“You may have his own, Mr. Edwards,” returned Elizabeth, “for here he comes to make it.”
But the appearance of Marmaduke, who entered the apartment, contradicted the flattering anticipations of his daughter.
His brow was contracted, and his manner disturbed.
Neither Elizabeth nor the youth spoke; but the Judge was allowed to pace once or twice across the room without interruption, when he cried:
“Our plans are defeated, girl; the obstinacy of the Leather-Stocking has brought down the indignation of the law on his head, and it is now out of my power to avert it.”
“How? in what manner?” cried Elizabeth; “the fine is nothing surely—”
“I did not—I could not anticipate that an old, a friendless man like him, would dare to oppose the officers of justice,” interrupted the Judge,
“I supposed that he would submit to the search, when the fine could have been paid, and the law would have been appeased; but now he will have to meet its rigor.”
“And what must the punishment be, sir?” asked Ed wards, struggling to speak with firmness.
Marmaduke turned quickly to the spot where the youth had withdrawn, and exclaimed:
“You here!
I did not observe you.
I know not what it will be, sir; it is not usual for a judge to decide until he has heard the testimony, and the jury have convicted.
Of one thing, however, you may be assured, Mr. Edwards; it shall be whatever the law demands, notwithstanding any momentary weakness I may have exhibited, because the luckless man has been of such eminent service to my daughter.”
“No one, I believe, doubts the sense of justice which Judge Temple entertains!” returned Edwards bitterly.
“But let us converse calmly, sir.
Will not the years, the habits, nay, the ignorance of my old friend, avail him any thing against this charge?”
“Ought they? They may extenuate, but can they ac quit?
Would any society be tolerable, young man, where the ministers of justice are to be opposed by men armed with rifles?
Is it for this that I have tamed the wilder ness?”
“Had you tamed the beasts that so lately threatened the life of Miss Temple, sir, your arguments would apply better.”
“Edwards!” exclaimed Elizabeth.
“Peace, my child,” interrupted the father; “the youth is unjust; but I have not given him cause.
I overlook thy remark, Oliver, for I know thee to be the friend of Natty, and zeal in his behalf has overcome thy discretion.”
“Yes, he is my friend,” cried Edwards, “and I glory in the title.
He is simple, unlettered, even ignorant; prejudiced, perhaps, though I feel that his opinion of the world is too true; but he has a heart, Judge Temple, that would atone for a thousand faults; he knows his friends, and never deserts them, even if it be his dog.”
“This is a good character, Mr. Edwards,” returned Marmaduke, mildly; “but I have never been so fortunate as to secure his esteem, for to me he has been uniformly repulsive; yet I have endured it, as an old man’s whim, However, when he appears before me, as his judge, he shall find that his former conduct shall not aggravate, any more than his recent services shall extenuate, his crime.”
“Crime!” echoed Edwards: “is it a crime to drive a prying miscreant from his door?
Crime! Oh, no, sir; if there be a criminal involved in this affair, it is not he.”
“And who may it be, sir?” asked Judge Temple, facing the agitated youth, his features settled to their usual composure.
This appeal was more than the young man could bear.
Hitherto he had been deeply agitated by his emotions; but now the volcano burst its boundaries.
“Who! and this to me!” he cried; “ask your own conscience, Judge Temple.
Walk to that door, sir, and look out upon the valley, that placid lake, and those dusky mountains, and say to your own heart, if heart you have, whence came these riches, this vale, those hills, and why am I their owner?
I should think, sir, that the appearance of Mohegan and the Leather-Stocking, stalking through the country, impoverished and forlorn, would wither your sight.”
Marmaduke heard this burst of passion, at first, with deep amazement; but when the youth had ended, he beckoned to his impatient daughter for silence, and replied:
“Oliver Edwards, thou forgettest in whose presence thou standest.
I have heard, young man, that thou claimest descent from the native owners of the soil; but surely thy education has been given thee to no effect, if it has not taught thee the validity of the claims that have transferred the title to the whites. These lands are mine by the very grants of thy ancestry, if thou art so descended; and I appeal to Heaven for a testimony of the uses I have put them to.
After this language, we must separate.
I have too long sheltered thee in my dwelling; but the time has arrived when thou must quit it.
Come to my office, and I will discharge the debt I owe thee.
Neither shall thy present intemperate language mar thy future fortunes, if thou wilt hearken to the advice of one who is by many years thy senior.”
The ungovernable feeling that caused the violence of the youth had passed away, and he stood gazing after the retiring figure of Marmaduke, with a vacancy in his eye that denoted the absence of his mind.
At length he recollected himself, and, turning his head slowly around the apartment, he beheld Elizabeth, still seated on the sofa, but with her head dropped on her bosom, and her face again concealed by her hands.
“Miss Temple,” he said—all violence had left his manner—“Miss Temple—I have forgotten myself—forgotten you.
You have heard what your father has decreed, and this night I leave here. With you, at least, I would part in amity.”
Elizabeth slowly raised her face, across which a momentary expression of sadness stole; but as she left her seat, her dark eyes lighted with their usual fire, her cheek flushed to burning, and her whole air seemed to belong to another nature.
“I forgive you, Edwards, and my father will forgive you,” she said, when she reached the door.
“You do not know us, but the time may come when your opinions shall change—”
“Of you! never!” interrupted the youth;