Brother Against Brother; or, The Tompkins Mystery. Read online

  CHAPTER IX.

  THE CHASM OPENS.

  The storm clouds were gathering dark about the Tompkins mansion. Theheads of the household were silent on the question, each knowing thedifferent feelings and sympathies of the other. Their sons were alsosilent, but there was a sullenness in their silence that foretold thecoming strife. There was one member of the once happy household whocould not comprehend the trouble, whose very gentleness kept her inignorance of the threatened danger.

  Yet neither love nor loving care could keep her from knowing thattrouble was brewing. She could not but notice the coldness graduallygrowing between the two brothers. Brothers whose affection she oncethought no earthly power could lessen, were growing daily colder andmore and more estranged. Every morning each mounted his horse, and rodeaway alone, and it was always late in the night when they came home,never together. Gloomy and silent, the morning meal was hurried through,the pleasant conversation that had always accompanied it, was heard nomore, if we except the efforts of Irene, who strove with all her powerto infuse some of the old-time harmony and brightness into the alteredfamily.

  It was the evening of Mr. Diggs' visit to the Tompkins mansion, one ofthose clear bright evenings when the curtains of night seem reluctant tofall, and the fluttering folds seem held apart to reveal the beauty ofthe dying day. Irene sat by the window, gazing up at the dark bluevault, and listening to the far-off song of a whip-poor-will upon thelonely hillside. Nature to her had never seemed more calm or lovely. Themoon, serenely bright, shed mellow light over the landscape, and thedark old forest on whose trees the early buds had swelled into greenleaves, lay in a quiet repose. Only man, of all created things seemedunresting. Far down the road she heard the clatter of horses' hoofs. Atall times now, day and night, she heard them.

  Clatter, clatter, clatter--sleeping or waking, it was always the same,always this beat of hoofs. To her it seemed as if ten thousand dragoonswere constantly galloping, galloping, galloping down the great road:somewhere their marshalled thousands must be gathering. Horsemen singly,horsemen in pairs, horsemen in groups, were galloping, galloping, untilher ears ached with the awful din.

  As she looked, a horseman came dashing down the hill; he passed throughthe gate and down the avenue.

  "That must be either Abner or Oleah," thought Irene. "Six months ago,they would have gone and returned together."

  When he stepped on the piazza, the moon fell on his face and revealedthe features of Abner Tompkins. He came rapidly up the steps and intothe house. Staying only a few moments in the room below, where hisparents were, then came directly to Irene's door and knocked.

  She bade him come in.

  "Irene," he said in tremulous tones, "I have strange news for you. Imust leave to-night for months perhaps, perhaps forever, my home, myparents--and you."

  Irene sprang to his side eager and excited.

  "Why, Abner, what do you mean?"

  "Is it such a surprise to you? I will try to speak calmly, but I haveonly a few moments to stay. I have a load on my heart that I mustunburden to you."

  "What is it?" she said, drawing a low stool to his feet and seatingherself she took both his hands in her own. "Tell me what troubles you,let me share it with you. Who should share your troubles if not yoursister?"

  "Irene, what I have to say will shock you."

  "No, no, it will not. If you have done anything wrong, I shall be sureit was not your fault--"

  "No, you misunderstand me; it is nothing I have done," he interrupted.

  "Then what is this secret, brother?"

  "_I am not your brother._"

  Irene had promised that his secret should not shock her, yet had abombshell burst at her feet, she could not have been more astonished.

  She sprang from the low stool, and stood with clasped hands, the colorfading from her face, her slight form swaying as though she had receiveda blow.

  Abner, alarmed, sprang from his chair, and caught her in his arms.

  "Irene, Irene, don't take it so," he said, bending tenderly over thewhite face.

  "_Not my brother?_ Why you must be mad!" she gasped.

  "Irene, I am not your brother, but I love you a thousand times morefondly than a brother could love. It was this I wanted to tell youbefore I leave you. What, Irene, weeping--weeping because I am not yourbrother! My darling, let me be nearer and dearer than a brother!"

  "Abner, I can not realize it, I can not think!" she said, pressing herhands to her throbbing temples.

  "Think of it when I am gone, Irene, for I must go. To-morrow's sun mustfind me miles from here. But through all the coming strife I shallcherish your image. I shall hope for your love if I return. Now,good-by, my love, my Irene!"

  He caught her in his arms, but it was only a sisterly embrace that Irenereturned. She could not yet believe that Abner was not her brother.

  He went down stairs, she heard his mother's sobs, his father's brokenvoice; the door opened and closed, and from her window she saw him passdown the avenue, out of sight. Soon she heard a horse galloping down theroad, and knew that Abner was riding swiftly away in the gatheringdarkness.

  Completely overcome, and not daring to meet Mr. or Mrs. Tompkins tillshe had controlled herself, Irene, throwing a light shawl about hershoulders, went down stairs, stepped through an open window out on thebroad piazza. The cool night air fanned her cheeks and revived herspirits. She walked through the grounds to a summer house covered withtrailing vines whose fragrant flowers filled the air with sweetestodors.

  "It can not be, it can not be," she murmured. "He was surely jesting. Ian outcast or foundling or a oh! merciful Heaven! I can not endure thethought!" and her beautiful eyes filled with tears. The whip-poor-will'scall still sounded from the distant hillside, and soon another soundbroke the evening stillness--the tread of a man's feet on the graveledwalk. Irene turned her head quickly, and saw Oleah standing in thedoorway.

  "I thought I should find you here, Irene," he said. "You always choosethis arbor on moonlight evenings."

  "You have been absent all day, Oleah. What fearful business is it thatkeeps both my brothers from my side!"

  "Ah! Heaven be praised, Irene, darling Irene, that you know nothing ofit!"

  "Abner left to-night, perhaps never to return he said," she went on,wiping the tears from her face.

  "I see you have been weeping, dear Irene. I have more news for you. Itoo have to bid you what may prove a long farewell. I leave to-night forour camp, and shall soon march to join the main army. But I can notleave you, Irene, without telling you of something I have long kept asecret."

  Irene could not speak; sobs choked her voice. Then from Oleah's lipsfell those same startling words:

  "I am not your brother."

  She sat motionless. Then it must be true. They could not both bemistaken, could not both possess the same hallucination. If anyone wasmad, it was herself. But Oleah went on in his quick passionate way:

  "You are not my sister, dearest Irene, and that you are not gives meonly joy. When you were left at our house a tiny baby, I claimed you formy sister, and when I learned you could not be my sister, I said youshould one day be my wife. I loved from the first time those bright eyeslaughed into mine, and that love has grown with my growth andstrengthened with my strength, until it has taken possession of myentire being. O, Irene, Irene, you can never know how deep is the love Ihave born you from early childhood. I could not leave this old homewithout telling you that I loved you with more than a brother's love."

  He paused, and Irene remained silent.

  "Speak, Irene! Will you not speak?"

  She was still silent, her large dark eyes fixed and staring, her whitelips motionless, her whole form rigid as a statue. She thought ofAbner's parting words, and pain and terror filled her soul. Had sheentered this happy home only to bring discord, to widen the breachbetween the two brothers?

  "O Irene, Irene," he pleaded, "by the memory of our happy childhood Iimplore you, speak once more before I go. Say that you will
love me,that you will pray for me--pray for my safe return, pray for my soul ifI fall in battle!"

  The marble statue found voice.

  "I will pray for you, Oleah, to heaven day and night, for your safereturn."

  "But will you give me your love? O Irene, if you only knew how dear youare to me, you will surely learn to love me!"

  "I have always given you a sister's warmest love, Oleah," she replied,"and this is all too new, too strange, for me to change so suddenly."

  "But you promise you will change?" he asked eagerly.

  "I can not promise yet," she said. "I do not know myself, and neither doyou comprehend your own feelings."

  "Irene, dearest, I have known myself for years. Try to love me, and prayfor me," he said, and taking both her hands as she came to his side,"for now I must go." He stooped and pressed a kiss on those white lips,and Irene was alone. Soon she heard again the hoof beats of a flyinghorse, and knew that Oleah had left his home.

  When he had returned to bid farewell to his home, Abner Tompkins, beforeentering the house, walked down the long gravel walk, through the avenueof grand old elms, until the outer gate was reached. Here he paused amoment, and gazed up at the moon riding through the dark blue,fathomless vault of heaven; then he turned his gaze upon the spaciouspillared mansion, his pleasant home, that he was to leave that night,perhaps forever. It was the home of his childhood; beneath its roofdwelt those he loved; and feelings of sadness filled his heart as herealized the fact that he must leave it. On his right lay the greatroad, the road that, in his boyhood, he had imagined, led to far-offlands and fairy kingdoms; the road he had thought must be endless, andhad desired to follow to its end. Across the road was the forest wherehe and his brother had so often wandered. Every spot seemed hallowedwith sacred remembrances of childhood, and associated with every objectand every thought was that brother from whom he was gradually driftingaway. He stood beneath the old hickory tree, whose nuts they hadgathered, and whose topmost branches they had climbed in theiradventurous boyhood. To-night all were fading away. He was going todifferent scenes, to see strange faces, to meet hardships, danger,perhaps death; worse than all to draw his sword against that verybrother whose life had so long been one with his.

  "Oh, what a curse is civil war," said Abner, with a sigh, "dividingnations, people and kindred." And, leaning against the trunk of thegiant old hickory, he stood for a moment lost in painful reverie.

  The beat of a horse's hoofs aroused him, and he saw his brotherapproaching. To reach the house he was compelled to pass within a fewfeet of the hickory tree, and must inevitably discover Abner, who,however, made no effort to conceal himself. Standing in the shade of thetree as he was, Oleah did not see his brother until he was within a fewfeet of him, and then could not distinguish his features.

  "Halloo, whom have we here?" he said, reining in his horse abruptly.

  "Who is there? Speak quick, or it may be the worse for you," criedimpetuous Oleah, not receiving an immediate answer.

  "It is I, Oleah," said Abner, stepping from under the branches of theold tree.

  The two brothers had grown more and more estranged, but as yet there hadbeen no open rupture between them.

  "Well, I might inquire what you are doing there?" said Oleah.

  "And I might ask what you are doing here, and where you are going, anda hundred other questions. If I were to tell you I was star-gazing youwould not believe me."

  "I don't know; I might," said Oleah. "You were sentimental at times whena boy, and the habit of looking at the moon and stars may have followedyou into maturer years."

  "I was just thinking," said Abner, "that this tree is very old, yet veryhale."

  "It is," answered Oleah; "it was a full grown tree when I first rememberseeing it."

  "Yes, and we have often climbed its branches or swung beneath them."

  "That is all true," said Oleah, restlessly, "but why talk of that, aboveall other times, to-night?"

  "It brings pleasant memories of our happy childhood. And why notto-night as well as any other time?" said Abner.

  "I have reasons for not wishing to talk or to think of the pastto-night," said Oleah. "I have enough to trouble me without bringing uprecollections that are now anything but pleasant."

  "Recollections of childhood are always pleasant to me," said Abner, "andwhen storms of passion sway me, such thoughts calm the storm and soothemy turbulent mind once more to peace."

  "Have you been in a rage to-night?" asked Oleah, with a smile.

  "No."

  "Then why are you conjuring recollections of the past?"

  "I have not conjured them up; they come unbidden. This night, _above allothers_, I would not drive the thoughts of our past away."

  "And why?" asked Oleah, uneasily.

  "Because this night we part, Oleah, perhaps forever."

  Oleah, rash, hot-headed, fiery Oleah, had a tender heart in his bosom,and now he was trembling with emotion, although he made an effort toappear calm.

  "How do you know that we are to part to-night?" he asked.

  "We are both going from our home, and going in different directions. Weare standing on opposite sides of a gulf momentarily growing wider."

  A fearful suspicion crossed Oleah's mind. "Do you leave home to-night?"

  "Yes."

  "Where are you going?"

  "To join the army of my country and the Union."

  Oleah started back as if he had received a stunning blow in the face.Abner was aware that Oleah had enlisted in the Confederate army, butOleah did not dream that his brother would enter the army of the North.

  "Abner, Abner," he cried, hurriedly dismounting from his horse andcoming to his brother's side, "for heaven's sake say that it is nottrue!"

  "But it is true," said Abner sadly. "To-night we separate, you to fightfor the cause of the South, I for the preservation of the Union."

  "O Abner, O my brother, how can you be so blinded? It is a war betweenthe North and South, the only object of the North being to give freedomto our slaves. You will see if the North _should_ be successful, thatevery negro in the land will be freed."

  "And you will see that the North has no such intentions. Mr. Lincoln,although a Republican, was born in a slave State, and he will not freethe slaves. But, Oleah, it is useless for us to discuss these matters;we part to-night, and let us--"

  "But should we meet," said Oleah, his hot blood mounting to his face,"it will be as enemies. You are my brother now, but when you don thehated uniform of an Abolition soldier you will be my enemy; for I havesworn by the eternal heavens to cut asunder every tie of friendship orkindred when I find them arrayed against our cause."

  "Oleah," said Abner, "be not too rash in your vows. Do not make themjust yet."

  "I have already made them; and whoever confronts me with a blue coat anda Yankee musket is an enemy, whatever blood runs in his veins."

  "I pray that we may never meet thus," said Abner. "Rather would I haveyou find among the slain the body of one you no longer own as abrother."

  One of the stable men now appeared, leading Abner's horse. Oleah's hotpassion was gone; his eyes were misty, his voice was choked. Thebrothers clasped hands in silence, and five minutes later Abner wasgalloping down the great road.