What Came Afterwards CHAPTER 10.

Only a few houses had been erected in the immediate neighborhood of that spotless shaft, springing two hundred feet in the air, so wonderfully emblematic of the strength, purity, and exquisitely harmonized proportions of the man it was designed to symbolize and honor — George Washington. In one of these, Mrs. Larobe, the wife of Justin Larobe, resided. Let us look in upon her. Time — evening.

Mrs. Larobe was alone, sitting before the parlor grate, looking dreamily into the fire. Over twenty years have passed since her first introduction to the reader; and these years have wrought seriously with the woman. She has gained much through a subtle force of character, united with an unscrupulous will — much as to things external. But, with every gain, was suffered some loss that touched the inner life — some disappointment that left an aching void — some painful sense of inadequacy or short coming — some startling discovery, that what seemed to be gold in the distance — was only tinsel and dross. She had destroyed a goodly temple, in order that, with the costly materials thus gained, she might build for herself. Alas! The building, as stone on stone, and timber on timber, went into their places, did not grow out into proportions of wonderful beauty, such asimagination had pictured. It was weak here, unsightly there, and base — rather than magnificent, in her eyes.

At fifty-five, Mrs. Larobe had the same light, compactly built form, and the same cleanly cut features, that marked her as Mrs. Harte, the housekeeper of Adam Guyton, more than twenty years before. The cold, light blue eye was as steady and as closely veiled to common observers as then. Her dress was scrupulously neat and in good taste. She wore a small cap, ornamented with a sprig of half blown roses; and at her neck, pinning a lace collar of rare fineness, sparkled a diamond of considerable value. The furniture of the room in which she sat, corresponded with the woman. Everything was in good taste. There was no excess of articles; no flaunting display; no incongruity. As to quality, all was of thebest and the costliest.

Though we find in this woman the same light compactly built form, the same cleanly chiseled features, and the same cold, mysterious eyes — we do not find the same expression of face. The inner experiences have cut their sign of suffering and disappointment on every lineament; and as she sits alone, dreamily, before the fire, you see that time has not fulfilled the promise of other years.

From a bronze time-piece on the mantle, the hour of eight rung out. Mrs. Larobe startled at the sound. At the same moment, the door opened, and a girl came in. She was between fourteen and fifteen, had a vacant, repulsive face, and was slovenly dressed.

"Go out, Blanche!" said Mrs. Larobe, in a short, cold manner, nodding her head towards the door through which the girl had just entered. But the intruder took no heed of this injunction.

"Blanche! Go out, I say!" The cold eyes of Mrs. Larobe flashed, and her thin lips showed signs of feeling.

"Why can't I stay here?" answered the girl, commencing to draw a chair towards the fire.

"Because I don't want you," was sharply replied.

"Nobody wants me," said Blanche, in a tone that should have touched the mother's heart. "Leon snaps and snarls at me like a dog, and Herman says I'm a fool, and pushes me out of the room. Can't I stay here, mother?"

"No — I said no at first."

"I'll lie on the sofa, mother. I won't do anything," plead the girl.

Mrs. Larobe, whose will ever sought to have its way, arose with a quick impulse, and catching Blanche by the arm, endeavored to lead her from the room. But the girl, if she did not inherit her mother's clear intellect, had something of her stubborn will.

"I'm not going out," she said doggedly, and with resistance.

Mrs. Larobe's mind happened to be in a chafed condition, and she grew very angry at this opposition.

"Go instantly!" she exclaimed, throwing her full strength into her arms, and pushing Blanche towards the door. Madly the girl struggled against her mother. Finding herself borne along in spite of every effort to remain in the room, she suddenly relaxed every muscle, and gliding down from her mother's grasp, sunk upon the floor like an inanimate mass.

Almost blind with passion, Mrs. Larobe stooped over her child, and catching her two hands, commenced dragging the prostrate body towards the door.

"I'll scream if you don't let me go," cried Blanche, passionately.

But Mrs. Larobe did not heed this warning. Then there leaped out upon the air such a strange, wild, quivering cry that even Mrs. Larobe, as mad as she was, startled in surprise, and half relinquished her hold. It was repeated again and again, more like the shriek of an animal — than the cry of a human being.

"Hush!" said Mrs. Larobe, in stern command.

But the cry went on.

"Hush, I say!"

She might as well have spoken to the wind. Through her own cruel blindness, she had betrayed this weak and disordered human soul into the temporary possession of evil spirits, who were now tormenting them both. Finding no abatement in the loud, unearthly screams, Mrs. Larobe endeavored to close the mouth of Blanche with her hand, and had partly succeeded, when she heard the ringing of the street door bell.

"Blanche! Blanche! Stop this instant! Hark! Somebody has rung the bell. Get up! Get up! Quick!"

As the servant passed along the hall, on her way to the door, Mrs. Larobe, in despair of forcing her daughter to cease screaming and rise, changed instinctively her tone and manner, and addressed Blanche coaxingly. This had the better effect.

"Come, dear! Get up! Someone is coming in. Don't let them see you lying here. Hark! There's a man's voice. Get up, and run out, quickly."

So far as to cease screaming, and to rise from the floor, Blanche obeyed her mother. But she did not stir from the room. While the two were yet in contention, a man's heavy step was heard along the hall. The door of the front parlor was opened by the servant, and the visitor entered.

"A gentleman wishes to see you," said the servant, looking into the back parlor from the hall.

"Who is it?" asked Mrs. Larobe, in a low tone.

"He did not give his name."

"Here, take Blanche with you."

The servant advanced a step or two, but Blanche retreated towards the grate, frowning and distorting her face.

"I'm not going out," she muttered.

"But you must go, dear. I have a visitor, and you are in no condition to be seen," urged her mother, crossing the room to where the girl had retired, and again taking her by the arm.

"I'll scream!" said Blanche, with a threatening look.

Mrs. Larobe dropped her hand, weak and baffled, before this imbecile girl. A moment or two, she stood in painful resolution; then ordered the servant to retire.

"If I permit you to stay," she said to Blanche, "you must hide yourself away in that arm-chair, and not speak a word. Do you understand?"

"Yes."

"Very well. Now sit down, and keep perfectly quiet."

Blanche took the chair in which her mother had been seated, and was wheeled to some distance from the grate, towards a corner of the room, the back of the chair being turned towards the grate. After repeating the injunction for Blanche to remain quiet, Mrs. Larobe crossed to the folding doors, which, until now, had been closed, and throwing one of them open, advanced into the front parlor, where a fire also burned in the grate. Before this, with his back to the folding doors, stood a man, who turned at the moment of her entrance. Mrs. Larobe stopped suddenly, a frown of displeasure, mingled with surprise, crossing her face. The man bowed, with a cold formality, that had in it something of mockery. His eyes were sinister in their expression.

"Edwin!" Mrs. Larobe uttered the name like one both displeased and confounded.

"Madam!" And the formal bow was repeated.

"To what am I indebted for this visit?" demanded the woman, retiring into the placid exterior, with which she had all her life veiled so much of passion.

"That question is not to be answered in a single sentence, madam," replied the visitor. "But you may be very sure that except for a matter of serious import, I would not be here."

The young man's eyes were fixed intently on Mrs. Larobe's face, and he saw there what she would have given much to conceal — a sign of alarm.

"Be seated, Edwin." There was a change in Mrs. Larobe's manner.

The young man drew two chairs in front of the grate, and motioned Mrs. Larobe to take one of them. Almost passively, she obeyed.

"Some things have recently come to light, ma'am, that have a bad look." The visitor spoke slowly, dwelling upon one or two of his words with marked emphasis.

Mrs. Larobe's eyes were fixed intently on his countenance. She did not, however, trust herself to remark upon a sentence, the whole meaning of which it was impossible for her to guess.

"A very bad look," repeated Edwin Guyton, the woman's step-son.

"Whom do they concern?" Mrs. Larobe asked, feigning indifference, and veiling the uneasiness which fluttered around her heart under an icy coldness of manner.

"They concern you, and me, and every member of the family!"

So quickly and emphatically was this thrown out, that it gave Mrs. Larobe a visible startle. Edwin saw her face blanch, and the expression of her steel-cold eyes change.

"Concern me, Edwin?" The woman tried to regain her self-possession, but only with partial success.

"You, perhaps, most of all," said Edwin.

"What about my mother?" Here broke in a thin, sharp voice, and looking past his step-mother, Edwin saw the half wild, half vacant face of Blanche, thrust eagerly out in a listening attitude, only a few yards distant.

Springing up, with an almost cat-like bound, Mrs. Larobe turned towards Blanche, and catching her by the shoulders, swept her from the room, before the girl had time to collect herself for resistance, and bearing her back to one of the rear rooms, gave her in charge of a servant, with an injunction and a threat so fiercely uttered, that both child and servant were left, on her departure, in no mood to disregard her will.

For a few moments, Mrs. Larobe stood in the hall, near the parlor doors, smoothing down her ruffled feelings, and schooling her countenance into an aspect of indifference. Edwin was pacing the floor as she entered. Pausing, and folding his arms, he fixed his eyes keenly upon her, and stood thus regarding her until she reached and resumed the chair from which she had arisen so abruptly a little while before.

"You, madam, perhaps, most of all," said Edwin, as he also sat down — yet not removing for an instant his gaze from Mrs. Larobe's countenance.

"Say on." She spoke with assumed indifference.

"My father!"

The tone in which this was uttered, more than the reference itself, caused Mrs. Larobe to start.

"What of him?" she asked, with a slight betrayal of uneasiness.

"Has had foul play!"

"I was not aware of it before." The sentence did not come with a free breath, which Edwin, all on the alert, perceived.

"Murder will come out, ma'am! Wrong does not sleep forever; sooner or later it cries up from the earth!"

"So they say." There was a slight expression of irony in Mrs. Larobe's voice; but it did not hide completely her true state of mind.

"And it has not slept in this case. You are betrayed, madam!"

The covert defiance in Mrs. Larobe's tones had pricked the feelings of Edwin, and led him to this outspoken sentence.

"Betrayed!" Guilt revealed its terror in the woman's white face and quivering lips.

"Yes, you are betrayed, miserable woman!"

"Betrayed in what?" she asked, seeking to regain her self-possession.

"As an accomplice in the death of my father!"

Mrs. Larobe took a long, deep breath. She did not respond for some time. Edwin waited for her to reply. At length she said, speaking calmly —

"His death was wholly accidental. In trying to escape from the confinement made necessary by insanity, he fell from a window, and was killed. I was not there."

"But my father, a sane man, was there through your wicked contrivance. I have the whole story, ma'am; from the drugging to the forced removal to an infernal prison on Long Island. Doctor's evidence, keeper's evidence, and subordinates' evidence — all written down in due form, and attested, and in the hands of counsel. Doctor Du Pontz will be in court, and you know what he can tell."

"Doctor Du Pontz!" exclaimed Mrs. Larobe, paling again.

"Yes, Doctor Du Pontz, of the mad house on Long Island. Accomplices in crime are never safe depositories of our secrets, madam. When the courts take hold of them, self-preservation becomes the first law of nature."

"Edwin," said Mrs. Larobe, her whole manner changing, "let me understand you fully. Why are you here?"

"To obtain my share of my father's estate, wrongfully withheld by you, under a forged or forced will, which I have sufficient evidence to break, and will break, if no easier road is opened to the end I am sworn to reach. I have spoken plainly, madam — do you comprehend me?"

Mrs. Larobe took thought before answering.

"I think I understand you, Edwin," she said, speaking with deliberation."

"Say on."

"You are here to extort money from a woman imagined to be in your power."

A deep flush of anger darkened the face of Edwin, even to the temples.

"I am here," he answered, sternly, "for justice; and it must come, easy-handed or hard-handed. The choice lies with you. Through fair concession, or open force — just as you will, madam. If you can show a fair record in open court — then defy me to the contest; if not, beware! There is bad blood between us, as you know; and I shall not scruple todestroy you, if my interest goes wholly over to the side of feeling."

"What do you want?" asked Mrs. Larobe.

"I have said what I want."

"Say it again."

"My share in my father's estate."

"What is your share?"

"Twenty-five thousand dollars; and I received but ten."

"You largely over-estimate your father's property."

"No — I have told the sum of its value to the last dollar; and my share is twenty-five thousand, which I am bound to realize, principal and interest. Having taken the best legal advice our city affords, I knew just where I stand."

"Who is your lawyer?"

Edwin shook his head, and smiled in a sinister way.

"Does Henry know of this?" asked Mrs. Larobe.

"Not yet."

"Or Frances?"

"I have not seen her for two years."

"You are moving alone, then?"

"Alone for the present. But when the matter comes into court, I shall not, of course, stand alone. The case will be open to all eyes. Henry has received his share; but Frances, and Lydia, who will no doubt be at once forthcoming, have claims to an equitable division, parallel with mine. Lydia, having only received one thousand dollars under the extorted, and therefore void will, must have the largest award."

Mrs. Larobe dropped her eyes to the floor, and sat for a long time in deep thought.

"Come and see me again tomorrow night, Edwin. I must have time to think on this subject. It involves too much for any hasty decision."

"It has narrowed itself down to very simple positions," answered the young man, "and may be settled in three minutes. You can have a law suit, with its consequent exposure and certain disaster; for, as I have told you, I am in possession of evidence clearly establishing the fact, that you and your present husband conspired to murder my father, and succeeded in effecting your hellish design through the intervention of a villain named Du Pontz; or, you can have immunity and security through concession to my just claim. I am poor, because you and your husband robbed me — I speak a plain language, madam — and am in pressing need of money. Necessity offers us stern and conclusive arguments, and, yielding to these, I am ready to forego justice and vengeance for the present good I seek. But, if this is withheld, then for the long and sterner task of dragging iniquity into light, and gaining my ends by force. I have but to cry this game, and a pack of hounds will be on the scent. Now, madam, you understand me; and you must elect accordingly."

"What security have I that you will keep the secret you profess to hold?" said the pale-faced, agitated woman — agitated in presence of an appalling danger, beyond all power of concealment.

"Only my word," answered Edwin. "No other security is possible in a case like this."

"Only the word of a bitter enemy." Mrs. Larobe spoke partly to herself.

"Better trust to him, than to the law's justice. Better conciliate one enemy, than defy a score."

Mrs. Larobe's figure shrunk in the chair, as if under the pressure of a heavy weight. Her mind seemed paralyzed by crowding fears.

"Edwin I must have time to think," she said almost fretfully.

"Madam, I cannot wait. Tonight you must decide," was answered, sternly. "When I leave here, I take your yes or nay."

"And if nay?"

"Tomorrow the case will go to court. My lawyer has everything ready, and the town will be startled by revelations of an astounding character!"

"If yes?"

"And your word is kept, ruin and disgrace are turned aside."

"What will yes involve?" The woman's face was still very pale, but she was now speaking calmly.

"I call my share of the estate, twenty-five thousand dollars, of which I received ten thousand. My claim is for the balance, with interest since the period of my father's death. Idemand nothing more — and will take nothing less; so dickering as to the sum, will be just so much lost time, to say nothing of the irritation and ill blood it will create. I am in a position to name my own terms, and I shall not abate one jot or tittle of the full demand."

Again the woman was silent, thought beating around on every side in a fruitless endeavor to find a way of escape from impending danger. To yield even a small part of Edwin's demand, under almost insolent threats, was so deep a humiliation, that the bare idea revolted her soul; yet, to brave what lay beyond, was more terrible still. She could measure the evil on one side, with some degree of accuracy; but on the other, it swelled up vaguely to almost illimitable proportions. It was a mountain which, if it fell upon her — must grind her to powder!

"You will not give me time for reflection or consultation," she said, in a weak way — for the bold, defiant spirit had gone out of her.

"Consultation! Madam, the secret is yours, and mine, and my lawyer's tonight," said Edwin, in a warning tone. "I did not come here until the mine was ready and the train laid. Let me admonish you to circumspection. If there is to be consultation — our parley closes! I will not wait for your subtle villain of a husband to calculate the board, but checkmateyou all in a single move. I hold the advantage, and will not let it pass. When I leave here tonight, I must take, as already said, your yes or nay. If nay, tomorrow morning, when the court opens, our proceedings will commence. And then, you know what must follow. The indictment will be for criminal offences, and when the trial closes, you will hardly escape prison!"

Edwin saw a shiver run through the frame of his step-mother.

"You have me in your power," she said, slightly rallying, "and are taking a base advantage."

"Yes, I have you in my power," answered the young man, "as you once had my unhappy father in your power. But, I will not take the base and wicked advantage you took of him. A simple act of justice, and you are safe and free. Withhold that, and I wrench from your hands what I claim of right, and in the act, destroy you. A wise and prudent woman cannot hesitate long as to a choice between these evils."

"The sum you demand is large, Edwin. It is impossible for me to control such an amount," said Mrs. Larobe.

"Your misfortune, if you cannot do so," was coldly replied.

"Real estate cannot be sold or mortgaged except through my husband."

"You have stocks. But, I am not here to discuss questions of this nature. If you will not, or cannot, satisfy my just claims against the estate, say so — and I will trouble you with my presence no farther," and he moved a pace or two towards the door.

"I have eight thousand dollars in Union Bank stock!" A sense of most imminent danger extorted this.

Edwin returned a pace or two into the room.

"For the present, anything beyond that is hopeless," added Mrs. Larobe.

Eager as the young man felt to grapple after this large sum of money, and secure its possession — he was politic enough to affect scarcely a sign of interest.

"Only a third of my claim. It will not do, madam," and he shook his head.

"If you will take this stock and give me time."

"How much time?"

"It is impossible to say. Three, six, or even twelve months may intervene, before I am able to arrange for the balance."

Edwin stood for some time with his eyes cast down. Then he crossed the room; wheeled sharply and came back again — crossed once more, and then returned. Meantime, Mrs. Larobe was in a tremor of suspense. She had made the best offer in her power; for her unscrupulous husband had so managed her property as to place the control of it almost entirely out of her hands.

"Madam," said Edwin Guyton, pausing before his stepmother, "let me understand your proposition. Say the best you can do, and I will answer, in less than five minutes. The sum of principal and interest due me, I will call, in round numbers, twenty thousand dollars. A net calculation of interest would make it exceed that amount. You can pay eight thousanddown."

"Yes," faintly murmured Mrs. Larobe.

"And the balance when?"

"Not sooner than within a year."

Edwin shook his head. Mrs. Larobe's face was pale, her lips colorless, her nerves in a tremor. She had taken fear, as a guest, into her bosom, and fear had gained the mastery over her.

"If within six months, I might accept your offer." Edwin spoke as one whose mind was only half made up.

"In three-quarters of a year, I may succeed in getting so large a sum together," said Mrs. Larobe.

Again Edwin walked the floor, and his step-mother still sat in her agony of suspense. Here was the only door of escape, and she was ready to fly through it, when opened wide enough, shuddering with terror.

"This I will do," said the young man — " this, and only this." He spoke as one dictating terms to an enemy wholly in his power. "I will take your two checks for four thousand dollars each, dated on tomorrow and the day after. This will give you time to sell your stock. I will not present the check dated tomorrow, until after one o'clock, in order that you may get in your deposit. For the balance of twelve thousand dollars, I will take your three notes at three, six, and nine months, each for four thousand. In return for them, I will write you out a receipt in full for all claim against my father's estate, thus removing every legal basis for a suit. Furthermore, I will take the most solemn oath you may prescribe, never to move myself, or in any way instigate others to move against you in regard to your foul dealings towards my father. Tonight, not a living soul, beyond my lawyer, knows of the well linked evidence I possess bearing on this subject. It shall sleep with us, as safe as in a tomb."

What was left for the frightened, confounded, bewildered woman! She was in the hands of one who had, she truly believed, the power utterly to destroy her, and she dared not defy him to the worst. It was in vain that she pleaded for time to consider — for a single day. Edwin was inexorable. Now, he felt, that he could work his will. Tomorrow might be too late.

"Now or never," was his stern answer to all pleadings and remonstrances.

"Edwin Guyton," said Mrs. Larobe, as, half an hour afterwards, she handed her step-son the checks and notes he had demanded, and received his receipt in full against the estate — "Edwin Guyton, this is a hard necessity." She had regained much of her old, self-poised manner.

"You have still your option, madam," answered the young man, holding the papers so that she might receive them back.

"I have made my choice," she replied, "and it must stand. In your honor, Edwin, I confide."

"My honor is sacred. I will be as silent as the grave — yet, only on one condition."

"What?" Mrs. Larobe's face paled a little.

"You are to be as silent as the grave also. If you betray anything of this transaction to a living soul — I shall hold myself free of all pledges. I warn you to be discreet!"

"Fear not my discretion," was answered; "I, too, will be as silent as the grave."

"Be it so, madam — and silence shall be your pledge of safety. Good night!"

And before the miserable woman, on whom the son of Adam Guyton had wrought this sharp retribution, had time to rally herself, Edwin was gone!

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