What Came Afterwards CHAPTER 22.

We shall not dwell with particularity on the life of Mr. Elliot — the name by which Mr. Adam Guyton was known in the family of Mr. Ewbank. He remained there for several months, during which time he was docile, innocent, and often sportive as a child. In this period he had learned to read a little, and would often take a book and sit alone, trying to gather meaning from the sentences. For Mrs. Ewbank, he manifested the purest love; and was always happiest when by her side. Her word was his law; not her word spoken in authority, but the simple expression of her will. When she read to him, as her husband desired her to do frequently, those Bible stories which all young children delight to hear — about Joseph and his brethren — the Hebrew children — of Abraham, David and Daniel — and of the nativity of our Lord; he would listen to her with that absorbed attention which appropriates every sentence. Thus, his newly forming memory became populated with the holy men and women of olden times, whose words and deeds, representative of divine things, God has established as holy Scripture.

In all these months, Mr. Elliot had expressed no desire to pass beyond the threshold of his new home. He would sit or stand by the window, and look on the living panorama with a vague, childish wonder; but the hard, strong, involved things on the outside, instead of attracting, made him shrink back with an emotion of dread.

But at last, signs of a new state were visible; and the friends who had cared for him until care wrought itself into love, began to fear and tremble. Mrs. Ewbank, noticing one day that he was unusually quiet, asked, as we sometimes ask a child —

"What are you thinking about?"

He raised his eyes, and looked at her for some moments; then dropped them without answering. The expression of his face was so completely changed, that he did not appear like the same person.

"What are you thinking about, Mr. Elliot?" Mrs. Ewbank repeated the question, after a little while.

"I must have been dreaming," he answered, looking up again, half perplexed, and with a faint smile breaking around his lips.

"Of what were you dreaming?" Mrs. Ewbank half held her breath for the reply.

"I don't know. It's all gone now," he answered, with a sigh of relief.

On the evening of the same day, Mr. Ewbank, in addressing his wife, called her Lydia.

"That's a sweet name," said Mr. Elliot, in a tone of voice that caused both Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank to look at him curiously.

"Do you think so?" remarked the latter.

"Yes. And I've heard it before. I used to know a Lydia. I wonder where she is?" And his face grew shaded and intent.

Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank turned to each other in silence. It was plain to them that a few rays of light had penetrated the veil which hung between the past and the present.

"Oh, I remember now. She went away." There was a quiet sadness in his voice. "She went away somewhere and left me."

"And never came back?" Mrs. Ewbank ventured to inquire.

"Never!" He sighed again, but more deeply. "Never came back again."

With a quick motion, Mr. Elliot now lifted his hand and pressed it hard against his forehead, as if in pain.

"Does your head ache, Mr. Elliot?"

He did not answer, but turned partly away, so as to hide his face; and sat perfectly motionless. Presently, as they looked at him intently, they saw a slight movement of his head, and caught a stealthy look, that was instantly withdrawn. He was still again for some time. Mr. Ewbank now spoke to him, calling his name. Slowly turning, and withdrawing his hand from his forehead, Mr. Elliot asked, with a degree of intelligence in his voice that startled Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank —

"How long have I been here?"

"Don't you know?" said Mr. Ewbank.

Mr. Elliot shook his head.

"Five months."

A hand was pressed tightly to his forehead again. "Five months!" He repeated the answer in a perplexed tone. Then withdrew his hand, stood up, gazed at Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank searchingly, then all around the room.

"Am I sleeping or waking? What does it all mean?" There was something mournful in his voice.

"Awake, Mr. Elliot, and with true friends," replied Mr. Ewbank, not rising, nor seeming to be disturbed or surprised.

"Mr. Elliot! Why do you call me Mr. Elliot?" he demanded, with apparent irritation.

"It is the name your friend, Doctor Hofland, gave us," was replied.

"Doctor Hofland!" He startled Mr. and Mrs. Ewbank with his emphatic repetition. Clasping his forehead again, now with both hands, he sat down and remained entirely motionless as before.

"Will you send for him?" he asked, at length, with repressed feeling.

"Tonight?"

"Yes. I would like to see him tonight."

"He lives at a considerable distance from here, and it is growing late," said Mrs. Ewbank, in a gentle, persuasive way, going up to Mr. Elliot, and laying her hand on him. The touch was like a charm; for, when she added — "Won't it do as well for you to see him in the morning?" he answered submissively —

"Yes, it will do as well in the morning; but I must see him then."

"You won't go away and leave us, I hope." Mrs. Ewbank said this with real emotion, for her heart, so long interested in the docile old man, had learned to love him, and the thought of parting was painful.

"I will come back again — or you shall come to me," he answered, almost fondly.

His mind seemed to wander a little after this — to play between the past and the present, and to mingle remote with recent things.

"I wonder where she is! Do you know?" He lifted his eyes to the face of Mrs. Ewbank, after a period of silence, in which it was plain that he was endeavoring to untangle the confused things in his mind, and gazed at her with a look of troubled inquiry.

"Who?" asked Mrs. Ewbank.

"My Lydia." And the perplexed look deepened. "My Lydia," he repeated. "Didn't you know her? I'm sure you must have known her."

A sudden flush came — his eyes enlarged — his lips fell apart — a tremor seized him. For a short period, he was like one startled by an apparition. This passed, and he was in repose again.

"Your name is Lydia." He looked at Mrs. Ewbank with returning fondness.

"Yes, that is my name."

"And her name was Lydia."

"Who?"

A shadow crept over his face — he sighed, and turned away.

"I'm trying to think," he said, speaking soon afterwards, but a little mournfully. "I don't know where she went. Oh — oh!" The ejaculation was sudden, prolonged, and uttered as a cry of pain. Some bitter memory had flashed into light.

"What is it, Mr. Elliot? What hurt you?" Mrs. Ewbank drew closer, and spoke with fond familiarity.

"Dead! Dead!" His voice was full of grief.

"Who is dead?"

"Lydia — my poor Lydia! I remember it now. She grew sick and died. Poor Lydia! I'm afraid — " He checked himself, shrunk down a little, as if under the weight of some unhappy thought, and became once more silent.

"Was it a long time ago?" asked Mrs. Ewbank.

He started, with face flushing anew, and turned fully around upon Mrs. Ewbank, rising at the same time to his feet. Eagerly, almost wildly, did he search her countenance.

"There was another Lydia," he said, his voice shaking. "A dead Lydia and a living one. They had the same voice, and I heard it just now — the same eyes and hair. O, my God!" The trembling old man shut his hands over his face and stood for a few moments. Then withdrawing them, he said with constrained calmness —

"My name is Adam Guyton!"

"And I am Lydia! Oh, my father! My father!" Mrs. Ewbank sprang forward, throwing her arms around his neck, and laying her head on his bosom.

Past the form clinging to him, the old man looked to Mr. Ewbank, who had startled up, and now stood near them — looked to him with an almost helpless, but imploring expression, as one in a swiftly running stream, ready to be swept away. Mr. Ewbank understood the appeal, and, astonished said, as he made an effort to lift his wife away —

"If you are indeed Adam Guyton, who was thought to be dead — then this is your daughter Lydia!"

"I am Adam Guyton," was almost solemnly answered.

"Father! Father! Father!" Mrs. Ewbank lifted her face from his bosom, and with eyes full of light and tears, looked at him lovingly — yet wonderingly. "And you have been with me so many months, and I did not know it! O father! Do you love me? Do you love your Lydia?"

He did not answer in words — only with kisses and embraces. Love had begotten love. The old, sordid, selfish father — had not really loved his child; but love was the chief element in that new state, which, through a forming period of nearly half a year, had gained sufficient power to dwell in safety, even amid the hard, cold, repellent things of his former life.

Mr. Ewbank, fearing the consequence of excitement on the mental condition of Mr. Guyton — as we must now call him — drew his wife gently away, and in calm words to both, suggesting gratitude to God for this wonderful restoration, led their thoughts into smoother channels. Still, in her eagerness to know something of the great mystery enshrouding the past ten years of her father's life, Lydia kept asking questions, which disturbed, instead of tranquillizing.

Memory was still confused — all its pages were not open. There was obscurity and incoherence in the old man's answers; and a troubled effort to untangle many things. With a wise solicitude, that comprehended his state, Mr. Ewbank drew his thoughts as much as possible away from the unhappy past — that it might dwell with present good, and have, now that he was coming into his right mind, a distinct perception of that Christian love and charity, in the sphere of which he had been dwelling. Everything, he felt, depended on the crisis which had come. If the good affections and true thoughts that dwelt with him in the late childhood condition of his mind, could be linked, as a golden chain, whose anchor was in Heaven — to the thoughts and affections, which, on the return of reason and memory, would move his heart and brain — then he might become a true man, and his last days be better than his first.

It was for this, he had been working, and now must come a fruitful field — or rust and stubble. If the record of all that had passed in these months of planting and culture, was to be sealed up — alas for Adam Guyton! Old passions, intensified by wrong, would sweep him away, and he would be in the hands of enemies tenfold more cruel than those from whom he had escaped. No wonder that Mr. Ewbank, conscious of his ignorance and weakness in a case like this, looked up and prayed — "Lord, give wisdom and strength!"

Right thoughts came at the right time. Into his unselfish desire to do good, flowed true perceptions. As the states of Mr. Guyton varied, he was able to see what was best to be said or done, in order to keep those golden links bound to the newly forming life. And so, as the old past came slowly back, getting more and more distinct, with all its horrible wrongs — the present was clung to as an ark of safety, and the love that was to save him, kept warm — love for his daughter, which so flooded his heart that coldness was impossible.

After that sudden awakening to a consciousness of who he was, Mr. Guyton did not recover reason and memory in full strength for a long time.

In this slow restoration was his true safety. It gave opportunity for Doctor Hofland, who saw him frequently, and for Mr. Ewbank, who watched over him with a manly solicitude, to take counsel as to all that was best to be done. With a passiveness that was remarkable — he generally submitted to their judgment of his case, letting his indeterminate thought dwell with their calmer reason.

"If you think best." How often he so replied to their arguments against his expressed wish to summon Mr. Larobe to the defensive, and drive him to punishment and restitution. They understood better than he, the difficulties that were in the way. The proof of identity must be complete, and many links in the chain of evidence were lacking. Sometimes, in his varying states, Mr. Guyton would grow restive, or impatient. Then it was, that his daughter's power over him became manifest. A word of gentle remonstrance — the pressure of her hand on his hand or arm — a soft, persuasive smile — there was a magic in these which softened him into confidence and submission.

The love she had awakened did not die, but seemed to gain strength daily, entwining itself as a golden thread amid all his awakening thoughts, passions, desires and purposes. In the new future which opened to his onward-reaching eyes, he saw her always; saw her, and the great reward of love and benefit which was in his heart to bestow.

It is a fact to be noticed, that no suspicion of a selfish end in Mr. Ewbank, crept into Mr. Guyton's heart. As one of the guards against this, Doctor Hofland had taken occasion, at the earliest moment in which he could comprehend, to assure Mr. Guyton, that neither his daughter or her husband had entertained a suspicion of who he was until he revealed himself. There was another reason. A man of pure motives bears with him a sphere of his quality, which those who come into intimate association, perceive. Mr. Guyton felt this sphere, and it had power not only to keep all suspicion back, but to win his perfect confidence. He felt safe with Mr. Ewbank — felt that he was a friend, in a higher and truer sense, than he had before understood that term, and not only this, but of such judgment and discretion, that he might trust him as the wisest of counselors.

Thus it stood with Mr. Guyton, two months from the period when light broke into his mind. Without consulting him in regard to what they were doing, Mr. Ewbank and Doctor Hofland, through the agency of one of the soundest and most discreet lawyers in the city, were diligently, but secretly, at work, searching for evidence that, when brought together, would prove the identity of Mr. Guyton beyond the reach of cavil, and re-establish him in all his legal rights. The movements of Mr. Larobe were observed closely.

The property which his late wife held in her own right, by reservation at marriage, and which, by will, she had left to her children, did not come under his control, as she named executors. But, a considerable portion of it was involved in mixed transactions under his old executorship of Mr. Guyton's estate. The executors under Mrs. Larobe's will, early became satisfied that all was not right, and gave the lawyer peremptory warning of their purpose to press matters to a legal inquiry, unless the property claimed by the instrument under which they were acting, was placed, free from all entanglement with any other interests, into their hands.

There was demur, and affected defiance on his part; but, standing as he knew himself to be, on the brink of a precipice, he took counsel of prudence, and yielded everything — so that the entire property claimed by the testator, amounting in value to over sixty thousand dollars, was safe for her heirs.

Thus, only about twenty thousand dollars of all the large estate which Larobe had ventured upon the crime of bigamy to secure, actually remained with him. He had accepted the terms of settlement required before marriage, trusting to his future power over his wife, and ability to mismanage her affairs in a way to secure all the benefits contemplated in this criminal alliance. But, the events he would have shaped, were under that higher control which always limits the power of evil — and surely, sooner or later, casts down the wicked.

Back to Nothing but Money!

Back to What Came Afterwards