KENT HAMPDEN.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume VIII, Issue 43, 24 October 1891, Page 522

KENT HAMPDEN.

BY

REBECCA HARDING DAVIS.

In Seven Chapters.—Chapter I. THE PACKACE.

Evening was rapidly drawing near, about seventy years ago, as two men were walking up one of the four hilly streets of Wheeling. Now a large manufacturWJA * n S centre. Wheeling was then only a ' t quiet village. Its s “ ”" 1£ ' 1“ Wk V“-~ slope of high, Ar. \ wooded hills. Tn t'-' ; z/S \ front of them the MKwWa «iSf > \ Olio ran, while a ""-'•VS'Bi • ‘ \ Uj jb 'vide creek of a w■r \r bRh. ,\ e{# ■. '\ tT peculiar emerald fflWrWl IvA 'll clearness cut them w i ’ ’i" W A in two, and emptied z E JiWli -ll A U **' s ? reen ow *nt° Z 1 O’! flfeffl 'rl t\ II the muddy river. * V 1 w ralHu I "Illi. Ml II Two or three II V ■■ II steamboats from \fl Y JMHf- —'IflH H some point down /;«; IRi f'.’S I- n II Ihe river usually K.Jij |\ 1 |. 1 .1 lay at the little ■gfervlL 5 ■ ''' biz-J ' J I \ \ wharf, which was ifeM 'V V '.i ■ piled with cotton iM|.- jWwJ/i I J bales brought from r z 7 ijgr' the South, or with ' 4a - freight which had been brought in waggons along the New Road. The wharf was faced by large warehouses for the storage of this freight, and during the day was alive with joking, leisurely groups of merchants and clerks. The little town then put on an air of lazy industry. But now, in the twilight, wharf and streets were deserted, ami through the windows of the dwelling houses shone the red lights of the huge coal fires within. The wind blew sharply down the gorge, behind the town. The men buttoned their long frogged surtouts tightly. ‘What a pull up that hill!’ said one, a man with an unctuous voice that smacked of sixty years of good meals. • I’m glad, on the whole, that Duff isn’t going, and that we can get Hampden to take the package to Polden for us. My legs are giving out and ’ ‘ And you smell Mrs Hampden’s supper,’ said Jarret, laughing. ‘ I am of the same mind with you, judge. Let us go in.’

They turned into the cross street. Their change of plan, as they thought, affected only the question of supper. But, in fact, it determined the fate of more lives than one.

The house to which they now hastened was a plain brick building, standing near a church. A row of locust-trees irrew before it. At the side and back was a large garden, shaded by lilacs and huge cherry-trees. Little Carey Hampden was perched in one of these trees. She scrambled down when she saw the men. Mr Jarret nodded to her.

‘ Queer child ! They are a peculiar family, judge ; not like Wheeling people. Hampden himself never seems to be quite one of us. ’

‘Hey? Well, now, Jarret, that never struck me. There is not a more popular, hospitable fellow in town than Ralph, and his wife is one of the finest women I know. Why, I’d trust her eye to choose venison as soon as my own ! Oh, I see what you mean ! Hampden likes to dress, to give game suppers’ You think he’s an airy, feather-headed fellow, hey ?’ •No not that precisely. His easy ways are not to my liking—but these make him popular. Why, they talk of electing him to be Mayor instead of Coles ! Now, Coles’s grandfather took up a claim heie by the side of Zane and Wetzel; but whois Hampden ? Had he ever a grandfather? 1 went down rafting one summer, and when I came back, hete was Hampden, established, and everybody’s friend !’ ‘ Oh, yes ! He began as a bookkeeper, and soon pushed his way up, opening a foi waiding-house. He’s a capital fellow, is Hampden.’ ‘Of course, he’s a capital fellow! Everybody says so. But vho is he? We old Wheeling people know each other the Zanes, the McCullohs, the Cnanlines, and the test. But did you ever hear Hampden witli all his jokes and

stories, allude to a single day in his life before he came to Wheeling?’ • N—no ; though it never occurred to nie before. Why do you bring this up now, Jarret ? Have you any fears about entrusting the package to him ?’ ■ No, of course not ! But I saw to day in the Gazette a mysterious advertisement for a certain Ralph Hampden Stoughton. It struck me that he might be a kinsman of Hampden’s, and that we might get a clue to his early history. ’ ‘Just so! Therfe certainly is somethings little mysterious, perhaps, about him ! Now I think of it, he is talkative about every tiling but that. Have you that newspaper about you ?’ ‘lt’s in my pocket.’ ‘Aha ! Read it to him to-night. Mind you, when lam there.’ Next to a piece of venison pie, the judge relished a racy bit of gossip. They had been standing not far from the steps as they talked. They knocked, and Kent Hampden opened the door. He was a boy of fifteen, with much of his father's cordial, winning manner ; but the boy’s eyes were dark and slow-moving, while Mr Hampden’s blue ones kindled with every changing thought. • We saw you coming,’ the boy said, leading them to the supper-room. ‘ Mother is pouring out your coffee now.’ They met a hearty welcome. When Judge Morris shook hands with his host, and looked up into his handsome, beaming face, the small cloud of suspicion melted from his brain as fog does in broad sunshine. ‘Ha ! A bear-steak !’ he exclaimed, glancing expectantly at the table. ‘ I did not know that any trappers had been in town to day. You think too much of the good things of this life. Ralph. We did not intend to make this foray upon you, madam ; we started for Captain Duff’s. We had heard he was going with you to-morrow, Ralph, and we thought we would ask him to—’ ‘To transact a little business for the bank,’ interrupted the cautious cashier. ‘ But we have learned that he is not going, and so we must ask you to do us this favour.’ ‘ Command me in anything, gentlemen,’ said Mr Hampden, courteously. ‘ Try a spiced pear, judge. Have you read Mr Calhoun’s speech on the tariff?’ The conversation drifted into politics. Mrs Hampden and Kent exchanged anxious glances. They guessed the business which had brought the officers of the bank to the house. There were no express companies or telegraphs in those days. The mails were carried in coaches, or on horseback, and were not used as they are to-day. It was a universal custom to entrust large sums to individual travellers. A journey across the mountains was a serious event, talked of long before it was undertaken. The traveller was usually encumbered with parcels and letters. ‘Father will have to take the great trunk, now,’said Kent, when he was alone with his mother. ‘ No. It is probably money that they wish him to carry. It will not be bulky. But—’ she stopped significantly. ‘ I wish you or I could go with hint, mother.’ ‘ He has twenty commissions already,’ said Mrs Hampden.

‘ Father would lose the nose from his face ! Excuse me, mother ! I did not mean to be impertinent.’ Kent added, hurriedly.

‘ You forget yourself,’ his mother said, sternly. ‘lf your father is careless about trifles, it is because his mind is occupied with matters which children cannot understand.’ Kent sat down to his lessons, while his mother her sewing in hand, entered the parlour. Mr Jarret stopped speaking as she came in.

‘Go on,’ said Mr Hampden, ‘ I have no secrets from my wife, gentlemen. She is the balance-wheel of this household. My dear, Judge Morris wishes me to take charge of a package of money fora bank in Polden. You must stitch it in a belt to be worn under my clothes.’ ‘You have so many commissions already, Ralph,’ she ventured timidly, ‘ and Captain Duff is going.’ His face clouded. ‘ One would think you were afraid to trust me, Sarah. You will give our friends the impression that lam careless. Captain Duff has changed his plan, and is not going. Send the package to me to-morrow, judge.’ He walked with an irritated air up and down, stirred the fire and threw up the window-sash. Then, his vexation suddenly gone, he seated himself, smiling affectionately to his wife. Judge Morris hastily brought out the tariff again for discussion.

Mrs Hampden saw that Mr Jarret’s eyes were fixed upon her husband with a keen scrutiny. He hail taken an old newspaper from his pocket, and was slowly unfolding it. Then he waited.

Mr Hampden had begun to relate an amusing anecdote. He was an excellent story-teller, even for that day, when men studied conversation as the first among personal accomplishments. His wife watched his dramatic action and sensitive, animated face, and glanced with secret pride at Mr Jarret to see if he were listening. There certainly was something peculiar about the cashier. He was a spare little man with hair, skin, and eyebrows all of one sandy hue, and a pair of round, watery grey eyes, which were now staring admiringly at her husband. But the mouth was the aggressive feature of his face. It never was at rest. Now the teeth were grinding together, now he smiled, now he bit his dry lips, puckered them to whistle, wet them with his tongue, or showed his teeth like a wolf. The month seemed to nave escaped from his control, and to act for itself. Carey, watching hint through the glass door, made a picture of him on her slate as an ogre. He flattened and patted his newspaper, until the story was finished.

• What a wonderful memory you have, Hampden !’ he said. ‘ Ahem ! 1 observed a singular item in the Gazette to day, on which I thought you might be able to throw some light. Let me see! Where was it?’ He ran his finger down the rows of tiny black pictures of houses, horses, and runaway slaves in the advertising columns. Mr Hampden tossed back his curly hair and smiled. He liked to be consulted, or asked for advice. * Ob, here it is ! It is an inquiry for a man who left Colebrook about the time you canre here. I thought from the name he might be one of your kin.’ He peered up, his finger pointed to the advertisement. Hampden was not smiling now. His face was quiet, and void of expression. ‘ What is the name?’ he asked.

‘ Ralph Hampden Stoughton. Oh, you have heard it before ! I thought he must be one of your family. Hampden’s an uncommon name, and so is Ralph.’ Mr Hampden raised his hand to his hair, and let it fall as if with uncertainty, but said nothing. ‘Eh? A relation ? You never have told us anything about your people, you know.’ ‘ No,’ said Hampden ; * I have no kinsman of the name of Ralph Hampden Stoughton.’ ‘Oh ?’ The busy mouth gave a slight incredulous curve, while the rest of Mr Jarret’s body was bowing deferentially. ‘lt was just a notion of mine. Would you like the paper ?’ * No, thank you.’ But Jarret thought he saw analarmed eagerness in the way in which his eyes followed it. ‘Well, I must be off,’said Judge Morris, rising. ‘Good luck, Ralph ! Eat some terrapin at the Indian Queen for me. lion voyage !’ As he and Jarret went down the hill, he said, ‘ I suspect that this missing man is related to our friend, and that Ralph is ashamed of him.’ Jarret did not reply directly. ‘ I had no idea,’ he said, after a few moments, ‘ that Hampden was so successful a man. He has just bought that house. He will no doubt be elected Mayor, and 1 hear he is going to ask Colonel Congdon to appoint Kent cadet. It seems to me that is a good deal of headway for a man whom nobody knows. Mind, I like Hampden; I trust him. But,’ he lowered his voice, ‘ after w’hat we have seen, I am sure that many people would suspect that the missing Ralph Hampden Stoughton is our friend himself.’

‘ Absurd !’ growled the judge. ‘Hampden is as honourable a man as any in Virginia !’ He was crusty with Jarret the rest of the way, feeling that the cashier was unduly suspicious. Yet he was secretly uneasy, and almost wished that Duff had not decided not to go. Mrs Hampden, after they were gone, sat silent, furtively watching her husband over her sewing. She hoped he would say something about the advertisement. Why had he evaded Jarret’s question? At last she threw down her sewing and went to him. ‘ Ralph is this missing man one of your family ?’ ‘ I said that he was not, Sarah. ’ ‘ Yes, but—you kept something back ! You have always kept a part of your past life hidden from me !’ It was said at last! Hampden turned away. His unnatural quiet showed how deep the blow had sunk. He looked at her presently with an expression on his face which she had never before seen there.

‘ Sarah,’ he said, taking both her hands, ‘you must trust me. That is all I can say.’ She was wholly repentant. Was there ever a nobler soul than that which looked out of his kind eyes ? Had she not known for sixteen years how honest and true he was ? And yet, that night there came into her mind manystories of good men who had been tempted to errors and sins in their youth. No secret crimes, apparently, clouded Mr Hampden's spirits the next morning. He went gaily about the bouse, singing as he packed his things in a great carpet-bag before starting on his journey, while Carey trotted at his heels. He sent her away presently. ‘ What shall I bring the child, Sarah. I thought of a crimson silk frock, or a chinchilla turban with a gold buckle. ’ ‘ Nonsense ! You fill the child’s head with vanity, Ralph. We cannot afford such finery !’ ‘ No, I suppose not,’ he said, with a vexed, boyish laugh. ‘ But I’d like to give you and her and Kent all the good things of this life ! I often think, what if I should find a great fortune —a pot of gold, say ? I would build a house with ’ ‘ Hadn’t you better finish your packing ?’ said Mrs Hampden, drily. She opened the carpet-bag. ‘What a mess it is in ! Coats, shirts, papers, all jammed down together. I will pack it for you, Ralph.’ ‘ You are a good soul, Sarah. Is that Kent playing hockey with young Jarret yonder ? I’ll go stretch my legs with them.’ But the boys met him in the hall. ‘My father is coming,’ said Josiah Jarret. He was a slow, quiet lad, with his father’s grey, lack-lustre eyes. ‘ I have brought the package,’ said the cashier, as Mr Hampden ushered him into the parlour. ‘lt is very kind of you to burden yourself with it. Two thousand pounds. Count it, if you please. Wait —one minute !’ He closed the door leading into the dining-room, and drew the curtain over the upper half, which was of glass. ‘ Nobody there but Kent and Si,’ said Mr Hampden, as he counted the notes. They were of large denominations and easily counted. ‘ I trust no business secrete to boys,' said Mr Jarret- ‘ Nobody knows from me that you have this sum in charge. The amount is correct ?’ ‘ Yes. Will you have some cider ? I keep nothing stronger.’ ‘Cider, eh?’ said Jarret. ‘I observed last night that there were no decanters on your buffet. You are a queer fish, Hampden ! No—no cider for me. Ob, here is the receipt. Just put your name to it.’ This formula was unusual in those easy going days. Mr Hampden’s colour rose as he signed his name. ‘ Well, good-bye, and good luck !’ said the cashier, pocketing the receipt. ‘ Come, Si, to your dinner.’ The boy hung back. ‘ Let him stay,' said Hampden, courteously, though he wished to be alone with hie wife and children. His father gave his consent, and took his way down the hill.

Mr Hampden turned to meet his wife. ‘ That pettifogger asked for a receipt !’ he exclaimed, as the boys left them.

‘ As if he were likely to forget that he gave me the package, or that I had taken it. Feel the weight of that !’ The notes were folded in an oblong bundle wrapped in heavy foolscap, and again in several thicknesses of brown paper. The whole was put into a case of black oilcloth. Mrs Hampden, like Jarret, shut the door. •It is very cumbrous,’ she said. ‘ They are afraid of dampness, I suppose. Wait, I can manage it. ’ The chief treasure of her wardrobe was a crepe shawl, brought to her by a sailor uncle. It was kept wrapped in Chinese silk paper. She ran upstairs, and brought down this paper. ‘ How clever you are, Sarah !’ He stood by, praising her deftness while she folded the notes in the light, tough web, and tied them in a sheet of the brown paper, replacing them in the oil cloth case. * You can hang it by a strap to your shoulder under your

coat, Ralph.’ He made a wry face. ‘lt wouldn’t do to put it in the sack ? There, there ! Don’t lecture me, I’ll not let it go out of my sight once. £2OOO ! Why, here is the pot of gold ! , I could buy that house now.’ •Do not talk so idly, Ralph. If any one should hear you !’ ‘ Any one would know I am not a thief,’ he said, quietly. ‘ Let us have dinner. The stage-coach will soon be here.’ The meal was hurried and quiet. The journey was as much as a voyage to Europe is now. All the neighbours were on the watch to see the departure. Mr Hampden had not left the table when the great red coach, with its four white horses and its many-caped driver, dashed around the corner and stopped at the door. Mr Hampden ran upstairs to get a forgotten parcel, followed by his wife and Carey. When they came down again, Mrs Hampden brought the package out of the parlour. ■ ‘ You would actually have forgotten it,’ she said, reprovingly, ‘ but for me. Promise me, Ralph, you will not let it go out of your sight again !’ He kissed her, laughing. * Possess your soul in patience with me, Sarah.’ Carey was under his feet, Kent and Si were dashing madly in and out, clamouring for leave to ride on the boot as far as the toll-gate. * How many passengeis, boys?’ asked Mr Hampden. ‘ Three, sir. A lady, a clergyman, and a blind man. The driver says there’s not one to Polden but yourself.’ ‘ All aboard !’ The bugle blew, the horses strained their huge flanks, the neighbours waved their hands. Mr Hampden kissed his hand from the coach roof —there was a great cloud of dust and they were gone. ‘ God send him home safely,’ murmured Mrs Hampden, as she wiped away her tears. ‘ But oh ! —that money !’ (TO BE CONTINUED.)