Alvin Addison - Eveline Mandeville
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Electronic Text Resource Service of Indiana University See
http://www.letrs.indiana.edu/cgi/t/text/text-idx?c=wright2;idno=Wright2-0028
EVELINE MANDEVILLE.
Or, The Horse Thief Rival
by
ALVIN ADDISON
Author of "The Rival Hunters."
Cincinnati:
Published by U. P. James,
167 Walnut Street.
1837
CHAPTER I.
"Why do you persist in refusing to receive the addresses of Willard Duffel,
when you know my preference for him?"
"Because I do not like him."
"'Do not like him,' forsooth! And pray, are you going to reject the best
offer in the county because of a simple whim? the mere fancy of a
vain-headed, foolish and inexperienced girl? I did not before suppose that
a daughter of mine would manifest such a want of common sense."
"Whether my opinions of men are made up of that rare article so
inappropriately called 'common sense' or not, is a question I shall not
attempt to decide; it is sufficient for me to know that I have my 'likes
and my dislikes,' as well as other folks, and that it is my _right_ to have
them."
"Oh, yes! _you_ have rights, but a _parent_ has not, I suppose!"
"You know very well, father, that I do not deserve an insinuation of that
kind from you: I have always regarded your wishes, when expressed, save in
this one instance, and I have too much at stake, in so serious a matter, to
lightly throw aside my own opinions."
"Yes, yes, you have been the most obliging of daughters, to hear your own
story; but no sooner does a point of any moment come up, upon which we
happen to disagree, than my wishes are as nothing--a mere school-girl whim
is set up in opposition to them, and that, too, without even a shadow of
reason! A _very_ dutiful child, truly."
"Father, how _can_ you talk so? You surely are but trying me; for you
_know_ I do not merit the rebuke conveyed by your words and manner."
"Why not?"
"Why do I?"
"Because you are willfully disobedient."
"No, not _willfully_ but _sorrowfully_ disobedient to your wishes. Glad,
indeed, would I be if I could comply with them, but I cannot. Nor should
you expect me to, until you show some good grounds why you entertain them."
"Have I not already done so repeatedly? Have I not told you that Duffel's
prospects are fairer than those of any other young man of your
acquaintance? Is he not wealthy? Has he not one of the best farms in the
country? What more do you want?"
"A man of principle, not of property."
"And is not Duffel a man of principle? Is he not strictly honorable in all
his dealings?"
"He may or may not be honest in his dealings; I do not allude to business,
but _moral_ principle, and in this I think he is decidedly wanting."
"Why do you think so?"
"His actions and manners impress me with such a belief; I _feel_ it more
than _see_ it, yet I am as fully satisfied on that point as if he had told
me in so many words that he had no regard for the restraints of morality
and religion, save such as a decent respect for the customs and opinion of
society enjoins."
"Mere fancy again! I'd like to know if you expect to live in any of the
air-castles you are building?"
"I think there is not quite as much probability of my inhabiting one of
them as there is of Duffel's incarceration in the penitentiary."
"What do you mean, girl?"
"To be plain, I do not believe Duffel's wealth was honestly obtained, or is
honestly held. You have heard of the Secret Gang of Horse Thieves, I
suppose. Well, I overheard this immaculate Duffel of yours, without any
intention on my part, conversing with a 'hale fellow well met,'--no other
than the stranger you yourself suspected of being a villain--and from the
tenor of their remarks, they belong to some clique of rascals. I could not
gather a very distinct idea as to what the organization was formed to
accomplish, for I could not hear all that was said; but I learned enough to
satisfy myself that all was not right. I had not mentioned the circumstance
before, for the simple reason that I wished to obtain stronger evidence
against the parties, but you have my secret--act upon it as you think
best."
This conversation will sufficiently explain itself. A father desires his
daughter to marry against her will, because a wealthy suitor proposes for
her hand, but she cannot accede to his wishes, because, we presume, she has
a romantic notion that _love_ ought to have something to do, in making
matrimonial connections.
The father was somewhat taken aback by the revelations of the daughter at
the close of their interview, and left her to ponder on the subject, and,
if possible, to ascertain the truth as to the guilt or innocence of the
parties suspected.
Duffel, from some source, obtained an inkling of how matters stood, and
seeing the father, had a long interview with him in private. What was the
purport of his part of the conference, and the object he had in view, may
be gathered from the following passage between father and daughter.
"So, ho, my girl, you thought to deceive me concerning young Duffel, did
you?"
"What do you mean?"
"You would have me believe him a horse-thief and a bird for the
penitentiary?" he went on, without seeming to notice her interposition.
"Well, your well-devised scheme has failed of its object, and I have at
once revealed to me its purpose and end, and its originator."
"I do not understand you, sir!"
"Oh, no! very ignorant all of a sudden! You forgot one of the most material
portions of your revelation to me the other day, and that was _the name of
your confederate_ in concocting that story of the guilty associations of
Willard Duffel."
"I had no associate, and I have never mentioned the circumstance to a
living soul except yourself. Now, please be equally frank, and tell who
your confederate is in this plot to make your daughter out a hypocrite and
a liar?"
The father was startled by this bold demand, which, indeed, opened his eyes
to the enormity of his child's wickedness, if his charges against her were
true; but he had set his face to one point, and not being easily turned
aside from a purpose, proceeded:
"I am not to be deceived by a show of indignation and virtue, when it is
assumed for effect. You need not put yourself to the trouble of a denial or
confession; I know who is associated with you to traduce Duffel; it is no
other than the one who stands between you and the man of my choice--a poor
beggarly fellow, to whom you have taken a fancy because of his
worthlessness, I suppose. You understand who I mean. Well, he shall stand
between me and my wishes--or rather between you and good fortune--no
longer."
Indignation, surprise, wonder, fear, resentment, and a hundred other
emotions filled the mind of the daughter during the delivery of this
address; but amid them all, there was a purpose as fixed as that of her
sire's to have a voice in the matter of her own disposal. But before
anything further transpired, the father cast his eyes out of the open
window, and seeing a gentleman approaching, said:
"There comes that beggarly dog now! I must go and meet him."
And without further ceremony or explanation, he immediately left the house.
It would be a difficult task to portray the feelings of the daughter at
this moment. She saw that her father was incensed, but the sorrow that this
circumstance would otherwise have engendered in her bosom, was lost in the
feeling that an outrage had been perpetrated upon her rights and
sensibilities, and she felt the blood of indignation coursing through her
veins, and mounting her temples and brow. How could she help these
emotions, when she _knew_ that injustice had been done--that she had been
insulted by an implication of falsehood, when she was conscious of a free,
full and honorable rectitude of purpose, and that, too, by her own father!
These thoughts rushed through her mind with lightning speed, and the tears
forced themselves to her eyes--tears half of sorrow, half of anger.
But now a new source of anxiety, mixed with alarming apprehensions, took
possession of her distracted mind. Her father had left the house abruptly,
and looking in the direction he had taken, she beheld him in violent
conversation with Charles Hadley, the only man for whom she had ever
entertained sentiments of tender regard, the only one to whose "tale of
love" she had listened with quickened pulses and beating heart, the only
one to whom she had plighted her faith, with whom exchanged vows of love
and constancy. And her parent had just termed him beggarly! What could be
the cause of his dislike? and for what purpose had he sought the young man
in so strange and unaccountable a mood? and what was the nature of the
interview between them?
Such were the thoughts that hurried across the mind of the young girl; and,
hardly knowing what she did, she stole up to her chamber-window, which was
in full view of the gentlemen, and placing her ear in a listening attitude,
bent all her energies to gain a knowledge of what was said; and, having so
much at stake, we must excuse the exceptionable act.
"It is not worth while for you to deny it, Hadley, as I have the most
positive proof of your designs."
These were the first words that greeted the daughter's ears, and they sent
a chill to her heart. She knew that her lover was impetuous, and feared the
charge made against him, which she could not but perceive was a grave one,
would cause him to commit some rash or unguarded act, the results of which,
in the existing state of affairs, would be unfortunate. His reply, however,
was calm, and his manner cool and self-possessed, and she listened to the
remainder of the conversation with breathless attention and intensely
absorbed interest.
"Pray, sir, will you be so kind as to give me the name of the individual
who has dared to accuse me of a base plot? You certainly cannot refuse so
small a request, and yet of such great importance to me, as it gives me the
only possible chance of clearing myself from the groundless charges
preferred against me so invidiously."
"I do not feel disposed to reveal the name of my informant, as it would
lead to an unpleasant rencounter, and result in no good. Suffice it to say,
he enjoys my entire confidence, and that I give to his words the fullest
credit."
"Sir, I must consider this a very strange course for a gentleman to pursue.
You are evidently laboring under a serious mistake, and it would give me
the greatest pleasure to convince you of the fact, would you allow me to do
so; but as I cannot do that, will you permit me to hold a moment's
conversation with your daughter?"
"Why, sir, it was to prevent that very thing that I met you here. No, I
cannot grant your request; and hereafter you will please consider my
daughter as a stranger, and my door as closed against you! Not a word, sir;
not a word--my resolution is taken unchangeably. I can not and will not
permit my child to associate with those whom I know to be unworthy. Sir, I
will hear no word of explanation! Go!"
Hadley felt the unkindness and injustice of Mandeville's remarks, and had
he merely consulted his own feelings, he would have retired at once, and
never again intruded himself upon the society of one who could show himself
so destitute of the characteristics of a gentleman. But there was another
than himself that must suffer should he go, as his feelings prompted, from
the premises of her father forever. Love was all-powerful in his breast at
that hour, and choking down the rising emotions of anger and excitement, he
attempted to reason with the stern man before him.
"But you surely," he commenced, "do not mean to drive me from your door
without a hearing? You certainly are too much of a gentleman for that."
"I mean, sir, that I will allow no base, thieving miscreant to enter my
house; nor will I permit a daughter of mine to hold intercourse with such
villains! And more than that, I will tell you, sir, that I am not to be
dictated to, as to whose company I shall keep, or whom admit to my house,
by any such worthless, gallows-deserving scamp as yourself!"
This was more than Hadley could bear. He had resolved not to become
excited, but anger rose in his bosom in spite of his will, and he answered
in deep, excited tones:
"Sir, no man can apply such epithets to me and go unchastised. I demand a
recantation of your unfounded charges, and an apology for their utterance."
And as he spoke he assumed a menacing attitude. Rage at once filled the
breast of Mandeville, and instantly rendered him altogether ungovernable.
He raised his clenched fist, as if to strike the young man, and hissed
savagely between his set teeth:
"Insolent villain! do you dare to insult me thus at my own door! Away in a
moment, or I'll smite you to the earth without another word!"
Hadley stood still.
"Go, vile dog! I say; go!" and he drew back his arm to strike.
At this moment, a piercing shriek arrested the attention of both gentlemen.
It was a deep wail of agony, as though it came from a crushed heart. It
emanated from the house, and the first motion of the two in conversation
was to start forward in that direction; but recalling the words of the
proprietor, that he was never to enter his dwelling again, Hadley paused
and turned away, but loitered about the premises till he saw the father
ride off in great haste toward the nearest village, and speedily return,
quickly followed by a physician; then he left, with a vague feeling of
dread laboring at his heart.
CHAPTER II.
THE EAVESDROPPER.
As Eveline Mandeville had mentioned the circumstance of having overheard
the conversation between the two worthies, related, in the first chapter,
to no one but her father, it becomes a matter of curiosity to know how
Duffel had come in possession of the secret. A very few words will explain
the matter. Like most persons who feel a consciousness of want of rectitude
of purpose, he felt desirous to learn what other people thought of him,
fearing his evil intentions might possibly manifest themselves in some
manner unnoticed by himself; and as he had most at stake with the
Mandevilles, he was proportionally more interested in the opinions they
might entertain respecting his life and character, than in those of any
others. He accordingly resorted to the mean and cowardly expedient of
eavesdropping, in order to gain a knowledge of the standing he occupied in
the estimation of this family, particularly with regard to the father and
daughter. He would approach the house unobserved and listen at some point,
to overhear the conversations that took place in the family circle!
He was thus occupied during the conference of parent and child, above
referred to, and learned, to his great joy, that in the father he had a
warm advocate, but with equal chagrin that the daughter had no good-will
toward him; a fact, however, that he had more than suspected before; but,
having taken a fancy to her, and the prospect of obtaining with her hand a
good property being a still stronger motive, he had set his heart upon
making her his bride, even though she might detest him as a companion.
But when he heard the revelation made by the daughter to her father, at the
close of their interview, concerning his association with the suspicious
stranger and probable connection with some secret body of villains, and
perceived the marked effect it had upon the latter, he became alarmed for
the success of his schemes, and seeing the conversation was ended, hastened
away, ere he should be discovered, to invent some plan whereby to
counteract the effects likely to produce a permanent feeling against him.
After long and deep thought, during which scheme after scheme was suggested
to his mind, turned over, examined, and abandoned, he finally hit upon an
expedient that suited his purpose exactly, and at once resolved to act upon
it. For this purpose he sought and obtained a private interview with Mr.
Mandeville, as already intimated, in which he began the development of his
plot as follows:
"I have sought this interview with no idle purpose, Mr. Mandeville," he
began. "You are already aware of the deep interest I feel in your daughter,
and how intimately my future happiness is interwoven with her good
opinion. That good opinion, I have the best of evidence to believe, is
being undermined by one to whom you have ever been kind, but who, I am
sure, you would not wish to become your son-in-law, though he has the
audacity--if I may be allowed so strong an expression--to aspire after your
daughter's hand! Having nothing of his own to recommend him, and knowing
that I am in his way, he does not cease to traduce me to your daughter on
every occasion, and I fear the insidious poison of his oily tongue has
already had a serious effect on her mind, which, if not put an end to, will
turn her good opinion of me into dislike or even aversion. Why it was but a
few days ago that he and another fellow, a stranger in these parts, and a
very suspicious-looking chap, had a conference in private, of, to say the
best of it, a very sinister character; and, would you believe it, this
fellow disguised himself so as to appear the very personation of myself?
"I was struck dumb, sir, when these facts were put in my possession by one
of my workmen, who happened to see the villains and overhear a part of
their talk. But the worst of the story remains to be told. Either by chance
or design--and with the facts in the case I leave you to determine
which--these confederates placed themselves near a bower to which your
daughter had resorted but a few minutes previously, so that she, however
unwillingly, must have heard a good portion of what passed between them!
Only think of it! She for whom I would sacrifice all else, beholding me, as
she must suppose, under such criminal aspects!"
This most artfully told tale was not without its effect upon the father. He
believed it: how could he help it when so strongly corroborated by what his
daughter had previously told him? At the conclusion of it, he demanded,
with something of vehemence in his manner:
"Who was the despicable villain that thus dared to plot against the
interest of my family?"
"Ah, there is the difficulty," said Duffel, craftily. "I fear to divulge
names for several reasons. In the first place, I know you cannot but feel
highly indignant, and will desire to punish the criminal as he deserves;
but I have no proof that will stand in law, and--!"
"Will not the testimony of my daughter added to yours be sufficient to
convict the rascal, I'd like to know?"
"You forget that your daughter's testimony would criminate me--that she
must fully believe it was I, and no other, that was in conversation with
the stranger; for I am told that the disguise was perfect, so much so that
it is impossible your daughter should not be deceived."
"I see the difficulty."
"Well, as I was going to say, being unable to substantiate my charges, I
would lay myself liable to prosecution for slander, which must be far from
pleasant, beside giving my adversary a decided advantage over me. In the
next place, my name would be coupled with those of blacklegs and secret
villains, a circumstance far more to be dreaded than the other. But I have
a still higher motive for wishing this affair to be kept quiet--your
daughter's welfare and fair name. Pardon me for being compelled to speak of
her in this connection; it is, I assure you, sorely afflicting to me; but I
shall strive to do my duty, even with the fear of offending before my eyes.
As already shown, your daughter's evidence, either publicly or privately
given, must lay upon me the weight of crime; in addition to this, I must
now undertake the formidable task of informing you that my enemy, who I
have already told you has an eye to your daughter's hand, is regarded by
her with favor. Do not be startled; I am but telling you the plain truth,
which, unless a stop can be put to the plotting now on foot, you will but
too soon find out to your sorrow. This fellow, who desires to rival me in
the affections of your daughter, has been pouring into her ear tales of
every sort to prejudice her against me--and I fear with but too much
success. Lately, she avoids me whenever it is convenient to do so, while
she often walks out with my--no, he is too contemptible to be called a
rival.
"You now see the state of the case; you see on what a slippery place I
stand, and how much need there is of being wary and cautious where and how
I step. My fair name is in danger of being tarnished; my prospects for life
blighted; my hopes destroyed and myself suspected of being the associate
of villains. And all this has been so artfully contrived, I find myself in
the meshes of the net woven to entrap me, ere I had become aware of any
designs being formed against me, or that I had enemies who were endeavoring
to compass my ruin; and, worse than all, when these overwhelming truths are
made manifest to me, and my very soul burns to extricate myself from the
difficulties that surround me, and fasten the crime where it belongs, and
crush the miscreant with his own guilt, I am tied. So encircled am I, that
every attempt I might make to escape the toils of the cowardly foe who has
laid his plans so deep and darkly, will only add to the horrors of my
situation. Pardon me, then, for withholding the name of him who is striving
to rum me; but oh, if possible, save your daughter from his grasp!"
"How can I without knowing his name? Eveline has much company and many
admirers; but of all the number, I can fix upon no one to suspect."
"There it is again! My God! what am I to do?"--and with these words, Duffel
paced up and down in the greatest apparent distress.
"You surely can trust _me_ with his name?" suggested Mr. Mandeville.
"True, I can trust you with anything, only that I fear your indignation
will betray me."
"Never fear; for once I will keep cool at all hazards."
"I make one solemn condition: you must never, under any circumstances,
reveal the name of your informant to either your daughter or my enemy."
"Why this restriction?"
"I have already explained why as far as _he_ is concerned."
"But Eveline?"
"Oh, I have a different reason for desiring her to be kept ignorant of my
connection with her friend's exposure,"--and as he said this, the fellow
actually blushed and seemed much embarrassed.
"I do not understand you."
"Well, you see this friend of hers--I must again ask pardon for associating
her name with his so frequently, be reassured I do it with pain--as I have
already remarked, has ingratiated himself into her good opinion, and
knowing me to be in the way of the accomplishment of his wishes, he has
prejudiced her against me, and done so in such a manner as to induce the
belief in her mind that I am his bitterest enemy, and would use any means
to do him an injury or blacken his character. Hence, if she were to know
that anything came through me, she would at once set it down as false and
slanderous, which would drive her farther from me and nearer to the other,
thereby hastening the very calamity we would avert."
"I see you are right, having given more attention to the subject than I
have. I will never mention your name in connection with this matter, to
either my daughter or any other, without your permission."
"Thank you. Leaving all after action on your part to be as your judgment
shall dictate, I have nothing more left me to do in this trying interview,
than to reveal the name of the intriguer--it is Charles Hadley."
"_Charles Hadley!_" exclaimed the father in astonishment.
"It is none other than he."
"I could hardly have believed it of him."
"Nor I. Such depth of depravity is truly inconceivable to an honorable
mind."
"I remember now, he has been somewhat familiar with Eveline; but I had no
idea the beggarly dog would dare think of marrying her. I must see to this
immediately."
"Remember to be cautious for my sake."
"Don't fear on that ground."
Thus the interview ended, Duffel having accomplished more by it than he had
expected. The more Mr. Mandeville thought on the subject, the more
thoroughly he became convinced of Hadley's guilt. Did not Duffel's
statement correspond precisely with that of his daughter? and how could it
be so without being true? It was an impossibility. The more he reflected,
the deeper became his conviction of the guilt of Hadley and of the
existence of a plot to defame Duffel. Another idea suggested itself: "Was
his daughter an intentional or an unintentional party to these
transactions? Might not her dislike of Duffel and her preference for Hadley
induce her to seek for some means to accomplish the disgrace of the
former?" While he was weighing this supposition in the balance of his mind,
he chanced to see his daughter walking with Hadley, and their manner of
conversation and the evident good-will existing between them, led him, in
his bewildered state, to conclude that Eveline was not as free from
implication as she might be. After harboring this thought for a day or two
longer, he charged her with the crime of confederating to injure Duffel, as
already related. Had he known that Duffel's story was made so fitly apt,
simply because he had basely eavesdropped and sacrilegiously listened to
the sanctitude of a conversation at the domestic hearth, how different
would have been the result!
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