Duty as well as reason told me to pursue the search for my relatives, and see Lenore Hyland no more. But where is the heart love-stricken that will listen to the call, either of reason, or duty?
Mine did not, and could not. It was deaf to such an appeal. I could think only of Lenore, yearn to see her again—to speak with her—to listen to her—to love her!
Volume One—Chapter Twelve.
An Encounter with a Coward.
About a week after my interview with Mrs Hyland and her daughter, I saw what I had been daily looking for—a notice in one of the Liverpool papers, under the head of “Shipping Intelligence,” announcing the arrival of the ship “Lenore,” Captain Adkins, from New Orleans.
After reading the notice, I hastily flung aside the paper; and proceeded direct to the docks—where I found the vessel had already arrived.
As I might have expected, Adkins was not aboard. He had landed several hours before, while the ship was still in the river. Having ascertained the name of the hotel where he was in the habit of staying, while in Liverpool, I lost no time loitering on board the ship, but went in search of him. On reaching the hotel, I found that he had slept there the night before, but had gone out after breakfast in the morning.
My conjecture was, that he would be found at the house of Mrs Hyland; and it now occurred to me that I had been wonderfully stupid in not looking for him there in the first instance.
From the hotel, I proceeded direct to Mrs Hyland’s residence, as I walked along, anticipating much pleasure in the task of compelling Adkins to refute his own falsehoods. I feared, however, that shame would hinder him telling the truth; and that even in my presence he would stick to his infamous story. I feared it, because I did not wish to kill him.
As I had conjectured, he was visiting at Mrs Hyland’s. Just as I reached the door, Adkins was coming out.
I controlled my temper as well as I could. I did not wish to defeat my purpose by an exhibition of idle anger.
“Good morning Mr Adkins!” said I. “We meet again; and I assure you, on my part, with profound pleasure.”
He would have passed without speaking, had I not placed my body so as to block the way.
“Who the devil are you; and what do you want?” he asked, with a bullying tone and air that I had often known him assume before.
“I am Rowland Stone,” I answered, “and I wish to see you on a matter of considerable importance.”
“You see me then! what the important business?”
“It can only be made known in the presence of Mrs Hyland and her daughter.”
“Mrs Hyland does not wish to see you,” said Adkins, “and much less her daughter, I should think. As for myself, I want nothing to do with you.”
“I can believe the latter part of your assertions,” I answered, “but it is necessary that we should sometimes do what may not be exactly agreeable to us. If there is a spark of manhood in you, walk back into the house, and repeat to Mrs Hyland in my presence, what you have said behind my back.”
“I shall not take the trouble to do any thing of the kind. I tell you again, I want nothing to say to you. Give me the way!”
As Adkins said this, he made a gesture as if he intended to pass me.
“I’ll give you the way to hell,” said I, “unless you do as I bid you,” and I caught him by the collar to drag him into the house.
He resisted this attempt by aiming a blow at me, which I returned with such interest, that while I still kept my legs, the captain of the “Lenore” missed his; and, staggering backward, he fell heavily on the door-step.
I had now lost all command of myself; and, after ringing the bell, to have the door re-opened, I seized him by the hair of the head—for the purpose of hauling him inside.
My purpose would have been accomplished. I would have broken down the door, dragged him into the house, confronted him with Mrs Hyland, and made him swallow his false words, but for the arrival of a trio of policemen.
I was not overcome until after a long struggle, in which the exertions of the three policemen, Adkins himself, and another man, who was passing at the time, were united against me. It ended in their putting me in irons.
As I was led away from the house, I noticed that Mrs Hyland and Lenore were both at the window—where, I had no doubt, they had been witnesses of the affray.
I was at once taken to a police station, and locked up in one of its cells.
Next morning I was brought before a magistrate. Adkins was there to prosecute. The three policemen were present as witnesses, as also the Liverpool citizen, who had aided in putting me in irons.
After evidence was heard against me, I was called upon for my defence. I had nothing to say to the charge.
The magistrate emphatically declared that a case of a more unprovoked assault had never been brought before him; and that he did not think the ends of justice would be met by the infliction of a fine. He therefore sentenced me to fourteen days’ imprisonment.
I thought none the less of myself for that; and, under other circumstances, two weeks in a prison might not have been passed unpleasantly. But it was bitterness to reflect, that while I was passing my time in the companionship of petty thieves, Edward Adkins was daily visiting Lenore.
Fourteen days must I pass as a prisoner, while my vile enemy would be enjoying the society of Mrs Hyland and her daughter—no doubt doing all he could to blacken my character, and lower me still further in their estimation!
The reflection was anything but pleasant, though I might have partly consoled myself by another: that I was much better off inside the gaol, than millions of my fellow countrymen outside of it. Had I committed some crime, that really deserved this confinement, then would I, indeed, have felt really wretched; but conscience accused me of no wrong; and I was not without those tranquillising emotions ever springing from a sense of rectitude and innocence.
I was not afraid that Adkins would gain any great advantage over me in winning the affections of Lenore—even though aided by the influence of her mother. It was not that which troubled me during my sojourn within the walls of a prison. If Lenore should prove capable of choosing such a man for her husband, I need not regret her loss. My spirit was more harassed by the thought: that wrong should have thus triumphed—that Adkins should be in the society of Lenore, when he should have been in my place in the prison, and I in his.
After I had passed eight days of my confinement, I was surprised one morning by the announcement that I was to receive visitors.
Two persons had called, and inquired for Rowland Stone. They were outside—waiting to be admitted to my cell.
Both proved to be old acquaintances. One was a man named Wilton, who had been the second mate of the ship “Lenore,” under Captain Hyland. The other was Mason, the steward of the same ship.
As both these men had been very kind to me when I was in the ship, I was pleased to see them; but much more so, when I learnt to whom I was indebted for their visit. Mason told me that he was still steward of the “Lenore,” and that Miss Hyland had come to him on board: for the purpose of obtaining a true account of the circumstances that stood between me and Adkins.
“I was glad to learn, Rowley, that you had turned up again,” said Mason, “but at the same time, sorry to hear of your present trouble. I at once resolved