Chapter LXXXI: The Night Before the Duel

Mrs. Wilson Forbes had faith in Bertha, and went home comforted; but when she saw her brother so grave and calm, preparing for an event which might separate them forever, her courage gave way, and she grew wild with terror. How foolish she had been to depend upon a young girl like that, when her brother’s life was in peril! Better far have gone over to Willow Bend. Waldon’s bride might have been terrified into warning some magistrate, and having the whole party taken in charge. But Bertha—after all, what could the poor girl do?

“To-morrow morning I will take this other step. Without giving him mortal offence, I cannot carry warning myself. Oh dear, I wish that handsome creature had never come within a thousand miles of us. Poor thing! Poor darling! Brave girl! I have no right to say that, and I haven’t said it in my heart; but this is terrible.”

Such struggles and thoughts kept the poor lady restless all that night. She knew that her brother was up writing, in calm, stern quiet, as befitted a brave man forced into an unjust quarrel. More than once in the night she crept down, and, kneeling at his feet, besought him to find out some way by which both his honor and his life might be spared.

He received her with kindness, but smiled a little sadly when she spoke of avoiding the issue which Waldon had forced upon him with rude haste, when made certain that neither persuasion nor craft could swerve him from the ground he had taken.

“You do not understand this question,” he said, smoothing her hair gently with his hand. “There is some deeper wrong than we have yet learned. It may be that to-morrow will set all right.”

“Oh, if I thought so!—if I only could! But he is an awful shot!”

“Well, Alice, we must take our chances, and hope for the best. One thing I have to say. If—if anything should happen—”

“Oh, Egbert! Egbert! do not speak of that! You break my heart!”

“Well, dear, I only meant to say that I have written one letter which you must take charge of and deliver yourself.”

“Give it to me. If it is for her, I will see that it is sent, though she has been the cause of all this trouble.”

“Hush, Alice! She is in no sense to blame. Now let me tell you—for we must not part, my sister, without perfect confidence—I loved Bertha Canfield dearly, and love her yet. Death, in her behalf, will be far less bitter to me, than the knowledge that she might possibly become that man’s wife. When that union threatened her, I was indeed miserable, for he is a specious, brilliant, bad man.”

“As if I did not know that! Egbert, I wish to tell you everything now. There was a time when I was blind, like Bertha—fascinated, carried out of my senses by Russell Waldon.”

“You, Alice?”

“It is the truth. You will not despise me, Egbert, though I shall always despise myself; but his own selfishness saved me, as it has saved Bertha. I told him, with honorable frankness, how little property might be given me, and after that, he permitted our acquaintance to die a natural death, keeping my poor, silly letters to terrify me with long after I married Mr. Forbes. But I told my husband at last, and he made that splendid wretch give them up.”

“Oh, how I detest him, Alice!” said Fletcher, grasping his sister’s hand. “I would far rather give my life than take that of a fellow-creature; but this man has no right to forbearance.”

“No, no, Egbert; have no such generous thoughts. He will wring his young wife’s heart as he has tortured others. To meet him with a purpose of mercy is to sacrifice your own life. That you must defend bravely for my sake, and—and because I think that there is great happiness for you in the future.”

“What do you mean, Alice?”

“No matter now, dear. I have my own little secret, which you shall know, if I can get leave to tell it you, after this awful danger is over; but now I am without permission, and you must think how to protect yourself, and of nothing else.”

“Then you must leave me, dear.”

Mrs. Forbes took her arms from her brother’s knees, where they had been affectionately resting, and wound them around his neck as she lifted her quivering lips to be kissed, perhaps for the last time.

“Oh, Egbert, tell me when and where it is to be?”

“That you may save me from danger by betraying me to suspicion? No, no, Alice; I read your face too well. You shall not be so tempted.”

A flood of burning scarlet rushed over the lady’s face. She bowed her head to his knees again, and burst into a fit of hysterical tears.

“I know it; but you think too well of me, Egbert. I should have been base enough to have frightened that white goose over yonder into doing it for me.”

Fletcher smiled, in spite of the heavy thoughts that possessed him, and lifting that shamed face between both his hands, kissed it tenderly.

“Now go, Alice, and remember what I have told you about the letter.”

“I will remember; but, perhaps—”

“Perhaps what, dear?”

“Nothing. Only—oh, Egbert, tell me something more?”

“For your own sake, no.”

“Then we may be parting forever!” said the poor lady, turning white, and questioning Fletcher with her wistful eyes.

“No, sister; it will not be forever. Now go to your room.”

“And you?”

“I am going to mine; so good-night, once more.”

“Good-night, Egbert.”

It was scarcely more than daylight in the morning when Mrs. Forbes left a pillow where her sleep had been brief and broken. Some noise below had aroused her. She ran to the window, and saw two men driving rapidly from the house. One was her brother.

“Oh, he is gone—he is gone!” she cried, dropping on her knees; “and I have seen him for the last time!”