Leaving Miss Redington to the care of her devoted
friends, such as every person in her critical condition
needs, you and I, kind reader, will go South, and learn
what has befallen her recreant lover.

How suddenly Sidney left his farm and his fiancée
has been already related. The gentleman, with whom
he departed, was from Georgia, and brought letters
causing Sidney much astonishment. The first he opened
was from his friend Charles Stuart, who had, he fancied,
forgotten him. The startling intelligence it contained,
will be better understood by the insertion of the letter
than any explanation I could give. It was dated at

[figure description] Page 364.[end figure description]

“Charleston, S. C., August 20th, 18—.

My Dear Romilly,—This is the third letter I have
written you since the misfortunes and decease of Mr.
Brainard, your excellent uncle. To the two others I
have received no answer: had they reached your hand
you could not have neglected me, so I flatter myself;
and I must believe they miscarried. To obviate all possibility
of a like fate befalling this, I have engaged Mr.
Tracy, who is on a tour to Boston, a friend of mine, and
one well entitled to your confidence, to take a trip to
New Hampshire and deliver it into your hands.

The manner of your late uncle's failure you know;
and also the arrangement he made with the gentleman
to whom his estate was consigned. In those letters I
forwarded you were enclosed drafts on a bank in Boston
to the amount of four hundred dollars, two hundred in
each letter. The money I conjured you, in the name of
our friendship, to receive, and entreated you to come to
Savannah, and consider my home as your own. But
when I received no answer, I sometimes feared you were
offended at the liberty I had taken. I knew your independence
of spirit; I knew from experience how mortifying
are pecuniary obligations to a mind of nice and
delicate honor; and I thought the most acceptable services
I could render you, (and I owe you all I can perform)
would be to attempt the discovery of the retreat
of Cox, and the security of the vast debt he owed your
late uncle's estate.

All my efforts were, however, for a long time unavailing;
but a few weeks since I heard of him, and that he
was at New Orleans. I hastened to Charleston, and consulting
with your agent there, we despatched a trusty
person to ferret out the villain if he were above ground.
The man we employed hastened to New Orleans, and,
the goddess of chance being propitious for once to honest
men, he found Cox at a gaming-table, where, by an extraordinary
run of luck, he was literally `lording it over
a heap of massy gold;' and he satisfied your whole

[figure description] Page 365.[end figure description]

demand, not only without grumbling, but even with exultation;
saying, `that he liked, at times, to clear scores
with the devil by an act of honesty.' And thus your
fortune is now once more at your command.

I need not say how much I rejoice at this; how much
I want to see you, nor with what unfeigned congratulations
you will be welcomed back to our section of the
country. Do come immediately; your presence is necessary
on account of your own interest; and it is indispensable
to the happiness of your friends. Your agent
writes, and therefore it is needless for me to detail those
particulars which must, with your benevolent feelings,
induce you to visit Charleston with the utmost despatch.
I shall wait here till the twenty-fifth of September, in
expectation of embracing you.

Zemira is well, and I am the father of a fine boy. We
call him Sidney Romily.

The other letter was from H. Howard, Esq., and ran
thus:

“Charleston, S. C., August 21, 18—.

Mr. Romilly,—Sir, we have traced Cox to New
Orleans, and recovered the money. It is all safe in my
hands, waiting the disposal you shall order. I hope it
will be convenient for you to come here immediately;
indeed, it is absolutely necessary if you intend to redeem
the estate of your late uncle. Dunbar was a good man,
but he has transferred the property to another; subject,
however, to the articles of redemption he entered into
with your uncle.

The man who is now in possession, is one of those
cruel, unfeeling wretches, whose actions are a libel on
the name of man. Beneath his iron sway, your uncle's
servants are groaning worse than the Israelites did in
Egypt. They are looking for you as their Moses, and I
need say no more. Your heart is their guarantee of release
from their rigorous bondage. Should I recount the

[figure description] Page 366.[end figure description]

cruelty of this monster, your blood would chill; come,
then, and fulfil the anxious desire of your late uncle, and
gratify the wishes of your numerous friends here, by
fixing your residence among us. To judge by the
anxiety now expressed for you, there is not a man of
respectability in the city who would not be happy to
serve you; and though a part of this extraordinary civility
may undoubtedly be ascribed to the recovery of your
fortune, yet you are, independently of that consideration,
very highly prized by your acquaintance, and you have
one such faithful friend as but few men ever obtain. I
allude to Charles Stuart. He has been indefatigable in
his endeavors to serve you; it was by his efforts that
Cox was finally discovered, and all the expense has been
borne by him, as he would neither allow me to contribute,
nor will he receive any repayment from the money he
has thus recovered. He is, indeed, a tried friend; and
long may you both enjoy the prosperity you equally deserve.

Such was the tenor of the intelligence that decided
Sidney Romilly instantly to visit Charleston. He thought
it not best to communicate the particulars to his betrothed
or his family until after he had, from actual inspection,
adopted some plan of conduct. If the servants were
thus miserable, he should, at all events, redeem the estate,
but to say so would cause his mother unceasing anxiety
during his absence; she would anticipate his own removal
to the south; and he knew too well how highly he was

[figure description] Page 367.[end figure description]

prized at home to think they would willingly resign him.
He would not thus trouble them, unless absolutely necessary,
and it might be, some other arrangement would, on his
reaching Charleston, appear more fitting. And when all
perplexity and uncertainty respecting his affairs was
over, he would write or return, and his friends, finding
matters actually settled, would acquiesce, especially when
they found how liberally he was enabled to provide for
them.

On his arrival at the city he found Mr. Stuart waiting
to welcome him, and the pleasure of embracing that
estimable friend, and meeting his former acquaintances,
was as exquisite as sincere; and yet the meeting with
the servants of his late uncle was far more touching to
his heart. When he arrived at the plantation, they
crowded around him, and their tears, exclamations, and
almost frantic gestures, formed a picture of wild joy that
cannot be intelligibly described. To be understood, it
must have been beheld. And an examination of their
condition determined him at once to redeem the estate.
The wretch who had purchased it under an impression
Sidney would never return, was highly enraged; but,
after much altercation and the interference of many
friends, he was at last brought to terms, and everything
settled to the satisfaction of Sidney and the servants at
least. Their countenances and manners underwent a
complete transformation when they found he was again
their own mas'r! Their tears were literally turned to
songs, and their groans to such loud peals of laughter as
made the whole neighborhood ring. Cato, in particular,
justified Sidney's encomiums on the tone of his lungs;
at the sight of his young mas'r, he would laugh so obstreperously
that he incurred some serious reproofs; and
the servants reported he was heard the night after the
articles concerning the estate were settled, to laugh in his
sleep, if he slept, nearly the whole night.

After all arrangements were completed, Sidney wrote
to Annie and his mother, detailing the particulars with
exactness, but dwelling most minutely on the situation

[figure description] Page 368.[end figure description]

of the slaves and the events which had made his repurchase
of his uncle's estate necessary, indeed indispensable.
He also entreated Annie to be in readiness to
give him her hand immediately on his return, which
would be in a few weeks; to his mother he sent two
hundred dollars, to procure the children apparel for his
bridal solemnity.

Why these letters were never received, will be explained
hereafter.

He did not, in either of the letters, directly mention
that he designed residing at the South; but he hoped,
from the tenor of his remarks, they would infer it; and
that when reflecting, as they must do, it was necessary
for the comfort of his servants, and would conduce to his
interest, their scruples might be overcome. He found,
indeed, the measure more congenial with his own feelings
than he had imagined, while residing in New Hampshire,
it ever would be. But it was in Charleston his
habits had been formed, opinions imbibed, and friends
selected; and though he had yielded to necessity with
philosophical firmness, and had labored with his hands
without much repining, yet but few voluntarily subject
themselves to the penalty of Adam; and I confess my
hero felt very willing to lay down the spade when he
found to dig was no longer necessary. He was intending
to work in another way.

The inhabitants of Charleston have always been distinguished
for their urbanity and hospitality, and their
city as a pleasant place of residence; and in the first
circles, in which our hero moved and now found himself
flatteringly caressed, there was that union of intelligence,
politeness and refinement which constitutes the
charm of social intercourse, and which was so congenial
to his taste.

It was true his fondest affections were centered in New
Hampshire; but he thought if Annie would consent to
accompany him to Charleston, and perhaps some of his
own family also, he then should enjoy independence, and
the advantages and pleasures of elegant society,

[figure description] Page 369.[end figure description]

combined with that dear domestic bliss which makes the
heart's best, truest felicity. He thought, too, that such
was the happiness his father's predictions had indicated;
and he renewed with eagerness his acquaintance with
many excellent families, who he knew were worthy his
confidence, and to whom he anticipated, with proud
delight, the introduction of his lovely and beloved bride.
And many a dream of future happiness floated round his
pillow by night, and brightened his smiles by day.

At length he was ready to begin his homeward journey,
or rather to visit the home of his friends; his own he
considered already settled at the South. The night
before his departure two letters post-marked Northwood,
were handed him; he recognized the writing of Annie,
and instantly opened hers, smiling as he did so, while
anticipating the sweet congratulations on his prosperity
it must contain. But judge of his consternation when
reading as follows:

“Sir—I have received your letter, and am glad of
your good fortune; but I think it my duty to inform
you our correspondence must be at an end. I know you
will want me to reside at the South; but to go there and
be a partaker in the sin of slavery is what I will not do.
You can doubtless find, in Charleston, some fair lady
more worthy your love, and more congenial to your
manner of life than my education and principles would
permit me to be. You need not write, for my resolution
is taken.

Sidney gazed wildly on the paper—re-read it—tore it
in a thousand pieces and crushed it beneath his feet; and
then, pale, and trembling with contending passions, he
sat down to peruse the other letter. It was from his
mother, and briefly said she rejoiced he had recovered
his estate, and thought best, all things considered, he
should reside at the South. The boys had found they
could manage the farm, and he had too much money to

[figure description] Page 370.[end figure description]

want to work, &c. &c.—and finally, she added that
George Cranfield was very attentive to Miss Redington,
and it was thought they would soon be married.

Such a confirmation of Annie's perfidy he could
scarcely support. He was nearly frantic with rage,
jealousy, and a thirst for vengeance; but when his
angry passions, by exhausting his strength, had partly
subsided, the recollection of his love, the thought of her
tenderness, now no more to be cherished, overcame him,
and he wept like a child. The disappointment of his
wishes concerning Zemira was nothing like this. Then
he never received assurance; now he had indulged the
confidence of reciprocated affection. He had thought of
Annie as his wife; he had associated her idea with every
plan of earthly happiness; he had even hoped her piety
would, like the pure-falling tears of an angel's tenderness,
blot out his transgressions, and her example
strengthen his weak faith and guide his erring steps in
the way to eternal life. She had disappointed, cruelly
disappointed, deceived, betrayed him. She had not only
destroyed his hopes of happiness, but his confidence in
human virtue, for could he ever expect to find more
seeming purity, sincerity or piety, than she had exhibited,
when “all was false and hollow?”

How he cursed the fickle, faithless, cruel sex; and
vowed never again to trust their smiles, or seek happiness
from their affection. He would not return to
Northwood; and to remain at Charleston would inevitably
subject him to the humiliation of having his disappointment
made public; as he had openly revealed his
engagements, and indeed boasted of the lovely, amiable,
intelligent bride he was intending to introduce to his
friends. O, it was too much! now that the cup of happiness
was seemingly within his grasp, thus to have it
dashed from his lip. But he would go far, where no one
knew his story—he would go to England, visit Frankford,
and, plunged in the whirl of dissipation, forget his home,
friends, love, every thing! Such were some of his wild
ravings.

[figure description] Page 371.[end figure description]

At length he became more calm; but then he could
form no plan so likely to succeed in restoring his serenity
as a voyage to Europe. He determined on it; arranged
his affairs, and took leave of his friends. To them he
stated business made his visit to England necessary, and
that, in consequence, his marriage would be delayed till
spring. How few have courage to tell the whole truth
to the world!

Sidney wrote a tender letter to his mother, for he
would not part with her in anger, though he felt wounded
by the indifference she had manifested in hers concerning
his change of residence, and in his letter he enclosed
another two hundred dollar note as a present to herself.
To Annie he did not write—he thought her conduct
merited silent contempt. He then took passage on board
a packet ship bound for London, and ready to sail the
first fair wind. It soon blew a favorable gale, his baggage
was already on board, and followed by his faithful
Cato, our hero ascended the vessel that was to bear him
to a distant region; but he could no longer flatter himself
with the hope of there finding felicity.

How the dissolution of one single tie will loosen our
grasp from the world;—the disappointment of one expectation
darken the sun of our prosperity! But a few
days had passed since Sidney thought the whole world
smiled upon him, for Annie loved him. Now there was
“none so poor to do him reverence,” none to lament his
fate should he throw himself headlong into the dark
waters beneath. He shuddered as the temptation to do
so rushed powerfully on his mind, almost bearing down
the instinctive dread of death implanted in our nature,
and for a moment entirely sweeping away the mounds
of prudence and principle.

But the thought of his father, so calm and happy, came
over him. He felt reproved for such sinful and violent
indulgence of his passions. He knew his father would
have told him that the trials and temptations of men
were mercifully allotted for the perfection of their virtue,
and that to endure unavoidable misfortunes with firmness

[figure description] Page 372.[end figure description]

and resignation, was their duty, and one which, if they
did perform, they might enjoy, if not happiness, certainly
tranquillity. He turned from the contemplation of the
deep waters, and pacing the deck, inquired, in an impatient
tone, why they did not sail? and received for answer,
they were waiting the arrival of some articles
expected every moment, and then they should weigh
anchor immediately.

But Sidney at last grew weary of pacing the deck,
and gazing on the bright heavens and dancing waters,
and hearing the laugh of the seamen; these objects were
all too placid and happy to accord with the tone of his
feelings, and he retired to his state-room, and there, seated
in gloomy reflections, he waited impatiently for the vessel
to depart. While he sat thus, Cato entered with his usual
laughing look, to say a man wanted to speak with mas'r.

“Who is he? what does he want?” inquired Sidney,
in a stern tone, that for a moment awed the smile of the
favorite servant, and he bowed his head like the humble
slave while he answered.

“Me don't know what he want; but he say he must
speak wid mas'r. He look queer.”

“Look! why, how does he look?”

“O, he great, rough, dirty fellow. No gentleman,
mas'r.”

“I won't speak with him, Cato. Tell him I am engaged.”

Cato departed, but soon returned, saying, “He no go
away till he see you, mas'r. He must see you, 'cause he
big news to tell, mas'r.”

“Well, let him come, then,” said Sidney, roused by
the mention of intelligence. “But then,” thought he,
“there can be no joyful news. I am at least freed from
suspense. I know my fate.” He sat with his eyes fastened
on the door. Cato threw it open.

“Here be de man, mas'r.”

“Heavens!” exclaimed Sidney, starting up, and rushing
forward with such a look of amazement as actually
frightened his servant. Cato thought his master was

THE MEETING IN THE STATE ROOM. [figure description] Illustration Page. Image of two men shaking hands while standing in a bedroom.[end figure description]

[figure description] Blank Page.[end figure description]

[figure description] Page 373.[end figure description]

angry with the man thus introduced; but he was undeceived
when Sidney caught his hand.

“Merrill, my good friend Merrill, can this be you?
Where in the name of wonder did you come from?”

“Why, from home, from Northwood, to be sure,”
replied the genuine Yankee, returning the pressure and
shake of his patron's hand, with more than lawful interest.
“And I look as if I had, I guess. It's a pretty
long road, I call it, and most of the way darnation dusty.”
And he brushed the dust from his sleeve, and shook his
hat, as he seated himself in a chair Cato officiously offered—
for Cato began to think, from seeing his master
shake hands so familiarly with the stranger, that he
might be a gentleman.

Sidney sat trembling with a thousand anxieties; at
last he said to Merrill, who was still brushing his clothes,
as if he had nothing else to think of,—

“Why, Mr. Merrill, what could induce you to come
such a journey?”

“O, I came to find you, Mr. Sidney Romilly; all the
way to find you. And, God be praised, I have found
you, and my fatigue is now nothing at all.”

Our hero could not inquire why he had thus been
sought; an indefinite feeling, compounded of hope, wonder,
and incredulity, took possession of his mind. He
sat like one in a stupor, hardly crediting his own eyes,
or acknowledging the identity of Merrill; and then to
think he had made the journey solely to see him.

Merrill broke the silence. “Well, now I 'spose you'd
like to hear about your folks; and they are all pretty
well, only very moloncholy.”

“And what should make them melancholy?”

“O, because they think you an't a coming home.”

“Did they send you after me?”

“O, no, sir, no—they didn't know I was coming, nor
any body else for that matter, only my wife and brother
Luther.”

“And what do you want with me?” asked Sidney,
beginning to doubt the sanity of the farmer.

[figure description] Page 374.[end figure description]

“Why, it's a long story, the reasons that made me
come; but I'll tell you all, only I should like to ax you
a few questions, and have you answer 'em right up and
down.”

“Well, ask away; I'll answer as many as you please.”

“Did you ever write to your mother and Miss redington
that you wa'nt coming home, and didn't intend
to marry her?”

“No, never to Annie; I wrote to my mother I should
not return, but it is only four days since, and the letter
has not yet reached her!”

“Ah! there it is now—just as we thought! But did
you write to them that you had got back all your money
and was coming home to be married, and in your mother's
letter send some money to buy fine things?”

“Yes.”

“Well, now I'll tell you all about it.” He then related
what the reader already knows; the arrival of those
cruel letters, the consternation they caused, and the conjectures
they excited; and then he proceeded to narrate—
I would give it in his own language, but fear the
reader would feel something of Sidney's impatience—
that his brother Luther, who was a clerk of Skinner's,
had seen him, instead of putting the letters of Mrs. Romilly,
Dr. Perkins and George Cranfield into the mail
bag, deposit them in his desk; and afterwards saw him
write and superscribe some letters to Sidney Romilly.
The lad, who, his brother affirmed, was a hawk-eyed
chap, suspected foul play, and watched till he found an
opportunity of obtaining the key, and then, on searching
the desk, he found those he had mistrusted were
there, and two others from Sidney, directed to his mother
and Miss Redington. The remaining part of the
story shall be given in his own words.

“And in them letters was all about your good fortune,
and then Luther hnew the whole trick; and he took the
letters, and as soon as Skinner was gone to bed, he came
posting right straight up to my house, and called my wife
and me both out of bed and told us the whole affair. And

[figure description] Page 375.[end figure description]

when we read the letters, we knew Skinner had kept
back the right ones, and forged others, on purpose to
keep you away; he always hated you ever since you
helped me so much. And there was your mother a'
most crazy, and Annie, poor girl, sick and like to die.”

“Die!” exclaimed Sidney, starting up, while his face
was white as marble, and his knees smote together.

“No, no,” replied the farmer, eagerly, frightened at
the lover's agitation; “no, she won't die, I don't think;
but she's some sick with a fever. But she'll be well
again as soon as ever she sees you.”

There was that in the conclusion of the honest man's
speech, that sent the warm blood through Sidney's heart
with such a gush of tenderness, that hardly able to support
the tide of hope rushing thus at once upon his mind,
he sank into his chair and covered his face with his
hands. After a moment's pause, he again looked at
Merrill, who was watching him anxiously, and said in a
low tone, “Go on, go on, I can hear you. You concluded
to come after me.”

“O, yes, I did. We talked the matter all over and
over, and my wife said something must sartinly be done.
And if we sent a letter to the post-office Skinner would
destroy it; and if I carried it to some other one it might
miscarry, or you might be sick as Annie was.”

Sidney groaned.

“O, she'll live, Mr. Sidney Romilly. It can't be, as my
wife said, but that this villany is all brought to light to
make you happy. And so I concluded to start right off.
We didn't like to tell of the matter till I'd got you
home, and then we thought Skinner would feel pretty
blue. And I happened to have fifty dollars that I'd just
sold some cattle for that very day. It seemed like a
providence; and Luther made me take six dollars of
him, 'cause he said you gave him so much, about a squirrel
hunt, and he never forgot it. I didn't like to take
it, for it was all the money he had, and he'd been saving
it up a long time; but I thought I might be sick on the
way. My wife was a little afraid I should get into

[figure description] Page 376.[end figure description]

trouble, and she warned me to keep clear of disputes, for she
had heard your gentlemen here made no more of killing
a man in a duel, than she would of killing a chicken
for dinner. Howsomever, I told her not to fret. I
guessed I knew how to shoot as well as the best of 'em.
And I started on foot, for I thought folks would wonder if
I took the stage; but I rode in the stage most of the way,
only when I was too tired; and I got here at last, safe
and sound, but black and dirty enough.”

“How did you learn where I was?” inquired Sidney,
who felt a restless anxiety to learn every particular.

“O, when I got to the hotel, I spoke to the landlord,
and he sent a man where you used to lodge; for I felt
a little queer in such a fine city, about going out till I
had taken off my beard, and brushed up a little; but
just as I was beginning, in came the fellow to say you had
gone on board the vessel, and so I got him to come down
and show me the ship pretty plaguy quick. I was afraid
you would be off to sea.”

“And what would you have done had the vessel been
actually sailing away?” inquired Sidney, half laughing,
while he anticipated what would have been the honest
fellow's distress.

“What!” repeated Merrill, opening his eyes with a
wide stare, at the proposal of a dilemma he had made no
provision to obviate. “What!—why I suppose you
must have gone. I am no Peter to walk on the water;
I hav'n't faith enough for that. But I had enough to
think I should find you on the land.”

“And we will be on the land soon,” replied Sidney,
rising. “Cato, see my baggage unloaded and sent back
to the hotel. I am not going to sea, Cato; you are glad,
I presume.”

“Yes, yes, Mas'r; me berry glad you stay in de land
ob liberty,” replied Cato, grinning with joy as he sat
about executing his master's orders.

Sidney then, after arranging matters with the captain,
left the vessel, with feelings at his heart very unlike those
with which he had entered it, and accompanied by

[figure description] Page 377.[end figure description]

Merrill, proceeded to his lodgings in the city. There was a
mingling of many emotions in his mind; but hope, sweet,
love-whispering hope, predominated; and while the recollection
of Annie's danger made him hurry his departure
for Northwood, he had caught a portion of the faith
of Mrs. Merrill, and could not believe he was now to be
mocked with the phantom of happiness. He made Merrill
relate minutely every particular he had heard concerning
Miss Redington's illness. It was by the blunt
farmer, ascribed entirely to pure, pure love, and Sidney
very complacently listened to his opinion on the nature
of her malady; and though pitying her, and cursing
Skinner, yet he felt, were all things once more happily
settled, he should, from the trials he had endured, find
his felicity more perfect.

“And this,” thought he, “is the true art of being happy;
to be able to extract good from evil, and trace the
bow of mercy still resting on the darkest could that dims
our horizon.”

Early on the following morning they left the city.
Merrill said he should raly like to stay a few days and
look about the country; he thought the place and the
people too looked pretty smart, much better, and more
civil than he expected, and he raly liked them both very
well.

Sidney thought he had better stay a week and rest
himself, and then follow in the stage; but Merrill would
not see his friend depart without him. Besides, he said
“he must be at home; he feared his wife would work
too hard, and women had never oughter do anything out
of doors.” And then he wanted to see the blow up of
Skinner, and much he anticipated from the exposing of
that consummate villain.

The travelers never halted, except with the stage,
Sidney being too anxious to reach home to think of fatigue.
As for Merrill, in accomplishing so happily the
object of his journey, he had entirely freed his mind from
care, and he slept as comfortably, and snored as soundly—
except when receiving a kick from some fellow traveler,

[figure description] Page 378.[end figure description]

who doubtless envied him his somnolency—in the stage
as he ever did in his own quiet dwelling.

On the way, Sidney, while meditating what method
would most unequivocally detect the guilt of Skinner,
recollected the bank notes enclosed in those letters he had
sent his mother. These notes the merchant would undoubtedly
offer at the bank on which they were drawn,
to be exchanged; and Sidney determined to call there
and leave a description that would lead to the detection
of the person presenting them. Accordingly, on his
arrival at Boston, which was without accident of any
kind, he went directly to the Suffolk Bank, and describing
the notes, inquired if they had been presented.

The cashier replied in the affirmative, adding, “they
were presented here, sir, about half an hour ago.”

“How unlucky!” interrupted Sidney.

“Not all, sir; they were not changed. I was engaged,
and the gentleman proposed calling again after dinner,
or in about two hours. You can procure a warrant
and officer if you think proper, and be here at that
time.”

Sidney made further inquiries, and became convinced
the person presenting the notes was no other than Skinner
himself; and Merrill was so overjoyed at the near prospect
of blowing him up, he could scarcely eat his dinner.
Everything was arranged, and the proper officer, with
Sidney and Merrill, were stationed in an inner apartment.
Presently they heard some person enter the
counting room; and in the next moment Sidney recognized
the voice of Skinner, speaking in his most insinuating
tone.

“There,” whispered Merrill, laying his hand on Sidney's
shoulder, “there, just so palavering the rascal
spoke when he flattered me to give him the mortgage
of my farm. I'd rather hear a man speak as loud as
thunder.”

The cashier made some inquiries relative to the manner
in which he obtained the notes; and Skinner

[figure description] Page 379.[end figure description]

answered they were a present to him from a brother residing
in New Orleans.

“That may be,” replied the cashier, “but here is a
gentleman claims these notes as his property.”

Skinner started quickly around as the triumvirate advanced
from their hiding place. Had he beheld the
Gorgons he could not have appeared more like a statue
of stone than when his eyes met those of our hero. The
officer instantly arrested him, and told him he must go
before the magistrate to be examined.

Sidney's heart beat quick to hear from Annie, but he
could not bring his tongue to make the inquiry of Skinner,
so much he detested him. As for the prisoner, he
maintained a dogged silence, nor would he deign a reply
to a single question proposed by the magistrate.
Sidney identified the notes, and his and Merrill's testimony
were sufficient to establish a conviction of the prisoner's
guilt in the minds of all present, and the magistrate ordered
Skinner to recognize in the sum five thousand dollars,
or he must stand committed for further trial.

It was then, for the first time since entering the court,
that the culprit appeared to feel a sense of his situation.
His countenance underwent several changes, but finally
a deadly paleness overspread it, and his voice trembled
as he said,

“I am guilty, I confess it; but I was not prompted by
the desire of gain. It was envy and revenge against
you, Mr. Romilly. I knew you were beloved by Miss
Redington; I loved her myself, and I intercepted the
letters to prevent your union. They contained money—
this I was obliged to keep or destroy. I brought it
here, and now I am detected. But you, sir, will suffer
as well as I. If I must lose my liberty, you have lost
your love; for Annie Redington is dead.”

“Dead! is she dead?” exclaimed Merrill, “is she dead?”

“Yes, she died the day before I left home.”

“O, God!” said Sidney, in a voice that thrilled the
hearts of the hearers, as gasping for breath he leaned
against a table for support. “O why did I not reach

[figure description] Page 380.[end figure description]

home sooner! Skinner, it was you that destroyed her,
and your soul will answer it.”

“I'll risk that,” replied the villain, with an insulting
laugh. “I am glad she is dead. She was not for me,
and I rejoice she can never be yours.”

“Wretch!” vociferated Sidney, seizing Skinner by the
collar and shaking him as if he had been a rag, “wretch!
you have murdered her, and I am tempted to dash you
to atoms!”

“Hurl him to the devil, Sidney!” cried Merrill, fiercely,
“where he should have been years ago. I wish I
had hold of him.”

The magistrate and by-standers were obliged to rescue
Skinner, or Sidney in the wrath of his roused spirit,
might have fulfilled the bidding of his faithful Merrill,
who would indeed have gladly lent him a hand to avenge
the wrongs the unfeeling monster had inflicted. After
they were separated, Skinner still continued his taunts
till Sidney was forced from the room, and supported by
those who saw and pitied his emotion, conveyed to his
lodgings. There he passed the night in a kind of sullen
apathy, refusing all refreshment, and only replying to the
inquiries of Merrill by a motion of his hand or a monosyllable.
The next morning, though scarcely able to sit
up, he resolved to proceed, seeming to imagine if he could
only reach Northwood he should see Annie again.

Merrill drew many a sigh during their ride, and wore
a most dolorous expression of countenance, which did not
become his visage at all. And all he could say, which
he thought would be acceptable to his patron, was, that
“this was a world of trouble, and it was the duty of
every one to prepare for a better. For his part, the only
comfort he had was that Skinner would sartinly go to the
State's prison.”

But there was no comfort for Sidney, and he continued
sunk in the deepest dejection, and scarcely spoke from
the time he left Boston till the stage stopped at the well
known tavern of Landlord Holmes.

p561-390

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