particulars of her own perseverance and self-denial in the cause of her brother. But her father and her lover were not to be thus put off. Little by little, they drew from the reluctant girl the story of her devotion to her mother’s trust. The ample income, drawn from her mother’s legacy of Plover’s Point, had been regularly sent to Mr. Braunton, to be invested for the benefit of William Dawson; afterward a correspondence was opened with the young man.

When subsequently they happened to meet that day on Helmstedt Island, the young man sought to compel, from her lips, the story of his parentage; but Margaret refused to tell him anything, and spoke of her mother only as his patroness.

But when he begged to be shown her grave, Margaret consented. They took a boat and went up the river to the family burial ground at Plover’s Point. They returned in the evening—the young soldier to rejoin his comrades—Margaret to rejoin her friends, and to meet suspicions which she had no power to quell.

It was some weeks after this when the famous attack upon the parsonage was made, and young William Dawson was taken prisoner. While upon his parole, an irresistible attraction drew him to seek Margaret. He visited her in her private apartment, entering and departing by the garden door. Nellie saw him depart. Margaret besought him to come no more. After that, he lingered near the house, and met her in her walks. The spies of Nellie Houston discovered and reported this interview. Yet again they met in the woods, where Margaret entreated him not to waylay her.

About that time also, Clare Hartley spoke in the presence of the young ensign of her own and Margaret Helmstedt’s purposed visit to Fort Warburton. The visit was not made; but William Dawson, missing Margaret from her accustomed haunts, wandered off to the neighborhood of Fort Warburton, where he was taken for a spy, and as such might have been hung, had he not bribed a messenger to carry a note to his sister, whom he now knew to be not at the fort. The messenger, in going away, was seen by Nellie, who naturally took him to be the young ensign. Margaret obeyed the peremptory summons, and the same night departed for Fort Warburton. With the terrible train of misfortunes that ensued, the reader is already acquainted.

Immediately after the prevented duel and the parting with her lover, Margaret sought her brother, and, taking the marriage certificate, and the letter of Lord William Daw, embarked with her brother for Liverpool.

On reaching England, she immediately sought the Marquis of Eaglecliff, and laid before him the claims of his grandson. At the first sight of the young man, the aged peer made an exclamation of surprise. So great was his likeness to the late Lord William Daw, that the marquis almost fancied he beheld again his long-lost son.

Legal steps were immediately taken to establish his identity and confirm his position. Law processes are proverbially slow. In all, it was about twelve months between the time that William Daw was acknowledged by his grandfather, and the time when his position as the legal heir of Eaglecliff was permanently established. And it was more than two years from the day upon which the brother and sister had sailed to England, to that upon which they so opportunely returned to America.

But little remains to be written. With spring, Margaret’s beauty bloomed again.

In June Ralph Houston led his long-affianced bride to the altar. After an extended trip through New England, they took up their residence in the city of Richmond, where Ralph Houston had been appointed to a high official post.

Lord Falconridge remained through the winter, the guest of his sister and brother-in-law. Major Helmstedt, of course, took up his abode with his daughter and her husband.

Honest Frank Houston married Clare Hartley, with whom he lives very happily at Plover’s Point.

I am sorry that I cannot present poor little Grace Wellworth as a countess, but, truth to tell, the young earl never resumed his addresses. So Grace, in fear of being an old maid, accepted the proposals soon afterward made to her by Mr. Simmons, the minister, to whom she makes a very exemplary wife.

THE END.