CHAPTER IV.
EMBARKED FOR CALIFORNIA.
We were on our way to California by the next steamer. By the advice ofMr. Burton I purchased my ticket under an assumed name, for he did notwish to excite the curiosity of the Argylls, who might happen to seethe passage-list, and who would be sure to suspect something from thecontiguity of our names. To his friends, who chanced to know of hissudden intentions, Mr. Burton represented that the health of hisdaughter demanded a change of climate, and business matters had led himto prefer California.
It was fortunate, since the expenses of such a trip had become sounexpected a necessity, that I had lived in the plain, retiring mannerwhich I had done in Washington. I had wasted no money on white kids,bouquets, nor champagne-suppers; I had paid my board and washing-bills,and a very moderate bill to my tailor; the rest of my salary had beenplaced in a New York bank to my account. My scorched soul and witheredtastes had demanded no luxurious gratification--not even the purchaseof new books; so that now, when this sudden demand arose, I had a fundsufficient for the purpose. Mr. Burton bore his own expenses, which,indeed, I could not help, for I had not the means of urging a differentcourse upon him.
We had a very definite object, but no definite plans; these were to beformed according to the circumstances we had to encounter after ourarrival in El Dorado. Of course our man was living under an assumedname, and had traveled under an assumed one; we might have everydifficulty in getting upon his track. At the time the detective haddiscovered the return of the five-hundred dollar bill from SanFrancisco, he had, with great perseverance, gained access to, and "madea note of" the passengers' lists of all the steamers which sailed at orabout the time of the murder, for California. These he had preserved.Out of the names, he had chosen those which his curious sagacitysuggested were the most likely to prove fictitious, and, if no quickermethod presented itself, he intended to trace out one and all of thosepassengers, until he came upon _the man_. In all this I was hisassistant, willing to carry out his directions, but trusting the wholeaffair to his more experienced hand.
During the long, monotonous days of our voyage, I seemed to have
"Suffered a sea-change"
into something quite different from the wooden sort of being into whichI had gradually been hardening. With the dull routine of my office-lifewere broken up also many of the cynical ways of thinking into which Ihad fallen. I felt as if the springs of youth were not quite dried up.The real secret of this improvement was in the eager hope I entertainedthat the real criminals were soon to be brought to light, and theArgylls made to realize the cruel wrong they had done me. Already, inimagination, I had accepted their regret and forgiven them theirinjustice. It seemed as if every breath of the sea-breeze, and everybound of the sparkling waves, swept away a portion of the bitternesswhich had mingled with my nature. The old poetry of existence began towarm my chilled pulses and to flush the morning and evening sky. Forhours most melancholy, yet most delicious, I would climb to some lonelypost of observation--for I was a perfect sailor among the ropes--andthere, where the blue of heaven bent down to meet the blue of theocean, making an azure round in which floated only the ethereal clouds,all the sweetness of the past would come floating to me in fragments,like the odor of flowers blown from some beloved and distant shore.
The most vivid picture in my sea-dreams, was that of the parlor of theold Argyll mansion, as I had seen it last, on the night of my excursionto the oak-tree. Mary, in the rosy bloom of young womanhood, the idealof beauty to the eye of a young and appreciative man, whose standard offemale perfection was high, while his sensitiveness to its charm wasintense--Mary, reading her book beneath the rich light of thechandelier--I loved to recall the vision, except always that it wasmarred by that shadow of James coming too soon between me and thelight. But that flitting vision of Eleanor was as if a saint had lookeddown at me out of its shrine. I saw, then, that she was no longer ofthis world, as far as her hopes were concerned. My once strong passionhad been slowly changing into reverence; I had grieved with her with agrief utterly self-abnegating, and when I saw that her despair hadworked itself up to a patient and aspiring resignation, I now felt lessof pity and more of affectionate reverence. I would have sacrificed mylife for her peace of heart; but I no longer thought of Eleanor Argyllas of a woman to be approached by the loves of this world. Still, as Imused in my sea-reveries, I believed myself to have exhausted my wealthof feeling upon this now dead and hallowed love. I had given my firstoffering at the feet of a woman, peerless amid her compeers, and sinceshe had chosen before me, I must needs live solitary, too honored byhaving worshiped a woman like Eleanor, to ever be satisfied with asecond choice. For Mary I felt a keen admiration, and a brother'sfondest love. The noble words she had spoken in my favor had thrilledme with gratitude, and increased the tenderness I had always cherishedtoward her. When I thought of her approaching marriage, it was not withjealousy, but with a certain indefinable pang which came of my disliketo the motives and character of James. I did not believe that he lovedher. Eleanor he _had_ loved; but Mary was to him only the necessarymeans of securing the name, property, respectability, etc., of hisuncle's family. As I recalled that visit to the gaming-table, I felt,at times, as if I _must_ get back from this journey in time tointerfere, and break up the marriage. I would run the risk of beingagain treated as before--of being misunderstood and insulted--I wouldrun _any_ risk to save her from the unhappiness which must come fromsuch a partnership! So I thought one hour, and the next I wouldpersuade myself that I could not and must not make such a fool ofmyself; and that, after all, when once "married and settled," Jamesmight make a very good husband and citizen.
Little Lenore was the light and glory of the steamer. People almostfancied that, with such a good angel aboard, no harm could come to theship. And indeed we had a speedy, prosperous voyage.
Yet it was tedious to Mr. Burton. I had never seen him so restless. Iused to tell him that he made the hours a great deal longer by countingthem so often. It was evident that he had some anxiety which he did notshare with me. A feverish dread of delays was upon him.
After we had crossed the isthmus, and were fairly embarked on thePacific, his restlessness abated. Yet it was just then that a smalldelay occurred, which threatened to irritate him into new impatience.It was found that the captain had taken on board quite a company ofpassengers whom he had promised to land at Acapulco. It was abeautiful, sunny day early in October, that our ship steamed into thelittle bay. Nearly all the passengers were on deck, to take a look atthe country and harbor as we approached. I was upon the hurricane-deckwith Lenore, who was delighted with the warm air and green shores, andwhose hair streamed on the fresh yet delicious breeze like a goldenbanner. She observed the distant mountains, the sunny haze, theglimmering water of the bay, with all the intelligence of a woman;while I could not but be more pleased with the roses blowing on hercheeks and the trick the wind was playing with her hair, than with allthe scenery about us. The child's attendant, a steady, careful matron,who had long had the charge of her, was likewise on deck, chatting withsome of her new acquaintances, and she could not refrain from coming tous, presently, on the pretext of wrapping Lenore's shawl closer abouther.
"Do look at her, Mr. Redfield," said the good woman, "did you ever seeher looking so bright and healthy, sir? The master was right, sureenough--it was a sea-voyage she needed, above all things. Her cheeksare like pinies, and, if I do say it, who shouldn't, it's the opinionof the company that you're the best-lookin' couple on the decks. I'veheard more'n one speak of it this past half-hour."
"That's half true, anyhow," I answered, laughing, and looking atLenore, whose modest, quiet mind was never on the alert forcompliments. She laughed because I did, but remained just asunconscious of her pretty looks as hitherto.
"There's papa coming," she said; "something has happened to him."
With her marvelous quick discernment, so like her father's,
sheperceived, before I did, that he was excited, although endeavoring toappear more calm than he really felt.
"Well, Richard, Lenore," he began, drawing us a little apart from theothers, speaking in a low voice, "what do you say to my leaving you?"
"Leaving us!" we both very naturally exclaimed.
"It would be rather sudden, that is true."
"Where would you go? Walk off on the water, or betake yourself to thevalleys and mountains of Mexico?"
"There's no jest about it, Richard. Information, which has come to mein the strangest, most unexpected manner, renders it imperative that Ishould stop at Acapulco. I am as much surprised as you are. I have noteven time to tell you the story; in twenty minutes the ship will beginto send off her passengers in a small-boat; and if I decide to remainhere, I must go to my state-room for some of my clothes."
"Are you in earnest, father?" asked Lenore, ready to cry.
"Yes, my darling. I am afraid I must let you go on to San Franciscowithout me; but you will have Marie, and Richard will take as good careof you as I would. I want you to enjoy yourselves, to have no cares, totake the second return steamer, which will give you a fortnight in SanFrancisco, and _I will meet you at the isthmus_. As you will havenothing to do, after your arrival, I will advise you to explore thecountry, ride out every pleasant day, etc. The time will soon pass, andin five weeks, God willing, we shall meet and be happy, my dear littlegirl. Run, run to Marie, and tell her what I am to do; she will comeand get my orders."
Lenore moved away, rather reluctantly, and Mr. Burton continued tomyself, who was standing silent from mere stupidity of astonishment:
"By the merest chance in the world I overheard a conversation betweenthe people about to land, which convinces me that George Thorley,instead of being in California, is not thirty miles from Acapulco. If Iwere not positive of it, I should not run the risk of experiment, now,when time is worth every thing. But I am so certain of it, that I donot see as there is any thing for you to do in San Francisco but tohelp little Lenore pass the time pleasantly. I have thought, as calmlyas I could under the pressure of much haste, whether you had betterstop with me, and await, at some hotel in Acapulco, the result of myvisit into the interior, or go on to the end of your journey, andreturning, meet me at the isthmus. On the child's account, I think youhad better finish the voyage as expected. The sea-air is benefiting hergreatly; and, unless you fret too much, there is nothing to preventyour enjoying the trip."
"I shall do just as you advise, Mr. Burton; but, of course, I shall beintolerably anxious. For my own part, I would rather keep with you; butthat must be done which is best for all."
"You could do me no good by remaining with me; the only thing to begained is, that you would be out of your suspense sooner. But, I assureyou, you ought to rejoice and feel light-hearted in view of so soonlearning the one fact most important to us--the hiding-place of thatman. Think you I would wish delay? No. I'm sure of my man, or I shouldnot take this unexpected step. How curious are the ways of Providence!It seems as if I received help outside of myself. I was vexed to hearthat we were to be delayed at Acapulco, and now this has proven oursalvation."
"God grant you are in the right, Mr. Burton."
"God grant it. Do not fear that I shall fail, Richard. You have reasonto be doubly cheerful. Don't you trust me?"
"As much--more, than any person on earth."
"Be true to your part, then; take good care of my child--meet me at theisthmus--that is your whole duty."
"But, Mr. Burton, do you not place yourself in danger? Are you notincurring risks which you ought to share with others? Can I go on, idleand prosperous, leaving you to do all the work, and brave all thedangers of a journey like yours?"
"I wish it. There may be a little personal risk; but not more, perhaps,than I incur every day of my life. Perhaps you do not know," he added,gayly, "that I lead a charmed life. Malice and revenge have followed mein a hundred disguises--six times I have escaped poisoned food preparedfor me; several times, infernal machines, packed to resemble elegantpresents, have been sent to me; thrice I have turned upon the assassin,whose arm was raised to strike--but I have come unscathed out of alldanger, to quietly pursue the path to which a vivid sense of duty callsme. I do not believe that I am going to fail in this, one of the mostatrocious cases in which I have ever interested myself. No, no,Richard; I enjoy the work--the sense of danger adds to its importance.I would not have it otherwise. As I said, God willing, I will meet youat the isthmus. If I do not keep my appointment, _then_ you may knowthat harm has come to me; and, after providing for the safe passagehome of my little family, you may, if you please, come back to lookafter the threads of the history which I have dropped. The steamer hascast anchor; I must get my luggage in shape to go ashore."
He turned away; but presently paused and returned, with an air ofperplexity.
"There _will_ be something for you to do, Richard. I had forgottenabout that five-hundred-dollar bill, which certainly went to Californiawithin a short time after the robbery. If I should be mistaken, afterall--but no! my information is too conclusive--I _must_ take thecourse, now, and if I am on the wrong track, it will be a bad business.However, I will not allow myself to think so," he added, brighteningagain; "but it will do no harm for you to take a lesson in my art, byexercising your skill in tracing the fortunes of that bank-note. Indoing that, you may come upon evidence which, if I fail here, may beturned to use."
With a foreboding of evil I looked after him as he descended the ladderto the lower deck--form, face and manner expressing the indomitableenergy which made him the man he was.
When the sun sunk, that night, into the molten waves of the Pacific,Lenore and I paced the deck alone; and as she quietly wiped away thetears which fell at the sense almost of desertion which her father'ssudden departure caused, I could hardly cheer her, as he had bidden me;for I, too, felt the melancholy isolation of our position--voyaging toa strange land in the wake of an awful mystery.