[figure description] Page 092.[end figure description]

It was natural that Esther should be looking with as much
eagerness, although with widely different motives, for a confirmation
of the intelligence by their own private letters, as did
Sir Christopher Gardiner. Truly it seemed a strange destiny
which had brought these two powerful spirits, so contrasted, into
such recent and accidental conjunction. An imaginative temper
might have figured these two personages, thus, as it were, hovering
about the cradle of an infant state, the mysterious and
threatening form of the knight, the angelic figure of the maiden,
thus floating in strange proximity, as the embodiments of the
two great conflicting elements of our nature. Like a dark
enchanter and a beneficent fairy, like an evil genius and a halocrowned
saint, these two opposite but powerful influences
seemed fated to some mystic conflict — who could foretell its
duration or its result?

As Esther looked forth from the door-step along the glade,
which had so recently witnessed her conflict with the wolf, and
her rescue by some unknown but unforgotten deliverer, she saw
the figure of a man in Puritan habiliments, just emerging from
the corner of the forest. She supposed at first that it was Sir
Christopher Gardiner coming to renew his inquiries, but before
she had time to call to her brother, whose presence she desired
at all their future interviews, she observed that she was mistaken.
The new comer, although above the middle height, was
by no means so tall as Gardiner, and moved with a languid gait,
very different from the knight's lithe movements. His

[figure description] Page 093.[end figure description]

steeple-crowned hat was slouched deeply upon his brows, so as almost
entirely to conceal his features — his garments were old and
travel stained, and he supported his feeble steps upon a staff.
He appeared, however, to be more oppressed with fatigue than
with age, and his frame, muscular and well knit, seemed to belie
his drooping deportment.

He gravely saluted Esther as he approached.

“Is this the residence of Walter Ludlow?” he asked in a
husky voice.

“It is,” said Esther; “have you business with my brother?”

“And you are Esther Ludlow,” he continued, in a low hesitating
tone, looking upon the ground as he spoke, and, as it
would seem, laboring under some kind of embarrassment.

“I am Esther Ludlow,” replied the maiden, “but you seem
fatigued, good brother. By your garb you should be from
Plymouth — and you must have travelled far to-day. Enter, I
pray you, into the house; my brother is now in the neighborhood,
and will insist that a travelling stranger like yourself
should partake his hospitality.”

“You are very kind, good maiden, but my frame is, perhaps,
not so languid as it seems — I have still far to travel, and the
sun hath already set.”

“The twilight,” said Esther, “will soon be upon us. Enter
our house and refresh yourself. It is the hour of our evening
meal, and my brother will soon be here.”

The stranger seemed reluctant to enter the house. He
lingered near the door-step, unwilling to accept Esther's proffered
hospitality, and yet seeming slow to declare his errand.
He seemed oppressed by some secret emotion.

“My brother will deem himself ill treated, if you decline the
shelter of our humble roof this night,” continued Esther, “The
night is approaching, the air is already growing keen, the
wilderness is full of danger to a lonely wayfarer.”

[figure description] Page 094.[end figure description]

“The dangers of the wilderness are not those which I most
fear,” answered the stranger enigmatically, and in the same
husky tone. “But I have forgotten myself strangely,” he continued,
as he observed something like suspicion floating about
the clear brow of his companion. “My business is a brief
one, and concerns as much Esther Ludlow as her brother. A
vessel has arrived at Plymouth, and I have been intrusted by
the man of God, our worthy governor and brother, to deliver one
or two packets to the scattered indwellers of the wilderness.
Lo! here is that which beareth the superscription of Esther
Ludlow.”

The humble and toil-worn stranger drew two parcels from his
bosom, as he spoke, and handed them respectfully to the maiden.
Esther with eager thanks snatched the proffered epistles, one of
which was addressed to herself, and one to her brother, and
hastily breaking the seals of her own dispatch, she found, with
delight, that it inclosed four different letters. She hurriedly
examined the handwriting of each, and then laid them all down
with a heavy sigh.

“From him alone not one line of remembrance, not one word
of regret,” she murmured.

The tears came into the proud eyes of Esther, and with the
letters all unopened upon her lap, she sat like a beautiful statue,
all her animation fled, her cheek pale as marble, and her
features working with the expression of subdued but deep
emotion. For a moment she seemed totally unaware of the
presence of the stranger. The eagerness with which she had
opened the dispatch vanished, her anxiety to hear all the
details of the great movement, in which she felt so intense an
interest, had apparently subsided into indifference, and, lost in
sorrowful thought, she seemed heedless of all, save the one
feeling, which exclusively occupied her mind.

While she remained apparently unconscious of all that was

[figure description] Page 095.[end figure description]

passing before her, the stranger stood, gazing intently upon her,
from beneath the slouched hat which concealed his features.
His presence seemed to have been wholly forgotten, or she
might have perhaps felt some surprise that the feeble, toil-worn
wanderer should prefer to stand thus transfixed and motionless
before her, rather than seek repose and refreshment in the house.

She aroused herself at last with an effort, mechanically lifted
one of her letters, and broke the seal. The trifling physical
exertion seemed for a moment to change the current of her
thoughts, and to arouse her interest in the weighty matters
which had so recently occupied her mind. She began to read
one of the letters with avidity, when suddenly she remembered
the stranger, and turned her eyes full upon him. She blushed,
she knew not why, as she saw him thus immovably gazing upon
her; but as he seemed embarrassed and unwilling to meet her
glance, she merely attributed the strangeness of his deportment
to awkwardness.

“In sooth,” said she, “I have strangely forgotten my duty.
You will have but a lame account to give of the hospitality of
Naumkeak when you return to the brethren of Plymouth. If
you persist in refusing the shelter of our roof, at least suffer me
to bring you some trifling refreshment; and I pray you to repose
your wearied limbs on yonder bench for a little time before you
proceed upon your journey.”

“A crust of bread and a cup of cold water,” continued the
stranger in the same husky tones which had first marked his voice;
“a crust of bread and a cup of cold water is all that I require,
and I shall crave your pardon if I take this refreshment upon
the outside of your domicil. I have yet far to travel to night,
and I will repose for a moment upon this bench.”

With this the stranger seated himself, and Esther went for a
moment into the house. She soon re-appeared, bringing the
simple food which he had desired, and placed it upon the bench
beside him.

[figure description] Page 096.[end figure description]

“With your leave,” said she, “I will even glance over the
contents of this letter, while you are reposing and refreshing
yourself.”

As she spoke, Esther again resumed the letter which she had
opened, and became absorbed in the contents.

Meanwhile the stranger sat with untasted bread, hiding his
face with his hands, and gazing upon the excited features of
the beautiful Puritan, as if he would have read her soul.

“Then they have not yet sailed,” she murmured half audibly,
as she hastily turned the pages of her letters. “Endicott is to
set forth in June, and with him Gott and Brakenbury and Davenport,
and other good and true men — and much opposition is
expected from certain friends of Sir Ferdinando Gorges — the
knight and his powerful party are supposed to be moving heaven
and earth to prevent the king's grant of a charter — he is thought
already to have sent his emissaries to this country — two worthy
and learned clergymen, Master Higginson and Master Skelton
have agreed to embark in the —; Holy Father of Mercy!
Henry Maudsley in New England!” The letter dropped from
her hands as she uttered this exclamation; and her eyes filled
with tears as she murmured, “Then I did him wrong; one
cause alone could bring Henry Maudsley to New England.”

“Aye, Esther, but one cause,” said a deep, familiar voice
at her side.

Esther started, grew pale as ashes, and trembled like a leaf.
She looked towards the stranger. He was no longer reclining
upon the bench, but had advanced very near to her, his tattered
cloak was thrown aside, his hat had fallen to the ground, revealing
the well-remembered face of Harry Maudsley.

“Aye, Esther, but one cause,” he cried, while she seemed
contending with a variety of emotions, among which pride
seemed at length to gain the mastery, suppressing her tears,
smoothing her agitated brow and restoring a faint tinge to her

[figure description] Page 097.[end figure description]

marble cheek. “Forgive me,” he continued in an impassioned
tone, “that I have dared to appear in this disguise before you.
It was accident which prompted it, as it was accident which
first revealed to me the place of your residence, when I deemed
you an inhabitant of the Plymouth Colony.”

“And was it accident, too,” replied Esther, who had by a
strong effort recovered a portion of her calmness, “and was it
accident that brought Henry Maudsley into these wild deserts?”

“No, Esther,” was the reply. “Your own heart tells you
why I am here. Yet believe me, that although impelled across
half a world by a passion which I have struggled to conquer,
till at last it has conquered me, although brought to your feet by
an impulse which I could no longer resist, yet, believe me, I had
no unmanly, no unworthy motives in this disguise.”

“And yet,” answered Esther, “false robes should never hide
a true heart. If, as I am willing to believe, I was the motive of
your exile, why steal thus masked into my presence, why treacherously
surprise my unguarded thoughts?”

“Again I implore you to forgive me, Esther,” replied Maudsley.
“I had been longer than you think a resident in this
neighborhood, not dreaming that you were so near me. A poor
wayfaring pilgrim, whom I chanced to rescue from indignity,
had been intrusted with letters addressed to you and to others.
Learning thus unexpectedly the place of your residence, I
could not resist the temptation to look once more upon your
face.”

“And yet it would have been easy for you,” answered Esther,
“to have made your appearance long ago, and without disguise.”

“Aye,” answered Maudsley, “and one constituted as you,
cannot perhaps conceive of the wayward and perverse impulses
of a temperament like mine. Although I had crossed a winter's
sea in a miserable bark, only that I might throw myself once

[figure description] Page 098.[end figure description]

more at your feet, yet no sooner did I find myself in the
same wilderness with you, then I began almost to shrink from
our interview.”

“This is indeed strange,” said Esther calmly.

“And it is strange, too,” continued Maudsley, “that a miser
should starve among uncounted riches. Why did I hoard, like
a treasure, the golden moments of our meeting? I know not.
At last, influenced by a rebellious feeling at the power which I
felt you exercised over my whole nature, and assisted by the
singular accident which I have explained, I determined to look
upon you once more, once more to listen to your voice, and then
to tear myself away forever.”

“Maudsley,” replied Esther sorrowfully, “your character
remains as wilful and as enigmatical as ever. Why then did
you not execute your purpose?”

“Because,” was the passionate reply, “because unintentionally
I had surprised a secret dearer to me than the whole world
beside. When I found that I had not been entirely forgotten,
when I heard your gentle voice breathing my name, when, as
you believed, there was not an ear in the whole wilderness to
hear you, judge if it were then in my power to tear myself
away.”

It is unnecessary to record at length the conversation of the
lovers. It may be believed that the displeasure of Esther at
Maudsley's disguise was not very difficult to appease; and it may
be believed, too, that she was deeply affected by the evidence
which he had given of his constancy and his devotion to herself.
In this interview, the first which had occurred between them for
years, there were a thousand matters to excite their interest,
about which Esther, who had now been so long in exile, was desirous
to be informed.

“You have told me nothing of yourself, Henry,” said she,
“nor of your friends. You have not told me how the world

[figure description] Page 099.[end figure description]

hath prospered with those who are nearest and dearest to you at
home. Your sister, is she still so sad and broken-spirited, or
doth she recover from the heavy blow?”

“My sister is dead,” answered Maudsley, mechanically, but
in a deep and gloomy voice.

“Dead! is Edith dead? so young — so beautiful — so gentle—
so virtuous. Has she so soon gone down in sorrow to her
grave! Though I never enjoyed but a slight and passing acquaintance
with her, yet I could weep with you, Henry, for I
know how much you were to each other, and I know how much
affection, and how many pure womanly graces are buried in her
tomb.”

“I do not weep for her,” said her companion, in a moody but
composed tone. “You see I do not weep for her. She has
been released from a life of suffering; nay, more,” added Maudsley,
in a hoarser tone, “she has been released from a life of
unmerited but deep disgrace. Virtuous, high-spirited, as she
was, it was better that she should sink at once into her grave,
rather than creep through an obscure life, bowed to the earth
with shame that was not hers, and with tears of blood lamenting
that she had ever seen the light of day.”

“And her husband?”

“Her husband,” cried Maudsley, grinding his teeth with a
passionate expression, and uttering his words slowly, one by one,
as if they fell like drops of blood from his heart — “her husband
has fled. The villain has escaped me. I have sought him long,
but he has still eluded my pursuit. But vengeance, though it
sleeps, doth not die; and if he be still upon the living earth, I
will yet track him to his lair. The blood of my murdered sister
cries out to me from the ground. My heart is not deaf to the
appeal.”

“Alas, Henry,” said Esther, “vengeance belongeth only to
God. Vengeance is his, and he will repay. Believe me, that it

[figure description] Page 100.[end figure description]

is not wise nor well thus to constitute yourself the avenger even
of one so deeply injured. Think you, that he who hath been
the wicked cause of all this misery shall escape God's wrath?
But tell me, Henry, was the fearful mystery ever solved, which
rendered your sister's marriage a nullity, and thus blasted her
happiness and laid her in an untimely grave?”

“It was so,” answered Maudsley, in the same calm but gloomy
tone. “The mystery was solved, at least in part; solved sufficiently
to teach my sister that there was no relief except beyond
the grave. But the tale is long, and at this time and place need
not be repeated; but you shall know it all. Suffice it now,
when I inform you, that their marriage was indeed a nullity
because —” and as he spoke, Maudsley's voice subsided into
a hoarse whisper, which, however, fell distinctly upon Esther's
ear, “because there was another gentle and earlier claimant for
the honored hand of her husband.”

As he spoke these words, Maudsley laughed with a low, savage
laugh, that chilled the blood of his companion. “There
were other matters too, but I will not now spread aught of the
foul mass before your eyes. Suffice it, that the villain has
escaped, for you know that I was unfortunately absent during
the whole of these transactions, but while he exists, the fires of
hell could not burn out the record of his guilt. Let us speak
no more of this, dear Esther,” continued Maudsley, shaking off
the dark shadow from his mind, and speaking again in the
earnest, but more vivacious tone which was natural to him. “Let
us speak no more of this, but of you. The dead are in their
graves, where the broken-hearted sleep well. But do not, in
mercy do not, persist in your sad determination to entomb yourself
thus body and soul together in these gloomy deserts. With
every day which finds your stay prolonged, the cold enchantment
seems to wind itself more and more about your senses. Arouse
yourself ere your blood be chilled and your brain bewildered.

[figure description] Page 101.[end figure description]

Promise me, dearest Esther, that I may return and bear you
from this fearful world.”

“I had hoped,” said Esther, “that we had done with this
subject, upon which it is impossible that our hearts should ever
beat in unison. Distress me, I beseech you, no farther, and
believe that my decision is irrevocable.”

It will appear from these last observations, that the lovers, in
spite of the knowledge of their mutual affections, were as far
from a real understanding, as when they last separated in England.

The impetuosity and wilfulness of Maudsley's character were
as incorrigible as the calm but almost infatuated enthusiasm of
Esther was inflexible.

It had been her lover's object throughout their whole interview,
to induce her to forswear the purpose to which she had
devoted her life. He represented to her in the most passionate
terms the cruelty to herself, to him, to her brother, to all the
world, of which she was guilty in thus encloistering herself for
life in that dreary wilderness. He painted in the most glowing
colors, which a lively fancy could suggest, the delights which
might yet be theirs, surrounded at home by all the enjoyments
of affluence in a civilized land.

His words fell coldly, more than coldly upon Esther's ear. It
was not that she was an enthusiast, and therefore, like many
enthusiasts, a bigot; for this her nature was too feminine. But
she was more and more convinced that the dissimilarity of their
characters and ruling motives, was so absolute, that happiness
together was impossible. All that she deemed most high and
holy upon earth in his eyes was trivial or false. While he could
not help respecting her enthusiasm, he looked upon it as madness,
and could not avoid expressing, in indignant language, his
abhorrence of the influences by which her whole existence was
sacrificed to the maintenance of a pernicious and an absurd idea.

[figure description] Page 102.[end figure description]

All his social relations, his whole education, all the influences
under which he had existed since boyhood, had taught him to look
upon Puritanism as an uncouth and uncomfortable fanaticism.
His mind revolted at the thought that a woman like Esther Ludlow,
partly in deference to the feelings of a moody and weakminded
brother, partly in sympathy with a perverse movement of
the age, should bury all her graces in this living sepulchre.
His pride too had been aroused, and in crossing the ocean his
purpose had been fixed — he had vowed in his heart to tear
Esther from the wilderness to which she had devoted herself,
and to bear her home in triumph. He looked upon her as a
martyr, chained to a funereal pyre, as a victim exposed in the
desert to appease the wrath of a fabulous dragon, and he felt a
thousand hearts swelling within him, as he swore to rescue her
from her impending fate.

The quarrel which had occurred between them long before in
England, was of a nature which was almost irremediable, because
it had for the first time torn aside the veil from both their hearts,
and revealed to each other the gulf which in reality flowed between
them. The sneering indignation which Maudsley had
allowed himself to express against the infatuation of Walter
Ludlow, and the influence which it had exercised upon the mind
of his sister, had led to a more full development of their feelings,
and Maudsley learned for the first time, with anger and dismay,
the extent of what he designated Esther's fanaticism.

Between two natures, both proud, while the determination of
the one was fully matched by the impetuosity of the other, it
may be easily imagined that the chasm must have grown each
day wider. It is unnecessary, therefore, at this time, to relate
much more of their present interview, farther than to say, that
they found each other unchanged in feelings, and yet unchanged
in purpose. Esther's nature revolted at the sacrifice of all her
convictions and purposes, which was demanded of her almost

[figure description] Page 103.[end figure description]

imperiously by her wilful lover; while he, despite the words of
affection which had fallen from her lips when there could have
been no intention to deceive, felt his pride engaged in the contest,
and could not help arguing to himself, that, after all, that
affection must be calm and passionless, which possessed not
sufficient power to conquer her religious fanaticism.

Suddenly, while these thoughts were passing through his
mind, another thought suggested itself to him. With startling
abruptness he requested to know who was the fortunate personage
in Puritan habiliments, who had lifted her from the
ground at the time when she had so nearly escaped destruction
by the wolf.

Although at the moment when the adventure happened
Maudsley had not the slightest suspicion whose life was in his
hands, yet he now felt a certainty under the circumstances that
the female whom he had rescued from danger could have been
no other than Esther.

Esther was almost overpowered, when she was thus suddenly
informed that it was to Maudsley's arm that her safety upon that
occasion had been owing; but even while she was murmuring
her broken expressions of gratitude, Maudsley impetuously repeated
his question.

“Led hither,” said he, “by a mysterious fate, I was yet too
far removed to recognise either your own countenance or that
of your sable-suited admirer. It was not your brother — the
stranger was far taller than Walter Ludlow. Rebuke my impetuosity,
if you like, but you cannot wonder that I should be
desirous of learning the name of one who appeared to stand
toward you in such near and dear relationship.”

“Master Maudsley,” replied Esther, with cold dignity, “I
have no hesitation in informing you, that the individual whom
you saw upon this spot is not in near or dear relationship with
me. He is a casual acquaintance, brought hither upon that day

[figure description] Page 104.[end figure description]

by some trifling business with my brother. He is, I believe, a
member of no church community, although he seems a man of
a religious and even ascetic disposition. He is a person, however,
whose society I am very far from affecting.”

“How call you his name?” asked Maudsley, eagerly.

“He is called Sir Christopher Gardiner,” answered Esther.

“Sir Christopher Gardiner,” cried Maudsley, with a strange
sharp cry, as if a dagger had been plunged into his heart. “Sir
Christopher Gardiner, the associate of Esther Ludlow! Idiot
that I was, not to have suspected this before,” continued he to
himself, in an undertone.

He mastered his emotion, however, by a strong effort, and
forcibly directed the conversation, for a few moments, into other
channels. There was, however, a baleful and inexplicable spell
exercised upon his nature, by the very name of Sir Christopher
Gardiner. Suspicions, vaguely defined, and yet insurmountable,
united with a real knowledge of certain matters which inspired
distrust and even hatred, filled his soul whenever the image of the
mysterious knight was presented to him. It would be premature
at this time, to say more than that he felt a strong, although, to
a certain degree, a mysterious repugnance, to the character of
that adventurer, and a sensation of horror at finding him in
communion with Esther Ludlow. His disordered fancy would
not, for a long time, obey the dictates of his reason, and after
a few moments of broken and incoherent conversation, during
which the wonder, indignation, and pity of Esther were alternately
excited, he found at last that it was impossible for him
any longer to repress his agitation. Muttering a curse upon
his weakness, and upon the folly which had led him across the
ocean, only to exhibit and proclaim it the more, he uttered
aloud a few hasty and common-place expressions of farewell, and
then abruptly quitted the presence of Esther, whom he left
profoundly afflicted at the character and the result of this
singular interview.

[figure description] Page 105.[end figure description]

The dark shadows of evening were already descending upon
the earth, as Maudsley, yielding to the tumultuous torrent of his
emotions, strode down the glade with wild rapidity, as if lashed
forth into the outer darkness by furies. He dashed violently
across the open space which lay immediately before him, and
plunged into the gloomy arches of the pine forest. The eternal
shade, the cold and fragrant breath of the mighty grove, conveyed
no coolness to his heated brow, no soothing balm to the
fever in his soul. Stung by a multitude of torturing fancies,
which writhed and coiled like serpents from his heart, he swept
rapidly through the dim and silent wood. He fled like a coward
before the phantom shapes of his excited imagination. Was it
for this, that he had sacrificed or was ready to sacrifice his all,
home, country, friends, ease, wealth, ambition, pleasure? Was
it for this, that he had been ready, though he avowed it not, to
forsake the bright sunshine of the world, and bury himself in
the vast cloisters of the secluded wilderness? Was it for this,
that he had struggled so long and so bravely with his feelings,
only to find himself at last, the laughing-stock of a hypocritical,
mysterious adventurer, whom he had found to his horror, or
whom he imagined that he had found his successful rival. It
was strange, but with only the most casual acquaintance with
Gardiner, Maudsley had, from the first, conceived an indefinable
hatred for him, which, moreover, as he fancied, had been as
cordially reciprocated. He had, when occasionally in his
presence, been overcome by a singular and unaccountable sensation,
and had found himself, urged by he knew not what
strange fascination, gazing intently upon his face, and striving
to call up some dim, vague, long faded impression of earlier
years. In such times, he had been oppressed by a supernatural
sense of previous existence, fantastically united with a boding
presentiment of the future, a mysterious blending in his mind of
the forgotten past, and the unknown hereafter, which troubled

[figure description] Page 106.[end figure description]

him, he knew not how or why, and which seemed as it were, a
spell exercised upon him by the dark physiognomy of the
knight. But his sensations now were real, or he deemed them
such. Here was the mystery of Gardiner's existence solved;
here was the hidden reason of his enigmatical and apparently
aimless residence in this wilderness; here was the cause of all
this masquerading, his double-faced contradictory mode of life,
his solitary journeys, his sudden absences. It was plain as
light. He had wondered at his Puritanism, or at what he had
always considered his affectation of Puritanism — he wondered
no longer. It was the love of Esther Ludlow, which he sought
in the depths of these deserts. It was the love of Esther
Ludlow which worked these sudden and bewildering transformations.
Was it strange? Was it unnatural? Did he not himself
acknowledge but too truly the potency of the spell? He
shuddered when he contemplated the picture. If Esther loved
him, what a fate was hers. In what a gulf of desolation would
her trusting heart be wrecked!

He checked himself for a moment as he was speeding breathlessly
on, curbed the career of his insane thoughts, and endeavored
forcibly to dismiss the subject from his mind. What was
it all to him? He had torn himself from the presence of
Esther, and he had internally vowed, that the charm should be
forever broken, which had bound him so long. What then to
him was Gardiner's character, or his mystery, or his way of life?
Let him be the devil if he would, and if the pure-hearted
Puritan maiden chose to devote her white soul to the fiend, what
mattered it to him, when, how, or why, the unholy contract
should be completed?

On, on the fled once more through the mirky night, a fugitive
from his own thoughts, which seemed like spectres to people the
gloomy glades of the forest.

p285-124

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