Chapter XXXIX: The Curse of an Accomplished Vow

Now the fell curse which yours have nurst
Full on her spoiler’s head shall burst,
And all her wrong, and shame, and pain
Burn fiercely on his heart and brain.—_Whittier._

An hour later, as Orville Deville sat at tea, with his wife and their two adopted children, in the private parlor of their apartments, there was heard a sound of several footsteps, approaching along the passage towards their room, accompanied by whisperings, and followed by a rap at their door.

“See who is there, John,” said the master to the servant.

The man opened the door. Several persons were seen without, among whom was a deputy sheriff, Mr. Murdock, who advanced into the room, but, seeing ladies at the table, retreated a step, saying:

“Mr. Deville, I have business with you, which I would like to communicate alone.”

Well could Orville Deville surmise the nature of that business. As he arose from the table, a cold paleness overspread his face. Men can confront instant death with more courage than they can stand face to face with disgrace.

“Well?” he asked in a husky tone, as he met the officer of justice.

“It is a warrant, sir! I beg your pardon, a _very_ disagreeable affair! Between ourselves, I think the poor lady is mad, though I should not express an opinion,” said the officer, deprecatingly.

“When do we go?”

“Immediately, if you please, sir. The magistrate thought that at this hour the examination would not be so likely to attract notice as at an earlier one, and that it would be therefore less unpleasant to yourself.”

“I am indebted to his consideration!” said Mr. Deville haughtily, adding: “Do not alarm the children. Let me speak to my wife, and in a moment I will be with you.”

The officer bowed and withdrew into the passage. Mr. Deville went back to the table, where he saw Lady Adelaide, pale and still, but resolutely controlling her emotions. He attempted no deception; indeed, it would have been useless. He said:

“It is as I anticipated, Adelaide. But it is a bailable case. I shall send for my friend, Colonel Bingham, and however the examination shall terminate I shall be with you again to-night.”

“I shall spend the interval in prayer to Heaven,” murmured the lady. Again he pressed her hand, and going to the door opened it, and addressing the deputy, said:

“Now, sir, I am ready.”

And the party left the house together.

“Where has he gone, mamma?” inquired Perdita.

“He has accompanied those persons out, on very important business, my dear,” returned Lady Adelaide, in that tone of reserve that warned her hearers that they were to ask no more questions.

And rising from the table, Lady Adelaide retired to her closet, leaving the young people to spend their evening together—the girl at her embroidery frame—the boy reading aloud for her amusement.

Meanwhile, Orville Deville, in custody of the sheriff, arrived at the house of the magistrate, a highly respectable, exceedingly grave old citizen, whose staid propriety, accustomed though he was to criminal cases, was shocked beyond measure by this shameful charge brought by the most celebrated woman of the day, against one of the most distinguished men of the time. From a solemn sense of propriety he had chosen the shades of evening to cover the shame of this examination.

He was sitting in his office-chair, behind his office-table, attended by his assistants.

Lionne, the accuser, was there, dressed in her usual color—black, and closely vailed and seated at his right hand.

Mr. Deville stepped forward, raised his hat, and stood before the Justice.

The magistrate acknowledged his presence with a nod, saying:

“I am sorry to see a gentleman of your high position before me, to answer such a charge, sir.”

Mr. Deville bowed gravely, took the seat that was offered him, and begged that the business might proceed.

I will not weary my reader with this examination. It is enough to say that the accuser gave her testimony with a stern exactness and precision of detail, that completely baffled all attempts to confuse or to cross-question her. The evidence was considered sufficiently strong to warrant the magistrate in holding the accused to bail for his appearance at the next term of the court.

Colonel Bingham, summoned in haste by a messenger from Mr. Deville, hastened to the scene of action, where, astounded by the seeming monstrous charge brought against his friend, he at once became his surety. The two gentlemen then together left the magistrate’s office. On their way to the hotel Mr. Deville gave his shocked companion a candid history of that youthful folly which had now resulted in such bitter misery.

Compassionating while blaming his friend, Colonel Bingham promised to do all in his power to bring the wretched business to a successful issue. They parted at the hotel door. Mr. Deville hastened up to his apartments, where, in the parlor, he found his adopted son and daughter innocently amusing themselves. Passing quickly through the room, he entered the inner room, where his Christian wife had passed the time of his absence in literally watching and praying. He told her the result of the trial.

“It is not yet too late! I will go to that woman! I will speak to her again! I made some impression upon her while she was here this afternoon! I will try and prevail on her to withdraw the prosecution!” said Lady Adelaide, hopefully.

“Too late, dear love!—too late! She cannot withdraw; even she cannot pause in the vengeful work she has begun!”

“Ah, heaven! how is that?”

“It is easy to set a city on fire, but very hard to extinguish the conflagration. The _documents_ are in the hands of justice. She, also, is bound to appear against me.”

“Then our only hope is in the forgiving and protecting mercy of God!”