When Martha, as Kate’s new acquaintance was called, again entered the apartment, she was accompanied by her aunt, who was dressed just as she had been the night before, with the exception that the strip of red silk had been replaced by a purple band of the same material. As the breakfast, which was excellent for a country place, was being placed upon the table, Kate perceived that one side of the woman’s face was discolored, and being moved to make some inquiries regarding the cause, was informed, that while breaking up some kindling wood, a splinter had accidentally struck her face. This went to satisfy her, of course, although she thought the large, black patch which fell down along the cheek was singularly dark and wide to be traceable to the small splinter that the woman asserted to be the cause of it. A strange look from Martha, too, aroused a suspicion that the origin of the disfigurement was not that named; so here the matter rested for the present.
During her repast, she learned from Martha, who remained with her, that the name of the people of the house was Wilson; that they were English, and that the person who had arrived in company with her uncle, who was also English, was called Stephen Smith; but where he resided she was unable to say. This she knew, however, that he made occasional visits to the family, and was sometimes accompanied by a very ill-looking man, who remained a day or two, after having left some boxes or cases in charge of her uncle, who subsequently disposed of them in some manner unknown to her.
“But,” she continued, “I don’t like these men. They always come in the night, and go away in the night, and are ever whispering; you must not, however,” she went on to say, “mention this to either my aunt or my uncle; for, if they should know I had said so much, they would doubtless be very angry with me.”
“Oh!” returned Kate, “you may rely upon it, that whatever you may choose to say in relation to the men in question, or anything else, shall remain in my bosom; for to betray any confidence of the kind, would, in my eyes, be criminal in the last degree.”
“What brought you here, then!—what brought you here!” ejaculated Martha, in an anxious, nervous tone. “There must be something wrong!—some treachery, or I am sure a lady so good and pure as you seem to be, would never cross this threshold.”
Kate, becoming instantly alarmed, broke off suddenly in her repast, and begged the young girl, for Heaven’s sake, to be more explicit.
“I really don’t know what more to say than I have already said,” replied the girl; “but, as I feel drawn towards you by some invisible power, short as our acquaintance has been, I will say, that I fear my uncle’s associates are lawless men, and believe that my aunt knows it, and regrets it, too. But a few nights ago, when Smith came here to make arrangements about your arrival, as I suppose, I heard high words between my relatives after his departure, and, the next morning, found my aunt’s face just as you have seen it. But we dare not say much in opposition to any proposition that my uncle might choose to make in any connection, so violent and brutal is his temper at times. For my own part, however,” she proceeded, “so soon as I can escape from such thraldom and associations, I shall try and make my own way in the world; for my impression is, my uncle has some idea of a union between me and the detestable creature, Smith, who accompanied you here last night, and who, after an hour’s rest, was again driven off by my uncle, doubtless to whatever point he came from.”
This intelligence, as may be supposed, caused poor Kate the greatest possible anxiety; but what had she to fear so long as she took the talisman for her guide? Here there could be no mistake, anyway; for had she not it in her bosom, and was it not from him? Still, that there was something perfectly mysterious about the whole affair, she was quite ready to admit; but as she had received the strictest injunctions from Smith not to permit herself to be seen for the present in the vicinity of the place, or outside the dwelling, she determined to obey one to whom no small power in her case had unquestionably been delegated by her lover.
During the day Martha and Kate were frequently together—the poor young girl disclosing her history scrap by scrap, until at last Kate learned that she was in reality an orphan; that both her parents died when she was yet quite young; that her aunt, who was possessed of an excellent education, had been twice married—once to her own mother’s brother, and subsequently to the man whom she now called uncle; that her own parents had been Irish, and that on their death, her real uncle became her guardian and true friend until his death; when, on this second, unfortunate marriage, the affairs of the family becoming hopelessly embarrassed, she and her relatives embarked for America, taking up their abode first in Toronto, and subsequently in the place where they now resided. In addition, she stated that her opportunities of education had been good, and that, somehow or other, since she had crossed the Atlantic, she managed to keep a few choice books about her, and avail herself of the assistance of her aunt, whenever they could, in the absence of her uncle, devote an hour to study or the perusal of some new work.
The small clearing, on the verge of which the house occupied by the Wilsons stood, was surrounded with woods, and no other habitation was to be found in its immediate vicinity. From the morose disposition and suspicious character of the proprietor himself, but few of the neighbors were on visiting terms with the family; so that they might be said to lead a completely sequestered life. From time to time only, an occasional visit was paid him by some one who stood in need of the services of his team; and thus his standing in the neighborhood was that of a suspected or banned man—the general impression being, that he was neither more nor less than a dangerous and daring smuggler, who was constantly engaged in the interests of unprincipled merchants on both sides of the lines. This idea obtained footing from the circumstance that he had been observed returning late one night from the frontier with his wagon laden down with suspicious looking boxes and bales; and from the further fact, that his absences from home were frequently lengthy and mysterious—no one knowing the precise nature of his business, or the points to which his journeys were made so often.