[figure description] Page 144.[end figure description]

Late in the afternoon of the same day, Esther Ludlow, who
was walking alone very near her own door, was surprised to see
the tall figure of Sir Christopher Gardiner crossing the glade
and approaching the house. The knight appeared no longer in
the gay attire which he had worn in the morning and throughout
the scenes in which we have found him engaged, but appeared
again in the sad-colored suit, and wearing the steeple-crowned
hat which marked the Puritan. His demeanor and bearing
were no less altered, and it would have been difficult for the
keenest observer to have discovered in the grave and measured
deportment, the meek and gentle voice, and the calm and somewhat
melancholy countenance of the personage who was now
exchanging salutations with Esther Ludlow, any trace of the mnn
of action whom we left so lately upon the plain of Mishawum.

“I have taken the liberty to intrude once more upon your
presence,” said he, with a demure glance at Esther, which was
quickly withdrawn as her eyes met his own, “because, since I
last parted from you I have received letters, which confirm the
tidings which you somewhat briefly imparted to me, the last
time we met. Believing that in all probability your own dispatches
might not yet have been delivered, I have come to
proffer whatever information I may have obtained for your own
use.”

“I thank you for your courtesy,” replied Esther coldly, for
she was not too well pleased with the knight's visit, and felt a
strange trouble, she knew not why, at his presence; “I thank

[figure description] Page 145.[end figure description]

you respectfully, but the letters which have been delivered to my
brother and myself from our friends in England, have fully
instructed us as to the course of events in England, and as to
the particular details of the matters most interesting to the
dwellers in the wilderness.”

“Then I have only to express to you,” replied the knight,
my sincere congratulations at the auspicious tidings. Before
another three months shall have elapsed, we may hope to see the
commencement of a religious settlement, the laying of the
corner-stone of a permanent asylum for the persecuted. I know
how much of pure and sublime happiness such an event must
excite in your breast. I sincerely trust that you will not be
offended that a lonely and unworthy wayfarer like myself, ventures
to express to you his sympathy with a cause which he
knows to be nearest to your heart.”

“It lies doubtless very near to my heart,” replied Esther,
who was somewhat softened to the stranger by his apparently
fervid interest in the cause to which she had devoted herself, but
whose mind, pre-occupied at that moment by deep and melancholy
regrets at the recent demeanor of her absent lover, was
but little open to any strong impression from the language of the
man who was now addressing her. “It lies doubtless very near
to my heart, and I am truly impatient that the expected ships
should arrive. Still my mind at times misgives me, whether
obstacles may not, after all, occur during these troublous times,
which may make their endeavors fruitless.”

“Not so, believe me,” answered her companion, who, as will
be explained hereafter, had already made up his mind as to the
line of conduct he was to pursue for the present, having now
received the instructions which he had been so eagerly expecting
from his confederates in England. “I have reason to believe
that the good work is likely to go on and prosper. Such is the
tenor of the advices which I have received from my own friends,

[figure description] Page 146.[end figure description]

and such, doubtless, must be the hopes held forth in your correspondence.”

“I cannot tell,” answered Esther, whose manner became
distant again, in spite of herself, as she found the knight desirous
of protracting the interview without any apparent cause.
“Our enemies in England are powerful and malignant, and I
fear they may send emissaries to the wilderness to impede our
cherished work.”

“But the friends of the colony at home are powerful and
influential,” replied the knight, who was gazing with a look of
undisguised admiration at the fair face of his companion. He
checked himself suddenly, however, and remembering that passionate
words and bold glances but ill comported with the stern
and grave character which he had assumed, he added in an altered
tone, “Believe me when I assure you that you have but little to
fear from the machinations of the enemies whom you deem so
powerful. As to the emissaries to whom you allude, I doubt
very much their existence; certainly I have found but few
persons in whose sincere attachment to our great religious
enterprise, I could not confide as much as in my own.”

“And yet,” said Esther, who was still more and more
desirous to terminate the interview with the mysterious personage,
who inspired her with an unaccountable feeling of distrust,
but unwilling to be absolutely discourteous to a man whom she
knew her brother regarded with respect, — “I fear me that,
among the wild and lawless spirits who inhabit the south-western
coasts of Massachusetts, there be many who are both evil
wishers and evil doers. Strange tales reach our ears, of godless
and profane ribaldry in those regions, which would be in itself
sufficient to bring a curse and a desolation upon the land.”

“If you speak of the rioters and worthless revellers of
Passanogessit,” answered Gardiner, “you may dismiss any fears
as to evil influence from such a source; believe me, that crew of

[figure description] Page 147.[end figure description]

outcasts is too contemptible and too insignificant in every
manner, to merit a thought. They will be swept away like the
foul and noisome mists of the morass yonder, before the clear
sunlight of religion which is so soon to rise upon this benighted
land. Let but your brave and energetic people arrive, and you
will see them shrink away like owls, and bats, and foul things,
which fear the light of day. Profane not, beautiful Esther
Ludlow,” added the knight with another look of earnest and
irrepressible, but respectful admiration, “profane not your
serene thoughts, by allowing them to wander to subjects so
infinitely below your own exalted sphere.”

The passionate glances of the knight fell upon the beautiful
Puritan as harmlessly as tropical sunshine upon a marble statue.
With a cold and unembarrassed look, which almost disconcerted
him, she replied, —

“I am willing to receive your account of them, Sir Knight,
and to participate in the hopefulness with which you seem to
regard the undertaking of which we were speaking, but the air
is growing chill and the evening is approaching. I regret that
my brother's absence must make me appear uncourteous, in not
inviting you to partake of the humble hospitality of our roof,
and I must even crave your permission to retire.”

Gardiner was not the man to be abashed by a repulse as
decided as this seemed to be, and he still lingered at the door-step,
ready and yet reluctant to take leave; thus detaining, for a
few moments, his companion, who was naturally unwilling to
withdraw into the house until he had departed.

It was a strange but not unaccountable attraction, which had
exerted so sudden an influence upon the knight's imagination.
It should, moreover, be never lost sight of, that although the
scenery of this tale is found in the stern deserts of New England,
yet that the actors were all Europeans, born and reared
among all the influences of an ancient civilization, and

[figure description] Page 148.[end figure description]

subjected to all the conflicting, turbulent and chequered sentiments,
motives, and passions, which beset human nature when developed
under the exciting atmosphere of a high social culture.
Such almost wilful contrasts are not the least remarkable features
in the singular scene presented upon the opening pages of New
England's chronicle.

“I purpose visiting our brethren at New Plymouth very
shortly,” said he, as he found Esther determined to abridge their
interview, “and I should be well pleased if in aught I could be
serviceable to you. I have tarried long enough among them, to
know that you have heaped upon your head the blessings of
those who were nigh to perish, and that your departure has been
bitterly lamented by the poorer of the brethren and their families
in that sterile spot of earth. Is there naught in which I
can be useful to you?”

“I thank you for your courtesy,” said Esther, advancing a
few steps towards him, “for I do remember me, that there is a
family there which truly demands my care. A certain weaver
from Suffolkshire, who emigrated to these shores during the past
year, and who has been sojourning at New Plymouth, is, I
believe, still tarrying there. He is feeble in health, and not
overburdened with capacity for this wilderness work. Commend
me to him, and advise him, in my name, to tarry still a little
with the brethren of Plymouth. Delays still attend the enterprise
of the settlement at Naumkeak. He must at this time be
suffering many pangs of poverty, and perhaps illness, for he has
a considerable family. Sir Knight, I shall even accept your
courteous offer, and entreat you to convey to this poor weaver,
whose name is Mellowes, a small token of my remembrance,
with an assurance of my continued interest in his welfare.”

Esther went into the house for a moment, and presently returned.
“There are a very few gold pieces in this purse,” said
she, extending it to him, “but they are all which are at present

[figure description] Page 149.[end figure description]

at my command, and more than sufficient to save my poor
friends from absolute starvation. If, however, want should continue
to press upon them, they may be able to procure the
necessaries of life by means of this useless gaud, which I pray
you to convey to the Goodwife Mellowes, with the assurance
that the trifling gewgaw is not sent to be worn as a piece of
worldly apparel, but to be exchanged for the necessaries of life,
when they shall find themselves sorely beset.”

As Esther spoke, she took from her neck a heavy gold chain
which she wore studiously concealed beneath the folds of her
folds of her garments, and delivered it to the knight.

“And now Sir Knight,” she concluded, “once more imploring
your pardon for my withdrawal, I shall even bid you farewell.”

She entered the humble cottage as she spoke, and closed the
door behind her. The knight stood stock still for a moment,
gazing enraptured at her retiring figure. He then advanced a
few steps across the glade, when he suddenly paused and leaned
musingly against the trunk of an oak which stood on the verge
of the forest. He lifted the chain to his lips, and kissed it passionately
many times, and then fastened it round his neck. As
he did so, a smile of indefinite triumph shone for an instant
across his dark features.

The brown shadows of evening were fast descending upon
the landscape, and objects were already growing indistinct in
the twilight. The knight still leaned against the tree, lost in a
vague but delicious reverie. He believed himself alone in that
wilderness, but he was wrong. Within a few paces of him, but
concealed by the heavy branches of the very tree against which
he was leaning, stood the dusky figure of a man. He stood with
his eyes glaring fearfully upon the knight, his hand clenching
a naked rapier, his breath suspended, and his features
and whole frame convulsed by fierce, but resolutely suppressed
emotion. The man who stood in ambush there was no savage,

[figure description] Page 150.[end figure description]

although he was thirsting for the heart's blood of his enemy,
and was delaying with an almost voluptuous sensation of hatred,
the moment of gratification, which fate seemed at last to have
placed within his reach. That man was Henry Maudsley. He
had arrived at the spot a few moments before, with his heart
filled with regret and remorse for what had seemed to him in his
cooler moments, the unjust and unworthy suspicion which had
fastened so uncontrollably upon his soul at his last interview
with Esther.

After that last interview he had been hardly able to explain even
to himself the sudden and stormy passions which had overflowed
his heart like a torrent, when he first learned the existence of
what he believed to be an intimacy between the knight and his
beloved. From that moment a demon seemed to have assumed
dominion over him, and he had struggled in vain against the
fearful influence. He had, however, during the many solitary
hours of absence which had passed since he had left Esther so
deeply wounded as his unseemly outbreak of anger and jealousy,
found a little time to reflect upon his conduct and situation.
Although still unable to shake off the indistinct fears which
weighed like lead upon his spirit, he had, however, schooled
himself into believing that he was perhaps the victim of his own
imagination, and had so far prevailed over his hot temper and
his pride as to form the resolution to seek once more an interview
with Esther. He would once more, he thought, appeal to
the old friendship between them; he would once more, but with
more eloquent appeals than the tame language with which, as it
now seemed to him, he had last urged his suit, again endeavor
to tear her from the desolation in which she had made her home,
would once more, and in bold and irresistible terms, warn her
of the dangerous character of the unworthy knight whom she
had admitted to her acquaintance. Should he find his first suspicious
as baseless as he fondly prayed that they might prove,

[figure description] Page 151.[end figure description]

he would upon his knees implore her forgiveness, that he should
have dared to profane the purity of her mind with the breath of
his suspicions. If, however, he should find that those boding
thoughts which still haunted him could not be dispelled by her
presence, he would at any rate bid her farewell in a spirit more
worthy both of her character and his own. Having once formed
this resolution, he had, with the headlong impatience of his character,
been unable to rest till he had fulfilled it. With a bosom
beating high with renewed hope, he had devoured the rugged
and difficult tract of wilderness which still separated him from
her, and had paused a moment within the edge of the thicket
which fringed the glade before her door, to collect his whirling
thoughts, and to calm his feverish brain.

At that very moment, as he thus paused, in full view of that
lowly door-step, but himself screened from sight by the protecting
branches of the tree, he had been an involuntary witness to
the concluding moments of Esther's interview with the hated
and mysterious adventurer. He stood there transfixed, gazing
as mute and motionless upon the face of that fair Puritan, as if,
like the loveliness of the fabled Medusa, it possessed the power
to transform him to stone, while, as in that fearful fable, a
thousand serpents sprang from the life's blood which seemed
slowly dropping from his heart. He stood there, like one enchanted,
too distant to hear the low accents of Mabel, and with
his whole soul concentrated in his eyes He stood rooted to that
spot, and an earthquake would hardly have aroused him. He
heard not, spoke not, scarcely breathed, but he saw all that
passed. He saw Esther place the chain in Gardiner's hand; he
saw him kiss the sacred pledge of affection, accursed hypocrite
that he was, and then place it next his heart; he saw his smile of
gratitude; he saw Esther's lips breathing the gentle accents of
farewell; he saw the long, audacious glance, with which the
knight dwelt upon her retiring form; he saw his smile of triumph

[figure description] Page 152.[end figure description]

as he advanced, in slow and repturous self communion as it
seemed, directly towards the tree which sheltered his own figure.
He saw all this, and stood motionless. He suppressed even his
breath as he saw his hated rival striding so closely to him. The
knight paused at last, and leaned against the tree. Maudsley
was so near that he might almost touch him; he saw the chain
glittering upon his breast, he could almost see the bright and
soaring thoughts, which he knew were swarming and singing
their triumphal music in his brain. They were alone together
in the wilderness, with only the stars to look down upon them,
and his hand clutched the hilt of his sword convulsively, as he
felt that if the hour of certainty and of despair had struck, that
the hour of vengeance, too, had sounded. He stood there
gazing upon the face of his successful rival, and resolved, as he
studied the lineaments of that dark and impassible physiognomy,
that he would calm himself before he addressed him, because he
knew the self-balanced character of his antagonist, and was
unwilling to confront the man who was always master of himself,
while his own reason was well nigh blinded by his passion.
He stood there striving in vain to compose himself, for a few
rapid moments, and remembering that the spot where they now
stood was too near the abode of Ludlow, and therefore unfitted
for the work which they were soon to have in hand, he determined
to accost Sir Christopher tranquilly that they might
remove together to a more appropriate place. While Maudsley
was thus hesitating, the knight suddenly aroused himself from
his reverie, and, with rapid movements, strode away from the
tree in the direction of the coast. Maudsley, forgetting his
resolution of calmness, and furious lest his prey should escape
him, sprang madly forward, calling out to his enemy in a low,
husky tone, choked with emotion, which was inaudible to the
rapidly retreating and unconscious Gardiner. At the same
moment his arm was suddenly clutched from behind, and his

[figure description] Page 153.[end figure description]

progress towards his antagonist impeded. Thus assaulted, he
turned upon his new enemy, raising his sword to cut down the
skulking savage, by whom he supposed himself attacked. What
was his surprise to see that his arm had been seized, and his
career arrested by the hand of a fair, slight youth, who held a
dagger indeed, but whose frame, though graceful, seemed so
powerless compared to his own, that he lowered his uplifted
sword, contenting himself with shaking off the arm which held
him, while he gazed with a sudden emotion of wonder into the
face of the youth.

“Spare him, spare him, Harry Maudsley,” said the young
stranger, in a voice which was wild emotion. “Not to you,
not to you belongs the task — you shall not escape me,” he continued,
clinging with all his strength to Maudsley, who strove in
vain to cast him off, as he found that the form of Gardiner had
already disappeared in the darkling forest. Enraged at this
singular and unaccountable interruption, maddened to see his
enemy thus eluding his grasp, and cursing the folly which had
restrained him from dashing to the earth the slender creature
who had thus stepped between him and his revenge, he once
more turned to him.

“Now, by the God of Heaven,” he cried, “I know not what
prevents me, thou insolent stripling, from cleaving thee to the
earth. Whence come ye, in the name of the foul fiend, who, I
believe, hath sent you hither to balk me? whence come ye,
what are ye, and why have you dared thus to lay violent hands
upon me, and to interfere with my purposes? Speak, or even
this slender frame shall not —.”

Maudsley interrupted himself as he spoke, for his face was
now close to his companion's, and there was something fearful
in the expression of the stripling's beautiful but distorted features,
and in the wild light that gleamed from his eyes, with the
yellowish, unnatural glare of a savage creature of the forest.

[figure description] Page 154.[end figure description]

“Strike, if you will,” said the youth, without the slightest
indication of fear, as he looked contemptuously upon the threatening
blade of Maudsley — “strike, if you will. My purpose
is at least answered. The knight is already far beyond your
reach. Strike, Harry Maudsley, think you I fear your anger.
Alas! this heart of mine hath been more deeply struck this
night than sword of yours could wound it. Strike, Harry
Maudsley. Think ye my life's blood will be a love potion for
ye to win back the heart of your fair and fickle Puritan?”

Maudsley chafing at this allusion to the wound which was
festering in his bosom, and completely enraged that the interruption
of the stranger had been, indeed, successful in compelling
him to defer his vengeance upon Gardiner, exclaimed in a voice
hoarse with passion —

“I hardly know why I pause, why I obey not your bold defiance,
save that I scorn to strike at aught so feeble. What art
thou, peevish boy, that thou hast dared thus to intercept my
purposes, and even to goad me beyond endurance, by thy sharp
and scornful language. But I cry your pardon, my gentle
youth. Doubtless, you too are a suitor to yon fair and fickle
Puritan, as you term her, and have learned by what you have
seen this evening, how well such suit is like to prosper. Is it
so? Tell me, and I will forgive thee for thy insolence.”

The lad laughed a low, scornful laugh as he replied, looking
as he did so, with an indefinitely taunting expression, upon the
face of Maudsley. “No, truly, Master Maudsley, you are
strangely deceived by your passion. Think you, then, that
yonder marble face and stony heart, to which you yourself bow
down in such hopeless adoration, have such an omnipotent
charm, that all who look upon her in this savage wilderness
must straightway kneel and worship? Oh, no, believe me, your
frigid Puritan hath no charms for me.”

“Insolent, presumptuous?” interrupted Maudsley, who,

[figure description] Page 155.[end figure description]

however, was so impressed with the extraordinary apparition of this
youth, whom he now looked upon for the first time, that he stood
still and listened to him, with a curiosity excited by his mysterious
appearance and language, that not even the tumultuous
emotions that were raging in his bosom, could entirely extinguish.
Who the singular stranger was, how he seemed to be so
familiar with his name and person, how he was able thus to
probe the secrets of his heart, whence he derived his strange
power thus to taunt and dare him to his face, with such impunity,
were questions which he asked himself but could not
answer.

“No, Master Maudsley, no,” continued the stranger, “neither
insolent nor presumptuous. My words are meant in kindness,
for God knows I would almost spare my deadliest enemy the
pang of jealousy.”

The youth's features were livid with emotion, and his voice
grew hoarse and husky as he spoke, but he commanded himself
again, and continued in a more gay but bitter tone,—

“No, no, Harry Maudsley, your wondrous Puritan hath no
charms for me. I loathe the very name of Puritan, I hate their
rigid looks, frigid hearts, and insolent sanctity, and for yonder
daughter and fitting model of her whole dreary sect, I assure
you I do esteem her well assorted in this gloomy wilderness.
Believe me, I looked upon you but now with pity, when I marked
the benumbing spell spread over you by yonder passionless
beauty.”

“Thou dost most grossly abuse,” said Maudsley, “the privilege
of thy weakness. I would I knew if thou wert man or
child, angel or demon, that thou standest here calmly mocking
me, while I stand listening like a slave.”

“Be calm, Harry Maudsley,” answered the mysterious youth,
while Maudsley, who really seemed in a manner fascinated, and
who, perhaps, as would not have seemed extraordinary in that

[figure description] Page 156.[end figure description]

age of boundless superstition, believed himself in the presence of
something unearthly, stood obediently silent again.

“Be calm, Harry Maudsley; I tell you I pitied you from my
heart, when I saw you thus spell-bound by your cold enchantress.
No, the woman I could worship should be one who
should make the blood whirl through the veins, not a statue
carved in ice, to freeze my heart and chill my senses.”

“Why then,” asked Maudsley, “why in the name of Heaven,
if you are not bound by some singular tie to the fate of yonder
maiden, or my own, why are you thus interested, why were you
thus impassioned, why did you arrest my arm, and frustrate
my intentions; in one word, whence and what are ye?”

“Faith,” answered the lad, still in the same gentle but
taunting manner, “I hardly know why I should answer your
catechism. My own information as to your name and purposes,
your past and your future career, are all sufficiently well known
to me, and yet have I not intruded upon the privacy of your
thoughts by one single question?”

“My future! my future! inexplicable and perplexing being!”
exclaimed Maudsley, “presumest thou then to read the dark,
unwritten page of coming events?”

“Truly,” answered the stranger, “it needeth no ghost from
the grave to foretell thy future. A less preternatural hand might
venture to lift the curtain, which hardly conceals the mad career
of such a reckless spirit as thou seemest.”

“Read it to me, if thou canst and darest,” exclaimed Maudsley,
impatiently.

“No, no,” exclaimed his companion, “I am no necromancer
nor mountebank. Least of all, to-night, shouldst thou listen to
thy doom. Suffice that if I read the stars aright, thy fortune is
still within thy command, thy destiny not so direful as thou
thinkest. Nay more, thou shalt have a pledge of this promise.
Mark me, ere three days are flown, shalt thou find around thy
neck, something which is very dear to thy heart.”

[figure description] Page 157.[end figure description]