CHAPTER II.
THE OATH.
A sigh from the panting breast of Amos Cadwalader followed these words.Plainer than speech it told of a grief still fresh and an agony stillunappeased, though thirty years had passed away since the unhappy hourof which Felix spoke.
Felix, echoing it, went quickly on:
"It was dusk when I told my story, and from dark to dawn we sat witheyes fixed on each other's face, without sleep and without rest. Then wesought John Poindexter.
"Had he shunned us we might have had mercy, but he met us openly,quietly, and with all the indifference of one who cannot measurefeeling, because he is incapable of experiencing it himself. His firstsentence evinced this. 'Spare yourselves, spare me all uselessrecriminations. The girl is dead; I cannot call her back again. Enjoyyour life, your eating and your drinking, your getting and yourspending; it is but for a few more years at best. Why harp on old'griefs?' His last word was a triumph. 'When a man cares for nothing ornobody, it is useless to curse him.'
"Ah, that was it! That was the secret of his power. He cared for nothingand for no one, not even for himself. We felt the blow, and bent underit. But before leaving him and the town, we swore, your father and I,that we would yet make that cold heart feel; that some day, in some way,we would cause that impassive nature to suffer as he had made us suffer,however happy he might seem or however closely his prosperity mightcling to him. That was thirty years ago, and that oath has not yet beenfulfilled."
Felix paused. Thomas lifted his head, but the old man would not let himspeak. "There are men who forget in a month, others who forget in ayear. I have never forgotten, nor has Felix here. When you were born (Ihad married again, in the hope of renewed joy) I felt, I know not why,that Evelyn's avenger was come. And when, a year or so after this event,we heard that God had forgotten John Poindexter's sins, or, perhaps,remembered them, and that a child was given him also, after eighteenyears of married life, I looked upon your bonny face and saw--or thoughtI saw--a possible means of bringing about the vengeance to which Felixand I had dedicated our lives.
"You grew; your ardent nature, generous temper, and facile mind promisedan abundant manhood, and when your mother died, leaving me for a secondtime a widower, I no longer hesitated to devote you to the purpose forwhich you seemed born. Thomas, do you remember the beginning of thatjourney which finally led you far from me? How I bore you on my shoulderalong a dusty road, till arrived within sight of his home, I raised youfrom among the tombs and, showing you those distant gables looming blackagainst the twilight's gold, dedicated you to the destruction ofwhatever happiness might hereafter develop under his infant's smile? Youdo? I did not think you could forget; and now that the time has come forthe promise of that hour to be fulfilled, I call on you again, Thomas.Avenge our griefs, avenge your sister. _Poindexter's girl has grown towomanhood._"
At the suggestion conveyed in these words Thomas recoiled in horror. Butthe old man failed to read his emotion rightly. Clutching his arm, heproceeded passionately:
"Woo her! Win her! They do not know you. You will be Thomas Adams tothem, not Thomas Cadwalader. Gather this budding flower into your bosom,and then--Oh, he must love his child! Through her we have our hand onhis heart. Make her suffer--she's but a country girl, and you have livedin Paris--make her suffer, and if, in doing so, you cause him to blench,then believe I am looking upon you from the grave I go to, and be happy;for you will not have lived, nor will I have died, in vain."
He paused to catch his failing breath, but his indomitable willtriumphed over death and held Thomas under a spell that confounded hisinstincts and made him the puppet of feelings which had accumulatedtheir force to fill him, in one hour, with a hate which it had taken hisfather and brother a quarter of a century to bring to the point ofactive vengeance.
"I shall die; I am dying now," the old man panted on. "I shall neverlive to see your triumph; I shall never behold John Poindexter's eyeglaze with those sufferings which rend the entrails and make a manquestion if there is a God in heaven. But I shall know it where I am. Nomounded earth can keep my spirit down when John Poindexter feels hisdoom. I shall be conscious of his anguish and shall rejoice; and when inthe depths of darkness to which I go he comes faltering along my way----
"Boy, boy, you have been reared for this. God made you handsome; man hasmade you strong; you have made yourself intelligent and accomplished.You have only to show yourself to this country girl to become the masterof her will and affection, and these once yours, remember _me_!_Remember Evelyn!_"
Never had Thomas been witness to such passion. It swept him along in aburning stream against which he sought to contend and could not. Raisinghis hand in what he meant as a response to that appeal, he endeavored tospeak, but failed. His father misinterpreted his silence, and bitterlycried:
"You are dumb! You do not like the task; are virtuous, perhaps--you whohave lived for years alone and unhampered in Paris. Or you haveinstincts of honor, habits of generosity that blind you to wrongs thatfor a longer space than your lifetime have cried aloud to heaven forvengeance. Thomas, Thomas, if you should fail me now----"
"He will not fail you," broke in the voice of Felix, calm, suave, andinsinuating. "I have watched him; I know him; he will not fail you."
Thomas shuddered; he had forgotten Felix, but as he heard these words hecould no longer delay looking at the man who had offered to stand hissurety for the performance of the unholy deed his father exacted fromhim. Turning, he saw a man who in any place and under any roof wouldattract attention, awake admiration and--yes, fear. He was not a largeman, not so large as himself, but the will that expressed itself infrenzy on his father's lips showed quiet and inflexible in the gray eyeresting upon his own with a power he could never hope to evade. As helooked and comprehended, a steel band seemed to compress his heart; yethe was conscious at the same time that the personality before which hethus succumbed was as elegant as his own and as perfectly trained in allthe ways of men and of life. Even the air of poverty which had shockedhim in his father's person and surroundings was not visible here. Felixwas both well and handsomely clad, and could hold his own as the elderbrother in every respect most insisted upon by the Parisian gentleman.The long and, to Thomas, mysterious curtain of dark-green serge whichstretched behind him from floor to ceiling threw out his pale featureswith a remarkable distinctness, and for an instant Thomas wondered if ithad been hung there for the purpose of producing this effect. But thedemand in his brother's face drew his attention, and, bowing his head,he stammered:
"I am at your command, Felix. I am at your command, father. I cannot saymore. Only remember that I never saw Evelyn, that she died before I wasborn, and that I----"
But here Felix's voice broke in, kind, but measured:
"Perhaps there is some obstacle we have not reckoned upon. You mayalready love some woman and desire to marry her. If so, it need be noimpediment----"
But here Thomas's indignation found voice.
"No," said he; "I am heart-whole save for a few lingering fancies whichare fast becoming vanishing dreams."
He seemed to have lived years since entering this room.
"Your heart will not be disturbed now," commented Felix. "I have seenthe girl. I went there on purpose a year ago. She's as pale as asnow-drop and as listless. You will not be obliged to recall to mind thegay smiles of Parisian ladies to be proof against her charms."
Thomas shrugged his shoulders.
"She must be made to know the full intoxication of hope," Felixproceeded in his clear and cutting voice. "To realize despair she mustfirst experience every delight that comes with satisfied love. Have youthe skill as well as heart to play to the end a role which will takepatience as well as dissimulation, courage as well as subtlety, and thatunion of will and implacability which finds its food in tears and isstrengthened, rather than lessened, by the suffering of its victim?"
"I have the skill," murmured Thomas, "but----"
"You lack the incentive," finished Felix.
"Well, well, we must havepatience with your doubts and hesitations. Our hate has been fostered bymemories of her whom, as you say, you have never seen. Look, then,Thomas. Look at your sister as she was, as she is for us. Look at her,and think of her as despoiled, killed, forgotten by Poindexter. Have youever gazed upon a more moving countenance, or one in which beautycontends with a keener prophecy of woe?"
Not 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 oflight, in the midst of which he saw a charming, but tragic, figure, suchas no gallery in all Europe had ever shown him, possibly because noother limned face or form had ever appealed to his heart. It did notseem a picture, it seemed her very self, a gentle, loving self thatbreathed forth all the tenderness he had vainly sought for in his livingrelatives; and falling at her feet, he cried out:
"Do not look at me so reproachfully, sweet Evelyn. I was born to avengeyou, and I will. John Poindexter shall never go down in peace to histomb."
A sigh of utter contentment came from the direction of the bed.
"Swear it!" cried his father, holding out his arms before him in theform of a cross.
"Yes, swear it!" repeated Felix, laying his own hand on those crossedarms.
Thomas drew near, and laid his hand beside that of Felix.
"I swear," he began, raising his voice above the tempest, which pouredgust after gust against the house. "I swear to win the affections of EvaPoindexter, and then, when her heart is all mine, to cast her back inanguish and contumely on the breast of John Poindexter."
"Good!" came from what seemed to him an immeasurable distance. Then thedarkness, which since the taking of this oath had settled over hissenses, 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 excitingincidents I have just related, and glancing from Thomas to Felix,sitting on either side of the bed, fixed his eyes with a strange gleamupon the door.
"Ah!" he ejaculated, "a visitor! John Poindexter! He comes to ask myforgiveness before I set out on my dismal journey."
The sarcasm of his tone, the courtesy of his manner, caused the hair tostir on the heads of his two sons. That he saw his enemy as plainly ashe saw them, neither could doubt.
"Does he dread my meeting with Evelyn? Does he wish to placate me beforeI am joined to that pathetic shade? He shall not be disappointed. Iforgive you, John Poindexter! I forgive you my daughter's shame, myblighted life. I am dying; but I leave one behind who will not forgiveyou. 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.