AARON TROW.
Old Mr. Bergen himself much of his time at Hamilton, where he had a with a of rooms to it. It was his to here three nights of the week, which Anastasia was left alone at the cottage; and it by no means that she was alone, for the they called the would go to her father’s place at Hamilton, and the two black girls would away up to the road, with the of the sea at the cottage. Caleb had more than once told her that she was too much alone, but she had laughed at him, saying that in Bermuda was not dangerous. Nor, indeed, was it; for the people are and well-mannered, much energy, but being, in the same degree, free from any to violence.
“So you are going,” she said to her lover, one evening, as he rose from the chair on which he had been himself at the door of the which looks over the of the sea. He had sat there for an hour talking to her as she worked, or her as she moved about the place. It was a evening, and the sun had been to with almost his feet. The were red with their all around him, and he had his hour of easy rest. “So you are going,” she said to him, not her work out of her hand as he rose to depart.
“Yes; and it is time for me to go. I have still work to do I can to bed. Ah, well; I the day will come at last when I need not you as soon as my hour of is over.”
“Come; of it will come. That is, if your should choose to wait for it another ten years or so.”
“I you would not mind waiting twenty years.”
“Not if a friend of mine would come and see me of when I’m alone after the day. It to me that I shouldn’t mind waiting as long as I had that to look for.”
“You are right not to be impatient,” he said to her, after a pause, as he her hand he went. “Quite right. I only wish I myself to be as easy about it.”
“I did not say I was easy,” said Anastasia. “People are easy in this world, I take it. I said I be patient. Do not look in that way, as though you that you were with me. You know that I am true to you, and you ought to be very proud of me.”
“I am proud of you, Anastasia—” on which she got up and to him. “I am proud of you; so proud of you that I you should not be left here all alone, with no one to help you if you were in trouble.”
“Women don’t into trouble as men do, and do not want any one to help them. If you were alone in the house you would have to go to without your supper, you not make a of milk for your own meal. Now, when your has gone, I shall go to work and have my tea comfortably.” And then he did go, God her as he left her. Three hours after that he was in his own by one of the girls from the to his door, and him in Heaven’s name to come to the of her mistress.
When Morton left her, Anastasia did not to do as she had said, and to have her meal. She had been with her all that last conversation; but when her lover was gone, she allowed the work to from her hands, and sat for awhile, at the last of colour left by the setting sun; but there was no longer a of its to be in the around her. The in Bermuda is not long and as it is with us, though the not suddenly, the of night it without any time of warning, as is the case south, among the of the tropics. But the soft, sweet light of the had and gone, and night had come upon her, while Anastasia was still seated the with her upon the white of sea which was still visible through the gloom. She was of him, of his of life, of his happiness, and of her him. She had told him, with her falseness, that she wait without impatience; but now she said to herself that it would not be good for him to wait longer. He alone and without comfort, very hard for his pittance, and she see, and feel, and that a in his life was to him almost a necessity. She would tell her father that all this must be to an end. She would not ask him for money, but she would make him that her services must, at any in part, be transferred. Why should not she and Morton still live at the when they were married? And so thinking, and at last resolving, she sat there till the dark night upon her.
She was at last by a man’s hand upon her shoulder. She jumped from her chair and him,—not screaming, for it was her power to herself, and to make no with forethought. Perhaps it might have been for her had she screamed, and sent a the of that sea. She was silent, however, and with awe-struck and hands into the of him who still her by the shoulder. The night was dark; but her were now to the darkness, and she see something of his features. He was a low-sized man, in a of sailor’s clothing, with a cap of on his head, and a that had not been for many weeks. His were large, and hollow, and bright, so that she to see nothing else of him; but she the of his as he her and more by the arm.
“Who are you?” she said, after a moment’s pause.
“Do you know me?” he asked.
“Know you! No.” But the were out of her mouth it her that the man was Aaron Trow, of every one in Bermuda had been talking.
“Come into the house,” he said, “and give me food.” And he still her with his hand as though he would her to him.
She for a moment what she would say to him; for then, with that terrible man close to her in the darkness, her presence of mind did not her. “Surely,” she said, “I will give you food if you are hungry. But take your hand from me. No man would his hands on a woman.”
“A woman!” said the stranger. “What the for that? A woman’s blood is as sweet to him as that of a man. Come into the house, I tell you.” And then she him through the open door into the narrow passage, and to the kitchen. There she saw that the door, leading out on the other of the house, was open, and she that he had come from the road and entered on that side. She her around, looking for the girls; but they were away, and she that there was no being of her voice but this man who had told her that he was as a thirsty after her blood!
“Give me food at once,” he said.
“And will you go if I give it you?” she asked.
“I will out your if you do not,” he replied, from the a short, thick which there. “Do as I you at once. You also would be like a tiger if you had for two days, as I have done.”
She see, as she moved across the kitchen, that he had already there for something that he might eat, but that he had in vain. With the close economy common among his class in the islands, all were under close lock and key in the house of Mr. Bergen. Their daily was day by day to the servants, and the were then up and locked away in safety. She moved across the to the cupboard, taking the keys from her pocket, and he close upon her. There was a small oil lamp from the low which just gave them light to see each other. She her hand to this to take it from its hook, but he her. “No, by Heaven!” he said, “you don’t touch that till I’ve done with it. There’s light for you to out your scraps.”
She did out her and a bowl of milk, which might a quart. There was a of bread, a of cold potato-cake, and the of a leg of kid. “And is that all?” said he. But as he spoke he his teeth against the as a dog would have done.
“It is the best I have,” she said; “I wish it were better, and you should have had it without violence, as you have so long from hunger.”
“Bah! Better; yes! You would give the best no doubt, and set the on my the moment I am gone. I know how much I might from your charity.”
“I would have you for pity’s sake,” she answered.
“Pity! Who are you, that you should to me! By —, my woman, it is I that you. I must cut your unless you give me money. Do you know that?”
“Money! I have got no money.”
“I’ll make you have some I go. Come; don’t move till I have done.” And as he spoke to her he on at the bone, and the of bread. He had already the bowl of milk. “And, now,” said he, “tell me who I am.”
“I you are Aaron Trow,” she answered, very slowly. He said nothing on this, but his meal, close to her so that she might not possibly from him out into the darkness. Twice or thrice in those minutes she up her mind to make such an attempt, that it would be to him in of the house, and make sure, if possible, of her own life. There was no money there; not a dollar! What money her father in his was locked up in his safe at Hamilton. And might he not keep to his threat, and her, when he that she give him nothing? She did not outwardly, as she there him as he ate, but she how it might be that her last moments were very near. And yet she his features, form, and garments, so as to away in her mind a perfect picture of them. Aaron Trow—for of it was the convict—was not a man of frightful, aspect. Had the world used him well, him when he was and him from spirits, he also might have used the world well; and then would have the of his and the of his brow. But had not gone well with him. He had been from the wife he had loved, and the children who had been at his knee,—separated by his own violence; and now, as he had said of himself, he was a than a man. As he there satisfying the of his appetite, up the large of food, he was an object very sad to be seen. Hunger had him and yellow, he was with the of his lair, and he had the look of a beast;—that look to which men when they live like the of prey, as from their brethren. But still there was that about his which might have him,—which might have her into pity, had he been that it should be so.
“And now give me some brandy,” he said.
There was in the house,—in the sitting-room which was close at their hand, and the key of the little press which it was in her pocket. It was useless, she thought, to him; and so she told him that there was a bottle full, but that she must go to the next room to it him.
“We’ll go together, my darling,” he said. “There’s nothing like good company.” And he again put his hand upon her arm as they passed into the family sitting-room.
“I must take the light,” she said. But he it himself, and it in his own hand.
Again she to work without trembling. She the key of the cupboard, and the door, him a bottle which might about half-a-pint of spirits. “And is that all?” he said.
“There is a full bottle here,” she answered, him another; “but if you drink it, you will be drunk, and they will catch you.”
