Hold, daughter! I do spy a kind of hope,
Which craves as desperate an execution
As that is desperate, which we would prevent
And if thou darest, I'll give thee remedy!
Hold, then! go home, be merry, give consent
To marry Paris! Wednesday is to-morrow!
Shakespeare
As the autumn weather was now very pleasant, Capitola continued her
rides, and, without standing on ceremony, repeated her visit to the
Hidden House. She was, as usual, followed by Wool, who kept at a
respectful distance, and who, during his mistress' visit, remained
outside in attendance upon the horses.
Capitola luckily was in no danger of encountering Colonel Le Noir, who,
since the night of the mysterious tragedy, had not returned home, but
had gone to and settled in his winter quarters in Washington city.
But she again met Craven Le Noir, who, contrary to his usual custom of
accompanying his father upon his annual migrations to the metropolis,
had, upon this occasion, remained home in close attendance upon his
cousin, the wealthy orphan.
Capitola found Clara the same sweet, gentle and patient girl, with this
difference only, that her youthful brow was now overshadowed by a heavy
trouble which could not wholly be explained by her state of orphanage
or her sorrow for the dead--it was too full of anxiety, gloom and
terror to have reference to the past alone.
Capitola saw all this and, trusting in her own powers, would have
sought the confidence of the poor girl, with the view of soothing her
sorrows and helping her out of her difficulties; but Miss Day, candid
upon all other topics, was strangely reserved upon this subject, and
Capitola, with all her eccentricity, was too delicate to seek to
intrude upon the young mourner's sanctuary of grief.
But a crisis was fast approaching which rendered further concealment
difficult and dangerous, and which threw Clara for protection upon the
courage, presence of mind and address of Capitola.
Since Clara Day had parted with her betrothed and had taken up her
residence beneath her guardian's roof, she had regularly written both
to Traverse at St. Louis and to his mother at Staunton. But she had
received no reply from either mother or son. And months had passed,
filling the mind of Clara with anxiety upon their account.
She did not for one moment doubt their constancy. Alas! it required but
little perspicacity on her part to perceive that the letters on either
side must have been intercepted by the Le Noirs--father and son.
Her greatest anxiety was lest Mrs. Rocke and Traverse, failing to hear
from her, should imagine that she had forgotten them. She longed to
assure them that she had not; but how should she do this? It was
perfectly useless to write and send the letter to the post-office by
any servant at the Hidden House, for such a letter was sure to find its
way--not into the mail bags, but into the pocket of Colonel Le Noir.