The Gold Brick Part 13

"Was the s.h.i.+p lost?"

"Almost--but it was not then it happened. We were on sh.o.r.e at Port au Prince. The blacks had risen, and a horrid murder of the white inhabitants was going on. Mason would go on sh.o.r.e. I warned him, but it was of no use. One night, when the ma.s.sacre was at the highest, he took all hands except one or two, and left the s.h.i.+p. The negroes were hard at work, murdering and burning like demons. He _would_ venture among them.

It was dangerous--I told him so. Well he came back at last with a woman and little boy."

"A woman!"

"Yes, a beautiful woman, one of the handsomest you ever saw."

"Indeed!"

"He had saved her from a swarm of blacks, who had brought her and her son out for a carouse, under the palm trees. The boy was brought on board, but they carried the lady off to one of the little islands in the harbor. Mason, with some of the men, went down the s.h.i.+p's side at night, and rowed off with her. After that Mason was never at rest, always going off on private expeditions. I did not like it, so one night, when he was determined to go, I insisted on taking a turn on sh.o.r.e myself. To own the truth, I had a little curiosity to see the house where the lady had lived, and to be certain that she was not there still. Well, he consented, and I went.

"It was a splendid house; covered an acre of ground. Such rooms, such gardens--I never saw any thing like it. The house was so large that we could not tell if it was inhabited or not, but while we were wandering around, a great noise in the lower rooms alarmed us; we hurried through the long halls down to the underground cellars.

"The negroes had been there before us. Every thing was in confusion; we waded ankle deep in red wine. The cellar was half full of negroes who had been wallowing there, and were now fierce with drunkenness. There was not much light, for the negroes dropped their torches, one by one, and the lees of the wine put them out. How your husband came there, I do not know. He must have followed us in one of the small boats. Certain it is, when I was half down the steps his face was the first I saw; he was struggling for his life--a dozen sooty rascals were tearing at him. I gave the cry and sprang down, cutla.s.s in hand, but before I reached him it was all over."

"And they killed him? Oh, father of mercies, they killed him, and you saw it?"

"I have told you all."

The child had been growing pale as she listened, not that she quite understood, but because of the deadly whiteness which settled on her mother's face, and the hoa.r.s.e voice of the man who was speaking. Mrs.

Mason sat still. The shock of this wild story left her dumb. Thrasher cast anxious glances on her face, but if the child looked at him his eyes fell. At last, the woman found the power of speech:

"He sent no word--he died without thinking of us!"

"I cannot tell what his thoughts were, or any thing except that we found him fighting, and saw him fall."

"And who else saw him?"

"No one. My men went into another section of the cellar. The wine was good, and they were in no hurry to follow me."

"But some one saw him after--you did not leave the dead body of my husband to be trampled on by a band of negroes?"

"We could not help it--the blacks were ten to one."

"But did no one see him but yourself? Did no one try to help him?"

"Yes, one man."

"And who was he?"

"A fellow by the name of Rice."

"What! Katharine Allen's half brother?"

Thrasher turned paler than he had done before that evening. "Her brother--I did not know that," he muttered, uneasily.

Mrs. Mason did not heed this; the conviction of her great loss grew more and more distinct to her mind; all the desolation that must follow the cruel news of that evening crowded upon her. She folded the little girl close to her heart, and began to weep over her in bitter grief.

"Are you sure that Rice is connected with Katharine Allen?" asked Thrasher, taking advantage of a pause in her sobs.

"Old Mrs. Allen was married twice," she answered, impatiently, for grief made her restive. "He was her only son by the first husband. Tell me where he is; I want to see him. I want to know every word and look of my poor, poor husband. Where can Rice be found?"

"I don't know; he kept with the s.h.i.+p. I came directly home, fearing to let any less friendly person tell you the sad news."

"You were very kind," sobbed the poor woman, "very kind; I shall never forget it."

"I always wished to be kind to you, Ellen," was the almost tender reply.

"I know it, I know it; but he always stood between me and any other man."

Thrasher arose, and would have approached Mrs. Mason; but Rose clung to her neck with one arm and waved him away with the other.

"She is my mother--you shan't touch my mother!" she cried, flas.h.i.+ng angry glances at him through her tears. Thrasher looked upon the child with mingled hate and fear. It was wonderful how much power those deep blue eyes, sparkling with a thousand childish emotions, possessed over the strong man. There was something spirituelle in her loveliness that impressed him, as if an angel had been reading the record of his life, and rebuked him with those violet eyes.

Thrasher arose hesitating, and almost timidly; he stood expecting Mrs.

Mason to notice the movement; but she was occupied with her grief, and did not observe him.

"Mother," said little Rose, smiling through her tears, "look up, mother; the man who makes you cry is going away."

Mrs. Mason wiped her eyes, and strove to appear interested.

"Hush, Rose, hush, he has been very kind to come with this sorrowful news."

"Yes, mother, he's going right off, so don't cry any more."

Mrs. Mason reached forth her hand; she was a tall, fine woman, with bright eyes, that tears only softened; these eyes full of touching sorrow were lifted to his. All that was good in the man's nature arose in response to this look. His hand trembled as it grasped hers. He could have fallen on his knees and wept over it, so great was the power of love in a nature that had little else to soften it. But the eyes of the child followed his movements vigilantly, and he dropped the mother's hand with a deeply drawn breath.

"Give the gentleman a kiss, my little Rose," whispered the mother, touched by his humble demeanor.

Rose turned her face squarely upon him and lifted her eyes. He met their clear glance and dared not kiss her.

"Good-by," he said, standing before them uneasily.

"Good-by," answered Rose, eagerly.

"When you are better--when you are a little reconciled, Ellen, may I come again?"

"No, no," shouted Rose, waving her hand, "no, no, no."

"Be still, Rose, this is naughty. Remember he was your father's friend."

Rose hid her face and began to cry. Thrasher took the mother's hand again, dropped it, and went away, softened and almost remorseful.

CHAPTER XIII.