"Daddy," she said, "this night I must hear why Devil Marston hates us."
CHAPTER VI
The day had been very warm, and the old settee on the portico offered a comfortable seat, so it was here Major Dudley and Julia decided to stay. The master of the house made one more effort at postponement, but the young mistress would have none of it. It must be that night, and at once. Affairs had shaped themselves in such a manner that a complete revelation of all that had been kept hidden from her was imperative. So Peter fetched the long-stemmed meerschaum pipe which his master never smoked except of evenings, and received his instructions regarding the colt. These, by the way, were superfluous, for the negro had already made his arrangements to be a bed-mate of The Prince that night. Then, with the faint odour of the cherished honeysuckle at the corner of the house in their nostrils, and the faraway plaint of a mourning whip-poor-will floating spookily up from the lowlands on their right, they settled themselves, one to the task of telling a story he had rather have kept, and the other listening eagerly, yet with a certain dread. Julia felt that a new existence was opening up for her, and it looked formidable enough in the uncertain atmosphere which now enveloped it. Hitherto her way had been smooth, and her tasks and renunciations had been those of love. But as she thought of that dark-faced, brutish looking man who lived only a half mile further down the road, and knew that in some way both he and she were concerned in the tale she was to hear, for the first time in her happy life a vague terror took hold of her and her body sank closer to the form beside her. Major Dudley had his pipe alight by this time, but he was slow to begin speaking. For perhaps five minutes he said not a word, and Julia discreetly did not urge him. She knew it would come, and they had half the night ahead of them. Presently her father's hand strayed over into her lap and found hers.
"Julia," he said, and his voice was so tender and caressing that the girl caught a sob in her throat, that he might not hear, and be distressed. "Julia, I have hoped all my life that it would never become necessary for you to hear this story. It but illustrates man's inhumanity to man, and shows the harm an evil mind can bring about. Now I will tell you all about it, for it is your right.
"You never knew old Brule Marston. He was the father of our neighbour, and at heart was as vile a being as I have ever known. He loved your mother"—there was a catch in his voice here—"or at least pretended that he did, and wanted to marry her. His family's position was good, but only from the great fortune they had always owned. In reality the Marstons have been a bad lot as far back as I have any recollection of them. They have lived in Kentucky a long time, but they have always bought their position in a community, and I have never known one of the name to be a true gentleman, as we of the Bluegrass construe the word. Brule Marston was hot-headed, rash, impetuous and domineering as a young man. We were near the same age, he being a few years my senior, and we knew each other but slightly, for our families never visited, as you well know. Your mother came from Virginia to visit in the neighbourhood. It was to the Beckwith home she came—you know Miss Adeline, the old maid who lives with the Rays. She was one of the belles of the period, and I met Margaret at their home. Brule Marston met her about the same time, and then the mischief started. Each of us loved her from the first, and in his own way. Brule tried to force her into a promise of marriage, and for a time I thought I had lost her. He was handsome in a dark, devilish way, and I think it was his dashing manner which captivated Margaret for a time. They were heavy days for me, my daughter, but I played fair, and never said or did an underhand thing to attempt to further my cause. She gave no preference to either suitor so far as being in her company was concerned, and we had an equal chance. In the end I won, and that was God's choicest and sweetest gift to me. My rival took his defeat as might have been expected. He went raving wild when Margaret told him, and had not help been within call I believe he would have struck her in his frenzy. Then followed a prolonged drunken spree, when he scoured the country roads at night like a fiend escaped from hell, shouting his curses at the sky, and shooting his revolver recklessly. I had never feared him, and made no especial effort to avoid him in my nightly calls upon my fiancée But I was glad we never met, for mischief most certainly would have ensued.
"Margaret and I were married quietly, and now comes some more news. You know you have often spoken of your uncle Arthur's picture over the mantel in the library, saying how sorry you were never to have known him? He was several years my junior, and had been at college in the East. He came home and met Margaret after she and I had confessed our love. He at once conceived a violent affection for her, and when he discovered he was too late to hope to win her, it went hard with him, indeed. He stayed till after the wedding, and then went West, following the lure of gold. For a few years we heard from him at intervals, then his letters ceased, and today we do not know whether he lives or not. We loved each other dearly, and it has always been a cross to me that I was the innocent cause of his exile. I have made efforts to find him, but they have all been futile.
"Brule Marston disappeared a few days after our wedding. It was told that he took a boat at Louisville and went south, as far as New Orleans. He was gone a short time only, and when he returned he brought with him a woman. She was a quadroon, or a Creole, and she was exceedingly handsome in a flashy, barbaric way. Marston had loaded her with costly silks and jewels of all kinds, and introduced her as his wife. No one believed this to be true, and doors were closed upon them everywhere. In the course of a year a child was born to them, a son, who from his cradle was christened Devil Marston, for such was the wicked heart of Brule, his father, who worshiped nothing but his own passions, and made an open mock of religion. Then came the war, and I went with the South. Fearing to leave my young wife unprotected, I took her to her old home in Virginia, and there she stayed safely until the bitter strife was over, and there you were born. When we returned home a fearful tale of horror awaited us. In a maniac fit of rage Brule Marston had killed the Creole woman whom he had brought up from New Orleans. No attempts had been made to bring him to justice for the crime. Partly because everything was so unhinged on account of the war and its effects, partly because no officer was brave enough to try to arrest him. From that time on he lived alone in the old home down yonder, leaving the rearing of his son to an old negro woman who was reputed to be coarse and profane. Harrowing stories came to us of the fiendish cruelties Brule Marston practiced upon his servants, and he thought nothing of knocking one down and stamping him with his feet.
"How swiftly the years have chased each other since I came back home with you and your mother! And how I have wished them back again—those short, sweet years which followed your coming, when Margaret, you and I lived in perfect unity, and peace, and love. But change is the order of the universe, and we must take it when it comes, bravely, if so be God gives us grace, and fit ourselves to meet the new needs.
"Brule Marston died upon a night of awful storm. It seemed as if the cohorts of Satan had assembled to escort his foul soul to the realms of the lost. I will tell you now what I learned later, and I pray you to be brave, my child, and do not fear. The only training which Brule Marston instilled into his son was hatred of us. He never sought to teach him any good thing, or any worthy precept. His eternal and ceaseless injunction was hate, hate, hate. He never forgot the fact that I had robbed him of the pure being he had set his black heart on possessing, and revenge was the only feeling he harbored. Had he lived long enough I believe that in the end he would have wrought us some great harm, for I am assured that was his sole aim and desire. But death found him in the midst of his machinations, and stilled his hand. Devil Marston was an apt pupil, and he readily imbibed his father's teachings. By birth he was well fitted for any scurrilous task or duty, and he has always found joy in causing pain. On that night of storm when old Brule died he called his son to his bedside, and laid upon him his dying wish. It was that Devil Marston should make it his life's work to harass and oppress us, and at last to ruin us utterly, using his entire fortune for that purpose should it become necessary. It is needless for me to tell you the son was not slow to make the promise. It was a task entirely congenial to his nature. You have never been aware of it, my child, but he has had designs upon your happiness, knowing well that through you he could inflict the deepest pain upon me. You of course remember when he was at our home frequently, when we accorded him the courtesy due any one under our roof, while never extending him a welcome, or making him feel that his presence was desired. He always endeavored to be pleasant, but it transpired later that this was acting only; a mask for his true feelings. He often sought to be alone with you, but I could not trust the blood, worse mixed than ever in this man, and I always managed the situation so that I should be present also. This annoyed him, and he could not always hide his resentment—it would flame through the veil of decency he tried to wear with us. I did all in my power to discourage him from coming here, without asking him in so many words to stay away, but he had set his soul upon accomplishing a certain thing, and he would lose his soul rather than lose his project. Then came the night, not long ago, after which his visits ceased."