CHAPTER XIV.
A VILLAIN DEFEATED.
Defeated in his repeated attempts to capture or kill Old Tumult and Town. upon Two Islands, Dick Sherwood returned to the Indian village, his feelings wrought up to the highest pitch of rage. And fuel was added to the consuming fire of his wrath, when the news of the slaughter of his warriors at the Devil’s Staircase reached his ears.
The fates seemed against him. Every one of his daring and deep-laid plots of vengeance had failed, excepting the surprise at Wildwood lake.
The handsome devil cared nothing for the lives of the savages, only as far as his selfish wickedness was concerned. And to have accomplished the purpose of his will, he would have sacrificed every warrior in the tribe. However, when one plot failed, his wicked, fertile brain soon conceived another.
On the morning of the day that Clara Bryant had promised to marry him for her liberty, he came rushing into her lodge inquiring for Madge Taft. But, Madge was not there, and in a tone of ungovernable rage he declared she had escaped; and should he recapture her, he would inflict all sorts of punishment upon her.
Although Clara was glad that Madge had escaped, it made her feel more lonely and desolate, when she thought that she was entirely alone, so far as friends were concerned, in the midst of enemies.
She thought it very strange, too, that Madge would, or did leave, without hinting her intentions to her.
As the day wore away, Clara felt in hopes that Sherwood had given up his desire to marry her out of revenge, and that she would be set at liberty. However, in this she was bitterly disappointed. It wanted about an hour of sunset, when the renegade entered her lodge accompanied by a white man, whom he introduced as Father Jules, the missionary.
“I have come, Miss Bryant,” the villain said, “to claim a fulfillment of your promise to wed me.”
A low sob escaped poor Clara’s lips, and she turned ghastly pale.
“Are you not sick, my dear child?” asked Father Jules.
“No, sir,” faintly articulated the maiden, whose senses seemed deserting her, and whose heart grew sick and faint.
“And you are willing to become the wife of Richard Sherwood, are you?” questioned the missionary.
Clara answered in the affirmative, though she was almost totally unconscious of what was passing about her, and but for the support of the renegade she would have fallen.
In this state of semi-consciousness the maiden stood by the side of Sherwood, and the marriage ceremony was performed.
When the missionary pronounced them man and wife, Clara had wholly fainted. Restoratives, however, were immediately applied, and she was brought back to consciousness.
As soon as the ceremony was performed, Father Jules seated himself, and taking from his pocket a strip of paper, wrote thereon the following:
“September 20th, 18—
“I, Victor Jules, a regularly ordained minister of the church of the Holy Evangelist, hereby certify that on this day, I joined in the holy bonds of wedlock, Richard Sherwood and Clara Holmes.
Victor Jules.”
This certificate the missionary gave to Sherwood, who read it, smiled, folded it up and put it carefully away in an inner pocket.
Victor Jules soon took his departure from the lodge, and when they were alone, Sherwood turned to Clara, and said:
“My dear little wife, you have been honest in fulfilling your agreement, now I shall fulfill mine and set you at liberty.”
Clara’s eyes brightened, and her heart beat more hopeful to think that she was going to be released. She felt certain that when she was beyond Sherwood’s power, he would have no claim upon her as a husband; for, in her inmost heart she knew the ceremony was all a farce, and she had very grave doubts as to Victor Jules being a missionary. But, why it was that Sherwood had taken this course for revenge upon Town. Farnesworth, was a mystery to her. He surely had sense enough to know that the marriage was not binding upon them. But, alas! Clara did not—could not read the secret intentions of the villain’s heart.
“And am I to return to the post alone?” she asked.
“No; I will escort you as far as Talbott Taft’s cabin,” he returned; “that is as close to the post as will be safe for my neck.”
“And when are we to start?” Clara asked.
“At once.”
The news was joyful to the maiden. She could scarcely refrain from clapping her hands and shouting with joy and thanks.
By this time it was nearly sunset, and ere the renegade and maiden had taken their departure from the village, the shadows of evening had begun to gather over the woodland, and lurk assassin-like in the valleys.
They set off on foot, following a plain-beaten path through the forest, southward.
The journey before her was a long one, but Clara was so overpowered with joy, that she had never taken one thought of her inability to ever reach the post on foot.
The two moved on in silence for about a mile or more, when Sherwood spoke.
“Clara,” he said, “have you any recollections of your early childhood?—that is, do you recollect any thing of your early home in Ohio?”
The maiden was not a little surprised by this strange question, and it was quite a while before she could gain composure to reply:
“Why should I not, when it has been but a few years since I left there?”
“Then you know that you are not the child of Geoffry Bryant,” the renegade said.
Clara started at the question. Never had it been breathed to her before that she was not the child of those whom she had loved as father and mother since her childhood recollections. And why should the renegade know more of her than she did herself?
“I know no such a thing,” she replied, a little indignantly.
“Well, I know that you are not the child of Geoffry Bryant,” Sherwood replied.
“How do you know it?” she asked.
The villain made no reply, for at this juncture they emerged into a small opening at the edge of a little lake, where the renegade stopped.
“Why do you stop here?” Clara asked.
Still the villain made no reply, but, turning, he seized the maiden, dragged her to the edge of the opening, and hurled her over the cliff into the lake below.
What followed this murderous deed the reader already knows.