Had not this train of circ.u.mstances led to the result we have chronicled, there would have been but one fate for Hadley, _death_; for even if the ruffians had left life in him, ere the lapse of three hours he would have been devoured by wild beasts, a pack of which, howling dismally, and thirsting for blood, crossed the road where he had lain, and licked up the few drops that had run from his bosom!

Bill and d.i.c.k were pursued, but escaped without the slightest clue to their whereabouts or ident.i.ty being ascertained.

Perhaps we had as well remark, at this point, that Hadley's departure was known to but two personal friends and their families, in the Mandeville settlement, and by them was to be kept a secret, as he did not wish Duffel, or any of his supposed companions, to know of his absence until he had been gone long enough to reach his destination, for he believed Duffel was bad enough at heart to stop short of no wickedness to carry his ends, and felt fearful he might send some of his minions to waylay him. How nearly he guessed the truth! He, however, gave another reason for wishing the fact kept among his friends and though they thought a little singular of the request, they acted as desired.

Duffel overheard a part of the conversation between him and a young friend--hence his knowledge of Hadley's movements. Mandeville did not know anything about the matter until some time afterward, and this ignorance led him to suspect Hadley of the theft, as already recorded.

He and Duffel agreed to keep their suspicions to themselves, until they could get at some tangible evidence to prove Hadley guilty. This exactly suited Duffel's purpose, as it gave him just the time and advantage he desired, in order to perfect his own schemes.

How easily a few words would have exonerated Hadley in the eyes of Mandeville: and had he made a confidant of the magistrate in this second instance, those words would have been spoken, to his enlightenment, and the great relief and joy of his daughter. But, by an unfortunate combination of circ.u.mstances, the reverse was the case.

CHAPTER X.

When Duffel learned that Mr. Mandeville would not interpose parental authority to compel his daughter to acquiesce in his wishes for her in regard to marriage, he set his scheming wits to work for the purpose of devising some means whereby to accomplish his ends. As we have already said, Duffel had taken a fancy to Miss Mandeville, with whom he was better pleased than with any other lady of his acquaintance. He called his pa.s.sion _love_, but it was too sordid and selfish to be worthy of a name so sacred.

More than once he called to see Eveline, and though she treated him civilly, he saw plainly that she had an aversion for his society, and that it cost her an effort to treat him with politeness, even though it was formal; so, as we were saying, he endeavored to hit upon some more successful mode of furthering his wishes.

"If Bill and d.i.c.k were only here," he thought to himself, "the matter could be easily come at; but, as it is, I don't see my way exactly. I should not like to trust every one, even of the League, with my secret, much less with the execution of such a difficult undertaking as that of placing her there.

I wish I had not sent them after Hadley; I might have accomplished all without that; and it is not the pleasantest thing in the world to have a murder laying on one's conscience. But then, I thought other means would succeed: I had no idea that old Mandeville was becoming so tender-hearted.

The old devil himself must have been playing mischief with my calculations.

Well, let him play away; once Bill and d.i.c.k return, and I'll try my hand at heading his sulphurous majesty, and all others that oppose me."

In this mood, Duffel found himself when the duties of his office, in the absence of the captain, required his presence at the cave, to preside over the League at the regular meeting, as already known to the reader. The night of the meeting came, and found him undecided as to the course of action to pursue. Time was short; the captain might return any day and resume command; and what was to be done must be done soon.

In this state of uncertainty, he repaired to the cave, with the vague and indefinite hope that his a.s.sociates in crime might be there also. Arrived there, he began pacing up and down in a state of uneasy and restless disquiet, looking expectantly At every new-comer, but with the same result--disappointment. It was but a few minutes until the hour for business, and he retired to the captain's room to make such preparations as were necessary for the occasion.

When he returned, the members present were all masked, a rule of the order making this a duty at initiating meetings, and he could not tell whether Bill and d.i.c.k were among the number or not.

The business proceeded until the question was asked:

"Is there any one who, having knocked at the door of our order, is now waiting for admission?"

"There is, your honor, Abram Hurd, who has been found worthy of a place among us."

"Is he present?"

"He is in waiting, your honor."

"Let him be conducted into the presence of the order."

It is not our intention to enter into all the details attending the ceremony of initiation into the order, as we apprehend that a few of the leading features in the process of villain-making will be more entertaining and acceptable to the reader.

When the candidate for admission entered the cave, he found himself _vis-a-vis_ with fifty masks, of all shapes, forms and appearances; some horrible, some odd, some commonplace, and some fantastical, and altogether, a medley of strange, undecipherable, yet impressive combination of devices, well calculated to excite a feeling of awe, and, with the timid, of terror, in the mind of the beholder. Into this singular a.s.semblage Hurd was ushered, a wilderness of confused images before him. He was taken through a course introductory to the more serious parts of the formula of induction into the order, which were intended to increase the first bewildered impressions on entering the cave, and was then led up in front of the captain, who addressed him thus:

"Abram Hurd! by your presence here, I am to understand that you desire to become a member of our order?"

"I do."

"Have you considered well before taking this step? The duties of members are often laborious, and their performance attended with the most imminent danger! We want no unwilling hands; are you ready to incur the risks?

"I am."

"Suppose the requirements exacted at your hands should cause you to look the penitentiary in the face, have you the courage to do so?"

"I have."

"But further yet; should the good of our order require you to take the life of a fellow-being, would you, in obedience to the commands of your superior, perform that extreme act?"

"I was not aware that _murder_ was included in the catalogue of duties imposed upon members of the order."

"Nor do I say that it is; I only wish to know if you are willing to go _any lengths_ for the preservation or advantage of the order, in case of necessity? You will mark the difference between murder and killing in _self-defense_. With this explanation, are you willing to take the required obligation?"

"I am."

"With the understanding, then, that you may have to face imprisonment or death and obligate yourself to do all that shall be required of you for the _good_ of the order, even to the taking of life, including all other acts that are held criminal among men, are you still willing to proceed?"

"I am!"

"I must furthermore inform you, that if you falter in the discharge of any duty imposed upon you, or manifest the least disposition to betray the order, your life will fall an immediate sacrifice for such delinquency. Are you prepared for this?"

"I am!"

"Will you take upon yourself these obligations in the form of an oath?"

"I will!"

"The oath is a most solemn and binding one; perhaps you may consider it horrible, and we want no faltering."

"I will take it."

"It involves life and death."

"I am prepared if it does."

"You cannot release yourself from its binding force; it is for life; and whether you abide with us or not, it binds you to secrecy. No after-thought, no change of feeling, no repentance can unchain its iron links from your soul. Are you still resolved?"

"I am!"

"Let me here advise you, that one more step will place you beyond the pale of retreat. Consider well what you are about to do. Until the oath is administered, you are at liberty to retire, and, blindfolded as you came, will be escorted to a place of safety to yourself and us, where we will leave you as we found you; but once you have taken upon yourself the obligations of the oath, all is fixed and immutable. Are you yet willing to take this last step?"

"I am!"

"Enough! you are worthy to become a member of our order. Lay your right hand upon your heart, your left upon the Book, and receive the oath."

THE OATH.